At this point in the narrative, it is both fitting and proper for me to
digress for a moment, in order to explain how these radio-relay stations
came to be dotted all over the country of Cupia.
Back in the early days, radio engineers speculated as to why it is that
a crystal set can often receive much more distant stations when located
in the vicinity of a tube set. Various more or less absurd theories were
advanced, such as induction, a field of negative resistance, and so
forth. Yet the true explanation is very simple. It was one of the first
points about radio communication which Cabot explained to me after his
return from Poros.
As for induction being the cause, one has only to consider the
electrical law whereby the induction field diminishes as the square of
the distance, whereas the field due to actual radiation diminishes only
as the distance.
“A field of negative resistance”—I defy any one to explain what he
means by that in such a connection.
One further theory remains, namely, electrostatic coupling. I do not
know that this explanation has ever been seriously advanced. If
advanced, it would be very plausible. But I should like to see a
proponent of such an explanation draw a diagram of the electrostatic
coupling between a crystal set with a coil antenna, and a vacuum set
with capacity antennas, or vice versa. Maybe it is possible, but I don’t
see how; and Myles Cabot, the greatest radio expert of two worlds, is my
authority for saying that it can’t be done.
No, Cabot’s explanation which follows sounds a lot more sensible than
any of the foregoing. And the fact that he has demonstrated his theory,
and has put it to practical use on Poros, proves it to be so. The man
who has done that, will some day find a practical use even for static.
Enough said!
This is his explanation: Compare the situation in a sending set and a
receiving set. In the former, with the tube oscillating, we have in the
antenna-circuit an oscillating current with impressed sound waves. A
regenerative receiving-set picks up this current, very weak, and builds
it up to the limit of the capabilities of our tube; so that we have in
the antenna-circuit of a receiving-set the same situation as though we
were sending, only, of course, weaker because of the small size of our
tube. And we actually _are_ sending at such a time, although faintly,
thus augmenting the impulse from the distant broadcasting station, and
thus undoubtedly accounting for the hitherto unexplained phenomenon of
long-distance crystal reception.
Cabot, while still on earth, demonstrated this theory to his own
satisfaction by experimenting with a tube-set and a crystal-set half a
mile apart, and by actually catching in his crystal-set the
not-quite-damped-out sixty-cycle hum of the power-line which he was
using to run his tube-set. Then, by substituting a large
transmitting-tube for his small receiving-tube, although still leaving
the set hooked up as a receiving set, he was able to relay even distant
stations to friends with crystal sets scattered all over Back Bay,
Boston. The removal of the phone circuit was the final step to convert
his set into a pure radio relay-station, nothing more.
These early earthly experiments of his recurred to his mind when
establishing the radio routes on the planet Poros. Hence the myriad
relay-stations which dotted the planet, in one of which he now found
himself a prisoner.
But as the ant man advanced to secure his captive, the long-impending
tropical thunderstorm broke in all its fury.
Gusts of rain swirled in at the door. Crash after crash of almost
continuous thunder shook the ground. The lightning fell in one
continuous sheet of flame, so that all was as bright as daylight. But
still the ant man kept his rifle pointed at Cabot. Quite evidently the
creature wished to capture the earthman alive.
Finally there came a roar more deafening than all the others, followed
by a ripping of timbers, a deluge of rain, and then the collapse of the
entire building, pinning both captor and captive beneath it. The tower
of the aerial had been struck by lightning, and had fallen.
The dash of rain against his face brought Myles Cabot to his senses. He
found himself momentarily free from the ant man, and yet not free at
all, merely free from the ant man, for he was pinned to the floor, flat
on his back, with a heavy timber across his chest. Struggle as he would,
he could not dislodge it. And to make matters worse, a stream of rain
water now began to flow into the room, threatening to submerge him. The
Formian was nowhere to be seen; evidently he was buried by some other
part of the building.
Although the stream continually flowed past, yet, as the downpour kept
on, the level of the water gradually rose, until only an extreme craning
of Cabot’s neck kept his nose above the surface.
Finally, with a tidal wave, the waters swept over his head, and at the
same instant something beneath him gave way, and he was carried under
the beam and along with the current. Quite evidently the supports which
held the floor had been washed out just in time.
After a few deep breaths to relieve his strangled lungs, Cabot scrambled
to his feet in the shallow stream. The rain had stopped, but dark clouds
still scudded along beneath the silver sky.
Cabot made his way back to the road, bruised and wet, and continued his
interminable journey northward.
As he trudged on, he had plenty of time for thought, although his senses
had to be always on the alert for scouting-planes, for kerkools on the
roads, and for other forms of enemy activity. At towns, and even at
isolated farms, he had to detour with exceeding care, in order to escape
detection. In some places where the woods happened to be fairly open,
this was not so hard; but wherever the undergrowth was thick and
tangled, this detouring proved to be most laborious.
* * * * *
All day long he pressed on, day after day, northward, ever northward,
toward Luno Castle and his loved ones. His thoughts consisted mostly in
worrying, and wondering what had occurred to Lilla and to baby Kew, of
fearing for the worst, and of blaming himself for whatever might have
happened to them.
Undoubtedly the fleet of kerkools, manned by his friend Poblath, the
mango of the Kuana jail, had long since reached Lake Luno. Undoubtedly
other kerkools, manned by supporters of the atrocious Prince Yuri had
also arrived at that point. Probably considerable bodies of the
partisans of both factions in this civil war had also congregated there.
The question was: which group had got there first, and what had been the
outcome of the clash that had inevitably followed? The answer Cabot
could not know until he arrived there himself. So he pressed on, ever
thinking of Lilla, of Lilla and his baby; and ever borne up by his
longing for his loved ones.
The one thing which saved him from exhaustion was the fact that travel
at night was impractical. In the starless jet blackness of the Porovian
night, it was difficult to keep on the concrete road, and even more
difficult for him to find his way on detours through the tangled
tropical forests. Thus, for six out of the twelve parths that make up
one revolution of the planet about its axis, he was forced against his
will to rest, regardless of how eager he was to reach his journey’s end.
Every night, as the western sky turned pink from the unseen setting sun,
Cabot would penetrate into the woods at the side of the road, seek out
some thicket, crawl into the midst of it, lie down, cover his weary body
with leaves, and sink into a troubled sleep.
In detouring, except in the early morning or the late afternoon, when
the pink light on the one hand or on the other served to show him which
was east and which was west, it was very difficult to keep himself
properly oriented; and accordingly he frequently lost his way.
On one such occasion, after wandering aimlessly through the woods for
some time, he finally came out upon a grassy hill, overlooking a small
sandy plain. He sat down for a while on the crest, and surveyed the
scene below him. It was by far the most peculiar expanse of sand which
he had ever seen. Its entire surface was pitted with large cup-shaped
depressions. But almost every one of these craters here was approached
by a long, winding furrow, as though a huge snow-plow had got lost for
quite a distance, in trying to make its way out of the crater.
Myles Cabot was primarily an inquisitive scientist, so for the present
he forgot his troubles, forgot even his quest, engrossed in the problem
presented by the scene on the plain below. As he intently scanned the
view, his eye caught a slight movement of the sand at the bottom of one
of the depressions. He watched this particular hole for some time, but
nothing further happened; so he studied one of the others for similar
phenomena, and at last was rewarded by the sight of a slight spurt of
sand.
“These holes are probably of a volcanic nature,” he mused, “but
apparently their eruptions are not powerful enough to be dangerous. This
is the first evidence of volcanic action which I have ever seen on the
continent of Poros. Accordingly a study of these holes may furnish some
valuable information, bearing upon the nature of the boiling seas which
surround the continent.”
So he arose, and trotted down the grassy slope to the sandy plain below.
Along the edge of the sand there ran a little brook. Here was a chance
to combine business with pleasure. So Cabot laid aside his revolver, for
which he had long since fashioned a rough sling of grass-rope. He took
off his toga, washed it thoroughly in the stream, and hung it up to dry
on a nearby bush. He bathed himself, and took a long drink of the cool
water. Then, feeling much refreshed, he walked across the plain to
examine the craters, while his clothing dried.
The sand was hot and dry. It was infested with brinks, those miniature
kangaroolike lizards which are so common on Poros. But he scarcely
heeded the heat or the brinks, so intent was he on the scientific
problem before him.
Gingerly he approached the rim of one of the craters, and sat naked for
a long time on the edge, staring into the interior. The hole was about
fifty paces across, and of a depth fully six or eight times the height
of a man. There was absolutely nothing remarkable about it except its
size and the problem of what could possibly have created it.
* * * * *
After a period of intense watching, Cabot tired and permitted his gaze
to shift to the other holes about him, then to the edge of the plain,
then to the country beyond. Whereat he was startled, and a bit annoyed,
to find that a stretch of road was in plain view but a short distance
from his position. Conversely his position must be in plain view from
the road, and therefore he was in danger of being observed by the
occupants of any passing kerkool.
Instantly his quest, and his duty to his country and his family became
uppermost in his mind. Forgotten was his scientific interest in the
mysterious plain with its strange depressions, as he jumped to his feet
to resume his journey northward.
But, unfortunately, his scrambling to his feet disturbed the ground
where he had been sitting. It crumbled away beneath him. He stood for a
moment at the very edge of the crater, pawing the air, struggling for a
foothold; and then, amid a shower of pebbles, he slid down into the
depths.
His slide was not absolutely precipitate. He struggled upward as the
gravel rolled down beneath him; and thus, slipping, scrambling, gaining
an inch and then losing two, he gradually approached the bottom.
His descent was momentarily stayed by a piece of rotten log about the
size of his own body, which projected from the side of the crater, and
with which he came in contact; but finally his struggles loosened it,
and it bounded down the slope ahead of him. As he slid after it, he
instinctively watched its downward course. It rolled to the exact center
of the bottom of the pit; and as it came to a stop, the sand beneath it
heaved convulsively, and from each side of it rose out of the ground a
glittering scimitar fully ten feet long, which closed upon the log like
the blades of a pair of buttonhole scissors, and dragged it beneath the
surface.
A moment later, and Cabot himself rolled to the exact spot where the log
had been seized and had disappeared.
Like a flash he realized the full extent of his predicament. He had
fallen into the trap of a gigantic ant-bear. Years ago, as a boy at
Atlantic City, he had often lain on the piazza floor of the bathhouse
and watched through the cracks the antics of the miniature beasts of
prey in the sand below. He had seen them dig their pits; two or three
inches across; he had seen them plow a trail to their pits; he had seen
inquisitive beach ants, in search of food, follow these trails, fall
into the pit, and be dragged struggling beneath the surface, to furnish
a meal for the ant bear which lay in wait, buried in the center of the
depression which it had dug. But never had he pictured himself as
falling into one of these traps.
Was he in one now? It could hardly be. And yet, as there were huge ants
ten feet long on Poros, and also slightly smaller breeds without the
intelligence which characterized the Formians, why not ant-bears in
proportion? It certainly sounded plausible.
Of course, these thoughts, which take so long to set down here, passed
through Cabot’s brain in a single instant. He felt no fear, merely a
keen scientific interest in the situation. But, quickly as his mind
worked to analyze his predicament, it worked as quickly to determine a
course of action.
The subterranean beast spewed up the unappetizing log of wood which it
had seized, and snapped its mandibles together again; but Cabot had
already sprung to his feet, and had passed beyond the fatal spot. The
sharp jaw just barely missed him.
His bound carried him part way up the opposite side, but almost
immediately he started slipping back again into the center. This time,
however, instead of merely striving to scale the unstable walls, he ran
in a circle, round and round the flashing jaws.
As he increased his speed, his centrifugal acceleration, like that of a
horse-chestnut which a small boy whirls on a string, gradually forced
him outward and upward, thus offsetting to a large extent the sliding
action of the sand.
But the beast at the bottom, evidently tiring of snapping aimlessly in
the air while its prey circled about it and showered it with dirt, began
to dig itself out.
Just then Myles espied a branch or root protruding from the bank just
above the level of his head. With one last spurt, he leaped in the air
and grasped the branch. For a moment he hung swaying beneath it. It
held, and did not become dislodged from the bank. So gradually he hauled
himself up, until finally he sat upon it.
The top of the bank was still too far away to reach, so for the present
Myles just clung to his perch and panted. Great agonized sobs shook his
frame. But at last he regained his breath, and then coughed and spat for
a while until his aching lungs felt somewhat better.
Meanwhile the ant-bear, if such it was, slowly emerged from its place of
burial. The beast was about thirty-five feet in length and resembled a
huge beetle, except that its six legs were all nearer to the head than
in a beetle, thus giving it more the effect of a gigantic louse. With
its ten-foot-long razor-sharp mandibles clicking hungrily, it slowly
approached its prisoner, who watched it fascinated.
A slight noise across the pit-mouth momentarily diverted Cabot’s
attention, and looking up he saw a Formian standing at the edge with a
rifle in its two front paws.
Evidently this new enemy had seen him from the road and had come over to
enjoy the spectacle of the final destruction of the arch-nemesis of its
race. And if by any chance Myles should escape from the enemy below, the
enemy above stood ready to polish him off with a rifle-shot. A pleasant
situation indeed!
Meanwhile the ant bear continued its slow but steady approach. And
Cabot’s revolver lay useless beside his drying toga at the edge of the
plain.
V