CHAPTER XI

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ASTOUNDING

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VOL. III, No. 2 CONTENTS AUGUST, 1930

COVER DESIGN H. W. WESSOLOWSKI

_Painted in Water-colors from a Scene in "The Planet of Dread."_

THE PLANET OF DREAD R. F. STARZL 147

_A Stupid Blunder--and Mark Forepaugh Faces a Lifetime of Castaway

Loneliness in the Savage Welter of the Planet Inra's Monster-ridden

Jungles._

THE LORD OF SPACE VICTOR ROUSSEAU 158

_A Black Caesar Had Arisen on Eros--and All Earth Trembled at His

Distant Menace._

THE SECOND SATELLITE EDMOND HAMILTON 175

_Earth-men War on Frog-vampires for the Emancipation of the Human Cows

of Earth's Second Satellite._ (A Novelet.)

SILVER DOME HARL VINCENT 192

_In Her Deep-buried Kingdom of Theros, Phaestra Reveals the Amazing

Secret of the Silver Dome._

EARTH, THE MARAUDER ARTHUR J. BURKS 210

_Deep in the Gnome-infested Tunnels of the Moon, Sarka and Jaska Are

Brought to Luar the Radiant Goddess Against Whose Minions the

Marauding Earth Had Struck in Vain._ (Part Two of a Three-Part

Novel.)

MURDER MADNESS MURRAY LEINSTER 237

_Bell Has Fought through Tremendous Obstacles to Find and Kill The

Master, Whose Diabolical Poison Makes Murder-mad Snakes of the Hands;

and, as He Faces the Monster at Last--His Own Hands Start to Writhe!_

(Conclusion.)

THE FLYING CITY H. THOMPSON RICH 260

_From Space Came Cor's Disc-city of Vada--Its Mighty, Age-old Engines

Weakening--Its Horde of Dwarfs Hungry for the Earth!_

THE READERS' CORNER ALL OF US 279

_A Meeting Place for Readers of Astounding Stories._

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* * * * *

The Planet of Dread

_By R. F. Starzl_

[Illustration: _This time Forepaugh was ready for it._]

[Sidenote: A stupid blunder--and Mark Forepaugh faces a life of

castaway loneliness in the savage welter of the planet Inra's

monster-ridden jungles.]

There was no use hiding from the truth. Somebody had blundered--a

fatal blunder--and they were going to pay for it! Mark Forepaugh

kicked the pile of hydrogen cylinders. Only a moment ago he had broken

the seals--the mendacious seals that certified to the world that the

flasks were fully charged. And the flasks were empty! The supply of

this precious power gas, which in an emergency should have been

sufficient for six years, simply did not exist.

He walked over to the integrating machine, which as early as the year

2031 had begun to replace the older atomic processes, due to the

shortage of the radium series metals. It was bulky and heavy compared

to the atomic disintegrators, but it was much more economical and very

dependable. Dependable--provided some thick-headed stock clerk at a

terrestrial supply station did not check in empty hydrogen cylinders

instead of full ones. Forepaugh's unwonted curses brought a smile to

the stupid, good-natured face of his servant, Gunga--he who had been

banished for life from his native Mars for his impiety in closing his

single round eye during the sacred Ceremony of the Wells.

The Earth man was at this steaming hot, unhealthful trading station

under the very shadow of the South Pole of the minor planet Inra for

an entirely different reason. One of the most popular of his set on

the Earth, an athletic hero, he had fallen in love, and the devoutly

wished-for marriage was only prevented by lack of funds. The

opportunity to take charge of this richly paid, though dangerous,

outpost of civilization had been no sooner offered than taken. In

another week or two the relief ship was due to take him and his

valuable collection of exotic Inranian orchids back to the Earth, back

to a fat bonus, Constance, and an assured future.

It was a different young man who now stood tragically before the

useless power plant. His slim body was bowed, and his clean features

were drawn. Grimly he raked the cooling dust that had been forced in

the integrating chamber by the electronic rearrangement of the

original hydrogen atoms--finely powdered iron and silicon--the "ashes"

of the last tank of hydrogen.

* * * * *

Gunga chuckled.

"What's the matter?" Forepaugh barked. "Going crazy already?"

"Me, haw! Me, haw! Me thinkin'," Gunga rumbled. "Haw! We got, haw!

plenty hydr'gen." He pointed to the low metal roof of the trading

station. Though it was well insulated against sound, the place

continually vibrated to the low murmur of the Inranian rains that fell

interminably through the perpetual polar day. It was a rain such as is

never seen on Earth, even in the tropics. It came in drops as large as

a man's fist. It came in streams. It came in large, shattering masses

that broke before they fell and filled the air with spray. There was

little wind, but the steady green downpour of water and the brilliant

continuous flashing of lightning shamed the dull soggy twilight

produced by the large, hot, but hidden sun.

"_Your_ idea of a joke!" Forepaugh growled in disgust. He understood

what Gunga's grim pleasantry referred to. There was indeed an

incalculable quantity of hydrogen at hand. If some means could be

found to separate the hydrogen atoms from the oxygen in the world of

water around them they would not lack for fuel. He thought of

electrolysis, and relaxed with a sigh. There was no power. The

generators were dead, the air drier and cooler had ceased its rhythmic

pulsing nearly an hour ago. Their lights were gone, and the automatic

radio utterly useless.

"This is what comes of putting all your eggs in one basket," he

thought, and let his mind dwell vindictively on the engineers who had

designed the equipment on which his life depended.

An exclamation from Gunga startled him. The Martian was pointing to

the ventilator opening, the only part of this strange building that

was not hermetically sealed against the hostile life of Inra. A dark

rim had appeared at its margin, a loathsome, black-green rim that was

moving, spreading out. It crept over the metal walls like the

low-lying smoke of a fire, yet it was a solid. From it emanated a

strong, miasmatic odor.

"The giant mold!" Forepaugh cried. He rushed to his desk and took out

his flash pistol, quickly set the localizer so as to cover a large

area. When he turned he saw, to his horror, Gunga about to smash into

the mold with his ax. He sent the man spinning with a blow to the ear.

"Want to scatter it and start it growing in a half-dozen places?" he

snapped. "Here!"

* * * * *

He pulled the trigger. There was a light, spiteful "ping" and for an

instant a cone of white light stood out in the dim room like a solid

thing. Then it was gone, and with it was gone the black mold, leaving

a circular area of blistered paint on the wall and an acrid odor in

the air. Forepaugh leaped to the ventilating louver and closed it

tightly.

"It's going to be like this from now on," he remarked to the shaken

Gunga. "All these things wouldn't bother us as long as the machinery

kept the building dry and cool. They couldn't live in here. But it's

getting damp and hot. Look at the moisture condensing on the ceiling!"

Gunga gave a guttural cry of despair. "It knows, Boss; look!"

Through one of the round, heavily framed ports it could be seen, the

lower part of its large, shapeless body half-floating in the lashing

water that covered their rocky shelf to a depth of several feet, the

upper part spectral and gray. It was a giant amoeba, fully six feet in

diameter in its present spheroid form, but capable of assuming any

shape that would be useful. It had an envelope of tough, transparent

matter, and was filled with a fluid that was now cloudy and then

clear. Near the center there was a mass of darker matter, and this was

undoubtedly the seat of its intelligence.

The Earth man recoiled in horror! A single cell with a brain! It was

unthinkable. It was a biological nightmare. Never before had he seen

one--had, in fact, dismissed the stories of the Inranian natives as a

bit of primitive superstition, had laughed at these gentle, stupid

amphibians with whom he traded when they, in their imperfect language,

tried to tell him of it.

They had called it the Ul-lul. Well, let it be so. It was an amoeba,

and it was watching him. It floated in the downpour and watched him.

With what? It had no eyes. No matter, it was watching him. And then it

suddenly flowed outward until it became a disc rocking on the waves.

Again its fluid form changed, and by a series of elongations and

contractions it flowed through the water at an incredible speed. It

came straight for the window, struck the thick, unbreakable glass with

a shock that could be felt by the men inside. It flowed over the glass

and over the building. It was trying to eat them, building and all!

The part of its body over the port became so thin that it was almost

invisible. At last, its absolute limit reached, it dropped away,

baffled, vanishing amid the glare of the lightning and the frothing

waters like the shadows of a nightmare.

* * * * *

The heat was intolerable and the air was bad.

"Haw, we have to open vent'lator, Boss!" gasped the Martian.

Forepaugh nodded grimly. It wouldn't do to smother either. Though to

open the ventilator would be to invite another invasion by the black

mold, not to mention the amoebae and other fabulous monsters that had

up to now been kept at a safe distance by the repeller zone, a simple

adaptation of a very old discovery. A zone of mechanical vibrations,

of a frequency of 500,000 cycles per second, was created by a large

quartz crystal in the water, which was electrically operated. Without

power, the protective zone had vanished.

"We watch?" asked Gunga.

"You bet we watch. Every minute of the 'day' and 'night.'"

He examined the two chronometers, assuring himself that they were well

wound, and congratulated himself that they were not dependent on the

defunct power plant for energy. They were his only means of measuring

the passage of time. The sun, which theoretically would seem to travel

round and round the horizon, rarely succeeded in making its exact

location known, but appeared to shift strangely from side to side at

the whim of the fog and water.

"Th' fellas," Gunga remarked, coming out of a study. "Why not come?"

He referred to the Inranians.

"Probably know something's wrong. They can tell the quartz oscillator

is stopped. Afraid of the Ul-lul, I suppose."

"'Squeer," demurred the Martian. "Ul-lul not bother fellas."

"You mean it doesn't follow them into the underbrush. But it would

find tough going there. Not enough water; trees there, four hundred

feet high with thorny roots and rough bark--they wouldn't like that.

Oh no, these natives ought to be pretty snug in their dens. Why,

they're as hard to catch as a muskrat! Don't know what a muskrat is,

huh? Well, it's the same as the Inranians, only different, and not so

ugly."

* * * * *

For the next six days they existed in their straitened quarters, one

guarding while the other slept, but such alarms as they experienced

were of a minor nature, easily disposed of by their flash pistol. It

had not been intended for continuous service, and under the frequent

drains it showed an alarming loss of power. Forepaugh repeatedly

warned Gunga to be more sparing in its use, but that worthy persisted

in his practice of using it against every trifling invasion of the

poisonous Inranian cave moss that threatened them, or the warm, soggy

water-spiders that hopefully explored the ventilator shaft in search

of living food.

"Bash 'em with a broom, or something! Never mind if it isn't nice.

Save our flash gun for something bigger."

Gunga only looked distressed.

On the seventh day their position became untenable. Some kind of sea

creature, hidden under the ever-replenished storm waters, had found

the concrete emplacements of their trading post to its liking. Just

how it was done was never learned. It is doubtful that the creatures

could gnaw away the solid stone--more likely the process was chemical,

but none the less it was effective. The foundations crumbled; the

metal shell subsided, rolled half over so that silty water leaked in

through the straining seams, and threatened at any moment to be

buffeted and urged away on the surface of the flood toward that

distant vast sea which covers nine-tenths of the area of Inra.

"Time to mush for the mountains," Forepaugh decided.

Gunga grinned. The Mountains of Perdition were, to his point of view,

the only part of Inra even remotely inhabitable. They were sometimes

fairly cool, and though perpetually pelted with rain, blazing with

lightning and reverberating with thunder, they had caves that were

fairly dry and too cool for the black mold. Sometimes, under favorable

circumstances on their rugged peaks, one could get the full benefit of

the enormous hot sun for whose actinic rays the Martian's starved

system yearned.

"Better pack a few cans of the food tablets," the white man ordered.

"Take a couple of waterproof sleeping bags for us, and a few hundred

fire pellets. You can have the flash pistol; it may have a few more

charges in it."

* * * * *

Forepaugh broke the glass case marked "Emergency Only" and removed two

more flash pistols. Well he knew that he would need them after passing

beyond the trading area--perhaps sooner. His eyes fell on his personal

chest, and he opened it for a brief examination. None of the contents

seemed of any value, and he was about to pass when he dragged out a

long, heavy, .45 caliber six-shooter in a holster, and a cartridge

belt filled with shells. The Martian stared.

"Know what it is?" his master asked, handing him the weapon.

"Gunga not know." He took it and examined it curiously. It was a fine

museum piece in an excellent state of preservation, the metal overlaid

with the patina of age, but free from rust and corrosion.

"It's a weapon of the Ancients," Forepaugh explained. "It was a sort

of family heirloom and is over 300 years old. One of my grandfathers

used it in the famous Northwest Mounted Police. Wonder if it'll still

shoot."

He leveled the weapon at a fat, sightless wriggler that came squirming

through a seam, squinting unaccustomed eyes along the barrel. There

was a violent explosion, and the wriggler disappeared in a smear of

dirty green. Gunga nearly fell over backward in fright, and even

Forepaugh was shaken. He was surprised that the ancient cartridge had

exploded at all, though he knew powder making had reached a high level

of perfection before explosive chemical weapons had yielded to the

newer, lighter, and infinitely more powerful ray weapons. The gun

would impede their progress. It would be of very little use against

the giant Carnivora of Inra. Yet something--perhaps a sentimental

attachment, perhaps what his ancestors would have called a

"hunch"--compelled him to strap it around his waist. He carefully

packed a few essentials in his knapsack, together with one chronometer

and a tiny gyroscopic compass. So equipped, they could travel with a

fair degree of precision toward the mountains some hundred miles on

the other side of a steaming forest, a-crawl with feral life, and hot

with blood-lust.

* * * * *

Man and master descended into the warm waters and, without a backward

glance, left the trading post to its fate. There was not even any use

in leaving a note. Their relief ship, soon due, would never find the

station without radio direction.

The current was strong, but the water gradually became shallower as

they ascended the sloping rock. After half an hour they saw ahead of

them the loom of the forest, and with some trepidation they entered

the gloom cast by the towering, fernlike trees, whose tops disappeared

in murky fog. Tangled vines impeded their progress. Quagmires lay in

wait for them, and tough weeds tripped them, sometimes throwing one or

another into the mud among squirming small reptiles that lashed at

them with spiked, poisonous feet and then fell to pieces, each piece

to lie in the bubbling ooze until it grew again into a whole animal.

Several times they almost walked under the bodies of great,

spheroidal creatures with massive short legs, whose tremendously long,

sinuous necks disappeared in the leafy murk above, swaying gently like

long-stalked lilies in a terrestial pond. These were azornacks,

mild-tempered vegetarians whose only defense lay in their thick,

blubbery hides. Filled with parasites, stinking and rancid, their

decaying covering of fat effectively concealed the tender flesh

underneath, protecting them from fangs and rending claws.

Deeper in the forest the battering of the rain was mitigated. Giant

neo-palm leaves formed a roof that shut out not only most of the weak

daylight, but also the fury of the downpour. The water collected in

cataracts, ran down the boles of the trees, and roared through the

semi-circular canals of the snake trees, so named by early explorers

for their waving, rubbery tentacles, multiplied a millionfold, that

performed the duties of leaves. Water gurgled and chuckled everywhere,

spread in vast dim ponds and lakes writhing with tormented roots,

up-heaved by unseen, uncatalogued leviathans, rippled by translucent

discs of loathsome, luminescent jelly that quivered from place to

place in pursuit of microscopic prey.

Yet the impression was one of calm and quiet, and the waifs from other

worlds felt a surcease of nervous tension. Unconsciously they relaxed.

Taking their bearings, they changed their course slightly for the

nesting place of the nearest tribe of Inranians where they hoped to

get food and at least partial shelter; for their food tablets had

mysteriously turned to an unpleasant viscous liquid, and their

sleeping bags were alive with giant bacteria easily visible to the

eye.

* * * * *

They were doomed to disappointment. After nearly twelve hours of

desperate struggling through the morass, through gloomy aisles, and

countless narrow escapes from prowling beasts of prey in which only

the speed and tremendous power of their flash pistols saved them from

instant death, they reached a rocky outcropping which led to the

comparatively dry rise of land on which a tribe of Inranians made its

home. Their faces were covered with welts made by the hanging

filaments of blood-sucking trees as fine as spider webs, and their

senses reeled with the oppressive stench of the abysmal jungle. If the

pampered ladies of the Inner Planets only knew where their

thousand-dollar orchids sprang from!

Converging runways showed the opening of one of the underground dens,

almost hidden from view by a bewildering maze of roots, rendered more

formidable by long, sharp stakes made from the iron-hard thigh-bones

of the flying kabo.

Forepaugh cupped his hands over his mouth and gave the call.

"Ouf! Ouf! Ouf! Ouf! Ouf!"

He repeated it over and over, the jungle giving back his voice in a

muffled echo, while Gunga held a spare flash pistol and kept a sharp

lookout for a carnivore intent on getting an unwary Inranian.

There was no answer. These timid creatures, who are often rated the

most intelligent life native to primitive Inra, had sensed disaster

and had fled.

Forepaugh and Gunga slept in one of the foul, poorly ventilated dens,

ate of the hard, woody tubers that had not been worth taking along,

and wished they had a certain stock clerk at that place at that time.

They were awakened out of deep slumber by the threshing of an evil

looking creature which had become entangled among the sharpened

spikes. Its tremendous maw, splitting it almost in half, was opened in

roars of pain that showed great yellow fangs eight inches in length.

Its heavy flippers battered the stout roots and lacerated themselves

in the beast's insensate rage. It was quickly dispatched with a flash

pistol and Gunga cooked himself some of the meat, using a fire pellet;

but despite his hunger Forepaugh did not dare eat any of it, knowing

that this species, strange to him, might easily be one of the many on

Inra that are poisonous to terrestials.

* * * * *

They resumed their march toward the distant invisible mountains, and

were fortunate in finding somewhat better footing than they had on

their previous march. They covered about 25 miles on that "day,"

without untoward incident. Their ray pistols gave them an insuperable

advantage over the largest and most ferocious beasts they could expect

to meet, so that they became more and more confident, despite the

knowledge that they were rapidly using up the energy stored in their

weapons. The first one had long ago been discarded, and the charge

indicators of the other two were approaching zero at a disquieting

rate. Forepaugh took them both, and from that time on he was careful

never to waste a discharge except in case of a direct and unavoidable

attack. This often entailed long waits or stealthy detours through

sucking mud, and came near to ending both their lives.

The Earth man was in the lead when it happened. Seeking an uncertain

footing through a tangle of low-growing, thick, ghastly white

vegetation, he placed a foot on what seemed to be a broad, flat rock

projecting slightly above the ooze. Instantly there was a violent

upheaval of mud; the seeming rock flew up like a trap-door, disclosing

a cavernous mouth some seven feet across, and a thick, triangular

tentacle flew up from its concealment in the mud in a vicious arc.

Forepaugh leaped back barely in time to escape being swept in and

engulfed. The end of the tentacle struck him a heavy blow on the

chest, throwing him back with such force as to bowl Gunga over, and

whirling the pistols out of his hands into a slimy, bulbous growth

nearby, where they stuck in the phosphorescent cavities the force of

their impact had made.

* * * * *

There was no time to recover the weapons. With a bellow of rage the

beast was out of its bed and rushing at them. Nothing stayed its

progress. Tough, heavily scaled trees thicker than a man's body

shuddered and fell as its bulk brushed by them. But it was momentarily

confused, and its first rush carried it past its dodging quarry. This

momentary respite saved their lives.

Rearing its plumed head to awesome heights, its knobby bark running

with brown rivulets of water, a giant tree, even for that world of

giants, offered refuge. The men scrambled up the rough trunk easily,

finding plenty of hand and footholds. They came to rest on one of the

shelflike circumvoluting rings, some twenty-five feet above the

ground. Soon the blunt brown tentacles slithered in search of them,

but failed to reach their refuge by inches.

And now began the most terrible siege that interlopers in that

primitive world can endure. From that cavernous, distended throat came

a tremendous, world-shaking noise.

"HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM!"

Forepaugh put his hand to his head. It made him dizzy. He had not

believed that such noise could be. He knew that no creature could long

live amidst it. He tore strips from his shredded clothing and stuffed

his ears, but felt no relief.

"HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM!"

It throbbed in his brain.

Gunga lay a-sprawl, staring with fascinated eye into the pulsating

scarlet gullet that was blasting the world with sound. Slowly, slowly

he was slipping. His master hauled him back. The Martian grinned at

him stupidly, slid again to the edge.

Once more Forepaugh pulled him back. The Martian seemed to acquiesce.

His single eye closed to a mere slit. He moved to a position between

Forepaugh and the tree trunk, braced his feet.

"No you don't!" The Earth man laughed uproariously. The din was making

him light-headed. It was so funny! Just in time he had caught that

cunning expression and prepared for the outlashing of feet designed to

plunge him into the red cavern below and to stop that hellish racket.

"And now--"

He swung his fist heavily, slamming the Martian against the tree. The

red eye closed wearily. He was unconscious, and lucky.

Hungrily the Earth man stared at his distant flash pistols, plainly

visible in the luminescence of their fungus bedding. He began a slow,

cautious creep along the top of a vine some eight inches thick. If he

could reach them....

* * * * *

Crash! He was almost knocked to the ground by the thud of a frantic

tentacle against the vine. His movement had been seen. Again the

tentacle struck with crushing force. The great vine swayed. He managed

to reach the shelf again in the very nick of time.

"HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM!"

A bolt of lightning struck a giant fern some distance away. The crash

of thunder was hardly noticeable. Forepaugh wondered if his tree would

be struck. Perhaps it might even start a fire, giving him a flaming

brand with which to torment his tormentor. Vain hope! The wood was

saturated with moisture. Even the fire pellets could not make it burn.

"HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM!"

The six-shooter! He had forgotten it. He jerked it from its holster

and pointed it at the red throat, emptied all the chambers. He saw the

flash of yellow flame, felt the recoil, but the sound of the

discharges was drowned in the Brobdignagian tumult. He drew back his

arm to throw the useless toy from him. But again that unexplainable,

senseless "hunch" restrained him. He reloaded the gun and returned it

to its holster.

"HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM!"

A thought had been struggling to reach his consciousness against the

pressure of the unbearable noise. The fire pellets! Couldn't they be

used in some way? These small chemical spheres, no larger than the end

of his little finger, had long ago supplanted actual fire along the

frontiers, where electricity was not available for cooking. In contact

with moisture they emitted terrific heat, a radiant heat which

penetrated meat, bone, and even metal. One such pellet would cook a

meal in ten minutes, with no sign of scorching or burning. And they

had several hundred in one of the standard moisture-proof containers.

* * * * *

As fast as his fingers could work the trigger of the dispenser

Forepaugh dropped the potent little pellets down the bellowing throat.

He managed to release about thirty before the bellowing stopped. A

veritable tornado of energy broke loose at the foot of the tree. The

giant maw was closed, and the shocking silence was broken only by the

thrashing of a giant body in its death agonies. The radiant heat,

penetrating through and through the beast's body, withered nearby

vegetation and could be easily felt on the perch up the tree.

Gunga was slowly recovering. His iron constitution helped him to rally

from the powerful blow he had received, and by the time the jungle was

still he was sitting up mumbling apologies.

"Never mind," said his master. "Shin down there and cut us off a good

helping of roast tongue, if it has a tongue, before something else

comes along and beats us out of a feast."

"Him poison, maybe," Gunga demurred. They had killed a specimen new to

zoologists.

"Might as well die of poison as starvation," Forepaugh countered.

Without more ado the Martian descended, cut out some large, juicy

chunks as his fancy dictated, and brought his loot back up the tree.

The meat was delicious and apparently wholesome. They gorged

themselves and threw away what they could not eat, for food spoils

very quickly in the Inranian jungles and uneaten meat would only serve

to attract hordes of the gauzy-winged, glutinous Inranian swamp flies.

As they sank into slumber they could hear the beginning of a bedlam of

snarling and fighting as the lesser Carnivora fed on the body of the

fallen giant.

When they awoke the chronometer recorded the passing of twelve hours,

and they had to tear a network of strong fibers with which the tree

had invested them preparatory to absorbing their bodies as food. For

so keen is the competition for life on Inra that practically all

vegetation is capable of absorbing animal food directly. Many an

Inranian explorer can tell tales of narrow escapes from some of the

more specialized flesh-eating plants; but they are now so well known

that they are easily avoided.

* * * * *

A clean-picked framework of crushed and broken giant bones was all

that was left of the late bellowing monster. Six-legged water dogs

were polishing them hopefully, or delving into them with their long,

sinuous snouts for the marrow. The Earth man fired a few shots with

his six-shooter, and they scattered, dragging the bodies of their

fallen companions to a safe distance to be eaten.

Only one of the flash pistols was in working order. The other had been

trampled by heavy hoofs and was useless. A heavy handicap under which

to traverse fifty miles of abysmal jungle. They started with nothing

for breakfast except water, of which they had plenty.

Fortunately the outcroppings of rocks and gravel washes were becoming

more and more frequent, and they were able to travel at much better

speed. As they left the low-lying jungle land they entered a zone

which was faintly reminiscent of a terrestial jungle. It was still

hot, soggy, and fetid, but gradually the most primitive aspects of the

scene were modified. The over-arching trees were less closely packed,

and they came across occasional rock clearings which were bare of

vegetation except for a dense carpet of brown, lichenlike vegetation

that secreted an astonishing amount of juice. They slipped and sloshed

through this, rousing swarms of odd, toothed birds, which darted

angrily around their heads and slashed at them with the razor-sharp

saw edges on the back of their legs. Annoying as they were, they could

be kept away with branches torn from trees, and their presence

connoted an absence of the deadly jungle flesh-eaters, permitting a

temporary relaxation of vigilance and saving the resources of the last

flash gun.

They camped that "night" on the edge of one of these rock clearings.

For the first time in weeks it had stopped raining, although the sun

was still obscured. Dimly on the horizon could be seen the first of

the foothills. Here they gathered some of the giant, oblong fungus

that early explorers had taken for blocks of porous stone because of

their size and weight, and, by dint of the plentiful application of

fire pellets, managed to set it ablaze. The heat added nothing to

their comfort, but it dried them out and allowed them to sleep

unmolested.

* * * * *

An unwary winged eel served as their breakfast, and soon they were on

their way to those beckoning hills. It had started to rain again, but

the worst part of their journey was over. If they could reach the top

of one of the mountains there was a good chance that they would be

seen and rescued by their relief ship, provided they did not starve

first. The flyer would use the mountains as a base from which to

search for the trading station, and it was conceivable that the

skipper might actually have anticipated their desperate adventure and

would look for them in the Mountains of Perdition.

They had crossed several ranges of the foothills and were beginning to

congratulate themselves when the diffused light from above was

suddenly blotted out. It was raining again, and above the

echo-augmented thunder they heard a shrill screeching.

"A web serpent!" Gunga cried, throwing himself flat on the ground.

Forepaugh eased into a rock cleft at his side. Just in time. A great

grotesque head bore down upon him, many-fanged as a medieval dragon.

Between obsidian eyes was a fissure whence emanated a wailing and a

foul odor. Hundreds of short, clawed legs slithered on the rocks under

a long sinuous body. Then it seemed to leap into the air again. Webs

grew taut between the legs, strumming as they caught a strong uphill

wind. Again it turned to the attack, and missed them. This time

Forepaugh was ready for it. He shot at it with his flash pistol.

* * * * *

Nothing happened. The fog made accurate shooting impossible, and the

gun lacked its former power. The web serpent continued to course back

and forth over their heads.

"Guess we'd better run for it," Forepaugh murmured.

"Go 'head!"

They cautiously left their places of concealment. Instantly the

serpent was down again, persistent if inaccurate. It struck the place

of their first concealment and missed them.

"Run!"

They extended their weary muscles to the utmost, but it was soon

apparent that they could not escape long. A rock wall in their path

saved them.

"Hole!" the Martian gasped.

Forepaugh followed him into the rocky cleft. There was a strong draft

of dry air, and it would have been next to impossible to hold the

Martian back, so Forepaugh allowed him to lead on toward the source of

the draft. As long as it led into the mountains he didn't care.

The natural passageway was untenanted. Evidently its coolness and

dryness made it untenable for most of Inra's humidity and heat loving

life. Yet the floor was so smooth that it must have been artificially

leveled. Faint illumination was provided by the rocks themselves. They

appeared to be covered by some microscopic phosphorescent vegetation.

After hundreds of twists and turns and interminable straight galleries

the cleft turned more sharply upward, and they had a period of stiff

climbing. They must have gone several miles and climbed at least

20,000 feet. The air became noticeably thin, which only exhilarated

Gunga, but slowed the Earth man down. But at last they came to the end

of the cleft. They could go no further, but above them, at least 500

feet higher, they saw a round patch of sky, miraculously bright blue

sky!

"A pipe!" Forepaugh cried.

He had often heard of these mysterious, almost fabulous structures

sometimes reported by passing travelers. Straight and true, smooth as

glass and apparently immune to the elements, they had been

occasionally seen standing on the very tops of the highest

mountains--seen for a few moments only before they were hidden again

by the clouds. Were they observatories of some ancient race, placed

thus to pierce the mysteries of outer space? They would find out.

* * * * *

The inside of the pipe had zigzagging rings of metal, conveniently

spaced for easy climbing. With Gunga leading, they soon reached the

top. But not quite.

"Eh?" said Forepaugh.

"Uh?" said Gunga.

There had not been a sound, but a distinct, definite command had

registered on their minds.

"Stop!"

They tried to climb higher, but could not unclasp their hands. They

tried to descend, but could not lower their feet.

The light was by now relatively bright, and as by command their eyes

sought the opposite wall. What they saw gave their jaded nerves an

unpleasant thrill--a mass of doughy matter of a blue-green color about

three feet in diameter, with something that resembled a cyst filled

with transparent liquid near its center.

And this thing began to flow along the rods, much as tar flows. From

the mass extended a pseudopod; touched Gunga on the arm. Instantly the

arm was raw and bleeding. Terrified, immovable, he writhed in agony.

The pseudopod returned to the main mass, disappearing into its

interior with the strip of bloody skin.

Its attention was centered so much on the luckless Martian that its

control slipped from Forepaugh. Seizing his flash pistol, he set the

localized for a small area and aimed it at the thing, intent on

burning it into nothingness. But again his hand was stayed. Against

the utmost of his will-power his fingers opened, letting the pistol

drop. The liquid in the cyst danced and bubbled. Was it laughing at

him? It had read his mind--thwarted his will again.

Again a pseudopod stretched out and a strip of raw, red flesh adhered

to it and was consumed. Mad rage convulsed the Earth man. Should he

throw himself tooth and nail on the monster? And be engulfed?

He thought of the six-shooter. It thrilled him.

But wouldn't it make him drop that too?

* * * * *

A flash of atavistic cunning came to him.

He began to reiterate in his mind a certain thought.

"This thing is so I can see you better--this thing is so I can see you

better."

He said it over and over, with all the passion and devotion of a

celibate's prayer over a uranium fountain.

"This thing is harmless--but it will make me see you better!"

Slowly he drew the six-shooter. In some occult way he knew it was

watching him.

"Oh, this is harmless! This is an instrument to aid my weak eyes! It

will help me realize your mastery! This will enable me to know your

true greatness. This will enable me to know you as a god."

Was it complacence or suspicion that stirred the liquid in the cyst so

smoothly? Was it susceptible to flattery? He sighted along the barrel.

"In another moment your great intelligence will overwhelm me,"

proclaimed his surface mind desperately, while the subconscious tensed

the trigger. And at that the clear liquid burst into a turmoil of

alarm. Too late. Forepaugh went limp, but not before he had loosed a

steel-jacketed bullet that shattered the mind cyst of the pipe

denizen. A horrible pain coursed through his every fibre and nerve. He

was safe in the arms of Gunga, being carried to the top of the pipe to

the clean dry air, and the blessed, blistering sun.

The pipe denizen was dying. A viscous, inert mass, it dropped lower

and lower, lost contact at last, shattered into slime at the bottom.

* * * * *

Miraculous sun! For a luxurious fifteen minutes they roasted there on

the top of the pipe, the only solid thing in a sea of clouds as far as

the eye could reach. But no! That was a circular spot against the

brilliant white of the clouds, and it was rapidly coming closer. In a

few minutes it resolved itself into the _Comet_, fast relief ship of

the Terrestial, Inranian, Genidian, and Zydian Lines, Inc. With a low

buzz of her repulsion motors she drew alongside. Hooks were attached

and ports opened. A petty officer and a crew of roustabouts made her

fast.

"What the hell's going on here?" asked the cocky little terrestial who

was skipper, stepping out and surveying the castaways. "We've been

looking for you ever since your directional wave failed. But come on

in--come on in!"

He led the way to his stateroom, while the ship's surgeon took Gunga

in charge. Closing the door carefully, he delved into the bottom of

his locker and brought out a flask.

"Can't be too careful," he remarked, filling a small tumbler for

himself and another for his guest. "Always apt to be some snooper to

report me. But say--you're wanted in the radio room."

"Radio room nothing! When do we eat?"

"Right away, but you'd better see him. Fellow from the Interplanetary

News Agency wants you to broadcast a copyrighted story. Good for about

three years' salary, old boy."

"All right. I'll see him"--with a happy sigh--"just as soon as I put

through a personal message."

[Advertisement: Everyone Is Invited

_To "Come Over in_

'THE READERS' CORNER'!"]

The Lord of Space

_By Victor Rousseau_

[Illustration]

[Sidenote: A Black Caesar had arisen on Eros--and all Earth trembled

at his distant menace.]

"On the day of the next full moon every living thing on earth will be

wiped out of existence--unless you succeed in your mission, Lee."

Nathaniel Lee looked into the face of Silas Stark, President of the

United States of the World, and nodded grimly. "I'll do my best, Sir,"

he answered.

"You have the facts. We know who this self-styled Black Caesar is, who

has declared war upon humanity. He is a Dane named Axelson, whose

father, condemned to life imprisonment for resisting the new

world-order, succeeded in obtaining possession of an interplanetary

liner.

"He filled it with the gang of desperate men who had been associated

with him in his successful escape from the penitentiary. Together they

sailed into Space. They disappeared. It was supposed that they had

somehow met their death in the ether, beyond the range of human ken.

"Thirty years passed, and then this son of Axelson, born, according to

his own story, of a woman whom the father had persuaded to accompany

him into Space, began to radio us. We thought at first it was some

practical joker who was cutting in.

[Illustration: _It was like struggling with some vampire creatures in

a hideous dream._]

"When our electricians demonstrated beyond doubt that the voice came

from outer space, it was supposed that some one in our Moon Colony had

acquired a transmitting machine. Then the ships we sent to the Moon

Colony for gold failed to return. As you know, for seven weeks there

has been no communication with the Moon. And at the last full moon

the--blow--fell.

"The world depends upon you, Lee. The invisible rays that destroyed

every living thing from China to Australia--one-fifth of the human

race--will fall upon the eastern seaboard of America when the moon is

full again. That has been the gist of Axelson's repeated

communications.

"We shall look to you to return, either with the arch-enemy of the

human race as your prisoner, or with the good news that mankind has

been set free from the menace that overhangs it.

"God bless you, my boy!" The President of the United States of the

World gripped Nat's hand and stepped down the ladder that led from the

landing-stage of the great interplanetary space-ship.

* * * * *

The immense landing-field reserved for the ships of the Interplanetary

Line was situated a thousand feet above the heart of New York City, in

Westchester County. It was a flat space set on the top of five great

towers, strewn with electrified sand, whose glow had the property of

dispersing the sea fogs. There, at rest upon what resembled nothing so

much as iron claws, the long gray shape of the vacuum flyer bulked.

Nat sneezed as he watched the operations of his men, for the common

cold, or coryza, seemed likely to be the last of the germ diseases

that would yield to medical science, and he had caught a bad one in

the Capitol, while listening to the debate in the Senate upon the

threat to humanity. And it was cold on the landing-stage, in contrast

to the perpetual summer of the glass-roofed city below.

But Nat forgot the cold as he watched the preparations for the ship's

departure. Neon and nitrogen gas were being pumped under pressure into

the outer shell, where a minute charge of leucon, the newly discovered

element that helped to counteract gravitation, combined with them to

provide the power that would lift the vessel above the regions of the

stratosphere.

In the low roof-buildings that surrounded the stage was a scene of

tremendous activity. The selenium discs were flashing signals, and the

radio receivers were shouting the late news; on the great power boards

dials and light signals stood out in the glow of the amylite tubes. On

a rotary stage a thousand feet above the ship a giant searchlight,

visible for a thousand miles, moved its shaft of dazzling luminosity

across the heavens.

Now the spar-aluminite outer skin of the ship grew bright with the red

neon glare. Another ship, from China, dropped slowly to its stage near

by, and the unloaders swarmed about the pneumatic tubes to receive the

mail. The teleradio was shouting news of a failure of the Manchurian

wheat crop. Nat's chief officer, a short cockney named Brent, came up

to him.

"Ready to start, Sir," he said.

* * * * *

Nat turned to him. "Your orders are clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Send Benson here."

"I'm here, Sir." Benson, the ray-gunner in charge of the battery that

comprised the vessel's armament, a lean Yankee from Connecticut,

stepped forward.

"You know your orders, Benson? Axelson has seized the Moon and the

gold-mines there. He's planning to obliterate the Earth. We've got to

go in like mad dogs and shoot to kill. No matter if we kill every

living thing there, even our own people who are inmates of the Moon's

penal settlement, we've got to account for Axelson."

"Yes, Sir."

"We can't guess how he got those gold-ships that returned with neon

and argon for the Moon colonists. But he mustn't get us. Let the men

understand that. That's all."

"Very good, Sir."

The teleradio suddenly began to splutter: A-A-A, it called. And

instantly every sound ceased about the landing-stage. For that was the

call of Axelson, somewhere upon the Moon.

"Axelson speaking. At the next full moon all the American Province of

the World Federation will be annihilated, as the Chinese Province was

at the last. There's no hope for you, good people. Send out your

vacuum liners. I can use a few more of them. Within six months your

world will be depopulated, unless you flash me the signal of

surrender."

Would the proud old Earth have to come to that? Daily those ominous

threats had been repeated, until popular fears had become frenzy. And

Nat was being sent out as a last hope. If he failed, there would be

nothing but surrender to this man, armed with a super-force that

enabled him to lay waste the Earth from the Moon.

Within one hour, those invisible, death-dealing rays had destroyed

everything that inhaled oxygen and exhaled carbon. The ray with which

the liner was equipped was a mere toy in comparison. It would kill at

no more than 500 miles, and its action was quite different.

As a prelude to Earth's surrender, Axelson demanded that World

President Stark and a score of other dignitaries should depart for

the Moon as hostages. Every ray fortress in the world was to be

dismantled, every treasury was to send its gold to be piled up in a

great pyramid on the New York landing-stage. The Earth was to

acknowledge Axelson as its supreme master.

* * * * *

The iron claws were turning with a screwlike motion, extending

themselves, and slowly raising the interplanetary vessel until she

looked like a great metal fish with metal legs ending with suckerlike

disks. But already she was floating free as the softly purring engines

held her in equipoise. Nat climbed the short ladder that led to her

deck. Brent came up to him again.

"That teleradio message from Axelson--" he began.

"Yes?" Nat snapped out.

"I don't believe it came from the Moon at all."

"You don't? You think it's somebody playing a hoax on Earth? You think

that wiping out of China was just an Earth-joke?"

"No, Sir." Brent stood steady under his superior's sarcasm. "But I was

chief teleradio operator at Greenwich before being promoted to the

Province of America. And what they don't know at Greenwich they don't

know anywhere."

Brent spoke with that self-assurance of the born cockney that even the

centuries had failed to remove, though they had removed the cockney

accent.

"Well, Brent?"

"I was with the chief electrician in the receiving station when

Axelson was radioing last week. And I noticed that the waves of sound

were under a slight Doppler effect. With the immense magnification

necessary for transmitting from the Moon, such deflection might be

construed as a mere fan-like extension. But there was ten times the

magnification one would expect from the Moon; and I calculated that

those sound-waves were shifted somewhere."

"Then what's your theory, Brent?"

"Those sounds come from another planet. Somewhere on the Moon there's

an intercepting and re-transmitting plant. Axelson is deflecting his

rays to give the impression that he's on the Moon, and to lure our

ships there."

"What do you advise?" asked Nat.

"I don't know, Sir."

"Neither do I. Set your course Moonward, and tell Mr. Benson to keep

his eyes peeled."

* * * * *

The Moon Colony, discovered in 1976, when Kramer, of Baltimore, first

proved the practicability of mixing neon with the inert new gas,

leucon, and so conquering gravitation, had proved to be just what it

had been suspected of being--a desiccated, airless desolation.

Nevertheless, within the depths of the craters a certain amount of the

Moon's ancient atmosphere still lingered, sufficient to sustain life

for the queer troglodytes, with enormous lung-boxes, who survived

there, browsing like beasts upon the stunted, aloe-like vegetation.

Half man, half ape, and very much unlike either, these vestiges of a

species on a ruined globe had proved tractable and amenable to

discipline. They had become the laborers of the convict settlement

that had sprung up on the Moon.

Thither all those who had opposed the establishment of the World

Federation, together with all persons convicted for the fourth time of

a felony, had been transported, to superintend the efforts of these

dumb, unhuman Moon dwellers. For it had been discovered that the Moon

craters were extraordinarily rich in gold, and gold was still the

medium of exchange on Earth.

To supplement the vestigial atmosphere, huge stations had been set up,

which extracted the oxygen from the subterranean waters five miles

below the Moon's crust, and recombined it with the nitrogen with

which the surface layer was impregnated, thus creating an atmosphere

which was pumped to the workers.

Then a curious discovery had been made. It was impossible for human

beings to exist without the addition of those elements existing in the

air in minute quantities--neon, krypton, and argon. And the ships that

brought the gold bars back from the Moon had conveyed these gaseous

elements there.

* * * * *

The droning of the sixteen atomic motors grew louder, and mingled with

the hum of gyroscopes. The ladder was drawn up and the port hole

sealed. On the enclosed bridge Nat threw the switch of durobronze that

released the non-conducting shutter which gave play to the sixteen

great magnets. Swiftly the great ship shot forward into the air. The

droning of the motors became a shrill whine, and then, growing too

shrill for human ears to follow it, gave place to silence.

Nat set the speed lever to five hundred miles an hour, the utmost that

had been found possible in passing through the earth's atmosphere,

owing to the resistance, which tended to heat the vessel and damage

the delicate atomic engines. As soon as the ether was reached, the

speed would be increased to ten or twelve thousand. That meant a

twenty-two hour run to the Moon Colony--about the time usually taken.

He pressed a lever, which set bells ringing in all parts of the ship.

By means of a complicated mechanism, the air was exhausted from each

compartment in turn, and then replaced, and as the bells rang, the men

at work trooped out of these compartments consecutively. This had been

originated for the purpose of destroying any life dangerous to man

that might unwittingly have been imported from the Moon, but on one

occasion it had resulted in the discovery of a stowaway.

Then Nat descended the bridge to the upper deck. Here, on a platform,

were the two batteries of three ray-guns apiece, mounted on swivels,

and firing in any direction on the port and starboard sides

respectively. The guns were enclosed in a thin sheath of osmium,

through which the lethal rays penetrated unchanged; about them, thick

shields of lead protected the gunners.

He talked with Benson for a while. "Don't let Axelson get the jump on

you," he said. "Be on the alert every moment." The gunners,

keen-looking men, graduates from the Annapolis gunnery school, grinned

and nodded. They were proud of their trade and its traditions; Nat

felt that the vessel was safe in their hands.

The chief mate appeared at the head of the companion, accompanied by a

girl. "Stowaway, Sir," he reported laconically. "She tumbled out of

the repair shop annex when we let out the air!"

* * * * *

Nat stared at her in consternation, and the girl stared back at him.

She was a very pretty girl, hardly more than twenty-two or three,

attired in a businesslike costume consisting of a leather jacket,

knickers, and the black spiral puttees that had come into style in the

past decade. She came forward unabashed.

"Well, who are you?" snapped Nat.

"Madge Dawes, of the Universal News Syndicate," she answered,

laughing.

"The devil!" muttered Nat. "You people think you run the World

Federation since you got President Stark elected."

"We certainly do," replied the girl, still laughing.

"Well, you don't run this ship," said Nat. "How would you like a long

parachute drop back to Earth?"

"Don't be foolish, my dear man," said Madge. "Don't you know you'll

get wrinkles if you scowl like that? Smile! Ah, that's better. Now,

honestly, Cap we just had to get the jump on everybody else in

interviewing Axelson. It means such a lot to me."

Pouts succeeded smiles. "You're not going to be cross about it, are

you?" she pleaded.

"Do you realize the risk you're running, young woman?" Nat demanded.

"Are you aware that our chances of ever getting back to Earth are

smaller than you ought to have dreamed of taking?"

"Oh, that's all right," the girl responded. "And now that we're

friends again, would you mind asking the steward to get me something

to eat? I've been cooped up in that room downstairs for fifteen hours,

and I'm simply starving."

Nat shrugged his shoulders hopelessly. He turned to the chief mate.

"Take Miss Dawes down to the saloon and see that Wang Ling supplies

her with a good meal," he ordered. "And put her in the Admiral's

cabin. That good enough for you?" he asked satirically.

"Oh that'll be fine," answered the girl enthusiastically. "And I shall

rely on you to keep me posted about everything that's going on. And a

little later I'm going to take X-ray photographs of you and all these

men." She smiled at the grinning gunners. "That's the new fad, you

know, and we're going to offer prizes for the best developed skeletons

in the American Province, and pick a King and Queen of Beauty!"

* * * * *

"A radio, Sir!"

Nat, who had snatched a brief interval of sleep, started up as the man

on duty handed him the message. The vessel had been constantly in

communication with Earth during her voyage, now nearing completion,

but the dreaded A-A-A that prefaced this message told Nat that it came

from Axelson.

"Congratulations on your attempt," the message ran, "I have watched

your career with the greatest interest, Lee, through the medium of

such scraps of information as I have been able to pick up on the

Moon. When you are my guest to-morrow I shall hope to be able to offer

you a high post in the new World Government that I am planning to

establish. I need good men. Fraternally, the Black Caesar."

Nat whirled about. Madge Dawes was standing behind him, trying to read

the message over his shoulder.

"Spying, eh?" said Nat bitterly.

"My dear man, isn't that my business?"

"Well, read this, then," said Nat, handing her the message. "You're

likely to repent this crazy trick of yours before we get much

farther."

And he pointed to the cosmic-ray skiagraph of the Moon on the curved

glass dome overhead. They were approaching the satellite rapidly. It

filled the whole dome, the craters great black hollows, the mountains

standing out clearly. Beneath the dome were the radium apparatus that

emitted the rays by which the satellite was photographed

cinematographically, and the gyroscope steering apparatus by which the

ship's course was directed.

Suddenly a buzzer sounded a warning. Nat sprang to the tube.

"Gravitational interference X40, gyroscopic aberrancy one minute 29,"

he called. "Discharge static electricity from hull. Mr. Benson, stand

by."

"What does that mean?" asked Madge.

"It means I shall be obliged if you'll abstain from speaking to the

man at the controls," snapped Nat.

"And what's that?" cried Madge in a shriller voice, pointing upward.

* * * * *

Across the patterned surface of the Moon, shown on the skiagraph, a

black, cigar-shaped form was passing. It looked like one of the

old-fashioned dirigibles, and the speed with which it moved was

evident from the fact that it was perceptibly traversing the Moon's

surface. Perhaps it was travelling at the rate of fifty thousand miles

an hour.

Brent, the chief officer, burst up the companion. His face was livid.

"Black ship approaching us from the Moon, Sir," he stammered.

"Benson's training his guns, but it must be twenty thousands miles

away."

"Yes, even our ray-guns won't shoot that distance," answered Nat.

"Tell Benson to keep his guns trained as well as he can, and open fire

at five hundred."

Brent disappeared. Madge and Nat were alone on the bridge. Nat was

shouting incomprehensible orders down the tube. He stopped and looked

up. The shadow of the approaching ship had crossed the Moon's disk and

disappeared.

"Well, young lady, I think your goose is cooked," said Nat. "If I'm

not mistaken, that ship is Axelson's, and he's on his way to knock us

galley-west. And now oblige me by leaving the bridge."

"I think he's a perfectly delightful character, to judge from that

message he sent you," answered Madge, "and--"

Brent appeared again. "Triangulation shows ten thousand miles, Sir,"

he informed Nat.

"Take control," said Nat. "Keep on the gyroscopic course, allowing for

aberrancy, and make for the Crater of Pytho. I'll take command of the

guns." He hurried down the companion, with Madge at his heels.

* * * * *

The gunners stood by the ray-guns, three at each. Benson perched on a

revolving stool above the batteries. He was watching a periscopic

instrument that connected with the bridge dome by means of a tube, a

flat mirror in front of him showing all points of the compass. At one

edge the shadow of the black ship was creeping slowly forward.

"Eight thousand miles, Sir," he told Nat. "One thousand is our extreme

range. And it looks as if she's making for our blind spot overhead."

Nat stepped to the speaking-tube. "Try to ram her," he called up to

Brent. "We'll open with all guns, pointing forward."

"Very good, Sir," the Cockney called back.

The black shadow was now nearly in the centre of the mirror. It moved

upward, vanished. Suddenly the atomic motors began wheezing again. The

wheeze became a whine, a drone.

"We've dropped to two thousand miles an hour, Sir," called Brent.

Nat leaped for the companion. As he reached the top he could hear the

teleradio apparatus in the wireless room overhead begin to chatter:

"A-A-A. Don't try to interfere. Am taking you to the Crater of Pytho.

Shall renew my offer there. Any resistance will be fatal. Axelson."

And suddenly the droning of the motors became a whine again, then

silence. Nat stared at the instrument-board and uttered a cry.

"What's the matter?" demanded Madge.

Nat swung upon her. "The matter?" he bawled. "He's neutralized our

engines by some infernal means of his own, and he's towing us to the

Moon!"

* * * * *

The huge sphere of the Moon had long since covered the entire dome.

The huge Crater of Pytho now filled it, a black hollow fifty miles

across, into which they were gradually settling. And, as they settled,

the pale Earth light, white as that of the Moon on Earth, showed the

gaunt masses of bare rock, on which nothing grew, and the long

stalactites of glassy lava that hung from them.

Then out of the depths beneath emerged the shadowy shape of the

landing-stage.

"You are about to land," chattered the radio. "Don't try any tricks;

they will be useless. Above all, don't try to use your puny ray. You

are helpless."

The ship was almost stationary. Little figures could be seen swarming

upon the landing-stage, ready to adjust the iron claws to clamp the

hull. With a gesture of helplessness, Nat left the bridge and went

down to the main deck where, in obedience to his orders, the crew had

all assembled.

"Men, I'm putting it up to you," he said. "Axelson, the Black Caesar,

advises us not to attempt to use the Ray-guns. I won't order you to.

I'll leave the decision with you."

"We tried it fifteen minutes ago, Sir," answered Benson. "I told

Larrigan to fire off the stern starboard gun to see if it was in

working order, and it wasn't!"

At that moment the vessel settled with a slight jar into the clamps.

Once more the teleradio began to scream:

"Open the port hold and file out slowly. Resistance is useless. I

should turn my ray upon you and obliterate you immediately. Assemble

on the landing-stage and wait for me!"

"You'd best obey," Nat told his men. "We've got a passenger to

consider." He glared at Madge as he spoke, and Madge's smile was a

little more tremulous than it had been before.

"This is the most thrilling experience of my life, Captain Lee," she

said. "And I'll never rest until I've got an X-Ray photograph of Mr.

Axelson's skeleton for the Universal News Syndicate."

* * * * *

One by one, Nat last, the crew filed down the ladder onto the

landing-stage, gasping and choking in the rarefied air that lay like a

blanket at the bottom of the crater. And the reason for this was only

too apparent to Nat as soon as he was on the level stage.

Overhead, at an altitude of about a mile, the black ship hung, and

from its bow a stupendous searchlight played to and fro over the

bottom of the crater, making it as light as day. And where had been

the mining machinery, the great buildings that had housed convicts and

Moon people, and the huge edifice that contained the pumping station,

there was--nothing.

The devilish ray of Axelson had not merely destroyed them, it had

obliterated all traces of them, and the crew of the liner were

breathing the remnants of the atmosphere that still lay at the bottom

of the Crater of Pytho.

But beside the twin landing-stages, constructed by the World

Federation, another building arose, with an open front. And that front

was a huge mirror, now scintillating under the searchlight from the

black ship.

"That's it, Sir!" shouted Brent.

"That's what?" snapped Nat.

"The deflecting mirror I was speaking of. That's what deflected the

ray that wiped out China. The ray didn't come from the Moon. And

that's the mirror that deflects the teleradio waves, the

super-Hertzian rays that carry the sound."

Nat did not answer. Sick at heart at the failure of his mission, he

was watching the swarm of Moon men who were at work upon the

landing-stage, turning the steel clamps and regulating the mechanism

that controlled the apparatus. Dwarfed, apish creature, with tiny

limbs, and chests that stood out like barrels, they bustled about,

chattering in shrill voices that seemed like the piping of birds.

It was evident that Axelson, though he had wiped out the Moon convicts

and the Moon people in the crater, had reserved a number of the latter

for personal use.

* * * * *

The black ship was dropping into its position at the second

landing-stage, connected with the first by a short bridge. The

starboard hold swung open, and a file of shrouded and hooded forms

appeared, masked men, breathing in condensed air from receptacles upon

their chests, and staring with goggle eyes at their captives. Each one

held in his hand a lethal tube containing the ray, and, as if by

command, they took up their stations about their prisoners.

Then, at a signal from their leader, they suddenly doffed their masks.

Nat looked at them in astonishment. He had not known whether these

would be Earth denizens or inhabitants of some other planet. But they

were Earth men. And they were old.

Men of sixty or seventy, years, with long, gray beards and wrinkled

faces, and eyes that stared out from beneath penthouses of shaggy

eyebrows. Faces on which were imprinted despair and hopelessness.

Then the first man took off his mask and Nat saw a man of different

character.

A man in the prime of life, with a mass of jet black hair and a black

beard that swept to his waist, a nose like a hawk's, and a pair of

dark blue eyes that fixed themselves on Nat's with a look of

Luciferian pride.

"Welcome, Nathaniel Lee," said the man, in deep tones that had a

curious accent which Nat could not place. "I ought to know your name,

since your teleradios on Earth have been shouting it for three days

past as that of the man who is to save Earth from the threat of

destruction. And you know me!"

"Axelson--the Black Caesar," Nat muttered. For the moment he was taken

aback. He had anticipated any sort of person except this man, who

stood, looked, and spoke like a Viking, this incarnation of pride and

strength.

Axelson smiled--and then his eyes lit upon Madge Dawes. And for a

moment he stood as if petrified into a block of massive granite.

"What--who is this?" he growled.

"Why, I'm Madge Dawes, of the Universal News Syndicate," answered the

girl, smiling at Axelson in her irrepressible manner. "And I'm sure

you're not nearly such a bold, bad pirate as people think, and you're

going to let us all go free."

* * * * *

Instantly Axelson seemed to become transformed into a maniac. He

turned to the old men and shouted in some incomprehensible language.

Nat and Madge, Brent and Benson, and two others who wore the uniforms

of officers were seized and dragged across the bridge to the

landing-stage where the black ship was moored. The rest of the crew

were ordered into a double line.

And then the slaughter began.

Before Nat could even struggle to break away from the gibbering Moon

men to whom he and the other prisoners had been consigned, the aged

crew of the Black Caesar had begun their work of almost instantaneous

destruction.

Streams of red and purple light shot from the ray-pistols that they

carried, and before them the crew of the ether-liner simply withered

up and vanished. They became mere masses of human débris piled on the

landing-stage, and upon these masses, too, the old men turned their

implements, until only a few heaps of charred carbon remained on the

landing-stage, impalpable as burned paper, and slowly rising in the

low atmospheric pressure until they drifted over the crater.

Nat had cried out in horror at the sight, and tried to tear himself

free from the grasp of the Moon dwarfs who held him. So had the rest.

Never was struggle so futile. Despite their short arms and legs, the

Moon dwarfs held them in an unshakable grip, chattering and squealing

as they compressed them against their barrel-like chests until the

breath was all but crushed out of their bodies.

"Devil!" cried Nat furiously, as Axelson came up to him. "Why don't

you kill us, too?" And he hurled furious taunts and abuse at him, in

the hope of goading him into making the same comparatively merciless

end of his prisoners.

Axelson looked at him calmly, but made no reply. He looked at Madge

again, and his features were convulsed with some emotion that gave him

the aspect of a fiend. And then only did Nat realize that it was Madge

who was responsible for the Black Caesar's madness.

Axelson spoke again, and the prisoners were hustled up the ladder and

on board the black vessel.

* * * * *

"The Kommandant-Kommissar will see you!" The door of their prison had

opened, letting in a shaft of light, and disclosing one of the

graybeards, who stood there, pointing at Nat.

"The--who?" Nat demanded.

"The Kommandant-Kommissar, Comrade Axelson," snarled the graybeard.

Nat knew what that strange jargon meant. He had read books about the

political sect known as Socialists who flourished in the Nineteenth

and Twentieth Centuries, and, indeed, were even yet not everywhere

extinct. And with that a flash of intuition explained the presence of

these old men on board.

These were the men who had been imprisoned in their youth, with

Axelson's father, and had escaped and made their way into space, and

had been supposed dead long since. Somewhere they must have survived.

And here they were, speaking a jargon of past generations, and

ignorant that the world had changed, relics of the past, dead as the

dead Moon from which the black ship was winging away through the

ether.

"Don't go, Captain," pleaded Madge. "Tell him we'll all go together."

Nat shook his head. "Maybe I'll be able to make terms with him," he

answered, and stepped out upon the vessel's deck.

The graybeard slammed the door and laughed savagely. "You'll make no

terms with the Black Caesar," he said. "This is the reign of the

proletariat. The bourgeois must die! So Lenin decreed!"

But he stopped suddenly and passed his hand over his forehead like a

man awakening from a dream.

"Surely the proletariat has already triumphed on earth?" he asked. "A

long time has passed, and daily we expect the summons to return and

establish the new world-order. What year is this? Is it not 2017? It

is so hard to reckon on Eros."

"On Eros?" thought Nat. "This is the year 2044," he answered. "You've

been dreaming, my friend. We've had our new world-order, and it's not

in the least like the one you and your friends anticipated."

"Gott!" screamed the old man. "Gott, you're lying to me, bourgeois!

You're lying, I tell you!"

* * * * *

So Eros was their destination! Eros, one of the asteroids, those tiny

fragments of a broken planet, lying outside the orbit of Mars. Some of

these little worlds, of which more than a thousand are known to exist,

are no larger than a gentleman's country estate; some are mere rocks

in space. Eros, Nat knew, was distinguished among them from the fact

that it had an eccentric orbit, which brought it at times nearer Earth

than any other heavenly body except the Moon.

Also that it had only been known for thirty years, and that it was

supposed to be a double planet, having a dark companion.

That was in Nat's mind as he ascended the bridge to where Axelson was

standing at the controls, with one of the graybeards beside him. The

door of his stateroom was open, and suddenly there scuttled out of it

one of the most bestial objects Nat had ever seen.

It was a Moon woman, a dwarfish figure, clothed in a shapeless garment

of spun cellulose, and in her arms she held a heavy-headed Moon baby,

whose huge chest stood up like a pyramid, while the tiny arms and legs

hung dangling down.

"Here is the bourgeois, Kommandant," said Nat's captor.

Axelson looked at Nat, eye meeting eye in a slow stare. Then he

relinquished the controls to the graybeard beside him, and motioned

Nat to precede him into the stateroom.

Nat entered. It was an ordinary room, much like that of the captain of

the ether-liner now stranded on the Moon. There were a bunk, chairs, a

desk and a radio receiver.

Axelson shut the door. He tried to speak and failed to master his

emotion. At last he said:

"I am prepared to offer you terms, Nathaniel Lee, in accordance with

my promise."

"I'll make no terms with murderers," replied Nat bitterly.

* * * * *

Axelson stood looking at him. His great chest rose and fell. Suddenly

he put out one great hand and clapped Nat on the shoulder.

"Wise men," he said, "recognize facts. Within three weeks I shall be

the undisputed ruler of Earth. Whether of a desert or of a cowed and

submissive subject-population, rests with the Earth men. I have never

been on Earth, for I was born on Eros. My mother died at my birth. I

have never seen another human woman until to-day."

Nat looked at him, trying to follow what was in Axelson's mind.

"My father fled to Eros, a little planet seventeen miles in diameter,

as we have found. He called it a heavenly paradise. It was his

intention to found there a colony of those who were in rebellion

against the tyrants of Earth.

"His followers journeyed to the Moon and brought back Moon women for

wives. But there were no children of these unions. Later there were

dissensions and civil war. Three-fourths of the colony died in battle

with one another.

"I was a young man. I seized the reins of power. The survivors--these

old men--were disillusioned and docile. I made myself absolute. I

brought Moon men and women to Eros to serve us as slaves. But in a few

years the last of my father's old compatriots will have died, and thus

it was I conceived of conquering Earth and having men to obey me. For

fifteen years I have been experimenting and constructing apparatus,

with which I now have Earth at my mercy.

"But I shall need assistance, intelligent men who will obey me and aid

me in my plans. That is why I saved you and the other officers of

your ether-lines. If you will join me, you shall have the highest post

on Earth under me, Nathaniel Lee, and those others shall be under

you."

* * * * *

Axelson paused, and, loathing the man though he did, Nat was conscious

of a feeling of pity for him that he could not control. He saw his

lonely life on Eros, surrounded by those phantom humans of the past,

and he understood his longing for Earth rule--he the planetary exile,

the sole human being of all the planetary system outside Earth,

perhaps, except for his dwindling company of aged men.

"To-day, Nathaniel Lee," Axelson went on, "my life was recast in a new

mould when I saw the woman you have brought with you. I did not know

before that women were beautiful to look on. I did not dream that

creatures such as she existed. She must be mine, Nathaniel Lee.

"But that is immaterial. What is your answer to my offer?"

Nat was trying to think, though passion distorted the mental images as

they arose in his brain. To Axelson it was evidently incomprehensible

that there would be any objection to his taking Madge. Nat saw that he

must temporize for Madge's sake.

"I'll have to consult my companions," he answered.

"Of course," answered Axelson. "That is reasonable. Tell them that

unless they agree to join me it will be necessary for them to die. Do

Earth men mind death? We hate it on Eros, and the Moon men hate it,

too, though they have a queer legend that something in the shape of an

invisible man raises from their ashes. My father told me that that

superstition existed on Earth in his time, too. Go and talk to your

companions, Nathaniel Lee."

The Black Caesar's voice was almost friendly. He clapped Nat on the

shoulder again, and called the graybeard to conduct him back to his

prison.

"Oh, Captain Lee, I'm so glad you're back!" exclaimed Madge. "We've

been afraid for you. Is he such a terrible man, this Black Caesar?"

Nat sneered, then grinned malevolently. "Well, he's not exactly the

old-fashioned idea of a Sunday-school teacher," he answered. Of course

he could not tell the girl about Axelson's proposal.

* * * * *

The little group of prisoners stood on the upper deck of the black

ship and watched the Moon men scurrying about the landing-stage as she

hovered to her position.

Axelson's father had not erred when he had called the tiny planet,

Eros, a heavenly paradise, for no other term could have described it.

They were in an atmosphere so similar to that of Earth that they could

breathe with complete freedom, but there seemed to be a lightness and

a vigor in their limbs that indicated that the air was supercharged

with oxygen or ozone. The presence of this in large amounts was

indicated by the intense blueness of the sky, across which fleecy

clouds were drifting.

And in that sky what looked like threescore moons were circling with

extraordinary swiftness. From thirty to forty full moons, of all

sizes, from that of a sun to that of a brilliant planet, and riding

black against the blue.

The sun, hardly smaller than when seen from Earth, shone in the

zenith, and Earth and Mars hung in the east and north respectively,

each like a blood-red sun.

The moons were some of the thousand other asteroids, weaving their

lacy patterns in and out among each other. But, stupendous as the

sight was, it was toward the terrestrial scene that the party turned

their eyes as the black ship settled.

A sea of sapphire blue lapped sands of silver and broke into soft

lines of foam. To the water's edge extended a lawn of brightest green,

and behind this an arm of the sea extended into what looked like a

tropical forest. Most of the trees were palmlike, but towered to

immense heights, their foliage swaying in a gentle breeze. There were

apparently no elevations, and yet, so small was the little sphere that

the ascending curve gave the illusion of distant heights, while the

horizon, instead of seeming to rise, lay apparently perfectly flat,

producing an extraordinary feeling of insecurity.

Near the water's edge a palatial mansion, built of hewn logs and of a

single story, stood in a garden of brilliant flowers. Nearer, beyond

the high landing-stage, were the great shipbuilding works, and near

them an immense and slightly concave mirror flashed back the light of

the sun.

"The death ray!" whispered Brent to Nat.

Axelson came up to the party as the ship settled down. "Welcome to

Eros," he said cordially. "My father told me that in some Earth tongue

that name meant 'love'."

* * * * *

Never, perhaps, was so strange a feast held as that with which Axelson

entertained his guests that day. Dwarfish Moon men passed viands and a

sort of palm wine in the great banquet-room, which singularly

resembled one of those early twentieth century interiors shown in

museums. Only the presence of a dozen of the aged guards, armed with

ray-rods, lent a grimness to the scene.

Madge sat on Axelson's right, and Nat on his left. The girl's

lightheartedness had left her; her face grew strained as Axelson's

motives--which Nat had not dared disclose to her--disclosed themselves

in his manner.

Once, when he laid his finger for a moment against her white throat,

she started, and for a moment it seemed as if the gathering storm must

break.

For Nat had talked with his men, and all had agreed that they would

not turn traitor, though they intended to temporize as long as

possible, in the hope of catching the Black Caesar unawares.

Then slowly a somber twilight began to fall, and Axelson rose.

"Let us walk in the gardens during the reign of Erebos," he said.

"Erebos?" asked Nat.

"The black world that overshadows us each sleeping period," answered

Axelson.

Nat knew what he meant. The dark companion of Eros revolves around it

every six hours; the day of Eros would therefore never be longer than

six hours, this without reckoning the revolution of Eros around the

sun. But owing to its small size, it was probable that it was bathed

in almost perpetual sunshine.

The sweet scent of the flowers, much stronger than of any flowers on

earth, filled the air. They walked across the green lawn and entered a

jungle path, with bamboos and creeping plants on either side, and huge

palmlike trees. Behind them stalked the guards with their ray-rods.

A lake of deepest black disclosed itself. Suddenly Madge uttered a

scream and clung to Nat. "Look, look!" she cried. "It's horrible!"

* * * * *

Suddenly Nat realized that the lake swarmed with monsters. They were

of crocodilian form, but twice the size of the largest crocodile, and

sprawled over one another in the shallows beside the margin. As the

party drew near, an enormous monster began waddling on its clawed feet

toward them.

A mouth half the length of the creature opened, disclosing a purplish

tongue and hideous fangs. Madge screamed again.

"Ah, so fear exists on Earth, too?" asked Axelson blandly. "That makes

my conquest sure. I suspected it, and yet I was not sure that science

had not conquered it. But there is no cause for fear. A magnetic field

protects us. See!"

For the waddling monster suddenly stopped short as if brought up

sharply by the bars of a cage, and drew back.

Axelson turned and wheezed in the Moon language--if the gibbering of

the dwarfs could be called speech--and one of the guards answered him.

"These primitive dwellers on Eros I have preserved," said Axelson, "as

a means of discipline. The Moon animals are afraid of them. I keep a

supply of those who have transgressed my laws to feed them. See!"

He turned and pointed. Two guards were bringing a gibbering,

screeching, struggling Moon man with them. Despite his strength, he

seemed incapable of making any resistance, but his whole body

quivered, and his hideous face was contorted with agony of terror.

At a distance of some fifty feet they turned aside into a little

bypath through the jungle, reappearing close beside the Lake upon a

raised platform. And what happened next happened so swiftly that Nat

was unable to do anything to prevent it.

The guards disappeared; the Moon man, as if propelled by some

invisible force, moved forward jerkily to the lake's edge. Instantly

one of the saurians had seized him in its jaws, and another had

wrenched half the body away, and the whole fighting, squirming mass

vanished in the depths.

And from far away came the screeching chant of the Moon men, as if in

invocation to some hideous deity.

And, moving perceptibly, the huge black orb of Eros's dark satellite

crept over the sky, completely covering it.

* * * * *

Axelson stepped forward to where Nat stood, supporting Madge in his

arms. The girl had fainted with horror at the scene.

"Your answer Nathaniel Lee," he said softly. "I know you have been

postponing the decision. Now I will take the girl, and you shall give

me your answer. Will you and these men join me, or will you die as the

Moon man died?" He spoke wheezily, as if he, like Nat, had a cold.

And he put his arm around Madge.

Next moment something happened to him that had never happened in his

life before. The Black Caesar went down under a well-directed blow to

the jaw.

He leaped to his feet trembling with fury and barked a command.

Instantly the old guards had hurled themselves forward. And behind

them a horde of Moon men came, ambling.

While the guards covered their prisoners with their ray-rods, two Moon

men seized each of them, imprisoning him in their unbreakable grasp.

Axelson pointed upward. "When the reign of Erebos is past," he said,

"you become food for the denizens of the lake, unless you have agreed

to serve me."

And he raised Madge in his arms, laughing as the girl fought and

struggled to resist him.

"Madge!" cried Nat, trying to run toward her.

So furious were his struggles that for a moment he succeeded in

throwing off the Moon men's grasp. Then he was caught again, and,

fighting desperately, was borne off by the dwarfs through the shadows.

They traversed the border of the lake until a small stone building

disclosed itself. Nat and the others were thrust inside into pitch

darkness. The door clanged; in vain they hurled themselves against it.

It was of wood, but it was as solid as the stone itself, and it did

not give an inch for all their struggles.

* * * * *

"Where is your Kommandant?" The whisper seemed in the stone hut

itself. "Your Nathaniel Lee. I must speak to him. I am the guard who

brought him to the Black Caesar on board the ship."

"I'm here," said Nat. "Where are you?"

"I am in the house of the ray. I am on guard there. I am speaking into

the telephone which runs only to where you are. You can speak anywhere

in the hut, and I shall hear you."

"Well, what do you want?" asked Nat.

"You love the Earth woman. I remember, when I was a boy, we used to

love. I had forgotten. There was a girl in Stamford.... Tell me, is it

true that this is the year 2044 and that the proletariat has not yet

triumphed?"

"It's true," said Nat. "Those dreams are finished, We're proud of the

World Federation. Tell me about Madge Dawes--the Earth woman. Is she

safe?"

"He has taken her to his house. I do not think she is harmed. He is

ill. He is closely guarded. There are rumors afoot. I do not know."

"What do you want, then?"

"If the Black Caesar dies will you take me back to Earth again? I long

so for the old Earth life. I will be your slave, if only I can set

foot on Earth before I die."

"Can you rescue us?" Nat held his breath.

"The Moon men are on guard."

"They have no ray-guns and you have."

"The penalty would be terrible. I should be thrown to the monsters."

"Can you get us each a ray-gun? Will you risk it, to get back to

Earth?" asked Nat.

A pause. Then, "My friend, I am coming."

Nat heard Benson hissing in his ear, "If we can surprise them, we can

get possession of the black ship and return."

"We must get Madge Dawes."

"And smash the mirror," put in Brent.

After that there was nothing to do but wait.

* * * * *

The door clicked open. An indistinct form stood in the entrance. It

was already growing light; the dark satellite that eclipsed Eros was

passing.

"Hush! I have brought you ray-rods!" It was the old man with whom Nat

had spoken on the boat. Under his arm he held five metallic rods,

tipped with luminous glass. He handed one to each of the prisoners.

"Do you know how to use them?" he asked.

Nat examined his. "It's an old-style rod that was used on earth fifty

years ago," he told his men. "I've seen them in museums. It came into

use in the Second World War of 1950 or thereabouts. You slip back the

safety catch and press this button, taking aim as one did with the

pistol. You fellows have seen pistols?"

"My father had an old one," said the chief mate, Barnes.

"How many times can they be fired without reloading?" Nat asked the

old guard.

"Ten times; sometimes more; and they were all freshly loaded

yesterday."

"Take us to where Axelson is."

"First you must destroy the guards. I sent the one on duty here away

on some pretext. But the others may be here at any moment. Talk lower.

Are you going to kill them?"

"We must," said Nat.

The old fellow began to sob. "We were companions together. They seized

us and imprisoned us together, the capitalists, years ago. I thought

the proletariat would have won, and you say it is all different. I am

an old man, and life is sad and strange."

"Listen. Is Axelson in the house?" demanded Nat.

"He is in his secret room. I do not know the way. None of us has ever

entered it."

"And Madge?"

"She was with him. I do not know anything more." He sank down,

groaning, broken.

* * * * *

Nat pushed his way past him. It was fast growing light now. A ray of

sunshine shot from beneath the edge of the dark sphere overhead, which

still filled almost all the heavens. At that moment the hideous face

and squat body of one of the Moon men came into view at the end of

the path. The creature stopped, gibbering with surprise, and then

rushed forward, mewing like a cat.

Nat aimed his ray-rod and pressed the button. The streak of light, not

quite aimed, in Nat's excitement, sheared off one side of the Moon

man's face.

The creature rocked where it stood, raised its voice in a screech, and

rushed forward again, arms flailing. And this time Nat got home. The

streak passed right through the body of the monster, which collapsed

into a heap of calcined carbon.

But its screech had brought the other dwarfs running to the scene. In

a moment the path was blocked by a score of the hideous monsters,

which, taking in what was happening, came forward in a yelling bunch.

The ray-rods streaked their message of death into the thick of them.

Yet so fierce was the rush that some parts got home. Arms, legs, and

barrel chests, halves of men, covering the five with that impalpable

black powder into which their bodies were dissolving. Nat remembered

afterward the horror of a grinning face, apparently loose in the air,

and a flailing arm that lashed his chest.

For fifteen seconds, perhaps, it was like struggling with some vampire

creatures in a hideous dream. And then, just when it seemed to Nat

that he was going mad, he found the path free, and the huddled

remnants of the Moon men piled up about him on every side.

He emptied two more ray-shots into the writhing mass, and saw it cease

to quiver and then dissolve into the black powder. He turned and

looked at his companions. They, too, showed the horror of the strain

they had undergone.

"We must kill the guards now," Nat panted. "And then find Madge and

save her."

"We're with you," answered Brent, and together the five rushed into

the sunlight and the open.

* * * * *

There were no guards on duty at the entrance of the house, and the

door stood wide open. Nat rushed through the door at the head of his

men. A single guard was in the hall, but he only looked up as they

came in. And it was evident that he was in no condition to resist, for

he was in the grip of some terrible disease.

His features were swollen so that they were hardly recognizable, and

hoarse, panting breaths came from his lungs. He was so far gone that

he hardly registered surprise at the advent of the five.

"Where's Axelson?" demanded Nat.

The guard pointed toward the end of the corridor, then let his arm

fall. Nat led his men along the half-dark passage.

At the end of the corridor two more guards were on duty, but one was

collapsed upon the floor, apparently unconscious, and the other,

making a feeble attempt to draw his ray-rod, crumbled into ashes as

Brent fired. The five burst through the door.

They found themselves in the banquet-hall. The remnants of the meal

were still upon the table, and three Moon men, looking as if they had

been poisoned, were writhing on the floor. At the farther end of the

hall was another door.

This gave upon a central hall, with a door in each of its four sides,

and a blaze of sunlight coming through the crystal roof. The five

stopped, baffled. Then of a sudden Axelson's voice broke the

silence--his voice, yet changed almost beyond recognition, hoarse,

broken, and gasping:

"Try the doors, Nathaniel Lee. Try each door in turn, and then go

back. And know that in an instant I can blast you to nothingness where

you stand!"

And suddenly there came Madge's voice, "He can't! He can't, Nat. He's

dying, and he knows it. I won't let him, and he hasn't got the

strength to move."

"Which door?" cried Nat in desperation.

"None of the doors. They're a trick," came Madge's voice. "Go forward

and press the grooved panel upon the wall in front of you."

* * * * *

Nat stepped forward, found the panel, and pressed it. The wall swung

open, like two folded doors, revealing another room within, perfectly

circular.

It contained a quantity of pieces of apparatus, some glowing with

light, some dark, and a radio transmitting set; it was evidently the

secret lair of the Black Caesar. And there he was, trapped at last by

the mortal illness that had overtaken him!

He was lying upon the couch, his great form stretched out, his

features hideously swollen by the same disease that had attacked the

guards.

Nat raised his ray-rod, but Axelson feebly put up his hand, and Nat

lowered the weapon. And, as the five gathered about the dying man,

again Nat felt that strange sense of pathos and pity for him.

He had never known Earth life, and he was not to be measured by the

common standards applicable on Earth.

"Don't fire, Nat," said Madge in a shaky voice. She was seated beside

Axelson, and--the wonder of it--she was sponging the foam from his

lips and moistening his forehead. She raised a crystal that contained

some fluid to his lips, and he drained it greedily.

"So--Earth wins, Nathaniel Lee," whispered Axelson hoarsely. "I am

dying. I know it. It is the same dreaded disease that came to the Moon

at the time of my father's landing there. Three-fourths of the Moon

animals died. It is mortal. The lungs burn away.

"My father told me that on Earth it is not mortal. He called it

'cold'--but I am burning hot."

Then only did Nat understand, and the irony of it made him catch his

breath and grit his teeth to check his hysterical laughter. The Black

Caesar, the terror of Earth, was dying of a common cold which he

himself had given him.

The coryza germ, almost harmless on Earth, among a population

habituated to it for countless generations, had assumed the potency of

a plague here, where no colds had ever been known--among the Moon men,

and even among the guards, after their lifetime in the germless

climate of Eros.

"I've failed, Nathaniel Lee," came the Black Caesar's voice. "And yet

that hardly troubles me. There is something more that I do not

understand. She is a creature like ourselves--with will and reason.

She is not like the Moon women. She told me that she did not wish to

be queen of the Earth because she did not love me. I do not

understand. And so--I am glad to go."

* * * * *

A gasp came from Axelson's throat as he raised his head and tried to

speak, but the death-rattle was already in his throat. A slight

struggle, and the massive form upon the couch was nothing but

inanimate clay.

Madge rose from beside him, and the tears were streaming down her

face.

"He wasn't a bad man, Nat," she said. "He was--gentle with me. He

didn't understand; that was all. When I refused to be his queen, he

was overcome with bewilderment. Oh, Nat, I can never, never write this

story for the Universal News Syndicate."

Nat led her, sobbing, from the room.

Soon he succeeded in getting into teleradio communication with Earth.

He broadcast the news that the Black Caesar was dead, and that his

power for evil was at an end forever.

Then, in the few hours of daylight that remained, he set his men to

work to smash the ray outfit that had destroyed China. There was some

principle involved which he did not altogether understand, though

Brent professed to have a clue to it, but it was evident that, except

for the ray, Axelson had possessed no knowledge superior to that of

the Earth scientists.

Of the guards, a few were already recovering, principally those of

comparatively younger age. Not a Moon man, on the other hand, had

survived the epidemic. As soon as Nat had got the guards out of the

house, he reduced it to ashes by the aid of an old-fashioned box of

phosphoric matches.

As the dark satellite was again creeping over Eros, the black ship set

sail.

* * * * *

But of the return journey to the Moon, where they transferred to their

own ship, of their landing at New York, and of the triumphal reception

that was accorded them, this is no place to speak. Nat's journey with

Madge from the center of the city, in what was the old Borough of

Westchester, to his home in the suburb of Hartford, was a continual

ovation.

Crowds lined the air-route, and every few miles, so thick was the

air-traffic, he was forced to hover and address the cheering

multitudes. Hartford itself was _en fete_, and across the main road

the City Bosses had hung an old-fashioned banner, strung from house to

house on either side, bearing the legend: For World President:

NATHANIEL LEE!

Nat turned to Madge, who was seated beside him silently. "Ever hear of

'getting married?'" he asked.

"Of course I've heard of it," replied the girl indignantly. "Do you

think I'm as dumb as that, Nat Lee? Why, those old-fashioned novels

are part of the public schools' curriculum."

"Pity those days can't come back. You ought to be a World

Presidentess, you know," said Nat. "I was thinking, if we registered

as companionates, I could take you into the White House, and you'd

have a swell time there taking X-rays on visiting days."

"Well," answered Madge slowly. "I never thought of that. It might be

worth trying out."

The Second Satellite

_By Edmond Hamilton_

[Illustration: _The city of the frog-men!_]

[Sidenote: Earth-men war on frog-vampires for the emancipation of the

human cows of Earth's second satellite.]

Norman and Hackett, bulky in their thick flying suits, seemed to fill

the little office. Across the room Harding, the field superintendent,

contemplated them. Two planes were curving up into the dawn together

from the field outside, their motors thunderous as they roared over

the building. When their clamor had receded, Harding spoke:

"I don't know which of you two is crazier," he said. "You, Norman, to

propose a fool trip like this, or you, Hackett, to go with him."

Hackett grinned, but the long, lean face of Norman was earnest. "No

doubt it all sounds a little insane," he said, "but I'm convinced I'm

right."

The field superintendent shook his head. "Norman, you ought to be

writing fiction instead of flying. A second satellite--and Fellows and

the others on it--what the devil!"

"What other theory can account for their disappearance?" asked Norman

calmly. "You know that since the new X-type planes were introduced,

hundreds of fliers all over Earth have been trying for altitude

records in them. Twenty-five miles--thirty--thirty-five--the records

have been broken every day. But out of the hundreds of fliers who

have gone up to those immense heights, four have never come down nor

been seen again!

"One vanished over northern Sweden, one over Australia, one over Lower

California, and one, Fellows, himself, right here over Long Island.

You saw the globe on which I marked those four spots, and you saw that

when connected they formed a perfect circle around the Earth. The only

explanation is that the four fliers when they reached a forty-mile

height were caught up by some body moving round Earth in that circular

orbit, some unknown moon circling Earth inside its atmosphere, a

second satellite of Earth's whose existence has until now never been

suspected!"

* * * * *

Harding shook his head again. "Norman, your theory would be all right

if it were not for the cold fact that no such satellite has ever been

glimpsed."

"Can you glimpse a bullet passing you?" Norman retorted. "The two

fliers at Sweden and Lower California vanished within three hours of

each other, on opposite sides of the Earth. That means that this

second satellite, as I've computed, circles Earth once every six

hours, and travelling at that terrific speed it is no more visible to

us of Earth than a rifle bullet would be."

"Moving through Earth's atmosphere at such speed, indeed, one would

expect it to burn up by its own friction with the air. But it does

not, because its own gravitational power would draw to itself enough

air to make a dense little atmosphere for itself that would cling to

it and shield it as it speeds through Earth's upper air. No, I'm

certain that this second satellite exists, Harding, and I'm as certain

that it's responsible for the vanishing of those four fliers."

"And now you and Hackett have figured when it will be passing over

here and are going up in an X-type yourselves to look for it,"

Harding said musingly.

"Look for it?" echoed Hackett. "We're not going to climb forty miles

just to get a look at the damn thing--we're going to try landing on

it!"

"You're crazy sure!" the field superintendent exploded. "If Fellows

and those others got caught by the thing and never came down again,

why in the name of all that's holy would you two want--" He stopped

suddenly. "Oh, I think I see," he said, awkwardly. "Fellows was rather

a buddy of you two, wasn't he?"

"The best that ever flew a crippled Nieuport against three Fokkers to

pull us out of a hole," said Norman softly. "Weeks he's been gone, and

if it had been Hackett and I he'd be all over the sky looking for

us--the damned lunatic. Well, we're not going to let him down."

"I see," Harding repeated. Then--"Well, here comes your mechanic,

Norman, so your ship must be ready. I'll go with you. It's an event to

see two Columbuses starting for another world."

* * * * *

The gray dawn-light over the flying field was flushing to faint rose

as the three strode out to where the long X-type stood, its strangely

curved wings, enclosed cabin and flat, fan-like tail gleaming dully.

Its motor was already roaring with power and the plane's stubby wheels

strained against the chocks. In their great suits Norman and Hackett

were like two immense ape-figures in the uncertain light, to the eyes

of those about them.

"Well, all the luck," Harding told them. "You know I'm pulling for

you, but--I suppose it's useless to say anything about being careful."

"I seem to have heard the words," Hackett grinned, as he and Norman

shook the field superintendent's hand.

"It's all the craziest chance," Norman told the other. "And if we

don't come down in a reasonable time--well, you'll know that our

theory was right, and you can broadcast it or not as you please."

"I hope for your sake that you're dead wrong," smiled the official.

"I've told you two to get off the Earth a lot of times, but I never

meant it seriously."

Harding stepped back as the two clambered laboriously into the cramped

cabin. Norman took the controls, the door slammed, and as the chocks

were jerked back and the motor roared louder the long plane curved up

at a dizzy angle from the field into the dawn. Hackett waved a thick

arm down toward the diminishing figures on the field below; then

turned from the window to peer ahead with his companion.

The plane flew in a narrow ascending spiral upward, at an angle that

would have been impossible to any ship save an X-type. Norman's eyes

roved steadily over the instrument as they rose, his ears

unconsciously alert for each explosion of the motor. Earth receded

swiftly into a great gray concave surface as they climbed higher and

higher.

By the time the five-mile height was reached Earth's surface had

changed definitely from concave to convex. The plane was ascending by

then in a somewhat wider spiral, but its climb was as steady and sure

as ever. Frost begin to form quickly on the cabin's windows, creeping

out from the edges. Norman spoke a word over the motor's muffled

thunder, and Hackett snicked on the electrical radiators. The frost

crept back as their warm, clean heat flooded the cabin.

Ten miles--fifteen--they had reached already altitudes impossible but

a few years before, though it was nothing to the X-types. As they

passed the ten-mile mark, Hackett set the compact oxygen-generator

going. A clean, tangy odor filled the cabin as it began functioning.

Twenty miles--twenty-two--

* * * * *

After a time Norman pointed mutely to the clock on the instrument

board, and Hackett nodded. They were well within their time schedule,

having calculated to reach the forty-mile height at ten, the hour

when, by its computed orbit, the second satellite should be passing

overhead. "--26--27--28--" Hackett muttered the altimeter figures to

himself as the needle crept over them.

Glancing obliquely down through the window he saw that Earth was now a

huge gray ball beneath them, white cloud-oceans obscuring the drab

details of its surface here and there. "--31--32--" The plane was

climbing more slowly, and at a lesser angle. Even the X-type had to

struggle to rise in the attenuated air now about them. Only the

super-light, super-powered plane could ever have reached the terrific

height.

It was at the thirty-four mile level that the real battle for altitude

began. Norman kept the plane curving steadily upward, handling it with

surpassing skill in the rarefied air. Frost was on its windows now

despite the heating mechanism. Slowly the altimeter needle crept to

the forty mark. Norman kept the ship circling, its wings tilted

slightly, but not climbing, Earth a great gray misty ball beneath.

"Can't keep this height long," he jerked. "If our second satellite

doesn't show up in minutes we've had a trip for nothing."

"All seems mighty different up here," was Hackett's shouted comment.

"Easy enough to talk down there about hopping onto the thing, but up

here--hell, there's nothing but air and mighty little of that!"

Norman grinned. "There'll be more. If I'm right about this thing we

won't need to hop it--its own atmosphere will pick us up."

Both looked anxious as the motor sputtered briefly. But in a moment it

was again roaring steadily. Norman shook his head.

"Maybe a fool's errand after all. No--I'm still sure we're right! But

it seems that we don't prove it this time."

"Going down?" asked Hackett.

"We'll have to, in minutes. Even with its own air-feed the motor can't

stand this height for--"

* * * * *

Norman never finished the words. There was a sound, a keen rising,

rushing sound of immense power that reached their ears over the

motor's roar. Then in an instant the universe seemed to go mad about

them: they saw the gray ball of Earth and the sun above skyrocketing

around them as the plane whirled madly.

The rushing sound was in that moment thunderous, terrible, and as

winds smashed and rocked the plane like giant hands, Hackett glimpsed

another sphere that was not the sphere of Earth, a greenish globe that

expanded with lightning speed in the firmament beside their spinning

plane! The winds stilled; the green globe changed abruptly to a

landscape of green land and sea toward which the plane was falling!

Norman was fighting the controls--land and sea were gyrating up to

them with dizzy speed--crash!

With that cracking crash the plane was motionless. Sunlight poured

through its windows, and great green growths were all around it.

Hackett, despite Norman's warning cry, forced the door open and was

bursting outside, Norman after him. They staggered and fell, with

curious lightness and slowness, on the ground outside, then clutched

the plane for support and gazed stupefiedly around them.

The plane had crashed down into a thicket of giant green reeds that

rose a yard over their heads, its pancake landing having apparently

not damaged it. The ground beneath their feet was soft and soggy, the

air warm and balmy, and the giant reeds hid all the surrounding

landscape from view.

In the sky the sun burned near one horizon with unusual brilliance.

But it was dwarfed, in size, by the huge gray circle that filled half

the heavens overhead. A giant gray sphere it was, screened here and

there by floating white mists and clouds, that had yet plain on it

the outlines of dark continents and gleaming seas. A quaking

realization held the two as they stared up at it.

* * * * *

"Earth!" Norman was babbling. "It's Earth, Hackett--above us; my God,

I can't believe even yet that we've done it!"

"Then we're on--the satellite--the second satellite!--" Hackett fought

for reality. "Those winds that caught us--"

"They were the atmosphere of this world, of the second satellite! They

caught us and carried us on inside this smaller world's atmosphere,

Hackett. We're moving with it around Earth at terrific speed now!"

"The second satellite, and we on it!" Hackett whispered,

incredulously. "But these reeds--it can't all be like this--"

They stepped together away from the plane. The effort sent each of

them sailing upward in a great, slow leap, to float down more than a

score of feet from the plane. But unheeding in their eagerness this

strange effect of the satellite's lesser gravitational power, they

moved on, each step a giant, clumsy leap. Four such steps took them

out of the towering reeds onto clear ground.

It was a gentle, grassy slope they were on, stretching away along a

gray-green sea that extended out to the astoundingly near horizon on

their right. To the left it rose into low hills covered with dense

masses of green junglelike vegetation. Hackett and Norman, though,

gazed neither at sea or hills for the moment, but at the half-score

grotesque figures who had turned toward them as they emerged from the

reeds. A sick sense of the unreal held them as they gazed, frozen with

horror. For the great figures returning their gaze a few yards from

them were--frog-men!

* * * * *

Frog-men! Great mottled green shapes seven to eight feet in height,

with bowed, powerful legs and arms that ended in webbed paws. The

heads were bulbous ones in which wide, unwinking frog-eyes were set at

the sides, the mouths white-lipped and white-lined. Three of the

creatures held each a black metal tube-and-handle oddly like a

target-pistol.

"Norman!" Hackett's voice was a crescendo of horror. "_Norman!_"

"Back to the plane!" Norman cried thickly. "The plane--"

The two staggered back, but the frog-men, recovering from their own

first surprise, were running forward with great hopping steps! The two

fliers flung themselves back in a floating leap toward the reeds, but

the green monsters were quick after them. A croaking cry came from one

and as another raised his tube-and-handle, something flicked from it

that burst close beside Norman. There was no sound or light as it

burst, but the reeds for a few feet around it vanished!

* * * * *

A hoarse cry from Hackett--the creatures had reached him, grasped him

at the edge of the reeds! Norman swerved in his floating leap to

strike the struggling flier and frog-men. The scene whirled around him

as he fought them, great paws reaching for him. With a sick, frantic

rage he felt his clenched fist drive against cold, green, billowy

bodies. Croaking cries sounded in his ears; then, Hackett and he were

jerked to their feet, held tightly by four of the creatures.

"My God, Norman," panted Hackett, helpless. "What are

they--frog-things?--"

"Steady, Hackett. They're the people of the second satellite, it

seems; wait!"

One of the armed frog-men approached and inspected them, and then

croaked an order in a deep voice. Then, still holding the two tightly,

the party of monsters began to move along the slope, skirting the

sea's edge. In a few minutes they reached two curious objects resting

on the slope. They seemed long black metal boats, slender and with

sharp prow and stern. A compact mechanism and control-board filled

the prow, while at the stern and sides were long tubes mounted on

swivels like machine-guns.

The frog-men motioned Norman and Hackett into one, fastening the two

prisoners and themselves into their seats with metal straps provided

for the purpose. Four had entered the one boat, the others that of the

captives. One at the prow moved his paws over the control-board and

with a purring of power the boat, followed by the other, rose smoothly

into the air. It headed out over the gray-green sea, land dropping

quickly from sight behind, the horizons water-bounded on all sides.

From their nearness Norman guessed that this second satellite of

Earth's was small indeed beside its mother planet. He had to look up

to earth's great gray sphere overhead to attain a sense of reality.

Hackett was whispering beside him, the frog-men watchful. "Norman, it's

not real--it can't be real! These things--these boats--intelligent like

men--"

The other sought to steady him. "It's a different world, Hackett.

Gravitation different, light different, everything different, and

evolution here has had a different course. On Earth men evolved to be

the most intelligent life-forms, but here the frog-races, it seems."

"But where are they taking us? Could we ever find the plane again?"

"God knows. If we ever get away from these things we might. And we've

got to find Fellows, too; I wonder where he is on this world."

* * * * *

For many minutes the two boats raced on at great speed over the

endless waters before the watery skyline was broken far ahead by

something dark and unmoving. Hackett and Norman peered with intense

interest toward it. It seemed at first a giant squat mountain rising

from the sea, but as they shot nearer they saw that its outline was

too regular, and that colossal as it was in size it was the work of

intelligence. They gasped as they came nearer and got a better view of

it.

For it was a gigantic dome of black metal rising sheer from the lonely

sea, ten miles if anything in diameter, a third that in greatest

height. There was no gate or window or opening of any kind in it. Just

the colossal, smooth black dome rearing from the watery plain. Yet the

two boats were flashing lower toward it.

"They can't be going inside!" Hackett conjectured. "There's no way in

and what could be in there? The whole thing's mad--"

"There's some way," Norman said. "They're slowing--"

The flying-boats were indeed slowing as they dipped lower. They were

very near the dome now, its curving wall a looming, sky-high barrier

before them. Suddenly the boats dipped sharply downward toward the

green sea. Before the two fliers could comprehend their purpose, could

do aught more than draw instinctive great breaths in preparation, the

two craft had shot down into the waters and were arrowing down through

the green depths.

Blinded, flung against his metal strap by the resistance of the waters

they ripped through, Norman yet retained enough of consciousness to

glimpse beams of light that stabbed ahead from the prows of their

rushing boats, to see vaguely strange creatures of the deep blundering

in and out of those beams as the boats hurtled forward. The water that

forced its way between his lips was fresh, he was vaguely aware, and

even as he fought to hold his breath was aware too that the frog-men

seemed in no way incommoded by the sudden transition into the water,

their amphibian nature allowing them to stay under it far longer than

any human could do.

The boats ripped through the waters at terrific speed and in a few

seconds there loomed before them the giant metal wall of the great

dome, going down into the depths here. Norman glimpsed vaguely that

the whole colossal dome rested on a vast pedestal-like mountain of

rock that rose from the sea's floor almost to the surface. Then a

great round opening in the wall; the boats flashed into it and were

hurtling along a water-filled tunnel. Norman felt his lungs near

bursting--when the tunnel turned sharply upward and the boats whizzed

up and abruptly out of the water-tunnel into air!

* * * * *

But it was not the open air again. They were beneath the gigantic

dome! For as Norman and Hackett breathed deep, awe fell on their faces

as they took in the scene. Far overhead stretched the dome's

colossally curving roof, and far out on all sides. It was lit beneath

that roof by a clear light that the two would have sworn was sunlight.

The dome was in effect the roof of a gigantic, illuminated building,

and upon its floor there stretched a mighty city.

The city of the frog-men! Their boats were rising up over it and

Norman and Hackett saw it clear. Square mile upon square mile of

structures stretched beneath the dome, black buildings often of

immense size, varying in shape, but all of square, rectangular

proportions. Between them moved countless frog-hordes, swirling

throngs in streets and squares, and over the roofs darted thick swarms

of flying-boats. And at the city's center, in a great, circular, clear

space, lay a wide, round, green pool--the opening of the water-tunnel

up through which they had come.

Norman pointed down toward it. "That's your answer!" he cried. "The

only entrance to this frog-city is from the sea, up through that

water-tunnel!"

"Good God, an amphibian city!" Hackett was shaken, white-faced.

The two boats were driving quickly over the city, through the swarming

craft. Norman glimpsed towering buildings that might have been

palaces, temples, laboratories. They slowed and dipped toward one

block-like building not far from the water-tunnel's opening. Armed

frog-guards were on its roof, and other boats rested there. The two

came to rest and the two captives were jerked out, the guards seizing

them.

Half-dragged and half-floating they were led toward an opening in the

roof from which a stair led downward. They passed down thus into the

building's interior, lit by many windows. Norman glimpsed long halls

ending in barred doors, guards here and there. Tube-lines ran along

the walls and somewhere machines were throbbing dully. They came at

last to a barred door whose guard opened it at the croaking order of

the frog-men who held the two, and they were thrust inside, as the

door clanged. They turned, and exclaimed in amazement. The room held

fully a half-hundred men!

They were men such as the two fliers had never seen before, like

humans except that their skins were a light green instead of the

normal white and pink. They were dressed in dark short tunics, and

kept talking to each other in a tongue quite unintelligible to Norman

and Hackett. They came closer, flocking curiously around the two men,

with a babel of voices quite meaningless to the two. Then one of the

men uttered an exclamation, and all turned.

* * * * *

The barred door had swung open and a half-dozen frog-guards entered,

followed by two frog-men carrying a square little mechanism from which

tubing led back out through the door.

"Norman--these men--" Hackett was whispering rapidly. "If there are

men in this world too, it may be that--"

"Quiet, Hackett--look at what they're doing."

The two frog-men had set their mechanism in place and then croaked out

a brief word or order. Slowly, reluctantly, one of the green men moved

toward them. Quickly they removed a metal disk fastened to his arm,

exposing a small orifice like an unhealed wound. Onto this they

fastened a suckerlike object from which a transparent tube led back

through the mechanism. The machine hummed and at once a red stream

pulsed through the tube and back through the mechanism. The man to

whom it was attached was growing rapidly pale!

Norman, sick with horror, clutched his companion. "Hackett--these

frog-men are sucking his blood from him!"

"Good God! And look--they're doing it with another!"

"All of these men--kept prisoners to furnish them with blood. It must

be the damned creatures' food! And we here with the others--"

A common horror shook the two. It did not seem to affect the green men

in the room, though, who advanced to the mechanism one by one with a

reluctant air as of cows unwilling to be milked. Each was attached to

the mechanism by the sucking disk on his arm, and out of each the

blood poured through the tube. The metal disk was replaced on his arm

then and he went back to the others. Norman saw that the frog-men took

only from each an amount of blood that they could lose and yet live,

since, though each came back pale and weak from the mechanism, they

were able to walk.

"It must be their food--human blood!" Norman repeated. "They may have

thousands on thousands of humans penned up like this, like so many

herds of cows, and perhaps they live entirely on the life-blood they

milk from them. Human cows--God!"

"Norman--look--they're calling to us!"

* * * * *

The two stiffened. All the others in the room had taken their turn at

the blood-sucking mechanism and now the frog-men croaked their order

to the two fliers. They had forgotten their own predicament in the

horror of the scene, but now it became real to them. They backed

against the room's wall, quivering, dangerous.

The frog-guards came forward to drag them to the machine. A webbed paw

was outstretched but Hackett with a wild blow drove the frog-man back

and downward. The frog-guards leaped, and Norman and Hackett struck

them back with all the greater strength the lesser gravitation gave

them. The room was in an uproar, the green men shouting hoarsely and

seeming on the point of rushing to their aid.

But the menacing force-pistols of the other frog-guards held back the

shouting men and in moments the two fliers were overpowered by sheer

weight of frog-bodies. Norman felt himself dragged to the machine.

Pain needled his upper arm as an incision was made. He felt the

sucking-disk attached; then the machine hummed, and a sickening nausea

swept him as the blood drained from his body. Held tightly by the

guards he went dizzy, weak, but at last felt the sucker removed and a

metal disk fastened over the incision. He was jerked aside and

Hackett, his face deathly white, was dragged into his place. In a

moment some of the latter's blood had been pumped from him also.

The machine was withdrawn, Norman and Hackett were released, and the

frog-men, with their black force-pistols watchfully raised, withdrew,

the door clanging. The room settled back to quietness, the green men

stretching in lassitude on the metal bunks around it. The two fliers

crouched down near the door, shuddering nausea and weakness still

holding them.

Norman found that Hackett was laughing weakly. "To think that

twenty-four hours ago I was in New York," he half-laughed,

half-sobbed. "On Earth--Earth--"

The other gripped his arm. "It's horrible, Hackett, I know. But it

isn't instant death, and we've still a chance to escape. Hell, can

damn frog-men keep us here? Where's your nerve, man?"

A voice beside them made them turn in amazement. "You are men from

Earth?" it asked, in queerly accented English. "From Earth?"

* * * * *

Astonishment held them as they saw who spoke. It was one of the green

men in the room, who had settled down by their side. A tall figure

with superb muscles and frank, clean countenance, his dark eyes afire

with eagerness.

"English?" Norman exclaimed. "You know English--you understand me?"

The other showed his teeth in a smile. "I know, yes. I'm Sarja, and I

learned to speak it from Fallas, in my city, before the Ralas caught

me."

"Fallas--" Norman repeated, puzzled; then suddenly he flamed. "By God,

he means Fellows!"

"Fallas, yes," said the other. "From the sky he fell into our city in

a strange flying-boat that was smashed. He was hurt but we cared for

him, and he taught me his speech, which I heard you talking now."

"Then Fellows is in your city now?" asked Hackett eagerly. "Where is

that?"

"Across this sea--back in the hills," the other waved. "It is far from

the sea but I was rash one day and came too near the water in my

flying-boat. The Ralas were out raiding and they saw me, caught me,

and brought me here. No escape now, until I die."

"The Ralas--you mean these frog-men?" Norman asked.

Sarja nodded. "Of course. They are the tyrants and oppressors of this

world. Our little world is but a tenth or less the size of your great

Earth which it circles, but it has its lands and rivers, and this one

great fresh-water sea into which the latter empty. In this sea long

ago developed the Ralas, the great frog-men who acquired such

intelligence and arts that they became lords of this world.

"Through the centuries, while on the land our races of green men have

been struggling upward, the Ralas have oppressed them. Long ago the

Ralas left all their other cities to build this one great amphibian

city at the sea's center. Entrance to it is only by the water-tunnel

from without, and being frog-people entrance thus is easy for them

since they can move for many minutes under water, though they drown

like any other breathing animal if kept under too long. Humans dare

not try to enter it thus by the water-tunnel, since, before they could

find it and make their way up through it, they would have drowned.

* * * * *

"So the Ralas have ruled from this impregnable amphibian city. Its

colossal metal dome is invulnerable to ordinary attack, and though

solid and without openings it is always as light beneath the dome here

as outside, since the Ralas' scientists contrived light-condensers and

conductors that catch light outside and bring it in to release inside.

So when it is day outside the sunlight is as bright here, and when

night comes the Earth-light shines here the same as without.

"From this city their raiding parties have gone out endlessly to swoop

down on the cities of us green men. Since we learned to make

flying-boats like theirs, with molecular-motors, and to make the guns

like theirs that fire shells filled with annihilating force, we have

resisted them stoutly but their raids have not ceased. And always they

have brought their prisoners back in to this, their city.

"Tens of thousands of green men they have prisoned here like us, for

the sole purpose of supplying them with blood. For the Ralas live on

this blood alone, changing it chemically to fit their own bodies and

then taking it into their bodies. It eliminates all necessity for food

here for them. Every few days they drain blood from us, and since we

are well fed and cared for to keep us good blood-producers, we will be

here for a long time before we die."

"But haven't you made any attempt to get out of here--to escape?"

Norman asked.

Sarja smiled. "Who could escape the city of the Ralas? In all recorded

history it has never been done, for even if by some miracle you got a

flying-boat, the opening of the water-tunnel that leads outward is

guarded always."

"Guards or no guards, we're going to try it and not sit here to

furnish blood for the Ralas," Norman declared. "Are you willing to

help, to try to get to Fellows and your city?"

The green man considered. "It is hopeless," he said, "but as well to

die beneath the force-shells of the Ralas as live out a lifetime here.

Yes, I will help, though I cannot see how you expect to escape even

from this room."

"I think we can manage that," Norman told him. "But first--not a word

to these others. We can't hope to escape with them all, and there is

no knowing what one might not betray us to the frog-men."

He went on then to outline to the other two the idea that had come to

him. Both exclaimed at the simpleness of the idea, though Sarja

remained somewhat doubtful. While Hackett slept, weak still from his

loss of blood, Norman had the green man scratch on the metal floor as

well as possible a crude map of the satellite's surface, and found

that the city, where Fellows was, seemed some hundreds of miles back

from the sea.

* * * * *

While they talked, the sunlight, apparently sourceless, that came

through the heavily barred windows of the room faded rapidly, and dusk

settled over the great amphibian city beneath the giant dome, kept

from total darkness by a silvery pervading light that Norman reflected

must be the light from Earth's great sphere. With the dusk's coming

the activities in the frog-city lessened greatly.

With dusk, too, frog-guards entered the room bearing long metal

troughs filled with a red jellylike substance, that they placed on

racks along the wall. As the guards withdrew the men in the room

rushed toward the troughs, elbowing each other aside and striking

each other to scoop up and eat as much of the red jelly as possible.

It was for all the world like the feeding of farm-animals, and Hackett

and Norman so sickened at the sight that they had no heart to try the

food. Sarja, though, had no such scruples and seemed to make a hearty

meal at one of the troughs.

After the meal the green men sought the bunks and soon were stretched

in sonorous slumber. It was, Norman reflected, exactly the existence

of domesticated animals--to eat and sleep and give food to their

masters. A deeper horror of the frog-men shook him, and a deeper

determination to escape them. He waited until all in the room were

sleeping before beckoning to Sarja and Hackett.

"Quiet now," he whispered to them. "If these others wake they'll make

such a clamor we won't have a chance in the world. Ready, Sarja?"

The green man nodded. "Yes, though I still think such a thing's

impossible."

"Probably is," Norman admitted. "But it's the one chance we've got,

the immensely greater strength of our Earth-muscle that the frog-men

must have forgotten when they put us in here."

They moved silently to the room's great barred door, outside which a

frog-guard paced. They waited until he had passed the door and on down

the hall, then Norman and Hackett and Sarja grasped together one of

the door's vertical bars. It was an inch and a half in thickness, of

solid metal, and it seemed ridiculous that any men could bend it by

the sheer strength of their muscles.

Norman, though, was relying on the fact that on the second satellite,

with its far lesser gravitational influence, their Earth-muscles gave

them enormous strength. He grasped the bar, Hackett and Sarja gripping

it below him, and then at a whispered word they pulled with all their

force. The bar resisted and again, with sweat starting on their

foreheads, they pulled. It gave a little.

* * * * *

They shrank back from it as the guard returned, moving past. Then

grasping the bar again they bent all their force once more upon it.

Each effort saw it bending more, the opening in the door's bars

widening. They gave a final great wrench and the bent bar squealed a

little. They shrank back, appalled, but the guard had not heard or

noticed. He moved past it on his return along the hall, and no sooner

was past it than Norman squeezed through the opening and leaped

silently for the great frog-man's back.

It went down with a wild flurry of waving webbed paws and croaking

cries, stilled almost instantly by Norman's terrific blows. There was

silence then as Hackett and Sarja squeezed out after him, the

momentary clamor of the battle having aroused no one.

The three leaped together toward the stairs. In two great floating

leaps they were on the floor above, Hackett and Norman dragging Sarja

between them. They were not seen, were sailing in giant steps up

another stair, hopes rising high. The last stair--the roof-opening

above; and then from beneath a great croaking cry swelled instantly

into chorus of a alarmed shouts.

"They've found the door--the guard!" panted Hackett.

They were bursting out onto the roof. Frog-guards were on it who came

in a hopping rush toward them, force-pistols raised. But a giant leap

took Hackett among them, to amaze them for a moment with great

flailing blows. Sarja had leaped for the nearest flying-boat resting

on the roof, and was calling in a frantic voice to Norman and Hackett.

Norman was turning toward Hackett, the center of a wild combat, but

the latter emerged from it for a brief second to motion him

frantically back.

"No use, Norman--get away--get away!" he cried hoarsely, frenziedly.

"Hackett--for God's sake--!" Norman half-leaped to the other, but an

arm caught him, pulled him desperately onto the boat's surface. It was

Sarja, the long craft flying over the roof beneath his control.

"They come!" he panted. "Too late now--" Frog-men were pouring up onto

the roof from below. Sarja sent the craft rocketing upward, as Hackett

gestured them away for a last frantic time before going down beneath

the frog-men's onslaught.

* * * * *

The roof and the combat on it dropped back and beneath them like a

stone as their craft ripped across the silvery dusk over the mighty

frog-city. They were shooting toward the city's center, toward the

green pool that was the entrance to the water-tunnel, while behind and

beneath an increasing clamor of alarm spread swiftly. Norman raged

futilely.

"Hackett--Hackett! We can't leave him--"

"Too late!" Sarja cried. "We cannot help him but only be captured

again. We escape now and come back--come back--"

The truth of it pierced Norman's brain even in the wild moment.

Hackett had fought and held back the frog-guards only that they might

escape. He shouted suddenly.

"Sarja--the water-tunnel!" A half-dozen boats with frog-guards on them

were rising round it in answer to the alarm!

"The force-gun!" cried the green man. "Beside you--!"

Norman whirled, glimpsed the long tube on its swivel beside him,

trained it on the boats rising ahead as they rocketed nearer. He

fumbled frantically at a catch at the gun's rear, then felt a stream

of shells flicking out of it. Two of the boats ahead vanished as the

shells released their annihilating force, another sagged and fell.

From the remaining three invisible force-shells flicked around them,

but in an instant Sarja had whirled the boat through them and down

into the water-tunnel!

Norman clung desperately to his seat as the boat flashed down through

the waters, and then, as Sarja sent it flying out through the great

tunnel's waters, glimpsed, close behind, the beams of the three Rala

boats as they pursued them through the tunnel, overtaking them. Could

the force-shells be fired under water? Norman did not know, but

desperately he swung the force-gun back as they rushed through the

waters, and pressed the catch. An instant later beams and boats behind

them in the tunnel vanished.

His lungs were afire; it seemed that he must open them to the

strangling water. The boat was ripping the waters at such tremendous

speed that he felt himself being torn from his hold on it. Pain seemed

poured like molten metal through his chest--he could hold out no

longer; and then the boat stabbed up from the waters into clear air!

* * * * *

Norman panted, sobbed. Behind them rose the colossal metal dome of the

frog-city, gleaming dully in the silvery light that flooded the

far-stretching seas. That light poured down from a stupendous silver

crescent in the night skies. Norman saw dully the dark outlines on it

before he remembered. Earth! He laughed a little hysterically. Sarja

was driving the flying-boat out over the sea and away from the

frog-city at enormous speed. At last he glanced back. Far behind them

lay the great dome and up around it gleaming lights were pouring,

lights of pursuing Rala boats.

"We escape," Sarja cried, "the city of the Ralas, from which none ever

before escaped!"

Remembrance smote Norman. "Hackett! Held off those frog-men so we

could get away--we'll come back for him, by God!"

"We come back!" said Sarja. "We come back with all the green men of

this world to the Ralas' city, yes! I know what Fallas has planned."

"Can you find your way to him--to your city?" Norman asked.

Sarja nodded, looking upward. "Before the next sun has come and gone

we can reach it."

The boat flew onward, and the great dome and the searching lights

around it dropped beneath the horizon. Norman felt the warm wind

drying his drenched garments as they rushed onward. Crouched on the

boat he gazed up toward the silver crescent of Earth sinking toward

the horizon ahead. That meant, he told himself, that the satellite

turned slowly on its axis as it whirled around Earth. It came to him

that its night and day periods must be highly irregular.

When the sun climbed from the waters behind them they were flying

still over a boundless waste of waters, but soon they sighted on the

horizon ahead the thin green line of land. Sarja slowed as they

reached it, took his bearings, and sent the craft flying onward.

They passed over a green coastal plain and then over low hills joined

in long chains and mantled by dense and mighty jungles, towering green

growths of unfamiliar appearance to Norman. He thought he glimpsed,

more than once, huge beastlike forms moving in them. He did see twice

in the jungles great clearings where were fair-sized cities of

bright-green buildings, a metal tower rising from each. But when he

pointed to them Sarja shook his head.

* * * * *

At last, as they passed over another range of hills and came into

sight of a third green city with its looming tower, the other pointed,

his face alight.

"My city," he said. "Fallas there."

Fellows! Norman's heart beat faster.

They shot closer and lower and he saw that the buildings were

obviously green to lend them a certain protective coloration similar

to that of the green jungles around them. The tower with its

surmounting cage puzzled him though, but before he could ask Sarja

concerning it his answer came in a different way. A long metal tube

poked slowly out of the cage on the tower's top and sent a hail of

force-shells flicking around them.

"They're firing on us!" Norman cried. "This can't be your city!"

"They see our black boat!" Sarja exclaimed. "They think we're Rala

raiders and unless we let them know they'll shoot us out of the air!

Stand up--wave to them--!"

Both Norman and Sarja sprang to their feet and waved wildly to those

in the tower-cage, their flying-boat drifting slowly forward.

Instantly the force-shells ceased to hail toward them, and as they

moved nearer a sirenlike signal broke from the cage. At once scores of

flying-boats like their own, but glittering metal instead of black,

shot up from the city where they had lain until now, and surrounded

them.

As Sarja called in his own tongue to them the green men on the

surrounding boats broke into resounding cries. They shot down toward

the city, Norman gazing tensely. Great crowds of green men in their

dark tunics had swarmed out into its streets with the passing of the

alarm, and their craft and the others came to rest in an open square

that was the juncture of several streets.

The green men that crowded excitedly about Norman and Sarja gave way

to a half-dozen hurrying into the square from the greatest of the

buildings facing on it. All but one were green men like the others.

But that one--the laughing-eyed tanned face--the worn brown clothing,

the curious huge steps with which he came--Norman's heart leapt.

"Fellows!"

"Great God--Norman!" The other's face was thunderstruck. "Norman--how

by all that's holy did you get here?"

* * * * *

Norman, mind and body strained to the breaking point, was incoherent.

"We guessed how you'd gone--the second satellite, Fellows--Hackett

and I came after you--taken to that frog-city--"

As Norman choked the tale, Fellows' face was a study. And when it was

finished he swallowed, and gripped Norman's hand viselike.

"And you and Hackett figured it out and came after me--took that risk?

Crazy, both of you. Crazy--"

"Fellows, Hackett's still there, if he's alive! In the Rala city!"

Fellows' voice was grim, quick. "We'll have him out. Norman, if he

still lives. And living or dead, the Ralas will pay soon for this and

for all they've done upon this world in ages. Their time nears--yes."

He led Norman, excited throngs of the green men about them, into the

great building from which he had emerged. There were big rooms inside,

workshops and laboratories that Norman but vaguely glimpsed in

passing. The room to which the other led him was one with a long metal

couch. Norman stretched protestingly upon it at the other's bidding,

drifted off almost at once into sleep.

He woke to find the sunlight that had filled the room gone and

replaced by the silvery Earth-light. From the window he saw that the

silver-lit city outside now held tremendous activity, immense hordes

of green men surging through it with masses of weapons and equipment,

flying-boats pouring down out of the night from all directions. He

turned as the door of the room clicked open behind him. It was his old

friend Fellows.

"I thought you'd be awake by now, Norman. Feeling fit?"

"As though I'd slept a week," Norman said, and the other laughed his

old care-free laugh.

"You almost have, at that. Two days and nights you've slept, but it

all adds up to hardly more than a dozen hours."

"This world!" Norman's voice held all his incredulity. "To think that

we should be on it--a second satellite of Earth's--it seems almost

beyond belief."

* * * * *

"Sometimes it seems so to me, too," Fellows said thoughtfully. "But

it's not a bad world--not the human part of it, at least. When this

satellite's atmosphere caught me and pitchforked me down among these

green men, smashing the plane and almost myself, they took care of me.

You say three others vanished as I did? I never heard of them here;

they must have crashed into the sea or jungles. Of course, I'd have

got back to Earth on one of these flying-boats if I'd been able, but

their molecular power won't take them far from this world's surface,

so I couldn't.

"As it was, the green men cared for me, and when I found how those

frog-men have dominated this world for ages, how that city of the

Ralas has spread endless terror among the humans here, I resolved to

smash those monsters whatever I did. I taught some of the green men

like Sarja my own speech, later learning theirs, and in the weeks I've

been here I've been working out a way to smash the Ralas.

"You know that amphibian city is almost impregnable because humans can

hardly live long enough under the water to get into it, let alone

fight under water as the frog-men can. To meet them on even terms the

green men needed diving-helmets with an oxygen supply. They'd never

heard of such an idea, too afraid of the sea ever to experiment in it,

but I convinced them and they've made enough helmets for all their

forces. In them they can meet the Ralas under water on equal terms.

"And there's a chance we can destroy that whole Rala city with their

help. It's built on a giant pedestal of rock rising from the sea's

floor, as you saw, and I've had some of the green men make huge

force-shells or force-bombs that ought to be powerful enough to split

that pedestal beneath the city. If we can get a chance to place those

bombs it may smash the frog-men forever on this world. But one thing

is sure: we're going to get Hackett out if he still lives!"

"Then you're, going to attack the Rala city now?" Norman cried.

Fellows nodded grimly. "While you have slept all the forces of the

green men on this world have been gathering. Your coming has only

precipitated our plans, Norman--the whole soul of the green races has

been set upon this attack for weeks!"

* * * * *

Norman, half bewildered at the swiftness with which events rushed upon

him, found himself striding with Fellows in great steps out through

the building into the great square. It was shadowed now by mass on

mass of flying-boats, crowded with green men, that hung over it and

over the streets. One boat, Sarja at its controls, waited on the

ground and as they entered and buckled themselves into the seats the

craft drove up to hang with the others.

A shattering cheer greeted them. Norman saw that in the silvery light

of Earth's great crescent there stretched over the city and

surrounding jungle now a veritable plain of flying-boats. On each were

green men and each bristled with force-guns, and had as many great

goggled helmets fastened to it as it had occupants. He glimpsed larger

boats loaded with huge metal cylinders--the force-bombs Fellows had

mentioned.

Fellows rose and spoke briefly in a clear voice to the assembled green

men on their craft, and another great shout roared from them, and from

these who watched in the city below. Then as he spoke a word, Sarja

sent their craft flying out over the city, and the great mass of

boats, fully a thousand in number, were hurtling in a compact column

after them.

Fellows leaned to Norman as the great column of purring craft shot on

over the silver-lit jungles. "We'll make straight for the Rala city

and try setting into it before they understand what's happening."

"Won't they have guards out?"

"Probably, but we can beat them back into the city before their whole

forces can come out on us. That's the only way in which we can get

inside and reach Hackett. And while we're attacking the force-bombs

can be placed, though I don't rely too much on them."

"If the attack only succeeds in getting us inside," Norman said,

grim-lipped, "we'll have a chance--"

"It's on the knees of the gods. These green men are doing an

unprecedented thing in attacking the Ralas, the masters of this world,

remember. But they've got ages of oppression to avenge; they'll

fight."

The fleet flew on, hills and rivers a silver-lit panorama unreeling

beneath them. Earth's crescent sank behind them, and by the time they

flashed out over the great fresh-water sea, the sun was rising like a

flaming eye from behind it. Land sank from sight behind and the green

men were silent, tense, as they saw stretching beneath only the gray

waters that for ages had been the base of the dread frog-men. But

still the fleet's column raced on.

* * * * *

At last the column slowed. Far ahead the merest bulge broke the level

line where sky and waters met. The amphibian city of the Ralas! At

Fellows' order-the flying-boats sank downward until they moved just

above the waters. Another order made the green hosts don the grotesque

helmets. Norman found that while cumbersome their oxygen supply was

unfailing. They shot on again at highest speed, but as the gigantic

black dome of the frog-city grew in their vision there darted up from

around it suddenly a far-flung swarm of black spots.

"Rala boats!"

The muffled exclamation was Fellows'. There needed now no order on his

part, though. Like hawks, leaping for prey, the fleet of the green men

sprang through the air. Norman, clutching the force-gun between his

knees, had time only to see that the Rala craft were a few hundred in

number and that, contemptuous of the greater odds that favored these

humans they had so long oppressed, they were flying straight to meet

them. Then the two fleets met--and were spinning side by side above

the waters.

Norman saw the thing only as a wild whirl of Rala boats toward and

beside them, great green frog-men crowding the craft, their force-guns

hailing shells. Automatically, with the old air-fighting instinct, his

fingers had pressed the catch of the gun between his knees and as its

shells flicked toward the rushing boats he saw areas of nothingness

opening suddenly in their mass, shells striking and exploding in

annihilating invisibility there and in their own fleet.

The two fleets mingled and merged momentarily, the battle becoming a

thing of madness, a huge whirl of black and glittering flying-boats

together, striking shells exploding nothingness about them. The Ralas

were fighting like demons.

The merged, terrific combat lasted but moments; could last but

moments. Norman, his gun's magazine empty, seemed to see the mass of

struggling ships splittering, diverging; then saw that the black craft

were dropping, plummeting downward toward the waves! The Ralas,

stunned by that minute of terrific combat, were fleeing. Muffled cries

and cheers came from about him as the glittering flying-boats of the

green men shot after them. They crashed down into the waters and

curved deeply into their green-depths, toward the gigantic dome.

* * * * *

Ahead the Rala boats were in flight toward their city, and now their

pursuers were like sharks striking after them. There in the depths the

force-guns of black and glittering boats alike were spitting, and

giant waves and underwater convulsions rocked pursued and pursuers as

the exploding shells annihilated boats and water about them. The

tunnel! Its round opening yawned in the looming wall ahead, and Norman

saw the Rala craft, reduced to scores in number, hurtling into it, to

rouse all the forces of the great amphibian city. Their own boats were

flashing into the opening after them. He glimpsed as he glanced back

for a moment the larger craft with the great force-bombs veering aside

behind them.

It was nightmare in the water-tunnel. Flashing beams of the craft

ahead and waters that rocked and smashed around them as in flight the

Ralas still rained back force-shells toward them in a chaos of action.

Once the frog-men turned to hold them back in the tunnel, but by sheer

weight the rushing ships of the green men crashed them onward. Boats

were going into nothingness all around them. A part of Norman's brain

wondered calmly why they survived even while another part kept his gun

again working, with refilled magazine. Fellows and Sarja were

grotesque shapes beside him. Abruptly the tunnel curved upward and as

they flashed up after the remaining Rala craft their boats ripped up

into clear air! They were beneath the giant dome!

The frog-men chased inward spread out in all directions over their

mighty, swarming city and across it a terrific clamor of alarm ran

instantly as the green men emerged after them! Norman saw flying-boats

beginning to rise across all the city and realized that moments would

see all the immense force of the Ralas, the thousands of craft they

could muster, pouring upon them. He pointed out over the city to a

block-like building, and shouted madly through his helmet to Fellows

and Sarja:

"Hackett!"

But already Sarja had sent their craft whirling across the city toward

the structure, half their fleet behind it, with part still emerging

from the water-tunnel. Rala boats rose before them, but nothing could

stop them now, their force-shells raining ahead to clear a path for

their meteor-flight. They shot down toward the block-structure, and

Norman, half-crazed by now, saw that to descend and enter was suicide

in the face of the frog-forces rising now over all the city. He cried

to Fellows, and with two of the guns as they swooped lower they

sprayed force-shells along the building's side.

* * * * *

The shells struck and whiffed away the whole side, exposing the level

on the building's interior. Out from it rushed swarms of crazed green

men, sweeping aside the frog-men guards, while far over the city the

invading craft were loosing shells on the block-like buildings that

held the prisoners, tens of thousands of them swarming forth. In the

throng below as they raced madly forth Norman saw one, and shouted

wildly. The one brown garbed figure looked up, saw their boat swooping

lower, and leaped for it in a tremendous forty-foot spring that

brought his fingers to its edge. Norman pulled him frenziedly up.

"Norman!" he babbled. "In God's name--Fellows--!"

"That helmet, Hackett!" Fellows flung at him. "My God, look at those

prisoners--Norman!"

The countless thousands of green men released from the buildings whose

walls had vanished under the shells of the invaders had poured forth

to make the amphibian city a chaos of madness. Oblivious to all else

they were throwing themselves upon the city's crowding frog-men in a

battle whose ferocity was beyond belief, disregarding all else in this

supreme chance to wreak vengeance on the monstrous beings who had fed

upon their blood. In the incredible insanity of that raging fury the

craft of the green men hanging over the city were all but forgotten.

Suddenly the city and the mighty dome over it quivered violently, and

then again. There came from beneath a dull, vast, grinding roar.

"The great force-bombs!" Fellows screamed. "They've set them off--the

city's sinking--out of here, for the love of God!"

The boat whirled beneath Sarja's hands toward the pool of the

water-tunnel, all their fleet rushing with them. The grinding roar was

louder, terrible; dome and city were shaking violently now; but in the

insensate fury of their struggle the frog-men and their released

prisoners were hardly aware of it. The whole great dome seemed sinking

upon them and the city falling beneath it as Sarja's craft ripped down

into the tunnel's waters, and then out, at awful speed, as the great

tunnel's walls swayed and sank around them! They shot out into the

green depths from it to hear a dull, colossal crashing through the

waters from behind as the great pedestal of rock on which the city had

stood, shattered by the huge force-bombs, collapsed. And as their

boats flashed up into the open air they saw that the huge dome of the

city of the Ralas was gone.

Beneath them was only a titanic whirlpool of foaming waters in which

only the curved top of the settling dome was visible for a moment as

it sank slowly and ponderously downward, with a roar as of the roar of

falling worlds. Buckling, collapsing, sinking, it vanished in the

foam-wild sea with all the frog-men who for ages had ruled the second

satellite, and with all those prisoners who had at the last dragged

them down with them to death! Ripping off their helmets, with all the

green men shouting crazily about them, Norman and Fellows and Hackett

stared down at the colossal maelstrom in the waters that was the tomb

of the masters of a world.

Then the depression's sides collapsed, the waters rushing together ...

and beneath them was but troubled, tossing sea....

* * * * *

Earth's great gray ball was overhead again and the sun was sinking

again to the horizon when the three soared upward in the long,

gleaming plane, its motor roaring. Norman, with Hackett and Fellows

crowding the narrow cabin beside him, waved with them through its

windows. For all around them were rising the flying-boats of the green

men.

They were waving wildly, shouting their farewells, Sarja's tall figure

erect at the prow of one. Insistent they had been that the three

should stay, the three through whom the monstrous age-old tyranny of

the frog-men had been lifted, but Earth-sickness was on them, and they

had flown to where the plane lay still unharmed among the reeds, a

hundred willing hands dragging it forth for the take-off.

The plane soared higher, motor thundering, and they saw the

flying-boats sinking back from around them. They caught the wave of

Sarja's hand still from the highest, and then that, too, was gone.

Upward they flew toward the great gray sphere, their eyes on the dark

outlines of its continents and on one continent. Higher--higher--green

land and gray tea receding beneath them; Hackett and Fellows intent

and eager as Norman kept the plane rising. The satellite lay, a

greenish globe, under them. And as they went higher still a rushing

sound came louder to their ears.

"The edge of the satellite's atmosphere?" Fellows asked, as Norman

nodded.

"We're almost to it--here we go!"

As he shot the plane higher, great forces smote it, gray Earth and

green satellite and yellow sun gyrating round it as it reeled and

plunged. Then suddenly it was falling steadily, gray Earth and its

dark continent now beneath, while with a dwindling rushing roar its

second satellite whirled away above them, passing and vanishing.

Passing as though, to Norman it seemed, all their strange sojourn on

it were passing; the frog-men and their mighty city, Sarja and their

mad flight, the green men and the last terrific battle; all whirling

away--whirling away.

HISTORIC EXPERIMENT PROVES EARTH'S ROTATION

The famous experiment which proves that the "earth do move" by letting

the observer actually see it twisting underneath his feet, an

experiment invented by the French mathematician Jean B. L. Foucault

nearly a century ago was repeated recently under unusually impressive

circumstances before an international scientific congress at Florence,

Italy, the same city where Galileo once was persecuted for holding the

same opinion.

From the center of the dome of the Church of Santa Maria di Fiore,

Father Guido Alfani, director of the Astronomical Observatory,

suspended a 200-pound weight on a wire 150 feet long. On the bottom of

this weight was a tiny projecting point which traced a line on a

table-top sprinkled with sand, as the great pendulum swung slowly back

and forth. At a given signal Father Alfani set the pendulum to

swinging. While the assembled scientists watched it, slowly the line

traced across the sand table-top changed direction.

As Foucault proved long ago and as the watching scientists well knew,

the table was being twisted underneath the pendulum by the rotation of

the earth.

A REVOLUTIONARY AIRPLANE

A new airplane propeller has recently been patented by J. Kalmanson of

Brooklyn, N. Y. Greater speed and marked saving in fuel is claimed for

the invention, which may be attached to any type of airplane.

The device is in two parts, which may be used separately as front and

rear propellers or combined into a single blade. The principle is that

the front one acts to bring air to the other, giving the propeller

more of a hold, so to speak, and greater power. This is accomplished

by four air-spoons, one on each side of each blade of the propeller.

It is said that the device can double the speed of an airplane and

raise it from the ground in ninety feet instead of the 200 feet most

airplanes now require. It is also claimed that the new propeller will

prevent the plane from making a nose drive unless the pilot forces it

to do so, and enable it to make a safe landing within a short

distance. Because of the increase in power and speed, the device would

save a large amount of gasoline and oil, as well as guarding the motor

from part of the strain on it.

The device is said to be also applicable to ships, the same principle

operating in water as well as air.

Silver Dome

_By Harl Vincent_

[Illustration: _Orris led the way to a great underground city._]

[Sidenote: In her deep-buried kingdom of Theros, Phaestra reveals the

amazing secret of the Silver Dome.]

In a secluded spot among the hills of northern New Jersey stood the

old DeBost mansion, a rambling frame structure of many wings and

gables that was well-nigh hidden from the road by the half-mile or

more of second-growth timber which intervened. High on the hill it

stood, and it was only by virtue of its altitude that an occasional

glimpse might be obtained of weatherbeaten gable or partly

tumbled-down chimney. The place was reputed to be haunted since the

death of old DeBost, some seven years previously, and the path which

had once been a winding driveway was now seldom trod by human foot.

It was now two years since Edwin Leland bought the estate for a song

and took up his residence in the gloomy old house. And it had then

been vacant for five years since DeBost shot himself in the northeast

bedroom. Leland's associates were sure he would repent of his bargain

in a very short time, but he stayed on and on in the place, with no

company save that of his man-servant, an aged hunch-back who was

known to outsiders only as Thomas.

Leland was a scientist of note before he buried himself in the DeBost

place, and had been employed in the New York research laboratory of

one of the large electrical manufacturers, where he was much admired

and not a little envied by his fellow workers. These knew almost

nothing of his habits or of his personal affairs, and were much

surprised when he announced one day that he had come into a sizable

fortune and was leaving the organization to go in for private research

and study. Attempts to dissuade him were of no avail, and the purchase

of the DeBost property followed, after which Leland dropped from sight

for nearly two years.

* * * * *

Then, on a blustery winter day, a strange telephone call was received

at the laboratory where he had previously worked. It was from old

Thomas, out there in the DeBost mansion, and his quavering voice asked

for Frank Rowley, the genial young engineer whose work had been most

closely associated with Leland's.

"Oh, Mr. Rowley," wailed the old man, when Frank responded to the

call, "I wish you would come out here right away. The master has been

acting very queerly of late, and to-day he has locked himself in his

laboratory and will not answer my knocks."

"Why don't you break in the door?" asked Frank, looking through the

window at the snow storm that still raged.

"I thought of that, Mr. Rowley, but it is of oak and very thick.

Besides, it is bound with steel or iron straps and is beyond my

powers."

"Why not call the police?" growled Frank. He did not relish the idea

of a sixty or seventy mile drive in the blizzard.

"Oh--no--no--no!" Old Thomas was panicky at the suggestion. "The

master told me he'd kill me if I ever did that."

Before Frank could formulate a reply, there came a sharp gasp from the

other end of the line, a wailing cry and a thud as of a falling body;

then silence. All efforts to raise Leland's number merely resulted in

"busy" or "line out of order" reports.

Frank Rowley was genuinely concerned. Though he had never been a close

friend of Leland's, the two had worked on many a knotty problem

together and were in daily contact during the nearly ten years that

the other man had worked in the same laboratory.

"Say, Tommy," said Frank, replacing the receiver and turning to his

friend, Arnold Thompson, who sat at an adjoining desk, "something has

happened out at Leland's place in Sussex County. Want to take a drive

out there with me?"

"What? On a day like this? Why not take the train?"

"Don't be foolish, Tommy," said Frank. "The place is eight miles from

the nearest station, which is a flag stop out in the wilds. And, even

if you could find a cab there--which you couldn't--there isn't a taxi

driver in Jersey who'd take you up into those mountains on a day like

this. No, we'll have to drive. It'll be okay. I've got chains on the

rear and a heater in the old coupe, so it shouldn't be so bad. What do

you say?"

So Tommy, who usually followed wherever Frank led, was prevailed upon

to make the trip. He had no particular feeling for Leland, but he

sensed an adventure, and, in Frank's company, he could ask for no

more.

* * * * *

Frank was a careful driver, and three hours were required to make the

sixty-mile journey. Consequently, it was late in the afternoon when

they arrived at the old DeBost estate. It had stopped snowing, but the

drifts were deep in spots, and Frank soon found that the car could not

be driven through the winding path from the road to the house. So

they left it half buried in a drift and proceeded on foot.

It was a laborious task they had undertaken, and, by the time they set

foot on the dilapidated porch, even Frank, husky and athletic as was

his build, was puffing and snorting from his exertions. Little Tommy,

who tipped the scales at less than a hundred and twenty, could hardly

speak. They both were wet to the waist and in none too good humor.

"Holy smoke!" gasped Tommy, stamping the clinging snow from his sodden

trouser legs and shoes, "if it snows any more, how in Sam Hill are we

going to get out of this place?"

"Rotten trip I let you in for Tommy," growled Frank, "and I hope

Leland's worth it. But, darn it all, I just had to come."

"It's all right with me, Frank. And maybe it'll be worth it yet.

Look--the front door's open."

* * * * *

He pointed to the huge oaken door and Frank saw that it was ajar. The

snow on the porch was not deep and they saw that footprints led from

the open door to a corner of the porch. At that point the snow on the

railing was disturbed, as if a hurrying man had clung to it a moment

before jumping over and into the drifts below. But the tracks led no

further, for the drifting snow had covered all excepting a hollow

where some body had landed.

"Thomas!" exclaimed Frank. "And he was in a hustle, by the looks of

the tracks. Bet he was frightened while at the telephone and beat it."

They entered the house and closed the door behind them. It was growing

quite dark and Frank searched for the light switch. This was near the

door, and, at pressure on the upper button, the spacious old hall with

its open staircase was revealed dimly by the single remaining bulb in

a cluster set in the center of the high ceiling. The hall was

unfurnished, excepting for a telephone table and chair, the chair

having fallen to the floor and the receiver of the telephone dangling

from the edge of the table by its cord.

"You must have heard the chair fall," commented Tommy, "and it sure

does look as if Thomas left in a hurry. Wonder what it was that

frightened him?"

The house was eerily silent and the words echoed awesomely through the

adjoining rooms which connected with the hall through large open

doorways.

"Spooky place, isn't it?" returned Frank.

* * * * *

And then they were both startled into immobility by a rumble that

seemed to shake the foundations of the house. Heavier and heavier

became this vibration, as if some large machine was coming up to

speed. Louder and louder grew the rumble until it seemed that the

rickety old house must be shaken down about their ears. Then there

came a whistling scream from the depths of the earth--from far

underground it seemed to be--and this mounted in pitch until their

eardrums tingled. Then abruptly the sounds ceased, the vibration

stopped, and once more there was the eery silence.

Rather white-faced, Tommy gazed at Frank.

"No wonder old Thomas beat it!" he said. "What on earth do you suppose

that is?"

"Search me," replied Frank. "But whatever it is, I'll bet it has

something to do with Leland's strange actions. And we're going to find

out."

He had with him the large flashlamp from the car, and, by its light,

the two made their way from room to room searching for the iron-bound

door mentioned by Thomas.

They found all rooms on the first and second floors dusty and unused

with the exception of two bedrooms, the kitchen and pantry, and the

library. It was a gloomy and spooky old house. Floor boards creaked

startlingly and unexpectedly and the sound of their footsteps echoed

dismally.

"Where in time is that laboratory of Leland's?" exclaimed Frank, his

ruddy features showing impatient annoyance, exaggerated to an

appearance of ferocity by the light of the flashlamp.

"How about the cellar?" suggested Tommy.

"Probably where it is," agreed Frank, "but I don't relish this job so

much. I'd hate to find Leland stiff down there, if that's where he

is."

"Me, too," said Tommy. "But we're here now, so let's finish the job

and get back home. It's cold here, too."

"You said it. No steam in the pipes at all. He must have let the fire

go out in his furnace, and that's probably in the cellar too--usually

is."

* * * * *

While talking, Frank had opened each of the four doors that opened

from the kitchen, and the fourth revealed a stairway that led into the

blackness beneath. With the beam of his torch directed at the steps,

he proceeded to descend, and Tommy followed carefully. There was no

light button at the head of the stairs, where it would have been

placed in a more modern house, and it was not until they had reached

the furnace room that they located a light fixture with a pull cord.

An ordinary cellar, with furnace, coal bin, and a conglomeration of

dust-covered trunks and discarded furniture, was revealed. And, at its

far end, was the iron-bound door.

The door was locked and could not be shaken by the combined efforts of

the two men.

"Have to have a battering ram," grunted Frank, casting about for a

suitable implement.

"Here you are," called Tommy, after a moment's search. "Just the thing

we are looking for."

* * * * *

He had come upon a pile of logs, and one of these, evidently a section

of an old telephone pole, was of some ten or twelve inches diameter

and about fifteen feet long. Frank pounced upon it eagerly, and,

supporting most of the weight himself, led the attack on the heavy

oak door with the iron bands.

No sound from within greeted the thunderous poundings. Clearly, if

Leland was behind that door, he was either dead or unconscious.

Finally the double lock gave way and Tommy and Frank were precipitated

headlong into the brightly lighted room beyond. Recovering their

balance, they took stock of their surroundings and were amazed at what

they saw--a huge laboratory, fitted out with every modern appliance

that money could buy. A completely equipped machine shop there was;

bench after bench covered with the familiar paraphernalia of the

chemical and physical laboratory; huge retorts and stills; complicated

electrical equipments; dozens of cabinets holding crucibles, flasks,

bottles, glass tubing, and what not.

"Good Lord!" gasped Tommy. "Here's a laboratory to more than match our

own. Why, Leland's got a fortune invested here!"

"I should say so. And a lot of stuff that our company does not even

have. Some of it I don't know even the use of. But where is Leland?"

* * * * *

There was no sign of the man they had come to help. He was not in the

laboratory, though the door had been locked from within and the lights

left burning throughout.

With painstaking care they searched every nook and cranny of the large

single room and were about to give up in despair when Tommy happened

to observe an ivory button set into the wall at the only point in the

room where there were no machines or benches at hand. Experimentally

he pressed the button, and, at the answering rumble from under his

feet, jumped back in alarm. Slowly there opened in the paneled oak

wall a rectangular door, a door of large enough size to admit a man.

From the recess beyond there came a breath of air, foul with the

musty odor of decayed vegetation, dank as the air of a tomb.

"Ah-h-h!" breathed Frank. "So that is where Ed Leland is hiding! The

secret retreat of the gloomy scientist!"

He spoke half jestingly, yet when he squeezed his stalwart bulk

through the opening and flashed the beam of his light into the

darkness of a narrow passage ahead he was assailed with vague

forebodings. Tommy followed close behind and spoke not a word.

* * * * *

The passage floor was thick with dust, but the marks of many footsteps

going and returning gave mute evidence of the frequency of Leland's

visits. The air was heavy and oppressive and the temperature and

humidity increased as they progressed along the winding length of the

rock-walled passageway. The floor sloped, ever downward and, in spots,

was slippery with slimy seepage. It seemed that they turned back on

their course on several occasions but were descending deeper and

deeper into the heart of the mountain. Then, abruptly, the passage

ended at the mouth of a shaft, which dropped vertically from almost

beneath their feet.

"Whew!" exclaimed Frank. "Another step and I'd have dropped into it.

That's probably what happened to Leland."

He knelt at the rim of the circular opening and looked into the depths

of the pit, Tommy following suit. The feeble ray of the flashlight was

lost in the blackness below.

"Say, Frank," whispered Tommy, "turn off the flash. I think I saw a

light down there."

And, with the snapping of the catch, there came darkness. But, miles

below them, it seemed, there was a tiny pin-point of brilliance--an

eery green light that was like a wavering phosphorescence of

will-o'-the-wisp. For a moment it shone and was gone. Then came the

dreadful vibration they had experienced in the hall of the house--the

whistling scream that grew louder and louder until it seemed they

must be deafened. The penetrating wail rose from the depths of the

pit, and the vibration was all around them, in the damp rock floor on

which they knelt, and in the very air of the cavern. Hastily Frank

snapped on the light of his flash.

"Oh boy!" he whispered. "Leland is certainly up to something down

there and no mistake! How're we going to get down?"

"Get down?" asked Tommy. "You don't want to go down there, do you?"

"Sure thing. We're this far now and, by George, we're going to find

out all there is to learn."

"How deep do you suppose it is?"

"Pretty deep, Tommy. But we can get an idea by dropping a stone and

counting the seconds until it strikes."

* * * * *

He played the light of the flash over the floor and soon located a

smooth round stone of the size of a baseball. This he tossed over the

rim of the pit and awaited results.

"Good grief!" exclaimed Tommy. "It's not falling!"

What he said was true, for the stone poised lightly over the opening

and drifted like a feather. Then slowly it moved, settling gradually

into oblivion. Frank turned the flash downward and they watched in

astonishment as the two-pound pebble floated deliberately down the

center of the shaft at the rate of not more than one foot in each

second.

"Well, I'll be doggoned," breathed Frank admiringly. "Leland has done

it. He has conquered gravity. For, in that pit at least, there is no

gravity, or at any rate not enough to mention. It has been almost

completely counteracted by some force he has discovered and now we

know how to follow him down there. Come on Tommy, let's go!"

And, suiting action to his words, Frank jumped into the mouth of the

pit where he bobbed about for a moment as if he had jumped into a

pool of water. Then slowly he sank from view, and Tommy followed him.

* * * * *

It was a most unique experience, that drop into the heart of the

mountain. Practically weightless, the two young men found it quite

difficult to negotiate the passage. For the first hundred or more feet

they continued to bump about in the narrow shaft and each sustained

painful bruises before he learned that the best and simplest method of

accommodating himself to the strange condition was to remain

absolutely motionless and allow the greatly weakened gravity to take

its course. Each movement of an arm or leg was accompanied by a change

in direction of movement, and contact with the hard stone walls

followed. If they endeavored to push themselves from the contact the

result was likely to be an even more serious bump on the opposite side

of the shaft. So they continued the leisurely drop into the unknown

depth of the pit.

Frank had turned off the flashlamp, for its battery was giving out and

he wished to conserve its remaining energy for eventualities. Thus

they were in Stygian darkness for nearly a half-hour, though the green

luminosity far beneath them grew stronger with each passing minute. It

now revealed itself as a clearly defined disc of light that flickered

and sputtered continually, frequently lighting the lower end of the

shaft with an unusual burst of brilliance. Remotely distant it seemed

though, and unconscionably slow in drawing nearer.

"How far do you think we must drop?" called Tommy to Frank, who was

probably fifty feet below him in the shaft.

"Well, I figure we have fallen about a thousand feet so far," came the

reply, "and my guess is that we are about one third of the way down."

"Then this shaft is over a half-mile deep, you think?"

"Yes, at least a thousand yards, I should say. And I hope his gravity

neutralizing machinery doesn't quit all of a sudden and let us down."

"Me, too," called Tommy, who had not thought of that possibility.

* * * * *

This was no joke, this falling into an unknown region so far beneath

the surface of good old mother earth, thought Tommy. And how they

would ever return was another thing that was not so funny. Frank was

always rushing into things like this without counting the possible

cost and--well--this might be the last time.

Gradually the mysterious light became stronger and soon they could

make out the conformation of the rock walls they were passing at such

a snail's pace. Layers of vari-colored rock showed here and there,

and, at one point there was a stratum of gold-bearing or mica-filled

rock that glistened with a million reflections and re-reflections. The

air grew warmer and more humid as they neared the mysterious light

source. They moved steadily, without acceleration, and Frank estimated

the rate at about forty feet a minute. Then, with blinding suddenness,

the light was immediately below and they drifted into a tremendous

cavern that was illuminated by its glow.

Directly beneath the lower end of the shaft through which they had

passed, there was a glowing disc of metal about fifteen feet in

diameter. They drifted to its surface and sprawled awkwardly where

they fell. Scrambling to gain a footing, they bounced and floated

about like toy balloons before realizing that it would be necessary to

creep slowly from the influence of that repelling force which had made

the long drop possible without injury. Gravity met them at the disc's

edge with what seemed to be unusual violence.

* * * * *

At first it seemed that their bodies weighed twice the normal amount,

but this feeling soon passed and they looked about them with

incredulous amazement. The metal disc was quite evidently the medium

through which the repelling force was set up in the shaft, and to this

disc was connected a series of heavy cables that led to a pedestal

nearby. On the pedestal was a controlling lever and this moved over a

quadrant that was graduated in degrees, one end of the quadrant being

labeled "Up" and the other "Down." The lever now stood at a point but

a very few degrees from the center or "Zero" mark and on the down

side. Frank pulled this lever over to the full "Down" position and

they found that they could walk over the disc with normal gravity.

"I suppose," said Frank, "that if the lever is at the other end of the

scale one would fall upward with full gravity acceleration--reversed.

At zero, gravity is exactly neutralized, and the intermediate

positions are useful in conveying materials or human beings up and

down the shaft as desired. Very clever; but what is the reason for it

all?"

In the precise center of the great cavern there was a dome or

hemisphere of polished metal, and it was from this dome that the eery

light emanated. At times, when the light died down, this dome gleamed

with dull flickerings that threatened to vanish entirely. Then

suddenly it would resume full brilliance, and the sight was marvelous

beyond description. A slight hissing sound came from the direction of

the dome, and this varied in intensity as did the light.

"Gosh!" said Tommy. "That looks like silver to me. And, if it is, what

a wealthy man our friend Leland has become. He has spent his fortune

well, even if he used it all to get to this."

"Yes, but where is he?" commented Frank. Then: "Leland! Leland!" he

called.

* * * * *

His voice echoed through the huge vault and re-echoed hollowly. But

there was no reply save renewed flickerings from the dome.

Leaving the vicinity of the gravity disc, the two men advanced in the

direction of the shining dome, which was about a quarter-mile from

where they stood. Both perspired freely, for the air was very close

and the temperature high. But the light of the dome was as cold as the

light of a firefly and they had no hesitancy in drawing near. It was a

beautiful sight, this dome of silver with its flickering lights and

perfect contour.

"By George, I believe it _is_ silver," exclaimed Frank, when they were

within a few feet of the dome. "No other metal has that precise color.

And look! There is a wheelbarrow and some mining tools. Leland has

been cutting away some of the material."

Sure enough, there was indisputable evidence of the truth of his

statement. And the material was undoubtedly silver!

"Silver Dome," breathed Tommy, holding a lump of the metal in his

hand. "A solid dome of pure silver--fifty feet high and a hundred in

diameter. How much does that figure in dollars and cents, Frank?"

"Maybe it isn't solid," said Frank dryly, "though it's worth a

sizeable fortune even if it is hollow. And we haven't found Leland."

* * * * *

They circled the dome twice and looked into every corner of the great

cavern, but there was no sign of the man for whom they searched. The

wheelbarrow was half filled with lumps of the heavy metal, and maul

and drill lay where they had been dropped by the lone miner. A cavity

three feet across, and as many deep, appeared in the side of the dome

to show that considerably more than one wheelbarrow load had been

removed.

"Funny," grunted Tommy. "Seems almost like the old dome had swallowed

him up."

At his words there came the terrific vibration. The light of the dome

died out, leaving them in utter darkness, and from its interior there

rose the mounting scream that had frightened old Thomas away. From so

close by it was hideous, devastating; and the two men clung to each

other in fright, expecting momentarily that the earth would give way

beneath their feet and precipitate them into some terrible depth from

which there could be no return.

Then the sound abruptly ceased and a gleam of light came from under

the dome of silver. A crack appeared between its lower edge and the

rocky floor of the cavern, and through this crack there shone a light

of dazzling brilliancy--a warm light of rosy hue. Wider grew the

opening until there was a full three feet between the floor and the

bottom of the dome. Impelled by some irresistible force from within,

the two men stumbled blindly to the opening, fell to the floor and

rolled inside.

There was a heavy thud and the dome had returned to its normal

position, with Frank and Tommy prisoners within its spacious hollow.

The warm light bathed them with fearful intensity for a moment, then

faded to a rosy glow that dulled their senses and quieted their

nerves. Morpheus claimed them.

* * * * *

When Frank awoke he found himself between silken covers, and for a

moment he gazed thoughtfully at a high arched ceiling that was

entirely unfamiliar. Then, remembering, he sprang from the downy bed

to his feet. The room, the furnishings, his silken robe, everything

was strange. His bed, he saw, was a high one, and the frame was of the

same gleaming silver as the dome under which they had been trapped.

The arched ceiling glowed softly with the same rosy hue as had the

inner surface of the dome. A large pool of water invited him, the

surface of the pool being no more than a foot below the point where it

was built into the tile floor of the room. A large open doorway

connected with a similar adjoining room, where he suspected Tommy had

been taken. On his bare toes, he moved silently to the other room and

saw that his guess had been correct. Tommy lay sleeping quietly

beneath covers as soft as his own and amidst equal luxury of

surroundings.

"Well," he whispered, "this doesn't look as though we would come to

any harm. And I might as well take a dive in that pool."

Returning to his own room, he removed the silken garment with which he

had been provided and was quietly immersed in the cool, invigorating

water of the bath. His head cleared instantly.

"Hi there!" called Tommy from the doorway. "Why didn't you wake me up?

Where are we, anyway?"

With dripping head and shoulders above the water, Frank was compelled

to laugh at the sleepy-eyed, wondering expression on the blue-jowled

face of his friend. "Thought you were dead to the world," he returned,

"you old sleepy-head. And I don't know where we are, excepting that it

is somewhere under the silver dome. What's more, I don't much care.

You should get into this water. It's great!"

* * * * *

So saying, he dived to the bottom of the pool and stood on his hands,

his feet waving ludicrously above the surface. Tommy sniffed once and

then made a quick dash for the pool in his own room. He was not to be

outdone by his more energetic partner.

A half-hour later, shaved and attired in their own garments, which had

been cleaned and pressed and hung neatly in the closets, they settled

themselves for a discussion of the situation. Having tried the doors

of both rooms and found them locked from the outside, there was no

other course open to them. They must await developments.

"Looks like Leland has quite an establishment down here inside the

mountain," ventured Tommy.

"Hm!" snorted Frank, "this place is none of Leland's work. He is

probably a prisoner here, as are we. He just stumbled on to the

silver dome and was captured by whatever race is living down here

beneath it, the same as we were. Who the real inhabitants are, and

what the purpose of all this is, remains to be seen."

"You think we are in friendly hands?"

"These quarters do not look much like prison cells, Tommy, but I must

admit that we are locked in. Anyhow, I'm not worrying, and we will

soon learn our fate and have to be ready to meet it. The people who

own this place must have everything they want, and they sure have some

scientific knowledge that is not known to us on the surface."

"Wonder if they are humans?"

"Certainly they are. You never heard of wild beasts sleeping in beds

like these, did you?"

* * * * *

Tommy laughed at he examined the exquisite hand-wrought figures on the

silver bedstead. "No, I didn't," he admitted; "but where on earth did

they come from, and what are they doing here?"

"You ask too many questions," replied Frank, shrugging his broad

shoulders. "We must simply wait for the answers to reveal themselves."

There was a soft rap at the door of Frank's room, where the two men

were talking.

"Come in," called Frank, chuckling at the idea of such consideration

from their captors.

A key rattled in the lock and the door swung open to admit the

handsomest man they had ever set eyes on. He was taller than Frank by

several inches, standing no less than six feet five in his thin-soled

sandals, and he carried himself with the air for an emperor. His

marble-white body was uncovered with the exception of a loin cloth of

silver hue, and lithe muscles rippled beneath his smooth skin as he

advanced to meet the prisoners. His head, surmounted by curly hair of

ebon darkness, was large, and his forehead high. The features were

classic and perfectly regular. The corners of his mouth drew upward in

a benign smile.

"Greetings," he said, in perfect English and in a soft voice, "to the

domain of Theros. You need fear no harm from our people and will be

returned to the upper world when the time comes. We hope to make your

stay with us enjoyable and instructive, and that you will carry back

kind memories of us. The morning meal awaits you now."

* * * * *

So taken aback were the two young Americans that they stared foolishly

agape for a space. Then a tinkling laugh from the tall stranger set

them once more at ease.

"You will pardon us, I hope," apologized Frank, "but this is all so

unexpected and so unbelievable that your words struck me speechless.

And I know that my friend was similarly affected--We place ourselves

in your hands."

The handsome giant nodded understanding. "No offense was taken," he

murmured, "since none was intended. And your feelings are not to be

wondered at. You may call me Orrin."

He turned toward the open door and signified that they were to follow

him. They fell in at his side with alacrity, both suddenly realizing

that they were very hungry.

They followed in silent wonderment as Orrin led the way to a broad

balcony that overlooked a great underground city--a city lighted by the

soft glow from some vast lighting system incorporated in its vaulted

ceiling high overhead. The balcony was many levels above the streets,

which were alive with active beings of similar appearance to Orrin,

these speeding hither and yon by means of the many lanes of traveling

ways of which the streets were composed. The buildings--endless rows of

them lining the orderly streets--were octagonal in shape and rose to

the height of about twenty stories, as nearly as could be judged by

earthly standards. There were no windows, but at about every fifth floor

there was an outer silver-railed balcony similar to the one on which

they walked. The air was filled with bowl-shaped flying ships that sped

over the roof tops in endless procession and without visible means of

support or propulsion. Yet the general effect of the busy scene was one

of precise orderliness, unmarred by confusion or distracting noises.

* * * * *

Orrin vouchsafed no explanations and they soon reentered the large

building of which the balcony was a part. Here they were conducted to

a sumptuously furnished dining room where their breakfast awaited

them.

During the meal, which consisted of several courses of fruits and

cereals entirely strange to Frank and Tommy, they were tended by Orrin

with the utmost deference and most painstaking attention. He

anticipated their every want and their thoughts as well. For, when

Frank endeavored to ask one of the many questions with which his mind

was filled, he was interrupted by a wave of the hand and a smile from

their placid host.

"It is quite clear to me that you have many questions to propound,"

said Orrin, "and this is not a matter of wonder. But it is not

permitted that I enlighten you on the points you have in mind. You

must first finish your meal. Then it is to be my privilege to conduct

you to the presence of Phaestra, Empress of Theros, who will reveal

all. May I ask that you be patient until then?"

So friendly was his smile and so polished his manner that they

restrained their impatience and finished the excellent breakfast in

polite silence.

And Orrin was as good as his word, for, no sooner had they finished

when he led them from the room and showed the way to the elevator

which conveyed them to the upper floor of the building.

From the silver-grilled cage of the lift they stepped into a room of

such beauty and magnificence of decoration that they gazed about them

in wondering admiration. The paneling and mouldings were of hammered

silver that gleamed with polished splendor in the soft rose glow of

the hidden lights. The hangings were of heavy plush of deep green hue

and bore intricate designs of silver thread woven into the material.

At the opposite side of the room there was a pair of huge double doors

of chased silver and on either side of this pretentious portal there

stood an attendant attired as was Orrin, but bearing a silver scepter

to denote his official capacity.

"Phaestra awaits the visitors from above," intoned one of the

attendants. Both bowed stiffly from the waist when Orrin led the two

young scientists through the great doors which had opened silently and

majestically at their approach.

* * * * *

If the outer room was astonishing in its sumptuousness of decoration

and furnishing, the one they now entered was positively breath-taking.

On every side there were the exquisite green and silver hangings.

Tables, divans, and rugs of priceless design and workmanship. But the

beauty of the surroundings faded into insignificance when they saw the

empress.

A canopied dais in the center of the room drew their attention and

they saw that Phaestra had risen from her seat in a deeply cushioned

divan and now stood at its side in an attitude of welcome. Nearly as

tall as Frank, she was a figure of commanding and imperious beauty.

The whiteness of her body was accentuated by the silver embroidered

and tightly fitted black vestments that covered yet did not conceal

its charms. A halo of glorious golden hair surmounted a head that was

poised expectantly alert above the perfectly rounded shoulders. The

exquisite oval of her face was chiseled in features of transcendent

loveliness. She spoke, and, at sound of her musical voice, Frank and

Tommy were enslaved.

* * * * *

"Gentlemen of the upper world," she said gently, "you are welcome to

Theros. Your innermost thoughts have been recorded by our scientists

and found good. With a definite purpose in mind, you learned of the

existence of the silver dome of Theros, yet you came without greed or

malice and we have taken you in to enlighten you on the many questions

that are in your minds and to return you to mankind with a knowledge

of Theros--which you must keep secret. You are about to delve into a

mystery of the ages; to see and learn many things that are beyond the

ken of your kind. It is a privilege never before accorded to beings

from above."

"We thank you, oh, Queen," spoke Frank humbly, his eyes rivetted to

the gaze of those violet orbs that seemed to see into his very soul.

Tommy mumbled some commonplace.

"Orrin--the sphere!" Phaestra, slightly embarrassed by Frank's stare,

clapped her hands.

At her command, Orrin, who had stood quietly by, stepped to the wall

and manipulated some mechanism that was hidden by the hangings. There

was a musical purr from beneath the floor, and, through a circular

opening which appeared as if by magic, there rose a crystal sphere of

some four feet in diameter. Slowly it rose until it reached the level

of their eyes and there it came to rest. The empress raised her hands

as if in invocation and the soft glow of the lights died down, leaving

them in momentary darkness. There came a slight murmur from the

sphere, and it lighted with the eery green flickerings they had

observed in the dome of silver.

* * * * *

Fascinated by the weaving lights within, they gazed into the depths of

the crystal with awed expectancy. Phaestra spoke.

"Men from the surface," she said, "you, Frank Rowley, and you, Arnold

Thompson, are about to witness the powers of that hemisphere of metal

you were pleased to term 'Silver Dome.' As you rightly surmised, the

dome is of silver--mostly. There are small percentages of platinum,

iridium, and other elements, but it is more than nine-tenths pure

silver. To you of the surface the alloy is highly valuable for its

intrinsic worth by your own standards, but to us the value of the dome

lies in its function in revealing to us the past and present events of

our universe. The dome is the 'eye' of a complicated apparatus which

enables us to see and hear any desired happening on the surface of the

earth, beneath its surface, or on the many inhabited planets of the

heavens. This is accomplished by means of extremely complex vibrations

radiated from the hemisphere, these vibrations penetrating earth,

metals, buildings, space itself, and returning to our viewing and

sound reproducing spheres to reveal the desired past or present

occurrences at the point at which the rays of vibrations are directed.

* * * * *

"In order to view the past on our own planet, the rays, which travel

at the speed of light, are sent out in a huge circle through space,

returning to earth after having spent the requisite number of years in

transit. Instantaneous effect is secured by a connecting beam that

ties together the ends of the enormous arc. This, of course, is beyond

your comprehension, since the Ninth Dimension is involved. When it is

desired that events of the present be observed, the rays are projected

direct. The future can not be viewed, since, in order to accomplish

this, it would be necessary that the rays travel at a speed greater

than that of light, which is manifestly impossible."

"Great guns!" gasped Frank. "This crystal sphere then, is capable of

bringing to our eyes and ears the happenings of centuries past?"

"It is, my dear Frank," said Phaestra, "and I would that I were able

to describe the process more clearly." She smiled, and in the

unearthly light of the sphere she appeared more beautiful than before,

if such a thing were possible.

On the pedestal which supported the sphere there was a glittering

array of dials and levers. Several of these controls were now adjusted

by Phaestra, the delicate motions of her tapered fingers being watched

by the visitors with intense admiration. There came a change in the

note of the sphere, a steadying of the flickerings within.

"Behold!" exclaimed Phaestra.

* * * * *

They gazed into the depths of the sphere and lost all sense of

detachment from the scene depicted therein. It seemed they were at a

point several thousand miles from the surface of a planet. A great

continent spread beneath them, its irregular shore line being clearly

outlined against a large body of water. Here and there the surface was

obscured by great white patches of clouds that cast their shadows

below.

"Atlantis!" breathed Phaestra reverently.

The lost continent of mythology! The fabled body of land that was

engulfed by the Atlantic thousands of years ago--a fact!

Tommy glanced at Frank, noting that he had withdrawn his gaze from the

sphere and was devouring Phaestra with his eyes. As if drawn by the

ardor of his observation, she raised her own eyes from the sphere to

meet those of the handsome visitor. Obviously confused, she dropped

her long lashes and turned nervously to the controls. Tommy

experienced a sudden feeling of dread. Surely his pal was not falling

in love with this Theronian empress!

Then there came another change in the note of the sphere and once more

they lost themselves in contemplation of the scene within. The surface

of the lost continent was rushing madly to meet them. With terrific

velocity they seemed to be falling. An involuntary gasp was forced

from Tommy's lips. Mountains, valleys, rivers could now be discerned.

* * * * *

Then the scene shifted slightly and they were stationary, directly

above a large seacoast city. A city of great beauty it was, and its

buildings were of the same octagonal shape as were those of Theros!

There could be but one inference--the Theronians were direct

descendants of those inhabitants of ancient Atlantis.

"Yes," sighed Phaestra, in answer to the thought she had read, "our

ancestors were those you now see in the streets of this city of

Atlantis. A marvelous race they were, too. When the rest of the world

was still savage and unenlightened, they knew more of the arts and

sciences than is known on the surface to-day. The mysteries of the

Fourth Dimension they had already solved. Their telescopes were of

such power that they knew of the existence of intelligent beings on

Mars and Venus. They had conquered the air. They knew of the relation

between gravity and magnetism but recently propounded by your

Einstein. They were prosperous, happy. Then--but watch!"

Faint sounds of the life of the city came to their ears. A swarm of

monoplanes roared past just beneath them. The streets were crowded

with rapidly moving vehicles, the roof-tops with air-craft. Then

suddenly the scene darkened; a deep rumbling came from the sea. As

they watched in fascinated wonder, a great chasm opened up through the

heart of the city. Tall buildings swayed and crumbled, falling into

heaps of twisted metal and crushed masonry and burying hundreds of the

populace in their fall. The confusion was indescribable, the uproar

terrific, and within the space of a very few minutes the entire city

was a mass of ruins, fully half of the wrecked area having been

swallowed up by the heaving waters of the ocean.

* * * * *

Phaestra stifled a sob. "Thus it began," she stated. "Trovus was

first--the city you just saw--then came three more of the cities of

the western coast in rapid succession. Computations of the scientists

showed that the upheaval was widespread and that the entire continent

was to be engulfed in a very short time. The exodus began, but it was

too late, and only a few hundred people were able to escape the

continent before it was finally destroyed. The ocean became the tomb

of two hundred millions. The handful of survivors reached the coast of

what is now North America. But the rigors of the climate proved severe

and more than three-quarters of them perished within a few days after

their planes landed. Then the rest took to the caves along the shore,

and for a while were safe."

She manipulated the controls once more and there was a quick shift to

another coast, a rugged, wave-beaten shore. Closer they drew until

they observed a lofty palisade that extended for miles along the

barren waterfront. They saw a fire atop this elevation and active men

and women at various tasks within the narrow circle of its warmth. A

cave mouth opened at the brink of the precipice near the spot they

occupied.

Then came a repetition of the upheaval at Trovus. The ocean rushed in

and beat against the cliff with such ferocity that its spray was

tossed hundreds of feet in the air. The earth shook and the group of

people around the fire made a hasty retreat to the mouth of the cave.

The sky darkened and the winds howled with demoniac fury. Quake after

quake rent the rugged cliffs: huge sections toppled into the angry

waters. Then a great tidal wave swept in and covered everything,

cliffs, cave mouths and all. Nought remained where they had been but

the seething waters.

* * * * *

"But some escaped!" exulted Phaestra, "and these discovered Theros.

Though many miles of the eastern seaboard of your United States were

submerged and the coastline entirely altered, these few were saved.

Their cave connected with a long passage, a tunnel that led into the

bowels of the earth. With the outer entrance blocked by the upheaval

they had no alternative save to continue downward."

"They traveled for days and days. Some were overcome by hunger and

fell by the wayside. The most hardy survived to reach Theros, a series

of enormous caverns that extends for hundreds of miles under the

surface of your country. Here they found subterranean lakes of pure

water; forests, game. They had a few tools and weapons and they

established themselves in this underground world. From that small

beginning came this!"

Phaestra's slim fingers worked rapidly at the controls. The scenes

shifted in quick succession. They were once more in the present, and

seemed to be traveling speedily through the underground reaches of

Theros. Now they were racing through a long lighted passage; now over

a great city similar to the one in which they had arrived. Here they

visited a huge workshop or laboratory; there a mine where radium or

cobalt or platinum was being wrested from the vitals of the unwilling

earth. Then they visited a typical Theronian household, saw the

perfect peace and happiness in which the family lived. Again they were

in a large power plant where direct application of the internal heat

of the earth as obtained through deep shafts bored into the interior

was utilized in generating electricity.

They saw vast quantities of supplies, fifty-ton masses of machinery,

moved from place to place as lightly as feathers by use of the gravity

discs, those heavily charged plates whose emanations counteracted the

earth's attraction. In one busy laboratory they saw an immense

television apparatus and heard scientists discussing moot questions

with inhabitants of Venus, whose images were depicted on the screen.

They witnessed a severe electrical storm in the huge cavern arch over

one of the cities, a storm that condensed moisture from the

artificially oxygenated and humidified atmosphere in such blinding

sheets as to easily explain the necessity for well-roofed buildings in

the underground realm. And, in all the speech and activities of the

Theronians, there was evident that all-pervading feeling of absolute

contentment and freedom from care.

"What I can not understand," said Frank, during a quiet interval, "is

why the Theronians have never migrated to the surface. Surely, with

all your command of science and mechanics, that would be easy."

"Why? Why?" Phaestra's voice spoke volumes. "Here--I'll show you the

reason."

* * * * *

And again the scene in the sphere changed. They were on the surface

and a few years in the past--at Chateau Thierry. They saw their fellow

men mangled and broken; saw human beings shot down by hundreds in

withering bursts of machine-gun fire; saw them in hand-to-hand bayonet

fights; gassed and in delirium from the horror of it all.

They traveled over the ocean; saw a big passenger liner the victim of

torpedo fire; saw babies tossed into the water by distracted mothers

who jumped in after them to join them in death.

A few years were passed by and they saw gang wars in Chicago and New

York; saw militia and picketing strikers in mortal combat; saw wealthy

brokers and bank presidents turn pistols on themselves following a

crash in the stock market; government officials serving penitentiary

terms for betrayal of the people's trust; opium dens, speakeasies, sex

crimes. It was a fearful indictment.

"Ah, no," said Phaestra kindly, "the surface world has not yet emerged

from savagery. We should be unwelcome were we to venture outside. And

now we come to the reason for your visit. You come in search of one

Edwin Leland, a fellow worker at one time. Your motives are above

reproach. But Leland came as a greedy searcher of riches. We brought

him within to teach him the error of his ways and to beg him to desist

from his efforts at destroying the dome of silver. He alone knew the

secret."

"Then you followed him and we took you in for similar reasons, though

our scientists found very quickly that your mental reactions were of

entirely different type from Leland's and that the secret would be

safe in your keeping. Leland remains obdurate. He threatens us with

physical violence, and his reactions to the thought-reading machines

are of the most treacherous sort. We must keep him with us. He shall

remain unharmed, but he must not be allowed to return. That is the

story. You two are free to leave when you choose. I ask not that you

give your word to keep the secret of 'Silver Dome.' I know it is not

necessary."

* * * * *

The lights had resumed their normal glow, and the marvelous sphere

returned to its receptacle beneath the floor. Phaestra resumed her

seat on the canopied divan. Frank dropped to a seat on the edge of the

dais. Tommy and Orrin remained standing, Tommy lost in thought and

Orrin stolidly mute. The empress avoided Frank's gaze studiously. Her

cheeks were flushed; her eyes bright with emotion.

Frank was first to break the silence. "Leland is in solitary

confinement?" he asked.

"For the present he is under guard," replied Phaestra. "He was quite

violent and it was necessary to disarm him after he had killed one of

my attendants with a shot from his automatic pistol. When he agrees to

submit peacefully, he shall be given the freedom of Theros for the

remainder of his life."

"Perhaps," suggested Frank, "if I spoke to him...."

"The very thing." Phaestra thanked him with her wondrous eyes.

A high pitched note rang out from behind the hangings, and, in rapid

syllables of the language of Theros, a voice broke forth from the

concealed amplifiers. Orrin, startled from his stoicism, sprang to the

side of his empress. She rose from her seat as the voice completed its

excited message.

"It is Leland," she said calmly. "He has escaped and recovered his

pistol. I have been told that he is now at large in the palace,

terrorizing the household. We have no weapons here, you see."

"Good God!" shouted Frank. "Suppose he should come here?"

* * * * *

He jumped to his feet just as a shot rang out in the antechamber.

Orrin dashed to the portal when a second shot spat forth from the

automatic which must certainly be in the hands of a madman. The doors

swung wide and Leland, hair disarranged and bloodshot eyes staring,

burst into the room. Orrin went down at the next shot and the hardly

recognizable scientist advanced toward the dais.

When he saw Frank and Tommy he stopped in his tracks. "So you two have

been following me!" he snarled. "Well, you won't keep me from my

purpose. I'm here to kill this queen of hell!"

Once more he raised his automatic, but Frank had been watching closely

and he literally dove from the steps of the dais to the knees of the

deranged Leland. As beautiful a tackle as he had ever made in his

college football days laid the maniac low with a crashing thud that

told of a fractured skull. The bullet intended for Phaestra went wide,

striking Tommy in the shoulder.

Spun half way around by the impact of the heavy bullet, Tommy fought

to retain his balance. But his knees went suddenly awry and gave way

beneath him. He crumpled helplessly to the floor, staring foolishly at

the prostrate figure of Leland and at Frank, who had risen to his feet

and now faced the beautiful empress of Theros. Strange lights danced

before Tommy's eyes, and he found it difficult to keep the pair in

focus. But he was sure of one thing--his pal was unharmed. Then the

two figures seemed to merge into one and he blinked his eyes rapidly

to clear his failing vision. By George, they were in each other's

arms! Funny world--above or below--it didn't seem to make any

difference. But it was a tough break for Frank--morganatic marriage

and all that. No chance--well--

Tommy succumbed to his overpowering drowsiness.

* * * * *

The awakening was slow, but not painful. Rather there was a feeling of

utter contentment, of joy at being alive. A delicious languor pervaded

Tommy's being as he turned his head on a snow white silken pillow and

stared at the figure of the white-capped nurse who was fussing with

the bottles and instruments that lay on an enameled table beside the

bed. Memory came to him immediately. He felt remarkably well and

refreshed. Experimentally he moved his left shoulder. There was

absolutely no pain and it felt perfectly normal. He sat erect in his

surprise and felt the shoulder with his right hand. There was no

bandage, no wound. Had he dreamed of the hammer blow of that

forty-five caliber bullet?

His nurse, observing that her patient had recovered consciousness,

broke forth in a torrent of unintelligible Theronian, then rushed from

the room.

He was still examining his unscarred shoulder in wonder, when the

nurse returned, with Frank Rowley at her heels. Frank laughed at the

expression of his friend's face.

"What's wrong, old-timer?" he asked.

"Why--I--thought that fool of a Leland had shot me in the shoulder,"

stammered Tommy, "but I guess I dreamed it. Where are we? Still in

Theros?"

"We are." Frank sobered instantly, and Tommy noted with alarm that his

usually cheerful features were haggard and drawn and his eyes hollow

from loss of sleep. "And you didn't dream that Leland shot you. That

shoulder of yours was mangled and torn beyond belief. He was using

soft nosed bullets, the hell-hound!"

"Then how--?"

* * * * *

"Tommy, these Theronians are marvelous. We rushed you to this hospital

and a half-dozen doctors started working on you at once. They repaired

the shattered bones by an instantaneous grafting process, tied the

severed veins and arteries and closed the gaping wound by filling it

with a plastic compound and drawing the edges together with clamps.

You were anaesthetized and some ray machine was used to heal the

shoulder. This required but ten hours and they now say that your arm

is as good as ever. How does it feel?"

"Perfectly natural. In fact I feel better than I have in a month."

Tommy observed that the nurse had left the room and he jumped from his

bed and capered like a school boy.

This drew no sign of merriment from Frank, and Tommy scrutinized him

once more in consternation. "And you," he said, "what is wrong with

you?"

"Don't worry about me," replied Frank impatiently. Then, irrelevantly,

he said "Leland's dead."

"Should be. I knew we shouldn't have started out to help him. But,

Frank, I'm concerned about you. You look badly." Tommy was getting

into his clothes as he spoke.

"Forget it, Tommy. You've been sleeping for two days, you know--part

of the cure--and I haven't had much rest during that time. That is

all."

"It's that Phaestra woman," Tommy accused him.

"Well, perhaps. But I'll get over it, I suppose. Tommy, I love her.

But there's no chance for me. Haven't seen her since the row in the

palace. Her council surrounds her continually and I have been advised

to-day that we are to be returned as quickly as you are up and around.

That means immediately now."

"Good. The sooner the better. And you just forget about this queen as

soon as you are able. She's a peach, of course, but not for you.

There's lots more back in little old New York." But Frank had no reply

to this sally.

* * * * *

There came a knock at the door and Tommy called, "Come in."

"I see you have fully recovered," said the smiling Theronian who

entered at the bidding, "and we are overjoyed to know this. You have

the gratitude of the entire realm for your part in the saving of our

empress from the bullets of the madman."

"I?"

"Yes. You and your friend. And now, may I ask, are you ready to return

to your own land?"

Tommy stared. "Sure thing," he said, "or rather, I will be in a few

minutes."

"Thank you. We shall await you in the transmitting room." The

Theronian bowed and was gone.

"Well, I like that," said Tommy. "He hands me an undeserved compliment

and then asks how soon we can beat it. A 'here's your hat, what's your

hurry' sort of thing."

"It's me they're anxious to be rid of," remarked Frank, shrugging his

broad shoulders, "and perhaps it is just as well."

"You bet it is!" agreed Tommy enthusiastically, "and I'm in favor of

making it good and snappy." He completed his toilet as rapidly as

possible and then turned to face the down-hearted Frank.

"How do we go? The way we came?" he asked.

* * * * *

"No, Tommy. They have closed off the shaft that led from the cavern of

the silver dome. They are taking no more chances. It seems that the

shaft down which we floated was constructed by the Theronians; not by

Leland. They had used it and the gravity disc to transport casual

visitors to the surface, who occasionally mixed with our people in

order to learn the languages of the upper world and to actually touch

and handle the things they were otherwise able to see only through the

medium of Silver Dome and the crystal spheres. Further visits to the

surface are now forbidden, and we are to be returned by a remarkable

process of beam transmission of our disintegrated bodies."

"Disintegrated?"

"Yes. It seems they have learned to dissociate the atoms of which the

human body is composed and to transmit them to any desired point over

a beam of etheric vibrations, then to reassemble them in the original

living condition."

"What? You mean to say we are to be shot to the surface through the

intervening rock and earth? Disintegrated and reintegrated? And we'll

not even be bent, let alone busted?"

* * * * *

This time he was rewarded by a laugh. "That's right. And I have gone

through the calculations with one of the Theronian engineers and can

find no flaw in the scheme. We're safe in their hands."

"If you say so, Frank, it's okay with me. Let's go!"

Reluctantly his friend lifted his athletic bulk from the chair. In

silence he led the way to the transmitting room of the Theronian

scientists.

Here they were greeted by two savants with whom Frank was already

acquainted, Clarux and Rhonus by name. A bewildering array of complex

mechanisms was crowded into the high-ceilinged chamber and, prominent

among them, was one of the crystal spheres, this one of somewhat

smaller size than the one in the palace of Phaestra.

"Where do you wish to arrive?" asked Clarux.

"As near to my automobile as possible," replied Frank, taking sudden

interest in the proceedings. "It is parked in the lane between

Leland's house and the road."

Tommy looked quickly in his direction, encouraged by the apparent

change in his attitude. The scientists proceeded to energize the

crystal sphere. They were bent upon speeding the parting guests. Their

beloved empress was to be saved from her own emotions.

Quick adjustments of the controls resulted in the locating of Frank's

car, which was still buried to its axles in snow. The scene included

Leland's house, or rather its site, for it appeared to have been

utterly demolished by some explosion within.

* * * * *

Tommy raised questioning eyebrows.

"It was necessary," explained Rhonus, "to destroy the house in

obliterating all traces of our former means of egress. It has been

commanded that you two be returned safely, and we are authorized to

trust implicitly in your future silence regarding the existence of

Theros. This is satisfactory, I presume?"

Both Tommy and Frank nodded agreement.

"Are you ready, gentlemen?" asked Clarux, who was adjusting a

mechanism that resembled a huge radio transmitter. Its twelve giant

vacuum tubes glowed into life as he spoke.

"We are," chimed the two visitors.

They were requested to step to a small circular platform that was

raised about a foot from the floor by means of insulating legs. Above

the table there was an inverted bowl of silver in the shape of a large

parabolic reflector.

"There will be no alarming sensations," averred Clarux. "When I close

the switch the disintegrating energy from the reflector above will

bathe your bodies for a moment in visible rays of a deep purple hue.

You may possibly experience a slight momentary feeling of nausea.

Then--presto!--you have arrived."

"Shoot!" growled Frank from his position on the stand.

Clarux pulled the switch and there was a murmur as of distant thunder.

Tommy blinked involuntarily in the brilliant purple glow that

surrounded him. Then all was confusion in the transmitting room.

Somebody had rushed through the open door shouting, "Frank! Frank!" It

was the empress Phaestra.

* * * * *

In a growing daze Tommy saw her dash to the platform, seize Frank in a

clutch of desperation. There was a violent wrench as if some monster

were twisting at his vitals. He closed his eyes against the blinding

light, then realized that utter silence had followed the erstwhile

confusion. He sat in Frank's car--alone.

The journey was over, and Frank was left behind. With awful finality

it came to him that there was nothing he could do. It was clear that

Phaestra had wanted his pal, needed him--come for him. From the fact

that Frank remained behind it was evident that she had succeeded in

retaining him. A sickening fear came to Tommy that she had been too

late; that Frank's body was already partly disintegrated and that he

might have paid the price of her love with his life. But a little

reflection convinced him that if this were the case a portion of his

friend's body would have reached the intended destination. Then,

unexplainably, he received a mental message that all was well.

* * * * *

Considerably heartened, he pressed the starter button and the cold

motor of Frank's coupe turned over slowly, protestingly. Finally it

coughed a few times, and, after considerable coaxing by use of the

choke, ran smoothly. He proceeded to back carefully through the drifts

toward the road, casting an occasional regretful glance in the

direction of the demolished mansion.

He would have some explaining to do when he returned to New York.

Perhaps--yes, almost certainly, he would be questioned by the police

regarding Frank's disappearance. But he would never betray the trust

of Phaestra. Who indeed would believe him if he told the story?

Instead, he would concoct a weird fabrication regarding an explosion

in Leland's laboratory, of his own miraculous escape. They could not

hold him, could not accuse him of murder without producing a body--the

_corpus delicti_, or whatever they called it.

Anyway, Frank was content. So was Phaestra.

Tommy swung the heavy car into the road and turned toward New York,

alone and lonely--but somehow happy; happy for his friend.

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Earth, the Marauder

PART TWO OF A THREE-PART NOVEL

_By Arthur J. Burks_

[Illustration: Closer and closer they came.]

[Sidenote: Deep in the gnome-infested tunnels of the Moon, Sarka and

Jaska are brought to Luar, the radiant goddess against whose minions

the marauding Earth had struck in vain.]

WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE

The Earth was dying. Ever since Sarka the First, king of scientists,

had given mankind the Secret of Life, which prolonged life

indefinitely, the Earthlings had multiplied beyond all count, and been

forced to burrow deep into the ground and high into the air in the

desperate search for the mere room in which to live. There was much

civil war. The plight of the children of men was desperate. Something

had to be done.

[Illustration]

Then Sarka the Third called the Spokesmen of the Gens of Earth around

him, and proposed to them a new scheme which had come to him in his

laboratory atop the Himalayas. He would swing the Earth from its

orbit!--send it careening through space toward the Moon!--there to

destroy its inhabitants and supplant them with a colony of Earthlings!

And then they would surge on to Mars!

One by one the twelve Spokesmen, each the head and representative of

the teeming trillions comprising his Gens, acceded. Even Dalis, the

jealous rival of Sarka, finally gave his sulky consent.

So, under Sarka's commands, the Earth's hordes were mobilized; and in

tune with the Master Beryl in Sarka's laboratory all the Beryls of the

Earth vibrated, freeing the Earth from her age-old orbit and swinging

her out towards the Moon.

The Gens of Dalis--the trillions of people who swore allegiance to

him--would lead the attack on the Moon. When within fifty thousand

miles, they darted out, clad only in their tight green clothing and

the helmets that held the anti-gravitational ovoids, which

neutralized gravity for them and enabled them to instantly fly where

they willed. Their only weapons were hand atom-disintegrators. And out

from the Moon came mysterious aircars, with long clutching

tentacles--the weapons of the Moon's minions! The war of the worlds

was begun!

Yet Dalis, leader of the Gens that now engaged the Moon's aircars, was

still in the laboratory with Sarka. For Dalis' treacherous mind

coveted control of the Earth, and though the urge to lead his Gens

into battle was tremendous, still he stayed, watching Sarka closely,

waiting for the moment when he could trick Sarka and assume control.

And at the head of the Gens of Dalis was a woman, Jaska, whom Sarka

loved. The Moon's aircars swept away the Gens of Dalis, and out from

Earth poured the Gens of Cleric, who was Jaska's father. The newcomers

fought desperately to save Jaska from the deadly clutches of the

aircars.

Dalis could stand it no longer. He sped forth from the laboratory, to

reorganize his beaten Gens. Jaska flew for home; but behind her a

single aircar, splashed with crimson, reached forth its tentacles to

clutch her--and Sarka groaned with the agony of his impotence to help

the woman he loved.

CHAPTER XI

_Escape--and Dalis' Laughter_

But Sarka was not to be so easily beaten. There still remained an

infinite number of possible changes of speed by manipulation of ovidum

by vibration set up by the Beryls, without which this flight from the

beginning would have been impossible. But for two hours, while the

white robed men of Cleric fought against the car of the crimson

splashes to prevent the capture of the daughter of their

Spokesman--and died by hundreds in the grip of those grim

tentacles--Sarka was forced to labor with the Beryls until

perspiration bathed his whole body and his heart was heavy as he

foresaw failure. And failure meant death or worse for Jaska.

But at the end of two hours, while the men of Cleric fought like men

inspired against the aircar of the crimson slashes, a cessation in the

outward speed of the earth could be noted. At the end of three hours

the body of Jaska, all this time fighting manfully to attain to

landing place on the Earth, was at last bulking larger; but the

tentacles of the aircar were groping after her, reaching for her,

striving to catch and clasp her to her death.

The two Sarkas watched and prayed while the might of the Beryls,

traveling at top speed, fought against the force of whatever was used

by the Moon-men to compel the Moon to withdraw. Still the men of

Cleric fought that single car, and died by hundreds in the fighting.

White robed figures which became shriveled and black in the grip of

those tentacles.

* * * * *

Countless of the men of Cleric deliberately cast themselves against

those tentacles, throwing their lives away to give Jaska more leeway

in her race for life.

"Will she make it, father?" queried Sarka in a whisper.

"If the courage and loyalty of her people stand for anything, she will

make it," he replied.

On she came at top speed, and now through the micro-telescopes the

Sarkas could see the agony of effort on her face, even through the

smooth mask used by the people of Earth for flight in space where

there was no atmosphere. Courage was there, and the will of

never-say-die; and Jaska, moreover, was coming back to the man she

loved. In a nebulous sort of way Sarka realized this, for though these

two had not mated there was a resonant inner sympathy between them

which had rounded into an emotion of overpowering force since Jaska

had proved to Sarka that she was to be trusted--that he had been

something less than a faithful lover when he had mistrusted her, ever

so little.

Closer now and closer, and at last the aircar of the crimson splashes

was drawing away, losing in the race for life. It was falling back, as

though minded to turn about and race back for the Moon, now a ball in

the sky, far away, the outlines of its craters growing dim and misty

with distance. Now the men of Cleric, those who remained, were

breaking contact with the aircar, and forming a valiant rear-guard for

the retreat of Jaska.

* * * * *

Throughout the Earth, as the Beryls fought with ever increasing speed

to lower the rate of the earth's outward race from the Moon, was such

a trembling, such a vibration induced by conflicting, alien forces as

there had not been even in that moment when back there in its orbit,

the Earth could have either been kept within its orbit, or hurled

outward into space at the touch of a finger.

Now Jaska, surrounded by her father's men, was almost close enough to

touch the Earth.

She made it, weak and weary, and rested for a moment while her

father's men steadied her. Then, thrusting them aside, with gestures

bidding them return to their Gens, she lifted into the air again, and

fled straight for the laboratory of Sarka.

She entered tiredly through the exit dome, and all but collapsed into the

arms of Sarka. Gently he removed her helmet of the anti-gravitational

ovoid, noting as she leaned against him the tumultuous beating of her

heart. Then her gentle eyes opened and she whispered to Sarka.

"You trust me now?"

For answer he bent and kissed her softly on the lips--for the kiss,

from the far distant time when the first baby was kissed by the first

mother, had been the favored caress of mankind. Her face was

transfigured as she read his answer in his eyes, and the touch of his

lips. Then, remembering, fear flashed across her face. She

straightened, and grasping Sarka by the hand, hurried with him into

the observatory.

* * * * *

She took the seat in which Dalis had sat before he had gone out to the

command of his Gens, studied for many minutes the battle in space

between the two alien worlds.

"Dalis is winning," said the Elder Sarka quietly, "apparently!"

"The qualification is a just one," said Jaska softly. "'Apparently,'

indeed! You will note now that, though men of the Gens of Dalis swarm

all about the aircars, and even clamber atop them, no more are dying

in the grasp of those tentacles? Is Dalis arranging a treacherous

truce with the Moon-men?"

"I have been wondering about that," said Sarka softly, "for it is my

belief that nothing not conducive to his own selfish interests would

have forced Dalis to leave this place and take command of his Gens, as

I had first ordered, unless he had schemes planned of which father and

I could know nothing. Now that I think of it, Jaska, how did Dalis

know our secret code of fingers?"

Jaska started, and turned a blanched face to Sarka.

"_Did_ he know?" she cried. "Did he? If he did that proves a suspicion

that I have entertained since the first moment when Dalis swept into

the fight, and I sensed that alien signals were being flashed back and

forth!"

"Flashed back and forth!" ejaculated Sarka. "How do you mean? That

Dalis was somehow able to communicate with the Moon-men in their own

language, or through their own signals?"

* * * * *

"Why not? He knew our secret code, did he not? I never gave it to him,

and I know that you did not. No, Dalis has some means, never

discovered or suspected by you Sarkas, whereby he is able to

understand alien tongues and alien sign manuals!"

"That means," said Sarka the Elder in a dead voice, "that by forcing

Dalis to go out at the head of his Gens...."

"We have," interrupted Sarka the Younger, "placed a new weapon of

treason in his hands! Dalis, at the very moment of contact with the

aircars, loaded with Moon-men, broke in on their signals--they must

have had some means of signalling one another--and communicated with

them in their own way! Do you think it possible that, with all his

Gens, he may go over to the Moon-men, form an alliance with them?"

For many moments no one dared to answer the question; yet, from what

the Sarkas knew of him, it was not impossible at all. For Dalis was

the master egotist always, and never overlooked opportunity to gain

something for himself.

It was Jaska who broke the silence.

"Did you note carefully," she said, "those aircars which were

partially destroyed by our ray directors and atom-disintegrators?"

The Sarkas nodded.

"Did you note that no men, formed like our own, no creatures of any

sort whatever, fell from the cars?"

* * * * *

Again the awesome silence, and the keen brains of the Sarkas wrestled

with this vague hint of the uncanny.

"You mean, Jaska ... you mean...."

"That the occupants of aircars are part of the cars, but--Beings of

the Moon! That they are either metal monsters endowed with brains or

tiny creatures irrevocably attached to the cars themselves!"

"But how," said Sarka at last, "are we to be sure? I can understand

what Dalis might do if the Moon-men granted his wish for an alliance

with them. It is easy to understand why his Gens would follow his

lead, for with the Moon forced outward from the Earth faster than his

Gens could retreat, there is but one direction for his Gens to

go--toward the Moon! They would go to the Moon as captives and trust

the keen brain of Dalis to gain the mastery, sooner or later, over the

Moon-men. And then...."

"And then--?" repeated Sarka the Elder.

"Then, Dalis has already been inspired by the speed with which those

aircars travel! You will remember that he did not take kindly to

leaving the Earth and making his abode on some other planet! But why

could he not do so, combine forces and knowledge with the people of

that planet--and then return to Earth in alliance with them?--after we

have depleted our forces by placing a large portion of our people on

Mars and Venus and Saturn?"

"Sarka, my son," said Sarka's father, "before we continue with our

flight to Mars, we must know the truth! We must somehow learn exactly

what is going on on the Moon! If you could reach the Moon, alone,

undetected, and bring back a report...."

* * * * *

For a moment he left it there, and the faces of all three were gray

with worry and abysmal fear.

"I can't go bodily, father," said Sarka at last, "but you remember my

secret exit dome, to the right of the observatory, from which I have

never yet dared exit from this place for fear that it might cost me my

life?"

Sarka the Elder nodded, while Jaska looked puzzled. Another evidence

of the fact that Sarka had not always trusted her, for she knew

nothing of a secret exit dome. Sarka's eyes, as he looked at Jaska,

mutely asked her forgiveness, which she gave him with her smile.

"I remember, son, and now?..."

"Surely it is worth risking one's life to know what new menace looms

over the children of men!"

"What is the use of this secret dome?" asked Jaska softly.

"It is merely an elaboration of the regular exit dome, combined with

certain phases of our atom-distintegrators, and the principle involved

in the anti-gravitational ovoids. I step into the secret exit dome,

garbed for flight Outside, and will myself to appear bodily in a

certain place. It is instantaneous. I step into the dome, for

example, and will myself to appear whole upon the Moon, and there I

will appear!"

"You mean that during the period of transposition you are invisible?"

"Yes, invisible because non-existent, except for the essential

elements of me, broken down by the secret exit dome, reassembled at

the place willed in their entirety! I can't fly there, for a million

eyes would see me approach! I must go in secret, as a spy, and wearing

the clothing and insignia of a member of the Gens of Dalis!"

Silence in the observatory for a brief breathing space, and then Jaska

spoke that speech out of the books of antiquity, which remains the

classic expression of loyalty.

"Whithersoever thou goest, there will I go also!"

From the laboratory came a sudden burst of laughter, the laughter

which all three recognized as the laughter of Dalis; but when they

entered the place of the Revolving Beryl, there was no one there--and

a feeling of dread, all encompassing, held them thralled for the space

of several heart-beats. Dalis, they knew, was thousands of miles away,

upon the Moon; yet here in the place of the Master Beryl they all

three had just heard his sardonic laughter!