Second stage Lensman Read Online Free PDF

Galactic Patrol. It would hurt it, of course, but
    it wouldn't cripple it seriously. The other planets of Civilization could, and certainly
    would, go ahead with it."
         "My thought exactly," from Kinnison. "I check you to the proverbial nineteen
    decimals."
         "Well, there's a lot to do and I'd better be getting at it." Haynes and Lacy got up to
    go. "See you in my office when convenient?"
         "I'll be there as soon as I tell Clarrissa goodbye."
     
         At about the same time that Haynes and Lacy went to Nurse MacDougall's room,
    Worsel the Velantian arrowed downward through the atmosphere toward a certain flat
    roof. Leather wings shot out with a snap and in a blast of wind— Velantians can stand
    eleven Tellurian gravities—he came in his customary appalling landing and dived
    unconcernedly down a nearby shaft. Into a corridor, along which he wriggled blithely to
    the office of his old friend, Master Technician La-Verne Thorndyke.
         "Verne, I have been thinking," he announced, as he coiled all but about six feet of
    his sinuous length into a tight spiral upon the rug and thrust out half a dozen weirdly
    stalked eyes.
         "That's nothing new," Thorndyke countered. No human mind can sympathize with
    or even remotely understand the Velantian passion for solid weeks of intense,
    uninterrupted concentration upon a single thought. "What about this time? The
    whichness of the why?"
         "That is the trouble with you Tellurians," Worsel grumbled. "Not only do you not
    know how to think, but you . . ."
         "Hold on!" Thorndyke interrupted, unimpressed. "If you've got anything to say, old
    snake, why not say it? Why circumnavigate total space before you get to the point?"
         "I have been thinking about thought. . ."
         "So what?" the technician derided. "That's even worse. That's a logarithmic spiral
    if there ever was one."
         "Thought—and Kinnison," Worsel declared, with finality.
         "Kinnison? Oh—that's different. I'm interested—very much so. Go ahead."
         "And his weapons. His DeLameters, you know.".
         "No, I don't know, and you know I don't know. What about them?"
         "They are so . . . so . . . so obvious." The Velantian finally found the exact
    thought he wanted. "So big, and so clumsy, and so obtrusive. So inefficient, so wasteful
    of power. No subtlety—no finesse."
         "But that's far and away the best hand-weapon that has ever been developed!"
    Thorndyke protested.
         "True. Nevertheless, a millionth of that power, properly applied, could be at least
    a million times as deadly."
         "How?" The Tellurian, although shocked, was dubious.
         "I have reasoned it out that thought, in any organic being, is and must be
    connected with one definite organic compound —this one," the Velantian explained
    didactically, the while there appeared within the technician's mind the space formula of
    an incredibly complex molecule; a formula which seemed to fill not only his mind, but
    the entire room as well. "You will note that it is a large molecule, one of very high
    molecular weight. Thus it is comparatively unstable. A vibration at the resonant
    frequency of any one of its component groups would break it down, and thought would
    therefore cease."
         It took perhaps a minute for the full import of the ghastly thing to sink into
    Thorndyke's mind. Then, every fiber of him flinching from the idea, he began to protest.
         "But he doesn't need it, Worsel. He's got a mind already that can . . ."
         "It takes much mental force to kill," Worsel broke in equably. "By that method one
    can slay only a few at a time, and it is exhausting work. My proposed method would
    require only a minute fraction of a watt of power and scarcely any mental force at all."
         "And it would kill—it would have to. That reaction could not be made reversible."
         "Certainly," Worsel concurred. "I