Throughout the night they drove hour after hour at terrific speed. The
ship was running submerged, for McGuire was taking no slightest chance
of their being observed from the air. He and the others slept at
times, for the crew that handled the craft very evidently knew the
exact course, and there were mechanical devices that insured their
safety. A ray was projected continuously ahead of them; it would
reflect back and give on an indicator instant warning of any derelict
or obstruction. Another row of quivering needles gave by the same
method the soundings from far ahead.
But the uncertainty of what their tomorrow might hold and the worry
and dread lest he find himself unable to damage the big gun made real
rest impossible for McGuire.
But he was happy and buoyant with hope when, at last, the green light
from the ports showed that the sun was shining up above, and the
slackening drive of the submarine's powerful motors told that their
objective was in sight.
They lay quietly at last while a periscope of super-sensitiveness was
thrust cautiously above the water. It brought in a panoramic view of
the shoreline ahead, amplified it and projected the picture in
clear-cut detail upon a screen. If Lieutenant McGuire had stood on the
wet deck above and looked directly at the island the sight could have
been no clearer. The colors of torn and blasted tree-growths showed in
all their pale shades, and there was stereoscopic depth to the picture
that gave no misleading illusions as to distance.
The shore was there with the white spray of breakers on a rocky shoal,
and a beach beyond. And beyond that, in hard outline against a golden
sky, was a gigantic tube that stood vertically in air to reach beyond
the upper limits of the periscope's vision.
* * * * *
McGuire tingled at the sight. To be within reach of this weapon that
had sent those blasting, devastating missiles upon the earth! He paced
back and forth in the small room to stop and stare again, and resume
his pacing that helped to while away the hours they must wait. For
there were man-shapes swarming over the land, and the dull, blood-red
of their loose uniforms marked them as members of the fighting force
spawned by this prolific breed.
"Not a chance until they're out of the picture," said the impatient
man; "they would snow us under. It's just as I thought: we must wait
until the gun is ready to fire; then they will beat it. They won't
want to be around when that big boy cuts loose."
"And then?" asked Althora.
"Then Sykes and I will take our collection of gallon flasks ashore,
and I sure hope we don't stumble." He grinned cheerfully at the girl.
"That reinforced concrete dome seems to be where they get down into
the ground; it is close to the base of the gun. We will go there--blow
it open if we have to--but manage in some way to get down below. Then
a time-fuse on the charge, and the boat will take me off, and we will
leave as fast as these motors can drive us."
He omitted to mention any possible danger to Sykes and himself in the
handling of their own explosive, and he added casually, "You will stay
here and see that there is no slip-up on the getaway."
He had to translate the last remark into language the girl could
understand. But Althora shook her head.
"You do try so hard to get rid of me, Tommy," the laughed, "but it is
no use. I am going with you--do not argue--and I will help you with
the attack. Three will work faster than two--and I am going."
McGuire was silent, then nodded his assent. He was learning, this
Earth-man, what individual freedom really meant.
* * * * *
Only the western sky showed golden masses on the shining screen when
McGuire spoke softly to the captain:
"Your men will put us ashore; you may ask them to stand by now." And
to Professor Sykes, "Better get that 'soup' of yours ready to load."
The red-clad figures were growing dim on the screen, and the blotches
of colors that showed where they were grouped were few. Some there
were who left such groups to flee precipitately toward a waiting
airship.
This was something the lieutenant had not foreseen. He had expected
that the force that served the gun would have some shock-proof
shelter; he had not anticipated a fighting ship to take them away.
"That's good," he exulted; "that is a lucky break. If they just get
out of sight we will have the place to ourselves."
There were no red patches on the screen now, and the picture thrown
before them showed the big ship, its markings of red and white
distinct even in the shadow-light of late afternoon, rising slowly
into the air. It gathered speed marvelously and vanished to a speck
beyond the land.
"We're getting the breaks," said McGuire crisply. "All right--let's
go!"
The submarine rose smoothly, and the sealed doors in the
superstructure were opened while yet there was water to come trickling
in. Men came with a roll of cloth that spread open to the shape of a
small boat, while a metal frame expanded within it to hold it taut.
McGuire gasped with dismay as a seaman launched it and leaped heavily
into the frail shell to attach a motor to one end.
"Metal!" the captain reassured him; "woven metal, and water-tight! You
could not pierce it with anything less than a projector."
* * * * *
Sykes was ready with one of the crystal flasks as the boat was brought
alongside, and McGuire followed with another. They took ten of the
harmless-looking containers, and both men held their breaths as the
boat grounded roughly on the boulder-strewn shore.
They lifted them out and bedded them in the sand, then returned to the
submarine. This time Althora, too, stepped into the boat. They loaded
in the balance of the containers; the motor purred. Another landing,
and they stood at last on the island, where a mammoth tube towered
into the sky and the means for its destruction was at their feet.
But there was little time; already the light was dimming, and the time
for the firing of the big weapon was drawing near. The men worked like
mad to carry the flasks to the base of the gun, where a dome of
concrete marked the entrance to the rooms below.
Each man held a flask of the deadly fluid when Althora led the way
where stairs went deep down into the earth under the domed roof. This
part of the work had been foreseen, and the girl held a slender
cylinder that threw a beam of light, intensely bright.
They found a surprising simplicity in the arrangements underground.
Two rooms only had been carved from the solid rock, and one of these
ended in a wall of gray metal that could be only the great base of the
gun. But nowhere was a complication of mechanism that might be damaged
or destroyed, nor any wiring or firing device.
A round door showed sharp edges in the gray metal, but only the
strength of many men could have removed its huge bolts, and these two
knew there must be other doors to seal in the mighty charge.
"Not a wire!" the scientist exclaimed. "How do they fire it?" The
answer came to him with the question.
"Radio, of course; and the receiving set is in the charge itself; the
barrel of the gun is its own antenna. They must fire it from a
distance--back on the island where we were, perhaps. It would need to
be accurately timed."
"Come on!" shouted McGuire, and raised the flask of explosive to his
shoulder.
* * * * *
Each one knew the need for haste; each waited every moment for the
terrible blast of gun-fire that would jar their bodies to a lifeless
pulp or, by detonating their own explosive, destroy them utterly. But
they carried the flasks again to the top, and the three of them worked
breathlessly to place their whole supply where McGuire directed.
The massive barrel of the gun was beside them; it was held in
tremendous castings of metal that bolted to anchorage in the ground.
One great brace had an overhanging flange; the explosive was placed
beneath it.
Professor Sykes had come prepared. He attached a detonator to one of
the flasks, and while the other two were placing the explosive in
position he fastened two wires to the apparatus with steady but
hurrying fingers; then at full speed he ran with the spool from which
the wires unwound.
McGuire and Althora were behind him, running for the questionable
safety of the sand-hills. Sykes stopped in the shelter of a tiny
valley where winds had heaped the sand.
"Down!" he shouted. "Get down--behind that sand dune, there!"
He dropped beside them, the bared ends of the wires in his hands.
There was a battery, too, a case no larger than his hands. Professor
Sykes, it appeared, had gained some few concessions from his friends,
who had learned to respect him in the field of science.
One breathless moment he waited; then--
"Now!" he whispered, and touched the battery's terminals with the bare
wires.
* * * * *
To McGuire it seemed, in that instant of shattering chaos, that the
great gun itself must have fired. He had known the jar of heavy
artillery at close range; he had had experience with explosives. He
had even been near when a government arsenal had thrown the
countryside into a hell of jarring, ear-splitting pandemonium. But the
concussion that shook the earth under him now was like nothing he had
known.
The hill of sand that sheltered them vanished to sweep in a sheet
above their heads. And the air struck down with terrific weight, then
left them in an airless void that seemed to make their bodies swell
and explode. It rushed back in a whirling gale to sweep showers of
sand and pebbles over the helpless forms of the three who lay battered
and stunned.
An instant that was like an age; then the scientist pointed with a
weak and trembling hand where a towering spire of metallic gray leaned
slowly in the air. So slowly it moved, to the eyes of the watchers--a
great arc of gathering force and speed that shattered the ground where
it struck.
"The gun!" was all that the still-dazed lieutenant could say.
"The--the gun!" And he fell to shivering uncontrollably, while tears
of pure happiness streamed down his face.
The mammoth siege gun--the only weapon for bombardment of the helpless
Earth--was a mass of useless metal, a futile thing that lay twisted
and battered on the sands of the sea.
* * * * *
The submarine now showed at a distance; it had withdrawn, by
prearrangement, to the shelter of the deeper water. McGuire looked
carefully at the watch on his wrist, and listened to make certain that
the explosion had not stopped it. Sykes had told him the length of the
Venusian day--twenty hours and nineteen minutes of Earth time, and he
had made his calculations from the day of the Venusians. And, morning
and night, McGuire had set his watch back and had learned to make a
rough approximation of the time of that world.
The watch now said five-thirteen, and the sun was almost gone; a line
of gold in the western sky; and McGuire knew that it was a matter only
of minutes till the blast of the big gun would rock the island. One
heavy section of the great barrel was resting upon the shattered base,
and McGuire realized that this blocking of the monster's throat must
mean it would tear itself and the island around it to fragments when
it fired. He ran toward the beach and waved his arms wildly in air to
urge on the speeding craft that showed dim and vague across the
heaving sea.
It drove swiftly toward them and stopped for the launching of the
little boat. There was a delay, and McGuire stood quivering with
impatience where the others, too, watched the huddle of figures on the
submarine's deck.
It was Althora who first sensed their danger. Her voice was shrill
with terror as she seized McGuire's arm and pointed landward.
"Tommy--Tommy!" she said. "They are coming! I saw them!"
* * * * *
A swarming of red figures over the nearby dunes gave quick
confirmation of her words. McGuire looked about him for a
weapon--anything to add efficiency to his bare hands--and the swarm
was upon them as he looked.
He leaped quickly between Althora and the nearest figures that
stretched out grasping hands, and a red face went white under the
smashing impact of the flyer's fist.
They poured over the sand-hills now---scores of leaping
man-shapes--and McGuire knew in an instant of self-accusation that
there had been a shelter after all, where a portion of the enemy force
had stayed. The explosion had brought them, and now--
He struck in a raging frenzy at the grotesque things that came racing
upon them. He knew Sykes was fighting too. He tore wildly at the lean
arms that bound him and kept him from those a step or two away who
were throwing the figure of a girl across the shoulders of one of
their men, while her eyes turned hopelessly toward McGuire.
They threw the two men upon the sand and crowded to kneel on the
prostrate bodies and strike and tear with their long hands, then tied
them at ankles and wrists with metal cords, and raised them helpless
and bound in the air.
One of the red creatures pointed a long arm toward the demolished gun
and shrieked something in a terror-filled tone. The others, at the
sound, raced off through the sand, while those with the burden of the
three captives followed as best they could.
"The gun!" said Professor Sykes in a thick voice: the words were
jolted out of him as the two who carried him staggered and ran. "They
know--that it--hasn't--gone off--"
* * * * *
The straggling troop that strung out across the dim-lit dunes was
approaching another domed shelter of heavy concrete. They crowded
inside, and the bodies of the three were thrown roughly to the floor,
while the red creatures made desperate haste to close the heavy door.
Then down they went into the deeper safety of a subterranean room,
where the massive walls about them quivered to a nerve-deadening jar.
It shook those standing to the floor, and the silence that followed
was changed to a bedlam by the inhuman shrieking of the creatures who
were gloating over their safety and the capture they had achieved.
They leaped and capered in a maniacal outburst and ceased only at the
shrill order of one who was in command.
At his direction the three were carried out of doors and thrown upon
the ground. McGuire turned his head to see the face of Althora. There
was blood trickling from a cut on her temple, and her eyes were dazed
and blurred, but she managed a trembling smile for the anxious eyes of
the man who could only struggle hopelessly against the thin wires that
held him.
Althora hurt! Bound with those cutting metal cords! Althora--in such
beastly hands! He groaned aloud at the thought.
"You should never have come; I should never have let you. I have got
you into this!" He groaned again in an agony of self-reproach, then
lay silent and waited for what must come. And the answer to his
speculations came from the night above, where the lights of a ship
marked the approach of an enemy craft.
* * * * *
The ships of the red race could travel fast, as McGuire knew, but the
air monster whose shining, pointed beak hung above them where they lay
helpless in the torturing bonds of fine wire, was to give him a new
conception of speed.
It shot to the five thousand-foot level, when the captives were safe
aboard, and the dark air shrieked like a tortured animal where the
steel shell tore it to tatters. And the radio, in an adjoining room,
never ceased in its sputtering, changing song.
The destruction of the Earth-bombarding gun! The capture of the two
Earth-men who had dared to fight back! And a captive woman of the
dreaded race of true Venusians! There was excitement and news enough
for one world. And the discordant singing of the radio was sounding in
the ears of the leaders of that world.
They were waiting on the platform in the great hall where Sykes and
McGuire had stood, and their basilisk eyes glared unwinkingly down at
the three who were thrown at their feet.
The leader of them all, Torg himself, arose from his ornate throne and
strode forward for a closer view of the trophies his huntsmen had
brought in. A whistled word from him and the wires that had bound
Althora's slim ankles were cut, while a red-robed warrior dragged her
roughly to her feet to stand trembling and swaying as the blood shot
cruelly through her cramped limbs.
Torg's eyes to McGuire were those of a devil feasting on human flesh,
as he stared appraisingly and gloatingly at the girl who tried vainly
to return the look without flinching. He spoke for a moment in a harsh
tone, and the seated councilors echoed his weird notes approvingly.
"What does he say?" McGuire implored, though he knew there could be
nothing of good in that abominable voice. "What does he say, Althora?"
* * * * *
The face that turned slowly to him was drained of the last vestige of
color. "I--do not--know," she said in a whisper scarcely audible; "but
he thinks--terrible things!"
She seemed speaking of some nightmare vision as she added haltingly,
"There is a fleet of many ships, and Torg is in command. He has
thousands of men, and he goes forth to conquer your Earth. He goes
there to rule." She had to struggle to bring the words to her lips
now. "And--he takes me--with--him!"
"No--no!" the flyer protested, and he struggled insanely to free his
hands from the wires that cut the deeper into his flesh. The voice of
Althora, clear and strong now, brought him back.
"I shall never go, Tommy; never! The gift of eternal life is mine, but
it is mine to keep only if I will. But, for you and your friend--" She
tried to raise her hands to her trembling lips.
"Yes," said Lieutenant McGuire quietly, "for us--?"
But there were some things the soft lips of Althora refused to say.
Again she tried vainly to raise her hands, then turned her white,
stricken face that a loved one might not see the tears that were
mingling with the blood-stains on her cheeks, nor read in her eyes the
horror they beheld.
But she found one crumb of comfort for the two doomed men.
"You will live till the sailing of the ships, Tommy," she choked, "and
then--we will go together, Tommy--you and I."
Her head was bowed and her shoulders shaking, but she raised her head
proudly erect as she was seized by a guard whose blood-red hands
forced her from the room.
And the dry, straining eyes of Lieutenant McGuire, that watched her
going, saw the passing to an unknown fate of all he held dear, and the
end of his unspoken dreams.
He scarcely felt the grip of the hands that seized him, nor knew when
he and Sykes were carried from the room where Torg, the Emperor, held
his savage court. The stone walls of the room where they were thrown
could not hold his eyes; they looked through and beyond to see only
the white and piteous face of a girl whose lips were whispering: "We
will go together, Tommy--you and I."
(_Concluded in the next issue_)
MYSTERIOUS CARLSBAD CAVERN
The largest cavern ever discovered, at Carlsbad Cavern, N. M., is soon
going to be explored.
Carlsbad Cavern is so large that that three sky-scrapers a half-mile
apart could be built in the largest of its innumerable "rooms,"
according to Mr. Nicholson, who was there once before, about a year
ago. Only 22 miles of the cavern's apparently limitless tunnels have
been explored, revealing such natural beauties that President Coolidge
established it as a national monument.
The stalagmites in the cavern tower 100 feet high. The age of the
cavern was put at 60,000,000 years by Dr. Willis T. Lee of the
National Geographic Society, after his survey three years ago.
The caverns were discovered fifteen years ago by a New Mexican cowboy
named Jim White, according to Mr. Nicholson. White was riding across a
desert waste one day when he saw what appeared to be smoke from a
volcano. After riding three hours in the direction of the smoke he
discovered that it was an enormous cloud of bats issuing from the
mouth of a gigantic cavern. He decided the cavern deserved
exploration, and a few years later he and a Mexican boy were lowered
in a barrel over the 750-foot cliff which overhangs the cavern.
The stalagmites of the cavern, according to Mr. Nicholson, are very
vibrant and resonant. One can play a "xylophone solo" on them with
practice, he said, but it is dangerous, since a certain pitch would
crack them.
The temperature of the cavern is 56 degrees Fahrenheit, never varies,
day and night, winter and summer. The air is purified every
twenty-four hours in some mysterious fashion, though there are no air
currents. This is explained by the theory that there exists a great
subterranean stream at a lower level, probably 1,200 feet down.
Specimens of stalagmites will be collected and reconstructed for the
American Museum of Natural History. The explorers expect to find also
flying fish, flying salamanders, rare insects and thousands of bats. A
Government representative will go along, and drawings and motion
pictures will be made.
_The Readers' Corner_
_A Meeting Place for Readers of ASTOUNDING STORIES_
_A Letter and Comment_
Three or four times in the year we have been issuing Astounding
Stories the Editor has received letters calling attention to fancied
scientific errors in our stories. All these letters were published,
but until now we have not cut in on the space of "The Readers' Corner"
to answer such objections because they were very obviously the result
of hasty or inaccurate readings.
The other week one more such letter reached us--from Mr. Philip Waite,
this time--claiming that there was "an atrocious flaw" in two stories
of Captain S. P. Meek's. This we could not let go unanswered, first
because of the strong terms used, and second because the objection
would sound to many like a true criticism; so we turned the letter
over to Captain Meek, and his answer follows Mr. Waite's letter below.
We welcome criticism of stories in our "The Readers' Corner." Never
yet have we withheld from it any criticism or brickbats of
importance--and we never intend to. But space is limited; there's not
room now for all the good letters that come in; and we do not want to
intrude too much with editorial comment. Therefore when we do not stop
and answer all criticisms we are not necessarily admitting they are
valid. In most cases everyone will quickly see their lack of logic or
accuracy, and in the rest we will ask you to remember that our Staff
is meticulously careful about the scientific facts and laws and
possibilities that enter our stories, so it's extremely unlikely that
anything very "atrocious" will get by.
Well, we'd better cut short now, before we take up too much "Corner"
room. But first, thanks to Captain Meek for going to the trouble of
defending two stories that needed no defense. And thanks, too, to Mr.
Waite, for his kindness in writing in to inform us of what he
thought--unquestionably because of hasty reading--were errors.--_The
Editor._
P. S. (Now we'll have to be _super_ careful of our science, for if Mr.
Waite ever gets anything on us--!!)
Dear Editor:
Just a note to tell you to keep up the good work. There was an
atrocious flaw, however, in the two stories by Capt. S. P. Meek about
the Heaviside Layer. How, may I ask, do meteors penetrate through that
imaginary substance which is too much for a powerful space flyer?
Also, how about refraction? A substance denser than air would produce
refraction that would have been noticed long ago. I don't mind minor
errors, but an author has no right to ignore the facts so
outrageously. Fiction goes too far when an author can invent such
false conditions.
In the latest issue "Stolen Brains" was fine, up to the Dr. Bird
standard. "The Invisible Death" was good enough, but too much like the
general run to be noteworthy. "Prisoners on the Electron"--couldn't
stomach it. Too hackneyed. "Jetta of the Lowlands," by Ray Cummings;
nuff said. "An Extra Man"--original idea and perfectly written. One of
the reasons I hang on to Science Fiction. A perfect gem.--Philip
Waite, 3400 Wayne Ave., New York, N. Y.
Dear Editor:
May I use enough space in your discussion columns to reply briefly to
the objections raised to the science in my two stories, "Beyond the
Heaviside Layer" and "The Attack from Space"? Understand that I am not
arguing that there actually is a thick wall of semi-plastic material
surrounding the earth through which a space flyer could not pass. If I
did, I would automatically bar myself from writing interplanetary
stories, a thing that is far from my desires. I do wish to point out,
however, that such a layer might exist, so far as we at present know.
The objections to which I wish to reply are two: first, "How do
meteors pass through that imaginary substance which is too much for a
powerful space flyer?" and second, "How about refraction?"
To reply to the first we must consider two things, kinetic energy and
resistance to the passage of a body. The kinetic energy of a moving
body is represented by the formula 1/2 mv^2 where m is the mass of the
body and v the velocity. The resistance of a substance to penetration
of a body is expressed by the formula A f_c where A is the area of the
body in contact with the resisting medium and f_c is the coefficient
of sliding friction between the penetrating body and the resisting
medium. Consider first the space flyer. To hold personnel the flyer
must be hollow. In other words, m must be small as compared to A. A
meteor, on the other hand, is solid and dense with a relatively large
m and small A. Given a meteor and a space flyer of the same weight,
the volume of the meteor would be much smaller, and as the area in
contact with the resisting medium is a function of volume, the total
resistance to be overcome by the space flyer would be much greater
than that to be overcome by the meteor. Again, consider the relative
velocities of a meteor and a space flyer coming from the earth toward
the heaviside layer. The meteor from space would have an enormous
velocity, so great that if it got into even very rare air, it would
become incandescent. As it must go through dense air, the space flyer
could attain only a relatively low velocity before it reached the
layer. Remember that the velocity is squared. A one thousand pound
meteor flying with a velocity 100 times that of the space ship would
have 100^2 or 10,000 times the kinetic energy of the space ship while
it would also have less friction to overcome due to its smaller size.
If my critic wishes to test this out for himself, I can suggest a very
simple experiment. Take a plank of sound pine wood, two inches thick
by twelve inches wide and four feet long. Support it on both ends and
then pile lead slabs onto it, covering the whole area of the board. If
the wood be sound the board will support a thousand pounds readily.
Now remove the lead slabs and fire a 200 grain lead bullet at the
board with a muzzle or initial velocity of 1,600 feet per second. The
bullet will penetrate the board very readily. Consider the heaviside
layer as the board, the space ship as the lead slabs and the bullet as
the meteor and you have the answer.
Consider one more thing. According to the stories, the layer grew
thicker and harder to penetrate as the flyer reached the outer
surface. The meteor would strike the most viscous part of the layer
with its maximum energy. As its velocity dropped and its kinetic
energy grew less, it would meet material easier to penetrate. On the
other hand the flyer, coming from the earth, would meet material easy
to penetrate and gradually lose its velocity and consequently its
kinetic energy. When it reached the very viscous portion of the layer,
it would have almost no energy left with which to force its way
through. Remember, the Mercurians made no attempt to penetrate the
layer until a portion of it had been destroyed by Carpenter's genius.
As for the matter of refraction. If you will place a glass cube or
other form in the air, you will have no difficulty in measuring the
refraction of the light passing through it. If, however, the observer
would place himself inside a hollow sphere of glass so perfectly
transparent as to be invisible, would not the refraction he would
observe be taken by him to be the refraction of air when in reality it
would be the combined refraction of the glass sphere and the air
around him?
I have taken glass as the medium to illustrate this because my critic
made the statement that "a substance denser than air would produce
refraction that would have been noticed long ago." However nowhere in
either story is the statement made that the material of the heaviside
layer was denser than air. The statement was that it was more viscous.
Viscosity is not necessarily a function of density. A heavy oil such
as you use in the winter to lubricate your automobile has a much
higher viscosity than water, yet it will float on water, i. e. it is
less dense. There is nothing in the story that would prevent the
heaviside layer from having a coefficient of refraction identical with
that of air.
To close, let me repeat that I am not arguing that such a layer
exists. I do not believe that it does and I do believe that my
generation will probably see the first interplanetary expedition start
and possibly see the first interplanetary trip succeed. I do, however,
contend that the science in my stories is accurate until it transcends
the boundaries of present day knowledge and ceases to be science and
becomes "super-science," and that my super-science is developed in a
logical manner from science and that nothing in present knowledge
makes the existence of such a layer impossible--S. P. Meek. Capt. Ord.
Dept., U. S. A.
_Likes Long Novelettes_
Dear Editor:
I have just finished reading the August issue of your magazine. I am
going to rate the different stories in per cents. 100% means
excellent; 75% fairly good; 50% passable; 25% just an ordinary story.
I give "Marooned Under The Sea," by Paul Ernst, 100%; 75% for "The
Attack From Space," by Captain S. P. Meek. "The Problem in
Communication," by Miles J. Breuer, M. D. and "Jetta of the Lowlands,"
by Ray Cummings; 50% for "The Murder Machine," by Hugh B. Cave and
"Earth, The Marauder," by Arthur J. Burks; 25% for "The Terrible
Tentacles of L-472," by Sewell Peaslee Wright.
I am happy to say that since I have been reading your magazine, I have
induced at least ten of my friends to be constant readers of this
magazine.
I like the long novelettes much better than continued novels, and hope
that in the future we will get bigger and better novelettes.--Leonard
Estrin, 1145 Morrison Ave., Bronx, N. Y.
_Hasn't Decided_
Dear Editor:
Move over, you old-timers, and let a newcomer say something.
A few months ago I didn't read any Science Fiction. Now I read it all.
I haven't decided yet which magazine I like best.
I was a little disappointed when you didn't have another story in the
September copy by R. P. Starzl, who wrote "Planet of Dread." I thought
you would hold on to a good author when you find one.
I would also like another story by the fellow who wrote the serial
"Murder Madness."
I like short stories best.
That idea of a mechanical nirvana in Miles J. Breuer's story was good.
"Jetta of the Lowlands?" Opinion reserved. I like the action of the
story, but I hate a hero who is always bragging about himself.
Don't think I'm complaining, but nothing is perfect.
Why not try to get a story of A. Merritt's, or Ralph Milne
Farley's?--A. Dougherty, 327 North Prairie Ave., Sioux Falls, So. Dak.
_Announcement_
Dear Editor:
May I enter "The Readers' Corner" to announce that a branch of The
Scienceers has recently been formed in Clearwater, Florida, by a group
of Science Fiction enthusiasts?
We have a library of 175 Science Fiction magazines, including a
complete file of Astounding Stories to date. We hold weekly meetings
at which scientific topics are discussed, and current Science Fiction
stories commented upon.
As the first branch of The Scienceers, we are striving to achieve a
success that will be a mark for other branches to aim at.--Carlton
Abernathy, P. O. Box 584, Clearwater, Fla.
_From Merrie England_
Dear Editor:
I came across your May publication of Astounding Stories the other
day, and I cannot resist writing to you to congratulate you on the
most interesting magazine I have ever read. I am now determined to
take it every month. Re "The Atom Smasher," it is A-1. I have read
several interplanetary stories over here but none to touch those of
your magazine.
Best wishes for the success of your book and its authors.--J. C.
Atkinson, 17 Balaclava Rd., Sheffield, England.
_Starting Young_
Dear Editor:
You'll excuse my writing, for it is the end of vacation.
I like your book very much, which many other readers approve of. Some
dislikes, of course, everyone has, and I have three which many readers
have, too. First, I wish the magazine were bigger and the paper
better. Second, have more stories and raise the price to 25c. Third,
have stories of the future such as "Earth, the Marauder," and stories
of lost Atlantis, the fourth dimension, other planets, atoms and
electrons.--Jack Farber, Payette, Idaho.
P. S. I am 11 years old and interested in science.
_Doesn't Like Serials_
Dear Editor:
I am a recent reader of the Astounding Stories magazine. I am going to
keep getting the magazine, as I like it very much.
I did not like "Murder Madness," or Burks' "Earth, the Marauder" very
much. I do not think "Murder Madness" is the type of story that
belongs in this magazine. I do not like continued stories very much as
I hate to break off at an interesting point and wait a whole month
before I can read the next installment or conclusion of the story. The
front piece of the magazine is very good, and except for the
criticisms mentioned above the magazine is excellent.--Kempt Mitchell.
_A Staunch Defender_
Dear Editor:
At one time a friend introduced your excellent little publication to
me. I read it and enjoyed every paragraph of it. This issue starred
"The Monsters of Moyen," which I consider a real super-science story.
I have followed "The Readers' Corner" quite a time.
In the September issue I saw where someone made a commentary on the
magazine. One of the things they said was that the paper should be of
a better grade. It is true that this would help, but "our" magazine is
not half full of advertisements to pay for this expense. Dear friends,
this is no Saturday Evening Post. Don't ask too much. Then, you may
take in consideration that other magazines of Science Fiction have no
better grade of paper than this, for I have purchased several.
I have but one thing to say as an improvement for it. That is, why
shouldn't there be a Quarterly? Other Science Fiction magazines have
them. They have complete stories and are double in size and price.
Dear Editor, please, for the public's sake, put out a Quarterly. I'm
sure others would like one.--H. C. Kaufman, Jr., 1730 N. Monroe St.,
Baltimore, Maryland.
_Announcement_
Dear Editor:
We would appreciate it very much if you would print this in your
"Readers' Corner" department.
We wish to inform the readers of Astounding Stories of an organization
lately formed, called The Boys' Scientifiction Club. Its purpose is to
promote scientific interest among boys between the ages of 10 and 15,
to encourage the reading of Science Fiction and scientific works, and
to create a bond of friendship among them.
A circulating library, composed of Science Fiction books, magazines,
articles, etc., is being constructed to circulate among members who
desire to read any of the contents.
Officers are: President-Librarian, Forrest J. Ackerman, 530 Staples
Ave., San Francisco, Cal.; Secretary-Treasurer, Frank Sipos, 174
Staples Ave., San Francisco, California.
Address all letters concerning membership to the President. He will be
glad to answer all letters and explain particulars of the club. Thank
you for your kindness.--Linus Hogenmiller, Vice-President B. S. C.,
502 N. Washington St., Farmington, Missouri.
_But--Ray Cummings Writes Us Only Brand New Stories!_
Dear Editor:
I want to commend Astounding Stories on carrying out an idea which I
have had in mind for some time; that is, some scientific articles. "A
Star That Breathes," in the July number, was very interesting, as were
the two articles in the August copy. However, I hope that this is only
the start of a valuable new addition to Astounding Stories. There
should be at least five or six in each magazine, and I think most of
the readers would prefer them at the end of the stories instead of in
the back of the magazine. Another thing that is absolutely essential
if Astounding Stories would hold its own as a high-class Science
Fiction magazine is a scientific editorial in the front of the book.
The way it starts off abruptly onto a story gives the impression of a
cheap publication.
A lot of your readers have been setting up a clamor for stories by Ray
Cummings. While it is true that he has written a few good stories, you
will find that his antiquated stuff is not being printed in any of the
other Science Fiction magazine, but only in ones devoted to
adventure-stories. For the sake of your many readers who would like to
see "our magazine" keep abreast of the times, Cummings should be
dropped and some of the peerless authors of to-day employed. As an
advance along this line you already have Capt. S. P. Meek, Harl
Vincent, Lilith Lorraine, Edmond Hamilton, and, in the latest copy, R.
F. Starzl. "The Planet of Dread," by R. F. Starzl was the best story
in the August issue. A wealth of ideas was contained in that treatise
of life on a young, warm planet, and the idea of fooling the liquid
intelligence by thought-suggestion is quite novel but entirely
reasonable. Mr. Starzl is an author of the highest type and ability,
and you will do well to secure more stories from his typewriter.
I was glad to see that the cover has finally been changed from the
conventional blue background, and I hope we will have a little
variation from now on. Concerning illustrations, Wesso is a great
artist, and aside from a few scientific errors his covers are
excellent. The inside drawings could be improved, however.
I hope for your continued success--Wayne D. Bray, Campbell, Mo.
_Are We All "Morons?"_
Dear Editor:
Having perused three issues of your magazine, I must agree that its
title is well chosen. The stories are nearly all "astounding";
astounding in that they utterly ignore every scientific fact and
discovery of the past ten centuries.
The cold of inter-stellar space; its lack of oxygen; the
interplanetary effects of gravitation--all are passed over as if
non-existent.
An "anti-gravity ovoid"--of which no description is given--if worn in
a man's hat, makes his whole body weightless.
Men, buildings and cities float through the air or become invisible,
yet not the least semi-scientific explanation is made as to the how of
it all.
In other words, the pattern of your stories appears to have been taken
from the Arabian Nights and from Grimm's Fairy Tales--but with not a
millionth part of the interest.
How anyone, save a young child or a moron, can read and enjoy such
futile nonsense is incredible.
If your writers would (like Jules Verne) only invent some
pseudo-scientific explanation for their marvels, your publication
might then be read with pleasure--but why do so when trash is
acceptable without thought behind it!--M. Clifford Johnston, 451
Central Avenue, Newark, N. J.
_A Wesso Fan_
Dear Editor:
Let me congratulate you on the September issue of Astounding Stories.
It is the best issue you have published yet. I noticed in this issue
that you had four illustrations by Wesso. Though that is the most you
have ever had, I think it would be much better if all the
illustrations were by him.
However, getting down to brass tacks, the reason I'm typing this
letter is to ask you to publish an Astounding Stories Quarterly. You
could have it contain twice as much reading material as in the monthly
and charge forty cents a copy for it. It would be much better than a
semi-monthly and I am quite sure it would "go over" big.--Thomas L.
Kratzer, 3593 Tullamore Rd., University Heights, Ohio.
_Bang--Bang--Bang_
Dear Editor:
I have read the August Astounding Stories and greatly enjoyed the
fiction, but "The Readers' Corner" gave me a good deal of amusement.
Some of your readers take their fiction so seriously!
Take the "Brick or Two" from George L. Williams and Harry Heillisan,
for instance. They want Astounding Stories filled with material from
authors that appear in other magazines--because your readers "are used
to the standards set by those publications," etc. And again, "you
should have some one who is well qualified to pass upon the science in
the stories." For the love of Pete, if people want scientific
treatises, why don't they buy books and magazines dealing with the
subject? There are many on the market--serious and dull enough for
anyone. But for our fiction magazines, let's have it pure and
unadulterated, the more improbably the better.
What possible difference does it make if, in a story, the moon has a
crater every ten feet, or the black sky of outer space were blazing
with moons and aurora borealises, or the sun were in a double eclipse!
We read stories to be amused, not for technical information, so we
certainly don't want "a scientific editorial in each issue by some
'eminent scientist.'"
As for a department in which readers could write their opinions of the
stories and suggest improvements in the conduct of the magazine, what
else is "The Readers' Corner?"
Why not adopt a tolerant attitude, and instead of howling about petty
faults and mistakes get a good laugh over them? As for telling writers
and editors "how to do it," we would only expose our ignorance and
inability and make ourselves ridiculous.
If we think we could do so much better, let's try it. Write a story
ourselves or start running a magazine!
Astounding Stories is all right as is. We like it "different." We want
different authors from those of other magazines. What is the use of
having various publications if they must all be conducted along
identical lines?
Now for your writers: Mr. R.F. Starzl is easily the best. His story,
"The Planet of Dread," is full of thrills and imagination and clever
situations that are well developed and surmounted. One thing that is
rather remarkable in this class of story, the hero gets himself and
his companion out of every difficulty by his own ingenuity. The story
moves along with interest and thrills in every paragraph, and is
really my ideal of a "super-scientific" yarn; i.e., not stuffed with
tiresome technical data. Let's have more from this interesting
author.--C.E. Bush, Decatur, Ark.
_Assorted Bouquets_
Dear Editor:
Before commenting upon the September issue of your wonderful magazine,
I would like to personally thank Mr. Bates for the kind reply to my
former letter. It shows that at least one editor glanced over my
literary ramblings.
Now for comments on the September issue. I placed the stories in the
following order, which is based upon their merit:
"Marooned Under the Sea"; "Terrible Tentacles of L-472"; "Jetta of the
Lowlands"; "The Attack from Space"; "A Problem in Communication";
"Earth the Marauder," and "The Murder Machine."
Your serials are the best I have ever read in any magazine; your
latest one, "Jetta of the Lowlands," promises to be an A-1
top-notcher.
Your artists, H.W. Wessolowski and J. Fleming Gould, draw the finest
illustrations I have ever seen anywhere.
"The Readers' Corner" is a fine corner which can only be improved by
making it larger.
The stories scheduled for the October issue look good to me. Am glad
to see that Dr. Bird is returning. Will sign off now wishing
Astounding Stories all the luck it deserves.--Edwin Anderson, 1765
Southern Boulevard, Bronx, N.Y.C., N.Y.
_A Request_
Dear Editor:
I thought I would drop you just a line to comment on the authors now
writing for "our" magazine.
Among the best are: R. F. Starzl, Edmond Hamilton, Harl Vincent, Ray
Cummings and Captain S. P. Meek. However, there is one brilliant
author whose fascinating stories have, to date, failed to appear in
our magazine. The man I am referring to is Ed Earl Repp. Please have a
story by him in our magazine as soon as possible.
I am sure other readers will agree with me when I say that Mr. Repp
writes exceedingly thrilling and exciting Science Fiction tales. Let's
see many stories by him in the forthcoming issues of Astounding
Stories.--Forrest J. Ackerman, 530 Staples Avenue, San Francisco,
California.
_Thank You, Mr. Lorenzo_
Dear Editor:
Several Science Fiction magazines will have to struggle along without
my patronage. Why? Because they flew (literally speaking) over my head
with all kinds of science. I want some science, but mostly fiction. I
couldn't understand what they were writing about, so I lost interest.
I can read a single copy of a good magazine from cover to cover in one
day, but let me lose interest in it by having too much dry matter and
I just don't buy that book again.
Your magazine is the best of all Science Fiction magazines, which
means that I can read and understand the tales in Astounding Stories.
So you get my trade. You're trying your best to supply me with
interesting stories so if there is an occasional dry story (to me), I
just remember one thing: you, as Editor, are a human being like
myself; so, neither one of us being perfect, I just forgive and go on
buying.--Jas Lorenzo, 644 Hanover St., San Francisco, Cal.
_Suggestions_
Dear Editor:
"Earth, the Marauder," by Arthur J. Burks, gets four stars. It is one
of the most astounding stories I have ever read. I hope you have more
stories by Arthur J. Burks on schedule for early issues. "Jetta of the
Lowlands," by Ray Cummings, "Marooned Under the Sea," by Paul Ernst (a
sequel soon, I hope). "The Terrible Tentacles of L-472," by S.P.
Wright and "The Attack from Space," by S.P. Meek (let's have another
sequel), all get three stars. I hope that S.P. Wright will write more
stories of strange planets.
I think that your serials should all be book-length novels with the
installments from thirty-five to fifty pages in length. Don't publish
novelettes (thirty to sixty-five pages) as serials.
In your August issue you mention that you may some day publish
Astounding Stories twice a month. I would rather have you increase the
price to twenty-five cents, give us as much material as Five Novels
Monthly, and smooth cut edges.
Wesso's cover illustrations are improving each month. I am glad to see
more of his illustrations inside.
Since so many readers ask for reprints, why not give us an occasional
one?--Jack Darrow, 4225 N. Spaulding Ave., Chicago, Illinois.
"_A Flop_"
Dear Editor:
I have read Astounding Stories since its first issue, and I am
convinced that it is without a peer in the field of Science Fiction.
This preeminence is due to the fact that the magazine regularly
contains the work of the best contemporary writers of scientific
fantasy, such as Cummings, Rousseau, Leinster, Burks and Hamilton.
Certain readers, unaccustomed to such rich fare, ask for stories by
lesser lights. For a time these requests went unheeded; but of late it
seems they are getting results--more's the pity.
Your September issue contained a story called "A Problem in
Communication" by Miles J. Breuer, M.D. Now, the good doctor may be a
"wow" in other magazines, but his stuff is not up to the standard of
Astounding Stories. His initial effort in this magazine was dull and
uninspired. It lacked the sustained interest and gripping action of
your other stories. It was, to put it bluntly, a flop.
In spite of this sad example, several readers are still clamoring for
more stuff from the small-timers. If they get their way--which Allah
forbid!--it will mean the downfall of Astounding Stories. Why ruin a
truly great magazine by catering to a misguided minority?--George K.
Addison, 94 Brandt Place, Bronx, New York.
"_No Favorites_"
Dear Editor:
I found your magazine on the newsstand while looking for another kind.
The cover picture looked interesting so I bought Astounding Stories
instead of the other. Since that moment I have been a steady reader.
I can see no way to improve your magazine unless it is to enlarge it
or to publish it oftener. I am satisfied with it as it is. It is the
best magazine on the newsstands now.
I have no favorites among your stories as I like them all equally
well.--Robert L. King, Melbourne, Florida.
_Pride of the Regiment_
Dear Editor:
I have just finished reading the September issue of Astounding Stories
and want to congratulate you on your staff of writers. Although this
is the first copy I have read, I can assure you that it will not be
the last, by any means.
I think the story called "Marooned Under the Sea," by Paul Ernst, a
story that no one could have passed without reading it. The way the
author explains the story to have come to life has really got me
guessing.
The only thing that I regretted was that I didn't get the copies
previous to the story called, "Earth, the Marauder," by Arthur J.
Burks. Please give us more stories by Paul Ernst. (I say us because I
am a soldier, and where you find one soldier you find plenty
soldiers.)
So keep the good work up, as we are looking forward to a good time
when the next issues come around.--Co. "I," 26th Inf. Plattsburgh
Barracks, Plattsburgh, New York.
_Covers Not Too Vivid_
Dear Editor:
I can't help joining the great number of admirers of your wonderful
magazine.
A great many readers ask for interplanetary stories. As for me, I like
any kind, stories of other worlds, under the earth, under the sea, on
other planets, dimensional stories, anything. So far I have not had
the slightest excuse to complain.
When I finish reading a story I write after the title, "good," "very
good," "fair," etc. Then I read the best ones over again while waiting
for the next issue. The following two and the only stories I didn't
like so far are: "The Stolen Mind" and "Creatures of the Light."
One critic stated that he considered the illustrations of Astounding
Stories too vivid. Illustrations for stories such as are contained in
this magazine cannot be too vivid. Readers have plenty of opportunity
to use their imaginations. Many scenes which the authors try to
portray are hard to visualize, and I think that a number of good
illustrations would help the readers enjoy the stories more.
As long as you keep your magazine up to the standard you have set thus
far, I will remain an eager reader.--Sam Castellina, 104 E. Railroad
St. Pittston, Penn.
_Quite True_
Dear Editor:
I have enjoyed every one of your Astounding Stories magazines from the
first.
However, in the story, "The Murder Machine," by Hugh B. Cave, a man,
Sir John Harman, was made to kill a man by meccano-telepathically
projected hypnotic suggestions. Some people think it is entirely
possible to make a man do such a thing by hypnotism, but it is not
possible because no person under hypnotic influence will do anything
that his subconscious mind knows is immoral. Neither a thief nor a
murderer can be made to confess their crime while under hypnotic
influence.
I am merely writing this so that the others who have read the story
will not get the wrong idea of hypnotism. A man under hypnotic
influence can be made to think he is murdering or robbing, but he will
not do it really, no matter how hard the hypnotist tries to make
him.--Henry Booth, 916 Federal St., N. S. Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
"_Paper Correct Kind_"
Dear Editor:
I am a reader of four other Science Fiction magazines but like
Astounding Stories the best for two main reasons. First, the size is
just right, second, the paper is the correct kind. It does not glare
at you when you read.
I have every issue of Astounding Stories since it came out. The
stories are all good and are becoming better each month. I prefer
stories of space traveling and of the fourth dimension.
About reprints, I think that if you want to give reprints, why not
publish them in booklet form. I'm sure many of the readers will prefer
to have reprints that way.--Frank Wogavoda, Water Mill, New York.
_Bouquets_
Dear Editor:
"The Planet of Dread" was a classic in the full meaning of the word.
Not only was the story a masterpiece of fantastic adventure but also
of short story craft. By all means secure more of Mr. Starzl's fine
tales.
Your stories by Ray Cummings are great. It would be a good policy upon
your part to continue to present stories of his at the most not more
than two issues apart.
Continue up to your present standard and you'll continue to stand
above all other Science Fiction magazines where stories of
super-science are concerned, now and forever.--Jerome Siegel, 10622
Kimberley Ave., Cleveland, Ohio.
"_The Readers' Corner_"
All Readers are extended a sincere and cordial invitation to "come
over in 'The Readers' Corner'" and join in our monthly discussion of
stories, authors, scientific principles and possibilities--everything
that's of common interest in connection with our Astounding Stories.
Although from time to time the Editor may make a comment or so, this
is a department primarily for _Readers_, and we want you to make full
use of it. Likes, dislikes, criticisms, explanations, roses,
brickbats, suggestions--everything's welcome here; so "come over in
'The Readers' Corner'" and discuss it will all of us!
--_The Editor._
ASTOUNDING STORIES
_Appears on Newsstands_
THE FIRST THURSDAY IN EACH MONTH