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ASTOUNDING STORIES OF SUPER-SCIENCE
_On Sale the First Thursday of Each Month_
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VOL. I, No. 3 CONTENTS MARCH, 1930
COVER DESIGN H. W. WESSOLOWSKI
_Painted in Water-colors from a Scene in "Brigands of the Moon."_
COLD LIGHT CAPTAIN S. P. MEEK 295
_How Could a Human Body Be Found Actually Splintered--Broken
into Sharp Fragments Like a Shattered Glass! Once Again Dr. Bird
Probes Deep into an Amazing Mystery._
BRIGANDS OF THE MOON RAY CUMMINGS 306
_Black Mutiny and Brigandage Stalk the Space-ship Planetara as
She Speeds to the Moon to Pick Up a Fabulously Rich Cache of
Radium-ore._
THE SOUL MASTER WILL SMITH AND R. J. ROBBINS 350
_Desperately O'Hara Plunged into Prof. Kell's Mysterious Mansion.
For His Friend Skip Was the Victim of the Eccentric Scientist's
De-astralizing Experiment, and Faced a Fate More Hideous than
Death._
FROM THE OCEAN'S DEPTHS SEWELL PEASLEE WRIGHT 376
_Man Came from the Sea. Mercer, by His Thought-telegraph, Learns
from the Weirdly Beautiful Ocean-maiden of a Branch that Returned
There._
VANDALS OF THE STARS A. T. LOCKE 390
_A Livid Flame Flares Across Space--and Over Manhattan Hovers
Teuxical, Vassal of Malfero, Lord of the Universe, Who Comes with
Ten Thousand Warriors to Ravage and Subjugate One More Planet for
His Master._
* * * * *
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* * * * *
Cold Light
_By Capt. S. P. Meek_
How could a human body be found actually splintered--broken into
sharp fragments like a shattered glass! Once again Dr. Bird
probes deep into an amazing mystery.
[Illustration: "_The bodies had broken into pieces, as though they had
been made of glass._"]
"Confound it, Carnes, I am on my vacation!"
"I know it, Doctor, and I hate to disturb you, but I felt that I simply
had to. I have one of the weirdest cases on my hands that I have ever
been mixed up in and I think that you'll forgive me for calling you when
I tell you about it."
Dr. Bird groaned into the telephone transmitter.
"I took a vacation last summer, or tried to, and you hauled me away from
the best fishing I have found in years to help you on a case. This year
I traveled all the way from Washington to San Francisco to get away from
you and the very day that I get here you are after me. I won't have
anything to do with it. Where are you, anyway?"
"I am at Fallon, Nevada, Doctor. I'm sorry that you won't help me out
because the case promises to be unusually interesting. Let me at least
tell you about it."
Dr. Bird groaned louder than ever into the telephone transmitter.
"All right, go ahead and tell me about it if it will relieve your mind,
but I have given you my final answer. I am not a bit interested in it."
"That is quite all right, Doctor, I don't expect you to touch it. I
hope, however, that you will be able to give me an idea of where to
start. Did you ever see a man's body broken in pieces?"
"Do you mean badly smashed up?"
"No indeed, I mean just what I said, broken in pieces. Legs snapped off
as though the entire flesh had become brittle."
"No, I didn't, and neither did anyone else."
"I have seen it, Doctor."
"Hooey! What had you been drinking?"
Operative Carnes of the United States Secret Service chuckled softly to
himself. The voice of the famous scientist of the Bureau of Standards
plainly showed an interest which was quite at variance with his words.
"I was quite sober, Doctor, and so was Hughes, and we both saw it."
"Who is Hughes?"
"He is an air mail pilot, one of the crack fliers of the Transcontinental
Airmail Corporation. Let me tell you the whole thing in order."
"All right. I have a few minutes to spare, but I'll warn you again that
I don't intend to touch the case."
* * * * *
"Suit yourself, Doctor. I have no authority to requisition your
services. As you know, the T. A. C. has been handling a great deal of
the transcontinental air mail with a pretty clean record on accidents.
The day before yesterday, a special plane left Washington to carry two
packages from there to San Francisco. One of them was a shipment of
jewels valued at a quarter of a million, consigned to a San Francisco
firm and the other was a sealed packet from the War Department. No one
was supposed to know the contents of that packet except the Chief of
Staff who delivered it to the plane personally, but rumors got out, as
usual, and it was popularly supposed to contain certain essential
features of the Army's war plans. This much is certain: The plane
carried not only the regular T. A. C. pilot and courier, but also an
army courier, and it was guarded during the trip by an army plane armed
with small bombs and a machine-gun. I rode in it. My orders were simply
to guard the ship until it landed at Mills Field and then to guard the
courier from there to the Presidio of San Francisco until his packet was
delivered personally into the hands of the Commanding General of the
Ninth Corps Area.
"The trip was quiet and monotonous until after we left Salt Lake City at
dawn this morning. Nothing happened until we were about a hundred miles
east of Reno. We had taken elevation to cross the Stillwater Mountains
and were skimming low over them, my plane trailing the T. A. C. plane by
about half a mile. I was not paying any particular attention to the
other ship when I suddenly felt our plane leap ahead. It was a fast
Douglas and the pilot gave it the gun and made it move, I can tell you.
I yelled into the speaking tube and asked what was the reason. My pilot
yelled back that the plane ahead was in trouble.
"As soon as it was called to my attention I could see myself that it
wasn't acting normally. It was losing elevation and was pursuing a very
erratic course. Before we could reach it it lost flying speed and fell
into a spinning nose dive and headed for the ground. I watched,
expecting every minute to see the crew make parachute jumps, but they
didn't and the plane hit the ground with a terrific crash."
"It caught fire, of course?"
* * * * *
"No, Doctor, that is one of the funny things about the accident. It
didn't. It hit the ground in an open place free from brush and literally
burst into pieces, but it didn't flame up. We headed directly for the
scene of the crash and we encountered another funny thing. We almost
froze to death."
"What do you mean?"
"Exactly what I say. Of course, it's pretty cold at that altitude all
the time, but this cold was like nothing I had ever encountered. It
seemed to freeze the blood in our veins and it congealed frost on the
windshields and made the motor miss for a moment. It was only momentary
and it only existed directly over the wrecked plane. We went past it and
swung around in a circle and came back over the wreck, but we didn't
feel the cold again.
"The next thing we tried to do was to find a landing place. That country
is pretty rugged and rough and there wasn't a flat place for miles that
was large enough to land a ship on. Hughes and I talked it over and
there didn't seem to be much of anything that we could do except to go
on until we found a landing place. I had had no experience in parachute
jumping and I couldn't pilot the plane if Hughes jumped. We swooped down
over the wreck as close as we dared and that was when we saw the
condition of the bodies. The whole plane was cracked up pretty badly,
but the weird part of it was the fact that the bodies of the crew had
broken into pieces, as though they had been made of glass. Arms and legs
were detached from the torsos and lying at a distance. There was no sign
of blood on the ground. We saw all this with our naked eyes from close
at hand and verified it by observations through binoculars from a
greater height.
"When we had made our observations and marked the location of the wreck
as closely as we could, we headed east until we found a landing place
near Fallon. Hughes dropped me here and went on to Reno, or to San
Francisco if necessary, to report the accident and get more planes to
aid in the search. I was wholly at sea, but it seemed to be in your line
and as I knew that you were at the St. Francis, I called you up."
* * * * *
"What are your plans?"
"I made none until I talked with you. The country where the wreck
occurred is unbelievably wild and we can't get near it with any
transportation other than burros. The only thing that I can see to do is
to gather together what transportation I can and head for the wreck on
foot to rescue the packets and to bring out the bodies. Can you suggest
anything better?"
"When do you expect to start?"
"As soon as I can get my pack train together. Possibly in three or four
hours."
"Carnes, are you sure that those bodies were broken into bits? An arm or
a leg might easily be torn off in a complete crash."
"They were smashed into bits as nearly as I could tell, Doctor. Hughes
is an old flier and he has seen plenty of crashes but he never saw
anything like this. It beats anything that I ever saw."
"If your observations were accurate, there could be only one cause and
that one is a patent impossibility. I haven't a bit of equipment
here, but I expect that I can get most of the stuff I want from the
University of California across the bay at Berkeley. I can get a
plane at Crissy Field. I'll tell you what to do, Carnes. Get your burro
train together and start as soon as you can, but leave me half a
dozen burros and a guide at Fallon. I'll get up there as soon as I can
and I'll try to overtake you before you get to the wreck. If I don't,
don't disturb anything any more than you can help until my arrival. Do
you understand?"
"I thought that you were on your vacation, Doctor."
"Oh shut up! Like most of my vacations, this one will have to be
postponed. I'll move as swiftly as I can and I ought to be at Fallon
to-night if I'm lucky and don't run into any obstacles. Burros are
fairly slow, but I'll make the best time possible."
"I rather expected you would, Doctor. I can't get my pack train together
until evening, so I'll wait for you right here. I'm mighty glad that you
are going to get in on it."
* * * * *
Silently Carnes and Dr. Bird surveyed the wreck of the T. A. C. plane.
The observations of the secret service operative had been correct. The
bodies of the unfortunate crew had been broken into fragments. Their
limbs had not been twisted off as a freak of the fall but had been
cleanly broken off, as though the bodies had suddenly become brittle and
had shattered on their impact with the ground. Not only the bodies, but
the ship itself had been broken up. Even the clothing of the men was in
pieces or had long splits in the fabric whose edges were as clean as
though they had been cut with a knife.
Dr. Bird picked up an arm which had belonged to the pilot and examined
it. The brittleness, if it had ever existed, was gone and the arm was
limp.
"No _rigor mortis_," commented the Doctor. "How long ago was the
wreck?"
"About seventy-two hours ago."
"Hm-m! What about those packets that were on the plane?"
Carnes stepped forward and gingerly inspected first the body of the army
courier and then that of the courier of the T. A. C.
"Both gone, Doctor," he reported, straightening up.
Dr. Bird's face fell into grim lines.
"There is more to this case than appears on the surface, Carnes," he
said. "This was no ordinary wreck. Bring up that third burro; I want to
examine these fragments a little. Bill," he went on to one of the two
guides who had accompanied them from Fallon, "you and Walter scout
around the ground and see what you can find out. I especially wish to
know whether anyone has visited the scene of the wreck."
* * * * *
The guides consulted a moment and started out. Carnes drove up the burro
the Doctor had indicated and Dr. Bird unpacked it. He opened a mahogony
case and took from it a high powered microscope. Setting the instrument
up on a convenient rock, he subjected portions of the wreck, including
several fragments of flesh, to a careful scrutiny. When he had completed
his observations he fell into a brown study, from which he was aroused
by Carnes.
"What did you find out about the cause of the wreck, Doctor?"
"I don't know what to think. The immediate cause was that everything was
frozen. The plane ran into a belt of cold which froze up the motor and
which probably killed the crew instantly. It was undoubtedly the
aftermath of that cold which you felt when you swooped down over the
wreck."
"It seems impossible that it could have suddenly got cold enough to
freeze everything up like that."
"It does, and yet I am confident that that is what happened. It was no
ordinary cold, Carnes; it was cold of the type that infests interstellar
space; cold beyond any conception you have of cold, cold near the range
of the absolute zero of temperature, nearly four hundred and fifty
degrees below zero on the Fahrenheit scale. At such temperatures, things
which are ordinarily quite flexible and elastic, such as rubber, or
flesh, become as brittle as glass and would break in the manner which
these bodies have broken. An examination of the tissues of the flesh
shows that it has been submitted to some temperature that is very low in
the scale, probably below that of liquid air. Such a temperature would
produce instant death and the other phenomena which we can observe."
"What could cause such a low temperature, Doctor?"
"I don't know yet, although I hope to find out before we are finished.
Cold is a funny thing, Carnes. Ordinarily it is considered as simply the
absence of heat; and yet I have always held it to be a definite negative
quantity. All through nature we observe that every force has its
opposite or negative force to oppose it. We have positive and negative
electrical charges, positive and negative, or north and south, magnetic
poles. We have gravity and its opposite apergy, and I believe cold is
really negative heat."
"I never heard of anything like that, Doctor. I always thought that
things were cold because heat was taken from them--not because cold was
added. It sounds preposterous."
* * * * *
"Such is the common idea, and yet I cannot accept it, for it does not
explain all the recorded phenomena. You are familiar with a searchlight,
are you not?"
"In a general way, yes."
"A searchlight is merely a source of light, and of course, of heat,
which is placed at the focus of a parabolic reflector so that all of the
rays emanating from the source travel in parallel lines. A searchlight,
of course, gives off heat. If we place a lens of the same size as the
searchlight aperture in the path of the beam and concentrate all the
light, and heat, at one spot, the focal point of the lens, the
temperature at that point is the same as the temperature of the source
of the light, less what has been lost by radiation. You understand that,
do you not?"
"Certainly."
"Suppose that we place at the center of the aperture of the searchlight
a small opaque disc which is permeable neither to heat nor light, in
such a manner as to interrupt the central portion of the beam. As a
result, the beam will go out in the form of a hollow rod, or pipe, of
heat and light with a dark, cold core. This core will have the
temperature of the surrounding air plus the small amount which has
radiated into it from the surrounding pipe. If we now pass this beam of
light through a lens in order to concentrate the beam, both the pipe of
heat and the cold core will focus. If we place a temperature measuring
device near the focus of the dark core, we will find that the
temperature is lower than the surrounding air. This means that we have
focused or concentrated cold."
"That sounds impossible. But I can offer no other criticism."
* * * * *
"Nevertheless, it is experimentally true. It is one of the facts which
lead me to consider cold as negative heat. However, this is true of
cold, as it is of the other negative forces; they exist and manifest
themselves only in the presence of the positive forces. No one has yet
concentrated cold except in the presence of heat, as I have outlined.
How this cold belt which the T. A. C. plane encountered came to be there
is another question. The thing which we have to determine is whether it
was caused by natural or artificial forces."
"Both of the packets which the plane carried are gone, Doctor," observed
Carnes.
"Yes, and that seems to add weight to the possibility that the cause was
artificial, but it is far from conclusive. The packets might not have
been on the men when the plane fell, or someone may have passed later
and taken them for safekeeping."
The doctor's remarks were interrupted by the guides.
"Someone has been here since the wreck, Doctor," said Bill. "Walter and
I found tracks where two men came up here and prowled around for some
time and then left by the way they came. They went off toward the
northwest, and we followed their trail for about forty rods and then
lost it. We weren't able to pick it up again."
"Thanks, Bill," replied the doctor. "Well, Carnes, that seems to add
more weight to the theory that the spot of cold was made and didn't just
happen. If a prospecting party had just happened along they would either
have left the wreck alone or would have made some attempt to inter the
bodies. That cold belt must have been produced artificially by men who
planned to rob this plane after bringing it down and who were near at
hand to get their plunder. Is there any chance of following that
trail?"
"I doubt it, Doc. Walter and I scouted around quite a little, but we
couldn't pick it up again."
"Is there any power line passing within twenty miles of here?"
"None that Walter and I know of, Doc."
"Funny! Such a device as must have been used would need power and lots
of it for operation. Well, I'll try my luck. Carnes, help me unpack and
set up the rest of my apparatus."
* * * * *
With the aid of the operative, Dr. Bird unpacked two of the burros and
extracted from cases where they were carefully packed and padded some
elaborate electrical and optical apparatus. The first was a short
telescope of large diameter which he mounted on a base in such a manner
that it could be elevated or depressed and rotated in any direction. At
the focal point of the telescope was fastened a small knot of wire from
which one lead ran to the main piece of apparatus, which he sat on a
flat rock. The other lead from the wire knot ran into a sealed container
surrounded by a water bath under which a spirit lamp burned. From the
container another lead led to the main apparatus. This main piece
consisted of a series of wire coils mounted on a frame and attached to
the two leads. The doctor took from a padded case a tiny magnet
suspended on a piece of wire of exceedingly small diameter which he
fastened in place inside the coils. Cemented to the magnet was a tiny
mirror.
"What is that apparatus?" asked Carnes as the doctor finished his set-up
and surveyed it with satisfaction.
"Merely a thermocouple attached to a D'Arsonval galvanometer," replied
the doctor. "This large, squat telescope catches and concentrates on the
thermocouple and the galvanometer registers the temperature."
"You're out of my depth. What is a thermocouple?"
"A juncture of two wires made of dissimilar metals, in this case of
platinum and of platinum-iridium alloy. There is another similar
junction in this case, which is kept at a constant temperature by the
water bath. When the temperatures of the two junctions are the same, the
system is in equilibrium. When they are at different temperatures, an
electrical potential is set up, which causes a current to flow from one
to the other through the galvanometer. The galvanometer consists of a
magnet set up inside coils through which the current I spoke of flows.
This current causes the magnet to rotate and by watching the mirror, the
rotation can be detected and measured.
"This device is one of the most sensitive ever made, and is used to
measure the radiation from distant stars. Currents as small as
.000000000000000000000000001 ampere have been detected and measured.
This particular instrument is not that sensitive to begin with, and has
its sensitivity further reduced by having a high resistance in one of
the leads."
"What are you going to use it for?"
"I am going to try to locate somewhere in these hills a patch of local
cold. It may not work, but I have hopes. If you will manipulate the
telescope so as to search the hills around here, I will watch the
galvanometer."
* * * * *
For several minutes Carnes swung the telescope around. Twice Dr. Bird
stopped him and decreased the sensitiveness of his instrument by
introducing more resistance in the lines in order to keep the magnet
from twisting clear around, due to the fluctuations in the heats
received on account of the varying conditions of reflection. As Carnes
swung the telescope again the magnet swung around sharply, nearly to a
right angle to its former position.
"Stop!" cried the doctor. "Read your azimuth."
Carnes read the compass bearing on the protractor attached to the frame
which supported the telescope. Dr. Bird took a pair of binoculars and
looked long and earnestly in the indicated direction. With a sigh he
laid down the glasses.
"I can't see a thing, Carnesy," he said. "We'll have to move over to the
next crest and make a new set-up. Plant a rod on the hill so that we can
get an azimuth bearing and get the airline distance with a range
finder."
On the hilltop which Dr. Bird had pointed out the apparatus was again
set up. For several minutes Carnes swept the hills before an exclamation
from the doctor told him to pause. He read the new azimuth, and the
doctor laid off the two readings on a sheet of paper with a protractor
and made a few calculations.
"I don't know," he said reflectively when he had finished his
computations. "This darned instrument is still so sensitive that you may
have merely focused on a deep shadow or a cold spring or something of
that sort, but the magnet kicked clear around and it may mean that we
have located what we are looking for. It should be about two miles away
and almost due west of here."
"There is no spring that I know of, Doc, and I think I know of every
water hole in this country," remarked Bill.
"There could hardly be a spring at this elevation, anyway," replied the
doctor. "Maybe it is what we are seeking. We'll start out in that
direction, anyway. Bill, you had better take the lead, for you know the
country. Spread out a little so that we won't be too bunched if anything
happens."
* * * * *
For three-quarters of an hour the little group of men made their way
through the wilderness in the direction indicated by the doctor.
Presently Bill, who was in the lead, held up his hand with a warning
gesture. The other three closed up as rapidly as cautious progress would
allow.
"What is it, Bill?" asked the doctor in an undertone.
"Slip up ahead and look over that crest."
The doctor obeyed instructions. As he glanced over he gave vent to a low
whistle of surprise and motioned for Carnes to join him. The operative
crawled up and glanced over the crest. In a hollow before them was a
crude one-storied house, and erected on an open space before it was a
massive piece of apparatus. It consisted of a number of huge metallic
cylinders, from which lines ran to a silvery concave mirror mounted on
an elaborate frame which would allow it to be rotated so as to point in
any direction.
"What is it?" whispered Carnes.
"Some kind of a projector," muttered the doctor. "I never saw one quite
like it, but it is meant to project something. I can't make out the
curve of that mirror. It isn't a parabola and it isn't an ellipse. It
must be a high degree subcatenary or else built on a transcendental
function."
He raised himself to get a clearer view, and as he did so a puff of
smoke came from the house, to be followed in a moment by a sharp crack
as a bullet flattened itself a few inches from his head. The doctor
tumbled back over the crest out of sight of the house. Bill and Walter
hurried forward, their rifles held ready for action.
"Get out on the flanks, men," directed the doctor. "The man we want is
in a house in that hollow. He's armed, and he means business."
* * * * *
Bill and Walter crawled under the shelter of the rocks to a short
distance away and then, rifles ready, advanced to the attack. A report
came from the hollow and a bullet whined over Bill's head. Almost
instantly a crack came from Walter's rifle and splinters flew from the
building in the hollow a few inches from a loophole, through which
projected the barrel of a rifle.
The rifle barrel swung rapidly in a circle and barked in Walter's
direction; but as it did so, Bill's gun spoke and again splinters flew
from the building.
"Good work!" ejaculated Dr. Bird as he watched the slow advance of the
two guides. "If we just had rifles we could join in the party, but it's
a little far for effective pistol work. Let's go ahead, and we may get
close enough to do a little shooting."
Pistols in hand, Carnes and the doctor crawled over the crest and joined
the advance. Again and again the rifle spoke from the hollow and was
answered by the vicious barks of the rifles in the hands of the guides,
Carnes and the doctor resting their pistols on rocks and sending an
occasional bullet toward the loophole. The conditions of light and the
moving target were not conducive to good marksmanship on the part of the
besieged man, and none of the attackers were hit. Presently Walter
succeeded in sending a bullet through the loophole. The rifle barrel
suddenly disappeared. With a shout the four men rose from their cover
and advanced toward the building at a run.
As they did so an ominous whirring sound came from the apparatus in
front of the house and a sudden chill filled the air.
"Back!" shouted Dr. Bird. "Back below the hill if you value your
lives!"
He turned and raced at full speed toward the sheltering crest of the
hill, the others following him closely. The whirring sound continued,
and the concave reflector turned with a grating sound on its gears. As
the path of its rays struck the ground the rocks became white with frost
and one rock split with a sharp report, one fragment rolling down the
slope, carrying others in its trail.
* * * * *
With panic-stricken faces the four men raced toward the sheltering
crest, but remorselessly the reflector swung around in their direction.
The intense cold numbed the racing men, cutting off their breath and
impeding their efforts for speed.
"Stop!" cried the doctor suddenly. "Fire at that reflector! It's our
only chance!"
He set the example by turning and emptying his pistol futilely at the
turning mirror. Bill, Walter and Carnes followed his example. Nearer
and nearer to them came the deadly ray. Bill was the nearest to its
path, and he suddenly stiffened and fell forward, his useless gun still
grasped in his hands. As his body struck the ground it rolled down hill
for a few feet, the deadly ray following it. His head struck a rock, and
Carnes gave a cry of horror as it broke into fragments.
Walter threw his rifle to his shoulder and fired again and again at the
rotating disc. The cold had became intense and he could not control the
actions of his muscles and his rifle wavered about. He threw himself
flat on the ground, and, with an almost superhuman effort, steadied
himself for a moment and fired. His aim was true, and with a terrific
crash the reflector split into a thousand fragments. Dr. Bird staggered
to his feet.
"It's out of order for a moment!" he cried. "To the house while we
can!"
As swiftly as his numbed feet would allow him, he stumbled toward the
house. The muzzle of the rifle again projected from the loophole and
with its crack the doctor staggered for a moment and then fell. Walter's
rifle spoke again and the rifle disappeared through the loophole with a
spasmodic jerk. Carnes stumbled over the doctor.
"Are you hit badly?" he gasped through chattering teeth.
"I'm not hit at all," muttered the doctor. "I stumbled and fell just as
he fired. Look out! He's going to shoot again!"
The rifle barrel came slowly into view through the loophole. Walter
fired, but his bullet went wild. Carnes threw himself behind a rock for
protection.
* * * * *
The rifle swung in Walter's direction and paused. As it did so, from the
house came a strangled cry and a sound as of a blow. The rifle barrel
disappeared, and the sounds of a struggle came from the building.
"Come on!" cried Carnes as he rose to his feet, and made his stumbling
way forward, the others following at the best speed which their numbed
limbs would allow.
As they reached the door they were aware of a struggle which was going
on inside. With an oath the doctor threw his massive frame against the
door. It creaked, but the solid oak of which it was composed was proof
against the attack, and he drew back for another onslaught. From the
house came a pistol shot, followed by a despairing cry and a guttural
shout. Reinforced by Carnes, the doctor threw his weight against the
door again. With a rending crash it gave, and they fell sprawling into
the cabin. The doctor was the first one on his feet.
"Who are you?" asked a voice from one corner. The doctor whirled like a
flash and covered the speaker with his pistol.
"Put them up!" he said tersely.
"I am unarmed," the voice replied. "Who are you?"
"We're from the United States Secret Service," replied Carnes who had
gained his feet. "The game is up for you, and you'd better realize it."
"Secret Service! Thank God!" cried the voice. "Get Koskoff--he has the
plans. He has gone out through the tunnel!"
"Where is it?" demanded Carnes.
"The entrance is that iron plate on the floor."
Carnes and the doctor jumped at the plate and tried to lift it, without
result. There was no handle or projection on which they could take
hold.
"Not that way," cried the voice. "That cover is fastened on the inside.
Go outside the building; he'll come out about two hundred yards north.
Shoot him as he appears or he'll get away."
The three men nearly tumbled over each other to get through the doorway
into the bitter cold outside. As they emerged from the cabin the gaze of
the guide swept the surrounding hills.
"There he goes!" he cried.
"Get him!" said Carnes sharply.
Walter ran forward a few feet and dropped prone on the ground, cuddling
the stock of his rifle to his cheek. Two hundred yards ahead a figure
was scurrying over the rocks away from the cabin. Walter drew in his
breath and his hand suddenly grew steady as his keen gray eyes peered
through the sights. Carnes and the doctor held their breath in
sympathy.
* * * * *
Suddenly the rifle spoke, and the fleeing man threw up his arms and fell
forward on his face.
"Got him," said Walter laconically.
"Go bring the body in, Carnes," exclaimed the doctor. "I'll take care of
the chap inside."
"Did you get him?" asked the voice eagerly, as the doctor stepped
inside.
"He's dead all right," replied the doctor grimly. "Who the devil are
you, and what are you doing here?"
"There is a light switch on the left of the door as you come in," was
the reply.
Dr. Bird found the switch and snapped on a light. He turned toward the
corner from whence the voice had come and recoiled in horror. Propped in
the corner was the body of a middle-aged man, daubed and splashed with
blood which ran from a wound in the side of his head.
"Good Lord!" he ejaculated. "Let me help you."
"There's not much use," replied the man rather faintly. "I am about done
in. This face wound doesn't amount to much, but I am shot through the
body and am bleeding internally. If you try to move me, it may easily
kill me. Leave me alone until your partners come."
The doctor drew a flask of brandy from his pocket and advanced toward
the corner.
"Take a few drops of this," he advised.
With an effort the man lifted the flask to his lips and gulped down a
little of the fiery spirit. A sound of tramping feet came from the
outside and then a thud as though a body had been dropped. Carnes and
Walter entered the cabin.
"He's dead as a mackerel," said Carnes in answer to the doctor's look.
"Walter got him through the neck and broke his spinal cord. He never
knew what hit him."
"The plans?" came in a gasping voice from the man in the corner.
"We got them, too," replied Carnes. "He had both packets inside his
coat. They have been opened, but I guess they are all here. Who the
devil are you?"
"Since Koskoff is dead, and I am dying, there is no reason why I
shouldn't tell you," was the answer. "Leave that brandy handy to keep up
my strength. I have only a short time and I can't repeat.
* * * * *
"As to who I am or what I was, it doesn't really matter. Koskoff knew me
as John Smith, and it will pass as well as any other name. Let my past
stay buried. I am, or was, a scientist of some ability; but fortune
frowned on me, and I was driven out of the world. Money would
rehabilitate me--money will do anything nowadays--so I set out to get
it. In the course of my experimental work, I had discovered that cold
was negative heat and reacted to the laws which governed heat."
"I knew that," cried Dr. Bird; "but I never could prove it."
"Who are you?" demanded John Smith.
"Dr. Bird, of the Bureau of Standards."
"Oh, Bird. I've heard of you. You can understand me when I say that as
heat, positive heat is a concomitant of ordinary light. I have found
that cold, negative heat, is a concomitant of cold light. Is my
apparatus in good shape outside?"
"The reflector is smashed."
"I'm sorry. You would have enjoyed studying it. I presume that you saw
that it was a catenary curve?"
"I rather thought so."
"It was, and it was also adjustable. I could vary the focal point from a
few feet to several miles. With that apparatus I could throw a beam of
negative heat with a focal point which I could adjust at will. Close to
the apparatus, I could obtain a temperature almost down to absolute
zero, but at the longer ranges it wasn't so cold, due to leakage into
the atmosphere. Even at two miles I could produce a local temperature of
three hundred degrees below zero."
"What was the source of your cold?"
"Liquid helium. Those cylinders contain, or rather did contain, for I
expect that Koskoff has emptied them, helium in a liquid state."
"Where is your compressor?"
* * * * *
"I didn't have to use one. I developed a cold light under whose rays
helium would liquefy and remain in a state of equilibrium until exposed
to light rays. Those cylinders had merely enough pressure to force the
liquid out to where the sun could hit it, and then it turned to a gas,
dropping the temperature at the first focal point of the reflector to
absolute zero. When I had this much done, Koskoff and I packed the whole
apparatus here and were ready for work.
"We were on the path of the transcontinental air mail, and I bided my
time until an especially valuable shipment was to be made. My plans,
which worked perfectly, were to freeze the plane in midair and then rob
the wreck. I heard of the jewel shipment the T. A. C. was to carry and I
planned to get it. When the plane came over, Koskoff and I brought it
down. The unsuspected presence of another plane upset us a little, and I
started to bring it down. But we had been all over this country and knew
there was no place that a plane could land. I let it go on in safety."
"Thank you," replied Carnes with a grimace.
"We robbed the wreck and we found two packets, one the jewels I was
after, and the other a sealed packet, which proved to contain certain
War Department plans. That was when I learned who Koskoff was. I had
hired him in San Francisco as a good mechanic who had no principles. He
was to get one-fourth of the loot. When we found these plans, he told me
who he was. He was really a Russian secret agent and he wanted to
deliver the plans to Russia. I may be a thief and a murderer, but I am
not yet ready to betray my country, and I told him so. He offered me
almost any price for the plans; but I wouldn't listen. We had a serious
quarrel, and he overpowered me and bound me.
* * * * *
"We had a radio set here and he called San Francisco and sent some code
message. I think he was waiting here for someone to come. Had we
followed our original plans, we would have been miles from here before
you arrived.
"He had me bound and helpless, as he thought, but I worked my bonds a
little loose. I didn't let him know it, for I knew that the plane I had
let get away would guide a party here and I thought I might be able to
help out. When you came and attacked the house, I worked at my bonds
until they were loose enough to throw off. I saw Koskoff start my cold
apparatus to working and then he quit, because he ran out of helium.
When he started shooting again, I worked out of my bonds and tackled
him.
"He was a better man than I gave him credit for, or else he suspected
me, for about the time I grabbed him he whirled and struck me over the
head with his gun barrel and tore my face open. The blow stunned me, and
when I came to, I was thrown into this corner. I meant to have another
try at it, but I guess you rushed him too fast. He turned and ran for
the tunnel, but as he did so, he shot me through the body. I guess I
didn't look dead enough to suit him. You gentlemen broke open the door
and came in. That's all."
"Not by a long shot, it isn't," exclaimed Dr. Bird. "Where is that cold
light apparatus of yours?"
"In the tunnel."
"How do you get into it?"
"If you will open that cupboard on the wall, you'll find an open knife
switch on the wall. Close it."
* * * * *
Dr. Bird found the switch and closed it. As he did so the cabin rocked
on its foundations and both Carnes and Walter were thrown to the ground.
The thud of a detonation deep in the earth came to their ears.
"What was that?" cried the doctor.
"That," replied Smith with a wan smile, "was the detonation of two
hundred pounds of T.N.T. When you dig down into the underground cave
where we used the cold light apparatus, you will find it in fragments.
It was my only child, and I'll take it with me."
As he finished his head slumped forward on his chest. With an
exclamation of dismay Dr. Bird sprang forward and tried to lift the
prostrate form.
In an agony of desire the Doctor tightened his grip on the dying man's
shoulder. But Smith collapsed into a heap. Dr. Bird bent forward and
tore open his shirt and listened at his chest. Presently he straightened
up.
"He is gone," he said sadly, "and I guess the results of his genius have
died with him. He doesn't strike me as a man who left overmuch to
chance. Carnes, is your case completed?"
"Very satisfactorily, Doctor. I have both of the lost packets."
"All right, then, come back to the wreck and help me pack my burros. I
can make my way back to Fallon without a guide."
"Where are you going, Doctor?"
"That, Carnes, old dear, is none of your blankety blanked business.
Permit me to remind you that I am on my vacation. I haven't decided yet
just where I am going, but I can tell you one thing. It's going to be
some place where you can't call me on the telephone."
Brigands of the Moon
(The Book of Gregg Haljan)
BEGINNING A FOUR-PART NOVEL
_By Ray Cummings_
Black mutiny and brigandage stalk the Space-ship Planetara as
she speeds to the Moon to pick up a fabulously rich cache of
radium-ore.
[Illustration: _I stood on the turret-balcony of the Planetara with Dr.
Frank, watching the arriving passengers._]
_Foreword by Ray Cummings_
I have been thinking that if, during one of those long winter evenings
at Valley Forge, someone had placed in George Washington's hands one of
our present day best sellers, the illustrious Father of our Country
would have read it with considerable emotion. I do not mean what we call
a story of science, or fantasy--just a novel of action, adventure and
romance. The sort of thing you and I like to read, but do not find
amazing in any way at all.
But I fancy that George Washington would have found it amazing. Don't
you? It might picture, for instance, a factory girl at a sewing machine.
George Washington would be amazed at a sewing machine. And the girl,
journeying in the subway to and from her work! Stealing an opportunity
to telephone her lover at the noon hour; going to the movies in the
evening, or listening to a radio. And there might be a climax, perhaps,
with the girl and the villain in a transcontinental railway Pullman, and
the hero sending frantic telegrams, or telephoning the train, and then
chasing it in his airplane.
George Washington would have found it amazing!
And I am wondering how you and I would feel if someone were to give us
now a book of ordinary adventure of the sort which will be published a
hundred and fifty years hence. I have been trying to imagine such a book
and the nature of its contents.
Let us imagine it together. Suppose we walk down Fifth Avenue, a
pleasant spring morning of May, 2080. Fifth Avenue, no doubt, will be
there. I don't know whether the New York Public Library will be there or
not. We'll assume that it is, and that it has some sort of books,
printed, or in whatever fashion you care to imagine.
The young man library attendant is surprised at our curiously antiquated
aspect. We look as though we were dressed for some historical costume
ball. We talk old-fashioned English, like actors in an historical play
of the 1930 period.
But we get the book. The attendant assures us it is a good average story
of action and adventure. Nothing remarkable, but he read it himself, and
found it interesting.
We thank him and take the book. But we find that the language in which
it is written is too strange for comfortable reading. And it names so
many extraordinary things so casually! As though we knew all about them,
which we certainly do not!
So we take it to the kind-hearted librarian in the language division. He
modifies it to old-fashioned English of 1930, and he puts occasional
footnotes to help explain some of the things we might not understand.
Why he should bother to do this for us I don't know; but let us assume
that he does.
And now we take the book home--in the pneumatic tube, or aerial moving
sidewalk, or airship, or whatever it is we take to get home.
And now that we are home, let's read the book. It ought to be
interesting.
CHAPTER I
_Tells of the Grantline Moon Expedition and of the Mysterious
Martian Who Followed Us in the City Corridor_
One may write about oneself and still not be an egoist. Or so, at least,
they tell me. My narrative went broadcast with a fair success. It was
pantomimed and the public flashed me a reasonable approval. And so my
disc publishers have suggested that I record it in more permanent form.
I introduce myself, begging grace that I intrude upon your busy minutes,
with my only excuse that perhaps I may amuse you. For what the
commercial sellers of my pictured version were pleased to blare as my
handsome face, I ask your indulgence. My feminine audience of the
pantomimes was undoubtedly graciously pleased at my personality and
physical aspect. That I am "tall as a Viking of old"--and "handsome as a
young Norse God"--is very pretty talk in the selling of my product. But
I deplore its intrusion into the personality of this, my recorded
narrative. And so now, for preface, to all my audience I do give earnest
assurance that Gregg Haljan is no conceited zebra, handsomely striped by
nature, and proud of it. Not so. I am, I do beg you to believe, a very
humble fellow, striving for your approval, hoping only to entertain
you.
My introduction: My name, Gregg Haljan. My age, twenty-five years. I
was, at the time my narrative begins, Third Officer on the Space-Ship
Planetara. Our line was newly established; in 2070, to be exact,
following the modern improvements of the Martel Magnetic Levitation.[1]
* * * * *
Our ship, whose home port was Great-New York, carried mail and passenger
traffic to and from both Venus and Mars. Of astronomical necessity, our
flights were irregular. This spring, with the two other planets both
close to the earth, we were making two complete round trips. We had just
arrived in Great-New York, this May evening, from Grebhar, Venus Free
State. With only five hours in port here, we were departing the same
night at the zero hour for Ferrok-Shahn, capital of the Martian Union.
We were no sooner at the landing stage than I found a code-flash
summoning Dan Dean and me to Divisional Detective Headquarters. Dan
"Snap" Dean was one of my closest friends. He was radio-helio operator
of the Planetara. A small, wiry, red-headed chap, with a quick, ready
laugh and a wit that made everyone like him.
The summons to Detective-Colonel Halsey's office surprised us. Snap eyed
me.
"You haven't been opening any treasury vaults, have you, Gregg?"
"He wants you, also," I retorted.
He laughed. "Well, he can roar at me like a traffic switchman and my
private life will remain my own."
We could not think why we should be wanted. It was the darkness of
mid-evening when we left the Planetara for Halsey's office. It was not a
long trip. We went direct in the upper monorail, descending into the
subterranean city at Park-Circle 30.
* * * * *
We had never been to Halsey's office before. We found it to be a gloomy,
vaultlike place in one of the deepest corridors. The door lifted.
"Gregg Haljan and Daniel Dean."
The guard stood aside. "Come in."
I own that my heart was unduly thumping as we entered. The door dropped
behind us. It was a small blue-lit apartment--a steel-lined room like a
vault.
Colonel Halsey sat at his desk. And the big, heavy-set, florid Captain
Carter--our commander of the Planetara--was here. That surprised us: we
had not seen him leave the ship.
Halsey smiled at us gravely. Captain Carter said, "Sit down, lads."
We took the seats. There was an alarming solemnity about this. If I had
been guilty of anything that I could think of, it would have been
frightening. But Halsey's first words reassured me.
"It's about the Grantline Moon Expedition. In spite of our secrecy, the
news has gotten out. We want to know how. Can you tell us?"
Captain Carter's huge bulk--he was about as tall as I am--towered over
us as we sat before Halsey's desk. "If you lads have told anyone--said
anything--let slip the slightest hint about it--"
Snap smiled with relief; but he turned solemn at once. "I haven't. Not a
word!"
"Nor have I," I declared.
* * * * *
The Grantline Moon Expedition! We had not thought of that as a reason
for this summons. Johnny Grantline was a close friend to us both. He had
organized an exploring expedition to the Moon. Uninhabited, with its
bleak, forbidding, airless, waterless surface, the Moon--even though so
close to the Earth--was seldom visited. No regular ship ever stopped
there. A few exploring parties of recent years had come to grief.
But there was a persistent rumor that upon the Moon, mineral riches of
fabulous wealth were awaiting discovery. The thing had already caused
some interplanetary complications. The aggressive Martians would be only
too glad to explore the Moon. But the U.S.W.[2] definitely warned them
away. The Moon was World Territory, we announced, and we would protect
it as such.
The threatened conflict between the Earth and Mars had come to nothing.
There was, this year of 2079, a thorough amity between all three of the
inhabited planets. It still holds, and I pray that it may always hold.
There was, nevertheless, a realization by our government, that whatever
riches might be upon the Moon should be seized at once and held by some
reputable Earth Company. And when Johnny Grantline applied, with his
father's wealth and his own scientific record of attainment, the
government was only too glad to grant him its writ.
* * * * *
The Grantline Expedition had started six months ago. The Martian
government had acquiesced in our ultimatum, yet brigands have been known
to be financed under cover of a governmental disavowal. And so the
expedition was kept secret.
My words need give no offense to any Martian who comes upon them. I
refer to the history of our earth only. The Grantline Expedition was on
the Moon now. No word had come from it. One could not flash helios even
in code without letting all the universe know that explorers were on the
Moon. And why they were there, anyone could easily guess.
And now Colonel Halsey was telling us that the news was abroad! Captain
Carter eyed us closely; his flashing eyes under the white bushy brows
would pry a secret from anyone.
"You're sure? A girl of Venus, perhaps, with her cursed, seductive lure!
A chance word, with you lads befuddled by alcolite?"
We assured him we had been careful. By the heavens, I know that I had
been. Not a whisper, even to Snap, of the name Grantline in six months
or more.
Captain Carter added abruptly, "We're insulated here, Halsey?"
"Yes, talk as freely as you like. An eavesdropping ray will never get
into these walls."
* * * * *
They questioned us. They were satisfied at last that, though the secret
had escaped, we had not done it. Hearing it discussed, it occurred to me
to wonder why Carter was concerned. I was not aware that he knew of
Grantline's venture. I learned now the reason why the Planetara, upon
each of her voyages, had managed to pass fairly close to the Moon. It
had been arranged with Grantline that if he wanted help or had any
important message, he was to flash it locally to our passing ship. And
this Snap knew, and had never mentioned it, even to me.
Halsey was saying, "Well, we can't blame you, but the secret is out."
Snap and I regarded each other. What could anyone do? What would anyone
dare do?
Captain Carter said abruptly, "Look here, lads, this is my chance now to
talk plainly to you. Outside, anywhere outside these walls, an
eavesdropping ray may be upon us. You know that? One may never even dare
whisper since that accursed ray was developed."
Snap opened his mouth to speak but decided against it. My heart was
pounding.
Captain Carter went on, "I know I can trust you two more than anyone
else under me on the Planetara--"
"What do you mean by that?" I demanded. "What--"
He interrupted me. "Nothing at all but what I say."
* * * * *
Halsey smiled grimly. "What he means, Haljan, is that things are not
always what they seem these days. One cannot always tell a friend from
an enemy. The Planetara is a public vessel. You have--how many is it,
Carter?--thirty or forty passengers this trip to-night?"
"Thirty-eight," said Carter.
"There are thirty-eight people listed for the flight to Ferrok-Shahn
to-night," Halsey said slowly. "And some may not be what they seem." He
raised his thin dark hand. "We have information--" He paused. "I
confess, we know almost nothing--hardly more than enough to alarm us."
Captain Carter interjected, "I want you and Dean to be on your guard.
Once on the Planetara it is difficult for us to talk openly, but be
watchful. I will arrange for us to be doubly armed."
Vague, perturbing words! Halsey said, "They tell me George Prince is
listed for the voyage. I am suggesting, Haljan, that you keep your
eye especially upon him. Your duties on the Planetara leave you
comparatively free, don't they?"
"Yes," I agreed. With the first and second officers on duty, and the
captain aboard, my routine was more or less that of an understudy.
I said, "George Prince! Who is he?"
"A mechanical engineer," said Halsey. "An under-official of the
Earth Federated Radium Corporation. But he associates with bad
companions--particularly Martians."
I had never heard of this George Prince, though I was familiar with the
Federated Radium Corporation, of course. A semi-government trust, which
controlled virtually the entire Earth supply of radium.
"He was in the Automotive Department," Carter put in. "You've heard of
the Federated Radium Motor?"
* * * * *
We had, of course. A recent Earth invention which promised to
revolutionize the automotive industry. An engine of a new type, using
radium as its fuel.
Snap demanded, "What in the stars has this got to do with Johnny
Grantline?"
"Much," said Halsey quietly, "or perhaps nothing. But George Prince some
years ago mixed in rather unethical transactions. We had him in custody
once. He is known now as unusually friendly with several Martians in New
York of bad reputation."
"Well--" began Snap.
"What you don't know," Halsey went on quietly, "is that Grantline
expects to find radium on the Moon."
We gasped.
"Exactly," said Halsey. "The ill-fated Ballon Expedition thought they
had found it on the Moon some years ago. A new type of ore, as rich in
radium as our gold-bearing sands are rich in gold. Ballon's first
samples gave uranium atoms with a fair representation of ionium and
thorium. A richly radio-active ore. A lode of the pure radium is there
somewhere, without doubt."
* * * * *
He added vehemently, "Do you understand now why we should be suspicious
of this George Prince? He has a criminal record. He has a thorough
technical knowledge of radium ores. He associates with Martians of bad
reputation. A large Martian Company has recently developed a radium
engine to compete with our Earth motor. You know that? You know that
there is very little radium available on Mars, and our government will
not allow our own radium supply to be exported. That Martian Company
needs radium. It will do anything to get radium. What do you suppose it
would pay for a few tons of really rich radio-active ore--such as
Grantline may have found on the Moon?"
"But," I objected, "that is a reputable Martian company. It's backed by
the government of the Martian Union. The government of Mars would not
dare--"
"Of course not!" Captain Carter exclaimed sardonically. "Not openly! But
if Martian brigands had a supply of radium--I don't imagine where it
came from would make much difference. That Martian Company would buy
it."
Halsey added, "And George Prince, my agents inform me, seems to know
that Grantline is on the Moon. Put it all together, lads. Little sparks
show the hidden current.
"More than that: George Prince knows that we have arranged to have the
Planetara stop at the Moon and bring back Grantline's radium-ore. This
is your last voyage this year. You'll hear from Grantline this time,
we're convinced. He'll probably give you the signal as you pass the Moon
on your way out. Coming back, you'll stop at the Moon and transport
whatever radium-ore Grantline has ready. The Grantline Flyer is too
small for ore transportation."
* * * * *
Halsey's voice turned grimly sarcastic. "Doesn't it seem queer that
George Prince and a few of his Martian friends happen to be listed as
passengers for this voyage?"
In the silence that followed, Snap and I regarded each other. Halsey
added abruptly,
"We had George Prince typed that time we arrested him four years ago.
I'll show him to you."
He snapped open an alcove, and said to his waiting attendant, "Get me
the type of George Prince."
The disc in a moment came through the pneumatic. Halsey, smiling wryly,
adjusted it.
"A nice looking fellow. Nicely spoken. Though at the time we made this
he was somewhat annoyed, naturally. He is older now. Twenty-nine, to be
exact. Here he is."
The image glowed on the grids before us. His name, George Prince, in
letters illumined upon his forehead, showed for a moment and then faded.
He stood smiling sourly before us as he repeated the official formula:
"My name is George Prince. I was born in Great-New York City twenty-five
years ago."
* * * * *
I gazed at this life-size, moving image of George Prince. He stood
somber in the black detention uniform. A dark, almost a girlishly
handsome fellow, well below medium height--the rod beside him showed
five feet four inches. Slim and slight. Long, wavy black hair, falling
about his ears. A pale, clean-cut, really handsome face, almost
beardless. I regarded it closely. A face that would have been femininely
beautiful without its masculine touch of heavy black brows and firmly
set jaw. His voice as he spoke was low and soft; but at the end, with
the concluding words, "I am innocent!" it flashed into strong
masculinity. His eyes, shaded with long, girlish black lashes, by chance
met mine. "I am innocent." His curving sensuous lips drew down into a
grim sneer....
The type faded at its end. Halsey replaced the disc in its box and waved
the attendant away. "Thank you."
He turned back to Snap and me. "Well, there he is. We have nothing
tangible against him now. But I'll say this: he's a clever fellow, one
to be afraid of. I would not blare it from the newscasters' microphone,
but if he is hatching any plot, he has been too clever for my agents."
We talked for another half-hour, and then Captain Carter dismissed us.
We left Halsey's office with Carter's final words ringing in our ears.
"Whatever comes, lads, remember I trust you...."
* * * * *
Snap and I decided to walk a portion of the way back to the ship. It was
barely more than a mile through this subterranean corridor to where we
could get the vertical lift direct to the landing stage.
We started off on the lower level. Once outside the insulation of
Halsey's office we did not dare talk of this thing. Not only electrical
ears, but every possible eavesdropping device might be upon us. The
corridor was two hundred feet or more below the ground level. At this
hour of the night this business section was comparatively deserted. The
through tube sounded over our heads with the passing of its occasional
trains. The ventilators buzzed and whirred. At the cross intersections,
the traffic directors dozed at their posts. It was hot and sticky down
here, and gloomy with the daylight globes extinguished, and only the
night lights to give a dim illumination. The stores and office arcades
were all closed and deserted; only an occasional night-light burning
behind their windows.
Our footfalls echoed on the metal grids as we hurried along.
"Nice evening," said Snap awkwardly.
"Yes," I said, "isn't it?"
I felt oppressed. As though prying eyes and ears were here. We walked
for a time in silence, each of us busy with memory of what had
transpired in Halsey's office.
Suddenly Snap gripped me. "What's that?"
"Where?" I whispered.
* * * * *
We stopped at a corner. An entryway was here. Snap pulled me into it. I
could feel him quivering with excitement.
"What is it?" I demanded in a whisper.
"We're being followed. Did you hear anything?"
"No!" Yet I thought now I could hear something. Vague footfalls. A
rustling. And a microscopic electrical whine, as though some device were
near us.
Snap was fumbling in his pocket. "Wait, I've got a pair of low-scale
phones."
He put the little grids against his ears. I could hear the sharp intake
of his breath. Then he seized me, pulled me down to the metal floor of
the entryway.
"Back, Gregg! Get back!" I could barely hear his whisper. We crouched as
far back into the doorway as we could get. I was armed. My official
permit for the carrying of the pencil heat-ray allowed me to have it
always with me. I drew it now. But there was nothing to shoot at. I felt
Snap clamping the grids on my ears. And now I heard something! An
intensification of the vague footsteps I had thought I heard before.
There was something following us! Something out in the corridor there
now! A street light was nearby. The corridor was dim, but plainly
visible; and to my sight it was empty. But there was something there.
Something invisible! I could hear it moving. Creeping towards us. I
pulled the grids off my ears.
Snap murmured, "You've got a local phone."
"Yes! I'll get them to give us the street glare!"
* * * * *
I pressed the danger signal, giving our location to the nearest
operator. In a second or two we got the light. The street in all this
neighborhood burst into a brilliant actinic glare. The thing menacing
us was revealed! A figure in a black cloak, crouching thirty feet away
across the corridor.
Snap was on his feet. His voice rang shrilly, "There it is! Give it a
shot, Gregg!"
Snap was unarmed, but he flung his hands out menacingly. The figure,
which may perhaps not have been aware of our city safeguard, was taken
wholly by surprise. A human figure. Seven feet tall, at the least, and
therefore, I judged, doubtless a Martian man. The black cloak covered
his head. He took a step toward us, hesitated, and then turned in
confusion.
Snap's shrill voice was bringing help. The whine of a street guard's
alarm whistle nearby sounded. The figure was making off! My pencil-ray
was in my hand and I pressed its switch. The tiny heat-ray stabbed
through the glare, but I missed. The figure stumbled, but did not fall.
I saw a bare gray arm come from the cloak, flung up to maintain its
balance. Or perhaps my pencil-ray of heat had seared the arm. The
gray-skinned arm of a Martian.
Snap was shouting, "Give him another!" But the figure passed beyond the
actinic glare and vanished.
We were detained in the turmoil of the corridor for ten minutes or more
with official explanations. Then a message from Halsey released us. The
Martian who had been following us in his invisible cloak was never
caught.
We escaped from the crowd at last and made our way back to the
Planetara, where the passengers were already assembling for the outward
Martian voyage.