Cameron listened intently. Thoughtfully he drummed with his fingers on the arm of his chair. He, too, was familiar with the hypotheses of Clerk-Maxwell and Arrhenius.
“There is a good deal of plausibility about your theory,” he acknowledged thoughtfully, “and it accounts also for the vast proliferating powers of this monstrous mass—no life as we know it on this planet could even approximate the uncanny speed of its growth, nor have our primitive life-forms the ability to subsist on inorganic matter to quite the extent that it has,” again absently drumming on his chair.
He relapsed into brooding thought. Standish looked at his friend, but forbore to say anything. When Cameron was on the verge of something brilliant, he always drummed. So the astronomer waited.
The break was not long in coming. Douglas’ brow suddenly cleared—a look of triumph in his eye.
“By George, I have it!” he almost shouted. “I believe your fantastic story, old man, and I’m going to rid the world of this menace. Listen to me for a moment.”
“You have my closest attention.”
“Suppose we assume the truth of your hypothesis. Then this living world, moving in the Andromeda universe, shining by its own luminosity, separated by unthinkable distances from any hot gaseous star, would naturally be accustomed only to the faint starlight of the heavens. No such blaze of light as even our ordinary sunlight ever came within its ken. Now you’ve heard of phototropism?”
Standish nodded his head, but his friend went on heedlessly, absorbed in the plan maturing in his mind.
“It’s the reaction of protoplasm to light,” he explained. “If you take any unicellular animal like the amoeba, and expose it to a strong light, it will shrink away from the source of the light, and try to get out of its path. If you use a powerful ray of concentrated ultraviolet light—the reaction will be much more apparent—the amoeba will literally run for its life—and if exposed long enough to the rays, will die.
“Now if we can obtain such drastic results with life forms inured and habituated by constant exposure to the sun’s rays continually beating on our planet, what about this alien protoplasmic mass, unaccustomed to strong light of any kind, and no doubt feeling irritable even during our normal sunshine?”
Standish sat up excitedly. He was beginning to catch the drift of Cameron’s reasoning.
Douglas went on. “My plan is this. Have the nations of the world concentrate their technicians and engineers in the power plants and factories most remote from the menace. Construct huge searchlights of the utmost candle power; and machines for casting enormous beams of ultraviolet light. In the meantime have the people of the areas endangered by the billowing march of the monster retreat to the mountain fastnesses. That can be done fairly easily—its progress from all reports is approximately ten to fifteen miles a day. When all is in readiness, mount our machines on tractors, and drive them in front of the encroaching fiend. When it comes within striking distance, turn on the juice full blast. The power will come by tuned radio waves from the power plants operating in the hinterland. If our theories are correct, on the impact of our rays, the viscid mass will react much more violently than an amoeba or paramecium would. Retreat would be all it would think of, and the more exposed masses would be killed off. In that way, we could get rid of the menace, or at least drive it back into the ocean, by following it steadily all the way.”
Standish got up in enthusiasm, and wrung Cameron’s hand. “Boy, you’re a wizard! That’s a marvelous scheme! You’ll be the savior of the world!”
“Hold on a moment,” Douglas smiled protestingly, “it may work and it may not. Remember, I’m basing my scheme on your hypothesis.”
“It’ll work all right,” returned Donald confidently, “and now I know I’m right, too.”
“Don’t run away so fast,” warned the bacteriologist. “Remember, at the best, we shall only have managed to drive it back into the ocean. Once there, we can do no more. There, in the vast depths of the sea, with what we know of the rapidity of its procreation, it will once more overwhelm the world.”
Donald groaned. “There you go—get me all excited, and then you let me down. I forgot that part. So what’s the good of your swell scheme?”
“Ah! but I have something else up my sleeve,” grinned his companion. “You know, of course, that I’ve been working my head off trying to find a cure for cancer. I haven’t succeeded as yet—though the outlook is promising. But in the course of my researches, I’ve invented a technique for excising cancer growths from the living organism, and growing them independently in special culture media. I have also discovered a method of activating them so that when replaced in living tissues they will multiply with unbelievable rapidity. At present, I have on hand here in the laboratory about fifty pounds of activated cancer cultures, and that is sufficient for my purpose.
“Now to get back to your theory again. If this visitation is in truth from an alien world, it is highly improbable that it was ever exposed to the disease of cancer. If that is so, then it lacks whatever immunity our life has obtained through constant exposure, and the cancer cells will spread like wildfire through the whole vast organism—and this malign influence will be eradicated from the face of the earth.”
“Man, I repeat—you’re a wizard!” The astronomer pumped his hand violently. Then an idea struck him. “But why not spray it with cancer immediately—why bother with ultraviolet light to drive it into the depths of the sea.”
“Because,” explained Douglas patiently, “cancer is no respecter of persons, and once let loose on land, it is liable to spread to all forms of earth life, and we shall only have succeeded in destroying ourselves too. In the ocean, however, the range is sharply limited—we shall instruct the people of the earth to remain inland until the danger is passed. Once killed, the whole mass will descend to the floors of the seas and there the cold and pressure will destroy the cancerous tissues.”
“You’ve thought of everything,” was the admiring retort.
“Now to get into immediate communication with the conference chairman and unfold our plan.”
“Right—there’s not a moment to lose. The fate of the world is in the balance.”
In a few minutes, the radio transmitter was sputtering out the code call signal of the conference. A lapse of five minutes and word came back. “Radio Emergency Conference talking—what is it?”
“Standish sending from the laboratory of Cameron in Colorado. Plan for combating menace has been evolved. Please connect me with the chairman.” Then, for a solid hour across the ether vibrated the saving word.
Back came the answer. “Sounds all right. Our last hope anyway. Broadcasting immediately to all the nations to mobilize tractor, searchlights, ultraviolet apparatus. United States will mobilize on eastern length of Appalachian within twenty-four hours. Both of you report for service immediately at Allentown, Pa. Last reports show inundation extended as far as Scranton. Signing off.”
“We need some sleep—let’s snatch a few hours—and start,” suggested Standish.
“Righto, we can get there in fifteen hours. We’ll need only an hour or two for assembling our material here. That gives us plenty of time for a snooze.”
Almost instantaneously, both were sleeping—drugged.
When they awoke, it was dusk. Mary was still asleep—a peaceful smile flitting over her lips. Donald looked at her tenderly.
“Let’s not disturb her. Poor girl—she has been through hell.” He brushed her forehead lightly with his lips, and the smile grew into ecstasy, but still she did not awaken.
“Now to work!”
They hurried into the laboratory. Cameron opened the door of a huge glass-lined oven, thermostatically controlled at blood heat. In the interior were twenty or more glass dishes, each containing a mass of tissue floating in culture media.
“These are my cancer growths,” he explained. “They will live indefinitely in the cultures. Now to activate them so that w
hen we cast them into the protoplasmic horror, they will grow and proliferate with extreme rapidity.”
He turned to a row of glass stoppered bottles on his laboratory shelf, and took one down. It was filled with a pale green liquid. Carefully, with a pipette, he dropped five drops into each dish. A slight bubbling ensued—and then ceased.
“Bring that cabinet in the corner over here,” he ordered, “and all the cotton wool you find in the end cupboards.”
The cabinet was opened—a layer of cotton placed on the bottom—the cancer dishes placed carefully between layers of the soft material, and then the whole affair hermetically sealed.
“Now we’re ready to go.”
The two men quickly and silently donned their flying suits, and in short order the plane was trundled out of the hangar; the cabinet was carefully lifted into the cockpit, and they took their seats. The motor roared; and the plane took off on its flight across the continent.
Next morning, as the first rays of dawn appeared over the serried tops of the Alleghany Mts., the haggard, wearied travelers descended stiffly from their plane after landing on the airfield outside Allentown.
For a moment they gazed about them in dazed astonishment. The place was seething with activity. Hundreds of planes were landing on all sides; tractors were lumbering and roaring over the field, soldiers and vast crowds of workmen swarmed in organized disorder.
“Where is the commander?” asked Donald of a big burly sergeant actively engaged in expending a stream of profanity at a company of men unpacking a huge searchlight.
“Over there!” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the hangar at one end of the field, without deigning to turn around; and with hardly a pause in his flow of lurid objurgations.
“Come on, Doug, let’s report at once, and see what we can do.”
At the door, they gave their names to the guard, and were ushered in immediately.
Seated at a rough pine board table, hastily built to function as a desk, was General Black, grizzled veteran of the World War, now commander-in-chief of all the American Armies! Officers dashed in—came to stiff salute—reported in staccato accents—received their orders even more crisply—and dashed out again. A field radio receiving set whined. The general put the phone to his ear. “What’s that—only thirty miles away! All right—report every fifteen minutes on its progress.”
Turning around, he saw the two scientists. “Yes, what is it? Make it snappy!”
They introduced themselves, and the general’s attitude became more cordial.
“I hope your ideas are correct—if not, we’re all doomed.” He sighed. “Frankly, I’m not used to this sort of thing—out of my line. Artillery—machine guns—gas—yes! But not this new-fangled stuff.
“However, we’ll soon find out,” he continued grimly, “my air scouts report it as only thirty miles away. At the rate it is traveling, it will be here in forty-eight hours. We’ll be ready for it in about thirty-six hours—and then—” he shrugged fatalistically. “In the meantime, I’ll get some quarters for you, and you can make yourselves comfortable until we’re ready to start.” He turned to an orderly, and soon the scientists were installed in a barrack-like room—their plane with its precious freight wheeled into the hangar, and placed under guard.
The next thirty-six hours were filled with feverish activity. All through the day and night, tractors kept coming in—apparatus and the requisite machines were deposited from planes, railroads, automobiles, every conceivable method of transportation.
In the meantime the radio reports were becoming more and more alarming. Inexorably the living tide was moving forward—swallowing everything in its path. Twenty miles away—fifteen miles—activity becoming frantic—ten miles—five miles—the last feverish touches—and all was in readiness for the supreme effort.
As far as the eye could see, stretched serried ranks of tractors. Along the whole Appalachian range, thousands of tractors were ready to go at the signal of command. On each was perched a powerful searchlight or violet ray machine capable of casting directional beams over a ten-mile radius. The final orders were given—everyone not directly concerned in the management of the apparatus was sent to the rear.
It was the zero hour!
Already in the distance, the horizon was glowing with the dreaded greenish light—the vast menace was flowing—flowing forward.
A hush fell on the embattled array. Could they stop it—was it victory or disaster? The bravest among them felt clammy hands clutching their hearts.
The radio command roared its voice along the far-flung line. The motors roared—the current snapped on—and a blaze of light—intense—penetrating—flared out up and down the line. Another command—and the tractors moved forward—slowly—steadily. A ten-mile zone of intense illumination—blinding in its glare—moved ahead. It approached the green luminescence. Still the monstrous life flowed forward.
Nerves tensed to the snapping points—blood pounded in thousands of hearts—God!—would it have no effect—the life of the planet hung on the next few moments.
The wall of light reached the oncoming wall of alien life—touched it—overlapped it—swung over the top and over its viscous waves. Only three miles separated the opposing forces!
Was it a delusion? Did they see aright? A rustling murmur grew on the scene—a confused Babel of voices—and then—a mighty shout blasted the air—a paean of deliverance—the world was saved!
The oncoming mass had definitely ceased moving—the front reared high into the air—writhing and twisting as though in agony—and then—recession—slow at first—then faster and faster—the monster was in full retreat—vainly seeking to escape the deadly rays.
Immediately the jubilant army moved forward—ever concentrating the dazzling light on the discomfited foe. Who thought of food—or sleep or stopping—back into the sea with the monster! For two days and a night, the front of war advanced—steadily the enemy was driven back—remorselessly as ever it had advanced—agonized, writhing before the avenging glare. Once more the face of the earth appeared—but strange, alien in aspect—more like some desolate moon aridly moving through space, than this fair, smiling world of ours. No trees—no houses—no verdure was left; the very surface of the earth was eroded away—pitted and scarred with deep holes and gullies, through which the tractors floundered and pitched.
Back—back through the ruin of what had once been New York—into the sea it was driven—and the world was temporarily saved from overwhelming disaster.
From all the endangered nations came the glad tidings of complete triumph. Everywhere the crawling life had been forced into the waters.
Wild celebrations took place among the people of the earth. The names of Cameron and Standish were broadcast to the joyful millions as the saviors of humanity.
But the menace was by no means over—though temporarily subdued. Orders were issued that no one was to approach within ten miles of the seaboards; and the armies of the world were placed on sentry duty to see that the orders were enforced.
At a conference at Pittsburgh, the temporary capital of the United States, Douglas Cameron told of his discoveries in cancer research; his activating principle; and outlined his plan of scattering the tissues of cancer into the floating masses of protoplasm. He was listened to with the most flattering attention. When he finished, President Adams arose, and grasped his hand and then that of his co-worker.
“Gentlemen,” he said, his voice quivering with emotion, “you have already placed the world under an incalculable debt of gratitude to you; if you succeed in your present undertaking, and rid the earth of this frightful scourge, your names will go ringing down the ages as long as life exists on this planet. I have placed at your service a cruiser of our air fleet, fully manned and provisioned for a cruise of ten thousand miles. Go and God bless you!”
They bowed their thanks and left the meeting. In less than an hour they were seated in the cabin of the air cru
iser, with their precious cabinet at their feet—the crew sprang smartly to their posts—and they took to the air.
The coast was reached in slightly over an hour, and they soon were winging their way out to sea.
The captain came into the cabin for instructions. “Drop to within five hundred feet of the water, and have your crew on the lookout for any traces of the beast. Have the first one to sight it sing it out.”
“It shall be done,” and he retired. The great plane glided down, and whirled over the surface of the ocean. All eyes were strained in eager search.
A shout from an excited lookout.
“The Thing’s directly below, sir!” All hands rushed to the side. Sure enough—the surface of the ocean to the east was heaving, and tossing—a weird green light flickered and flared—the sea crawled with the shiny evil Thing.
Quickly Cameron opened his cabinet and gingerly removed one of the dishes. Carrying it to the side, with one quick scoop, he ladled out the contents and threw it overboard. Down it spattered into the jellied mass—scourge set to fight scourge.
For two days, the plane cruised over the broad Atlantic, dropping the seeds of destruction into the bosom of the visitation. When the last dishful had been dispatched on its errand, the cruiser turned homeward. Its work was done. The rest was in the lap of fate.
The people of the earth waited in deep anxiety. Men of science—great biologists—broadcast learned opinions to the listening multitudes.
Daily, clouds of speedy pursuit planes were flung over the broad bosom of the Atlantic to observe and report. Daily they reported no signs of disappearance. If anything, the areas of infestations seemed to be actually increasing. Once more fear reared its hideous head—if the cancerous growths proved ineffectual—it was only a question of time before the horrible Thing would once more approach the shores.
But, ten days later, an observation plane reported seeing hard fibrous growths, like huge warts, covering the surface in one area. Then, in quick succession, other reports came in. The cancer had commenced its deadly work. Within a month the ocean was covered with dead, cancerous masses—the menace was a thing of the past. Slowly they heaved on the ocean tides, and slowly they sank beneath the waves. The earth was free of its hideous nightmare. The race was saved.
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