Monsters of the Ray

by A. Hyatt Verrill

  "But enough of this. It is time we were off and getting ready for a glimpse of Eros."

  As usual, by the time we had reached the platform, the Indians had gathered en masse to watch the magical ceremony, as they considered it. How they knew when we were about to 'perform,' by what inexplicable means they communicated with one another, I never learned. But despite the fact that there were now half a dozen Indians in sight when we left Harris's house, yet by the time we reached the vicinity of the dyke, a crowd would be on hand. It was as mysterious and very like the manner in which buzzards will flock to a dead beast, though not one may be visible until the creature expires. But their presence didn't bother us. In fact, I think Harris rather enjoyed having an audience —even if it was an audience of Indians.

  This time he had brought along several new pieces of apparatus, as well as a sort of chart or map punctured with perforations—something like the music-rolls of a player-piano—which he inserted in one of the machines.

  In reply to my question in regard to it he gave some involved technical explanation which I cannot recall, but I gathered the thing was some sort of device to synchronize the apparatus with the movements of the earth and Eros. Also he had brought a new supply of the chemicals with which to charge the ray machine, and he expatiated on the fact that they were synthetic compounds, which he was testing for the first time and that as they were much purer than the natural ores, he hoped for better results.

  Possibly it was due to these compounds, or for all I know to some other alterations or improvements he had made in his apparatus, but whatever the cause, the fumes appeared much more dense than usual as the ray began cutting into the rock, and instead of the pale-green, translucent tint—like the color of breaking wave crests, the vapor had a decidedly bluish tint.

  Harris waited until two fifty-three before he turned on the ray, and almost instantly we saw indications of the approaching vision. As before, a glow appeared as if a light was struggling to shine through the veil of fumes; it increased until a luminous ball seemed embedded in the vapor and for an instant I almost expected to see a glowing sphere emerge. I heard Harris utter a short, sharp exclamation, but before I could question him, the illuminated area expanded until it covered a vast area of the fumes; then once again, the swirling, gyrating masses of prismatic colors flashed and scintillated, until suddenly they rushed together, took definite form and before us appeared the picture, distinct and clear.

  Once more we were gazing at Huaro-Yana in its heydey. Once again we saw the familiar surroundings, the familiar buildings, but now the inhabitants swarmed everywhere. They rushed about, ran hither and thither, seemed excited, and at times terrified. Then I noticed that the men bore arms—bows and arrows, spears, slings, stone and bronze-headed maces and battle-axes—and suddenly I realized that they were preparing for a battle. Gradually women and frightened children sought refuge within the temple and the other buildings. The men, obeying shouted orders—yes we could almost hear the voices so realistic was the scene—gathered in columns and groups.

  The warriors upon the summit of the great arch took their posts and drew up the rope-ladders, and from the palace came a cortege at whose head strode one who I instantly knew must be their monarch. Never will I forget his face. A splendid-looking man, a man every inch a king; erect, haughty, with keen, hawk-like features, a broad serene brow, strong high-bridged nose and firm thin lips. Upon his head rested a casque of burnished gold set off by three scarlet and black plumes. Golden bands gleamed upon arms and legs; against the deep blue garments that he wore gleamed a burnished breastplate. In one hand he carried an immense, bronze-headed, battle-axe and in the other a round wooden shield, gorgeous with mosaic work. The nobles who surrounded him were almost as richly clad and were splendidly armed, but he towered above them for inches, and beside him they appeared almost puny, insignificant.

  Instantly, as their king appeared, a mighty shout evidently arose from the assembled warriors, and even in that tense, thrilling moment when, with bated breath I stood gazing enthralled at the vision before me, it flashed across my brain that the strangest, most incredible feature of it all was that no audible sounds came to my ears. I could see the men's mouths open, could see them raise high their weapons and clash spearshafts and bows on shields in salutation to their monarch, yet all was silent, so silent that the whirring of the motors in the machines beside me seemed a roar.

  Quickly the king stepped down from his palace and with a vivid gesture towards the west, led his warriors toward the great black arch. So intent had I been in watching the monarch and his nobles, that I had given no heed to what was taking place elsewhere. But now, as I turned my eyes towards the Huaro-Yana, I gasped, my heart seemed to skip a beat, and I felt as excited—yes, and as terrified—as though I had been actually upon the scene in person. Outlined by the black arch, moving steadily, inexorably nearer, were dark masses which I took first to be close-packed hordes of men. Down upon them the garrison upon the arch hurled a perfect rain of arrows, javelins and stones, yet the hail of projectiles seemed to make no impression upon the enemy. Then, to ray amazement and horror, I saw that the dark bulks were not mobs of savages as I had thought; they were gigantic beasts, monstrous creatures of some sort. The next moment they were blotted from sight by the on rushing army of warriors led by their gold-helmeted king. I saw axes and maces flash. I saw arrows speed. For an instant the arch itself was almost hidden by the struggling, fighting mob. I leaned forward, my breath came hard and fast, I strained my eyes to see what was taking place, how it fared with the monarch and his men.

  But even as I gazed, for the moment forgetting it was but a vision, a scene by some miracle snatched from the distant past, a haze seemed to cover the view, the struggling warriors, the black arch, the distant mountains grew dim, indistinct, and the next instant the scene had vanished. And then suddenly, as though flashed upon the bluish vapor by some gigantic magic-lantern, there appeared a totally different scene. A scene so weird, bizarre, so utterly unlike anything I had ever seen or dreamed of seeing, that I started back with a low, involuntary cry. Before the sounds had fairly left my lips, the scene had vanished, the fumes billowed and rolled down the cliff. With a deep indrawn breath I turned toward Harris, he was standing, gazing transfixed, as if hypnotized, at the spot where the scene had been. Slowly, almost as if just awakening from a dream he turned.

  "Did you see it!" he almost gasped. "Did you see that last, that—that bit of Eros?"

  I gazed at him in amazement. "Eros!" I exclaimed, "What on earth do you mean?"

  "Didn't you see it?" he repeated, with something of awe, almost of reverence in his tones. "Don't you understand? That last view—that fleeting scene was a bit of Eros. Think of it! We are the only human beings ever to have looked upon the surface of a planetoid!"

  "What makes you think it was Eros?" I asked, although more than half-convinced he was right. "How do you know it was not some part of this earth?"

  "How do I know!" he cried. "Is there any such place on earth? Is there any such scene? Are there any such forms of vegetation—such creatures?"

  I had to admit I knew of none, still I could not believe Harris's assertion possible. "No," I replied, "not at present; but how do we know it was not a view of the earth—perhaps this very spot—in some past age, in prehistoric times?"

  Harris snorted. "You, an archeologist, ask that!" he sneered. "Was there ever a time in the history of the world when there were such forms of growth? You know there was not. No, no, we were looking upon a scene in Eros. I—"

  A wailing groan from the Indians startled us, caused us to turn, and our eyes fell upon the dyke, we stood transfixed, gazing speechless at what we saw. Harris in his excitement had not shut off the ray. Great masses of blue vapor covered the rocky wall, and once more upon the surface a picture had appeared. A scene terrible in its tragedy, in its desolation, the culmination of the battle whose beginning we had seen. Against a lurid sunset sky the Huaro-Yana loomed black and
ominous, the palace, the temple, every building was silhouetted against the glowing sky, but not a living human being was in sight. Everywhere, strewn upon the ground, were weapons, accoutrements, garments, ornaments, missiles. With a shudder I saw in the foreground a mangled mutilated corpse, whose distorted features I recognized as those of the king, who, such a short time before, had led his shouting warriors to battle.

  The horror of the scene was magnified by the fact that no triumphant enemy was in sight, that no man or woman, no living creature moved through that city of death. It was as if every living being had been utterly wiped out completely disintegrated by some stupendous cataclysm, leaving only the twisted body of the dead monarch in the shadow of his deserted desolated palace, And yet —I stared, I strained my eyes in a vain effort to pierce the ever-increasing dusk that was settling over the scene as the sunset faded from the sky. Something had moved, something vague shapeless, phantasmal, a form yet formless; a cloud-like wraith; an intangible, ghost-like thing that caused cold chills to run up and down my spine, as for an instant it hovered—no, drifted is a better term—into the shadows of the palace and passed on and vanished in the darkness. Then a cry of horror came from my lips, for where, but an instant before the dead king had been stretched upon the ground, now only his golden helmet, his bronze breastplate and his shield remained! The next instant the last blow faded from the sky, darkness blotted the scene from sight, and the pale-blue vapors once more drifted and rolled across the face of the rocky wall,

  "My God!" gasped Harris, as he turned, white-faced towards me. "Wasn't it ghastly?"

  I bowed my head. "Horrible!" I managed to say. "The extermination of a race—the end of the pre-Incans. But the mystery is as great as ever, Harris. Who, what—"

  A hoarse, dry, almost hysterical laugh came from his lips. "The old legend," he said, "the giants from the sky'! Did—" he shuddered and cast a furtive, half-frightened glance at the dyke—"did you see that, that thing? That—" he lowered his voice to a whisper—"that ghastly, spectral thing that, that devoured the dead king?"

  With a tremendous effort I pulled myself together I grasped Harris's arm and shook him "Nonsense!" I cried. "Snap out of it, Harris! The tragedy of the scene has got on our nerves. It was only a picture—a vision-—a bit out of the past. We're acting as if it were real. Giants! Piffle! We merely missed the actual fight—the battle—and saw the place after the victors had cleared out. Probably savages from the montana. And as for the cloud—the fading light merely distorted a wisp of fog or smoke. Come on, it's getting late, let's get out of here and go home,"

  For a moment Harris stared at me with a strange expression in his deep-set eyes. Then he burst into a peal of laughter. "Yes," he cried, "I guess you're right! We're a couple of damned fools. But—" there was a note of triumph, of elation in his voice—"I told you I'd keep the scenes going, and I did. Do you know how long that first one remained? Over half an hour! And I brought the last one in after four o'clock! I've conquered the time element. I’ll get them whenever I wish now, and I'll keep them as long as I please. And we'll see Eros next time. We'll explore it, study its vegetation, watch its inhabitants."

  But my mind was too much filled with the tragedy of Huaro-Yana for me to answer him.

  Chapter X

  A Vision Materializes

  If only Harris had been satisfied with what he had accomplished. If only he had been content to have revisualized the past of Huaro-Yana without attempting to penetrate the mysteries of another planet! Yet I cannot blame him. He had accomplished something that seemed almost superhuman. He had opened a new vista to science. No living man could have resisted the temptation, the desire to go farther, once he had peeped within the portals of the unknown. And no one could have foreseen the dangers, the perils, the horrors that lay within those portals.

  And I must confess that I was equally to blame, equally responsible for what took place, for the thing had gripped me, too. I was as fascinated by the possibilities of Harris's discovery and amazing accomplishments as was he, and neither of us could possibly have foreseen the results that were destined to follow.

  Perhaps, too, it was all for the best. If he had not done it, sooner or later some other scientist would, and perhaps it was fortunate for the human race that he was the chosen instrument of Fate, that it happened in that remote, almost uninhabited spot instead of in some populous, densely inhabited district, for I tremble to think of what the results, under such conditions, would have been. And now that there are not (as far as known) any of the essential minerals remaining on earth, and as all of Harris's formulae and apparatus, as well as his synthetic chemicals, are utterly destroyed, there is little fear of the world being jeopardized by a repetition of the incredible occurrence.

  Such thoughts, such speculations, invariably fill my mind whenever I allow myself to recall the events that followed so closely upon that last vision which showed us the destruction of the pre-Incans, who dwelt in the city by the Huaro-Yana. Yet in a way, I realize that all such thoughts and speculations are idle and lead nowhere, for, as Harris was so fond of pointing out to me the slightest alteration in any factor— no matter how trivial it may appear —will alter the entire course of events, and for all we know to the contrary, the entire universe.

  "The biggest word ever uttered by human beings is the word 'IF,' "he used to say, "Don't ever forget that. That's one reason I'm a fatalist, my friend. In order not to have done a thing the entire course of events for immeasurable eras of the past would have had to have been different. In order to influence the present or the future, we would necessarily have to influence the past. Just as any alteration in the present would influence the future until the very end of time, so it would have to influence the past back to the very beginning of time. As long as it manifestly is impossible for us to alter the past, so it must be impossible to alter the future that is dependent upon the past."

  But I forget myself. Here I am quoting Harris's arguments, when I should be recording the events as they transpired, and if poor Harris were alive today, he would be the very first to find fault with me.

  Naturally, after that amazing experience of having seen three distinct pictures (I will insist on using that term, for regardless of what they may be scientifically called, to me they were pictures) we could think of nothing else, and throughout the rest of the afternoon and evening, and far into the night, we discussed them, argued over them, marveled at them, and wondered what revelation would be vouchsafed to us next.

  Yet there were many points on which we did not agree. For example, Harris insisted that the indistinct forms that I have already described as gigantic beasts or monsters, which we saw approaching the pre-Incan warriors beyond the arch in the first vision, were identical with the wraith-like, misty thing we had both seen in the final vision. I could not agree with him.

  "Well, what was it then?" he demanded. 'The damnable thing did away with the dead king, so it wasn't any phantom. I never yet heard of a ghost that could cause any changes in material things."

  "Who said anything about ghosts!" I snapped. "In my opinion it was a huge bird—perhaps some giant vulture—and that it simply picked up the body and flew off with it,"

  Harris sneered. "Is that so?" he cried. "And what sort of a bird can pick up and carry a full-sized man?"

  "Not any that exists today," I retorted, "but we don't know how long ago those events occurred and so we can't say positively that gigantic birds or, more probably pterodactyls, may not have existed at that time. A fair-sized pterodactyl could easily carry off a man. And if there were a lot of them—if they were as common then as buzzards are today— it would explain why no other bodies were visible. If you can suggest a better theory, let's hear it."

  "Hmm, I hadn't thought of that," he admitted. "Perhaps you're right. But even so, the old fable wasn't so far off—pterodactyls would be 'giants from the sky' all right."

  It was my turn to scoff. "Still harping on that old myth; eh?" I said. "Well, have i
t your own way. I admit that the legend of a king having called on the Sun-God to aid him in cutting the rocks may have had its origin in the use of the ray. But you can be dead sure that if there were carrion-eating pterodactyls about, the people would never have called them 'giants from the sky,' any more than these Indians today would regard condors as supernatural things. And whatever, or whoever the enemies were who defeated the inhabitants of Huaro-Yana, they certainly were not from the sky—they came marching in on the ground under the black arch."

  So, quite as if we had been on the scene, we argued on the details of the tragedy, exactly as any two independent observers will argue on the details of a scene they have witnessed.

  It was not until three days later that Harris was ready to make his attempt to visualize a portion of the surface of Eros. There were a number of changes and improvements to be made in his instruments and he had to prepare a new supply of the synthetic minerals that produced the ray. But at last all was in readiness, and once more we climbed to the platform, and once more the crowd of Indians gathered to witness the white man's magic pictures.

  I don't know exactly what alterations Harris had made in his devices. In fact I knew nothing, technical, in regard to them. I am no chemist, no electrician and I know nothing of the complicated, involved and, to me, abstract principles and laws by which Harris worked. A lifetime of study would have been necessary to have mastered even a fraction of Harris' knowledge of such matters and while I could understand, in a way, the principle of the ray-making mechanism and could grasp the mechanical operations of some of his instruments, their particular purposes and principles were all a closed book to me. As he worked, adjusting and arranging the various things, he kept up a running fire of explanations, most of it worse than Greek to me.

  At last all was ready. Harris adjusted the valves, he started the nozzle moving and set his camera in motion. Then he moved various levers and switches on the other instruments and started the device that contained the perforated sheet or chart I have already mentioned.