Wonder of the Worlds

by Sesh Heri

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  forehead a tattoo, a line of figures that looked like some kind of hieroglyphs, letters, or numbers.

  Houdini stared back at the people. His arms were bound behind his back and chains crossed around in front of his chest. Houdini kept looking at the people, and then finally said, “How ya doin’?” The Martians looked at each other and then back to Houdini. “Any of you speak English?” Houdini asked. “Sprecken ze deutch? Parlez vous Francais?”

  The Martians said nothing.

  “Naw,” Houdini said, “I didn’t think so. But—who knows? You can never tell.” All the while Houdini spoke he had been wiggling his shoulders back and forth. He stopped, slowly let out his breath, and then he began wiggling out of the chains like a snake shedding its skin. The chains slipped down, and fell to his feet. His hands were still bound behind his back. “This is the tough part,” Houdini said. “I’d like to swear all of youse to secrecy, but I kind of doubt you’ll ever talk to anybody I know.” Houdini sat down on the stone f loor and then lay on his side. He began straining his arms downward until the chains binding his wrists together came down and passed under his buttocks. The Martians did not move or make a sound, but they all watched Houdini’s struggle with great intensity. Houdini squeezed the chains over his toes which were f lattened against his buttocks. “Don’t think I can do it, huh?” Houdini gasped out. “This ain’t the dime show—this one’s the dollar!”

  The chain was up on his ankles. He bent forward, pulled the chain along his shins—his knees—and then his hands came out in front of him. Houdini sat up and looked at his chained wrists. The chain was held fast with some kind of metal lock. “I come a hundred ga-zillion miles,” Houdini said, “a hundred ga-zillion miles—and the locks—the locks are all the same!” Houdini stood up. “I got no respect for locks!” Houdini said. “No respect! But don’t ever tell anybody that!”

  Houdini reached down to the waistband of his red f lannel under drawers and pulled out a thin wire. He then bent the wire a little and inserted it into the keyhole of the lock on his wrist. The lock sprung open and the chains fell to the f loor. The Martians let out a gasp in unison. “Never saw that one before, huh?” Houdini said. “Well, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet!”

  There was a scream from below and the Martians all rushed to the barred window and looked down. Houdini pushed his way to the edge of the window and looked down as well. Down below he saw a crowd of other emaciated

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  Martians being shoved into a white-hot stream of volcanic magma and being burned alive! The people were being herded forward from behind by two armed guards and shoved into the fiery stream by a seven foot tall metallic automaton! “Don’t you worry, folks,” Houdini said, “don’t you worry. We’re gettin’ out of here and we’re going to stop those mumzers—stop ‘em for good!”

  Houdini went to the door of the cell. It had no knob, no keyhole, no opening of any kind. “Well,” Houdini said, “that door ain’t the way, it ain’t the way. Think! Think!” Houdini looked straight up at the barred window directly overhead. His glance trailed downward along the stone walls. He could see the stones were rough hewn, and that, if he were careful, his feet and hands could find pur- chases on them that would allow him to climb the wall all the way up to the window twenty feet overhead. He went to one of the walls and began climbing up along it, stone upon stone, until the top of his head was only an inch or two below a corner of the barred window. He reached up and put his right hand around one of the bars and tugged at it. The bar was set solidly into the stone. “That ain’t going nowhere,” Houdini said. He climbed back down to the f loor of the cell. When he got back down he reached into the waistband of his under drawers and carefully pulled out a long slender roll of white kid leather. He knelt down and laid the roll of leather on the stone f loor and opened it out f lat. The leather contained a number of very small tools: a miniature ratchet, screwdriver, and a hacksaw blade with a handle designed to be held between one’s forefinger and thumb.

  Houdini picked up the hacksaw, and said, “When you can’t squeeze your way out, when you can’t pick your way out, when you can’t bribe your way out, when you can’t dig your way out—you cut your way out!” He rolled the other tools back up in the piece of leather and then stuffed the leather tube back into the lining of his waistband. Then he put the tiny hack saw blade between his teeth and began climbing up the stone wall again. He got back up to the window, took the hacksaw blade from between his teeth, and, holding its handle between his thumb and forefinger, he began sawing into a metal bar. “Huh!” Houdini said. “This stuff cuts like cheese! Sit tight down there! I’ll have you all out in a minute!”

  Houdini’s hand moved back and forth in a streaked blur, while metal fil- ings dropped from the bar.

  Czito stood at the pilothouse windows looking through the spyglass. “It’s cracked,” Czito said. “What’s cracked?” I asked, turning the pilot’s wheel larboard and taking us north toward the crater’s wall.

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  “The lens in this spyglass,” Czito said. “It’s cracked.” “I must’ve dropped it while ago,” I said. “Can you see anything out of it?” “Yes,” he said, “they’re closing that big door in the wall of the crater.” “Not very friendly folks,” I said, “are they? I’m taking us over there anyway. ”

  I brought our ship toward the crater wall and we passed by in front of the big door where the Martian airship had come out. That door was made of some kind of metal and it was about one hundred-fifty or two hundred feet square. It was now shut tight, and, of course, the Martians inside were not about to open it. I asked, “Any suggestions, Mr. Czito?”

  We both stood there looking at the metal door and the wall of volcanic rock in which it was set. “We could blast a hole through that door with the electric ray-gun,” Czito said. “That would get us in,” I said, “but what would happen to all the air inside?” “It would all get sucked out here into this near-vacuum,” Czito said. “All of it?” I asked.

  “There has to be another door beyond this one here in order to form an air lock. All the air in the first chamber would be sucked out. If our electric ray penetrated through the second door of the air lock, the air inside their cavern city would start to be drawn out as well.” “Would all their air come out?” I asked. “Eventually—yes,” Czito said. “And that would suffocate everybody inside,” I said. “That’s right,” Czito said. “Well,” I said, “I am not going to murder a city full of civilians—even Martian civilians. I would bet the people inside that city don’t know any more about this fight of ours than the citizens of Chicago do. We are not about to fire a hole through that door. How else can we get in there?” “There is no other way,” Czito said.

  “Goddamn it, Czito, don’t tell me that! We have to get in there! We will get in there! Nothing else is acceptable! Now, you tell me how!” “Me?” Czito asked. “How should I know?” “You’re the scientist,” I said. “I am not a scientist,” Czito said. “I am only a mechanic! I make cabinets. I put in wiring. I just put in wiring, Mr. Clemens!”

  “Don’t give me that, goddamn it! You are not just a mechanic! You are the mechanic for the greatest scientist in the world! You know things—you’ve seen things that nobody else on earth has ever seen! Now, I want you to think and think hard: Have you ever seen Tesla do anything or heard him say anything that could give us just the slightest clue as to how to get inside of that volcano? Think, Czito—think!”

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  “Nothing!” Czito cried, “There’s nothing! You’re asking the impossible! You want magic—not science! Well, let me tell you—not even the Houdini Erich Weiss could just pass through that wall of rock like a ghost—and that’s what you’re asking me to figure out: how to go through that wall of rock like we were—” Czito stopped speaking. He was looking straight ahead at the wall of volcanic rock that was spread out before us about two hundred feet beyond the pilothouse windows. Czito continued to stare at the wall of rock without m
ov- ing a muscle. “Czito?” I asked. “Czito? Have you gone into one of Tesla’s trances?”

  “I’m beginning to understand Mr. Tesla’s trances,” Czito replied. “I’m be- ginning to understand a lot.” “What are you talking about?”

  “I think I know how we might get through that rock,” Czito said. “But we might just as well get instantly killed.” “We might just as well get instantly killed if we stand here and do nothing,” I said. “Now tell me what you’re thinking.” “All right,” Czito said, “all right. Here it is: I just remembered something Mr. Tesla said when we were testing the airship one night. He told me to be careful when adjusting the circuit controller and the valve to the aerial conduc- tor. He said that if I opened the valve on the aerial conductor all the way and set the frequency of pulsation too high on the circuit controller we could get some very unusual and unwanted effects.” “What kind of effects?”

  “I’m trying to remember. I’m not absolutely sure, but I think he said that we might become invisible and pass through the Earth just like a ghost. I think that’s what he said, but it was so strange, I just ignored him. Maybe I thought he was exaggerating or joking or speaking figuratively.” “Does Mr. Tesla ever exaggerate or joke or speak figuratively when he speaks to you about his inventions?” “No,” Czito said, shaking his head. “Never.”

  “Now,” I said, “I want you to think about this idea of opening the aerial conductor valve and setting the circuit controller too high. Why would that make us invisible or make us like ghosts?” Czito looked down, removed his spectacles and wiped the lenses with his handkerchief. “The circuit controller,” Czito said, “controls the frequency of electrical pulsations. It has a certain range of variability and the specific frequency at any moment is determined by the positions of the pilot’s controls up here in the pilothouse.” “I think I already understand all that,” I said.

  “I’m reviewing,” Czito said. “Mr. Tesla has said that sometimes a problem can be solved by reviewing those elements which are already known.”

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  Czito paced away from me.

  “High frequency electrical pulsations polarize the atomic structure of the airship and allow the lines of gravitational force to pass through its structure, in other words, make the airship gravitationally transparent.” “So,” I said, “perhaps higher frequency pulsations of greater power would allow light to pass through us like it passes through a window pane.” “That could be,” Czito said. “And maybe,” I said, “even higher frequencies and greater power would allow the atoms of other bodies to pass through us the way light rays and gravitational forces do.” “Yes,” Czito said, “that could be so as well. But if that’s true, trying to actually interpenetrate solid matter with the airship could be very problematic, very dangerous.” “What could happen?” I asked. “What could go wrong?”

  “If the frequency was not maintained at a steady rate throughout the whole airship, the atoms of the airship could get scrambled. The ship’s hull could join and fuse into machinery. We ourselves might become fused into the ship’s bulkhead. Or maybe the atoms of our bodies might disintegrate. We might collapse like a heap of sand—or just go up in f lames.” “All right,” I said. “That’s the worst. What’s the best we could hope for?”

  “If we can maintain a steady, extremely rapid pulsation,” Czito said, “we would be able to pass through the atomic structure of the wall of rock in front of us and come out on the other side.” “And how would we return to a normal state of solidity?” “Simply by reducing our electrical power and rate of pulsation.” “Do you know how to adjust the aerial conductor valve and the circuit controller?” “Yes.”

  “And do you know how much power and how high the frequency should be to turn us into ghosts figuratively speaking? And I do mean figuratively speaking!” “No, but there is a practical way to determine all that.” “How?”

  “When everything around us—including ourselves—looks like the image of a double-exposed photograph—that is, semitransparent—that will be the cor- rect setting.” “That means you would have to adjust the aerial conductor valve and the circuit controller with the engine turned on. Can you do that?” “It would be extremely dangerous, but yes, I could do that.” “Then do it.”

  Houdini had cut through the bar in the window, and had carefully re- moved it and tossed it to the f loor of the cell. He was now squeezing through

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  the opening in the window made by the missing bar. He pulled himself on through the window grasping the other bars and then clung to the outside wall for a moment, looking down. He was inside a long hall with a high ceiling that went up about twenty-five feet. Below, he saw the outside of the door of the cell from which he had just escaped. He started down the outside wall, carefully feeling his way with his toes on the rough stone. Down he climbed a stone at a time. He got to the f loor of the hall and went to the door of the cell and inserted his piece of wire into its keyhole. The door sprung open.

  “Come on,” Houdini said, “before somebody sees us! Come on out! You’re free!” The Martians stood staring at Houdini a moment, and then one of them came forward timidly, looked around through the door, and then shouted back to the others inside: “Em! Em!”

  The Martians poured through the door and went running down the hall. “That’s what I was saying!” Houdini called after the Martians, “Em! Em!” Houdini then turned and looked back down the hall. There were at least a dozen more doors like the one in front of him, a dozen more doors probably holding behind them many more starving captives. It did not matter to Houdini that those captives were Martians. He went down the hall and in rapid succes- sion opened all the doors, shouting at every one as it sprung open: “Em! Em!” The Martians poured out of the doors, all of them ragged and starving just like the others, all of them with the same blue tattoos on their pale foreheads.

  Just as Houdini opened the last door in the hall, the sound of gunshots rang out from below. He ran with all the others down a stone stairwell. When they reached the first landing all the people scurried into a tunnel that led off into darkness. The sounds of the gunshots were coming from the stairwell another f light below. Houdini went down the stone steps and came upon the chamber he had seen from the barred window of the cell, the place where people were being thrown into a river of molten lava. The two guards were shooting into a mob of attacking prisoners. Each time a shot rang out the mob would fall back, only to rush forward again. There was a final surge and the mob fell upon the two guards and dragged them down into a sea of heads and arms. A piercing scream cut through the air. Houdini looked up to see one of the Martians being carried in the arms of the seven-foot tall automaton. The metal monster was carrying the Martian toward the river of molten lava. Houdini ran forward through the crowd and climbed up a jagged embankment of volcanic rock and got to the top ledge that overlooked the flowing stream of molten rock. The automaton had almost reached the edge of the lava. Houdini sprang forward and jumped on to the automaton’s back. The giant monster of metal seemed to sense the added weight and turned about. It

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  paused for a moment, dropped the Martian it held in its metal arms, and then began reaching up over its shoulders at Houdini who clung to the giant’s back.

  The automaton kept reaching up, trying to pull Houdini off its shoulders. Houdini hung on, his left arm around the neck of the automaton, his right hand trying to pry open a door in the automaton’s back. The automaton spun about and f lung Houdini to the ground. Houdini lay sprawled upon the ledge directly above the stream of lava. The automaton lumbered forward to pick Houdini up and cast him down into the liquid fire below. Houdini lay still. The automaton approached and bent down with its metal hands reaching out. In another second all would be lost, the automaton would have Houdini in a grasp stronger than a steel vice. The monster’s hand came within an inch of Houdini’s face. The boy magician flattened himself against the ground and rolled toward the automaton, grabbed hold of t
he monster’s metal ankles, and pulled back with all his strength. The automaton tottered on the ledge of rock, and then pitched forward head-first into the white-hot river of lava. Houdini jumped back as molten rock splashed upward, the automaton’s head and shoulders striking the surface of the molten river. In a moment, Houdini looked back over the ledge of rock. The automaton was being consumed and melted away into the f low of lava. “Em!” Houdini said, looking down over the ledge, “Em!”

  I stood next to Czito where he worked on the circuit controller inside the airship’s engine. He had turned a valve at the top of the engine machinery and had then opened up a metal housing next to the big coil of wire, and he was now slowly turning a little slotted wheel with a screwdriver. The light from the drive crystal washed over us with its rainbow colors, and I now found that pulsing light to be very nerve racking. “Nothing’s happening,” I said.

  “Not yet,” Czito said, and he stopped turning the little wheel with the screwdriver. “That’s it,” Czito said. “That’s as far as I’m going.” “But nothing’s happening,” I said.

  “Not yet,” Czito said again, and he waved for me to step back. I obliged, and then Czito stepped out of the engine too, but left the door of the engine cabinet open. “Why do you keep saying, ‘Not yet’?” I asked.

  “Because,” Czito said, “it will take a minute or so for us to achieve complete atomic polarization. Come on, we should be up in the pilothouse when that happens, and we shouldn’t be moving about.” Czito and I hurried up the steps of the pilothouse and we stood in front of the pilot’s wheel.

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  “Now stay right where you are,” Czito said, “and don’t move from the spot where you’re standing! If we get to moving around in here too much we may go through the wall or the f loor!” “I’m stock still and I ain’t about to budge one inch!” I said.