“Some strange things have been happening to-day,” she said as she greeted us. “Banker Crolius, of Sterling, while driving home from the country club in his roadster, suddenly disappeared. A farm hand who saw him in the car only a moment before his disappearance, describes a strange cloud which was mingled with the dust thrown up by his car, but which separated from it and sailed away as soon as the car overturned in the ditch. The motorcycle policeman who found the empty car reported that there was a nauseating odor around it, but no sign of Crolius.”
“He must have shared the fate of Jackson,” I said.
“Without a doubt,” said the professor. “But that is not all. Look at this; it’s positively ghastly.”
He passed me a copy of the evening paper which his wife had just brought from Sterling. Together, Sue and I scanned the glaring headlines, and read the article which followed:
TAMPICO CITIZEN BADLY INJURED BY FALLING SKULL
Believed to Be That of Missing Aviator, Jackson
William Aldrich, a citizen of Tampico, was seriously injured today while walking on the main street of his home town, when a human skull which had apparently fallen from the sky struck him on the right shoulder. It fell with such force that he was knocked down. Examination by a physician revealed two broken bones beneath a very painful bruise. Near the fallen skull the metal frames and broken glass of an aviator’s goggles were found.
A moment later a number of other bones, which Dr. Brown of Tampico pronounced those of a human being, fell nearly a block from where Mr. Aldrich had been struck down. These bones were so white and dry that the doctor declared they must Tiave been exposed to the weather for a long period of time.
Among these bones were found a cigarette lighter, some coins, a bunch of keys, several buttons and buckles, and a wrist watch on an aviator’s identification bracelet. Despite the fact that Pilot Jackson disappeared not more than two hours before this happened, it is thought that he has been murdered in some mysterious way, and his bones dehydrated and dropped, for the bracelet is his, and descriptions of the other articles tally with those he was known to have carried.
“Do you think they were really Jackson’s bones?” I asked the professor.
“I think it highly probable that they were,” he replied.
“But how—”
“Come into my laboratory, Dick,” he said. “I have something to show you.”
As Professor Davis led me into his laboratory, his eyes sparkled with excitement behind his thick-lensed glasses. He bent over the mortar into which he had dropped the mysterious fragment of hairlike substance and the earthworm, earlier in the afternoon. Then a look of amazement came over his features.
“Really,” he said, “this is most remarkable! Look here, Dick. The creature has grown more swiftly than I thought possible.”
I, too, looked into the mortar.
To my surprise I saw that the two inch piece of the odd material had a mushroomlike growth on one end. This end was raised nearly an inch above the bottom of the bowl as if the mushroom growth were a little balloon, gradually lifting the hairlike strand. But this was not all, for sprouting beneath the cap were many other hairs, shorter than the original one, but of the same diameter and evidently growing at an astonishing rate of speed.
“Do you know what it is?” I asked.
“I believe,” said the professor, “that we are confronted by a creature unknown to science, and up to the present day, entirely outside the experience of mankind. Unless other similar incidents have occured recently, the strange fates of Jackson and Crolius are unique in the annals of the world. Without a doubt, Crolius and Jackson met the same fate—were attacked either by the same creature or by one like it. And this”—pointing to the thing in the mortar—“is perhaps a reproduction of that creature. I say ‘perhaps’ because even among the creatures known and classified by science we find numerous instances of offspring which, in certain stages of their existence, bear very little resemblance to their parents.”
“Do you mean to tell me,” I said, “that the hairlike strand was an egg or spore from which this creature in the mortar is developing?”
“Not precisely that,” replied the professor. “It seems that we have to do, here, with a creature that reproduces itself by fission or subdivision—or at least a creature which has the power to do so, even though it may normally reproduce its kind by spores, spawn or eggs.
“I think that we can safely assume, in this case, that the division was accidental so far as the intention of the creature itself is taken into account. The hairlike tentacle was caught in the airplane rudder when creature and plane were both traveling swiftly at right angles to each other’s courses. As a result three of these tentacles caught in the splintered rudder were tom loose and carried down with the ship. With my scissors I farther divided the tentacle before placing it in the mortar.
YOU WILL observe that those tentacles which are still coiled around the sticks on which you brought them have neither moved nor shown any signs of growth. Our experience shows that they will not move unless touched by living organic matter—food. And food, which I supplied in the form of an earthworm, is undoubtedly the reason the piece in the mortar was enabled to grow.
“I have been watching this one closely, and have learned something more. The tentacles themselves, as we have learned before, are not stimulated to action except when touched by organic food, but once the umbrellalike crown has grown above them, they are led to the food by the crown’s perception of motion. The worm, as you will observe, has all been devoured, or rather, absorbed, except a few segments from the posterior extremity. These segments are quite near the original and longest tentacle, but they are motionless. The growth of the creature has ceased for a lack of food, with this food quite near it, yet I saw it travel toward and capture the wriggling anterior end again and again until it had consumed all of it.
“We have here an analogy with the two tragedies which took place to-day. Swift movement, apparently, had attracted the parent of this creature to its prey, both in the case of Jackson and that of Crolius —assuming, of course, that both men were taken by the same monster.”
“Then,” I said, “you are of the opinion that this little creature in the mortar is a miniature replica of the thing that took Jackson?”
“That,” said the .professor, “is only problematical. It may be of an entirely different form. To draw an analogy from a creature well known to science, and probably the one most closely resembling this creature with which we have to deal, take the chrysaora, a kind of jellyfish. In one state of its existence it is a minute, flat, wormlike affair. This eventually settles down on the sea bottom and turns into a hydra—a tubelike organism with threads. The hydra not only reproduces many other hydras, but eventually turns into the segmented strobila, like a stack of saucers. This, in turn, produces the free-swimming disk-shaped medusa, which is the adult jellyfish.
“But while the Jellyfish is in the hydra stage, many strange monsters, entirely different in appearance from any of these creatures, have been produced by artificial division. For that reason it is possible that the individual we have here is nothing like the parent from which it sprang. The fact that the creature more nearly resembles a jellyfish than any other earthly creature—that it is in fact a sort of medusa of the air—makes this analogy all the more plausible.”
He pushed the few remaining posterior segments of the earthworm into contact with the trailing tentacle, then watched reflectively while the creature, drawing its umbrellalike cap down to the morsel, slowly consumed it.
Scarcely had the last trace of the earthworm disappeared, ere the creature rose once more, but this time it was able to lift the weight of the tentacle, and started to float upward like a toy balloon dragging the string to which it is attached.
Galvanized into action by this unexpected development, the professor jumped for a butterfly net which was hanging on a hook near-by. His swift motion evidently attracted the creature, for it
darted after him, its long original tentacle as well as the shorter ones it was developing, outstretching toward him. But despite his age, the professor was as dexterous through long practice with a butterfly net as is many a younger man with a racquet or foil, and with a quick movement he brought it down over his quarry.
On a table In one corner of the room was a large, finely meshed cage. This cage contained a half dozen cocoons and three large, brightly colored cecropia moths which had just emerged, and which the professor had confined for later observation.
Opening the door of the cage, the professor pushed in the butterfly net, permitting his captive to float up out of the meshes. Then, removing the net, he closed the door and watched the thing floating about in the air near the top of the cage, while he mopped from his brow the perspiration which his sudden and unaccustomed exertions had engendered.
“I suppose the thing will eat my cecropias,” he said, “but in the meantime we may learn something more of the habits of this medusa of the air.”
Scarcely had he spoken, ere one of the cecropias spread its newly opened wings and started to fly across the cage. With a quick dart, the medusa pounced upon it, and its tentacles wound themselves around the fat, soft body. For a few seconds, the moth fluttered helplessly—then it fell to the floor of the cage, while the wiry tentacles of its remorseless enemy sank deeper and deeper into its yielding thorax and abdomen.
It was the professor who first noticed that the medusa—for such we had begun to call it—no longer depended on its tentacles for the absorption of its food, but had developed a number of small, slightly projecting sucker mouths which all but covered the under surface of the cap. With these it was able to assimilate much more rapidly than before.
In an incredibly short space of time the cecropia had completely disappeared, while the medusa, its cap now doubled in size and its tentacles uniformly about three inches in length, slowly floated about the cage, the frilled edges of its cap rippling like thin fabric stirred by a breeze, but actually doing the work of propelling the creature through the air.
“What do you suppose makes it float?” I asked.
“I've been wondering,” replied the professor. “Possibly it has the power to generate a gas lighter than air, which keeps it up. It might, for example, have the power to separate the pure hydrogen gas from the moisture in the air. By Jove! If that is it—”
The professor hastily secured a large test tube, a razor-sharp scalpel, and his butterfly net. Cautiously opening the door of the cage, he inserted the net and soon had the medusa in its folds. Immersing the creature in a large pan of water, he held the inverted, water-filled test tube down over it, and sliding the scalpel under the edge, inserted it in the creature’s cap. A tiny bubble arose in the tube.
The professor plunged the scalpel into a different spot, and another bubble traveled to the top of the tube, the creature’s arms writhing meanwhile like a nest of snakes. Again and again he pricked the cap until about a half inch of water in the test tube was displaced by gas.
Permitting the rest of the water to run out of the tube, and tossing the medusa back into the cage, where it no longer floated about in the air, but lay writhing and squirming on the floor, the professor carried the tube, still inverted, to a nearby table.
“If this is hydrogen, Dick,” he said, “I’ve found a way to rid the world of this menace.”
“How is that?”
“By fire,” he answered. “A spark, a shell, a rocket, or an explosive bullet will turn each creature into a roaring furnace of flame.”
Standing the inverted tube on the table for a moment, he picked it up with a test tube holder. Then he lighted a taper and held the flame in the mouth of the tube. Nothing happened. He thrust the flame still higher. It sputtered and went out.
“No use, Dick,” he said. “Had that been hydrogen, we should have had a small explosion. It’s something else. I’ll have to make further tests.”
Still keeping the tube inverted, he inserted a rubber stopper in the mouth. Then he stood it upside down on the table.
At this moment- Sue entered through the door which led to the drawing room.
“Mother and I just heard fearful news on the radio,” she said. “Thirty-six airplanes in various parts of the country have crashed. The occupants have not been found. More than a hundred people have disappeared while driving their automobiles, and most of the machines have been wrecked as a consequence. Recognizing the fact that something in the air must have snatched these people from their, machines, the government has sent scout and combat planes to investigate. Similar reports have been received from Canada and Mexico, and the air forces of these two countries are patrolling the skies in an effort to learn the cause of the mystery. What does it mean? What can we do?”
“It means,” said the professor soberly, “that I must get in touch with the War Department at once and tell them what little I know. Then I must, somehow, continue my experiments.”
CHAPTER III THE THING IN THE LABORATORY
AFTER DINNER the professor and I returned to his laboratory. He had called the War Department, and supplied them with such information as he had.
We found the caged medusa more than doubled in size, floating about as if searching for more prey. The cecropias had all been devoured. The punctures made by the professor’s scalpel had disappeared, and the cells which he had deflated were not only increased in size proportionately to the animal’s growth, but completely filled out with gas once more.
While I watched it moving about, the professor tested the gas which he had confined in the tube. Presently he called to me:
“I’ve found it, Dick. It’s helium. How the creature obtains it so rapidly is a mystery to me, as there are only four parts to every million parts of air, and proportions in its organic food must be very slight. But it is unmistakably helium, so fire will only be effective against it in such local areas as it can reach directly.”
“But what about explosive shells?” I asked.
“The monsters could be blown into fragments. of course,” he replied, “but remember, each fragment would become a new monster. Fighting these giant medusae of the skies with shells would simply mean multiplying them.”
“Then what can we do?” I asked.
“That,” he replied, “is what we must find out as quickly as possible. In order to do this we must take some risks. We must experiment and observe until we can find the weak spot in this creature’s defense. I am about, to sacrifice to-morrow’s roast for the good of the cause.”
So saying, he went out, and I heard him talking to the cook in the kitchen. A moment later he returned with a raw leg of lamb which he thrust into the cage.
The medusa, evidently attracted by the movement, soared downward, tentacles extended, as we had previously seen it do when attracted by the motion of organic matter. A tentacle touched the raw meat and in a moment the creature had settled down over the roast to feed.
The professor sighed.
“My favorite food,” he said, “but it is going in a good cause. And we have, so the cook tells me, a smoked ham which will go well with some fresh eggs.”
The medusa fed noiselessly, but with apparent voracity. As the meat dwindled in bulk, the body of the medusa increased in size, its tentacles lengthened proportionately.
Almost before we realized it, the body of the creature was more than a foot in diameter, while the tentacles had reached a length of nearly eighteen inches, yet the roast was not more than half consumed. Then a queer thing happened. The cage began to fill with vapor—silvery white like a cirrus cloud on which the sun is shining. And I began to grow increasingly conscious of a sickening, musty odor like that I had noticed at the wreck of Jackson’s plane.
The professor, alert scientist that he was, seized a glass tube and a rubber plug for each end. Then he rushed out into the Kitchen. A few moments later he returned with the tube packed full of crushed ice. He wiped it thoroughly with a towel, then opened the door of th
e cage and thrust the tube into the densest part of the vapor.
When he withdrew it, it was covered with large drops of moisture.
These he scraped into a test tube which he held up to the light for a moment, shaking it slightly as if to note its viscosity. Then he went to the table, put it in a test tube rack, and quickly prepared a number of solutions in other tubes. Into each of these he dropped a minute quantity of the liquid he had collected—pausing in each instance to note the result.
In watching him, I had forgotten to keep an eye on the cage. Presently I thought of it once more and turned to look at it. To my surprise I saw that it was completely hidden by a dense cloud of vapor—a disk-shaped cloud that was a perfect miniature copy of that into which Pilot Jackson had plunged, never to emerge.
The professor looked up from his experiments.
“Water, Dick,” he said, “nothing but water. The mystery is, how is it able to collect and hold a cloud symmetrically around it? I rather suspect—”
He paused in amazement as he suddenly noticed how large and dense the cloud had become around the cage.
“Why, this is astounding, Dick,” he said. “I had no idea it could grow so huge on a few pounds of meat. Perhaps we had better—”
He was interrupted this time by a rending crash, which came from the interior of the cloud. Then it rose toward the ceiling, and on the table our startled eyes saw the remains of the cage with its four sides bulged out, its top tilted back, and its frame splintered. Lying on the bottom of the cage, as white as if it had been kiln-dried, was the leg bone which had been in the roast.
The disk-shaped cloud, now nearly four feet in diameter, was floating around the edges of the ceiling, evidently looking for a means of egress from the room. Beneath it trailed more than a hundred squirming, wriggling tentacles, partly concealed by several little ragged streamers of vapor.
SPAWN OF THE COMET Page 2