Maza of the Moon

by Otis Adelbert Kline

  "And terrible to contemplate," said Ted, dejectedly. "A united world could have fought off a dozen moons, but a divided world will have a slim chance. And the whole damnable affair is my fault."

  "Millions of sparks fall harmlessly, but here and there one starts a huge conflagration," said the professor. "No earthly being could have foreseen the far-reaching effect of your apparently harmless spark, and you certainly are not morally responsible."

  "I hold myself so," said Ted, "and it would be a small thing to me, could I but forfeit my own life to end the conflict. I have a plan, but I may not speak of it yet."

  "I hope you are not contemplating any foolhardy personal risks," said the professor. "The world needs you more thar any other living man, at present. We have thousands of scientists, but only one Ted Dustin."

  "Who has proven himself the greatest calamity yet born to the earth," replied Ted. "But let's prepare that message."

  A half hour elapsed before a message, satisfactory to all, had been drafted for the Imperial Government of P'an-ku. It took the professor an hour more to put it in the language of the Lunites. Then the air was cleared, and the three men went aloft to the gigantic radio tower.

  While the professor held the message on a placard, Ted worked at the dials and Roger managed the recorder.

  Their first efforts were rewarded by the faint sound of a woman's voice and a dim vision of the beautiful girl seen on two previous occasions. Almost as soon as it began to appear, the image was blotted from the disc, and from then on until early morning, when the three tired men relinquished their unsuccessful attempt, they were rewarded only by blackness and a faint rumbling sound which greatly resembled distant thunder.

  "Looks as if P'an-ku bad severed diplomatic relations," said Roger, rising from his seat at the recorder and stretching his cramped limbs.

  "I'm afraid you are right," replied the professor, leaning his placard against a chair.

  "We'll try again, and keep on trying," said Ted. "The Lunites should be amenable to reason if we can get the message through."

  Try they did, the following night, and each night thereafter for nearly two weeks. The results were only darkness, and the distant thunderous rumbling. Even the image of the girl had failed to appear for so much as a fraction of a second.

  When the efforts of the last night had proved unavailing, Ted threw off the switch and rose with a look of grim determination.

  "We must face the facts," he said. "War is inevitable unless P'an-ku can be reached and influenced by a specific message. It will take two more weeks at the very least, to complete our large interplanetary vehicle. By that time the war will undoubtedly be in full progress."

  "What do you propose to do about it?" asked the professor.

  "I will take the message in person," replied Ted.

  "How?" chorused his two surprised companions in unison.

  "Come with me and I'll show you, but you must preserve absolute secrecy."

  VII. PERILOUS JOURNEY

  TED LED Roger and the professor through a side door, and out onto the roof, which was illuminated by the silvery glory of the moon. A watchman challenged them, then saluted respectfully as he recognized his employer.

  As they passed the hangars of Ted's fleet of electroplanes, more watchmen challenged and saluted.

  Beyond this, they came to a square shed of steel, the heavy metal door of which Ted unlocked with a key taken from his pocket. As his two companions entered he closed the door after them, then pressed a light switch.

  "Here is my secret," he said. "Isn't she a little beauty?"

  "I'll say she is!" exclaimed Roger, looking admiringly at a craft of silver gray metal about sixteen feet in length, gracefully shaped, and decked over like an Esquimauan kayak, but with a centrally located turret which projected above and below the hull. This turret was of glass braced with the same silver-gray metal which formed the hull, and within it could be seen a bewildering array of buttons and levers which fronted a revolving upholstered seat. Projecting from the upper half of the turret, pointing fore, aft, and to each side, were four tubes, each of which ended in a glass lens. The lower turret was similarly equipped. The hull itself was provided with four searchlights, set to sweep in all directions.

  Ted opened a heavily-gasketed door in the side of the upper turret, and said:

  "Look her over if you want to, while I put on my driving suit."

  "You've been keeping something from me, Ted," said Roger reproachfully while he and the professor admired the snug interior of the craft.

  The young inventor laughed, as he opened a drawer and produced there-from a costume and helmet greatly resembling those worn by deep sea divers.

  "Wanted to surprise you," he said, stepping into the one-piece suit and screwing down the clamps which closed the front. "Besides, you had too much on your mind as it was."

  "But what is the purpose of the thing?" asked the professor, still peering into the interior. "You don't mean to tell me this craft will fly without planes, rudder or propeller."

  "I think so," replied Ted, "although if it does, this will be its maiden flight."

  "But how?" persisted the professor.

  "Atomotor," said Ted, shortly, attaching his helmet to an affair which slightly resembled a knapsack. "It will fly in the same manner as my projectile flew to the moon, but more slowly, because I don't dare give it the terrific start imparted to my projectile."

  "Hardly," smiled Roger. "It would be burned to a cinder. How far are you going tonight?"

  "Don't know exactly;" replied Ted, "but if luck is with me I hope to land on the moon before the middle of this week."

  "What!" gasped Roger. "You expect to go to the moon alone and unarmed?"

  "Alone," grinned Ted, "but not unarmed." He had donned the helmet and opened a glass slide in front for conversational purposes. After adjusting the straps of the thing which resembled a knapsack, he took a belt from the drawer and buckled it about his waist. Attached to the belt were two holsters from which pistol-like handles projected.

  "Do you expect to defend yourself against super-intelligences as seem to exist on the moon, with a couple of pistols?" asked the professor.

  "Hardly," replied Ted. "The things you think are pistols are not pistols at all, but pistol degravitors. They operate on the same principle as the eight degravitors on my craft, but on a smaller scale."

  "You mean those eight tubes sticking out of the turret?" asked Roger.

  "Exactly," replied Ted.

  "What deadly substance do they shoot?"

  "They don't shoot," Ted answered with a smile. "They radiate--and when their rays strike matter it disintegrates."

  "But how--"

  "I can only take a minute to explain, as time is pressing," replied Ted, "but I'll give you a demonstration very shortly. All matter is composed of atoms which are, in turn, composed of protons and electrons, always in motion, the latter whirling around the former as the planets whirl around the sun. The force, therefore, which holds them in their orbits is analogous to the force of gravity, hence I have applied the word until a better one can be found. When I press the firing button of the degravitor, it immediately releases two sets of invisible rays, cathode and anode, both of which when properly pointed, strike the same object at the same time, but at slightly different angles. The positively charged protons are instantly torn from their atoms by the cathode rays, while the negatively charged electrons are taken up by the anode rays. As the two types of rays diverge, they are torn apart, and the matter which they form immediately disintegrates and disappears."

  "Remarkable!" exclaimed the professor.

  "Good head!" said Roger. "But how on earth did you manage to make all these things without my knowing it?"

  "Easily," replied Ted. "I had the parts made separately in the shop and assembled them here, myself. The hull is supposed to be the fuselage of a new type of electroplane, to which the wings have not yet been attached. The atomotor is assumed to be a model.
I fitted it into the hull, myself. As for the degravitors, I had the parts made, assembled them, and fitted the larger ones into the turret, working nights in this room.

  "I might add that I have put through an order for ten thousand of the small and a hundred thousand of the large degravitors. Directions for assembling and firing them are in the safe, and you, Roger, will see to it that our soldiers and combat planes are equipped with them as soon as possible.

  "But enough of explanations. I must go. If I do not return, you, Roger, will know where to find all of my plans, including those for the degravitors. Use them, and arrange for the defense as best you can, without me."

  He entered the turret and switched on a tiny, inner light.

  "I have your valuable translations, professor," said Ted, "and hope that I may be able to use them to advantage. Goodbye."

  "Goodbye, and good luck," echoed both men as he closed the front of his helmet and slammed and fastened the door of the turret.

  They watched him as he slowly elevated the upper forward degravitor. When he pressed the button no visible rays shot forth, but in the metal roof toward which it was aimed there suddenly appeared a clean cut hole which was rapidly widened by circumscribing it with the degravitor rays. The metal did not glow as if burned away, but simply disappeared with a quick, scintillating flash wherever the rays touched it.

  When the hole had been enlarged sufficiently, Ted waved a last adieu. Then his craft rose gracefully, hung for a moment at a point about a thousand feet above the roof, and disappeared with a burst of terrific speed, traveling in a direction which might be reckoned about 80 degrees to the east of the moon in the plane of the ecliptic.

  VIII. DEATH RAYS

  A WEEK ELAPSED, after the departure of the young inventor, with no word from Ted. During this time, Roger, busy with the duties of the chief executive, ate and slept in the office of his employer.

  Professor Ederson had meanwhile tried nightly to get into communication with the Lunites, but without success.

  It was on this, the seventh night, that a terrific storm struck Chicago. Unable to sleep because of the howling wind and terrific peals of thunder, Roger switched on the lights and was about to step to the window when his name was called from the disc of the radiovisiphone.

  "Mr. Sanders."

  He hurried to the instrument and saw the face of the night operator.

  "Yes."

  "The President of the United States is calling Mr. Dustin. What shall I do?"

  "Mr. Dustin is not in," said Roger, who had shared the secret of his employer's absence only with Professor Ederson. "Let me talk to him."

  In an instant the face of President Whitmore appeared on the disc. To his intense surprise, Roger noticed that he wore a fur cap and a great fur coat with the collar turned up. That he was in an intensely cold place was indicated by the visibility of his breath as he spoke and exhaled.

  "Where is Mr. Dustin?" were his first words on seeing Roger instead of the man he had called.

  "He is not here," replied Roger. "As his assistant, can I be of service to you?"

  "You have not answered my question," persisted the President. "Where is Mr. Dustin?"

  "I--I promised not to tell," answered Roger. "He left here a week ago in the interests of our country and our allies."

  The President frowned.

  "You forget, Mr. Sanders," he said, "that this is a war emergency, that the country is on a military basis, and that I am Mr. Dustin's superior officer as well as yours. I demand to know where he is."

  Roger was nonplussed. He had told everyone that Ted had gone away on business for the country, leaving them to assume what they pleased in the matter. People had, of course, assumed that he had gone to some other city, and would be back shortly. But the President was within his. rights in demanding to know where he was. Ted, himself, would not have had the right to refuse this demand.

  "He left for the moon a week ago," said Roger, "and I have heard nothing from him since."

  "What!"

  The President appeared dumfounded.

  "How did he go? Who went with him?"

  "He went alone in a small interplanetary vehicle of his own invention, knowing that the war would be in full swing before his larger vehicle could be completed.

  "Well I'll be damned!" exploded the President. "This is a pretty how d'ye do. Gone just when we need him most."

  "I'm sorry," answered Roger, "but he hoped to be able to stop the war by this trip. If there's anything I can do-"

  "Maybe there is," said the President, with forced calmness. "Perhaps you can explain some things that I had hoped he could explain. For instance, what is the cause of this intensely cold weather in the middle of the summer, and why does the moonlight appear green?"

  "We can't see the moon from here," replied Roger, "and it's not cold. There is a terrific storm raging, plenty of lightning rain and wind, but no cold."

  "A devastating cold wave has spread over this part of the country, affecting Washington and Baltimore, and extending as far south as Richmond," said the President. "The Potomac is frozen solid, and although we have our heating plants going to the utmost capacity, it is impossible to keep warm. Thousands of people, caught unexpectedly, have perished from the intense cold. My thermometer here in the White House registers 10 degrees above zero. Outside, I am told the thermometers have dropped under 60 degrees below zero, Fahrenheit."

  "And you say the moon looks green?"

  "As green as grass. The country is bathed in a weird, green light at this moment."

  "Must be some connection," mused Roger, "I mean between the green light and the intense cold localized around Washington. Wish Mr. Dustin were here."

  "But he isn't," snapped the President, "so see what you can find out, and report back, either by radiovisiphone or in person at your earliest convenience. Off!"

  As the face of the President disappeared from the disc, Roger slumped down in his chair and lighted a cigarette. What should he do? What could he do?

  There was a tap at the door.

  "Come in," he said, listlessly.

  Professor Ederson entered.

  "No use to try to use the radio tonight," he said. "With the unknown interference we have been getting lately and this storm, it would be useless to try to communicate with the moon. I had our operator notify all stations that we wouldn't attempt it tonight."

  "Hear about the cold snap in the east?" asked Roger.

  "Yes. Got it on the small set just before I came down. Terrible thing, isn't it?"

  "And about the green moonlight?"

  "Yes. Some new wrinkle of the Lunites, I fancy. They are clever and resourceful and, for all we know, a thousand years ahead of us in scientific knowledge."

  "What do you suppose it is?"

  "I don't know. An observation might be made from here, seeing that this part of the country is unaffected, if it were not for the raging storm. But it would be suicidal to go up in an electroplane just now."

  "If I thought there were anything to be learned, I'd go up," said Roger, "danger or no danger."

  "I mentioned it only as a possibility," replied the professor. "The probability is, that if you did learn anything, it would be of no material value, even if you were to be so extremely fortunate as to get back alive with it"

  "Nevertheless," replied Roger, "I'm going up, just on the strength of that possibility."

  "Don't be an utter fool," warned the professor, but Roger was already calling Bevans.

  "Have the Blettendorf 800 ready in five minutes," he said. "I'll be up in a jiffy."

  He dressed rapidly while the professor remonstrated with him.

  "No use," said Roger, "I'm going."

  "Very well," replied the professor. "If you must go I'll go with you. Perhaps the two of us can bring back some information of value--if we get back."

  They took the elevator to the top, stepped out on the roof, and battled their way through the driving rain, in which there was beginning
to be a hint of sleet, to the electroplane. Eight men held it, just outside the hangar, while Bevans, in the pilot's seat, tested the motor.

  The two men entered and took their seats. Then Roger gave the order to ascend. Came a roar from the helicopter blades, and they were off.

  As they rose above the skyscrapers of Chicago, their craft tossing and careening like a leaf in a gale, Roger took two parcels from beneath the seat, one of which he handed to the professor.

  "Folding parachutes," he said. "Bevans is wearing one. Watch how I strap mine on, and do likewise. We may need them."

  The wind swept them out over Lake Michigan--then they plunged into a swirling, blinding snowstorm, and everything below, even the powerful guide-lights of Chicago's great landing fields, vanished.

  With propeller and helicopter blades roaring, Bevans drove the plane higher and higher, until they at length emerged above the seething, moon-silvered clouds.

  "No green moonlight here," said the professor.

  "But look--look to the southeast!" exclaimed Roger.

  The professor looked, and saw a green band of light, wide at the bottom, but narrowing as it extended upward straight toward the gibbous moon.

  "The moon looks green from Washington," said the professor, "because the inhabitants had to look through the green lights to see it."

  Roger shouted an order through the speaking tube.

  "Hover."

  As the big plane, now riding in comparatively calm air, hung smoothly suspended by its helicopter blades, he turned a pair of powerful binoculars on the moon. He focused them, looked for a moment longer, then handed them to the professor.

  "It's coming from the ring-mountain, Copernicus," he said. "Looks as if a beam from an enormous green searchlight were coming directly from the center of the crater."

  "So it is," said the professor, after a careful scrutiny. "From the very center of the crater."