Astounding Stories of Super-Science 17

Astounding Stories of Super-Science 17

"Quickly!" I threw at the aged couple. "Let us get out of here! Now! At

once!" They needed no second urging. I knew that they felt as I felt:

the laboratory was a sepulcher!

 

Five minutes later I was guiding my car over the narrow road to town. I

did not pause until I drew up at police headquarters. I suppose my

appearance was distraught, for I was ushered into the presence of the

chief without delay. In a few moments I had poured out my story. He

listened with a polite calmness I found almost maddening. Leaning back

in his chair, he reviewed, audibly, the facts.

 

"Some twenty-odd years ago your friend, Professor Wroxton, married. He

was so absorbed in the pursuit of some weird invention that he neglected

his bride. She ran away with another man. This man deserted her, and

disappeared. The professor found her many months later, in desperate

health. Shortly afterwards she died. Your friend tried to trail the man,

but failed. Shocked and saddened beyond measure, he retired to a place

known as The Grange."

 

* * * * *

 

He suddenly straightened up in his seat, and pointed at me a thick

forefinger.

 

"How long have you known Professor Wroxton?"

 

"About ten years," I answered.

 

"What was he trying to invent?"

 

"I don't know," I replied.

 

"And yet you had his confidence in other matters?"

 

"But what has all this to do with finding out what has become of my

friend?" I blurted out. "Perhaps every moment counts."

 

"A lot." The chief eyed me in a way I did not like. "Solely because your

friend has not been seen by his servants for nearly twenty-four hours,

merely because you saw what you believe to be his diamond in some kind

of a glass compartment in his laboratory, you come here as distraught as

a man who has something terrible on his mind. Why?"

 

"I can't say." I shifted uneasily under that direct stare. "Somehow I

_feel_ that something dreadful has happened to my friend."

 

"We do not go by _feelings_." The chief got to his feet. "But you have

told me enough to warrant action. I want you to guide me and a couple of

men to this house. Please wait here until I return." He left the room.

 

Sitting there awaiting his return, I tried to ponder the matter

reasonably. After all, perhaps the chief was right. Merely because the

professor had been absent for a few hours and I had seen what I thought

to be his diamond in the laboratory, I had worked myself into a perfect

fever of anxiety. I almost smiled to myself. In that businesslike office

the whole affair did seem absurd. After all the professor did not have

to answer to his servants for his actions.

 

Heavy footsteps, announcing the chief's return, caused me to rise to my

feet. A few minutes later, in company with the three officers, I was

driving again towards The Grange.

 

* * * * *

 

We made the return journey in almost complete silence. Occasionally the

chief would shoot a question at me; but, the night air cooling my

fevered brain, my replies were guarded. He realized that fact, for I

felt his eyes upon me all the way. What was going on behind that broad

forehead, I wondered.

 

Then we reached The Grange. As we mounted the steps, John, his wife

herding behind him, flung wide the door. He answered the question in my

eyes with a negative shake of his head, and the words, "Nothing fresh,

sir."

 

The chief eyed him keenly, then curtly bade him lead the way to the

laboratory. John hung back, his face blanched. "I can't, sir," he

faltered. The chief turned to me, and, although I wanted to follow

John's example, although the atmosphere of the house had again filled me

with an unshakable dread, I led the way, standing back at the door to

allow the officers to enter first.

 

With calculating gaze the chief slowly took in every detail of the stone

apartment. He turned to me.

 

"What is there here to be afraid of?" I pointed hesitatingly towards the

crystalline cage. The chief and his men strode across to it.

 

"You don't know how to open this?" the chief shot at me after a brief

examination.

 

"No," I replied. "It was not here on my last visit."

 

"When was that?"

 

"Some two or three months ago", I answered. "My work occasions much

traveling on my part."

 

* * * * *

 

The chief and his men turned again to the cage, talking in undertones.

He turned again to me.

 

"You notice that this thing is built in sections. One of them must be

movable. Perhaps--" He paused as his eyes fell upon some wires and tubes

that trailed across the floor from underneath the cage to a switchboard

fastened to the wall.

 

"Perhaps," he repeated, "it is worked from that board." He crossed over,

stared thoughtfully at the shining levers for some seconds, and moved

one slightly. The result was astounding. All four of us stared with

unbelieving eyes as slowly, without the faintest sound, a section of one

wall slid inwards, as if guided by invisible tracks on floor and

ceiling.

 

"Guess that's enough for now." With the words the chief backed away,

almost timidly, I thought, from the switchboard, and walked to the cage.

For a moment he hesitated, but he entered, and emerged with the

sparkling object in his hand.

 

"It's the professor's," I choked, crowding close to him.

 

"How'd you know?" he shot back. "All unset stones look pretty much

alike."

 

"I just know," was all I could falter.

 

"You 'just know'." The chief sat down on a stool and regarded me

searchingly. "Mr. Thornton, when I started out with you, I thought I was

on a wild goose chase or the trail of a confession. You looked exactly

like a man who had either committed a serious crime, or was getting over

a bad drunk. I feel sure now"--he again regarded the diamond--"that your

story was not the product of an alcohol-crazed brain. Come on!" He

lurched to his feet, and grasped me by the shoulder. "Come through!"

 

* * * * *

 

Without answering, I wrenched myself free. Over my shoulder I saw one of

the policemen at the door. In the hand of the other a revolver suddenly

appeared. Good God! I glared in bewilderment from one to another. Was I

going mad? Surely this was some awful nightmare! What had I said to make

them suspect me of having committed a revolting crime?

 

"Sit down!" The command came from the chief. Mechanically I found a

stool, and obeyed him. "Hold your stations, boys, and listen carefully,"

he ordered his men. Then he turned to me.

 

"Professor Wroxton was a wealthy man without kith or kin?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Do you know the nature of his will?"

 

"Yes." Chilled to the heart, I felt the circumstantial net tightening.

 

"What is its nature?"

 

"This house and an annuity to John and his wife," I explained. "The

residue of his wealth to me."

 

"Humph!" The chief stared at me piercingly. "And how has business been

with you lately?"

 

Damn the man! What right had he to put me through the third degree? I

felt my state of dazed horror slowly giving way to anger. I glanced

around. The pistol still menaced; the man at the door had not moved. It

was useless to try and evade the questions.

 

"For the past year," I replied, "business has been very poor. In fact,

the professor advanced me some money."

 

"Humph!" Again that irritating, non-committal grunt.

 

* * * * *

 

The chief turned in his seat and stared thoughtfully at the crystalline

cage.

 

"And you don't know what the professor was trying to invent?"

 

"Only its nature," I began.

 

"Ah! That's better. Why didn't you tell me that before?" The chief

leaned forward.

 

"Well," I explained, "the whole thing seems so absurd. When the

professor told me how his married life had been broken up, he told me

that at that time he reached the utmost depths of human suffering.

Absolute zero, he called it."

 

"Ah!"

 

"The experiments he indulged in," I continued, trying to hide the shiver

pimpling my flesh, "were to produce an actual state of absolute zero. It

is years since he told me this. I had almost forgotten it."

 

"And exactly what is an absolute zero?" The chief's eyes never left

mine.

 

"Well," I protested, "please understand that I also am a layman in these

matters. According to my friend, an absolute zero has been the dream of

scientists for ages. Once upon a time it was attained, but the secret

became lost."

 

"And exactly what is an absolute zero?"

 

Curse the man! I could have struck him down for the chilling level of

his tone. I forced myself to go on, realizing that I was damning myself

at every step.

 

"An absolute zero is a cold so intense it will destroy flesh, bone and

tissue. Remove them," my voice rose in spite of myself, "leaving

absolutely no trace."

 

* * * * *

 

No trace! Something attracted my eyes. The chief had opened his hand.

The diamond there flashed and sparkled as if mocking me. I pulled myself

together, and went on.

 

"It all comes back to me now. One day I came out here and found the

professor terribly distraught. He told me that, with the aid of electric

currents he had been able to invent the absolute zero, but he could not

invent a _container_."

 

"Why?" Those eyes continued to bore into mine.

 

"Because--remember it is years since he told me this--there was

difficulty in controlling the power. Besides destroying living things,

it would destroy bricks and mortar, stone and iron. Only one substance

it could not wipe out--crystalline of diamond hardness.

 

"I know, now!" I jumped to my feet and grabbed the chief's arm. "I know

now what he meant. Fool, fool! Why did I not think of it before? This--"

I swung towards the cage--"is compensation." Almost panting in my

eagerness I went on:

 

"My friend told me that the law of compensation would atone to him for

the tragedy of his youth. Absolute zero in suffering would be atoned for

by a real state of absolute zero. Chief!" I whirled on him. "Don't you

understand? This is the perfected dream of my friend. It is the absolute

zero."

 

"Humph! Plausible but not convincing." I slumped back at the officer's

words. "That does not explain the professor's disappearance. Even if it

did, what about Mr. Lathom? And don't forget this contrivance is worked

from outside. We found the diamond inside. Of course, he might have

placed it there himself to test the machine," he concluded.

 

"Of course, that's it," I commenced. But I regretted the words when I

saw suspicion flicker again in the chief's eyes. Lamely I finished, "And

he has probably rushed off, in an ecstasy of triumph, to acquaint

professional colleagues."

 

"Without unlocking any doors or taking a car, eh?

 

"Mr. Thornton." The chief stood up and regarded me sternly. "As a

sensible man, don't you think yourself that your story is a bit thin?

The professor has disappeared. Here is a strange-looking case which you

say is an absolute zero container. Whether you know, or are just jumping

at conclusions, remains to be proved. But even if it is, do you think

that, after perfecting such a tremendous invention, the professor would

commit suicide?"

 

"On the contrary," I gasped, "my friend was a man of gentle, kindly

disposition, but strong purpose. I should think his first action on

attaining his life's ambition would be to notify me, his closest

friend."

 

"And he didn't." Every word condemned me, and roused me to retaliate.

 

"Chief, I know enough of the law to know that, before you can try a man

for murder, you must prove that murder has been committed." I grinned

savagely. "You must have the corpus delicti. Go ahead! Find my friend or

his remains, or else withdraw your charges." I grinned again, with

shocked mirthlessness.

 

* * * * *

 

Then I buried my head in my hands. I had called in the police to help

find the professor, and they had only blundered around and asked a lot

of stupid questions. The chief had practically accused me of

murder--something I knew he could not prove, yet feared he might.

Because I had told the chief of the locked doors and unused cars, he had

confined his investigations to the house itself.

 

He interrupted my thoughts.

 

"Mr. Thornton, I am going back to town. You will remain here with my

men. I advise you to get some sleep, as I shall not be able to carry out

certain investigations until the morning. One of my men will spend his

time searching the house and patrolling the grounds, the other one will

stay here with you."

 

He turned away, whispered some instructions to his men, and, followed by

one of them, silently left the laboratory. I started to protest, tried

to follow him; the man at the door stopped me. Silently, almost grimly,

he indicated a narrow cot at one end of the room. For a moment I

hesitated, feeling the man's eyes upon me.

 

Sleep on my dead--I felt sure he was dead--friend's cot! Sleep in that

fearful place! My whole being crawled with horror. I turned again to the

man. His features were unyielding. Perhaps this was more third degree.

Limp with weakness and weariness, I dragged my lagging feet towards the

cot.

 

* * * * *

 

As long as I live I shall never forget my awakening. A uniformed figure,

the chief, shaking me by the shoulder. Two other uniformed men silently

watching. I sat up and gazed about me, dazedly. Bright sunlight streamed

through the windows. A stray gleam struck the cage. I shrank back,

trembling. And yet I had slept soundly.

 

"Mr. Thornton," the chief said, "I have serious news for you. I have

positive proof your friend is dead."

 

"Dear God!" The exclamation was wrung from me as recollection returned

with a rush. "Where? You can't have!"

 

"Here." He thrust a bundle of letters into my hands. "You acted so

strangely last night you caused me to suspect you of a serious crime.

Also, you overlooked several important points. You got back from a trip

only last night."

 

Last night! Surely it was years.

 

"You had left instructions to have your mail forwarded," the level voice

went on. "These letters were evidently one day behind you. I picked them

up at your rooms this morning. I took the liberty of opening them. Read

this one." He selected it.

 

* * * * *

 

With trembling fingers I extracted from the envelope a single written

page. I recognized the handwriting as the professor's. I read with

feverish intensity, each single word burning itself into my

consciousness:

 

Dear Thornton:

 

I am writing this in anticipation. I will see that it is mailed

when my plans are completed. Too late, dear friend, for you to

attempt, with the best intentions in the world, to frustrate them.

 

You will, perhaps, recall that many years ago, when I gave you my

full confidence, I told you that I felt sure that the law of

compensation would atone in some measure for my loss. Thornton, old

friend, I believe that, in more ways than one, my hour has arrived.

Two days ago I completed the absolute zero. But even better!

 

A man called here to-day. Although he did not recognize me, I saw

through the veneer of added years with ease. Fate, call it what you

will, my visitor is the man who wrecked my happiness.

 

Under pretext I shall detain him. I shall induce him to enter the

crystalline cage. I have already arranged a dual control which the

power will destroy when I apply it from _the inside of the cage_.

 

Please destroy the cage. It will have brought compensation to me

before you read this.

 

Good-by, dear friend!

 

Wroxton.

 

"I apologize, Mr. Thornton." The chief offered a hand which I clutched

in mingled sorrow and relief. The world had lost a genius. I had lost a

dear friend. But he was right. It was compensation.

 

 

 

 

Tanks

 

_By Murray Leinster_

 

... The deciding battle of the War of 1932 was the first in which

the use of infantry was practically discontinued ...

 

--History of the U.S., 1920-1945 (Gregg-Harley).

 

 

[Illustration: _Row after row of the monsters roared by, going greedily

with hungry guns into battle._]

 

[Sidenote: Two miles of American front had gone dead. And on two lone

infantrymen, lost in the menace of the fog-gas and the tanks, depended

the outcome of the war of 1932.]

 

 

The persistent, oily smell of fog-gas was everywhere, even in the little

pill-box. Outside, all the world was blotted out by the thick gray mist

that went rolling slowly across country with the breeze. The noises that

came through it were curiously muted--fog-gas mutes all noises

somewhat--but somewhere to the right artillery was pounding something

with H E shell, and there were those little spitting under-current

explosions that told of tanks in action. To the right there was a

distant rolling of machine-gun fire. In between was an utter, solemn

silence.

 

Sergeant Coffee, disreputable to look at and disrespectful of mien, was

sprawling over one of the gunners' seats and talking into a field

telephone while mud dripped from him. Corporal Wallis, equally muddy and

still more disreputable, was painstakingly manufacturing one complete

cigarette from the pinched-out butts of four others. Both were

rifle-infantry. Neither had any right or reason to be occupying a

definitely machine-gun-section post. The fact that the machine-gun crew

was all dead did not seem to make much difference to sector H.Q. at the

other end of the telephone wire, judging from the questions that were

being asked.

 

"I tell you," drawled Sergeant Coffee, "they're dead.... Yeah, all dead.

Just as dead as when I told you the firs' time, maybe even deader....

Gas, o'course. I don't know what kind.... Yeh. They got their masks

on."

 

He waited, looking speculatively at the cigarette Corporal Wallis had in

manufacture. It began to look imposing. Corporal Wallis regarded it

affectionately. Sergeant Coffee put his hand over the mouthpiece, and looked intently at his companion.