A CLASSIC ADVENTURE IN THE
FAR FUTURE
It took what seemed but half a day's traveling to traverse the 28,000 years that separated Loto Rogers from
the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He had expected to find mighty cities and a flowering civilization
in that future world, but instead he found only ice and
snow—and Azeela,
Though Loto had intended only to visit, he saw then
that he alone could help the survivors of the centuries'
incredible ravages. And so THE MAN WHO MASTERED TIME faced the one problem that his super-science could not answer—the mastery of the world's
final show down.
Turn this book over for
second complete novel
RAY CUMMINGS,
who was
born in 1887, is considered
to be
one of
the founding
fathers of modern science-fiction.
Gaining insight of the tremendously
widening horizons of science during
five years as the personal
secretary of Thomas Edison, he
began to write professionally
in 1919,
rapidly building up a following
for himself in the
succeeding decades as a giant
of the
new field. Author of
several dozen novels and hundreds
of short stories, Ray
Cummings laid the groundwork for many of the patterns
that characterize established
science-fiction themes. Among
his better
known novels are The Girl in the Golden Atom, A Brand New World, Tar-rano the Conqueror, Into the Fourth Dimension, Around
the Universe, etc.
A resident of Mount
Vernon, N.Y., his special pride
today is his daughter's
progress as a writer and
artist. Elizabeth Cummings Hill's
"Portrait of My
Father" is a painting that has
captured prizes at many national
exhibitions.
THE MAN WHO MASTERED
TIME
RAY CUMMINGS
ACE BOOKS
A Division of A. A. Wyn, Inc. 23 West 47th Street, New York 36, N. Y.
the man who mastered
time
Copyright, 1929, by Ray
Cummings An Ace Book, by arrangement
with the author,
To Gabrielle Who has given me
affectionate assistance for a
long, long time.
OVERLORDS FROM space
Copyright ©, 1956, by A.
A. Wyn,
Inc.
Printed in U. S.
A,
chapteh one
"Time/* said George, "why
I can
give you a definition of time. It's what keeps
everything from happening at once."
A ripple of laughter
went about the little group
of men.
"Quite so/' agreed the
Chemist. "And, gentlemen, that's not nearly so funny as
it sounds.
As a
matter of fact, it is
really not a bad
scientific definition. Time and space
are all
that separate one event
from another. Everything happens somewhere
at sometime."
"You intimated
you had
something vitally important to tell us/'
the Big
Business Man suggested. "Something, Rogers, that would
amaze us. Some project you
were about to undertake—"
Rogers raised his hand.
"In a moment, gentlemen. I want to prepare you
first—to some extent, at least.
That's why I have led you
into this discussion. I want
you to
realize that your preconceived ideas of
time are wrong, inadequate. You must think along entirely
different lines, in terms of,
I shall say, the
new science."
"I will/' agreed George,
"only tell me how."
"You said that time,
space, and matter are not
separate, distinct entities, but
are blended
together," the Doctor
declared. "Just what do you
mean?"
Rogers gazed earnestly about
the room.
"This, my friends. Those are the
three factors which make up
our universe
as we know it. I said
they were blended. I mean
that the actual reality underlying all the manifestations we experience is not temporal
or spatial
or material,
but a
blend of all three. It is
we who,
in our
minds, have split up the
original
5
unity into three such
supposedly different things as time,
space and matter."
"Take space and time,"
said the Big Business Man.
"Those two seem wholly
different to me. I shouldn't
think they had the slightest connection."
"But they have. Between
the three
planes of space-length, breadth and
thickness—and time, there is no
essential distinction. We think
of them
differently; we instinctively feel differently
about them. But science is
not concerned
with our feelings—and science recognizes today that
time is a property of space,
just as are length, breadth
and thickness,"
"That's easy to say,"
growled the Banker. "Any one
can make statements that can't be
proven."
"It has been proven,"
Rogers declared quietly. "The mathematical language of
science would bore you. Let
me give you a popular illustration—an
illustration, by the way, that I
saw in
print long before Einstein's theory was made public. For instance, think about
this: A house has length,
breadth and thickness. The house is matter,
and it
has three
dimensions of space. But
what else has it?"
A blank silence followed
his sudden
question.
"Hasn't it duration, gentlemen?
Could a house have any
real existence if it
did not
exist for any time at
all?"
"Well," said George, "I
guess that's something to think
about."
Rogers went on calmly:
"You must admit, my friends,
that the existence of matter depends
on time
equally as on space. They are,
as I
said, blended together. A house
must have length, breadth, thickness and
duration, or it cannot exist. Matter, in other words,
persists in time and space.
Let me give you another illustration
of this
blending. How would you define motion?"
Again there was a
dubious silence.
"Motion," said George suddenly,
"why, that's when something—something material changes
place." He was blushing at his own temerity, and
he sat
back in his leather chair,
smoking furiously.
"Quite so,"
smiled Rogers. "That, gentlemen, is about the way we
all conceive
motion. Something material, a railroad train, for instance, changes
its position
in space."
He regarded the men
before him, and this time
there was a touch of triumph
in his
manner. "But, my friends, that's
where our line of
reasoning is inadequate. Time is
involved equally with space.
The train
was there
then; it is here now. That involves time."
"In other words—" the Doctor began.
"In other words, motion
is the
simultaneous change of the position of
matter in time and space.
You see
how impossible
it is
to speak
of one
factor without involving the others? That is the mental
attitude into which I'm trying
to get you. I want you
to think
of time
exactly as you think of length,
breadth and thickness—as one of
the properties
of space. Isn't that
clear?"
The Big Business Man
answered him. "I think so.
I can
understand now what you
mean by a blending of—"
"Oh, his words are
clear enough," the Banker interjected
testily. "But what's the
argument about? He started in
by saying—"
George sat up suddenly.
"Mr. Rogers, you said we
were to come here for something
vitally important to you. Something
about time and space. You
said—"
Rogers interrupted
him. "I did indeed. I
asked you all to come here
to the
club tonight because you are
my friends.
Mine and Loto's. And
the affair
concerns him more directly than it does me."
He glanced across the
room. "Come, Loto. You're the
one to tell them."
The Chemist's
son, a young man of
twenty, rose reluctantly from his
obscure seat in a corner
of the
room. He was tall, and slight
of build,
with thick, wavy chestnut hair
and blue eyes; his
delicate features were offset by
a square
firmness of chin. He
came forward slowly, flushing as
the eyes of the men were
turned on him; a poetic-looking
boy, with only the firm line
of his
lips and the set of
his jaw
to mark him for a man.
"My son, gentlemen," Rogers added. "You all
know Loto."
"We do,"
said George enthusiastically.
He vacated
his own chair, shoving it forward,
and selected
another, more retired position for himself.
Loto settled himself in
the chair
and then
hesitated, as though in doubt how
to begin.
He was
still flushing, and yet his manner
was thoroughly
poised. His forehead was wrinkled in thought.
"Father and I were
experimenting," he began
abruptly, "about two years
ago. We were interested in electrons. We were experimenting
with the fluorescence in a
Crookes tube —breaking down the atoms
into electrons. Then we followed
the experiments of Lenard
and Roentgen.
We darkened
the tube and prepared a chemical
screen, which grew luminous."
Loto turned to Rogers:
"They don't want to hear
all this.
These technicalities—"
Rogers smiled. "We hit
upon it quite by accident—an
accident that we have
never been able to duplicate.
We had, that evening, an adaptation
of the
familiar Crookes tube. I do not
know the exact conditions we secured; we had no
idea we were on the
threshold of any discovery and we kept no record
of what
we did.
Nor am
I sure
just how I prepared the screen—what
proportions of the chemicals I used—"
"You're worse than Loto,"
the Banker
growled. "If you'll just tell us
what—"
"I will,"
agreed Rogers good-naturedly, "We were
working one night in my
laboratory on Foiiy-third Street—only a few hundred yards from
the Scientific
Club here. The room was dark,
and we
had set
up a
small chemical screen. It grew luminous
as the
electrons from the tube struck
it, but the glowing was not
what we had expected—not what we had observed before.
The difference
is unexplain-able
to you,
but we
both noticed it. And then
Loto noticed something else,
something in the darkness behind
the screen."
Loto was sitting upright
on the
edge of his chair; his
eyes were snapping with
eagerness as he interrupted his father.
"Ill tell them because
it was
I who
saw it
first. Behind the screen, the darkness
of the
room itself was growing luminous with a glowing radiance
that seemed to spread out
into rays that were
not parallel,
but divergent.
It looked
almost as though the
screen were a searchlight sending a spreading beam out
behind it.
"Father saw it almost
as soon
as I
did. It was a very
curious light; it did
not illuminate
the room
about us. Then we suddenly discovered
that it went through the
walls of the laboratory. We were
looking into a space that
seemed to be opening up for
miles ahead of us. The
walls of the room, the house
itself, the city around us,
were all blotted out. We were
looking into an empty distance."
"Empty?" echoed George tensely.
"Didn't you see anything?"
"Not at first." Loto had relaxed; his
earnest gaze passed from one to
the other
of the
intent faces of the men.
"We were only conscious of empty
distance. It was not darkness
nor was it light.
It was
more a dim phosphorescence. We had forgotten the Crookes
tube, the screen, everything but that glowing, empty scene
before us.
"After a moment, or
it may
have been much longer, the
scene seemed to brighten.
It turned
to gleaming
silver, and then we saw that
we were
looking out over a snow-covered
waste. Miles of it.
Snow reaching back to the
horizon, and dull gray sky overhead.
The ground
seemed about sixty feet below us,
and we
were poised in the air
above it."
Loto paused a moment,
and Rogers
added, "You understand, gendemen, that
my laboratory
is not
on the
ground floor of the building, but
somewhat above the level of
that part of the city."
"But—" began the Big
Business Man.
"Let him go on,"
growled the Banker. "Go on,
boy. Didn't you see anything but
snow?"
"No, not at once.
It was
all bleak
and desolate.
But it
kept on brightening, losing its silvery, glowing
look until at last we could
see it
was daylight.
It was
apparently late afternoon—or perhaps
early morning. The sun wasn't
showing—it must have been behind
a cloud.
"We sat staring down
at this
cold, snowy landscape, and then, almost
from below us, something moving
came into view. It had passed
under us—under the laboratory—and was traveling on away from
us."
"What was it?" the
Banker demanded.
"Well, it seemed to
be a
huge sled, with fur covered
figures on it, and
pulled by an animal almost
as large
as a
horse. But it wasn't
a horse—it
was a
dog."
Loto paused, but no
one else
spoke. After a moment he
resumed:
"The sled slackened and
stopped about a quarter of
a mile north of the laboratory—up
toward where Central Park is now.
And then
we saw
that there was a building
there, a large, oval-shaped structure. It may have been
built of snow, or ice—or perhaps
some whitish stone. There seemed
to be an enclosed space behind
it. The
whole thing blended into the landscape
so that
we had
overlooked it before.
"The sled stopped. We
could see the figures climbing
down from it. Then
there was sudden darkness. The
scene went black. We were sitting
facing the side wall of
the laboratory."
"A wire in our
apparatus had burned out," Rogers explained. "And that
night I was taken sick.
It developed
into pneumonia and I
was laid
up for
weeks. Loto was left alone
to follow up our
discovery."
"Just a minute," the Banker interjected. "Do I understand you to imply that you
actually saw all this? It
was not
a
vision, or an electrical
picture of some sort that
you were
reproducing?"
"No, they mean it
was an
actual scene," the Big Business
Man put in. "They
were seeing New York City
at some
other time. Isn't that
so?"
Rogers nodded. "Exactly. And while I was
sick, Loto went ahead and—"
"Was it the past?"
the Doctor
interposed. "Were you looking back into
the past?"
"We were looking across
countless centuries into the future,"
said Loto.
"The futurel"
"Yes," declared Rogers, "Must
you always
think of the future as a
wonderful civilization of marvelous inventions,
mammoth buildings and airplanes
like ocean steamships? All that lies
ahead of us, no doubt.
A hundred
years—two hundred—a thousand—will bring all that. But
further on? What about then, gentlemen?
Ten thousand
years from now? Or fifty thousand?
Do you
anticipate that civilization will always climb steadily upward? You
are wrong.
There must be a peak, and
then a down grade—the decadence
of mankind."
"Please, let me go
on," Loto said eagerly. "I
need not tell you all now
exactly how we knew we
were looking into the future, and
not the
past. We, ourselves, did not
know it that first evening. But
later, when I studied the
scene more closely, I could tell
easily."
"How?" the Banker demanded.
"By the details I
saw. The type of building.
That animal that looked like a
dog. The sun—I'll tell you
about that in a moment. An
artificial light in the house—I
saw it
once or twice when it was
night there. And the girl.
Her manner
of dress—"
"There was a girl?"
said George quickly. "A girl!
Tell us about her, Loto. Was
she pretty?
Was she—"
"Go on, boy," growled the Banker. "Tell
it from
where you left off."
"Yes, she was very
pretty," said Loto gravely. "She—"
He stopped suddenly, his
gaze drifting off into distance.
"Oh boy!"
breathed George, but at the
Banker's glare he sat back, abashed.
Loto went on after
a moment:
"I won't go into details
now. While my father
was sick,
I was
able to examine the scene many
times. I even think I—well,
I sat
watching it most of the time
for a
week at least.
"The house had a
sort of stable—or a kennel,
if you
want to call it that—behind it. And there was
an open
space, like a garden, with a
wall around it. There was
a little
tree in the garden; a tree
all covered
with snow. But after a
few days the sun
came out and melted the
snow on the tree branches.
"The girl was a
captive. I guess they were
bringing her in on that sled
the night
we first
saw them.
There was another woman about the
place, and an old man.
And a
younger man—the one who
was holding
the girl
a prisoner."
"You said the house
looked about a quarter of
a mile
away," the Banker declared.
"How could you see all
these details?"
"I had a small
telescope, sir."
"The scene actually was
there," Rogers put in. "Loto
used a telescope quite as he
would have used one through
the window to see
Central Park. Go on, Loto."
"The girl. . ."
George prompted.
"She was a small
girl. Very slender—about sixteen, I
guess. She had long, golden hair,
but it
was red
when she stood outside with the
sun on
it. That's
because the sun was red;
an enormous glowing red
ball, like the end of
a cigar.
It tinged the snow with blood,
but there
didn't seem to be much heat
from it.
"Sometimes I could see
the girl
through the doorway. There was a
door, but it was transparent—glass,
perhaps —and the house was lighted
inside. She would sit on
a low
seat, with her hair
in sort
of braids
down over her shoulders. " Once she played on
some little stringed instrument. And sang. I could see
her so
plainly it seemed curious not
to hear her voice.
"They appeared to treat
her kindly,
even though she was a captive.
But once
the man
came in and tried to
kiss her. She fended him off.
Then he went out and
got on
his sled
and drove away. He
was gone
several hours.
"The girl cried that
night. She cried for a
long time. Once she ran outside,
but one
of those
huge dogs came leaping out of
the other
building and drove her back.
The dog's baying must have aroused
the place.
The old
man and the woman appeared, and
they locked the girl up
in some other room. I never
saw her
again.
"A week or two
went by and father was
better. But the next time I
went to the laboratory, the apparatus wouldn't work. Perhaps the chemicals on
the screen
were worn out— We're not really
sure. But we've never been
able since to make a screen
that would do more than
glow. We've never had another that
would affect the time-space behind it."
"You mean,"
said the Big Business Man
softly, "that after those brief glimpses
into the future, it is
closed again to you?"
Rogers spoke. "Tell them the rest, Loto."
The younger man was
hesitant. ""Perhaps you
gentlemen wouldn't understand. We have
seen nothing more, but I couldn't
forget that girl."
"I understand,"
George murmured. But Loto went
on unheeding:
"It wasn't the scientific
part of our discovery that
impressed me most. We kept
that secret because we had
no proof of what we had
done, and we couldn't seem
to get
any. It was the
girl that bothered me. That
girl—a captive —facing some danger. .
. .
You gentlemen
will say she isn't living, that
she won't
be alive
for thousands
of years
yet. But J say
your conception of it is
wrong."
Loto's voice had gained
sudden power He seemed abruptly
years older—forceful, commanding.
"You say that girl will be living in the
future. I say she is living in the future.
She is
living just as you and
I are
living—right here in this
exact space that we call
New York
—within a few hundred
yards of this room. She
is separated
from us, not by
space, but only by time.
"You, gentlemen,
perhaps cannot.conceive of crossing that
time. But if it
were a mile of space,
or a
thousand miles, you could imagine crossing
it very
easily. Yet we know that time
is a
property of space; not one
iota different from length, breadth and
thickness except that we think
of it
differently."
Loto's flashing eyes held
his little
audience. "Gentlemen, suppose you—with
your human intelligence—were
trees, rooted to one spot
here in America. And suppose
that the accustomed order of
things was that Asia would
come slowly and steadily toward you
and pass
before you. That is what
time does for us.
Do you
suppose, under those circumstances, that you could readily conceive
of going
across space and reaching Asia? Think
about that, gentlemen! It's easy
for us to imagine moving through
space, because we've always done it. But a tree
with your intelligence would not
feel that way about it. The
tree would say: 'Asia will
be here.'
And if you said: 'That's true.
But Asia
exists just the same in a
different part of space from
you. If you go there,
you will not have to wait
for it
to come
to you,'
the tree—even
if it had your present intelligence
in every
other way— wouldn't understand
that. Simply because the tree
had always
conceived space as we are
accustomed to conceiving time. That conception
of ours
does not fit the real
facts, for—except for the
way space
and time
affect us personally —there is actually
no distinction
to be
made between them. That is no
original theory of mine; it
is modern
scientific thought—mathematically proven and
accepted ever since Albert Einstein first
made his theory public."
A silence followed Loto's
outburst. Rogers broke it: "We would like to have
you gentlemen
meet us here two weeks from
to-night. We are not quite
ready yet. Will you do that?"
Every one in the
room signified assent.
"But what for?" George asked earnestly. "Of course we will, but
has Loto
discovered anything? Has he—"
Loto interrupted
him. "I have been working
and experimenting
for two
years." He had fallen back
to his
quiet manner. "Father has helped me,
of course.
And given
me money—more than he could afford."
He smiled at Rogers,
who returned
it with
a gaze
of affection.
"In two weeks I
will be completely ready. Don't
you think
so, father?"
"Yes," said Rogers, and
a sudden
cloud of anxiety crossed his face. He was a
scientist, but he was a
father as well, and even his
scientific enthusiasm could not allay
the fear
for his son that
was in
his heart.
"Yes," he repeated. "I
think you will be quite
ready, Loto."
"Ready for what?" growled the Banker. He
was mopping
his forehead with a
huge white handkerchief.
Loto's glance swept across
all the
men in
the room.
"I have found a way to
cross time, just as you
are able
to cross space. And two weeks
from to-night, gentlemen, with your assistance,
I propose
to start
forward through the centuries that lie ahead of
us. I'm
going to find that girl—if
I can—and release her—help her out
of whatever
danger, whatever trouble she
is in!"
CHAPTER TWO
"Honor to
Loto," cried the Big Business
Man. "The youngest and greatest
scientist of all time!"
"There's a double meaning
in that,"
laughed the Doctor, amid the applause.
"The greatest scientist of time!
He is,
indeed."
It was outwardly a
gay little
gathering, having dinner in a small
private room of the Scientific
Club. But underneath the laughter
there was a note of
tenseness, and two of the people—a
man and
a woman—laughed
infrequently with gayety that was forced.
The man was Rogers;
the woman,
Lylda, his wife, mother of Loto.
She was
the only
woman in the room. At
first glance she would have seemed
no more
than thirty-five, though in reality she
was several
years older—a small, slender figure in a simple black
evening dress that covered her
shoulders, but left her
throat bare. Her beauty was
of a
curious type; her face
was oval,
her features
delicately molded and of
pronounced Grecian cast. Yet there
seemed about her, also, an indefinable
touch of the Orient; her
eyes, perhaps, which were
slate gray, large and very
slightly upturned at the comers.
Her complexion
was fair;
her hair
thick, wavy and coal-black.
That she was a
woman of intellect, culture and
refinement was obvious. There was
about her, too, a look
of gentle sweetness, the air of
a woman
who could
be nothing
less than charming. Her
eyes, as she met those
of her
men friends around her, were direct
and honest.
But when
she regarded Loto this evening, a
yearning melancholy sprang into them, with
a mistiness
as though
the tears
were restrained only by an
effort.
The laughter about the
table died out. A waiter
was removing the last of the
dishes; the men were lighting
their cigars.
"Well," said the Banker,
breaking the silence, "now let
us hear it. If
everyone is as curious as
I am—"
"More," put in George.
"I'm more curious."
"You're right,"
agreed Rogers. "We must get
on."
"First," the Big Business
Man interrupted,
"I want to know more about
that screen behind which you
saw that
other time world of the future."
"I know very little
myself," Rogers answered. "So little
that Loto and I
could never duplicate it. But
the theory
is understandable. The space
where Central Park now is
has a certain time factor allied
to its
other properties. The light, the rays, from that screen,
whatever may have been their
character, altered the time
factor of that space.
"As Loto told you,
the modern
conception of the reality of things is that the
future exists—but with a different
time dimension. We have
a familiar
axiom, 'No two masses of
matter can occupy the
same space at the same time.' That is just another way
of saying
it. To
reason logically from that, an infinite
number of masses of matter
can, and do, occupy the same
space at
different times."
"I'd rather hear about
this new experiment," the Banker
said. "You made the
statement—"
"So would I," agreed
George. "That girl—"
"You shall,"
said Rogers. His grave, troubled
glance went to his wife's face,
but she
smiled at him bravely. "You
shall have all the facts as
briefly as I can give
them to you.
"Loto became obsessed—I can hardly call it
anything less —with the idea that
he could
alter the time factor of
human consciousness. In theory
it was
perfectly possible—I had to admit that.
And so
I let
him go
ahead. He has worked feverishly, with an energy I
feared would injure his health,
for nearly two years.
But, gentlemen, this is all
that counts: he has succeeded. I'm sure of that;
we have
already made a test. The apparatus
is ready
upstairs now, and—"
"Let Loto tell it,"
grumbled the Banker. "Go on,
boy, can't you tell us how
you did
it?"
"Yes, sir. I can
in principle."
Loto hesitated, then added with a mixture of sarcasm
and deference:
"I can explain it to you
in a
general way, but the details
are very
technical."
He paused until the
waiter had left the room;
then he began speaking slowly,
evidently choosing his words with
the utmost care.
"Matter, as we know
it now,
has four
dimensions; the three so-called planes of
space, and one of time.
But what
is matter? The new
science tells us it is
molecules, composed of atoms. And
atoms? An atom is a
ring of electrons, which are particles
of negative,
disembodied electricity, revolving
at enormously
high speeds around a central
nucleus. Am I clear?"
Loto's gaze rested on
the Banker,
who nodded
somewhat dubiously.
"Then," Loto went on,
"we have resolved all matter
to one common entity, that central
nucleus of positive electricity which is sometimes called
the proton.
All this
is now
generally known and accepted.
But of
what substance, what character,
is the
proton? For years now, the
theory has been fairly accepted that
the proton
is merely
a vortex,
or whirlpool.
And the
electron is conceived to be
something very similar. Do you grasp
the significance
of that?
It robs
matter of what I,
personally, always instinctively feel is
its chief characteristic—substance. We
delve into matter, resolving its complexities to find
one basic
substance, and we find not substance
but a
whirlpool—electrical, doubdess— in space!"
"That makes youu rather
gasp!" the Big Business Man
exclaimed, gazing about the
table.
"It is quite correct,"
affirmed Rogers. "It transforms our conception of substance to
motion. Of what? Motion of
something intangible—the ether, let
us say.
Or space
itself."
"I can't seem to
get a
mental grip on it," the
Big Business
Man declared. "You-"
"Think of it this
way," Rogers went on earnesdy.
"Motion can easily change our
impression of solidity. This is
not an analogous case, perhaps, but
it will
give you something to think
about. Water is normally a
fluid. You can pass your hand
through a stream of water
from a garden hose. But set
that water in more rapid
motion, and what physical impression do you get? At
Fully, Switzerland, water for a turbine
emerges from a nozzle at
a speed
of four
hundred miles per hour.
What would happen if you
tried to pass your hand through
that? I have seen a
jet no
more than three inches in diameter
of such
rapidly moving water, and you cannot
cut through
it with
the blow
of a
crowbar! There you have a
physical substance—an impression of
solidity—derived from motion."
"But what has all
this to do with time?"
the Banker
objected, after a moment of
silence.
"Evetything," said Loto quickly.
"Since we are changing the
time-dimension of matter,
without altering its space-dimensions, you must have some
conception of what matter really is. When once you
realize the real intangibility of even our own bodies,
or this
house we are in, you
will be able to understand us better."
The Banker relaxed. "Go
on, boy.
Let's hear it."
"Yes, sir. Changing the
time-dimension of substance
amounts merely to a
change in the rate and
character of the motion that constitutes
the electrical
vortex we call a proton."
Loto looked at Rogers
somewhat helplessly, with a faintly
quizzical smile twitching at
his lips.
"I seem to be
talking very ponderously tonight, father.
I wonder if it
wouldn't be easier for us
to show
them the apparatus?"
Rogers rose from his
chair. "By all means. Gentlemen,
Loto has completed his
apparatus on the roof of
the club.
You may have noticed
for the
past month that one end
is boarded up, and has a
canvas roof over it. That
is where
Loto has been working.
Will you come up with
us?"
The building that houses
the New
York Scientific Club is a full
block in depth and twenty
stories high. Its flat roof
is surrounded by a
parapet of stone. One end
of the
roof is a garden, with pergolas,
trellised vines, and beds of
flowers with white gravel
walks between. At the other
end, on this particular evening, a
twenty-foot, rough board wall enclosed a space about a
hundred feet square, with a
canvas roof above it.
The night was calm
and moonless,
with a purple sky brilliantly studded with stars. At
this height the hum of
the great city was
stilled. Near by, many buildings
towered still higher, but for the
most part the roofs lay
below, with their chimneys and pot-bellied
water tanks set upon spindly
legs like huge, grotesque
bugs on guard. A block
away the roof garden of a
great hotel blazed with red
and green
lights. Spots of light
crawled through the streets below,
with black blobs that
were pedestrians scurrying between them. Occasionally the drone of
a plane
overhead broke the stillness.
Rogers led the way
across the roof top, and
unlocked a tiny door that led
into the temporary board enclosure.
Lylda and Loto entered last, the
woman clinging to her son's
hand. The turn of a switch
flooded the place with light.
At first glance one
would have said it was
a modern
passenger airplane that was
standing there under the canvas
—a huge, glistening dragonfly of aluminum color
with a long, narrow cabin below.
"There," said Rogers, "is
the product
of Loto's
work. What you see from here
is merely
an adaptation
of the
Frazia plane—and the Frazia
company built it for us.
The apparatus
flies as any other Frazia
plane does; it has the
same motors, the same equipment. Its other mechanism—by which the time-dimension,
the basic
electrical nature of the whole
apparatus, and everything or everybody within its
cabin can be changed at will—that
mechanism Loto constructed and installed himself."
"There you go again,"
growled the Banker. "Let Loto
tell it, won t
you?"
Rogers bridled a little.
'Til tell you this, Donald.
That is the apparatus in which
Loto is going to cross
time into the future. At least
you can
understand that—if you keep your
mind on it."
There was a general
laugh at the Banker's expense.
But Lylda did not laugh. She
was leaning
against a wooden post, clinging to
her son's
hand, and staring at that
sleek, shining thing with
wide, terrified eyes.
"Come, Loto,"
said Rogers. "They want you
to show
it to them."
The young man disengaged
himself from his mother and
went forward. In a
moment the men were scattered
about, examining the plane.
"You may not understand
the Frazia
model," Loto was saying. "It was
only put on the market
recently. It's slightly larger than the
average of the older types—more
stable in the air, but no
faster. The 'copter-type, variable-pitch pro-pellors are powered by
a Frazier
atomic motor."
The Banker called to
them. He was standing on
a box,
looking into one of
the cabin
windows. "You ve got different
rooms in here."
"Yes, sir,"
said Loto. "I've divided it
into three small compartments
according to my own needs."
"Can we get inside?"
"I think perhaps it
would be better not to,"
said Rogers, coming forward.
"At least, not tonight. Loto
wants to get started. There is—"
"You plan to operate
this tonight?"
the Doctor asked.
"Yes," answered Loto. "I
am going
forward in rime, to—"
"To find that girl,"
George finished eagerly. "To rescue
her. Don't you remember
he saw
her in
that—"
"Be quiet, boy," the Banker commanded. "Loto, what is this other
mechanism your father mentioned?"
"It is not particularly
complicated," the young
man answered
readily. "In general principle, that is. The Frazia
mechanism causes the machine
to travel
through space—to change its space-factors at the will of
the operator.
That's clear, isn't it?"
"Of course it is,"
said the Banker impatiently.
"It's clear because you've
always been able to travel
through space yourself," interjected the Big Business
Man. "Don't be so
self-satisfied, Donald. If
you'd been rooted to one spot
all your
life—like a tree—you wouldn't have
a chance on earth of understanding
an airplane."
"That's exactly what I
mean," said Loto quickly. "My
other mechanism changes the
time-factor of the entire apparatus.
I can explain it best this
way: Every particle of matter
in that machine—as well as my
own body—is
electrical in its basic nature. My
mechanism circulates a current through
every particle of that
matter. Not an electrical current, but something closely allied
to it.
The nature
of this
I do
not yet know. But it causes
the inherent
vibratory movements of the protons of
matter to change their character.
The matter changes its state. It
acquires a different time-factor, in other words."
"Is this change instantaneous?"
the Doctor
asked.
"No, sir. It is
progressive. To reach the time-factor
of tomorrow
night, take the first few
minutes of time as it
seems to us to pass. The
time-factor of next week would
be reached
during the succeeding two or three minutes."
"In other words, it
picks up speed," said the
Big Business
Man.
"Yes. How long the
acceleration will last I do
not know.
I have a series of dials
for registering
the time-movement.
By altering the strength,
the intensity
of the
current, I can vary the speed,
or check
it entirely."
"But why have this
apparatus in the form of
an airplane?"
asked the Banker. "You're
going through time, not space."
Rogers answered:
"In a hundred years from
now this
building will not be
here. If we were to
stop his time-movement at that
point, he would drop twenty
stories through space to
the ground."
"Why, of coursel" exclaimed the Big Business
Man. "But in the air. .
"Exactly," said Loto. "I
shall not start the propellers
until later; until I am
launched into future time, and
need them."
Rogers looked at his
watch. "Have you much to
do before
you start,
Loto?"
"No, sir—nothing.
I have
food and water, clothing, and
everything else I need.
I filled
our list
very carefully, and checked over everything
this afternoon. I could have
started then; I've left nothing to
do tonight."
"Then you might as
well get away at once,
Youll remember everything I've told
you, Loto? You'll come back
here, as quickly as
possible? Here to this rooftop?"
The strain of anxiety
under which Rogers was subconsciously
laboring came out suddenly in
his voice.
"You'll be careful, lad?"
"Yes, sir, of course.
I—well, I might as well
say good-by
now, Father."
They shook hands silently,
and Rogers
abruptly turned away.
Loto shook hands with
the others.
The Banker had withdrawn
to the
farthest corner of the enclosure, where he stood regarding
the airplane
fearfully. Loto walked over
to him.
"Good-by, boy."
The Banker's
voice was gruff and a
trifle unsteady. "Take it easy. Don't be
a reckless
fool just because you're young."
"I'll be all right,
sir." Silently they shook hands.
Loto met his mother
a few
paces away. He stood head
and shoulders above her,
and her
arms went around him hungrily as he bent down
to kiss
her.
"You'll come back to
me, little
son?" she whispered. "You'll
come back safely?"
"Yes, Mother. Of course."
He met her eyes,
with the terror lurking in
their gray depths.
"Don't look like that,
mamita. I'll be all right,"
Rogers was calling to
them. Loto disengaged himself gently.
"Good-by, mamita. I'll be back to-morrow
or the
next day. Don't worry—it's nothing."
The last preparations took no more than
a moment
or two. Loto climbed to the
cabin and disappeared within it.
"Be sure and take
off the
canvas roof later to-night," he called down to them.
"And leave it off so
I can
get back."
"Yes," said Rogers, "we
will. And one of us,
at least,
will be here watching all the
time you're away. Good-by, Loto."
"Good-by, Father."
The cabin
door closed upon him.
At a distance of
twenty feet the men stood
in a
solemn group, watching.
"What will it look
like going?" George whispered.
But no one answered
him.
Presently a low hum
became audible. It grew in
intensity, until it sounded like
the droning
of a
thousand winged insects. The airplane rocked
gently on its foundation. It was straining, trembling in
every fiber.
A moment passed. Then
the plane
began to glow, seemingly phosphorescent even in the
light of the electric bulbs
on the scaffolding beside it. Another
moment. There was a fleeting impression that the thing
was growing
translucent —transparent—vapory. For one
brief instant the vision and
sound of it persisted—then
it was gone!
The men stood facing
a silent,
empty space, where a few
loose boards were lying,
with a discarded hammer, a
saw, and a keg of nails.
They had forgotten the
woman. In an opposite corner
of the enclosure Lylda was seated
alone, crying softly and miserably to herself.
George sat alone on
a little
bench in the roof garden
of the Scientific Club. On the
ground beside him, stretched on
a broad leather cushion,
Rogers lay asleep. It was
well after midnight. There was hardly
a breath
of air
stirring, and only a few fleecy
clouds to hide the stars.
In the
east, a flattened moon was rising.
George sat with his
chin cupped in his hands,
staring out over the lights and
the roofs
of the
city. The growing moonlight gleamed on his soft
white shirt and white flannel
trousers.
Rogers stirred and sat
up. "Are
you awake,
George?"
"Go on to sleep.
I'm good
for nearly
all night."
But Rogers rose, stretching.
"What time is it?"
"Quarter of two. Go
on to
sleep, I tell you."
"I've had enough." The older man sat
down on the bench and lighted
a cigar.
"You'd better take a turn,
George. You'll wear yourself
out."
"I can't. I'm too
excited. How long has he
been gone now?"
Rogers calculated. "About
twenty-eight hours."
"Do you think hell
get back
to-night?"
"I don't know. Perhaps."
"I wonder what he's
doing right now," George persisted
after a silence.
Rogers did not answer.
"You don't think anything
could have happened to him,
do you?"
"No. I—I hope not."
"I hope he brings
that girl back with him,"
George said after another silence. "I
certainly would like to meet
her."
Rogers plucked a flower
from the trellis beside them,
breaking it in his
fingers idly. "He may get
back tonight. It was our idea
that—"
He stopped abruptly, and
simultaneously George gripped
him by the arm. They both
saw it;
a little
blob of radiance in the air
just beyond the flower trellis;
a shining
spot small as a puff of
tobacco smoke gleaming silvery in
the moonlight.
George murmured tensely, "Over
there, . . something."
A transparent
radiance. But in a moment
it was
congealing, turning into a glistening,
solid shape. The faint hum of
it sounded
as it
hung in mid-air by the
trellis.
"Not the plane," George murmured. "Then what is it?"
The humming ceased. They
could see the little object
clearly now; a metal
cube, each of its faces
some twenty inches in diameter. It
hung for another moment, then
dropped with a little
thump to the roof-top.
Both the men were
on their
feet. Rogers said, "A message
from him. An emergency.
. ."
He picked
up the
cube.
George stared wonderingly. "You know about this?"
"We arranged it—only for
an emergency.
If he
could not come, or felt it
unwise, he was to send
this. We did not want to
worry anyone—particularly his
mother—so we didn't mention this possibility,"
In a downstairs club room, the men
and Lylda
were gathered, all of
them gazing mute and solemn
as Rogers
opened the cube. Much
of its
interior was filled with the
intricate time-mechanisms. To one
side a sheaf of manuscript
pages was crowded, closely written
with Lotos script.
"His message,"
George murmured. "I do hope
he found
the girl, and that
they're all right."
"I'll read it to
you." Rogers' fingers were trembling
as he drew out the pages.
He lighted
a cigarette,
steadied himself. "The first
thing he says—he's all right—"
"Of course he's all
right," the Banker growled. "That
boy is resourceful."
"He wants us to
know that he's safe and
well. It says. . •
chapter three
First I want you all to know,
I'm quite
safe and well. Mamita
dear, please try not
to worry
about me. Remember, Father we anticipated
I might
decide it best to send
you a
message. I do hope
I have
calculated the space- and time-factors
correctly, and that I've set
the mechanisms
of the
cube so that it
will come back to you
within a day or two
after my departure. I'm assuming that is
so.
You will understand, of course, that as
I have
lived time, it has been far
longer than that. Much has
happened to me, and I want
to tell
you now
what I can of it.
You recall that night
when I left you—to me
now it
seems so long ago.
I remember
your solemn faces as I
closed the door of the cabin
after me. I was in
the forward
one of the three compartments—you saw it when you
inspected the plane the night I
started.
In this compartment are the controls for
the Frazia
motors and the flying controls.
The controls
of my
own mechanism
are there
also. These are simple; merely
a switch
to regulate the proton current, as
Father and I call it,
and a
series of small dials
for recording
the time-change.
These dials are geared, with one
for days,
another for days in multiples of ten, one for
years, and others for years
in multiples
of tens,
hundreds, and thousands.
I took my seat
behind the Frazia controls. I
was not
going to use them
at once,
because there was no immediate
need to raise the
plane into the air. But
I wanted
to be
seated; I could not
tell what the shock of
starting might be. The dials and
switch were on the wall
at my
right. I moved the lever of
the switch
over to the first intensity.
There was a low
hum. The floor seemed to
rock under me. The humming increased;
it roared
in my
ears. Everything was vibrating
with an infinitely tiny, trembling
quiver that pentrated into my body,
into my bones, even coursed
through my blood.
They were swift sensations,
I suppose,
lasting no more than a few
seconds. I felt, as near
as I
can explain
it, as
though some force that
holds my own body together,
cell by cell, were being tampered
with; as if, had the
struggle continued, I might
be shattered
into a myriad of tiny
fragments, like a puff of
exploded powder.
The humming grew still
louder, and I remember trying
to stand up, A wild impulse
to throw
back the switch and stop the
thing came to me, but
I resisted
it. Then
I was
conscious of a sensation
of falling
headlong; a dizzy, sickening reeling of the senses,
rather than the body.
I lost consciousness—for only a moment or
two, I think. I was sitting
in my
seat, uninjured. The humming was
still in my ears,
insistent. But it was not
so loud
as I
had thought, and after a time
I forgot
it almost
entirely.
My first impression now was that everything
about me was glowing, radiating a
phosphorescent fight. I
looked down at my knees; my
clothes were glowing. I could
no longer
distinguish color; my hands
and my
shoes were the same-all that
same glowing phosphorescence.
It gave
a sense
of unreality to everything. And then
I saw
that everything was unreal; nothing had any
substance. I could distinguish the side of the cabin
through my hand, and beyond
the cabin
wall I could see the solidity
of the
board enclosure where the plane was
resting. It was as though
my body
and the
cabin interior were shimmering
ghosts. But when I gripped
my knee with my
hand, I felt solid enough.
I have given you
details of my sensations as I remember them now, but I do
not suppose
that more than a minute
or two had elapsed since I
had first
pulled the switch. I glanced at
the dial
recording the passage of days
but there
was no movement.
I stood up, conscious
of a
nausea and a strong feeling
of lightheadedness. I peered
through one of the side
windows. Outside, everything looked at first glance
as though
I had
not yet started. The
walls of the enclosure were
clear, solid and as distinct as
before. Then I saw George
staring directly at me, and
I could
tell by the expression of his face that
he was looking, not at the
plane, but at an empty
space where the plane had been.
It was all as
real outside as though I
had been
part of it myself—until I saw
the others
move across the enclosure. They were walking extremely fast
and their
gestures were rapid; two or three
times more rapid than normal.
For what seemed like
five or ten minutes I
stood there watching you all. It
was like
a moving
picture being run too fast—and being
constantly accelerated. I saw you
roll back the canvas roof, and
then you went scurrying out
through the door—the last
of you
so fast
that the figure blurred in my
sight.
I was left alone.
For a
while I sat there, a
little dazed. There is a small
clock on the side wall
of the
cabin. It might have been completely
radium-painted, by the
look of it at that moment,
but even
though it glowed as intangible
as a ghost, I could make
out the
hands. I was sure they
would be traveling through
space at their accustomed speed and thus give me
the time
of the
world I had left. I
had started at about ten minutes
of ten;
the clock
now showed
about five minutes after
ten. I had been gone
fifteen minutes. Above the enclosure, to the east, I
saw the
moon. It was about an hour
up, I
judged. And that gave me
a basis
to compute my starting acceleration. The moon an hour
up would have made your time
ten minutes
of two—four
hours after I started. I had
passed through those first four
hours in fifteen minutes I
This was with my
control at the weakest intensity
of the
current. There are twenty
subdivisions of power. I pushed
the handle around from
one to
the other
of them
quickly, pausing only an
instant on each, and stopping
at the
tenth. There was no change of
sensation, except that the humming
seemed to grow, not
louder exactly, but more powerful-more
penetrating. The interior of the
cabin and my own body lost
visible density in appearance. You had switched off the electric lights outside,
but in
the moonlight
I could
still see the board
walls, not only through the
windows, but through the metallic sides
of the
cabin.
I was tingling all
over, but the sensation, now that I was
used to it, was
pleasant rather than the reverse;
a feeling
of lightness, buoyancy and
strength.
With the power increased
tenfold, the acceleration of time-movement was enormous. The movement
of the
rising moon became visible; the heavens
were turning over, the stars progressing
from point to point with
ever increasing speed.
About ten minutes after
ten by
the clock,
the moon
was near the zenith, and the
sun rose
an instant
later. I was conscious of a
flash of twilight, and the
sun's disk shot up from the
horizon. The world was plunged
into daylight.
From my position inside
the enclosure
I could
see nothing
outside but the sky
and one
or two
of the
tallest buildings near at hand. There
was no
visible movement of anything but the sun. You can
understand that, of course. Had
any of you come into the
enclosure, or had an airplane
passed overhead, I would
not have
seen either one. The movement
would have been too
rapid for my vision.
In perhaps a minute
or two
the sun
was directly
overhead, and in another fraction of
a minute
it had
set. Darkness was upon me. Then
the moon
rose again and flashed across
the heavens. Clouds formed and disappeared
so quickly
I could
hardly see them.
I glanced at the
dial recording days. Its hand
was moving.
One day
had passed,
and the
hand was traveling toward the
next.
For ten minutes or
so I
sat there,
while day succeeded night and night
came again, only to be
followed almost instantly by the
day light.
Soon I could distinguish only thin streaks of light
as the
sun and
moon crossed above me— streaks that came closer together,
merged into one, and separated again as the month
passed. And then the days
became so brief that
they blurred with the nights.
A gray-ness
settled upon evetything; the mingled
twilight of light and darkness.
The hand of the
day dial
was sweeping
around swiftly. I looked at the
dial beside it, which recorded
days in multiples of ten.
Its pointer
was also
moving. Forty odd days were recorded
and the
movement was accelerating every instant.
I thought then I
had better
leave the rooftop. I started
the Frazia 'copters, and rose about
a thousand
feet. Then I slowed them down
until a balance with gravity
was maintained,
and I
hung stationary. You may be
surprised that the flying mechanism was
effective while I was sweeping
so swiftly through time. If our
atmosphere did not persist in
time, the propellers would have exerted no
pressure against it. But the air
does persist, and so does
gravity.
There was apparently no wind. The transient
winds and storms of a few
hours were all blended. The
result, however, must have been
a slight
influence to the north, for
I found myself drifting very slowly
in that
direction. After a few moments my
time-velocity had so increased that
even that drift was averaged. I
hung motionless.
From this height—a thousand
feet above the southern boundary of Central Park—the scene
below me was a strange
one. At first glance,
I might
have been hanging in a
balloon on a dull, soundless day
very heavily overcast. Except that
the sky, instead of
showing dark clouds, was a
queer, luminous gray blur
that distinguished nothing.
The city below me
lay clear
cut but
absolutely shadowless, which gave it
a very
extraordinary look of flatness— a vista of buildings painted
upon a huge, concave canvas.
Colors were distinguishable, but they were abnormally
grayish and drab. Vague, unreal
pencil points of light dotted
the scene—electric lights that
were on every night in
the same
spots, and off in
the daytime—the
blended effect of which was visible.
There was no sound. Nor
was there
motion. It looked like a dead,
empty city. The streets seemed
deserted, with not even
a blur
to mark
those millions of transitory movements of humans
and vehicles
that I knew were taking
place.
I had been conscious
of a
brief period of chill, and
for a moment or two the
scene had assumed a whiter
aspect, especially in the
park. I conceived this as
a blending
of several heavy, lingering snowfalls of
the winter.
The lowest dial, marking
days, now showed only a
blur as its pointer swept around.
And the
year-dial pointer was visibly moving. I
had passed
one year
and was
well into the second. The clock
showed ten thirty. I had
been gone forty minutes!
I said there was
no visible
movement in the scene beneath
me. That
was so,
at first,
but I
soon began to see plenty of movement. The white
look had come and gone
again—far briefer this time—when
my attention
was caught
by a building on Broadway, along
in the
Fifties somewhere. It was a broad
but low
building, no more than eight
or ten
stories high; the lowest
in its
immediate vicinity. It seemed now to be melting before
my eyes!
That is the only way
I can describe it—melting. Parts of
it were
vanishing! It was dismembering, as though
piece by piece it was
being taken apart and carried away.
Which, of course, is exacdy
what was happening.
Can you form a
mental picture of that? I
hope so, for it was characteristic
of all
the movement
that now began to assume visibility
throughout the silent city. This
building that melted—I come back to
that word because "it seems
the only one suitable—was
gone in a moment or
two. Try to conceive that I
did not
see actual
movement—not the physical movement we are
accustomed to. They were tearing
down that building—doubdess over a
period of weeks. But I could
not see
any specific
thing being done, any part
of the building come off and
move away. All such details
were too rapid—far too
rapid. What I saw, rather,
was the
effect of movement;
a change
of aspect,
not the
movement itself. The building
progressively looked smaller, until at
last it was not
there.
Then another building began
rising in its place. It
grew steadily. It was
as if
I were
blinking, and between each blink, with an unseen movement,
it had
leaped upward another story. It seemed
a skeleton
at first,
and then
it was
clothed. I watched it,
ignoring others further away, until
it stood complete—a full block in depth
and thirty
or forty
stories high,
I began to realize
now the
tremendous acceleration of time velocity I
was undergoing.
The year-dial
pointer very soon had moved to
ten years;
the pointer
of the
century-dial was stirring. Again
I glanced
at the
clock. It was after eleven; I had been gone
about an hour and a
quarter.
There was nothing that
I had
to do,
and I
moved about the cabin, looking out
of each
of the
windows in turn. The city was
rising; not one building, but
hundreds. As my time velocity increased, I could no
longer see them come and
go individually. They were
there—and then they were were gone,
and others
always larger and higher were
in their stead.
So I say the
city was rising, coming up
to meet
me as
I hung a thousand feet or
more above it. Already one
gigantic edifice to the south
seemed to rear its spire
far above
me. The edges of
the island
stayed low, a fringe of
the new
and old mingled; but
down the backbone, roughly following
Broadway, great piles of
steel and masonry were coming
up.
To the southeast I
could make out the bridges
over the river. There were others
now, extraordinarily broad and high, dwarfing
the older
ones that stood neglected beside
them.
It was a period
of tremendous
activity. And suddenly I discovered that the southern half
of Central
Park was obliterated. I had
drifted a little further north
and was
over it. A building was rising,
coming up toward me so
swiftly that its outlines were blurred
and shadowy.
I was
gazing down through the window in
the floor
of the
cabin, and caught a vague impression
of a
network of gigantic steel girders
almost underneath the machine.
I was too low.
I ascended
perhaps another thousand feet. When I was again hanging
stationary, I found beneath me
a tremendous terraced building—a
pyramid with its apex sliced off. To the north
and south
it connected
with others of its kind; giant
structures generally of pyramid shape,
with streets running along their steplike
terraces. Innumerable bridges connected
these mammoth buildings, so that
north and south, and for a
few blocks
east and west of the
center, there were continuous aerial streets,
in some
places as many as ten or
fifteen, one above the other.
I turned to the
window facing the north. There
was now
nothing but buildings as
far as
my line
of vision
extended; buildings like a
ridge down the center, shading
off to
the lower areas of the east
and west.
There were trees and parks in
spots on the top, but
the original
ground was covered.
Some of the upper
street levels—those alternate sections of terraces and bridges over
courtyards whose ground was merely the rooftops of lower
edifices—were laid with gleaming rails.
And rearing
itself above everything, a skeleton
structure of monorails stretched
north and south—eight or ten single
rails paralleled at widths of
some fifty feet, which I realized
must be carrying some system
of aerial
railroad.
This towering pile was
indeed the backbone of the
city, extending roughly north
and south
like a mountain range that forms the backbone of
a continent.
The lower
areas adjacent—five hundred feet above
the ground,
perhaps—were for the most
part buildings with broad, flat
roofs.
In New Jersey, on
Long Island, and north of
Manhattan as far as I could
see, lesser cities had appeared,
with occasional giants among buildings
that were lower. The whole
was now welded into
one, for the rivers on
each side of me were spanned
by a
bridge at almost every street;
a network of bridges under which
the water
flowed almost unnoticed.
My time-velocity
was still
accelerating. I saw now, increasingly,
many things about the city
that were shadowy —structures
that were erected and stood
no more
than twenty or thirty years, perhaps,
which to my vision now
was only a moment. I
became aware, not only
below me, but even above me,
of occasional
vague aerial structures; skeletons that reared themselves up a few thousand
feet and dissipated into nothing before
I could
form a conception of their real
nature.
There was, indeed, everywhere
this shadowy aspect as to
detail. Changes were taking
place; things were being done
even the effect of
which was too fleeting for
my vision
to grasp.
I was constantly losing more details, but
in general
the growth of the city was
outward and upward. Presently there
came a pause, as though the
city were resting. Occasional areas were blurred by their
changing form; across the river
in Jersey a tremendous
tower was rising into the
sky far
above me. But as
a whole
the scene
had quieted.
My brain
was confused by what
I had
tried to observe and comprehend.
I found
myself hungry and a little
faint. I dropped into my seat.
The dials beside me
caught my attention. The century-dial
pointer had passed eighteen. Eighteen
hundred years, and approaching two thousand
even as I sat staring
at it.
The clock marked one
forty. I had been gone
almost four hours. I said the
city was resting. That is
true. The growth of two thousand
years had carried it to
splendors of mechanical perfection that I could only
guess at. But now it
seemed to have reached
its height;
the summit
of human
achievement had been attained.
I waited and watched
tlirough another period. There were
changes, but they were
minor. I suppose all the
buildings and various structures decayed and
were replenished. I do not know.
The changes
were too fleeting for me
to see,
and the general form
remained the same.
I was at what
seemed the pinnacle of civilization,
where mankind was resting and enjoying
the results
of its
labors.
Decadence was bound to
come, as truly as death
followed birth.
The clock now recorded
two fifty.
I had
been gone five hours. The century-dial
was beyond
thirty-seven hundred years. Two thousand years
of growth
upward from our own time-world, and only two thousand
more of resting on the
summit before the inevitable
decline began. He who stands
still, goes backward. And
so it
is with
mankind as a whole. This triumphant city went down
almost as quickly at it
had come up. And through the
windows of that cabin I
watched it-neglected a little
at first,
then more and more as
its softened masters, with nature turned
against them, became unable to cope
with it, until at last
it broke
up and
sank back into ruin, decay and
desolation.
CHAPTER FOUR
Occasionally, now, some brave effort seemed
to be
made to build the city on
a different
scale. There y/ere
other types of architecture, always smaller;
little sections, newly built, stood heroically,
surrounded by gigantic, moldy ruins.
Suddenly I realized that
it was
a dead
city at which I was
staring. There were no
longer changes, except those natural
to the passing years. The city
was deserted;
its inhabitants
had died or had
fled—or both.
It was after five
o'clock. The dials registered just short of eight thousand
years. I had less to
see now,
and I
could give my attention to other
things. The ruins of a
dead city do not remain long
in visible
existence. Two thousand years more were recorded. Beneath me
the vegetation
seemed untouched by the hand
of man;
only in a few scattered
places were there any remaining ruins:
a tumbledown
segment of building; the broken base
of a
tower; skeletons of crumbling steel here and there; headstones
on the
grave of what once had been
a city.
With these changes the
contour of the landscape itself
was forced to my
attention. The rivers had changed;
they were broader. South of Manhattan
Island, and somewhat to the west,
I could
distinguish a great expanse of
water. All the lowlands there—the "Meadows,"
as we
call them— had sunk. To the
north, the land seemed higher
than normal, and an arm
of the
sea had
crept in up there to
lap the
foothills.
I have not told
you of
the temperature
I was
experiencing. When I started
there was an almost immediate
drop—a blending of day and
night, winter and summer. It
penetrated into the cabin, making the
ship almost cold after the
warm August evening of my departure.
Now, however, at seven
o'clock, when I had been
gone some nine hours, I felt
that it was growing noticeably
colder. And the faintest suggestion of a vague whiteness
began to creep into the scene
below me. That is an
odd way
for me
to phrase it. I
was seeing
each minute only the effect of the snowfalls
of thirty
winters, blended with all the
other seasons. The snowfalls
were increasing in severity; I
became aware of that in the
aspect of the scene, but
I cannot
describe it.
It was after seven
o'clock now. I had been
gone about nine and a half
hours. The dials showed eleven
thousand four hundred and fifty odd
years. I now faced a
new problem:
the landscape we had
seen in our experiment had nothing in it of
great duration. How could I
find it, or tell when
I had reached its time? That
house in which the girl
was held captive could stand no
more than a hundred years,
if that. And it was the
only distinguishing mark in the
whole scene. I would pass the
lifetime of that house in
a minute
or two. I puzzled
over this for quite a
while. I had almost decided to stop and verify
the actual,
momentary conditions beneath me. And then
I realized
I still
had far
to go.
There were trees, plenty of them,
beneath me. They were constantly
shifting and changing, but quite
distinguishable, nevertheless. And in
the enclosure
about that house, Father and I had seen a
tree—the only tree in the
landscape. It was a curious looking
tree, stunted, and with a
look of the far north about
it. These
below me, at eleven and
twelve thousand years ahead
of our
present, were more or less
normal looking trees—or they probably
would have been, had I stopped
to examine
them.
I still had far
to travel,
so I
increased the current from the tenth
to the
fifteenth intensity. Again I was
conscious of that feeling of lightness
in my
head, and the humming and
vibration of everything increased. I had almost
forgotton my personal sensations;
had quite
forgotten them, in fact, for
several hours past.
I passed fifteen thousand
years. I could see that
the ocean to the north had
come further inland. There was
now, from my altitude, no evidence
of mankind
visible, nor anything to indicate
that man had ever lived
on this
earth. The scene was more blurred
now and
grayer, I could still make
out the bay to
the south,
with a range of hills
on Staten
Island and water behind
it and
to the
west as far as I
could see. The rivers bounding Manhattan
were still there, but the Palisades
along the Hudson had broken
down.
Directly beneath me was
forest. I believed I had
not drifted much from my original
position. I was still over
where Central Park had
been some twenty thousand years
before. The forest—it was
more like woods—covered a narrow rolling
country between the two rivers.
I knew
I was moving through time much
more swiftly now, perhaps twice as fast as before.
The vegetation
was blurred,
almost distorted. It was
changing constantly and, on the
whole, was growing sparser, more stunted.
It was
as though
I were
traveling northward, or ascending a
mountain almost to the timber
line. Another interval passed. My
time-velocity had so increased that once
I thought
I could
see a
hill rising. But that probably was
imagination.
I had been gone
some twelve hours—it was almost
ten o'clock—when I realized
I was
about exhausted. My head was reeling;
my eyes
burned and watered. It was
growing much colder—so cold that I
switched on the electrical heating apparatus.
That was when the
dials recorded between twenty and
thirty thousand years. I
don't remember exactly. I was
confused. The scene beneath me
was noticeably
whiter, and I was now drifting
to the
south. I felt perturbed. I was going too far,
I had reached about
forty-five thousand years when abruptly I realized that there
was no
vegetation in the scene! Just when it melted away
I had
not noticed.
It was
all a
whitish blur, now. that
suggested very snowy winters blended
with a shorter summer season. I
leaped to the control, and
threw its handle back,
pausing an instant at each
intensity of current until I had
come to the first. There
I left
it.
These new sensations of decreasing my time-velocity
so abruptly were almost equally as
severe as those when I
started. The humming slowed
up. My
whole body seemed to be turning
to lead—or
freezing. I was heavy, stiff,
and cold.
I was standing up, and I
managed to grip the side
of the
cabin for support, and
reaching down, I threw off
the switch,
cutting off the current
completely. There came a tremendous,
soundless clap in my head;
I seemed
tumbling headlong into an abyss
of blackness.
I do not think
I lost
consciousness. My senses
reeled for what seemed an age,
but was
doubtlessly only a second or
two. I fell into a chair
and the
horrible dizziness passed. I raised my
head and looked about me.
My first impression was of the extraordinary
solidity of the cabin interior. I
had not
realized how shadowy it had
been before. Two little
electric bulbs were burning overhead.
They illuminated the compartment. The windows were black rectangles;
It was
night outside.
I was cold; I
could see my breath in
the chill
of the
room, even though one
of the
electric heaters was in operation.
Everything close to me was
oppressively silent; the humming still seemed
to persist
vaguely, but I knew it
was only the reaction from it
roaring in my ears. From
the next
compartment came the drone
of the
Frazia motors.
When I had fairly
recovered normality, I went to
the nearest window. The sky was
blue-black. There was no moon and
the stars
seemed a trifle hazy. Beneath
me I
could make out a
barren expanse of snow. I
checked my compass. Its needle had
steadied now, and I saw
that my drift was almost directly
south. The ship was moving
rapidly, and I was alarmed.
I knew
that, even with the compass,
I could easily get
lost—geographically, so to
speak.
My first action was
to ascend.
When I was up some
six thousand feet I started back
northward, against the wind.
I was hopelessly lost, both in time
and in
space. I could distinguish nothing in
the starlit,
snowy landscape that seemed familiar. Whether
or not
I had
passed the time world I was
seeking, I had no idea.
Then I flew low, skimming
the snow
no more
than one or two hundred
feet above it. There were housesl
Huts would be a better
word. I think they were built
of snow,
but I
could not tell. It seemed an
Arctic world,
I knew then I
had gone
too far
in time.
I decided
to stay
near here in space
until morning. Fortunately that proved
only a short time away. Within
half an hour the stars
paled; twilight came and
passed, and the sun rose—a
huge, red, glowing ball.
I was circling about,
quite high—six or eight thousand
feet possibly. By this
reddish light of early morning
I could
see the bay south
of me.
There was no Long Island;
the ocean had closed in to
the north
and east,
and I
was near
its shore—a cold, snowy
beach, with lazy rollers. But
west of me there was a
river—the Hudson, I was sure—double
the breadth of one
I had
known. It seemed to come
from h mountainous region in the
northwest, and an arm of
it north of Manhattan emptied into
the sea.
Everywhere there was snow.
The bay
was full
of floating
ice. Across the river
was an
area of stunted trees. I
was over
Manhattan Island, I was
sure. I circled around, searching.
It was not the time world
I was
seeking—that was obvious.
Should I go on,
or go
back through the centuries I
had passed? I decided on the
latter.
I had now been
away from you nearly sixteen
hours. I was worn out. I
flew across the river, found
a level
plateau to the north. There was
no sign
of human
habitation in the vicinity. Shutting off
my Frazia
motors completely, I descended and came to rest
on the
surface of the snow, in
a time world forty-six thousand and
eight years beyond our present. I ate a little
and, dropping to the floor
of the
cabin, fell asleep. Unwise maybe, but
I had
to take
a chance.
At any rate, I
awakened without having been disturbed.
It was night again; I had
slept some twelve hours. I
flew upward, back over Manhattan Island,
and threw
the opposite
proton current into its
first intensity.
I need not go
into further details. My sensations
were the same as before, though
they bothered me less as
I grew
more accustomed to them.
I came
back through time. At intervals I stopped and examined
the landscape.
The wind was blowing
almost continually from the north
during all these centuries.
I flew
into it slowly, keeping my
approximate position without great
difficulty. I tried to hold
myself near the south
center of the island, and
look northward. I was right
in going
back through time, I soon
discovered. From close to the
ground where I stopped once,
I could see a
rolling hill near by that
had a
familiar contour. I cannot describe it
to you,
but once
I saw
it from
that angle, I knew it was
in the
landscape we had seen from
the laboratory.
Then I found the
tree. There was no house.
No snow,
either, for I had
chanced then to stop in
a summer
season. The tree was too small.
I chose
a ten
years later time world, and watching the dials closely,
descended at a period ten
and a half years later. I
had struck
it exacdy;
it must
have been within a week or
two from
the time
world Father and I had observed.
I had occupied some
eight hours with this search.
The dials had stopped now at
twenty-eight thousand two hundred odd
years. I was at that
instant flying at an altitude
of no more than a few
hundred feet. It was again
early morning, just after
sunrise, and there was that
familiar, snowy landscape we
had seen
from the laboratory.
The house, with its
enclosure and outbuildings, lay below
me. I circled over it, staring
down through the floor window.
The Frazia
motors are greatly muffled, as
you know,
but, even so, their
sound carried down to the
house. A figure came out into
the enclosure,
and stared
upward at me. It was the
girl—in a fur garment, but
bareheaded-watching my plane.
Before I could think what
to do,
three huge dogs, each of them
the size
of a
pony, came leaping from one of
the outbuildings
and stood
in a
group, snarling at me with such
volume and power that they
made my blood run cold.
I was circling slowly
over the house, cursing my
lack of caution and still too
confused to do anything, when
the figure of a man appeared
in the
enclosure, clad in furs and
bareheaded like the girl.
He stood
head and shoulders over her. Evidently
the noise
of the
dogs blotted out the sound
of my motors. He did not
look up into the air,
but striding
angrily to the girl,
struck her in the face
with the flat of his hand.
Then he dragged her, cowering,
into the house.
I straightened
out, and flew south. The
howling of the dogs died away.
Without realizing where I was
going, I headed down the wind.
Soon I was over the
water. I had risen, and in
the morning
light could see the landlocked
bay into which the
main channel of the Hudson
emptied. The bay itself had an
entrance to the sea almost
at the
river's mouth.
It was midwinter, I learned afterward. The river and the
bay both seemed frozen
over, with a mantle of
snow on their ice. I passed
above an island—Staten Island, no
doubt —and mechanically swung to the
west.
What was I to
do? I
had several
rifles in the plane, as
you know, and one of the
latest Collinger hand guns. My
instinct was to land at
the house
boldly, overawe its inmates with my weapons, and carry
off the
girl. That was a fatuous
thought. I very soon
realized that for all I
knew they might have the power
to strike
me dead
with some weapon totally unknown.
I was still flying
west. I found myself far
out over
Jersey, and still I had decided
nothing. There were houses beneath
me and
even a little village or
two. But I did not
heed them, though fortunately
I had
sense enough to ascend to
a higher
altitude where I could escape
observation.
The sun was rising
above the sea behind me,
and at
last I swung about to face
it. As
it mounted
higher—it was moving at about
normal speed—some of the red,
glowing look was lost; it assumed
more of its familiar aspects
of our
own time world. But still an
hour above the horizon as
it was
now, I could stare at it
quite steadily without being blinded.
I was heading east.
In another
ten minutes
I would
have been back in Manhattan. I decided that I
would leave the plane secluded somewhere
and approach
the house
on foot,
quietly. If I could
only elude the dogs and
not arouse
them, I hoped to be able
to get
into the house and get
the girl
out. I realize now it was
a foolhardy
plan.
I flew very low
up the
Hudson from its mouth. I
was afraid I might be seen.
Then it suddenly occurred to
me how easily I could avoid
that with certainty. I threw
the switch of the proton current
into the first and then
the second intensity, and began a
slow time flight forward through the day simultaneously with my flight up
the river.
I found a good
hiding place for the plane
on the
east bank of the river—a broad,
flat sort of gully some
two hundred
feet wide. I figured
this was about abreast of
the house,
and I lowered the plane into
it. It
was difficult
to do
because of my southward drift,
but I
managed it. As I neared
the ground I shut
off the
proton current and came to
rest in time and space almost
at the
same moment.
The sun was just
setting behind a line of
hills across the river. As I
had not
eaten for several hours, I
sat in
the cabin now and ate, planning
exacüy what I should do
to rescue the girl.
You will not understand
it, but
as I
sat there,
alone, with no one to consult,
it did
not seem
to me
so desperate
an enterprise. My Collinger,
no bigger
than your hand, would silently fire a dozen bullets
in as
many seconds, each capable of killing a human, or
one of
those dogs.
It was the dogs
I was
most afraid of. And yet,
as I
had observed from the laboratory, they did not run
loose about the grounds at night,
but were
trained to stay in the
kennel, which was some distance from
the dwelling.
, ,
three or four hundred feet, perhaps.
I decided to start
about midnight. My clock gave
a totally
different hour, of course,
from the correct one of
that particular time world. But
I was
planning to leave the plane
about six hours after
sunset.
It was a long
evening, but the time finally
arrived. I put on my fur
coat and went bareheaded, because I wanted to look
as rational
to the
girl as possible. At best
she would
be afraid of me,
a stranger—probably
more afraid of me than
of her captors. I realized fully
what a difficulty that would
be. An outcry from her, or
any resistance
on her
part, might lose me everything. But my intentions were the best, though
she could not know
it.
I left the plane.
Besides the Collinger, I had
a hand
compass and a small
flashlight. It was very cold.
I scrambled
out through the snow,
up the
side of the gulley to
the level
land above—a climb of
sixty or seventy feet. The
snow was deep, with an underlying
surface of ice that would
support my weight. Up here on
the higher
land it was colder than
ever. The north wind
hit me
full, and I had been
walking no more than five minutes
when it began to snow—tremendous
flakes, that soon came in
a thick,
soft cloud, and blotted out everything around me. In
my pocket
I had
my fur
cap with ear tabs,
and I
soon found I would have
to wear
it.
I was heading across
the wind,
plowing through the loose snow. I could see only
a few
feet ahead of me. It
was a
pathless waste. And suddenly the
whimsical thought came over me that
I was
crossing Fifty-ninth Street, and soon
I would
be near Columbus Circle.
It was
the same
space, the same location. Nothing was
different but the time—the changes
time had brought.
I took out my
compass and, by the light
of the
flashlight, I consulted it. I was
heading as nearly as I
could toward the house. So far
as I
had been
able to tell before, there
was no other habitation on the
island. I suppose I struggled
along for nearly an
hour. I figured I must
be in
the vicinity
of the house now, though I
could see nothing but the
snow covered ground a few feet
ahead of me, the whirling
flakes close at hand, and the
blackness overhead. Without warning, through
a rift
in the
clouds to the east, came
moonlight; a gigantic, egg-shaped moon with a reddish
tinge to it that gave the
scene a lurid, extremely weird
look.
The house was in
sight, ahead and to the
left, on a slight rise of ground no more
than a quarter of a
mile away. I was faced now
with the necessity for a
definite course of action. From the laboratory, with my
telescope, I had occasionally seen the girl late at
night, sitting in the central
living room of the house. I
had seen
her through
the windows,
and she
had always left the
living room in a southeast
direction. The house faced
south; I felt that her
room was in the southeast
end. The enclosure lay mostly
behind the house, toward the north, with the dog
kennel in its extreme northern
wall.
This was all advantageous
to me.
I knew
I had
to keep
away from those dogs.
With a wind of from
twenty to thirty miles an hour
blowing from them to me,
I felt
sure that they would not get
my scent.
My plan
was to
get into
the house through either a sort
of gateway
in the
southeast wall of the enclosure, or directly in through
a window.
I expected
to locate the girl
and carry
here away—by force, I suppose.
I was confident—absurdly so, I realize
now. I think it was
the enthusiasm—the excitement—of being actually engaged in what I had contemplated
for two
long years and had worked so hard to attain.
My heart was beating
fast as I crept forward,
the Collinger
in my gloved hand. It was
still snowing hard, and presently
the clouds swept back
over the newly risen moon;
but I
was now so close up that
I could
see the
dark outlines of the house, and the wall of
the enclosure.
The building was only
one story,
but quite
high, with a queer looking overhanging
roof. The wall of the
enclosure was some ten feet
high. I circled to the
south, and was soon close up
to the
main doorway of the house.
The whole place was piled with
snow. There was not a
sound, only the howling of the
wind as it swept in
gusts under the low eaves.
The glass door—I suppose
it was
glass—was a single rectangular pane in a dark,
narrow frame. It was no
more than three feet broad, and
at least
twelve feet high. Behind it
I could see. the dimly lighted
interior—a soft, blue-white light. I could
not see
where it came from.
For quite a while
I must
have stood there motionless, peering in. A portion of
a large
room was in the line
of my
sight; It seemed unoccupied.
I could
see a
back wall hung with something dark;
a sort
of low
couch to one side; queerly shaped, low chairs and
a table
or two.
And there
was a floor covering of some
thick, soft textile, and several
furs lying about. A
large fur rug covered the
couch.
To the right I
could see a low archway,
hung with a curtain. That
was in
the direction
of the
girl's room. There were two other
archways with curtains, but evidently
no interior
doors to the house.
I had been pressing
against the glass pane; it
seemed to give a little. I
pushed. The motion was inward,
and greater
at the bottom. I knelt down
and shoved
it. The
lowed half swung silently and smoothly
inward and upward, while the upper
half came out and down.
The whole
twelve foot pane was pivoted at
its center.
When it paralleled the floor
it stopped, and there
was a
six foot
opening leading into the house.
I took a cautious
step, listening intently, peering around
me—behind me—with the sudden
feeling that something supernatural
might leap forth and spring
at me
any instant.
But the Collinger, my finger on the
trigger, gave me courage. In my
left hand I held the
flashlight, and very slowly I
crept toward the curtained archway
behind which I hoped the girl
might be. Suddenly I remembered
my cap.
I smiled at the
absurdity of the detail, but,
nevertheless, I pulled it off and
stuffed it in my pocket.
Then I went forward, pushed
aside the curtain, and entered
the space
behind it.
I was in darkness
as the
curtain dropped. It must have
been a sort of anteroom, or
a short
hallway, for some twenty feet ahead of me I
saw another
curtain with a blue radiance
beyond it.
A moment more and
I had
pushed aside the second curtain
and stood
peering into the room beyond.
It was
more dimly lighted than the living
room. Across it, in a
angle of wall, the first thing
my gaze
caught was a low couch
or divan, bathed in the blue
radiance from a brazier beside
it, which left the rest of
the room
in gloom.
The girl
lay there
asleep. A soft, pure-white
fur was
covering her, but her bare arms
and shoulders
were above it. One arm
was crooked
under her head for
a pillow;
the other,
almost as white as the
rug, lay stretched out
over the fur. On her
breast, her golden hair lay in
waves.
I stood transfixed by the ethereal loveliness
of the
face, calm in deep slumber. It
was a
small oval face of seemingly
perfect features, with soft,
curving red lips, smooth, rosy
cheeks and long, silken
lashes that lay motionless as she slept.
My emotion at the
picture was short lived; other
thoughts crowded up me.
What was I to do?
I could
not awaken
the girl and ask her to
come with me. She would
not understand
the words,
and if
she did,
she would
probably have screamed before I could
get them
out. Seize her, stifle her
cries and carry her
off forcibly?
Perhaps that is what I
should have done; taken
her to
the plane
and left
explanations until afterward.
But I could not
bring myself to do that.
Somehow, my whole instinct was to
retreat from the room. I
felt myself a gross intruder in
a sanctified
place, my very gaze an
insult. What I would finally
have done, I don't know.
Events took the decision out of
my hands.
The wind
outside roared with a sudden gust
that must have pulled loose
something under the eaves.
There came a rattle, a
thump, loud in the silence of the house. Then
the wind
died again.
I glanced up to
the ceiling,
startled, with my heart pounding and the Collinger pointed
toward the sound. I could see
nothing but the dark rectangle
of a
window up there. My gaze fell
again to the couch—and met
the opened
eyes of the girl.
She was
sitting up, her hair tumbling
over her shoulders, one hand instinctively
gripping the white fur to raise
it more
closely about her, the other
pressed against her mouth. I think
I could
never imagine an expression of more utter terror than
that on her face,
I murmured something intended
to be
reassuring and made the mistake of
taking a step forward. It
was the
worst thing I could have done,
for her
frightened scream rang out through the house. I guess
by then
I was
thoroughly confused. I turned back
toward the curtain. I would
escape from the house—come back some
other time. Or should I
pick her up now,
and run
with her? She was small,
frail. I could carry her easily;
escape almost as quickly with
her, perhaps, as by myself. And
shoot back at anyone—anything —that followed.
I found myself back
at her
couch. She had withdrawn to
the further side of
it, huddled
against the wall. Her horrified
eyes were on my face,
but she
did not
scream again.
There was a noise
behind me, and I swung
about. The curtain was parting. There
was a
figure there. I could not
see it plainly; it was in
the darkness,
and I
was in
the light.
I aimed the Collinger,
pressed the trigger. Simultaneously, a tiny pencil-point of light
seemed to spring at me
from where the figure was standing.
A brief,
very tiny but horribly intense glare flashed in my
eyes.
I was in darkness;
everything went black. I did
not fall,
but reeled sidewise. I
heard a mocking laugh and
footsteps coming toward me; a
hand struck me across the
mouth.
It is terrible to
fight in total darkness. I
stumbled aimlessly somewhere, and
felt the Collinger twisted from
me. But
when I lurched in that direction,
my outflung
arms met only empty air. Again
a hand
struck me across the mouth;
again that mocking laugh.
My assailant
was playing
with me.
I was unhurt, and
desperately I rushed to where
I thought
the room's exit might
be. But
strong fingers gripped my shoulder and I was flung
violently sidewise. I must have
struck my head against
something as I went down.
My senses faded; the last thing
I remember
was that
jeering, mocking laughter floating
out of
the darkness.
CHAPTER FIVE
When I came to, I
was still
lying where I had fallen.
Striking my head had knocked
me out
momentarily. I heard voices; some one
was kneeling
beside me. I opened my
eyes, but everything was black. I remember
feeling my head; It was not
cut. I was unhurt, and
I struggled
to a
sitting position. Whoever it
was beside
me, now
stood up and moved away. The
girls voice came to me
out of
the darkness. The low words were
unintelligible—yet they were
words not wholly unfamiHar
in ring.
The darkness was full
of little
darting red spots. And my
eyes pained me; the
backs of my eyeballs were
burning. I was blind. I had
thought the light in the
room had suddenly been extinguished, and a vague idea
that my antagonist could see in
the dark
had possessed
me. But
it wasn't
so. He had blinded me with
the tiny
flash of light that had
struck into my eyes.
My head was still
reeling from the blow it
had received
when I fell. They carried me,
half conscious, into some other
room, and left me
lying on something soft. I
closed my eyes, but I could
not shut
out those
darting red spots. At last,
I most have drifted off to
sleep.
When I awoke it
was morning.
The red
glow of the sunrise was
coming in through a small
aperture up near the ceiling. I could see it;
the blindness
had passed.
My head
was still ringing and
my eyes
still pained me, but I
was uninjured.
I was
on a
low couch,
with a fur rug under
me. My overcoat lay beside me
on the
floor. The whole thing seemed like a dream, but
finally I got it straightened
out in
my mind.
I was in a
fairly large bedroom. Two windows
of heavy
transparent material were up
near the ceiling. Opposite the
windows was a doorway
with a curtain. I slipped
into my overcoat, searching its pockets.
My cap
was there,
but the
compass and the flashlight
were gone and my (Zollinger
had already been taken from me.
The storm outside seemed
to have
passed. The house was dead silent.
I went
to the
curtain; beyond it was a
small hall, empty, and with another
curtain at its further end.
This I pushed aside cautiously. I was looking into
the main
living room of the
house, and met the direct
gaze of a man who was
lounging there.
I dropped the curtain
hastily, but he had seen
me and
sprung to his feet—a
powerful man, taller than myself,
with gray, loose-fitting trousers and naked
torso. I retreated back to the
bedroom; the fear of what
he might
do to
me, blind
me or worse, made me anything
but anxious
to encounter
him again.
He followed and was
upon me, twisting me by
the shoulders to face him. He
was a
man of
about thirty-five with black hair, long
to the
base of his neck; a
smooth-shaven, strong, rugged
face; keen gray eyes beneath
black, bushy brows; a nose a
little like a hawk, and
a wide
mouth with thin lips. It was
the sort
of face
that bespoke power and cruelty—a nature
born to dominate its fellows.
His gaze
was searching, puzzled. I
knew he was trying to
make me out—wondering what manner of
man I
was, and where I had come
from. He spoke to me.
I could
not understand
the words, but again
I got
the impression
that they were familiar English words
spoken differently. I answered him.
I don't remember what
I said,
but he
frowned and pushed me from him,
toward the couch.
I had decided to
appear docile. I stumbled to
the couch
and sat down on
it. He
stood in the center of
the room,
regarding me, and I managed
what I hoped might be
an ingratiating
smile. This seemed to appeal
to him,
for he
smiled back. Then he swung about
and left
the room.
For a while I
sat quiet.
The girl—where
she was
I did
not know. I would have escaped
without her if I could,
but escape did not seem possible;
at least,
it was
more of a risk than I
cared to take. The feeling
came to me that even
now as I sat on the
couch, I might be observed.
How could
I tell whether someone was watching
me from
behind some hidden orifice, through which,
as I
turned my gaze that way, that
tiny, blinding beam of light
would spring at me?"
It was too big
a chance.
I would
wait, and when I knew
better what I had
to contend
with, watch for an opportunity
to escape.
The room was fairly
light now, with that queer,
reddish light. I could
see the
sky, brilliant with a glorious
red sunrise,
through the little windows overhead.
I moved
the table
and climbed on it;
outside was snow, tinged with
red. I was at an east
end of
the house,
perhaps next to the girl's
room.
At a comer of
the building
nearby sat one of the
dogs-like a gigantic shaggy wolf,
quiet but alert. His head
was fully six feet above the
ground as he sat there,
squatting on his haunches. He heard
me open
the window,
and trotted
quiedy over to look
at me.
My fascinated
stare met his eyes squarely—eyes that seemed to hold
an almost
uncanny human intelligence. He seemed
satisfied with the situation, for he trotted back to
the corner
of the
house and sat down again. But he was still
watching me.
I dropped to the
floor. The incident had left
me shuddering.
What manner of brutes were
these, with gleaming, tusk-like
teeth, dripping jowls and a
power in those tremendous muscles that must have
far exceeded
the strongest
horse! And eyes that
might have been human! At
that moment, escape seemed further
away than ever.
For three days they
fed me
in that
room. A woman came mostly. She wore a loose,
shapless robe of dark cloth.
It was dowdy-looking. Her hair was
iron-gray, long to her waist, twisted into a bundle
and bound
with strips of dark cloth. Her face was thin,
careworn. She brought me my
food; some kinds of
cooked meats and starchy vegetables,
like potatoes. She was
land enough, but grim, as
though I were an unpleasant task that her conscience
made her discharge punctiliously.
I tried to talk
to her,
but she
couldn't understand me, nor I her.
Afterward, I learned she was
the older
man's old maid daughter. The old
man himself
came in a few times; a smooth-shaven, stalwart man
of about
seventy, dressed in wide,
flowing trousers and naked above
the waist.
Sometimes he wore a
short little house jacket. His
name was Bool. The younger man—the
master of the house—was named Toroh. He came in
and sat
by me
a few
times, always intent on seeing
that I was properly cared
for. But there was no mistaking
the fact
that he would have killed
me without compunction had I annoyed him;
and I
could not forget his sardonic laughter
when he had blinded me.
I've been telling you
about my first three days
in the
house. I did not
see the
girl except once, just for
a moment.
I was
not held
to the
room, although I stayed there
almost constantly. And one
or the
other of those dogs was
outside all the time.
After the first day, I
grew bold enough to go into
the living
room.
Once, when I was
sitting alone in the main
room, the girl entered. She stood
in the
doorway, and for the first
time I realized how small and
slight she was. She looked
almost Egyptian—I mean her
manner of dress. She was
wearing a blue-colored cloth wound wide about
her hips,
with a dull red sash hanging
knee-length down one side; sandals on her bare feet;
breast-plates of metal, and a
broad, low-cut collar of
cloth with little coins on
it that
widened to cover her shoulders. And her golden hair
was parted
forward over her shoulders in
plaits that ended with little
tassels.
She was standing there
staring at me, and this
time there was no fear in
her eyes—only
curiosity. My heart leaped; it was what I hoped
for most.
I could
do nothing
toward planning to get
her out
of the
house as long as she
continued to be afraid of
me.
I smiled at her
in as
inoffensive and friendly a fashion
as I could. Her eyes fell,
then came up and I
could see she was wondering at
my clothes;
my shoes,
trousers, shirt and tie. Abruptly I
realized that, except for my
garb, I probably did not
look extraordinary or frightening to her. The thought gave me new courage.
I stood
up, and
spoke. At once she turned and
ran from
the room.
We were a strange
household, but after a time,
except for having my meals alone,
I found
I could
move about pretty freely. Once Toroh
brought me my electric torch,
and, making sure I
did not
aim it
at him,
he made
me light
it. I knew he believed it
a weapon.
I thought
this a good chance to convince
him I
was friendly.
I smiled
and shined
it into my eyes,
to show
him it
was harmless.
He grunted
and, taking the flashlight
from me, tossed it across
the room, indicating it was of
no use
or further
interest.
Then he produced my
Collinger and made me show
him how to operate it. But
he was
too clever
to let
me hold
it; he did not let it
get out
of his
hands. When he had fired
it at a mark out the
doorway, he grunted again and
laid it on the snow. At
a distance
of twenty
feet he stood with some object
in his
hand which he did not
show me. Abruptly the Collinger flew
into fragments! All its cartridges
had been exploded simultaneously.
The bullets
whistied past us, startling Toroh as
much as they did me.
Later I learned he had exploded
it by
something akin to radio. He
picked up the remains and when
he got
back into the house, he
tossed my broken weapon
away disdainfully. It was the
attitude a soldier of
today might have toward an
Indian warrior and his
bow and
arrow.
Toroh, I learned later,
thought I had come from
another planet. He had
see my
plane the morning I hovered
over the house. No one from
another planet had been to
the earth for centuries. But history
told of them, and he
thought I was one of them,
come again. He treated me
kindly enough —probably because
I did
not anger
him or
cross him in any way. But
I had
seen him strike the girl
in the
face, and one day he struck
the woman.
I have
never seen such a look
of sullen, repressed hatred
as she
gave him. She seemed to
hate her father, too.
Later, I often saw him
cuff her when she annoyed him.
I have so much
to tell
you. Toroh took two of
his dogs
and his sled and
went away after about a
week. He was gone a month,
and during
that time I stayed docilely
in the
house, I saw many
opportunities when I might have
escaped. But now I would not,
without taking the girl—whose name, by the way, is
Azeela—and I could not expose
her to
such danger as always seemed imminent.
I must have convinced
them all that I was
harmless. No one paid me great
attention except the woman, Koa.
Often I would see her peering
furtively at me from some
distant doorway.
Azeela soon became friendly,
and since
we both
had nothing
to do,
she devoted
herself to learning our language.
I tried to leam hers and
failed miserably. But she picked
ours up with extraordinary rapidity—perhaps because her mind was quicker,
her memory
more retentive. And I think,
also, because she has behind her
the inherited
instincts of knowledge through all
the centuries
from our own time-world forward.
Anyway, within the month
she could
speak English freely enough for us
to get
along—with a quaint little accent
that is wholly indescribable.
I think her language
was derived
very nearly from the English we speak today. Ours
was, to her, merely archaic;
but hers, modern beyond
my time,
was too
much for me. It was an
extraordinary story that Azeela had
to tell
me— as extraordinary as mine must
have seemed to her. We
became friends, and with friendship
came a renewed desire on both
our parts
to escape.
Her people
were many hundred miles away, and,
when I told her of
my plane,
I very
soon persuaded her to
let me
take her back to her
own country.
Quite evidently
my plane
had not
been discovered. If it had not
snowed so heavily that first
night, the dogs would have led Toroh back over
my trail
to it.
But it
was still
safe, though I did
not know
it then;
and the
thought that it might have been
found bothered me a lot,
I can
tell you.
We decided to try
and escape.
Toroh was expected back any day.
We spent
a morning
discussing it, planning it in
detail. My weapons were
gone, and Azeela did not
know where they were. Bool had
a cylinder
of the
blinding-flash —I call it
that because their name for
it would
mean nothing to you—but we could
not get
it; he
always kept it about his
person. The woman, Koa,
we did
not think
was armed—
though she might have
been.
Toroh had taken two
of the
dogs. There was one left,
and almost continually it was pacing about
the house
outside. We realized that even
if we
succeeded in getting away from the
place, the dog would follow
and overtake
us before
we could
reach the plane.
Bool was in one
of the
outbuildings nearly all that morning.
Koa was
moving about the house. We
did not
think she was listening to us;
but she
was, and evidently she had
picked up something of
our language—enough
to give
her the
import of what we
were discussing.
She appeared suddenly, and
with a furtive glance around,
told Azeela she would
help us escape. Azeela translated
it to me, and the woman
nodded grimly in confirmation. She was sorry for Azeela,
and she
hated Toroh sufficiently to want
the girl out of
his clutches.
Koa's plan was simple
and it
sounded eminently practical. She
had no
weapons, and did not know
where any were, except for her
father's, and that she would
not dare
try to
secure. But late that
afternoon Bool would be in
his room
dozing. Koa would lock
the dog
in the
kennel. Then we would be free
to depart.
The sun was almost
setting that day when Koa
informed ns that the time had
come. We had restrained our excitement; Bool had
apparendy not noticed anything unusual
in our outward appearance during the
day. He had retired to his room as customary,
and Koa
had taken
the dog
away.
I did not altogether
trust Koa, and it made
me shudder
to think of taking Azeela outside
and perhaps
having the dog spring upon us
from somewhere. But we had
to chance
it, and the woman seemed sincere.
We had searched the
house as best we could
without mousing Bool, but
we found
no weapon
of any
kind. At last we were ready,
I in
my fur
coat, Azeela in furs; shoes,
trousers and coat all
in one
piece. She looked like a
slender little Eskimo girl,
and I
smiled as she pulled up
a fur
hood and fitted it close about
her face,
tucking her hair up under
it. I had been mistaken about
headgear; it was just a
coincidence that I had never
seen anyone in this time-world
wearing a cap.
I put on my
own cap
and we
were ready. As we met
in the main room, Koa nodded
sourly for us to be
gone. At Unit instant the dog,
outside in the kennel, gave
a long
mournful howl. I don't
know why; I suppose it
was just
fate. Koa, waving us toward the
doorway, hastened away to quiet
the dog.
For a moment I
hesitated. Should we start? Had
the dog gotten loose? That moment
of hesitation
was too
long. Bool stood in the doorway,
staring at our fur-covered figures. Astonishment, anger,
rage swept over his face.
His hand
went to his belt;
he jerked
something loose. I heard Azeela
tfive a sharp cry
of warning.
Bool's hand held an object
like a little crescent of glass,
with a tiny wire connecting
its horns. Sparks darted from the
wire.
I was about to
leap forward when suddenly I
was stricken.
I can only describe it as
paralysis. I stood stock-still; my arms dropped to my
sides. I felt no pain,
but I
was rooted
to the spot, without power to
lift my legs. Azeela, beside
me, was evidently within the influence
of the
weapon, also. She was standing rigid.
Bool's face held a leer
of triumph.
His left hand was fumbling at
his belt
for some
other weapon. I knew that in
another moment he would have
killed us, and still I could
not move.
I tell
you, it was a ghastly
feeling. There was a numbness
creeping all over me. My
hands were turning cold. My feet
felt wooden. My legs were
giving way under me, and
in a
few seconds
more I think I should have
fallen.
It all happened very
quickly. Behind Bool, Koa had
appeared. He did not hear
her, and she darted forward
and struck at his wrist. The
little crescent of glass dropped
to the floor and was shattered.
A wave
of heat
swept over me—the blood rushing again
to my
limbs.
Bool had turned furiously
upon Koa, but my strength
was coming back fast. I jumped
at them,
caught Bool unprepared. My body struck
his and
we went
down. He fell backward with me on top of
him. His hand now held
a metal
cylinder; he was trying to get
it up
to my
face.
Azeela came darting across
the room,
threw herself upon us, and twisted
the weapon
from Bool's fingers. I did
not know she had done it.
Bool was lacking, squirming, and his left had had
me by
the forehead,
pushing my head back to expose
my face.
Enraged, I flung myself down
on him,
my forearm striking his
head against the floor. His
hold relaxed; he lay still.
When I got to
my feet,
Koa was
stooping over Bool. She seemed frightened at what she
had done,
although I knew well enough that
the man
had mistreated
her constantly,
and that she could
bear him no great love.
She waved
us away, still with that same
stolid grimness.
"Ask her if the
dog is
locked up, Azeela," I said.
The woman nodded at
me vehemently,
and I
gripped Azeela's hand and
we hurried
out. It was just sunset.
The sky was like blood; the
snowy ground was all tinted
with it.
We ran west, so
fast that Azeela could hardly
keep on her feet. I suppose
we went
a mile
or two,
then slowed up and walked a little, then went
back to a run. There
was nothing
but that unbroken expanse
of snow,
with the drop that was
the river ahead of
us.
At last I could
make out the break in
the plateau
surface that marked the gully. We
were running, and were no
more than fifty feet from it,
when from behind us we
heard the loud baying of the
dog—that eager baying of a
dog following
a trail
and closing
in on
its quarry.
I went
cold all over. I knew what
had happened.
Bool had recovered, and, in
spite of his daughter,
had let
the dog
loose upon us!
I caught a glimpse
of Azeela's
white, frightened face as I gripped her hand and
jerked her forward. It was
faster than carrying her. She stumbled,
almost fell headlong, but I pulled
her up
and onward.
We came upon the
gully. For one agonized instant
I wondered
if the
plane would still be there.
The dog
seemed almost upon us. I could
hear its eager whine as
it came
leaping along. Then I saw
the plane—snow-covered,
but undisturbed.
We flung ourselves down
the gully
side, sliding, falling to its bottom.
The deep
snow there broke our fall.
The dog
was at the top; I saw
its huge
head and bared fangs as
it dashed
along, selecting a place
to descend.
I jumped to the
cabin platform of the plane
and shoved
open the door. Then
I stooped,
grasping Azeela under the armpits and lifting her. The
dog came
sliding into the gully, and gathering itself up, it
leaped.
But we were inside,
and I
slid the door closed just
as the brute's great body struck
the cabin
with an impact that rocked the plane. The dog
fell, but was up again
with a snarl, standing on its
hind legs, its huge paws
scratching at the cabin wall,
I had flung Azeela
to the
floor of the compartment. She shouted at me reassuringly,
and I
jumped to the Frazia controls.
A moment later the
'copters were raising us out
of the
gully. The dog's baffled
yelps grew fainter. As we
rose into the air I saw
Bool, a quarter of the
way from
the house,
stumbling along through the
snow, following the trail.
I went up a
thousand feet, dropped a little,
and began
horizontal flight. To the
south, perhaps a mile away,
Torohs sled, with its two dogs,
was swinging
up toward
the house.
He saw the plane, and, as
we swept
over him at an altitude
of some five hundred
feet, he turned and followed
us.
It was amazing to
see those
two gigantic
dogs run. They kept the sled
almost under us. We came
to the
south of the island and they
went. down a declivity and
out over
the frozen, snow-covered water. Toroh was
lashing them with a long whip.
I put on more
power, and we gradually drew
ahead. When we had crossed the
broad expanse of bay, the
sled was no more than a
black blob in the distance.
It swung
to the
right, turned and went
back—lost to our sight in
the gathering
darkness.
We were alone, headed
southward to Azeela's native coun-try.
Azeela and her people
live on an island which
once was the mainland—the southeastern comer of the United
States, as you know it. It's
a narrow,
crescent-shaped island, something
like Cuba in outline, but
smaller. It's separated from the mainland
by a
channel some ten miles at
its greatest
width. The climate, now,
is vastly
different from your time-world. Climate is the most
potent factor of all that
influences mankind. The change
throughout ten thousand years was
dramatic in its effects:
it hastened
decadence, it drove civilization toward the equator. And
then, as though nature were
bent upon destruction, disease sprang up in
the only
warm regions left—disease that could not
be coped
with. Insects, carrying and transmitting deadly bacteria, swarmed over
what we call the
torrid zone, making it almost
uninhabitable. You must
realize over how long a
period this went on.
Even that was thousands
of years
before Azeela's birth. This island had
formed, and nature had seemed
to hold
it the one place where humanity
could make its last stand,
A volcano stood at
each end; beneficent, treasured because
they contained heat. The
internal fires of the earth
had broken
through here. Hot springs and
geysers dotted the land.
A river just below
the boiling
point rose from subterranean depths, flowed for
a hundred
miles, and plunged down again.
And a huge range of mountains
running east and west on
the mainland to the
north offered shelter from the
cold winds that were coming down.
Anglo-Saxons with a strain
of Latin
had settled
on this
palm-covered, tropical island long before
the conditions
farther north had become so drastic.
They kept to themselves and fought against the pollution
of their
blood by others; they were descendents
of the
highest type of Earth civilization.
For centuries
they were left to themselves,
to drift
along in their own fashion. But
with the coming of the
cold, the mixed races of the
north began moving down—covering the island. Then these island
people suddenly sprang into activity.
Defense of the homeland brought
action; lost arts of war were
revived. The Anglese—that is as
near the sound of their word
for themselves
as I
can get—repulsed
all comers.
To the north was
now a
climate that held snow from
September to June, Only
three brief months availed for
agriculture. The mixed peoples
there did not rise to
master such rigors. Centuries of struggle
turned them almost primitive, with arts and sciences
and ways
to conquer
their environment lost and forgotten.
They became barbarians.
Such is the condition
as I
have found it, I can
give you details only of
our northern
half of the western hemisphere.
Transportation is back nearly
to the
primitive; the rest of (lie world
is almost
unknown to Azeela's race.
Toroh, I've learned now,
is an
Anglese, but they banished him. He was plotting to
overthrow the government. When he was
banished, he went among the
barbarians of the north and began
organizing them for an attack
on the
island. Toroh has scientific knowledge; up there in the
north he has been manufacturing weapons. Then he came
back to the island secretly, and
abducted Azeela. She's the daughter
of Fahn, the leading scientist of
the Anglese—he's
the man
who holds the reins of power.
With Azeela as hostage, Toroh
planned to make Fahn
yield.
But now that I
have released Azeela, Toroh's attack
will come swiftly. That is why
I send
you this
message. Toroh is a menace—the greatest figure of evil
in this
time-world. There will be
war, a struggle in which
the Anglese
may go
down before the onslaught
of Toroh
and the
hordes of barbarians with whom
he has
allied himself. Oh, I cant
tell you all the details. .
. I'm
too tired.
Ill stop now, and
send this message back to
you in
the cube. And, Father, you know
what we arranged—that you would come
and join
me if
I needed
you. Well, I do; I
need you here now.
As we agreed, I
will raise a light-beam signal, which will mark the
exact point in space and
the exact
moment in time at which I
want you to be here.
For me, that moment
is now!
So as soon as
I dispatch
this message off to you,
I shall
raise the signal. It
will be at the south-eastern
tip of
our island. For you geographically, it will be about
Miami. From that point in space,
you cannot
fail to see it, if
your time-flight is slow enough.
I will
hold it in the sky
for as
long as I can, so that
it will
have enough duration for you
not to miss it.
Please tell Mamita not to worry about
me, or
about you either. We will both
come back to her safely.
You may
bring one or two
of our
friends who wish to make
the trip.
I think that George
will want to come and
I would
like to have him. You need
bring no weapons; they would
be worse
than useless.
Please hurry, Father. I need you!
CHAPTER SIX
Roger's slow, solemn voice died
away. He rustled the pages
of Loto's message in
his hand.
"That's all, gentlemen. All of the message
itself. The other pages give detailed
instructions—data based on
Loto's flight and
memoranda for the construction
of another
plane, gathered from previous
notes made by Loto and
myself."
There was complete silence
when Rogers paused. George decided to speak, but checked
himself and relaxed back in
his chair.
"I shall start the
Frazia Company on another plane
at once," Rogers added.
"And working on Loto's mechanism
simultaneously, I should be
ready in ninety days."
He waited, but again
no one
else spoke. Then he said:
"I am going, of
course. It is a great
trial for my wife, but
I know she is willing."
George turned and flashed
an admiring
glance at Lylda; her face was
strained, but she smiled at
him gently.
"Do not be hasty,
my friends,"
Rogers went on quickly. "Any two of you are
free to come—or to stay,
all of
you—as you think best."
"I'm going,"
said George suddenly. "Loto said I could. And you say so. I'm
going."
He jumped to his
feet and grasped Roger's hand.
"You can count on me, Mr.
Rogers." Rogers smiled. "Thank
you, George. I knew I
could."
George sat down again.
Then he got up and
crossed to Lylda, shaking her hand
also, and whispering to her.
But in
aiLodier
instant he was pacing
the room,
smoking violenüy, aud frowning.
Rogers was saying to the others, "I will take
one more. I realize it is a momentous question. Your lives may be at stake."
The Big Business Man was deep in reverie. "I
wonder," he murmured. "I wonder if I do want to go."
"Come
on," urged George, stopping suddenly before him. "Take a
chance." He did not wait for an answer, but went back to his pacing.
The
Banker said, half apologetically. "You don't really need me, do you,
Rogers?"
"Of
course not," Rogers said heartily. "Use your own judgement. But I
knew you'd be offended if I didn't give you the opportunity."
The
Banker nodded. "Yes, but you don't need me. I'm an old man—seventy-three,
though I hope you'd never guess it. I think I'd better stay where I'm used to
things."
"Of course/' agreed
Rogers.
"But
if you need money," the Banker added hopefully, "and you will,
naturally—everybody needs money—you'll call on me, won't you? I'm going to see
this thing through."
"I
don't believe I'll go," the Business Man declared. He met the Doctor's
glance, and the Doctor seemed relieved. "You don't really need us, Rogers.
I think Frank would prefer to stay also."
The Doctor nodded emphatic
agreement.
"Quite
so," said Rogers. "I can understand perfectly how you feel."
George stopped his pacing. "Then it's all
settled, Mr. Rogers. You and I go; the others stay on guard here. Now listen,
everybody, I've got some good ideas. .
Two days before Chrismas, another plane lay
glistening on the roof of the Scientific Club, walled in from curious eyes by
the board enclosure. Sleek, self-satisfied, its every line denoting latent
power, it lay motionless, awaiting those human masters who soon were to launch
it into another time world.
Occasionally during the afternoon George visited it,
anxiously verifying again and again that all was in readiness.
Evening
came. The others arrived, singly and in couples. For two hours a bustle of
final preparations went on—things forgotten, last minute plans put into
execution. But by nine o clock the moment of departure was finally at hand.
The
Banker was in a fluster of excitement. He had appointed himself the leader of
those who were to be left behind, and he felt the responsibility keenly.
"Tell
me exactly what we've got to do," he insisted. "I don't want anything
to go wrong."
Rogers
slapped him on the back. "It's nothing to be alarmed over."
"No.
But I want to be sure I've got it straight. Tell me all over again."
Rogers
repressed a smile. "When we have gone you will all wait some ten minutes
to be sure nothing has gone wrong to bring us immediately back. Then you will
lock up the enclosure and leave. I have made arrangements with the club to have
the enclosure left standing."
"That's
all?" asked the Banker anviously. "We leave the roof open?"
"Yes.
In coming back we will want it open, and you cannot tell when we may
return."
"But
no more than six months/' the Banker insisted. "You promise that?"
Rogers nodded.
"Come
on," George's voice called. "Let's get started." He had shaken
hands with Lylda and climbed up to the doorway of the cabin. "Come on,
Mr. Rogers. Let's get started."
Lylda
stood apart. Her farewell to her husband was brief. The others turned away,
feeling that they should not intrude upon it. When Rogers joined George on the
platform of the plane, the Doctor was with Lylda, comforting her.
With
a final good-by Rogers slid the door closed. The forward compartment, with its
low arch ceiling and its concave walls, was small, but comfortably equipped.
The side windows had upholstered seats running under them. In front, to the
right, were the Frazia controls, a low seat for the pilot and a small window
above the control panel. The time dials and the proton current switch were on
the wall to the right. To the left of the seat was the main entrance door.
The
division wall between the forward compartment and the engine room behind it
held a small doorway with a sliding door.
"Are
we ready?" Rogers asked. "I think we should be sitting. The shock of
departure, new to us, may be more severe than we anticipate."
His
words were calm enough, but they sent a thrill of excitement through George.
"All ready," he said. "Go ahead!"
Rogers took a last look about. Then without
hesitation, he moved the switch to the first intensity. To George, the humming
seemed very different now than when he had heard it outside the plane. It was
no louder, but it seemed to hum and vibrate inside his body. He was quivering
inside, his head began reeling dizzily; then came that rickening, horrible
sensation of falling headlong—a vertigo that turned everything to blackness.
"Are you all right?
We've started."
It
was Rogers's anxious voice. George opened his eyes; everything seemed glowing,
unreal and ghostlike. But he was uninjured, and his head had steadied.
"I'm all right,"
he managed to say.
The
sickness passed quickly. George stood up, steadying himself. "Gosh, how
light I feel! Queer in the head—don't you? I never imagined—"
He
stopped abruptly. Through a side window the fur-coated figure of the Banker was
standing against the wall with the others around him. They were staring toward
the plane with an expression that clearly indicated they could not see it.
"We've started all right," George added.
"Look at them! We're already in future time to them. They can't see
usl"
Suddenly
the Banker came forward walking with extraordinary swiftness, and seemingly
with little jerks, like a manikin. George held his breath, for the Banker
popped forward, his head and shoulders piercing the glowing phosphorescent
walls and floor of the cabin. He stood motionles a brief instant, his face
close to George's knees. Then, even more rapidly than he had advanced, he threw
a swift glance around and retreated.
George
recovered himself. "Boy," he said. 'Wasn't that weird though? But
were all right. I feel fine now."
The
droning of the Frazia motors sounded very faintly above the humming. It was a
relief, a help toward normality. The plane was slowly raising into the air.
As
it mounted, the roof of the Scientific Club dwindled away below. It was a dark
night, with heavy clouds and a cold wind from the east. The city, with snow on
its rooftops, was sliding eastward beneath them; vague black shadows, dark
buildings dotted with lights, and seemingly empty streets.
They
were still mounting diagonally upward, and carried sidewise by the wind, when
the Hudson River slid into view.
"Rotten weather, Mr. Rogers," George
suggested.
"Yes,"
Rogers agreed, "but that will not bother us for very long. Are you warm
enough?"
"One
heater is going," George responded. "I'll switch on another." He
had familiarized himself thoroughly with the various mechanical appliances of
the plane, and he turned a switch that threw current into another of the small
electric radiators.
"Anything else?"
he demanded.
"No,
I think I shall try the higher intensities of the pro-Ion current. I want our
time-progress accelerating as much as possible right from the beginning."
George selected a seat
hastily.
It
was not much of an ordeal. The humming seemed to move up a scale to a higher
pitch as Rogers pulled the lever around. The reeling of the senses came again,
but passed almost at once.
"There,"
said Rogers. "I'm glad that's
accomplished.
"Were at the fifteenth intensity—the highest
that Loto used."
George
was staring down through the floor window. "I can see lights down here.
"Are you sure it's the highest speed Loto used? He didn't describe it this
way."
"Our
acceleration will pick up over several hours," Rogers replied. "Our
time-progress is still comparatively slow."
The Frazia motors were
still droning.
"How
high are we, do you suppose?" George demanded after a moment.
"Possibly
five thousand feet. We're blowing westward over New Jersey. And a little to the
south, I think. Soon it will be day."
His
words were anticipated. The scene lighted swifdy. It was day; a dull,
cold-looking, cloudy morning. Below them lay New Jersey, almost a network of
villages on the fringe of lowlands. A more congested area of building was
almost directly beneath and slid under them as they watched it.
"Newark!"
exclaimed George. "And we're into tomorrow. We're making it—we'll soon be
with Loto."
They
were up higher than Rogers realized—ten thousand feet, at least. And their
drift seemed constandy of a more southern trend. It was still uncomfortably
cold in the cabin.
"Perhaps we should stay at this level,"
Rogers remarked. "We seem to have caught a wind from the north."
Night came again in a few moments. Lights dotted the
landscape below, but they were vague, flickering lights. Then day, with sunlight.
The wind sudsided. The plane's southern drift was stilled. And then came night
with a moon plunging across the sky, and stars dizzily sweeping past. Then day
again, until presently the daylight and the darkness were blended into gray.
The drift was permanendy passed. In a blending of all the diversified air
currents, the plane remained almost stationary.
The
white, snowy hills of New Jersey soon turned to green. The cabin air warmed a
litde. Then autumn and winter came again—and passed in a moment or two.
Rogers sighed with relief. "Were fairly
started. One year out of twenty-eight thousandr
"And
we've got eight hundred or a thousand miles of space to travel also," said
George. "Were going to make that simultaneously, aren't
we?"
"Yes," agreed
Rogers.
George
took a last look through the floor window at the blurring gray lanscape
beneath, and stood up to join him. "Let's talk things over," he
suggested. "I've got a lot of questions—plans and things/'
Rogers had taken a sheaf of
script from his pocket.
"Loto's
notes to guide us," he explained. "I've followed I hem
closely so far. We have a flight through time of
some-Ihing more than twenty-five
thousand years at the fifteenth intensity, and then we slacken. Simultaneously,
we must fly southward some thousand miles or more through space, directing our
course for the southern tip of Florida. Loto specifies that we should, under
all circumstances, reach the latitude of north Florida coincident with
twenty-five thousand years of our time-progress.
We will then—or perhaps a thousand years further
along—see the island. We cannot miss it, of course. It is so
large, and it must certainly endure over a great period of time."
"How
long did Loto take to reach twenty-five thousand years?"
"About twelve hours," Rogers consulted the
memoranda. "He computes his average speed as equivalent to the twelfth
intensity. We are using the fifteenth continously. Our clocks should register no more than ten
hours for the time-flight.
"Ten
hours," he added thoughtfully. "And flying direcdy south at a hundred
miles an hour we would reach the island in those ten hours."
"But
we haven't started south yet," George protested. "Were moving through
time all right, but we're still right over Newark—and look at itl"
The
New Jersey metropolis was spreading west to the Orange Mountains, and eastward
it seemed to be linked solid with Jersey City. Factories dotted the intervening
meadows, which were drained of their stagnant water.
"You're
right," exclaimed Rogers. "We have barely nine hours left; we must
start our horizontal flight."
In
a few moments more they were speeding south and slightly west, at an altitude
of some five thousand feet, with their progress through time steadily
accelerating.
An
hour, by their clocks, had passed. They were over Delaware Bay. Its shores, in
the more congested areas, were lined almost solid with buildings. There was a
great city on each side of the mouth of the river, with a gigantic bridge
connecting them. The bridge rose into being under the eyes of the watchers in
the flying plane, but they swept on past and in a moment left it far in the
distance behind them.
George
was seated on the floor watching the changing landscape; a huge, concave gray
surface, shadowless, stretching out and up to the circular horizon. Steadily,
like a panorama unrolled, it slid sidewise beneath them. The motion was
greatest directly below. To the west, the mountains seemed, by an optical
illusion, to be following, speeding forward with them.
The
sea or its arms constantly occupied a portion of the scene, for they were still
flying south and somewhat west, following the Atlantic coast. And of everything
in sight, the sea alone seemed unchanging.
In
time-progressing, that height of civilization Loto had described lay under
them. They were flying lower now.
Rogers,
in his seat at the controls, said: "I think were making it as we should.
That's the four thousand year mark just passed, and we're flying at a hundred
and ten miles an hour."
"Are you sure we'll
hit it right?" George asked anxiously.
"I
think so. It's about as Loto figured so far. Those buildings—what a
civilization that must be down there. It will fade presently. . . in three or
four thosand years."
George
joined him at the forward window. "Where are we? Are we still over
Virginia?"
"Yes, at least I think we haven't crossed into
North Carolina yet. That was Chesapeake Bay a while ago. Lookl That city over
there is melting—going down fasti"
The
cabin interior was unlighted and dark, except for I hat phosphorescence with which everything glowed. In
their absorption in the scene below, the travelers had forgotten their own
curious aspect, until George suddenly remarked:
"Look
at us I Ghosts flying through spacel Doesn't it make you feel queer, Mr. Rogers?"
The
dim cabin interior, with its vague, luminous human figures, did indeed seem
unreal. But the unreality was matched now by the scene beneath; their forward
flight through space, combined with a time-progress now tremendously
accelerated, made everything below a shifting, sliding kaleidoscope of changing
effects. Details were transient things, blurred one into the other.
The
broad fundamentals, however, were obvious. The Way, concave land, ridged with mountains, the indented
roast line, the gray, changeless sea—all were distinguishable. And overhead the
sky was luminous with the mingled light "I sun and moon and a myriad
starry worlds, all blended darker by nights of rain and snow and storm.
They
were over North Carolina when Rogers, at the Fra-zia controls, grew tired. The clock stood at two five.
They had been gone some five hours.
"I must rest,"
said Rogers. "George, can you take my
place?"
Geoge
hesitated. "I've flown a bit, but never in a Frazia. I think I'd better
not experiment—not on this flight."
"All
right," Rogers agreed. "I'll use the automatic 'copters lor a while.
Half an hour will rest me up."
In
a few moments they were hovering, seemingly motionless, over North Carolina.
Far away to the east, over a bulge in the coast fine, they could just make out
Cape llatteras and the ocean beyond it.
Rogers stretched himself out on one of the leather
seats, and lighted a cigar. George sat beside him.
"I
figure we should be at least halfway to the northern coast of the island/' the
older man said. "We have flown some four hundred miles in four
hours."
"But
Loto will be waiting at the southeastern tip of the island," protested
George. "That will be easily two or three hundred miles further, won't it?
I wonder how far along we are in time."
"Look at the
dials."
George
bent over them. "About sixty-five hundred years. Some of the hands are
going too fast to read."
"More than I had
thought," commented Rogers.
"Do you figure we're
still accelerating?"
"I
think we have just about reached our greatest speed," Rogers answered
slowly. "Let us see. We've done an average of thirteen hundred years an
hour. We must be progressing at double that now."
George
was figuring on the back of an old envelope. "Twenty-six hundred an hour.
In five more hours at that rate we'll be close to twenty thousand. We can fly
down to the north coast of the island easily by then."
"Exactly.
We're a little ahead in our space flight. I'm glad of it. We shall have to slow
our time-progress to almost nothing at the end. We must take no chances of
missing Loto's light signal."
"Twenty-six
hundred years an hour," mused George. "That's what we're making now.
Forty-five years a minute. A century almost every two minutes I"
The
clock had registered thirty minutes more when Rogers declared he was
sufficiendy rested. At George's suggestion they ate a light meal; then they
started their flight southward again.
"How
about looking at the dials now," George remarked. "They were at
sixty-five hundred, thirty minutes ago."
"Eight
thousand," Rogers read. "That's fifteen hundred more. It figures out
to three thousand an hour. That's our peak, I think."
The
flight now was passing through constantly changing conditions; every two
minutes the plane was covering some three or four miles of space and a century
of time. They crossed above North Carolina and came to the coast again. The
cities of the civilization beneath them seemed to be breaking up. Here and
there one stood in its glory; others were mere deserted piles of nuns over
which the vegetation crawled, eager to devour. Still other cities and villages
appeared over the southern horizon, sturdy and whole—and they melted as they
slid beneath the plane, into crumbling piles that passed out of sight to the
north.
Soon
desolate areas appeared. The scene grew vaguely whiter; the snow was coming
down from the north faster than the plane was flying. Changes in the coast line
became apparent; unfamiliar arms of the sea swept into view, and were crossed
and left behind. A small, unfamiliar island lay close to the South Carolina
coast. But as a whole, the land and sea held their own, even against the
ravages of so many centuries.
"The
north wind is with us—the wind Loto described that blew southward almost all
the year. What time is it?"
"By the clock or the
dials?"
"The
clock. I have the dials here. Eighteen thousand four hundred years is their
reading."
"Quarter of six,"
announced George.
"We
should sight the island shortly," Rogers said. 'Til lly a trifle slower.
We must be nearly down to Georgia by now—to where Georgia used to be, I should
say. I want to sight the island at twenty thousand years, or thereabouts."
The
land was growing white; the vegetation sparser. Small towns and hamlets that
endured for no more than lilty or a hundred years were springing up everywhere,
and melting into nothing in a moment or two. The vegetation was shifting,
changing, but always the scene was growing whiter. The villages were sparser,
smaller and shorter lived -the people struggling southward against the
threatening, unrelenting cold, which spared nothing but the island of the
Anglese.
Rogers was first to notice a radical departure from
the normal conformation of the landscape. They were, by their own- calculation,
over Georgia. George, watching the dials closely, had just noted twenty-two
thousand years. Far ahead, over the rim of the southwestern horizon, a line of mountains was rising.
"Look!"
exclaimed Rogers softly. "The mountain chain running east and west. The
new mountains! The island must be just beyond them."
He
maneuvered the plane into a climb; the gray land and sea tilted and began
dropping away. The mountains seemed to be following them up, higher and closer,
until at last the plane was over them, barely a thousand feet above their rocky spires.
It
was a scene of wild grandeur that now spread out beneath their eyes: dark,
craggy cliff faces, with snow capped summits, a pure white peak and a gray blue
valley beside it. And the whole mass reared ten thousand feet above the sea.
The plane swept forward; the jagged, tumbled land
slid northward, close beneath it. Then, abrupdy, the crags and peaks dropped
away; it was as though the plane had leaped ten thousand feet into the air. Far
below lay a narrow channel of gray water, stretching east and west. And beyond that
lay another land, its outer coast curving to the south.
"The island!" exclaimed Rogers softly. "What a cataclysm was
here—a rift that let the sea in and buckled up the mountains!"
"The island!" echoed George. "And
were at twenty-three thousand five hundred years! We've some distance yet to
fly," he warned. "Hadn't we better slacken our time progress?"
With their flight through space temporarily checked,
the 'copters holding them motionless, Rogers cut down the proton current to
the fifth intensity. Eagerly they looked below them.
Beyond
the channel lay the island, curving up in an arc from the south and out to the
west. They could not see across it, but only to a ridge of mountains at its
center. Huge palms grew everywhere, and the shoreline formed a broad, curving
beach of white sand. An island paradise—though their time progress still laid a
gray cast over the green, blurred the water into a formless haze along the
beach and shifted the vegetation into a confusion of changing forms.
"We
must get started," Rogers said at last. "At twenty-eight thousand
years we must be within sight of the southern lip.
It
was a flight almost due south. Lakes occasionally were visible, and two or
three small rivers, one of which changed its course suddenly under their eyes;
and everywhere that tropical verdure, mounting and melting, always shifting
with its rapid growth and decay.
In
some three hours more—with another longer rest for Rogers, during which time
the 'copters held them poised motionless—they sighted the southern tip of the
island. It had narrowed here to a point no more than two miles wide, ending
with a curving beach and the broad, empty ocean beyond; a beach with a
palm-covered mountain slope close behind it.
Rogers
had made several changes of time progress during the latter part of the trip,
and they were poised over the sea near the tip of the island for no more than a
few moments when the dials recorded twenty-eight thousand two hundred years.
Rogers
consulted Loto's notes. "He landed in this time world at twenty-eight
thousand two hundred and four years. We must stop at the beginning of that year
and watch for his light."
Using
the fourth intensity, the daylight and darkness was separated into two brief,
but distinguishable periods. Thus the voyagers sped through the days and
nights, the weeks and months and forward into another year. At the beginning of
the fourth year, Rogers changed to the third intensity. It was daylight—a
yellow-red, swiftly mounting sun; flying blurs of white clouds close overhead;
a blue sea, and a bright green island.
The sun plunged across the sky and sank blood red,
with an instant of glorious colors suffusing the western sky. Night came, with
its deep, purple mystery. Then day again.
Thus
the days of that fourth year went by; each hardly a minute long, but slow to
the two men so anxiously watching. They were tired to the point of exhaustion,
but the excitement and anxiety kept them going.
"He
said from the tip of the island/* Rogers murmured. "A blue-white, vertical
beam of light shining for a day and a night. . . we couldn't miss it. A minute
would show it to us plainly/'
"I
haven't taken my eyes off that island for a second," commented George from
his seat on the floor. "Why doesn't he hurry up? He's down there, why
doesn't he give us the signal?"
Rogers
did not answer. The sun dropped below the horizon. The turning world, with its
motion made so visible, was dizzying to one who watched the sky.
The
purple night was momentarily colored with a red moon; it rose and swiftly
plunged into a thick bank of clouds that swept down upon it.
Abruptly,
from the tip of the island, a shaft of blue-white light shot into the sky. It
wavered an instant, then stood motionless: clear,
distinct, unmistakablel
CHAPTER SEVEN
The proton current had been entirely cut off. The interior of
the cabin was solid in appearance once more. The Frazia motors were still
droning and the plane hung motionless in a night that was without wind. Below
it, now, lay a scene of complete normality: the sea was rolling up on the white
sand and the moon, almost at its zenith, bathed the green island in a silvery,
red-tinged light. And from the tip of the island, quite near its southern
branch, Loto's narrow beam of blue-white light was flashing upward into the sky.
They
descended, in a gentle glide. The beach was broad and firm; they landed upon
it, swooping along. It was like racing an automobile along the sand in the
moonlight, with I
lie ocean on one side—far
out at low tide now—and a jungle of green, tropical vegetation on the other.
Rogers,
at the controls, saw a number of human figures standing on the beach ahead of
him. They scattered hastily, and the plane, rapidly losing velocity, went past
them and stopped a hundred yards farther.
"We're here!" George cried. "Let's get out. Was that Loto we
passed? Where's the light? Are we near it?"
The
light could be seen no more than a hundred feet away among the palms. They
climbed hastily from the plane. A figure was coming forward along the beach at
a run; a slight figure in wide trousers of white cloth, and a short, Happing
jacket.
"Loto!" shouted George. "That you,
Loto?"
From
a distance came a faint, "Hello-o. . . George!" The runner increased
his speed. It was Loto.
"Well,"
he exclaimed, as he shook their hands. "You got here right away, didn't
you? I've only had that light up two or three hours."
"We're
tired out," said Rogers, when the greetings were over. "Do we stay in
the plane or can we leave it?"
A
man was standing fearfully at the edge of the green jungle nearby, and Loto
called him forward. He was dressed in wide trousers, like Loto's except that
they were smeared with dirt and sand, and his feet and torso were bare. He
eame, timidly, and Loto spoke to him apart. The man nodded his head, indicating
that he understood his orders. Then he dotted away, joining three or four
others of his kind, gesticulating toward the plane. They all approached it
reluctantly.
George plucked at the flaring sleeve of Loto's short
jacket, his only garment above the waist. "How's Azeela, Loto? Is she. . .
is everything all right?"
"Yes,
she's all right. But I needed you and father here. Wait! Not now. I'll tell you
later."
Rogers
joined them. "Were about exhausted, Loto. We must have some sleep."
"Yes,
of course. I knew you'd be. I've a house near here —only a hundred yards or so.
They'll guard the plane." His gesture indicated the men who were now on
the sand, moving about the plane, but evidentiy afraid to touch it.
"You can trust them?"
"Implicitly."
They
followed Loto. George was tired, but so excited that he did not realize it. The
night air was warm and heavy with moisture. It was oppressive; it reminded him
somehow of the steam room of a Turkish bath. He found himself perspiring.
They
left the moonlit beach and, following a tiny, white-sand path, plunged into the
depths of the jungle. Palms of every variety stood about, their graceful fronds
interlacing overhead. There were huge trees loaded with fruit, bananas,
mangoes, grapefruit. Some of the other fruit trees George dimly remembered
having heard of but could not name, and still others he was sure were entirely
new.
It
was dark in the jungle here, and very silent. The steamy air was redolent with
perfume—orange blossoms, George thought. The light signal was nowhere to be
seen. George wondered if it had burned out, or if Loto had ordered those men to
extinguish it.
"Here we are,"
said Loto abruptly.
A
house was standing at their right, in an open space with the moonlight gleaming
on it—a large, tropical-looking bungalow. There was a broad veranda on three
sides, with windows opening into the house. The house itself was raised some
four feet off the ground on coconut posts, and a brown-thatched roof spread
over everything like a mound.
It seemed to be a house that would have ten rooms,
at least. George wondered what made it look so peculiar. Then lie realized that
its board walls were not vertical, but sloped inward toward the top, so that
its rooms would be smaller at the ceiling than the floor. It looked like a house of cards.
Loto
had turned into another path. A brown picket fence enclosed the house with
perhaps an acre of ground. Inside was a flower garden, abloom with an
extraordinary profusion oi: flowers.
A
short flight of wooden steps led to the veranda. There Loto stopped.
"I
think we should retire at once," Rogers said. "We have so much to
talk of—but it will wait."
"Yes,"
Loto agreed. "Come with me, Father. George, you slay here. I'll be right
out."
George
sat down on the veranda, with his back against a round palm trunk that was
supporting its roof. He realized now how tired he was, and this heavy air made
him sleepy, lie heard the others
moving away, entering the house. He look off his coat, then his shirt and,
using them for a pillow, si retched himself out at full length on the
board flooring of the veranda.
In
a moment, when Loto returned to take him to the room I hoy were to occupy
together, he found George sleeping peacefully.
George
awakened with the morning sun streaming through ;i window. He was on a broad couch, and in a chair beside him, Loto was reclining comfortably,
smoking his black brier pipe. He smiled.
"Oh,
you're awake, are you? You ought to be—it's hours alter sunrise."
A
vague memory of being taken into the house by Loto the night before drifted
back to George. He remembered being half-asleep and talking to his friend, but
it was all like a (I ream.
The
room was small, queer-looking, with its walls sloping logcther toward the
ceiling. But it was bright and clean, with brown fibre matting on the floor.
The air was as moist and heavy as ever, and even
warmer. George sat up, mopping his forehead with his shirt sleeve.
"I've
got your clothes," Loto said, indicating a stool with garments lying on
it. "You don't need much in this heat. Get up and try them on."
George
was presently arrayed, like Loto, in low, tight slippers of soft hide—clipped
dog-skin, Loto told him—with trousers of white material, bulging above the
knees and tight at the ankles, and a brown and green cloth jacket, ornamented
with little metal coins. The jacket was square-cut and short; it just covered
the waist-band of the trousers in back. It was lined with something soft, thin
and yet absorbent; it felt smooth and comfortable next to George's skin. But
it would not meet in front; it left his chest and stomach bare. He stood
regarding it ruefully until Loto showed him how to fasten it closed across his
stomach.
"Nice
and cool—when you get used to it," George commented, staring down at his
exposed chest. "How do I look? Kind of queer, don't I?" He twisted
himself around, trying to see down over the side bulge of his trousers.
Roger's voice, calling,
interrupted them.
"I've
got a million things to talk to you about," George was telling Loto.
"Hurry it up—I'll be out in the garden."
They
met, a few minutes later, on the side veranda where they were to have
breakfast. George's self-consciousness vanished immediately; Rogers was dressed
almost exactly as he was, and he flattered himself he looked at least as well
as his companion.
It
seemed to the new arrivals, at this first glance, a primitive world indeed
into which they had fallen, the heat, the palms, the thatched bungalow, and
their costumes all might have existed in some out-of-the-way tropical land of
their own time-world.
During
the meal George was insistent with questions, but Loto smilingly refused to
talk. Instead, he led his father into a brief description of their flight
forward through time and south through space. When the meal was over Loto took
them out to the front veranda.
"I've a great deal to tell you," he said,
"and I know you're as impatient to hear it as I am to tell you. I've been
here on the island five months—"
"We
realize it," George murmured. "Didn't I watch for that light through
every day and night of 'em?"
Loto
smiled. "I put the signal up last night because I felt that I needed you.
Before we do anything, I must tell you of our affairs here. You notice I say
'our affairs.' They are a part of me now. I don't exactly know why, but the
thing here grips me. I want to help these people. . . I feel already that I am
one of them."
It was no mystery to
George.
"Where's
Azeela?" he demanded with apparent irrelevancy.
"In
Anglese City, the capital and largest center of population on the island. It's
north of here—on the channel. I've been living there; I came down here merely
to meet you. The situation here is drastic, Father. War has been impending,
and now it will not be postponed much longer. This Toroh—as I told you, he is
an Anglese renegade—is organizing the barbarians of the north, the Noths, as
they are called. They are a people of low intelligence—brutes of men with thick
black hair on their bodies.
"God
knows how many Noths there are—hordes of them are scattered about the northern
wastes. Toroh has been organizing them. He has a base up north where he is
manufacturing scientific weapons. There is class hatred here on the island,
but, thank Heaven, in the face of an outside invasion, the Anglese will stick
together."
"You're preparing for
war," George interposed. "You—"
"Yes,
of course. The Anglese have had no warfare for several generations; they were
totally unprepared, but now they're getting things in shape."
Loto's
tone was optimistic, but the anxiety of his expression belied it. "I
wanted you here, Father—you and George. Without Toroh, we would not fear the
Noths. But Toroh is a scientist, and what weapons he will have been able to
manufacture we do not know. We can only—"
A man came dashing up the garden path; a man in the
familiar wide trousers, torn and dirty. His red-brown, naked torso gleamed with
sweat; a white cloth was tied about his forehead to keep the damp hair from his
eyes.
Loto
leaped to his feet, and the man, gazing at the strangers with one swift,
surprised glance, flung himself prostrate on the steps.
"What—" began
Rogers.
"Wait!
A messenger from Azeela. Something has gone wrong."
Loto raised the man up, and listened to his flood of
frightened words with obvious concern. A sharp question from Loto, a crisp
order, and the messenger was dashing away. Loto's gaze, following him, came
back to his companions on the porch.
"Bad
news, Father. We must get up to Anglese City at once. Spies have appeared in
Orleen—a city at the western end of the island—spies from Toroh, former
Anglese, banished like himself. They're being put to death as fast as they can
be caught. But meanwhile they're talking to the lower class—telling the people
that Toroh is for them, and only against their government. There is class
hatred here. The people are listening to the emissaries. We may be facing a
revolution—an internal break—on the eve of fighting the Noths! We will lose if
that happens—lose to Toroh inevitably!"
They
were down on the beach in five minutes more. The plane stood there,
undisturbed. Half a dozen figures rose from the sand beside it and stood
respectfully waiting for Loto to approach.
Rogers
took his seat beside the Frazia controls. They were presently in the air,
flying northward over the palm-covered island that lay calm, serene in its
false security and peacefulness.
Loto sat close to his
father, with George beside them.
"I
must tell you briefly the conditions here," Loto said. "Then you will
be able to understand—be able to help with your advice and judgement as well as
actions."
He spoke briskly but carefully, and his manner
regained its poise. George was gazing down through one of the side windows.
"That's
Azeela's messenger/' Loto commented, "going back to Anglese City."
They
were flying hardly five hundred feet above the palms. A white road lay beneath
them; along it a huge, shaggy dog was running, with the figure of a man on its
back. The dog's neck was stretched forward, its body low to the ground as it
ran with almost incredible speed, the man lashing its flanks with a leather
thong. The plane passed very slowly and drew away.
"We
will not land in the heart of the city," Loto added. "He'll be with
Azeela before we are."
"Go
on and tell us about things," George urged. "We've got the time now;
maybe we won't have it later."
Loto
nodded. "I will. We have here on the island three social classes. How they
developed throughout the centuries you will have to imagine for yourself.
Ancient, almost prehistoric Egypt was no more than a quarter as far into the
past of our time-world as we are now ahead of it. Considered in that light,
the changes have been rather less radical than you would anticipate.
"The
lowest class—you would call them peons in our old Latin America—are now termed
the Bas, They include more than nine-tenths of all the inhabitants of the
island. Most of them are ignorant, uneducated; yet they include, also, many
intelligent, learned individuals.
"It
is the lowest class which is now plunged into almost intolerable conditions.
They are the workers. Through generations of working in the sun, their skin
has become a reddish brown. The higher class—the nobility—are the Arans. As the
governing class, the Arans live for the most part in idleness and luxury, while the Bas are held down to
almost universal poverty.
"You
haven't seen the Arans yet. We will be in their chief city shortly. You will
find them white-skinned, their women especially, for they shield themselves
carefully from the sun. They are cultured, yet without great learning. Can you
appreciate that condition? They're the ones who really show the decadence of
this time-world.''
"Is there a third
class?" Rogers prompted.
"Yes.
The Scientists—to me the most interesting of all. You will appreciate that in
long past ages, science was supreme. In war it was everything. The Anglese
came to this island and grew apathetic, but the Scientists, in some measure,
clung to their learning. Gradually, their attitude must have changed to
secrecy. They became a sect, holding knowledge for its own sake, keeping it
among themselves.
"The
real power lay with them, and they knew it. But curiously enough, their science
seemed all-sufficient. As a body, they never desired governing power; no
individual rose among them with a yearning for conquest—except Toroh.
"Foreign wars came. The Scientists offered
their help, and when the wars were over, retired with their knowledge to
themselves. The sect, as you will find it today, is on the downgrade. It has
dwindled to a thousand or two individuals who are scattered throughout the
island. They call themselves the League—I should say, a word that means about
that. They have their own officers; a council of a hundred in Anglese City, and
a life-time president, Fahn, Azeela's father.
"Thus,
you understand, the League of Scientists really controls everything. But its
members are content with the prestige their position gives them. The government
itself has for centuries fostered this secrecy of all that pertains to science.
In times of war, the Arans are helpless, and leave it all to the League. In
times of peace they forget the possibility of war and go back to ruling the
Bas in their own fashion."
Loto glanced out one of the windows. "Look down
there."
The
island was mountainous; a constant succession of green hills and valleys. A
small lake came into view, with steam rising from it. Everywhere the scene was
dotted with thatched huts and, occasionally, a more pretentious bungalow like
the one in which the visitors had passed the previous night. As they flew low
over the hills, they could see small brown and white patches of cultivated land
scattered everywhere.
"That
is the way the Bas live," Loto commented. "Sometimes they bring
their produce to the cities and sell it for ridiculously small sums. If there's
a food shortage, the Arans come out and take it—paying for it nominally."
"But their factories,
their industries?"
"In
the cities, Father. Reduced to a rninimum, and for the use and welfare of the
Arans and Scientists almost exclusively. Skilled labor is performed by the
higher types of the Bas. They are allowed to live in the cities, but are paid
so little that they must live unpretentiously. Everything is done for the
welfare of the Arans and the League of Scientists."
"And the government?"
"A
monarchy. A king, his council of fifty and his personal cabinet of five. A
hereditary monarch, wholly inefficient, except in forcing his laws upon the
Bas."
"I
should think that would be somewhat difficult," Rogers commented.
"There
is a large police force made up of swaggering young men of the Arans. They
serve for the joy of it; they're mostly arrogant individuals who take pleasure
in the enforcement of the personal power they hold. And they abuse it, of
course. Their task is easy, for they have the Scientists behind them. If one of
them were killed, or even attacked by a Bas, it would mean the death of that
Bas and all his family.
"I said the Bas were under conditions almost
intolerable. And that's exactiy why these spies of Toroh's are dangerous to us
just now. The whole social condition here is wretched, but, I suppose, logical
enough under the circumstances of environment and racial development.
Fundamentally, the difficulty has been a limited land area. The race cannot
expand, hence numerically it must be restrained."
"How?" demanded
Rogers. "By birth control?"
"Obligatory birth control—applicable only to
the Bas. More Bas are not desired, hence births are limited. The desire just
now—more than to hold the population even—is to cut it down. Hence, a Bas woman is allowed only two offspring."
"But suppose she has three?" George
suggested.
"The
mother and her child—illegitimate in a new sense —are banished from the
island." Loto's voice rose to sudden vehemence. "Can you understand
what that sometimes does? I have seen a mother with her newborn infant, two or
three weeks old, pleading before the King's Council. She would not murder it at
birth, as the Bas women sometimes do, and I saw her plead for its right to live
on the island. And then, with her plea denied, she took it away into the frozen
north. Her husband did not follow her. That is optional. This one stayed
behind, keeping the other two children, and letting her take the infant alone.
And she went, to save its life—her child, born without a birthright."
There
was a silence. Rogers was staring down at a hilltop where, as the plane swept past, a woman
with two naked children at her side stood in front of a small shack.
"And
when you have seen the Arans, living their life of luxury and immorality,"
Loto went on, "you will wonder why the Bas have stood it so long. 'After
us—the deluge/ has always been the Aran reasoning."
The
plane was climbing to pass over a jagged, volcanic-looking peak. Behind,
nestled in a
hollow, with a curving stretch of white sand and the blue waters of
the channel beyond, lay the capital city of the Arans: reckless,
pleasure-loving, secure in its beauty and supremacy, yet trembling from so many
causes upon the brink of disaster.
chapter eight
On the gently undulating floor of a valley, surrounded by
three mountains and with the sea rolling up on its beach to the north, lay the
Aran city. From an altitude of some three thousand feet, the travelers gazed
down upon a scene of extraordinary color and beauty: low, pure, white buildings
with many balconies and patios; gardens of vivid flowers; white pergolas
trellised with scarlet blossoms; sunken pools of limpid water, with huge date
palms curving over them. A grove of royal palms grew close to the beach, near a
huge, rectangular bathing pool and a marble-white pavilion. A white palace
stood on a rise of ground with a balconied tower, five hundred feet high,
beside it. On the top of the tower was a beautiful flower garden. And
everywhere was the romantic green foliage of the tropics, the blue-red sky, the
soft, red-white clouds, and the azure waters of the channel.
"Where do we land?" George asked.
"To
the west a little, Father," Loto directed. "See the cavern
entrance?"
He
pointed for George, explaining: "We will not land directly in the city. I
want the plane permanently guarded now, so we will leave it in the Cavern of
Thunderbolts."
"The what?"
George demanded.
"That's
what the Bas picturesquely call it. You see the cavern mouth?"
Across
the city, a yawning black hole gaped in the mountainside near its base; an
opening of irregularly circular shape, some two hundred feet in diameter. A
gentie slope led up to it from the city.
"We can fly directly in," Loto added.
"It's the entrance to the subterranean chambers where the scientists work—
and where they store their apparatus under guard. It's also a museum, where relics
of the past are gathered."
George
relapsed into an awed silence, staring down at the city. In the streets and on
the housetops, people were standing, gazing up at the plane curiously.
The
mouth of the cavern grew steadily larger as the plane swooped down upon it. The
yawning hole seemed to have a level floor extending horizontally back into the
mountain. Far back into the darkness, little blue lights twinkled.
"You'd
better take the controls, Loto," Rogers said anxiously. "I don't
like the idea of flying into that."
Loto
slipped quietly into the seat. The Frazia motors stopped abruptly. Silendy,
with only the sound of the air rushing past, the plane glided swiftly downward.
Around
the cavern mouth was a small platform with a roof over it, built on an overhanging
ledge of rock. The figures of three men seated there were visible. Abrupdy one
of die men rose, and from his upflung hand a tiny flash of blue-white fight
shot into the clouds overhead. Even in the daylight it was a plainly visible
flash.
"Lightning."
George exclaimed and, as though to confirm him, a little miniature crack of
thunder sounded an instant later.
"They know I'm coming," Loto said.
It
was a queer sensation, darting into that blackness. The cave mouth seemed to
open and swallow them. The plane struck the ground with a bump, lifted, bumped
again and rolled forward. Points of light swept past on either side; a
blue-white glare lay ahead.
The plane slackened its
speed and came to a stop.
"Were
here," said Loto. "Take only what you will need at once. We can come
back here later today or tomorrow."
Quickly, they descended
from the plane.
The
hum of dynamos sounded from far away in the mountain's depths. The roof high
overhead was dimly visible, and great shadows, flickering blue-white lights,
were everywhere.
Near
at hand, where the cave broadened, was a space more brightly lighted. Further
along it narrowed again, forming a dozen branching passages. An incline fifty
feet wide sloped down into blackness, with a faint pencil-point of blue fight
shining from far down within its recesses.
"Why,
the whole mountain is honeycombed." Rogers exclaimed.
"Yes,
sir. Just stand here a minute and 111 be with you. Don't move about."
Figures
were approaching, robed in black rubber garments, gloved and hooded. Loto
turned to greet them, and they drew back their hoods, disclosing their heads
and faces. There was a brief conversation, then Loto turned back to his
companions.
"Fahn is at home in the city," he said
swiftly, and his tone was concerned. "We'll go there."
The
black-robed figures gazed at them curiously a moment; then went back to their
work. Led by Loto, the three started off toward the mouth of the cave.
"Is your plane in
here, Loto?" Rogers asked.
"No,
sir. I left it at Orleen. There's a cavern there similar to this, but smaller.
It's there—in the other cavern."
"You're sure it's
safe?"
"Of course."
"Where are we going?" George demanded
after a moment.
"To
Fahn's home," Loto answered. "He'll be there with Azeela and
Dianne."
"Dianne?"
George's voice took on a new note of interest. "Who is she?"
"Azeela's younger sister," Loto explained
briefly. He smiled. "I meant to tell you about her, George. She's a little daredevil— you'fl like her."
George
just smiled, and for some time they walked on in silence. The ground was wet,
like muddy clay. There were no lights ahead, but the daylight from the cave's
mouth lighted their way.
They emerged from the cave
and came out onto a road of white sand and clay that led down the mountain
slope. Palms lined it thickly. Further down, at the bottom of the quarter-mile
descent, houses began; the outskirts of the city. The road soon took on the
aspect of a street. It was broad, with narrow pedestrian paths on both sides.
Flower gardens, often with hedges of thick, bayonet-like plants, lined the
walks. The houses were for the most part almost obscured by palms and trellised
vines that were laden with scarlet blossoms. Private, outdoor bathing pools
occasionally showed through the garden foliage.
It
was obviously a residential section. As the party advanced, passers-by grew
more numerous. The Bas men were distinguishable by their clipped, bullet-like
heads, covered with broad, circular-brimmed hats of straw; their sun-tanned
bodies naked above the waist, bare feet, and the wide trousers. The Bas women,
also red-brown of skin, were usually clothed merely with a loin cloth and a
white sash bound over the breasts, their hair twisted in plaits hanging down
the back.
The
Bas walked always in the road itself. On the pedestrian paths, a few Arans
passed by; men with long hair to the base of the neck, and dressed somewhat as
Loto had garbed his father and friend. Most of them saluted Loto— a queer,
flowing gesture of the left hand—and all of them stared with frank curiosity at
the strangers. Occasionally an Aran woman came along—white-swathed, mysterious
figures; a twinkle of tiny, black-slippered feet, a flash from alluring eyes
veiled by lashes heavily darkened.
An
Aran man riding a dog went slowly down a side street. A dog pulling a small,
three-wheeled cart piled high with merchandise passed in the opposite
direction.
George
edged toward Loto. "Those dogs," he whispered. "They're
friendly? Not vicious?"
"Of
course not," Loto laughed. "Just like regular dogs. Except. . . well,
111 tell you later."
George
sighed with relief. "All right. But they're not like any dogs I ever saw
at home—they re nearly as big as a horse. And there's something else wrong
about them—they re too intelligent. You can see that just by looking at them
walk."
Presently
they turned into the gateway of a hedge solid with white and scarlet blossoms.
"Fahn's home," Loto
said. "Well go right in."
They
passed through a garden, colorful with its mass of vivid flowers, and heavy
with the languorous scent of magnolia and orange blossoms. The house stood
well back from die road. It was a low, broad building, white in color, with a
low-hanging room—not thatched, but seemingly of blue tiling.
Then
they were on the veranda. The walls of the house sloped inward at the top.
There was a window nearby—no glass—with a blue-white, silky curtain shrouding
it. The door stood open; inside was a hall, with another door open to the
sunlight of a patio banked with flowers.
A
girl came to the doorway. It was Azeela. George recognized her at once: a
slight little creature of blue eyes, golden hair and milk-white skin; a pale
blue sash wound wide about her hips and thighs, breastplates of metal, with the
broad, circular collar above them, and her hair parted forward over her shoulders
in plaits that ended with little tassels. George decided she was the most
beautiful girl he had ever seen; Loto's description did not half do her
justice.
She
stood hesitantly in the doorway then, smiling, advanced to Loto and gave him
both hands in a pretty gesture of welcome.
George's
decision that Azeela was the prettiest girl he had ever seen was short lived,
for behind Azeela now came another girl, her younger sister, Dianne. Azeela
might have been eighteen or nineteen; Dianne obviously was no more than
sixteen—a black-haired, dark-eyed girl, dressed like Azeela, except that her
sash was a deep red.
"And
this is Dianne," Loto was saying. "We call her Dee."
"So
will I," George answered promptly. He met the girl's eyes—snapping,
laughing eyes with the spirit of deviltry in them.
"Loto told me about you," she said
demurely. Her intonation was that of a foreigner, but she spoke the ancient
English with perfect ease and fluency. "Loto said he thought I would like
you a lot."
"He
didn't tell me about you" George responded. "Not till ten minutes ago.
But, anyway, he was right. No, what I mean is—"
The
rest of George's speech was lost, for they were inside the house and Fahn was
advancing to meet them. The leader of the Scientists was a man of nearly seventy;
a quiet, grave, dominating figure, tall and spare, but perfectly erect. His
face was smooth-shaven, his iron-gray hair long to the base of the neck. He was
dressed in a paneled robe of black, with a pleated white collar and cuffs.
"I
am glad, indeed, to have you with us," he said cordially to Rogers. He
spoke precisely, slowly and carefully, as one speaks a language newly mastered.
"I feel very close to you, now that my daughter Azeela is to marry Loto.
It makes me—
Rogers
stared blankly. "Loto engaged? Why, Loto, you—" "There was so
much else to tell you, Father." Loto was
covered with confusion. "Besides, I wanted to
have you meet
Azeela first."
Azeela
was trying to escape from the room, but Dee captured her and pushed her back.
George
was vigorously congratulating Loto, and Rogers, rising to the occasion, kissed
Azeela heartily.
It was an ominous crisis into which the visitors
from a time world twenty-eight thousand years previous had fallen. They
discussed it with Fahn and his daughters during the remainder of that morning,
and at the light noon meal, served in a shaded comer of the patio formed by the
enclosing wings of the house. Banks of vivid flowers surrounded them; the
quiet, warm air was redolent with perfume. A small fountain splashed musically.
The world was calm, languorous.
Fahn had little.to add to
what they already knew. Toroh and the Noths had not been expected to attack for
a month or two at least, and the Anglese scientists were going forward with
their own preparations for the war with utmost haste.
But
now these emissaries Toroh had smuggled to the island injected a new and
alarming factor into the situation. They had appeared only in Orleen, but the
Bas there were listening to them, and all over the island the news was
spreading among the Bas that Toroh was a friend, not an enemy. The Bas might be
incited to open revolt.
"Morgruud
is alarmed," Fahn said to Loto. He explained to the others that Mogruud
was one of the most intelligent of the Bas in Anglese City, a leader of his
people. Mogruud was not fooled by Toroh's emissaries, but he feared now that he
could not prevent an uprising.
"And
the most terrible part is the Bas are right," Fahn added. "I do not
mean in regard to Toroh—he is a scoundrel, of course. But the Bas must have
some relief. Their children —ten mothers and infants were ordered exiled
yesterday."
"Why don't you fix
it?" George asked.
The
Scientist leader shrugged slightly. "I do not make the laws; I obey them.
I have remonstrated with the king and the council many times." He paused,
then added thoughtfully;
"The time may come when we of the League may be
forced to act against the laws of our king. He is wrong, and we scientists all
know it. But to take the law into our own hands—it is a very drastic thing. . .
."
During
the meal, George was far more interested in the two sisters than in the men's
talk. He had opportunity now to study the girls, compare them. In feature they
were much alike; in expression and demeanor, totally different. Azeela was
calm, thoughtful—femininely wise and patient. Dee was impulsive,
vivacious—alternately demure and devilish. Yet, in spite of the differences in
temperament, there seemed a strange bond between the sisters. Their regard for
each other, the love between them, was obvious. But it was more than that—a
bond of mind and spirit. George puzzled over it. Often when Azeela was about to
speak, Dee would impulsively speak for her, as though interpreting her sisters
thoughts.
The
afternoon was one of inactivity. A Toroh emissary appeared in Anglese City, but
he was arrested before he had time to harangue the people.
"I
had thought he was one of Toroh's brother," Fahn remarked, "but it
is not so. I think now they would not dare come back to the island."
He
went on to explain that Toroh had two younger brothers, banished like himself.
"They
might come—Toroh himself might come," Loto declared. "He will dare
anything that seems worth the risk."
"It
we take any one of them he will die," Fahn commented.
It
was at this juncture, in the late afternoon when the whole world was bathed in
the glorious colors of a sunset sky, that Azeela returned from a short trip
across the city.
"The
Aran Festival of the Flowers is tonight," she exclaimed excitedly.
"It has not been postponed. The Arans say it is clever to hold it now, in
spite of the news from Orleen. It will show the Bas how little they care—how
secure is the Aran power."
It
seemed to presage evil events—the holding of this festival wherein all the
wanton luxury of the Arans could be flaunted in the faces of those whom they
ruled. And it was with foreboding in their hearts that Fahn, his daughters and
their friends, prepared that evening to go and witness it. It was midnight when
they started. Dee and Azeela were swathed to the eyes in soft white robes, and
the men carried tiny black masks.
The
city streets, even at midnight, bore a holiday aspect. The moon had risen but,
in addition to its light, there were braziers strung above every street
crossing and they cast a soft blue light downward.
Arans
were hurrying along, alone and in groups—the women all shrouded in white; the
men, in clothes of gaudy colors, wearing masks, or dangling them in their
hands.
Little
phaetons drawn by dogs rolled by, filled with gay figures in fancy dress; women
leaned from them, waving at the pedestrians and tossing out flowers as they
swept past.
Loto
and Azeela, with George and Dee close behind them, led the way swiftly in the
direction that every one else was moving. Fahn and Rogers followed behind.
It
was a fairy tale city of unreality: guady men and white robed women hastening
forward under the blue street lights; silent white houses flushed with the
reddish tinge of the moon; warm, moist air, almost without a breath, heavy with
sensuous perfume.
And
in the shadows of the streets, the brown skinned, half naked figure of a Bas,
skulking here and there!
Azeela
had, for some time, been walking in silence. She looked up at the moon and,
with a touch upon Loto's arm, indicated it.
"You
said the moon was blushing, my Loto—the blush of maiden modesty to look down
upon such a city. But I do not see it so. . . to me it is stained with blood"
The
sweeping gesture of her white arm flashing from under the robe indicated a
garden beside them.
"Bloods-staining everything!"
The
street topped a rise of ground, ahead, down another short slope, lay the sea.
And even there the silver path upon the water was tinged with red.
CHAPTER NINE
A
cordon of police stopped Fahn and his party at the edge of a
grove of palms near the beach. A moment more and diey were inside. It was dim
under the palms; the white sand a lace pattern of shadow and moonlight. Gay
figures were moving about, all the men masked now.
The
grove covered perhaps a quarter of a mile. To the right lay the gleaming white
beach with the surf rolling up upon it. A tremendous pile of scarlet and white
blossoms stood near by under the palm trees. Figures rushed to it, gathered up
armfuls and darted away, shouting and laughing.
"We
must keep together/' Fahn warned. "Come this way."
Half a dozen men had whirled up, pelting Azeela and
Dee with flower blossoms, and, under cover of the laughing attack, tried to
separate the girls from their escorts and carry them off.
They
moved slowly forward, George gripping Dee's arm tightly. They passed a huge,
rectangular swimming pool, deserted as yet—glassy, moonlit water a foot or two
below the surface of the ground, reflecting the dark outlines of the date palms
that curved above it.
The
whirling crowd constantly became thicker. There must have been several thousand
people within the grove: the white shrouded figure of a woman flinging flowers
against the attack of a man; a woman retreating, her ammunition exhausted, to
the flower pile to replenish, and being caught in a smothering embrace before
she could reach it; a group of laughing girls, their robes torn from them in
the fray, pelting a defenseless man, flinging him finally into a huge pile of
flower petals, burying him until some other quarry distracted their attention,
or a stronger force of men separated them, sometimes carrying them off bodily.
And
in nooks behind the hedges of flowers, couples stole silent embraces, alone
until marauding bands of men or girls fround them out and drove them from their
seclusion.
The
white sand was thick with trampled flowers. Music came drifting through the
warm night air; music near at hand, but blurred by the shouts of the whirling
throng. The rich contralto voice of a woman singing—a snatch cut off by
laughter.
A large white pavilion lay ahead, brilliant with
flashing colored lights—a kaleidoscope of shifting color. It seemed crowded
with people, and Fahn now led his little party toward it.
They did not enter the pavilion, but stood in a
group on its steps. The music came from within, music that welled and throbbed,
unfamiliar in character, but with the age-old appeal to the senses—music
sensuous, barbaric. And yet was it barbaric?
Rogers voiced the question in a whisper to Loto, who
stood beside him. Was it not rather supermodern, with the centuries of
decadence that had put into it that fire of the soul abandoned to the body?
The throng on the floor was battling with flowers,
drinking wine from carved bowls of coconut shell, and dancing
indiscriminately. The masked men were robed in black and women shrouded in
white, but the swinging lights of vivid color stained everything, made the
scene shift and blur into fantasy.
At one end of the room a huge circular table was
loaded with food and drink, fruits and confections. The table was slowly
revolving; half of its circumference was behind a partition—a kitchen where it
was constantly being replenished with other dainties.
The
visitors found it difficult to keep their place on the pavilion steps. Masked
men attacked the two girls with flowers; a black robed figure in mock
politeness and humility begged one or the other of them to dance. A trio of
girls tore George away, and then, at his resistance, left him abrupt-
ly.
"The king,"
whispered Loto, with a gesture.
At
one end of the pavilion, on a small raised platform, the king sat smiling down
upon the scene. He was robed in paneled cloth of rich, gaudy colors—a man of
middle age whose long, dark hair was shot through with gray.
The
scene, with its confusion of shifting incidents, held too much for the visitors
to see or to understand. Half an hour went by, with the merrymaking steadily
increasing. Abruptly, the music stopped. The throng stopped in its tracks,
waiting expectantly. The swinging colored lights died out; others took their
place—pure blue-white, and motionless. A solemn bell tolled out over the
silence; with almost one motion the masks and the robes were discarded. A
woman's laugh rang out, carrying in it the very essence of abandonment. Then
the music began again and the throng sprang back into motion.
The
riotous color had been supplied by the lights; now with the lights a
blue-white, steady glare, it was the riotous color of the costumes themselves.
Was it the Baghdad of the Ancients—manikins, with turbaned headdresses, and
flowing, vivid draperies with the gleaming white of limbs beneath them? Or were
these slave girls, with their wares displayed for the bidders in the market? Or
these others, were they desert women, dancing with a pagan lust?
Watching
with the others, George's impressions were confused. Yet the thought came to
him that this was modern beyond his time—decadence, not barbarism.
Again
Rogers murmured something, but his words were lost. A score of figures came
leaping from the pavilion, scattering the small group of onlookers on its
steps.
Rogers
recovered himself, turning to follow them with his gaze; white nymphs with
flowing hair, and draperies of gauze that bellowed behind them as they ran for
the moonlit beach and the surf.
Loto,
pulling at his father's arm, brought his attention back to the pavilion.
Through it, the palm grove on the other side was visible.
The
bathing pool was now a turmoil of splashing figures-slim white shapes dove into
it from the palm-lined banks.
But
Loto was indicating the pavilion's interior. The crowd was standing motionless,
gazing upward. A small dais was poised in midair above the floor in the center
of the room. It floated there, seemingly with nothing to sustain it. Standing
on tiptoe on the dais was a woman, wrapped to the eyes in scarlet draperies.
She was facing the king over a distance of some twenty feet. The music, which
had been stilled for a moment, murmured softly from its unseen niche.
Fahn
whispered to Rogers, "Our workmen of the League equipped that dais for the
king. He begged us—and I feel now that it was a mistake."
Loto
added: "It is made from our newly invented war equipment. The dais is
covered with a fabric—electrically charged, and repulsive to the earth. It's
radio controlled, Father. A workman from the cavern is over there in the
corner, behind that drape. We've kept the fabric a secret, but the king wanted to use it for the
dais."
The
woman was singing in a throbbing contralto, very soft at first, then gradually
louder. As she sang, slowly she unwound the draperies, letting them drop from
her like quivering flame to a smoldering pile at her feet. Beneath it were other
draperies, flame-colored like the rest, but her arms and face were bare—full,
rounded, milk-white arms— a heavy face with scarlet lips.
"Helene,"
Loto whispered. "The Bas call her what means 'Mme. Voluptua' It is she who
rules the king and the nation* Look at her!"
The
king was standing up. The music grew louder, fiercer, with a thrilling minor
cadence. The woman's arms were extended; she stood poised, smiling as she sang
to the king. From her outflung arms the gauze drapery hung like quivering
wings, with the white of her body gleaming beneath it. The black hair piled
high on her head held two spangles of gold trembling at the end of delicate
golden wires. She stood, a great scarlet moth, hovering before flight.
Staring
in fascination, the king had left his seat and descended to the floor. The
crowd parted to make way for him as he slowly moved toward the dais which floated
down to meet him. Every eye was on him and on the woman, who now was extending
her arms down in invitation.
The
music and the song were at their height. The dais reached the floor; the king
stepped upon it and, as the woman's hand touched his shoulder, he dropped on
one knee before her, his lips at the hem of her scarlet gauze.
A leer of triumph on the woman's face; a murmur of applause from the watching throng. Then a
black cloak fell from a figure close beside the dais; a man leaped upon it— the
naked figure of a man in loin-cloth. A knife flashed— blue-white steel in the
light from above. The song rose to a shuddering scream. The scarlet figure
wilted and sank among its draperies at the feet of the kneeling king.
For
an instant the colorful throng seemed frozen; then chaos and the struggling,
airless confusion of panic. The murderer had flung the king and the body of the
woman from the dais. The little platform was rising into the air, carrying him
with it. The movement was sidewise; in a moment it would have been outside the
pavilion.
Rogers,
standing beside Fahn, heard the Scientist leader mutter an oath. Fahn's hand
came up from his robe; a pencil-point of flame—a tiny shaft, yellow-red—shot
from his weapon. The platform crashed to the floor of the pavilion; the
murderer lay still, his body blackened and charred.
In
the center of the room, the king had climbed to his feet, trembling. He stood,
staring down at the scarlet pile of gauze before him, the crumbled white body
stained red as the draperies in which it lay.
The
pavilion was emptying. The music was stilled; shouts of men, terrified,
hysterical cries of women filled the air. The visitors on the steps were swept
back by the crowds from within. Loto, clinging to his father, struggled to hold
them together.
White
figures were running from the beach; slim shapes were climbing from the bathing
pool. A woman hastened by, long black hair plastered wet against her sleek
white body. Her face, the allure gone from it, was a white mask of horror; a
scarlet mouth with lips parted to yield babbling, terrified cries. She swept
past, then disappeared into the confusion of the night.
Loto
was still clutching his fadier; all the rest of their party had disappeared.
The pavilion now was empty of Arans, save for that huddled scarlet form,
deserted by all its kind.
Fahn came hastening up. "That is one of Toroh's
brothers/'
He
pointed to the motionless figure of the man his jet of flame had killed.
"The other brother murdered my operator. They planned to steal the fabric,
to duplicate it and use it against us in the war. I had no idea they would dare
come to the island."
Fahn
had found his radio operator lying dead in his place behind the drape. Toroh's
other brother had been there, trying to work the radio and get the dais out of
the pavilion so that in the confusion they might escape with it. Fahn had
caught a glimpse of the man running away as he approached. They had not known
of Farm's presence at the festival; had he not been there, the attempt probably
would have succeeded.
There was space around the three men now. The
fleeing Aran figures were vanishing through the palms; the confused cries were
growing fainter. But George and die two girls could not be found.
"We
must go back," Fahn said. "They must have tried to find us and could
not. They would go home at once."
With
a last search around them, the three men started off through the now almost
deserted grove. The cordon of police had disappeared. A few hastening figures
were scattered along the streets.
"Come on," Loto
cried anxiously. "We have to hurry."
Keeping
close together they hastened along. Aran figures scurried here and there;
lights twinkled in the houses, then were extinguished as though the concealing
darkness might offer protection.
"Curious,"
murmured Rogers. "The entire city is in terror."
"The
guilt that has been within them for generations," Fahn answered.
"Toroh planned this well. The Bas will not know it was an attempt to steal
the fabric. Instead they will think that one of their own people dared to
murder Mme. Voluptua. The Arans think that now. They think the Bas have risen
to rebellion at last. It is not this one murder, but the meaning of it that
they fear—the confidence it will give the Bas."
And as though to confirm his words, the figure of a Bas man stood motionless on the next street comer.
He was partly in shadow, but he did not move as the three men came along; and
as they passed, his body seemed to straighten, with the consciousness of his
own power sweeping over it.
They
hurried across the city. As they went, they passed other Bas—Bas who no longer
skulked in the shadows.
At
last they came to the shimmering, moonlit garden of Farm's home. The house was
dark. They called, but no one answered. A brief search revealed the truth;
Azeela, George and Dee were not to be found. The place was undisturbed; there
seemed no evidence of marauders.
"We
must wait," Fahn said. But his tone was anxious. "They have not yet
arrived from the grove. I cannot believe it is anything but that."
For
a time they waited, but none of the missing three appeared. A hum had been
growing in the city—a murmur of distant cries that now forced itself on their
attention. The murmur grew, resolving itself into shouts and the scuffle of
running feet. A mob of Bas rounded a nearby street corner and swept past the
house. The crowd might have held a thousand persons. A giant, half-naked man
with a curved sword-blade in his hand was leading the way; behind him came
hordes of brown-skinned men and women. Most of the men carried curved swords;
the women wielded sticks—the heavy butts of palm-fronds with the green stripped
off—and a variety of agricultural implements.
"The
cane-cutters!" Loto exclaimed softly. "The knives with which they cut
the sugar cane. They—"
He
broke off, watching the grim mob as it swept by. At every corner it was
strengthened by others who joined it; Bas were springing up miraculously from
the shadows everywhere.
Fahn's
hand had gone to his belt; then it dropped to his side. Rogers met the
Scientist's glance with a nod of understanding.
"It
is what we of the League have feared for years," Fahn said anxiously.
"I cannot kill my own people. I am armed and they are not, yet I cannot
kill them—cannot look upon them as enemies. And I think, even in their frenzy,
they realize that and play upon it."
The
last stragglers had passed; the shouts of the mob were growing fainter as it
dashed across the city. The Aran houses were still dark and silent, with only
an occasional inmate slinking out to gaze fearfully around. Directly across the
street, the white figure of a woman just returned from the grove showed for an
instant in a doorway. Then it fled inward, into the darkness.
"The palace!" Loto explained abruptly. "They're
going to the palace!"
The words seemed to bring to Fahn the realization
that action by him was needed. For the moment his anxiety over his daughters
became secondary.
"Cornel" he
cried. "We must protect the king."
He
hurried them through the garden and along the street. Almost running, the three
men headed toward where the mob could still be heard, shouting in the distance.
CHAPTER TEN
George had been standing with his friends beside the pavilion,
silently watching the festival reach its height. The bell tolled; the masks and
cloaks were discarded. A bevy of nymphs draped in flowing gauze came dashing
out. As they passed, one of them caught George by the arm, pulling him along a
few steps; her eyes, half hidden by her tumbling hair, mocked him
provocatively.
He
jerked away. A tide of other figures flowed from the pavilion, following the
nymphs to the beach. George fought his way back, seeking to rejoin his friends;
in that crowd they could get lost so easily.
He
was looking about, wondering just where they had been standing before, when he
saw Dee. Her white cloak had fallen from her head to her shoulders. She was
standing alone, apparendy lost in reverie.
George hastened to her.
"Where are—"
But
her vehement gesture silenced him; again she seemed lost in thought. For a
moment he stood wondering what was the matter with her. The music from the pavilion
throbbed out into the moonlit grove; gaiety was surging all around them.
Finally
George could stand it no longer. "Dee, what is it? What's the
matter?"
She
looked up with an anxious frown. "Something is wrong with Azeela. She's
trying to tell me what's wrong."
"Oh?"
George glanced hastily about. "Where is Azeela? She was here a minute ago.
Where are the rest of them? Let's tell them."
What
did Dee mean? The girl seemed to have forgotten him again. She was moving away,
like one who walks under a spell.
"Wait. Dee— wait a minuter
She
kept on going. Figures were passing between them now. George hated to leave his
place. He'd never find the others—never get back again. Even now he realized it
would be difficult, if not impossible, to find them in all that crowd of masked
figures. If he lost Dee, too. . . He had no choice; he darted after Dee.
When
he had overtaken her they were some distance from the pavilion. It was more
secluded here. George darted up and caught her by the arm.
"Deel What's the
matter with you?"
Her
hand went over her eyes and she shook herself slightly. "It's hard at
first—getting Azeela's thoughts. I have them now." She spoke swiftly,
anxiously. "Toroh was here a moment ago. He seized Azeela and took her out
of the grove—right near here."
Azeela's thoughts! George understood. He started
forward, but she held hirn.
"Too
late! Toroh had two dogs waiting for him—they're mounting them now. He has tied
Azeela. They're starting —the dogs are irinning."
George
stared at her blankly. "Where to? Where is he taking her? Can you ask her
that? Can she tell you?"
The
girl was hastening forward now, with George after her. "Yes. She says to
Orleen. I have told her we are com-mg.
Abruptly,
she stopped and faced him. "George, we have two dogs at home. Shall you
and I get them and go after Azeela?"
"Yes," he
exclaimed impulsively.
"And I know where
father keeps his weapons.**
"Good.
We can't find Loto and your father in this crowd-Had we better try, Dee?"
They were hurrying forward
again.
"No,
we'd lose too much time. Father forbade me touching his weapons," she
added as an afterthought, "but this is different, isn't it?"
"Of
course," he agreed excitedly. "You know how to work them, Dee?"
"Yes, I experimented. He doesn't know it."
They left the grove.
"Dee, where's Azeela now?"
"Crossing
the city. West toward Orleen. We won't be far behind them."
George
was trembling with the excitement of it. "Is Toroh armed? Ask Azeela
that."
"I did. She doesn't
know. She thinks he is."
"Oh!"
"We'll do something. He won't know we're after
him— that's our advantage. Hurry, George!"
There
were a few figures in the almost deserted streets, but George and Dee did not
notice them. She was telling him of this branch of science for which she and
her sister were distinguished—this telepathy
they had developed-
Bound
in a union of thought by an unusual devotion, they had perfected it until they
could know, always vaguely, and, with effort, quite distinctly, what was in the
other's mind.
"We mustn't waste any
time getting started, Dee."
They
had entered the silent garden of Fahn's home. The city behind them was humming
with confusion now, but they did not hear it, did not know that a murder had
just been committed at the festival.
Inside
the house, Dee went at once to her father's room. George waited. When she
returned she held two weapons out for his inspection. One was a crescent of
transparent metal, with a tiny wire connecting its horns and a black bone
handle by which to grasp it. There was a firing mechanism on the handle. It was
the projector of the ray which caused muscular paralysis—the weapon Bool had
used against Loto.
Dee described its operation
briefly.
The
other weapon was a small black globe the size of a man's fist. It also had a
handle with a trigger; in the globe opposite was a tiny orifice like the muzzle
of a revolver. This was one of the smallest models of the thunderbolt projectors.
With it, a bolt of electrons could be thrown over a distance of some twenty
feet.
The
former weapon Dee kept; the little thunderbolt globe she handed to George.
Dee
had discarded her white robe; a blue ribbon around her forehead held the hair
from her eyes. She had another in her hand, and she tied it around George's
head.
"It's
hot riding, even at night," she explained. "Your hair gets moist—gets
in your eyes."
They had been delayed only
a moment.
"This way," she
added.
They
ran outside, across the patio, through a dark room and into the garden behind
the house, where a small white outbuilding stood. A new misgiving overcame
George.
"Oh, Dee—these dogs of
yours. . ."
"Can
you ride a dog?" she asked over her shoulder. Her expression was impish.
"I can ride anything," he said stoutly,
but his tone was dubious. "If the dog is—"
She must have understood
him, for she laughed.
"Wait! You will find
these dogs your friends."
George
said nothing more, and in a moment they were within the kennel. It was dark,
very dimly lighted by the moon from outside. A gray-black shape came toward
them; a shaggy dog whose shoulders stood nearly as high as his own. George's
first instinct was to turn and run, but the dog padded up to Dee, and she put
her arms up around it.
"Good, Rotan. Will you run fast for Dee?"
She
called it toward George, and patted him to show the dog he was her friend.
George impulsively put his hand up to the great shaggy neck, felt the dog's
warm tongue as it turned to lick his hand. This huge brute was his friend.
The
other dog, Atal was a male, larger than its mate; and standing beside it,
George marveled at the power that its great body must hold. The dogs knew they
were going out. They whined with eagerness, and leaping across the kennel, they
came back to Dee with saddles in their mouths with which she was to harness
them.
Rotan,
which Dee was to ride, was saddled with a leather seat and a pommel with a
small stirrup on one side. It was not unlike the sidesaddle for girls that had
been in use just before George's time. On Atal she strapped a thick leather pad
with a stirrup on each side; men rode astride. There were no bridles.
"You
tell Atal which way to go," she explained. "Right or left, slower or
faster. If you want him to run or walk or stop, he will understand. Since Loto
came we have taught them your way of saying it."
It
all took no more than a moment or two, for Dee was hurrying, and her eagerness
seemed to communicate itself to the dogs. They had barked at first—barks of
such volume that George was startled. But when Dee silenced them, they stood
trembling with impatience, their heads turned to follow her as she adjusted the
saddles.
George mounted Atal. It was almost like mounting a
horse; and yet not like a horse either, for the dog's huge body under him was
springy, supple. As it moved toward the doorway, George was reminded of the
lithe grace and strength of a tiger. He missed the reins, and in lieu of them,
twisted up two handfuls of hair on the dog's neck and clung.
Dee was ahead of him.
"All right, George?"
"Right,"
he said confidently. "But we might as well take it slow for a minute or
two."
They
moved silently through the garden. George leaned forward and down to the dog's
face.
"Nice dog, Atal. You
go slow till I tell you different."
In
the street, Dee was drawing away, and Atal broke into a run.
George
clung desperately. But it was unnecessary. The dog's strides were even and
long; its padded paws made no sound as they hit the ground; its legs, all its
muscles, seemed to give to the shock and absorb it.
They
were running faster now; the dog's body seemed to settle closer to the ground.
The wind whisded by George's ears, but he felt curiously secure. There was no
question of the dog stumbling, falling; and its gait, now at a steady run, was
far easier to ride than any horse he had ever mounted.
Dee was still ahead; the ends of the ribbon band
about her head fluttered out behind her. The white road was a blur; the houses
and gardens of the city were flying past.
An
exhilaration—a feeling of triumph and power—came over George. He was perfecdy
at home on the dog's back now. This little Dee was a dare-devil, as Loto had
said. Well, that was the sort of girl he liked. They'll overtake Toroh, kill
him with a flash from the thunderbolt globes and rescue Azeela.
George leaned forward over the dog's neck.
"We
might as well catch up with Dee," he said into the silky ear.
"Faster, Atal."
At
once the dog increased its pace, overtaking its mate. Side by side, they swept
through the city.
To
George the ride soon became a blur: a white moonlit road passing under him,
palm trees flashing by, occasional houses, thatched shacks; the wind whistling
past his ears, and that lithe, powerful body beneath him, with its rippling
muscles.
Dee rode gracefully and easily, leaning slightly
forward into the rush of air. Often she would draw ahead, but a whispered word
from George to the brute beneath him, and again the dogs were running side by
side.
Presently
Dee stopped them; the dogs stood panting, with tongues lolling out.
"What is it?" George demanded. "Where
are we?*'
The
girl's face was drawn with anxiety. "Azeela had been trying to find out
from Toroh why he takes her to Orleen."
"Yes?" he
prompted. "And I wondered—"
"Toroh
has told her now. Loto's old plane is there. He wants the planel"
"OhI"
George's heart sank with dismay. "But the plane is in the Orleen Cavern.
How can they get to it? Isn't the cavern guarded?"
"Yes. Wait. Toroh say he can get it. He has a
spy there —a man whom we trust. One of the guards."
"Good grief! Dee,
where are they now?"
"A
few miles west of here. I can't tell how far—Azeela does not know just where we
are, either."
"Does Toroh know we're
after him?*'
"No."
George
tried to think coherently. "Can't we overtake them, Dee? Before they reach
Orleen?"
"I
don't know. Azeela says not. Their dogs are very fast —perhaps faster than
ours."
Suddenly
George had an inspiration. The other plane—the one he and Rogers had come inl
It was back in the cavern in Anglese City. He and Dee could get that, and he
could operate it—he'd have to, now. Then they could fly to Orleen, and perhaps
by that method get there before Toroh and Azeela.
He
explained this swifty to Dee. "We're not so far from Anglese City, are
we?"
"No," she agreed. "It's the best
thing to do."
They
turned the dogs, starting back over the road they had come.
A
new thought occurred to George. "Dee, what does Toroh want with that
plane? Is he going to take Azeela north in it?"
The dogs were already at a run, but he oaught her
answer. "No. He will take the plane back into time! He wants to get
greater weapons with which to conquer us!"
Fahn, Loto and Rogers hurried through the city
streets. The faint distant cries of the mob ahead drifted back to them. There
were no Arans to be seen, but the Bas men and women were everywhere, most of
them moving in the direction of the palace.
As
Fahn and his two companions advanced, the turmoil ahead grew louder. The palace
stood on a rise of ground in the midst of a lavish garden, with its swimming
pool, its trellised pergolas and its graceful palms. The building was a two
story rectangular, with huge white columns from the ground to the roof. A broad
balcony ran the length of the second story. The roof was flat, with palms
growing upon it.
A
crowd of Bas was surging up the hill toward the palace; in the gardens, the
armed mob was already massed, shouting, threatening, but lacking, as yet, the
courage to advance upon the building.
Fahn had turned into a side street at the foot of
the hill.
"Where are we going?" Rogers demanded.
"We've
got to get into the palace unseen, so we'll go through the tower," Loto
explained. "There's a secret way into it that the Bas don't know."
The
tower, which rose like the skeleton of a lighthouse, stood close beside the
main palace building; a covered bridge connecting the two as the level of the
second floor of the palace.
Swiftly
Fahn led the two men to the beach that lay behind the bluff on which the
palace and its tower stood. The moonlit strand was deserted. They come to a
thick clump of palmettos in the heavy sand at the foot of the bluff— a green
tangled clump higher than a man's head. Into this Fahn plunged unhesitatingly,
forcing the fronds aside, pushing his way in with the others after him. Inside
the palmetto thicket was a small tunnel mouth, leading downward.
It
seemed an endless journey through a black underground passageway not much
higher than their heads and so narrow that they could always touch both its
walls with their outstretched arms. The air was heavy and fetid. They went down
a slope, across on a level, then up. Once they arrived at an iron grating
barring the way. But Fahn opened it in some fashion and it swung on a central,
horizontal pivot so that they might crawl under it.
Ahead
of them, up the incline, a tiny blue light shone. They reached it, found a
small circular staircase and climbed upward into the tower.
The
whole process had taken perhaps fifteen minutes. The mob was still in the
garden; its shouts and mutterings sounded loud and ominous as the little party
ascended the interior of the tower and hastily crossed the covered bridge.
Fahn
was still leading the way. They pushed aside a curtained doorway and found
themselves in a broad, second-floor corridor of the palace, dimly lighted. A
white-bearded old man was crossing it hastily, disappearing into a room at its
further end.
Another
room was near at hand, with a latticed grating in its doorway that now stood
open. A soft, blue-white fight flooded out through it to the hall. The castle's
interior was evidently in confusion; cries sounded, mingled with the
threatening shouts of the mob outside.
A
girl, shaking with fright, stood in the nearer doorway, the fight from behind
glowing through her soft draperies. Other girls crowded forward from the room—a
dozen frightened young girls, no more than matured. They saw Fahn, and ran to
him for protection.
"The king's
wives," Loto explained to his father.
Fahn's
face softened, and as the girls huddled round him, he tried to comfort them.
"The
guilt within them," muttered Rogers. "They think the Bas are coming
to kill them—only them."
Fahn
Caught the words and his eyes flashed. "There is no guilt here, my friend.
They are women bom to such as this."
With
the girls in a clinging group around him, the scientist proceeded down the
hallway, followed by Loto and his father.
The
room at the end of the hall—it seemed a sort of audience room—was in confusion;
most of the occupants of the palace were gathered there. The king was pacing up
and down near the entrance, his frightened councilors and advisors around him.
On
a low divan sat the queen, a woman of forty, regal in a paneled robe, with her
hair dressed high on her head. At her knees two children were huddled—the
little prince and princess of the Arans. The queen was bending down over them
as the strangers entered. When she saw Fahn with the girl-wives of her king,
she frowned, stood up, and with an imperious gesture ordered the girls from the
room. But Fahn, with a stem command, bade them stay. The queen seemed amazed at
the scientist's defiance; the king looked undecided, but he did not interfere.
With
Fahn's arrival, the room quieted; its occupants gained confidence. The king
seemed utterly relieved. He spoke a few placating words to the queen, but she
had withdrawn haughtily to a corner, her eyes flashing at the frightened girls
who were huddled across the room.
The
mob outside was shouting, surging about, but still lacking the courage for a
concerted attack. Fahn went to a window, with Rogers and Loto after him. The
moonlight outside showed the crowd plainly. The Bas were waving their weapons.
"Look!" Loto
exclaimed.
A
score or more of men were gathering in a group near the center of the garden. A
man mounted the rim of a fountain, inciting the group with his shouts. His
words had effect. The little knot of men waved their cane-knives and came
surging toward the palace entrance. The crowd made way for them, following
behind with shouts of triumph. Missiles were thrown upward at the palace
windows; one or two at first, then a hailstorm.
Fahn
quietly stepped out on a balcony that ran along the entire front of the
building. Loto and his father followed. The moonlight fell full upon them, and
the crowd recognized the Scientists' leader.
A
great shout went up—a cry of defiance mingled with fear. The men rushing at the
building wavered and stopped; the crowd near at hand began pressing backward.
Slowly,
Fahn advanced to the waist-high parapet; with his hands upon it he stood like
an orator facing a friendly throng and calmly waited for silence. A stone
whistled past his head, struck the building and clattered to the stone floor of
the balcony, but he did not heed it.
His
calmness, the confident power of his demeanor, quieted the mob. In a little
open space on the terrace, a leader of the Bas sprang into prominence—a giant
man who shouted a brief sentence.
"Mogruud,"
whispered Loto. "He tells them to listen to what Fahn has to say."
Silence
came at last, and then Fahn spoke, quietly, earnestly. He seemed to be winning
them over, when from the palace behind the king suddenly appeared on the
balcony. At the sight of him an angry shout rolled up from the crowd. A long,
thin knife, with a tail of feathers on it, flew up from below and stuck,
quivering, in the window casement beside the king's head. The king retreated.
Fahn
continued speaking, but now the mob would not listen to him. A woman's shrill
laugh of derision floated upward.
At once Fahn's tone changed. He rasped out a stern
command, but a scattering hail of stones was his answer. Then, without warning,
his hand went to his robe. He flung a little ball into the air. It burst fifty
feet from his hand with a shrill whistling scream, and a shower of sparks
scattered downward over the garden. They were harmless, but they sent a mild
electric shock through every individual member of the mob. The Bas were
frightened into silence.
"He
does not want to kill even one of them," Loto whispered. "Never
before have the Bas been in open demonstration. It might spread to other
cities—anything might happen."
Fahn was now whispering into a tiny mouthpiece,
talking to his guards at the cavern a mile or so away. From the cavern-mountain
across the city, a blue-white shaft of light sprang into the sky. The Bas saw
it and stared. And then suddenly the air seemed to be bursting with voices—four
words, repeated by the audible radio that the cavern was sending out.
"Death to disloyal Bas!
Death to disloyal Bas!"
A
million aerial voices were proclaiming it everywhere. And then the words
changed.
"We must win against
Toroh! The Bas must help us win against Toroh!"
The threat and its so swiftly following appeal were
irresistible. Mogruud shouted an enthusiastic answer to Fahn, and the crowd
applauded.
The
voices in the air were presently stilled; the light over the cavern
disappeared. And, still with his hands quietly on the parapet, Fahn again
addressed the people below him.
"Mogruud
says the laws should be changed," Loto whispered swiftly to his father.
"The Bas women should have their children without exile."
Fahn seemed to make a sudden decision. He spoke
again into his mouthpiece. Again the light sprang over the cavern. From the air
came the words:
"Bas women will not he exiled! Bas children
will he free!"
Surprised, awed, then
frantic with joy, the crowd in the palace gardens took up the cry, and all over
the island the radio voices were proclaiming it:
"Bas
children will be free! The Scientists promise Bas children will be free!"
chapter eleven
Still side by side, George and Dee rode back toward Anglese
City. It was further than George had thought; then he realized that the girl
had turned into a different road. He shouted a question at her.
"A shorter way to the cavern/' she explained.
The
wind whistling past them made conversation difficult. George understood that
they were skirting the city to where the cavern stood on the other side. They
were still in the open country; a road of white sand, palm lined, with a forest
jungle all around, and only an occasional house.
George's
mind was in a turmoil. Toroh taking the other plane into timel Memory came to
him of all those greater civilizations he and Rogers had seen though the
centuries they had passed. Toroh was going back to those civilizations to
secure weapons! The thought turned George cold all over. With the weapons from
former, greater ages, Toroh and his army of Noths would be invincible.
Words
in the wind sweeping by startled George into sudden alertness.
"Death to disloyal
Bas!"
It
seemed as though some tiny voice had whispered it to him.
Dee had checked both the dogs abrupdy. "What's
that?" George demanded.
It came again:
"Death
to disloyal Bas! Death to disloyal Bas!" The air was whispering it, then calling it; a myriad
voices echoed it everywhere. "Look there." cried Dee.
Ahead
of them, a mile or so away, a blue light was standing up into the sky. There
was a house near at hand, a Bas shack. From it a woman and two naked children
came running out into the moonlight, panic-stricken at the dread words with
which the air resounded.
And then the words changed:
"Bas
women will not he exiled! Bas children will be freer
The
woman in front of the shack clutched her children, listening, rejoicing—almost
unbelieving.
Dee
had started the dogs forward again. Swiftly she explained to George what she
thought it might mean—a radio proclamation from Fahn. In a few moments the
light over the cavern had vanished; the voices in the air died away.
George's
mind reverted to their own situation; the incident had given him an idea.
"Dee, where are Azeela and Toroh now?"
She
thought an instant; momentarily the mental bond with her sister had been
broken.
"Very
near Orleen, she thinks. They have heard the voices. Toroh is very angry. He
had hoped much that the Bas would rebel. It would have helped him."
"Near
OrleenI" George echoed. "Can't we get to the Anglese Cavern
first?"
"I
think so." She had started Rotan into a run, but George called her to
stop. Even at the risk of losing more precious time, he questioned her.
"Dee,
listen. Are the caverns of Orleen and Anglese City connected by radio?"
"Yes," she said.
"Then
listen. We'll get to Anglese City first and tell them to inform the guards at
Orleen. When Toroh and Azeela arrive they can seize them—if we warn them
ahead."
She nodded with instant comprehension.
"All radio isn't
broadcast audibly, is it?" he added.
"No,"
she said. The dogs were running faster. She called back over her shoulder.
"We'll do that. I'll tell Azeela."
They
swept forward, the dogs settling low to the ground as they ran.
A
great weight seemed to have lifted from George. It would be simple enough,
after all—merely notify the Orleen Cavern by radio, and Toroh would be seized
when he presented himself with Azeela.
George
contemplated the outcome. With Toroh in their hands, the Noth attack would
collapse. There would be no war.
It
was a race then; the only thing that could go wrong would be if Toroh got to
the other cavern first. Rotan and Dee were ahead; the girl's slight figure
clinging to the dog showed in the moonlight. George whispered to Atal, thumped
the dog's flank with his hand.
As
they caught up with Dee, he shouted, "Where's Azeela now? Will we make
it?"
"Yes," she
answered. "I think so."
The
mountain that housed the cavern loomed ahead through the palms; houses lay to
the right, the outskirts of Anglese City. Half a mile more and they would be
there.
Atal's
upflung head brought George out of another reverie. The dog, still running at
full speed, was sniffing the air, George heard Rotan growl, and Dee's sharp
command for silence.
Another command from the girl, and both dogs
stopped; Atal slid on his haunches, checking himself so abruptly that George
was flung to the sand.
He
was unhurt. He picked himself up to find Dee beside him.
"Someone is coming," she said sharply.
"Someone the dogs know is not a friend."
She spoke to the dog, and pulled George to the side
of the road where a cluster of banana trees cast an inky shadow. Together they
stood there in silence. Atal and Rotan had disappeared. The road was a white
ribbon in the moonlight. George listened, but could hear nothing. He tried to
question Dee, but she silenced hirn.
Presently
there came the thud of running feet; from the direction of Anglese City two
running dogs with riders swept into view. The riders were men, black cloaked
and wearing masks. Arans, from the festival, George thought.
They
would have passed without seeing the lurking figures under the banana trees had
not Atal and Rotan, in spite of Dee's command, suddenly charged them from the
shadows across the road.
The
two men, shouting in anger and alarm, tumbled from their mounts. The four dogs
tangled in a snarling, biting mass.
Still
George and Dee were unseen in the shadows. One of the men in the road had lost
his cloak and mask; the moonlight showed his face.
"One
of Toroh's brothers," Dee breathed into George's ear. In the dimness he
could see she was raising the small, crescent-shaped weapon. Some noise that
she or George made must have alarmed the men, who were no more than ten feet
away. They looked sharply across the road, and then, evidently seeing nothing,
they turned back to where the dogs were still fighting with a deadly fury.
Sparks
leaped suddenly from Dee's outstretched hand. The men turned. One of them cried
out in terror, but they both stood stiff and motionless.
"We've got 'emI"
George shouted. "Good work, Dee!"
He
would have leaped forward, but her free hand gripped him.
"Quick! The globe!"
One
of the men, supposedly stricken beyond the power to move, was, by some
superhuman effort of will, slowly raising his hand; his fingers clutched a tiny
black globe. It came up very slowly, as his almost paralyzed muscles struggled
with its weight.
But
George recovered his wits. He snatched his own globe from his pocket, pointed
it, pulled the trigger.
The night was split by a
flash, a tiny, sizzling snap of thunder; the globe recoiled in George's hand.
Across the road the bodies of the two men lay motionless on the sand.
Dee
was leaning against a banana trunk panting. Her face had gone white, but she
smiled as George turned to her.
"They almost got
us," she said.
George
himself was trembling, but he would not let her see it.
"Almost, Dee. Next time I'll be ready. I didn't
realize. . ."
Among
the trees across the road the dogs were still fighting. One of the Noth dogs
lay motionless, torn and bleeding. Atal and Rotan together were attacking the
other —the three rolling and tumbling as they bit and tore at each other, their
huge bodies trampling down the banana trees as they fought.
"Dee, could I use the thunderbolt on
them?"
She shook her head.
"Wait."
It
lasted only a moment more; the second Noth dog was down, with Atal's fangs
buried in its throat.
The
two dogs came leaping back to their mistress, their bodies torn, and matted
with dirt and blood.
Dee
patted them affectionately as they stood licking their wounds. "But you
should have minded me," she said.
George
had taken one look at the two charred figures lying in the road; he drew the girl
away.
"Come
on. I wouldn't look over there. We must hurry, Dee."
They mounted the dogs and started forward, more
slowly this time, for the animals carried them with difficulty.
Again
George remembered. Toroh would be at the Orleen Cavern by this time. They had
lost! This delay had been the one unexpected thing that could defeat them.
"Dee-"
But the girl had
anticipated him.
"They
are in the plane." She half whispered the words. "Azeela has been
trying to tell me for a long time. Toroh had a spy at the cavern entrance, a
man whom we trust as a Scientist. He let them in—Azeela had no chance to make
an outcry. They are in the plane now. Azeela telling Toroh she cannot operate
it. Wait. Now he's trying the proton switch himself." A silence.
"Dee! What is it?" George pleaded.
She shook her head.
"Nothing comes. Nothing!"
The
connection was broken! Azeela was carried back into time. Had something stopped
her message? Would her thought-bond with her sister hold across the centuries
that now separated them?
George
could only ask himself these questions with a sinking heart. If the bond would
not hold, then Azeela was lost to them forever. Lost to Loto, who loved her.
And Toroh would get his weapons and win the -wax—inevitably.
"Nothing yet,
Dee?"
"No."
They rode slowly onward. At
last Dee gave a cry of joy.
"It
comes again! She is all right, George! All right! Her voice rose in triumph and thankfulness.
George
thumped Atal to urge the dog forward. "Then we must hurry, Dee. They're
going back into time?"
"Yes.
Azeela is looking at the dials. Twenty-five years back now. She tell us to
hurry. She will watch the dials and let me know where they are. Toroh does not
suspect anything. He is gloating. He thinks he has won everything.''
At
last they were ascending the slope to the mouth of the cavern. The yawning hole
showed black in the face of the cliff. On the small platform above the mouth, a
single light disclosed the figures of three guards sitting there.
In
the moonlight the guards saw them coming. A bolt of lightning flashed downward
across the black hole; a peal of thunder rolled out.
They
stopped, and Dee called to the guards. One of them descended from the platform,
down a narrow flight of steps cut in the cliff face. He came forward in the
moonlight, a black robed figure.
Dee
spoke with him, and, recognizing a daughter of Fahn, he saluted respectfully.
There followed a brief colloquy, then the guard stood aside.
A moment later they were in the cavern. The huge
tunnel was dark and dank, but blue-white lights glimmered ahead in the
darkness. The place was silent, seemingly deserted.
Down
the length of the main tunnel they hurried. The plane stood there in the open
space, in the glare of blue-white light. They stood before it.
"Dee, shall we send
for your father?"
She hesitated.
"Where is he?"
George persisted. "Did you ask the guard?"
"Yes.
He and Loto and Loto's father are at the palace. There has been rebellion and
murder—the murder of Helene, Mme. Voluptua."
She
recounted succinctly the events of the night in Anglese City as the guard had
told them to her.
George
whistled. "They've got their hands full. Dee, are you still in communication
with Azeela?"
"Yes. They are beyond
fifty years."
"Going how fast?"
"Azeela
says as fast as they can—the twentieth intensity/* George made his decision.
"Dee,
we mustn't wait, mustn't stop for anything. You're willing to go?"
"Yes," she
declared soberly.
She
reached toward the platform. George locked his hands, and she put her small
foot into them. He lifted her—she seemed no heavier than a child—and she swung
herself up gracefully and easily to the platform.
George
followed and closed the cabin door after them. "Did you tell the guard
what we were going to do?"
"Yes,"
she said. "I told him to tell father later tonight when things were more
quiet at the palace."
"Good girl. Dee, have
you ever been back into time?"
"No.
Azeela has. Just a
little way—with Loto. He
taught her to operate the plane."
"How fast are they
going, Dee? The twentieth intensity?"
"Yes."
George's hand was on the proton switch. He took a last look around.
"Sit down, Dee. Hold the arms of your chair.
Don't be frightened."
The cabin was dark; through its windows the
blue-white glare outside showed the jagged brown walls of the cavern. The
twentieth intensity. Toroh was going as fast as he possibly
could!
George pulled the switch. There was a soundless clap
in his head; a plunge, headlong into some bottomless abyss, falling for
hours—an eternity.
Fahn's proclamation to the Bas had far-reaching
effects. All over the island that night and the next day there was rejoicing.
The radio proclaimed a
national holiday, which the
Bas gave over to festivities.
The
murder of Mme. Voluptua was forgotten; the rebellion in Anglese City was a
thing of the past. The work of Toroh's spies was completely undone; everywhere
they presented themselves they were seized by the Bas and delivered to the
authorities, until by mid-morning none dared show himself. They remained in
hiding in the mountains, and the following night fled the island.
Fahn's
object had been attained. Everywhere, enthusiasm for the war soon mounted to a
patriotic frenzy.
But
it was not all smooth sailing for Fahn. Within an hour after the first radio
proclamation—just before dawn that day—the king called the Scientist to his
audience room and demanded that it be retracted. For the first time within
generations, a Scientist defied his king,
Fahn
gravely refused. The king, with his councilors-brave now since the mob before
the palace had dispersed —clustered around him, vigorously tried to overawe the
Scientist. But Fahn was obdurate; respectful to the majesty of royalty—but
obdurate nevertheless.
The
king was powerless, and he knew it. He raged, threatened, but to no avail.
That
afternoon the king's council met. The Scientists were declared oudaws; a call was issued for the Aran police, who were
scattered throughout the island, to come at once to the Anglese City to defend
their sovereign.
It
was a monarch struggling against all reason to defend what he considered his
birthright. Royalty outragedl
But
the Aran police did not come. Worse than that, those near at hand in Anglese
City prudently vanished.
That
same afternoon the Scientists met in Anglese City. Fahn's action was upheld,
and from other cities came similar decisions. The government was taken over by
the Scientists for the period of the war. Laws ratifying the new status of the
Bas women and children were hurriedly passed, and made permanent.
All
that day the radio audibly proclaimed events as they transpired. The Arans were
not to be molested; their relations with the Bas were to proceed as always,
and the royal family was to be treated with the outward respect to which its
birth and position entitled it.
Three
days passed—days that for those in Anglese City were full of activity and
anxiety. The Arans kept sullenly to themselves; the king and his councilors
shut themselves in the palace; the Bas went about their accustomed tasks
feverishly, abstractedly, waiting for the call to war.
The
Scientists, trusting nothing to chance, sought out all the Aran police and
disarmed them. All weapons were kept in the caverns, where the manufacturing
and assembling went steadily forward.
Fahn,
Loto, and Rogers, during these three days, stayed at Fahn's home. Nothing had
been heard from George and the two girls. They were days full of anxiety—almost
despair—for the three men. The guards at the two caverns reported what had
happened. Fahn cursed his inefficiency in allowing a Toroh spy to remain
unsuspected in the League. The man who had given Toroh the plane was located
and put to death, but that helped matters little.
In
the brief interims of inactivity, the three men discussed what George and Dee
might be doing—what the outcome would be. The discussions were futile; there
was nothing to do but wait.
The character of the two Frazia planes, the identity
of the visitors, had never been made public. Only Fahn, his two companions and
a few of the Scientist leaders were aware of the momentous outcome for which
they were so helplessly waiting.
On
the afternoon of the third day, Fahn took Loto and his father through the
cavern. Loto was pale and tight-lipped, but he seldom mentioned Azeela, and
never once had he given vent to his feelings. Rogers was curious to see the
cavern; older, more philosophical than Loto, he could better withstand his
anxiety over George and the girls. Yet he, too, was more worried than he would
have cared to admit, even to himself. The war—the fate of the Anglese —was one
thing; but that plane was all that could take him back to Lylda, his wife. He
could probably never manufacture another plane in this time world; the
materials were not available. He realized now how wrong he had been not to
bring Lylda with him.
It
was late afternoon when they started. Work in the cavern now proceeded day and
night.
To
Rogers the place was one of romantic mystery, with a sinister air to it that he
could not shake off.
The
darkness of the cavern walls, the shadows, the flickering blue lights, and the
yawning holes with which the interior of the mountain seemed honeycombed, awed
and perturbed him.
Far
ahead, down a sharp slope, two blue lights shone. To the left a passageway
glowed dull red.
Fahn
turned toward it. They went into the passageway, and from it emerged upon a
narrow ledge with a metal railing. Before them spread a huge pit, a great pool
of lava a thousand feet down—lava that boiled sluggishly, with tiny flames of
burning gases licking upward from its surface. To one side, overhead, a rift
through the mountain showed a patch of starlit sky.
Visitors
to an infemo, they stood clinging to the iron rail. The lurid red light cast
monstrous shadows of their figures upward to the rocky ceiling. The sulphurous
air was intolerably hot; it choked their breathing. After a moment they all
stumbled back into the passageway, coughing, breatxiing deep of the purer air.
"Fires of the earth so
close!" murmured Rogers.
Fahn
was leading them forward again. "Yes, almost every mountain on the island
is like that. The fires are even closer to the surface at Orleen; we use them
in the cavern there."
"And
here is a room of medicine and surgery," he added. He had turned
unexpectedly into a side cave, a room furnished and draped, and dimly lighted
by braziers hanging from its low roof. Rows of bottles, cases of instruments, a
long, low table, littered with a variety of strange objects; the room held a
confusion of things, most of which were incomprehensible.
Something made Rogers shudder, "What is
that?" he demanded.
"To create human life," said Fahn.
"For thousands of years, science has tried to do that. We can make a man's
body—but his soul and mind still elude us."
Rogers
was staring at a metal framework, where the organs of a man were hanging,
joined together and with a network of blood vessels around them; the
fundamental, simplified mechanism of man, without the body. And there was
movement to the organs; the heart was beating, the lungs breathing.
It was gruesome; it made
Rogers' gorge rise.
"They
will function for a little time," Fahn explained. "But our surgeons
have done better than that. They have made the living body—all but the mind and
the soul."
A
small case was standing on a pedestal, illuminated by a dim blue light above
it. A lump of living human flesh lay within, roughly fashioned into human form,
with arms and legs that kicked.
Rogers backed away.
It
seemed like a dream, this trip through the Scientists' cavern. From one room to
another they wandered. Most of the caves were unoccupied; occasionally a lone
worker or a group would stop their tasks momentarily to meet their leader and
his visitors.
From
far away recesses, where the main work was going on, the hum of dynamos
sounded.
"We
will not go into the workrooms tonight," Fahn said. "I'll show them
to you later."
They
entered another inner cave, which was high-arched and unusually large. It held
relics of bygone ages. Broken mechanisms, that inhabitants of other planets
might have left on earth, had been dug up and stored here as in a museum. They
meant nothing to Rogers, nor did Fahn offer to explain them. But this room more
than any other in the cavern seemed to carry with it the power of science, the
greater science that to Fahn's time world was in the prehistoric past. It
showed Fahn and his contemporaries in their true light; they were
archaeologists—imitators, re-constructors, not real creators.
At
last they reached a circular room equipped with the apparatus for taking voices
and images from the air. Its side walls were paneled with huge crystals that
mirrored distant scenes; and it was filled with millions of tiny voices.
Fahn
stood before one of the crystals: his hand was on a lever; the fingers of his
other hand rested on a tiny row of buttons. Rogers noticed that there were
scores of similar mechanisms dispersed about the room.
"Let
us look and listen, a mile away to the west," Fahn said.
The
crystal before them was some six feet square. It was gray and cloudy. Fahn
pressed one of the small black buttons, and moved the lever over a notch; the
crystal flooded with color. It was like looking through a huge window.
"The
viewpoint of our station a mile north of here," Fahn pointed out.
"A
thirty foot tower," Loto explained. "The lens on it swings in a
circle. We are looking westward now toward Orleen."
The scene in the crystal showed the red western sky;
a white road in the foreground, disappearing seemingly
at
Rogers'
feet; the green, palm-dotted island, with twilight shadows creeping upon it,
and to the left, the island mountain range, its peaks rising in serrated
ranks, with giant, snow-clad summits.
"It was near here that day before yesterday
they found the charred bodies of Toroh's brother and his Noth companion,"
Loto added. "A Bas woman—see that shack there by the road—she saw a girl
and a man passing the night before. It may have been George and Dee."
The
shack at the roadside showed plainly. A Bas woman was sitting at its doorway,
crooning to her infant. Her voice sounded almost as clearly as though the
watchers had been sitting on the small tower where the lens and radio mechanism
were perched.
"We will turn,"
Fahn said.
A
panorama unfolding, the scene moved slowly sidewise: the sea to the north, with
the mountain range beyond it, dim in the gathering darkness; east, back toward
Anglese City, where the cavern-mountain itself showed behind the palms; to the
south past a distant vista of city houses; and still swinging, it came back to
the road and the house and stopped, again facing the west.
"Another
station," Fahn added.
The
crystal-face went dark, and then relighted. It was a viewpoint of a hundred
feet in the air this time. Again it swung the points of the compass.
For
half an hour Fahn continued his demonstration. There might have been a hundred
or more towers scattered over the island, and the scene from any one of them sprang
at Fahn's will into the crystal window.
"What
are the other crystal mirrors for?" Rogers asked Loto.
"The
island can be searched by several operators simultaneously. Any viewpoint may
be thrown into any crystal, and there are receivers for your ears, so that the
sounds you hear will not confuse others in the room."
The
island was growing dark. The crystal showed a viewpoint from the channel coast
halfway to Orleen. It must have been from a very high tower; the sea stretched
several hundred feet beneath.
"Those
mountains across the water," Rogers remarked, "can't be over twenty
or thirty miles from our shores. Is that where Toroh's army will gather?"
"From
behind them," said Loto. "To the east, nearer the Atlantic Coast, we
think. We—"
Fahn
had given a slight cry. The room was dark, but the reflected light from the
crystal showed the Scientist pointing into the mirrored scene.
"Loto, what is
that?"
Above
the mountains across the channel, the sky was rose-colored with the fading
daylight. A tiny gray shape showed there, silhouetted against the clouds. It
was moving. They watched it, breathlessly.
"A Frazia planel"
Rogers murmured.
It
circled like a giant bird. A patch of lighter sky behind showed it more
plainly after a moment. It was a Frazia planel It was closer than they had thought,
but it seemed to be flying north, away from them.
"Which
one is it?" Loto whispered. "Father, which one is it?"
But that they could not tell. George, or Toroh? One
of them had returned. The plane was flying lower, circling again. The dimness
absorbed it; then it reappeared. It seemed now to be flying crazily.
"Out of control!" Loto whispered in horror. "It's
falling!"
The
plane turned over, fluttered down, was swallowed by the shadows of the distant
mountains.
chapter twelve
The interior
of the plane was glowing.
The familiar humming sounded. George and Dee had started back into time.
"Deel Deel You all right?"
Her wan smile reassured
him. "Where are we?"
"Going
back into time," he said cheerfully. The dials were beside him.
"Nearly forty years from where we started already. You 11 feel all right soon."
"I
am all right," she persisted. "I mean, George, are we still in the
cavern?"
The
question brought an idea to George that made his heart race. They were still in the cavern, at a time forty years previous.
What was the cavern like then? Suppose its entrance was closed? How could they
get out?
Through
the windows nothing could be seen but blackness. George hesitated.
"Dee, can your
thoughts still reach Azeela?"
"Yes,"
she said. "She was frightened for me. She knows now we are coming after
her. She and Toroh are past one hundred years."
"Still going?"
"Yes."
"Where are they in
space?"
"She
says in the air, over the Orleen Cavern. She thought it best to show Toroh how
to fly the plane; she was afraid to remain underground."
"So am I," said
George. "We'd better get out."
There
were headlights on the plane; their glare showed the tunnel. George started up
the Frazia motors, slowly;
they
rolled forward, faster as they left the tunnel-mouth and took to the air.
The
scene was that familiar grayness, new to Dee. Beneath them lay the island with
the blurred, gray city to one side.
"Over
Orleen," George mused. "We must get there quickly. Further back in
time the city will not be there—we might get lost in space."
At
an altitude of perhaps a thousand feet they flew swiftly westward. Orleen was
there when they reached its space; the dials were beyond two hundred years.
"Azeela
is here," Dee announced. "She says the city is dwindling."
"What do her dials
say? Will Toroh let her look at them?"
"Yes.
She is very careful. He suspects nothing. She says the dials are nearly two
hundred and thirty years."
"Were
catching up with them," George exclaimed triumphantly. "We've got the
faster plane. Where are they exacdy? In space I mean,"
A brief pause.
"Azeela
says almost directiy over the peak near the east edge of the city—the cavern
peak."
There
were twin peaks, not over six hundred feet apart. The cavern peak was the
northern one; through the floor window, George could see the summit of the
other, directiy beneath his plane.
"How high is Toroh?
They're using the 'copters?"
"Yes."
"How high up?"
"She says about five
hundred feet."
It
was the altitude at which George and Dee were hovering. George gazed through
the side window. The other peak showed plainly. Above it was the exact space
Toroh and Azeela were occupying. Their plane was invisible, of course
—twenty-five years into the past.
"They've
passed three hundred years, George," the girl's voice informed him.
"Three hundred years just now."
"Two hundred and
ninety," he read from their own dials.
"Only ten years away! We'll overtake them
shortly now."
In
the stress through which they had passed, and their excitement, neither of them
had considered what they would do when they overtook Toroh. Indeed, it was
Azeela who brought it to their minds with her anxious questions to Dee.
They stared at each other
in dismay.
"How about my
thunderbolt glove?" George suggested.
"We
can't use it," she reminded him. "If we destroy the other plane,
Azeela would be killed."
It
was obvious. They could not attack the other plane under any circumstances. But
Toroh was going to stop for weapons. They would have to stay near him, both in
space and time, and when he stopped, and perhaps left the plane, they would
rush up and rescue Azeela.
It was all either of them
could plan.
"Keep
as near them as we can," George decided. "That's the idea. And watch
our chance. Tell Azeela to keep you posted on everything."
They
slowed their time-flight a trifle; it would have been foolish to let Toroh see
them—merely put him on his guard. At a distance of about ten years they
followed.
At
eight hundred years before the time they had left, the city of Orleen had
disappeared. The island looked almost the same; the peaks were still there. But
now among the palms there were only a few rude shacks—the earliest Bas
settlers.
The
time-velocity of both planes was steadily increasing. Azeela's messages told
them that the other plane was still hovering motionless. There was nothing to
do. They waited, anxiously at first, and then, after an interval, fell into
earnest conversation.
"Suppose we can't rescue Azeela," George
suggested once. "Toroh will use her as a hostage against your father,
won't he? Offer her life, perhaps, if your father will help him in the
war?"
She nodded soberly.
"That's
why he abducted her before, Loto said. Did he make the offer then?"
"No. But he was going
to."
"Why
didn't you go after her?" he suggested. "Didn't she send back
messages to you, Dee?"
"Yes.
But he took her north into the snow. She did not know where she was. Father
sent out an expedition, but they couldn't find her. The Noths atacked them and
they came back. They were going to start out again when Loto returned her to
us."
"Oh,"
said George. He thought a moment. "I wonder what your father would have
done—what he would do now if Toroh holds Azeela and offers her life against the
war. Would your father let Toroh kill her?"
She
hesitated. "I think he would," she said at last. "It would be a
nation against one life. He would sacrifice himself, I know. And I think he
would even sacrifice Azeela."
George
met her earnest dark eyes, so sparkling, usually, but now so somber.
"Would you, Dee?"
"No," she said
impulsively.
"Neither
would I," he declared. "I wouldn't let harm come to Azeela for all the
Anglese,—or harm to—to you, either,"
She did not answer.
Presently he said:
"I
was thinking about that Aran Festival, Dee, You know you oughtn't to go to
affairs like that. Do you know it?"
Her
gaze met his again, questioningly. "It is part of life," she said.
"My father thinks Azeela and I should know what life is. In your
time-world was it wrong?"
George felt himself
flushing. "Wrong? What, the festival?"
"No.
I mean my going there—a girl of the Scientists, who is not like the Aran
women?"
"Yes,"
George said stoutly. "J didn't want you to be there." His hand
impulsively touched hers. "I didn't like it, Dee, You're too nice a girl.
And I don't think Loto liked Azeela being there, either."
Instead of answering, she
gave a sudden cry.
"What is it?"
George demanded in alarm.
She had no opportunity to
reply. Through the side window the other plane showed less than a thousand
feet away; a shimmering ghost that was gone as soon as they had seen it!
George leaped to the proton
switch, but Dee checked him.
"Wait! Wait till
Azeela tells me what happened."
In
the absorption of their conversation, Azeela's messages had been ignored. Toroh
had slackened his time-flight; he was preparing to land. It was an unfortunate
occurrence, for Toroh had seen the other plane. He still did not guess that
Azeela herself was guiding the pursuit.
Again,
without warning, the other plane appeared. This time it was flying, coming
directly toward them. George held his breath. Toroh's plane was so close he had
no opportunity even to move from his seat. It was running level with them in
time; it was charging them! Had Toroh gone mad? *He would
kill them all!
It was no more than a second or two. Through the
window George caught a brief glimpse of the shimmering thing rushing at them.
Then it swerved upward.
"He's going to jive a
thunderbolt!" Dee
gasped.
George
was aware of a flash; but he had not seen it, only imagined it.
The
attacking plane swept overhead and vanished—dissolved into nothingness!
Toroh
had fired a thunderbolt., The rush of electrons traveling at the speed of light
from Toroh's plane to George's had been too slow. The mark was gone into a
different time before the thunderbolt could reach it!
The
incident left George and Dee shuddering; but confident now that, so long as
they kept moving through time, Toroh could not harm them.
George's
dials now registered the passage of some sixty-eight hundred years. He was
amazed. Then he realized how long he and his companion had been talking, and
the time-velocity at the twentieth intensity had been accelerating tremendously.
He had forgotten to look beneath him; he did so now, and the island was not
there. The channel was gone;
the
mountain range had disappeared. The cataclysm that had formed the island had
been passed.
Azeela's
messages told that her plane was now nearly a hundred years nearer the Anglese time-world. Toroh,
finding his attack ineffective, had given it up. He had started a horizontal flight; he was looking for a city in which he could land.
George
and Dee sat helpless, for Azeela could not describe which way she was flying.
"Lostl" George exclaimed. "We've lost
them! Of course,
she can't tell us which way they're going when there's
nothing down there but gray forests—and blurred gray sky
overhead." f
It
seemed probable that they, would never see Toroh's plane again. Already it was
many miles away from them in space, though in what direction they could not
guess.
The
two planes swept back through time, invisible to each other, yet no more than a
few hundred years apart. The rescue of Azeela—for the present at least—was
certainly impossible. Toroh was looking for a civilization, some gigantic city where "he
might secure weapons. George decided he must do the same. He discussed it earnestly
with Dee, and again, temporarily, Azeela's thought messages were ignored.
At
fifteen thousand years—more than halfway back to the time-world of the New York
City of George's birth—structures began rising out of the forests. By
retrograded changes made visible, at first they seemed moldering ruins; then,
broken, neglected areas of deserted cities; then the inhabited cities
themselves.
At
eighteen thousand years George and Dee were poised no more than a few miles
from where Orleen stood so many centuries later. A huge river with a delta
emptied into the open gulf; a broad expanse of lake was near by. And on both
sides of the river and around the lake a gigantic city rose in terraced
buildings of masonry and steel. Dee stared in awe at its towers, bridges,
aerial streets with the monorail structures stretching above.
"We might land here," George suggested.
"Shall we, Dee? You'd think they'd have something
to help your father in the
Anglese war."
She
nodded, and he prepared to-land on an open space a few miles north of the city
outskirts. They came to the ground at the third intensity of proton current.
Everything was gray, soundless.
"All ready, Dee?"
"Yes."
He
flung over the switch. When the shock had passed, George stood up; Dee was
already on her feet beside him. It was night outside; lights were flashing.
They rushed to the window. The sky was lurid with bursting colored bombs; an
inferno of noise sounded, an intermittent pounding that seemed to shake the
earth.
From
almost directly overhead a red rocket exploded. Its light persisted,
illuminating the scene for miles around with a vivid red glare. The giant city
buildings were visible. As George stared, a great flame seemed to leap from the
sky. One of the buildings fell.
Nearer
at hand a cloud of swarming mechanisms burst out of the air, swooping down,
circling. Beams of light from them and from the city crossed like swords in the
sky. The earth under the plane was rocking. Beside it, a green flash struck and
sent rocks, boulders, and dirt flying up like a waterspout.
"George I George!"
Dee's
terrified cry in his ear was almost drowned by the scream of dynamos; the
whistling, bursting, and pounding.
George's
trembling fingers found the proton switch; he pulled it. The inferno of the
night melted, slipped away into a gray, soundless blur.
War!
They had fallen into the midst of a battle—that giant Earth city defending
itself, perhaps against invaders from another planet.
"We won't try that
again," George murmured.
"Azeela,"
said the girl suddenly. "She tells me' that Toroh has secured weapons! He
is returning to our time-world!"
Toroh had landed at another city, in another time,
but still in that same greater civilization. He had chosen a night, bound
Azeela, left her in the plane and stolen weapons.
George listened blankly.
"What sort of weapons?"
"Azeela
does not know. One large piece of apparatus. He has it in the plane covered by
a black bag. He will not let her touch it. And there are other things—a pile of
disks or something. White—like steel. She cant see them well—he has covered
them also. He is filled with triumph. His plane is speeding toward Anglese
City."
"In space or
time?"
"In
time. They are hovering in space. Azeela does not know where they are. Toroh
says he will wait, and when the time-world of the island is reached they will
recognize the land. Then Toroh will take Azeela to "the Noths. He says if
our father does not yield, he will kill her. And then he and the Noths will conquer the
Anglese."
George
had lost. But still there seemed nothing that they could do but try and keep as
close to the other plane in time as they could.
Toroh's
plane was sweeping forward. He had released Azeela, commanding her to instruct
him in more detail in the handling of die Frazia motors. Azeela's dials now
read some fifty-five hundred years behind the Anglese time-world. George's read
about six thousand.
They
came to the cataclysm that formed the island. George had forgotten it, but he
chanced to be gazing down. The gray forests suddenly blurred; vague chaos
passed over the earth, the air, and the sky; then there were the familiar
mountains, the channel, the islandl The myriad details of those hours of
upheaval had been compressed, blended into a fraction of a second. The eye and
the mind could not grasp it. The thing was past, done and away, with only its effect
left as evidence that it
had occured.
George
and Dee were above the channel and west of Orleen. No more than a hundred years
now separated the planes.
"What shall we
do?" George demanded for the tenth time. And then an idea came to him.
They could not^ attack Toroh until he reached his destination. He would be
among his own army then, and rescue of Azeela would be impossible. But if
Azeela could separate herself from Toroh now, he could never find her in time
and probably wouldn't try.
George
explained it to Dee. Azeela was not bound; could she persuade Toroh on some
pretext to land on the ground-then leap from the plane? The shock of stopping
in time should be no different than when the plane itself stopped.
Azeela
had already thought"" of it; the idea had been prompted by the fact
that Toroh's plane was running out of fuel. He would have to conserve it, not
use the 'copters, or else he would have none left with which to get up north.
George
was trembling with excitement. "Tell her to suggest that they land."
Toroh
was, at that instant, landing. It was a familiar spot to Azeela; she described
it exactly to Dee, and the younger sister recognized it.
Toroh's
plane had entered the second century before Fahn's time-world when George—some
fifty years further back—arrived at the spot in space Azeela was describing.
There was the little rise of ground, with the channel beyond. The vegetation
was different, but the level rock was there. And Toroh's plane was resting on
that level rock.
Dee's
voice was shaking so that she could hardly talk. "Will it-kill her,
George?"
He was white faced, tense. "Tell her to read
the dials as exactly as she can."
Azeela
read them. George held his watch in his hand; he noted the hour and minute it
gave.
"She
has called Toroh's attention to something outside," Dee's voice translated
swiftly. "She opens the cabin door. He is behind her but he does not
suspect."
George
kept his eyes on his watch. Two minutes since Azeela gave them her
dial-reading, and he knew the approximate time-velocity of the other plane.
Three minutes!
"She is on the platform. The blurred rock is
only a few feet below her. Azeela is pretending something is wrong under the
plane. Toroh is beside her—but he does not touch her. He does not suspect she
would dare. , ,
Three minutes and a half.
"She jumps—"
George waited. "Is she all right? Is she all
right?" Silence. !
"Can't you get her? Oh, Dee, cant you get
her?" The communication was broken.
chapter thirteen
"It fell," Rogers murmured. "Was that Toroh's
plane, or George's?"
Loto
did not answer; he stared with set face at the crystal mirror, which was turning
purple with the deepening shadows of nightfall. The mountains into which the
plane had fallen were a vague silhouette against a sky of stars.
"If
we could only see over there," Rogers added wistfully. "Is this tower
we're looking from now the nearest to the mountains, Loto?"
It
was the nearest. But Fahn was talking swiftly into a small mouthpiece beside
him,
"We
may be able to see into the mountains," he said in a moment. "We must
find out which plane it was. Perhaps ■Toroh fell and was killed."
The
anxiety on his face belied the calmness of his tone. His two daughters were out
there; possibly one or both had met death in that falling plane.
A man entered the cave-room hurriedly, a solitary
worker whom Fahn had summoned from another part of the cavern. A youngish man,
he wore dark glasses, a black robe and gloves.
Fahn questioned him briefly; he brightened, nodded,
and hastened away again.
Loto
explained: "He's been working on a new invention, Father. We hoped to use
it in the war, but now we fear the attack may come before it's ready. There is
only one •small model constructed—finished today."
The
man returned with a small mechanism—a black circular disk, an inch thick and
two feet in diameter. On it was mounted a cone-shaped lens a foot high. It looked
something like a tiny model of the lighthouse lens. An operating mechanism was
fastened behind the lens; it was an open box with tiny coils of wire inside.
And near this was what looked like a miniature searchlight.
Fahn
inspected the apparatus. His assistant made some connections, adjusting another
mechanism on the table. Then, turning the disk over and holding it in the air
above his head, he released it. The thing floated, motionless, its lens-tower
hanging downward. The small searchlight also pointed downward and from it a
beam of blue-white light struck the cave-floor with a circle of brilliant
illumination.
Fahn
smiled his approval; the young assistant seemed gratified.
"It's
a development of the communication towers, combined with the levitation dais
you saw at the Festival— the apparatus Toroh's brothers tried to steal,"
Loto said to his father.
A
moment later the young scientist had disappeared with his flying lens, taking
it outside the cavern to release it into the air.
Fahn
sat at the table with the newly installed mechanism under his fingers. In a few
moments the assistant was back, empty-handed; he stood before the now blank
crystal mirror with the other men, anxiously watching for the success of his
work.
"This was greatiy used a few centuries
ago," Fahn said.
He
sighed. "Our ancestors knew so much; it is so hard to keep up with
them."
The
crystal mirror presently became illumined. The scene was the darkness of night;
stars reflected moonlight from a moon just outside the line of vision. Below—a
thousand feet, perhaps—a vague palm-dotted landscape was sliding into view.
To
the watchers, the illusion was like flying through the night, looking downward.
"I shall light the
searchlights," Fahn said.
A
broad circle of blue-white illumination fell upon the shifting land. Across it,
the palms of the island were moving backward. The viewpoint of the whole scene
was unsteady. The horizon bobbed up and down, like the horizon viewed from a
plunging ship. The moon showed momentarily, thein swung sidewise out of sight.
Soon
the channel appeared; the dark mountains were coming nearer; they tilted
downward, almost out of sight, as the lens mounted an incline to pass above
them.
"Can
we find where the plane fell?" Loto asked anxiously.
Fahn
did not answer at once. At last he said: "It will be difficult. It may
have fallen behind the mountains, or into them. I do not know."
In
the mirror, the shifting viewpoint presently showed the mountains from above;
the searchlight circle was sweeping across a tumbled, land of crags, plateaus
and ravines—a white land of snow lying thick on the higher peaks. The lens was
circling now; the turning, swaying viewpoint made the watchers dizzy.
Finally
they saw it—a broken plane lying on its crumbled wing. The searchlight clung to
it; the lens lowered until the image of the plane seemed more than a hundred
feet below.
"TotoKs planer Rogers exclaimed.
There
were figures moving about the plane, men and dogs. The men were dragging some
apparatus from it, loading it onto a sled. One of the men was Torohl The viewpoint
was close enough now to distinguish him—alive!
But
the flying lens had descended too close; the Noths were staring upward. A flash
mounted from below; the crystal mirror turned a blinding white—then went black.
Toroh's thunderbolt had struck the flying lens and
destroyed it.
George and Dee gazed from their hovering plane at
the empty surface of the level rock face below them. Somewhere in time Azeela
was lying there, unconscious, killed perhaps; the thought messages from her
were stilled. Had Toroh gone on? Or had he stopped to try and find her?
They
were anxious moments for George and Dee—moments that by George's watch
stretched into an hour or more. They were both at the point of exhaustion. They
had eaten a little—the plane was provisioned—but they had not slept throughout
the trip. George made a close calculation. He knew the time-speed of Toroh's
plane; he could estimate closely what Toroh's dials must have read at the instant
Azeela jumped.
They
found her at last, lying on the rock, unconscious. They stopped, carried her
into the plane, and, before they started again, revived her. There was a heart
stimulant among the plane's medicines; she drank it gratefully. She was not
injured, though badly bruised by her fall. She had been knocked unconscious as
she left the plane. The instant her body parted contact with its vibrations,
blackness had come to her; she did not remember striking the rock.
George
was jubilant. Had he been able to rest, he would have wanted to go on after
Toroh. But he did not dare rest.
"We'll
go on home," he decided. "You're a brave girl, Azeela." He
smiled down at her as she lay stretched out on the leather seat. "I'll
start slowly; you've had all the shock you can stand."
That
same night in which the flying lens had been destroyed found George piloting
his plane into the cavern at
Anglese
City. Fahn and Rogers were there to greet them. George handed down the girls,
and descended with a flourish. In the excitement of his triumphant return, he
forgot how tired and sleepy he was.
At
the moment Loto was in another part of the cavern. He came running forward. He
did not see Azeela at first.
"George I"
"Hello, Loto! Here we are. Were you
worried?" Then Loto saw Azeela.
"I
brought her back to you," George said softly. "There she is, old
man—all safe and sound."
But Loto did not hear him; his arms were around
Azeela.
George
turned to Dee. "You think he'd sacrifice her for the whole nation of the
Anglese? I should say not!"
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A
month went by in days and weeks of activity throughout
the island. To the Scientists it was a time of unparalleled stress and anxiety.
The government was in their hands for the first time in history, and a war—the
first that anyone of that time-world had ever faced—was impending.
With
Toroh's return his attack would not be long postponed. Fahn knew it. The radio
proclaimed it to the Bas everywhere. An army must be trained at once; the Bas,
Arans and Scientists were appealed to for volunteers.
It
was Fahn's plan not to wait for the Noths to land on the island; but to
anticipate the attack and send an army to meet it. The nation responded to the
appeal. Conscription had been considered, but within a day the Bas had offered
themselves in such numbers that it was obvious any form of conscription would
be unnecessary.
The second day after the radio appeal for
volunteers, the fact became evident that the Arans were refusing to go to war.
In every village recruiting stations were listing the names of the young men of
the Bas who presented themselves, but no Arans came. By the audible
broadcasting Fahn called them severely to account; but still they remained in
hiding. They were sought out. Cowardice, sul-lenness, declaration that their
birthright made it unnecessary—they seemed to have a score of reasons, but the
fact remained they would not willingly serve.
Scenes
of violence were reported the next day. A Bas father, giving two sons to the
coming war, had struck down an Aran youth whom he encountered; a party of Bas,
angered into unlawfulness, had entered an Aran household in Orleen and beaten
a group of Arans who were holding festivities; an Aran woman had been killed. .
"Serves them right," George exclaimed indignantly. "I'd kill
them all."
Fahn
was perturbed, but then he shrugged. "We have far more young men from the
Bas than we can use. I shall tell them to ignore the Arans. And in warfare such
as this, an unwilling fighter is worse than none."
"Damned
cowards," George muttered. "We'll save their hides for 'em, while
they stay home and have parties."
The
Scientist had caught the words. "Yes, George, because now that is easiest
for us. I want no trouble here on the island. But afterward—when we have won—then
we can deal with the
Arans."
"I
wouldn't have 'em on the island," George declared. It would have been an
unfortunate Aran youth who encountered George during the days that followed.
The
recruiting, hand in hand with the manufacturing activities of the cavern, went
steadily on. In every principal village the Bas youths were registered and
drilled, as yet without weapons. Officered by older men of the Bas, they waited
for the equipment and orders to come to them from Anglese City.
The information Fahn had regarding Toroh and his
Noth army was vague, unsatisfactory; its very meagerness seemed to forecast
disaster. Somewhere beyond the mountains the Noths were gathering along the
Atlantic Coast. Hordes of men and fighting dogs were coming southward. But
their scientific weapons were practically unknown. The thunderbolt globes-^of
what power Fahn could not say—were all that he was positive they possessed.
It
was Toroh's trip back into time that seemed to hold the greatest menace. He had
secured some apparatus. What was it? Something invincible, perhaps; something
so completely different from anything with which the Anglese were familiar
that they could not hope to cope with it.
There were no answers to
these questions.
The
flying lens—the only one the Anglese possessed—had been destroyed. Others were
now being hastily constructed, and with them Fahn intended to reconnoiter
extensively over the Noth territory. The information thus attained would be
immensely valuable.
The principle of this radio-controlled flying platform,
as Fahn had said, was newly invented. It was not yet wholly practical. The dais
at the Festival was the first crude model; the flying lens was the second. It
had been so successful a model for a beginning that Fahn was encouraged to use
it with a broader scope. Larger platforms were now being built, and thunderbolt
projectors were to be mounted on them—projectors with an effective radius of a
thousand feet. A number of these flying platforms would constitute a mechanical
army. Controlled by radios whose operators stayed safely at home, it could be
sent forth to battle— with the human army to follow behind it.
The
perfecting of the electric fabric repulsive to the earth —an invention revived
out of the past and brought to practicability only within the last few
months—was the basis of the equipment for the Anglese army now being mobilized.
It was kept secret until the last moment.
Two weeks after George's return, the first flying
organization was equipped. Two hundred young men selected from the ranks of
the Scientists began drilling secretly at night in an open space near Anglese
City. Among them were George and Loto. For the men from our time-world, the
experience was the most extraordinary they had ever undergone. The fabric was
like thin black gauze. A loose suit of it incased each man, bound tightly at
his wrists, throat and ankles. About his waist was strapped a broad, cloth belt
with several pockets in which to carry various weapons. There was some sort of
a battery attached to the belt,' from which a current was turned into the gauze
suit.
One
of Fahns assistants came over to George and adjusted the current to his normal
weight, while George stood eyeing the man fearsomely. He could feel the current
as it was turned on. It was not unpleasant; it made him tingle all over.
In
another moment George was ready. Thin cloth slippers were on his feet; by the
pressure against the soles he felt as though he weighed not more than five
pounds. Involuntarily, he clutched at Loto, who stood beside him. He felt that
a breath of wind would blow him away.
"Let go," Loto
grinned. "Make a leap, George."
Obediently
George leaped gingerly into the air. He floated upward, turned over, arms and
legs flying, and floated downward, landing gently on his face in the sand. But
after a few trials he could hold his balance; the air seemed fluid, like water.
With wings fastened to his arms and legs, he could have swum through it.
He
suggested that to Loto. "Why, with practice, a man could swim through the
air, darting about like a fish through water."
Loto
laughed. "You'd make a fine inventor, George. That probably was the first
crude way it was used. But later they developed a much better way of
propulsion, and we have revived it now."
The
motive power consisted of a single metal cylinder to be held in the left
hand—an apparatus which in weight and shape was not unlike an ordinary
flashlight. As George understood its fundamental principle, the thing altered
the density of the air in whatever direction it was pointed.
Loto tried to explain it with as few technical words
as he could. A spreading, invisible ray from the cylinder penetrated the air
for a distance of some ten feet. It separated the molecules of the air, drove
them apart. Its action was incredibly swift.
"Well?" demanded
George.
"The
atmosphere exerts a pressure here of some sixteen pounds to the square
inch," Loto said. "The air immediately in advance of this cylinder
mouth is almost instantly thinned out. The ray charges the molecules of air and
makes them slightly repellent. The result is, George, that immediately in
advance of your body the atmospheric pressure is somewhat lessened. Thus, your
body moves forward, pushed by the air pressure from behind."
The
cylinder had a sliding lever by which its ray was turned on or off. George held
it over his head and moved the lever. His body left the ground and shot
straight up at increasing speed. There was no rush of wind toward him; instead
the air from below seemed to be wafting him upward.
The
ground was dropping away. Fifty feet! A hundred feet! Panic struck George; all
he could think of to do was shut off the cylinder power. At once he floated
down, turning over helplessly. He landed quite gendy, several hundred feet
from where he had started, with Loto running there to meet him, laughing at his
discomfiture.
You couldn't very well get hurt, that was the beauty
of the thing. George plunged enthusiastically into learning how to handle
himself in the air.
With a week this organization of two hundred
Scientist young men were fairly expert with the new flying apparatus. There
were several thousand Bas youths now registered in different parts of the
island; but the suits and air cylinders for them were not ready. Finally,
another hundred. were released, and at Anglese City, Mogruud, the Bas leader,
and a hundred selected Bas young men began learning to use them.
In spite of the indignant
protests of Loto and George, both Fahn's daughters urged that they be allowed
to try the apparatus, and Fahn gave his permission.
"I
have no sons to give," he said quietly. "And this warfare is of
skill, not strength or endurance. If my girls can help their country, it is
their duty—and mine—to make the sacrifice.
With
this precedent, other Scientist girls—several at Or-leen, and twenty at Anglese
City—enthusiastically volunteered. Without exception, the girls proved
superior to the men. The new art demanded a deft agility, a quickness of
thought and movement, which seemed to come to the girls more naturally.
Within
a few days, Azeela and Dee could dart through the air with incredible
dexterity. The cylinder held in the left hand could be pointed quickly in any
direction and the body would be drawn that way. Dee, especially, became
proficient. She could dart upward, turn, come swooping down head-first or with
slow somersaults, graceful as a dancer, to right herself a few feet above the
ground and land on tiptoe.
The
result of the girls' proficiency was that they were organized into a separate
squad. There were twenty-eight girls in all; thirteen commanded by Azeela, and
thirteen by Dee.
During all this time, the Arans had remained in
seclusion, keeping off the streets as much as possible. The Bas, drilling
without weapons, were eager to be equipped. The king and his council confined
themselves to the palace at Anglese City.
There
were no boats on the island except crude sailing canoes. A few of the newly
equipped flying corps went northward; but Fahn, anticipating the completion of
other flying lenses, ordered them not to cross the channel. In the cavern, day
and night, operators watched the mirrors, flashing the viewpoints from every
coast tower on the island, to guard against a surprise attack.
A
month had passed since George's return in the plane. He had suggested several
times that the plane might be used in the war. But Rogers refused this. George
had exhausted the proton current to the point where there was barely enough
left for a return to Roger's time-world. And the plane in itself, as a means of
flying through space, would have been of little value in this warfare.
The
flying discs, mounted with observing lenses and thunderbolt projectors, were
now ready. They were sent out one night, controlled from the cavern.
It
was the first aggressive act of the war; a mechanical army sweeping northward
to attack the enemy.
In
the cavern room, Fahn and his friends sat watching the mirrors, which showed
the scene from the viewpoint of the flying mechanisms.
The
discs swept northward, following the coastline. Beyond the mountains, far
ahead, loomed a great encampment close to the shore, dim and vague in the
moonlight. In a few minutes the mechanisms would be there.
Suddenly,
one of the mirrors in operation went black. In the others, the scene showed
that Toroh was sending up some opposing mechanisms. Dots of silver were mounting
from the encampment. They floated slowly upward, but they seemed to seek out
the Anglese flying platforms, pursuing them as though with human intelligence.
One
by one the mirrors were going black, as the flying lenses were being destroyed.
In a moment only one was left. It was almost over Toroh's encampment—almost in
range where it could have discharged its bolt.
In
the mirrored scene, a white dot was growing as it came closer to the lens. Its
image grew; it resolved itself from a dot, so what Fahn saw was a thin,
gleaming disc. It looked as though it might be whirling. The thing turned,
pursued the lens, overtook it—the last mirror went dark.
The
operators, greatly upset, left their instruments and gathered around Fahn.
Toroh had sent up some unknown mechanisms; the flying thunderbolt platforms had
crashed to the ground before any of them had come within range of the enemy.
It was during this same night that Toroh first used
his audible broadcasting beams. Fahn's audible voices in the air had constantly
been encouraging his people. Now, abruptly, the air burst forth with other
voices. Somewhere in the mountains across the channel, Toroh had erected a broadcasting
station. He was sending threats through the air to the Anglesel
It
was a surprise, and it disturbed Fahn greatly. Everywhere on the island aerial
voices of the enemy were leering, threatening, boasting of the coming triumph
of the Noths. Would the Bas be intimidated? It might be disastrous; with the
defeat of the flying discs, Fahn was depending more than ever now upon the Bas
army.
All
that night and next day^ the sender from the cavern sent forth its cheering
messages.
By
the following noon information began coming to Anglese City that the Bas were
apparently not alarmed. They were jeering back at Toroh's aerial voices; but
they were demanding vigorously that the Scientists give them weapons.
"In
a week we shall be ready," Fahn told Rogers. "Five thousand
air-pressure cylinders are now in the last process of manufacture. The other
weapons are ready. One week more is all we need."
Amid
Toroh's aerial threats that day had come the reiterated, triumphant statement
that in two weeks more his attack would come. Two weeks stilll It was more than
Fahn had hoped for.
The
statement was Toroh's trickery. Eighteen hours later—the next morning at dawn—a
member of the aerial patrol over the channel returned hurriedly to Anglese City
with the news that Toroh's expedition had started by water. Huge barges were
coming down the coast, pulled by the giant dogs swimming before them—barges
crowded with men and dogs and apparatus.
That
morning was one of almost complete chaos. The invaders would enter the channel
near Anglese City. The thunderbolt projectors which had been distributed thinly
about the coast were rushed eastward and concentrated at the channel-mouth.
There was no time now to equip the main Bas army. The attack would have to be
repelled by the coast defense, and by the small aerial army already formed: one
hundred Bas led by Mogruud; two hundred Scientists with whom Loto and George
were to serve, and-the twenty-six Scientist girls, led by Azeela and Dee.
That
morning the aerial voices ordered every able-bodied Bas man on the island to
come toward Anglese City with every dog that could be procured. If the invaders
landed, the dogs could best oppose them.
It
was at this juncture that the king announced the change of his royal capital to
Orleen. The royal family, the councilors, their retainers—all fled in their
dog carriages from Anglese City. Orleen, much further down the channel, would
be safe. News of the king's action spread over the island. Arans from
everywhere fled after him, huddling in Orleen.
In
the confusion of those hours, the contempt for the Arans passed almost without
comment. Orleen was the safest place, and the Bas there—men and women
both-scornful of remaining among the cowards, came eastward.
By
noon the flying army was fully accoutered and waiting in a field near Anglese
City. Loto, equipped to remain in constant telephonic communication with Fahn,
was virtually the leader. George, with his several weapons in his belt, stood
beside Loto. Mogruud had his hundred Bas around him. The girls were in two
small groups apart.
At
a signal from Fahn, the little army rose swiftly into the sunlit sky. The
watching throng was stricken silent with awe. The figures in the air arranged
themselves in a broad arc, with the officers in front, and then swept forward,
over the channel toward the mountains and the distant sea.
chapter fifteen
The palm-dotted
island fell silently away.
Ahead lay the blue channel; to the right the open sea. To George the flight—the
first of any duration he had taken—was exhilarating. It was soundless; the
absence of any rush of air against him made it totally unlike flying in a
plane. He seemed to be wafting forward as though the air were bis native
element.
Loto
was just ahead of him. Behind him came the army, maintaining its arc-like
formation. A little in front, and at a slightly lower level, were the two
squads of girls. They were all slim, graceful creatures, most of them under
twenty. The black gauze—loose trousers and blouse—showed the white of their
limbs beneath. Their heads were bound in deep-red rubber cloth, tight over the
forehead and tied in back with flowing ends. With cylinders extended from the
left hand they slid gracefully forward through the air.
Though
George felt no rush of air, he found he could not talk to Loto, even though no
more than twenty feet separated them. The rushing wind between them tore away the
words.
Soon
they were over the channel. The girls were drifting much lower now. Loto darted
down a few feet; then as though he had changed his mind, he came up again. He
reached for a mouthpiece that dangled under his chin and fitted it to his hps.
His voice, magnified to a stentorian roar, rolled out.
"Azeela! Dee! Come higher!
*You must not go so low!"
Obediently the two girls
rose to the higher level, their
little
squads following them. When they were over the mouth of the channel, George saw
Toroh/s barges—tiny dark smudges on the water some miles up the coast and a
mile or so off shore. His heart leaped, began pounding in spite of his efforts
to quiet it.
Following
Loto he swept diagonally upward and forward. Presently he could count six
barges. They were tremendous things, crowded with men and dogs and mechanical
apparatus. Spread over each was a huge caging of flashing silver metal. One
barge was some distance in the lead; the others straggled out irregularly
behind it for about a mile. All the Noth vessels were being drawn slowly
through the water by ranks of harnessed dogs.
Loto
momentarily shut off his cylinder; his speed was slackening. George overtook
him, put an arm on his shoulder. The nearest of the barges was now less than a
mile ahead.
An
upward flash from the leading barge was followed in a few seconds by a crack of
thunder. The bolt dissipated harmlessly into the air. But obviously it was
powerful, with an effective range of two thousand feet—twice that of the Anglese
defense.
Toroh's
plan now became apparent. He would batter the Anglese coast projectors while
still beyond reach of them, and then make his landing. The cages over the
barges were for protection from the smaller thunderbolts of the attacking
aerial army.
George knew the cages were only partially effective.
A bolt was difficult to aim, but it did queer things when it struck. From a
short distance—a hundred feet or less—the barges could be set on fire and sunk.
Their thin metal hulls were not protected. They could be pierced. The wooden
super-structure could be fired; the swimming dogs struck and killed.
In
hurried whispers Loto was constantly talking with Fahn back in the cavern. The
Scientist's orders he repeated with his electrically magnified voice that
could be heard easily by every one of the little aerial army.
For a time they circled about, above the barges, but
keeping well beyond the two-thousand foot range. Against the blue of the sky
their figures must have shown plainly to the Noths. Occasionally a bolt would
flash up, but they were harmless at that distance. And the barges pushed
steadily forward.
At
last Fahn decided the moment for attack had arrived. Loto repeated the order.
George's division and Mogruud's separated from the rest. One hundred turned
seaward, the others toward land. They dropped swiftly; straight down, like
divers, heavily laden with lead, dropping through water. And then a darting,
twisting swarm of insects— from every side at once they attacked the leading
barge.
In
the depths of the cavern at Anglese City, Fahn sat in his room of mirrors. A
metal band about his head held a receiver to his ear. A black mouthpiece hung
against his chest and by lowering his head he could bring his lips to it.
Rogers was at his side. The mirrors in every part of the room were lighted,
giving the viewpoints of the coast towers near the mouth of the channel. In
several of the mirrored scenes, over the distant water and in the air, black
specks were visible; the enemy and Fahn's army above them.
But
these were not the vital crystal mirrors. A small one —a foot square
perhaps—stood on the table before Fahn. He and Rogers were gazing into it
intently. The mirror was connected with a tiny lens strapped to Loto's
forehead; it gave Loto's viewpoint of the battie, showed the scene exactly as
Loto saw it.
Fahn
was silent; a stern, anxious old man, with all his science around him, sitting
in seclusion to direct this warfare upon which the fate of his people
depended. Occasionally he would murmur something to Rogers, and the other man
would speak into a mouthpiece—an order for the operator of the broadcasted
aerial voices, controlled from another part of the cavern. Then, throughout
the island, cheering words to the Bas would resound, news of the progress of
the battle. But Fahn's gaze never wavered from the little mirror.
George's and Mogruud's
divisions descended upon the leading barge. The barge spat forth its bolts, but
it could discharge only one or two against a hundred of the tiny ones from its
attackers. Looking down, from Loto's viewpoint overhead, the barge was assailed
on every side by the pencils of electrical flame. Figures dropped, inert, into
the water; others, wounded, wavered upward. The wire cage over the barge was
sizzling and crackling; the swimming dogs, a dozen or more of them, crumpled in
the water and were dragged forward in their harness by the others.
The
engagement had lasted no more than a minute when the air about the barge was
suddenly plunged into blackness. Everything down there was blotted out—a patch
of solid ink on the sea. The Noth vessel had exploded a bomb whose etheric
vibration absorbed all light over a radius of five hundred feet.
Fahn
smiled grimly. The darkness there would pass presently. His own leaders, Loto,
George, Mogruud and the two girls, had the same equipment. Each of them could
discharge such a bomb; a puff of darkness,' cloaking everything around them in
temporary invisibiHty.
Fahn
heard his own orders roared by Loto. The attacking figures came up. But there
were not two hundred of them now: about twenty lay down there in the water; a
dozen more were wounded; a few were moving slowly homeward through the air.
The
darkness still hung around the attacked Noth vessel. But it was thinning out;
now the vague outlines of the barge could be seen. Within a minute the dark
patch was gone. One end of the barge was blazing, but the Noths were
extinguishing the flames. Other figures were cutting loose the dead dogs in the
water, while new dogs were leaping overboard to take their places.
The
attacked barge presently moved onward; slowly, inexorably, they were all coming
down the coast. They were no more than a mile or two now from the estuary of
the channel-mouth.
Three
times more Fahn ordered a division down at the same barge. The Noth tactics
were repeated. The barge discharged a few of its bolts and then enveloped
itself in blackness—an absence of light that even the thunderbolts could not
illumine.
These
brief engagements were largely a matter of individual action. Warfare was new
to the Anglese, but they were learning. The huge bolts from the barge could not
parallel the water level for long; inevitably they turned downward to discharge
themselves. Close to the water the attackers were comparatively safe.
When
the Anglese came up after these attacks and reformed themselves in orderly
array, there were only ten more of their number missing. But it was fifty in
all, and a score of wounded.
The
attacked barge was blazing end to end. Its crowded deck was a turmoil of
figures. They were plunging overboard—men and dogs—to avoid the flames. In a
moment the barge tilted upward at its stern. Its torn bow was admitting the
water; it slid downward, hissing, and disappeared beneath the surface. Figures
bobbed up from the swirl, inert, charred figures; others among them, still
alive, swam about in aimless confusion.
One
barge I But there were five more. And these others had all pushed forward until
now they were almost down to the channel. Fahn realized that there were five
hundred Noths and as many dogs crowded into each of them. They could take to
the water while they were still beyond range of his coast projectors and come
forward individually, each man mounted upon his swimming dog. The coast defense
could strike down no more than a few of them if they came in that fashion.
Twenty-five hundred men and their giant brutes, landing on the island.
Azeela
and Dee were hovering close to Loto; they were asking their father s permission
to try a new plan. The battle could not be maintained as it was going; the hand
thunderbolt globes held but ten charges each, and the equipment of each individual
was only three globes. A third of the thunderbolts were already exhausted in
sinking one barge.
Fahn's expression did not change; only the grip of
his fingers as he clenched them and the rising muscles under his thin cheeks
betokened his emotion. His voice was steady, grim as always, when he ordered
his daughters to their desperate venture.
Azeela
and Dee, with their twenty-six comrades, selected the barge that had replaced
the leader. In a closely knit group they hovered above it. Thunderbolts shot
up, but could not reach them. The girls aimed a pure-white beam of light
downward—twenty-six tiny rays blending into one. Rogers, bending over Fahn to
gaze into the little mirror, was amazed. Unlike any beam of light he had ever
seen, this one was curved; It descended in a slightly bent bow. 'ending at the
barge.
Fahn
whispered a swift explanation to Rogers. To the Noths, looking upward along the
beam, it would not appear curved, but straight. The figures of the girls, by an
optical illusion, would be seen, not where they actually were, but to one side.
The
girls held their curved ray steady. And plunging down the beam, following its
slightly curved path, were the figures of Azeela and Dee.
The
Noths saw them coming; a dozen bolts leaped into the air, one upon the other,
but they flashed harmlessly to one side of their mark.
Within
twenty seconds the two girls were close to the barge; yellow-red spurts of
flame leaped from their weapons —flame that could be hurled thirty feet but no
farther. It enveloped the barge with licking, seething, burning liquid gases
that withered everything they touched. A puff of darkness, which the
retreating girls had left behind them, blotted out the scene. An instant later
Azeela and Dee emerged from the darkness, safe. The shaft of light from the
girls above was extinguished as the two rose to join them.
When
light shone again around the barge, it was sinking. Soon the swirling water
held nothing but black, twisted figures.
The maneuver could not be repeated successfully.
From the other barges the Noths would have seen the curved beam, understood it
and made allowances for it. Azeela and Dee, triumphant and flushed with their
success, pleaded to try it again, but Fahn would not let them.
The
afternoon was waning; the western sky was red and overhead clouds were
gathering. And then Fahn ordered a general attack on all the barges.
The
sun had set; the twilight deepened into night—a night of flashing lights,
crackling, artificial ihunder, spurts of lurid flame and the hissing of fire
against water. At intervals, rockets came up; bursting, they cast a blue-white
glare that for the space of a minute clearly outlined the menacing, darting
figures for the Noths.
The
atmospheric disturbance of the past hours suddenly brought forth an electrical
storm. Nature, more powerful than man, shot forth her own bolts to add to the
din. They were, in character, very different from the harnessed, man-made
lightning; forked, jagged, crackling with their nearness, they leaped downward
out of the low-hanging clouds.
The
storm was as brief as it was severe. It swept away and the moon rose,
blood-red, casting its lurid fight over the water.
Another
Noth vessel had been sunk. There were only three barges left afloat, and they
were in distress. Many of their swimming dogs lay dead in harness. Aboard all
three of them, figures were fighting the flames. They clustered in a group near
the center of the channel.
Loto
had withdrawn his forces, reduced now to half their original number. With
ammunition almost exhausted, they hovered out of range above their adversaries.
The wounded were still straggling back through the air; a few of them had
already arrived at the cavern.
Again
Fahn ordered his army down. It would be the last attempt.
In
the cavern room, Fahn had not moved from his seat for hours. Often he could not
see the battle plainly, for Loto, disobeying orders, had many times cast
himself into the thick of it.
But now Loto was aloft; by the moonlight and the
glare of the rockets and bombs, Fahn saw that another Noth vessel had
appeared—a very small barge. It was close to shore, coming swiftly forward and
little objects of gleaming silver were mounting from it. One after the other
they came sailing up,
Fahn
rasped an order; Loto's voice roared it out. The men and girls who were
descending to the attack halted, circling about, wondering what had happened.
The
first of the white objects came sailing slowly horizontally across the
channel. It seemed to be a whirling white disc some foot or two in diameter.
Loto
was still some distance away from it when a group of girls passed between him
and the disc The thing seemed to turn toward them. One of the girls became
confused; it struck her and she fell. The disc, its rotation halted, fell also.
Loto saw then what it was: broad, thin, crossed blades of steel, inclined to
each other like the blades of a propeller. It had risen up and sustained itself
in the air by rotation. Loto remembered the defeat of the flying thunderbolt
platforms which Fahn had sent northward to Toroh's encampment. These whirling
knives were what had destroyed theml
The
newly arrived barge was now sending up, in every direction, a slow but steady
stream of the whirling knives. They seemed so easy to avoid that the aerial
army at first paid them little heed. Loto's warning from Fahn rang out, but it
came almost too late. The knives sought out the figures in the air. They began
falling—cut, mangled by the whirling blades. There was confusion. The army
mounted higher, but other knives had been sent straight upward and were
floating down. Uncannily, they seemed to single out their victims.
Fahn
understood now. This was the weapon Toroh had procured from that time-world of
the past. These whirling knives were strangely, powerfully magnetized; they
followed the human bodies passing near them, seeking contact.
The
Scientist leader had ordered his fighters to the sea level; the knives, as they
came lower, seemed to have spent themselves. They could be avoided. But nearly
forty of the Anglese had met death before the lesson was learned.
The
three larger barges were again advancing toward the Anglese coast. Without
warning, without orders from Fahn, the little remnant of girls led by Azeela
and Dee, darted at them. It was a movement, not foolhardy, but well and swiftly
planned. The girls, holding close to the surface, got themselves between two of
the barges. The Noths could not fire, for they would have struck each other. A
puff of inky darkness spread over the ships, and. out of it, at close range,
jets of fire sprang at the Noths; then the girls came back. One of the Noth
vessels was a mass of flames; the other two wavered—and began retreating.
For a moment there was silence and darkness, lighted
only by the moon and the flickering light from the blazing barge. The whirling
blades were no longer being launched; the Anglese were again poised in the air.
Fahn
had ordered that the small barge be attacked when, abruptly, a low hum sounded
from it. George and Loto were hovering together at the moment; the barge was
some five hundred feet below them and slightly off to one side. There didn't
seem to be any dogs on it; only a few men under its wire cage, and a single
large piece of aparatus. - The hum grew louder, more intense, as though some gigantic
dynamo had been set into motion'.
"What's that?"
George demanded.
But Loto did not know.
Mogruud,
with the remains of his division, was in the air half a mile away. He was on
the other side of the small barge; his men, moving in scattered groups, began
passing over it.
The
hum was rising in pitch, up the scale until it became a shrill electrical
scream. Mogruud's men wavered—struggled as though to avoid being pulled
downward.
Then
Loto realized that it must be the rest of the apparatus Toroh had secured out
cf the past—a giant electromagnet of some unknown variety. It was pulling at
every figure in the air, drawing them irresistibly toward it.
Loto and George could feel the pull; invisible
fingers were snatching at them. The girls near at hand were fighting against
it. Mogruud was moving forward with an effort, like a swimmer struggling with
the clutch of an undertow. Several of his men, closer to the barge, had been
drawn to it, flattened helplessly against its wire caging. Fire was leaping
through their bodies. . . they were electrocuted.
In
the cavern Fahn sat tense, impotent. He could hear, as plainly as though he
were out there over the sea, the scream of that uncanny thing that was reaching
out its invisible electrical fingers to gather in its victims.
At
his side, for the past hour, Rogers had been operating the larger mirrors,
flashing into them scenes from the various towers along the coast. Now Fahn
heard him give a sharp, horrified exclamation.
Rogers
was staring at a mirrored scene from a coast tower near Orleen: moonlight,
purple, starry sky and the deep purple of the channel; to one side, the dim
outlines of the Orleen houses. And from the channel off Orleen, fights were
flashing; a bomb burst and its glare shone on crowded barges close inshore! One
of them, already at-the beach, was disgorging its men and brutesl
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Once again, Toroh's trickery was disclosed.. To Fahn, the
tactics of the Noths were now understandable. The Noth attack on Anglese City,
at which Fahn had hurled all his armed forces, had been no more than a ruse to
cover up Toroh's main offensive at Orleen.
Toroh's orders, doubtless, had been to prolong the
engagement until, under cover of night, his main forces could effect their
landing at the other end of the island. This small barge with the magnet had
probably been ordered to slip by, hugging the north shore of the channel, and
proceed to Orleen. But its commander had, at what he must have considered a
decisive moment, used it against the remnant of the little aerial army.
Toroh's
landing at Orleen was taking place; the channel expedition had served its
purpose. The two remaining barges off Anglese City were in full retreat toward
the open sea. The smaller barge, with its screaming magnet, was heading swiftly
down the channel toward Orleen. The figures in the air were struggling against
its pull. Some were losing, being hurled forward with control of themselves
lost; others were forcing their way down to the water-level where the attraction
seemed less. Still others had succeeded in escaping upward beyond its range.
They circled high overhead, seeking some way of helping their unfortunate
comrades.
The
double disaster was more than Fahn could cope with, or even watch closely in
the two mirrors. Orleen lay on a peninsula some ten miles broad, with water on
three sides of the city. The Noths were landing, spreading around the shores;
across the land from shore to shore they were massed, but as yet they had not
entered the city. Thousands of Arans were there—the king and his royal
family—penned like rats in a trap. And there was only the small cavern with its
meager garrison of Scientists to defend them.
George
found himself near the outer edge of the magnetic attraction. He could see the
figures in the air nearer the barge struggling to escape from it. He did not
know where Loto was, or Azeela or Dee. He saw Mogruud, with fifteen or twenty
of the Bas about him. They were passing swiftly below.
George
wondered what he should do. The two larger barges were withdrawing. Some of the
aerial figures were following them, and George started moving that way. The
figures were attacking the barges from down near the surface of the water.
Mogruud and his men were there now. George hastened.
This
last attack of the Anglese was one of desperate fury. George could see the
flash of the bolts close to the water. One of the barges must have fired
through its own darkness and struck its mate. As the blackness cleared, George
saw that both the Noth vessels were blazing. One of them sank a moment later;
from the flames on the other, figures were plunging into the water.
The
Anglese—one of them mounting—cast loose a light-bomb. In the brilliant glare,
the aerial figures were darting about over the surface of the water, seeking
-out the Noth men and dogs who were swimming toward the island and striking
them with the little thunderbolts, or with spurts of yellow-red flame at closer
range. George arrived to join them. It was ghastly but necessary work. He used
his weapons until they were exhausted.
The
battle was won—all but the giant magnet. In the distance its blood-curdling
scream still sounded.
And
then George saw Dee, She had been several thousand feet up, flying with
another girl, when the magnet was first put into operation. They were not close
enough to feel its pull. A whirling knife had approached them; struck the other
girl, killed her. It was spent, but a corner of it had knocked Dee's
motor-cylinder from her hand. She had begun floating down. Ever since, she had
been trying to swim through the air; with arms and legs kicking, she had fought
to sustain herself.
She
was almost at the surface when George saw her struggling, ineffectually, like a
swimmer exhausted. He darted to her and gathered her in his arms. His cylinder
drew them both upward.
"Dee," he
whispered. "My little Dee You're safe."
Loto
had dropped close to the surface. The magnet was pulling him, but with his
cylinder held against it, he could make headway. By now the -magnet had done
most of its work; those in the air had either succumbed or escaped beyond
range.
To one side, Loto could see the attack on the other
two barges. Fahn's voice in his ear told him of the landing at Orleen. The
Scientist ordered them all back. They were needed at Orleen; they must return.
But
the magnetic barge was heading down the channel. It would be used at Orleen. It
must be stopped—destroyed now. Loto disobeyed Fahn. He headed for the little barge.
It
was a plunge of no more than a few minutes. Soon Loto was well within the field
of magnetism; he could not withdraw now. He tried to think clearly. Those
others of the Anglese who had met this death had lost control of themselves in
the air. They had plunged forward, struggling, whirling so that they had not
been able to use their weapons.
Loto
had no thunderbolts left. His only weapon was the flaming liquid gas which he
could project some fifty feet.
Just
above the surface, head first, like an arrow, he slid forward through the air.
He did not fight against the magnet; he used his cylinder only to keep himself
from turning sidewise.
He
was conscious of the dark outlines of the barge rushing up at him. He fired
his jet of flame; though he did not know it then, he had fired too soon. The
flames fell short. A downward thrust of his cylinder power forced him upward.
He barely missed the wire caging as his body shot over it, past it.
The
magnet's scream was deafening. The Noths on the barge had fired a small
thunderbolt between the wires, but had missed the swiftly passing mark.
Loto's momentum carried him a hundred feet or more
beyond the barge. The magnet stopped him, drew him swift-
ly back. He was turning over now; he had lost control of
himself. The sea, the sky, the approaching barge were
mingled in whirling confusion. He knew he could never
escape; he must strike the magnet with his flame, this time
or never. A moment more and he would be electrocuted
against the cage. *
A
tiny bolt cracked past him. He turned over again, righted himself momentarily,
and fired. The electrical scream died into abrupt silence; the flames had
caught the magnet, burned out its coils.
Released
suddenly, Loto's body shot upward with the pull of his cylinder. The cage, with
flames spreading under it, dropped away beneath him.
He
righted himself, and at a distance of about three hundred feet, hung poised in
the air. The flames spread over the barge; a few Noth figures plunged
frantically into the water.
Loto
mounted upward to join his comrades. Barely seventy-five of the original three
hundred and twenty-eight, were left. Ten of them were girls. Loto found Azeela
safe. George still carried Dee in his arms.
The
flames from the burning barges died out; the silent moonlit channel was strewn
with floating bodies. It seemed almost futile to search for their wounded, but
they descended, and for a time moved about near the surface. They found two
still alive—one burned, the other, a girl, mangled by a flying knife.
Silently,
with their burdens, they took their way back through the air to the cavern.
It
was a night of confusion. The Noths were clustered around Orleen, waiting for
the dawn before they entered the city. They were still coming across the
channel on swimming dogs. All night they came. The puny garrison at the Orleen
cavern was powerless to stop them. It exhausted its bolts and began sending
out calls for help.
The
Bas around Anglese City were mobilizing with their dogs. Hastily, Fahn equipped
them with weapons—hand thunderbolts and flame projectors. An hour-and-a-half before
dawn, they were ready to start their almost hopeless attempt to stem the horde
of invaders who now hejd the entire western end of the island.
The
little rag-end of the aerial "army that returned from the battle was
exhausted, but in a few hours, it too, was was ready to start.
Fahn, with his two daughters, and Rogers, Loto and
George,
took the Frazia plane. On its platform Fahn mounted a single projector, the
most powerful he possessed.
They
started an hour before dawn—silent as they gazed down at the island of palms
that was passing beneath them. They overtook their Bas army and left it behind
them. In the air, back over Anglese City, tiny specks showed that the aerial
army was starting. Above the hum of the Frazia motors they hear the aerial
voices of Anglese City telling the Bas peasants who lived between the two
cities to come eastward. They were obeying; little groups of refugees —old men,
women and children—were moving along all the roads. In the sky ahead,
occasional flashes shot up from Orleen.
"The Arans went there to avoid the
deluge," Rogers said suddenly, and his laugh was grim. No one answered
him.
Behind
them the eastern sky was brightening. Loto was piloting the plane, with Rogers
beside him. The daylight grew, began reddening.
"Look, Father, there's
Orleenl"
The second largest city on the island, Orleen lay in
a hollow, with twin peaks close behind it, the mouth of the channel and the
gulf in front and to the sides, It was an Aran city, more beautiful even than
the capital.
The
plane, flying high, was circling. Loto's gaze went to the dawn. The sun came up
a huge, distorted ball of crimson fire, with lines of flame radiating from it
to the zenith. A dark mass of rain cloud, hanging low above Orleen, lost its
blackness as it soaked up the crimson light. The sky, even to the western
horizon, was steeped in blood; the water reflected it; the air itself seemed to
hold it suspended.
"The
day of deluge," murmured Loto. "The blood that will be spilled
today—"
As
though in answer to his words, the clouds above Orleen began spilling rain.
And as the water fell, it caught the crimson sunlight—myriad drops of blood
falling upon the Aran city.
The
storm was stransitory; the rain cloud swept past, but the blood in the sky
remained.
In
the hours that had passed since the plane left Anglese City, the Noths had
occupied Orleen. Its cavern was taken. The Noth men and dogs stood in solid
ranks around the mountain base; the beaches were black with them. They were
still coming across the channel—riders mounted upon swimming dogs, an
occasional barge.
There
were no sounds of thunderbolts in the city, no flashes. But as the plane
descended, human sounds were heard—faint screams. And the city streets were in
confusion.
Fahn
was staring down into the city through lenses mounted in short black tubes. He
murmured something that his companions did not catch. His face was white and
set; he was struggling to hold his composure.
"Descend,
Loto. They are not armed with thunderbolts; those are all with Toroh and his
men in the cavern."
The
plane glided downN circling low above the city. The scene of carnage
there became a series of brief, fragmentary pictures. Above the drone of the
Frazia motors, they could hear the snarling of fighting dogs, the screams of
men and women, the shrill treble of children—human screams of agony as the
fangs of the brutes tore at them.
The
plane passed low above a city street, following its length to the blue water
that lapped the white sand at its end. The street was full of dogs. A Noth
rider—sinister, animal-like, with his black-bound- head and his naked torso
covered with black hair—arrived at a silent white house, with its white
columns, splashing fountain, and vivid trel-lised flowers. The Noth dismounted,
rushed into the house. He came out dragging an Aran woman—flung her white body
to the eager, snarling brute. At the beach, hundreds of terrified Arans sprang
into the water; the dogs followed them, pulled them under, released them at
last, and the surf flung their mangled bodies up on the sand.
There was a public square
where a hundred or more
Arans
had gathered. The dogs charged them, tore at them, flung them into the
air—fought over their broken bodies long after life had gone.
The
dogs spread to every corner of the city. A child climbed a pergola—a little
Aran boy, white skinned, with long golden curls and a plump baby face. The dogs
could not reach him; a Noth man climbed up, pulled him down.
Loto had given the Frazia controls to his father.
With
a small thunderbolt globe at his belt he went to the plat-
form outside the cabin. Presently he found Azeela beside
him. Her arm was around him; together they clung to their
insecure footing, watching the scenes below as the plane
made its swift circle over the city. *•
What
could Fahn do? The thunderbolt projector, here on the platform, could kill a
few Noths, a few dogs here and there. But of what avail would that be among
these hordes? The Orleen Cavern? Could they attack that? Toroh was probably
there in the cavern. If they could kill him, these Noth barbarians, without a
leader. . .
Confused
and sick from what he was seeing, Loto tried to force Azeela into the cabin,
but the white lipped girl would not go. The plane approached a house where an
Aran woman crouched on the roof top with two little girls huddled at her feet.
A Noth appeared from below, dashed at them across the roof. Beneath the eaves a
dozen dogs stood with bared, drippings fangs pointed upward.
The
plane was almost over the house. Loto pointed his globe downward, pressed its
lever. There was a flash, a miniature crack of thunder and the globe recoiled
in his hand. On the roof top the Noth man and the Aran woman and her children
lay dead. The woman's white robe was blackened, the children's bodies were
burned, shriveled; a cornice of the building was ripped off and the woodwork
was blazing.
It
was so useless! Loto flung the globe from him, loathing it for having killed
that woman and her litde girls. He drew Azeela bach with him into the cabin.
The king's palace in Orleen stood near the water
front, in the midst of broad, magnificent gardens. A mob of Noths surged around
it, into the lower doors, on the balconies and roof top. As the plane passed
overhead, its occupants caught a fleeting glimpse of the queen and her
children, the girl wives of the king and the king himself— in the face of death
with petty barriers at last broken down —all huddled together in a comer of the
roof. The Noths rushed at them, broad, heavy swords flashing. The plane swept
past.
The
twin peaks of Orleen stood six hundred feet apart, .Just behind the city. The
one that housed the cavern had a broad, circular base, with a ragged, volcanic
looking cane above. The other peak was considerably higher; it looked down upon
its fellow.
Fahn
had directed Rogers to fly the plane to the higher of the peaks. The Scientist
had hardly spoken. He was pale, grim as ever, but his gaze, when he looked upon
his daughters held a curious softness. What were his plans. What were they
going to do? George asked the questions, but Fahn ignored them.
The
little aerial army approaching from Anglese City was now in sight. Fahn radioed
them to move back, descend, and stop the Bas army and its dogs. All of them
were to return to the capital.
The plane landed on a small level rock near the
summit of the higher peak. On top of the cavern, six hundred feet away, a
solitary male figure stood. The blood fight of the sunrise fell full upon it. Toroh!
He was standing there, regarding
the city.
Fahn leaped to the projector, but Toroh had
disappeared.
"Hurry!"
exclaimed die Scientist. He still would not let them question him. He unlashed
the projector and they helped him lower it to the ground. He leaped down after
it, adjusting it, swinging it to bear down upon the lower peak.
"We must hurry," he repeated. He was back
on the cabin platform. "They will be out of the cavern, firing upon
The Noths clown there were gazing up at the plane;
others were now pouring out of the cavern entrance.
Farm's
projector was trained on the crater of the lower mountain. From this greater
height its depths were visible.
In
the cabin of the plane the Scientist's arms went around his daughters.
"Good-by, my girls—for a litde time," he whispered in their own
tongue.
They
were frightened; suddenly Dee was crying. But he pushed them from him. He would
attack the cavern; they must all stay in the plane—rise high—very high.
Something
in the man's look, the command in his voice, struck them all silent. They
obeyed. He climbed down to the rock. The plane mounted swiftly into the air.
The
sun was above the eastern horizon; the sky was an inverted bowl of blood.
Beneath the plane Fahn's figure, standing beside his projector, showed
clear-cut against the black rock under him. At the base of the cavern mountain
Noths had appeared with apparatus. They were adjusting it hurriedly.
A
blue-white flash from Fahn's projector spat downward across the six hundred
feet and into the crater mouth. Thunder rolled out. Another flash,
another—until they became almost continuous. Far down in the earth within the crater, the slumbering forces began to
answer. A rumbling sounded —a low, ominous muttering, pregnant with infinite
power. Steam hissed upward; a puff of smoke. . . .
The
plane had been ascending rapidly; it was thousands of feet up now. Fahn's
thunderbolts persisted, and at last the ang< red fires of the earth were
unleashed. The mountain seemed to split apart; the report was deafening; flaming
gases, cinders and ashes were hurled upward and outward.
The main force of the explosion was sidewise toward
the city, - but even so the plane barely avoided the torrent of molten rock and
blazing gas that mounted from below.
The
city was engulfed in flames over which a heavy smoke hung like a pall. A
tremendous lake of viscous liquid fire lay where the peaks and the cavern once
had been.
The
earth was rumbling, shaking, splitting apart. The scene was vague—dulled by a
lurid red glare that struggled with the blackness of the smoke.
A
moment, and a rift appeared. The smoke seemed to part, roll aside. Through the
rift, the burning city showed for an instant clear and distinct—the crowded
city in which no single human or beast could have remained alive.
Still
not content, the earth was heaving over the whole western end of the island.
And from the sea a great tidal wave came rolling up over the sinking land,
hissing, quenching the fires, obscuring everything in a cloud of steam. Like a
mist, the steam presently dissipated. The turgid waters lashed themselves into
furious waves that gradually were stilled.
And
then it was daylight, sullen red day, with only the wreckage on the
waters—charred fragments of bodies, thousands of them floating for miles
around—mute evidence of what had gone before.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Once again the plane hung like a shimmering ghost above the
towering piles of steel and masonry—New York City at the peak of its
civilization. For Azeela and Dee, it had been a brief trip of awe and wonder; a
trip northward tlirough space and back through time.
After
the cataclysm, they had stayed but a week back in Anglese City. The entire
western end of the island had sunk into the gulf, carrying Toroh and his Noths
and the Arans and their King to destruction. In Anglese City a new government
was formed—a democracy of the Bas, with Mogruud at its head.
Rogers
was impatient to return to his wife in New York City. Azeela and Dee, left
orphans, had no wish to stay. Unobstrusively as it had come, the Frazia plane
departed.
In
the humming, glowing cabin of the plane the voyagers were waiting for the dials
to reach the time* world for which they were headed. On one of the side
benches, the ghostlike figures of Loto and Azeela sat a little apart from the
others; they were talking softly as they gazed down through the window beside
them.
"You
think Mogruud will make a good leader?" she asked. "My father would
have been so strong, so stern, but always just and' fair. . . ." Her eyes
had filled with tears.
He
pressed her hand sympathetically. "I know, Azeela. But you mustn't grieve.
He gave his life for his people."
"Yes.
And he said *Good-by—for a litde* time/ Oh, Loto —I did not realize then what
he meant."
"He
knew—someday—you would be with him again. And you will." His arm went
around her tenderly. "I shall always try to make you happy. I promise it,
Azeela. Always, as long as we live."
"Beloved,"
she murmured. "Beloved, who always understands."
Rogers
had been talking to George and Dee. He left them to attend to the motors. Dee
was watching the scene beneath the plane; as they fled back through the
centuries the great city was melting away.
"Your
city that we're going to," she said after a long silence. "George, is
it like this? Are we almost to its time
"No,"
he laughed. "It's a very little, puny city I have to show you, Dee. I used
to think it was wonderful. But it's only a conceited child—learning as fast as
it can and thinking it knows everything. I used to be like that myself. But
this sort of trip changes one."
She did not answer.
"I'm glad you're coming back with us,
Dee." "Yes," she said abstractedly.
"Dee," he
persisted out of another silence, "I wonder if you know how happy it makes
me to have you—here where we're going. I've wanted to tell you for a long
time.^maybe you don't know how I feel. I—"
On this return journey, the plane had now reached
the height of its time velocity. The swiftly changing form of the city blurred
the scene into a confusion of shifting details, among which only the broadest
fundamentals were discernible. The northern section of Central Park presently
lay open. Then the great building that covered its southern end melted into
nothingness, and trees and water were in its stead.
George
was at the dials. "One hundred yearsl We're almost into our own
centuryl"
Through
decreasing intensities of the proton current, they slackened their time
velocity. The park, whitened with winter, turned green again as the previous summer
was reached. Soon the days separated from the nights. The sun came up from the
west, plunged swiftly across the sky, and dropped into the east.
It
was spring, but the retrogression soon brought winter again. A January snowfall
lay white beneath the naked trees of the park. But it was autumn in a moment.
Rogers
was watching the dials closely. Summer again; then spring. In one of the brief
periods of night he threw the switch to the first intensity. The plane began
drifting to the south. The dim stars were swinging eastward in a murky sky. The
city lights shone yellow.
The
roof of the Scientific Club came into view among the buildings south of the
plane. Rogers direw off the current completely.
"Look,
Dee!" cried George. "Look, Azeelal There it is at lastl See the board
enclosure?"
An evening in March. In the large living room of the
Banker's Park Avenue apartment, a group of his friends were gathered. Dinner
was over; a butler was serving coffee and the men were fighting their cigars.
A woman and four men—all in evening dress—were sitting
in a group; mingled with their voices came the soft, limpid tones of a piano.
It stood in a secluded alcove—a grand piano of carved mahogany. On a bench
before its keyboard, a young man in a Tuxedo was playing. George. Dee stood
beside him, leaning against the instrument. She was gazing first at the page of
music with a puzzled frown, then at his fingers as they roamed the keys, and
then, in admiration, at his face.
On
a high-back davenport before an open fireplace, Loto sat with Azeela. There was
an artificial black flower in her spun-gold hair; the mourning custom of her
time world. Her milk-white throat was bare, and the blue of her dress was
mirrored in her eyes. She was silent, staring into the flames licking upward
from the huge logs.
"That's
very pretty music," she said finally. "So big an instrument—this
piano as you call it—you never would think one could play it."
"Chopin,"
he answered. "A piece by Chopin. George plays Chopin mighty well. Azeela,
there is so much I have to show you. Just that one little thing—Chopin, for
instance. I want you to hear the music of some of the great composers and
pianists."
"And
the opera," she prompted. "And you promised you would take me to a
theater."
"I
will, of course. There are so many things for you to see. Why, it will be just
like a new world, a new life that you're just beginning, Azeela."
"Yes,"
she murmured. "A new life in a new world. It seems like that already."
"And
wait till you ride in the subwaysl You'll be surprised how—"
But
she shuddered. "I do not believe.^ want to do that. It would bring back
memory of the cavern . . • other things."
George
and Dee left the piano and walked over to the fireplace. Azeela moved over on
the davenport. Loto stood up, but George shook his head.
"Thanks. "Dee and
I thought we'd try the window seat."
Across
the room the Big Business Man, the Doctor, and the Banker were demanding
additional details from Rogers.
"That
Toroh and his Noths were in the cavern at Orleen" the Banker said gruffly.
"Can't you keep the thing straight? I want to hear it consecutively—not
jumped around in this way."
Ensconced in the window seat, George and Dee gazed
out at the yellow lights of the city around them—a city so different from
anything Dee could have even imagined.
There
was a soft, rose-shaded light beside the girl. George was not looking out of
the window, but at her. He had seen Dee in many costumes, but never, he
thought, was she so beautiful as right now.
A
girl of his own time world. He had not realized that this was the way he had
always wanted her to look. Her dress, dropping to a few inches above her
ankles, was soft and clinging. Her black hair, like Azeela's, was dressed high
on her head. Like Azeela, too, she wore the dark mourning flower. The soft
light beside her cast a flush on her milk-white throat and cheeks.
Feeling his gaze, she
turned.
"You
like the way Lylda has clothed me? It feels very strange."
"Yes," he said.
"You look beautiful, Dee."
She
turned back to the window in confusion. From below, the hum of the city
floated up to them; the raucous sirens of automobiles.
"Yes," he
repeated. "I do like it very much, Dee."
Abruptly his arms were
around her; he was kissing her.
"George! Some one will
see us!"
"No,"
he protested. "No, they won't. Anyway suppose they do? I don't care—do
you?"
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