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And even as Blake mutely reached out his hand to grip that of the determined young man who stood before him. Kendrick touched his wrist mechanism and went invisible.
nce on the street, he pressed the escalator button as well—and by the strength of the vibrations that followed, he knew he must be very close within that mysterious lifting zone.
Running west a block, he found it growing stronger.
Fairly racing now, he continued on toward the river, progress unhampered in the deserted streets. Suddenly, with a thrill of exultation, he felt himself swept up, whirled away toward that great shimmering hulk against the sun.
"What hope?" he was thinking. "What possible hope?" And the answer came: Cor!
Reaching the disc, he switched out the escalator influence and hastened across the city to that monumental structure of jade-green stone.
The mighty little dwarf would be up there in his glittering mosaic apartment, or in his pinnacle laboratory,[277] perhaps, ready to pull the lever that would release that stupendous blast of heat.
Gaining the jewelled door of the monarch's quarters at last, after escaping detection by a hair's breadth more than once, he pressed the button outside, just as the guard had done that first time.
In response, the door opened—and there stood Cor.
e stood there an instant, that is, while the expression on his leathery face went from inquiry to alarm. Then, as Kendrick burst into the room and shut the door, he went invisible.
In that same instant, the young scientist's eyes beheld a sight that caused his heart to leap. There sat Marjorie, bound in a chair, an expression half of hope, half of dejection, on her face.
"It's I—Gordon!" he called. "Take courage!"
"Oh, I prayed so you'd come—and you came!" she murmured as her face lighted. Then, tensely, she added, "The door—look out!"
Kendrick wheeled, and just in time. The door was opening.
"Not so fast!" he called, lunging.
His hands gripped the dwarf, yanked him back, throttled him before he could emit a cry, pushed the door shut.
Cor struggled like a madman, but it was futile. Kendrick's hands cut into his throat like a vice. After a moment or two, he gasped, relaxed.
Releasing his grip then, Kendrick felt for his wrist, stripped off his bracelet—whereupon the dwarf became visible. His face was putty-white. He was either dead or unconscious.
Restoring his own visibility then, he advanced to Marjorie, swiftly freed her.
"Take this!" he said, handing her Cor's bracelet.
She slipped it on.
"Now let's tie him and get out of here. He may be dead, but we can't take any chances."
he dwarf wasn't dead, however, for he groaned and opened his eyes as they lifted him into the chair.
"You win, Professor—but it avails you nothing!" He smiled maliciously. "My capture, my death even, will not prevent the ray. The orders have been given. It will be projected sharp at twelve. You but go to your doom!"
"That," said Kendrick, "is a matter of opinion."
Swiftly they bound him, gagged him.
"And now," he added, "we wish you good day—and such fate as you deserve!"
Then, turning to Marjorie:
"Your hand again!"
There was a new tenderness in its soft warmth that thrilled him.
They touched their buttons, went invisible.
Silently, then, they stole from the apartment. Swiftly they made their way down to the concourse, raced across the city to the amber court, descended to the trap-door.
It must be nearly twelve, Kendrick knew. He couldn't look at his watch, for it as well as himself was invisible. Indeed, even as they stood there, poised for the plunge, a faint whistle rose from below.
Marjorie trembled.
"Steady!" he spoke. "Some of them always blow a minute or two before. Are you ready?"
"Yes!"
"Then press your button—jump!"
Even as they leapt, the sickening thought came that perhaps the escalator ray was no longer running. But the fear was unwarranted. They were caught up, whirled gently downward.
Moving along laterally, as they descended, they were able to land without difficulty in the middle of a deserted street near the Consolidated Electric laboratory.
"Thank heaven!" she sighed, as their feet touched solid ground. They pressed off both buttons, becoming visible once more.
"Echo!" he agreed. "So let's—"[278]
ut Kendrick never completed that sentence—for now whistles all over the metropolitan area, rising from the generating plants, announced the ominous hour.
It was high noon. The ultimatum had expired.
Lifting tense faces to the disc, they waited. Would that stupendous ray be hurled back upon itself? Or would it sear through their makeshift defense, plunging them and the whole great metropolis into oblivion?
Suddenly, cataclysmically, the answer came.
There burst a withering whirlwind from the disc. It struck that mighty concave cathode of interlaced waves above the city. There followed an instant's clash of titanic forces. Then the cathode triumphed, hurled it back.
Rocked by a concussion as of two worlds in impact, blinded by a glare that made the sunlight seem feeble in comparison. Marjorie and Kendrick clung together, while the disc grew into a satellite of calcium fire in the sky.
Presently, as the conflagration waned, they opened their eyes. Gravely, but with deep thanksgiving, they searched each other's faces. In them they read deep understanding, too, and a new hope.
"I think we'd better go and find father," she said at length, quietly.
"I think so too!" he agreed.
As they headed toward the laboratory, a fine, powdery dust, like volcanic ash was falling.
It continued to fall until the city streets were covered to a depth of an inch or more.
Thus passed the menace of Vada.
[279]
To the Rescue
Dear Editor:
I hope you can see fit to print this letter in the July issue of Astounding Stories. This letter is written in defence of Ray Cummings and in reply to the letter of C. Harry Jaeger, 2900 Jordan Road, Oakland, California.
Following is an extract of Mr. Jaeger's letter: "Also I like my authors to make an original contribution to whatever theory of science they develop fictionally. This, Ray Cummings does not do in his very interesting story, "Phantoms of Reality." His beginning is palpably borrowed from Francis Flagg's story, "The Blue Dimension," which appeared in a Science Fiction magazine in 1927." Another paragraph is devoted to explaining his claim. He claims that Cummings' method of transporting his characters from one dimension or planet to another is practically copied from Flagg's story. The method, that is, not the narration. I hope to prove that if any borrowing was done, it was done by Flagg. Incidentally, Flagg's story "The Blue Dimension" was printed in 1928, not 1927, as Mr. Jaeger says.
I have in my possession a story by Ray Cummings named "Into the Fourth Dimension" and published in another magazine during the last month of 1926 and first ones of 1927. And in this story—printed two years before Flagg's story—Cummings uses almost the same apparatus of passing from one dimension to another as is used in "Phantoms of Reality." I will not discuss whether this procedure is to be approved or not.
This letter is not to be construed as an attack on Mr. Jaeger, or Mr. Flagg, or on either of the two stories under discussion.
If Mr. Jaeger will let me know I will send him Ray Cumming's story "Into the Fourth Dimension," as clipped from the magazines.
I write this letter to the magazine, instead of Mr. Jaeger, so that if any one was misled by Mr. Jaeger's well meant but mistaken criticism they will be straightened out.—Donald Coneyon, Petoskey, Michigan.
A Wish for Success
Dear Editor:
I have read both of your first issues. I am writing to say that I wish you success with your new magazine, which I know will succeed.
Also to say I wish you would get more of the "Carnes and Dr. Bird Stories" by Captain S. P. Meek, for I think everybody, including myself, likes them. I also enjoyed "Creatures of the Light."—Thomas D. Taylor, 415 So. 7th St., Boise, Idaho.
[280]
No Kick Any More
Dear Editor:
I have been a reader of Astounding Stories ever since you started it, and I guess I'm getting too particular as I don't get the kick out of it any more that I did out of the first issues. That is, I don't get the kick out of ALL of the stories as I did at first. However, "Murder Madness" sure is a hot one. Why not print a story by Sax Rohmer, H. G. Wells, or some of them?—H. Elsworth Jones, Box 340, R. R. 6, Battle Creek, Mich.
Via Postcard
Dear Editor:
Astounding Stories is an astounding magazine. It has really astounding stories. It couldn't be better. There's hardly room for improvement. May Astounding Stories be more astounding yet. I like it!—Monroe Hood Stinson, 1742, 12th Ave., Oakland, California.
Only Fiction!
Dear Editor:
I have just finished a story in the February, 1930, issue of Astounding Stories entitled "Into Space," by Sterner St. Paul.
I would like to know if it is a true story, if the actions described in it really happened, or is it merely a story of fiction.—Dan S. Scherrer, Shawneetown, Ill.
Perhaps—Soon
Dear Editor:
I have just finished reading your new magazine, Astounding Stories. It is the best magazine I have ever read. Keep up the good work and you will find me a constant reader. I have only one suggestion to make: Let Astounding Stories come out every other Thursday.—Harold Kulko, 433 Palmer E., Detroit, Michigan.
More Preferences
Dear Editor:
I have read with great interest the second issue of Astounding Stories and note your invitation for readers to express themselves.
I enjoyed the whole magazine, finding the literary quality surprisingly high. Especially good were "Spawn of the Stars," and "Creatures of the Light." Harl Vincent's tale was the best of his I have read; and Captain Meek's are always good. "The Corpse on the Grating," however, was merely Poe's "Fall of the House of Usher" done over, and not half so well.
As for the sort of tales I like, here they are in order of preference:
1. Tales of weird mystery—Merritt's "Moon Pool" and his others; Taine's "White Lily."
2. Interplanetary Adventure—"A Columbus of Space," by Serviss; "The Skylark of Space," by Smith.
3. "Different stories," that defy classification, based on new ideas of science—most of Wells' short stories are examples. 4. Detective, Fourth Dimension, and air adventure—only well done.—Jack Williamson, Box 661 Canyon, Texas.
A Brick or Two
Dear Editor:
For the last three years we have been reading any and all of the various Science Fiction magazines which have appeared upon the market. We therefore feel that we are as well qualified as anyone to offer the criticism and advice that follows.
First, the stories. We feel that it would be a good idea to get your stories from the same authors whose work has been and is being accepted by the other magazines in this field. In one case you have already done this, and I consider his stories to be the best in each issue. I believe that you will be forced to do this eventually, anyhow, because the people who read this magazine will naturally be readers of the others also, and will therefore, be used to the standards set by those publications. Then, you should have someone who is well qualified to pass upon the science in the stories.
Second, the cover design and the pictures at the beginning of each story. Up to this time the cover and inside pictures have contained many mistakes. The cover of the March issue was especially atrocious. In the first place a voyager in outer space would find it jet black and studded with stars, instead of blue and apparently empty, except for a few tremendously oversize planets, a moon with entirely too many craters, and a total eclipse of the sun with a very much distorted corona visible beside the earth. Illustrations by your cover artist also appear in another publication, but these are much superior to the ones in Astounding Stories. Here also a scientific advisor would be welcome.
Third, I think it would be a good idea to have a department in which readers could write their opinions of the stories and suggest improvements in the conduct of the magazine.
Fourth, I think there should be a scientific editorial in each issue by some eminent scientist. This is also a feature in the other magazines.
We hope that you take these criticisms and suggestions, as they were offered, in good faith. We also hope that the circulation will increase as the magazine becomes better.—George L. Williams and Harry Heillisan, 5714 Howe St.,
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