Kitabı oku: «Astounding Stories of Super-Science January 1931», sayfa 2
I picked up the twilight zone without difficulty in the television disc, and at full power examined the terrain.
The rich crops that fairly burst from the earth of the sunlit portion of Antri were not to be observed here. The Antrians made no effort to till this ground, and I doubt that it would have been profitable to do so, even had they wished to come so close to the darkness they hated.
The ground seemed dank, and great dark slugs moved heavily upon its greasy surface. Here and there strange pale growths grew in patches – twisted, spotted growths that seemed somehow unhealthy and poisonous.
I searched the country ahead, pressing further and further into the line of darkness that was swiftly approaching. As the light of the sun faded, our monstrous searchlights cut into the gloom ahead, their great beams slashing the shadows.
In the dark country I had expected to find little if any vegetable growth. Instead, I found that it was a veritable jungle through which even our searchlight rays could not pass.
How tall the growths of this jungle might be, I could not tell, yet I had the feeling that they were tall indeed. They were not trees, these pale, weedy arms that reached towards the dark sky. They were soft and pulpy, and without leaves; just long naked sickly arms that divided and subdivided and ended in little smooth stumps like amputated limbs.
That there was some kind of activity within the shelter of this weird jungle, was evident enough, for I could catch glimpses, now and then of moving things. But what they might be, even the searching eye of the television disc could not determine.
One of our searchlight beams, waving through the darkness like the curious antenna of some monstrous insect, came to rest upon a spot far ahead. I followed the beam with the disc, and bent closer, to make sure my eyes did not deceive me.
I was looking at a vast cleared place in the pulpy jungle – a cleared space in the center of which there was a city.
A city built of black, sweating stone, each house exactly like every other house: tall, thin slices of stone, without windows, chimneys or ornamentation of any kind. The only break in the walls was the slit-like door of each house. Instead of being arranged along streets crossing each other at right angles, these houses were built in concentric circles broken only by four narrow streets then ran from the open space in the center of the city to the four points of the compass. Around the entire city was an exceedingly high wall built of and buttressed with the black, sweating stone of which the houses were constructed.
That it was a densely populated city there was ample evidence. People – they were creatures like the messenger; that the Chisee are a people, despite their terrible shape, is hardly debatable – were running up and down the four radial streets, and around the curved connecting streets, in the wildest confusion, their double-elbowed arms flung across their eyes. But even as I watched, the crowd thinned and melted swiftly away, until the streets of the queer, circular city were utterly deserted.
“The city ahead is not the one we are seeking, sir?” asked Croy, who had evidently been observing the scene through one of the smaller television discs. “I take it that governing city will be farther in the interior.”
“According to my rather sketchy information, yes.” I replied. “However, keep all the searchlight operators busy, going over very bit of the country within the reach of their beams. You have men on all the auxiliary television discs?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Any findings of interest should be reported to me instantly. And – Mr. Croy!”
“Yes, sir?”
“You might order, if you will, that rations be served all men at their posts.” Over such country as this, I felt it would be wise to have every man ready for an emergency. It was, perhaps, as well that I issued this order.
It was perhaps half an hour after we had passed the circular city when, far ahead, I could see the pale, unhealthy forest thinning out. A half dozen of our searchlight beams played upon the denuded area, and as I brought the television disc to bear I saw that we were approaching a vast swamp, in which little pools of black water reflected the dazzling light of our searching beams.
Nor was this all. Out of the swamp a thousand strange, winged things were rising: yellowish, bat-like things with forked tails and fierce hooked beaks. And like some obscene miasma from that swamp, they rose and came straight for the Ertak!
Instantly I pressed the attention signal that warned every man on the ship.
“All disintegrator rays in action at once!” I barked into the transmitter. “Broad beams, and full energy. Bird-like creatures, dead ahead; do not cease action until ordered!”
I heard the disintegrator ray generators deepen their notes before I finished speaking, and I smiled grimly, turning to Correy.
“Slow down as quickly and as much as possible, Mr. Correy,” I ordered. “We have work to do ahead.”
He nodded, and gave the order to the operating room; I felt the forward surge that told me my order was being obeyed, and turned my attention again to the television disc.
The ray operators were doing their work well. The search lights showed the air streaked with fine siftings of greasy dust, and these strange winged creatures were disappearing by the scores as the disintegrator rays beat and played upon them.
But they came on gamely, fiercely. Where there had been thousands, there were but hundreds … scores … dozens…
There were only five left. Three of them disappeared at once, but the two remaining came on unhesitatingly, their dirty yellow bat-like wings flapping heavily, their naked heads outstretched, and hooked beaks snapping.
One of them disappeared in a little sifting of greasy dust, and the same ray dissolved one wing of the remaining creature. He turned over suddenly, the one good wing flapping wildly, and tumbled towards the waiting swamp that has spawned him. Then, as the ray eagerly followed him, the last of that hellish brood disappeared.
“Circle slowly, Mr. Correy,” I ordered. I wanted to make sure there were none of these terrible creatures left. I felt that nothing so terrible should be left alive – even in a world of darkness.
Through the television disc I searched the swamp. As I had half suspected, the filthy ooze held the young of this race of things: grub-like creatures that flipped their heavy bodies about in the slime, alarmed by the light which searched them out.
“All disintegrator rays on the swamp,” I ordered. “Sweep it from margin to margin. Let nothing be left alive there.”
I had a well trained crew. The disintegrator rays massed themselves into a marching wall of death, and swept up and down the swamp as a plough turns its furrows.
It was easy to trace their passage, for behind them the swamp disappeared, leaving in its stead row after row of broad, dusty paths. When we had finished there was no swamp: there was only a naked area upon which nothing lived, and upon which, for many years, nothing would grow.
“Good work,” I commended the disintegrator ray men. “Cease action.” And then, to Correy, “Put her on her course again, please.”
An hour went by. We passed several more of the strange, damp circular cities, differing from the first we had seen only in the matter of size. Another hour passed, and I became anxious. If we were on our proper course, and I had understood the Chisee messenger correctly, we should be very close to the governing city. We should —
The waving beam of one of the searchlights came suddenly to rest. Three or four other beams followed it – and then all the others.
“Large city to port, sir!” called Croy excitedly.
“Thank you. I believe it is our destination. Cut all searchlights except the forward beam. Mr. Correy!”
“Yes, sir.”
“You can take her over visually now, I believe. The forward searchlight beam will keep our destination in view for you. Set her down cautiously in the center of the city in any suitable place. And – remain at the controls ready for any orders, and have the operating room crew do likewise.”
“Yes, sir,” said Correy crisply.
With a tenseness I could not control, I bent over the hooded television disc and studied the mighty governing city of the Chisee.
The governing city of the Chisee was not unlike the others we had seen, save that it was very much larger, and had eight spoke-like streets radiating from its center, instead of four. The protective wall was both thicker and higher.
There was another difference. Instead of a great open space in the center of the city, there was a central, park-like space, in the middle of which was a massive pile, circular in shape, and built, like all the rest of the city, of the black, sweating rock which seemed to be the sole building material of the Chisee.
We set the Ertak down close to the big circular building, which we guessed – and correctly – to be the seat of government. I ordered the searchlight ray to be extinguished the moment we landed, and the ethon tubes that illuminated our ship inside to be turned off, so that we might accustom our eyes as much as possible to darkness, finding our way about with small ethon tube flashlights.
With a small guard, I stood at the forward exit of the Ertak and watched the huge circular door back out on its mighty threads, and finally swing to one side on its massive gimbals. Croy – the only officer with me – and I both wore our menores, and carried full expeditionary equipment, as did the guard.
The Chisee messenger, grimacing and talking excitedly in his sibilant, whispering voice, crouched on all fours (he could not stand in that small space) and waited, three men of the guard on either side of him. I placed his menore on his head and gave him simple, forceful orders, picturing them for him as best I could:
“Go from this place and find others of your kind. Tell them that we would speak to them with things such as you have upon your head. Run swiftly!”
“I will run,” he conveyed to me, “to those great ones who sent me.” He pictured them fleetingly. They were creatures like himself, save that they were elaborately dressed in fine skins of several pale colors, and wore upon their arms, between their two elbows, broad circlets of carved metal which I took to be emblems of power or authority, since the chief of them all wore a very broad band. Their faces were much more intelligent than their messenger had led me to expect, and their eyes, very large and round, and not at all human, were the eyes of thoughtful, reasoning creatures.
Doubled on all fours, the Chisee crept through the circular exit, and straightened up. As he did so, from out of the darkness a score or more of his fellows rushed up, gathering around him, and blocking the exit with their reedy legs. We could hear than talking excitedly in high-pitched, squeaky whispers. Then, suddenly I received an expression from the Chisee who wore the menore:
“Those who are with me have come from those in power. They say one of you, and one only, is to come with us to our big men who will learn, through a thing such as I wear upon my head, that which you wish to say to them. You are to come quickly; at once.”
“I will come,” I replied. “Have those with you make way – ”
A heavy hand fell upon my shoulder; a voice spoke eagerly in my ear:
“Sir, you must not go!” It was Croy, and his voice shook with feeling. “You are in command of the Ertak; she, and those in her need you. Let me go! I insist, sir!”
I turned in the darkness, quickly and angrily.
“Mr. Croy,” I said swiftly, “do you realize that you are speaking to your commanding officer?”
I felt his grip tighten on my arm as the reproof struck home.
“Yes, sir,” he said doggedly. “I do. But I repeat that your duty commands you to remain here.”
“The duty of a commander in this Service leads him to the place of greatest danger, Mr. Croy,” I informed him.
“Then stay with your ship, sir!” he pleaded, craftily. “This may be some trick to get you away, so that they may attack us. Please! Can’t you see that I am right, sir?”
I thought swiftly. The earnestness of the youngster had touched me. Beneath the formality and the “sirs” there was a real affection between us.
In the darkness I reached for his hand; I found it and shook it solemnly – a gesture of Earth which it is hard to explain. It means many things.
“Go, then, Andy,” I said softly. “But do not stay long. An hour at the longest. If you are not back in that length of time, we’ll come after you, and whatever else may happen, you can be sure that you will be well avenged. The Ertak has not lost her stinger.”
“Thank you, John,” he replied. “Remember that I shall wear my menore. If I adjust it to full power, and you do likewise, and stand without the shelter of the Ertak’s metal hull, I shall be able to communicate with you, should there be any danger.” He pressed my hand again, and strode through the exit out into the darkness, which was lit only by a few distant stars.
The long, slim legs closed in around him; like a pigmy guarded by the skeletons of giants he was led quickly away.
The minutes dragged by. There was a nervous tension on the ship, the like of which I have experienced not more than a dozen times in all my years.
No one spoke aloud. Now and again one man would matter uneasily to another; there would be a swift, muttered response, and silence again. We were waiting – waiting.
Ten minutes went by. Twenty. Thirty.
Impatiently I paced up and down before the exit, the guards at their posts, ready to obey any orders instantly.
Forty-five minutes. I walked through the exit; stepped out onto the cold, hard earth.
I could see, behind me, the shadowy bulk of the Ertak. Before me, a black, shapeless blot against the star-sprinkled sky, was the great administrative building of the Chisee. And in there, somewhere, was Anderson Croy. I glanced down at the luminous dial of my watch. Fifty minutes. In ten minutes more —
“John Hanson!” My name reached me, faintly but clearly, through the medium of my menore. “This is Croy. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” I replied instantly. “Are you safe?”
“I am safe. All is well. Very well. Will you promise me now to receive what I am about to send, without interruption?”
“Yes,” I replied, thoughtlessly and eagerly. “What is it?”
“I have had a long conference with the chief or head of the Chisee,” explained Croy rapidly. “He is very intelligent, and his people are much further advanced than we thought.
“Through some form of communication, he has learned of the fight with the weird birds; it seems that they are – or were – the most dreaded of all the creatures of this dark world. Apparently we got the whole brood of them, and this chief, whose name, I gather, is Wieschien, or something like that, is naturally much impressed.
“I have given him a demonstration or two with my atomic pistol and the flashlight – these people are fairly stricken by a ray of light directly in the eyes – and we have reached very favorable terms.
“I am to remain here as chief bodyguard and adviser, of which he has need, for all is not peaceful, I gather, in this kingdom of darkness. In return, he is to give up his plans to subjugate the rest of Antri; he has sworn to do this by what is evidently, to him, a very sacred oath, witnessed solemnly by the rest of his council.
“Under the circumstances, I believe he will do what he says; in any case, the great canal will be filled in, and the Antrians will have plenty of time to erect a great series of disintegrator ray stations along the entire twilight zone, using the broad fan rays to form a solid wall against which the Chisee could not advance even did they, at some future date, carry out their plans. The worst possible result then would be that the people in the sunlit portion would have to migrate from certain sections, and perhaps would have day and night, alternately, as do other worlds.
“This is the agreement we have reached; it is the only one that will save this world. Do you approve, sir?”
“No! Return immediately, and we will show the Chisee that they cannot hold an officer of the Special Patrol as a hostage. Make haste!”
“It’s no go, sir,” came the reply instantly. “I threatened them first. I explained what our disintegrator rays would do, and Wieschien laughed at me.
“This city is built upon great subterranean passages that lead to many hidden exits. If we show the least sign of hostility the work will be resumed on the canal, and, before we can locate the spot, and stop the work, the damage will be done.
“This is our only chance, sir, to make this expedition a complete success. Permit me to judge this fact from the evidence I have before me. Whatever sacrifice there is to make, I make gladly. Wieschien asks that you depart at once, and in peace, and I know this is the only course. Good-by, sir; convey my salutations to my other friends upon the old Ertak, and elsewhere. And now, lest my last act as an officer of the Special Patrol Service be to refuse to obey the commands of my superior officer, I am removing the menore. Good-by!”
I tried to reach him again, but there was no response.
Gone! He was gone! Swallowed up in darkness and in silence!
Dazed, shaken to the very foundation of my being, I stood there between the shadowy bulk of the Ertak and the towering mass of the great silent pile that was the seat of government in this strange land of darkness, and gazed up at the dark sky above me. I am not ashamed, now, to say that hot tears trickled down my cheeks, nor that as I turned back to the Ertak, my throat was so gripped by emotion that I could not speak.
I ordered the exit closed with a wave of my hand; in the navigating room I said but four words: “We depart at once.”
At the third meal of the day I gathered my officers about me and told them, as quickly and as gently as I could, of the sacrifice one of their number had made.
It was Kincaide who, when I had finished, rose slowly and made reply.
“Sir,” he said quietly, “We had a friend. Some day, he might have died. Now he will live forever in the records of the Service, in the memory of a world, and in the hearts of those who had the honor to serve with him. Could he – or we – wish more?”
Amid a strange silence he sat down again, and there was not an eye among us that was dry.
I hope that the snappy young officer who visited me the other day reads this little account of bygone times.
Perhaps it will make clear to him how we worked, in those nearly forgotten days, with the tools we had at hand. They were not the perfect tools of to-day, but what they lacked, we somehow made up.
That fine old motto of the Service, “Nothing Less Than Complete Success,” we passed on unsullied to those who came after us.
I hope these youngsters of to-day may do as well.
The Sunken Empire
By H. Thompson Rich
Concerning the strange adventures of Professor Stevens with the Antillians on the floors of the mysterious Sargasso Sea.
“Then you really expect to find the lost continent of Atlantis, Professor?”
Martin Stevens lifted his bearded face sternly to the reporter who was interviewing him in his study aboard the torpedo-submarine Nereid, a craft of his own invention, as she lay moored at her Brooklyn wharf, on an afternoon in October.
“My dear young man,” he said, “I am not even going to look for it.”
The aspiring journalist – Larry Hunter by name – was properly abashed.
“But I thought,” he insisted nevertheless, “that you said you were going to explore the ocean floor under the Sargasso Sea?”
“And so I did.” Professor Stevens admitted, a smile moving that gray beard now and his blue eyes twinkling merrily. “But the Sargasso, an area almost equal to Europe, covers other land as well – land of far more recent submergence than Atlantis, which foundered in 9564 B. C., according to Plato. What I am going to look for is this newer lost continent, or island rather – namely, the great island of Antillia, of which the West Indies remain above water to-day.”
“Antillia?” queried Larry Hunter, wonderingly. “I never heard of it.”
Again the professor regarded his interviewer sternly.
“There are many things you have never heard of, young man,” he told him. “Antillia may be termed the missing link between Atlantis and America. It was there that Atlantean culture survived after the appalling catastrophe that wiped out the Atlantean homeland, with its seventy million inhabitants, and it was in the colonies the Antillians established in Mexico and Peru, that their own culture in turn survived, after Antillia too had sunk.”
“My Lord! You don’t mean to say the Mayas and Incas originated on that island of Antillia?”
“No, I mean to say they originated on the continent of Atlantis, and that Antillia was the stepping stone to the New World, where they built the strange pyramids we find smothered in the jungle – even as thousands of years before the Atlanteans established colonies in Egypt and founded the earliest dynasties of pyramid-building Pharaohs.”
Larry was pushing his pencil furiously.
“Whew!” he gasped. “Some story, Professor!”
“To the general public, perhaps,” was the reply. “But to scholars of antiquity, these postulates are pretty well known and pretty well accepted. It remains but to get concrete evidence, in order to prove them to the world at large – and that is the object of my expedition.”
More hurried scribbling, then:
“But, say – why don’t you go direct to Atlantis and get the real dope?”
“Because that continent foundered so long ago that it is doubtful if any evidence would have withstood the ravages of time,” Professor Stevens explained, “whereas Antillia went down no earlier than 200 B. C., archaeologists agree.”
“That answers my question,” declared Larry, his admiration for this doughty graybeard rising momentarily. “And now, Professor, I wonder if you’d be willing to say a few words about this craft of yours?”
“Cheerfully, if you think it would interest anyone. What would you care to have me say?”
“Well, in the first place, what does the name Nereid mean?”
“Sea-nymph. The derivation is from the Latin and Greek, meaning daughter of the sea-god Nereus. Appropriate, don’t you think?”
“Swell. And why do you call it a torpedo-submarine? How does it differ from the common or navy variety?”
Professor Stevens smiled. It was like asking what was the difference between the sun and the moon, when about the only point of resemblance they had was that they were both round. Nevertheless, he enumerated some of the major modifications he had developed.
Among them, perhaps the most radical, was its motive power, which was produced by what he called a vacuo-turbine – a device that sucked in the water at the snout of the craft and expelled it at the tail, at the time purifying a certain amount for drinking purposes and extracting sufficient oxygen to maintain a healthful atmosphere while running submerged.
Then, the structure of the Nereid was unique, he explained, permitting it to attain depths where the pressure would crush an ordinary submarine, while mechanical eyes on the television principle afforded a view in all directions, and locks enabling them to leave the craft at will and explore the sea-bottom were provided.
This latter feat they would accomplish in special suits, designed on the same pneumatic principle as the torpedo itself and capable of sustaining sufficient inflation to resist whatever pressures might be encountered, as well as being equipped with vibratory sending and receiving apparatus, for maintaining communication with those left aboard.
All these things and more Professor Stevens outlined, as Larry’s pencil flew, admitting that he had spent the past ten years and the best part of his private fortune in developing his plans.
“But you’ll get it all back, won’t you? Aren’t there all sorts of Spanish galleons and pirate barques laden with gold supposed to be down there?”
“Undoubtedly,” was the calm reply. “But I am not on a treasure hunt, young man. If I find one single sign of former life, I shall be amply rewarded.”
Whereupon the young reporter regarded the subject of his interview with fresh admiration, not unmingled with wonder. In his own hectic world, people had no such scorn of gold. Gee, he’d sure like to go along! The professor could have his old statues or whatever he was looking for. As for himself, he’d fill up his pockets with Spanish doubloons and pieces of eight!
Larry was snapped out of his trance by a light knock on the door, which opened to admit a radiant girl in creamy knickers and green cardigan.
“May I come in, daddy?” she inquired, hesitating, as she saw he was not alone.
“You seem to be in already, my dear,” the professor told her, rising from his desk and stepping forward.
Then, turning to Larry, who had also risen, he said:
“Mr. Hunter, this is my daughter, Diane, who is also my secretary.”
“I am pleased to meet you, Miss Stevens,” said Larry, taking her hand.
And he meant it – for almost anyone would have been pleased to meet Diane, with her tawny gold hair, warm olive cheeks and eyes bluer even than her father’s and just as twinkling, just as intelligent.
“She will accompany the expedition and take stenographic notes of everything we observe,” added her father, to Larry’s amazement.
“What?” he declared. “You mean to say that – that – ”
“Of course he means to say that I’m going, if that’s what you mean to say, Mr. Hunter,” Diane assured him. “Can you think of any good reason why I shouldn’t go, when girls are flying around the world and everything else?”
Even had Larry been able to think of any good reason, he wouldn’t have mentioned it. But as a matter of fact, he had shifted quite abruptly to an entirely different line of thought. Diane, he was thinking – Diana, goddess of the chase, the huntress! And himself, Larry Hunter – the hunter and the huntress!
Gee, but he’d like to go! What an adventure, hunting around together on the bottom of the ocean!
What a wild dream, rather, he concluded when his senses returned. For after all, he was only a reporter, fated to write about other people’s adventures, not to participate in them. So he put away his pad and pencil and prepared to leave.
But at the door he paused.
“Oh, yes – one more question. When are you planning to leave, Professor?”
At that, Martin Stevens and his daughter exchanged a swift glance. Then, with a smile, Diane said:
“I see no reason why we shouldn’t tell him, daddy.”
“But we didn’t tell the reporters from the other papers, my dear,” protested her father.
“Then suppose we give Mr. Hunter the exclusive story,” she said, transferring her smile to Larry now. “It will be what you call a – a scoop. Isn’t that it?”
“That’s it.”
She caught her father’s acquiescing nod. “Then here’s your scoop, Mr. Hunter. We leave to-night.”
To-night! This was indeed a scoop! If he hurried, he could catch the late afternoon editions with it.
“I – I certainly thank you, Miss Stevens!” he exclaimed. “That’ll make the front page!”
As he grasped the door-knob, he added, turning to her father:
“And I want to thank you too, Professor – and wish you good luck!”
Then, with a hasty handshake, and a last smile of gratitude for Diane, he flung open the door and departed, unconscious that two young blue eyes followed his broad shoulders wistfully till they disappeared from view.
But Larry was unaware that he had made a favorable impression on Diane. He felt it was the reverse. As he headed toward the subway, that vivid blond goddess of the chase was uppermost in his thoughts.
Soon she’d be off in the Nereid, bound for the mysterious regions under the Sargasso Sea, while in a few moments he’d be in the subway, bound under the prosaic East River for New York.
No – damned if he would!
Suddenly, with a wild inspiration, the young reporter altered his course, dove into the nearest phone booth and got his city editor on the wire.
Scoop? This was just the first installment. He’d get a scoop that would fill a book!
And his city editor tacitly O. K.’d the idea.
With the result that when the Nereid drew away from her wharf that night, on the start of her unparalleled voyage, Larry Hunter was a stowaway.
The place where he had succeeded in secreting himself was a small storeroom far aft, on one of the lower decks. There he huddled in the darkness, while the slow hours wore away, hearing only the low hum of the craft’s vacuo-turbine and the flux of water running through her.
From the way she rolled and pitched, he judged she was still proceeding along on the surface.
Having eaten before he came aboard, he felt no hunger, but the close air and the dark quarters brought drowsiness. He slept.
When he awoke it was still dark, of course, but a glance at his luminous wrist-watch told him it was morning now. And the fact that the rolling and pitching had ceased made him believe they were now running submerged.
The urge for breakfast asserting itself, Larry drew a bar of chocolate from his pocket and munched on it. But this was scanty fare for a healthy young six-footer, accustomed to a liberal portion of ham and eggs. Furthermore, the lack of coffee made him realize that he was getting decidedly thirsty. The air, moreover, was getting pretty bad.
“All in all, this hole wasn’t exactly intended for a bedroom!” he reflected with a wry smile.
Taking a chance, he opened the door a crack and sat there impatiently, while the interminable minutes ticked off.
The Nereid’s turbine was humming now with a high, vibrant note that indicated they must be knocking off the knots at a lively clip. He wondered how far out they were, and how far down.
Lord, there’d be a riot when he showed up! He wanted to wait till they were far enough on their way so it would be too much trouble to turn around and put him ashore.
But by noon his powers of endurance were exhausted. Flinging open the door, he stepped out into the corridor, followed it to a companionway and mounted the ladder to the deck above.
There he was assailed by a familiar and welcome odor – food!
