Approaching Death!
When he regained consciousness this time he was again in the control
room, the radio-places fully occupied, but he was accorded the honor of
a private guard.
"Hmm--what are you, guard of honor?" he asked, smiling at the lean,
well-built man watching him.
"Cross hairs," affirmed the latter with a smile. "The way you handle
your fists deserves honor, we felt. How'd you saw those wires?"
"Do a better welding job next time and it won't happen," laughed
Barclay, pointing to the shiny spot on the wall with his head. "How
long have I been dreaming?"
"Long enough for the Patrol to come in sight. Morrison has been in
communication with Commander Rogers there, and demanded surrender.
Rogers invited him in--if he could make it. Our ships haven't showed
up yet, but the outside stations are preparing a warm welcome for the
Patrol."
Barclay smiled to himself. "Are they? What weapons?"
"You ought to know--protolectric guns, that's the only power leads you
saw wasn't it?"
"Why so centralize your power?" asked the Patrolman.
"Several million dollars cheaper," replied the guard.
"Might have been several lives cheaper not to do so, though."
The guard looked at Barclay sharply. "Why?"
Barclay was starting at the screens on which were depicted the heavens
as seen from the outer surface. Stars, planets and the sun were
wheeling madly across the sky as the tiny world spun on its axis. On
the flashing screens though, Barclay could detect the long, golden form
of the Patrol cruisers coming in massed formation. They spread out now
as they neared, circling down at thousands of miles an hour.
"Ray station 21-B when in position will fire. As others come into
position join action," came the low firm voice of Commander Rogers of
the E.R.G. forces.
"To ships," he continued. "Come with all speed, now attacked by I.L.P."
Suddenly station 21-B, as seen on the screen representing that station,
sprang into activity. The great twin barrel of the proto-gun swung on
its support, then was suddenly clamped to the gyroscopic rest that
would hold it aimed at any one point in the rapidly moving heavens.
The patrol cruisers came into view on the eastern horizon--and the
gun snapped into action. Instantly one of the barrels glowed with the
intense ionization--but the other did not react!
"21-B drawing only negative, sir!" sang out the alarmed voice of
the meter-man covering that station. Already the next station was
in action, as the Patrol came over its horizon. In moments half a
dozen stations were in action--and in every one _but one barrel was
working--the negative barrel_!
One short day was over, every station out there was already in
operation, and the Patrol ships were already glowing dull red on the
outer hull from the impact of fast flying electrons. They retreated
hastily to a safer distance.
"21-B reports its apparatus will not shut off!" came the alarmed voice
of that station's representative.
"Station 20 reports similar trouble, also drawing only negative!" One
after another the reports came in. The men turned in astounded wonder
to Commander Rogers. He was looking at Barclay.
"As I said, it might have saved several lives to have spent a few
millions for decentralized power. As it is, those stations are
projecting electrons away from the planet at an enormous rate, and with
tremendous velocity, leaving the planet heavily charged positively.
Now--"
"Generator stopping apparatus hopelessly wrecked, sir!" reported an
attendant from below!
"--since the generators can't be stopped, and couldn't be started again
if they could," continued Barclay, as though explaining some abstruse
theory, "the charge will continue to build up. The stopping apparatus
will be completely repaired in half an hour, but the starting voltages
and currents will not be available. To stop the generators means the
air apparatus would stop, and we'd suffocate in about an hour."
As he spoke, a faint aura was building up about the pointed metallic
objects in the room. It was rapidly increasing, spreading fan-wise from
every point. Commander Rogers was looking steadily at him.
"May I suggest, Commander Rogers, that you warn your ships to avoid
the planetoid--they'll be attracted, caught in the electric field, and
crushed," continued Barclay. "Also, these bonds are most uncomfortable."
"NO!" roared Rogers. "We won't warn those ships away--they could start
the generators for us if they get here--and they will!"
"That's just it, if they get anywhere near--they can't help coming
here--much too promptly for their good," replied Barclay seriously. He
was enjoying himself.
* * * * *
The patrol cruisers had retreated to a considerable distance. The
electric field produced by the tremendously powerful atomic generators
was already dangerous, and growing momentarily. Pieces of paper were
beginning to act weirdly under the influence of the tremendous fields
that already existed. A howling, shrieking wind was building up, and
air currents in the room were carrying the impalpable dust into the
air, the men began to cough and sneeze. The radio set was functioning
poorly, the capacitances tremendously disturbed.
A lightning storm was building up outside the power-house, and
terrific, reverberating thunder roared through this miniature iron
world, echoing and re-echoing in the closed space. Even the men in the
room felt the effects, they were noticeably repelled from the walls,
even the floor repelled them. The field was building up with tremendous
speed.
[Illustration: A lightning storm was building up outside the
power-house, and terrific, reverberating thunder roared through this
miniature world.]
"And," Barclay reminded Commander Rogers, "the men had better stay
away from the generators. Their negative terminals are the only source
of electrons on this planet. The voltage will build up to maximum the
generators can afford, about 100,000,000 volts isn't it? And then it
will remain constant."
Men were already at work on the wrecked stopping apparatus, the huge
shunts that could turn the generator coils and their enormous currents
into a short-circuit. This would give a polarity reverse kick, halting
the disintegration of the atoms. Barclay had fused the apparatus with
his pistol. Already the field growth rate was lessening. The fans of
cold fire from every point were lessening, the thunder was gradually
diminishing, the generators were working against a greatly increased
voltage now.
"Ship 29 reporting--hundred thousand miles to come," reported one of
the operators.
"Warn him off--or he'll be wrecked," suggested Barclay.
"Order him on with all speed!" roared Rogers. "And _YOU_--shut up!"
In five minutes the sphere ship was visible as a dot on the screen,
rapidly approaching. It seemed to grow with lightning rapidity. "The
fool should slow down!" muttered Rogers.
"Ship 29 reports some difficulty--McKinley discs fail to function
properly, and he can't slow down."
"If he hits this world, you're going to see a lightning display you
never saw the like of before," pointed out Barclay.
The ship was flashing toward them with ever greater speed. It was
turning now, struggling to bend its course around the planetoid, but
already the great ship was in the clutches of the field. It flashed on,
seemed about to skim the surface of the planetoid--
Then they could detect a movement of the entire world! Slight--but
enough. The ship collided with a mountain of solid nickel-steel.
Instantly there was an enormous blaze of incandescent gas--and then
there was neither mountain nor ship--just a spout of gas hurling itself
off into space! It shot away from the planetoid as swiftly as the ship
had come.
The tiny world seemed to tremble under the concussion of the blow,
and then every man felt a sudden swift tingling through him as the
electricity stored in his body rushed from it, as it was rushing
from his world. And now there broke out the lightning Barclay
had prophesied. Terrific stabbing flames reached down out of the
atmosphere, snatched at the buildings at every high point. The
proto-gun booth outside the window was suddenly wreathed in flame.
Then, when the flame was gone, the proto-gun booth with its four-foot
steel armour was slumped molten over the wall, like some tired thing.
The terrific crashing of the thunder was deafening.
For fully thirty seconds it lasted. Then again it was quiet.
"Better warn the rest of the ships," said Barclay in the hush that
followed.
"Ship Fourteen reports powerful electric disturbances from a distance
of ten thousand miles."
"Tell ship Fourteen to use no deceleration, and a strong acceleration
to one side--she might make an orbit yet. Don't be stubborn, Commander
Rogers--there are men on that ship," pleaded Barclay.
"Tell her to circle," said Rogers softly, his voice choking.
The field was increasing no more. Men found their repulsion was so
great now that they could not touch the walls of the room, save with
considerable effort. With a little jump they could rise feet into the
air. It was interesting--but deadly.
"Stopping apparatus repaired, sir," reported a stained mechanic,
thrusting his head above the stair-level.
"Asteroid N. G. C. 469 turning in her orbit, approaching us!" called an
excited observer. "She's glowing red hot now from the effects of our
beams."
"How big?" asked Barclay sharply.
"Quarter of a million tons--metallic," replied his guard.
* * * * *
"Tell Fourteen to lead her--his ship will attract it, and get it in an
orbit--if it hits the planet will burst!" Barclay's voice was worried
for the first time. "Damn--didn't think of that," he muttered.
"Do it," said Rogers, his voice choked again. "Release the prisoner,"
he added.
Barclay watched with intense interest. "Call Morrison, ask him to
help!" he called. The lone ship was not turning the planetoid enough.
"And you might offer to surrender for medical malpractice and use of
humans for experimental purpose," he added.
The huge chunk of metal was falling toward them, faster and faster. The
lone ship was turning it--gradually, ever so gradually. It could never
make it.
Suddenly the Patrol cruisers saw the danger, and they too added their
efforts.
The men watched the screens in tense silence. Would that great mass of
solid metal strike--or pass? Already the lightnings were playing again,
and their roar and rumble came to them over the panic shouts and cries
of fear from the people gathered outside. Guards and captives alike
were running madly about, streams of humans converging on the great
locks that might let them away from this mad world.
Slowly, slowly the great mass was turning, but swiftly, very very
swiftly it was coming nearer.
"She'll pass!" cried one, "She'll skim over that peak there--sure!"
"Can't! That's a quarter of a million tons of steel, and only those
tiny ships working at it--but they may be able to bring us back!"
retorted another gloomily. Most were silent, just watching that
struggle of tiny ships and mighty masses and terrific electric fields.
Then--it was over! The enormous boulder of metal skimmed less than
fifty feet above a high-rising pinnacle of steel, so close that but for
the absolute lack of atmosphere, there must surely have been a flaring
arc that would have carried all to death.
The lightnings were fading now, their rumbling thunders diminishing.
"That's past now, Commander Rogers--but others, and others will come.
Commander Morrison has your twin-ray guns, and he can charge his ship
similarly, and approach your entrance there without danger--it won't
take long to remove the field then."
Commander Rogers seemed to slump, then he turned to the radio men.
"Tell Morrison," he ordered in a low voice, "his men are too good for
us. We will surrender to a charge of medical malpractice and use of
humans for experiments. We have taken no lives."
THE END