by Jerry
“Graeme,” she whispered tenderly. “You are—you live?”
He groaned, which brought to her beautiful face an expression of pity and slight perplexity.
“What happened?” he asked, looking around. He had been reclining in an arm chair in the late Professor Thorndile’s library, the girl kneeling beside him and embracing him. “I was afraid,” he muttered, “that something had happened to you—that vibration instrument, or something—”
“I was faint with hunger,” she said soberly. “The man giant sent for food, which men brought. The men ran away, frightened. We both ate, and now I am well.”
Mansfield jumped to his feet, swaying as the blood left his head; then his faintness passed away and he went to the single door of the library. It was unlocked.
“Where’s that monster?” he asked the girl.
“He is repairing the killing machine,” she said. “He said he is soon to make himself world dictator. I do not understand, even yet, Graeme.”
Mansfield turned toward the windows without replying.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” he whispered hurriedly. “We can’t leave by the door, for then we’d have to go through the laboratory, where he would catch us. Come, sweet—we’ll climb down from this window and escape! Here, wear this!”
He snatched up a robe from the arm chair and draped it hastily over her shoulders. “Some people are still opposed to nudism,” he explained. “We’ll get you some clothes; I’m an antinudist myself, except for art purposes. My, how beautiful you are—Daphne!”
“Daphne?” she echoed.
“Yes, I’m going to call you Daphne. Tell you the story some day, about the lovely nymph Daphne. But come—we must hurry!”
Opening the window nearest him, he caught her up and was just helping her over the sill when he heard a step outside the door. He leaped toward the door, locked it, then dashed back to the window.
There was a fearful crash, and the door was torn from its hinges. The super-man, ducking his head to pass through the doorway, reached the pair in a flying bound, caught one in either hand, and jerked them back into the room.
“So you thought you could escape!” he growled.
The monster was fully clothed, in a well-cut suit that did justice to his marvelous physique. Despite his disappointment, Mansfield felt an artist’s appreciation of his splendid figure.
The giant, seeming to read his thoughts, looked down at himself and smiled with self-satisfaction. Evidently his pleasure at his victim’s admiration had temporarily allayed his wrath.
“You are wondering,” he rumbled, “how I procured these garments. I will satisfy your curiosity, Mansfield. Thorndile had these clothes made for me some weeks ago. He was not considerate enough of his other experiment to provide her with attire. That is because he intended to destroy her presently.”
Mansfield started to open his mouth to speak.
“Now you are wishing to ask why I have spared your life, what I intend to do with you. The first part of that question I will answer. You will be of momentary use to me, Mansfield. My size alarms people, so I am going to send you out with the girl you have presumed to call Daphne to purchase suitable clothing for her.”
Here he burst into uproarious laughter.
“You think you see a way to escape me!” he said, when he had controlled his humor enough to speak. “Mansfield, is there no limit to human folly? You should know that what you are thinking is silly. Come here, Mansfield!”
The artist recoiled from his superhuman master in revulsion. The monster’s black eyes were fastened on his in a penetrating gaze; he felt his mind going blank, as if he were going under a spell. Hypnotism! The word flashed upon his weakening consciousness.
“Graeme! Graeme!” called the girl. Her voice sounded faint, distant, fearful. “Don’t sleep, Graeme! I need you, Graeme!”
TEARING his gaze from the monster’s terrible eyes, Mansfield sought to hold on to consciousness.
“You can’t hypnotize me!” he gritted, surprised that his own voice seemed so far off. “Only a willing subject, or one paralyzed by fear, can be hypnotized!”
“And you,” mocked the super-man, “are utterly afraid of me! Mansfield, you are partially hypnotized at this moment. You can still act independently to some extent, which will enable you to carry out my orders in a natural manner; but you are powerless to withstand my will, Mansfield. See! I beckon. Come here, Mansfield!”
At the sound of that booming command, Mansfield found himself obeying. He went straight toward the monster, surprised at his own action, but unable to conceive an impulse to disobey. He knew that he was under mild hypnosis, yet it didn’t seem to matter.
The super-man opened a drawer in the dead scientist’s desk, held out a pistol. “Here, Mansfield,” he said. “Shoot!”
Without knowing why he did it, Mansfield took the weapon, turned and leveled it at the wide-eyed girl.
“Awaken, Mansfield!” commanded the giant hypnotist.
Mansfield blinked his eyes, stared at Daphne in horror; the weapon slipped from his nerveless fingers.
“Daphne!” he cried. “I was about to kill you!”
Thunderous laughter drowned out his voice, made the walls vibrate. “Ho-ho-ho!” roared the monster. “How white you are, Mansfield! Ho-ho-ho! Now do you think you can disobey me?”
Suddenly he sobered. “You will do what I tell you,” he said. “I shall work on the cosmo-wave generator. I am having difficulty with it, because that fool scientist left no spare parts. Yet I shall devise means. My intelligence is superior to that of any man living. Meanwhile, you will take my Daphne—I find that name as good as any other—to the best shops and purchase clothes former. Look at me, Mansfield. You will return here in exactly one hour, do you hear? Look at me, I said!”
But Mansfield was not looking at him; with all the power of his conscious mind he was concentrating on the weapon on the floor. He wanted to pick it up, but he felt himself already going under the spell again, and it seemed strangely impossible to bend down and snatch up the gun.
“All right—pick it up,” said the giant, and Mansfield was suddenly able to reach down and grab the pistol.
He aimed it straight at the monster’s heart, pressed the trigger. The roar that shattered the silence of the room was followed by a slight groan. The giant lay on the floor!
Then, to Mansfield’s amazement and consternation, he got to his feet and towered over the artist. There was a small round hole in the monster’s coat, but he seemed to have recovered already. He opened his shirt and revealed a pink spot where the bullet had flattened itself against his skin.
“I have not yet gotten my full strength,” he growled, “or that bullet would not have had even that effect. In a day or two—” he frowned, listening. Mansfield listened, too, but heard nothing but his own breathing.
He watched while the giant stepped to the radio-vision set and dialed in a station. Evidently his telepathic powers had divined something that was being broadcast. The vision-mirror showed a scrambled scene, which clarified as the giant brought the station in more clearly. Mansfield saw a scene at the airport. A man’s voice was speaking.
“The attempted flight through space to Mars has been postponed,” the voice said. “The rocket-ship which you see is in readiness for the attempt, but at the last moment Professor Wingford has refused to fly it. This is a sad disappointment to us all, because there seems to be little doubt that the venture would be successful if an intelligent and fearless person could be found who would risk his life for the glory of science and our great nation! The Mars Expedition Committee has asked me to announce that any person wishing to volunteer for this great undertaking should communicate with them immediately. Every safeguard for the life of its occupant which modern science can provide is contained in the rocket-ship.
“As my listeners all know, we have received recently what seem to be radio messages from the inhabitants of Mars. Our best linguists and code expe
rts have not yet succeeded in interpreting these messages, but we have reason to believe that the Martians are aware of the projected flight to their planet, and that they wish to encourage the enterprise.
“It will be a great disappointment to them, no doubt, as well as to all Earthmen if this experiment ends in failure, owing to the unwillingness of scientifically trained men to volunteer to pilot the ship.
“Somewhere within the sound of my voice such a person may exist. I urge such person or persons to get in touch with this station or the airport committee at once. There is no time to lose. The liquid air, which provides the cooling medium to offset atmospheric friction, has already been released in the walls of the ship—”
THROWNING, but with a thoughtful gleam in his black eyes, the giant shut off the radio-vision set and the announcer’s Voice was stilled; the gigantic rocket-ship and the throng surrounding it soon vanished from the mirror.
“Fools!” scoffed the monster. “Puny-minded idiots!”
“You are the person for that job!” cried Mansfield. “You alone could succeed. Think of the admiration you would arouse, not only among men but among the Martians! You would be the greatest hero ever born! You would be made a king—ruler of two planets! You would—”
But the giant silenced him with a terrible look.
“I was born to destroy,” he said. “I am what I am. It pleases me to wipe out the inhabitants of this earth, to institute a super-race of my own. Only a few thousand will survive the cosmo-wave, and they shall become my slaves. I need not leave this room, Mansfield, to subjugate the entire population of the earth. There are no physical limitations to the powers of my mind—I can influence the present rulers by simply projecting my will, and they will have to obey me, just as you do! I hold in my hands the destiny of every living being on this planet. Later, I myself will attend to Mars! The Martians, too, shall be destroyed!”
He turned and glared at Daphne.
“You are in love with this foolish artist!” he scowled. “You hate me, as he does! Very well, I will waste no more time! I will alter your glands at once. When you need clothes, they will be large ones. And your lover I will kill. I shall find other slaves!”
The girl recoiled fearfully as he advanced in a single stride and lifted her roughly in his arms.
With the speed of a panther, Mansfield sprang forward, thrust the muzzle of the pistol in the monster’s ear, and fired.
The giant fell on his face. Swiftly Mansfield fired into his ear again. The monster half rose, then fell forward.
Pulling the girl to her feet, Mansfield ran with her across the fallen door and through the laboratory to the street, still clutching the gun.
“I’m afraid he’s not dead even yet!” he gasped. “I heard him stirring!” As they ran, he recalled the scientist’s dying words. If the monster still lived—if only cutting off his supply of oxygen could kill him—
“But who can overpower that fiend?” he thought. “If glassite can’t hold him, neither could a steel prison! It’s a job for scientists, not an artist like me!”
He hailed an autoplane taxi.
“Come on, Daphne!” he gasped. “We’re going to volunteer to fly that rocket-ship! We’re going to Mars!”
CHAPTER VI
A Desperate Attempt
MOST of the spectators had left the airport when they arrived, though a considerable crowd of curious, disappointed onlookers still surrounded the mighty, gleaming spaceship. Mansfield and Daphne pressed through and encountered a group of important-looking individuals who stood talking together. Their gloomy countenances brightened when Mansfield explained his business. Mansfield waved down their questions concerning his qualifications to pilot the ship and send back messages concerning the flight.
“I can manage it!” he shouted, glancing apprehensively over his shoulder. “There is a giant—a monster—a superman—I tried to kill him, but he may be alive yet. He will annihilate mankind unless he is somehow destroyed!” One of the officials caught the eyes of the other. He tapped his forehead significantly; then smiled.
“I’m afraid we can’t use you,” said one. “You see—”
“Listen to me!” pleaded Mansfield. “I’m not crazy! This monster was brought to being in a test tube. He is super-human. Professor Thorndile—”
“Ah!” cried a chorus of voices. “Thorndile?”
“Yes! He is dead! His own test tube monster killed him. He will kill you, too—all of us, unless—”
“Thorndile’s mysterious experiment!” murmured one of the officials thoughtfully. “A brilliant scientist, until a few years ago, when he announced that—”
“Quick!” yelled Mansfield. “How do you operate this ship? I have warned you about Thorndile’s monster—the rest is up to you gentlemen of science!” He helped Daphne climb up the ladder, entered the rocket-ship after her.
Hope, perplexity, consternation, doubt, fear—conflicting emotions were written in the scientists’ faces. The leader suddenly decided to seize the opportunity afforded them by this lunatic. He nodded. The chief inventor mounted the ladder and showed Mansfield the most important details of the control mechanism.
“Full instructions are printed on this chart,” he said. He was looking regretfully at the beautiful girl beside the amateur pilot. “Who is this young lady?” he asked. “Must she join in this hazardous enterprise?”
A blood-curdling roar interrupted him.
Mansfield caught a glimpse of a giant grasshopper in human form soaring over the heads of the cringing, astonished spectators—straight toward the rocket-ship!
“Get out!” he yelled, touching the acceleration-button. The space-ship quivered, as gas escaped through the exhaust. While Mansfield fingered the control lever, trying frantically to remember what he had been told, the official tumbled out of the compartment, terrified at the thing he saw bounding toward them. Mansfield touched a second button in feverish hope, gave a cry of triumph as the ship’s exhaust emitted a thunderous series of explosions that moved it slightly. He was getting the hang of it—this third button for the take-off, the rest to increase the speed—
He delayed the fraction of a second too long. With an ear-splitting bellow of mad rage, the monster leaped to the door of the rocket-ship, disdaining the ladder, and hauled the frightened girl outside. Mansfield, seeing the woman he loved torn from his side, did not press the take-off button. Life without Daphne—
Throwing open the door on the opposite side, he flung himself out in a wild effort to elude the menacing hands of the monster, who bounded back into the space-ship, murder blazing in his black eyes. But again he was too late. A giant hand caught his coat-tail as he fell; Mansfield dangled in mid-air.
The explosions of the exhaust suddenly became a mighty roar—the rocket-ship shot skyward!
Mansfield found himself on the ground. He heard the gasping cries of the throng, stood up and gaped, just in time to see a silver streak vanishing in the clear blue heavens.
No one else moved; no one could move. All eyes were turned upward in stupefied amazement.
“He accidentally touched one of those buttons,” Mansfield muttered. “That sent the ship off—ripped my coat. Is his hand caught in the door, held by wind-pressure? But no—he’s practically beyond our atmosphere by now, and—”
Daphne stumbled toward him; he took her in his arms.
“That monster won’t menace you any more,” he consoled her. “He’s on his way to another planet!”
“I’m glad, Graeme—glad!” cried the girl, clinging to him.
“So am I, sweet,” he agreed. “Now I can make you my wife. Yes, I’m mighty glad, but—”
He grinned at the officials, who had gathered their wits and were coming forward to ply him with the questions that trembled on their lips.
“—but I sure feel sorry for the people on Mars!” Mansfield said.
THE END
A MIRACLE IN TIME
Henry Hasse
Her crime: that sh
e was a human being, as were the people of old. Her punishment: that she be torn from her own world and flung down the ages back to the days of she dreamed.
CHAPTER ONE
Sentenced
CHYANA looked up calmly at the faces of the Council. There were seven of them, implacable and stern, like masks crudely carved in brass. The Master spoke first, a faint but cruel smile tightening his thin lips.
“There is still time,” he said, “if you wish to reconsider. You need not persist in your atavism. You have only to shear off that unsightly yellow hair and submit in all other ways to the dictates of Science, your master, instead of persisting in the thought that you are a free entity entitled to do as you please.”
The lesser colleagues in the Council of Scientists nodded sagely at his words, and looked with pitiable contempt at the radiant creature standing so steadfastly before them.
“The Master is right,” one murmured. “Such a thing as this is a disgrace to the Genetics Bureau!”
“Why don’t they obliterate these—these freaks in their infancy?” another whispered to his neighbor, in a tone the girl could not hear.
The Master continued:
“And there is yet another matter. It has been reported that you have in your possession a book. You are aware, of course, that this is strictly against our dictates. What is this book, and how did it come into your possession?”
The girl spoke now for the first time, and her voice was a monotone:
“I suppose it can make no difference now. The book is Vahn’s The New Beginning. I found it among the ruins of one of the old museums.”
“The New Beginning,” the Master repeated, frowning. “And why did you not submit your find to us? We have found many copies of this book, and it is by far the worst of all the rubbish we liave destroyed. It is a preposterous fable, an insult to the intelligence—”
