The Vortex Blaster | Page 8

stripped to the skin and the observer smeared his
every square inch of epidermis with the thick, gooey stuff that was not
only a highly efficient screen against radiation, but also a sovereign
remedy for new radiation burns. He exchanged his goggles for a thicker,
darker, heavier pair. The two bombs arrived and were substituted for
two of the original load.

"I thought of something while I was up there," Cloud informed the
observers then. "Twenty kilograms of duodec is nobody's firecracker,
but it may be the least of what's going to go off. Have you got any idea
of what's going to become of the energy inside that vortex when I blow
it out?"
"Can't say that I have." The Lensman frowned in thought. "No data."
"Neither have I. But I'd say that you better go back to the new
station--the one you were going to move to if it kept on getting worse."
"But the instruments...." the Lensman was thinking, not of the
instruments themselves, which were valueless in comparison with life,
but of the records those instruments would make. Those records were
priceless.
"I'll have everything on the tapes in the flitter," Cloud reminded.
"But suppose...."
"That the flitter stops one, too--or doesn't stop it, rather? In that case,
your back station won't be there, either, so it won't make any
difference." How mistaken Cloud was!
"QX," the Chief decided. "We'll leave when you do--just in case."
* * * * *
Again in air, Cloud found that the activity, while still high, was not too
high, but that it was fluctuating too rapidly. He could not get even five
seconds of trustworthy prediction, to say nothing of ten. So he waited,
as close as he dared remain to that horrible center of disintegration.
The flitter hung poised in air, motionless, upon softly hissing under-jets.
Cloud knew to a fraction his height above the ground. He knew to a
fraction his distance from the vortex. He knew with equal certainty the
density of the atmosphere and the exact velocity and direction of the
wind. Hence, since he could also read closely enough the momentary

variations in the cyclonic storms within the crater, he could compute
very easily the course and velocity necessary to land the bomb in the
exact center of the vortex at any given instant of time. The hard
part--the thing that no one had as yet succeeded in doing--was to
predict, for a time far enough ahead to be of any use, a usably close
approximation to the vortex's quantitative activity. For, as has been said,
he had to over-blast, rather than under-, if he could not hit it "on the
nose:" to under-blast would scatter it all over the state.
Therefore Cloud concentrated upon the dials and gauges before him;
concentrated with every fiber of his being and every cell of his brain.
Suddenly, almost imperceptibly, the Sigma curve gave signs of
flattening out. In that instant Cloud's mind pounced. Simultaneous
equations: nine of them, involving nine unknowns. An integration in
four dimensions. No matter--Cloud did not solve them laboriously, one
factor at a time. Without knowing how he had arrived at it, he knew the
answer; just as the Posenian or the Rigellian is able to perceive every
separate component particle of an opaque, three-dimensional solid, but
without being able to explain to anyone how his sense of perception
works. It just is, that's all.
Anyway, by virtue of whatever sense or ability it is which makes a
mathematical prodigy what he is, Cloud knew that in exactly eight and
three-tenths seconds from that observed instant the activity of the
vortex would be slightly--but not too far--under the coefficient of his
heaviest bomb. Another flick of his mental trigger and he knew the
exact velocity he would require. His hand swept over the studs, his
right foot tramped down, hard, upon the firing lever; and, even as the
quivering flitter shot forward under eight Tellurian gravities of
acceleration, he knew to the thousandth of a second how long he would
have to hold that acceleration to attain that velocity. While not really
long--in seconds--it was much too long for comfort. It took him much
closer to the vortex than he wanted to be; in fact, it took him right out
over the crater itself.
But he stuck to the calculated course, and at the precisely correct
instant he cut his drive and released his largest bomb. Then, so rapidly

that it was one blur of speed, he again kicked on his eight G's of drive
and started to whirl around as only a speedster or a flitter can whirl.
Practically unconscious from the terrific resultant of the linear and
angular accelerations, he ejected the two smaller bombs. He did not
care particularly where they lit,