by Jerry
A City of spires, of great heights, cloud-wreathed, reaching to all the horizons. A city of mighty canyons, since the invention of monopters made it possible to remove the suspension bridges of my father’s time. A City—but I find this the best simile: it is as though a great piece of cardboard, cut to represent, on a tiny scale, all the country lying between the Atlantic and the Mississippi, so-named in ancient times, and extending into the region of cold to the north and the region of the tropics to the south—and this cardboard literally obliterated from view by pins thrust upward from the underside, a vast pin-cushion with all the points extending outward. Only the pins of the simile are the towers and spires of the City of the East. The sun glistening on the spires bears out the simile, for the spires shine in its rays like pinpricks of silver, deluging the sky with silvery glamor. A marvelous creation, full-sprung from the brain of eighteen generations of Darlins.
But I turn for the flight into the East where, at the edge of the Great Rampart, I have an appointment with Lona. Together, after our lonely flight, hand in hand, across the waters of the Atlantic, we will come back across the City of the East, which we must one day govern, to examine the Invisible Frontier. This frontier, if I may explain in passing, is that invisible line of demarcation, beyond which people of the West may not come—for they are aliens. These people are the races of color, which occupy all the country west of the Mississippi, representing the descendants of the races of color who, centuries ago, all but overthrew the people of the American white race. Only the foresight of one of the Darlins prevented this racial catastrophe. He had already caused the installation of the Invisible Frontier.
In itself the frontier is simplicity. At each quarter-mile along its length is a tiny station housing a eorps of engineers, whose duty it is to see that the mechanism of the aerial ray producers do not fail. These rays, which are invisible, are hurled into the sky to a height twice that of the ceiling of the most perfect monopter, and played back and forth so that it would be impossible for any person of the West to pass through the Invisible Wall, for to attempt such a foolhardy thing would be death. No monopter has yet been perfected which is able to pass through this wall of rays. Certain foolhardy people of the West have tried it, only to have their monopters, less perfect than ours, melt away from about them, allowing the occupants to plummet to the earth—a painless death after all, since even before the beginning of the downward plunge, the occupant of the offending monopter has been burned to a cinder.
Only through a traitor along the Invisible Frontier would the invasion of the people of the West be possible. We have long known that the scientists of this country of the West have been trying to perfect machines capable of passing through the frontier, for these people breed like flies, and must eventually find some place for their expanding population or perish. But the possibility of a traitor, a man or woman who would deliver the City of the East into the hands of the races of color, would be unthinkable. The attack, when it does come, must be from another direction and—but one shudders to think of such a catastrophe.
So I thought as I fled eastward toward the Great Rampart, little guessing that already an attack was being launched, and that Lona and I were to witness the very first contact.
2
THE speed of my monopter is three hundred miles an hour, so that it is a pleasure jaunt from the center of City of the East to the edge of the Great Rampart—a pleasure jaunt all the more pleasant because I know I shall find Lona at my destination. Lona! There is romance in her very name! This flesh and blood woman sired by Sark Darlin, the greatest living architect, to whom he was soon to turn over the vast responsibilities inherent in his dreams. To Lona, and to myself, as one after the marriage which should take place very soon; but never too soon to please me. Lona! The brightcheeked girl of the golden hair, and the form of a goddess of the olden times, when men had not yet conquered the air lanes, but crawled slowly along the ground in liquid-driven, clumsy vehicles, or soared to unimportant heights in unwieldy machines even more clumsy. Lona, whose very name spoke of perfection! And I was hurrying into the East to keep my daily tryst with her.
Already, far ahead, I could see the mists which shroud the shoreline of the Atlantic, and was glancing about me among the hurrying myriads of monopters, seeking that which bore upon its crest the swastika-and-star which is the signal of the house of Darlin. Only Sark Darlin himself, who rarely makes use of the monopter of his own invention, and Lona, may wear the insignia of the star superimposed upon the swastika. The significance of the signal has been lost in antiquity; but the whole City of the East knows that inside the monopter marked with the swastika-and-star is Lona, the promised bride of Gerd Sota, myself.
So, speeding eastward, with now and then a glance downward into the vast canyons of City of the East, evading the streams of other monopters to right and left of me by instinct, I pondered the matter. I wonder now, as I look back upon that flight, whether I didn’t really harbor some slight intuition of the catastrophe so soon to follow. Perhaps. Else why had the thought of attack obtruded itself upon my consciousness? Men and women in other monopters at my level, all of them belonging to this lane because of their importance in the City of the East, raised their arms to me in passing, and I returned their silent greetings abstractedly. The word had already gone forth, I could see, that Gerd Sota was soon to take the place of Sark Darlin as chief administrator of City of the East, and these greetings from the other monopters were silent pledges of fealty. Soon the very least of these would carry out orders originating with me, or with Lona.
But I was approaching the Great Rampart, which merits a brief description. The first noticeable rising of the waters of the Atlantic is shrouded in remote antiquity. Suffice it that the first Darlin took cognizance and caused the first stones of the Great Rampart to be laid. At first it was only a great wall, a thousand feet in width and two hundred feet of elevation, a fortress against the ocean. From which I know that the rising of the waters had been an exceedingly slow progress, since the base of that first wall is at the present moment but fifty feet below the surface of the Atlantic. I can, however, but marvel at the foresight of the first inspired Darlin, for even that fifty feet of rise would have spelled disaster had there been no wall. However, as time passed, and as the population of the City of the East increased, and especially after the invasion of the races of color, when the white race was driven back from the Pacific, back behind the Mississippi, at whose farther side the Invisible Frontier had already been installed, and beyond which the races of color could not penetrate, it became increasingly evident that, because the people of the white race literally covered the ground level, the only possible expansion must be upward.
Under the leadership of a Darlin, every able-bodied man and woman was pressed into service. Hills and mountains were leveled overnight, and from the very bowels of the earth came the materials which went into building of the Great Rampart. From great depths they came, those materials, for this farsighted Darlin wished to preserve as much of the native soil as was humanly possible from which to get the food to feed the City of his dreams. And as his myriad army of laborers moved westward from the first Great Rampart, the wall itself was broadened, and on its first humble beginnings, that thousand-foot-wide barrier, was erected the first series of the then highest buildings in all the world. But the first one was an insignificant hundred and fifty stories, so that our shoreline, which should really be a thing of beauty, is but a drab collection of time-worn, ill-shaped, comparatively tiny buildings.
But that was a beginning. And with this as a starting-point the wall itself was extended, so that today the ground is invisible, and the bottom of the deepest canyon in the City is two hundred feet above ground level. Beneath this level expanse of imperishable stone are the Menials, subjugated peoples who toil in slavery to feed the multitudes above them. One wonders at the fears which must ever be with them, when they realize the number of uncountable tons of material which hover over them. But all
they see are the great pilings which are the foundations of the Great Rampart, upon which, in turn, the buildings of the City of the East have been erected. These pilings, so Sark Darlin has told me, are of slenderness unbelievable; but the matter of stresses and strains has been worked out so carefully that there is little doubt that the City will stand, immovable, for centuries yet to come. The slenderness was made necessary in order that every available bit of ground might be cultivated. The Menials are never allowed above ground level, and are the only inhabitants of City of the East who are denied the use of monopters.
So, to sum it all up, the Great Rampart, except where it sets flush with hills of solid stone left by the builders, extends from the shore of the Atlantic to what was the Mississippi before its waters were diverted to the use of the white race. It is a veritable White City, and no ground at all is visible, save that which may be seen when the waters of the Atlantic are clear, extending from the shore to that point where they vanish into the depths.
Some day City of the East will extend still farther eastward, for on our journeys, Lona’s and mine, over the waters, we have discussed this possibility of further vanquishing the waters, driving them back before a moving wall of stone. But all that is in the future. It will be my problem, God willing, and Lona’s; for day by day people are being born, faster than they die, so that, inevitably, City of the East must grow to house its myriads of inhabitants.
Among other duties, I must strive to familiarize myself with the duties of the Menials; but that will come later. I must know, Sark Darlin tells me, something of the vast quantities of food necessary to sustain the life of City of the East, so that I can plan against the future, when the population will be too great to feed under present arrangements. Another glimpse of the varied responsibility which is to be mine——
“GERD! Gerd!”
Musically the name beats against my eardrums from the phones. I know that marvelous voice. Somewhere among the monopters which hem me in, Lona is calling my name, directing the sound into space, seeking me. She knows that I should be in this vicinity now, and that in a few minutes I should catch her signal.
“Gerd! Gerd!”
I know that she is approaching, from somewhere off to my right, as I can tell by my direction finder. So, upon the membrane which presses tightly against my lips, I speak her name, putting into its pronunciation all of the love I bear her.
“Lona! Beloved!”
“Wait, Gerd! I am coming!”
So I slacken my terrific speed into the East, remaining virtually motionless, as I revolve slowly, seeking among the myriads of monopters for that on whose crest is the sign of the swastika-and-star. I locate it finally, far below, off to the right, shooting up toward me from perhaps the five thousand foot level, the monopter which causes my heart to leap with excitement. For on its crest, gleaming in the sun, is the sign of the swastika-and-star. I raise my arms and touch my fingers above my head, holding the pose until Lona has picked me out—a pre-arranged signal between us. For, being below me, she ean not see my own insignia, unless I stand on my head, which is unpleasant if one must hold the position for any length of time. She waves her hand to indicate that she has seen my signal, and in a moment her monopter is beside mine, and, hand in hand, we continue the dash into the East, toward the shoreline which is now visible, with the vast blue canvas beyond, a canvas extended to north and south to be lost in the mists of distance, paralleled by the Great Rampart as far as the eye can see, even when aided by the magnifying qualities of the eye-lenses that glide into place when I will it.
“Gerd!” it is almost a whisper, scarcely breathing through the phones.
My heart fills, unaccountably, with a feeling of dread. Lona is alarmed. There is no mistaking that fact. She has witnessed something dreadful while awaiting my arrival. But I wait for her to tell me.
“Gerd,” and I know she is striving for control to tell her story, “I thought you would never come, dear. You are on time, sweetheart—I am not censuring you. But I have been in agony because there was no one to whom I dared entrust this news of mine. I could have sent the message to Father Sark; but there was a chance that it might be picked up by some enemy and my purpose defeated. That’s why I am now talking to you in our own private code. For all I know, though it may be a silly woman’s fears, the monopters all about us may encase the persons of enemies or traitors.”
She paused, and my heart leaped again because of her absolute trust in me; because she believed that I, Gerd Sota, would know the proper thing to do. But I knew that, had I not arrived as arranged, Lona herself would undoubtedly have done whatever was necessary, and she would have made no error in judgment. I waited, wondering, in dread, for her to continue.
But she said no more. She merely gripped my hand, and I fancied, though it was more mental suggestion than speech, that the phones carried to my ears the single whispered word: “Speed!”
For side by side, our hands clasped tightly, we were rushing eastward with a speed such as I never before had flown. The other monopters in this air lane seemed to go back from us as we passed, as though they had been standing still; yet I knew that they traveled at a speed in excess of two hundred miles an hour. It was like traveling through a veritable fog of monopters, held in aerial suspension. But the swastika-and-star on Lona’s crest assured us of a clear right of way, so that there was no danger of collision, even had I not released the outside buzzer which cast a radio warning forth into the air, so that monopters in our path would draw aside.
Speed, speed, speed! The air through which we fled met us like a wall. Right below us now was the edge of the Great Rampart, its white immensity bathed in flying spume at its ponderous base, as the waves, mountain-high because of a gathering storm, threshed out their futile strength against that stony inspiration of the first of the Darlins. But we did not pause. Lona gripped my hand, so that I turned to look into her eyes. It is difficult to see eyes through the intervening lenses of two monopters, but I could see Lona’s as though their very intensity of gaze commanded. They were large and frightened, and as soon as she knew I had seen, she raised her free arm and pointed out to sea.
Then I noticed an odd phenomenon. The beating of the waves against the Great Rampart was only a local disturbance, covering a distance of perhaps five miles to right and left of where we were—and ten miles out to sea the surface of the Atlantic was as smooth as a millpond! It was unbelievable. As though some monster of the deep faced this particular portion of the Great Rampart and lashed a mighty tail in fury, causing the waters to crash against the immovable stone, breaking high along the face of the Great Rampart, bathing it in flying, angry spume. What had caused this vast disturbance? What mighty upheaval in the depths of Mother Atlantic was thus arousing her ancient displeasure? And, catching a glimpse again of Lona’s face, I saw that it was white and set—and a little of her abject fear communicated itself to me through our clasped hands.
“What is it, Lona? For God’s sake tell me!”
“Wait!”
I knew then that she intended showing me, and dread was at my throat again. I knew that I was destined to witness some monstrous thing. Yet why should I be afraid? Lona, undoubtedly, had already seen; yet she was going back—with me! Some of her invincible courage imparted itself to me with the thought, so that I resolved, come what might, to live up to her faith—and to dispel the haunting doubt of Sark Darlin, which I had detected in his voice as he had wished me Godspeed at the beginning of my flight from the Executive Building.
NOW we were hurtling straight out to sea while, looking backward with a swift turn of my head, I could see that the waves still broke as high as ever against the Great Rampart. But I could not see into the depths, here. It was as though all the ocean were a-boil, lashing the surface to a white foam, so that only the surface was visible. What monstrous thing wallowed just below us, invisible below the mantle of white which made of this section of the coast a boiling cauldron?
Lona again grasped my
hand tightly. Our speed slackened, as though her will had dominated mine, so that I slackened my own monopter instinctively.
“Look down, Gerd!” she said. “Below the surface! Study the depths as soon as we are far enough out to be beyond the milky whiteness of the boiling water. Move slowly, or we may pass it!”
What did she mean? I was soon to know, for gradually the whiteness of the puzzling boiling faded, so that, here and there, I caught glimpses of the blue of the depths, into which, at intervals, I could penetrate with my eyes. I pressed my free hand to a button outside my headpiece, and powerful lenses dropped into place before my eyes. I had only aped Lona in this, for I had seen her own eyes vanish behind opacity as she did the same thing. We were both virtually motionless in the air now, except that we dropped gradually downward, leaning forward both, so that our view beneath would be unobstructed.
I almost leaped free of my monopter when I saw the thing! It was monstrous.
A submarine such as the wildest nightmare might not have conceived! Even at the depth at which it must have been lying, for we were several miles from shore, the reflection of the sun’s rays from the elliptical body of the thing was blinding. It must have been all of a mile in length, and it rested on the bottom, broadside to the shore and the Great Rampart, a silvery mass of what looked to be a mountain of gleaming steel! A metal monster beyond all imagining. There was no propeller that I could see, though, taking its vast size into consideration, it was now not inconceivable that the thing might be provided with a myriad of metal legs, on which it had walked the ocean’s floor, following the coastline from—where? It was not hard to guess, when one took into consideration the desperate necessity of the races of color to secure the vast country in which was City of the East.
