"No, Miss MacDougall. It's Blakeslee. Sorry——"
"Oh, I'm glad of that. That means that everything is settled. Where's the Lensman—in bed?"
"He has gone, miss."
"Gone! Without a word? Where?"
"He didn't say."
"He wouldn't, of course." The nurse turned away, exclaiming inaudibly, "Gone! I'd like to cuff him for that, the lug! Gone! Why, the great, big, lobsterly clunker!"
XXII.
But Kinnison was not heading for Helmuth's base—yet. He was splitting the ether toward Aldebaran instead, as fast as his speedster could go; and she was one of the fastest things in the galaxy. He had two good reasons for going there before he attempted Boskone's Grand Base: first, to try out his skill upon nonhuman intellects—if he could handle the Wheelmen he was ready to take the far greater hazard; second, he owed those Wheelmen something, and he did not like to call in the whole patrol to help him pay his debts. He could, he thought, handle that base himself.
Knowing exactly where it was, he had no difficulty in finding the volcanic shaft which formed the entrance to that Aldebaranian base. Down that shaft his sense of perception sped. He found the lookout plates and followed their power leads. Gently, carefully, he insinuated his mind into that of the Wheelman at the board, discovering, to his great relief, that that monstrosity was no more difficult to handle than had been the Radeligian observer. Mind or intellect, he found, were not affected at all by the shape of the brains concerned; quality, reach, and power were the essential factors.