The Collected Stories

by Earl

  Sighs of relief floated up in the cold December air amidst clouds of exhalations when the summit was reached.

  The professor was some hundred feet ahead of the rest, who were following him in the knee-deep snow, when he reached the door of his home. Upon ringing and waiting several times and receiving no answer, he turned to those coming up, saying, “Evidently Karl sleeps late when his master is away.” Those addressed smiled, for it was close to noon. So drawing his own latch-key, he unlocked and opened the door.

  The room they entered had more the appearance of a lounge than a reception room, for it was exceptionally large. It contained comfortable lounges and deep-upholstered chairs to accommodate more than the party who entered. They all seated themselves and cheerful conversation buzzed as they felt the glowing warmth of the huge electric coils.

  Upon Professor Haupt asking and receiving permission, he detailed some of the servants to a most-modernly equipped kitchen, requesting them to prepare hot tea and coffee. The remaining attendants unpacked bundles and took care of wraps and over-shoes. This completed to his satisfaction, the professor excused himself from his illustrious company, saying, with a mischievous smile, he was going to awaken his negligent assistant, and left them through a door that evidently led to the sleeping quarters.

  Ten minutes had elapsed when all attention was drawn to the sliding doors that led from the laboratory; for these were violently thrust aside, and from their gaping space a stinging sweep of cold air fell upon those assembled in the reception room. Professor Haupt staggered into the room, his face portraying to them some ghastly misfortune. Several rushed to his side, perceiving his faintness, and gently led him to a lounge.

  Some managed to stammer after the professor had been seated, “What has happened, Sir?”

  Staring at the floor before him he spoke slowly amidst the breathless silence that ensued, “A most singular—I am afraid, a most dreadful—thing has happened during my absence.” His snow-white head sank upon his clenched hands (one of which clutched a sheet of paper) as if trying to shut out some appalling scene before his gaze.

  He rose after several moments of silence, once more the calm, masterful scientist. Standing erect with his arms behind his back he addressed them with a completely controlled voice. “Gentlemen, I think you can get a more distinct idea from what I shall read to you of what has happened, than from any guess or condemnation that I might make on this matter,” and as he finished he unfolded the paper that was clutched in his hand.

  The company were deadly silent in anticipation of what they were to learn.

  Some of the servants at this moment entered with trays of steaming tea and coffee, but it was to grow cold in their hands as they listened spellbound to what Professor Haupt was beginning to read.

  “DEAR Professor Haupt: Two days went by after your departure when I found myself overwhelmingly oppressed by loneliness, despite the fact that I was comfortably seated in the study and listening to a musical program from some far-away station. It seems as if it was born out of the celestial strains of that captivating music—that peculiar idea that came seeping into my consciousness, as if from a mightier intelligence. It drove me on—urged me on—beyond the power of my own will to combat it.

  “I rose mechanically and entered the laboratory. There I. worked feverishly night and day for weeks, with but a few intervals for rest and sustenance. I was drawn irresistibly to the cabinet where reposed the bottles holding element 85 and the black powder containing element 87.

  “Then upon my mind was borne like a flash the urge to experiment with the two in conjunction. While looking for a porcelain boat which you kept in the glassware cabinet in the southwest corner of the laboratory, I noticed for the first time the door, hidden and almost imperceptible behind the static machine, which door I had never had occasion to use. Finding no porcelain boat among the paraphernalia in the cabinet, I thought perhaps this door led to another storeroom, and not wanting to recross the laboratory, opened it. Never did I expect to see that which presented itself to my eyes. Whatever plans you had in mind for space exploration in this well-built one-man rocket, I shall change them. It occurs to me now that your intention in hiring me may have been to have me pilot your rocket into unexplored space. As it chances, so it will be.

  “Duplicating our experiment whereby we combined radon with venusine, to get the super-lens of our telescope, I made a slight change. I added a pinch of the black powder which you had labeled “87 possible.” The reaction which followed was identical with the original one, and I took the precaution to wear smoked glasses. The reagents were identical, except for the small quantity of “87 possible”, and the reaction was identical, but the product was different, suggesting to my mind a catalytic reaction. Examining the residual gases, I found radon and helium had combined with 85. Helium had been caused to enter the reaction by the catalytic action of element 87!

  “After the combustion tube cooled I saw a glowing bluish substance resting lightly against the top of the tube. The significance of it burst upon me. I had here a substance which defied gravity! Taking the substance from the tube, I noticed its upward pull about equalled the pull of a toy-balloon filled with hydrogen. This dampened my spirits somewhat, for this pull would hardly free an object from the earth’s attraction. I felt I was near to answering that most puzzling of all scientific questions, ‘What is gravity?’. The rest of that day I sat in a brown study, day-dreaming and attempting to fathom the reason for this strange compound’s property of resisting gravity, it’s being a solid mass.

  “Electricity and gravity are related, as is shown at various times in scientific research, especially in that dealing with inter-atomic structure. Electricity is defined as the flow of free electrons of the outer shells of atoms following a suitable conductor. Gravity, in turn, must affect mainly the protons, for an atom’s weight rests in the nucleus. You know all this, professor, but what I am trying to show is a connection between electricity and gravity. As I reasoned the new compound must have acquired its curious property of gaseous lightness from a reaction in the nuclei of the atoms. Now, as you know, all nuclei made up of protons as far as weight is concerned, except those of hydrogen gas only, have electrons, in them to balance the outer shells’ negative charges. Hence the reaction may have been electrical in nature, somehow transforming the protons (through the agency of the accompanying electrons) and giving them a new property of losing weight, or defying gravity pull, the pull of neighboring atoms. Continuing on this line, I gradually came to the conviction that an electric current ought to further the work started by the catalytic action of eka-caesium, No. 87, contained in minute quantities in the black powder.

  “Accordingly, next morning I clamped the hard but non-brittle, semi-transparent solid down and successively subjected it to larger and larger electric shocks starting with 100,000 volts. Nothing happened, even after 590,000 volts were loosed. The crackling, lace-like sparks merely played over the surface of the substance. Plugging in the multiple transformer at 600,000 volts, I placed the two wires sealed in large glass insulators at opposite ends of the object. As my finger poised above the key of the circuit, I wondered why I kept up this discouraging experiment, and found I had no satisfactory answer, except that some invisible power or urge impelled me onward.

  I was aware only of a loud noise as I depressed the key, and then all was black. I must have been unconscious only a few minutes and revived to find a cold draft chilling me. My eyes stared straight into the blue vault of the heavens through a good-sized hole in the roof marking the passage of the vise and the compound.

  “Professor Haupt, this new compound energized by 6,000,000 volts becomes a substance entirely freed from the earth’s gravitation, and would be able to lift enormous loads due to the speed with which it would be thrown from the earth by centrifugal force, amounting to about 1300 feet per second in this latitude. When you see the hole in the roof, and the part of the bench to which the vise was attached that was taken alon
g by the compound, you will realize the enormous force of such a gravity-freed substance.

  “Rather than being disappointed by the loss of the compound, I was heartened that my theory was correct, in which I had assumed electricity would further the catalytic action of 87 in the combination of venusine with radon and helium. In fact, professor, I have come to the conclusion that these combinations that you and I have made with venusine and the rare gases are not chemical in nature at all, but purely electrical. For instance, in chemical synthesis of inorganic binary compounds with the elemental constituents, the volume of the product seldom increases out of the proportion it should, whereas in making our super-lens, we used 5 grams of venusine and several liters of radon to get a solid plate two feet in diameter. The only comparison to this is the burning of mercurous thiocyanate, whereby a voluminous ash is obtained, which is however porous and easily crumbled. Then, too, chemical combination in the rare gases is impossible, for they have no valence.

  “I set about immediately to make a sufficient quantity of the new compound to propel your rocket through space. I am sorry this necessitated my using all of 85 and 87 which you (and the world) had of them.

  “A lump of about a liter in volume rewarded my efforts. I carefully rigged up a circuit, leading the current of our 10 million volt lightning generator to opposite sides of the outer shell of the rocket. The lump of the floating substance I suspended at the nose of the rocket, inside, and electrically connected to the outer shell of the rocket. It will receive more than the necessary 600,000 volts when the circuit is closed. A time-clock out in the laboratory will close the circuit when I am all ready to leave.

  “I don’t know why I have done all this. Some unknown, unseen power has led me on, and I find myself prepared to leave this earth.

  “Professor, as you know the construction of your rocket, I shall have no fear of lack of oxygen or warmth. Your ingenuity has also set aside any fears I may have entertained of combating the conditions of inter-stellar space. And it seems to me at present, professor, that you did lack but two things in this marvellous rockets of yours: a pilot and means of propulsion. It seems I am the first and have solved the second.

  “All is in preparedness; I am properly dressed and when I lay down my pen, I shall leave this world forever. There can be but one destination, for, as you know, venusine has some forceful connection with the planet Venus, and even as the metorite in past ages landed upon the earth, so will my rocket return with the gift of Venue. Farewell, my dear professor and friend. I am leaving—.”

  (signed) Karl.

  MERE words cannot describe the thoughts and emotions of those who heard the disclosure of Karl Marienfeldt’s letter.

  Night descended and the snow-capped peaks of the Tyrols stood sentinel through the wintery silence. Clearness and coldness seemed to intensify the silver lustre of the stars above. A rare night—

  The hour had arrived for that distinguished committee of scientists to make complete by witnessing the wonders of the Venusine Telescope, the triumphant hour of Professor Haupt. Dressed warmly against the cold draft of air that descended from the torn roof above into the laboratory’, the scientists gathered about the professor as he went through the preparations necessary to put the telescope into working order.

  Exclamations of amazement fell from the lips of these famous men as they viewed scene after scene of the planet Venus, 27 million miles away. At various times the mist which covers the surface of the planet was broken to reveal scenes of trackless jungles, cities that towered high into its atmosphere, great cylinder like air ships that traversed these spaces at terrific speeds. Although the scenes were in reliefs of various shades of blue, withal, they were very distinct. As to its inhabitants nothing can be said, they being too small to be seen individually.

  Professor Johann Haupt was hailed as the greatest scientist of his day, yet that venerable old man was not as happy as most would think, even though the world was at his feet in admiration.

  Hourly he toiled, for out in that vast, infinite space upon the planet Venus, somewhere was Karl Marienfeldt; somehow, sometime—in the years to come—he felt that through his efforts to would see or hear of Karl. To that end, with undying hope, he labored.

  Who knows what the end would have been had not the elements 85 and 87 been so rare that all the world had of these was contained in that one disc of venusine in Professor Haupt’s miraculous telescope?

  THE END

  THE THIEVES FROM ISOT

  l Mr. Binder, who has become a regular contributor to Wonder Stories, presents here a brand new idea concerning visitors from space.

  Most authors believe that creatures of intelligence would visit our planet only for the purpose of taking the world away from us for their own dying race.

  Logically enough, Mr. Binder sees no reason why this should be. There ought to be other purposes for such visits than to annihilate or enslave a race.

  This interesting theme is developed in “The Thieves from Isot,” making a most absorbing story. There is dry wit and sly humor in the tale, along with an air of mystery and unexpected occurrences.

  Perhaps the most unusual part of the story is the author’s method of keeping you guessing. Is the whole thing a hoax, or were we really visited by creatures of another world? You will not know one way or the other until you read the last chapter.

  l Bill Nevers sauntered into the press-office of the Daily Tribune. His felt hat was cocked at a dangerous angle his hands in his pockets and his lips puckered up in a trilling whistle. As he strolled the avenue of desks, he nodded his greeting to the boys who looked up to give him a “good morning” or a “hello, Bill” and kept up the whistling as he made his way to his own desk at the further end of the huge office.

  He was happy. . . . extremely so. . . . for tomorrow he was leaving on a three weeks’ vacation!—up in the north woods. . . . a sylvan lake. . . . fresh air. . . . exercise. . . . and sleep until noon every day! A fellow earned it in this newspaper racket, he told himself. His alarm clock crashed his slumbers every day at six, then a constant rush from one end of the city to the other; hours didn’t mean a thing and he could not call his time his own.

  When he reached his destination he threw his hat at the rack on the wall. It fell to the floor. “Missed again,” he exclaimed and snapped his fingers in disgust as if that were the height of his ambition. Gracefully he slid into his swivel chair, spun once around, then lit a cigarette. Leaning far back in the chair with his feet stretched out upon one of the pulled-out drawers, he glanced lazily around as if his vacation had already begun. It had, as far as he felt; his ambition was lower than a tide at ebb.

  He watched with dreamy eyes, through clouds of smoke, the boys pounding away at their typewriters, hurrying back and forth, barking into telephones, and wondered if forthcoming vacations made all people as lazy, listless, and inactive as he felt at that moment. He felt a wave of sympathy (a tremendous exertion for him) for the “poor slaves” all about him, working as if their very lives depended upon the labors accomplished. His thoughts, bound in the present, did not reveal the fact that but yesterday he had been like that. He heaved a sigh of utter laziness, made himself more comfortable in his chair, and stretched out still farther.

  Hazily he saw “Cherub” Flynn, the office boy, turn the corner of Marimer’s desk and come down the aisle. Even he seemed to be in a hurry now. Did people always work so hard and industriously?—he wondered to himself.

  He raised a lax hand. “Hy’a, Cherub,” he called to the boy.

  With a disinterested glance, the office boy barked, “The boss wants to see you pronto, Lazy,” and he jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of a private office marked clearly in big black letters on its glass door—EDWARD H. BROWN, EDITOR.

  “Who, me?” Bill queried disbelievingly as he swung forward in his chair and sat up.

  “Yes, you, Lazy, and get the lead outta your shoes.”

  “Ten cents says it’s a raise.�
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  “Two-bits says you’re still a hoping fool,” laughed the office boy as he hurried away.

  The listlessness suddenly fell from him and Bill Nevers became thoughtful as he sauntered towards the editor’s office. The gag about the raise was just a standard joke. He was a good reporter, one of the best for his young years in the game, but he knew that he really needed to put over a scoop for another rung in the ladder. . . . and more pay. However, that was not what he thought of as he neared the office; he was trying hard to guess what “Old Man Brown” wanted to see him about on the day before his vacation. The closer he got to the office, the firmer became the conviction, and the more grew the dreaded thought that something would interfere with his precious vacation.

  Almost timidly he rapped on the door, at the same time opening it and then hesitating to enter. He knew or felt instinctively that he was walking into a doom of blasted hope for a vacation.

  “Come in, Bill,” the deep voice of the editor aroused him to the completion of the process of entering.

  At the big battered desk of oak sat “Old Man Brown.” His heavy-featured congenial face seemed for once serious, and the ever-present cigar went from one side to the other of his tobacco-stained lips continuously. His fat hand was tapping a pencil rapidly as he regarded the reporter through small eyes that flashed the internal fires of energy and keenness.

  Bill Nevers said good-bye to his vacation right then and there. He knew his boss and his actions. He felt the hopes of three weeks’ idleness explode in his mind. Something was in the wind; something of vast importance.

  “What’s up, chief?”

  “Bill, you’re going to the North Pole!”

  “Aw, chief, quit your kidding,” laughed the other, but it was a forced laugh. He knew Brown was serious.