When Dustin reached his office in Chicago, he found a terse radiogram
from the commander of the U.S. Aerial Battleship, Alaska, awaiting him.
Just found the Hawaii, wrecked on surface of Pacific with radio out of
commission. Official observers unable to see moon on account of
clouds. Am towing the Hawaii to San Francisco.
J. C. Farrell, Commander,
_U.S.A.B. Alaska_.
He read it in silence, then handed it to Sanders.
“Does this mean that we lose, Ted?” he asked.
“It means,” replied Ted, gamely trying to disguise the quiver of
disappointment in his voice, “that Theodore Dustin, Inc., will be sold
for the benefit of creditors—lock, stock and barrel, within the next
thirty days.”
During the days that followed, Ted and Roger were kept busy putting the
affairs of the company in order, preparatory to turning it over to its
creditors. At the final moment their attorney had secured them an extra
thirty day extension, but this, after all, was only a prolonging of the
agony.
A Russian manufacturer had made the highest bid for the plant and
patents, and sorrow prevailed in the entire organization when it was
announced that the creditors would, in all probability, accept the bid.
The indignant official observers had, as Ted had predicted, unanimously
declared against even a probability that his projectile had struck the
moon. True, an unofficial observer in Guatemala had reported seeing a
flash and a dark cloud near the crater Herschel at the appointed time,
but this statement was unsupported from other quarters and, therefore,
of no value to Ted’s claims.
The eruption and storm had made it impossible for the South American
observatories to view the moon at all at that time, while all other
observatories so situated as to have even slight opportunity for a
glimpse at the proper moment, reported exceptionally cloudy weather.
On the morning of May 5th, Dustin sat moodily in his private office,
surrounded by a thick cloud of blue smoke from his black briar, when
Sanders burst into the room waving a newspaper which he thrust beneath
the eyes of his employer.
“Can you beat this, Ted?” he asked. “They say your projectile came back
to the earth and nearly destroyed London!”
Ted read the screaming headline, and gasped.
_TERRIFIC EXPLOSION NEAR LONDON!_
_MAY BE DUSTIN PROJECTILE_
_RETURNED TO EARTH_
_At four thirty this morning a huge missile fell into the Thames River
near Gravesend. It exploded with terrible force, killing more than
fourteen hundred people, and injuring thousands. The shock of the
explosion was felt all over the British Isles as well as on
continental Europe, and was registered by seismographs all over the
world._
_Scientists have calculated that the projectile fired by the inventor,
Theodore Dustin, would return to the earth in thirty days, but they
now believe it must have traveled in a larger orbit than they
estimated, and that this is the missile of Dustin returning later than
predicted._
Ted pushed the paper aside wearily.
“The ‘I told you so’ boys are at it again, Roger,” he said. “They make
me sick. In order to prove a pet theory, they’re trying to make a
wholesale murderer of me in the eyes of the world. I’m weary of it all.”
Then a voice suddenly issued from the radiovisiphone. It was the
operator.
“Mr. Dustin.”
“Yes.”
“Station WNB-437 announces that it is about to broadcast important
international news. Shall I tune it in for you?”
“Please.”
A picture instantly flashed on the disc of the radiovisiphone—the
announcer for the World News Broadcasters, standing in the station at
Washington, D.C. He held a paper in one hand, and a watch in the other,
evidently waiting for the exact second to begin his announcement.
Presently he cleared his throat and looked up.
“We have just received a communication from Paris, France,” he
announced. “A projectile similar to that which fell in the Thames near
Gravesend has fallen into the heart of Paris. The city is in ruins and
there has been a terrific loss of life, unestimated at this time. This
shock, like the one which came a few hours ago, has been recorded by
seismographs all over the world. Scientists who hold that the previous
explosion was caused by the Dustin projectile have issued no statements
regarding this one. No one we have consulted can offer any explanation
of this singular and terrible occurrence.”
The announcer paused, then turned to receive a new sheet of paper from a
messenger.
“The situation with regard to these projectiles is becoming more serious
every minute,” he said. “I have here a radio message from New York City.
A third missile has just fallen into New York Harbor, sinking or
destroying all shipping in the vicinity, killing and maiming thousands
of people, and shattering glass in the windows for miles around. Two
Broadway skyscrapers are reported to have toppled to the street, adding
to the shambles as panic-stricken people scurrying for shelter were
crushed in the ruins.”
Again the announcer paused to receive a new sheet of paper.
“A message from Professor Fowler of the Yerkes Observatory states that
he was looking at the moon this morning between the hours of one and
four o’clock, and that during that period he saw five distinct and quite
brilliant flashes of light in the region of the crater, Ptolemy. He has
just learned of the explosions at London, Paris and New York, and thinks
that they may have some connection with what he saw on the moon early
this morning. It is his theory that the moon is suffering from a
bombardment similar to that which the earth is undergoing.”
The picture of the announcer suddenly disappeared from the disc and that
of Dustin’s operator appeared.
“I had to tune out WNB-437, sir,” she apologized. “The President of the
United States is calling.”
“Tune him in,” replied Dustin.
Instantly there flashed on the disc the familiar countenance of
President Whitmore. He looked worried, and his voice trembled slightly
as he asked:
“Mr. Dustin, have you any explanation of the calamities that have
overtaken the world in the last few hours?”
“I have no facts for you at present, Mr. President,” replied Dustin,
“but I have a theory.”
“And what is that?”
“It is my belief that the moon is bombarding the earth. She reached an
advantageous firing position last night, and Professor Fowler saw five
flashes between one and four o’clock this morning. According to my
theory she left five huge interplanetary mines in the path of the earth
and we have already run afoul of three of them. Moreover, they were
aimed and timed with such accuracy that one of our chief cities has been
destroyed and two more came near to meeting the same fate.”
“You have stated that your projectile struck the moon. Do you believe
that our satellite is inhabited, and that the explosions we have
experienced were mines or missiles, fired in reprisal by the lunar
inhabitants?”
“That is my belief, Mr. President.”
“Then, Mr. Dustin, you are jointly responsible with the Associated
Governments of the Earth for this horrible and unexpected catastrophe,
and we shall look to you to see that the bombardment is stopped.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. President, but I am without funds, and my company is to
be taken from me by my creditors in a few days.”
“This, Mr. Dustin,” replied the President, “is an international
emergency, and must be met with every ounce of power at our command. We
need you—the world needs you and your organization. Draw on the
government for such funds as you require at once, and I will issue an
order on the treasury for sufficient funds to satisfy every one of your
creditors.
“At present I can only promise you the cooperation of our own
government, but I am calling a meeting of the Associated Governments
today, and I feel sure they will be with us. Do all you can, as quickly
as you can, and spare no expense to carry the thing through as swiftly
as possible.”
“I’ll do my best, Mr. President,” replied Ted.
The picture of the President faded from the disc, and Roger rose from
his seat, his face aglow with enthusiasm for this new undertaking.
“Atta boy, Ted!” he said. “When do we start? And how?”