Chapter 2: Dunark Visits Earth

Martin Crane reclined in a massive chair, the fingers of his right hand lightly touching those of his left, listening attentively. Richard Seaton strode up and down the room before his friend, his unruly brown hair on end, speaking savagely between teeth clenched upon the stem of his reeking, battered briar, brandishing a sheaf of papers.

“Mart, we’re stuck--stopped dead. If my head wasn’t made of solid blue mush I’d have had a way figured out of this thing before now, but I can’t. With that zone of force the Skylark would have everything imaginable--without it, we’re exactly where we were before. That zone is immense, man--terrific--its possibilities are unthinkable--and I’m so cussed dumb that I can’t find out how to use it intelligently--can’t use it at all, for that matter. By its very nature it is impenetrable to any form of matter, however applied; and this calc here,” slapping viciously the sheaf of papers containing his calculations, “shows that it must also be opaque to any wave whatever, propagated through air or through ether, clear down to cosmic rays. Behind it, we would be blind and helpless, so we can’t use it at all. It drives me frantic! Think of a barrier of pure force, impalpable, immaterial, and exerted along a geometrical surface of no thickness whatever--and yet actual enough to stop even a Millikan ray that travels a hundred thousand light-years and then goes through twenty-seven feet of solid lead just like it was so much vacuum! That’s what we’re up against! However, I’m going to try out that model, Mart, right now. Come on, guy, snap into it! Let’s get busy!”

“You are getting idiotic again, Dick,” Crane rejoined calmly, without moving. “You know, even better than I do, that you are playing with the most concentrated essence of energy that the world has ever seen. That zone of force probably can be generated--”

“Probably, nothing!” barked Seaton. “It’s just as evident a fact as that stool,” kicking the unoffending bit of furniture half-way across the room as he spoke. “If you’d’ve let me, I’d’ve shown it to you yesterday!”

“Undoubtedly, then. Grant that it is impenetrable to all matter and to all known waves. Suppose that it should prove impenetrable also to gravitation and to magnetism? Those phenomena probably depend upon the ether, but we know nothing fundamental of their nature, nor of that of the ether. Therefore your calculations, comprehensive though they are, cannot predict the effect upon them of your zone of force. Suppose that that zone actually does set up a barrier in the ether, so that it nullifies gravitation, magnetism, and all allied phenomena; so that the power-bars, the attractors and repellers, cannot work through it? Then what? As well as showing me the zone of force, you might well have shown me yourself flying off into space, unable to use your power and helpless if you released the zone. No, we must know more of the fundamentals before you try even a small-scale experiment.”

“Oh, bugs! You’re carrying caution to extremes, Mart. What can happen? Even if gravitation should be nullified, I would rise only slowly, heading south the angle of our latitude--that’s thirty-nine degrees--away from the perpendicular. I couldn’t shoot off on a tangent, as some of these hot-heads have been claiming. Inertia would make me keep pace, approximately, with the earth in its rotation. I would rise slowly--only as fast as the tangent departs from the curvature of the earth’s surface. I haven’t figured out how fast that is, but it must be pretty slow.”

“Pretty slow?” Crane smiled. “Figure it out.”

“All right--but I’ll bet it’s slower than the rise of a toy balloon.” Seaton threw down the papers and picked up his slide-rule, a twenty-inch trigonometrical duplex. “You’ll concede that it is allowable to neglect the radial component of the orbital velocity of the earth for a first approximation, won’t you--or shall I figure that in too?”

“You may ignore that factor.”

“All right--let’s see. Radius of rotation here in Washington would be cosine latitude times equatorial radius, approximately--call it thirty-two hundred miles. Angular velocity, fifteen degrees an hour. I want secant fifteen less one times thirty-two hundred. Right? Secant equals one over cosine--um-m-m-m--one point oh three five. Then point oh three five times thirty-two hundred. Hundred and twelve miles first hour. Velocity constant with respect to sun, accelerated respecting point of departure. Ouch! You win, Mart--I’d kinda step out! Well, how about this, then? I’ll put on a vacuum suit and carry rations. Harness outside, with the same equipment I used in the test flights before we built Skylark I--plus the new stuff and a coil. Then throw on the zone, and see what happens. There can’t be any jar in taking off, and with that outfit I can get back O. K. if I go clear to Jupiter!”

Crane sat in silence, his keen mind considering every aspect of the motions possible, of velocity, of acceleration, of inertia. He already knew well Seaton’s resourcefulness in crises and his physical and mental strength.

“As far as I can see, that might be safe,” he admitted finally, “and we really should know something about it besides the theory.”

“Fine, Mart--let’s get busy! I’ll be ready in five minutes. Yell for the girls, will you? They’d break us off at the ankles if we pull anything new without letting them in on it.”

A few minutes later the “girls” strolled out into Crane Field, arms around each other--Dorothy Seaton, her gorgeous auburn hair framing violet eyes and vivid coloring; black-haired, dark-eyed Margaret Crane.

“Br-r-r, it’s cold!” Dorothy shivered, wrapping her coat more closely about her. “This must be the coldest day Washington has seen for years!”

“It is cold,” Margaret agreed. “I wonder what they are going to do out here, this kind of weather?”

As she spoke, the two men stepped out of the “testing shed”--the huge structure that housed their Osnomian-built space-cruiser, “Skylark II.” Seaton waddled clumsily, wearing as he did a Crane vacuum-suit which, built of fur, canvas, metal and transparent silica, braced by steel netting and equipped with air-tanks and heaters, rendered its wearer independent of outside conditions of temperature and pressure. Outside this suit he wore a heavy harness of leather, buckled about his body, shoulders, and legs, attached to which were numerous knobs, switches, dials, bakelite cases, and other pieces of apparatus. Carried by a strong aluminum framework in turn supported by the harness, the universal bearing of a small power-bar rose directly above his grotesque-looking helmet.

“What do you think you’re going to do in that thing, Dickie?” Dorothy called. Then, knowing that he could not hear her voice, she turned to Crane. “What are you letting that precious husband of mine do now, Martin? He looks as though he were up to something.”

While she was speaking, Seaton had snapped the release of his face plate.

“Nothing much, Dottie. Just going to show you-all the zone of force. Mart wouldn’t let me turn it on, unless I got all cocked and primed for a year’s journey into space.”

“Dot, what is that zone of force, anyway?” asked Margaret.

“Oh, it’s something Dick got into his head during that awful fight they had on Osnome. He hasn’t thought of anything else since we got back. You know how the attractors and repellers work? Well, he found out something funny about the way everything acted while the Mardonalians were bombarding them with a certain kind of a wave-length. He finally figured out the exact ray that did it, and found out that if it is made strongly enough, it acts as if a repeller and attractor were working together--only so much stronger that nothing can get through the boundary, either way--in fact, it’s so strong that it cuts anything in two that’s in the way. And the funny thing is that there’s nothing there at all, really; but Dick says that the forces meeting there, or something, make it act as though something really important were there. See?”

“Uh-huh,” assented Margaret, doubtfully, just as Crane finished the final adjustments and moved toward them. A safe distance away from Seaton, he turned and waved his hand.

Instantly Seaton disappeared from view, and around the place where he had stood there appeared a shimmering globe some twenty feet in diameter--a globe apparently a perfect spherical mirror, which darted upward and toward the south. After a moment the globe disappeared and Seaton was again seen. He was now standing upon a hemispherical mass of earth. He darted back toward the group upon the ground, while the mass of earth fell with a crash a quarter of a mile away. High above their heads the mirror again encompassed Seaton, and again shot upward and southward. Five times this maneuver was repeated before Seaton came down, landing easily in front of them and opening his helmet.

“It’s just what we thought it was, only worse,” he reported tersely. “Can’t do a thing with it. Gravitation won’t work through it--bars won’t--nothing will. And dark? Dark! Folks, you ain’t never seen no darkness, nor heard no silence. It scared me stiff!”

“Poor little boy--afraid of the dark!” exclaimed Dorothy. “We saw absolute blackness in space.”

“Not like this, you didn’t. I just saw absolute darkness and heard absolute silence for the first time in my life. I never imagined anything like it--come on up with me and I’ll show it to you.”

“No you won’t!” his wife shrieked as she retreated toward Crane. “Some other time, perhaps.”

Seaton removed the harness and glanced at the spot from which he had taken off, where now appeared a hemispherical hole in the ground.

“Let’s see what kind of tracks I left, Mart,” and the two men bent over the depression. They saw with astonishment that the cut surface was perfectly smooth, with not even the slightest roughness or irregularity visible. Even the smallest loose grains of sand had been sheared in two along a mathematically exact hemispherical surface by the inconceivable force of the disintegrating copper bar.

“Well, that sure wins the--”

An alarm bell sounded. Without a glance around, Seaton seized Dorothy and leaped into the testing shed. Dropping her unceremoniously to the floor he stared through the telescope sight of an enormous ray-generator which had automatically aligned itself upon the distant point of liberation of intra-atomic energy which had caused the alarm to sound. One hand upon the switch, his face was hard and merciless as he waited to make sure of the identity of the approaching space-ship, before he released the frightful power of his generator upon it.

“I’ve been expecting DuQuesne to try it again,” he gritted, striving to make out the visitor, yet more than two hundred miles distant. “He’s out to get you, Dot--and this time I’m not just going to warm him up and scare him away, as I did last time. This time that misguided mutt’s going to get frizzled right ... I can’t locate him with this small telescope, Mart. Line him up in the big one and give me the word, will you?”

“I see him, Dick, but it is not DuQuesne’s ship. It is built of transparent arenak, like the ‘Kondal.’ Even though it seems impossible, I believe it is the ‘Kondal’.”

“Maybe so, and again maybe DuQuesne built it--or stole it. On second thought, though, I don’t believe that DuQuesne would be fool enough to tackle us again in the same way--but I’m taking no chances ... O. K., it is the ‘Kondal, ‘ I can see Dunark and Sitar myself, now.”

The transparent vessel soon neared the field and the four Terrestrials walked out to greet their Osnomian friends. Through the arenak walls they recognized Dunark, Kofedix of Kondal, at the controls, and saw Sitar, his beautiful young queen, lying in one of the seats near the wall. She attempted a friendly greeting, but her face was strained as though she were laboring under a burden too great for her to bear.

As they watched, Dunark slipped a helmet over his head and one over Sitar’s, pressed a button to open one of the doors, and supported her toward the opening.

“They mustn’t come out, Dick!” exclaimed Dorothy in dismay. “They’ll freeze to death in five minutes without any clothes on!”

“Yes, and Sitar can’t stand up under our gravitation, either--I doubt if Dunark can, for long,” and Seaton dashed toward the vessel, motioning the visitor back.

But misunderstanding the signal, Dunark came on. As he clambered heavily through the door he staggered as though under an enormous weight, and Sitar collapsed upon the frozen ground. Trying to help her, half-kneeling over her, Dunark struggled, his green skin paling to a yellowish tinge at the touch of the bitter and unexpected cold. Seaton leaped forward and gathered Sitar up in his mighty arms as though she were a child.

[Illustration: Trying to help her, half kneeling over her, Dunark struggled, his green skin paling to a yellowish tinge at the touch of the bitter and unexpected cold.]

“Help Dunark back in, Mart,” he directed crisply. “Hop in, girls--we’ve got to take these folks back up where they can live.”

Seaton shut the door, and as everyone lay flat in the seats Crane, who had taken the controls, applied one notch of power and the huge vessel leaped upward. Miles of altitude were gained before Crane brought the cruiser to a stop and locked her in place with an anchoring attractor.

“There,” he remarked calmly, “gravitation here is approximately the same as it is upon Osnome.”

“Yes,” put in Seaton, standing up and shedding clothing in all directions, “and I rise to remark that we’d better undress as far as the law allows--perhaps farther. I never did like Osnomian ideas of comfortable warmth, but we can endure it by peeling down to bedrock--”

Sitar jumped up happily, completely restored, and the three women threw their arms around each other.

“What a horrible, terrible, frightful world!” exclaimed Sitar, her eyes widening as she thought of her first experience with our earth. “Much as I love you, I shall never dare try to visit you again. I have never been able to understand why you Terrestrials wear what you call ‘clothes, ‘ nor why you are so terribly, brutally strong. Now I really know--I will feel the utterly cold and savage embrace of that awful earth of yours as long as I live!”

“Oh, it’s not so bad, Sitar.” Seaton, who was shaking both of Dunark’s hands vigorously, assured her over his shoulder. “All depends on where you were raised. We like it that way, and Osnome gives us the pip. But you poor fish,” turning again to Dunark, “with all my brains inside your skull, you should have known what you were letting yourself in for.”

“That’s true, after a fashion,” Dunark admitted, “but your brain told me that Washington was hot. If I’d have thought to recalculate your actual Fahrenheit degrees into our loro ... but that figures only forty-seven and, while very cold, we could have endured it--wait a minute, I’m getting it. You have what you call ‘seasons.’ This, then, must be your ‘winter.’ Right?”

“Right the first time. That’s the way your brain works behind my pan, too. I could figure anything out all right after it happened, but hardly ever beforehand--so I guess I can’t blame you much, at that. But what I want to know is, how’d you get here? It would take more than my brains--you can’t see our sun from anywhere near Osnome, even if you knew exactly where to look for it.”

“Easy. Remember those wrecked instruments you threw out of Skylark I when we built Skylark II?” Having every minute detail of the configuration of Seaton’s brain engraved upon his own, Dunark spoke English in Seaton’s own characteristic careless fashion. Only when thinking deeply or discussing abstruse matter did Seaton employ the carefully selected and precise phrasing, which he knew so well how to use. “Well, none of them was beyond repair and the juice was still on most of them. One was an object-compass bearing on the Earth. We simply fixed the bearings, put on some minor improvements, and here we are.”

“Let us all sit down and be comfortable,” he continued, changing into the Kondalian tongue without a break, “and I will explain why we have come. We are in most desperate need of two things which you alone can supply--salt, and that strange metal, ‘X’. Salt I know you have in great abundance, but I know that you have very little of the metal. You have only the one compass upon that planet?”

“That’s all--one is all we set on it. However, we’ve got close to half a ton of the metal on hand--you can have all you want.”

“Even if I took it all, which I would not like to do, that would be less than half enough. We must have at least one of your tons, and two tons would be better.”

“Two tons! Holy cat! Are you going to plate a fleet of battle cruisers?”