“Space travelers!” exclaimed the hidden speaker in unconcealed respect and admiration. “You have completely mastered the art of space travel, then! How wonderful!”
There came a pause. The machine men waited patiently for the owner of the voice to appear. Finally, the telepathic conversation was resumed. The speaker, however, still remained invisible.
“I am coming to you. It is not easy to leave this place after it is sealed against submersion. We have already opened and closed it for our daily air supply. Do you understand me clearly? I can understand you quite easily, now that your thoughts are directed to me.”
“Your building is waterproof?” queried 6W-438.
“Yes, it is quite necessary if one is to remain here. You may have guessed as much before you landed.”
As the machine men watched, they saw a portion of wall rise from within an indentation of the building, twenty feet or more below the ground level. A long ramp was thrust slowly out and downward, as if operated mechanically. Upon this slow moving ramp stood the castle’s tenant whom they had heard and now saw.
The machine men of Zor stared curiously at the diminutive figure on the ramp, the outer end of which softly touched the ground and came to rest. The intelligent creature was little more than half as high as the machine men and possessed a small, globular body mounted on four appendages. An elongated head rose from the body, a single eye, large and round, staring inquisitively at the machine men from the center of the long head. The machine men believed the creature to be possessed of no upper appendages, and they wondered at this until they saw one of the lower limbs drawn up suddenly to shield the single eye from sun glare as the castle’s inhabitant walked out on the ramp from the depth of shadow cast by the huge pile. The four appendages served a double purpose and could be used for handling objects, possessed as they were of four digits each.
They could discern no means of respiration or the means of induction for food sustenance, but as the creature turned a bit one of their previous observations taken for granted was quickly exploded. There were two of the large eyes. They were situated exactly opposite each other, an eye on each side of the head. Another important feature became apparent. There was no front or back to the creature; it progressed equally as well in either of two directions.
“What do you live upon?” the professor asked. “How do you breathe?”
“I eat―that is how I live,” came the reply to the im-impulsive question. “Oh―you probably do not see my mouth, and that is why you are left wondering.”
Reaching the end of the ramp and stepping off upon the sodden ground, the strange creature bent his body, or rather, bent two of his legs at their joints, so that the machine men could view the top of his head. An aperture opened and closed several times at the apex of his head.
“There is my mouth,” he exclaimed. “I inhale and exhale the necessary atmosphere through these.”
He designated ventricles scarcely noticeable at the junction of his head and body. There were several of these.
“I am Kamunioleten.”
From the top of his head came the vocal utterance of the name he could not pronounce mentally. The only thought impression the machine men gained of his name were several strange symbols of which they possessed no knowledge and had no key to the relationship of sound thereto.
Chapter II
“Why do you live on this lower portion of the island which is daily submerged by the tides?” Professor Jameson asked. “Why not live on the higher ground?”
“I live here because I have been made to live here,” Kamunioleten replied. “I am an exile, an exiled Administrator of Dlasitap, the world which causes the great tides here on Selimemigre.”
“Then you have spaceships!” 744U-21 exclaimed.
“No―not spaceships like yours,” Kamunioleten corrected. “The vehicles in which we cross space are not under their own motive power. They are projectiles. They are hurled across space from one world to another―though as yet we have never reached any of the other planets. The other worlds are much too far and our efforts too crude compared with yours, and until we can construct spaceships which travel under their own power and can be handled skillfully, we must forego such ambitions.”
“How are your projectiles hurled off into space from one world to the other?” 6W-438 queried. “Do you use cannons?”
“No. We employ the expedient of centrifugal force coupled with a diminution of gravity at the point where one world faces the other,” was the explanation. “During your examination of Dlasitap, did you see any of the large wheels which tower as large as many of the buildings?”
“We came not that close to Dlasitap, but we saw a large wheel on the higher end of this island and wondered at it,” 41C-98 replied.
“What supplies your motive power for the revolution of the wheel?” the professor inquired.
“We heat water in a huge, enclosed container,” Kamunioleten explained. “The water turns to hot vapor which expands, and we utilize this expansion as our power.”
“Steam I” Professor Jameson exclaimed. “You use steam power!”
“Crude, yet nevertheless ingenious,” 744U-21 remarked.
“Your wheels must certainly be strong or else they would fly apart from the rapid speed at which they must be driven.”
“Not so rapid as you might possibly think,” said their informant, “though it is true that such catastrophes have occurred before now, especially in the earlier days of travel between the twin worlds. That, however, is but one of the many hazards.”
“We can gather then,” said the professor, “that the far reaching gravitational power of one world nullifies to a marked degree the gravity of the other world at the position of highest tide and makes for less required inertia of centrifugal force.”
“I could have explained it to you no better myself,” Kamunioleten commented admiringly.
“What keeps your ships, or cosmic projectiles, from crashing?” 744U-21 asked.
“The wheel is slowly accelerated to a speed which will throw the projectile just beyond the attraction of the planet from which it is being thrown and into the pull of the other world. For deceleration, we possess atmospheric contrivances which remain folded into the rear of our projectiles while they are being shot into space. When they reach the atmosphere of the opposite world, the contrivances are gradually released so that the deceleration does not occur too quickly.”
Kamunioleten went into a description of stabilizer fins, and then he told them of a broad disc of metal, which, using the projectile as an axis, spread fanwise about it in ever increasing diameter, acting as an air brake. Last of all, he told of light, metal parachutes folded into the projectiles and released as soon as the air brakes had taken effect. Always aimed at an oceanic body, the projectile released the parachute just before striking the water, allowing the projectile to dive deeply into the fluid, losing its momentum, and then coming to the top.
“The parachute contrivances are recovered from the surface of the water, for they are built of segments of hollow metal. We always dive into the sea. A careless aim, or ill timing, may mean a descent on land, a catastrophe which always spells death and destruction.”
“And so, in your floating projectile, you wait until a boat comes, or else you drift in to land,” 12W-62 suggested.
“That is the easiest part of all,” Kamunioleten told the machine men. “The projectiles possess motive power to drive them through the water.”
“Steam is again employed, I suppose,” 29G-75 ventured.
“It also heats our projectiles during the great coldness which comes between worlds,” Kamunioleten stated. “Insulation and triple partitions help a lot, too.”
“It must be a great adventure,” Professor Jameson mused. “Do these ships of yours cross space very often?”
“Not so often,” Kamunioleten told them. “There are too many hazards, as you can well appreciate. Wheels have broken under the terrific strain to which they a
re subjected, projectiles have been released prematurely, or accidentally, flying off into space on an endless journey or smashing into the ground, either of which is fatal. Then, overspeed or else insufficient acceleration have caused tragedy through miscalculation. Projectiles have missed their mark, or not having been given enough push have fallen back upon the planet they were to have left. In the latter case, especially with projectiles leaving this world, passengers have been saved through the good fortune of the projectile’s having landed in deep water.”
“It is a wonder that anyone dares to travel that way,” marveled 19K-59.
“That is but the beginning,” continued Kamunioleten, dwelling pessimistically upon his morbid subject. “Projectiles improperly aimed often fall upon land surfaces of the opposite world, more likely if traveling from Selimemigre to Dlasitap, which is the mother world, the home world, the original birthplace of our race. This means a smash; a smash means death and junk. There are also hazards in space, in the air and on the sea. If no part of the projectile is ruptured in its flight through the atmosphere, thus letting heat and air leak out into space, is not struck by a chance meteor, its deceleration contrivances may become jammed and unmanageable.
“Projectiles that have survived the trip across space and hit the water have been known to sink, too, through too great a water pressure from its dive into the sea. This fault is largely due to insufficient deceleration or else a failure of the parachute to become unattached before the projectile hits the water, or the projectile may not hit the water straight through clumsy or belated release of the parachute.”
As Kamunioleten enumerated the various hazards connected with this primitive mode of cosmic travel, the machine men saw that he was exaggerating the possibilities of mishap to the projectiles. They also saw that the cause for this lay in a melancholy outlook, a brooding fatalism which held sway over the mind of this intelligent creature. He was depressed, and his weighted spirit sought expression and release in this gloomy retrospect of space travel.
A comment by 6W-438 probed the cause of this dissatisfaction which had evidenced itself in Kamunioleten’s pessimistic attitude.
“You spoke of being an exile.”
“Yes. I am the deposed Grand Administrator of Dlasitap, kept here as a pawn in the hands of my evil successors. They are tricky and cunning: enough so to have put me out of control and to keep me exiled here. The twin worlds have rotated about the sun more than seven times since I first came here.”
“Why do they keep you exiled instead of killing you?” asked 744U-21. “The latter way would seem much easier for them.”
“They dare not kill me, for then the nations of Dlasitap would rise up against them, and against each other, and their false story might be proved untrue in the event of such a grave situation. Proof of my continued existence is their safety.”
“But why do they keep you here at this lower end of the island?”
“They intend to keep me out of contact with the colonists of this world. They fear that someone may believe my story and that its credence will spread to Dlasitap and prove their undoing.”
“Can you not journey to the higher end of the island during low tide?” Professor Jameson inquired. “Or are you under guard here?”
“I am the master here,” Kamunioleten replied. “I have three Vosquenteb servants here, a lower race which we found to be the original inhabitants of Selimemigre. Otherwise, I am alone. As for journeying to the island’s higher end during low tide, it is much too far to be made on foot before the next high tide. My enemies have planned well.”
“How were you overthrown?” 744U-21 queried. “You spoke of trickery.”
“It might be well for me to first explain our governmental system on Dlasitap,” said Kamunioleten, seating himself upon the ramp, his four legs spread equidistant like spokes of a wheel. “I have hopes that you may be able to help me, if you will. This idea occurred to me rather quickly right after you landed, probably because I am always looking to the day when a discovery will take place on Dlasitap, when the undercurrent of evil in the present rule of government will be uncovered, as it seems to me that sooner or later it must be. Then, I feel, I shall be brought out of exile by the public masses.”
“What happened?” 6W-438 probed the mind of the exiled Administrator for the crux of the problem.
“There are seven nations on Dlasitap,” Kamunioleten explained, “and each nation sends a group of officers to the Grand Assembly, the governing body of Dlasitap. Long ago, it was found that nations could not rule themselves individually and still retain amicable relations. Of this governing body, there is an administrator for each nation, standing at the head of each nation’s group of officials in the Assembly. Chosen by popular vote of the Grand Assembly, one of the Administrators is elected Grand Administrator.”
“And you were the Grand Administrator, I take it,” Professor Jameson interjected.
“I was,” Kamunioleten related. “But there were lesser members of the Assembly who sought my power and the power of the other Administrators of whom there were six besides myself. Their aims, though appearing to the general public as satisfactory, were inwardly selfish, and they were encouraged by monopolists who secretly backed them. But the people were satisfied with us, and as our terms are indefinitely long, these malcontents, under the leadership of Bemencanla, awaited a chance to strike.
“We Administrators were not suspecting any such active, violent move as was made by Bemencanla and his followers. There comes the annual trip to Selimemigre, when at least five of the Administrators must make a tour of the colonies here to be assured that they are being properly governed and that the natives, the Vosquentebs, are being fairly treated. As you have gathered, I am rather reluctant about traveling in the stellar projectiles which seem so hazardous and unsafe, and as there were five others of the Administrators either eager for the trip to Selimemigre as a well earned vacation, or else willing and indifferent, I did not go. Neither did Owmitelverol, who is old and not well.
“The five Administrators choose one of the smaller projectiles with a crew of three besides themselves, and the projectile was placed on one of the power wheels. On the day that they left, it was a shocking story that reached me, and it left me both horrified and bewildered, for at that time I was unable to piece together the schemings and perfidy of Bemencanla all at once. The bombshell struck and left me stunned until after I had been whisked away to this island on Selimemigre.
“The projectile with its eight occupants, five of them Administrators of the Grand Assembly, had been released at the wrong time, or I should say, at the wrong position of the wheel, being shot into space at a tangent direction from that of Selimemigre. Our scientists say that such ill-aimed projectiles will keep on through space forever, unless they fall into the attraction of another celestial body. They lived, no doubt, until their food or air gave out.”
Kamunioleten paused in moody contemplation. 744U-21 urged him on with his story.
“And in some way you were accused of having planned the accident?”
“Exactly. It seemed that, unknown to me, a group of my countrymen were in charge of the wheel and apparatus which sent the ill-fated projectile off upon its endless journey, and this was strange, for it was in a country other than my own where the projectile left Dlasitap. Afterward, none of the operators of the wheel could be found. In fact, for some time here in exile I believed they would be found and my innocence established. But they were never found, and I gradually came to understand that this was but more of Bemencanla’s scheming. He had somehow bribed these countrymen of mine to attend the wheel and send the projectile off in an undestined direction. Then-escape and disappearance was planned, and I would not be too sure but what Bemencanla saw that death overtook them, so that they might not live to tell.”
“What motive could be fastened upon you as the instigator of the deed?” the professor asked.
“Bemancanla possessed a ready weapon. Others of the Admini
strators had opposed a measure of mine recently, and although it was not overly important, this event magnified its purport. In my exile, I am rarely visited, and even then Bemencanla, who is now elected Grand Administrator, sees that only his own minions are allowed to visit me. I hear but little of what goes on upon Dlasitap. All I ever see of my own world is before and after high tide when it is distinguishable as a great globe lying upon the horizon, for as it commences to rise in the sky, the waters pour over my castle, and Dlasitap disappears as a blur in the green depth above me.”
“And what of this Owmitelverol?” Professor Jameson asked. “What did this surviving Administrator think of the affair? Did he condemn you, too?”
“I do not know,” Kamunioleten confessed. “I was removed here to Selimemigre too swiftly. I was quite sick on this first trip of mine across space, for despite the devices employed to lessen the centrifugal force on our bodies while our projectile is being revolved, I felt myself flattened and thought that I would not survive the ordeal. I lost my senses momentarily as most of us do on the start of such trips.”
“It will not be long before the great tides sweep over, your castle,” Professor Jameson reminded Kamunioleten. “Dlasitap is rising upon the horizon.”
It was true. Shining pale and gibbous in the sunlight, the twin world was slowly rising into the sky. Its ascension heralded the rising tides.
“Come into the castle―all of you,” invited Kamunioleten. “There is plenty of room indeed for you all. I have but three of the Vosquentebs here. You will find them a stupid lot, but they are nevertheless faithful.”
“We shall be glad to come in and talk more with you, Kamunioleten, for your story interests us,” said 744U-21, “but as for your fears of our survival against the rising tides, let me put you at rest. We are as much at home in the water as in the atmosphere, though it is true that movement in the water is slower, and currents of water are stronger upon us than are currents of air.”
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