Hundreds of machine guns were buzzing now, the air was filled with the din of bursting shells, and bombs were still dropping. But behind their thick walls of force, the Moon Men were as safe as though a million miles separated us from them. They made no move against us.
I had dropped eight hundred feet, and was preparing to climb again, when I heard a sound coming up from below where the Lunar craft were gathering. It was deep and sonorous, and powerful enough to be heard above the noise of the battle. Could it be true? A voice? Yes, it was true! Something down there was speaking English words, and what it said made me wonder for a moment if I were not really dreaming.
“Cease firing, Earth Men,” it boomed. “The People of the Moon come in peace. We only wish to ask a favor. Grant us the privilege of taking a small portion of your atmosphere and water back to our world, so that we shall be able to make life bearable there. Our payment will be great. We shall teach you the secrets of our vessels and our rays, we shall open for you, doors giving access to knowledge, of the existence of which you have never dreamed. We shall check those forces, which, if left unhindered, would eventually make your world uninhabitable. Besides, we shall always try to be your friends and guides. Will you agree?”
The mechanical voice died away, and with it the pounding of shells and hum of machine guns.
THE first feeling which came over me was one of mingled consternation and relief. We had expected the complete destruction of our civilization and perhaps our race as well; yet these supposed blood-thirsty Moon Men were making an offer, which would mean nothing but good for us. Then suddenly I began to suspect that we were being tricked. There must be a catch somewhere! Fairness with creatures of lesser knowledge and civilization has seldom been the way with men.
The Voice spoke again: “The thoughts of many of you indicate that you doubt the honesty of our purpose. Very well. We shall stop the generators, which maintain our protecting force-shields. Then we shall proceed under guard to your flying field. Since you will be directly over us, it will be a small matter for you to destroy us, should we show any indication of breaking faith. We trust you.”
And so our suspicions were allayed. If the Lunarians desired to conquer us, there was certainly no reason why they should make this move.
The little radio-buzzer over my ear was ticking out a command in code: “Feather-formation over Lunar fleet—Head back toward Hinton Field—”
Thus our bloodless encounter came to its glorious end. Within fifteen minutes the world had heard about it, and had begun its orgy of celebration. Two hours later the governments of every important nation had agreed to the proposition of the Moon Men.
It was nearly noon before all of the craft of the two great fleets were landed at the Flying Field. About us, kept back by ropes, and by the diligent efforts on the part of the police, was a vast crowd of spectators.
In the company of Professor Paxton, who had come by fast rocket plane from the observatory at Flagstaff, I wandered among the towering rows of ships that lined the field. About us were the Lunarians and their busy automatons.
Presently we met Number 333, recognizable by the peculiar green markings on his mantle. He knew us as soon as he saw us. “Greetings, Friends!” were his first words. I knew at once that he carried a much improved speech mechanism, for his voice, which came from a tiny box at his side, had lost its flatness. How he operated the device, I could not tell.
“There seems to have been a slight misunderstanding between us,” he continued. “Your departure from our world was rather sudden. If you had waited long enough for me to tell you more, I think you would have been reassured.”
Professor Paxton and I made profuse and somewhat sheepish apologies for our blunder. Then we asked the Moon Man to tell us more about his people’s plans. Just what would they do now that the human race was in possession of the earth?
“When we saw that this planet was already inhabited by an intelligent form of life, we were rather puzzled as to what move to make,” said Number 333. “Of course, we might have landed in the south polar regions, and started to rebuild our civilization there without disturbing anyone very much. But such a procedure has certain drawbacks, the greatest of which is that for a large portion of the year our sun motors would not be able to operate.
“It is to Number 2434 that we owe the solution of our problem. Three days ago, he invented a peculiar form of generator which has the power to ‘crystallize’ the ether of space about the machine for a distance proportionate to the amount of energy being consumed.
“Crystallized ether has been known for many ages. It is an electrical phenomenon and can be brought into being by means of certain electro-magnetic vibrations. You saw today what it was like, for we surrounded all our battleships with a protecting shield of it. It has many of the properties of normal matter, including solidity, or semi-solidity; but it lacks mass.
“It was not until Number 2434 invented his generator that we could produce a large enough volume of crystallized ether for the purpose we had in mind. But now everything is easy. We plan to form a vast, spherical shell all around the moon, and about a hundred miles above its surface. For this purpose, two big generators will be constructed. A few minutes after they are set in operation, the shell will be formed. If we desire it to disappear for any reason, it will be only necessary to shut off the power. Beneath the shield we will seal our borrowed atmosphere forever, against leakage into space. Thus the moon will become habitable again.
“Part of the payment for the gifts you Earth Men give us will be a similar, though necessarily much larger, shield around the earth.”
Number 333 took us on a tour of exploration through the Lunar camp, and then at Paxton’s suggestion, we decided to introduce our weird companion to the mysteries of earthly life. We all climbed into the cabin of the professor’s plane, and a moment later we were rolling down the field and into the air, all our fears gone.
Some minutes later we rented a monocar at one of Chicago’s landing stages; then we plunged into the whirling activity of the city, magnified many times by the titanic celebration that was in progress. Though he gave no sign that I could interpret, I am quite sure that Number 333 was somewhat more than a little bewildered. The flashing lights along Michigan Avenue, the din, the crowds of people thrown into a kind of ecstasy by the tremendous events of the day, and finally, the vastness of the city, with its seemingly endless avenues, were so totally different from the silent majesty of the moon, that I do not see how it could have been otherwise.
Nor was I any less affected. How was it possible for me, Jerry Olson, to be riding in this perfectly prosaic little vehicle, with a weird creature from another world as a companion? Such things didn’t happen even in nightmares!
The Day of the Arrival is now fifty-three years in the past. Things have happened, just as Number 333 said they would. Tonight, as I look out of my window, I see the moon rising over the maple trees. The sky everywhere has a pale, greenish tinge, which dims the stars a little, and the moon has a green halo. The shields of crystallized ether are faintly phosphorescent at night. Earth has become almost a paradise. From pole to pole a balmy, spring-time climate prevails, for the heat of the sun, once transmitted to our planet, cannot escape rapidly through the shield.
And Luna! Her day is now only forty hours long, for her people have found a way to increase her rate of rotation. The air and water carried from our planet in hollow spheres of crystallized ether have rapidly transformed her into a fairyland of growing things. Bizarre and beautiful plants have formed thick carpets of vegetation over those portions of her surface which are still uninhabited. The walls of many of her craters are already festooned with green vines to their very summits. Many of the hitherto desolate plains have become rich farmlands. The population of the moon has doubled and is increasing rapidly.
Between earth and its satellite a lively commerce is being carried on. Huge interplanetary liners, as well as many freighters, are constantly plying back and for
th. Every winter thousands of earthly tourists flock to the Lunar cities to admire their lacy architecture, and to enjoy themselves along the seashores and on the steep mountain slopes.
My youngest son, Dan, is leaving for the satellite to-morrow for he plans to study there, in the House of Learning. He is a medical student. Number 333 will be one of his instructors.
But it is still impossible for an earthly human being to tell what greater wonders are yet to come forth from the Lunar Chrysalis.
The End
****************************************
Waves of Compulsion,
by Raymond Z. Gallun
Wonder Stories March 1932
Novelette - 15929 words
We are all aware of the strange mass or mob psychology that causes thousands of people in a group to be seized with identical impulses so that they act as one person. This control over the minds of thousands would be a power supreme to anyone who could exercise it.
Since people in a mass are responsive to mob psychology, there is no reason why such mental control or waves of compulsion could not be exercised over them. Some students of the subject believe that waves could be broadcast, such as we send our radio waves, that would strike the brains of people and compel them to do things they would not do ordinarily.
We do know that in a feeble way, mental telepathy is possible today. But to extend the power and range of this telepathy so that waves of compulsion could be broadcast would require scientific knowledge far beyond us at the moment. The future, however, should show great advances along this line, and as our author pictures in this strange, exciting tale, it should produce great changes in all human life.
CHAPTER I
MERTON SANDHURST was in a mood for relaxation. He had put in a stiff three days of work with scarcely twice as many hours of sleep and now he felt that he deserved a good rest. The tentative check-up on the newly discovered propelling ray was complete; he knew its wavelength, its qualities, and he had a rather well-defined idea of what it might be used for.
Tomorrow he would start work on a real, practical projector; maybe he would even do a little planning for the spaceboat—wonderful thought, that—an inspiration for many other thrilling thoughts of adventures in the void which was still untouched by men. But tonight Sandhurst didn’t care to bother about such things. He wanted to take it easy now and snooze!
Languidly he shuffled down a corridor in the great subterranean laboratory of which he had recently been made master, and entered the small room which, of his own free will, he had chosen to inhabit. Like most of his subordinates he believed that it was best for a man to remain close to his work.
Carelessly he sat down in a big easy-chair and propped one foot up on the edge of the bed. There was something suggestively feline in the lazy movement.
Sandhurst was a strong man, and though he had passed well into middle life, time and the demands of his strenuous vocation had left few tell-tale marks on his rugged constitution.
His eyes roved from the battered, impassively staring visage of the Egyptian statuette of the Fourth Dynasty standing on top of the book case, to the rows of gilt-lettered titles of the volumes in the shelves below. There was little of science here: Kipling’s “Barrack Room Ballads,” Poe’s short stories, Shakespeare’s complete works. The savant sensed an austere, aloof elegance about those books, and something peaceful and far-removed from the hustling, busy world.
Merton Sandhurst lighted a cigarette. Suddenly it came to him how completely cut off from the world he was in his laboratory. It was five hundred feet below ground and was shielded on all sides by an immense wall of lead alloy. No radio waves, not even the all-pervading cosmic rays could penetrate here. If they could, they would have spoiled the incredibly delicate experiments being performed with obscure etheric vibrations. Even the air here was specially purified to remove any traces of radioactivity it may have acquired in the upper atmosphere. A catastrophe might occur in the world above, but in this buried realm of science there would be no sign.
Sandhurst had thrown aside his soiled smock, was kicking off his shoes, and then the telephone rang. With a lazy gesture he raised the receiver to his ear.
“Murgatroyd Laboratory, Sandhurst speaking,” he drawled.
It was a long-distance call from Flagstaff.
The voice that presently came over the wire had a tense excited quality that gave the experimenter’s languid mood a sharp jolt. Sandhurst recognized the voice of his friend, John Borden, the astronomer:
“Busy, Mert?”
“Better than that. I’m going to turn in in about a minute.”
“No you’re not—not when you hear what I’ve got to say! The bolide we’ve been watching—things happened just as I predicted. The earth captured it!”
“So? Tell me about it,” Sandhurst said, affecting a disinterest which he no longer felt.
“It has become our moon and is revolving in an orbit just beyond the limits of the atmosphere,” Borden continued. “It has been visible here for just a few minutes and I haven’t been able to measure its speed yet, but it certainly makes a complete circuit of its orbit much faster than the earth rotates on its axis. Consequently, like the inner moon of Mars, it rises in the west and sets in the east. It’s altogether very, very strange.
“The object is about a quarter of a mile in diameter and of roughly oval shape. Its surface is covered with a smooth surface that shines like splinters of volcanic glass—kind of purplish and wicked—sort of gives you the creeps. And there is something there that I would like to know more about. It is hemispherical and—and—oh—”
Sandhurst heard a gasp from Borden followed by a tinkling sound. Immediately the telephone went dead. The light in his room blinked off, burned again for a second, and then died out completely, leaving the scientist in absolute darkness.
“What the devil!”
Sandhurst groped to the door and opened it. He heard the sudden throb and hum of the engine-driven emergency generator coming from a nearby room. The normal illumination was restored.
The scientist made his way to a large vaulted chamber which housed four huge tanks of glass filled with a dark fluid. Beside them a man was impatiently trying to get some response from a telephone switchboard which persistently refused to show any signs of life.
He turned at the sound of Sandhurst’s footsteps. His beefy countenance, which commonly expressed perfect Scotch-American good nature, was twisted into an angry grimace.
“THE nit-wits!” he stormed. “They promised us perfectly even power for six days, and now, before three of ’em are up every line into this laboratory turns stone-cold. Our experiment is a wreck and even the blasted phone has gone haywire so I can’t even call ’em up and bawl ’em out! What are we going to do, Mert?”
The man surveyed his superior’s face for a moment. He saw that the usual care-free smile was gone; the chin was set and hard, and it seemed that he could detect a slight pallor creeping through the faint bronze of his cheeks.
“Mert— What’s the matter?”
“Nothing serious, I hope, Mac,” Sandhurst replied. “Awaken the men and conduct a general check-over. Possibly the trouble is right here in the laboratory—fuse or something. I’m going above for a minute and take a look at the weather.”
Merton Sandhurst did not care to spread a false alarm, yet it was with serious misgivings that he entered an elevator and sent it racing toward the upper levels of the Murgatroyd Electromagnetic Laboratory. He knew that it was ridiculous to suppose that all the power lines could quit at once as a result of any ordinary mishap. It was considered phenomenal if the current in them varied even slightly. Only the sudden stopping of the machinery in the power station could account for the present occurrence. And the telephone— How was it possible for that to go dead too, at the same time? Coincidence? No, that appeared to be completely beyond belief.
Sandhurst felt that in the ether about, vague and none too beneficent forces were at work, and so
mehow he associated the purple meteor with those forces. It seemed an intangible and unreasoning idea, yet Borden’s brief and excited communication about the celestial visitor, terminated by a gasp and then silence, kept drumming in his mind and hinting at the unknowable.
The elevator jolted to a stop at the lower level of the squat cylindrical building which surmounted the laboratory. This building was also heavily shielded against all external etheric vibrations. Sandhurst hurried to a small circular window which looked westward. The glass pane that closed it was very thick, and effectively screened out all known ether waves with the exception of those within the limits of the visible spectrum.
Beyond it he could see a broad stretch of typical Mississippi Valley country, the details of which were only very dimly hinted at by the starlight that sifted through thin, shadowy clouds. There was a narrow ribbon of concrete roadway that wound up past the laboratory, and beside it dark patches which he knew were cornfields. A little to the north was a group of farm buildings, and close beside them the sooty smear of a woods. The lights of the nearby town of Ishbel should have lit up a small segment of the sky, but now there was no sign of their existence.
Sandhurst had stared out of the window for only a moment when he became aware of a purplish, fiery something that surged up rapidly through a thick cloud bank hanging straight to the west. It edged the cloud with a fringe of milky opalescence that grew wider and brightened. Then a dazzling chunk of darkling, scintillating purple light thrust itself up into the clear air above the translucent vapor, and began its rapid march among the stars. It was the visiting meteor.
Then and Now : A Collection of SF Page 5
