Collected Tales (Jerry eBooks)

by Leslie F Stone

  “Only Ubca-tor knew where he had gone to hide with his single faithful servant. In his name Ubca sought out Richard Dorr, and asked for mercy for the man whom his people were seeking in revenge. For Ubca-tor still loved Moura, although he had deliberately set out to save Dana Gleason from the man.

  “Dorr sought Moura out, and promised him his aid.”

  SO the story ended. We were all surprised to discover how stiff and cramped we had become, and arose to our feet to stretch. The golden man appeared again with trays of food and drink, of which we partook with enjoyment. We were all silent as each reviewed in his mind the tale he had just heard. I could not but wonder what had happened to Moura-Ur-tor. Looking up, I saw the eyes of our host upon me.

  The Professor broke the tension of the moment. “I wonder,” said he softly, “if you would mind telling us your name, sir. Strange that last night none of us thought of introductions,” and he smiled blandly upon us all. True none of us had been formally introduced. I did not even know my host’s name after traveling half across the world with him. I knew him only as Sa-Dak (good master), and his companion as Tor, which I knew meant prince. It occurred to me that the Taboran had deliberately avoided an introduction and an exchange of names. I saw his eyes travel to his companion as if seeking aid there; then he turned to Rollins. “I swore long ago, sir, that nothing that Professor Rollins should demand of me would I neglect to fulfil. And yet, most of all I dread to disclose my name. But you ask it.

  “The man who faces you, sir, is none other than one who has since learned that too much ambition is as bad for the soul as too little ambition. Ambition overshadows one’s vision, so that he sees nothing but his aim before him and is willing to sacrifice his fellow man to forward that ambition. I, sir, am Moura-weit.” Somehow, I failed to be shocked at the disclosure, but Professor Rollins dropped the plate he was still holding. Elsie Rollins’ eyes widened, and I cannot find words to describe the expression that crept into her face, an expression that was a combination of surprise, distrust, disbelief, disappointment, together with anger and something akin to pity. I could only feel pity.

  “Yes,” went on Moura-weit, “I am the man who did all in his power to break the will of Dana Gleason and to do away with Richard Dorr. I did not recognize the fact that I loved Dana Gleason. Can you forgive me?”

  Professor Rollins slowly answered: “It is not for me to forgive you, for I had almost succeeded in murdering those two. I have lived in sorrow for the deed, but now that you have told me that all is well, I know I can die happy. Wherefore should I judge you? No; rather I am glad you have escaped the wrath of your people and can spend the remainder of your life happy in the thought that you did not accomplish your purpose.”

  Silently the two clasped hands.

  Again a deep silence enveloped us, but I was still anxious for facts. “How did you manage to construct this machine and escape, since men were seeking for you?” I asked.

  Moura-weit turned his strange eyes upon me. “That I owe to three people: Richard Dorr, Dana Gleason, and—Ubca-tor,” and he held out his hand to his companion in exile. “I have spoken of the machine which the Roata (the Earth-club), commenced to build, hoping to gain favor in Dana Gleason’s eyes. It was abandoned at Ora when half completed. Dorr gave me help to complete it. Then Ubca-tor and my faithful servant Urto elected to accompany me. Richard Dorr and Dana Gleason saw us depart and wished us God-speed. On leaving, Dana Gleason, whom you would now call Mrs. Richard Dorr, presented me with the manuscript I brought to the Professor, and she also gave me the little diary as a memento; for she said she no longer needed it, since the past was past, and she thought it would aid me in convincing the Professor that she had truly sent me to him!”

  There was much more said, but that is irrelevant to this story. Moura-weit conveyed me back to the spot where he had first captured me, but the Rollinses went back with Moura-weit, for the Professor was anxious to see the Void.

  Professor Rollins died aboard the Yodverl, but what Elsie Rollins experienced aboard the interplanetary vehicle is another story. She returned only to straighten out the effects of the late Professor Ezra Rollins. She came to New York and stayed long enough to help me compile the above story, which will not be published until I am dead. Perhaps after I die, Moura-weit may return to Earth and so corroborate this exceptional history.

  Doctors have examined my collar bone, but can find no proof that it was ever fractured. My wife refuses to believe a word of what I told her, declaring I must have hidden away a cache of whiskey in my fishing-hut, and drunk too deeply. I have only the ruby that Moura-weit left in payment for my old suit. Gem experts declare it to be as perfect a ruby as ever was found and insist it is of terrestrial origin. I know differently. But—I cannot prove it.

  THE END

  [1] Because of his lack of technical knowledge, the writer has failed to explain the fundamental processes by which the rocket, when once out of the atmosphere of Earth, could hold and increase its speed as it flew through Space.

  First, one must take into consideration Newton’s Third Law of Motion, i.e., “to every action there is an equal and opposite reaction”; that to push anything forward there must be a backward motion, just as a man in walking pushes with one foot backwards as he propels his body forward. In Professor Rollins’ rocket, this push is given by means of a “kick” from an explosive powder. This powder is confined in a strong steel chamber capable of resisting the pressure of the explosion, and the gases thereof are ejected through, or driven out of the base of the cartridge through an expanding nozzle, a nozzle that resembles that of a steam turbine, and is designed to give the highest possible velocity to the gas. In this manner a great rate of speed can be obtained, each explosion adding acceleration to the speeding body.

  At the “shooting” of each cartridge of powder the chamber is thrown off, so that those kept are full ones. This gives the rocket less weight, and consequently greater velocity. So with each ejection of the gas the speed of the rocket has a twofold increase; and though the machine can start at a comparatively slow rate, the nearer it is to its destination the faster it is traveling. On sighting its destination the traveler will then shut off all power, so that the rocket will arrive in the atmosphere of the planet traveling only on the acquired momentum, and an easy landing can be made.

  On the rocket, weight, as it may be termed, would be greatly increased by the rapid acceleration at the start, but this was all calculated in advance and allowed for; the acceleration would also be under perfect control, being maintained by means of a time-clock at just as great a degree as the passenger could stand.

  [2] The race of Gora, considered barbarians, whose skin and hair is bronze-like.

  [3] Gorans.

  [4] One ro is equivalent to two hours and ten minutes of earth time.

  Letter of the Twenty-Fourth Century

  IN this “Letter from the Twenty-Fourth Century” the author of “Out of the Void” strikes a unique chord. Many prophecies for the future have been given forth? What is the progress of mankind and science likely to be?

  MY DEAR JOE:

  It is a long time since we have seen each other and I am aching to have a quiet little chat with you. Do not be surprised if I drop in on you some bright afternoon. I have long been threatening my wife that I shall take off a day to have a little jaunt down your way if you do not hurry and visit us before long.

  There is not much news for me to write you. What new news could we discuss when you are aware of every little thing that happens here, immediately, in your little out-of-the-way place of the globe.

  However, I did come across something that would interest you, I believe, quite as intensely as it has interested me. You know that old grotto in which we used to play that was once presumably the cellar of some old house, and which proved such a source of interest to us kids?

  Well, a month since, for want of something else to do, I went down to it with the intention of learning if there was anything th
ere that should be preserved in the way of a curio, for if you recall the fact, the ruin is at least several centuries old. I found that it was very well preserved, and that rot and decay had not as yet set in. I did find some articles of interest back in the shadows, where we as children feared to creep, picturing it filled with snakes and rats which we knew once had hidden in such out of the way places. I found an old shot-gun of the twentieth century, some utensils I took for cooking pots, some odds and ends whose uses I did not recognize, but what proved more interesting to me than anything else was a pile of magazines together with some old books in a box. Though yellowed by age they still appeared readable, so I brought them home.

  And how interesting they have been! I was glad that as a child I had studied the language that they were written in, the English of our forefathers. They dated for the most part from the year of 1920 to about 1935, and proved to be stories of predictions, prophecies of the future, jaunts into interplanetary space, of strange finds and of stranger discoveries. What a wealth of imagination was disclosed!

  And what our ancestors thought of us, Joe; what creatures they suggested we should turn into, what catastrophes they planned for us, what wars, what unholy terrors! In one tale we were to become mechanical geniuses; in another it was prophesied that we would become the mere pawns of people from another planet, again we were torn by wars; the white race to be subjected to the black, or the alternative of all being submerged into one great race!

  Another tale had to do with the supremacy of woman and the deterioration of man; of children bred and reared by machines; a third told about machines that controlled mankind; still another told of peoples of the underworld conquering us; another told of creatures who had lost the use of their legs because of their continued use of motive power. Of . . . oh, I could go on and on indefinitely with the details of the stories I found, but I leave the rest to your imagination.

  Now what would these ingenious writers, these prophetic ancestors of ours, say today if they could come among us? Would they be disappointed to find that the world is still moving along in its usual every-day grooves; to find us still the same people with two legs and two arms, two eyes and one chin; the same people of habit that they were; would they marvel to see us still enjoying family life and simple amusements?

  Of course they would find changes, the world does not stand still for a single night. They would find airplanes as common as the automobiles of their day; they would find that we moved around this little globe as rapidly as they made a day’s trip through one country; they would find us using radio in the same manner as they used the telephone.

  They would find us enjoying home life far more than they ever dreamed it would be enjoyed. We have no need of leaving the house now, no need of pushing through crowded traffic to get to a show. Instead we can sit in our own living room and watch and listen in complete enjoyment; we have no need to go to churches for our religion; nor of sending our children to schools for their education.

  HOW much of an improvement are our ways over their ways! Now a man can sit at his home and conduct his business as safely and as successfully as they once did in their offices, merely by having installed his own private mirror and radio receiving and sending sets. His children can sit in their own playroom and see their teacher many miles away and recite to her their lessons, learned without leaving the house, learn their geography and chemistry as well as and better than our ancestors did. We can sit in our comfortable chairs and watch and hear the greatest actors and actresses of all time perform before us. We can see and hear the greatest of musicians fill our lives with the beauty of their art. We can hear lectures, art discussions, economic treatises from across the world. We can “tune in” on the World Court and know their decisions as quickly as they are made.

  Of course we have progressed. We have done away with the barriers of the old-world boundaries of nations; we have evolved for ourselves a common language by which we can all understand our fellow-men; we have done away with kings and presidents and each of us has his little say in carrying out new policies, of deciding what is best for our old planet. If we consider it necessary to build a new observatory to discover new worlds in space, to appropriate new money for the enlargement of our educational centers, to decide whether Yokohomo deserves a new air-port, if new farmlands should be opened up in New Zealand, we can speak!

  We certainly have progressed. Our chemists have found new worlds to conquer. They have given us a new process of generating power from the atom instead of using oil and coal which are less efficient. They have discovered that certain chemicals in various foods are needful to the human body, and know how to separate the chaff, so that we no longer need eat the whole vegetable to obtain its small source of energy. They have learned how to turn ore into metal by one process as it is mined by machinery. They have learned to make glass that is unbreakable, materials that know no wear!

  Of course we have progressed. Our medical men have discovered that we no longer need suffer from disease, from death-dealing scourges, from the ravages of old age so that we die as we have lived. They have discovered how to keep us healthy; how to make our children strong, virile and wholesome; how to keep our mind and bodies alert; how to operate upon us without pain and without drawing blood. They have discovered how to make child-birth a safe and beautiful function!

  YES, it is easy to go on and on, and if only our poor misled ancestors could see us now! They predicted that we would all be living in great cities; spending our lives within four walls of tremendous skyscrapers; eating only synthetic food that had no flavor whatsoever of the sky and the earth and the sunlight. They predicted us as being no more than automatons, being born, living our lives and dying in the manner prescribed for us by scientists!

  They could not see this beautiful world that is ours, this world that no longer knows the black, hideous smoke of factories, of the squalor of ghettos, of tenements, of a poor half-starved population struggling to earn a few cents for a loaf of bread, of thugs that killed for money, and demented creatures who murdered for nothing at all.

  They could not see that one day civilization was to sicken of its cities, was to demolish them one by one as they moved away to dwell in peace and beauty with the birds singing in the trees and flowers nodding their heads at us! They could not realize that even the deserts might be made to bloom again and the swamps to be lifted into the sun. They could not see a sweet, simple home life where men and women could grow in natural surroundings; where workers earned their daily bread in glass-roofed buildings with the sunlight filling their veins as they toil, and the assurance that their loved ones have their gardens, their flowers, their health.

  They could not know that the world’s knowledge would be freely given to all, worker or idler alike; that radio would make the whole world kin and the poorest of the poor would have their little airplanes in which they could, with their children and wives, climb to the heights of heaven or circle the world in a day.

  No, they saw none of this, but it was they who made it possible, just as their ancestors of a few hundred years earlier made it possible for them to realize their dreams!

  SHALL we now conjecture about the future, Joe?

  Will someone years hence read these words and smile to think of all we have missed, and of all that they have got? The earliest of men progressed, whether from the dank hole of his ancestral cave, or from the dust of the centuries, and Man will continue to progress, progress each century to a better and greater life.

  Perhaps one day our descendants will fly from planet to planet as we do from island to island; perhaps they will find food in sunlight; perhaps they will discover cloth in fire. Well, whatever the future may be, I am sure it will be far happier and better than even that which we claim today. At all odds, life is good and it is good to be living.

  And you, my friend, down there on the edge of nowhere puttering around the ruins of what used-to-be, try to remember and pay me a little visit. If you desire, I will send you
by next mail a bundle of the stories I have mentioned, I assure you that you will gather as much enjoyment in reading them as I have. I extend my thanks to the long-dead friend who so kindly cached them away for my perusal.

  As ever, your devoted friend,

  HARRY.

  Through the Veil

  MUCH study has of recent times been given to the various branches of legendary science, among which is included the study of Irish folklore. Unquestionably there is here a fertile field for writers of scientific fiction, for it lends itself to much investigation of the history and traditions of a race. Miss Stone gives us the true Celtic atmosphere in this charming short story of the fourth dimension and Irish folklore.

  TRUE, Jack Warren had not seen his one-time friend, Charlie Keller, for a number of years, but then, he had not been in New York but once during that time, and that had been a matter of business with no time for social visits. If Keller had come to Rochester, Jack did not know, but the fact remained that it had been years since the two had seen each other. And now Jack did not know why he had come to one of the old brownstone fronts, where Keller continued to live, even though downtown New York was encroaching upon the old street where Grandfather Keller had built his home.

  At college Charlie and he had been good friends. They might even have been called chums in those good old days of camaraderie, but with the graduation each had gone his own way, each to his own home-town, each to his own interests. And now Jack knew that Charlie was dabbling in science. At school he had been a shark for chemistry and physics, so it was not unnatural, since Charlie’s old man had left him plenty of wherewithal, with which he could devote himself to Iris old love. Once or twice Jack had seen his name in the papers, referring to his work in the field of X-rays. There was even a certain little doo-dad on the medical X-ray machine which bore Keller’s name.