Astounding Stories of Super-Science 13

Astounding Stories of Super-Science 13

I lay down on the floor by the window. Out in the office building

hallway I heard heavy footsteps come running. One of the night watchmen

had evidently heard the glass crashed.

 

I laughed. I pressed the switch at my wrist....

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XI

 

_The Fight on the Tower Balcony_

 

 

The sensations swept me again. The room faded. Whether the watchmen came

in to see a ghost of me lying there on the floor I did not know, nor did

I care. I whirled into the shadows. And came in a moment out of the

black silence. The office room was gone. I seemed to have fallen or

floated down--how far I do not know. A triumph swept me. I was lying on

another floor. I could see a doorway materializing. I was not upon the

balcony as I had calculated, but within the tower room. New walls sprang

around me.

 

I did not heed it, this time, the sensation, of the transition. I was

too alert to what new situation might come upon me. The tower room. I

could see it. I could see its oval windows close at hand. The doorway to

its balcony. Sounds flooded me, mingled with the humming within me.

Familiar sounds. The crowd shouting. And a single voice--the voice of

Rohbar. Vague and blurred, but as I materialized it became clearer.

 

I was suddenly aware that there was a man beside me. One of the palace

soldiers. He saw me materialize. He leaped backward in horror. I flung

my switch. I was on my feet, swaying, and then I leaped upon him. My

dirk plunged downward into his chest.

 

The thing made me shudder. I reeled with the sickness of it, but as he

fell I clung to the dirk and ripped it out of him. It was dripping with

his blood.

 

I stood trembling. The small tower room had no other occupants. I turned

toward the door. I could see a patch of stars, paling with the coming

dawn. I crouched in the small doorway which gave onto the balcony,

staring, swiftly calculating. The scene had scarcely changed. But, some

of the soldiers had left the entrance platform, gone, no doubt, into the

castle on their way upstairs to seize Derek.

 

On this upper balcony, no more than ten feet before me, Rohbar still

stood gripping Hope. She was in front of him. His back was to me. A

sudden jump, and I could plunge my dagger into his back.

 

Rohbar was shouting, "King Leonto is dead. If you should want me to

succeed him, I will take this girl Hope for my queen. You all love

her...."

 

I was tense to spring. Then out in the balcony, to one side, I saw

Sensua crouching. Her crimson robe fell away to bare her white limbs.

Her hand fumbled in her robe. She had been Rohbar's dupe, and now she

knew it. Her knife was in her hand. Frenzied with jealousy and rage she

sprang upon Rohbar's back, trying to stab at Hope.

 

Perhaps he sensed her coming, heard her; or perhaps she was unskilful.

Her knife only grazed Hope's shoulder. He released Hope. He roared. He

turned and gripped his murderous assailant. A second or two while I

stood watching. He caught Sensua's wrist, twisted the knife from it and

plunged the knife into her breast. She sank with a scream at his feet,

and as he straightened he saw me.

 

But I had leaped. I was upon him. His own knife had remained in Sensua's

breast. As I raised mine in my leap, he caught at my wrist; twisted it,

but I flung the knife away before he could get it. The knife fell over

the balcony rail. The weight of my hurtling body flung him backward, but

the rail caught him. His arms went around me. Powerful arms, crushing

me. I gripped at his throat.

 

There was an instant when I thought that we would both topple over the

railing. I felt Hope beside us. I heard her scream. We did not go over

the rail, for Rohbar lurched and flung us back. We dropped to the

balcony floor, rolling, locked together. He was far stronger and

heavier than I. He came uppermost. He lunged and broke my hold upon his

throat, but I was agile: I squirmed from under him. I almost regained my

feet. He got up on one knee. He was trying to draw his sword. Then again

I bore into him, kicking and tearing. He roared like a bull. And

ignoring my plucking fingers, my flailing fists, he lunged to his feet

with me gripping again at his throat.

 

His huge height swung me off the ground. I was aware that he had drawn

his sword, but I was too close for him to use it. He swayed drunkenly

with my weight; he was confused. I felt the rail behind us. We lunged

again into it. Again I heard Hope scream in terror, and saw her leap at

us. Rohbar stooped, trying to clutch the low rail. His bending down

brought my feet to the balcony floor. With a last despairing effort I

shoved him backward. And as he toppled at the rail, I fought to break

his hold upon me. I felt us going and then I felt Hope reach me. Her

arms flung about my waist. Her hold tore me loose. Rohbar's huge body

fell away....

 

For an instant Rohbar seemed balanced upon the rail; then he went over.

He gave a last long, agonized scream as he fell. I did not look down. I

crouched by the rail. The crowd in the garden; Derek standing on the

other balcony; the soldiers who now had appeared behind him--all were

silent, and in the silence I heard the horrible thud of Rohbar's body as

it struck....

 

I clung to Hope for an instant, and she shuddered against me. The scene

broke again into chaos. I cast Hope away and leaped up. I stood at the

balcony rail. My arms went up and gestured to Derek. Amazement was on

his face, but he answered my gesture. Behind him the soldiers who had

come to seize him were standing in a group, stricken at this new

tragedy.

 

Derek swung on them. He was not powerless now! "Away with you!"

 

His cylinder menaced them, and they fell back in terror before him.

 

He darted past them and disappeared into the castle.

 

I felt Hope plucking at me. "I want to talk to the people."

 

She stood beside me, leaning over the rail. Gentle little figure.

Familiar figure to them all. Their beloved Hope. Her voice rang out

clearly through the hush.

 

"My people, we all want our beloved Alexandre--he has come back to us.

He is our rightful king."

 

"King Alexandre! Long live King Alexandre!"

 

Derek in a moment appeared behind us. "My God, Charlie, I can't

understand--"

 

I told him how I had done it. He gripped me. "I'll never be able to

repay you for this!"

 

I pushed him forward and he joined Hope at the rail. Held her, and her

arms went around his neck as she returned his kisses. The crowd gaped,

then cheered.

 

I shouted, "Hope will be your queen--The reign of the crimson nobles is

at an end!"

 

The wild cheering of the people, in which now the castle guards were

joining, surged up to mingle with my words.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XII

 

_One Tumultuous Night_

 

 

I come now with very little more to record.

 

I returned to my own world. And Derek stayed in his. Each to his own;

one may rail at this allotted portion--but he does not lightly give it

up.

 

The scientists who have examined the mechanism with which I returned

very naturally are skeptical of me. Derek feared a further communication

between his world, and mine. He smiled his quiet smile.

 

"Your modern world is very aggressive, Charlie. I would not want to

chance having my mechanism duplicated--a conquering army coming in

here."

 

And so he adjusted the apparatus to carry me back and then go dead. I

have wires and electrodes to show in support of my narrative. But since

they will not operate I cannot blame my hearers for smiling in derision.

 

Yet there is some contributing evidence. Derek Mason has vanished. A

watchman in an office building near Battery Park reports that at dawn of

that June morning he heard splintering glass. He found the office door

with its broken panel, and the ax lying on the hall floor. He even

thinks he saw a ghost stretched out by the window. But he is laughed at

for saying it.

 

And there is still another circumstance. If you will trouble to examine

the newspaper files of that time, you will find an occurrence headed

"Inexplicable Tragedy at Battery Park." You will read that near dawn

that morning, the bodies of three men in crimson cloaks came hurtling

down through the air and fell in the street near where several taxis

were parked. Strange, unidentified men. Of extraordinary aspect. The

flesh burned, perhaps. All three were dead; the bodies were mangled by

falling some considerable height.

 

An inexplicable tragedy. Why should anyone believe that they were the

three crimson nobles whom Derek attacked with his strange ray?

 

I am only Charles Wilson, clerk in a Wall Street brokerage office. If

you met me, you would find me a very average, prosaic sort of fellow.

You would never think that deeds of daring were in my line at all. Yet I

have lived this one strange tumultuous night, and I shall always cherish

the memory.

 

 

 

 

The Stolen Mind

 

By M. L. Staley

 

[Illustration: _The structure, pivoting downward, plunged Quest to his

waist in the osmotic solution._]

 

[Sidenote: What would you do, if, like Quest, you were tricked, and your

very Mind and Will stolen from your body?]

 

 

"What caused you to answer our advertisement?" Owen Quest felt the steel

of the quick gray eyes that jabbed like gimlets across the office table.

 

"Why does any man apply for a job?" he bristled.

 

Keane Clason gave an impatient smile.

 

"Come!" he said. "I'm not trying to snare you. But there were unusual

features to my ad, and they were put there to attract an unusual type of

man. To judge your qualifications, I must know just why this proposition

appeals to you."

 

"I can tell you that," nodded Quest, "but there's nothing unusual about

it. In the first place, I knew that the Clason Research Corporation is

the leading concern of its kind in the country. In the second place,

this seemed to offer a way to obtain a substantial sum of money

quickly."

 

"Good," said Clason. "And you feel that you have all the necessary

qualifications?"

 

"Decidedly. I am 24 years old, athletic, and of an earnest and

determined nature. Moreover, I have no family ties, and I'm willing to

run any reasonable risk in order to improve the condition of my fellow

men."

 

Clason smiled his approval.

 

"You say you need money. How much immediately?"

 

Quest was unprepared for the question.

 

"A thousand dollars," he ventured.

 

Without hesitation Clason counted out ten one-hundred-dollar notes from

his wallet and laid them on the table.

 

"There's your advance fee. You're ready to go to work immediately, I

hope?"

 

"Certainly," stammered Quest.

 

Stunned by the swiftness of the transaction, he sat staring at the money

that lay untouched before him.

 

To accept it would be like signing an unread contract. But he had asked

for it; to refuse it was impossible. Even to delay about picking it up

might arouse Clason's suspicion. Already the latter had turned away and

was opening the door of a steel cabinet. Quest had one second in which

to reach a decision.... He crammed the currency into his pocket.

 

* * * * *

 

With delicate care Clason set two objects on the table. One looked to

Quest like a miniature broadcasting tower or a mooring mast for lighter

than air craft. The other was a circular vat of some black material,

probably carbon. Within it a series of concentric tissues were suspended

from metal rings, and in a trough outside ranged four stoppered flasks

containing liquids of as many different colors.

 

"Look at these models carefully," said Clason. "They represent two of

the most remarkable discoveries of all time. The one on your left is the

most _de_structive weapon known to man. The other I consider the most

_con_structive discovery in the history of science. It may even lead to

an understanding of the nature of life, and of the future of the spirit

after death.

 

"Both of these were developed by my brother Philip and me together--but

we have disagreed about the use to which they shall be put.

 

"Philip"--the inventor dropped his voice to a whisper--"wants to sell

the secret of the Death Projector--the tower, there--as an instrument of

war. If I should permit him to do that, it might lead to the destruction

of whole nations!"

 

"How?" demanded Quest "I've heard of a device called the Death Ray. Is

this it?"

 

"No, no," said Clason contemptuously. "Even in a perfected state the Ray

would be a child's toy compared to the Projector. This is based on our

discovery that invisible light rays of a certain wave-length, if highly

concentrated, destroy life--and our additional discovery that if these

are synchronized with short radio waves the effect is absolutely

devastating.

 

"We obtain the desired concentration of invisible light by using a

tellurium current-filter under the influence of alternate flashes of red

and blue light. The projector can literally blanket vast areas with

death, up to a top range of at least five hundred miles.

 

"Just picture to yourself what this means! In a space of ten minutes two

men can lay down a circle of destruction a thousand miles in diameter;

or they can cut a swath five hundred miles long in any desired

direction."

 

* * * * *

 

"Have you ever proved it?" demanded Quest skeptically.

 

"Yes, young man, we have," snapped Clason. "Right here in the

laboratory--but on a minute scale, of course. However, there's no time

to demonstrate now. The point is that my brother is determined to sell

if he can obtain his price for the invention. He argues that instead of

bringing disaster upon the world, this machine will forever discourage

war by making it too terrible for any civilized nation to consider. In

spite of my opposition he has opened negotiations with an ambitious

Balkan power. He may actually close the sale at any moment!

 

"However," Clason drew a deep breath "you see this other device? Simple

as it appears, it is the key to the whole situation. We can use it--you

and I--to overcome Philip's will and prevent this unthinkable

transaction. The two of us can do it. Alone I would be virtually

helpless."

 

"Why not have the Projector confiscated or destroyed by our own

Government?" suggested Quest. "That seems to me the only safe and sure

way out of the difficulty."

 

"You simply do not understand," frowned Clason impatiently. "Philip is

selling the plans and descriptions of the machine, not the machine

itself. Even if this model and the larger test machine that we have

built were destroyed--even if I were willing to have Philip sent to

Leavenworth for life--he could still sell the Projector.

 

"But this other invention, our Osmotic Liberator, makes it possible for

me to gain control of Philip and actually _change his mind_, through the

medium of an agent. I have hired you to act as my Agent, Quest, because

I can see that you are a young man of unusual character and vitality.

And by way of reward I can promise you both money and a brilliant

future."

 

* * * * *

 

The inventor poised in a tense attitude on the edge of his chair as

though his body were charged with electricity. His eyes seemed to dart

out emanations that set Quest's blood to tingling. Then for a moment the

latter lost consciousness of his physical self. It was as though he had

opened a door and found himself suddenly on the brink of a new and

totally strange world. He dispelled this fancy by a quick effort of the

will, for he knew that he had a delicate problem on his hands and that

it must be solved within a very few minutes. However he proceeded, he

must act without disloyalty to his Government, and at the same time

without injustice to Keane Clason.

 

"Tell me," he said in a husky voice, "how do you intend to use me? I do

not believe in Spiritualism. I would be a poor medium."

 

Clason gave a short laugh.

 

"You are not to be a medium in that sense at all. Spiritualism as

practiced is just a blind sort of groping and hoping. Osmotic

Liberation, on the other hand, is an exact and opposite physico-chemical

science. Here--I will show you."

 

Into the outer cell of the Liberator he emptied the purple vial, and so

on to the innermost, which he filled with a golden-green liquid like old

Chartreuse.

 

"The separating membranes, you understand, are permeable by these

complicated solutions. Each liquid has a different osmotic pressure and

therefore should, under normal conditions, interchange with the others

through the membranes until all pressures are equalized. I prevent such

interchange, however, by maintaining an anti-electrolysis which retards

ionization and thus builds up what might be called osmotic potential.

 

* * * * *

 

"Now if an Agent--yourself for instance--submerges himself in the

central cell, at the same time maintaining a physical contact with his

Control at the surface of the liquid, and if then the osmotic potential

is suddenly released by throwing the electrolytic switch, the host of

ions thus turned loose in the outer compartments make one grand rush for

the center solution, which contains the cathode.

 

"Under these conditions your body becomes a sort of sixth cell, and your

skin another membrane in the series. Properly speaking, however, you are

not a part of the electrolytic circuit but are merely present in the

action. Your body acts as a catalyser, hastening the chemical action

without itself being affected in any way. Physically you undergo no

change whatever; but in some strange way which is, like life, beyond

analysis, your mind flows out into the solution, while your unaltered

body remains at the bottom of the tank in a state of suspended

animation.

 

"If no Control is present, all that is needed to return your mind into

your body is a throw of the electrolytic switch back to negative,

whereupon you emerge from the tank exactly as you entered it. But with

your Control present and in contact with your submerged body, your mind,

instead of remaining suspended in the solution, flows instantly into his

body and resides there subject to his will.

 

"This can not be done, however, unless the wills of Control and Agent

have first been brought into accord. To accomplish that, we clasp

hands"--Quest grasped Clason's extended hand--"and look steadily into

each other's eyes.

 

"Now, it is well known that the vibrations of an individual's will are

as distinctive as the sworls of his finger-prints. What is not so well

known is that the frequency of vibration in one person can be brought into accord with that in another.