"You know, Putt," said Warren thoughtfully, "I've been wondering what
disposition of the patents Nestor will make. We will be able to start
the return process in a day or two, and I'd like to know what to
expect. What have you in mind?"
"Nestor tied up with Super-power, as I told you," began Putney. "Now
why, other than to get us out of the way? It would be easy enough to
bomb us. He makes planes, and he no doubt knew who your heir was, and
could buy the patents. Why did he tie up with the Power crowd?"
"That's your question. Maybe he wanted power, or perhaps he needed
money."
"He'd need an all-fired lot before it got too big for him to swing. I
think he could scrape up two million in cash, himself."
"How much did our ship cost, Putt?"
"Seven hundred and fifty thousand. Three quarters of a million. It was
a lot worse than I expected, too, because very few things were ready
to hand. Even special furnaces had to be made after the beryllium was
produced. It's lucky old Mac was ready for me, and willing to do it."
An Unpaid Loan
"He should have been," Warren grunted. "You saved his neck when Nestor
was after him a while ago. What was the loan you made him--and he
hasn't yet paid?"
"Oh, nothing much. He can keep the money as a darned good investment.
I had a job paying him for the work on this ship. Anyway, I'm getting
very fat interest."
"Uh. Nothing much--something better than a million. Well, the question
is, Putt, what will Nestor and Power Incorporated do, and why did they
wait three months after we discovered it, to bomb us?"
"They waited, to make sure there would be a copy of the plans
somewhere, where it wouldn't be destroyed when we were, and they bought
them merely as a formality, I suspect," answered Putney seriously.
"Huh? That's no formality--that gives them exclusive rights----"
Making Law--Not Appealing to It
"Do you think they're appealing to the law? No, not by a long shot.
I'll bet that jolly crowd are _making_ law by now, if time is faster
there than here, and we suspect it is. Why did Nestor join? Because
ships cost about a million apiece, and he wanted several ships.
He knows plenty of gun-gangs, that will throw in with him on this
proposition. Listen, Man. Don't you realize that with this ship we
could bring the whole world to its knees, take every dollar, every
pound and every mark we wanted? Do you think any navy or air force
could stop this for thirty seconds? Do you think Nestor doesn't know
that? He wanted the power-men in, because it made it easier. I'll bet
they were willing enough too, when they realized just how valuable
their power franchises would be with this invention on the market.
Look here, Nestor wanted money. He wanted big money quickly, from some
one of whom he could get a hold, and the power utilities offered him
an excellent chance. When they were accessories to the bombing, and
supposed murder of our men, they'd hold together.
"They build the ships, from the patent diagrams they can get hold
of easily enough. They are all ready to attack--and simply cut off
all power over the United States. They destroy the plants, so that
power can't be restored, save by the ships, for no other means are
available--the nation without power--the railroads dragging out old
steam locomotives, that have been used for switching for the last two
decades, and that are unable to move faster than a crawl. New York
cannot get food in the vast quantities it needs it. Planes can't bring
it. Ships can't bring enough, when all the distributive systems are
tied up. No lights. No elevators--the whole city paralyzed for want of
power, and in semi-panic.
"Then the ships. Unheard of--tremendously deadly. Why, they could
freeze the Hudson and the North River, and even ocean ships couldn't
get there for days. Floods because of ice-jammed rivers. Do you see
what would happen? They don't have to take the patents by due process
of law--they just grab them, and then make the laws!"
To Grab the Patents and Make the Law for Themselves
Warren whistled softly. "Nice people. Wonder if they'll do that?" he
asked speculatively to himself.
"Do it--of course they'll do it!"
"Will they be able to--I wonder what their men will say. They'll have
to use gangsters, or train a crew of equally unscrupulous men. Now
having the country in their power, will they be willing to turn it over
to Nestor and his crowd?"
"Nestor hasn't the conscience of a gangster, but he has a lot more
brains. He's probably arranged some beautiful system for killing
off every one of his men, save one crew, of one ship, which he can
absolutely trust. If I were doing it, I'd have a poisonous gas flask
ready to release when a certain radio signal was given from the
flagship. That would eliminate most of his problems. A secret police
with full powers of execution without trial, would speedily eliminate
all others."
"Ummm. Nice people, as I believe I have said." Warren's mouth twisted
as though he had tasted something nauseous.
"What are we going to do?" he went on.
"We've tried out all those things you wanted to, at the expense of a
few of our seemingly endless supplies of steel ingots. How many did you
store by the way?"
"One hundred and fifty, Putt. There are one hundred and forty-one left."
"We'll simply have to go back and use them. Perhaps we can dissuade
the Nestor and Powers crowd. We might wait till Nestor has removed his
extraneous crews."
"How do you know he will, Putt?"
"Lord, Ran, he's no fool, and you stated the problem exactly. The gangs
have to wait till he shows them how to win, he has to wait till they've
won--and we have to wait till they've been cut down to our size,"
Putney said.
"--and half the population has been killed off?" continued Warren.
"Wait till we know what month we get back," suggested Putney more
practically.
* * * * *
A tiny sliver of moon floated rather low over the horizon. It was dark,
very dark, and the stars seemed to cast no light at all. A tremendous
shed loomed up against the starlight a short distance ahead, as the
three large autogyros sank soundlessly to earth, in the broad field.
There was one square of light in the near corner of the great hangar,
and across it fine lines seemed drawn. A wire fence stood between the
newly-landed machines and the building.
Intruders from Autogyros
Fully a score of figures tumbled from the three machines, and on the
back of each was a peculiar pack that hummed very slightly as they
advanced. Each man walked softly, looking occasionally at the leather
strap about his wrist, carrying a small disc of some gray-white
material. And each man carried a machine-rifle, a gun weighing little
more than twenty pounds, shooting extremely high-velocity .22 caliber
bullets, at the rate of 300 a minute. The stock was thick, and carried
a broad chest-plate to protect the firer.
Two low humming notes sounded softly, and the various groups of men
moved toward the wire fence. One man, evidently the leader, carried a
suitcase, and wore a peculiar mask over his face. In the other hand was
a square, box-like apparatus which he pointed in many directions as he
walked. Yet another man was leading him.
"Take it easy, Tex. I can see the fence all right, but this damned
infra-red rectifier is blurry. It's not as fast as ordinary light you
know, in the cells. There are four sentries walking about pussy-foot,
and three more lying down. They haven't seen us, but they shine like
blinding lights in this thing. They're sure radiating heat. More to the
left."
The men went off toward the left. After a moment the masked man halted
them, and sent forward two with heavy clippers. "Take it easy," he
whispered, "they've got electro-static charges on that fence, and you
have to give your equalizer a break on that. Approach slowly, cut
quickly, but _don't_ make a sound. Hold the wires with your hands,
Shorty, and you, Pete, cut gently. Go."
The two forms went forward, and disappeared from the sight of the
others in an instant. Clouds had come up, and even the minute light
of the moon was gone. Approaching with the hills behind them, they
were invisible to the watchers beyond the fence, but the man with the
mask saw them clearly as they cut a section from the fence. One man
ran a wire about the section they intended to cut free, maintaining
the circuit of metal, after the metal fence had been carried away, and
finally laid gently on the soft turf.
"All right. Forward. Follow me," ordered Atkill, his voice muffled by
the mask.
They went forward quietly. Twice Atkill turned sharply from his path as
the mask spotted ultra-violet beam traps, which gave off infra-red as
well, despite the fact that no visible light escaped. Again he turned
aside for a complex, electro-static trap.
Finally the twenty-three men were less than thirty feet from the door,
the door that opened into the office of the great hangar, and the only
one not locked.
Atkill took off his mask, deposited the suitcase and the black box of
the detector and cells on the ground, then took a Very pistol from
Texas, and a machine-rifle from Joe.
The Attack on the Laboratory Begins
He pointed the Very pistol upwards, pressed it, and an instant later
the rocket light flamed upwards. Two seconds later a far greater rocket
soared up from the planes, out beyond the fence, and an instant
later a blindingly bright magnesium flare was drifting down from a
parachute. The entire grounds were thrown into brilliant relief of
clear, white light. Seven men had turned at the sight of the Very
light, whirled bewildered at the hiss of the rocket beyond the fence,
and stood rooted, and blinded under the light of the magnesium flare.
Twenty-three men had been standing by the wall, staring steadily at the
lens of a brilliant flashlight, and their eyes were accustomed to the
glare of light now. The machine-rifles spit viciously, and seven armed
guards sprawled on the turf.
Simultaneously a howl of surprise and rage came from behind the door,
and a giant of a man stumbled out to see the trouble. He sprawled dead
before the pistol in his hand could speak, and three men charged over
his body, shooting, into the guard-office. There were the heavier barks
of automatics mingled with the snappish clatter of the small-caliber,
high-velocity machine guns.
Three more men charged in behind them, ready to shoot. There was no
need. Electric floodlights had snapped on outside now, and a siren was
howling disconsolately somewhere, half drowning the cries and bellows
of men. There was a rush of feet beyond the inner door of the office,
men running across the concrete floor of the hangar.
The inner door went down with a crash as two men hurled themselves
against it, through it, and began shooting inside. An echoing volley of
heavy shots returned the lighter barks of the machine-rifles. Then came
the heavy, rapid fire of a high-power non-portable machine gun. There
were ten men inside the hangar now--and none of them had been wounded!
They stood up under the blaze of light, and returned the fire of the
enemy hotly, turning to face them rather than swinging their guns.
Suddenly one went down, the barrel of his gun a twisted mass of iron,
the breech burst wide. His own gun had exploded as an enemy bullet
struck it.
In twenty seconds there were no more shots heard inside the hangar.
"Ten men on the doors. Have your guns placed. See if the heavy machines
here are workable. Defend the place as long as possible. They'll have
the field guns working. Chatter a machine gun to make 'em think they've
got friends here." Atkill was barking orders sharply. Men hastened to
do as he told them.
Invading the Air Ship
"Tex, Joe, Shorty and Pete--come." They raced toward a great
dirigible-shaped hull of silver metal. The hull was completely formed,
but there were ladders, mechanics tools, scaffolding about it. The
windows were not all installed, the thing was not yet completed.
"This'll do. It's the most nearly completed, come on."
Into the ship they plunged, ready with guns for resistance, but the
mechanics had fled. Atkill found his way quickly to the power room.
Banked machinery formed a circle about a great block of rough, rusted
iron. Dully gleaming control boards, with banks of instruments showed
on one side of the great room at the heart of the steel-walled ship.
The lights the men carried swept about.
"Tex, take off your pack." Texas seemed leisurely in his movements,
but in a surprisingly short time the pack was at Atkill's feet. Atkill
opened it quickly, and within it were tiny mechanisms like these giant
machines here, a tiny control board, and a speck of iron, a blue-white
flame of unwavering intensity burning above it. And beside it were two
heavy copper bars.
Atkill rose, and looked at the mechanisms with apparent negligence, but
with a glance that took in everything.
"Thank the Lord 'Boozey' wasn't too drunk to talk straight. She's ready
to start. We'll need five and a half minutes. Joe, send every man
out--they've started attacking--send every man out to the doors. Make
sure they don't get in. If a shell blows a hole in the wall, put the
men under the hulls of the ships. These walls are three feet thick, and
will shed anything man ever sent--except forces, and I don't believe
they're using them. Go to it."
The Work on the Air Ship
Instantly he turned himself, and with amazing precision adjusted a
hundred complex instruments; he took from one of the packs the men
had carried, three heavy copper bus bars, and in a moment had them
connected with Texas' pack. These he connected to similar connectors on
the ship's machines.
He was busy again with the dials. Finally he bent over the little
pack, and turned something. The blue-white flame dulled, turned an
angry red, and a low, powerful hum set up. Something seemed twisting,
dragging everything, every atom of them, toward the massive block of
iron, yet nothing moved them, they stayed where they were. There was
a queer activity on the surface of the iron, and Atkill's black eyes
stared at it sharply. The surface writhed, the rust seemed to dissolve,
and powdered metal remained. Something seemed whirling just above the
surface of the iron, the metal licked upward, and a blaze of sudden
white light smote down at the men. The surface of the iron was white
hot, and an instant later the burst of light came and went again,
again and again, faster, then they merged to one, and a dull roaring
set up. The ball of flame was a foot in diameter, growing swiftly.
Atkill sprang to the controls, and made rapid adjustments, watching the
growing, pulsing flame.
Something screamed outside, then there was a terrific detonation. A man
cried out in agony, and running feet echoed across the concrete floor.
"Tex--call 'em in. We're going. We can't wait," ordered Atkill.
* * * * *
The Texan disappeared, shouted something. A moment later the lights in
the ship flashed on as Atkill pulled a switch. They glowed, flickered,
then burned steadily white. The tiny pack release-flame was glowing
blue-white once more. Atkill stooped, adjusted something, and it shrank
slightly. The great release-flame burning on the block of iron was
glowing steadily now. Scrambling feet echoed on iron. Texas stuck his
head in through the doorway.
"Thar in."
Atkill pulled a switch, the release-flame dulled momentarily, and the
crack and clatter of falling, severed scaffolding echoed into the ship.
Something whined again and exploded heavily. There was a terrific crash
as a portion of the wall fell in. The ship though, was undamaged. The
force-field was up.
With a swoop of power, a crushing weight fell on the men aboard. Atkill
looked from his window, and saw the walls of the hangar drop swiftly
downward, then the slope of the roof appeared. With a terrific crash
the ship smashed her way out through a hole torn in the roof, and
vanished into the night.
Atkill smiled happily at the lank, tanned Texan. "Did it?"
Below, men milled about in the hangar, helping men caught under the
fallen roof, attending to the wounded, who were few, and the dead, who
were numerous, and their own, and calling frantically on a telephone
line that didn't work.
An autogyro roared, and sailed away. A crowd of men swarmed from the
hangar in time to see it disappear into the night.
Ten minutes later a second had been filled with gas, a smashed
carbureter replaced, and the machine headed for New York as it took the
air.
Burt Hillen was cursing furiously as he surveyed the wreckage. "The
blankety blank son of a so-an-so. An' wat the hell happened to you
guys? Yellah? My God, the way yuh all lit out wen they showed up! Tha's
the Keller mob, an' we're due to get that so-and-so. Go on--clean this
joint up. They got one o' them things, an' I dunno who was wid 'em, but
he got it started. That means we gotta fight _THAT_ when we start--an'
it's ol' Fox-face's private ship." He expressed his opinions at length,
and stared at the hole in the roof through which the vanished ship had
gone.
But it didn't bring back the ship, and it didn't bring back Atkill.