the joys of conflict, instead of living under glass, likehot-house flowers."
"If we could only go somewhere--"
"There isn't anywhere to go. I write about the West, Africa, South SeaIslands. But they were all filled up two hundred years ago. Pleasureresorts, sanatoriums, cities, factories."
"If only we lived on Venus! I was listening to a lecture on thetelevision, last night. The speaker said that the Planet Venus isyounger than the Earth, that it has not cooled so much. It has a thick,cloudy atmosphere, and low, rainy forests. There's simple, elementallife there--like Earth had before civilization ruined it."
"Yes, Kinsley, with his new infra-red ray telescope, that penetrates thecloud layers of the planet, proved that Venus rotates in about the sameperiod as Earth; and it must be much like Earth was a million yearsago."
"Eric, I wonder if we could go there! It would be so thrilling to beginlife like the characters in your stories, to get away from this hatefulcivilization, and live natural lives. Maybe a rocket--"
* * * * *
The young author's eyes were glowing. He skipped across the floor,seized Nada, kissed her ecstatically. "Splendid! Think of hunting in thevirgin forest, and bringing the game home to you! But I'm afraid thereis no way.--Wait! The Cosmic Express."
"The Cosmic Express?"
"A new invention. Just perfected a few weeks ago, I understand. ByLudwig Von der Valls, the German physicist."
"I've quit bothering about science. It has ruined nature, filled theworld with silly, artificial people, doing silly, artificial things."
"But this is quite remarkable, dear. A new way to travel--by ether!"
"By ether!"
"Yes. You know of course that energy and matter are interchangeableterms; both are simply etheric vibration, of different sorts."
"Of course. That's elementary." She smiled proudly. "I can give youexamples, even of the change. The disintegration of the radium atom,making helium and lead and _energy_. And Millikan's old proof that hisCosmic Ray is generated when particles of electricity are united to forman atom."
"Fine! I thought you said you weren't a scientist." He glowed withpride. "But the method, in the new Cosmic Express, is simply to convertthe matter to be carried into power, send it out as a radiant beam andfocus the beam to convert it back into atoms at the destination."
"But the amount of energy must be terrific--"
"It is. You know short waves carry more energy than long ones. TheExpress Ray is an electromagnetic vibration of frequency far higher thanthat of even the Cosmic Ray, and correspondingly more powerful and morepenetrating."
The girl frowned, running slim fingers through golden-brown hair. "But Idon't see how they get any recognizable object, not even how they getthe radiation turned back into matter."
"The beam is focused, just like the light that passes through a cameralens. The photographic lens, using light rays, picks up a picture andreproduces it again on the plate--just the same as the Express Ray picksup an object and sets it down on the other side of the world.
"An analogy from television might help. You know that by means of thescanning disc, the picture is transformed into mere rapid fluctuationsin the brightness of a beam of light. In a parallel manner, the focalplane of the Express Ray moves slowly through the object, progressively,dissolving layers of the thickness of a single atom, which areaccurately reproduced at the other focus of the instrument--which mightbe in Venus!
"But the analogy of the lens is the better of the two. For no receivinginstrument is required, as in television. The object is built up of aninfinite series of plane layers, at the focus of the ray, no matterwhere that may be. Such a thing would be impossible with radio apparatusbecause even with the best beam transmission, all but a tiny fraction ofthe power is lost, and power is required to rebuild the atoms. Do youunderstand, dear?"
"Not altogether. But I should worry! Here comes breakfast. Let me butteryour toast."
A bell had rung at the shaft. She ran to it, and returned with a greatsilver tray, laden with dainty dishes, which she set on a little sidetable. They sat down opposite each other, and ate, getting as muchsatisfaction from contemplation of each other's faces as from theexcellent food. When they had finished, she carried the tray to theshaft, slid it in a slot, and touched a button--thus disposing of theculinary cares of the morning.
She ran back to Eric, who was once more staring distastefully at histypewriter.
"Oh, darling! I'm thrilled to death about the Cosmic Express! If wecould go to Venus, to a new life on a new world, and get away from allthis hateful conventional society--"
"We can go to their office--it's only five minutes. The chap thatoperates the machine for the company is a pal of mine. He's not supposedto take passengers except between the offices they have scattered aboutthe world. But I know his weak point--"
Eric laughed, fumbled with a hidden spring under his desk. A smallpolished object, gleaming silvery, slid down into his hand.
"Old friendship, _plus_ this, would make him--like spinach."
* * * * *
Five minutes later Mr. Eric Stokes-Harding and his pretty wife were instreet clothes, light silk tunics of loose, flowing lines--littleclothing being required in the artificially warmed city. They entered anelevator and dropped thirty stories to the ground floor of the greatbuilding.
There they entered a cylindrical car, with rows of seats down the sides.Not greatly different from an ancient subway car, except that it wasair-tight, and was hurled by magnetic attraction and repulsion through atube exhausted of air, at a speed that would have made an old subwayrider gasp with amazement.
In five more minutes their car had whipped up to the base of anotherbuilding, in the business section, where there was no room for parksbetween the mighty structures that held the unbroken glass roofs twohundred stories above the concrete pavement.
An elevator brought them up a hundred and fifty stories. Eric led Nadadown a long, carpeted corridor to a wide glass door, which bore thewords:
COSMIC EXPRESS
stenciled in gold capitals across it.
As they approached, a lean man, carrying a black bag, darted out of anelevator shaft opposite the door, ran across the corridor, and entered.They pushed in after him.
They were in a little room, cut in two by a high brass grill. In frontof it was a long bench against the wall, that reminded one of thewaiting room in an old railroad depot. In the grill was a little window,with a lazy, brown-eyed youth leaning on the shelf behind it. Beyond himwas a great, glittering piece of mechanism, half hidden by the brass. Alittle door gave access to the machine from the space before the grill.
The thin man in black, whom Eric now recognized as a prominent Frenchheart-specialist, was dancing before the window, waving his bagfrantically, raving at the sleepy boy.
"Queek! I have tell you zee truth! I have zee most urgent necessity togo queekly. A patient I have in Paree, zat ees in zee most creeticalcondition!"
"Hold your horses just a minute, Mister. We got a client in the machinenow. Russian diplomat from Moscow to Rio de Janeiro.... Two hundredseventy dollars and eighty cents, please.... Your turn next. Rememberthis is just an experimental service. Regular installations all over theworld in a year.... Ready now. Come on in."
The youth took the money, pressed a button. The door sprang open in thegrill, and the frantic physician leaped through it.
"Lie down on the crystal, face up," the young man ordered. "Hands atyour sides, don't breathe. Ready!"
He manipulated his dials and switches, and pressed another button.
"Why, hello, Eric, old man!" he cried. "That's the lady you were tellingme about? Congratulations!" A bell jangled before him on the panel."Just a minute. I've got a call."
He punched the board again. Little bulbs lit and glowed for a second.The youth turned toward the half-hidden machine, spoke courteously.
"All right, madam. Wa
lk out. Hope you found the transit pleasant."
"But my Violet! My precious Violet!" a shrill female voice came fromthe machine. "Sir, what have you done with my darling Violet?"
"I'm sure I don't know, madam. You lost it off your hat?"
"None of your impertinence, sir! I want my dog."
"Ah, a dog. Must have jumped off the crystal. You can have him sent onfor three hundred and--"
"Young man, if any harm comes to my Violet--I'll--I'll--I'll appeal tothe Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals!"
"Very good, madam. We appreciate your patronage."
* * * * *
The door flew open again. A very fat woman, puffing angrily, face
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