 CHAPTER VI. ETHERWAVE EVE'S DROPPING I had thought it was a cavern mouth into which the men had disappeared, but it was not. I reached it without any encounter. It loomed above me, a great archway in the cliff. An opening fifty feet high and equally as broad, and behind it was a ruthless cave. A sort of irregularly circular bowl, five hundred feet across its broken, bolder strewn, cake-oosed floor. I crouched in the blackness under the archway. The moon had risen, and its light filtered with occasional shafts through the swift, flying black clouds overhead. The scene was brighter. It was dark in the archway, but a glow of moonlight in the bowl beyond showed me its tumbled floor and the precipitous eroded walls, like a crater rim which encircled it. The men whom Perona had met were across the bowl near its opposite side. I could see the group of them, five hundred feet from me, by a little moonlight that was on them. Also by the sheen from the spots of their handlights. Four or five men, and Perona. I thought I'd distinguished the aged minister sitting on a rock, and before him a huge, giant man's figure striding up and down. Perona seemed talking vehemently. The men were listening. The giant paused occasionally in his pacing to fling a question. All this I saw with my first swift glance. My attention was drawn from the men to an object near them. The nose of a flyer showed between two upstanding crags on the floor of the valley. Only its forward, horizontal propellers and the tip of its cabin and landing gear were visible, but I could guess that it was a fair-sized ship. The men were too far away for me to hear them. Could I get across the floor of the bowl without discovery? It did not seem so. The accursed moonlight became stronger every moment. Then I saw a guard, a dark figure of a man showing just inside the archway, some seventy feet from me. He was leaning against a rock, facing my way. In his hands was a thick-barreled electronic projector. I could not advance. That was obvious. The moonlight lay in a clear, clean patch beyond the archway. The guard stood at its edge. A minute or two had passed. Perona was still talking vehemently. I was losing it. Not a word was audible. Yet I felt that if I could hear Perona now, much that Hanley and I wanted to learn would be made clear to us. My little microphone receiver could be adjusted for audible air vibrations. I crouched and held it cautiously above my head with its face, like a listening ear, turned toward the distant men. My single-vacuum amplification brought up the sound until their voices sounded like whispers murmured in my ear grits. D'Bor, listen to me. Perona's voice. They must have been chants where it spoke loudly. It was all I could hear, saved tantalizing unintelligible murmurs. So this was D'Bor, the bandit, the big fellow pacing before Perona. I wanted infinitely more, now, to hear what was being said. I thought of Hanley. There might be a way of handling this. I had to murmur very softly. I was hidden in the shadows from the guard's sight, but he was close enough to hear my normal voice. I chanced it. A wind was sucking through the archway with an audible whine. The guard might not hear me. X, 2, AY. The sorter's desk. He came in. I murmured Hanley's rating. Rush, danger, special. It went swiftly through. Hanley, thank heaven, was at his desk. I plugged in my little image finder, held it over my head, turned it slowly. I whispered. Look around, chief. See where I am? Near Narada, couple of miles out. Followed Perona. He met these men. The big one is D'Bor, the depth bandit. I can't hear what they're saying, but I can send you their voice murmurs. Amplify them all you can, relay them up, Hanley ordered. I caught Perona's murmurs again. I swung them through my tiny transformers, and off my transmitter points into the ether. Hear them, chief? Yes, I'll try further amplification. It was what I had intended. Hanley's greater power might be able to amplify those murmurs into audible strength. I'm getting them, Phil. He swung them back to me. Grotesquely distorted, blurred with tube hum and interference crackle, they roared in my ear grid so loudly that I saw the nearby guard turn his head as though startled, listening. But evidently he concluded it was nothing. I cut down the volume. Hanley switched in. By God, Phil, this off-chief let me hear too. He cut away those distorted voices. They came from Perona and the bandits to me across this five hundred foot moonlit ball, from me, thirteen hundred miles up to Hanley's instruments, and back to me once more. But the words, most of them, now were distinguishable. Perona's voice. I tell it to you, D'Bor, and a good chance for you to make the money. But will they pay? Of course they will pay, big, a ransom, princely. But why, Perona? Why princely? Who is this fellow so important? He is with rich businessmen, I tell to you. A private citizen? And a private citizen, of a surety, fool. Have you come to be a coward, D'Bor? Pah! Well then, I tell you it is a lifetime chance. All of it I have arranged. If he was a government agent, that would be very different, for they are very keen, this administration of the American government, to protect their agents. But their private citizens, it is a scandal. Do you not ever pick the newscaster's reports, D'Bor? Has it not been a scandal that this administration does very little for its citizens abroad? And you want to get rid of this fellow? Why, Perona? This is not your concern. The ransom is to be all yours. Take away with him, in the depths somewhere. Demand your ransom, fifty thousand gold standards. Demand it of me, of Nerada. And you will pay it? I promise it. Nerada will pay it. And Nerada will collect the ransom from the American capitalist. Very easy. His voice fell lower. Between us, you will get the ransom money from Nerada, and then kill your prisoner if you like. Call it an accident, what matter? And dead men are silent, D'Bor. I will see that no real pursuit is made after you. They were talking about me. It was obvious. Questions rushed at me. Perona, planning with this bandit to abduct me, hold me for ransom, or kill me. But Perona knew that I was not a private citizen. He was lying to D'Bor, to persuade him. Why this attack upon me? Was spawn in on it? Why were they so anxious to get rid of me, because of Jetta? Or because I was dangerous, plying into their smuggling activities? Or both? D'Bor. Get up with my men through the streets to spawn's house. You have it fixed. Yes. Over the route from here, as I told you, there are no police tonight. I have ordered them off. In the garden. Dios. You offer so many objections. I tell you, all is fixed. In an hour, half an hour. Even then, perhaps. The Americano is in the garden. The girl has promised to meet him there. He will be there, if you're not. Will you go? Yes. Ha! That is the D'Bor I have always admired. I could see them in the moonlight across the pit. Perona now standing up, the giant figure of the bandit towering over him. Hanley's microscopic voice cut in. Getting it, Phil? To seize you for ransom? Yes, I hear it. This girl, who? Wait, chief, off. D'Bor. I will do it. Fifty thousand. Perona. An hour now. Spawn will be at his home asleep. And you will go to the mine? Yes. Now from here. You seize this fellow-grant and then attack the mine, our regular plan, D'Bor. This does not change it. Attack Spawn's mine. Half a million of treasure was there tonight. Perona was chuckling. You give Spawn's guards the signal. They are all my men, in my pay. They will run away when you appear. Hanley cut in again. By the gods there after the treasure. Phil, listen to me, you must, his voice faded. Chief, I can't hear you. Hanley came again. And I will notify Puerto Rico. The local patrol will be about ready to leave. Or notified Narada headquarters, I suggested. If you can get President Marx, he can send some police to the mine. And find all Narada's police, bribe, bribe, Perona. I'll get Puerto Rico. We have an hour or two. The patrol can reach you in an hour. The bandits were preparing to leave here. Two or three of them had gone to the flyer. Perona and De Boer were partying. Well, that is all De Boer writes in your Perona. I will start shortly. On foot by the street route to Spawn's. Hanley's hurried voice came back. I sent the call to Puerto Rico. The guard had moved again. He was no more than fifty feet away from me now, standing up gazing directly toward where I was crouching over my tiny instruments in the shadows of the rocky arch. A footstep sounded behind me, on the path outside the arch, someone approaching. A tiny light bobbing. Then a voice calling, Perona, De Boer. The guard took a step forward, stopped, with leveled weapon. Then the voice again. It was so loud it went through my opened relay, flashed up to New York, and blew out half a dozen of Hanley's attuned vacuums. Perona! Spawn's voice. He was coming toward me. I lay prone. My little grid switched off. I held my breath. Spawn's figure went past within ten feet of me, but he did not see me. He met the guard. Hello, Goudreze. That damned American! Perona and De Boer came hastening. Spawn joined them in the moonlight just beyond the archway, close enough for me to hear them plainly. Spawn was out of breath, panting from his swift walk. He greeted them with a roar. The American! He is gone! Dios! Gone where, Spawn? The hell! How do I know, Perona? He is gone from his room, from the house. Maybe he followed you here, did he? End of Section 9. Section 10 of Astounding Stories of Super Science, September 1930. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Barry Eads. Jetta of the Lowlands by Ray Cummings. Chapter 7. Behind the Sealed Door. There was a moment when I think I might have escaped unseen from that archway. But I was too amazed at Spawn's appearance to think of my own situation. I had believed that Perona was plotting against Spawn, meeting these bandits in this secret place. I had just heard them planning to attack Spawn's mind, to rob it of the treasure doubtless which I knew was stored there. But I realize now it was not a plot against Spawn. He had come here swiftly to join Perona and tell him that I, their intended victim, was missing. He had greeted the bandit guard by name. He seemed, indeed, as well known to these bandits as Perona himself. They stood now in a group, some thirty feet away from me. I could hear their excited voices perfectly clearly. My instruments were off, but I recall that as I listened to Spawn, I was also aware of the tingle of the electrode band on my chest, handily, vigorously calling me back to find out why I had so summarily disconnected. I took him to his room, Spawn was explaining excitedly. The devil, why should I have sealed him in? How could I? He is no child. D'Bor laughed costically, and so now he has walked away from you. I think I am a fool to mix myself with you two. Perona retorted, I have made you rich, D'Bor. Think what you like. Tonight is the end of our partnership. Only you do what I have told you tonight. Ha! How can I? Your American has flown his trap. This guard, this Guteriz, as Spawn had called him, was listening with interest. D'Bor's several other men were gathered there. I felt myself safe where I was, for the moment at least. I cut handily in. Chief, they're closer. Spawn has come. They've missed me. I'll relay what they're saying, but you step it down. There's too much volume. You're all right, Phil, thank heaven for that. Something blew my vacuums. Chief, listen, here they are. Perona. But he will be back in the garden now, no doubt, with Jedda. D'Bor. Ah! The little Jedda, so she is there, Spawn. Not in years have you spoken of your daughter, a young lady now, I suppose. Is it so? Spawn cursed. We leave her out of this. You follow the Senor's plan. Come to your house. You think the bird will be there for me to seize? Yes, Perona put in. You go there, in an hour, then to the mine. Spawn undoubtedly was in this plot to attack his mine. He said, At the mine, we have arranged everything, damn this American. But for Perona I would not bother with him. But you will bother, Perona interjected. D'Bor laughed again. I would be witless, I could not figure this. He is a young man, and so handsome he has frightened you with the little Jedda. Is that it, Perona? Jealous, eh? I had been holding the image finder so that Hanley might see them. Hanley's voice rattled in my ear-grid. Phil, get away from there! Look! D'Bor is searching. D'Bor had, a moment before, spoken quietly aside to Guterres. And now three or four of the men were spreading out, poking about with small hand flashes, searching for me, the possibility that I might be here, eavesdropping. Hanley repeated vehemently, Phil, they'll find you! Get out of there! The way is still open. Guterres was approaching the archway, but I lingered a moment longer. Chief, you heard about that girl, Jedda, Spawn's daughter. I stopped, Perona was saying, Spawn, was Jedda still in her room? You did not untie her? No. And gagged, suppose the Americana was back there now? She might call to him, and he would release her. D'Bor. How do you know he is not around here, listening? With the assumption that I might be within hearing, D'Bor tried to trap me. Guterres, at a signal now, suddenly dashed through the archway and planted himself on the path outside. The other searchers spread their rays. The rocks all about me were lighted, but my niche was still untouched. D'Bor. If he is around here—Perona—he could not have followed me. I was too careful. I was murmuring. Chief, they've got that girl. Phil, get away! Go to Marks. Stay with him. But Chief, that Jedda, I—keep out of this. You're only one. You can't help any. I sent for the Puerto Rican patrol ship to handle this. Chief, I'm going back to Spawn's. No! I cut off abruptly. In another moment I would have been discovered. The searchers were headed directly for me. I moved, crouching, back along the inner wall of the archway. The moon was momentarily behind a cloud. It was black under the arch, and out front it was so dim I could only see the faint blob of Guterres's standing figure and the spot of his flashlight. Perona. He is not around here, D'Bor. That is foolish. Spawn. He could have gone anywhere. Maybe a walk around the village. Perona. Go back home, Spawn. D'Bor will come. Their voices faded as I moved away. A searching bandit behind me poked with his light into the crevice where a moment before I had been crouching. I moved faster. Only Guterres now was in front of me. He was at the far end of the arch. I could slip past and still be fifty feet from him, if I could avoid his swinging lightbeam. I was running now, chancing that he would hear me. I was on the path. I could see it vaguely. One behind me came a sizzling flash and the tinge of the flying needle as it missed me by a foot. The Americano! He goes there! Another shot. The shouts of the bandits in the archway, a turmoil back there. But it was all behind me. I leaped sideways off the path as Guterres's small lightbeam swept it. I ran stumbling through a stubble of boulders around an upstanding rockspire back to the path again. There were other shots. Then D'Bor's voice fainted by distance. Up! Fools! We will alarm the village. The landing field can see our shots from there. Take it easy. You can't get him. The turmoil quieted. I went around a bend in the path, running swiftly. Pursuit was behind me. I could hear them coming. It was a run of no more than ten minutes to the junction where, down the slope, I could see the lights of the landing field. The glow of the village was ahead of me. Then I was in its outskirts, occasional dark houses, deserted streets. I slowed to a fast walk. I was breathless, panting in the heat. I heard no pursuit now, but Spawn and the rest of them doubtless were after me. Would they head back for Spawn's Inn? I thought they would, but I could beat them back there. I was sure there was no shorter route than this I was taking. Would they use their flier? That would not gain them any time. What with launching it and landing? For so short a flight. An abandoned flier could not very well land unseen or unnoticed. Even insomnolent neurata. I reached the main section of the village. There were occasional lights and pedestrians. My haste was noticeable, but I was not accosted. There seemed no police about. I recalled Perrona's remarks that he had attended to that. My electrode was tingling. I had been running again. I slowed down. Chief? Phil! His voice carried relief. You got away! Yes, I'm in the village. Go to President Marks. No, I'm headed for Spawn's. They're all behind me. I can get there a few minutes ahead of them. I panted an exclamation, incoherently, but frankly, about Jetta. I'm going to get her out of there. Phil! What in hell? I told him. So you've fallen in love with a girl? Entangled? Chief! Go after her, Phil. Got her bound in gag, have they? Going to marry her to this Perrona, like the Middle Ages. I had never seen this sight of Hanley. Get her if you want her. Get her out of there. Go to Marks. No, I wouldn't trust anybody in Narada. Take her to the uplands behind the village. But keep away from that mine. Have you got flash fuses? Yes. I was within sight of Spawn's house. The street was dim and deserted. I was running again. I panted. I'm almost at Spawn's. Good. When it's over, whatever happens up there at the mine, then signal the patrol. Yes. I reached Spawn's front gate. The house and front garden were dark. Use your fuses, Phil. What colors? I have red and blue. I'll talk to the patrol ship again. Tell them to watch for you. Red and blue. Two short red flashes along blue. Right, Chief. I'm here at Spawn's. Cutting off. Come back on when you can. His voice went anxious again. I'll wait here. All right. I cut silent. I ran through the front doorway to Spawn's inn. The living room was dim and empty. Which way was Jetta's room? I could only guess. I had a few minutes, perhaps, before my pursuers would arrive. I reached the inner patio garden. The moon was well out from under the clouds now. The patio shimmered. A silent, deserted fairyland. Jetta, I called it softly. Then louder. Jetta! Spawn's house was fairly large and rambling. There were so many rooms. Jetta was gagged. How could she answer me? But I had no time to search for her. Jetta! Then came her voice. Philip? Jetta! Which way? Where are you? Here. This way. In my room. A window and a door near the pergola. Jetta! Yes. I am in here. They tied me up. Not so loud, Phil. Father will hear you. He's gone out. I reached her garden door, turned its handle, rattled the door, shoved frantically with my shoulder. The middle door was firmly sealed. To be continued. End of Section 10. It was a big mistake. I should not have done it. By birth, by instinct, by training, by habit. I am a man of action. Or I was. It is queer that an old man cannot remember that he is no longer young. But it was a mistake for me to mention that I had recorded for the Archives of the Council the history of a certain activity of the Special Patrol, a bit of secret history which may not be mentioned here. Now they insist, by they I refer to the Chiefs of the Special Patrol service, that I write of other achievements of the service, other adventures worthy of note. Perhaps that is the penalty of becoming old. For Commander of the Buddha, one of the greatest of the Special Patrol ships, to the duties of recording ancient history for younger men to read and dream about. That is a shrewd blow to one's pride. But if I can, in some small way, add luster to the record of my service, it will be a fitting task for a man grown old and gray in that service. Work for hands too weak and palsy for sterner duties. But I shall tell my stories in my own way. After all, they are my stories. And I shall tell the stories that appeal to me most. The universe has had enough and too much of dry history. These shall be adventurous tales, to make the blood of a young man who reads them run a trifle faster, and perhaps the blood of the old man who writes them. This the first shall be the story of the star L-472. You know it today as Ibot, porticole for interplanetary ships, and the source of Oakwright for the universe. But to me it will always be L-472, the world of terrible tentacles. My story begins nearly a hundred years ago, reckoned in terms of earth time which is proper since I am a native of earth when I was a young man. I was sub-commander at the time of the Caled, one of the early ships of the special patrol. We had been called to Xenia on special orders, and Commander Jameson, after an absence of some two hours, returned to the Caled with his face shining, one of his rare smiles telling me in advance that he had news, and good news. He hurried me up to the deserted navigating room, and waved me to a seat. �Hanson,� he said, �I�m glad to be the first to congratulate you. You are now Commander John Hanson of the special patrol ship Caled. Sir,� I gasped, �do you mean?� his smile broadened. From the breast pocket of the trim blue and silver uniform of our service he drew a long crackling paper. �Your commission,� he said, �I�m taking over the boraless. It was my turn to extend congratulations then. The boraless was the newest and greatest ship of the service. We shook hands, then ancient gesture of good fellowship on earth. But as our hands unclasped, Jameson�s face grew suddenly grave. �I have more than this news for you, however,� he said slowly. �You are to have a chance to earn your comment, hardly. I smiled broadly at the mention of the comment, the silver insignia worn over the heart, that would mark my future rank as Commander, replacing the forade star of a sub-Commander which I wore now on my tunic. �Tell me more, sir,� I said confidently. �You have heard of the special patrol ship Philanus,� asked my late Commander gravely. �Reported lost in space,� I replied promptly. �And the Dorlos?� �Why, yes. She was at base here at our last call,� I said, searching his face anxiously. �Peter Wilson was second officer on her, one of my best friends. �Why do you ask about her, sir? �The Dorlos is missing also,� said Commander Jameson solemnly. �Both of those ships were sent upon a particular mission. Neither of them has returned. It is concluded that some common fate has overtaken them. The K-Lid, under your command, is commissioned to investigate these disappearances. �You are not charged with the mission of these other ships. Your orders are to investigate their disappearance. The course, together with the official patrol orders, I shall hand you presently, but with them go verbal orders. You are to lay and keep the course designated, which will take you well out of the beaten path to a small world which has not been explored, but which has been circumnavigated a number of times by various ships remaining just outside the atmospheric envelope, and found to be without evidence of intelligent habitation. In other words, without cities, roads, canals, or other evidence of human handiwork or civilization. I believe your instructions give you some of this information, but not all of it. This world, unnamed because of its uninhabited condition, is charted only as L-472. Your larger charts will show it, I am sure. The atmosphere is reported to be breathable by inhabitants of Earth and other beings having the same general requirements. Vegetation is reported as dense, covering the five continents of the world to the edges of the northern and southern polar caps, which are small. Apographically, the country is rugged in the extreme, with many peaks, apparently volcanic, now inactive or extinct, on all of its five large continents. And I am to land there, sir, I asked eagerly. Your orders are very specific upon that point, said Commander Jamison. You are not to land until you have carefully and thoroughly reconnoitred from above at low altitude. You will exercise every possible precaution. Your specific purpose is simply this. To determine, if possible, the fate of the other two ships and report your findings at once. The chiefs of the service will then consider the matter and take whatever action may seem advisable to them. Jamison rose to his feet and thrust out his hand in Earth's fine old salute of farewell. I must be going, Hanson, he said. I wish this patrol were mine instead of yours. You are a young man for such a responsibility. But I replied with the glowing confidence of youth. I have the advantage of having served under Commander Jamison. He smiled as we shook again and shook his head. Discretion can be learned only by experience, he said. But I wish you success, Hanson, on this undertaking and on many others. Supplies are on their way now. The crew will return from leave within the hour. A young Xenian name of Dival, I believe, is detailed to accompany you as scientific observer. Purely unofficial capacity, of course. He has been ordered to report to you at once. You are to depart as soon as feasible. You know what that means. I believe that's all. Oh, yes, I had almost forgotten. Here in this envelope are your orders and your course, as well as all available data on L-472. In this little casket is your comment, Hanson. I know you will wear it with honor. Thank you, sir, I said, a bit huskily. I saluted and Commander Jamison acknowledged the gesture with stiff precision. Commander Jamison always had the reputation of being something of a marionette. When he had left, I picked up the thin blue envelope he had left. Across the face of the envelope, in the, to my mind, jagged and unbeautiful universal script, was my name, followed by the proud title, Commander, Special Petroleum Ship Caled, my first orders. There was a small oval box of blue leather with the silver crest of the service and base relief on the lid. I opened the case and gazed with shining eyes at the gleaming silver comet that nestled there. Then slowly, I unfastened the foray star on my left breast and placed in its stead the insignia of my commandership. Warned smooth and shiny now, it is still my most precious possession. Conquayed, my second officer turned and smiled as I entered the navigating room. L-472 now registers maximum attraction, sir, he reported. Dead ahead and coming up nicely, my last figures completed about five minutes ago, indicate that we should reach the gaseous envelope in about ten hours. Conquayed was a native of Earth, and we commonly used Earth time measurements in our conversation. As is still the case, ships of the Special Patrol Service were commanded without exception by natives of Earth, and the entire officer personnel hailed largely from the same planet, although I have had several Xenian officers of rare ability and courage. I nodded and thanked him for the report. Maximum attraction, eh? That, considering the small size of our objective, meant we were much closer to L-472 than to any other regular body. Mechanically, I studied the various dials about the room. The attraction meter, as Conquayed had said, registered several degrees of attraction, and the red slide on the rim of the dial was squarely at the top, showing that the attraction was coming from the world at which our nose was pointed. The surface temperature gauge was at normal. Internal pressure, normal. Internal moisture content, a little high. Conquayed, watching me, spoke up. I have already given orders to dry out, sir, he said. Very good, Mr. Conquayed. It's a long trip, and I want the crew in good condition. I studied the two charts, one showing our surroundings laterally, the other vertically. All bodies about is represented as glowing spots of green light, of varying sizes. The ship itself is a tiny scarlet spark. Everything ship shape, perhaps a degree or two of elevation when we were a little closer. May I come in, sir? Broke in a gentle, high-pitched voice. Certainly, Mr. Dival, I replied, answering in the universal language in which the request had been made. You are always very welcome. Dival was a typical Xenian of the finest type, slim, very dark, and with the amazingly intelligent eyes of his kind. His voice was very soft and gentle, and like the voice of all his people, clear and high-pitched. Thank you, he said. I guess I'm overeager, but there's something about this mission of ours that worries me. I seem to feel he broke off abruptly and began pacing back and forth across the room. I studied him, frowning. Xenians have a strange way of being right about such things. Their high, strong, sensitive nature seem capable of responding to those delegate, vagrant forces which even now are only completely understood and classified. You're not used to work of this sort, I replied, as bluffly and heartily as possible. There's nothing to worry about. The commanders of the two ships that disappeared probably felt the same way, sir, said Dival. I should have thought the chiefs of the Special Patrol Service would have sent several ships on a mission such as this. Easy to say, I laughed bitterly. If the council would pass the appropriations we need, we might have ships enough so that we could send a fleet of ships when we wished. Instead of that, the council, in its infinite wisdom, builds greater laboratories and schools of higher learning and lets the patrol get along as best it can. It was from the laboratories and schools of higher learning that all these things sprang, replied Dival quietly, glancing around at the array of instruments which made navigation in space possible. True, I admitted rather shortly, we must work together, and as for what we shall find upon the little world ahead, we shall be there in nine or 10 hours. You may wish to make some preparations. Nine or 10 hours? That's earth time, isn't it? Let's see, about two and a half an arrows? Correct, I smiled. The universal method of reckoning time had never appealed to me. For those of my readers who may only be familiar with earth time measurements, an N-R is about 18 earth days, an N-R-N a little less than two earth days, and an N-N-R-O nearly four and a half hours. The universal system has the advantage, I admit, of a decimal division, but I have found a clumsy always. I may be stubborn in old fashion, but a clock-face with only ten numerals and one hand still strikes me as being un-beautiful and inefficient. Two and a half an arrows, repeated Dival thoughtfully. I believe I shall see if I can get a little sleep now. I should not have brought my books with me, I'm afraid. I read when I should sleep. Will you call me should there be any developments of interest? I assured him that he would be called as he requested, and he left. Decent sort of a chap, sir, observed Kincaid, glancing at the door through which Dival had just departed. A student, I nodded, with the contempt of violent youth for the man of gentler pursuits than mine, and turned my attentions to some calculations for entering the log. Busy with the intricate details of my task, time passed rapidly. The watch changed, and I joined my officers in the tiny arched dining salon. It was during the meal that I noticed for the first time a sort of tenseness. Every member of the mess was unusually quiet, and though I would not have admitted it then, I was not without a good deal of nervous restraint myself. Gentlemen, I remarked when the meal was finished, I believe you understand our present mission. Primarily, our purpose is to ascertain, if possible, the fate of two ships that were sent here and have not returned. We are now close enough for reasonable observation by means of the television disc, I believe, and I shall take over its operation myself. There is no gain saying the fact that whatever fate overtook the two other patrol ships may lay in wait for us. My orders are to observe every possible precaution and to return with a report. I am going to ask that each of you proceed immediately to his post and make ready, insofar as possible, for any eventuality. Warn the watch which has just gone off to be ready for instant duty. The decinic rate array generators should be started and be available for instant emergency use, maximum power. Have the bombing crews stand by for orders. What do you anticipate, sir? Ask Corey, my new sub-commander. The other officers waited tensely for my reply. I don't know, Mr. Corey, I admitted reluctantly. We have no information upon which to base an assumption. We do know that two ships have been sent here and neither of them have returned. Something prevented that return. We must endeavor to prevent that same fate from overtaking the Caled and ourselves. Hurrying back to the navigation room, I posted myself beside the cumbersome old-fashioned television instrument. L-472 was near enough now to occupy the entire field with the range hand at maximum. One whole continent and parts of two others were visible. Not many details could be made out. I waited grimly while an hour, two hours went by. My field narrowed down to one continent, to a part of one continent. I glanced up at the surface temperature gauge and noted that the hand was registering a few degrees above normal. Corey, who had relieved Kincaid as navigating officer, followed my gaze. Shall we reduce speed, sir? He asked crisply. To twice atmospheric speed, I nodded. When we enter the envelope proper, reduce to normal atmospheric speed. Alter your course upon entering the atmosphere proper and work back and forth along the emerging twilight zone, from the North Polar Cap to the Southern Cap, and so on. Yes, sir, he replied, and repeated the orders to the control room forward. I pressed the attention signal to Divell's cubicle and informed him that we were entering the outer atmospheric fringe. Thank you, sir, he said eagerly. I shall be with you immediately. In rapid succession, I called various officers and gave terse orders, double crews on duty in the generator compartment, the ray projectors, the atomic bomb magazines, and release tubes. Observers at all observation posts, operators at the two smaller television instruments to comb the terrain and report instantly any object of interest. With the three of us searching, it seemed incredible that anything could escape us. At atmospheric altitudes, even the two smaller television instruments would be able to pick out a body the size of one of the missing ships. Divell entered the room as I finished giving my orders. A strange world, Divell, I commented, glancing towards the television instrument, covered with trees, even the mountains, and what I presumed to be volcanic peaks, they crawled right down to the edge of the water. He adjusted the focusing lever slightly, his face lighting up with the interest of a scientist gazing at a strange specimen, whether it be a microbe or a new world. Strange, strange, he muttered, a universal vegetation, no variation of type, from equator to polar cap, apparently. And the water, did you notice its color, sir? Purple, I nodded, it varies on the different worlds, you know. I've seen pink, red, white, and black seas, as well as the green and blue of earth. And no small islands, he went on, as though he had not ever heard me, not in the visible portion at any rate. I was about to reply when I felt a peculiar surge of the calid as she reduced speed. I glanced at the indicator, watching the hand drop slowly to atmospheric speed. Keep a close watch, Diol, I ordered. We shall change our course now, to comb the country for traces of two ships we are seeking. If you see the least suspicious sign, let me know immediately. He nodded, and for a time, there was only a tense silence in the room, broken at intervals by Corey, as he spoke briefly into his microphone, giving orders to the operating room. Perhaps an hour went by, I'm not sure. It seemed like a longer time than that. Then Diol called out in sudden excitement, his high, thin voice stabbing the silence. Here, sir, look, a little clearing, artificial, I judge, and the ships, both of them. Stop the ship, Mr. Corey, I snapped as I hurried to the instrument. Diol, take those reports. I gestured towards the two attention signals that were glowing and softly humming, and thrust my head into the shelter of the television instrument's big hood. Diol had made no mistake. Directly beneath me, as I looked, was a clearing, a perfect square with rounded corners, obviously blasted out of the solid forest by the delicate manipulation of sharply focused disintegrate arrays. And upon the naked pitted surface, thus exposed, side by side in orderly array, were the missing ships. I studied the strange scene with a heart that thumped excitedly against my ribs. What should I do? Return and report, descend and investigate? There was no sign of life around the ships and no evidence of damage. If I brought the K-Lid down, would she make a third to remain there to be marked lost in space on the records of the service? Reluctantly, I drew my head from beneath the shielding hood. What were those two reports, Diol, I asked, and my voice was thick? The other two television observers? Yes, sir. They report that they cannot positively identify the ships with their instruments, but feel certain that they are the two we seek. Very good. Tell them please to remain on watch, searching space in every direction, and to report instantly anything suspicious. Mr. Corey, we will descend until this small clearing becomes visible through the ports to the unaided eye. I will give you the corrections to bring us directly over the clearing. And I read the finder scales on the television instrument to him. He rattled off the figures, calculated an instant, and gave his orders to the control room while I kept the television instrument bearing upon the odd clearing and the two motionless deserted ships. As we settled, I could make out the insignia of the ships, could see the pitted stained earth of the clearing, brown with the dust of disintegration. I could see the surrounding trees very distinctly now. They seem very familiar to our weeping willows on earth, which I perhaps should explain, since it is impossible for the average individual to have a comprehensive knowledge of the flora and fauna of the entire universe, is a tree of considerable size, having long hanging branches arching from its crown and reaching nearly to the ground. These leaves, like typical willow leaves, were long and slender of rusty green color. The trunks and branches seemed to be black or dark brown, and the trees grew so thickly that nowhere between their branches was the ground visible. Five thousand feet, sir, said Corey. Directly above the clearing, shall we descend further? A thousand feet at a time, Mr. Corey, I replied after a moment's hesitation. My orders are to exercise the utmost caution. Mr. Dival, please make a complete analysis of the atmosphere. I believe you are familiar with the traps provided for this purpose. Yes, you propose to land, sir? I propose to determine the fate of those two ships and the men who brought them here, I said with sudden determination. Dival made no reply, but as he turned to obey orders, I saw that his presentiment of trouble had not left him. Four thousand feet, sir, said Corey. I nodded, studying the scene below us. The great hooded instrument brought it within, apparently, fifty feet of my eyes, but the great detail revealed nothing of interest. The two ships lay motionless, huddled close together. The great circular door of each was open, as though opened that same day or a century before. Three thousand feet, sir, said Corey. Proceed at the same speed, I replied. Whatever fate had overtaken the men of the other ships had caused them to disappear entirely and without sign of a struggle. But what conceivable fate could that be? Two thousand feet, sir, said Corey. Good, I said grimly, continue with the dissent, Mr. Corey. Dival hurried into the room as I spoke. His face was still clouded with foreboding. I have tested the atmosphere, sir, he reported. It is suitable for breathing by either men of earth or Xenia. No trace of noxious gases of any kind. It is probably rather rarefied, such as one might find on earth or Xenia at high altitudes. One thousand feet, sir, said Corey. I hesitated an instant. Undoubtedly, the atmosphere had been tested by the other ships before they landed. In the case of the second ship, at any rate, those in command must have been on the alert against danger, and yet both of those ships lay their motionless, vacant, deserted. I could feel the eyes of the men on me. My decision must be delayed no further. We will land, Mr. Corey, I said grimly. Near the two ships, please. Very well, sir, replied Corey, and spoke briefly into the microphone. I might warn you, sir, said Dival quietly, to govern your activities once outside. Free from the gravity pads of the ship, on a body of such small size, an ordinary step will probably cause a leap of considerable distance. Thank you, Mr. Dival. That is a consideration I had overlooked. I shall warn the men. We must, at that instant, I felt the slight jar of landing. I glanced up, met Corey's grave, glanced squarely. Grounded, sir, he said quietly. Very good, Mr. Corey. Keep the ship ready for instant action, please, and call the landing crew to the forward exit. You will accompany us, Mr. Dival? Certainly, sir. Good. You understand your orders, Mr. Corey? Yes, sir. I returned his salute and led the way out of the room. Dival close on my heels. End of section 11. Section 12 of Astounding Stories of Super Science, September 1930. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Barry Eads. The Terrible Tentacles of L-472 by Sewell P. Wright. Part II. The landing crew was composed of all men not at regular stations, nearly half of the K-Lids entire crew. They were equipped with the small atomic power pistols as side arms, and there were two three-men disintegrator ray squads. We all wore minors, which were unnecessary in the ship, but decidedly useful outside. I might add that the manure of those days was not the delicate, beautiful thing that it is today. It was a comparatively crude and clumsy band of metal, in which were embedded the vital units and the tiny atomic energy generator and was worn upon the head like a crown. But for all its clumsiness, it conveyed and received thought, and after all, that was all we demanded of it. I caught a confused jumble of questioning thoughts as I came up and took command of the situation promptly. It will be understood, of course, that in those days, men had not learned to blank their minds against the manure as they do today. It took generations of training to perfect that ability. Open the exit, I ordered Concade, who was standing by the switch key in the lock. Yes, sir, he thought promptly and unlocking the switch released the lever. The great circular door revolved swiftly, backing slowly on its fine threads, gripped by the massive gimbals which, as at last the ponderous plug of metal freed itself from its threads, swung the circular door aside, like the door of a vault. Fresh clean air swept in and we breathed it gratefully. Science can revitalize air, take out impurities and replace used up constituents, but it cannot give it the freshness of pure natural air, even the science of today. Mr. Concade, you will stand by with five men. Under no circumstances are you to leave your post until ordered to do so. No rescue parties under any circumstances are to be sent out unless you have those orders directly from me. Should any untoward thing happen to this party, you will instantly reseal this exit, reporting at the same time to Mr. Corey, who has his orders. You will not attempt to rescue us, but will return to the base and report in full with Mr. Corey in command. Is that clear? Perfectly came back his response instantly, but I could sense the rebellion in his mind. Concade and I were old friends, as well as fellow officers. I smiled at him reassuringly and directed my orders to the waiting men. You are aware of the fate of the two ships of the patrol that have already landed here, I thought slowly, to be sure they understood it perfectly. What fate overtook them, I do not know. That is what we are here to determine. It is obvious that this is a dangerous mission. I am ordering none of you to go. Any man who wishes to be relieved from landing duty may remain inside the ship and may feel it no reproach. Those who do go should be constantly on the alert and keeping in formation the usual columns of twos. Be very careful when stepping out of the ship to adjust your stride to the lesson gravity of the small world. Watch this point. I turned to Dival and motioned him to fall in at my side. Without a backward glance, we marched out of the ship, treading very carefully to keep from leaping into the air with each step. 20 feet away, I glanced back. There were 14 men behind me, not a man of the landing crew had remained in the ship. I am proud of you men, I thought heartily, and no emanation from any menor was ever more sincere. Cautiously, eyes roving ceaselessly, we made our way towards the two silent ships. It seemed a quiet, peaceful world, an unlikely place for tragedy. The air was fresh and clean, although, as Dival had predicted, rarified like the air at an altitude. The will-like trees that hemmed us in rustle gently, their long, frond-like branches with their rusty green leaves swaying. Do you notice, sir, came a gentle thought from Dival, an emanation that could hardly have been perceptible to the men behind us, that there is no wind, and yet the trees yonder, are swaying and rustling. I glanced around, startled. I had not noticed the absence of a breeze. I tried to make my response reassuring. There is probably a breeze higher up that doesn't dip down into this little clearing, I ventured. At any rate, it is not important. These ships are what interest me. What will we find there? We shall soon know, replied Dival. Here is the Dorlos, the second of the two, was it not? Yes. I came to a halt beside the gaping door. There was no sound within, no evidence of life there, no sign that men had ever crossed that threshold, save that the whole fabric was the work of man's hands. Mr. Dival and I will investigate the ship. With two of you men, I directed. The rest of the detail will remain on guard and give the alarm at the least sign of any danger. You first two men follow us. The indicated men nodded and stepped forward. There, yes, sirs, came surging through my menorah like a single thought. Cautiously, Dival at my side, the two men at our backs, we stepped over the high threshold into the interior of the Dorlos. The ethon tubes overhead made everything as light as day, and since the Dorlos was a sister ship of my own Calid, I had not the slightest difficulty in finding my way about. There was no sign of a disturbance anywhere. Everything was in perfect order. From the evidence it would seem that the officers and men of the Dorlos had deserted the ship of their own accord and failed to return. Nothing of value here, I commented to Dival. We may as well, there was a sudden commotion from outside the ship. Starled shouts rang through the hollow hull, and a confused medley of excited thoughts came pouring in. With one accord, the four of us dashed to the exit, Dival and I in the lead. At the door, we paused, following the stricken gaze of the men grouped in a rigid knot just outside. Some 40 feet away was the edge of the forest that hemmed us in. A forest that was now lashing and writhing as though in the grip of some terrible hurricane, trunks bending and whipping, long branches writhing, curling, lashing out. Two of the men, sir, shouted a non-commissioned officer of the landing crew, as we appeared in the doorway. In his excitement, he forgot his manure and resorted to the infinitely slower but more natural speech. Some sort of insect came buzzing down, like an earth bee, but larger. One of the men slapped it and jumped aside, forgetting the low gravity here. He shot into the air, and another of the men made a grab for him. They both went sailing in the trees. Look, but I had already spotted the two men. The trees had them in their grip, long tentacles curled around them, a dozen of the great willow-like growths apparently fighting for possession of the prizes. And all around, far out of reach, the trees of the forest were swaying restlessly, their long, pendulous branches, like tentacles lashing out hungrily. The rays, sir, snapped the thought from Dival, like a flash of lightning, concentrate the beams, strike at the trunks. Right, my orders emanated on the heels of the thought more quickly than one word could have been uttered. The six men who operated the disintegrator rays were stung out of their startled immobility, and the soft hum of the atomic power generators deepened. Strike at the trunks of the trees, beams narrowed to minimum, action at will. The invisible rays swept long gashes into the forest as the trainers squatted behind their sights, directing the long, gleaming tubes. Branches crashed to the ground, suddenly motionless. Thick brown dust dropped heavily. A trunk, shortened by six inches or so, dropped into its stub and fell with a prolonged sound of rending wood. The trees against which it had fallen tugged angrily at their trapped tentacles. One of the men rolled free, staggered to his feet, and came lurching towards us. Trunk after trunk dropped onto its severed stub and fell among the lashing branches of its fellows. The other man was caught for a moment in a mass of dead and motionless wood, but a cunningly directed ray dissolved the entangling branches around him, and he laid there, free but unable to arise. The rays played on ruthlessly. The brown heavy powder was falling like greasy soot. Trunk after trunk crashed to the ground, slashed into fragments. Seize action, I ordered, and instantly the eager wine of the generators softened to a barely discernible home. Two of the men, under orders, raced out to the injured man. The rest of us clustered around the first of the two to be freed from the terrible tentacles of the trees. His menor was gone, his tight-fitting uniform was in shreds, and blotched with blood. There was a huge crimson welt across his face, and blood dripped slowly from the tips of his fingers. God, he muttered unsteadily as kindly arms lifted him with eager tenderness. They're alive, like snakes. They, they're hungry. Take him to the ship, I ordered. He is to receive treatment immediately. I turned to the detail that was bringing in the other victim. The man was unconscious and moaning, but suffering more from shock than anything else. A few minutes under the helio emanations, and he would be fit for light duty. As men hurried him to the ship, I turned to Dival. He was standing beside me, rigid, his face very pale, his eyes fixed on space. What do you make of it, Mr. Dival, I questioned him. Of the trees? He seemed startled, as though I had aroused him from deepest thought. They are not difficult to comprehend, sir. There are numerous growths which are primarily carnivorous. We have the fintail vine on Xenia, which coils instantly when touched, and thus traps many small animals which it wraps about with its folds and digests through succor-like growths. On your own earth there are, we learn, hundreds of varieties of insectivorous plants. The venus flytrap, known otherwise as the deonia muscopula, which has a leaf hinged in the median line with teeth like bristles. The two portions of the leaf snap together with considerable force when an insect lights upon the surface, and the soft portions of the catch are digested by the plant before the leaf opens again. The pitcher plant is another native of earth, and several varieties of it are found on Xenia and at least two other planets. It traps its game without movement, but is nevertheless insectivorous. You have another species on earth that is, or was, very common, the mimosa paduca. Perhaps you know it as the sensitive plant. It does not trap insects, but it has a very distinct power of movement and is extremely irritable. It is not at all difficult to understand a coniferous tree, capable of violent and powerful motion. This is undoubtedly what we have here, a decidedly interesting phenomena, but not difficult of comprehension. It seems like a long explanation as I record it here, but emanated as it was, it took but an instant to complete it. Mr. Dival went on without a pause. I believe, however, that I have discovered something far more important. How is your menorah adjusted, sir? At minimum? Turn it to maximum, sir. I glanced at him curiously, but obeyed. New streams of thought poured in upon me. Kincaid, the guard at the exit, and something else. I blanked out Kincaid and the men, feeling Dival's eyes searching my face. There was something else, something... I focused on the dim, vague emanations that came to me from the circlet of my menorah, and gradually, like an object seen through heavy mist, I perceived the message. Wait! Wait! We are coming! Through the ground! The trees! Disintegrate them! All of them! All you can reach! But not the ground! Not the ground! Peter! I shouted, turning to Dival. That's Peter Wilson, second officer of the Dorlos. Dival nodded, his dark face alight. Let us see if we can answer him, he suggested, and we concentrated all our energy on a single thought. We understand, we understand. The answer came back instantly. Good! Thank God! Sweep them down, Hanson! Every tree of them! Kill them! Kill them! Kill them! The emanation fairly shook with hate. We are coming! To the clearing! Wait! And while you wait, use your rays upon these accursed, hungry trees! Grimly and silently, we hurried back to the ship. Dival, the savant, snatching up specimens of earth and rock here and there as we went. The disintegrated rays of the portable projectors were no more than toys compared with the mighty beams the Calid was capable of projecting with her great generators to supply power. Even with the beams narrowed to the minimum, they cut a swath, a yard, or more in diameter, and their range was tremendous. Although working less rapidly as the distance and power decreased, they were effective over a range of many miles. Before their blasting beams, the forest shriveled and sank until tumbled chaos. A haze of brownish dust hung low over the scene, and I watched with a sort of awe. It was the first time I had ever seen the rays at work on such wholesale destruction. A startling thing became evident soon after we began our work. This world that we had thought to be void of animal life proved to be teeming with it. From out of the tangle of broken and harmless branches, thousands of animals appeared. The majority of them were quite large, perhaps the size of full-grown hogs, which earth animal they seemed to resemble, say that they were a dirty yellow color and had strong, heavily clawed feet. These were the largest of the animals, but there were myriads of smaller ones, all of them pale or neutral in color, and apparently unused to such strong light, for they ran blindly, wildly, seeking shelter from the universal confusion. Still, the destructive beams kept about their work until the scene changed utterly. Instead of rusting in a clearing, the caled was in the midst of a tangle of fallen, wilting branches that stretched like a giant still sea as far as the eye could see. Seas action, I ordered suddenly. I had seen, or thought I had seen, a human figure moving in the tangle, not far from the edge of the clearing. Cory relayed the order, and instantly the rays were cut off. My manure, brief from the interference of the great atomic generators of the caled, emanated the moment the generators ceased functioning. Enough, Hanson, cut the rays, we're coming. We have ceased action, come on. I hurried to the still open exit. Kinkade and his guards were staring at what had been the forest. They were so intent that they did not notice I had joined them, and no wonder. A file of men were scrambling over the debris. Gaunt men with disheveled hair, practically naked, covered with dirt and the greasy brown dust of the disintegrator ray. In the lead, hardly recognizable, his manure awry upon his tangled locks was Peter Wilson. Wilson, I shouted, and in a single great leap, I was at his side, shaking his hand, one arm about his scarred shoulders, laughing and talking excitedly, all in the same breath. Wilson, tell me, in God's name, what has happened? He looked up at me with shining happy eyes, deep in black sockets of hunger and suffering. The part that counts, he said hoarsely, is that you are here, and we're here with you. My men need rest and food, not too much food at first, for we're starving. I'll give you the story, or as much of it as I know, while we eat. I sent my orders ahead, for every man of that pitiful crew of survivors, there were two eager men of the Caled's crew to minister to him. In the little dining salon of the officer's mess, Wilson gave us the story, while he ate slowly and carefully, keeping his ravenous hunger in check. It's a weird sort of story, he said. I'll cut it as short as I can. I'm too weary for details. The Dorlos, as I suppose you know, was ordered to L-472 to determine the fate of the Philanus, which had been sent here to determine the feasibility of establishing a supply base here for a new interplanetary ship line. It took us nearly three days, Earth time, to locate this clearing and the Philanus, and we grounded the Dorlos immediately. Our commander, you probably remember him, Hanson, David McClellan, big red-faced chap, I nodded, and Wilson continued. Commander McClellan was a choleric person, as courageous a man as ever wore the blue and silver of the service, and very thoughtful of his men. We had a bad trip, two swarms of meteorites that had worn our nerves thin, and a faulty part in the air purifying apparatus had nearly done us in. While the exit was being unsealed, he gave the interior crew permission to go off duty to get some fresh air, with orders, however, to remain close to the ship under my command. Then, with the usual landing crew, he started for the Philanus. He had forgotten under the stress of the moment that the force of gravity would be very small on a body no larger than this. The result was that as soon as they hurried out of the ship, away from the influence of our own gravity pads, they hurdled into the air in all directions. Wilson paused, several seconds passed before he could go on. Well, the trees. I suppose you know something about them. Reached out and swept up three of them. McClellan and the rest of the landing crew rushed to their rescue. They were caught up. God, I can see them, hear them, even now. I couldn't stand there and see that happen to them. With the rest of the crew behind me, we rushed out, armed only with our atomic pistols. We did not dare use the rays. There were a dozen men caught up everywhere in those hellish tentacles. I don't know what I thought we could do. I knew only that I must do something. Our leaps carried us over the tops of the trees that were fighting for the bodies of McClellan and the rest of the landing crew. I saw then, when it was too late, that there was nothing we could do. The trees had done their work. They were feeding. Perhaps that is why we escaped. We came down in a tangle of whipping branches. Several of my men were snatched up. The rest of us saw how helpless our position was that there was nothing we could do. We saw, too, that the ground was literally honeycombed and we dived down these burrows out of the reach of the trees. There were 19 of us that escaped. I can't tell you how we lived. I would not if I could. The burrows had been dug by the pig-like animals that the trees live upon and they led, eventually, to the shore, where there was water, horrible, bitter stuff, but not salty and apparently not poisonous. We lived on these pig-like animals and we learned something of their way of life. The trees seemed to sleep or become inactive at night. Not unless they are touched do they lash about with their tentacles. At night, the animals feed, largely upon the large, soft fruit of these trees. Of course, large numbers of them make a fatal step each night, but they are prolific and their ranks do not suffer. Of course, we tried to get back to the clearing and the door-loasts, first by tunneling. That was impossible, we found, because the rays used by the phalanis in clearing a landing-place had acted somewhat upon the earth beneath and it was like powder. Our burrows fell in upon us faster than we could dig them out. Two of my men lost their lives that way. Then we tried creeping back by night, but we could not see as can the other animals here and we quickly found that it was suicide to attempt such tactics. Two more of the men were lost in that fashion. That left fourteen. We decided then to wait. We knew there would be another ship along sooner or later. Luckily one of the men had somehow retained his manure. We treasured that as we treasured our lives. Today, when, deep in our runways beneath the surface, we felt, or heard, the crashing of the trees, we knew the service had not forgotten us. I put on the manure, I, but I think you know the rest, gentlemen. There were eleven of us left. We are here, all that is left of the door-loast crew. We found no trace of any survivor of the phalanis, unaware of the possibility of danger. They were undoubtedly all the victims of the trees. Wilson's head dropped forward on his chest. He straightened up with a start and an apologetic smile. I believe, Hanson, he said slowly, I better get a little rest. And he slumped forward on the table in the death-like sleep of utter exhaustion. There the interesting part of the story ends. The rest is history, and there is too much dry history in the universe already. Dival wrote three great volumes on L-472, or I-Bit, as it is called now. One of them tells in detail how the presence of constantly increasing quantities of volcanic ash robbed the soil of that little world of its vitality, so that all forms of vegetation, except the one, became extinct, and how, through a process of development and evolution, those trees became carnivorous. The second volume is a learned discussion of the tree itself. It seems that a few specimens were spared for study, isolated on a peninsula of one of the continents, and turned over to Dival for observation and dissection. All I can say for the book is that it is probably accurate. Certainly, it is neither interesting nor comprehensible. And then, of course, there is his treatise on Oakwright, how he happened to find the ore, the probable amount available on L-472, or I-Bit, if you prefer, and an explanation of his new method of refining it. I saw him frantically gathering specimens while we were getting ready to leave, but it wasn't until after we had departed that he mentioned what he had found. I have a set of these volumes somewhere. Dival autographed them and presented me with them. They established his position, I understand, in his world of science, and of course the discovery of this new source of Oakwright was a tremendous find for the whole universe. Interplanetary transportation wouldn't be where it is today if it were not for this inexhaustible source of power. Yes, Dival became famous and very rich. I received the handshakes and the gratitude of the eleven men we rescued, and exactly nine words of commendation from the chief of my squadron. You are a credit to the service, Commander Hansen. Perhaps, to some who read this, it will seem that Dival fared better than I. But to men who have known the comradeship of the outer space, the heartfelt gratitude of eleven friends is a precious thing. And to any man who has ever worn the blue and silver uniform of the special patrol service, those nine words from the chief of squadron will sound strong. Chief of squadrons in the special patrol service, at least in those days, were scanty with praise. It may be different in these days of soft living and political pull. End of section 12. Section 13 of Astounding Stories of Super Science, September, 1930. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Bologna Times. Marooned Under the Sea, by Paul Ernst. Part I. Three men stick out a strange and desperate adventure among the incredible monsters of the dark sea floor. Editor's Note. This document, written on a curious kind of parchment and tied to a piece of driftwood, was reported to have been picked out of the sea near the Fiji Islands. The first and last pages were so water-soaked as to be indecipherable. Yacht Rosa was due to leave the San Francisco Harbor in two hours. We were going on some mysterious cruise to the South Seas, the details of which I did not know. Professor George Berry, the famous zoologist and myself, are going to do some exploring that is hazardous in the extreme, Stanley had said. For purely mechanical reasons, we need a third. You are young and have no family ties, so I thought I'd ask you to go with us. I'd rather not tell you what it's all about until we are on our way. That was all the explanation he had given. It was sufficient. I was fed up with life just then. I had enough money to avoid work and was tired of playing. I must warn you that you'll risk your life in this," he had continued, in answer to my acceptance of his invitation. And I had replied that the hazard, whatever it might be, only made the trip appear more desirable. So here I was, on board the yacht, about to sail for far places on some scientific mission, which had so far been kept veiled in secrecy, and which was represented as hazardous in the extreme. It sounded attractive. Stanley came aboard, accompanied by a lean, wiry man with iron-gray hair and cool, alert black eyes. Hello, Martin, Stanley greeted me. I want you to meet Professor Berry, the real leader of this expedition. Professor, this young redhead is Martin Gray, a sort of nephew by adoption, who knows more about nightlife than most cabaret proprietors, and not much of anything else. He has shaken the dangers of the gold-diggers to face with us the dangers of the tropic seas. The Professor gripped my hand, and his cool black eyes gazed into mine with a kind of friendly frostiness. Don't pay any attention to him, he advised me. Twenty years ago, when I first met him, he was on his way to Africa to shoot elephants, because some review beauty had just thrown him over, and he felt he ought to do something big and heroic about it. It was shortly afterward that he decided to stay a bachelor all his life, and became such a confirmed woman-hater. He smiled thenly at Stanley's prod in the ribs, and the two went below, talking and laughing with the intimacy of old friendship. I stayed on deck, and soon found myself watching, with no little wonder, an enormous truck and trailer arrangement that drew up on the dock, heavily loaded with a single immense crate. It was for us, I speculated, as to what it could possibly contain. It was a twenty-or-twenty-five-foot cube solidly braced with strap iron, and still brackets. It evidently contained something fragile. The yacht's docky engine lowered a hook for it, and swung it over the side, and entered the hold as daintily, as though it had been packed with explosives. The last of the ship's stores followed it over the side. The group of newspaper reporters who had been trying to pump the captain, and first made for a story, were warned to leave, and we were ready to go, precisely where, and for what purpose. I was to find out almost immediately. Even as the yacht knows superciliously away from the dock, the steward approached me with the information that lunch was ready. I went to the small, compactly furnished dining-salon, where I was joined by Stanley and the professor. There were only the three of us at the table. Stanley Brown noted big-game hunter and semi-retired owner of the great Brown glassworks at Altoona, a man fifteen years my senior, but tanned and fit-looking, Professor Barry, well-known in scientific circles, and myself, known in no branch of activity, save the one Stanley had justed about, the nightlife of my home city, Chicago. It's time you knew just what you were up against, said Stanley to me, after the consomme had been served. Now that we've actually sailed, there's no longer any need for secrecy. Indeed, there never has been urgent need of it. The professor and myself merely thought that we might provoke incredulity and comment if we'd stated the purpose of our trip publicly. He buttered a roll. We, the professor, and you, and I, are going in for some deep sea-diving, and when I say deep, I mean deep. We are going to investigate conditions as they exist one mile down from the surface of the ocean. A mile, I exclaimed, why? There, I stopped. I had only a layman's knowledge of such matters, but I knew that the limit of man's immersion till then, at any rate, was a matter of a few hundred feet. Sounds incredible, doesn't it? said Stanley with a smile, but that's what we're going to do. If the professor's gadget works as he seems to think it will. I don't think it, I know it, retorted the professor. And man, man, the things we have seen down there, new and unknown species, a world no human has ever seen before, perhaps the secret of all of life. Dragons, sea serpents, and whatnot, Stanley finished with a grin. Or possibly nothing at all, the professor shrugged. I mustn't let my scientific curiosity run away with me. Perhaps we'll find no new thing down there. Our deep sea dredging and classification may already embrace most of the forms of life in the greater depths. If it does, I want my money back, said Stanley. When you asked me to finance this expedition for you, I agreed on condition that you would show me a thrill, some real big game, even if I would not be able to shoot it. If we draw blank, the mere descent should satisfy you, my adventuring friend, replied the professor brusquely. I think you'll find that thrilling enough. But a mile under the surface, I marveled, feeling not entirely comfortable. The pressure, enormous, it can't be done. That is, I mean, can it be done? It had better be, said Stanley with a humor that I did not entirely appreciate. If it isn't, the three of us are going to be pressed out like three sheets of tissue paper, for we are assuredly going down that far in the professor's gadget. Was that the thing I saw hoisted aboard just before we left? That was it. We'll stroll around after lunch and look it over. If I had taken this cruise in search of distraction, I was surely going to be successful. That was the plane. Just where are we going? I asked. You said something about the South Seas, but you've named no special part of them. We're bound for Penguin Deep. That's a delightful little dimple in the chromatic trough, which, Stanley explained, is northeast of New Zealand, almost halfway up to the Fiji Islands. Penguin Deep is ticketed at 5,150 feet, but it probably runs deeper in spots. The rest of the meal was consumed in silence. I hardly tasted what I ate. I remember that. Over 5,000 feet down, where no man had ever ventured before. Could we make it? I tried to recall my neglected physics lessons and compute the pressure that far down. I couldn't, but I knew it must be an appalling total of tons to the square inch. What possible arrangement could they have brought in which to make that awful descent? And if the descent were accomplished, what in the world would we see when we got down there? Gigantic, hitherto unknown fishes, marine growths, half animal and half vegetable? Decidedly, hot rolls and salad, cutlets and baked potatoes, good as they were, could not distract attention from the crowding questions that assailed me. And I could see that Stanley and the professor were also far away in their thoughts, probably already exploring Penguin Deep. After lunch, we went forward to look at the professor's gadget. As Stanley insisted on calling it, it had been carefully unpacked by the crew while we ate, and it shimmered in the electric lighted hold, like a great bubble. It was a giant glass sphere, polished and flawless. Inside it could be made out various objects, a circular bench arrangement on a wooden flooring, batteries that filled the cup between the floor and the bottom arc of the sphere, tall metal cylinders, a small search light set next to a mechanism that was indeterminate. At three equidistant points on the sides, there were glass handles, as thick as a man's thigh, cast integral with the walls. On the top, there was a smaller handle. At first glance, the sphere seemed all in one piece, with the central objects cast inside, like a toy ship and a sealed bottle. Then a mathematically precise ring of prismatic reflections showed me that the top third of the ball was a separate piece, fitting conically down like the tapered glass stopper of a monstrous perfume bottle. The handle on the top was for the purpose of lifting this giant's teapot lid and allowing entrance into the sphere. "'Isn't it a beauty?' murmured Stanley. "'It ought to be,' he added. "'It cost me eighty-six thousand to make it in my own glass factory. "'Eleven castings before this one came along that was reasonably free of flaws. "'Twenty-two feet, six inches overall, walls five feet thick, new formula, unbreakable glass, "'four men working a month to grind the lid into place, "'tolerance limits plus or minus zero.' "'He slapped the professor's shoulders. "'Let's go in and look over the apparatus.' "'To accommodate the huge ball, "'a well had been constructed in the Rosa's hold. "'This brought the deck we were standing on "'up to within six feet of the top ring, "'above which was rigged a chain hoist "'for lifting the ponderous lid. "'The hoist was revolved. "'The conical top was swung free, "'and we clambered into our unique diving shell. "'The tall cylinders were revealed "'as great flasks of compressed air. "'The indeterminate thing beside the searchlight "'turned out to be a hand-pump, "'geared to work against heavy pressure. "'From the suction chamber of this, three tubes extended. "'We inhale the air of the chamber,' "'the professor explained to me, "'and exhale through the tubes into the pump cylinder. "'Breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth. "'The pump piston is forced down by this geared handle, "'sending the used air out of the shell "'through this sixteenth-inch hole. "'A ball-checked valve keeps the water "'from squirting in when the exhaust-pressor is released. "'He pointed to a telegraphic key, "'which completed a circuit from the batteries "'in the bottom of the ball "'to a thread of copper cast through the lid. "'That's your plaything, Martin. "'You are to raise or lower us by pressing that key. "'It controls the docky engine electrically, "'so that we guide our own destinies, "'though we are a mile beneath our power plant. "'Stanley works the pump. "'I direct the searchlight, write down notes, "'and, I sincerely hope, take snapshots of deep sea life.' "'For a moment, my part of the labour seemed so easy "'as to be unfair. "'Merely to sit there and punch a little key "'at raising and lowering time. "'But, as I thought it over, "'it began to appear more difficult. "'The Rosa could not anchor, of course, "'in a mile of water. "'We would drift helplessly. "'If we approached an undersea cliff, "'I must raise us at once to prevent us "'being smashed against it. "'And if the cliff were too lofty to be cleared in time, "'I mention this to the professor. "'That would be unfortunate,' he said, "'with his frosty smile. "'Stanley assures us this glass is unbreakable. "'He means commercially unbreakable. "'What would happen to it if it were submitted "'to the strain of being flung against a rock pile, "'in addition to the enormous dress of the water pressure? "'I don't know. "'It's your job to see that we don't have to find out.' "'It had been planned to test the sphere empty first "'to see how it stood the strain. "'We drifted to a full stop over the center of Penguin Deep, "'where we were to gamble our lives in a game with Neptune. "'Sea anchors were rigged to lessen our drift, "'and the donkey engine was geared to the first cable drum. "'There was an impressive row of these drums, "'each holding an indeterminable length "'of three-quarter-inched cable. "'The bulk of a mile of steel cable "'has to be seen to be believed. "'The glass sphere was lifted from the hold delicately "'for all its enormous weight, "'and swung over the rail preparatory "'to being lowered into the depths. "'Not until that moment did I notice two things, "'that there was no fastening of any kind "'to keep the thick lid in place, "'and that the three-quarter-inched cable "'looked like a packed thread in comparison "'to the ponderous bulk it's drained to support. "'We couldn't use a heavier cable,' said the professor, "'because of the strain. "'We're overloading the hoist as it is. "'As for the lid being fastened down, "'I think you'll find it will be pressed "'into place securely enough. "'There was unanimous silence "'as the great globe slipped into the sea. "'Down and down until the last reflection "'of the morning sun ceased to shimmer from its surface. "'Drum after drum was played out "'till the first mate held his hand up "'to check the engineer. "'5,000 feet, sir,' he called to Stanley. "'Hall it back up, and let us hope,' Stanley added fervently, "'that we'll find the gadget in one piece.' "'The engine began to snort rhythmically, "'dripping, vibrating, the coils of cable "'began to crawl back in place on the drums. "'There was a glint under the surface again "'as the sunlight reflected on the nearing sphere. "'The great ball flashed out of the water "'and a sheer burst from the throats of all of us. "'It was absolutely unharmed. "'Only there was a beating of fine moisture "'inside the thick globe. "'What that could mean, none of us could figure out. "'Difference and temperature?' "'Worried the professor. "'No, it's as cold inside as out. "'Molecules of water, driven by sheer pressure "'through five feet of glass, "'to unite and drops on the inside? "'Possibly. "'Well, there's one way to find out. "'Stanley, Martin, are you ready?' "'We nodded and prepared to visit the bottom "'a mile below the roses' keel. "'The preparation consisted merely "'in dawning heavy fleece-line jumpers "'to protect us from the cold of the sunless depths. "'Soberly we entered the ball "'to undergo whatever ordeal awaited us "'on the distant ocean floor. "'How comparative distance is? "'A mile walk in the country, it is nothing. "'A mile ascent in an airplane, a trifle. "'But a mile descent into pitch-black, "'bone-chilling depths of water. "'That is an immense distance.' "'Copper wire on a separate drum "'was connected from the engine switch "'to the copper thread that curled through the glass wall "'to my telegraphic key. "'We strapped the mouthpieces of the breathing tubes "'over our heads, and Brown started "'the slow turning of the compression pump. "'The professor snapped the searchlight "'on and off several times "'to see that it was in working shape. "'He raised his hand, I pressed the key, "'and the long descent began. "'That plunge into the bottomless depths "'remains in my memory almost as clearly "'as the far more fantastic adventures "'that came to us later. "'Smoothly, rapidly, the yellow-green "'of the surface water dimmed to olive. "'This in turn grew blacker and blacker. "'Then we were slipping down into pitch darkness, "'a big bubble lit by a meager lamp "'and containing three fragile human beings "'that dared to trust the soft pulp of their bodies "'to the crushing weight of the deepest ocean. "'The most impressive thing was the utter soundlessness "'of our descent. "'At first there had been a pulsing throb "'of the donkey engine transmitted to us "'by the sustaining cable. "'This died as we slid farther from the Rosa. "'At length it was hushed entirely, "'cushioned by the springy length of steel. "'There was no stir, no sound of any kind. "'As far as our senses could tell, "'we were hanging motionless in the pressing, "'awesome blackness. "'The professor switched off our light "'and turned on the searchlight, "'which he trained downward through the wall "'at as steep an angle as the flooring would permit. "'Even then the illusion of motionlessness "'was preserved. "'There was nothing in the water to mark our progress. "'We might have been floating in a black void of space. "'Down and down we went, "'for an interminable length of time, "'till at length we reached the abysmal level "'where the sun never shone "'and the eyes of men had never gazed till now. "'Words were made to describe familiar articles. "'I find now when I am faced with the necessity "'of portraying events and objects "'beyond the range of normal human experience "'that I cannot conjure up words to fit. "'I despair of trying to make you see what we saw "'and felt what we felt. "'But try to picture yourself in the glass ball with us. "'All is profound blackness, "'save for a streak of white, "'dying about fifty feet away, "'which is the beam of our searchlight. "'Twenty feet below is a bare floor of flinty lava "'and broken shell. "'This is unrelieved by seaweed of any kind, "'appearing like an imagined fragment "'of Martian or lunar landscape. "'The ball sways idly to the push "'of some explicable submarine current. "'It is like being in a captive balloon, "'except that the connecting cable "'extends stiffly upward instead of downward. "'There is a realization, "'an instinctive feel of awful pressure around you. "'Logic tells you how you are clamped about, "'but deeper than logic is the intuition "'that the glass walls are pressing in on themselves "'at the point of collapse. "'Your ears tangle with the feel of it. "'Your head rings with it. "'You are breathing in through your nose, "'then unsatisfying gulps of air "'that cause your lungs to labor at their task, "'and you are excelling through your mouth "'with difficulty into the barrel of the powerful pump. "'No bubbles arise from the tiny hole "'where the used air is forced into the water. "'The pressure is too enormous for that. "'Only a thin milky line marks its escape from the sphere. "'In a ghostly way, "'you see Stanley turning the pump handle. "'With a handful of waste, "'which he has borrowed from the roses engine room, "'the professor wipes from the section of wall "'through which the searchlight plays the moisture "'that constantly collects there. "'I sit with my hand near the key, "'peering downward and ahead, "'like an engineer in a locomotive cab, "'ready to raise the shell or lower it "'as occasion warrants, "'and always the suffocating awareness of pressure. "'Strange and mystic journey "'as the tortured glass sphere floated over the bottom, "'following the slow drift of the Rosa far above. "'The finger of light played along the tilted side "'of a wrecked tramp steamer. "'There was a crumpled gash in the bow. "'From this ragged hole "'suddenly appeared a great serpentine form. "'The professor clutched at his camera, pointed it, "'and clenched his hands in a frenzy of disappointment. "'The serpent's shape had disappeared back into the hull. "'A little later, "'and we had drifted slowly past the wreck. "'Damn it!' the professor snatched away his mouthpiece "'to exclaim, "'if we could only stop. "'The bottom changed character shortly after we "'had passed the hulk. "'We began to creep over low, gently rounded mounds. "'These were so regular in form that they were puzzling. "'About fifty feet across and ten in altitude, "'they looked artificial in their symmetry, "'like rate saucers set on the ocean floor, bottom side up. "'They took on a dirty black hue as our light struck them, "'and glowed with a faint phosphorescence "'as they stretched away into the darkness. "'A twelve-foot monstrosity, all toad-like head and eyes, "'swam into the light beam, "'and bumped blindly against the glass ball. "'For an instant it goggled crazily at us. "'The professor took its picture. "'It blundered away. "'As it reached the darkness beyond the beam, "'it, too, showed phosphorescent. "'A belt of blue-white spots, like the portholes of a liner, "'extended down its ugly sides. "'Along the bottom, between the curious mounds, "'rithed a worm-like thing, "'but it was too huge to be described as truly worm-like. "'It was eighteen or twenty feet long and about a foot thick. "'It was blood-red, almost blunt-ended and patently without eyes. "'I took my gaze off it for an instant. "'When I looked again, it had disappeared. "'I blinked at this seeming miracle, "'and then discovered a foot or two of its tail protruding "'from under the edge of one of the mounds. "'It was threshing furiously about. "'It was at this instant that I suddenly found increased difficulty and glanced at Stanley. "'He had stopped pumping and was clutching at the professor's arm "'with one hand, while he pointed down with the other. "'The professor motioned him toward the pump "'and began to click pictures furiously with the camera, "'pointed at the nearest mound. "'Wandering at the urgency of Stanley's gesture "'and the frantic clicking of the camera shutter, "'I looked more closely at the curious saucer-like hump. "'Under closer inspection, something remarkable, "'like a huge, mud-colored eye, was revealed. "'And as we drifted along, twenty feet away "'on the farther slope, another appeared. "'Paralyzed, I stared at the edges of the thing. "'They were waving almost imperceptibly up and down, creeping. "'The mounds were living creatures, "'acres and acres of them lying lethargically on the bottom, "'waiting for something to crawl within the range "'of their monstrous edges. "'Involuntarily, I pressed the key to raise us, "'but we had gone only a few feet "'when the professor called to me. "'Down again, Martin. "'I don't think these things will bother us "'unless we scrape against them. "'Anyway, they can't hurt the shell. "'I lowered the ball to our former twenty-foot level "'and there we swung just over the monster's backs. "'The professor had said that the giant inverted saucers "'would probably not bother us "'if we did not come in contact with them. "'It soon became apparent that, in a measure, he was right. "'The creatures either could not or would not "'lift their enormous bulks from the sea floor. "'A gigantic wriggling thing, all grotesque fringe "'and tentacles, drifted down "'into the range of our light. "'Lower it floated until it hovered "'just above one of the larger mounds. "'The professor got its portrait. "'At the same instant, as though it had heard "'the click of the shutter and been frightened by it, "'the thing dropped another foot "'and touched the sloping back. "'With a speed of light, the inverted saucer became a cup. "'Like a clenching fist, the cup closed "'over one of the straggling tentacles. "'There followed a tug of war "'that was all the more ghastly for soundlessness. "'The hunted jerked spasmodically "'to get away from the hunter. "'So wild were its efforts that several times "'it raised the monster clear of the bottom "'for a foot or so. "'But the grim clutch could not be broken. "'Closer and closer it was dragged. "'Then, after a supreme paroxysm, "'the tentacle parted and the prey escaped. "'The tentacle disappeared into the mass "'of the baffled hunter. "'It made no attempt to follow the fleeing creature. "'It slowly relaxed along the bottom "'and waited for its next male. "'The unearthly incident gave us fresh confidence, "'convincing us that the monsters did not move "'unless they were directly touched. "'Of course, we could not foresee the fatal accident "'that was going to put us within reach "'of one of the giant saucers.'" End of section 13.