"Go ahead."
"Well, the first is--what did you think of that isotope business?"
The chemist's face gathered in a frown.
"I think it was rather a tragedy. After so much effort and such high
hopes! The world can go back to barbarism again now, and it will be
barbarism, too. All the machinery will have to be built to use crude
electric power, the standard of living will have to be reduced,
and only a few people will profit--the people who own the electric
plants...." He glanced at Paulette. "Is this an interview for the
press?"
"No," replied Adam slowly, "and that wasn't exactly the answer I
wanted. But perhaps you'll understand from the second question. Why
did Professor Reuter make the test on that beryllium instead of you? I
understood you were the chemist of the expedition."
* * * * *
Perkins glanced at him sharply. "I might say that you take a good
deal of interest in a good many things, young man. Captain McCausland
remarked about that already. But for your information, Professor
Reuter is the head of the scientific staff, and is perfectly adequate
to conduct so simple an examination. You aren't insinuating he isn't
capable, by any chance?"
An irritated retort rose to Adam's lips, but before he could make it
Paulette laid her hand on his arm and broke in: "Mr. Longworth, of
course, doesn't mean to insinuate anything, Dr. Perkins. He came
with me, because as press representative I felt that we ought to be
perfectly sure in a matter that so vitally affects the future of the
world. There are going to be quite a number of questions asked when we
return and I thought we ought to have a confirming test made by you."
A curious expression flashed across Perkins' face. "Reuter should have
allowed me to make one in any case, I think," he said. "Where can I get
a sample?"
"I have one here." The girl produced the fragment Bjornsen had wrenched
loose for her.
"You needn't mention this to anyone till we get back to the Earth,"
said Dr. Perkins, sawing the sample in two. "I wouldn't want to appear
insubordinate. Now, let's see, we'll leave the spectroscope test
out--that was made on the other sample." He sliced off a shaving,
set it on the viewing table and adjusted the light. "That's odd," he
remarked after a moment. "There's no sign of the air bubbles Reuter
found in the other sample."
One of the other fragments he dropped into a crucible, set the dial
at 900 degrees and flicked on the little motor that would melt it by
atomic power heat.
Adam watched breathlessly as the oven was opened, the little molten
globe of silvery metal quenched in acid, then dropped into an
open-ended pipette and the container filled with liquid.
"The difference between what that pipette held and what it should
hold," explained Dr. Perkins as he adjusted a scale to weigh the
liquid, which had been poured off, "will be the displacement of
the sample. See--2.4 cubic centimeters. Now the weight. We read it
directly by putting the displaced weight in water on one arm of the
scale and the sample of metal on the other. Now, when they balance the
pointer--my God! Longworth!"
There was a ghost of a smile around Adam's mouth; Paulette gripped his
arm. "Yes?"
"Longworth, the specific gravity is 1.93! This is more than important,
it's vital! I'm going to call in my assistant and make that test over
again, spectroscope and all. This is no isotope. This is perfectly
genuine beryllium. How could Reuter have made such an error!"
Adam and Paulette left the chemist feverishly ringing for his assistant.
* * * * *
"I tell you, Walter, I don't like it. We've got to get out of here."
Professor Reuter's usually smooth voice had an edge of worry and his
fat face was haggard.
"What's the matter, losing your nerve?" taunted Captain McCausland.
The professor slapped the table of the cabin to which they had returned
from their visit to the subsoil of Pluto. "I tell you, Walter, I'm
risking everything by going on. My own men are wondering about that
fluorine fiasco, and Perkins was just able to swallow my analysis of
the beryllium and no more. I have a scientific reputation to keep up,
you want to remember; it won't do me any good to succeed if I go back
with my reputation for accuracy in tatters."
"Reputation!" McCausland's voice was mocking. "Just like a school
girl, afraid to be caught out with the boys. Why, you old goat, if
anything went wrong now, do you suppose anyone would blame me? No, they
wouldn't. I only acted on the advice of my head of science. You're in
this right up to the neck, Reuter, reputation or no reputation, and now
you're going to see it through--on the lines I mark out for you."
The professor's weak anger collapsed. "Now, now, Walter, don't be
angry. I had no intention of falling down on you. But it seems to me
that I'm taking a good deal of the risk, while you--"
"While I'm going to get all the profit, I suppose? Now, listen; you
have as many shares as I have. Anyway, we can settle such details at
a later date. What we've got to work out now is details. That young
Longworth suspects, I'm sure, and he's got the girl onto his side."
The professor's voice became smooth and unctuous again. "It was too
bad about that rocket-pistol. You're sure they didn't suspect anything
about that?"
"Wouldn't Longworth have mentioned it? He's just the sort of hot-headed
young busybody who would burst out with the whole story. No, he lost it
all right. The main thing now is to keep any of the rest of them from
getting a sample of that unalloyed beryllium wall down there."
"In which you are fortunately aided by the Plutonians' interest in
Bjornsen. You can give orders now that the thing isn't to be touched
for fear of provoking them. They're amazingly strong, physically, by
the way."
"We might--" What it was that McCausland was going to suggest they
might do was never finished. The buzzer at the door sounded at that
moment, and as the captain said, "Come in," the pair of conspirators
looked up to see a little procession, composed of Dr. Perkins, his two
assistants, Adam and Paulette coming in. The face of the chemist was
alight.
"Gentlemen!" he exclaimed. "I am glad to say that our expedition is a
success after all. I have found another sample of beryllium and tested
it. There is no indication of isotope; the weight is correct, and it
has been checked by these two gentlemen. We're saved."
There was a rasping sound from Professor Reuter's throat, but
McCausland's saturnine face never altered.
"And where did this other sample come from?"
"From a different portion of the wall," replied Paulette. "I found it."
"Probably beryllium exists in both forms here," remarked the captain
easily. "But in any case, I hardly see how that affects our problem.
What do you propose to do?"
"Do! Load up with beryllium and head for home," cried Adam.
"Unfortunately the beryllium belongs to the Plutonians. They use it in
these partitioned compartments to keep out the intensely cold ocean
that surrounds their planet. I do not well see how we can deprive them
of it, especially over their opposition." He gathered a sheaf of papers
from his desk. "Here are the notes of a picture-conversation I have had
with them. They naturally decline to part with their metal. I had the
idea of taking some of this isotope beryllium back with us."
There was a moment's silence in the cabin, through which came the
wheezing sound of Professor Reuter's breath, heavily indrawn.
"I know that," said Adam after a moment. "Because I have just been
down to the bottom of the dig, and held a picture conversation with
the Plutonians. Would you be good enough to look at these, sir? The
Plutonians say that they are only anxious to have these compartments
built against the entrance of the ocean. When I offered to replace any
beryllium we took with walls of our stronger steel alloy, they agreed
at once to give us all we wanted. We can use the steel from compartment
eighteen."
"Why ... that's fine, Mister Mate." Captain McCausland seemed to be
drawing his breath in with some difficulty. "I congratulate you. You
may start work at once."
"Oh, my Lord!" said Reuter softly.
* * * * *
_"Hello, Earth! This is Paulette de Vries, recording for later
broadcast. This, folks, is our last day on the planet Pluto--our last
day by Earth time, though the Plutonians wouldn't recognize it. They
seem to have no sense of time or time-telling instruments. I told you
in our last record how the ship has been loaded with beryllium. We
have her full now of as much of the metal as we can carry. Compartment
eighteen has been cut away, and the ship neatly joined together along
the line of the cut, the metal that armored the compartment has been
worked over into partitions to replace the beryllium from Pluto.
"The entire crew has been given shore leave for this last day. Only
Captain McCausland and Professor Reuter will remain aboard the ship,
with your radio gal, Paulette de Vries herself. I have to work up my
description of the interior of Pluto, gathered on my trip a few days
ago.
"Just for the present I'll tell you it's a wonderful world down
there--four thousand miles in the center of a planet, filled with
streets and houses, plants grown by artificial chemical fertilization.
Never any bad weather. The Plutonians who live here have told us in
their picture language that this planet was the center of life in the
solar system. Millions of years ago, when the sun was much larger, they
sent out expeditions to the other planets, of which Earth was one. We
may be descendants of theirs.... Just a moment, there's someone at my
door. Signing off."_
She flicked off the key and opened the door to reveal Captain Walter
McCausland.
"Oh, hello," she said.
"Paulette--Miss de Vries," he said earnestly, "can you come to my cabin
for a few minutes? I want to say something very important to you where
we won't be interrupted."
"If it's important."
"It is." He stood aside for her to pass and they moved silently down
the empty corridor to his cabin. When they were seated he looked at her
seriously for a moment.
"I never asked you why you took it upon yourself to break off our
engagement in so dramatic a manner."
"The reason was sufficient for me. It doesn't matter otherwise."
His lips drew back. "I suppose it has something to do with that young
puppy of a mate."
"That, Captain McCausland, is none of your business."
He leaned forward. "Paulette, stop fencing with me. I'll be frank. You
know that not everything has gone smoothly on this expedition. You may
think you know the reason; perhaps you do. And then again, perhaps I
know a lot more about it than you do. You think that the expedition is
a great success so far, but I want to remind you that we're not home
yet. We haven't even left Pluto and those queer people down there. I
think--that is--if you really want to be certain that we will get back
to Earth with our load of beryllium, it might be an extremely good idea
if you reconsidered your breaking the engagement."
She spoke with acidity.
"Captain McCausland, I still wouldn't marry you if you were the last
man on Earth. Anything else--"
The buzzer whirred and a voice spoke through the loudspeaker system.
"Professor Reuter requests Captain McCausland's presence in the
laboratory. Professor Reuter requests--"
The captain snapped his key, said, "Coming," and then turned to
Paulette. "Wait here. I haven't finished. There's something more
important--" and was gone, leaving her there.
* * * * *
It was a chance for which she had long hoped. Perhaps she could
discover why he seemed to be intent on wrecking his own expedition. She
glanced about her noting every possible location for hidden things.
There was the chart rack, full of rolled maps. Not likely. Then the
bookcase, rows of neat bound volumes. There remained the desk and the
safe. Methodically she examined drawer after drawer, feeling sure that
nothing very important would have been left so loosely about. There was
nothing--but what was this? A slip of paper on which were written four
numbers and the words, "Changed 4/14/2432."
She pocketed it quickly.
Hastily she went to the safe and tried out the simple number locks--to
find the handle swing instantly open! Its contents were two bundles
of papers. The first consisted of ancient stock certificates. Her eye
glanced at the name on one, one thousand shares of Niagara Hydro to
Walter McCausland. Worthless old things... but _kept in the safe_! Then
the light broke. She pieced together a dozen slight references from
remembered conversations--Walter's warm liking for the ancient days of
electricity and steam, his hatred of modern things. He had plotted to
turn the world back four centuries; to destroy the whole system that
had been built on atomic power. And, she realized as she explored the
thick pile of stocks that he would be the richest man in that restored
world. It was a wild dream, an insane one, yet she shuddered as she
thought how nearly he had succeeded.
Idly she glanced at the other slab of paper--the drawn conversations
with the Plutonians. Nothing else. But why were they also kept in the
safe? She glanced hurriedly through them, frowned at one, and then
gasped in sheer horror as she understood it. It was an incredible
drawing of dwarf men who thrust taller humans into a tank of water,
while other dwarfs bowed in a strange ritual. But the horror was for
the vague thing drawn inside the tank--it was impossible, yet what
mistake could there be?... She must hurry ... hurry... yet she banged
the safe shut and locked it, before leaving and rushing down the
corridor with the bundle of drawings hugged to her gasping breast.
* * * * *
McCausland's face was drawn with some nameless thought, but his eyes
narrowed shrewdly enough when he saw the girl had left. Hastily he
tried the safe and found it locked. Reuter came in and asked, "Where's
the girl?"
"Gone back to her cabin, most likely."
The professor's eyes glanced idly over the floor and grew large.
McCausland looked where he pointed. There between desk and safe lay a
stock certificate!
Reuter was the first to recover his speech. "Left her alone here, eh?
Try the safe...." But McCausland was already opening it and together
they stared at the empty space where the Plutonian drawings should have
been.
"Search the ship!" snapped the captain. Then, "Well, Reuter, why are
you looking like that?"
"You don't think she's," he licked his lips furtively, "gone down there
with the others ... trying to save them...."
Captain McCausland, gray in the face, was shouting into the
loudspeaker, "Paulette! Paulette!"
"She won't answer you, if she's seen those drawings," reminded Reuter.
Cursing, he rushed down the corridor to the open lock that connected
with the Plutonian world below. Far down on the bottom he glimpsed a
familiar tiny figure as it vanished from sight.
"Paulette! Come back." His voice was a hoarse scream. He leaned against
the side of the lock and groaned.
"Walter," Reuter arrived panting, "she's gone. We can't help it. She
turned you down anyway, didn't she? Let's get the ship out of here
quick."
Walter's face was ghastly pale, but he straightened his back. "Do you
think I'd leave _her_! Those other fools, yes! But not my girl, you old
goat. She's _mine_, I tell you."
Reuter groaned.
"But they'll get you, too ... you can't leave me alone here!"
The captain turned back, snarling. "That's right. I won't leave you.
You'd start the ship and leave us all, wouldn't you! Very well; you're
coming, too!"
A heavy hand dragged the screaming, protesting professor into the
lock-door and pushed him savagely down on the rungs of the ladder.
* * * * *
Adam herded the forty-six sight-seers from the _Goddard_ into the room.
He was a little puzzled. The Plutonians now, on the last day, not only
permitted but actually suggested that the crew visit their sacred
temple. He looked hastily around the ante-room, trying to keep the men
in order. The half dozen scientists were everywhere, poking about into
things with cries of excitement. Two strangely dressed guards began
throwing open the temple door and everyone surged forward. Inside,
they gazed open-mouthed. The huge room was three times as high as the
usual low Plutonian ceiling, on which the earthmen frequently bumped
their heads. At one end was a large gallery, ten feet off the floor,
and here, tier on tier, were hundreds of the dwarfs. They rose at the
moment and began reciting a sonorous chant.
In the center of the room, twenty feet square, milky blue, lit from
unknown depths below, was a glass tank. Adam saw, with a gasp of horror
and dread, the thing that floated in it--it was a huge Amoeba. He
looked shrewdly about and noted the reverent attitude of the gallery.
Could this horror be the Plutonians' deity? The Great God Amoeba?
Nervous now, he glanced behind and shouted. The temple doors were
closing!
"Wayland! Jake!" he cried, leaping to the doors. A dozen men turned and
came on the run, but they pushed and bartered in vain on the smooth
metal as the doors clanged shut.
"We're prisoners!" snapped Adam. "Anyone bring a weapon ... anything
at all? Even a spanner, Bjornsen? A bomb-spear, Rossiter? Don't use
it, fool, you'll kill us all! Well, we're in a hell of a fix! Our bare
fists! Let's get at those dam' dwarfs on the balcony, anyway. Each
fellow boost his neighbor up. Ready?"
They rushed in a mob, and though the ten-foot wall meant incredible
height to the dwarf Plutonians, their front ranks drew back nervously,
and the rearmost made for the exits. When they saw these earthmen climb
on each other's shoulders and actually drawing themselves over into
the gallery they broke in a panic and milled about the exits. Great
Bjornsen was among the first and while the others turned to aid their
companions, he charged roaring. But a dozen of the dwarfs, dangerous as
trapped rats, threw themselves on him. Three went down with pile-driver
blows, skulls cracked like egg-shells, but the giant was pulled down
by sheer numbers and would have been killed on the spot had not a cry
from the rear of the balcony saved him. The Plutonians were through
the doors, which were held open until the engineer's assailants rushed
through, whereupon they closed shut. The earthmen charged and raged
against them five minutes before Adam called them back.
"Save your strength, men. This is a good place to keep together and
wait. It's all we can do ... they'll have to come at us some time."
* * * * *
Minutes passed, slowly, watchfully. Nerves were tense to the breaking
point. Then, on the ceiling low over their heads at the back of the
gallery the familiar whining snarl of one of their own atomic drills
broke out. Adam crouched, muscles ready for whatever might offer. The
drill droned on and the point showed through. There was a pause and
with a clang a great section of the ceiling was wrenched up and fell
over on the floor above. Amid the opening framed the face of Paulette
de Vries!
"Come up!" she cried softly. "Oh hurry, hurry!" and into Adam's ear she
poured her story, as soon as he had crawled on Bjornsen's shoulders to
her side. Adam's voice immediately broke into action, urging the men to
greater speed. He lay on his stomach reaching down to aid the climbers
from below. Bjornsen was the last man, and as the strain of his weight
fell on Adam's muscles he saw the door of the temple open and a vast
mob of Plutonian guards rush in. Bjornsen was up now and Paulette
tugging at Adam to come, too, but Adam had seen something--could it
be! Yes, no mistake. There were two humans, still struggling, being
carried across the temple floor to the great tank. A dozen dwarfs
bore the leading man to its brink and with a great heave and a shout
from the mob, he fell into the milky water. "It's the captain,"
groaned Adam, half-lowering himself as though to attempt a rescue. But
Bjornsen's great arm gripped his leg. "The dirty rat," growled that
giant, "he's gettin' what he planned for us. Anyway, it's hopeless,
sir."
And as he dragged Adam away from the hole in the ceiling, he caught
one last glimpse of Walter McCausland, frantic staring eyes pressed
to the glass under water, as the great white Amoeba closed its flesh
around him and the man's form became cloudy and, after a moment, ceased
struggling.
"Oh Adam, hurry!" moaned Paulette.
They were in a low space, which extended in all directions, supported
by squat pillars. "It's a sort of bulk-head space above their hollow
world--separates them from the water above," explained the girl. "I
broke into it from the dig-tunnel and if we hurry...."
"Mr. Longworth, sir," a member of the crew broke in excitedly. "I've
still got this bomb-spear. I can set it and time it to go off. Why not
leave it here behind us, and blow this damn bulk-head to pieces. Wipe
out that lousy nest of murderers." He gripped the missile in his hands,
and bent over to place it against the bulk-head wall. Adam turned
to him flashingly. "None of that, Rossiter. These people are only
protecting themselves. And if we flood their world, we can never come
back to it for more beryllium. Come along, we've got to move.... Did
you hear me, Rossiter? I said to pick up that bomb and come along."
Rossiter looked at Adam with red, fury-filled eyes. "To hell with what
you said," he screamed. "These lousy freaks killed Captain McCausland.
They're not going to kill me! Do you hear? They're not going to kill
me! I'll blow them all to hell first. Yes, and us, too. Let me go!
They'll kill me, you fool! Let me go! Ah--a-a-a-ah!" He collapsed
inertly to the floor of the tunnel.
Adam sucked his bruised knuckles, his eyes like bits of flint. His gaze
stabbed at the silent circle of men around him. "Anyone else feel the
same way?" he asked quietly. "No? All right, we'll go on. Petersen,
pick him up and carry him along. He'll be all right. He cracked, poor
devil."
They raced along the bulk-head, crouching in the confined space. After
what seemed ages, Paulette gasped. "Just ahead of us ... see it ...
there!"
The jagged hole in the wall appeared before them, but even as they tore
madly toward it, it filled with a horde of seamed, wrinkled faces, and
squat, ugly bodies. Adam knew there could be no hesitating. If they
stopped now, they were lost. "Don't stop," he shouted. "Keep going.
Right through 'em!" With a thudding shock the earthmen met the dwarfs.
Bare fists rose and fell, flailing like sledge-hammers. The brown
horde fell back before the onslaught. Countless numbers were down,
skulls crushed like egg shells. Then suddenly the crunch of Bjornsen's
fists cleared a gap, and the desperate crew plunged into it. Ahead
of them was the dig-tunnel, with its ladder leading upward to the
precious safety of the space-ship. The way was clear, for the astounded
Plutonians had not had time to rally their scattered forces.
But Adam knew it would not be long before they did. Across the
intervening space the little party dashed, straight for the opening of
the dig-tunnel. Fifty feet. Just fifty feet above them was safety. But
climbing the ladder with an unconscious man among them was torturingly
slow work. Adam was the last to go up. As he passed the quarter mark,
he heard the enraged shouts of the dwarfs behind him. He risked one
quick look over his shoulder. They were already pouring into the
tunnel, and the first ranks had started to swarm the ladder. "Hurry,"
he gasped. "They're coming up!" Like a snail he climbed. Rung by slow
rung. Time stood still. There was no sound except the panting of the
earthmen above, and the ever-nearing swish of small slippered feet
below. Then Adam saw that the first of his crew had reached the ship,
and were clambering through the port. He saw Paulette enter, and hands
reached down to help Petersen and his unconscious burden. They could
go up faster now. Another moment or two and they would be safe. Adam
gasped in relief as he saw the open port close above him. Three more
rungs. Two! One!
Something gripped his foot. Something that pulled, and clung like
a vise in spite of his frantic kicking. He looked down. Two of the
Plutonians had grabbed him, and bracing themselves were pulling
frantically. Helplessly he watched while long, powerful arms went out,
closed about his other foot. He felt it pulled from the rung, and now
he hung there, held only by his arms that grasped the rung above him.
Arms that creaked in their sockets, until darting streaks of pain
shot across his eyes. Hands that were wet with sweat, slipping ...
slipping....
"Quick sir. Here!" Adam's staring eyes saw the huge figure of Bjornsen
leaning from the port above him. But so far above him. The man could
never reach him. Then he felt strong huge hands that gripped him by
the arm-pits and pulled. Pulled until he thought his body must tear
in two. But he was going up! With the last of his strength he kicked
his feet viciously, trying to dislodge those straining, sinewy hands
that gripped his legs. Then suddenly, they let go. Like a limp bag of
sand he was hauled through the port, and lay gasping on the flooring.
"Quick!" he croaked. "The door. Close it." With the clang of metal
against metal he heard it shut, and lay back, drawing in great lungfuls
of cool, refreshing air. After a moment he clambered rockily to his
feet. His eyes met those of Bjornsen. His hand went out, and was
clasped in the Norwegian's great paw. "Thanks," he said quietly. "I
shall never forget that." He shook his head, and passed an aching arm
across his eyes. Some measure of strength returned to him, and with it
the realization that as officer in command, there was much to be done.
"To your stations, men. Prepare to ascend immediately. Close the inner
hatch. We're not safe yet. They have our atomic drills, and if they
start to use them on the ship, we're lost. Mr. Wayland, come with me.
Jake, to your engines."
With Paulette at their heels, Adam and Wayland hurried along the
passages of the great ship until they reached the control room.
"Engines ready, Jake?" he asked into the radiophone. "Stand by. Very
well, Mr. Wayland. Six ascensions please."
Wayland gasped. "Six, sir! Why that'll tear the ship to pieces. She
won't stand it, sir!"