On the following day the factory of Theodore Dustin, Inc., hummed with
an activity it had not known for weeks.
The fact that Ted’s prediction regarding the other two missiles from the
moon had come true shortly after he had uttered them, solidified public
confidence in him to a degree even greater than that he had enjoyed
before the firing of his own projectile and his subsequent condemnation
by the official observers.
The last two missiles to strike the earth had apparently not been aimed
so accurately as the others, but the intent of those who fired them had
been just as evident, for one had plumped into the middle of Lake
Michigan, not far from Chicago, and the other had alighted in the
Tyrrhenian Sea near Rome, both causing tidal waves and some damage to
shipping, but without the large number of fatalities which attended the
falls of the others.
There were people, of course, who condemned Ted for having fired his
projectile to the moon and thus having brought about the bombardment in
reprisal—a bombardment which, for all they knew, might take place every
month at the time the moon was in a favorable firing position.
None there were, however, who condemned the youthful scientist so
thoroughly as he condemned himself. Not that he spent his time, or any
part of it, in self-reproach. There was, in fact, no time for anything
but work, with the busy program he had set for himself and his men.
Two major projects, both being carried on at once, claimed every minute
of his waking time. One was the building of a gigantic radio station,
with which he hoped to get into communication with the inhabitants of
the moon. The other, the construction of an interplanetary vehicle
driven by atomotors, in which he hoped to reach the moon in person. The
radio, he expected to have ready for service in two weeks, but the
vehicle, because the manufacture of many of its delicate and intricate
parts could only be entrusted to a few of his best men, would take six
weeks to complete at the very least.
During the first three days and nights he worked without sleep. Then
outraged nature asserted itself, and he was compelled to rest. From then
until the day of the completion of the radio station, he put himself on
a sleep ration of four hours a day.
On May 19th, just two weeks after the projectiles from the moon had
struck the earth, and nearly two months from the day Dustin’s projectile
had exploded on the moon, there was a large and august assemblage in the
general office of Theodore Dustin, Inc.
Forty of the world’s leading linguists, representing every race and
color on the globe, talked excitedly in a multiplicity of tongues. Nor
were modern languages solely represented, for there was a small group of
men whose life studies had been the forgotten languages of the past—men
who had wrested from crypts, pyramids, monuments, caves, and the ruins
of ancient cities, temples and fortresses, the secrets of the speech of
the ancients.
Nor were these all. A still smaller group consisted of the greatest men
of science, sent by the leading nations of the earth.
From time to time, they glanced expectantly at the door of Dustin’s
private office.
Presently the door opened and Dustin stepped out, accompanied by
President Whitmore of the United States.
Instantly the buzz of conversation ceased, as Ted held his hand aloft
for silence.
“We are ready, gentlemen,” he announced. “Follow me to the elevators.”
Three trips of the elevators landed everyone on the roof. In the center
was a building containing the sending and receiving apparatus. Overhead
were stretched the wires of the gigantic aerial.
Ted conducted his party to the doorway of the building and into a small
auditorium with seats and desks arranged in a semicircle. Here Sanders
met them and assisted Ted in showing each man to the desk which had been
provided for him.
When all were seated, Ted and Roger pulled back two sliding doors which
disclosed a small stage and a radiovisiphone with a disc ten feet in
diameter, which faced the gathering.
“Now, Mr. President,” said Ted, “if you will do us the honor of pressing
the button on the desk before you, you will close the circuit of the set
through which we hope to establish communication with the inhabitants of
the moon. The zero hour has arrived. In accordance with the orders of
the Associated Governments of the Earth, every broadcasting station in
the world has ceased to function.”
The President smiled and pressed the button. A terrific crackling roar
from the radiovisiphone followed his action.
Ted speedily adjusted a set of dials on the desk before him, and the
roar subsided. Then he stepped before the radiovisiphone.
“People of the Moon,” he said, “we know not in what language to address
you, so we are about to speak to you in all the known languages of the
earth. Our mission is one of peace—our purpose to make apology for
having wronged you—a people of whom we know nothing, and whose very
existence we did not suspect. Will you answer us, People of the Moon?”
The young inventor evidently did not expect a reply—not so soon, at
least. He turned, and beckoned to the German linguist to take his place.
It was his purpose to have the speech repeated in each language in turn.
About to step down from the platform, he was startled by sudden cries of
amazement from the men facing him.
“Look, Ted! Look quickly, behind you!” he heard Roger shout.
As he faced the radiovisiphone once more, it was his turn to gasp in
astonishment not unmingled with awe, for revealed in the pellucid depths
of the ten foot disk, and apparently not five feet from him, stood a
woman—a glorious vision of feminine beauty that held him entranced.
She was not large—a scant five feet in height, he judged—but there was a
certain dignity in her bearing which somehow made her appear taller. The
golden glory that was her hair, dressed in a style new and strange to
the inventor, was held by a band of platinum-like metal powdered with
glistening jewels. Her clothing, if judged by earthly standards, was not
clothing at all. Gleaming meshes of white metal, woven closely together,
formed a light, shimmering garment that covered though it revealed the
lines of her shapely breasts, slender waist, and lissom hips, leaving
arms, shoulders and legs bare. A jeweled dagger hung from a chain-like
belt about her waist, and a huge ruby blazed on the index finger of her
left hand. On her feet were sandals, apparently constructed from the
white metal.
Behind the young lady whose appearance had so amazed the distinguished
gathering of scientists, stood two men, each well over six feet tall.
They appeared to be guards, for each leaned on the hilt of a huge,
broad-bladed, scimitar-like weapon that reached from the floor to the
level of his breast, and both wore shining plate armor and helmets of
strange design.
The girl smiled, revealing at the same time, a set of small, even white
teeth, and a most adorable pair of dimples. Then she spoke. Ted stood
like one bewitched, listening to the clear, flute-like tones, but Roger
had the presence of mind to turn on the recorder.
She had not spoken more than a dozen words, however, when the image in
the disc blurred and her voice was drowned by a confusion of discordant
sounds.
“What’s wrong?” asked the President of the United States, anxiously.
“Another station cutting in, damn it!” replied Ted, frantically turning
his wave-trap dial with one hand and the selector dials with the other.
While he labored with the dials an image seemed slowly to be forming in
the disc, taking the place of the one which had just disappeared. For a
time, two voices were heard, one unmistakably that of the girl, growing
fainter and fainter, the other, the coarse tones of a man, constantly
increasing in intensity.
As the new image cleared, it proved to be that of a man of remarkable
dimensions—with a body that was almost globular, to which were attached
incongruously slender arms and legs. Although he could not have been
more than five feet tall, his round head was nearly twice as large as
that of the average earth man of six feet. His nose was flat, and his
eyes slanted toward his temples above exceptionally prominent cheek
bones. As he spoke in sing-song monosyllables, he disclosed rat-like
teeth, set far apart, and wobbled a long, thin moustache, the two ends
of which drooped from the corners of his mouth to his breast.
On his head was a tall pointed helmet of gleaming yellow metal, built up
in tiers like a pagoda and ending in a sharp spike. His body was encased
in scale-like armor of the same yellow metal, and his breast was crossed
by two purple sashes, fastened at their intersection by a golden
medallion on which was emblazoned a scarlet dragon. From one of these
depended a sword with a small, round guard, and a hilt nearly a foot in
length, and from the other, a weapon which slightly resembled an
automatic pistol. Behind him stood a semicircle of smaller beings of
similar rotund shape, whose helmets were shorter and of copper-colored
metal, as were their suits of armor. They wore brown sashes and copper
medallions emblazoned with green dragons, and in addition to weapons
similar to those of the larger man, carried tall poles surmounted by
sharp discs that slightly resembled buzz-saws with exceptionally long
teeth.
The appearance of the girl had created a stir in the room, but when
these grotesque creatures became plainly visible on the disc, animated
whispers turned to an uproar, and Ted was forced to call for silence.
Scarcely had the confusion abated, ere an aged Chinese doctor arose and
came up beside Ted.
“What is it, Dr. Wu?” asked the young scientist, his hands busy with the
dials. “Can you understand him?”
“A word, here and there, seems intelligible—something like the language
of my revered ancestors.”
At sight of Dr. Wu, the speaker in the disc paused and nodded. It was as
if he had recognized someone racially akin to him. The doctor bowed and
smiled in return, and said something in a monosyllabic tongue. Its
phonetic similarity to that which had come from the globular being was
striking, as was the fact that there was a slight facial resemblance
between Dr. Wu and the lunar speaker.
The Lunite pursed his lips and knit his brows as if endeavoring to
understand. He turned to the semicircle of men behind him. They all
appeared puzzled. Then he dispatched one of them, who disappeared from
the disc, and facing Dr. Wu once more, uttered a short sentence.
It was the doctor’s turn to knit his brows and shake his head. Again he
essayed speech with the armored man. Apparently he was not understood.
The process was repeated several more times with the same result. It
seemed that the two were on the verge of understanding each other, yet
could not quite make themselves intelligible.
Then the man who had disappeared from the disc a few minutes before
reappeared with another, a bent figure who hung on his arm for support.
His face was wrinkled and toothless, his sparse moustache was gray, and
his limbs were more spindly than those of the others. Instead of armor
he wore a garment of quilted black cloth over his emaciated form.
The man in the gold armor looked at Dr. Wu, then pointed to the old man
and uttered a few words. The doctor nodded, and addressed him. The old
fellow pondered for a moment, then shook his head. Again Dr. Wu spoke to
him. He shook his head once more, and reaching beneath his robe, drew
forth a scroll and writing brush. After rapidly tracing a number of
characters on the scroll, he held it up. The writing bore a striking
resemblance to Chinese.
Seizing Ted’s sleeve, the doctor spoke excitedly.
“Is the photo-recorder on?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I believe I can translate that writing, given time.”
Facing the old man in the disc, Dr. Wu again nodded and smiled. Then he
pointed skyward and said:
“_T’ien._”
The old man nodded, smiled, and repeated excitedly: “_T’ien! T’ien!_”
then bowed as if in devotion.
The doctor also made the devotional obeisance and said:
“_Shang Ti._”
The old man shook his head, signifying that he could not understand.
Then he pointed to the man in the golden armor, and said:
“_P’an-ku._”
“_P’an-ku!_” repeated the doctor with a look of astonishment on his
face, and made obeisance to the golden one.
That individual, with a look of annoyance, suddenly turned on the old
man and released a volley of monosyllables. The old fellow groveled
before him and shook his head.
Then he of the golden armor made a sign with his hand, whereupon the
disc suddenly became blank.
“Guess the interview is over,” said Ted, shutting off the radio. “Now
how can we find out what it was all about?”
“I can explain the last three words,” said Dr. Wu. “‘_T’ien_,’ is the
oldest word in our language which has the meaning of ‘The Heavens’ or
‘God.’ This word was understood. ‘_Shang Ti_,’ a later word for ‘God,’
was unintelligible. The old man pointed to the one who was evidently the
ruler, and said: ‘_P’an-ku_.’ According to our traditions, ‘_P’an-ku_’
was the first human being, corresponding to the ‘Adam’ of your Bible.”
“From which one might deduce,” said Ted, “that the people we have just
interviewed are remotely related to your earliest ancestors.”
“So it seems. If you will let me have the phonetic and written records,
and a fast electroplane, I believe that by consulting our ancient
writings I may be able to render a translation in a few days.”
“Splendid!” replied Ted. “Both will be ready within an hour.”