 Section 18 of Astounding Stories of Super Science, September 1930. THE MURDER MACHINE by Hugh B. Cave. Reading by Greg Marguerite. THE MURDER MACHINE by Hugh B. Cave. Four lives lay helpless before the murder machine, the uncanny device by which hypnotic thought waves are filtered through men's minds to mold them into murdering tools. It was dusk on the evening of December 7, 1906, when I first encountered Sir John Harmon. At the moment of his entrance I was standing over the table in my study, a lighted match in my cupped hands and a pipe between my teeth. The pipe was never lit. I heard the lower door slam shut with a violent clatter. The stairs resounded to a series of unsteady footbeats and the door of my study was flung back. In the opening, staring at me with quiet dignity, stood a young careless fellow about five feet ten in height and decidedly dark of complexion. The swagger of his entrance branded him as an adventurer. The ghastly pallor of his face, which was almost colorless, branded him as a man who had found something more than mere adventure. Dr. Dale, he demanded. I am Dr. Dale. He closed the door of the room deliberately, advancing toward me with slow steps. My name is John Harmon, Sir John Harmon. It is unusual, I suppose, he said quietly with a slight shrug, coming at this late hour. I won't keep you long. He faced me silently. A single glance at those strained features convinced me of the reason for his coming. Only one thing can bring such a furtive, restless stare to a man's eyes. Only one thing. Fear. I've come to you, Dale, because Sir John's fingers closed heavily over the edge of the table. Because I am on the verge of going mad. From fear? From fear, yes. I suppose it is easy to discover. A single look at me. A single look at you, I said, simply would convince any man that you are deadly afraid of something. Do you mind telling me just what it is? He shook his head slowly. The swagger of the poise was gone. He stood up right now with a positive effort as if the realization of his position had suddenly surged over him. I do not know, he said quietly. It is a childish fear. Fear of the dark, you may call it. The cause does not matter, but if something does not take this unholy terror away, the effect will be madness. I watched him in silence for a moment, studying the shrunken outline of his face and the unsteady gleam of his narrowed eyes. I had seen this man before. All London had seen him. His face was constantly appearing in the sporting pages, a swaggering member of the upper set. A man who had been engaged to nearly every beautiful woman in the country, who sought adventure in sport and in nightlife. Merely for the sake of living at top speed. And here he stood before me, whitened by fear, the very thing he had so deliberately laughed at. Dale, he said slowly. For the past week I have been thinking things that I do not want to think and doing things completely against my will. Some outside power, God knows what it is, is controlling my very existence. He stared at me and leaned closer across the table. Last night, some time before midnight, he told me, I was sitting alone in my den, alone, mind you, not a soul was in the house with me. I was reading a novel, and suddenly as if a living presence had stood in the room and commanded me, I was forced to put the book down. I fought against it, fought to remain in that room and go on reading, and I failed. Failed, my reply was a single word of wonder. I left my home because I could not help myself. Have you ever been under hypnotism, Dale? Yes? Well, the thing that gripped me was something similar, except that no living person came near me in order to work his hypnotic spell. I went alone the whole way, through back streets, alleys, filthy door yards, never once striking a main thoroughfare, until I had crossed the entire city and reached the west side of the square. And there, before a big gray townhouse, I was allowed to stop my mad wandering. The power, whatever it was, broke. I—well, I—went home. Sir John got to his feet with an effort and stood over me. Dale, he whispered hoarsely, what was it? You were conscious of every detail, I asked, conscious of the time, of the locality you went to. You are sure it was not some fantastic dream? Dream? Is it a dream to have some damnable force move me about like a mechanical robot? But you can think of no explanation? I was a bit skeptical of his story. He turned on me savagely. I have no explanation, doctor, he said curtly. I came to you for the explanation, and while you are thinking over my case during the next few hours, perhaps you can explain this. When I stood before that gray mansion on After Street, alone in the dark, there was murder in my heart. I should have killed the man who lived in that house had I not been suddenly released from the force that was driving me forward. Sir John turned from me in bitterness. Without offering any word of departure, he pulled open the door and stepped across the sill. The door closed, and I was alone. That was my introduction to Sir John Harmon. I offer it in detail because it was the first of a startling series of events that led to the most terrible case of my career. In my records I have labeled the entire case The Affair of the Death Machine. Twelve hours after Sir John's departure, which will bring the time to the morning of December 8th, the headlines of the Daily Mail stared up at me from the table. They were black and heavy, those headlines, and horribly significant. They were Franklin White Jr. Found Murdered. Midnight Marauder strangles young society man in West End Mansion. I turn the paper hurriedly in red. Between the hours of one and two o'clock this morning, an unknown murderer entered the home of Franklin White Jr., well-known West End sportsman, and escaped, leaving behind his strangled victim. Young White, who is a favorite in London Upper Circles, was discovered in his bed this morning where he had evidently lain dead for many hours. Police are seeking a motive for the crime, which may have its origin in the fact that White only recently announced his engagement to Margot Verne. Young and exceedingly pretty French debutante. Police say that the murderer was evidently an amateur and that he made no attempt to cover his crime. Inspector Thomas Drake of Scotland Yard has the case. There was more, much more. Young White had evidently been a decided favorite and the murder had been so unexpected, so deliberate, that the male reporter had made the most of his opportunity for a story. But aside from what I have reprinted, there was only a single short paragraph which claimed my attention. It was this. The White Home is not a difficult one to enter. It is a huge grey townhouse situated just off the square in After Street. The murderer entered by a low French window, leaving it open. I have copied the words exactly as they were printed. The item does not call for any comment. But I had hardly dropped the paper before she stood before me. I say, she. It was Margot Verne, of course, because for some peculiar reason I had expected her. She stood quietly before me. Her cameo face set in the black of morning, staring straight into mine. You know why I have come? She said quickly. I glanced at the paper on the table before me and nodded. Her eyes followed my glance. That is only part of it, doctor, she said. I was in love with Franklin very much, but I have come to you for something more because you are a famous psychologist and can help me. She sat down quietly, leaning forward so that her arms rested on the table. Her face was white, almost as white as the face of that young adventurer who had come to me on the previous evening. And when she spoke, her voice was hardly more than a whisper. Doctor, for many days now I have been under some strange power, something frightful that compels me to think and act against my will. She glanced at me suddenly, as if to note the effect of her words. Then I was engaged to Franklin for more than a month, doctor. Yet for a week now I have been commanded, commanded by some awful force to return to a man who knew me more than two years ago. I can't explain it. I did not love this man. I hated him bitterly. Now comes this mad desire, this hungering to go to him. And last night Margot Verne hesitated suddenly. She stared at me searchingly, then with renewed courage she continued. Last night, doctor, I was alone. I had retired for the night and it was late, nearly three o'clock. And then I was strangely commanded by this awful power that has suddenly taken possession of my soul to go out. I tried to restrain myself and in the end I found myself walking through the square. I went straight to Franklin White's home. When I reached there it was half past three. I could hear Big Ben. I went in, through the wide French window at the side of the house. I went straight to Franklin's room because I could not prevent myself from going. A sob came from Margot's lips. She had half risen from her chair and was holding herself together with a brave effort. I went to her side and stood over her and she, with a half-crazed laugh, stared up at me. He was dead when I saw him, she cried. Dead. Murdered. That infernal force, whatever it was, had made me go straight to my lover's side to see him lying there with those cruel finger marks on his throat. Dead, I tell you. I—Oh! It's horrible! She turned suddenly. When I saw him, she said bitterly, the sight of him and the sight of those marks broke the spell that held me. I crept from the houses if I had killed him. They—they will probably find out that I was there and they will accuse me of the murder. It does not matter. But this power, this awful thing that has been controlling me, is there no way to fight it? I nodded heavily. The memory of that unfortunate fellow who had come to me with the same complaint was still holding me. I was prepared to wash my hands of the whole horrible affair. It was clearly not a medical case, clearly out of my realm. There is a way to fight it, I said quietly. I am a doctor, not a master of hypnotism, or a man who can discover the reasons behind that hypnotism. But London has its Scotland Yard, and Scotland Yard has a man who is one of my greatest comrades. She nodded her surrender. As I stepped to the telephone, I heard her murmur in a weary, troubled voice. Hypnotism? It is not like that. God knows what it is, but it has always happened when I have been alone. One cannot hypnotize through distance. And so, with Margot Verne's consent, I sought the aid of Inspector Thomas Drake of Scotland Yard. In half an hour, Drake stood beside me in the quiet of my study. When he had heard Margot's story, he asked a single, significant question. It was this. You say you have a desire to go back to a man who was once intimate with you? Who is he? Margot looked at him dullly. It is Michael Strange, she said slowly. Michael Strange of Paris, a student of science. Drake nodded. Without further questioning, he dismissed my patient, and when she had gone, he turned to me. She did not murder her sweetheart, Dale, he said. That is evident. Have you any idea who did? And so I told him of that other young man, Sir John Harmon, who had come to me the night before. When I had finished, Drake stared at me, stared through me, and suddenly turned on his heel. I shall be back, Dale, he said curtly. Wait for me. Wait for him? Well, that was Drake's peculiar way of going about things. Impetuous, sudden, until he faced some crisis. Then, in the face of danger, he became a cold, indifferent officer of Scotland Yard. And so I waited. During the twenty-four hours that elapsed before Drake returned to my study, I did my best to diagnose the case before me. First, Sir John Harmon, his visit to the home of Franklin White, then the deliberate murder, and finally young Margot Verne and her confession. It was like the revolving whirl of a pinwheel, this series of events, continuous and mystifying, but without beginning or end. Surely somewhere in the procession of horrors there would be a loose end to cling to, some loose end that would eventually unravel the pinwheel. It was plainly not a medical affair, or at least only remotely so. The thing was in proper hands, then, with Drake following it through, and I had only to wait for his return. He came at last and closed the door of the room behind him. He stood over me with something of a swagger. Dale, I have been looking into the records of this Michael Strange, he said quietly. They are interesting, those records. They go back some ten years when this fellow Strange was beginning his study of science. And now Michael Strange is one of the greatest authorities in Paris on the subject of mental telegraphy. He has gone into the study of human thought with the same thoroughness that other scientists go into the subject of radio telegraphy. He has written several books on the subject. Drake pulled a tiny black volume from the pocket of his coat and dropped it on the table before me. With one hand he opened it to a place which he had previously marked in pencil. Read it, he said significantly. I looked at him in wonder and then did as he ordered. What I read was this. Mental telegraphy is a science, not a myth. It is a very real fact, a very real power which can be developed only by careful research. To most people it is merely a curiosity. They sit for instance in a crowded room at some uninteresting lecture and stare continually at the back of some unsuspecting companion while that companion, by the power of suggestion, turns suddenly around. Or they think heavily of a certain person nearby, perhaps commanding him mentally to hum a certain popular tune until the victim, by the power of their will, suddenly fulfills the order. To such persons the science of mental telegraphy is merely an amusement. And so it will be until science has brought it to such a perfection that these waves of thought can be broadcast, can be transmitted through the ether precisely as radio waves are transmitted. In other words, mental telegraphy is at present merely a mild form of hypnotism. Until it has been developed so that these hypnotic powers can be directed through space and directed accurately to those individuals to whom they are intended, this science will have no significance. It remains for scientists of today to bring about that development. I closed the book. When I looked up, Drake was watching me intently as if expecting me to say something. Drake, I said slowly, more to myself than to him. The pinwheel is beginning to unravel. We have found the beginning thread, perhaps if we follow that thread. Drake smiled. If you'll pick up your hat and coat, Dale, he interrupted, I think we have an appointment. This Michael Strange, whose book you have just enjoyed so immensely, is now residing on a certain quiet little side street about three miles from the square in London. I followed Drake in silence until we had left Cheney Lane in the gloom behind us. At the entrance to the square my companion called a cab and from there we rode slowly through a heavy darkness which was blanketed by a wet penetrating fog. The cabbie evidently one who knew my companion by sight and what London cabbie does not know his Scotland yard men, chose a route that twisted through gloomy uninhabited side streets seldom winding into the main route of traffic. As for Drake, he sank back in the uncomfortable seat and made no attempt at conversation. For the entire first part of our journey he said nothing, not until we had reached a black, unlighted section of the city did he turn to me. Dale, he said at length, have you ever hunted a tiger? I looked at him and laughed. Why, I replied, do you expect this hund of ours will be something of a blind chase? It will be a blind chase, no doubt of it, he said. And when we have followed the trail to its end I imagine we shall find something very like a tiger to deal with. I have looked rather deeply into Michael Strange's life and unearthed a bit of the man's character. He has twice been accused of murder, murder by hypnotism, and has twice cleared himself by throwing scientific explanations at the police. That is the nature of his entire history for the past ten years. I nodded without replying. As Drake turned away from me again our cab poked its laboring nose into a narrowing gloomy street. I had a glimpse of a single, unsteady street lamp on the corner and a dim sign. Mady Lane. And then we were dragging along the curb. The cab stopped with a groan. I had stepped down and was standing by the cab door when suddenly from the darkness in front of me a strange figure advanced to my side. He glanced at me intently, then, seeing that I was evidently not the man he sought, he turned to Drake. I heard a whispered greeting and an undertone of conversation. Then, quietly, Drake stepped toward me. Dale, he said, I thought it best that I should not show myself here tonight. No, there is no time for explanation now. You will understand later, perhaps significantly, sooner than you anticipate. Inspector Hartnett will go through the rest of this pantomime with you. I shook hands with Drake's man, still rather bewildered at the sudden substitution. Then, before I was aware of it, Drake had vanished and the cab was gone. We were alone, Hartnett and I, in Mady Lane. A home of Michael Strange, number seven, was hardly inviting. No light was in evidence. Big House stood like a huge unadorned vault set back from the street some distance from its adjoining buildings. The heavy steps echoed to our footbeats as we mounted them in the darkness, and the sound of the bell as Hartnett pressed it came sharply to us from the silence of the interior. We stood there waiting. In the short interval before the door opened, Hartnett glanced at his watch. It was nearly ten o'clock and said to me, I imagine, Doctor, we shall meet a blank wall. Let me do the talking, please. That was all. In another moment the big door was pulled slowly open from the inside, and in the entrance, glaring out at us, stood the man we had come to see. It is not hard to remember that first impression of Michael Strange. He was a huge man, gaunt and haggard, molded with the hunched shoulders and heavy arms of a gorilla. His face seemed to be unconsciously twisted into a snarl. His greeting, which came only after he had stared at us intently for nearly a minute, was curt and rasping. Well, gentlemen, what is it? I should like a word with Dr. Michael Strange, said my companion quietly. I am Michael Strange. And I replied Hartnett with a suggestion of a smile, and Rall Hartnett from Scotland Yard. I did not see any sign of emotion on Strange's face. He stepped back in silence to allow us to enter. Then, closing the big door after us, he led the way along a carpeted hall to a small ill-lighted room just beyond. Here he motioned us to be seated. He himself standing upright beside the table facing us. From Scotland Yard, he said, and the tone was heavy with dull sarcasm. I am at your service, Mr. Hartnett. And now, for the first time, I wondered just why Drake had insisted on my coming here to this gloomy house in Mady Lane. Why, he had so deliberately arranged a substitute so that Michael Strange should not come face to face with him directly. Evidently, Hartnett had been carefully instructed as to his course of action. But why this seemingly unnecessary caution on Drake's part? And now, after we had gained admission, what excuse would Hartnett offer for the intrusion? Shortly, he would not follow the bull-headed roll of a common policeman. There was no anger, no attempt at dramatics in Hartnett's voice. He looked quietly up at our host. Dr. Strange, he said at length, I have come to you for your assistance. Last night, sometime after midnight, Franklin White was strangled to death. He was murdered according to substantial evidence by the girl he was going to marry, Margaux Verne. I come to you because you know this girl rather well and can perhaps help Scotland Yard in finding her motives for killing White. Michael Strange said nothing. He stood there, scowling down at my companion in silence. And I, too, I must admit, turned upon Hartnett with a stare of bewilderment. His accusation of Margaux had brought a sense of horror to me. I had expected almost anything from him, even to a mad accusation of Strange himself. But I had hardly foreseen this cold-blooded declaration. You understand, doctor," Hartnett went on in that same ironical drawl, that we do not believe Margaux Verne did this thing herself. She had a companion, undoubtedly one who accompanied her to the house on After Street, and assisted her in the crime. Who that companion was, we are not sure. But there is decidedly a case of suspicion against a certain young London sportsman. This fellow is known to have prowled about the White mansion both on the night of the murder and the night before. Hartnett glanced up casually. Strange's face was a total mask. When he nodded, the nod was the most even and mechanical thing I have ever seen. Certainly this man could control his emotions. Naturally, doctor," Hartnett said, we have gone rather deeply into the past life of the lady in question. Your name appears, of course, in a rather unimportant interval when Margaux Verne resided in Paris. So we come to you in the hope that you can perhaps give us some slight bit of information, something that seems insignificant perhaps to you, but which may put us on the right track. It was a careful speech. Even as Hartnett spoke it, I could have sworn that the words were drakes and had been memorized. But Michael Strange merely stepped back to the table and faced us without a word. He was probably, during that brief interlude, attempting to realize his position and to discover just how much Raoul Hartnett actually knew. And then, after his interim of silence, he came forward suddenly and stood over my comrade. I will tell you this much, Mr. Hartnett of Scotland Yard, he said bitterly. My relations with Margaux Verne are not an open book to be passed through the clumsy fingers of an ignorant police officer. As to this murder, I know nothing. At the time of it, I was seated in this room in company with a distinguished group of scientific friends. I will tell you on authority that Margaux did not murder her lover. Why? Because she loved him. The last words were heavy with bitterness. Before they had died into silence, Michael Strange had opened the door to his study. If you please, gentlemen, he said quietly. Hartnett got to his feet. For an instant he stood facing the gorilla-like form of our host. Then he stepped over the sill without a word. We passed down the unlighted corridor in silence while Strange stood in the door of his study, watching us. I could not help but feel as we left that gloomy house that Strange had suddenly focused his entire attention upon me and had ignored my companion. I could feel those eyes upon me and feel the force of the will behind them. A decided feeling of uneasiness crept over me and I shuddered. A moment later the big outer door had closed shut after us and we were alone in Mady Lane. Alone that is until a third figure joined us in the shadows and Drake's hand closed over my arm. Capital Dale, he said triumphantly, for half an hour you entertained him, you and Hartnett. And for half an hour I've had the unlimited freedom of his inner rooms, with the aid of an unlocked window on the lower floor. Those inner rooms, gentlemen, are significant. Very. As we walked the length of Mady Lane the gaunt sinister home of Michael Strange became an indistinct outline in the pitch behind us. Drake said nothing more on the return trip until we had nearly reached my rooms. Then he turned to me with a smile. We are one up on our friend Dale, he said. He does not know just now which is the bigger fool, you or Hartnett here. However, I imagine Hartnett will be the victim of some very unusual events before many hours have passed. That was all. At least all of significance. I'd left the two Scotland yard men at the opening of Cheney Lane and continued alone to my rooms. I opened the door and let myself in quietly and there some few hours later began the last and most horrible phase of the case of the murder machine. It began, or to be more accurate, I began to react to it at three o'clock in the morning. I was alone and the rooms were dark. For hours I had sat quietly by the table considering the significant events of the past few days. Sleep was impossible with so many unanswered questions staring into me and so I sat there wondering. Did Drake actually believe that Margot Verne's simple story had been a ruse that she had in truth killed her lover on that midnight intrusion of his home? Did he believe that Michael Strange knew of that intrusion that he had possibly planned it himself and aided her in order that Margot might be free to return to him? Did Strange know of that other intrusion and of the uncanny power which had driven Sir John Harmon and supposedly driven Margot to that house on After Street? Those were the questions that still remained without answers and it was over those questions that I pondered while my surroundings became darker and more silent as the hour became more advanced. I heard the clock strike three and heard the answering drone of Big Ben from the square and then it began. At first it was little more than a sense of nervousness. Before I had been content to sit in my chair and doze. Now in spite of myself I found myself pacing the floor back and forth like a caged animal. I could have sworn at the time that some sinister presence had found entrance to my room and yet the room was empty. And I could have sworn too that some silent power of will was commanding me with undeniable force to go out, out into the darkness of Genie Lane. I fought it bitterly. I laughed at it, yet even through my laugh came the memory of Sir John Hammond and Margot and what they had told me. And then unable to resist that unspoken demand I seized my hat and coat and went out. Genie Lane was deserted, utterly still. At the end of it the street lamp glowed dullly, throwing a patch of ghastly light over the side of the adjoining building. I hurried through the shadows and as I walked a single idea had possession of me. I must hurry, I thought, with all possible speed to that grim house in Mady Lane. Number 7 Where that deliberate desire came from I did not know. I did not stop to reason. Something had commanded me to go at once to Michael Strange's home. And though I stopped more than once deliberately turning my tracks, inevitably I was forced to retrace my steps and continue. I remember passing through the square and prowling through the unlighted side streets that lay beyond. Three miles separated Genie Lane from Mady Lane and I had been over the route only once before in a cab. Yet I followed that route without a single false turn, followed it instinctively. At every intersecting street I was dragged in a certain direction and not once was I allowed to hesitate. It was as though some unseen demon perched on my shoulders as the demon of the sea rode sin-bad and pointed out the way. Only one disturbing thing occurred on that night journey through London. I had turned into a narrow street hardly more than a quarter mile from my destination and before me in the shadows I made out the form of a shuffling old man. And here as I watched him I was conscious of a new mad desire. I crept upon him stealthily without a sound. My hands were outstretched clutching for his throat. At that moment I should have killed him. I cannot explain it. During that brief interval I was a murderer at heart. I wanted to kill. And now that I remember it the desire had been pregnant in me ever since the lights of Genie Lane had died behind me. All the time that I prowled through those black streets, murder lurked in my heart. I should have killed the first man who crossed my path. But I did not kill him, thank God, as my fingers twisted toward the back of his throat that mad desire suddenly left me. I stood still while the old fellow still unsuspecting shuffled away into the darkness. Then dropping my hands with a sob of helplessness I went forward again. And so I reached Mady Lane and the huge gray house that awaited me. This time as I mounted the stone steps the old house seemed even more repulsive and horrible. I dreaded to see that door open but I could not retreat. I dropped the knocker heavily. A moment passed and then precisely as before the huge door swung inward. Michael Strange stood before me. He did not speak. Perhaps if he had spoken that Fiendish spell would have been broken and I should have returned even then to my own peaceful little rooms in Genie Lane. No. He merely held the door for me to enter and as I passed him he stood there watching me with a significant smile. Straight to that familiar room at the end of the hall I went with Strange behind me. When we had entered he closed the door cautiously. For a moment he faced me without speaking. You came very close to committing a murder on your way here, did you not, Dale? I stared at him. How in God's name could this man read my thoughts so completely? You would have completed the murder, he said softly, had I wished it. I did not wish it. I did not answer. There was no reply to such a mad declaration. As for my companion he watched me for an instant and then laughed. He was not mad. I am doctor enough to know that. But the laugh was not long in duration. He stepped forward suddenly and took my arm in a steel grip dragging me toward the half-hidden door at the farther end of the room. I shall not keep you long, Dale, he said harshly. I could have killed you, could have made you kill yourself, and in fact I intended to do so. But after all you are merely a poor stumbling fool who has meddled in things too deep for you. He pulled open the door and pushed me forward. The room was dark and not until he had closed the door again and switched on a dim light could I see its contents. Even then I saw nothing, at least nothing of importance to an unscientific mind. There was a low table against the wall with a profusion of tiny wires emanating from it. I was aware that a cup-shaped microphone or something very similar hung over the table about on a level with my eyes had I been sitting in the chair. Beyond that I saw nothing until strange had moved forward and drawn aside a curtain that hung beside the table. I made you come here tonight, Dale, he murmured, because I was a bit afraid of you. Your comrade Hartnett was an ignorant police officer. He has not the intellect to connect the series of events of the past day or two, and so I did not trouble myself with him. But you are an educated man. You have made no demonstrations of your ability in the field of science, but— He stopped speaking abruptly. From the room behind us came the sound of a warning bell. Strange turned quickly and went to the door. You will wait here, doctor, he said. I have another caller tonight, another one who came the same way as you. He vanished. For a short interlude I was alone with that peculiar radio-like apparatus before me. It was for all the world like a miniature control room in some small broadcasting station, except for the odd shape of the microphone. If it was such I could detect no radical difference in the equipment. However, I had little time for conjecture. A patter of footsteps interrupted me from the next room and a frightened feminine voice broke the stillness of the outer study. Even before the owner of that voice stepped into my presence I knew her. And when she came, with white fearful face and trembling body, I could not withhold a shutter of apprehension. It was the young woman who had come to my office, Margot Verne. Evidently at last she had yielded to the horrible impulse that had drawn her back to Michael Strange, an impulse which I now understood had originated from the man himself. He pressed her forward. There was nothing tender in his touch. It was cruel and triumphant. So you have succeeded at last, I said bitterly. He turned to me with a sneer. I have brought her here, yes, he replied, and now that she has come she shall hear what I have to tell you. It will perhaps give her a respect for me, and this time she will not have the power to turn me away. He pointed to the table, to the apparatus that lay there. I'm telling you this, Dale, he said, because it gives me pleasure to do so. You are enough of a scientist to appreciate and understand it. And if, when I have finished, I have told you too much, there is a very easy way to keep your tongue silent. You have heard of hypnotism, Dale? You have heard also of radio? Have you ever thought of combining the two? He faced me directly. I made no effort to reply. Radio, he said quietly, is broadcast by means of sound waves, that much you know. But hypnotism too can be transmitted through distance, if an instrument delicate enough to transmit thought waves can be invented. For twenty years I have worked on that instrument, and for twenty years I have studied hypnotism. You understand, of course, that this instrument is worthless unless it is operated by a master mind. Thought waves are useless, they will not control the actions of even a cat. But hypnotic waves or concentrated thought waves will control the world. There was no denying him. He faced me with the savage triumph of a wild beast. He was glorying in his power and in my amazement. I wanted Franklin White to die, he cried. It was I who murdered him. Why? Because he was about to take the girl I desired. Is that not reason enough for murder? And so I killed him. It was not Margot Verne, who strangled her lover. It was a complete stranger of London sportsmen who had no reason for committing the murder. Except I wished him to. He died on the night of December 7th, murdered by Sir John Harmon the sportsman. Why? Because of all London Sir John would be the last man to be suspected. I have a keen appreciation for the irony of fate. White would have died the night before Dale, except that I lacked the courage to kill him. His murderer was standing under my power outside his very house, and then I suddenly thought it best that I should have an alibi. Oh, Scotland Yard is clever, and it was best that I have protection. And so on the following night I sent Sir John to the house once again. This time, while I sat here and controlled the actions of my puppet, a group of men sat here with me. They believed that I was experimenting with a new type of radio receiver. Michael Strange laughed. Laughed harshly in utter triumph as a cat laughs at the antics of his mouse victims. That murder was done, he said. I sent Margo to the scene so that she might see her lover strangled dead. I repeat, Dale, that I enjoy the irony of fate, especially when I can control it. And as for you, I brought you here tonight merely so that you would realize the intensity of the powers that control you. When you leave here you will be unharmed. But after the exhibition I shall give you, I am sure that you will make no further attempt to interfere with things out of your realm of understanding. I heard a sob from Margo. She had retreated to the door and clung there. For myself I did not move. Strange's recital had revealed to me the horrible lust that gripped him, and now I watched him in fascination. He would not harm the girl, that much I was sure of. In his distorted fashion he loved her. In his crazed murderous way he would attempt to win her love, even though she had once scorned him. I saw him step toward the table, saw him drop heavily into the chair and stare directly into that microphone thing that hung before his eyes. As he stared he spoke to me. Science, in its intricate forms, is probably above the mind of a common medical man, Dale, he said. It would be useless to explain to you how my thoughts and my will can be transmitted through space. Perhaps you have sat in a theater and stared at a certain person until that person turned to face you. You have? Then you will perhaps understand how I can control the minds of any human creature within the radius of my power. You see, Dale, this intricate little machine gives me the power to transform London into a city of stark murder. I could bring about such a horrible wave of crime that Scotland Yard would be scorned from one end of the world to the other. I could make every man murder his neighbor until the streets of the city were running with blood. Strange turned quietly to look at me. He spoke deliberately. And now for the little exhibition of which I spoke, Dale, he murmured. Your detective friend Hartnett has been under my power for the past three hours. You see, it was safer to control his movements and be sure of him. And now to be doubly sure of him, perhaps you would like to see him kill himself. I stepped forward with a sudden cry. Strange said nothing. His eyes merely burned into mine. Once again I felt that strange, all-powerful control forcing me back. I retreated step by step until the wall stopped me. Yet, even as I retreated a childish hope filled me, how could strange working his terrible murder machine concentrate his power on any individual when the whole of London lay before him? He answered my question. He must have read it as it came over me. Have you ever been in a crowd, Dale, and watched a certain individual intently until that particular individual turned to look at you? The rest of the crowd pays no attention, of course, but that one man. Now we shall make that one man murder himself. Strange turned slowly. I saw his fingers creep along the rim of the table, touching certain wires that came together there. I heard a dull droning hum fill the room and over it strange's penetrating voice. When I am finished, Dale, I shall probably kill you. I brought you here merely to frighten you, but I believe I have told you too much. With that new horror upon me I saw my captor's lips move slowly, and then from the shadows at the other end of the small room came a low, unemotional voice. Before you begin, Strange… Michael Strange whipped about in his chair like a tiger. His hand dropped to his pocket so swiftly that my eyes did not follow it, and as it dropped a single staccato shot split the darkness of the room. The scientist slumped forward in his chair. The dull, whirring sound of that hellish machine had stopped abruptly, cut short by the sudden weight of his lunging body as he fell upon it. I saw the livid fiery snake of white light twist suddenly upward through that coil of wires, and in another moment the entire apparatus shattered by a blinding crash of flame. After that I turned away. Whether the bullet killed Strange or not, I do not know, but the sight of his charred face hanging over that table of destruction told its own story. It was Inspector Drake who came across the room toward me and took my arm. The smoking revolver still lay in his hand, and as he led me to the adjoining room I saw that Margo had already found refuge there. You see now, Dale, Drake said quietly why I let Hartnett go with you before. If Strange had suspected me, I should have been merely another victim. As for Hartnett, he has been under constant guard down at headquarters. He's safe. They've kept him there at my instructions in spite of all his terrific efforts to leave them. Listening to my companion in admiration, even then I did not quite understand. I was wrong in just one thing, Dale. I left you alone without protection. I believed Strange would ignore you because after all you are not a Scotland yard man. Thank God I had the sense to follow Margo to trail her here and get here soon enough. And so ended the horrible series of events that began with Sir John Harmon's chance visit to my study. As for Harmon, he was later cleared of all guilt upon the charred evidence in Michael Strange's house in Maddie Lane. The girl, I believe, has left London where she can be as far as possible from memories that are all too horrible. As for me, I am back once again in my quiet rooms in Cheney Lane where the routine of common medical practice has wiped out many of those vivid horrors. In time, I believe I shall forget, unless Inspector Drake of Scotland Yard insists upon bringing up the affair again. In the next issue of Astounding Stories of Super Science The Invisible Death, a thrilling novelette of an invisible empire within the United States by Victor Rousseau. Stolen Brains, another absorbing Dr. Bird's story by Captain S. P. Meek. Prisoners on the Electron, an exciting story of a young man marooned on an electron by Robert H. Leitfried. Jetta of the Lowlands Part two of the current novel by Ray Cummings. And others. End of Section 18 of Astounding Stories of Super Science September 1930 The Murder Machine by Hugh B. Cave Section 19 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 Richard Kilmer. The Attack From Space A sequel to Beyond the Heaviside Layer Part one by Captain S. P. Meek. No one knows what the unrevealed horrors of space holds, and the world will never rest entirely easy until the slow process of time again heals the protective layer from Beyond the Heaviside Layer. Over a year has passed since I wrote those lines. When they were written, the hole which Jim Carpenter had burned with his battery of infrared lamps through the Heaviside Layer, that hallowed spear of invisible semi-plastic organic matter which encloses the world as a nutshell does a kernel, was gradually filling in as he had predicted it would. Everyone thought that in another ten years the world would be safely enclosed again in its protective layer as it had been since the dawn of time. There were some adventurous spirits who deplored this fact as it would effectually bar interplanetary travel. For Headley had proved with his life that no space-flyer could force its way through the fifty miles of almost solid material which barred the road to space, but they were in the minority. Most of humanity felt that it would rather be protected against the densions of space than to have a road open for them to travel to the moon if they felt inclined. To be sure, during the five years that the hole had been open, it seemed more dangerous to the peace and well-being of the world had appeared from space than a few hundred of those purple amoeba which we had found so numerous on the outer side of the layer when we had traveled in a Headley spaceship up through the hole into the outer realms of space and one lone specimen of the green dragons which we had also encountered. The amoeba had been readily destroyed by the disintegrating rays of the guarding spaceships which were stationed inside the layer at the edge of the hole and the lone dragon had fallen a ready victim to the machine gun bullets which had been poured into it. At first the press had damned Jim Carpenter for opening the road for these horrors, but once their harmlessness had been clearly established the row had died down and the appearance of an amoeba did not merit over a squib on the inside pages of the Daily Paper. One of a hole in the heavy side layer was no longer news for the Daily Press. A bitter controversy still waged in the scientific journals as to the reason why no observer on Earth even when using the most powerful telescopes could see the amoeba before they entered the hole and then only when their telescopes were set up directly under the hole. When a telescope of even small power was mounted in the grounds back of Carpenter's laboratory the amoeba could be detected as soon as they entered the hole or when they passed above it through space but aside from that point of vantage they were entirely invisible. Carpenter's theory of the absorptive power of the material of which the heavy side layer was composed was laughed to scorn by most scientists who pointed out the fact that the sun, moon and stars could be readily seen through it. Carpenter replied that the rays of colored or visible light could only pass through the layer when superimposed upon a carrier wave of ultraviolet or invisible light. He stated dogmatically that the amoeba and the other densions of space absorbed all the ultraviolet light which fell on them and reflected only the visible rays which could not pass through the heavy side layer because of the lack of a synchronized carrier wave of shorter wavelength. De Patier replied a great length and showed by apparently unimpeachable mathematics that Carpenter was entirely wrong and that his statements showed an absolute lack of knowledge of the most elementary and fundamental laws of light transmission. Carpenter replied briefly that he could prove by mathematics that two was equal to one. And he challenged De Patier or anyone else to satisfactorily explain the observed facts in any other way. While they vainly tried to do so Carpenter last in the silence in his Los Angeles laboratory and delved even deeper into the problems of science such was the situation when the attack came from space. My first knowledge of the attack came when McCrary, the city editor of the San Francisco Clarion sent for me. When I entered his office he tossed a Los Angeles dispatch on the desk before me and with a growl ordered me to read it. It told of an unexplained disappearance of an eleven-year-old boy the night before. It looked like a common kidnapping. Well I asked as I handed him back the dispatch. With another growl he tossed down a second telegram. I read it with astonishment for it told of a second disappearance which had happened about an hour after the first. The similarity of the two cases was at once apparent. Coincidence or connection I asked as I returned it. Find out he replied if I knew which it was I wouldn't be wasting the paper's money that I was sending you to Los Angeles. I don't doubt that I am wasting it anyway but as long as I am forced to keep you on as a reporter I might as well try to make you earn the money the owner wastes on paying your salary even although I know it to be a hopeless task. Go on down there and see what you can find out, if anything. I jot it down in my notebook the names and addresses of the missing children and turned to leave. A boy entered and handed McCrary a yellow slip. He glanced at it and called me back. Wait a minute Bond, he said, has he handed me the dispatch? I doubt you had better fly down to Los Angeles. Another case has just been reported. I hastily copied down the dispatch he handed me which was almost a duplicate of the first two with the exception of the time and the name. Three unexplained disappearances in one day was enough to warrant speed. I drew some expense money and was on my way south in a chartered plane within an hour. On my arrival I went to the Associated Press Office and found a message waiting for me directing me to call McCrary on the telephone at once. Hello Bond came his voice over the wire. Have you just arrived? Well, forget all about that disappearance case. Prince is on his way to Los Angeles to cover it. You hadn't been gone an hour before a wire came in from Jim Carpenter. He says, send Bond to me at once by fastest conveyance. Chance for a scoop on the biggest story of the century. I don't know what it's about but Carpenter is always front page news. Get in touch with him at once and stay with him until you have the story. Don't risk trying to telegraph it when you get it. Telephone. Get moving. I lost no time in getting Carpenter on the wire. Hello First Mortgage, he greeted me. You made good time getting down here. Where are you? At the AP office. Grab a taxi and come out to the laboratory. Bring your grip with you. You may have to stay overnight. Get out, Jim. What's the story? His voice suddenly grew grave. It's the biggest thing you ever handled, he replied. The fate of the whole world may hang on it. I don't want to talk over the phone. Come on out and I'll give you the whole thing. An hour later I shook hands with Tim, the guard at the gate of the Carpenter laboratory and passed through the grounds to enter Jim's private office. He greeted me warmly and for a few minutes we chatted of old times when I worked with him as an assistant in his Atomic Disintegration Laboratory and of the stirring events we had passed through together when we had ventured outside the heavy side layer in his spaceship. Those were stirring times, he said, but I have an idea, First Mortgage, that they were merely a Sunday school picnic compared to what we were about to tackle. I guessed that you had something pretty big up your sleeve from your message, I replied. What's up now? Are we going to make a trip to the moon and interview the inhabitants? We may interview them without going that far, he said. Have you seen a morning paper? No. Look at this. He handed me a copy of the Gazette. Streamer headlines told of the three disappearances which I had come to Los Angeles to cover, but they had grown to five during the time I had been flying down. I looked at Jim in surprise. We got word of that in San Francisco, I told him, and I came down here to cover the story. When I got here, McCrary telephoned me your message and told me to come and see you instead. Has your message anything to do with this? It has everything to do with it, First Mortgage. In fact, it is it. Have you any preconceived ideas of the disappearance epidemic? None at all. All the better. You'll be able to approach the matter with an unbiased viewpoint. Don't read that hooey put out by an inspired reporter who claims the lackness of the city government. I'll give you the facts without embellishment. Nothing beyond the bare facts of the disappearances known about the first case, Robert Prosser, aged 11, was sent to the grocery store by his mother about 6.30 last night and failed to return. That's all we know about it, except that it happened in Eagle Rock. The second case we have a little bit more data on, William Hill, aged 12, was playing in Glendale last night with some companions. They were playing hide-and-go-seek, and William hid. He could not be found by the boy who was searching and has not been found since. His companions became frightened and reported it about 8 o'clock. They saw nothing, but marked this. Four of them agree that they heard a sound in the air, like a motor humming. That proves nothing. Taken alone it does not. But in view of the third case, it was significant. The third case happened about 9.30 last night. This time the victim was a girl, aged 10. She was returning home from a moving picture with some companions, and she disappeared. This time the other children saw her go. They say she was suddenly taken straight up into the air and then disappeared from sight. They also claimed to have heard a sound like a big electric fan in the air at the time, although they could see nothing. Had they heard the details of the second disappearance? They had not. I can see what you were thinking, that they were unconsciously influenced by the account given of the other case, consciously or unconsciously. I doubt it, for the fourth case was almost a duplicate of the third. The fourth and fifth cases happened this morning. In the fourth case the child, for it was a 9-year-old girl this time, was lifted into the air and brought daylight and disappeared. This disappearance was witnessed not only by children, but also by two adults, and their testimony agrees completely with that of the children. The fifth case is similar to the first. A 10-year-old boy disappeared without trace. The whole city is in a reign of terror. The telephone at Carpenter's Elbow rang and he answered it. A short conversation took place and he turned to me with a grim face as he hung up the receiver. Another case has just been reported from Beverly Hills, he said. Again the child was seen to be lifted into the air by some invisible means and disappeared. The sound of a motor was plainly heard by five witnesses, who all agree that it was just above their heads, but that nothing could be seen. Was it in broad daylight? Less than an hour ago. But, Jim, that's impossible. Why is it impossible? It would imply the invisibility of a tangible substance, of a solid. What of it? Why there isn't any such substance? Nothing of that sort exists. Carpenter pointed to one of the windows of his laboratory. Does that window frame contain glass or not, he asked. I strained my eyes. Certainly nothing was visible. Yes, I said at a venture. He rose and thrust his hand through the space where the glass should have been. Has this frame glass in it, he asked, pointing to another? No. He struck the glass with his knuckle. I give up, I replied. I'm used to thinking of glass as being transparent, but not invisible. Yet, I can see under certain light conditions it may be invisible. Granted, that such is the case, do you believe that living organisms can be invisible? Under the right conditions, yes. Has any observer been able to see any of the purple amoeba which we know are so numerous on the outer side of the heavy side layer? Not until they have entered the hole through the layer. And yet these amoeba are both solid and opaque, as you know. Why is it not possible that men, or intelligence of some sort, are in the air about us, and yet are invisible to our eyes? If they are, why haven't we received evidence of it years ago? Because there has only been a hole through the heavy side layer for six years. Before that time, they could not penetrate it any more than poor Hadley could with his spaceship. They have not entered the hole earlier, and at this cost it is a very small one. At present, only some 250 yards in diameter, in a sphere over 8000 miles diameter, the invaders have just found the entrance. The invaders, do you think that the world has been invaded? I do. How else can you explain the very fact which you have just quoted, that no evidence of the presence of these invisible entities has previously been recorded? Where did they come from? They have come from anywhere in the solar system, or even from outside it, but I fancy that they are from Mars or Venus. Why so? Because they are the two planets nearest to the Earth, and are the ones where conditions are the most like they are on the Earth. Venus, for example, has an atmosphere and a gravity about 0.83 of Earthly gravity, and life of a sort similar to that of the Earth might well live there. It seems more probable that the invaders have come from one of the nearby planets than from the realms of space beyond the solar system. What about the moon? We can dismiss that because of the lack of an atmosphere. It sounds logical, Jim, but the idea of living organisms of sufficient size to lift a child into the air who are invisible seems a little absurd. I never said they were invisible. I don't think they are, but they must be, else why weren't they seen? Use your head first, mortgage. Those purple amoeba we encountered were quite visible to us, yet they are invisible to observers on the Earth. Yes, but that is because the heavy side layer is between them and the Earth. As soon as they come below it, they can be seen. Exactly. Why is it not possible that the Venetians or Martians, or whoever our invaders are, have encased themselves and their space flyer in a layer of some substance similar to the heavy side layer, a substance which is permeable to light rays only when a large portion of the ultraviolet rays accompany the visible rays? If they did this and then constructed the walls of their ship of some substance which absorbed all the ultraviolet rays which fell on it, not only would the ship itself be invisible, but also everything contained in it, and yet they could see the outside world easily. That such is the case is proved by the disappearance of those children in mid-air. They were taken into a spaceship behind the ultraviolet absorbing wall, and so became invisible. If the walls absorbed all the ultraviolet and were impermanable to light without ultraviolet, the ship would appear as a black opaque substance and could be seen. That would be true except for one thing which you are forgetting. The heavy side layer, as I have repeatedly proved, is a splendid conductor of ultraviolet. The rays falling on it are probably bent along the line of the covered layer so that they open up and bend around the ship in the same manner as flowing water will open up and flow around a stone and then come together again. The light must flow around the solid ship and then join again in such a manner that the eye can detect no interruption. Jim, all that sounds reasonable, but have you any proof of it? No first mortgage I haven't yet, but if the Lord is good to us, we'll have definite proof this afternoon and be in a position to successfully combat this new menace to the world. Do you expect me to go on another one of your cracked-brained expeditions into the unknown with you? Certainly I do, but this time we won't go out of the known. I have our old space-flyer, which we took beyond the heavy-side layers six years ago, ready for action, and we're going to look for the invaders this afternoon. How will we see them if they are invisible? They are invisible to ordinary light, but not to ultraviolet light. While most of the ultraviolet is deflected and flows around the ship or else is absorbed, I have an idea that if we bathe it in a sufficient concentration of ultraviolet, some would be reflected. We are going to look for the reflected portion. Ultraviolet light is invisible? It is to the eye, but it can be detected. You know that radium is activated and glows under ultraviolet? Yes. Mounted on our flyer are six ultraviolet searchlights. By the side of each one is a wide-angle, telescopic concentrator, which will focus any reflected ultraviolet onto a radium-coded screen and thus make it visible to us. In effect, the apparatus is a camera obscura with all lenses made of rock crystal or fused quartz, both of which allow free passage of ultraviolet. What will we do if we find them? Mounted beneath the telescope is a one-pounder gun with radiant shells. If we locate them, we will use our best effort to shoot them down. Suppose they are armed too. In that case, I hope that you shoot faster and straighter than they do. If you don't, well, old man, it'll just be too damn bad. I don't know that the Clarion hires me to go out and shoot at invisible invaders from another planet. But if I don't go with you, I expect you'll just call up the Echo or the Gazette and ask them for a gunner. Just about. In that case, I may as well be sacrificed as anyone else. When do we start? You old faker cried, Jim, pounding me on the back. You wouldn't miss the trip for anything. If you're ready, we'll start right now. Everything is ready. Including the sacrifice, I replied, rising. All right, Jim, let's go and get it over with. If we live, I'll have to get back in time to telephone the story to McCrary for the first edition. I followed Jim out of the laboratory and to a large open space behind the main building. Where the infrared generators with which he had pierced the hole through the heavy side layer had been located. The reflectors were still in place, but the bank of generators had been removed. A gang of men were hard at work erecting a huge parabolic reflector in the center of the circle about the periphery of which the infrared reflectors were placed in an open space near the center so the Hadley spaceship toward which Jim led the way. I wondered at the activity and meant to ask what it pretended, but in the excitement of boarding the flyer forgot it. I followed Jim in. He closed the door and started the air conditioner. Here first mortgage he said as he turned from the control board and faced me. Here are the fluoroscopic screens. They are arranged in a bank so that you can keep an eye on all of them readily. Beneath each telescope is an automatic one-pounder gun with its mount geared to the telescope and the light so that the gun bears continually on the point in space represented by the center of the fluoroscopic screen which belongs to the light. If we locate anything turn your beam until the object is in the exact center of the screen where these two cross hairs are. When you have it lined up push this button and the gun will fire. What about reloading? The guns are self-loading. Each one is 20 shells in its magazine and will fire one shot each time the button is pushed until it is empty. If you empty one magazine I can turn the ship so that another gun will bear. This gives you a total of 120 shots quickly available. There are 60 extra pounds which we can break out and load into the magazine in a few seconds. Do you understand everything? I guess so. Everything seems clear enough. Alright, sit down and we'll start. End of Section 19 Section 20 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 Richard Kilmer The Attack From Space A Sequel 2 Beyond the Heavy Side Layer Part 2 by Captain SP Meek I took my seat and Jim pulled the starting lever. I was glued to the seat and the heavy springs in the cushion were compressed almost to their limit by the sudden acceleration. As soon as we were well clear of the ground Jim reduced his power and in a few moments we were floating motionless in the air a thousand feet up he left the control board and came to my side. Start your ultralights he said as he joined me we may be able to spot something from here. I started the lights and we stared at the screens before us. Nothing appeared on any of them except the one pointing directly down and only an image of the ground appeared on it. Under Jim's tutelage I swung the beams in wide circles covering the space around us but nothing appeared. Those beams won't project over five miles in his atmosphere he said and the ship we were looking for may be so small that we would have trouble locating it at any great distance. I'm going to move over near the scene of the last disappearance. Keep your lights swinging and sing out if you see anything on the screens. I could feel the ship start to move slowly under the force of a side discharge from the rocket motor and I swung the beams of the six lights around trying to cover the entire area about us. Nothing appeared on the screens for an hour and my head began to ache from the strain of unremittingly close observation of the glowing screens. A buzz sounding over the hum of the rocket motor attracted my attention. Jim pulled his levers to neutral with the exception of the one which maintained our elevation and stepped to an instrument on the wall of the flyer. Hello he called. What? Where did it happen? All right, thanks. We'll move over that way at once. He turned from the radio telephone and spoke. Another disappearance has just been reported he said. It happened on the outskirts of Pasadena. Keep your eyes open. I'm going to head in that direction. A few minutes later we were floating over Pasadena. Jim stopped the flyer and joined me at the screens. We swung our beams in wide circles to cover the entire area around us but no image on the screens rewarded us. Dog gone it. They must have left here in a hurry grumbled Jim. Even as he spoke the flyer gave a lurch which nearly threw me off my seat and which sent Jim sprawling on the floor. With a white face he leaped to the control board and pulled the lever controlling our one working stern motor to full power. For a moment the ship moved upward and then came to a dead stop although the motor still roared at full speed. Can't you see anything Pete cried Jim as he threw our second stern motor into gear? Again the ship moved upward for a few feet and then stopped. We swung the searchlights frantically in all directions but five of the screens remained blank and the sixth showed only the ground below us. Not a thing I replied. Something ought to show he muttered and suddenly shut off both motors. The flyer gave a sickening lurch toward the ground but we fell only a hundred yards before our motion stopped. We hung suspended in the air with no motors working. Jim ran me at the screens and we swung the lights rapidly without success. Look Pete, Jim cried hoarsely. My gaze followed his pointing finger and I saw the door of our flyer springing out as though some force from the outside were trying to wrench and open. The pull ceased for an instant and then came again. The sturdy latches burst and the door was torn from its hinges. Jim swung one of the searchlights strangles to the hull of the flyer and pressed the gun button. A crash filled the confined space of the flyer as a one-pounder, radiant shell tore out into space. They're there but still invisible, he exclaimed as he shifted the direction of the gun and fired again. I'm shooting by guesswork but I might score a hit. He changed the direction of the gun again but before he could press the button he was lifted into the air and drawn rapidly toward the open door. Shoot Pete, he shouted. Shoot and keep on shooting. It's your only chance. I turned to the knobs controlling the guns and lights but before I could make a move something hard and cold grasped me about the middle and I was lifted into the air and drawn toward the open door after Jim. I tore at the thing holding me with my hands but it was a smooth round thing like a two-inch thick wire and I could get no grip on it to loosen it. Out through the door I went and was drawn through the air a few feet behind Jim. He moved ahead of me for 15 or 20 feet and then vanished in mid-air. I dared not struggle in mid-air and I was drawn through a door into a large space flyer which became visible as I entered it. The flexible wire or rod which had held me uncoiled and I was free on the floor beside Jim Carpenter. This much was clear and understandable but when I looked at the crew of the spaceship I was sure that I had lost my mind or was seeing visions. I had naturally expected men or at least something in semi-human form but instead of anything of the sort before me stood a dozen gigantic beetles I rubbed my eyes and looked again. There was no mistake in the fact that we had been captured by a race of gigantic beetles flying an invisible spaceship. When I had time later to examine them critically I could see marked differences between our captors and the beetles we were accustomed to see on Earth besides their mere matter of size. To begin with their bodies were relatively much smaller. The length of the shell of the largest specimen not being over four feet while the head of the same insect exclusive of the horns or pinchers was a good 18 inches in length. The pinchers which by all beetle proportions should have been a couple of feet long at least did not extend over the head a distance greater than eight inches although they were sturdy and powerful. Instead of traveling with their shells horizontal as do earthly beetles these insects stood erect on their two lower pairs of legs which were of different lengths so that all four feet touched the ground when the shell was vertical. The two upper pairs of legs were used as arms the topmost pair being quite short and splitting out at the end into four flexible claws about five inches long which they used as fingers. These upper arms which sprouted from a point near the top of their head were peculiar in that they apparently had no joints like the other three pairs but were flexible like an elephant's trunk. The second pair of arms were armed with long vicious looking hooks. The back plates concealed only very rudimentary wings not large enough to enable the insects to fly although Jim told me later that they could fly on their own planet where the lessened gravity made such extensive wing supports as would be needed on earth unnecessary. Foot no day. Mr. Bond has made a laughable error in his description. Like all of the coloptera the Macurians were hexapoda, six-legged. What Mr. Bond continually refers to in his narrative as upper arms were really the antenna of the insects which split at the end into four flexible appendages resembling fingers. His mistake is a natural one for the Macurians used their antenna has extra arms. James S. Carpenter The back plates were a brilliant green in color with six-inch stripes of chrome yellow running lengthwise and crimson spots three inches in diameter arranged in rows between the stripes. Their huge faceted eyes sparkled like crystal when the light fell on them and from time to time waves of various colors passed over them evidently reflecting the insects' emotions. Although they gave the impression of great muscular power their movements were slow and sluggish and they seemed to have difficulty in getting around. As my horrified gaze took in these monstrosities I turned with a shutter to Jim Carpenter. Am I crazy, Jim, I asked? Or do you see these things too? I see them all right, Pete, he replied. It isn't as surprising as it seems at first glance. You expected to find human beings, so did I. But what reason had we for doing so? It is highly improbable when you come to consider the matter that evolution should take the same course elsewhere as it did on earth. Why not beetles or fish or horned toads for that matter? No reason, I guess, I answered. I just hadn't expected anything of this sort. What do you suppose they mean to do with us? I haven't any idea, old man. We'll just have to wait and see. I'll try to talk to them, although I don't expect much luck at it. He turned the deer's beetle and slowly and clearly spoke a few words. The insect gave no signs of comprehension, although it watched the movement of Jim's lips carefully. It is my opinion, and Jim agrees with me, that the insects were both deaf and dumb. For during the entire time we were associated with them we never heard them give forth a sound under any circumstances nor saw them react to any sound that we made. Either they had some telepathic means of communication or else they made and heard sounds beyond the range of the human ear, for it was evident from their actions that they frequently communicated with one another. When Jim failed in his first attempt to communicate, he looked around for another method. He noticed my notebook, which had fallen on the floor when I was set down. He picked it up and drew a pencil from his pocket. The insects watched his movements carefully, and when he had made a sketch in the book, the nearest one took it from him and examined it carefully and then passed it to another one, who also examined it. The sketch which Jim had drawn showed the outline of a Hadley space flyer from which we had been taken. When the Beatles had examined the sketch, one of them stepped to an instrument board in the center of the ship and made an adjustment. Then he pointed with one of his lower arms. We looked in the direction in which he pointed, and to our astonishment, the walls of the flyer seemed to dissolve or at least to become perfectly transparent. The floor of the spaceship was composed of some silvery metal and from it had risen the walls of the same material, but now the effect was as though we were suspended in mid-air with nothing either around us or under us. I gasped and grabbed at the instrument board for support. Then I felt foolish as I realized that there was no change in the feel of the floor for all its transparency and that we were not falling. A short distance away, we could see our flyer suspended in the air, held up by two long flexible rods or wires, similar to those which had lifted us from our ship into our prison. I saw a dozen or more of these rods coiled up, hanging in the air, evidently, but really on the floor near the edge of the flyer, ready for use. Jim suddenly grasped me by the arm. Look behind you in a moment, he said, but don't start. He took the notebook in his hand and started to draw a sketch. I looked behind as he had told me to, hanging in the air in a position which told me that they must have been in a different compartment of the flyer were five children. They were white as marble and laid perfectly motionless. Are they dead, Jim? I asked in a low voice, without looking at him. I don't know, he replied, but we'll find out a little bit later. I am relieved to find them here, and I doubt if they are harmed. The sketch which he was making was one of the solar system, and when he had finished, he marked the Earth with a cross and handed the notebook to one of the beetles. The insect took it and showed it to his companions. So far as I was able to judge expressions, they were amazed to find that we had knowledge of the heavenly bodies. The beetle took Jim's pencil in one of its hands, and after examining it carefully, made a cross on the circle which Jim had drawn to represent the planet Mercury. They come from Mercury, exclaimed Jim, in surprise, as he showed me the sketch. That accounts for good many things. Why are they so lethargic for one thing? Mercury is much smaller than the Earth, and the gravity is much less. According to Mercuryian standards, they must weigh a ton each. It's quite a tribute to their muscular development that they can move and support their weight against our gravity. They can understand a drawing all right, so we have a means of communicating with them, although a pretty slow one, and dependent entirely on my limited skill as a cartoonist. I wonder if we're free to move about. The only way to find out is to try, I replied and stood erect. The beetles offered no objection, and Jim stood up beside me. We walked, or rather edged, our way toward the side of the ship. The insects watched us when we started to move, and then evidently decided that we were harmless. They turned from us to the working of the ship. One of them manipulated some dials on the instrument board. One of the rods, which held our flier, released its grip, came in toward the Mercuryian ship, and coiled itself up on the floor, or the place where the floor should have been. The insect touched another dial. Jim threw caution to the winds, raced across the floor, and grasped the beetle by the arm. The insect looked at him questioningly. Jim produced a notebook and drew a sketch representing our flier falling. On the level he had used to represent the ground, he made another sketch of it lying in ruins. The beetle nodded comprehendingly and turned to another dial. The ship sank slowly toward the ground. We sank until we hung only a few feet from the ground when our flier was gently lowered down. When it rested on the ground, the wire which had held it uncoiled and came aboard and coiled itself up beside the others. As the Mercuryian ship rose, I noticed idly that the door which had been torn from our ship and dropped lay within a few yards of the ship itself. The Mercuryian ship rose to an elevation of a hundred feet, drifting gently over the city. As we rose, I determined to try the effect of my personality on the beetles. I approached the one who seemed to be the leader, and, putting on the most woeful expression I could muster, I looked at the floor. He did not understand me and I pretended that I was falling and grasped at him. This time he nodded and stepped to the instrument board. In a moment the floor became visible. I thanked him as best I could in pantomime and approached the walls. They were so transparent that I felt an involuntary shrinking as I approached them. I edged my way cautiously forward until my outstretched hand encountered a solid substance. I looked out. At the slow speed we were traveling the drone of our motors was hardly audible to us and I felt sure that it could not be heard on the ground. Once their curiosity was satisfied our captors paid little or no attention to me and left me free to come and go as I wished. I made my way cautiously toward the children but ran into a solid wall. Remembering Jim's words I made my way back toward him without displaying any interest. Jim could probably have wandered around as I did had he wished but he chose to occupy his time differently. With his notebook and pencil he carried on an extensive conversation if that term can be applied to a crudely executed set of drawings with the leader of the Beatles. I was not especially familiar with the methods of control of the spaceship and I could make nothing of the maze of dials and switches on the instrument board. For a half hour we drifted slowly along. Presently one of the Beatles approached seized my arm and turned me about. With one of his arms he pointed ahead. A mile away I could see another space flyer similar to the one we were on. Here comes another one Jim I called. Yes I saw it some time ago. I don't know where the third one is. Are there three of them? Yes, three of them came here yesterday and are exploring the country round here. They are scouts sent out from the fleet of our brother planet to see if the road was clear and what the world was like. They spotted the hole through the lair with their telescope and sent their fleet out to pay us a visit. He tells me that the scouts have reported favorably and at the whole fleet several thousand ships as near as I can make out are expected here this evening. Have you solved the secret of their invisibility? Partly. It is as I expected. The walls of the ship are double. The inner one of metal and the outer one of vitrioline or some similar perfectly transparent substance. The space between the walls is filled with some substance which will bend both visible light rays along a path around the ship and then lets them go in their original direction. The reason we can see through the walls and see the protective coating of the ship coming is that they are generating some sort of ray here which acts as a carrier for the visible light rays. I don't know what sort of ray it is but when I get a good look at their generators I may be able to tell. Are you beginning to itch and burn? Yes, I believe that I am but I don't realize it until you spoke. I have been noticing it for some time. From its effects on the skin I am inclined to believe it to be a ray of very short wavelength possibly something like our X-ray or even shorter. Have you found out what they intend to do with us? I don't think they have decided yet. Possibly they are going to take us up to the leader of their fleet and let him decide. The cuss that is in command of this ship seems surprised to death to find out the principles of his ship. He seems to think that I am a sort of rara avis a freak of nature. He intimated that he would recommend we be used for vivisection. Good Lord! It's not much more worse than the fate they designed for the rest of their captives at that. What is that? It's a long story that I'll have to tell you later. I want to watch this meeting. The other ship had approached to within a few yards and floated stationary. While some sort of communication was exchanged between the two. I could not fathom the method used, but the commander of our craft clamped what looked like a pair of headphones against his body and plugged the end of a wire leading from them into his instrument board. From time to time various colored lights glowed on the board before him. After a time he uncoupled his device from the board and one of the long rods shot out from our ship to the other. It returned in a moment clamped around the body of a young girl. As that came on board she was lowered on to the deck beside the other children. Like them she was stiff and motionless. I gave an exclamation and sprang forward. Pete, Jim's voice recalled me to myself and I watched the child laid with the others with as disinterested an expression as I could muster. I had never made a mistake in following Jim Carpenter's lead and I knew that somewhere in his head a plan was maturing which might offer us some chance of escape. Our ship moved ahead down a long slant gradually dropping nearer to the ground. I watched the maneuver with interest while Jim, with his friend the beetle commander went over the ship. The insect was evidently amused at Jim and was determined to find out the limits of his intelligence for he pointed out various controls and motors of the ship and made elaborate sketches which Jim seemed to comprehend fairly well. End of Section 20 Section 21 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 Richard Kilmer The Attack from Space A Sequel 2 Beyond the Heavy Side Layer Part 3 by Captain S. P. Meek One of the beetles approached the control board and motioned me back. I stepped away from the board evidently a port in the side of the vessel opened for I felt a breath of air and could hear the hum of the city. I walked to the side and glanced down and found that we were floating about twenty feet off the ground over a street on the edge of the city. On the street a short distance ahead of us two children evidently returning from school to judge by the books under their arms were walking unsuspectingly along. A turn of the dial sped up our motors and as the hum rang out in a louder key the children looked upward. Two of the long flexible wires shot out and wrapped themselves about the children. Screaming they were lifted into the space flyer. The port through which they came in shut with a clang and the ship rose rapidly into the air. The children were released from the wires which coiled themselves up on deck and the beetle who had operated them stepped forward and grasped the nearer of the children. A boy about eleven by the arm. He raised the boy who was paralyzed with terror up toward his head and gazed steadily into his eyes. Slowly the boy ceased struggling and became white and rigid. The beetle laid him on the deck and turned to the girl. Involuntarily I gave a shout and sprang forward but Jim grasped me by the arm. Keep quiet you darned fool he cried. We can do nothing now. Wait for a chance. We can't stand here and see murder done I protested. It's not murder Pete. Those children aren't being hurt. They're being hypnotized so that they can be transported to Mercury. Why are they taking him to Mercury I demanded. As nearly as I can make out there is a race of men up there who are subject to these beetles. This ship is radium propelled and the men and women are the slaves who work in the radium mines. Of course the workers soon become sexless but others are kept for breeding purposes to keep the race alive. Through generations of inbreeding the stock is about played out and are getting too weak to be of much value. The Mercurians have been studying the whole universe to find a race which will serve their purpose and they have chosen us to be the victims. When their fleet gets here they plan to capture thousands of selected children and carry them to Mercury in order to infuse their blood into the decadent race of slaves they have. Those who are not suitable for breeding when they grow up will die as slaves in the radium mines. Horrible I gasped. Why are they taking children, Jim? Wouldn't adults suit their purpose better? They're afraid to take adults. On Mercury an earthman would have muscles of unheard power and adults would constantly strive to rise against their masters. By getting children they hope to raise them to know nothing else than a life of slavery and get the advantage of their strength without risk. It's a clever scheme. And are we to stand here and let them do it? Not on your life but we'd better hold easy for a while. If I can get a few minutes more with that brute I'll know enough about running the ship that we can afford to do away with them. You have a pistol, haven't you? No. The devil. I thought you had. I have an automatic, but it only carries eight shells. There are eleven of these insects and unless we can get the jump on them they'll do us. I saw what looks like a knife lying near the instrument board. Get over near it and get ready to grab it as soon as you hear my pistol. These things are death and if I work it right I may be able to do several of them in before they know what's happening. When you attack don't try to ram them in the back. Their back plates are an inch thick and will be proof against a knife thrust. Aim at their eyes. If you can blind them they'll be helpless. Do you understand? I'll do my best, Jim, I replied. Since you have told me their plans I am itching to get at them. I edged over toward the knife but as I did so I saw a better weapon. On the floor lay a bar of silvery metal about thirty inches long and an inch in diameter. I picked it up and toyed with it idly. Meanwhile edging around to get behind the insect which I had marked for my first attentions. Jim was talking again by means of the notebook with his beetle friend. They walked around the ship in it. Are you ready Pete? came Jim's voice at last. All said I replied getting a firmer grasp on my bar and edging toward one of the insects. Well, don't start until I fire. You notice the bug I am talking to? Don't kill him unless you have to. This ship is a little too complicated for me to phantom so I want this fellow taken prisoner. We'll use him as our engineer when we take control. I understand. All right, get ready. I kept my eye on Jim. He had drawn the beetle with whom he was talking to a position where they were behind the rest. Jim pointed at something behind the insect's back and the beetle turned. As it did so Jim whipped out his pistol and, taking careful aim fired at one of the insects. As the sound of the shot rang out I raised my bar and leaped forward. I brought it down with a rushing force on the head of the nearest beetle. My victim fell forward and I heard Jim's pistol bark again but I had no time to watch him. As the beetle I struck fell the others turned and I had two of them coming at me without stretched arms ready to grasp me. I swung my bar and the arm of one of them fell limp but the other seized me with both his hands against the small of my back. One of my arms was still free. I swung my bar again and it struck my captor on the back of the head. It was stunned by the blow and fell. I seized a knife from the floor and threw myself down beside it and struck at its eyes trying to roll it over so as to protect me from the other who was trying to grasp me. I felt hands clutch me from behind. I was wrenched loose and lifted into the air. I was turned about and stared hard into the applicable crystalline eyes of one of the insects. For a moment my senses reeled and then without volition I dropped my bar. I remembered the children and realized that I was being hypnotized. I fought against the feeling but my senses reeled and I almost went limp. When the sound of the pistol shot crossed me, the spell of the beetle was momentarily broken. I thrust a knife which I still grasped at the eyes before me. My blow went home but the insect raised me and bent me toward him until my head lay on top of his and the huge horns which adorned his head began to close. Another pistol shot sounded and I was suddenly dropped. I grasped my bar as I fell and leaped up. Dead insects lay on all sides while Jim, smoking pistol in hand, was staring as though fascinated into the eyes of one of the surviving beetles. I ran forward and brought my bar down on the insect's head but as I did so I was grasped from behind. Jim, help! I cried as I was swung into the air. The insect whirled me around and then threw me to the floor. I had an impression of falling then everything dissolved in a flash of light. I was unconscious only for a moment and I came to to find Jim Carpenter standing over me menacing my assailant with his gun. Thanks, Jim, I said faintly. If you're conscious again get up and get your bar, he replied. My pistol is empty and I don't know how long I can run a bluff on this fellow. I scrambled to my feet and grasped the bar. Jim stepped behind me and reloaded his pistol. All right, he said when he had finished. I'll take charge of this fellow. Go around and see if the rest are dead. If they aren't, when you find them see that they are when you leave them. We're taking no prisoners. I went the rounds of the prostrate insects. None of them were beyond moving except two whose heads had been crushed by my bar. But I obeyed Jim's orders. When I rejoined them with my bloody bar the only beetle left alive was the commander whom Jim was covering with his pistol. Take the gun, he said when I reported my actions and give me the bar. We exchanged weapons and Jim turned to the captive. Now, old fellow, he said grimly either you run this ship as I want you to or you're a dead Indian. Savvy? He took his pencil and notebook from his pocket and drew a sketch of our Hadley spaceship. On the other end of the sheet he drew a picture of the McCurrian ship and then drew a line connecting the two. The insect looked at the sketch but made no movement. All right? If that's the way you feel about it, said Jim. He raised the bar and brought it down with crushing force on one of the insect's lower arms. The arm fell as though paralyzed and a blue light played across the beetle's eyes. Jim extended the sketch again and raised the bar threateningly. The beetle moved over to the control board Jim following closely and set the ship in motion. Ten minutes later it rested on the ground beside the ship in which we had first taken the air. Following Jim's pictured orders the beetle opened the door of the McCurrian ship and followed Jim into the Hadley. As we emerged from the McCurrian ship I looked back. It had vanished completely. The children, Jim, I gasped. I hadn't forgotten them, he replied but they are all right for the present. If we turn them loose now we'd have 90 reporters around us in ten minutes. I want to get our generators modified first. He pointed toward the spot where the McCurrian ship had stood and then toward our generators. The beetle hesitated but Jim swung his bar against the insect's side in a vicious blow. Again came the play of blue light over the eyes. The beetle bent over our generators and set to work. Jim handed me the bar and bent over to help. They were both mechanics of a high order and they worked well together. In an hour the beetle started the generators and swung one of the searchlights toward his old ship. It leaped in the view on the radium coated screen. Good business ejaculated Jim. We'll repair the store and then we'll be ready to release the children and start out. It was the McCurrian ship which it seemed to be able to see. It opened a door leading into another compartment of the flyer and before us lay the bodies of eight children. The beetle lifted the first one a little girl up until as many faceted eyes looked full into the close ones of the child. There was a flicker of an eyelash a trace of returning color and then a scream of terror from the child. The beetle set the girl down and Jim bent over her. It's all right now little lady he said clumsily smoothing her hair. You're safe now. Run along to your mother. First mortgage, take charge of her and take her outside. It isn't well for children to see these things. The child clung to my hand. I led her out of the ship which promptly vanished as we left it. One by one seven other children joined us. The last one a miss not over eight in Jim's arms. The beetle followed behind him. Do any of you know where you are as Jim as he came out? I do sir said one of the boys. I live close to here. All right take these youngsters of your house and tell your mother to telephone their parents to come and get them. If anyone asks you what happened tell them to see Jim Carpenter tomorrow. Do you understand? Yes sir. All right run along then. Now first mortgage let's go hunting. We wired our captive up so securely that I felt that there was no possible chance of his escape. Then with Jim at the controls and me at the guns we fared forth in search of the invaders. Back and forth over the city we flew without sighting another spaceship in the air. Jim gave an exclamation of impatience and swung on a wider circle which took us out over the water. I kept the search lights working. Presently far ahead over the water a dark spot came into view. I called the gym and we approached it at top speed. Don't shoot until we were within 400 yards cautioned Jim. I held my fire until we were within the specified distance. The newcomer was another of the Bikurian spaceships. With a feeling of joy I swung my beam until the cross hairs of the screen rested full on the invader. Already I sung out if you're ready gridly you may fire replied Jim. I pressed the gun button. The crash of the gun was followed by another report from the outside as the radiant shell burst against the Makurian flier. The deadly explosive did its work and the shattered remains of the wreck fell to be engulfed in the sea below. That's one cried Jim. I'm afraid we won't have time to hunt up the others right now. Jim told me that the other Makurians are due here today and I think we'd better form ourselves into a reception committee and go up to the hole to meet them. He sent the ship at high speed over the city until we hovered over the laboratory. We stopped for a moment and Jim stepped to the radio telephone. Hello Williams he said. How are things going? That's fine. In an hour you say? We'll report it soon. He turned both stern motors to full power and we shot up like a rocket toward the hole in the protective layer through which the invaders had entered. In ten minutes we were at the altitude of the guard ships and Jim asked if anything had been seen. The report was negative. Jim left them below the layer and sent our flier up through the hole into space. We reached the outer surface in another ten minutes and we were none too soon. When we were about from the hole then ahead of us we saw another mercurion flier. It was a lone one and Jim bent over the captive and held a hastily made sketch before him. The sketch showed three mercurion fliers one on the ground one wrecked and the third one in the air. He touched the drawing of the one in the air and pointed toward our port hole and looked questioningly at the beetle. The insect inspected the flier in space and nodded. Good cried Jim. That's the third one of the trio who came ahead as scouts. Get your gun ready for a smorgotch. We're going to pick him off. Our ship approached the doomed mercurion. Again I waited until we were within four hundred yards then I pressed the button which hurled it a crumpled wreck onto the outer surface of the heavy side layer. Two cried Jim as we backed away. Here come plenty more I cried as I swung the searchlight. Jim left his controls, glanced at the screen and whistled softly. Dropping toward us from space were hundreds of mercurion ships. We got here just in time he said break out your extra ammunition while I take to the hole. We can't hope to do that bunch alone so we'll fight a rear guard action. Since our bow gun would be the only one in action I hastily moved the spare boxes of ammunition nearer to it while Jim maneuvered the Hadley over the hole. As the mercurion fleet came nearer he started a slow retreat toward the earth. The mercurions overtook us rapidly. Jim locked his controls at slow speed down and hurried to the bow gun. Start shooting as soon as you can he said I'll keep the magazines filled. I swung the gun until the crosshairs of the screen rested full on the leading ship and pressed the button. My aim was true and the shattered fragments of the ship fell toward me. The balance of the fleet slowed down for an instant. I covered another one and pressed my button. The ship at which I had aimed was in motion and I missed it but I had the satisfaction of seeing another one fall in fragments. Jim was loading the magazines as fast as I fired. I covered another ship and fired again. A third one of our enemies fell in ruins. The rest paused and drew off. They're retreating Jim I cried cease firing until they come on again he replied as he took the shells from the magazine of the other guns and piled them near the bow. I held my fire for a few minutes. The mercurions retreated a short distance and then came on again with a rush. Twenty times my gun went off as fast as I could align it and pressed the trigger and eighteen of the enemy ships were in ruins. Again, mercurions retreated. I held my fire. We were falling more rapidly now and far below we could see the black spots which were the guard ships. I told Jim that they were in sight. He stepped to the radio telephone and ordered them to keep well away from the hull. Again the mercurion ships came on with a rush this time with beams of flashlight stabbing away before them. When I told Jim of this he jumped to the controls and shot our ship down at breakneck speed. I don't know what sort of fighting apparatus they have but I don't care to face it he said to me. Fire if they get close but I hope to get out of the hole before they are in range. Fast as we fell the mercurions were coming faster and they were not over eight hundred yards just a level of the guard ships. Jim checked our speed. I managed to pick off three more of the invaders before we moved away from the hull. Jim stopped the side motion and jumped to the radio telephone. Hello Williamsy shouted into the instrument. Are you ready down there? Thank God full power at once please. Watch what happens he said to me as he termed from the instrument. Some fifty of the mercurion fliers have reached our level and started to move toward us before anything happened. Then from below came a beam of intolerable light. Upward it struck and the mercurion ships on which it impinged disappeared in a flash of light. A disintegrating ray explained Jim. I suspected that it might be needed and I started Williams to rigging it up early this morning. I hated to use it because it may easily undo the work that six years have done to break in the layer but it was necessary. That ends the invasion except for those ten or twelve ships ahead of us. How is your marksmanship? Can you pick off ten in ten shots? Watch me I said grimly as the ship started to move. Pride goeth ever before a fall. It took me sixteen shots to demolish the eleven ships which had escaped destruction from the ray. As the last one fell in ruins Jim ordered the ray shut off. We fell toward the ground. What are we going to do with our prisoner? I asked. Jim looked at the beetle meditatively. He would make a fine museum piece if he were stuffed, he said. But on the whole I think we'll let him go. He is an intelligent creature and will probably be happier on Mercury than anywhere else. What do you say that we put him on a ship and turn him loose? To lead another invasion? I asked. I think not. He has seen what has happened to this one and is more likely to warn them to keep away. In any event if we equip the guard ships with a ray that will show the Macurian ships up and keep the disintegrating ray ready for action we needn't fear another invasion. Let's let him go. It suits me all right Jim. But I hold up for one thing. I will never dare to face Macuri again if I fail to get a picture of him. I insist on taking his photograph before we turn him loose. All right go ahead left Jim. He ought to be able to stand that if you'll spare him an interview. An hour later we watched the Macurian flyer disappear into space. I hope I've seen the last of those bugs I said as the flyer faded from view. I don't know said Jim thoughtfully. If I have interpreted correctly the drawings that the creature made there is a race of man-like bipeds on Mercury who are slaves to those beetles and who live and die in the horrible atmosphere of a radium mine. Some of these days I may lead an expedition to our sister planet and look into that matter. End of section 21 Recording by Richard Kilmer of Rio Medina, Texas End of section 21