by Various
The Death-Cloud
_By Nat Schachner and Arthur L. Zagat_
_Someone at a huge switchboard turned toward me. Ipressed the trigger._]
[Sidenote: The epic exploit of one who worked in the dark and alone,behind the enemy lines, in the great Last War.]
We sat, Eric Bolton and I, at a parapet table atop the 200-storyGeneral Aviation Building. The efficient robot waiter of the Sky Clubhad cleared away the remnants of an epicurean meal. Only a bowl ofgolden fruit remained--globes of nectar picked in the citrus groves ofCalifornia that morning.
My eye wandered over the scene spread before us, the vast piling ofmasonry that is New York. The dying beams of the setting sun glintedgolden from the roofs of the pleasure palaces topping the soaringstructures. Lower, amid interlacing archings of the mid-airthoroughfares, darkness had already piled its blackness. Two thousandfeet below, in the region of perpetual night, the green-blue factorylights flared.
On three sides, the unbroken serration of the Empire City's beehivesstretched in a semicircle of twenty miles radius. Long since, therivers that had made old Manhattan an island had been roofed over.But, to the east, the heaving sea still stretched its green expanse.On the horizon a vast cloud mountain billowed upward from the waterysurface, white, and pink and many shades of violet.
"That's just the way it looked," Bolton muttered, as he drew myattention to the cloud mass. "See that air-liner just diving into it?Just so I saw the _New York_--five thousand men--pride of the AirService--dive into that mountain of smoke. And she never came out!Gone--like that!" And he snapped his fingers.
He fell silent again, gazing dreamily at the drifting rings of pipesmoke. He smiled, the twisted smile which was the sole indication thatone side of his face was the master work of a great surgeon-sculptor.A marvelous piece of work, that, but no less marvelous than theprotean changes that Bolton himself could make in his appearance. Itwas this genius at impersonation that had won Bolton his commission inthe Intelligence Service, when, in 1992, the world burst into flame.
"Would you like to hear about it?" The obtuseness of the man!
"If you'd care to tell me." I spoke off-handedly. This was likehunting birds on the wing: too abrupt a movement of the glider, andthe game was lost.
This is the story he told me, in the low, modulated voice of thetrained actor. He told it simply, with no dramatic tricks, nostressing, no climatic crescendos. But I saw the scenes he described,dodged with him through black caverns of dread, felt an icy handclutch my heart as the Ferret stared at me with his baleful glance;was deafened, and stunned, and crushed by that final tremendous downpouring of the waters.
* * * * *
I was standing--he began--on one of our rafts, watching theinstallation of a new ray machine. A storm was raging, but the greatraft, a thousand feet long, and five hundred wide, was as steady as arock. We were 700 miles out; the great push of '92, that drove us backto within 150 miles of our coast and almost ended the war, was stilleleven weeks off.
Suddenly the buzzer of my radio-receiver whirred against my chest."2--6--4"--my personal call. "2--2"--"Go to nearest communicationsbooth." "A--4"--"Use Intelligence Service intermitter 4." The secretof that was known only to a half-dozen men in the field. Headquarterswanted to talk to me on a supremely important matter.
There was a booth only a short distance away. I stepped to it andidentified myself to the guard. In a moment I was within and had swungshut and sealed the sound-proof door. I set the intermitter switchesto the A--4 combination. Not even our own control officers couldeavesdrop now. Then I switched off the light, and waited.
A green glow grew out of the darkness. I was being inspected.Headquarters was taking no chances. Out of the green haze before methe general himself materialized. I could count every hair in hisgrizzled beard. The little scar at the corner of his left eyefascinated me with its distinctness.
I saluted. "Captain Bolton reporting, sir."
"At ease!" General Sommers' voice snapped with military precision. Thegeneral was standing in his private office in Washington. I could seehis desk in the corner, and the great operations map on the wall.There were new lines of worry in the general's grim face.
* * * * *
He went straight to the point. "Captain Bolton, we are confronted witha problem that must be solved at once. While our information ismeagre, the Staff is convinced that a great danger menaces us. Of itsprecise nature, or how it is to be combatted, we are unaware. I amassigning you to secure the answer to these two questions.
"A week ago there appeared, ten miles east of the enemies' first line,and directly opposite our raft 1264, what seemed at first to be merelya peculiar cloud formation. It rose directly from the surface of thewater, and was shaped roughly like half an egg. The greatestdimension, lying along the water, parallel to the battle line, wasabout 5 miles; the height approximately a mile.
"When two or three days had passed, and no change in the shape ordimensions of the strange mass had taken place, although wind andweather conditions had been varied, we determined to investigate. Thiswas undoubtedly an artificial, not a natural, phenomenon. It was thenthat we discovered that there was a concentration of defenses alongthis portion of the front. Our scouts were unable to find any of theusual gaps in either the ray network in the upper air, or thegyro-knife barrier beneath the surface. At the same time, fromscouting parties and deserters at other points we learned that rumorsare rife throughout the enemy forces of some scheme now on foot thatwill overwhelm us within a very short time. No details have beengiven, but so widespread is the gossip, and so consistent, that wehave been forced to the conclusion that it cannot be reasonablydismissed as mere morale-supporting propaganda.
"We have secretly developed a method of so equipping aircraft as torender them immune to the enemy death ray. The device is complicatedand requires time to manufacture and install. After carefulconsideration, we decided that the situation was sufficiently grave towarrant revealing to the enemy our possession of this new device.
"The battle-airship _New York_ has been equipped with the newprotective equipment. To-morrow at sunrise she will make an attack inforce on whatever lies behind that screen.
"Your orders are these. You will proceed at once to raft 1264. Youwill observe the attack made by the _New York_. If she fails, you willthen find some way to enter that area, discover what is going onbehind the screen, hamper or destroy the enemy plans if possible andreport back to me personally."
* * * * *
The general's face suddenly softened. His tones lost their militaryprecision. "I am afraid, Captain, that I am sending you to your death.But--we must know what is going on. If the _New York_ fails, the taskwill appear impossible, but you have already done the impossible."
The grim mask dropped again over the chief's features; again he becamethe perfect military machine. "You will call on any officer of ourforces for whatever you may need. Here is your authority." He steppedaside, and I heard the low burr of the tel-autograph at the side ofthe screen before me. A moment, and the general was again visible.
"That will be all." Once more the momentary softening. "Good luck, myboy." A final exchange of salutes, and the screen went blank.
I switched on the light. There in the little machine was a slip ofpaper. I extracted it. The lines of type, the scrawled signature,burned into my brain like letters of fire.
"To: All Officers of the Military Forces of the Americas.
Subject: Military Assistance. Eric Bolton, Captain M.I.S., M.F.A. is authorized to call upon you for any assistance. You will comply with his requests.
Alton Sommers, Lieut. General Commanding M.I.S., M.F.A.
By authority of the Commander in Chief."
In the corner appeared my thumb-print.
I stood there for a long time, mulling the thing over. The Staff waslaying tremendous stress on the enemy's strange
cloud formation, evento the extent of disclosing the secret of the new defensive device.The Easterners, too, had something novel, something that would cut offabsolutely the transmission of ether waves. Nothing either side hadyet produced would do that. What was happening behind that screen?Would they break through our defenses at last?
A vision arose before me. Hordes of yellow men, of black, of whiterenegades from the nations where the red flag waved dominant, pouringover the Americas. The horrors that Britain had undergone, the lastEuropean nation to hold out against the Red horde, flashed into mymind. I shuddered. Never. It must not be.
* * * * *
I was hurled from my feet by an electric shock. A great flood ofsunlight burst in on me. A corner of the booth, three-foot concrete,had been sheared away, whiffed into nothingness! I arose and dashedinto the open. A raid was in progress. The air was electric with theclashing of opposing barrages. The terrible silence of the pitchedbattles of that war oppressed me. I saw a squad, caught in the beam ofan Eastern ray-projector, destroyed. The end man must have been juston the edge of the beams--half his right side lay twitching on theground. The rest of him, and the seven others, were smoking heaps ofblackened cinders.
High over No Man's Land--queer how those old phrases last--a covey ofenemy helicopters hung, waiting for the barrage to lift. A black hulkbroke the surface of the water, split open: then another. Enemysub-surface craft. The fight was being waged under water, too. A greenmass spilled its contents as it leaped over the waves and fell back.One of ours.
A huge buzzing came from behind me. A cloud of wasplike forms flewhigh overhead. It was reserve aircraft, hurrying up from the secondline raft, ten miles west.
But this was no affair of mine. I had my orders. I must be in theNorth Atlantic by daybreak. I looked around. There at the further edgemy little Zephyr rested, intact. I hurried to her and sprang into thecockpit. I was off the coast of Chile. Twelve thousand feet wouldclear the highest range between. I set the height control. Today youdon't have to do that, but Mason hadn't perfected his automaticelevator then. The starting indicator was already set for my position.I adjusted the direction disk. The little green light showed that thepower broadcast was in operation. I snapped over the starting switchand the whir of the helicopter vanes overhead told me all was well.The machine leaped into the air. Nothing to do now till the warningbell told me I was within a hundred miles of my destination. Thebattle shot away from me, far below.
Darkness came swiftly. I was shooting into the eye of the sun at threehundred miles an hour. I swallowed a few pellets of concentrated food,then curled up in my bunk. There was no knowing how many hours wouldpass till I slept again.
I fell asleep at once.
* * * * *
The strident clamor of the alarm bell woke me. Dawn was just breaking.Far below me I could make out the heaving Atlantic, calm and peaceful.A long line of the huge second-line rafts just underneath, stretchingnorth and south till it curved over the horizon. A bugle's clear notescame drifting up to me, reveille. Then I was hovering over my goal,raft 1264. The black rectangle was alive with activity unwonted atthis early hour. I took over the controls from the mechanical pilot,sent my recognition signal and drifted downward.
The Zephyr settled on the raft with a soft hiss of the compressed airshock absorbers. A guard came hurrying up. My credentials passed upon,I alighted. Momentarily, it was getting brighter. I was just in time.
I looked eastward, toward the enemy rafts. Beyond them, there it was,just as General Sommers had described it--a mountain of vapor,gleaming white in the gathering light. Not at all disquieting; merelya shifting, billowing cloud mass. Rather pretty. The rest of the skywas clear, unspecked.
As I gazed a line of red fire ran around the edge of the cloud. Aviolet glow suffused the whole, faded swiftly into pink. The sun wasrising. Behind me I heard a huge whirring. Turning, I saw her, justrising, all the beautiful trim length of her. The _New York_! Pride ofour air fleet!
Fifty paces to my right a little knot of officers caught my attention.I recognized Jim Bradley. I remembered, someone had told me he was amajor, and was commanding a raft. Good. Jim would work with me as hehad in the old days at Stanford U., when I coached the air polo teamthat he captained. I walked over.
Time for only a hurried handclasp. The signal corps sergeant,earphones clamped to his head, was intoning the airship's messages."We have reached the thousand-foot level. Will now head for theobjective. All well."
We watched her. She was through our barrage-line. A snapped order fromJim restored the barrier, momentarily lifted to let her pass. Acurious shimmering blurred the ship's outlines. I called Jim'sattention to it. "That's the new device, a network of fine wires,charged with neutralising vibrations. Worked like a charm in thetests. But there's no telling how effective it is in actual service."
* * * * *
A cold shiver ran up my spine. Many a fine ship I had seen strike thatinvisible network of rays, and puff into smoke. Was that to be the_New York's_ fate?
"We are about to pass through the enemy barrage. All well," came thesergeant's unemotional monotone, repeating the voice in his ears. Iknew that voice was being listened to in Washington by a little groupwhose every shoulder bore the stars of high command. My thoughtsflashed to them, gazing breathless at the screen that imaged the veryscene before us.
My breath stopped. Now! She must be in it now. The next second wouldtell the tale. A faint coruscation of sparks ran along the network,but the craft kept steadily onward. Thank God!
"We have passed through the enemy first-line barrage. All well."
A faint whistling of released breath came from all about me. I was notthe only one who had agonised at that moment. The first test had beenpassed; would the other be as successful?
"We are increasing our speed to the maximum. Objective dead ahead. Allwell."
I saw the ship fairly leap through the sky. Five hundred miles anhour was her greatest speed. Another moment--
"We are entering the cloud. Bow is invisible. All--"
She was in it. She lurched. Plunged forward. She was hidden. I turnedto the sergeant. Tremendous concentration was on his bronzed face. Hereached out, twirled a dial in the set before him, and shook his headslightly. Twirled again. We were knotted around him, our facesbloodless. He looked up. "The last sentence was cut off sharp, sir. Ican hear nothing more. Even the carrier wave is dead."
Jim ripped out an oath, snatched the phones, and clamped them over hisown ears. Dead silence.
At last he looked up. "Nothing, gentlemen."
* * * * *
We looked at each other, appalled.
Bradley handed the apparatus back to the sergeant. "Remain here,listening carefully. Let me know at once if you hear anything." Thesergeant saluted.
Out there the white cloud billowed and gleamed in the sunlight. Butthere was something ominous in its calm beauty now.
A thought struck me. I spoke, and my voice sounded flat, dead."Perhaps it's only the radio waves that are cut off. Maybe she's allright, fighting there inside, smashing them." But I knew that it wasall over.
"God, I hope you're right. Five thousand men aboard her." Bradley'slips were white, his hands trembling. "Come to my office, Eric; we'llwait there. To your posts, gentlemen. Each of you will detail a man towatch that cloud bank, and report to me any change in its appearance,even the slightest."
We walked back to the concrete command-post. We didn't talk, though ithad been years since we had seen each other. My brain was numbed, Iknow. I had seen plenty of fighting, watched many a man go to hisdeath in the seven months since the war began. But this, somehow, wasdifferent.
An hour passed. Jim busied himself with routine paper work. At leasthe had that relief. I paced about his tiny office. Already I wasmaking plans. Force had failed. Strategy must take its place. I mustget in there. But how?
B
radley looked up from his work, his face grim. "No news, Eric. If youwere right we should have heard something from the _New York_ by thistime. They're gone, all right."
"Yes, they're gone," I answered. "It's up to me, then."
* * * * *
He stared in surprise. "Up to you? What do you mean?"
"Just that. I'm going in there, God helping." I made sure the room wasshut tight against eavesdroppers. Then, briefly as I could, I told himof my orders, showing him the document I had received the day before.He shook his head.
"But it's impossible. Their ray network, and the undersea barrier,are absolutely solid here. I don't think even a mouse could getthrough. And even if you did get behind their lines, how on earth areyou going to get into the area underneath that devilish cloud. You sawwhat happened to the _New York_, protected as she was."
"Yes. I know all that. Nevertheless it's got to be done." Just then Igot the glimmering of an idea. "Tell me, Jim, are they doing muchscouting here. Undersea, I mean."
"The usual one-man shell, radio-propelled. We get one once in a while.Most of them, however, even if we do smash them, are pulled back onthe wave before we can grab them. It's a bit easier than most places,though: our depth's only about six hundred feet."
"What! Why, I thought the bottom averaged three thousand all alongthe line."
"It does. But what would be a mountain ridge, if this were dry land,runs out from the mainland. We're over a big plateau here. It goes oneast another twenty-five miles, or so. See, here's the chart."
A warning bell seemed to ring somewhere within me. Had this peculiarformation of the ocean bed anything to do with the problem at hand?But I kept to the immediate step. My plan was rapidly taking shape inmy mind.
"What are the scouts--black, yellow, or--"
"Russians, mostly."
"Good. Now listen, Jim. Send down word that the next scout-sub that iscaught is not to be ripped, but simply held against the attraction ofthe return wave. The television eye is to be smashed at once, andradio communication jammed. Can you do it as if something had happenedto the shell?"
"Sure thing, but what's the big idea?"
"You'll see. I've worked the thing out now."
Just then a red light on Bradley's desk winked three times. "There'sone between the lines now!" he exclaimed.
"Quick, man, shoot my orders down."
He pressed a yellow button and spoke quietly but emphatically into amouth piece. "O.K. They understand."
"Now take me down."
He looked at me as if I had taken leave of my senses, but complied.
* * * * *
The door of the elevator that lowered us from the surface clangedopen. We stepped out on a balcony that ran around a large, steel-linedroom. The walls were dripping, and on the floor, twenty feet beneath,a black pool sloshed about with the heaving of the raft, in whoseinterior we were. Rubber-clad soldiers moved about in the blue glow ofthe globes sending down their heatless light from the ceiling. One satat a desk near the elevator. As I spied him a green light glowed infront of him twice.
"They've got him, sir, bringing him in."
A low-toned order. The soldiers sprang to their post. A whirringsignal. At the other end of the room the steel wall began to moveupward, and water rushed in. A tremendous vibration shook the chamber:a ponderous thudding. The water rose to the level of the balcony andstopped. I looked at Bradley.
"We're beneath the surface, aren't we?" I asked. "How is it that thewater doesn't fill the room?"
"Pumps," he replied. "Tremendous pumps that draw the water out just asfast as it comes in, and shoot it out again into the sea. We canmaintain any desired level in here."
Then I noticed that the black flood was rushing by beneath me at aterrific rate.
Something bulked in the opening. Two tiny subs drew in, a black and agreen. The steel wall rushed down again, and the vibration ceased.From the green craft heavy grapples extended, clutching the black,enemy scout. I saw a gaping hole in the black boat's nose, where itseye had been smashed.
Men were clambering over both vessels' hulls, tugging at the hatchwayfastenings. The black one flew open. I leaped to the deck. Bradleyafter me, and jumped down into the hold.
In the little cubby-hole that was all the machinery left space for, apale-faced form in green-gray crouched against the wall. His eyesstared in fear. A Russian, praise be. And not far from my size andbuild.
"Off with his clothes, quick!" I yelled, stripping mine as I spoke.Bradley looked at me queerly, and shrugged his shoulders. "Quick, man!Everything depends on speed!"
He shook his head, as one who listens to the vaporings of an imbecile,but turned to obey. I was standing there--naked, studying theEasterner's face, his body. No scars. Good.
* * * * *
Jim turned to me, the prisoner's clothing in his hands. An exclamationburst from him. He looked back at the trembling Russ, then at me. "MyGod, Eric, how did you do it?" he asked.
I smiled. "All right, is it?"
"You're his twin; no, you're himself! If I'd had a drink to-day I'd besure I was seeing double. How on earth--you had no make-up, no time--"
I was sliding into the Red's gear as I talked! "I've trained all thelittle muscles in my face--muscles you others don't even know youhave. Started when I was a kid, then made a good living at it, acting.Comes in handy now, damn handy. I can make anything of my face, andhold it forever if I have to. Chink, Russ--anything. Distort my limbstoo, and change my voice. That won't be necessary now. Simple, but ittakes a lot of practice."
I was dressed by then, a counterpart of the enemy officer--I hoped. IfI wasn't--well, I wouldn't live much longer.
"Now, out with the Russ and my clothes. Don't leave a bit, if youvalue my life."
A light of comprehension illumined Jim's face. "You're going to passyourself off as this man? You've got your nerve with you!" heexclaimed.
"Exactly." The cubby-hole was clear now. "Now take that spanner, andbang me over the head. Not too hard; I don't want a cracked skull,only a splashed scalp. Then pile me where it will seem I crashedagainst a projection of some kind when the grapples took hold. Thatbunk edge will do. Batten the hatch, and cast off the grapples. I hopetheir automatic control is still working, otherwise my scheme'sgaflooey."
Jim stuck out his great paw. "Good luck, Eric," he said, simply. Thenhe clutched the spanner. I saw it go over my head....
* * * * *
Voices around me, harsh, guttural voices. Russian! By the Nine Dogs ofWar, I had pulled it off! But what were they saying? I was inside thelines, but was my deception successful? Or had my face relaxed withthe shock of the blow? I thanked my Russian grandmother then for allthe time she had spent teaching me her mother tongue.
"_Boszhe moi_, the poor fellow must have had an awful smash. He hasn'tcome to yet."
"The doctor will be here in a minute. He'll revive him."
I breathed a prayer of gratitude. They didn't suspect! But I didn'tlike this doctor business. Well, I'd have to stall through that asbest I could.
I seemed to be lying on hard rock. I opened my eyes, staring blankly,straight up. A bearded face was bending over me, the captain's crossedsickles on the shoulder straps just within my vision. Behind, andabove him, towering straight up--my God!--what was it? A green wall, avertical green wall, going up and up! It looked like--but no: howcould water stand straight up like that, for hundreds of feet?
I almost betrayed myself with a gasp! A dim bulk showed in thetranslucent depths of the wall. It rushed toward me, took form. Afish, a huge, blind fish, its cavernous mouth stretched wide. It camestraight for me, just above. In a second it would leap through. Ascream of terror trembled in my throat. Then it hit the edge of thetranslucent green wall--and vanished! Was I dreaming? Had Jim hit metoo hard?
Something stirred in the back of my mind. I sensed dimly that here laythe explanation of
the disappearance of the _New York_, the verymystery that I had come to solve. Almost I had it; then it slippedaway.
* * * * *
"Here's the doctor!" someone said. There was a little stir of activityabout me. I allowed my eyes to close, as if in utter weariness.
"What's all this? What have you got here?" A gruff voice, intolerant.
"One of our sub-sea scouts, sir. Just come back, after some delay. Hereye was smashed, and there are grapple marks on her. Must have beencaught, and then slipped away. She was leaking badly. We got herthrough the lock just in time." Jim had evidently added a few touchesof his own. "Comrade Pauloff seems to have been seriously injured.He's got a bad cut on his scalp, and was unconscious till a momentago. Opened his eyes just as you came along."
"Hm. Let's see." I felt a none too gentle hand finger my wound. Itthrobbed maddeningly. The doctor spoke again. "A nasty crack, but nofracture. Here, you--wake up." I made no move. "Come on, wake up!" Iheard the plop of a cork being drawn from a bottle; a pungent odorassailed my nostrils, choked me. I writhed, pulled at the hand holdingthe bottle to my nose and opened my eyes.
"That's better. How do you feel now?"
I raised a hand to my injury and muttered, in Russian. "Hurts,papashka." I kept my expression as blank, as uncomprehending, as Icould.
The doctor flashed an understanding glance at the captain, then turnedback to me. "What's your name?"
Memories of my grandmother's tales of her youth came flooding back tome. "Pavel, son of Pauloff."
It was the formula of the Russian student, in his teens.
"Your rank?"
"Second year. Petrovski Gymnasium."
The physician turned away. "No use bothering him now. A clear case ofamnesia.
"He's been thrown back to his high school days. I've had a number ofcases like that among your scouts lately." Blessed inspiration! "Onlycure is rest. Get him over to the infirmary. We'll evacuate him to abase hospital to-morrow."
* * * * *
I was in a cool white bed, in a low ceilinged room, white painted.There were other beds, vacant. A uniformed male nurse puttered around.There was an elusive green tinge to the light that poured in throughthe one window.
The door opened and a sergeant came in. "Comrade Alexis!"
"Well, what is it now? Have they found another gold-bricking officerto mess up my clean beds?"
"A party from corps headquarters will be here in fifteen minutes forinspection."
"Let them come. They won't find any specks of rust on my instruments,like they did on Comrade Borisoff's."
"They'd better not. You know what happened to him."
"Yeah. Chucked into the ray. Well, he didn't give the burial squad anywork." And the two laughed, a laugh that had more than a hint ofsadistic cruelty in it. "If I had my way," the nurse went on, "I'd dothe same with all these nuts that come back from the scout shipsraving of home and mother. It's my idea that they're all bluffing.It's a good way to be shipped to the rear, where the captured damesare. Say, did I tell you about the last time I was on leave--"
The two whispered, their heads close together. My brain was workingfrantically. Things had gone well so far, but I had to get out of herebefore the morning, or I'd be sent to the base and lose all that I hadgained by my daring.
The door snapped open. "_Smirnow!_" (Atten-_shun!_)
* * * * *
I was on my side, facing away from the wall. I remained so, staringblankly across the room. I hoped the inspection would be over quickly.The fewer the enemy officers I had looking me over, the better.Someone back there was snapping questions. That voice--where had Iheard it before?
"Your patient. What's his trouble?"
"Amnesia, sir. One of the scouts."
"Oh, yes. Let's look at him."
Someone was walking across the room, then standing above me. His handwas just at the level of my eyes--a hand with the little fingertwisted queerly into the palm. I knew that hand: it was the_Ferret's_! A cold shiver ran up my back. I almost stopped breathing.
Of all the infernal luck in the world, to have the Ferret walk inhere! He was chief of the Red's Intelligence Service, the shrewdest,sharpest, cruelest of them all. Many of our best men had gone westbecause of his uncanny instinct for piercing disguise. They said hecould _smell_ an American. And many of our most strictly guarded planshad been smashed through his infernally clever spying. Only a monthbefore I had him in my clutches; saw the very rope around his neck.But he had slipped away, and left me empty-handed and kicking myselffor an ass.
I held my breath as I felt those gimlet eyes of his boring into me.Would he sense who I was? Surely he could hear the pounding of myheart. How long he stood there I don't know. It seemed like hours. Itautened, waiting for him to call out, determined to sell my life asdearly as I could.
But for once the Ferret was fooled. He turned away. "Take us into yourkitchen," he snapped at the nurse, then there was the tramping of feetand the slamming of a door.
* * * * *
The breath whistled from me in relief. I turned cautiously. I wasalone. Now was my chance. I jumped from the bed and started toward thewindow. Once out, I'd find some place to hide. I let my face relax;there was no use for that particular disguise any longer. The windowwas up. I was on the sill. Another second and I'd be out in the open.
"Just where do you think you're going?" came the Ferret's silky, cruelvoice. I whirled. There he was, just inside the door. His little blackeyes glinted dangerously over his hooked nose and sharp chin.
"Oh--Bolton! Something made me turn back. Glad to see you."
His hand flashed to the ray-tube in his belt. At the same moment Ileft the window sill in a desperate leap. Clear across the room Isprang, and before he had time to pull his weapon I had one handclamped around his wrist, the other clutching his throat. We crashedto the ground.
I was in pyjamas, barefooted, he fully clothed. His leather shoesdrove into me viciously, even as his face turned purple. The pain wasexcruciating, but I dared not cry out. His left thumb found my eye,was digging in.
The crash of our fall must have been heard outside; another moment andall would be lost. I was momentarily on top as we rolled across thefloor. With a supreme effort I pulled his head away from the floor,then crashed it down. He slumped; lay still.
The door knob was turning as I jumped frantically through the window.I heard a cry behind me. Rough, uneven ground. No one about. To myright was a rocky cliff, and at its base what looked like the mouth ofa cave. Any port in a storm: I dived into it.
It was a cave, all right, or rather a narrow tunnel winding somedistance into the cliff. I ran back at top speed, till I crashed intothe end of the passage.
* * * * *
I crouched there, panting. It was beastly cold, and the dampnessstruck into my bones. I shivered, then laughed grimly. I wouldn'tshiver long. When the Ferret came to and revealed that Eric Bolton wasaround, there wouldn't be a stone left unturned till I was found.Those birds had good cause to want me rubbed out.
Already I could hear faint shouts from without. The chase was on. Iwas caught, right enough. Trapped like any rat.
I felt around me in the darkness and my hand lighted on a round stone.It just fitted my fist. Well, I'd get one of them, anyway, when theyfound me. Cold comfort in that, but I didn't feel like giving intamely.
Footsteps sounded out at the tunnel end. So soon! I gripped my rocktightly, and waited.
But--it sounded like only one man. I drew myself together. Maybe I hada chance. A dim glow showed where the passage curved, then a disk oflight flashed on the wall and flitted about. The fool!
The steps came on, slowly, stumblingly. The disk of light grewsmaller as its source drew nearer. Then he was around the corner,bulked for a moment against his own light as it was reflected from thewet wall. That moment was enough! The stone left
my hand with all theforce I possessed. It went straight to its mark: a sickening thud toldme that. The form dropped, and the flashlight clinked on the rocks.
I listened. Still the shouts from without, but no steps inside. I wassafe for a time. But the searcher would surely be missed, and otherswould come looking for him. I had only one chance. I shrugged myshoulders. I couldn't lose anything. If I stayed here my goose wascooked.
By the light of the flashlight I examined my quarry. A renegadeFrenchman, apparently. A private. In a trice I had his uniform on meand had twisted my features to match his. Little did I think when Iacted under the Klieg lights that the fate of two continents wouldsome day depend on this gift of mine.
He stirred; groaned. I hesitated. Then--well, I couldn't chance hiscrawling out. His ray-tube was newly charged. I left a heap of ashesthere as I walked away....
* * * * *
I was outside the cave. I darted a glance around. My refuge was notthe only hole in sheer rock; it was literally honeycombed. From one,then another of the cavern mouths a soldier emerged. Each strodeacross the uneven, rocky plain to where an officer stood with what wasapparently a map in his hand. As each searcher saluted and reported,the officer made a mark on the map. Someone came out from thecave-mouth next to mine. I fell in behind him.
"No one in cave twenty-one, sir."
"To your post."
The private turned on his heel and marched off to take his place in acompany formation that was rapidly taking shape near by. My turn wasnext. What was the number of my cave? A mistake now, and I wasthrough.
I saluted. "No one in cave twenty, sir."
"To your post."
Had I hit it? When the final check-up came would there be two reportsfor one cave, none for another?
A front rank man moved aside. Good: that meant my place was justbehind him. My luck was holding. And never did a man need luck more!
Now was my first chance to look about, to discover what sort of placethis was. It was an oval plain, roughly a mile wide by five mileslong. Buildings, squat structures of corrugated iron, were scatteredhere and there. In the distance, to my left, what seemed a great holein the ground glowed; a huge disk of light.
Dry land, here, where there should be nothing but a waste of waters!
* * * * *
Puzzled, I strained to see what bordered the plain. It was a tallcliff, running all around, and towering high in the air. But it wasn'trock, for it glowed strangely green in the flood of light thatillumined the place. And it was clean cut, rising sheer from theunevenness of the ground.
Then I remembered. The vertical green wall that soared above me as Ilay dazed from Jim's blow. The translucent green wall in whose depthsI had seen the blind fish rushing toward me. Water! The sea!Impossible! There were scientific miracle-workers in the enemy'sranks, but they couldn't have hollowed out a pit such as this inmid-ocean; forced back the very ocean to create this amphitheatre,this dry plain on the Atlantic's very bottom: held back theunthinkable weight of Earth's waters by a nothingness. Incredible!
Yet the accomplished fact stared me in the face.
My eyes traveled up that impossible wall. It must have been at leastsix hundred feet high. At its summit, in a murky haze that heaved andbillowed, I made out strange, dim bulks that hung, unsupported. A longline of them, a long ellipse following closely the curving of thecliff. Underneath the nearest, barely perceptible, I could make out alens-shaped cage of wire. I began to understand.
Overarching everything was a great dome of heaving cloud.
"_Smirn-ow!_"
The long line snapped into immobility.
"By the left flank, march!"
We were moving, marching. Then my ruse had succeeded. I had chosen theright cave number. I breathed a sigh of relief.
* * * * *
The command for route order was given, and at once a buzz of talkbroke out around me. "Damn them, they're sending us right off to work!We missed our mess, hunting for that damned spy. But that don't meananything. It's back to the tunnel for ours."
"Oh, quit your bellyaching, Andreyeff. Another week, and we'll be inNew York. Just think of it, the richest city in the world to loot! Andwomen! Why, they tell me the American women are to the Frenchies andthe cold English-women as the sun is to the stars. What's a meal moreor less when you think of that?"
An obscene laugh swept through the ranks. Guttural voices boasted ofpast exploits--black deeds and sadistic cruelties that had marked thetrail of the hordes sweeping over Europe from the windy Asiaticsteppes.
As we marched, I noticed a peculiarity of the rocky floor. There wereno sharp edges, no sudden cleavages in the uneven terrain. It looked,for all the world, as though the stone had been melted, then frozenagain in a moment. An unbelievable pattern was forming itself in mymind. If what I thought were true--!
The command came to halt.
We had reached the blazing disk I had seen from afar. It was atremendous shaft, dropping straight into the very bowels of the earth.Two hundred feet across, a blinding glare streamed up from the pit.From far beneath came shoutings, the clank of machinery, a growlingroar.
Other companies marched up and halted at the pit edge. My outfit werewhites--Russians, French, Germans. But the others were black, brown,yellow--all the motley aggregation of races that formed the Redcohorts, the backbone of the Great Uprising. As the "At ease" ordersnapped out a babel of tongues rose on the air. Every language ofEarth was there save English. The Anglo-Saxons had chosen tortureddeath rather than submission to the commands of their conquerors.
A huge platform rose slowly up in the shaft and came to a stop at theground level. It was solidly packed with another throng of soldiers inthe gray-green of the enemy. They marched off and we took their place.
* * * * *
Down, down, we went, till it seemed that our destination was thecenter of the earth. Louder and louder grew the growling roar, theponderous thud and clank of huge machines.
We were in a huge chamber, hollowed out of the solid rock. Thousandsof men bustled out among great piles of lumber and steel rails. Hugecranes rolled here and there, swinging their ponderous loads.Officers shouted crisp orders. Green-uniformed privates sprang toobey.
But no time was given me to get more than a glimpse of all thisactivity. From out the gaping mouth of a hundred-foot-wide tunnel along train of flat cars came gliding. It halted and swayed on thesingle rail, and the whir of the gyroscopic balancers filled thecavern. A sharp order, and my companions leaped for the cars, layprone on the steel car-beds, and passed their belts through projectingloops. I wondered, but imitated them. I buried my face in my arms, asthe others were doing.
There came the eery shriek of a siren: the train was moving. Swiftlyit gathered speed till it seemed as though my protesting body wasbeing forced through a wall of air grown suddenly solid. Myriadfingers pulled at me, seeking to hurl me to destruction. Even throughmy protecting arms my breath was forced back into my lungs, chokingme. The wind howled past with the wail of a thousand souls in torment.
Just as the limit of endurance was reached the terrific speedslackened, and the long train ground to a halt. "All off! Lively now!"came the command.
* * * * *
We were at the rail-head, and before me was the face of the tunnel.Queer, hooded figures were there bending over wheeled tripods,manipulating what appeared to be searchlights. But no shafts of lightleaped from the lenses. The tripods were rolling steadily forward.
I looked at the tunnel face again, then, startled, back to the hoodedmen. I rubbed my eyes. Was I seeing things? No, by all that was holy,it was so! The distance between the machines and the end wall of thepassage had not changed, but men and rock were ten--fifteen--twentyfeet away! They were boring; boring into the solid rock at tremendousspeed. _And the rock was melting, vanishing, disappearing intonothingness in the awful bla
st projected from those machines!_
I gaped--my pose, my danger, forgotten. Almost as fast as a man couldrun, the tunnel extended itself. It was phantasmal, incredible!
A rough hand seized me from behind. I whirled, my heart in my mouth.It was the burly sergeant. "What the hell are you dreaming about,Renaud? Hop to it. Over there, on that shoring job. Get busy now,or--" The threat in that unfinished sentence chilled me by its veryvagueness.
My squad was hauling heavy timbers, setting them up where a faultshowed in the rocky roof of the tunnel. I joined them but my thoughtswere a madly whirling chaos.
The pattern was complete now. The long, curving under-water ridge onJim's chart--this tunnel was boring through it. Whatever it was thatthose tripods projected--a new ray it must be--it was _melting_ apassage six hundred miles long. Under our rafts, under our fleets,under our coast defenses--to come up far behind our lines. The ridgejoined the coast just south of New York. Some night, while ourgenerals slept in smug complacency, all that gray green horde ofwolves would belch forth--from the very earth.
And the Americans would follow Europe into hell!
* * * * *
Five minutes passed. I looked again at the face of the tunnel, drawnby an irresistible fascination. It had advanced a full quarter of amile. Like fog before a cloud-piercing searchlight, the age-old rockwas dissolving before the ray. At this rate America's doom would besealed in a week. And I, alone among these thousands, was helpless toavert the climaxing menace.
A howl of rage came from the sergeant. I turned. A diminutive German,his face pale green with fatigue, had stumbled and fallen under theweight of a heavy timber.
The swarthy non-com was kicking him with a cruel boot. "Get up, you;get up before I brain you!"
The sprawling man looked up, fear staring from his deep-sunk eyes."_Aber, ich bin krank._"--"I am sick; I can't stand the work; it istoo _schwer_, too heavy," he faltered.
"Sick?" the Russian roared. "Sick? I'll sick you! You're lazy, toodamned lazy to do a little work. I'm tired of this gold-brickingaround here. I'm going to make an example of you that the rest of youdogs won't forget in a hurry." His face was purple with rage. He bent,seized the fallen man and dragged him out from under the crushingbulk. Then, raising the struggling wretch over his head as lightly asthough he were an infant, he ran forward, toward the ray projectors.
Shriek after shriek pierced the hot air, such howls of utter fear andagony, as I hope never to hear again. The little figure, held high inthe huge paws, writhed and tossed, to no avail.
The sergeant reached the nearest tripod. His brawny arms flexed;straightened. The German swept up and over the head of the operator,and dropped in front of the machine. Then--he vanished. Nothing,absolutely nothing, was there between projector and rapidly retreatingwall!
A horrible retching tore my stomach; I swayed dizzily. The utterbrutality, the finality of the thing! "And any more of you carrionthat I catch slacking will get the same thing," the Russian said."You, Renaud, I've got my eye on you. Watch out!" The sergeant's voicerasped through the mist about me. I shoved my shoulder under one endof an eight by eight and plunged into the back breaking labor. But onethought hammered at my reeling brain: "The _New York_! That's whathappened to her!"
* * * * *
The long hours of toil at last ended. We were again in the entrancecavern, waiting for the elevator platform. It was unaccountablydelayed: the last batch had gone up fifteen minutes before. The menabout me chafed and swore. They were impatient for mess and bed.
Bit by bit I had reconstructed all the elements of this unprecedentedoperation. The ray, the blasting ray that whiffed into non-existenceall that it touched, was the keynote. The great plain had been clearedby the ray. The dim shapes floating high in that far-circling ellipsewere pouring down the dreadful vibrations, thus holding back the seain a marvelous green wall. I remembered the sea-monster that haddashed at me and vanished. That proved it. The dome of cloud wascamouflage, or the product of the processes of destruction going onunderneath: it didn't matter. What mattered was that it was interlacedby a network of ray beams. It was an impenetrable wall, a perfectdefense. Boxed in on all sides by such a barrier, how was I to get outword of the menace? How was it to be combatted even if our forces knewof the danger? A hundred plans flooded my wearied brain, to berejected one by one.
A mocking, ribald cheer arose from the men around me. The platform wasascending. Why the long delay? A premonition of disaster chilled me. Ishrugged it aside.
We were at the top. A long line of soldiers curved about the mouth ofthe pit. The next shift waiting to go down? No--they made no move toapproach. And each one was holding his ray-tube at the ready. This wasthe guard. At a table nearby a knot of officers was gathered. Papersof some sort were piled high on it. Again the icy finger of dreadtouched me. One of the officers moved aside, revealing the profile ofhis companion. The Ferret. Then I knew I was done for!
My eyes darted here and there, seeking escape. No hope--the heavilyarmed guard was all around; the platform blocked the shaft mouth. Adash would be self-betrayal--suicide.
* * * * *
Mechanically I obeyed the sergeant's barked commands. We were insingle file. We were moving toward that ominous table where the Ferretstood, a sardonic smile on his sharp-featured face. I could make out alivid weal across his throat. I had left my mark on him. That was somesatisfaction.
The head of the line reached the table. They were fingerprinting theleader! A lieutenant extracted a paper from the pile and handed it tothe Ferret. He made momentary comparison of something on the paperwith the mark the soldier had just made. Then the next man stepped up,while the first made off across the plain.
Of course! Simple: how very simple! And yet it had caught me! Theservice records of the men had their fingerprints, just as in our ownforces. And each man in the area was being checked up. Trust theFerret to think of that. He knew that I'd be somewhere in their ranks,impersonating one of their men. Well, I was in for it. The last trickin our long game was his.
My turn. No use going through the motions. I bent down a moment, thenstraightened. "Oh, hello, Bolton," the Ferret said, thrusting out hishand, the one with the twisted finger. I had resumed my own visage."Didn't think you could get away with it, did you?"
Chagrined as I was, I put a good face on it. The Ferret and I had runup against each other many many times. Cheerfully, either of us wouldhave cut the other's throat. But--we played the game.
"Hello, Rubinoff," I responded. "You seem to have me, just now. Buttry and hold me."
The Ferret threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, I think you'll findit a little difficult to get away this time." I thought so, too, butdid not voice my thought.
The smile left Rubinoff's face. He snapped an order. A squad advancedfrom the guard. Handcuffs clicked around my wrists, the mates of eachwere fastened to the arms of two guardsmen. I was securely chained.They were taking no chances.
"Take him to the special cell in the guard-house." The lieutenantsaluted. I was marched off. Then I was not to be summarily executed. Iwas not as much relieved as you might think. You see, I knew theFerret. We had raided one of his hangouts once; just missed him. Butwe found an M.I.S. man there whom Rubinoff had been--questioning. Wethanked God when he died.
* * * * *
We tramped across the plain. My eyes kept roving about: there wasn'tmuch hope for me, but miracles have happened. Most of the scatteredstructures were hastily thrown together sheds of sheet iron. Barracks,they looked like. But, every so often I spied spheres of concrete, thewide open doors revealing yard-thick walls. What could be theirpurpose?
Something bothered me. Something about the ray projectors and theother machinery I had seen. I glanced up at one of the balloonsfloating high above. All these needed a power supply; tremendous powerto accomplish what the ray was doing. And there were no cablesrunning to t
hem. How did the power get to them?
There was only one answer. Radio transmission. The required energy,perhaps the very ray vibrations themselves, were being broadcast tothe points of projection. That meant a power-house and a control roomsomewhere in the area. _The vulnerable points!_ Where were they?
I stumbled, and was jerked roughly to my feet. The lieutenant slappedme. "Scared, Americansky? You well may be. We'll have rare sport whenthey throw what the Ferret leaves of you into the ray." I shuddered.To go out that way! I'll be honest--I was horribly afraid. The men towhom I was shackled laughed.
A dull throbbing beat at my ears, a vibration just too low to besound. I looked about for its source. It came from my left--a concretebuilding, low lying, about a hundred yards long by as many feet wide.At the further end a squat smokestack broke the flat line of the roof.Guards, many guards, were pacing their slow patrol about it. From thecenter of the side nearest me, cables thick as a man's trunk issuedforth. I followed them with my eye. They ended in a marble slab onwhich rested a concrete sphere, somewhat larger than the others. Thedoor of this one was closed. On the roof of the queer edifice was apeculiar arrangement of wires, gleaming in the artificial daylight.This building, too, was heavily guarded.
I had found what I sought--the power-house and the transmittingstation. Much good it did me--now.
* * * * *
My warders turned sharply to the right. I glimpsed another concretestructure. A heavy steel door opened, then clanged shut, behind us.The fetid odor that means only one thing the world over, folded roundme.
I sprawled on the steel floor of the cell into which I was thrust. Awave of utter fatigue engulfed me. I felt great weariness of body anddespair of soul. I had failed in my mission. The fate of my countryhad been entrusted to me--and here I was in a steel-floored,steel-walled prison cell. And that tunnel was rushing toward New Yorkat three miles an hour; over seventy miles a day.
I think I slept from sheer exhaustion. But something startled me intoawaking. The dim light filtering in from the tiny air-hole high up onone wall showed me that I was still alone. I lay, listening. There itwas again, a wailing scream of agony that rose and fell and died away.
I heard a grating sound at the door, and it opened and shut. Rubinoff,the Ferret, had entered. "Comfortable, Captain Bolton?" he asked, andthere was more than a hint of mockery in the velvety voice. In thehand with the twisted finger was his ray-tube. It pointed steadily atme.
I got to my feet. I was in no mood for trifling, for that scream hadshaken me. "Cut the comedy, Rubinoff." I growled. "Kill me, and let'shave done with it."
He raised a deprecating hand. "Oh, come now. There's really noabsolute necessity for that. You can save yourself, very easily."
"What do you mean?"
"I can use you, if you're amenable to reason."
"I don't understand."
"You're the cleverest of the American Intelligence men. The rabblethey give me are well-nigh useless. Cast your lot in with us, and in aweek you'll have the riches of your greatest city to dip your handsin. It's easy. There is certain information we need. Give it to us.Then I'll get you back into your lines: we'll cook up a good tale forSommers. You can resume your post and send us information only when itis of extreme importance. Come, now, be sensible."
* * * * *
At first blush this was an astounding proposal. But I knew my man. Heneeded to know something. Once he had extracted the knowledge hesought from me, I should be disposed of. He'd never let me get backinto our lines with what I had found out. It might have been policy toplay him--but what was the use?
"No, Rubinoff. You know I won't do it."
He sighed. "Just as I thought. Honor, country, and so on. Well, it'stoo bad. We should have made a wonderful team. However, you'll tell mewhat I want to know. What are the defenses within fifty miles of NewYork?"
I laughed derisively.
"You'll save yourself a lot of trouble if you tell me, Bolton. Afterall, death in the ray isn't so bad. Whiff--and you're gone. Don'tforce me to other measures." There was a grim threat in his voice. ButI simply shook my head.
"Stubborn, like all the other Anglo-Saxons. Well, I've got somethingto show you." He raised his weapon and glanced at it. "Pretty littlething, this. Not the ordinary ray-tube. Only field officers havethese. Look."
He pointed it at the wall from behind which that scream had come andpressed the trigger button. A tiny round hole appeared in the steel.
"Neat, isn't it? Utilizes the same ray you saw at work in the tunnel.The Zeta-ray we call it. Just think what that would do to humanflesh." I said nothing.
"But that isn't what I had in mind. Just look through that hole."
* * * * *
I wanted to see what was on the other side, so I obeyed. The Thingthat lay on the floor within--could it ever have been a man? I whirledback to the Ferret in a fury, my fists clenched.
His infernal weapon was pointing straight at me. "Softly, Bolton,softly. You'd never get to me." I checked my spring, for he was right."How'd you like that?" he purred.
"Some of your work, I suppose," I growled.
"The poor fool was fomenting a mutiny. We wanted to know the otherplotters. He was stubborn. What would you? Necessity knows no law....What are the defenses around New York?" He advanced menacingly.
No answer.
"Why be a fool? This ray hurts, I tell you, when it's properlyapplied. How would you like to be melted away, piece by little piece,till you're like that in there?"
I shrugged my shoulders, but kept silent.
"I tell you it hurts. You don't believe me? That in there isunconscious, seven-eighths dead. Listen."
He bored another hole in the steel, keeping his finger pressed on thetrigger. Again that heart-rending scream of agony rang out, tearingits way through me. My brain exploded in red rage. I leaped for thefiend, reckless of consequences. My fist drove into the leering facewith all the force of my spring, with all the insane fury that hisheartless cruelty had roused in me. Smack!--he catapulted across thefloor and crashed into the wall! I was on him, my hand clutching forhis tube. But there was no need. He was out--dead to the world. Sosudden, so unexpected was my mad attack that even he had not had timeto meet it.
I worked fast. In a minute I was in Rubinoff's uniform and had assumedhis face. I was a little taller; no matter. But the finger--thatwould be noticed immediately. There was only one thing to do. I stuckmy little finger through one of the holes he had made in the wall andtwisted. Crack! Beads of agony stood out on my forehead, but the breakwas just right. By bending the other fingers slightly I could holdthat one in just the position of his.
I picked up the ray-tube with my left hand. If I went out through theguard-house entrance I might meet other officers and be engaged inconversation. That might lead to discovery. My cell was on the side ofthe prison away from the road; I had noticed no buildings behind it:I'd chance it. Luck had been with me so far.
* * * * *
I carved out a hole in the wall pierced by the air-hole. It was likecutting through butter with a red hot knife. I stepped out.
There was no one about. I walked carelessly around the corner of thebuilding, my hand, holding the tube, buried deep in my pocket. Not faraway was the spherical structure I had spotted as the control room. Ireturned salutes. No one stopped to talk to me. Would the guard beforethat building require a pass-word?
I heard a shout behind me. My escape was discovered! At once I brokeinto a run and dashed past the guard, shouting: "Prisoner escaped!Came this way!" The man gaped. The shouting behind me grew louder. Iheard the thud of many feet, running. I flung open the door, slammedit shut behind me, and turned the key.
A long row of giant electrode bulbs, as tall as a man, stretchedbefore me--the source of the Zeta-ray. From here came the power thatheld back the waters, that bored the tunnel. A thunderous knockingshook the d
oor. Someone at a huge switchboard turned toward me.Instantly my hand was out of my pocket, and the ray-tube leveled atthe nearest bulb. I pressed the trigger. The bulb crashed. I sweptdown the line. Crash, crash, crash--they were all gone.
I whirled to meet the expected attack. It was wholly instinctive, forin a second we'd all be dead anyway. The waters would be down on us.
But the switchboard operator wasn't springing at me. Instead, he wastugging frantically, at a long lever that came down from above. Therewas a clang, and a steel shutter dropped across the door.
* * * * *
Then came a sound of crashing thunder that split my eardrums with itsunbearable clamor. Then a mightier roar, as the mountain-high sea,held back so long by the invisible ray, poured its countless millionsof tons of deep green water down into the man-made hole.
The impact was terrific. The yards-thick concrete shuddered andstrained. The tremendous pressure forced trickles of water into theconcrete shell: the roaring of the elements was indescribablydeafening.
I was in pitch darkness, expecting every moment to be crushed undermiles of ocean, when suddenly I was thrown from my feet. The floor washeaving drunkenly beneath me. In a moment I was slammed breathlesslyagainst the shattered remnants of a huge vacuum tube. The jagged glassslashed my arms and face. I grabbed with my hand to steady myself;came in contact with an iron bar: clung like grim death.
For a huge concrete sphere was whirling, tossing, gyrating in a welterof waters. The din was terrific. I rolled over and over, my armsalmost pulled out of their sockets. Then, like a ton of brick,something collided with my head. There was a blinding flare in theblack void, and I knew no more.
* * * * *
Slowly I came out of a hideous nightmare.
My head ached frightfully, and my wounds smarted and stung. It wasdark, but a faint luminescence from somewhere enabled me to faintlydiscern my surroundings. I was wedged between a steel cable-bracketand the curving wall. Across the glass strewn floor a body lay,sprawling queerly.
The room was swaying in long undulations, or was it my head? I layhelpless, unable to move. A leg dangled uselessly. There was a bump,the sound of scraping. I heard confused sounds penetrating the walls,and the jar of steady impacts.
A half an hour passed so; maybe an hour: I had no means of telling. Iwas weak from pain and loss of blood, and slightly delirious.
A faint whirring noise, a sudden intensity in the illumination causedme to turn my head. The steel shutter was glowing red, then a showerof white sparks broke through. The heavy steel was melting away intoincandescence. It crashed.
A group of men stumbled cautiously in. Now I was sure I was delirious.For the men wore khaki uniforms! Americans! Then, in my fever, Ithought I heard a familiar voice cry out my name. It was Jim's voice.A roaring curtain of blackness shut down on me.
* * * * *
When I awoke again I was lying in a clean-sheeted hospital bed. Jimwas sitting at the side, staring at me with gloomy eyes.
"Hello, Jim," I gasped weakly. "How did I get here?"
It was touching to see the instantaneous delight on his weatheredcountenance.
"So you came to at last, you old son-of-a-gun! Thought you werecashing in on us for a while. How did you get here? That's just whatI want to know. How in hell _did_ you get here?"
I was still pretty weak. "You pulled me out. What happened?"
"We're still trying to puzzle it out. Wouldn't be surprised if you hada hand in it, you blighter. We were watching that damned cloud,worrying ourselves to death. What with the _New York_ going out like alight, and not hearing anything from you, we were pretty low.
"Then, suddenly, there was a tremendous detonation. The whole cloudmass collapsed like a pricked bubble, and a bottomless pit yawnedunderneath the ocean--and, next thing we knew, our raft was yankedfrom under our feet, plunging and bucking in a swirl of waters.
"I just had time to grab hold of a stanchion, when we were sucked downinto a whirlpool such as I never hope to see again. Round and round wespun, the tumbling waters mountain high above us. I was buried most ofthe time in crashing billows; my arms were almost pulled out of theirsockets.
* * * * *
"I never expected to see daylight again," Jim went on. "My hold wasbeing broken when at last we were spewed out somehow onto a sea thatlooked as if a thousand hurricanes were blowing down.
"I managed to get my men together--what was left of them. There werepitifully few. Later, I heard that our losses were enormous. Overseventy-five per cent of our rafts on a 50-mile front were lost, andthe enemies' were almost totally wiped out.
"When the mile-high seas had toned down a bit, we saw a huge concreteball tossing about like a cork. Couldn't make out what the devil itwas. Then someone noticed a door. We got that open, but there was asteel one inside. We had to slice it with an oxy-hydrogen flame.Inside, snug as a bug in a rug, were you.
"Now come on, tell me how in blazes you got in there. If you don'tspill it quick, I'll bust."
I sat up in my excitement. "Don't you see, they were afraid the raymight fail. They had those concrete balls stuck all around so that theofficers at least could escape, if it did. Their best technical menmust have been running the control room. They made sure to have thatspecially strong. And the wave caused by the water pouring into thehole swept me right over here, just where I started from."
Jim had both hands on my shoulders, was pushing me down. "Whoa, baby,whoa. That's just as clear as a darkness-rayed area. Count up to ten,and start all over again."
"'Ten-_shun_!"
The general himself strode into the room. And then I _had_ to tell mystory straight.
A BEE'S BREATH
The breath of a bee, important because of its indication of the healthof the insect in winter and of the efficiency of the sweet-producinghive in summer, was recently measured by Prof. G. H. Vansell of theUniversity of California. To do this he conducted the air coming fromthe hive through a tube into bulbs containing absorbent chemicals.Allowing for the natural carbon dioxide and water of the outside air,he weighed these bulbs, getting an analysis of the breath of the hiveby the amount of water vapor and carbon dioxide the chemicals in thebulbs had picked up.
He found that in winter when the bees were inactive the average hourlywater loss from the entire hive was thirty six millionths of an ounce.In summer when the insects were hard at work making honey andgathering nectar the water loss was twenty five times as great. Thecarbon dioxide output, however, did not even double in summer.
