by Various
The Terror of Air-Level Six
_By Harl Vincent_
It was a sweltering evening in mid-August, during that unprecedentedheat wave which broke Weather Bureau records in 2011. New York City hadsimmered under a blazing sun for more than three weeks, and all who wereable had deserted the city for spots of lesser torridity. But I was oneof those unfortunates who could not leave on account of the pressingurgency of business matters and, there being nothing else to do, keptdoggedly at my work until it seemed that nerves and body must soon giveway under the strain. To-night, as I boarded the pneumatic tube, Idropped into the nearest seat and could not even summon the energy toopen my newspaper.
[Sidenote: From some far reach of leagueless Spacecame a great pillar of flame to lay wasteand terrorize the Earth.]
For some minutes I sat as in a daze, wishing merely that the journey wasover, and that I was on my own front porch out in Rutherford. Afterawhile I stirred and looked around. Seeing none of my acquaintances inthe car, I finally opened the newspaper and was considerably startled bythe screaming headlines that confronted me from its usually conservativefirst page:
SECOND COAST TRANSPORT PLANE LOST!
Disaster Like First in Air-Level Six!
No wonder the newsboys had been crying an extra on Broadway! I had givenno heed to the import of their shoutings, but this was real news andwell worthy of an extra edition. Since the mysterious loss of the SF-61,only four days previously, the facilities of the several airtransportation systems were seriously handicapped on account of theshaken confidence of the general public. It was not surprising thatthere was widespread reluctance at trusting human lives and valuablemerchandise to the mercies of the inexplicable power which hadapparently wiped out of existence the SF-61, together with itstwenty-eight passengers and the consignment of one-half million dollarsin gold. And now the NY-18 had gone the way of the other!
Details were meager. Both ships had failed to reply to the regularten-minute radio calls from headquarters and had not since been seen orheard from. In both cases the last call had been answered when the shipwas proceeding at full speed on its regular course in air-level six. TheSF-61 last reported from a position over Mora in New Mexico, and fourdays of intensive search by thousands of planes had failed to locateship or passengers. To-day, in the early hours of the morning, the NY-18reported over Colorado Springs, on the northern route, and then, likethe SF-61, dropped out of existence insofar as any attempts atcommunicating with or locating her were concerned. She, too, carried aheavy consignment of specie, though only eleven passengers had riskedthe westward journey.
* * * * *
Someone had dropped into a seat at my side, and I looked up from myreading to meet the solemn eyes of Hartley Jones, a young friend whom Ihad not seen for several months.
"Why, hello, Hart," I greeted him. "Glad to see you, old man. Where inSam Hill have you been keeping yourself?"
"Glad to see you, too, Jack," he returned warmly. "Been spending most ofmy time out at the hangar."
"Oh, that's right. You fellows built a new one at Newark Airport, didn'tyou?"
"Yeah. Got a great outfit there now, too. Why don't you drop around andsee us one of these days?"
"I will, Hart, and I want you to take me up some time. You know I havenever been in one of these new ships of yours. But what do you think ofthis mess?" I pointed to the black headlines.
He grinned joyously and flipped back the lapel of his coat, displaying anickeled badge. "George and I are starting out to-night to look around alittle," he gloated. "Just been appointed deputy air commissioners; andwe got a couple of guns on our newest plane. Air Traffic Bureau thinksthere's dirty work afoot. Twelve-motored planes don't disappear withoutleaving a trace. Anyhow, we've got a job, and we're going to try andfind out what's wrong. How'd you like to come along?"
"What?" I replied. "You know darn well I'm too busy. Besides, I'd be nogood to you. Just extra load, and not pay load at that. And then, I'mbroke--as usual."
* * * * *
Hartley Jones grinned in his engaging way. "You'd be good company," heparried; "and, what's more, I think the trip would do you a lot of good.You look all shot to pieces."
"Forget it," I laughed. "It's just the heat. And I'll have to leave youhere, Hart. Drop in and see us, will you? The wife was asking for youonly yesterday."
"Jack, dear," my wife greeted me at the door of my modest suburban home,"Mr. Preston just called, and he wants you to call him right back."
"Oh, Lord," I groaned, "can't I forget the office for one evening?"Preston was manager of the concern for which I worked.
Nevertheless, though our two fine youngsters were clamoring for theirdinner, I made the telephone call at once.
"Makely," came the voice of the boss, when the connection was completed,"I want you to take the night plane for Frisco. Hate to ask you, but itmust be done. Townley is sick and someone has to take those Canadian Ex.bonds out to Farnsworth. You're the only one to do it, and after you getthere, you can start on that vacation you need. Take a month if youwish."
The thought of Hartley Jones' offer flashed through my mind. "But haveyou read of the loss of the NY-18?" I asked Preston.
"I have, Makely. There'll be another hundred a month in your check, too,to make up for the worry of your family. But the government is sendingthirty Secret Service men along on the SF-22, which leaves to-night. Inaddition, there will be a convoy of seven fighting planes, so there isnot likely to be a repetition of the previous disasters."
That hundred a month sounded mighty good, for expenses had been mountingrapidly of late. "All right, Mr. Preston," I agreed. "I will be at theairport before midnight. But how about the bonds?"
"I'll drive around after dinner and deliver them to you. And thanks foryour willingness, Makely. You'll not be sorry."
* * * * *
My wife had listened intently and, from my words, she knew what toexpect. Her face was a tragic mask when I replaced the receiver on itshook, and my heart sank at her expression.
Then there came the ring of the telephone and, for some reason, my pulseraced as I went to the hall to answer it. Hartley Jones' cheerful voicegreeted me and he was positively gleeful when I told him of myprojected trip.
"Hooray!" he shouted. "But you'll not take the SF-22. You'll take thetrip with me as I wanted. I tell you what: You be out at Newark Airportat eleven-thirty, but come to my hangar instead of to that of thetransportation company. We'll leave at the same time as the regularliner, and we'll get your old bonds to Frisco, regardless of what mighthappen to the big ship. Also we might learn something mightyinteresting."
I argued with him, but to no avail. And the more I argued, the greaterappeal was presented by his proposition. Finally there was nothing to dobut agree.
* * * * *
Preston arrived with the bonds shortly after the children were tucked intheir beds. I did not tell him of my change in plans. He did not staylong, and I could see that he was uncomfortable under the accusing eyesof Marie, for all his own confidence in the safety of the trip in theclosely-guarded SF-22.
At precisely eleven-thirty I reached the great steel and glass hangarwhere Hart Jones and George Boehm carried on their experiments withsuper-modern types of aircraft. Hart Jones had inherited more than twomillion dollars, and was in a fair way to spend it all on his favoritehobby, though those who knew him best vowed that he would make manytimes that amount through royalties on his ever-growing number ofvaluable inventions.
The immense doors were open, and I gazed for the first time into thehangar whose spacious interior provided storage and manufacturingfacilities for a dozen or more planes of Hart Jones' design. A curiouslyconstructed example of his handiwork stood directly before me, andseveral mechanics were engaged in making it ready for flight. My friendadvanced from their midst to meet me, a broad smile on his greasesmeared countenance.
"Greetings, Jack," he said, taking my small bag from my hands. "Right ontime, I see. And I can't tell you how glad I am that you are coming withus. So is George."
"Well, I didn't expect to," I admitted; "but there is no need of tellingyou that I had far rather be in your ship than in the big one."
* * * * *
George Boehm, the same jolly chap I had several times met in Hart'scompany, but fatter than ever, crawled from beneath the shiny metal bodyof the plane and scrambled to his feet at my side.
"Going in for a bit of adventuring, Mr. Makely?" he asked, wiping hishand with a piece of cotton waste before extending it.
"Yes," I replied, as I squeezed his chubby fingers. "Can't stick in themud all my life, George. And I wouldn't want to be in better company formy first attempt either."
"Nor we," he returned, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Rather have agreenhorn on the Pioneer than some government agent, who'd be butting inand trying to run everything. Think you'll be scared?"
"Probably," I admitted; "but I guess I can stand it."
"Hear the latest news broadcast?" interrupted Hart Jones.
"No. What was it?" I asked.
"There has been a report from out near Cripple Creek," said Hartsolemnly, "that a pillar of fire was observed in the mountains shortlyafter the time the NY-18 last reported. The time and the locationcoincide with her probable position and the report was confirmed by noless than three of the natives of that locality. Of course thestatements are probably extravagant, but they claim this pillar of fireextended for miles into the heavens and was accompanied by a tremendousroaring sound that ceased abruptly as the light of the flamedisappeared, leaving nothing but blackness and awe-inspiring silencebehind."
* * * * *
"Lot of bunk!" grunted George, who was vigorously scrubbing the back ofhis neck.
"Sounds like a fairy tale," I commented.
"Nevertheless, there may be something in it. In fact, there must be.Three of these mountaineers observed practically the same phenomenonfrom quite widely separated points, though one of them said there werethree pillars of fire and that these looked more like the beams ofpowerful search-lights. All agreed on the terrific roar. And, after all,these two liners did disappear. There must be something quite out of theordinary about the way in which they were captured or destroyed, andthis occurrence may well be supposed to have a bearing on the matter."
"Possibly they were destroyed by some freak electrical storm," Isuggested.
"Where then are the wrecked vessels?" asked Hart. "No, Jack, electricalstorms do not destroy huge air liners and then suck them out into spacebeyond our vision. These two ships are no longer on the surface of theearth, else they would have been long since located. The magneticdirection finders of the transportation people have covered every inchof the United States, as well as Mexico and Canada."
"Of course they might have been carried halfway around the world by awind of unprecedented velocity." I commenced a silly argument in favorof the theory that the elements had accounted for the two vessels, butwas interrupted by the mounting roar of great engines throbbingoverhead.
"Hurry up there, George!" shouted Hart. "It's the SF-22 coming in. Wehave to be ready for the take-off in five minutes!"
* * * * *
He hastened to take George's place at the washbowl and all was activitywithin the confines of our hangar. George and I left the office and wentout to the landing field, which was now brilliant with the glare offloodlights. The _Pioneer_ had been trundled into the open and stoodready for the flight. Not a hundred feet above the field, the hugesilver moth that was the SF-22 swept by in a wide circle that wouldbring her into the wind. The roar of her engines died as she swung outof the circle of light into the surrounding darkness.
The crowds which had gathered to witness her landing buzzed with excitedcomment and speculation. Her nose brought slightly up, she dropped to aperfect three-point landing, the brakes screeching as she was brought toa standstill at the hangar of the transportation company.
"Come on now, you fellows," came the voice of Hart Jones from the hangarentrance, "there's no time to lose. The _Pioneer_ takes off immediatelyafter the big fellow."
We hurried to the waiting ship, which seemed like a tiny toy whencompared with the giant SF-22. I had observed very little of theconstruction of the _Pioneer_, but I could now see that she was quitedifferent in design from the ordinary plane. A monoplane she was, butthe wing structure was abnormally short and of great thickness, andthere were a number of tubes projecting from the leading edge that gavethe appearance of a battery of small cannon. The body, like all planesdesigned for travel in air-level six, was cigar-shaped, and hadhermetically sealed ports and entrance manholes. A cluster of thecannon-shaped tubes enclosed the tail just back of the fins and rudderand, behind the wing structure atop the curved upper surface of thebody, there was a sphere of gleaming metal that was probably three feetin diameter.
* * * * *
Before I could formulate questions regarding the unusual features of thedesign, we were within the _Pioneer's_ cabin and Hart Jones was engagedin clamping the entrance manhole cover to its rubber seat. A throbbingroar that penetrated our double hull attracted my attention and, lookingthrough a nearby porthole, I saw that the convoy of army planes hadtaken off and was circling over the SF-22 in anticipation of her start.Trim, speedy fighting ships these were, with heavy caliber machine-gunsin turrets fore and aft and normally manned by crews of twelve each. Theunder surfaces of their bodies glistened smooth and sleek in the lightfrom the field, for the landing gears had been drawn within and theopenings sealed by the close-fitted armor plate that protected theseordinarily vulnerable portions when in flight.
The SF-22 was ready to take off and the crowds were drawing back intothe obscurity beyond the huge circle of blinding light. One afteranother her twelve engines sputtered into life, and ponderously shemoved over the field, gathering speed as the staccato barking of theexhausts gradually blended into a smooth though deafening purr. The tailof the great vessel came up, then the wheels, and she was off into thenight.
* * * * *
Hart Jones sat at a bewildering array of instruments that covered almostthe entire forward partition of the cabin. He pressed a button and thestarting motor whined for a moment. Then the single engine of the_Pioneer_ coughed and roared. Slowly we taxied in the direction taken bythe SF-22, whose lights were now vanishing in the darkness. I saw Georgeopen a valve on the wall and Hart stretched the fingers of his left handto what appeared to be the keyboard of a typewriter set into theinstrument board. He pressed several of the keys and pulled back hisstick. There was a whistling scream from astern and I was thrown back inmy seat with painful force. With that, the motor roared into full speedand we had left the airport far behind.
"What on earth?" I gasped.
"Rocket propulsion," laughed Hart. "I should have warned you. Thosetubes you saw outside at the tail and along the leading edge of thewings. Only used three of them, but that was sufficient for thetake-off."
"But I thought this rocket business was not feasible on account of thewastage of fuel due to its low efficiency," I objected.
"We should worry about fuel," said Hart.
I looked about me and saw that there was very little space for thestorage of this essential commodity. "Why?" I inquired. "What fuel doyou use?"
"Make our own," he replied shortly. He was busy at the moment,maneuvering the _Pioneer_ into a position above and behind the SF-22 andher convoy.
"You make your own fuel enroute?" I asked in astonishment.
"Yes. That sphere you saw on top. It is the collecting end of anelectrical system for extracting nitrogen and other elements, from theair. This extraction goes on constantly while we are in the atmosphereand my fuel is an extremely powerful explosive of which nitrates are thebase. T
he supply is replenished continuously, so we have no fear ofrunning short even in the upper levels."
* * * * *
George had crawled through a small opening into some inaccessible regionin the stern of the vessel. I pondered over what Hart had just told me,still keeping my eyes glued to the port, through which could be seen thefleet we were following. The altimeter registered thirty-five thousandfeet. We were entering air-level six--the stratosphere! Below us thetroposphere, divided into five levels, each of seven thousand feet,teemed with the life of the air. The regular lanes were filled withtraffic, the lights of the speeding thousands of freight and pleasurecraft moving in orderly procession along their prescribed routes.
Up here in the sixth level, which was entirely for high-speed traffic ofcommercial and government vessels making transcontinental ortransoceanic voyages, we were the only adventurers in sight--we and theconvoyed liner we were following. The speed indicator showed six hundredmiles an hour, and the tiny spot of light that traveled over the chartto indicate our position showed that we were nearing Buffalo.
Glancing through one of the lower ports, I saw the lights of the cityshining dimly through a light mist that fringed the shore of Lake Erieand extended northward along the Niagara. Then we were out over thelake, and the luminous hue was slipping rapidly behind. I looked aheadand saw that the distance to the SF-22 and her convoy had somewhatincreased. We were a mile behind and some two thousand feet above them.Evidently Hart was figuring on keeping at a safe distance forobservation of anything that might happen.
* * * * *
Our motor was running smoothly and the angle of the propeller blades hadbeen altered to take care of the change in air density from the loweraltitudes. It flashed across my mind that this was an ideal location foran attack, if such was to be made on the SF-22.
Then, far ahead, I saw a beam of light stab through the darkness andstrike the tossing surface of the lake. Another and another followed,and I could see that the SF-22 and her convoy were surrounded by theseunearthly rays. They converged from high above to outline a brilliantcircle where they met on the surface of the waters, and in the midst ofthe cone formed by the beams, the liner and its seven tiny followerscould be seen to falter, and huddle more closely together.
It all happened in the twinkling of an eye--so quickly, in fact, thatHart and I had not the time to exchange remarks over the strangeoccurrence. For a moment the eight vessels hovered, halted suddenly bythis inexplicable force from out the heavens. Then there rose from theapex of the inverted cone of light a blinding column of blue-whiteradiance that poured skyward an instant and was gone. To our ears came aterrific roaring that could be likened to nothing we had heard on earth.The _Pioneer_ was tossed and buffeted as by a cyclone, and George cametumbling from the opening he had entered, his round face grown solemn.Then came eery silence, for the _Pioneer's_ motor had gone dead. Aheadthere was utter darkness. The liner and her convoy had completelyvanished and the _Pioneer_ was slipping into a spin!
* * * * *
"What's up?" asked George of Hart, who was tugging frantically at thecontrols.
"The liner has gone the way of the first two," he replied: "and the yarnabout the pillar of fire was not so far wrong after all."
"You saw the same thing?" asked George incredulously.
"Yes, and so did Jack. There came some beams of light from the sky; thenthe pillar of fire and the roaring you heard, after which the vesselswere gone and our electrical system paralyzed."
"Holy smoke!" ejaculated George. "What to do now?"
As he spoke, the _Pioneer_ came out of the spin, and we were able toresume our positions in the seats. None of us was strapped in, and wehad been clinging to whatever was handiest to keep from being tossedabout in the cabin. Hart wiped his forehead and growled out an oath. Theinstrument board was still illuminated, for its tiny lamps were suppliedwith current from the storage battery. But the main lights of the cabinand the ignition system refused to function. We were gliding now, butlosing altitude rapidly, having already dropped to the lower limits oflevel five.
"Can't you use the rocket tubes?" I inquired hesitatingly.
"They are fired in the same manner as the motor," replied Hart; "but wemight try an emergency connection from the storage battery, which isordinarily used only in starting and for the panel lights."
* * * * *
George was already fussing with the connections in a small junction boxfrom which he had removed the cover. Meanwhile, the black waters of LakeErie were rushing upward to meet us, and the needle of the altimeterregistered twelve thousand feet.
"Here's the trouble!" shouted George, triumphantly holding up a smallobject he had removed from the junction box. "Ignition fuse is blown."
"Probably by some radiations from the cone of light and the column thatdestroyed the liner. Lucky we were no closer," were Hart's mutteredcomments.
George produced a spare fuse and inserted it in its proper place. Thecabin lights glowed instantly and the motor started at once.
"Well, I'm going up after the generators of this mysterious force thatis destroying our cross-country ships and killing our people," assertedHart. "The rays came from high above, but the _Pioneer_ can go as highas anything that ever flew--_higher_."
He snapped a switch and a beam of light that rivalled the so-calledpillar of fire bored far into the night, dimming the stars by itsbrilliance. Again his fingers strayed to the rows of white keys and therocket tubes shrieked in response to his pressure. This time I wasprepared for the shock of acceleration, but the action was maintainedfor several seconds and I found the pressure against my back growingpainful. Then it was relieved, and I glanced at the altimeter. Itsneedle had reached the end of the scale, which was graduated to eightythousand feet!
"Good Lord!" I exclaimed. "Do you mean to tell me that we are more thansixteen miles in the air?"
"Nearly thirty," replied Hart, pointing to another dial which I had notseen. This one was graduated in miles above sea-level, and its needlewavered between the twenty-nine and thirty mark!
* * * * *
Again Hart pressed the rocket buttons, and we shot still higher into theheavens. Thirty, forty, fifty miles registered the meter, and still weclimbed.
"Great Scott!" blurted a voice I knew was my own, though I had noconsciousness of willing the speech. "At this rate we'll reach themoon!"
"We could, if we wished," was Hart's astounding reply; "I wish youwouldn't say too much about it when we return. We have oxygen to breatheand an air-tight vessel to retain it. With the fuel we are using, wecould easily do it, provided a sufficient supply were available.However, the _Pioneer_ does not have large enough storage tanks as yet,and, of course, we cannot now replenish our supply with sufficientrapidity, for the atmosphere has become very rare indeed--where we are.My ultimate object, though, in building the _Pioneer_, was to constructa vessel that is capable of a trip to the moon."
"You think you could reach a great enough velocity to escape thegravitational pull of the earth?" I asked, marveling more and more atthe temerity and resourcefulness of my science-minded friend.
"Absolutely," he replied. "The speed required is less than seven miles asecond, and I have calculated that the _Pioneer_ can do no less thantwenty."
Mentally I multiplied by sixty. I could hardly credit the result. Twelvehundred miles a minute!
"But, how about the acceleration?" I ventured. "Could the human bodystand up under the strain?"
"That is the one problem remaining," he replied; "and I am now workingon a method of neutralizing it. From the latest results of ourexperiments, George and I are certain of its feasibility."
* * * * *
The _Pioneer_ was now losing altitude once more, and Hart played thebeam of the searchlight in all directions as we descended. He and Georgewatched through
one of the floor ports and I followed suit. We werefalling, unhampered by air resistance, and our bodies were practicallyweightless with reference to the _Pioneer_. It was a strange sensation:there was the feeling of exhilaration one experiences when inhaling thefirst whiff of nitrous oxide in the dentist's chair--a feeling ofabsolute detachment and care-free confidence in the ultimate result ofour precipitous descent.
I found considerable amusement in pushing myself from side to side ofthe cabin with a mere touch of a finger. There was no up nor down, andsometimes it seemed to me that we were drifting sideways, sometimes thatwe fell upward rather than downward. Hart and George were unconcerned.Evidently they were quite accustomed to the sensations. They bent theirevery energy toward discovering what had caused the disaster to theSF-22 and its convoy.
For several hours we cruised about on the strangest search ever made inthe air. Alternately shooting skyward to unconscionable altitudes anddropping to levels five and six to replenish our fuel supply, we coveredthe greater portion of the United States before the night was over. Butthe powerful searchlight of the _Pioneer_ failed to disclose anythingthat might be remotely connected with the disappearance of the SF-22.
For me it was a never-to-be-forgotten experience. Lightning dashes fromcoast to coast which required but a few minutes of time--circling manymiles above New York or Washington or Savannah in broad daylight withthe sun low on the up-curved horizon; then shooting westward into thedarkness and skirting the Pacific coast less than fifteen minutes later,but with four hours' actual time difference. Space and time were almostone.
* * * * *
Hart had not provided the _Pioneer_ with a radio or televisiontransmitter, but there was an excellent receiver, and, through itsagency we learned that the world was in a veritable uproar over thelatest visitation of the mysterious terror of the sixth air level. Allcommercial traffic in levels four, five and six was ordereddiscontinued, and the government air control stations were flashing longmessages in code, the import of which could but be guessed. Visionflashes showed immense gatherings at the large airports and in thepublic squares of the great cities, where the general populace becomemore and more excited and terrified by the awful possibilities picturedby various prominent speakers.
The governments of all foreign powers made haste to disclaimresponsibility for the air attacks or for any attempt at making war onthe United States. News broadcasts failed to mention Hart Jones or the_Pioneer_, since the mission had been kept secret. The phenomenon of therays and the roaring column of light had been observed from many pointson this occasion and there was no longer any doubt as to the nature ofthe terror as visible to the eye, though theories as to the action andsource of the rays conflicted greatly and formed the basis of muchheated discussion.
Eventually the advancing dawn reached San Francisco, and with its adventHart decided to make a landing in that city so that my bonds could bedelivered.
* * * * *
Jones was apparently a very much mystified and discouraged man. "Jack,"he said, "it seems to me that this thing is but the beginning of sometremendous campaign that is being waged against our country by a cleverand powerful enemy. And I feel that our work in connection with theunraveling of the mystery and overcoming the enemy or enemies is butbegun. It's a cinch that the thing is organized by human minds and isnot any sort of a freak of the elements. Our work is cut out for us, allright, and I wish you would stick to George and me through the mess.Will you?"
"Sure," I agreed, readily enough. "After these bonds are delivered I amfree for a month."
"Ha! Ha!" cackled George, without mirth. "A month! We're doggoned luckyif we get to the bottom of this in a year."
"Nonsense!" snapped Hart, who was considerably upset by the failure tolocate the source of the disastrous rays. "There is nothing supernaturalabout this, and anything that can be explained on a scientific basis canbe run to earth in short order. These rays are man-made and, as such,can be accounted for by man. Our greatest scientists must be put to workon the problem at once--in fact, they have quite probably been called inby the government already."
* * * * *
He was maneuvering the _Pioneer_ to a landing on the broad field of theSan Francisco airport. Hundreds of idle planes of all sizes lined thefield, and, unmindful of the earliness the hour, a great crowd wascollected in expectation of sensational reports from the occupants ofarriving ships. The unusual construction of the _Pioneer_ attractedconsiderable attention and it was with difficulty that the police keptback the crowd when she rolled to a stop near the office of the localgovernment supervisor. We hustled inside and were greeted by thatofficial with open arms.
"Glory be!" he exclaimed. "Hart Jones and the _Pioneer_. Every airportin the land has been on the lookout for you all night. It was feared youhad been lost with the SF-22 and the others. Code messages to thesupervisors of all districts advised of your mission, though it has beenkept out of the general news, as has the message from the enemy."
"Message from the enemy!" gasped Hart, George and I, echoing the wordslike parrots.
"Yes. A demand that the United States surrender, and a threat to descendinto the lower levels if the demand is not complied with in twenty-fourhours!"
"Who is this enemy?" asked Hart, "and where?"
"Who they are is not known," replied the official gravely; "and as tothe location, the War Department is puzzled. Direction findersthroughout the country took readings on the position of their radiotransmitter and these readings differed widely in result. But theconsensus of opinion is that the messages originate somewhere out inspace, probably between fifty and one hundred thousand miles from ourearth."
"Great guns!" Hart glanced at George and me, where we stood withstupidly hanging jaws. "And what does the government want of me now?"
"You are considered to be the one man who might be able to cope with theproblem, and are ordered to report to the Secretary of War, in person,immediately."
* * * * *
Hart was electrified into instant activity. "Here," he said in a voiceof authority that commanded the official's attention and respect, "seethat this package of bonds is delivered at once to the addressee andthat the addressor is advised of its safe arrival. We're off at once."
Suiting action to the words, he thrust my packet into the hands of theastonished supervisor. Then, turning sharply on his heel, he flung back,"Advise the Secretary of War that I shall report to him in person inless than one hour."
As we stepped through the entrance of the _Pioneer_, he shot a finallook at the official and laughed heartily at his sudden accession ofenergy. We had not the slightest doubt that Hart's orders would beimmediately and efficiently carried out.
* * * * *
In precisely forty-five minutes, we stood before the desk of LawrenceSimler, then Secretary of War, in Washington.
"You are Mr. Hartley Jones?" inquired the stern-visaged little man.
"I am, Mr. Secretary, and these are my friends and co-workers, GeorgeBoehm and John Makely."
The Secretary acknowledged the introduction gravely, then plunged intothe heart of the matter at hand with the quick energy for which he wasfamed.
"It may or may not be a serious situation," he said, "but certainly ithas thus far been quite alarming. In any event, we have taken the matterout of the hands of the Air Traffic Bureau. We are prepared to defy theultimatum of the enemy, whoever he may be. But we want your help, Mr.Jones. Every ship of the Air Navy will be in the upper levels within theprescribed twenty-four hours, and we will endeavor to stave off theirattacks until such time as you can fit the _Pioneer_ for a journey totheir headquarters."
"How can your antiquated war vessels, capable of hurling a highexplosive shell no more than fifty miles, fight off an enemy that isthousands of miles distant?" asked Hart.
"It is believed by the research engineers of the gover
nment that, thoughtheir headquarters may be located at a great distance, the raiders dropto a comparatively low altitude at the time of one of their attacks,returning immediately thereafter to their base."
Hart Jones shook his head. "The engineers may be correct," he stated;"but how on earth can you expect a little vessel like the _Pioneer_ tobattle an enemy who is possessed of these terribly destructive weaponsand who has sufficient confidence in his own invulnerability to declarewar on the greatest country on earth?"
* * * * *
Secretary Simler dropped his voice to a confidential tone, and his keengray eyes flashed excitement as he unfolded the details of thediscoveries and plans of the War Department. We three listened inundisguised amazement to a tale of the unceasing labors of our SecretService agents in foreign countries, of elaborate experiments withdeadly weapons and the chemicals of warfare.
We heard of marvelous new rays that could be projected for many milesand destroy whole armies at a single blast; rays that would, in lesstime than that required to tell of the feat, reduce to a mass of fusedmetal the greatest firstline battleships of the old days of oceanwarfare. We heard of preparations for defensive warfare throughout thecivilized world, preparedness that insured so terrible and final a warthat it was literally impossible for a great world conflagration toagain break out. We learned that the present mysterious signs of acoming war could not possibly have originated in any country on earth,else they would have been known of long in advance, due to the networkof the Secret Service system. This war, so unexpectedly thrust upon us,was undoubtedly a war of planets!
"But," objected Hart, "the messages were in English, were they not?"
"They were," continued Secretary Simler, "and that puzzled our expertsin the beginning. But, it may well be that our enemy from out the skieshas had spies among us for many years and could thus have learned ourlanguages and radio codes. In any event, we are to meet destructive rayswith others equally destructive, and you, Hartley Jones, are the man whocan make our effectiveness certain."
"I?"
"Yes. How long a time will be required in fitting out the _Pioneer_ forreliable space flying?"
* * * * *
Hart Jones pondered the matter and I could see that he was overjoyed atthe prospect of getting into the thing in earnest. "About one week," hereplied, "providing you can send a force of fifty expert mechanics to myhangar at once and supply all material as fast as I shall require it."
"Excellent," said the Secretary. "We'll have the men there in a fewhours and will obtain whatever you need, regardless of cost, forimmediate delivery. Incidentally, there will be several scientists aswell, who will supervise the installation of two types of ray generatorsand their projecting mechanisms on the _Pioneer_. You will need themlater."
"I don't doubt we shall," said Hart. "And now, with your permission, weshall leave for the hangar. I'm ready to start work."
"Capital!" Secretary Simler pressed every one of a row of buttons set inhis desk top. We were dismissed.
"Well," said I, when we reached the outside, "he has given you quite ajob, Hart!"
"You said something," he replied. "But, if this threat from the skiesproves as real and as calamitous as I think it will, we all have ourwork cut out for us."
"Do you really believe this enemy comes from another planet?" askedGeorge as we entered the _Pioneer_ for the trip home.
"Where else can they be from?" countered Hart. "But, really it makes nodifference to us now. We have to go after them in earnest. Don't want toquit, do you, George?"
"Wha-a-at?" shouted George, as he jerked savagely at the main switch ofthe _Pioneer_. "You know me better than that, Hart. Did I ever let youdown in anything?"
"No," admitted the smiling Hart, "you never did, bless your heart. ButJack here is another matter. He has a wife and two kids to look after.That lets him out automatically."
* * * * *
My heart sank at the words, for I knew that he meant what he said. And,truth to tell, I saw the justice in his remarks.
"But, Hart," I faltered, "I'd like to be in on this thing."
"I know you would, old man. But I think it's out of the question, forthe present at least. You can help with the reconstruction of the_Pioneer_, however."
And meekly I accepted his dictum, though with secretly conflictingemotions. Little did I realize at the time that Hart knew far more thanhe pretended and that he had merely attempted to salve his ownconscience in this manner.
I was very anxious to return to my family, and, as I sped homeward in ataxicab after the _Pioneer_ landed at her own hangar, my mind was filledwith doubts and fears. Secretary Simler had been very brief in his talk,but his every word carried home the gravity of the situation. What ifthese invaders carried the war to the surface? Suppose they seared thecountryside and the cities and suburbs with rays of horrible nature thatwould shrivel and blast all that lay in their path? My heart chilled atthe thought and it was a distinct relief when I gazed on my little homeand saw that it was safe--so far. I paid the driver with a much toolarge bank note and dashed up my own front steps two at a time.
A few hours later I tore myself away and returned to the hangar, wherethe _Pioneer_ now reposed in a scaffolded cradle. The sight which met myeyes was astonishing in the extreme, for the hangar had been transformedinto a huge workshop with seemingly hundreds of men already at work. Itwas a scene of furious activity, and, to my utter amazement, I observedthat the _Pioneer_ was already in an advanced stage of disassembly.
* * * * *
I had no difficulty in locating Hart Jones, for he was striding fromlathe to workbench to boring mill, issuing his orders with the surenessand decision of a born leader of men. He welcomed me in his most briskmanner and immediately assigned me to a portion of the work in thechemical laboratory--something I was at least partly fitted for.
We labored far into the night, when a siren called us to rest and food.This was to be a night and day job, and not a man of those on duty gavethought to the intense nervous and physical strain. Sixty-five of us Ilearned there were, though it had seemed there were several times thatnumber.
During the rest period, Hart switched on the large television and soundmechanism of the public news broadcasts. Great excitement prevailedthroughout the United States, for there had been a leak and the news hadgone abroad regarding the message from the enemy. There was widespreadpanic and disorder and the government was besieged with demands forauthentic news. The twenty-four hours of grace had nearly expired.
Finally the public was told of what actually was happening. Our entirefleet of one thousand air cruisers was in air-level six, waiting for theenemy. America was going to fight in earnest!
* * * * *
Flashes of our air cruisers in construction and in action came over thescreen; voice-vision records of the popular officers of the fleetfollowed in quick succession. Then came the blow--the first of thestrange war.
Two vessels of the air fleet had been destroyed by the triple rays andpillar of fire! Fifty cruisers rushing to the scene had been unable tofind any traces of the source of the deadly rays. And, this time, therewas an alarming added element. The pillar of fire had risen from a pointnear Gadsden in Alabama and, in its wake, there spread a sulphurous,smoldering fire that crept along the ground and destroyed all in itspath. Farms, factories, and even the steel rails of the railroads wereconsumed and burned into the ground as if by the breath of sometremendous blast furnace. Hundreds of inhabitants of the sectionperished, and it was reported that the fumes from the strange fires weredrifting in the direction of Birmingham, terrifyingly visible inblue-green clouds of searing vapor.
With the first news of the disaster came a wave of fear that spread overthe country with the rapidity of the ether waves that carried the news.Then came stern determination. This enemy must be swept from the skies!Gatherings in publi
c places volunteered en masse for whatever servicethe government might ask of them. The entire world was in an uproar, andfrom Great Britain, France, Germany and Russia, came immediate offers oftheir air fleets to assist in fighting off the Terror.
* * * * *
In less than an hour there were nearly five thousand cruisers inair-level six, patroling its entire depth from thirty-five thousand toone hundred thousand feet altitude.
We resumed work in the hangar, but the news service was kept inoperation as far as the amplifiers were concerned, though the televisionscreen was switched off on account of the likelihood of its distractingthe workers.
Again came the report of a major disaster, this time over Butte inMontana. Four American vessels and one British were the victims in levelsix. And the city of Butte was in flames; blue, horrible flames thatliterally melted the city into the ground. Again there was no trace ofthe invaders.
How puny were the efforts of the five thousand air cruisers! Marvels ofengineering and mechanical skill, these vessels were. Deadly as were theweapons they carried--weapons so terrible that war on earth wasconsidered impossible since their development--they were helplessagainst an enemy who could not be located. Though our vessels werecapable of boring high into the stratosphere, the enemy worked fromstill higher.
"Holy smoke!" gasped Hart Jones, who had stopped at my side. "What acontract I have on my hands!"
* * * * *
He looked in the direction of the partly dismantled _Pioneer_, and Icould see by the fixedness of his stare that he was thinking of herinsignificant size in comparison with the job she was to undertake.
Above the din of the machines in the hangar rang the startled voice of anews announcer. Panic-stricken he seemed, and we stopped to listen.Another blow of the terror of the skies--and now close by! OverWestchester County in New York State there was a repetition of theprevious attacks. Only two of the cruisers had vanished this time; butseveral towns, including Larchmont and Scarsdale, were pools of moltenfire!
Sick at heart, I thought of my little home in Rutherford and of the dearones it contained. I thought of telephoning, but, what was the use?There was no warding off of this terrible thing that had so suddenlycome to our portion of the world. It was the blowing of the lasttrumpet, the way things looked.
The announcer had calmed himself. His voice droned tonelessly now, aswas the custom. Another raid, on the Mexican Border now. We werestupefied by the rapidity of the enemy's attacks; then electrified oncemore by the most astounding news of all. Alexandria, in Egypt, was thebase of a pillar of fire! Fully half of the city was wiped out, and theremainder in a mortal funk, terrorized and riotous. The United Stateswas not alone in the war!
The foreign fleets which reinforced our own were ordered homeimmediately. But to what avail? The world was doomed!
* * * * *
In the morning, after nine fearful attacks during the night, there cameanother message from the enemy and this was repeated in five languagesand addressed to the entire world:
"People of Earth," it read, "this is our final warning. One chance hasbeen given and you have proved stubborn. Consider well that yourcivilization be not entirely destroyed, and answer as the expiration offorty-eight hours, using our transmitting frequency. Our hand is to bewithheld for that period only, when, unless our demands are met, all ofyour large cities and towns will be destroyed. Our terms for peace arethat we be permitted to land without resistance on your part; that yousurrender farm and forest lands, cities and towns, able-bodied men oftwenty to forty, selected women of seventeen to thirty, and tribute inthe form of such supplies and precious metals as we may specify, all tothe extent of forty per cent of your resources. No compromise will beaccepted."
That was all. It was during a rest period at the Jones hangar and I hadbrought Hart and George to my home for breakfast. We sat at the tablewhen the news instrument brought the message. Marie was pouring thecoffee, and my two small boys, Jim and Jack, had gone to the playroom,from whence their joyous voices could be heard. We four were struck dumbat the announcement, and Marie looked at me with so awful an expressionof dread that my coffee turned bitter in my mouth. Marie was justtwenty-eight!
"What beasts!" cried Hart. "Allow them to land without resistance? Ishould say not! Rather we should fight them off until all of us perish."
* * * * *
He had risen from his chair in his anger. Now he sat down suddenly andshook a forefinger in my face.
"Say!" he exploded. "You can't tell me that some master mind of our ownworld is not back of this!"
"I'm not telling you," I replied, startled at the fierce fire thatflashed from his eyes.
"I know. I'm just trying to think aloud and I'm liable to say anything.But this sort of business is the work of humans as sure as you're born.Still I believe that what Simler says is true. I can't believe that anycountry on earth is back of the thing. It must be an attack from beingsof another planet, but I think they have as a leader a man who is ofour own earth."
Marie's eyes opened wide at this. "But how could that be?" she asked."Surely no one from our earth has made the trip to one of the otherplanets?"
"It may be that someone has," replied Hart. "Do you remember ProfessorOradel? Remember, about ten years ago, I think it was, when he and ahalf dozen or more of extremely radical scientists built a rocket theyclaimed would reach the moon? They were ridiculed and hissed andrelegated to the position of half-baked, crazy inventors. But Oradel hada large private fortune, and he and his crowd built themselves aworkshop and laboratory in a secluded region in the Ozarks. Here theylabored and experimented and eventually the rocket ship was constructed.No person was in their confidence, but when the machine was completedthey issued a statement to the press to the effect that they were readyfor the voyage to the moon, and that, when they returned, a reckoningwith the world was to be made for its disbelief and total lack ofsympathy. Again the press subjected Oradel to a series of scathingdenunciations, and the scientific publications refused to takecognizance of his claims in any way, shape or form."
* * * * *
"Then, one night, a great rocket roared into the heavens, leaving aterror-stricken countryside in the wake of its brilliantly visible tail.Several observatories whose telescopes picked up and followed the trailof the contraption reported that it described a huge parabola, mountinghigh into the stratosphere and falling back to earth, where it was lostin the depths of the Pacific Ocean. There the thing ended and it wassoon forgotten. But I believe that this rocket ship of Oradel's reachedMars or Venus and that the peoples of whichever planet they reached havebeen prevailed upon and prepared to war upon the world."
"That would explain their knowledge of our languages and codes." Iventured, "and would likewise account for the fact that the first of ourships to be attacked were those carrying large shipments of currency.Though if these were destroyed by the fire columns, I can not see whatgood the money would do them."
"Don't believe the first three were destroyed," grunted Hart. "You'llremember that in these cases the pillars of fire, or whatever you wantto call them, were of a cold light, whereas now they are viciously hotand leave behind them the terrible destructive fires that spread andspread and seemingly never are extinguished. No, I think that the forceused is something of the nature of an atom-disrupting triad of beams andthat these set up the column as a veritable tornado, a whirling columnof roaring wind rushing skyward with tremendous velocity. The firstships, I believe, were carried into the stratosphere and captured intactby the enemy.
"Since the declaration of war the nature of the column has altered. Thethree beams, instead of meeting at or near the surface of the earth, nowjoin high in the heavens and the column strikes downward instead ofexpending its force upward. An added energy is used which produces theterribly destructive force below. And now we are able to locatefragments of
the ships destroyed above, whereas previously there were notraces."
* * * * *
"Sounds reasonable," commented George. "But why have they not landed andwaged their war right here without warning, if that is what they nowintend to do?"
"A natural question, George. But I have a hunch that the space flier orfliers of the enemy are conserving fuel by remaining beyond gravity. Youknow, in space flying, the greatest expenditures of energy are inleaving or landing on a body and, once landed, they might not havesufficient fuel for a getaway. They know we are not exactly helpless,once they are in our midst, and are taking this means of reducing us tothe point of complete subjection before risking their precious selvesamong us."
The telephone startled us by its insistent ring. It was a call from thehangar for Hart. The news broadcast announcer was in the midst of a longdissertation regarding the discovery only this morning that there werecertain apparent discrepancies in the movements of the tides andunwonted perturbations of the moon's orbit. There flashed on the screena view of the great observatory at Mount Wilson, and Professor Laughlinof that institution stepped into the foreground of the scene to take upthe discussion so mechanically repeated by the announcer.
"Must leave for the hangar at once," declared Hart, returning from thetelephone. "Simler and his staff are there and we are wantedimmediately."
"Oh, Jack!" Marie begged with her eyes.
"Got to be done, Honey," I responded, "and, believe me, I am going to dowhat little I can to help. Suppose we surrendered!"
* * * * *
I shuddered anew at the very thought and took hurried leave of myfamily, Hart and George awaiting me in the hall. Had I known what was totranspire before the end of the war, I am certain I would have been inmuch less of a hurry.
We rushed to the hangar, where Secretary Simler and his party awaited usin the office. Rather, I should say, they waited for Hart Jones.
"Mr. Jones," said the Secretary of War, when the introductions wereover, "it is up to you to get the _Pioneer_ in shape to go out afterthese terrible creatures before the forty-eight hours have expired. Wehave replied to their ultimatum and have told them we will have ouranswer ready within the appointed time, but it is already agreed betweenthe nations of the World Alliance that our reply is to be negative.Better far that we submit to the utter destruction of our civilizationthan agree to their terms."
"I believe I can do it, Mr. Secretary," was Hart Jones' simple comment."At least I will try. But you must let me have an experienced astronomerat once with whom to consult."
"Astronomer?"
"Yes--immediately. I have a theory, but am not enough of a student ofastronomy myself to work it out."
"You shall have the best man in the Air Naval Observatory at once."Secretary Simler chewed his cigar savagely. "And anything else you mightneed," he concluded.
"There is nothing else, sir." Hart turned from the great men whoregarded him solemnly, some with expressions of hope, others with plaindistrust written large on their countenances.
* * * * *
They left in silence and we returned to our work with renewed vigor.Within an hour there arrived by fast plane an undersized,thick-spectacled man who presented himself as Professor Linquistfrom the government observatory. He was immediately taken into theoffice by Hart and the two remained behind closed doors for the bestpart of four hours.
Meanwhile the hangar hummed with activity as usual. We in the chemicallaboratory were engaged in compounding the high explosive used as fuelin the _Pioneer_. This was being compressed to its absolute limit andwas stored in long steel cylinders in the form of a liquid of extremelylow temperature. These cylinders were at once transferred to a specialsteel vault where the temperature was kept at a low enough point toprevent expansion and consequent loss of the explosive, not to speak ofthe danger of destroying the entire lot of us in its escape.
The generating apparatus of the _Pioneer_ was to be dispensed with forthis trip, since it was of no value outside the atmosphere where therewas no air from which to extract the elements necessary for theproduction of the explosive. Instead, the entire supply of fuel for thetrip was to be carried aboard the vessel in the cylinders we wereengaged in filling. Hart had calculated that there was just sufficientroom to store fuel for a trip of about two hundred thousand miles fromthe earth and a safe return. We hoped this would be enough.
* * * * *
On the scaffolding around the _Pioneer_ there were now so many workersthat it seemed they must forever be in one another's way. But the workwas progressing with extreme rapidity. Already there projected from herblunt nose a slender rod of shining metal which was the projector of oneof the destructive rays whose generator and auxiliaries were beinginstalled under the supervision of the government experts. The force hadbeen trebled and was now working in shifts of two hours each, the pacebeing so exhausting that highest efficiency was obtained by using theseshort periods.
Additional rocket tubes were being installed, and the steel framework ofa bulge now showed on the hull, this bulge being an additional fuelstorage compartment that would provide a slight additional resistanceand consequently lower speed in the lower levels, but would prove littlehindrance in level six and none at all in outer space.
When Hart emerged from his office he appeared to be very tired, indeed,but his face bore an expression of triumph that could not be mistaken.He and this little scientist from Washington had evidently arrived atsome momentous conclusion regarding the enemy.
"Jack," he said, when he reached my bench during his first round of thehanger, "celestial mechanics is a wonderful thing. I had a hunch, andthis astronomer chap has proved it correct with his mathematics. Ourfriend the enemy is out there in space at a point where his own mass andvelocity are exactly counteracted by those of the earth and itssatellite, the moon. He is just floating around in space, doing no workwhatsoever to maintain his own position. He has temporarily assumed therole of a second satellite to us and is revolving around us at adefinite period that was calculated by Lindquist. The gravitational pullof the moon keeps him from falling to the earth and that of the earthkeeps him from approaching the moon. The resultant of the set of forcesis what determines his orbit and the disturbance in the normal balanceis what has been observed by the astronomers who reported changes in thetides and in the moon's orbit."
* * * * *
"But Lindquist's figures prove that the vessel or fleet of the enemymust be of tremendous size to produce such discrepancies,infinitesimally small though they might seem. We have a big fellow withwhom to deal, but we know where to find him now."
"How can he work from a fixed position to make his attacks on the earthat such widely separated points?" I asked.
"It isn't a fixed position in the first place, and besides the earthrotates once in twenty-four hours, while the moon travels around theearth once in about twenty-eight days. But, even so, the widespreaddestruction could not be accounted for. He must send out scoutingparties or something of that sort. That is one of the things we are tolearn when we get out there. We'll have some fun, Jack."
"Will the _Pioneer_ be ready?" I asked. Evidently I was to go.
"She will, with the exception of the acceleration neutralizers. But I'mhaving some heavily-cushioned and elastic supports made that will, Ibelieve, save us from injury. And I guess we can stand the discomfortfor once."
"Yes," I agreed, "in such a cause, I, for one, am willing to go throughanything to help keep this overwhelming disaster from our good oldworld."
"Jack," he whispered, "we must prevent it. We've got to!"
Then he was gone, and I watched him for a moment as he dashed headlongfrom one task to another. He was a whirlwind of energy once more.
* * * * *
Forty-three hours and twenty minutes had passed since the receipt of theenemy'
s ultimatum. The last bolt was being tightened in the remodeled_Pioneer_, and Secretary Simler and his staff were on hand to witnessthe take-off of the vessel on which the hopes of the world were pinned.The news of our attempt had been spread by cable and printed news only,for there was fear that the enemy might be able to pick up thebroadcasts of the news service and thus be able to anticipate us. Asusual, there were many scoffers, but the consensus of opinion was infavor of the project. At any rate, what better expedient was there tooffer?
The huge airport, now unused on account of the complete cessation of airtraffic, was closed to the public. But there was quite a crowd towitness the take-off, the visitors from Washington, the officials of thefield, and the two hundred workers who had enabled us to make ready forthe adventure in time. There were four to enter the _Pioneer_: Hart,George, Professor Lindquist, and myself. And when the entrance manholewas bolted home behind us, the watchers stood in silence, waiting forthe roar of the _Pioneer's_ motor. As the starter took hold, Hart wavedhis hand at one of the ports and every man of those two hundred and somewatchers stood at attention and saluted is if he were a born soldier andHart a born commander-in-chief.
* * * * *
We taxied heavily across the field, for the _Pioneer_ was muchoverloaded for a quick take-off. She bumped and bounced for aquarter-mile before taking to the air and then climbed very slowlyindeed, for several minutes. Our speed was a scant two hundred miles anhour when we swung out over New York and headed for the Atlantic. Andthen Hart made first use of the rocket tubes, not daring to dischargethe hot gases below while over populated land at so low an altitude. Hetouched one button, maintaining the pressure for but a fraction of asecond. The ocean slipped more rapidly away from beneath our feet and hetouched the button once more. Our speed was now nearly seven hundredmiles an hour and we made haste to buckle ourselves into the padded,hammocklike contrivances which had been substituted for the formerseats. In a very few minutes we entered level six and the motor was cutoff entirely.
A blast from a number of the tail rockets drove me into my supportinghammock so heavily that I found difficulty in breathing, and couldscarcely move a muscle to change position. The rate of acceleration wasterrific, and I am still unable to understand how Hart was able tomanipulate the controls. For myself, I could not even turn my head fromits position in the padding and I felt as if I were being crushed bythousands of tons of pressure. Then, the pressure was somewhat relievedand I glanced to the instruments. We were more than a thousand milesfrom our starting point and the speed indicator read seven thousandmiles an hour. We were traveling at the rate of nearly two miles asecond!
* * * * *
Another blast from the rockets, this one of interminable length, and Imust have lost consciousness. For when I next took note of things Ifound that we had been out for nearly two hours and that the tremendouspressure of acceleration was relieved. I moved my head, experimentallyand found that my senses were normal, though there was a strange andalarming sensation of being wrong side up. Then I remembered that I hadexperienced the same thing when we first searched the upper levels ofthe atmosphere for the origin of the destructive rays of the enemy.
But this was different! I gazed through a nearby port and saw that thesky was entirely black, the stars shining magnificently brilliantagainst their velvet background. Streamers of brilliant sunlight fromthe floor ports struck across the cabin and patterned the ceiling.Looking between my feet I saw the sun as a flaming orb with streamers ofincandescence that spread in every direction with such blindingluminosity that I could not bear the sight for more than a few seconds.Off to what I was pleased to think of as our left side, there was a hugeglobe that I quickly made out as our own earth. Eerily green it shone,and, though a considerable portion of the surface was obscured bypatches of white that I recognized as clouds, I could clearly make outthe continents of the eastern hemisphere. It was a marvelous sight and Ilost several minutes in awed contemplation of the wonder. Then I heardHart laugh.
"Just coming out of it, Jack?" he asked.
* * * * *
I stared at him foolishly. It had seemed to me that I was alone in thisvast universe, and the sound of his voice startled me. "Guess I'm notfully out of it yet," I said. "Where are we?"
"Oh, about sixty thousand miles out," he replied carelessly; "and we aretraveling at our maximum speed--that is, the maximum we need for thislittle voyage."
"Little voyage!" I gasped. And then I looked at George and the professorand saw that they, too, were grinning at my discomfiture. I laughedcrazily, I suppose, for they all sobered at once.
Traveling through space at more than forty thousand miles an hour, itseemed that we were stationary. Movement was now easy--too easy, infact, for we were practically weightless. The professor was having atime of it manipulating a pencil and a pad of paper on which he had amass of small figures that were absolutely meaningless to me. He wascalculating and plotting our course and, without him, we should neverhave reached the object we sought.
Time passed rapidly, for the wonders of the naked universe were anever-ending source of fascination. Occasionally a series of rocketcharges was fired to keep our direction and velocity, but these werelight, and the acceleration so insignificant that we were put to nodiscomfort whatever. But it was necessary that we keep our strapsbuckled, for, in the weightless condition, even the slightest increaseor decrease in speed or change in direction was sufficient to throw usthe length of the cabin, from which painful bruises might be received.
* * * * *
The supports to which we were strapped and which saved us from beingcrushed by the acceleration and deceleration, were similar to hammocks,being hooked to the floor and ceiling of the cabin rather than suspendedhorizontally in the conventional manner. This was for the reason thatthe energy of the rockets was expended fore and aft, except forsteering, and the forces were therefore along the horizontal axis of thevessel. The supports were elastic and the padding deep and soft. Beingswiveled at top and bottom, they could swing around so that decelerationas well as acceleration was relieved. For this reason the controls hadbeen altered so that the flexible support in which Hart was suspendedcould rotate about their pedestal, thus allowing for their operation bythe pilot either when accelerating or decelerating. How he could controlthe muscles of his arms and hands under the extreme conditions is stilla mystery to me, however, and George agrees with me in this. We foundourselves to be utterly helpless.
My next impression of the trip is that of swinging rapidly around andfinding myself facing the rear wall of the cabin. Then the tremendouspressure once more at a burst from the forward tubes. We had commenceddeceleration. For me there were alternate periods of full andsemi-consciousness and, to this day, I can remember no more than thehigh spots of that historical expedition.
* * * * *
Then we were free to move once more, and I turned to face the instrumentboard. Our relative velocity had become practically zero; that is, wewere traveling through space at about the same speed and in the samedirection as the earth. The professor and Hart were consulting a pencilchart and excitedly looking first through the forward ports and theninto the screen of the periscope.
"This is the approximate location," averred the professor.
"But they are not here," replied Hart.
George and I peered in all directions and could see nothing exceptingthe marvels of the universe we had been viewing. The moon now seemedvery close and its craters and so-called seas were as plainly visible asin a four-inch telescope on earth. But we saw nothing of the enemy.
The earth was a huge ball still, but much smaller than when I had firstobserved it from the heavens. The sun's corona--the flaming streamerswhich the professor declared extended as much as five million miles intospace--was partly hidden behind the rim of the earth and the effect wasblinding. A thin crescent of brilli
ant light marked the rim of ourplanet and the rest was in shadow, but a shadow that was lightedawesomely in cold green by reflected light from her satellite.
"I have it!" suddenly shouted the professor. "We are all in very nearlythe same line with reference to the sun, and the enemy is between theblazing body and ourselves. We must shift our position, move into theshadow of the earth. We have missed our calculation by a few hundredmiles, that is all."
All! I thought. These astronomers, so accustomed to dealing intremendous distances that must be measured in light-years, thoughtnothing of an error of several hundred miles. But I suppose it wasreally an inconsiderable amount, at that.
At any rate, we shifted position and looked around a bit more. We sawnothing at first. Then Hart consulted the chronometer.
"Time is up!" he shouted.
* * * * *
On the instant there was a flash of dazzling green light from a pointnot a hundred miles from our position, a flash that was followed by astreaking pencil of the same light shooting earthward with terrificvelocity. Breathlessly we followed its length, saw it burst like a bomband hurl three green balls from itself which sped at equally spacedangles to form a perfect triangle. They hovered a moment at about twothousand miles above the surface of the earth, according to theprofessor, who was using the telescope at the time, and shot theirdeadly rays toward our world. We were too late to prevent the renewal ofhostilities!
Another and another streak of green light followed and we knew thatgreat havoc was being wrought back home. But these served to locate theenemy's position definitely and we immediately set about to draw nearer.We were still somewhat on the dark side of the object, which hadprevented our seeing it. Now we swung about so that it was plainlyvisible. And, what a strange appearance it presented, out here in space!
Fully fifteen miles in diameter, it was a huge doughnut, a great ring oftubing with a center-opening that was at least eighty per cent of itsmaximum diameter. There it hovered, sending out those deadly missiles ina continuous stream toward our poor world. As we approached the weirdspace flier, we saw that a number of objects floated about within thegreat circle of its inner circumference. The NY-18, the SF-61 and theSF-22, without doubt! The theory of Hart's was correct in every detail.
* * * * *
We were still at about ten miles distance from the great ring and thestreaking light pencils were speeding earthward at the rate of one aminute now. There was no time to lose. Already there was moredestruction on its way than had been previously wrought--several timesover.
Hart was sighting along a tiny tube that projected into the forwardpartition and he maneuvered the _Pioneer_ until she was nose on to thegreat ring. He pulled a switch and there came a purring that wasentirely new. A row of huge vacuum tubes along the wall lighted to vividbrilliancy and a throbbing vibration filled the artificial air of thecabin.
He pulled a small lever at the side of the tube and the vessel rocked tothe energy that was released from those vacuum tubes. The thin rod whichhad been installed at the _Pioneer's_ nose burst into brilliantflame--orange tinted luminescence that grew to a sphere of probably tenfeet in diameter. Then there was a heavy shock and the ball of fire leftits position and, with inconceivable velocity, sprang straight for theside of the great ring. It was a fair hit and, when the weird missilefound its mark, it simply vanished--swallowed up in the metal walls ofthe monster vessel. For a moment we thought nothing was to result. Thenwe burst into shouts of joy, for a great section of the ring fused intonothingness and was gone! Fully a quarter of the circumference of thering had disappeared into the vacuum of space. Truly, the governments ofEarth had developed some terrible weapons of their own!
We watched, breathless.
* * * * *
The green light pencils no longer streaked their paths of death in thedirection of our world, which now seemed so remote. The great ring withthe vacant space in its rim wabbled uncertainly for a moment as thoughsome terrific upheaval from within was tearing it asunder. Then itlurched directly for the _Pioneer_. We had been observed!
But Hart was equal to the occasion and he shot the _Pioneer_ in thedirection of the earth with such acceleration that we all were flattenedinto our supports with the same old violence. Then, with equal violence,we decelerated. The ring was following so closely that it actuallyrushed many hundreds of miles past us before it was brought to rest.From it there sprang one of the light pencils, and the _Pioneer_ wasrocked as by a heavy gale when it rushed past on its harmless way intoinfinity. The enemy had missed.
Meanwhile, Hart was operating another mechanism that was new to the_Pioneer_ and again he sighted along the tiny tube. This time there wasno sound within, no ball of fire without, no visible ray. But, when hehad pressed the release of this second energy, the ring seemed toshrivel and twist as if gripped by a giant's hand. It reeled and spun.Then, no longer in a balance of forces, it commenced its long dropearthward.
His job finished and finished well, Hart Jones collapsed.
* * * * *
Following his more than three days and four nights of superhumanendeavor, it seemed strange to see Hart slumped white and still over thecontrol pedestal. He who had energy far in excess of that of any of therest of us had worn himself out. Having had no rest or sleep in nearly ahundred hours, the body that housed so wonderful a spirit simply refusedto carry on. Tenderly we stretched him on the cabin floor, the _Pioneer_drifting in space the while. The professor, who was likewise somethingof a physician, listened to his heart, drew back his eyelids, andpronounced him in no danger whatever.
We slapped his wrists, sprinkled his face and neck with cold water fromthe drinking supply, and were soon rewarded by his return toconsciousness. He smiled weakly and fell sound asleep. No war in theuniverse could have wakened him then, so we lifted him to hisfeet--rather I should say, we guided his practically floating body--andstrapped him in George's hammock, preparing for the homeward journey.Though dangling from the straps in a position that would be verticalwere we on earth, he slept like a baby. George took the controls inHart's place and the professor and I returned to our accustomedsupports.
The return trip was considerably slower, as George did not wish to pushthe _Pioneer_ to its limit as had been necessary when coming out to meetthe enemy, nor was he able to keep control of the ship against atoo-rapid acceleration. Consequently, the rate of acceleration was muchlower and we were not nearly as uncomfortable as on the outgoing trip.Thus, nearly ten hours were required for the return. And Hart sleptthrough it all.
* * * * *
In order to make best use of the small amount of fuel still in thecylinders, George circled the earth five times before we entered theupper limits of the atmosphere, the circles becoming of smaller diameterat each revolution and the speed of the ship proportionately reduced. Anoccasional discharge from one of the forward rocket tubes assistedmaterially in the deceleration, yet, when we slipped into level five,our speed was so great that the temperature of the cabin rosealarmingly, due to the friction of the air against the hull of thevessel. It was necessary to use the last remaining ounce of fuel toreduce the velocity to a safe value. A long glide to earth was then ouronly means of landing and, since we were over the Gulf of Mexico at thetime, we had no recourse other than landing in the State of Texas.
Passing over Galveston in level three, we found that the Humble oilfields and a great section of the surrounding country had been thecenter of one of the enemy bombardments. All was blackness and ruin formany miles between this point and Houston. At Houston Airport we landed,unheralded but welcome.
The lower levels were once more filled with traffic, and one of thesouthern route transcontinental liners had just made its stop at thispoint. The arrival of the _Pioneer_ was thus witnessed by an unusuallylarge crowd, and, when the news was spread to the city, their numbersincreased with all the rapidi
ty made possible by the various means oftransportation from the city.
So it was that Hart Jones, after we finally succeeded in awakening himand getting him to his feet, was hailed by a veritable multitude as thegreatest hero of all time. The demonstrations become so enthusiasticthat police reserves, hastily summoned from the city, were helpless intheir attempts to keep the crowd in order.
* * * * *
It was with greatest difficulty that Hart was finally extricated fromthe clutches of the mob and conveyed to the new Rice Hotel in Houston,where it was necessary to obtain medical attention for him immediately.He was in no condition at the time to receive the richly deservedplaudits of the multitude, and, truth to tell, we others from the_Pioneer_ were in much the same shape.
To me that night will always be the most terrible of nightmares. Myfirst thought was of my family and, when I had been assigned to a room,I immediately asked the switchboard operator for a long-distanceconnection to my home in Rutherford. There was complete silence for aminute and I jangled the hook impatiently, my head throbbing with athousand aches and pains. Then, to my surprise, the voice of the hotelmanager greeted me.
"Mr. Makely," he said softly, and I thought there was a peculiar ring inhis voice, "I think you had better not try to get Rutherford thisevening. We are sending the house physician to your room at onceand--there are orders from Washington, you know--you are to think ofnothing at the present but sleep and a long rest."
"Why--why--" I stammered, "can't you see? I must communicate with myfamily. They must know of my return. I must know if they're safe andwell."
"I'm sorry, sir," apologized the manager, "Government orders, you know."And he hung up.
Something in that soft voice brought to me an inkling of the truth. Anicy hand gripped my heart as I heard a knock at the door. With palsiedfingers I turned the key and admitted the professor and a kindly-facedelderly gentleman with a small black bag. One look at the professor toldme the truth. I seized his two arms in a grip that made him wince.
"Tell me! Tell me!" I demanded, "Has anything happened to my family?"
"Jack," said the professor slowly, "while we were out there watchingHart destroy the enemy vessel, Rutherford was destroyed!"
* * * * *
It must be that I frightened him by my answering stare, for he backedaway from me in apparent fear. I noticed that the doctor was rummagingin his bag. I know I did not speak, did not cry out, for my tongue cloveto the roof of my mouth. It seemed I must go mad. The professor stillbacked away from me; then, wiry little athlete that he was, he sprangdirectly for my knees in a beautiful football tackle. I remember thatpoint clearly and how I admired his agility at the time. I remember theglint of a small instrument in the doctor's hand. Then all wasblackness.
Eight days later, they tell me it was, I returned to painfulconsciousness in a hospital bed. But let me skip the agony of mind Iexperienced then. Suffice it to say that, when I was able, I set forthfor Washington. Hart Jones was there and he had sent for me. But I tooklittle interest in the going; did not even bother to speculate as to thereason for his summons. I had devoured the news during my convalescenceand now, more than two weeks after the destruction of the Terror, I knewthe extent of the damage wrought upon our earth by those deadly greenlight pencils we had seen issuing from the huge ring up there in theskies. The horror of it all was fresh in my mind, but my own privatehorror overshadowed all.
* * * * *
I was glad that Hart had been so signally honored by the World PeaceBoard, that he was now the most famous and popular man in the entireworld. He deserved it all and more. But what cared I--I who had doneleast of all to help in his great work--that the Terror had been foundwhere it buried itself in the sand of the Sahara when falling to earth?What cared I that the discoveries made in the excavating of the hugemetal ring were of inestimable value to science?
It gave me passing satisfaction to note that all of Hart Jones' theorieswere borne out by the discoveries; that Oradel and his minions wereresponsible for this terrible war; that the planet they aligned againstus was Venus and that more than a hundred thousand of the Venerians hadbeen carried in that weird engine of destruction which had been broughtdown by Hart.
It was interesting to read of the fall of that huge ring; how it washeated to incandescence when it entered our atmosphere at suchtremendous velocity; of the tidal waves of concentric billows in thesand that led to its discovery by Egyptian Government planes. Thebroadcast descriptions and the television views of the stunted andtwisted Venerians whose bodies were recovered from the partly consumedwreckage were interesting. But it all left me cold. I had no furtherinterest in life. That the world had escaped an overwhelming disasterwas clear, and it gave me a certain pleasure. But for me it might aswell have been completely destroyed.
Nevertheless, I went to Washington. I felt somehow that I owed it toHart Jones, the greatest world hero since Lindbergh. I would at leastlisten to what he had to say.
* * * * *
A fast plane carried me, a plane chartered by the government. To me itseemed that it crawled, though it was a sixth-level ship, and made thetrip in record time. Why I was impatient to reach Washington I do notknow, for I was absolutely disinterested in anything that might occurthere. It was merely that my nerves were on edge, I suppose, andeverything annoyed me.
Hart met me at the airport and greeted me like a long-lost brother. Hetalked incessantly and jumped from one subject to the other with theobvious intention of trying to get my mind off my troubles until wereached his office in the Air Traffic building.
On his door there was the legend, "Director of Research," and, when wehad entered, I observed that the office was furnished with all theluxury that suited his new position. I dropped into a deeply upholsteredchair at the side of his mahogany desk, and, for the space of severalminutes, Hart regarded me with concern, speaking not a word.
"Jack, old man," he finally ventured. "I can't talk to you of thisthing. But it makes me feel very badly to see you take it so hard. Thereare many things you have to live for, old top, and it is to talk aboutthese that I sent for you."
"You mean work?" I asked.
"Yes. That is the best thing for us all, in any emergency or under anycircumstances whatever. Preston wants you back for one thing, and heauthorized me to tell you that the job of office manager is waiting foryou at double your former salary."
* * * * *
My eyes misted at this. Preston was a good old scout! But I could neverbear it to return to the old surroundings, even in the city. "No, Hart,"I said, "I'd rather be away from New York and from that part of thecountry. Associations, you know."
"I understand," he replied, "and that is just what I had hoped you woulddecide. Because I have a job for you in the Air Service. A good one,too.
"You know there is much reconstruction work to be done on earth. Morethan forty cities and towns have been wiped out of existence and thesemust be rebuilt. That will occupy the minds and energies of thousandswho have been bereaved as you have. But, in the Air Service, we have aprogram that I believe will be more to your liking. The log of the_Terror_, in Oradel's handwriting, was found intact, as were a number ofmanuscripts pertaining to plans of the Venerians.
"These misshapen creatures were quite evidently educated by Oradel to ahatred of our world. We have reason to believe that other attacks mayfollow, for they were obviously intending to migrate here in millions.And, according to records found aboard the _Terror_, they are ofadvanced scientific accomplishment. We may expect them to constructother vessels similar to the _Terror_ and to come here again. We must beprepared to fight them off, to carry the war to their own planet ifnecessary. My work is to organize a world fleet of space ships for thispurpose, and I'd like you to help me in this. The work will take you allover the world and will keep you too busy to think about--things."
It was just like Hart, and I thanked him wordlessly, but from the bottomof my heart. Yes, I would accept his generous offer. Though I was noengineer, I had a knowledge of scientific subjects a little above theaverage, and I could follow instructions. By George, it was the verything! Suddenly I grew enthusiastic.
* * * * *
There was the sound of voices in the outer office, and Hart's secretaryentered to announce the arrival of George Boehm and Professor Lindquist.This was great!
Chubby George, red-faced and smiling as ever, embraced me with one shortarm and pounded me on the back with his other fist in his jovial, jokingmanner. It was good to have friends like these! The professor held forthhis hand timidly. He was thinking of that tackle and the half-Nelson hehad used on me while the doctor slipped that needle into my arm backthere in Houston.
"Don't remove your glasses, Professor," I laughed; "I'm not going to hityou. That was a swell tackle of yours, and you did me a big service downthere in the Rice Hotel."
He beamed with pleasure and gripped my hand--mightily, for such a littlefellow. George was whispering to Hart, and I could see that they weregreatly excited over something.
"Jack," said Hart, when the professor and I finished talking thingsover, "George here wants you to take a little trip over to Philly withhim. He has something there he wants to show you."
I looked from one to the other for signs of a hoax. These two, undernormal circumstances, were always up to something. But what I saw intheir expressions convinced me that I had better go, and somehow, thererose in my breast a forlorn hope.
"All right," I agreed. "Let's go!"
* * * * *
Once more we four took off together, this time in a speedy littlefirst-level cabin plane of Hart's design, piloted by the irrepressibleGeorge. I was brimming with questions, but George kept up such arunning fire of small talk that I was unable to get in a single wordthroughout the short trip to the Quaker City. It was quite evident thatsomething was in the wind.
Instead of landing at the airport, George swung across the city anddropped to the roof landing space of a large building which I recognizedas the Germantown Hospital. We had no sooner landed when I was rushedfrom the plane to the penthouse over the elevator shafts. We were soonon the main floor and George went immediately to the desk at thereceiving office, where he engaged in earnest conversation with thenurse in charge.
"What are you doing--committing me?" I asked, half joking only. For,from the mysterious expression of my friends' faces, I was not sure whatto expect.
"No," laughed Hart. "George learned of the existence of a patient herewho may turn out to be a very good friend of yours."
I turned this over in my mind, which did not yet function quitenormally. A friend? Why, I had very few that could really be termed goodfriends outside of those that accompanied me. It could mean but onething. Possibly one of my children--or even my dear wife--might haveescaped somehow. I followed in a daze as a white-capped and gowned nurseled us along the corridor and into a ward where there were dozens ofhigh, white beds.
* * * * *
Some of the patients were swathed in bandages; some sat up in theirbeds, reading or just staring; others lay inert and pale. The reek ofiodoform pervaded the large room.
We stopped at the bedside of one of the staring patients, a young womanwho looked unseeingly at our party. Great heavens, it was Marie!
A physician stood at the other side of her bed, finger on her pulse. Theothers drew back as I approached her side, raised her free hand to mylips and spoke to her.
"Marie, dear," I asked gently, forcing the lump from my throat as best Icould, "don't you know me? It's Jack, Honey."
The fixed stare of the great blue eyes shifted in my direction. Itseemed that they looked through and past me into some terrible realmwhere only horror held sway. She drew her hand from my grasp and passedit before those staring, unnatural eyes. There was an audible gulp fromGeorge. But the doctor smiled encouragement to me. I tried once more.
"Marie," I said, "where are Jim and Jackie?"
* * * * *
The hand fluttered to her lap, where it lay, blue-veined and pitifullythin. The stare focussed on me, seemed to concentrate. Then the film wasgone from the eyes and she saw--she knew me!
"Oh, Jack!" she wailed, "I have been away. Don't you know where theyare?"
My heart nearly stopped at this, but I sat on the edge of the bed andtook her in my arms, looking at the doctor for approval. He nodded hishead brightly and beckoned to the nurse.
"Bring the children," I heard him whisper.
My cup was full. But I must be calm for Marie's sake. She had closed hereyes now and great tears coursed down her waxen cheeks. Her body shookwith sobs.
"She'll recover?" I asked the doctor.
"You bet. Just an aggravated case of amnesia. Hasn't eaten. Didn't evenknow her children. Cured now, but she'll need a few weeks to build up."He snapped shut the lid of his watch.
Those succinct sentences were the finest I had ever heard.
Marie clung to me like an infant to its mother. Her sobs graduallyceased and she looked into my eyes. Little Jim and Jack had come in andwere clamoring for recognition.
"Oh, Jack," Marie whispered, "I'm so happy."
She relinquished me and turned her attention to the children. I saw thatmy friends had left and that an orderly was placing screens about us. SoI'll close the screen on the remainder of this most happy reunion.
* * * * *
It was several days before I had the complete story. Being lonesomeduring my absence when we were preparing for the voyage into space, andnot knowing just when I would return, Marie had packed a grip and takenthe train for Philadelphia, deciding to spend a few days with her AuntMargaret, or at least to remain there with the children until Ireturned.
She had boarded the train at Manhattan Transfer at about the time wereached the location of the _Terror_ and the train was just pulling outof the station when there came the first of the new attacks of theenemy. She thought that the pillar of fire rose from the approximatelocation of Rutherford, but was not sure until they reached Newark, whenthe news was spread throughout the train by passengers who boarded itthere. She worried and cried over the loss of our little home and hadworked herself into a state of extreme nervousness and near-hysteria bythe time they reached New Brunswick.
Then, as the long train left New Brunswick, there was another attack,this one on the town they had just left. The last two cars of the trainwere blown from the track by the initial concussion, and the remainderof the train brought to a grinding, jerking stop that threw thepassengers into a panic.
Already hysterical, Marie was in no condition to bear up under theshock, and the loss of memory followed. Jack and Jim clung to her, ofcourse, and were taken to the Germantown Hospital with her when thewreck victims were transferred to that point. She had no identificationon her person, and it was by sheerest luck that George, who was visitinga friend in the same hospital, chanced to see her and thought herecognized her.
That was all of it, but to me it was more than enough. From the depthsof despondency, I rose to the peaks of elation. It was true that wewould have to establish a new home, but this would be a joy as neverbefore. Those I had given up as lost were restored to me and I wascontent. Hart would have to make some changes in the duties of that newjob--the world travel was out of the picture. I had had my fill ofadventure.
Besides, the hot spell was over.