"Anyhow," she said later, "it is good to have both of you here with

me. I am sorry indeed for you that you may never see your country

again. But it is good fortune for me. I was so lonely."

"These damned crabs don't know me!" Ray Summers muttered. "They think

I'll play around like a pet kitten, for the rest of my life! They'll

get their eyes opened. We'll spend the winter on Palm Beach yet!"

"It seems to me that we're rather outnumbered." I said. "And it's

rather more pleasant in here than outside."

"I'm going to get that rifle," Ray declared, "and give these big crabs

a little respect for humanity!"

"Let's rest up a while first, anyhow," I urged.

* * * * *

Presently Mildred noticed how tired we were. She went into the third

of the connected cylinders of blue crystal, was busy a few minutes and

called us to the couches she had prepared there.

"You may sleep," she told us. "The Things never come here. And they

said they would not harm you, if you did not try to go out."

We lay down on the silken beds. In a few minutes I was sleep. I awoke

to feel a curious unease, a sense of impending catastrophe. Ray was

bending over me, his face drawn with anxiety.

"Something's happened!" he whispered. "She's gone!"

I sat up, staring into the liquid blue vastness of the tall cylinder

above us.

"Listen! What's that?"

A deep bell-note sounded out, brazen, clanging. Sonorous, throbbing,

mighty, it rang through the cylindered rooms. Slowly it died; faded to

silence with a last ringing pulse. Tense minutes of silence passed.

Again it boomed out, throbbed, and died. After more long minutes there

was yet a third.

"Outside, somewhere!"

Ray started; ran to the arched door. We looked out upon the dense

forest of gold and crimson mushrooms that grew below the black cavern

roof. Before us, across a few hundred yards of bare rocky beach, was

the edge of the crystal lake with the city of blue cylinders upon its

floor.

"God! What's that?" Ray gripped my arm crushingly.

A thin wailing scream came across the beach from the black lake. A

piteous sound it was, plaintive, pleading. Higher and higher it rose,

until it was a piercing silver note. Clear and sweet it was, but

inexpressibly lonely, sorrowful, mournful. It sank slowly, died away.

Again it rose and fell, and again.

"It's Mildred!" I gasped. "Didn't she say something about singing to

the crabs?"

"Yes! I think she did. Well, if that's singing, it's wonderful! Had me

feeling like I'd never see another human. But listen--"

* * * * *

Liquid, trilling notes were rising, pealing out in a queer, swift

rhythm. It was happy, joyous, carefree. The rippling golden tones made

me think of the caroling of birds on a spring morning. Swiftly it rose

and fell, pure and clear as the tinkle of a mountain brook.

Mildred sang not words but notes of pure music.

The gay song died.

And the strong clear voice rose again with the force and challenge of

bugle notes, with a swift marching time beating through it. It

throbbed to a rhythm strange to me. It set my feet tingling to move;

it set my heart to pulsing faster. It was a challenge to action, to

battle.

Unconsciously obeying the suggestion of the song, Ray whispered,

"Let's get over and see what's going on."

We leaped through the door and ran across four hundred yards of rocky

beach to the edge of the lake. We stepped on a granite bluff a few

yards above the water, to gaze upon as strange a sight as men ever

saw.

The black water lay before us, a transparent crystal sheet. On its

rocky bottom we could see the innumerable clusters of upright azure

cylinders that were the city of the crabs. The blue cylinders seemed

to bend and waver in the water.

A hundred yards away from us, over the dark water, was Mildred. She

stood on a slender azure cylinder that came just to the surface. Tall,

slender, superbly graceful, with only the scant bodice of green silken

stuff about her, she looked like the statue of a goddess in white

marble. Her head was thrown up, golden-brown hair fell behind her

shoulders, and the pure notes of her song rang over the water.

Beyond her, all about her, were thousands upon thousands of the giant

crabs, swimming at the surface of the water. Their green antenna rose

above the water, a curious forest of luminous tentacles, flexing,

wavering. Green coils moved and swung in time to the strange rhythm of

her song.

The last note died. Her white arms fell in a gesture of finality. The

thousands of twisting green antennae vanished below the water, and the

giant red crabs swam swiftly back to the tall blue cylinders of their

submerged city.

* * * * *

The white goddess turned and saw us.

Her voice rang out in a golden shout of welcome. With a clean dive she

slipped into the water and came swimming swiftly toward us. Her slim

white body glided through the crystal water as smoothly as a fish.

Reaching the shore she sprang to her feet and ran to meet Ray.

"The Things come together when the giant bell rings, to listen to my

song," she said. "They like my singing, as they liked mother's. But

for that, they would not let us live. That is the reason they would

not let us go."

"I like your singing, too," Ray informed her. "Though at first you

made me cry. It was so lonely."

"The song was lonely because I have been lonely. Did you hear the glad

song I sang because you have come?"

"Sure! Great stuff! Made me feel like a kid at Christmas!"

"Come," she said. "We will eat."

Like a child, she took Ray's hand again, smiling naively up at him as

she led the way toward the three sapphire cylinders.

Back in the blue-vaulted dining room, Ray made Mildred sit with me at

the little metal table while he served the little brown cakes and the

dark-red soup and the fragrant amber drink. Mildred got up and brought

a great metal bowl filled with tiny purple fruits that had a

delicious, piquant tang.

Ray was deeply thoughtful as he ate. Suddenly he sat back and cried

out:

"I've got it!"

"Got what?" I demanded.

"I want that rifle! Mildred can find out where it is. Then, when she

sings, the crabs will all come. I'll get the gun, while she is

singing, and hide it. Then when it comes time to get out, she will

sing while you and I are getting our packs up the cliff. I can cover

them with the rifle while she gets up to us."

"Looks good enough," I agreed, "provided they all come to hear the

singing."

* * * * *

He explained the plan at greater length to the girl. She assured him

that the crabs all come when the bell-notes sound. She thought that

she could make them return her furs, and find out where they had put

the gun.

My feet were much better than they had been, and Mildred dressed them

again with the yellow oil. Ray examined them, said that I should be

able to walk as well as ever in a few days.

Considerable time went by. Since the crabs had taken our watches, we

had no very accurate way of counting days; but I think we slept about

a dozen times. Ray and Mildred spent a good deal of time together, and

seemed not altogether to hate each other. By the end of the time my

feet were quite well; I did not even lose a toe.

We went over our plans for escape in great detail. The crabs had

confiscated our clothing. Mildred managed to secure the return of her

furs, and, incidentally, while she was about it, learned where the

rifle was.

Fortunately, perhaps realizing that it would be ruined by water, the

crabs had not taken it to their submerged city. Being amphibious, they

lived above water as easily as below, and much of their industrial

equipment was above the surface. The great pumps which lifted the

white phosphorescent liquid from the canals back to the cone above the

ground were located beyond the great lake. I did not see the place,

but Ray tells me that they had great engines and a wealth of strange

and complex machinery there. It was at these pumps that they had left

our rifle and instruments, as Mildred found when she was recovering

her furs.

They had taken our food, and we prepared as much more as we could

carry, arranged sacks for it, and made quilted garments for ourselves.

* * * * *

Then the three brazen notes clanged out, and Mildred ran across the

beach and swam out to the blue cylinder to sing. Ray slipped hurriedly

away, while the green forest of antennae was still growing up from the

water about the girl.

I waited above the beach, enchanted by the haunting, wordless melody

of the gongs. It seemed that only a few minutes had passed, though it

may have been an hour or more, when Ray was by my side again. He

flourished the rifle.

"I've got it! In good shape, too. Hasn't even been fired, though it

looks like they have opened a box of cartridges, and cut open one or

two. Maybe they didn't understand the outfit--or it may be such a

primitive weapon that they aren't interested in it."

We hurried up to the building of blue cylinders and carefully hid the

gun and ammunition, as well as a sun compass, a pair of prism

binoculars, and a few other articles Ray had recovered.

In a few minutes Mildred, having seen Ray's return, finished her song

and ran up to join us. We arranged our packs, and waited the next call

of the throbbing brazen gong to make the attempt for freedom.

We slept twice again before the clang of the great gong. Ray and

Mildred were always together; I could not see that they were at all

impatient.

The bell note came, the awful brazen vibration of it ringing on the

black cavern roof. It came when we were eating, in the liquid

turquoise radiance of the lofty cylinder. We sprang out. Ray gave his

last directions to Mildred.

"Give us time to get to the top of the cliff by the shining fall. Then

swim ashore and run. They may not notice. And if they do, we give 'em

a taste of lead!"

I was not very much surprised when he took the girl in his arms and

put a burning kiss on her red lips. She gasped, but her struggles

subsided very quickly; she clung to him as he freed her.

She paused a moment in the door, before she ran down across the beach.

A radiant light of joy was burning in her great blue eyes, even though

tears were glistening there.

* * * * *

Ray and I waited, to give time for the giant crabs that guarded the

ladder to get away. In about ten more minutes the second brazen gong

sounded, and presently the third. We gathered up the heavy packs of

food. Ray took the rifle and I the binoculars, and we slipped out into

the brilliant mushroom forest.

I stepped confidently out of the jungle into the clearing below the

splendid opalescent fall of fire--and threw myself backward in

trembling panic. A flaming crimson ray cut hissing into the towering

mushrooms above my head.

Mildred's confidence that the crabs would all gather at the ringing of

the gong had been mistaken. The two guards had been waiting at the

foot of the ladder, their flaming heat-rays ready for use.

As I dived back into the jungle, I heard two quick reports of the

rifle. I scrambled awkwardly to my feet, beneath the heavy pack. Ray

stood alert beside me, the smoking rifle in his hand. The giant crabs

had collapsed by the foot of the ladder, in grotesque and hideous

metal-bound heaps of red shell and twisted limb. Blood was oozing from

a ragged hole in the head of each.

"Glad they were here," Ray muttered. "I wanted to try the gun out on

'em. They're soft enough beneath the shell; the bullet tears 'em up

inside. Let's get a move on!"

He sprang past the revolting carcasses. I followed, holding my nose

against their nauseating, charnel-house odor. We scrambled up the

metal ladder.

As we climbed, I could hear the haunting melody of Mildred's wordless

song coming faint across the distance. Once I glanced back for a

moment, and glimpsed her tiny white figure above the black water, with

the thousands of green antennae rising in a luminous forest about her.

We reached the top of the cliff, where the opalescent river plunged

down in the flaming fall. Ray chose convenient boulders for shelter

and quickly we flung ourselves flat. Ray replaced the fired cartridges

in the rifle and leveled it across the rock before him. I unslung the

binoculars and focussed them.

"Watch 'em close," Ray muttered. "And tell me when to shoot."

* * * * *

The black lake lay below us, with the weird city of sapphire cylinders

on its floor. I got the glasses upon Mildred's white form. Soon she

dived from the turquoise pedestal, swam swiftly ashore and vanished in

the vivid fungous jungle. The wavering green antennae vanished below

the water; I watched the crabs swimming away. Some of them climbed out

of the water and lumbered off in various directions.

In fifteen minutes the slender white form of Mildred appeared at the

foot of the ladder. She sprang over the dead crabs and scrambled

nimbly up. Soon she was halfway up the face of the cliff, and there

had been no sign of discovery. My hopes ran high.

I was sweeping the whole plain with the binoculars, while Ray peered

through the telescopic sights of the rifle. Suddenly I saw a giant

crab pause as he lumbered along the edge of the black lake. He rose

upright; his shining green antennae wavered. Then I saw him reaching

with a knobbed claw for a slender silver tube slung to his harness.

"Quick! The one by the lake! To the right of that canal!"

I pointed quickly. Ray swung his gun about, aimed. A broad red beam

flashed from the tube the thing carried, and fell upon the cliff. The

report of Ray's rifle rang thunderously in my ears. The red ray was

snapped off abruptly, and the giant crab rolled over into the black

water of the lake. Half a dozen of the huge crabs were in sight. They

all took alarm, probably having seen the flash of the red ray. They

raised grotesque heads, twisted stalked eyes and waved green antennae.

Some of them began to raise the metal tubes of the heat-ray.

"Let's get all there are in sight!" Ray muttered.

He began firing regularly, with deliberate precision. A few times he

had to take two shots, but ordinarily one was enough to bring down a

giant crab in a writhing red mass. Three times a red ray flashed out,

once at the girl clambering up the ladder, twice at our position above

the precipice. But the intense color of the ray announced its source,

and Ray stopped each before it could be focussed to do damage.

I looked over at Mildred and saw that she was still climbing bravely,

a little over a hundred feet below.

* * * * *

Then the great red crabs began to climb out of the water, heat-ray

tubes grasped in their claws. Ray fired as fast as he could load and

aim. Still he shot with deliberate care, and almost every shot was

effective.

Intense, ruby-red rays flashed up from the lake shore. Twice, one of

them beat scorchingly upon us for a moment. Once a rock beside us was

fused and cracked with the heat. But Ray fired rapidly, and the rays

winked out as fast as they were born.

He was powder-stained, black and grimy. The heat-ray had singed his

clothing. He was dripping perspiration. The gun was so hot that he

could hardly handle it. But still the angry bark of the rifle rang

out, almost with a deliberate rhythm. Ray was a fine shot in his youth

on his father's Arizona ranch, but his best shooting, I think, was

done from above that cascade of liquid fire, at the hordes of monster

scarlet crabs.

Mildred scrambled over the edge, unharmed. Her breast was heaving, but

her face was bright with joy.

"You are wonderful!" she gasped to Ray.

We seized the packs and beat a hurried retreat. A crimson forest of

the heat-rays flashed up behind us, and flamed upon the black walls

and roof of the cavern until glistening lava became incandescent,

cracked and fused.

We were below the line of the rays. Quickly we made the bend in the

cavern and followed at a halting run up the path beside the shimmering

river of opalescent light. Before us the torrent of fire fell in a

magnificent flaming arc from the roof.

We rounded the pool of lambent milk of flame, passed the roaring

torrent of coruscating liquid radiance and reached the ladder in the

square, metal shaft. "If we can get to the top before they can get up

here, we're safe," Ray said. "If we don't, this shaft will be a

chimney of fire."

In the haste of desperation, we attacked the thousand-foot climb. I

went first, Mildred below me, and Ray, with the rifle, in the rear.

Our heavy packs were a terrible impediment, but we dared not attempt

to go on without them. The metal rungs were four feet apart; it was no

easy task to scramble from one to the next, again and again, for

hundreds of times.

* * * * *

It must have taken us an hour to make it. We should have been caught

long before we reached the top, but the giant crabs were slow in their

lumbering movements. Despite their evident intelligence, they seemed

to lack anything like our railways and automobiles.

The cold gray light of the polar sky came about us; a dull,

purple-blue square grew larger above. I clambered over the last rung,

flung myself across the top of the metal shaft. Looking down at the

tiny fleck of white light so far below, I saw a bit of red move in it.

"A crab!" I shouted. "Hurry!"

Mildred was just below me. I took her pack and helped her over the

edge.

Red flame flared up the shaft.

We reached over, seized Ray's arms and fairly jerked him out of the

ruby ray.

The bitterly cold wind struck our hot, perspiring bodies as we

scrambled down the rungs outside the square metal shaft. Mildred

shivered in her thin attire.

"Out of the frying pan into the ice box!" Ray jested grimly as we

dropped, to the frozen plain.

Quickly we tore open our packs. Ray and I snatched out clothing and

wrapped up the trembling girl. In a few minutes we had her snugly

dressed in the fur garments that had been Major Meriden's. Then we got

into the quilted garments we had made for ourselves.

The intensely red heat-beam still flared up the shaft. Ray looked at

it in satisfaction.

"They'll have it so hot they can't get up it for some time yet," he

remarked hopefully.

We shouldered our packs and set out over the wilderness of snow,

turning our backs upon the metal-bound lake of fire, with the tall

cone of iridescent flame rising in its center.

The deep, purple-blue sky was clear, and, for a rarity, there was not

much wind. I doubt that the temperature was twenty below. But it was a

violent change from the warm cavern. Mildred was blue and shivering.

* * * * *

In two hours the metal rim below the great white cone had vanished

behind the black ice-crags. We passed near the wreck of Major

Meriden's plane and reached our last camp, where we had left the tent

sledge, primus stove, and most of our instruments. The tent was still

stretched, though banked with snow. We got Mildred inside, chafed her

hands, and soon had her comfortable.

Then Ray went out and soon returned with a sealed tin of oil from the

wrecked plane, with which he lit the primus stove. Soon the tent was

warm. We melted snow and cooked thick red soup. After the girl had

made a meal of the scalding soup, with the little golden cakes, she

professed to be feeling as well as ever.

"We can fix our plane!" Ray said. "There's a perfectly good prop on

Meriden's plane!"

We went back to the wreck, found the tools, and removed an undamaged

propeller. This we packed on the sledge, with a good supply of fuel

for the stove.

"I'm sure we're safe now, so far as the crab-things go," he said. "I

don't fancy they'd get around very well in the snow."

In an hour we broke camp, and made ten miles of the distance back to

the plane before we stopped. We were anxious about Mildred, but she

seemed to stand the journey admirably; she is a marvelous physical

specimen. She seemed running over with gay vivacity of spirit; she

asked innumerable questions of the world which she had known only at

second-hand from her mother's words.

* * * * *

The weather smiled on us during the march back to the plane as much as

it had frowned on the terrible journey to the cone. We had an

abundance of food and fuel, and we made it in eight easy stages. Once

there was a light fall of snow, but the air was unusually warm and

calm for the season.

We found the plane safe. It was the work of but a short time to remove

the broken propeller and replace it with the one we had brought from

the wrecked ship. We warmed and started the engine, broke the skids

loose from the ice, turned the plane around, and took off safely from

the tiny scrap of smooth ice.

Mildred seemed amazed and immensely delighted at the sensations of her

first trip aloft.

A few hours later we were landing beside the _Albatross_, in the

leaden blue sea beyond the ice barrier. Bluff Captain Harper greeted

us in amazed delight as we climbed to the deck.

"You're just in time!" he said. "The relief expedition we landed came

back a week ago. We had no idea you could still be alive, with only a

week's provisions. We were sailing to-morrow. But tell us! What

happened? Your passenger--"

"We just stopped to pick up my fiancee," Ray grinned. "Captain, may I

present Miss Mildred Meriden? We'll be wanting you to marry us right

away."

THE MENACE OF THE INSECT

It is possible that future study may tell man enough about insects to

enable him to eradicate them. This, however, is more than can be

reasonably expected, for the more we cultivate the earth the better we

make conditions for these enemies. The insect thrives on the work of

man. And having made conditions ideal for the insect, with great

expanses of cultivated food fitted to his needs, it is an optimist who

can believe that at the same time we can make other conditions which

will be so unfavorable as to cause him to disappear completely. The

two things do not go together.

The insect is much better fitted for life than is man. He can survive

long periods of famine, he can survive extremes of heat and cold. The

insect produces great numbers of young which have no long period of

infancy requiring the attention of the parents over a large part of

their life. Every function of the insect is directed toward the

propagation of the race and the use of minimum effort in every other

direction.

It is even possible in some cases, the water flea, for example, for

the female to produce young without the necessity of fertilization by

the male. In order to perform the necessary work to insure food

supplies for the winter other insects have developed highly

specialized workers, especially fitted to do particular kinds of

labor. Ants and termites are in this class.

If we examine the organization of insects closely we shall find but

one point at which they are vulnerable. This is in their lack of

ability to reason. True, there is considerable evidence to support the

belief that some insects are capable of simple reasoning, but the

development in this direction is only of the most elementary nature.

As compared to man it is safe to say that they do not reason. They are

guided by instinct.

This again is the most efficient way to organize their affairs. It

requires no long period of training. They can begin performing all

their useful functions as soon as their bodily development makes it

possible. No one need teach them how to catch their prey, how to build

their nests or shelters. Instinct takes care of this. But this,

obviously the best system in a world wholly governed by instinct, is

not so desirable when the instinctively actuated insect encounters

another form of life, as man, which is capable of reason. The

reasoning individual can play all kinds of tricks on the individual

who is actuated by instinct.

The Ghost World

_By Sewell Peaslee Wright_

[Illustration: _My whole attention was focused upon the strange

beings._]

[Sidenote: Commander John Hanson records another of his thrilling

interplanetary adventures with the Special Patrol Service.]

I was asleep when our danger was discovered, but I knew the instant

the attention signal sounded that the situation was serious. Kincaide,

my second officer, had a cool head, and he would not have called me

except in a tremendous emergency.

"Hanson speaking!" I snapped into the microphone. "What's up, Mr.

Kincaide?"

"A field of meteorites sweeping into our path, sir." Kincaide's voice

was tense. "I have altered our course as much as I dared and am

reducing speed at emergency rate, but this is the largest swarm of

meteorites I have ever seen. I am afraid that we must pass through at

least a section of it."

"With you in a moment, Mr. Kincaide!" I dropped the microphone and

snatched up my robe, knotting its cord about me as I hurried out of my

stateroom. In those days, interplanetary ships did not have their

auras of repulsion rays to protect them from meteorites, it must be

remembered. Two skins of metal were all that lay between the _Ertak_

and all the dangers of space.

I took the companionway to the navigating room two steps at a time and

fairly burst into the room.

Kincaide was crouched over the two charts that pictured the space

around us, microphone pressed to his lips. Through the plate glass

partition I could see the men in the operating room tensed over their

wheels and levers and dials. Kincaide glanced up as I entered, and

motioned with his free hand towards the charts.

One glance convinced me that he had not overestimated our danger. The

space to right and left, and above and below, was fairly peppered with

tiny pricks of greenish light that moved slowly across the milky faces

of the charts.

From the position of the ship, represented as a glowing red spark, and

measuring the distances roughly by means of the fine black lines

graved in both directions upon the surface of the chart, it was

evident to any understanding observer that disaster of a most terrible

kind was imminent.

* * * * *

Kincaide muttered into his microphone, and out of the tail of my eye I

could see his orders obeyed on the instant by the men in the operating

room. I could feel the peculiar, sickening surge that told of speed

being reduced, and the course being altered, but the cold, brutally

accurate charts before me assured me that no action we dared take

would save us from the meteorites.

"We're in for it, Mr. Kincaide. Continue to reduce speed as much as

possible, and keep bearing away, as at present. I believe we can avoid

the thickest portion of the field, but we shall have to take our

chances with the fringe."

"Yes, sir!" said Kincaide, without lifting his eyes from the chart.

His voice was calm and businesslike, now; with the responsibility on

my shoulders, as commander, he was the efficient, level-headed

thinking machine that had endeared him to me as both fellow-officer

and friend.

Leaving the charts to Kincaide, I sounded the general emergency

signal, calling every man and officer of the _Ertak's_ crew to his

post, and began giving orders through the microphone.

"Mr. Correy,"--Correy was my first officer--"please report at once to

the navigating room. Mr. Hendricks, make the rounds of all duty posts,

please, and give special attention to the disintegrator ray operators.

The ray generators are to be started at once, full speed." Hendricks,

I might say, was a junior officer, and a very good one, although

quick-tempered and excitable--failings of youth. He had only recently

shipped with us to replace Anderson Croy, who--but that has already

been recorded.[2]

[Footnote 2: "The Dark Side of Antri," in the January, 1931, issue of

Astounding Stories.]

These preparations made, I glanced at the twin charts again. The

peppering of tiny green lights, each of which represented a meteoritic

body, had definitely shifted in relation to the position of the

strongly-glowing red spark that was the _Ertak_, but a quick

comparison of the two charts showed that we would be certain to pass

through--again I use land terms to make my meaning clear--the upper

right fringe of the field.

The great cluster of meteorites was moving in the same direction as

ourselves now; Kincaide's change of course had settled that matter

nicely. Naturally, this was the logical course, since should we come

in contact with any of them, the impact would bear a relation to only

the _difference_ in our speeds, instead of the _sum_, as would be the

case if we struck at a wide angle.

* * * * *

It was difficult to stand without grasping a support of some kind, and

walking was almost impossible, for the reduction of our tremendous

speed, and even the slightest change of direction, placed terrific

strains upon the ship and everything in it. Space ships, at space

speeds, must travel like the old-fashioned bullets if those within are

to feel at ease.

"I believe, Mr. Kincaide, it might be well to slightly increase the

power in the gravity pads," I suggested. Kincaide nodded and spoke

briefly into his microphone; an instant later I felt my weight

increase perhaps fifty per cent, and despite the inertia of my body,

opposed to both the change in speed and direction of the _Ertak_, I

could now stand without support, and could walk without too much

difficulty.

The door of the navigating room was flung open, and Correy entered,

his face alight with curiosity and eagerness. An emergency meant

danger, and few beings in the universe have loved danger more than

Correy.

"We're in for it, Mr. Correy," I said, with a nod towards the charts.

"Swarm of meteorites, and we can't avoid them."

"Well, we've dodged through them before, sir," smiled Correy. "We can

do it again."

"I hope so, but this is the largest field of them I have ever seen.

Look at the charts: they're thicker than flies."

* * * * *

Correy glanced at the charts, slapped Kincaide across his bowed, tense

shoulders, and laughed aloud.

"Trust the old _Ertak_ to worm her way through, sir," he said. "The

ray crews are on duty, I presume?"

"Yes. But I doubt that the rays will be of much assistance to us.

Particularly if these are stony meteorites--and as you know, the odds

are about ten to one against their being of ferrous composition. The

rays, deducting the losses due to the utter lack of a conducting

medium, will be insufficient protection. They will help, of course.

The iron meteorites they will take care of effectively, but the

conglomerate nature of the stony meteorites does not make them

particularly susceptible to the disintegrating rays.

"We shall do what we can, but our success will depend largely upon

good luck--or Divine Providence."

"At any rate, sir," replied Correy, and his voice had lost some of its

lightness, "we are upon routine patrol and not upon special mission.

If we do crack up, there is no emergency call that will remain

unanswered."

"No," I said dryly. "There will be just another 'Lost in Space' report

in the records of the Service, and the _Ertak's_ name will go up on

the tablet of lost ships. In any case, we have done and shall do what

we can. In ten minutes we shall know all there is to know. That about

right, Mr. Kincaide?"

"Ten minutes?" Kincaide studied the charts with narrowed eyes,

mentally balancing distance and speed. "We should be within the danger

area in about that length of time, sir," he answered. "And out of

it--if we come out--three or four minutes later."

"We'll come out of it," said Correy positively.

I walked heavily across the room and studied the charts again. Space

above and below, to the right and the left of us, was powdered with

the green points of light.

* * * * *

Correy joined me, his feet thumping with the unaccustomed weight given

him by the increase in gravity. As he bent over the charts, I heard

him draw in his breath sharply.

Kincaide looked up. Correy looked up. I looked up. The glance of each

man swept the faces, read the eyes, of the other two. Then, with one

accord, we all three glanced up at the clocks--more properly, at the

twelve-figured dial of the Earth clock, for none of us had any great

love for the metric Universal system of time-keeping.

Ten minutes.... Less than that, now.

"Mr. Correy," I said, as calmly as I could, "you will relieve Mr.

Kincaide as navigating officer. Mr. Kincaide, present my compliments

to Mr. Hendricks, and ask him to explain the situation to the crew.

You will instruct the disintegrator ray operators in their duties, and

take charge of their activities. Start operation at your discretion;

you understand the necessity."

"Yes, sir!" Kincaide saluted sharply, and I returned his salute. We

did not shake hands, the Earth gesture of--strangely enough--both

greeting and farewell, but we both realized that this might well be a

final parting. The door closed behind him, and Correy and I were left

together to watch the creeping hands of the Earth clock, the twin

charts with their thick spatter of green lights, and the two fiery red

sparks, one on each chart, that represented the _Ertak_ sweeping

recklessly towards the swarming danger ahead.

* * * * *

In other accounts of my experiences in the Special Patrol Service I

feel that I have written too much about myself. After all, I have run

my race; a retired commander of the Service, and an old, old man, with

the century mark well behind me, my only use is to record, in this

fashion, some of those things the Service accomplished in the old days

when the worlds of the Universe were strange to each other, and space

travel was still an adventure to many.

The Universe is not interested in old men; it is concerned only with

youth and action. It forgets that once we were young men, strong,

impetuous, daring. It forgets what we did; but that has always been

so. It always will be so. John Hanson, retired Commander of the

Special Patrol Service, is fit only to amuse the present generation

with his tales of bygone days.

Well, so be it. I am content. I have lived greatly; certainly I would

not exchange my memories of those bold, daring days even for youth and

strength again, had I to live that youth and waste that strength in

this softened, gilded age.

But no more of this; it is too easy for an old man to rumble on about

himself. It is only the young John Hanson, Commander of the _Ertak_,

who can interest those who may pick up and read what I am writing

here.

I did not waste the minutes measured by that clock, grouped with our

other instruments in the navigating room of the _Ertak_. I wrote

hastily in the ship's log, stating the facts briefly and without

feeling. If we came through, the log would read better thus; if not,

and by some strange chance it came to human eyes, then the Universe

would know at least that the _Ertak's_ officers did not flinch from

even such a danger.

* * * * *

As I finished the entry, Correy spoke:

"Kincaide's estimate was not far off, sir," he said, with a swift

glance at the clock. "Here we go!" It was less than half a minute

short of the ten estimated by Kincaide.

I nodded and bent over the television disc--one of the huge, hooded

affairs we used in those days. Widening the field to the greatest

angle, and with low power, I inspected the space before us on all

sides.

The charts, operated by super-radio reflexes, had not lied about the

danger into which we were passing--had passed. We were in the midst of

a veritable swarm of meteorites of all sizes.

They were not large; I believe the largest I saw had a mass of not

more than three or four times that of the _Ertak_ herself. Some of the

smaller bodies were only fifty or sixty feet in diameter.

They were jagged and irregular in shape, and they seemed to spin at

varying speeds, like tiny worlds.

As I watched, fixing my view now on the space directly in our path, I

saw that our disintegrator ray men were at work. Deep in the bowels of

the _Ertak_, the moan of the ray generators had deepened in note; I

could even feel the slight vibration beneath my feet.

One of the meteorites slowly crumbled on top, the dust of

disintegration hovering in a compact mass about the body. More and

more of it melted away. The spinning motion grew irregular, eccentric,

as the center of gravity was changed by the action of the ray.

Another ray, two more, centered on the wobbling mass. It was directly

in our path, looming up larger and larger every second.

Faster and faster it melted, the rays eating into it from four sides.

But it was perilously near now; I had to reduce power in order to keep

all of it within the field of my disc. If--

The thing vanished before the very nose of the ship, not an instant

too soon. I glanced up at the surface temperature indicator, and saw

the big black hand move slowly for a degree or two, and stop. It was a

very sensitive instrument, and registered even the slight friction of

our passage through the disintegrated dust of the meteorite.

* * * * *

Our rays were working desperately, but disintegrator rays are not

nearly so effective in space as in an atmosphere of some kind. Half a

dozen times it seemed that we must crash head on into one of the

flying bodies, but our speed was reduced now to such an extent that we

were going but little faster than the meteorites, and this fact was

all that saved us. We had more time for utilizing our rays.

We nosed upward through the trailing fringe of the swarm in safety.

The great field of meteorites was now below and ahead of us. We had

won through! The _Ertak_ was safe, and--

"There seems to be another directly above us, sir," commented Correy

quietly, speaking for the first time since we had entered the area of

danger. "I believe your disc is not picking it up."

"Thank you, Mr. Correy," I said. While operating on an entirely

different principle, his two charts had certain very definite

advantages: they showed the entire space around us, instead of but a

portion.

I picked up the meteorite he had mentioned without difficulty. It was

a large body, about three times the mass of the _Ertak_, and some

distance above us--a laggard in the group we had just eluded.

"Will it coincide with our path at any point, Mr. Correy?" I asked

doubtfully. The television disc could not, of course, give me this

information.

"I believe so; yes," replied Correy, frowning over his charts. "Are

the rays on it, sir?"

"Yes. All of them, I judge, but they are making slow work of it." I

fell silent, bending lower over the great hooded disc.

There were a dozen, a score of rays playing upon the surface of the

meteorite. A halo of dust hung around the rapidly diminishing body,

but still the mass melted all too slowly.

* * * * *

Pressing the attention signal for Kincaide, I spoke sharply into the

microphone:

"Mr. Kincaide, is every ray on that large meteorite above us?"

"Yes, sir," he replied instantly.

"Full power?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well; carry on, Mr. Kincaide." I turned to Correy; he had just

glanced from his charts to the clock, with its jerking second hand,

and back to his charts.

"They'll have to do it in the next ten seconds, sir," he said.

"Otherwise--" Correy shrugged, and his eyes fixed with a peculiar,

fascinated stare on the charts. He was looking death squarely in the

eyes.

Ten seconds! It was not enough. I had watched the rays working, and I

knew their power to disintegrate this death-dealing stone that was

hurtling along above us while we rose, helplessly, into its path.

I did not ask Correy if it was possible to alter the course enough,

and quickly enough, to avoid that fateful path. Had it been possible

without tearing the _Ertak_ to pieces with the strain of it, Correy

would have done it seconds ago.

I glanced up swiftly at the relentless, jerking second hand. Seven

seconds gone! Three seconds more.

The rays were doing all that could be expected of them. There was only

a tiny fragment of the meteorite left, and it was dwindling swiftly.

But our time was passing even more rapidly.

The bit of rock loomed up at me from the disc. It seemed to fly up

into my face, to meet me.

"Got us, Correy!" I said hoarsely. "Good-by, old-man!"

I think he tried to reply. I saw his lips open; the flash of the

bright light from the ethon tubes on his big white teeth.

Then there was a crash that shook the whole ship. I shot into the air.

I remember falling ... terribly.

A blinding flash of light that emanated from the very center of my

brain, a sickening sense of utter catastrophe, and ... blackness.

* * * * *

I think I was conscious several seconds before I finally opened my

eyes. My mind was still wandering; my thoughts kept flying around in

huge circles that kept closing in.

We had hit the meteorite. I remembered the crash. I remembered

falling. I remembered striking my head.

But I was still alive. There was air to breathe and there was firm

material under me. I opened my eyes.

For the first instant, it seemed I was in an utterly strange room.

Nothing was familiar. Everything was--was _inverted_. Then I glanced

upward, and I saw what had happened.

I was lying on the ceiling of the navigating room. Over my head were

the charts, still glowing, the chronometers in their gimballed beds,

and the television disc. Beside me, sprawled out limply, was Correy, a

trickle of dried blood on his cheek. A litter of papers, chairs,

framed licenses and other movable objects were strewn on and around

us.

My first instinctive, foolish thought was that the ship was upside

down. Man has a ground-trained mind, no matter how many years he may

travel space. Then, of course, I realized that in the open void there

is not top nor bottom; the illusion is supplied, in space ships, by

the gravity pads. Somehow, the shock of impact had reversed the

polarity of the leads to the pads, and they had become repulsion pads.

That was why I had dropped from the floor to the ceiling.

All this flashed through my mind in an instant as I dragged myself

toward Correy. Dragged myself because my head was throbbing so that I

dared not stand up, and one shoulder, my left, was numb.

* * * * *

For an instant I thought that Correy was dead. Then, as I bent over

him, I saw a pulse leaping just under the angle of his jaw.

"Correy, old man!" I whispered. "Do you hear me?" All the formality of

the Service was forgotten for the time. "Are you hurt badly?"

His eyelids flickered, and he sighed; then, suddenly, he looked up at

me--and smiled!

"We're still here, sir?"

"After a fashion. Look around; see what's happened?"

He glanced about curiously, frowning. His wits were not all with him

yet.

"We're in a mess, aren't we?" he grinned. "What's the matter?"

I told him what I thought, and he nodded slowly, feeling his head

tenderly.

"How long ago did it happen?" he asked. "The blooming clock's upside

down; can you read it?"

I could--with an effort.

"Over twenty minutes," I said. "I wonder how the rest of the men are?"

With an effort, I got to my feet and peered into the operating room.

Several of the men were moving about, dazedly, and as I signalled to

them, reassuringly, a voice hailed us from the doorway:

"Any orders, sir?"

It was Kincaide. He was peering over what had been the top of the

doorway, and he was probably the most disreputable-looking officer who

had ever worn the blue-and-silver uniform of the Service. His nose was

bloody and swollen to twice its normal size. Both eyes were blackened,

and his hair, matted with blood, was plastered in ragged swirls across

his forehead.

"Yes, Mr. Kincaide; plenty of them. Round up enough of the men to

locate the trouble with the gravity pads; there's a reversed

connection somewhere. But don't let them make the repairs until the

signal is given. Otherwise, we'll all fall on our heads again. Mr.

Correy and I will take care of the injured."

* * * * *

The next half hour was a trying one. Two men had been killed outright,

and another died before we could do anything to save him. Every man in

the crew was shaken up and bruised, but by the time the check was

completed, we had a good half of our personnel on duty.

Returning at last to the navigating room, I pressed the attention

signal for Kincaide, and got his answer immediately.

"Located the trouble yet, Mr. Kincaide?" I asked anxiously.

"Yes, sir! Mr. Hendricks has been working with a group of men and has

just made his report. They are ready when you are."

"Good!" I drew a sigh of relief. It had been easier than I thought.

Pressing the general attention signal, I broadcasted the warning,

giving particular instructions to the men in charge of the injured.

Then I issued orders to Hendricks:

"Reverse the current in five seconds, Mr. Hendricks, and stand by for

further instructions."

Hastily, then, Correy and I followed the orders we had given the men.

Briefly we stood on our heads against the wall, feeling very foolish,

and dreading the fall we knew was coming.

It came. We slid down the wall and lit heavily on our feet, while the

litter that had been on the ceiling with us fell all around us.

Miraculously, the ship seemed to have righted herself. Correy and I

picked ourselves up and looked around.

"We're still operating smoothly," I commented with a sweeping glance

at the instruments over the operating table. "Everything seems in

order."

"Did you notice the speed indicator, sir?" asked Correy grimly. "When

he fell, one of the men in the operating room must have pulled the

speed lever all the way over. We're at maximum space speed, sir, and

have been for nearly an hour, with no one at the controls."

* * * * *

We stared at each other dully. Nearly an hour, at maximum space

speed--a speed seldom used except in case of great emergency. With no

one at the controls, and the ship set at maximum deflection from her

course.

That meant that for nearly an hour we had been sweeping into infinite

space in a great arc, at a speed I disliked to think about.

"I'll work out our position at once," I said, "and in the meantime,

reduce speed to normal as quickly as possible. We must get back on our

course at the earliest possible moment."

We hurried across to the charts that were our most important aides in

proper navigation. By comparing the groups of stars there with our

space charts of the universe, the working out of our position was

ordinarily, a simple matter.

But now, instead of milky rectangles, ruled with fine black lines,

with a fiery red speck in the center and the bodies of the universe

grouped around in green points of light, there were only nearly blank

rectangles, shot through with vague, flickering lights that revealed

nothing except the presence of disaster.

"The meteoric fragment wiped out some of our plates, I imagine," said

Correy slowly. "The thing's useless."

I nodded, staring down at the crawling lights on the charts.

"We'll have to set down for repairs, Mr. Correy. If," I added, "we can

find a place."

Correy glanced up at the attraction meter.

"I'll take a look in the big disc," he suggested. "There's a sizeable

body off to port. Perhaps our luck's changed."

He bent his head under the big hood, adjusting the controls until he

located the source of the registered attraction.

"Right!" he said, after a moment's careful scrutiny. "She's as big as

Earth, I'd venture, and I believe I can detect clouds, so there should

be atmosphere. Shall we try it, sir?"

"Yes. We're helpless until we make repairs. As big as Earth, you said?

Is she familiar?"

Correy studied the image under the hood again, long and carefully.

"No, sir," he said, looking up and shaking his head. "She's a new one

on me."

* * * * *

Conning the ship first by means of the television disc, and navigating

visually as we neared the strange sphere, we were soon close enough to

make out the physical characteristics of this unknown world.

Our spectroscopic tests had revealed the presence of atmosphere

suitable for breathing, although strongly laden with mineral fumes

which, while possibly objectionable, would probably not be dangerous.

So far as we could see, there was but one continent, somewhat north of

the equator, roughly triangular in shape, with its northernmost point

reaching nearly to the Pole.

"It's an unexplored world, sir. I'm certain of that," said Correy. "I

am sure I would have remembered that single, triangular continent had

I seen it on any of our charts." In those days, of course, the

Universe was by no means so well mapped as it is today.

"If not unknown, it is at least uncharted," I replied. "Rough looking

country, isn't it? No sign of life, either, that the disc will

reveal."

"That's as well, sir. Better no people than wild natives who might

interfere with our work. Any choice in the matter of a spot on which

to set her down?"

I inspected the great, triangular continent carefully. Towards the

north it was a mass of snow covered mountains, some of them, from

their craters, dead volcanoes. Long spurs of these ranges reached

southward, with green and apparently fertile valleys between. The

southern edge was covered with dense tropical vegetation; a veritable

jungle.

"At the base of that central spur there seems to be a sort of

plateau," I suggested. "I believe that would be a likely spot."

"Very well, sir," replied Correy, and the old _Ertak_, reduced to

atmospheric speed, swiftly swept toward the indicated position, while

Correy kept a wary eye on the surface temperature gauge, and I swept

the terrain for any sign of intelligent life.

* * * * *

I found a number of trails, particularly around the base of the

foothills, but they were evidently game trails, for there were no

dwelling places of any kind; no cities, no villages, not even a single

habitation of any kind that the searching eyes of the disc could

detect.

Correy set her down as neatly and as softly as a rose petal drifts to

the ground. Roses, I may add, are a beautiful and delicate flower,

with very soft petals, peculiar to my native Earth.

We opened the main exit immediately. I watched the huge, circular door

back slowly out of its threads, and finally swing aside, swiftly and

silently, in the grip of its mighty gimbals, with the weird,

unearthly feeling I have always had when about to step foot on some

strange star where no man has trod before.

The air was sweet, and delightfully fresh after being cooped up for

weeks in the _Ertak_, with her machine-made air. A little thinner, I

should judge, than the air to which we were accustomed, but strangely

exhilarating, and laden with a faint scent of some unknown

constituent--undoubtedly the mineral element our spectroscope had

revealed but not identified. Gravity, I found upon passing through the

exit, was normal. Altogether an extremely satisfactory repair station.

Correy's guess as to what had happened proved absolutely accurate.

Along the top of the _Ertak_, from amidships to within a few feet of

her pointed stem, was a jagged groove that had destroyed hundreds of

the bright, coppery discs, set into the outer skin of the ship, that

operated our super-radio reflex charts. The groove was so deep, in

places, that it must have bent the outer skin of the _Ertak_ down

against the inner skin. A foot or more--it was best not to think of

what would have happened then.

* * * * *

By the time we completed our inspection dusk was upon us--a long,

lingering dusk, due, no doubt, to the afterglow resulting from the

mineral content of the air. I'm no white-skinned, stoop-shouldered

laboratory man, so I'm not sure that was the real reason. It sounds

logical, however.

"Mr. Correy, I think we shall break out our field equipment and give

all men not on watch an opportunity to sleep out in the fresh air," I

said. "Will you give the orders, please?"

"Yes, sir. Mr. Hendricks will stand the eight to twelve watch as

usual?"

I nodded.

"Mr. Kincaide will relieve him at midnight, and you will take over at

four."

"Very well, sir." Correy turned to give the orders, and in a few

minutes an orderly array of shelter tents made a single street in

front of the fat, dully-gleaming side of the _Ertak_. Our tents were

at the head of this short company street, three of them in a little

row.

After the evening meal, cooked over open fires, with the smoke of the

very resinous wood we had collected hanging comfortably in the still

air, the men gave themselves up to boisterous, noisy games, which, I

confess, I should have liked very much to participate in. They raced

and tumbled around the two big fires like schoolboys on a lark. Only

those who have spent most of their days in the metal belly of a space

ship know the sheer joy of utter physical freedom.

Correy, Kincaide and I sat before our tents and watched them, chatting

about this and that--I have long since forgotten what. But I shall

never forget what occurred just before the watch changed that night.

Nor will any man of the _Ertak's_ crew.

* * * * *

It was just a few minutes before midnight. The men had quieted down

and were preparing to turn in. I had given orders that this first

night they could suit themselves about retiring; a good officer, and I

tried to be one, is never afraid to give good men a little rein, now

and then.

The fires had died down to great heaps of red coals, filmed with

ashes, and, aside from the brilliant galaxy of stars overhead, there

was no light from above. Either this world had no moons, not even a

single moon, like my native Earth, or it had not yet arisen.

Kincaide rose lazily, stretched himself, and glanced at his watch.

"Seven till twelve, sir," he said. "I believe I'll run along and

relieve--"

He never finished that sentence. From somewhere there came a rushing

sound, and a damp, stringy net, a living, horrible, _something_,

descended upon us out of the night.

In an instant, what had been an orderly encampment became a bedlam. I

tried to fight against the stringy, animated, nearly intangible mass,

or masses, that held me, but my arms, my legs, my whole body, was

bound as with strings and loops of elastic bands.

Strange whispering sounds filled the air, audible above the shouting

of the men. The net about me grew tighter; I felt myself being lifted

from the ground. Others were being treated the same way; one of the

_Ertak's_ crew shot straight up, not a dozen feet away, writhing and

squirming. Then, at an elevation of perhaps twice my height, he was

hurried away.

Hendrick's voice called out my name from the _Ertak's_ exit, and I

shouted a warning:

"Hendrick! Go back! Close the emergency--" Then a gluey mass cut

across my mouth, and, as though carried on huge soft springs, I was

hurried away, with the sibilant, whispering sounds louder and closer

than ever. With me, as nearly as I could judge, went every man who had

not been on duty in the ship.

* * * * *

I ceased struggling, and immediately the rubbery network about me

loosened. It seemed to me that the whisperings about me were suddenly

approving. We were in the grip, then, of some sort of intelligent

beings, ghost-like and invisible though they were.

After a time, during which we were all, in a ragged group, being borne

swiftly towards the mountains, all at a common level from the ground,

I managed to turn my head so that I could see, against the star-lit

sky, something of the nature of the things that had made us captive.

As is not infrequently the case, in trying to describe things of an

utterly different world, I find myself at a loss for words. I think of

jellyfish, such as inhabit the seas of most of the inhabited planets,

and yet this is not a good description.

These creatures were pale, and almost completely transparent. What

their forms might be, I could not even guess. I could make out

writhing, tentacle-like arms, and wrinkled, flabby excrudescences and

that was all. That these creatures were huge, was evident from the

fact that they, apparently walking, from the irregular, undulating

motion, held us easily ten or a dozen feet from the ground.

With the release of the pressure about my body I was able to talk

again, and I called out to Correy, who was fighting his way along,

muttering, angrily, just ahead of me.

"Correy! No use fighting them. Save your strength, man!"

"Then? What are they, in God's name? What spawn of hell--"

"The Commander is right, Correy," interrupted Kincaide, who was not

far from my first officer. "Let's get our breaths and try to figure

out what's happened. I'm winded!" His voice gave plentiful evidence of

the struggle he had put up.

"I want to know where I'm going, and why!" growled Correy, ceasing his

struggling, nevertheless. "What have us? Are they fish or flesh or

fowl?"

"I think we shall know before very long, Correy," I replied. "Look

ahead!"

* * * * *

The bearers of the men in the fore part of the group had apparently

stopped before a shadowy wall, like the face of a cliff. Rapidly, the

rest of us were brought up, until we were in a compact group, some in

sitting positions, some upside down, the majority reclining on back or

side. The whispering sound now was intense and excited, as though our

strange bearers awaited some momentous happening.

I took advantage of the opportunity to speak very briefly to my

companions.

"Men, I'll admit frankly that I don't know what we're up against," I

said. "But I do know this: we'll come out on top of the heap. Conserve

your strength, keep your eyes open, and be prepared to obey,

instantly, any orders that may be issued: I know that last remark is

not needed. If any of you should see or learn something of interest or

value, report at once to Mr. Correy, Mr. Kincaide or my--"

A simultaneous, involuntary exclamation from the men interrupted me,

and it was not surprising that this was so, for the wall before us had

suddenly opened, and there was a great burst of yellow light in our

faces. A strong odor, like the faint scent we had first noticed in the

air, but infinitely more powerful, struck our nostrils, but I was not

conscious of the fact for several seconds. My whole attention, my

every startled thought, was focused upon the group of strange beings,

silhouetted against the glowing light, that stood in the opening.

* * * * *

Imagine, if you can, a huge globe, perhaps eight feet in diameter,

flattened slightly at the bottom, and supported on six short, huge

stumps, like the feet of an elephant, and topped by an excrudescence

like a rounded coning tower, merging into the globular body. From

points slightly below this excrudescence, visualize six long, limp

tentacles, so long that they drop from the equators of these animated

spheres, and trail on the ground. Now you have some conception of the

beings that stood before us.

A sharp, sibilant whispering came from one of these figures, to be

answered in an eager chorus from our bearers. There was a reply like a

command, and the group in the doorway marched forward. One by one

these visible tentacles wrapped themselves around a member of the

_Ertak's_ crew, each one of the globular creatures bearing one of us.

I heard a disappointed whisper go up from the outer darkness where,

but a moment before, we had been. Then there was a grating sound, and

a thud as the stone doorway was rolled back into place.

The entrance was sealed. We were prisoners indeed!

"All right, now what?" gritted Correy. "God! If I ever get a hand

loose!"

Swiftly, each of us held above the head-like excrudescence atop the

globular body of the thing that held us, we were carried down a

widening rocky corridor, towards the source of the yellow light that

beat about us.

* * * * *

The passage led to a great cavern, irregular in shape, and apparently

possessed of numerous other outlets which converged here.

I am not certain as to the size of the cavern, save that it was great,

and that the roof was so high in most sections that it was lost in

shadow.

The great cavern was nearly filled with creatures similar to those

which were bearing us, and they fell back in orderly passage to permit

our conductors to pass.

I could see, now, that the hump atop each rounded body was a travesty

of a head, hairless, and without a neck. Their features were

particularly hideous, and I shall pass over a description as rapidly

as possible.

The eyes were round, and apparently lidless; a pale drab or bluff in

color. Instead of a nose, as, we understand the term, they had a

convoluted rosette in the center of the face, not unlike the olfactory

organ of a bat. Their ears were placed as are ours, but were of thin,

pale parchment, and hugged the side of the head tightly. Instead of a

mouth, there was a slightly depressed oval of fluttering skin near the

point where the head melted into the rounded body: the rapid

fluttering or vibration of this skin produced the whispering sound I

have already remarked.

The cavern, as I have said, was flooded with yellow light, which came

from a great column of fire near the center of the clear space. I had

no opportunity to inspect the exact arrangements but from what I did

see, I judged that this flame was fed by some sort of highly

inflammable substance, not unlike crude oil, except that it burned

clearly and without smoke. This substance was conducted to the font

from which the flame leaped by means of a large pipe of hollow reed or

wood.

At the far end of the cavern a procession entered from one of the

passages--nine figures similar to those which bore us, save that by

the greater darkness of their skin, and the wrinkles upon both face

and body, I judged these to be older than the rest. From the respect

with which they were treated, and the dignity of their movements, I

gathered that these were persons of authority, a surmise which quickly

verified itself.

* * * * *

These nine elders arranged themselves, standing, in the form of a

semicircle, the center creature standing a pace or two in front of the

others. At a whispered command, we were all dumped unceremoniously on

the floor of the cavern before this august council of nine.

Nine pairs of fish-like, unblinking eyes inspected us, whether with

enmity or otherwise; I could not determine. One of the nine spoke

briefly to one of our conductors, and received an even more brief

reply.

I felt the gaze of the creature in the center fix on me. I had taken

my proper position in front of my men; he apparently recognized me as

the leader of the group.

In a sharp whisper, he addressed me; I gathered from the tone that he

uttered a command, but I could only shake my head in response. No

words could convey thought from his mind to mine--but we did have a

means of communication at hand.

"Mr. Correy," I said, "your menore, please!" I released my own from

the belt which held it, along with the other expeditionary equipment

which we always wore when outside our ship, and placed it in position

upon my head, motioning for one of the nine to do likewise with

Correy's menore.

They watched me suspiciously, despite my attempt to convey, by gestures,

that by means of these instruments we could convey thoughts to each other.

The menores of those days were bulky, heavy things, and undoubtedly they

looked dangerous to these creatures: thought-transference instruments at

that time were complicated affairs.

* * * * *

However, I must have made myself partially understood, at least, for

the chief of the nine uttered a whispered command to one of the beings

who had borne us to the large cavern, and motioned with a writhing

gesture of one tentacle that I was to place the menore upon this

creature's head.

"The old boy's playing it safe, sir," muttered Correy, chuckling.

"Wants to try it out on the dog first."

"Right!" I nodded, and, not without difficulty, placed the other

menore upon the rounded dome of the individual selected for the trial.

Both instruments were adjusted to full power, and I concentrated my

mental energy upon the simple pictures that I thought I could convey

to the limited mentality of which I suspected these creatures,

watching his fishy eyes the while.

It was several seconds before he realized what was happening; then he

began talking excitedly to the waiting nine. The words fairly burned

themselves in my consciousness, but of course were utterly

unintelligible to me. Before the creature had finished, a lash-like

tentacle shot out from the chief of the nine and removed the menore; a

moment later it reposed, at a rather rakish slant, on the shining dome

of its new possessor.

"Get anything, sir?" asked Correy in a low voice.

"Not yet. I'm trying to make him see how we came here, and that we're

friends. Then I'll see what I can get out of him; he'll have to get

the idea of coming back at me with pictures instead of words, and it

may take a long time to make him understand."

It did take a long time. I could feel the sweat trickling down my face

as I strove to make him understand. His eyes revealed wonderment and a

little fear, but an almost utter lack of understanding.

I pictured for him the heavens, and our ship sailing along through

space. Then I showed him the _Ertak_ coming to rest on the plateau,

and he made little impatient noises as though to convey that he knew

all about that.

* * * * *

After a long time he got the idea. Crudely, dimly, he pictured the

_Ertak_ leaving this strange world, and soaring off into vacant space.

Then his scene faded out, and he pictured the same thing again, as one

might repeat a question not understood. He wanted to know where we

would go if we left this world of his.

I pictured for him other worlds, peopled with men more or less like

myself. I showed him the great cities, and the fleets of ships like

the _Ertak_ that plied between them. Then, as best I could, I asked

him about himself and his people.

It came to me jerkily and poorly pictured, but I managed to piece out

the story. Whether I guess correctly on all points, I am not sure, nor

will I ever be sure. But this is the story as I got it.

These people at one time lived in the open, and all the people of this

world were like those in the cavern, possessed of opaque bodies and

great strength. There were none of the ghost-like creatures who had

captured us.

But after a long time, a ruling class arose. They tried to dominate

the masses, and the masses refused to be dominated. But the ruling

classes were wise, and versed in certain sciences; the masses were

ignorant. So the ruling classes devised a plan.

These creatures did not eat. There was a tradition that at one time

they had had mouths, as I had, but that was not known. Their strength,

their vitality, came from the powerful mineral vapor which came forth

from the bowels of the earth. The ruling classes decided that if they

could control the supply of this vapor, they would have the whip hand,

and they set about realizing this condition.

* * * * *

It was quickly done. All the sources of supply, save one, were sealed.

This one source of supply was the cavern in which we stood. These were

members of the ruling class, and outside was the rabble, starved and

unhappy, living on the faint seepage of the vital fumes, without which

they became almost bodiless, and the helpless slaves of those within

the cavern.

These creatures, then, were boneless; as boneless as sponges, and,

like sponges, capable of absorbing huge quantities of a foreign

substance, which distended them and gave them weight. I could see,

now, why the rotund bodies sagged and flattened at the base, and why

six short, stubby legs were needed to support that body. There was

only tissue, unsupported by bone, to bear the weight!

This chief of the nine went on to show me how ruthlessly, how cruelly

those within the cavern ruled those without. The substance that fed

the flame had to be gathered and a great reservoir on the side of the

mountain kept filled. Great masses of dry, sweet grass, often changed,

must be harvested and brought to the entrance of the cavern, for

bedding. A score of other tasks kept the outsiders busy always--and

the driving force was that, did the slaves become disobedient, the

slight supply of mineral vapor available in the outside world would be

cut off utterly, and all outside would surely die, slowly and in

agony.

Those within the cavern were the rulers. They would always remain the

rulers, and those outside would remain the slaves to wait upon them.

And we--how strangely he pictured us, as he saw us!--were not to

return to our queer worlds, that we might bring many other ships like

the _Ertak_ back to interfere. No.

The pupils of his eyes contracted, and the leafy structure of his nose

fluttered as though with strong emotion.

No, we would not go back. He would give a signal to those of his

creatures who stood behind us--a sort of soldiery, I gathered--and our

heads, our legs, our arms, would be torn from our bodies. Then we

would not go back to bring--

* * * * *

That was enough for me.

"Men!" I spoke softly, but with an intensity that gave me their

instant attention, "it's going to be a fight for life. When I give the

signal, make a rush for the entrance by which we came in. I'll lead

the way. Use your pistols, and your bombs if necessary. All

right--forward!"

Correy's great shout rang out after mine, and I flung my menore in the

face of the nearest guard. It bounced off as though it had struck a

rubber ball. Behind me, one of the men called out sharply; I heard a

sharp crunch of bone, and with a pang realized that the _Ertak's_ log

would have at least one death to record.

A dozen tentacles lashed out at me, and I sprayed their owners with

pellets from my atomic pistol. The air was filled with the shouts of

my men and the whispers of our enemies. All around me I could hear the

screaming of ricochets from our pistols. Twice atomic bombs exploded

not far away, and the solid rock shook beneath my feet. Something shot

by close to my face; an instant later a limp bundle in the blue and

silver uniform of our Service struck the rock wall of the cavern,

thirty feet away. The strength in those rubbery tentacles was

terrible.

The pistols seemed to have but little effect. They wounded, but they

did not kill unless the pellet struck the head. Then the victim

rolled over, rocking idiotically on its middle.

"In the head, men!" I shouted. "That downs them! And keep the bombs in

action. Throw them against the walls of the cavern. Take a chance!"

A ragged cheer went up, and I heard Correy's voice raised in angry

conversation with the enemy:

"You will, eh? There!... Now!... Ah!--right--through--the--eye.

That's--the place!"

* * * * *

A score of times I was grasped and held by the writhing arms of the

angry horde whispering all around me. Each time I literally shot the

tentacle away with my atomic pistol, leaving the severed end to unwrap

itself and drop from my struggling body. The things had no blood in

them.

Steadily, we fought our way toward the doorway, out of the cavern,

down the passageway, pressed into a compact, sweating mass by the

pressure of the eager bodies around us. I have never heard any sound

even remotely like the babel of angry, sibilant whispering that beat

against the walls and roof of that cavern.

I had saved my own bombs for a specific purpose, and now I unslung

them and managed to work them up above my shoulders, one in either

hand.

"I'm going to try to blow the entrance clear, men," I shouted. "The

instant I fling the bombs, drop! The fragments will be stopped by the

enemy crowding around us. One ... two ... three ... _drop_!"

The two bombs exploded almost simultaneously. The ground shook, and

all over the cavern masses of stone came crashing to the floor. Bits

of rock hummed and shrieked over our heads. And--yes! There was a

draft of cooler, purer air on our faces. The bombs had done their

work.

"One more effort and we're outside, men," I called. "The passage is

open, and there are only a few of the enemy before us. Ready?"

"Ready!" went up the hoarse shout.

"Then, forward!"

It was easy to give the command, but hard to execute it. We were

pressed so hard that only the men on the outside of the group could

use their weapons. And our captors were making a terrible, desperate

effort to hold us.

Two more of our men were literally torn to pieces before my eyes, but

I had the satisfaction of ripping holes in the heads of the creatures

whose tentacles had done the beastly work. And in the meantime we were

working our way slowly but surely to the entrance.

* * * * *

I glanced up as I dodged out into the open. That soft humming sound

was familiar, and properly so. There, at an elevation of less than

fifty feet, was the _Ertak_, with Hendricks standing in the exit,

leaning forward at a perilous angle.

"Ahoy the _Ertak_!" I hailed. "Descend at once!"

"Right, sir!" Hendricks turned to relay the order, and, as the rest of

the men burst forth from the cavern, the ship struck the ground before

us.

"All hands board ship!" I ordered. "Lively, now." As many years as I

have commanded men, I have never seen an order obeyed with more

alacrity.

I was the last man to enter, and as I did so, I turned for a last

glance at the enemy.

They could not come through the small opening my bombs had driven in

the rock, although they were working desperately to enlarge it.

Leaping back and forth between me and the entrance I could see the

vague, shadowy figures of the outside slaves, eagerly seeping up the

life-giving fumes that escaped from the cavern.

"Your orders, sir?" asked Hendricks anxiously; he was a very young

officer, and he had been through a very trying experience.

"Ascend five hundred feet, Mr. Hendricks," I said thoughtfully.

"Directly over this spot. Then I'll take over.

"It isn't often," I added, "that the Service concerns itself with

economic conditions. This, however, is one of the exceptions."

"Yes, sir," said Hendricks, for the very good reason, I suppose, that

that was about all a third officer could say to his commander, under

the circumstances.

* * * * *

"Five hundred feet, sir," said Hendricks.

"Very well," I nodded, and pressed the attention signal of the

non-commissioned officer in charge of the big forward ray projector.

"Ott? Commander Hanson speaking. I have special orders for you."

"Yes, sir!"

"Direct your ray, narrowed to normal beam and at full intensity, on

the spot directly below. Keep the ray motionless, and carry on until

further orders. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly, sir." The disintegrator ray generators deepened their purr

as I turned away.

"I trust, sir, that I did the right thing in following you with the

_Ertak_?" asked Hendricks. "I was absolutely without precedent, and

the circumstances were so mysterious--"

"You handled the situation very well indeed," I told him. "Had you not

been waiting when we fought our way into the open, the nearly

invisible things on the outside might have--but you don't know about

them yet."

Picking up the microphone again, I ordered a pair of searchlights to

follow the disintegrator ray, and made my way forward, where I could

observe activities through a port.

The ray was boring straight down into a shoulder of a rocky hill, and

the bright beams of the searchlights glowed redly with the dust of

disintegration. Here and there I could see the shadowy, transparent

forms of the creatures that the self-constituted rulers of this world

had doomed to a demi-existence, and I smiled grimly to myself. The

tables would soon be turned.

* * * * *

For perhaps an hour the ray melted its way into the solid rock, while

I stood beside Ott and his crew, watching. Then, down below us, things

began to happen.

Little fragments of rock flew up from the shaft the ray had drilled.

Jets of black mud leaped into the air. There was a sudden blast from

below that rocked the _Ertak_, and the shaft became a miniature

volcano, throwing rocky fragments and mud high into the air.

"Very good, Ott," I said triumphantly. "Cease action." As I spoke, the

first light of the dawn, unnoticed until now, spread itself over the

scene, and we witnessed then one of the strangest scenes that the

Universe has ever beheld.

Up to the very edge of that life-giving blast of mineral-laden gas the

tenuous creatures came crowding. There were hundreds of them,

thousands of them. And they were still coming, crowding closer and

closer and closer, a mass of crawling, yellowish shadows against the

sombre earth.

Slowly, they began to fill out and darken, as they drew in the fumes

that were more than bread and meat and water to us. Where there had

been formless shadows, rotund creatures such as we had met in the

cavern stood and lashed their tentacles about in a sort of frenzied

gladness, and fell back to make room for their brothers.

* * * * *

"It's a sight to make a man doubt his own eyes, sir," said Correy, who

had come to stand beside me. "Look at them! Thousands of them pouring

from every direction. How did it happen?"

"It didn't happen. I used our disintegrator ray as a drill; we simply

sunk a huge shaft down into the bowels of the earth until we struck

the source of the vapor which the self-appointed 'ruling class' has

bottled up. We have emancipated a whole people, Mr. Correy."

"I hate to think of what will happen to those in the cavern," replied

Correy, smiling grimly. "Or rather, since you've told me of the

pleasant little death they had arranged for us. I'm mighty glad of it.

They'll receive rough treatment, I'm afraid!"

"They deserve it. It has been a great sight to watch, but I believe

we've seen enough. It has been a good night's work, but it's daylight,

now, and it will take hours to repair the damage to the _Ertak's_

hull. Take over in the navigating room, if you will, and pick a likely

spot where we will not be disturbed. We should be on our course by

to-night, Mr. Correy."

"Right, sir," said Correy, with a last wondering look at the strange

miracle we had brought to pass on the earth below us. "It will seem

good to be off in space again, away from the troubles of these little

worlds."

"There are troubles in space, too," I said dryly, thinking of the

swarm of meteorites that had come so close to wiping the _Ertak_ off

the records of the Service. "You can't escape trouble even in space."

"No, sir," said Correy from the doorway. "But you can get your sleep

regularly!"

And sleep is, when one comes to think of it, a very precious thing.

Particularly for an old man, whose eyelids are heavy with years.

Readers' Corner

[Illustration: Readers' Corner]

_Now In Book Form_

Readers of Astounding Stories will be interested to hear

that two of the continued novels which appeared in our pages

during last year are coming out in book form.

The first of these is "Murder Madness," by Murray Leinster.

It is due sometime in February, so by the time this issue is

on the newsstands it will no doubt be already out. The

publishers are Brewer and Warren, and the price is $2.00.

Here's your chance, collectors, and those who missed an

instalment or two.

The other book is "Brigands of the Moon," by--everyone

knows--Ray Cummings. It should be coming along in a month or

so. Watch out for it!

_Mr. Cummings Sits In_

Dear Editor:

Thank you for the opportunity to address our Readers on

certain side-lights of my tale, "The Exile of Time." I

particularly welcome it, for the theme of Time-traveling is,

I think, the most interesting of any upon which I have

written.

Some of you will no doubt recall my stories "The Man Who

Mastered Time" and "The Shadow Girl." In "The Exile of

Time," I present the third of the trilogy. It has no

fictional connection with the others; it is in no sense a

sequel, but rather a companion story.

To write about Time-traveling is for me a difficult but

fascinating task. The opportunities are endless; and I hope

you may think I have taken advantage of them with a measure

of success.

I wrote those conceptions of Time and Space and the Great

Cosmos, which you will find in the text of the story,

because I feel them very deeply. Each occasion upon which

circumstances allow me to present my theories, I eagerly

welcome. How much of the conception is original with me, I

cannot say. It is the product of my groping interpretation

of the theories of many brilliant scientific minds of

today--humbly combined with perhaps some originality of my

own. The mind flings far afield when it starts to grope with

the Unknown. Try it! Read what I have written and then let

your mind roam a little further. Probe a little deeper.

Perhaps we may contribute something. It is only by that

process--each mind following some other's cleared path and

pushing forward a little on his own--that the Unknown can be

pierced.

When once you admit the basic idea of Time-traveling to be

plausible, what fascinating vistas are opened to the

imagination!

Space is so crowded! The room in which you are now sitting

as you read these words--just think what that Space around

you has held in the Past, and will hold in the Future! You

occupy it now, playing out your little part; but think what

has happened where you are now sitting so calmly reading!

What tumultuous, crowding events! Your room is quiet now,

but its space has rung with war-cries; the ground under you

has been drenched with blood; and further back it was lush

with primeval jungle; and in another age it was frozen

beneath a great ice-cap; and before that it blazed, molten

with fire. Back to the Beginning.

And your little Space in the Future? It will be in the heart

of a great mechanical city, perhaps. A mechanical servant

may murder his human master in the space which you now call

your room. The great revolt of the mechanisms may start in

your room....

I think that your room will some day again be shrouded under

a forest growth. The mechanical city will be neglected,

tumbled into ruins, buried beneath the silt of the passing

centuries. The sun will slowly rise--a giant dull red ball,

burning out, cooling. And the Earth will cool. Humans,

perhaps, will have passed decadence and reverted to

savagery. Perhaps the polar ice-caps will again come down,

and ice slowly cover the dying world. All nature will be

struggling and dying, with the sun a red ball turning dark

like a cooling ember.

Millions of centuries, with whatever events--who am I to

say?--but it will go on to the End. That's a long way from

the Beginning, isn't it? And yet ours is only a tiny planet

living briefly in the great cosmos of Time and Space!

A segment of Everything that ever was and ever will be

marches through the Space of your room. What an enormously

thronged little Space! There is only Time, to keep

consecutive and orderly the myriad events which in your room

are pushing and jostling one another! I say, then, "Time is

what keeps everything from happening at once." It seems a

good definition.

I do hope you like "The Exile of Time." The writing of it

made me realize how unimportant I am. A human lifetime is

really as brief as the flash of an electric spark. The whole

lifetime of our Earth is not much more than that. Stars,

worlds, are born, live and die, and the Great Cosmos goes

majestically on. Yet some people seem to feel that they and

the Space they occupy in this Time they call the Present are

the most important things that ever were or ever will be in

the whole Universe. It is a good thing to realize that that

isn't so.--Ray Cummings.

_Likes_

Dear Editor:

Starting with the August issue, I am going to give my

opinion of the stories.

"The Planet of Dread," by R. F. Starzl, couldn't have been

better. Get more stories by him. "Murder Madness," by Murray

Leinster, was a good story, but it didn't belong in a

Science Fiction magazine. "The Terrible Tentacles of L-472,"

a good story; "The Invisible Death," a very good story;

"Prisoners on the Electron," very good; "The Ape-Men of

Xlotli," a good story, but it does not belong in a Science

Fiction magazine; "The Pirate Planet," very excellent--much

more so because it is an interplanetary story. "Vagabonds of

Space," "The Fifth Dimension Catapult," "The Gate of Xoran,"

"The Dark Side of Antri"--all good.

Well, I guess I will sign off and give somebody else a

chance to broadcast.--Wm. McCalvy, 1244 Beech St., St. Paul,

Minn.

_I Do; I Don't_

Dear Editor:

"I like the magazine the way it is," "I want a larger

magazine," "I want a magazine twice a month," "I want a

quarterly," and so do I, "There is a terrible flaw in one of

the stories," "All of the stories are flawless," "I want

reprints," "I don't," "I like Ray Cummings," "I don't," "I

want a better grade paper," "The paper's O. K. with me," "I

want smooth edges on the magazine," "So do I," "And so do

I!"--these seem to be the most often repeated sentences in

the letters from Readers.

However, I have a new one to add: I would like to see an

answer, by the Editor, to each letter that is printed in

"The Readers' Corner," like this: "I liked 'An Extra Man,'

etc.--Mr. Syence Ficshun" (I am very glad to hear that you

liked this little masterpiece, etc.--Editor). Why not?

The illustration on the cover of the January issue surely

shows that you're starting the new year out right by putting

on an extremely astounding cover. The story "The Gate to

Xoran" is simply amazing. Let's read many more of Mr. Wells

stories. It is far surpassed, however, by "The Fifth

Dimension Catapult," which is the best story (novelette)

that I have ever read in "our" magazine.

The Boys' Scientification Club is now a branch of the famous

Science Correspondence Club. Remember, boys between the ages

of 10 and 15, if you're interested in reading Science

Fiction, by all means join the B. S. C. We have many copies

of Astounding Stories in our library and members are welcome

to read them. For further details write to me.--Forrest J.

Ackerman, President-Librarian, B. S. C., 530 Staples Avenue,

San Francisco, Cal.

_Souls and Integrations_

Dear Editor:

You are starting your second year as Editor of Astounding

Stories. If your standard during 1931 is up to your standard

of 1930, we shall be satisfied. If possible, give us, the

Readers, the best in Science Fiction. I have no doubt but

that the Readers of Astounding Stories would not want

fantasy unless written by a master; and to my mind there is

only one whom I will forgive for not making his stories

Science Fiction, and that writer is A. Merritt. Every other

writer should and must put plausible science in his stories.

If he doesn't, he won't go far; not with Science Fiction

readers, anyway.

I do not agree to your answer, by letter, to my complaint

about the science in the story, "An Extra Man," by Jackson

Gee. You say that two men, each the size and half the weight

of the original man could have been formed from the

integrated particles of the original man. In the story, the

weight of the two men was exactly the same as that of the

original man. [?] Anyway, I do not believe that these two

men could have been formed. Most likely, when the

laboratories began the process of reintegration, the person

integrated would have been cut in half, provided of course,

that the laboratories began the process at the same time. If

not, one laboratory would produce a larger portion of an

integrated man than the other.

But to come back to the original question. Can a man be

disintegrated into his component atoms and then reintegrated

into two men each half the size, weight, ability and brains?

I say no. I believe that the component atoms of the man when

reintegrated would be in exactly the same place as they were

before the disintegration occurred. If a part and not the

whole of a man is reintegrated in one place, then the part

would be one part of that man and not a complete man in

itself.

It would be as preposterous and absurd for anything but a

part of that man to be reintegrated, as it would be for two

apes, pigs or hens to come from him. I leave out the

question of what would happen to the soul. Imagine a soul

divided in half. Mr. Gee might say that he doesn't believe

in souls. Neither do I, much. I notice that some Readers say

that they liked that story. One even says that it was

perfect. Every man to his taste. I've read worse, myself.

Anyway, Mr. Editor, Astounding Stories is the finest and

best Science Fiction magazine on the market.

Many Readers want to keep their magazines and bind them,

including myself. Why change the size? I'm certain that that

won't be done. Astounding Stories started small (in size

only) and it will remain small (also only in size). Let us

have reprints.--Nathan Greenfeld, 373 Whitlock Ave., New

York City.

_The Defense Rests_

Dear Editor:

I have just read the January issue for 1931 and noticed some

so-called helpful letters by Readers. Looking over Mr.

Waite's letter, would like to suggest that he stop to think,

if possible, that if he wants absolute bone-dry facts, that

he doesn't want fiction at all. And Mr. Johnson--he seems

to have the impression that everyone who can take things for

granted without having a detailed explanation of the facts

of the story is a moron or a small child. He should go find

a volume of scientific research if he enjoys that sort of

stuff. I read fiction stories for the enjoyment I get out of

them and not to criticize them for lack of explanation. I

would rather read some of his so-called nonsense than a lot

of far-flung, intricate, baseless scientific explanations.

Why doesn't Mr. Johnson use his imagination?--Donald Kahl,

360 Selby Ave., St. Paul, Minn.

_"High Time"_

Dear Editor:

I have been reading the magazine ever since it first came

out, a year ago, so it is high time for me to write. It

certainly grows better with every new issue.

I think that the ten best stories published during 1930 were

(not in order of merit): "Brigands of the Moon," "Vandals of

the Stars," "The Atom Smasher," "The Moon Master," "Earth,

the Marauder," "The Planet of Dread," "Silver Dome," "The

Second Satellite," "Jetta of the Lowlands" and "The Pirate

Planet."

Your ten best authors are: Harl Vincent, Ray Cummings,

Charles W. Diffin, Victor Rousseau, Capt. S. P. Meek, Murray

Leinster, Arthur J. Burks, R. F. Starzl, Sewell P. Wright

and Edmond Hamilton.

The Commander Hanson stories by S. P. Wright are great.

Let's have lots more of them.

And now about reprints. I cast my vote like many other

readers in favor of them. Many Readers, in fact over half,

are new Readers of Science Fiction. They, like myself, have

not read the great masterpieces such as "The Time Machine,"

"The Moon Pool" and countless other stories. Now, why not

reprint some of them and give us a chance to read them? A

few Readers who have read them before do not want them

reprinted because they do not want anybody else to read

them.

A brickbat: Why not cut the edges of the magazine smooth? It

would be much easier to handle.

A bouquet: You have a fine magazine. Keep up the good stuff.

My criticism is exhausted, so good-by until next

time.--Oswald Train, P. O. Box 94, Barnesboro, Pa.

_Two Dimensions Off?_

Dear Editor:

It was just by accident that I came across your magazine,

and I have read every issue since.

In the January number there is one story that I don't like,

"The Fifth Dimension Catapult." As far as the story is

concerned it is very good, but Professor Denham was not

marooned in the fifth dimension. If you read the story you

will find that Professor Denham was marooned on a three

dimensional world. That is all I can make out.

Astounding Stories is the best Science Fiction magazine I

have ever read, and I shall keep on reading it.

Keep up the good cover illustrations.--Richard Meindle, R.

1, Box 91, Butternut, Wisconsin.

_To the Colors!_

Dear Editor:

Being a passionate admirer of Dr. Breuer and his writings, I

cannot permit the contumelious, unfounded aggression of one

George K. Addison to go on unconfuted.

Perceiving that Dr. Breuer cannot possibly vindicate himself

against this disparagement I feel obliged to extenuate Dr.

Breuer in the eyes of the Readers.

In the first place, Dr. Breuer writes rarely and sparingly

and does not grind out his stories month after month as do

some other authors. His stories are highly original and are

presented in a purely literary style. The story to which Mr.

Addison refers, "A Problem in Communication," is a fine

example of his work. Should his story be remonstrated

against because it is lacking in adventure, because it did

not delineate mushy love episodes, because it does not cause

chills to run down one's spine? Positively not! It lives up

to the standard of the highest Science Fiction. Here is a

story unbesmirched by the love element, exceedingly

plausible and interestingly narrated.

If all stories were thought out and written just half as

carefully as Dr. Breuer's, Astounding Stories would become a

periodical justified to be considered on a par with The

Golden Book.

In closing, I wish to express my desire that more stories of

the Breuer quality be bestowed upon the Readers.--Mortimer

Weisinger, 266 Van Cortland Ave., Bronx, New York.

_And It Wasn't!_

Dear Editor:

Having read "The Readers' Corner" since its first appearance

in Astounding Stories and noted the various criticisms

offered, may I tell you about a story written by a Science

Fiction author?

The author, by the way, is the perfect author; he makes

absolutely no mistakes in his story, and is in no danger of

starving if his works aren't accepted and older stories are

reprinted instead. His science is correct and the story

contains nothing that cannot be understood.

The story is of interplanetary adventure. Strange to say,

there is no war in the story; there is no villain; there is

no hero to save a world from destruction or his sweetheart

from the monsters of another planet. Instead, there are

nothing but characters--if you get what I mean. The persons

involved in this interplanetary novel reach their goal due

to the tremendous strides of science in experimenting with

air and space vehicles.

When they arrive on the planet they do not meet hostile

nations. They do not meet monstrosities. They do, however,

meet people much like themselves who do not welcome the

travelers with open arms and show them about their city, but

regard them with curiosity and treat them with all due

respect for their achievement in conquering space.

As I said before, there is no hero who falls in love with

the beautiful girl from the planet visited, and saves her

and her country from other warring nations. To tell the

truth, the adventurers have their own loved ones at home.

They meet no intrigue. When they have learned all they

can--experiencing many difficulties in mastering the

language used, for the people of the planet have not

perfected a brain-copier or other like mechanism--they

arrange for commerce and travel between the two worlds and

return to Earth. On their return, they are not met with

world wide ovations and made heroes of, but receive credit

for their undertaking and are soon forgotten about.

To cap the climax, the story is acceptable to the Editors.

It is not in need of corrections and is published

immediately. The story is gratefully accepted by the public

and not one single soul writes a scathing letter to the

Editor telling why it was not good. In fact, I can hardly

believe that such a story was written. Possibly it

wasn't!--Robert R. Young, 86 Third Avenue, Kingston, Penn.

_Ha-ha!_

Dear Editor:

Christmas day, and because I'm not acquainted in this city

I'm writing you a letter.

I have just finished reading your magazine. I came close to

not buying it, being not overly prosperous, but decided to

take a chance when I saw you had a dimensional story by

Murray Leinster. That story was up to expectations. The

others were down to expectations.

If you want me to choose your magazine to spend my reading

allowance on, have more stories by Leinster, Starzl, Breuer

and Wells. It may take a little more effort, but it's worth

it. Sax Rohmer is good on science stuff, too.

Before you print any more undersea stories have a diver look

at them. You tell about standing at the bottom of the ocean

and seeing the submarine "not more than a quarter of a mile

away." Ha-ha! [No fair, that ha-ha! For the story says,

quoted exactly: "... there gleamed the reassuring LIGHTS of

the Nereid, not a quarter of a mile away." Probably, intense

searchlight beams could be seen that far.--Ed.] You couldn't

see it if you stood more than ten feet away. I'm not trying

to be critical, but you should be more careful.--Myron

Higgins, 524 West 100th St., New York City.

_We Never Will_

Dear Editor:

I have been an enthusiastic reader of Astounding Stories

since it was founded, and I think it about time that I

voiced my opinion of your great magazine.

Taking all in all it's a vow, but of course it could be

made better by having a quarterly, which I am sure would go

over big.

Wesso is great, so why not have all the illustrations by

him?

Your authors are also great. Nearly every story I have read

was perfect, and whatever you do don't lose R. F. Starzl.

His ideas are very good, as illustrated in "The Planet of

Dread."

There is only one more thing I would like to ask of you, and

that is the reason why I write. Please don't spoil the

magazine by endeavoring to please a very small minority by

putting in unnecessary scientific explanations. The reason

why I like your magazine so much is because of the fact that

it is unique in that respect. I have read a few stories in

other scientific magazines and found that they contained too

much explanation. I hope for the benefit of other Readers

and myself that you will not change the stories by adding

too much explanation.

In the coming year I wish you all possible success.--John

Sheehan, 32 Elm St., Cambridge, Mass.

_This and That_

Dear Editor:

In the October issue of Astounding Stories Mr. Woodrow

Gelman cast vote number 1 for reprints. In the February,

1931, issue, Mr. Forgaris throws in number 2 and here goes

number 3. I really don't see why, even after the arguments

you printed, you don't print at least one a year. I have

been reading your magazine ever since it came out and have

found that at least one-half of your Readers want reprints.

Can't you print at least one for an experiment?

Ray Cummings, S. P. Meek, Dr. Miles J. Breuer, Sewell P.

Wright and Harl Vincent are your best authors. Wesso is your

best artist by far.

There were several stories I did not like. They are:

"Monsters of Moyen," "Earth, the Marauder," and I guess

those are all.

How about giving us some short short stories? And how about

cutting the edges of the paper smooth? And giving us a

quarterly? But all in all I think your magazine is one of

the best in the field.--Vernon H. Jones, 1603 Sixth Ave.,

Des Moines, Iowa.

_It's Your Imagination_

Dear Editor:

Well, well! Astounding Stories was two days early this

month. See that this happens more often.

Of course, "The Pirate Planet" took first place in the

February number. The story was very well written and the

characters very realistic. It deserves to be put in book

form, also in the talkies. It would be much better than

"Just Imagine."

I welcome Anthony Gilmore, D. W. Hall and F. V. W. Mason to

Astounding Stories. Their stories proved to be very

interesting and I hope to read more.

Do you know how to write editorials? Yes? Then prove it. I

have to be shown. Write on some scientific subject each

month, and every so often write on Astounding Stories itself

and of its stories and authors.

Is it my imagination or have you been using a better grade

of paper in the past two issues? it seems to be much

smoother and a little thinner than that used previously.

I notice that you are giving more room to some of the

illustrations, as in "Werewolves of War" and "The Pirate

Planet." The larger the illustrations are the more there can

be put in them.--Jack Darrow, 4225 No. Spaulding Ave.,

Chicago, Illinois.

_If He But Could!_

Dear Editor:

Astounding Stories is without doubt the most preeminent in

its field.

With such versatile authors as Burks (When does his next

story appear?), Starzl, Cummings, Leinster, Vincent and all

the rest, how can it help but to overshadow all periodicals!

The illustrations are superfine. Wesso is a marvel! If he

could only write his own stories and illustrate them!

Now, a suggestion. I am positive that every Reader of your

magazine wants you to start a department in which

biographies of the authors and their photographs are given.

Why not start one?--Julius Schwartz, 407 East 183rd St.,

Bronx, New York.

_"The Readers' Corner"_

All readers are extended a sincere and cordial invitation to "come

over in 'The Readers' Corner'" and join in our monthly discussion of

stories, authors, scientific principles and possibilities--everything

that's of common interest in connection with our Astounding Stories.

Although from time to time the Editor may make a comment or so, this

is a department primarily for _Readers_, and we want you to make full

use of it. Likes, dislikes, criticisms, explanations, roses,

brickbats, suggestions--everything's welcome here: so "come over in

'The Readers' Corner'" and discuss it with all of us!

* * * * *

End of Project Gutenberg's Astounding Stories, April, 1931, by Various