The John Russell Fearn Science Fiction Megapack

by John Russell Fearn

  “Oh yes—the fire!” he smiled. “I started it in the first place before beginning my speech in the Square. In the basement of that old building I placed four crystal globes, heat-proof and timed to explode when the fire got under way. I had an exact knowledge of the time to elapse, of course. Once they did explode they released an extremely powerful gas, basically carbon dioxide—used, of course, in foam extinguishers—together with a heavy gas that absorbs oxygen with its own molecules and therefore stops it getting at the burning material wherever the gas permeates. Four of those globes, as I’d calculated, were quite sufficient to kill the fire in record time.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Secrets of the Red Magician

  There was a brief silence in the office, the silence of stunned amazement; then Inspector Willis spoke.

  “It’s incredible,” he breathed. “Incredible, I mean, that a man of your genius should use showmanship to advertise his powers when you could have controlled the world with invisibility alone.”

  “By terrorism and power?” Karton shook his white head. “No, no, Inspector, I want the people to enjoy their security, not to live in terror of a phantom.”

  “And your incredible discoveries over a distance?” Turner asked quickly. “How the devil did you get to places where nobody else has ever been?”

  “By television,” Karton replied, “and I mean television, not the half-hearted affair of scanning discs we use in ordinary life. My television is a supreme achievement. Until I moved to the Temple, I used it in my Sussex laboratory, of course. For my form of television no transmitter is necessary. Examination of my apparatus will reveal that it generates a carrier wave that pierces all solid matter in the fashion of an X-ray. The earth itself is no bar to it, hence the range of my straight-line carrier wave is not limited to horizon distance, but moves to any part of Earth through the earth itself. Its only handicap is a falling-back effect of things taking place almost directly beneath us in, say, Australia.

  “Light waves react on this carrier wave only at its extremity, just as—to use a crude analogy—only the extreme end of a walking stick touches the ground. The light waves reacting on the extremity of the wave, and no others, pass back along the wave to the source in the form of vibration and are there converted back into the original light-wave formation, as simply as a radio converts the original transmission into sound or vision. Since, then, the impression only occurs at the wave’s extremity—the remainder of it passing through all solid matter, of course—it is only necessary to compute from a scale map the exact carrier wavelength required in order to extend it to any particular place, be it London or Australia. Thus, when people gave me adequate descriptions of what they wanted and full particulars, I was able, more often than not, to locate the spot. Nothing barred me, not even the deepest sea.

  “On various occasions, particularly in the Square, my daughter was working the apparatus, choosing far-distant events. A short-wave radio of minute size was concealed in the hump on my back, its tiny earphone imbedded in my ear and connected to my back with concealed wire. The particular wavelength, of course, could only work with the apparatus we were using. Therefore, as she saw interesting events from the televisor in Sussex she relayed them literally to my ear by the spoken word—told me everything she saw. In consequence, my predictions seemed little short of uncanny because they were relayed at the speed of light. Events which normal telegraph and radio could not hear about until some time afterwards were rendered immediately available to me.”

  Once again an amazed silence fell on the little office. Then Sir Gadsby Brough spoke.

  “So far, Professor Karton, I have followed you with profound interest. Much that you have explained, based definitely on accurate basic scientific facts as we know them today, I can readily understand. But there’s still that damned Temple! How in heavens’ name did you do all those things on a solid steel stage?”

  “That explanation brings me to my last invention, Sir Gadsby. The matter-through-matter machinery. You would say, perhaps, that it is impossible for two solids to occupy the same area at the same time, covering the same area, that is?”

  “Definitely!”

  “Because it would involve an explosion?”

  “Naturally it would. Why? Surely you don’t disagree with that?”

  “I will let the Temple’s stage be proof of that,” Karton told him. “Matter, as you surely know, is not solid. It is mainly made up of empty space, a mass of atoms and molecules in widely separated paths. The electrons of the atoms are, naturally, full of emptiness. But, supposing these haphazard atoms whose wild scurrying produces a piece of matter could be made to co-ordinate into a fixed path?”

  “You mean force the atoms into fixed positions?” Brough hazarded.

  “Exactly so. If that were so, another body could then pass smoothly through the space thus created with no more difficulty than passing through, say, a heavy wall of slush. There would be some drag from stray atoms, but in the main, with the greater bulk of the solid’s atoms marshalled into order, one solid could pass through another. That is what I did. My electrical machinery consists mainly of enormously powerful electro-magnets which force the poles of the molecules in the walls at the back of the stage and along the floor in a certain area, to face in one fixed direction—instead of flying in all directions as they normally do. The result is that anything can pass through the walls or special floor area while the influence is on.

  “Nearly all my illusions were done that way. My daughter and the mechanics in the room below could hear all my commands by a concealed microphone in the theatre roof. My two metal globes that went through each other were of course a small-scale example of matter through matter by a small device in my clothing issuing the desired magnetism. The rest of the tricks were ordinary stage illusions with trick apparatus, all of which passed through wall or floor at the end of the performance. Behind the wall was a foot-wide partition, which, of course, was not enough to upset the measurements of the building in case of examination. Below the stage was infinite cellar space and machinery in oil baths to hide all trace of noise. Every bit of machinery was made by different engineering firms, none of them knowing the others’ business so that I could not be given away.”

  “I recall,” said Sir Gadsby slowly, “that your daughter did a floating act. How was that managed?”

  “Semi-neutralisation of gravitation, which one day I hope to use for the purposes of space conquest. At present it is only elementary and uncertain. Originally my daughter came up through the special floor area—matter through matter. In the basement below, directly beneath where she stood, powerful force fields were at work, strong enough to briefly and slightly straighten the curvature of space that forms the so-called gravitation of any body. It could not last long, but long enough to cut out gravity from beneath her for a little while. She immediately rose to the next nearest source of attraction, the roof, and remained poised between roof and floor. The idea presents a good illusion, but requires perfection before it can be used with a view to space travel. As to the slow fading, those were merely my invisibility batteries at work, of course.”

  “And the scenes of other lands?” Joan enquired.

  “Television reflected on to an immense screen which showed easily through the almost transparent walls. The instant the show was over the power cut out and the walls returned to their former constitution of disordered atoms, as did the floor. Naturally, all your seals and cottons made no difference. Anything near the walls came under the influence of the current, curtains as well.”

  “Am I right in assuming that you used the Thames for power?” Turner asked quietly.

  Karton nodded slowly. “It was a simple matter with the scientific apparatus at my disposal to drill the necessary sluices from a point far below my basement. We made tunnels which carried us well under the level of the Underground to the Thames Embankment, under the Thames itself, the tunnel being horseshoe shaped, so that the water, by means of special t
raps, was both received and returned, but in the process ran my turbo-generators and created all the free power I needed.”

  Karton stopped with a quiet shrug.

  “Well, I think that’s all,” he said quietly. “I’ve tried to prove that I can help the country with my scientific ideas and, at the same time, recoup myself for the money I’ve spent. To a certain extent I have succeeded in the latter objective—”

  “And unless I’m utterly mistaken, you will in your other objectives,” answered Willis quietly. “Such genius as yours, Professor, is above—”

  He broke off as Joan and Turner folded their notebooks and rose to their feet.

  “Sorry, but we’ve got to rush if this is going to make the first edition,” Turner explained and, catching the girl by the arm, he hastened her from the office.

  On the steps of the great building they paused for a moment and looked at one another.

  “What do you think he’ll get?” Joan asked quickly.

  “Honours, I should hope. The public will demand that his inventions be used for the nation’s benefit after the story we’ll give them. The Martian gag will be finished with, of course, but—”

  “And which of us gets the story?” the girl interrupted.

  “What story?”

  I mean this scoop. We’ve both worked for it…”

  “Oh, that. Well—” Turner pulled a special edition of the Arrow from his pocket, handed it over. In blank astonishment Joan stared at the flaring headlines:

  ABEL KARTON—THE RED MAGICIAN

  Television, Invisibility, and Other Great Secrets Solved

  And underneath ran column after column of the story.

  “Dave Turner!” she gasped. “You’ve stolen a march on me! You put this in a special edition of the Arrow for tonight instead of the first one tomorrow! I didn’t see this issue on the street.”

  “It wasn’t on the street until we were in the Temple,” he said, grinning. “Mine’s an advance copy.”

  “But bow could you know?”

  “I didn’t, but it was too big a chance to miss. Television and invisibility were the only possible explanations, and Sir Gadsby gave me a good idea of what to expect. After all, the Arrow comes before the Clarion, you know. Unless—” He stopped, and smiled.

  “Unless what?” she demanded.

  Unless you’d like to marry the Arrow’s star reporter and have all the scoops in the family. After all, I can always learn that conjuring trick of Karton’s in producing a five-pound note from a cigarette-lighter if we get hard up—”

  “Marry you!” she cried indignantly. “With all the notes I’ve made tonight? With such a story on hand?”

  “Write it up if you like. I’ve still got to make my story check with Karton’s real confession. But I still have the scoop.”

  “Only this one!” she retorted malevolently, and sailed off down the steps…

  * * * *

  A month later Joan took her revenge by scooping the Law’s verdict on Abel Karton. Far from condemning him, the Law stopped the case and rebuked the Public Prosecutor for his ill-founded charges. Hurriedly, the Government, urged on by public demand, placed Abel Karton at the head of the country’s scientific researches. Television, invisibility, and matter control were secrets that could—and would—make Britain impregnable, The Red Temple remained, headquarters of the cleverest scientist the age had produced.

  Turner never could fathom how Joan scooped him on that verdict. She only told him when she had changed her mind and married him. She hadn’t known the verdict at all.

  “But you see, Dave, it was too obvious to miss,” she said sweetly. “You guessed Karton’s confession because it was scientific; I guessed the verdict and wrote it before it was announced because I know human nature. So now we’re quits.”

  To that Turner was forced to agree—but one day he’s going to find time to ask Karton how the devil he did that trick with the petrol lighter. All it does for the Turner family is light cigarettes.

  FLIGHT OF THE VAMPIRES

  Would you like to catch up on your rest in the warm velvety pouch of a modern day vampire? Neither did Jerry.

  The propaganda and news­paper screamings attached to the Walters Lunar Expedition—the first determined effort by thirty men to reach the Moon—had no soon­er taken on a forlorn note and the rocket ship been given up for lost, when a new and sensational happen­ing was splashed across the front pages.

  I’m a stratosphere pilot on the New York-Polar City route; my name’s Jerry Dodd, my age thirty-two. I was one of the first to see the announcement. So much for that. Now to that evening edition which a lot of you have seen. Banner headlines proclaimed: Vampires Attack London!

  Vampires? Great Scot! Throw-backs to the old days of superstition and half-baked occultism—certainly not in tune with the keen progressive spirit of 1960 science… Yet, here it was. Outside Stratosphere Head­quarters I read the columns quickly, with growing surprise.

  Then they had made off, and there followed an assortment of specula­tions regarding the possibility of the birds, having come from some part of Earth still unexplored. This seemed to me to be most unlikely, since Earth is charted and mapped from Pole to Equator, and civilizations sprawl right across the planet.

  Finally I came to the conclusion that somebody must have been hav­ing delusions, and went off to my favorite automat for coffee. I had hardly got started, however, before something close to panic swept the street outside.

  The orderly procession of people in the summer evening light suddenly started dashing for shelter. At the same time there burst on my startled senses the sound of screaming brakes, the hoarse cries of men and women—then an avalanche of people came running in through the doorway with horror stamped on their faces.

  I caught at a young fellow as he came dashing past me and forced him to halt.

  “What in hell’s wrong out there?” I demanded of him.

  He was gulping so hard for breath I could hardly tell what he said.

  “Vampires! Huge things! Birds—! Killing folks—!”

  Releasing him, I fought my way through the people to the door, and somehow got out into the street. It was a staggering sight which met me. The sun had set now, but against the orange flush between the rear­ing piles of buildings were some thirty enormous birds with a wingspread of perhaps two hundred and fifty feet. They looked like bats and dived with terrifying velocity, wings folded, fill­ing the air with a leathery, beating rustle that somehow had a paralyzing effect on the nerves.

  In places, they had come down to the street. Even as I watched, I saw men and women lifted helplessly into the air, to be dropped back with vio­lent force. It was the most ghastly attack I had ever witnessed.

  I hurried to the nearest fallen man and caught at him. He was pretty nearly dead, and in the back of his neck were two deep punctures about an inch across. He moved feebly in my grasp. Then, before he could utter a word, death caught up with him and he relaxed.

  But I had had the time to notice that it was rather the shock he had re­ceived than actual injury which had killed him. His neck was not broken, nor had he lost overmuch blood. In fact, his only trouble seemed to be a broken ankle from the fall.

  Then one of the things dived for me. I had my service raygun in my belt and I fired instantly. The vicious ray lashed the monster across the belly as it swept over to within a few feet of me. To my horrified amazement, the ray glanced off. Either the creature was armor-plated, or else of a constitution impervious to earthly destructive devices.

  I took the only way out to save myself—dashed for a doorway. This saved me, for the thing whizzed past once or twice with a dank, moldering odor, and then flew off to join its fellows.

  The confusion increased. Corps of militia arrived with their defensive weapons and set about the flying monsters in real earnest. I joined them, since of course I am experienced in campaigning as well as being a civil pilot.

  Our efforts, though none too effec­ti
ve, at least harrassed the things bad­ly, with the result that they finally flew off—but not until every window around us had been broken and scores of men and women lay dead or dying in the street. Night had fallen now, too, and the scene looked doubly hor­rible in the pallid glare of arclights.

  I straightened up at last, sweating and breathless, watched the final monster hurtle upwards and vanish. The attack was over.

  “For God’s sake, what are they?” panted a gunner, beside me. I shook my head.

  “No idea. But I’ll find out soon enough. I’m going to Headquar­ters to see what they think.”

  I made my way through the arriv­ing fleet of ambulances, and so back to Stratosphere Headquarters. Within, I found an air of tense activity. Fel­low-pilots were hurrying about every­where; most of them in their rarely-worn battle kit, their faces grim. I went through the midst of them into the briefing room.

  “What’s going on?” I asked the Controlling Officer, as he studied a list of notes anxiously.

  “Plenty!” he snapped back. “Those damned birds came from London. It seems they didn’t return to London after flying around, but crossed the Atlantic to have a go at us! God knows where they originated. Some remote part of Earth, I suppose.”

  “Things like those don’t belong to Earth,” I told him grimly. “Unless I’m dead wrong, they’ve come from another world!”

  He shrugged. “Well, we’re taking no chances. A squadron of strato-fighters is taking off in ten minutes to search for them. They can stand raygun charges, but I think the protonic guns will put paid to them quick enough. So far, they seem to have limited themselves to attack—no kid­naping. And there won’t be either if we can stop it.”

  “That means I go up too?” I questioned eagerly, but to my dis­appointment he shook his head.

  “Not yet; you’re too valuable on the civil line. You’ll stand by for or­ders. Report back here in an hour.”

  I had to take it, of course—but it was hard to see the others ready for action and departing from me with good-luck smiles. Finally, I wandered out of the building; then, struck with a sudden thought, I headed uptown. Might as well reassure myself that Eva was safe, anyway.