CHAPTER I

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VOL. VII, No. 2 CONTENTS AUGUST, 1931

THE DANGER FROM THE DEEP RALPH MILNE FARLEY 149

_Marooned on the Sea-Floor, His Hoisting Cable Cut, Young Abbot Is

Left at the Mercy of the Man-Sharks._

BROOD OF THE DARK MOON CHARLES WILLARD DIFFIN 168

_Once More Chet, Walt and Diane Are United in a Wild Ride to the Dark

Moon. But This Time They Go as Prisoners of Their Deadly Enemy

Schwartzmann._ (Beginning a Four-Part Novel.)

IF THE SUN DIED R. F. STARZL 198

_Tens of Millenniums After the Death of the Sun There Comes a Young

Man Who Dares to Open the Frozen Gate of Subterranea._

THE MIDGET FROM THE ISLAND H. G. WINTER 214

_Garth Howard, Prey to Half the Animals of the Forest, Fights Valiantly

to Regain His Lost Five Feet of Size._ (A Complete Novelette.)

THE MOON WEED HARL VINCENT 236

_Unwittingly the Traitor of the Earth, Van Pits Himself Against the

Inexorably Tightening Web of Plant-Beasts He Has Released from the

Moon._

THE PORT OF MISSING PLANES CAPTAIN S. P. MEEK 255

_In the Underground Caverns of the Selom, Dr. Bird Once Again Locks

Wills with the Subversive Genius, Saranoff._

THE READERS CORNER ALL OF US 273

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* * * * *

The Danger from the Deep

_By Ralph Milne Farley_

[Illustration: _He caught a glimpse of the grinning fish-face._]

[Sidenote: Marooned on the sea-floor, his hoisting cable cut, young

Abbot is left at the mercy of the man-sharks.]

Within a thick-walled sphere of steel eight feet in diameter, with

crystal-clear fused-quartz windows, there crouched an alert young

scientist, George Abbot. The sphere rested on the primeval muck and

slime at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, one mile beneath the

surface.

The beam from his 200-watt searchlight, which shot out through one of

his three windows into the dark blue depths beyond, seemed faint

indeed, yet it served to illuminate anything which crossed it, or on

which it fell.

For a considerable length of time since his descent to the ocean

floor, young Abbot had clung to one of the thick windows of his

bathysphere, absorbed by the marine life outside. Slender small fish

with stereoscopic eyes, darted in and out of the beam of light.

Swimming snails floated by, carrying their own phosphorescent

lanterns. Paper-thin transparent crustaceans swam into view, followed

by a few white shrimps, pale as ghosts. Then a mist of tiny fish swept

across his field of vision. Abbot cupped his face in his hands, and

stared out.

The incongruous thought flashed across his mind that thus he had often

sat by the window of his club in New York, and gazed out at the

passing motor traffic.

His searchlight cut a sharp swath through the blue muck. More than

once he thought he saw large moving fish-like forms far away.

"Speed up the generator," he called into his phone.

Immediately the shaft of light brightened. He set about trying to

focus upon one of those dim elusive shapes which had so intrigued him.

* * * * *

But suddenly the searchlight went out! Intent on repairing the

apparatus as rapidly as possible, Abbot snapped the button-switch,

which ought to have illuminated the interior of his diving-sphere; but

the lights did not go on. Then he noticed that the electric fan, on

which he depended to keep his air-supply properly mixed, had stopped.

He spoke into the telephone transmitter, which hung in front of his

mouth: "Hi, there, up on the boat! My electric power is cut off. I'm

down here with my fan stopped and my heat cut off. Hoist me up, and be

quick about it!"

"O.K., sir."

As the young man waited for the winch to get under way on the boat a

mile above him, he pulled out his electric pocket flashlight and sent

its feeble ray out through his quartz-glass window into the dim

royal-purple depths beyond, in one last attempt to get a look at those

mysterious fish-shapes which had so intrigued him.

And then he saw one of them distinctly.

Evidently they had swum closer when the glow of his searchlight had

stopped; and so the sudden flash of his pocket-light had taken them by

surprise.

For, as he snapped it on, he caught an instant's glimpse of a grinning

fish-face pressed close against the outside of his thick window-pane,

as though trying to peer in at him. The fish-face somewhat resembled

the head of a shark, except that the mouth was a bit smaller and not

quite so leeringly brutal, and the forehead was rather high and domed.

But what most attracted Abbot's attention, in the brief instant before

the startled fish whisked away in a swirl of phosphorescent foam, was

the fact that, from beneath each of the two pectoral fins, there

protruded what appeared to be a skinny human arm, terminating in three

fingers and a thumb!

Then the fish was gone. Abbot snapped off his little light.

The diving-sphere quivered, as the hoisting-cable tautened. But

suddenly the sphere settled back to the bottom of the sea with a

jarring thud. "Cable's parted, sir!" spoke a frantic voice in his

ear-phones.

* * * * *

For a moment George Abbot sat stunned with horror. Then his mind began

to race, like a squirrel in a cage, seeking some way of escape.

Perhaps he could manage to unscrew the 400-pound trap door at the top

of the sphere, and shoot to the surface, with the bubbling-out of the

confined air. But his scientifically trained mind made some rapid

calculations which showed him this was absurd.

At the depth of a mile, the pressure is roughly 156 atmospheres, that

is to say, 156 times the air-pressure at the surface of the earth; and

the moment that his sphere was opened to this pressure, he would be

blown back inwardly away from the man-hole, and the air inside his

sphere would suddenly be compressed to only 1/156 of its former

volume.

Not only would this pressure be sufficient to squash him into a

mangled pulp, but also the sudden compression of the air inside the

sphere would generate enough heat to fry that mangled pulp to a crisp

cinder almost instantly.

As George Abbot came to a full realization of the horror of these

facts, he recoiled from the trap-door as though it were charged with

death.

"For Heaven's sakes, do something!" he shrieked in agony into the

transmitter.

"Courage, sir," came back the reply. "We are rigging up a grapple just

as fast as we can. Long before your oxygen gives out, we shall slide

it down to you along the telephone line, which is the only remaining

connection between us. When it settles about your sphere, and you can

see its hooks outside your window by the light of your pocket-flash,

let us know, and we'll trip the grapple and haul you up."

"Thank you," replied the young man.

* * * * *

He was calm now, but it was an enforced and numb kind of calmness.

Mechanically he throttled down his oxygen supply, so as to make it

last longer. Mechanically he took out his notebook and pencil and

started to write down, in the dark, his experiences; for he was

determined to leave a full account for posterity, even though he

himself should perish.

After setting down a categorical description of the successive

partings of the electric light cable and the hoist cable, and his

thoughts and feelings in that connection, he described in detail the

shark with hands, which he had seen through the window of his sphere.

He tried to be very explicit about this, for he realized that his

account would probably be laid, by everyone, to the disordered

imagination of his last dying moments; being a true scientist, George

Abbot wanted the world to believe him, so that another sphere would be

built and sent down to the ocean depths, to find out more about these

peculiar denizens of the deep.

Of course, no one would believe him. This thought kept drumming in his

ears. No one--except Professor Osborne. Old Osborne would believe!

George Abbot's mind flashed back to a conversation he had had with the

old professor, just before the oil interests had sent him on this

exploring trip to discover the source of the large quantities of

petroleum which had begun to bubble up from the bottom of a certain

section of the Pacific very near where Abbot now was.

* * * * *

Osborne had said, "This petroleum suggests a gusher to me. And what

causes gushers? Human beings, boring for oil, to satisfy human needs."

"But, Professor," Abbot had objected, "there can't be any human beings

at the bottom of the sea!"

"Why not?" Professor Osborne had countered. "Life is supposed to have

originated spontaneously in the slime of the ocean depths; therefore

that part of the earth has had a head-start on us in the game of

evolution. May not this head-start have been maintained right down to

date, thus producing at the bottom of the sea a race superior to

anything upon the dry land?"

"But," Abbot had objected further, "if so, why haven't they come up to

visit or conquer us? And why haven't we ever found any trace of them?"

"Quite simple to explain," the old professor had replied. "Any

creature who can live at the frightful pressures of the ocean depths

could never survive a journey even halfway to the surface. It would be

like our trying to live in an almost perfect vacuum. We should

explode, and so would these denizens of the deep, if they tried to

come up here. Even one of their dead bodies could not be brought to

the surface in recognizable form. No contact with them will ever be

possible, nor will they ever constitute a menace to any one--for which

we may thank the Lord!"

George Abbot now reviewed this conversation as he crouched in his

diving-sphere in the purple darkness of the marine depths. Yes, old

Osborne would believe him. The diary must be written for Osborne's

eyes.

* * * * *

Abbot sent another beam from his pocket light suddenly out into the

water; and this time he surprised several of the peculiar fish. These,

like the first, had arms and hands and high intelligent foreheads.

Then suddenly Abbot laughed a harsh laugh. Old Osborne had been wrong

in one thing, namely in saying that the super-race of the deep would

never be a menace to anyone. They were being a menace to George Abbot,

right now, for it was undoubtedly they who had cut his cables.

Probably they were possessed of much the same scientific curiosity

with regard to him as he was with regard to them, and so they had

determined to secure him as a museum specimen.

The idea was a weird one. He laughed again, mirthlessly.

"What is the matter, sir?" came an anxious voice in his ear-phones.

"Hurry that grapple!" was his reply. "I have found out what cut my

cables. There are some very intelligent-looking fish down here, and I

think they want me for--"

An ominous click sounded in his ears. Then silence.

"Hello! Hello there!" he shouted. "Can you hear me up on the boat?"

But no answer came back. The line remained dead. The strange fish had

cut George Abbot's last contact with the upper world. The

grapple-hooks could never find him now, for there was now not even a

telephone cable to guide them down to his sphere.

The realization that he was hopelessly lost, and that he had not much

longer to live, came as a real relief to him, after the last few

moments of frantic uncertainty.

* * * * *

Hoping that his sphere would eventually be found, even though too late

to do him any good, he set assiduously to work jotting down all the

details which he could remember of those strange denizens of the deep,

the man-handed sharks, which he was now firmly convinced were the

cause of his present predicament.

He stared out through one of his windows into the brilliant blue

darkness, but did not turn on his flashlight. How near were these

enemies of his, he wondered?

The presence of those menacing man-sharks, just outside the

four-inch-thick steel shell, which withstood a ton of pressure for

each square inch of its surface, began to obsess young Abbot. What

were they doing out there in the watery-blue midnight? Perhaps, having

secured his sphere as a scientific specimen, they were already

preparing to cut into it so as to see what was inside. That these

fish could cut through four inches of steel was not so improbable as

it sounded, for had they not already succeeded in severing a rubber

cable an inch and a half thick, containing two heavy copper wires, and

also two inches of the finest, non-kinking steel rope!

The young scientist flashed his pocket torch out through the thick

quartz pane, but his enemies were nowhere in sight. Then he fell to

calculating his oxygen supply. His normal consumption was about half a

quart per minute, at which rate his two tanks would be good for

thirty-six hours. His chemical racks contained enough soda-lime to

absorb the excess carbon dioxide, enough calcium chloride to keep down

the humidity and enough charcoal to sweeten the body odors for much

more than that period.

For a moment, the thought of these facts encouraged him. He had been

down less than two hours. Perhaps the boat above him could affect his

rescue in the more than thirty-four hours which remained!

* * * * *

But then he realized that he had failed to take into consideration the

near-freezing temperature of the ocean depths. This temperature he

knew to be in the neighborhood of 39 degrees Fahrenheit--even though

no thermometer hung outside his window, as none could withstand the

frightful pressures at the bottom of the sea. For it is one of the

remarkable facts of inductive science that man has been able to figure

out _a priori_ that the temperature at all deep points of the ocean,

tropic as well as arctic, must always be stable at approximately 39

degrees.

Abbot was clad only in a light cotton sailor suit, and now that his

source of heat had been cut off by the severing of his power lines,

his prison was rapidly becoming unbearably chilly. His thick steel

sphere constituted such a perfect transmitter of heat that he might

almost as well have been actually swimming in water of 39 degrees

temperature, so far as comfort was concerned.

Abbot's emotions ran all the gamut from stupefaction, through dull

calmness, clear-headed thought, intense but aimless mental activity,

nervousness, frenzy, and insane delirium, back to stupefaction again.

During one of his periods of calmness, he figured out what an almost

total impossibility there was of the chance that his ship, one mile

above him on the surface, could ever find his sphere with grappling

hooks. Yet he prayed for that chance. A single chance in a million

sometimes does happen.

* * * * *

Several hours had by now elapsed since the parting of the young

scientist's cables. It was bitterly cold inside the sphere. In order

to keep warm, he had to exercise during his calm moments as

systematically as his cramped quarters would permit. During his

frantic moments he got plenty of exercise automatically. And of course

all this movement used up more than the normal amount of oxygen, so

that he was forced to open the valves on his tanks to two or three

times their normal flow. His span of further life was thereby cut to

ten or twelve hours, if indeed he could keep himself warm for that

long.

Why didn't the people on the boat do something!

He was just about to indulge in one of his frantic fits of despair,

when he heard or felt--the two senses being strangely commingled in

his present situation--a clank or thump upon the top of his

bathysphere. Instantly hope flooded him. Could it be that the one

chance in a million had actually happened, and that a grapple from the

boat above had actually found him?

With feverish expectation, he pressed the button of his little

electric pocket flashlight, and sent its feeble beam out through one

of the quartz-glass windows into the blue-black depths beyond.

No hooks in front of this window. He tried the others. No hooks there,

either. But he did see plenty of the superhuman fish. Eighteen of

them, he counted, in sight at one time. And also two huge snake-like

creatures with crested backs and maned heads, veritable sea-serpents.

As there was nothing the young man could do to assist in the grappling

of his sphere by his friends in the boat above, he devoted his time to

jotting down a detailed description of these two new beasts and of

their behavior.

One of the sharks appeared to be leading or driving them up to the

bathysphere; and when they got close enough, Abbot was surprised to

see that they wore what appeared to be a harness!

* * * * *

The clanking upon the bathysphere continued, and now the young man

learned its cause. It was not the grapple hooks from his ship, but

chains--chains which the man-armed sharks were wrapping around the

bathysphere.

Two more of the harnessed sea-serpents swam into view, and these two

were hitched to a flat cart: an actual cart with wheels. The chains

were attached to the harness of the original two beasts; they swam

upward and disappeared from view; and the sphere slowly rose from the

mucky bottom of the sea, to be lowered again squarely on top of the

cart. The cart jerked forward, and a journey over the ocean floor

began.

Then the little pocket torch dimmed to a dull red glow, and the scene

outside faded gradually from view. Abbot switched off the now useless

light and set to work with scientific precision to record all these

unbelievable events.

In his interest and excitement, he had forgotten the ever-increasing

cold; but gradually, as he wrote, the frigidity of his surroundings

was forced on his consciousness. He turned on more oxygen, and

exercised frantically. Meanwhile the cart, carrying his bathysphere,

bumped along over an uneven road.

From time to time, he tried his almost exhausted little light, but its

dim red beam was completely absorbed by the blue of the ocean depths,

and he could make out nothing except two bulking indistinct shapes,

writhing on ahead of him. Finally even this degree of visibility

failed, and he could see absolutely nothing outside.

He was now so chilled and numb that he could no longer write. With a

last effort, he noted down that fact, and then put the book away in

its rack.

He began to feel drowsy. Rousing himself, he turned on more oxygen.

The effect was exhilaration and a feeling of silly joy. He began to

babble drunkenly to himself. His head swam. His mind was in a daze.

* * * * *

It seemed hours later when he awoke. Ahead of him in the distance

there was a dim pale-blue light, against which there could be seen, in

silhouette, the forms of the two serpentine steeds and their fish-like

drivers. Abbot's hands and feet were completely numb, but his head was

clear.

As they drew nearer to the light, it gradually took form, until it

turned out to be the mouth of a cave. The cart entered it.

Down a long tunnel they progressed, the light getting brighter and

brighter as they advanced. The color of the light became a golden

green. The rough stone walls of the tunnel could now be seen; and

finally there appeared, ahead, two semicircular doors, swung back

against the sides of the passage.

Beyond these doors, the tunnel walls were smooth and exactly

cylindrical, and on the ceiling there were many luminous tubes, which

lit up the place as brightly as daylight. The cart came to a stop.

The young scientist could now see with surprising distinctness his

captors and their serpentine steeds, and even the details of the

chains and the harness. He tried to pick up his diary, so as to jot

down some points which he had theretofore missed; but his hands were

too numb. But at least he could keep on observing; so he glued his

eyes to the thick quartz window-pane once more.

A short distance ahead in the passage there was another pair of doors.

Presently these swung open and the cavalcade moved forward. Five or

six successive pairs of doors were passed in this manner, and then the

sea-serpents began to thrash about and become almost unmanageable. It

was evident that some change not to their liking had taken place in

their surroundings.

* * * * *

At last, as one of the portals swung open, young Abbot saw what

appeared to be four deep-sea diving-suits. Could these suits contain

human beings? And if so, who? It seemed incredible, for no diving-suit

had ever been devised in which a man could descend to the depth of one

mile, and live.

These four figures, whatever they were, came stolidly forward and took

charge of the cart. One of the sharks swam up to them and appeared to

talk to them with its hands. Then the sharks unhitched the two

sea-serpents and led them to the rear, and Abbot saw them no more.

The four divers picked up the chains, and slowly towed the cart

forward, their clumsy, ponderous movements contrasting markedly with

the swift and sure swishings which had characterized the man-sharks

and their snake-like steeds.

Several more pairs of doors were passed, and then there met them four

figures in less cumbersome diving-suits, like those ordinarily used by

men just below the surface of the sea. One of the deep-sea divers then

pressed his face close to the outside of one of the windows of the

bathysphere, as though to take a look inside; but the four newcomers

waved him away, and hurriedly picked up the chains. Nevertheless, in

that brief instant, Abbot had seen within the head-piece of the diver

what appeared to be a bearded human face.

Several more pairs of doors were passed. The four deep-sea divers

floundered along beside the cart, quite evidently having more and more

difficulty of locomotion as each successive doorway was passed, until

finally they lay down and were left behind.

At last the procession entered a section of tunnel which was square,

instead of circular, and in which there was a wide shelf along one

side about three feet above the floor. The four divers then dropped

the chains, and one by one took a look at Abbot through his window.

And he at the same time took a most interested look at them.

They had unmistakable human faces!

* * * * *

He must be dreaming! For even if Osborne was right about his supposed

super-race at the bottom of the sea, this race could not be human, for

the pressures here would be entirely too great. No human being could

possibly stand two thousand pounds per square inch!

Having satisfied their curiosity, the four divers pulled themselves up

onto the shelf, and sat there in a row with their legs hanging over.

Abbot glanced upward at the ceiling lights, but these had become

strangely blurred. There seemed to be an opaque barrier above him, and

this barrier seemed to be slowly descending. The lights blurred out

completely, and were replaced by a diffused illumination over the

entire ripply barrier. And then it dawned on the young man that this

descending sheet of silver was the surface of the water. He was in a

lock, and the water was being pumped out.

The surface settled about the helmets of the divers, and their helmets

disappeared; then their shoulders and the rest of them. At last it

reached the level of Abbot's window. The divers could again be seen,

and among then on the shelf there stood a half dozen naked bearded

men, clad only in loin-cloths. They had evidently entered the lock

while the water was subsiding.

* * * * *

These men unbuckled the helmets of the divers and helped them out, and

then splashed down into the water and peered in through the windows of

the bathysphere. Presently some of them left through a door at the end

of the platform, but soon reappeared with staging, which they set up

around the sphere. Then, climbing on top, they got to work on the

man-hole cover.

As George Abbot realized their purpose, he became frantic. Although

these men appeared to be human, just like himself, yet his

scientifically-trained mind told him that they must be of some very

special anatomical structure, in order to be able to withstand the

immense pressures at the bottom of the Pacific. It was all right for

them to be out there, but it would be fatal to him!

And then the heavy circular door above him began slowly to revolve.

This was terrible! In a moment the crushing pressures of the depths

would come seeping in. Rising unsteadily upon his knees, the young man

tried with his fingers to resist the rotation of the door; but it

continued to turn.

Yet no pressure could be felt. The door became completely unscrewed.

It was pried up, and slid off the top of the bathysphere, to crash

upon the floor outside. Inquisitive bearded faces peered down through

the hole.

Young Abbot slumped to the cold bottom of the sphere and stared back

at them. He was saved; incredibly saved! These were real people, the

air was real air and he must therefore be on the surface of the earth,

instead of at the bottom of the Pacific as he had imagined! With a

sigh of relief, he fainted....

* * * * *

When he came to his senses again, he was lying in a bed in a small

room. Bending over him was the sweetest feminine face that he had ever

seen.

The girl seemed to be about twenty years of age. She was clad in a

clinging robe of some filmy green substance. Her hair was honey-brown,

short and curly, and her forehead high and intelligent. Her eyes, an

indescribable shade of deep violet, were matchlessly set off by her

ivory skin.

The young man smiled up at her, and she smiled back. Thus far it had

not occurred to him to wonder where he was, or why. No recollection of

his recent strange adventures came to him. To him this was an exotic

dream, from which he did not care to awake.

She spoke. Her words were unintelligible, and unlike any language

which George Abbot knew or had even heard; and he was an accomplished

linguist in addition to his other attainments.

And her words were not all that was strange about her speech, for the

very tones of her voice sounded completely unhuman, although not

displeasing. Her talk had a metallic ring to it, like the brassy blare

of temple gongs, and yet was so smooth and subdued as to be sweeter

than any sound that the young scientist had ever heard before.

"Beautiful dream fairy," replied the enraptured young man, "I haven't

the slightest idea what you are saying, but keep right on. I like it."

His own voice sounded crass and crude compared to hers. At his first

words she gave a start of surprise, but thereafter the sound did not

appear to grate on her ears.

* * * * *

Then one of the bearded men in loin-cloths entered, and he and the

girl talked together, quite evidently about their patient. The man's

voice had the same strange metallic quality to it as that of the girl,

but was deeper, so that it boomed with the rich notes of a bell.

At the sight of the man, young Abbot's memory swept back, and he

remembered the adventure of his diving-sphere, and its capture, one

mile down, by the strange shark-fish with human hands and arms. But

how he had reached the surface of the earth again, he couldn't figure

out. Nor did he particularly care.

The strange man withdrew, and the girl sat down beside the bed and

smiled at Abbot. He smiled back at her.

Presently another girl entered and called, "Milli!"

The girl beside the bed started, and looking up asked some question,

to which the other replied.

The newcomer brought in some strange warm food in a covered dish and

then withdrew. The first girl proceeded to feed her patient.

After the meal, which tasted unlike anything which the young man had

ever eaten before, the beautiful nurse again essayed conversation with

him. She seemed perplexed and a bit frightened that he could not

understand her words. Somehow, the young man sensed that this girl had

never heard any other language than her own, and that she did not even

know that other languages existed.

* * * * *

Strengthened by his food, he determined to set about learning her

language as soon as possible. So he pointed at her and asked, "Milli?"

She nodded, and spoke some word which he took for "yes."

Then he pointed to himself and said, "George."

She understood, but the word was a difficult one for her to duplicate

in the metallic tongue of her people. She made several attempts, until

he laughingly spoke her word for "yes."

Then he pointed to other objects about the room. She gave him the

names of these, but he could easily see that she felt that, if he did

not know the names for all these common things, there must be

something the matter with him.

He wondered how he could make her understand that there were other

languages in the world than her own; and then he remembered the sharks

with their hands and what he had taken to be their sign language.

Perhaps Milli at least knew of the existence of the sign language.

This would afford a parallel; for if she realized that there were two

languages in the world, might there not be three?

So Abbot made some meaningless signs with his fingers. Milli quite

evidently was accustomed to this kind of talk, but she was further

perplexed to find that George talked gibberish with his hands as well

as with his mouth.

She made some signs with her hands, and then said something orally.

Young Abbot instantly pointed to her mouth, and held up one finger;

then to her hands, and held up two; then to his own mouth, and held up

three, at the same time speaking a sentence of English. Instantly she

caught on: there were three languages in the world. And thereafter she

no longer regarded him as crazy.

For several hours she taught him. Then another meal was brought, after

which she left him, and the lights went out.

* * * * *

He awakened feeling thoroughly rested and well. The lights were on and

Milli was beside him.

He asked for his clothes. They were brought. Milli withdrew and he put

them on.

After breakfast, which they ate together, one of the bearded men came

and led him out through a number of winding corridors into a larger

room, in which there was a closed spherical glass tank, about ten feet

in diameter, containing one of the human sharks. Around the tank stood

five of the bearded men.

One of them proceeded to address Abbot, but of course the young

American could not make out what he was saying. This apparent lack of

intelligence seemed to exasperate the man; and finally he turned

toward the tank, and engaged in a sign language conference with the

fish; then turned back to Abbot again and spoke to him very sternly.

But Abbot shook his head and replied, "Milli. Bring Milli."

One of the other men flashed a look of triumph at their leader, and

laughed.

"Yes," he added, "bring Milli."

The leader scowled at him, and some words were interchanged, but it

ended in Milli being sent for. She apparently explained the situation

to the satisfaction of the fish, to the intense glee of the man who

had sent for her, and to the rather complete discomfiture of the

leader of the five.

Abbot later learned that the leader's name was Thig, and that the name

of the gleeful man was Dolf.

The reception over, Milli led Abbot back to his room.

* * * * *

There ensued many days--very pleasant days--of language instruction

from Milli. Dolf and Thig and others of the five came frequently, to

note his progress and to talk with him and ask him questions.

A sitting room was provided for him, adjoining his sleeping quarters.

Milli occupied quarters nearby.

Within a week he had mastered enough of the language of these people,

for their strange history began to be intelligible to him.

In spite of the fact that the air here was at merely atmospheric

pressure, nevertheless this place was one mile beneath the surface of

the Pacific. Milli and her people lived in a city hollowed out of a

reef of rocks, reinforced against the terrific weight of the water and

filled with laboratory-made air. They had never been to the surface of

the sea.

The fish with the human arms were their creators and their masters.

Professor Osborne had been right. The fish of the deep, having a head

start on the rest of the world, had evolved to a perfectly

unbelievable degree of intelligence. Centuries ago they had built for

themselves the exact analog of George Abbot's bathysphere, and in it

they had made much the same sort of exploring trips to the surface

that he had made down into the deeps. But their spheres had been

constructed to keep in, rather than to keep out, great pressure.

Their scientists had gathered a wealth of data as to conditions on the

surface, and had even seen and studied human beings. But their

insatiable scientific curiosity had led them to want to know more

about the strange country above them and the strange persons who

inhabited it. And so they set about breeding, in their own

laboratories, creatures which should be as like as possible to those

whom they had observed on the surface.

* * * * *

Of course, this experiment necessitated their first setting up an

air-filled partial vacuum similar to that which surrounds the earth.

But they had persisted. They had brought down samples of air from the

surface of the sea, and had analyzed and duplicated it on a large

scale.

Finally, through long years, they had so directed--and controlled the

course of evolution, in their breederies, as first to be able to

produce creatures which could live in air at low pressures, and then

to evolve the descendants of those creatures into intelligent human

beings.

Some of the lower types of this evolutionary process, both in the

direct line of descent of man, and among the collateral offshoots, had

been retained for food and other purposes. Abbot, with intense

scientific interest, studied these specimens in the zoo of the

underwater city where he was staying.

Plans had been in progress for some time, among the fish-folk and

their human subjects, to send an expedition to the surface. And now

the shark masters had fortunately been able to secure alive an actual

specimen of the surface folk--namely, George Abbot. The expedition was

accordingly postponed until they could pump out of the young scientist

all the information possible.

Abbot was naturally overjoyed at the prospect. This would not only get

him out of here--but think what it would mean to science!

The plans of the sharks were entirely peaceful. Furthermore there were

only about two hundred of their laboratory-bred synthetic human

beings, and so these could constitute no menace to mankind.

Accordingly he enthusiastically assured them that they could depend

upon the hearty cooperation of the scientists of the outer earth.

* * * * *

During all his stay so far in this cave city, Abbot had been permitted

to come in contact only with Milli, the members of the Committee of

Five, and an occasional guard or laboratory assistant. Yet, in spite

of the absence of personal contacts with other members of this strange

race, Abbot was constantly aware of a background of many people and

tense activity, which kept the wheels of industry and domestic economy

turning in this undersea city.

Although the young man readily accustomed himself to the speech and

food and customs of this strange race, his personal modesty and

neatness revolted at the loin-cloths and beards of the men; and so, by

special dispensation, he was permitted to wear his sailor suit and to

shave.

The Committee of Five, who constituted a sort of ruling body for the

city, interviewed him at length, cross-examined him most skilfully and

took copious notes. But there seemed to be a strange lack of common

meeting ground between their minds and his, so that very often they

were forced to call on Milli to act as an intermediary. The beautiful

young girl seemed able to understand both George Abbot and the leaders

of her own people with equal facility.

A number of specially constructed submarines had already been built to

carry the expedition to the surface. Before it came time to use them,

Abbot tried to paint as glowing a picture as possible of life on

earth; but he found it necessary to gloss over a great many things.

How could he explain and justify war, liquor, crime, poverty, graft,

and the other evils to which constant acquaintance has rendered the

human race so calloused?

* * * * *

He was unable to deceive the men of the deep. With their

super-intelligence, they relentlessly unearthed from him all the

salient facts. And, as a result of their discoveries, their initial

friendly feeling for the world of men rapidly developed into supreme

contempt.

But Abbot on the other hand developed a deep respect for them. Their

chemistry and their electrical and mechanical devices amazed and

astounded him. They even were able to keep sun-time and tell the

seasons, by means of gyroscopes!

Age was measured much as it is on the surface. This fact was brought

to Abbot's attention by the approach of Milli's twentieth birthday.

Strange to relate, she seemed to dread the approach of that

anniversary, and finally told Abbot the reason.

"It is the custom," said she, "when a girl or a boy reaches twenty, to

give a very rigorous intelligence test. In fact, such a test is given

on every birthday, but the one on the twentieth is the hardest. So

far, I have just barely passed each test, which fact marks me as of

very low mentality indeed. And, if I fail _this_ time, they will kill

me, so as to make room for others who have a better right to live."

"Impossible!" exclaimed the young man indignantly. "Why, you have a

better mind than those of many of the leading scientists of the outer

world!"

"All the same," she gloomily replied, "it is way below standard for

down here."

* * * * *

On the day of the test, he did his best to cheer her up. Dolf also

came--she seemed to be an especial protege of his--and gave her his

encouragement. He had been coaching her heavily for the examinations

for some time previous.

But later in the day she returned in tears to report to Abbot that she

had failed, and had only twenty-four hours to live. Before he realized

what he was doing, Abbot had seized her in his arms, and was pouring

out to her a love which up to that moment he had not realized

existed.

Finally her sobbing ceased, and she smiled through her tears.

"George, dear," said she, "it is worth dying, to know that you care

for me like this."

"I won't let them kill you!" asserted the young man belligerently.

"They owe me something for the assistance which I am to give them on

their expedition. I shall demand your life as the price of my

cooperation. Besides, you are the only one of all your people who has

brains enough to understand what I tell them about the outer earth. It

is they who are weak-minded; not you!"

But she sadly shook her head.

"It would never do for you to sponsor me," said she, "for it would

alienate my one friend in power, Dolf. He loves me; no, don't scowl,

for I do not love him. But, for the safety of both of us, we must not

let him know of our love--yet."

"'Yet'?" exclaimed Abbot, "when you have less than a day to live?"

"You have given me hope," the girl replied, "and also an idea. Dolf

promised to appeal to the other members of the Five. I have just

thought of a good ground for his appeal; namely, my ability to

translate your clumsy description into a form suited to the high

intelligence of our superiors."

"'Clumsy'?" exclaimed the young man, a bit nettled.

"Oh, pardon me, dear. I'm so sorry," said she contritely. "I didn't

mean to let it slip. And now I must rush to Dolf and tell him my

idea."

"Don't let him make love to you, though!" admonished Abbot gloomily.

She kissed him lightly, and fled.

* * * * *

A half hour later she was back, all smiles. The idea had gone across

big. Dolf, as the leader of the projected expedition, had demanded

that Milli be brought along as liaison officer between them and their

guide; and the other four committeemen had reluctantly acceded. The

execution was accordingly indefinitely postponed.

The young couple spent the evening making happy plans for their life

together on the outer earth, for as soon as they should arrive in

America, Dolf would have no further hold over them.

The next day, the Committee of Five announced that, for a change, they

were going to give George Abbot an intelligence test. He had

represented himself as being one of the scientists of the outer earth;

accordingly, they could gauge the caliber of his fellow countrymen by

determining his I. Q.

Milli was quite agitated when this program was announced, but the

ordeal held no terrors for George Abbot. Had he not taken many such

tests on earth and passed them easily?

So he appeared before the Committee of Five with a rather cocky air.

He had yet to see an intelligence test too tricky for him to eat

alive.

"Start him with something easy," suggested Dolf. "Perhaps they don't

have tests on the outer earth. You know, one gains a certain facility

by practice."

"Milli didn't, in spite of all the practicing which you gave her,"

maliciously remarked Thig.

Dolf glowered at him.

* * * * *

"What is the cube root of 378?" suddenly asked one of the other

members of the committee.

"Oh, a little over seven," hazarded Abbot.

"Come, come," boomed Thig: "give it to us exactly."

"Well, seven-point-two, I guess."

"Don't guess. Give it exact, to four decimal places."

"In my head?" asked Abbot incredulously.

"Certainly!" replied Thig. "Even a child could do that. We're giving

you easy questions to start with."

"Start him on _square_ root," suggested Dolf kindly. "Remember he

isn't used to these tests like our people are."

So they tried him with square root, in which he turned out to be

equally dumb.

Abstract questions of physics and chemistry he did better on; but the

actual quantitative problems, which they expected him to solve in his

head, stumped him completely.

Then they asked him about education on earth, and the qualifications

for becoming a scientist, and who were the leaders in his field, and

what degrees they held, and what one had to do to get those degrees,

etc. Finally they dismissed him. Dolf then sent for Milli.

She was gone about an hour, and returned to Abbot wide-eyed and

incredulous.

"Oh, George," said she, lowering her voice. "Dolf tells me that your

intelligence is below that of a five-year-old child! Perhaps that is

why you and I get along so well together: we are both morons."

* * * * *

He started to protest, but she silenced him with a gesture and hurried

on. "I am not supposed to tell you this, but I want you to know that

your examination to-day has resulted in a complete change in their

plans for the expedition to the surface. They have consulted with the

leaders of our masters, and they agree with them."

She was plainly agitated.

"What is it, dear?" asked Abbot, with ominous foreboding.

Milli continued: "Early during your test, when you demonstrated that

you couldn't do the very simplest mathematical problems in your head,

they began to doubt your boastings that you are a scientist. But you

were so ingenuous in your answers about conditions on the surface,

that finally their faith in your honesty returned. If you are a

scientist among men, as they now believe, then the average run of your

people must be mere animals. This explains what has puzzled them

before; namely, how the people of the earth tolerate poverty and

unemployment and crime, and disease and war."

"Well?"

"And so a mere handful of our people, by purely peaceful means, could

easily make themselves the rulers of the earth. Probably this would be

all for the best; but somehow, my feelings tell me that it is not. I

know only too well what it is to be an inferior among intelligent

beings; so will not your people be happier, left alone to their

stupidity, just as I would be?"

* * * * *

George Abbot was crushed. This frank acceptance by Milli of the

alleged fact that he was a mere moron, was most humiliating. And

swiftly he realized what a real menace to the earth, was this

contemplated invasion from the deeps.

All that was worst in the world above would taint these intellectual

giants of the undersea. They would rise to supremacy, and then would

become rapacious tyrants over those whom they would regard as being no

more than animals.

He had witnessed jealousies among them down below. Might not these

jealousies flame into huge wars when translated to the world above?

Giants striving for mastery, using the human cattle as cannon fodder!

He painted to the girl a word-picture of the horrible vision which he

foresaw.

The invasion must be stopped at all costs! He and Milli must pit their

puny wits against these supermen!

But what could they do? As they were pondering this problem, a girl

entered their sitting room--the same who had brought Abbot's

breakfast on his first day in the caves. Milli introduced George to

the newcomer, whose name was Romehl.

Romehl appeared so woebegone that the young American ventured to

inquire if she too had been having difficulty with one of her tests.

But that was not the trouble; hers was rather of the heart.

About the same age as Milli, Romehl had recently passed her twentieth

birthday test and hence was eligible to marry; so she and a young man

named Hakin had requested the fish-masters to give them the requisite

permission. But their overlords for some reason had peremptorily

denied the request. Romehl and Hakin were desolate.

* * * * *

Young Abbot's sympathies were at once aroused.

"Can't something be done?" he started to ask.

But Milli silenced him with a warning glance. "Of course not!" she

said. "Who are we to question the judgment of our all-knowing

masters?"

Romehl had really come to Milli just to pour her troubles into a

friendly ear, rather than because she hoped to get any helpful ideas.

So she had a good cry, and finally left, somewhat comforted.

George and Milli then took up again the problem of saving the outer

earth from the threatened invasion. Milli suggested that they go

peaceably with the expedition, and then warn the authorities of

America at the first opportunity after their arrival; but Abbot

pointed out that this would merely result in their both being shut up

in some insane asylum, as no one would believe such a crazy story as

theirs.

The time for lights to be put out arrived without their thinking of

any better idea.

Next day Milli spent considerable time with Dolf, and on her return

excitedly informed Abbot that he had evolved a most diabolical plot.

There were sufficient quantities of explosives in storage to blast a

hole through the wall of the caves, letting in the sea and killing

everyone in the city. Dolf planned to set this off with a time fuse,

upon the departure of the expedition. Thus Thig and the people who

were left behind--about two-thirds of the total population of the

city--would be destroyed, and the fish would have no one to send after

Dolf and his followers to dictate to them on the upper earth.

Relieved of the thraldom of the fish, Dolf could make himself Emperor

of the World, and rule over the human cattle, with Milli at his side

as Empress. An alluring program--from Dolf's point of view.

* * * * *

"I didn't expect such treason even from Dolf!" exclaimed the young

American. "We must tell Thig!"

"What good would that do?" remonstrated the girl. "If you failed to

convince Thig, Dolf would make an end of us both. And if you convinced

Thig, it would mean the end of Dolf, whose influence is all that keeps

me alive. We must think of something else."

"Right, as always," replied Abbot.

A growl came from the doorway. It was Dolf, his bearded face black

with wrath.

"So?" he sputtered. "Treachery, eh?"

He whistled twice and two guards appeared.

"Take them to the prison!" he raged, indicating Abbot and Milli. "Our

expedition will have to do without a guide. I have learned enough of

the American language to make a good start, and I guess I can pick up

another guide when we reach the surface." Then, bending close to the

frightened girl, he whispered, "And another Empress."

The guards hustled them away and locked them up. As an added

precaution, a sentinel was posted in front of each cell door.

Abbot immediately got busy.

"Can you get word for me at once to Thig?" he whispered to the man on

guard.

"Perhaps," replied that individual non-committally.

"Then tell him," said Abbot, "that I have proof that Dolf is planning

to destroy this city behind him, and never return from the surface."

The sentry became immediately agitated.

"So you know this?" he exclaimed. "How did it leak out? But--through

Milli, of course. And the guard on her cell is not a member of the

expedition! Curses! I must get word to Dolf, and have that guard

changed at once."

And he darted swiftly away.

* * * * *

The young prisoner was plunged into gloom. Now he'd gone and done it!

Why hadn't he first made appropriate inquiries of his guard?

A new guard appeared in front of the door.

"Are you going on the expedition?" asked Abbot.

"Yes, worse luck," replied the guard.

The prisoner forgot his own gloom, in his surprise at the gloominess

of the other.

"Don't you want to go?" he exclaimed incredulously.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Do you know Romehl?" asked the guard.

"Yes," Abbot replied.

"Well, that's why."

"Then you must be Hakin!" exclaimed Abbot, with sudden understanding.

"Yes," replied the other dully.

"You are going on the expedition, and Romehl is not?"

"Quite correct."

"Say, look here!" exclaimed Abbot, and then he launched into the

description of a plan, which just that moment had occurred to him, for

him, Milli, Romehl and Hakin to make their getaway ahead of the

expedition--in fact, that very night--and to set off the time-fuse

before leaving.

It turned out that Hakin knew where the explosives were planted, and

where the submarines were kept, and even how to operate them. He

eagerly accepted the plan; and when next relieved as sentinel, he

hurried away to inform Romehl.

Three hours later he was back on post. Quickly he explained to his

prisoner all about the workings of the submarines of the expedition.

The lights-out bell rang, and all the city became dark, except for dim

lights in the passageways. Hakin at once unlocked the door of Abbot's

cell, and together the two young men sneaked down the corridor to the

cell where Milli was confined.

Silently Hakin and Abbot sprang upon the guard and throttled him; then

released Milli. There was no time for more than a few hurried words of

explanation before the three of them left the prison and made for the

locks of the subterranean canal, picking up Romehl at a preappointed

spot on the way.

* * * * *

The canal locks were unguarded, as well as the storerooms of the

submarines. Each of the rooms held two subs, and could open onto the

second lock and be separately flooded.

The submarines were of steel as thick as Abbot's bathysphere. Their

shape was that of an elongated rain drop, with fins. In the pointed

tip of their tails were motors which could operate at any pressure. At

the front end were quartz windows. In the top fin was an expanding

device which could be filled with buoyant gas, produced by chemicals,

when the craft neared the surface. Each submarine also contained a

radio set, so tuned as to be capable of opening and closing the

radio-controlled gates of the locks. Each would carry comfortably two

or three persons.

Having picked out two submarines and found them to be in order, Hakin

sneaked back into the corridor to set off the time-fuse, leaving his

three companions in the dark in the storeroom. Abbot put a protecting

arm around Milli, while Romehl snuggled close to her other side.

Their hearts were all racing madly with excitement, and this was

intensified when they heard Hakin talking with someone just outside

their door.

Then Hakin returned unexpectedly.

"Something terrible has happened!" he breathed. "The explosives have

been discovered and are gone. One of the expedition men has just

informed me. Someone must have gotten word to Thig--"

"Why, _I_ did," interrupted Milli. "I told my guard, just before they

came and changed him."

Abbot groaned.

Hakin continued hurriedly: "So Dolf plans to leave at once. He is

already rounding up his followers. Come on! We must get out ahead of

him!"

An uproar could be heard drawing near in the corridor outside. Abbot

opened the door and peered out; then shut it again and whispered, "The

two factions are fighting already."

"Then come on!" exclaimed Hakin.

* * * * *

As he spoke he turned on the lights, wedged the door tight against its

gaskets and threw the switch which started the water seeping into the

storeroom; then he led Romehl hurriedly to one of the two submarines,

while George and Milli rushed to the other. Heavy blows sounded

against the storeroom door.

The water rapidly rose about them, and the four friends crawled

inside the two machines and clamped the lids tight. Then they waited

for sufficient depth, so that they could get under way.

The water rose above their bow windows, but suddenly and inexplicably

it began to subside again. A man waded by around the bow of Abbot's

machine.

"They've crashed in the door, and are pumping out the water again!"

exclaimed Abbot. "We're trapped!"

"Not yet!" grimly replied the girl at his side. "Can you work the

radio door controls?"

"Yes."

"Then quick! Open the doors into the lock!"

He pressed a button. Ahead of them two gates swung inward, followed by

a deluge of water.

"Come on!" spoke the girl. "Full speed ahead, before the water gets

too low."

Abbot did so. Out into the lock they sped, in the face of the surging

current. Then Abbot pushed another button to close the gates behind

them. But the water continued to fall, and they grounded before they

reached the end of the lock. Quite evidently the rush of the current

had kept the doors from closing behind them. The city was being

flooded through the broken door of the storeroom.

But Abbot opened the next gate, and again they breasted the incoming

torrent. This time, although the level continued to fall, their craft

did not quite ground.

"They must have got the gates shut behind us at last," said he, as he

opened the next set and pressed on.

* * * * *

And then he had an idea. Why not omit to close any further gates

behind him? As a result, the sea pressure would eventually break down

the inmost barriers, and destroy the city as effectively as Dolf's

bomb would have done. But he said nothing to Milli of this plan: she

might wish to save her people.

Gate after gate they passed. This was too simple. A few more locks and

they would be out in open water. The submarine of Hakin and Romehl

swept by--evidently to let George and Milli know their presence--and

then dropped behind again. But was it their two friends after all? It

might have been some enemy! They could not be sure.

This uncertainty cast a chill of apprehension over them, which was

immediately heightened by the sudden extinguishing of the overhead

lights of the tunnel. Abbot pressed the radio button for the next set

of locks, but they did not budge.

"What can be the matter?" he asked frantically.

"My people must have turned off the electric current," Milli replied.

"The gates won't open without electricity to feed the motors. We're

trapped again."

For a moment they lay stunned by a realization that their escape was

blocked.

"Kiss me good-by, dear," breathed Milli. "This is the end."

As the young man reached over to take her in his arms, the submarine

was suddenly lifted up and spun backward, end over end: then tumbled

and bumped along, as though it were a chip on an angry mountain

torrent.

Stunned and bruised and bleeding, the young American finally lost

consciousness....

* * * * *

When he came to his senses again, his first words were, "Milli, where

are you?"

"My darling!" breathed a voice at his side. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," he replied. "Where are we? What has happened?"

"The entire system of locks must have crashed in and flooded the

city," said she.

Instantly Abbott's mind grasped the explanation of this occurrence:

their leaving open so many gates behind them had made it impossible

for the few remaining gates ahead to withstand the terrific pressures

of the ocean depths, and they had crumpled. But he did not tell Milli

his part in this.

She continued, "I was pretty badly shaken up myself, but I've got this

boat going again, and we're on our way out of the tunnel. See--I've

found out how to work our searchlight."

He looked. A broad beam of light from their bow, illuminated the

tunnel ahead of them.

Presently another beam appeared, shooting by them from behind.

"Hakin and Romehl!" exclaimed the girl. "Then they're safe, too!"

The tunnel walls grew rough, then disappeared. They were out in the

open sea at last, although still one mile beneath the surface.

But in front of them was an angry seething school of the man-sharks,

clearly illumined by the two rays of light. Behind the sharks were a

score or more of serpentine steeds.

The sharks saw the two submarines and charged down upon them; but

Milli, with great presence of mind, shut off her searchlight and swung

sharply to the left.

"Up! Up!" urged the young man, so she turned the craft upward.

* * * * *

On and on they went, with no interference. Presently they turned the

light on again, so as to see what progress they were making. But they

were making absolutely none! They were merely standing on their tail.

They had reached a height of such relatively low pressure that it took

all the churning of their propeller just merely to counteract the

great weight of their submarine.

Abbot switched on their chemical gas supply, and as their top fin

expanded into a balloon they again began to rise.

One thing, however, perplexed the young man: the water about him

seemed jet black rather than blue. They must by now be close to the

surface of the sea, where at least a twilight blue should be visible.

Even at the one mile depth in his bathysphere, the water had been

brilliant, yet here, almost at the surface, he could see absolutely

nothing.

He switched on the searchlight again to make sure that their window

wasn't clouded over; but it wasn't.

Then suddenly a rippling veil of pale silver appeared ahead; then a

blue-black sky and twinkling stars. They had reached the surface, and

it was night.

He pointed out the stars to the girl at his side, then swung the nose

of the submarine around and showed her the moon.

Where next? George Abbot picked out his position by the stars and

headed east. East across the Pacific, toward America.

* * * * *

But soon he noticed that their little craft was dropping beneath the

surface. He kept heading up more and more; he threw the lever for more

and more chemical gas; yet still they continued to sink.

"Milli!" he exclaimed, "we've got to get out of here!"

She clutched him in fear, for to her the pressure of the open sea

meant death, certain death. But he pushed her firmly away, and

unclamped the lid of the submarine. In another instant he had hauled

her out and was battling his way to the surface, while their little

boat sunk slowly beneath them.

Milli was an experienced swimmer, for the undersea folk enjoyed the

privilege of a large indoor pool. As soon as she found that the open

sea did not kill her, she became calm.

Side by side they floated in the moonlight. The sky began to pink in

the east. Dawn came, the first dawn that Milli had ever seen.

Suddenly she called George's attention to two bobbing heads some

distance away in the path of light the rising sun made on the ocean.

"Hakin and Romehl!" he exclaimed. Long since they had given them up

for dead; but evidently fate had treated them in much the same way as

themselves.

And a moment later his own salt-stung eyes noticed a long gray shape

to one side.

As the day brightened, Abbot suddenly noticed a large bulking shape

nearby.

It was his own boat!--the one which had lowered him into the depths in

his bathysphere so many weeks and weeks ago! Evidently it was still

sticking around, grappling for his long dead body.

"Come on, dear," said he, and side by side they swam over to it.

He helped her up the ship's ladder. The ship's cook sleepily stuck his

head out of the galley door.

"Hullo, Mike," sang out George Abbot merrily to the astonished man.

"I've brought company for breakfast. And there'll be two more when we

can lower a boat."

[Illustration: Advertisement]

Brood of the Dark Moon

(_A Sequel to "Dark Moon"_)

BEGINNING A FOUR-PART NOVEL

_By Charles Willard Diffin_

[Illustration: _He landed one blow on the nearest face._]

[Sidenote: Once more Chet, Walt and Diane are united in a wild ride to

the Dark Moon--but this time they go as prisoners of their deadly

enemy Schwartzmann.]

CHAPTER I

_The Message_

In a hospital in Vienna, in a room where sunlight flooded through

ultra-violet permeable crystal, the warm rays struck upon smooth walls

the color of which changed from hot reds to cool yellow or gray or to

soothing green, as the Directing Surgeon might order. An elusive

blending of tones, now seemed pulsing with life; surely even a

flickering flame of vitality would be blown into warm livingness in

such a place.

Even the chart case in the wall glittered with the same clean,

brilliant hues from its glass and metal door. The usual revolving

paper disks showed white beyond the glass. They were moving; and the

ink lines grew to tell a story of temperature and respiration and of

every heart-beat.

On the identification-plate a name appeared and a date: "Chet

Bullard--23 years. Admitted: August 10, 1973." And below that the

ever-changing present ticked into the past in silent minutes: "August

15, 1973; World Standard Time: 10:38--10:39--10:40--"

For five days the minutes had trickled into a rivulet of time that

flowed past a bandaged figure in the bed below--a silent figure and

unmoving, as one for whom time has ceased. But the surgeons of the

Allied Hospital at Vienna are clever.

10:41--10:42--The bandaged figure stirred uneasily on a snow-white

bed....

* * * * *

A nurse was beside him in an instant. Was her patient about to recover

consciousness? She examined the bandages that covered a ragged wound

in his side, where all seemed satisfactory. To all appearances the man

who had moved was unconscious still; the nurse could not know of the

thought impressions, blurred at first, then gradually clearing, that

were flashing through his mind.

Flashing; yet, to the man who struggled to comprehend them, they

passed laggingly in review: one picture followed another with

exasperating slowness....

Where was he? What had happened? He was hardly conscious of his own

identity....

There was a ship ... he held the controls ... they were flying low....

One hand reached fumblingly beneath the soft coverlet to search for a

triple star that should be upon his jacket. A triple star: the

insignia of a Master Pilot of the World!--and with the movement there

came clearly a realization of himself.

Chet Bullard, Master Pilot; he was Chet Bullard ... and a wall of

water was sweeping under him from the ocean to wipe out the great

Harkness Terminal buildings.... It was Harkness--Walt Harkness--from

whom he had snatched the controls.... To fly to the Dark Moon, of

course--

What nonsense was that?... No, it was true: the Dark Moon had raised

the devil with things on Earth.... How slowly the thoughts came! Why

couldn't he remember?...

Dark Moon!--and they were flying through space.... They had conquered

space; they were landing on the Dark Moon that was brilliantly alight.

Walt Harkness had set the ship down beautifully--

* * * * *

Then, crowding upon one another in breath-taking haste, came clear

recollection of past adventures:

They were upon the Dark Moon--and there was the girl, Diane. They must

save Diane. Harkness had gone for the ship. A savage, half-human shape

was raising a hairy arm to drive a spear toward Diane, and he, Chet,

was leaping before her. He felt again the lancet-pain of that

blade....

And now he was dying--yes, he remembered it now--dying in the night on

a great, sweeping surface of frozen lava.... It was only a moment

before that he had opened his eyes to see Harkness' strained face and

the agonized look of Diane as the two leaned above him.... But now he

felt stronger. He must see them again....

He opened his eyes for another look at his companions--and, instead of

black, star-pricked night on a distant globe, there was dazzling

sunlight. No desolate lava-flow, this; no thousand fires that flared

and smoked from their fumeroles in the dark. And, instead of Harkness

and the girl, Diane, leaning over him there was a nurse who laid one

cool hand upon his blond head and who spoke soothingly to him of

keeping quiet. He was to take it easy--he would understand later--and

everything was all right.... And with this assurance Chet Bullard

drifted again into sleep....

* * * * *

The blurring memories had lost their distortions a week later, as he

sat before a broad window in his room and looked out over the

housetops of Vienna. Again he was himself, Chet Bullard, with a Master

Pilot's rating: and he let his eyes follow understandingly the moving

picture of the world outside. It was good to be part of a world whose

every movement he understood.

Those cylinders with stubby wings that crossed and recrossed the sky;

their sterns showed a jet of thin vapor where a continuous explosion

of detonite threw them through the air. He knew them all: the pleasure

craft, the big, red-bellied freighters, the sleek liners, whose

multiple helicopters spun dazzlingly above as they sank down through

the shaft of pale-green light that marked a descending area.

That one would be the China Mail. Her under-ports were open before the

hold-down clamps had gripped her; the mail would pour out in an

avalanche of pouches where smaller mailships waited to distribute the

cargo across the land.

And the big fellow taking off, her hull banded with blue, was one of

Schwartzmann's liners. He wondered what had become of Schwartzmann,

the man who had tried to rob Harkness of his ship; who had brought the

patrol ships upon them in an effort to prevent their take-off on that

wild trip.

For that matter, what had become of Harkness? Chet Bullard was

seriously disturbed at the absence of any word beyond the one message

that had been waiting for him when he regained consciousness. He drew

that message from a pocket of his dressing gown and read it again:

"Chet, old fellow, lie low. S has vanished. Means mischief.

Think best not to see you or reveal your whereabouts until

our position firmly established. Have concealed ship.

Remember, S will stop at nothing. Trying to discredit us,

but the gas I brought will fix all that. Get yourself well.

We are planning to go back, of course. Walt."

Chet returned the folded message to his pocket. He arose and walked

about the room to test his returning strength: to remain idle was

becoming increasingly difficult. He wanted to see Walter Harkness,

talk with him, plan for their return to the wonder-world they had

found.

* * * * *

Instead he dropped again into his chair and touched a knob on the

newscaster beside him. A voice, hushed to the requirements of these

hospital precincts spoke softly of market quotations in the far

corners of the earth. He turned the dial irritably and set it on

"World News--General." The name of Harkness came from the instrument

to focus Chet's attention.

"Harkness makes broad claims," the voice was saying. "Vienna

physicists ridicule his pretensions.

"Walter Harkness, formerly of New York, proprietor of Harkness

Terminals, whose great buildings near New York were destroyed in the

Dark Moon wave, claims to have reached and returned from the Dark

Moon.

"Nearly two months have passed since the new satellite crashed into

the gravitational field of Earth, its coming manifested by earth

shocks and a great tidal wave. The globe, as we know, was invisible.

Although still unseen, and only a black circle that blocks out distant

stars, it is visible in the telescopes of the astronomers; its

distance and its orbital motion have been determined.

"And now this New Yorker claims to have penetrated space: to have

landed on the Dark Moon: and to have returned to Earth. Broad claims,

indeed, especially so in view of the fact that Harkness refuses to

submit his ship for examination by the Stratosphere Control Board. He

has filed notice of ownership, thus introducing some novel legal

technicalities, but, since space-travel is still a dream of the

future, there will be none to dispute his claims.

"Of immediate interest is Harkness' claim to have discovered a gas

that is fatal to the serpents of space. The monsters that appeared

when the Dark Moon came and that attacked ships above the Repelling

Area are still there. All flying is confined to the lower levels; fast

world-routes are disorganized.

"Whether or not this gas, of which Harkness has a sample, came from

the Dark Moon or from some laboratory on Earth is of no particular

importance. Will it destroy the space-serpents? If it does this, our

hats are off to Mr. Walter Harkness; almost will we be inclined to

believe the rest of his story--or to laugh with him over one of the

greatest hoaxes ever attempted."

Chet had been too intent upon the newscast to heed an opening door at

his back....

* * * * *

"How about it, Chet?" a voice was asking. "Would you call it a hoax or

the real thing?" And a girl's voice chimed in with exclamations of

delight at sight of the patient, so evidently recovering.

"Diane!" Chet exulted, "--and Walt!--you old son-of-a-gun!" He found

himself clinging to a girl's soft hand with one of his, while with the

other he reached for that of her companion. But Walt Harkness' arm

went about his shoulders instead.

"I'd like to hammer you plenty," Harkness was saying, "and I don't

even dare give you a friendly slam on the back. How's the side where

they got you with the spear?--and how are you? How soon will you be

ready to start back? What about--"

Diane Delacouer raised her one free hand to stop the flood of

questions. "My dear," she protested, "give Chet a chance. He must be

dying for information."

"I was dying for another reason the last time I saw you," Chet

reminded her, "--up on the Dark Moon. But it seems that you got me

back here in time for repairs. And now what?" His nurse came into the

room with extra chairs; Chet waited till she was gone before he

repeated: "Now what? When do we go back?"

Harkness did not answer at once. Instead he crossed to the newscaster

in its compact, metal case. The voice was still speaking softly; at a

touch of a switch it ceased, and in the silence came the soft rush of

sound that meant the telautotype had taken up its work. Beneath a

glass a paper moved, and words came upon it from a hurricane of

type-bars underneath. The instrument was printing the news story as

rapidly as any voice could speak it.

Harkness read the words for an instant, then let the paper pass on to

wind itself upon a spool. It had still been telling of the gigantic

hoax that this eccentric American had attempted and Harkness repeated

the words.

"A hoax!" he exclaimed, and his eyes, for a moment, flashed angrily

beneath the dark hair that one hand had disarranged. "I would like to

take that facetious bird out about a thousand miles and let him play

around with the serpents we met. But, why get excited? This is all

Schwartzmann's doing. The tentacles of that man's influence, reach out

like those of an octopus."

* * * * *

Chet ranged himself alongside. Tall and slim and blond, he contrasted

strongly with this other man, particularly in his own quiet

self-control as against Harkness' quick-flaring anger.

"Take it easy, Walt," he advised. "We'll show them. But I judge that

you have been razzed a bit. It's a pretty big story for them to

swallow without proof. Why didn't you show them the ship? Or why

didn't you let Diane and me back up your yarn? And you haven't

answered my other questions: when do we go back?"

Harkness took the queries in turn.

"I didn't show the old boat," he explained, "because I'm not ready

for that yet. I want it kept dark--dark as the Dark Moon. I want to do

my preliminary work there before Schwartzmann and his experts see our

ship. He would duplicate it in a hurry and be on our trail.

"And now for our plans. Well, out there in space the Dark Moon is

waiting. Have you realized, Chet, that we own that world--you and

Diane and I? Small--only half the size of our old moon--but what a

place! And it's ours!

"Back in history--you remember?--an ambitious lad named Alexander

sighed for more worlds to conquer. Well, we're going Alexander one

better--we've found the world. We're the first ever to go out into

space and return again.

"We'll go back there, the three of us. We will take no others

along--not yet. We will explore and make our plans for development;

and we will keep it to ourselves until we are ready to hold it against

any opposition.

"And now, how soon can you go? Your injury--how soon will you be well

enough?"

"Right now," Chet told him laconically; "to-day, if you say the word.

They've got me welded together so I'll hold, I reckon. But where's the

ship? What have you done--" He broke off abruptly to listen--

* * * * *

To all three came a muffled, booming roar. The windows beside them

shivered with the thud of the distant explosion; they had not ceased

their trembling before Harkness had switched on the news broadcast.

And it was a minute only until the news-gathering system was on the

air.

"Explosion at the Institute of Physical Science!" it said. "This is

Vienna broadcasting. An explosion has just occurred. We are giving a

preliminary announcement only. The laboratories of the Scientific

Institute of this city are destroyed. A number of lives have been

lost. The cause has not been determined. It is reported that the

laboratories were beginning analytical work, on the so-called Harkness

Dark Moon gas--

"Confirmation has just been radioed to this station. Dark Moon gas

exploded on contact with air. The American, Harkness, is either a

criminal or a madman; he will be apprehended at once. This

confirmation comes from Herr Schwartzmann of Vienna who left the

Institute only a few minutes before the explosion occurred--"

And, in the quiet of a hospital room, Walter Harkness, drew a long

breath and whispered: "Schwartzmann! His hand is everywhere.... And

that sample was all I had.... I must leave at once--go back to

America."

He was halfway to the door--he was almost carrying Diane Delacouer

with him--when Chet's quiet tones brought him up short.

"I've never seen you afraid," said Chet; and his eyes were regarding

the other man curiously; "but you seem to have the wind up, as the old

flyers used to say, when it comes to Schwartzmann."

* * * * *

Harkness looked at the girl he held so tightly, then grinned boyishly

at Chet. "I've someone else to be afraid for now," he said.

His smile faded and was replaced by a look of deep concern. "I haven't

told you about Schwartzmann," he said; "haven't had time. But he's

poison, Chet. And he's after our ship."

"Where is the ship; where have you hidden it? Tell me--where?"

Harkness looked about him before he whispered sharply: "Our old

shop--up north!"

He seemed to feel that some explanation was due Chet. "In this day it

seems absurd to say such things," he added; "but this Schwartzmann is

a throw-back--a conscienceless scoundrel. He would put all three of us

out of the way in a minute if he could get the ship. _He_ knows we

have been to the Dark Moon--no question about that--and he wants the

wealth he can imagine is there.

"We'll all plan to leave; I'll radio you later. We'll go back to the

Dark Moon--" He broke off abruptly as the door opened to admit the

nurse. "You'll hear from me later," he repeated; and hurried Diane

Delacouer from the room.

But he returned in a moment to stand again at the door--the nurse was

still in the room. "In case you feel like going for a hop," he told

Chet casually, "Diane's leaving her ship here for you. You'll find it

up above--private landing stage on the roof."

Chet answered promptly, "Fine; that will go good one of these days."

All this for the benefit of listening ears. Yet even Chet would have

been astonished to know that he would be using that ship within an

hour....

* * * * *

He was standing at the window, and his mind was filled, not with

thoughts of any complications that had developed for his friend

Harkness, but only of the adventures that lay ahead of them both. The

Dark Moon!--they had reached it indeed; but they had barely scratched

the surface of that world of mystery and adventure. He was wild with

eagerness to return--to see again that new world, blazing brightly

beneath the sun; to see the valley of fires--and he had a score to

settle with the tribe of ape-men, unless Harkness had finished them

off while he, himself, lay unconscious.... Yes, there seemed little

doubt of that; Walt would have paid the score for all of them.... He

seemed actually back in that world to which his thoughts went winging

across the depths of space. The burr of a telephone recalled him.

It was the hospital office, he found, when he answered. There was a

message--would Mr. Bullard kindly receive it on the telautotype--lever

number four, and dial fifteen-point-two--thanks.... And Chet depressed

a key and adjusted the instrument that had been printing the newscast.

The paper moved on beneath the glass, and the type-bars clicked more

slowly now. From some distant station that might be anywhere on or

above the earth, there was coming a message.

The frequency of that sending current was changed at some central

office; it was stepped down to suit the instrument beside him. And the

type was spelling out words that made the watching man breathless and

intent--until he tore off the paper and leaped for the call signal

that would summon the nurse. Through her he would get his own clothes,

his uniform, the triple star that showed his rating and his authority

in every air-level of the world.

That badge would have got him immediate attention on any landing

field. Now, on the flat roof, with steady, gray eyes and a voice whose

very quietness accentuated its imperative commands, Chet had the staff

of the hospital hangars as alert as if their alarm had sounded a

general ambulance call.

* * * * *

Straight into the sky a red beacon made a rigid column of light; a

radio sender was crackling a warning and a demand for "clear air."

From the forty level, a patrol ship that had caught the signal came

corkscrewing down the red shaft to stand by for emergency work....

Chet called her commander from the cabin of Diane's ship. A word of

thanks--Chet's number--and a dismissal of the craft. Then the white

lights signaled "all clear" and the hold-down levers let go with a

soft hiss--

The feel of the controls was good to his hands; the ship roared into

life. A beautiful little cruiser, this ship of Diane's; her twin

helicopters lifted her gracefully into the air. The column of red

light had changed to blue, the mark of an ascending area; Chet touched

a switch. A muffled roar came from the stern and the blast drove him

straight out for a mile; then he swung and returned. He was nosing up

as he touched the blue--straight up--and he held the vertical climb

till the altimeter before him registered sixty thousand.

Traffic is north-bound only on the sixty-level, and Chet set his ship

on a course for the frozen wastes of the Arctic; then he gave her the

gun and nodded in tight-lipped satisfaction at the mounting thunder

that answered from the stern.

Only then did he read again the message on a torn fragment of

telautotype paper. "Harkness," was the signature; and above, a brief

warning and a call--"Danger--must leave at once. You get ship and

stand by. I will meet you there." And, for the first time, Chet found

time to wonder at this danger that had set the hard-headed,

hard-hitting Walt Harkness into a flutter of nerves.

* * * * *

What danger could there be in this well-guarded world? A patrol-ship

passed below him as he asked himself the question. It was symbolic of

a world at peace; a world too busy with its own tremendous development

to find time for wars or makers of war. What trouble could this man

Schwartzmann threaten that a word to the Peace Enforcement Commission

would not quell? Where could he go to elude the inescapable patrols?

And suddenly Chet saw the answer to that question--saw plainly where

Schwartzmann could go. Those vast reaches of black space! If

Schwartzmann had their ship he could go where they had gone--go out to

the Dark Moon.... And Harkness had warned Chet to get their ship and

stand by.

Had Walt learned of some plan of Schwartzmann's? Chet could not answer

the question, but he moved the control rheostat over to the last

notch.

From the body of the craft came an unending roar of a generator where

nothing moved; where only the terrific, explosive impact of bursting

detonite drove out from the stern to throw them forward. "A good

little ship," Chet had said of this cruiser of Diane's; and he nodded

approval now of a ground-speed detector whose quivering needle had

left the 500 mark. It touched 600, crept on, and trembled at 700 miles

an hour with the top speed of the ship.

There was a position-finder in the little control room, and Chet's

gaze returned to it often to see the pinpoint of light that crept

slowly across the surface of a globe. It marked their ever-changing

location, and it moved unerringly toward a predetermined goal.

* * * * *

It was a place of ice and snow and bleak outcropping of half-covered

rocks where he descended. Lost from the world, a place where even the

high levels seldom echoed to the roar of passing ships, it had been a

perfect location for their "shop." Here he and Walt had assembled

their mystery ship.

He had to search intently over the icy waste to find the exact

location; a dim red glow from a hidden sun shone like pale fire

across distant black hills. But the hills gave him a bearing, and he

landed at last beside a vaguely outlined structure, half hidden in

drifting snow.

The dual fans dropped him softly upon the snow ground and Chet, as he

walked toward the great locked doors, was trembling from other causes

than the cold. Would the ship be there? He was suddenly a-quiver with

excitement at the thought of what this ship meant--the adventure, the

exploration that lay ahead.

The doors swung back. In the warm and lighted room was a cylinder of

silvery white. Its bow ended in a gaping port where a mighty exhaust

could roar forth to check the ship's forward speed; there were other

ports ranged about the gleaming body. Above the hull a control-room

projected flatly; its lookouts shone in the brilliance of the nitron

illuminator that flooded the room with light....

Chet Bullard was breathless as he moved on and into the room. His wild

experiences that had seemed but a weird dream were real again. The

Dark Moon was real! And they would be going back to it!

* * * * *

The muffled beating of great helicopters was sounding in his ears;

outside, a ship was landing. This would be Harkness coming to join

him; yet, even as the thought flashed through his mind, it was

countered by a quick denial. To the experienced hearing of the Master

Pilot this sound of many fans meant no little craft. It was a big ship

that was landing, and it was coming down fast. The blue-striped

monster looming large in the glow of the midnight sun was not entirely

a surprise to Chet's staring eyes.

But--blue-striped! The markings of the Schwartzmann line!--He had

hardly sensed the danger when it was upon him.

A man, heavy and broad of frame, was giving orders. Only once had Chet

seen this Herr Schwartzmann, but there was no mistaking him now. And

he was sending a squad of rushing figures toward the man who struggled

to close a great door.

Chet crouched to meet the attack. He was outnumbered; he could never

win out. But the knowledge of his own helplessness was nothing beside

that other conviction that flooded him with sickening certainty--

A hoax!--that was what they had called Walt's story; Schwartzmann had

so named it, and now Schwartzmann had been the one to fool them; the

message was a fake--a bait to draw him out; and he, Chet, had taken

the bait. He had led Schwartzmann here; had delivered their ship into

his hands--

He landed one blow on the nearest face; he had one glimpse of a

clubbed weapon swinging above him--and the world went dark.