Forgotten Fiction

by Lloyd Eshbach

  “O, Beings from the world below, we thank you for all you’ve done for us, two creatures of a race alien to you, for without your aid we would have perished. We express our appreciation to Novad Thasor, the God of your world—he was who gave us the deep understanding of each other that we have. We owe a debt to him and to you that we can never repay; all we can do is thank you. And that we do!”

  Silence followed my expression of our thanks. Even though the Misty Ones had not understood, I had expected to hear their chiming voices. But they remained silent—they seemed to be waiting for something.

  I had begun to feel rather perturbed, fearing that I had offended them, when from the heart of the great, purple globe came the voice that I knew so well, a voice that I can never forget. Novad Thasor was speaking!

  “I accept your thanks, Jimmie and Claire, for I know you mean what you have said . . . You are wondering how I knew that there was danger, so that I came with my Misty Ones to aid you. It was the mental plea for help that came from the girl that summoned us; I have been in communication with you since you left my world—thus did I hear her.

  “But now I must ask you to go, for we have much work to do.”

  Quickly Claire and I entered the plane; and stepped over to the controls. A moment later the mighty helicopter arose from the ground and darted up into the air like a great bird.

  Several thousand feet above the valley, which then lay like a green basin far below us, I brought the craft to rest. And there, in midair, I took Claire into my arms.

  CHAPTER VI

  Sunset—and Sunrise

  “DON’T you think, Jimmie,” Claire remarked at length, “that we had better start back. I’ll feel safer traveling while it’s light, even though you can fly by instrument. And it is getting late.”

  It was true; the sun was sinking low in the western sky. If we were to get back to civilization before nightfall, we had need to make haste.

  “Just one last look at the valley, sweetheart, then we’ll go.”

  Through a cabin window we looked down. An exclamation of surprise burst from the lips of each of us. Something was happening down in the valley. The Misty Ones were at work on a gigantic task.

  The valley itself, and those peaks that were in close proximity to it, were obscured by a thick, violet haze. As we watched, the peaks seemed to shrink, gradually vanishing. For a moment the scene remained thus; then a sudden flash of fire leaped up from the floor of the valley. For a fleeting second we saw it as a mass of red flame; then the purple haze obscured all again. And after another moment, this haze, too, was gone—and where the valley and peaks had been was a great, red-glowing level. Even this glowing was transitory; only for a few minutes did it endure, then very slowly it cooled, and turned to a dull gray.

  With the substance of the eternal mountains, Novad Thasor had sealed forever the entrance to His worlds. The way was closed—forever.

  The monsters that should have been extinct for countless ages were gone; the beastmen were gone; Carcante and his diabolic inventive powers—all were gone; even the valley, the Valley of Titans, was gone. Gone, annihilated—and the world was better for it!

  Slowly we turned away. Thoughtfully I turned the nose of the plane toward the west. Of all who had entered the valley, but two remained—Claire Maynard and Jimmie Newton. And we had escaped by the grace of the alien god of another world.

  Even as my mind dwelt upon this, my eyes came to rest upon a sight of unparalleled beauty. It was a fitting ending to our strange adventure.

  A deep blue sky, the resting place of innumerable white puffs of cloud arched the world, deepening to a dark purple horizon. Incredible, flaming rays streamed across the western sky. The myriad peaks before and below us were glazed, sparkling, arrows of swift light glinting from their eternal ice caps. On and on these peaks extended, emerald green, turquoise blue.

  The world of civilization lay before us—it welcomed us! And we sped toward it joyously—it was bright, glowing; illuminated for us by the light of our newfound love.

  THE END.

  A VOICE FROM THE ETHER

  PERHAPS it is not too far-fetched to say, assuming there is life as we know it, on another planet, that the story of that planet would, in many ways, show considerable similarity to the history of Earth. It is more than likely that there would appear in the annals of the other planet, records of the blanket condemnation from well-meaning authorities and experts in specific fields of any revolutionary theory expounded by their contemporaries. It seems to be in the nature of things. But what the hero-scientist of this story tells his fellow scientists had been absolutely unheard of and is beyond their conception. The author unravels the thread of his story in a most ingenious manner.

  ON August 22nd, 1924, the planet Mars was in opposition to the earth. That is to say, the two planets in their perpetual journeying had assumed such a position as to be in one straight line with the Sun, the earth eclipsing the superior planet Mars. A superior planet is one whose orbit is of greater diameter than that of the earth. At the same time, the distance separating Mars from the earth was less than it had been for more than one hundred years. Only 34,640,000 miles lay between the two heavenly bodies.

  The night of the 22nd was remarkably clear, an ideal night for astronomical observation. Innumerable telescopes, large and small, were focused upon the red planet. Ingenious devices of various kinds were striving to communicate with the inhabitants of Mars. And, in a little cabin high up in the Adirondack Mountains, I sat before my radio. Far away from any “interference,” I strove to make the greatest radio pick-up ever attempted.

  I had made rather elaborate preparations for the recording of any interplanetary communication I might receive, securing for that purpose a device working on the same principle as the dictaphone. It differed from that instrument, however, in that it could record words continually for a period of ten hours. This device, the invention of an obscure mechanical engineer, stood within a few feet of the loud speaker.

  With practiced fingers I twirled the dials. One pickup after another rewarded my efforts. A voice raised in song, the wail of a saxophone, the sonorous voice of an announcer—the usual radio programs. Little cared I for these, however, for they were commonplace; I was after bigger game. But Mars continued in that silence which he had maintained for countless ages.

  Slowly the hours passed. Midnight came—one o’clock. A fine radio night, I thought, rather hazily—I dozed.

  The time signal from the station to which I had last been listening, called me back to consciousness. One—two! I heard the strokes faintly, as from a great distance. Then, suddenly I raised my nodding head erect; I was fully awake.

  A discordant shriek of static assailed my ears. A frightful howl, like that of a tortured imp, filled the room. Then, as suddenly as the coming of the static, silence, oppressive, heavy, fell like a mantle over the radio.

  And then I heard the—Voice. Clear and loud it came, unmarred by any interfering static. It was a shrill, piping voice, which, in the course of its narrative, traversed the entire gamut of emotion.

  I was spellbound. A feeling of triumph pervaded my being, triumph intermingled with awe. I had succeeded! Victory! I was certain that I had received a message from Mars. I trembled with excitement. Hesitantly I reached toward the dials—and drew my hand away before it touched the radio. I was held back by the thought that perhaps I might break the tenuous thread which held that distant station in communication with the earth. At that, there was no need of adjusting the dials, for the reception was well-nigh perfect.

  Eventually, the excitement of the first few moments passed, and I paid more attention to the words coming from the loud speaker. As I listened, a note of excitement crept into the Voice. Excitement, then anger, cold and terrible. And quickly on the heels of that anger came hate, an insane hate that somehow filled me with dread.

  Through the balance of the night I listened. Although the words spoken by the Voice were so much meaningless g
ibberish to me, each passing hour saw me seated there, motionless, held by the power of that strange, high-pitched voice.

  A gray pencil of light pierced the gloom; the darkness gave way to the radiance of a new day; and suddenly the Voice—broke. There was a moment of utter silence, and then a shrill shriek of fear and terrible agony. The last notes of the shriek were strangely, horribly muffled! And there followed that dead, unbroken silence——

  Outside in the long grass a cricket chirped. The spell was broken. Slowly, I rose upon my trembling limbs; slowly, I raised my hand and brushed the beads of cold perspiration from my forehead. The experience had been so strange, those last moments so terrible! It was with great difficulty that I regained my mental equilibrium.

  Questions leaped to my mind. Had I really tuned in on Mars? If I had, what was the nature of the message I had received? What manner of creature had done the broadcasting? And—what had caused that shriek?

  Not until four years later did I learn the answers to those questions. Four long years during which Millard labored tirelessly on the translation of that message from another world.

  Millard? Yes, Phineas J. Millard, antiquarian and archeologist. He, in all probability, is the only man living today who is able to translate a record consisting only of phonetics. And even he required four years for the accomplishment of that task.

  Little more remains to be said by way of introduction. For the sake of convenience, I have taken advantage of natural breaks in the action of the narrative and divided it into chapters. Also, I have taken the liberty of substituting the English names of scientific apparatus for the incomprehensible names used by the Voice. Aside from that, the narrative is unchanged. And now you may read this amazing tale as it is related by Tuol Oro, scientist of another planet.

  CHAPTER I

  IN this vast Universe, teeming with its myriad forms of life, there is surely one race of beings who will hear and understand this, my warning. And understanding, perhaps they may heed. It is with that hope in mind that I am telling my story.

  When I began my life upon this planet, I was called Tuol Oro. Through the brilliancy of my intellect, and the power of my mind, I made that name a name that was respected throughout the world. Yet, through the stupidity of one man, and in spite of all I had done, I became an outcast. I was scorned, derided, and openly shunned by those who had respected me. They referred to me as Tuol the Madman, or Tuol the Fool, as it suited their fancy.

  Revenge became the one purpose of my life. I lived only that I might destroy the race of fools that ruled over Kotar. And I’ve done it! Failures were they, who thought themselves perfect; but they are gone. And I, who alone survive, was thought to be the only failure of their civilization. Tuol, the Fool? No, Tuol, the Conqueror, am I.

  There are others, now, that have taken the place of man, others that, eventually, I shall also rule. Those others, that I loosed upon the world to do my will, shall feel the power of my might, and I will reign supreme over all Kotar. Soon I will go out and claim that which is rightfully mine; then, indeed, will I be conqueror.

  But, before that occurs, I will tell the story of man’s downfall and destruction; the story of Tuol Oro’s revenge. And that tale heard, perhaps, on some other world, may be a warning, so that men who advance strange and unusual facts may receive audience, and be respected as they deserve.

  I remember well those events which were the cause of my banishment. The meeting of the Council; my report about the wonderful discovery I had made; the incredulity of the Council; my taking of that oath——

  The Supreme Council, that august body of Searchers-after-the-Truth, had called a meeting of all the scientists upon the planet. Report was to be made as to what had been accomplished for the advancement of civilization in each field of research.

  The gigantic hall, the Hall of the Council, was filled to overflowing. Thousands of scientists representing a vast accumulation of knowledge, occupied the countless compartments which made up the hall. They, however, were unimportant; only upon very rare occasions did they learn anything that was of real value.

  The really worth-while discoveries of the age had been made by a small, insignificant group of six men who occupied one large compartment at the front of the hall. Six men, the greatest minds in all Kotar. Six men, and I was one of them!

  I remember them well; even now I can see, in my mind’s eye, those men of knowledge. Each was an expert in his chosen field, the accepted authority on his special branch of science.

  There was Bor Akon, the historian. No important occurrence of any past age, no matter how remote, was unknown to him. Then there was Sarig Om, the astronomer, who had plumbed the depths of space with his instruments, and who knew the innermost secrets of innumerable heavenly bodies. Great was his knowledge.

  I mention these two particularly because of the important part they play at a later date.

  The others in the group are Dees Oeb, specialist in the study of matter; Stol Verta, lover of things mechanical the greatest inventor in Kotar’s history; Gano Tor, whose strange concoctions could well nigh bring the dead back to life; and Tuol Oro, delver into the infinitely minute. Truly a remarkable concentration of wisdom. Yet everyone in that group, and all those minor intellectuals were failures. All were blotted out—erased, by the children of my mind, their great intellects rendered helpless. All—save one. I, Tuol, the Mighty, survive! But I digress.

  On a platform raised high above our heads sat the Council. Twenty venerable men were they, the ruling body of Kotar. Each one of the Twenty, from the time of his birth, had been trained in just the correct environment, to prepare him for the position he was now holding. They were the judges, the judicial minds of our planet.

  As they, the Council, had been trained, so had we, the scientists, been prepared, with the thought of our future place in life, in mind.

  Bor Akon, the historian, said at one time, that in former ages there had been no such specialization, that each man and woman decided his or her field of endeavor upon reaching maturity. Utterly ridiculous! Our destinies were predetermined in our infancy by the Sub-Council of each residential district. In this way there was no neglect of one occupation and over-crowding of another. But to return to the gathering in the Council Hall——

  Each individual booth was equipped with an instrument employing the mysterious “Power of the Spheres,” that power which I am using in giving broadcast this narrative of warning. It was with this instrument that we, the scientists, not only communicated with the Twenty, but, through the use of a large amplifying disc, made our reports audible to every man in the hall.

  The members of the Council, by the way, required no such aid in making their thoughts known; through the combined power of their well trained minds, they could impress upon us their every desire. And, because they had a complete knowledge of who occupied each of those many compartments, they had no difficulty in having the scientists speak in the order that they, the Council, wished.

  Suddenly the hall became quiet; every sound was hushed. A mental command for silence had come from the Twenty. And then Stol Verta, the inventor, arose. Speaking in a dreamy monotone, he addressed the Council.

  Stol’s report had to do with his most recent invention, a machine which he claimed would traverse the great void between the planets. How this was to be accomplished, I do not remember. Indeed, little of what he said made an impression upon my memory. The so-called mechanical marvels of the age held little interest for me; and Stol Verta, himself, is an uninteresting individual at best.

  His statements, however, seemed to meet with the approval of the Council, for they sent a thought-wave of praise and commendation broadcast through the hall. Smiling slightly, Stol seated himself.

  SARIG OM was the second scientist called upon by the Twenty. As he arose to make his report, I decided to pay more attention than I had before. The science of Sarig Om was of interest to me because of the similarity it bore to my own study. His was the study of largeness unfat
homable; mine, of the infinitely minute.

  Sarig gave a detailed report about the various occurrences in the heavens before he reached the really important feature of his discourse. At the time I was not impressed with the importance of the statement; later I had reason to recall it.

  He spoke of the coming opposition of our world with Santel, our nearest inferior planetary neighbor. He stated that the two planets would be closer to each other than they had been for almost fifty mallahs.[*] It would be an excellent opportunity, he informed us, for us to take steps toward establishing communication with the Santellians. His report, also, was approved by the Council.

  As Sarig seated himself, I felt a curious tingling at the base of my brain. Then a strangely silent voice in my mind bade me rise. It was the command. I rose to my feet; swept the hall with my eyes, and then faced the Twenty. A command came for me to proceed with my report. After a moment’s pause. I began.

  “To the Supreme Council, the judicial body of Kotar, I, Tuol Oro, delver into the infinitely minute, make report.” This was the customary beginning, and each scientist used it, with variations, of course. I continued:

  “My labors of the past mallah, Venerable Twenty, have not been fruitless; indeed, it was my great fortune to make a discovery that is unequalled in the history of microscopy.

  “The Council is doubtless aware of the construction of the atom and its marked similarity to the solar system, with its central body, the sun, or in the atom, the nucleus, and its revolving satellites—planets or planetary electrons. The conception of the atom, of course is not, or I should say, was not accepted as fact, but was thought to be only a plausible theory.

  “Five stallos ago, working on a principle different than any ever used before, I constructed a microscope so powerful that it enabled me to see the component parts of an atom. The planetary electrons, themselves, were invisible because of the great speed with which they revolved; but the protons could clearly be seen as rapidly rotating, faintly glowing spheres.