The nation, aroused to the peril, conducted a systematic campaign of extermination. The Delaware River, from the Gap to the Capes, was thoroughly dredged, and whenever a branch was found it was given its dose of death-dealing fluid. And not till the army of science was satisfied that there was no more enemy, did the conflict stop.
Colonel Young went back to Yeastford. He had no trouble in being elected Mayor for the seventh term. The morning after election he was in his office receiving the congratulations of his friends. In walked William Coonel, as usual, slightly spliflicated. The Colonel recalled the previous visit of the inebriated worthy.
“Well, Bill,” he said kindly. “Sit down and have a cigar. It was a great war while it lasted, but we won out at last, and the ivy is no more.”
“Yes, I guess the war is over, Colonel,” replied the hunter, “but, after all, the fact that we won ain’t going to bring me back my rabbit hound. He was a great dog, Colonel, too good a dog to be eat up by a good-for-nothing plant.”
THE YEAST MEN
Originally published in Amazing Stories, April 1928.
Unless the unexpected happened, Moronia would be destroyed. The last war had destroyed many of her young men, ruined her finances and deprived her people of even a hope for better years to come. The kingdom of Eupenia now completely surrounded Moronia, shutting off on all sides her commerce and intercourse with friendly nations. The next war would end the struggle and strife that had lasted for centuries.
Like a previous conqueror, Premier Plautz arose day after day in the Eupenian Senate to croak out his celebrated, quadruple-worded threat—a threat that he hoped someday would be fulfilled prophecy. “Moronia must be destroyed!” he cried, and the Eupenians, drunk with success and power, answered with renewed plaudits and increased appropriations for the final struggle. “Moronia must be destroyed!” he said on the 1st of September, 19—. “She lies in the middle of our fair country, like a dreaded and threatening cancer. We have cut off her commerce and bled her manpower white. Now is the time to destroy her, and occupy her farms and cities with our own deserving populace. Moronia must be destroyed! Our army hopes to occupy her capital by Christmas Day. After such a victory we will have good reason to celebrate the Birthday of our Master. From that day on the word Moronia will only be a memory and a warning—a memory of our power and a warning to any future enemy. Moronia must be destroyed! Moronia shall be destroyed!!”
Immediately after this short address the Senate adjourned. The War Council met that afternoon to perfect plans for the next war, as yet undeclared. Just as he did in the Senate, Premier Plautz dominated this body. At once he asked the Chief of the Air Service if his corps was prepared for war.
“We are, Your Excellency!” was the unexpected reply from Colonel Von Dort. “We are prepared for war, but we are also prepared for more than the attack. I have in readiness one thousand planes, each manned by two experienced aviators. At your command, the air service will begin the assault, but I warn you in advance that we will lose one thousand planes and two thousand men at the first attack. We are prepared—for Death!”
“That is the speech of a coward. Are all of the corps like you?” demanded Premier Plautz. “I am informed the Moronians have only a few air craft. Of what are you afraid?”
“We fear nothing,” replied Von Dort, white with suppressed anger, “but we know the truth. Since the last war, Moronia has perfected some kind of a light-ray. A machine is placed every mile along their entire border. From these machines the rays go out, presumably in a fan shape. When the ray strikes an airplane, the engine not only stops but apparently explodes. No one knows how high in the air these rays go—we have never been able to rise above the range of their power. We have been experimenting and have found no way of defending the plane against the ray. So far, twenty of our planes, disguised as commercial machines, have been destroyed and our aviators killed. In every instance the bodies were brought to the frontier by the Moronians, and each time they have simply explained that something went wrong with the machinery and the plane dropped in their country. We have every reason to believe that they have perfected some power which will render impossible any attack on the enemy by air. What happened to twenty planes will happen to a thousand. That is why I said my corps was prepared for death.”
The Premier started to pound the table with his fist, “Why was I not informed of this? What has been done to protect our machines? The destruction of one plane was enough to justify a new war. What have you been doing besides skulking in cowardice?”
“I made daily reports to the Chief of Staff,” retorted Von Dort. “The entire matter is on record. For a month our Department of Physics and Chemistry has been working on this problem. They thought they had a satisfactory defense, and the last ten planes were supposed to have been protected, but they crumpled like the first ten.”
“Colonel Von Dort is right,” interrupted the Chief of Staff, General Hurlung. “All reports have been filed regularly, and a daily summary has been sent to your office. After all, it is a purely military problem. We still have the other arms of the service, the cavalry, artillery and infantry. With our cavalry alone, we could overrun Moronia. We need not worry about the air service.”
“Oh! I suppose so. I suppose so!” replied the Premier, petulantly. “Still I wanted to blow them into hell with air bombs—all of them, men, women and children.”
“But if you did that you would also destroy property,” argued General Hurlung. “The infantry can wipe out the population just as effectively without the loss of a single structure. What worries me is this: They have a powerful ray of some kind which we know can destroy a plane at ten thousand feet. Suppose they turn these rays sidewise on our advancing army? What will happen?”
“Bah! You are growing old, General,” sneered the Premier. “Have we not the artillery to blast our way through such infernal machines? Our infantry are men, not machines. They can live through any kind of hell-fire and win the victory. I am fretted at the atmosphere of doubt that covers this council of war. We will attack on the first of October, opening with artillery, following with cavalry, and mopping up with the infantry. These machines you dread so much are only machines, and all machines must be run by men. Kill the men and the machines are harmless. General Hurlung, you will prepare all branches of the army for the attack. Colonel Von Dort, you are dismissed from the service for cowardice. Go where you please, but if you are in Eupenia at the end of two days, I will have you shot.”
Von Dort, drawing his dress sword, broke it over his knee and threw the pieces on the table in front of the Premier. Said Von Dort, “A country that thus rewards honesty is a land rotten to the core.” The men around the table kept an awkward silence as he left the room.
Premier Plautz stood up. “You gentlemen know what to do. I will accept no excuses for incompetency. Moronia must be destroyed. We will meet again a week from today. The Secret Service had better follow Von Dort and imprison him. I do not trust him. Keep him in solitary confinement and I will deal finally with him in a few days.”
Von Dort, however, was already in his automobile, leaving Eupenia as fast as he could. He paused at his home only long enough to almost throw his wife and baby and a few valuables into his car; then he started for Moronia at seventy miles an hour. Von Dort was thoroughly mad. For ten years he had served in the air service of Eupenia, advancing slowly from mechanician to Chief of the Service. During that time he had done his best. Under his leadership the corps had achieved the finest type of morale. He knew that his men were always ready to gamble on a chance in war, but he could not sit still and see his entire force sent to what he felt was certain death. During his ten years of military service he had had ample chance to study the Premier. He knew that every man who had dared to oppose Plautz had come to an unfortunate end, disgrace, exile or death. Life to Von Dort, with his wife and baby was too sweet to be sacrificed unless absolutely necessary. The former Chief of the Air Service fully realized all this. He incr
eased the speed of his car. Moronia was his destination for other reasons than because it was the nearest border. He felt that he could trust them, as enemies, more than he could trust the other nations who were friendly to Eupenia. Also, his wife had come from that nation. She was the daughter of a former Moronian general, who died in the last war.
Von Dort had been a member of the army of occupation, and once having met this particular young lady, all his loyalty to Eupenia was insufficient to prevent him from falling in love. He felt that if he had to die, it would be better to die with his wife and baby in the mountains of Moronia, than in solitude in an Eupenian prison.
* * * *
The radio message beat them to the frontier, and Von Dort saw that the barricade had been lowered. It was a sturdy wooden gate, but the automobile hit it going eighty miles an hour and reduced it to kindling. The car finally stopped, rather disheveled in looks but with the motor still running, one mile inside Moronia. There Von Dort stopped as soon as possible, having a deep respect for the vigilance and accurate shooting of the Moronia border patrol. He did not wish to arouse their suspicion in any way. The car was soon surrounded by cavalrymen, who politely but firmly asked for full details as to his identity and reason for entering the country in such a precipitous manner. Realizing that there was no reason for deceit, he gave them a brief account of his trouble and asked to be taken to the General-in-Chief of the Moronian army.
Moronia, nominally a monarchy, was in every respect democratic, except that it had a King. Every citizen felt an equal amount of reverence and fraternity for this monarch. There was rank, both in civil and military life, but promotion was by merit and without either sycophancy or tyranny. Consequently it was easier to see the Commanding General in Moronia than it was to see the Third Assistant Secretary of Agriculture in Eupenia. The Moronians lived among the mountains, and like the eagles of the crags, prized their liberty. In consequence of all this it was only a few hours before Von Dort was telling his story to General Androvitz and his staff.
They believed all that he said. Especially did they believe him after his wife talked to them in their native patois. There were some present who had known her father well. One old officer was even able to remember the celebration of her christening. The general discussion was finally ended by Von Dort.
“I fled because I knew that Premier Plautz intended to have me killed, and I came here because of my wife and because I felt keenly the injustice of another war. Moronia is to be destroyed for no other reason than selfishness and greed. The force against you is overwhelming. I see nothing save your final and complete destruction. If I have to die I want to die fighting rather than die in a prison, or shot, or hanged like a criminal. I offer you my services, General Androvitz, and am willing to serve your country in any capacity.”
The General at once sent for the King to join their deliberations. Rudolph Hubelaire came, a little, withered, one-armed man with the fire of a lion in his eye. He heard the news without changing expression. The other men watched him anxiously. Finally he spoke.
“We can die but once. Resistance, in our weakened state, will be but a grand gesture. Eupenia may conquer the country but she will never enslave our patriots. They and their families may die, but they will never surrender. When the time comes, we will fight. When that is over, the survivors will retire to our mountain forts. There we will live with the goats and chamois. I am sorry that it all has to end thus, but we have done our best. One more invention like our ultra-light rays would have saved us—but our scientists have done their best, and as we have failed, so have they. Colonel Von Dort, we trust your honesty and welcome you to our ranks. Your desire to die on the field of battle will probably be realized.”
The meeting was just breaking up, each participant ready to carry the sad news to his friends, when the guard at the door announced the presence of Mr. Billings, one of Monrovia’s staff of scientific investigators.
“Poor Billings,” said the King, “a harmless fellow from America. He has worked in our laboratory for years without pay except for his bare expenses, and he is about broken-hearted because so far he has failed to make any discovery of importance. I wish we could get him back to America before war begins. Let us humor the old gentleman and listen to his story. I want you to show his age the proper respect. Let there be no levity. His loyalty and faithful endeavor demand our greatest courtesy.”
Billings came in and was seated by the King. He was stooped-shouldered, bald and trembling. His high-pitched voice cracked like static under his excitement.
“Your Majesty and Gentlemen,” he said. “After years of the most tedious experimentation, I have finally discovered a method of defending ourselves against the Eupenians.”
“Fine!” said the King. “Now tell us all about it.”
“I propose that we make an army of Yeast Men.”
“That is a fine idea, Mr. Billings,” said the King soothingly. “I am sure that your discovery has merit. Now I want you to go over to America and take a long vacation, and after you are thoroughly rested you can come back and visit us again.”
“But you do not understand,” pleaded the old man. “I suppose you think that I am senile. The invention is complete and I am sure it will work. It is practical and simple. The one machine I have made functions perfectly. It can easily be duplicated, and anyone can run it. All we need is an abundance of yeast and hundreds of machines. You shoot the little fellows out like bullets from a machine gun.”
“Well, what happens then?” asked General Androvitz.
“They just grow and walk around a little and then they die.”
“If they do that they will be typical soldiers,” interrupted the Chief of the Artillery Service. “That is about all we will do between now and Christmas.”
“But in dying they will win the victory!” eagerly chirped the inventor in his high-pitched cricket voice.” Cannot you understand that they will die and rot in Eupenia?”
The King gently took the old man by the shoulder and as he talked the tears came to his eyes.
“My dear Billings. The thing you describe is just a soldier. For hundreds of years the Moronians have died in defense of their country. They had died and rotted, and yet we, as a nation, have slowly withered away. Brave men by the thousand have done just that, and to what avail? Your eagerness to help has worried you sick. Go and take a long rest. Yeast Men and real men may die and rot but our dear Moronia is doomed.”
“But cannot you see it?” pleaded the inventor. “Oh! Please try to see it. Yeast Men by the millions and billions walking into Eupenia and rotting there. Cannot you see how it is going to work?”
“I beg your pardon,” asked General Androvitz, “but did you say billions?”
“I did. A few drops of yeast grows to be a soldier six feet tall. Give me as many machines as those you made to generate the anti-aircraft rays and I will produce Yeast Men by the million. I will make a million every day as long as it is necessary.”
“And they live just so long and then die?” asked the King.
“Yes, they live about three days. During that time they are able to move about twenty-five miles. Then they die and rot.”
“A fairy tale,” said the Premier, who, up to this time, had kept silent.
“But I can prove it. I have made one. If you see just one of them, will you believe it? Let me show you just one!”
The King held up his hand for silence. “Gentlemen, let me talk to Billings. Please do not interrupt. He is nervous—and so am I. We must get to the real truth in this matter. I would never forgive myself if he really found something of value and lost it because of our incredulity. Now, Friend Billings, let us pretend that we are alone. Pay no attention to these other men. Listen to my questions, and answer them as simply as you can. Remember that I am not a scientist and do not understand big words. Now, how much yeast does it take to make a soldier?”
“About two drops.”
“How big does he grow?”
&nb
sp; “About six feet tall.”
“Do they look like real men?”
“Just a little. You see they are made of dough.”
“Do they walk as we do?”
“No. It is sort of a creeping shuffle—amoeba movement.”
“If they are not destroyed, how long will they live?”
“About three days.”
“What happens then?”
“They cease to grow or move. They die and decay—rot.”
“Suppose one of them is shot or has his head cut off with a saber, or is torn into pieces by a cannon ball, what then?”
“Each piece would keep on living and growing and moving till the end of the third day.”
“You said they would move at eight miles a day?”
“Yes, if nothing stopped them. They would die in Eupenia at the end of forty-eight hours, and by the end of the third day they would rot there.”
“Are you sure of all this?”
“It worked out in the laboratory.”
“What makes them grow?”
“It is a peculiar form of yeast. In the machine we compress it. Just as soon as it is liberated, it begins to extract nitrogen from the air, and expands. It not only expands, but it actually grows by the rapid division of the yeast cells.”
“I do not understand it,” said the King, “but I am willing to take your word for it. What makes them move?”
“Radiant energy. Before the yeast is put into the guns, it is thoroughly energized with a form of radium.”
“But these peculiar creatures cannot fight: they have no weapons: how can they win a war?”
“By their rotting, Your Majesty. I have tried to make that plain to you. They die and rot.”
“You mean they decay?”
“Exactly. They dissolve into pools of slime. They form a puddle about three feet in diameter and weighing about thirty pounds.”
“How would such decaying masses stop an invading army?”
“It is their stench that will stop them. The yeast is mixed with culture of Bacillus Butericus and other foetid germs. These grow in the dying and dead yeast, and produce the smell.”
The Twelfth Golden Age of Science Fiction MEGAPACK™: David H. Keller, M.D. Page 12