The John Russell Fearn Science Fiction Megapack

by John Russell Fearn

  “This, my friends, is what I saw in Mars’ fourth dimension,” Harrigan said calmly. “The camera was set at the foci of three and four dimensions. As photographic experts have already testified, examination of my camera has revealed things about it that cannot be explained by normal photographic law. That is because it is designed for dimensional use. Through its lenses you see people walk in the fourth dimension then veer out of it as it crosses our own space. I saw other things too—such as this…”

  Through eye-blurring, foreshortened angles there appeared power engines, dwarfing anything ever known on Earth, before which tiny beings worked and toiled. In shape they appeared almost earthly, and for that reason the vast scale of the engines they worked could be imagined. View upon view showed visions of power beyond the wildest imagination, and finally a whole mass of some thousand objects, which, even to the uninitiated, were plainly spaceships.

  The twisting angles began to fade… The lights came up. It had been thirty minutes in wonderland.

  “Before we continue with more normal, orthodox views of my adventures, there is something I must say,” Harrigan said gravely. “You are fortunate indeed in that circumstance led me to arrive here on my way home, otherwise you would probably not have known of the menace threatening your civilization—indeed every civilization. You talk of world war, of nation against nation, and yet never give a thought to the possible preparation by other beings on other worlds against you… You have seen vast engines of power being constructed on another world, in a dimension hidden from your eyes. With my superior scientific knowledge I probed the deepest secrets of these beings. They too are preparing for war—for onslaught upon this planet! Let there be no mistake about that. It is only a matter of months and against them you stand no chance because your science is not accurate enough.”

  “But yours is!” shouted somebody.

  “Quite true, but—” Harrigan shrugged. “I am disbelieved by certain people. I cannot place my powers at the disposal of unbelievers.”

  Hodder stood up suddenly in the Press box. “I know quite well that your remarks are directed against me, Tibetan—but I have reasons for my disbelief. How do we know that these film scenes are genuine? How do we know you are genuine? Beyond making my notes vanish—which probably has an explanation far more mundane than mind force—you have done nothing. I assume that the master minds of Tibet can do better things than make writing vanish from a reporter’s notebook?”

  “Aw, sit down!” bellowed a voice from the cheaper seats.

  “Why should I sit down?” Hodder demanded. “This man here, a self-confessed mystic, warns us of approaching war from Mars—though he omits to mention exactly why the Martians should desire our world so suddenly—and our only proof of it is a collection of pictures which any skilled cameraman could fake.”

  “Experts pronounce my camera totally unlike any they have ever seen,” Harrigan answered imperturbably. “It was made in Tibet—by me.”

  “So what? Suppose you start putting yourself in the fourth dimension, like you did on Mars? Without machinery! Do it—now! That’s a challenge, Tibetan and one you can’t refuse if you’re all you claim.”

  “And if I do this?” Harrigan asked gravely. “Will you believe?”

  “I’m not promising anything because I know you can’t do it…”

  Harrigan creased his aged, wrinkled face into a smile. Then he closed his eyes, folded his arms, and became motionless. From somewhere in the packed house a shriek went up as he slowly began to fade from sight. In sixty seconds he had disappeared, and the stage in front of the screen was totally empty!

  Hodder looked nonplussed for a moment, then he vaulted over the gangway and finally gained the stage. He started searching hurriedly, ignoring the derisive cries of the audience. As he searched the draperies Harrigan slowly reappeared on the opposite side of the stage.

  “Did you lose something, my friend?” he enquired politely.

  There was a roar of laughter as Hodder swung round. He glared for a moment, then searched the Tibetan’s cassock hurriedly. Harrigan did not stop him; he only continued to smile blandly.

  “I have nothing up my sleeve, young man,” he said solemnly. “But while you are about it you might like to witness something else, in case—in a sudden fit of impulse you should feel like killing me. Give me a match, will you?”

  Hodder complied dubiously, then watched with his eyes narrowed as Harrigan took the flame and held it against his pale cheek, each in turn. Finally he held his fingers in it, then at last, threw the dead match away.

  “If red hot bars were handy I could do the same with those,” he observed. “Like the rest of my race I am indestructible by ordinary means. I am a scientist and master of the supernatural.… Now go and sit down.”

  “I don’t see—”

  “Sit down!” Harrigan thundered, his eyes blazing suddenly.

  Hodder turned away and resumed his seat in the press box. He was certainly baffled, but by no means quelled. The excited muttering died away as Harrigan took up the microphone again.

  “Mainly to satisfy this young unbeliever I have exerted mental strain to get in and out of the fourth dimension,” he said gravely. “That at least ought to prove to you that I am in earnest when I speak of an invasion from Mars… I can save you, yes—but only if you all believe… Now let the performance resume!”

  It did resume, but the films were merely photographed records of a space flight, and as such, of not over-impressive interest after what had been done. Most of the audience was thinking of that mystical demonstration on the stage and of the grim warning of approaching invasion…

  In a few short hours Harrigan of Tibet had hit the mind of the world with more force than a cataclysm.

  * * * *

  Harrigan returned to his hotel surrounded by a clamouring mob, from which he only succeeded in escaping after a speech from the balcony of his hotel room. Then he closed the windows, threw himself into a chair, and relaxed. Finally, making sure the doors and window were locked and the shades down, he peeled off his fireproof synthetic flesh make-up and threw himself gratefully on the bed. He went to sleep fully assured of the conviction that there is one born every minute…

  The next morning the papers handed him his biggest laugh for years as, with his make-up on again, he received the newspapers from an awestruck bell hop.

  “IS TIBETAN A FAKE?” asked the Clarion. That was Hodder’s doing. Nasty piece of work, Hodder. The other papers took the thing seriously, and they were the papers that really dominated public viewpoint. The headlines were varied—

  MYSTIC’S GRAVE WARNING. TIBETAN DOES A VANISH! IS MARS PREPARING WAR? And so on…

  Harrigan had hardly finished his breakfast—it had been rather hard to convince the management that he ate as normal people do when in the west—before there came a knock on the door. Immediately he assumed his trancelike pose and said gravely. “Enter, my friend!”

  It was a complete deputation that came in, mainly middle-aged men with thoughtful faces, headed by no less a personality than the Mayor of London himself.

  “Your—er—Excellency,” the Mayor said, bowing uncertainly. “I have come in person at the request of various high officials who wish to know more about your alarming prediction of last night.”

  “So?” Harrigan said softly. “You mean my warning of war with Mars?”

  “Exactíy.” The Mayor looked relieved at finding elaboration unnecessary. “Such a thing, you must realise, cannot be taken lightly. The whole world knows about it this morning—and naturally the whole world is alarmed. The hardest thing is to understand how this can be true—your prediction I mean—particularly as our astronomers, these gentlemen here can find no trace of anything unusual on Mars dead surface. Not even with the new Mount Wilson reflector.”

  Harrigan smiled wearily. “Gentlemen did I not make it impressive enough that Martian beings exist on Mars’ surface in another dimension? They cannot be seen: therein lies the
subtlety of their plan. Only the slugs inhabit the normal surface, but they are far too small for telescopic observation in any case.”

  “The facts,” said one of the astronomers rather uncomfortably, “were not given to us very clearly, Your Excellency. You must forgive us for doubting you…”

  “Of course.”

  “It is possible,” the Mayor went on, “that the Prime Minister may wish to see you in regard to your warning. We must take all possible precautions.”

  Harrigan frowned very slightly. He felt he was getting into deeper waters.

  “Whatever precautions you take will avail you nothing,” he said. “Only science such as mine—mind science—can conquer these Martians when they come.”

  “But you would be willing to aid us? I may convey that promise to the Prime Minister?”

  “Providing there is nothing but unswerving adherence to my wishes, yes,” Harrigan assented, thinking. “Not otherwise. Mind force cannot operate successfully against adverse elements.”

  The Mayor nodded hurriedly. “Of course—of course. You may rest assured that all unwanted elements will be suppressed by the law… I will communicate your observations to the Prime Minister. Thank you, Your Excellency…”

  Harrigan bowed them out, then stood pondering. This was hardly the move he had expected. Unless he was very careful he was likely to force a worldwide rush to arms and cripple all industrial pursuits. The Prime Minister! That would take some tackling… It gave even his sublime nerve a jolt. However, the thing was done now: only thing to do was to tighten things up a little.

  He spent both morning and afternoon delivering speeches from the top of his ‘spaceship’ in Hyde Park, speeches in which he stressed the necessity for misguided western civilization to take this chance of heeding a supermind from the East. He was not quite sure how much of his talking went over—but from the expressions of those who watched him he judged he had cashed in again on the strength of his mystic feats at the cinema the previous night.

  The evening papers said in the main—MYSTIC SPEAKS AGAIN, and all save the Clarion avowed allegiance to his warnings and predictions.

  Hodder still maintained his obstinate stand but even he began to see he would have to change his views, not because of personal conversion but because of the fury of his editor and the public. Everybody had reared up Harrigan as a prophetic, scientific god. On every occasion he had proved his powers. It was not befitting that the Clarion should be the one dissenting voice…

  But Hodder, scenting a scoop one day, kept on with private investigations just the same.

  CHAPTER III

  The test

  A special train plentifully sprinkled with guards in plain clothes whirled Harrigan from London to the Prime Minister’s south country home the following day. He was deeply uneasy, but the synthetic make-up on his face prevented any apparent worry from showing itself. To the onlookers, and the authorities grouped about him, he was the same imperturbable mystic of yore.

  When at last he was shown into the Prime Minister’s library his courage nearly deserted mm. The calm figure standing with his back to the window, hands behind him, stirred Harrigan to the realisation of the monstrous hoax he had perpetrated. He only went on for one reason now—because retreat was impossible.

  Then he was alone with the man who was the leader of the nation.

  “I understand,” the Prime Minister said quietly, that your name is too unpronounceable for us; therefore I will designate you as others have done. Won’t you sit dwn, Excellency?”

  Harrigan obeyed, waited. Wondering when he would be discovered. But evidently his disguise was without flaw for presently the Prime Minister said:

  “From various sources I am given to understand that you have definite first-hand information concerning an intended attack upon this world from Mars. However fantastic that may seem, these days of scientific progress demand that every possible contingency, earthly or unearthly, be taken into consideration. You yourself have so proven your powers that one must at least pay heed to your warning. You are absolutely convinced that this attack win come?”

  “Absolutely, Mr. Prime Minister,” Harrigan said quietly.

  “You have referred to the highly devised scientific powers of these invaders, which you alone can combat. How do you propose to go about such a combat?”

  “Your armaments, vast though they are, are useless, Mr. Prime Minister. There is only one way to defeat these invaders, and that is by mass-hypnotism, such as my own people use to master every physical difficulty and every material barrier…” Harrigan felt himself perspiring as a silence followed.

  “You believe we should not alter our existing armaments or army personnel in the least, but should practice this—this mass hypnosis system?” The Prime Minister sounded vaguely incredulous.

  “I do, yes. You sec it is simply a matter of concentration. Thousands of minds, pooled to one particular thought wave, can produce a mental force sufficient to upset the finely balanced minds of the Martian invaders… I say frankly that I would be willing ‘to help the world follow out this system because, of course, we of Tibet will be as much at the mercy of the invaders as anybody else—and we alone are not sufficient in number to offset so many Martians. It will take vast masses of people—millions, all concentrating on one thing, to produce the right effect.”

  “I think I understand, Excellency,” the Prime Minister mused. “But tell me, is it not possible for the heads of nations—or at least their representatives—to visit Mars in this machine of yours and see for themselves what you saw? It would serve as a better basis for conviction. After all, I have to convince others—many others…”

  For one moment Harrigan thought he was lost: he thought furiously. Then at length he said calmly, “It would produce conviction, certainly, but to even project myself to Mars demanded a vast expenditure of mental effort. I could not possibly accomplish it with several people. Besides, none of you are trained to mastering space strain and lack of air by mind control, as I am…”

  “I had overlooked that,” the Prime Minister admitted ruefully. “For myself I do not doubt your veracity—but there are many others, even in my own House of Commons, who may. If, to defeat these invaders, it demands the resources of a whole world’s minds, the heads of other Governments as well as my own must be convinced of your authority.”

  “I have proved my ability to enter a fourth dimension: I have brought film records of the actual preparations being made.… What more can I do?”

  “There is one thing which I think will provide satisfaction all round. You must demonstrate the full range of your power. Professor Meredith, for instance, one of the greatest living authorities on Tibetan lore, would set a few recognised tests for you at a public demonstration. If you responded to each test perfectly your undoubted ability would be proven. You understand, Excellency? Not for a moment do I doubt you, but for other countries to co-operate demands proof beyond a shadow of doubt The verification of Professor Meredith would be accepted without question. Then we can discuss with other nations whatever plans you have.…”

  Harrigan nodded as calmly as he could. “Of course, Mr. Prime Minister. Any time you wish… Anywhere. I shall stay in London until I hear from you.”

  “I rather think, Excellency,” the Prime Minister said gravely, as he shook hands, that the world will owe you a great deal in the long run. Let me assure you of the gratitude of the British for your co-operation.”

  Harrigan bowed with dignity, but he walked out of the room on legs that felt like jelly…

  * * * *

  Back in London, studiously avoiding all pleas to address the army of adherents who had sprung up in the city, Harrigan spent an uncomfortable day or two pondering on approaching events. He made the excuse that he was ‘meditating.’ His bluff had assumed proportions of alarming size. Between him and the possible nominal control of the world—control enough at least to permit of him winning Landhurst’s bet—was Meredith, expert on Tibetan
lore. That was the very devil.

  At last Harrigan made moves, the only ones he could. Having left orders that he was not to be disturbed on any account for forty-eight hours—while he communed with higher planes—he removed his disguise, left the hotel during the night through the window and down the fire escape, thereafter proceeding to move about the city as an ordinary individual.

  Immediately the day arrived he spent the time revising his notes on Tibetan miracles from the public library, crammed knowledge by the ton; then he made several purchases from different chemists and purveyors of magical equipment. Finally he rang up his friend Bob Shepherd and gave him implicit instructions, which he was to relay to his other two friends in different parts of the city.

  Again by night, Harrigan returned to his hotel, somewhat easier in mind but by no means sure of the future even now… In the morning the Prime Minister forwarded his instructions through the Mayor once again. “Would His Excellency of Tibet be good enough to respond to the tests of Professor Meredith at a public demonstration at the Albert Hall at 8 p.m. in three days’ time?”

  Inside a building? Not bad, Harrigan reflected. He accepted the challenge calmly—and again he slipped out at night and rang Bob Shepherd from a public call box. He chuckled to himself as he returned to his hotel through the night. That hundred thousand pounds was not far off now; he could see that quite clearly.

  What he did not see was a man with a hatchet face and soft hat standing in an abysmally dark doorway, watching him sedulously.

  * * * *

  If the London film performance had brought a crowd it was as nothing compared with the invasion that attacked the Albert Hall on the appointed night. Spurred on by the terrific build-up of the press, realising that the Prime Minister himself had convened this demonstration to test the real powers of the ‘Mam from Tibet,’ the public rolled up in myriads.