by Eando Binder
“Drilled a hole clear through him without effect,” groaned Barton. Savagely, he shot again and again, raking the yeti from head to foot. No sound came from it, no cry of pain. How could a dead thing cry in pain? And what could stop its massive, muscled bulk from continuing to rip away at the ice crevice?
They all looked at each other, fear shining from their eyes.
“Gun’s empty,” Barton half-sobbed, flinging the weapon away. “If I had had enough shots, I could have riddled him with enough holes until he fell apart like rotten cheese. But he’s still a working machine of dead flesh….”
The horror of it overwhelmed them. Merry ran her glove over the metal box. “Inside lies the first part of the unknown treasure, but we won’t live to see it. So near and yet so far….”
They all felt the ironic agony of that, having gotten on the verge of some tremendous secret of the far past only to face doom.
“Psi-power,” snapped Hillory. “Our only hope. I’m still too depleted to do it alone…but if both of you help….”
Hillory held his tektite crystal before their eyes. “Stare at it…concentrate your mind on it. You’ll trigger off a flow of psi-energy from the psi-ether. You don’t know how to utilize it, but I think I can manipulate it for our purposes.”
Barton and the girl did as they were told. They began to feel something of the awesome power they were tapping as it torrented through their minds. Hillory sighed a brief prayer and then sent out a mental probe, seeking to link up with their psi-currents.
“Ah, got it,” he breathed. “Now to form them into one single force, together with what I can muster on my own, and….”
Something akin to an explosion occurred beyond the ice crevice. They could see the yeti’s dead body flying apart into bloody fragments that scattered for yards.
Barton stared in shock. “What in heaven’s name was that?”
“Call it psi-dynamite,” sighed Hillory. “That was the only thing to do. Mr. Mind can’t put Humpty Dumpty back together again. We’re free of the yeti menace.”
Hillory looked around grinning. Somewhere the invisible mind-alien, after being blasted out of the body, must be hovering in chagrin, knowing he had lost.
“How was that, Jorzz?” Hillory chortled aloud. “Your Frankenstein bit flopped.”
Something like a mental curse snapped out of nowhere. Then a raging thought-voice. “Gloat while you can, earthling. But your labors have been for nothing. You will see what I mean when you get the box open.”
“What’s inside?” said Barton. “We’ve got to find out. Is he fooling us or what?”
“It’ll have to wait until we get back to the labs,” said Hillory, as they trudged to the bubble. “It’s a sealed container and will take a high-temp torch to melt it open.” Inside the psi-bubble the icy winds were cut off to their relief. Their fingers were half-frozen and their faces frostbitten. Barton gave a short laugh as they sat on the pile of food supplies. “A week’s worth, and we didn’t stay half a day.”
“We can always use them for further expeditions,” observed Merry.
But what concerned them most was the strange metal box that had hung for 35,000 years in mid-air above Mount Everest. On the trip back home, Barton kept looking for a seam or crack to indicate a lid but found nothing. It was as tightly sealed as an eggshell.
What did it contain?
* * * *
At Serendipity Labs Dr. Clyde and others were present as a special high-temperature cutting torch was used to slice open the metal box. It offered no particular resistance. When it was cooled, Hillory stepped forward to lift off the severed portion.
Within lay a mass of pulpy material as if to insulate its contents from extremes of heat or cold. Hillory dug his hands into the stuff and felt something hard. He withdrew a globular object that sparkled with crystalline brightness, sending out shafts of all colors of the rainbow.
“A jewel?” gasped Merry. “Some kind of giant gem that is rare in the universe?”
“No, I don’t think so,” said Hillory, turning the queer ball in his hands and peering closely. “Wait…it’s hollow inside.”
Staring through the multi-colored flashings, he could see inside the hollow globe. What he saw brought a puzzled frown to his face. It seemed to be a thin flat strip of blackish material that was coiled up tightly, filling the interior space.
“Odd,” he exclaimed. “It looks like a tape of all things.”
“Tape?” echoed Barton.
“Yes, like that from a tape recorder or a video tape for television,” returned Hillory baffled.
“And that’s all?” said Merry, disappointed.
“Some ‘treasure’,” grunted Barton, giving his mustache a frustrated twist.
“Ah, but suppose,” said Dr. Clyde, “that tape when played back shows their civilization on a far-off world. That would be a scientific ‘treasure’ indeed.”
“But why would space pirates bother to steal it and carefully hide it?” said Hillory doubtfully. “It must be more than that. Well, no use speculating. Let’s get it open and take the tape out—if it is a tape.”
But there lay the rub. They couldn’t get the rainbow-hued globe open. It went from lab to lab, subjected to high-powered drills, saws and chisels, then pyrogenic torches that could make stone run like water.
“Not a dent or scratch or mark on it,” muttered Hillory. “What is it made of? We’ll have to try the nutcracker.”
The “nutcracker” was a giant press capable of squashing solid steel balls into flat pancakes. The machine groaned and creaked as power was applied to its peak load, but nothing happened. The crystal globe, looking as fragile as an eggshell, showed not the slightest effect.
Hillory tried the most drastic method, even at the risk of damaging the tape within. The globe was placed inside an armored steel drum in which a high explosive was set off. Even a diamond the size of a globe would have been shattered.
But when the lid had been removed and the smoke gushed out, Hillory looked down and held his head. “That didn’t even knock off one molecule.”
“Bring it in to Dr. Cheng,” suggested Merry. “He’s working toward the goal of what he calls indestructible matter.”
In Lab No. 5, the dwarfish Oriental scientist turned the globe over in his hands wonderingly, as Hillory told the story of their attempts to open it.
“It must be matter with interlocked atoms,” he breathed. “Let me try my ultra-laser which can drill through anything known.”
“Known to our science,” murmured Hillory, but too low for Dr. Cheng to hear.
The little scientist aimed a tubular device at the globe and tripped a switch. A tiny red spot appeared on the surface of the globe. It brightened as Dr. Cheng rammed more power through. His eyes widened as minutes went by and the red spot did not change. Hillory watched, fretting inwardly with a hopeless feeling.
An hour later, the little scientist snapped off his ultra-laser and peered at the globe with a magnifying glass. Then he sat at his desk, put his head down on his arms, and began sobbing.
“They achieved it! Someone else besides me found the secret of…indestructible matter.”
“Are you sure?” said Hillory swallowing.
Dr. Cheng lifted his tear-wet eyes. “My equations show that atoms interlocked in a certain pattern are impervious to any outside force. Someone else in the universe knows the secret…and I don’t.”
Hillory and Merry left him sobbing brokenly. They could understand his emotional storm in a way. It was a shattering blow for Dr. Cheng to know that another mind had accomplished a feat that he had failed to perform after years of hard effort.
But to Hillory, it was a far worse dilemma. “What if the other three portions of the treasure are the same? Or something, anyway, encased in that impenetrable substance? Maddening!”
“I feel like screaming,” admitted Merry.
Merry did scream a moment later as they passed Lab No. 8 with lettering on the door—DR
. JONAS T. SPINDLE, BIOLOGIST. The door had abruptly swung open to frame a nightmarish sight. A huge quivering mass of amorphous flesh came squeezing through with a horrible squishing sound.
“Dr. Spindle’s giant amoeboid,” screeched the girl. “It escaped. Or else”—terror sprang into her eyes—“it’s animated by Mr. Mind….”
Hillory had already come to that conclusion and yanked the girl back. But a rubbery pseudopod formed in the jellylike mass and whipped forth like a tentacle. Slimy coils began to wrap themselves around the two, dragging them toward the slurping creature.
A picture flashed through Hillory’s mind of one-celled amoebas under a microscope, drawing in their prey and smothering it, absorbing it. Hillory shuddered, unable to break the grip of the tentacle as he and Merry were inexorably drawn closer to the loathsome super-amoeba.
Others had come running at Merry’s scream but stood helplessly. There was no way to tackle the huge shapeless hulk that spread from side to side and blocked the hallway. A greedy maw opened up in the amoeboid’s flexible flesh, ready to gulp in its two victims.
But Hillory suddenly remembered the crystal globe in his hands and began to pound at the tentacle with it. The hard blows began to hammer the fleshiness into loose pulp until it snapped apart. As the tentacle went limp, Hillory flung it aside and dragged Merry free. “Inside the lab,” he panted.
“But it’s following us,” whimpered Merry as the amorphous monster quickly oozed back through the doorway. It slurped hungrily as if aware that its victims were now trapped in the lab.
But there was purpose in Hillory’s movements as he darted to the wall and unhooked a huge spray device. Using the pump-handle, he sprayed a greenish mist at the giant amoeba, which immediately began to shiver and shrink back.
Hillory kept spraying madly and gradually the massive amoeboid became quiescent and still, no longer quivering. It appeared dead.
“Dr. Spindle’s anesthetizing spray,” explained Hillory, hanging up the sprayer. “He developed it to keep his playmates under control. But what happened to him—?” Merry was already bending over the scientist’s limp form, lying slumped in a corner. Dr. Spindle’s eyes opened dazedly, then he sat up in alarm. “Jumbo, my giant amoeboid! It oozed out of its tank…knocked me aside with a pseudopod and….”
“Relax,” said Hillory, pointing at the unmoving hulk. “It attacked us, but I gave it your bug spray.”
“Thank heaven.” But the scientist’s eyes looked pained. “My amorphoids never menaced anyone before, with the precautions I took. I’m sorry, Hillory….”
“No need to apologize. It wasn’t your fault. The mind-alien—you’ve heard about him—entered Jumbo and animated him into a killer.”
“Oh,” said Dr. Spindle in infinite relief.
Hillory eyed the gelatinous mound blocking the door. “The question now is, how do we get out?”
“Just climb over it,” said Dr. Spindle. “Don’t worry, you won’t sink in.”
Distastefully, Hillory and Merry clambered up over the hulk, hand in hand, finding it rubbery under their feet but otherwise quite firm. From the other side, Hillory called back.
“Just how will you get it back in its tank?”
“Leave that to me,” came Dr. Spindle’s voice. “I have a sort of giant suction pump that does the job.”
“Jorzz just won’t give up,” said Merry, looking around with a shiver. “He’s stalking us all the time.”
“And this time he was after this globe,” said Hillory worriedly, glancing at the adamant ball in his hand. “If he can’t get the metal map from us, he’ll try to seize each of the four treasures as we locate them. How can we keep them safe?”
“Keep them safe for what?” Merry said ironically. “If we can’t even open them.”
“We’ll find a way sooner or later. Ah, I have an idea.”
Chapter 10
DR. ENRICO TORREO, COSMOLOGY read the door of Lab No. 9.
A roly-poly man who at first glance seemed as wide as he was tall turned his flashing black eyes at Hillory and Merry.
“I’m glad you escaped from that amoeboid,” he greeted them sincerely. “I watched in the hall. You look calm, but I’m still shaken.” He held out his hands to show they were trembling.
“Maybe we’re getting used to Mr. Mind’s attacks,” said Hillory, half-banteringly. Then he held up the crystal globe that constantly flashed rainbow hues from its polished surface. “As you’ve probably heard, this is the first ‘treasure’—a strange globular container with tape inside.”
“You never got it open?”
Hillory shook his head. “We have another problem. Where can we store this while we go out for the other three treasures? During our absence, Mr. Mind could strike and get hold of this globe. Is it possible to hide it….”
“Yes, in the fifth dimension,” returned Torreo quickly and rather proudly. “And I’ll guarantee that the mind-alien will never reach it there. What I’ll do is project it…but here, let me demonstrate first.”
“Fine,” said Hillory in relief, having wanted to suggest that himself, before entrusting the treasure globe to an unknown process.
Torreo dramatically placed a book behind a plastic shield, inside of an oval-shaped device. “I won’t attempt to explain precisely how it works, but I use a phased electrostatic probe that can project objects beyond our three dimensional world. Onionskin worlds, parallel worlds, call them what you will, but they exist within reach.”
He pulled a switch, and the book vanished. “It hasn’t moved,” said Torreo. “Not an inch. Yet it’s now far away in the fifth dimension, totally beyond reach. To bring it back….”
He reversed the switch. Though prepared, Hillory and Merry both jumped as the book sprang into view again.
“Seems closer to magic than science,” said Merry.
‘I’ve done this with hundreds of objects,” said Torreo. “And always brought them back intact.”
“I’m convinced,” said Hillory, handing over the globe. Still, he felt misgivings as Torreo’s device made it disappear.
Torreo noticed his expression and smiled. “Watch, I’ll bring it back several times.”
Three times the globe vanished, and twice it came back. The third time it purposely stayed in the fifth dimension. “That’s that,” sighed Hillory. “It’s presumably safe from Mr. Mind—as safe as anything can be. Now we can go on with our treasure hunt.”
“But the next thing,” reminded Merry, “is to furnish Brains with a more authentic map of earth 35,000 years ago before we’ll know where spot number 2 is.”
* * * *
Barton took the map that Hillory held out. “Merry and I sorted through a couple dozen ancient maps of earth, according to the theories of various geologists. But we have no way of knowing which of them is nearest to being right. So we’ll just have to try them out at random. This one first.”
Barton nodded and fed the map to Brains, along with the alien scroll. He twiddled his mustache as he waited for the computer’s preliminary scan. Then wording lighted up—EARTH MAP UNSUITABLE.
Barton grinned. “Wait’ll the scientist who made that map of earth in 35,000 B.C. finds out that his pet theory is hogwash.”
“Hmm,” said Hillory. “A by-product of our project is that we can give the geologists a much more reliable map of prehistoric earth than they every had before. The aliens who buried the treasure gave us eyewitness data of that time with which to compare our guesswork maps.”
Barton fed in five more maps which were summarily rejected by Brains. Hillory began to look worried. Would they all turn out wrong?
But the next map was accepted by the computer, which signaled with its lights that it needed 33 minutes and 7 seconds to locate spot number 2.
“Just time enough for a quickie lunch at the cafeteria,” invited Hillory, taking Merry’s arm. “Barton?”
“I’ve got to stay and catch up with in-house programmings to feed Brains, on the side.” Barton we
nt on nervously. “But what if our mental pal from outer space decides to grab the metal scroll while you’re gone, with only me on guard? I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I,” mused Hillory. He turned. “You go, Merry, and bring me back some sandwiches and coffee.”
When the girl had gone, Hillory took out one of his psi-tektites and held it in his hand. “If the mind-alien comes anywhere near, I’ll get a psi-warning. That will give me time enough to build up a psi-blast, ready to fire at anything dangerous.”
“Good enough,” said Barton, relaxing.
After Merry returned and Hillory ate absently, Brains was ready with his answer.
Barton pressed the voice read-out button and the sonorous tones of the computer came forth.
“The second spot of the alien map is on a continent that exists between South America and Africa….”
Barton punched the hold button and turned a stunned face. “Did you hear that?” he demanded. “That’s the legendary continent of Atlantis out in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.”
“Obviously, it wasn’t legendary,” said Merry drily. “When the aliens came here 35,000 years ago, it was there—dry land where ocean liners cross today.”
Hillory got over his shock and said, “It fits with the theories of sunken Atlantis, which was supposed to have submerged about 25,000 years ago. Various holocausts are given for this tremendous event, such as earth’s axis shifting and what-not. And I remember now that the map Brains accepted did show a land mass in the Atlantic. It wasn’t called Atlantis—cartographers are extremely sensitive about backing up ‘myths’. But nevertheless, that map did hypothesize a continent that is now sunken.”
He looked at the other two lugubriously. “Which brings up a unique problem. It means that we have to dive for our treasure this time.”
“EEK is all I can say.” Merry wasn’t smiling. “But how far down?”
Hillory shrugged. “Brains wouldn’t know that. He’s dealing with the ancient world when Atlantis was up above. Well, let’s hear what further data Brains can give.”
Barton took the computer off hold, and the rest was revealed. “The treasure is located in almost the exact center of this continent, where there is a landmark consisting of a huge pit made by a giant meteorite that fell. The treasure is in the bottom of the pit.”
