[Title here]

by Twin Worlds (epub)

  There came a perceptible motion, and the scenery moved slowly, distortingly, through the crude transparency. It was like the initial rise in a ferris wheel at a county fair. This similarity struck the professor across the scarcely conceivable abyss of forty million years. He noticed a gradual change of gravity, for, unlike the recollected ferris wheel, the projectile remained immovable on the immense rim. Scenery flew by faster until it became no longer distinguishable, the accelerating revolutions resolving into a blinking alternation of bright sky and grayish, purple land and foliage, the lesser green spots merged into obscurity.

  Then the professor noted further that there was no longer a change in gravity: there was but one gravity, and in but one direction, and that was outward, the synthetic gravity induced by centrifugal force.

  Faster and faster the wheel flew. Soon, they would be making about five revolutions per second, providing the necessary component to send them flying out of Selimemigre’s gravitational attraction at a speed greater than that with which they would proceed toward Dlasitap, slowly losing momentum until they passed through neutral territory.

  Suddenly upon their senses there burst the telepathic cry of 8L-404.

  “Now―be ready! You leave for Dlasitap!”

  Gravity quickly altered its position. From one side of the projectile it shifted to the base. Only in this manner did these three machine men realize that they had been released from the giant flywheel. Yet the professor also noticed that the flickering changes of light and shadow previously seen through the ports now yielded to a steady filter of soft light, and this, while he was considering it, dulled into darkness as the projectile rushed rapidly out of the atmosphere, guided unerringly by stabilizer fins.

  They were in space, launched on their hundred thousand mile journey at an initial momentum close to twenty-five hundred miles per hour.

  Peering out of one of the windows, the professor bent forward from his straps to note the position of Dlasitap. Relief smote him, for one of their chief worries was removed. The projectile was headed in the right direction, though not directly for the great globe, being aimed ahead of its course so that the focal point of attraction beyond the field of neutral gravity would coincide with Dlasitap’s current position at that fateful moment.

  “We can remove our straps now,” said 6W-438. “Let us take a look around.”

  It was scarcely an unfamiliar panorama which lay about them; it was rather a warped vision, however, due to the crude qualities of the observation facings. Selimemigre, what little could be seen of it from ports designed almost exclusively for side and forward observation, loomed huge in their rear. On all sides and ahead lay the fiery firmament with Dlasitap growing slowly gibbous ahead and slightly to one side of their course.

  The machine men now commenced a patient wait, not without anxiety, for their projectile to come in close to Dlasitap. The better than twenty-five hundred mile rate, which was already beginning to slow up from the tremendous pulling bulk of Selimemigre behind, seemed agonizingly slow to the three Zoromes who were familiar with cosmic speeds many times faster. To record the passing of time, they took occasional glimpses of Dlasitap’s topography, the slowly moving continental masses serving as the figures of their celestial clock.

  Patience was an accomplishment among the metal Zoromes, yet in this insecure and helpless position they remained a bit on edge. What if the projectile were not aimed at the right spot ahead of Dlasitap’s present position? Worse, and more probable than missing the twin world entirely, was the likely hazard of hitting solid land instead of the ocean depths which they had been carefully timed to hit. The professor could not help but dwell on this discomforting thought, roundly denouncing his impatience at the delayed return of the spaceship. Here he had placed himself and his two metal companions in what might well prove to be an uncompromising alliance with death. Here was scarcely wisdom but another impulsive and adventurous gesture such as his entrance into the transition cube of the Tripeds. Yet he argued with himself that the circumstances surrounding the failure of that spaceship to return were reason enough for his choice of courses. He recollected well his timely arrival on the island of light at the center of the hydrosphere’s hollowed core, discovering 744U-21 and several more metal companions in dire straits. The possibilities in this situation promised to be much the same.

  The professor’s conscience, however, remained unsatisfied despite the obvious and seemingly incontrovertible logic which he had offered himself so convincingly. Behind this logic there lurked the unquenchable spirit of adventure ever ready to force him and his companions into any novel experience, represented in this instance by the giant flywheel and its unguided missile now hurtling through space toward Dlasitap. In the background of this colorful venture lurked the storm of tragedy waiting to loose its thunder of destruction and lightning of death. Kamunioleten’s tragic philosophy had not been one to fill them with the sense of security and fatalism they generally employed.

  With agonizing slowness, Dlasitap made a complete rotation. By this time the three Zoromes found it necessary to commence operation of the heating system; the temperature would have already frozen either the Emites or Vosquentebs. 19K-58 remarked upon the lessening of gravity in their rear, and soon the machine men were able to float about their limited confines like windblown feathers in a dense atmosphere. This, as Dlasitap slowly loomed larger, resolved itself into a slight gravitational attraction at their prow. Meanwhile, Dlasitap had made its second complete rotation since they had left Selimemigre. Whatever fears they might have entertained regarding the possibilities of falling back upon Selimemigre due to the lack of a sufficiently strong push had now vanished.

  This latter fear was now replaced by the apprehension that their initial push might have been too great. This exigency involved the likelihood of missing the spot on Dlasitap at which they had been aimed, or else the risk of super-momentum, in which case their brakes and parachute attachment stood in danger of being wrenched free of the tiny craft. Both could easily happen, and the professor found dissatisfaction with present interplanetary travel of the Emites. What they needed most was maneuverability in space.

  “We have not long to wait,” the professor observed, reflecting a bit of the nervous waiting shared by his companions.

  It was this waiting, the slow rate of interplanetary speed, an average of merely two thousand miles per hour which irked them. They had all faced more desperate circumstances in the late space war with the Mumes, with less regard for their futures than now. But those encounters had been swift and decisive. There had been little waiting. Coupled with the delay of landing on Dlasitap, they were faced with the knowledge that what little control they possessed over the projectile must be held suppressed until almost the final moment.

  They were picking up speed once more, regardless of the fact that the increase went unnoticed. Yet they knew it to be so, and Dlasitap grew large before them. The professor was glad that the projectile had not turned about during the time they had left the atmosphere of Selimemigre, although the stabilizer fins would have righted this on their entrance into the air envelope of Dlaritap. The prow pointed directly at the center of Dlasitap, and there would be no delay in the use of an air brake preceding the parachute’s release.

  At the controls in the small rear compartment 6W-438 strapped himself securely against the forward pull of Dlasitap’s attraction. 19K-59 and the professor strapped themselves in the middle of the slim cylinder, where contact with the walls might be avoided on their landing, yet where they might see what lay ahead. They had not long to wait.

  Down they hurtled toward Dlasitap. A faint haze replaced the jet blackness of space with its twinkling stars. Kamunioleten had told them that their first encounter with the atmosphere of Dlasitap would find them over a hundred miles high. The professor had figured beforehand that, at their rate of speed, a rough two and a half minutes would elapse before they reached the world’s surface. This time must be lengthened considerably,
if they were to effect a safe landing, by use of the air brake and metal parachute.

  “The air brake I” the professor cried, peering down at the bulging surface of Dlasitap whose curvature merged more and more into the horizon as the projectile screamed and wailed through the atmosphere in its furious descent.

  The machine men felt themselves jerked so hard that they pondered momentarily how organic creatures like the Emites could ever live through such an ordeal. 6W-438’s release of the air brake had been consummated much too swiftly, however, so much too swiftly that for a moment he was left dazed from a smash of his metal head against the partition behind him, a blow sufficient to have broken any skull comprised of bone.

  Transecting the rear of the projectile, a broad, flat disk constructed of segmented, interlocking metal staves, hastily released, braked their rapid speed through the increasing density of air. Professor Jameson looked anxiously downward for the ocean. It seemed as if they must strike, for the headland lay directly below.

  “The metal parachute! Release it!”

  6W-438 did not hear the order. He had not yet fully emerged from his shock of contact with the partition. Dangling loosely in their straps, several of which had been snapped at the sudden yank of the air brake, the professor and 19K-59 desperately regarded their swiftly impending fate.

  “The parachute!” Professor James echoed. “Quick!”

  It was into the mind of 6W-438 that these anxious thoughts gradually crept, clearing his torpid senses and sending a tentacle flashing to a pair of long handles which he turned rapidly. Behind the slim, metal bullet, a pleated column of thin metal unhinged itself and, caught by the wailing winds, quickly grew cone-shaped like the head of the machine men themselves. Once more the three Zoromes surged forward in their straps, a hurried glimpse of the professor’s confirming his worst fears. They were rushing down upon the edge of the rocky headland where water and beach merged into foam.

  “We shall crash!” was 19K-59’s terrifying emanation.

  Less than five miles lay between them and death, and this respite was being rapidly eaten by the rushing projectile as it tore madly through the air. Another quick observation gave him a sudden spark of hope.

  “We have sideswiped!” he told his metal companions. “The parachute’s imperfections are throwing us a bit to one side of a vertical fall!”

  “Not in time!” was 19K-59’s foreboding. “The water, even if we do strike it, will be too shallow!”

  6W-438, in the partitioned rear, could not see forward and said nothing, attending the scanty controls according to the observations of his companions.

  Land rushed upward, land and water. Now they were so close that even 6W-438 could distinguish their proxim-ity.

  “Shall I let go the parachute?” he exclaimed, remembering Kamunioleten’s final instructions

  To retain the parachute as they struck meant a rupture of the projectile even if they hit water. But Professor Jameson had already made his gamble with fate.

  “No! Keep it!”

  Chapter VII

  With a terrific impact, they struck. The remaining straps were broken from the professor and 19K-59, hurling them into a tangled heap among the fuel supplies of the forward compartment. Almost simultaneously there came another terrific shock, and as the professor’s senses left him in a bright flash of light, the interrupted thought smote his mind that they had struck in shallow water.

  The truth of the matter was too swiftly consummated for the brief consciousness of Professor Jameson to fully apprehend. They had indeed struck shallow water, but not as shallow as his ebbing thoughts had conceived. The second impact was no less than the trailing parachute jerking their dive to a less hazardous speed as it caught the water.

  6W-438 came to his senses and looked about him. His first conception was the vague sensation that he was lying in water. Zoromes possessing scarcely any sense of touch beyond tangible contact, or a change in solids, this divination was truly remarkable. He affirmed this supposition as consciousness gave his brain access to mechanical eyesight. Something weighed him down, and from off him he shoved some of the wreckage of the metal parachute.

  He rose to his feet and found himself mechanically uninjured. In the clear water all about him, and far out of sight over his head, swam fishes of various sorts, a few darting curiously in and about the wreckage of the projectile. He looked about him for 21MM392 and 19K-59. Not until he had peered beneath broken sections from the projectile did he realize that not only were his metal companions gone but also the entire forward section of the interplanetary projectile. He now fully understood that it had broken apart when the parachute had struck the water.

  His companions and the rest of the wreckage were somewhere else. He turned slowly and looked in every direction. Finally, several hundred feet off, he saw what was left of the forward section. It lay crumpled, the metal legs and lower half of a metal cube extending from under it. 6W-438 slowly approached, and as he did so he saw the other machine man lying half buried in the mud a few yards from the wreckage. It was 19K-59, while under the semi-remains of the projectile lay 21MM392.

  19K-59 stirred himself and arose amid a cloud of muddy water. Together, he and 6W-438 dragged the professor out from under the wreckage.

  “Is he dead?” queried 19K-59, his brain still muddled from the swift succession of events and the subsequent crash.

  “I do not know,” 6W-438 replied fearfully. “His head seems undamaged, yet―”

  They examined the professor. His body had lost a tentacle, and one leg was slightly bent yet still usable. 19K-59, it seemed had been thrown clear. Both Zoromes carefully probed the professor’s brain with their own thoughts. His own brain structure, unless left open for reception, had always been a difficult one for the Zoromes to penetrate, but if any of them had learned this art to particular advantage over their fellows it was 6W-438. A glad exclamation escaped his mind as he felt signs of life in the professor’s mind.

  Patiently, he and 19K-59 waited, and sure enough, after a lengthy interval 21MM392 came to his senses and slowly got to his feet. For a moment he recollected nothing, and then memory returned.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “The projectile broke into two parts when the parachute caught hold of the water,” 6W-438 told him. “I sank with the back compartment, 19K-59 was thrown clear, while you fell with the front section.”

  “We must get to dry land,” the professor stated as he gathered his faculties once more.

  “How deep do you suppose this water is?” 19K-59 ventured.

  “It is difficult to tell,” 6W-438 replied, looking upward through the eye in the apex of his conical head. “Due to the unusual brightness, it would not seem to be very deep, but the water is quite clear, and we may be in very deep water.”

  “Look for the incline toward land,” the professor instructed. “I wonder how far away, and in what direction, that headland rises out of the water.”

  “It cannot be far,” 6W-438 stated, “if what I remember from my final observation is correct.”

  As the machine men walked, the water grew darker, and they knew that daylight was slowly ebbing in this hemisphere. After dark, they still continued aimlessly until they realized futility.

  “We could wander erratically for a long time over the ocean bed and never get anywhere,” the professor remarked. “There are no landmarks or celestial objects by which to set a course.”

  So they waited for daylight which was later in coming here in the watery depth. They were only roughly aware of how much water lay above their heads, the professor computing it to be less than a hundred feet, though he was not certain of this. There was one encouragement: the pressure of the water grew lighter, and they knew that they were approaching shallower depths.

  Another night came and passed. They did no walking during the night; then resumed their search for the shore with morning. Often they climbed what app-^red to be knolls on the sea bottom. They came across all sor
ts of marine life, sea life in strange, fantastic forms. On one of these knolls, they were near enough to discern the surface above them. As an experiment, they climbed each upon the other, yet the surface lay out of their reach, and no observations could be taken.

  They discussed the direction they would take. Already, they had done much fruitless wandering. While they pondered the possibilities, the water grew darker. It seemed too soon for late afternoon twilight, and the three Zoromes looked up to see a dark object hovering above them. Into the mind of Professor Jameson flashed a memory of the huge fish which had swallowed 88ZQ4 and himself when they had sunk into the depths of the hydrosphere, yet this shadowy object above them moved too mechanically and majestically to be a fish. Moreover, its movement was too sluggish for association with the marine denizens.

  “A boat!” flashed 6W-438.

  “Quick―climb up on me and seize hold of the bottom!” the professor decided rapidly as the keel swept low over their heads, just out of reach.

  6W-438 was the first to mount and curl his tentacles about a contrivance serving as a rudder. It could be b°tter termed a steering arrangement, for it in no way resembled a rudder such as Professor Jameson had known on Earth. 19K-59 was next to be assisted by the professor from below and by 6W-438 from above. Last, the professor leaped upward and seized the helping tentacles of his metal companions to be hauled to a position where he, too, could command a secure hold.

  “This is our best chance of making dry land,” he told them. “Sooner or later, this ship of theirs will put into a harbor.”

  “It may be a long trip.”

  “But we are sure of a destination.”

  Resolutely, the three Zoromes clung. They could climb no higher, or they would have boarded the boat. It was deemed the better part of discretion not to make their presence known unless they were able to board, for they had no knowledge of what measures those on the boat might take. They strained their intellects for information from the minds of those above. This they finally learned: they were on a commercial boat bound for Onolekag, and the boat was rapidly nearing its destination.