The Collected Stories

by Earl

  “That I don’t know yet,” returned Williams much to their utter amazement. “I must know a few other things first, then some sort of workable plan will come out of it all. I came here just to be within striking distance of Molier—the man who must be put out of the way or stripped of power and authority.”

  “Good God!” gasped Manners. “You mean that you came here without having definite reasons?—without higher authority? Of course, I know that you are a marshal in the Brotherhood, and a commander in the air forces, but surely you are under orders from General Bromberg—”

  Williams shook his head. “Strictly on my own, except that Major Agarth sanctioned my leaving with ten ships. You may as well know—I think Terry knows already—that I am a great believer in inspirational effort. When there is trouble to be remedied, I get as near the root of it as possible, worry a couple of plans till they crystallize, and then go to it.”

  His eyes softened introspectively. “Aren’t all things like that—even life itself? Great plans often go awry; the crusade against Brain-enslavement for instance has come to an impasse. It is the spur-of-the-moment things that often shape the future. Africa taught me that. M’bopo has faith in that doctrine, too.”

  He shook himself as though to shake off a trance. “But to leave philosophical discussion. I saw back there at Base One that little could be done to forestall the defeat of our military forces. Accordingly, I figured here something might be done. On that chance that I could take over the tide-station and nestle down comparatively secure for a few hours, I came here. It was while talking to Agarth that it came to me; no Molier—no tyranny.”

  “You mean—?”

  “I mean that my sole aim now is to get Molier!”

  “But how, man?” asked Manners with an inflection that intimated it was impossible. “The Capitol is fortified with antiaircraft guns, surrounded by watchful warcraft; Molier is behind all that, body-guarded, unreachable.”

  “To get Molier,” repeated Williams quietly as though he had not heard. “Assassination, impeachment, overthrow—something!”

  “Which is what the Brotherhood has been trying for over a month!” There was a note of scorn in his voice, as though he considered Williams a fool with mad aspirations. “Everything has been tried—everything! Andrew Grant, myself, hundreds of others, under-cover operatives of the Brotherhood, have tried to incite the people, the military men, the influential heads of industry, the Unidum itself! What has happened? No one knows. All motives, aims, and propaganda have become hopelessly gnarled. Europe will secede to escape the tangle in America. All we do know is that Molier still plots, although only the Lord knows what, as all Unitaria is cracking apart under the stress.”

  “Hasn’t the exposure of Molier and his group as evil-workers weakened his power at all? Surely that should cause his impeachment.”

  “Not yet. Think once; his accusers are Bromberg and Hagen, outlaws by Unidum decree. They are rebels, about to be defeated. Molier is legally and technically innocent. Besides, he has somehow convinced the weak-willed Executive Ashley that the Brotherhood is a sheep in wolf’s clothing. Accordingly, even the non-Scientific part of the Unidum follows his dictates. It’s a most vicious circle of intrigue.”

  “A most vicious circle,” repeated Williams reflectively.

  “And there’s nothing we can do,” maintained Manners despondently.

  “That I’m not sure about,” returned Williams stoutly. “First of all, a few questions; this tide-station produces all the electrical current, not only of various cities, but of the Capitol. Right?” At a nod from Manners, he went on: “And at the throw of a switch or two, you can cut off that supply?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts at a time like this. There is no one to prevent such a move on our part, is there?”

  “No one. The station’s employees all work below in the generator and machine rooms; they are not allowed up here in the top section. I am king of the tide-station. Of course”—he glanced apprehensively through the doorway into the sky where several striped ships hovered high in the air—“there may be interference from them!”

  l Williams followed his glance and shrugged. “If they should try any attacking maneuvers, my men will know what to do. And we have all the advantage—stationary aim, massed guns, highly-experienced gunners—”

  He turned. “You have a radio with which you can contact the Capitol?”

  “Yes, in the control room.”

  The cheerful brightness of early morning had now overspread all the region. On the blue blanket of endless ocean, an occasional buff or silvery hyp-marine skimmed the waves. Williams’ eyes softened a moment. How serene and undisturbed things looked! How peaceful. And yet, the affairs of men had come to a crisis. There was a lurking Nemesis that the light of sun and the cheer of day could not dispel like morning mists.

  “Now a very important question: Have you any food?” He smiled. “I can’t think or reason properly when I’m hungry.”

  The well-stocked larders of the tide-station were made to yield breads and cakes and cold meats. Probably the pantry keeper below, whose duty it was to furnish edibles for the many workers in the depths of the tide-station, was surprised that the superintendent in the sanctum above should suddenly have the appetite of thirty men. But it was for him to obey, not to question.

  Williams and Terry passed the food around to the men, who accepted it with grins and thanks. While they were eating, grouped about him on the roof, Williams spoke to them.

  “Men, we’re about as safe right here as we could be anywhere, probably safer than if we were back at Base One. Those fellows up there”—he jerked a thumb in the direction of circling Unidum ships—“won’t try any bombing, and they can’t attack without danger of smashing to get in machine-gun range. What our next move will be depends on certain things. Till then, stay here with your ships.”

  As Terry and Williams entered the master control-room of the Tide-station where Manners awaited them, a clicking sound was heard.

  “The Unidum call-signal!” gasped Manners paling. “The first thing they’ll want to know is why rebel ships are here!”

  Williams stood a moment in furious thought. Then his voice rang clear and commanding. “Manners, I’ll take the call. You get over to your switchboard and put your hand on the switch that shuts the current off that goes to the Capitol.”

  “Great Heavens! What good—”

  “Do it!” said Williams quietly, but there was a wealth of command in his voice. “This is the time for initiative and action. What the result will be, I cannot say, but a chance is always worth taking.”

  “But Williams,” protested Terry. “I think myself that it can lead to nothing.”

  “As your superior officer in the Brotherhood, I command you both under the circumstances.”

  Manners hesitated no longer but ran to the control-board where finger-flipped switches could do magic with thousands of kilowatts of electricity.

  Williams strode before the wall radiophone and tripped the loud-speaker lever. Immediately an authoritative voice rang through the room.

  “Unidum Capitol calling Joe Manners, superintendent of the Long Island Tide-station. Eleven ships, apparently part of the rebel forces, are at present on the landing roof. The Unidum demands an explanation.”

  “And the Unidum will get an explanation,” returned Williams with emphatic tones. “The tide-station is at present in my hands, a marshal of the Brothers of Humanity.”

  “That much we surmised. The Unidum accordingly demands that your rebel ships leave or there will be consequences.” “Leave? Do you think we are playing a game? We are here to stay. If you care to attack, try it. But I would advise you not to. Only one or two of your ships can maneuver over the roof at one time—and my gunners are experts.”

  There was a confused murmur from the phone for a moment as though several persons were discussing the matter in whispers. Then again spoke an articulate voice.

  �
�The Unidum is prepared to make an offer, due to the fact that the tide-station is . . . ah, under our special consideration. We offer to waive aside any charges of treason against you, if you will quietly surrender yourselves to the Unidum. We will send over a sealed and signed exemption at but a word of your acceptance.”

  Williams laughed harshly. “You take us for traitors! The answer is no!”

  “Then we shall take steps—”

  “I think you had better listen to me,” interrupted Williams. “Unless a demand of mine is granted, Joe Manners at my command, will cut off the electrical current that normally goes to the Capitol! The result of that you can surmise—your heating equipment will cease to function; your elevators will not run; the inoperation of the ventilating system will turn the air foul in every inner chamber; a dozen other little things will paralyze the internal workings of the Capitol. Even your radio-phone system will be useless. Furthermore, it is very easy to overload the transformers at the Unidum Capitol from this tide-station, and ruin them. Would you care to suffer all those calamities for several days before the damage could be repaired?”

  Confusion again from the loudspeaker; then the voice. “What is your demand ?” “Impeachment of Executive Molier according to the charges of the Brotherhood!”

  First there was dead silence from the Capitol, then a babel of voices and shouts. The listeners (apparently there had been many) seemed engaged in some sort of heated debate. Williams looked significantly, almost exultantly, at his companions. “That was like a bombshell exploding at their feet.”

  l The confusion from the loudspeaker grew tumultuous. Snatches of words indicated that the Brotherhood had friends in the heart of the Unidum. Finally a roaring voice was heard: “Fellow Scientists! This has gone far enough. The Brotherhood has demanded impeachment of Molier! The people have cried for it! It should be—”

  “Silence, you fool!” These words, a flurry of shouts, one unmistakable groan, then a click and silence from the loudspeaker.

  Williams gripped the back of a chair tightly. Had his daring demand turned the tide of opinion in the Unidum ? Had the delicate balance of affairs been disturbed or reversed? What was going on back of that cryptic silence from the Capitol? He sweated in agonized impatience.

  Suddenly the radio-phone clicked on again. A voice, deeper and more resonant than the other had been, rang out, vibrant with suppressed fury.

  “As for you fools at the tide-station, now that affairs here have been settled, there will be no answer to your childish demand. I will send a hundred ships to rake you with bullets and destroy you, if it takes all day!”

  A click and silence.

  “That was Molier himself!” spluttered Manners.

  “And you heard what he said,” cried Terry. “A hundred ships hammering at us—we’re doomed!”

  Williams looked from one to the other. They shrank back at the sudden livid fury in his face. “Sarto je Bru! He has become a veritable monster!” Actual tears of rage and disappointment were in his eyes as he swung toward the superintendent. “Manners, burn out the Capitol transformers; we will keep our promise!”

  Manners would not have thought of remonstrating after a look at the irate man with sun-tanned skin and flashing blue eyes. He permitted himself only a sigh of reluctance as he threw certain switches. Then he fingered a numbered dial and turned it slowly. The needle of an indicator began to climb its scale. Up and up it went, slowly, steadily. It passed a red mark went a few points beyond, and then suddenly swung back to zero.

  “It’s done,” said Manners chokingly. “The Capitol. . . . transformers burnt out. . . . fused. . . .” He stopped, swallowed painfully, and looked miserable.

  Williams looked at him curiously. Understanding came to him. Manners had been superintendent of the tide-station for twenty years. It had been his chiefest pride to keep the gigantic power station running smoothly and efficiently. It must naturally be hard for him to deliberately spoil his long record of faithful service and superintendence.

  “I’m sorry, Manners,” said Williams in a softened voice. “I know how you feel. But it had to be. All this is part of something bigger than our personal affairs.” Then his voice became hard again. “Molier asked for it and got it. Let’s go, Terry. We’re leaving. You, Manners—”

  “I stay here,” said the superintendent firmly. “Whatever comes, I’ll take my chances. Goodbye, Williams—for I think this time it is goodbye.”

  Fervent handclasps and then they were gone. When they jumped into their ship, Terry pointed silently westward where a massed group of warcraft winged its way. “Full gun, men!” barked Williams into his radio-phone. “Follow this ship.”

  With an answering roar, the eleven ships arose and flew to the east, out into the stretches of ocean. The pursuing craft, heavier and less speedy, fell to the back and soon gave up the chase. Their report would be to headquarters: “Eleven rebel ships left the tide-station and headed east, apparently to seek a refuge in Europe or Iceland.” The matter would end there, for they could never be expected to reach Europe. If they turned back, the three scout ships tailing them would report and they would get a warm welcome. Either way the rebels were doomed, as they could not land on water.

  It was those same three scout ships that Williams eyed reflectively, hanging on their rear. For his present purposes, they were obnoxious. He called his ships on general wave and tapped out a short message in secret code. It called for maneuvers often successful in eliminating scouts if they were not too wary and clever. A moment later his ships separated into two groups suddenly, one of them decelerating with dragging helicopters, the other cutting upward. The scouts, their speed unchecked, careened past the first group, veered upward frantically to run into a leaden hail from the other group whose men had clambered to the guns a moment before. The wide bosom of the ocean accepted three more humans to join the many in her watery depths.

  “That’s that,” said Williams.

  “Now tell me before I burst,” cried Terry, “where we’re heading. We can’t reach Europe on empty tanks.”

  “You remember, Terry—I do things on the spur of the moment. My present inspiration or madness, or whatever you choose to class it, is the desire to capture and take over control of the sunpower station, which we will reach in an hour or so.”

  “And do what with it?” asked Terry astounded.

  But Williams, instead of answering, snapped the radio-phone lever and appraised his men of the same thing. He spoke at some length, outlining their method. That there might be military opposition, Williams knew. Again it might be merely a matter of cowing the persons aboard into submission.

  The incredible stupendousness of the sunpower station became apparent more and more as they drew near. It appeared to be a hopeless jumble of skeleton towers surmounted with glinting umbrellas of mirrored apparatus, immense areas of curved surfaces, and large drums of what seemed broken glass—all scattered about over the giant raft which supported everything on the ocean’s surface. Small it might be in comparison to the limitless expanse of ocean, but certainly one of the hugest of man-made things on earth’s surface.

  Circling around at a convenient height, Williams took in the affair as a whole and noticed the center of the raft, an area of two or three acres, taken up with wooden structures which could only be the living quarters of the denizens of this veritable artificial island. Several blade figures had already issued from the buildings and stood staring upward. Beside the buildings was a cleared space, obviously a landing field, in which reposed several aircraft.

  “Damn!” muttered Williams as be noticed some of the craft were warships. Then he breathed easier; there were only five fighting ships there below.

  He turned to the radio-phone: “Ready for battle, men!”

  At his instructions, Terry dipped low over the buildings as though to drop a bomb. There was much scurrying below among the figures, and uniformed men ran toward the armed combat ships. They were accepting the challenge!


  One by one, die Unidum ships arose to where the waiting rebels poised. Eleven to five. Yet it was not to be an unequal skirmish, for the Unidum ships had three guns each, one throwing a small high-powered shell, and were manned fully. Williams cursed that he did not have the full complement of men, two gunners and one pilot to each ship.

  Below, Williams noticed a strange thing. The structural conglomeration beneath was sliding away quite out of keeping with their motion. Then it dawned upon him that the people on the sunpower station were simply moving away from the scene of intended battle. With whatever titanic engines it had, it was drawing away, so that falling airplanes would not smash and ruin expensive apparatus.

  Williams spoke into the phone: “Take altitude! No formation—pick out your antagonist and duel him—these will be my only orders—and in the name of God, do your best!”

  Terry turned startled to see Williams clambering up, the short steel ladder to the trap which opened to the top-side of the plane and the machine-gun nests. Then Terry turned back to his controls grimly; on him—on his handling of the ship—as much as on the man above—would depend their immediate future.

  CHAPTER XVII

  The Reckoning

  l At a mile above the water’s surface, and well dear of the sunpower station which had moved from underneath, the battle took place. The chiefest reliance of the rebels was their superior speed and flexibility and their advantage in numbers. But each of the Unidum ships had three grim gunners to train on an enemy. Where the real advantage lay could not be said before the engagement.

  To Williams, inexperienced with a machine-gun, it seemed like a scene from bedlam. There was the ululating roar of speed-shifting motors, the rat-a-tat of guns, the Hare and sharp report of small-shells, the crazy gyration of the plane under him, the biting cold of rushing air, the feeling of helplessness in a strange, open perch—all tended to unnerve him so that he winced when a striped ship warped near with spouting guns. Then, like a flash, it all cleared There was reason in Terry’s manipulations; there was a gun in his hand; there was a flicker of target now and then. Bullets, timed right, would. . . .