by Lloyd Arthur Eshbach
from AMAZING STORIES, May 1931
Readers of Amazing Stories were used to the aged whims of octogenarian editor T. O’Conor Sloane, but they were nevertheless often put to unnecessary anxiety. Fans and followers of Lloyd Arthur Eshbach were obviously thrilled upon receiving the March 1931 Amazing Stories to find his latest story, “The Valley of the Titans” illustrated on the cover.
As was the policy of most magazines at that time, beneath the author’s by-line under the story title, a little further identification was given by describing the author as “Author of...” and giving the name of a previous successful story. Naturally that story would have appeared in that magazine, or a sister title, but obviously no story from a rival publication would be advertised. But Eshbach up until that time had not appeared in Amazing Stories. Readers must therefore have had a double take when the credits under “The Valley of the Titans” announced ‘By the Author of “The Voice From the Ether” ‘. Had they missed something? Where had “The Voice From the Ether” appeared?
A quick look through their collections would have revealed to fans that it had appeared nowhere. Only three stories had seen print up to that time. Two were in Gernsback’s magazines, Scientific Detective Monthly and Air Wonder Stories, and the third in Clayton’s Astounding Stories.
It was two months before baffled readers discovered “The Voice From the Ether”, but their wait was worthwhile. Obviously Eshbach had submitted the two stories together and Sloane had overlooked the fact that he had not yet printed one of them. But in the May 1931 issue, in its correct sequence, the story was billed as by the ‘Author of “The Valley of the Titans” ‘.
Eshbach was born in 1910, and was a frequent correspondent in the magazines’ letter columns. In the late 1940’s Eshbach established the Fantasy Press which was responsible for bringing out in hardback some of the greats of early magazine sf, notably E. E. Smith and John Campbell. A collection of his own fiction appeared in 1955 under the title “The Tyrant of Time”. A non-fiction item of special interest was “Of Worlds Beyond: The Science of Science-Fiction Writing” (1947) edited by Eshbach in which top authors outlined the various ways in which they approached sf writing.
* * * *
On August 22nd, 1924, the planet Mars was in opposition to the earth. That is to say, the two planets in their perpetual journeying had assumed such a position as to be in one straight line with the sun, the earth eclipsing the superior planet Mars. A superior planet is one whose orbit is of greater diameter than that of the earth. At the same time, the distance separating Mars from the earth was less than it had been for more than one hundred years. Only 34,640,000 miles lay between the two heavenly bodies.
The night of the 22nd was remarkably clear, an ideal night for astronomical observation. Innumerable telescopes, large and small, were focused upon the red planet. Ingenious devices of various kinds were striving to communicate with the inhabitants of Mars. And, in a little cabin high up in the Adirondack Mountains, I sat before my radio. Far away from any “interference,” I strove to make the greatest radio pick-up ever attempted.
I had made rather elaborate preparations for the recording of any interplanetary communication I might receive, securing for that purpose a device working on the same principle as the dictaphone. It differed from that instrument, however, in that it could record words continually for a period of ten hours. This device, the invention of an obscure mechanical engineer, stood within a few feet of the loudspeaker.
With practised fingers I twirled the dials. One pick-up after another rewarded my efforts. A voice raised in song, the wail of a saxophone, the sonorous voice of an announcer—the usual radio programs. Little cared I for these, however, for they were commonplace; I was after bigger game. But Mars continued in that silence which it had maintained for countless ages.
Slowly the hours passed. Midnight came—one o’clock. A fine radio night, I thought, rather hazily—I dozed.
The time signal from the station to which I had last been listening, called me back to consciousness. One—two! I heard the strokes faintly, as from a great distance. Then, suddenly I raised my nodding head erect; I was fully awake.
A discordant shriek of static assailed my ears. A frightful howl, like that of a tortured imp, filled the room. Then, as suddenly as the coming of the static, silence, oppressive, heavy, fell like a mantle over the radio.
And then I heard the—Voice. Clear and loud it came, unmarred by any interfering static. It was a shrill, piping voice, which, in the course of its narrative, traversed the entire gamut of emotion.
I was spellbound. A feeling of triumph pervaded my being, triumph intermingled with awe. I had succeeded! Victory! I was certain that I had received a message from Mars. I trembled with excitement Hesitantly I reached toward the dials—and drew my hand away before it touched the radio. I was held back by the thought that perhaps I might break the tenuous thread which held that distant station in communication with the earth. At that, there was no need of adjusting the dials, for the reception was well-nigh perfect.
Eventually, the excitement of the first few moments passed, and I paid more attention to the words coming from the loudspeaker. As I listened, a note of excitement crept into the Voice. Excitement, then anger, cold and terrible; And quickly on the heels of that anger came hate, an insane hate that somehow filled me with dread.
Through the balance of the night I listened. Although the words spoken by the Voice were so much meaningless gibberish to me, each passing hour saw me seated there, motionless, held by the power of that strange, high-pitched voice.
A gray pencil of light pierced the gloom; the darkness gave way to the radiance of a new day; and suddenly the Voice— broke. There was a moment of utter silence, and then a shrill shriek of fear and terrible agony. The last notes of the shriek were strangely, horribly muffled! And there followed that dead, unbroken silence-----.
Outside in the long grass a cricket chirped. The spell was broken. Slowly, I rose upon my trembling limbs; slowly, I raised my hand and brushed the beads of cold perspiration from my forehead. The experience had been so strange, those last moments so terrible! It was with great difficulty that I regained my mental equilibrium.
Questions leaped to my mind. Had I really tuned in on Mars? If I had, what was the nature of the message I had received? What manner of creature had done the broadcasting? And—what had caused that shriek?
Not until four years later did I learn the answers to those questions. Four long years during which Millard labored tirelessly on the translation of that message from another world.
Millard? Yes, Phineas J. Millard, antiquarian and archeologist He, in all probability, is the only man living today who is able to translate a record consisting only of phonetics. And even he required four years for the accomplishment of that task.
Little more remains to be said by way of introduction. For the sake of convenience, I have taken advantage of natural breaks in the action of the narrative and divided it into chapters. Also, I have taken the liberty of substituting the English names of scientific apparatus for the incomprehensible names used by the Voice. Aside from that, the narrative is unchanged. And now you may read this amazing tale as it is related by Tuol Oro, scientist of another planet.
* * * *
CHAPTER I
In this vast Universe, teeming with its myriad forms of life, there is surely one race of beings who will hear and understand this, my warning, And understanding, perhaps they may heed. It is with that hope in mind that I am telling my story.
When I began my life upon this planet, I was called Tuol Oro. Through the brilliancy of my intellect and the power of my mind, I made that name a name that was respected throughout the world. Yet, through the stupidity of one man, and in spite of all I had done, I became an outcast. I was scorned, derided, and openly shunned by those who had respected me. They referred to me as Tuol the Madman, or Tuol the Fool, as it suited their fancy.
Revenge became the one purpose of my life. I loved only that I might destroy the race of fools that ruled over Kotar. And I’ve done it! Failures were they; who thought themselves perfect; but they are gone. And I, who alone survive, was thought to be the only failure of their civilization. Tuol, the Fool ? No, Tuol, the Conqueror, am I.
There are others, now, that have taken the place of man, others that, eventually, I shall also rule. Those others, that I loosed upon the world to do my will, shall feel the power of my might, and I will reign supreme over all Kotar. Soon I will go out and claim that which is rightfully mine; then, indeed, will I be conqueror.
But, before that occurs, I will tell the story of man’s downfall and destruction; the story of Tuol Oro’s revenge. And that tale heard, perhaps, on some other world, may be a warning, so that men who advance strange and unusual facts may receive audience, and be respected as they deserve.
I remember well those events which were the cause of my banishment. The meeting of the Council; my report about the wonderful discovery I had made; the incredulity of the Council; my taking of that oath-----
The Supreme Council, that august body of Searchers-after-the-Truth, had called a meeting of all the scientists upon the planet. Report was to be made as to what had been accomplished for the advancement of civilization in each field of research.
The gigantic hall, the Hall of the Council, was filled to over-flowing. Thousands of scientists representing a vast accumulation of knowledge, occupied the countless compartments which made up the hall. They, however, were unimportant; only upon very rare occasions did they learn anything that was of real value.
The really worth-while discoveries of the age had been made by a small, insignificant group of six men who occupied one large compartment at the front of the hall. Six men, the greatest minds in all Kotar. Six men, and I was one of them!
I remember them well; even now I can see, in my mind’s eye, those men of knowledge. Each was an expert in his chosen field, the accepted authority on his special branch of science.
There was Bor Akon, the historian. No important occurrence of any past age, no matter how remote, was unknown to him. Then there was Sarig Om, the astronomer, who had plumbed the depths of space with his instruments, and who knew the innermost secrets of innumerable heavenly bodies. Great was his knowledge.
I mention these two particularly because of the important part they play at a later date.
The others in the group are Dees Oeb, specialist in the study of matter; Stol Verta, lover of things mechanical the greatest inventor in Kotar’s history; Gano Tor, whose strange concoctions could well nigh bring the dead back to life; and Tuol Oro, delver into the infinitely minute. Truly a remarkable concentration of wisdom. Yet everyone in that group, and all those minor intellectuals were failures. All were blotted out—erased, by the children of my mind, their great intellects rendered helpless. All—save one. I, Tuol, the Mighty, survive! But I digress.
On a platform raised high above our heads sat the Council. Twenty venerable men were they, the ruling body of Kotar. Each one of the Twenty, from the time of his birth, had been trained in just the correct environment, to prepare him for the position he was now holding. They were the judges, the judicial minds of our planet.
As they, the Council, had been trained, so had we, the scientists, been prepared, with the thought of our future place in life, in mind.
Bor Akon, the historian, said at one time, that in former ages there had been no such specialization, that each man and woman decided his or her field of endeavor upon reaching maturity. Utterly ridiculous! Our destinies were predetermined in our infancy by the Sub-Council of each residential district. In this way there was no neglect of one occupation and overcrowding of another. But to return to the gathering in the Council Hall-----
Each individual booth was equipped with an instrument employing the mysterious “Power of the Spheres,” that power which I am using in giving broadcast this narrative of warning. It was with this instrument that we, the scientists, not only communicated with the Twenty, but, through the use of a large amplifying disc, made our reports audible to every man in the hall.
The members of the Council, by the way, required no such aid in making their thoughts known; through the combined power of their well trained minds, they could impress upon us their every desire. And, because they had a complete knowledge of who occupied each of those many compartments, they had no difficulty in having the scientists speak in the order that they, the Council, wished.
Suddenly the hall became quiet; every sound was hushed. A mental command for silence had come from the Twenty. And then Stol Verta, the inventor, arose. Speaking in a dreamy monotone, he addressed the Council.
Stol’s report had to do with his most recent invention, a machine which he claimed would traverse the great void between the planets. How this was to be accomplished, I do not remember. Indeed, little of what he said made an impression upon my memory. The so-called mechanical marvels of the age held little interest for me; and Stol Verta, himself, is an uninteresting individual at best.
His statements, however, seemed to meet with the approval of the Council, for they sent a thought-wave of praise and commendation broadcast through the hall. Smiling slightly, Stol seated himself.
* * * *
Sarig Om was the second scientist called upon by the Twenty. As he arose to make his report, I decided to pay more attention than I had before. The science of Sarig Om was of interest to me because of the similarity it bore to my own study. His was the study of largeness unfathomable; mine, of the infinitely minute.
Sarig gave a detailed report about the various occurrences in the heavens before he reached the really important feature of his discourse. At the time I was not impressed with the importance of the statement; later I had reason to recall it.
He spoke of the coming opposition of our world with Santel, our nearest inferior planetary neighbor. He stated that the two planets would be closer to each other than they had been for almost fifty mallahs. [We have no possible way of determining what the Kotarian words for periods of time would mean in English. From the action of the narrative, however, we can be fairly certain that the Mallah is equivalent to our year, the Stallo, to our month, the Stal, to our week, and the Tron to our minute. Tuol does not mention anything equal to our day, hour, or second, although it is probable that other time divisions than the former ones exist. —L.A.E. ] It would be an excellent opportunity, he informed us, for us to take steps toward establishing communication with the Santellians. His report also, was approved by the Council.
As Sarig seated himself, I felt a curious tingling at the base of my brain. Then a strangely silent voice in my mind bade me rise. It was the command. I rose to my feet; swept the hall with my eyes, and then faced the Twenty. A command came from me to proceed with my report. After a moment’s pause. I began.
“To the Supreme Council, the judicial body of Kotar, I, Tuol Oro, delver into the infinitely minute, make report.” This was the customary beginning, and each scientist used it, with variations, of course. I continued:
“My labors of the past mallah, Venerable Twenty, have not been fruitless; indeed, it was my great fortune to make a discovery that is unequalled in the history of microscopy.
“The Council is doubtless aware of the construction of the atom and its marked similarity to the solar system, with its central body, the sun, or in the atom, the nucleus, and its revolving satellites—planets or planetary electrons. The conception of the atom, of course is not, or I should say, was not accepted as fact, but was thought to be only a plausible theory.
“Five stallos ago, working on a principle different than any ever used before, I constructed a microscope so powerful that it enabled me to see the component parts of an atom. The planetary electrons, themselves, were invisible because of the great speed with which they revolved; but the protons could clearly be seen as rapidly rotating, faintly glowing spheres.
“Very naturally, I was elated with my invention and discovery; still, I wasn’t satisfied. I felt that I had only begun, and that the possibilities brought into being by my discovery were practically limitless. So, without delay, I began constructing a microscope far more powerful and efficient than my first instrument After four stallos of intense effort, I succeeded.
“This latter instrument surpassed all my expectations; with it I discovered something so amazing and incredible that I had difficulty in believing the testimony of my eyes.
“When the microscope was complete to the last minute detail, I trained the lenses upon a particle of sodium. My heart beat more rapidly as I peered into the eye-piece for the first time. What might be revealed to my gaze? A host of impossible conjectures flashed through my mind, yet not in my wildest imaginings did I conceive of such a sight as met my eyes.
“I was looking into a wide, shallow valley, covered with a brilliant, vari-colored vegetation. For some moments I gazed at it unbelievingly; then the scene was gone, replaced by a rounded hill-top. Like the valley, this, too, was covered with the brilliant colorful plant life. And as I watched, the hill followed in the wake of the valley, moving slowly across the line of my vision. Another valley took the place of the hill, a valley far larger than the first
“As I gazed at it I became aware of a peculiar phenomenon that had escaped my notice before. The vegetation in the valley was in motion, was constantly shifting and changing position. I changed the focus of the microscope, concentrating its magnifying power on a small portion of the scene. The valley seemed to leap up toward my eyes. No longer could I see a great field of moving plant life; only three plants were now within the range of my vision.
“And what strange growths they were! Nothing like them ever existed on Kotar. In form, and size they were alike, though each was of a different color. When I first saw them, they were small, almost perfect spheres covered with a shiny, scaly skin. As I watched them, they grew larger; indeed, their growth was so rapid that I could actually see it! As they grew, their skins became tighter and tighter, and suddenly they burst, scattering great clouds of brightly colored dust through the air. Much of the dust was blown away, but some of it settled to the ground. Where the spheres had been, were now three pools of slime; it was into this that the dust fell.
“That which followed was perhaps the most amazing thing that I saw during all my observations. Briefly, this is what occurred: the dust, evidently the plants’ seeds, upon falling into the slime, sprouted, grew, and reached maturity, and a moment later, burst in turn, casting forth their seeds—all this with such rapidity that it seemed to be one continuous movement.
“In my interest in the valley and its life, I had forgotten the strangeness of the conditions under which I was viewing the land. Deciding to discover the location of this world, I began slowly decreasing the magnifying power of the microscope, focusing the instrument in such manner as to move the world further and further away. Again I saw the panoramic view of the valley and mountains. Then the scene assumed a peculiarly convex appearance. This convexity increased until, finally, all details of the view were lost, and the microscope revealed a huge globe turning slowly on its axis. As this decreased in size, and other globes made their appearance, the truth dawned upon me. I had discovered life on a proton of the nucleus of an atom of sodium!”
* * * *
Thus did I end my report to the Council
After I had finished. I remained standing, awaiting the commendation of the Twenty. But their approval was never given. Instead, two things occurred which were unprecedented in the history of Kotar. Never had one of the Twenty spoken while the Council was in session; and never had one of the six Masters been publicly condemned by the Twenty. Both occurred then.
San Nober, Head of the Council, arose, an expression of stern disapproval on his face. Then he spoke, uttering the words that spelled doom for Kotar’s ruling race.
“Men of Knowledge,” he said, “never in all the history of the Council have we had to deal with a problem like the present one. Always have out members spoken truth. But that is no longer so. You, Tuol Oro,” addressing me, “have broken all precedence. You have lied! Your report was naught but a series of falsehoods. Your statements are preposterous, ridiculous; nothing of truth is in them.
“We are taught that it is impossible for a normal individual to lie. Obviously, then, you are insane. Even though insanity is almost an unknown malady at present, you are mad. Were it not for the records of your great discoveries in the past, you would be put to death. Because of them, you shall live. But you will be an outcast from society. You may mingle with your fellows, but they will know of your infirmity. For your lies or insanity, whichever it may be, you will be an object of pity and an outcast
“And now you must go; the Hall of the Council shall know you no more.”
While San Nober was speaking, I stood like one stunned. His disapproval and condemnation were so unexpected and so unjust that I could not believe that I had heard aright Lies! A series of falsehoods! Insane! Mad! By Sklow, mad was I? Fool and son of a fool! An object of pity, eh? An outcast! Suddenly something seemed to snap within my brain, and a red haze came before my eyes. Then all the hatred and rebellion . in my being sought outlet
What I said then, I do not know. Perhaps I acted like a man deprived of his sanity. But I was justified. Condemned, cast out, called a liar and a madman, without an opportunity to prove the truth of my statements! One thing that I said, though, I do remember. That was the oath I took ere leaving the Council Hall.
“By Sklow, by Taw, by Maca, by all the gods that ever lived, I swear that every vestige of this civilisation shall be removed; that all men save Tuol Oro shall be destroyed! I swear it and it shall be so!”
Aye, and it is so! I have destroyed them all. They deserved it every one of them. Oh, how I hate them, even though they are gone! I hate, loathe, despise them—
After taking that oath of vengeance, I left the Council Hall, followed by thousands of pairs of pitying or derisive eyes. I walked to my boat moored in the Great Waterway, seething with anger. Even then plans for revenge were forming in my mind. By the time I reached my home in the twenty-seventh division of the ninth Minor Waterway, I had decided on a definite plan. It was this plan, conceived on my homeward journey, that brought about the destruction of a world.
* * * *
CHAPTER II
With as little delay as possible, I began making preparations for the carrying out of my plans, for I knew that many stallos of research would go before I accomplished that which I proposed doing. Indeed, the goal I had set before me seemed to be beyond the reach of human ability. I desired to increase the size of those inconceivably minute plants on the diminutive world I had discovered, until I could take them from their protonic birthplace and bring them to the surface of Kotar. With them I intended gaining my revenge.
The first two stallos of effort were fruitless. Often, during that time, I was tempted to abandon my apparently impossible project, and might have done so, had I not been spurred on by my desire for vengeance. However, I continued, and at the beginning of the third stallo I saw the first sign of reward for my tireless efforts.
From the very first, I had had one basic idea on which to work. That was this: since every particle of matter, regardless of its size, could, theoretically, at least, be divided in half forever, it certainly must be possible to reverse the process, and double the size of any particle, even of an-electron or proton. Pursuing this line of reasoning, it naturally followed that eventually I would have increased the size of my proton to such an extent as to make it visible to the naked eye, and even larger. The difficulty lay in the actual accomplishment of that enlarging process. Two stallos were spent in vain conjecturing and theorizing along this line.
At the beginning of the third stallo I decided to begin working with the electrons and protons themselves. Taking a portion of chemically pure sodium from the supply I possessed, I placed a minute quantity beneath the lenses of my ultra-microscope. Then I focused the instrument so as to enable me to view the entire atom. Similar to my first observations of the sodium containing the life supporting proton, I now saw twenty-two small, dully glowing protons, and eleven, almost transparent nuclear electrons in a compact group, each rapidly rotating on its axis. About them, at various distances, revolved what seemed to be a tangled maze of gleaming cords. These, I knew, were the glowing paths of the planetary electrons, which moved at such great speed as to be invisible. As long as the atom remained in that condition, I knew that I could do nothing with it.
Consequently, I decided that, in some way, I’d have to decrease the speed of the electrons’ rotation until I could observe each one individually. With this purpose in mind, I began a series of experiments. All that I did, by the way, had to be done beneath the lenses of my microscope. Thus handicapped, it seemed that I had a difficult task before me. I was aided materially, however, by a device recently invented by Stol Verta. This machine, far too complex to explain, enabled its user to focus a beam of inconceivable cold or intense heat upon a microscopically fine point Because of an idea I had in mind, I was certain that Stol’s invention would be of great value.
And so it proved to be. Use of the device revealed that heat increased the speed of the electrons, widening their orbits, and causing some of them to whirl outside the field of the microscope. Cold, on the contrary, caused the speed of the electrons’ rotation to diminish. The lower the degree of heat, in simpler phrase, the more intense the cold, the slower became the motion, until at absolute zero, both protons and electrons were devoid of all movement. I had taken one big step toward my goal.
Without loss of time, I continued my research, following out a theory that had come to my mind during my first experiments. For this idea I had gone back to the time of my early training when I had been taught the rudiments of elementary chemistry. My theory involved the lack of symmetry of some atoms, sodium among them, and the mechanism of chemical action.
An atom of sodium, I had been taught, has eleven electrons, negatively charged, revolving in orbits around the nucleus. One of these electrons revolves in an orbit with a much larger axis than those of the other electrons. Because of this, it is not held very firmly by the nucleus. Further, the lack of symmetry in the atom creates unbalanced forces. Consequently, the sodium atom will have a tendency to lose this electron during the collision with other atoms, and leave the atom more symmetrical and balanced. To summarize, atoms having one or more electrons beyond what corresponds to symmetrical forms, have a tendency to give off those electrons.
Similarly, I had learned that some atoms require one or more electrons to complete a symmetrical structure. The chlorine atom is an atom of this type. It has seventeen electrons, needing only one more to make the balanced, symmetrical structure of eighteen electrons.
Consequently, when an atom of sodium is brought in contact with an atom of chlorine, the transfer of an electron from one atom to the other takes place. Both atoms pay for their newly found symmetry with the loss of neutrality. The removal of one negatively charged electron from the sodium atom leaves it with an excess of one unit of positive charge. The addition of the electron to the chlorine atom gives the latter an excess of one unit of negative charge. The two, then, being oppositively charged, join and form sodium chloride.
But sodium chloride held no interest for me; the laws of chemistry involved, alone concerned me. With these recollections of the mechanism of chemical action in mind, I felt I had something definite with which to work.
* * * *
Before I could begin carrying out my idea, however, I decided that I’d have to leave the privacy of my residence and mingle with the race I despised, long enough to secure the chlorine for my experiment. Immediately upon arriving at this conclusion, I ventured out into the street. If I had needed any additional stimulus to spur me on, I received it in the covert sneers and thinly veiled contempt which greeted me. I returned to my home a short time after securing the chlorine, in the grip of a rekindled anger.
Fully prepared, then, I set to work. First I placed a minute particule of sodium beneath the ultra-microscope’s lenses, focusing them so that, as on former occasions, I could see the separate units of a complete atom. Then I put the cold projector in position, in order to be able to stop the atomic action whenever I wanted to. And finally, I liberated some of the chlorine, doing it in such a way that it completely covered the sodium. Then, through the eyepiece of the microscope I watched the atom, waiting for the change that would take place when chemical action began.
At first glance I could detect no difference, but as I watched I saw the electron which was outside the symmetrical structure of the atom, slow down perceptibly and leave its orbit, disappearing entirely. While the atom was in this condition, deprived of one electron, I directed a beam of intense cold upon the sodium and stopped all atomic action, thus preventing the sodium from joining the chlorine. I now had a free atom of sodium with an excess of one positive charge, or one proton more than it could possibly have had in nature. I had taken a second step toward my goal.
It was with a feeling of trepidation that I approached the third part of my task; the success or failure of this phase of the experiment would decide the result of the entire project.
Leaving the sodium and microscope our of my thoughts for the moment, I gave detailed consideration to a recent discovery of Dees Oeb. This was a new ray, the ray of the fifty-fourth octave of the electro-magnetic spectrum. This ray had a peculiar property: it caused anything upon which it was directed to increase in size. How it did this, I do not know, but the fact of its doing so remains. I proposed directing this ray upon the surplus proton in the atom beneath the microscope and increasing its size until it left the atom behind.
A short period of time spent in experimenting with a second cold projector that I possessed enabled me to adapt it to the growth ray. I was prepared to continue.
Returning to the microscope, I peered through the eyepiece, and singled out one of the protons more centrally located than the others. Focusing the projector, I directed a beam of growth ray upon that proton.
There was an immediate change in the appearance of the sphere. Its size increased perceptibly. In a short time it began crowding the other atomic bodies, moving them from their customary positions. As the proton grew in size, it became less solid, even nebulous, until, finally, when there seemed to be no more room for it to occupy, there was a sudden flash—and the atom had disappeared. In its place was a small, dully-glowing sphere, no longer nebulous in appearance, but as solid as it had ever been before. The proton had grown until it had encompassed the entire atom.
I allowed that growth to continue until the sodium had been surrounded by the sphere, now, a comparative giant. While this went on, by the way, it was necessary for me to change the focus of the microscope repeatedly, in order to watch the proton’s increase in size.
Up to this time, I had had the cold directed upon the sodium to prevent it from uniting with the chlorine. This was no longer necessary, as there was no further possibility of that union taking place. So, after removing most of the chlorine, I shut off the beam of absolute zero.
I had then, as the result of my endeavors, a small, almost perfect sphere, barely visible to the naked eye. My goal was in sight! I needed only to duplicate my experiment, using the proton supporting the plant life, and vengeance would be within my reach.
Accordingly, I took from its place of safety the sodium containing the protonic world, and treated it as I had the other, centering my attention, of course, upon the proton inhabited by the rapidly moving, strangely formed vegetation. After I had increased the size of the minute sphere until it had taken up nearly all of the sodium, the thought occurred to me that I had neglected to provide a place in which to put the enlarged proton while I strove to secure some of the seed dust from it. In a moment I had turned off the growth ray, directed the cold upon the sodium and left it to its own devices.
* * * *
I had little difficulty in constructing the apparatus to hold the sphere; in a short time it was completed. It was a simple device, consisting of two tall metal uprights upon whose grooved tops rested a strong, heavy metal bar. This bar or rod turned slowly when power was applied to the small motor with which it was connected by a series of cogwheels and chains. After the machine was complete, I returned to the microscope and enlarging process.
As the proton grew and consumed the sodium of which it was a part, I added more and more of the element, until it had reached a size where there was no further need of the microscope. Taking it from beneath the instrument, I increased its size, without adding sodium to it, until it was a large, wraith-like bubble. Then, taking the cross-bar from the machine I had prepared, I thrust it through the center of the sphere. There was a flash —and the former proton had a metal axis on which to revolve. After returning the rod to its place in the device, I added sodium to the sphere until it had again become solid. I continued the enlarging as long as space remained on the rod, then stopped.
I had taken the third step toward my goal.
I had in my laboratory at that time, a great, box-like room, the walls, floor and ceiling of which were glass. A number of stallos before, I had had it built with the intention of using it as a storage room for numerous bacteria and germ cultures which I had intended studying. Through my interest in my new ultra-microscope, the room had not been used. I was glad of it. Because of the danger involved in the next part of my project, I decided to make use of that room, inasmuch as I could hermetically seal it if that became necessary.
After removing the few articles that had somehow found their way into the big glass box, I covered the floor with a heavy layer of soil. Then, placing rollers beneath the device which held the giant proton, I moved the machine into the room. Directly opposite the sphere I placed a projector with which to throw a fan-shaped flood of cold upon it, and beside it, the growth apparatus. After focusing the growth ray projector so that only a small part of the proton’s surface would be affected, I applied power to both machines, as well as to the apparatus holding the proton, and hastily left the room, closing and locking the door behind me.
Looking through the glass wall, I saw that the action of the growth ray must have been instantaneous. Eight different-colored, flesh-like plants were rising from the proton. They were ugly, shapeless masses of cells whose very existence was unnatural. While I watched, they grew from small, insignificant organisms to great, repulsive vegetable monstrosities. As they grew, their skins became increasingly tighter, until, when they had reached the size of the world from which they sprang, they burst, casting their seed dust to all parts of the room.
The dust, as it settled grew in turn, with the result that in a short time, the floor of the room was covered with an ever increasing mass of slime in which grew a repulsive, waving, constantly changing heap of plants. At frequent intervals, the growth ray added other plants, vari-colored and strangely formed, to those upon the floor.
Every metal device in the room became covered with a misty, gray film. The glass walls grew clouded, rendering my view of the room’s contents blurred and indistinct. When the seed dust settled upon this film, it took root and grew. In a very few moments, the machines had become grotesque, vegetable caricatures of their former selves.
The plants continued their growth, one layer of either growing or decaying organisms upon another, until the mass had reached a depth of one quarter the height of a man; then my view of the room’s interior was shut off. I had no means of determining how long that growth continued, but that was of little consequence.
Another thing remained for me to do before I liberated my servants upon the world to do my bidding. I had yet to learn just what would control the monstrous plants, and what steps I would have to take for my own protection.
In this I encountered no difficulty; the application of heat that was just beyond the limits of human endurance caused the growths to shrivel up, and fall, shrunken, shapeless masses, into the fetid slime beneath them. When the heat was directed against the glass, by the way, that slime began to steam, and a foul, nauseating odor in some way escaped from the glass cube. Heat, then, I decided, was obviously the agency with which to destroy them.
And heat, I felt sure, would protect me from the plants. I’d have men build numerous wide-mouthed nozzles, and have them placed at carefully selected positions on the walls and roof of the outside of my home. Steam pipes connected with these nozzles would cover the building with a protective blanket of heat.
Because of this one rather large remaining task, and several minor ones, and the time necessary for their accomplishment, I decided that I had better conceal the room from the prying eyes of inquisitive neighbors or chance callers, until I was ready to make use of its contents. I had just arrived at this conclusion, when a persistent buzzing in the vicinity of the door told of visitors seeking entrance. Turning to a small screen in the corner of the laboratory, I saw thereon the familiar faces of Bor Akon and Sarig Om.
As I moved toward the door to let them in, I realized in a flash that their coming was a gift of Sklow. They were welcome —how very welcome, they’d never know. I opened the door and bade them enter.
* * * *
CHAPTER III
When the two faced me in the reception room, I could see in their glances the uncertainty they felt. They were in doubt as to the treatment they would receive at my hands. I smiled at them reassuringly, for it did not suit my purpose to arouse distrust in their minds.
The smile evidently renewed their confidence, for Bor Akon, acting as spokesman, cleared his throat and addressed me.
“Brother Tuol,” he began—we were all brothers in conversation, “Sarig and I have taken it upon ourselves to investigate your report to the Council. We believe that you have been treated unjustly. Unquestionably, you were either sick or laboring under some great mental weight when you made those ridiculous statements in the Council Hall.
“We, Sarig and I, thought that we’d attempt to persuade you to take steps towards regaining your former position in the scientific world.”
So that was their attitude! Perhaps I was sick, or temporarily deranged! Well, I thought it wouldn’t take me long to correct that erroneous idea. Repressing my natural anger, lest it be betrayed through my voice, I replied in studiously careless tones.
“Brother Bor, I assure you that you are mistaken. All that I said to the Twenty was absolutely true. I can’t help feeling that I have been shabbily treated. Had I been given a fair opportunity, I would have been able to prove my claims so absolutely, that even the most skeptical would have been convinced. As for my trying to regain my former position no! They have made me an outcast; I am satisfied.
“Now that you are here, I’ll show you that proof, the microscope itself. If you will excuse me—” They acquiesced, politely, and I left them seated there while I headed toward the laboratory.
Upon arriving there, I drew a large curtain around the glass room, in order to conceal it from my visitors’ eyes. Then I returned to the reception room and led my guests back to that part of the laboratory which held the microscope.
As their eyes fell upon the intricate mechanism, with its multitude of lenses and powerful lights, they displayed a reluctant, though rather skeptical interest. Sarig Om turned to me with a question in his eyes. I answered his unspoken query with:
“There would be no use in explaining its construction or means of magnification to you, inasmuch as neither of you could possibly understand. However, there is nothing to prevent you from observing the wonders that may be seen through it. Which of you will be the first to gaze upon an electron?”
As I placed a particle of matter beneath the lenses, and focused the microscope, Sarig Om expressed his willingness to be first. “I’ve been looking through lenses all my adult life,” he said, “and since one of us must be first, it may as well be I.”
While the two alternately gazed through the microscope, crying out in wonder at each new marvel, I excused myself and left the room.
I returned, some moments later, with some articles of food that I had treated with a sleep-inducing drug. As I entered, Sarig Om looked up, and expression of incredulity on his face.
“Brother Tuol,” he exclaimed, “we have discovered life on a proton! It’s unbelievable!”
“Come, come,” I replied. “You’ve no cause for such great excitement. I have something far more amazing than that to show you. After we have eaten this food, I’ll let you see something that is really astounding.”
* * * *
At my invitation, then, my guests seated themselves, and with poorly concealed impatience, ate the food I placed before them. A few moments after they had swallowed the drugged morsels, I saw their eyelids droop. Valiantly they fought the drowsiness that had settled upon them, but the drug was stronger than they and in a moment more they slept.
Securing strong cords, I bound them tightly, and carried them into the room which held the glass box. I placed them against the wall of the room in such a position as to enable them to have an unobstructed view of one of the box’s sides, when they awakened.
I waited impatiently for the two scientists to recover from their involuntary slumbers; I was anxious to carry out the experiment I had in mind. At last they stirred, and in a short time were fully conscious.
Any self-possession that they had had, had gone from them. They looked at me with fear-filled eyes. In all probability, they thought they were at the mercy of a madman. While I stood there, waiting for any remaining effects of the drug to pass, Bor Akon, in an obvious attempt to bolster his own courage, and perhaps intimidate me, addressed me.
“Tuol, you madman,” he exclaimed, “cut these bonds and set us free immediately, or I’ll see that you receive the punishment you deserve. You fool! What can you expect to gain by this? And what possible purpose can you have in mind, anyway? Liberate us now, or I’ll inform the Council of your insane actions!”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it; it was funny. The thought of that brainless fool, bound and helpless as he was, threatening me, bordered on the ridiculous. But my mirth was short-lived; suddenly it turned to anger. These two men were part of the race that had made me an outcast. A fool and a madman, was I?
“Silence!” I roared, as Sarig Om opened his mouth to speak. “Who are you to threaten me? Inform the Council, indeed! Idiots! You’ll do just as I bid, and that only.
“What do I expect to gain; what purpose do I have in mind? I’ll tell you. When the Council banished me, I swore that I would destroy every vestige of this race of failures, the race of man. I now have the instrument with which to bring about that destruction. For three long stallos I labored tirelessly, striving to achieve the impossible, and I’ve succeeded!”
While talking, I had moved over toward the glass room. I reached up then, and pulled the curtains aside. Nothing could be seen through the glass, save a grayish-white film on its inside surface, and a vague suggestion of a ceaseless movement within.
“In that glass cube,” I continued, “lies the result of my efforts. You remember, of course, that I told the Council about the rapidly growing plant life I had discovered on a proton. Within that room is the proton itself, enormously increased in size. And with it, surrounding it, and I suppose, destroying it, are innumerable plants growing with an insane speed. Plants, they are, that I took from the proton’s surface. They grow and grow, one upon another, finding root on any surface. I’ll show you how they grow; it’s only proper that you know, for you, too, Bor and Sarig, have a part in my plan. It is because of that part which you are to play, that I have bound you.”
After testing their bonds, and finding them secure, I turned my back upon the two, closing my ears to their pleas for freedom, and directed a beam of heat upon the door of the glass room. Rapidly the film and the plants growing on the door disappeared, sinking to the floor. Further and further into the noisome, steaming mass the heat cut its way, clearing an ever increasing space. Finally, when I had reduced about half of the room’s contents to slime, I shut off the heat ray, and admonished the two pay particular attention.
The plants recovered from the effects of the heat with great rapidity. In a few moments, a red, triangular head on a long, slender stem, thrust itself up from the mass, and burst, casting its seed dust into the air. The astonished eyes of Bor Akon and Sarig Om saw the dust settle into the slime, spring up, grow to maturity, burst in turn, and die, all in a few moments of time. It was not long before the walls had again assumed their white, translucent covering, and our view was again cut off.
A heavy silence followed this, to them, amazing spectacle. Impatiently I broke that silence.
“Well, how did you enjoy the entertainment?” I asked. “Interesting, wasn’t it? There is something still more interesting to follow, but I’ll be the only one to see that.
“But consider those plants. Imagine what will happen when I free my pets upon Kotar. Imagine the effects of a little cloud of seed dust settling upon the floor of a boat in one of the great waterways. Curious people gather around, attracted by the peculiar growths. In a moment they are enveloped by a cloud of dust that touches them, and grows, drawing life from their flesh. Imagine a man breathing some of that dust!
“Then picture a strong wind blowing the dust to all parts of the world. News of the menace will cause men to flee. Some will lose their lives in the panic that will ensue. Others, seeking to escape, will perhaps hide in deep pits or cellars. The plants will fill the cracks and crevices of their sanctuaries, and eventually they will die of suffocation.
“Visualize the world after the menace has been at work for a stal. By that time the solid portion of Kotar’s surface will have become a flowing, ever changing mass of plant life. The air will be filled with dense clouds of seed-dust of every possible hue. The boats on the waterways will be covered by the plants. Drifting, those boats will force their way through a heavy, viscous scum which will probably cover the water. Plants may be growing in that scum, which, by the way, will be the residue resulting from the decay of the other plants on the shore. Not a sound will break the death-like silence; there will be no more idle chattering coming from the lips of fools. The world will have been cleansed of their presence; all will have been destroyed. All—save one, Tuol Oro. A pretty picture, aye?”
Throughout this rather lengthy recital, both scientists remained motionless, as though frozen, an expression of growing horror and fascination on the face of each. When I ceased talking, Sarig Om attempted to speak, but the words died in his throat; he was dumb with fear, Bor Akon continued to stare fixedly into my face.
Suddenly a thought occurred to me.
“By the way,” I exclaimed, “I told you that you, too, have a part in my plans. I’ve neglected to tell you what that part is, so I’ll tell you now. I am not quite certain that those plants will act in just the way that I desire. Perhaps my efforts have been wasted. To avoid taking any chances of my plans going awry, I intend putting you in the glass room, and watching the effects of the plants upon you.”
The semi-stupor into which the two had fallen fell from them like a cloak. Scream after scream burst from Bor Akon’s lips. Roughly I clapped my hand over his mouth, threatening to gag him if he started screaming again. When I withdrew my hand, he began mumbling and sobbing piteously. His mind had snapped. Fear had dethroned his reason.
Sarig Om was made of sterner stuff. He cursed me in the name of every god that I knew of, and called me everything vile that entered his mind. I was surprised at his fluency.
When his tirade ceased, I picked him up and carried him, squirming and twisting, over to the glass cube. Depositing him on the floor beside the door, I directed the heat against the glass another time. After burning away about half of the plants I opened the door and thrust Sarig in. Hastily, then, I closed and locked it, and directed the heat all around the edge of the door, in order to destroy any seed dust that might have escaped.
Then I turned my attention to the figure in the room. Sarig seated in a pool of slime, was straining with all his strength at the cords that bound his hands. Suddenly as one of the plants burst above him, he made a supreme effort, and the cords broke.
Slowly the dust settled upon him. As it touched his skin, sending thin rootlets through the pores, into his flesh, and drawing life from his living body, he gave utterance to one piercing shriek.
Strangely formed plants sprang from all parts of Sarig Om’s body then. With mad, frenzied haste, the scientist tore them from him, leaving ugly, bloody wounds where the growths had been. But only for a moment was he able to struggle with his vegetable destroyers; several plants, having reached maturity upon him, burst simultaneously, enveloping him in a thick cloud of dust.
He seemed to grow larger before my eyes. Countless plants grew upon him, swelling him to three times his normal size. Grew—and decayed. The figure remained thus for only a moment, then it collapsed and lost itself in the slime and plants upon the floor.
For a fleeting second my resolution to destroy the race was shaken—but only for a second. Although the weapon I possessed was terrible, and the death it meted out, horrible, it wasn’t too severe for the fools that ruled over Kotar. They deserved to be obliterated, and I was using the only means of destruction at my command.
I turned to Bor Akon. When last I had noticed him, he had been sobbing and quivering like a frightened infant. Now, he was lying on the floor, unconscious. The sight of Sarig Om’s death had been too much for his weakened mind; he had fainted.
I would have spared Bor, then, to wait and be destroyed with his fellows, had it not been for the fact that he was aware of my plans. As it was, he knew too much for my safety; he had to be removed.
Again I burned the plants away; then I thrust the unconscious scientist through the doorway. After all, he was more fortunate than the others, for his death was painless; he never recovered consciousness.
I destroyed all evidence that pointed to the fact that the two had visited me. I took no chances of being implicated if their disappearance was investigated. Any interference at this time would have been fatal to my plans.
But there was no investigation; in all probability, Sarig and Bor had kept their visit secret, for fear of arousing the displeasure of the Council. After about a stal of waiting, I decided that it was safe for me to follow out the rest of my program. I had yet to prepare for my defense, secure a machine to purify the air, and lay in a supply of food tablets, and I would be ready.
Without delay, then, I employed men to make the large, fan-shaped steam nozzles, and fasten them where I directed on the walls and roof of my home. Other men I engaged to cover the building with a network of pipes to carry the steam to the nozzles. This latter crew built the tank that was to form the steam. The water for this, by the way, came through underground pipes from the waterway that flowed before my home. Still others, I hired to fill up every crack and crevice that they could find in the building. In every possible way, I fortified myself against any attacks that the plants might make upon me.
When authorities of the city questioned me about the pipes and nozzles, I told them that they were part of a new device for protection against fire. They believed me, thinking, in all probability, that it was only a fancy of my “disordered” mind. They left me to myself after that; I was glad of it.
During the few trons that preceded the time of my destruction of mankind, I had the oxygen machine installed and operating, and had food tablets enough stored in my bins to last me the rest of my life, if necessary. Likewise, I purchased enough fuel to keep my furnace going full blast for ten mallahs, at the very least.
When darkness fell upon the old, unchanged world of man for the last time, and I retired, I enjoyed the first real rest that had been mine since my banishment. No disturbing spectre of hate or vengeance marred my slumbers, for on the morrow my ultimate goal would be reached.
* * * *
CHAPTER IV
The six Masters of Science had privileges that were not given to any other individuals on Kotar. One of these was the right to employ the Power of the Spheres in broadcasting on any wavelength we desired. That is, we could command any broadcast station to terminate its program and leave the air, so that we could use its wavelength. Through negligence on the part of the Council, this privilege had not been taken from me.
Shortly after I awakened from my sleep, greatly refreshed, by the way, I made use of that privilege, commanding the International News to cease broadcasting. After the announcer had stated that his station was cutting short its program at the command of one of the Masters, and that the program would continue after the Master had finished talking, his station grew silent
I closed the switch then, and addressed my unseen audience.
“People of Kotar,” I said, “I, Tuol Oro, outcast Master of Science, am taking this opportunity to tell you, in these few moments that will be spared to me before the Council interferes, some facts about my banishment that have been carefully concealed by those in authority.
“Have you been informed that I was condemned without a trial? That I was given no opportunity to prove my claims? That, just because San Nober could not see the truth of my report, I was called mad, and that, without test being given to my mind? Of course you haven’t! All that has been kept secret.
“Immediately after the ringing of the Terai bell, I will prove to those who gather before my home that all that I said in the Council Hall was true, and that San Nober himself should be the one to be condemned, because of his total lack of judgment. If that incompetent individual is listening, I give him a special invitation to be there. He—” There was a sharp, sudden explosion and a blinding flash in the broadcasting apparatus, and my connections with the outside world were broken.
I heard words issuing from the receiving device in another corner of the room. It was San Nober, using the so-called Universal wavelength of the Council, the wavelength that covered every station from the lowest to the highest, thus rendering the speaker’s voice audible to every listener on the planet. San’s heavy, bass voice quivered with anger.
“Tuol Oro,” he growled, “you are a fool. And for your folly you shall die. You will be permitted to offer any proof that you possess, at the time you have set, so that no one may say that there has been a miscarriage of justice.
“I accept your invitation: I’ll be there.”
With a feeling of satisfaction, I shut off the machine. San Nober would be there! That was what I wanted. What mattered it that he would probably be accompanied by a group of his followers, whose purpose it would be to arrest me? They would be powerless to harm me, for I possessed a weapon more terrible than anything they had ever conceived of.
I occupied myself during the time that I had to wait, with a final survey of all my protective devices. I made sure that everything was in readiness for the great climax. Only the turn of a valve was needed to cover my home with a blanket of steam. A little pressure upon a button would start the oxygen machine. An automatic feeding device would add fuel to that in the furnace whenever it was needed. As far as I could see, there was nothing else to be done along the line of self-protection.
There was one thing, though, that I had not taken into consideration. How was I to free the plants without endangering myself? After some thought I decided upon a method. In a short time I constructed a small, glass box with a tightly fitting lid, which automatically closed at any time I signified on the time-clock within the box.
I burned the plants away again, and set the finished box inside the glass room with the lid timed to close in three trons. Impatiently I waited for the time to go by, dividing my attention between the plants and the clock on a nearby wall.
At last, when the three trons had passed, I managed, by careful application of the heat, to remove the box from the room, filled with plants, seed dust, and slime.
With great care, then, I went over all the space on which seed dust might have found lodgment, with a beam of heat. After I was certain that there was no further possibility of any dust having escaped destruction, I carried the glass box to a window overlooking the Waterway, and there took up my vigil. The time for revenge was almost at hand.
The street below me was filled with a noisy throng of people. Men, women, and children had gathered, for a public statement by one of the Six Masters was far from being commonplace, and was worthy of more than passing notice. Several men in the crowd recognized as minor scientists who had been in the Council Hall on the day I was banished.
The Waterway was even more crowded than the street Indeed, the boats were so close to each other that very little water could be seen. And every boat was loaded to capacity with passengers.
Overhead I could hear the low, steady hum of many flying machines. Looking up, I saw small one-man planes darting here and there, aimlessly. Great helicopters with whirling propellers and whirring wings were suspended above, hanging stationary in mid-air. All were low enough for their passengers to hear anything I had to say.
* * * *
Suddenly my attention was drawn from the air vehicles by a commotion below. I looked down. In some way, how, I do not know, the boats had been cleared away to form a lane which led directly to the front of my home. At the further end of the lane, I saw the graceful lines of San Nober’s stately bark. Its silver trimmings flashed in the sunlight
As it drew, closer, enabling me to distinguish faces, I saw that every member of the Council was there, and that the remaining three Masters were likewise on board. In addition, the International Peace Guard had six representatives present. They, I knew, were there for the purpose of arresting me after I had had my say. But they meant nothing to me.
As the Council boat touched the side of the waterway’s banks, I heard a single, deep toned bell note, the Terai bell. The time I had set had come! I flung open the window.
At my appearance, the voice of the throng was stilled. The sound of motors in the air above became less noticeable, as the pilots applied their silencers. And then I spoke.
I described in detail all that had taken place in the Council Hall, I told them of the great discovery I had made, laying stress on the minute plants and their amazingly rapid growth. I spoke of my banishment, and of the oath I had taken—and there I stopped. The bellowing voice of San Nober had interrupted me.
“Have done with this nonsense!” he exclaimed. “This farce must stop! How can your grievances affect these people? You can’t expect to gain anything by this additional publicity. You must be mad to expect any benefit to come to you from this.
“If you have any proof to offer, produce it. Stol Verta will begin counting, and if you haven’t partially proven your claims by the time he reaches fifty, your liberty will end. You will not be given another opportunity to deceive your fellow men.”
“Begin counting, Stol.”
While the inventor’s hand slowly, mechanically rose and fell, I gave my last message to the world.
“People of Kotar,” I said solemnly, “your span of life is almost ended. When San interrupted me, I was about to tell you that the world is doomed, that my oath will be carried out. You are a race of fools, unworthy of the responsibility that has been given you. You are not fitted for the task of controlling a planet’s life, so you cannot survive. You-----”
I went no further. No one would have heard me if I had. The momentary daze which had held the crowd speechless, vanished. Hoots and jeers, and cries of mingled anger and mirth came from the throng.
Stol Verta stopped counting. San Nober, with a word to his colleagues, stepped from his boat, and, followed by the Guards and Masters, began forcing his way through the crowd. A path opened as though by magic, and the throng grew quiet.
I took advantage of that silence; raising the glass box high above my head, I cried, “This is my proof,” and hurled it at the feet of San Nober. Then I banged the window shut, locked it, and turned the valve which started the steam.
San fell back, startled, when the box crashed before him. Then he stared in fascination at the little heap of shattered glass and pulpy matter that lay at his feet. It was growing, and he could see the growth! He leaned forward to observe the strange organisms more carefully—and a plant burst.
A small cloud of dust arose into the air and settled upon San’s head and shoulders. For a moment he beat at the vegetation that sprang from his flesh, his arms waving futilely, helplessly; then he fell to the pavement.
Those who saw his death, shrank back, while those further away strove to get closer. But when the seed dust began dropping upon them, only one impulse actuated them, and that was to escape.
Escape, however, was impossible, now; they had delayed too long. Where one plant had been, had grown a thousand; the thousand had become a million; and every moment more and more seed dust was being cast into the air. In little more time than is required for the telling, no human life was left where the crowd had been.
At the very beginning of the destruction, there had been wrecks on the Waterway, caused by boats crashing into each other when their pilots had become heaps of plants and slime. Similarly, there had been accidents in the air, planes darting around erratically, pilotless, with propellers clogged by slime and plants, either crashing into each other, or falling to the ground. But that was all over in a short time.
Some planes and boats had made good their escape, and had wasted no time, I was sure, but rather made haste to tell the world of the horror that menaced civilization. This caused me no concern, however, for I knew that the plants were too firmly established to be affected by anything the puny world of man might do. Kotar’s ruling race was unquestionably doomed.
Soon after the last man in sight had been destroyed, and the last plane had disappeared, I turned away from the window. I had taken my revenge; I was satisfied. I had seen San Nober die a horrible death. Before my eyes the members of the Council had been destroyed. And I was the only survivor of the six Masters of Science; they had scorned me, but they had felt the might of my hand.
While walking across the room with the intention of starting the oxygen machine, I spied the broadcasting apparatus. A thought occurred to me. Why not tell the Universe of the things I had done? Why not warn them, so that they, if ever similar circumstances arose, would not make the mistake that the people of Kotar had made. I had one of the most powerful broadcasting machines on Kotar, and it would be a simple matter to increase that that power so that my message would travel to the farthest corner of the Universe. I made a decision: I’d tell the story.
And then I remembered Sang Om’s report to the Council. He had said that Santel would be closer to Kotar on a certain date than it had been for many mallahs. If there were intelligent, reasoning beings on Santel—Sarig had always maintained that there were—they, at least, might be able to hear my warning. At any rate, I decided to wait for that date and broadcast my story then.
I spent the interim between the time I made my decision, and the time of opposition, in studying the plants I could see from my window, enjoying long periods of interesting observation, in spite of the steam that persisted in cutting off my view. I also spent some time in preparing notes for my story, for I wanted nothing to be left from the narrative.
Finally, after stalls of waiting, the time of opposition has arrived. Now, as I am talking, Santel should be at its closest proximity to Kotar.
My story is almost ended. From my place here before the broadcasting apparatus, I can look out through the window. A vast sea of amazingly brilliant plants meets my eye. There are plants that are thick and round, plants tall and angular, plants of every conceivable shape and color. It is a scene of dazzling brilliancy, a scene that has an unnatural, alien beauty. And the impossible speed of the plants’ development does much toward creating that sense of the unreal, the fantastic.
There is no strife or discord, no petty quarrelling; the plants seem to be the embodiment of unity. A vast, all-engulfing silence has superseded the noise and bustle of man’s civilization. The only sound that breaks the silence is the hiss of escaping steam. That steam, to me, is symbolic of the civilization that has gone, existing for a moment, noisy and purposeless, then vanishing. Of the two forms of life, mankind and the plants, the latter is by far the better.
Still, it is only proper that I, the creator of this vegetable world, should be the ruler thereof. Consequently, in a short time, I shall attempt to gain complete control of those plants, and be supreme ruler over all. I have a plan-----
Good Maca! What was that! One of the walls of the glass room has fallen out! the plants are escaping! The heat projector! MACA! OH-----
* * * *
Tuol Oro’s tale ended in a shrill scream of horror and pain, a scream that was cut short abruptly, and ended in a strangely muffled sob. One can picture with some degree of accuracy the scene within his room. In some way, the glass square that had held the original plants had collapsed, letting the deadly organisms escape.
The resulting death of the mad scientist can well be imagined.
And on Kotar, or Mars, if it is the red planet, a species of fungus, growing with incredible rapidity, holds uncontested sway.