Authors: E. E. Smith

Gray Lensman (39 page)

BOOK: Gray Lensman

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"Huh? You know, then?"

"Who doesn't? There may be a few members of some backward race somewhere who don't know all about you and your red-headed sector riot, but I don't know . . ." He was addressing empty air.

Kinnison shot out of the building and, exerting his Gray Lensman's authority, he did a thing which he had always longed boyishly to do but which he had never before really considered doing. He whistled, shrill and piercingly, and waved a Lensed arm, even while he was directing a Lensed thought at the driver of the fast ground-car always inreadiness in front of Haynes' office.

"Base Hospital—full emergency blast!" he ordered, and the Jehu obeyed. That chauffeur loved emergency stuff and the long, low, wide racer took off with a deafening roar of unmuffled exhaust and a scream of tortured, burning rubber. Two projectors flamed, sending out for miles ahead of the bellowing roadster twin beams of a redness so thick as to be felt, not merely seen.

Simultaneously the mighty, four-throated siren began its ululating, raucously overpowering yell, demanding and obtaining right of way over any and all traffic—particularly over police, fire, and other ordinary emergency apparatus—which might think it had some rights upon the street!

"Thanks, Jack—you needn't wait" At the hospital's door Kinnison rendered tribute to fast service and strode along a corridor. An express elevator whisked him up to the seventy-second floor, and there his haste departed completely. This was Nurses' Quarters, he realized suddenly.

He had no more business there than . . . yes he did, too. He found Room 7295 and rapped upon its door. Boldly, he intended, but the resultant sound was surprisingly small.

"Come in!" called a clear contralto. Then, after a moment:
"Come in!"
more sharply; but the Lensman did not, could not obey the summons. She might be . . . dammitall, he
didn't
have any business on this floor! Why hadn't he called her up or sent her a thought or something . . . ?

Why didn't he think at her now?

The door opened, revealing the mildly annoyed sector chief. At what she saw her hands flew to her throat and her eyes widened in starkly unbelieving rapture.

"KIM!" She shrieked in ecstasy.

"Chris . . . my Chris!" Kinnison whispered unsteadily, and for minutes those two uniformed minions of the Galactic Patrol stood motionless upon the room's threshold, strong young arms straining; nurse's crisp and spotless white crushed unregarded against Lensman's pliant gray.

"Oh . . . I've missed you so terribly, my darling," she crooned. Her voice, always sweetly rich, was pure music.

"You don't know the half of it. This can't be real—nothing
can
feel this good!"

"You
did
come back to me—you really did!" she lilted. "I didn't dare hope you could come so soon."

"I had to." Kinnison drew a deep breath, "I simply couldn't stand it It'll be tough, maybe, but you were right —half a loaf is better man no bread."

"Of course it is!" She released herself—partially—after the first transports of their first embrace and eyed him shrewdly. "Tell me, Kim, did Lacy have a hand in this surprise?"

"Uh-uh," he denied. "I haven't seen him for ages—but jet back! Haynes told me—say, what'll you bet those two old hard-heads haven't been giving us the works?"

"Who are old hard-heads?" Haynes—in person—demanded. So deeply immersed had Kinnison been in his rapturous delirium that even his sense of perception was in abeyance; and there, not two yards from the entranced couple, stood the two old Lensmen under discussion!

The culprits sprang apart, flushing guiltily, but Haynes went on imperturbably, quite as though nothing out of the ordinary had been either said or done:

"We gave you fifteen minutes, then came up to be sure to catch you before you flitted off to the celebration or somewhere. We have matters to discuss."

"QX. Come in, all of you." As she spoke the nurse stood aside in invitation. "You know, don't you, that it's exceedingly much contra Regs for nurses to entertain visitors of the opposite sex in their rooms? Fifty demerits per offense. Most girls never get a chance at even one Gray

"Lensman, and here I've got three!" She giggled infectiously. "Wouldn't it be one for the book for me to get a hundred and fifty black spots for this? And to have Surgeon-Marshal Lacy, Port Admiral Haynes, and Unattached Lensman Kimball Kinnison, all heaved into the clink to boot?

Boy, oh boy, ain't we got fun?"

"Lacy's too old and I'm too moral to be affected by the wiles even of the likes of you, my dear," Haynes explained equably, as he seated himself upon the davenport—the most comfortable thing in the room.

"Old? Moral? Tommyrot!" Lacy glared an "I’ll-see-you-later" look at the admiral, then turned to the nurse. "Don't worry about that, MacDougall. No penalties accrue—Regulations apply only to nurses in the Service . . ."

"And what . . ." she started to blaze, but checked herself and her tone changed instantly.

"Go on—you interest me strangely, sir. I'm just going to love this!" Her eyes sparkled, her voice was vibrant with unconcealed eagerness.

'Told you she was quick on the uptake," Lacy gloated. "Didn't fox her for a second!"

"But say—listen—what's this all about, anyway?" Kinnison demanded.

"Never mind, you'll learn soon enough," from Lacy, and:

"Kinnison, you are very urgently invited to attend a meeting of the Galactic Council tomorrow afternoon," from Haynes.

"Huh? What's up now?" Kinnison protested. His arm tightened about the girl's supple waist and she snuggled closer, a trace of foreboding beginning to dim the eagerness in her eyes.

"Promotion. We want to make you something—galactic coordinator, director, something like that—the job hasn't been named yet. In plain language, the Big Shot of the Second Galaxy, formerly known as Landmark's Nebula."

"But listen, chief ! I couldn't handle such a job as that— I simply haven't got the jets!"

"You always yelp about a dynage deficiency whenever a new job is mentioned, but you deliver the goods. Who else could we wish it onto?"

"Worsel," Kinnison declared with hesitation. "He's . . ."

"Balloon-juice!" snorted the older man.

"Well, then . . . ah . . . er . . ." he stopped. Clarrissa opened her mouth, then shut it, ridiculously, without having uttered a word.

"Go ahead, MacDougall. You're an interested party, you know."

"No." She shook her spectacular head. "I'm not saying a word nor thinking a thought to sway his decision one way or the other. Besides, he'd have to flit around then as much as now."

"Some travel involved, of course," Haynes admitted. "All over that galaxy, some in this one, and back and forth between the two. However, the
Dauntless—
or something newer, bigger, and faster—will be his private yacht, and I don't see why it is either necessary or desirable that his flits be solo."

"Say, I never thought of that!" Kinnison blurted; and as thoughts began to race through his mind of what he could do, with Chris beside him all the time, to straighten out the mess in the Second Galaxy:

"Oh, Kirn!" Clarrissa squealed in ecstasy, squeezing his arm even tighter against her side.

"Hooked!" Lacy chortled in triumph.

"But I'd have to retire!" That thought was the only thorn in Kinnison's whole wreath of roses. "I wouldn't like that."

"Certainly you wouldn't," Haynes agreed. "But remember that all such assignments are conditional, subject to approval, and with a very definite cancellation agreement in case of what the Lensman regards as an emergency. If a Gray Lensman had to give up his right to serve the Patrol in any way he considered himself most able, they'd have to shoot us all before they could make executives out of us. And finally, I don't see how the job we're talking about can be figured as any sort of a retirement. You'll be as active as you are now—yes, more so, unless I miss my guess."

"QX. I'll be there—I'll try it," Kinnison promised.

"Now for some more news," Lacy announced. "Haynes didn't tell you, but he has been made president of the Galactic Council. You are his first appointment. I hate to say anything good about the old scoundrel, but he has one outstanding ability. He doesn't know much or do much himself, but he certainly can pick the men who have to do the work for him!"

"There's something vastly more important than that," Haynes steered the acclaim away from himself.

"Just a minute," Kinnison interposed. "I haven't got this all straight yet. What was the crack about active nurses awhile ago?"

"Why, Doctor Lacy was just intimating that I had resigned, goose," Clarrissa chuckled. "I didn't know a thing about it myself, but I imagine it must have been just before this conference started. Am I right, doctor?" she asked innocently.

"Or tomorrow, or even yesterday—any convenient time will do," Lacy blandly assented.

"You see, young man, MacDougall has been a mighty busy girl, and wedding preparations take time, too. Therefore we have very reluctantly accepted her resignation."

"Especially preparations take time when it's going to be such a wedding as the Patrol is going to throw," Haynes commented. "That was what I was starting to talk about when I was so rudely interrupted."

"Nix! Not in seven thousand years!" Kinnison exploded. "Cancel that, right now—I won't stand for it—I'll not. . ."

"Cancel nothing. Baffle your jets, Kim," the admiral said, firmly. "Bridegrooms are to be seen—just barely visible— but that's all. No voice. Weddings are where the girls really strut their stuff. How about it, you gorgeous young menace to Civilization?"

"I'll say so!" she exclaimed in high animation. "I'd just
love
it, admiral . . ." She broke off, aghast Her face fell. "No, I'll take that back. Kirn's right. Thanks a million, just the same, but. . ."

"But nothing!" Haynes broke in. "I know what's the matter. Don't try to fox an old campaigner, and don't be silly. I said the Patrol was throwing this wedding. All you have to do is participate in the action. Got any money, Kinnison? On you, I mean?"

"No," in surprise. "What would I be doing with money?"

"Here's ten thousand credits—Patrol funds. Take it and . . ."

"He will not!" the nurse stormed. "No! You can't, admiral, really. Why, a bride has
got
to buy her own clothes!"

"She's right, Haynes," Lacy announced. The admiral stared at him in wrathful astonishment and even Clarrissa seemed disappointed at her easy victory. "But listen to this. As surgeon-marshal, et cetera, in recognition of the unselfish services, et cetera, unflinching bravery under fire, et cetera, performances beyond and above requirements or reasonable expectations, et cetera, et cetera; Sector Chief Nurse Clarrissa May MacDougall, upon the occasion of her separation from the Service, is hereby granted a bonus of ten thousand credits. That goes on die record as of hour twelve, today.

"Now, you red-headed young spitfire, if you refuse to accept that bonus I'll cancel your resignation and put you back to work. What do you say?"

"I say thanks, Doctor Lacy. Th . . . thanks a million . . . both of you . . . you're two of the most wonderful men that ever lived, and I . . . I . . . I just
love
you!" The happy girl kissed them both, then turned to Kinnison.

"Let's go and hike about ten miles, shall we, Kirn? I've got to do
something
or I'll explode!"

And the tall Lensman—no longer unattached—and the radiant nurse swung down the hall.

Side by side; in step; heads up; laughing: a beginning symbolical indeed of the life they were to live together.

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