The Science Fiction of Charles Clouky

Introduction

Charles Cloukey (1912-1931) was just 16 when his first story was published. He died at the age of 19 from Cholera. During that time he wrote eight short stories and one novel. His stories were noted for their brisk writing, clever ideas and a polished story-telling. One can only imagine what his reputation as a writer would have become if he had lived long. 

This book collects all eight of his short stories and one novel along with the illustrations accompanying those stories. 

This collection is published by Beb Books and is

copyrighted 2019 by Brian Brown.

Copyright Notices

Sub-Satellite - Amazing Stories, March 1928

Art: Frank R. Paul. Words: 6600.

Super-Radio - Amazing Stories, July 1928

Art: Frank R. Paul. Words: 7400.

Rhythm - Amazing Stories, April, 1930

Art by Leo Morey. Words: 4800.

Synthetic - Amazing Stories, May, 1930

Art by Leo Morey. Words: 9000

Paradox - Amazing Stories Quarterly, Summer 1929

Art: Walitt. Words: 10,800.

Paradox+ - Amazing Stories, July, 1930

Art: Frank R. Paul. Words: 11,100.

Anachronism - Amazing Stories, December 1930

Art: P. Mullar. Words: .10,100

In the Spacesphere - Wonder Stories, June 1931.

Art: Paul. Words: 15,200.

The Swordsman of Sarvon - Amazing Stories, Auugust, September, October, Novemver 1932 (three part serial)

Art: Leo Morey. Words: 66,400.

Sub-Satellite

I LOOKED up from my book. My friend and roommate. C. Jerry Clankey, in his big easy-chair across the room, was gazing intently at the ceiling and talking out loud to himself. This was a peculiar and often annoying habit of his, but this time I could not help being interested in what he was saying.

"It behaved precisely according to the laws of celestial mechanics," he was saying, "exactly as a satellite. Perhaps one could call it a sub-satellite. And then there was the matter of the Doctor's will. The diamonds!

"It was marvelous," he continued to the ceiling, "one chance out of thousands. Duseau swore he would have his revenge. I wonder if he was satisfied. And Jacqueline--"

Jerry stopped suddenly as he noticed that I was looking at him curiously. He became embarrassed.

"Pardon me," I said, "but if you don't mind, I'd like to know what in the world you are talking about. I'm not particularly dense, but I entirely fail to see any connection between celestial mechanics, satellites, diamonds, and revenge. And who is Jacqueline? Would you mind--"

He interrupted me, smiling slightly. "I suppose," he said, "that even in this enlightened era of the twenty-first century, there are portions of Tibet where news travels rather slowly. As you, Kornfield, have only returned to New York today, you are perhaps still ignorant of the fact that Dr. D. Francis Javis actually succeeded with his plans for reaching the moon."

"I heard a man in Paris mention it yesterday," I informed him, "but I don't know the details. After our plane was forced down in the Dangla Mountains, and Basehore had accidentally broken the only radio with the expedition, we were cut off from civilization for four and a half months. Tell me about the moon trip. What did he find there? And what has that to do with the Doctor's will? And who is Jacqueline?"

"All right," said Jerry, leaning back comfortably in his chair, "I'll tell you. Even the newspapers didn't get it all, though I suppose the reporters thought they did. Listen, and I'll tell you the whole story":

As you know, Kornfield, (said C. Jerry Clankey), I was the chief radio engineer on Javis' staff. I designed the transmitter, and the receiver, too, that he took to the moon, and by means of which he was able to communicate with my installation at Albany. I also supervised the construction of a simplified television outfit, which Javis discarded in the last hour before he left, in order to make room for an additional supply of concentrated food.

But I should start at the beginning. Perhaps you remember that Javis discovered, about ten years ago, how to produce artificial diamonds, of greater hardness, size, brilliance, and beauty than the genuine stone. After he had manufactured almost two billion dollars' worth, he destroyed his invention. Since then, many scientists have tried to rediscover his secret, but without success.

He sold about half of the diamonds to secure capital with which to make his moon trip, and deposited the rest in a specially constructed vault here in New York. He also made a will, in which, for some reason of his own, he left his entire fortune to his elder son, Donald, cutting off the younger, Jack, without a cent. Then he started to work on his project of reaching the moon.

I've often wondered why he wanted to reach the moon. One would hardly think that the love of knowledge would be so great that a man would be willing to work ten years, spend a billion dollars, and finally risk his life in an attempt to reach the moon, merely to satisfy that love. But Javis was a queer man. The money meant nothing to him. Neither, apparently, did the risk. He prepared for his journey and he went, regardless of consequences.

You know, of course, the type of vehicle he chose--a projectile-shaped rocket, of the type proposed by Dr. Goddard over a century ago, propelled, once it was out of the earth's atmosphere, by explosive gases. But I won't go into that. You understand the principle. While in the atmosphere, it was flown as an ordinary plane, by propellers.

THE unique feature of the Doctor's rocket, however, was the ingenious construction of the wings, which allowed them to be withdrawn into the body of the rocket, after the atmosphere had been left behind.

This feature had been designed by R. Henri Duseau, the French scientist and engineer, who was one of Javis' most able assistants. Just why they quarreled will probably never be known. They were both hot-tempered. So when Javis paid Duseau off, and discharged him, the impulsive Frenchman swore revenge.

It had been generally understood, though it appears that there was no written contract or agreement, that Duseau was to be the one to accompany Javis in his attempt to reach the moon, because Duseau had once been an air mail pilot in France, and could attend to the navigation of the craft while it was in the atmosphere. The rocket was, in spite of its great size, only designed to carry two passengers, because the rest of the available space had to be utilized to carry food, fuel, the radio equipment I had designed, the Doctor's scientific instruments, and various other necessary objects.

To be discharged after almost nine years of work was a great disappointment to Duseau. He had a natural craving for adventure, and also, I believe, for fame. He wanted to achieve great celebrity by his part in the moon trip. He was exceedingly temperamental, and perhaps this characteristic, together with his persuasion that he had been treated unfairly by Javis, was responsible for the attitude of jealous enmity he held for the Doctor after his discharge. Just how far he was destined to carry his bitter hate, the world was soon to learn.

To take Duseau's place, Javis hired Richard C. Brown, the famous stunt-flier and dare-devil, paying him in advance a flat sum of one million dollars. Men have risked their lives for less.

Dick Brown was a curious character. He was a happy-go-lucky, devil-may-care kid, game as they make 'em, reckless and foolhardy, only about twenty years old, and had the reputation of bearing a charmed life.

Brown made several test flights in the rocket. He was able to see on all sides by means of an ingenious arrangement of periscopes. As an airplane, the great craft functioned perfectly, having a maximum speed of about 350 miles per hour, and a ceiling of approximately 41,000 feet. How it would behave as a rocket remained to be seen.

After the trouble with Duseau, came the trouble with Donald, the Doctor's oldest son. I had always considered him more or less of a good-for-nothing vagabond. I don't know exactly what happened, but it seems that in an insane moment of drunken anger, he had drawn a revolver and fired, point-blank, at his father. Because he was drunk, he missed completely. The Doctor tried to hush up the affair, but in some way, news of the attempted patricide leaked out, and caused a lot of unpleasant publicity.

Javis told me, in a moment of confidence, that he intended to revise his will before he left, to give his entire fortune, including the diamonds, to his other son, Jack, who was a well-known banker and business man, in spite of his youth. Javis also intended to completely disinherit Donald, but he never changed the will. He went off to the moon without attending to the matter. He didn't have time, I suppose.

He and Brown left for the moon just ten days after his last experimental rocket had burst upon the moon, proving the existence of some, though very little, atmosphere on our satellite. This small rocket he sent to the moon contained a chemical compound which could not explode without oxygen. As it was observed by many astronomers to explode upon hitting the moon, it was obvious that our satellite possessed an atmosphere, however rare.

Javis had another purpose also in sending out these small rockets. By observing them, he could form an idea of the way the large one would act in space. When he had obtained all the data he desired, he made his preparations to depart.

FOR a week his whole establishment was in an uproar. The food, fuel, radio, and scientific instruments were put aboard, while Brown tuned up his motors to perfection. When I saw Javis dismantling and packing a light-weight Marvite machine gun, I ventured to make an inquiry.

"Surely," I said, "you don't expect to have any use for that on the moon, do you?"

"I hope not," Javis replied, "but we know that there is air upon the moon, so it is highly probable that there is some form of life there. I'm taking this gun because it is the most powerful weapon in the world for its size, and we might meet some monsters." He smiled, and finished packing the shining, deadly little weapon. Yet it seemed to me that there was no necessity for such a powerful gun. But he was taking no chances. If there were monsters on the moon, he would be prepared.

The next day they left. I will never forget it. As dozens of cameras and televisors clicked and buzzed on every side, Javis and Brown entered the rocket. Brown was smiling. It was an adventure to him. If he realized what slim chances he had of ever returning to the earth again, he gave no indication of the fact. But the face of Javis was grave. It was more than a mere adventure to him. This trip meant the realization of his life's ambition.

The field was cleared. The massive air-tight door was closed. Suddenly the three enormous propellers burst into action. With the incomparable skill of the born airman, Brown took off. Quickly he took the great plane as high as the motors would carry it. To the observers on the ground, it was only a speck in the cloudless sky.

Then those who were watching it with binoculars saw a brilliant green flash appear at the tail of the rocket. It darted suddenly upward. It was necessary to develop a speed greater than seven miles a second in order to leave the earth, and it was apparent that Javis was gradually attaining this tremendous velocity.

Through the rarefied upper strata of the atmosphere shot the great rocket. It left the earth.

JERRY was silent for awhile. I waited as patiently as I could for him to resume his narrative. But when his silence grew prolonged, I ventured to speak.

"I think," I said, "that I can guess now what you meant by a sub-satellite. I gather that the rocket, obeying the laws of celestial mechanics was captured by the attraction of the moon, revolving around it as a satellite, or sub-satellite, rather."

"Kornfield," said Jerry, "never jump at conclusions. I noticed that you were reading that remarkable story by Verne, 'A Trip to the Moon.' When you stop to consider that it was written almost two centuries ago, the amount of scientific prophecy and foresight in it is amazing. It's interesting to note how famous that story has become during the short time that has elapsed since Javis' great accomplishment. Before his tragic trip, the story was known to only a few learned men who had made a study of nineteenth century literature. But now it is famous, as an example of dreams coming true, of imagination becoming reality. Yesterday's impossibilities are today's facts. And tomorrow--what? But I am digressing.

"In that story, the author's imaginary projectile is deflected from its course by the moon's attraction. But this didn't happen to Javis. He could steer his rocket, you remember, by exploding his gases at any one of fifty different points on its exterior. He landed all right. When they were within a couple of thousand of miles of the moon, he checked their speed by exploding a charge at the end of the rocket nearest the moon. As it began to fall toward the surface of our satellite, he checked it again in the same manner.

"He had to repeat this process several times. Finally the rocket was only a few hundred feet above the broad summit of a lunar peak. So Javis let it fall. Owing to the elaborate shock-absorbing system, and the inferior force of lunar gravity, no damage was done.

"After working nine years, and spending almost a billion dollars, Javis had succeeded in reaching the moon. He landed on the summit of an exceedingly tall mountain near the Mare Tranquilitatis."

"But, then," I protested, "to what were you referring when you spoke about a sub-satellite? And you haven't told me yet who Jacqueline is."

"Be patient, Bob, be patient," he admonished, "I have not yet concluded my narrative." He smiled quizzically. "All in good time, my lad," he said, "control your impatience and all your questions will be answered." Then he plunged once more into his story:

I HAVE, continued C. Jerry Clankey, gone ahead of my story. I've told you of the landing on the moon. But several very important events occurred before the rocket reached its destination.

The greatest danger, perhaps, that confronted the extra-terrestrial pioneers was the danger from meteors[ (1)]. These meteors are by no means scarce. There are uncounted millions in this solar system alone. Nor are they all as small as you might assume. Many weigh dozens, and some weigh hundreds of tons. Nor are they slow. Most of them are hurtling many miles through space every second. Nor are they visible, until they enter the earth's great protecting blanket of atmosphere, where they become ignited by friction, and are usually entirely consumed before they reach the ground.

So you can see that to devise an apparatus that would enable Javis to avoid these unseen obstacles was no easy task, though, of course, Javis made his attempt in February, in which month the earth meets comparatively few meteors.

Gibson and I took two years to complete the marvelous apparatus. This work was mostly detail, as the principle is not new. Radio waves, like light waves, and sound waves, reflect upon striking various objects. When any meteor large enough to be dangerous came within fifty thousand miles of the rocket, it reflected the radio signal sent out by the special transmitter at five second intervals. The time which elapsed between the sending and the receiving of the reflected signal was measured by a new German instrument, which can accurately record thousandths of a second.

Because of the remarkable advances that have been made in the last fifty years in the manufacture of automatic calculating machines, the distance of the meteor could be ascertained, and its course automatically plotted on the celestial chart which Javis had prepared. As the course of the rocket was also electrically plotted on this chart, Javis could determine several minutes in advance if there were any danger of a collision. Then he had merely to press the button which exploded his gases at the right point on the rocket to send it off in a new direction, avoiding the meteor.

Of course, Kornfield, you understand that this description I have just given you of the apparatus which enabled Javis to avoid large meteors, is necessarily incomplete, inadequate, and faulty, and perhaps it was stated rather poorly. You cannot describe in two minutes a wonderful piece of mechanism which took two years to construct. But perhaps you can form some idea of the unbelievable complexity of the instrument from what I have told you. It performed its functions perfectly.

The huge rocket had left the earth. Though Javis was strapped in his seat, controlling the gigantic vehicle's course with light touches of his finger on the numerous electric push-buttons which surrounded him, Brown had unstrapped himself, and was roaming around the rocket's interior, enjoying the almost complete absence of gravity. Being thirsty, he obtained a drink of water from the water tank, but he had to suck it through a straw, as without gravity, liquids would not flow. When the two travelers became tired, they took their injections of procaine.

Procaine, you know, is an artificial drug, which, while it possesses the stimulating qualities of cocaine raised to the nth degree, is not habit-forming. Javis and Brown did not intend to lose any time by sleeping.

Seven hours after leaving the earth, Brown reported over the radio that all was well. Ten minutes later he found Duseau.

The dam' fool had somehow managed to get aboard the rocket before the take-off. Perhaps he did it by bribing one of the guards. He had concealed himself between the two tanks which contained the motor fuel intended for use when the rocket should return to the earth's atmosphere.

He must have been insane. I can account for his actions in no other way. He had become a monomaniac, and his one thought was to do all possible injury to D. Francis Javis. And he did not intend to stop at murder. When discovered, he drew an automatic and fired.

The bullets were poisoned. If Brown or Javis had merely been scratched by one of them, the wound would have been fatal. But Duseau missed, although one bullet went through Brown's coat sleeve. He escaped death by less than two inches. The same bullet demolished the radio receiver. Then, as the gun jammed for lack of proper oiling, Brown leaped upon the cursing stowaway, knocking him over. As there was practically no gravity, Duseau didn't exactly fall, but Brown's blow to the jaw caused his head to strike the protruding valve of an oxygen tank with sufficient force to render him completely unconscious for thirty-five minutes. Brown tied his hands and feet with a piece of rope that had been left aboard the rocket when it was being loaded. When Duseau regained consciousness, he started such a tirade of abuse that Brown gagged him also.

Then Brown reported the whole affair over the radio, adding that it was useless for us to try to reply, as Duseau's bullet had rendered their receiver totally useless.

ON the earth, Gibson and I recorded with telegraphones every word received from the moon party. My station at Albany was packed with reporters from newspapers and radio news services, eager for the latest details. The whole world gasped when it heard of Duseau's unsuccessful plan to capture the moon rocket and kill the two men whom he hated. Every nation waited impatiently for more news.

Nothing else of importance, except three narrow escapes from meteors, took place until they reached the moon. I have already told you of their extraordinary landing upon the summit of a lunar peak. After they landed, they ate a hurried meal, and then ventured out upon our satellite's untrodden surface.

I have here, Kornfield, a large composite photographic chart of the moon. Here you see the Mare Tranquilitatis, or "Sea of Tranquillity." What a name for such a scene of violence! You see the jagged mountains, the enormous craters! Dead volcanoes! But are they volcanoes ? No one knows positively. If they are, how terrible must have been the eruptions, in the days when the moon was young! Consider the size of those stupendous craters. Many exceed fifty miles in diameter--Theophilus is sixty-four miles! And the largest known terrestrial crater, which is Aso San, in Japan, is less than seven miles in diameter. But I am digressing again.

This peak that I have marked with red ink is the one upon which they landed. You observe that it is not crateriform in shape. It is a mountain, not a volcano. Its summit is remarkably level, and is roughly twelve hundred feet square. On this miniature plateau the moon rocket finally landed and came to rest. The mountain is almost ten miles high.

When Javis and Brown emerged from the rocket, several facts were brought to their attention. One was the inferior gravity. They could leap thirty feet with the greatest ease. Another was the contrast between sunlight and shadow. The rare lunar atmosphere does not diffuse the light to any appreciable degree. It is, of course, entirely too rare to support human life. Javis and Brown were equipped with oxygen masks.

They found no form of life. The moon is dead. Its day of splendor is past. What secrets it still holds, no man can guess. The two explorers were only able to investigate an extremely small portion of the moon's surface, because of their limited food supply, and also because they landed about forty-eight hours after the lunar dawn, and intended to stay for the equivalent of ten earth-days, leaving a couple of days before the lunar sunset. You cannot carry on a very extensive exploration in ten days.

During the seventy-two hours after their landing, they thoroughly explored the peculiar truncated peak upon which they landed. They took many photos, and also collected several samples of the rocks for later analysis. Of course, men found out many years ago, by means of polarization photometers and various other instruments, that the surface rocks of the moon are mostly pumice and other stone high in silica. But Javis intended to bring his samples back to the earth and find out exactly what they contained. Perhaps he had hopes of rare minerals. I do not know.

They returned to the rocket frequently, and Brown reported their discoveries over the radio.

They kept Duseau bound. When they ate, they fed him. He remained sullen, silent, brooding over his misfortune, and planning revenge. The longer he was kept bound, the greater grew his maniacal unreasoning hate.

When Javis was satisfied with his investigation of the mountain upon which they had landed, which he had whimsically named "Mount Olympus," he decided to undertake a similar exploration of the nearest neighboring peak, which was west of "Mount Olympus" and about the same height as it. I think Javis named this other mountain "Mount Parnassus," but I am not sure.

Javis and Brown took another shot of procaine apiece, and set out. Brown carried the concentrated food and the portable radio sending equipment which I had designed, while the Doctor burdened himself with a spare oxygen apparatus for each of them, a very limited water supply, and a few of his scientific instruments, including a couple of recording thermometers.

Although they intended to be away from the rocket at least seventy-two hours, they left Duseau bound without food. They could not trust him loose. Javis did not intend to give up his chance to explore "Mount Parnassus" out of consideration for the man who had tried to murder him. Brown didn't want to be left out of the adventure either. So they left Duseau bound. He would have to get along without food.

THE two explorers reached their destination in a remarkably short time. Even though they were burdened with large packs, they could jump many feet with the utmost ease. They descended "Mount Olympus" by leaps and bounds, and ascended "Mount Parnassus." Even though they were greatly fatigued after many hours of steady jumping, they kept on. They reached the summit, and a bullet passed between them.

How Duseau escaped from his bonds is not known. Perhaps in a moment of desperation, he had summoned enough strength to burst them. Or perhaps he wore them through by steady rubbing against some sharp edge.

He escaped, and set up the machine gun. When his two enemies reached the summit of the neighboring peak, he fired, using the telescopic sights. Javis and Brown took refuge in a large crevice between two enormous boulders, set up the radio, and reported the matter to the earth. A quarter of a million miles away, my sensitive detectors picked up the signals. Soon the whole world knew of Duseau's triumph.

I've often wondered why he went to so much trouble in order to try to kill Javis and Brown. He was familiar with the operation of the rocket. He could have taken it and departed, leaving them stranded without a possibility of rescue, and his purpose would have been accomplished. Perhaps the idea never occurred to him. Or perhaps it did not agree with his ideas of a fitting revenge. I suppose he was entirely demented. No one can account for the actions of an insane person. The fact remains that instead of taking his opportunity to escape with the rocket, leaving the others to starve, or to freeze to death in the cold of the lunar night, he set up the Marvite gun with the purpose of killing them first, and then returning to the earth with the rocket.

Javis and Brown soon discovered that they could not emerge from their refuge without exposing themselves to Duseau's vision. Whenever either of them even showed his head, Duseau fired. Usually his shots came close. You will remember that the Marvite gun was equipped with very accurate telescopic sights.

I wonder if a queerer situation was ever conceived by the most scatter-brained writer of imaginative fiction. A madman on a mountain of the moon, with an ultra-modern machine gun, attempting to kill two men whom he considered his enemies, who had taken refuge in a crevice between two boulders on the summit of another lunar mountain, from which crevice they dared not emerge.

Yes, it was a curious situation. It was tragic, too. What would Javis have said, had he known, when he performed what he considered the trivial action of discharging an insubordinate assistant, that it would lead to the dire straits in which he now found himself?

Emerging from the station at Albany one day, for the purpose of snatching a bite or two of lunch, I was accosted by a young girl of about eighteen, I should say, who seemed greatly troubled about something, and expressed a desire to speak with me privately. I invited her to lunch with me, and this, briefly, is what she told me.

She was engaged to be married to Jack Javis the following June. But her fiancé had recently suffered very severe financial losses, perhaps because he had less experience in Wall Street than the men who were against him. Jack Javis had foolishly borrowed right and left in a vain attempt to avoid the impending crash, and he had been wiped out. Now he was penniless, and about three million dollars in debt. His creditors were pressing him. His assets were nil.

The girl had come to me to ask if there were any possible way I could get in touch with Dr. Javis, and ask him to lend his son enough money to pay off his debts. She also mentioned the will, saying that the huge fortune in diamonds should really have been left to Jack, not to the worthless Donald, and asking me, if I should succeed in communicating with the Doctor, to suggest that he change the will.

It was with the utmost regret that I was forced to explain to the almost hysterical girl that there was nothing that I could do. The moon explorers had no receiver. There was no possible way for me to get word to them. When I had told her this, the girl asked me to permit her to be at the receiver with me. Of course I granted the request, although it was against the regular rules.

I suppose you can guess now, Kornfield, who Jacqueline is. The fact that she had been crying, did not detract from her loveliness. I caught myself envying Jack Javis as we walked the short distance back to the station. Not always will a rich man's sweetheart remain loyal to him after he has lost all his money and three million dollars more.

When we reached the station, Gibson met us at the door. The peculiar expression I saw upon his long, lean, intellectual countenance made me start.

"It's the beginning of the end, Clankey," he said, "Javis has gone crazy, too."

I RAN to the receiving room. From the instrument I heard distinctly Javis' voice, a quarter of a million miles away. What he was saying confirmed Gibson's statement. He was raving incoherently, cursing Duseau, cursing himself for a fool for having brought the machine gun, begging that if Duseau should return to the earth he would be punished for murder, and much more along the same line. It was terrible.

In one corner of the room the silent, efficient, never ceasing telegraphone recorded every word permanently, electro-magnetically.

To make a long story somewhat shorter, let me say that Javis continued to rave like a maniac for many hours. Then suddenly his brain cleared.

"We have food for only a day more," said his voice, emerging from the most sensitive radio receiver in the world, "and our oxygen apparatus will not function for more than thirty-six hours more. I am saying good-bye to the world.

"Duseau has beaten me. If the fates will have it so, so be it.

"It is my wish that my entire personal fortune, including the diamonds in the vault at 198th Street and Fifth Avenue, New York, be left to my younger son. Jack, as he has always--"

The receiver fell silent. So ended the last message ever received by the great station at Albany.

For several minutes the utmost silence reigned in the receiving room. Finally Jacqueline--perhaps I should refer to her as Miss Bowers--who was with me at the receiver at that time, broke the stillness.

"He left them to Jack," she said very slowly, "but can we prove it? How?"

"We can," I said. "Under the new inheritance laws of the State of New York, we have merely to prove that Javis expressed a desire to change his will so that Jack would be his heir. We have his exact words recorded on that telegraphone in the corner. In case there is the slightest doubt upon the part of the authorities that Javis was the man who said those words, I will have one of my associates, Dr. Robert Haines, who happens to be the greatest living expert on phonophotographical processes, take a photograph of the vibrations of Javis' voice as he said those words. This photo can then be compared with photos taken of the vibrations of other parts of our telegraphone record which are known to have been uttered by Dr. Javis, and the identity of the speaker of those words which give the second greatest fortune in the world to your sweetheart can be established beyond the possibility of a doubt. Fingerprints can be forged, but the vibrations of the voice cannot be forged, even though the voice may be disguised. No two human beings have exactly the same voice."

After I had explained this, Jacqueline left me to carry the news to her fiancé. I sat in silence a long time, wondering what had interrupted Javis' last message, wondering how the two explorers must feel, waiting for death to overtake them on their mountain. It must be a terrible sensation, Kornfield, to wait for death, without hope, without a chance, knowing that your enemy has triumphed. I sat in silence a long time, and then went home for some much-needed sleep, leaving Gibson at the station, in the vain hope that some further message might be received.

Two days later, Professor John P. Hauser, of Yerkes Observatory, reported that the rocket had left the moon. The newspapers and broadcast stations of every nation informed the people of the world that Duseau was returning. Every minute of every day either Gibson or I or one of our capable assistants was at the receiver, but the moon rocket was silent, as we expected.

Then some one pointed out that if Duseau should succeed in returning to the earth, he could not be punished. Neither the United States nor any other nation could lawfully punish Duseau for a murder committed on the moon. If he returned, he could go free, said the most eminent legal authorities.

Three days after Professor Hauser's announcement, the telegraphonic records I had made were stolen, doubtless by some crook in the employ of Donald Javis. I should have foreseen that he would not give up the enormous fortune without a fight. I should have put the record in the safest safe-deposit vault in Albany, but I left it in the unprotected radio-room, and it was stolen.

Of course I hired the best detectives I could get, and promised them an enormous reward if they could recover the little spool of wire that meant so much to Jack Javis, but I was secretly sure that Donald had totally destroyed it, so that there would be no chance of its recovery. Without it there was nothing but the unsupported word of Jacqueline and myself to prove that Javis had desired to change the will. This would be quite decidedly not sufficient.

I HAVE never seen anybody as depressed as Jack Javis was in the nerve-racking, disappointing days that followed. The court of New York City, after one of the shortest cases in its history, awarded the fortune to Donald. Jack's creditors began stripping him of every bit of his personal property. Though he said nothing, I knew that he secretly blamed me for his misfortune. I offered him my entire fortune, a matter of about a quarter of a million dollars, but he refused it. It would only have been a drop in the bucket, anyhow.

Then the rocket came down at Chicago Field. As it entered the atmosphere, something seemed to go wrong. It seemed to hesitate, to wobble. It was evident that it was not under control. Then it fell.

It fell, three hundred thousand feet. Those who were watching saw it become red-hot as it entered the denser layers of the atmosphere. They heard the terrible hissing scream it made, as it plunged, ever faster and faster, to the waiting earth. They heard the horrific, cataclysmic swan song of the super-airship, diving with ever-increasing speed to its doom. For it fell, three hundred thousand feet. It crashed.

The terrible concussion was recorded by every seismograph in the world. It is truly remarkable that the rocket fell in the only open space in the densely populated region around Chicago, the Chicago Flying Field. Had it fallen anywhere else in the vicinity, it would have been the cause of many deaths, and incalculable damage to property.

The fire department arrived quickly, and drenched the red-hot, flaming wreckage with floods of water. Then the police began to search for Duseau's body. As they were giving up the search as hopeless, somebody looked up,

High above was a parachute, drifting with the breeze. It supported a limp, unconscious figure, clad in an exceedingly thick flying suit. It came to earth. Someone tore the leather helmet from the tired, haggard face. A thrill of the most intense amazement spread through the crowd.

The man was D. Francis Javis.

Gibson, sitting in his apartment in New York, manipulated a dial. His face assumed a satisfied expression as he tuned in Station WEBQD, the New York station of a world-wide chain of broadcasters that had a television news-service as a daily feature. Adjusting another dial, he gazed at the scene which appeared on the screen of his receiver.

It was Chicago Field. He heard the excited news-announcer's voice telling of Javis' return. He saw the unconscious form gently placed in an ambulance and rushed to the nearest hospital.

Then he called me on the 'phone. The two of us took off in my plane less than ten minutes later. We reached Chicago in a few hours, landed on the Illinois Hotel landing platform, left the plane with the mechanics, dropped two hundred stories in the express elevator, and were soon at Javis' bedside. He had just regained consciousness, and he told us what had happened.

In the hour of his triumph, Duseau had been killed. Consider the tremendous power of the Marvite gun. Long ago men calculated that a bullet shot from a gun with a muzzle velocity of 6,500 feet a second would, if there were no obstacles in its path, completely encircle the moon! And that is what happened! One of the bullets Duseau shot from the summit of "Mount Olympus" traveled all the way around the moon, and hit him in the back! And that, Kornfield, is what I was thinking about when I spoke of a sub-satellite.

PERHAPS you may consider it a rather silly comparison, but I can't help thinking of that tiny projectile as a satellite, faithful to the laws of celestial mechanics, following unerringly its orbit around the moon, and returning to its starting point. I wonder how many other bullets are still circling the moon now!

Brown, exposing his head, saw Duseau fall. He and Javis were so excited by this occurrence that they returned to the rocket without the radio! They reached it less than thirty minutes before their oxygen mask apparatus ceased to function. They had used their reserve supply of compressed air completely during their return journey.

"And that," concluded C. Jerry Clankey, "is about all there is to the story. Because a maniac on the moon was so unfortunate as to stand in the orbit of a minute sub-satellite which he himself had launched, Jack Javis was able to pay off his debt. The Doctor lent him the necessary cash, and has just made a new will. So everything is going to be all right."

"Pardon me, Kornfield, but I didn't quite hear that question. What happened to Brown? Oh, yes, I told you that the lucky fool has a charmed life. He was unable to start the motors when the rocket was entering the atmosphere. Duseau had apparently done something to render them useless. When the rocket fell, Brown and Javis jumped. The wind separated the two men.

"Brown landed almost a hundred miles from Chicago. His chute ripped slightly as he fell, and let him down too rapidly. But he landed in an apple tree, and broke thirteen bones.

"A couple of modern surgeons patched him up, and in less than a month the incurable dare-devil was doing outside loops at six hundred miles an hour in his special monoplane, and making a fortune by recommending and endorsing various makes of spark plugs, motor fuel, cigarettes, and so on.

"By the way, I almost forgot that today is the fifteenth of June. It's too bad, Kornfield, that you're scheduled to speak to the Explorers' Club this evening about your discoveries in Tibet. If you weren't I'd take you to Albany with me to attend the wedding of Jacqueline Bowers and Jack Javis. I must leave at once. I almost forgot that today is the fifteenth of June."

I accompanied C. Jerry Clankey to the roof. He entered his waiting plane. The mechanic touched a button. The powerful catapult shot the streamlined flyer into the air. Jerry zoomed gracefully, and the little red biplane soon disappeared in the northern sky.

Super-Radio

"GOOD evening, Basehore," said Dr. Harris as I entered the room. "I'm working on a case now that I think will interest you."

He did not need to say more. The remarkable success of Dr. David S. Harris as an investigator of crime has brought him both fame and fortune. He is perhaps the most famous detective in the world at the present time.

I seated myself in the chair he indicated with his thumb and waited for him to speak. After a few seconds he began, speaking slowly and precisely.

"After the funeral of Dr. D. Francis Javis this morning, his son and heir, Jack, decided to visit the vault in which his father had deposited his enormous fortune of artificial diamonds. When he entered the vault he found that its contents, a billion dollars' worth of perfect, flawless diamonds, had completely disappeared. They were there two days ago, according to the testimony of Arthur Garner, the guard, who has been a trusted employee of the Javis family for forty years. I tested him with a sphygmomanometer, and found out that he was telling the truth. The diamonds were there two days ago.

"But the most remarkable feature of the case is the bulky apparatus which was found in the vault. It is nothing less than a super-radio, which is capable of transmitting solids through space.

"It is well known, in scientific circles, that Mr. C. Gerald Clankey, the radio engineer, has been working for several years to perfect such an apparatus. Mr. Clankey has quite mysteriously disappeared, as has also his friend, Robert Kornfield. The police believe that they are responsible for the disappearance of the diamonds, as Mr. Clankey's fingerprints were found on the panel of the instrument. Various other circumstances, which I need not relate to you now, seem to connect Kornneld with the crime."

I interrupted. "Impossible, Doctor. I've known Bob Kornfield for ten years. We've been comrades in Alaska and Tibet. He's not a crook. He is--"

"Enough, Basehore, enough," said Dr. Harris calmly. "I have precisely the same opinion of the character of C. Jerry Clankey as you have of the character of Kornfield. No matter what the police think, Clankey and Kornfield are innocent. I have not yet informed the police that one of my clever assistants, Billy Wood, has definitely proved, by means of microphotographs, that the fingerprints are forgeries. I have seen more cleverly executed forgeries than these during my career. These are almost crude."

"Then you believe that the robbery was committed by some as yet unknown party, using the apparatus invented by C. Jerry Clankey, forging his fingerprints to confuse the authorities, and finally kidnaping Clankey and Kornfield to prevent them from disclosing what they know?"

"Precisely. We may deduce that the thief used Clankey's apparatus to transmit the diamonds from the vault for the reason that it would be practically impossible to get them out of the country in any other manner. One or two, perhaps, might be successfully smuggled out. But not a billion dollars' worth. No plane has yet been invented that can cross the invisible barrier of high-frequency waves maintained by the government along every mile of our coast and border, except at the airports, through one of which every incoming or outgoing plane must pass, where it is thoroughly searched by customs officers for both taxable and contraband articles. And, as you know, every outgoing auto, train, ship, or other vehicle is similarly searched. I tell you, Basehore, it's a difficult job to smuggle anything in or out of the country since the government adopted that system in 2072.

"My hypothesis at present is something like this. Clankey and Kornfield were last seen on Monday. Today is Friday. Sometime between then and now they were kidnaped by the criminal we are after. He transported them to some point outside the United States, having given a satisfactory excuse for their presence to the government agent who, at some airport, probably New York, inspected his plane. (I am assuming that he used a plane.) He also transported one of Clankey's instruments to the same place. I have been informed that Kornfield has not the slightest knowledge of radio. He was captured, I think, for no other purpose than to get him out of the way. Perhaps he attempted to free Clankey or to prevent his capture. I have no way of telling.

"The bandit must have forced Clankey to tell him how to operate the instrument. Then, leaving his prisoners under guard, he returned. There are several varieties of gas that will render a man totally unconscious in such a way that he will not have the slightest memory of it afterward. The criminal perhaps used one of these gases on Garner and the other guards, transported Clankey's other apparatus to the vault, and transmitted the diamonds through the ether to the place to which he had taken the other instrument. In that way he avoided all danger of apprehension by customs officials and various other government inspectors.

"Perhaps he did not care to risk discovery by removing the bulky apparatus, or perhaps some other reason influenced him to leave the transmitter in the vault. He did, and made his escape, leaving an imitation of the fingerprints of Clankey on the panel.

"Now, who is this thief? Basehore, I think he is none other than our friend 'M. W.'"

This statement surprised me. "M. W." was the signature of a criminal responsible for many daring robberies. For eighteen months he had baffled all detection. The newspapers called him a super-criminal. David Harris had twice tried to capture him, but without success. After each case had been given up as hopeless, the Doctor had received an impudent note signed "M. W.," ridiculing his efforts to catch him. Various other persons, among them some rich victims of the bandit and several important police officials, had received similar notes, heavy with sarcasm.

"What makes you think that M. W. is responsible for this robbery ?" I asked.

"The forged fingerprints," replied Dr. Harris. "M. W. has twice before left forged fingerprints at the scenes of his crimes. Under the microscope these bear a certain resemblance to the forged prints left on the instrument in the vault. It is not definite proof, but nevertheless I believe that M. W. is the gentleman we wish to apprehend."

"Then, Doctor, our friends are in danger. M. W. has a habit of performing an operation on the brain of anyone who knows too much of his affairs, which causes the victim to entirely lose his memory, and then turning him loose. Unless we hurry, Clankey and Kornfield may be transformed into idiots."

"I know, Basehore. I am working as speedily as I can. I have been working on the case for less than two hours, and I am forced to confess that at present I have nothing more than a hypothesis, which can quite possibly be entirely incorrect. I have ninety-three agents engaged in interviewing various members of the government at the present time. Until I hear from them I can do nothing further. They are attempting to find a clue to the direction taken by the criminal. I sincerely hope they succeed in locating the customs officer that inspected his plane when he was abducting Clankey, and that they find out what explanation he offered, what alias he used, and what direction he took. From those two other cases I have definitely learned that his home, the base from which he conducts his operations, is outside the United States."

The door opened, and the jovial, rotund Billy Wood, an expert on microphotography, entered, and addressed the Doctor somewhat as follows:

"Doc, a gent is outside which says his name is Wesley B. Gibson, a friend of C. Jerry Clankey. Shall I let him in?"

Dr. Harris nodded assent. Our visitor, who entered immediately, was slender, with a remarkably intellectual countenance. He seated himself and addressed my friend.

"Doctor, have you, or has anyone else, altered the position of the instrument found in the Javis vault?"

Dr. Harris leaned suddenly forward, a curious gleam in his eyes. "No. The police ordered it to be left as it is. Why?"

"Perhaps I can help you. A few months ago, Mr. Clankey disclosed to me the details of his invention, which I agreed not to repeat, because his patent arrangements are not yet complete. I can, however, say this. His mechanism reduces an object to its constituent atoms. It then changes--transmutes--these atoms into a certain class of waves, which are transmitted through space to his receiver, where an intricate process, the inverse of the first, restores them to their original form. But a thorough explanation of his invention is not possible, or necessary, at this time. What I'm getting at is this. Mr. Clankey's machine does not create matter, nor duplicate matter. It is obviously impossible for a diamond, for instance, to be broadcast, and the same diamond to be received at two, or sixty-seven, or a thousand or more different places. Mr. Clankey's apparatus transmits the object in one direction only. His receiver must be exactly in line with his transmitter, or no results are obtained. Mr. Clankey's system is to first broadcast an ordinary radio signal. This is received by the other operator, who, using accurate radio direction finders, and making allowances for the curvature of the earth, magnetic fields, and all other circumstances which deflect radio waves, finally accomplishes the necessary alignment. Then, after several tests, the object is transmitted.

"My hypothesis concerning the crime is about the same as that I heard you explaining to Mr. Basehore. I have come to request you to obtain a police permit for me to visit the vault, and to examine the instrument. If you will do this, I may be able to discover in what direction the diamonds were transmitted. Of course, it is quite possible that the thief purposely altered the position of the instrument, to throw us off the trail. But I sincerely hope that the criminal overlooked this important detail. If you will please give me a permit--"

Dr. Harris scribbled a few words on a piece of paper and signed. "This will be sufficient, Mr. Gibson," he said. "Shall I take you over to the vault?"

"It is unnecessary," said our visitor. "My cab is waiting." He left the room, and proceeded toward the elevator.

Dr. Harris suddenly sprang into action. He hurried to the phone, and in a few seconds had obtained his connection with the Philadelphia apartments of Richard Brown, the stuntflyer, skywriter, and daredevil. The Doctor did not use the television system because it would have required almost four minutes--four minutes that he did not care to waste--to obtain his connection if he had.

Brown himself answered the phone.

"Hello."

"Dick Brown? This is Dr. Harris speaking. Come at once with the Kelinov monoplane. Mount a couple of Marvite guns on it. Fuel up for a long trip. Hurry."

"I'm coming, Doc. I don't know what's up, but I'm with you. It's seven-thirty now. I'll be there by eight o'clock."

With these words the likable young adventurer hung up his receiver. I felt glad that I was shortly to see him again. He, Bob Kornfield and I had been bosom friends for several years. Dr. Harris could count on his loyalty and assistance positively, in any undertaking that might solve the mystery of Kornfield's disappearance.

Dr. Harris, after Brown had hung up, had proceeded to get in touch with government officials, and had obtained permission to pass through the New York airport, and the twenty-five hundred foot wide gap in the high-frequency barrier, without descending. After this permission had been granted, he called the Police Department, and asked for five reliable men to be assigned to him. This was done without question.

Then, calling the weather bureau, he obtained detailed information as to weather conditions within five hundred miles of New York. Meanwhile I was getting into a flying coat that the Doctor had lent me. He donned a second. His powerful motor car carried us to the great flying field at Brooklyn. The five officers were already there. Three minutes after our arrival, an enormous quintiple-motored Kelinov monoplane, piloted by the keen-faced, smiling, capable Brown, landed as lightly as a feather on the brilliantly lighted field. At the same instant I caught sight of a speeding white taxicab approaching the field from the direction of Manhattan. It stopped with screaming brakes. From it leaped the tall form of Wesley B. Gibson. He had succeeded in obtaining the desired information.

"Unless the position of the instrument has been altered," he said, "the diamonds were transmitted in a direction just one degree, four minutes, and thirty-eight seconds east of northeast. They were probably transmitted several hundred miles."

A few minutes later the great plane rose again into the cool evening air. After he had seen that the plane was exactly on its course, Brown locked the controls. The five powerful motors whirred quietly as the monoplane shot through the night.

In the comfortable cabin, Brown, Harris, myself, and the five officers sat silent, each occupied with his own thoughts. I was wondering vaguely why Dr. Harris had brought the five police officers along. We were leaving the country. They had no right to arrest anyone outside of the United States. The plane, I knew, would soon be proceeding in the general direction of Iceland.

I wondered if Dr. Harris had arranged for extradition papers in case the arrest of the criminal would be in foreign territory.

My wonderings were interrupted by a brilliant red light flashing past the windows of the cabin. It was the government signal. I knew then that we were passing through the airport. Dr. Harris flashed our red signal in return. Brown altered the direction of flight and locked the controls again. I looked below, but could see hardly anything. An exceedingly dense fog was obscuring the atmosphere. The great plane continued unswervingly on its way.

* * *

A WHITE light, that seemed to throw no shadow, came from a fixture near the ceiling of a large, windowless room. Directly beneath it lay two unconscious figures on an operating table. All around were stands and cupboards containing a large number of complex instruments, electrical devices and appliances, and many small, razor-edged knives, of various shapes and sizes. A white-clad figure, short and slender, stood at the side of the table. M. W., the super-criminal, was preparing to perform the delicate electro-surgical operation that would forever rob a famous radio engineer and his equally famous friend of their memories, change them into idiots, erase forever their knowledge of the Javis diamonds.

M. W. never killed. For a murder would mean execution if the criminal were ever captured. Though the physical evidence of a murder could perhaps be successfully concealed, the psychological evidence could never be hidden. A sphygmomanometer would betray the secret in three minutes. So M. W. never killed. Under the present laws, which were adopted in 2071, murder is the only crime punishable by death. And as M. W. did not consider capture to be an impossibility, M. W. did not commit murder. This operation would prevent Clankey and Kornfield from disclosing their knowledge of the criminal and the stolen fortune of diamonds quite as effectively as their death would.

The scientific criminal, holding a shining scalpel skillfully in long, sensitive fingers, bent over the unconscious C. Jerry Clankey to make the preliminary incision. The steely grey eyes glittered as brightly as the keen surgical knife.

A door at the far side of the room opened.

* * *

THE fog which enveloped the speeding plane became thicker every second. The locked controls kept the silent Kelinov exactly on its course, rigidly level, and traveling at the comparatively slow rate of 215 miles per hour. Brown was manipulating our infra-red searchlight. This sent a powerful beam of invisible light below us, which brilliantly, though invisibly, illuminated the sea. On our special receiving screens, the ocean was plainly visible. By using this device, we hoped to be able to find out where the criminal had landed, without betraying our presence as we would probably have done if we had used a searchlight employing visible light.

Suddenly the flyer leaped to his controls. He started the helicopter propellers that had not been used since the take-off, and switched off the tractors. Then he again locked the controls, and hastened back to the infra-red searchlight. He, Harris, and I regarded the screen that disclosed the scene below us, that our unaided eyes could not see. The monoplane hovered in the air, motionless, silent, hidden in the dense fog. Almost directly below it, revealed by the infra-red searchlight, was an artificial island.

Brown referred to some of the instruments on the dashboard, obtained his data, and proceeded to find out the exact latitude and longitude with a pilot's automatic calculator. The accurate mechanical computator soon supplied the desired information. Dr. Harris checked the position on a map. "The island has not been charted," he said.

Then I understood why the officers had been brought along. By international agreement, any artificial island was considered as territory of the nation whose citizens were responsible for its erection. M. W. was, it had been ascertained, an American citizen. Therefore, American officers had a perfect right to arrest an American lawbreaker on an American island. I wondered why I had not thought of that sooner.

If the island was the property of an honest person, it would have undoubtedly been charted, according to law. This island had not been. Here, far from the usual paths of commerce, the criminal had erected a base. I understood then why M. W. had been so hard to trace, why the best detectives of two continents had failed. Here, in the unfrequented northern ocean, was the bandit's stronghold.

Brown diminished the speed of his helicopters, and the plane dropped slowly, vertically, coming finally to rest on the island's darkened landing platform, without the slightest perceptible jar, owing to Brown's unusual skill as a flyer. Landing at night, without adequate lighting facilities, is not easy, even with the best of planes.

Two officers were left, fully armed, to guard the monoplane. Two were sent to the hangar at one end of the platform with instructions to disable every plane in it so completely that aerial escape would be impossible. The other officer, a sturdy chap named Finnegan, accompanied Brown, Dr. Harris, and me, as, with automatics drawn, we advanced to a door at one side of the platform. We opened it without any difficulty.

The room we entered was an electrical laboratory, well-equipped, at least fifty yards long, and about half as wide. No one was in it, although it was lighted. We assumed, therefore, that someone had been in it recently. It had two doors, not including the one we had entered by, at opposite sides of the room. The great amount of various radio and electrical apparatus it contained would probably be valued at more than a hundred thousand dollars.

After a whispered consultation, we decided to divide, the Doctor and Finnegan taking one door, and Brown and I taking another. This plan was carried out. Brown and I, having opened our door and passed through it, soon found ourselves in a narrow corridor. With the utmost caution, making as little noise as possible, we passed down the hallway, our guns in our hands.

We entered the first door we came to, Brown preceding me. I heard a metallic click, a bullet whistled past my face, and the aviator pitched forward to the floor. In the center of the room stood a tall man. I pulled the trigger of my gun without waiting to see what he looked like. My bullet must have struck his gun, or the hand that held it, for he dropped it with an exclamation of pain, and darted out a door behind him, slamming it shut. When I reached it, it was locked, as was also the door by which we had entered.

I bent over Brown, opening my pocket first-aid kit hurriedly. He was not seriously wounded, having merely been scratched. The bullet that scratched him, however, was anesthetic. I at once attempted to revive him. Having removed his coat, I ripped open his shirt sleeve so that I might more easily attend to the trifling wound.

On his upper arm were tattooed an anchor, a mermaid, and the two letters, "M. W."

* * *

DR. HARRIS and Finnegan had silently advanced to the other door leading out of the electrical laboratory. Opening it cautiously, Dr. Harris saw, for the first time, his archenemy. In the center of the room, M. W. was bending over an operating table, on which, the Doctor perceived, lay two unconscious figures. Dr. Harris fired, and ran to the table. In his intense excitement, he missed completely.

The criminal, eyes blazing, suspended the scalpel six inches above the throat of C. Jerry Clankey, holding it between thumb and forefinger. It was checkmate. If the Doctor shot again, the knife would fall.

The tall man, whose gun I had shot from his hand, having pressed the button that electrically locked all the doors of the room that Brown and I had discovered him in, ran down the corridor to warn his chief. It was he, who, bursting suddenly through the door at the rear of M. W., saved the radio engineer's life.

The criminal, startled by the noise, turned involuntarily. In that second, Dr. Harris fired. His bullet, by a freak of chance, hit the scalpel. The tall man snapped out the light. Several pistol shots rang out.

When Finnegan finally succeeded in extracting his flashlight from his pocket and lighting it, no one was in the room but himself and the two unconscious figures on the operating table. Finnegan set about to revive them, and in about fifteen minutes had succeeded in doing so.

Let Bob Kornfield tell the story from now on.

* * *

I, ROBERT KORNFIELD, sat up suddenly. A young chap I'd never seen before was regarding me with satisfaction. His name, I learned later, was Finnegan.

Suddenly memory came back to me. Excitedly I asked questions of Finnegan, who was attempting to revive Clankey, and obtained from him a brief synopsis of what has been narrated by Paul Basehore, with the exception of those details concerning the shooting of Brown, which Finnegan, of course, did not then know of. Then I borrowed one of Finnegan's guns, and, in spite of his protests, ventured out into the corridor. He continued to try to revive my unconscious friend, and therefore could not hinder me. I soon reached the electrical laboratory.

At one side of the laboratory stood the "super-radio" that had been invented by C. Jerry Clankey. Close beside it were three enormous chests. I opened one of them, and then the other two. Each was completely full of diamonds. Artificial diamonds, created by the genius of the late D. Francis Javis, who had carried his secret to his grave.

Even though diamonds were now comparatively cheap, because those that Javis had sold were to some extent flooding the market, I knew nevertheless that I was gazing at a colossal fortune. Fascinated, I picked up a beautiful gem of several hundred carats, and of the most delicate shade of rose, and held it in the light. It flashed, scintillated. The perfect beauty of it hypnotized me.

I heard a step behind me. I wheeled, and found myself face to face with M. W.

When the tall man had snapped off the lights in the operating room (as Basehore has narrated, though he was not there at that time, he obtained his information later from Harris, just as I did in several instances), the criminal had leaped for the door. The tall man had already escaped through it.

The keen ear of Dr. Harris enabled him to follow closely, even though the room was completely dark. When he passed through the door, he slammed it shut. Sprinting down the corridor, he succeeded in overtaking and grasping M. W. by the shoulder. An involuntary exclamation escaped from the criminal, and Dr. Harris' suspicion was confirmed. M. W. was a woman! The high-pitched voice could not possibly have been possessed by a man. The clothes that she was wearing had quite effectively concealed her figure.

The tall man, whom I might as well call Ericson, which we ascertained later was his name, had concealed himself in a doorway. Hearing the woman's cry, he had hurried to her assistance. One blow from his enormous hamlike fist, and the Doctor was down, with a fractured jaw. M. W. ordered Ericson to carry him to the next floor below, and tie him securely. Then she hurried to the radio laboratory, where, she knew, there were several guns, of various deadly varieties. It was her intention to obtain one of these, and then to return to the operating-room and dispose of Finnegan. When she entered the laboratory, my attention was completely absorbed by the great rose diamond.

I turned and faced her. For a moment I thought I saw fear in the steely grey eyes. I covered her with Finnegan's gun. She advanced toward me. I fired. The gun clicked futilely. It was empty. Finnegan had evidently been using it rather freely in the dark, before he had lit his flashlight, and set about to revive me. When M. W. perceived that the gun was my only weapon, and empty, the bravado vanished. She darted to a peculiar instrument at the opposite side of the room, threw in two switches with long, insulated handles, and manipulated one of three small levers. From a tube at the top of the instrument a small, blindingly brilliant object seemed to float through the air towards me.

It was an artificial ball of lightning!

I attempted to dodge it, and escape through a door. But it could move as fast as I could. It reached the door before I did, headed me off, and finally cornered me. M. W. quite evidently had it under control. It hovered around me.

I recalled various stories I had heard about that peculiar freak of nature, ball lightning. I remembered having heard of one that had rolled off a roof, floated through a window, and finally exploded, killing two men, and doing a considerable amount of property damage.

Scientists have long been able to produce artificial lightning, enormous discharges of electricity, but artificial ball lightning was something new. And M. W. had it under control! The bright, crackling, luminous ball of electricity went where the criminal wanted it to go. I did not doubt that she could explode it at will, too.

Even as the flaming ball hovered about me, I could not help thinking what a wonderful war-time weapon this invention would make. I had a mental picture of an airplane, high over an enemy's lines, sending out these electrical spheres by the dozen, to float gracefully down to an ammunition dump, set off tons of high explosive, and eliminate thousands of men at one time. These thoughts and others raced through my mind as I stood in the corner and watched the hovering ball of fire.

* * *

FINNEGAN had revived my friend C. Jerry Clankey, and had gone in search of Dr. Harris, while Clankey had come at once to the electrical laboratory, where Finnegan had told him I had gone.

Entering suddenly, he seized M. W. by the shoulder and threw her to the floor. Then he leaped to the instrument. Unfamiliar with its operation, he experimented with the three small levers that controlled the actions of the lightning sphere that was hovering level with my waist. He soon discovered how to manage it. The ball moved away from me in little jerks, approached M. W. She raised her head and regarded it intently, fearfully. She was sobbing. The excitement of the night had been too much even for her. C. Jerry Clankey had broken her nerve.

I looked at him. In the deep, blazing, blue eyes I read his intention. There was no chivalry there. He was not considering the fact that she was a woman. He thought only of his stolen invention, that he had worked at for so long, of the attempt to besmirch his honor by leaving the false fingerprints, and of his narrow escape from insanity at her hands. I have known him for many years, but this was the first and only time I had ever seen his temper thoroughly aroused. I read his eyes. There was murder in them.

Fascinated, unable to speak, I watched the flaming ball of electric fire, as it moved, slowly, but with a horrible certainty, to the figure of the sobbing "super-criminal." The ball seemed to hesitate about three feet from her.

The figure of a man sprang through the open doorway, and leaped directly at the ball of lightning. It exploded.

* * *

PAUL BASEHORE had discovered that Brown and he were locked in the room where they had first discovered the tall man, Ericson. He set about, as he has narrated, to revive the unconscious aviator, and in so doing, discovered the two initials tattooed on the daredevil's arm. His curiosity aroused, he redoubled his efforts to bring the man to consciousness. But the powerful anesthetic, contained in the tiny grooves in the bullet that had scratched Brown, had taken effect. It was some time before Brown finally opened his eyes, and said weakly, "Thanks, Paul. Where are we?"

Basehore at once started toward a door, determined to break free from the tiny room in which Ericson had imprisoned them, after having fired the bullet that had thrown the aviator into oblivion. But Basehore could not see the tall form of Ericson passing in the corridor outside, bearing the unconscious Dr. David Harris on his shoulder. Basehore could not see when Ericson paused in the corridor outside to open a tiny panel and throw a hidden switch. Then Ericson continued on his way with his burden. At the end of the corridor, Finnegan was waiting for him.

Basehore did not know all of this. He did not know that the switch had been thrown, or that it connected the metallic plate imbedded in the floor before the doorway, and also the cleverly concealed metallic plate in the door itself, with the gigantic generators far below, in the bowels of the island that supplied, directly from the never-ceasing tide, the light, and heat, and power that this artificial island, this ultra-modern laboratory of criminals, used. Basehore hurled his whole weight against the door, determined to break it down. As he did so, his body closed the circuit. That is why I, Robert Kornfield, am completing the story he began. Basehore did not return to consciousness, and feeling, and life, until many, many days had passed, and even then would not have done so, were it not for the superhuman skill and ability of the world's greatest surgeon. Of that, later.

* * *

BUT Basehore had broken down the door, snapping the electric wires it contained as he did so. Brown leaped over his body into the corridor, made sure that he was no longer in contact with the metallic plates, lifted him gently to his shoulder, and carried him down the corridor, in the opposite direction to that taken by Ericson. So it happened that he arrived at the entrance of the electrical laboratory just as C. Jerry Clankey was causing the ball of electric fire to approach M. W.

And Dick Brown recognized the girl. Fate is a curious thing. Chance. That is all. Of all the unusual episodes of the night, this was the most impossible. Brown had known her, four years before. They had attended the same university.

He had, for a while, been in love with her. She never had paid the slightest attention to him. She never had been known to display the slightest emotion, unless a biting, iconoclastic sarcasm, which showed itself in her notes, could be classed as an emotion. She always had been cold, scientific, unnatural, abnormal. She could have been beautiful, if she had tried. It is difficult to say just what quality in her had attracted the fun-loving Brown. He had had her initials tattooed on his arm once, and had been told by her that he was an exceedingly silly fool. He had never seen her after his graduation.

But chance had brought the impulsive adventure-seeker and the cold-blooded criminal scientist together once more. Dick Brown recognized Margaret Walters.

Hurriedly, though gently, he deposited his unconscious burden on the floor, and leaped through the doorway, directly at the flaming ball that menaced the young woman. It exploded. But it exploded harmlessly. They were both within six feet of it, but neither was seriously hurt, contrary to my expectations. Actual contact with the flaming ball, I have since learned, is necessary for the purpose of killing.

I turned my eyes again to C. Jerry Clankey. The madness, the flaming hate, was gone from his eyes. He switched off the machine. Then Finnegan entered, with Dr. Harris on his shoulder. When Ericson had seen him in the corridor, he had dropped the Doctor and fled. Finnegan had shot after him, but he had not stopped running until he was out of sight around a corner. Then Finnegan had bound up Dr. Harris' bleeding jaw as well as he could, and had carried him back to the laboratory.

The girl was manacled, and taken out to the plane, after Basehore and Dr. Harris had been carried out by Brown and Finnegan.

I stayed in the laboratory with Clankey, as he busied himself at his own invention. Five minutes later I heard him start to talk out loud to himself, as he has a habit of doing. "Good old Gibson," he said. "He's always where you want him when you want him there."

* * *

A FIERCE battle had been raging outside. The two officers who had been detailed to disable the planes in the hangar had, in so doing, inadvertently aroused from their slumber M. W.'s accomplices and assistants, whose living quarters were at one side of the hangar. Excluding M. W., Ericson, and the deaf-mute cook and housemaid, there were five others on the island, four men and a woman.

The four officers had managed, after some gun-fighting, in which one of the men was killed, and one of the officers severely wounded, to explode a tear-gas bomb, and, equipped with masks, had taken the three remaining men and the woman prisoners. Leaving them manacled, the three officers dressed the wounds of their comrade, and then decided to enter the building in search of Brown, Basehore, Harris, and Finnegan, and were about to do so when Basehore and the Doctor were carried out. Brown and Finnegan returned to the laboratory. The officers manacled M. W. to her friends, and attempted vainly to revive Basehore and Dr. Harris.

In the laboratory, Brown, Finnegan, and I watched Clankey. He had succeeded in getting in touch with Gibson, who had returned to the vault in New York, and he was transmitting the diamonds back to him. We watched with superlative interest as each sparkling gem was placed in the apparatus to be sent invisibly hundreds of miles through the ether to New York, where the other marvelous mechanism received them. Though at least one diamond was sent every ten seconds, it took a considerable amount of time to transmit the enormous fortune. When two of the three chests of jewels had been emptied, Ericson entered the laboratory.

He was bleeding. Finnegan's bullet had penetrated his abdomen, and the unfortunate man was dying a slow, torturous death. He laughed at us, a sobbing, jerking laugh. He spoke between spasms of pain.

"Au revoir!" he said. "Gentlemen, I shall blow you all to hell with me. That switch over there, when I throw it, will detonate about thirty tons of trinitrotoluene. I wish you a very happy journey."

As he spoke, Brown leaped toward him. The dying man laughed, and threw, not the switch he had spoken of, which was on the other side of the room, but another, which was close to his side.

A sheet of flame separated him from the rest of us. From one side of the room to the other, and from ceiling to floor, leaped roaring, blinding discharges of electricity. No man could go through it and live. It divided the room into two parts. We were on one side of it. Ericson was on the other. We heard his laugh above the noise it made. We saw him stagger across the room to that other switch that would throw us all into eternity.

* * *

IN New York, Gibson bent over the other instrument with an anxious, puzzled frown. Only about two-thirds of the diamonds had been received, and the instrument had fallen silent. He tried desperately to signal Clankey, to find out what was wrong. Though he stayed at the instrument for more than an hour, no message, no diamonds, came through. In New York, he could not know immediately of the terrific explosion that had taken place so many miles out on the restless Atlantic. For Ericson had reached the switch.

But we escaped. Ericson had stumbled in the middle of the floor. He could not rise. But he crawled. And that gave us time. When Brown had found that bullets could not penetrate the great sheet of electricity that cut off that end of the room from us, and that we had no possible way to prevent Ericson from carrying out his purpose, Brown, Finnegan, Clankey, and I carried the other chest of diamonds out to the plane. By the time that Ericson had managed to reach the switch and throw it, the great Kelinov was nine hundred feet up in the air. A large fragment of the wreckage of the island hit the left wing and snapped it off. The plane reeled, and dove vertically to the ocean below.

* * *

GIBSON leaned back in his chair and looked steadily at the paper in his hand. It was the report of the Seismographic Station of New York, and told of the occurrence of a violent explosion in the North Atlantic. Gibson noticed the time that it had occurred, 1:35 A. M. The last diamond received had been transmitted to him at 1:24 A. M. He wondered if escape had been accomplished in those eleven minutes between the last signal received and the time of the explosion. He looked at the clock. It was thirteen minutes after two. It had been only eight hours before that the expedition had left the metropolis to attempt to apprehend the super-criminal.

Gibson was very tired. The nervous strain that he had been enduring was telling on him. He nibbled at a tablet of concentrated food.

Suddenly he seized a hypodermic needle from the desk before him, jabbed it viciously into his arm, and pushed down the plunger. Then, his drowsiness gone, his brain cleared by the drug, he rose and left the room to direct the search for what was left of the expedition that had set out in the early evening.

* * *

By three o'clock, more than fifty small, fast, scout planes were searching the ocean from Greenland and Iceland south to the line of artificial islands that marks the trade route from Europe to America.

Several times their searchlight beams came close to the wrecked, silent monoplane floating on the angry water.

When the wreckage from the explosion had taken the wing off the Kelinov, it had plunged vertically towards the sea. But the master-flyer Brown had saved us once again. Fighting desperately at the controls, he had brought the plane out of its dive with inches to spare. It struck the water laterally, submerging what remained of the wing. But the fuselage was watertight. We floated, fuel gone, radio gone, food gone. The food, fuel and radio had been stored in the hollow compartments of the wing. The searchers found us just before dawn.

It was an unusual party they rescued. Five policemen, one badly wounded; the captives they had taken in the battle by the hangar; the horribly burned, scarcely breathing Basehore; Dr. David Harris, whom we had finally succeeded in reviving, with his broken jaw; Brown, the aviator; his former acquaintance, Margaret Walters, the super-criminal; C. Gerald Clankey, the radio engineer; and myself, Robert Kornfield. When Gibson's graceful amphibian biplane swooped down from the sky to take us aboard, the dawn broke, and the most exciting night of my life was over. Gibson's pilot took us all to MV-39B.

When we had arrived at this well-known British artificial island, which boasts of a population of more than a million and a half, we discovered that Herbert Wiessler, the world famous surgeon, would arrive there half an hour later. During that half hour, Gibson communicated with the authorities and made all necessary arrangements. He also sent a radiogram to Jack Javis informing him of the safety of the remaining diamonds.

Wiessler himself attended to Basehore. It was with very great joy indeed that we heard his announcement that our friend would live, though he was unconscious and would remain so indefinitely. I believe I have mentioned before that Basehore did not return to consciousness for many weeks.

Then Wiessler, leaving the wounded policeman (and also Dr. Harris' broken jaw), to the attention of other competent surgeons, performed what is known as operation 43A on Margaret Walters, after Gibson had obtained the necessary legal permission from New York.

The research of the last fifty years has shown that crime is, to a great extent, a mental disease, which can be cured, in most cases, by various operations on the brains of criminals, and our laws are now in a process of transition. If the sphygmomanometer tests had shown her to have been guilty of murder, the inexorable law would have required her execution, but this did not prove to be the case. So a great scientific brain was saved for the United States.

Just before the operation, while Wiessler was sterilizing his instruments, I happened to overhear a conversation between him and the aviator. For once in his life Richard Brown was not smiling. He was intensely in earnest.

"Doctor," he was saying, "I never knew her to display an emotion. I don't believe she ever felt any. Can't you implant in her mind at least a little tendency to be human, some appreciation of beauty, an inclination to smile once in a while? She's always been too damned scientific. Make her something like a human being, Doc, if it's possible."

Dr. Wiessler smiled, but did not say anything. He seldom did. He picked up a tray of instruments, and passed through the door to the next room, where the girl lay under the anesthetic.

* * *

THE real end of the adventure occurred three days later. C. Jerry Clankey expressed a desire to speak to the twenty-four-year-old genius who had so nearly succeeded in changing us both to idiots, in order to find out from her the secret of artificial "ball-lightning." He was fascinated with the possibilities of the invention. After supper I accompanied him to her room. The nurse, whom we met in the hallway, informed us that she was asleep. When we came to her door, it was ajar. Glancing in, we saw Dick Brown at the bedside of the girl he had once loved. Somehow, I realized very clearly that he still did. He bent over her. He would have kissed her if the grey eyes hadn't flickered open just then.

She smiled. "Hello, Dick," she said.

I felt fingers gripping my shoulder. C. Jerry jerked me down the corridor. "Bob," he said, "I'm ashamed of you. It is considered extremely impolite to be listening in while people are renewing old acquaintance. Let us proceed down this hallway, emerge from the door, and--"

"And?" said I softly, with gently rising inflection.

"And gaze intently at the moon," he finished lamely.

So we proceeded down that hallway, emerged from the door, and gazed intently at the moon.

Rhythm 

IT was several years ago, in 1999, to be exact, that Graham Greene and the Flaming Atom and I had our little adventure with the cold-blooded Calvroon and his rhythmic toy. It was quite a scientific affair. Because of my lifelong friendship with Graham Greene, I witnessed the entire drama from beginning to end without taking a very active part in it. Who I am doesn't matter, but I'll have to tell you something about Greene and The Atom or you won't understand my story.

First, Graham was the step-nephew of Elmer Calvroon Second, he was a cripple and a scientist and a human, lovable man. The Flaming Atom loved him, loved him even more because he was a cripple. You see, he had been flying from New York up to the Maine coast to spend a week-end with her and her family, when an unexpected sleet-storm of exceptional violence had so blinded him in his little runabout sport model monoplane that he had crashed in the New Hampshire hills. Both his feet were crushed and it was almost three days before he was found, so secluded was the place where he fell. Infection had set in, and in spite of the marvelous medical science we possess at the dawn of the twenty-first century, the left leg came off at the knee and the right at the ankle His heart was permanently weakened. Calvroon learned of this last fact. Graham never made a secret of it.

Greene had been engaged to the Atom for more than a year before his crash. The accident made no change in their plans. They had still almost a year to wait, for the girl's parents insisted strongly that she was not to marry until she was twenty-one.

"Flaming Atom" was my friend's scientific pet name for her who had nursed him back to health and life. It fitted her perfectly, whereas her real name, Elsie Damon, absolutely failed to do so. She lacked an inch or so of five feet, while Greene was six-feet-three with his artificial legs. She possessed a head of hair whose color closely approximated cochineal carmine, instead of the bricky orange common to most red-headed people. With her intense restless energy and her turbulent emotional temperament, she thoroughly justified the appellation.

He and she and I were listening attentively to the legal matter being discussed by Paul Jameson, family lawyer to three generations of scientific Greenes, the aged legal man was replying to a question that had been posed by Graham.

"The first of next month will be the tenth anniversary of the disappearance of your father. Unless he should reappear before that day he will be considered legally dead, according to the present laws of the state, and the fortune will go to you, together with the only key in the world to Vault Number Three of the Second National Bank, which is one of the business properties your father controlled. In the vault are the only remaining descriptions and records, the notes, apparatus and instructions which would permit a scientist to repeat one of your father's greatest discoveries, the secret of which, at the present time is known to no other man. You are aware of that to which I refer.

"If, however, you should die before the first, the fortune and the key would then go to your father's stepbrother, Elmer Calvroon, according to the terms of the will."

Graham's artificial limbs were so scientifically perfect that in one sense of the word he was not a cripple at all. He seldom used the heavy cane that he always carried with him. As the three of us walked the short distance back to the spacious, well-equipped laboratory that had been the elder Greene's, I made a remark about the rather unusual provision of the will, which gave everything to Graham, and yet said that should he die everything was to go to Calvroon. I was unable to refrain from speculating as to the motives of the man who had written that will. My remark caused my friend to break his thoughtful silence.

"Von, you know very well what is in that vault, the thing that Jameson so carefully avoided in his roundabout speech. You're an older man than I am, and undoubtedly you remember the events of ten years ago much better than I do. But I remember enough. When my father produced organic beings artificially in the laboratory, when he succeeded in the horribly complex task of the synthesis of protoplasm, when he found the secret of life somewhere in the phosphorus compounds, yet remember how his great work was received. Became he insisted upon keeping his method a secret, he was branded as a fraud by the scientists of the world, in spite of his recognized ability and his unstained reputation. The others could not admit the possibility of his accomplishment without incontrovertible proof and demonstration, which he withheld. They would not take his word. And he had his reasons for withholding that secret, Von!"

Graham continued in a tone that grew more gloomy. "And the people of the world denounced him either as a fake or an atheistic, inhuman meddler in God's affairs, than which nothing could be farther from the truth. Fanatics made one attempt after another to kill him, believing him in league with the devil to destroy the world. Dozens of attempts were made to break into the laboratory and steal his voluminous notes and formulas. He killed one thief in self-defense.

"Then he put everything in that vault and destroyed all keys to it but one, which is in another vault. Few people know what Vault Number Three contains and fewer know where its key is.

"The world was no longer safe for Thornton Greene, branded as a fake by some and as a menace to humanity by others. After the sixth fanatical attempt to kill him, in which I myself barely escaped death at the age of sixteen, he disappeared from the world. But I know he's not dead; even though he's never communicated with me, he must be alive in some part of the world, with a changed name and probably a changed face also, safe from identification, still making his marvelous discoveries in half a dozen lines of science.

"The key will soon be legally mine. Unless my father returns or sends some message to me I am going to follow a plan I have long had in mind. For eight years I have been obtaining the best possible education along the lines of biology, organic chemistry, and related sciences. Most of the world thinks my father's records have been destroyed. That is what he wanted the world to believe. I hope I have qualified myself to understand and repeat his experiments, and to carry them further in secret. If I find any way in which his discovery will be of any benefit to the world I shall publish the whole process and vindicate him in the eyes of science and humanity. If I don't, I shall destroy every vestige of the notes, every shred of evidence. I think that is what he would have me do."

The next day we encountered the rhythmic toy.

Elmer Calvroon had been planning for months to kill Greene. I do not think it was the money he desired. It was that scientific secret in the locked vault, the secret of synthetic life. Calvroon was a scientist, too, and to his warped point of view it was absolutely necessary that Graham Greene be eliminated.

But he realized that he would be suspected at once should Greene be killed. The murder laws are strict. It was necessary further that Graham Greene be eliminated in such a way as to leave no possible clues to the manner of his death. It was highly desirable that his death should appear to be natural. Calvroon decided that he could not take a chance with any of the ordinary methods of murder. If he were ever to profit by the killing of Greene, the crime must be perfectly done.

The device which the sardonic scientist called the rhythmic toy was born in his brain from the union of two entirely different memories. One was the memory of the airplane crash that had deprived the tall heir of Thornton Greene of his feet. The other was the memory of a few well-proven physiological facts. He constructed the machine. After all, it was a simple affair, operated by a small electric motor.

On the early morning of April 8, 1999, when my friend was alone in his laboratory, he received a phone call from Calvroon. who invited him to come over to his laboratory and see a new invention. So Graham walked calmly into the trap.

To you who read this story, not having been acquainted with the two men for the long years I have, this action on the part of my friend may seem incredible. You may wonder why he did not suspect anything wrong. From my intimate knowledge of the men, I believe I can answer your doubts.

In the first place, Graham was not of a suspicious nature. In the second place, the invitation was so natural and aboveboard that it did not arouse any suspicion. In the third place, Calvroon was an inventor with 780 patents to his credit, and he was rather vain about it, in his cold, reserved way. It was his regular habit, when he had completed another device, to demonstrate it to his step-nephew before taking out a patent and selling the device to some firm that could use it. Several times, in company with Graham, I had visited the combination laboratory and machine-shop of Calvroon and listened to him explain, with that curiously suppressed pride in every tone of his voice, the principles behind some new addition to his large family of ingenious mechanical inventions, the details of its construction, its uses and advantages over the previous machine it had rendered obsolete. So on this morning Graham thought merely that his step-uncle had completed some new machine and was ready to demonstrate it. He went over to the other laboratory without the faintest shadow of a suspicion that Calvroon fully intended to kill him in cold blood in order to obtain those records and notes in Vault Number Three.

I had just finished a late breakfast and was idly wondering why Thornton Greene had equipped Vault Number Three with a key instead of the usual combination lock, for it seemed to me that the latter would have served his purpose well, when the Atom called me on the 'phone and announced that Graham was not at his laboratory, but had left a note for her saying that he had gone to Calvroon's.

The Atom was immediately suspicious of Calvroon. She had never liked him. She explained that Graham had expected her to arrive about noon, and had left the note in case he hadn't returned by that time. She had arrived early and had found the note. Then, she told me, she had telephoned to Calvroon several times without any of her calls being answered. She was anxious about her fiancé, and asked me to accompany her on a visit to the laboratory of the step-uncle to investigate. I agreed, for I could easily detect the fear and suspicion in her voice. I called Calvroon myself and got no answer.

I felt uneasy at once. Calvroon had always impressed me as a man who would stop at nothing to gain his ends. Suddenly it seemed quite possible to me that he was planning to abduct and kill my friend in order to obtain the key to life, A hard and selfish man, Calvroon. He wanted the secret all for himself. I don't think it ever occurred to him to ask Graham to share it with him. If he had, Graham would in all probability have refused.

After I had rung the bell and knocked on the door for more than five minutes it opened and Calvroon himself stepped out of his laboratory. Seeing the Atom and me, he inquired in a level, balanced, cold, and rigid voice, "What do you want?"

I invented some plausible fiction on the spur of the moment.

"I want to see Graham Greene," I stated. "An important message has just arrived for him and I must deliver it at once."

"You're lying, Von der Konz. Besides," be added almost hastily, "Graham Greene is not here." He turned on his heel to reenter the lab. The Flaming Atom flared up angrily.

"You're lying. He is here."

Before he could stop her she had darted past him into the laboratory. Calvroon turned silently and followed her, trying to slam the door in my face, but I was in as soon as he was. The Atom was throwing open a heavy "icebox" door at one end of the room, a door that was obviously soundproof, as was the room to which it gave ingress. Calvroon had apparently come out of this room to answer the bell, and had left the door open a fraction of an inch.

In two seconds the cold-blooded madman at my side produced a small derringer pistol, the type that fires those murderous mushroom slugs, from a cleverly concealed sleeve holster, and shot down the Atom. She fell in a little heap in the doorway. I made an involuntary motion toward Calvroon and found the little gun with the big bore looking me In the eye. Calvroon's eyelids drooped a little as he enunciated his threat.

"If you move one inch, Von der Konz, I shall ki11 you."

I did not move. I was not armed and I had seen enough to convince me that my captor would carry out his threat. I permitted my hands to be bound behind me with small but very strong metallic cords. Then I was efficiently gagged.

Calvroon's bullet had glanced off the Atom's temple, stunning her, but inflecting only a minor flesh wound which bled profusely. She regained consciousness just as the man with the gun finished binding and gagging her.

Then Calvroon took us both into the soundproof room. Graham Greene was there, gagged and tied to a chair. His face was a study in despair when he caught sight of the girl with the red blood slowly dripping from her temple. He made one mighty but ineffectual effort to free himself. Calvroon used the gun to persuade me to submit to being bound to another chair. Then he took the kicking, struggling, gagged girl from her lover's side and bound her to a third chair. Finally he stood off and regarded the three of us with an almost puzzled expression.

Then the three of us listened to an unusual speech. Calvroon calmly announced his intention of killing us all and then proceeded to explain to us just how he was going to do it in precisely the same tone as he used when explaining some new invention. It was that suppressed pride in his accomplishments that caused him to tell us his plans. Some of what he said follows:

"When I first decided to kill you, Greene, I realized that it would be best not to use any ordinary method of inflicting death. Chemistry today is marvelously advanced. Any known poison could be detected. All deaths by violence are strictly investigated. And I realized that I would immediately be suspected because of the terms of that will. So I devised a method of killing you that will leave no possible clue to the manner of your death. When you are found in your own laboratory tomorrow or the next day no one will suspect that you didn't die of simple heart failure. If they do suspect, it will never be proved, for I am going to kill you scientifically without leaving the slightest evidence of that fact.

"I have recently been working on a number of improvements to the pipe-organ, and I had this sound-proof room constructed because some officials of the hospital near by complained to the authorities about the various noises, musical and otherwise, that I was producing practically all of the time. This room permitted me to carry on such experiments without moving my whole laboratory, for the room is absolutely sound-proof.

"In the compartment in the wall behind that latticework you see at the left, which compartment extends also down into the basement, are several organ pipes which I was using a few months ago to produce very low notes for experimental purposes, some of the notes being so low that only vibrations were produced. This little switch in the wall, when I throw it, will start an electric motor which will compress sufficient air to play the pipes, though I am only going to use one note. The organ pipes together with an automatic device for gradually increasing the speed of the machine that plays them, constitute the invention I call my rhythmic toy.

"Let me explain a few facts about rhythm. Why is it that music affects a human being? Why does a snappy, rapid march make us feel energetic, patriotic? Why does a funeral march cause the average person to feel sad, melancholy, and depressed? How can we explain the effect of syncopated jazz?

"Part of the answer to these questions is in the music itself, the major or minor key, the sharps and flats, the tones of the instruments. But rhythm plays by far the greater part in it.

"The human heart has a strong tendency to beat in time with any well-worked rhythm. A rapid march has a strongly marked rhythm that is faster than the usual beating of the heart. The heart increases its speed to keep up with the regular boom of the big bass drum. Consequently, blood is supplied more rapidly to the brain and to the muscles. As a result the body and the mind are stimulated to increased activity by this supply of fresh blood. That's why a dance tune will set your toes twitching. Also, the increased flow of blood removes impurities from the tissues more rapidly, and the person feels more healthful and more energetic.

"The same thing is true of a funeral march. It too possesses a well-marked rhythm, but in this case it is slower than the usual beat of the heart. Involuntarily, the heart slows down to keep with it, and blood is supplied to the tissues more slowly. Therefore, the mind is sad and depressed, and the body dull and lethargic.

"The American Indians and other savages all over the world were accustomed to hold meetings about their campfires and chant their strangely rhythmic war songs to the accompaniment of the hollow note of the tom-tom, before starting out on the war-path. The individual who beat the tom-tom (although he was totally ignorant of the science involved), started at about the regular beat of the heart and slowly but steadily increased the speed until the savages, their blood surging through their arteries, had worked themselves into a frenzy of excitement and courage which they did not ordinarily possess.

"It seems that the lower the note, the greater the effect. In a band or an orchestra one does not notice the rhythm of the music of the trumpet or of the piccolo nearly as much as the rhythm of the bass instruments. The drummer sets the rhythm in a band.

"The machine that will play this organ pipe will produce short, rapid, low notes, all alike except that every fourth tone will be slightly accented. The speed will very slowly increase.

"If I started it at too great a speed, your heart could not go with it, but instead would beat with every other note, or every third or fourth note, as the case might be. So I shall start it at the average beat of the heart, about seventy five beats a minute, and it will slowly, very slowly indeed, increase in speed until five hundred or even more short separate notes are produced a minute. But that speed will hardly be necessary. Long before it reaches that extreme rate your weakened heart, Greene, will give way under the strain. You will be dead.

"Though my actual crime will be perfectly done, I am just now realizing that I have been grossly careless in the preliminary matters. I have permitted you two others to discover me with the greatest ease. I have been devoting too much thought to the technical side of the matter and not enough to the practical side. A failing of the scientific mind, I suppose--the so-called one-track mind. I should never have been so careless.

"It is obvious that your meddling must be rewarded by death. I strongly doubt that my machine will be able to work your hearts to death in the same way as it will Greene's, for yours are healthy and normal while his has been greatly weakened. You will probably be able to survive the utmost rate of speed I can obtain, but again you may not. I shall lose nothing by trying. It may save me the trouble and danger of disposing of you in any other way.

"It occurs to me now that perhaps I can put your bodies in a radio-controlled plane and crash it. Then it will seem as if Graham Greene died of heart-failure when he learned that his fiancé had eloped with his best friend. The shock of that double disloyalty will seem to have been too much for him."

Perhaps it was that incredible, inhuman pride that prompted him to brag to us of his clever way of killing us that made us hate him the most. Or perhaps it was the last part of his plan. The Flaming Atom and I were close personal friends; furthermore we were both racing pilots and had each distinguished himself by capturing a world's record now and then. Because Graham Greene was my friend and the Flaming Atom's sweetheart, our three names were often mentioned together in the newspapers. Calvroon's explanation of our presence in the crashed plane would have been very convincing to the public.

Calvroon said much more which need not be added here. We could do nothing but sit there and listen to him. Among other details we learned that he had been making the final adjustments on the machine when the Atom and I had knocked on the door. He had heard us only because he had happened to leave the door of the sound-proof room open.

Calvroon started the device and left the room, closing the heavy door. As near as I can judge, that was at three or four o'clock in the afternoon.

For three hours, three hours that seemed as three thousand eternities, I listened to the damnable, never-ceasing, steady, rhythmic, monotonous, hollow notes that ever and ever came faster, but whose speed increased so slowly I knew that the blood was rushing through my veins, but I assure you that I was not feeling either elated or patriotic. My surplus energy was being used up by the fear that I could not conquer, by my great anxiety for my friends, and most of all by my anger and hate. Mentally I cursed his soul to hell at least three trillion times.

It was at the end of those three terrible hours that Graham's head suddenly sagged forward and he was still. A strangled scream came through the Atom's gag and great tears formed in her eyes. I looked toward my friend, limp in the bonds that held him to his chair and I swore that somehow I would revenge him. I could almost read the Atom's eyes. In them, too, I saw that determination to get revenge. It had been such a cruel death, her eyes told me. Calvroon had taken advantage of the weakness of his heart to kill him, had tortured him for three hours after telling him how he was to die. I was soul-sick to see the love and pity in her eyes. There were love and pity in mine too.

All during those three hours the blood had been trickling down from the wound in the Flaming Atom's temple. The blood had not clotted very well. For three hours she had been bleeding, and the loss of blood soon weakened her. She sagged forward too, and I was glad.

She had fainted from loss of blood and the shock she had endured. The rhythmic toy had no power over her now. She did not hear it. I could see her bosom rise and fall with her slow regular breathing. The thought came to me that perhaps her wound was to save her life, that perhaps Calvroon had defeated his own purpose to a certain extent, by shooting her. Her weary, broken heart was at rest.

But mine was not. The unending throbbing hollow note filled the room with its reverberations. Always it was the merest trifle faster. Though I knew that it was useless, I used every last ounce of nerve force and willpower I possessed in vainly trying to control the beating of my heart, trying to make it obey me and beat more slowly in spite of the rhythmic monster. I sweated blood trying to make my heart obey me. It can't be done.

Then I tried to go to sleep, to outwit the rhythm that way. Did you ever try to go to sleep in a room next to a loud and never-ceasing jazz band, and lie awake hour after hour restless and uneasy, because of its rhythm and its discords? Then perhaps you can comprehend the merest trifle of the agony I endured, waiting for the rhythmic death.

I wondered if it were within the limits of possibility that Thornton Greene would return from his hiding and arrive in time to avenge his son and save the lives of the Atom and me, to say nothing of saving his precious secret from one who had no right to it. But that was a last desperate forlorn hope. Thornton Greene did not come back from the dead.

It was late at night when Elmer Calvroon entered again the sound-proof room. He saw my face and cringed a moment from the hate he saw there.

He collected himself immediately, however, and advanced toward the figure of Graham Greene, still hanging limp in the chair. His coming awoke the Atom and another choked scream came from her, as he untied the bonds. He paid no attention to her, and finished untying the thin, strong, metallic cords that held the tall young scientist.

Then with a dramatic suddenness that affected my heart more than any devilish rhythm could ever have done, the dead man stood up rapidly, firmly, and solidly on two scientifically perfect artificial legs and swung a beautifully clean and efficient right to the jaw that lifted his arch-enemy off his feet and deposited him recumbent on the hard floor.

Graham Greene ungagged himself and snapped off the rhythmic toy.

Then he released the radiantly happy Atom and his unbelieving friend with the guttural German name from their respective bonds and tied his step-uncle thoroughly, gagging him for good measure.

"Von," he said, "will you run in the other room and call up the police? I'd like to kill this fiend, but it's against the law." I lost no time in doing as he requested.

When I returned, the Flaming Atom was standing on a chair with her arms around Graham's neck. Love laughs at trivial differences in altitude.

Half an how later, when the Atom finally consented to release him for a minute or two, he cleared up that mystery that had been puzzling me ever since he had cleaned up Calvroon.

"Von, my friend, I'm sorry if you thought I was dead when I dropped off to sleep there. That rhythmic toy would be deadly to most people. It probably tortured you terribly. There's not a thing wrong with the principle behind it. But for one thing, it would have lolled me quickly.

"It's a scientific fact, Von, that some people can hear sounds that others can't My ears are exceptionally high-pitched. I can hear the squeak of a bat and other shrill sounds that the majority of people can not hear. Calvroon chose the lowest note he could to be quite sure our hearts would stay with the rhythm, and it was just below the range of my audibility. I could go to sleep in perfect comfort, except for that gag, in a room that seemed to me to be as silent as the tomb."

Synthetic by Charles Cloukey.

GRAHAM Greene and the Flaming Atom and I were sitting in comfortable wicker-chairs on the sunny porch of Graham's palatial summer residence at Atlantic City. An apparently endless beach and a blue-green ocean dotted with boats and hydroaircraft made up the view from the porch. The time was in the late summer or the very early fall of the year 2000, but I do not remember the exact date.

The young scientist's face held an expression curiously reminiscent of his father, Thornton Greene, who had disappeared from the world of men ten years previous, and of whom no trace had ever been found.

"Von," said Graham Greene to me, "Elmer Calvroon escaped from prison last week."

"How?"

"Attacked a warden to whom he had a superficial resemblance, knocked him cold before the poor fellow could call out, strangled him to keep him quiet, changed clothes with him and had the nerve to walk calmly out. The substitution was discovered in about ten minutes, but Calvroon had disappeared. It's the first successful jail-breaking in seven years. He has cold nerve, Calvroon. He made the change just before the warden was to go to his supper. The prison officials think a plane must have been waiting for him nearby. He's at large now."

Graham Greene was silent, and I knew he was remembering the events of the previous year, when Elmer Calvroon, who was his step-uncle, had tried to kill him. Before Thornton Greene had disappeared he had made a will giving the contents of a certain vault to Graham Greene, or in the case of the latter's death, to Calvroon. At the tenth anniversary of the disappearance of the elder Greene he was considered legally dead. The cold-blooded Calvroon, knowing that the vault contained the greatest scientific discovery of Thornton Greene, the secret of synthetic life, had attempted to kill Graham and obtain the secret, for Calvroon also was a scientist. His plan had failed and he had been imprisoned. Graham had inherited his father's fortune and the secret, in the vault. With a trusted staff of truly great scientists he had taken possession of the voluminous notes, formulas, and instructions that the elder Greene had left, and was carrying on his father's work in secret. At this time the world in general did not know that Thornton Greene's secret was known to anyone. Graham was not yet ready to disclose the secret to the world.

"I am afraid," said Graham, "that he may make trouble for me. We shall have to take precautions. Elmer Calvroon might be exceptionally dangerous, particularly since he knows that I am now carrying out the identical plans and experiments he had so much wanted to work on. But let's change the subject. Von, you hold the world's record for the ten-mile straightaway airplane dash, don't you?"

"Yes, he does," said the Flaming Atom, "but he won't hold it long. He captured it last year in a Uaco speedster christened Nemesis. He made the ten miles in 59.016 seconds, which is at the rate of about 610 miles per hour. I was second in the American Aviation Company's racer, Hokushu Katsu, but my time was 1 minute 1.03 seconds. But you're going to lose your speed-crown this year, Vonnie. American Aviation has supplied me with a little stream lined beauty that is going to make United Aircraft Company's best efforts look sick."

"Time will tell, Flaming One. Uaco hasn't been asleep, either. Wait 'till you see the Nemesis VI."

"Six, Von der Konz? What happened to the Nemesis II, III, IV, and V? One year you fly Nemesis, and the next year Nemesis VII What's the trouble?"

"The others," I said, "were either discarded or they crashed during the radio-control tests. You may be interested to know that Nemesis V made 652 miles per hour before she burst into flames!"

"She wasn't carrying a pilot, my friend. I won't have to make 652 to beat you next month when you fly the Nemesis VI."

"What's the name of the boat American Aircraft has provided you with, Atom," I asked banteringly. "The Hokushu Katsu IX, or what?"

"The Kanimura Fensu."

"I like those quaint old American names your company chooses for its American aircraft," I remarked, "but I hope they never decide to name a plane Harikari."

"Wait a minute," said Graham Greene "You two may be professional rivals, but theoretically at least you're personal friends. Let's change the subject again. Atom, my dear, are we, or are we not going to have Von der Konz here as the best man? Our wedding, you know, is scheduled for just after the races."

"Von der Konz shall be best man, Graham. After I've beaten him in the race I really must do something nice to the poor boy. You're coming to watch me beat him, aren't you?"

"I'll have many important experiments in progress," said Graham, "but I'll take time off, sweetheart, I couldn't miss it. It's much more important than artificial chromatin or synthetic cytoplasm. What colors will your plane be?"

"Gray and green. I was thinking of you when I chose them, Graham Greene."

"Very sentimental," I interrupted, "but you were wrong, Atom. How can you expect to win in a plane that doesn't go with your hair or your personality? You should have carmine to match that hair and crimson to match that temper. Who ever heard of a red-headed girl winning a race in a green plane, and with gray in addition? The color combination is atrocious."

"Your wit is a trifle heavy, Von. What colors are you flying?"

"Blood-red and gold."

"I hope you get second place."

"Thank you most kindly. I'm sure the sentiment is mutual. Here comes someone in a gray and green amphibian. That's not your Kanimura, is it?"

"Of course not." The Atom watched the flying boat's graceful swoop as it settled on the surface of the water. Suddenly she waved a slender arm. The pilot of the amphibian waved back to her. The Atom turned to Graham and me.

"That's Joey Vincennes. She's come to fly me up to Philly and watch the trial flight of the Kanimura Fensu. It's never been flown with a pilot before. The radio-controlled test flights have results that are very promising, Vonnie. So promising that I know I'm going to beat you. Want to come with us and watch the test flight?"

"Not at all, Flaming One. I came down here to talk to your fiancé about some scientific matters. Go fly your potato-masher. I'm not worrying."

The Atom froze me with a look, kissed her future husband, favored me with another icy regard, and jumped off the porch. Her slender form, neatly encased in the khaki flying suit she was wearing, described a beautiful arc down to the beach almost twenty feet below. She didn't stumble as she hit the sand, and ran on out to meet her friend who had taxied the amphibian up to the shore.

A sigh escaped from Graham Greene. "What a girl," he said out loud. "I don't wish you any hard luck, Von, but I hope she trims you."

"Let's change the subject," said I. "How are your experiments coming along?"

His face suddenly grew very serious.

"Unbelievably well, my friend. I have seven of the greatest scientists of the whole world living here with me now. The entire second floor is perhaps the most munificently equipped scientific laboratory in the world. And we have accomplished the impossible. I haven't told the Atom much about it yet. We haven't told anyone yet. But I don't mind telling you, Von. We have produced synthetic life in that laboratory upstairs."

He rang for a servant and issued some instructions to him in a low voice. The man disappeared and returned several minutes later with a small portable cage containing a large healthy rabbit. Graham opened the cage and took out the bunny by his ears, and handed him to me.

"That rabbit was never born, Von. It has no ancestors. Atom by atom, molecule by molecule, we built up chemically from carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, phosphorus, sulphur, calcium and other dements the five or six microscopic cells that finally developed into that rabbit. We made him from inorganic gases, liquids, and solids, and he lives."

"Wait a minute," I said, my head swimming. "Do you mean to tell me that life is a chemical reaction? Nothing more?"

"For many years it has been admitted that life is a form of energy. You have seen chemical reactions that have produced light or heat. And what are light and heat but forms of energy? A chemical reaction produces them. Why should not a suitable chemical reaction produce life, that other mysterious form of energy? It does. It has been doing so for ages. There was no life on this planet when it was part of a flaming nebula, thousands of degrees hot. Somewhere, sometime, that chemical reaction took place and life started the age-long upward climb through slow evolution. Yes, life is a chemical reaction, my friend, the most wonderful, the most glorious chemical reaction in the world."

"Wait another minute," I said, "My scientific knowledge does not begin to approach yours, but I cannot accept blindly all of your statements. No chemical reaction has ever produced energy, any more than a chemical reaction has produced matter. In some chemical reactions energy is liberated, but in others, you recall, external energy, such as heat, for instance, must be applied or the reaction will not take place. In many chemical reactions energy is absorbed, not liberated. And in no chemical reaction is energy treated or produced, in the true meaning of the words. The existing energy is merely liberated by certain chemical reactions. If I am not right, I would appreciate being corrected."

"You are right, Von. I was extremely careless in the way I expressed myself. Let me say, then, that existing energy is liberated in the form of life when certain long series of almost infinitely complex chemical equations are carried out under proper conditions of light, heat, cleanliness, pressure, and so forth; and that by carrying out such a series of equations in the laboratory, we eight men have duplicated protoplasm and other basic life tissues, we have solved the secret of chromatin, we have synthesized a perfectly normal rabbit, and we intend to carry our experiments much further."

Graham Greene paused a minute to let the full meaning oi his words sink in.

"Some of my father's secret is missing, Von. His notes often refer to a microscope of some kind, without which he could not have made the discoveries that he did. This instrument must have possessed such power that he could see atoms within the molecules, perhaps even the electrons and protons within the atoms. In this way he could actually see and study a life-cell, atom by atom, molecule by molecule. And so he could find out what they contained and how they were put together. In this way he analyzed those complex organic substances in a way that left nothing to be desired. After analysis came synthesis, and my father worked out the most intricate chemical processes and equations in the world and put them on paper. We can duplicate his results, but we cannot perform the analysis without his lost instrument. We have no instructions for the creation of a dog; without his instrument, which is perhaps the greatest part of his discoveries, we could not discover the process that would lead to the making of a dog. But that does not say that a dog could not be artificially produced. A dog or, for that matter, a human being, consists only of a certain number of elements, put together in a complex manner. As a result we have life, and an imperfect organism that will support life for a period of time averaging somewhat less than a century. At death it decomposes into the simpler compounds and its elements.

"An unusual and unexpected phenomenon has come up during our work. After we had carried out several thousand separate operations and had put together the few cells that were to be this rabbit, we found we had nothing more to do! The rabbit developed to maturity in astonishingly short time. In three hours he was full grown, for we provided him with food enough. First we nourished him with injected carbohydrates made up of suitable organic compounds, then later we fed him in the usual way. He grew before our eyes. Metabolism proceeded at an unprecedented rate, a rate that I should never have believed possible if I had not seen it. The eight of us were astounded by the thing. In the three most exciting hours of my life that thing grew from a microscopic artificially manufactured egg to a full-grown rabbit. Then the hectic rush ceased. Since then he's been a perfectly normal rabbit, particularly well-behaved....

"I do not pretend to explain that dizzying growth. Bronnsen, one of my associates, believes that those three hours were like half a lifetime to the rabbit. All things, even time, are relative. A day is many years to the fly that lives for that period only. All the first half of that rabbit's life was crowded into three hours, incredible as it seems, Oh, there's some reason for it, but we don't know what. When it reached maturity it stopped, it slowed down to a normal life. I wonder why....

"We are dealing with unknown forces. As we do not possess that instrument of my father's we can only follow his instructions blindly. The accelerated growth is only one of the surprises that we have experienced.

"I know that you can be relied upon to keep a secret, Von. All of my father's voluminous notes contain only two processes. One is for the artificial manufacture of a rabbit. We have done that. The second is for the artificial manufacture of a man. We are doing that!"

"I think you are going too far, Graham," I replied. "Even admitting that you could duplicate the body of a man, would you not be entirely powerless to give him a soul? The soul is not an intricate compound of carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, and other elements; it is independent of the body. If you create a man, he will be a soulless, conscienceless, artificial product, not a human being. He might be very dangerous. It is always dangerous to meddle with the affairs of God and nature."

"Listen, Von. Let me show my side of the case. In the first place, you seem to be a victim of the popular and widespread idea that if man creates intelligence, that intelligence will destroy him, the superstitious and unkillable idea of Frankenstein, who created the famous monster. There is no logical justification for such a belief. Why should not a man, produced artificially in a laboratory, be in every respect as fine a man, mentally, morally, and physically, as any man naturally born? The latter product is nowhere near perfection even yet, after these few thousand years of humanity. I'm inclined to think that my laboratory specimen will be a better man than the average. He will not be handicapped by the inherited weaknesses and ancestral faults which influence the all of us, even the best of us. In the second place, again contrary to popular delusions, that thing we call soul, whatever it is, is dependent upon the body. If a man takes drugs habitually, not only his body will be wrecked, but very soon his entire character undergoes a change. Every outward manifestation of the soul is changed, and yet drugs are not spiritual, but actual physical objects, which do not act through the fourth dimension or in any other mysterious way to reach his soul. They affect the physical body upon which that soul, whatever it is, is dependent. In the third place, all 'spirit mediums,' to the contrary, we have not yet even one authentic, provable case of communication with a disembodied spirit, so we reach the conclusion that the body is a necessity to any soul to make itself known on earth.

"We do not know where the soul of a newborn child comes from, but it's there. It's there as a consequence of the body being there. We do not believe any child is born without a soul, do we? Nor do we know of any soul coming into being without a physical body. In all of our experience so far, we find that the former is dependent upon the latter, and we do not find any case of one without the other.

"I see no reason why my laboratory man should be an exception to the rule. I believe he will possess as much of a soul, or more, than you or I have. For four days we have been carrying on the process of manufacturing those vital cells that we expect to develop into a man, perhaps at that same breath-taking speed that the rabbit did. The speed of the metabolism is what astounds me...."

The radiophone by Graham's elbow rang impatiently. Graham listened and turned to me with a look of horror.

"Von, Joey Vincennes crashed that amphibian just as they arrived at Philadelphia. Seemed to lose control just before she landed. She was unhurt, but the Flaming Atom's eyeballs are both destroyed in some way, and she is totally blind!"

His face was a study in love and despair.

"Von der Konz, here are the keys to my flying boat. Go get her and bring her to me quick, if you love a friend! She's at the American Aviation Company's test field. My plane is moored out there, to your left."

He took his heavy cane and walked into the house on his two artificial legs. He had been the victim of a crash once, himself.

I slammed the rabbit back in his cage and rushed out to the beach. Casting loose one of Graham's speedboats, I leaped in and was soon by the side of his hydroairplane. I am a racing pilot. I disregarded the regular air lanes, at the risk of being arrested, and made a straight line to Philadelphia. Graham's skyboat was not a racing crate, but it could do three hundred in a pinch, and I was crossing the Delaware River not much more than ten minutes later.

Something flashed in the sun above and ahead of me. I looked up and recognized it as one of the new silent electric planes, gleaming silvery white. It seemed to stall, put its nose down, and dive directly for me. Then the unknown pilot flattened out a scanty hundred feet above me and zipped over my head. I suddenly felt intense pain in my right wrist. My right ailerons jammed and none of the tail surfaces would work. I crashed on the American Aviation Company's field even before Joey Vincennes' wrecked plane had been removed. My crash didn't hurt Graham's amphibian much, except to wreck the undercarriage. I jumped out, determined to get medical attention for my wrist, which I found to be burnt as if someone had laid a red-hot bar of iron across it I caught a glimpse of the almost invisible silvery plane darting away to the east.

Several men were running toward me, one carrying a doctor's satchel. He applied a thick dressing of some sort of salve and bandaged the wrist. Most of the pain was relieved. The next arrival was Garciac, the field superintendent, who ran up sputtering an irregular stream of poisonous profanity, some English, but most of it French.

"It is that white one, no? I see him flash by when Mam'selle Vincennes have the accident, and I am ver' suspicious, but I do not know, so I can do nothing! Now he flash by again and you fall, M'sieu'! You are hurt, no? He shot you down, yes? I have sent a radio description of that ever-damned white one to all the police. They will watch for him, is it not so? It are those United Aircraft devils. They blind our best racer for life so they will win the races. They are cowards M'sieu'! And she is only a girl. They are pigs! They--"

I interrupted his torrent of words. "Wait a minute, Garciac. United Aircraft would like to have their plane win the coming races, because of the tremendous publicity and advertising value of such a victory. But they're not descending to any such dishonorable and murderous practices. Whoever it was that caused these crashes had nothing to do with United Aircraft, so get that out of your head! If Uaco is responsible for this affair, why would they attack me? I'm flying their boat next month, not yours."

Garciac looked at me in amazement, and noticed the sear on my left cheek "Hermann von der Konz! You! What are you doing here?"

Before I could reply a radio operator had rushed up to the Frenchman and handed him a yellow slip of paper. His attitude changed. He told the operator to reply that the instructions would be carried out.

"It is from Graham Greene," he stated. Then he turned to the group of men who were standing around. "Prepare at once the ambulance plane for M'sieu' Von der Konz. Put the girl there. And call the police and get an escort of armed planes. Quick! We will take no chances with that white one!"

He bustled off to direct the preparations for the return flight. The doctor who had bandaged my wrist spoke for the first time.

"That white flyer has a devilish instrument, sir. It's like a pencil of intense heat He flashed it across the wing of that other plane. The heat wasn't great enough to melt through the metal ring, but it melted through the control wires, which you notice are exposed on this type of plane, aud put the plane out of control, so Miss Vincennes cracked up. The other girl, the one the newspapers call the Flaming Atom, must have glanced up at the white plane just in time to get that pencil of heat across her eyes. She'll never see again, sir. I just came from attending her as well as I could. She has been suffering great pain, but she doesn't want an anaesthetic.

"I had just finished bandaging her and was going to advise Garciac to call the police to investigate that white plane when you crashed here. That same thin beam of heat rays crossed your wrist, and a minute ago I was noticing where it had partially burned through your tail surfaces. I hope the police catch the flyer. He hasn't got more than one full minute's start, but there are many white planes in the sky at any hour of the day. He's got a good chance to escape, damn him!"

Two stretcher-bearers were gently placing the Atom on the cot in the Red Cross three-motored biplane A spotless white bandage was over her eyes.

"Will you take me to him, Vonnie?" she asked.

"I am taking you to him, Elsie." (It was seldom that Graham or I used her real name.) "If anyone in the universe can give you back those eyes, he can."

She said nothing and leaned back against the cushions. I climbed into the cockpit. The escort of three police planes, armed with deadly guns and manned by expert gunners, had just arrived. We flew back to Atlantic City. There was no trace of the white plane.

She was soon in Graham's arms, on that high porch overlooking the wide beach and the ocean. Neither of them said anything. Words were superfluous. I was standing near them, I was slightly embarrassed and ill at ease, and my shadow fell across the Atom's face. She seemed to sense it somehow, held out her hand, and took a blind step toward me.

"Thank you, Vonnie," she said. "I--I guess I'm out of it. I hope you get first place."

She's game through and through, that girl.

A short, heavyset man rushed out of the house and puffed up to Graham. I recognized him as Bronnsen, one of the seven scientists who were helping my friend in his experiments. His excitement was so great that it was several moments before he could utter a coherent sentence.

"It has started, Greene. The man! The experiment has been a success! It grows before our eyes. Soon we shall have a synthetic man! What a triumph for science! You must come quick!" He took hold of Graham's sleeve and tried to pull him bodily toward the door leading to the interior. Graham shook him loose.

"Bronnsen, I can't come now. The seven of you will have to take care of that from now on. Or six of you, rather. Tell Arnold that I must see him. He must attend to this girl's eyes as well as he can, right now. If we take care of the underlying tissues immediately maybe--please God--we can give her new eyes."

Arnold, I knew, was a surgeon of exceptional ability and almost superhuman skill. Just what Graham's plan was in regard to the girl's eyes, I did not know, but whatever it was, he could have confidence in the kindly, patient and astoundingly skillful Arnold, who was not only a remarkably able surgeon but a remarkably fine man.

Bronnsen hurried back to notify Arnold. Graham Greene led the Atom into the house and had her lie down on a luxurious couch.

The radiophone on the porch again rang insistently. I was the nearest to it, so I answered the call.

"Is this the residence of Graham Greene?"

"It is."

"I want to speak to Hermann von der Konz."

"I am he."

"I am Smith, of United Aircraft. Your absence from New York has caused us much inconvenience in the last two days. The Nemesis VI is ready for the many final tests, and we have only twenty-nine days before the races. It is essential that you come immediately to New York and cooperate with our men, according to the terms of your contract. Your delay has set us back, and we will have to keep you busy from now until after the races. Come at once."

Smith hung up. I went to New York. I had to keep my contract. It was up to my company's rivals to get another pilot to take the place of the incomparable Flaming Atom. Many aspired to such honors, but very few could qualify. I knew that American Aviation had lost one of the most nervy and daring flyers in the world. Perhaps I should have been glad that my only dangerous rival could not take part in the race. But I was not glad, though the greater part of the United Aircraft people were. So I went to New York and for three hectic weeks and more buried myself in the mass of work there was to be done; detailed tests of every part of the little plane that was aspiring to break the present record by flashing over the ten-mile course in fifty seconds or less. It was I who was to pilot that man-made meteor, so I was sure not to let any detail escape me. The ten-mile straightaway dash is a gamble with death. I suppose I'm a fool to fly it every year....

Several times, in the evenings, I tried to call up Graham, but he had severed all connections with the outside world. I learned nothing of the success or failure of his experiments. He must have been a busy, weary man, for the strain of attending to the development of his artificial man, and his treatment of the Flaming Atom at one and the same time must have been very great. I could not blame him for not answering my calls.

Three days before the races the Nemesis VI was ready. I was advised to rest up, to relax. But my suspense and curiosity were too much for me. I went down to Atlantic City to see what had happened in that laboratory since I had left almost a month before.

Graham's servant ushered me into his living room. Arnold, the surgeon, was seated in an overstuffed chair, reading Shakespeare. He put down the book and smiled pleasantly.

"Hello." he said.

"Hello. I was expecting to see Graham Greene here."

"You cannot see Graham Greene now, Mr, Vou der Konz."

"Why not?"

"He is asleep. The shock of the operation was very great. You do not know? We have just given him a pair of new legs, and that lovely girl of his two brand-new eyes. We are very proud of our success."

"You mean to say that you have restored her sight?"

"Yes. And his legs. That discovery of his father's will be a great boon to mankind. I doubt if I could clearly explain to you the process by which we have grown synthetic tissues in the place of those that were destroyed. It is marvelous--"

"Greetings, Vonnie!" the Flaming Atom called out to me.

"Well, well, Flaming One. You're a blue-eyed girl now!" I said, and it was true. Her eyes had previously been brown.

"Isn't it wonderful? Arnold here won't let me fly in the races this year though. He's awfully cautious. He says I'm too weak."

A tall blonde man with an exceptional physique entered the room carrying a letter. He handed it to the Flaming Atom. She read it and then overwhelmed him with congratulations. Arnold performed the introduction.

"This is Robert Nelson, the synthetic man," he said.

My mouth fell open from pure amazement. Nelson noticed it and smiled. He repealed my name. "Aren't you," he asked, "the man who tried to tell Graham Greene that I would not possess a soul?"

"I don't--I can't understand--you speak English?"

"Certainement. Mais aussi je parle le meilleur français!"

"Let me explain," broke in Arnold, as I hesitated, wondering if I were the victim of a practical joke. "One of the associates of Graham Greene, the gentleman with the name of Bronnsen, made a particularly careful study of all the circumstances connected with the abnormally fast development of that rabbit you saw, and reached the conclusion that its growth was only relatively fast, and otherwise quite normal. It was Bronnsen who saw that the synthetic man would grow at the same terrific rate until he readied full physical and mental maturity. So he provided, with exceptional foresight, for the education of Nelson by means of the hypnotic machines which are just now being adopted in the schools. Bronnsen also was careful to have these machines employed under the supervision of one of our best modem educators, and to have the machines speeded up to a rate corresponding to the abnormally fast growth. There were many other problems, such as feeding, exercise, and so on, which were also solved more or less satisfactorily. Bronnsen can tell you more about it than I can, for I have been devoting all o� my time to the restoration of the girl's eyes and Greene's legs. But anyway, it took just nineteen days for Bob Nelson to reach adult manhood, and the growth stopped the same way that an electric light stops when yon snap off the current. Bronnsen says he is very near to the secret of the rapid growth, but hasn't solved it yet I hope he does. It fascinates me.

"But I assure you that Bob Nelson has a soul. You can see for yourself that he has a magnificent body, and you will take my word for it that he has a well-trained and intelligent mind. He speaks two languages and can do trig, and calculus, not to mention the fact that he has become an excellent fancy diver, and if I guess right from the congrats he has just received from a formerly blind racing pilot, he has just qualified to fly the Kanimuro Fensu the day after tomorrow!"

Bob Nelson smiled.

"He has," stated the Flaming Atom. "The same remarkable skill that made him an expert fancy diver in two hours has just enabled him to qualify for the races. I asked American Aviation Company to take him as my substitute, so they took him in preference to the other good pilots who had qualified. That's what you call pull, Von. I warn you, you're going to be flying against a superman."

Later that afternoon, after I had watched the synthetic man throw a heavy triplane around the atmosphere with the skill and nerve of an expert and experienced pilot, I reached the conclusion that truly I was not matched against a human flyer, but against an efficient scientific machine. I often wonder what my reaction would have been if I had seen into the future and learned what was to happen at the race.

He, who was called Bob Nelson, was not hindered by the age-old faults and inbred defects of humanity. He was perfection plus, a marvelous machine with a brain. An ordeal that would tire an athlete was nothing to that, marvelous body of his. He learned difficult processes with incredible rapidity. I watched with wondering admiration that evening when he did a back triple flip from a thirty-foot diving platform and entered the water with hardly a splash.

"Von," I said ruefully to myself, "you can feel your speed title slipping." And it was so. My confidence was going rapidly.

Later that evening Arnold let me see Graham for a short while, though the operation had greatly weakened him, as the Atom's had weakened her. But my friend had a brand-new pair of legs, and he was supremely happy.

"You can see now," he said, "what a great benefit to humanity my father's process will be. And yet almost eleven years ago, when he announced that he could create living beings and living tissues in the laboratory, men persecuted him and practically drove him to disappear. I often wonder if he's really dead. Eleven years, without a word from him, the greatest scientist in the world. I shall never begin to approach his ability."

Still later that evening I became an unwilling eavesdropper at a conversation that filled me with a vague, shadowy misgiving, and the memory of which helped to account for the events that occurred at the race. After supper I had wandered into the parlor and had seated myself in the big overstuffed chair in the corner, and had idly picked up the Shakespeare that Arnold had been reading earlier in the day. Hardly had I seated myself when the Flaming Atom entered at the opposite end of the room at one side at precisely the same minute that Bob Nelson entered at the other side. The back of the big chair was toward them, and I was completely unnoticed. I didn't pay much attention to them until I heard their conversation. Then curiosity held me, though I knew that they thought they were alone and I could have left silently by a door near me. I doubt if my listening in was justified.

"Atom," said Bob imploringly, "can't you give me a little hope? You know I love you."

Her voice was very serious as she replied.

"I think you're foolish, Bob. I'm the only girl you're acquainted with, and you think you're in love with me. There are many things about the world you have still to learn. There are millions of other girls in the world, much more attractive than I am--"

"There couldn't be"

"--and if you knew a few of them you would soon get over your silly infatuation for me, Bob. You really haven't lived long enough to know what love is. I like you and admire you, but I loved Graham Greene before you were ever--created."

They were silent for a moment. When the boy replied there was a bitterness in his voice that hurt.

"I know you couldn't love a--synthetic man. I'm just an imitation, a scientific experiment. Just a chemical reaction. I wish Graham Greene had never--"

"Please don't. You know it isn't that. You're not an 'imitation.' You're far better than most men could be. And I know that you have honor, Bob. I know you're a game sport. So I know that you'll realize that I'm engaged to a man I love, a man who has given me back my eyes. But I loved him long before that happened, and I'm going to keep on loving him. Realizing that, you'll see that you mustn't be making love to me. You'll get over this disappointment, Bob. You'll probably fall in and out of love several times, and there are lots of lovely unattached girls in the world."

When Nelson answered, the bitterness was gone, and its place was taken by something admirable.

"I beg your pardon, Flaming Atom. I'll never speak about the matter again."

"Thank you, Bob."

And Robert Nelson never did.

The next day Graham received a letter from his step-uncle, Elmer Calvroon. The letter was long, boastful, and threatening, characteristic of the man. Calvroon disclosed the details of his escape from prison, defied the police to discover his present hiding place, explained that he had altered his features and even his fingerprints until any positive identification would be impossilble, and concluded his letter by revealing himself as the man who had been in the white plane that had caused the two crashes at Philadelphia,

A voluminous postscript gave many of the details of his device for projecting a long, narrow beam of intense heat, which he said he had invented while carrying on experiments with the rays above the heat-rays proper but below the infra-reds. Calvroon's pride in his accomplishment was in every word of his description of the thing. I had previously been acquainted with his boastfulness, so the letter was what I would expect from the man. It is hard to adequately describe Calvroon so that you can get some understanding of him. Perhaps his most dominant characteristics were a cold daring or nerve, selfishness, egotism, great scientific ability, especially along mechanical or electrical lines, and an almost blind determination to get what he wanted, no matter who opposed him. So it did not surprise me that Calvroon demanded that Graham turn over to him the secret of synthetic life immediately. It had been because of an unsuccessful attempt to kill Greene to obtain that same secret, that Calvroon had been imprisoned. This time, he stated, unless Graham gave it to him he would kill him with that heat ray.

We had already seen two examples of the effectiveness of that beam of heat. At the Flaming Atom's suggestion, Graham showed the letter to the police and asked for protection. He got it at once. The police were particularly anxious to locate Calvroon because of his jail-breaking exploit, so that very afternoon a detachment of police arrived to act as Graham's bodyguard.

We never expected that Calvroon would make his attack on Graham Greene the next day at the races. But, after all, it was characteristic of his coolness and his determination that he would take the earliest opportunity to surprise his victim. He must have learned about the police guard and decided that Graham was not going to surrender that discovery of his father's, even under threat of death.

The morning of the races was clear and a trifle cold. There was hardly any wind at all. Most of us who had been staying at Graham's house went to the race-courses in south central New Jersey in a luxurious cabin monoplane piloted by the Atom's girl-friend, Joey Vincennes. Both the Flaming Atom and Graham Greene were present, the latter against the advice of Arnold. Bob Nelson and I were present, conversing pleasantly on the subject of plain and fancy diving, though neither of us was thinking as much about that, as we were about the ten-mile dash. Arnold was present to keep an eye on Greene, and Bronnsen was present to see the artificial man win the races. Because of the injury to the girl's eyes which had occupied all of Graham's attention, and the later operation on his own legs, it had been Bronnsen, much more than Graham Greene, who was responsible for the magnificent development of the synthetic man. Bronnsen was there to see the laboratory product prove his superiority over a natural man. Bronnsen informed me that I didn't have a chance.

Thousands of spectators had come by train, plane, and car, to see the races. Of course, traffic was jammed, accidents occurred and both the air and ground police had a hard time of it.

High above, with powerful binocular telescopes, we watched the various preliminaries; the 'chute-jump exhibitions, the fireworks display, the sham battle, the stunting exhibitions, the various longer races. The forenoon passed, each minute replete with thrills. Then the time approached for the ten-mile dash.

The ten-mile dash is the most fascinating of the events, both to the spectator and to the contestant. It is in the ten-mile races that the supreme speed-records are made, and broken. In a longer race, the pilot does not dare to use the ultimate maximum of speed and power in his plane, for neither the man nor the plane could stand up for any period of time longer than a minute and a half under the terrific acceleration necessary. At the six-hundred and more miles an hour, as you know, the course must be a mathematically straight line, for a pilot taking a corner even at three hundred goes unconscious for a few seconds, and a pilot taking a corner at four, five, or six hundred miles an hour, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, rapidly becomes a quite dead pilot. Either he doesn't recover his senses in time to keep his plane from crashing or else the turn is too much for his brain. In either case he's done for good.

Joey Vincennes landed the cabin-plane in the space reserved for contestants, and Bob and I got out and ran the gauntlet of television scouts, cameramen, sound-movie makers and snapshot hunters. Side by side were parked the gleaming little Nemesis VI, blood-red and burnished gold, and the Kanimura, Fensu, in the milder tones of gray and green. These two were the only entrants, each representing one of the two great aircraft manufacturers. Trusted employees, expert mechanics, were seeing to the last minute detail of the tuning up of the planes. The radio announcer spoke into his microphone, informing all the world that the pilots of the two planes were, respectively, Hermann Von der Konz, holder of the present record, flying for United Aircraft, and Robert Nelson, an unknown pilot, flying in the place of the tremendously popular "Flaming Atom" for American Aviation Company. The announcer explained that the Flaming Atom had been put out of the race by an accident.

Of course, none of the thousands upon thousands of spectators, except that little group in the cabin plane, had the slightest idea that Bob Nelson was a "synthetic" man. The world was still in ignorance of the work of that group of seven scientists, who had followed the directions left by the missing Thornton Greene.

In spite of all that the police could do, betting was high, and literally millions of dollars, in the aggregate, were wagered on the outcome of the race. Each year that happens. The gambling instinct cannot be stamped out by law.

It will be impossible for me to describe that race in as short a time as it took to fly it.

There was a little delay at the start because of an accident to one of the six high-speed movie cameras that, taking exactly one thousand pictures a second, and perfectly synchronized, were used to record the time of the race, accurately to the thousandth of a second. Races have been won by as close a margin as three one-thousandths of a second.

Bob Nelson had never before seen an airplane race, so he was ignorant of many of the customs and rules of the game. The officials assumed that he must have been cognizant of the rules, or he wouldn't be flying, so they failed to enlighten him.

Literally speaking it is not a race. Each plane flashes over the course separately, and then the records on the films are compared. The fastest (or in this particular instance, the faster) plane wins. This was the detail that the synthetic man didn't know. So when the starter fired his pistol, as a signal that I could start whenever I was ready (the plane parked to the left always starts first), Bob Nelson, thinking that we were both to fly against each other, instead of against time, started too. But I didn't notice him. I was too much occupied by the Nemesis VI.

Five miles are allowed to get up speed. That is, we had five miles to fly before flashing between the first two pylons that marked the real beginning of the race, and then the ten miles of the race itself to the finish line, marked by two other pylons. The time made in those preliminary five miles does not count in the score, A pilot tries to cover them, not any faster than necessary, but to accelerate up to his absolute maximum speed just before reaching the start, and to keep that maximum until he has finished the ten miles.

In order to be sure that the course will be a straight line, control locks are used. As he passes the start the pilot pulls down a lever that locks the controlling surfaces of his plane immovable, as the pilot could not, at that terrific speed, keep his plane in a straight line unless he possessed superhuman strength Besides, the control-lock leaves the pilot's hands free to handle the throttle.

Crushed against the back of my glass-enclosed cockpit by the terrific acceleration, I noticed, just after I had reached my maximum, flashed between the pylons at the start, and jerked down the control lock, that close behind me was the gray-and-green Kanimura Fensu, AND IT WAS LOCKED ON A COURSE THAT GRADUALLY APPROACHED MY OWN.

The two planes, each at its maximum speed, were keeping even with each other, at least as far as could be determined by the naked eye. It took very few seconds, at better than six hundred and fifteen miles an hour, to see that the two planes were due for a crash, that their two courses were not parallel, but slanting towards each other. And still they kept even. If either could have increased its speed by fifty or sixty miles an hour, which was impossible, one could have passed in front of the other, and no wreck would have taken place. But they kept even.

Tn order to avoid the crash that would be the end of both planes and both flyers, one of us had to slow down, thereby losing the race.

It was a supreme battle of nerve, and it lasted less than forty-five seconds. When the Kanimura Fensu was actually within a hundred feet of me, and drawing steadily nearer every fraction of a second as the two little planes hurtled over their intersecting courses, I cut the throttle of the Nemesis VI to save my skin. I'm more important to myself than any race is.

But an airplane has no brakes like an auto, and deceleration is never quick. I perceived that I had waited whole seconds too long. Bob Nelson's plane was perceptibly gaining on me the second I surrendered, but it was so close to my side that I could see we would not clear each other.

I have had several dose calls, and I am intensely interested in remembering and speculating about the rapidity and clearness of thought in times of danger. It seems as if time had slowed down. Each split second is clear, and action is instantaneous. Hardly three seconds after I had cut, the throttle I had seen what was to be done, and by a combination of reflex and reasoning, had done the only thing that could have saved my life, for Bob Nelson had held steady on his course at his maximum speed, coolly taking a chance with death. He judged, correctly too, that I would concede the race to save my skin.

When I saw that further action was necessary, I jerked up the control lock, kicked the rudder bar violently to the left, and jerked back the control in order to send the plane up at a sharp angle, for I knew that I would lose consciousness as I swerved, and I figured that the higher I went the farther I would have to fall, the farther I fell the greater chance there was that I would come to in time to save myself. At three hundred miles an hour the unconsciousness is momentary. At a faster turn it is longer, and too great a speed on a curve will kill the pilot In spite of my deceleration, which had hardly lasted three seconds when I made the curve, I was still traveling at more than five hundred miles an hour.

As the Kanimura Fensu, piloted by the synthetic man, flashed between the finish pylons to set a new world's speed record for man-carrying planes, the blood-red and gold rival, Nemesis VI, was reaching the top of its upward climb. It stalled, hesitated motionless for half a second, snapped back, and dove. It fell crazily.

I came to when it was close to the ground, landed it clumsily, and got out just in time to witness the incident that closes this story.

For the dramatic things happened then.

A white electric plane approached at great speed, high above the course. It flipped over on one wing, turned, dove, and passed over the cabin-plane where the other members of our party had been watching the race through the binocular telescopes, and as it passed, the beam of heat severed the control wires of the tail surfaces. The cabin plane started down in great jerks, as Joey Vincennes tried to maneuver it to the ground in spite of the useless tail.

I do not know what it was that caused Calvroon to pick that time for his revenge, but I think it was largely that theatrical love of the dramatic and daring that had manifested itself when he had previously tried to kill Graham Greene. And Calvroon's cold-blooded nerve, together with his conceit and that one-track mind of his, all combined to cause him to take this apparently foolish method of attacking.

But he had a good chance of succeeding. The police planes were all on the ground. If Calvroon got one minute's start with that silent electric skyship, the only thing that could catch him would be one of the racing plants, which of course had been stripped to the last superfluous ounce, and carried no arms. They would be an easy prey for that pencil of heat. I think Calvroon was perfectly aware that he would be hard to catch and harder to capture, or he would hardly have come so openly.

Revenge must have been a prominent motive. The previous attempt to kill Graham Greene had been a means to an end. This time the young scientist's death was an end in itself. Calvroon had always been emotionally repressed, and his hates were intense, whenever they came to the surface.

The white plane performed a clever time-saving variation on an Immelmann, and passed over the cabin plane a second time. This time the left wing partially crumpled.

I think Calvroon must have increased the power of his instrument since the episode at Philadelphia. The heat nearly severed the wing entirely.

The plane was still under control, of a kind, though it was side-slipping rapidly. Calvroon turned again to deliver the final blow.

I doubt if you realize the few seconds it took for the thing to happen. The populace were watching dazed. A few of the police had recovered from their surprise enough to run toward one of their armed planes and start to take off. They would have to act quickly, or the electric plane would be gone, probably to the east, out over the ocean, the direction in which it would have a very good chance of total escape. It had escaped that way once before. After all, Calvroon's action wasn't quite so foolish as it appeared at first moment.

The one who defeated Elmer Calvroon was the synthetic man. Recalling the conversation I had overheard, in the laboratory, I think I can understand his motives, too. The Flaming Atom was on the cabin plane, and Bob Nelson made the sacrifice.

He was still in the air from the race, returning to the field from which he had taken off. He saw and understood immediately what was happening. Without one second to spare he put his throttle on and the gray and green comet crashed into the white destroyer. They fell together in a twisted mass of metal and flames. It was the only possible way he could have stopped the white plane from passing the third time over the ship that carried her whom the synthetic man loved. I looked at my watch. Less than eight minutes had passed since I had taken off, yet it seemed an eternity.

The cabin plane landed safely.

Bob Kelson's life was short, and his death glorious. As I stood there it came to me clearly, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the synthetic man had a soul.

Paradox

"IT IS impossible," stated Preston.

"Two hundred years ago any ordinary man would have said that television was impossible, and could have given several excellent arguments to prove it," returned Sherman easily. "Just because we can't do it now is no reason to say that men will never learn to travel in time as freely as in space. H. G. Wells, in his 'Time Machine' ..."

Preston interrupted impatiently. "I've read the book. It should be obvious that Wells used the idea of traveling into the future merely as a background upon which to superimpose his ideas of the ultimate destiny of civilization. Since Wells there have been dozens of time stories, wherein the hero invents a machine, or discovers a ray, or something, which takes him. immediately to the year 4443, or the day after to-morrow, or prehistoric times, or some other time, wherein he meets the beauteous heroine, et cetera. The writers of such stories follow a definite formula, gentlemen. They're a bunch of imaginations. The idea of time-traveling is a scientific absurdity, for dozens of reasons.

"Did you ever consider the fact, Sherman, that if you were to travel to the year 2000, for instance, through time or the fourth dimension, you would have to travel quite a few million miles through space also? For by the year 2000, this earth, and the solar system, and probably our whole universe as well, will have moved a long way through space from the place they occupy at this second. And that's only one of the many objections."

"I don't consider even that beyond the realm of possibility," replied Sherman. "When you consider the accomplishments of science in the past, it is rash to say that anything is imposs...."

Preston interrupted again. "You will find inconsistencies and paradoxes in any time-traveling or four-dimensional story if you look for them. And..."

"Undoubtedly. But suppose you told a man in 1700 that a device would be invented whereby a man three thousand miles away from a speaker could hear his words sooner than a man sitting three hundred feet away in the auditorium. The man, even though he were an enlightened and intelligent individual, would declare that the thing was a scientific absurdity, a paradox 'Sound,' he would say, 'travels a mile in five seconds; therefore the nearer person would hear the voice first, even though a marvelous device did make the sounds audible to a man three thousand miles away.' A story involving such a device would be inconsistent to his point of view. And yet we know that radio waves travel so quickly that a man listening in with his heterodyne, actually does hear the speaker's words a minute fraction of a second before the person in the rear of the auditorium. What is 'scientifically inconsistent' in one generation can often be fully and logically explained by the science of the next. Therefore I believe that a time-machine may, and probably will, be invented at some future time. When science knows more, perhaps many of our inconsistencies can be explained away."

There was silence for a minute after Sherman had finished this exposition of his ideas. Then Raymond Cannes, who had not spoken previously, said slowly, addressing us all, "You are right, Mr. Sherman. The time-wave, that mysterious force which travels through time, the fourth dimension, will be discovered in the year 2806, just after the second terrible Martio-Tellurian War. It will be discovered by a great scientist who will be called Dwar Smit, the twenty-ninth century equivalent of Edward Smith, and it will be called the NN-4 wave, for a reason which I do not understand."

* * *

A FEW words of explanation are necessary before I transcribe the story told by Raymond Cannes. A certain exclusive Philadelphia club, which shall here be quite nameless, is the regular Sunday night rendezvous of a small group of the more serious-minded social aristocrats of the city. They meet in a corner of the lounge-room and discuss, often with some heat, any political, economic, social, literary, or scientific question that happens to come up. Their informal meetings are usually quite interesting, if you happen to be the sort of person who could enjoy an impromptu debate.

There were eight present that evening, but Preston and Sherman had been doing most of the talking. Sherman had brought me as a guest, for I am not a member of the club, and probably never shall be. I think Cannes was also a guest. Both Sherman and Preston told me afterward that they had never seen him before.

I shall repeat his story as accurately as possible, as I remember it, and I shall try to keep my own personal ideas and prejudices entirely out of the picture.

Cannes' opening and extraordinary statement was received first with silence and then with laughter. Preston asked him what he was talking about, and Cannes continued with an even more astounding remark.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I have cheated death by means of the fourth dimension. It is quite unusual that your conversation to-night should happen to be about the idea of traveling through time. I have done that very thing, and I just returned to the present at three o'clock this afternoon. There are many things about my experience that I fail to understand, just as a man in King Arthur's time would fail to understand an airplane, even if he could have ridden in one. As Mr. Sherman has pointed out, however, if I could understand twenty-ninth century science the seeming absurdities and impossibilities would explain themselves to me.

"I'll tell you the story if you want me to, and if you'll agree to refrain from making interruptions or wisecracks when you discover an apparent paradox or two. It is a matter of the utmost unimportance to me whether you believe it or not. I can't prove it. I destroyed the supporting evidence myself, for a very good reason. I doubt if I can make it convincing, but perhaps it will entertain you, and I think Mr. Preston will find it different from the 'formula' for time-traveling fiction, even though there is a pretty girl in it. My anachronistic love affair, however, was far from successful, ashamed though I am to admit it.

"About six months ago, Dr. Endicott Hawkinson called me on the phone and asked me to come over to his laboratory. Of course I went, for Hawkinson and I had been college chums, and I hadn't seen him for several months. You gentlemen remember perhaps the mysterious fire that destroyed the laboratory and killed him late last summer? His phone call summoned me thirty-three days before the fire occurred.

"He met me at the door. 'Cannes,' he said, 'what kind of an infernal hoax are you trying to put over on me now?' I didn't understand what he meant, and said as much. He was obviously puzzled.

"'Didn't you write this?' he asked, showing me a sheaf of thirty pages of pale blue-tinted paper, closely written in longhand. 'I'd recognize that angular backhand script of yours any place,' he declared.

"I glanced through the manuscript. It was absolutely incomprehensible to me, as more than half of it consisted of intricate calculations, mathematical formulas, and equations that seemed to consist largely of Greek letters. The last ten pages contained some sort of complicated instructions, apparently for the manufacture of a large electrical machine. My college course had been academic and classical, while Endicott had specialized in mathematical physics and electricity. The stuff was as meaningless to me, as Morse code would be to a Japanese goldfish. I knew I had not written it, but the handwriting was undoubtedly a very good imitation of mine, I thought ... particularly after I had closely examined the first line on the first page, which said 'To Dr. Endicott Hawkinson', and was written precisely as I would have done it. Furthermore, it was underlined twice, a little habit of mine. I tell you, gentlemen, I was puzzled. What motive could anyone have had for writing a sheaf of higher math, copying my handwriting in such a manner, and leaving the manuscript in the doctor's mailbox? When I eventually did discover the motive it was unusual indeed. More about that, later.

"'What,' I inquired, 'is the meaning of this stuff?'

"His reply surprised and amused me. At that time, of course, I thought it was quite impossible to travel through time. But his sincerity impressed me as he told me that the manuscript apparently proved the existence of a fourth dimension, and furthermore showed the possibility of constructing a machine for projecting a body through the fourth dimension in much the same manner as we can throw a baseball through space.

"'I have checked these computations twice,' he told me. 'If it is some fraud, some joke, some deception, there must be a fallacy in it somewhere. But I can find none. And you did not write it. After all, you couldn't have written it, Cannes! I'm almost convinced that it's genuine, after checking it twice, and you never went further than elementary algebra. But, then, who could have done it? If it's genuine it's the work of a genius. Why, then, would the genius give it to me? And that similarity of handwriting is remarkable--'

"He was wandering off into a maze of speculations, and seemed to forget me entirely. I left a few minutes later and heard nothing more from him until slightly more than a month had passed. He again called me on the phone with the startling news that he had been successful in constructing the four-dimensional machine. He asked me to come over immediately. I went.

"I am extremely foolish and impulsive by temperament, given to acting hastily without thinking. And so it is that I accepted the wild suggestion of Endicott Hawkinson to take a trip through time. But he didn't make the suggestion until he had demonstrated the machine to me.

"An odd-looking thing, that machine! That is, as much as I could see of it. Most of it was inside an enormous cabinet having a bakelite panel upon which were numerous switches and three dials. Eight heavy cables led from the bottom of the machine to the eight corners of a heavy cubical metallic box supported by four large vitreous insulators. The box was large enough to hold three men, and had a small trap-door in the top.

"I also noticed that Endicott had had a special power line installed by the electric lighting company.

"Endicott placed a large stone in the metal box and closed the trap-door. Then he threw five switches, halted to inspect something on the panel, and threw another switch, meanwhile watching his wrist watch. At the end of ten seconds he opened the switch again and told me to try to lift up the trap-door.

"Though he had not locked it, and it had been easily manageable a few minutes ago, all of my strength was now insufficient to lift it an inch. Hawkinson picked up an enormous crowbar and helped me pry the lid off. Aa soon as we had lifted it a trifle I was startled by a loud concussion and it came off easily. It was so hard to lift because there was an absolute vacuum within. After the air had rushed in, the lid was easily removable.

"I looked in. The undersized boulder had completely disappeared. I could see absolutely no explanation of the fact. The insulators supported the box a foot or more from the floor. The thirty-pound rock could not have passed through any one of the six sides of the hollow cube without becoming plainly visible to me. I was satisfied that I had not been deceived. The explanation leaped to my brain,

"'It escaped through the fourth dimension?' I exploded incredulously.

"'Precisely, It didn't escape in any of the other three, did it? A being living and thinking in only two dimensions could be imprisoned in a two-dimensional square. He couldn't escape without passing through one of its sides. But if he should discover the third dimension, if he should be able to travel in three-dimensional space, he could leave his plane and escape from his prison, and eventually return to his two-dimensional plane again, but outside the square. The analogy is simple. A being living in and knowing of only three dimensions, such as a man, can be imprisoned in a three-dimensional room. He can't escape without passing through one of its sides. But if he could travel into four-dimensional space, that is, into time-space, no prison or dungeon in the world could hold him. He could later return to his own three-dimensional "plane," but outside the prison. You understand that? It's some of the most elementary four-dimensional geometry.'

"'I was under the impression,' I replied, 'that four-dimensional geometry was entirely a theoretical, hypothetical science. You speak as if hyperspace and the fourth dimension had a concrete existence!'

"'After what you have seen, Cannes, do you doubt that? Certainly the fourth dimension exists. Einstein and others have proven that it is time. ⁽²⁾

But we're three-dimensional beings, my friend. Our senses, our experience, our ideas, do not recognize duration as a dimension in the same manner as we think of length, width, and height. Time, to us, seems to be something else.'

"The doctor continued to speak in like manner for some time. To save time, gentlemen, I am going to omit the rest of his lecture. He fully convinced me that his machine radically changed electricity in some way that I cannot understand, for I do not know the difference between a transformer and a kilowatt-hour. I believe that, among other things, the frequency of the current was enormously increased, but I'm not sure of even that detail.

"Yes, gentlemen, I expected you to smile. It would be more convincing if I could be specific, wouldn't it? Never mind. Truth, you know, doth often wear the mask of fiction. If you think you are hearing lies, the worst is yet to come. And yet my story is cold and unadorned truth."

Cannes was perfectly at ease. What we thought of his narrative was nothing to him. He smoked a minute in silence before he resumed, and he was honored with complete and undivided attention.

"This altered current, gentlemen, had immensely different properties from those of electricity; and, by using the marvelous machine which he had constructed according to the specifications and directions in the pale blue manuscript, written in--well--in my handwriting, that had been mysteriously placed in his mail box, Dr. Hawkinson was able to send objects into the future by employing this current, which he called the time-wave.

"So far, we had not discovered a single trace of the writer of the paper. I discovered him later, one thousand and two years later, to be exact. For I went into the future.

"I don't know yet just what was the fascination that urged me to do such a thing. I said that I am impulsive, hot-headed, foolishly short-sighted, and impetuous, I had no relatives to keep me home, and I longed for the strange adventure. I never thought about getting back. And Hawkinson wanted knowledge of the future. He said that certain statements in the manuscript had convinced him that living beings were not harmed by the process, and that he hoped I would eventually find a means to return to him, though there was positively nothing in the manuscript to indicate that the process could be reversed. It concerned itself only with entering future time.

"So, late that same night, before my impulsive decision had had a chance to cool, I climbed into the box, heavily clothed, and with my head incased in an unbreakable transparent globe. An oxygen generator strapped on my back and connected by a tube to the headgear provided me with an exhilarating atmosphere, though I don't understand the precise reason for the outfit being necessary.

"I saw Hawkinson's face as he closed the lid, and suddenly I wanted to turn back. And I'm sure he did, too. But we went through with it. Death came to him soon after, but because of that experiment I have cheated death.

"I was in the box only about ten seconds before I had a sensation as if I were rising with ever-increasing speed through a perfectly black void. I could see nothing, I was very cold, and the sensation of motion became greater and greater. Then something clicked three times, and my journey was ended.

"I did not learn, until I returned to the present at three o'clock this very afternoon, that Hawkinson had been killed. Some faulty insulation somewhere had permitted a short circuit between his house-lighting system and his special line. The frame house and laboratory took fire and burned, and somehow he was trapped in it. This must have happened only an hour or so after I left him, according to what I learned a few hours ago by telephonic conversation with his family. At least, the accident did not occur after the doctor had finished sending me into the future, for I arrived all right.

"As soon as I heard the three clicks, I perceived that I was standing erect in a room with brilliant crimson walls. There were windows at one side that permitted sunlight to enter. And there were two men present, each seated in a comfortable chair. One would think that my sudden appearance would cause some surprise or astonishment to men of the future. But the individual at my left, in a most commonplace tone of voice, merely made a remark to the other that to me was nothing less than astounding.

"'Here's another anachronism,' he said. 'They're getting to be a damned nuisance.'

I REMOVED the transparent globe from my head and addressed the nearer man, inquiring where I was in space and time.

"'You are in district 700254 of New York, and the date is August 2, 2930.' The accent of the man was peculiarly nasal, but his words were clearly understandable, although I had traveled one thousand and two years and some odd months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, and seconds into the future. In those thousand years the English language had altered less than it had in the two hundred years preceding. This, I later learned, was due to the adoption of printing to an ever-increasing extent, which had served to fix or standardize the language. Of course, an enormous number of words had become obsolete and multitudes more had been coined. But I never had any great difficulty in conversing with my friends in that distant era.

"Before I had much time to marvel that I had passed through ten centuries in what had seemed like so many seconds the man of the future was addressing me again.

"'It is requested,' said he, 'that all persons visiting this era from the past be sent to Dwar Bonn's laboratories in Australia. The government of the world has employed Bonn to compile as accurate a history as possible of the last two hundred years--the period since the second Martio-Tellurian War. You will doubtless be able to give him some useful information about the year you left to come here, and the period previous to that.'

"My head was in a whirl. 'A laboratory,' I interposed, 'for writing a history?'

"'The history,' he answered, 'is only one of the thousands of things Bonn and his assistants are taking care of. Not one laboratory. Three hundred. Bonn has been the world's greatest scientist since the death of Dwar Smit. You know of him, of course?'

"'No.'

"'How could you have come here, employing his invention, without knowing of him?' Unveiled suspicion was in the eyes and the tone of my questioner. He pressed a button or switch that I didn't see very plainly, for it was behind him on the top of a table. I must have lost consciousness, for the next thing I remember is sitting upright and finding myself to be the sole occupant of a small airplane, high above the earth, rushing through space without visible control at a rate of exactly 1000 kilometers, about 621 miles, an hour, if the speed indicator in front of my face was correct.

"I could not see the earth, for a heavy uniform layer of clouds was below me. I later learned that they were completely under the control of man, and that the agricultural region over which I was passing was receiving its daily four o'clock rain.

"I marveled that I felt no motion. Only by looking out through the thick glass windows at either side of my enclosed compartment at the rushing clouds below could I realize that I was moving. I reasoned that I must be going in an absolutely straight line, for I knew that in 1928, when racing aviators made turns at more than three hundred miles an hour they lost consciousness for a moment.

"But I found out in a few minutes that there was something wrong with my conclusions. With a suddenness that startled me, the clouds were passed, and I was high above an ocean. Far off to my left, traveling at great speed, and in a direction that showed its course would intersect mine, was approaching a colossal mono-triplane, three streamlined wings behind one another supporting a fuselage larger than the Leviathan. I found out later that seventy or eighty thousand ton air freighters and passenger planes were common. I experienced a very real fear in the few seconds it took for that flying city to approach the tiny plane in which I was, to all intents and purposes, a prisoner.

"When it seemed that a collision was inevitable, something clicked on the instrument board before me, and my plane soared over the other without decreasing speed in the slightest. And only by my eyes did I know that I was moving. Somehow, in the planes of the thirtieth century, inertia and centrifugal force had been nullified so that I could turn sharp corners at six hundred miles an hour and not know it if I had my eyes shut!

"Almost three hours later the little plane, having successfully dodged automatically several dozen others of all sizes and types, glided down to the roofdrome of a skyscraper something more than half a mile high. The door of the plane snapped open, and as I stepped out I was greeted by no less a person than Dwar Bonn, greatest living scientist of the era. I had been shipped to his Australia headquarters by automatic airplane delivery service.

"Bonn introduced himself, took me to an elevator, closed the door, and five seconds later opened it again some hundred and fifty stories lower in the building. I did not feel the descent, nor even the jerk that must have taken place when we stopped. Bonn conducted me to a room whose walls were a brilliant scarlet. Why they were so, I haven't the slightest idea. When we had been comfortably seated, he explained:

"'Your appearance, Mr. Cannes, has given us an enormous amount of valuable and interesting information about the twentieth century. You were rather foolishly suspected to be a dangerous character by a couple of business men' (his tone held a marked contempt) 'whom you interrupted in the midst of an important business conference. The world has lately been excited by the announcement of an Egyptian scientist that a method of producing true invisibility has been discovered. The men, seeing that you were not wearing the time-traveling apparatus that is usually worn by people coming from the past, and hearing your statement that you did not know of Dwar Smit, discoverer of the NN-4 wave, rather stupidly jumped to the conclusion that you were perhaps just an invisible intruder who had been spying on their affairs, so they rendered you unconscious by using a very common hypnotic apparatus that may be purchased anywhere, although it is not generally used for such purposes.

"'A few minutes' reflection and an examination of you showed them their mistake, so they got in touch with my New York representatives. The latter hooked you up to another hypnotic machine, and your brain, if I may use the simile, was turned upside down like a bag of information. So you have already disclosed to me everything you know about your civilization and your former life.

"'You have been a particularly interesting case, and you have corrected many erroneous ideas we have held about your time. You are the first man to come to us from a time previous to the year 2806, when Dwar Smit discovered the NN-4 wave. You traveled through time before the system of time-traveling was ever invented. Your friend found a mysterious manuscript, we discovered when we read your brain. This manuscript gave specific directions for the construction of a machine identical with the earliest crude one made in 2806 by Dwar Smit.

"'There is only one explanation. Someone, sometime later than 2806, copied Dwar Smit's earliest calculations and directions, traveled back through time, and left them in your friend's mail box. Dr. Hawkinson could therefore copy a machine that was not really made until centuries after his death! It sounds almost incredible at first. It's what you might call a paradox.

"'But understand this, Cannes. Although he tried all his long life, Dwar Smit did not invent a machine for traveling back through time. He was never able to do anything but send people and objects into the future. And most of to-day's scientific minds believe that traveling into the past, traveling negatively through the fourth dimension, is impossible. I have not held that belief, for many reasons, the most understandable of which to you is the fact that one can travel in either direction through any of the other three dimensions.

"'Three days ago I completed a machine that I believe will enable me to send objects back through time. When I learned of your arrival I was greatly excited, for in a way you are evidence that my machine will work. Let me explain.

"'The manuscript Dr. Hawkinson found was in your handwriting. You are now existing in the year 2930, more than a hundred years since Smit invented the machine for utilizing the NN-4 wave. What is to prevent you from copying his work, traveling back through time to the night before Hawkinson found the manuscript, and placing it in his mail box? The fact that the manuscript was placed there shows that you will be successful in placing it there!'

"'I doubt if I could copy such calculations accurately. I might make a mistake.'

"'Don't let that worry you. I have a clerical machine in the next room that can do that. It is often used to make translations and for the writing of certain complex hieroscript codes I use for private records. The codes are undecipherable except by machine and cannot be written by the ordinary dictaphono-printer, which anyway is not equipped with the mathematical symbols necessary. This clerical machine of mine will examine, photoelectrically, any small sample of your handwriting and, in somewhat the same way as it translates messages from one language to another, it will copy the calculations and specifications in Smit's book, putting them on paper in a very close approximation of your handwriting.

"'Since Smit's invention of his time machine it has been radically changed and improved and its size decreased. I plan to strap one of these on your back, tell you how to use it, send you and it into the past to the night before your friend found the manuscript so you can place it there for him to find, and then you will return to me by using the improved and compact machine on your back. Please give me a sample of your handwriting.'

"My mind was in confusion but I did as he asked. He took a volume from a concealed bookcase, went into the next room, and closed the door, leaving me wondering if I were dreaming. By the time I had almost convinced myself that I was not, by pinching the back of my neck, Bonn returned with a sheaf of blue-tinted pages. I started.

"'Here is the manuscript, Cannes. It looks familiar, eh? No doubt it seems paradoxical to you that your friend used it a thousand years before it was made. You had better put his name on it so he'll know whom it's for.'

"Still mentally dazed, I took the manuscript and automatically wrote 'To Dr. Endicott Hawkinson.' Then I started again, violently. Unconsciously, without thinking about the matter at all, I had underlined those four words twice. The manuscript in my hand was the identical one that was to provide the means for sending me into the future. But I was already in the future! It occurred to me that I had emphatically denied having anything at all to do with the placing of the manuscript in the mail box.

"You cannot understand how mixed up all my mental faculties were. My knowledge was a thousand years behind the times, and I could not begin to understand the things I saw happen.

"Gentlemen, I am going to omit details. It is becoming late and there is another part of this story I want to tell. Suffice it to say that I was transported into the past farther than I had come into the future! I placed the manuscript in the doctor's mail box. But before I did this I had to walk a mile, for I had arrived that far away from his house. While I was walking, my mind cleared. Because this manuscript had been found by the doctor, I reasoned, I had been able to go to 2930. But also, only because I had gone to 2930 had the manuscript come into being. Which was the cause and which was the effect? That is a paradox I cannot explain. A thousand years from now it will be understandable and common to the people of the world.

"I started reasoning along another line. Suppose I should have traveled into the past to the time when my grandfather had been a little boy. If I were so inclined, I could kill my grandfather before he had had a chance to meet my grandmother, thereby depriving myself of the privilege of being born! But the fact that I was present to kill my unfortunate grandfather would show that I had been born. Therefore, I could not have killed my grandfather. It was hopeless.

"The most intelligent man in the world in 1428 could have proven to his entire satisfaction that such a thing as radio was scientifically and logically impossible; yet we have radio to-day. I actually convinced myself that time-traveling was logically and scientifically nothing but the utterest nonsensical paradox; yet I delivered the manuscript as per Bonn's instructions.

"Then, still following instructions, I returned to the exact point at which I had arrived from the year 2930. As I returned I wondered what would have happened if I had thrown the manuscript into the river, instead of putting it in the mail box. Hawkinson, next morning, would never have found it, and therefore could never have sent me into the future. But unless he had found it and sent me into the future, I could never have had the manuscript to throw into the river. However, I seemed to think that throwing the manuscript into the river would be deliberately cheating fate. So I had delivered it.

"Later, when my life was at stake, I deliberately did cheat fate. That's why I'm here now. My death was scheduled for yesterday. I'll explain that later on.

"I stood near the river, ready to follow Bonn's final instructions. I was to press a button in the belt that helped to support the complex improved time-machine on my back. I was ready to return to Bonn and tell him that the experiment was a success, that his invention had functioned as well in sending me back through the fourth dimension as the other had in sending me into the future. I was ready to return to Dwar Bonn. But suddenly I hesitated. Why should I go back into the future? Nothing compelled me to comply with Bonn's request. I had not even promised him to return. He had taken it for granted that I would. If it had not been for that aversion I then had for the thought of cheating fate, I think that then and there, I would have taken off the portable machine and thrown it into the river.

"Another thought occurred to me. The night before Hawkinson had called me on the phone I had been sleeping peacefully in my Lansdowne apartment. Undoubtedly I was sleeping there peacefully that very second, for I had traveled back through time to that same night. Then, if I should throw the machine into the river, there was nothing in the world to stop me from going over to Lansdowne and waking myself up. The idea fascinated me. It occurred to me that I would have a hard time convincing myself that I was I. Suddenly I started again. It was a scientific impossibility for a man to be in two places at the same time. But I was.

"Another paradox. I then determined that I should return to 2930 and have Dwar Bonn explain things to me. So I pressed the button in my belt. The 7.6 grams of 'solid electricity' in the generator of the outfit on my back was changed from matter into energy, producing a powerful current, which was transformed into what Bonn always called the NN-4 wave by the apparatus on my back, and I rose through the fourth dimension once more. I found Bonn smiling as I suddenly appeared in the laboratory, hardly a foot from the point from which I had started.

"'It is a success,' he said. 'You've been gone thirteen seconds!'

"A short while later I requested him to explain to me the seeming paradoxes connected with time-traveling. And he did! He explained them fully. He explained them logically and painstakingly. He explained them as simply as he could, but the cold fact remained that my brain was a thousand years behind his. (I defy any scientist of to-day to write an explanation of the talking movies that would be understandable to a man living in the tenth century.) Bonn finally decided to stop trying. He told me that if I decided to remain in that era of time, he would arrange for me to be hypnotically educated by machines built for that purpose, though my brain would probably not be capable even then of comprehending the abstruse science behind that seeming paradox. For a long time I puzzled over myself and the hypothetical murder of my innocent grandfather, but it remained, and remains yet, an endless circle to me.

"There was another endless circle connected with my experience in the years to come, but it was perhaps a trifle more easily understandable. I met a girl and loved her with a love that was never requited. The more I loved her the more I wanted to be with her, and the more I was with her the more I loved her. But she never thought of me as anything more than a scientific curiosity, one of many living anachronisms. Traveling into the future had become almost common after Smit's invention of the time-machine in 2806. Yet it was because of that girl that I cheated the grim reaper in 2930, and then gypped him again in 1928. I really have no right to be alive now.

"SHE was Greta Bonn, the scientist's only child, slender, brown-eyed, adorable.

"Gentlemen, I feel like a particularly silly fool to sit here and tell you that I fell hopelessly in love with a girl who doesn't exist, and won't exist until ten long centuries have passed. Perhaps one should not speak of the affairs of one's heart, even if one is heartbroken. No, I'm not joking with you--

"Dwar Bonn had invited me to be his guest, for in a small way I had helped him to realize one of his life's ambitions, that of sending objects into the past. For the first month or so after my arrival I spent all of my time learning about and trying to comprehend the highly involved and complicated civilization of the period after the second great interplanetary war. And I learned something of the history of the world, something about the unspeakable horror of those two wars, of the time when three-quarters of the world's population were killed in one day--

"Greta Bonn instructed me in many things, and I was happy to have her as my tutor. Perhaps the happiest month of my life passed in that great laboratory in Australia, and slowly I awoke to the realization that I, an anachronism by a thousand years, was madly in love with the daughter of him who had earned the title of world's greatest scientist.

"But my month passed, and in a few short hours occurred that chain of startling events that resulted in my leaving the future forever. This last adventure is fresh in my memory, for it seems only this morning that it happened. And I would give anything to know what happened after I left that era. Anything. But I shall never know.

"Greta was enormously excited when she greeted me in the early evening of September 28, 2930. A little more than fifteen hours ago, that was. Or it seems so to me.

"She had found relatives of mine, descendants of my brother, who were living in California, and had talked to them by radio. And in old records the family possessed, my birth and death were listed, together with the notation that I had fought in the First World War and had been wounded. Yet it was a terrible blow to me to find out that my old and dignified family name had been phonetically altered to Canz.

"But the most interesting thing to me was the date and the manner of my death. In the family records no mention was made of my traveling through the fourth dimension, I have never informed my relatives about it. But it was stated that I had been killed by a motor truck on October 7, 1928.

"Before I could grasp the full significance of this fact Dwar Bonn appeared and told Greta and me that he was going to New York on the new monster plane Patrician, and invited us to accompany him. I accepted, of course, for I was eager to see the enormous metropolis, and Greta went along because she had some girl-friends in the city and was getting tired of visiting them by television only.

"A few hours later the three of us were sitting in our private parlor aboard the Patrician. Bonn told me that in the past month he had been improving and reducing the size of his newest invention, so that it took up only a trifle more space than did the portable machine of Dwar Smit's that I had used. After he had mastered the principle, he said, it was easy for him to improve the details and eliminate unnecessary bulk and weight, in much the same manner as Dwar Smit's machine had been gradually improved. He was taking this new machine to New York for a private demonstration to some of his personal friends and colleagues.

"In some manner or other the discussion turned to atoms, and Bonn tried vainly for a while to explain to me the latest theory about the structure of the universe. In the early twentieth century, he stated, men believed that everything was made from some ninety-two or so different kinds of atoms, which were supposedly indivisible. Then later it was learned that the entire universe, including the atoms, was made up of only three different things, the electron, the proton, and the photon, or light-corpuscle. For you know, gentlemen, that even today it is recognized that there are facts that the wave-theory of light cannot explain. Bonn told me that in some of his researches and experiments concerning transmutation (the simple process of adding or removing a few electrons and protons from one kind of atom to make of it another variety), he had found evidence that had convinced him that the electron, the proton, and the photon were different manifestations of one and the same thing--

"Human nature had not altered very much. The discussion was old stuff to Greta, and it visibly bored her. She rose and went out on the deck, and I soon excused myself and followed her, for I could grasp very little of what Bonn was saying. I had been under the impression that protons and electrons were positive and negative charges of electricity. And the photon was a new one to me. Besides, I was much more fascinated by Greta than by the speculative physics of the thirtieth century, A. D.

"The thousand years had made little impression on the moon. As the plane sped along, vibrationless at the incredible speed of 1200 kilometers an hour, I could see through the transparent roof of the upper deck the full moon, tinted a vivid orange by some atmospheric condition or other. Once before, in 1927, on the Rappahannock Eiver, had I seen such a moon. To me it was a link with the past.

"I found Greta at the extreme front of the 3000-foot fuselage, on the topmost deck, which was covered over by a transparent, unbreakable, glass-like metal or alloy of some kind, hard as steel. She was standing in the gentle breeze that emerged from one of the great ventilators, apparently lost in contemplation of the stars. Through the transparent roof I could hear faintly the hundred high-pitched whistles made by the air as the Patrician hurtled through it more than twelve miles a minute.

"Her hair was like spun gold in the moonlight. My love for her came to the surface, my impulsive, temperamental nature asserted itself once more. I took her in my arms and kissed her, but there was no answer in her lips.

"And then the fireworks started. I truly believe, if she had had a firearm of any kind, she would have gladly shot me dead. Never have I beheld anyone so mad, so outraged. Having no suitable deadly weapon at hand, she attacked me with her fists. I stood still and took all she gave me. I couldn't run away, could I? I couldn't strike her, could I? And I couldn't reason with her. She was doing all of the talking. I won't repeat what she said, I gathered from it that she was disgusted with me, that she utterly hated, loathed, and despised me; that she would be greatly pleased if she never saw me again. For it is evident to me that a kiss, in 2930, was a much more significant thing than it is now, and Greta's indignation knew no bounds. None whatsoever.

"While she was wildly attacking me, her fist happened to strike one of the two metal disks, six inches in diameter and an inch thick, that were attached to the shoulders of the coat I had been given to wear, and in some way snapped it off the rod that supported it an inch above my shoulder. The blow must have hurt her hand cruelly. The metal disk fell into the ventilator. I presume it went out at the other end and fell to the earth. I don't know.

"I had noticed that everyone I had seen on the plane, including Bonn and Greta, had two of these disks attached to his or her shoulders, but I had not given the matter any thought. I was used to seeing things I couldn't understand.

"When the girl's fit of temper was finally over she turned and walked stiffly away. I stayed where I was and looked at the orange moon, meanwhile bitterly cursing my luck. When I had cooled down a little, I realized that the only thing I could do was to go to her and to her father, apologize for my actions, and explain that I had intended no harm, asking their forgiveness on the ground that I was still unfamiliar with the customs of the time, and had foolishly let my emotions get the better of me.

"When I re-entered the room in which I had left Dwar Bonn, he was sitting upright in his chair, dead. Through his heart, projecting ten inches from both his back and his chest, was a heavy steel needle, pointed at both ends, a perfectly hellish weapon.

"I thought I heard a noise in the corner of the room, but I saw nothing there except the large chest in which was Bonn's latest and greatest invention, the machine for traveling back through the fourth dimension. Then I was positive I heard a slight noise in that corner of the room. I took a couple of steps forward.

"Something shrieked past my ear. I heard a thud behind me and turned involuntarily. Protruding from the metal wall was another long metal needle, quivering. Suddenly I recalled the words of Dwar Bonn. 'The world has lately been excited by the announcement of an Egyptian scientist that a method for producing true invisibility has been discovered,' he had told me. Instinctively I acted. I hurled myself toward the chest in the corner.

"I could feel my arms encircle the body of a man, but could see nothing. He who struggled in my arms was completely covered by a soft flexible gelatinous garment that in some manner caused light to pass around him as water flows around a submarine, as air flows around the streamlined fuselage of a plane. It was not transparency, or partial invisibility, or an optical illusion that I had to deal with. I saw around the killer of Bonn, but my eye could perceive no evidence of his existence.

"I expected every second to feel a long slender needle forced into my body as I held the unseen fighter, but he was apparently helpless as long as I held him tightly, for he stopped struggling after a few moments. Probably he had used the only two of the needles he possessed. It is still a mystery to me how he could shoot them with such force, for I never had a chance to examine the device that fell at my feet as I seized the man. I think it was a pistol of some kind for firing those odd, impractical-looking messengers of death.

"When he stopped struggling, I made a desperate and unexpectedly successful attempt to rip his unseen covering from him. I jerked at it, tearing it, which apparently rendered it useless, for the slight but well-formed body of the man became visible, still covered by the torn and now visible and transparent membrane, which was connected by dozens of tiny wires to a box strapped on his back.

"I expected no great difficulty in dealing with him after he had become visible, for I had superior strength and a forty-pound advantage in weight. It was my intention to summon one of the plane's officers and deliver the murderer into his custody. Then I looked at the eyes of my prisoner, and astonishment, fear, and horror overcame me. The eyes were a deep red-flecked purple, and without pupils. I was holding the body of a man, but in it was a Martian brain.

"In that split second of terror I remembered some facts Greta had told me about the Martians. Unable to live long on the earth because of the superior gravity that soon wrecked their fragile bodies, the Martian spies that had prepared the way for the second Martio-Tellurian War, little more than a century previous, had killed men by suffocation, and by means of their marvelous surgery had transferred their own brains into the human bodies before the latter had become cold or rigid. Then they had revived the unharmed bodies. But the eyes had troubled them. Of all the organs of the body they were the only ones that did not function for the Martian brain, so Martian eyes had been transferred, too. And the unsuspected spies, their eyes concealed by colored glasses, had gained the necessary information, made plans, and had laid the foundation for that war that so nearly had eliminated mankind.

"Now, for the first time in a hundred years, another Martian spy was on the earth. I was startled by the revelation. A sudden fear came to me that perhaps the Martian was hypnotizing me now, that soon I would be under his power. But that did not come to pass. Though tremendously advanced in some lines of science, the Martians had practically neglected the possibilities of the psychological sciences. My will was stronger than my prisoner's.

"But he took advantage of my moment of surprised terror and broke away by a sudden effort. He rushed for the door, threw it open, and would have been gone, had he not collided with Greta Bonn. In that second I recaptured him. Greta saw the eyes, her slain father, the needle in the wall, and acted. She called the captain of the plane at once on the phone. The latter tuned his televisor on the room, took one rapid glance at the situation, and sent an armed officer with several men to our parlor immediately. They bound the Martian securely and then questioned him. He remained stolidly silent, unashamed hate in the flashing purplish eyes.

"Seeing that the Martian had not the slightest intention of saying a word, the officer employed a little hypnotic machine to force a confession, the same type of machine, I believe, that had rendered me unconscious in New York, and which had numerous other uses. This is what the Martian said:

"'In three days not a terrestrial will remain alive. You have captured me, you may spread the news, but you will not escape. This plane is doomed. You do not know that many tons of Martian brarron are aboard. In your cargo-rooms are crates labeled "merchandise" that contain only our explosive. You terrestrials have been careless. The few Martians left alive after the last war have watched you from afar and have waited. Through space we have come to your South Polar lands and taken on our hideous disguise of "human" flesh. In fifteen minutes we strike! The brarron on this plane is only a very small part of the quantity distributed over your world, at its most densely populated parts. Fifteen minutes from now the station at the South Pole will broadcast over the world a wave that no man-made interference can drown out. All of the brarron in the world will be detonated then. You have forced me to tell you this but you are too late to save yourselves. Yesterday I stole the device of a terrestrial of Egypt, a thing that let me come here unseen. I regret that I was not able to take this new invention of the dead man in the chair; it would have been useful to us. I would have escaped from this death-laden plane and taken both of these valuable things to my superior. But it does not matter much. In three days not a terrestrial will exist!'

"The hypnotic machine disclosed that he was telling the truth about the cargo of explosive and the station at the South Pole. There were only fifteen minutes left in which to escape from the plane before it would be blown to atoms. I remembered what I had heard about the Martian explosive brarron, its unearthly power of destruction. Men had never been able to analyze the samples that had fallen into their hands at the end of the previous war. All that was known was that it contained some compounds of nitrogen and that it could be detonated easily by certain etheric waves.

"There was not time enough to maneuver the enormous plane down to earth in the night in a place unfamiliar to the officers and not suited as a landing field. Like an enormous ocean liner the great plane was difficult to handle at its terminals. And I think that at that time it was over the Pacific Ocean, for the journey had lasted only two and one-half hours so far, and the plane could not yet have crossed the Pacific entirely at its rate of speed. However, so much artificial land had been produced in the preceding centuries that we may have been over dry land. But that is unimportant. It would have been highly foolish for the officers to have attempted a landing in the short time available. Nor could the great amount of cargo be removed. The captain of the Patrician did the best thing he could possibly have done. Instructing his radio operator to spread the news to all the world on the emergency wave, he gave orders for the hurtling plane to come to a full stop. It slowed and stopped motionless in the night air, supported by its ten large four-bladed helicopters. Then he gave the order to abandon the plane. All of the doors and windows were opened, and I was amazed to see hundreds upon hundreds of people calmly jumping off into the night. As I was wondering, I saw Greta beside me.

"'Cannes,' she said, 'I broke your life-disks. Take mine, and jump.' Her tone was cold, impersonal. She began to unbutton the coat she was wearing. Then I comprehended the purpose of the two disks worn by everyone on the plane. In case of disaster they acted as parachutes, in some way extracting power from the supply that was always being broadcast for public use, and using that power to break the fall.

"I looked at the stern-faced girl beside me. She hated me, despised me, but because she had broken my disks, she was offering me hers. Why? Because it was her code of honor, of sportsmanship. With an unbroken pair of disks I could live, at least for a while. Without them I was sure of death. She held herself responsible for the destruction of my means of escape, so she offered me hers, urging me to take them as there were no others obtainable in time, although some were stored in another part of the plane. Because everyone was obliged by law to wear a pair of disks, the ones on the plane had not been stored very accessibly.

"She would not listen to my refusal. She told me, when I asked, that one pair of disks could not possibly support the two of us, that they would snap under a strain they were not designed for, and drop us to a quick death below. She told me she preferred to die on the plane where her father had been killed, and that she would not be so dishonorable as to leave me to my death after she had broken my disks. It was useless for me to tell her that I had only myself to blame for my predicament, that her attack was justified, that I should not have kissed her. We wasted four precious minutes arguing.

"Then all my love and admiration for the stubborn, brave, beautiful girl who would not save her life against her code of honor came surging up from my heart. I seized her, rebuttoned the coat she had almost removed to give to me, picked her up in my arms disregardful of her struggles, kissed her forehead, and threw her out into the night.

"The orange moon was still above. For a few seconds I saw her face as she sunk out of sight, and momentarily at least out of danger, too. For it was six minutes yet before the explosion would occur, and by that time she would have fallen far enough to be safe, unless some murderous piece of the wreckage should happen by the merest chance to strike her as she fell--

"I saw her face for a second or two, a second or two that are burnt into my memory, never to be erased. And yet I cannot interpret the expression I saw there. Certainly some of the anger was gone, some of the steely hardness. After all, in spite of her outraged feelings, had my kiss aroused something in her heart that responded to my great love for her? Had she insisted so strongly on my taking the disks partially because she did care a little? I'm afraid not. She was as cold as steel. Yet those last two seconds there was something in her face that--I wish to God I knew what it was.

"When she had fallen out of sight I began to think seriously about my own safety. I had no disks, I did not know where any were stored, and I couldn't search the whole gigantic plane in five minutes. Though I was, as far as I knew, the only person left aboard, the helicopters were still running smoothly, the plane was hovering motionless in the air. The controls had been locked. The plane would not move until the world-wide explosion took place. Five minutes!

"Then I remembered the machine in the chest, Bonn's machine for traveling back through time. Feverishly I rushed to the parlor where the three of us had been discussing atoms only a short hour previous. I opened the box and lifted out the machine, strapping it hastily on my back. It was very heavy and cumbersome, but that didn't bother me. I saw two dials on the belt that strapped around my waist which could be adjusted to indicate any latitude and longitude. I set them to about 39�50' North and 75�10' West, respectively, which was as close as I remembered the location of Philadelphia. Another set of dials could be arranged to indicate any day since 2000 B, C. up to 2930 A. D.

"But suddenly I recalled that according to the old family records I had been killed by a motor truck on October 7,1928. I didn't want to return to the day before my death was scheduled and be killed the next day. I had puzzled so much about the seeming paradoxes of travelling through time that I had lost all repulsion to the idea of cheating fate. I decided that, no matter how impossible it seemed, I was deliberately going to cheat death. Though I did not understand the science involved, Dwar Bonn had told me that such a thing was not at all impossible. So I set the dials for today, October the eighth, 1928. You gentlemen understand now what I meant when I said I had gypped the grim reaper. In other words, I was late to my own funeral! I did not return to October 7, yesterday, so I was not present to be run over by a truck.

"When I had finally adjusted the dials my wrist watch told me that there was only one minute left. I pressed the button. Everything went black, and I had a sensation as if I were falling, plunging into a void. You understand that I was not really falling, but that was the way my brain, unaccustomed to motion through the fourth dimension, interpreted it.

"When I arrived in the present, through some trifling inaccuracy, I arrived four feet up in the air instead of on the surface of the earth, so I did a little real falling. When I picked myself up, the time-machine was hopelessly smashed. I recognized the Delaware River nearby, and realized that I had landed several miles north of Philadelphia, I threw the smashed machine into the river, thereby destroying the one shred of evidence I had that the adventure had really happened. You see, a few hours ago, I decided that I would never disclose my story to anyone. I changed my mind when I heard your discussion. I could not resist the temptation to tell what had happened to me, even though you will not believe a word--

"I walked to the nearest highway. A kind-hearted motorist gave me a lift to Lansdowne. During my absence, my apartment had not been re-rented. I obtained a key from my landlord, entered again the rooms I call home, and changed into some clothes not so conspicuous as my thirtieth century costume. Later I met a friend, attended an afternoon church service in Philadelphia, and later dropped in here.

"You are under no obligation to believe a word of it, but I shall state again that it was not a dream, that it really happened to me; that is, it will happen to me a thousand and two years from now.

"I rather wish I knew whether or not the Martians did annihilate the human race in those three days. I would give my life to know what happened to Greta, But Hawkinson is dead, and the manuscript was destroyed in the flames. It's a paradox, gentlemen, but it's true. Good evening."

The spell was broken.

RAYMOND CANNES moved into the next room, picked up a magazine, and sat down in an armchair where we could see him through the doorway. He did it, I think, for no other reason than to give us a chance to discuss his story freely. Until he walked away none of us realized how intently we had been listening to him. Preston laughed.

"Clever," he said. "Almost infernally clever. Are you convinced now, Sherman, that time-traveling is impossible? That fellow has brought out clearly in his tale the reasons why it is absurd to think of going into the past or the future. I've heard that grandfather argument before. It alone is enough to show the fallacy in the whole fantastic idea. Our friend Cannes is a satirist of no little ability. I'll have to cultivate his acquaintance."

Sherman did not say anything for a long moment. Then he stated slowly and seriously, "Regardless of what you say or think, Preston, I do believe that he was telling the truth, that far from demonstrating the impossibility of time-traveling he has shown conclusively that it is possible, even if there are confusing and mysterious circumstances connected with the process. I'll swear he was sincere in what he said. I was watching his face."

Preston snorted. "Do you mean to tell me that you sat there and swallowed that dope about solid electricity and the NN-4 wave, the Patrician, and the paradox?"

"I do, whether you think I'm crazy or not." Preston turned to me. "What do you think about it, Cloukey?"

"I think," said I, "that arriving four feet up in the air wasn't the only trifling inaccuracy that machine made. Didn't it occur to any of you gentlemen that Cannes had his dates mixed? Today isn't the eighth, but Sunday the seventh of October." I glanced at the clock. "It's so close to midnight that it doesn't make much difference."

"By Jove, you're right," ejaculated Preston. "I'll have to tell him about it."

Cannes had left the club a minute previously. The entire group who had listened to his story followed Preston as he went to the door. Stepping outside, we noticed Cannes buying a newspaper at the drug store across the street. Involuntarily I looked up at City Hall Tower. It was still the seventh of October, five minutes to twelve, and suddenly I had a premonition of disaster. Preston called across to him. Raymond Cannes turned, looked at us a minute, and started across the street to us.

A deathly white came to Sherman's face as a speedy light delivery truck careened around the corner at thirty miles an hour. Cannes never knew what hit him.

Paradox+

RECENTLY in this magazine I retold the story that Raymond Cannes told that Sunday night, October the seventh, 1928, to a group of acquaintances at a certain Philadelphia club. I first told of the argument between Sherman and Preston, who, discussing H. G. Wells' novel, "The Time Machine," had wandered off into speculation, as to whether or not it would ever be possible to travel into the future or the past. Preston maintained that such a thing was impossible and would always be impossible, while Sherman, disregarding the ridicule of his opponent, expressed the opinion that "time-traveling" might become a possibility at no distant epoch, when science would be more advanced. The debate, though impromptu, was interesting in the extreme. Each man brought out several good points.

Then Raymond Cannes told that story which I have retold in print and called "Paradox." He stated that it was true, but he did not ask us to believe it, as he could present no confirmtory evidence. He told how his college chum, Endicott Hawkinson, a wealthy electrical wizard, had found in his mailbox a mysterious mathematical manuscript, which he found contained proof of the existence of the "fourth dimension," and identified it as tune. Cannes told how Hawkinson constructed an electrical machine for projecting objects into the future, and how Hawkinson was killed by a fire in his laboratory shortly after he had sent Cannes one thousand and two years into the future, to the year 2930.

Cannes told of his life in that far future year, of his mystification at the circumstances surrounding the origin of that manuscript, which was used before it was made and could not have been made if it hadn't been previously used. He told us of the grandfather argument, and also of the time when he was actually and physically in two different places at one and the same time. He told us not only of those, but of other seeming paradoxes and absurdities he had encountered. He told us that he could not believe the things he saw happen, for his twentieth century mind was incapable of comprehending the complex mysteries of thirtieth century science, which regarded the fourth dimension as simple and elementary, and which dealt with traveling through time as an accomplished and commonplace fact. He told us of Dwar Bonn, the great thirtieth century scientist who had just invented a machine for traveling into the past, as all time-traveling previous to 2930 had been into the future only. He told us of his love for a tall, slender girl of the future, the daughter of the scientist. He told us of the incredible adventure that took place on the monster ninety thousand ton air-liner Patrician, en route from Australia to New York. Fleeing from a discussion incomprehensible to him of the mysteries of electrons, protons and photons, he had come upon the girl and had impulsively kissed her. She resented it and struck at him, accidentally striking and breaking one of the delicate life-disks attached to his shoulders. Everyone on the enormous airplane wore those disks. In case of an accident they served as parachutes, extracting power from the supply that was always being broadcast, and using that power to break the fall. Cannes then told us how he had gone in search of her father, the scientist, had found him dead, had captured his murderer in spite of the fact that the murderer was using a stolen device to render himself totally invisible, and how he (Cannes) had discovered that the murderer was a spy from the planet Mars, who later disclosed, unwillingly, that the earth was in great peril, as Martian spies had distributed all over the earth, in its most densely populated parts, enormous quantities of the terrible Martian explosive brarron, which possessed the power of being detonated by certain etheric waves. One large quantity of this explosive was in the cargo-rooms of the great plane, Patrician, and the radio wave, that was to detonate the explosive all over the world, was due to be broadcast in fifteen minutes, from the great station established by the powers of Mars at the Earth's South Pole. All this information was obtained from the Martian spy by artificial hypnotism. The spy concluded by stating that not one terrestrial being would be alive after three days had passed.

If you have read my account you will remember how Cannes told us that the enormous plane, death-laden with Martian brarron, was abandoned in mid-air, all of the passengers and crew descending to earth by using their life-disks. But Cannes' disks had been destroyed. He had escaped by using the time-machine just invented by Dwar Bonn, which had returned him to the year 1928. You will remember that Cannes' last glimpse of the girl he loved had shown her falling away from the plane, which was loaded with explosive, a very few minutes before the explosion was to take place. But, because of his own escape through the fourth dimension, he had never known whether or not the explosion had ever taken place, never known whether or not the human race was annihilated in those three days in September 2930, as the Martian spy had threatened.

And you will remember how Cannes had found out from old records that his death had been recorded on October 7, 1928, and how he had set the dials on the time-machine to indicate October the eighth, and had boasted to us that he had cheated fate. But fate had cheated him, for without his knowing it, the machine had not functioned quite accurately, and he had really been returned to the seventh, the day on which his death was due, (and also the day on which he told the story.) Ten minutes after he had finished his story he was dead. He never knew what it was that hit him. The entire group that had listened to his story saw him killed by a truck a few minutes before midnight.

I have made a hurried and incomplete review of Cannes' story and the circumstances surrounding it, so that even if you have not read it you will be able to understand the story that follows. If there are points that are not clear to you, a reference to my previous article will doubtlessly make them plain.

* * *

MONTHS later my friend William Simons read the story. He laid aside the magazine and remarked whimsically, "You've a peculiar imagination, Cloukey. Just what good it is, I don't know, but it's peculiar. But why did you kill off Cannes at the end? Isn't there enough tragedy in real life without you story-writers?..."

I interrupted him annoyedly. I had no just reason to be annoyed, but I was. I picked up my scrap-book and showed him two slightly yellowed clippings from the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin. One told of the fire in the laboratory of Endicott Hawkinson, rich experimenter; and the other, dated a few months later, (October 8, 1928), told of the killing of Raymond Cannes, on a street near City Hall, a few minutes before the previous Midnight, blaming the hit-and-run driver of a speeding truck. Bill Simons read the clippings and turned to me inquiringly.

"You used the names of real people?"

"And I told a true story. That is, while I don't know whether or not Cannes' story was true, it is true that he told that story to the group at a downtown club, and it is true that he was killed later in precisely the manner stated by the crumbling records he had been informed of, on the day stated, although hr thougnt he had 'gyped the grim reaper' through the fourth dimension."

"You mean you believe...."

"I do, although I occasionally have some doubts. But if that story was a lie, it is the most amazing and unbelievable coincidence in the world that he should die in such a manner at such a time."

"Then why did you publish it as fiction? There were, according to your own statement, a group of disinterested and reliable witnesses who could vouch for the fact that Cannes told the story, and who also, you said, witnessed the 'coincidence'."

Just then my phone rang. To my astonishment, Crandell Sherman, the man who had started the argument with Preston in the first place, was at the other end of the wire. He was evidently pressed for time, but he invited me pleasantly to meet him at the club that evening. He stated that he wanted to gather together again all those who had heard Cannes' story, as he had some light to throw upon it. I went that evening for the second time to that club, and I took Bill Simons with me.

We were the first to arrive. Shortly afterward came Ralph White and John Stevenson, as solemn and intellectual a pair of young men as I ever hope to see. I asked White to confirm my statement to Simons that my story had been correct, exact, and true. White did, with reservations.

"The story was correct, in the main," he said pedantically, "although Mr. Cloukey did embellish it a little; not unduly, however. But he used a badly mixed metaphor which really cannot be blamed on Cannes, because Cannes didn't try to use any figurative language, in spite of what the written version is. On the whole, however, it followed Cannes' narrative rather closely."

I'd have liked to have thrown a dictionary at White by the time he finished his politely impolite pronouncement, but I had no dictionary anywhere near, and such an action would have appeared unseemly in the club. At least I had confirmation of a sort.

Crandell Sherman and the others came in from the next room. After various greetings and introductions, Sherman was ready to start his talk. I noticed that everyone who had been present at Cannes' telling of his story was present now, with the noticeable exception of Gene Preston, who had violently disagreed with Sherman and who maintained that Cannes' story was nothing but fiction, and that traveling through time was the most absurd of all scientific absurdities. I ventured a comment on his absence.

"He will not be here," said Sherman, and started at once on the story which is the sequel to "Paradox."

* * *

"I HAVE always believed," he said, "that Cannes was telling the exact truth to us that night. I think we all were ready to believe it after that accident, even Preston, although he would never have admitted it.

"I was particularly impressed by what Cannes told us about Endicott Hawkinson, for although Cannes was obviously ignorant of the fact, Hawkinson was also a close acquaintance of mine. In fact, he married my younger sister. A day or so before we heard Cannes' story I had been talking with her. She told me that she had not disturbed anything in her husband's laboratory since the man died, as she thought that many of the scientific devices had not been seriously injured, and she intended to have them appraised. She had been out of town when the fire occurred.

"The day after Cannes' death I went over to Hawkinson's lab. His widow, my sister, let me in. On the burnt remains of a heavy table were the charred remains of the pale blue manuscript, that product of a far-distant century. I identified it beyond the shadow of a doubt, though it was only a heap of burnt paper. Some little pieces hadn't completely burnt. They were a pale blue. Two of them had fragments of mathematical equations on them.

"Remembering how I had been ridiculed the day before by Preston, I phoned for him to join me. He did, although he thought I was joking. That is, he would have thought I was joking if he himself hadn't seen what happened to Cannes. By the time he arrived I had determined to my own satisfaction that Hawkinson's time machine hadn't been seriously or permanently injured. The heavy hollow metallic cube, supported a foot off the floor by four large vitreous insulators, precisely as it was described to us by Cannes, had not been materially affected by the flames. The eight heavy cables leading to its eight corners were still intact. The cube was five feet six inches in each of its exterior dimensions, and five feet three on each edge of the interior. There was a close fitting trap-door in the top of it, and the remains of a wooden step-ladder were nearby. The heavy cabinet with the bakelite panel, from which emerged the eight cables leading to the cubec, was intact and hardly discolored by the flames.

"The fire in the laboratory had been not at all severe in the place where the time-machine stood, though the damage in other parts of the building had been very great. This was an enormous piece of good luck.

"Preston arrived and was astounded and then convinced. He became exceedingly excited, and his enthusiasm was contagions. To be brief, we spent several hours in arguing with the electric company and finally got them to reconnect Hawkinson's private power line, first sending electricians out to the lab to repair the faulty insulation that had caused the fire. After all precautions against a repetition of the short-circuit with the regular house-lighting circuit had been taken, that machine of Hawkinson's for producing and employing the NN-4 wave, the fourth-dimensional or time-wave that we learned about from Cannes, was again ready for use.

"We set the latitude and longitude dials to indicate the location of Sydney, Australia; and after much discussion and argumentation we set the time dials to indicate September 28, 2930. This was the day upon which Dwar Bonn, Greta Bonn, and Raymond Cannes had left for New York on the gigantic liner of the air, Patrician.

"I don't know exactly why we chose that particular date, but our reasons seemed very logical to us at the time we did the choosing. We were both a little crazy with the excitement of what we had discovered.

"We took a certain friend of mine who could be trusted to keep our secret into our confidence, and showed him what we proposed. He agreed to help us and to keep his knowledge of our disappearance to himself, although he was dubious about the possibility of our intention and about the advisability of helping us, We gave him a signed statement absolutely absolving him from any responsibility in case our disappearance should be traced to him. When he had thus been protected, he aided us by throwing certain switches on the panel of the cabinet, after Preston and I had climbed inside the hollow metal rube. And so, although we were ignorant of the principles and the construction of the machine, we were taken out of the world in 1928 and put back in in 2930. But it seemed like ten seconds to us.

"The sensation was one of rising with terrific acceleration through perfectly black space. There was extreme cold, and, I think, a complete lack of atmosphere. We gasped for breath and would have been suffocated if the journey had lasted a few seconds longer. In the three-dimensional world it would have taken us more than a thousand years to reach our destination, but through the fourth dimension it took us seconds, not centuries. Time is relative, you know.

When I was almost unconscious from cold and lack of air, I heard distinctly three clicks. The motion stopped with a jerk that hurt, and light dazzled my eyes. It was artificial light from a globe above me. I perceived that I was standing in a deserted street between two buildings whose sheer height startled and impressed me. Offhand I estimated that they were at least five times the height of the Woolworth Tower.

"Someone startled me by touching me on the shoulder. I wheeled and saw Preston, whom I had entirely forgotten for a moment He smiled at me doubtfully.

"'Cannes' story was truth,' he said solemnly. 'But, Sherman, it has just occurred to me that you and I are the biggest pair of quintuply damned fools that ever existed.'

"And we plunged forward into strange adventure.

* * *

"WHEN we had proceeded about a quarter of a mile, we came to an intersection and noticed that for some reason the particular section of the street we were traversing had been blocked off from traffic, which was thick on the other three arms of the intersection. There was no noise, no confusion, no dirt and smoke. The vehicles, of all sizes and shapes, moved rapidly, silently and smoothly. There was no one near us on the extremely narrow sidewalk. We watched the traffic, interestedly, for ten or fifteen minutes, then witnessed an accident that turned out to be very fortunate for us.

"Due to some fault in material or workmanship, a wheel came off of one of the speeding streamlined cars. The driver, with presence of mind, swerved his machine out of the rapid line of traffic, and the heavy enclosed car lurched to a stop a little way up the street that had been blocked off. Preston and I pursued the wheel and caught it. It was fitted with a heavy pneumatic tire, made, I learned later, from cheap synthetic rubber. We rolled the wheel back to its owner, who had already jacked up with a little compressed air device his glittering, peculiarly shaped vehicle, he put the wheel on with the aid of a kit of little tools, some of which were also operated by compresed air. Then, hospitably, he said that he noticed we were strangers, and offered to take us wherever we wanted to go. He smiled when we mentioned Dwar Bonn's laboratories.

"'I work there,' he said.

"As Cannes had been, I was amazed at the comparatively small changes that had taken place in the English language in such a long period of years. You remember how Cannes explained that circumstance, so I won't go into that. Our friend introduced himself as Jac Vanon, an assistant chemist in Bonn's great establishment, but told us that 'this was his night off,' but that he would be glad to take us there. For the first time I realized that it was late in the day. I remembered noticing the artificial light. Then I saw that it was really late in the evening, though the great globes, suspended above the streets on slender cables, gave a natural, pleasant light.

"A few minutes later, with Preston and Jac Vanon at my side, I was standing in the presence of Dwar Bonn's confidential secretary. I asked to be permitted to see him, as I had important news for him. (And I had such news, for, if I could have seen him then, I could have told him in advance about the Martian plans, as I learned them from Cannes after he had returned to 1928 through the fourth dimension,) I was half expecting the answer I got, for I was just then realizing that we had picked a rather poor moment to appear in the thirtieth century.

"'Dwar Bonn,' said the secretary coldly, 'has recently left for New York on the air liner Patrician, taking with him his daughter and Ray Cannes, a guest, but leaving specific instructions that he was not to be bothered by any messages or communications. Members of his staff will attend to your "important news." You will please dictate it to the dictophonoprinter in the next room, and it will be attended to in due time, probably in about three weeks, as there are many things that precede it. Good evening.'

"Before I could say a word that high-hat secretary had disappeared through a door.

"Jac was angry. 'Listen, fellows,' he said, 'you'll never get any action that way. That secretary is a conceited imbecile, who wouldn't lift a hand to help anyone. I've got nothing to do tonight, so if you want me to, I'll get my plane and we'll fly out to catch the Patrician. She left the Sydney terminus only an hour ago. I can catch her in another hour. We'll land on top, using suction-pad landing gear, because the captain of a big monotri-plane like the Patrician wouldn't stop for any reason to let anyone on. But we can stick to him by suction, and talk through the walls with a dick and a mike (Detector and microphone). You fellows say you have an important message, and if for no other reason, I'm going to show that --------- secretary that he can't sidetrack Jac Vanon.'

"He was full of enthusiasm for his idea. I guessed, correctly too I found out, that there was an old grudge between Vanon and this particular secretary. He hustled us back into his car, took us to a skyscraper garage where he parked the big electric roadster and ascended with us to the roof in one of those amazing elevators, whose occupants feel neither the meteoric ascent nor the equally rapid descent. He got out his plane from the hangar on the roof, and we took off after he had fitted us out with two extra pairs of life-disks and had donned his own. Their use is required by law. Little metal rods support the disks an inch above the shoulders. I could hardly believe that in case of accident they would act as parachutes to save us.

"As we took off from the roof-drome I became aware of a thrill of liking for the impulsive Jac Vanon, and I think Preston did too. In a minute we were away from the lights of Sydney, shooting along in the smooth silent plane at a speed of almost 2300 kilometers an hour, more than twenty miles a minute. The marvelous science of that far advanced age made such speeds possible without the slightest discomfort. Inside ths plane we felt no vibration and were not affected in the slightest degree by the acceleration and deceleration of the skyboat. When we made turns centrifugal force was not even noticeable. As Cannes has observed, only by the eyes can one tell that he is moving.

"Jac Vanon told us that he would hardly be able to fulfill his promise of catching the Patrician in another hour, as he had figured out that more time would be necessary., Then he asked if we could relieve his curiosity and tell him why it was so imperative that we reach Dwar Bonn. So we told him the whole story. He was tremendously impressed. His mood changed to seriousness, he was a man of the thirtieth century aud he understood very well how, by traveling through the time-dimension, it was possible to know future events before they occurred.

"'So the Patrician is doomed,' he mused. "Doomed by Martian brarron. And the whole world--but you say they will be warned by radio from the Patrician fifteen minutes in advance of the explosion. That is fortunate, for many will be able to escape from the crowded centers of population, where the explosive is likely to be stored. If this plane had a radio, I would warn the world even earlier. But we have none. We'll try to approach as near as is safe to the Patrician before the explosion takes place. Maybe we can save some of the unfortunate ones who would be hit by fragments of the wreckage while they are falling with their disks and trying to escape. Fragments of the wreckage will get a lot of them.

"Perhaps even now that invisible Martian is killing Dwar Bonn,' said our companion bitterly, and then was silent.

"That started me thinking. Perhaps even now as we pursued it, the men on the Patrician were learning from the captured Martian's unwilling lips about their danger and the danger of the world. Perhaps--perhaps he hadn't yet been captured by Cannes. Perhaps Cannes was on the upper deck under the transparent roof near the great ventilator with Greta Bonn in his arms, stealing that one kiss she had so hated him for. Perhaps--I looked out through the side window of Joe Vanon's fast plane. The full moon was vivid orange.

"Jac Vanon swore under his breath.

"Greta Bonn is on that plane,' he said. 'I hope she survives, or life will he empty for me. Sherman, I admire your friend Cannes and I'm sorry for him, but Greta is my girl, not his.'

"I said nothing. Gene Preston whistled.

"Far ahead of us we could detect the gleam of lights. In a very few seconds we came near the Patrician, ninety-thousand ton liner of the monotriplane type, three great wings, one behind another, and the third behind and slightly lower than the second, supporting the great lighted fuselage. It was a city in the air and it was being deserted. Thousands of people were jumping off and falling with their life-disks. The great plane was motionless, supported by ten helicopter propellers of colossal proportions.

"We knew from Cannes' story that the explosion would take place in a very few minutes. I experienced a thrill of wonder as I realized that Cannes was on that plane. Yet I had seen him killed by a truck a thousand years previously. The paradox set my head whirling.

"The last great wave of people was descending from the motionless plane, when Jac's flashed by rather close to one side. When we were a safe distance away Jac slowed and stopped, turning his little aircar around so we could watch. I could see the muscles taut in the throat of our friend of the future. Preston whistled again.

"We saw one lone figure fall away from the Patrician after all the rest. I thought that it could only be Greta Bonn. Cannes had refused her offer to give him her life disks in place of his, that she had destroyed. Cannes was now alone on that great liner and he had no disks with which to save himself.

"At the Martian station at the South Pole, preparations were being made to broadcast over the entire world the radio wave that would detonate the brarron in the cargo-rooms of the Patrician and elsewhere all over the earth wherever the spies of Mars had placed it. In ships and airplanes, in factories and great office buildings, in cities and in great agricultural regions, the mysterious brarron, the extraordinary Martian explosive, was hidden.

"But the radio staff of the Patrician had warned the world in advance. All great cities were being deserted silently. Most of the other great planes were being abandoned. Fortunately, no Martian spy was able to get word to the commanders at the South Pole about the disclosure of their plans for surprise, and the detonation did not take place until the scheduled moment. If it had been exploded five minutes earlier, the brarron would have done twice as much damage as it did.

"Cannes has told you how he escaped through the fourth dimension, returning to 1928 to be hit by a truck. Irony? Destiny? I don't know.

"A tremendous yellow flash blinded us. Seven seconds later the sound and the concussion reached us. As the wrecked remains of the skyliner fell, Jac's little plane hurtled toward it.

"It was only the front end of the plane that had been destroyed. The rear half fell toward the ground in one piece. As it fell I saw Vanon staring at it with puzzled and expectant eyes. Nothing happened. Our plane slipped to the left, avoiding the great mass that was falling intact.

"Jac put our comet into a steep dive and soon zipped past a slender figure, falling slowly. By the most daring manipulation I have ever seen, our pilot put us below and very slightly to the side of the one who fell, locked his helicopter control to keep the plane motionless, opened the door, reached out to seize the girl as the disks let her down. I had a hunch that she was none other than Greta Bonn, and exclamations from Jac soon confirmed the fact. I remembered from Cannes' story, that she had been the last to leave, and she had been the first we had seen on our downward dive. So Greta Bonn was rescued.

"Some piece of the wreckage had hit her. She was unconscious and bleeding from a thin, clean, six-inch cut in her forehead. Oblivious of Preston and me. Jac tried to kiss her back to consciousness. This peculiar method of procedure met with remarkable success. She stirred.

"'Raymond,' she whispered. 'I'm sorry, Ray Cannes--I--'

"Jac winced and turned away his head.

"He took off his outer blue-gray coat, revealing a garment like a shirt without any neckband or collar. It was white, made of fine material. He tore it into strips and bandaged the cut in her forehead, putting on again the outer coat.

"'Preston,' he said, 'do you think you could run this boat?'

"'I've been watching you,' was the reply. 'I could make a stab at it, at least.'

"'I can direct him,' said Greta weakly, leaning back wearily against one of the heavy artificial leather cushions.

"'Fine. Preston will take you back to Sydney, if there is anything of Sydney left Er--follow her directions, Preston. Thanks,'

"Jac hooked his arm in mine and jumped out the door of the motionless plane, dragging me with him. For a second cold fear held my heart, but the disks let us down slowly and I soon gained confidence. Jac was with me. Far below were many twinkling lights. Vanon spoke.

"'In your time there would have been nothing below us but the Pacific Ocean, but in the last centuries much artificial land has been created. Below us is a great wheat region. I doubt if there are any men except those who jumped from the plane within a hundred miles or more. Men are no longer necessary for the cultivation of wheat. Robots do that.'

"'Why did you leave the girl?' I could not help but ask, as his conduct seemed certainly unloverlike.

"'I'm taking a chance,' he replied. 'I've got a suspicion that may possibly turn out very well for us in our war with Mars. Considering that, I left Greta there. Your friend has mechanical ability--the fact is self-evident. The control system of that plane is very simple, so I do not expect any difficulty or trouble. She's lost a lot of blood, so it's important that she be attended to soon by a competent physician. A little modern healing, and there won't be a scar left.

"'What do you plan to do now!"

"'Investigate. There were two cargo-rooms on the Patrician, one at each end of the fuselage. The passenger quarters were between. It seems unusual that all of the brarron should happen to have been in the smaller of the two cargo-rooms. I don't think the Martians meant it that way. I think they would have planted some of it in each cargo-room, for it would have been much more effective. If they did, perhaps there is some unexploded brarron in the rear cargo-room. If we could capture some of it, we could soon find that elusive wave that detonates it. We could analyze it and reproduce it. When we find the wave you can understand that all the brarron now in the Martians' possession becomes not only dangerous to us, but to them.'

"'But if there is some unexploded brarron there, why wasn't it exploded when the note was sounded?' I objected. 'Why was it not sensitive to the broadcasted wave?'

"'I don't know,' said Jac 'There probably isn't any brarron there. I am just taking a long shot in the dark. But it just doesn't seen altogether right that it should be so illogically distributed. It did its work however.'

"The disks had by this time let us down almost to the ground. Close by was the great hulk of the once glorious Patrician, plainly revealed by the orange moon. Many men were gathering about it. A large number of them had electric lights, operated either by batteries or by the power that was always being broadcast So far, no brarron had seriously affected the radio-power plants. They were important units in the world's organization, but they had been so well guarded that the Martian spies, working under cover, had been able to locate no brarron near enough to them to do any damage, with the exception of two substations in New York, as we learned later."

Crandell Sherman interrupted his narrative at this point to answer a telephone call, When he returned, he took up the story and told us of Jac's search through the wreck for the explosive, which was found in large quantities, due to his playing the bunch he had when be saw the airship fall. Sherman told us how he had used the radio one of the survivors possessed and had radioed to some of the staff of Dwar Bonn in Sydney. Most of the scientists at Bonn's laboratories had escaped in the nick of time the explosion that wrecked the great building, as brarron had been cleverly concealed in the foundations of the buildings by some of the Martian spies, who were all over the world, disguised, for they were Martian brains that had been transplanted into the bodies of unfortunate humans who had fallen into Martian hands. The Martians used human bodies, as was explained more fully in Cannes' story, because the fragile Martian bodies could not exist long on earth because of the superior gravity. The Martians had learned this in the two previous Martio-Tellurian wars, which had taken place in the centuries previous.

As Sherman has given me express permission to alter his story in any way I desire, I am going to omit large portions of his narrative, telling at this point of facts that Sherman did not disclose at the club until the end of his story, facts that Sherman himself did not know at the time when he and Jac Vanon found the brarron in the rear cargo-room.

As I understand the situation, the door from which the two emerged to descend with the disks was almost directly below the wing of Jac Vanon's monoplane. As they sank out of sight in semi darkness, a slight figure who had been lying flat on the wing, swung down by a handhold and entered through the door, a tiny odd-looking pistol in one hand pointing at the astounded Gene Preston, who was just unlocking the controls, under the direction of Greta Bonn.

The girl turned toward the intruder who struck her heavily with his left hand, which was encased in a metallic flexible glove. She sank back unconscious against the leather cushions. Preston made a motion toward her, but was checked by a threatening move of the weapon in the intruder's other mailed hand. Preston looked at the face of his captor.

The eyes were a deep red-flecked purple, with no pupils.

When the Martians transplanted Martian brains into human bodies, it was found necessary to transplant Martian eyes also, as the eyes were the only organs of the body that did not function equally as well for the Martian brain. The eyes were the one give-away to the Martian spies, who had managed remarkably well to keep them concealed with colored glasses, and had probably been able to kill all human beings who had discovered their secret.

How the Martian happened to be on top of the wing I do not know. Sherman was not a witness of the situation, and his account at the club was nebulous, for his own knowledge is not very clear on the point. The Martian could not have been on the wing on the trip out from Sydney, for the speed, acceleration, centrifugal force, etc. at twenty miles and more a minute would have killed anyone, and the air-pressure caused by the terrific speed would have blown him off the wing. He must have been on the Patrician, escaping the explosion even, later than Greta Bonn, landing on top of the wing with his set of disks after Jac had rescued her by his daredevil manipulation of the little plane. Perhaps he was the same spy whom Cannes had captured aboard the Patrician. Cannes never knew what finally happened to that Martian. Perhaps the spy had been able to escape from the officers in whose custody he had been placed. Perhaps he overpowered one of them tend took his set of disks. We do not know, but we can conjecture.

At any rate he had overheard enough to inform him that the girl was Greta Bonn, daughter of the great earth-scientist. Due to Jac's fortunate abruptness, he had not overheard the reason why Jac and Sherman had jumped off. The Martian, thinking that the girl probably had information about her dead father's scientific secrets, that would be useful to those at the South Pole, forced Preston to head the plane south at its maximum speed. Inside the plane, as has been stated, such speeds could be endured.

The plane could be electrically heated, and it rapidly penetrated the Antarctic regions, speeding at an incredible rate toward the headquarters of the Martians on earth. And high in the sky above the South Pole was a light that ever came nearer. Gradually a low moan made itself audible and ran up the scale, until it passed beyond audibility, as an ear-splitting screech. With terrible momentum the second Martian space flyer plunged into the soft snow. It was hot from its passage through the atmosphere, and the snow was vaporized at once, great bursts and jets of steam appearing.

The first flyer had brought only spies to lay the foundation for the war, which now was to begin in real earnest. "In three days," the spy had told Ray Cannes, "not a terrestrial will exist."

But Sherman knew nothing of this as he waited in the outer office of one of Bonn's laboratories at Sydney, the only one that still existed. It was the chemistry and physics lab. The destruction and death in Sydney had been terrible, but the scientists who had escaped, warned in advance by the message from the Patrician, had returned to the one building that had escaped any serious damage. Receiving Jac Vanon's message that he had obtained some unexploded brarron, they had sent a plane out after it, which had come back with it and Jac and Shcrman. Immediately the great staff started the task of analysis. It was morning when Jac came out of the chemistry room and told Sherman that they had been successful.

I now resume direct quotation from Crandell Sherman.

* * *

"JAC seemed greatly excited as he told me that the analysis had been successful.

"'What," I asked, 'is the stuff?'

"'It is a compound similar to nitroglycerine, but it contains no nitrogen, as was erroneously believed until now. Instead of nitroglycerine, which is glyceryl nitrate, it is glyceryl neonate, or neonoglycerine."

"'Neonate? A compound of neon? I thought neon was an inert element.'

"'It was, until a couple of centuries ago. Chemistry has advanced a lot since your time. While nitroglycerine has the formula C₃H₅(NO₃)₃, brarron is C₃H₅(NeO₄)₃. When it is detonated by that wave it is sensitive to, it decomposes instantly into gaseous products. You notice it contains more oxygen then nitroglycerine. It can also be set off by heat or by a violent shock, but it is not as sensitive to these as an ordinary nitro compound. Its exclusive property is its sensitiveness to that wave, which by the way, we have not yet found. The men in the physics lab have a cubic millimeter of the stuff and they haven't exploded it yet,' Jac concluded mournfully.

"I was astonished by this information. I had thought that neon was absolutely inert, that it entered into no chemical combination, had no valence, But these chemists of the thirtieth century did not seem at all amazed because this rare gas was in chemical combination in brarron, the explosive of Mars. Since I have returned to the present time, I have spoken with one of Philadelphia's best chemists. He informed me that neon was a rare gas occurring in the atmosphere, that it never entered into any chemical combination, and that it had formerly been useless, though recently it has been employed to great advantage in television transmitters, neon advertising signs, and so forth. When I suggested that in the far future it might be used to make powerful explosives, sensitive to certain waves, the chemist laughed at me--

"'Now that you have the formula,' I asked Jac, 'what are you going to do with it? Manufacture the staff?'

"'We could, but I don't know whether or not we will. We could easily make all the neon we would want by transmutation, which would save the trouble of extracting it from the air.' (This was another astounding piece of information.) 'But,' be continued, 'the fixation of neon, that is, the process by which we cause it to actually combine with other elements to form the neonic acid, which would be accessary in the manufacture of neonoglycerine, is an extremely delicate operation, requiring complicated apparatus, much time, extreme conditions of temperature and pressure, unusual catalysts, and a great amount of technical skill and ability. Terrestrial chemistry is still behind the Martian brand. They apparently can do it easily, and in quantity. On the earth, since other acids are much cheaper and more practical for every purpose, very little neonic acid or other neon compounds are in existence, although there are some supplies, principally in the laboratories of a certain Egyptian scientist.'

"'By any chance the one who has perfected a process for causing total invisibility?' I asked, having in mind Raymond Cannes' story.

"'Yes,' he said parenthetically. 'But the important thing to us now is not the formation o� brarron, but the means of detonating it, Sherman. The gang in the physics lab are trying all wavelengths and combinations o� wavelengths, but the dope is consistently unresponsive. By the way, we think we've found the reason why it didn't explode on the plane a few hours ago. You probably didn't notice that nearly all the contents of that cargo-room, except the brarron, consisted of a new shipment of uranium-radium ores and other radioactive materials, some synthetic. Because of this, the entire cargo-room was lined with lead. The other cargo-room contained no such materials, and was not lined.'

"'Indicating that the wave we want to find does not pass through lead.'

"'Yes. We might as well get a little sleep. It's day already, if my apartment is still in existence-- But first I'm going to make inquiries and see if Greta's all right. Your friend is probably lost in this new world, too.'

"Two hours more passed before I slept, two nervous hours we spent in broadcasting inquiries to all authorities, and to everyone, asking for information about Greta Bonn. No hospital or surgeon anywhere had treated her, yet when we had left them, their specific objective had been to get medical treatment. When their disappearance was absolutely established, Jac put me to sleep with his hypnotic device, and look some needed rest himself. Without mechanical or synthetic hypnotism, I doubt if either of us could have slept, so great was our excitement and suspense. Meanwhile authorities all over the world were searching for Greta Bonn and Gene Preston.

"But the world had other things to attend to, also. Due to the timely warning, only about thirty per cent oi the world's population had been wiped out by the explosion of the brarron that had been concealed in all important cities. Greta Bonn was not the only important person missing.

"Late in the same morning Jac and I were awakened, also by hypnotism. We listened, with many others assembled in Bonn's laboratory, to the words of Ben Yun, the able Japanese lieutenant of Dwar Bonn, who had assumed command at the death of the latter.

"'Seismographic department reports,' indited Yun, 'concussion indicating arrival of Martian spaceboat within seven miles of South Pole, while astronomic department reports two others on way here from Mars. Chemistry men report analysis of brarron obtained from Patrician, and are making preparation for manufacture of same, if necessary. Physics men report discovery of combination of waves neccessary to detonate same. Authorities in charge report no trace of Greta Bonn, hinting possible capture by Martian spy.

"'I therefore order that beam projector of necessary strength be at once used to direct suitable radio waves of sufficient power on Martian vehicle now at South Pole, which same probably contains new supply of dreaded explosive. As war has now lasted for thirteen hours, possibility exists that Martians are yet in ignorance of terrestrial capture of, and experiments with, brarron. Executive department, using suitable code, mathematically impossible to be deciphered by unofficial persons, will communicate our discoveries and plans to all of world, particularly to War Council of Nations formed this morning and holding secret session in District 3000856 of Florida, as ascertained by our Department of News. Because of extreme danger to entire civilization of world, necessity arises of taking regrettable chance that daughter of Dwar Bonn may be at Marian Polar Headquarters when we explode brarron at that locality.'

"The group separated to carry out instructions. Yun stopped a moment to console Jac, who was fearful for the safety of the girl. I was very much pleased to find that the human emotions had a place, beneath the Japanese's unchanging exterior, aud I was attracted by his English, which was perfect except for the omission of any and all definite or indefinite articles.

"For the next three hours I made myself useful by helping Jac operate one of the great decoding robots that interpreted the messages that came from all parts of the world through the ether, in codes no subtle and intricate, whose secrets had been so well guarded, that there were very few chances out of a million that the Martians could decode them. They told of the mobilization of the land, air, and sea offensive forces, and of the preparation of the great defensive works of every nation. Swarms of little planes, unbelievably swift, were escorting great battle airships of a hundred thousand tons and more, to the south; and these planes carried the most deadly terrestrial explosive bombs and destructive gases. The world began to be confident of success when seventeen hours had passed and the Martians made no further offensive move.

"In the meanwhile Dwar Boon's men, under the leadership of Yun, were preparing the great beam projector. Two more hours passed, and it was ready. Adjustments were made and a switch was thrown.

"Just then news came through my robot that all the earth's forces had been annihilated when they reached the latitude of 86� South.

"Ben Yun smiled, almost. He listened to a pocket receiver. "Their victory was short-lived,' he said. 'Seismographic department report terrific detonation seven miles from South Pole.'"

* * * * * *

ASKING the reader's indulgence, I am again going to depart from the thread of Sherman's narrative, to try to reconstruct, from very limited information, scenes which Sherman did not witness. Of course it is understood that there is much that can only be conjecture.

In a building at the South Pole, very small and with very thick walls, sat the Martian Offense Commander, receiving a report from one of his subordinates. If rendered into English, the conversation was probably something like this:

"The air forces of the earth have been shot down?"

"Completely, Commander. The automatic antiaircraft guns with those sensitive double systems of photoelectric and gravitational range-finders to act as mutual checks on each other have functioned perfectly, every shot was effective. Few terrestrials were killed, however, as the enormous majority of the planes were radio-controlled, carrying explosives and gases, the latter spreading out in great clouds threatening to envelop the entire polar regions, were it not for our operatives, in planes, neutralizing the gases with suitable chemical products."

"Our comrades in the other space ship?"

"Were completely destroyed, as was the staff of surgeons who left here with a supply of bodies of captured earthmen. The surgeons were starting the transferring of Martian brains to suitable bodies when the explosion occurred. Either it was due to the carelessness of some one of our scientists, or else the powers of the earth have in some manner penetrated its secret. In either case, the situation is serious. We have lost a great advantage."

"You have prepared germ-culture number R-37?"

"Yes."

"We can afford to waste no more time," said the Commander. "Tonight all of our operatives will fly north at the highest altitudes practicable. I do not possess exact data, but in this thick, rich atmosphere, far greater heights will be possible than on our red planet. They will carry with them the entire available supply of these bacteria, and will release them into the atmosphere at strategic points. They are deadly and hard to kill. Our scientists worked seven years to develop them. It shows what selective breeding will do. We shall catch the earth-scientists unprepared. They have nothing to cure the hideous disease our little germs will spread. They multiply astonishingly; under favorable conditions a number of those bacteria will double itself in five minutes!"

"Your orders shall be carried out." The subordinate left to attend to germ-culture R-37, while the Commander occupied himself by studying mutely a map his scientists had prepared of the prevailing air-currents of the earth.

A short, slight figure entered the room, carrying, almost with difficulty, a slender thirtieth century girl, cold with death. A white bandage was across the high forehead. The figure laid the girl's body on a lo�g table at one side of the room and turned to his superior, reporting the results he had obtained.

"Egyptian scientist killed. His device for producing invisibility was captured, but was later destroyed by a terrestrial who captured me on the Patrician while I was attempting to take the new invention of Dwar Bonn, whom I killed.

"I was captured and hypnotically forced tn disclose all I knew of our plans. World was warned in advance. Many who otherwise would have been killed escaped from various centers of population in aircraft I escaped from my captors, stole life-disks, dropped off Patrician shortly before explosion. Narrowly escaped death from fragments. Captured small monoplane and two persons, one of them this girl, daughter of Dwar Bonn. Forced the man to drive plane south, landing near the newly arrived ship from Mars. The female commander of that ship wanted the beautiful body of this girl, instead of the body provided for her by the surgeons. The man, accompanying the girl, made a foolish attempt to protect her and was killed, while she feld toward the monoplane. I pursued her. Then, the entire space ship was destroyed by the explosion of the new supply of brarron it brought. Again I escaped the fragments of wreckage and came here. The girl died from loss of blood from previously acquired wound on forehead, coupled with exhaustion and cold, which she is not dressed to withstand. I await further orders."

Two persons broke into the room. One held in each hand a heavy pistol, covering the two Martians. The second carried a small hypnotic device. A third entered, bringing with him the unconscious form of the Martian. who had been dismissed with orders concerning "germ-culture R-37."

The three were Jac Vanon, Crandell Sherman, aud Ben Yun, the Japanese scientist.

* * *

A BRIEF explanation is necessary. Sherman, upon detailed questioning by Ben Yun, had disclosed that on the Patrician, Raymond Cannes had captured a Martian spy and had succeeded in damaging the wired membrane that had covered the spy, and which caused light to flow around him in every direction, as water flows around a fish, thereby producing invisibility. Because of the non-explosion of the brarron in the Patrician's rear cargo-room, it was thought possible that the damaged membrane, production of the great Egyptian scientist, might be still on the plane. Upon immediate investigation, it was found. Working at fever heat, scientists under Yun's supervision repaired the device.

Then a daring plan to take the offensive had been conceived, and a tiny rocket-plane had been rendered invisible. It could carry only four people. A courageous pilot, skilled in the operation of rocket-ships, had been obtained, and with him went Yun, as commander. He took Jac along because of the possibility of finding Greta Bonn; for hours the thirtieth century boy had been attending to his duty instead of searching for the girl he loved, and the suspense was telling on him. Sherman did not make very clear the reason he was taken along. Three minutes after the invisible rocketship took off it landed at the South Pole.

So it was that they broke in upon the commander of the Martians. Again I let Sheraton take up the direct narrative. At the time of which he now speaks, he knew nothing of the events that took place in the building at the pole before he broke in with the others.

* * *

"WHILE I was covering the two Martians, Jac saw the girl's body on the table. With a gasp he let fall the delicate hypnotic apparatus in his hands and rushed to her side. The hypnotic device crashed on the floor. Ben Yun dropped the Martian he had brought in from the outer room, which Martian was being carried quite easily in the herculean arms of the big Japanese, and picked up the thing that Jac had dropped.

"'Device is broken,' said Ben Yun.

"'She's dead,' said Jac Vanon in a whisper, and I heard the first sob since I had come into the future I knew he blamed himself for leaving her, even though by so doing he had made the important discovery of the unexploded brarron. A wave of sorrow passed over me at the realization that she was dead. I knew instinctively, too, that I was never again to see Preston.

"There was a hard glitter in Ben Yun's eyes as he spoke to me. 'Destruction of hypnotic machine destroys also our advantage. Impossible now to control minds of these Martians,' he said, and turned toward the two with the inhuman purple eyes. The third was still unconscious at his feet.

"'Does Commander possess knowledge of English language?' Ben Yun asked quietly.

"'Yes," was the reply.

"'Very well. If Commander wishes to live, he will at once disclose to us hiding place of large quantity of drug known as adrenalin, which is undoubtedly kept at this headquarters for purpose of reviving human bodies after Martian brains have been transferred to same. Earth authorities have all reported suddenly noticed absence of adrenalin from customary places of supply. Spies of your planet have been expert in obtaining nearly all of said drug existing in world. We now desire to re-take such valuable substance. Commander will be prompt in disclosing present location of adrenalin.'

"Jac Vanon rose to his full height, his face transfigured with realization and hope. The maximum dose of pure adrenalin--injected directly by one as skillful as Ben Yun into that cold, still heart--there was still the margin of a fighting chance for Greta Bonn--life.

"A tantalizing slow smile flickered on the lips of the Martian Commander. There was almost a twinkle in those red-flecked pupilless eyes of purple. Somehow they revealed to me the soul of a gambler. Many of the great generals of history have been gamblers, ready to stake everything on a chance.

"'I could lie to you,' said the Martian, 'but I won't I could tell you that all our adrenalin had been destroyed when, that space-ship met with disaster, a few hours ago. As a matter of fact, only some of it was destroyed then. There is an ample supply on hand in this building, but it is where you could not possibly obtain it, in time, without my help. The situation is delicate. The fate of two planets will probably be decided right here in the next few minutes. There is such a thing as honor the universe over. If I should disclose to you the location of this adrenalin, what terms would you offer me?'

"'I do not command forces of earth,' replied Yun. 'But I hold influential position and command large body of men skilled in every science. My word of honor is inviolable. I have great desire to give life to beautiful girl, daughter of my friend, now reposing in state of lifelessness on table. You permit me to accomplish this; we leave in our rocket immediately for continent of Australia; leaving you alive and unharmed, damaging in no way radio station and other great works at this headquarters. After that we resume war. I make proposition for sake of girl and boy loved by her, because I am sentimental man. Any other person on earth, even though it cost life of girl, would seize chance to kill and destroy, gaining great advantage for earth. You make a decision?"

"'You are confident, are you not?--that you will be able to defeat us Martians anyhow, in spite of a few odd dozens of centuries advantage we possess in civilization and science. You are willing to forego your present advantage because you think you can defeat us in any case?'

"'You say truth. We have done so twice previously in spite of great advantage of extra centuries. We fight on native planet. You invade across vast void of space.'

"'Your proposition is hardly satisfactory. If I refuse to do as you wish?'

"'I cause you to be killed efficiently and immediately. Then, incidentally destroying all things here too big to carry off but likely to be of benefit to other Martians arriving here, I conduct rapid scientific search for desired adrenalin.'

"'Satisfactory. Shoot. You realize that I am only a very small part of the Martian machine. Life or death is nothing to me personally, or to any high-bred Martian. We are all working toward one objective, and lots of us will not live to see it succeed. You do not know, Earthman, that your rocketairplane was able to come here only by chance. I thought that all available air forces had been shot down, and I ordered that our antiaircraft barrier of guns be halted and inspected for adjustment, as the sensitive and delicate photoelectric and gravitational rangefinders that enabled our automatic guns to shoot down every one of your war planes in spite of their great and varied speeds, are often out of adjustment after a few hours of constant action. You came through them and escaped destruction, perhaps even detection, because of that invisibility. But the adjustment has all been finished by now. As you try to get out of the circle again, the photoelectric finders won't catch you, but the gravitational finders will. Also, in about twenty minutes of your time, several of my subordinates will arrive here to report to me. It is not scientifically probable that you will be able to cope with them at all. They carry hypnotic instruments. We Martians can use them too! That foolish boy weeping on the breast of the girl has been your undoing, for had he not dropped that device, you could have forced us to do anything in the world--or out of it! Now you cannot force us, you can only shoot us.'

"The face of Ben Yun was an impenetrable mask.

"'Perhaps I reconsider,' he said. Then----

"'Yes, I reconsider. I perceive that if I shoot you, I and my friend are caught in hopeless death-trap. You have astronomical telescope in adjoining room?'

"'We have,' said the Martian. 'It is being kept trained upon the first of the two additional space-ships on the way from Mars to here.'

"'Excellent. Please look through it, and perhaps I make offer satisfactory to you.'

"'Yun took one of my guns from me and pointed it at the Martian Commander. I kept the other Martian covered, using the one gun still remaining to me, and watching my charge every second. The four of us passed into the adjoining room. Jac Vanon stayed where he was, still sobbing uncontrollably on the girl's still bosom. I realized then that he was only a boy, and my heart went out to him.

"The Commander gazed through the telescope for almost one minute. There was surprise in the purple eyes when he turned to us, strive though he did to conceal it.

"'What has happened to the space-ship, Earthman?' he demanded.

"Ben Yun explained 'Powerful beam of radio waves penetrates outward into interplanetary space from great station in Australia. Waves are proper frequency to detonate peculiar explosive neonoglycenne, known in Martian tongue as brarron. Waves strike space-flyer containing large supply of brarron, and space-flyer is blown to small fragments. Immediately set your telescope to view other space-flyer.'

"The Martian obeyed without a word, and gazed through his instrument once again. He straightened. 'It has not been harmed,' he remarked. Then he looked again and started, turning almost angrily to Ben Yun. "It too! Did you know that it was to be destroyed this very minute?'

"'I was not sure. I did not know whether or not it contained any brarron.'

"'What is your offer?'

"'This. In five minutes that beam of radio waves will be directed at Mars, and will sweep swiftly over your red planet. You see what will happen wherever brarron is being made? You see what will happen in any warehouses where it is stored? You understand what will occur to any other space-flyer in which it may be loaded?'

"'Your offer is what?'

"Ben Yun took from his pocket a pocket radiophone of the latest design, 'This instrument enables me to talk to attentive and obedient assistants on continent of Australia. If I command in two minutes from now, radio beam is not projected. I give word of honor to delay for twenty-four hours, terrestrial time. You warn your world by splendid radio station at this locality. They have hours to insulate brarron by means of lead, or to depart for totalities where barron is not present. Many lives will be saved on Mars in honorable return for lives of myself, friends here with me now, and young girl in other room. Do you accept?'

"I accept. If no explosions take place on Mars in next five minutes, and you give your word to delay one earth-day, all of you may depart from here and reach Australia without molestation from me or my subordinates; and if adrenalin will save the girl, she lives, too, I accept. Give your orders to those in Australia!'

"Ben Yun got in touch with his assistant at once and told him of the truce. His orders were carried out. His assistant reported back that the radio projector had been shut off. Yun hurried to the Commander. The latter turned and led us back to the other room. The third Martian was still lying unconscious on the floor.

"It will be necessary to restore her blood to the condition in which it existed during life,' stated the Martian emotionlessly, 'before you can be successful in reviving her with adrenalin. You remember where you captured this Martian?' he inquired, pointing to the figure on the floor.

"'Yes. In third room, through door here to right,' replied the Japanese.

"'Very well then. Throw the third switch in the fifth row. Behind you a large heavy portion of the floor will slide away, disclosing a subterranean vault where we keep our chemical and surgical supplies. If you do not trust us, leave your man here' (he pointed to me), 'to guard us with your pistols. Descend. You will find on the highest shelf, in bottles of Martian design bearing the label "Rannvor," a substance known to Martian chemistry that when injected into the veins of a supposedly dead person, will dissolve all coagulations in the blood, rapidly purifying and restoring: the blood to its former state. You will find on the same shelf instruments for injecting this substance, and a blood-pump for restoring circulation. Then, by an injection of adrenalin directly into the heart, you may stimulate that muscle to activity, causing it to take up the work that the blood-pump performs, restoring life.'

"'Yes. And where to find adrenalin?'

"I saw the Martian commander hesitate the briefest fraction of a second.

"'You will find the adrenalin in other Martian bottles of larger size, stacked on third shelf from the bottom. Since capturing it from various places on the earth, we have purified and rebottled it. It bears the numerical label, R-37a.'"

* * *

SHERMAN again left us to answer an insistent phone call. While we waited for his reappearance, we discussed his story in low tones.

"I don't believe it," said John Stevenson as if trying to convince himself, "but I know Preston disappeared a long time ago and hasn't been located yet. But I don't believe it."

"You're a liar," stated Ralph White casually. "You do believe it, but you don't want to admit it."

"You're probably right," admitted Stevenson slowly, "I do believe it, in spite of my common sense I'm going to get a drink of water while Sherman's phoning. Be back in a minute."

Ralph White turned to me in his superior manner. "Going to publish this too, Cloukey?" he asked indolently.

"Perhaps," I replied, "though I'll probably alter it somewhat. I may even insert a split infinitive."

I turned toward my friend William Simons.

"I'm convinced," he said, "but I wonder if I'll believe it tomorrow, in broad daylight!"

John Stevenson returned, bursting with news.

"There's something odd going on around here. Crandell Sherman listened to that phone for three minutes without saying a word. Then he left here so quick that he didn't have time to take his hat from the checkroom. I caught a glimpse of him going toward Market Street in a Quaker City Cab. I wonder what in the deuce--"

"So ends the sequel to 'Paradox'," said Ralph White.

Anachronism

THREE men have penetrated the future. I have had the the good fortune to retell through these pages as much of their stories as I knew. This is the third and last story there is to be told. The road to the future has been closed, not forever, perhaps, but for many years. Raymond Cannes was the first who traveled through time-space, the four-dimensional universe, to the year 2930 and returned to tell the tale. He was killed by a truck, near the City Hall, in the city of Philadelphia, on the 7th of October, 1928.

It was Dr. Endicott Hawkinson who made the time-journey possible. He was killed by a fire in his laboratory before Cannes returned to the present era. His records and much of his scientific apparatus were destroyed, but the machine that had sent Cannes into the future remained undamaged.

Among the group that listened to Cannes' story, from his own lips a short while before his death, were Crandell Sherman, a brother-in-law of Dr. Hawkinson, and Eugene Preston. Because of Sherman's relationship to the Doctor, he obtained access to the burned laboratory and ventured into the future with Preston.

Only Sherman returned this time. He and Preston had become involved in the third Martio-Tellurian War, late in 2930, and Preston had been killed near the South Pole while heroically trying to defend Greta Bonn, a lovely earth-girl of the thirtieth century, from the Martians.

Sherman was mixed up in this war, too, but eventually he had been able to return to the present.

One evening late in July, Sherman was telling his experience to a little group in the lounge-room of a Philadelphia club. That group, of which I was one, was the same that had heard Cannes' story, almost a year previously, in the same luxurious room. During the course of Sherman's story he was interrupted twice by phone calls, and the second time he had rushed out in a hurry, leaving his narrative disappointingly unfinished.

In my first manuscript I retold Cannes' story, and added the facts about his death. In the second I told as much of Sherman's story as he had told before rushing away. The present narrative concerns itself with the finish of Sherman's story, and the exciting, horrible events that followed. Few people know of the secret reign of terror in Philadelphia during the month of August, 1929, but among those few is the (then) coroner of the City of Philadelphia, for that quiet, efficient man was among the heterogeneous group of eight that heard Sherman tell of the end of that third Martian war.

Crandell Sherman was unusually grim and serious when the group again assembled, a week later. He apologized briefly for his sudden departure the week before and went ahead with the interrupted story, which follows :

* * *

"To recapitulate slightly, gentlemen, the Martians had met with some success in the war of 2930. They had established an immense, well-organized spying system; they had destroyed many lives and much property with their first explosion of brarron; they had annihilated the air forces of the earth that had tried to reach their polar headquarters; they had killed Dwar Bonn, conceded to be the greatest scientific man of the earth at that time.

"But that Martian explosive, brarron, had proved to be a two-edged sword. Due mainly to Jac Vanon, an assistant chemist at Dwar Bonn's laboratories, our scientists had learned how to explode the stuff by means of a wave at long distance. Two interplanetary ships, coming from Mars with re-enforcements, and carrying additional supplies of brarron, had been located by astronomers and destroyed by the great beam of radio waves from Dwar Bonn's great establishment at Sydney, Australia.

"There is no use repeating details I told you last week. Ben Yun, the Japanese scientist who had taken charge of Dwar Bonn's affairs at the latter's death, together with the young Jac Vanon, myself, and one pilot, had reached the Martian south polar headquarters in a totally invisible rocket plane, the only vehicle that passed the Martian's automatic anti-aircraft barrier without being shot to pieces. We had found only three Martians at the station, one of them Commander in Chief. They were in human bodies, as were all Martians that came to the earth. The frail Martian bodies did not stand the terrestrial gravity well, and by marvelous surgery the scientists of the red planet killed men of our earth, emptied their skulls, and transferred Martian brains and eyes to the human bodies. The entire process was done with incredible rapidity, and the bodies were revived by a process involving adrenalin. Thus the Martians could be distinguished from earthmen only by their eyes, which were pupilless and purple.

* * *

"AT THE pole we also found the missing girl we were in search of, Greta Bonn, daughter of the scientist who had been killed, and sweetheart of Jac Vanon. She had been cold with death for an hour, and Jac had given way to grief. But we had surprised the three aliens at the Martian headquarters. One of them was very unconscious, and the other two were being covered by the two wicked thirtieth century slug-guns in my hands. Ben Yun, the Japanese, had shown the Martian commander, through the commander's astronomical telescope, the destruction by the radio-beam of the two spaceships coming from Mars. Then Yun had told him of the earth's plan to send an even more powerful beam all the way to Mars. This would cause disaster at all the factories where the explosive was being manufactured, and would greatly hinder the Martian plans. Ben Yun then offered to call a halt in the projection of the radio-beam for twenty-four hours. This would give the Martian chief time to warn his own planet by radio in the Martian code, and they could insulate the dangerous explosive from the radio waves. In return for this, Ben Yun demanded that the Martian furnish immediately the adrenalin necessary to revive Greta Bonn, and also the necessary blood-pump and a supply of rannvor, a substance known to Martian chemists, which, when injected into the veins, purified the blood, dissolving all coagulations. He also demanded that the Martian permit us all to return safely to Sydney.

"The Martian agreed to these terms. Ben Yun used his pocket radiophone and directed his assistants to halt the preparations for the projection of the beam. The Martian disclosed the secret subterranean vault where the chemical and surgical supplies were kept. Ben Yun descended into the vault with a light, while I kept the two conscious Martians covered. Jac Vanon was preparing the cold, lifeless body of the girl he loved for the attempt at revivification.

"Ben Yun returned from the depths of the vault in about fifteen minutes. Before my astounded eyes he drew a gun and killed the three Martians. Then he took out his pocket radio and commanded his assistants to go ahead with the plans. A few minutes later a beam of radio waves swept over unwarned Mars and two hundred and nineteen explosions took place.

"'He tried to double-cross us,' explained Ben Yun, as we quickly loaded the supplies he had taken from the vault in the rocket plane. Jac Vanon entered, bearing the lifeless form of the girl, and the pilot shut the heavy airproof door, preparing to start our swift flight back to Australia. Yun continued: 'I treated that Martian as officer and gentleman of honor. He, thinking erroneously that I did not understand intricate Martian script, of which I have made intensive study in previous years, told me that adrenalin essential to us was in Martian bottles bearing numerical label R-37a. I found such bottles, but on them also was fine script. The bottles contain germs, bacilli imported from Mars, of terrible virulence, that were soon to be released in our air. Germs are in special culture medium. If I had taken Martian's word and not read script, I would have probably injected same into heart of this girl, in mistake for adrenalin! I obtained real adrenalin, in entirely different containers; then, since I could not trust the commander who lied so dishonorably, I killed him, as I knew he never intended to let us depart, as he said. We could be too valuable to him! By quick departure in lightning-rapid rocket air-car, we may hope to pass anti-air-barrier before it is put back in operation. You remember Martian told us it had been stopped for short period so delicate photoelectric and gravitational range-finders might be adjusted.'

"Ben Yun was right. In six minutes we were safe in Sydney, and Yun and several others had started the task of bringing the girl back to life, aided by adrenalin, a delicate blood-pump, and the miraculous substance of Mars, 'rannvor.' Other scientists started the task of analyzing rannvor and reproducing it in quantity for the future benefit of the world.

"Beautiful Greta Bonn came back. She hovered on the borderline for weeks, and then fought through to her second lease of life--and love. She and Jac Vanon were married very quietly.

"The Martian war was practically over. The terrific explosions had completely disorganized life on Mars. We had destroyed the two interplanetary flyers bringing reenforcements in mid-space. Finally we had killed the supreme commander and paved the way for the ultimate success of the earth-forces over the other Martian forces within the Antarctic Circle.

"The scattered remnants of their great espionage system were ferreted out, one by one, in all parts of the world. I remained in the year 2930 for two months after the war was over and I still heard of one or two being captured somewhere every day or so. The inhuman pupilless eyes of red-flecked purple were the absolute giveaway to the alien brain in the stolen human body. Few of them could keep their eyes hidden long, under any pretext.

"But I was tired of the far future. I wanted to return to civilization that I understood. I was miserably homesick, though I tried to work off the feeling by assisting in the pursuit of one of the most notorious of the Martians, who had not yet been captured. He got away, for the seventh time, through a careless oversight of mine. I quit the hunt, more discouraged and disheartened than ever.

"Ben Yun saw how I felt and guessed the cause. He searched through the records of Dwar Bonn, the earth-scientist who had been killed by a Martian spy, and found the data and instructions for constructing the machine that made possible travel through the fourth dimension into the past. He constructed such a machine, and after I had said good-bye to the newly-wedded pair, I came home again, without that heroic friend who had gone with me, across the gap of a thousand years." Crandell Sherman was silent, and I could have sworn that the expression on his countenance was one of anxiety, worry, and--fear.

* * *

THE note of fear was very evident when he spoke again, yet it was not fear for himself. Sherman is not a coward.

"You recall that I had gone into the future without in the least understanding time-space, relativity, the fourth dimension, or the confusing apparent paradoxes connected with the process. The man who understood those, Dr. Endicott Hawkinson, was burnt to death in that unfortunate fire. One of my first acts when I returned to 1929, more than a week ago, was to go out to Hawkinson's laboratory and satisfy myself that his machine, the one that had sent us into the future, was still intact. It was, for which I was glad, for I intended to have it investigated by the one scientist in America peculiarly fitted for such work. Mr. Cloukey, here, knows whom I mean. He's a personal acquaintance of yours."

"Bradley Bowman Blake," I stated.

"If anyone could recapture the secret that was lost when Hawkinson died, Bradley Blake is the man," went on Sherman. "When I was speaking to you a week ago, I fully intended to interview Blake the next morning. Then that phone call came and I rushed off. I'll explain why I left you so abruptly.

"That call was from my sister, Helen, the widow of Hawkinson. She had just returned home after an absence. The house, which has been repaired, is adjacent to the partially burned laboratory. She had seen a man jump out of a laboratory window and escape in the darkness. She had entered the laboratory to investigate and had found everything in it, including the complicated electric time-machine that Hawkinson had made, utterly demolished, and she said a sealed letter was left for me.

"As you know, I rushed over there very excitedly. Everything was smashed clear to glory, beyond the faintest hope of repair. So I read the letter. It was in good English. I have it yet. It was from that notorious Martian spy I had tried to capture, when I was existing in the far future.

"The military detectives of 2930 were slowly but surely closing in on him, and he had taken one desperate last chance, he told me in the letter. He had killed Ben Yun, destroyed all records of the machine that had sent me into the past, had planted a time-bomb near the actual machine, and then had used it to transport himself into our twentieth century world, allowing just enough time for the machine to function before the bomb destroyed it. The adjustments on the machine had not been changed since I had used it, so the spy arrived in modern Philadelphia just a few days after I did.

"Then because he knew what I had told Ben Yun about Endicott Hawkinson, he had searched out the latter's laboratory and destroyed everything there. He had irrevocably burned his bridges. No one in 2930 could follow him through the depths of time. He had escaped at last. And by destroying Hawkinson's machine he had cut off any possible return.

"I wondered why he was writing all this to me. The last part of his letter told me why. I can quote it: 'Revenge is not satisfying to the avenger unless his victim realizes that revenge is being done. Now I am safe and I shall take revenge, upon your world in general, and upon you in particular. When Philadelphians drop dead for no apparent reason, two every day, you will know that I am responsible, and you will be powerless to stop me. Eventually I shall attend to you. Now you may rejoice in the knowledge that your part in that war, and in the ceaseless pursuit of me after the war was over, will cause two innocent deaths a day, to commence the first of August.'

"Today is the twenty-eighth of July. What can I do ? The police, the press, the people at large would laugh me to death if I published this letter. The average person would pay no attention. I know only too well that what I have gone through is contrary to all recognized science at this date. There is nothing I can do to avert the catastrophe."

The coroner of Philadelphia spoke quietly. "I investigate all mysterious deaths," he said. "Perhaps if you and some of this group will work with me and a few of my assistants, and we enlist the help of Bradley Blake, we can find this Martian and deal with him without publicity. The newspapers do not necessarily have to be on the inside. Publicity would expose us to ridicule, and would warn and aid the Martian to escape us."

As we rose to leave, Sherman spoke again.

"Somewhere in Philadelphia, this minute, is an incredible anachronism, an intelligence from the Mars, one that will exist a thousand years from now. And he is planning death."

The next morning Sherman and I laid the problem before Bradley Blake. The scientist was skeptical for a time, but soon became convinced that we were in earnest. He questioned Sherman minutely about many details of his story, the Martian war, the civilization and living conditions of the future, the scientific devices and discoveries of 2930, and various other subjects. He read copies of my two narratives and put them aside for future study. Then he took the letter Sherman had received and examined it closely under several microscopes. Seeing something that interested him, he at once proceeded to take several microphotographs, develop them, and then make enlargements. All this took time, and Blake said very little. When about three and a half hours had passed, Blake turned toward us with a photographic print, still damp, which showed one single letter "e" from the letter greatly enlarged.

"I can reassure you somewhat, Mr. Sherman," he said to my companion. "Your anachronism is not destined for a long life. As I understand you, we are dealing with a Martian brain in a human body. Now, in the first place, the human body in the case is not in good condition. Certain organic diseases of the heart will leave a microscopic tremor in the handwriting. The original of this 'e' looks firm and is well-formed, but when enlarged seventy diameters, it shows plainly the unsteadiness of the hand that wrote it. Of course, my diagnosis is open to question. Various other causes could be assigned for this microscopic wabbling. Perhaps it could be formed by some trivial nervous disorder. But I believe that there is at least an equal chance that whether or not the alien intelligence knows it, his stolen body is suffering from advanced heart-disease of one form or another. If the Martian incautiously puts his body under any violent strain, it is liable to surprise him and cease functioning.

"So much for the body. But consider the case of the individual, the personality, the brain or whatever you call it, that is now actually inhabiting that body. A being of superior intelligence, a highly civilized Martian of a far future era, he became a spy and submitted to the change in bodies in the belief that he was aiding his entire race in its desperate fight to conquer another planet, for Mars had very nearly reached the stage where it would become absolutely uninhabitable. Surviving the war, he finds that his sacrifice has been in vain, that he is hunted every second, and he realizes that the last hope of his entire race is gone. They have failed to conquer a planet to live on, and they are doomed to die out, their place in the universe to be taken by the younger human race. The spy realizes this, and he gives way to hate. In a desperate attempt to prolong his own individual life, he dodges through the depths of time, and plans a fiendish revenge on individuals who are not his enemies and who have never harmed him or any of his kind. Do you not see how hate has warped that intellect? He writes a childish threatening letter to make sure that you suffer. He is no longer a highly civilized being; he is insane, monomaniacal. He survived the change of bodies, he withstood the change in living conditions, climate, and so on, that came when he crossed the gap of fifty millions of miles of empty space. But add to them the bitterness of defeat and the shock of dropping a thousand years into the past, and even his powerful mind has been affected. I think it likely that he will soon be totally demented, and he may die of brain-fever. I do not believe he can survive long in this alien world. From that letter I believe that his mentality is already slipping. It is what one would expect from a normal, intelligent individual of a species possessing greatly superior civilization.

"I do not expect him to live long. But while he is alive he will be doubly dangerous. He undoubtedly possesses scientific knowledge far in advance of ours. Perhaps he has brought a death machine with him from 2930. He has demonstrated that he is daring. And he is utterly devoted to one idea--revenge on the human race.

"If you will keep me in touch with any developments, I will be glad to help in this case to the limit of my ability. What I have told you today is only guesswork, but I believe it will strike close to the truth.

"He hasn't given us much to go on," said Sherman, as we left the scientist's laboratory.

"We didn't bring him much to go on," I reminded him. "He may have been merely guessing, but his 'guessing' in the past has so often been correct that I have a remarkable confidence in it. I have known him to solve mysteries without ever leaving that place of his. He listens to all the details, thinks a few hours, and then announces the solution. You notice he didn't kick us out for bringing him something any other scientific man would have refused to consider."

"Yes," said Sherman as I left him to wait for his bus, "that's so. I wonder why he didn't. I can hardly believe it myself."

* * *

ON Thursday, August the first, I was enjoying my customary lunch at Linton's with my friend Bill Simons, and we were discussing the case of the Martian, when Oscar, our jovial head waiter, informed me that a Mr. Blake wanted me on the 'phone. Blake told me very little over the wire, so Simons and I went over to Blake's laboratory as fast as Bill's car would take us. Crandell Sherman and the Coroner arrived at the same time we did and with them was an excited grey-eyed girl whom Sherman introduced as another sister of his, Mary Sherman.

Blake was waiting for us. When most of us had been seated, the coroner spoke. "The first mysterious death turned up today, Mr. Blake, and I believe an attempt was made on the life of Miss Sherman here. The killer must be trying to strike very close to Mr. Sherman. You know of William Wentworth, the broker?"

"Yes."

"He dropped dead today in his office. Miss Sherman is the only eye-witness, and there are some mighty queer details connected with the death. I'll ask her to tell you."

All eyes turned to the girl. She made an admirable and successful effort to control herself and told us in a low, even voice what she had seen.

"I was taking dictation from Mr. Wentworth. He has always seemed to be in the best of health, but today he suddenly stopped in the middle of a letter and complained of an intolerable fever. I glanced up at his face. It was terribly red, and I saw sweat suddenly burst out on his forehead. Then he groaned and fell forward with a gasp. It all happened in a minute. I was terrified, but I didn't think to call for help.

"Then something warned me instinctively. I jumped up out of my chair. Just as I did I saw a tiny bright light flickering just where my head had been. It grew larger and larger. It was too bright to keep looking at, but it sort of hypnotized me. I couldn't look away. There seemed to be a little ball the size of a marble in the center of the light. Then the light went out and the ball, red-hot, fell down on the chair, rolled off and down to the floor, and started burning into the carpet. Then I rushed to the outer office and called for help. None of the office force entered the private office until the police came."

The coroner spoke. "Luckily I arrived in a few minutes and heard Miss Sherman's story before any reporters got there. I got that ball. It had cooled off a little. There is a doctor across the street with X-ray apparatus. I got rid of the newspaper men by telling them it was nothing but heart failure, and then had the doctor X-ray the skull. He had the film developed immediately. There is a metal ball one inch in diameter inside his brain. If Miss Sherman hadn't changed her position, the other ball would have materialized inside of her brain too."

"You have the ball?" inquired Blake. The coroner took from his pocket a ball that looked like a large ball bearing that had lost its luster, and gave it to Blake, who rose abruptly and left us, entering the room I knew was his chemical laboratory. He returned eventually.

"What is it?" asked Sherman.

"Pure iron. Not any form of commercial iron or steel. They contain carbon and other impurities. This is pure iron, very slightly tarnished. Our Martian has mastered the process of sending solids through space, at least elements such as iron. Sending even a simple compound like table salt through space would be a more difficult matter. He has some system of taking this iron apart into its component protons and electrons, and putting it together again wherever he wants to. By materializing the ball in Wentworth's brain, he caused rapid death as the iron displaced the grey matter."

That was all that Blake had to tell us. It was hardly satisfying, and it gave no clue to the whereabouts of the Martian. Sherman was more worried than ever, and explained the predicament in detail to his sister, as all of us except Blake rode back to town. Bill Simons spoke for the first time.

"How about a radio-direction finder?" he suggested to the coroner. "This machine for transmitting solid iron through space must be something along the line of a radio transmitter. If our malignant anachronism intends to pull his little trick every day we may be able to get a line on him. He must have established some permanent or semi-permanent headquarters, for the apparatus that would perform a feat like that could hardly be portable. And he must use a tremendous lot of power, which would be liable to create radio interference, static. I'm going to get Ralph White and a couple of the ethers who know about this Martian to help me, and a couple of direction finders. We'll listen for unusual disturbances. If we establish two listening stations and get a fairly accurate reading from each we can find the Martian's station by triangulation."

Sherman seconded his suggestion with alacrity, for it provided a course of action. Sherman was not formed or adapted to play a waiting game, and inaction taxed his patience to the utmost. Besides, Sherman had very little confidence in Blake, being unacquainted with his methods of investigation. When I left them Simons and Sherman had already completed their plans for establishing stations to listen for any unusual disturbance in the ether. Simons was an electrical wizard, and he was fully capable of handling such a job.

* * *

I ATE that same evening I told Blake about the plan. He almost smiled, for once.

"Good," he said. "It will give Sherman an outlet for that pent-up nervous energy of his. But don't expect any satisfactory results. When I first heard of the threat I decided that any device for causing people to fall dead at a distance might create a disturbance, so I got a couple of my 'ham' friends[ ⁽³⁾] to help me, using the latest thing in direction finders. They both reported an unusual disturbance, but neither was able to take a direction reading on it. The needles vibrated, fluctuated, and otherwise acted uselessly. The answer is that the Martian has two stations, an appreciable distance apart, or maybe more than two. The interference emanates from both of these at the same instant, hopelessly confusing the direction-finder, as so far it has proved impossible to tune out any part of the interference without losing it all. But we've only tried once so far. If the Martian repeats tomorrow we'll get another chance. At least, I've checked the time of the disturbances, and they agree perfectly with the time of the tragedy."

"Why would the Martian have two stations?" I asked.

"He is astute. It may be for no other reason than to confuse us, or the two stations may be essential to his process. Do you remember that Raymond Cannes repeated to you some facts that Dwar Bonn told him in the year 2930? About Bonn's most recent discoveries in physics? You recorded the conversation in your first manuscript."

"About electrons, protons, and photons? Yes, I remember, but I haven't the slightest idea what it's all about. Please explain to me in non-technical language."

"I could talk hours on the subject and only scratch the surface. But very briefly, it's this:

"All of what we call matter, whether it's carbon or chlorophyl, cabbages or kings, consists, in the last ultimate analysis, of only two different things: the proton, and the electron. And they are considered to be positive and negative charges of electricity. They are the components of the atom, and the number of them in the individual atom determines whether it is an atom of hydrogen, or chlorine, or lead, or iron, and so on. No one has actually seen an electron or a proton, which raises the question, How do we know they exist? But I'm not going into that, not now at least.

"Now about the photon. The generally accepted theory of light at the present time says that light consists of etheric waves, vibrations. But without going into details, physicists have found facts, phenomena, that the wave-theory of light does not explain. To account for these circumstances, a theory was proposed that light consists of tiny corpuscles, smaller than atoms. This theory also fell down when it came to explaining all observed facts. The latest theory, though it is not perfect, comes much closer to explaining all the phenomena of light than either of the others. It is sometimes called the wave-corpuscular theory, and it says that light does consist of these infinitesimal photons, or light-corpuscles, but that they move in waves. If this be true, the dual nature of that mysterious thing called light should explain all its properties.

"So, ultimately, our entire infinite universe ⁽⁴⁾

 consists of only three things, the electron, the proton, and the photon. But 1929 science stops right here. So far we have tried to penetrate the mystery of matter, but no farther.

"But we have word from the thirtieth century that a great scientist, Dwar Bonn, will go farther. His discovery, paradoxically reported to us a thousand years before it will be made ⁽⁵⁾, tells us that the proton, electron, and photon are different manifestations of one and the same thing: that is, they are only variant forms of the one thing of which everything is composed. Scientists today do not believe this, as they have no evidence to even hint at such a truth, but we have the word of a scientist of tomorrow."

"What has all this to do with this Martian?"

"Try to be patient, and soon you'll see where I'm leading you. Our Martian has given proof that he is a scientist, and he undoubtedly is aware of this 'unity of the universe.' Even the most abstract of scientific truths eventually find some practical application, and this inhuman, infernal anachronism is making use of his knowledge. He knows that the electrons and protons that compose an atom of iron are similar to, and according to Dwar Bonn, identical with the tiny corpuscles of light, the truly infinitesimal specks that scientists call photons. He also knows (and so do we) that it is a very simple matter to project a beam of light through space. The light, consisting of photons, passes readily through some substances, such as air, water and glass, for instance. It is my guess that the Martian has been able to break up atoms of iron, and project through space rays or beams similar to those of light, but invisible; rays consisting not of photons, but of either electrons or protons. The indication we have that there are two stations suggests that there are two different beams, one consisting of the dissociated protons, and the other consisting of the electrons. These beams apparently pass right through brick walls and such things as easily as a light-beam passes through glass.

* * *

"OF course, a lot of this explanation goes contrary to science as it is now known. If someone explained radio by saying offhand that voices go thousands of miles through the air, a person not understanding the complicated scientific process that makes this modern miracle possible would say that such a thing was impossible, going contrary to science as he knew it. The machine that sent that iron invisibly through space and materialized it inside the brain of a human being must be very complex. It is the product of a thousand more years of scientific research, and undoubtedly employs principles of which nothing is now known. But we have seen its work. Those balls are solid iron. They were not created out of thin air. I believe that the Martian crossed his rays: at the intersection the electrons and protons, coming together, and following some tendency of which we are ignorant, recombined to form iron atoms, making that almost perfectly spherical mass of red-hot iron that killed Wentworth this morning."

"How could he make his trick rays intersect inside of the man's brain?"

"That would be a minor problem, if he had suitable apparatus. He must have brought a lot with him from the future. If he was able to break into Dwar Bonn's laboratory and escape detection long enough to use that wonderful time-machine for penetrating the fourth dimension, he was probably able to steal whatever apparatus he wanted from that great laboratory and take it into the past, our present, with him. He must have some kind of range finder. Perhaps two rays that are invisible and harmless, but give some kind of indication to him when they are crossed inside of solid matter. Then he shuts them ofif and turns on the electronic and protonic beams. He was successful in the case of Wentworth, and he undoubtedly had the correct range on Mary Sherman, but she moved out of the way a second before the iron started to materialize. Something in her brain, some intuition, sixth sense, or semi-dormant protective instinct, warned her in time. Wentworth's masculine brain was not sensitive enough to save him."

"Where do you think the Martian is now?"

"If I knew, I'd tell you. He's some place in Philadelphia, and eventually I'll locate him. I hope it will be before he kills anyone else. When I got that iron ball this noon, I made inquiries among the various chemical supply houses in the city, and from Brenner's I learned that a man wearing very dark glasses had purchased a large amount of C. P. iron oxalate. That is the source of the pure iron that seems to be essential to our enemy's process. Terrestrial chemists occasionally prepare pure iron by reducing the oxalate in a stream of hydrogen; perhaps our Martian has some other method of obtaining the same result. The purchase was made Monday, and now on Thursday the first murder takes place. The Martian also purchased quite a lot of other chemicals and apparatus, paying for his purchases with the new small-sized twenties. What does that suggest to you?"

"The hold-up of John Henderson's private messenger late Sunday night," I replied, recalling the newspaper accounts of the robbery of the millionaire's trusted servant. "He was carrying three thousand dollars in new twenty-dollar notes."

"Yes. I've got two leads on him. A very good private detective that I occasionally employ has been set to work to try to trace the purchaser of the chemicals, and I have tipped off the police to watch for men wearing dark glasses, as they are very anxious to make an arrest in this robbery case. I assured the chief that I knew the culprit was afflicted with a disease that turned the eyes purple. He took my word for it. I've helped him before, so quite a percentage of the police in this city will be regarding every wearer of dark glasses with deep suspicion, and trying to detect purplish eyes. They may find him, and they may not; but I've done all I can just at present. Tomorrow will probably bring further complications. I pity the poor devil who gets in the range of those rays."

"One thing I'd like to ask," I rejoined. "If the Martian has split the atom, wouldn't that release a tremendous amount of energy? The reason our scientists now want to split the atom is, that such a process, under control, would release a terrific amount of power. If the Martian has at his command atomic energy, what might he do with it?"

"I doubt if he has it at his command," was the reply. "If he did he could destroy the city all at once, instead of killing a few scattered inhabitants. He undoubtedly does release this power when the atoms 'split,' as you say. But remember, his electrons and protons combine again, which would probably require every bit of that energy, if the process were 100% efficient, which it isn't. The iron that he disintegrates is undoubtedly more than the amount that materializes, due to the loss in power. Perhaps a little of that excess energy is dissipated as heat. You remember that the ball was white-hot, while forming and red-hot afterward."

"Are you planning any scientific method of locating the culprit?" I asked.

* * *

THE scientist shook his head wearily. "No. So far I'm using straight detective methods. I have also asked the electric companies to cooperate with me by informing me if there is any unusually heavy consumption of current tomorrow, and recording the exact time of such a drain of power. I don't think the Martian is able to harness any of his hypothetical atomic energy to operate his machine or apparatus. If we discover an excessive current consumption and check the time accurately with the time of some death tomorrow, it will be comparatively easy to trace the user of the current. This may be our best bet, or we may draw a blank.

"What you fail to understand is this: my whole lengthy explanation to you is nothing but the flimsiest hypothesis. If you were technically trained, you could go over it and pick out flaw after flaw, from the point of view of a scientist of today. I can pick flaws in it, but it is the nearest I can come to finding an explanation that will fit the facts we have encountered. The weapon we're hunting is based upon scientific principles greatly in advance of what is called science today. The intelligence we're fighting is tens of centuries farther advanced than we are, though he is handicapped by the fact that he is not in his own surroundings. What will eventually defeat him is the literal fact that he is a living anachronism.

"To return to your question, I wish I did know some scientific way to locate the untimely menace. I have been trying to devise one all day, with a pathetic lack of success. My conscious mind has given up the problem as hopeless. I see no way in which it can be done. It's up to that mysterious thing called subconscious cerebration. Three-fifths of the problems I have ever solved have been done by my subconscious mind. Some psychologists say the subconscious possesses ten to a thousand times the ability of the conscious mind, but it's too uncertain. Sometimes it's a willing servant, but few people can harness it. I can't."

So ended Blake's discussion on Thursday evening.

The next ten days were days of horror and disappointment for those who knew of the Martian. There were no more failures. Two people dropped dead every day in the central part of the city. Their deaths were attributed to various causes, and I know of no case in which the ball in the brain was discovered by people not in the secret. Of course, the coroner did not have every skull X-rayed. There was no need for such confirmation. The times of the deaths all checked with the times that mysterious radio disturbance was detected.

The newspapers began to get a trifle suspicious about the seventh day. Some of the reporters began to think that too many people were falling dead, and gave guarded hints that the deaths might not be all as accidental as they appeared to be. But the press was never on the inside, and this is the first time the truth of the matter has been revealed.

Apparently the Martian was operating with definitely limited power, for all of the deaths occurred well within the rectangle formed by Market street on the north, Spruce on the south, Fifth street on the east, and Sixty-third on the west. It was Bill Simons who pointed this out to Bradley Blake, who made a note of it.

Simons' radio-direction finding plan was unsuccessful, and Blake's amateur friends had no better luck. Simons was aided by Ralph White, John Stevenson, and a number of the others, particularly Sherman; the best readings they could obtain indicated that both of the unknown sources of the disturbance were within the central part of the city, but we knew that already. The circumstances made it impossible to obtain accurate readings, so the plan of location by triangulation failed.

Significantly, all of the twenty who died in those ten days were men.

We obtained no help from the electric company, though they co-operated with Blake cheerfully. All unusually heavy current consumptions, when traced, proved to be entirely innocent, and none of them checked in time with the radio disturbances and deaths.

The private investigator was not able to trace the buyer of the chemical supplies, and no robber with purple eyes was apprehended by the police. We were baffled.

There is no reason to list the twenty victims here. Any interested person may find their names and learn of the details concerning their deaths by referring to the files of any one of the Philadelphia papers. Some of the men were important figures in the world of business and finance, such as Lee W. Craighead, the beet-sugar baron, and others were only commonplace citizens, as was Iskor Sardanateliapolos, a Russian-Greek fruit-store proprietor of high standing.

The last two deaths were on Sunday, the eleventh. On Monday evening the group met at Blake's house, in response to a request of his. He was not present himself at the time he had set, but his servant told us that he would soon arrive. Sherman was mysteriously absent, also.

While we were waiting for Blake, we commented upon the fact that there had been no deaths that day, and speculated upon the next move of the Martian. Ralph White suggested that perhaps he was dead from heart-failure. While we earnestly hoped that this was so, not one of us really believed it. We spent some time organizing ourselves and reaching a plan of action. Working in shifts, whenever we could afford the time, we determined to go over central Philadelphia with a fine-tooth comb. We assigned territories to various groups. After a score of deaths, we realized that the situation was truly serious. We were ready to try any plan, however small its chances of success seemed to be.

Bradley Bowman Blake walked in, something cheerful and confident in the way he strode to greet us. I glanced at his face and recognized the light in his eyes. He had the answer!

* * *

BEFORE he could speak, Sherman arrived, breathless. Fighting for control, he told us that his sister Mary had been missing since noon. I saw Bill Simons' face go very white. Blake took a paper from his pocket. We crowded around him to see it. On it were two downtown addresses.

"The Martian," said Blake, "is at one of these two places. I don't know which. There are two cars outside. Half of us will investigate one place, and half the other. There are firearms in that cabinet in the rear corner. I have just been talking to the Chief of Police. He promises that there will be no trouble for any member of my parties, even if we don't all have gun permits."

We hurried out to the cars. Blake, Bill Simons, White, Penderton, and I were in one party, and our heavy car was soon racing down Marshall road toward the nearer address. Blake's countenance was grim. He spoke to me.

"A few minutes are liable to be precious, if that monster has captured Mary Sherman," he said. "I am considered an expert upon abnormal psychology and the psychology of hate and fear, and I'll stake my reputation that I've analyzed that Martian correctly. Nothing in the world would delight him as much as a chance to torture her."

The accelerator pedal went down, and the car responded with more speed, as it threaded its way through the comparatively light traffic of the late evening.

I had not expected that our destination would prove to be an apartment house, but it did. Blake located the janitor and inquired if any of the apartments had been rented to a man who wore dark glasses. Our suppressed excitement reached its height when the man replied in the affirmative, and volunteered that the renter had been away the last two days. Blake showed his special police badge and credentials, produced a search-warrant, and we entered, using the janitor's key. The warrant only authorized us to search for the stolen money, which we incidentally found and identified, as the new twenties had been consecutively numbered and the numbers had been recorded. But the real purpose of swearing out the warrant was not to recover the money. Blake could not have obtained the warrant, if he had stated that he was hunting for a Martian anachronism.

On the oak table in the center of the living room was a small but solid metal tripod which supported a brilliantly polished metal tube, three inches in diameter and four feet long. It was mounted so that it could be turned to point in any direction, but it was locked in its present position by a small gear-like arrangement. At one end was a smooth round hole. On the other end was a thick and wide flange, upon which were many small binding posts. From these a network of fine copper wires, each insulated by a covering of varicolored silk, led to a cabinet at the side of the room. A two-way plug had been inserted in the lamp socket and one cord led to the cabinet, while another connected with the flanged end of the tube on the tables.

The cabinet at the side of the room was undoubtedly a radio receiver. Above it was a ludicrously small aerial shaped somewhat like a gridiron.

"Radio control," muttered Blake.

We left without disturbing anything and started for the other address.

"Would you mind telling me," I asked Blake as the car wound in and out of the traffic of Walnut street toward the heart of the city, "how you located these places?"

"You remember that Simons pointed out that all the deaths occurred within the long narrow rectangle formed by Market and Spruce streets, Fifth, and Sixty-third?"

"Yes,"

"That put me on the trail. I got an accurate map of Philadelphia and carefully marked the locations of all the deaths with red ink. By the time I had located five of them I was excited, and when they were all plotted on the map I knew that we were near the end of this terrible business. Those twenty-one points determined a perfect ellipse. Through them, using precision instruments, I could trace an elongated ellipse."

"You presumed that the Martian's two stations were at its foci?"

"Yes. It was merely a problem in plane geometry. I made the construction on the map and located the sources of those rays." He glanced at me and half smiled. "You might figure out the construction some day, when you feel the need of some mild intellectual exercise. It's quite a neat geometrical problem." He saw some of the doubt and questions in my eyes, and his manner became serious again as we waited for a traffic light to change.

"About the first thing we learned in this case was that the mysterious killer was operating with definitely limited power. But he had two stations. No matter how he divided his power between them he had only so much. If you know what an ellipse is you know that the sum of the distances from any point in the curve to the two foci is a constant."

This wasn't quite plain to me, but I was beginning to see vaguely what he meant. He elucidated further.

"If he used most of his power for one ray and made it penetrate to a comparatively great distance, the other would receive less power and be correspondingly shortened. But it was necessary for the two rays or beams to co-operate, to intersect. As the sum of their effective distances was a constant, and the points of their origin were fixed, all of the deaths would have to take place on the circumference of the ellipse or within it. Also--"

Blake stopped talking and applied the brakes as the car approached the corner where Walnut and Thirty-fourth streets both intersect with Woodland Avenue.

Directly across the right of way, completely blocking traffic, was an ambulance. From its rear were emerging two white-coated interns with a stretcher. Another ambulance was leaving, the commanding note of its bell growing fainter and fainter. Up on the sidewalk on the north side of Walnut was a Mack truck bearing a "Z" license plate, which denotes the heaviest vehicles permitted on Pennsylvania highways. The driver of the thirteen-ton monster had apparently tried to avoid the crash he had seen impending. Near the truck, but in the street, was a sedan, on its side. The way its hood and front fenders were crumpled showed how hard it had hit the truck. Broken glass was all around. The interns were lifting a man from the street. They had bandaged some of his larger cuts. His condition did not appear to be critical.

Blake recognized him the same second I did, and we hurried over to him, disregarding the bawled command of the policeman who was near by to keep away from the interns. The other members of our party were close behind.

The man on the stretcher was John Stevenson, one of those who had gone in the other party with Sherman. I glanced again at the wrecked sedan, and recognized it.

"What happened, Steve?" asked Blake gently.

Stevenson saw us for the first time, and we saw that one of his legs was broken. Otherwise, his injuries were minor, and he answered us readily enough.

"Sherman took a chance. He was in a hurry, and he was worried about his sister. It wasn't the truck driver's fault. We smashed into the truck and turned turtle. Sherman was caught under the wheel. He's dead; the broken glass got him. They've just taken him away. I was in the front seat with him, but I'll be all right. The others weren't hurt much." He motioned with his arm toward the drug store on the corner. "They're in there getting fixed up."

By the time he had said this much, the interns had placed the stretcher in the ambulance and were closing the doors. The hospital truck moved away, clearing a path through the traffic with its gong,

* * *

THE blank reality of the tragedy stunned me. Indirectly, at least, the Martian had been the cause of Sherman's death. The last of the three who had taken the incredible time-journey was gone, and the astounding machines based on advanced electro-physics and the non-Euclidean theory of hyperspace were destroyed. The road to the future was closed, as were the lips of all those who traveled that road, or who had possessed the knowledge that made such travel possible.

All except the Martian!

Sober and shaken by Sherman's death, and anxious for the safety of his sister, we proceeded to our destination. It proved to be one of the large metropolitan hotels. The thought crossed my mind that whatever electricity the Martian had used had passed unnoticed in the great consumption of the entire hotel. One more fact was explained. We were all tense, confident that we were near the end of our tragic trail.

Blake interviewed the clerk. We learned that a man answering the Martian's description had taken an expensive suite on the second floor, paying for weeks in advance, and requesting that under no circumstances was he to be disturbed. He had explained that he was a scientist, the clerk told us, and was performing delicate work with complicated apparatus. Therefore he did not want even a scrubwoman to clean his rooms. The suite had been let strictly alone.

After a conference with the resident manager, and the production by Blake of his credentials and warrant, we obtained a pass-key and proceeded to the second floor, followed by the manager. The door to the suite was locked. We obtained no answer by knocking or calling, but all of us were certain that we heard a noise within.

Blake used the pass-key and swung the heavy door inward, his Ortgies automatic in his right hand.

In the center of the room we saw a table. On it was a small tripod, such as we had seen at the apartment house, but of heavier, sturdier construction. It supported a metal tube not quite so long as the other, but much heavier and thicker. Many more wires led to it, some from a transformer of some kind attached to the light circuit, some from what was obviously a radio transmitter, and which I assume was used to manipulate the other unit at the apartment house by radio-control, and the rest of the wires connected to the tube led to several cabinets on the shelf under the table, each of the units below looking precisely like the other ones. There was a dial and an indicator of some sort on the panel of each.

It was a truly imposing array, and I have given it only a sketchy description in this account. I tried to get Blake to write a technical account of the apparatus and as much as he knows about its operation. Such a description would greatly enhance the value of this story, but Blake is much too busy these days and I am not qualified for the job.

We spent not a second gazing at the machine, however, for we heard a noise in the adjoining room. Two well-placed bullets from Blake's gun demolished the lock. We pushed the door open and entered, five of us, and five guns were ready to start spitting lead.

We didn't shoot, however.

Blake's fantastic fear had been justified. His uncanny ability at psychoanalysis was again demonstrated. The Martian had been torturing the girl.

On the telephone stand to the left of the door was an almost empty chemical bottle and letters of raised glass on it read "CONC ACID SULFURIC H2SO4."

Mary Sherman was tied to a table so that she could not move her head. Her face and dress showed evidence of a struggle. One tanned shoulder was bare.

The human body that contained the alien brain and the purple eyes flashing with hate was standing at the head of the table. The hand held a beaker full to the brim with a colorless oily liquid that I recognized as the concentrated acid. It was directly above her eyes. If the Martian moved, or if we shot him, she would be blinded for life, if not killed, to say nothing of the hideous way it would scar that beautiful face. She could not move her eyes, and the acid was two feet above them. Exquisite torture!

* * *

WHAT had happened was this: By chance Mary Sherman had happened to see a man on the street with dark glasses. She had watched him closely. When he passed her on the sidewalk, she had watched him sidewise and had caught a glimpse of the purplish eyes. As Sherman had explained the whole situation to her, and as she knew of the score of deaths that had taken place since her former employer had been killed, she followed him, thinking herself unobserved. She did not have time to get in touch with her brother. If she had taken time to phone she would have lost the trail. She had shadowed him to the second floor of the big hotel and had seen him enter his suite. She intended to come to Blake immediately with the information that we had wanted so badly, but the Martian had suddenly emerged from his door, attacked her with some piece of metal apparatus that made an excellent blackjack, had rendered her unconscious before she could call out. He had dragged her quickly into the suite and had tied her to the table, waiting calmly until she regained consciousness to question her.

He had also gagged her, but he had not tied her strongly enough. She had almost escaped soon after she came to, but after a short fight had been secured to the table again. Then the torturer had removed the gag, holding acid above her face and threatened to pour it over her if she screamed.

He had asked her over and over again to disclose her brother's address. Though he had located Hawkinson's laboratory with ease and had destroyed the machine there, he had never been able to find Crandell Sherman's residence. It happened that Sherman had just bought a new house, and though the phone was connected, he had not yet been listed in the telephone directory, which seems to have been the chief guide of the Martian.

She had bravely and steadfastly refused to say a word, knowing instinctively that as soon as she gave, or seemed to give, the desired information her questioner would kill her.

So it was that we found them.

Five guns were leveled at the Martian, point-blank range, and we dared not shoot.

But the insane brain behind those purple eyes knew that the game was up for him, whether he killed or did not kill. He had reached the end. So he decided to kill. He tilted the beaker to pour out the liquid fire. Yet Mary Sherman lives today and her face is not scarred. It was not a miracle that saved her, but a scientific fact.

Have you ever tried to pour the cream off a full milk-bottle slowly and had the cream run down the outside of the bottle instead of pouring the way you wanted it to? Then you understand. The Martian tilted the full beaker slowly, and instead of flowing through the air and falling in the girl's terrified eyes, the heavy oil of vitriol flowed down the outside of the beaker, burning the Martian's fingers. What saved Mary was the property of adhesion, as contradistinguished from cohesion.

When a child puts his fingers into a flame and they are burnt, he immediately and involuntarily withdraws them by reflex action. The Martian brain was highly developed and very sensitive to pain. The same reflex took place when the acid touched the fingers of his stolen body. His arm jerked involuntarily backward, as if it were being withdrawn from a flame, and the beaker of acid fell harmlessly on the rug. The Martian stood for a few seconds as if petrified, and I saw a full realization come to his eyes. Then he fell forward and crumpled in a heap on the floor.

Bill Simons cut the girl loose as Bradley Bowan Blake bent over the prone figure of our enemy. The scientist straightened up triumphantly.

"Heart failure," he said.

In The Space Sphere

   VIC VINCENNES' metallic voice tautened. He seemed to stare at the emerald-green Earth through the heavy quartzinite window of the sphereflyer.

"Without seeming to do so," he said, "notice the couple at the next table."

"I have done so." said the solemn Bradley Culbertson. "Kee Scarna, daughter of the present Planetchief of Mars, is with a certain Venusian aristocrat known as Crun Mahu."

"Well?" said the herculean Dick Dubrocq.

"Their waiter just put some Martian venn in her glass. Looked like ten grains to me, and two grains is enough to kill a Martian who hasn't the habit. He didn't put any in Mahu's glass. Looks like deliberate murder to me."

Dubrocq swung around in his chair. He saw the slender Martian princess lifting a thin glass of a sparkling red synthalcolic wine to her lips. She had not seen the motion the waiter had made as he lifted the glasses from his tray.

The giant Dubrocq, in spite of his six foot six, possessed perfect muscular coordination. Silently he left his chair, leaped the short distance to the next table, and with the neatest of precision flicked the glass out of the Martian girl's hand. He saw her cool grey eyes, startled for a moment, regain their composure, and he observed that three little Martians were covering him with radium pistols, the most deadly small arm of the universe. Her bodyguard, of course, was always near her.

The giant Earthman was ill at ease. The little princess, cool in her evening gown of blue and silver, wearing the insignia of her imperial father on the shoulder band of her metallic silver gravity-harness, was waiting for an explanation. Grun Mahu, scowling a little, rose to his feet.

The girl's bodyguards moved closer, waiting for an explan-word to kill the giant. Diners at the nearby tables were watching breathlessly. The waiter took advantage of the moment to hurry away. Dick realized a few seconds too late that he should not have escaped. He tried to say something, but the suave voice of Vic Vincennes interrupted.

"You might tell your guards to lower their pistols, Kee Scarna. My friend has just saved your life. He always acts impulsively. Your waiter put at least ten grains of vena into your wine--"

Grun Mahu interrupted. "Nonsense. Why should anyone want to poison the daughter of--"

His eyes gleamed strangely. The pupils contracted to glittering pinpoints. Venn!

"Fool that I am," muttered Bradley Culbertson. The Venusian aristocrat crumpled up absurdly on the floor. Brad motioned to another waiter that was near. "Get Doctor Kunzie! Vic, boy, I thought you were wrong. The drug was in his wine, not hers. I was about to correct you, but you seemed so sure. I saw that waiter too."

Kunzie, ship's doctor of the Cosmonia, arrived with a pair of orderlies and a stretcher. Efficiently they removed the sprawled body of the Venusian. Doctor Kunzie took one look at his eyes. "An overdose of venn. He'll never live. I wonder how the narcotic was smuggled onto the ship."

Kee Scarna was very cool. She looked Dick Dubrocq frankly in the eyes. "I do appreciate ze good intentions zat you have had," she said, and motioned to her guards, who sheathed their pistols. An orderly approached. "Doctor Kunzie should like to see you three gentlemen at once in the infirmary."

"Right," said Vic Vincennes.

CAPTAIN SOUTH, commander of the spacesphere Cosmonia, was in earnest conversation with the doctor as Vic and Dick and Brad entered his office. Doctor Kunzie led them into the next room, and Captain South followed. Grun Mahu was conscious, his pupils still unnaturally contracted. He had not seen them enter, but sensed their presence. He spoke, each word a conscious effort.

"The doctor tells me that I'm done--that I'll go into the final stupor before long--you see, I was--what you call--double-crossed. The red dust of Mars! Venn--hellish stuff, but there's money in it--I was going to try to grow some on Venus--the venn-plant, I mean--you can grow anything in the Hot Lands. But if I'm going to blank out--I have something almost like a conscience--I should be stamped out. I'm not afraid to die--not trying to make my peace--not a coward--not afraid to die--but--"

His voice died away, but in a minute he seemed to rouse himself. Grun Mahu was an aristocrat of Venus.

"There's a ring--on this flyer--smugglers. They'll stop at nothing--murder--piracy--you see, there's money in it. I was one of them, but--I started to think what a cad I was--wreck other people's lives--and--they double-crossed me. Wait--I'll tell you--Tja Narro, Martian devil, is one of them--and Harburton Smithers, and the leader is--"

It was seven minutes before he roused himself again, for the last time. "Not--afraid to die--The leader is--is--"

Silence.

"I am absolutely certain," said Captain South, "that every passenger, all luggage, and every bit of cargo was carefully examined with XX-rays before we left the Earth, no trace of venn being found."

"Then, Captain, you must be mistaken," said the solemn Brad Culbertson.

"The inspectors at New York are conscientious and incorruptible. The Council of Planets is more determined than ever to stamp out this murderous drug traffic. Yet it is obvious that that waiter obtained the drug somewhere on board this vessel. There is one possibility, but--"

"What is it?"

An orderly entered. "Well?" said the Captain.

"Sir, one of the waiters has just been found dead. Someone shot him."

"I'll attend to the matter at once," said Doctor Kunzie, and hurried out. Captain South swore softly.

"Quick work," said Vic Vincennes dryly.

"You were saying, sir," continued the imperturbable Brad, "that there was one possibility."

"The imperial Martian party. The Planetchief's person and baggage, and those of his daughter, were not examined. Courtesy to rulers. But it's absurd to think--"

"Their bodyguard and servants?"

"All carefully examined and totally innocent."

"Well, we should take XX-ray photos of the baggage of the Planetchief and the girl. Not their hand baggage. It would be insulting to them and embarrassing to us to explain why we wanted to search at this late hour. But someone may have tampered with their larger baggage after it was packed, knowing that it alone would not be subjected to the XX-ray search. If that's the case whoever did it is clever and nervy. If the Planetchief caught him--"

"There would be one less dope smuggler in the universe," said Vic. "A hard man, the Planetchief. Any smuggler would rather face the Earth-laws than the justice of Mars. Zon Scarna commands respect."

"Undoubtedly you have an XX-ray apparatus aboard?" asked Brad Culbertson.

* * *

THE Captain hesitated. These three young men were passengers, but they, and particularly Culbertson, seemed to know just what they were doing. He made a decision.

"It's in a cabinet in cargo-room A, but it's dangerous for an unskilled operator. The high tension of the juice it uses, and the character of the rays--"

"I can handle it," said Brad.

Doctor Kunzie returned. "The waiter will never tell us anything now. Someone got him from the rear, through the heart with a silenced slug-gun."

Another orderly entered and spoke to Captain South. "An unidentified spacecraft, bearing no insignia whatever, has been sighted between us and Venus, sir. It will intercept our course, at our present rate of speed, within an hour. The second officer asked me to tell you, sir, that the strange flyer consistently refuses to reply to visual or cosmic-radio signals."

Captain South went to the navigation room, after writing a pass for Culbertson and the others. They descended to the cargo-room and set to work.

The strange stellar craft was drawing near. A mere fifty thousand miles or so separated it from the Cosmonia, and Captain South was watching it through the hypertelescope with anxiety. The course of the stranger and that of the Cosmonia would intersect unless one of them were changed. The other seemed to have come from the growing disk that was Venus, but it showed no planetary insignia whatever. It would meet the Cosmonia in fifteen minutes more.

It was a new and racy-looking craft, with the streamlined teardrop shape to make possible better speed within a planet's atmosphere. The Cosmonia was perfectly spherical, as were most spaceships. The Captain could see, on the image in the telescope, weapon locks, forbidden by the Council of Planets. The stranger was armed. The Cosmonia was defenseless. Piracy? It would take at least three hours, and probably longer for help to arrive from Venus.

Captain South slowed and stopped. He doubled his speed. Five seconds later the stranger did the same. He was thirty-four thousand miles away when the Cosmonia's radioman received the first message from him.

"Slow and stop within five minutes or I shall wreck you. I am fully armed."

Captain South slowed and stopped. He had a thousand human lives to be responsible for, and the stranger seemed both able and willing to carry out his threat.

"What do you want?" asked the Cosmania's radioman.

'The Planetchief of Mars is aboard you, is he not?"

"He is."

"He and all his party and baggage must be delivered to me at once."

"Who are you?"

"That is not important. Notify the Planetchief of my demand."

Captain South did so. The alien craft was maneuvering close alongside. Wearing a spacesuit for protection, with the cooperation of the navigators of both ships, an individual could be easily transferred from one ship to another, through the air-locks.

CHAPTER II.

An Abduction

THE news was all over the Cosmonia and the passengers were requested to keep to their cabins. Brad and Dick and Vic, hearing about it in the cargo-room, made a few last hurried exposures of the Martian party's heavy baggage. Vic took the films to the ship's chemlab. Brad and Dick went to the navigation room, where they had no real right to be.

The stern, hard-faced Zon Scarna, Planetchief of Mars, soon arrived on the bridge with his daughter and their bodyguard. Kee Scarna was schooled not to show her emotions, but she paled a little at the sight of Dick Dubrocq. Zon Scarna ignored Brad and Dick, and spoke to the Captain. No slightest sign of emotion was observable in the Martian ruler's calm exterior, but there might have been the merest trace of bitterness in his voice.

"Captain South," he said slowly, "politics on Mars often become very bitter. I am hated by thousands. Just what or who is behind this attack, I cannot tell you, but if it is they whom I suspect, they would not hesitate one second about annihilating the Cosmonia merely to kill me. Therefore I shall submit, as it is not just that I imperil thousands of Earthmen and Venusians by refusing. The Martians on this vessel, I believed, would be willing to attempt a fight or a flight in my behalf, but they are comparably few, and you and the others owe me no allegiance whatever. You are responsible for the lives in your charge. I ask only that you keep track of this vessel as long as possible with your instruments, and that at the earliest opportunity you send all available Interplanetary Patrol flyers after it."

"I shall do so."

"Please have spacesuits brought, and prepare to transfer my baggage. Notify my captors that I shall shortly come aboard." The captain nodded to the radioman, who bent over his instruments. "You two men," he said calmly as if speaking to members of the crew, "will supervise the transfer of the Planetchiefs luggage. Have it brought to the main air-lock at once."

Dick was dazed, trembling, looking at Kee Scarna who had turned away her head, but Brad caught the cue. He saluted smartly and turned on his heel, nudging Dubrocq. "Yes, sir. At once, sir," said Bradley Culbertson.

When they reached the cargo-room orders from the captain, giving them command of the baggage removal, were recorded on the order tape. The crew cooperated. Five trunks and three sealed crates bearing the imperial Martian insignia were hoisted to the lock-deck, placed on rollers, and rolled to the main air-lock. Strong cables were attached to each.

The Martian servants and guards were donning the spacesuits they would need for protection against the cold while passing from one ship to the other. Spaceships did not dare approach nearer than twenty-five to fifty feet, and cables were attached to anyone or anything being transferred from one to another, in order to prevent loss in mid-space. When the person or object was safe in the airlock of the other craft, the cable could be severed or detached by men waiting there, and drawn back to the first ship. Brad and Dick knew what Captain South had intended. They donned two of the spacesuits hanging on the wall, and joined the party. In the confusion they were unnoticed, and after they were in the suits they were unrecognizable.

* * *

KEE SCARNA noticed them. She trembled as her personal maids assisted her into her spacesuit. The Planetchief was the first to be transferred across. He went through the airlock and out into space, attached by a cable to the Cosmonia, jumping away from it and sailing toward the other air-lock, of which the outer door was open to receive him. From the Cosmonia a man in a spacesuit could be seen in that lock, ready with an atomic hydrogen torch to sever the cable of the Planetchief, who had managed the crossing nicely. When the cable was cut the other door of the lock closed, reopening after a few moments. The man with the torch was still waiting, but Zon Scarna had disappeared into the interior.

Kee Scarna was transferred, and then the trunks and crates. Finally came the servants and guards, including Brad and Dick, who went last. When they had been passed through the lock the tear-shaped ship took its departure, flying almost tangentially to Venus, apparently neither approaching nor receding from the planet.

In the meantime Vic Vincennes had the developed XX-ray films destroyed as soon as prints had been made, and took the prints to Captain South.

The three crates and four of the trunks of the Martian party were totally innocent. But the other trunk, the shadow-pictures showed, was one-fifth full of pure refined venn, in powder form. The other four-fifths was packed with venn-plants. Grun Mahu had intended to try to grow venn on Venus. This fifth trunk, now, was in the possession of the abductors of the Martian party.

Dick and Brad were the last to remove their spacesuits in the alien craft. A Venusian, armed with a wicked-looking slug-gun, regarded them suspiciously, as all the others in the party had been Martians. Finally this unpleasant individual asked pointedly what connection they had with the Martian group. The two reacted characteristically. Culbertson started to answer smoothly that they were interpreters of the various Earth-languages, but he never finished, for the herculean Dubrocq had knocked the slug-gun out of the guard's hand with one beautifully accurate, instantaneous movement.

Brad got the gun almost before it touched the floor, while Dick took a blow on the jaw that dazed even him. In two seconds more Brad had control of the situation, and Dick's mind had cleared. The Venusian's massive hands were above his head, and his eyes were intent on the gun in Brad's hand.

The three of them were alone in the chamber just inside the air-lock. The members of the Martian party had been taken to some other part of the flyer as fast as they had arrived, to prevent crowding in the smaller chamber. The one remaining guard was supposed to bring the last two.

The lock-door opened, and another man in a spacesuit entered--the individual who had stayed in the lock and had severed the cables. Dick jumped toward him before he understood the situation, wrenched the heavy atomic hydrogen torch from him. With all his tremendous strength the giant Earthman brought the heavy torch down ir a crashing blow on the other's head. It had not the slightest apparent effect. Excellent physical protection, spacesuits.

Now the guard made a leap for Brad, trying to imitate the blow by which Dick had deprived him of the gun, but Dubrocq, alert and glorying in physical action, flung-the heavy piece of apparatus at the guard's head. The guard went down in a heap. Dubrocq recovered his ponderous weapon. An ordinary man could hardly have lifted it.

BRAD motioned for the other to take off his spacesuit. The fellow complied, and they saw that he was a little Martian with a hideously deformed body, and yet agile and strong. Dick ripped off the man's gravity harness. The gravity in the flyer was being kept about equal to that of the Earth or Venus; without a gravity-harness to neutralize most of the pull, a Martian was hardly able to move. All of the Planetchief's party were wearing gravity-harnesses.

The deformed Martian, seeing that resistance was useless, lay flat upon the floor to minimize the, to him, dangerous pull upon his body. He could not move except with considerable pain and the expenditure of much energy. The Venusian was unconscious or dead. For a moment the two invaders were unopposed.

They opened a door leading into a long corridor, and cautiously proceeded down it. Brad still had the gun, and Dick the heavy torch.

There seemed to be no one in the corridor, and no trace of any of the Martian party. "They've probably already been confined in staterooms," suggested Brad in a whisper. "He's being treated well. Servants and baggage all arranged for. What's the purpose of the abduction? Ransom?"

"Shut up," whispered Dick.

They passed closed, numbered doors. Then one that was marked "Elevator", one "Storerooms", and one, further along, that bore the legend "Navigation Room". Brad hesitated. Dick boldly threw open the door and walked in.

There was a long-headed, grim-faced Martian at the control-panel desk. He looked up to gaze down the big bore of the slug-gun, and slowly lifted his long-fingered hands.

Brad was puzzled. The men they had encountered so far were from two different planets. Which planet was behind the affair? What was the motive?

"What do you want?" asked the man at the control-panel desk, paling visibly. He seemed to be totally unnerved, trembling in his chair.

"Cooperation," stated Brad harshly, "or--" He glanced for a second at the ugly weapon in his hand. The other said nothing.

"You will start the flyer back in the general direction of the Cosmonia", said Dick Dubrocq, "and meanwhile you will start at once to calculate the course that will enable you to meet the Cosmonia in the shortest possible time."

The Martian opened some switches and threw some others, adjusting rheostats carefully. He examined the images of the Cosmonia that were upon several ground-glass screens. The telescopes which supplied the images were on opposite sides of the flyer, and gave the distance of the Cosmonia by electric triangulation. The navigator was busily feeding figures into one end of a calculating machine, and was watching the indicators on the other end of the device. From time to time he made a change on the great electrical panel before him.

Suddenly he tore off his earphones and handed them to Dick, who donned them and understood. Someone in command was cursing the navigator heartily, demanding what was wrong with him, and commanding immediate rectification of the course. The navigator had not dared make a reply in the face of the gun. Dubrocq made no reply either, but went to the door and stood at one side of it, knowing that very soon someone would arrive to investigate conditions.

In a moment the door opened and a figure stepped through. Dick hit him with the atomic torch and stood staring at the man, recumbent on the floor. He had knocked out the Planetchief of Mars!

Kee Scarna came through the door with a startled gasp, recognizing the wielder of the torch. Terror came to her eyes.

"Dick! What is it zat you have done?"

Dubrocq was too startled to act. She had called him involuntarily by his given name.

The third to come through the door had a tiny poison-dart gun in the palm of his hand. He had apparently been urging the Planetchief and his daughter ahead of him, covering them with the weapon. He pointed it at the still-dazed Dick, who dropped the heavy atomic torch and raised his hands. He saw the little Martian princess watching him with wide eyes. She was trying not to sob.

* * *

IN a very few seconds the Venusian had produced a second dart-gun from a convenient pocket, and was covering Brad.

"Throw the slug-gun on the floor," commanded the Venusian.

Brad tossed it away. One second too late the Venusian realized that Brad had tossed it with the neatest of precision to the up-stretched right hand of Dick Dubrocq, who caught it and fired at the Venusian, too hastily. The slug missed its mark and imbedded itself in the opposite wall.

The Venusian fired his dart-guns simultaneously. The dart intended for Culbertson missed but struck the navigator, who slumped forward in his seat. The dart intended for Dubrocq was well-aimed, but the Planetchief's daughter interposed herself between Dick and the Venusian. She fell forward as the dart entered her shoulder. Dick's second shot put an end to the Venusian. He fell with a gasp.

The Planetchief of Mars came to and sat up. He took in the whole situation, but there was no trace of emotion in his voice. "The navigator and the captain, here," he stated, "are the only two on this undermanned vessel who possessed enough knowledge to navigate a space-ship, and they are both dead. Can either of you men navigate in space?"

"No," said Bradley Culbertson

CHAPTER III.

Trouble Ahead

DICK DUBROCQ was very calm. He seized the Martian ruler's shoulder and wheeled him around. "Your daughter," he said, "will die in a very few minutes unless she is cared for. Find me some first-aid materials immediately."

Dick bent over the girl, ripped open her dress, and with strong fingers removed the tiny dart from her shoulder. There was an ugly blue circle two inches in diameter around the tiny cut the dart had made.

"What is it, Brad?"

The Planetchief had already left the room.

For the first time in his life someone had given him an order. He seemed to know something of the vessel, for he returned shortly with a large first-aid kit from the Doctor's office, but there was no doctor aboard that furtive, unlicensed spaceship.

"It looks like Venusian sanzan," said Brad. "There's only one hope. Cut and burn it out."

"God, give me nerve," said Dick Dubrocq. He motioned toward the heavy, undamaged atomic torch. Brad extracted a cigarette lighter from his pocket, and lit the torch. The gauge showed that its limited supply of hydrogen was almost exhausted. Dick selected a keen blade from the kit that the Planetchief had opened. The Martian's hands were trembling, now. He did have love and fear behind that stern exterior. And, as he watched Dubrocq, he had hope, too.

For the merest fraction of a second Dick held the blade in the hydrogen flame. The steel would have melted away in almost no time at all. The ugly circle of blue, standing out vividly against the white flesh of the shoulder, had increased an inch in diameter before their eyes. Dick slashed the blue flesh with the red-hot scalpel, criss-crossing it with cuts. Thick, foul, bluish blood oozed out. Brad wiped it up with sanitary cellulose. The kneeling giant heated the thin blade again and again and cut the merest trifle deeper each time, until clean red blood was all that flowed out. The blue circle, when wiped clean of blood for a second, was paler. It did not increase in diameter. They staunched the bleeding with compresses and were silent, watching. The hydrogen torch went out.

They watched the faint blue circle for ten minutes. It did not increase or grow darker. It became paler as they watched. The girl's breathing became regular. A choking cry of relief came from the Planetchief's throat, and then he was again the cold and impersonal ruler.

The navigator was beyond relief. His whole, body, now, was almost unrecognizable with that horrible bluish color.

Dick Dubrocq collapsed in a heap on the floor.

A jar shook the spaceflyer. It had collided with a large meteor. There was a tiny, faint hiss. Air was leaking out somewhere. Brad lifted Dick to a seat. In a moment he was himself again. "Thanks, old fellow. A nervous reaction, that's all. It's the first time I've ever played the surgeon with a girl I love."

The hint of a smile played across Brad's solemn features. The Planetchief's countenance did not alter in the least. Dick had forgotten his presence. He came forward.

"The leaking air may become dangerous. I suggest you get the Cosmonia as soon as you can by radio."

"Yes, sir," said Bradley Culbertson.

* * *

THE navigator had done his work well. The Cosmonia was a mere fifteen thousand miles away, and careful radio instructions enabled the adept Brad to maneuver alongside the immense spherical flyer, and everyone on the tear-shaped ship was transferred back to safety. A navigator, equipped with a helmet and a liberal supply of oxygen, was sent aboard the alien ship to bring it into Venus safely. Kee Scarna was given excellent care by Doctor Kunzie. Zon Scarna was as impersonal and as apparently unconcerned by events as usual.

After talking with Captain South, Brad consulted the Martian ruler's secretary about the party's baggage. The secretary consulted a card-index.

"Aside from the cases and trunks in the staterooms of the various members of the party," said the secretary, "there are three crates and four trunks in the cargo-room. The Imperial Planetchief has no use for their contents until he reaches Mars."

"Thanks," said Bradley Culbertson. "Hello, Vic. Where's Dick?"

"Kee Scarna asked to be permitted to see him. Her father could hardly refuse. Dick's preparing a heart-break for himself, Brad. He's learning to care for the kid, but she's a princess. It's impossible. It may make trouble--"

"Well, we've located the source of the venn. One of the trunks bearing the Planetchief's insignia doesn't belong to the party. Some clever smuggler got the extra one in without inspection. If the Planetchief finds out-- If that secretary ever decides to check up, and finds an extra trunk with the imperial insignia actually counterfeited-- There's trouble ahead."

"Poor fellow," said Vie dryly. "In love with a princess. Yes, there's trouble ahead."

Three hours later the Cosmonia had passed through the layer of thick clouds, and was slowly descending in the yellowish atmosphere toward one of the landing cradles of City Fourteen of the Third Nation of Venus.

The Venusian metropolis lay spread out below with its methodical arrangement of cubic skyscrapers. In spite of the ever-present clouds the sunlight had an intensity that it never had on Earth. The great sphere eased slowly down. Vic and Dick and the solemn Brad were on the air-lock deck, where hundreds of passengers were gathered for disembarking.

As the Cosmonia landed gently a bullet grazed Dubrocq's side. It had been intended for his heart. The airlocks had been thrown wide open, and hundreds were crowding to get out into the rich damp air of the Hot Planet. Someone in that crowd, using some sort of silent bullet-projector, had failed in an attempt at cold-blooded murder.

The quick-eyed Vic had caught sight of a slight figure slinking between a couple of obese Venusian women to get out of sight, and had recognized the Martian named Tja Narro. Vic spoke to Dick, who penetrated into the crowd, and managed to approach Tja Narro, who did not make any unusual motion or vain attempt to break away through the crowd. In fact, Tja Narro didn't appear to notice the approach of the young giant Earthman at all until Dick touched his shoulder.

* * *

THE crowd, more orderly now, filing out quickly to be met by Venusian customs officers, paid no attention to Dick and the Martian. Vic and Brad watched alertly.

Dubrocq calmly requested the little Martian to come to the navigation room for a conference with Captain South. Tja Narro expressed annoyance, but agreed to come. Bradley Culbertson joined Dick, and they took the Martian to the navigation room. Captain South looked up in surprise from a celestial chart as they entered, and motioned them to three comfortable chairs that were near.

"This gentleman is--Tja Narro, perhaps?"

"I am," admitted the Martian. "These men brought me here ostensibly for a conference with you. It is obvious that you were not expecting any conference, Captain, so I shall not take up any more of your time." He rose and started to leave.

"Just a moment, Mr. Narro," said Dick. "Please resume your seat."

The Martian hesitated, stared into Dubrocq's eyes, and finally reseated himself.

"Contrary to your supposition," said Captain South, "I have been quite desirous of speaking with you, but the work of celestial navigation has kept me busy. Now that we have landed, I feel that it is my duty to inform you that a very serious accusation has been made against you."

"Indeed? Of course I may ask what it is?"

"Of course. You are accused of connection with a band of interplanetary dope-smugglers aboard this vessel, the same band, I believe, that managed to get three tons or more of Martian venn into New York during the last year. This, of course, is the showdown. Unless you can clear yourself, I shall not permit you to land on Venus. I am curious to know why you attempt such a thing, after purchasing accommodations all the way to Mars."

"You seem to keep well informed about your thousands of passengers, Captain. Or have you made a special study of me?"

"You are to answer questions, not ask them," said Captain South.

"I shall answer only such questions as I please to answer," snapped the Martian. "Since you are so eager for a 'showdown', we'll have it out now. To relieve your anxiety, I shall state that I am a member of the smuggling ring under consideration; that I regret failing to kill this Dubrocq, as I had orders to do so. Frankly, he is a nuisance. Eventually, I shall kill him. Don't move, Captain, and, please, don't act so astonished. In about three minutes you will understand that I 'hold the steel whip' above all of you, to borrow a charming Venusian expression. This is what you vulgarly call a 'showdown', but I am the one who shall do the talking."

Meanwhile an old and wrinkled Martian had approached Vincennes on the airlock deck, speaking in halting English.

"Are you ze man name' Deeck? Deeck Du-- Du-- I do not know how to say--"

"Richard Dubrocq? No, he's not here now."

"No?" There was a faint note of alarm in the old man's voice. "You are name' Veec? Veec Vinzenne?"

"I am Victor Vincennes."

"Ah! Weel you come weet' me at once? Eet ees very eemportant."

Vie went with the Martian.

* * * *

"I have a number of things to tell you," said Tja Narro to the three in the navigation room.

"First: I have a weapon in my pocket, easily available. Second; I was entirely within my rights when I attempted to leave the Cosmonia here. Every ticket sold for this ship to Mars allows the privilege of discontinuing the voyage at Venus. From here, I understand, the Cosmonia will go directly to the Red Planet, but I have received orders from my employer, who has asked me to remain on Venus and perform some little services for him there. Mr. Smithers and I have both decided to cut short our trips."

* * *

THE captain started at the name of Harburton Smithers, wealthy Earthman, and reached involuntarily for a speaking tube; but he found Tja Narro pointing a mean little bullet projector at him.

"I regret that this diminutive weapon contains only one bullet at a time, but that one is poisoned, and the first of you three who moves will die, while the other two will gain nothing at all, even should you capture or kill me. Let the speaking tube alone, Captain. We shall probably be interrupted sooner or later by some unfortunate individual, but why sign a man's death-warrant by asking him to come here now?

"At present I desire strongly to explain to you some of the latest Martian advances in the interesting science of physical chemistry. My talk, I dare say, will be quite instructive. Please listen quietly, and do not delude yourselves into thinking that I shall not be alert every second for the slightest suspicious move by any of you. Now, about this scientific discovery:

"On Mars, for the last thousand years or so, the best scientists have been inclined to uphold a theory of the atom somewhat resembling the theory presented on Earth a mere century ago by the scientist Bohr and others, the so-called 'planetary' atom. You know, I suppose--a compound central nucleus of protons and electrons, with more protons than electrons, hence positively charged. Balancing this charge are one or more planetary electrons, revolving around the nucleus. Of course, my description is inaccurate and faulty, but I don't want to spend too much time--

"The chemical properties, such as valence, depend on the number of electrons in the outer 'orbit' of the atom. A neon atom, for instance, has a full set of eight electrons in its outer 'ring' or 'shell', and is complete and stable. It will not combine with anything, not even another neon atom. It is inert, and--"

Tja Narro's manner indicated that he was likely to continue for several hours. Brad interrupted him.

"What are you driving at? Your forced lecture is not particularly new. I'm listening mainly because of the gun, but I confess a curiosity to know why you are discoursing upon the neon atom at the present time. Perhaps you are just killing time?"

Tja Narro laughed unpleasantly. "Perhaps. I find it more interesting to talk than to sit here in silence. Moreover, I am leading up to something quite startlingly definite. To continue:

"Recently a clever scientist of the Red Planet devised a way to make two neon atoms combine by sharing all their electrons. Understand, bineon is not a biatomic molecule. It is, rather, a totally new artificial atom, whose properties in no way resemble those of a neon atom. Instead its chemical and physical properties show a resemblance to those of calcium, the mono-nuclear element that has twenty planetary electrons.

"An ordinary neon atom has ten, two in the primary orbit and eight in the outer orbit. It is a gas. Bi-neon is a decidedly metallic solid, chemically active, with a valence of two, the valence of calcium. You can see that a great scientific advance has been made."

CHAPTER IV.

A Case of Invisibility

 "I READ the scientific journals of Mars, Earth, and Venus," said Brad, "but I don't remember having heard about this achievement. It sounds incredible without proof. I'd have to know more about the scientist's methods before I could believe his claims. When and where was this discovery made public?"

"Most unfortunately, this scientist met with an accident before his discoveries were made public."

"Indeed?"

"Indeed. You see, the carbonate of bineon, while it resembles in a general way the carbonate of calcium, has very important special properties, one of which is its extremely great index of refraction. In the pure state, bi-neon carbonate is colorless and transparent, as is calcite, a pure form of calcium carbonate. You follow me?"

"Yes," said Dick grimly. "Go ahead."

"Bi-neon carbonate can be prepared as a hard, amorphous substance resembling glass, and the scientist found that a ray of light that once entered a sphere of it could never emerge, due to the extreme index of refraction. The scientist experimented further with mixtures of the bineon carbonate and a pure glass. By varying the percentages, he could vary the index of the finished product."

"I see you coming," muttered Brad.

"You probably do. The savant finally-made a hollow sphere of a bineon-glass mixture that would let a light ray emerge at a point exactly opposite the point at which it entered, but without crossing the central space. The refractive index was such that the light ray was reflected and re-reflected, within the glass, around 180o before it emerged. Then, of course, the sphere, and anything in the hollow space within it, was totally and completely invisible. You know that a prism can act as a mirror, even though it's not silvered. In the same way the hollow sphere acts as thousands of perfect mirrors. No matter from what angle you look, you see nothing except precisely what you'd see if the sphere and its contents weren't there."

"A practical method of producing invisibility," said Brad slowly.

"Not practical. A sphere large enough to hold a man is rather unwieldy. A cylinder is more convenient, though not so technically perfect. You can see a cylinder from the top, though it is invisible if you look at the cylindrical surface.

"A cylinder seven feet tall, mounted on casters, with small holes for the man inside to look through, as no light reaches him, he can't see unless a small eyehole is provided--will render a man totally invisible. Also, there should be carefully machined openings and doors in the cylinder, to enable the occupant to fire a weapon, or to take objects inside, though by doing so he renders himself visible until the opening is closed."

"A very convenient machine for criminals," said Captain South.

Tja Narro laughed again, unpleasantly. "You might have the courtesy to watch your language. But, after all, why not. I am what you call a criminal. So are the others in the--organization. We possess one of those man-concealing cylinders. After the accident that had occurred to the scientist, his inventions were all taken over and kept secret by the Imperial Government of Mars. They overlooked one cylinder, however, for the simple reason that it was invisible. I need not go into details, but that cylinder, after many adventures, is now on board this space-flyer."

* * *

THE "Martian regarded a diminutive timepiece. "Mr. Smithers has by this time removed from the cargo-room the venn and venn-plants that you discovered with your prying XX-rays. The drug is now safe on Venus. My partner's invisibility enabled him to get rid of the unsuspecting guard in the cargo-room before that individual knew anything was happening.

"Then in two or three trips, he safely transported all the contents of that mysterious extra trunk outside to a fast waiting truck. Another trip, and he carried away the empty collapsible trunk in sections, just to remove all annoying evidence of our work. By simple dash-dot code on my Martian pocket radio transmitter, I have just asked him to come here as soon as he finishes. I expect him any minute. You will see the door open, but you will not see anyone enter."

"Would you mind stating just what your purpose is?" asked Captain South.

"Not at all," said Tja Narro coldly. "You don't suppose I intend to let you live after what I told you? You three have been marked for death anyhow. As I have only one bullet I need assistance. My invisible partner will be well armed. You probably know that the average Martian has no compunction about killing. It's common on the Red Planet, in spite of the complicated system of decadent laws.

"We are a cynical race, not burdened with any flattering though false ideas of the sanctity of human life. An interesting scientific phenomenon, life, but not of any great value. Frankly, we are going to kill the three of you and escape. We can't expect you to like it, but we were peaceably minding our own business until you started to nose in with investigations. Don't move, my impulsive friend. You are a powerful brute, but I can shoot you quite easily before you reach me."

The door of the room swung open, but apparently nothing else happened. The three Earthmen were rigid in their chairs. Tja Narro laughed for the third time.

A hand and arm suddenly appeared in mid-air. A heavy automatic slug-gun was clasped in the hand.

But it was pointed at Tja Narro.

The Martian stared a moment, and with a lightning movement raised his own diminutive projector. There was the thud of a partially muffled shot, and the Martian fell forward onto the floor. From mid-air came an ironic voice.

"Had to do it. Couldn't give him a chance with that poison bullet. An interesting phenomenon, life, but not of any great value unless one possesses something remotely like character."

"Vincennes!"

"Right. Now, Brad, if you'll close the door, we'll wait for the charming Mr. Smithers. Unfortunately, he did manage to get the dope off the ship."

The disembodied voice ceased. Brad pushed the door shut, but in a moment it opened again.

Vic's arm and hand and slug-gun reappeared, and the muffled thuds of three shots were heard. Then in the doorway appeared the figure of a falling Earthman, surrounded by a heap of shattered, glittering fragments of thick, curved bineon-glasa. A slug had penetrated his heart.

Vic suddenly appeared as he opened a narrow door in the seven foot high glass cylinder that enclosed him, and with him was the little old Martian.

"The shooting's all over," he said. "You can thank Kee Scarna for your lives. The little princess had a pocket code-radio too, and, being the Planetchief's daughter, of course she would know the Martian dash-dot code. She heard these two gentlemen plotting, and sent this faithful servant of hers to bring me to the only other invisible cylinder on board, one of those that the Planetchief confiscated.

"I was outside listening to your conversation several minutes before I decided what to do. The Planetchief doesn't know that Kee betrayed the imperial secret of the cylinder. I'll have this man put it back where Zon Scarna was keeping it before he learns anything about what's happened. He would probably scold her if he knew what she's done."

"She saved us," said Dick slowly.

"She would, of course, Dick. It's rather obvious that she loves you."

* * *

EIGHT hours later the Cosmonia was approaching the Earth's orbit on a direct journey from Venus to Mars, which two planets were just past their conjunction, while the Earth was approaching the opposite point in its orbit. The Cosmonia was making about one thousand miles a second.

One of the ship's orderlies entered the suite that the three shared. Dick read the message he brought.

"It's from Captain South. He says that an Operative 96M of the Terrestrial Secret Service came aboard when we stopped at Venus. He's after the dope-ring, and wants to hear what we know. The appointment's at ten-thirty. It's now just eight twenty-five."

"Righto," said Brad Culbertson solemnly.

Later in the evening the three went to the private parlor where, according to the note, 96M was waiting for them. There was no one in the room but a very blonde and very attractive Earthgirl.

But on second thought the three decided that she was a woman, not a girl. No one of them would have cared to hazard even an appropriate guess as to her real age. There was an air of capability about her expression and her bearing, and an unobtrusive air of breeding and dignity that was not at all incongruous with her very obvious physical attractiveness. She was the first to speak.

"Mr. Culbertson, Mr. Vincennes, and Mr. Dubrocq, I presume?"

"Indeed yes," said Dick. "You must pardon our surprise. Captain South's message led us to think of you as a man. You are Operative 96M?"

"You should speak more cautiously. In this particular case it's all right. The captain has had this parlor electrically isolated, and, just to make sure, I've spent my time in a fruitless search for mikes or photovision eyes. If you'll be so kind as to close the door completely, the room will be soundproof and we can proceed with the business at hand."

Brad closed the door. "By the way, would you mind showing me your credentials? Just a precaution, you know. As we've never seen you before, there's a possibility that you're an impostor."

"Quite so. Captain South will vouch for me, however. My credentials happen to be in the ship's main safe at the moment. If you will wait here, I shall obtain them."

"Let me offer my services," said Dick, "I am well known to the captain, and I should be glad to save you the errand."

"No. There is also the possibility that you three might be impostors. It was extremely careless of me not to arrange for a positive identification without so much trouble. I appreciate your courtesy, but I must obtain the credentials myself. Please wait here, and say nothing unless the door is closed."

The woman left. Dick closed the door after her.

"What do you make of it, fellows?"

"She's the real thing," drawled Vic.

The giant Dubrocq hesitated. "I don't know, Brad. Somehow she impresses me as genuine enough. If she can present genuine papers--"

He left the sentence unfinished, and the three sat in silence, each occupied with his own thoughts. Brad was speculating about the unusual properties of the carbonate of the synthetic twin-nuclear element, bineon; Dick Dubrocq was dreaming about a slender grey-eyed Martian princess. Peculiarly enough one Victor Vincennes was thinking of the same Martian princess. Ten minutes passed, and then ten minutes more.

"Well, Brad?"

"She's about four times too slow. Let's go to Captain South's office. I think he's on duty now, and that's where the safe is."

Dick opened the door and the three stepped out.

* * *

ON the floor just outside was the body of the woman. A bullet had passed completely through her neck from the front. Brad stood for a moment as if dazed, then looked up and down the corridor. It was deserted, and there was no sound. Dick and Vic knelt beside the sprawled-out body. The face was beautiful even after violent death. The throat-wound had not bled profusely, but it had evidently been instantly fatal. The bullet had completely severed the spinal cord by shattering three of the cervical vertebrae. It lay on the floor not far away. It was made completely of steel, and its force had been almost spent when it emerged.

Dick went for Doctor Kunzie, while Vic stayed by the body. Brad went in search of Captain South, whom he found in the navigation room. The captain was horrified. He called the second officer to navigate and came quickly. Dick had returned with Doctor Kunzie and two white-faced orderlies bearing a stretcher.

For a moment Captain South looked down upon the woman. Then he turned to Brad. "This is not Operative 96M," he said slowly. "96M is a man. He finally decided to get some sleep and see you 'tomorrow' as we say in spite of the fact that there's no day or night out here. I do not know who this woman is."

Brad seemed utterly absorbed as the doctor led the orderlies away with their burden, and the others knew that his keen mind was at work. Brad questioned the captain.

"You sent, of course, a second message stating that the interview was postponed?"

"Of course. Didn't you--"

"No, we didn't get it. Which orderly did you send?"

"The same fellow that brought you the first one; name is Joe--er--Joe something. Number 14."

"We'll speak to Joe 14 later. Captain, would you mind sending for the real 96M?"

"Not at all," said the captain, leaving hurriedly. A moment later Doctor Kunzie returned, obviously seeking the commander.

"What's the difficulty, Doctor?" asked Dick.

"No trouble. But I thought Captain South should know that there were about three hundred grains of Martian venn concealed on the woman's person. Pure drug, too. Not the usual adulterated stuff."

"In what form was it, Doctor?"

"Powdered, in ten grain papers."

"Thank you. I'll tell Captain South."

"I'll be much obliged. Good night, fellows."

As the doctor left, Brad picked up the all-steel bullet, examined it minutely, and put it in his pocket after wiping it clean with a handkerchief. Captain South returned, with a small, thin, and altogether negative-looking gentleman whom he introduced as Operative 96M. The small man produced his credentials, all in order. He listened minutely to all that Dick, Vic, Brad, and the captain told him, but his rather blank expression did not change. He betrayed a slight interest when told of the strange bullet, took it and carefully inserted it in a small leather case he carried. He betrayed no apparent interest at all when told of the venn. He thanked the three for the information, and took his leave, yawning. Captain South returned to the navigation room. The three made their way to their suite.

"Queer-looking little egg, 96M, isn't he, Brad?"

"Don't misjudge him, Dick. Few undercover men look the part. Don't make the superstitious mistake of thinking that men with chins like his are cowards. Well, let's get some sleep."

CHAPTER V.

The Planetchief Speaks

WHEN Dick Dubrocq rose he could not find Brad Culbertson anywhere on the flyer. A vague misgiving annoyed him. He roused the sardonic Vincennes and talked things over. Vic, characteristically, put his finger on the vital point of the mystery.

"Y'see, Dick, the main question is this: Why was she killed? Her identity is important, too. She had no credentials to present, and Captain South had never seen her. Her motive in trying to interview us is mysterious. Judging from the venn on her body, she was an addict herself, and probably connected with the ring. Maybe she wanted to find out just how much we knew about them, to ascertain whether or not our knowledge was dangerous to the organization. But who killed her, and why? 96M? No, he was asleep, or he let us think so, at least.

"Who else on the boat would have any possible reason? The dope-ring, presumably, would have profited by knowing just how much we knew. There's no reason for them to kill her, unless she intended to double-cross them and they knew it. If that were the case, she'd seek out 96M, not us. Why did she try that impersonation? There was no possible way to uphold it? Why? If we knew that, we'd be one step closer--"

"I wonder if she might have been killed by mistake. In the semi-lighted corridor, someone waiting outside the door, having seen us go in and waiting for us to come out, might have made a mistake--"

There was a knock at the door. Upon invitation, th� small secret service man entered. He spoke in a low voice.

"You are alone?"

"Yes."

"Very well. I may speak freely. Captain South is not on duty now, and as I have been aboard this vessel only a short time, I do not know where his quarters are. It is important that I see him, even if I disturb his well-earned rest. None of the stewards seem to be very much in evidence at this particular moment, or I should not have disturbed you."

"We can direct you to his quarters," said Vic. "May we ask why you want to see him?"

"I've been led to believe I can trust you fellows. I must have the set of master keys that Captain South undoubtedly possesses. I intend to search for the gun that was used last night. You see, nine persons out of ten would look at that bullet and see it was from a .45 caliber weapon. I have precision measuring instruments with me, and I find that it's the merest trifle too large for a forty-five.

"It is from a Venusian weapon, with the unusual caliber known as 7.37 k'kri, in Venusian measurement. Guns of that caliber are very rare. I must have the captain's set of master keys, and the sooner the better. If I find a hidden seven-thirty-seven, we may learn who did the killing last night, and why it was done."

Dick Dubrocq explained in detail how the captain's quarters could be reached, and the little man left them.

"Come with me," said Vic. "You and I are going to interview the Planetchief of Mars. It strikes me that he might be able to help us considerably, but so far we haven't called upon him at all."

"I'm game," said Dick, and they said nothing more until the Planetchief's secretary admitted them to his presence. The stern ruler paid them the honor of rising when they entered his stateroom.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I seldom receive visitors at such short notice, but I should like you two and Mr. Culbertson to feel free to call upon me at any time. When we reach Mars I shall desire to decorate you for saving my daughter's life. In what way may I be of assistance now?"

"I do not know how much is known to you," began Vic, "but it has been discovered that there is a ring of narcotic smugglers aboard this vessel. Their business is the illegal transportation of Martian venn to Earth and Venus."

* * *

"I AM fully aware of the existence of the 'ring', as you call it," replied the Planetchief. "I stated once that politics on Mars often become very bitter. I am hated by millions on Mars. There is a very good reason for that feeling. The organization that is smuggling venn from Mars is perhaps larger than you suspect. There are millions upon millions of Earth-dollars profit in the drug-traffic, but it lives on blood and human misery. The immense political group that is opposing my rule, sometimes even by violence, is organized and financed by the narcotic ring. They want to get rid of me.

"I have the reputation of being stern. Perhaps so; I am just. It is a matter of common knowledge upon three planets that captured smugglers and venn-agents and sellers are always rigidly prosecuted on Mars, and, if found guilty, immediately and severely punished. I insist upon such measures, although it is impossible to completely enforce the stringent Martian narcotic laws.

"If I were replaced by a weak or a corrupted ruler, the venn-distributing organization could acquire many more millions of Earth-dollars and Venus-tuals than it now does. Venn has legitimate medical uses. It should be controlled. I am doing so to the best of my ability, and I am cordially hated by thousands, millions of the inhabitants of Mars, who are swayed by the propaganda of revolution and revolt spread by the political groups which are directly financed by the illegal distribution of a deadly narcotic."

"Thank you. We have been wondering about the motives behind that attempted kidnaping. Do you happen to know the identity of any member of the ring?"

"Of only one, and by description only. An Earth-woman, refined and gentle in appearance, is a member of the inner circle of the organization. I believe that by Earth-standards she would be considered beautiful. I do not know the name, but recently one of my personal agents has obtained evidence of her membership in the ring. Of course, as long as she does not appear on the planet Mars I can do nothing to her. The organization has many representatives on the other planets."

"Is she rather taller than the average, with extremely light hair and blue eyes?"

The Planetchief's eyes suddenly gleamed. "Yes. That is her description as reported to me."

"She, or someone like her, attempted to impersonate a secret agent of the World Federation, and was mysteriously killed several hours ago. We are seeking her identity and the cause of her death. It is inexplainable."

"We thank you," said Vic. "Your time is probably valuable, and we won't trespass on any more of it."

"No matter. I am under a very great obligation to you. Please convey my salutations to Mr. Culbertson."

"We shall," promised Dick. "Please accept our wishes for the speedy recovery of your daughter."

The Planetchief said no more. Outside in the corridor, Vic turned to his companion with a puzzled frown. His voice was as metallic as ever.

"Ten to one the woman he mentioned is the one killed by our bullet with the odd caliber. Somebody saved us from spilling what we know to a member of the 'inner circle'. Who? The Planetchief himself and 96M are the only persons I can think of who would have reason to shoot her, and I doubt whether either of them did. There's something funny about this business."

"Yes. And if Brad doesn't show up soon I'm going to be worried."

"I am already. There's been too much killing on this vessel. The organization commits cold-blooded murder with no more compunction than--"

* * *

THEY had just rounded a turn in the corridor. In a heap on the floor was the slight figure of the mild-looking, unobtrusive little man who was "Operative 96M." For a moment they thought he was dead. Examination, however, soon showed that the man had only been stunned. A sizable lump on his head showed by its position that he had been struck from behind by some heavy object, powerfully wielded. A little patience and a little water brought him to.

He had not the slightest idea who had hit him, but the group of master keys he had obtained, by which every door on the vessel could be opened, was missing. No hope of making a careful search for the weapon now. Its rare caliber would have made it very incriminating evidence if it had been found, and microscopic examination could verify the fact that the bullet in question had been fired from it. The little man explained all this in a voice that was trying hard but unsuccessfully to conceal an extreme chagrin. Operative 96M had been very neatly robbed without getting a glimpse of his assailant.

They took leave of him immediately, and attempted to locate the boy named Joe Stubalski, Orderly Number 14; but Joe was mysteriously absent too. None of the other orderlies had seen him since their breakfast. It took about ten minutes to establish that Joe was totally missing.

Dick was worried. Finally he disturbed Captain South again and told of Brad's disappearance, and of the orderly's. The captain put in a call for 96M at his rooms where he had retired after making sure that the keys were gone from his pocket. Repeated ringing of the ship-phone utterly failed to elicit the slightest response. Then Captain South, under the assumed name the man was using, had him paged on all the decks by the loud speaking announcing system. There was no response, and none of the orderlies who searched the ship for him located the mild little man any place aboard the whole immense spacesphere.

CHAPTER VI.

Mistaken Identity

OPERATIVE 96M of the World Secret Service was missing.

After half an hour of search and indecision, Vic and Dick decided to enter the two-room suite that the little man had engaged from Venus to Mars. The corridor door opened into a small parlor, but a spring lock was automatically keeping the door fastened from the inside. As the master keys were not available, the giant Dubrocq hurled his weight against the door, once. The lock gave. He stumbled in, Vic followed him, and Captain South was close behind them. For a moment all three stood motionless, appalled at what they saw.

In a coagulated pool of his own blood lay Joe Stubalski, Orderly 14.

"Just one more killing," said Vic sourly. "This makes about seven in the last day or so. Observe the document in the right hand."

"What? Oh, I see. You're observant, Vic. What is it?"

Gingerly Vic removed a small, bloody rectangle of paper from the hand of the dead orderly. It was a piece of Earth-currency, a hundred dollar note.

Captain South went to the ship-phone and called Doctor Kunzie.

"Suppose we see what's in the bedroom." suggested Vic, pushing open the door between the two rooms. "Say, come here. Something hellish is loose on this ship."

Vic's voice was quivering. The other two jumped to the door. Vic was kneeling beside another figure, that of Bradley Culbertson, and a third was sprawled out absurdly a few feet away. It was the little man. On the floor between them was a Venusian gun, of caliber 7.37 k'kri.

"Brad's hardly scratched. Just stunned," said Vic with a gasp of relief. "96M has checked out. We've got to find out who did this before--Attaboy, Brad--He's coming around."

Doctor Kunzie entered, examined the two dead men rapidly, and then helped Vic revive Brad. Solemnly he opened his eyes and looked around.

"Who did the shooting?" asked Dick.

"96M killed Joe and shot me. I got him," said Brad slowly. "You see, he's not 96M. 96M is that woman whom this impostor killed last night."

"Impossible," exclaimed Captain South.

"Let me explain," said Brad. "Before you awoke, Dick, I went to the radio-room after donning some clothes and a pair of your rubber-soled shoes. I couldn't sleep, you see, and I was suspicious. Thanks, Vic. A drink's just what I want. Don't worry, Doctor; that scratch on the scalp isn't dangerous. I've only been out a few minutes.

"I sent a cosmic radio message, in an intricate code I devised, to the Federation of Earth-Nations. I knew that experts on Earth would be able to penetrate the cipher.

"About three hours later I received an answer in the same code. It gave me an authentic description of 96M; she is the woman who was killed last night. The radio operator will confirm my statements; he sent and received the messages for me. Meanwhile, while the identity of the woman was still unknown to me, the doctor here permitted me to examine her body.

"I performed certain well-known chemical tests for venn in her blood, or rather for the end-product that venn finally changes into. She was entirely negative, and I began to think that the venn was planted on her body after the shooting.

"After the message finally arrived, I shadowed our little impostor, and selected a good moment to blackjack him from behind.

* * *

"HE didn't hear me approach in your shoes, Dick. I took the master keys he had obtained from the captain, and started to search his rooms as quickly as possible. I located the gun he used last night,--that seven thirty-seven. Also I found the most complete set of forger's tools imaginable; inks of all kinds, ink-removers of all sorts, pens, papermending tools that can splice two sheets of paper without leaving a trace of the joining, and samples,--I wonder where he got them--of all sorts of genuinely officially watermarked papers.

"And I found a uniform somewhat resembling Captain South's, except, of course, that there were no insignia such as the captain wears on his neck-band. So I knew what had happened. An interview with Joe Stubalski confirmed what I had guessed. I called him here and showed him what I had found. He broke down and confessed, although the little man had bribed him, with that century note, to keep silent.

"With the pseudo-uniform the man had had the nerve to impersonate Captain South. He looked genuine enough; the woman accepted him without question as the genuine commander, particularly when Joe came up, apparently by accident, and addressed him as Captain South. She permitted him to take her credentials, to be placed in the safe, for captains of interplanetary vessels are always men who have proved throughout many years that they possess the highest type of honor and dependability. Don't blush, Captain. She would not have let any ordinary person have the credentials. She told about the interview she wanted, and to make it look genuine the man dispatched Joe with the message to us.

"Then he left her, went to his room, and made a hurried forgery of the credentials. It was easy enough to substitute photographs, but ticklish when it came to altering the name and the physical description of size, weight, sex, and so on, to fit his specifications. He managed to do it, splicing in some of his contraband paper, tinted just right with his splendid assortment of inks. The great seal of the Federation was genuine.

"He presented these credentials, and, for safety, to prevent us from finding anything wrong if we checked up, he had Captain South dispatch Joe with the same message the woman had sent. Of course, Joe did not disturb us a second time. He just left the captain's presence.

"But our impostor had to kill the real 96M if he wanted to be safe, and he wanted something of an alibi. So he told the captain he would retire. The captain sent Joe with the second message, but Joe didn't deliver it because of contrary orders from the little man. If we didn't keep our appointment the girl might be suspicious and on her guard. You know the rest, I suppose.

"When the little man came here he made the mistake of shooting Joe first. I had overlooked a gun he had when I stunned him. When he shot Joe I dodged into the bedroom and got that seven-thirty-seven he had hidden in here. I wonder why he wanted those keys?"

* * *

BRAD handed the set of keys to Captain South.

"I can't oppose your story," admitted the Captain. "The little man seemed genuine. When did you get Joe's message?"

"About eight twenty-five," said Dick.

"H'm. I sent Joe to you, the first time, just after nine thirty. You're right, Culbertson. He had almost an hour in which to make the forgery. Nervy, all right. I suppose he is a member of the ring?"

"I'm quite sure. Look in his inner pockets."

Vic Vincennes did so, and returned with a handful of small, thin, folded papers. Each, they found, contained ten grains of pure venn. "He planted those others on her body," drawled Vic.

"How," asked Dick, "can we explain the fact that the agents of the Planetchief describe the woman as a member of the narcotic ring?"

"Quite probable. The code-message from Earth, in response to my inquiries, told me that for several years she had been playing a desperate lone game, pretending to be one of the ring. She gained the confidence of the inner group, and probably had accumulated very valuable evidence. Recently somehow they discovered that she was a spy, and, you see, managed to get rid of her. The man with the little chin carried out his orders quite efficiently."

"I see. The Planetchief's operatives thought--"

Vic Vincennes, exploring further the pockets of the pseudo-96M, discovered a square of paper from which one end had been torn off. He read it and handed it to Brad. It was brief and to the point.

"Kill Dubrocq, Culbertson, and Vincennes within six hours. Destroy this note immediately. N. A."

"Well," said Vie, "we're slated for death."

"N. A.," said the herculean Dick. "H'm. Say, Nathan Axelmann is on board. The New York financier. I wonder if he's mixed up in this--"

"Few people know it," said Captain South slowly, "but we also have aboard with us the venerable old Martian, Norr Avornu. He is the recognized head of the political party opposing the rule of the present Planetchief. Avornu stays closely in his rooms. An old man, I am told."

"But this is Earth-script--" began Dick.

"Of course. It was written to an Earth-man who wouldn't understand Martian."

"Well," said Dick. "If we three want to live, we'll have to force a showdown soon."

"Yes," said Vincennes. "Damn soon."

They left Doctor Kunzie to his gruesome task and walked back toward the navigation room. "We've made exceptionally good time," said the Captain. "I've crowded the speed up to three thousand miles a second plus. The modern generators we possess can give very rapid acceleration that is also very smooth. By the way, in an hour from now our artificial gravity will be reduced to the Mars-normal, instead of the Earth-normal we are using now. Terrestrials and Venusians will have to wear positive gravity harnesses, set at approximately 3.09 to increase the pull on their bodies. Martians will be able to discard their negative harnesses, as our present electrogravitation will be gradually reduced."

They reached the navigation room. The little blood-red disk that was Mars gleamed through the thick windows of quartzinite. The Captain spoke again, gloomily.

"In less than three hours we'll have landed on Mars, and our last chance to strike a blow at this murderous organization will be gone. I have been morally certain for a long time that Norr Avornu is the brain of the venn-ring, but I have not the slightest shred of evidence upon which to hold him. This note proves nothing. It might have been forged. It would he necessary to prove that he wrote it. As far as I can see, our hands are tied."

* * *

BRADLEY CULBERTSON spoke quietly. "I think you will find Avornu a gentleman," said Brad. "Suppose you call him here for a conference, show him the note, and mention that although you have nothing but that and other circumstantial evidence, nevertheless things look rather suspicious. Ask him if he has any statements to make, any denials. Ask him, as evidence of his good faith, to submit to a psychological examination.

"Doctor Kunzie was showing me this morning a beautiful instrument he possesses, a marvel of accurate scientific craftsmanship, a brand-new and unbelievably delicate sphygmopsychometer, such as are used by the World Police Organization. Y'see, Avornu can't fail to realize that a refusal to submit to the examination will look bad for him. If he refuses, don't press him. If he'll let you, hook him up to the soul machine and ask him all the questions you want to about the venn-ring. Doctor Kunzie is an experienced and competent psychologist. He can take a look at the charts made by the instrument and tell you whether the man is lying or not."

"By Jove, I never thought of that angle of attack," exclaimed Captain South. "We'll do it at once." He reached for a speaking tube.

"One moment, Captain," said Brad. "One of us three should stay with you, as a witness of the interview. I suggest that it be Vic, here. Dick and I would be superfluous, and I'm expecting a message from Mars any moment."

Bradley Culbertson rose to leave, and Dick accompanied him, leaving Vic and the Captain wondering just what he meant. Dick tried to question him as they walked down a deeply carpeted corridor. Brad would answer nothing.

"Believe me, Dick, I've got a good reason for not telling you what I know, yet. There's a fifty-fifty chance that there may be hell let loose on this flyer in a little while. I know what I'm doing. I want you to search all the decks for Kee Scarna. She's recovered from that sanzan, but she's still rather weak. She may be in great danger, and I know you don't want her to be in any sort of danger. Find her and ask her to go to her room until we reach Mars. See that she promises you to stay there."

"All right, Brad, you're the professor," said Richard Dubrocq, "What are you going to do in the meantime?"

Two-fifths of a smile played across Culbertson's sober lips. "I'm going to the ship's library and see if I can find a copy of Doctor Gnanson's scholarly work, "The Theory and Practical Applications of Para-Electricity.' It's a branch of physics I've always wanted to study."

CHAPTER VII.

A Counter Revolution

ONE hour later the ship's announcing system warned the passengers that the change of gravity was soon to take place. Earthmen and Venusians donned gravity-harnesses of thin silver bands, attached to ludicrously small para-electric pocket batteries. The currents of para-electricity set up could be made at will to increase or decrease the electrogravitational pull upon the individual who controlled them. Terrestrials and Venusians adjusted their positive harnesses so that the Mars-normal gravity wouldn't send them flying around at every step. Martians discarded the negative harnesses which had kept the Earth-normal gravitation from harming their bodies.

Shortly after the change Dubrocq came to the library. "I finally located her maid, who says that she's feeling indisposed, and hasn't risen yet. She'll be safe, I suppose. The maid says that she won't rise until we reach Mars."

Vic Vincennes arrived. Vic was attempting to suppress a certain amount of excitement.

"Well?" inquired Brad.

"Doctor Kunzie gave Avornu a clean slate. He cooperated with us, and the psychomechanical evidence absolutely absolves him. He said that he knew of the existence of the ring, but he denied any connection with it. Any psychologist in the solar system would have sworn he was telling us the truth. Not the slightest microscopic deflection of the recording styli."

"I expected it," said Brad.

"It astounded Captain South. He's running around in mental circles at present. Do you suppose that Martian can control his nervous organization to such and extent that he can lie to a sphygmopsycho-meter and get away with it?"

"I have not studied the nervous anatomy of Martians closely enough to hazard an opinion," said Brad academically. "It might be possible. Has any official message come from Mars yet?"

"Not that I know--"

The spacesphere's announcing system broke in, stating that Captain South would like to meet Dubrocq, Culbertson and Vincennes in the radioroom.

The operator was bending over his instruments when they entered. Captain South was holding a sheaf of message blanks, regarding the topmost with astonishment and anxiety. "Ah," said Brad. "A cosmic radiogram from Mars!"

"Yes," said the captain dully. "We've lost our chance. This radiogram announces that the established government of Mars has been overthrown completely by a short and deadly scientific revolution. Zon Scarna and his daughter are exiled forever; forbidden to land on Mars. For the time being the revolutionists have picked Norr Avornu, who seems to be the popular idol, to take charge of the complete reorganization of the planet's government. Norr Avornu has absolute power at present."

"I knew it yesterday," said Brad Culbertson. "I suppose you have sent copies of the message to Norr Avornu and to Zon Scarna?"

"Yes. Just a moment ago. They must have them by now."

"H'm. I wish you hadn't. I wanted to intercept that message. It's a peculiar trick of fate, to have both the present and the deposed ruler on board at the same time. I wish I knew more of Martian psychology--"

* * *

THE unmistakable sound of an explosive bullet detonating on impact interrupted Brad. He rushed to the door and out into the corridor while the others stood motionless for a fraction of a second, startled. Four more explosive shots were heard in rapid succession.

"They're gunning for Brad," said Vic under his breath. He and Dick and the captain leaped toward the corridor door. A figure confronted them, then in a second four more appeared, all Martians, and all with an automatic or a ray-pistol in each hand. The first was Zon Scarna. His face was no longer stern and expressionless, but showed plainly anger--cold, calculating, and entirely merciless. He spoke.

"Some of my men now have control of the navigation room, and of the second and third officers of this spaceship. Others are guarding well Norr Avornu, an old fool. You, Captain South, and the other officers are, I fear, the only men aboard who know enough of celestial navigation to safely handle this spaceflyer. From now on I shall command. If you obey, and if everyone else aboard obeys me, I guarantee that most of the passengers for whose lives you are responsible will not be harmed in any way. With Norr Avornu in my power, I shall proceed to dictate terms to Mars. All of you will now proceed to the navigation room."

They did so, silently, well-covered by the weapons of the desperate ex-ruler of Mars and his followers. The second and third officers of the Cosmonia were helpless, facing the guns of more of Zon Scarna's men. The former Planetchief spoke again, his voice level and cold.

"As for you, Dubrocq, and you, Vincennes, and your friend who tried to get away, I shall kill you, now. You three in particular have meddled with things that do not concern you. Your friend was wounded or killed in his foolish flight. An orderly who tried to resist us is dead. Culbertson is lying in the corridor now, probably dead too. I must make sure."

He spoke to two of his men in Martian, telling them to get Brad, whether he was dead or alive, and bring him to the navigation room.

"I shall kill you three with the poisoned needle-gun, and my men will immediately give you burial in space. You and your officers, Captain, will watch me with such composure as you may have at your command, and realize that I will brook no interference whatever; that I do not and shall not hesitate to eliminate anyone who annoys me."

The two Martians returned from the corridor, empty handed. The Planetchief's countenance hardened. Vic Vincennes saw him lift his needle-gun at point-blank range, and felt an intolerable weight falling upon him, crushing the very life from him. He crumbled to the floor, overcome with nausea. The room seemed to be spinning, the sickness more acute and more horrible. Then unconsciousness.

* * *

IN the dynamo-room, in the very center of the enormous sphere, a figure lay recumbent upon the floor. Another pulled a huge double-throw knife-switch into its off-position, and began a systematic process of disconnecting other switches. His hands were bare--he ran the risk of death by para-electricity, the strange "cold energy", second cousin to electricity--but so expert was his manipulation that he did not give the thousands of ampores ⁽⁶⁾ of cold "juice" a chance to short through his body.

Brad Culbertson glanced at the man he had felled, and proceeded to the navigation room. On the floor were the motionless bodies of Vic and Dick, of Captain South and the other officers. There were also ten shapeless masses, all that was left of Zon Scarna and his Martian aides. Dick Dubrocq, of the mighty physique, soon revived, and helped Brad revive Vic and the other Earthmen. The mangled bodies of the Martians were removed by the ship's orderlies, under the direction of the wondering Doctor Kunzie.

"Suppose you explain, Brad," suggested Vic pointedly. "Dick and I and these officers would like to know what it's all about."

"As briefly as possible," began Brad, "the situation is this: For many years Zon Scarna has been the hidden brain of the venn-smuggling organization, but not until very recently was this known to the Martian people in general. Zon Scarna would permit no competition. Any unfortunate Martian who took up the smuggling business on his own initiative was soon ferreted out, tried, and condemned to death.

"Thus Scarna furthered his own interests by reducing competition, at the same time throwing a smoke screen across his own trail. He gained a reputation for stern and righteous justice. The Venus- and Earth-governments approved most heartily of his actions. But this apparently righteous ruler was the carefully hidden brain behind the venn-ring.

"Incidentally, Dick, his one and only redeeming feature was his love for that daughter of his. She knows nothing of her father's real character or occupation. She was the only thing he was capable of loving; and he would have been genuinely grateful to us for saving her life if it hadn't been completely demolishing his plans, and if you hadn't let him hear you say you loved her. He didn't intend to have any Earthman take that girl away from him--

"He brought aboard an extra trunkload of venn, and had it smuggled off at Venus under cover of invisibility. Remember how willing he was to submit to the attempted 'kidnaping'? He engineered the whole thing, in order to be very sure that the inconceivably valuable trunk-load of the pure, unadulterated narcotic could be landed on Venus. He has a hidden landing cradle upon the Hot Planet.

"At the regular terminal of the Cosmonia the trunk might have been searched with XX-rays, for the Venusians don't observe the custom of exempting rulers through courtesy. He planned the 'abduction' by supposed Venusian brigands. But when the meteor struck the vessel, causing it to leak air, Scarna came back to the Cosmonia without giving his hand away. You recall that he was not under restraint on the alien vessel, Dick, although he appeared to have been so. Of course, with his daughter poisoned, he returned without protest to the Cosmonia, where expert medical aid was obtainable. I think Kee Scarna has suspected something wrong ever since that 'abduction' fell through. The venn, however, was successfully landed on Venus by one of his agents, using the more risky and hitherto secret process of invisibility stolen by the Planetchief from the Martian savant who invented it.

* * *

"OPERATIVE 96M of the World Secret Service penetrated his secret and informed the Federation of Earth-Nations, the Planetary Council of Venus, and the heads of the perfectly legitimate political organizations opposing Zon Scarna's rule on Mars. A very remarkable woman, 96M. It's a shame she was killed.

"I obtained all this information yesterday from the Federation of Earth-Nations in reply to my code message, but at that time Zon Scarna was still ruler of Mars and you'd hardly have believed me anyhow. With the knowledge and consent of Norr Avornu, his party led the almost instantaneous revolution on Mars, gaining complete control of the planet. That was what I was waiting for, for as soon as that news came through we could arrest Zon Scarna and perhaps put an end to these attempts on our lives.

"You are wondering perhaps about those initials. I could hardly keep from smiling at you when you interpreted N. A. to mean Norr Avornu. None of you seemed to recall a fact that is undoubtedly known to you all. The Martian system, and it is no less logical than ours, is to consider the last symbol in the name as the initial, rather than the first. And, even when his name was phonetically transliterated into Terrestrial spelling, he kept the same system; N. A. plainly and straightforwardly signified Zon Scarna.

"When I heard that shot today--the shot that killed a totally innocent orderly who happened to be standing in the Martian's way, I saw clearly in a second what had happened in Zon Scarna's mind. Always bold, he would capture the unarmed ship; then, with Norr Avornu as hostage, he would be in a position to dictate terms to Mars.

"I rushed out and he shot at me. The explosive bullet missed me, but I fell voluntarily and lay quiet while other bullets went over me and struck the corridor wall, demolishing it in places. If he had only fired one bullet he would have seen, by the damage it did to the wall some distance away, that he had missed me.

"When he and the others went into the radioroom, I made a successful break for the generator room. I didn't have time to argue with the man on duty there, so I hit him on the temple from behind. I disconnected the para-electric cables that supplied artificial gravitation to many of the rooms of the ship. I hooked them all to the cables that carried the para-juice to the navigation-room gravity-field circuits, and cut in all the generators for seven seconds. Anything longer would have burnt out the coils.

"I robbed the rest of the ship to concentrate our gravitational power here. You, with sturdy terrestrial bodies, were able to stand it for a few seconds without serious or permanent injury, in spite of the fact that you are wearing positive gravity-harnesses. The Martians, of much frailer physique, were crushed to death immediately, apparently just at the most opportune time. You may not have noticed it, Vic, but there's a poisoned needle-dart sticking in the rug just three inches in front of your left foot.

"That's about all. I reconnected the para-electric cable correctly, and came here, asking Doctor Kunzie to come with me. His office was horribly disarranged by the temporary cessation of gravity. I'm sorry. All of his instruments and medicines floated around the room at random. It couldn't be helped--"

"I'm sorry for Kee Scarna--" began Dubrocq weakly.

"The shock is going to hurt the little princess," drawled Vic, "but she'll take it standing. She's a thoroughbred. Yet someone ought to take care of her. She's just a kid of eighteen or so, according to Earth-time, alone in the universe. It'll be up to you, Dick. I saw her fall for you when you spilled her wine, and I've watched you fall, son. Ask her, Dick; the invulnerable social barrier is gone, but she's a Martian girl, and wouldn't think it proper to take the first step herself. She's exiled from Mars; it's up to you to take her back to Earth and make her forget--"

* * *

DICK had turned away, flushed, doubtful, afraid. Vic stopped talking. He posed as a cynic, Vic Vincennes. It wouldn't do to show any emotion. The others never knew that Vic loved the girl too; Vic would have denied that he knew what love was, had anyone asked him, which nobody did. Vic Vincennes changed the subject.

"What about Norr Avornu?" he ejaculated dryly. "According to Zon Scarna, Avornu was well guarded by several men. Most probably he still is."

Captain South started, pulled open a drawer, and abstracted four automatics. "We'd forgotten him! Let's investigate at once." The others took the proffered weapons and started toward the door of the navigation room. Vic Vincennes, in the lead, collided with something he couldn't see. It was a moment before he found his voice.

"An invisible cylinder!" he exclaimed, rubbing his forehead. "What in the--"

The cylinder wasn't directly in the path one would ordinarily take while entering or leaving the room. Vic had blundered into it by accident. The giant Dubrocq stooped, put his arms around the glass he could not see, and brought his tremendous strength into play. He lifted the seven-foot high, thick, heavy glass cylinder into the air and set it down again several feet away. Culbertson's low voice rang in his ears.

"Dick! I depended on you to keep her away. God, I've crushed her to death."

For on the floor, revealed when the cylinder was moved, was a pitiful little heap of blue and silver.

Kee Scarna, however, was not dead. When her father had received the message announcing his defeat, she had donned slippers and had thrown a blue and silver silken robe over her pajamas, and--

"She tried to warn us," said Dick. He had picked her up in his arms, had seen that she had not discarded her negative gravity-harness of thin silver bands. Instinctively, when she felt the gravity increasing, she had turned the tiny dial on the band about her waist, increasing the strength of the negative force that protected her. It had not been enough to prevent her from falling unconscious with pain; but it had saved her from being crushed. She was breathing regularly, slender and beautiful in the giant's arms. He was carrying her to the doctor's office. The others were with him, but Richard Dubrocq paid no attention to them. He bowed his head and kissed her pale lips, her warm white throat. Then he looked at Vic, and his eyes were somber.

"You're wrong, Vic. If you'll think a minute you'll see. She'll get over her attachment for me. Interplanetary marriages are so seldom happy. There's too great a physical and psychic difference. She wouldn't be happy. I owe it to her to drop out of her life, before she does something she'll regret all her life. She been a dead game sport; I can be one too."

Vic looked again at the girl's tear-stained face. "You are right, Dick; I was wrong," he said, and for once in Vic's life his voice held no irony, no bitterness, no edge.

The giant relinquished his burden to the patient and overworked Kunzie. "Take care of her, Doctor, please," he asked, and turned to join the others. They proceeded to Norr Avornu's stateroom, but received no response upon knocking repeatedly. The captain opened the door with a master key.

The venerable Norr Avornu held a weapon in each hand, covering two Martians who were cowering against the opposite wall of the room. Norr Avornu smiled pleasantly.

"Ah, gentlemen," said he. "I am much relieved. I feared you might be the reenforcements these two individuals seem to desire. I take it that you have the situation well under control?"

"Yes," said Vic, smiling a little as he gazed at four deadly Martian ray-pistols on the floor. "Would you mind telling me, sir, how you gained the upper hand on these--er---gentlemen?"

"It was indeed most fortuitous. For some reason the gravity in this chamber failed without warning. In the sudden state of weightlessness my captors, startled, dropped their weapons; and were unable to recover them, as a slight muscular motion was liable to send one flying all over the room most ludicrously. I, on the other hand, obtained in a second my small weapons from my sleeve-holsters, and when, very soon, normal gravitation returned, I was well-equipped to keep my captors in a state of complete docility. And how did you fare, my friends?"

"It's a long story," said Captain South, "but you may thank these three gentlemen. Their remarkable services brought about the overthrow of Zon Scarna."

"They shall be very generously rewarded."

Dick Dubrocq took a step forward. "Kee Scarna is innocent of the crimes of her father. Please withdraw her sentence of exile."

For a moment the wise old Martian looked into the eyes of the Earth-giant. His voice was low. "It shall be done, my son."

The blood-red planet cast a ruddy light into the chamber through the thick windows of the spacesphere.

Swordsman of Sarvon

CHAPTER I -- Murder and Science

IT was in August, 2180, that Robert Huston, first vice-president of United Utilities, sought for professional services of his former college chum, Burton Boyd. Boyd met him at the University Club, and they sought a secluded corner. Huston explained the situation that confronted him.

"Since the year 2009, Burt, United Utilities has been the largest and most powerful corporation in the world. I won't pretend that there haven't been shady spots in its history, but for the last few decades the business has been honorably managed. It has prestige and the good-will of most of the millions of consumers in this world today.

"You know as well as I do that one man is responsible for its present position, and that he is Eugene Chilton, the richest individual in the world. He owns outright fifty-one per cent of the stock of the corporation.

"He was found dead three hours ago.

"Neither the press nor the television news-agencies know of his death yet, but it will not be possible to keep the secret for very long.

"His will disposes of the greatest accumulation of wealth the world has ever seen. I'm not interested in what happens to the billions of dollars. Most of it goes to charity. The important thing is what happens to the controlling interest in the corporation. The will is clear and concise. What's more, it is genuine and can be proved genuine.

"Laugh if you care to, but it's a fact that that hard-headed business man was three-fifths a poet. He ran that business, not for the profit in it, but sincerely as a means to benefit humanity. Perhaps its greatest asset is the reputation for fair dealing which it possesses. You would expect such a man to leave large sums of money to charity.

"You know that three months ago Chilton's air-yacht went down in flames three hundred miles north of Hawaii. His life was saved by the three Dornn brothers of Vienna, who were cruising near by. They own jointly many European business interests, which have been losing money steadily. Our financial bureau tells us that the three Dornns just about have their backs to the wall. Chilton knew this, and as a reward for their saving his life, he lent them large amounts of money, which they seem to have lost also. To crown the whole situation, he left the controlling majority of United Utilities stock to the Dornn brothers. He was truly grateful for his rescue.

"But there was another factor that influenced him to draw such a will. His only relative is his nephew, Lee Chilton, a youngster of twenty-one or-two, clean and straight, but wild. He's a daredevil; takes chances for the fun of it. You've heard of some of his wing-walking exploits. And he's every bit as hot-headed and idealistic as the older man. They had a quarrel just before he left on that Hawaiian trip. Eugene Chilton wanted his nephew to settle down and take some interest in the business. The boy wanted to be free, had no interest in the business whatever, and said so, with the result that he was disinherited immediately. After the accident and the rescue, a new will was made, ignoring the boy, and giving the whole thing to the Dornns.

"That was three months ago. Eugene Chilton died before his anger toward his nephew had cooled, and the will stands. It is absolutely valid.

"For the present, at least, I am the acting head of United Utilities. Vice-president is more than a name in this organization."

Robert Huston smoked a while in silence before he continued. Burton Boyd had been taking notes on his companion's talk. He looked up and frowned, puzzled.

"I follow you," said Burton Boyd, "but so far I don't see why you want me."

"I want you, Burt, because you combine ideally two professions. You are a detective and a lawyer. You not only track down your criminal, but you take him into court and convict him. Your reputation speaks for itself. On behalf of the directors of United Utilities, I want to retain you both as an investigator and as a lawyer.

* * *

"TO come to the point, there are circumstances connected with the death of Chilton that seem to indicate murder. I am inclined to suspect that the Dornn brothers have something to do with it. If you could prove that, the will would be nullified and the company would become the property of the natural heir, his only nephew.

"I told you that the Dornns were losing money. It hasn't been the fault of their business enterprises, though they would like to make it appear so. That money has gone into politics--crooked politics. The three brothers have been spending freely, too freely, perhaps, and they are the power behind Confederated Europe today.

"You are certainly fully aware of the critical international situation. You know that there is a threat of war on the horizon. If war comes now, it won't last three days, and I doubt if ten per cent of the world's population will escape death--ugly death at that. Aircraft, horrific explosives, virulent disease germs, the power ray; efficient scientific murder by the hundred million.

"So, as a business man. as a humanitarian, as an American, I will do anything I can to prevent the control of this corporation from passing into the hands of Europeans, our potential enemies; particularly, the three who are the hidden cause of a great part of the bitterness between United America and the European Confederation. The Chino-Jap combine, United Mongolia, under Dictator Howard Fu-Zhse, holds the balance of power. If they decide to aid Europe, America hasn't the ghost of a chance. And Fu-Zhse is ambitious.

"I am not particularly interested in Lee Chilton, but he is the one who should inherit United Utilities, for the good of the world.

"To maintain their control, the three brothers need more money, and they need it now. Eugene Chilton's last loans to them have melted. They decided to kill him before he found out their real business. If he had ever seen through them, that will would have been torn up immediately. I myself only received this information about the Dornns earlier today from an investigator in Russia. I was on my way to lay it before Chilton. If he had lived a few hours longer the three brothers would have lost their chance at unlimited wealth. I believe they killed him just in time to keep him from changing that foolish will, and just at the time when they needed funds to further their political ambitions. But I could never prove such accusations.

"If, as a lawyer and an investigator, you can keep the corporation in American hands, you may write yourself a ten-figure check and United Utilities will cash it for you ten minutes after it's written. More, if you want it. As a lawyer, will you not be able to employ various legal delays to prevent the will from going immediately into effect? Meanwhile your secret staff can be carrying on its investigations. I come to you because I've known you from college, and I have more confidence in you than I possibly could have in anyone else. And you operate on a large scale. Do you accept the proposition?"

"Yes. You may consider me retained. We'll fight in court and out of court, at the ends of the earth if necessary, through heaven, hell, or both. From what I know personally of the Dornns, I think most of the fighting will be outside of court. Watch out for attempts on your life, Bob. I think they intercepted the report of your Russian investigator, and so were able to act barely in time. If they did, they know that you know, or suspect, entirely too much. I'm not trying to scare you, but it's possible that you, or perhaps both of us, may be marked for death right now. Sudden death, at an early date. But I'm glad you came to me. It's a privilege to be in on such a fight."

The speech was important because it was so utterly characteristic of the man. Burton Boyd had attained his position at the head of his professions because he was preeminently a fighter; one of that Anglo-Saxon breed that positively never quits. Perhaps he guessed that the greatest fight of his career was before him, but he certainly never guessed where it would lead him, and he could not have guessed the secret of the Dornn brothers. But when Burton Boyd had the chance to help his friend of United Utilities, he made the decision that eventually led him to the Swordsman of Sarvon.

"Consider me retained," he said.

Huston continued: "Thanks. Let me tell you about Chilton. I received the message from my Russian agent in code 4387b, at twelve o'clock noon today. I was in Philadelphia. Rather than phone, I came to New York at once by fast plane. I was here at twelve thirty-five, to learn that Chilton was dead. He had been seen to enter his enormous private office at twelve fifteen, and was found dead at twelve twenty-nine by his trusted secretary, who was ushering in a visitor who had an appointment with Chilton at twelve thirty. You see how small the time-limit is. Between twelve fifteen and twelve twenty-nine no one could have entered his sanctum from the outer office, which was filled with busy stenotyping machines under the control of six reputable employees. No one could have entered even the outer office unless he had business there, and no one did. The only other way the killer could have entered the private office is through the windows, which are a sheer one thousand feet above the highest street level. The office is on the hundredth floor of the new Utilities Building, and it is inconceivable that anyone could have climbed to those windows from the floor above or the floor below. The outer wall of that building is as smooth as polished marble, and there is nothing that would give a handhold even to an ape. Also, the windows were securely bolted from the inside, and they have not been opened, I am told, since the building was put up. The breeze is a trifle too strong for real comfort at that altitude this time of year, and fresh air is supplied by the building's very fine ventilating system."

"How do you know he was murdered?"

"He was lying face down, near the side of the desk. There were no signs of violence in the room. Nothing was disturbed, but the side of his skull was crushed in as if someone had hit him with a heavy sledge hammer. It is unexplainable. There is no trace of a bullet or missile of any type, no hint of this object that shattered the arched bones of the brain case in such a horrifying manner. Not a visible clue.

"The secretary thought that he might have slipped and hit his head against a corner of the desk as he fell, but he withdrew that suggestion when he had examined things. Such an accident might render a man unconscious, would probably raise a lump, might cut the skin or even fracture the skull, but it wouldn't crush in the side of the head. We examined the desk, but it was undisturbed. There was no blood on it anywhere. All the blood was on the thick rug. Those are all the facts I know. I don't see that they indicate anything, except that death wasn't accidental. And it could not possibly be suicide. That man had nothing to hide, nothing to fear. He was honored and happy, and he enjoyed life.

* * *

"I ORDERED that a strict secrecy be kept. Besides ourselves, the only ones who know of the death are the secretary, the six clerks in the outer office, and the visitor, who is United Utilities' manager of the Hudson Bay power district. All of them are absolutely above suspicion--I can swear to that. They understand a little of the seriousness of the situation and agreed to keep the death secret for a little while. We had the body removed by undertakers, who are not aware of his identity. His name was much better known than his face was, and the face was unrecognizable anyhow. The undertakers don't know of the scar on his wrist, which I have seen many times, and which will prove the identity of the body should it ever become necessary to do so. There were no identification marks on his clothes. He dressed plainly. He has no relatives except that nephew, Lee, who is somewhere in Europe at present. That will help us keep the death under cover for a little while. I want to give you time to establish some legal delays, if possible. We don't intend to hand over this corporation to the Dornns until we have to, and not then, if there is any way out of it."

"If you are right about the innocence of the clerks, secretary, and that manager, and if there is no access to the office through the windows, I might be inclined to think that the assassin had mastered invisibility. It's hardly probable that such a process is perfected now, but we can't tell what some scientist may have been able to do secretly. You know about the recent experiments at Ontario University, reproving the photonic character of light. There is no telling where those experiments may lead," mused Boyd. "Can you get me a set of photostats of the plans of the Utilities Building?"

"Certainly, Burt, but there's more to tell. I've outlined the situation to you as well as I can, and it's complex and critical. There is another set of circumstances that further complicates matters, but I haven't the time right now to tell them to you, as I have an appointment in five minutes with Harrison Ives, the scientist. If you would care to accompany me to his laboratory on Long Island, you will be able to find out for yourself the other set of influences at work. Unless you're in a hurry, come along."

As the lawyer-detective, Boyd, and the vice-president, Huston, made their way toward the subway that was to speed them to Jamaica, their discussion-continued to absorb them, and they did not notice the small man, undoubtedly a south-European, that followed them at a discreet distance. Even Boyd, with all his experience, never suspected the shadow.

"What kind of a man is this Harrison Ives whom we are to interview?" inquired Boyd in the precise tone he always used when seeking information.

"Ives is a C. E., a Ph.D., a F. R. S,, and several other things. He is a perfect example of the abstract scientist, the man who performs experiments, investigates phenomena, collects data, invents and discovers, merely because he wants to. Many of his discoveries and investigations have no practical value whatever. He has done remarkable work in all branches of optics. He spent three years investigating the physical and chemical properties of the rare element, europium, and those of samarium which closely resembles europium. He is the greatest authority on those elements, as well as on ytterbium, scandium and the various other rare earth elements--all of which is totally useless, practically speaking. The average man, even the average scientist, would spend his time investigating something useful, something in which there might be profit. Ives is the pure scientific type. He has all the money he needs, and he is really interested in knowledge for its own sake. When he announces some scientific fact, even if it's something like the exact fusing temperature of praeseodymium chloride, the scientific world knows that that fact is right, even if it is useless.

"So when he told me that he had perfected that elusive process that has baffled scientific men since the first part of the twentieth century, the liberation of atomic energy, under control, I knew he meant just that."

"Nothing impractical or abstract about that."

"You bet your life there isn't. It means this: Within the next few years, atomic energy is going to supply all the light, heat, and power used in the world, either directly, or converted into electricity. All the natural petroleum known to exist in the world was exhausted fifty years ago. All our liquid fuels are synthetic and costly, comparatively speaking. Our coal supply is diminishing, and even with the most modern processes there is a terrible percentage of wasted power when you transform coal into electricity. Besides, it is expensive. We are obtaining tremendous amounts of power from hydroelectric plants, but even water-power is limited and costly. We have harnessed the tides and drawn power from the sun. But all of these will be out of date when Harrison Ives' process comes into use, and it will soon. It's so cheap and limitless! There is an unbelievable amount of power locked up in the atoms of a pebble. For centuries wise men in laboratories have been trying to get at it and put it to work. A small glass of water contains more than enough atomic power to drive one of our enormous air-liners across the Atlantic at record speed, and water is cheap. Furthermore, Ives' invention is not complicated or costly. It is practical, a rare quality in the scientific work of Harrison Ives.

"Ives wants a lot of money so he can purchase large supplies of the rare elements, which are costly. He is convinced that somewhere among the rare earth group, somewhere between 58 and 73 of the scale of atomic numbers, he can find the key to transmutation. At the same time, he doesn't want to worry over such a detail as the patenting of the priceless process that he has stumbled into while searching for transmutation. So he offered to sell it to United Utilities. He knows that the corporation will deal with him squarely, will buy the atomic power process and attend to the necessary patent protection, pay him two hundred million a year or whatever his price is, and leave him free to play with his rare earth elements and worry over the intricacies of extracting some electrons and a single proton from an atom of mercury and making an atom of gold out of it.

"He knew that he could deal with this tremendous corporation, even to the selling of an unpatented, stealable scientific process of uncalculable value, with complete safety. He laid the proposition before me yesterday. I've known him and his sister for a number of years, so he came to me. I told him I would bring out the contracts today. Eugene Chilton backed me up.

* * *

"BUT you know what has happened since then. If the Dornns, the power behind the organized, insidious publicity and propaganda that is steadily leading this civilized planet into a war of ultra-scientific horror, are to inherit United Utilities, they must not have this secret.

"You recognize, as Eugene Chilton did, that without this process, United Utilities would collapse. We own, among other things, four-fifths of the power supplies of the world. Hydro-electric plants, coal, tide machines, synthetic fuels, and all the rest of it. Light, heat, and power. But intra-atomic power is fundamentally so much cheaper than any of these that the corporation's business would vanish if in competition with it. Atomic power could be sold at one-tenth what it would cost to produce any other form of power.

"In order to continue to exist, United Utilities must have this process. Chilton wasted no time when he had the chance to buy it. The contract was to be closed today.

"But Chilton's death has changed the situation. I'm going to lay the whole situation before Ives, and I'm fairly sure he'll cooperate. He must take immediate steps to secure ironclad patents in every country of the world, or else he must deposit that secret in cipher (and it is mathematically possible to make a cipher mathematically impossible of solution without the key) in the safest safe-deposit vault in the country. The secret, and even the fact of its existence, must be carefully concealed, or else invincibly protected, until we see what happens to the corporation. If it stays in American hands, it can take over the atomic power process, paying Ives handsomely for the delay. If the Dornns get the company, it will not be hard to get financial backing for a new power trust and put United Utilities out of business. The only trouble is that the Dornns could cash in for billions as soon as they got the control, before the crash. It would also be possible to form the new company now, and crash United Utilities anyhow, but we don't want to disrupt this two-hundred-year-old organization. It can fight hundreds of times more effectively as a unit, for it is the biggest commercial organization in the world. It has power and above all, prestige."

The two men stepped off the subway car at Jamaica and took a taxi to the skyscraper in whose upper floors was the extensive laboratory of Harrison Ives. Their trailer was behind in another taxi. Boyd continued his questioning as they rode up in the elevator.

"What kind of a man is Ives, personally?"

"Interesting, in a quiet way. Modest about his achievements, which are remarkable for a man twenty-nine years old. He has a younger sister who lives with him and keeps house. She is one of the few girls I have ever met who is utterly charming, almost fascinating, without being beautiful or physically attractive in the least. Her brother is like her, not much looks, for they're both rather awkward and ungainly, but with a quiet and penetrating personality. Shy, both of them, particularly he. But you'll meet him in another minute, and you can judge for yourself."

Huston rapped on the door of Ives' laboratory. At the second he did so a throaty cry of pain, human enough to make their hearts jump, came from behind that door. There was a crash as of a heavy object falling, and then supreme silence, unmarred by the faintest suspicion of a sound.

There was no bell. Their repeated knocking brought no answer. Finally Burton Boyd turned the knob. To their surprise, the door gave inward, and they stared into the room.

Harrison Ives lay crumpled in a heap, face downward. On the floor were blood and brain. His skull was crushed in as if someone had hit him with a sledgehammer.

CHAPTER II -- Daredevil

IN every age and in every country there are a few immortal "damfools" who take chances merely for the fun of taking them: who play with death for the fun of the game. They usually die young.

Lee Chilton was such a man.

Mentally he was quick and brilliant, though practical he was not. Physically he represented the predominating type of twenty-second century American. Wider at the shoulders than at the hips, though his whole body was deceptively slender, not hinting at the wiry strength and panther-like quickness he possessed. His face was wider at the forehead than at the chin, though the chin showed determination and recklessness.

Lee Chilton was returning to America from the Azores. It was night, and the controls of his monoplane were locked. Lee was flirting with death again, up on the wing of the speeding skyboat, not because he had to, but because he liked it, sticking there somehow in spite of the tremendous force of the air currents.

The moon was hidden by thick clouds, and Venus was the only bright object in the heavens.

A large meteor came very close to the plane, tracing out a brilliant path. It screamed by a few hundred yards to one side of the plane, and then burst a few hundred yards below. The concussion threw the plane upward at a sharp angle and hurled the wing-walker off his feet. Clutching wildly at space, he rolled over the edge of the wing. His outstretched arms found the cabin door that he had left open, and he clung there. Then he pulled himself in through the door and forced it shut, taking his place at the controls and unlocking the automatic control lock. He was smiling.

The meteor aroused his curiosity. He knew it must have been large to have penetrated so far into the atmosphere, and it was far from usual for a meteor to explode. His eyes caught sight of a sizeable object that was slowly sinking through the air toward the ocean below. Closer observation showed it to be partially supported by a parachute. He turned his spotlight on it, but could not distinguish what it was.

He put his amphibian into a steep dive, passing the mysterious object. When it was above him he maneuvered carefully into position, shut off the tractor propeller, and started his helicopters just enough to keep the plane hovering motionless. Then out that door in the side of the fuselage, and up on the wing again. He got the thing as the parachute let it down, held it by the lines of the parachute and managed to swing it in through the doorway. Then he climbed down again, using that convenient sliding door. In the lighted cabin he examined his prize, wondering idly what it had to do with the meteor. He had not seen it before the explosion. He had a half-formed theory that the meteor was artificial, a rocket of some sort, and that this thing had been inside it, released by the explosion.

It was a black metal box, kept shut by a simple clasp. He opened it. Inside was a panel ten by nineteen inches, apparently a radio set of some sort. Connected to it was a curious leather headgear lined with thin metal. Inside the headgear were two earphones and a small lump of polished copper that would come right at the back of the neck when the headgear was put on.

After ten minutes of consideration, Lee's curiosity got the better of his caution, which had never been very pronounced anyhow. He took a chance. He donned the odd arrangement to see what would happen, and wondered what to do next. There seemed to be no switch of any kind on the panel. He decided that the whole arrangement was a dud, and started to remove it.

Then in a tenth of a second the whole world went black, and the man who took the chance plunged into oblivion.

CHAPTER III -- The Swordsman of Sarvon

NOWHERE in the known universe is there such an anachronistic mixture of civilization and savagery, of science and superstition, of culture and primitiveness, as there is upon the Hot Planet, Venus. There, great cities of steel fight the impenetrable jungles that hide still undiscovered monsters; there, men who fight with the sword obey their rulers, the aristocratic class of scientists and builders; there the two rival city-nations, Sarvon and Cor, flourish and prosper, surrounded by the swampy jungles and covered over by the planet's heavy blanket of clouds; there life is abundant and consequently cheap, and death is sudden and violent. And there lay the hidden key to the mystery that surrounded Eugene Chilton's death.

A large airplane left the city of Cor and hurtled through the Venerian night, low above the fetid jungle, toward a rocky high plateau in the distance. A tiny silent skyship darted down out of the cloudy upper atmosphere and cautiously approached the larger plane. Finally, the three disk-shaped pads that occupied the place of the landing gear of the small plane, touched the top of the large plane's fuselage, and clung there. The pilot of the parasite left its motor running in order not to give away his presence to the occupants of the larger ship, and climbed daringly out on its fuselage. He was a herculean bronzed man, clad in a sort of short tunic that did not hinder his movements. At his waist was a triplicate scabbard wrought in steel and gold, and it contained three swords--swords that were short, straight, and heavy, and that were accurately balanced to the fraction of a gram. Moving carefully in the darkness, he attained the point of junction of the fuselage and one wing of the large ship. Here he attached another suction pad, much smaller than those on his plane, and to which were attached wires that led to the metallic helmet on his head. Other wires led to a small box strapped to his chest. Making adjustments on the panel of the box, he listened attentively to the conversation of the large plane's passengers, who had not the slightest suspicion that they were overheard.

The two inside were conversing in the patois of Cor, but the listener, a Sarvonian, had no trouble in making out what they were saying.

"Why is it necessary to go so far from the city?" asked one.

"I do not know," replied his companion. "I am not a man of science. But I think it is because of the steel. Cor is built of steel, and this process that the council has perfected is very intricate and delicate, involving all the varied studies of astronomers, physicists, psychologists, and engineers. Very delicate currents of electricity are used, and the system must operate over great distances. I am told that this thing would not be successful in a place where there is much steel. In the cave in the cliffs there is no steel near, and there is no steel in this airship. It is made wholly from alloys of light metals which will not interfere with the electricity that is used. Even the slightest interference may be fatal to the operator."

"What are we to do?"

"We are executioners. We are to kill, after the transfer has been completed. This, I believe, is the ninth transfer, and the Council is angered by the failure of the appointed executioners in most of the former cases. We must not fail, for perhaps the fate of all Cor rests upon our shoulders. The Council has good cause to be angered."

"Why have all the others failed?"

"Meriden! Many Sarvonians can use the sword, but there is only one Swordsman of Sarvon. No one on Venus can stand against him. Somehow he has penetrated our plans every time. Each time he killed the appointed executioner, and those who should have been executed are living in Sarvon now, because of Meriden. This time, I hope, he has been beaten. That was the reason for such secrecy about this nocturnal takeoff. The Council is taking precautions. But they are not sure of themselves! There are two of us this time, and we are champions. I know of your reputation, and you know that I am no sluggard. Between us we should be able to take care of Meriden, should he appear. There will be rich rewards if we kill him."

"Why do they not send many, instead of one or two each time? Then we could be sure."

"They do not dare. That would be an act of war against Sarvon, and the Council is not ready for that yet. It might be disastrous. It all goes back to the great delicacy of the process, and that cave is the only really suitable place we can find for performing it, but it is in neutral territory. Sarvon would know and be suspicious if we took troops there. The Sarvonians would want only such an excuse to start war, and the Council does not want war until our scientists have perfected a new device for dealing death. Then we will crush Sarvon and be free to carry out our other plans, those plans that we are starting to carry out now, and which are always interrupted by Meriden. The Swordsman of Sarvon? He deserves that title!"

"It would seem cowardly for the two of us to attack him, were the nation's interests not at stake. And though it pains to admit it, one of us could not last two minutes against him."

"The question of cowardice does not enter into it. If he appears again, he must be killed."

The listener detached his device and re-entered his plane, smiling grimly. The parasite detached itself and shot silently upward, leveling out to dart ahead, racing for the distant cliffs. It left the larger plane behind as it hurtled through the clouds.

The little skycar maintained its headlong rush for almost two hours. Then it circled down to land upon the wide ledge half-way up the cliff-side, the ledge upon which the cave opened. The pilot knew the place, had landed there before, but he was careless and disaster fell upon him.

Perhaps the night plus the thick clouds was to blame. At any rate his searchlight did not disclose the jagged rocks on top of the cliff in time for him to avoid them. He crashed with terrific force on top of the cliff, not halfway down it.

Blood oozed from wounds on his thigh and his temple, but the bronze giant started to climb down the vertical cliff in spite of them. The night was black, but he could see the beam of light that showed where the illuminated cave was. He cursed at the pain of his wounds and redoubled his efforts, climbing downward through the pitch blackness. Four times he almost fell, only to save himself by luck and those great muscles. The triple scabbard with the three heavy swords was still at his waist.

He was still fifty feet or more above the cave entrance when he saw the large plane land easily on the ledge. As the two below got out of their airship, the giant scrambled recklessly down what remained of the cliff above the ledge, acquiring another wound--a cut on the left arm--from a jagged rock.

The two had entered the cave. The giant drew two of his swords and stepped into the entrance. The Venerian fights with two swords, always, and he carries a third in case he throws or loses one of the first two. Sword-throwing was never practiced to any extent on Earth, but the warriors of Venus could hurl their heavy, accurately balanced weapons with incredible accuracy and deadly results.

One of the two Corians seemed to have vanished utterly into thin air. The other turned and opposed the giant with a startled gasp of recognition.

"Meriden," he cried, as their swords met.

The Swordsman of Sarvon was grim. His wounds were hindering him. The battle was exhausting what remained of his strength after that fatiguing climb. He was laboring for breath.

He could see a form recumbent upon a bench. The one who was to be executed! Was the other Corian going to plunge a sword through the heart of the sleeper, while the first one kept him occupied? Meriden made a supreme effort and managed to pass his adversary at the entrance. Now the Sarvonian giant could back toward the sleeper and protect him. Still he could not see any trace of the second occupant of the plane. He noted subconsciously, while he was fighting, that the sleeper's head was encased in a helmet of leather and copper, from which wires led to a gigantic array of apparatus in the rear of the cave. Where was the second Corian?

The mysterious personage in question was hidden in a dark niche in the cave, concealed in shadow. The broad back of Meriden was toward him. The wounded giant was fighting for his life now. His breath was coming in gasps, and one of his adversary's swords had gashed his shoulder.

The hider selected the one of three swords that he knew to be the most perfectly balanced, and smiled as he lifted it slowly to hurl at the giant's back. He had the Swordsman of Sarvon at last!

CHAPTER IV -- The Row of Black Books

THE body of Harrison Ives was still warm as the executive and the detective bent over it. There was no one in the room, and there was no entrance to it except the door by which they had entered. Huston ran to the window. It was bolted. The side of the building was sheer, and the street was hundreds of feet below. Suddenly Huston gasped, and the detective joined him at the window. It was late in the day, but there was still light.

A tube went through the wall close beside the window. An arrangement of lenses and prisms gave it the effect of a combination telescope and periscope. Looking into it, one could see plainly what was transpiring on the street below.

Huston saw their waiting taxi, and behind it another. A tall figure emerged from the building and was met by a slight, swarthy individual. With a start, Huston recognized the former as Laura Ives, that girl, sister of the scientist, who, though she was handicapped by her lack of good looks, was the possessor of a fascinating personality, Huston knew. There was something incongruously furtive about her bearing, and she was carrying a thick black volume. She talked for some seconds with the small man; they both entered his taxi, which moved away. Huston turned back toward the room, staring at a shelf high on the wall by the single door. On it was a row of heavy black books of the loose-leaf type. He counted them rapidly. There were only eleven. The twelfth was gone, and in it, he knew, were the careful notes of Harrison Ives, his mathematical researches, the results of his experiments, the details of his investigation of atomic power. Gone!

Burton Boyd had acted. He knew from the color-plan, what company the taxi belonged to, and he had been able to make out the individual number of the car. His trained mind had secured those facts the second he had glanced through the tube. He picked up the phone, called his offices in Manhattan, and gave orders that all the bridges and vehicular tunnels be watched, and that the taxi, if found, should be trailed. He told his subordinate to ask the cooperation of the police, and in three minutes, thanks to the police headquarters broadcast to all the men on duty, there was a thick network of watchers all over Greater New York. Then, after he had finished these arrangements, he turned to his companion for explanation.

"It seems impossible that she could be guilty," said Huston. "She has always seemed to be perfectly devoted to her brother. She knew he was a genius, and she was interested in his work. She was no mean scientist herself. I've known her too long to believe that she is guilty. Something is wrong somewhere. I can't explain her actions."

"What was the book?" asked the detective.

The other shook his head hopelessly. "That secret of atomic power. Ives always kept the results of his experiments in bulky notebooks. Those eleven on the shelf contain all his earlier work. He didn't care for typing machines, but wrote everything out in his flawless, beautiful handwriting. Now the important one has been stolen, apparently by Laura Ives. Ives himself is killed under circumstances that make murder seem impossible, yet he certainly didn't die naturally. There's something wrong, somewhere, about the whole situation. It seems flatly impossible that anyone could have crushed Ives' skull with us outside in the corridor, and then have disappeared from this room, unless we take the theory of invisibility. Even then--"

"It may be that. I've seen too many scientific impossibilities become established facts to risk saying that invisibility is impossible in this age. There's nothing more to do here. There are no material clues. I'll arrange to have the body removed. The next thing to do is to locate Laura Ives. I hope some one spotted that taxi."

The two men descended in the elevator and went out to their own waiting cab. A short talk with the driver verified what they had seen through Ives' periscope. As they drove back to Manhattan, Huston asked, "Do you think it probable that your men have found the taxi?"

"There's no reason why they couldn't. We both saw the identification number, required by law, painted on top of the hood so as to be visible to the police in the traffic towers. It was 37K3, wasn't it?"

"Yes. It was plainly visible."

"Unless the driver covered it quickly, some one of my men or of the police would be sure to spot it. And if the police saw it covered they would immediately be suspicious."

Night was falling as the two men reached the detective's office. After several short conferences with some of his staff, Burton Boyd turned to Huston.

"No results yet. Would you mind phoning for those photostats of the Utilities Building plans? Also, see if you can get in touch with Eugene Chilton's secretary, those six clerks who were in the outer office, and that visitor. I think you said he was United Utilities' Hudson Bay District Manager. Have them come over here right after supper, if possible. Get a bite to eat yourself, old chap. We're not done yet tonight." And Boyd plunged into some routine work with renewed energy. The executive stood admiring his apparently tireless friend and then went to a phone on a near-by desk to make the necessary calls.

AN hour later the clerks, secretary, and manager arrived at the office of the detective. They voluntarily underwent a psychological examination, and the sensitive psychometers and delicate sphygniomanometcrs indicated that the men were innocent of any share in the death of Eugene Chilton. The psychomechanical evidence could not be taken as absolutely conclusive, but Burton Boyd knew that the scientific soul-machines were usually right, if competent psychologists interpreted the charts and records. Boyd's staff expert assured him that the evidence was entirely negative.

Later, in the conference-room, Boyd questioned them, though he learned nothing significant from clerks or secretary. Then he questioned the Manager of the Hudson Bay Power District.

"Mr. MacAndrews, will you please tell me the purpose of your intended conference with Mr. Chilton, the conference that never took place?"

"Certainly, but it will require a little explanation. It concerned one of the latest projects of United Utilities, one about which strict secrecy has been kept until yesterday, when we let the public know about it. You know that three years ago, unusual cosmic disturbances took place, and astronomers, due to the timely invention of the hypertelescope by Harrison Ives, were able to increase greatly our knowledge of the universe. I may say that Ives' work in optics is of incalculable value; in fact I believe it to be the only one of his scientific achievements that has any practical value."

Boyd smiled dryly. "Perhaps. The general consensus of opinion seems to be that Ives' work is totally impractical, but the more I hear about him the more I am inclined to think he wasn't such an impractical sort of scientist after all. But please continue Mr. MacAndrews."

"During the period of the cosmic disturbances I referred to, the thick, ever-present blanket of clouds that has always obscured the planet Venus and prevented astronomers from learning anything about the planet, was lifted for a considerable time, and with the hyper-telescope observers were able to detect absolute proof of intelligent life upon the planet. As to the nature of this proof, I am not prepared to say anything, for I am no authority on the subject. If by any chance you should want to know about it, I refer you to Professor Riccardo di Bargi, who made the discoveries.

"You remember di Bargi's attempts to get into radio communication with the planet. In spite of the tremendous amounts of power he used, the attempts were failures.

"The professor was far from discouraged. He went, a couple of years ago, direct to Eugene Chilton and asked for the company's cooperation in financing and building a rocket spaceship. Twenty-second century mechanics and engineering are so far advanced that interplanetary travel is perfectly feasible from the purely engineering point of view, and twenty-second century physiological research has shown that it is possible for human beings to withstand the terrific acceleration and the weightless condition that would prevail in outer space. The professor wanted to build such a rocket and take it to Venus, the only planet in our system where living conditions would be enough like ours to permit a man from Earth to exist there. The professor is obsessed with the tremendous idea of establishing communication somehow with that highly intelligent life which, as he is convinced, exists on Venus.

"Eugene Chilton helped him, in return for the exclusive rights to all mineral wealth discovered on, or imported from, the planet Venus, provided that such a process should prove feasible, and that the theoretical inhabitants of the planet would permit the removal or purchase of such minerals. United Utilities has covered the world, but there is still room for expansion in the universe, and Chilton had foresight enough to realize that sooner or later interplanetary commerce would be a fact.

"As Mr. Huston knows, Mr. Boyd, we have been constructing the rocket in the Hudson Bay District, near Fort Severn. It is under the supervision of Riccardo di Bargi and myself. The plans call for ordinary airplane propulsion as high as that will take the rocket, and from there on the motive power will be provided by the reaction or recoil from the explosion of liquid hydrogen, as in the several experimental rockets that have reached the moon in recent years. But early yesterday I received a radiophone call from Mr. Chilton asking me to come to New York along with the professor, but di Bargi didn't want to lose time on the rocket and so asked me to make the trip alone. I understood from Chilton that he wished to discuss with me the possibility of using intra-atomic power to propel the rocket, for it seems that United Utilities was on the point of acquiring the process from some inventor. That's all I know."

"Thank you. The inventor, by the way, was Harrison Ives. He has recently been killed in the same manner that Chilton was, and the description of the atomic power process is missing."

The district manager's eyes opened wide. At that moment the conference door opened, and one of Boyd's operatives stepped in. At a word from Boyd, he made his report. The others listened attentively.

"Operative Fisher and I spotted taxi 37R3 at Mineola, and followed it a mile. At a subway entrance it stopped and a little man, European, got out with a tall girl. She carried a black book. We followed them down the subway escalator and Fisher, I think, got close enough to hear what they were saying. I didn't. The girl gave the book to the little man, who immediately boarded a train bound for the flying field. Fisher managed to get on, too.

"I stuck near the girl. She took a train back to Manhattan, got off at Fifth Avenue, and walked to the Metropolitan Hotel. She may have been on to me, but I don't think so. She walked into a dark alley at the side and went around to the back of the hotel. I followed just in time to see something you won't believe, but I'll swear it's true. There wasn't much light at the rear, but I saw her plain enough. Boss, she stood there a moment and then walked into that hotel through the brick wall! She just seemed to melt into it. There was no other way she could have gotten out of that space behind the hotel, and I saw her go through that solid wall as if it was air."

"She would have had to pass you to get back out the alley?"

"Yes, and I know she didn't. I hung around for quite a while. I tell you I saw her go through the solid wall. I examined the wall myself. Solid brick and mortar. No trick to it. She went into it just as if it wasn't there. I don't see why, even. The hotel has several doors. She didn't want anyone to know she was in the place, I guess."

"All right. You're finished for today, Richards," said Boyd as he turned back toward the others. "I was wrong not to order immediate arrests on suspicion as soon as the taxi was spotted, though I thought that might have given us away to whoever it is behind this whole affair. I might mention that Richards is thoroughly reliable and that I see no reason to question his statements. Either that girl went through the brick wall, or else Richards is thoroughly convinced that she did, or he wouldn't say so. Just what--"

* * *

AT this moment Fisher arrived, eager to impart what he had learned. His story checked Richards' up to a certain point.

"--and we followed them into the subway. I got close enough to hear what they said. Mr. Boyd, I've been a detective for seven years and my memory is good. I can tell you word for word what they said, and I'm not mistaken--or lying either.

"It was the girl who did the talking. She said, 'Take this to the flying field and send it registered express to the Dornn brothers at Vienna. They have the meteorockets and will attend to sending it to the Hot Planet. Of course they will make copies, too.' It was the book she was talking about, because she gave it to him. I followed him to the field, and he had the book carefully boxed and sealed and sent it registered express to the Dornns in Vienna. I was standing next to him in the line at the express window and I saw every detail. I had a faked errand and he never noticed me.

"Then he did a fool thing, Mr. Boyd. He tried to cut across the landing field, instead of going around the walk to the subway station. I don't know why, unless he was in a terrific hurry or else was entirely unacquainted with the field. Some mechanics and guards shouted to him in warning, but they couldn't seem to make him hear. The field was brilliantly lighted, for it was getting late, but nevertheless he was killed by a monoplane which was landing. Either the pilot didn't see him in time, or else the pilot did see him and, losing his nerve, couldn't act in time. The propeller chewed up the little man just as the plane touched the earth, a few seconds after the pilot had cut off the power. Damned ugly accident.

"Now here's another queer thing. The pilot of that plane was Lee Chilton, the daredevil wing-walker. It's hard to believe. Young Chilton never took chances with anybody's life but his own, and it's impossible for that fellow to lose his nerve. The field was perfectly lighted. Chilton could have avoided the accident if anyone could. He should have seen the man, but he says that he didn't. That's all I can tell you."

"Chilton was returning from Europe?"

"Yes. By the Azores."

"Good. That's all, Fisher."

Boyd's face gave no outward sign of his feelings, but, experienced detective though he was, his voice could not help but betray some of his inner emotions. "Gentlemen," he stated slowly, "we're up against something big, and I think I'm beginning to see light. I'm not sure, or I'd tell you.

"Mr. MacAndrews, you heard the reports. Get back to Hudson Bay with Professor di Bargi and rush through the completion of that rocketship. Mr. Huston, here, is now acting head of United Utilities, and he will give you the fullest cooperation--money, men, materials. The atomic power secret is gone, so use your liquid hydrogen. With the money Mr. Huston will place at your disposal, double your staff of scientists and engineers and have them check and recheck every detail. Get a very strong guard of men you can trust and permit no unauthorized person to come within miles of the place. Watch out for spies, bombs, and above all, sabotage. If we have to go to Venus, we will. The rocket may be infinitely priceless. Keep this office advised constantly, and they will see that I am informed. The rest of you here understand that nothing you have heard is to be repeated outside, or even discussed between yourselves. Good evening. I should like to speak to Mr. Huston privately."

When the rest had left, the detective turned to his friend. "Bob, I'm going to Vienna. If I act quickly enough, I might even be able to intercept that book before it gets to the Dornns, but I doubt if I can. Robbing aerial express or aerial mails is just about impossible. If I got caught at it in Europe, with the present state of hard feelings toward all Americans, my captors would make things hot for me. If the Dornns get that secret, there is almost the certainty of war soon, and what chance have we got against Europe--Europe armed with atomic power?

"Europe wants war, and it is the Dornn trio that is behind it all.

"You heard that reference to the hot planet? That could only be Venus, and we know life exists there. The Dornns have something to do with Venus, and they intend to send the book--"

A whistling note sounded from the news-machine in the corner of the room. The whistle signified that an event of particular importance was being broadcast. Burton Boyd snapped on the sound and vision controls. As no image appeared on the screen of the set, it was evident that the event was not of a type that could be photographed or broadcast over the television system. The clear, precise, even voice of the unseen news-announcer filled the room.

"We regret deeply that we are obliged to announce to the people of the United States that Secretary of State Jones, who has done so much in these trying times to preserve peace, has been murdered by assailants unknown.

"The Hon. Secretary has been stopping for several days at the Metropolitan Hotel in New York, where he occupied a suite on the ground floor. The doors and windows of his rooms were locked and barred, and no evidence of their having been disturbed can be found. The Secretary's trusted valet was sleeping in the room next to the Secretary's chamber, and states that he, the secretary, had retired early in the evening. It is the valet who has disclosed the death of Mr. Jones, whom he found a few minutes ago lying prone on the floor of his chamber, with the side of his head crushed in completely. We are informed that the Chief of Police has stated that a very heavy, blunt instrument, such as a sledge hammer, would be necessary to make such a wound. The police appear, at the moment, to be launched on their most baffling case in years."

CHAPTER V -- Sarvon

LEE CHILTON regained consciousness as suddenly and as completely as he had lost it. His first perception was that something tight was around his head. It was a heavy helmet fastened on by a chin strap. Almost automatically he loosened it and removed the helmet. Then he saw that he was lying on a bench in a lighted cave, the back of which was filled with strange apparatus from which led a cable, made of several insulated wires twisted together, to the helmet he had just removed.

Now his attention was immediately attracted by what was taking place before him. A bronzed giant was battling, a heavy sword in each hand, with a slightly smaller adversary similarly armed. In a niche in the cave wall, plainly visible to Lee Chilton, though hidden from the fighters, was a third man, in the very act of lifting a sword to hurl at the giant's back.

It was cowardly, thought Lee, and of all things he despised cowardice the most. His mind and his muscles worked together; he leaped for the man in the niche. He was not in time to prevent the sword from being thrown, but he seized the man's shoulder at precisely the right second to deflect the course of the sword. It hurtled through the air for a short second, and embedded itself up to the hilt in the breast of the bronze giant's adversary.

Chilton felt himself hurled heavily to the floor. Livid with rage, the sword-thrower drew another shining steel sword from his triple scabbard and lunged toward Lee. Even as he did so, a thrown sword transfixed his heart. He fell backward, and Lee Chilton saw for the first time, on the hilt of the crimsoned sword, the head of a jaguar, wrought in steel and gold--the device of Meriden, the Swordsman of Sarvon.

It had all happened in a few seconds. The giant was dressing his wounds with the contents of a small pouch he carried slung over one shoulder. He addressed a few unintelligible words to Lee. The daredevil shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands in a way that showed plainly his lack of comprehension. The Swordsman smiled, disclosing strong white teeth and a red mouth in a face that was intelligent, friendly, even-featured, and honest. Lee smiled back in order to show his friendly intentions, and the Sarvonian extended his left hand. Lee Chilton took it, and thereby established a comradeship that did not need words.

For the first time the Earthman looked at himself. He was wearing a light tunic, a garment such as he had never seen before, and it suddenly dawned on him that his body was strange. He had been tall and slender, with that wiry strength that depends on the quality of muscles, not on their size. Now he was yet tall, but broad and heavy also, with big-boned smooth muscular arms that showed at a glance the terrific power of their possessor. He had been white, Nordic; he was still a white man, beyond all possibility of a doubt, but he was deeply tanned, as though he had spent years in the tropics. He did not understand it; neither did he understand the swordsmen, the cave, or any other detail of the circumstances in the midst of which he found himself. The last thing he remembered, he had been alone in his monoplane, high over the Atlantic.

Meriden had recovered his jaguar-hilted sword, and was nonchalantly wiping it on the tunic of the man he had slain. He sheathed it and motioned to Lee to follow him. They went out of the cave, and the Earthman saw that it opened on a broad ledge on the side of a mountain. The cliffs above were almost vertical. Those below were more so, in places overhanging. The heavy odor of a jungle, of decaying vegetation, came up to his nostrils from below. Over all were thick clouds. On the ledge was an airplane that resembled those that Lee was familiar with, and yet was different in many respects from any he had ever seen. He did not know it, but it was the plane of the two Corians who were lying dead in the cave.

Meriden seemed to be struck by a sudden thought. He turned and reentered the cave, and Lee soon heard the smashing of glass. Looking into the cavern, he saw the giant systematically wrecking all the apparatus in the cave. His bewilderment, his feeling of mystery, was stronger than ever, but the Earthman was not afraid; to the contrary he sensed that there was adventure ahead of him, and his brain was supernormally alert, tingling with anticipation.

The Sarvonian returned, carrying the scabbard and the three swords of one of his late antagonists. He gave them to Lee and showed him how to strap them around his waist.

Then they entered the plane. The Swordsman took the controls, and the skyship taxied off the broad ledge into the black night. They rose a thousand feet or more, and crossed the range of mountains. On the other side was more jungle, but the clouds seemed less dense. They flew on in silence for many moments, when suddenly Lee felt the other pulling at his arm. The giant pointed out through the window at the left, and Chilton gazed out at the blackness. At first he could distinguish nothing, but then he saw a space of darker blackness in the cloudy sky. Several stars were visible, and one of them shone with a splendor and brilliance that astonished the Earthman. Meriden pointed at Chilton, then at the brilliant body in the heavens, and held up three fingers. Then he pointed at himself, at the ground below, and held up two fingers.

* * *

REALIZATION came to Lee Chilton. He was on Venus, witnessing a rare phenomenon--a rift in the Hot Planet's cloud-blanket. The brilliant star was the earth. Then he remembered the meteor, its explosion, and the apparatus supported by the parachute. In some incredible manner, when he had donned that headgear in the cabin of his plane on earth, he had been overpowered and rendered unconscious by someone on Venus, who had interchanged identities with him. That much he understood. He was enough of a scientist to realize that there was nothing impractical about the process. The human brain is almost infinitely complex, but not infinitely so; it is an electro-chemico-psychological machine of great delicacy. Our memories, our ideas, our reasoning powers, perhaps even that we call soul, in the last ultimate analysis, are all matters of chemical changes, reaction; so if the changes could be produced artificially, cell for cell, the identity, the memory of the individual so treated would utterly change. That was what had been done. Chilton had seen coming from Venus the meteorocket, and by chance he had discovered the apparatus it contained. Then over the void of dozens of millions of miles of space, two identities, two beings, had changed bodies. Lee Chilton had come to the Hot Planet, the world where civilization and savagery were united in the great city-nations of Sarvon and Cor; but Lee Chilton would never have wakened to learn of the transfer had it not been for the giant swordsman who was called Meriden.

During the few minutes that the clear starlight lasted, Lee could make out the thick, green vegetation below. One place there was a rift in the trees, and a wide, sluggishly moving river was visible. For a short moment he saw some of the animal life of the Hot Planet. A great herd of a variety of wild, long-horned cattle was surrounded in the open space by the river by a snarling, wary pack of jaguar-like cats whose dimensions far exceeded the largest of terrestrial tigers. Miles farther on were two great lizards, drinking at the river.

Then far in the distance, myriads of lights appeared and rapidly came nearer. The colossal city of Sarvon towered out of the jungle. It was not a collection of steel structures, but rather one great unit, one great building of steel, thousands of feet tall, stretching miles in all directions, containing millions of men, women, and children. It had been centuries in the building by this great city-nation, and it was built to endure for centuries. Its higher levels are often in the midst of great, wet clouds, and its foundations are sunk deep in the jungle mire. Lee Chilton was not astonished at his first sight of the city. His astonishment came later, gradually, as he came to know the place. The Venerian city of Sarvon is too big to understand all at once; a unified mass of steel that can be measured in cubic miles.

Meriden landed in a great open space on the highest level of the city. Other planes were standing around, and two were taking off. A group of five armed men met Meriden as he stepped out of the cabin. He spoke with them at length while Lee Chilton stood silently at his side, comprehending not a word. Finally they seemed to be satisfied, and turned to leave. The Swordsman of Sarvon turned to Chilton with a reassuring smile and motioned him to follow.

The group of five made their way to a small structure at one side of the wide expanse of steel; Meriden led the Earthman down a long ramp that led to a lower level, and stopped at the intersection of two wide corridors.

Each corridor seemed made for one way traffic only. One-half of the way was used by pedestrians only, and was crowded with Venerians, who wore, regardless of age or sex, the light tunic that was essentially dictated by the ever-present heat of the planet. Legs and arms were bare, and sandals, some ornately decorated with gold and jewels, completed the costume.

The other part of the corridors was used by three-wheeled vehicles with sedan-like bodies, approximating the terrestrial motorcar. Two of these drew up at the intersection at the same moment, and their occupants emerged, greeting the Sarvonian pleasantly.

The driver of one of the cars was a smiling tunic-clad girl, who held out her left hand almost shyly to the giant. She was slender, dark-eyed, bronzed, and erect, and she possessed that perfect symmetry that is so large a component of beauty. And as Meriden took her hand in his for a moment, Lee Chilton noticed the broad belt of finely tanned leather about her waist, and saw that it was fastened by a large buckle, upon which was a jaguar's head, skillfully wrought in steel and gold.

The girl's eyes met Lee's for a moment, and he was aware of something in his inner mind trying to rise to the level of consciousness--like something he had known long before, and knew he ought to recall, but could not quite remember. He was aware of the girl's beauty, but he was absorbed by the mystery that deepened every second he regarded her. Something was trying to manifest itself to Chilton's conscious brain, but this utmost concentration did not disclose that tantalizing fact. It was in his mind, but he did not know what it was.

The occupant of the other car was an older man than any Lee had noticed in the corridors. His skin was not so tanned as that of the others, and he was not a muscular individual. His eyes were bright and alert, and his forehead was very high. Chilton judged him to be a man of wisdom, a scientist; but he did not know that the man was the head of the aristocracy of scientists and builders, the supreme ruler of Sarvon. If Lee had known, he would have been puzzled as to the reason that such an individual should take the trouble to meet him and Meriden at a street corner.

Meriden had greeted him quietly and respectfully, and the other had issued a few instructions. Then the giant, with a friendly wave of his hand, had entered the girl's car with her, and the car had moved away. Chilton found himself alone with the scientist.

The latter first smiled solemnly to himself, and then quietly addressed Lee.

"Will you step into my automobile?" he said in English, chuckling at the effect his words produced upon the other.

"You speak English," gasped Lee.

"Yes. I like it better than any of the other earth-languages. It is the tongue you are accustomed to, is it not?"

"Yes. But I don't understand--"

"Let that wait, if you please. There are many things you do not understand now, but all necessary explanations will be made soon. If you will enter the car--"

Chilton hastened to obey, and the vehicle was soon threading its way through a maze of wide corridors, occasionally descending a long ramp to a lower level, but never going up. Lee became aware of a real respect and liking for this man, who spoke his own language, and seemed to be aware of all that had happened to the Earthman, and promising explanations.

"Meriden tells me that you saved his life in the mountain cave."

"I am glad to have helped him. While he was fighting one man, a coward attempted to throw a sword at his back. I do not know how you consider such practices here, but on my world such a thing would be despised."

"It is a dishonorable practice on this world also, my friend, but the thrower knew that in no other way would he conquer Meriden. He has no equal with the sword in all Venus."

"I do not doubt it. If I may ask, who is the girl who came to meet him? His sister?"

The elderly Sarvonian looked shrewdly at the young man, who had crossed the void from an alien world. After surveying him for a few moments, he replied pleasantly to the question.

"No, my young friend. She is the girl he loves, and whom he intends to make his wife before long. He has vanquished all of her other suitors."

CHAPTER VI -- The Fight on Soixante-douze

BURTON BOYD snapped off the news-machine as the announcer's voice finished telling about the death of the Secretary of State. For a moment he remained lost in thought, then he turned to Huston. "Bob," he said, "there's a lot to be done here, with that killer at large, but my decision stands. I'm going to Europe tonight to try to intercept that black book before it gets to the Dornns, for that is the most important thing. They want war, and with that process in their possession, they can wipe out America in a day. I don't know how, in fact I don't even know that it's possible, but I'm going to rob the aerial express and get that book."

"You're taking a terrible chance."

"I know it. What time is it?"

"Ten forty-five."

"That means the aerial express left Mineola for Le Bourget just five minutes ago. I can't intercept it this side of Paris. There's no plane faster than an express plane, and I'm working outside the law."

"You can get to Paris before it does."

"Yes. The passenger-rocket makes the transatlantic trip in two hours; the express takes four and a half. But I can't catch the rocket. It leaves Halifax in five minutes. It's too late, Bob."

Huston picked up his friend's phone. "Give me Halifax," he said to the operator. "Connect me with AA-3-1000. Thanks."

While waiting the few seconds necessary for his connection, Huston turned again to the detective. "You forget," he said, "that the Rocket Transportation Company is one of United Utilities' many subsidiary corporations.... Hello. Mr. Dugan? This is Robert Huston on the wire from New York. Hold that London rocket until a Mr. Burton Boyd arrives and presents credentials. Yes, you heard me.... Cable and make immediate arrangements for a fast plane to meet him at London and take him to Le Bourget, Paris. Yes, you heard me, Dugan, get busy."

* * *

BURTON BOYD beat the express to Paris by ten minutes, thanks to a fast plane to Halifax, to the rocket, and to another fast plane to Le Bourget. He realized fully that he was playing the most desperate game of his career. If he were caught robbing the express, the European authorities would see to it that he paid the penalty, particularly since he was an American, but Burton Boyd was determined that the Dornns should never have that all-important black notebook. He knew only too well that there had been only one successful express robbery in thirty years, that all others who had tried it were dead; but it has been stated before that Burton Boyd never quit. He was not excited as he stepped upon the Paris field; in fact, he was very calm. He walked casually past the row of waiting express-planes reading the destination of each, and its number, painted in French text on the fuselage and wings of each. Soixante-dix, Leningrad, Soixante onze, Berlin. Soixante-douze, Vienne. Seventy-two, bound for Vienne! It was two-thirty in the morning, and the brilliantly lighted field was almost deserted, except for armed guards and the expert mechanics, who were tuning up the engines of the waiting planes.

The express plane from Mineola landed in a cloud of dust. Boyd knew that the express consignment had been sorted on the trip over the Atlantic, and that in a very few seconds it would be distributed among the waiting planes. He had few seconds to lose. When the eyes of the guards were on the landing of the plane from Mineola, Boyd hurled a small object he had been holding in his hand, as far as he could in the direction of Soixante-dix, the plane bound for Leningrad. The object was a repeating torpedo, a totally harmless little piece of fireworks, but when it hit the ground it started a long series of staccato explosions, whose sound resembled that of a machine-gun. It created a diversion at the critical moment, and the guards, drawing their guns, ran in the direction of the sound.

Burton Boyd, a pistol in each hand, had entered the open door of the control-room of Soixante-douze, whose pilot was leaning back in his chair, smoking a cigaret, snatching a few seconds of relaxation before the flight to Vienna. He saw Boyd and made a mad attempt to reach the alarm switch of his radio apparatus, but a bullet from Boyd's silent automatic put the radio out of commission.

Then Boyd pulled the trigger of his other weapon. It fired no projectile, but a long greenish flash seemed to reach out and touch the pilot, who crumpled in his seat. Boyd had no intention of killing a clean-cut, innocent pilot, who was only performing his duty; the pilot was not permanently hurt, but it would be hours before he regained consciousness. Working with the utmost haste, Boyd removed his own coat and put on the leather jacket of the pilot, donning, as well, the face-concealing leather helmet and goggles. There was a small washroom at the rear of the pilot's compartment, and Boyd placed the unconscious pilot there, slamming the door and regaining the pilot's seat just as a man on a motorcycle drew up beside the open door and handed in a paper. Boyd took it. It was, he knew, the pilot's final instructions and last minute weather information. Other weather information was continually being broadcast and received by the planes in flight.

The next second the motor truck with the express for Vienna pulled alongside and unloaded its contents into the plane. The clerk and the guard entered the mail and express compartment and closed their door. Boyd closed his, snapped on the light in his compartment and read the orders. They were in French, but Boyd was acquainted with seven languages, so they presented no difficulty to him. Noticing on his wrist-watch that it was precisely the minute stated for the take-off, according to the orders, Boyd put the heavy plane into flight. So far, so good!

For ten minutes he followed the beacons below, running over in his mind the events of the past few hours. Only a little more than twelve hours ago had Eugene Chilton met his death, then Ives, the scientis,t shortly after. Then, by means of that optical device in Ives' laboratory, Laura Ives had been spotted with the black book, and had been followed. The book had been sent to Europe, and Laura Ives had been seen to walk into and through a solid brick wall at the hotel, and Secretary Jones had been the third to have his skull crushed in. Burton Boyd wondered who would be next.

Rousing himself from his semi-reverie, Boyd decided that it was time to act. That all-important black book was on board the plane now. He locked the controls of the plane and stepped to the washroom, removed the pilot's emergency seat-pack parachute, and donned it himself. Then, stealthily, he edged open the door into the other compartment, the one that held the guard and the clerk.

The guard suspected nothing, expected no trouble. His back was toward Boyd.

The plane was flying steadily through the blackness, controls locked.

Summoning all his strength, Boyd leaped at the broad back, tripped the man, and hurled him to the floor, where he lay as if stunned. The gigantic clerk turned around and stared at the intruder with an utterly stupid expression on his sheep-like face. Seeing the guns in Boyd's hands, he slowly raised his own hands above his head. The guard was not stunned, but was faking. He slowly reached for his own revolver and raised it to fire. At the critical moment, Boyd noted his movement and dodged. The explosive bullet missed him by a yard and struck the lock of the outside door of the compartment. It demolished the lock and the door swung open.

Meanwhile Boyd's spark-gun had spoken and the prone guard sank back again, genuinely unconscious this time. "Mon Dieu," muttered the clerk, apparently terrified. But Sheep-face was not quite such an imbecile as he looked. It was he who wrecked Boyd's plans.

With a movement incredibly fast for one of his bulk, he seized both of the detective's wrists, twisting each of them inward in such a manner that Boyd had to drop the guns. The two locked in hand to hand combat as the plane hurtled blindly on its way. They soon fell to the floor, the clerk on top, and rolled diagonally toward the open door. For a few seconds they struggled on the edge, then rolled away from it. With a supreme effort, the clerk broke loose and seized the guard's gun.

Boyd saved his life by rolling through the open door. A stream of explosive bullets missed him by inches. For ten seconds he fell before pulling the ripcord of his parachute. By that time the plane was so far away that no stray bullet could hit the great billowing silken chute, and the clerk had enough on his hands with the pilot unconscious and the radio smashed.

Boyd was only human, but he was a detective, and his defeat rankled in his heart as he sank downward toward the soil of eastern France. He cursed bitterly. He had failed.

CHAPTER VII -- Explications

LEE CHILTON reclined comfortably in a wide-backed chair. He was in a spacious chamber whose walls, floor, and ceiling were of steel--the chamber of Xavian, supreme ruler of Sarvon, who was reclining in another chair. The elderly Venerian addressed him earnestly, and Chilton listened with the utmost attention.

"You know, of course, that you are not in your own body, Lee Chilton. The body you possess now was formerly the property of a Venus-man, an inhabitant of the city-nation of Cor, which is about as far on the other side of that range of mountains as our city of Sarvon is from this side. Between Sarvon and the mountains, and between the mountains and Cor, are impenetrable jungles. Sarvon and Cor are the only two civilizations on this planet.

"To explain what has happened to you and why it has happened, as well as the danger which is menacing your world now, it will be necessary to make a brief excursion into history, incredibly ancient history.

"You have perhaps been wondering at the fact that human beings, precisely like those on earth, exist also on Venus. Your scientists have said, and they are right, that there is only one chance out of hundreds of billions that life should develop in the same form on two different worlds. Let me tell you, then, that the human race now existing, both on your world and mine, had a common origin. We are the same race, not parallel ones. If the latter were true, you could not exist in an alien body.

"Intelligent life, by which I mean humanity, developed on Earth before Venus was habitable. For centuries the civilization of Yatlan flourished, only to be buried forever beneath the waves. The rest of your world was just emerging from savagery when the cataclysm occurred, and in a very few old myths and legends, I am told, you have records of Yatlan, which you call Atlantis.

"But Yatlan was wiped out, and the world went on as if that great race had never existed. Before the disaster, colonies had been made on Venus, and ages ago an interplanetary commerce existed. The only survivors of the nation of Yatlan were those who were on Venus when Yatlan perished. The last space-flyer returning from Venus was lost some place in the universe, and the little group isolated on this world degenerated rapidly until they were no better than savages.

"But the human race has an unquenchable tendency to climb, always. Through the centuries we have regained some of the ancient culture and science, developed and increased on this world as you have on yours. Long ago we divided, and a fierce rivalry sprang up between the nations of Sarvon and Cor.

"In some ways Sarvon is superior. Honor, fair play, and courage are inbred in every Sarvonian--more than in the Corians. There is less crime here and there. But the city of Cor has much more scientific knowledge than we have.

"There have been many wars between us, though at present a sort of truce exists. Some years ago they suggested to us that we join forces, and conquer the Earth--your world. Sarvon refused.

"When our ancestors first came to Venus, they swore by all they held sacred that there would never be war between the two worlds. Even if we wanted to conquer Earth, we Sarvonians felt ourselves bound by honor to observe the ancient pledge of our forefathers. The Corians have no such honors. We refused to join forces with them in their evilly ambitious plan to conquer your rich planet, so they went ahead alone, armed with their science, which is greater than that of Sarvon, and greater than that of the Earth.

"They sent meteorockets to the Earth, containing the receiving ends of machines they possessed, which were somewhat like the radio, but through which they could interchange identities with anyone on Earth who put on the headgear by chance or out of curiosity. Meanwhile they started to build great rocket spaceships to carry them to the earth. But they are cunning, my friend, cunning as the long-tailed rodent you call the rat. They knew that they could not conquer the hordes on earth, so they formed a clever plan. They would interchange identities with a few earthmen, said some of their leaders, and use every possible means to hurl the world into war. Each of your wars has been more terrible than the previous one, and they knew that if they could instigate another war among you, the world would literally bleed to death. Your great cities would perish, your world would be utterly disorganized. You would be decimated, perhaps annihilated. Scientific methods of warfare would eliminate ninety-nine per cent of you, and the world would be easy to conquer. It would not have a chance against the extra-terrestrial invaders. Such is the plan of Cor.

"Perhaps you do not understand fully Sarvonian honor. Our forefathers swore that there should never be war between the worlds, and we feel bound to prevent Cor from breaking that bond. We are mobilizing our forces, and in twenty days, twenty Venus-days, we shall declare war on Cor, though the outcome is doubtful. We have more men, but they have more science. At least, we are doing all that we can to keep the oath that the pioneers swore to follow."

The old Venerian paused a moment to judge the effect of his words upon his listener. Then he continued:

"The first attempts the Corians made at interchanging identities were not successful. Cor, like Sarvon, is an immense structure of steel, and the metal in some way interfered with their process, which had to operate across millions of miles. So they searched for a place which had no steel near by, and located that cave in the range of mountains between Sarvon and Cor. The range is in neutral territory, and it contains no ferrous ores. It was an ideal location, and there was no iron or steel near it, but to take many men there, would be to invite war with Sarvon, which they do not want while they are carrying out their other plans, so they took only a few, and set up their apparatus there in the cave, sent more meteorockets to the earth, and were successful in transferring identities with Earthmen.

"But their actions were not unknown to us. The giant Meriden, who saved you and was saved by you, had been playing a desperate lone game as a spy in Cor. The Corian process could not take a Corian identity to Earth without at the same time transferring the terrestrial identity to the body of the Corian, and the plan was to kill the body as soon as the transfer was completed, to prevent the Earth man from living on Venus. Meriden, the Swordsman of Sarvon, arrived at the cave, not in time to prevent the first three transfers from being made, but in time to prevent the execution of the three Earth-men in Corian bodies. He saved them and brought them here. They are living in Sarvon now. Meriden also destroyed the apparatus in the cave, which delayed the Corians until they could construct a new set.

"They did so immediately, and this time Meriden managed to prevent the transfer. They made another, and Meriden foiled them once more. In the next attempt, they were completely successful. Meriden was too late. Then they again managed to make a transfer, but Meriden saved the Earth-identity and brought it to Sarvon in its Corian body. And so on. Sometimes Meriden prevented the transfer, and sometimes he saved the Earth-man after the transfer was completed; that is how you were saved. Meriden has been able to do this because they never dare to send many Corians to the neutral cave at one time. As I said, they do not want a war with us on their hands while they are carrying out their plans of conquering the earth. On the other hand, we are preparing for war, and will be ready in twenty days. Meriden is to be in command.

"Our scientists have been trying to penetrate the Corian secrets, to duplicate this machine for interchanging the chemico-physiological structure of the brain cells in two different human bodies, but they have not been successful. However, while trying this, our scientists have developed a brain-machine hardly less wonderful, a machine whereby knowledge, even though of an involved and complex kind, can be imparted with incredible rapidity and precision to another person. That is how I learned the English language, and several other Earth-tongues, with such polished fluency. I am going to have you treated with this machine so that you may speak and understand Sarvonian easily. Also, I shall teach you the Corian tongue, which is a corrupted patois of the pure Venerian as spoken in Sarvon.

"You will then be able to pass as a Venerian of either city quite easily."

"You learned English, through your machine, from some Earthman whom Meriden saved?"

"Exactly. The first three Meriden saved were three brothers, Aloysius, Albert, and William Dornn. They are very fine men, and are in this city now."

Xavian, the ruler of Sarvon, did not fail to note the expression of astonishment that appeared on the face of his listener.

"You have heard of the Dornn brothers before?" he inquired.

"Yes. They saved the life of my father's brother, Eugene Chilton, who is the head of the world's largest and most powerful corporation. They saved him when his air-yacht went down in flames in the Pacific Ocean, north of Hawaii. He had quarreled with me, had no other heir, and had disinherited me and willed all his property to them. It includes fifty-one per cent of the stock of United Utilities."

"It must have been shortly after they saved him that they found a Corian meteorocket, and one of them was led by fatal curiosity to don the headgear. After one was transferred, it was easy for the Corian in his body to influence the others to put on the helmet. If your uncle should die now, all of his money would go to three Corians, would it not?"

"Yes," said the Earthman. "And with the power of his money, it would be easy to lead the world into war. War ... with the diabolical Corians chuckling as we kill ourselves off and waiting to overrun our depopulated Earth. Damned clever, those Corians.

"But they haven't won yet.

"There's no war on Earth now, at least."

For Lee Chilton did not know that his uncle had already been killed, his skull crushed in as if by a sledgehammer; that the three who were in the Dornn brothers' bodies on earth had already filed their claim to United Utilities; and that in Vienna those same three would soon receive the secret of atomic disintegration, in that black notebook Harrison Ives had written before he was killed--his skull also crushed in. Intra-atomic power!

It could have been a blessing to mankind, yet as a weapon of scientific warfare, it could be more terrible than any other the brain of man could produce, or even imagine.

CHAPTER VIII -- Izanne

LEE CHILTON was the guest of Xavian that night, and while he was asleep, Xavian had a heavy cabinet moved near his couch. Delicate disks were clamped over his ears, and small electrodes were applied to the base of his skull and to his forehead. He slept for thirteen hours, but when he awoke, he knew perfectly the languages of Venus. He could speak, read, or write them as well as any Venerian.

He was served with fruit, roasted meat, and tasty condiments. Then Xavian appeared and invited him to another chamber. There the girl was waiting--the bronzed, beautiful girl, who wore the device of Meriden at her waist. Lee Chilton found himself wishing that she didn't. She smiled winningly as Xavian introduced the Earthman.

Meriden entered, his triplicate scabbard that held the three jaguar-hilted swords still at his side. He bowed gravely to Xavian, took the girl's left hand in his for a moment, then repeated the ceremony with Lee.

It was Meriden who spoke first when they were all seated. He used the Sarvonian language.

"I learned while I was on my way to the cave, where we met Lee Chilton, that we Sarvonians are in error in one particular concerning Cor. We have been thinking that they feared fighting with us, while they were trying to conquer the earth, and therefore are being careful not to send more than a few men to the cave at a time, to avoid provoking us to war. As a matter of fact, they want war with us, too, but they are merely avoiding it temporarily to give their scientists time to perfect a new device by which they hope to destroy us easily. The conversation I overheard seemed to indicate that this weapon was near completion. We intend to strike in nineteen days, but we may be too late. Cannot the mobilization be speeded, so that we may strike in time-to prevent their scientists from using a new weapon?"

"Have you any knowledge of the nature of this weapon?" asked Xavian.

"No. And not knowing it, we will be unprepared to withstand it, whatever it is. Therefore I say that we should strike at once, and not be caught by surprise."

The old Sarvonian ruler smiled knowingly. "You are young, Meriden, and eager for battle. There is truth in what you say. But we must not be rash or foolish. Perhaps, if I order that preparations be rushed, we can be ready in seventeen or even sixteen days, but that is the best we can do. You must be content to let me, an older man, make the decisions. It would be suicide to declare war in our present unprepared state. Glorious, perhaps, but nevertheless suicide. Your valor will lose nothing by the waiting, Swordsman of Sarvon."

Meriden did not protest Xavian's decision. The ruler of Sarvon was usually right, but right or wrong, his word was law.

"Would it not be possible," suggested Lee Chilton, "for clever and daring spies to penetrate the city of Cor and learn about this weapon?"

Xavian considered. "Possible, but not probable," he replied.

Meriden jumped at the chance. "Nevertheless, with your permission, my ruler, I am going to make the attempt. Earthman, I know your valor. Will you join me?"

The daredevil from the Third Planet needed no urging. "I'm with you," said Lee Chilton.

Xavian looked at them and made his decision, perhaps against his better judgment. "You may make the attempt," he said. "May luck be with you, and take care, Meriden. You are perhaps becoming a trifle too well known in Cor, and I should not like to be forced to choose another leader for our army. Return in sixteen days, if you are alive."

The giant swordsman was voluble in his thanks to his ruler for the permission to undertake the mission. Lee Chilton was tense with the anticipation of adventure. Then, for a second, his eyes met those of the bronze-skinned girl, and he sobered. He didn't want to die yet. He wanted to come back to Sarvon.

"I am going, too," said the girl.

"No," said Meriden. "Stay here, Izanne. We shall be facing danger, perhaps death."

"You are not my master, Swordsman. I am not afraid of danger, and I shall go."

Meriden looked imploringly at Xavian, who came to his aid. "I shall ask you to stay in Sarvon, Izanne," said the ruler. "The work you are doing is very important. Remember, I am keeping your secret for you--perhaps for that reason you owe me obedience."

Izanne said nothing, but her beautiful face betrayed her disappointment.

An electric buzzer, concealed in the arm of Xavian's great chair, sounded insistently. Xavian threw a tiny switch, connecting a loud-speaker telephone mounted in the wall of the room.

"This is the Third Laboratory," said a low voice. "Scientist Grantolon requests the presence of Albert Dornn, an Earthman, and the girl Izanne, if Xavian can spare them at this time."

"Albert Dornn is not here," stated Xavian. "Izanne will shortly arrive at the Third Laboratory."

The girl extended her left hand gravely to each of the three men and left the chamber.

Lee Chilton became aware once more of a sense of mystery surrounding the girl. Something about her was trying to force itself into his conscious mind, but, try as he would, he could not quite make out what it was.

CHAPTER IX -- Discoveries

ROBERT HUSTON, acting head of United Utilities, looked up in surprise as Burton Boyd entered his office with a heavy brief case. "Were you successful?" he inquired.

"No. The book got to Vienna. I narrowly escaped apprehension by the European police, but I managed to get back here about seven hours ago. Since then I've been busy, and I can clear up some of the points that have been worrying us. The first thing I did was to go through Harrison Ives' other eleven notebooks, the ones that contained the results of his previous work. They contained quite a lot. That man was a genius. I've brought a few pages from the notebooks with me.

"The first notebook has to do with his work in the science of optics, and gives all the dope about his hyper-telescope, which di Bargi used in 2177 when he discovered that there was life on Venus. It also mentions that little periscopic arrangement he had in his laboratory, the thing that showed us Laura Ives with the twelfth notebook.

"The next three are about his investigations of the rare earth elements, and their effects upon iron and steel alloyed with them. I waded through an enormous amount of the stuff just to be thorough.

"Then I came across something really important. I'm going to read you a little from one of the later books. This, plus that set of photostats you gave me, clears up many details about those murders. I have the pages here. Listen to this for a minute:

"'... and we find that the atom is composed of two things, the proton, and the electron, in varying numbers. The number of electrons and protons in an atom determines what element it is. Electrons resolve about a central nucleus as planets about a sun, at great distances when the size of the electrons and nuclei is considered. If it is true that an electron has only about 1/1800 or less of the mass of a proton or if it is true that electrons and protons are nothing but charges of electricity, as some assert, then the thinking physicist soon reaches the conclusion that there is no such thing as "matter," and that even the heavy elements, such as platinum or uranium, are not really dense at all, but that there is an immense percentage of open space between the electrons and protons that make up matter--as much open space, in proportion, as there is in our universe not occupied by suns and planets.

"'We know that when sugar, for instance, dissolves in water, the molecules of sugar go between those of the water, and the bulk of the solution is not proportionately increased, though its density is.

"'I see no fundamental reason why the law of impenetrability of matter cannot be refuted, no fundamental reason why two things could not occupy the same space at the same time. A piece of iron may be supposedly occupying a certain space, but the electrons and protons that make up that iron only take an infinitesimal amount of that space. Why could not a brick occupy the same space at the same time, its electrons and protons between those of the iron? It is not so impossible as it first seems. I feel that it is not impossible,,in the light of twenty-second century science, for a man to walk through a stone wall. It is only a matter of finding the right method, a matter of detail. Radio was never impossible, but it was thousands of years before men found the method of sending messages through the ether.'

"That's all I'm going to read you. From there on, he gets technical. I don't understand it, and I don't think you could, Bob. The dates in the notebook showed that he was working on this thing for fifteen months."

"Does he mention success?"

"You bet he does. He found the method. I don't know how, but he found it. You understand now that my man Richards wasn't lying when he stated that Laura Ives walked right through the brick wall of the hotel. Ives walked through walls himself, experimentally, when he had perfected the thing. It is electrical in nature, but requires a surprisingly weak current, which can be supplied by a small portable battery. The device itself only occupies about thirty-six cubic inches, and can be easily carried, strapped around the waist. In operation, it produces a field of influence, which can be directed either horizontally or vertically by the user, which it surrounds. The person surrounded by the field can walk directly through any obstacle without feeling it, if the field is directed horizontally. If directed vertically, the person would sink through the floor, and, unless it was shut off quickly, would continue to sink into the earth, from which he could never emerge.

"The process is dangerous if the machine is left in operation for more than three or four minutes, as there is danger of a permanent 'dematerialization' of the subject. It is also accompanied, Ives stated in the notebook, by a transient feeling of extreme nausea. However, there seem to be no permanent bad effects, if the user does not permit the device to function more than three minutes, which is ample time to walk through a wall.

"Ives said at the end of his notebook that he did not see how such a device could benefit the world. On the contrary he thought it would make crime easier, and in his opinion there was enough crime already, so he decided not to disclose the invention, retaining only one model for himself. Now, of course, it's gone, and Laura Ives is running wild, an agent of the Dornn brothers."

"She entered Chilton's office through the wall?"

"Certainly," replied the detective. "The office next to Chilton's was vacant, and those photostats show nothing but a thin wall between them. The layout of the hundredth floor of the Utilities Building is ideal for her purpose. She entered his office, killed him, and left it without being seen by anyone in the main office. In the same way she killed Harrison Ives, probably the scientific genius of the century, while we were in the hall outside. She just vanished through a wall as we entered the only door. We know how she entered the hotel to kill Secretary Jones, but I dare say no one in the hotel saw her and she left no trace. It's only by luck that Richards saw her, though Richards is a clever shadow if there ever was one. She probably never knew he was on her trail. But he couldn't follow her into the wall, and he had no knowledge of her purpose, so he returned to report. It wasn't until several minutes had passed that we learned about Jones' death. The only remaining problem is what weapon she used to crush in the skulls so horribly. Meanwhile, we've completely lost track of her. She may still be here, or she may be in China, for all I know, but so far there have been no additional killings."

"What is the motive, Burt?"

"War, obviously. She is connected with the Dornns, we know positively, and the Dornns want war. She killed her own brother to keep him from disclosing the secret of atomic power to anyone, stealing that twelfth notebook and sending it to Vienna. Damn that sheep-faced clerk! She killed Eugene Chilton, the richest man in the world, so that the Dornns could inherit United Utilities. The great wealth and the power of your enormous corporation would be of a great aid in inciting the world to war. Finally, she killed Jones, whose diplomacy was tending to prevent war and recreate a good international feeling."

"Yes. You must be right. The Dornns have already demanded that I turn the corporation over to their New York representatives. They sent me a radiogram to that effect as soon as I informed the public of Chilton's death. I told the newspaper and radio men three or four hours ago. Then I managed to locate Lee Chilton at his apartment and asked him to come over for an interview. He'll be here in ten minutes. I think he'll join us in fighting the Dornns. He is the logical heir, but that freak will--"

Robert Huston did not know that the real Lee Chilton was millions of miles away, on the Hot Planet, or that a Venerian from Cor occupied his body now. Huston did not know that the one who was to visit him was an ally of the sinister three in Vienna. He went blindly ahead, fighting in the dark.

The Venerian had found from the Earthman's baggage that he, the Venerian, was occupying the body of Lee Chilton. Arriving at New York, he had looked up Lee's residence in the city directory, entering the apartment just in time to receive Huston's call.

When he arrived at the latter's office, Huston and Boyd explained to him as much as they knew of the situation, while the Corian could hardly suppress a satisfied smile. Then he astounded the executive and the investigator by his reply.

"No," he said calmly, "I will not be a party to any legal battle to keep the Dornn brothers from obtaining their rightful property. I advise that you turn the control of this organization over at once to its new owners. Good afternoon, gentlemen."

"But you don't understand, Mr. Chilton. The Dornns are steadily leading the world into war--"

"I understand perfectly. Good afternoon."

Once out of their sight he neglected the English he had learned by machine before leaving Cor, and relapsed into his native tongue. "Success is near," he remarked to himself. "This silly planet will soon cut its own throat, led on by the triumvirate at Vienna, and we shall leave the steaming atmosphere of Venus and come here where life is pleasant, back to the planet the Ancient Ones left, ages ago. Yo maku e yo pento!"

Robert Huston and Burton Boyd sat staring incredibly at each other as their visitor left.

"Just what do you make of that?" inquired Huston.

Boyd never answered. A bell rang thrice, paused, rang thrice again, calling Huston's attention to the receiving apparatus of a code cable system used by the corporation. Anyone tapping United Utilities' private wires would have been able to learn nothing whatever from the scrambled messages the wires carried, but the decoder in Huston's office put the message into intelligible form. The words formed themselves rapidly on a moving paper tape as the two men read:

"Ft SEVERN K HUDSONBAY DISTRICT K8 22 2180 K URGENT KKKK LIQUID HYDROGEN PLANT EXPLODED K BOMB IGNITED HYDROGEN K MACANDREWS KILLED K OTHER PLANTS DAMAGED K ROCKET ITSELF DAMAGED K MEN DISORGANIZED AND LEAVING KKKK RICCARDO Di BARGI"

CHAPTER X -- Through the Clouds

"SHALL we leave for Cor at once?" asked Lee Chilton of Meriden as they left Xavian's chamber.

"Yes," said the swordsman. "I should have liked to see Izanne again before leaving, but it would delay us too long to go to the Third Laboratory. We shall use the airplane I brought you here in--it is a Corian plane, and will not arouse suspicion when we land there. Let us go at once to the upper levels."

He hailed one of the passing automobile-like vehicles which was for hire, and they rode through the maze of passages in the enormous structure of steel that was Sarvon. As they reached the higher levels, they were surrounded by wet fog; at the highest level, they could hardly see three feet ahead of themselves, but Meriden was well-acquainted with his city and quite used to the fog. After they had dismissed the vehicle, he led the earthman easily to the station where the five men, who had met them when they landed the day before, were on duty. Meriden produced a written order from Xavian and after several formalities, was permitted to depart with Lee in the Corian plane. Before he left, he obtained a set of plain swords from one of the men, leaving his own in the officer's custody. The jaguar-hilled swords of Meriden were known in Cor; they would have betrayed him. His face was also known, but to few.

Lee Chilton had the swords Meriden had given him the previous day. He put his hand on the hilt of one of them and smiled uneasily as he recalled the little bit of fencing he had done in his college days. What chance would the fifth best fencer at Yale have against the trained swordsmen of the Hot Planet? Lee was glad he was with Meriden. Perhaps, he reflected, he was a fool to undertake such an errand, even in the company of the giant Sarvonian, but Lee Chilton had never hesitated to risk his life on the Earth, and it was not in his gloriously impractical soul to start being cautious just at the time when a scientific miracle had transferred him to a world where adventure awaited on every hand.

As Meriden piloted the plane through the fog, apparently with no difficulty whatsoever, Lee recognized that Venus was hot indeed. Though the clouds were ever present, the sun was so near that Lee could easily understand why Venerians were so deeply tanned. The thick clouds of Venus could not keep out the ultra-violet rays of the sun--twenty-five million miles closer to Venus was the sun than to the Earth. The Earthman, however, did not seem to be inconvenienced by the heat. The body he was occupying was Venerian, acclimatized to the warmth and wetness of the jungle-covered planet.

Meriden was flying blind, guided by instruments only. The flight to Cor took more than four hours, and during that time the giant told the Earthman many things about the two rival city-nations, the custom and habits of the people of Venus, and other topics. A little of that conversation will be set down here.

"You remember, do you not," said Meriden, "the machine in the cave?--the instrument I destroyed?"

"The one that transferred my brain, so to speak, to this body? Yes, I remember the instrument, though I did not have much opportunity to examine it."

"Thirty days ago I managed to capture one of those instruments and take it to Sarvon. Our scientists, under Grantolon and Izanne, are trying to find out how it works, but they are not meeting success as yet. They think that some vital part may be missing, and they were disappointed when they heard that I had destroyed the one that transferred you here. They wanted another one to compare with the one they have. Of course, I did not know. My purpose was only to delay any further transfers if possible, because now the Corians will have to make another before they can attempt another transfer. I know now that they are trying desperately to find some other location as suitable as that cave. I have been able to completely prevent several transfers, though in some cases I have met with only partial success. I did not prevent your transfer but I saved you. Several hours before your transfer, I visited the cave and no one was there. The scientist must have come in a plane, shortly after I left, with the apparatus. The rocket had been sent to earth several days before. You found it by chance, and your identity was transferred to his body. Those who should have been with him, the executioners, were late. Therefore you are now alive."

"I understand most of this from Xavian. Izanne is your sweetheart?"

Meriden hesitated a moment. "I love her," he stated, "and I have reason to think she cares for me. But she is not in my class. She is of the aristocracy, and I am an ordinary swordsman. True, I am in the confidence of the rulers. I have more education than most soldiers, but there is yet a great span between us. It has been thought for a long time that the upper classes have been wrong in keeping their knowledge and science to themselves, that all should be educated. But that is not my affair. Izanne is my friend. I have hopes, but I know that it would be a sacrifice for her to be my wife. At least, I have no rivals. I killed quite a few of them and the rest withdrew suddenly and have not been seen lately."

"You fight to the death for a girl on this planet?"

"Certainly. You seem amazed. But on Earth, I suppose, there are many girls. Our scientists cannot explain it, but for the last several centuries there has been an increasing preponderance of boys born on this planet. Marriageable girls are scarce; we fight for our mates here. And even then," he concluded, "we cannot be sure. I, a warrior, could not carry off with impunity a girl of the ruling classes. If she were a girl of the warrior breed, she would be mine, because I conquered those who might claim her. But all I have now is the chance that she might care enough to voluntarily marry outside of her class. I do not know--sometimes I think--well, she wears my symbol at her belt."

"Were those you killed of the aristocracy?"

"No. They were aspiring warriors, like myself. They fought fiercely, and died like men. I would not kill an aristocrat. If I have rivals in that class, I am not acquainted with them."

"If you kill warriors with such ease, what is the aversion to killing an aristocrat?"

"You do not understand completely, Lee. I kill only in fair, honorable fight. All must die sometime, and a warrior's death is no disgrace in this world. A soldier dies with his sword in his hand. But the scientists are not trained with the sword. It would be cowardly to kill a man unskilled with the sword, and a true Sarvonian is not a coward. Besides, if I did such a thing there would be punishment. The scientific class are our rulers; they possess weapons against which no one could stand. They could kill me at a great distance, and with certainty, if I killed an aristocrat. There is no revolt or conflict between the classes here. They rule us well and fairly. There is no bad feeling. Xavian, supreme in Sarvon, is my respected friend. It is the scientists who provide us with food and dwellings, with the means of living, and in return, we protect them from the hordes of Cor.

"To kill an aristocrat would be revolt and cowardice. To kill one of my own class in a fair duel is my own private affair; a matter of honor. The best lives.

"If Izanne wishes to marry one of the ruling class, I will not touch him, nor ever again see her; but no warrior shall have her, unless I am the one. It is not uncommon for a girl to marry outside her class. It is not a disgrace. But, Earthman, I am sincere in my love for her. I do not want to make her unhappy as the mate of a warrior. If she wants an aristocrat for a husband, I shall not speak a word, yet if she did want one, I do not think she would wear my steel and golden jaguar at her waist."

The giant's idealism impressed Lee Chilton, but he had little time to reflect, or even to reply. Down through the mist the plane circled, and landed upon the highest level of the great steel structure, whose dimensions were measured in miles, whose teeming millions of inhabitants hated Sarvon and planned to overrun the Earth, whose scientists had accomplished the miracle of transferring two beings, two identities, across the void of airless space--the great steel structure that was Cor, a nation, yet concentrated within a city.

Meriden brought the plane skillfully to rest, showing no lights. The fog was thick, but the giant knew the alien city well. He was not lost, but had picked an unfrequented place to land. The two left the plane, and the swordsman led the way through the fog, one hand on the hilt of a sword. They moved in silence for a distance that seemed to be miles. Then Meriden spoke.

"We are lucky, Lee. We managed to pass the guard without being detected. Before us is a ramp leading to the lower levels, and we can make our way toward the laboratories to see if we can find out what the Corians are planning for us. Walk calmly through the crowds, and do not forget to use the Corian tongue if you want to say anything. I do not think we will be challenged."

The warm, foggy mist was thinner now, and Lee saw that they were near to an entrance that led down below. Ten feet to the left was a sheer edge of steel; beyond it was nothing but space, a drop of hundreds of feet. In a moment's glance around him, as the fog lifted, the Earthman saw the plan of the city. It was built in the form of a square, with four edges, a continuous, high structure. The interior of the square was also built up, but was not so high as the outer portions. The two spies were on one of the four sides, looking out over the interior section. Far across they could see dimly the other built-up outer edge of the stupendous structure; below them was the highest level of the inner section. Tiny figures and diminutive vehicles moved around below. The city was active, alive.

There were many cables stretching from side to side of the city, over the lower section. Others slanted down from the top of the great outer wall to points below. Lee did not know their purpose but he knew that they must be very strong in order to support their own weight, strung across the immense city with no supports except at the ends.

In reality they were the antennae, the projecting end of a radio-power device that could make it impossible for any plane to exist in the air above Cor. Meriden knew this. Almost a decade earlier, the Sarvonians had tried to conquer Cor by a surprise attack from above, and had met with no success. A similar device at Sarvon kept the balance of power and prevented air raids from Cor. At a moment's notice either city could make the air above it an electric hell in which no one could live, and no remote-control plane could be operated.

As the two stood for half a minute looking at the lower part of the city, they became conscious of approaching footsteps. They turned and saw three armed men approaching. Three more came out of the opening leading to the lower levels. Meriden realized that they had not passed the guard without detection, but the guard had sent for reenforcements before attacking. Two of his swords came out of his triplicate scabbard; Lee drew two of his, and the six approaching did the same with theirs.

"Surrender. You are known, Sarvonians," called one.

For answer, Meriden hurled one of his heavy swords with all the force in his body. It accounted for one of the six men, and five thrown swords answered the giant's defiance. Meriden knew that at the beginning of Venerian battles each warrior usually hurled his third sword, and the Sarvonian was expecting the five thrown weapons. He stepped aside, and three of them passed him harmlessly, though very near. He fended off another with the swords in his hands, and the fifth, aimed at Lee Chilton, missed its mark. Four of the swords went over the edge; Meriden sent the other one back, but the warrior for whom it was intended sidestepped. As the five closed in, driving Meriden and Lee back to the edge, five more came up the ramp. They did not throw their swords for fear of hitting their comrades, but they ran to their aid.

After thirty seconds of fighting, Lee Chilton knew that he was no match for one Corian, let alone five or six. The two heavy sabers were not at all like the foils he was acquainted with; he fought blunderingly, by instinct, but the immense strength of his body helped him. Meriden had accounted for three men when Lee acquired his first wound, a trivial wound on one shoulder. His adversary stepped back and rushed at him to finish him, but Lee Chilton ducked and tripped the man. Perhaps this method of fighting was not ethical, but it was effective against odds. The warriors hurtled over the edge, and from then on the others were wary about rushing him.

Meriden was in his element now; his two swords were red. At advantageous moments, the giant would hurl a sword and stoop to take one from one of his fallen adversaries. More often than not he eliminated a Corian by this method, while the swords thrown at him usually went over the edge, or else were stopped by his clever parrying of his own. No shields are used on Venus, but the Venerian's two swords are not only weapons of offense, but also of defense.

Realizing immediately that Chilton was no swordsman, Meriden had put himself between the Earthman and the enemy, and Lee Chilton learned why Meriden was called the best swordfighter on Venus. Also, while watching his giant friend, he resolved that he would learn the Venerian art of throwing the sword.

* * *

HE had few seconds to rest, however. A warrior circled around Meriden and attacked Lee, who threw one of his swords on the spur of the moment. He was not successful. The warrior fended it off easily. Lee took the offensive, made a rush at the fellow, slashing wildly. His strength and desperation counteracted his lack of skill. Surprised and driven back, his opponent went down before him. A sudden primitive joy of battle surged through Lee Chilton; he found that he could really use the swords to some advantage, and he pressed forward to aid Meriden.

Five of the eleven opponents were left, and suddenly one of them recognized Meriden, calling out his name. The others backed away. They knew the giant's reputation, and had just witnessed a proof of his prowess. One of them ran toward the downward-leading ramp to summon more men. The other four kept their distance. Lee Chilton glanced around him and the daredevil in his soul showed him a way of temporary escape, at least; escape before the reenforcements would arrive and make the situation hopeless. Even Meriden was not superhuman. Lee told his friend to follow his example, sheathed his swords, rapidly removed the belt that encircled his waist and supported the scabbard, ran to the edge of the steel, and strapped the belt around one of the great cables that slanted downward to the level of the inner section of the city, holding the belt with one hand. Meriden understood immediately. Watching the guards, he backed toward the edge. Lee reached up to the giant's waist with his free hand and removed Meriden's belt also, strapping it around the cable as rapidly as he could, while Meriden stood in front of him ready to fight any who opposed.

The four guards were frantic. They realized what was happening, but they did not care to attack Meriden again without reenforcements. They had seen too much of his sword play, and his reputation was too great. As a score of men came up the ramp, Lee seized his belt firmly in both clenched fists and went over the edge, sliding with terrific speed down the cable. The four guards saw their help coming and leaped to stop Meriden, but he had slid the two swords remaining to him in their sheaths on the belt, had seized it and slid down the slanting cable. As he did so, a shower of swords came after him, but failed to reach him. One of the guards put a small instrument to his mouth and blew.

It was a supersound whistle. It produced a tone so high-pitched that the human ear did not hear it. In the guard stations below, it affected an instrument tuned to frequencies higher than the ear detects, notes above audibility, and the instrument in turn actuated an alarm signal. It had been in this method that the first guard, detecting the two from Sarvon, had whistled for help without betraying his presence to them.

Like several others, the cable down which they slid with terrific acceleration led to a small round structure in the center of the space below, and was anchored in its wall. Lee crashed against the wall with great force, though he had swung his sandal-shod feet in front of him to take up some of the shock. Meriden smashed into him a few seconds later. Neither was seriously hurt, but both were out of breath. Unfastening the belts from around the cable as rapidly as possible, they prepared to fight again.

Of course, they had been seen coming down the cable, and the supersound whistle had warned all the guards of the lower level. Meriden took command. "This way," he shouted to Lee, and threw open the door of the round structure, entering and slashing down the one man who appeared inside. Slamming the door, he went to a hole in the floor through which a ladder led to the level below. Down this they clambered, to find themselves at a junction of two corridors. No one seemed to be in sight, but they heard pursuers entering the circular room above. Meriden went a short distance down one of the corridors and pressed a hidden catch in the wall. A section of the wall swung inward, and they stepped through, Meriden pushing the hidden door shut.

The swordsman smiled. "We are in the midst of the laboratories," he said. "The reason those corridors were deserted is that storerooms comprise all of this section of Cor. Here they store the supplies of their various laboratories. This room we are in is secret; known only to some of the scientists. I have hidden here several times before. It is rather dangerous, in a way, to hide in this room. In those cabinets you see at the rear, are dozens of fragile glass bulbs containing cultures of many kinds of bacilli--it is a storeroom of disease and death."

Meriden said all this in a whisper, and for minute after minute they continued to hear searchers in the corridor outside. All the storerooms were being searched except the secret one. The scientists who knew of its existence, did not think it possible that the refugees should be in there, yet a month before, Meriden, spying in Cor, had seen one of those same scientists entering the room, and had remembered. Meriden knew many things about the city of Cor, and to this knowledge the two owed their temporary safety. After two hours, that seemed like twenty years, they decided to venture out. If they could only once reach the traffic corridors and mingle with the crowds, there would be small chance of their discovery. Among the teeming millions of the great structure's inhabitants, they would be practically secure, and could take their time about planning the task they had set themselves.

They had heard no sound for almost an hour. Meriden located the spring that caused the door to open, and they stepped out, swords ready. There was no one in sight. The giant shoved the door shut and led the way down one of the corridors.

The corridor made an abrupt, right-angle turn. Around the bend were a dozen guards. One of them caught sight of Lee as he looked around the corner. The whistle went to the guard's lips, notifying all of the guards within a radius of a mile. The group made a rush for the two. Lee, looking back the way they had come, saw another group approaching. There was no retreat. They were trapped in the corner of the corridor. The Earthman began fending off thrown swords with his own blades, Meriden easily sidestepped them, picking up one now and then to send back with all the strength of his magnificent body. They heard the war-cry, or threat, of the Corians--"Yo maku e yo pento"--"We come and we kill."

The guards closed in as Meriden hurled back the last sword that had fallen within his reach. Fortunately, only a few at a time could oppose them in the corner. Meriden fought superbly, outdoing himself. Lee Chilton found himself opposed, for the first time, against a really good swordsman. His adversary was not a common soldier, but one who had had long experience, a giant warrior second only to Meriden the Sarvonian. The man drove him back rapidly to the wall and would have finished him, had not a thrown sword penetrated the Corian's lungs. Lee glanced at Meriden, a few feet away, and saw that the giant was using only one sword now, fighting desperately his crowding enemies. Lee Chilton realized this. The Swordsman of Sarvon had saved Lee Chilton's life by sacrificing one of the two swords left to him. Meriden was fighting against odds with only one sword--overwhelming odds.

A warrior took the place of the slain giant, and again Lee Chilton was opposed by one who could well be called a champion.

CHAPTER XII -- Fu-Zhse Decides

A SILVERY monoplane landed at the airdrome near Vienna. A heavy limousine drove up to it, and a party of men left the plane and entered the car. One of these men was Howard Fu-Zhse; the others were his bodyguard and servants.

Fu-Zhse was small and slender, a Sino-Japanese who had been educated in the western world. He was dictator of millions of people and thousands of square miles. He ruled the entire yellow race. His father had been Chinese and his mother Japanese. His predecessors had cemented friendly relations between China and Japan and Fu-Zhse had gained the respect and love of both great nations, combining them in the nominal republic of United Mongolia, of which he was in reality the absolute ruler. Perhaps no other man, in 2180, had so much power, as an individual, as had Howard Fu-Zhse.

The limousine took his party to the mansion of the Dornn brothers, just outside of the city, and a few minutes later he was being greeted by the triumvirate of Corians who were on the earth for the purpose of wrecking its civilization and wiping out its peoples. Yet, at the same second, millions of miles away, the real Dornn brothers were showing Grantolon, the Sarvonian scientist, the principles of firearms and explosives, weapons unknown to Venus.

The Oriental and the three at Vienna dispensed with several formalities and took seats around a table in the immense drawing room. Fu-Zhse was the first to speak.

"I understand," he intonated precisely, "that you wish to discuss with me the project of making war upon United America?"

He who occupied Alfred Dornn's body was the spokesman for the three. "Yes. Am I correct in assuming that you have a particular reason for wanting war?"

"Yes. It is a racial matter. I am of the yellow race, and the yellow race is crowded. We are naturally more prolific than Caucasians. We must have territory so that our people can reach the desired state of culture and prosperity. If we join with Confederated Europe, we shall demand one-half of the territory conquered--one-half of the western hemisphere. There is no use wasting words. United Mongolia holds the balance of power."

"Then, under those terms, you would join us if Europe should declare war upon America."

"Under those terms, I shall do so."

"Consider it agreed. We shall not worry about formalities at this time. That can be taken care of in the course of regular diplomatic correspondence. I and my brothers are in control of European politics at present, and we intend to declare war within a month. How many men can you mobilize at that time?"

"Between three and four millions, adequately equipped, fifty to sixty-five thousand airplanes, and a large number of battleships. Many more at later dates."

After half an hour's discussion of details, Fu-Zhse and his retinue left. One of the three turned to the spokesman. "It will be so overwhelmingly easy to crush America with the Mongolian's aid, and with unlimited atomic power, that we shall not really be accomplishing our purpose of decimating this world. Is it not so?"

"But that is not all," was the reply. "When America is eliminated, we shall have Europe refuse to carry out its part of the agreement. We shall claim all of the territory for Europe, excluding Orientals from conquered America. Fu-Zhse is a hard man. This will lead to another struggle, Europe against Asia, that will eliminate much more of the population, for in that case the opposing forces will be more evenly matched. It is not one war I plan, but two."

"I see."

"But do not be too sure that we will have that atomic power process. I did not say anything to Fu-Zhse because I was not sure. True, we received the book, but that inventor, Harrison Ives, had written the whole thing in code."

"But we hired the greatest expert on ciphers, offering him an enormous amount if he could penetrate it--"

"He will be here shortly to report. In fact, the servant is showing him in now."

The person who was ushered in was of the intellectual type, his keen eyes and high forehead proclaiming the highly-trained scientific mind. He was carrying the twelfth black book that had been the property of Harrison Ives.

"You were successful, sir, with the deciphering?"

"No, Mr. Dornn, we were not. The writings in this book are not any transposition or substitution cipher in any language known. So much I can state positively. There is so much of the cipher that any ordinary code could be detected. The solving of cryptograms is an exact science, and very complex codes can be solved by applying certain mathematical principles to them. But, gentlemen, the writing in this book, if it is a code at all, is not any code, or code-system, known. All codes are not decipherable. There are mathematical methods, such as, for instance, the employment of three dimensional key-charts to encode four or more letters at one time, combined with the roulette-code principle, which are absolutely unsolvable by anyone not in the secret. The original key-chart would have to be procured, and even then it would be a long and tedious process to decode unless the exact mathematical processes used by the coder were known to the solver.

"This document may be in that type of code. If so, neither I nor any other mathematician could solve it for you unless we possessed the key. There are dozens of other possible methods of encoding a message so that it will be undecipherable. The originator of this document, whoever he was, was a mathematician and scientist, was he not?"

"Yes. You mean to say that in spite of the fact that we offered to you one million American dollars for the solution to this thing, you are not able to do it?"

"We are not able to do it. I did not work alone. Experts on every language have tried it. Of course, I have retained photographic copies and shall continue to devote time to it, but I return the original now with the statement that there is hardly one chance in a million that it could be solved without the key. There are combinations-- if you were a mathematician you could understand--that show right away that the thing is not a cipher solvable by ordinary means. Nevertheless we have tried everything, and shall keep on trying, though in fairness to you, my employers, I must state that we are not expecting success."

"Very well, Mr. Ecclestone. I shall keep the manuscript. If you solve the cipher, from your copy, our offer of one million dollars still holds good. We have reason to believe--as we told you before--that the document contains a new scientific process of great value. The inventor, unfortunately, died before he made his discoveries known."

"So you told me, Mr. Dornn. Good afternoon."

When Ecclestone had left, the three looked at each other with dismay. One of them spoke.

"There is one person," he said, "who can solve that code, and that one is on Venus. You understand me?"

"Yes. We shall send the book to the Hot Planet."

* * *

THE quintimotored monoplane UU-7, flagship of the United Utilities airfleet, roared northward over Canadian snows toward Fort Severn in the Hudson Bay District. Two grim men occupied its luxurious cabin, and a trusted pilot was at the controls. The UU-7 flashed through the heavens at better than four hundred per, making a straight line for the northern city.

Three red lights flashed simultaneously on a panel in the cabin. Burton Boyd picked up a phone. "Yes?" he said.

"Mr. Boyd? This is Richards, at the Manhattan office. We just received a code message from C-3. Shall I read it to you?"

"No. Someone may be listening. Scramble it. I'll get it off the tape."

"O. K., Mr. Boyd."

Boyd made several adjustments on the radio receiver. Through the air in a mess of mixed frequencies, came the message from New York. Paper tape slid along before the eyes of Robert Huston and Burton Boyd.

"KKKK? KKKK? KKKK?"

Boyd touched the keyboard of a typewriter-like machine before him. "KKKK," he sent back.

The paper tape suddenly became intelligible.

"KKKK MESSAGE FOLLOWS KKKK VIENNA 8 23 2180 K OBTAINED ORIGINAL OF IVES NOTEBOOK ALSO PHOTOGRAPHIC COPIES K SUBSTITUTED FAKE IN ORIGINAL COVER AND RETURNED TO DORNNS K FAKE CAREFULLY DONE K RESEMBLES ORIGINAL BUT MEANS NOTHING K HAVE NOT YET SOLVED CODE KKKK ECCLESTONE"

"We're getting results," said Burton Boyd.

CHAPTER XII -- Destruction

ABOUT an hour later the UU-7 arrived at Fort Severn and the two men in the cabin saw the icy waters of Hudson Bay to the north and east. The pilot circled down to the United Utilities airport. Below them was a long semicircular row of comparatively low thick-walled buildings. There was nothing but the foundation left of the one that had been on the extreme north. The four nearest it had been demolished, and those farther away were damaged more or less, but not seriously. At the south of the great airport was an immense hangar, more than large enough to accommodate the greatest dirigible in the world of the year 2180. Huston got in touch with di Bargi by using the plane's radiophone, and when the UU-7 touched earth, the professor was waiting for them. They stepped out of the cabin, and Huston introduced Boyd. Di Bargi was anxious to tell his story.

"We do not know where the bomb came from. Of more than five hundred men in that building, two escaped by a miraculous chance. They said, when the doctors managed to restore them to consciousness, that the bomb came horizontally through a supposedly unbreakable shatter-proof window. There must have been terrific force behind it. I do not know exactly how much liquid hydrogen we had ... it was almost five tons a week ago, and this week's report would have been in today if this accident ... no, it's not an accident ... hadn't occurred. You know it's difficult stuff to keep indefinitely in the liquid form. Its critical temperature is --234o centigrade, and the critical pressure is a trifle better than twenty atmospheres. We have not been permitting any evaporation, but have been storing it in hundred pound units, in drums, using the admirable process perfected in 2169 by Massimiliano of Naples. The explosion of the bomb wrecked one of the drums and pouf! ... tomorrow the astronomers will tell us how many microns we have kicked the earth out of its orbit. The shock must have been felt, or at least detected, for thousands of miles. About sixty drums ... of liquid hydrogen, remember ... exploded in the same second."

"Sixty drums ... six thousand pounds ... that's only three tons. I thought you said you had five tons of the stuff."

"The other two tons, forty units, had already been installed in the rocket, in one part of the vacuum sealed tail-section. As neither oxygen nor fire can reach it, it cannot explode. The liquid oxygen that will be necessary for the combustion of the hydrogen in outer space is not to be installed until the last moment, to minimize the already improbable danger of a premature explosion."

Boyd half-smiled, ironically.

"Let's hope it's an improbable danger," he commented. "This recent explosion seems to be a bit premature."

"How badly was the rocket damaged ?" asked Huston.

"Not very badly. My message this morning was perhaps a little panicky. The greatest losses are perhaps the death of Mac Andrews ... I liked the man ... and the disorganization of the workers. Most of the men in the nearby buildings were killed, and half those not killed were injured--many badly. Doctors have been coming from everywhere in response to my call for aid. Many of the men were killed merely by the concussion, poor devils, and several hundred others have nothing the matter with them except burst eardrums. Modern medical science will soon fix them up."

"How long will this delay the rocket?"

"You've taken one load off my chest, Mr. Huston. I was afraid United Utilities was going to stop work, and it's been the dream of my life to go to Venus since I discovered there was life there."

"We have other reasons for wanting to go to Venus," said Boyd. "We are fighting an organization that is trying to drive the world into war, and in some way that organization is connected with Venus. Pardon me, Mr. di Bargi, but you haven't answered the question Mr. Huston asked."

* * *

"WE had intended to finish within a month, sir, but now, I don't know. In a way, we have been lucky. All the shops and factories that were destroyed were the ones we were nearly through with. We have been building the rocket more than a year now, and it is almost complete. You know that from the fact that we were installing the hydrogen, which is the next to the last big job. In six weeks we can be done, still in time to take advantage of this year's astronomical advantages, if we rush. The liquid oxygen factory ... the farthest to the south ... has been very efficient. We have nearly all the liquid oxygen we need, and we got it much sooner than we expected. With a few radical changes, we can convert the oxygen plant into a hydrogen plant, for the process of liquefying a gas is about the same, no matter what gas it is. We can continue the job, if we can get men who will work in the vicinity of hydrogen after what happened this morning. I can tell you one thing. From now on we are going to redouble precautions. If it's humanly possible to store liquid hydrogen safely, we'll do it."

"Doesn't it tend to gasify, producing pressure?"

"Yes. Quite a terrific pressure, if it gets a chance to gasify. To prevent it from doing so, we have to do one of two things. Either we have to keep it very cold, not more than 20 or 30 degrees, absolute; or else it must be kept under very great pressure, pressure great enough to overbalance the pressure it produces while vaporizing. We do the latter; keep it in the closed Massimiliano drums. You understand the radical principle of their construction, which permits them to withstand pressures as great as ten thousand or more atmospheres from the inside?"

The two men nodded. Di Bargi continued seriously.

"I wish they could withstand that much sudden pressure from the outside. If they could, the bomb could never have wrecked the first drum; even it couldn't have set off the others."

"What do you need?" asked Huston.

"Money and men."

The vice-president replied gravely. "Perhaps, before many more days, this corporation will be in the hands of the three Dornn brothers of Vienna ... the ones we are fighting, di Bargi. They are already asking the Supreme Court for an injunction forcing me, and the Board of Directors, who are in sympathy with me, to hand over at once the control of this world-wide organization to them. And we have good reason to think that it is the Dornns who are responsible for the bombing today. If you'll reflect a moment, you'll see what you're up against. But within an hour, there will be fifty millions of dollars at your disposal, and I'll try to obtain men for you. As long as I'm at the head of United Utilities you are to go ahead with your plans at top speed, and you will have ample cooperation from the main office."

"All right, Mr. Huston. I hope you stay in control."

"At present, it doesn't seem probable. Mr. Boyd's legal staff is trying desperately to find some valid legal delay, but courts are not so slow as they were a couple of hundred years ago. We still have one card to play. As soon as Mr. Boyd gives the word, his lawyer in New York will file an accusation that the Dornns were responsible for the death of Eugene Chilton. We know that it was an agent of the Dornns who did the actual killing. It will be difficult, perhaps impossible, to establish legal proof of that. Probably we won't be able to, but at least there will be delay. I tell you this so that you can see exactly what we want. Rush this rocket. Get it done before I am forced to give over the control of the corporation."

"I'll do my best, Mr. Huston," replied di Bargi. Then, to a large man in overalls who had just approached, "What do you want, Benson?"

"One of the foremen wants to see you, sir."

"I shall come presently."

During the entire conversation, the three men had been walking along the edge of the airport toward the brick structure that was United Utilities' Hudson Bay Office Building. Di Bargi led the way inside and asked the other two to wait for him. Before he went to see what the foreman wanted, he gave Huston a copy of the partially completed report, and Huston read it with close attention while di Bargi was gone. Burton Boyd seemed to be lost in thought. Then he heard the hum of an airplane. He recognized it, leaped up, and dashed out of the building. His ear had been good. The plane was what he thought it was.

It was a heavy biplane, painted crimson. The color seemed to have been chosen to get the most conspicuous effect possible. It was impossible to mistake a plane of the Universal News Company. They were on the job with television and radio units, to show the world what had happened at Fort Severn. Boyd was surprised at their lateness. The Universal News hounds were usually present when the news was happening or shortly after ... not hours later.

The crimson plane landed. As it touched the ground, a crimson truck ran out of a compartment of the fuselage, whose door automatically let down to form a runway to earth. The whole thing was an efficient unit. The radio and television apparatus was in the truck, which could travel anywhere on land, or could drive right into the plane and take wings. Boyd waved at the truck. It drew up to him. He noticed the number on it, a large white "13," and a sudden plan came to him. He was well acquainted with the newsmen, and he knew well Benny Jacobs, the captain of Unit Thirteen.

Boyd leaped on the running board. "Shut off the mike, Benny," he shouted commandingly. "I've got to speak with you before you broadcast this news."

"But Mr. ... Mr. ... Mr. ... Boyd, the whole world is waiting for the television ..."

"The world can wait. Tell your radio audience to stand by."

Benny snapped a switch. "As you say, Mr. Boyd, but what are you doing here? And why shouldn't I broadcast legitimate news?..."

"I'm asking the questions, Benny. You seem to be late. What kept you?"

"We didn't know anything had happened. We thought it was an earth tremor; in fact, we broadcast that it was. Then a couple of seismographists said it wasn't and gave us the dope on the location. Just then we got news from our local men and the main office sent me up here. I'm the nearest television unit. And I bet the office is swearing at me now for not ..."

"Will any of the other news-services be around?"

"No. The companies agreed to syndicate this event. I'm covering it for all the world. But you're wasting my time. I'll be fired. Why can't I..."

"I'll see that you're not fired. Did you broadcast any aerial views of the disaster?"

"We tried to, but you see that flurry of snow. The main office, on the radio check-back, told me that they weren't clear at all. I said I'd go right down and get close-ups that wouldn't be blurred."

* * *

"BENNY, I'm wrecking your job because this is a matter of great importance. This was no accident. Somebody tossed a bomb through a window. The explosion came off sooner than that person calculated, and I think he's among the dead. But I want the people who are really responsible to believe that they were successful. I have no right to force you, but we've worked together before. You are going to deliberately falsify this news. Exaggerate it. This snow flurry is getting worse.

"Benny, you see that place there where the hydrogen plant used to be? There's nothing left but a little of the foundation. With this snow, it will be easy for you to make the world believe that that is the ruin of the hangar. Show some of those twisted masses of metal from the factories that were ruined, and say that they are fragments of the rocket. Make the destruction seem complete, and state that United Utilities is not going to continue its project of reaching Venus. Avoid shots from angles that will show the undamaged shops and the hangar. Talk it up big. You can get lots of human-interest stuff. They're still recovering bodies from the wreckage ... the bodies that are all in one or two pieces ... and in a few cases they may find and save some who are still living. You can get plenty of news. Make this thing bigger and worse than it is, and say that the corporation is quitting. Do this for me now, Benny, and when the rocket really leaves, I promise you that you and your gang will be the one news-unit to go with us. You'll have the biggest scoop that any news-gang could dream of.

"Are you with me?"

Benny turned to the other two of his unit, who had been listening intently. The driver nodded his head, and the announcer agreed volubly. Benny cut his flow of words short.

"We'll do it, Mr. Boyd. I know Bill, our pilot over there in the plane, will agree, so that makes it unanimous. We'll do an artistic job for you. While the televisor broadcasts the scene, it also makes the sound-movies from which the newspaper stills are made. The theaters use the talkies, and the newspaper syndicates take the story from our announcer's broadcast and print it for the people who weren't listening in, so you see you have every line of news stopped. All right, gang, let's do a good fake."

The imperturbable announcer clicked a switch and talked into his mike. It was easy to see that talking was his strong point.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is unit thirteen of the Universal News Company, broadcasting over a worldwide television syndicate. We regret that an unfortunate accident to our televisor has caused you this bothersome delay of five minutes, but we are now ready to shoot, and will soon show you the most terrific accidental disaster in modern times. Our truck is now moving toward the ruins of the immense hangar of Fort Severn, where the ill-fated rocket was being kept. We regret the thickening snow-fall, but we shall do our best to secure clear images..."

And so on as the truck moved away from the hangar toward the ruins of the liquid hydrogen factory. Burton Boyd smiled. He knew that the Dornns were probably listening in to see what success their plan had obtained, and he knew that the clever Benny Jacobs and his gang would make the world believe that the damage was fifteen to twenty times as bad as it really was.

Di Bargi and Huston approached him. Di Bargi's face did not show any unusual excitement, but Boyd was startled at the expression of horror on the countenance of the vice-president.

Huston spoke:

"Come with us, Burt. We've found something."

CHAPTER XIII -- Death and a Laugh

FIVE minutes later the three men stood near a gang of workers who were taking the bodies from one of the damaged factories, the factory just south of the liquid hydrogen plant.

Under a twisted steel girder and a mass of masonry was the body of MacAndrews. Burton Boyd glanced at it first, then looked again and swore under his breath.

The side of MacAndrew's head had been crushed in precisely as if someone had hit him with a sledgehammer. Otherwise his body was not much injured by the wreckage.

"He was dead before the explosion, Bob," said the detective slowly. "It wasn't the explosion that did this. I know that ghastly trademark too well. I wonder...."

A shout from one of the men working twenty feet away interrupted his conjecture. Followed by the others, he ran over to the group of solemn-faced workers. They had just removed enough debris to uncover another body. The legs were crushed horribly to the hips, but the torso, arms, and head had in some manner escaped mutilation.

It was the body of a tall girl. The face was not feminine or attractive, the features were plain almost to the point of homeliness, but the face showed intellectual power, brain-force.

Boyd looked at Huston inquiringly.

"Yes," said Huston, "it's she. Laura Ives."

Boyd saw a trace of color in the face. He stooped and flexed her arm, felt for a heart-beat. "Call one of the doctors," he commanded the foreman of the group of workers. "No rigor mortis, and she's warm yet ... warm in this cold. She hasn't been dead long."

The doctor arrived and glanced at the body. "I'm afraid there's no hope," he stated.

"Doctor," said Boyd, "you are familiar with the use of adrenalin?"

"Yes. But in this case even that could not avail..."

"To restore life, no. But to restore a few moments of consciousness, yes! This girl has knowledge, evidence, upon which may hang the fate of millions of individuals. It is supremely important that we have a statement from her. If, by the injection of the maximum dosage of adrenalin, you can stimulate her heart to activity for a few fleeting moments, and bring back consciousness for a short period, you will be performing a great service to humanity."

The doctor stooped over the girl, made a tiny incision. "By Jove, it's possible. The blood's all right. She hasn't been dead long. She's not really dead yet. The chance that she will recover consciousness, however, is not large. Some of you men lend a hand with a stretcher."

They took her to the factory, which was being used as an emergency hospital. While the doctor, assisted by some of the relief workers, was trying to revive the girl, Burton Boyd prepared a recording instrument, based on the principle of the telegraphone, to take down whatever she might say. Then there was a period of impatient waiting.

"Her heart is beating now, Mr. Boyd."

He went to the side of the table where she had been strapped. There was color in the cheeks, the bosom rose and fell slightly. The miracle happened. Groaning with pain, she opened her eyes. Boyd felt a surge of pity, but steeled himself to his task.

"Laura Ives, did you kill Eugene Chilton?"

For a long second she looked at the man. "Yes," she said suddenly. "And Ives and Jones and MacAndrews. I threw that bomb. There you have it all, and what good will it do you, fools?" From her lips came a long, hysterical laugh ... a laugh of triumph and unhidden hate. The doctor bent over her to try to quiet her. None of the watchers saw exactly what happened. One short cry of pain came from the medical man. He sank down in a crumpled heap. His skull was crushed in. Laura Ives sank back. Her laugh ceased. The drug had done its work.

One of the doctor's assistants sprang forward at the same moment that Burton Boyd did, and the two men collided. The telegraphonic instrument was knocked out of Boyd's hands. It fell near the doctor's crushed skull and was fouled with his blood. Boyd recovered it with a sinking heart. The jar it had received had dislocated the spool of fine copper wire, but had not stopped the electromagnet. As a result, the magnet had erased its own work, had destroyed the evidence in a few seconds. Evidence! With the testimony of his operatives and that of Ecclestone, Boyd needed only that statement of Laura Ives to invalidate Eugene Chilton's will; now he had only the unsupported statements of himself and Huston and the few workers at the emergency hospital. Perhaps that would be enough to prevent the Dornns from obtaining the company, and perhaps it would not. If only the thing hadn't fallen...

After a trial of the telegraphone to be sure that it was worthless, he gave his attention to the tragedy that had just taken place before his eyes. He saw something he had noticed before when he had first seen the girl's body, but to which he had paid no attention. On her right hand was a half-glove of vanadium steel, jointed and flexible, covering her knuckles. It was bloody. Apparently, she had just hit the doctor with her mailed fist, yet Boyd knew that such a blow, even by the strongest of men, could not crush the skull so completely. And she had been weak ... brought back to life for a few moments by the drug, and lacking the power to hold on to that life. Boyd shook his head. Something was still unexplained. With no more evidence than he had, he could see that the court would not credit his explanation of the deaths as due to Laura Ives. He could establish her connection with the Dornns, but how was he to prove her guilt, even though he had actually seen her strike the doctor with the "knuckles" and had seen the crushed skull? Yet the others had been killed in the same way ... skulls crushed in. Laura Ives had admitted killing them ... Eugene Chilton, President of United Utilities; Harrison Ives, her own brother; Jones, Secretary of State; and MacAndrews, the Corporation's district manager, and the doctor. Why had she killed the doctor? Boyd could understand the murders of the others, but she had killed the doctor merely as a taunt, a defiance ...

* * *

ANOTHER thought came to Burton Boyd. If she could possess the muscular power to so kill a man, she could also throw a heavy bomb with enough force to carry it through an "unbreakable" glass window. Yet it was impossible. He flexed the slender arm again. No trace of superhuman strength here. Boyd gave it up.

Something fundamentally important was still lacking. He could not understand.

He searched the girl for that instrument her brother had made, the marvelous portable device, product of the genius of Harrison Ives, that disturbed for a short period atomic and molecular structure sufficiently to allow two solid objects to occupy the same space at the same time, the device with which Laura Ives had walked through solid walls to commit the killings without being seen.

It was not to be found.

The bodies were removed by the workers, who had enough on their hands with the injured workmen continually arriving on stretchers, some to live and some to die in spite of the medical science of the twenty-second century. Boyd and Huston left, just as Benny Jacobs and his gang brought their television unit and their mike into the emergency hospital to provide the news-hungry world with some choice "human-interest material."

Benny took Boyd aside, out of the range of the mike.

"Everything's fine, Mr. Boyd. If the guy responsible for this is listening in, he's patting himself all over the back and wearing out his ears with congratulating himself on the completeness of the damage he's done. Remember, when you pull the sensational surprise announcement about the rocket, News Unit Thirteen is the gang that's going with you."

"Aren't you afraid, Benny?"

"Was I ever afraid of anything, Mr. Boyd? What a scoop we'll have! The first interplanetary voyage; television, radio, newspaper, and talking picture effects by Benjamin Jacobs. Remember, we get the exclusive rights..."

"Don't worry, Benny. Mr. Huston, here, is the big boss. What he says goes, and he'll keep my promise all right."

"Thanks, Mr. Huston. I better get back to the unit. The main office congratulated me on the check-back about my quickness in repairing that damage to the 'visor,' and my thoroughness in covering this terrific accident with only one unit. All the others were too far away to be sent in time, and after we got started, the office decided that we didn't need any help. I never put over a bigger or better fake."

Benny left to rejoin his "gang," and Boyd and Huston walked through the thickening snowfall past the crimson news-plane toward the silver-gray UU-7. They entered the plane's heated cabin, threw off their electrically-heated overcoats, and sank down in the luxurious chairs. The pilot took off smoothly, rising at an angle better than forty-five degrees, and the flagship of the corporation's air-fleet was soon roaring southward to New York. Burton Boyd took the radio-phone and got in touch with his office.

"Hello ... Connect me with Brownestone, please ... Hello ... Brownestone? ... This is Boyd speaking. Prepare at once a formal statement that Aloysius, Albert, and William Dornn are responsible for the death of Eugene Chilton; and, secondly, that they are therefore not entitled to inherit his property, the controlling interest in United Utilities; and, thirdly, that the actual murder was done by Laura ... L-a-u-r-a ... Yes, Laura. The full name is Laura Ives. I-v-e-s, yes, Ives. Got that? ... Goodbye."

He turned to Huston. "We may not be able to establish all of that," he said, "but we can at least throw a shadow over the Dornns' claims. They had him killed. She did it. How? Hit him with her fist and a steel glove. Believe it or not ... It does sound fishy, doesn't it?"

"You saw what I saw."

"Neither of us knows what we did see, Bob. The whole thing's queer. Chilton disinherited his nephew because of a quarrel, and willed the company to three Europeans because they once saved his life. Then they have him killed to get his money to make war on America. The girl kills her own brother, steals his atomic power process and sends it to them so that it will be a nice thorough war."

"We had some luck there."

"Yes. Harrison Ives wasn't so impractical or careless as everybody seemed to think. He knew the value of that thing, so he coded the invention. The Dornns went to Ecclestone to get him to solve it. Luck! Now Ecclestone has it and they haven't, though they think they have ... It must be some code if Ecclestone can't solve it."

"I've been thinking, Burt. We know the Dornns are connected with Venus in some way, and that they intended to send the process there. Why should they want to destroy the rocket? It's not exactly clear. I wonder if they're afraid that we'll go to Venus and find out something..."

CHAPTER XIV -- The Secret of Izanne

THEY fought in the corridor with the strength born of desperation--Lee Chilton with two swords and beside him Meriden the Sarvonian with only one. They were cornered in the L of the passage between the storerooms and the laboratories of the steel city of Cor, surrounded by dozens of their enemies, Corian guards armed in the Venerian fashion, with a sword in each hand, but no shield or armor. Neither the earthman nor the mighty Meriden was yet wounded, yet the unequal combat could have only one end.

Then the two suddenly became conscious that there was a third between them. A shrilly commanding voice bid the attackers stand back, nor did the Corians hesitate to obey when they saw what was in the upraised hand. Lee Chilton looked, and saw Izanne, the girl Meriden had bidden stay in Sarvon ... Izanne, cheeks red through the deep tan. She held a fragile sealed globe half the size of a man's head, and filled with a cloudy white liquid.

"It is bacillus three-four hundred," she said in Corian. "Stand back, warriors, lest I should break the flask." The Corians eyed the girl in awe. They knew not whence she came, but they knew of bacillus three-four hundred, a micro-organism developed in the laboratories by the scientists, carrier of a hideous flesh-consuming disease that knew no cure. The germ was active, virulent, hard to kill. Even floating in the air it was deadly. The warriors knew that the girl would endanger herself and the other two if she released the germ, but they were afraid that she might possibly carry out her threat. They did not fear death by the sword, but the disease was a different matter. They stood restless, uneasy.

In her other hand she held two leather straps, each of which was attached to a large black metal case. She gave one to Lee and the other to Meriden. They noticed a third strapped about her waist, and lost no time in strapping theirs likewise.

"Push the stud," said the girl. Wonderingly they looked closely at the cases and saw a tiny stud on the top of each. They pushed these as directed.

A horrible nausea overwhelmed Lee Chilton as he took his hand from the stud. A deep ruby red light seemed to be before his eyes. This changed slowly to orange, and to yellow; then more rapidly to green and blue and violet, meanwhile increasing in intensity until it was blinding. Then it disappeared. He saw Meriden and the girl beside him, the warriors a short distance away, everything as it had been previously, but reversed in shade like a photographic negative. The effect was weird, almost unnerving, but Izanne's reassuring voice came to Lee's ears. "Come," she said, "there is no time to lose."

And she turned and walked directly through the solid wall. Hesitatingly, Meriden and Lee followed her. When they reached the wall, they could not feel it, but as they entered the space where it was, they were suddenly in thick blackness. They saw nothing but continued to walk straight ahead. In a few seconds they were again in the light, in a deserted room. At a word from Izanne they pulled out the depressed studs.

The overwhelming nausea returned, and their eyes were blinded with violet light. It changed to blue and green and on down the spectrum to disappear in the infra-red. The sickness passed, and vision was again normal ... the reversal of black and white was gone. They had walked through a solid wall of steel.

The girl stooped and picked up something from the floor. It was a sword-belt; from it hung the triplicate scabbard that held the three swords of Meriden. On the hilts were jaguars, carefully wrought in steel and gold. "I traced you," she said to the swordsman. "You left these in Sarvon. I brought them, in case you have need of them."

Meriden threw down the plain sword he had been holding and took the three weapons he knew so well. Exactly balanced were the swords of Meriden; he could hurl one of them a hundred feet and split a sapling. Heavy and keen were they; no three men on Venus could stand against the giant when he had one of these swords in each of his enormous fists.

A door of the room opened and one man entered. Seeing them, he drew a pair of swords. Meriden took two of his and leaped forward, but Lee Chilton, who had been nearer the entrance, had acted more quickly.

He was not a Venerian sword-fighter. He acted by instinct. Before the man could effectively bring his swords into use, the earthman had landed a crashing wide-arm swing on the Corian's temple, and had stepped back, amazed.

His fist was gory. The skull of the Venerian had been crushed as though it were an eggshell. Lee Chilton stood stupefied with amazement at his own muscular power.

Izanne went to the door and locked it. "This room is not much used," she said. "I think we will be fairly safe here until the search for us dies down."

Lee was still bewildered. The girl noticed it, and undertook an explanation. "On your world," she said, "there is an animal called the baboon, a kind of ape. This animal, I am told, weighs less than a man, but it has from eight to ten times the strength of a strong man. Why? Its muscles are not superior to those of a man, but the ape is able to use them more completely. Here on Venus some of the scientists, my associates, say that the muscles of a man have many times as much strength inherent in them as the man is able to use; the man has not sufficient nerve-force to make use of the true force of his muscles. You, Lee Chilton, were transferred from Earth by the Corian scientists. Your identity is now occupying the body of a Corian, and his identity is on earth, trying to lead the earth into war, I suppose, as are the other Corians who have made the cosmic transfer. Though we Sarvonians have not penetrated all the secrets of the Corian scientists, we know that their device for interchanging the structure of the brain-cells, and thereby the identity of the two using it, also has a peculiar effect upon a certain section of the brain and the spinal cord. As a result the nerve-force of the two individuals in each other's bodies is greatly increased, which in turn increases the muscular force. The body that is now yours is by no means a weak one, and your fist was traveling much faster than you could possibly realize when it hit this unfortunate's skull."

Lee actually paid little attention to the girl's explanation, but he gave a lot of attention to the girl. There was something almost out of place in the scientific explanation from the lips of a young girl so beautiful. That tantalizing fact, that had been in the back of his; mind ever since he had first seen the girl, was very close now. He knew that something in his subconscious mind was trying to come to the surface. There was something about her that was trying to force itself on his consciousness, particularly when he saw her eyes. What was it about her eyes that was different ...? What was the mystery about this girl of the scientific aristocracy of Sarvon that tantalized him...?

* * *

SUDDENLY he knew. He looked up and caught her eyes again, and he was sure. She was an earthgirl. She had been transferred the same as he. Meriden had gone momentarily to the door, was peering out to see if anyone was in the corridor. In a low voice Lee accused Izanne in English of her alienship. She started, looked at him with searching eyes, and he was more sure than ever. The earth-brain, the earth-identity behind those eyes, had betrayed itself.

"I am," she said simply. "But please don't tell him." She indicated the giant swordsman.

"I won't," replied Lee, "if..."

"If..."

"If you'll tell me your real name. Izanne sounds very nice, but I'd like to know you by an earthgirl's name."

"Laura Ives. But remember, now, you've promised to keep my secret. I'm Izanne of the Hot Planet now."

"And the Laura Ives on earth is a Venus-girl?"

"Yes. I'm terribly afraid that my brother ... that she may have harmed him ... but here comes Meriden. I'll speak to you later, Lee."

Their conversation had been in English, so the giant could not have understood it. He reported that the corridor seemed clear, and his knowledge of the alien city again served them well.

"We are not far from the council room," said Meriden. "It is very spacious, and there are large steel girders near the ceiling. If we could enter it when no one is there and in some way get up on those girders out of sight, we could spy on the meeting of the council, and perhaps find out about the weapon they are planning to use to wipe out our Sarvon and your earth, Lee Chilton."

"How can we get up on the girders?"

"That is the problem. There is no other place in the council room where we could hide, and perhaps no other place in all Cor where we would have so great a chance to overhear the plans of the rulers. Seven hundred paces down the corridor to the left is an electrical storeroom. If I could get a coil of unused wire, and if there were no one in the council room, we could take the wire there, throw the coil up over a girder, and climb, pulling the wire up after us. Then we should have to wait, perhaps many hours, until the Council met." ⁽⁷⁾

"Where is the council room?"

"Less than half a mile down the corridor, to the right. I shall first have to go in the opposite direction for the wire."

"If you walk through the wall to get the wire, Meriden," cautioned Izanne, "be sure not to leave the stud down for more than a few moments."

"I'm going too," said Lee. "Two will be better able to cope with the guards you will probably meet than one."

"No," said the giant. "One of us must protect Izanne."

The girl was about to say something, but thought better of it, and was silent. Meriden cautiously opened the door and left. He had not proceeded far when a guard at an intersecting corridor saw him and hurled a sword. Meriden did not fend off the flying weapon with his own sword, but merely pressed the stud on the device at his waist. The field of the machine's influence surrounded him. The guard saw his sword pass completely through Meriden as if the latter were a ghost. As the guard was not one of those in the other corridor who had seen the three pass through a solid steel wall, he was stupefied for the moment that was his undoing. Meriden pulled out the stud, fought off the nausea, and hurled one of his own swords with all the force in his muscles. The astounded guard did not even gasp as he fell, so clean was his death, so accurately had Meriden's heavy weapon penetrated his heart. The Swordsman of Sarvon smiled ironically and recovered his sword, carefully using the guard's tunic to wipe the blood from the blade and from the snarling jaguar's head wrought on the hilt by some artisan of former days. Then he proceeded to the room where he knew the electrical supplies were kept. He did not try the door, but walked through it.

As Meriden had left the room where they were now hiding, Lee Chilton had turned to Izanne.

"Do you think there is much chance that we will be found here?"

"I don't know. When we went through that wall they lost track of us, and there are so many seldom-used storerooms and laboratories in this part of Cor, so many places where we might be hiding, that they may not get around to this one until we have already reached the council-room and hidden on those girders. Meriden knows much more about this city than I do."

"It's a queer civilization, isn't it?"

"You see, Lee, we look at it from the earth's point of view..."

* * *

"I MEAN this: These Venerians are so incredibly far ahead of us earth-people in some sciences, and are so far behind us in others. For instance they can interchange identities over millions of miles of space by interchanging the chemical structure of the most complex and highly-organized form of matter known--the human brain-cell. To do this, as they did in the cases of you and me, they went into the infinitely complex chemistry of thought, the chemistry of protoplasm, the chemistry of the soul itself. And yet, because they apparently never discovered gunpowder, a simple mixture of three common substances, they still fight with swords. I've been expecting to see bows and arrows, but apparently that has never occurred to these scientists either. It's not consistent with common sense. How could they accomplish what they have and yet be so far behind otherwise? You can't do advanced algebra unless you have mastered simple arithmetic."

"It's not so impossible: On earth, who were the greatest builders and mathematicians of ancient times? The Aztecs, the Mayas, the vanished races of Central and South America. Their mathematical system was astoundingly complex and advanced; their calendar was much more accurate than the one we use. It measured time accurately over periods of thousands of years. They knew much of astronomy; their great buildings, stupendous works of architecture still astound scientists, yet we know that they never discovered the simple principle of the arch. In all the amazing, mysterious ruins they left when they vanished, there is not one true arch.

"Or another thing, Lee. The greatest shortcut in mathematics, logarithms, so indispensable in astronomy and all forms of engineering, depends directly upon the theory of exponents. Logarithms are exponents, and we can understand and use them because we know the laws governing exponents. Logarithms have been a very great aid to science. Yet it is an historical fact that logarithms were discovered and used by mathematicians years before exponents were even thought of. To anyone with a fair knowledge of mathematics, this seems almost incredible, but it's true.

"So you see, this civilization isn't unbelievable or exceptional. They are, it is true, lacking in the science of inorganic chemistry, yet their metallurgy, their physics, and their organic and protoplasmic chemistry are highly developed. Also, on earth, science is the property of everyone, but here the social structure is different. The scientists and the builders, whose predecessors built these two unified city-structures of steel, form an aristocratic class who keep their science to themselves, both in Sarvon and in Cor. Xavian, who gave Meriden permission to come on this errand, is an aristocrat; Meriden is not. He is a swordsman, one of the lower class, though he is exceptionally intelligent and has been educated far more than the average swordsman. He is in the confidence of Sarvon's rulers."

"Their peculiar scientific development still seems incredible. This thing that you brought, for instance. It must involve science tremendously advanced ... principles of atomic and molecular physics greatly in advance of science on earth...."

"Wrong, Lee. This device refutes the law of impenetrability of matter; it allows two things to occupy the same place at the same time. And it was invented on the earth by Harrison Ives, my brother. Because I remembered what he had told me about it, I was able to help the Sarvonian scientists duplicate it here on Venus. You remember when Grantolon sent for me, just before you left Sarvon? He had completed six of these instruments, and they were successful. He sent for me so that I could see what our cooperation had accomplished. I came to Cor, alone. I wanted to be in on this adventure, and in Xavian's hasty decision he didn't consider the fact that in order to spy upon scientists, a spy should have more scientific training than either you or Meriden possesses. So I came. It was easy to escape everyone who challenged me by merely walking into a wall.

"I led a number of them a merry chase. I located you by overhearing conversation between some of the men from whom you had escaped. I guess that explains everything."

"For a young woman so beautiful, you are much too scientific, Miss Ives. Or Izanne, rather. Here comes Meriden."

Meriden appeared coming out of the wall near the door. He pulled out the stud of the metal box at his waist and stood still for a moment while the nausea lasted.

"I expected to see a set of flashing colors," said Lee.

"They only appear to the person using the apparatus," said the girl. "It does some queer things with light as it temporarily changes the atomic structure of the retina. The change is only in the eye. That was the one thing my brother could not predict from his calculations, when he invented the device. I can't explain it exactly...."

"I have the wire," said the giant, approaching them with a smile of success. "There seem to be a few guards in these corridors at present. We may be able to get to the conference room."

Half an hour later, after they had traversed about half a mile of the seldom-used corridors among the storerooms, and Meriden had killed a couple of unfortunate guards before either of them could whistle an alarm, they reached the locked and deserted council room, entering through a door with the nonchalance born of their mastery over matter. At one end of the room was a raised platform on which was a semicircle of nine chairs. The rest of the large room, the part with the lower floor-level, seemed to be a combination machine-shop and laboratory. Here the council of nine could watch while the scientists demonstrated some new device or machine. Here was the receiving end of the interplanetary radio with which they kept in touch with the three Corians who possessed the bodies of the Dornn brothers. Delicate instruments and ponderous machines were here. Girders running horizontally from side to side of the room supported some fixed pieces of apparatus and also movable cranes by which large objects could be lifted and carried from one part of the room to another.

Meriden removed a coil of wire which was slung over one shoulder, retained an end, and hurled the coil toward the lofty ceiling of the room. The wire passed over a girder. The Sarvonian secured the other end, and, holding both of them firmly, climbed hand over hand until, with an audible grunt, he reached the girder and clambered upon it. Lee followed easily with the supernormal strength that was the possession of those who had traded bodies. Meriden called to the girl and told her to tie the wire under her arms so that she could be lifted. Instead she ascended the wire with the same ease as Lee. They pulled up the thick wire a moment before the door below opened to admit two men of the scientific class of Cor ... slender, almost delicate in physical build ... running more to brain than to muscle. They crossed the room to the recording radio receiver and examined several disks inside its cabinet. Then they sat down on a low bench and conversed in tones too low to be heard by the three lying flat on the girders above. They were obviously waiting for someone to arrive, and it seemed to Lee that they were waiting an eternally long time.

* * *

THE mystery of Izanne still puzzled him. Why didn't she want their friend, Meriden, who loved her, to know that she was an earthgirl? And the Corians, who were responsible for the transfers, killed the earth-identities that were transferred to Venus, except those which had been saved by Meriden as he and as the Dornn brothers had been saved. Yet Meriden was ignorant of the fact that she had been transferred, thinking her one of the aristocracy of Sarvon. The Corians didn't want earth people on Venus. All they wanted was Corians on the earth. Xavian of Sarvon had told Lee that all of the earth-identities on Venus had been saved by Meriden from death at the hands of the Corians. Yet Laura Ives had been transferred to Venue at the time when a Corian girl had taken her body on earth, had obviously escaped death at the hands of the Corians, yet this was unknown to Meriden, to whom she was posing as a Sarvonian aristocrat. How had she escaped Cor and come to Sarvon in the first place without Meriden knowing about it? Xavian, ruler of Sarvon, evidently knew. He had said that he was keeping her secret. Yet at another time, when Izanne had not been present, he had told Lee that the girl was the future bride of Meriden. Meriden himself had little hope of winning her because of the difference in their stations, yet the girl wore his device ... the steel and golden jaguar ... and on the buckle of the broad finely-tanned belt that encircled her, waist. Something, decided Lee, needed to be cleared up.

The door opened again, and nine blue-robed men entered, surrounded by a strong guard of swordsmen. Three of the men were very old, and none of them were young.

A number of other scientists followed the guard. The nine took their places on the platform, with the soldiers standing behind their chairs. The scientists busied themselves with uncovering a large electrical instrument on a heavy, solid, low table, almost directly beneath the three watchers.

Wires led from this instrument to a projector which looked to Lee like a small searchlight, and was mounted so that it could be turned in any direction. The scientist adjusted it in the direction he desired and then turned a thumb-nut that locked it rigid. Some of the others set up a solid black screen of unusual thickness fifteen feet in front of the projector. The arrangement permitted the nine on the platform to see both the projector and the screen.

One of the nine spoke:

"You are ready, scientists?"

"We are ready," they answered.

CHAPTER XV -- Fatigue

THE scientist who seemed to be in charge explained his device to the council. "We have here the means of producing a ray, invisible, that has no effects upon the human body, but has very peculiar properties. If the Council will command a warrior to give me one of his swords, we can make an immediate demonstration."

At a word from one of the Council, a guard handed one of his three swords to the speaker, who placed it in a clamp which he attached to a movable stand. He put the stand between the projector and the black screen. Another man, at the instrument, moved a rheostat. Apparently nothing whatever happened, but after three minutes the current was shut off, and the first scientist approached the stand and tapped the sword lightly with a small ruler he held. The steel sword snapped like brittle glass. Several fragments fell to the floor and smashed into smaller bits. With a smile, the scientist continued his explanation.

"For many years we have been trying to find out what causes metal fatigue. From time to time some part of Cor would collapse, apparently without cause. This happened only at rare intervals, and the damage has not been great. But we were afraid that some day the entire city would collapse, so we have made careful investigations of this phenomenon. We have not yet found out what causes this to happen to steel after it has been in use for several years, but we perfected a way of artificially producing a metal fatigue many times as great as that which occurs naturally.

"That screen is made of a material that prevents the passage of the ray; I used it so that this demonstration would not injure any part of the steel room we are in.

"You know that Sarvon is a city like Cor--one vast structure of steel--and with this weapon we can destroy it. If we can project this ray on the lower levels of the city, the foundations, the whole immense nation will collapse, literally speaking. We are now working, Members of the Council, on a projector to be mounted on a large airship. Of course, it will be a much more powerful device than this demonstration machine--"

It was with difficulty that Lee Chilton, above, suppressed a gasp. He knew that on earth, once in a great while, a bridge or structure of steel would collapse, for no apparent reason. He knew of metal fatigue and of the attempts of scientists and engineers to find the cause of it, but it was nothing like the demonstration he had just witnessed. The master scientists of Cor had produced metal fatigue to the nth degree. Practically speaking, their ray destroyed most of the cohesion between the molecules of the steel. It produced microscopic cracks and breaks in the metal. If the immense girders that supported Sarvon were subjected to it--

But it was a double-edged weapon. If they could secure it and use it on Cor--

One of the two men who had first entered the room now approached the platform. "I also have news for the Council," he stated grandiloquently.

"Speak."

"My group of scientists has perfected the instrument with which we made the transfers. We can now operate it anywhere successfully, and we will not be forced to take it out of the city to that cave in the mountains. The steel in the city does not interfere with its operation in the improved form. It was because we had to take it to that cave, far from the steel that always interfered with the ether waves, that we had such poor success with the transfers. At the cave the Sarvonian Meriden could find us and interfere, sometimes preventing the transfer and sometimes saving the earth-identity after the Venus-identity had been transferred to earth. That is why there are now several Terrestrials in Corian bodies living in Sarvon and aiding them. That has been changed. We are confident that we have overcome the interference caused by large quantities of steel, and from now on can transfer Corians to earth-bodies without danger of interference, and we can make sure that the earth-identity does not escape alive. We are still not able to transfer a Corian identity to earth without at the same time transferring a Terrestrial identity to Venus."

"When will the next transfer be made?"

"That we cannot tell. Six meteorockets, each containing the other half of this apparatus, were sent to earth about seven days ago. We always send the rockets in groups of six, and one of them is usually found by someone on the earth. It's a matter of chance exactly where they finally land. Some of them fall into the ocean, others at the frigid poles. A few, let down by the automatic release and the parachute, are found by earth-people. If the individual succumbs to curiosity and dons the headgear, the interplanetary circuit is closed. It takes a few minutes for the signal to get here, even at the speed of light, because of the great distance between the two planets. Then we render the person unconscious, determine the sex by our indicator, and transfer a suitable Corian identity to the earth. As from now on we will not be interfered with, we can immediately execute the earth-identity as soon as the transfer has been completed."

"Very good."

The scientist spoke again. "My associate, Eenedar of the meteorological department, has a request to make."

The spokesman of the Council nodded.

"Speak, Eenedar."

The other of the pair that had been first to enter spoke with an air of sureness.

"As I understand the Council's plan," he said oilily, "the identities we transfer to earth are to do everything in their power to stir up war there, so that the Terrestrials will decimate themselves, leaving the earth in a condition that will make it possible for us to conquer it when our great spaceships are completed."

"That is correct," said the spokesman. "The plan is working out very well. War is impending on earth at present, and there will be few of the earthmen left when they get finished wiping each other out. We could not conquer the terrestrial hordes now. There are too many of them. The war will eliminate most of them."

"As I thought. I, Eenedar, have been making a very close study of atmospheric conditions upon the earth, as far as I can determine them with the greatest telescopes and the most accurate photometers and spectroscopes used by my friends of the astronomical department. I believe I have discovered something, but I cannot he sure yet. It will be necessary for me to go to the earth and continue my investigations there. If the condition of the earth's atmosphere is as I suspect it to be, I assure you that I can wipe out the population of the planet in one week's time, and yet leave it in perfect condition to be occupied by Venerians. I do not wish to disclose my suspicions until I am able to confirm them. I therefore request that I be selected as the next identity to be transferred to earth, as soon as some one of the six rockets is discovered by some curious Terrestrial. But I do not want the earthman who will be in my body killed. Keep him alive, under heavy guard. Whether or not I find what I expect to find, I shall want to be transferred back to Venus to my own body, so keep it alive. In an earth-body, I, too, would be killed when the population of the world was wiped out. In a Venus-body, I would be secure. As a reward for my possible service to Cor, I want to keep on living. You are having war stirred up to annihilate the earth-races, and I may be able to do that, to pave the way for our conquest, much more easily and quickly. However, I would advise that you go on with your other plans, in case I fail. Will you give orders to that effect?"

* * *

THE spokesman considered. "You deserve our trust, Eenedar. I, therefore, command that you be the next to be transferred, and that your body be kept alive so that you may return, whether or not your investigations are successful."

The others nodded. Eenedar bowed. "Thank you, Council of Nine." Meriden stirred uneasily on the girder, but none of those below perceived the giant or the girl or the other man who were spying on their secrets. Lee wished the meeting would disperse. It was becoming increasingly uncomfortable to lie flat on his stomach atop the girder without stirring an inch for fear of betraying himself and the others. They seemed to be taking their time below, however.

A soldier entered and stood respectfully at attention. The spokesman bid him speak.

"We have completed the search of the storerooms and laboratories, and can find no trace of Meriden and the two who were accompanying him. They are somewhere in Cor, however, and it would be best for the Council to always have a large guard near by."

"Spread the alarm to all Cor to be on watch. Meriden, the Sarvonian, is dangerous, and that accursed girl has something that permits them to walk through solid walls. They must be somewhere near here, for those guards we saw were only recently killed. Search again all this part of the city. I will send you a scientist who knows the secret storerooms. Search those, under his direction."

The soldier nodded. One of the scientists went out with him. The guards standing behind the Council fidgeted uneasily. They were truly brave men, but they had heard so much about Meriden that they would much rather not meet him. Stories of the prowess of the Swordsman of Sarvon had lost nothing in the telling.

Still another scientist approached and waited to be heard. He gave the report of the latest news from earth sent by the three in Vienna who occupied the bodies of the Dornn brothers.

"The three report both success and failure. The rocket being built by Terrestrials to investigate Venus has been destroyed. They promise war within a month, as they have gained political power. They have obtained a book containing instructions for liberating unlimited energy from matter, a process recently perfected by a terrestrial scientist. They have--"

Lee Chilton heard a stifled gasp from the girl. He guessed, correctly, that the scientist was her brother, the same who had made the device in the box still at each of their waists.

"--and the man they employed was not able to decode the message in the book. They are sending it here by a meteorocket, which we expect in forty or fifty more hours. Our observatories will be on the watch for it, and will take care to locate its fall so that we can obtain the book."

"Why do they send the book here, if the message it contains could not be decoded by the greatest terrestrial cipher-experts? We do not know their languages well enough to undertake the task of decoding it. Even our greatest mathematicians and philologists would have little chance of solving a complex cipher in some one of the dozens of earth-languages."

"I can explain, Councillor. The person who invented this process was Harrison Ives, greatest of terrestrial scientists. Ever since we started to carry out our plans it has only chanced once that a woman happened to put on one of our helmet-like devices. We have only transferred one girl to the earth, and she obtained the body of the sister of this scientist. And--"

"I understand," said the spokesman of the Council. "We preserved her body under guard as we intend to do for Eenedar, so that she could return to Cor. But the girl in her body contrived to escape and go to Sarvon, in some manner unknown to us. The girl on earth cooperated with the 'Dornns' as we instructed her to do. The sister of the scientist is the only one who might know his code-system, and she is on Venus now, so they sent the book here."

"Yes. I have kept the three acquainted with all that has happened here. Our interplanetary radio uses frequencies never dreamed of by Terrestrials. The three at Vienna assure me that there is no chance of anyone listening in."

"Yet she is hidden in Cor now, with that swordsman! We must take her and force her to talk! No one else in the universe can tell us the secret of the book except her brother."

The rapid breathing of Izanne was audible to both Meriden the Sarvonian and Lee Chilton. There was a fear amounting almost to certainty in her heart.

Meriden had taken in every word, and was almost dazed by the knowledge that Izanne was an earth-girl.

"Her brother," said the scientist below, "is dead."

In spite of herself a sob burst from the lips of Laura Ives.

Everyone in the room looked up, and the three reclining figures were seen. "There they are," shouted the spokesman. "Kill the men, but above all, take the girl alive."

At that moment a detachment of one hundred and fifty swordsmen, summoned by an alarm button in the arm of the spokesman's chair, entered the room.

CHAPTER XVI -- Events

AN ominous silence filled the courtroom. The Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of United America was about to render the decision of the Court. "Inasmuch as the evidence of the operatives of Burton Boyd, the evidence of Boyd himself, the evidence of Robert Huston, and the evidence of the witnesses of the deaths of Laura Ives and the doctor who was mysteriously killed by her, though it is only circumstantial, indicates that Laura Ives acted as an agent of the three Dornn brothers in the murder of Eugene Chilton, and inasmuch as the Dornn brothers' representatives have not been able to disprove these assertions, the court judges that a reasonable doubt of the innocence of the said three brothers does exist, and until such a time as they can prove that Laura Ives was not connected with them, or that she did not commit the murder, they cannot inherit the property of Eugene Chilton, that was willed to them, namely, fifty-one percent of the stock of United Utilities, which property is here awarded to the only living relative of Eugene Chilton, his nephew, Lee."

One reporter nudged another and whispered, "Good for him! That decision isn't legal in the least, but there's nothing the Dornns can do about it! This is the Supreme Court, and the justices must have decided that whether or not they had him killed, this isn't the time to give such power to any Europeans! It looks too much like war is some place in the offing. They can object all they want to, but, strictly legal or not strictly legal, United Utilities stays in American hands, at least until the international situation clears up. And I bet it won't."

"It won't," said the other with positiveness.

Huston spoke to Burton Boyd. "We've won."

Boyd shook his head. "No, Bob, we were licked before we started. Watch Lee."

The Corian in the body of Lee Chilton rose to his feet and looked steadily into the televisors and cameras.

"I, Lee Chilton, not being convinced of the fairness of the honorable judge's decision, and having no desire to own the corporation of my late uncle, do hereby declare that I voluntarily give and transfer the property in question, fifty-one percent of the stock of United Utilities Corporation, to Albert, Aloysius, and William Dornn; this transfer to take effect immediately."

The unusualness of the action created a sensation. As the people of the earth, a large percentage of whom were listening in to the trial, were totally ignorant of the alien identity in the body of Lee Chilton, they could not understand the motive for such a stupendous gift. No American could understand the action, and most of them considered it little less than treason.

"If war comes," whispered the talkative reporter to the pessimistic one, "the government will confiscate the corporation."

"Yes," said the other, "that's so."

Boyd and Huston left the courtroom. Outside they were accosted by Riccardo di Bargi. "The rocket is completed," he said. "We have provisioned it, and have finished the installation of sixty tons of liquid oxygen which will be necessary for the combustion of about seven tons of liquid hydrogen. Jacobs and his news-unit is aboard, as are the selected men. Every man is brave and trustworthy. The news gang is itching for the moment when we can spring the surprise on the world. They love sensation, and this will be a big one. Are you going with us?"

"I am," said Boyd. "I'm going to find out what Venus has to do with the Dornns; why they want war. I've been afraid all along that Venus is the thing we're fighting. I'm going to confirm that suspicion or kill it."

"I'm going, too," said Huston.

"No! The trial delayed the Dornns too long to let them profit very much by their possession of the company. As soon as this damned war is declared, United America is going to confiscate United Utilities, and there is no one who can run it as you can. You're indispensable here. I may not be able to get back, old man, but I might send you information that would greatly help the world in the hell that's coming. You've got to stay here."

They had entered di Bargi's plane, and were flying north. The professor spoke. "You might be interested to know that at last I have solved the problem of radio across empty space. Years ago, when I first tried to communicate with Venus, I had no success. My waves never reached even the moon. I know, because I got no reflection. But I find that by using undreamed-of frequencies, I can get a reflected signal from the moon! I can get signals through the 'heaviside layer.' This indicates that we will have no trouble keeping in touch with the earth. Benny's televisor will function all right with a few radical changes in the apparatus and circuits."

"Fine professor. I was afraid that--"

There was a news-machine in the plane's cabin, and its whistling note sounded to indicate that news of exceptional importance was being broadcast. Boyd snapped on the receiver. There was no television image, but the news-announcer's voice was loud and clear.

"War has been declared on United America by Confederated Europe and United Mongolia. Dictator Fu-Zhse is mobilizing three million men, and is sending sixty thousand planes with bombs, death-rays and disease germs across the Pacific. They will reach Hawaii in one hour and the western coast in two hours more."

"What was the purpose of Lee's gift?" asked Boyd analytically. "If he is working with the Dornns, it would have been better for them if he had kept the control."

CHAPTER XVII -- The Cult of the Man-Child

SEVERAL minutes later the private call of Robert Huston came over the radio as the plane roared northward. It was from the Secretary of War. Huston replied, and the order from Washington rang in his ears.

"The Federal Government of United America has confiscated United Utilities. You will retain control of the Corporation."

Huston turned to Boyd-with a worried and yet hopeful countenance. "You said that you were prepared to stall off this war, Burt."

"I am. Ecclestone and I have been making preparations."

"You mean Ecclestone has solved the cipher? And United America will have the advantage of atomic power in----?"

"Unfortunately not. But let me have the instrument. I'm going to put through an attention call to Hongkong."

Huston moved out of the way, and Boyd took the seat by the radio. Di Bargi was busy with some calculations. Time after time Boyd sent out the personal attention call of Howard Fu-Zhse.

The United Mongolian Government answered, time after time, but the detective ignored the signals. After fifteen minutes, one of Fu-Zhse's secretaries responded, but still Boyd ignored the responses. Finally Fu-Zhse himself responded. If he was nervous about the war he was starting, he did not betray it as he spoke impatiently over the ether.

"Who are you and why do you call?"

"Am I speaking to Howard Fu-Zhse, commander of the east?"

"Yes. Who are you and why do--"

"I am Burton Boyd, an American. I wish to tell you that your son has been abducted from his boarding-school at Budapest. You can quickly verify this by getting in touch with the officials of the school. This is to warn you that we are holding the boy as hostage. Unless you immediately recall every one of the attacking planes, he will be killed. You must also prevent the Europeans from making any hostile move. You have the power to do this, and you must act quickly. If you continue with your plans, you will lose your son. We can speak later of the terms upon which we will consider his release."

Fu-Zhse did not reply.

"Did Ecclestone take the boy?" asked Huston.

"Yes. The day before yesterday. The officials are frantic, but they haven't dared tell Fu-Zhse. All's fair in war. We won't have to carry out that threat, Bob."

"How do you know? A ruthless Oriental with the ambitions of Fu-Zhse might quite conceivably sacrifice his son and then be more determined than ever to conquer us and wipe out the nation in a hideous revenge."

"A ruthless and ambitious white person might. But, Bob, we are dealing with an Oriental, and we must consider the oriental, not the occidental, point of view. The most important thing in the world to Fu-Zhse is to have a son, a successor to carry on the glory of his name. You know that. If it was his daughter, he would sacrifice her readily. But a son, his only son, never. I think you understand how the eastern mind works yourself. The Cult of the Man-Child, we call it. One must have successors to honor one's memory. Fu-Zhse is ambitious, yes, but also he is proud."

"I hope you're right."

"I'm quite sure. I've had exhaustive psychological studies made of the Dictator, and the best analysts of America agree with me. By threatening the life of his son we can save, at least temporarily, the lives of thousands upon thousands of Americans and more thousands of perfectly decent Orientals carried on by the ambitions of their leader. Without the aid of United Mongolia, Europe will be wary of attacking America. A state of armed truce will exist, and it will continue indefinitely. They will not dare attack for fear of provoking us to kill the son, and we will not dare release him, for as soon as he is safe or dead, Fu-Zhse will attack. If we can hold off this war until Ecclestone has solved the coded notebook left by Harrison Ives, United America will have the tremendous advantage of atomic power, effective and under control. As our government has no desire to conquer more territory or to murder a few billion enemies, we will be able to force a real peace. If we had atomic power plans locked in federal vaults no nation would even consider war against us. The present move is to give Ecclestone time. He must penetrate that cipher."

"Does your decision to go to Venus still stand?"

"Yes. You understand my plans. Fu-Zhse's son is safely in charge of the government. You must stay here and manage the corporation. I'm going. When will the rocket leave, di Bargi?"

"Four hours from now will be the most advantageous time this year," said the professor, looking up from his calculations. "We are almost at Fort Severn. Last minute preparations are being made on board the rocket. Its secret has been kept remarkably well, though a few rumors have gotten out."

Below they saw the lights of the immense field at Fort Severn. The three-hundred-ton rocket was being slowly hauled out of the hangar by squads of powerful tractors. Its great wings, designed to support it while in the atmosphere, were being extended from the recesses into which they fitted when the rocket was out of the air. Preparation for the great adventure! The disclosing of United Utilities' secret. The Interplanetarian, would-be conqueror of the void of space. The consummation of the lifelong dreams of di Bargi.

A monoplane, black except for the white under-surfaces of the wings, flashed by. A short burst of explosive bullets came very near to di Bargi's plane, commanding attention. A harsh voice spoke over the radio, the receiver being on. "Permit me to board or I will shoot you down."

Di Bargi's plane was not armed, and it could not hope to outmaneuver the other. Boyd spoke into the speaking-tube to the pilot. "Let him board us," he said calmly. The plane slowed and stopped in midair, supported by helicopters. The monoplane took a position close above, to one side, and let down a rope ladder. Its controls were locked, and its helicopter propellers supported it firmly. A tall figure came down the rope ladder, holding a heavy pistol in one free hand. The rope ladder was very near to the cabin door. The figure motioned with the pistol and Boyd, obeying the gesture, opened the plane's door. Daringly the intruder swung to the open door and entered. Boyd spoke calmly.

"Mr. Lee Chilton, "is it not?"

* * *

WHEN Fu-Zhse had heard Boyd's statement, he had immediately confirmed the fact that his son was missing from Budapest. Then, by coded radio, he had communicated with the triumvirate at Vienna, explained the situation, and demanded cessation of the preparations for the attack on America. The three, knowing that without Asia's help Europe would have little chance against America, called a halt in the mobilization of Europe. Fu-Zhse recalled his sixty thousand planes five minutes before they reached Hawaii, and sent messages to his secret staff in America to locate the place where his son was hidden. Beneath his calm exterior, Howard Fu-Zhse was humiliated and mad. He had been tricked, outwitted.

The sinister three at Vienna, the three from the unearthly nation of Cor, were angry also. At once they got in touch with the other Venerian, he who possessed the body of Lee Chilton, and exchanged code messages with him.

"Why did you turn over the corporation to us?"

"Was not that the plan? I thought you wanted control, to use the business to incite war."

"It was the plan. But we did not need the added influence of United Utilities to make war. We had enough money and political power already, and we were starting the war early. Didn't you receive our message yesterday?"

"No. It must be on the recorder."

"It is. We told you to keep the company, pretending loyalty to America. You could work with us secretly. The corporation has great influence and power. Now, neither of us has control of the company. Your gross carelessness in not reading the recorder and learning of our change in plans has cost us a great advantage."

"I am sorry. Can I atone?"

"Yes. The son of Fu-Zhse is in the power of America, and therefore our Asiatic allies refuse to carry out the attack. We cannot succeed unless he is rescued. His hiding-place is known to Burton Boyd, now in an airplane bound for Fort Severn, near Hudson Bay. Catch Boyd, and make him disclose the place."

"I have a very fast plane. I will atone for my fault."

* * *

SO it was that Huston and Boyd and di Bargi were faced by the tall man with the gun. He replied to the detective's question sourly. "Yes. You know I'm Lee Chilton. I will give you three minutes in which to tell me where the son of Fu-Zhse is hidden, or else I will kill you."

"If you kill me, what good will it do you?"

"I do not know. But it will do you even less good, Burton Boyd. I am waiting for your reply."

CHAPTER XVIII -- The Jungles of Venus

THE three on the girder near the ceiling of the Council room of Cor looked down upon nearly two hundred people, most of them soldiers, and all of them enemies. One of the warriors hurled up a keen-edged sword. The weapon struck the box at the waist of Izanne, wrecking the delicate apparatus within. She lost her balance and fell into the closely packed mass of soldiers beneath. The voice of one of the Corian scientists rang out commandingly.

"Do not harm the girl! The fool who threw that sword should have a thousand lashes! She must live! But kill the men!"

Izanne had been stunned by the fall. Her body had struck the shoulders of a warrior and had knocked the man down, underneath the girl. She was not injured. Three of the soldiers carried her carefully up on the platform and placed her in a chair. The scores of other warriors who filled the great room were hurling swords at the two men still on the girder.

After ten seconds of dodging swords, Meriden the Sarvonian decided that he was in a place where he couldn't fight back conveniently. Without hesitation he jumped into the crowd below, bowling over two men and scrambling to his feet in two seconds. Then his great strength and his great skill combined to give him a few minutes of surprising victory. He was completely surrounded by crowding enemies, yet he was slashing and carving his way through the mass toward the girl on the platform. The recently acquired knowledge that Izanne was in reality an earth-girl did not lessen Meriden's love for her in the slightest. His mind and his muscles had a greater incentive than mere self-preservation.

The very crowdedness of his enemies hindered them and helped the giant swordsman. The Corians could not throw their swords, as it was almost a certainty that they would hit some of their comrades instead of the one lone Sarvonian. Meriden's reputation once again stood him in good stead; many of the closest Corians would rather let some one else actually oppose him while they stood around and gave their moral support. The exhibition of desperate bloody swordsmanship he was giving did not increase their eagerness to oppose him.

With a sword in each hand he was holding off three of his most pressing adversaries when a bearded Corian lunged for his back. Lee Chilton, though he was not a trained swordsman, did not hesitate a second. He jumped from the girder, where he had been momentarily forgotten, and his heavily shod feet struck the bearded one on the head and shoulder, felling him unconscious.

The lust for battle flowed through the veins of the earthman. He forgot the great superiority of the Corian forces. He placed his back against Meriden's for mutual protection, and furiously attacked the nearest enemies.

Lee Chilton was observant. In those few seconds he had stayed on the girder after Meriden had jumped, he had learned one thing; the Venerian technique of sword-play consisted mostly of slashing, not thrusting. The Venetians used the edges of their swords, not the points. The fencing he had learned at Yale served him well on the alien planet. The Corians were not prepared for his feints, his thrusts, his parrying, and it was in the very nature of Lee Chilton to take the offensive, to make his adversaries play his game, not theirs. They soon learned that the smaller companion of Meriden the giant was no slouch with the sword, either.

But the situation was ultimately hopeless. They might take a great toll, but very soon they would be overcome by mere numbers. Meriden redoubled his efforts to move toward the girl, gaining several feet. He and Lee were now near the heavy black screen that had been used in the demonstration before they were discovered, and the two comrades backed up against it, sensing a momentary advantage.

But the enemies were not all soldiers. One of the scientists saw the two from Sarvon and moved toward the projector to turn on the steel fatigue ray. Lee Chilton and Meriden were in its range; between the projector and the massive black insulating screen that prevented the ray from disintegrating the steel of the room. Lee saw the scientist's move and guessed his purpose. If the ray was turned on, thought Lee, his swords and those of Meriden would become brittle and fragile, useless, as had the sword which had been used in the demonstration they had witnessed, spying from the girder.

With swords disintegrated by the steel fatigue ray they would be utterly defenseless. Lee Chilton met brains with brains. As the scientist snapped the switch that turned on the projector, Lee hurled down the screen. Now the ray was not insulated; it would disintegrate part of the room and part of the immense structure of steel containing that room--the unified city-nation of Cor. So the Corian scientist was very prompt in snapping the ray off again. Lee Chilton and Meriden both engaged in battle with their crowding enemies, and their steel swords were sound, not fragile. They concluded that the ray had not been on long enough to affect the swords. It never occurred to either of them that there might be another explanation.

Meriden was very tired, but he was yet unwounded. Lee Chilton had acquired three trivial scratches. The men fought in silence; their enemies shouted, boasted, jeered at them, and encouraged one another. The surrounding circle became tighter, the fighting more severe, more purposeful. The roomful of warriors, scores of them, had been put to shame by two lone swordsmen. Lee Chilton knew that they could not hope to hold out many minutes longer.

* * *

IZANNE recovered and took in the situation just as Lee hurled over the black insulating screen. Before one of the Corians guarding her could clamp one of his heavy hands over her mouth, she had shouted in Sarvonian to her two companions:

"Fools! Don't try to rescue me! I will not be harmed. Escape to Sarvon. Tell them what we have learned. Quick! Through the wall!"

They realized suddenly that she was right. The earth-girl, who was called Izanne, was the only person in the universe who could solve the code of her dead brother, Harrison Ives. The coded notebook containing the secret of atomic power was on its way to Venus in a meteorocket sent from the earth by the three Corians in the bodies of the Dornns. At least, the Corians thought so. They could not afford to harm Laura Ives!

Meriden pushed the stud on the box strapped around his waist. Lee did the same for his box. The thrown sword that had knocked Izanne off the girder had demolished the box at her waist and the instrument inside it. This saved her life, but her means of escape were gone.

Chilton and the giant fought off the horrible nausea as the field of the machine's influence surrounded them. They were the masters of matter. They were not invisible, but intangible. After a few seconds in which they accustomed themselves to the mystifying reversal of light and darkness that accompanied the process, they walked through their recent adversaries, and out of the room through its solid wall of steel. The weapons which were thrown at them by the Corians while they were escaping went through them harmlessly. They walked on through several rooms and several walls before they shut off the instruments, to throw pursuers (who could only follow by means of the corridors), off their trail.

They could not let their instruments function more than a few minutes at a time, for there was danger of complete dematerialization and death, so they made their astounding journey in short instalments, through any and all obstacles. The nausea and the flashing set of colors of the spectrum, that seemed to appear before their' eyes each time they pressed or released the stud, became less severe as they became used to them. They soon reached the corridors of the city which were used for traffic, and mingled with the crowd of soldiers and civilians. Everywhere they noticed preparation for war--war with Sarvon as soon as the large steel-fatigue ray projector was prepared to wreck the immense single structure that was Sarvon. If its foundations were disintegrated, the entire city would collapse and Sarvon would be wiped out--Sarvon, friend of the earth. Meanwhile, as the Corians planned, the war, instigated by their efforts upon the earth, would decimate the rich Third Planet, and they could conquer and overrun it. Their three gigantic space-ships were nearing completion in a space outside the city-structure--a space cleared from the dense jungle.

Meriden's intimate knowledge of the city of his enemies helped the two adventurers to a great extent. They were not suspected or apprehended after they had finally reached the traffic corridors, which had been their first objective when they came to Cor. They passed unnoticed in the crowds, coming eventually to the highest level of the city, its immense roof-drome. There, after patient waiting, they seized a favorable opportunity and stole a plane, killing two of the occupants, who were about to start on a journey. The third escaped, made his way to a communication instrument, and informed the Council. The demonstration steel-fatigue ray projector was quickly mounted on a plane which set out in pursuit. The Council sat back to see the results of this practical test. The pilot of the pursuing plane kept in touch with the Council, and finally announced, over the radiophone circuit, that the steel engine of the plane containing the Sarvonians had been disintegrated, and that the plane had crashed in the dense jungle midway between Cor and Sarvon, near the range of mountains which was between the two cities. To return to Cor, the two men would have to penetrate mile after mile of swampy jungles, insufferably hot, thick with interwined vegetation, swarming with deadly reptiles, carnivores, and insects. That is, if they were alive. The Corian pilot said he did not know, that he dared not go down low enough to find out for certain. He had little fuel left. To go to Sarvon, they would have to surmount the tremendous mountain barrier and then penetrate even more dozens of miles of the jungles of the Hot Planet--a feat literally and unqualifiedly impossible, even for a superman like Meriden of Sarvon.

The Council breathed a sigh of relief simultaneously. The Councillors ceased to worry about Meriden. Their spokesman ordered that a fatigue-ray apparatus big enough to wreck Sarvon be immediately constructed and mounted on a giant plane. They had Izanne imprisoned under heavy guard to await the arrival of the meteorocket containing the notebook--the meaningless notebook that Ecclestone had faked when he had taken the real cipher document. The Councillors were blissfully innocent of the knowledge that they had been deceived--that the real secret of atomic power was in the hands of an earthman, even though that earthman himself couldn't read the cipher.

A number of hours later an interplanetary circuit was closed by some unfortunately curious earthman who was investigating one of the meteorockets sent from Venus, and the Corian meteorologist Eenedar was transferred to earth to carry on his investigations of the earth's atmospheric conditions. The earth-identity in the body of Eenedar was imprisoned, but treated well.

* * *

FIVE hours after their plane crashed, Lee Chilton and Meriden had penetrated three hundred feet through the swampy forest. The insects were horrible, but as yet they had not seen any large animals. It was lucky, they agreed, that the fatigue ray that had wrecked their plane had not chanced to disintegrate their swords, for without keen swords to hack their way through the packed, tangled vegetation, they could never have come as far as they had. Sweat rolled off them in streams, their garments were torn and dirty, their bodies covered with muck. The only water they could find to drink was stagnant, sickening. Occasionally they could look up and find an opening in the foliage above them. Five miles ahead they could occasionally glimpse the steep, almost vertical rock walls of the mountain barrier. If they could reach it, find some place to scale it--at least they would be free from the insects for a while. Then, on the other side, more than a hundred miles more of thick, forbidding, savage jungle. Lee estimated that a thousand feet a day would be the limit of their progress, unless they should happen to find a navigable watercourse in the direction they wanted to go, and could make some sort of raft or boat, or unless some other lucky accident should happen to favor them. There was scant hope, but they did not despair. Barring a lucky accident, they could never reach Sarvon in time to warn the city of the steel fatigue ray.

"And even if we could," said Meriden bitterly, "there is no defense against it. Our scientists would not have time to devise any means of counteracting the ray. The city is built of steel. Even if they knew of the danger now, there would not be enough time to insulate the steel by a protective covering. Some of it perhaps, if they might know what could be used as the insulator, but the city is too immense to protect entirely. Sarvon's only chance would be to capture and destroy the projector--or better yet, to use it on Cor--and to capture and kill the scientists who know how to produce other projectors, and to capture and destroy all records and descriptions of the thing. All this would have to be done before the Corians had one chance to direct that ray at Sarvon." Profanity is not common on Venus, but Meriden gave vent to his feelings with an outburst of original invective that quite astounded Lee Chilton. The earthman was quiet. He knew that all the curses of two planets would not alter the situation, and he suddenly realized that he was thinking much more about Izanne than about the hypothetical fate of Sarvon.

Darkness was falling, and the jungle was awakening. The prowling flesh-eaters of the Hot Planet were faring forth from the lairs where they had slept out the day, bellies full. Lee recalled the great pack of jaguars he had seen from the plane that first night on Venus. Devoutly he wished that conditions on Venus were as astronomers had previously thought them to be--half the planet an arctic waste where night was eternal, and the other half eternally hot and always facing the sun. He wished particularly the feature of everlasting day--he was no coward, but he had the common sense to fear the jungle night.

He divided the time with Meriden so that each could sleep a little, while the other watched. They mounted a tree they had found that bore a fruit not unlike a pear, but extremely sweet. They ate their fill of the fruit and passed the night in the tree, one of them always awake.

They survived the night. The Venerian beasts of prey were quite capable of climbing trees, but the scent of man was new and unfamiliar to them and they were inclined to be wary. Good food could be had elsewhere, so they did not attack the strangers.

The next day the going was the merest trifle less hard--they were able to go farther than they expected. Meriden had even found a sort of trail, though poorly defined, that some of the beasts used. It led to a spring of clear, cool water that the two men appreciated in spite of its small size. Refreshed and with the gummy mud and sweat washed from their bodies, they pushed on. When night approached again Lee estimated that they were almost an entire mile from the wreck of the plane; that much closer to the cliffs. They kept on going until the night was black. Then, ahead of them as they crossed a small, comparatively open space, they saw a snarling pack of jaguars.

The Venerian jaguar must not be confused with the terrestrial animal. On the Hot Planet, the great cats possessed the herd instinct that on earth is more generally, though always--consider wolves, etc.--confined to the herbivores, such as horses and cattle. Though characteristically feline, the Venerian jaguar is not primarily a tree-climbing cat. And he is bigger by far than an African lion in his prime. His conformation and his markings--dark spots on yellowish-brown--are almost identical with those of his smaller cousin, the terrestrial jaguar.

The two men turned to flee, only to find more gleaming eyes directly in their path, more dim forms completely surrounding them. Meriden took one of his three swords--on each of which a jaguar's head was wrought-in steel and gold--and lifted it to throw.

CHAPTER XIX -- Into the Void

BURTON BOYD was not afraid of melodramatic threats, but something in the smouldering eyes of the man who opposed him convinced the detective that the intruder actually intended to kill him unless he disclosed the hiding place of Fu-Zhse's son. The oriental dictator had worked fast, thought Boyd. Already he had agents trying to locate his son. The thing that amazed Boyd was that Lee Chilton was an agent of Fu-Zhse. Boyd knew that something was wrong, but he could not account for or analyze the actions of Lee Chilton. Nor could Robert Huston. Huston had been acquainted with Lee before the cosmic transfer had taken place, and the identity now occupying Lee's body was so utterly different that the vice-president had formed the opinion that Lee Chilton was demented, a monomaniac, since his uncle's death. But Boyd, his mind more accustomed to judging men, was instinctively doubtful of this assumption.

As the intruder had entered the cabin of the hovering plane he had covered Huston and Boyd with his gun. He had paid scant attention to di Bargi, who had finished his calculations and was trembling in his seat. Di Bargi was a man of science and a man of peace, not a fighter or adventurer.

But the professor was no physical weakling, and his brain was always active. Far below, on the field of Fort Severn, was the immense Interplanetarian, the achievement of his life, the culmination of his years of untiring work. This stranger, thought the professor, is likely and capable of killing us all, whether or not he learns what he desires.

The man with the gun greatly underestimated the scientist. Di Bargi was trembling with fear--but it was not physical fear. If di Bargi had been a coward he would never have planned to jump off the earth in a transvoidal rocket. He feared that at the last minute he would be deprived, of the glorious adventure, the achievement that would place his name indelibly among the great men of history. He had worked a lifetime, spent a fortune, with one end in view, and now, at the last minute, he saw the possibility that after all he might be deprived of his great achievement.

Di Bargi acted. First, with his brain. He was near the speaking tube to the pilot's compartment. Silently he edged toward it in his seat, took it in his hand, and brought it close to his lips. With infinite care he whispered, while the intruder was threatening Boyd, to the pilot. "Bank suddenly to your left, and dive for a thousand feet."

The pilot heard the whisper and understood. Suddenly the hovering plane tilted violently and shot downward. Boyd, Huston, and the intruder were jerked off their feet, but di Bargi was prepared for the shock. The second the plane lurched he leaped for the one who was called Lee Chilton. He had seized the gun and twisted it out of his adversary's hand. He used it to beat the man unconscious as the plane dived. When it leveled out the unknown Corian in the body of Lee Chilton was quite harmless and had a cracked skull. Boyd and Huston were shaken up, but totally unharmed. Di Bargi was exuberant. Above them the intruder's empty plane was still hovering motionless in the air, controls locked. Below them the tractors were still hauling the immense space-flyer from the hangar where it had been hidden from the world, thanks to the clever work of Benny Jacobs.

They descended to the airport, turned over their prisoner to the police, who sent two men up in a plane so that one of them could board and bring down the empty, hovering plane.

Last minute preparations were being made on the rocket. The immense, efficient motors that were to propel the rocket while it was in the atmosphere were being inspected and tuned. The last of the thousand and one different kinds of supplies and provisions were being stored within. The last of the liquid hydrogen units had been installed hours previously.

"Why the motors?" asked Boyd of di Bargi, "Couldn't you have used the rockets entirely? Rocket-airplanes can start from the ground. I'd think the addition of motors almost useless."

"The answer is maneuverability. We want to be able to explore Venus after we get there, to go wherever we want. I also have several small planes, dismantled, on board."

* * *

DI BARGI went on to explain in detail the principle of space navigation by the reaction produced by the explosion of a rocket. He pointed out some of the salient features of the ship's construction. "The entire outer shell is double. A vacuum protects us not only from the cold of interplanetary space but from the intense heat of the sun also. A fine astronomical observatory occupies the first division of the rocket, at its very nose. Immediately behind is the control room, from which the Interplanetarian is guided both while in the atmosphere and while out of it. A duplicate set of controls is provided so that it may be flown from the observatory room. Periscopes and telescopes arranged according to the principle established by Harrison Ives give the pilot ample vision, however, from the control room proper. Behind it is the combination dining and recreation room; behind it the quarters, and still farther back the kitchen, placed so as to be near to the food supplies, which are behind it. Then come hundreds of kinds of other supplies, such as cigarettes, airplanes, games of various sorts to pass away any idle hours, books, microscopes and scientific instruments, portable shelters and collapsible boats, powerful machine guns and explosive bullets--everything for the preservation, amusement, protection, and benefit of the voyagers.

"Behind these are the liquid hydrogen and oxygen and the electrical devices for exploding various quantities of them when desired. As each unit is exhausted, its section of the rocket will be automatically dropped off by a very small explosion from the next unit. Thus each successive unit will have a smaller rocket to propel, and can therefore propel it farther.

"At the start, due to the horrible acceleration we shall need to overcome gravity, we shall have to endure great pressure, perhaps enough to render every man aboard unconscious, so we have devised a very complex robot, almost a thinking machine, built strongly enough to function correctly under pressure three times as great as we are expecting. The machine will control and direct the ship until we regain consciousness. If the rocket fails to develop precisely enough speed to leave the earth, or if it should get out of its proper course, or if any other irregularity occurs, it would be detected by some one of our instruments, operating an electric relay and causing our robot to remedy the defect by increasing the explosions or by taking whatever other action may be necessary.

"Out in space, free from the earth's influence, we should tend to float around in the inside of the rocket in an inconvenient manner--that is, while our speed is constant. If we accelerate positively or negatively, the acceleration will reproduce the effective of gravity.

"The floors of the rooms are steel, however, and if one is doing some work and is handicapped by his tendency to float around the interior of the rocket at the slightest push, one can turn on the electromagnets in his shoes, operated by small compact batteries in his pockets, and one can stay put wherever he wants to be." Di Bargi smiled whimsically. "We shall all be very sick," he predicted, "when our bodies are freed from gravity. Space-sickness, due mainly to the releasing from gravity of the liquid within the three semicircular canals of the inner ear--the human organ of balance--will be a new sensation, and I doubt if it will be pleasant. We'll perhaps become accustomed to it in time."

"I suppose," said Burton Boyd, "that the earth and Venus are approaching inferior conjunction? You intend to take the shortest route across the void?"

"No. Inferior conjunction will not occur until slightly more than a month from now, yet we are leaving immediately. The object is to arrive on Venus before inferior conjunction, so that if conditions of atmosphere, etc., are inimical, if we should not be able to exist there indefinitely after all, we can take the shortest way home. The return trip is the more doubtful of the two, so I want to make the return at inferior conjunction. We can afford to go farther on the outward trip in order to save millions of miles should we be forced to return immediately. Even now, we do not absolutely know how conditions are on Venus."

"What is absolutely known at present?"

"That's hard to say, right now. In 2177, using the new hypertelescope, I upset many of the commonly accepted theories about the planet. I established definitely that it did not always keep the same side toward the sun as astronomers believed in the twentieth century, but that it actually revolved on its axis, with a day almost identical in length with our own. I saw enormous structures and even identified airplanes in its atmosphere during that period when its cloud-blanket, which is almost always present, was temporarily lifted. My remarkable photographs proved my contentions.

"Of course, it is very hot. Also very wet. The conditions of gravity must be quite similar to those on the earth, but you will find that you will weigh a little less and be able to jump a little higher. As far as we can definitely tell, you will be able to breathe the foreign atmosphere without bad effects. Of course, we shall see; but I think you may accept what I've told you as facts." ⁽⁸⁾

Less than four hours later the doors were sealed, the motors roared into action, the immense craft took off smoothly, and smoothly did the trusted pilot take the rocket as high as its combustion motors would carry it. Its ceiling was even higher than di Bargi had calculated, and the professor was elated.

In Cabin R were Burton Boyd and the four members of Benny Jacobs' news-unit. Young, likable, noisy, clean-cut fellows they were, proud of the tremendous scoop that was theirs, and eager for adventure. "We're ready, Mr. Boyd. Shoot, fellows."

The technician of the gang was at the controls of the radiovision unit. The announcer had his mike in his hand. The visorman was focusing his lens for an interior shot. Benny Jacobs hovered around, directing the gang efficiently. Six minutes after the take-off they were ready--Boyd nodded, releasing them from their promise of secrecy. It was time to let the world know that after all the Venus-rocket had not been destroyed.

The technician, alert, flipped the necessary switches and twirled his controls. In ten seconds they were connected with the main office of the Universal News Company, who in turn relayed their speech and images to the thousands of radio-television units in the world. The news was spread while it was being made.

* * *

THE announcer, a being blessed with the gift of spontaneous loquacity, made the most of the situation.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the world. This is News-Unit Thirteen of the Universal News Corporation, speaking from Cabin R of the Interplanetarian, the first passenger carrying vehicle to venture into extraterrestrial space. The rocket was not destroyed by the explosion of the liquid hydrogen factory, as was broadcast several months ago. Universal, of course, is pledged to strict honesty in the presentation of news events, but on this exceptional occasion we greatly exaggerated the damage done by the explosion in order to make the criminal, who was undoubtedly listening in, believe that his plan was successful. We apologize to our public for this justified deception.

"We are now in the earth's atmosphere. The television views we present now show in detail the interior of this cabin with our elaborate furnishings. Everything is fastened down. Our remote-control televisor--" (click-click-snap-buzzzzz from the technician's control board,) "--will show you the landscape as seen from the rocket now. The large body of water is Hudson Bay. We are approaching the ceiling of the rocket, that is, with the internal-combustion motors. In a short while we will begin to use the terrific energy of exploded liquid hydrogen to lift us beyond gravity.

"We have made arrangements so that our visors and mikes will be cut off the regular transmitter as soon as we leave the earth, and automatically hooked up to a transmittter capable of sending voice and pictures across the void. News-Unit Thirteen will be in constant communication with the earth, serving you as Universal has always served the public. We will now cut in on the mike of Professor di Bargi and ask him to say a few words from the control-room."

Click-snap. BUZZzzzzz ...

"I am very busy at present, and will have no time to explain the rocket. In a few minutes I will press the alarm signal, so that everyone on board will tie himself in a very strong hammock. The acceleration will probably render everyone aboard unconscious. I have just re-checked for the last time the exceedingly strongly constructed robot that will handle the controls while we are unconscious."

Click!

"Our interior televisor now shows one of the hammocks which will be used as Professor di Bargi has just told you. We want to show the public as many interesting details as possible about our life aboard the rocket. You notice the strong supports for the hammocks. If we tied ourselves in solid chairs, for example, we might be crushed against them. The elastic hammocks will give under the pressure, and minimize the danger. If we have time, we will also show you a view of our air-purifying apparatus before--"

BRRRRRRRRRNNNNNGG!

"You have just heard the alarm signal. We must tie ourselves in the hammocks at once. While we leave the earth, of course, no announcements can come through to you, but we shall leave the remote-control televisor on, and we hope you will be able to see the earth dropping away from the rocket."

Click-click-snap. Click.

Below, in United Utilities' Hudson Bay office, Robert Huston was listening to the news report, and watching the receiving screen of the news-machine. Without moving from his seat he could see the searchlights outside that were trained upon the great ship. He went to the window and looked up in time to see a brilliant blue flash at the rocket's tail. Another. Three more. The rocket was moving fast now, very fast. Five more flashes, and then a steady stream of blue flame. In a few seconds it had dwindled to nothing, disappeared. Burton Boyd was on his way to Venus. Huston was home, with a terrific war threatening. Bob Huston shook off the thought of war and returned to the instrument, staring at the clear, sharp picture it presented of the earth falling away rapidly. The convexity of the pictured scene was apparent. The earth dwindled until all of it could be seen on the screen. A globe, with the outlines of the continents upon it.

Click! The picture vanished. A voice came through the loud speaker. "This is the main office of Universal News. We are now out of communication with News-Unit Thirteen. As soon as a further message comes through, we will broadcast the words and pictures to all the world. The public will notice that again Universal is the first to present a news event of exceptional importance; again we lead the field. Through Universal you will be placed at the receiving end of the first interplanetary television circuit. Universal is always the first--"

Robert Huston snapped off the news-machine, left the office, and made his way toward the UU-7. The big quintimotored monoplane was soon roaring southward to New York.

CHAPTER XX -- Tension

IF it is true that "it takes six scars to make a man," Meriden could have qualified as a male quartet by a safe margin; yet in all his battle-filled life he had never been so close to death as he was when he hurled his sword at the nearest of the surrounding pack of jaguars, and the Swordsman of Sarvon knew it. Lee Chilton knew it too. He had looked death in the face more than once, and he had laughed. Now, he didn't laugh. Danger had lost its allure; life had become precious to him since he had met the lovely Izanne. Lee Chilton wanted to live. Meriden had the same desire, and the same dark-eyed girl was enshrined in the heart of the Venerian warrior.

It was vain to spend time regretting that the devices Izanne had given them had been wrecked utterly by the crash of the plane. They could not dematerialize and walk through the snarling cats; they had nothing with which to defend themselves except their muscles and their swords and that thing that mortals, knowing no better, call Fate.

Meriden's hurled sword made a clean kill, cleaving the animal's skull. With Lee at his side, the swordsman leaped toward the slain beast and seized the sword while the jaguar was still writhing in its short death agony. Precious, that sword! For a fraction of a split second not one of the pack of carnivores moved, and in that instant Lee Chilton, trying to follow Meriden's example, hurled one of his swords with all the strength in his Venerian body. He failed; the heavy sword did not touch the tawny beast he had thrown it at. He was not a warrior of Venus, trained from infancy to throw the double-edged blades.

His action goaded the flesh-eaters into action. With one accord they charged the two who stood in the clearing, in almost total darkness. The great cats did not need light. The jaguar-pack hunted at night.

It seemed to Lee Chilton that above the roaring, snarling screams of the charging jaguars, a higher scream was heard, and then a crash. Light flooded the universe for a brief second, and then there was nothingness. He was falling through an eternity of blackness--and even that sensation faded, leaving only a dim semiconsciousness of infinite pain--

* * *

XAVIAN, supreme ruler of Sarvon, was worried, far more than appeared on his earnest intellectual countenance, as he spoke with his advisors.

"In three or four more days the army will be ready for the attack, and we have no leader. Nothing has been heard from Meriden since he left to spy on the new weapon of the Corian scientists. The only thing that influenced me to let him undertake the journey at this important time was his intimate knowledge of Cor. Now, if he has been captured or killed, our army is without its leader. The soldiers adore that giant champion. He is worth thousands of men on the battlefield. And we have no word from him concerning the nature of the weapon with which Cor intends to wipe us out. We are unprepared to withstand their surprise. The loss of Meriden is serious indeed; to say nothing of the Earthman, Lee Chilton, and the foolish girl who followed them there."

"We have some new weapons too," said Grantolon, the scientist. "The Earthman Albert Dornn and his brothers, who are living now in Venerian bodies in our city-nation, have acquainted the scientists of Sarvon with the principles of terrestrial fire-weapons--guns, rifles, revolvers, are the strange words they use to signify these weapons. In a few days we will be able to supply the army with firearms, and then perhaps the battle will not be so unequal. Our new weapons will give us a certain advantage, though their use requires skill attainable only by practice. We have been having some difficulty with what are called 'sights' in the English earth-language. Albert Dornn was familiar only with the sighting adjustments for weapons on earth. On our planet the gravity is slightly different, and we had to calculate for the necessary corrections."

Albert Dornn spoke in the Sarvonian tongue. "I am not by nature a militaristic person, but weapons were my hobby on the earth. I am disclosing the information I possess to the scientists of your city-nation, because you are making war on Cor to prevent that nation from invading my earth. I thank Grantolon for his assistance."

* * *

THE main office of Universal News, in New York City, was usually a bedlam, but an organized and methodical one. There was the gigantic clearing house, where the radiovision images from the television units all over the country were received, canned permanently, and at the same time relayed to the hundreds of thousands of subscribers to Universal News, who saw news as it happened, or else had the words and pictures preserved for them until they had leisure to learn of the happenings all over the world.

A visitor entered the office of the general manager. "I represent the Eurasian News-Syndicate," said the stranger. "Your company and the various associated companies I represent serve practically the entire world with radio and television news. We are losing prestige and business because we were not on the inside about the United Utilities rocket, as you were. The public is tremendously interested, as you know very well, in this attempt at interplanetary travel, both from the scientific and the human-interest and achievement points of view. Therefore I have been instructed to make negotiations for the syndication of this news, if your price is at all reasonable. Combined, Universal and the Eurasian Syndicate will cover the entire world, keeping everyone informed up to the minute."

The general manager reflected for a brief moment, and then made his decision. He was paid to make decisions. "We have cooperated many times before with your syndicate, and I have no objection to cooperation this time, at the usual fee of $10,000 per minute of television images, plus a charge of $50,000 to partially reimburse us for the great expense of developing the interplanetary television transmitter under the direction of Professor di Bargi. Ordinary radio waves will not cross the void."

"I have here a certified check for half a million. We can proceed at once to sign the contract--"

The manager took his desk-phone and gave a few rapid orders. "In thirty seconds your main office will be connected with this office, and when, as, and if any further messages from the rocket come through, you may distribute them to your public. If none come through, your deposit will be refunded, except the fixed fee of fifty thousand."

"Thanks. My employers expected you to be very difficult to deal with. You have an ironclad scoop. It's impossible for us to send a unit where your Unit Thirteen is. We appreciate your cooperation greatly--"

"That's all right. We're not trying to gyp you for all we can get. There is another thing to be considered however. This strained truce that America has forced on Fu-Zhse is not liable to last long. The only thing that is keeping America out of war with Europe and Asia, the territory served by your syndicate, is Fu-Zhse's love for his son. Europe does not attack without the aid of the Mongolian; we are staving off the actual war, but secret preparations are being made for the inevitable hour when war will come. Our country's bureau of Psychological Intelligence certainly analyzed Fu-Zhse correctly. Nothing else in the world could have stopped him for a minute. The point is this: War is coming sooner or later, and war will automatically prevent Universal from cooperating with any Eurasian news company."

"My employers understand that perfectly. At present, however, there is a technical peace, although strained, and we are using the opportunity to obtain the news our public is demanding, before they throw us down. The best we could do previously was to broadcast views from observatories that had the rocket under observation."

"We're doing that now, as nothing is coming through from the rocket. The astronomers report that the rocket is proceeding to Venus, and has been observed to deliberately alter its course several times, showing that intelligence is directing it, and we expect to hear from Benny Jacobs at any minute."

"I see. Well, that finishes my business here. I won't take up any more of your valuable--"

"Your employers understand that in case of war we will disconnect them immediately?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact, in case of war I will be out of a job. I'm an American and proud of it, though I represent a foreign organization that has prestige and a long record of service."

"Let's hope that damned hell won't come for a long time yet. It will take the scientific militarists about three days to wipe out ninety-five percent of the world's population, and the, rest will die from the stench."

"You're right. I'll be leaving now. It's been a pleasure to deal with your company. Between the two organizations, we can cover the world with Benny Jacobs' television images and radio announcements as soon as they come through. The whole world will be listening in."

* * *

THE Council of Nine was meeting in the city-nation of Cor, planet Venus, and the Spokesman was doing the talking.

"The first of our space-ships will be done in time to take advantage of the inferior conjunction of the two planets. When Earth and Venus are at their nearest approach, approximately one-third of our population will then embark--the first wave of our invasion of the earth. But it is absolutely necessary that we utterly destroy Sarvon before we try to cross the gap. With only two-thirds of our population here, Sarvon could easily overwhelm this city. We have realized all along that unless Sarvon is wiped out, we can not hope to be successful in our conquests.

"Furthermore, Council of Nine, we cannot hope to conquer the earth in its present state. The noble three we sent to the Earth-city of Vienna, occupying the bodies of the three brothers Dornn, who, in the Corian bodies of the nobles, are now safe in Sarvon--the noble three told us over the ether what was impending on earth. With their terrible engines of destruction, it would take a very few days for the terrestrials to wipe each other out, literally. We could easily conquer the remnants, shattered, disorganized, lacking men and in no condition to withstand us.

"But the later messages from the three in Vienna tell of a truce. The world is armed and waiting. If we should appear now, they would forget their own planetary disorders and turn at once to join against us. We should have no chance. Our only hope is that this truce can be broken up before the inferior conjunction. If it is not, we shall have to wait more than a year ⁽⁹⁾ until the next inferior conjunction occurs, because our space-flyers are only planned to make the journey when the two planets are at their closest approach. At any other time the voyage would be extremely hazardous. But if we wait too long, the world is liable to have recovered from the effects of its war, partially at least, and we should not have so great a chance of success. Therefore I sent a message to the three in Vienna showing them the paramount importance of inciting war at once, so that we can strike when the majority of the terrestrials have wiped each other out. I have also ordered the scientists in charge to rush construction of the monster projector of the steel-fatigue ray, with which we will wreck the steel city of Sarvon and crumble it to dust. The tests of the ray shows that it disintegrates steel in a second. The projector has a range of several miles--we can go high enough above the city in the giant plane carrying the projector so that there will be no danger of our being discovered, in the night, by the Sarvonians. The ray is invisible, and also invincible. They will never know what happened. The city will fall and the jungle will cover it, and we shall be free to devote our attention to the rich planet. The rich planet--"

The Spokesman paused. One of the younger members of the Council spoke. "What of Eenedar's plan?"

"I do not know what it is," replied the Spokesman, "but Eenedar is a scientist of the first class, the most distinguished meteorologist and atmosphere-expert that Venus has ever seen. We transferred him to the body of an earthman so that he could investigate the condition of the earth's atmosphere. He had some plan in connection with our conquest, but he did not wish to disclose it until he was sure of the correctness of his theory. The earthman in his body is still imprisoned--whenever Eenedar wants to return there is nothing-so far as we know, to prevent him, but we have not heard anything from him."

"How about the meteorocket that the Three at Vienna sent here, containing the secret of atomic power?"

"Our astronomers were on the watch for it. Several of the observatories got good photographs of the luminous streak it made when it fell, and from the accurate pictures we at once calculated its exact location, determining the spot by triangulation. These small rockets we use are constructed to explode when they reach a certain depth in the atmosphere, releasing unharmed whatever is inside them, and a parachute that lets down the cargo to the ground. The detachment of men we sent to find it has not yet returned, or even sent us a message, but they will find it soon. The girl is carefully guarded--she will not escape us this time. She is the only one who can solve the code of her brother. We will make her reveal the secret of the book to us, and then we shall have yet another weapon."

* * *

THE earth-girl Laura Ives, sister of Harrison Ives and a scientist in her own right, paced her narrow cell impatiently, waiting, waiting. She knew that the greatest scientific achievement of her brother, martyred genius of the earth, was being sent to Venus so that the Corians could force her to reveal the secret of Harrison Ives' intricate code. She had heard that the greatest experts of the world had been hired by the Three in Vienna and that they had not read the secret of the notebook. She knew that when the Corians got it, they would resort to every form of torture, if necessary, to force the key of the cipher from her, and she was afraid, afraid that the pain would make her yield, and furnish the enemies of her world with a weapon with which to destroy it.

She thought of her brother, shy, retiring, but possessing the greatest mind the earth had produced in centuries, and she thought of the Venerian girl who had taken her own body from her and had killed the brother she loved. She brooded over the possible fate of Meriden the Sarvonian and the earthman Lee Chilton, and who shall say which one was uppermost in her mind--or in her heart?

She planned escape. She had escaped once before. The Corians seemed to be ignorant of, or to underestimate the supernormal strength that was the possession of all who had crossed the void and entered an alien body. The machine that made possible the transfers had peculiar effects upon certain nerve and brain centers of the two individuals whose identities were interchanged. She could easily have torn the steel bars from their sockets. She had done so the previous time she had been imprisoned. But now there were dozens of armed guards outside. An attempt to escape would be unsuccessful, she judged, and would only reveal her great strength, with the result that the cell would be strengthened. She hoped always for some let-up in the vigilance that always kept scores of men in the corridors outside. At least, she thought, they were decent enough to give her good food and clean clothing, and to allow her a degree of privacy.

But not for a minute were the many alert guards absent from the corridors. She could break through the bars; but unarmed, it was hopeless to expect to get past the warriors.

* * *

IN Vienna, the three who had the bodies of the Dornns were holding a conference. Their tones were quiet, but in each of the alien minds was suppressed excitement and unsuppressed hate.

"You warned Venus of the terrestrial rocket-ship?"

"Yes, just now. They will be prepared for it, should the secret operative we managed to get aboard at the last minute when we learned that the rocket hadn't been destroyed months ago be unsuccessful in carrying out our orders to kill everyone aboard and take the ship on to Venus. As no further messages have come to the news-syndicates from the newsmen on board, it is possible that the Corian who got aboard has already killed the earth-men and is in control of the ship. This will greatly aid Cor. Only one of the three ships being built on Venus can be completed in time to take advantage of the conjunction occurring within a month. By using the earth-built rocket, twice as many of our countrymen can come in the first invasion. They have probably already subdued Sarvon."

"But," protested another of the three, "the recent messages from Cor stress the necessity of our breaking up this truce. Even if we could count for certain on twice as many Corians in the first invasion, we are no match for the earth."

"True. We ran into bad fortune because we did not know enough of the psychology of the various races of terrestrials. To an Oriental, it is a curse and a disgrace to be without successors. By abducting the son of Dictator Fu-Zhse and holding him as hostage, the American government succeeded, in the only manner possible, in keeping Fu-Zhse from overrunning the western hemisphere. Our agents, however, are on the trail of the kidnaped boy.

"You know the orders I have given them?"

"No. What are the orders?"

"As soon as they locate him, they are to kill the boy. America has promised to let him live as long as Fu-Zhse refrains from war. As soon as he is killed, we will inform the Dictator of that fact; you may be sure America won't! Fu-Zhse will believe as I want him to believe, that America broke her word and executed the boy. Then the yellow horde will descend upon America. The two halves of the world will battle to death. The war will be short. The earth scientists can wipe out nations in a day. Those who are left, if any are, will not be able to oppose the hordes from Cor. Nobles, we are on the verge of success!"

"Success. We are conquering a world. What is that phrase the soldiers use? We come and we kill, or something like that."

"Yo maku e yo pento!"

* * *

ROBERT HUSTON, Acting President of United Utilities, entered the study of Brad-Henson Ecclestone, mathematician and cipher-expert. Ecclestone was slumped forward over a table, asleep. His hand clutched a black notebook--the notebook that contained the secret of intra-atomic power, in cipher--the notebook he had taken when he had substituted a cleverly done, meaningless imitation for the real thing, the meaningless imitation that had been sent to Venus. Huston shook the man. Ecclestone awoke, straightened up, and looked at the executive with bloodshot eyes.

"You look doped, Brad. What's happened?"

"I fell asleep. I've been concentrating on this cipher for seventy-two hours, using drugs, hoping to find the solution so that America can manufacture atomic power weapons. Otherwise we haven't a chance against United Mongolia. This war is coming sooner or later, and a delay of a few hours in the solution may be fatal to us. The job is hopeless, Bob. Hopeless."

"Hopeless?"

"Yes. It's no form of cipher known. It's new, and subtle beyond words There are almost exactly ten thousand characters in the notebook, Bob. Even taking the very doubtful assumption that each of time characters represents some letter in the 'clear'--"

"I don't follow you."

"I mean that every letter in every group in the notebook represents one letter of a word in the solution. Of course, entry 'a' in the code doesn't mean 'r' in the- solution---If it were as simple as that I'd have had it long ago--but the fourteen 'a's' in ths first line represent quite probably each a different letter, obtainable by some intricate mathematical process depending upon its position, or the letter preceding it, or on some other combination of circumstances.

"Even assuming that the code is not padded with meaningless characters, and that single characters represent only single letters and not groups of letters or whole words, which assumptions are very doubtful, it follows by a simple mathematics that there are a number of possible interpretations equal to the ten-thousandth power of twenty-six, which may be approximately represented by the figures 5012 with 14146 zeroes after them. Of that unimaginable number of solutions, one is correct."

CHAPTER XXI -- Up the Cliff

LEE CHILTON saw a slender, dark-eyed girl close at his side. She was stretching out a hand to take his, her eyes were tender, lips parted and very red. Her hand touched his, and the world of reality broke in on his dream. Light dazzled his eyes.

"We were saved from the jaguars," said Meriden the Sarvonian.

"How?" asked Lee, remembering the snarling pack

"One of the Corians' meteorockets burst above our heads. The explosion frightened the beasts, in fact, fragments killed two of them, and wounded me slightly. We were both unconscious." There was a curious lack of color or emotion In the giant's voice.

"How did you learn what it was?"

"I recovered long before you. In the rocket, which was undoubtedly sent from earth, was a parachute, which opened as the rocket exploded, and floated down. The winds carried it about a half-mile from here, and it caught in the top of a tree. I saw it from the top of another tree. As near as I could make out, the parachute supported a book."

"The process sent from the earth! The cipher that only Izanne can solve!"

"I thought so," said the giant coolly. "Some Corians came in planes and got it. I could have reached it before they arrived."

"Why didn't you, Meriden?" The impersonal tone of the warrior was getting on the earthman's nerves.

"I could not leave you alone, unconscious, lest the jaguars return after their fright had worn off. I could not carry you so far. I started to, but then I saw the Corian planes, and knew I would not have time to reach it"

"You should have left me. Now they will torture her until she tells them how to read the code, and they will have another weapon with which to fight Sarvon and the earth. You should have left me."

Meriden turned away. Inadvertently, Lee had insulted him. Meriden, the Sarvonian, would never leave a comrade in danger. Then the swordsman thought of the earth-girl imprisoned in Cor. Had he been wrong to leave her there? Though he knew now that she was an earth-girl, Laura Ives, he thought of her always as Izanne, of the Hot Planet. He turned to Lee.

"You were calling her name before you came back to consciousness. You love her, earthman?"

"Yes," stated Lee.

"You know that I love her too?"

"Yes," stated Lee. He knew now why Meriden was cool. He remembered that on Venus suitors fought to the death for the hand of a girl. He remembered that the Swordsman of Sarvon had killed all the other warriors who had dared make love to Izanne.

"Only one of us can have her," said Meriden calmly.

"So I understand," said Lee Chilton. "When would you prefer to kill me--now, or later?"

"I am puzzled," said the giant with a frown. "I do not think it would be honorable to kill you now. You have had only a few days' experience with swords. Besides, we are comrades in this undertaking. Perhaps you will withdraw your claim?"

"Certainly not. I love her."

"I knew you were not a coward. But--I would have no chance fighting with earth-weapons, would I?"

Lee thought of the Orgies automatic he was accustomed to handling on earth, and smiled.

"Not at all," he said.

"And you could not oppose me with swords. It is very puzzling. I do not wish to kill you dishonorably, but--"

"Suppose we take our quarrel to her and ask her to choose between us. That would leave bloodshed out of it--"

The swordsman regarded Lee closely. The earthman's point of view was interpreted differently by Meriden's mind.

"That would be the agreement of two cowards," he said coldly.

"Or two friends," said Lee Chilton. Then, as the Sarvonian warrior did not reply, "At present it would do neither of us any good to kill the other. We have a common purpose--to warn Sarvon, and indirectly aid in saving the earth. Cannot we continue as comrades until that is accomplished?"

"Yes," said the Sarvonian suddenly. "Though I am afraid that we will never accomplish it in time. We must surmount the mountain barrier and penetrate a hundred miles of jungle to reach Sarvon. If we are fortunate we can make a mile in five or six days. And the ray-projector will be ready any minute, to wipe out Sarvon. It is hopeless. The city of my fathers is doomed," continued the warrior moodily. "Probably we shall not live to see Izanne again. She may not live to see us any more in our lives--"

"We were wrong to leave her."

"Yes. They will torture her, until she explains the code--Yet, at the time, it was the best we could have done. It would have been suicide to remain, and if things had gone as we planned, she would have been rescued by Sarvon before now. Xavian would have ordered the attack at once, before the Corians could finish the projector. Let us push on toward the cliff."

The jungle was less swampy as they approached the mountainous region, but the undergrowth was no less impenetrable. After five days of hardship, they reached the base of the cliff and rested before starting the climb. They had spoken often, but never about the girl who was prisoner in Cor.

Then they started to scale the diff. If they could cross the barrier in ten days, thought Lee, it would take more than two Venus-years to penetrate the jungle to Sarvon. The ray-projector of Cor would be ready in a few days at the most, mounted on a giant plane that could travel from Cor to Sarvon in hours. There was no hope that they could warn Sarvon in time, yet a thousand feet a day through the jungle was better than standing still and waiting for death. They pushed on. After hours of strenuous climbing, they found a ledge where they could rest. Night was falling again.

CHAPTER XXII -- Escape

"I TELL you again that even if I should desire to reveal the contents of that book to you, I could not do so," said Laura Ives to her inquisitors. "It is true that my brother invented a complex mathematical cipher, but the writings in this book are not in that cipher. I am not able to tell you what you want to know." She added, calmly, "And if I could, I wouldn't."

The Corian scientist, who had been cross-examining her, matched her casual tone. "We will give you one day's time to reconsider. Tomorrow at this hour, the plane will leave for Sarvon. It will be dark when it arrives at the city. They will not see the projector of the ray that will destroy the city. They have no chance. If you disclose the secret of this book before the giant plane leaves for Sarvon, we will give you your freedom. Sarvon and the earth will be destroyed. Why not join the conquerors? We will give you property and power. If, on the other hand, you should be so foolish as to defy us, our scientists will find means of learning what we want to know--to put it very, very bluntly, we can torture. It is not torture that kills, but torture that makes death a desired but unattainable release. You have until tomorrow at this time to reveal the scientific secret in that notebook. Your noble brother, who made the invention, would prefer that you disclose it rather than be tortured, would he not?"

"It was a Corian who killed him," said Laura Ives, tight-lipped. "Could you give me the universe, I would not aid you."

"Perhaps you will change your mind, before tomorrow. We must have this secret, though it would be a pity to torture one so beautiful."

*It will be useless to torture me. Even if I wanted to tell you what the notebook says, I could not do it."

The possibility that the girl might be telling the truth did not occur to the Corian. "You have until tomorrow," he repeated "Tomorrow we shall destroy Sarvon."

Laura Ives laughed

In the middle of the night she rose from her couch and moved silently toward the barred door of her cell. There were guards in the corridor outside, but so silently did she move that they were not disturbed. The one to the left of the doorway was asleep. His negligence had been observed by the girl several nights previously. Fifteen paces to the right of the cell door was another, a giant warrior standing motionless and alert. So much could the girl see from behind the barred door of the cell. She grasped one of the steel bars in her slender hand, braced herself, and pulled.

When the earth-identity Laura Ives had been transferred to the Venetian body of Izanne, she had gained supernormal strength, as had the Venus-girl who had taken her body on earth and had slain her brother. The heavy steel bar bent as she strained at it Three minutes of effort--effort that drenched her with sweat, and she had torn the bar out of Its steel sockets. The noise awakened the nearer guard, but before he could gather his senses, the girl had swung the heavy bar on his skull and stepped out through the gap. The warrior to the right of the doorway ran up in a second, followed by those beyond him in the corridor. The girl raised the bar above her head and flung it at the feet of her nearest pursuer. It struck across his ankles, breaking them both. He went down and the one nearest behind him fell over his body. As she ran, a strange exultation seized her, giving wings to her feet and redoubling her already superhuman strength. In two seconds she saw her way blocked by another guard, lifting his sword to throw. She had carefully planned her escape, and in the fraction of a split second she acted.

She leaped completely over the astonished guard, but, quick of mind and muscle, the warrior turned in an instant and hurled a gleaming weapon after the fleeing Izanne. It all but missed her, yet cut a sharp, clean wound in her shoulder as it hurtled by. Painful, but not serious; and it left a trail of blood drops behind.

Before any of the outwitted guards could follow, Laura Ives had reached a junction of two corridors, had turned into a transverse passage. In five minutes she had outwitted and outrun the warriors, and had gained the traffic corridors. Here, feeling herself momentarily safe, she had paused to gain breath, and she first noticed the wound. Few Corians were abroad at this hour, yet occasionally a citizen passed without giving her more than a casual glance. Conscious now of the throbbing pain, she made her way toward the upper levels, walking laboriously up the long ramps.

After half an hour of fruitless search, the guards had found the blood trail. An alarm was broadcast to all Cor. Slowly the guards followed the trail of blood-drops, but they were few and far between. By dawn the entire city was on the watch, and the trail had been followed all the way to the topmost level. Here the searchers lost the trail. It was suggested that the girl might have managed to ellude the guards and steal a plane. Yet every skyboat was in its place, and the guards of the upper level denied the possibility of anyone eluding them and reaching a plane.

She could not have left Cor, therefore she was still in the city, said the officials, but, unfortunately, they could not find her. Sooner or later, they assured the Council, she would be discovered. It was only a matter of time. If the Council would be patient.

Late that afternoon the ten-ton warplane carrying the projector of the steel fatigue ray left the city. The scientist in command expected to reach Sarvon after dark and finish the work of destruction before daybreak. Sarvon would be out of the way, and the city of Cor would feel safe in sending its picked warriors to the earth in the first completed space-ship. It was three days before the inferior conjunction of the Earth and Venus.

Laura Ives was aboard that plane, wedged in the narrow triangular space between three cylindrical fuel-tanks. She had contrived to bandage her wound with a strip torn from her tunic-like dress, and she had slipped by the half-asleep guard at the plane's hangar, opened the unlocked door of the plane with the greatest caution, and had selected her hiding place.

She had not been able to provide herself with a weapon.

CHAPTER XXII -- Light and Death

BURTON BOYD floated down from the ceiling of his stateroom in the Interplanetarian as Riccardo di Bargi pushed open the door and floated in.

"Spacesick, Mr. Boyd?"

"No, Professor. I got over that a long time ago, though I never can get completely used to this weightless condition. How about the stowaway?"

"Most peculiar case. The man was in rather poor physical condition, and the spacesickness hit him much harder than it hit any of the crew. We found him raving incoherently, and I'll swear that he was speaking some foreign language, though I don't know what one."

"I'm not such a bad linguist myself, Professor, but I never heard anything like that gibberish of his. One of the crew just told me that he regained consciousness and tried to kill you."

"He did." The Professor half smiled as he relaxed comfortably near the ceiling. "I had taken the precaution of unloading the gun he had with him. The muscular effort of drawing it and pulling the trigger was enough to confuse the man's balance again. He wasn't used to weightlessness, and had another fit of spacesickness. He's tied in a bunk now. I believe he intended to kill us all and capture the rocket. Demented, I guess. He's quite evidently cursing us roundly now, though we can't understand any of it."

Benny Jacobs entered the room, swimming awkwardly through the air, aiding himself more efficiently when he happened to come in contact with a wall.

"What news, Benny?"

"Not much, Mr. Boyd. We've had to completely rebuild the television unit. The sudden acceleration shattered it terribly, and it's deuced awkward to do electrical repairs without gravity. I've been dodging hot drops of solder for what seems like eternity. They float around the room in the most annoying manner, and burn like hell when they touch you. It's so hot in this rocket now that the solder stays molten for a long time, you see. The technical fellows in the news-gang are spending every minute in repairing the unit as well as they can, but even the most modern televisors are complicated and delicate things. The announcer and I have been trying to make ourselves useful by taking any little discarded box or any other container we can find in one hand and a lid in the other hand and floating around the room trying to capture some of the stray solder. It'll never be my favorite indoor sport, Mr. Boyd, but Joe, that announcer of ours, has developed quite a technique at it. He's got to the point where he corners some solder almost as often as some solder corners him."

"How long do you think it will be before your gang can establish communication with the earth?"

"That's been worrying me. Universal News and all the people it serves are depending on News-Unit Thirteen to give them the radio and television news, and we're falling down on the job. The world must think we're all dead. If we work steady, we might finish in sixty hours, Mr. Boyd. I hate to fall down on the biggest scoop in the history of radio news-service."

"In sixty hours," said di Bargi, "we shall have arrived on Venus."

"Yes?"

"Yes, You'll begin to feel her gravitational influence very soon. You'll probably be sick again as weight returns, but it will make your work easier. I should have taken more precautions to protect our cosmic radio. Are you repairing the receiving apparatus?"

"We're concentrating now on the transmitter and the televisor, Professor. We want to have at least voice, and maybe voice and vision when we arrive. I bet the main office is swearing at us now for not sending any news through, but I couldn't help it."

Benny wiped his forehead with a handkerchief already so wet that it would have dripped if the conditions of gravity had been favorable to dripping, and managed to leave the room, audibly wishing that he had a propeller and rudder attached.

Boyd recaptured a notebook that had floated out of his pocket "Where are you going to land on Venus?" he asked curiously. "Have you any plan?"

"I have. When I photomapped Venus a few years ago with the hypertelescope, I located two immense centers of activity--cities, we may as well call them, though each is enormously larger than any terrestrial city--even New York. During the limited time, I was able to observe them before the temporarily removed cloud-blanket of the planet returned to stay, I saw and photographed airplanes moving from one to the other. Each one is surrounded by jungle, they are some two hundred miles or so apart, and there is an enormous mountain barrier between them, with a plateau, that, as far as I can tell from the photographs, would be an ideal landing place for the rocket. It could not land in the thick jungles, and I don't think it advisable to try to land too near either of the cities, even if that were feasible."

"You intend to land on the plateau?"

"I think it the best plan, I can easily calculate its location from the maps and the accurate chronometers on board the rocket. We can drop through the clouds confident that we will land on the plateau, not in the jungles."

"We've made exceptionally good time, haven't we?"

"Yes. About 35,000,000 miles, more or less, in one full month. For a short time, about the fifteenth day, we were making almost 500,000 miles per hour, and from that point I slowly decelerated. At present we are moving slowly, not more than a mile a second, and as soon as we begin to notice the gravity of Venus, I shall slow down to 100 miles an hour. The negative acceleration, plus the Venus-gravity, will give you back your weight rather suddenly."

"Will you slow down as violently as you speeded up when you left the earth?"

"No. It won't be necessary. The radio apparatus will not be wrecked this time."

"If it is, Benny will go crazy."

"I don't doubt it."

It was sixty hours later, almost to the minute, when the Interplanetarian came to a cautious landing on the plateau, just below a thin layer of cloud. It was late in the day when the rocket's enormous propellers ceased to beat the foreign atmosphere. From the thick windows of the observatory, the rocky mountain top, barren and rough, was eagerly surveyed by the interplanetary pioneers. The sun could be dimly seen through the clouds, yet, because the planet was so much nearer to the sun than the earth was, there was none of the depressing gloominess that characterizes cloudy days on earth. Even when the cloud blanket is thickest, the sunlight, brilliant though diffused, illuminates the Hot Planet intensely.

Some of the atmosphere was taken into a test chamber. After a short wait the bespectacled chemist of the party proclaimed it breathable, though it contained a greater percentage of carbon dioxide than had been expected or detected from earth, and in spite of the profusion of plant life to take in the dioxide and liberate oxygen, the percentage of the latter was a trifle smaller than on earth. The order to unseal the door, a process requiring some ten minutes of work, was given.

No one can blame John Carton very much for his ambition; he paid dearly enough for it.

Carton was a member of the crew. Since the rocket left the earth he had cherished a secret plan--to be the very first earthman to set foot on an alien planet. While the chemist was testing the air, Carton was unsealing the door, unknown to di Bargi. All except Carton were in the chemist's laboratory or the near by rooms; Carton was alone in the main storeroom, to which the outer door gave access. With an oxy-hydrogen blowpipe Carton cut away the seal of alloy that made the rocket truly airtight. After the seal was cut he swung back the circular door on its massive hinges, and stepped out into the sunlight.

After the air-analysis was finished, they found John Carton moaning with pain on the ground just outside the door.

Burton Boyd leaped forward to pick up the sufferer, yet before the detective reached the door on his errand of mercy he felt hard fingers grasping his shoulder. With a strength remarkable for a middle-aged scientist, Professor di Bargi hurled the detective back. "If you value your life, stay inside."

Wondering comprehension dawned in the mind of the chemist.

"Actinic rays!" he gasped, and darted out the door. Working as fast as was humanly possible, he half lifted, half dragged Carton into the rocket. Di Bargi pushed the balanced door shut.

"Why could he go out, if I couldn't?" asked Boyd of di Bargi, who was busy directing the chemist to place Carton on a bunk. Di Bargi replied over his shoulder.

"You mean the chemist? He took an awful chance, but at least he was wearing glasses."

The chemist appeared with a hypodermic, and Carton was drugged to relieve his pain. The distorted face relaxed, and Boyd saw that the man's eyes were literally burned out. Boyd and the others turned away, leaving the chemist and the doctor and di Bargi alone with the patient. The chemist emerged from the room twenty minutes later. Boyd questioned him.

"What happened to the man?"

"He was exposed to the direct sunlight too long."

"Not more than seven or eight minutes!"

"Too long. The sun sends out light rays of all wavelengths. Above visible light are the ultra-violet waves vital to life, and above them are other invisible light-rays that are extremely destructive. These do not penetrate the earth's atmosphere, but Venus is so near the sun that even its thick cloud blanket can't keep out the actinic rays. Actinic light means light, not necessarily visible light, that has power to produce or cause chemical changes. I never dreamed it could be so terrible on Venus. When he stepped into the glare of the sun, even though the clouds diffused the light somewhat, it got his eyes right away. Caused them to oxidize--burnt them out. He stumbled and fell with the pain--blind, poor devil, and exposed his whole body to them until I got him in. Clothes are not much protection. I took a chance. My eyes were protected by these goggles I wear--the glass is opaque to the rays. We're safe inside the rocket, but if we ever go out, it will be at night. Carton's body was burnt, too. A few more minutes would have been fatal. I didn't expose mine very long, and I'll tell the world I didn't look at the sun."

"Could anything live on the planet?"

"Probably. A matter of acclimatization. They would have to have bodies sufficiently different from ours to resist the effects of the unfiltered sunlight. Ordinary light doesn't hurt us, yet it might quite conceivably kill a being who had lived all his life in a place where there was absolutely no light. We could probably live here if our skins were tough enough, and a few other little details of our anatomy were changed. Even on earth, some people tan readily, and others are painfully and even seriously burnt from imprudent exposure to the sun. It's a matter of degree."

The doctors came out with the news that John Carton was dead.

CHAPTER XXIV -- Victim of Fate

HOWARD FU-ZHSE, the Second, though he was far too proud to show it outwardly, was very much afraid. An intelligent boy of sixteen, he knew that America was holding him as hostage because America was desperate. America knew it could not hope to withstand the onslaught of the yellow hordes. For a century America had known it. Fu-Zhse the Younger knew it too. He hated America because it was keeping him prisoner. Of course they were treating him well, as well as a prisoner could he treated, but he could not communicate with anyone. He did not know where he was. As a matter of fact, he was in a building in a small town in Kansas, a building that looked perfectly innocent.

The boy often wondered if the Americans would really carry out their threat of death if his father attacked the country. They were afraid of his father, these Americans! Would they dare really to kill a helpless boy. Certainly they were very worthless and cowardly people if they would kill a boy. Musing, and trembling a little. Howard Fu-Zhse II turned over in his bed, snapped out the light of his soundproof cell, and fell into a restless slumber.

* * *

Lee Chilton was wanted by the police for jail-breaking. At least, so said the notices and so said the television announcers. Of course, the real personality Lee Chilton was on Venus, in a Venus body. The Corian possessing his body had broken out of his cell at Fort Severn quite easily, and after a month was still at large. A very dangerous man, said the police, and they were right. If they had known just how dangerous this individual was, everyone in America would have been doing nothing else except searching for him.

It was he who discovered the place where the boy-hostage was concealed. With stolen phosgen he gassed the house before the guards were aware of trouble. Masked, he entered the house. Perhaps he knew that he was throwing his life away; perhaps he thought he had a chance to live. The gas-detectors in the house sounded alarms at Army Camp 5509, just outside the town, and in seconds motorized troops were on their way to the house. The plain-clothes guards in the house, masking themselves as soon as the detector gave the alarm, soon found that each of their masks was defective. The alien brain had managed to bring that about, also, by a clever interception and exchange of packages when the new masks were being sent to the house. He had planned his course of action very carefully.

In the seconds before the troops arrived he took the keys from the dying guards, entered the cell, and stabbed the boy to be sure of his death. He did not take the chance that his victim might survive. The troops caught him and killed him while the knife was still in his hands. There was a gun in his pocket, they found later, yet he had killed the sleeping scion of Fu-Zhse with a knife. They also found the stolen canisters, each with its little red label "CARBONYL CHLORIDE." But it did them no good. The boy was dead. As soon as Fu-Zhse heard about his death all restraint would vanish. The Dictator of United Mongolia would strike to revenge. America would be erased. All this and more ran through the mind of the commanding officer, yet he was human. He looked down at the bleeding body of the pitiful yellow-skinned boy, and turned away.

"I'm sorry for the kid. The little chink got a tough break." And he proceeded to report the matter to Washington, probably knowing quite well he was to be court-martialed. The problem of guarding the boy and yet keeping secret his whereabouts bad been delegated to him, and he had failed.

One should not fail, if the life of a nation depends upon success.

There was another who reported to superiors, a spy in Camp 5509, and the Three in Vienna were roused from their slumber to learn that the hostage was dead. They looked at the harmless-appearing cable containing the code-word they had agreed upon, and smiled. Then they put through a call to Pekin, where the Dictator was in retirement The three Corians at Vienna waited impatiently for the connection. This time there could be no further delay. The first step of the Venetian plan to wipe out the terrestrial population was under way. Fu-Zhse held the power to eliminate America, and Europe would soon join against the western hemisphere. The three from Venus knew that. They were still in political control of Europe.

Howard Fu-Zhse answered the radiophone call.

Brad-Henson Ecclestone opened the door of his apartment to admit the commanding general of the New York Defense Region. The general wasted no words.

"Have you solved the cipher?"

"No. Have any of your staff solved it?"

"No. I guess this is the end. The boy was killed an hour ago. Our last chance to hold back Fu-Zhse is gone. Now that the boy is gone, he will attack immediately."

"We could not hope to withstand Mongolia without atomic power, could we?"

"I doubt it. And Fu-Zhse will show no mercy now. It will be war, and we're on the losing side."

"I'm sorry that cipher eludes me."

"It can't be helped. We know you've been trying to solve it. If it contains what we think it does, we could put up a real fight You do not see any hope for us?"

"I've made no progress, except to eliminate certain possibilities."

"Too bad. We'll make what preparations we can for defense."

At that second, the Dictator of United Mongolia was making preparations for offence. His chief of staff told him that it would take precisely forty-two hours to wipe out America if they could attack by surprise. The air fleet made ready. There would be no recall this time. The Americans were to be annihilated before they could resist. Through the Mongolian army circulated the story that America had deliberately killed the son of the dictator after guaranteeing that be would not be harmed if peace continued. The Americans had broken their word. They were to be destroyed.

CHAPTER XXV -- A Flyer and a Fighter

LEE CHILTON and Meriden, the Sarvonian swordsman, scaled the rocky ascent and found the Interplanetarian just about the time Benny Jacob's gang finished repairing their instruments.

The two were admitted by Burton Boyd with Riccardo di Bargi, each of whom held a pistol at the ready. Then came the surprise of Lee's English, and during the next two hours, the whole story of the plans of Cor was unfolded.

Benny Jacobs completed the interplanetary radiovision circuit; again the announcer spoke into his mike, but not for long. He relinquished it to Lee Chilton and Burton Boyd.

The people of the earth, served by the millions of news machines under the control of Universal News and the great Eurasian Syndicate, learned from across space that it was Venus that was responsible for the impending war on earth; the secret agents of Cor had played the earth-nations against each other, had worked up festering hate.

The earth's reaction was instantaneous. The intelligent people of both hemispheres had not wished for war, because war was no longer hell; it was infinitely worse than any hell.

Almost on the second when Fu-Zhse was to order the start of hostilities, his grip was broken. The greatest mob-psychologist since Napoleon was Fu-Zhse. Hundreds of thousands of men had been willing to meet certain death for him, but the interplanetary circuit of Benny Jacobs broke his power. His own soldiers killed him, and sued for genuine peace. The Three in Vienna were destroyed almost as soon as Lee Chilton and Burton Boyd told the earth of their identity and their plans. The people of the world, released from the impending threat of war, established peace and friendship based on mutual understanding. Each race realized that the others were human like themselves. They immediately got together and made plans to resist the possible future arrival of Corians. The fighting power of the earth, as one unified defense system, was terrific, and the earth knew it. White man and yellow man and black man were no longer afraid of each other, and, together, they decided that they weren't afraid of Venus either. Let the Corians come if they dared 1 The splendid war-machines of the earth were ready and waiting ... not to destroy the peoples of the earth, but to defend them.

Two hours after the news-circuit was established, the announcer took his mike again. The technician checked his careful adjustments.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the earth, you have just been seeing and hearing the earthman Lee Chilton, in a Venus body, and Burton Boyd of the Interplanetarian. This is News-Unit Thirteen, which will be in constant communication with the earth from now on. As soon at arrangements are perfected, we will show you the landscapes of Venus. At present we will turn the mike over to Professor di Bargi, who will talk for a short time on the scientific aspects of our trip. Even here on Venus, Universal News is serving the world with popular and technical news...."

* * *

EVERY word that issued from the Interplanetarian was intercepted in ths City of Cor. The Council of Nine gave way to futile rage and hate. No hope to conquer the world, now that it was warned and prepared! What to do? The plane with the fatigue-ray projector was on its way to Sarvon. In desperation the Spokesman of the Council ordered his radio-operator to get in touch with the giant war-plane. They could at least take some revenge. This rocket from the earth was steel, too, and steel they could destroy! Of course, it would delay their destruction of Sarvon a little, but not for long. The hated steel city of their enemies would come next.

A messenger entered. "A cosmic radiogram has just been received from the earth. The scientist Eenedar wishes to be re-transferred immediately to his own body. It is now very dangerous on earth for any Venus identity. Eenedar has made some very important discoveries about the earth, which he will report when he it returned to his own body here on Venus."

"Tell the scientists in charge to affect his return immediately," snapped the Spokesman.

* * *

THE Swordsman of Sarvon fidgeted uneasily in the rocket while Chilton was discoursing over the radio. Meriden knew that the earth must be warned, but he was also anxious for the safety of Sarvon. Chilton had translated the welcome of the earthmen to him, and had then, of necessity, left the giant to his own resources. Shortly after the radio news-unit was through with Lee, Meriden, in tremendous agitation, called him, pointing out the open door of the rocket. The sun was almost setting, but there was light to spare. In the distance they saw an immense war-plane crossing the plateau a scant three hundred feet above it, and they recognized the plane for what it was ... the carrier of the ray that made steel more fragile than glass. It was half way to Sarvon. It would reach the city after dark, and the city would collapse and carry its inhabitants down to death, unless ... unless they could prevent the plane from reaching Sarvon. Sarvon was not warned; even if it had been, it had no way of protecting itself from the ray. Sarvon was built of steel!

In a few seconds Lee Chilton had outlined the situation to Boyd, who gave swift orders. One of the tiny two-seated planes was brought from the cargo-room, in pieces which were rapidly uncrated. The sun was still low in the sky. None of those in the rocket except Lee and Meriden could dare to venture outside, but Lee Chilton knew terrestrial airplanes. With the giant's help he carried the uncrated units outside, and set to work assembling them. Inside the rocket the highly-trained crew, eager to assist, assembled the motor on a testing block they had brought along, checked every adjustment, tuned it up to perfection plus. And Meriden of Sarvon walked into the rocket, picked up the efficient power unit that three terrestrials could hardly have moved, and calmly carried it out to the almost assembled plane. When they were done and ready to take the air, the sun was yet lower in the cloudy sky. In an hour or so it would be dark.

Lee waved to the watching crew and gave the ship the gun. It disappeared in the clouds almost immediately in the direction that the feared plane from Cor had taken.

"You see," said the bespectacled chemist to Burton Boyd, "that the Venerians are immune to their destructive sunlight--a matter of acclimatization through the centuries."

Boyd hardly heard him. "A flyer and a fighter," mused the detective. "I wish I were with them."

A fierce exultation gripped Lee Chilton. He was again flying an earth-plane, a sleek little hawk with fangs. Delicate directional sound-detectors enabled him to locate and follow the enormous Corian plane in spite of the fog. The indicators told him that he was gaining on it ever so slightly. He opened the throttle to its ultimate; the propeller seemed to bite into the fog; he was gaining on the monster now, but it was still twenty miles ahead, and making almost as good time as he was. Could he catch it before its batteries and generators and projectors flashed that disintegrating ray on the helpless structure of Sarvon? He looked at his indicators again, and asked Meriden some questions about the relative location of Sarvon. Yes, if nothing went wrong, he could catch the Corian plane.

Concisely, he instructed Meriden in the use of the gum. The Sarvonian was quick to learn; but he had never handled any bullet-projecting weapon in his life. Lee explained how to use the automatically self-correcting sights, how to start and stop the deadly hail of explosive bullets from the Marvite machine-guns. Two were concealed in each wing-tip; others were mounted on the rim of the cockpit, controlled by hand. Lee regretted that he himself could not take over the guns, but he knew that he would have his hands full handling the plane. It would take some clever stunting to dodge that beam of invisible rays. If it once touched the plane, said plane would fall to pieces right out from under them. Lee only hoped that the Corians would send a visible light-beam along with the other. If they did, it would be perhaps a little easier for them to aim at the terrestrial ship, and it would also be easier for Lee to dodge. He fingered his parachute to reassure himself, and instructed Meriden concerning his ... needlessly, for the giant was fully aware of the functions of a parachute.

The indicator needles of the sound-detecting apparatus suddenly jumped. Lee had not altered his course, and be was already making his maximum speed. There was only one explanation; the other plane had altered its course. It took Lee about thirty seconds to discover definitely that the warplane was doubling back on its course. He warned Meriden to be ready for immediate combat. The needles were approaching the limits of the dials; the other plane was getting close. Then the directional apparatus showed the Earthman that the returning monster was not coming exactly towards him, perhaps was not even aware of his existence It was going toward the rocket.

The sun was just setting. The fog was getting darker gray. Blindly, Lee altered his own course to intercept the Corian plane. In a few minutes he thought he saw it, dimly, through the foggy mist. A short burst of bullets from one of Meriden's guns exploded against the armored side of the warskyship from Cor. Beginner's luck! It was several minutes before any of Meriden's other attempts were successful, yet he was doing his best to make his shots count, to wreck his enemy's plane, to save Sarvon. Meriden's first burst had injured the big plane only slightly. If it had hit the tail or wing-surfaces, things would have gone differently. It inflicted only minor injury on the armor that guarded the vital parts of the ray-generator.

But Meriden's shots came close, and the Corians soon began to realize that they were coming closer with every second. The unwieldy Corian ship could neither outdistance nor outmaneuver the terrestrial hawk.

Only at intervals was either plane visible from the other. Lee flew with seeming recklessness and with incomparable skill, darting up to give Meriden a chance with the guns, flashing out of sight, literally flying circles about the other. Meriden succeeded in getting in another direct hit that jarred the Corians, but did not wound the big ship. It held steadily on its course to the rocket. They were close to it now.

A brilliant beam of light shot out from the Corian plane, seeking the small attacker. It seemed to be manipulated with incredible speed by some skilled operator. A burst of bullets from the grim giant in the front cockpit went wild. Meriden cursed his luck, for neither he nor the cool Chilton knew, as they tried their level best to bring down the armored war-plane, of the unconscious stowaway wedged between three fuel-tanks. Meriden's first burst had jarred the plane, and the dark-eyed girl had struck her head against one of the tanks, and had slumped down between them. She was momentarily safe from discovery, yet if one steel-jacketed explosive bullet had penetrated one of those tanks....

Lee banked suddenly to avoid that disturbingly quick, shifty, brilliant beam of light, and circled around to give Meriden another direct aim. The beam beat him to it, framed the little plane in brilliance for one second. Nothing happened; evidently the steel-fatigue ray was not being projected along with the searchlight. A continuous stream of bullets was flashing from one of Meriden's guns ... somehow he had jammed a trigger. Lee swung around again toward the weird beam of light that pierced the blackness. That stream of bullets shouldn't be wasted. Apparently Meriden couldn't stop the gun. As he swung into an advantageous position the supply of cartridges gave out Lee cursed from exasperation, yet that circumstance had saved Izanne's life, at least for a while. Lee Chilton didn't know that she was aboard the enemy ship....

The great searchlight beam was pointing downward, now. Suddenly Lee got a glimpse of the immense Interplanetarian, plainly revealed in spite of the fog, outlined by the penetrating light. The character of the light changed; an unpleasant metallic bluish tinge imbued it now; and the great steel rocket suddenly collapsed. The steel had been rendered more brittle than glass by artificially produced steel-fatigue, a thousand times more severe than the natural weakness that very rarely occurs in steel structures after long use, the weakness called metal-fatigue for lack of a better name or a better explanation. Sometimes it seems as if the steel had just grown tired. The master scientists of Cor had learned to produce that same phenomenon, many thousand times as complete. Their ray destroyed not the steel, but the cohesion between the molecules of steel, so it crumbled like dust.

Lee Chilton saw red. He was no longer a cool daredevil trying scientifically to obtain advantageous positions for Meriden's guns. He was a madman determined to revenge the destruction of the rocket. He flashed through the fog within fifteen feet of the other plane. Meriden's guns were continuously going staccato, and it was having some effect on the big plane. One wing was damaged....

The searchlight found the little comet again, and this time it had that alien bluish tinge. The earth-plane flew to pieces just as an explosion rocked the Corian plane. Lee pulled the ripcord of his parachute as he had planned to do in case of emergency, devoutly hoping that Meriden had remembered to pull his as per instructions. Meriden had kept his nerve, however, and Lee saw dimly another billowing white mass close by. The two men were falling in almost the same path. Before he expected it, Lee was bruised by sudden contact with hard rock, Meriden was close, and the earthman realized that they had landed on the plateau. Perhaps they could join the rocket-crew, if any had escaped alive when the space ship had disintegrated. Di Bargi and Boyd would be desperate. The Venus-day would come again before many hours, and to terrestrials not actually possessing Venerian bodice, sunlight meant death.... They had no shelter.

Meriden gripped his hand. Their comradeship had grown deeper during that battle.

"At the very last," queried the giant, "you heard the explosion?"

"Yes. Your last shots must have been effective. It sounded like one of their fuel-tanks exploding. They probably crashed somewhere below the plateau, in the jungle. I saw a sheet of flame surround their plane."

"I am sorry about your friends, Earthman, but they will know the gratitude of Sarvon for that plane they gave us. At least we have saved my city from the Corian ray."

But Meriden, the Sarvonian, and Lee Chilton of the Earth were too blindly optimistic. To be sure, some fuel-tanks had exploded, some of the Corian crew had been killed, yet the giant plane had not crashed. It was a warplane, built for battle, built to withstand damage. There was enough fuel left, and the ray-projector was unharmed. It was limping toward Sarvon, and aboard it was a bleeding girl....

CHAPTER XXVI -- The Cosmic Balance

"I, EENEDAR, can wipe out the population of the earth in three days," said the Corian meteorologist to the Council of Nine. "It is indeed fortunate that your plan of warfare was not successful, for warfare would have wrecked and destroyed the great buildings and the great works of the earth, damaged that which we wished to conquer. When my plan is put into execution, none of the earth-structures will be destroyed. We can take possession of the untold wealth of the planet at once. Furthermore, my plan is safe; it cannot fail."

The nerves of the Spokesman were on edge. "What is your plan?" he snapped. "Tell us at once." The other councillors leaned forward tensely. Surely Eenedar would not speak so confidently if he were not sure of himself. He had been to the earth, in an alien body, to investigate conditions there. He was known as a great and reliable scientist, so certainly his plan was worth hearing.

"Human life on the earth," (Eenedar commenced) "has developed for ages under a very delicate cosmic balance, a very exceptional combination of circumstances. The skins of terrestrials are very thin and delicate, in comparison to those of Venetians, and their tissues are also more delicate in composition. We, on this planet, are accustomed to an intensity of sunlight, even in spite of the clouds, that terrestrials could not endure. Certain actinic rays which have only a beneficial effect upon us would be deadly to terrestrials. These rays are always present in sunlight, but they do not reach the terrestrials because of a peculiar circumstance--the presence of a small percentage of ozone in the upper atmosphere of the earth. This ozone acts as a filter, straining out or eliminating the rays harmful to terrestrial life, it is a very delicate balance. If there were more ozone in the earth's atmosphere, it would filter out the ultraviolet rays, which are essential for life to exist, and if there were a little less ozone in the atmosphere, it would fail to screen out the destructive actinic rays of the sun. By increasing or decreasing the ozone content of the earth's atmosphere, we can insure the death of every terrestrial. It will be easier and quicker and more sure to destroy all ozone in the earth's atmosphere, rather than try to add some. In three days the earth will be cleared of inhabitants. We can take possession forever of the undamaged rich planet, and I assure you I have seen some of its incredible wealth. Our bodies are used to the rays which will destroy the terrestrials...."

"Just how do you propose to bring this about?"

"It is very simple. Ozone is nothing more or less than a variant or altotropic form of oxygen. An ordinary molecule of oxygen consists of two oxygen atoms. A molecule of ozone is made up of three oxygen atoms. Oxygen is the more normal or stable form. Oxygen atoms, under most circumstances, tend to pair off in twos, forming oxygen molecules, rather than combining in threes to form ozone molecules. All that we need is a device to cause ozone molecules to spilt up, dissociate, and then they will naturally recombine to form mere oxygen, which does not have the ability to shield from the particular rays of the sun which are destructive to earthmen."

"But how can we change the earth's ozone to ordinary oxygen?"

"I perceive that the Council has not been kept well informed. When our scientists were developing the steel-destroying ray, which was so successful in destroying the terrestrial rocket, as has just been reported by radio, the ray which is soon to destroy Sarvon forever, their first successful step was the production of a ray that would break the valence of gases, causing gaseous molecules to dissociate into gaseous atoms. That ray is in use even now, in our electrical factories and shops. Electrical machinery often generates quantities of ozone. Its odor is pungent and disagreeable, so even now in Cor we are using this ray to destroy ozone. Freed from the influence of the ray, the dissociated oxygen atoms recombine to form ordinary oxygen. It was later developments and modifications of this ray that we found to have the ability to disintegrate steel in a similar manner, by destroying the very cohesion between its atoms... We have the method. Our first space flyer is almost ready. All we have to do is to circle the earth as a satellite, changing our course whenever necessary, exposing all its atmosphere to our ray. Of course whenever we destroy the ozone in some particular section of the atmosphere, the remaining ozone will tend to diffuse, to distribute itself equally throughout the atmosphere. But it will not be long until we will have destroyed so much, that the remaining amount, evenly distributed, will be insufficient to screen out the actinic rays...."

"I hereby order that you, Eenedar, be given full authority and command over the forces of Cor. Proceed to carry out your plan with the greatest possible speed."

The Spokesman of the Council of Nine signaled that the meeting was at an end.

CHAPTER XXVII -- The Fury of Izanne

ALL that remained of the Interplanetarian was a heap of impalpably fine steel dust, rapidly oxidizing. The warm night-winds of Venus were scattering it in all directions.

A group of anxious men stood nearby on the plateau. Benny Jacobs was alternately crying and swearing. The ray from the Corian plane had destroyed only steel, but certain vital parts of his radio and television apparatus were steel.

Burton Boyd and di Bargi conferred for several minutes and called the men together. Di Bargi outlined his plan.

"Before day we must erect some shelter from the sun, or we'll all die horribly, like Carton, The glass windows of the rocket were not destroyed, though some of them were shattered when the racket collapsed and let them fall. There was some wooden furniture aboard, and some collapsible shelter-shacks. We shall have to dig these out of the dust immediately. Try not to get any more of the dust in your nostrils than you can help. Everyone get busy at once...."

Two newcomers appeared in the blackness. "You will hardly have time to recover your shelters and erect them, Professor," said Lee Chilton. "Meriden and I can guide you to a cave not far from here. It's some hundred of feet down the cliff, and there is a broad ledge in front of it. If you men have the nerve to climb down the vertical cliff...."

Before dawn they were all safe in the cave in which Lee Chilton had first met the Swordsman of Sarvon. Lee and Meriden had gone down into the jungle beneath them in search of food.

* * *

BEFORE dawn the Corian warplane had passed over Sarvon time and time again, and the invisible ray had flashed down to the magnificent single structure of steel, miles in each dimension, that was the city of Meriden. The Corians did not send a visible ray this time with the ray that destroyed. They did not need to see. Delicate magnetic indicators enabled them to locate the City accurately, and they checked the needle's readings with charts of the city's location. Six million tons of steel cannot be hidden by darkness from a magic needle. Down through the warm fog stabbed the steel-destroying ray, and the murderous plane from Cor departed in the darkness. Then a member of its crew discovered Izanne.

She was bleeding from a jagged cut received from a fragment of the fuel tank that had exploded. The fragment had gashed her left shoulder deeply from the front, coming very near to the subclavian artery. It had miraculously missed damaging any bone, but the girl was deprived of the use of the arm.

The commander of the Corian plane, knowing how anxious the Council was to recapture the girl, ordered the surgeon of the warplane to give her the best of care. He treated the ugly wound carefully, but he was unable to bring her back to consciousness. The disabled plane continued toward Cor at half speed. News of its success was radioed to the Council of Nine. Planes were sent from Cor to meet it with fuel and to take the girl to Cor as quickly as possible. The plans of Eenedar were materializing with lightning speed. It would be a matter of hours only before he would be ready to leave with a few men in the one completed rocket, fully equipped to navigate space and to destroy the ozone of the earth. The other two space-ships would be ready to carry the bulk of the Corian population to the earth after the terrestrial hordes had been killed by the rays above the violet. It was a matter of hours before Eenedar left; and the Council intended to torture Izanne until she divulged the secret in the notebook. Atomic power would be useful to Eenedar, if they could obtain the key to the cipher before the rocket left. The surgeon worked unceasingly over the girl as the warplane headed toward Cor. She was breathing normally, but for some reason Izanne did not return to consciousness. Outside it was dark with the darkness that comes before dawn.

She was clever, Laura Ives. As a matter of cold fact, she was quite conscious for half an hour before the surgeon knew it, and he only lived to know it for a few insignificant seconds. Her good right fist crashed into his skull with the uncanny superhuman strength she possessed, strength and power acquired with her transfer of bodies. She had patiently waited for her chance to strike; the surgeon had come too near, and had died without even a gasp. Izanne rose from the table on which she had been lying and washed the blood from her fist in the surgeon's basin. She did not look again at the man whose skull she had crushed.

Single-handed, literally single-handed, she set about to capture the ten-ton warplane. Cold fury possessed her. She had five men to deal with; the surgeon and one of the crew were dead. The commander, the radio operator, and three of the crew were left. She sought the radio-room first; it was nearest to the surgeon's cramped quarters. As she entered the room, the operator wheeled to face her. As he leaped, his hand on one of the three swords always carried by Venetians, the girl leaped too, avoiding the keen blade by inches, and with one blow crushed the operator's skull. He fell against her bandaged shoulder, bruising the wound, but in spite of the pain, she took one of the swords and smashed the instruments, cutting off all communication.

The noise was heard outside the radio-room. A few moments later the commander and another Corian entered with drawn swords. Instinctively Izanne hurled the heavy, balanced blade from her hand. It buried itself to the hilt in the breast of the second Corian. Almost at the same second the commander threw his sword with the uncanny skill of the trained Venetian sword-fighter. It did not wound her; the commander had not intended to touch her; but it passed so close to her side that it pinned her clothing to the hardwood wall. Before she could disengage the torn tunic-like Venetian garment, the commander, with an inscrutable smile, was holding the point of another of his swords at her throat. She was captive again.

Or at least, so the commander thought. He didn't live to think anything else. The anger that possessed Izanne was not passionate; it was deliberate and cold and calculating. She knew of her supernormal strength, and she knew that the commander was in all probability ignorant of it She permitted him to bind her, broke the cords and killed him when be was expecting no resistance at all. She found the remaining two of the Corians together in the control-room, and killed one as he left. She entered the room and used the point of her sword to demand obedience from the one remaining Corian. At her direction, he headed the plane toward Sarvon; but told her that there was not enough fuel left to reach the city, and that it had been destroyed with the steel-fatigue ray; whereupon she ordered him to land on the plateau between the two cities. This he did. As the damaged plane jolted to a stop on the uneven rock, its lurch jerked the frightened Corian pilot forward upon Izanne's already-reddened sword. For a few seconds she sat frozen, looking at the dying Corian. Then the reaction came, and she covered her face with her good arm and burst into hysterical sobbing. She seemed to see her slain brother's face. "Harry, old chap, I guess... I guess you're avenged, now."

CHAPTER XXVIII -- Retaliation

JUST before dawn, Meriden had killed, with a thrown sword, a fine buck of a species of Venerian antelope, nocturnal in its habits. In the pale light he and Lee were carrying the venison toward the cliff when they saw the immense Corian plane pass overhead and descend toward the plateau. It had seemed about to land.

Eagerly they climbed to the cave with their burden of meat, left it there with the cook of the Interplanetarian's crew, and continued up the cliff to the top of the ascent. It had been a fatiguing climb, even to them. The sun was well up in the always-clouded sky when they saw the plane, motionless. Cautiously, swords ready, they approached it. There were no signs of life on board the plane. They recognized it as the one they had been fighting in the early part of the night. They entered it and found Izanne, crying a little in her weary sleep.

She was very beautiful to the two men who loved her, beautiful in spite of her torn and blood-stained garments. Each of the men stepped forward instinctively to lift her in his arms, and their eyes met coolly. Meriden and Lee Chilton knew that they were rivals, and, according to the Venns-code, rivals fought to the death. Yet they were comrades....

Four fast planes landed skillfully near the motionless large one... the planes sent from Cor with extra fuel. The commander of one of them had orders to bring the girl to Cor. The twelve Corians from the planes were suspicions. The warplane had suddenly ceased to communicate with Cor, and they had had a difficult search before sighting it here on the plateau. They approached it captiously, swords drawn. Then Meriden and Lee Chilton, attracted by the noise of the Corian planes, appeared in the fuselage door of the large plane, and three of the Corians recognized the Swordsman of Sarvon.

Then began the greatest fight of Meriden the Sarvonian. Before that battle was over, each of his three jaguar-hilted swords had drunk deep of blood, and his own blood stained the rocks. One of the Corians had re-entered his own plane and radioed to Cor; the other eleven had attacked the two in the doorway of the larger skyship. And Meriden had leaped to the combat. Always at his side was the earthman Lee Chilton, hardly a less formidable opponent than the giant, for Lee fought with the fencing-technique of earth, unfamiliar to the Corians, who, except when throwing them, were accustomed to using the edges of their swords rather than the points ... unfamiliar and deadly.

The Corians did not force the combat. They had plenty of time, and they were numerically superior. Working systematically in shifts of four, they undertook to exhaust their twin enemies. Twelve of them there were, and when four were tired, four fresh and rested swordsmen took their places, but the two who were protecting Izanne had not a minute's respite. Nevertheless, the Corians made one fatal mistake. They jeered at Meriden and boastingly told him of the fate of his city. It drove the giant mad. In a minute and a half he killed three of his opponents. The others retreated toward their planes.

As they did so, they used the opportunity to throw swords, which they had not dared to do previously for fear of hitting their own comrades. Meriden could hurl swords too. In this way he wounded another Corian enough to keep him out of the battle, and he acquired his third wound of this particular battle. Lee Chilton had five, but only one of them was at all serious.

But the Corians were succeeding. It was easy to see that Meriden needed a rest desperately. The eight Corians determined not to give him a second to recover, and crowded around the two to finish them. Lee and Meriden backed toward the warplane. A scratch on the giant's forehead was bleeding freely, and the blood was getting into his eyes. His breath came in enormous choking gasps. The eight enemies were confident now that they had won. Meriden took a second to wipe the blood from his eyes with the back of his hand, and in that second Lee, with a sword in each hand after the Venerian fashion, stepped in front of the giant and protected him until he could see again; then for a while they were fighting back to back, for protection against the surrounding circle of warriors. One more of their opponents was disabled now, but the unequal battle was going to the Corians. Meriden was practically blind, and bleeding from a dozen wounds; Lee was weak from loss of blood, suffering more physical pain than he had previously believed possible for a man to endure, but he could yet see. Blood from his wounds had not blinded him.

Suddenly he saw Izanne in the doorway, motioning the two men to retreat toward the warplane. Lee took Meriden's arm and drew him swiftly back. The move was unexpected by the Corians, and for a second they were alone in a group of seven.

In that second Laura Ives exposed them to the steel-fatigue ray, and every one of their swords disintegrated into impalpable dust. Meanwhile Meriden had again wiped the blood from his eyes. The seven men stood motionless a moment and leaped toward their planes. Meriden leaped to forestall them. Lee shouted to Izanne to turn the ray-projector on the planes. She shook her head and snapped off the ray. Wondering, Lee rushed to Meriden's aid. Two of the Corians managed to take off in one of the planes. The other five were held at bay by Lee and Meriden. The Corians knew that it would take little provocation indeed to cause Meriden to run them through.

The girl had snapped on the ray again, and had turned the projector, mounted on top of the fuselage of the war-plane, so that it caught the escaping Corian plane. It disintegrated, and the two men in it were wearing no parachutes.

Then, after a short conversation with the girl, Meriden and Lee forced their prisoners, at sword-points, to refill the tanks of the warplane with the fuel which the smaller planes had brought In a few moments Lee had disabled the Corian planes, and then the warplane rose with Meriden at the controls. Lee stood by, intending to relieve the giant when he tired, and Izanne watched the two men furtively, sensing the coolness between them. None of the three said anything. The giant and the earthman needed medical attention badly. It soon became evident that Meriden intended to land on the broad ledge in front of the cave. He did it well considering that he had lost several pints of blood, was suffering from upwards of ten open wounds, and was blinded by the blood that persisted in flowing into his eyes.

The staff of the Interplanetarian treated their wounds and attended to the wound of Izanne. Her real identity was revealed to the group from the earth. Benny Jacobs was beside himself with grief. Here was startling news-material, and his beloved news-unit was out of touch with the earth. Benny burst into genuine tears, and the technical staff of the news unit redoubled their efforts at improvising a usable cosmic radio from the material at hand, which wasn't much. It was evident that to reopen communication with the earth, new motors and generators and instruments would be necessary.

Meriden took the first opportunity he could tn speak to Izanne. "Is it true that... that they were successful in destroying Sarvon with that ray?" he asked haltingly.

The girl did not reply, but he read the answer in her eyes. It seemed to crush the giant His city-nation destroyed. It had existed for centuries, that proud city, that one great structural unit with its foundations deep in the jungle mire and its upper levels among the clouds. Destroyed. Meriden was not quite able to comprehend completely that idea. Izanne held out her hand to him and he took it gratefully, tried to tell her a little of his grief, but choked on it, and turned away. The Swordsman of Sarvon was ashamed of tears. There was something else he wanted to tell her, too, but somehow he could not speak freely to this earth-girl.

He left her and sat by himself in the cave opening, brooding, wondering if he were the last of the Sarvonians alive. Thousands of them must have been killed when the structure collapsed, ran his thoughts, but certainly thousands must have survived. But, with no tools of steel, with nothing to protect them from the beasts of the jungle, they could not exist long. He decided to go to Sarvon in the plane. At least, he had some swords left, good swords, wrought of tempered steel and burnished gold. Perhaps he could help.

It was not until he ceased to brood and started to think that he thought of the perfectly good projector of the steel-fatigue ray, mounted in that little fenced-in enclosure on top of the fuselage of the Corian plane. In a few seconds it could be lowered into the fuselage itself, and projected downward through an opening in the floor. It was a two-edged weapon. Cor was built of steel, too. There was plenty of fuel in the plane, both for the motors and for the generators that supplied the power for the ray. He had a means of revenge, but two men would be necessary, one to pilot the plane and one to operate the projector. Meriden went in search of Lee Chilton.

Upon learning of her identity, Burton Boyd had obtained from Laura Ives the key to the intricate code her brother had used. She carefully detailed to him the mathematical processes by which the complex cipher could be made to yield its secret.

Burton Boyd was more than anxious to send this knowledge to the earth. There was no longer any danger of war on the earth, and the secret of the liberation and control of intra-atomic energy would be of tremendous value to the earth. But it did not seem possible to accomplish communication across the void. Burton Boyd was irritated by his inability to get into communication with Robert Huston and Brad-Henson Ecclestone, but be did not realize how vital to the world that communication would shortly become.

After his wounds had been dressed, Lee Chilton sought out Izanne, finding her just after she was through speaking with Boyd, who had wandered back toward the interior of the cave.

Very gently, because of her injured arm, Lee Chilton took her in his arms and kissed her upturned lips. He was startled a little at the fervor with which she returned the kiss. Her slender body was suddenly very limp against his, and she started to cry softly, burying her face in his shoulder.

And so it was that Meriden found them.

Meriden was very calm now. His face betrayed no emotion. In a low voice he asked Lee to go with him in the plane, to avenge Sarvon, to destroy the city and the immense rockets with which the Corians intended to invade the earth.

Lee went with Meriden in the warplane of Cor, and left behind him a starry-eyed girl....

Neither of the two men spoke as the plane hurtled toward Cor. It was very hot in the plane, in spite of the speed they were making and the wind which it produced in the well-ventilated skyship. Meriden handled the controls, always climbing. Lee adjusted the projector to point downward and waited, thinking of Izanne. He was sure she loved him, though she had not said so, nor had he himself confessed his love, in words. Words weren't necessary. They understood each other. But Meriden ... How would the giant take it? Lee knew that the Swordsman loved the girl sincerely, and that Meriden considered Lee to have a right to her love only if a duel proved Lee to be the better man. He was not a coward, Lee Chilton, but he hated the thought of fighting the giant swordsman with whom he had shared so many adventures.

The sudden appearance of half a dozen Corian planes, (sent to investigate the mysterious silence of the first four) snapped Lee out of his meditations. He had discovered what were evidently sights for the accurate aiming of the ray, and he had disintegrated the six planes almost before they were aware of the large plane above them. The skyship roared on toward Cor.

A series of tremendous explosions, at intervals of three seconds, rocked the plane. Far ahead, Lee saw through the observation windows of the fuselage a tremendous object shaped like a dirigible without motors or cabins. It was rising vertically at tremendous and accelerating speed. Brilliant flame emerged from its lower end. In the few seconds it took for the object to disappear completely in the clouds, Lee realized that it was the first of the rockets leaving for the earth, but he did not know that aboard it was Eenedar, meteorologist of Cor, with fuel equipped for destroying the vital ozone of the earth's atmosphere.

He and Meriden were some five minutes too late; if they could have prevented the going of that rocket they would have rendered an incalculable service to the earth, but by the time they reached Cor, the rocket was already out of the atmosphere of Venus.

So unexpected was their attack on Cor, that it was entirely successful. The ray flashed down invisibly, end through the sights Lee saw the immense city crumple into dust as it was exposed to the ray developed by its own scientists. It was slaughter, the earthman realized, but only in that way could the power of the earth's greatest enemy be broken. They had shown no mercy to Sarvon; they had calmly laid plans to decimate the earth, which they did not need, because they coveted its wealth and power; they were reaping precisely what they had sown. It was like magic to see the structure crumple and collapse and dissolve into powder, and it was horrible, yet the City of Cor would never again threaten the earth. There was no chance to organize resistance. The ray brought down the few planes that managed to take off. The survivors, thought Lee grimly, could take up again the age-old fight with the jungle. If the race survived, perhaps the hardship would make it cleaner and better.

It seems to be true that a great nation falls when it seeks wealth and power and luxury, which it does not need.

Cor was destroyed, yet that one rocket that escaped was speeding toward an unwarned, defenseless earth....

CHAPTER XXIX -- The Battle of the Sky-Horde

YET Cor was not dead yet. Near the city was an enormous cleared space in the jungle. The two incomplete rockets of the Corians were being built there, and the third had just left its berth between the other two.

Perhaps half of the Corians had gone to this enclosure to see the rocket leave. Myriads of little planes were parked near the rockets. Besides the citizens who had come to watch the rocket's departure, there were also thousands of workers in the great and busy enclosure.

Lee had not attacked the rockets with his ray. He remembered the group of marooned earthmen in the cave who could not endure the sunlight of Venus because of its actinic rays, and he decided that the rockets should not be destroyed. At least one of them must be saved for di Bargi.

And so, while the warplane passed and repassed over the crumbling city of Cor, a swarm of little planes took off from the enclosure. Most of them were armed, though few possessed the recently developed steel-fatigue ray. They were armed with the Corian heat-ray and an electrical ray that paralyzed the engines of planes it touched. Venerian planes had always fought with rays, the use of projectiles had never been developed on the Hot Planet.

And so the big warskyship was surrounded by innumerable little planes, every one of them bent on revenge. For a moment it seemed that the big plane could cut its way out of the swarm. Plane after plane suddenly fell to pieces in the air as Lee manipulated the big projector, but there were too many of them. Heat rays were striking the armored walls and making the interior temperature intolerable.

Then the motors missed and stopped dead. One of the Corian rays had short-circuited every electrical connection on the big plane, including the generator that provided the power for the steel-fatigue ray projector. Lee threw the battery switch desperately. Perhaps the projector could be operated for a while on the batteries. No results. It was evident that the Corian ray was short-circuiting the storage batteries too.

The plane was falling erratically. Meriden was trying to volplane down, but the skyship was too heavy, and the wing, that had been disabled by Meriden's bullets the previous night, rendered a smooth descent impossible.

Suddenly the motors caught on again. The unknown Corian had not been skillful enough to follow the erratic fall of the plane with his short-circuiting ray. It was almost a perfect conductor of electricity, that ray, and no electrical device exposed to it could operate. But once out of its field of influence, the plane was not permanently damaged.

Instantly Lee reversed the switch and disintegrated the nearest little plane. Then the conducting ray stopped the engines again, and the warplane dropped. The temperature was intolerable. Lee looked at one of the windows in the fuselage and saw that the glass was fusing under the influence of one or more of the heat rays. He stepped aside, just as a beam of unendurable heat struck the projector which was pointing downward through the opening in the fuselage floor. In a vain attempt to save the projector from the effects of the heat ray, Lee threw the switch that lifted the projector up through the top of the fuselage to that fenced-in enclosure from whence the projector could be pointed upward. In his frenzy he forgot that the power was off again. The hoists did not work, and the projector itself was fusing from the heat.

Meriden, in the pilot's compartment, strove to keep the plane under control. Both he and Lee realized that he was not doing so, but the earthman was powerless to help. In a terrestrial plane. Lee Chilton could have maintained control, but he had never learned anything of the controls of a Venerian airplane.

The plane landed, smashing its undercarriage, in the space between the two nearly-completed rockets. Meriden and Lee leaped out, each with a sword in each hand. Hundreds of Corians ran toward the plane, all armed with heavy swords of good steel. The enclosure where the rockets were being built had not been exposed to the ray that had destroyed the city of Cor.

Once more Lee Chilton found himself at the side of the Swordsman of Sarvon, fighting for life itself against odds. It looked rather hopeless to Lee. Their wounds of a few hours ago were still painful, in spite of the care they had been given by the surgeon from di Bargi's crew of earthmen. Never before had the odds against them been so great. Well, all had to die sometime....

"No," said Chilton suddenly, a second before the nearest of his enemies reached him, "Not I'm going to live. She'd be sorry if I died."

For one second Meriden looked at him with steel-gray eyes. Then they gave their attention to the fighters that were crowding around. Both their backs were against the fuselage of the wrecked plane and they were side by side. Lee fought with desperation, but the giant swordsman was very cool. An enigmatic smile flickered on the Sarvonian's lips. With the efficiency of a scientific machine, be dispatched the first unfortunate individual who opposed him, seized the man's swords, and hurled them at three Corians who were near. The range was short, and the giant's aim was perfect. Each of the three Corians died a clean painless death, before realizing that he had been struck. This seemed to give the Corians an idea; at a shouted signal, they all drew back and devoted their time to throwing swords. With such overpowering numbers, perhaps it would be better to fight the two hated Sarvonians at long range. They had plenty of swords; the two by the plane lad only six to begin with, and would have to pick up any others that they used.

There are two ways of dealing with an accurately thrown sword. It can be dodged, or it can be fended off by clever, very clever, manipulation of the defender's sword or swords. Meriden stood planted, turning aside the swords of his enemies with those jaguar-hilted swords of his own. Lee dodged; he had had no practice in turning aside swords, and he wished devoutly for armor, the heavier the better, to say nothing of a shield. A peculiar, anachronistic civilization indeed; it had aircraft, heat-rays, and many other modern achievements, but the scientists of Venus had apparently never thought of inventing a shield. Lee side-stepped another sword, which clanged against the plane's armor plate. Planes were armored against heat-rays, yet no Venerian warrior ever wore any armor. There was some reason in that, at least, ran the earthman's thoughts. The damned planet was hot enough for a man in a tunic, let alone trying to run around in a suit of tin. Lee dodged another sword. The Corians seemed to be stalling now, playing for time. Three more swords came close, yet Lee escaped unscathed. They would have to get busier, he thought, if they intended to kill him within a month or so.

Before they could run for their lives, a flaming plane crashed into the group of Corians. Its fuel tank exploded. Lee had one second's glimpse of Meriden falling under a flaming piece of the wreckage, and then something knocked him cleanly into the blackness of unconsciousness.

The swarm of planes that had brought down the warskyship had not been able to follow up their advantage. Before they could land, a second swarm approached rapidly through the clouds, and the startled Corians recognized them as Sarvonian planes.

The two swarms met and fought. It was not one large battle, but rather tended to break up into thousands of duels. And the Corians soon realized that the Sarvonian planes were faster and more flexibly maneuverable, and that they had weapons which were new to Venus. The steady tot-tot-tot-tot-tot of the Sarvonian machine guns spelled out the final doom of Cor.

For every plane brought down by the heat ray or the short-circuiting ray of Cor, a dozen fell to the bullets of Sarvon ... steel-jacketed, incendiary, explosive bullets. Every few minutes one of them would penetrate a Corian fuel-tank....

Lee Chilton was not unconscious more than three minutes. He regained his senses to see Meriden leaning over him with that same unfathomable smile. And close to Meriden's side was another, whom Lee recognized as Xavian, supreme ruler of Sarvon.

CHAPTER XXX -- The Rare Earth Metals

IT had been short and decisive, that battle. The Corian planes had fallen by scores, and those that were left soon showed the green signal of surrender. Some of the Sarvonian planes had caught sight of the two standing by the wrecked skyship and had recognized the giant Meriden. At radio orders from Xavian, who was personally commanding the expedition, the nearest Sarvonian pilots had looped low to let their gunners strafe the Corians by the two immense rockets. They were aided by the accident of the flaming Corian plane's fall in the group threatening the two comrades. Landing immediately, the Sarvonians in Xavian's plane had thrown aside the fragments of flaming wood and twisted steel that had almost buried Meriden, who was stunned and burned, but not seriously hurt; and in a minute more they had brought Lee Chilton back to consciousness.

Then Meriden addressed his ruler. "I am glad you escaped the destruction of the city."

Xavian looked dumbfounded. "The only city that has been destroyed is the city of Cor, and you destroyed that," he stated. "I do not understand you."

"Sarvon was not destroyed?" The giant's voice was incredulous and trembling. Xavian hastened to reassure him.

"Certainly not. But we had given you up as lost. When you did not return, we decided to strike at once. These new weapons were made by Grantolon and his staff under the direction of the three brothers Dornn, of the earth, whom you saved from death at Corian hands. They are with us now, in one of the planes. Their weapons have saved your life in turn. You are well repaid."

"I do not understand," said the bewildered giant. And he proceeded to inform Xavian of the Corian plane that had passed over Sarvon in the darkness with the steel-fatigue ray. He told of the effectiveness of that ray in all the other instances they had seen it operated, and indeed Xavian himself could see by the most casual glance at what had once been the proud city-nation of Cor that there was no doubting the destructive effect of that ray upon steel. Nor could Lee Chilton offer any explanation of the ray's failure to destroy Sarvon. They discussed it as Xavian's plane flew homeward, surrounded by the air-fleet of Sarvon, deciding that either the Corians had made a mistake as to the location of Sarvon, or else had been amiss in some way about the projection of the ray.

Neither of these suppositions was true.

At the suggestion of Meriden and Lee Chilton, Xavian ordered his pilot and about a dozen others to stop with him at the cave containing the party from earth. The broad ledge of the cliff gave ample room for the skillful landing of planes. The rest of the fleet returned to Sarvon, except those who had been stationed in the enclosure near Cor to supervise the prisoners.

It was again late in the day when Xavian's plane approached the immense mountain barrier that rose out of the jungle between Sarvon and Cor. Through the plane's telescope Lee saw the cave opening on the ledge. All the earth party were out of sight in the interior, for the sun was still in the clouded sky, but Laura Ives had nothing to fear in her Venerian body, and she was outside watching the heavens anxiously. Lee saw her jump up and wave at the plane. He leaned out of the circular window of the cabin and waved beck. As the plane landed, he noticed again the cool smile of Meriden.

Xavian was surprised to see Izanne, but said little. Meriden, Xavian, Izanne and Lee entered the cave. Meriden introduced his ruler, and Lee Chilton presented the earth party.

Upon learning of the disaster to the earth-rocket, Xavian promised to have the Sarvonian scientists and builders complete the Corian rockets, one of which he presented to the earth. Professor di Bargi accepted joyously. Then the old Sarvonian, expressing the hope that soon interplanetary commerce and friendship, such as had existed in the pre-Hellene days of Atlantis, would soon be reestablished to the benefit of both worlds, asked the earth-party to be his guests in Sarvon. At di Bargi's request, the chemist of the party explained that the earth-men could not endure the Venerian sunlight, and it was decided to wait in the cave the few hours before nightfall, and to embark then for Sarvon, which would be reached before morning.

The conversation had been in English, which Xavian spoke fluently. Suddenly the girl gave a startled exclamation in the Sarvonian tongue. "Sarvon was not destroyed after all," she said. And then, to Meriden, by way of explanation, "I was almost sure that it hadn't been, but I didn't dare tell you until I knew. I was almost sure...."

Xavian and Meriden and Lee Chilton listened intently to her explanation. Later she gave it in English for the benefit of the terrestrials.

"My brother, Harrison Ives, was the world's greatest authority on the rare earth metals, such as dysprosium, yttrium, luteum, samarium, and so on; he spent years investigating their physical and chemical properties; and among the things he discovered was this: Certain of the rare metals, if alloyed with steel in sufficient quantities, make it immune to what is called steel-fatigue.

"For centuries steel-fatigue had been known. It was first investigated seriously back in the first part of the twentieth century. It occurs at rare intervals. Sometimes a steel bridge or building would suddenly collapse while under non-unusual strain, for no assignable reason; It seemed as if the steel had become tired, and the phenomenon was called steel-fatigue.

"My brother's fatigue-proof alloy was steel with a high vanadium content, plus almost three percent of ruthenium and small quantities of samarium and other elements of the "rare earth" group. The alloy was not at all practicable commercially. Sixty pounds or more of rare-earth metals to each ton of steel was far too costly; most of the metals of that group are most difficult to obtain and cost far more than gold or platinum. Steel fatigue was such a rare and negligible occurrence that it was not worth the immense amount of money necessary to guard against it. Seldom would it manifest itself over an entire structure, anyway. Such cases were rare, though they were known to have occurred. But once in a while some vital part of a machine will break when there seems no logical reason for it to do so. My brother patented this process, for he was working on the problem of transmutation. Had he succeeded, the rare metals might have become cheap and the process would automatically have become commercially feasible.

"When I was working in the metal laboratories with Grantolon. I learned a lot about the steel of Sarvon. The entire structure is built of steel made from ore mined at one place, the mines of Crokan-Venn, I believe they are called. Upon analyzing this ore, I found it to contain a very high percentage of ruthenium compounds, with vanadium and tracts of samarium and palladium. Rare on earth perhaps, and very costly, but these metals seem to be common in the ores of Venus.

And I also learned that the Sarvonians seldom took the trouble to get rid of these impurities. For most purposes, they did not in the least impair the quality of the steel.

The Corians' ray produced an artificial steel-fatigue thousands of times more complete than that which sometimes occurs naturally on the earth, and I did not know whether Sarvonian steel would withstand its effects, but it did.

"I was almost sure that it would....

"Corian steel, on the other hand, is all produced from ore mined in another place, some locality where the rare earth elements do not occur associated with ferrous ores. In every case where their ray proved effective, the steel that was disintegrated was Corian steel, or else steel from the earth."

She was a scientist in her own right, Laura Ives. Lee checked back in his memories of that ray and saw that she was right. No Sarvonian steel had ever been affected by the ray.

Quite obviously, Sarvonian steel must be immune.

There was a momentary lull in the conversation. Once Benjamin Jacobs seized eagerly his chance to ask a question.

"Say, Mr. Xavian, er... Your Majesty ...would I be able to obtain electrical equipment in your city? Enough to repair a cosmic radio and television outfit?"

"Certainly. We have finely equipped radio laboratories, and all types of metal-working and electrical shops.

"Our engineers will be glad to help you."

Benny tried to express his gratitude, but his heart was too full. After all his troubles in trying to keep the news-hungry earth informed, he realized that at last there was little probability of further interruptions. The greatest scoop in the history of newsgathering was to be afforded on his unprecedented, if successful, interplanetary voyage.

Benny already visualized himself, with a mike before him, talking to all the world.

CHAPTER XXXI -- A Confession and a Challenge

IT was not until the embarkment, after nightfall, that Lee Chilton got a chance to see Laura Ives alone. Two bloody, disheveled figures they were, but if anyone cared, it wasn't Lee Chilton or Laura Ives. The wounds of that battle-filled day, carefully bandaged though they were, ached continually, but Lee paid no attention to them. The girl's wound, more serious than any single one of Lee's, was badly in need of attention and clean bandages, but Izanne didn't seem to notice it. While the possessions of the earthmen were being loaded in the Corian planes, Laura and Lee walked a short distance along the ledge in order to be alone. Sheer vertical cliffs rose above their heads and fell away beneath their feet.

"I don't like this darn planet," said Lee Chilton in a manner intended to be abstract.

"Why not?"

"It hasn't got a moon. We're entitled to a moon. Lovers have had moons since the earth began, and all we get is a fog."

Their conversation suffered a slight interruption, very sweet, and Laura Ives replied:

"That's not the biggest difference between Earth and Venus."

"What is?"

"Just this, Lee. No one on this planet ever heard of a kiss. If Meriden had kissed me once, I guess it would have been he and not you...."

She was silent for a minute.

"You see, Lee, on earth I was always a wall-flower. No fellow ever paid any attention to me. I just wasn't attractive, no matter how hard I tried to be charming. The only one that ever cared for me was my brother, Harrison, and I was devoted to him. I just had to have something to love, even if it was only my brother and his science.

"And then this cosmic transfer took place, and I woke up to find I had a beautiful body. It was too wonderful to believe. The Corian girl Izanne, who took my body on earth and killed Harry, had intended to be transferred back to her own body after she had done her bit for the Corian plans, and I was kept imprisoned in Cor so that the body would be ready when she radioed. But Meriden was spying in Cor and he helped me to escape and took me to Sarvon. I was a guest of Xavian and I helped Grantolon in the laboratories. I helped a lot in the scientific work, because lots of things I had learned from Harry weren't known on Venus. In many lines their science is way behind that of the earth.

"I used the name Izanne. Even Meriden didn't know I was really an earth-identity in a Venus-body until that day in the Corian council room when I betrayed our presence and you and Meriden had to fight your way out.

"While I was helping Grantolon in the laboratories, some of the Sarvonian gallants started to court me. Sarvonians are awfully strict and formal in their love-affairs. Then they started to kill each other over me. They fight to the death for their mates here. There are so few girls compared to the number of men. I didn't want them to kill each other on account of me, but I couldn't do anything about it. By a sort of unwritten law or custom, it was almost compulsory for me to marry the survivor, and he was Meriden.

"I liked him better than any other, too, and for a white I thought I was in love with him. He was awfully nice, but sometimes I wished he wouldn't be so formal. I wanted him to kiss me, but it seems that no one on Venus had any idea of what a kiss is. Sometimes I wonder how they do show their affection.

"Meriden gave me that beautiful belt. It's in the cave now. I wore it for him; I'll have to give it back now; it's the Venerian equivalent of an engagement ring.

"But I've been realizing that I could never be happy with a Venerian, Lee. I want an earth-man, with his virtues and his faults. They're far more human than Venerian swordsmen. And you might give me a genuine osculation, such as are dispensed on the earth, moon or no moon."

"What? More?" ejaculated Lee Chilton softly. "What a greedy girl!"

They were startled a little by Meriden's cough. The Sarvonian was standing near them in the darkness. They could see that he was holding a broad belt of beautifully tanned leather, with a buckle beautifully wrought in steel and gold to represent the head of a jaguar. It was the device of the line of Meriden, that steel and golden jaguar.

Izanne took a step toward him. "I'm sorry to return it," she said, "but I could never be happy with a Venerian mate, nor could you with an earthgirl, Meriden..."

She hesitated, not knowing what to say, and held out her hand toward the giant He did not seem to notice it. The belt fell out of his hand, and he did not notice that either.

"I will not give up my claim to you," said Meriden of Sarvon, "nor will I ask my comrade to relinquish his."

He spoke to Lee.

"About a month from now, Earthman, when your wounds have completely healed, I will meet you in a duel to the death."

There was a shout from the direction of the loaded planes. The entire party was ready to leave for the flight to Sarvon, and the absence of the three had been discovered.

Izanne stood motionless. Lee Chilton shrugged his shoulders. "Old Timer," he remarked, "I'll take you up on that proposition." He felt the girl's body tremble as, without a word, the three of them turned and walked toward the planes.

The same inscrutable smile played about Meriden's lips, but in his eyes was pain ... and it was not physical pain.

CHAPTER XXXII -- A Matter of Ozone

THE next few days were joyful ones for Benny Jacobs. With the equipment available at Sarvon, he had reestablished communication with the earth. Six hours or more each day News-Unit Thirteen broadcast from Venus. The entire world listened in on the re-broadcast from the stations of Universal News and the Eurasian News-Syndicate. The entire story of Cor's plan to conquer the earth was told over the interplanetary circuit. The earth was eager to see Venus, and each day the televisor showed interesting scenes in the city of Sarvon or in the Venerian jungles. Through the cooperation of the news companies, treaties of friendship and commerce were drawn up between the planets, and signed, di Bargi being given the right to act for the newly-formed Federation of Earth-Nations. Scientific news and discoveries and data were exchanged to the benefit of both worlds, and supervising it all was Benny Jacobs, in the eighth heaven of joy.

The earth was told of the Corian rocket that was on the way, but that caused little concern to humanity. As there could be no reenforcements from Cor, the earth was quite sure that it could handle the situation when the rocket landed. They did not know that Eenedar did not intend to land when he reached the earth, but planned to allow the rocket to be caught by the earth's gravitation in such a way that it would revolve around the earth as a small satellite, expending none of its limited fuel. They did not know that Eenedar had any plan to destroy the ozone of the earth. Nor did they realize that every word of the interplanetary broadcast was received aboard the rocket.

Eenedar knew of the fate of Cor, and the knowledge only made him more eager to wipe out the earth, utterly and completely. No one on either planet knew about Eenedar's plan except a few of the Corian prisoners, who were careful to keep their knowledge to themselves, hoping that after all the earth might be conquered by Cor, or at least that the population of the earth might be wiped out to avenge the destruction of the city-nation of Cor.

Eenedar was insane now in his lust to kill. He drove the rocket through space at an always-increasing speed, though with a constant rate of acceleration that was close to the limit of his men's endurance. It is not great speed that produces dangerous pressure on the human body, it is the great acceleration, the rapid change of speed, necessary finally to obtain great speed.

As soon as Benny had established communication. Burton Boyd got in touch with Robert Huston of United Utilities. They spoke across the void. There were gaps of more than four minutes in their conversation because of the distance between the planets and the fact that radio waves only travel some 186,000 miles per second.

"Well, Bob," said Burton Boyd, "the war-clouds have rolled by. We're starting for home in about three weeks. Tell Ecclestone that the Ives cipher is a double-substitution roulette, using the English system, with the keyword 'praseodymium." The joker is that the original message is in German instead of English. No wonder Brad couldn't crack it.

"Laura Ives tells me that her brother destroyed most of his notes, and the cipher gives only the bare essentials of the process of converting atomic energy into usable electricity. Your engineers will have to work out the details."

A four minute pause.

"Fine. Ecclestone was listening in with me. He's just rushed off to get the notebook. Tell Miss Ives that United Utilities is buying all rights to the process for the price agreed upon in a verbal agreement with her brother, the day before he was killed. She's rich. It amounts to two hundred million a year for thirty years, plus a block of sixty thousand shares of preferred stock in United Utilities.

"If you think you can break the news gently, you might also tell Lee Chilton that the courts have finally decided about that freak will of Eugene Chilton. It's thrown out. Lee is the sole heir. He now possesses outright fifty-one percent of the stock in the corporation. The cash value of his holding is just under one trillion dollars. I wish I were that man. He enjoys himself on Venus, while I'm back here running his business for him at a measly fifty thousand dollars a month.

"Incidentally, Burt, you're discharged with thanks. You've accomplished what I hired you for, besides being instrumental in preventing a hellish war. When you get back to Earth I'll be quite glad to hand you a certified check for one billion dollars, plus $6,403.19 for expenses."

A four minute pause.

"Thanks. Lee Chilton was listening in with me, and he told me to notify you, that starting next month, your salary was tripled. And now let's get down to something important.

"You undoubtedly remember that Eugene Chilton financed di Bargi's rocket inmreturn for the exclusive rights to all mineral wealth imported from Venus, in case contracts could be negotiated with the inhabitants. Lee and I and di Bargi have just made some contracts quite favorable to both the City of Sarvon and United Utilities. It seems that such rare and costly metals as praseodymium, ruthenium, rubidium, and others of the rare-earth group are common here. Considering the prices some of these metals are bringing on earth, the corporation should make quite a neat profit. There are also some uranium, radium, and thorium ores here obtainable at about half the current price on earth, and furthermore, Venus will provide a steady market for copper and silver. You might take steps to corner a portion of the market there. You can buy a lot here with a pound of pure copper."

After the conversation was over, Lee Chilton turned to Burton Boyd. "I may be the richest individual on earth," he said, "but it amounts to precisely zero on this planet. I can't marry the girl I love unless I kill Meriden in a duel to the death. In the first place, I'm no match for him, and in the second place, I like the man. It's not his fault; he's just living up to his code of honor, and I suppose it did hurt him when Laura refused him.

"I've made a will, Burt. If Meriden finishes me. Laura gets everything, even if she marries him."

"How is she getting along?"

"As well as might be expected. That shoulder wound of hers is uglier than we realized. They've cleaned out the infection. It ought to heal now. She's worrying terribly about this light, and it's not helping the healing process any."

"Do you really intend to go through with this duel?"

"I can't back out without being branded a coward, and I'd hate to give the Sarvonians such an idea of the terrestrial race."

"But you haven't a chance, man! That giant was born to the sword, and you never handled one until you woke up on this planet."

"I fenced a little at Yale, Burt. And Meriden has no idea of the thrust and parry. He slashes exclusively at close quarters. All Venerians do. These heavy swords they use are nowhere near as easy to handle as foils, but the one thing that gives me a chance is my knowledge of fencing technique. It's new to Venus. By the way, they follow the same customs as the earth about having seconds and a judge, except that they use three judges. You'll be my second?"

"Certainly. When is the duel?"

"Twenty-seven days from today."

"A lot can happen in twenty-seven days."

* * *

EENEDER and the Corian mathematician carefully checked, their calculations. At the speed the rocket was making, they calculated that it would, if not further accelerated and if its course were not changed, plunge by the earth at a distance of slightly more than twenty miles. But it did not have enough speed to past the earth that closely. Instead of continuing off into space, it would be captured by the earth's gravitational field and drawn into an orbit, the plane of which would be almost perpendicular to that of the earth's equator. On each of this artificially-produced satellite's revolutions about the earth, it would pass near the poles, and, because of its proximity to the earth and its comparatively small mass, its revolutions would be very swift, more than thirty in each twenty-four hours. Each time it shot around the world, at an altitude of approximately one hundred and twenty-five miles, it would pass over a different section of the rotating earth. Its speed would be slightly better than ten miles a second, they figured, and they would be high enough above the atmosphere, so they would not be slowed down by friction, and yet close enough so that their ray would destroy the ozone in the earth's upper atmosphere.

It was an intricate calculation, taking into consideration the masses and orbits and velocities of the earth and the rocket, the resistance of the atmosphere when the rocket first plunged through it, and dozens of minor factors, but at last Eenedar was satisfied. The great speed of the rocket would make it practically impossible for earth artillery to score a direct hit with a projectile large enough to harm the rocket, and Eenedar knew that one hundred and twenty-five miles was an extreme range, even for the most powerful guns of the earth, though it was practicable for the projector of his dissociating ray. One of the most beautiful features of his plan was the lack of visible evidence of the splitting up of the ozone molecules. The ray was invisible, the dissociated oxygen atoms reassociated into ordinary oxygen molecules with no violent show of energy or any other visible evidence of the occurrence. The inhabitants of the earth could not see what was going on; but as soon as the already extremely small percentage of ozone in the air became smaller, no terrestrial could endure the light of the sun. Those who were not killed by exposure to the sunlight would have to remain in shelter, and could not prevent the landing of the rocket. Once on earth, the steel-fatigue ray, employing almost the same principles as the other, would make easy the conquest of those who escaped the sunlight.

But Eenedar did not intend to let any of them escape the sunlight. If his plan was successful, the ozone of the atmosphere would be removed before anyone on earth realized what was happening.

When the earth was reached, it was seen that the calculations had been so near correct that the expenditure of a little hydrogen perfected the rocket's course. It had become very hot in its plunge through the earth's air-blanket, but no harm was done. It started its rapid circling of the earth, and its invisible ray was thinning out the ozone of the earth's atmosphere, removing the protective filter of the extreme ultra-violet rays, destroying the balance of conditions under which life had grown up on the earth.

There is a tremendous difference between a molecule composed of three oxygen atoms and a molecule of only two oxygen atoms! Astronomers of the earth followed the rocket's swift course. They could detect no signs of life or activity aboard ft. Apparently it was a freely revolving body, a new satellite of the earth. Perhaps the heat of the first plunge through the atmosphere had killed the Corians. Statements were published, claiming that when the rocket had passed within twenty miles of the earth, the heat generated by its friction with the atmosphere had killed its occupants, and that when it had passed the earth and had been drawn back to its present orbit, it no longer constituted a menace.

But there were others who doubted that mere chance was responsible for the fact that it paused over practically all of the earth in less than one day. Its orbit seemed to indicate brains, not chance. It was neatly calculated, the more wide-awake astronomers maintained, and it did not seem to be chance, either, that was responsible for the fact that the orbit was just outside the most extreme limits of the atmosphere.

No one on the earth could see how the rocket could do any damage from its present position. The earth sat back to await some move on the part of the Corians, if they were alive.

On the last day of October, 2180, after a round of golf in spite of a chilly wind, Robert Huston, Acting President of United Utilities, was astounded, as were his three companions, to see that every one of them had a severe case of sunburn.

The same day nearly every child under three years of age that was exposed to the sunlight was blinded with terrible suffering. Everyone who had been exposed to the sun was burnt to a greater or less degree, and the burns were not confined to outdoor people, for ever since 1950, health-glass, permitting the passage of ultraviolet rays, had been in almost universal use, and the powerful actinic rays at the extreme ultra-violet end of the radiations was not filtered out by the health-glass. Ordinary glass, opaque to ultra-violet light, had gone completely out of ise, except for such things as drinking glasses and electric bulbs.

But if conditions were bad in New York, they were infinitely worse in the equatorial regions and in the southern hemisphere, where it was spring instead of autumn. It was blindness and death, in the tropics, to stay in the sunlight for ten minutes, and many died before they were well aware of trouble.

Always blindness came first, accompanied by horrible burns. Then came death.

On that last day of October nearly a million people died, all of them in torturing pain. Eenedar's thinning of the ozone in the atmosphere had reached the crucial stage.

CHAPTER XXXIII -- Intra-Atomio Power

"LEE, dear, please don't fight Meriden. He's determined not to give me up, and he'll kill you. Di Bargi is leaving for the earth tonight. We can go with him. Meriden won't know until tomorrow. I'm getting well, now. Let's go back to Earth, together."

"We can't, Izanne. You know very well that you're in no shape to withstand the acceleration of an interplanetary voyage. Even if you could, I couldn't let Meriden think I was a coward. Could you respect a coward?"

"I could love him."

"But that's not what I ask you, Izanne. We'll play the game out to the end. By the way, your nurse told me that Meriden was visiting you today."

"Yes. I sent for him. No Sarvonian of the warrior class will ever attack one of the aristocrats. It's considered dishonorable. And I told him that you were an aristocrat of the earth. You're the earth's richest man, and--"

"What did he say to that?"

"He told me that Xavian had raised him to the rank of an aristocrat because of his part in the destruction of Cor. He was awfully relieved to find that you were an aristocrat too. That made it quite proper for him to fight you. Lee, I'm afraid ... afraid ..."

"Don't worry, Cosmic Sweetheart. You must hurry up and get well so that the next time di Bargi comes, we can go home with him ... together."

* * *

"PROFESSOR di BARGI, you're wanted on the earth-phone."

"What seems to be the trouble, Benny?"

"I don't understand exactly. Something about ultraviolet light that is killing people on the world."

"All right, Benny, I'm coming."

When he reached the radioroom of the completed rocket that had been taken from Cor, the professor paused a moment to give his right-hand man some instructions concerning the launching of the rocket. Then he got in touch with Robert Huston on the earth. He listened to what the executive told him about the menace that was threatening the earth, and he worked out a plan. It was four hours later that he left the radio-room, and the rocket was already on its way back to earth, without Lee or Laura or Burton Boyd.

Since the year 2009, United Utilities had been the largest and most powerful corporation on the earth, and only that immense organization could have carried out the plan that di Bargi had outlined. The next twenty-four hours were the busiest of Robert Huston's life.

Astronomers were put to work calculating the exact orbit of the rocket for hours and days in advance. When these calculations were finished, Huston could tell by a glance at a chart just what locality the rocket would pass over at any given second up to a week in the future. While these calculations were being made, the great factories of United Utilities were producing, as if by magic, the various apparatus being designed by United Utilities' engineering staff. Ten minutes after a blueprint of any part was finished in the drafting-rooms and telephotoed to a factory, that part was being produced by suitable manufacturing machines.

Working in the night in order to avoid the deadly sunlight, skilled engineers and willing workmen erected two immense projectors of the Venerian conducting ray, details of which had been radioed from Sarvon, The projectors were half a mile apart, in a spot in southern Illinois over which the rocket would pass next morning. The rays were tested: they were perfect conductors of electricity, like two immense wires running up into the heavens.

The Bureau of Weather Control was ordered, through the cooperation of the government of United America, to furnish a clear, cloudless day.

Atomic disintegrators were manufactured and hooked up in series so that they could furnish electric power in quantities never before employed, using an electrical pressure of trillions of volts.

Supervising all of the work was Robert Huston. A speedy plane took him to Illinois before dawn. Astronomers checked the rocket's orbit and verified their former conclusions. Dawn came, with its searing, burning light. Six seconds before the rocket, traveling ten miles per second, was due to pass over the two stations in Illinois, Robert Huston pressed the buttons that operated remote-control switches which hooked up the two conducting rays to the long series of atomic disintegrators. The disintegrators, converting atomic power into electrical power, built up a difference of potential in the two vertical rays of trillions upon trillions of volts.

Then the Corian rocket closed the circuit.

The terrific discharge of electricity through the immense rocket all but liquified it. Eenedar and his colleagues never realized what had hit them. The enormous momentum of the rocket carried it past the electrical trap that had been set, but it was a lifeless, twisted piece of metal now, and it was slowed down to a speed not sufficient to keep it from falling. In a few minutes the astronomers, from observations of its new motion, had calculated, with their efficient mechanical and electrical mathematics machines, that it would fall in the Pacific Ocean, five hundred miles north of Hawaii, in about three days' time. Ships were warned to keep away from the danger zone.

Huston got in touch with di Bargi over the cosmic radio, and told him of the success of the plan.

Di Bargi grinned, wondering idly what Huston would say when it was discovered that the tremendous discharge of electricity, even though it had taken place just outside the atmosphere, had produced an enormous amount of ozone, which would gradually distribute itself throughout the upper atmosphere.

CHAPTER XXXIV -- A Duel to the Death

"WELL, Lee," said Burton Boyd, seriously, "this is the day. How do you feel?"

"I'm in perfect condition. I'm sorry your offering to be my second prevented you from going home with di Bargi."

"That's all right. He'll be back in six months. Besides, I like this planet, even though I can't go out in the sunlight. Did you see the pretty nurse Izanne has?"

"Watch your step, Burt. There are about sixteen aspiring young Sarvonians on the trail of that nurse. You had better start taking lessons in swordsmanship right away if you intend to last until the semi-finals."

There was a knock on the door of their chamber. Lee opened it and took Laura in his arms.

"When did they let you get up, sweetheart?"

"They didn't, Lee. I... Well I slugged the nurse and got dressed and came to see you. I wanted one last kiss ... in case you didn't... didn't win. The nurse told me that I couldn't have any visitors, because I was too weak, and I wanted to be sure of seeing you again. And you're terribly brutal, Lee. I want it so much. Won't you give it to me before I faint?"

Lee gave it to her, and she fainted away from weakness. Tenderly he carried her back to the section of Sarvon that was used as a hospital. A frantic young Sarvonian nurse was nursing a lump on her he�d that had been caused when Laura had skilfully caressed her with a heavy glass carafe, but the nurse grinned when her truant patient was brought back, apparently not much the worse for her escapade.

Because of the fact that Burton Boyd could not withstand direct exposure to the Venerian sunlight, the duel was scheduled in a large artificially lighted chamber on a lower level of the immense structure that was the City of Sarvon.

It was by no means a public affair, but rather a private matter of honor. Xavian, supreme ruler of Sarvon, was in the chamber with one trusted bodyguard when Lee and Burton entered, Boyd carrying the three gleaming swords that Lee had borrowed three weeks previously for the purpose of practicing.

Meriden entered, with three men behind him. Lee recognized them as Aloysius, Albert, and William Dornn, earth-identities in Venerian bodies. They surprised Lee. Just where did they fit in the picture? When, back on earth, his uncle, Eugene Chilton, had disinherited him, the three Dornn brothers had been made legatees of the immense corporation. Now that will had been set aside, and Lee was the recipient of United Utilities. Were the three brothers hoping that he would be killed, so that once back to earth, they could claim the controlling interest of the company?

At Meriden's waist hung his triplicate scabbard, with the three jaguar-hilled swords. The giant was smiling. Xavian called them together as two other Sarvonians, who with Xavian were to be the judges, entered the spacious room. The doors were locked.

Lee and Meriden shook hands, after the earth-fashion. There seemed to be no corresponding Venerian custom.

"The duel," said Xavian, "will be fought with pistols." Lee started. Meriden smiled.

"It was I who challenged," said the giant "I did not think it fair to you to choose swords. I have handled swords from infancy."

"I am perfectly willing to use swords."

"I refuse, Earthman. It is knowledge, not pride, that makes me say I could slaughter you with a sword in fifteen seconds, and I would be a coward if I killed you with swords, particularly since I challenged you to this fight. These men," continued the giant calmly, indicating the Dornn brothers, "have introduced firearms on this planet. I have been practicing with a pistol. I like the weapon, and I know how to use it. If we use pistols, we are equally matched. My superior size and consequent strength do not then give me an advantage. You told me once that you were accustomed to handling a pistol. If that statement it true, I call upon you to prove it."

There was a hint of coldness in the giant's voice, as if he thought that Lee had lied about his ability to use a pistol. Lee shrugged his shoulders. "Very well, if you wish. I shall have to be furnished with a pistol."

One of the Dornns produced two pistols, not at all unlike the automatics of the earth. They were identical in appearance. He gave one to Meriden and one to Lee.

"You will stand at opposite sides of the room," said Xavian. "Each pistol contains three bullets. No more should be necessary. We, the judges and witnesses, will be in the adjoining room, watching you through a window of unbreakable glassite, which enables us to observe you in safety. I shall fire one blank shot which will be audible through the glassite. After that you may fire at will, observing this condition! The walls are forty zots apart, or in earth-measure about seventy feet. Neither of you is permitted to go more than four zots, or about seven feet, from his respective wall, unless the pistol is dropped to the floor, signifying that no attempt to shoot will be made.

"The walls are of steel. The bullets, of lead, will flatten against them. There is little danger of a bullet rebounding or ricocheting. If either of you should happen to be wounded as a result of such an accident, the other is obliged to cease firing. May you conduct yourselves with honor!"

Lee walked to his wall, taking a position about six feet from it. Meriden established himself at the other end of the room, directly opposite. The judges left the room, soon becoming visible though the large glassite panel in one side-wall. Xavian was seen speaking a minute with Burton Boyd and the three brothers who seemed to be Meriden's seconds. Then he raised his pistol and fired the blank cartridge. The report was plainly audible through the glassite.

Immediately Meriden raised his automatic and fired one shot.

Never in Lee Chilton's life had anything come so close to him without actually touching him as did that first bullet of Meriden. It passed within one inch of his head, just above his left ear, to flatten on the wall behind him. Lee heard it strike and drop to the floor.

Lee admired the giant's fine sportsmanship. In spite of the fact that he had never seen a pistol a month before, the giant was trying to inflict a clean, painless death by a shot through the brain, rather than take the easier aim of a body shot, that, unless it were actually through the heart, would bring death only after suffering. The head is a small target at seventy feet, compared to the body.

Lee did not return the shot. There was no hurry. The giant was aiming again, more carefully. Instinctively Lee sensed the second that Meriden was to pull the trigger, and stepped aside. The bullet missed him by three feet, this time. Meriden had one shot left. Lee could see that same half-smile on the giant's lips. One shot left. Very slowly, without the least emotion or nervousness, Meriden was lifting his pistol again. Lee had not lifted his.

Suddenly the vision of Laura Ives rose in Lee's mind. For the first time in his life Lee Chilton understood what real fear was. He struggled to prevent his fear from manifesting itself to the giant and the watchers. Meriden had one shot left, and the giant was so devilishly cool about it!

Behind the transparent panel, Burton Boyd gasped. Chilton was calmly taking three chances with death. If he won, the giant would be at his mercy. If he lost....

Meriden fired again, and missed, by a very small fraction of a zot. Lee Chilton dropped his loaded pistol and walked toward the giant. The watchers did not move. Meriden's expression did not change. Lee came close to him.

"I have my code of honor, too," said Lee Chilton of the Earth. "I cannot shoot you. If you would like to continue with swords...."

The others were entering. Meriden's half-smile grew deeper. "You are worthy of her, Lee Chilton. Never before have I seen a man take three such chances with death for the sake of friendship, however great. I wish you happiness."

The giant held out his hand. Lee took it without a word.

Burton Boyd had picked up the gun that Lee had dropped, had brought it with him as he approached the two. The giant spoke again, to Lee.

"I told you once, Earthman, that I was sincere in my love for her. The realization that she could not be happy with me came slowly. It hurt me. But it was her happiness I wished, above all. I trust you to make her happy. For the sake of friendship, do not fail me."

The same inscrutable smile played around the giant's lips. He took Lee's unused pistol from the hand of Burton Boyd. At the opposite end of the room, seventy feet away, were three tiny marks in the steel wall, where Meriden's three bullets had hit. Three marks, each the site of a thumbnail, at seventy feet.

Without apparent aim, the Swordsman of Sarvon lifted the pistol in his hand and fired three shots in as many seconds. Each of those three bullets struck the exact center of one of the three marks.

1. In trying to present a truly scientific solution of the problem of reaching the moon, the author has purposely refrained from all mention of the Millikan Cosmic Ray, because so comparatively little is known about this subject at the present time. The reader may assume, however, that Javis' large staff of scientists, backed by a billion dollars, was able to discover some suitable method of neutralizing or counteracting the probably harmful effects that this ray might have upon human beings.

2. Transcriber's note. There is some mistake here, either in the late Dr. Hawkinson's discussion with Cannes, of in Cannes' narration of said discussion to the club. Einstein's theory has not been "proven," yet, unless Cannes' story is accepted as truth, which is impossible because of the lack of supporting evidence. This is one of the many mysterious details connected with Cannes' story; in fact, one of the club members later expressed a belief that Cannes was lying from beginning to end, and had here betrayed himself, for it seems unlikely that a man with Hawkinson's scientific reputation would have made such an erroneous statement. Hawkinson is dead. However, it has been ascertained that he did have a private power line installed in his laboratory precisely thirty-three days before the fatal fire that destroyed the laboratory and all its contents. And Cannes was known to have been an intimate friend of the scientist.

3. These were probably "DC" of W3QP and "KN" of W3ZF, although Blake did not definitely tell me so. They, and several others of the A. R. R. L. have often greatly helped the scientist in many ways, without thought of reward.

4. Blake later took pains to retract the term "infinite universe." Einstein's theory, he said, supported by recent observations of nebulae many light-years distant, indicates that the universe may be finite, after all.

5. For a more complete discussion of the apparently impossible situation, the reader is referred to my first narrative, the story of Ray Cannes, entitled "Paradox," recently published in this journal.

6. The ampore is the para-electric unit corresponding to the ampere of ordinary electricity. As electricity produces electromagnetic fields, so para-electricity produces positive or negative electrogravitational fields, by which interplanetary vessels are propelled. Para-electric generators derive their power from coal, oil, and synthetic fuel, just as ordinary generators do.

7. All through this account English units of time, space, etc., have been substituted for the confusing Venetian system.

8. NOTE -- I owe the reader both an explanation and an apology, yet it is with some hesitation that I give them. What I have to say is difficult to understand, and I do not want to be called a fool for saying it. I ask the reader to keep a scientifically open mind.

There is no such thing as time. This narrative is not a fantastic prediction, but a cold record of interesting facts and events, pieced together and reconstructed from the accounts of such persons who survived them. These events took place, or will take place, as you prefer—in the year 2180 A. D.

Time—like the three dimensions of space—is a conception of the mind, enabling it to understand and correlate events, in the same manner as the dimensions of space enable the mind to understand size and position.

I am associated with certain scientists who, in the first months of the year 1930 succeeded in penetrating time—the fourth dimension—and actually traveling through it in the same manner as we can travel through space. They started their researches several years ago, using Einstein’s theories as the bare foundations of their work. They are not yet quite ready to disclose their experiments to the world, but such disclosures will undoubtedly be made when all the evidence is prepared and collected to enable them to prove their assertions. This may quite possibly be before the end of the present year. In the meantime, in return for some small aid I have given them, they have given me this chapter in the history of two worlds. It is true. I would not make such a statement unless I was confident that I could prove it within a year or so, to the satisfaction of any scientist or any doubter. I have merely revised the history, humanized it as much as is consistent with the truth, and presented it in narrative form.

At present it is thought that Venus always presents one side to the sun—that it is half arctic waste upon which the sun never shines, and that the rest is a fiery desert. I will not argue with authoritative astronomers—yet. Di Bargi’s statements, as quoted, are nearer correct. Venus does revolve on its axis.

C. C.

9. That is, a Venus-year--224.7 days.