_"Bullard, of the I.B.C.!"_
The controls of a meteor ship held steady without the touch of the
pilot's hand. Chet Bullard was staring at a radiocone on the instrument
board in the control room where a voice from some super-powered station
was calling. His own radio had been crackling a call, and now this
response was coming across the void.
"Orders from the Stratosphere Control Board: You will proceed at once to
New York. Radiobeacon 2X12 will guide you down. Your message received
and we acknowledge report of the finding of the space-flyer, Pilot
Haldgren. Do not discharge any passengers and land nowhere else than at
New York without direct orders of the Board. Keep your directional
signal on full power; our cruisers will pick you up in the highest
level. Signed: Commander of Air."
Spud O'Malley, it was, who broke the silence of the room where only the
sound of the terrific exhaust came thinly through.
"May divils confound him! And it's back on the Moon with those other
beasts I'm wishin' I was. At least a man can get close enough to slam
them in their ugly faces; but the Commander and his cruisers! Sure,
there's nothin' we can do!"
"Just take our medicine," said Chet Bullard quietly. "But I have proved
him wrong; Haldgren, here, is the living evidence of that. And I said I
would laugh him from the Service--well, I'm not so sure of that."
"But surely," broke in Haldgren's booming voice, "there will be only
praise for what you have done. I do not understand--"
"You don't know the Commander, my boy," Spud broke in dryly. "And you
don't know that the lad, here, defied him to his face and ran the
gantlet of his cruisers' guns to get away and go after you."
"Ah!" grunted the giant. "And now I understand. It is the old story--an
incompetent man in a place of authority--"
* * * * *
Chet broke in.
"Not quite right; this Commander of ours has done much--he is a driver
of men--but there are some of us who think he lacks vision. He can never
see beyond the stratosphere he rules so ably; and his position is
supreme."
"There is still the Governing Council--we will appeal--"
But the master pilot was not listening to Haldgren's words; his slim,
sensitive hand was reaching for the ball-control to build up still more
the tremendous blast of a forward exhaust that was checking their speed
and making them as heavy as if their bodies were of meteoric iron.
A forward lookout showed a black globe; its circle was rimmed with fire
from the Sun that it blotted out. A hemisphere of night lay below--the
black, mysterious night of a waiting Earth. But one strong signal came
in on the instruments at Chet's side to show him where on that horizon
was New York; and the call of a flagship of cruisers was flashing before
him as the lift of the Repelling Area was felt.
"Follow!" flashed the order. "You will follow to New York!" And, through
the black night, faint flashes of light marked the fleet of swift
guardians of the skies that closed in, then swept downward and out--an
impregnable convoy about the speeding, roaring ship.
And there was that in Chet's face as he handled the controls that
brought Anita Haldgren to his side that she might lift his free hand in
wordless comfort and press it to her face.
* * * * *
That venerable and beloved man, the President of the Federation
Aeronautique Internationale, stood silent before a vast audience.
Throughout the great auditorium was silence; each of the gathered
thousands was listening to the shrieking sirens from the landing field
on the roof overhead.
Skylights above showed the night air ablaze with red, through which the
vivid green of landing signals pierced in staccato bursts. From the roof
of that building to the highest level of the stratosphere the air was
cleared; no craft of the Service would venture to pierce the barrage of
light and radio waves that hemmed that aerial shaft. And down the shaft,
in a thunder of roaring exhausts, came a shining shape.
She sparkled and flashed in the crimson and green of that emergency
light, and from her bow poured a tornado that blasted the air, then
streamed out behind in hot gas like a comet of flame. Then the thunders
died; the shining shape turned once slowly in air to show her blunt nose
and cylindrical body before she settled softly as a homing bird to the
embrace of great waiting arms of steel. And, inside the building, a
white-haired man was saying:
"They are here! Thank God, they are here! Their radio has prepared us;
our signals have guided them home. And now it is not New York, nor even
the United States of America alone who attends; the whole world will be
summoned. Look!"
* * * * *
Behind, and high above him on a wall, was a radio panel. Its signal
lamps went suddenly dark. The thin, blue-veined hand of the speaker was
pointing.
"Only twice has the world-call flashed: once when the Molemen came and
the future of the world was at stake; once when the Dark Moon crashed
down from the void and the serpents of space menaced aerial traffic. And
now--once again!--the whole world is summoned! Every city and hamlet of
Earth--every ship of the air and the sea--every vessel on the ocean,
under the ocean, and in the air levels above--"
His voice broke sharply. From the panel there came a thin call, a
quivering that was more a trembling than a sound; it reached out to
touch raspingly the nerves of every listener. Then the whole board burst
forth in a flash of fire where a flaming crystal leaped to life--and
none could see that pulsing flame without thrilling to the knowledge
that it was calling a whole world with its wordless summons.
The light died; a television detector whined as its motors came to
speed; and each watcher knew that the waiting world was connected with
that auditorium in New York; all that happened, there--each sight and
sound--was circling the globe.
An announcer's voice roared briefly before the regulator cut down on its
volume.
"You are seeing the Radio-central Auditorium in New York. On the landing
stage above, after a journey of five hundred thousand miles, a strange
craft has settled to rest. Its pilot: Chester Bullard, once rated as
Master Pilot of the World! Its journey, now safely completed: from the
Earth to the Moon, and return!
"The world is waiting to greet Pilot Bullard, though of this he, as yet,
is unaware. World-wide radio control is now transferred to Radio-central
Auditorium in New York! They are coming! They are entering!"
* * * * *
But the thousands gathered in that great hall heard no other words from
the radiocone. Their attention was focused upon the broad stage, where,
descending from a lift, a strange group stepped out upon the stage,
stood an instant in startled wonder that was near embarrassment, then
took the seats to which they were shown.
And again the venerable President of the Federation Aeronautique
Internationale was speaking.
"It is less than a month since I stood here before you, when, as again
is true to-night, the entire personnel of the executives of the
Stratosphere Control Board was gathered to do honor to the pioneers of
space--the discoverer--"
On the stage near the speaker, Chet Bullard stared in consternation at a
girl in a pilot's suit as grimed and ragged as his own. His gaze passed
on to the set features of Pilot O'Malley--to the blue eyes of a
flaxen-haired giant--then on to where Walt Harkness and Diane, his wife,
sat regarding him with happy smiles. Dimly Chet heard the man at the
speakers' stand.
"--and on that other occasion, Mr. Bullard refused a decoration tendered
him and marking him as the first to travel through airless space.
"I have here"--the speaker smiled slightly as he extended his hand where
a jewel flashed fire from a velvet case--"the identical jewel and medal.
And to-night, while the peoples of Earth are gathered throughout the
world to do honor to Mr. Bullard, it has been given to me the proud
privilege of welcoming him home."
* * * * *
He turned and held out a beckoning hand toward Chet. In a daze the
younger man arose and moved beside the one who had called him.
"And now, Chester Bullard, on behalf of the Governing Council of the
Ruling Nations of this Earth, I greet you: Pilot of the Stratosphere no
longer--but Pilot of Endless Space! The world welcomes you; and, through
me, it places in your hands this jewel.
"But you will observe that we older ones may still learn, and we do not
repeat our former mistake. We hand you this medal, emblematic of the
first penetration of space, to do with as you will."
The thin hand was shaking as the speaker turned and swept the audience
with one all-inclusive gesture.
"To you who are before me now; to you out beyond wherever parallels of
longitude and latitude are known--I present the Columbus of the
Stars!--Chester Bullard!"
And suddenly Chet found himself alone in a pandemonium of sound. From
the countless faces that blurred into one unrecognizable sea came a roar
of human voices like waves thundering against storm-worn cliffs; above
the clamor was the sound of shrieking sirens; and through all, when it
seemed that no other sound could be heard, came the full-volume,
nerve-stunning clangor from the radiocone's wide-opened throat as the
trumpets and brass of all the monster bands of Earth broke forth, under
radio control, in one synchronous song--till even that was drowned under
the roaring welcomes in strange tongues as the nations of Earth cut in.
* * * * *
And Chet Bullard, his blouse still torn where a Commander of Air had
ripped off a three-starred emblem of a Master Pilot, shook his blond
head to clear it of the confusion that seemed beating him down. And he
stared and stared, not at the rioting throng before him, but at
something he could in part comprehend--a glowing, flashing jewel that
rested in his hand. And slowly there crept into his eyes a look of
understanding, while a ghost of a smile twitched and tugged at the
corners of his mouth.
The hall, which one instant was a bedlam of roaring voices, went silent
as Chet Bullard raised his hand. He was still smiling as he bowed toward
the white-haired man whose happy face belied the moisture in his eyes;
then he faced the throng, and his voice held no hint of trembling or
uncertainty.
"The Columbus of the Stars! I thank you for that title, which I can
accept only most humbly. For I ask you to go back with me into history
and remember, as I am remembering, that before Columbus there were
others whose names are lost.
"The Norsemen--those Vikings of old!--who dared the unknown seas, were
first. And again history repeats. But this time the pioneer will not
remain unknown. I have been to the Moon; I have reached out into
space--but I followed another's trail.
"Frithjof Haldgren!" he shouted, and extended a hand toward the gentle
giant whose face was aflame as he came to Chet's side. "Frithjof
Haldgren, I present you to the world. Only one can be the first; and
yours is the honor and glory. This medal is yours alone; I place it
where it belongs!"
* * * * *
And Frithjof Haldgren, white of face and lips now instead of fiery red,
stood silent and trembling while Chet fastened a jewel upon his grimy
tattered blouse; then retired to his chair as if beaten back by the
rolling waves of sound.
But to Chet, as he watched the man go, came a quick sense of
disappointment. Unconsciously, his hand went to the same place on his
own chest where had rested an emblem he had prized above all else--and
now his searching fingers found only the mark of his disgrace. Then he
knew again that the aged President was speaking, while he held Chet
beside him with one detaining hand.
"We older ones have served, perhaps; we have done what we could; we pray
that the world is better for our efforts! And we shall continue to
serve; yet it is to youth that we must look for the progress which is to
come.
"Today we face a new life whose horizons, once bounded by the limiting
air, have been pushed back. We have conquered space, and before us is
the waiting marvel of man's extension of his activities throughout the
universe.
"How far shall we go in this new and endless sphere? With interplanetary
travel, what is our goal? Only youth can give the answer. And in the
hands of youth must the command of this great adventure be placed.
* * * * *
"Gentlemen, the Governing Council of the Ruling Nations of this Earth
has created a new command. By the acts of this man who stands beside me,
and by his fellow-explorer, Walter Harkness, the Council has been forced
to take this step.
"That command will rank second only to the Governing Council itself; a
body of men shall compose it who shall be known as the Interstellar
Board of Control." He turned squarely toward Chet. "I am placing in
your hands, Mr. Bullard, your commission as Commander of that Board. The
best minds of all nations will be at your call. Will you accept--will
you gather these men about you and do your part in this great work for
the greater future of mankind?"
The ears of a listening world waited long for an answer. But the eyes of
that world saw a figure whose blond head was suddenly lowered as if to
hide a betrayal of what was in his heart; they saw him raise his bowed
head to stare mutely toward a girl whose eyes of blue were swimming with
happy tears as she gave him a trembling smile--and only then did they
see Chet Bullard draw himself erect, while his voice went out with the
speed of light to a waiting world.
"I accept, Mr. President. Proudly--humbly--I accept!"
And the eyes of the world, if they were understanding eyes, must have
smiled with his, as the Commander of the Interstellar Board of Control
grasped, among others, the congratulatory hand of his subordinate, the
Commander of Air.
But if there were any who expected to read mockery in those smiling
eyes, they had yet to learn the measure of Commander Bullard--"Bullard,
of the I.B.C.!"
End of Project Gutenberg's The Finding of Haldgren, by Charles Willard Diffin