Produced by Greg Weeks, Graeme Mackreth and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcribers note: This etext was produced from Astounding Stories
April 1932. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
[Illustration]
[Chet Ballard answers the pinpoint of light that from the
craggy desolation of the moon stabs out man's old call for help.]
The Finding of Haldgren
_A Complete Novelette_
By Charles Willard Diffin
CHAPTER I
SOS
The venerable President of the Federation Aeronautique Internationale
had been speaking. He paused now to look out over the sea of faces that
filled the great hall in serried waves. He half turned that he might let
his eyes pass over the massed company on the platform with him. The
Stratosphere Control Board--and they had called in their representatives
from the far corners of Earth to hear the memorable words of this aged
man.
[Illustration: _The beasts fell into the pit beyond; their screams rang
horribly as they fell._]
From the waiting audience came no slightest sound; the men and women
were as silent as that other audience listening and watching in every
hamlet of the world, wherever radio and television reached. Again the
figure of the President was drawn erect; the scanty, white hair was
thrown back from his forehead; he was speaking:
" ... And this vast development has come within the memory of one man.
I, speaking to you here in this year of 1974, have seen it all come to
pass. And now I am overwhelmed with the wonder of it, even as I was when
those two Americans first flew at Kittyhawk.
"I, myself, saw that. I saw with these eyes the first crude
engine-bearing kites; I saw them from 1914 to 1918 tempered and
perfected in the furnace of war; I saw the coming of detonite and the
beginning of our air-transport of to-day. And always I have seen brave
men--men who smiled grimly as they took those first crude controls in
their hands; who laughed and waved to us as they took off in the 'flying
coffins' of the great war; who had the courage to dare the unknown
dangers of the high levels and who first threw their ships through the
Repelling Area and blazed the air-trails of a new world.
"And to-day I, who have seen all this, stand before you and say: 'Thank
God that the spirit of brave men goes on!'
* * * * *
"It has never ended--that adventurer strain--that race of Viking men. We
have two of them here to-night. The whole world is pausing this instant
wherever men are on land or water or air to do honor to these two.
"They do not know why they are here. They have been summoned by the
Stratosphere Control Board which has delegated to me the honor of making
the announcement."
The tall figure was commandingly erect; for an instant the fire of youth
had returned to him.
"Walter Harkness!" he called. "Chester Bullard! Stand forth that the
eyes of the world may see!"
Two men arose from among the members of the Board and came hesitantly
forward. Strongly contrasting was the darkly handsome face of Harkness,
man of wealth and Pilot of the Second Class, and the no less pleasing
features of Chet Bullard, Master Pilot of the World. For Bullard's
curling hair was as golden as the triple star upon his chest that
proclaimed his standing to the world and all the air above.
The speaker was facing them; he turned away for a moment that he might
bow to a girl who was still seated next to the chair where Walt
Harkness had been.
"To Mrs. Harkness," he said, "who, until one month ago, was Mademoiselle
Delacouer of our own beloved France, I shall have something further to
say. She, too, has been summoned by the Board, but, for now, I address
these two."
* * * * *
Again he was facing the two men; and now he was speaking directly to
them:
"Pilot Harkness and Master Pilot Bullard, for you the world has been
forced to create a new honor, a new mark of the world's esteem. For you
two have done what never men have done before. We who have preceded you
have subdued the air; but you, gentlemen, you--the first of all created
beings to do so--have conquered space.
"And to you, because of your courage; because of your dauntless pioneer
spirit; because of the unconquerable will that drove you and the
inventive genius that made it possible--because all these have set you
above us more ordinary men, since they have made you the first men to
fly through space--it is my privilege now to show you the honor in which
you are held by the whole world."
The firm voice quavered; for a moment the old hands trembled as they
lifted a blazing gem from its velvet case.
"Chester Bullard, Master Pilot, on behalf of the Stratosphere Control
Board I bestow upon you--"
"Stop!"
* * * * *
Every radiophone in the world must have echoed that sharp command; every
television screen must have shown to a breathless audience the figure
whose blond hair was awry, whose lean face was afire with protest, as
Chet Bullard sprang forward with upraised hand.
"You're wrong--dead wrong! You're making a mistake. I can't accept
that!"
The master pilot's voice was raised in earnest protest. He seemed, for
the moment, unaware of the thousands of eyes that were upon him;
heedless of the gasp of amazement that swept sibilantly over the vast
audience like a hissing wave breaking upon the beach. And then his face
flushed scarlet, though his eyes still held steadily upon the startled
countenance of the man who stood transfixed, while the jewel in his hand
took the light of the nitron illuminators above and shot it back in a
glory of rainbow hues.
From the seated group on the platform a man came forward. Commander of
the Air, this iron-gray man; he was head of the Stratosphere Control
Board, supreme authority on all matters that concerned the air levels of
the whole world; Commander-in-Chief of all men who laid hands on the
controls of a ship. He spoke quietly now, and Chet Bullard, at his first
word, snapped instantly to salute, then stood silently waiting.
"What is the meaning of this?" demanded the voice of authority. The
voice seemed soft, almost gentle, yet each syllable carried throughout
the hall with an unmistakable hint of the hardness of a steelite shell
beneath the words.
"The eyes of the world are upon us here; the whole world is gathered to
do you honor. Is it possible that you are refusing that which we offer?
Why? You will speak, please!"
And Chet Bullard, standing stiffly at attention before his commander,
spoke in a tone rendered almost boyish by embarrassment.
* * * * *
"I can't accept, sir. Pilot Harkness will bear me out in this. You would
decorate us for being the first to navigate space; but we are not the
first."
"Continue!" ordered the quiet voice as Chet paused. "You refer to
Haldgren, probably."
"To Pilot Haldgren, sir."
"This is absurd! Haldgren was lost. It is supposed that he fell back
into the sea, or struck some untraveled part of Earth."
"I have checked over his data, sir. It is my opinion that he did not
fall; his figures indicate that he must have thrown his ship beyond the
gravitational influence of Earth."
The Commander eyed the master pilot coldly. "And because you _think_
that your conclusions are more accurate than those of my own
investigating committee, you refuse this honor!
"Attention!" he snapped sharply. "The entire Service of Air is being
rendered ridiculous by your conduct! I command you to accept this
decoration."
"You are exceeding your authority, sir. I refuse!"
Suddenly the frozen quiet of the Commander's face was flushed red with
rage. "Give me that insignia!" he demanded, and pointed to the triple
star on Chet Bullard's breast. "Your commission is revoked!"
* * * * *
To the last breathless spectator in the farthest end of the great hall
the white pallor of Chet Bullard's face must have been apparent. One
hand moved toward the emblem on his blouse, the cherished triple star of
a master pilot of the World; then the hand paused.
"I have still another reason for believing Haldgren is alive," he said
in a cold and carefully emotionless voice. "Are you interested in
hearing it?"
"Speak!" ordered the Commander.
Chet Bullard, still wearing the triple star, crossed quickly to a phone
panel in the speaker's stand at one side of the stage. He jerked out an
instrument. The buzz of excited whispering that had swept the audience
gave place to utter silence. Each quiet, incisive word that Chet spoke
was clearly heard. He gave his call number.
"Bullard; Master Pilot, First Class; Number U.S. 1; calling Doctor Roche
at Allied Observatory, Mount Everest. Micro-wave, please, and connect
through for telefoto-projection."
A few breathless seconds passed, while Chet aimed an instrument of
gleaming chromium and glass, whose cable connections vanished in the
phone panel recess. He focused it upon an artificially darkened screen
above and behind the grouped figures on the stage. Then:
"Doctor Roche?" Chet queried.
And, before the whole audience, the dark screen came to life to show a
clear-cut picture of a man who sat at a telescope; whose hand held a
radiophone; and who glanced up frowningly and said: "Yes, this is Doctor
Roche."
Chet's response was immediate.
"Bullard speaking; Chet Bullard, at New York. When I was in your
observatory yesterday, Doctor, you said that you had seen flashes of
light on the Moon. You remember that, don't you? You saw them some
months ago while I was on the Dark Moon."
* * * * *
The man in that distant observatory was no longer scowling at this
interruption of his work. His smile was echoed by the cordial tone of
his voice that rang clearly through the great hall.
"Correct, Mr. Bullard. An observer at our two hundred-inch reflector
reported them on two successive nights. They were inside the crater of
Hercules."
From his place at the center of the stage the waiting Commander of Air
protested:
"Come--come! We know all about that, Bullard. Are you trying to say--"
The voice of the astronomer was speaking again:
"You will no doubt be interested to know that the lights occurred again
yesterday at about this time.... Let me see if they are on now. I will
have the two hundred-inch instrument used as before, and will show you
what we see.
"Watch your screen, but don't expect to find any substantiation of your
wild theory that these lights have a human origin." He laughed softly.
"No atmosphere to speak of there, you know; we have determined that very
definitely."
On the screen the picture of the smiling man flashed off; it was
replaced by an unflickering darkness that came abruptly into softly
shaded light. There was an expanse of volcanic terrain and a round
orifice of tremendous size, where the sunlight cast black shadows. Other
shaded portions about were like rocky, broken ground.
* * * * *
To Chet, staring at the strange conformation, came the quick sense of
hanging above that ground and looking down upon it. And he knew that in
New York he was looking through a great telescope down under the world
and was staring straight down into the throat of an extinct volcano on
the Moon.
There were few wonders of the modern world that could thrill the master
pilot with any feeling of amazement, but here was a new experience. He
would have spoken, would have ejaculated some word of wonder, but for
the new light that claimed his eyes and brain.
The volcano, even in death, was ages old; its cold desolation showing
plainly on the screen. No fires poured now from a hot throat; the
molten sea that once had raged within had hardened and choked that vast
throat with rock that had frozen to make one enormous plain. Ringed
about by the jagged sides of the tremendous volcano, the floor within
seemed smooth by comparison, except for another depression at its upper
edge.
Here was another and smaller crater inside the great ringed wall of
Hercules. The light of the sun struck slantingly across to throw one
side of the gigantic cup into shadow, while the opposite rim blared
brightly in the lunar dawn. And within the smaller crater, too, one side
was dead black with shadow.
Dead!--No moving thing--no sign of life or indication that life might
ever have been! A dead world, this!--its utter desolation struck Chet's
half-uttered exclamation to a hoarse whisper of dismay. In all the
universe what less likely place might one discover wherein to look for
man?
* * * * *
His gaze was held in fascinated hopelessness on the barren, mountainous
ring, on the inner inverted cone, on the shadow within that smaller
crater--_on a tiny pinpoint of light that was flashing there!_... He
hardly knew when he raised one trembling hand and pointed, while a voice
quite unlike his own said huskily:
"Look! Look! I told you it was so!... There! In that little
crater!--it's signaling! Three dots--now three dashes--three dots again!
The old S O S!--the old call for help! It's Haldgren!"
Again the screen showed the smiling scientist.
"Caught them just right," he said, "and glad to be of service. Now, if
there's anything else I can do--"
"Thanks!" said Chet in that same strained voice. "Thanks! There's
nothing else." A switch clicked beneath his hand, and once more the
screen was dark.
"Those dots and dashes! The old S O S! Who could doubt now?" Chet was
telling himself this when the Commander's voice broke in harshly.
"Even you must see the absurdity of this, Bullard. You have heard this
astronomer tell you what the rest of us knew for ourselves--that there
is no air on the Moon; that it is impossible for a human being to live
there. And you would have us believe that a man has lived there for five
years!
"But I am taking your distinguished record into account; I am
overlooking your insubordination and the folly of your reasoning.
Perhaps your feeling about Haldgren does you credit; but Haldgren is
dead. Now I am giving you another chance: I order you to come forward
and receive this honor, which is an honor to the entire Service of Air."
* * * * *
Chet was staring in open amazement. "No air on the Moon," this man had
said. And what of that? Neither was there air in interplanetary space,
yet he had traveled there. It was inconceivable that this imperious and
dictatorial man could be so blind.
"I can't do it, sir," he tried to explain. "You surely can't disregard
that message, the old call for help. We were using that, you know, when
Haldgren took off five years ago."
No longer did a masking softness overlay the hard brittleness of the
Commander's voice.
"Your star!" he snapped. "You are no longer in the Service, Bullard!"
But Chet Bullard, as he stepped forward that the Commander might rip the
triple star from his chest, was not alone. Walt Harkness was only a
Pilot of the Second Class, but he stripped the emblem from his own
silken blouse and placed it in the Commander's outstretched hand beside
Chet's star.
"Permit me, sir, to share Mr. Bullard's enviable humiliation," he
observed with venomous courtesy; and added:
"Whatever similar honors were in store for Mrs. Harkness and myself are
respectfully declined. We, too, are of the opinion that Pilot Haldgren
deserves them instead of us."
For an instant Chet's flashing smile drew his face into friendly lines.
"Thanks!" he said.
But all friendliness was erased as he swung back upon the Commander.
* * * * *
No thought now of the thousands of staring faces or of the millions
throughout the world who were watching him and were hearing his words.
Chet Bullard clipped those words into curt phrases, and he shot them at
his superior officer as if from a detonite gun:
"You think your judgment better than mine--you've dropped me from the
Service--and you've got the power to make that stick! But you're wrong,
sir, dead wrong! And I'll make you admit it, too.
"No--don't interrupt! I'm going to say what I please, and this is it,
Commander:
"Hang onto that jewel you were giving me. Keep it ready. For I'm going
to the Moon. I'm going to find Haldgren, if he's still living when I get
there. And, at the least, I will bring back some record to show he is
the man we should honor.
"Haldgren, alive or dead, was the first man to conquer space. Neither
Harkness nor I would steal an atom of his glory. I'll have the proof
when I come back. And when I come--"
* * * * *
For an instant the ready grin that marked Chet's irresistible good
nature lighted up his face with a silent echo of some laugh-provoking
thought occurring in his mind.
"--when I do come, Commander, I will make you eat your words. It's you
who will be out of the Service then, laughed out!"
The Commander smiled, too; smiled coldly, complacently, while his head
shook.
"Again you are mistaken," he told Chet; "never again will you fly as
much as one foot above Earth."
And still Chet's grin persisted. "Commander," he said, "a man in your
position should not make so many mistakes. I am going--I give you
warning now--going to the Moon. And you haven't enough Patrol Ships in
all the air levels of Earth to hold me back, once I'm on my way!"
And every television screen of Earth showed a remarkable scene: a
red-faced, choleric Commander of the Air, who shouted that a group of
officers might leap forward to do his bidding; a dark-haired man and a
girl who sprang beside him. The bodies of the two were interposed for an
instant between the officers' weapons and a fair-haired man.... And the
lean young man, with his shock of golden hair thrown back from his face,
leaped like a panther in that same instant; drew himself to an open
window; threw himself through, and vanished among the brilliant lights
and black shadows of a New York night.
But, as he fought his way free of the throng outside, there came above
the clamor of an excited crowd the voice of Walt Harkness in cryptic
words:
"The ship is yours, Chet," the fugitive heard Harkness call; "it's in
cold storage for you!"