“Then you believe in me? You do not consider mine a form of insanity?”
Gaylor was caught there, for if truth be known, he was none too certain that young Fellows actually did see into hyperspace. He firmly believed in the possibilities of a fourth dimension, it was the rock upon which he stood, but for him to say that the millionaire was actually attuned to this plane was something different again. His answer was really an evasion. “Tell me,” he said, “more of what you ‘see’ . . . .”
“As it happens,” said Gordon Fellows, “my home is superimposed upon the building I now see through the trees. No, its lineaments do not follow exactly those of my house; some of it juts into the garden, and because it stands on a low rise, its first story is placed in juxtaposition to our second story, and there are parts of my neighbor’s house that I cannot enter because it lies ten feet or so above my garden, out of reach, but I am familiar with a good part of its rooms and—its tenants.
“I was scarcely three years of age when my mother grew frightened because I had commenced to speak to her of those things I saw around me. Her bedroom was in part the bedroom of a baby girl, the nursery. I recall the day when first they brought little Majis home—yes, I know her name. My ears, of course, aren’t attuned to the voices of the people of the Other Place, but by watching their lips, I’ve managed to learn the language to a certain extent, though I know the written language better. The latter accomplishment came easily—since all I’ve had to do was to lean over Majis’ shoulder as she learned to read and to write.
“Well, blind though I am to the things of this world, my interest lay entirely in those of Calda (that is the name They give Their World). And as I began to speak casually of our ‘neighbors,’ of the sights I saw around me, my own parents became alarmed, believing that I was having hallucinations, especially as I spoke of the girl baby occupying part of their bedroom.
“At first Mother tried to persuade me that I was imagining these things, then she attempted to keep me from coming into her room, thinking I’d forget. But I had only to stand outside to see Majis in her crib since the walls of this world were no detriment to me.
“Our family physician was consulted and he ordered me to be taken away. For several years we traveled through Europe, but that did not keep me from mentioning the scenes I saw, for practically everywhere we went I was able to look into Calda. And that was not all. Unless someone was at my elbow, I would walk into the walls around me, since my eyes were upon sights containing no walls; oftimes I avoided those I did see when there were none in the place I occupied. And as I grew older, this failing grew more and more embarrassing, since, unlike ordinary blind persons, I did not develop that sixth sense that warns of obstacles in the way, simple because, though I lived and walked in one world, my eyes and senses were trained upon another, confusing it with the one holding me captive.
“Only when we sojourned in Asia I was not bothered so, for Cal da doesn’t extend that far around our globe; instead my vision showed me empty space, star-rimmed. On discovering that fact, my parents decided to take up their abode in Hongkong, but that became impossible, for I all but went mad with the sights before me. Seeing the nothingness around me, I refused to take a step unaided, and fearing for my reason, we returned home.
“Here again I turned to Majis, glad to find that she still lived in the same house. She was a toddler by now, mouthing her first words, learning about the things of her world. I followed her day by day. I adored her, yearned over her, cried when she cried and laughed when she laughed. As I have mentioned already, I stood behind her when she learned her lessons, studying her books at her elbow.
l “My parents did not know what to make of me. They’d find me standing somewhere looking vacantly into space or laughing delightedly at the sights they could not see. Finding that I was incurable, they discouraged visitors who could only think me mad, and servants were taught to disregard my ‘idiosyncrasy.’ Only my tutor, Jan Darrow, was willing to believe that the things I described to him were not figments of my imagination, and he would allow me to talk of Majis to him by the hour.
“So I grew up learning about our own world by sound, knowing the other by sight. Majis, likewise, was growing up. Then, one day she was sent away to school. Discovering what was about to take place, I contrived with Darrow to follow her, to discover where she was going. We found that her school was superimposed upon a tenement in the slums of Philadelphia. As my parents were both killed at that time in an aeroplane wreck, I would have taken up quarters there, to be near my love, but Darrow advised a different course, and instead we went on a tour.
“Though he could not see those places I described to him, he willingly went with me as I investigated, more fully, the world of Calda, looking into all its odd places. In the streets of Vienna I attended a lecture on astronomy, learning from a chart the arrangement of their solar system. I have been a silent spectator at their great outdoor meets, for they are an athletic people, paying more attention to the body than do we. I have stood in their government chambers, learning the system whereby they rule themselves. Occasionally, we took flying trips to Philadelphia so that I might ascertain how Majis was progressing.
“An unnatural life, you must admit, living in one world, my heart centered in another. Jan Darrow alone knows how I have hated this world of ours, yearned to enter Calda, and that is why he has aided me in arranging for my escape from my prison.
“Prison! That’s what my life has been—a prison. I am captive in my native world, wanting and longing for the things just out of reach, a starving spectator at a feast of plenty. . . .”
With that the young man grew silent, his eyes growing reflective. Almost willing to believe that he was actually seeing into hyper-space, Gaylor twisted in his chair, his slender hands rubbing its arms nervously. He had more questions to ask, however. “This—this ‘other place,’ Calda. You are familiar with its dimensions? How does it coincide with our world? Does it have the same sun? What exactly are the people like? Do they wear clothing? What are. . . .”
A smile entered Fellows’ dark eyes. “One at a time, Professor. Calda is smaller than Earth, but does not follow Earth’s lineaments very closely. Part of it I’ve never explored, first because it overlaps our world at one point, and secondly, I can’t traverse that part, which due to the curvature of our world lies toward Earth’s center. It has a diameter of about six thousand miles, I should say, and I’ve explored it from New York to Vienna, north as far as Edinburgh, south—into the Sahara Desert.
“But how am I to describe Calda to you? I should say it is fair—lovely. I am told our sun is yellow, casting white light upon Earth. Calda’s sun is saffron, its light golden; that is the morning sun is such, but Calda has two suns, the second sun being purple. It shines when ‘day’ is half over, tinting everything in soft pastel shades of lavender . . . .”
“How can you know color?” the scientist wished to know.
“How can I know? That is simple. There are also rainbows in Calda, formed of the seven primary colors. Darrow has aided me in giving them names, yet we are not certain—I, of course, may be wrong in my designations. At least the colors of Calda are lovely to me who knows nothing of Earth color . . . .”
“Well put. Naturally, there is a question, but we need not bother with that. What of the people, Mr. Fellows? Are they like ourselves?”
“No, not exactly. Their skins are what I call yellow, and they are covered with a fine golden fuzz of hair that grows half an inch long. Their eyes, for the most part, are blue, but some have golden eyes, and others have eyes of purple. Majis has purple eyes, deep dark wells of purple that are as soft as velvet. Ah, if I could but describe Majis’ beauty to you. She was always beautiful, but each year has seen her grow more lovely—and to think—soon I shall come to her—face to face.” The young millionaire forgot his audience, lapsing into silence.
l Gaylor had to recall him to the present.
“Their manner of dress? Since they’r
e fuzz-covered, do they wear clothing, Mr. Fellows?”
He came back to the moment with a start.
“Clothing? Oh yes, they dress themselves, but not as we dress. Clothing is simply a means of decoration to the Caldans; they wind scarfs about the body, drape squares of cloth about themselves in graceful folds, arranged so the breezes may pick them up, toss them about. Shoes they do not wear but cultivate grasses everywhere, of various colors, to walk upon, keeping it short and soft, while the floors of their homes are covered with thickly piled rugs.”
“What of architecture—furniture?”
“For the most part, their homes are open to the skies. I’ve never seen snow there, nor does the temperature drop very low—windows are unshielded and walls are used merely as a means of upholding the house, not to hide the tenant, nor to protect him from the winds which are gentle. Part of the house is left unroofed to admit the sun.
“As for furnishings, everything is made for bodily comfort, ease. Chairs, divans, conform to the shape of the body. They use decorative vases, mirrors, pictures, but do not set inconsequential furniture about merely for show,” Fellows sighed, and Gaylor guessed he was thinking of the hundreds of times he had stubbed toes or barked shins against unnecessary ornamental furnishings.
“About these beams of motion of which you spoke. What are they used for?”
“Transportation and to carry power lines. The Caldans fly odd-shaped boats without wings or propellers that carry them about their world at, to us, unheard of speeds. I should say they’re a far older race than ours; their mechanical genius surpasses ours by a thousand years at least. Their mode of motivation is of a principle altogether different than anything known to us. It is so radical that, though I’ve spent hours in their shops, I can make neither head nor tail of their machines.”
“And you are determined to ‘go through,’ sir, to enter this unique world?”
“I am, with your help. For years Barrow has been searching every scientific periodical, studying every paper that would lead us to the end of our quest. Your paper, Professor Gaylor, appeared most logical to us. We decided that you were the man to send me to Calda if it were humanly possible. You have found the way. The rabbit has gone through safely; there is no reason to suppose that you can’t do the same for me and such worldly goods I desire to take with me.”
“And you’ve considered what this will mean to you—this passing through? Have you stopped to consider what it will do to you—what it will make of you—that in Calda you will be a freak?—that possibly these furred people will find your smooth, hairless skin detestable, your black hair and eyes ugly—that you may be ridiculed, despised . . . .?”
Gaylor was surprised at the reception of his words. Fellows had jumped to his feet, turning blazing, though unseeing eyes upon him. “No—NO,” he cried with fire. “That is not so! It can’t be so! They are a good, kind, civilized people. They will accept me for what I am, welcome me—and there is Majis . . . .” His voice softened on the name. “Majis won’t despise me. And I can no longer live in a world that does not contain her! I intend to make her my wife!”
“But what makes you believe that she will have you—that she will not dislike you?” demanded the logical professor.
“No—no, she can’t. I’ve not told you this before, professor, but you see—Majis knows me!
“Yes, that is true. She knows me. When we were children I used to bend over her, whisper into her ear—and she heard me! Oh, I don’t say she actually heard, but somehow I managed to impress my personality upon her. She feels my nearness. She has reached out to me, looked to me where I have been standing. I know she yearns for me, even as I yearn for her . . . .
“And now—when her family would mate her with one of her kind, she is waiting—waiting for me, refuses to consider the other. And I must hurry—hurry, before they wear down her resistance, before she becomes desperate. I must go to her, I tell you—I must without further delay . . . . ”
He got to his feet, began to pace the floor, uncaring that he bumped into an occasional chair.
Gaylor turned to Darrow, a question lying in the depths of his near-sighted eyes. But the secretary did no more than lift his shoulders in a shrug, his eyes going to the young man, filling with sorrow as they rested upon him—in pity. Gaylor realized that he could not expect the man to aid him in preventing Fellows from doing the thing against which he had recommended him; knew that it was up to him to do his part.
Later, as Darrow helped him in the last minute preparations, the secretary said: “Even if I knew it meant his death, I should make no attempt to stop him, Professor. With all his millions, Gordon is the most unhappy of men. What if Majis and her world are a hallucination that does not exist? What if your machine means his death? Gordon Fellows, to use his own words, is a captive. Would you not free a trapped bird, send it out of the dark—into the light—even though you knew it had a dozen enemies that would kill it sooner or later?
“No, Professor Gaylor, as much as I love him—as if he were my own son—I could not stop him from going.”
He sighed and was silent, but only for a few moments. Suddenly he turned sharply upon Gaylor to declare something in emphatic terms. “But I do believe! I do know that Majis waits for him. And tonight—he goes to meet her . . . .”
THE END
When the Flame-Flowers Blossomed
A bizarre fantasy of strange life on the planet Venus, and the dangerous adventure of two men from our own planet
ONE moment the forest was serenely quiet, somnolent; the next it was in an uproar. For it was not every day that a space-ship dropped out of the swirling mists that topped the waving fern-crown of the tallest and most ancient of the great Ancadus tree-ferns, furrowing the rich dark loam of the clearing floor.
Not that the Ancadus guessed the long black cylinder to be a space-ship. Their conception of the universe was limited to that space beneath the gray cloud-masses that enfolded their world. Nor could they conceive of a vehicle of transportation. For their life began in an overlarge, hard-cased seed-spore that grew into a free-moving young tree-fern that made the best of its god-given activity until the urge to root itself came; then one stood ever upright, living and dreaming, conversing with one’s neighbors, ever ready to flip forth a tentacle to ensnare one of the silly, unthinkable animals that foolishly accepted the lure of the fleshy, false fruits that the Ancadus dangled as bait for just that purpose.
Nevertheless, they were stirred, curious. From amid the stationary boles of their elders came the young ferns, balancing themselves upon their five walking-roots, eager to see what they could see, just as young Earthlings would have pushed themselves forward between the bodies of their elders had such a strange phenomenon taken place on their Main Street.
Unmolested by the cutting ax of Man, with no other enemy than the encroaching life-choking parasitic vines that the Ancadus, by means of their long flexible tentacles, kept to the background, the great tree-ferns were truly the monarchs of all they surveyed. Since Mother Nature had failed to provide cross-pollination in the form of insects, and since their giant seed-spores were too heavy for the soft, gentle winds of Venus to bear aloft, they had developed perambulatory movement in the young so that all the planet might know them, and that the young should not choke the old.
Early in their life history they had discovered a predilection for animal blood, and to satisfy this unnatural lust they had brought forth large flesh-flowers that the gurgura, the ruswan, the petrus and the bav could not resist. Wisely the great Ancadus tree-ferns did not kill outright, but took their toll of blood from each passing creature, leaving it to crawl away as best it could, knowing that as soon as it had replenished its life-fluid the silly little beast would come again and again to the bait.
Innocent-looking enough were these vampire trees with their pale, white trunks topped with snowy crowns of crackling fronds wherein nestled the furled tentacles, curled, like rosettes, just above the dead black band which wa
s the eye-circle. But those selfsame tentacles, sometimes a hundred feet long, endowed with the twin senses of hearing and smelling, were as deadly as the cobra, and the eye-circle gave vision in every direction.
Now the Ancadus were filled with questions.
“What is it?”
“Is it animal or vegetable?”
“Whence did it come?”
“How did it get here?”
“Has anyone ever seen such life before?”
These were but a few of the questions coming from all sides, for during the long millenniums of their evolution the great Ancadus tree-ferns had evolved speech and thought. Not speech such as Man uses, nor voice tones like those of the lesser animals. No mechanism could have recorded the speech of the tree-ferns, since it possessed no sound as animal life knows sound. But it was there, within the consciousness of the trees themselves.
Suddenly there was an end to the questions. Old Gorn, the patriarch, standing on the edge of the clearing, was voicing his thoughts. And when he spoke, all else were silent.
“Children,” said he, “a strange visitant has come among us. Never in all my long centuries have I seen the like. None of us knows what this thing may portend for us. But only it can answer our questions. Therefore, let us commune with it, wait for it to break the silence. Only the foolish ask questions of the infinite.”
AS IF his words were the thing the black cylinder awaited, the cylinder spawned, there before their eyes, two six-feet high, free-moving creatures.
Never had the great Ancadus tree-ferns known such life. Tunnux and Nushu, two newly rooted tree-ferns, were too excited to heed the patriarch’s warning. Softly they conversed between themselves.
“What can they be? Certainly they are quite unlike any trees I ever saw in all my roving days,” whispered Tunnux.
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