Forgotten Fiction

by Lloyd Eshbach

  When darkness fell upon the old, unchanged world of man for the last time, and I retired, I enjoyed the first real rest that had been mine since my banishment. No disturbing spectre of hate or vengeance marred my slumbers, for on the morrow my ultimate goal would be reached.

  CHAPTER IV

  THE six Masters of Science had privileges that were not given to any other individuals on Kotar. One of these was the right to employ the Power of the Spheres in broadcasting on any wavelength we desired. That is, we could command any broadcast station to terminate its program and leave the air, so that we could use its wavelength. Through negligence on the part of the Council, this privilege had not been taken from me.

  Shortly after I awakened from my sleep, greatly refreshed, by the way, I made use of that privilege, commanding the International News to cease broadcasting. After the announcer had stated that his station was cutting short its program at the command of one of the Masters, and that the program would continue after the Master had finished talking, his station grew silent.

  I closed the switch, then, and addressed my unseen audience.

  “People of Kotar,” I said, “I, Tuol Oro, outcast Master of Science, am taking this opportunity to tell you. in these few moments that will be spared to me ere the Council interferes, some facts about my banishment that have been carefully concealed by those in authority.

  “Have you been informed that I was condemned without a trial? That I was given no opportunity to prove my claims? That, just because San Nober could not see the truth of my report, I was called mad, and that, without test being given to my mind? Of course you haven’t! All that has been kept secret.

  “Immediately after the ringing of the Terai bell, I will prove to those who gather before my home that all that I said in the Council Hall was true, and that San Nober himself should be the one to be condemned, because of his total lack of judgment. If that incompetent individual is listening, I give him a special invitation to be there. He—” There was a sharp, sudden explosion and a blinding flash in the broadcasting apparatus, and my connections with the outside world were broken.

  I heard words issuing from the receiving device in another corner of the room. It was San Nober, using the so-called Universal wavelength of the Council, the wavelength that covered every station from the lowest to the highest, thus rendering the speaker’s voice audible to every listener on the planet. San’s heavy, bass voice quivered with anger.

  “Tuol Oro,” he growled, “you are a fool. And for your folly you shall die. You will be permitted to offer any proof that you possess, at the time you have set, so that no one may say that there has been a miscarriage of justice.

  “I accept your invitation: I’ll be there.”

  With a feeling of satisfaction, I shut off the machine. Sati Nober would be there! That was what I wanted. What mattered it that he would probably be accompanied by a group of his followers, whose purpose it would be to arrest me? They would be powerless to harm me, for I possessed a weapon more terrible than anything they had ever conceived of.

  I occupied myself during the time that I had to wait, with a final survey of all my protective devices. I made sure that everything was in readiness for the great climax. Only the turn of a valve was needed to cover my home with a blanket of steam. A little pressure upon a button would start the oxygen machine. An automatic feeding device would add fuel to that in the furnace whenever it was needed. As far as I could see, there was nothing else to be done along the line of self-protection.

  There was one thing, though, that I had not taken into consideration. How was I to free the plants without endangering myself? After some thought I decided upon a method. In a short time I constructed a small, glass box with a tightly fitting lid, which automatically closed at any time I signified on the time-clock within the box.

  I burned the plants away again, and set the finished box inside the glass room with the lid timed to close in three trons. Impatiently I waited for the time to go by, dividing my attention between the plants and the clock on a nearby wall.

  At last, when the three trons had passed, I managed, by careful application of the heat, to remove the box from the room, filled with plants, seed dust, and slime.

  With great care, then, I went over all the space on which seed dust might have found lodgment, with a beam of heat. After I was certain that there was no further possibility of any dust having escaped destruction, I carried the glass box to a window overlooking the Waterway, and there took up my vigil. The time for revenge was almost at hand.

  The street below me was filled with a noisy throng of people. Men, women, and children had gathered, for a public statement by one of the Six Masters was far from being commonplace, and was worthy of more than passing notice. Several men in the crowd I recognized as minor scientists who had been in the Council Hall on the day I was banished.

  The Waterway was even more crowded than the street. Indeed, the boats were so close to each other that very little water could be seen. And every boat was loaded to capacity with passengers.

  Overhead I could hear the low, steady hum of many flying machines. Looking up, I saw small, one-man planes darting here and there, aimlessly. Great helicopters with whirling propellers and whirring wings were suspended above, hanging stationary in mid-air. All were low enough for their passengers to hear anything I had to say.

  SUDDENLY my attention was drawn from the air vehicles by a commotion below. I looked down. In some way, how, I do not know, the boats had been cleared away to form a lane which led directly to the front of my home. At the further end of the lane, I saw the graceful lines of San Nober’s stately bark. Its silver trimmings flashed in the sunlight.

  As it drew closer, enabling me to distinguish faces, I saw that every member of the Council was there, and that the remaining three Masters were likewise on board. In addition, the International Peace Guard had six representatives present. They, I knew, were there for the purpose of arresting me after I had had my say. But they meant nothing to me.

  As the Council boat touched the side of the waterway’s banks, I heard a single, deep toned bell note, the Terai bell. The time I had set had come! I flung open the window.

  At my appearance, the voice of the throng was stilled. The sound of motors in the air above became less noticeable, as the pilots applied their silencers. And then I spoke.

  I described in detail all that had taken place in the Council Hall. I told them of the great discovery I had made, laying stress on the minute plants and their amazingly rapid growth. I spoke of my banishment, and of the oath I had taken—and there I stopped. The bellowing voice of San Nober had interrupted me.

  “Have done with this nonsense!” he exclaimed. “This farce must stop! How can your grievances affect these people? You can’t expect to gain anything by this additional publicity. You must be mad to expect any benefit to come to you from this.

  “If you have any proof to offer, produce it. Stol Verta will begin counting, and if you haven’t partially proven your claims by the time he reaches fifty, your liberty will end. You will not be given another opportunity to deceive your fellow men.”

  “Begin counting, Stol.”

  While the inventor’s hand slowly, mechanically rose and fell, I gave my last message to the world.

  “People of Kotar,” I said solemnly, “your span of life is almost ended. When San interrupted me, I was about to tell you that the world is doomed, that my oath will be carried out. You are a race of fools, unworthy of the responsibility that has been given you. You are not fitted for the task of controlling a planet’s life, so you cannot survive. You——”

  I went no further. No one would have heard me if I had. The momentary daze which had held the crowd speechless, vanished. Hoots and jeers, and cries of mingled anger and mirth came from the throng.

  Stol Verta stopped counting. ‘San Nober, with a word to his colleagues, stepped from his boat, and, followed by the Guards and Masters, began forcing his way through the crowd. A
path opened as though by magic, and the throng grew quiet.

  I took advantage of that silence; raising the glass box high above my head, I cried, “This is my proof,” and hurled it at the feet of San Nober. Then I banged the window shut, locked it, and turned the valve which started the steam.

  San fell back, startled, when the box crashed before him. Then he stared in fascination at the little heap of shattered glass and pulpy matter that lay at his feet. It was growing, and he could see the growth! He leaned forward to observe the strange organisms more carefully—and a plant burst.

  A small cloud of dust arose into the air and settled upon San’s head and shoulders. For a moment he beat at the vegetation that sprang from his flesh, his arms waving futilely, helplessly; then he fell to the pavement.

  Those who saw his death, shrank back, while those further away strove to get closer. But when the seed dust began dropping upon them, only one impulse actuated them, and that was to escape.

  Escape, however, was impossible, now; they had delayed too long. Where one plant had been, had grown a thousand; the thousand had become a million; and every moment more and more seed dust was being cast into the air. In little more time than is required for the telling, no human life was left where the crowd had been.

  At the very beginning of the destruction, there had been wrecks on the Waterway, caused by boats crashing into each other when their pilots had become heaps of plants and slime. Similarly, there had been accidents in the air, planes darting around erratically, pilotless, with propellers clogged by slime and plants, either crashing into each other, or falling to the ground. But that was all over in a short time.

  Some planes and boats had made good their escape, and had wasted no time, I was sure, but rather made haste to tell the world of the horror that menaced civilization. This caused me no concern, however, for I knew that the plants were too firmly established to be affected by anything the puny world of man might do. Kotar’s ruling race was unquestionably doomed.

  Soon after the last man in sight had been destroyed, and the last plane had disappeared, I turned away from the window. I had taken my revenge; I was satisfied. I had seen San Nober die a horrible death. Before my eyes the members of the Council had been destroyed. And I was the only survivor of the six Masters of Science; they had scorned me, but they had felt the might of my hand.

  While walking across the room with the intention of starting the oxygen machine, I spied the broadcasting apparatus. A thought occurred to me. Why not tell the Universe of the things I had done? Why not warn them, so that they, if ever similar circumstances arose, would not make the mistake that the people of Kotar had made. I had one of the most powerful broadcasting machines on Kotar, and it would be a simple matter to increase that power so that my message would travel to the farthest corner of the Universe. I made a decision: I’d tell the story.

  And then I remembered Sarig Om’s report to the Council. He had said that Santel would be closer to Kotar on a certain date than it had been for many mallahs. If there were intelligent, reasoning beings on Santel—Sarig had always maintained that there were—they, at least, might be able to hear my warning. At any rate, I decided to wait for that date and broadcast my story then.

  I spent the interim between the time I made my decision, and the time of opposition, in studying the plants I could see from my window, enjoying long periods of interesting observation, in spite of the steam that persisted in cutting off my view. I also spent some time in preparing notes for my story, for I wanted nothing to be left from the narrative.

  Finally, after stalls of waiting, the time of opposition has arrived. Now, as I am talking, Santel should be at its closest proximity to Kotar.

  My story is almost ended. From my place here before the broadcasting apparatus, I can look out through the window. A vast sea of amazingly brilliant plants meets my eye. There are plants that are thick and round, plants tall and angular, plants of every conceivable shape and color. It is a scene of dazzling brilliancy, a scene that has an unnatural, alien beauty. And the impossible speed of the plants’ development does much toward creating that sense of the unreal, the fantastic.

  There is no strife or discord, no petty quarrelling; the plants seem to be the embodiment of unity. A vast, all-engulfing silence has superseded the noise and bustle of man’s civilization. The only sound that breaks the silence is the hiss of escaping steam. That steam, to me, is symbolic of the civilization that has gone, existing for a moment, noisy and purposeless, then vanishing. Of the two forms of life, mankind and the plants, the latter is by far the better.

  Still, it is only proper that I, the creator of this vegetable world, should be the ruler thereof. Consequently, in a short time, I shall attempt to gain complete control of those plants, and be supreme ruler over all. I have a plan——

  Good Maca! What was that! One of the walls of the glass room has fallen out! The plants are escaping! The heat projector! MACA! OH——

  TUOL ORO’S tale ended in a shrill scream of horror and pain, a scream that was cut short abruptly, and ended in a strangely muffled sob. One can picture with some degree of accuracy the scene within his room. In some way, the glass square that had held the original plants had collapsed, letting the deadly organisms escape.

  The resulting death of the mad scientist can well be imagined.

  And on Kotar, or Mars, if it is the red planet, a species of fungus, growing with incredible rapidity, holds uncontested sway.

  THE END.

  [*] We have no possible way of determining what the Kotarian words for periods of time would mean in English. From the action of the narrative, however, we can be fairly certain that the Mallah is equivalent to our year, the Stallo, to our month, the Stal, to our week, and the Tron to our minute. Tuol does not mention anything equal to our day. hour, or second, although it is probable that other time divisions than the former ones exist.

  —L.A.E.

  1932

  THE LIGHT FROM INFINITY

  MYSTERIOUS occurrences on this earth, apparently caused by cosmic If A. phenomena—occurrences which sometimes leave destruction in their wake and often seem of no particular significance—wait on their solution, or reasons based on fact, until such time as astronomers, or other men of science, are enabled to travel beyond our so-called Heaviside layer. As long as these men must depend upon their man-made telescopes—remarkable as they are today—they cannot be assured of the truth. L. A. Eshbach needs no introduction to science fiction fans, but we do say, unhesitatingly, this is an unusual story.

  CHAPTER I

  The Coming of the Light

  WITH a great, rushing sound like the roar of a mighty cataract, a stream of yellow fire leaped suddenly from the base of the awesome Rocket and spattered the ground with a shower of golden stars. For the smallest fraction of a fleeting second, the shining, parminvar-beryIlium projectile, sharply outlined by a battery of searchlights, seemed to shudder on its supports; then with a titanic shriek that mounted in a great crescendo, it hurtled into the sky.

  With amazing velocity it sped upward toward the bright disc of the moon, moving so rapidly that in a few moments its tail of fire had become a huge, yellow star. This, in turn, grew smaller and smaller, until it dwindled to a minute point—and vanished. The first space-ship had begun its maiden voyage.

  A great sigh as of the sharp exhalation of bated breaths arose from the sea of upturned faces. Then cheer after cheer burst from the milling, swirling thousands—cries of praise and godspeed for the three daring pioneers into space.

  It was only a matter of moments after the vanishing of the Rocket that it was sighted again as a flashing meteor, far out in space. Moments, until the great telescopes of the northern hemisphere were trained upon it. Long they followed its flight as it held its course toward the moon; but at last even the astronomers could not see its light; it vanished in the radiance of the disc that was its destination.

  Then, when astronomers were about to turn their telescopes towa
rd more interesting portions of the heavens—the Light came! Then, as though it were a carefully planned act in a cosmic drama, with the populace of North America and Europe for spectators, the balefully gleaming beam of red flashed from the depths of interstellar space, and struck the moon!

  A giant pencil of vivid crimson, all of two hundred miles in diameter, it was, like a beam from some titanic, interstellar searchlight. After the first shock of its strange appearance, astronomers sought to follow the beam to its source. They could not! Even the largest telescopes were ineffectual—the red pillar of light extended on and on until it vanished as a minute point in the fathomless reaches of illimitable space.

  The voyagers into the void were forgotten then, the magnitude of their venture overshadowed by the greater wonder of the crimson enigma. The people of Europe and America, when they saw the beam—it could be seen with the naked eye as a long needle of light reaching out into space from the upper portion of the moon—at first had associated it with the Rocket, but when puzzled astronomers began voicing their wonder, mankind came to a sudden realization that a phenomenon, strange and inexplicable, was occurring. So, where a short time before, the attention of the world had been directed toward the Rocket and its passengers, interest was now centered upon the needle of light.

  According to the observations of the men of science, the beam was directed toward that portion of the moon that was called the Alps Mountains, at a point midway between the craters, Aristotle and Plato. It remained fixed to that one spot, a motionless, unwavering pillar of radiance, whose length had to be measured—if it could be measured—in light years!

  It was less than an hour later on that same night that astronomers became aware of the strange antics of the moon. A dispatch from the Yerkes Observatory informed the people of the world that Luna had begun to sway erratically. Swaying—like a ball at the end of a string! With eyes turned toward the sky, tense humanity waited.