The appearance of the girl had created a stir in the room, but when these grotesque creatures became plainly visible on the disc, animated whispers turned to an uproar, and Ted was forced to call for silence.
Scarcely had the confusion abated, ere an aged Chinese doctor arose and came up beside Ted.
“What is it, Dr. Wu?” asked the young scientist, his hands busy with the dials. “Can you understand him?”
“A word, here and there, seems intelligible—something like the language of my revered ancestors.”
At sight of Dr. Wu, the speaker in the disc paused and nodded. It was as if he had recognized someone racially akin to him. The doctor bowed and smiled in return, and said something in a monosyllabic tongue. Its phonetic similarity to that which had come from the globular being was striking, as was the fact that there was a slight facial resemblance between Dr. Wu and the lunar speaker.
The Lunite pursed his lips and knit his brows as if endeavoring to understand. He turned to the semicircle of men behind him. They all appeared puzzled. Then he dispatched one of them, who disappeared from the disc, and facing Dr. Wu once more, uttered a short sentence.
It was the doctor’s turn to knit his brows and shake his head. Again he essayed speech with the armored man. Apparently he was not understood. The process was repeated several more times with the same result. It seemed that the two were on the verge of understanding each other, yet could not quite make themselves intelligible.
Then the man who had disappeared from the disc a few minutes before reappeared with another, a bent figure who hung on his arm for support. His face was wrinkled and toothless, his sparse moustache was gray, and his limbs were more spindly than those of the others. Instead of armor he wore a garment of quilted black cloth over his emaciated form.
The man in the gold armor looked at Dr. Wu, then pointed to the old man and uttered a few words. The doctor nodded, and addressed him. The old fellow pondered for a moment, then shook his head. Again Dr. Wu spoke to him. He shook his head once more, and reaching beneath his robe, drew forth a scroll and writing brush. After rapidly tracing a number of characters on the scroll, he held it up. The writing bore a striking resemblance to Chinese.
Seizing Ted’s sleeve, the doctor spoke excitedly.
“Is the photo-recorder on?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I believe I can translate that writing, given time.”
Facing the old man in the disc, Dr. Wu again nodded and smiled. Then he pointed skyward and said:
“T’ien.”
The old man nodded, smiled, and repeated excitedly: “T’ien! T’ien!” then bowed as if in devotion.
The doctor also made the devotional obeisance and said:
“Shang Ti.”
The old man shook his head, signifying that he could not understand. Then he pointed to the man in the golden armor, and said:
“P’an-ku.”
“P’an-ku!” repeated the doctor with a look of astonishment on his face, and made obeisance to the golden one.
That individual, with a look of annoyance, suddenly turned on the old man and released a volley of monosyllables. The old fellow groveled before him and shook his head.
Then he of the golden armor made a sign with his hand, whereupon the disc suddenly became blank.
“Guess the interview is over,” said Ted, shutting off the radio. “Now how can we find out what it was all about?”
“I can explain the last three words,” said Dr. Wu. “‘T’ien,’ is the oldest word in our language which has the meaning of ‘The Heavens’ or ‘God.’ This word was understood. ‘Shang Ti,’ a later word for ‘God,’ was unintelligible. The old man pointed to the one who was evidently the ruler, and said: ‘P’an-ku.’ According to our traditions, ‘P’an-ku’ was the first human being, corresponding to the ‘Adam’ of your Bible.”
“From which one might deduce,” said Ted, “that the people we have just interviewed are remotely related to your earliest ancestors.”
“So it seems. If you will let me have the phonetic and written records, and a fast electroplane, I believe that by consulting our ancient writings I may be able to render a translation in a few days.”
“Splendid!” replied Ted. “Both will be ready within an hour.”
V. ULTIMATUM OF P’AN-KU
Three days later Ted received a radiogram from Peiping, reading as follows:
Honorable Sir:
I avail myself of the privilege of submitting below the result of my poor efforts at deciphering the written characters of the Moon People. The spoken language was, with the exception of a few scattered words which cannot be put together to make sense, wholly unintelligible to me.
Here follows my sorry translation:
Why have you destroyed Ur? You, the people of Du Gong have thrown to us, the Imperial Government of P’an-ku, mightiest emperor of Ma Gong, the tcha-tsi (meaning unknown to translator) of war. We are greater and wiser than you, and can crush you with ease.
You have demonstrated that you are not fit to govern yourselves—that you are a menace to the people of the great Lord Sun, his eight apostles and their children. The Imperial Government of P’an-ku will send a viceroy to rule over you. Submit, and you will live happily, the subjects of P’an-ku. Resist, and you will be destroyed.
In my humble and unworthy opinion, the word, “tcha-tsi,” means either some instrument of war or perhaps a challenge to war, and has the same symbolical significance as does the gauntlet in English.
Dr. Wu
The contents of this message were immediately transmitted to the President of the United States, and he lost no time in calling a council of the Associated Governments of the Earth by radiovisiphone. Ted Dustin was a party to the conference, and assisted in drafting a placatory note to P’an-ku. The note, which was sent to Dr. Wu for translation into the Lunite language, was as follows:
To the Imperial Government of P’an-ku:
Greeting:
The Associated Governments of the Earth regret the destruction of Ur, and are willing to do all in their power to make amends.
The destruction was unintentional, as the Associated Governments of the Earth were unaware that Ma Gong was inhabited.
The Associated Governments of the Earth make full apology for having wronged the people of Ur, and stand willing to pay a reasonable indemnity in treasure, food, raw materials, or manufactured products, but are united in the purpose to resist and retaliate for any attempt at conquest.
After the note had been drafted and dispatched it was unanimously decided at the meeting that Ted was entitled to the million dollar reward, there being now no longer any doubt that his projectile had struck the moon. The treasurer of the association was, accordingly, ordered to pay him that amount.
It was late in the evening when Ted called Roger into his private office.
“Get that translation from Dr. Wu, yet?” he asked.
“Yes. I had it painted in large white letters on a black placard and mounted on an easel in front of the big disc.”
“Good. We’ll go up now. Everything will be ordered off the air in five minutes, and we’ll try to get it through.”
They took the elevator to the tower room, where the linguists, scientists, and representatives of the associated powers were assembled as before. President Whitmore was not present, however, because of urgent business in Washington. His place was taken by the Secretary of State. Dr. Wu, who was also unable to be present, was represented by Dr. Fang, a Chinese scholar of almost equal repute.
At ten o’clock, the zero hour, Ted promptly pressed the button and began manipulating the dials.
This time he was instantly rewarded by the appearance of the dazzlingly beautiful girl who had faded from his vision on the occasion of his last attempt at communication. She was attended by two armed guards as before, and in addition by a bent, graybearded man who wore a richly embroidered robe of dark blue, and sandals.
Both glanced at the writing on the placard which Ted held up. Eagerly watching their faces, he saw that they registered amazement and horror. Wondering what there could be about this pacific message to cause such a reaction, he called Dr. Fang and asked him to write the query: “What is wrong?”
The doctor, a thin, rat-faced Manchu, came forward, but said he did not know the symbols for the words.
The girl, meanwhile, had a scroll and writing brush brought forward by a female attendant. The latter held the scroll aloft so its surface was fully visible, and the girl began rapidly writing two sets of characters thereon. One set was similar to those which had been used in the previous communication. The other was totally unlike it and bore no resemblance to any known earthly characters. Her purpose, however, was quite evident. The two sets of characters were written in alternating perpendicular line side by side, in order that the former language might be used as a key to the latter.
Quick to grasp her idea, Ted called for the photo-record of the message from the Imperial Government of P’an-ku. Beside it, he wrote the English translation, using Roman capital letters for the sake of simplicity. Then beside the placarded note to the Government of P’an-ku, he wrote the original of that note, also in Roman capitals. In addition, he pointed out and distinctly pronounced the English words, one by one.
The girl nodded, smiled, and pointed questioningly at him.
“Ted Dustin,” he said.
She pointed to herself and said:
“Maza an Ma Gong.”
He repeated the name after her, and pointed to the scroll she had written. She was pronouncing and pointing out each word when she was suddenly crowded out as before by the appearance of P’an-ku and his attendants.
The rotund and imperious P’an-ku read the message on the placard, then turned to the old man who stood beside him and smiled. Ted thought there was a trace of a sneer in his smile. He ordered the old fellow to write his reply, then turned and stalked majestically out of the range of vision. The old man held his message aloft for a few moments as if fully aware that it was being recorded. Then he let his arm fall to his side, and the disc became blank.
After supplying Dr. Fang with a set of photo-records of the messages, and dispatching another to Dr. Wu, Ted and Roger went to the private office of the former for a conference.
“It seems to me,” said Ted, after he had his briar going, “that there’s something putrid in Denmark. Did you notice the expression of horror on the faces of the girl and the graybearded man when they read our messages?”
“Queer, wasn’t it?” replied Roger. “Must have been something in that message that was quite a shock to them. Wonder what it could have been.”
“That’s precisely what I’ve been wondering—and it has led to a rather unpleasant thought. I wouldn’t mention it to anyone in the world but you—not at present, anyhow—but it looks to me as if Dr. Wu may have double crossed us.”
“How?”
“By writing a message of his own in the place of the one we asked him to translate for us.”
“But what message of his own could he possibly have written?”
“That,” said Ted, “is what I propose to try to find out just as soon as I possibly can. Just before we came up here I sent Bevans to Peiping in the 800. He has orders to bring Professor Ederson back with him. We can bank on the professor to shoot square, and it’s quite possible that he can check up on Wu’s message. At any rate, he’s probably the best versed white man in the world on the ancient writings of China and Tibet. Has made a life-time study of them, I’m told.”
“What about the learned Manchu, Dr. Fang?”
“I think he was bluffing. If there’s mischief afoot, you can safely bet he’s in on it, and knows how to play his part. He’s not so ignorant as he pretends to be. Did you notice the expression on the face of the man in the golden armor? He smiled when he read our message, but the smile was half a sneer.”
“It was a mean smile, all right,” agreed Roger. “More like the snarl of an animal than the smile of a human being.”
“I’d rather have a person frown at me than smile that way,” said Ted.
Shortly after midnight a radiogram from Professor Fowler of the Yerkes Observatory arrived. He stated that he had seen five flashes on the moon, coming from the region of the lunar crater, Stadius.
In the wee, small hours of the morning, Chicago was shaken by a terrific detonation.
VI. TREACHERY
It was after five o’clock when all the reports were in. Five projectiles, larger than the former, and each destructive over a fifty mile radius, had struck the earth. The one which had so shaken Chicago had struck at Rochelle, Illinois, completely destroying that city and spreading death and destruction up to the very suburbs of Chicago on one side and across the Mississippi into Iowa on the other.
The second projectile had demolished Cincinnati, Covington and surrounding cities and hamlets with terrific loss of life. The third had struck squarely in the center of Birmingham, England, destroying, killing and maiming as far as Stafford, Shrewsbury, Ludlow, Worcester and Rugby. The fourth, alighting in the harbor of Tunis, had sunk and destroyed shipping, and created a tidal wave which had drowned many people on shore. The fifth had laid waste to Quito, Ecuador and the surrounding territory.
At five thirty, a report from Peiping stated that Khobr and nearby towns had been destroyed or suffered terrific casualties from a sixth projectile.
Leaving Roger in charge, Ted promptly took a super-electroplane to Washington. While he was closeted that morning in conference with the President, fifty aerial fleets of army engineers left the Capital, flying in various directions, but with their destinations kept secret.
During the day, representatives of various nations were called into the conference. Each representative, as he left the President’s office, was seen to speed away in a fast electroplane. Not one representative of a Mongoloid Asiatic nation was asked into conference.
After a busy day, Ted rushed back to his office where he found Roger up to his eyebrows in work, endeavoring to placate his wife for his tardiness to dinner, over his wrist radiophone.
“Listen, Leah,” he was saying. “I simply can’t get away now. I’m trying to manage things alone, you know, and—hello! Ted’s here now. Be home, toot sweet, honey. Bye bye.”
“You married men—” began Ted.
“Have got it all over you single ones in many ways,” interrupted Roger. “Get things going in Washington?”
“Pretty well. I’ve organized our defense force, and have warned every nation that we have reason to believe is friendly. Before the moon gets into favorable firing position again we’ll have enough powerful magnetic poles set up to take care of the United States, and if the other countries keep on their toes they’ll be ready, too.”
“How do you know the poles will work?”
“Fragments of the lunar projectiles show that they contain large quantities of steel. We’ve divided the country into fifty zones, in each of which a powerful electro-magnet will be erected. Having erected these in the least populated districts of each zone, and warned the inhabitants to leave the danger area, our sole remaining problem is to make them powerful enough to attract the projectiles, which we can easily do with the resources at our command. Our power plants will be far enough from the magnetic poles to keep them from injury, and as soon as one pole is destroyed another can be quickly erected.”
“You sure have some head on you, Ted. What about the Mongoloid Asiatics? Find out anything?”
“Nothing definite. For the present we’re sitting tight and saying nothing. Professor Ederson will, no doubt, be able to check up on them. If they haven’t double crossed us there will still be plenty of time to explain my plan of defense to them.”
Professor Ederson did not arrive until late the following afternoon. Roger met him on the roof, and immediately escorted him to Ted’s private office. He was a little, wizened man, with a grizzled Van Dyke, a thin, aquiline nose, and huge, thick-lensed glasses which gave him an owl-like expression.
“I’ve been studying the translation of Dr. Wu while Bevans, your admirable pilot, conducted me here,” said the professor when greetings were over. “It seems to me to be quite accurate.”
“What about the message he wrote for me?” asked Ted.
“I cannot, for the life of me, understand why you sent so belligerent a message,” replied the professor.
“Belligerent? What do you mean?”
Ted quickly produced an English copy of the message which he has asked Dr. Wu to translate into the Lunite language for him.
“Why,” said the professor, scanning it in surprise, “this is nothing like the message I have translated.”
“Let me have your translation,” requested Ted.
The professor produced a sheaf of papers from his inside coat pocket, selected one, and handed it to Ted.
The latter read it aloud:
To the Imperial Government of P’an-ku:
Greeting:
The Associated Governments of the Earth have found cause for much mirth in the note of the Imperial Government of P’an-ku.
It is the intention of the Associated Governments of the Earth to quickly and completely destroy Ma Gong (The Moon) if its inhabitants refuse to submit to the viceroys which the Associated Governments of the Earth are preparing to send to rule over them.
The Imperial Government of P’an-ku has complained of the destruction of Ur. This is only a minute sample of the destruction which will be wrought on Ma Gong if there are any further acts of hostility on the part of the Imperial Government of P’an-ku.
“Whew!” exclaimed Roger. “No wonder the girl and the old man looked horrified.”
“And it’s no wonder the imperious and belligerent P’an-ku sneered,” said Ted. “Looks as if we’re in for it, sure enough, now.”
“What about having Professor Ederson fix up a new note, right away, explaining everything and trying to patch things up?” asked Roger.
“We’ll try it,” replied Ted, “but I can’t bring myself to feel very sanguine as to the result.”
“Before we draft the note,” said the professor, “there are two things I should like to bring to your attention. First, a gigantic radio station has been set up in Peiping. Second, despite the fact that China reported the destruction of Khobr and nearby towns, I flew over Khobr and vicinity and could see no sign that there had been a disturbance there of any kind.”
“Professor Fowler only saw five flashes, all of which were accounted for,” said Ted. “The destruction of Khobr would have meant a sixth projectile, which left the moon without a telltale flash. As always, two and two continue to make four. There can only be one reason why Dr. Wu miswrote our pacific message—only one reason why the government of China lied about Khobr.”
“And the reason?” asked the professor.
“A secret alliance projected—perhaps even perfected by now—between the Chinese royalists and the Imperial Government of P’an-ku.”
“Precisely my theory,” said Professor Ederson. “The Chinese and racially allied peoples revere their ancestors to the point of actual worship. Small wonder, then, if they should have reverence for the living representative of their supposed first earthly ancestor, P’an-ku, and cast their lot with him and his people. Why man, the thing was inevitable.”
“And terrible to contemplate,” said Ted, dejectedly. “A united world could have fought off a dozen moons, but a divided world will have a slim chance. And the whole damnable affair is my fault.”
“Millions of sparks fall harmlessly, but here and there one starts a huge conflagration,” said the professor. “No earthly being could have foreseen the far-reaching effect of your apparently harmless spark, and you certainly are not morally responsible.”
“I hold myself so,” said Ted, “and it would be a small thing to me, could I but forfeit my own life to end the conflict. I have a plan, but I may not speak of it yet.”
“I hope you are not contemplating any foolhardy personal risks,” said the professor. “The world needs you more than any other living man, at present. We have thousands of scientists, but only one Ted Dustin.”
“Who has proven himself the greatest calamity yet born to the earth,” replied Ted. “But let’s prepare that message.”
A half hour elapsed before a message, satisfactory to all, had been drafted for the Imperial Government of P’an-ku. It took the professor an hour more to put it in the language of the Lunites. Then the air was cleared, and the three men went aloft to the gigantic radio tower.
While the professor held the message on a placard, Ted worked at the dials and Roger managed the recorder.
Their first efforts were rewarded by the faint sound of a woman’s voice and a dim vision of the beautiful girl seen on two previous occasions. Almost as soon as it began to appear, the image was blotted from the disc, and from then on until early morning, when the three tired men relinquished their unsuccessful attempt, they were rewarded only by blackness and a faint rumbling sound which greatly resembled distant thunder.
“Looks as if P’an-ku had severed diplomatic relations,” said Roger, rising from his seat at the recorder and stretching his cramped limbs.
“I’m afraid you are right,” replied the professor, leaning his placard against a chair.
“We’ll try again, and keep on trying,” said Ted. “The Lunites should be amenable to reason if we can get the message through.”
Try they did, the following night, and each night thereafter for nearly two weeks. The results were only darkness, and the distant thunderous rumbling. Even the image of the girl had failed to appear for so much as a fraction of a second.
When the efforts of the last night had proved unavailing, Ted threw off the switch and rose with a look of grim determination.
“We must face the facts,” he said. “War is inevitable unless P’an-ku can be reached and influenced by a specific message. It will take two more weeks at the very least, to complete our large interplanetary vehicle. By that time the war will undoubtedly be in full progress.”
“What do you propose to do about it?” asked the professor.
“I will take the message in person,” replied Ted.
“How?” chorused his two surprised companions in unison.
“Come with me and I’ll show you, but you must preserve absolute secrecy.”
VII. PERILOUS JOURNEY
Ted led Roger and the professor through a side door, and out onto the roof, which was illuminated by the silvery glory of the moon. A watchman challenged them, then saluted respectfully as he recognized his employer.
As they passed the hangars of Ted’s fleet of electroplanes, more watchmen challenged and saluted.
Beyond this, they came to a square shed of steel, the heavy metal door of which Ted unlocked with a key taken from his pocket. As his two companions entered he closed the door after them, then pressed a light switch.
“Here is my secret,” he said. “Isn’t she a little beauty?”
“I’ll say she is!” exclaimed Roger, looking admiringly at a craft of silver gray metal about sixteen feet in length, gracefully shaped, and decked over like an Esquimauan kayak, but with a centrally located turret which projected above and below the hull. This turret was of glass braced with the same silver-gray metal which formed the hull, and within it could be seen a bewildering array of buttons and levers which fronted a revolving upholstered seat. Projecting from the upper half of the turret, pointing fore, aft, and to each side, were four tubes, each of which ended in a glass lens. The lower turret was similarly equipped. The hull itself was provided with four searchlights, set to sweep in all directions.
Ted opened a heavily-gasketed door in the side of the upper turret, and said:
“Look her over if you want to, while I put on my driving suit.”
“You’ve been keeping something from me, Ted,” said Roger reproachfully while he and the professor admired the snug interior of the craft.
The young inventor laughed, as he opened a drawer and produced therefrom a costume and helmet greatly resembling those worn by deep sea divers.
“Wanted to surprise you,” he said, stepping into the one-piece suit and screwing down the clamps which closed the front. “Besides, you had too much on your mind as it was.”
“But what is the purpose of the thing?” asked the professor, still peering into the interior. “You don’t mean to tell me this craft will fly without planes, rudder or propeller.”
“I think so,” replied Ted, “although if it does, this will be its maiden flight.”
“But how?” persisted the professor.
“Atomotor,” said Ted, shortly, attaching his helmet to an affair which slightly resembled a knapsack. “It will fly in the same manner as my projectile flew to the moon, but more slowly, because I don’t dare give it the terrific start imparted to my projectile.”
“Hardly,” smiled Roger. “It would be burned to a cinder. How far are you going tonight?”
“Don’t know exactly,” replied Ted, “but if luck is with me I hope to land on the moon before the middle of this week.”
“What!” gasped Roger. “You expect to go to the moon alone and unarmed?”
“Alone,” grinned Ted, “but not unarmed.” He had donned the helmet and opened a glass slide in front for conversational purposes. After adjusting the straps of the thing which resembled a knapsack, he took a belt from the drawer and buckled it about his waist. Attached to the belt were two holsters from which pistol-like handles projected.
“Do you expect to defend yourself against super-intelligences as seem to exist on the moon, with a couple of pistols?” asked the professor.
“Hardly,” replied Ted. “The things you think are pistols are not pistols at all, but pistol degravitors. They operate on the same principle as the eight degravitors on my craft, but on a smaller scale.”
“You mean those eight tubes sticking out of the turret?” asked Roger.
“Exactly,” replied Ted.
“What deadly substance do they shoot?”
“They don’t shoot,” Ted answered with a smile. “They radiate—and when their rays strike matter it disintegrates.”
“But how—”
“I can only take a minute to explain, as time is pressing,” replied Ted, “but I’ll give you a demonstration very shortly. All matter is composed of atoms which are, in turn, composed of protons and electrons, always in motion, the latter whirling around the former as the planets whirl around the sun. The force, therefore, which holds them in their orbits is analogous to the force of gravity, hence I have applied the word until a better one can be found. When I press the firing button of the degravitor, it immediately releases two sets of invisible rays, cathode and anode, both of which when properly pointed, strike the same object at the same time, but at slightly different angles. The positively charged protons are instantly torn from their atoms by the cathode rays, while the negatively charged electrons are taken up by the anode rays. As the two types of rays diverge, they are torn apart, and the matter which they form immediately disintegrates and disappears.”
“Remarkable!” exclaimed the professor.
“Good head!” said Roger. “But how on earth did you manage to make all these things without my knowing it?”
“Easily,” replied Ted. “I had the parts made separately in the shop and assembled them here, myself. The hull is supposed to be the fuselage of a new type of electroplane, to which the wings have not yet been attached. The atomotor is assumed to be a model. I fitted it into the hull, myself. As for the degravitors, I had the parts made, assembled them, and fitted the larger ones into the turret, working nights in this room.
“I might add that I have put through an order for ten thousand of the small and a hundred thousand of the large degravitors. Directions for assembling and firing them are in the safe, and you, Roger, will see to it that our soldiers and combat planes are equipped with them as soon as possible.
“But enough of explanations. I must go. If I do not return, you, Roger, will know where to find all of my plans, including those for the degravitors. Use them, and arrange for the defense as best you can, without me.”
He entered the turret and switched on a tiny, inner light.
“I have your valuable translations, professor,” said Ted, “and hope that I may be able to use them to advantage. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, and good luck,” echoed both men as he closed the front of his helmet and slammed and fastened the door of the turret.
They watched him as he slowly elevated the upper forward degravitor. When he pressed the button no visible rays shot forth, but in the metal roof toward which it was aimed there suddenly appeared a clean cut hole which was rapidly widened by circumscribing it with the degravitor rays. The metal did not glow as if burned away, but simply disappeared with a quick, scintillating flash wherever the rays touched it.
When the hole had been enlarged sufficiently, Ted waved a last adieu. Then his craft rose gracefully, hung for a moment at a point about a thousand feet above the roof, and disappeared with a burst of terrific speed, traveling in a direction which might be reckoned about 80 degrees to the east of the moon in the plane of the ecliptic.
VIII. DEATH RAYS
A week elapsed, after the departure of the young inventor, with no word from Ted. During this time, Roger, busy with the duties of the chief executive, ate and slept in the office of his employer.
Professor Ederson had meanwhile tried nightly to get into communication with the Lunites, but without success.
It was on this, the seventh night, that a terrific storm struck Chicago. Unable to sleep because of the howling wind and terrific peals of thunder, Roger switched on the lights and was about to step to the window when his name was called from the disc of the radiovisiphone.
“Mr. Sanders.”
He hurried to the instrument and saw the face of the night operator.
“Yes.”
“The President of the United States is calling Mr. Dustin. What shall I do?”
“Mr. Dustin is not in,” said Roger, who had shared the secret of his employer’s absence only with Professor Ederson. “Let me talk to him.”
In an instant the face of President Whitmore appeared on the disc. To his intense surprise, Roger noticed that he wore a fur cap and a great fur coat with the collar turned up. That he was in an intensely cold place was indicated by the visibility of his breath as he spoke and exhaled.
“Where is Mr. Dustin?” were his first words on seeing Roger instead of the man he had called.
“He is not here,” replied Roger. “As his assistant, can I be of service to you?”
“You have not answered my question,” persisted the President. “Where is Mr. Dustin?”
“I—I promised not to tell,” answered Roger. “He left here a week ago in the interests of our country and our allies.”
The President frowned.
“You forget, Mr. Sanders,” he said, “that this is a war emergency, that the country is on a military basis, and that I am Mr. Dustin’s superior officer as well as yours. I demand to know where he is.”
Roger was nonplussed. He had told everyone that Ted had gone away on business for the country, leaving them to assume what they pleased in the matter. People had, of course, assumed that he had gone to some other city, and would be back shortly. But the President was within his rights in demanding to know where he was. Ted, himself, would not have had the right to refuse this demand.
“He left for the moon a week ago,” said Roger, “and I have heard nothing from him since.”
“What!”
The President appeared dumfounded.
“How did he go? Who went with him?”
“He went alone in a small interplanetary vehicle of his own invention, knowing that the war would be in full swing before his larger vehicle could be completed.”
“Well I’ll be damned!” exploded the President. “This is a pretty how d’ye do. Gone just when we need him most.”
“I’m sorry,” answered Roger, “but he hoped to be able to stop the war by this trip. If there’s anything I can do—”
“Maybe there is,” said the President, with forced calmness. “Perhaps you can explain some things that I had hoped he could explain. For instance, what is the cause of this intensely cold weather in the middle of the summer, and why does the moonlight appear green?”
“We can’t see the moon from here,” replied Roger, “and it’s not cold. There is a terrific storm raging, plenty of lightning, rain and wind, but no cold.”
“A devastating cold wave has spread over this part of the country, affecting Washington and Baltimore, and extending as far south as Richmond,” said the President. “The Potomac is frozen solid, and although we have our heating plants going to the utmost capacity, it is impossible to keep warm. Thousands of people, caught unexpectedly, have perished from the intense cold. My thermometer here in the White House registers 10° above zero. Outside, I am told the thermometers have dropped under 60° below zero, Fahrenheit.”
“And you say the moon looks green?”
“As green as grass. The country is bathed in a weird, green light at this moment.”
“Must be some connection,” mused Roger, “I mean between the green light and the intense cold localized around Washington. Wish Mr. Dustin were here.”
“But he isn’t,” snapped the President, “so see what you can find out, and report back, either by radiovisiphone or in person at your earliest convenience. Off!”
As the face of the President disappeared from the disc, Roger slumped down in his chair and lighted a cigarette. What should he do? What could he do?
There was a tap at the door.
“Come in,” he said, listlessly.
Professor Ederson entered.
“No use to try to use the radio tonight,” he said. “With the unknown interference we have been getting lately and this storm, it would be useless to try to communicate with the moon. I had our operator notify all stations that we wouldn’t attempt it tonight.”
“Hear about the cold snap in the east?” asked Roger.
“Yes. Got it on the small set just before I came down. Terrible thing, isn’t it?”
“And about the green moonlight?”
“Yes. Some new wrinkle of the Lunites, I fancy. They are clever and resourceful and, for all we know, a thousand years ahead of us in scientific knowledge.”
“What do you suppose it is?”
“I don’t know. An observation might be made from here, seeing that this part of the country is unaffected, if it were not for the raging storm. But it would be suicidal to go up in an electroplane just now.”
“If I thought there were anything to be learned, I’d go up,” said Roger, “danger or no danger.”
“I mentioned it only as a possibility,” replied the professor. “The probability is, that if you did learn anything, it would be of no material value, even if you were to be so extremely fortunate as to get back alive with it.”
“Nevertheless,” replied Roger, “I’m going up, just on the strength of that possibility.”
“Don’t be an utter fool,” warned the professor, but Roger was already calling Bevans.
“Have the Blettendorf 800 ready in five minutes,” he said. “I’ll be up in a jiffy.”
He dressed rapidly while the professor remonstrated with him.
“No use,” said Roger, “I’m going.”
“Very well,” replied the professor. “If you must go I’ll go with you. Perhaps the two of us can bring back some information of value—if we get back.”
They took the elevator to the top, stepped out on the roof, and battled their way through the driving rain, in which there was beginning to be a hint of sleet, to the electroplane. Eight men held it, just outside the hangar, while Bevans, in the pilot’s seat, tested the motor.
The two men entered and took their seats. Then Roger gave the order to ascend. Came a roar from the helicopter blades, and they were off.
As they rose above the skyscrapers of Chicago, their craft tossing and careening like a leaf in a gale, Roger took two parcels from beneath the seat, one of which he handed to the professor.
“Folding parachutes,” he said. “Bevans is wearing one. Watch how I strap mine on, and do likewise. We may need them.”
The wind swept them out over Lake Michigan—then they plunged into a swirling, blinding snowstorm, and everything below, even the powerful guide-lights of Chicago’s great landing fields, vanished.
With propeller and helicopter blades roaring, Bevans drove the plane higher and higher, until they at length emerged above the seething, moon-silvered clouds.
“No green moonlight here,” said the professor.
“But look—look to the southeast!” exclaimed Roger.
The professor looked, and saw a green band of light, wide at the bottom, but narrowing as it extended upward straight toward the gibbous moon.
“The moon looks green from Washington,” said the professor, “because the inhabitants had to look through the green lights to see it.”
Roger shouted an order through the speaking tube.
“Hover.”
As the big plane, now riding in comparatively calm air, hung smoothly suspended by its helicopter blades, he turned a pair of powerful binoculars on the moon. He focused them, looked for a moment longer, then handed them to the professor.
“It’s coming from the ring-mountain, Copernicus,” he said. “Looks as if a beam from an enormous green searchlight were coming directly from the center of the crater.”
“So it is,” said the professor, after a careful scrutiny. “From the very center of the crater.”
Then, before he had lowered the glasses, the green light winked out. So sudden was the transformation, and so calm and natural did the moon appear, that it seemed to both observers that the thing had not really been—that it was a figment of their imaginations.
Came a call from Bevans:
“Three strange craft on the starboard quarter, sir. They seem to be coming this way.”
The professor trained the binoculars in the direction indicated.
“My word, what odd looking craft,” he exclaimed. “They are globular in form—globes, to each of which two whirling discs are attached.”
“An International Patrol Plane is coming from the port quarter,” called Bevans. “It’s signaling the three strange craft, but they do not respond. They are running without lights.”
“Ascend,” called Roger, “and turn off all lights.”
There was an answering roar as the Blettendorf shot upward.