The Variable Man - 4

Total number of words is 4592
Total number of unique words is 1297
47.4 of words are in the 2000 most common words
64.6 of words are in the 5000 most common words
72.8 of words are in the 8000 most common words
Each bar represents the percentage of words per 1000 most common words.
"You can see," Sherikov said finally, waving a chicken leg, "that your
appearance here has been very upsetting to our program. Now that you
know more about us you can see why Commissioner Reinhart was so
interested in destroying you."
Cole nodded.
"Reinhart, you realize, believes that the failure of the SRB machines
is the chief danger to the war effort. But that is nothing!" Sherikov
pushed his plate away noisily, draining his coffee mug. "After all,
wars _can_ be fought without statistical forecasts. The SRB machines
only describe. They're nothing more than mechanical onlookers. In
themselves, they don't affect the course of the war. _We_ make the
war. They only analyze."
Cole nodded.
"More coffee?" Sherikov asked. He pushed the plastic container toward
Cole. "Have some."
Cole accepted another cupful. "Thank you."
"You can see that our real problem is another thing entirely. The
machines only do figuring for us in a few minutes that eventually we
could do for our own selves. They're our servants, tools. Not some
sort of gods in a temple which we go and pray to. Not oracles who can
see into the future for us. They don't see into the future. They only
make statistical predictions--not prophecies. There's a big difference
there, but Reinhart doesn't understand it. Reinhart and his kind have
made such things as the SRB machines into gods. But I have no gods. At
least, not any I can see."
Cole nodded, sipping his coffee.
"I'm telling you all these things because you must understand what
we're up against. Terra is hemmed in on all sides by the ancient
Centauran Empire. It's been out there for centuries, thousands of
years. No one knows how long. It's old--crumbling and rotting. Corrupt
and venal. But it holds most of the galaxy around us, and we can't
break out of the Sol system. I told you about Icarus, and Hedge's work
in ftl flight. We must win the war against Centaurus. We've waited and
worked a long time for this, the moment when we can break out and get
room among the stars for ourselves. Icarus is the deciding weapon. The
data on Icarus tipped the SRB odds in our favor--for the first time in
history. Success in the war against Centaurus will depend on Icarus,
not on the SRB machines. You see?"
Cole nodded.
"However, there is a problem. The data on Icarus which I turned over
to the machines specified that Icarus would be completed in ten days.
More than half that time has already passed. Yet, we are no closer to
wiring up the control turret than we were then. The turret baffles
us." Sherikov grinned ironically. "Even _I_ have tried my hand at the
wiring, but with no success. It's intricate--and small. Too many
technical bugs not worked out. We are building only one, you
understand. If we had many experimental models worked out before--"
"But this is the experimental model," Cole said.
"And built from the designs of a man dead four years--who isn't here
to correct us. We've made Icarus with our own hands, down here in the
labs. And he's giving us plenty of trouble." All at once Sherikov got
to his feet. "Let's go down to the lab and look at him."
They descended to the floor below, Sherikov leading the way. Cole
stopped short at the lab door.
"Quite a sight," Sherikov agreed. "We keep him down here at the bottom
for safety's sake. He's well protected. Come on in. We have work to
do."
In the center of the lab Icarus rose up, the gray squat cylinder that
someday would flash through space at a speed of thousands of times
that of light, toward the heart of Proxima Centaurus, over four light
years away. Around the cylinder groups of men in uniform were laboring
feverishly to finish the remaining work.
"Over here. The turret." Sherikov led Cole over to one side of the
room. "It's guarded. Centauran spies are swarming everywhere on Terra.
They see into everything. But so do we. That's how we get information
for the SRB machines. Spies in both systems."
The translucent globe that was the control turret reposed in the
center of a metal stand, an armed guard standing at each side. They
lowered their guns as Sherikov approached.
"We don't want anything to happen to this," Sherikov said. "Everything
depends on it." He put out his hand for the globe. Half way to it his
hand stopped, striking against an invisible presence in the air.
Sherikov laughed. "The wall. Shut it off. It's still on."
One of the guards pressed a stud at his wrist. Around the globe the
air shimmered and faded.
"Now." Sherikov's hand closed over the globe. He lifted it carefully
from its mount and brought it out for Cole to see. "This is the
control turret for our enormous friend here. This is what will slow
him down when he's inside Centaurus. He slows down and re-enters this
universe. Right in the heart of the star. Then--no more Centaurus."
Sherikov beamed. "And no more Armun."
But Cole was not listening. He had taken the globe from Sherikov and
was turning it over and over, running his hands over it, his face
close to its surface. He peered down into its interior, his face rapt
and intent.
"You can't see the wiring. Not without lenses." Sherikov signalled for
a pair of micro-lenses to be brought. He fitted them on Cole's nose,
hooking them behind his ears. "Now try it. You can control the
magnification. It's set for 1000X right now. You can increase or
decrease it."
Cole gasped, swaying back and forth. Sherikov caught hold of him. Cole
gazed down into the globe, moving his head slightly, focussing the
glasses.
"It takes practice. But you can do a lot with them. Permits you to do
microscopic wiring. There are tools to go along, you understand."
Sherikov paused, licking his lip. "We can't get it done correctly.
Only a few men can wire circuits using the micro-lenses and the little
tools. We've tried robots, but there are too many decisions to be
made. Robots can't make decisions. They just react."
Cole said nothing. He continued to gaze into the interior of the
globe, his lips tight, his body taut and rigid. It made Sherikov feel
strangely uneasy.
"You look like one of those old fortune tellers," Sherikov said
jokingly, but a cold shiver crawled up his spine. "Better hand it back
to me." He held out his hand.
Slowly, Cole returned the globe. After a time he removed the
micro-lenses, still deep in thought.
"Well?" Sherikov demanded. "You know what I want. I want you to wire
this damn thing up." Sherikov came close to Cole, his big face hard.
"You can do it, I think. I could tell by the way you held it--and the
job you did on the children's toy, of course. You could wire it up
right, and in five days. Nobody else can. And if it's not wired up
Centaurus will keep on running the galaxy and Terra will have to sweat
it out here in the Sol system. One tiny mediocre sun, one dust mote
out of a whole galaxy."
Cole did not answer.
Sherikov became impatient. "Well? What do you say?"
"What happens if I don't wire this control for you? I mean, what
happens to _me_?"
"Then I turn you over to Reinhart. Reinhart will kill you instantly.
He thinks you're dead, killed when the Albertine Range was
annihilated. If he had any idea I had saved you--"
"I see."
"I brought you down here for one thing. If you wire it up I'll have
you sent back to your own time continuum. If you don't--"
Cole considered, his face dark and brooding.
"What do you have to lose? You'd already be dead, if we hadn't pulled
you out of those hills."
"Can you really return me to my own time?"
"Of course!"
"Reinhart won't interfere?"
Sherikov laughed. "What can he do? How can he stop me? I have my own
men. You saw them. They landed all around you. You'll be returned."
"Yes. I saw your men."
"Then you agree?"
"I agree," Thomas Cole said. "I'll wire it for you. I'll complete the
control turret--within the next five days."


IV

Three days later Joseph Dixon slid a closed-circuit message plate
across the desk to his boss.
"Here. You might be interested in this."
Reinhart picked the plate up slowly. "What is it? You came all the way
here to show me this?"
"That's right."
"Why didn't you vidscreen it?"
Dixon smiled grimly. "You'll understand when you decode it. It's from
Proxima Centaurus."
"Centaurus!"
"Our counter-intelligence service. They sent it direct to me. Here,
I'll decode it for you. Save you the trouble."
Dixon came around behind Reinhart's desk. He leaned over the
Commissioner's shoulder, taking hold of the plate and breaking the
seal with his thumb nail.
"Hang on," Dixon said. "This is going to hit you hard. According to
our agents on Armun, the Centauran High Council has called an
emergency session to deal with the problem of Terra's impending
attack. Centauran relay couriers have reported to the High Council
that the Terran bomb Icarus is virtually complete. Work on the bomb
has been rushed through final stages in the underground laboratories
under the Ural Range, directed by the Terran physicist Peter
Sherikov."
"So I understand from Sherikov himself. Are you surprised the
Centaurans know about the bomb? They have spies swarming over Terra.
That's no news."
"There's more." Dixon traced the message plate grimly, with an
unsteady finger. "The Centauran relay couriers reported that Peter
Sherikov brought an expert mechanic out of a previous time continuum
to complete the wiring of the turret!"
Reinhart staggered, holding on tight to the desk. He closed his eyes,
gasping.
"The variable man is still alive," Dixon murmured. "I don't know how.
Or why. There's nothing left of the Albertines. And how the hell did
the man get half way around the world?"
Reinhart opened his eyes slowly, his face twisting. "Sherikov! He must
have removed him before the attack. I told Sherikov the attack was
forthcoming. I gave him the exact hour. He had to get help--from the
variable man. He couldn't meet his promise otherwise."
Reinhart leaped up and began to pace back and forth. "I've already
informed the SRB machines that the variable man has been destroyed.
The machines now show the original 7-6 ratio in our favor. But the
ratio is based on false information."
"Then you'll have to withdraw the false data and restore the original
situation."
"No." Reinhart shook his head. "I can't do that. The machines must be
kept functioning. We can't allow them to jam again. It's too
dangerous. If Duffe should become aware that--"
"What are you going to do, then?" Dixon picked up the message plate.
"You can't leave the machines with false data. That's treason."
"The data can't be withdrawn! Not unless equivalent data exists to
take its place." Reinhart paced angrily back and forth. "Damn it, I
was _certain_ the man was dead. This is an incredible situation. He
must be eliminated--at any cost."
Suddenly Reinhart stopped pacing. "The turret. It's probably finished
by this time. Correct?"
Dixon nodded slowly in agreement. "With the variable man helping,
Sherikov has undoubtedly completed work well ahead of schedule."
Reinhart's gray eyes flickered. "Then he's no longer of any use--even
to Sherikov. We could take a chance.... Even if there were active
opposition...."
"What's this?" Dixon demanded. "What are you thinking about?"
"How many units are ready for immediate action? How large a force can
we raise without notice?"
"Because of the war we're mobilized on a twenty-four hour basis. There
are seventy air units and about two hundred surface units. The balance
of the Security forces have been transferred to the line, under
military control."
"Men?"
"We have about five thousand men ready to go, still on Terra. Most of
them in the process of being transferred to military transports. I can
hold it up at any time."
"Missiles?"
"Fortunately, the launching tubes have not yet been disassembled.
They're still here on Terra. In another few days they'll be moving out
for the Colonial fracas."
"Then they're available for immediate use?"
"Yes."
"Good." Reinhart locked his hands, knotting his fingers harshly
together in sudden decision. "That will do exactly. Unless I am
completely wrong, Sherikov has only a half-dozen air units and no
surface cars. And only about two hundred men. Some defense shields, of
course--"
"What are you planning?"
Reinhart's face was gray and hard, like stone. "Send out orders for
all available Security units to be unified under your immediate
command. Have them ready to move by four o'clock this afternoon. We're
going to pay a visit," Reinhart stated grimly. "A surprise visit. On
Peter Sherikov."
* * * * *
"Stop here," Reinhart ordered.
The surface car slowed to a halt. Reinhart peered cautiously out,
studying the horizon ahead.
On all sides a desert of scrub grass and sand stretched out. Nothing
moved or stirred. To the right the grass and sand rose up to form
immense peaks, a range of mountains without end, disappearing finally
into the distance. The Urals.
"Over there," Reinhart said to Dixon, pointing. "See?"
"No."
"Look hard. It's difficult to spot unless you know what to look for.
Vertical pipes. Some kind of vent. Or periscopes."
Dixon saw them finally. "I would have driven past without noticing."
"It's well concealed. The main labs are a mile down. Under the range
itself. It's virtually impregnable. Sherikov had it built years ago,
to withstand any attack. From the air, by surface cars, bombs,
missiles--"
"He must feel safe down there."
"No doubt." Reinhart gazed up at the sky. A few faint black dots could
be seen, moving lazily about, in broad circles. "Those aren't ours,
are they? I gave orders--"
"No. They're not ours. All our units are out of sight. Those belong to
Sherikov. His patrol."
Reinhart relaxed. "Good." He reached over and flicked on the vidscreen
over the board of the car. "This screen is shielded? It can't be
traced?"
"There's no way they can spot it back to us. It's non-directional."
The screen glowed into life. Reinhart punched the combination keys and
sat back to wait.
After a time an image formed on the screen. A heavy face, bushy black
beard and large eyes.
Peter Sherikov gazed at Reinhart with surprised curiosity.
"Commissioner! Where are you calling from? What--"
"How's the work progressing?" Reinhart broke in coldly. "Is Icarus
almost complete?"
Sherikov beamed with expansive pride. "He's done, Commissioner. Two
days ahead of time. Icarus is ready to be launched into space. I tried
to call your office, but they told me--"
"I'm not at my office." Reinhart leaned toward the screen. "Open your
entrance tunnel at the surface. You're about to receive visitors."
Sherikov blinked. "Visitors?"
"I'm coming down to see you. About Icarus. Have the tunnel opened for
me at once."
"Exactly where are you, Commissioner?"
"On the surface."
Sherikov's eyes flickered. "Oh? But--"
"Open up!" Reinhart snapped. He glanced at his wristwatch. "I'll be at
the entrance in five minutes. I expect to find it ready for me."
"Of course." Sherikov nodded in bewilderment. "I'm always glad to see
you, Commissioner. But I--"
"Five minutes, then." Reinhart cut the circuit. The screen died. He
turned quickly to Dixon. "You stay up here, as we arranged. I'll go
down with one company of police. You understand the necessity of exact
timing on this?"
"We won't slip up. Everything's ready. All units are in their places."
"Good." Reinhart pushed the door open for him. "You join your
directional staff. I'll proceed toward the tunnel entrance."
"Good luck." Dixon leaped out of the car, onto the sandy ground. A
gust of dry air swirled into the car around Reinhart. "I'll see you
later."
Reinhart slammed the door. He turned to the group of police crouched
in the rear of the car, their guns held tightly. "Here we go,"
Reinhart murmured. "Hold on."
The car raced across the sandy ground, toward the tunnel entrance to
Sherikov's underground fortress.
Sherikov met Reinhart at the bottom end of the tunnel, where the
tunnel opened up onto the main floor of the lab.
The big Pole approached, his hand out, beaming with pride and
satisfaction. "It's a pleasure to see you, Commissioner. This is an
historic moment."
Reinhart got out of the car, with his group of armed Security police.
"Calls for a celebration, doesn't it?" he said.
"That's a good idea! We're two days ahead, Commissioner. The SRB
machines will be interested. The odds should change abruptly at the
news."
"Let's go down to the lab. I want to see the control turret myself."
A shadow crossed Sherikov's face. "I'd rather not bother the workmen
right now, Commissioner. They've been under a great load, trying to
complete the turret in time. I believe they're putting a few last
finishes on it at this moment."
"We can view them by vidscreen. I'm curious to see them at work. It
must be difficult to wire such minute relays."
Sherikov shook his head. "Sorry, Commissioner. No vidscreen on them. I
won't allow it. This is too important. Our whole future depends on
it."
Reinhart snapped a signal to his company of police. "Put this man
under arrest."
Sherikov blanched. His mouth fell open. The police moved quickly
around him, their gun tubes up, jabbing into him. He was searched
rapidly, efficiently. His gun belt and concealed energy screen were
yanked off.
"What's going on?" Sherikov demanded, some color returning to his
face. "What are you doing?"
"You're under arrest for the duration of the war. You're relieved of
all authority. From now on one of my men will operate Designs. When
the war is over you'll be tried before the Council and President
Duffe."
Sherikov shook his head, dazed. "I don't understand. What's this all
about? Explain it to me, Commissioner. What's happened?"
Reinhart signalled to his police. "Get ready. We're going into the
lab. We may have to shoot our way in. The variable man should be in
the area of the bomb, working on the control turret."
Instantly Sherikov's face hardened. His black eyes glittered, alert
and hostile.
Reinhart laughed harshly. "We received a counter-intelligence report
from Centaurus. I'm surprised at you, Sherikov. You know the
Centaurans are everywhere with their relay couriers. You should have
known--"
Sherikov moved. Fast. All at once he broke away from the police,
throwing his massive body against them. They fell, scattering.
Sherikov ran--directly at the wall. The police fired wildly. Reinhart
fumbled frantically for his gun tube, pulling it up.
Sherikov reached the wall, running head down, energy beams flashing
around him. He struck against the wall--and vanished.
"Down!" Reinhart shouted. He dropped to his hands and knees. All
around him his police dived for the floor. Reinhart cursed wildly,
dragging himself quickly toward the door. They had to get out, and
right away. Sherikov had escaped. A false wall, an energy barrier set
to respond to his pressure. He had dashed through it to safety. He--
From all sides an inferno burst, a flaming roar of death surging over
them, around them, on every side. The room was alive with blazing
masses of destruction, bouncing from wall to wall. They were caught
between four banks of power, all of them open to full discharge. A
trap--a death trap.
* * * * *
Reinhart reached the hall gasping for breath. He leaped to his feet. A
few Security police followed him. Behind them, in the flaming room,
the rest of the company screamed and struggled, blasted out of
existence by the leaping bursts of power.
Reinhart assembled his remaining men. Already, Sherikov's guards were
forming. At one end of the corridor a snub-barreled robot gun was
maneuvering into position. A siren wailed. Guards were running on all
sides, hurrying to battle stations.
The robot gun opened fire. Part of the corridor exploded, bursting
into fragments. Clouds of choking debris and particles swept around
them. Reinhart and his police retreated, moving back along the
corridor.
They reached a junction. A second robot gun was rumbling toward them,
hurrying to get within range. Reinhart fired carefully, aiming at its
delicate control. Abruptly the gun spun convulsively. It lashed
against the wall, smashing itself into the unyielding metal. Then it
collapsed in a heap, gears still whining and spinning.
"Come on." Reinhart moved away, crouching and running. He glanced at
his watch. _Almost time._ A few more minutes. A group of lab guards
appeared ahead of them. Reinhart fired. Behind him his police fired
past him, violet shafts of energy catching the group of guards as they
entered the corridor. The guards spilled apart, falling and twisting.
Part of them settled into dust, drifting down the corridor. Reinhart
made his way toward the lab, crouching and leaping, pushing past heaps
of debris and remains, followed by his men. "Come on! Don't stop!"
* * * * *
Suddenly from around them the booming, enlarged voice of Sherikov
thundered, magnified by rows of wall speakers along the corridor.
Reinhart halted, glancing around.
"Reinhart! You haven't got a chance. You'll never get back to the
surface. Throw down your guns and give up. You're surrounded on all
sides. You're a mile, under the surface."
Reinhart threw himself into motion, pushing into billowing clouds of
particles drifting along the corridor. "Are you sure, Sherikov?" he
grunted.
Sherikov laughed, his harsh, metallic peals rolling in waves against
Reinhart's eardrums. "I don't want to have to kill you, Commissioner.
You're vital to the war: I'm sorry you found out about the variable
man. I admit we overlooked the Centauran espionage as a factor in
this. But now that you know about him--"
Suddenly Sherikov's voice broke off. A deep rumble had shaken the
floor, a lapping vibration that shuddered through the corridor.
Reinhart sagged with relief. He peered through the clouds of debris,
making out the figures on his watch. Right on time. Not a second late.
The first of the hydrogen missiles, launched from the Council
buildings on the other side of the world, were beginning to arrive.
The attack had begun.
At exactly six o'clock Joseph Dixon, standing on the surface four
miles from the entrance tunnel, gave the sign to the waiting units.
The first job was to break down Sherikov's defense screens. The
missiles had to penetrate without interference. At Dixon's signal a
fleet of thirty Security ships dived from a height of ten miles,
swooping above the mountains, directly over the underground
laboratories. Within five minutes the defense screens had been
smashed, and all the tower projectors leveled flat. Now the mountains
were virtually unprotected.
"So far so good," Dixon murmured, as he watched from his secure
position. The fleet of Security ships roared back, their work done.
Across the face of the desert the police surface cars were crawling
rapidly toward the entrance tunnel, snaking from side to side.
Meanwhile, Sherikov's counter-attack had begun to go into operation.
Guns mounted among the hills opened fire. Vast columns of flame burst
up in the path of the advancing cars. The cars hesitated and
retreated, as the plain was churned up by a howling vortex, a
thundering chaos of explosions. Here and there a car vanished in a
cloud of particles. A group of cars moving away suddenly scattered,
caught up by a giant wind that lashed across them and swept them up
into the air.
Dixon gave orders to have the cannon silenced. The police air arm
again swept overhead, a sullen roar of jets that shook the ground
below. The police ships divided expertly and hurtled down on the
cannon protecting the hills.
The cannon forgot the surface cars and lifted their snouts to meet the
attack. Again and again the airships came, rocking the mountains with
titanic blasts.
The guns became silent. Their echoing boom diminished, died away
reluctantly, as bombs took critical toll of them.
Dixon watched with satisfaction as the bombing came to an end. The
airships rose in a thick swarm, black gnats shooting up in triumph
from a dead carcass. They hurried back as emergency anti-aircraft
robot guns swung into position and saturated the sky with blazing
puffs of energy.
Dixon checked his wristwatch. The missiles were already on the way
from North America. Only a few minutes remained.
The surface cars, freed by the successful bombing, began to regroup
for a new frontal attack. Again they crawled forward, across the
burning plain, bearing down cautiously on the battered wall of
mountains, heading toward the twisted wrecks that had been the ring of
defense guns. Toward the entrance tunnel.
An occasional cannon fired feebly at them. The cars came grimly on.
Now, in the hollows of the hills, Sherikov's troops were hurrying to
the surface to meet the attack. The first car reached the shadow of
the mountains....
A deafening hail of fire burst loose. Small robot guns appeared
everywhere, needle barrels emerging from behind hidden screens, trees
and shrubs, rocks, stones. The police cars were caught in a withering
cross-fire, trapped at the base of the hills.
Down the slopes Sherikov's guards raced, toward the stalled cars.
Clouds of heat rose up and boiled across the plain as the cars fired
up at the running men. A robot gun dropped like a slug onto the plain
and screamed toward the cars, firing as it came.
Dixon twisted nervously. Only a few minutes. Any time, now. He shaded
his eyes and peered up at the sky. No sign of them yet. He wondered
about Reinhart. No signal had come up from below. Clearly, Reinhart
had run into trouble. No doubt there was desperate fighting going on
in the maze of underground tunnels, the intricate web of passages that
honeycombed the earth below the mountains.
In the air, Sherikov's few defense ships were taking on the police
raiders. Outnumbered, the defense ships darted rapidly, wildly,
putting up a futile fight.
Sherikov's guards streamed out onto the plain. Crouching and running,
they advanced toward the stalled cars. The police airships screeched
down at them, guns thundering.
Dixon held his breath. When the missiles arrived--
The first missile struck. A section of the mountain vanished, turned
to smoke and foaming gasses. The wave of heat slapped Dixon across the
face, spinning him around. Quickly he re-entered his ship and took
off, shooting rapidly away from the scene. He glanced back. A second
and third missile had arrived. Great gaping pits yawned among the
mountains, vast sections missing like broken teeth. Now the missiles
could penetrate to the underground laboratories below.
On the ground, the surface cars halted beyond the danger area, waiting
for the missile attack to finish. When the eighth missile had struck,
the cars again moved forward. No more missiles fell.
Dixon swung his ship around, heading back toward the scene. The
laboratory was exposed. The top sections of it had been ripped open.
The laboratory lay like a tin can, torn apart by mighty explosions,
its first floors visible from the air. Men and cars were pouring down
into it, fighting with the guards swarming to the surface.
* * * * *
Dixon watched intently. Sherikov's men were bringing up heavy guns,
big robot artillery. But the police ships were diving again.
Sherikov's defensive patrols had been cleaned from the sky. The police
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Next - The Variable Man - 5
  • Parts
  • The Variable Man - 1
    Total number of words is 4567
    Total number of unique words is 1379
    45.8 of words are in the 2000 most common words
    65.1 of words are in the 5000 most common words
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  • The Variable Man - 2
    Total number of words is 4758
    Total number of unique words is 1318
    48.6 of words are in the 2000 most common words
    67.0 of words are in the 5000 most common words
    75.2 of words are in the 8000 most common words
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  • The Variable Man - 3
    Total number of words is 4738
    Total number of unique words is 1339
    49.8 of words are in the 2000 most common words
    67.5 of words are in the 5000 most common words
    76.4 of words are in the 8000 most common words
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  • The Variable Man - 4
    Total number of words is 4592
    Total number of unique words is 1297
    47.4 of words are in the 2000 most common words
    64.6 of words are in the 5000 most common words
    72.8 of words are in the 8000 most common words
    Each bar represents the percentage of words per 1000 most common words.
  • The Variable Man - 5
    Total number of words is 4639
    Total number of unique words is 1375
    46.1 of words are in the 2000 most common words
    63.9 of words are in the 5000 most common words
    74.1 of words are in the 8000 most common words
    Each bar represents the percentage of words per 1000 most common words.
  • The Variable Man - 6
    Total number of words is 1711
    Total number of unique words is 693
    55.1 of words are in the 2000 most common words
    69.7 of words are in the 5000 most common words
    77.6 of words are in the 8000 most common words
    Each bar represents the percentage of words per 1000 most common words.