It was a mighty armada of space the likes of which had never been seen before in the lenticular galaxy, or in the nearby spiral galaxy, or in any galaxy for that matter. Representatives of a thousand races were here, sentient creatures who were physically different in every way; rocklike Felsenig from the ten gravity world of Felsen, fairylike Guntzel-pogue from the tenth gravity world of the same name, snakelike Slangeorm, vegetablelike Karotene, sluglike Caracoller – and thousands more. If you were to put them in the same room together – it would have to be a rather large, air-conditioned room – it really would be a kind of loathsome sight. But what is beauty except in the eye of the beholder, and some of these things, aliens rather, didn't even have eyes. But they had loved ones and mates, sometimes up to sixteen when there were that many sexes, as with the Jigajig, who did almost nothing except that because it was so complicated. They knew the heights of elation, the depths of despair. They were free. Well, most of them were. And the despots were usually kind despots. But what mattered was that each one of these free races were living their lives in the way they wanted and were not being ruled by outsiders. They had joined together under the banner of freedom to fight against the loathsome Lortonoi, who would have ruled and crushed them all.
At the heart of the immense fleet was the former space armada of the Hagg-Loos, donated by the Hagg-Inder, who had won the final battle and instantly stripped their insane relatives of all capacity to wage further war. Stretching out on both sides, and back into the distance as far as the eye could see, were the spacers of all the other races. Here they were, the volunteers from worlds who had known the terror of the Lortonoi and would do anything to fight that galactic menace, spaceships from free worlds that knew you could not subdivide liberty and were willing to fight for that cause, great thundering spacers from other free worlds who wanted to stay free and "voluntarily" donated a few spacers to the fleet when it hovered above their planets. They were all here – and what a heterogeneous sight it was! Mile-long gray metal battleships, fast, needlepointed scouts, great lumbering gunships made of small planetoids on which giant space cannon had been mounted.
While, there, up front, leading this tremendous fleet, was the silver form of the Pleasantville Eagle! Old Glory had been painted proudly on both sides of her immense tail, with the United Nations flag much smaller down below. Wings spread like the eagle she was, she stayed there in the van. Beware, Lortonoi, because the Galaxy Rangers are on the prowl. Shake with fear in your dank dens though you may, justice is coming closer, light-year by light-year, with every passing moment.
A banquet had been spread in the lounge of the old Eagle. Whiter than white tablecloths and sparkling silver drew the eye, while the nose twitched with appreciation at the succulent smells emerging from the kitchen. The top echelon of the Galaxy Rangers gathered for a last celebration before the space armada reached the star Diesun and its strange satellite. John, as Ranger Number One was at the head of the table, with the other Earthmen on each side of him. Sally would, they hoped, join them later; meanwhile, she was sweating it out in the galley with her assistants. The other Rangers crowded the tables, shoulder to shoulder, drinking and laughing together irrespective of the color of their skins; black, red, white, green, polkadot, all mingled and drank. Except, of course, for Lord Prrsi and the other red-hot races who had a heated corner to themselves. Loud laughter rose, hearty shouts, and an occasional belch. This was comradeship indeed, the likes of which had never been seen before. After they had dined and Sally had showered and joined them, John tapped on his wineglass for attention, and an expectant hush fell.
"Rangers, our moment of destiny is upon us. Our agents throughout the lenticular galaxy report no activity by the Lortonoi. We have driven them from refuge to refuge until now they have reached the end of their rope and have holed up upon the strange construction circling the nearby sun, Diesun. They are trapped! And we are upon them. There will be a battle, and there will be bloodshed, but it will all be in a noble cause. To destroy the Lortonoi is worth any sacrifice. . . ."
"Ooooooonnnnh. . . ."
This ghastly sound broke through his words and silenced him, a keening wail of agony from the centermost table. A chair fell over, and a plump green figure writhed on the rug.
"Aid for that Ranger!" John ordered. "He has been taken ill."
"Don't touch him!" another green alien, not unlike the first, cried out, jumping to his feet. "Pipa and I are of the same race, from the planet Bachtria, and I recognize the symptoms. Our race is an ancient one, and we are possessed of psionic abilities like no other. Normally these psi powers lie dormant, but occasionally, in periods of immense stress, when something strange looms in the future and coming events cast their shadows before them, why, then those sensitives of our race manage to break through the temporal barrier. This is happening at this moment to my colleague, Pipa, now writhing there upon your rug. His body is now only a shell while his ego moves into the future. Soon it will return with a message, and you must all be silent and listen. I know not what that message will be, but I do know that it will be a matter of grave importance, of life and death, for at no other times is the psi-ego torn from the body in this manner. Hark! He begins to speak."
"Korax . . . korax . . ." Pipa croaked, then mumbled more words incoherently. The tension strained and tightened, and there was scarcely a breath drawn as the words became clearer, comprehensible to them all.
"Woe! Oh, woe! What ghastliness lies ahead. . . all things are not as they seem. . . victory is defeat and winners shall lose . . . woe, woe. Take heed, for a trap is being set and the end of the galaxy as we know it is at hand. . . many gathered here today will never meet again. Now mark me . . . and mark me well. . . say your good-byes, for the end is near!".
After this the voice became incoherent again and degenerated to a mumble, and the mumble turned into a snore as Pipa slept soundly upon the floor.
"And exactly what does all that mean?" John asked the other Bachtrian, who shrugged his green shoulders in despair.
"Beats me, Number One. These ego trips tend to speak in riddles and that kind of thing, so it is anybody's guess. But he did seem to be sort of clear there toward the end, and if you don't mind, let me say good-bye to you now and shake your hand. It sure has been great up to now to be a Ranger, and if you have to die, it is best to die in a worthy cause. I think. Though of course I would really prefer not to die at all."
With these words he hopped over to John and pumped his hand. After this there was a lot of solemn good-bye saying and hand shaking, and the party broke up under a cloud of gloom.
"Well, I must say," Sally declared. "After all that cooking and trouble, it certainly appears that it really wasn't worth it."
"That was great friend Ormoloo," John told her, attempting to insert a note of cheer, but it did no good. In a minute the Earthlings were alone again, surrounded by the debris of the deserted banquet.
"I'll wash if you'll dry," Chuck said.
"Not now," Jerry snapped. "There are more important things to consider. Just shovel everything into a big box, and we'll worry about it later. In just a matter of hours we will be popping out of the space warp near this damn hula hoop in space, and from what our green friend predicted it is not going to be a pushover. Anyone got any ideas?"
"We'll have to go in first," Chuck said. "We have the only cheddite projector mounted on this ship, so we can get into and out of trouble faster than anything else in the fleet. Why don't we have them hold just one space warp away so they can come arunnin' when we blow the whistle? Meanwhile, we go in quick, get the lay of the land, and split if it gets too hot."
"I agree," John agreed. "It's dangerous, but it's the only chance we have of finding out a thing before the entire fleet is committed. I vote let's go."
"I'm with you," Jerry said.
"Vou're all insane!" Sally cried. "It is suicide. Let someone else do it."
They smiled wry smiles at her, and John spoke for them all.
"Sorry, Sally, old girl, but we can't oblige. The chip is on the Lortonoi shoulder, and we are just going to have to knock it off. Why do men fight bulls? Race high-speed cars? Go to the Moon? Climb Mount Everest? Because they are there-"
"Nuts! You do it for the old machismo, bragging about who has the biggest cojones. Well, I'll have nothing to do with it. I'm going to clean up this mess and then go to bed with a sleeping pill and a murder mystery and hope that I wake up alive, not dead."
They laughed when she left, knowing she was just a simple hysterical woman, then turned themselves to men's destructive work. Orders were issued to the fleet, which slowly ground to a halt, with a few fatal crashes, of course, which is to be expected when you try to stop a fleet of thousands of giant spaceships. The Rangers who manned the battle stations aboard the Pleasantville Eagle were all in position, and Lord Prrsi poked his head up from the hatch to the insulated hold to see the action. One by one the green lights blinked on on the ready board, signifying that every position was manned and ready, until the entire board was green, except for the red light from Sally's compartment, where she was zonked out by two Seconals washed down with twenty cc. of Noctec.
"Are you ready, Rangers?" John called out, and from every compartment, except one of course, came back the echoing shout. "Then here we go!"
In a single slithering jump the great airplane-spaceship plunged through into the lambda dimension and popped out again not far from the bright star Diesun. Every alarm went off and they stared at the visiplates at a great battle in space going on not too far from them. Fantastically powerful battleships – the smallest of them would dwarf the largest they had in their fleet – were locked in dogged conflict. They used energy weapons with great prolificacy, and all space was filled with the shock and shimmer of the ravening forces that tore at the very fabric of space itself. Ravening rays worried at the force screens that shielded other ships, while force fields of highly charged ions, no more than a few feet in diameter but having the power of a hundred hydrogen bombs, floated about ready to explode at the slightest touch. John touched the controls and pulled the ship back a few thousand miles, and they all nodded agreement.
"Easier to watch on the long-distance scope," Jerry said offhandedly. "We don't want to really mix with them until we learn the score."
"We don't want to mix with them at all," John said, speaking aloud what they all were thinking. "I've got a feeling we are kind of playing out of our league with these babies."
"Cheer up," Jerry said, pointing at the screen. "Don't forget there are two sides there, and they seem pretty even. One of them has to be on our side – I hope – so it's not as bad as it looks. I think."
"ATTENTION!" Alarms buzzed again, and the radar operator's voice cut in above them. "Object approaching on collision course from the direction of space battle. Estimated ETA, fourteen seconds."
"Strap in! Am taking evasion measures," Jerry said into the intercom. "Here we go!"
They darted away at right angles and hovered expectantly, every screen focused on the oncoming danger. Was it a space battleship on their tail? Or perhaps a missile? Time would tell. And it did.
"A piece of wreckage," Chuck said. "Looks like a big chunk torn out of one of the spacers that blew up."
"I'll match velocities," Jerry announced, fingers busy at the controls. "This may answer some questions, if there is still anyone alive in that hunk of junk. Mind shields on, everyone, just in case there are Lortonoi aboard or in mental control. And, Chuck, be a good fellow and slip down and put Sally's on her, just for a change, and for God's sake, tie it into place this time."
Nearer and nearer the chunk of spatial debris came, until they could see that it was a slice cut out of a battle ship by ravening rays, sort of like a Tum pulled out of the package, a disk, you know. All the compartments they could see were filled with incomprehensible machinery, now gutted and burned out and empty.
"Looks pretty bad," Jerry mused. "I'll try the radio, just in case." He flicked swiches rapidly and spoke into the microphone. "Hello, hunk of space debris formerly part of a great battleship. Do you read me? We are close by and offer help. Over."
The speaker fried and burbled with the static of distant stars, but otherwise all was silent.
"Try 176.45 kilocycles," John suggested. "That is the emergency band a lot of spaceships use. These people may know it too."
Jerry repeated his message on this frequency, and this time, when he threw the switches, a distant hissing could be heard and a weak voice.
"Can read you. Oxygen almost gone. Open space lock so I can board. Sole survivor."
"Jump to it, guys!" John ordered and the smoothworking team functioned as if it were running on oiled ball bearings. The magnet ray operators drew the clumsy piece of junk close while the cargo operator opened the outer hatch. A moment later there was a thump and a bump as something entered the lock, and the outer hatch closed. Mighty pumps throbbed as they pushed air back into the lock chamber, and when the pressure had been equalized, the inner door opened automatically, and every eye was upon it. What would the alien possessor of the weak voice look like?
He looked a lot different from anything their wildest speculations could have imagined. Bending, to get through the opening, came an individual who stood at least eight feet tall from the top of his head crest to the bottom of his clawed feet. And he was impressive! Just as mankind enjoys a sort of simian ancestry, primates and all that, and the Bachtrians emerged from the swamps in froggy form, so did this strange individual obviously have a certain animal phylum or species in his background. Birds! And what a bird he was! His immense yellow beak would tear open a boiler plate as easily as an aluminum beer can. His eyes were piercing and hooded, like a great hawk or eagle. He wore no clothes, nor did he need any, for his magnificent plumage was clothing enough. His large wings were folded on his back, and the claws on his three immense toes tore gaping rents in the carpet as he walked. Unlike most birds, however, he had two well-built arms, as well as wings, and he hooked his well-built thumbs into his wide gunbelt as he strode into their midst and stopped.
"Who is master here?" he asked with the air of one who commands.
"I am Galaxy Ranger Number One," John said, striding over fearlessly to stand before the giant figure. "Men call me John."
"Greetings, John. I am Troceps of the Fligigleh and am called that only by my friends. You have saved my life, therefore, I owe you a life. Whom shall I kill?" His fingers twitched at his gun butt.
"Hold on, Troceps, old chicken, we don't hold with that sort of thing. Thanks will do, and the slate is wiped clean."
"I say thanks and your slate is wiped clean, John old ape, but mine is not. If I can kill no one for you, why, then I must kill myself."
His gun leaped from the holster, and he poked it against one staring eye while John leaned forward to restrain him.
"No need for that sort of thing here. Get feathers and blood all over the place. Wait a bit and we'll get you a prisoner or a spy to knock off. . . ."
"Spy, now that is a good idea." He glared around the room with hawklike stare, and all there swayed away from that merciless glance. "Ah, yes, there is always one, count on that. A weak creature, ex-slave, who has sold out to his decadent master on his miserable home planet who reports directly to the loathsome Lortonoi. He is filled with fear now, but he is not sure it is he I am talking about. I laugh in his beak, I mean teeth! He knows not the penetrating power of my thoughts, thought power that is even stronger than the Lortonoi. Therefore, I give him a clue so he will know I know he knows I know. The clue is this – your mother's maiden name is Ixstaiclj!"
The krung-field operator jumped up from his station and whipped out his gun, but fast as he was, Troceps was the faster. A single bolt of energy sped from his blaster, and the hapless spy was instant charcoal.
"The debt is paid, and we are even," Troceps proclaimed, blowing into the muzzle of his blaster, then coughing at the smoke that eddied out around his head.
"Well done," John said. "Now, with ceremonies out of the way, could you tell us who you are, what your outfit is, what is going on out there in that space battle, where you come from, that sort of thing? Just so we can get to know you better. And what was that name you mentioned, sounded like Lortonoi? Who are they – friends of yours?"
He smiled cheerfully as he talked and casually loosened his gun in his holster while a whispering sound slithered through the cabin as everyone else loosened their guns in their holsters. There was tension in the air, while all eyes were on the newcomer. Troceps shook his great wings, and a feather came loose. He caught it before it touched the floor and used it to pick his beak with. The silence and tension stretched – and broke suddenly as Troceps put his head back and roared with laughter.
"I should not laugh," he said, laughing and wiping the tears from his eyes with a touch of the feather. "But you are all so transparent. After my demonstration you must realize that I can penetrate the simple mind shield you wear and know your every thought. So you will know mine too, I invite you, the hot one over there with his head sticking out of the floor, to enter my brain and read my innermost thoughts. I see you have great powers of mental strength. Enter – my mind is an open book!"
"Happy to oblige," Lord Prrsi said and clacked his claws in concentration. It took only a matter of moments for him to get in and get out, and his claws clacked the louder. "I say, chaps," he enthused. "This blighter is one of us. His people have been fighting the Lortonoi for simply ages!"