by Earl
She spoke again.
“What are the names of those two?” She pointed to the sons of Knight. “And of the others, of course. Introductions should be completed!”
Aran Deen did the honors, assuring himself a larger niche in this corner of history.
“I present to you,” he said pompously, “Lady Silva, wife of First Lord Stirnye. Lady Leela of Norak. Lord Stuart, first son of Stirnye.”
Purposely, he had left Perry, his protege, to the last. With a flourish of his arm: “And Lord Perry, second son of Stirnye, first scientist of Earth!”
Elda and her father acknowledged the introductions with courtly nods. The girl’s eyes slumbrously rested on Stuart, then Perry, then back to Stuart. Momentarily, she darted a glance at Leela’s frozen expression. Finally she turned back to the venerable Nartican.
“And you?”
Aran Deen grinned his pleasure, almost ready, grumblingly, to insert himself without the asking.
“Aran Deen, Lord Perry’s tutor and assistant, and First Historian of Earth. And may I add, in your own tongue, that you are beautiful? We must give thanks, though uselessly, to the 30th century for bestowing our 50th century with such perfection. And—”
Knight cleared his throat, and Aran Deen reluctantly left another pretty turn of the phrase unsaid. He smiled to himself, however. Who would object, later, if he included it for history, said or unsaid?
Elda Tane smiled dazzlingly.
“You have a quaint manner of using titles,” she said seriously, curiously. “You are all Lords and Ladies—but in what sense?”
“Yes,” agreed her father. “Do you own, land, estates? Lords. How strange it sounds. Like an echo from feudal days of the Middle Ages.”
“Own land?” Aran Deen shrilled. “This man, Stirnye, is First Lord of Earth. I think you would use the term king, or emperor. Stirnye is Emperor of all Earth.”
“Emperor of Earth!” Lar Tane gasped. “A man from the 20th century absolute ruler of the 50th century world!”
HIS transfixed stare at Knight held more than surprise. Behind it, strangely, there was a stiffening, a subtle attitude of being on guard.
“Not absolute ruler,” Knight explained. “But for the present, I’m the government-head of Earth, in an elastic sense. But all this can be explained at leisure, step by step. And also your reason for leaving your century.”
“Lar Tane—Elda—” Aran Deen was muttering reflectively, half to himself. “Those names strike a chord—ancient records—” His voice trailed away in thought.
Lar Tane rubbed his forehead wearily. Beside him, Elda swayed suddenly. Her heavy-lidded eyes drooped.
Stuart made a step toward her, but stopped, staying beside Leela. Perry sprang forward instead, supporting her. Lar Tane had made an aimless gesture to help, himself apparently dizzy.
“It’s the after-effects of the awakening,” said Knight. “As with me. You need rest.”
Neither had said a word of their weakness. Some code of breeding in them forbade any sign of it.
The girl even seemed stung at Perry’s sympathetic manner, as he held her. She struggled back suddenly, stood free. She forced a smile to her lips, flinging her head up. She stood there, facing them, while the worst of the spell slowly eased.
The sons of Knight watched her, admiring her bravery.
And with admiration for more than that. In the shadowed light beside the Capitol, her beauty was extravagant. Every lissome curve was enhanced by her spun-glass costume, as clinging as the finest silk. But strength was there, as well as womanliness. She had never lolled daintily in scented boudoirs, living a life of indolence. The carriage of her body spoke of lithe and tigerish grace, as though, like Diana, she had indulged in manly sports.
It was apparent in her face. The exquisite sweetness of her features had changed to determination, as she fought off the spell of weakness. Her eyes glinted with purpose and courage and a complete rejection of their sympathy.
And then, suddenly, as renewed strength came to her, the features softened. In the space of an instant, the hard lines eased. She was again woman, alluring, feminine. The slumbrous eyes smiled, in company with the lips. Her hair sent out shafts of coppery-gold.
Stuart and Perry were staring almost rudely.
“Come,” she said airily, tugging at her father’s arm. “Let’s see something of this strange, new world!”
Five minutes later they both collapsed, in the halls of the Capitol building. Knight put them in the hands of attendants. He was not alarmed. All they needed were rest and sleep.
CHAPTER IV
World on Assembly Block
IN THE following month, Knight spent as many hours as he could spare with his guest from the 30th century, reviewing the past, explaining the present, and discussing the future.
“Twenty-five years ago,” he summarized, “I found the world in a state of oligarchy, under Nartica. Right or wrong, I broke that up when the Tribers acknowledged me Lord of Earth because of my science knowledge. My problem then was to put the pieces together again in a better pattern. First power-and-metals, the basis of science. All metal deposits, and coal and oil, had been cleaned out, through the wasteful era of a thousand years, including my time and yours. In your time, Lar Tane, as in mine, men must have warned of that eventual turning point. You were at the verge of the Second Dark Age.”
Lar Tane nodded.
“But we were confident that science would find a way out.”
“Science did find a way out—too late,” Knight said. “An unknown scientist of your time, watching civilization crack apart under the stress of war, preserved his secret for a future age, in a crypt. I found it. His discovery, a tremendously powerful radioactive wax, is the means of boiling away sea-water, leaving its residue of metal salts. Thus today, we extract metals from the limitless reservoir of the ocean.”
He read from a chart.
“A cubic mile of ocean water holds a total mineral wealth of 73 million dollars, in my 20th century terms of money. Eighty-six pounds of gold, ton and a half of silver, and even four ounces of radium. But most important, the metals that build. Iron, copper, aluminum, magnesium. The latter three make an alloy together, superior to steel in all respects. From the sea now we get the foundations of a new civilization. The plant here on Manhattan has been in operation three years.”
Knight conducted Lar Tane through it.
Great pumps sucked up sea-water, day and night, running it through a series of sealed vats. In these, the wonder-wax of radioactivity poured down a flood of heat-radiations, boiling away the water. By fractional crystallization, metal salts were extracted one by one, and later reduced to separate metals.[2]
The by-product steam was led through turbines no different from those of the 20th century, spinning armatures and manufacturing electricity. The rumbling plant was thus the key to Knight’s reinstitution of the civilization that had died almost 20 centuries before.
It produced power-and-metals, together. It replaced, singly, all the system of mines and electrical plants of the dead past.
“How is the radioactive wax produced?” Lar Tane queried, deeply impressed. “This unknown scientist’s secret? A process of radium bombardment?”
“Yes, on silicon-dioxide—common sand. He left complete data.” Knight’s voice was practical. “Nartica had radium, all of it, gleaned from city-ruins. Also, they had technicians and skilled workers. I use them both, in the tribal world.”
Lar Tane was respectful of the plant, but a question lurked in his eyes.
“Only one plant in operation—after twenty-five years?”
KNIGHT was nettled at his tone. “You think it easy to build something out of nothing! Remember, I had to devise every part of every apparatus and machine. Nartican industry, though advanced, was based on a system of smelting ores, from their hoarded supplies. Yes, in your time and mine a new plant could be erected almost overnight. But only because of centuries of research and knowledge behind it. Th
e task would have been impossible, in this Stone Age world, except for the initial aid of Nartican industry. And it took twenty-five years to learn how to handle something never before seen on Earth—the super-radioactive wax. How to make it in quantity, by radium bombardment, and then how to apply it.
“Similarly with all the things we took for granted in our day—telephone, telegraph, electric motor, etc. How would you begin, for instance, to construct the simple magnetic-vibrator that reproduces the human voice in a telephone? Tell me, Lar Tane, how would you begin?”
Lar Tane pondered a moment, then conceded the point with a smile.
“I see. It’s like making bread when all you have to start with is one wheat-seed. But still, now that one plant is operating successfully, others should be quite easy.”
Knight nodded.
“The ice has been broken. Two other plants have just opened. One on the Pacific coast of this continent. One at Gibraltar, in Europe. Another is under construction at the mouth of the Rhine. On the Asiatic coast, a site is being prepared. Within another year, we’ll clear a dozen more sites, some in Africa and South America. It’s gathering momentum, this building of the sinews of civilization. When enough power-plants and alloy-mills are producing, we’ll begin railroads, radio stations, dozens of new cities, and all the rest of it. My son, Stuart, will see something, before he dies, of a humming, busy, worldwide industry, like in your century and mine.”
The glow in Knight’s voice toned down as he went on.
“Thus with all lesser things resurrected from our lost age. There is one telephone exchange, just a few lines, here on Manhattan. Experimental. One radio station; one telegraph line to the Pacific. And one telegraph spanning Eurasia, powered by the Gibraltar plant. And one city, nearing completion, which will be the model for future cities to spring up all over Earth. Cities planned intelligently, for comfortable life, half arboreal.”
A glow had come to Lar Tane’s eyes. “Now York playing Athens to the world! It must be a glorious and magnificent feeling, Knight—building a new world!”
Knight smiled tiredly. He pointed to the grey hairs in his head.
“Sometimes it is just a burden,” he murmured. “Sometimes I’ve wondered if I’d get anywhere. It takes so long. There are so many handicaps. What is the hardest thing to handle, in any civilization of any time, Tane?”
The answer came quickly.
“People.”
“Yes, people. This is still a stone age, for all I’ve done. History is made by people, not things. And history pivots around leaders of people. There are not many leaders in the 50th century—not enlightened ones. Gnawing in the back of my mind, from the first, has been the problem of government. Mechanical civilization overnight, perhaps. But the World-State? That can’t be conjured out of a bag of scientific tricks.”
LAR Tane’s interest visibly deepened.
“You are Lord of Earth. Emperor, I’d call it. How do you keep in power? What sort of policing system do you have?”
“None. Individual tribal law is still in force.”
Lar Tane’s eyes widened.
“But how do you enforce the laws you make?”
“I have made no laws, except one—that there must be no wars over tribal borders. And no metal weapons. They respect that because they know I could defeat any army of theirs.”
“I see,” nodded Lar Tane. “You rule by threat of force. You have an army ready at any moment to put down insurrection?”
Knight shook his head.
“I’ve had no organized army at all.”
“No weapons, even?”
“None. I’ve vowed there will never again be war. There is not a lethal weapon on Earth today, outside of spears and bows used in hunting.”
Tane seemed aghast, uncomprehending.
“Without a weapon, without an army, police, or any means of enforcement, you rule Earth? I don’t understand. Has no one risen to oppose you?”
“Not so far.” Knight smiled strangely. “They look up to me as a half god. Or as a superior being from the fabled, mighty past. The world has been watching me, waiting to see if I would keep my promise of creating a wonderful new place to live in. I’ve cast a sort of spell over them, I suppose.”
His tone changed.
“But it can’t last forever. The loose world-federation, under my tacit leadership, must be knit into a strong, united World-State, ruled by itself.”
“Ruled by itself?” Lar Tane pondered, as though searching his memory—memory that extended back before his era. “You mean—the principle of democracy?”
He was laughing suddenly. “The experiment that failed! In 2313, the democracy of America vanished, and was never seen again.”
“Nevertheless,” Knight cut in sharply, “it will be revived, here. Our civilization crashed into oblivion, like Rome, led by dictators into an orgy of war.”.
He suddenly caught Lar Tane’s eye, and his tone became cold.
“There is no room in this world, Lar Tane, for personal ambitions!”
Lar Tane shrugged.
“This is your world, Stuart Knight,” he said casually.
Knight put a hand on his shoulder.
“I hope you understand, Tane. We made a mess of civilization last time. Let’s not repeat the same mistakes—”
THERE was interruption—a bell ringing.
Knight picked up the phone. It was a quite instrument, clumsy and heavy. It was not the finished, efficient hearing-device the 20th century had known, added to by hundreds of skilled inventors. Neither Knight nor Alexander Graham Bell had done more than fashion the basic principle, in ages 3000 years apart.
The voice that sounded was tinny and distorted, but understandable.
“Lord Stirnye, it is almost time. In an hour we will send the prearranged signal to Lord Perry, at Gibraltar. All the apparatus is working smoothly. Will you come right over?”
Knight hung up after an affirmative.
“Transatlantic radio signals,” he explained briefly to Tane. “We’ve been trying for months. Maybe this time it’ll work. Come along.”
They walked through the bustle of city construction to the lower tip of the island, where the laboratory workshop jutted against the skyline of New York harbor. Not an inspiring-looking place, but the birthplace of invention supreme, like Edison’s Menlo Park in an earlier age.
Knight’s nostrils flared, his head high.
From here it was, for twenty-five years, that he had pulled the strings. The backstage of the new civilization, whose real-life scenes were flashing one by one across the footlights of history. Twenty-five years of dreams, and the results of dreams. An invisible network branched from here to all corners of Earth—lines of progress and rule.
No Nero or Alexander had enjoyed such absolute control over so gigantic an empire. No man in all human history had before him so wide an experimental proving ground. The Stone Age lay fallow, ready for the seeds of science, civilization, and a way of life infinitely glorious.
Sometimes it had frightened Knight. He felt like a juggler—one false move and the whole house of cards might tumble down. For more than any one, Knight realized how flimsy, how tenuous was his amorphous, imponderable “empire,” not yet grounded in the elements of self-government.
TWO towers reared weirdly against a skyline of ocean and darkening sky, as the sun set. They were structures of interlaced metal, planted solidly on concrete bases at the southernmost tip of Manhattan Island, overlooking the Atlantic. Between the towers stretched a network of wire strands along which faint ripples of violet danced fitfully. Electricity pulsed through the wires, as once electricity had hummed through all the environs of dead New York.
Stuart Knight had again, after an age, put the electron to work.
“No radio yet!” Lar Tane murmured, as though first realizing that fact.
They looked at each other in a strange sympathy, the two men who had come from an age that knew radio stations all over Earth.
“Historic moment—if it works this time,” Knight said phlegmatically. He looked around. “Stuart should be here soon. He’s never missed our scheduled attempts.”
CHAPTER V
Things Twice Told
AT that moment, Stuart stood with Leela and Elda Tane, their riding clothes dusty.
They overlooked the broad blue Hudson from the upper Manhattan shore. Ruins as yet untouched by workmen bulked grotesquely behind them. Stuart stared moodily at the broken concrete pylon from which had once stretched a mighty bridge to the Jersey shore. The George Washington Bridge, his father had called it.
“A world in ruins,” Stuart murmured. “I’m going to rebuild it, when I’m president.”
“Still remaking the world?” Elda Tane said airily. “Is there something wrong with this one? There is still sunshine. And fresh air, and horses on which to gallop.”
She was a picture of glowing health, her coppery hair wind blown, her eyes sparkling like emeralds against her sun-tinted ivory skin. She was alluring, exotic, patrician. Beside her, Leela seemed pale and fragile.
Standing between them, Stuart was a contrast of vigor and manhood, his keen blue eyes alight with the excitement of their recent ride. Leela was aware of the picture they made together—Stuart and Elda. Two statues of Grecian art come to life. Stirnye had suggested that Stuart and Leela conduct Elda around, in the past month. Leela wished at times he hadn’t.
Elda was looking at Stuart. Her bell-voice continued, more seriously. In a month’s time, she had easily learned the clipped English of the 50th century.
“But of course it must be done. I wish you could have lived in my time, Stuart. Magnificent cities, great industry, flourishing arts. All of Earth, in our 30th century, was civilized.”
“But you had wars, my father says—”
“Oh, yes, wars. But there has to be wars.”
“Has to be!” Stuart’s voice was low, shocked. He shook his head firmly. “Not in this world. We are building the World-State slowly and carefully, against the need for senseless wars. Your civilization fell because of war-fever, my father says. This one won’t.”
