Finally, all was ready, and Harwood, Vachell and I stepped into the machine. The motors were started, and the helicopter propellers lifted the plane high into the air. Straightening out, we started across the ocean with constantly accelerating speed. In a few moments the Union Island had dwindled to a minute star; then it was gone.
Only one thing worthy of note occurred during the five uneventful hours of the trip across the ocean. About midway between the island and our destination, we saw what seemed to be a flashing, silver meteor darting across the sky. It was moving in the same direction that we were, or we would not have seen it; as it was, it soon outdistanced us and was lost to our sight.
Of one thing we felt sure: that flashing object, whatever it might be, was not of our world. Our hearts sank.
Finally, we arrived at our destination. I had pointed the nose of the plane toward what, under normal conditions, would have been New York City. But these were anything but normal conditions, for instead of the familiar skyline of skyscrapers, we saw a vast expanse of white, translucent glass. As far as the eye could reach, south, west and north, that monotonous, level sheet of glass continued.
Our own world? Obviously, it wasn’t. But, as Vachell pointed out, neither was it a desert-world.
“Perhaps Demetriovich made a mistake,” the scientist suggested, “and took us too far along the vibratory scale, or not far enough, to answer his purpose. If, as he said, there are countless worlds existing on the surface of the earth, that could easily be possible.”
That, in all probability, is what occurred. The Russian had made a mistake!
Hour after hour, we continued flying, searching for an opening in the continent’s roof. That there was such an opening, we were certain, for, we reasoned, the projectile we had seen flying in this direction must have gone through the glass somewhere. It certainly hadn’t remained on the surface.
At last we saw that for which we were searching. Some distance ahead, over what must have corresponded with our Mississippi Valley, there was a great, circular, well-like opening in the glass, fully a mile in diameter.
A New World!
IN a moment the plane had flashed over the glass to the opening. My haste almost proved to be our undoing. As we flew out over the opening, a great, gleaming projectile, screaming shrilly, so great was its velocity, flashed almost straight up into the air.
The plane took a terrifying dip, turning end over end. Caught in a whirling vortex of air that resulted from the projectile’s flight, we pitched and spun like a leaf in a gale. That we were not cast to the bottom of the shaft, a broken wreck, is no credit to me, for I had completely lost control of the machine. However, we escaped.
We were close to the bottom of the shaft when I righted the plane; a moment later, I brought it to earth. With hearts beating more rapidly, we left the machine and stared around. What manner of creatures or things might we see?
Not for long did we wonder. An oval doorway in the nearby glass wall of the shaft slid back, and a strange little creature appeared. In a general way he looked like a man, but such a man! He was only about four feet tall, and painfully thin. And that apparently emaciated, undernourished body supported a huge, hairless head that was more than twice the size of mine. The features of his face were even, regular, built on the same scale as his head, but any niceness that his face might have had was destroyed by his lack of teeth. Apparently, he hadn’t a tooth in his mouth; his lips were drawn in over his gums like those of a toothless hag. When we first saw him, he had an expression of consternation and unbelief on his face.
“Well, old top,” Vachell exclaimed facetiously, “this is an unexpected pleasure. We are very glad to see you; we hope you feel the same toward us.”
And the little man replied! Although no words passed his lips, we received the distinct impression that he had given a mental answer. Somewhat harshly, it seemed, he had asked us what we wanted, and from whence we had come.
Ignoring the means of communication this big-headed being had employed, Vachell explained. “You see, it’s this way,” he said, “we’ve been brought to this world against our wills, and we wish to return to our own vibratory plane. It is our hope that your world can aid us.”
I thought Vachell had taken leave of his senses when I heard his explanation. What would this creature know about vibratory worlds! But strangely, the big-head seemed to understand. He nodded. Then the silent communication came: “Follow me!”
Bending low in order to escape contact with the top of the little opening, we followed the strange being into his glass-roofed world.
WHEN I try to describe the wonders of that astounding land, I realize the utter futility of words. Or, perhaps the stupendous things we saw were beyond my powers of comprehension. Be that as it may, according to all appearances, we had come into a world that was fully fifteen thousand years ahead of our own in progress. Indeed, by comparison with the beings of that world, we were about as low on the scale of evolution as the pygmies of Australia are when compared with us.
Glass, white, translucent glass, was everywhere. We learned later that the entire North American continent was one huge glass house, and that all people lived, and all industry took place under one roof. There were no streets as we know them; great lifts and overland cars, propelled by a type of vibratory force, connected all parts of the land. And everywhere were those disproportionate figures, scurrying here and there like so many busy little ants.
We followed our host or captor, whichever he was, through the throng of big-heads that had gathered around us, into one of the numerous lifts. With breath-taking speed we were borne upward. When the elevator came to a halt, we left it, and moved along a glass hall past rows of oval doorways. They were exactly alike, with nothing to identify them so far as I could see.
The little big-head seemed to know his destination, though, for he paused before one of the ovals, and pressing a little button, led us through the doorway into the room.
This seemed to be some sort of work-room, for it was filled with intricate machinery, and, to us, utterly meaningless devices. What the purpose of it all was, we never learned. Everything, by the way, was constructed of the same white glass. Our guide stopped to confer with one of the workers for a moment—at least I suppose inaudible communication passed between them—then he continued on across the room. At the far side, we passed through another oval, and stood within the room that was our destination.
This room was entirely different from any we saw during our stay in that vibratory world. Its walls were a dull, opaque black; yet, paradoxically, from them seemed to come a strange, opalescent radiance. The room was bare, devoid of any furniture except for a small platform in the center, upon which stood two small, short-legged stools. Between the stools was a most intricate and complex device, from which wires led to one of the walls.
A Strange Experience
AS the big-head commanded Vachell to be seated on one of the stools, the latter eyed the strange device between them rather dubiously. “What’ll it do—whatever your name is?” he asked hesitantly.
“It is a device for visual thought transference,” came the mental reply, which all of us caught. “It will do you no harm. I have no name; I am known by my number, 28L37426X9108A-27.” And again came the command for Vachell to sit on the stool.
After the scientist had mounted the platform and seated himself, 28L—as we thought of the big-head after that—placed a strange glass hood over Vachell’s head and eyes, and a similar device on his own huge cranium, and settled back on his stool.
I shall never know, except in a general way, what thoughts passed between those two minds. Vachell, some time later, outlined briefly what had been asked of him, and the answers he had given. It is from that outline that I have my information.
When the two were seated, Vachell was directed to form a mental picture of all that had happened in connection with our coming to that world. He began at the beginning, with the week the four of us had spent in the hi
lls, and, step by step, went through the entire story up to our arrival in the glass city. When he had finished, he pictured the world in a state of chaos and devastation as the result of Demetriovich’s assumption of authority, and his subsequent mismanagement of the nations. And finally, he made a plea for aid in returning to our vibratory plane, and fighting against the Russian.
Vachell, after a few moments of waiting, received a thought picture of himself making his plea before a strange, monstrous creature who seemed to be nothing but head. So far as Vachell could see, the creature consisted of a great, fleshy, spheroidal mass, covered by a dead-white membrane, unbroken save for two huge, lidless eyes near the top, and a small, red orifice at its base. The thought was repeated; then 28L raised his metal cap, and bade Vachell do likewise.
At the big-head’s direction, then, the three of us seated ourselves on the platform that he and Vachell had just quitted, facing the wall that was connected with the thought-transference device. Suddenly the room was plunged into darkness, the walls no longer emitting their opalescent light.
As we sat there watching, waiting, we heard—no, rather sensed, a vast, roaring, rushing sound, a somehow orderly chaos, as though all vibrations of every octave were loosed at once—concentrated—hurling themselves through our minds. Then, from the black wall before us streamed a brilliant radiance, flecked with minute, darting lights. In some unnatural way it seemed to pass through us, as light-streams through a window pane—as though we were transparent!
THEN slowly, but with ever increasing rapidity, we began to move forward! The wall opened up before us into a light-flooded, unthinkably vast tunnel. Along this tunnel we moved, swept on by that cosmic hurricane of sound.
But were we moving? I cannot say. Paradoxically, I seemed to be seated on that platform in the room—and yet, seemed to be moving miles and miles out through that tunnel of sound, that tumult of vibration. I hesitate to record this, but—I gained the distinct impression that I was at one and the same time, seated in the room, and yet was—stretched—through the miles of the tunnel’s space.
Gradually the tempestuous roaring lost some of its force; slowly it abated, and—died. And our own movement through the tunnel ceased. Then, as never before, I was conscious of that utter annihilation of distance, that inexplicable projection of myself across the miles.
The tunnel had ended in a great, dome-ceilinged chamber. In the center of the chamber, floating stationary in midair, was a cloud of mist. As we entered the room, the mist, swirling and twisting, drew aside, revealing the white-skinned, bodyless brain-being.
As we stared at the amazing spectacle in awe, we somehow felt that we were in the presence of infinite wisdom, of unparalleled knowledge.
“God!” exclaimed Harwood, in a hushed whisper, for the first time breaking the silence. “Can all this be—” The whisper died on his lips as the mist that had surrounded the brain-being drifted down and encircled us. It seemed to gather around, and congeal upon Vachell; arose, then, with the scientist in its grasp, and swept up toward the entity from which it had come; bore him, or the strange projection of him—for he was still beside me in the black room—entirely enveloped by itself, up, up, until he was face to face with the super-intelligence of that vibratory world.
As Vachell described it later, he experienced a singular draining sensation, as though all knowledge, all power of thought was being drawn from him. This endured for a moment; then Vachell was replaced at our side.
Back to Their World
WE returned to the room by the same path over which we had come. We seemed to remain stationary, shrinking while the tunnel whirled past us. And finally, that unnatural extension of each of us was no more; and we were back in the lightless room, facing the blank, black wall.
I cleared my throat to speak; heard Harwood stirring restlessly; Vachell laid silencing hands on our shoulders.
“Not yet, Taylor, Harwood,” he murmured. “More to follow.”
Tensely we waited, scarcely breathing. Then a dim, luminous haze appeared where the tunnel had been. That haze grew—resolved itself into an image of the brain-being. The picture dimmed for a moment, vague, formless; then, in its place we saw—ourselves, each surrounded by a colorless cloud of misty light! Behind us, less distinctly outlined, were those who had remained on the island, similarly surrounded by nebulous clouds of radiance. In the hand of each of us was clutched a long, slender, metal rod with a white glass ball at one end.
Then we saw Demetriovich’s cone sweeping down, a white vibratory ray darting toward us. The ray, striking the clouds that surrounded us, was either deflected or nullified, for it accomplished nothing. And then, from the balls on our slender rods flashed beams of almost invisible force. They came in contact with the cone, and burned through and through it. It crashed to the earth, riddled with holes, a useless wreck. With that the image vanished; and in a moment the room was again flooded with light.
28L gave mental expression to his approval as he led us from the room. When we were alone in the quarters that the big-head assigned to us, we likewise gave expression to our satisfaction and joy, but in a far more demonstrative manner. The Russian and his works would be destroyed, and the world would be saved! Not once did it occur to us to doubt the ability of these creatures to do what they promised.
Harwood had taken little part in our rejoicing. When Vachell questioned him about this, he replied:
“I’m in a sort of daze, that’s all. The utterly astounding things that have occurred since we’ve come here, have thrown me a little off balance.” He smiled ruefully.
“Harwood,” Vachell counseled earnestly, “don’t let these things affect you. I know, even better than you, how incredible they are; they contradict all known laws of science. I cannot explain what occurred, so I do not try. And I’ve seen things that neither of you are aware of.”
I SHALL record little of what took place during the three weeks that followed, while, for some unaccountable reason we heard no more about our return to our own world. 28L, who, by the way, was one of the most important individuals in their world, conducted us, by means of the tunnel of sound, to some of the most interesting spots on the continent. Those trips, and the countless mechanical and architectural marvels we saw, have been recorded in detail in the joint work of Vachell, Harwood and myself, “The World of Another Octave.” At last those three weeks of impatient waiting passed, and one morning shortly after we had arisen, 28L came to us with the news that we were to return to the island that day.
Impatiently we followed him through a labyrinth of passages and lifts to the well-like opening in the glass roof. As we passed through the oval door into the open air, we saw a long, comparatively slender cylinder, constructed of the same white material as everything else in that strange land. A series of oval doors ran along one side of the machine; 28L led us through one of these.
I make no attempt to give more than a general description of the wonders we saw in that white projectile. Their amazingly complex nature gave them an air of unreality. Towering masses of whirling machinery—great, spinning fly-wheels—devices whose strangeness beggars description—the vehicle was filled with these.
In the center of the floor of the projectile, running its entire length? was a yard-wide strip of pale blue glass. 28L bade us stand on this, mentally explaining that it was the machine’s center of gravity, keeping us fast to the floor regardless of what position the projectile assumed.
When we had followed his directions, and were standing on the strip of blue, which held our feet in a vise-like grip, there was a sudden lurch, a breath-taking burst of speed, and the projectile settled down to an even, forward motion.
Our flight by plane from the island to the opening in the glass had taken eight hours; the return in the projectile was accomplished in little more than one. We did not know our journey had ended until 28L opened one of the doors, and indicated that we should step out, for we had no way of determining how fast we had been traveling.
> Just before we left the vehicle, two big-heads came forward with the metal rods that would be our weapons, and the glass bands that were to form our ray-repelling auras. After we had divided them among ourselves, Vachell addressed 28L.
“Is the cylinder going back with us?” he asked.
“No,” came the silent reply. “Our bodies are too frail to bear the strain of the journey. All of us who have attempted it, have failed to return. And now, if you’ll leave—”
A moment later we stood outside the projectile; the door was closed; and the great, white cylinder rose into the air. Standing among the world executives and scientists who had gathered around us with words of greeting and inquiry on their lips, we followed the projectile’s flight with our eyes.
It shot straight up into the air for about four thousand feet, then stopped short and hung stationary, its end pointing toward the island. A moment later a blinding beam of radiance streamed from that end, and spread over the Union Star. For a second time we felt that torturing tingling. More and more unbearable became the vibration of the atoms of our beings—then there was a sharp snap—and the projectile had vanished. We had returned safely to our own world!
CHAPTER V
A Strategic Plan
FOR almost an hour after our return Vachell talked, relating all that had transpired since the time we left the island.
“And finally, gentlemen,” he concluded, “those men of that other world, using a method somewhat similar to that of Demetriovich, sent us back to our own plane.”
The scientist was silent for a moment; then, holding one of the glass bands and slender, metal rods in his hands, he spoke again.
“Now, gentlemen, before we do anything else, I think we had better prepare for our defence. Each of us will place one of these bands around his waist, and arm himself with these little rods, for we don’t know when we’ll need their protection.” Harwood and I distributed the bands and rods while Vachell demonstrated how they were to be used. Then, while the rest were engaged in placing their bands in position, I inspected mine with greater care than I had been able to exercise before.
Forgotten Fiction Page 4
