by Earl
Tiny flakes began to dash against the windows. The mighty engines roared defiance and plunged the ship into a strong wind that accompanied the snow, and then it gave a lurch as they flew into the teeth of the gale. The snow became thicker constantly and blurred further sight from the cabin windows.
They had flown into a blizzard. The ship was buffeted about like a cork on the surface of a stormy sea. Sam Peters, master pilot, had to fly blind now. He turned on the lights of his control board, and with his eyes glued upon the instruments, guided the ship through the storm. To land now meant certain death. The plane must be kept in the air. If it required skill, Sam was well qualified to do it. The only chance they were taking while in the air was that something might go wrong with the motors. If this happened, nothing could save them.
Bill Nevers wished he could help. But there was nothing he could do. He was a licensed pilot himself, but to take the controls in a storm like this was beyond his ability. Bill watched Sam Peters through narrowed eyes. What a master pilot he was that night! Never a shadow of fear crossed those grim-set features; rather they showed a wild, determined spirit. He seemed to be defying the storm in all its fury. If only the plane would hold together! If it didn’t, there was nothing left that Sam Peters could do.
“Bill, if this crate doesn’t fall to pieces, we’ll win out yet,” Sam shouted at one time. “This storm can’t last forever and at the speed and height we’ve got, we ought to out-fly it soon.”
Bill Nevers wished that truer words had never been uttered. The strain was telling more on him. All he could do was sit tight and think. That made it so much worse. Could he have occupied himself like Sam, it would have been easier. He could forget the sickening thoughts of destruction that assailed him.
Sam Peters’ prediction proved right. They could feel the tossing of the ship grow less as each minute passed. They were riding out the storm. The cold was growing intense. Even the heated cabin was chilled from the icy air, not enough to harm them, but enough to make them uncomfortable.
As the cold became more intense and the storm was howling many miles behind them, Bill put on his fleece-lined suit and then took the controls to let Sam do likewise. Sam turned on the current that would heat up the windows and melt the snow and ice that had formed on them. It melted slowly but eventually cleared.
Below them stretched the Arctic wastes. For miles about them were nothing but white crests of snow. Like a crown of some giant, the aurora borealis flashed in all its jeweled brilliance. Over the scene beneath them it infused everything with a silvery sheen. It was a marvelous, breathtaking sight and was not lost upon the two who gazed intently downward. It was hard to believe that such barren wastes of snow could present pictures so beautiful. In places, the drifted snow ran in symmetrical ripples and it seemed they were looking at a sea of glittering, dazzling jewels.
They were getting close to their goal now. They had flown for six hours and if the editor’s hunch was correct, they would soon see something out of the ordinary. Reluctantly they tore their eyes from the scene below and intently peered ahead.
The motors were still roaring lustily and the plane behaved perfectly, none the worse for the test it had received in the storm. Their speed was cut down some now because the wings were covered with an icy coating. It was added weight and yet they were making good speed.
Bill hauled out a thermos bottle of steaming coffee. It did them a world of good. The storm far behind them, the plane performing as it should, everything so far ship-shape, their spirits began to rise from the shakedown they had gotten by the danger of the storm. They laughed and joked, kidding each other about which one had been the most afraid while riding the storm.
“Bill, I was so scared that my hands couldn’t have been pried from the controls with a crowbar,” Sam chuckled.
“That’s mild, Sam; that’s mild. Remember the ship tossing the way it did?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that was me shivering!”
CHAPTER III
Indian Sign Language
l Bill Nevers was the first one to see it.
“Look, Sam, over to the right!” he shouted wildly.
The pilot followed his gaze. “Well, I’ll be crashed!” he exclaimed in stark astonishment.
“Why don’t you laugh now, you big ox? Did you ever expect to see anything like that up here? Old Man Brown certainly had a hunch.” He drew out the last word emphatically.
They were both too surprised to say any more, particularly Sam. Their staring eyes never left what lay there below and ahead of them. More detailed and interesting became the sight as the plane drew nearer. To see something of such magnitude and seeming impossibility in the barren wastes of this eternal land of snow and ice was beyond their comprehension. Bill Nevers drew a shaking hand across his unbelieving eyes. He thought he was deluded by a mirage. It was beyond the ken of his mind.
The plane was now flying over it. Sam circled and recircled as they stared downward. In all his surprise, Sam Peters, more from habit than consciousness of the act, clicked off several pictures from the stationary camera built into the bottom of the cabin.
Below them upon a jagged and barren rock that thrust its cold, hard head of stone above the level expanse was built an immense tower of metal. Its strutted tripod rose two hundred feet into the air. At its top was a huge globular cabin. Through the transparent partitions, they could glimpse its occupants. They sat before control boards and seemed so immersed in their work that they did not notice the plane above them.
From this globe extended three arm-like extensions. At their ends were attached great discs from which a beam of greenish light flooded downward. The globe revolved slowly, making an arc of light at its base with a radius of a mile from the foot of the tripod. In the limits of this huge circle of green light, not a speck of snow or ice was seen! The dull brown of the ground was trenched and small rivulets of water radiated through the green area to the main trench that carried the water outside the circle of light. At various places on this plateau were pits in the earth around which were clustered groups of men. Large conveyances filled with dirt were dashing about with startling rapidity.
But these things, all of heroic dimensions, were yet superseded by the immensity of the airship that reposed in the green circle, close to the tripod. It lay like some dormant snail, such was its peculiar shape, on the ground, a monster creation of bluish metal. From it huge cables ran to the tripod’s globe-top, evidently furnishing it with the power it needed for its ray.
All this they had seen within a few minutes as the ship circled three times. Suddenly they noticed that the men below had stopped working and were staring upwards. They were discovered!
“Come on, Sam, put the old crate down and we’ll have a look around. This thing is big. I wonder what they’re digging?”
Sam Peters was about to maneuver the plane for landing when the motors died and it fell into a sideslip.
“What the hell is the matter, Sam?” cried Bill alarmed.
“Look down below once. See anything?” Sam was busy in righting the ship.
“Say, Sam. . . . it’s a ray. . . . it’s pointed at our engines!”
“Uh huh. Killed our ignition. We’ve got to land.”
Bill looked around. “We’re going to land in that circle of green light, I guess.”
“No help for it, Bill.”
The plane glided down. Sam brought her into the wind and landed her with barely a bump on the ground near the tripod. Immediately they began to feel extremely warm. The perspiration began to ooze from them. They both took off their fleece-lined suits. It was much too uncomfortable with them on.
They stepped from the plane. A group of men was already surrounding them.
Bill Nevers, with hands in his pockets, approached them. He was never slow about getting down to the point. He put his hand inside of his coat to draw out a pencil and pad when a surprising thing happened. As if someone hit him a terrific blow on his temple, h
e was bowled over. Yet none of the men had come any closer! He remained in his sitting position on the ground and looked up with surprise. “Aw, what’s the big idea? I wasn’t reaching for a gun, you lunkheads,” he spoke to the man who stood nearest him.
“What happened, Bill?” asked Sam surprised. He had been staring around open-mouthed as Bill was knocked down and knew nothing about it till he saw him sitting there, cursing mildly. “How come you’re sitting on the ground?”
“To get a better view of the sky, lummox,” cried Bill exasperated.
“Say, Lazy, are these strangers getting threatening?” Sam asked unmindful of the other’s hot retort.
“You don’t see any of them smiling, do you?” Bill was already in a bad humor over the rough treatment.
“Come on, quit the kidding, Bill. I don’t like the way they look at us. I’ve got a couple of automatics in the plane. Shall we make a break for it?”
“And get broken in two? Nosiree. Just keep a stiff upper lip and let me handle these babies. I’ve been in hot water before. They don’t seem to understand us. I can’t make them out right,” said Bill as he brushed his clothes. “By their maps, I’d say they were either Chinese or Japanese.” He was about to address them when a man shouldered his way through. By the manner in which the others stepped aside for him when they became aware of his presence, Bill surmised he was their leader.
The newcomer started to speak.
Bill held up a hand. “Sorry, stranger, but I can’t understand your lingo.” He turned to his companion. “Sam, you’ve been in the Orient; can you get a drift of this chatter?”
“Never heard anything like it,” said Sam as he shook his head.
The leader immediately recognized this. With a wave of his hand, the men went back to their work. Motioning Bill and Sam to follow, he made his way toward the monster ship which lay some hundred yards away.
“This has got me stumped. Out there is the Arctic region,” he pointed outward, “and here the air is hotter than in the tropics,” Bill Nevers commented as he and Sam walked behind the man of authority.
“I think we’ve put our foot into something,” Sam spoke with grave concern.
“A mere trifle, my friend,” said Bill confidently. “Leave it to me to let them know we come from the United States„ and wherever they’re from, they’ll listen to reason then.”
l When Bill and Sam drew near to the cylindrical, finned ship, they realized for the first time its mammoth size. It was larger than an ocean liner! From end to end it must have measured an easy sixteen hundred feet. Its width at the middle seemed about one hundred and fifty feet. In shape it was so peculiar to eyes used to conventional, symmetric lines as to seem almost distorted like a nightmare object. From a blunt nose it flowed in broken curves to a sort of keel of considerable width. Its two sides were really corners, running the length of the ship. Sam struck a happy expression while looking it over. It looked like nothing so much as a “very-squeezed-together three-cornered file!” Most of its surface was covered with a seemingly haphazard design of fins like those of an air-cooled gasoline engine. There were hundreds of portholes made of a transparent material with a reddish tinge. The material of the ship, fins and all, seemed to be aluminum, by its bluish color.
Like some malformed creature of a disordered dream it appeared, glaring at them with its hundreds of evil red eyes. They stood and stared in awe. It seemed impossible to them that something of such vast proportions could ride the air above.
The leader stopped and turned about to face them at the top of the metal stairs that led to an open hatchway. On his face was a look of superiority and a slight smile. He seemed to be enjoying the astonishment written on the visitors’ faces.
With a polite gesture of his hand, he requested them to follow.
Sam entered the ship with some trepidation, but not Bill Nevers. He was a true reporter. For him nothing was too strange to investigate. Here was something big! His roving eyes missed nothing. His keen mind was already typing the story indelibly on his memory. With interest and curiosity wreathing his face, he swaggered in. Sam cautiously followed.
They went up a spiral flight of stairs to find themselves in a corridor that appeared as if it stretched the entire length of the ship. Spaced at regular intervals in the concave ceiling of metal there hung globes of cone-shape from which a daylight brilliance streamed. On both sides of the corridor walls were hundreds of closed doors. The interior arrangement was much more conventional than the bizarre outside. On their ears fell a constant hum of powerful forces.
They stopped before a door at the extreme end of the corridor. The leader opened it, bowed slightly, and requested the two to enter. Bill and Sam gave him a swift glance, saw nothing in the other’s demeanor to arouse suspicion, and then walked in. The leader closed the door behind them.
With a cursory glance, they saw immediately that this chamber was the ship commander’s office. Upon the walls hung intricate charts of all descriptions. In the center of the room was a large table of metal. Upon this was a square box of glass covering every inch of the table’s top. Its glass-covered top slanted downward at a forty-degree angle. Here at its lowest wall was a swivel seat. They looked in to this box affair. Eight inches below its top was a flat surface of shining silvery metal running parallel with the slant. Upon this surface, raised about an inch above it, was a circle of glass tubing about an eighth of an inch in diameter. It looked like nothing more than a flat chart of the earth with its latitude and longitude lines. In the four corners were numerated dials and small complicated instruments that were labeled with characters of hieroglyphic appearance.
Against one wall was an apparatus, which, although foreign in some respects with its counterpart, they knew to be a radio. It was of such proportions that they thought it might be the largest in the world. Here and there were chairs and desks, instruments like typewriters and others they could not guess the use of. It was really a navigating room such as one would expect to find in a ship so strange and large as this one. Everything had the indelible stamp of strangeness on it such as made the eager observers wonder where they had come from.
“Sam, it’s evident that these people don’t talk English. Can you think of any way that we might make this bird understand us?” Bill asked as they stood before the massive radio and had thoroughly looked over everything in the room.
“Why not try the sign language the Indians used to use?”
“That’s an idea!” gleefully cried the reporter. “Well, here goes.”
They turned and faced the leader who had taken his seat at one of the desks and seemed busy with some papers upon it. Bill coughed slightly to attract his attention. When the other looked up, Bill went into action. He twisted his fingers and hands, swung his arms around, screwed up his face and jerked his head in gyrations that no one but himself could have understood. Having only heard of sign language by hearsay, that was his idea of its accomplishment. He resembled a rather rusty contortionist.
The alien looked at him all the while he cavorted in front of him. His face gradually overspread with a smile that showed his evident pleasure at Bill’s antics. He watched until the reporter tired from his exertions.
“Come over here, you two, and sit down!”
l At these words there was a split second of silence, popping eyes, and open mouths. It was crashed by a guffawing that shook the walls. Sam Peters doubled up. He held his sides with his long arms as if trying to keep his body together, which might have flown apart with his roaring laughter. Tears ran from his eyes at the excess of emotion.
Bill Nevers stood as if carved from stone. His face flushed a deep and painful red. His discomfiture went beyond even the embarrassing point. He had made a complete fool of himself. He turned wrathfully on the wildly guffawing Sam.
“You big gorilla, this was your idea. The day is coming when I pay you back, and plenty, too,” Bill shouted heatedly.
Between gusts of roaring laughter, Sam blurted, “I�
�d gladly have given my next year’s salary for something like this. Haw, haw, haw!” he entered a new gust of incapacitating laughter.
Bill was irritated to the point of rage as Sam’s guffawing reverberated from the walls. He was angry at the leader, but contrived not to show it. A glance showed him that he enjoyed it almost as much as Sam.
“Well, I made a fine jackass of myself,” he said bitterly as he approached the desk and sat down in one of the chairs. Sam brushed his wet eyes with the back of his hand and made his way to one of the chairs. Occasionally a chuckle shook his lanky frame after he had seated himself.
“No kidding, Bill, I’ll never forget this as long as I live. Wait’ll the boys hear about it,” and Sam must needs roar again in abandon.
“You’ll never live if they do!” threatened Bill. “Come now, you’ve had your fun, so let’s get down to business.” He faced the leader across the desk. “I’m Bill Nevers of the Daily Tribune of Chicago, and this is Sam Peters, aerial photographer.”
The alien leaned over and shook hands. Bill gave a little start as he looked closely into the other’s face. There was not a vestige of hair! Upon the swarthy skin was no faintest sign of eyebrows or eyelashes. He wondered what accident this Mongolian had been in that had burned the hair from his face. Bill had accepted him in his mind as an Asiatic.
“I am Gest Laro, Koor of this ship.”
“What do you mean by Koor?” Bill asked reporter-like.
“Commander.”
“Oh,” Bill grinned. “And from what part of the Himalayas do you come, Koor Laro?” He pulled out his pencil and pad and prepared to write.
“Himalayas?” the alien asked surprised. “I come from the planet you earth people have named Pluto!”
Sam gasped aloud. The pencil in Bill’s hand stopped writing. His head jerked up. He stared into the other’s face. His face twisted into a grimace of plain disbelief.
“Koor Laro, I’m past three times seven. My kidding days are gone. Of course, I don’t blame you. You have found something important here and you’re trying to shield it. That story, though, wouldn’t hold water with a man of my experience. You can’t fool me. Come on, give me the straight goods,”, he pleaded.
