“So what?”
“Just this. It proves, I believe, that whatever made people kiddish did not affect those who were buried nearly all the time in metal-bound dungeons. The guards were out in the open quite a lot—nearly all the time, in fact…” Cassell broke off and glanced at the piece of metal he had brought from the Island. “That piece of metal is from the wall of our cell,” he resumed slowly. “It’s mijutin, of course, and the walls of all the other cells were made of the same stuff. It was made impervious to all known methods of destruction—but not to the ultra-modern disintegrator gun I used to carve out this chunk. Point is, however, that in being made so invulnerable, it also blocked all known radiations—yes, even cosmic waves, which will normally go through eight feet of lead. It deflects cosmic waves utterly, according to my tests.”
“Wait a minute!” Moss breathed tensely. “You don’t mean that some sort of radiation from space produced these effects on these war survivors, and that we prisoners escaped it because of the mijutin walls of our cells?”
Cassell nodded slowly. “Exactly what I do mean.”
They sat looking at each other for a moment, then Moss began to scratch his bull neck. “Yeah, that’s all right, but how the heck do eighty-year-old people skip around like kids? What’s done it?”
Cassell got to his feet and moved to the glassless window. He nodded to the pale blue evening sky. “There’s the explanation,” he said slowly. “It occurred to me that the paleness of the sky and the one or two stars even in daytime might be caused by a thinning of the upper atmosphere. I asked myself what might cause that. I had dim suspicions, but I had to verify them by hunting up newspaper records. I dug some out of the vaults of the New York Sun offices and found several recordings on the progress of the war…
“Without boring you with the build-up, it is perfectly clear that the war fulfilled all the grave expectations of mankind in its viciousness—but outstanding of all facts is that bombs, incredible quantities of poison gases, incessant aerial explosions, consequent steady tumult of the air, combination of poison gases with the natural atmosphere, finally produced a remarkable effect. The upper layers of the atmosphere united in several places with the risen poison gases. Explosions took place time and time again—they’re mentioned in the newspaper records as sheets of flame miles long. Out of that there could finally emerge only one thing, a tremendous weakening of the Heaviside Layer—the ionized shield around the earth—and consequently a clearer view of the void beyond.”
“And also an increased supply of radiations poured in from space?” Moss demanded eagerly. “Am I right?”
“Dead right. Radiations which we and the other prisoners, protected by miiutin metal, escaped…” Cassell meditated for a moment. “That accounts for the paleness of the sky and the daylight stars. It also means that the special radiations responsible for evolution came to earth in ten-fold the quantity.”
“But that would mean rapid old age—”
“That’s what I thought, until I remembered that maturity, according to Mendel, is achieved in a human being at eighty-years of age. After that the scale swings the other way and, if death could only be somehow circumvented, the body would start to rebuild itself by slow degrees—even as universes rebuild from the shattered remains of their earlier existence. If you doubt the idea, consider second childhood—and when you do, remember that ordinary second childhood has all the limitations of a natural evolution and a normal atmosphere. With a changed atmosphere—as it is now—and fuller radiations, age strides rapidly into second childhood and life starts all over again.
“Remember too that in the days of the Biblical Ancients, the atmosphere was probably pretty similar to what it is now… Remember that Moses, it is recorded, was a young man at one hundred and forty! Many of the Ancients were eternal, only vanished when their minds mastered their bodies—but that’s beside the point. What we know is that these people should ordinarily be old, but thanks to evolutive radiation changes, they’ve attained maturity and at full speed have recaptured youth once more. That’s why Grant couldn’t give his age. He’s probably forgotten his earlier life entirely, like the rest of ’em.”
“Then—then at that rate they may never die?” Moss demanded.
“Definitely they won’t. They’ll rejuvenate each time—which is life as it should be. Eternal—happy—enjoyable. Only the slow thickening of the atmosphere once more with the course of centuries will produce the old conditions.”
“And we haven’t come under this influence?”
“Not yet, but we shall do so as time passes. These people have had years under the influence. The war ended ten years ago because they had come under the influence. We’ve only had a week or two.”
Moss stroked his chin, then shrugged. “Well, I guess that clears up the childishness all right—but it doesn’t clear up the mystery of the Voice that Grant was rambling about. I got the idea some scientist might have buried himself somewhere around and was using vibrations or something. How’s that?”
“Miles out,” Cassell sighed. “I’m on with the mystery right now. That Voice is nowhere on earth; I’m sure of that. Remember one dominant factor— If the atmosphere thinned enough to permit evolution radiations coming in, it would also permit other radiations to pass through. That Voice Grant referred to is, I think, somewhere in outer space, and because of our thinned ionized layer, it easily penetrates to Earth’s surface. Radio may locate it; I hope so, anyway, though how these folks pick it up I’ve yet to figure.”
Cassell stopped talking, meditated for a long time while Moss still rubbed his chin… then at last Cassell turned to his equipment and began a laborious building up of components…
* * * *
For days, Cassell labored on his radio equipment, at last had fashioned a powerful short-wave receiver—but the results were hopeless. He got nothing out of space save a continuous crackle and hiss of static and solar interference. Certainly there was no Voice…
After the fourth attempt, he sat in bitter silence before the instrument. Outside, darkness had fallen. Stars such as Earth had been previously denied were strewn in the calm, clear sky. Faintly on the soft wind the laughs and cries of the playing Eternals floated through the glassless windows.
“Nothing doing?” asked Moss disappointedly, hands in pockets.
“Nope…” Cassell’s brooding eyes stared out onto the distant lights of the camp fires. “Listen how they laugh and play,” he murmured. “Children, and we struggle and toil to understand what controls them because we are not children…” He paused and mused over that, said it again, “…because we are not children. Lord! I wonder!” he cried hoarsely.
“What?”
He swung round. “The child mind is receptive to ideas which a mature mind cannot receive. Think of the well-known innocence of children, the simple way they accept things, and then— Their minds are more receptive than ours! That’s it! It is not an actual Voice they hear, not a radio communication. That was our notion of the business. What they are getting is mind communication—telepathic thought-waves out of space which their clear, untrammeled minds pick up naturally. Besides, their minds are extra clear because of their fast evolution which has eradicated all old hide-bound beliefs, which normally blind the brain to receptivity.”
“Thought waves!” Moss gasped. “But who would send thought waves to earth, anyway?”
“Only one person would conceivably do it—the man we owe so much. Maralok, the Venusian—”
“You mean that dirty swine is back of all this—”
“It’s a shot in the dark, but I believe I may be right. If it is Maralok driving these people to make fresh war plans…” Cassell’s eyes narrowed vengefully; then suddenly he swung around. “You carry on as usual,” he said shortly. “I’m going to start on another track. First call is the observatory in what was Central Park. Still standing. I want to take a look at Venus, see if anything unusual’s in sight.”
/> He went out at a run. It was two hours before he was back, grimly smiling.
“Nice work,” he murmured. “The clearer atmosphere on Earth has helped things a lot. I used the X-ray analysis plates and they penetrated the Venusian cloud belt fairly effectually. The Venusian cities are going full blast… I’m pretty certain Maralok’s mixed up in all this somewhere. Rather queer things going on on Mars, too. The airlet valves to their underground cities, which we used to call canals, remember, are operating at top speed. Activity there too; but I’ll still back my bottom dollar on those Venusian devils, though why Maralok should want to drive a collection of people, whom he must surely know are childish, into yet another war, has me licked.
“However, I’ve now got my next move to make. I’m going to get Grant Felbury to come here and submit to a scientific test. I’m going to devise a brain-reader, such as our scientists used in 1950 for reading the minds of spies—outgrowth of the old lie detector, if you recollect? They tried using one on us at the trial, but we gave away nothing.
“The instrument will relay whatever thoughts pass through Grant’s mind to transformers. In turn, those vibrations will be transplanted to steel pick-up tapes, then I can listen in to those vibrations myself and interpret them with a radio device. Simple enough—and Grant’s mind will be as clear as a bell, because he’s nothing to hide. O.K.—you can give me a hand to start building… Come on.”
CHAPTER V
A New Order
So the work began, Cassell using all his skill and calling into being knowledge that had been enforcedly shelved in his mind for twenty years—but by degrees he built his mind-reader, a complicated contrivance of wires, tubes and magnets.
When at last he was satisfied, he summoned Grant Felbury. Unhesitatingly, the young-old man agreed to the suggestions put to him, took up his new quarters in the department store and only departed each day to obey the orders of the Voice. But those orders were noted down by Cassell.
By degrees, writing down every word given back to him over the recording tapes, he began to build up data—through days, through weeks, as the work of the men and women went on. Moss noticed that his friend’s face was usually either astounded or bitter by turns, then at last he came to the point where he decided to unburden himself.
“Incredible though it sounds,” he said slowly, “these thought-vibrations are not intended for the Earth at all! Yes, you can stare! They are intended for Mars, not Earth—and as I see it, the Venusians, with Maralok undoubtedly somewhere in the background, are using electromagnetic waves for the purpose of transmitting amplified thought commands, which of course interpret naturally into any language. Those electromagnetic waves penetrate through Venus’ dense atmosphere and thereafter spread out in ever-widening circles. They also penetrate the thin air of Mars with perfect ease, and it seems logical to assume that the Martian brain, being pretty advanced, is perfectly receptive to these thought commands… Now, normally the Earth would not get a vestige of those waves because the Heaviside Layer would deflect them—but because it is so badly weakened, and because these people have childish, receptive minds, the orders are being obeyed here as well!”
“Gosh!” Moss whistled. “The possibilities that may—”
“Let’s get it straight,” Cassell broke in, musing. “From all the notes I’ve made, I can arrive at only one possible solution. Before Maralok came to Earth, he had already defeated the people of Mars in their underground cities. That planet automatically became a vassal world to Venus, populated by beings utterly crushed. Maralok then came to Earth and started a world war, knowing from our piled up armaments that out of the carnage there could only emerge a race of demoralized savages. How, afterwards, to conquer those savages? By sheer weight of arms, against which they would be quite defenseless because their own materials had been used up…
“But Venus alone might not have enough armaments, already depleted from the Martian conquest. Therefore the Venusians decided to force the Martians, against their will, to build a supplementary armada… But in so doing, Maralok has defeated himself! He evidently has no idea of what has happened to our atmosphere, no idea that two men like us still have normal knowledge, no idea that instead of defenseless savages there is a race of people building up a vast armada as fast as he gives the orders…”
Moss gripped his friend’s arm. His eyes were shining.
“Man alive, do you realize what this means?” he yelled. “We can avenge ourselves. Avenge the war—”
“Yes, I know.” Cassell’s face was as set as steel. “We shall strike first! The people here look on us as something Godlike; they’ll do what we tell them. I’ve got to get the rest of the world’s peoples to see reason…”
“That’s my job!” Moss insisted. “I’m an expert in war organization, remember. I’ll lead the mightiest battle fleet any Venusian ever saw! By God—yes!”
* * * *
Thereafter it was Moss who became the dynamo of energy, using at last his long pent-up desires for fast action. He went into the midst of the people with all the flourish of an orator. By words and promises he explained the situation. He doubted if half the men understood what he meant, but they did at last express a ready willingness to do whatever he desired—to strike at this mysterious presence who called itself the Voice, who was oppressing them.
Moss could not pause at this stage. With Grant Felbury as his pilot, he started a world tour, explained by the use of Cassell’s brain-transferer to people of other lands exactly what was afoot. The brain-reader did away with the difficulty of foreign languages.
Then there were more difficulties, even when he had gained the co-operation of all the childlike peoples of the world. He had to make sure that the men who would be pilots would not lose the knowledge they possessed when the Voice was out of commission. The only way to do that was to spend hours in instruction, once he had himself learned the intricacies of spaceship control. Odd indeed to teach people how to control a vessel which they handled flawlessly when under telepathic orders.
But there it was. Moss worked with superhuman determination, instructed gun units, pilots, assistant-pilots, rocket fuel men, generally built up through the ensuing weeks an army that he felt he could rely on—while those he had not singled out went on with the Voice’s orders and continued building machinery and ships.
Not that Cassell was idle by any means. It was his task to make a second mind-reader and set out for Mars in an effort to get the Martians to understand what was controlling them and obtain their aid. Against two fleets, nothing Venus could provide could possibly stand. So, with Grant as his pilot, Cassell finally set out—was away for nearly five weeks.
Moss, in fact, was getting worried as to his friend’s safety. His own work was completed and he itched for final results. For days he mooned around, waiting—then at last towards sunset one evening he glimpsed the lone returning flyer far out over the Atlantic. Within minutes it settled.
Cassell emerged from the airlock, still looking a bit awed by his first experience of space. He gripped his friend’s big hand warmly. Silently they walked together through the massed rows of spaceships into the department store, had a meal while the gathered men and women around moved themselves without encroaching.
“It’s all set,” Cassell said finally. “Since I was a lone flyer to Mars, no Venusian astronomer spotted me, I guess. I had a bit of a job on, but finally I got down to the underground Martian cities, had an interview with the ruler. They’re queer people, but a mighty fine race all the same. Their armaments were practically nil when Maralok invaded them and took over. With the mind-reader I managed to explain things, and they were pretty astounded to find that their building was under orders. There was no hesitation in their agreeing to ignore the Voice from now on. Unlike Earthlings, their higher mentality has made it possible for them to retain plenty of knowledge; they’re not by any means childish… Anyway, they’ve agreed to join our fleet with theirs the moment we are sig
hted halfway to Venus. And then…”
“Oh, boy!” Moss breathed, rubbing his hands. “And am I ready! I’ve got every man fixed so he knows exactly what to do… We start at dawn.”
Cassell nodded. “O.K. I’ll turn in and get some sleep. One gets precious little in space…”
* * * *
Dawn. Every man ready. Short wave radio fixed by Moss between ships. No detail overlooked.
Women seemed to be everywhere to see the armada off. Many of them were throwing the wild flowers that grew in profusion in the streets.
Cassell and Moss both gave a final speech, then together with Grant they stepped into their machine at the head of the three thousand fliers. Without a pause, the moment Grant was settled at the control board, Moss snapped on the radio microphone; his order for departure passed the whole length of the armada.
One by one, the ships rose with the easy grace of birds, exhaust tubes flaring steadily. Up into the pale, rosy sky… Into the remoter heights… Out of sight of those below.
With a speed that seemed almost incredible, occasioned entirely by the terrific blasts of atomic power, the ships tore through infinity, out beyond the moon’s orbit—out into the emptiness that Cassell had already seen. Even so, the wonder of it gripped him again—and Moss. For a moment, the magnitude and incomprehensibility of space made them both forget the errand on which they had come.
Then at length Moss took a grip on himself again, giving orders. For endless hours, the ship flew onwards, then as they finally crossed the half way line between Earth and Venus, there spewed from the distant red ball of Mars a cloud of silver gray—more space machines, thousands upon thousands of them, equipped as were the Earth machines, in every detail.
By slow degrees, as Venus loomed larger in the cosmos, the Martian fleet caught up… Through the portholes, Moss caught an occasional glimpse of the men of the red planet—curious, fur covered beings they seemed to be, with big pathetic eyes and large dome cases. But their physical structure did not matter. They were united with Earthlings in a common cause—vengeance!
The John Russell Fearn Science Fiction Megapack Page 42