Clarrissa Kinnison did not know, then or ever, did not have even the faintest inkling of what she did or of how she did it. Nor, tied to her by bonds of heritage, love, and sympathy though they were and of immense powers of mind though they were, did any of the Five succeed, until after many years had passed, in elucidating the many complex phenomena involved. Even Mentor, the ancient Arisian sage, never did understand.
All that any of them knew was that an infinitely loving and intensely suffering woman, stretched rigidly upon a bed, hurled out through space and time a passionately questing thought—a thought behind which she put everything she had.
Clarrissa Kinnison, Red Lensman, had much—and every iota of that impressive sum total ached for, yearned for, and insistently demanded her Kim—her one and only Kim. Kim her husband; Kim the father of her children; Kim her lover; Kim her other half; Kim her all in all for so many perfect years.
"Kim! KIM! Wherever you are, Kim, or whenever, listen! Listen and answer! Hear me—you must hear me calling—I need you, Kim, from the bottom of my soul. Kim! My Kim! KIM!!"
Through countless spaces and through untellable times that poignant thought sped; driven by a woman's fears, a woman's hopes, a woman's all-surpassing love; urged ever onward and ever outward by the irresistible force of a magnificent woman's frankly bared soul.
Outward ... farther ... farther out ... farther—
Clarrissa's body went limp upon her bed. Her heart slowed; her breathing almost stopped. Kit probed quickly, finding that those secret cells into which he had scarcely dared to glance were now empty and bare. Even the Red Lensman's tremendous reserves of vital force were exhausted.
"Mother, come back!"
"Come back to us!"