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.But did you saya coldlemon sour?""Uh-huh.Ice-cold.Zero degrees Centigrade.""I will join you, in that case.Thanks."Olmstead opened a frost-lined compartment; took out two half-literbottles; placedthem and his open lunch-box invitingly on the low stone wall."Hm.m.m.Quite a zipper you got there, mister." The troopergazedadmiringly at the luxurious, two-wheeled monster; listened appreciatively toits almostinaudible hum."I've heard about those new supers, but that is the first one Iever saw.Nice.All the comforts of home, eh?""Just about.Sure you won't help me clean up on those sandwiches, beforetheyget stale?"Seated on the wall, the two men ate and talked.If that trooper had knownwhatwas in the box beside his leg he probably would have fallen over backward; buthow washe even to suspect? There was nothing crass or rough or coarse about any ofthe workof any of Boskone's high-level operators.Olmstead drove on to the lake and took up his reservation at theramshacklehotel.He slept, and bright and early the next morning he was up and fishing-- and thispart of the performance he really enjoyed.He knew his stuff and the fish werethere; big,wary, and game.He loved it.At noon he ate, and quite openly and brazenly consigned the "empty" boxto thewatery deep.Even if he had not had so many fish to carry, be was not the typeto lug acheap lunch-box back to town.He fished joyously all afternoon, withoutgetting quite thelimit, and as the sun grazed the horizon he started his putt-putt and skimmedback to thedock.The thing hadn't sent out any radiation yet, Northrop informed himtensely, but itcertainly would, and when it did they'd be ready.There were Lensmen andPatrolmen allover the place, thicker than hair on a dog.And George Olmstead, sighing wearily and yet blissfully anticipatory ofone moreday of enthralling sport, gathered up his equipment and his fish and strolledtoward thePage 181ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlhotel.CHAPTER 17Forty thousand miles from Earth's center the Chicago loafed along a circulararc, inert, ata mere ten thousand miles an hour; a speed which, and not by accident, keptherpractically stationary above a certain point on the planet's surface.Nor wasit by chancethat both Virgil Samms and Roderick Kinnison were aboard.And a dozen or soothercraft, cruisers and such, whose officers were out to put spacetime in theirlogs, wereflitting aimlessly about; but never very far away from the flagship.Andfarther out -- wellout -- a cordon of diesel-powered detector ships swept space to the full limitof theirprodigious reach.The navigating officers of those vessels knew to a nicetythe place andcourse of every ship lawfully in the ether, and the appearance of even oneunscheduledtrace would set in motion a long succession of carefully-planned events.And far below, grazing atmosphere, never very far from the direct.linebetweenthe Chicago and Earth's core, floated a palatial pleasure yacht.And thiscraft carried notone Lensman, or two, but eight; two of whom kept their eyes fixed upon theirobservationplates.They were watching a lunch box resting upon the bottom of a lake."Hasn't it radiated yet?" Roderick Kinnison demanded."Or beenapproached, ormoved?""Not yet," Lyman Cleveland replied, crisply."Neither Northrop's rig normine hasshown any sign of activity."He did not amplify the statement, nor was there need.Mason Northrop wasaMaster Electronicist; Cleveland was perhaps the world's greatest livingexpert.Neither ofthem had detected radiation.Ergo, none existed.Equally certainly the box had not moved, or been moved, or approached."Nochange, Rod," Doctor Frederick Rodebush Lensed the assured thought."Six of ushavebeen watching the plates in five-minute shifts."A few minutes later, however: "Here is a thought which may be ofinterest,"DalNalten the Venerian announced, spraying himself with a couple pints ofwater."It isnatural enough, of course, for any Venerian to be in or on any water he canreach -- Iwould enjoy very much being on or in that lake myself -- but it may not beentirely bycoincidence that one particular Venerian, Ossmen, is visiting this particularlake at thisparticular time.""What!" Nine Lensmen yelled the thought practically as one."Precisely.Ossmen." It was a measure of the Venenan Lensman's concernthatPage 182ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlhe used only two words instead of twenty or thirty."In the red boat with theyellow sail.""Do you see any detector rigs?" Samms asked."He wouldn't need any," DalNalten put in."He will be able to see it.Or,if a littlecolane had been rubbed on it which no Tellurian could have noticed, anyVenerian couldsmell it from one end of that lake to the other.""True.I didn't think of that.It may not have a transmitter after all.""Maybe not, but keep on listening, anyway," the Port Admiral ordered."Bend aplate on Ossmen, and a couple more on the rest of the boats.But Ossmen isclean, yousay, Jack? Not even a spy-ray block?""He couldn't have a block, Dad.It'd give too much away, here on our homegrounds.Likeon Eridan, where their ops could wear anything they could lift, but we had togo naked."He flinched mentally as he recalled his encounter with Hazel the Hell-cat, andNorthropflinched with him."That's right, Rod," Olmstead in his boat below agreed, and ConwayCostigan, inhis room in Northport, concurred.The top-drawer operatives of the enemydepended forsafety upon perfection of technique, not upon crude and dangerous mechanicaldevices."Well, since you're all so sure of it, I'll buy it," and the waiting wenton.Under the slight urge of the light and vagrant breeze, the red boat movedslowlyacross the water.A somnolent, lackadaisical youth, who very evidently carednothingabout where the boat went, sat in its stern, with his left arm draped looselyacross thetiller.Nor was Ossmen any more concerned.His only care, apparently, was toavoidinterference with the fishermen; his under-water jaunts were long, even for aVenerian,and he entered and left the water as smoothly as only a Venerian -- or a seal-- could."However, he could have, and probably has got, a capsule spy-raydetector," Jackoffered, presently."Or, since a Venerian can swallow anything one inchsmaller than akitchen-stove, he could have a whole analyzing station stashed away in hisstomach [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]