The John Russell Fearn Science Fiction Megapack

by John Russell Fearn

  “Seed-spores? Mars?” Lucy was clearly baffled.

  “Let me explain. Mars, if you know anything of astro­nomy, is subject to terrific wind and dust storms. The planet also pos­sesses a type of plant life, not un­like our ivy, which grows very fast in the Martian deserts. These markings, until the installa­tion of our new re­flector, were mis­taken for water-channels. The famous ‘canals,’ you know…

  “Naturally, this plant life casts off seeds, which imme­diately take root, but according to my observations the terribly dry state of Mars’ surface hinders growth enor­mously. That brings me to my second point…

  “Whilst observing this wind storm on Mars I distinctly saw one vast mass of seeds blown into the Martian atmos­phere with such terrific force that the relatively weak pull of the planet’s gravity did not bring them down again. They just scattered into the void. You understand?”

  Lucy nodded slowly. “I see what you mean. I suppose that once they passed into space they would be seen no more because of the blackness of the void?”

  “Exactly. Which brings me to the theory of the great scientist, Svante August Arrhenius.”

  “Whom?”

  “He was an eminent Swedish scientist who put forward the theory that life could, and no doubt did, travel from other worlds and germinate on entirely different planets. You see, seeds are absolutely impervious to the frightful cold of space, and after being blown from their native planet’s surface they move through space, to eventually fall on a neighbour­ing world, maybe. There, granting favourable condi­tions, they germin­ate and sprout. Our life probably began like that.”

  “Go on.”

  “I saw those spores blown from Mars about eight weeks ago, and whilst I was in­terested, I did not think a great deal more about the matter. But this morning I saw a small notice in the newspaper—a seemingly unimportant little thing, but it spells the approach of a grave menace to mankind. Listen to this.”

  Price tugged a morning paper from his pocket, and after some searching began to read:

  “The liner Baltic, just docked from New York, reports a curious occurrence in the Atlantic Ocean, two hundred miles from the shores of Ireland. According to the Captain, the liner ran into a mass of brown seaweed; but investigation revealed this ten-mile carpet to be actually composed of billions of tiny seeds, similar to those of the sweet-pea. The mass is appar­ently sinking to the ocean floor. After some delay, caused by the seeds entang­ling with the screw, the Baltic continued on her way.”

  Price stopped, his face set. The girl’s eyes were upon him.

  “Then, Price, you think that—that those seeds you saw—?”

  “Exactly! This morning I told Pro­fessor Webster of my theory, and we had a group of experts consider it. The damned fools! They decided I was let­ting fancy run away with common sense, and I’m to leave in a month. When I ’phoned you and asked you to meet me down here, I knew that you, at least, would listen to me.”

  “Of course; but are you sure there’s a connection between Martian seeds and Atlantic seaweed? How can you be so certain that those seeds would strike Earth, with all the other planets there are?”

  “It’s mathematical law! We’re the nearest to Mars. I’ve checked up on everything: the direction the spores took, the positions of Earth and Mars, their comparative nearness—every detail.

  “There can be no mistake! That ten-mile carpet of brown seed spells the dawn of humanity’s destruction. And to think that a few tons of dynamite dropped on them now could stop the whole business! It’s enough to make a man go mad!”

  “That’ll get you nowhere,” the girl said quietly. “England will come to its senses when things begin to happen—never fear.”

  Price grunted. “It doesn’t just mean England. It means the whole world! Those seeds will thrive in the salt water of the ocean, absorbing moisture. They once lived in a salty desert, the floor of what once was an ocean on Mars’ sur­face. Imagine them now—roots in the sea-bed, thrusting out their branches along the ocean floor until they reach land!

  “Then indeed will things begin to happen!”

  The Strange Paralysis

  The furious heat of July changed into the close enervation of the London August. None in the metropolis gave a thought to the fact that the unusually hot summer also existed in mid-Atlantic, where now, according to report, the ten-mile carpet of brown seeds had diminished to one mile; and that, too, was rapidly vanish­ing.

  To Price Driscoll the news was ominous. The heat was a deadly foe. It would hasten the trouble which he insisted was certainly coming.

  Though something of his early fear had subsided in the interval. His new post in an analytical laboratory gave him little time for conjecture; and whilst he worked, the threat of World War hung ever more imminent above human activity. Mars was indeed influencing Earth, both in the literal and abstract sense.

  Early in July of the following year, Price was able to snatch a week’s rest. With Lucy, now his wife, he chose a Somerset farm in a little village called Mandory, which they found distinctly suited to their taste after the noise and bustle of the capital.

  “It is just eighteen months since you were worrying over that dead sea-wrack,” Lucy remarked casually, as they strolled, hand in hand, down a deserted country lane, hedged in on either side.

  “Is it?” he said, in some surprise, and suddenly stopped in his stride.

  “Yes; and it’s a good job for you that you found a steady job.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” he agreed, and fell into step beside the girl as they walked on.

  Presently they halted again and sat down on the grass at the side of the lane.

  “Not a bad view,” Price commented, approvingly. “Now the hedge has ended we can see it all. Lovely, isn’t it?”

  “Indeed it is,” the girl murmured. “Oh, Price, how can men and women think of war in such a glorious world?”

  “Men don’t think of that when they want something,” Price answered grimly. “They just seem to—”

  He paused, and a puzzled look came into his eyes. Shielding his gaze, he stared fixedly into the distance for a space.

  “What is it?” the girl questioned, lazily.

  “A flash.” Price’s voice was strange. “H’mm; do you feel anything?”

  The girl did not answer for a moment, then sat up with a sudden effort.

  “Yes, I do,” she admitted slowly. “As though I’ve lost control over my limbs! I—I feel ill!”

  She passed a puzzled hand over her forehead. Price slipped an arm round her shoulders and looked again into the distance at a square, massively built structure raised upon a hill, dominating the whole of this stretch of countryside.

  It came to him suddenly that he and his wife were on an absolutely unbeaten track; and as he looked at the building another brilliant flash radiated from it, akin to a mammoth mirror reflecting sunlight. He felt himself become limp; his legs tingled queerly.

  “Damned odd!” he muttered. “Lucy, there’s something strange here. Perhaps it’s the heat. Surely that mirror can’t have anything to do with it—?”

  The girl lay back, her face pale. “I don’t believe my legs will bear my weight!” she said, presently.

  “Mine aren’t much better,” Price answered grimly; then, with sudden determination, he struggled to his feet. “Come on, let’s get into the shade. We’ve got sunstroke or something. Ah! That flash again—! Come on!”

  But the girl seemed quite incapable of standing up, despite all her efforts. She gained her knees, then rocked side­ways into the grass again, to lie there without making any further attempts. Scarcely a whit the better, seized with that uncanny paralysis, Price staggered forward, clutched her, and dragged her with superhuman effort into the shade of the hedge a short distance away.

  For perhaps ten minutes they lay there, then gradually strength returned, and at last they got to their feet. Puzzled, they dusted their clothes and looked about them.

  �
�What was it?” the girl asked finally, baffled. “That was no sunstroke!”

  “It certainly was not,” Price agreed grimly. “It was something else; some­thing very different to anything we’ve ever known before. Perhaps some new-­fangled weapon of destruction.”

  He paused, then drew her to him, filled with a sudden impulse to protect her. “We’ll find out about it,” he mur­mured. “Tonight.”

  “Tonight?” Her eyes were startled.

  “Afraid?” he chided gently, and at that she shook her head vehemently.

  “Not with you, Price. I wish I knew what it was, though.”

  Price moved forward and looked round the end of the hedge towards the squat edifice on the hill. Thoughtfully he stroked his chin.

  “I’m convinced it’s a weapon of warfare!” he declared again. “You notice how that building on the hill is fenced round with seven-foot high rail­ings, and also has an inner wall of metal? Why such unusual precautions? If there is something in that building that is a menace to humanity it has got to be destroyed!”

  “Yes, Price.” The girl’s reply was quiet and submissive. Then she shook his arm as he still stood gazing around. “Suppose we get on the move? This place isn’t particularly pleasant now, after what’s happened.”

  “Yes—we’ll go.” Price drew her arm through his and held her to his side as they made the return journey up the lane.

  It was as they walked, absorbed in their own thoughts, that their eyes suddenly became aware of something at their feet. Imbedded in the dust lay automobile wheel tracks. Once again perplexity settled on Price’s face.

  “A car? Along here?” he muttered. “That’s strange! It leads direct to that building on the hill.”

  “So it does!” The girl moved for­ward to look more closely, only to jump quickly aside as a high-powered car suddenly swept into view, coming away from the building on the hill, ad­vancing amidst a cloud of choking dust.

  In an instant it had passed, and went bumping away along the iron-hard ruts, lost in the clouds of dust it had created. Wind-blown and ruffled, Price Driscoll and his wife joined each other again and stood staring after it. Presently it be­came dimly visible again, heading for Mandory village, its yellow colour quite discernible.

  “That’s what I call hogging!” Price snapped. “Never even saw the fellow at the wheel, more’s the pity. If we hadn’t have jumped we wouldn’t have stood an earthly chance!”

  “I wonder who he was?” the girl murmured, thoughtfully. “Obviously he’s connected with that mysterious building. Do you think we should tell the police?”

  Price shook his head. “No, it’s no ordinary matter; it requires personal investigation. We’ll stick to the original plan and look the place over tonight. Now let’s carry on—we’ll be back in comfortable time for tea.”

  They resumed their trudging and, a considerable time later, topped the rise of the lane to behold sleepy Mandory before them, broiling in the sun. There was something else, too; a yellow car outside the portico of Mawson’s Farm. Upon the little portico itself sat a hardly distinguishable figure, drinking with apparent enthusiasm.

  “Good Lord, there he is!” Price exclaimed, pointing. “The chap with the yellow car! Come on.”

  “I Am Out to Stop War…”

  A hurried run across the square and they were both up the portico steps, facing the man, who seemed not the least perturbed by their sudden appearance before him. He quietly finished his drink and laid down the glass.

  Inwardly, Price and Lucy were will­ing to admit that he had no sinister appearance whatever. His face was calm, intelligent, and remarkably hand­some. The hair was black, the forehead expansive, and the eyes a strange shade of grey. Even when seated, he was obviously a man of considerable stature and strength.

  “Good afternoon,” he said presently, in a mellow voice.

  It became increasingly hard to dislike him when he spoke. With feelings of discomfiture, Price and his wife slowly sat down and faced him.

  “A little while ago you came along the lane,” Price said finally. “You nearly ran us down! Do you know that?”

  “Did I?” The man’s face evinced surprise. “I am very sorry. Frankly, the lane was so dusty I didn’t see any­thing to either side of it. I am sure you will both accept my deepest regrets, won’t you? By the way, Benton is my name—Hugh Benton. I am a scientist.”

  “Don’t think I’m inquisitive or any­thing,” Price went on, “but what sort of a place is that of yours on the hill? It is yours, isn’t it?”

  Hugh Benton shrugged. “It is my home and laboratory.” He smiled, reservedly. “You see, I have strange ways of living. Perhaps you might call me a super-philanthropist as well as a scientist.”

  “Philanthropist!” Price echoed, de­risively. “If you call it philanthropic to make my wife and I thoroughly ill with some kind of paralysis, you certainly have strange ideas! What sort of a stunt were you up to this afternoon? You made the pair of us as weak as table, jellies!”

  “Dear me, how very awkward,” Benton muttered. “That means I shall have to take you into my confidence. I had hoped that would never become necessary. However, I think I can trust you.,. I—er—I am out to stop war.”

  “Men have tried that before, sir—and failed.”

  “Truly, but I am privileged in that I have an infallible method. The only way to stop men warring is to stifle the minds and bodies of those who fight! I have that something—an all-potent weapon, with an all-embracing power.

  “It so happened that you and your wife came within range of my apparatus this afternoon, whilst I was experiment­ing… Naturally, you want to know all about it?”

  “All!” Price said unwaveringly.

  “Very well, then. What I do is to use a machine which emits electric waves, these waves being identical with those issuing forth from the sun itself. They are known as inazan waves, and exist some distance below infra-red fre­quency. You will know that the sun can bring heat-prostration and sun­stroke; popular belief is that the heat does it. That isn’t so; it is the pure inazan waves of the sun which are re­sponsible, for they affect the brain and create mild paralysis.

  “Now, my machine, issuing forth these waves, produces a paralysis that is entirely complete. Everything posses­sing active life falls beneath its influ­ence, and remains so until I use my counteracter. Also, my machine has the power to encircle the entire world if necessary, or, if desired, it can affect any specific part of the world. So, should a war be in progress, I have merely to exert it over the offending parties and they will immediately collapse, to stay thus, apparently life­less, until my counteracter is operated. You understand?”

  “Perfectly,” Price nodded; “but if your power encircles the world why wasn’t everybody affected this afternoon when Lucy and I were?”

  “Because, as I have said, it was a test. I was using only eight per cent of the power possible—and, unfortunately, I had no idea you were so near at hand when I experimented. I set the appara­tus so that the village would not be affected, but I didn’t expect you would be in the countryside; it’s usually so deserted. Luckily I used my counter­acter as well, otherwise you would still be paralysed.

  “Really, I am sorry… Suppose, as a slight consolation, you come and view my machinery for yourselves tonight? I feel sure that you’ll be interested.”

  “Well, thanks, sir,” Price said sheep­ishly. “That’s very kind of you. I’m awfully sorry to have made such an ass of myself. Forgive me, won’t you?”

  “There is nothing to forgive, Mr.—. What is your name, by the way?”

  “Oh—I’m Price Driscoll, an analyst from London. This is my wife, Lucy.”

  “Charmed.” Benton smiled. “You see, up there in my isolated abode I make many experiments; indeed I never leave unless urgency compels me. That happened this afternoon when I ran out of some chemicals and had to come to the chemist’s here for fresh supplies. However, with so many walls and rail­ings round my dwe
lling I fancy my apparatus is quite safe.… And now, how about a drink together?”

  “No, allow me!” Price interjected firmly. “My wife and I are staying here on a short holiday. I insist that you accept my invitation, after all I’ve said to you.”

  “Very well.” Benton smiled.

  “Right; that’s settled then,” Price said in satisfaction, and went off in search of the husky farmer who owned the small establishment.

  Between Lucy and Hugh Benton a sudden silence fell. For some odd reason the girl’s mind had reverted to those spores of seed that had been lying far out on the Atlantic…

  CHAPTER II

  Man or—?

  Hugh Benton kept His promise, and that same evening drove Price and Lucy to his isolated abode. The two did not attempt to calculate how many gates and doors they passed through before they finally entered a large room equipped after the fashion of some super power-house. Upon every side reposed gleaming machines of unusual design, with Benton hovering in the midst of them, a calm and explanatory host.

  For the second time he went through the exposition of how his apparatus worked, tapped this and that machine, and finally led the way to two machines standing side by side.

  “Most interesting devices,” he com­mented. “Look at them, each in turn. Stand close and I’ll start them up for you.”

  Deeply interested, Lucy and Price stood by as directed, watching the mysterious engines, fascinated by the display of electrical power actuated by the moving of a switch.

  “And is all this apparatus necessary for inducing paralysis?” Price asked when the display was over.

  “Not altogether; these machines serve other purposes as well,” was Benton’s ambiguous reply. Then, in a dif­ferent tone: “Doesn’t it strike you as peculiar that I, one man alone, should be gifted with the genius to evolve all this apparatus? Apparatus to save a world from itself…”