by Ed Earl Repp
Reaching the floor, Phil turned to walk up one of the aisles. And all the time his legs carried him slowly along, a strain of logic kept pleading:
"This isn't real! It would have to be a million years old. They don't make things like this anywhere. And the cave-men certainly didn't make them. It isn't real!"
On every side, something rose up to insult his intelligence. Microscopes' of unbelievable power! Phil placed an absolutely blank side under a huge, black instrument and recoiled from a vision of something that looked like a dragon.
Metal that defied gravity! Touching a button beside an iron bar, he saw the bar flow upward and come to rest against the ceiling. "Magnetism!" his brain sneered. He released another bar, grabbed it before it could float away, and carried it to the stair-well. There he let it go. It was last seen drifting into the shadows of the dome.
Transmutation of elements! Here was a wheel of ten spokes, at the end of each spoke a sample of some element! Gold, copper, zinc, lead. Where the hub would have been was a chamber containing a little chunk of sulphur. Phil touched a button beside the gold spoke—and unleashed a miracle. The wheel became a blur; when it stopped, a tiny flake of gold lay in the hub . . .
Almost frightened, Phil Burke fled to the stairway and descended to the third level.
Surgery. Everywhere his eyes rested there were life-sized models of men and women on operating tables. Phil caught an eager breath. Here was his chance to see models of the people who had built this deep well of time!
The most impressive of the displays drew him. Shielded by a great glass bell, four men stood beside a table on which lay a man prepared, apparently for some operation on the heart. The surgeon's heads were covered with glass helmets. Wearing gray, knee-length trousers, their upper bodies were bare, exposing skin of smooth, gold color. In body and feature, they were like present-day men of superior strength and intelligence. As Phil stared, suddenly they began to move.
He didn't ask himself what had started them. He was beyond wondering any longer.
That the surgeons were only clever models was evident by a slight jerkiness of their motions. But man on the table—! Phil's eyes flinched as a scalpel drove through his flesh, and blood spurted. A second surgeon moved forward and deftly clipped the arteries shut. Things happened so fast then that the young National Guardsman completely lost track of his surroundings.
The heart, a pulsing red mass, was taken from the chest cavity and laid on the patient's breast. While swift knives made delicate alterations, Phil held his breath. At length the heart was returned and the surgeons stood back. Then it was that the watcher knew the patient was only a dummy; the sides of the wound drew together, the spilled drops of blood evaporated into the air, and the scene was exactly as it had been before the incision was made.
Phil had had all he wanted of this floor. Through scenes of childbirth, amputation, plastic surgery, limb-grafting, he rushed to the staircase and hurried deeper into the museum.
Each floor he examined brought him a more complete picture of the civilization that was preserved here. They lived in beautiful, park-like cities. Their buildings were of two or three stories and designed for the utmost comfort. When they traveled, they went by swift ground cars or stratoliners. They farmed scientifically and seemed to have control of the weather. Their factories ran automatically. The extension of knowledge was the supreme thing. Euthanasia was practiced. Stringent eugenics was responsible for the perfection of their bodies. Love and marriage were two things the state didn't attempt to control, but propagation was closely regulated.
A new wonder grew upon Phil as he neared the bottom. What kind of machinery ran the models he put into operation? What controlled the air-conditioning system, which he was certain, by the freshness of the air, must exist? It added up to this: Somewhere in the well of time lay a power plant so frictionless it had run for centuries—millenniums! So devoid of vibration that it could neither be heard nor felt.
Phil Burke reached the bottom level in a mental fog. But no exhibits met his questing gaze. To his right stood massive banks of switchboards and control units. Obviously, this was the heart of the whole plant. To the left, one object alone broke the dustless surface of the floor: A raised platform, supporting—a couch.
Was it fear that made Phil want to run, to get out of this place of mysteries? Terror had its foothold in his heart; but his feet moved him forward almost against his will. He crossed the floor and mounted ten steps to the platform. A score of wires and tubes lay beside the couch, the lower end of each passing through the floor to some room beneath. Phil looked at the impression of a body in the deep-piled blue velvet of the couch. Slowly his fingers went down to touch it.
With a choked curse, he withdrew his hand. The velvet was warm! A living body had lain here only a few moments before!
Then someone laughed.
"Did it burn you?” a voice asked.
CHAPTER III
Help from the Past
Against the dark mass of machinery, she stood, tall and dark-haired, the loveliest woman Phil had ever seen. Her gown was of the same blue as the couch. Its cut resembled the graceful Princess pattern of many years ago, emphasizing her high, firm breast. Her face and bosom were a creamy gold, and her eyes, crinkled with amusement, were deep blue. She came across the floor to Phil, and he couldn't move a finger or open his mouth.
"Do I frighten you?" she asked. For the first time, Phil noticed the little carrot-shaped silver instrument she held in her hand, directing it toward him as she spoke. "It is I who should be frightened," she went on. "You are here in your own world, in your own century, and I—"
"Who are you?" the question came out on a long breath from Phil's lungs.
"My name is Avis," the girl told him. "I have lain here longer than I can tell you. The instrument that was to record the centuries as they passed failed to work. Either that, or—it broke when it passed its limit."
Phil’s knees began to shake, and he sat down on the couch.
"Centuries—! People don't live that long," he croaked.
"In suspended animation they do. You broke my long sleep when you opened the door. How did you move it?"
"I—I stumbled on the combination," Phil faltered. "We were digging and—"
"Digging?"
"Yes, laying mines to stop the Borers. We— Good Lord!" Phil started, as recollection came to him. "I've got to get out of here. Page—my partner—will be scared stiff. After I went in the door closed and we couldn't get it open."
"We will both go out—presently," the girl assured him. "But you don't mind if I take a few moments to orient myself—a few questions to learn what has happened?"
Page shook his head. If the world had been coming to an end, he wouldn't have had the heart to say no. Not while woman's beauty—beauty such as Avis'—could sway him. Phil was looking at her and trying to decide whether or not she was a hallucination. Suddenly he reached out and touched her cheek. The flesh was warm and soft.
At her quizzical glance, he grinned sheepishly:
"Don't mind me! But I thought if I could just be sure you aren't ectoplasm, I could breathe easier. I'm not used to finding beautiful women buried in bronze museums, you see—"
A flush that was far from prehistoric dyed Avis' cheeks. Her glance dropped for a moment; then quickly it came back to him.
"I must find out what time, what—" she groped for the term; "what year, what era, are we living in?" she finished.
"Anno Domini, nineteen-forty-eight," Phil replied. "Nineteen hundred and forty-eight years after the birth of Christ."
"Christ? I don't know of him. Was he a king?"
Bitterness stained Phil's eyes darkly.
"The King of Kings! Not a tyrant like those who helped kill Europe. Not like our own General Aubyn—the usurping martinet!
Troubled lines altered the look about the girl's eyes.
"We have much to speak of, and no common basis of understanding," she frowned. "Let me tell you why
this building is here, with all its relics. And then you must tell me all about yourself."
Phil waited. Avis sat beside him on the couch. She laid aside the silver instrument she held, slipping her fingers about his hand. He knew it to be purely a utilitarian gesture, but the thrill he felt was nonetheless enjoyable. Somehow, the carrot-shaped object translated thought waves into a common language. Apparently, the girl could perform the same trick by direct contact. [1]
"The time-meter was designed to measure five hundred thousand years," Avis began slowly. "Since it is broken, I cannot tell how long I have slept, until I have time to discover the temperature of the earth and sun. Then I can approximate the interval since Juyo died.”
"Juyo was the nation into which all nations were blended, after hundreds of years of wars. If you have seen the miniatures and exhibits in this building, you know more of our civilization than I can tell you. We lived in the Golden Age of Earth. The globe was warm enough from inner fires that we never knew such things as ice and snow. We lived for knowledge and beauty—and—love. We could control every phase of our environment. We were absolute masters of our fate. Odd to think that so small a thing as a cloud should destroy Juyo!”
"Yet destroy it, it did, and in the space of three years! A fragment of a dark nebula drifted into the Solar System and cut off ninety percent of our light and heat. Earth cooled rapidly. Millions of souls died from disease and cold. We waited, hoping the cloud would pass. Two years went by, and it did not. The oceans froze. All plant life was killed. For a depth of two miles, Earth froze as hard as steel.
"So one day we knew we must perish. Yet we didn't want to die without leaving our treasures for the men who would someday walk again on our world. Into a hundred museums such as this one, our knowledge was gathered. For each thesaurus a keeper was selected. It was made difficult for future men to enter the repositories, in the hope that they would be safe during the states of barbarism through which men must climb again. We wanted to help men only when they were ready for it."
"Your museum was opened too soon!" Phil broke in bitterly. "Mankind is still in a state of barbarism. We need your help—God knows!—but no world was ever less deserving of it."
Avis' dark eyes searched his face. Phil's head shook.
"The gods are against you, Avis. You left Earth in one set of death throes and you've found it in another. It was a cloud of gas that destroyed Juyo. It's a cloud of steel-jawed worms from the moon that is stopping us. They lay dormant among the lunar craters for centuries. Something—hunger, maybe—aroused them to migrate to Earth. They could have been stopped when they were small, winged cocoons. But they grew. And now they threaten to destroy civilization. It didn't have to happen—but it's happening! Thanks to a plague worse than the worms—dictators!"
"Dictators? What are they?"
"Human devils who set themselves up as gods," ground out Phil Burke. "The trend started in Europe, where three ruthless murderers seized control of their governments and finally forced their doctrines on all the countries of that part of the world. Within the last few years they've succeeded in infecting a large part of our nation with their ideas. When the Borers came, it gave the Fifth Columnists, as we call their spies, a chance to seize control of 'the government. And they've done it, damn them! President Adams left a clear road when he died for General Aubyn and his crowd to declare martial law and take over."
"What has happened in Europe?" Avis asked.
Phil said bitterly: "Europe no longer exists. The dictators refused to cooperate with each other when the invasion came. They made it easy for the Borers to conquer. The same thing is happening in America now. General Aubyn has his own pet plans and won't listen to advice from the greatest military experts in the country. Every day a dozen more cities fall, but he keeps on with his bullheaded course."
"These Borers—" Avis' eyes clouded as he finished speaking. "Are they strong enough to break through metal such as this?" She indicated the walls of the museum.
"Not a chance," Phil grunted. "Even their teeth can't scratch the stuff."
Avis was suddenly smiling.
"Then it will be easy! We can manufacture enough bronzite to surround a great city with walls a hundred feet high and equally deep. Gather everything possible into this city and wait until the Borers turn upon themselves. In a year's time, I promise you there will not be one of the monsters left!"
Phil's eyes lighted like stirred coals.
"Could we do that? Make the metal in such quantities?"
"For a single city, yes. The wall need only be the thickness of paper. But it would be possible to save only a fraction of your population. Still, it is that or complete extinction of the race."
"Of course!" Phil nodded, excitement growing swiftly in him. "An idiot could see that we're heading for doom this way. Isolation is the only way of fighting the plague. Avis—!" He suddenly gripped her fingers tightly. "You'll come with me—talk to Aubyn and his ministers?"
"I've waited a thousand lifetimes to help you," the girl smiled. And Phil, watching the quiet curve of those rich lips, read much into the simple words. With a start, he stood up, shot a glance at his wrist watch.
"Lord! Page has been waiting four hours! We've got to get out there before he has the whole National Guard hammering at the door."
Avis started down the steps with Phil impatiently accompanying her. They hurried to the stairwell and mounted the numberless steps to the dome. Nearing the top, the girl turned to him.
"I will stay here while you bring your General Aubyn," she stated. "There are many things to be done before I leave."
"But if he won't come—?"
Avis handed him the telepathy inductor.
"Present him with this," she said. "He will come."
Phil took it, puzzled. Forestalling further questions, Avis raised her hand and moved it back and forth through the air above the door. Immediately, there was the same grind of machinery, and the door opened.
Phil's eyes had been prepared for the glare of sunlight, but only the dim rays of late twilight reached through the door. While he stood on the threshold, excited voices broke out and someone darted to his side. Page Russell looked as though he had not slept for a week, as he grabbed Phil by the arm. Worry had cut deeply about his eyes.
"Phil—!" he gasped. "In God's name, where—" Then his tongue froze, and he gaped at the girl standing back a few feet. "Who—who's that?" he croaked.
Out of the shadows beyond the door, many men moved to stare. Phil saw a dozen of his fellow Guardsmen in the crowd. Some carried portable torches, others clung to crowbars and pick-axes. When he spoke, it was to the whole group.
"This is Avis," he said quietly. "I'll leave it to her to explain just who she is and why she is here. But I'll tell you this much myself: She's offered the first sensible plan for fighting the Borers that I've heard yet, and it's going to be listened to if I have to drag General Aubyn out here by the ears!"
Page hissed: "You're talking yourself into trouble! Watch yourself!"
Phil shook his head.
"Even old Lantern-Jaw will have to see the light when he listens to her. She—she's wonderful, Page . . ."
Page grinned, eyeing the girl admiringly.
"Uh-huh. Four hours alone with her and I'd have the same glitter in my eye that you've got."
Phil reddened, then put a frown on his face.
"Let's get back to the city before Aubyn takes off on one of his daring flights over the enemies' ranks. He's going to listen to what Avis has to say. Take my word for it, mister, we've wasted our last day digging gopher holes!"
In a borrowed Army pursuit ship, Phil shot back to the City. Lights frosted the island when he leveled off above it. Before City Hall, crowds jammed the street. Phil's guess was that Aubyn was speaking to the nation again by means of radio and loudspeaker. Dropping fast, he coasted to a stop on the landing roof atop the building.
With the roar of the engine still ringing in his ears, he heard
the boom of amplifiers many stories below. He ran to the elevator-housing, listening with half of his attention to the General's spirited harangue.
"—not the first time this nation has faced ruin!" Aubyn bellowed. "But it is by far the most perilous situation that has ever confronted America. Under the old order, defeat would be a certainty. With every department of the government under my leadership, I will guide America back to safety. Give me one week and—"
The elevator door cut off his words. Phil let the car drop. He bounced to a halt on the ministry floor and hurried up the hall. Aubyn's voice came to him again. This time it pounded through the glass door of the council room from which he was broadcasting.
Two Gold Troopers, on guard before the door, presented crossed rifles. Phil offered his credentials.
"Captain Burke, with an important message for General Aubyn," he clipped.
The Gold Troopers, stiff and important in their high-collared tunics and tight fitting breeches, continued to bar his way.
"The General won't be free for an hour," one of them grunted. "You can talk to Colonel Sudermann."
"Sudermann won't do. Tell the General I've got information regarding a plan that will absolutely stop the Borers in two weeks!"
The same swarthy Gold Trooper raised an eyebrow.
"I don't think he'd be interested, Captain. He's just told the nation he'll stop the Borers in a week."
Phil arrested an angry contradiction.
"Do you have any objection to my waiting inside?" he asked, through set teeth.
"I suppose not," the Gold Trooper shrugged. "Take a seat and keep still."
Phil went inside, breasting a gale of vociferous promises and threats as he entered. General Aubyn sat at the head of a long table, a microphone before him. Around the table were ringed his war ministers: Colonel Sudermann, Major Henry, Major Westfall and four others. Phil took a seat against the wall and waited.