Astounding Stories of Super-Science February 1930

by Various

  Spawn of the Stars

  _By Charles Willard Diffin_

  The Earth lay powerless beneath those loathsome, yellowish monsters that, sheathed in cometlike globes, sprang from the skies to annihilate man and reduce his cities to ashes.

  _The sky was alive with winged shapes, and high in theair shone the glittering menace, trailing five plumes of gas._]

  When Cyrus R. Thurston bought himself a single-motored Stoughton job hewas looking for new thrills. Flying around the east coast had lost itszest: he wanted to join that jaunty group who spoke so easily of hoppingoff for Los Angeles.

  And what Cyrus Thurston wanted he usually obtained. But if that youngmillionaire-sportsman had been told that on his first flight thisblocky, bulletlike ship was to pitch him headlong into the exact centerof the wildest, strangest war this earth had ever seen--well, it isstill probable that the Stoughton company would not have lost the sale.

  They were roaring through the starlit, calm night, three thousand feetabove a sage sprinkled desert, when the trip ended. Slim Riley had thestick when the first blast of hot oil ripped slashingly across thepilot's window. "There goes your old trip!" he yelled. "Why don't theytry putting engines in these ships?"

  He jammed over the throttle and, with motor idling, swept down towardthe endless miles of moonlit waste. Wind? They had been boring into it.Through the opened window he spotted a likely stretch of ground. Settingdown the ship on a nice piece of Arizona desert was a mere detail forSlim.

  "Let off a flare," he ordered, "when I give the word."

  * * * * *

  The white glare of it faded the stars as he sideslipped, thenstraightened out on his hand-picked field. The plane rolled down a clearspace and stopped. The bright glare persisted while he stared curiouslyfrom the quiet cabin. Cutting the motor he opened both windows, thengrabbed Thurston by the shoulder.

  "'Tis a curious thing, that," he said unsteadily. His hand pointedstraight ahead. The flare died, but the bright stars of the desertcountry still shone on a glistening, shining bulb.

  It was some two hundred feet away. The lower part was lost in shadow,but its upper surfaces shone rounded and silvery like a giant bubble. Ittowered in the air, scores of feet above the chaparral beside it. Therewas a round spot of black on its side, which looked absurdly like adoor....

  "I saw something moving," said Thurston slowly. "On the ground I saw....Oh, good Lord, Slim, it isn't real!"

  Slim Riley made no reply. His eyes were riveted to an undulating,ghastly something that oozed and crawled in the pale light not far fromthe bulb. His hand was reaching, reaching.... It found what he sought;he leaned toward the window. In his hand was the Very pistol fordischarging the flares. He aimed forward and up.

  The second flare hung close before it settled on the sandy floor. Itsblinding whiteness made the more loathsome the sickening yellow of theflabby flowing thing that writhed frantically in the glare. It wasformless, shapeless, a heaving mound of nauseous matter. Yet even in itsagonized writhing distortions they sensed the beating pulsations thatmarked it a living thing.

  There were unending ripplings crossing and recrossing through theconvolutions. To Thurston there was suddenly a sickening likeness: thething was a brain from a gigantic skull--it was naked--wassuffering....

  * * * * *

  The thing poured itself across the sand. Before the staring gaze of thespeechless men an excrescence appeared--a thick bulb on the mass--thatprotruded itself into a tentacle. At the end there grew instantly ahooked hand. It reached for the black opening in the great shell, foundit, and the whole loathsome shapelessness poured itself up and throughthe hole.

  Only at the last was it still. In the dark opening the last slipperymass held quiet for endless seconds. It formed, as they watched, to ahead--frightful--menacing. Eyes appeared in the head; eyes flat andround and black save for a cross slit in each; eyes that stared horriblyand unchangingly into theirs. Below them a gaping mouth opened andclosed.... The head melted--was gone....

  And with its going came a rushing roar of sound.

  From under the metallic mass shrieked a vaporous cloud. It drove atthem, a swirling blast of snow and sand. Some buried memory of gasattacks woke Riley from his stupor. He slammed shut the windowsan instant before the cloud struck, but not before they had seen,in the moonlight, a gleaming, gigantic, elongated bulb riseswiftly--screamingly--into the upper air.

  The blast tore at their plane. And the cold in their tight compartmentwas like the cold of outer space. The men stared, speechless, panting.Their breath froze in that frigid room into steam clouds.

  "It--it...." Thurston gasped--and slumped helpless upon the floor.

  * * * * *

  It was an hour before they dared open the door of their cabin. An hourof biting, numbing cold. Zero--on a warm summer night on the desert!Snow in the hurricane that had struck them!

  "'Twas the blast from the thing," guessed the pilot; "though never didI see an engine with an exhaust like that." He was pounding himself withhis arms to force up the chilled circulation.

  "But the beast--the--the _thing_!" exclaimed Thurston. "It's monstrous;indecent! It thought--no question of that--but no body! Horrible! Just araw, naked, thinking protoplasm!"

  It was here that he flung open the door. They sniffed cautiously of theair. It was warm again--clean--save for a hint of some nauseous odor.They walked forward; Riley carried a flash.

  The odor grew to a stench as they came where the great mass had lain. Onthe ground was a fleshy mound. There were bones showing, and horns on askull. Riley held the light close to show the body of a steer. A body ofraw bleeding meat. Half of it had been absorbed....

  "The damned thing," said Riley, and paused vainly for adequate words."The damned thing was eating.... Like a jelly-fish, it was!"

  "Exactly," Thurston agreed. He pointed about. There were other heapsscattered among the low sage.

  "Smothered," guessed Thurston, "with that frozen exhaust. Then thefilthy thing landed and came out to eat."

  "Hold the light for me," the pilot commanded. "I'm goin' to fix thatbusted oil line. And I'm goin' to do it right now. Maybe the creature'sstill hungry."

  * * * * *

  They sat in their room. About them was the luxury of a modern hotel.Cyrus Thurston stared vacantly at the breakfast he was forgetting toeat. He wiped his hands mechanically on a snowy napkin. He looked fromthe window. There were palm trees in the park, and autos in a ceaselessstream. And people! Sane, sober people, living in a sane world. Newsboyswere shouting; the life of the city was flowing.

  "Riley!" Thurston turned to the man across the table. His voice wascuriously toneless, and his face haggard. "Riley, I haven't slept forthree nights. Neither have you. We've got to get this thing straight. Wedidn't both become absolute maniacs at the same instant, but--it was_not_ there, it was _never_ there--not _that_...." He was lost inunpleasant recollections. "There are other records of hallucinations."

  "Hallucinations--hell!" said Slim Riley. He was looking at a Los Angelesnewspaper. He passed one hand wearily across his eyes, but his face washappier than it had been in days.

  "We didn't imagine it, we aren't crazy--it's real! Would you read thatnow!" He passed the paper across to Thurston. The headlines werestartling.

  "Pilot Killed by Mysterious Airship. Silvery Bubble Hangs Over New York.Downs Army Plane in Burst of Flame. Vanishes at Terrific Speed."

  "It's our little friend," said Thurston. And on his face, too, the lineswere vanishing; to find this horror a reality was positive relief."Here's the same cloud of vapor--drifted slowly across the city,the accounts says, blowing this stuff like steam from underneath.Airplanes investigated--an army plane drove into the vapor--terrificexplosion--plane down in flames--others wrecked. The machine ascendedwith meteor speed, trailing blue flame. Come on, boy, where's that oldbus? Thought I never wanted to fly a p
lane again. Now I don't want to doanything but."

  "Where to?" Slim inquired.

  "Headquarters," Thurston told him. "Washington--let's go!"

  * * * * *

  From Los Angeles to Washington is not far, as the plane flies. There wasa stop or two for gasoline, but it was only a day later that they wereseated in the War Office. Thurston's card had gained immediateadmittance. "Got the low-down," he had written on the back of his card,"on the mystery airship."

  "What you have told me is incredible," the Secretary was saying,"or would be if General Lozier here had not reported personally onthe occurrence at New York. But the monster, the thing you havedescribed.... Cy, if I didn't know you as I do I would have you lockedup."

  "It's true," said Thurston, simply. "It's damnable, but it's true. Nowwhat does it mean?"

  "Heaven knows," was the response. "That's where it came from--out of theheavens."

  "Not what we saw," Slim Riley broke in. "That thing came straight out ofHell." And in his voice was no suggestion of levity.

  "You left Los Angeles early yesterday; have you seen the papers?"

  Thurston shook his head.

  "They are back," said the Secretary. "Reported over London--Paris--theWest Coast. Even China has seen them. Shanghai cabled an hour ago."

  "Them? How many are there?"

  "Nobody knows. There were five seen at one time. There are more--unlessthe same ones go around the world in a matter of minutes."

  * * * * *

  Thurston remembered that whirlwind of vapor and a vanishing speck in theArizona sky. "They could," he asserted. "They're faster than anything onearth. Though what drives them ... that gas--steam--whatever it is...."

  "Hydrogen," stated General Lozier. "I saw the New York show when poorDavis got his. He flew into the exhaust; it went off like a millionbombs. Characteristic hydrogen flame trailed the damn thing up out ofsight--a tail of blue fire."

  "And cold," stated Thurston.

  "Hot as a Bunsen burner," the General contradicted. "Davis' plane almostmelted."

  "Before it ignited," said the other. He told of the cold in their plane.

  "Ha!" The General spoke explosively. "That's expansion. That's a tip ontheir motive power. Expansion of gas. That accounts for the cold andthe vapor. Suddenly expanded it would be intensely cold. The moisture ofthe air would condense, freeze. But how could they carry it? Or"--hefrowned for a moment, brows drawn over deep-set gray eyes--"or generateit? But that's crazy--that's impossible!"

  "So is the whole matter," the Secretary reminded him. "With theinformation Mr. Thurston and Mr. Riley have given us, the whole affairis beyond any gage our past experience might supply. We start from theimpossible, and we go--where? What is to be done?"

  "With your permission, sir, a number of things shall be done. It wouldbe interesting to see what a squadron of planes might accomplish, divingon them from above. Or anti-aircraft fire."

  * * * * *

  "No," said the Secretary of War, "not yet. They have looked us over,but they have not attacked. For the present we do not know what theyare. All of us have our suspicions--thoughts of interplanetarytravel--thoughts too wild for serious utterance--but we know nothing.

  "Say nothing to the papers of what you have told me," he directedThurston. "Lord knows their surmises are wild enough now. And for you,General, in the event of any hostile move, you will resist."

  "Your order was anticipated, sir." The General permitted himself aslight smile. "The air force is ready."

  "Of course," the Secretary of War nodded. "Meet me here to-night--nineo'clock." He included Thurston and Riley in the command. "We need tothink ... to think ... and perhaps their mission is friendly."

  "Friendly!" The two flyers exchanged glances as they went to the door.And each knew what the other was seeing--a viscous ocherous mass thatformed into a head where eyes devilish in their hate stared coldly intotheirs....

  "Think, we need to think," repeated Thurston later. "A creature that isjust one big hideous brain, that can think an arm into existence--thinka head where it wishes! What does a thing like that think of? Whatbeastly thoughts could that--that _thing_ conceive?"

  "If I got the sights of a Lewis gun on it," said Riley vindictively,"I'd make it think."

  "And my guess is that is all you would accomplish," Thurston told him."I am forming a few theories about our visitors. One is that it would bequite impossible to find a vital spot in that big homogeneous mass."

  The pilot dispensed with theories: his was a more literal mind. "Whereon earth did they come from, do you suppose, Mr. Thurston?"

  * * * * *

  They were walking to their hotel. Thurston raised his eyes to the summerheavens. Faint stars were beginning to twinkle; there was one thatglowed steadily.

  "Nowhere on earth," Thurston stated softly, "nowhere on earth."

  "Maybe so," said the pilot, "maybe so. We've thought about it and talkedabout it ... and they've gone ahead and done it." He called to anewsboy; they took the latest editions to their room.

  The papers were ablaze with speculation. There were dispatches from allcorners of the earth, interviews with scientists and near scientists.The machines were a Soviet invention--they were beyond anythinghuman--they were harmless--they would wipe out civilization--poisongas--blasts of fire like that which had enveloped the army flyer....

  And through it all Thurston read an ill-concealed fear, a reflection ofpanic that was gripping the nation--the whole world. These greatmachines were sinister. Wherever they appeared came the sense of beingwatched, of a menace being calmly withheld. And at thought of theobscene monsters inside those spheres, Thurston's lips were compressedand his eyes hardened. He threw the papers aside.

  "They are here," he said, "and that's all that we know. I hope theSecretary of War gets some good men together. And I hope someone isinspired with an answer."

  "An answer is it?" said Riley. "I'm thinkin' that the answer will come,but not from these swivel-chair fighters. 'Tis the boys in the cockpitswith one hand on the stick and one on the guns that will have theanswer."

  But Thurston shook his head. "Their speed," he said, "and the gas!Remember that cold. How much of it can they lay over a city?"

  The question was unanswered, unless the quick ringing of the phone was areply.

  "War Department," said a voice. "Hold the wire." The voice of theSecretary of War came on immediately.

  "Thurston?" he asked. "Come over at once on the jump, old man. Hell'spopping."

  * * * * *

  The windows of the War Department Building were all alight as theyapproached. Cars were coming and going; men in uniform, as the Secretaryhad said, "on the jump." Soldiers with bayonets stopped them, thenpassed Thurston and his companion on. Bells were ringing from all sides.But in the Secretary's office was perfect quiet.

  General Lozier was there, Thurston saw, and an imposing array ofgold-braided men with a sprinkling of those in civilian clothes. One herecognized: MacGregor from the Bureau of Standards. The Secretary handedThurston some papers.

  "Radio," he explained. "They are over the Pacific coast. Hit nearVancouver; Associated Press says city destroyed. They are working downthe coast. Same story--blast of hydrogen from their funnel shaped base.Colder than Greenland below them; snow fell in Seattle. No real attacksince Vancouver and little damage done--" A message was laid beforehim.

  "Portland," he said. "Five mystery ships over city. Dart repeatedlytoward earth, deliver blast of gas and then retreat. Doing no damage.Apparently inviting attack. All commercial planes ordered grounded.Awaiting instructions.

  "Gentlemen," said the Secretary, "I believe I speak for all present whenI say that, in the absence of first hand information, we are utterlyunable to arrive at any definite conclusion or make a definite plan.There is a menace in this, undeniably. Mr. Thurston and Mr. Riley haveb
een good enough to report to me. They have seen one machine at closerange. It was occupied by a monster so incredible that the report wouldreceive no attention from me did I not know Mr. Thurston personally.

  "Where have they come from? What does it mean--what is their mission?Only God knows.

  "Gentlemen, I feel that I must see them. I want General Lozier toaccompany me, also Doctor MacGregor, to advise me from the scientificangle. I am going to the Pacific Coast. They may not wait--that istrue--but they appear to be going slowly south. I will leave to-nightfor San Diego. I hope to intercept them. We have strong air-forcesthere; the Navy Department is cooperating."

  * * * * *

  He waited for no comment. "General," he ordered, "will you kindlyarrange for a plane? Take an escort or not as you think best.

  "Mr. Thurston and Mr. Riley will also accompany us. We want all theauthoritative data we can get. This on my return will be placed beforeyou, gentlemen, for your consideration." He rose from his chair. "I hopethey wait for us," he said.

  Time was when a commander called loudly for a horse, but in this day aSecretary of War is not kept waiting for transportation. Sireningmotorcycles preceded them from the city. Within an hour, motors roaringwide open, propellers ripping into the summer night, lights slippingeastward three thousand feet below, the Secretary of War for the UnitedStates was on his way. And on either side from their plane stretched thearms of a V. Like a flight of gigantic wild geese, fast fighting planesof the Army air service bored steadily into the night, guarantors ofsafe convoy.

  "The Air Service is ready," General Lozier had said. And Thurston andhis pilot knew that from East coast to West, swift scout planes, whoseidling engines could roar into action at a moment's notice, stoodwaiting; battle planes hidden in hangars would roll forth at theword--the Navy was cooperating--and at San Diego there were strong navalunits, Army units, and Marine Corps.

  "They don't know what we can do, what we have up our sleeve: they arefeeling us out," said the Secretary. They had stopped more than once forgas and for wireless reports. He held a sheaf of typewritten briefs.

  "Going slowly south. They have taken their time. Hours over SanFrancisco and the bay district. Repeating same tactics; fall withterrific speed to cushion against their blast of gas. Trying to draw usout, provoke an attack, make us show our strength. Well, we shall beatthem to San Diego at this rate. We'll be there in a few hours."

  * * * * *

  The afternoon sun was dropping ahead of them when they sighted thewater. "Eckener Pass," the pilot told them, "where the Graf Zeppelincame through. Wonder what these birds would think of a Zepp!

  "There's the ocean," he added after a time. San Diego glistened againstthe bare hills. "There's North Island--the Army field." He staredintently ahead, then shouted: "And there they are! Look there!"

  Over the city a cluster of meteors was falling. Dark underneath, theirtops shone like pure silver in the sun's slanting glare. They felltoward the city, then buried themselves in a dense cloud of steam,rebounding at once to the upper air, vapor trailing behind them.

  The cloud billowed slowly. It struck the hills of the city, then liftedand vanished.

  "Land at once," requested the Secretary. A flash of silver countermandedthe order.

  It hung there before them, a great gleaming globe, keeping always itsdistance ahead. It was elongated at the base, Thurston observed. Fromthat base shot the familiar blast that turned steamy a hundred feetbelow as it chilled the warm air. There were round orifices, like ports,ranged around the top, where an occasional jet of vapor showed this tobe a method of control. Other spots shone dark and glassy. Were theywindows? He hardly realized their peril, so interested was he in thestrange machine ahead.

  * * * * *

  Then: "Dodge that vapor," ordered General Lozier. The plane wavered insignal to the others and swung sharply to the left. Each man knew theflaming death that was theirs if the fire of their exhaust touched thatexplosive mixture of hydrogen and air. The great bubble turned with themand paralleled their course.

  "He's watching us," said Riley, "giving us the once over, the slimydevil. Ain't there a gun on this ship?"

  The General addressed his superior. Even above the roar of the motorshis voice seemed quiet, assured. "We must not land now," he said. "Wecan't land at North Island. It would focus their attention upon ourdefenses. That thing--whatever it is--is looking for a vulnerable spot.We must.... Hold on--there he goes!"

  The big bulb shot upward. It slanted above them, and hovered there.

  "I think he is about to attack," said the General quietly. And, to thecommander of their squadron: "It's in your hands now, Captain. It'syour fight."

  The Captain nodded and squinted above. "He's got to throw heavier stuffthan that," he remarked. A small object was falling from the cloud. Itpassed close to their ship.

  "Half-pint size," said Cyrus Thurston, and laughed in derision. Therewas something ludicrous in the futility of the attack. He stuck his headfrom a window into the gale they created. He sheltered his eyes to tryto follow the missile in its fall.

  * * * * *

  They were over the city. The criss-cross of streets made a grill-work oflines; tall buildings were dwarfed from this three thousand footaltitude. The sun slanted across a projecting promontory to make goldenripples on a blue sea and the city sparkled back in the clear air. Tinywhite faces were massed in the streets, huddled in clusters where thefutile black missile had vanished.

  And then--then the city was gone....

  A white cloud-bank billowed and mushroomed. Slowly, it seemed to thewatcher--so slowly.

  It was done in the fraction of a second. Yet in that brief time his eyesregistered the chaotic sweep in advance of the cloud. There came acrashing of buildings in some monster whirlwind, a white cloud engulfingit all.... It was rising--was on them.

  "God," thought Thurston, "why can't I move!" The plane lifted andlurched. A thunder of sound crashed against them, an intolerable force.They were crushed to the floor as the plane was hurled over and upward.

  Out of the mad whirling tangle of flying bodies, Thurston glimpsed oneclear picture. The face of the pilot hung battered and blood-coveredbefore him, and over the limp body the hand of Slim Riley clutched atthe switch.

  "Bully boy," he said dazedly, "he's cutting the motors...." The thoughtended in blackness.

  There was no sound of engines or beating propellers when he came to hissenses. Something lay heavy upon him. He pushed it to one side. It wasthe body of General Lozier.

  * * * * *

  He drew himself to his knees to look slowly about, rubbed stupidly athis eyes to quiet the whirl, then stared at the blood on his hand. Itwas so quiet--the motors--what was it that happened? Slim had reachedfor the switch....

  The whirling subsided. Before him he saw Slim Riley at the controls. Hegot to his feet and went unsteadily forward. It was a battered face thatwas lifted to his.

  "She was spinning," the puffed lips were muttering slowly. "I broughther out ... there's the field...." His voice was thick; he formed thewords slowly, painfully. "Got to land ... can you take it? I'm--I'm--"He slumped limply in his seat.

  Thurston's arms were uninjured. He dragged the pilot to the floor andgot back of the wheel. The field was below them. There were planestaxiing out; he heard the roar of their motors. He tried the controls.The plane answered stiffly, but he managed to level off as the brownfield approached.

  Thurston never remembered that landing. He was trying to drag Riley fromthe battered plane when the first man got to him.

  "Secretary of War?" he gasped. "In there.... Take Riley; I can walk."

  "We'll get them," an officer assured him. "Knew you were coming. Theysure gave you hell! But look at the city!"

  Arms carried him stumbling from the field. Above the low hangars he sawsmoke clouds over the bay. These and
red rolling flames marked what hadbeen an American city. Far in the heavens moved five glinting specks.

  His head reeled with the thunder of engines. There were planes standingin lines and more erupting from hangars, where khaki-clad men, facestense under leather helmets, rushed swiftly about.

  "General Lozier is dead," said a voice. Thurston turned to the man. Theywere bringing the others. "The rest are smashed up some," the officertold him, "but I think they'll pull through."

  * * * * *

  The Secretary of War for the United States lay beside him. Men with redon their sleeves were slitting his coat. Through one good eye hesquinted at Thurston. He even managed a smile.

  "Well, I wanted to see them up close," he said. "They say you saved us,old man."

  Thurston waved that aside. "Thank Riley--" he began, but the words endedin the roar of an exhaust. A plane darted swiftly away to shootvertically a hundred feet in the air. Another followed and another. In acloud of brown dust they streamed endlessly out, zooming up like angryhornets, eager to get into the fight.

  "Fast little devils!" the ambulance man observed. "Here come the bigboys."

  A leviathan went deafeningly past. And again others came on in quicksuccession. Farther up the field, silvery gray planes with ruddersflaunting their red, white and blue rose circling to the heights.

  "That's the Navy," was the explanation. The surgeon straightened theSecretary's arm. "See them come off the big airplane carriers!"

  If his remarks were part of his professional training in removing apatient's thoughts from his pain, they were effective. The Secretarystared out to sea, where two great flat-decked craft were shootingplanes with the regularity of a rapid fire gun. They stood out sharplyagainst a bank of gray fog. Cyrus Thurston forgot his bruised body,forgot his own peril--even the inferno that raged back across the bay:he was lost in the sheer thrill of the spectacle.

  * * * * *

  Above them the sky was alive with winged shapes. And from all thedisorder there was order appearing. Squadron after squadron swept tobattle formation. Like flights of wild ducks the true sharp-pointed Vssoared off into the sky. Far above and beyond, rows of dots marked therace of swift scouts for the upper levels. And high in the clear airshone the glittering menace trailing their five plumes of gas.

  A deeper detonation was merging into the uproar. It came from the ships,Thurston knew, where anti-aircraft guns poured a rain of shells into thesky. About the invaders they bloomed into clusters of smoke balls. Theglobes shot a thousand feet into the air. Again the shells found them,and again they retreated.

  "Look!" said Thurston. "They got one!"

  He groaned as a long curving arc of speed showed that the big bulb wasunder control. Over the ships it paused, to balance and swing, then shotto the zenith as one of the great boats exploded in a cloud of vapor.

  The following blast swept the airdrome. Planes yet on the ground wentlike dry autumn leaves. The hangars were flattened.

  Thurston cowered in awe. They were sheltered, he saw, by a slope of theground. No ridicule now for the bombs!

  A second blast marked when the gas-cloud ignited. The billowing flameswere blue. They writhed in tortured convulsions through the air. Endlessexplosions merged into one rumbling roar.

  MacGregor had roused from his stupor; he raised to a sitting position.

  "Hydrogen," he stated positively, and pointed where great volumes offlame were sent whirling aloft. "It burns as it mixes with air." Thescientist was studying intently the mammoth reaction. "But the volume,"he marveled, "the volume! From that small container! Impossible!"

  "Impossible," the Secretary agreed, "but...." He pointed with his onegood arm toward the Pacific. Two great ships of steel, blackened andbattered in that fiery breath, tossed helplessly upon the pitching,heaving sea. They furnished to the scientist's exclamation the onlyadequate reply.

  Each man stared aghast into the pallid faces of his companions. "I thinkwe have underestimated the opposition," said the Secretary of Warquietly. "Look--the fog is coming in, but it's too late to save them."

  * * * * *

  The big ships were vanishing in the oncoming fog. Whirls of vapor wereeddying toward them in the flame-blaster air. Above them the watcherssaw dimly the five gleaming bulbs. There were airplanes attacking: thetapping of machine-gun fire came to them faintly.

  Fast planes circled and swooped toward the enemy. An armada of bigplanes drove in from beyond. Formations were blocking space above....Every branch of the service was there, Thurston exulted, the army,Marine Corps, the Navy. He gripped hard at the dry ground in a paralysisof taut nerves. The battle was on, and in the balance hung the fate ofthe world.

  The fog drove in fast. Through straining eyes he tried in vain toglimpse the drama spread above. The world grew dark and gray. He buriedhis face in his hands.

  And again came the thunder. The men on the ground forced their gaze tothe clouds, though they knew some fresh horror awaited.

  The fog-clouds reflected the blue terror above. They were riven andtorn. And through them black objects were falling. Some blazed as theyfell. They slipped into unthought maneuvers--they darted to earthtrailing yellow and black of gasoline fires. The air was filled with thedread rain of death that was spewed from the gray clouds. Gone was theroaring of motors. The air-force of the San Diego area swept in silenceto the earth, whose impact alone could give kindly concealment to theirflame-stricken burden.

  Thurston's last control snapped. He flung himself flat to bury his facein the sheltering earth.

  * * * * *

  Only the driving necessity of work to be done saved the sanity of thesurvivors. The commercial broadcasting stations were demolished, a partof the fuel for the terrible furnace across the bay. But the Naval radiostation was beyond on an outlying hill. The Secretary of War was incharge. An hour's work and this was again in commission to flash to theworld the story of disaster. It told the world also of what lay ahead.The writing was plain. No prophet was needed to forecast the doom anddestruction that awaited the earth.

  Civilization was helpless. What of armies and cannon, of navies, ofaircraft, when from some unreachable height these monsters within theirbulbous machines could drop coldly--methodically--their diminutivebombs. And when each bomb meant shattering destruction; each explosionblasting all within a radius of miles; each followed by the blue blastof fire that melted the twisted framework of buildings and powdered thestones to make of a proud city a desolation of wreckage, black andsilent beneath the cold stars. There was no crumb of comfort for theworld in the terror the radio told.

  Slim Riley was lying on an improvised cot when Thurston and therepresentative of the Bureau of Standards joined him. Four walls of aroom still gave shelter in a half-wrecked building. There were candlesburning: the dark was unbearable.

  "Sit down," said MacGregor quietly; "we must think...."

  "Think!" Thurston's voice had an hysterical note. "I can't think! Imustn't think! I'll go raving crazy...."

  "Yes, think," said the scientist. "Had it occurred to you that that isour only weapon left?

  "We must think, we must analyze. Have these devils a vulnerable spot? Isthere any known means of attack? We do not know. We must learn. Here inthis room we have all the direct information the world possesses of thismenace. I have seen their machines in operation. You have seen more--youhave looked at the monsters themselves. At one of them, anyway."

  * * * * *

  The man's voice was quiet, methodical. Mr. MacGregor was attacking aproblem. Problems called for concentration; not hysterics. He could havepoured the contents from a beaker without spilling a drop. His poise wasneeded: they were soon to make a laboratory experiment.

  The door burst open to admit a wild-eyed figure that snatched up theircandles and dashed them to the floor.

  "Lights out!" he screamed at them. "The
re's one of 'em coming back." Hewas gone from the room.

  The men sprang for the door, then turned to where Riley was clumsilycrawling from his couch. An arm under each of his, and the three menstumbled from the room.

  They looked about them in the night. The fog-banks were high, driftingin from the ocean. Beneath them the air was clear; from somewhere abovea hidden moon forced a pale light through the clouds. And over theocean, close to the water, drifted a familiar shape. Familiar in itshuge sleek roundness, in its funnel-shaped base where a soft roar madevaporous clouds upon the water. Familiar, too, in the wild dread itinspired.

  The watchers were spellbound. To Thurston there came a fury of impotentfrenzy. It was so near! His hands trembled to tear at that door, to ripat that foul mass he knew was within.... The great bulb drifted past. Itwas nearing the shore. But its action! Its motion!

  Gone was the swift certainty of control. The thing settled and sank, torise weakly with a fresh blast of gas from its exhaust. It settledagain, and passed waveringly on in the night.

  * * * * *

  Thurston was throbbingly alive with hope that was certainty. "It's beenhit," he exulted; "it's been hit. Quick! After it, follow it!" He dashedfor a car. There were some that had been salvaged from the less ruinedbuildings. He swung it quickly around where the others were waiting.

  "Get a gun," he commanded. "Hey, you,"--to an officer whoappeared--"your pistol, man, quick! We're going after it!" He caught thetossed gun and hurried the others into the car.

  "Wait," MacGregor commanded. "Would you hunt elephants with a pop-gun?Or these things?"

  "Yes," the other told him, "or my bare hands! Are you coming, or aren'tyou?"

  The physicist was unmoved. "The creature you saw--you said that itwrithed in a bright light--you said it seemed almost in agony. There'san idea there! Yes, I'm going with you, but keep your shirt on, andthink."

  He turned again to the officer. "We need lights," he explained, "brightlights. What is there? Magnesium? Lights of any kind?"

  "Wait." The man rushed off into the dark.

  He was back in a moment to thrust a pistol into the car. "Flares," heexplained. "Here's a flashlight, if you need it." The car tore at theground as Thurston opened it wide. He drove recklessly toward thehighway that followed the shore.

  The high fog had thinned to a mist. A full moon was breaking through totouch with silver the white breakers hissing on the sand. It spread itsfull glory on dunes and sea: one more of the countless soft nights wherepeace and calm beauty told of an ageless existence that made naught ofthe red havoc of men or of monsters. It shone on the ceaseless surfthat had beaten these shores before there were men, that would thunderthere still when men were no more. But to the tense crouching men in thecar it shone only ahead on a distant, glittering speck. A waveringreflection marked the uncertain flight of the stricken enemy.

  * * * * *

  Thurston drove like a maniac; the road carried them straight towardtheir quarry. What could he do when he overtook it? He neither knew norcared. There was only the blind fury forcing him on within reach of thething. He cursed as the lights of the car showed a bend in the road. Itwas leaving the shore.

  He slackened their speed to drive cautiously into the sand. It draggedat the car, but he fought through to the beach, where he hoped for firmfooting. The tide was out. They tore madly along the smooth sand,breakers clutching at the flying wheels.

  The strange aircraft was nearer; it was plainly over the shore, theysaw. Thurston groaned as it shot high in the air in an effort to clearthe cliffs ahead. But the heights were no longer a refuge. Again itsettled. It struck on the cliff to rebound in a last futile leap. Thegreat pear shape tilted, then shot end over end to crash hard on thefirm sand. The lights of the car struck the wreck, and they saw theshell roll over once. A ragged break was opening--the spherical top fellslowly to one side. It was still rocking as they brought the car to astop. Filling the lower shell, they saw dimly, was a mucouslike massthat seethed and struggled in the brilliance of their lights.

  MacGregor was persisting in his theory. "Keep the lights on it!" heshouted. "It can't stand the light."

  While they watched, the hideous, bubbling beast oozed over the side ofthe broken shell to shelter itself in the shadow beneath. And againThurston sensed the pulse and throb of life in the monstrous mass.

  * * * * *

  He saw again in his rage the streaming rain of black airplanes; saw,too, the bodies, blackened and charred as they saw them when first theytried rescue from the crashed ships; the smoke clouds and flames fromthe blasted city, where people--his people, men and women and littlechildren--had met terrible death. He sprang from the car. Yet hefaltered with a revulsion that was almost a nausea. His gun was grippedin his hand as he ran toward the monster.

  "Come back!" shouted MacGregor. "Come back! Have you gone mad?" He wasjerking at the door of the car.

  Beyond the white funnel of their lights a yellow thing was moving. Ittwisted and flowed with incredible speed a hundred feet back to the baseof the cliff. It drew itself together in a quivering heap.

  An out-thrusting rock threw a sheltering shadow; the moon was low in thewest. In the blackness a phosphorescence was apparent. It rippled androse in the dark with the pulsing beat of the jellylike mass. Andthrough it were showing two discs. Gray at first, they formed to black,staring eyes.

  Thurston had followed. His gun was raised as he neared it. Then out ofthe mass shot a serpentine arm. It whipped about him, soft, sticky,viscid--utterly loathsome. He screamed once when it clung to his face,then tore savagely and in silence at the encircling folds.

  * * * * *

  The gun! He ripped a blinding mass from his face and emptied theautomatic in a stream of shots straight toward the eyes. And he knew ashe fired that the effort was useless; to have shot at the milky surfwould have been as vain.

  The thing was pulling him irresistibly; he sank to his knees; it draggedhim over the sand. He clutched at a rock. A vision was before him: thecarcass of a steer, half absorbed and still bleeding on the sand of anArizona desert....

  To be drawn to the smothering embrace of that glutinous mass ... forthat monstrous appetite.... He tore afresh at the unyielding folds, thenknew MacGregor was beside him.

  In the man's hand was a flashlight. The scientist risked his life on aguess. He thrust the powerful light into the clinging serpent. It waslike the touch of hot iron to human flesh. The arm struggled and flailedin a paroxysm of pain.

  Thurston was free. He lay gasping on the sand. But MacGregor!... Helooked up to see him vanish in the clinging ooze. Another thick tentaclehad been projected from the main mass to sweep like a whip about theman. It hissed as it whirled about him in the still air.

  The flashlight was gone; Thurston's hand touched it in the sand. Hesprang to his feet and pressed the switch. No light responded; theflashlight was out--broken.

  A thick arm slashed and wrapped about him.... It beat him to the ground.The sand was moving beneath him; he was being dragged swiftly,helplessly, toward what waited in the shadow. He was smothering.... Ablinding glare filled his eyes....

  * * * * *

  The flares were still burning when he dared look about. MacGregor waspulling frantically at his arm. "Quick--quick!" he was shouting.Thurston scrambled to his feet.

  One glimpse he caught of a heaving yellow mass in the white light; ittwisted in horrible convulsions. They ran stumblingly--drunkenly--towardthe car.

  Riley was half out of the machine. He had tried to drag himself to theirassistance. "I couldn't make it," he said: "then I thought of theflares."

  "Thank Heaven," said MacGregor with emphasis, "it was your legs thatwere paralyzed, Riley, not your brain."

  Thurston found his voice. "Let me have that Very pistol. If light hurtsthat damn thing, I am going to put a blaze of magnesium into the middleo
f it if I die for it."

  "They're all gone," said Riley.

  "Then let's get out of here. I've had enough. We can come back lateron."

  He got back of the wheel and slammed the door of the sedan. Themoonlight was gone. The darkness was velvet just tinged with the graythat precedes the dawn. Back in the deeper blackness at the cliff-base aphosphorescent something wavered and glowed. The light rippled andflowed in all directions over the mass. Thurston felt, vaguely, itsmystery--the bulk was a vast, naked brain; its quiverings were likevisible thought waves....

  * * * * *

  The phosphorescence grew brighter. The thing was approaching. Thurstonlet in his clutch, but the scientist checked him.

  "Wait," he implored, "wait! I wouldn't miss this for the world." Hewaved toward the east, where far distant ranges were etched in palestrose.

  "We know less than nothing of these creatures, in what partof the universe they are spawned, how they live, where theylive--Saturn!--Mars!--the Moon! But--we shall soon know how one dies!"

  The thing was coming from the cliff. In the dim grayness it seemed lessyellow, less fluid. A membrane enclosed it. It was close to the car. Wasit hunger that drove it, or cold rage for these puny opponents? Thehollow eyes were glaring; a thick arm formed quickly to dart out towardthe car. A cloud, high above, caught the color of approaching day....

  Before their eyes the vile mass pulsed visibly; it quivered and beat.Then, sensing its danger, it darted like some headless serpent for itsmachine.

  It massed itself about the shattered top to heave convulsively. The topwas lifted, carried toward the rest of the great metal egg. The sun'sfirst rays made golden arrows through the distant peaks.

  The struggling mass released its burden to stretch its vile lengthtoward the dark caves under the cliffs. The last sheltering fog-veilparted. The thing was halfway to the high bank when the first brightshaft of direct sunlight shot through.

  Incredible in the concealment of night, the vast protoplasmic pod wasdoubly so in the glare of day. But it was there before them, not ahundred feet distant. And it boiled in vast tortured convulsions. Theclean sunshine struck it, and the mass heaved itself into the air in anauseous eruption, then fell limply to the earth.

  * * * * *

  The yellow membrane turned paler. Once more the staring black eyesformed to turn hopelessly toward the sheltering globe. Then the bulkflattened out on the sand. It was a jellylike mound, through whichtrembled endless quivering palpitations.

  The sun struck hot, and before the eyes of the watching, speechless menwas a sickening, horrible sight--a festering mass of corruption.

  The sickening yellow was liquid. It seethed and bubbled with liberatedgases; it decomposed to purplish fluid streams. A breath of wind blew intheir direction. The stench from the hideous pool was overpowering,unbearable. Their heads swam in the evil breath.... Thurston ripped thegears into reverse, nor stopped until they were far away on the cleansand.

  The tide was coming in when they returned. Gone was the vileputrescence. The waves were lapping at the base of the gleaming machine.

  "We'll have to work fast," said MacGregor. "I must know, I must learn."He drew himself up and into the shattered shell.

  It was of metal, some forty feet across, its framework a maze oflatticed struts. The central part was clear. Here in a wide, shallow panthe monster had rested. Below this was tubing, intricate coils, massive,heavy and strong. MacGregor lowered himself upon it, Thurston wasbeside him. They went down into the dim bowels of the deadly instrument.

  "Hydrogen," the physicist was stating. "Hydrogen--there's our startingpoint. A generator, obviously, forming the gas--from what? They couldn'tcompress it! They couldn't carry it or make it, not the volume that theyevolved. But they did it, they did it!"

  * * * * *

  Close to the coils a dim light was glowing. It was a pin-point ofradiance in the half-darkness about them. The two men bent closer.

  "See," directed MacGregor, "it strikes on this mirror--bright metal andparabolic. It disperses the light, doesn't concentrate it! Ah! Here isanother, and another. This one is bent--broken. They are adjustable. Hm!Micrometer accuracy for reducing the light. The last one could reflectthrough this slot. It's light that does it, Thurston, it's light thatdoes it!"

  "Does what?" Thurston had followed the other's analysis of the diffusionprocess. "The light that would finally reach that slot would be hardlyperceptible."

  "It's the agent," said MacGregor, "the activator--the catalyst! Whatdoes it strike upon? I must know--I must!"

  The waves were splashing outside the shell. Thurston turned in afeverish search of the unexplored depths. There was a surprisingsimplicity, an absence of complicated mechanism. The generator, with itstremendous braces to carry its thrust to the framework itself, filledmost of the space. Some of the ribs were thicker, he noticed. Solidmetal, as if they might carry great weights. Resting upon them wereranged numbers of objects. They were like eggs, slender, and inches inlength. On some were propellers. They worked through the shells on longslender rods. Each was threaded finely--an adjustable arm engaged thethread. Thurston called excitedly to the other.

  "Here they are," he said. "Look! Here are the shells. Here's what blewus up!"

  * * * * *

  He pointed to the slim shafts with their little propellerlike fans."Adjustable, see? Unwind in their fall ... set 'em for any length oftravel ... fires the charge in the air. That's how they wiped out ourair fleet."

  There were others without the propellers; they had fins to hold themnose downward. On each nose was a small rounded cap.

  "Detonators of some sort," said MacGregor. "We've got to have one. Wemust get it out quick; the tide's coming in." He laid his hands upon oneof the slim, egg-shaped things. He lifted, then strained mightily. Butthe object did not rise; it only rolled sluggishly.

  The scientist stared at it amazed. "Specific gravity," he exclaimed,"beyond anything known! There's nothing on earth ... there is no suchsubstance ... no form of matter...." His eyes were incredulous.

  "Lots to learn," Thurston answered grimly. "We've yet to learn how tofight off the other four."

  The other nodded. "Here's the secret," he said. "These shells liberatethe same gas that drives the machine. Solve one and we solve both--thenwe learn how to combat it. But how to remove it--that is the problem.You and I can never lift this out of here."

  His glance darted about. There was a small door in the metal beam. Thegroove in which the shells were placed led to it; it was a port forlaunching the projectiles. He moved it, opened it. A dash of spraystruck him in the face. He glanced inquiringly at his companion.

  "Dare we do it?" he asked. "Slide one of them out?"

  Each man looked long into the eyes of the other. Was this, then, the endof their terrible night? One shell to be dropped--then a burstingvolcano to blast them to eternity....

  "The boys in the planes risked it," said Thurston quietly. "They gottheirs." He stopped for a broken fragment of steel. "Try one with a fanon; it hasn't a detonator."

  The men pried at the slim thing. It slid slowly toward the open port.One heave and it balanced on the edge, then vanished abruptly. The spraywas cold on their faces. They breathed heavily with the realization thatthey still lived.

  * * * * *

  There were days of horror that followed, horror tempered by a numbingparalysis of all emotions. There were bodies by thousands to be heapedin the pit where San Diego had stood, to be buried beneath countlesstons of debris and dirt. Trains brought an army of helpers; airplanescame with doctors and nurses and the beginning of a mountain ofsupplies. The need was there; it must be met. Yet the whole world waswaiting while it helped, waiting for the next blow to fall.

  Telegraph service was improvised, and radio receivers rushed in. Thenews of the world was theirs once more. And it told of a terri
fied,waiting world. There would be no temporizing now on the part of theinvaders. They had seen the airplanes swarming from the ground--theywould know an airdrome next time from the air. Thurston had noted thewindows in the great shell, windows of dull-colored glass which wouldprotect the darkness of the interior, essential to life for the horribleoccupant, but through which it could see. It could watch all directionsat once.

  * * * * *

  The great shell had vanished from the shore. Pounding waves and theshifting sands of high tide had obliterated all trace. More than oncehad Thurston uttered devout thanks for the chance shell from ananti-aircraft gun that had entered the funnel beneath the machine, hadbent and twisted the arrangement of mirrors that he and MacGregor hadseen, and, exploding, had cracked and broken the domed roof of thebulb. They had learned little, but MacGregor was up north within reachof Los Angeles laboratories. And he had with him the slim cylinder ofdeath. He was studying, thinking.

  Telephone service had been established for official business. The wholenation-wide system, for that matter, was under military control. TheSecretary of War had flown back to Washington. The whole world was on awar basis. War! And none knew where they should defend themselves, norhow.

  An orderly rushed Thurston to the telephone. "You are wanted at once;Los Angeles calling."

  The voice of MacGregor was cool and unhurried as Thurston listened."Grab a plane, old man," he was saying, "and come up here on the jump."

  The phrase brought a grim smile to Thurston's tired lips. "Hell'spopping!" the Secretary of War had added on that evening those long agesbefore. Did MacGregor have something? Was a different kind of hellpreparing to pop? The thoughts flashed through the listener's mind.

  "I need a good deputy," MacGregor said. "You may be the whole works--mayhave to carry on--but I'll tell you it all later. Meet me at theBiltmore."

  "In less than two hours," Thurston assured him.

  * * * * *

  A plane was at his disposal. Riley's legs were functioning again, aftera fashion. They kept the appointment with minutes to spare.

  "Come on," said MacGregor, "I'll talk to you in the car." The automobilewhirled them out of the city to race off upon a winding highway thatclimbed into far hills. There was twenty miles of this; MacGregor hadtime for his talk.

  "They've struck," he told the two men. "They were over Germanyyesterday. The news was kept quiet: I got the last report a half-hourago. They pretty well wiped out Berlin. No air-force there. France andEngland sent a swarm of planes, from the reports. Poor devils! No needto tell you what they got. We've seen it first hand. They headed westover the Atlantic, the four machines. Gave England a burst or two fromhigh up, paused over New York, then went on. But they're here somewhere,we think. Now listen:

  "How long was it from the time when you saw the first monster until weheard from them again?"

  * * * * *

  Thurston forced his mind back to those days that seemed so far in thepast. He tried to remember.

  "Four days," broke in Riley. "It was the fourth day after we found thedevil feeding."

  "Feeding!" interrupted the scientist. "That's the point I am making.Four days. Remember that!

  "And we knew they were down in the Argentine five days ago--that'sanother item kept from an hysterical public. They slaughtered somethousands of cattle; there were scores of them found where thedevils--I'll borrow Riley's word--where the devils had fed. Nothing leftbut hide and bones.

  "And--mark this--that was four days before they appeared over Berlin.

  "Why? Don't ask me. Do they have to lie quiet for that period miles upthere in space? God knows. Perhaps! These things seem outside theknowledge of a deity. But enough of that! Remember: four days! Let usassume that there is this four days waiting period. It will help us totime them. I'll come back to that later.

  "Here is what I have been doing. We know that light is a means ofattack. I believe that the detonators we saw on those bombs merelyopened a seal in the shell and forced in a flash of some sort. I believethat radiant energy is what fires the blast.

  "What is it that explodes? Nobody knows. We have opened the shell,working in the absolute blackness of a room a hundred feet underground.We found in it a powder--two powders, to be exact.

  "They are mixed. One is finely divided, the other rather granular. Theirspecific gravity is enormous, beyond anything known to physical scienceunless it would be the hypothetical neutron masses we think are incertain stars. But this is not matter as we know matter; it is somethingnew.

  * * * * *

  "Our theory is this: the hydrogen atom has been split, resolved intocomponents, not of electrons and the proton centers, but held at somehalfway point of decomposition. Matter composed only of neutrons wouldbe heavy beyond belief. This fits the theory in that respect. But thepoint is this: When these solids are formed--they are dense--theyrepresent in a cubic centimeter possibly a cubic mile of hydrogen gasunder normal pressure. That's a guess, but it will give you the idea.

  "Not compressed, you understand, but all the elements present in otherthan elemental form for the reconstruction of the atom ... for a millionbillions of atoms.

  "Then the light strikes it. These dense solids become instantly agas--miles of it held in that small space.

  "There you have it: the gas, the explosion, the entire absence ofheat--which is to say, its terrific cold--when it expands."

  Slim Riley was looking bewildered but game. "Sure, I saw it snow," heaffirmed, "so I guess the rest must be O.K. But what are we going to doabout it? You say light kills 'em, and fires their bombs. But how can welet light into those big steel shells, or the little ones either?"

  "Not through those thick walls," said MacGregor. "Not light. One of ouranti-aircraft shells made a direct hit. That might not happen again in amillion shots. But there are other forms of radiant energy that dopenetrate steel...."

  * * * * *

  The car had stopped beside a grove of eucalyptus. A barren, sun-bakedhillside stretched beyond. MacGregor motioned them to alight.

  Riley was afire with optimism. "And do you believe it?" he askedeagerly. "Do you believe that we've got 'em licked?"

  Thurston, too, looked into MacGregor's face: Riley was not the only onewho needed encouragement. But the gray eyes were suddenly tired andhopeless.

  "You ask what I believe," said the scientist slowly. "I believe we arewitnessing the end of the world, our world of humans, their struggles,their grave hopes and happiness and aspirations...."

  He was not looking at them. His gaze was far off in space.

  "Men will struggle and fight with their puny weapons, but these monsterswill win, and they will have their way with us. Then more of them willcome. The world, I believe, is doomed...."

  He straightened his shoulders. "But we can die fighting," he added, andpointed over the hill.

  "Over there," he said, "in the valley beyond, is a charge of theirexplosive and a little apparatus of mine. I intend to fire the chargefrom a distance of three hundred yards. I expect to be safe, perfectlysafe. But accidents happen.

  "In Washington a plane is being prepared. I have given instructionsthrough hours of phoning. They are working night and day. It willcontain a huge generator for producing my ray. Nothing new! Just theproduct of our knowledge of radiant energy up to date. But the man whoflies that plane will die--horribly. No time to experiment withprotection. The rays will destroy him, though he may live a month.

  "I am asking you," he told Cyrus Thurston, "to handle that plane. Youmay be of service to the world--you may find you are utterly powerless.You surely will die. But you know the machines and the monsters; yourknowledge may be of value in an attack." He waited. The silence lastedfor only a moment.

  "Why, sure," said Cyrus Thurston.

  * * * * *

  He looked at the eucalyptus
grove with earnest appraisal. The sun madelovely shadows among their stripped trunks: the world was a beautifulplace. A lingering death, MacGregor had intimated--and horrible...."Why, sure," he repeated steadily.

  Slim Riley shoved him firmly aside to stand facing MacGregor.

  "Sure, hell!" he said. "I'm your man, Mr. MacGregor.

  "What do you know about flying?" he asked Cyrus Thurston. "You'regood--for a beginner. But men like you two have got brains, and I'mthinkin' the world will be needin' them. Now me, all I'm good for isholdin' a shtick"--his brogue had returned to his speech, and wasevidence of his earnestness.

  "And, besides"--the smile faded from his lips, and his voice wassuddenly soft--"them boys we saw take their last flip was just pilots toyou, just a bunch of good fighters. Well, they're buddies of mine. Ifought beside some of them in France.... I belong!"

  He grinned happily at Thurston. "Besides," he said, "what do you knowabout dog-fights?"

  MacGregor gripped him by the hand. "You win," he said. "Report toWashington. The Secretary of War has all the dope."

  * * * * *

  He turned to Thurston. "Now for you! Get this! The enemy machines almostattacked New York. One of them came low, then went back, and the fourflashed out of sight toward the west. It is my belief that New York isnext, but the devils are hungry. The beast that attacked us wasravenous, remember. They need food and lots of it. You will hear oftheir feeding, and you can count on four days. Keep Rileyinformed--that's your job.

  "Now I'm going over the hill. If this experiment works, there's a chancewe can repeat it on a larger scale. No certainty, but a chance! I'll beback. Full instructions at the hotel in case...." He vanished into thescrub growth.

  "Not exactly encouraging," Thurston pondered, "but he's a good man, Mac,a good egg! Not as big a brain as the one we saw, but perhaps it's abetter one--cleaner--and it's working!"

  They were sheltered under the brow of the hill, but the blast from thevalley beyond rocked them like an earthquake. They rushed to the top ofthe knoll. MacGregor was standing in the valley; he waved them agreeting and shouted something unintelligible.

  The gas had mushroomed into a cloud of steamy vapor. From above camesnowflakes to whirl in the churning mass, then fall to the ground. Awind came howling about them to beat upon the cloud. It swirled slowlyback and down the valley. The figure of MacGregor vanished in itssmothering embrace.

  "Exit, MacGregor!" said Cyrus Thurston softly. He held tight to thestruggling figure of Slim Riley.

  "He couldn't live a minute in that atmosphere of hydrogen," heexplained. "They can--the devils!--but not a good egg like Mac. It's ourjob now--yours and mine."

  Slowly the gas retreated, lifted to permit their passage down the slope.

  * * * * *

  MacGregor was a good prophet. Thurston admitted that when, four dayslater, he stood on the roof of the Equitable Building in lower New York.

  The monsters had fed as predicted. Out in Wyoming a desolate area markedthe place of their meal, where a great herd of cattle lay smothered andfrozen. There were ranch houses, too, in the circle of destruction,their occupants frozen stiff as the carcasses that dotted the plains.The country had stood tense for the following blow. Only Thurston hadlived in certainty of a few days reprieve. And now had come the fourthday.

  In Washington was Riley. Thurston had been in touch with him frequently.

  "Sure, it's a crazy machine," the pilot had told him, "and 'tis not muchI think of it at all. Neither bullets nor guns, just this big glasscontraption and speed. She's fast, man, she's fast ... but it's littlehope I have." And Thurston, remembering the scientist's words, washeartless and sick with dreadful certainty.

  There were aircraft ready near New York; it was generally felt that herewas the next objective. The enemy had looked it over carefully. AndWashington, too, was guarded. The nation's capital must receive whatlittle help the aircraft could afford.

  There were other cities waiting for destruction. If not thistime--later! The horror hung over them all.

  * * * * *

  The fourth day! And Thurston was suddenly certain of the fate of NewYork. He hurried to a telephone. Of the Secretary of War he imploredassistance.

  "Send your planes," he begged. "Here's where we will get it next. SendRiley. Let's make a last stand--win or lose."

  "I'll give you a squadron," was the concession. "What difference whetherthey die there or here...?" The voice was that of a weary man, wearyand sleepless and hopeless.

  "Good-by Cy, old man!" The click of the receiver sounded in Thurston'sear. He returned to the roof for his vigil.

  To wait, to stride nervously back and forth in impotent expectancy. Hecould leave, go out into open country, but what were a few days ormonths--or a year--with this horror upon them? It was the end. MacGregorwas right. "Good old Mac!"

  There were airplanes roaring overhead. It meant.... Thurston abruptlywas cold; a chill gripped at his heart.

  The paroxysm passed. He was doubled with laughter--or was it he who waslaughing? He was suddenly buoyantly carefree. Who was he that itmattered? Cyrus Thurston--an ant! And their ant-hill was about to besnuffed out....

  He walked over to a waiting group and clapped one man on the shoulder."Well, how does it feel to be an ant?" he inquired and laughed loudly atthe jest. "You and your millions of dollars, your acres of factories,your steamships, railroads!"

  The man looked at him strangely and edged cautiously away. His eyes,like those of the others, had a dazed, stricken look. A woman wassobbing softly as she clung to her husband. From the streets far belowcame a quavering shrillness of sound.

  The planes gathered in climbing circles. Far on the horizon were fourtiny glinting specks....

  * * * * *

  Thurston stared until his eyes were stinging. He was walking in a wakingsleep as he made his way to the stone coping beyond which was the streetfar below. He was dead--dead!--right this minute. What were a fewminutes more or less? He could climb over the coping; none of thehuddled, fear-gripped group would stop him. He could step out into spaceand fool them, the devils. They could never kill him....

  What was it MacGregor had said? Good egg, MacGregor! "But we can diefighting...." Yes, that was it--die fighting. But he couldn't fight; hecould only wait. Well, what were the others doing, down there in thestreets--in their homes? He could wait with them, die with them....

  He straightened slowly and drew one long breath. He looked steadily andunafraid at the advancing specks. They were larger now. He could seetheir round forms. The planes were less noisy: they were far up in theheights--climbing--climbing.

  The bulbs came slantingly down. They were separating. Thurston wonderedvaguely.

  What had they done in Berlin? Yes, he remembered. Placed themselves atthe four corners of a great square and wiped out the whole city in oneexplosion. Four bombs dropped at the same instant while they shot up tosafety in the thin air. How did they communicate? Thought transference,most likely. Telepathy between those great brains, one to another. Aplane was falling. It curved and swooped in a trail of flame, then fellstraight toward the earth. They were fighting....

  * * * * *

  Thurston stared above. There were clusters of planes diving down from onhigh. Machine-guns stuttered faintly. "Machine-guns--toys! Brave, thatwas it! 'We can die fighting.'" His thoughts were far off; it was likelistening to another's mind.

  The air was filled with swelling clouds. He saw them before the blaststruck where he stood. The great building shuddered at the impact. Therewere things falling from the clouds, wrecks of planes, blazing andshattered. Still came others; he saw them faintly through the clouds.They came in from the West; they had gone far to gain altitude. Theydrove down from the heights--the enemy had drifted--they were over thebay.

  More clouds, and another blast thundering at the city. There werespeck
s, Thurston saw, falling into the water.

  Again the invaders came down from the heights where they had escapedtheir own shattering attack. There was the faint roar of motors behind,from the south. The squadron from Washington passed overhead.

  They surely had seen the fate that awaited. And they drove on to theattack, to strike at an enemy that shot instantly into the sky leavingcrashing destruction about the torn dead.

  "Now!" said Cyrus Thurston aloud.

  * * * * *

  The big bulbs were back. They floated easily in the air, a plume ofvapor billowing beneath. They were ranging to the four corners of agreat square.

  One plane only was left, coming in from the south, a lone straggler,late for the fray. One plane! Thurston's shoulders sagged heavily. Allthey had left! It went swiftly overhead.... It was fast--fast. Thurstonsuddenly knew. It was Riley in that plane.

  "Go back, you fool!"--he was screaming at the top of hisvoice--"Back--back--you poor, damned, decent Irishman!"

  Tears were streaming down his face. "His buddies," Riley had said. Andthis was Riley, driving swiftly in, alone, to avenge them....

  He saw dimly as the swift plane sped over the first bulb, on and overthe second. The soft roar of gas from the machines drowned the sound ofhis engine. The plane passed them in silence to bank sharply toward thethird corner of the forming square.

  He was looking them over, Thurston thought. And the damn beastsdisregarded so contemptible an opponent. He could still leave. "ForGod's sake, Riley, beat it--escape!"

  Thurston's mind was solely on the fate of the lone voyager--until theimpossible was borne in upon him.

  The square was disrupted. Three great bulbs were now drifting. The windwas carrying them out toward the bay. They were coming down in a long,smooth descent. The plane shot like a winged rocket at the fourth great,shining ball. To the watcher, aghast with sudden hope, it seemed barelyto crawl.

  "The ray! The ray...." Thurston saw as if straining eyes had piercedthrough the distance to see the invisible. He saw from below the swiftplane, the streaming, intangible ray. That was why Riley had flownclosely past and above them--the ray poured from below. His throat waschoking him, strangling....

  * * * * *

  The last enemy took alarm. Had it seen the slow sinking of itscompanions, failed to hear them in reply to his mental call? The shiningpear shape shot violently upward; the attacking plane rolled to avertical bank as it missed the threatening clouds of exhaust. "What doyou know about dog-fights?" And Riley had grinned ... Riley belonged!

  The bulb swelled before Thurston's eyes in its swift descent. It cantedto one side to head off the struggling plane that could never escape,did not try to escape. The steady wings held true upon their straightcourse. From above came the silver meteor; it seemed striking at thevery plane itself. It was almost upon it before it belched forth thecushioning blast of gas.

  Through the forming clouds a plane bored in swiftly. It rolled slowly,was flying upside down. It was under the enemy! Its ray.... Thurston wasthrown a score of feet away to crash helpless into the stone coping bythe thunderous crash of the explosion.

  There were fragments falling from a dense cloud--fragments of curved andsilvery metal ... the wing of a plane danced and fluttered in theair....

  "He fired its bombs," whispered Thurston in a shaking voice. "He killedthe other devils where they lay--he destroyed this with its ownexplosive. He flew upside down to shoot up with the ray, to set off itsshells...."

  His mind was fumbling with the miracle of it. "Clever pilot, Riley, in adog-fight...." And then he realized.

  Cyrus Thurston, millionaire sportsman, sank slowly, numbly to the roofof the Equitable Building that still stood. And New York was still there... and the whole world....

  He sobbed weakly, brokenly. Through his dazed brain flashed a sudden,mind-saving thought. He laughed foolishly through his sobs.

  "And you said he'd die horribly, Mac, a horrible death." His headdropped upon his arms, unconscious--and safe--with the rest ofhumanity.

  * * * * *