The Mad Scientist Megapack

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  The house was a comfortable one, surrounded by a large apple orchard. In the first month at his new residence Rane both puzzled and shocked the citizens of Granite Point by blowing up every tree of this orchard with some kind of explosive. His exact method of accomplishing this was never quite known, for when his housekeeper repeated to the villagers what her employer had told her, it was thought she was more than slightly mad.

  According to the housekeeper, Rane had wired each individual tree with something that was in sympathetic vibration with the wings of a bee. When the trees burst into their spring bloom and the bees came, the explosions followed.

  Subsequent to the orchard incident, Rane was seen to construct a square wooden platform in the yard before his house, upon which swiftly took form a weird machine. The tax-collector who called upon him during the month of June described it as “a mess of insulators and wheels with a dial panel that looked like a powerhouse switchboard.” Asked the purpose of this machine, Rane delivered the astounding statement that he didn’t know yet. He had simply made it and was going to see what it would do.

  * * * *

  Such events were bound to impress the citizens of Granite Point. The climax of it all came when the local radio station, WYYO, was found insolvent and decided to dispose of its studio and control room fixtures at public auction. Rane, driving up in his Model-T Ford was the only bidder for two teletype machines with which the station had received for its listeners News Flashes of the World.

  Loading the two heavy teletypes in his car, Rane broke all speed records driving back to his house. And after that for a period of more than two months little was seen of the man.

  In his house, however, he was a dynamo of activity. First he mounted the two teletypes on a wooden bench, side by side. There to the casual observer the instruments resembled two ordinary typewriters, with the twin paper-rolls in readiness, as if they were waiting to receive a telegraphic message. He next turned his attention to his cosmic radio.

  He called it that for want of a better term. The earlier developments of this machine were lost in a frenzy of experimentation. Starting with a study of atomic power, Rane had developed a miniature atom-smasher; later he elaborated his instrument into a device of which he himself stood a little in awe.

  “You see,” he said one day to his housekeeper, “this machine as it now stands is based on a concept of the relation between time and space. It will project a ray through the fourth dimensional continuum. In other words, when turned to full power, it will cause a disruption of the space-time coordinates, a channel so to speak which leads from our own three-dimensional world into the fourth dimension. I am convinced that such a channel is being utilized by beings of other planets as a means of communication.”

  Rane then connected the two teletypes to the machine, with a loading coil between each. He pulled the switch, set the dynamos in action and awaited results.

  Results were cataclysmic. There was a blinding flash of light, a thunderous report which shattered twelve windows in Granite Point and a hiss of flame that swept through three rooms of the house. Rane himself escaped with only burns about the face and arms, but his housekeeper rose up in righteous wrath and promptly gave notice.

  May I repeat myself when I say that Rane had the brain—or at least the partial brain—of a true scientist. One failure did not disturb him in the slightest. In fact, he had rather expected it. And he fell to work at once, repairing damaged cables and connections and rewiring his entire machine.

  The newly-finished product was quite different from the original version. It was, if possible, more complicated in its control-panel. Here was added for no definite reason a huge antenna in the outer yard which stretched from the house to a mast some hundred and fifty feet away.

  Again he connected his teletypes. And on the night of the first of August everything was in readiness for his second test. I mention the date, for it was the date of the worst electrical and wind storm that had struck Granite Point in twenty years. Outside the copper antenna and counterpoise were swaying madly in the gale. Lightning tore across the heavens to the accompaniment of an artillery of thunder.

  Inside his laboratory Rane was oblivious to the storm. For two hours he had sat before the instrument panel, turning and twisting the dials. Above him a huge hour-glass-shaped tube glowed orange and cherry red at intervals, but a deathlike silence hung over the two teletypes. There was only the low whine of the dynamos.

  And then abruptly one of the typewriter keys of the teletype trembled and rose halfway. Feverishly, Rane readjusted the paper, turned the dials.

  A moment later, with a rush and a clatter, the keys began to pound in and out, the carriage swept from right to left, and the following message came into creation on the rolled paper:

  qtsf wuxz24 hkOOvey w311mcbq oorhg bvcskha rivslyztuln kklmnwlf. rywbsqv 3.2 ddcupj. —tcaw S

  Rane stared at these cryptic words as a wild gleam of triumph entered his eyes. Palms wet, heart pounding, he stood there, scarcely daring to breath, but no further message was printed. Vainly he worked at the dials.

  At twenty minutes past four A.M. the teletype moved into action again. But this time, though Rane was wild with excitement, its results were a bit disappointing. The same message was repeated word for word, or rather letter for letter. And thereafter silence.

  Exhausted at last, Rane fell into a deep slumber. At dawn he was up again to his machine. What possibly could have been the source of that strange message he had, of course, no way of knowing. But that the events of the night before had been no dream was positively demonstrated by the paper in the roll which still showed its meaningless jumble of letters and figures.

  All day he attempted to decipher that message. He put into play the “predominant E solution” of Poe and Doyle, as the only methods he had at his disposal. Neither worked. But that night again at five minutes past twelve and again at twenty minutes past four the first teletype resumed its clatter.

  qtsf wuxz24 hkOOvey w311mcbq yvers chtq oorhg tfc aijbf,w dpiuxqaz ywgfd bvcxzasdf wertyu. —tcaw 5

  Here was a different combination of letters and figures. The first, second, third, fourth words and the seventh word were the same as in the first message, as was the last word, which seemed to be a signature of some sort.

  And then Rane had an idea. Suppose, he told himself, suppose he had in actuality contacted another planet, a planet which biologically, or at least psychologically, was on a parallel with the earth. And suppose the inhabitants of this planet were utilizing the fourth dimension as a means of communication. Surely even an Einstein would agree this was but an elementary supposition.

  Very well, why then would messages come through twice in rotation at five minutes past twelve and twenty minutes past four? He glanced at his own radio, and the answer came abruptly. Weather reports!

  His brain swung into this channel with a rush as other thoughts followed. Since the postulated planet might—in all probability, was—beyond our Solar System, its system of keeping time would be different. There would be other suns to betoken the noon hour. A night or a day very probably might fall into the intervening time between five minutes past twelve and twenty minutes past four.

  Now was he to assume that the message he had received could be transposed into English words? Such an assumption seemed impossible, and the fact that numerals as well as letters had been used seemed to indicate another means of communication entirely.

  Fortified by two cups of strong coffee Rane struggled with his solution. Using the single word weather as a key word in as many terrestrial languages as he could call to arm, he wrote and rewrote the messages again and again.

  * * * *

  By morning Rane had it. It was in English or an equivalent of English. It was little more than a cryptogram, with letters and groups of letters having different meanings. Apparently the unknown operator was transmitting in a language that had
English as a basis, but had phonetically changed it to suit his own conditions.

  Decoded, the first message now read:

  Vome, Lirius Weather forecast.

  Winds abating. Atmospheric coronium content 3.2. Warmer. —Unit A.

  The second message took Rane only a moment to transpose.

  Vome, Lirius Weather forecast.

  Northwest winds and warmer. Possible light meteorite shower. —Unit A.

  Rane at this point was in a state of nervous frenzy. Sheer exhaustion forced him to go to his bed, where he remained dead to the world for six hours. But as the sun sank and darkness came, he awakened automatically to begin a new vigil at his machine.

  The 12:05 message that night was very similar to previous messages, merely a weather prediction. But the 4:20 message was different.

  Vome, Lirius. General emergency report. Dromeda, daughter of Calian and most beautiful woman in all Lirius, was kidnapped early today by a man thought to be Tarana, son of the King of Uranus. It is believed Tarana arrived secretly on Lirius on a space ship, travelling out of patrolled space-lanes. A council of war will be held immediately. —Unit A.

  Swift on the heels of this breath-taking message, the cosmic teletype broke into action again. The keys pounded over the paper with weird rapidity.

  Vome, Lirius. Report of the council of war to all peoples of Lirius. An ultimatum has been sent to the government of the planet, Uranus, demanding the return of Dromeda, plus a full indemnity. If this demand is disregarded, conscription of all able-bodied males of Lirius will begin tomorrow. —Unit A.

  Barely had these words made their inked impression on the paper when another astounding event occurred. Joseph Rane, by now beyond all borders of amazement, reached quickly for the dials and adjusted them as best as he could. The second teletype, silent until now, was responding to outer galactic stimuli. Slowly, as if under weight of serious consideration, the keys tapped off the message:

  Geharla, Uranus. The King of Uranus informs the government of Lirius that Dromeda, betrothed by right of conquest, will be married in state to Prince Tarana in a wedding to be held tomorrow night in the light of our four moons. Any attitude other than friendly by the government of Lirius will be taken as a step toward war. In which case we, of Uranus, will not hesitate to train our cosmic radiation towers on Lirius and annihilate her.

  * * * *

  It was now two o’clock terrestrial time, and Joseph Rane was living on nervous energy alone. The hours that followed found the twin teletypes working almost continuously. There were threats and counter-threats between the two planets. There was a mass order for immediate mobilization on Lirius. There was a call to defense on Uranus. At three A.M. came the single insolent flash from Geharla that Prince Tarana had been married to Dromeda.

  More messages while Joseph Rane’s brain reeled to their potentialities. An expedition of war was leaving Lirius in space-dreadnoughts for Uranus. All threats of the cosmic radiation towers were regarded as bluff. Lirius would have its beautiful Dromeda back or perish trying.

  But Rane’s already over-strained brain demanded rest at this point. The scientist pulled the switch of his machine, stopping the dynamos, ate a little food and went to bed.

  During the following day the teletypes were silent. He occupied his time by cutting the rolled paper messages into sheets and pasting them in a scrapbook. He worked indifferently, toying with an idea which had been growing with him for some time.

  If he could receive messages from another world, why couldn’t he send them in return? As matters stood now, he knew one of the planets was Uranus, and he assumed that since the inhabitants referred to it with the same name as the people of Earth, those inhabitants must (a) have originated from Earth, or (b) be constantly aware of the scientific developments on Earth through a method known only to themselves.

  At 12:05 the following flash came over the first teletype:

  Vome, Lirius. The attack expedition, consisting of 25 space dreadnoughts, 6 space gun-ships, and 3 patrol discs has reached Oberon, one of the four moons of Uranus. Landing on Uranus so far has been an impossibility due to the cosmic radiation towers, which have been found to be an actuality. The war is now in a state of siege.

  Rane frowned. Weird and bizarre as this all was, he had a feeling deep within him that it was somehow familiar. Somewhere, long ago, he was sure he had heard of the same facts, the same conditions. And yet such a thought was impossible.

  As for two-way communication, even granting that he might be able to contact either one of the two planets, using the same code, it was doubtful whether or not he would receive a reply, due to the very great excitement there.

  His sympathy, he found mounting steadily in the direction of Lirius, which he guessed was the smaller planet of the two, and which, though on the offensive, had a righteous cause for indignation.

  Abruptly a memory of his old school studies struck him hard—the Trojan War of Greek mythology. This was comparable to the capture of Helen of Troy, wife of Menelaus by Paris and the classical incident of the wooden horse, which had so excited his boyhood imagination.

  Joseph Rane sat down before the first teletype, threw over the switch and adjusted a control knob. An instant later he began pounding out a message.

  To Vome, Lirius. From Joseph Rane, Granite Point, Earth. Have received all messages pertaining to your war with Uranus on machine of my own construction. Exact parallel of your trouble occurred here in past ages. Can advise means of attack. Crude but can be revised to suit your conditions. Answer.

  For five endless minutes the teletype remained in frozen silence. Then with a rush of type the reply came:

  Our observations led us to believe all life ceased to exist on Earth a hundred or more years ago. If you have suggestion pertaining to our war, gratitude of people Lirius would be great. We await your reply.

  Rane drew a long breath and smiled grimly. To a scientist the wooden horse of Troy was anything but scientific, but to a scholar it had stood through the ages as a classical means of deception. His hands began to move over the keys as he typed out peculiar word combinations.

  Rane was no dabbler in words, no writer, no scribe, but he did himself royally on that last and final message. He called to arm all the mythology he knew, and he described the wooden horse incident with great enthusiasm. Could not, he queried, a similar trick be attempted on Uranus? He clicked out his name with a flourish.

  Three hours passed. The would-be scientist smoked cigarettes chain-fashion. He drank two cups of black coffee. The teletypes stood silent. Outside, rain of a dying storm lashed itself against the windows. Another hour passed and another, and then…

  Vome, Lirius. General announcement to all peoples of Lirius. We are victorious! Dromeda is back, and the defeat of Uranus is an actuality. No indemnity will be demanded, but Lirian transports will hereafter have unrestricted rights in the spaceways. Defeat of Uranus came about in the following manner:

  At 29:18, Lirius time, a message was received by the Unit A operator at Vome, purporting to come from Earth and suggesting a means of attack, which, though crude, struck a responsive chord with the commandant of the Lirian Expeditionary Force.

  The suggestion involved the use of a wooden horse, hollow and large enough to secrete a number of Lirian soldiers. It was believed the word, “horse,” referred to higher form of animal life which was evolved on Earth during that planet’s Quaternary or Post Tertiary geologic period. This object was to be landed on Uranus, where, arousing curiosity, it would be taken within the walls. Under cover of Uranian night the concealed soldiers were to leave their hiding place and demolish the cosmic radiation towers, which heretofore had made attack impossible. This plan was immediately set into operation, a life-size image of a Voldadon, that herbivorous monster of the Lirian polar jungles being substituted for a “horse.” With such favorable results we can only express our ful
l gratitude and appreciation to the Earth operator. The Interplanetary Diplomatic Council is how in session, outlining a plan of appreciation.

  For the first time in many hours Rane permitted himself to sink back in his chair and relax slightly. What he had done, he told himself, was no more than any man in similar circumstances would have done. What was important was that a machine of his own making was successful beyond his most remote dreams, opening an unlimited path to the future.

  He smoked a cigarette quietly, enjoying the atmosphere of rest and quiet that now flowed about him. Across on the far wall the hands of an electric clock moved slowly around the dial.

  Suddenly the teletype began again. And as Rane read and decoded the message his heart leaped within him.

  Vome, Lirius. To Joseph Rane, Granite Point, Earth. This is to notify you that a good-will expedition will leave from this planet to your world via one of our super-space transports. Dromeda, the most beautiful woman of Lirius, will be one of the passengers. Advise you to increase signal strength and broadcast power tone at intervals of five minutes, Earth-time, as guide beacon. Without this it is doubtful if we could find our way through uncharted space. Do not broadcast these facts as we wish to make our visit a complete surprise. Will inform you when to begin power tone on moment of departure —Unit A.

  Rane sat there stupefied, his eyes blank, his jaw slowly dropping open. Seconds passed, and there was no sound save the wind as it moaned around the outside corners of the house. Then with a leap he was out of his chair and across to the rheostat control. They needed more power, did they? Well he had an auxiliary dynamo at his disposal, and he would give it to them. His hand trembled as it grasped the knob, began slowly to turn it to the right.

  The motor hum increased to a high-frequency drone that seemed to tremble the very foundations of the house. The hour-glass tube changed from cherry red to a gleaming crimson. Louder roared the dynamos, as the control panel vibrated to a creamy whitish blur.