LITMIR.BIZ

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      Grim laughed. He knew that voice anywhere.

      "You old spacedog! What're you trying to do—ruin the Unions Council?"

      "The Council? What have I to do with them?"

      "The force this machine applies escapes into space. It bends the Caravans and the Fleet cruisers. It smashes them—sends them flying on into the void like so many wrecked planets. They'll go on and on—until they find a planet to crash on or make an orbit around."

      There was a pause. Althaya cried out harshly; whirled and fled toward the mouthlike door where light filtered in in grey beams.

      The machine stopped humming. A door opened in it. A man with white hair and a smooth, shaven face stepped onto the floor of the temple. He grinned at the Viking, threw both arms high into the air.

      Grim said, "Jasper Jones! I knew you'd gone into retirement—but I never thought you'd set yourself up as a god."

      The old man laughed, keen blue eyes dancing. "I was always interested in sound, Grim. I had some theories, theories that my colleagues said were crazy, impractical. So when I retired I came to this little planet that I'd discovered a long time ago—and set myself up in comfort.

      "I took amnesiac men and women from the space hospitals and gave them a new life. I let them build a new civilization for themselves, a new life. Where they would have had to spend the rest of their useless lives in sanatoriums, I gave them freedom, fresh air and a new world. Was that wrong?"

      Grim said dryly, "Not the way you put it. But you could have established dams—something to keep that hellish force in place. And while we're on it—what in the name of the Empire is the thing?"

      Jasper Jones waved at the machine. "Let's go inside. I'll tell you about it as we go. Come, Tlokine.

      "I said I was interested in sound. Perhaps I should say, vibratory impulses. You know Tyndal's experiments—sand figures on a vibrating plate, the motion of the plate along a nodal line. The sand on the plate rearranges and groups itself into regular patterns. Some of them are beautiful."

      "You mean the method devised by Chladni? Where sand is put on a thin metal plate and a violin bow is scraped across its side?"

      "Exactly. The sand is tossed away from the vibrating sections of the plate. It collects in areas of calm, undisturbed by the vibrations."

      "You mean to tell me that's what this entire planet is—a vibrating plate?" wondered Grim.

      "A hundred years or more after Chladni, Dr. Fredericka Blankner advanced the theory that all life, all matter in the universe, followed a pattern somewhat similar to the dancing sands on a Chladni plate. Even human bodies vibrate at a certain impulse.

      "I studied for years on that theory. Then when I found this planet, I fitted it out during my vacations. When I retired and brought the spaceshock cases here—I was ready to follow and prove those theories."

      A deep, sullen roar grew into a thundering volcano of sound, beyond the Temple gateway. Grim cried, "Althaya and her people. They've come to learn your secret, Jones. Quick, man—some weapons! We can hold them off easily enough if—"

      Jasper Jones smiled and shook his head. "Outside of the vibration machine, I have no weapon. And that is not a weapon. I have used it—sending the Changes and the Storms across the planet—to check on reactions and nodal results."

      Grim laughed harshly. "Man, you've unleashed something with that machine. The redhead is desperate. Black Randolph gave her ideas. She won't know where to stop if she gets hold of the machine. We have to stop her."

      "With what? The people have learned that the calm areas on the planet exist inside red markers. We can't catch them napping."

      * * * * *

      Grim grabbed the old man and shook him. He rasped, "Maybe you don't mind getting a couple of barbed knives stuck in your hide, but I do. Where are your plans for this—this machine?"

      Jones led him to a selassi-metal desk, pressed a stud; a thin, flat drawer slid into view. Grim drove his hands into the mass of blueprints and specifications. He dragged them out and spread them on the floor in front of him. He ran his grey eyes over print after print.

      He grinned, "Maybe we can stop them at that, Jasper."

      "Sound is no weapon. Oh, it's been used against frogs and the lower vertebrate forms, but—"

      A shower of arrows made a clanking noise against the face of the machine. Grim could hear Althaya screaming, "It is only a man inside it. I heard his voice. He knew the golden-hair. Break the god, my people." Something thumped into the machine; shook it wildly.

      Jasper Jones screamed. "They will smash the bulbs if they keep that up!"

      Grim grabbed him, shook him. "Listen to me! I don't want to hurt your people ... but we have to stop them. We must rewire the machine—reduce the frequency of the vibrations into audible pitch—step up the decibels to two hundred or more."

      "But that would be intense sound—painful!"

      "You bet it would. It would give those howling babies out there the sweetest case of what used to be called "shell shock" or "battle fatigue" you ever saw. But—it's our only chance!"

      Jones stared at him, touching his lips with a dry tongue. He whispered, "Yes. Yes, I see what you mean. But—"

      The battering ram thumped the machine. The floor under their feet shook. Jones nodded hastily. "Yes, I'll do it. I'll hurry."

      He went to a round opening in the floor, caught a metal rod protruding through it, and swung himself down. Grim caught Tlokine and drew her to the selassi-metal table and hunted in its drawers. He found cotton and tore loose several strips. He crumpled the cotton into tiny balls.

      "I'm going to put these in your ears, Tlokine. You won't be able to hear much, then. Just sit still. Jones and I—we're going to do our best to stop those babies outside. When we do, things are going to happen in a hurry. I want you to be prepared."

      He put the cotton tabs in her ear, whispered, "I love you, darling," and caught the sliding rod in his hands and swung down.

      Grim walked the cat-walks between the throbbing engines in the dim light of myriad bulbs set in plastic casings. He saw the enclosed dynamos that forced the incredible vibrations outward to the needle towers that picked them up and threw them around the planet.

      On a metal floor below him, old Jasper Jones was disconnecting terminals and re-hooking them. Grim joined him. It was close, hot work inside the huge machine. Sweat dripped down Grim's forehead and ran into his eyes and mouth. With the back of his forearm he swabbed at his face and worked on.

      He heard the boom of the improvised battering ram thud into the metal wall; saw the great tubes shake and flicker. The metal floor quivered under his feet.

      A woman screamed. Grim came to his feet, incredulous, hearing Tlokine cry, "It's Black Randolph! He's coming through the back way—"

      Grim whispered, "He's dead. I saw him fall from the cliff."

      He leaped; came up short as Jasper Jones clawed at his arm with aged hands. The old man babbled, "The machine is our only chance."

      Randolph was roaring in triumph, "I have your girl, Thorssen. Come out of there or I'll give her a disintegrator pellet. Ha! You didn't watch me long enough, Thorssen. I missed the rocks—went into the water. It carried me under the temple, to stone steps. They led me—here! You hear me, Thorssen? Come out of there!"

      "I hear you. I'm coming."

      Instead he turned and looked at the wiring terminals where Jasper Jones toiled, his hands a blur of movement and his white hair wet with sweat. The old man's panting made a harsh sound in the fetid air.

      "We almost through?" Grim whispered.

      "Almost ... just these, now ... another turn to tighten them—there!"

      A

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