by Earl
“Kidding, eh? Well, what’s more—you’re packing and leaving tonight!” The cigar traveled faster now.
“How about my vacation?” Bill cried in a grieved tone. “I haven’t had one for two years!”
“Out like a light.” The editor spoke with a tone of finality.
“Hell,” stormed Nevers, “I never get a break. This racket’s beginning to get me in the pit of my stomach. One of these days I’m going to quit and quit flat!” He shook a threatening finger in the boss’s face.
“Nevers never will,” exclaimed the editor with a harsh rumble which was the best he could do in the way of a laugh.
“The devil I won’t. Say, I didn’t starve before I came into this game,” Bill answered.
“Bill,” began the editor pompously, “this newspaper racket isn’t just skin deep; it goes right down into the blood. Look at me, I’ve been trying to quit for forty years and how far did I get? I’m as battered, overused, and as much in need of a change as this old desk here, but, here I am and here I stay just the same.” He brought down his fist with a crash.
l Bill Nevers knew his editor was right—knew that this game had gone down into his blood so that he couldn’t quit whether he tried or not. There was an inexplicable something about it that tainted one’s blood like a fever, and, leaving its mark, could not be eradicated by any known means. Long hours, fatigue, discomfiture and disappointment—all meant nothing. Some have called it the daring of it, the eternally something new of it, the startling news and even the romance of it, but it was something far beyond all this; an intangible something that got into the blood.
Bill shook himself. He was a newspaper man. The battle cry “Never quit until you get it” stirred his soul. He looked at the boss, eyes agleam.
“All right, chief, what’s the lowdown?”
“Atta boy, Bill; sit down here,” the editor ejaculated, pulling over a chair, “You remember, about three years ago, a strange airship was seen at different parts of the world and what a hubbub it stirred up?” The reporter nodded. “And you know that this airship never landed anywhere, but just bobbed up here and there, sent out a greenish light, played it on the ground below, and then vanished. It did no damage, made no attempt to disclose what it was, where it came from, or who its occupants were.
“It vanished the same month it was first seen and since then, almost three years ago, nothing has been seen of it Who they were, what they had come for, and where they had gone, are still questions everybody asks everybody else today. The mysterious ness of this strange ship is an unfathomed secret.
“Bill, you know that I have always played my hunches strong. Most of them, pardon the conceit, have resulted in scoops for the Daily Tribune. Now I’ve got a hunch again and that hunch is sending you to the North Pole.”
“O.K., chief, but I’m still groping in the dark and getting as curious as a mouse around a trap.”
“Old Man Brown” rested his elbows upon the desk, heaved his great bulk into a more comfortable position, and began to tell his young reporter the wherefores from which had sprung his hunch.
“Reports have been coming in, as you know yourself, from the leading scientists and observatories in the past year that there has been a decided change of weather in the northern hemisphere, a change so different and of such magnitude that if it were to continue, worse yet to increase, neither life nor property will be safe in Europe, Asia, and North America. Terrific tornados have swept through states here in our country that were never afflicted with them before.
They still report that if is some “phenomenon of nature taking place.” Point-blank I don’t want to gainsay the words of these eminent gentlemen; they know more of such things than we newspaper men, but I have my own opinion, call it my hunch, about the whole matter.
“In the first place, try as I will to kill it, the conviction sticks in my head that the mysterious ship sighted three years ago has something to do with this. Its gigantic size, curious shape and construction, its silent way of moving and amazing speed are all marks of a big piece of news to me. Such a ship could have been secretly built by some obscure genius and used for some unimaginable purpose. . . . vengeance. . . . lust for power. . . . interplanetary travel. . . . I don’t know what, but anyway, it’s known to exist and. . . . well, I think it’s up at the North Pole! I’m playing my hunch. Are you interested?”
“Say, chief, I’ve already forgotten that I had a vacation coming!”
“I knew you’d feel that way about it,” the editor said confidently. “Now, then, the point around which my hunch centers is that the strange ship fits somewhere into this puzzle of climate. It flew to different parts of the world, harmed no one, and cared not a whit to make its identity known. It flashed a greenish ray upon the ground and then vanished from the spot. It popped up again in another part of the world and did the same thing all over. For three full weeks it kept doing this thing in hundreds of different places. It was reported in almost every corner of this world. And no doubt it went in many places where human eyes could not see it, in the wild mountainous regions and the desert wastes. From its antics, what would you say about the darn thing?”
Bill Nevers screwed up his face as if thinking were a mighty effort for him. “Hm. . . . I’d say they were looking for something!”
“Exactly!” enthusiastically exclaimed the editor, pounding a chubby fist upon the desk. “They were looking for something and they found it! Yes, they did! What—I can’t say, where—I’m only guessing, and its purpose—I don’t know. That is for you to find out, if my hunch is correct, up at the North Pole.”
The reporter whistled softly. This was colossal! Here would be a scoop few reporters of his age ever had an opportunity to look at. Any one of them would give a right arm to put over something like that. He felt glad his boss had called him in. He’d give three consecutive vacations for a thing as big as this! Bill Nevers was a jovial, fun-loving young man, yet behind all his pranks and seeming foolishness, he took life seriously. He was a go-getter, and for his ceaseless activity, tireless ambition, and daring nerve, he was nicknamed “Lazy.” He could approach a big financier, a renowned scientist, an eccentric recluse, and interview him, coolly and nonchalantly, as if that person were an ordinary plebian. Nothing phased him; he had a great reputation. That was why Edward Brown had chosen him.
The editor was speaking again. “My hunches have so often turned out successfully that I sometimes wonder if I wouldn’t have made a better detective than an editor. Of course, in this one I may be as far off as I have been with some others. It may be as the scientists put it, ‘a phenomenon of nature,’ but I still think it worth a play and that’s why I’m sending you up there.”
Ed Brown could mix humor with earnestness in a way that no other man could. Boastful as he sounded at times, his men knew that he could back up his sayings with facts.
“Bill, you remarked a short time ago that you never get a break. Now here is something that will put you in the big money if it goes over. A wage increase slip will be waiting for you right here on my desk and a higher berth to boot.”
“You’re certainly staking your hunch high, chief. Is that a promise?”
“Did Edward Brown ever go back on his word?”
“It’s a bet,” cried Bill. “Chief, I’ll come back with the scoop or an Eskimo squaw can call me ‘papa.’ ”
“Old Man Brown” believed him, too. He leaned forward and shook a finger in the grinning face. “Seriously, Bill, think of your name plastered on the front page: ‘Intrepid reporter defies danger and death in the bleak north to bring back a story; a hero of the tabloids; a . . .”
“Or a fool reporter on a wild goose chase, freezing at sixty below and eating blubber with the Eskimos,” Bill broke in.
“Probably just that, too,” the other chuckled, his heavy jowls shaking.
“I’m game, though, chief. When and how do I leave?”
“Can you make what preparations you need by midnight?”
Bill Nevers nodded.
“Good. Our aerial photographer and your old buddy, Sam Peters, is going to fly up there with you. You’re going to use the new ship, the speed demon we purchased the other week. It can make six hundred per, so you should lose no time getting there.”
“Boy, that’s great,” joyfully cried Bill. “Sam and I will get a big kick out of this, results or no results.”
“I hope you both will,” the editor added good-naturedly.
“Where is Sam now?”
“He’s at the airport getting everything in shape. I told him about an hour ago to prepare the ship for a flight to the North Pole. He was plenty surprised when I didn’t tell him what for, and more so when I said that you were going along. This may take longer than I think, so clear up your work and the rest of the time is your own. Buy whatever you think necessary and charge it. If I’m wrong in this, I won’t cry about it. How do you feel about your vacation now?”
“To blazes with it. You’ve set my blood a-boiling!
Edward Brown nodded knowingly. And don’t get into any mess that you can avoid. This is done on the q. t. and I shoulder all the responsibility. Another thing, Bill; if this should prove a fizzle, take a look around for Jack Berry or his remains. You remember he started out on a solo flight across the North Pole about a year ago and since then nothing has been heard from him. Most likely he crashed. If you find the spot, have Sam take some pictures and you can write up a nice story. Between that strange ship and Jack Berry you ought to get something for your trouble.”
“O. K., chief, either I’ll find that mystery airship, find Jack Berry or his grave, or I’ll crash myself up there and then you can send up another aspiring reporter to look for all three things.”
Despite the serious implication of these words, the editor could not help laughing in his heavy way at the assumed look of martyrdom on the reporter’s face. He arose. “Well, good luck, Bill.”
They shook hands. Bill Nevers, who wondered a short while before how people could hustle and bustle so, rushed from the private office over to his desk and was soon neck deep in the work he had planned to devote the whole afternoon to before the conference set his blood “a-boil.”
CHAPTER II
A Master Pilot
l “Hello, Sam, you old goat!” cried Bill as he slapped the back of his pal who was bending over a battery.
“Hello, Bill.” Sam Peters straightened up.
“The boss call you?”
“Yup. But I’ll be damned if I know what it’s all about Are we going to take pictures of the Eskimos or just fly up there to freeze our tonsils?”
“Bigger stuff than that, Sam. I’ll tell you all about it on the way. There’ll be plenty of time to talk then. How soon will the buggy be ready?”
“Have to change the batteries, that’s all. What time is it now?”
Bill Nevers looked at his watch. “Ten thirty-five.”
“We’ll be in the air by eleven-thirty.”
“Oke. While you’re puttering around here, I’ll go over to the restaurant and get a bite to eat and have them pack us some food for about four days. By the way, Sam, you had better take along the heaviest fleece-lined suits you have. We may have to step out up there, savvy?”
“Say, I haven’t flown to every nook of this old world without knowing what to take along, shrimp,” Sam flung back.
Sam Peters was a lanky giant. He stood six feet three and his spare frame seemed to heighten his stature even more than that. Whenever Bill irritated him he would call him “shrimp,” an epithet that Bill would gladly do murder to avenge. Ordinarily this would have resulted in a battle of sharp and semi-humorous witticism and sarcasm, but Bill at that moment was too full of the thoughts of the coming trip to indulge.
“O.K., Sam,” was his mild reply. “I’ll leave that all to you, you big hambone.”
“Hey, Bill,” Sam Peters called after his friend. “Come here a minute.”
“Well, what’s up?”
“Bill, I was just thinking if it wouldn’t be a good idea to take along my little invention. It might come in handy in a pinch.”
“You’re a bear for punishment,” laughed Bill. “Didn’t the Radio Corporation tell you it was impractical because it needed so much juice?—and where, pray tell me, are you going to get that up at the North Pole? Squeeze it out of the seals?”
“I’ll run it off the plane batteries.”
“Yeah! Use up that juice and then be stranded up there to eat blubber for the rest of our short lives. Smart guy, you!”
“I’m going to take it along anyway. I’ll call up the kid brother and have him bring it over,” Sam insisted.
“Who am I to . . .?” and Bill walked away.
Bill came back to the private hangar dragging a big box twenty minutes later. Sam laughed outright at him. “Say, what are you going to do, camp up there for a month? You’ve got enough groceries there to feed a small army!”
“Never mind that chatter. There are more things in heaven and on earth than are dreamt of in your thick skull. Come here and give me a hand; this thing is heavy!”
They put the box in the cabin. The motors were humming a smooth song as they warmed up. Everything was in readiness. Bill strapped himself in beside the pilot.
“What are we waiting for?” shouted Bill above the low drum of the propellers.
“The kid brother hasn’t come yet,” Sam shouted back.
“Sam, I think that invention of yours is getting the best of you. Come on; let’s get started.”
“No, I’ve made up my mind that I’m going to take it along. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”
They sat in silence. The drumming of the motors made speech difficult. A quarter of an hour passed.
“Come on, Sam; pull that throttle and let’s be on our way. Probably Al thinks the contraption isn’t worth his effort and wants to save you some embarrassment at the same time by not bringing it.” Bill was sarcastic.
“Look here, Lazy, are you going to quit pestering me about that invention or do you want me to give you one on the chin like I did when we first met?” Sam glared at his companion.
“Now don’t go getting so hard-boiled. You were drunk that night anyway. If you’d been sober I’d have hit you back.”
“Hit me back? That’s a good one,” guffawed Sam. “Why, shrimp, you were laid out cold for ten minutes!”
Bill turned a pair of baleful eyes on his big pal. “I’ll get even with you some day for that nasty laugh. . . . and for that sock, too.”
“O.K., Little One,” answered Sam.
Bill was on the verge of replying with something more scathing when the Tribune pilot gave a shout. Al Peters was hurrying up as fast as he could. He climbed into the cabin and handed his brother a small package. Sam took it almost reverently and put it into his pocket.
“What took you so long?”
“I couldn’t find it right away. You had it hidden in that old cabinet in your workshop,” answered the youngster.
“O.K. Now listen, Al. I want you to keep my receiving set open all the time; you know, the one against the north wall, the low-wave set. I might try this thing out long distance. Understand?”
“Sure, Sam.”
“Fine; so long, Al.”
The messenger shut the cabin door and rushed away from the propeller wash.
With an ear-splitting roar, the two motors leaped into life. The ship taxied along, maneuvered into the wind, and in one last crescendo of noise, sped over the ground and rose into the air. Toward the bleak north the pilot turned its nose, the north of adventure, danger. . . . and mystery.
l The “speed demon,” as Sam called it, flew through the air like some wild thing. It was the latest 1955 model. Over the Wisconsin woods, across the peaks of the Porcupines, out over Lake Superior and into the wilderness of Canada, it flew. Its throaty roar seemed to hurl a challenge to the elements as it hurtled northward.
In the snug, warm cabin, the
two young men gazed with strained eyes at the ever-changing panorama that flew beneath them. The mad, tumbling waters of the Saskatchewan could not be seen from their height but only its outline as it wound like some monstrous serpent through the wilderness.
When Bill Nevers told his friend the reason for which they were flying north, he was incredulous. He even laughed at its seeming absurdity.
“So Old Man Brown, for no earthly reason, thinks that mysterious ship is up at the North Pole! Ah, me! Men’s reason has turned to brutish beasts. . . . or something like that.”
“Can the philosophical reflections. The idea is: we’re going where we’re going because we’re going because Old Man Brown sent us. What we find there is up to us.”
“Well. . . . that may be. . . . but throw me down a hatch if I don’t think said sage editor has suffered a violent brain storm. The bad feature is that I was picked to pilot the ship of a midsummer night’s dream.” Sam shook his head resignedly. “Now, honestly, Bill, do you think we’re going to see anything besides ice and snow when and if we get there?”
“Well, Sam, I hate to cast any pearls before a skeptic like you, but I’ve got a hunch that the Old Man’s hunch is more than just a leak in his brain pan. I’ve gotten to the point where I’ll think there’s something wrong if we don’t see some gold in them there Arctics, figuratively speaking.”
Sam looked at his companion in sad dismay. “You, too? Well. . . . whatever betides, my friend, you’ve got me along, and trust your Uncle Sam to take care of you. Amen. I only hope the hallucinations don’t multiply the farther along we get. It’s bad enough now with you thinking of people at the North Pole.”
“Peace, you knave,” retorted Bill. “I won’t try to argue with you. You’re one of the kind that won’t admit there’s a fire till your pants begin to burn.”
Sam snorted derisively. “And you’re one of the tribe that looks for a publisher before the book is written.” As Bill’s mouth opened to continue the conversation, something he never gave up if he was in arrears, Sam cut him short with a sharp, “Storm coming up!”
