"There's something wrong about this plane, Doctor," came Captain

Garland's voice through the speaking tube. "It doesn't behave like it

should."

"I guess we've found what we were looking for, Carnes," said Dr. Bird

grimly. "What seems to be the matter, Captain?"

"Blessed if I know," was the answer. "It feels like a drag of some

sort, like an automobile going through heavy sand. We're slowing down,

though I am giving her all the gun I've got!"

"Cut your motor!" said the doctor shortly. He bent over the duplicate

instrument board as the roar of the motor died away. Carnes rose and

looked over the side.

"Look, Doctor!" he cried in a strained voice. Directly below them

yawned a hole sixty feet in diameter and extending down into the

bowels of the earth. The plane hovered over the hole for a moment and

then slowly descended into it.

"What is it?" cried the detective.

"It's the secret of the Port of Missing Planes," replied Dr. Bird.

"Throw off your parachute. Keep your gun and light handy but don't

fire unless I do first. The same holds good for you, Captain."

The plane sunk until it was fifty feet below the level of the ground.

Carnes looked up. Gradually the circle of sky became blurred and hazy

as though the air were heavy with dust. The rasp of Dr. Bird's

flashlight key aroused him and he hastily wound his own. The haze

above them grew thicker. Suddenly the light died and then came

darkness, a darkness so thick and absolute that it bore down on them

like a weight. Dr. Bird's light stabbed a path through it.

* * * * *

They were in a tunnel or tube reaching into the ground. The sides were

smooth and polished, as though water worn. The plane sank deeper and

deeper into the earth. Suddenly Dr. Bird's light went out.

"What's the matter, Doctor?" asked Carnes, "did your light fail?"

"No," came a strained voice. "I turned it out."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Light yours."

Carnes reached into his pocket. Dr. Bird could hear his breath come in

panting sobs as though he were exerting his whole strength.

"I can't do it, Doctor," he gasped. "I want to, but some power greater

than my will prevents me."

"Are you affected, Captain?" asked the Doctor.

"I--can't--move," came in muffled accents from the front cockpit.

"Some power beyond my knowledge has us in its grasp," said the doctor.

"All we can do is sit tight and see what happens. We are no longer

falling at any rate."

From the forward cockpit came a rustling sound. There was a slight jar

in the ship, and it gave as though a weight had been applied to one

side.

"What are you doing, Garland?" asked the doctor sharply.

There was no reply. Again came the rustling sound. The ship gave a

sudden lurch as though a weight had left the side. Carnes suddenly

spoke.

"Good-by, Doctor," he said. "I'm going over the side."

"I have been fighting it but I'm going myself in a minute," replied

the doctor grimly. "Something is pulling me over. It's the same power

that keeps me from turning on my light."

"It's perfectly safe to go over," said Carnes suddenly. "The plane is

resting on a solid base."

"I have the same feeling. Catch hold of my belt and let's go."

* * * * *

They climbed over the side of the plane and dropped to the ground.

Their descent made absolutely no sound. Dr. Bird stopped and felt the

floor.

"Crepe rubber, or something of the sort," he murmured. "At any rate,

it's noise and vibration proof."

"Now what?" asked Carnes.

"This way," replied the doctor confidently. "I'm beginning to get the

hang of understanding this. The way is perfectly level and open before

us. Keep your hand on my shoulder and step right out."

"How do you know where we're going?"

"I don't, but something tells me that the road is level and open. It

is the same thing that brought us over the side. I can't explain it

but it is some sort of a telepathic control exerted by an

intelligence. Whether the sending mind is reinforced by instruments I

don't know, but I rather fancy not."

"Where is Garland?"

"He went off in another direction. I could feel the power that guided

him although it was not directed at us. Something tells me that he is

safe for the present."

For half a mile they made their way through the darkness before they

stopped. This time Carnes could plainly understand the command which

came to both of them.

"There is a table before us," said Dr. Bird. "Lay your flashlight and

pistol on it."

Carnes struggled against the order but the power guiding him was

stronger than his will. He strove to turn on his light. When he could

not, he tried to cock his pistol. With a sigh, he laid his gun and

light on the table before him. Without words, the two men walked

forward a few feet and sat confidently down on a bench that something

told them was there.

* * * * *

For a moment they sat quietly. A cry, choked in the middle, came from

the detective's throat. Cold clammy hands touched his face. He strove

again to cry out, but his voice was paralyzed. The hands went

methodically over his body, evidently searching for weapons. Mustering

up his will, Carnes made a grab for one of them. His captor apparently

had no objection to the detective's action for Carnes seized the hand

without effort. But he almost dropped it. The hand was as large as a

ham. He reached for the other hand but could not locate it. A movement

on the part of his captor brought it to him and he made the startling

discovery that the palms were directed outward. The hand had only four

fingers, which were armed with long curved claws instead of nails.

Carnes ran his hand up the palm to search for a thumb but found none.

He found, however, that, while the hands were naked, the wrists were

covered with short thick fur.

"Doctor!" he cried, "there's--"

Again came the overpowering will and his speech died away in silence.

He sat dumb and motionless while his captor moved over to Dr. Bird. A

second animal came forward and felt the detective over. He was not

allowed to move this time, nor was he while a third and fourth animal

went carefully over him. The four drew back some distance.

"Doctor," whispered Carnes as the influence grew fainter.

"Shh!" was the answer, and as the doctor's demand for silence was

reinforced by another wave of the paralyzing power, Carnes had no

choice. As he sat there silent, the power which held him again seemed

to grow less. He found that he could move his arms slightly. He edged

forward to get his gun and light. Before he reached them, a beam of

light split the darkness. Dr. Bird stood, electric torch in hand,

staring before him.

At a distance of a few feet stood a group of half a dozen animals

about the height of a man as they stood erect on their short hind

legs. They were covered with heavy brown fur. Their lower limbs were

thin and light, but their shoulders and forelegs were heavy and

powerful. Their forepaws, which had the palms facing outward, were

armed with the long wicked claws he had felt. No visible ears

protruded from the round skulls. Their heads appeared to rest between

their shoulders, so short were their necks. Their muzzles were long

and obtusely pointed. Through grinning jaws could be seen powerful

white teeth.

"Talpidae!" cried Dr. Bird. "Carnes, they are a race of giant

intellectual moles!"

* * * * *

Despite the fact that they had no visible eyes, the creatures were

strongly affected by the light. They dropped on all fours and turned

their backs to the scientist and the detective. Two of them scurried

away down a long tunnel which opened from the room in which they

stood. Dr. Bird turned his light up and swept the room. It was

roughly circular, a hundred feet in diameter, with a roof ten feet

high. Dozens of tunnels led off in every direction.

"Your light, Carnes, quick!" cried the doctor in a strained voice.

Carnes reached toward the table for his light. Before he could reach

it he was frozen into immobility. From the corner of his eye he could

watch the doctor. Dr. Bird was struggling to bring the light back on

the moles which stood before them. Great beads of sweat stood out on

his forehead. Inch by inch he moved the light closer to his goal, but

Carnes could see that his thumb was stealing up toward the switch

button. His breath came in sobs. Suddenly the light went out.

For some time the two men sat motionless on the bench unable to speak

or move. One of the moles stepped before them and gave a mental

command. The two rose to their feet. For a mile or more they followed

their guide, then, at a silent command, they turned to the right for a

few steps and stopped. In another moment, the numbing influence had

departed.

"Are you all right, Carnes?"

"Yes, right as can be. Doctor, what were those things? Where are we?

What's it all about?"

"We'll find out in time, I guess," replied the doctor with a chuckle.

"Carnes, isn't this the darnedest thing we've ever been through?

Captured half a mile underground by a race of giant talpidae before

whose mental orders we are as helpless as children. Did you understand

any of their talk?"

"Talk? I didn't hear any."

"Well, mental conversation then. They made no sound."

"No. All I understood was the orders I obeyed."

* * * * *

"I got a great deal of it," the doctor said. "We are evidently in or

near a sort of central community of these fellows. They spoke;

thought is a better word; they thought of doing away with us but

decided to wait until they consulted someone with more authority. You

see, we are not airplane pilots. Captain Garland was taken at once to

the place where they have other aviators imprisoned."

"What do they want of pilots underground?"

"I couldn't quite get that. There was another thought that I am not

sure that I interpreted correctly. If I did, there is some man of the

upper world down here in a position of considerable authority among

them. He has some use for pilots, but what use, I don't know. We are

to be held until he is consulted."

"Who could it be?"

"I can only think of one man. Carnes, and I hope I'm wrong. I don't

have to name him."

"You mean--?"

"Ivan Saranoff. We haven't heard of him or had any activity from him

for the last eight months. We know that he had a subterranean borer

with which he has penetrated deep into the earth. Isn't it possible

that he has, at some time in his explorations, come into contact with

these fellows and made friends with them?"

"It's possible, Doctor, but I hoped we had killed him when we

destroyed his borer."

"So did I, but he seems to bear a charmed life. Several times we have

thought him dead, only to have him show up with some new form of

devil's work. It is too much to hope that we have succeeded in doing

away with him. Did you notice one thing? Those fellows were helpless

while I held the light on them. The one which was holding us captive

got so interested in the discussion about our fate that he momentarily

forgot us. That was when I got my light. Until I turned the light away

from them, we were free men."

* * * * *

"That's right," answered the secret service man.

"Remember that. The next time we get a light on a bunch of them, hold

them in the beam until we can make terms."

"If we ever get hold of a light again."

"I have a light they didn't get, probably because I didn't think of it

while they were around. It is one of those fountain pen battery

affairs and they probably took it for a pen. I won't turn it on now,

partly to save it and partly not to let them know we have it. Let's

see what our prison is like."

They felt their way around the room. It proved to be eight paces by

ten in size. Like the tunnels it was floored with crepe rubber or some

similar substance which gave out no sound of footsteps, yet was firm

underfoot. The room was furnished with two beds, a table and two

chairs. There was no sign of a door.

"That's that," exclaimed the doctor when they had finished their

exploration. "I'm hungry. I wonder when we eat. Hello, here comes one

of the fellows now."

Carnes made no reply. As the doctor's speech ended, a wave of mental

power enveloped the room. One of the moles entered, moved over to the

table for an instant and then left the room. An earthly odor of

vegetables pervaded the room.

"My question is answered," said the doctor. "We eat now."

He moved to the table. On it had been placed dishes containing three

different types of roots. Two of them proved to be palatable, but the

third was woody and bitter. The prisoners made a hearty meal from the

two they relished. For an hour they sat waiting.

"Here they come again!" exclaimed the doctor. "We are going before the

person I spoke of. Can't you get their thoughts?"

"No, I can't, Doctor. I can understand when I get a command, but aside

from those times everything is a blank to me."

"My mental wave receiver, if that's what it is, must be attuned to a

different frequency than yours, for I can hear them talking to one

another. I guess I should say that I can feel them thinking to one

another. At any rate, they want us to follow. Come along, the road

will be open and level."

* * * * *

The doctor stepped out confidently with Carnes at his heels. For half

a mile they went forward. Presently they halted.

"We are in a big chamber here, Carnes," whispered the doctor, "and

there is someone before us. We'll have some light in a minute."

His prophecy was soon fulfilled. A vague glimmer of light began to

fill the cavern in which they stood. As it grew stronger they could

see a raised dais before them on which were seated three figures. Two

of them were the giant moles. Each of the moles wore a helmet which

covered his head completely, with no sign of lenses or other means of

vision. It was the central figure, however, which held the attention

of the prisoners.

Seated on a chair and regarding, them with an expression of sardonic

amusement was a man. Above a high forehead rose a thin scrub of white

hair. Keen brown eyes peered at them from under almost hairless brows.

The nose was high bridged and aquiline and went well with his

prominent cheekbones. His mouth was a mere gash below his nose, framed

by thin bloodless lips. The lips were curled in a sneer, revealing

yellow teeth. The whole expression of the face was one of revolting

cruelty.

"So," said the figure slowly, "fate has been kind to me. My friends,

Dr. Bird and Operative Carnes have chosen to pay me a long visit. I

am greatly flattered."

The thin metallic voice with its noticeable accent struck a familiar

chord.

"Saranoff!" gasped Carnes.

"Yes, Mr. Carnes, Saranoff. Professor Ivan Saranoff, of the faculty of

St. Petersburg once. Now merely Saranoff, the scourge of the

bourgeois."

* * * * *

"I hoped we had killed you," murmured Carnes.

"It was no fault of Dr. Bird's that he failed," replied the Russian

with an excess of malevolence in his voice. "His method was a correct

one. Merely the fortuitous fact that we had just pierced one of the

tunnels of the Selom, and I was away from my borer exploring it, saved

me. You did me a good turn, Doctor, without meaning to. You destroyed

an instrument on which I had relied. In doing so, you unwittingly

delivered into my hands a power greater than any I had dreamed of--the

Selom."

"What can a mental cripple like you do with blind allies like them?"

asked Dr. Bird with a contemptuous laugh. The Russian half rose from

his seat in rage. For a moment his hand toyed with a switch before

him. The sardonic sneer came back into his face and he dropped back

into his seat.

"You nearly provoked me to destroy you, Doctor," he said, "but cold

calculation saved you. Since you will never return to the upper world,

save when and as I decree, I have no objection to telling you. The

Selom are not blind. Their eyes are under the skin as is the case with

many of the talpidae, but for all that they can see very well. Their

eyes function on a shorter wave than ours, a wave so short that it

readily penetrates through miles of earth and rock. This cavern is now

flooded with it. Visible light, the light by which we see, is limited

to their eyes, hence the helmets which you see. They can see through

those helmets as well as you or I can see through air."

"What do you intend to do with us?"

"Ah, Doctor, there you hit me in a tender spot. I have a sore

temptation to close this switch on which my hand rests. Were I to do

so, both you and Mr. Carnes would vanish forevermore. I have, however,

conceived a very real affection for you two. Your brains, Doctor,

working in my behalf instead of against me would render me well-nigh

omnipotent. Mr. Carnes has a certain low cunning which I can also use

to advantage. Both of you will join me."

* * * * *

"You might as well close your switch and save your breath, Saranoff,

for we will do nothing of the sort," replied the doctor sharply.

"Ah, but you will. So will Mr. Carnes. I had no hopes that you would

join me willingly. In fact, I am pleased that you do not. I could

never trust you. All the same, you will join my forces as have the

others whom I have brought into the hands of the Selom. I have ways of

accomplishing my desires. It pleases my fancy, Doctor, to use your

brains in aiding me in my scientific developments. You will enjoy

working with the scientists of the Selom. Among them you will find

brains which excel any to be found on the surface of the earth, since

we two are below. Already I have learned much from them. You, Mr.

Carnes shall be taught to pilot an airplane. When my cohorts go forth

from the realms of the Selom to establish the rule of Russia, you will

be piloting one of the planes. Your first task will be to learn to

fly."

"I refuse to do anything of the sort!" said Carnes.

"I will not be ready to have your flying lessons started until

to-morrow," replied the Russian, "and you will have until then to

reconsider your rash decision. It will be much easier for you if you

obey my orders. If you still refuse to-morrow, you will pay a visit to

the laboratory of the Selom. When you return your lessons will be

started. You will now be taken to your cell. I have use for Dr. Bird

this afternoon."

"I won't leave Dr. Bird and that's flat!" exclaimed Carnes. Dr. Bird

interrupted him.

"Go ahead, Carnesy, old dear," he said lightly. "You might just as

well toddle along under your own power as to be dragged along. You

have a day for reflection, in any event. I daresay I'll see you again

before they do anything to you."

Carnes glanced keenly at the doctor's face. What he saw evidently

reassured him for he turned without a word and walked away. The light

grew gradually dimmer until darkness again reigned in the cavern.

"Come, Doctor," said Saranoff's voice. "We have work to do."

* * * * *

Carnes sat alone in his cell for hours. The darkness and loneliness

wore on him until he felt that his nerves would crack. Not a sound

came to him. He threw himself on one of the beds and plugged his ears

with his finger tips in an attempt to keep the silence out. Then a

cheerful voice sounded in the cell and a friendly hand fell on his

shoulder.

"Well, Carnesy, old dear," said Dr. Bird, "have you been lonesome?"

"Dr. Bird!" gasped Carnes in tones of relief. "Are you all right?"

"Right as can be. I learned a lot this afternoon. For one thing,

you're going to start flying lessons to-morrow and you're going to do

your best to become an expert pilot in a short time. It is the only

thing to do."

"And fly a plane for Saranoff?"

"I hope not. The only way to avoid that very thing is to keep your

mentality unimpaired so that I can call on you for help when I need

it. If the Selom operate on you, you will be useless to me."

"Operate? What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you. The Selom are a very old and highly civilized people.

For ages they have possessed scientific knowledge for which the

upper-world scientists are now blindly groping. Among other things,

they have a perfect knowledge of the workings of the brain. If they

operate they will remove from your brain every speck of memory you

have of past events, leaving only those things that will be useful to

Saranoff. You will be his complete slave. In that condition you will

be taught to fly a plane. When the time comes, you will fly one with

no remembrance of anything which happened prior to the operation and

with no will but his. It will be easier to teach you flying in your

natural state if you are willing. You will be willing."

"If you wish it, Doctor."

* * * * *

"I do wish it, most decidedly," Dr. Bird went on. "Obey every order

they give you. You will find that the Selom are an enlightened and

civilized race. They are very kindly and would willingly harm no one."

"Then why have they taken up with Saranoff?"

"He is the first man with whom they have come into contact. He has

told them a horrible tale of conditions on the surface, and they have

swallowed it, hook, line and sinker. They believe that he is going to

establish a new order of happiness and plenty for all with the aid of

his gang of cutthroats from Russia. If they had the slightest inkling

of the true state of affairs, they would turn on him in an instant."

"Why don't you tell them?"

"Remember that I am a stranger here and he has poisoned their minds

against me. Although the mind of an ordinary men is an open book to

them, they cannot read Saranoff's secret thoughts against his will.

They can't read mine either, for that matter. I am working in the

laboratory and I will pick up a great deal. When the time comes, we

will strike for our liberty and for the safety of the world."

"Did you learn Saranoff's plans?"

"Yes. He is gathering planes and pilots in the underground caverns of

the Selom. When he gets enough, he will bring men from Russia to man

the planes. What could the United States, or the world for that

matter, do against a fleet of hundreds, possibly thousands, of the

best planes equipped with deadly weapons unknown to their science?

That menace confronts us and we must remove it. To give you some idea

of the power of the Selom, this afternoon Saranoff and I with one

assistant opened a cavern in the solid rock three miles long and a

mile wide and over six hundred feet in height."

"Three men! How on earth did you do it?"

"Two men and one mole. We did it with a ray, the secret of which only

the Selom and Saranoff know."

* * * * *

"You have told me a disintegrating ray is an impossibility," objected

Carnes.

"It is. This was not a disintegrating ray. Carnes, either I am crazy

or the Selom have solved the secret of time, the fourth dimension. I

haven't been able to grasp the whole thing yet. What I think we did

was to remove that rock a distance, perhaps only a millionth of a

second, forward or back into time. At any rate it ceased to exist, yet

they can bring it back unchanged at will. That was the way they

captured our plane. They sent out a magnetic ray of such power that it

stopped our plane in midair and brought it to the ground. They

removed the rock from beneath us and lowered us into the hole. By

reversing the process they restored things to their original

condition. All of these tunnels and rooms were made in that way."

"I still don't understand how they did it."

"I don't either, but I hope to in time. Now let's go to bed. It's

late. To-morrow you will start your lessons with Captain Garland as an

instructor. He won't know you for he was operated on this afternoon.

Do your best to become a pilot. When I get ready, I want you with me

in full possession of all your faculties."

The next morning the two prisoners separated and went to their duties.

In the cavern which Dr. Bird had described, Captain Garland was

waiting beside the plane he had flown. He did not know Carnes, but he

still knew how to fly. Declining to enter into any conversation, he

started expounding the theory of flying to the detective. Carnes

remembered Dr. Bird's words and applied himself wholeheartedly. For

four hours they worked together. At the end of that time the light

faded in the cavern and Carnes was led by an unseen guide back to his

cell. He threw himself on a bed and awaited Dr. Bird's return.

"I have learned a few more things about the Selom," said the doctor

when he entered the cell several hours later. "We are in their largest

community. They have cities or warrens scattered all over the world.

Each city has its own ruler, but the whole race are ruled by an

overlord or king who habitually lives here. He is away visiting a

community under northern Africa just now, but he will be back in a few

days. The Selom are sincere in their desire to help the upper world.

They feel great pity for mankind in view of the conditions Saranoff

has described to them. When the king returns. I plan to make a direct

appeal to him. In the meantime, go on with your flying lessons. How

did you make out to-day?"

* * * * *

The second day was a repetition of the first, as were the third and

fourth. A week passed before Dr. Bird entered the cell in evident

excitement.

"Has Hanac brought our evening food yet?" he asked anxiously.

"No, Doctor."

"Good. Take this light. As soon as he enters throw the light full on

him and hold him until I work on him. We've got to make our escape."

"Why?"

"The king is due back to-morrow. Saranoff is frightened at the good

impression I have made on the Selom. He is supreme in the monarch's

absence, so he plans to operate on both of us before he returns. He is

afraid to allow me to see the king with an unimpaired intellect and

memory. Shh! Here comes Hanac." The door to their cell opened

noiselessly. When the mole who brought their food was well inside,

Carnes turned on the tiny flashlight. The mole dropped on all fours

and tried to turn its back. Dr. Bird sprang forward. For an instant

his slim muscular fingers worked on the mole's neck and shoulders.

Silently the animal sank in a heap.

"Come on, Carnes," cried the doctor. "Turn off the light."

"Did you kill him, Doctor?" asked Carnes as he raced down a pitch dark

corridor at the scientist's heels.

"No, I merely paralyzed him temporarily. He'll be all right in a day

or so. Turn here."

* * * * *

For ten minutes they ran down corridor after corridor. Carnes soon

lost all track of direction, but Dr. Bird never hesitated. Presently

he slowed down to a walk.

"It's a good thing I have a good memory," he said. "I planned that

course out from a map, and I had to memorize every turn and distance

of it. We are now behind your flying hall and away from any of the

regular dwellings of the Selom. Straight west about four miles is one

of the time-ray machines with a guard over it. Aside from them, there

isn't a mole between here and Detroit."

"What are we going to do, Doctor?"

"Keep out of their way and avoid recapture if we can. If we merely

wanted to escape we would try to get possession of that time-ray

machine and open a road to the surface. However, I am not content with

that. I want to stay underground until Astok, their king, returns.

When he comes, we will surrender to him."

"Suppose they operate without giving us a chance to present our side

of the affair."

"If they do, Saranoff wins; but they won't. The more I have seen of

the Selom, the more impressed I am by their sense of justice. They'll

give us a hearing, all right, and a fair one."

For two hours the doctor led the way. At the end of that time he

stopped.

"We've gone as far as we need to," he said. "They'll undoubtedly send

out searching parties, but if we can avoid thinking they won't be able

to find us. The tunnels are a perfect labyrinth. If you care to sleep,

go to it. We'll be safer sleeping than awake, for we won't be sending

out thoughts so fast."

* * * * *

Dr. Bird threw himself down on the rubber floor of the tunnel and was

soon asleep. Carnes tried to follow his example, but sleep would not

come to him. Frantically he tried to think of nothing. By an effort he

would sit for a few minutes with his mind a conscious blank, but

thoughts would throng in in spite of him. Time and again he brought

himself up with a jerk and forced his mind to become a blank. The

hours passed slowly. Carnes grew cramped from long immobility and

rose. A sudden thought intruded itself into his mind. "I might as well

throw that light away," he murmured to himself. "It will be no good

now. The Selom won't hurt us if they do catch us."

He reached in his pocket for the light. He was about to hurl it from

him when a moment of sanity came to him. He stared about. The impulse

to hurl the light away came stronger. He strove in vain to turn it on.

"Doctor!" he cried suddenly. "Wake up! They're after us!"

With a bound, Dr. Bird was on his feet.

"The light!" he cried. "Where is it?"

"In--my--hand," murmured Carnes with stiffening lips.

Dr. Bird seized the light. A beam stabbed the darkness. Less than

fifty feet from them stood two moles. As the light flashed on Carnes

regained control of himself.

"Take the light, Carnes," snapped the doctor. "I've got to put these

fellows to sleep."

Slowly he advanced toward the motionless Selom. He had almost reached

them when the light flickered out. He turned and raced at full speed

toward the detective. Carnes was standing rigid and motionless. Dr.

Bird took the light from his hand. Despite the almost overpowering

drag on his mind, he managed to turn it on. He swung the beam around

in a circle. Besides the two Selom he had seen before, the light

revealed a pair standing behind him. As the light struck them, the

numbing influence vanished for an instant from the doctor's mind. He

moved a step forward and then halted. The moles behind him were

hurling waves of mental power at him. Again the light cleared him for

an instant, but he got a brief glance of other moles hurrying from

every direction.

"The jig's up, I guess," he muttered. He strove to free himself by the

use of his light, but the tiny battery had done its duty, and

gradually the light grew dimmer. The influence grew too strong for

him. With a sigh he shut off the feeble ray and hurled the light from

him. The moles closed in.

"All right," said the doctor audibly. "We'll go peaceably."

* * * * *

As he spoke the paralyzing power was withdrawn. With Carnes at his

side he retraced the route he had taken from the cell. Before they

reached it they turned off. Dr. Bird realized that they were treading

the familiar path to the laboratory.

Outside the laboratory the Selom halted. A wave of mental power

enveloped the prisoners and they remained silent and motionless while

their escort withdrew. From the laboratory came three of the Selom

scientists. As the laboratory door opened they could see that it was

bathed in a flood of light, and that the moles wore helmets covering

their heads. They moved inside. Clad in a white gown stood Saranoff.

"So, my friends, you would run away and leave me, would you?" gloated

the Russian. "And just when I had planned a very beneficial operation

for you! I will remove permanently from your brains all the delusions

which now encumber them, and for your own puny wills I will substitute

my own."

The power which had held the prisoners silent disappeared.

"You have caught us, Saranoff," said Dr. Bird. "I know the power you

wield and that you are making no idle boast. I appeal, however, to

these others, my friends. The operation you are planning to perform

is not a routine one. It is one that should have the sanction of the

king before it is done. I appeal from you to him."

"He is far away," laughed Saranoff. "When he returns, your plea will

be presented to him, but it will be too late to do you any good. You

are right, Doctor--I do not plan a mere routine operation. Not only

will I remove your memory, but I'm going to use the time-ray on you

and banish forever into the unknown a portion of your brains. Without

knowing which adjustment I make of the infinite number possible, no

one, not even the king, can ever recall it."

* * * * *

Dr. Bird turned to the Selom scientists and hurled his thoughts at

them.

"This man intends to commit a horrible crime," he thought, "and one

which he has no authority to perform. To you I appeal for justice. Bid

him wait until Astok returns, and let him be the judge as to whether

it shall be done. Jumor, you know me well. You know that my brain is

the equal of one of the Selom. Even you cannot read my thoughts

against my will. Are you willing to see that brain destroyed? Astok

will be here soon and nothing will be lost by a short delay."

"He thinks truly," was the answering thought of Jumor. "It would be

better to wait."

"We will not wait," crashed Saranoff's thought into their

consciousness. "He killed Hanac when he escaped, and his punishment

shall be as I have decreed. Did not the king give me full power while

he was away?"

"It is true that he ordered us to obey this man in all things dealing

with upper-world men," thought Jumor. "If it is true that he killed

Hanac his punishment is doubtless just."

"I did not kill Hanac," returned the doctor. "He is paralyzed and will

be all right in a few hours, if he isn't already. I demand that you

wait until Astok returns. When an appeal is made to him, no other may

judge. So says the Selom law."

"That is true," replied Jumor. "We will wait until the king returns."

"We will _not_ wait," came Saranoff's thought. "The king delegated to

me his powers during his absence, as far as all the world, save the

Selom, were concerned. Were it one of the Selom appealing to the king,

I would be powerless before the appeal. These are not bound by Selom

law and are not entitled to its benefits. We will operate at once."

"Then you will operate alone," retorted Jumor. "I will not assist

you."

"I need none of your help," thought Saranoff. "Asmo and Camol, will

you help me? If you refuse I will report to Astok that you have

disobeyed and defied his chosen delegate."

"We had better assist him, Jumor," thought Asmo. "Astok did delegate

his authority. I am not of the nobility and I dare not refuse to

help."

"Suit yourself, Asmo," replied Jumor. "I refuse to assist, and will

appeal to Astok against him."

* * * * *

The third mole hesitated.

"You are higher in rank than we are, Jumor," he thought at length,

"and like Asmo, I dare not resist him. I heard the king give this

upper-earth man his authority while he was away. I will assist."

"And I will leave the room," retorted Jumor.

He moved to a door and threw it open. At the threshold he paused and

sent back a final thought.

"I will appeal to Astok, our ruler. I will send now a message to him

to hurry home that he may judge between us."

The door closed behind him. Saranoff chuckled audibly.

"Good-by, Carnes," said Dr. Bird sadly. "This devil can do all he says

he can, and more. I'm sorry I brought you and Garland into this mess."

"Oh, well, it can't be helped, Doctor," replied the detective with an

attempt at cheerfulness. "What is he going to do to us?"

"He'll have to use instruments for what he plans," said the doctor.

"Ordinarily a routine mental operation is performed without the use of

extraneous power. The mind of the operator is electrically connected

to the mind of the victim. By means of thought waves the operator

banishes from the mind of the subject such portions of his memory and

mentality as he chooses. He may then substitute other things in place

of what he has removed. Any of the Selom could operate on you, but I

doubt whether Jumor himself could do it successfully on me without aid

from power. Here come the instruments."

* * * * *

Asmo and Camol took from a cabinet on the side of the wall what looked

like a cloth helmet. Attached to it were a dozen wires which they

connected to a box on a table. The box was made of crystal and inside

it could be seen a number of vacuum tubes and coils of various

designs. Other leads ran to a similar helmet which Asmo placed on

Saranoff's head. A heavy cable ran to a switch on the wall.

As Camol closed the switch the tubes in the box began to glow with

weird lights. Violet, green and orange streamers of light came from

them to dance in wild patterns on the laboratory walls. For five

minutes Saranoff made adjustments to dials on the front of the crystal

box. The colored lights died away and a gentle golden glow came from

the apparatus. He threw off the helmet.

Camol left the laboratory and returned with a large coil on the top

of which was mounted a parabolic reflector. A device like a clock on

the front of the coil was constantly marking the passage of time. The

dial had two indicators which were together. Saranoff chuckled.

"You may not have seen this device work, Doctor," he said. "In order

to let you know what you are facing, I will demonstrate."

He turned the reflector so that it bore on the wall. He adjusted the

moving dial so that the two indicators were no longer together. As he

closed a switch, the wall before the reflector vanished. Saranoff

turned off the power.

"That portion of the wall has gone back in time exactly three

seconds," he announced. "As far as the present is concerned, it has

ceased to exist. It is following us through time three seconds behind

us, but in all eternity it will never catch up unless I aid it. Since

the exact time is known, it can be restored. If I were to alter this

adjustment ever so little, it could never be recalled. Watch me."

* * * * *

He again closed the switch, this time in a reverse direction. The wall

instantly filled up as it had been before. He moved the time dial so

that the two indicators coincided.

"After I have sent a portion of your physical brain into the past or

the future as the fancy strikes me, I will change the adjustment of

that dial. Since there are an infinite number of adjustments to which

I might have set it, the chances that any one could ever duplicate my

setting and restore it are the complement of infinity, or zero," he

said. "I am now ready to remove your memory. If the impossible should

happen and your physical brain be restored it would be useless. Asmo,

adjust the helmet. I will operate on my friend, the Doctor, first."

Carnes strove to rush to Dr. Bird's assistance, but he was helpless

before the force of Camol's will. Asmo adjusted the helmet to Dr.

Bird's head and buckled it firmly in place. With an evil grin,

Saranoff donned the other helmet.

"Good-by, Dr. Bird," he said mockingly. "You will continue to see me,

but you won't know me, except as your master."

* * * * *

His hand reached for the switch. It had almost closed on it when

Saranoff stopped convulsively. He sat motionless while the laboratory

door opened and Jumor entered the room. He was followed by another

mole. The newcomer was fully six inches taller than the others. His

head was hidden by a helmet, but around his arms he wore strings of

sparkling jewels.

"Ivan Saranoff, what means this?" his powerful thoughts dominated the

room.

"I was merely engaged in rectifying some of the mental errors of this

man of the upper earth," explained the Russian eagerly. "It is merely

a routine operation such as you gave me authority to perform."

"An operation which uses power is not routine," replied the king. "I

am told that this upper-earth man has a brain equal to those of my

most advanced scientist. I am also told that you planned to do more

than rectify his mental errors."

"You have been falsely informed. I was merely about to adjust his

memory."

"Then what means this?" The king pointed to the time-ray machine.

"That was brought here in order that it could be used when you

returned," thought the Russian eagerly. "This upper-earth man killed

Hanac when he brought him food."

The door opened and Hanac entered.

"Oh, Astok," objected Hanac's thoughts, "when these upper-earth men

had me at their mercy, with a light, they spared me. They paralyzed me

for a time so that they might escape but they did it in such a manner

that no harm came to me."

"So Jumor told me," replied the king. "Release them."

* * * * *

In an instant Carnes was on his feet removing the helmet from Dr.

Bird's head. The doctor struggled to his feet.

"Dr. Bird," thought the king, "can you communicate with me easily?"

"Yes, Your Majesty, but may I ask that you alter the vibration period

of my comrade, Mr. Carnes? He cannot understand you with his present

low period."

The king stepped to the box with which Saranoff had been working. In

response to his commands the helmet which had been on Dr. Bird's head

was placed on the detective. The king made a few adjustments to the

dials and signalled for the helmet to be removed.

"Can you understand me, Mr. Carnes?" he asked mentally.

The question leaped with startling clearness into the detective's

head. Carefully he framed his answer.

"I can understand you," said the king. "I will now sit in judgment on

the appeal made to me. Dr. Bird tell me your story."

With eloquent thoughts, Dr. Bird poured forth the history of the upper

world. He told of the great war and the collapse of the Russian

monarchy. He traced history to the fall of the moderate party and the

rise of the Bolsheviki. He described the horrible conditions existing

in Russia. At the end he reviewed the long battle he and Carnes had

fought against Saranoff. When he had finished, the king questioned

Carnes.

The detective repeated the story in different words and the king

turned to Saranoff. From the Russian's mind came a tissue of distorted

facts and downright lies. He denied or twisted around everything that

the detective and the scientist had said. When he had done with his

tale, Astok sat in secret thought for a few minutes.

"The tales you tell me are so far apart that I can give credence to

none of them," he announced at length. "There is but one solution.

Although they are never used, for the Selom have forgotten the meaning

of a falsehood, we have instruments which will drag the truth from the

brain of a liar. They are powerful and their use may easily be fatal.

If a man gives forth the contents of his brain willingly, the process

is not painful. If he tries to conceal anything, it is torture. Will

you willingly submit your brains to the searching of this instrument?"

"Gladly," came Dr. Bird's thought and Carnes reechoed it.

"And you, Ivan Saranoff?" demanded the king.

"I will not submit," thought the Russian sullenly.

"You will be examined whether you submit willingly or not," replied

Astok. "I am going to learn the truth though I kill you all to get

it."

* * * * *

At the king's order, Jumor hastened from the laboratory. He returned

in a few minutes with an apparatus similar to the one which Saranoff

had planned to use on Dr. Bird, but larger, and with more dials on the

crystal box. At a command from the king, Dr. Bird donned the helmet.

The king manipulated switches and dials. Around Dr. Bird's head glowed

a halo of crimson light. Twice an expression of momentary pain passed

over his countenance. After half an hour, Astok cut on the power and

nodded to Carnes.

"Don't try to hold anything back, Carnesy," said Dr. Bird sharply.

"You couldn't if you tried, and the process is very painful, I can

assure you."

With the helmet on his head the detective sat for ten minutes while

the Selom king went through his brain. A dozen times he shrieked in

agony but his moments of suffering were short. The king removed the

helmet.

"Your minds agree well," he thought. "Now I will examine the mind of

my friend."

The helmet was strapped on Saranoff. Instantly an expression of the

utmost anguish crossed his face. Shriek after shriek of agony came

from his writhing lips. Relentlessly the king applied more power. The

cries of the Russian grew heartrending. Suddenly he grew rigid and

slumped forward in his chair. Astok impassively manipulated his

instrument. After half an hour, he opened the switch and removed the

helmet. Under the ministrations of Jumor the Russian revived. The king

sat in secret thought for an hour.

"I have examined the brains of all of you," he announced at length,

"and I find hopeless contradictions. Each of you believes thoroughly

in his own social order. Both tell me of hopeless misery on the part

of a large portion of his people. Both tell of horrible wars and

suffering beyond my comprehension. The thoughts of all of you teem

with modes of bringing death to your fellow beings. Your entire

science his been perverted to the ends of destruction. Nothing of the

sort can be realized by the Selom where truth, justice and mercy

prevail. Each of you holds that his form of government is better than

the other, and will cause less suffering and misery than the others'.

None of you hold out hope of happiness for your fellow beings. I do

not know which system is less obnoxious. My decision is made. The

Selom will not interfere in the affairs of the upper-earth. You may

fight out your battles without aid and without interference.

"I will operate on both Ivan Saranoff and Dr. Bird. I will remove from

their minds all knowledge of our science and instruments and leave

them in the same condition that they were when they entered my realms.

Each of you will then be returned to upper-earth, Ivan Saranoff to

Russia, Dr. Bird and Mr. Carnes to the United States. The pilots, whom

I hold prisoners, will have their mentalities restored and be returned

to their homes. The planes we have captured, I will send off into time

so that they can never be used for the misery of upper-earth men

again. Jumor, you will carry out these orders."

* * * * *

"I wish I could remember how that time machine was built and

operated," said Dr. Bird reflectively, as he sat in his private

laboratory in the Bureau of Standards some time later, "but Jumor did

his work well. I can't even remember what the thing looked like."

"Well, Doctor, our trip below wasn't a loss. We removed a very real

menace to the established order of things and we have got rid of

Saranoff temporarily. It will take him some time to return here from

Russia."

"Three weeks or less," said Dr. Bird pessimistically. "However, we

have gained one other thing. Did you notice this?"

He pulled what looked like a watch from his pocket. Carnes regarded it

with a puzzled expression.

"No, Doctor, what is it?"

"It is a very small camera which takes pictures one-half inch by

seven-eighths. I had several opportunities to use it. I wasn't sure

that it would work on such short waves, but it did. When Saranoff

tries to return to this country, he will find that every immigration

inspector and every member of the border patrol has an excellent

likeness of him. That may hinder his entrance into the country for a

little while."

A CLASSIFICATION OF THE UNIVERSE

A classification of everything in the universe, from the smallest

thing yet measured, the electron, less than a millionth of a millionth

of an inch in extent, to the biggest, a star system of a thousand

million trillion miles, was described recently by Prof. Harlow Shapley

of Harvard in a lecture at the commerce center of the College of the

City of New York.

Looking forward to a time when man will be able to measure even

smaller things than the electron and larger than the greatest star

system, Prof. Shapley explained that he had left the classification

"open at both ends."

Man, Prof. Shapley said, occupies a very small place in all this

system, although, beside an electron or an atom, he is not so

negligible, at that.

"The survey," it was explained, "aims toward giving perspective. It

gives a sane and modest view of man's place in the scheme.

"The significance of the classification lies in the skeleton which is

afforded all science to bring some measure of order out of the world's

present chaotic knowledge of the systems of various kinds.

"All systems find a place in this synthesis--atoms, comets and

galaxies; man, radiation and the space-time complex. When looked at in

this objective way, human beings, and all associated terrestrial

organisms, appear only parenthetically in one of the subdivisions of

the class of colloidal aggregates."

Prof. Shapley discussed the concept of the cosmoplasma.

"This," it was explained, "is at once the most mysterious and

fundamental part of the universe, and only recently has come under

direct experimental study. In brief, it is the substratum of materials

throughout the universe, between planets, stars and the galaxies.

"It has no obvious systematic organization. Hence it includes such

diverse constituents as the high speed shooting stars, interstellar

calcium gas and radiation itself.

"Though no one has even seen an electron, the smallest thing included

in the classification, they have been proved to exist in several ways.

They give forth flashes of light that can be photographed. They have

caused the bending of X-rays as they pass through a substance."

[Illustration: The Readers' Corner

_A Meeting Place for Readers of_ Astounding Stories]

_Likes the "Corner"_

Dear Editor:

This month's issue, May, has the best collection of letters

you've ever published. All it lacked was a letter from

Bernard J. Kenton, that master of epistles and super-science

stories. One of your Readers would like to have "The

Readers' Corner" omitted. For heaven's sake, don't take it

out! I recognize it as one of the best features of our mag,

and whenever I open the covers, turn to it directly after

having glimpsed the table of contents and the announcement

of the stories to appear in the forthcoming issue.

Mr. Joseph R. Barnes--whose letter I enjoyed immensely,

incidentally--will be interested in knowing that "The Mascot

Deep" is already in book form and that "The Disintegration

Machine" and "When the World Screamed," all by the same

author, are under the same covers. He also will be

interested in learning that Ray Cummings' fine story, "Sea

Girl," is also between hard covers.

The idea of putting out a quarterly is a dandy. The other

science fiction quarterlies are mere text-books; there are,

occasionally, of course, a few exceptions. The thought of

the sort of fantastic action stories Astounding Stories

publishes, put together in a magazine doubly thick, is a

pleasing one to contemplate. Reading a story the length of

"Brigands of the Moon" and of such literary merit, complete

in one issue, is a thrill to be looked forward to. By all

means put out such a magazine and have stories by Jack

Williamson, R. F. Starzl and Edmond Hamilton, three of your

best writers, in the first issue.

I'm glad to see that Starzl is coming back with the next

issue. More from him, please. And Hamilton and Williamson

should appear more frequently, too.

A question, Mr. Cummings: Shades of Polter and Tugh!--why

must you always have a deformed character in your stories?

Do they appeal to your dramatic sense?

The news that we're going to have a story from Francis Flagg

brings raptures of delight to my homely face. If it's a

dimensional story, I'll cheer twice. When it comes to

writing that kind of a story, Flagg's the king of them all.

For sheer interest and originality, he's got his

contemporaries in that field outdistanced with a distance

that can only be counted by light-years.

A pat on the back for Booth Cody and Sears Langwell, two

staunch supporters.

All our magazine needs is a story about time crusaders, or a

planet of mechanical men.

Omitting the authors already mentioned, I considered my

favorites to be Rousseau, Eshbach, Diffin, Ernst, and Hal K.

Wells.

The best story you ever published? Who am I to answer? Why

not put it up to the Readers for popular vote?--Jerome

Siegel, 10522 Kimberley Ave., Cleveland, Ohio.

_Explanation Wanted_

Dear Editor:

This is my first letter to you, but I am a consistent Reader

of Astounding Stories, and look forward to all of the coming

issues. I have in mind a question, a friendly one, not one

that I expect to or hope will seem to be trying to dampen

any theories. This rocket-ship propulsion: as I understand

it, there is a void between all planets, etc. If this is the

case, how then can a rocket-propelled space ship go across

this void? Since the exhaust of the rockets must rely on

some material of a sort, or rather some sort of resistance

to push the ship along, how does it push on nothing? Of

course, near Earth it has the ground and then the atmosphere

to push from, but out in the void, why not cut off and save

fuel, therefore saving an extra heavy load of explosives, if

rocket-ships were really practical in space flying? Yours

for a thicker Astounding Stories--H. M. Crowson, Jr.,

Sumter, S. C.

_Better Than Love Stories_

Dear Editor:

I have started to read the Astounding Stories and enjoy it

very much, although I do not find very many girls writing in

to the "Corner." This mag is a thousand times better than

all those love story magazines, and besides these stories

are educational.

I would rather read Astounding Stories than eat. They are

not too scientific to be boresome, but they are just good

enough to be real interesting.

I wish you would publish some more stories like "The Lake of

Light," "Dark Moon," etc. I especially like stories of the

future and interplanetary novels.

Anyone wishing to correspond with me will be welcome, as I

love to write letters, and especially to anyone interested

in the same things that I am.--(Miss) Bernice Goldberg, 147

Crescent Drive, Mason City, Iowa.

_Kidding the Editor_

Dear Editor:

I have just finished your January, 1932, issue of Astounding

Stories. It was superb.

Imagine my delight and surprise when I purchased the first

issue this year! Smooth edges! Good quality of paper! I had

a few other articles to purchase but I forgot all about

them when I saw your magazine and rushed home to read it.

It had a most admirable cover design by your best artist, H.

W. Wesso. I turned to the Contents Page. The first story was

by my favorite author, Ray Cummings, and called "The Space

Car to Mars." Hot dog! My favorite theme, interplanetary

travel.

All the rest of the Authors were my favorites too! Edmond

Hamilton, Capt. S. P. Meek, S. P. Wright, A. J. Burks and a

short story by Jack Williamson.

I turned to the next page and lo and behold, what do I see

but an editorial. Wonders after wonders! It was called "The

Possibilities of Space Travel." I was by this time beginning

to think that at last the Editor had achieved a perfect

magazine, and when I turned to the first story, the one by

Ray Cummings, I knew it. There was a double-page

illustration by Wesso in soft and realistic _colors_! Think

of it! _Colored_ illustrations for each story!

Well, I was so excited that I could hardly read, but at last

I began. Boy, can Ray Cummings write interplanetary stories!

Y como! (And how!) He wove scientific explanations into the

story so very skillfully that one learned the scientific

facts without knowing it. When he thought that the

explanation of some invention would be boresome, he put a

little note at the foot of the page. This, I remembered, was

an admirable feature in his story "Brigands of the Moon,"

which you published two years ago.

I then turned to "The Readers' Corner" only to discover that

its name had been changed to "The Observatory." (I expect

this name was taken from the suggestion of P. Leadbeater in

the March, 1931, issue.) I discovered also, to my delight,

that at the end of each letter the Editor made a few

comments. I finished reading the Readers' letters and on the

next page I found this leadline: "Science Questions and

Answers." I read these with enthusiasm.

I forgot to mention the raise in the price to twenty-five

cents, but that is immaterial to me now since I have the

perfect science fiction magazine. You have surely hitched

your wagon (magazine) to a star now!--Clay Ferguson, Jr.,

510 Park St. S. W., Roanoke, Va.

_Sugar Candy_

Dear Editor:

It is very seldom that I write to any page like "The

Readers' Corner" but I have gotten rather tired of all those

knocks. So I am writing to say that I have missed only one

of your issues since the second, (Feb. 1930) and have found

only one not to my liking, and I have forgotten what that

is.

I have no comment to make on your Authors. I don't care who

writes it or what his literary reputation is--as long as

the story is good; and you wouldn't print it if it weren't.

As for exact scientific data--away with it. Some may wish to

be bored with it, but I prefer action. I like your pictures.

They are bizarre and give one an idea of what the Author is

trying to convey. And they intrigue the interest before the

story is read. I also like the size, because it is not

awkward, and I like the edges because they make the pages

easy to turn.--Mrs. Margaret M. Phinney, 1632 W. 3rd,

Plainfield, N. J.

"_Becoming a Habit_"

Dear Editor:

The May Astounding Stories seems to have nothing but

complimentary letters in it. Mr. Magnuson probably tore out

his hair when he saw all those letters. Not that Astounding

Stories fully deserves all that praise. As one Reader said,

words are inadequate to describe how wonderful your magazine

is; however, I do not agree with those who denounce some of

the Readers for making criticisms and suggestions. No

magazine can be absolutely perfect, although Astounding

Stories comes pretty near it. Even if it were perfect, the

Readers would have to keep on making criticisms and

suggestions in order to keep it that way. Besides, "The

Readers' Corner" would become pretty dull and lifeless if

you printed nothing but flattering letters. Most of the

Readers who make unfavorable criticisms really have the

welfare of the magazine in mind, else they wouldn't write at

all. All of them aren't grouches. For example: a certain

person sent one of the Science Fiction magazines about the

most vicious and uncomplimentary letter that magazine had

ever received. Yet in this issue of Astounding Stories he

jumps on the knockers for daring to say anything against

Astounding Stories! So you see that all knockers are not

hopeless!

I notice that you have complied with one of my requests, and

have published an autobiography of Mr. Wentzler, although

there is no picture. Perhaps, as Mr. Wentzler suggests, that

is for the best. The readers of Astounding Stories are

accustomed to pictures of grotesque and weird-looking

inhabitants of other planets, but a picture of Mr. Wentzler

may prove to be too much. Or, if you do put it in, you might

entitle it "Wesso's Conception of a Martian."

I hope Mr. Wentzler does not take the above paragraph too

seriously. Like him, I was hit on the head when I was but a

babe. In my case, it was a bronze statue that proved to be

my undoing. Unfortunately, they were never able to

straighten out the bend in that statue, which was the result

of its contact with my dome.

As for the stories in the May issue, they were all perfect,

every one of them. Having all the stories perfect in each

issue is becoming a habit with you. Keep up this habit. For

first place I nominate "When the Moon Turned Green." I

considered Mr. Wells' previous story, "The Gate to Xoran"

the best short story you had ever printed, but the later one

surpasses it. You will not be making a mistake if you give

us many more stories by this Author. I do not need to say

anything else about the rest of the stories--they are all

excellent.

Don't you think that it is about time for Astounding Stories

to become a semi-monthly?--Michael Fogaris, 157 Fourth

Street, Passaic, N. J.

_Located at Last_

Dear Editor:

I read every Science Fiction magazine on the market, and can

truthfully say that yours is the best of them all.

Of course, there is always room for improvement, and some of

the stories published in the May issue were not so hot. Meek

always gives me a pain in the neck, but Cummings is an ace,

though the installment in this issue dragged considerably.

In Diffin you have a master writer; and I was tickled to

death to see finally in "our" mag a story by that peerless

team, Schachner and Zagat.

I was wondering how long it would take you to locate them,

as you have done with most of the other stars in Science

Fiction.--Bill Merriam, Ocean Front, Venice, Cal.

_"Stories Aid Considerably"_

Dear Editor:

I cannot rightfully say what story was the best in

Astounding Stories. For the man who balances stories for

their values is just kidding himself. That is my theory and

I am ready at all times to stand in back of it.

Though I have only been reading Astounding Stories since

January, I am a thoroughly convinced fan. For the past two

years I have been puttering with chemistry and physics in a

laboratory of my own, and the science mentioned in these

stories aids considerably.

I would sincerely appreciate letters from Readers of

Astounding Stories. I will answer all.--Lawrence Schumaker,

1020 Sharon St., Jamesville, Wis.

_To the Rescue, Somebody!_

Dear Editor:

You're getting better all the time. The April number was the

best yet, and the May issue is not far behind it. The cover

on the May issue was wonderful.

"Dark Moon" is the best story by Diffin that you have yet

printed. "When the Moon Turned Green" and "The Death Cloud"

are both masterpieces.

"The Exile of Time" is a fine story, but I cannot understand

the explanations. How could the murder of Major Atwood be

mentioned in the records of New York? Why could not one see

events in which he participated? Of course, Ray Cummings

perhaps knows more about it than I, but I think a lot of his

ideas are the bunk.

I do not think that your stories should be full of science

and nothing else, but they should at least observe known

scientific facts.--J. J. Johnston, Mowbray, Man., Can.

_A "Two-Timer"_

Dear Editor:

I was surprised but pleased to receive the answer to the

question I asked in my letter to you. It is indeed a

pleasure to read a magazine that takes enough interest in

its patrons to personally answer a letter written to it.

Thank you very much.

And I am certainly glad that we are to get a sequel to "Dark

Moon." I wish that I could personally tell Mr. Diffin what I

think of his writing.

I am anxiously awaiting the next issue of "our mag." It

certainly does seem a long time between issues. When are you

going to start putting it on the stands twice a month? I

know that thousands of Readers would bless the day you did

it.

Please keep up the good work; and I know you will, for the

longer I read A. S. the more I enjoy it.

The serial, "The Exile of Time," is a story par excellence.

But I know the forthcoming sequel to "Dark Moon" will be a

super-story.

My idea of reading is that if a story is worth reading once

it is worth reading twice, and I have never seen any story

in your book that was not worth reading once. Nuff said.

I will answer any letters written me. I hope to hear from

plenty of Readers--C. G. Davis, 531 S. Millard, Chicago,

Ill.

_And Sequel It Has_

Dear Editor:

I have just finished the May number of Astounding Stories,

and want to send my contribution to "The Readers' Corner."

The novelette, "Dark Moon," by Diffin, is rather an

outstanding story, in my opinion. It is plausible and

convincing, and the literary quality is high. I have a

feeling that this should have a sequel, and wonder if others

will not agree with me. That Astounding Stories is the best

of the Science Fiction Magazines is something that scarcely

lends itself to argument. Without questions, it leads them

all. Take the present number for instance: Diffin, Meek and

Cummings, three top-notchers, all in one issue.--A. J.

Harris, 1525 Bushnell Ave., South Pasadena, Cal.

_I'm Afraid Not_

Dear Editor:

I have read every one of your Astounding Stories and think

there is no other magazine on the market like it. Only one

kick: it doesn't appear often enough. I should like to see

it every week; every two weeks, anyway. I like every story

you print, and I think the size of your magazine is perfect.

I have saved every issue I read, and now have seventeen of

them.

"Phalanxes of Atlans" and "Marooned Under the Sea" were

especially good. "The Readers' Corner" is fine, but I don't

like so many brickbats thrown. I should like to see more

bouquets given to you.

There is one thing I'd like to see you print. You probably

have heard of the Fox Movietone picture, "Just Imagine," an

interplanetary story of 1930. I'd like to see it printed in

Astounding Stories more than anything else. It would make a

fine serial. I don't suppose it would be possible for you to

print it, though, would it?--Ernestine Small, 1151 Brighton

Ave., Portland, Ore.

_Better to Verse_

Dear Editor:

Astounding Stories can't be beat;

Its every issue is a treat.

The finest authors of the age

Appear upon Astounding's stage.

There's Diffin, Cummings, Leinster, Burks;

An all-star cast that's sure the works.

Harl Vincent, Wells, and Starzl, too,

Belong among this famous crew.

Ed Hamilton and Vic Rousseau

With Captain Meek complete the show.

Together they are sure the best;

That's why Astounding leads the rest!

--Booth Cody, Bronx, N. Y.

_Another "Two-Timer"_

Dear Editor:

I have just finished reading the May issue of Astounding

Stories for the second time. I have been reading Astounding

Stories for over a year, and so far I can find only one

thing wrong with it, and that is that it is not thick

enough. In other words, you do not put enough stories in it.

Some people who write in to the "Corner" say that the paper

is rotten. I still have all my magazines, and the paper is

as good as new. The paper is also good on the eyes, as it

does not reflect light like a mirror, as some paper does.

Some people say the pages are uneven and hard to turn. Like

Mr. H. N. Snager, I become so interested in the stories I do

not notice such trifles. Anybody who yells about the color

of the cover, the durability of the paper, is not very

interested in Astounding Stories.

Why don't you either print a full page picture at the

beginning of each story or else keep the half page picture

at the beginning and put another picture halfway through the

story?--Wm. McCalvy, 1244 Beech St., St. Paul, Minn.

_A Buttercup for Paul_

Dear Editor:

Congratulations! Astounding Stories has scored again! Not

satisfied with illustrations by the mighty Wesso only, you

have secured a drawing by the equally mighty Paul! May we

see many more by him?--Thomas L. Kratzer, 3595 Tullamore

Rd., Cleveland Heights, Ohio.

_Nerves Now Better?_

Dear Editor:

In Gould you have a fine illustrator; in Wesso a better one,

but as I skip the page on which the story, a truly

remarkable one by R. F. Starzl, "The Earthman's Burden" is

on, my eye is caught by--yes! a drawing by Paul, good old

reliable Mr. Paul, the king of Science Fiction illustrators.

Now that you have him on your artist's staff I wouldn't feel

at all bad seeing a painting of his on the cover.

The June issue was a dazzler. "Manape the Mighty" held me

spellbound. The others were all excellent stories. The cover

painting by Wesso was good, but I have already seen one of

that sort in a previous issue. Why not give us more

interplanetary illustrations of space ships and the like as

in "Brigands of the Moon"?

Another thing, it is nine-thirty. I must be asleep by

eleven-thirty in order to start for school early the next

morning. I allow myself two hours in which to read

Astounding Stories. I turn to the contents section; I see a

story there which I wish to read. It is on page 604. I turn

the pages: 599, 601, 607 come in rapid succession, all but

the page I look for. This goes on for some time until at

last the roughened edge of 604 comes into view. By then my

nerves are on edge and I find it is almost eleven-thirty!

But I cannot say that you do not stand up with the foremost

of all magazines, and the way you are improving now you'll

soon forge far in front.--Arthur Berkowitz, 763 Beck St.,

New York City.

_Some Goal!_

Dear Editor:

Permit me to congratulate Mr. Diffin on his latest

masterpiece, "Holocaust."

Every once in a while Mr. Diffin produces a story that bids

fair to eclipse all its contemporaries. His former story,

"The Power and the Glory," could also be placed in that

category. Somehow, that story has become indelibly written

on my memory. The philosophy expressed in it was

overwhelming. It would have done justice to a Shakespeare.

And now, you can imagine how delighted I am to learn that

Mr. Diffin has once again graced us with a yarn of the same

class.

Man, if you continue to publish such stories as these

frequently, you'll have the public terming Astounding

Stories literature of the highest grade! However, I won't

entreat Mr. Diffin to write these stories spasmodically, as

the long wait between tales adds lure to the stories.

And now for Mr. Burks. Ah--here is an extraordinary chap!

Mr. Burks is your most versatile author. Of his several

stories, each has opened up a new vista in the field of

Science Fiction, and he is a thoroughbred in each endeavor.

If you want to be convinced, read the opening chapters of

"Manape The Mighty," and I will wager any sum you won't lay

down the story until you've read every word.

As a matter of fact, all the stories are good. And the bill

for next month appears to be exceptionally unusual. It is

very evident that you are on the road to perfection. Smooth

cut edges, the acquisition of the greatest of artists, Paul,

all point to the accelerating progress Astounding Stories is

achieving.

We Readers are frequently asked as to how we would run the

magazine if we were Editors. Well, here is my conception of

the ideal magazine:

Smooth paper, no advertisements whatsoever, the interior

illustrations done by an artist with the talent of a Paul

and a Wesso combined, and made in water colors, too. Then I

would only have such renowned Authors as Burroughs, MacIsaac

and a few others. I suppose that's the eternal dream of the

modern Editor, but who can say that you, Mr. Bates, won't

evolve Astounding Stories in the same manner. At any rate,

there's a goal to aim for.--Mortimer Weisinger, 266 Van

Cortlandt Ave., Bronx, N. Y.

_Guilty_

Dear Editor:

You are hereby summoned to appear in Court on attempt of

murder. Following are the charges: Stopping my heart from

beating when I saw the smooth edges in Astounding Stories,

and making my heart miss five beats when I saw "The

Earthman's Burden" illustrated by Paul!

I now think Astounding Stories has reached its highest peak.

Arthur J. Burks' story was a wow. I hope he works on a story

as he said he would in "The Readers' Corner" if he gets

enough requests.

And Charles Willard Diffin! Here's a writer for you. I think

the first story he ever wrote was published in Astounding

Stories. Don't lose him. His "Holocaust" is his best, with

the probable exception of "The Power and the Glory." I don't

think the last mentioned ever got enough praise. I expect to

see it reprinted some day in The Golden Book Magazine. It's

distinctly smooth paper style.

And of course Sewell Peaslee Wright's "John Hanson" stories

are top-notchers.

And Ray Cummings. Must we mention his story? We all know

what to expect when we read one of his stories. I hope you

have another serial by him soon.

I'm sure you'll be deluged with letters because of the even

edges and the illustrations by Paul (who should draw at

least two in every issue), but I hope you'll print my

letter, because I never had a letter of mine in print, and

want to get a thrill seeing this published.--Anthony

Caserta, 4575 Park Ave., New York, N. Y.

"_Very Pretty Problems Here_"

Dear Editor:

The letters by P. Schuyler, J. N. Mosleh, and Jackson Gee in

the last number sure do raise some very neat possibilities

in Science. Anent travel in time, just what would you, Mr.

Schuyler, expect to see if "John Doe" at 40 years (1931)

went back to 1892 and met "John Doe" of that date on Main

Street of his old home town? I suspect that two bodies

cannot simultaneously contain the same ego, constant-entity,

personality, or soul.

Which brings me to Mr. Mosleh, to ask: Just how is the

self-realizant ego, which is conscious that "I am I"

unchangingly for life, in any sense a derivative of the

unstable, rapidly changing body?

Mr. Burks and Mr. Lee elucidate a very pretty little problem

on the same lines. The cranial transplantation and the

"atomic patterns" are admittedly scientifically and

reasonably possible. But there is a real point of doubt:

Would the personality accompany the brain in

transplantation? True, the brain is the control room; but--?

And would the "atomic patterns," perfectly as they could

duplicate a body, which is unstable by nature, work on the

essentially stable ego (relatively) with its inherent

capacity for continuity?

If not, would not the synthetic "Extra Man" be a human being

minus personality? Some very pretty problems here. I'd much

like to see a story along the lines of item 3 in Mr. Burks'

letter.--L. Partridge, Box 84, Cornish, Me.

_What Price Smoothness?_

Dear Editor:

I have just finished the June issue of Astounding Stories.

The cover was excellent, as were all the illustrations,

except perhaps Manape's arms should have been a little

larger.

I see that the edges of the paper are now smooth, but still

the leaves stick out beyond one another, so what good does

that do?

"Manape the Mighty," by Arthur J. Burks, was superb,

gripping. I suppose a lot of Readers will rise violently

against the love interest, but, I ask you, just where would

this particular story be without the romance in it? This

particular story, you understand; not every story.

"Holocaust," by Charles Willard Diffin, was next best with

"The Man from 2071" a close second.

"The Earthman's Burden" was at least entertaining, which

this installment of "The Exile of Time" was not.--Robert

Baldwin, 359 Hazel Ave., Highland Park, Ill.

_Time Trouble Answers Wanted_

Dear Editor:

I have read your magazine for nearly two years, but this is

my first letter to the "Corner." The first and second

installments of Ray Cummings' "Exile of Time" prompted me to

write this. There is a story you can well be proud of. I

should like to obtain it in book form. Mr. Cummings is a

wonder. I have read many time stories, but his is at the top

of my list.

If there is any other "time" fan in A. S.'s "Readers'

Corner" I should like to have a letter discussion on it with

him. None of my acquaintances care a whoop about that type

of story, so I have to thrash out all my problems by myself.

There are some questions I would like to ask about "The

Exile of Time."

1--In the event of the appearance of the time-traveling

cage, the story ran, to use Ray's own words: "Suddenly

before me there was a white ghost. A shape. A wraith of

something which a moment before had not been there. The

shape was like a mist. Then in a second or two it was

solid."

Why should the cage appear as a mist at first? If there is

any amount of time separating two things, those two things

are invisible to each other, are they not? Any amount of

time would include a second, and even a millionth part of a

second. In that case, the cage should suddenly appear in the

twinkling of an eye, with no trace of a blur.

2--Supposing I were standing at a spot five feet from a

time-traveling vehicle. The latter would be traveling

through time at 3 P. M., while I am at 2 P. M.--an hour's

difference between us. It would be invisible to me then, but

an hour later when I would be at 3 P. M. and the machine at

4 P. M., then I would see it as it appeared at 3 P. M.

Whatever movement it would make in space, I would not see

until an hour later. Is that right? Then is it not possible

that each individual is existing in a different time realm?

And we see them, or I see the other fellow as he appeared

when my time caught up with his? I had better quit before I

get hooted off the stage.

3--If a man invented a time-traveler and went back to the

year of the beginning of the World War, knowing all he has

read in history, could he not take steps to prevent a war

that has already happened? Or would that power be denied

him? Somewhere in the story is said that the past cannot be

changed, and that any effort to do so would be useless. In

my belief, no matter where or when a man goes into the past,

if he appears in a year or day that has already gone by, he

is changing the past. Then there should be no room for

doubt: time-travelling is impossible. It never will be done

(An Astounding Stories fan should be kicked for using the

word "impossible"!).

Let's have more good thought-provoking time tales. And get

lots of stories from Cummings--he's a wow. I sure would like

to spend an evening at a campfire with him.--Allen Spoolman,

613--4th Avenue, W., Ashland, Wisc.

"_Eh, What?_"

Dear Editor:

Just got my June issue of our good mag, Astounding Stories,

and I think that it is great. One thing you should do,

however, is have a more mechanical cover design.

In regard to Miss Gertrude Hemkin's letter in the June issue

of A. S., let me say that I just wonder what she would like

to expect in our "The Readers' Corner" if she does not like

to hear what others think of our Astounding Stories. Maybe

she would like to read about checker debates or the like.

Eh, what?

If Rex Wertz of Oregon, who is now located somewhere in Los

Angeles, will drop me a line, perhaps we can become

acquainted as he suggested.--Edward Anderson, 123 Hollister

Ave., Ocean Park, Cal.

_Hope He Does_

Dear Editor:

I have never been interested before in a magazine enough to

write to their departments, like "The Readers' Corner," and

I have read plenty of magazines.

"Beyond the Vanishing Point" stands head and shoulders above

any story I have ever read. I have only one thing to say

about your other stories: they are almost as good as the one

I just mentioned.

I have a few words to say about these people who throw

brickbats at every story they read. I wouldn't be surprised

if they just read the story so they could find something

wrong with it. There's one in particular who wrote a few

lines in the June issue about your taking the word "science"

off the front page, saying there was no science in the

magazine, anyway. What does the title say? Well that's what

90% of the Readers want, anyway. I hope that chap reads

this.

Well, I'll sign off. Here is a little toast to the magazine:

"Long may it live."--Earl Rogers, 409--16th St., Galveston,

Tex.

_Two, Better Than One?_

Dear Editor:

The two outstanding stories in the May issue of A. S. were

"The Death Cloud," by Nat Schachner and Arthur L. Zagat, and

"Dark Moon," by Charles W. Diffin. Common reasoning tells me

that the heads of two Science Fiction writers can formulate

a story better than one. I couldn't help admire Mr.

Schachner and Mr. Zagat when I read their story because of

the cleverness shown in it.

Please give us a story by them every month.--Ray Y. Tilford,

Rockport, Ky.

"_And Here I Am_"

Dear Editor:

It's about time for me to concede that your or "our"

magazine is the best I have read. Ten issues have come into

my hands and I am perfectly well satisfied with the line of

fiction that you publish. I have read about fifty different

magazines on the market, and I am sure that Astounding

Stories is the best of them all. I have followed the

magazine for seven months and that is the best amount of

reading any magazine can boast for me. In your case, if the

magazine lasts seventy years, you can be sure that I will

read it for that period of time (provided I live that long).

I notice that several brickbats have come into your hands

and that you have printed them. Well, that shows

sportsmanship on your part. I would suggest to those who are

not satisfied with Astounding Stories to duck their head in

a pail of water and pull it out after a period of ten

minutes. Those who criticize the stories because of the lack

of science have no idea what it takes to write a story.

Please be willing to concede the Author the right of way. He

is giving his theories and not yours. However, in some cases

where the truth is an established fact, I can see where the

Readers may present a justified argument. But they should

remember that we are not all perfect and that mistakes are

made by all. It is not fair to criticize an Author by

denouncing him.

I don't favor reprints at all, but I can stay with the

majority if they do. It is a foregone conclusion that you

can fool some of the people some of the time, but you can't

fool all of the people all the time. In this case substitute

the word "please" in the saying for "fool."

I am at present reading Charles W. Diffin's novel "The

Pirate Planet." It is one of the best interplanetary novels

that I have ever read. Give us some more of Diffin; he has

the goods. I must say that you have an immensely long list

of popular authors, and it must cost quite a little amount

of money to maintain them.

Keep the size of the magazine as it is now; it fits

conveniently into my bookcase, and I believe many of your

Readers will say the same.

Now some of my favorite stories. "The Ape-Men Of Xlotli" was

one of the best stories that I have read in years. Give us

some more along this line. It offers rest after one has just

finished reading an interplanetary novel.

"Monsters of Moyen" was another story that I greatly

enjoyed. Very few people believe that the world shall ever

have a conqueror again, and I am one of them; but it is

interesting to see if there ever will be a conqueror and

what means he shall employ to get that title.

"Brigands of the Moon" was the worst story I read in your

magazine. That must have been Mr. Cummings' off story. But

he certainly has come back fine through his later stories.

"The Tentacles from Below" was another great masterpiece.

Anthony Gilmore's tale was the first that I have read of

that author, and I will be delighted to see more.

Funny how I developed into a Reader of Science Fiction. I

exhausted all other fields of reading, and having nothing

else to read I delved into a science magazine and here I

am.--Michael Racano, 51 Brookwood St., East Orange, N. J.

_Turns to It First_

Dear Editor:

The June issue of Astounding Stories can't be beat. What an

issue! As it seems to be the usual thing, I'll start at the

front and go to the back.

The cover: very colorful: another proof of Wesso's talent.

And speaking of artists, I was very pleasantly surprised at

the unexpected illustration by Paul. I certainly hope you

can get him, if not for cover pictures, at least for the

inside illustrations. (Too bad you are modest about printing

complimentary letters, for I mean this to be all roses, no

brickbats.)

"The Man from 2071"--another good story of "John Hanson's."

"Manape the Mighty," although somewhat like the Tarzan

series, is a wonderfully fine story. "Holocaust"--good. "The

Earthman's Burden," as all of Starzl's, was exceptionally

good. "The Exile of Time"--getting better every issue.

"The Readers' Corner" as usual was one of the most

interesting parts of the magazine. I always turn to it

first, for I know I will have an enjoyable time reading

every letter. And, by the way, the significance of "Manape"

just came to me. Don't know why I didn't see it

before.--Linus Hogenmiller, 502 N. Washington St.,

Farmington, Mo.

_Likes the "Joke"_

Dear Editor:

Although I have read only two issues of Astounding Stories,

I feel the urge to write a line. The June number was better

than the May issue. Arthur J. Burks' story, "Manape the

Mighty," was excellent, though I am not so strong for the

idea of having Barter escape the apes and carry on his

experiments as suggested by the Author. It would be against

common sense to have the apes allow him to make a getaway.

The prize winner in the May issue was "Dark Moon." There

might be a sequel to that, and I'd like to see it.

I like a little variety in a magazine. The Readers who say

they do not care for stories scientifically impossible may

be right; in that case "The Exile of Time" is the greatest

joke ever written--yet I like it immensely. One thing that

is impossible is the destruction of matter. It can be broken

up, or condensed as in "When Caverns Yawned," but not

destroyed completely.

Mr. W. H. Flowers evidently has a grudge against the fair

sex. The love interest is not necessary in short stories,

it's true; but what kind of a long novel would it be if the

hero had no incentive, nothing to risk his life for, except

a possible word of praise from the scientific world?

No matter how much a man loves his work it is my opinion

that he would not die for the purpose of proving his point.

Not being able to take a hint, the knockers still appear to

mar an otherwise perfect day--this time in the person of

Harry Pancoast. If Astounding Stories ever gets so bad that

not even one story in it is of interest to me--I'll just

drop out of the waiting line--and keep my mouth

closed.--Richard Waite, 8 South Ave., Warsaw, N. Y.

_Never Noticed That_

Dear Editor:

Just bought my latest copy of Astounding Stories, and what

an edition! First, the cover (Wesso has all others beat by a

mile). Then, the stories. Well, take "Manape the Mighty": it

is one of the best Science Fiction stories I have ever read.

"The Exile of Time" was great.

Have you ever noticed that almost every critic of Science

Fiction is either a teacher or a female? Jim Nicholson and I

certainly know that.--Billy Roche, Sec. Interplanetary Dept.

of the B. S. B., 101 St. Elmo, San Francisco, Cal.

_Sunflowers for All_

Dear Editor:

Miracles do happen! I was never so thoroughly astounded in

all my life as when I received the great June issue of "our"

magazine with _straight_ edges! Thank you and all concerned

for publishing "our" magazine sans rough edges. The smooth

edges ought to cut the reading time of Astounding Stories

down to an hour and forty-five minutes as we always used to

waste a lot of time fumbling about with the pages.

But if I was astounded at the long awaited straight edges, I

was still more amazed at the great innovation of an

illustration by Paul! Let's have more and more of his

remarkable drawings. Astounding Stories is truly great now

with its fine Editor, splendid Authors, excellent stories,

worthy illustrations, essential "Readers' Corner," Paul

(Ah!) and good binding! Yes! You heard right! I said good

binding! Of course it makes amusing material to write about

the binding and remark that it comes off after once handling

it, or that the paper is soon worn to shreds, but such

matters shouldn't be honestly believed. I have every issue

of Astounding Stories (eighteen great numbers!) and each and

every issue is as good as new. I have never had any trouble

with the covers departing from the rest of the magazine or

the pages becoming moldy.

Sewell Peaslee Wright's "The Man from 2071" is just perfect.

I enjoy nothing more than one of his realistic stories of

Commander John Hanson. We want more! Arthur J. Burks'

novelette, "Manape the Mighty," was clever. I had a

premonition that I wouldn't like this story, and in fact

told a friend so. It just goes to prove that hunches can be

wrong. Charles Willard Diffin should be proud of his

"Holocaust." I'm sure that most Readers enjoyed it as much

as I did. Of course, Starzl's "The Earthman's Burden" was a

peach. His stories of other planets are always weird,

bizarre, and yet they seem to ring true. That is the magic

of R. F. Starzl! Paul illustrated it in his own

unapproachable style. "The Exile of Time," as everyone

agrees, is Cummings' best. I am waiting for its thrilling

conclusion.

I am one who would like Astounding Stories to be a large

size magazine, but it can easily be seen that everyone can't

be pleased. If you'll just leave it the way it is--i. e.,

straight edges, illustrations by Paul, same authors and same

excellent Editor--I'll be satisfied.--Forrest J. Ackerman,

530 Staples Ave., San Francisco, Cal.

"_Great Relief_"

Dear Editor:

The story, "Manape the Mighty," by Arthur J. Burks, was by

far one of the most thrilling and educational stories that

ever appeared in Astounding Stories. Of course, others will

disagree, but an Author cannot please all. It is of great

relief to change from the monotonous every day kind of

stories that appear in Collier's, Liberty and The Saturday

Evening Post to the refreshing and soothing "impossible"

type of A. S.

Ever since the January issue, I've been an ardent pursuer of

Astounding Stories. To me it is even more astounding that I

seem to like it more and more each succeeding issue. I find

it, undoubtedly, the best magazine of its type. I've tried

others of similar type, but it seems as if my mind couldn't

grasp the knack of their stories, which were either boresome

with scientific and technical explanations, or, as one might

say, "not a darn thing to them."

R. F. Starzl is a wonderful author. Ray Cummings, Sewell

Peaslee Wright, Charles Willard Diffin, Captain S. P. Meek,

Edmond Hamilton, F. V. W. Mason and Murray Leinster are

excellent.

There is one thing that I'd like to see in Astounding

Stories, and I'm sure many of the Readers would, too. It is

always my habit to read while eating. To finish the story in

time, I pick the shortest one. Sad to say, Astounding has

rather long stories. How about an occasional short story?

I'm sure your readers will approve. They would go over with

a bang!--P. Nikolaioff, 4325 S. Seeley Ave., Chicago, Ill.

_Sometimes Gets Mad_

Dear Editor:

Although I have been an interested reader of Astounding

Stories since its inception, this is the first time I have

written. Astounding Stories have been so good lately that I

just had to write and compliment you on your good work.

There are, however, some criticisms I have to make. The

first is: I think Mr. W. H. Flowers of Pittsburgh, Pa, is

right when he says you sometimes have too much love in some

of your stories. The second is, I think it would be a good

thing to put notes at the end of a page to explain some of

the terms for the Readers who read mostly for the science

part. That is what I do, and I get mad when I read something

that does not give me the inside dope on it. Outside of that

I think Astounding Stories can't be beat.

One more thing before I close. Keep Capt. S. P. Meek on your

staff or I will stop reading Astounding Stories, as much as

I would hate to do that. I think he is your best author by a

long shot.--Wilson Adams, Seat Pleasant, Md.

_From a "Female Woman"_

Dear Editor:

The comment of Jim Nicholson in the June issue that it is

only "the females" who consider him "cracked" for reading

Science Fiction, and only women who do not care for science

in the stories, moves me to break into "The Readers' Corner"

for the first time.

I happen to be a "female woman," and it is the men in our

family and circle of friends who laugh at me for buying

every Science Fiction magazine and book that I can find.

They call them my "nutty magazines." I have to admit that I

do not understand much of the scientific explanation, since

my mind does not run along mathematical or scientific lines,

but I do not mind having that in stories, for those who do

care for it and can understand it, as I can simply skip over

it, taking what I can grasp and letting the rest go. It

doesn't spoil the story for me.

I have no criticism, constructive or otherwise, to make. I

enjoy the stories with some romance involved, and enjoy

those without equally well. My own preference would be that

you continue using rough paper and your present mechanical

construction, so that more money will be available to pay

for the stories. Few of us keep the magazines anyway, so

there isn't so much need for expensive paper. I like

interplanetary stories best, I think; but I was intensely

interested in "Beyond the Vanishing Point," "Manape the

Mighty" and "Holocaust." All different, but all very good. I

can't remember one I did not like.

My work requires much study and concentration. I have

recommended to several men who do similar mental work that

they follow my plan of securing delightful relaxation by

losing themselves in another world through Science Fiction

magazines. Most of them find it as restful as I

do.--Berenice M. Harrison, Angola, Ind.

_Likes R. F. Starzl_

Dear Editor:

It has been my purpose to write to you before, but due to an

extraordinary amount of detail work which I have had to do,

I have been unable to.

I have read your marvelous magazine ever since the first

issue came into my hands, and I can honestly say that there

is no other book on the market which has held my attention

as long as yours has. I congratulate you on your very

interesting magazine.

Arthur J. Burks, in his latest story, has conceived an

entirely new type of story, and I, for one, think it very

interesting. Plenty of science for the laymen and enough

interest for the others.

I liked R. F. Starzl's story, "The Earthman's Burden," very

much, and I hope you will have more by this author soon. His

stories are perfect. Starzl is a deep thinker, and I am

right here to say that there is a man who understands men

and men's longings and inhibitions.--A. W. Gowing, 17

Pasadena St., Springfield, Mass.

"_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!

_The Editor._

* * * * *

A LIVING, DISEMBODIED HEART

A disembodied heart, not only still steadily beating but writing, as

it throbbed, a permanent, minutely precise record of its pulsations,

was exhibited recently at Princeton in a demonstration of the newest

instrument developed by science for the advancement of medicine and

psychology.

The device, invented by A. L. Loomis of Tuxedo Park, N. Y., and

perfected in collaboration with Dr. Edmund N. Harvey, professor of

psychology at Princeton University, is called the Loomis chronograph.

It will facilitate study of the phenomena of heart action and the

effect of drugs on that vital organ. The chronograph opens the way to

the accurate measuring and recording of the speed and variation of

human heart beats over long periods, even during the sleeping hours of

the subject, which is expected to prove of great value to

physiologists and criminologists.

The heart of the recent demonstration was that of a turtle, removed

from the reptile while alive, freed of all extraneous tissue and

suspended in a physiological salt solution exactly duplicating body

conditions. In this state the organ continues to beat for thirty-six

hours, at the same time setting down, by means of the chronograph, a

graphic history of the approximately 72,000 pulsations it makes in

that time. With each beat the tiny organism pulled down a little lever

that dipped a fine filament into a drop of mercury and made a contact

that transmitted an electric impulse to the chronograph. There it was

translated to a fraction of a second into a record inked on a chart.

Introduction into the solution of nicotine--one part in 10,000--and of

adrenalin--one part in a billion--was immediately noted by a marked

retarding of the heart tempo in the first case and swift acceleration

in the second.

Use of the chronograph to study the action of any heart that can be

removed from the living body is possible, the scientist said, adding

that a comparatively simple adjustment will make possible recording of

the human heart by a device applied to the chest.

Application of the instrument to tests of human nerve reactions and to

psychological tests is forecast.

* * * * *

End of Project Gutenberg's Astounding Stories, August, 1931, by Various