By Jackson Gee
big hole in the machine."
[Sidenote: Sealed and vigilantly guarded was "Drayle's Invention,
1932"----for it was a scientific achievement beyond which man dared
not go.]
Rays of the August mid-day sun pouring through the museum's glass roof
beat upon the eight soldiers surrounding the central exhibit, which
for thirty years has been under constant guard. Even the present
sweltering heat failed to lessen the men's careful observation of the
visitors who, from time to time, strolled listlessly about the room.
The object of all this solicitude scarcely seemed to require it. A
great up-ended rectangle of polished steel some six feet square by ten
or a dozen feet in height, standing in the center of Machinery Hall,
it suggested nothing sinister or priceless. Two peculiarities,
however, marked it as unusual--the concealment of its mechanism and
the brevity of its title. For while the remainder of the exhibits
located around it varied in the simplicity or complexity of their
design, they were alike in the openness of their construction and
detailed explanation of plan and purpose. The great steel box,
however, bore merely two words and a date: "Drayle's Invention,
1932."
It was, nevertheless, toward this exhibit that a pleasant appearing
white-haired old gentleman and a small boy were slowly walking when a
change of guard occurred. The new men took their posts without words
while the relieved detail turned down a long corridor that for a
moment echoed with the clatter of hobnailed boots on stone. Then all
was surprisingly still. Even the boy was impressed into reluctant
silence as he viewed the uniformed men, though not for long.
* * * * *
"What's that, what's that, what's that?" he demanded presently with
shrill imperiousness. "Grandfather, what's that?" An excited arm
indicated the exhibit with its soldier guard.
"If you can keep still long enough," replied the old gentleman
patiently, "I'll tell you."
And with due regard for rheumatic limbs he slowly settled himself on a
bench and folded his hands over the top of an ebony cane preparatory
to answering the youngster's question. His inquisitor, however, was,
at the moment, being hauled from beneath a brass railing by the
sergeant of the watch.
"You'll have to keep an eye on him, sir," said the man reproachfully.
"He was going to try his knife on the wood-work when I caught him."
"Thank you, Sergeant. I'll do my best--but the younger generation, you
know."
"Sit still, if possible!" he directed the squirming boy. "If not,
we'll start home now."
The non-com took a new post within easy reaching distance of the
disturber and attempted to glare impressively.
"Go on, grandfather, tell me. What's D-r-a-y-l-e? What's in the box?
Can't they open it? What are the soldiers for? Must they stay here?
Why?"
"Drayle," said the old man, breaking through the barrage of questions,
"was a close friend of mine a good many years ago."
"How many, grandfather? Fifty? As much as fifty? Did father know him?
Is father fifty?"
"Forty; no; yes; no," said the harassed relative; and then with
amazing ignorance inquired: "Do you really care to hear or do you just
ask questions to exercise your tongue?"
"I want to hear the story, grandpa. Tell me the story. Is it a nice
story? Has it got bears in it? Polar bears? I saw a polar bear
yesterday. He was white. Are polar bears always white? Tell me the
story, grandpa."
* * * * *
The old man turned appealing eyes toward the sergeant. Tacitly a
sympathetic understanding was established. The warrior also was a
father, and off the field of battle he had known defeat.
"Leave me handle him, sir," he suggested. "I've the like of him at
home."
"I'd be very much indebted to you if you would."
Thus encouraged, the soldier produced from an inner pocket and offered
one of those childhood sweets known as an "all day sucker."
"See if you can choke yourself on that," he challenged.
The clamor ceased immediately.
"It always works, sir," explained the man of resource. "The missus
says as how it'll ruin their indigestions, but I'm all for peace even
if I am in the army."
Now that his vocal organs were temporarily plugged, the child waved a
demanding arm in the direction of the main exhibit to indicate a
desire for the resumption of the narrative. But the ancient was not
anxious to disturb so soon the benign and acceptable silence. In fact
it was not until he observed the sergeant's look of inquiry that he
began once more.
"That box," he said slowly, "is both a monument and a milestone on the
road to mankind's progress in mechanical invention. It marks the point
beyond which Drayle's contemporaries believed it was unsafe to go: for
they felt that inventions such as his would add to the complexities
of life, and that if a halt were not made our own machines would
ultimately destroy us.
"I did not, still do not, believe it. And I know Drayle's spirit broke
when the authorities sealed his last work in that box and released him
upon parole to abandon his experiments."
As the speaker sighed in regretful reminiscence, the sergeant glanced
at his men. Apparently all was well: the only visible menace lolled
within easy arm's reach, swinging his short legs and sucking noisily
on his candy. Nevertheless the non-com shifted to a slightly better
tactical position as he awaited the continuance of the tale.
* * * * *
"Christopher Drayle," said the elderly gentleman, "was the greatest
man I have ever known, as well as the finest. Forty years or more ago
we were close friends. Our homes on Long Island adjoined and I handled
most of his legal affairs. He was about forty-five or six then, but
already famous.
"His rediscovery of the ancient process of tempering copper had made
him one of the wealthiest men in the land and enabled him to devote
his time to scientific research. Electricity and chemistry were his
specialties, and at the period of which I speak he was deeply
engrossed in problems of radio transmission.
"But he had many interests and not infrequently visited our local
country club for an afternoon of golf. Sometimes I played around the
course with him and afterward, over a drink, we would talk. His
favorite topic was the contribution of science to human welfare. And
even though I could not always follow him when he grew enthusiastic
about some new theory I was always puzzled.
"It was at such a time, when we had been discussing the new and first
successful attempt to send moving pictures by radio, that I mentioned
the prophecy of Jackson Gee. Gee was the writer of fantastic,
pseudo-scientific tales who had said: 'We shall soon be able to
resolve human beings into their constituent elements, transmit them by
radio to any desired point and reassemble them at the other end. We
shall do this by means of vibrations. We are just beginning to learn
that vibrations are the key to the fundamental process of all life.'
* * * * *
"I laughed as I quoted this to Drayle, for it seemed to me the ravings
of a lunatic. But Drayle did not smile. 'Jackson Gee,' he said, 'is
nearer to the truth than he imagines. We already know the elements
that make the human body, and we can put them together in their proper
proportions and arrangements: but we have not been able to introduce
the vitalizing spark, the key vibrations to start it going. We can
reproduce the human machine, but we can not make it move. We can
destroy life in the laboratory, and we can prolong it, but so far we
have not been able to create it. Yet I tell you in all seriousness
that that time will come; that time will come.'
"I was surprised at his earnestness and would have questioned him
further. But a boy appeared just then with a message that Drayle was
wanted at the telephone.
"Something important, sir," he said. Drayle went off to answer the
summons and later he sent word that he had been called away and would
not be able to return.
"It was the last I heard from Drayle for months. He shut himself in
his laboratory and saw no one but his assistants, Ward of Boston, and
Buchannon of Washington. He even slept in the workshop and had his
food sent in.
"Ordinarily I would not have been excluded, for I had his confidence
to an unusual degree and I had often watched him work. I admired the
deft movements of his hands. He had the certain touch and style of a
master. But during that period he admitted only his aids.
* * * * *
"Consequently I felt little hope of reaching him one morning when it
was necessary to have his signature to some legal documents. Yet the
urgency of the case led me to go to his home on the chance that I
might be able to get him long enough for the business that concerned
us. Luck was with me, for he sent out word that he would see me in a
few minutes. I remember seating myself in the office that opened off
his laboratory and wondering what was beyond the door that separated
us. I had witnessed some incredible performances in the adjoining
room.
"At last Drayle came in. He looked worried and careworn. There were
new lines in his face and blue half-circles of fatigue beneath his
eyes. It was evident that it was long since he had slept. He
apologized for having kept me waiting and then, without examining the
papers I offered, he signed his name nervously in the proper spaces.
When I gathered the sheets together he turned abruptly toward the
laboratory, but at the door he paused and smiled.
"'Give my respects to Jackson Gee,' he said."
* * * * *
"Who's Jackson Gee? Does father know him? Has he any polar bears?
Aren't you going to tell me about that?"
The tidal wave of questions almost overwhelmed the historian and his
auditor. But the military, fortunately, was equal to the emergency.
With a tactical turn of his hand he thrust the remnant of the lollypop
between the chattering jaws and spoke with sharp rapidity.
"Listen," he commanded, "that there, what you got, is a magic candy,
and if you go on exposing it to the air after it is once in your mouth
it's likely to disappear, just like that." And the speed of the
translation was illustrated by a smart snapping of the fingers.
Doubt shone in the juvenile terror's eyes and the earlier generations
waited fearfully while skepticism and greed waged their recurrent
conflict. For a time it seemed as if the veteran had blundered; but
finally greed triumphed and a temporary peace ensued.
"Where was I?" inquired the interrupted narrator when the issue of
battle was settled.
"You was talking about Jackson Gee," answered the guardsman in a
cautiously low tone.
"So I was, so I was," the old gentleman agreed somewhat vaguely,
nodding his head. He gazed at the sergeant with mingled awe and
admiration. "I suppose it's quite useless to mention it," he said
rather wistfully, "but if you ever get out of the army and should want
a job.... You could name your own salary, you know?" The question
ended on an appealing note.
Evidently the soldier understood the digression, for he replied in a
tone that would brook no dispute. "No, sir, I couldn't consider it."
"I was afraid so," said the other regretfully, and added, with
apparent irrelevance, "I have to live with him, you see."
"Tough luck," commiserated the listener.
Reluctantly summoning his thoughts from the pleasant contemplation of
what had seemed to offer a new era of peace, the bard turned to his
story.
* * * * *
"A few hours later," he continued, "I had a telephone call from
Drayle's wife, and I realized from the fright in her voice that
something dreadful had happened. She asked me to come to the house at
once. Chris had been hurt. But she disconnected before I could ask for
details. I started immediately and I wondered as I drove what disaster
had overtaken him. Anything, it seemed to me, might have befallen in
that room of miracles. But I was not prepared to find that Drayle had
been shot and wounded.
"The police were before me and already questioning the assailant, Mrs.
Farrel, a fiery tempered young Irish-woman. When I entered the room
she was repeating half-hysterically her explanation that Drayle had
killed her husband in the laboratory that morning.
"'Right before my eyes, I seen it,' she shouted. 'Harry was standing
on a sort of platform looking at a big machine like, and so help me he
didn't have a stitch of clothes on, and I started to say something,
but all at once there came a terrible sort of screech and a flash like
lightnin' kinda, in front of him. Then Harry turns into a sort of
thick smoke and I can see right through him like he was a ghost; and
then the smoke gets sucked into a big hole in the machine and I know
Harry's dead. And here's this man what done it, just a standin' there,
grinnin' horrid. So something comes over me all at once and I points
Harry's gun at him and pulls the trigger!'
"Even before the woman had finished I recalled what I seen one
afternoon in Drayle's laboratory many months before. I had been there
for some time watching him when he placed a small tumbler on a work
table and asked me if I had ever seen glass shattered by the
vibrations of a violin. I told him that I had, but he went through the
demonstration as if to satisfy himself. Of course when he drew a bow
across the instrument's strings and produced the proper pitch the
goblet cracked into pieces exactly as might have been expected. And I
wondered why Drayle concerned himself with so childish an experiment
before I noticed that he appeared to have forgotten me completely.
* * * * *
"I endeavored then not to disturb him, and I remember trying to draw
myself out of his way and feeling that something momentous was about
to take place. Yet actually I believe it would have required a
considerable commotion to have distracted his attention, for his
ability to concentrate was one of the characteristics of his genius.
"I saw him place another glass on the table and I noticed then that
it stood directly in front of a complicated mechanism. At first this
gave out a low humming sound, but it soon rose to an unearthly whining
shriek. I shrank from it involuntarily and a second later I was amazed
at the sight of the glass, seemingly reduced to a thin vapor, being
drawn into a funnel-like opening near the top of the device. I was too
startled to speak and could only watch as Drayle started the
contrivance again. Once more its noise cut through me with physical
pain. I cried out. But my voice was overwhelmed by the terrific din of
the mysterious machine.
"Then Drayle strode down the long room to another intricate mass of
wire coils and plates and lamps. And I saw a dim glow appear in two of
the bulbs and heard a noise like the crackling of paper. Drayle made
some adjustments, and presently I observed a peculiar shimmering of
the air above a horizontal metal grid. It reminded me of heat waves
rising from a summer street, until I saw the vibrations were taking a
definite pattern; and that the pattern was that of the glass I had
seen dissolved into air. At first the image made me think of a picture
formed by a series of horizontal lines close together but broken at
various points in such fashion as to create the appearance of a line
by the very continuity of the fractures. But as I watched, the plasma
became substance. The air ceased to quiver and I was appalled to see
Drayle pick up the tumbler and carry it to a scale on which he weighed
it with infinite exactness. If he had approached me with it at that
moment I would have fled in terror.
* * * * *
"Next, Drayle filled the goblet with some liquid which immediately
afterward he measured in a beaker. The result seemed to please him,
for he smiled happily. At the same instant he became aware of my
presence. He looked surprised and then a trifle disconcerted. I could
see that he was embarrassed by the knowledge that I had witnessed so
much, and after a second or two he asked my silence. I agreed at
once, not only because he requested it but because I couldn't believe
the evidence myself. He let me out then and locked the door.
"It was this recollection that made me credit the woman's story. But I
was sick with dread, for in spite of my faith in Drayle's genius I
feared he had gone mad.
"Mrs. Drayle had listened to Mrs. Farrel's account calmly enough, but
I could see the fear in her eyes when she signaled a wish to speak to
me alone. I followed her into an adjoining room, leaving Mrs. Farrel
with the two policemen and the doctor, who was trying to quiet her.
"As soon as the door closed after us Mrs. Drayle seized my hands.
"'Tim,' she whispered, 'I'm horribly afraid that what the woman says
is true. Chris has told me of some wonderful things he was planning to
do, but I never expected he would experiment on human beings. Can they
send him to prison?'
"Of course I said what I could to comfort her and tried to make my
voice sound convincing. At the time the legal aspect of the matter did
not worry me so much as the fear that the attack on Drayle might prove
fatal. For even if it should develop that he was not dangerously hurt,
I imagined that the interruption of the experiment at a critical
moment might easily have ruined whatever slim chance there had been of
success. For us the nerve-wracking part was that we could do nothing
until the surgeon who was attending Drayle could tell us how badly he
was injured.
* * * * *
"At last word came that the bullet had only grazed Drayle's head and
stunned him, but that he might remain unconscious for some time. Mrs.
Drayle went in and sat at her husband's side, while I returned to the
laboratory and found the police greatly bewildered as to whether they
ought to arrest Drayle.
"They had discovered in a closet an outfit of men's clothing that Mrs.
Farrel identified as her husband's, and, although they saw no other
trace of the missing man, they had a desire to lock up somebody as an
evidence of their activity. It took considerable persuasion to prevail
upon them to withhold their hands. There was no such difficulty about
restraining them in the laboratory. They were afraid to touch any
apparatus, and they gave the invention a ludicrously wide berth.
"I never knew exactly how long it was that I paced about the lower
floor of Drayle's home before the doctor summoned me and announced
that the patient wanted me, but that I must be careful not to excite
him. I have often wondered how many physicians would have to abandon
their profession if they were deprived of that phrase. 'You must not
excite the patient.'
"Drayle was already excited when I entered. In fact, he was furious at
the doctor's efforts to restrain him. But I realized that my fear for
his reason was groundless. His remarks were lucid and forceful as he
raged at the interference with his work. As soon as he saw me he
appealed for assistance.
"'Make them let me alone. Tim,' he begged, as his wife and the doctor,
partly by force and partly by persuasion, endeavored to hold him in
bed. 'I must get back to the laboratory. That woman believes that I've
killed her husband, and my assistant will think that we've failed.'
* * * * *
"I was about to argue with him when suddenly he managed to thrust the
doctor aside and start toward the door. His seriousness impressed me
so that I gave him a supporting arm and together we headed down the
hall, with Mrs. Drayle and the doctor following anxiously in the rear.
The laboratory was deserted and locked when we arrived. The police
evidently felt it was too uncanny an atmosphere for a prolonged wait.
Drayle opened the door, went directly to his machine, and examined it
minutely.
"'Thank the Lord that woman hit only me!' he said, and sank into a
chair. Then he asked for some brandy. Mrs. Drayle rushed off and
reappeared in a minute with a decanter and glass. Drayle helped
himself to a swallow that brought color to his cheeks and new strength
to his limbs. Immediately after he turned again to the machine. I
dragged up a chair, assisted him into it, and seated myself close by.
"I knew little enough about mechanics, but I was fascinated by the
numerous gauges that faced me on the gleaming instrument board. There
were dials with needlelike hands that registered various numbers;
spots of color appeared in narrow slots close to a solar spectrum: a
stream of graph-paper tape flowed slowly beneath a tracing-pen point
and carried away a jiggly thin line of purple ink. In a moment Drayle
was oblivious of everything but his records. I watched him copy the
indicated figures, surround them with formulas, and solve mysterious
problems with a slide-rule.
"His calculations covered a large sheet before he had finished. At
last he underscored three intricate combinations of letters and
figures and carried the answers to his private radio apparatus. This
operated on a wave length far outside the range of all others and
insured him against interference. With it he was able to speak at any
time with his assistants in Washington or Boston or with both at once.
He threw the switch that sent his call into the air. An answer came
instantly, and Drayle begin to talk to his distant lieutenants.
* * * * *
"'We've been interrupted, gentlemen,' he said, 'but I think we may
continue now. We'll reassemble in the Boston laboratory. Have you
arranged the elements? The coefficients are....' And he gave a
succession of decimals.
"A voice replied that all was ready. Drayle said 'Excellent,' went
back to his invention and twisted a black knob on the board before
him.
"With this trifling movement all hell seemed to crash about us. The
ghastly cacophony that I had experienced in the same room some months
previously was as nothing. These stupendous waves of sound pounded us
until it seemed as if we must disintegrate beneath them. Wails and
screams engulfed us. Mrs. Drayle dropped to her knees beside her
husband. The doctor seized my arm and I saw the knuckles of his hand
turn white with the pressure of his grip, yet I felt nothing but the
awful vibrations that drummed like riveting machines upon and through
my nerves and body. It was not an attack upon the ears alone; it
crashed upon the heart, beat upon the chest so that breathing seemed
impossible. My brain throbbed under the terrific pulsations. For a
while I imagined the human system could not endure the ordeal and that
all of us must be annihilated.
"Except for his slow turning of the dials Drayle was motionless before
the machine. Below the bandage about his forehead I could see his
features drawn with anxiety. He had wagered a human life to test his
theory and I think the enormity of it had not struck him until that
moment.
"What I knew and hoped enabled me to imagine what was taking place in
the Boston laboratory. I seemed to see man's elementary dust and
vapors whirled from great containers upward into a stratum of
shimmering air and gradually assume the outlines of a human form that
became first opaque, then solid, and then a sentient being. At the
same instant I was conscious that the appalling pandemonium had ceased
and that the voice of Drayle's Boston assistant was on the radio.
* * * * *
"'Congratulations, Chief! His reassemblage is perfect. There's not a
flaw anywhere.' "'Splendid,' Drayle answered. 'Bring him here by
plane right away; his wife is worried about him.'
"Then Drayle turned to me.
"'You see,' he said, 'Jackson Gee was right. We have resolved man into
his constituent elements, transmitted his key vibrations by radio, and
reassembled him from a supply of identical elements at the other end.
And now, if you will assure that woman that her husband is safe, I
will get some sleep. You will have the proof before you in less than
three hours.'
"I can't vouch for the doctor's feelings, but as Drayle left us I was
satisfied that everything was as it should be, and that I had just
witnessed the greatest scientific achievement of all time. I did not
foresee, nor did Drayle, the results of an error or deliberate
disobedience on the part of one of his assistants.
"We waited, the doctor and I, for the arrival of the man who, we were
convinced, had been transported some three hundred miles in a manner
that defied belief. The evidence would come, Drayle had said, in a few
hours. Long before they had elapsed we were starting at the sound of
every passing motor, for we knew that a plane must land some distance
from the house and that the travelers would make the last mile or so
by car.
"Mrs. Drayle endeavored to convince the imagined widow that her
husband was safe and was returning speedily. Later she rejoined us,
full of questions that we answered in a comforting blind faith. The
time limit was drawing to a close when the sound of an automobile horn
was quickly followed by a sharp knock on the laboratory door. At a
sign from Mrs. Drayle one of the policemen opened it and we saw two
men before us. One, a scholarly appearing, bespectacled youth, I
recognized as Drayle's Boston assistant, Ward; the other, a rather
burly individual, was a stranger to me. But there was no doubt he was
the man we awaited so eagerly, for Mrs. Farrel screamed 'Harry!
Harry!' and sped across the room towards him.
* * * * *
"At first she ran her fingers rather timidly over his face, and then
pinched his huge shoulders, as if to assure herself of his reality.
The sense of touch must have satisfied her, for abruptly she kissed
him, flung her arms about him, clung to him, and crooned little
endearments. The big man, in turn, patted her cheeks awkwardly and
mumbled in a convincingly natural voice, ''Sall right, Mary, old kid!
There ain't nothin' to it. Yeah! Sure it's me!'
"Then I was conscious of Drayle's presence. A brown silk dressing gown
fell shapelessly about his spare frame and smoke from his cigarette
rose in a quivering blue-white stream. Ward spied him at the same
moment and stepped forward with quick outstretched hands. I remember
the flame of adoring zeal in the youngster's eyes as he tried to
speak. At length he managed to stammer some congratulatory phrases
while Drayle clapped him affectionately on the back.
"Then Drayle turned to Farrel to ask him how he enjoyed the trip.
Farrel grinned and said, 'Fine! It was like a dream, sir! First I'm in
one place and then I'm in another and I don't know nothing about how I
got there. But I could do with a drink, sir. I ain't used to them
airyplanes much.'
"Drayle accepted the hint and suggested that we all celebrate. He gave
instructions over a desk telephone and almost immediately a man
entered with a small service wagon containing a wide assortment of
liquors and glasses. When we had all been served, Ward asked somewhat
hesitantly if he might propose a toast. 'To Dr. Drayle, the greatest
scientist of all time!'
* * * * *
"We were of course, already somewhat drunk with excitement as we
lifted our glasses. But Drayle would not have it.
"'Let me amend that,' he said. 'Let us drink to the future of
science.'
"'Sure!' said Farrel, very promptly. I think he was somewhat uncertain
about 'toast,' but he clung hopefully to the word 'drink.'
"We had raised our glasses again when Drayle, who was facing the door,
dropped his. It struck the floor with a little crash and the liquor
spattered my ankles. Drayle whispered 'Great God!' I saw in the
doorway another Farrel. He was grimy, disheveled, his clothing was
torn, and his expression ugly; but his identity with 'Harry' was
unescapable. For an instant I suspected Drayle of trickery, of
perpetrating some fiendishly elaborate hoax. And then I heard Mrs.
Farrel scream, heard the newcomer cry, 'Mary,' and saw two men staring
at each other in bewilderment.
"The explanation burst upon me with a horrible suddenness. Farrel had
been reconstructed in each of Drayle's distant laboratories, and there
stood before us two identities each equally authentic, each the legal
husband of the woman who, a few hours previously, had imagined herself
a widow. The situation was fantastic, nightmarish, unbelievable and
undeniable. My head reeled with the fearful possibilities.
"Drayle was the first to recover his poise. He opened a door leading
into an adjoining room and motioned for us all to enter. That is, all
but the police. He left them wisely with their liquor. 'Finish it,' he
advised them. 'You see no one has been killed.'
* * * * *
"They were not quite satisfied, but neither were they certain what
they ought to do, and for once displayed common sense by doing
nothing. When the door closed after us I saw that Buchannon, the
Washington laboratory assistant, was with us. He must have arrived
with the second Farrel, although I had not observed him during the
confusion attending the former's unexpected appearance. But Drayle had
noted him and now seized his shoulders. 'Explain!' he demanded.
"Buchannon's face went white and he shrank under the clutch of
Drayle's fingers. Beyond them I saw the two twinlike men standing
beside Mrs. Farrel, surveying each other with incredulous recognition
and distaste.
"'Explain!' roared Drayle, and tightened his grasp.
"'I thought you said Washington, Chief.' His voice was not convincing.
I didn't believe him, nor did Drayle.
"'You lie!' he raged, and floored the man with his fist.
"In a way I couldn't help feeling sorry for the chap. It must have
been a frightful temptation to participate in the experiment and I
suppose he had not forseen the consequences. But I began to have a
glimmering of the magnificent possibilities of the invention for
purposes far beyond Drayle's intent. For, I asked myself, why, if such
a machine could produce two human identities, why not a score, a
hundred, a thousand? The best of the race could be multiplied
indefinitely and man could make man at last, literally out of the dust
of the earth. The virtue of instantaneous transmission which had been
Drayle's aim sank into insignificance beside it. I fancied a race of
supermen thus created. And I still believe, Sergeant, that the chance
for the world's greatest happiness is sealed within that box you
guard. But its first fruits were tragic."
The historian shifted his position on the bench so as to escape the
sun that was now reflected dazzlingly by the polished steel casket.
* * * * *
"Drayle did not glance again at his disobedient lieutenant. He was
concerned with the problem of the extra man, or, I should say, an
extra man, for both were equal. Never before in the history of the
world had two men been absolutely identical. They were, of course, one
in thought, possessions and rights, physical attributes and
appearance. Mrs. Farrel, as they were beginning to realize, was the
wife of both. And I have an unworthy suspicion that the red-headed
young woman, after she recovered from the shock, was not entirely
displeased. The two men, however, finding that each had an arm about
her waist, were regarding each other in a way that foretold trouble.
Both spoke at the same time and in the same words.
"'Take your hands off my wife!'
"And I think they would have attacked each other then if Drayle hadn't
intervened. He said, 'Sit down! All of you!' in so peremptory a voice
that we obeyed him.
"'Now,' he went on, 'pay attention to me. I think you realize the
situation. The question is, what we shall do about it?' He pointed an
accusing finger at the Farrel from Washington. 'You were not
authorized to exist; properly we should retransmit you, and without
reassembling you would simply cease to be.'
"The man addressed looked terrified. 'It would be murder!' he
protested.
"'Would it?' Drayle inquired of me.
"I told him that it could not be proved inasmuch as there would be no
_corpus delicti_ and hence nothing on which to base a charge.
"But the Washington Farrel seemed to have more than an academic
interest in the question and grew obstinate.
"'Nothing doing!' he announced emphatically. 'Here I am and here I
stay. I started from this place this morning and now I'm back, and as
for that big ape over there I don't know nothing about him--except
he'll be dead damn soon if he don't keep away from my wife.'
* * * * *
"The other Drayle-made man leaped up at this, and again I expected
violence. But Buchannon flung himself between, and they subsided,
muttering.
"'Very well, then,' Drayle continued, when the room was quiet, 'here
is another solution. We can, as you realize, duplicate Mrs. Farrel,
and I will double your present possessions.'
"This time it was Mrs. Farrel who was dissatisfied. 'You ain't
talking to me,' she informed Drayle. 'Me stand naked in front of all
them lamps and get turned into smoke? Not me!' A smile spread over her
face and her eyes twinkled with deviltry. 'I didn't never think I'd be
in one of them triangles like in the movies, and with my own husbands,
but seein' I am, I'm all for keeping them both. Then I might know
where one of them was some of the time.'
"But neither of the men took to this idea and the problem appeared
increasingly complex. I proposed that the survivor be determined by
lot, but this suggestion won no support from anyone. Again the two men
spoke at the same instant and in the same words. It was like a
carefully rehearsed chorus. 'I know my rights, and I ain't going to be
gypped out of them!'
"It was at this point that Drayle attempted bribery. He offered fifty
thousand dollars to the man who would abandon Mrs. Farrel. But this
scheme fell through because both men sought the opportunity and Mrs.
Farrel objected volubly.
"So in the end Drayle promised each of them the same amount as a price
for silence and left the matter of their relationships to their own
settlement.
* * * * *
"I was skeptical of the success of the plan but could offer nothing
better. So I drew up a release as legally binding as I knew how to
make it in a case without precedent. I remember thinking that if the
matter ever came into court the judge would be as much at a loss as I
was.
"Our troubles, though, didn't spring from that source. Each of the
three parties accepted the arrangement eagerly and Drayle dismissed
them with a hand-shake, a wish for luck and a check for fifty thousand
dollars each. It's very nice to be wealthy, you know.
"Afterward, we went out and paid off the police. Perhaps that's
stating it too bluntly. I mean that Drayle thanked them for their
zealous attention to his interests, regretted that they had been
unnecessarily inconvenienced and treated that they would not take
amiss a small token of his appreciation of their devotion to duty.
Then he shook hands with them both and I believe I saw a yellow bill
transferred on each occasion. At any rate the officers saluted smartly
and left.
"Of course I was impatient to question Drayle, but I could see that he
was desperately fatigued. So I departed.
"Next morning I found my worst fears exceeded by the events of the
night. The three Farrels who had left us in apparently amiable spirits
had proceeded to the home of Mrs. and the original Mr. Farrel. There
the argument of who was to leave had been resumed. Both men were, of
course, of the same mind. Whether both desired to stay or flee I would
not presume to say. But an acrimonious dispute led to physical
hostilities, and while Mrs. Farrel, according to accounts, cheered
them on, they literally fought to the death. Being equally capable,
there was naturally, barring interruption, no other possible outcome.
I can well believe they employed the same tactics, swung the same
blows, and died at the same instant.
"Mrs. Farrel, after carefully retrieving both of her husbands' checks,
told a great deal of the story. As might be expected, nobody believed
the yarn except our profound federal law makers. They welcomed an
opportunity to investigate an outsider for a change and had all of us
before a committee.
"Finally the Congress of these United States of America, plus the
sagacious Supreme Court, decided that my client wasn't guilty of
anything, but that he mustn't do it again. At least that was the gist
of it. I recollect that I offered a defense of psycopathic
neuroticism.
"As a result of the _obiter dictum_ and a resolution by both Houses
Assembled Drayle's invention was sealed, dated and placed under guard.
That's its history, Sergeant."
* * * * *
The white-haired old gentleman picked up the high silk hat that added
a final touch of distinction to his tall figure, and looked about him
as if trying to recall something. At last the idea came.
"By the way," he inquired suddenly, "didn't I have an extraordinarily
obnoxious grandson with me when I came?"
The attentive auditor was vastly startled. He surveyed the great hall
rapidly, but reflected before he answered.
"No, sir--I mean he ain't no more'n average! But I reckon we'd better
find him, anyhow."
His glance had satisfied the sergeant that at least the object of his
charge was safe and his men still vigilant. "I'll be back in a
minute," he informed them. "Don't let nothin' happen."
"Bring us something more'n a breath," pleaded the corporal,
disrespectfully.
The sergeant had already set off at a brisk pace with the story
teller. For several minutes as they rushed from room to room the hunt
was unrewarded.
"I think, sir," said the sergeant, "we'd better look in the natural
history division. There is stuffed animals in there that the kids is
fond of."
"You're probably right," the patriarch gasped as he struggled to
maintain the gait set by the younger man. "I might have known he
didn't really want to hear the story."
"They never do," answered the other over his shoulder. "I'll bet
that's him down there on the next floor."
* * * * *
The two searchers had emerged upon a wide gallery that commanded a
clear view of the main entrance where various specimens of American
fauna were mounted in intriguing replicas of their native habitat.
The guard pointed an accusing finger at one of these groups and sprang
toward the stairs.
The old gentleman's breath and strength were gone. He could only gaze
in the direction that had been indicated by the madly running guard;
but he had no doubts. A small boy was certainly digging vigorously at
the head of a specimen of _Ursus Polaris_ that the curator had
represented in the dramatic pose of killing a seal. A protesting wail
arose from below as the young naturalist was withdrawn from his field
by a capable hand on the slack of his trousers. And presently,
chagrined with failure, the culprit was before his grandsire.
"Gee!" he complained, "I was only looking at the polar bear. Are polar
bears always white? Are--"
"You'd better take him away, sir," interrupted the sergeant. "He was
trying to pry out one of the bear's eyes with the stick of the
lollypop I give him. Take him."
The old gentleman extended both hands. His left found a grip in his
grandson's coat collar; his right, partly concealing a government
engraving, met the guard's with a clasp of gratitude.
"Sergeant," he remarked in a voice tense with feeling, "a half-hour
ago I expressed some ridiculous regrets that Drayle's invention had
been kept from the world. Now I realize its horrid menace. I shudder
to think it might have been responsible for two like him!"
The object of disapproval was shaken indicatively.
"Guard the secret well, Sergeant! Guard it well! The world's peace
depends upon you!" The old gentleman's words trembled with conviction.
Then alternately shaking his head and his grandson he marched down the
hallway, ebony cane tapping angrily upon the stone.
As the exhausted but happy warrior retraced his steps a high-pitched
voice floated after him.
"Grandpa, are polar bears _always_ white?"
* * * * *
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Astounding Stories
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_The Invisible X-Flyers_
The following is a semi-technical description of the
operation of the invisible X-flyers used in "Jetta of the
Lowlands" as compiled by Philip Grant in the year 2021 from
official records of the Anti-War Department of the United
States of North America, and discovered recently by Ray
Cummings.
The attainment of mechanical invisibility reached a state of
perfection in the year 2000 sufficient to make it practical
for many uses. For a century this result had been sought. It
came, about the year 2000, not as a single startling
discovery, but as the culmination of the patient labor of
many men during many years. The popular mind has always
considered that science advances by a series of "great
scientific discoveries"; "unprecedented"; "revolutionary."
That is not so. Each step in the progress of scientific
achievement is built most carefully upon the one beneath it.
And generally the "revolutionary, unprecedented discovery"
has very little of itself that is new; rather it is a new
combination of older, perhaps seemingly impractical
knowledge. Every scientific theory, every device, is the
offspring from a large and varied family tree of many
scientific ancestors, each of whom in his day was a
remarkable personage.
Thus it is, with the principles of mechanical invisibility.
I deal here with the famous X-flyers. The operation of the
plane itself is immaterial; its motors; its wing-spread
surfaces; its aerial controls. I am concerned only with the
scientific principles underlying its power of invisibility.
Three scientific factors are involved: First, the process
known as de-electroniration; second, the theories of color
absorption; third, the material, inevitable deflection
(bending) of light rays when passing through a magnetic
field.
I take each of the three in order. The forerunners of
de-electroniration were the Martel effects--the experiments
of Charles Martel, in Paris, in 1937. A new electric
current, of a different character--now called the
oscillating current as distinct from the alternating and
direct--was developed. Metallic plates were
electro-magnetized to produce an enveloping magnetic field
of somewhat a different character from any field formerly
known.
Dr. Norton Grenfell followed this in 1946 by using the
Martel oscillating current to obtain a reverse effect. A
similar disturbance of electrode balance. But not a
surcharge. An exhaustion. An anti-electrical state, instead
of a state of magnetism. A metallic mass so treated--and
with a constant flow of oscillating current holding its
subnormal electronic balance--was then said to be
de-electronired.
Scientific "discoveries" are largely made by the trial and
error system. The scientist takes what he finds. Generally
he does not know, at first, what it means. Martell took his
oscillating current and "discovered" the Martel Magnetic
Levitation, whereby gravity was lessened, and then
completely nullified. Grenfell, with his de-electroniration,
increased the power of gravity. The two were combined by
Grenfell and his associates--and the secret of
interplanetary flight was at hand.
But there was a host of other workers not interested in
space flyers; they probed in other directions. It was found
that the subnormal magnetic field surrounding a metallic
substance in a state of de-electroniration had two unusual
properties: its color absorption was high; and it bent light
rays from their normal straight path into a curve abnormally
great. Yet, though it absorbed the color of the rays
emanating from the de-electronired metal (the metal itself
increasing this result), the magnetic field, while bending
the rays passing through it from distant objects behind it,
nevertheless left their color and all their inherent
properties unchanged.
The principles of color absorption are these:--a pigment--a
paint, a dye, if you will--is "red" because it absorbs from
the light rays of the sun all the other colors and leaves
only red to be reflected from it to the eye. Or "violet"
because all the rest are absorbed, and the violet is
reflected. Or "black" because all are absorbed; and "white"
the reverse, all blended and reflected. Color is dependent
upon vibratory motion. The solar spectrum--its range of
visibility through the primary colors from red to
violet--can be likened to a range of radio wave-lengths;
vibration frequencies; and when we eliminate them all save
the "violet"--that is what we have left, in the radio to
hear, in color absorption to see.
Thus, a de-electronired metal was found to produce black.
Not black as habitually we meet it--a "shiny" black, a
"dull" black; but a true black--a real absence of light-ray
reflection--a "nothingness to see"; in effect, an
invisibility.
A word of explanation is necessary regarding the other
property of the de-electronired field--the bending of
distant light rays into a curve, yet leaving their spectrum
unchanged. It was Albert Einstein who first made the
statement--in the years following the turn of the century at
1900--that it was a normal, natural thing for a ray of light
to be slightly deflected from its straight path when passing
through a magnetic field. The claim caused world-wide
interest, for upon its truth or falsity the whole fabric of
the Einstein Theory of Relativity was woven.
An eclipse of the sun in the 1920's established that light
is actually bent in the manner Einstein had calculated. A
magnetic field surrounds the sun. In those days they did
not know that it is a field of subnormal electronic
balance--in effect, the result of de-electroniration. It was
found, nevertheless, that stars close to the limb of the sun
appeared, not in their true positions, but shifted in just
the directions and with the amount of shift Einstein
predicted. The light rays coming from them to the eye of the
observer on Earth were curved in passing so close to the
sun. But the color-bands of their spectrums were unaltered.
And some of the stars actually were behind the sun, yet
because of the curved path of the light, were visible. I
mention this because it is an important aspect of the
subject of mechanical invisibility.
With the foregoing factors, the secret of mechanical
invisibility is constructed. Gracely, an American--following
a long series of world-wide experiments, tests of current
strength, frequencies of oscillation, suitable metals, etc.,
which I cannot detail here--in 1955 was the final developer
of the mechanisms subsequently used in the X-flyers.
Gracely produced what he christened "aluminoid-spectrite"--a
light-weight alloy which, when carrying an oscillating
electronic current of the proper frequency, produced the
effects I have described. It absorbed from the light rays
coming from the metal, all the colors of the solar spectrum,
well beyond the range of the human eye at both ends of the
scale. The result was a "visible nothingness."
A moment's thought will make clear that term. A visible
nothingness is not invisibility. The fact that something was
there but could not be seen was obvious. A black hat with a
light on it and placed against an average background is
almost as easy to see as a white hat. Gracely's first crude
experiments were made with an aluminoid-spectrite cube--a
small brick a foot in each dimension. The cube glowed,
turned, dark, then black, then was gone. He had it resting
on a white table, with a white background. And the fact that
the cube was still there, was perfectly obvious. It was as
though a hole of nothingness were set against the white
table. It outlined the cube; reconstructed it so that for
practical purposes the eye saw not a white, aluminoid brick,
but a dead black one.
And this is very much what a man sees when he stares at his
black hat on a table. The hat occults its background, and
thus reconstructs itself.
But when Gracely determined the proper vibrations of his
oscillating current to coincide with all the other material
factors he was using, the final result was before him-real
invisibility. He used a patterned background--a
symmetrically checkered surface, most difficult of all. The
light rays coming from this background passed through the
magnetic field surrounding the invisible colorless cube, and
were bent into a curved path. But their own
color-spectrum--in actuality the color, shape, all the
visible characteristics of the background--was not greatly
altered. The observer saw what actually was behind the
invisible cube: the checkered background, sometimes
slightly distorted, but nevertheless sufficiently clear for
its abnormality to escape notice. Thus the cube's outlines
were not reconstructed; and, in effect, it had vanished.
In practical workings with the X-flyers, no such difficult
test as Gracely's cube and rectangular, symmetrically
patterned background is ever met. The varying background
behind a plane--at rest or flying, and particularly at
night--demands less perfection of background than Gracely's
laboratory conditions. I am informed that an X-flyer can
vaguely be seen--or sensed, rather--from some angles and
under certain and unfavorable conditions of light, and
depending on its line of movement relative to the angle of
observation, and the type and color-lighting of its
background. But under most conditions it represents a very
nearly perfect mechanical invisibility.
There is one aspect of the subject with which I may close
this brief paper. I give it without technical explanation;
it seems to me an amusing angle.
The theory of stereoscopics--the vision of the twin lenses
of the human eyes, set a distance apart to give the
perception of depth, of the third dimension--is in itself a
subject tremendously interesting, and worthy of anyone's
study. I have no space for it here, nor would it be strictly
relevant. I need only state that a two-eyed man sees
partially around an object (by virtue of the different
angles from which each of his eyes gaze at it) and thus sees
a trifle more of the background than would otherwise be the
case. And this--these two viewpoints blended in his
brain--gives him his perception of "depth," of
"solidity"--the difference between a real scene of three
dimensions and a painted scene on a canvas of two dimensions
with only the artist's skill in perspective to simulate the
third.
And I cannot refrain from mentioning that in Government
tests of the Anti-War Department to determine the perfection
of the invisibility of the X-flyers, it was a one-eyed man
who proved that they were not always totally invisible!--Ray
Cummings.
_Thank You_
Dear Editor:
I just want you to know this: I am a reader of your truly
named Astounding Stories. I really enjoyed reading the
"Spawn of the Stars," also "Brigands of the Moon," and I am
very glad to hear that we are going to have another of
Charles W. Diffin's stories in the next issue--"The Moon
Master."--J. R. Penner, 376 Woodlawn Ave, Buffalo N. Y.
_"A Wiz"_
Dear Editor:
I am only a young girl sixteen years of age but am greatly
interested in science. I have no master mind by any means,
but have worked out many a difficult problem in school for
my science prof.
Your magazine is a wiz. I haven't missed an instalment
since it started. Give us more stories like "Monsters of
Moyen," and "The Beetle Horde."--Josephine Frankhouser, 4949
Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
_"Pretty Good"_
Dear Editor:
I received Astounding Stories for May and it is pretty good.
The next issue is number six, and I hope it is better than
the previous ones. There have been some stories that do not
belong in a Science Fiction magazine, such as: "The Cave of
Horror," "The Corpse on the Grating," "The Soul Master," and
"The Man who was Dead." There is also another story that was
printed in the May issue that, so far as I think, does not
belong in this magazine: that is, "Murder Madness."
Even all the other stories seem to be fantastic. Weird. Why
not try to publish something on the H. G. Wells, E. R.
Burroughs type of stories, also Ray Cummings' "The Man who
Mastered Time," or "The Time Machine," by Wells?--Louis
Wentzler, 1933 Woodbine St., Brooklyn, N. Y.
_From Ye Reader_
Dear Ye Ed.:
That sounds rather medieval a little for the editor of so
novel a magazine, but nevertheless let's forget that and
talk about some astounding stories.
First, I would suggest that you eliminate all stories of
interplanetary travel (I would be different), as there are
already several magazines on the market which deal almost
exclusively with such stories. Now, tales like "The Beetle
Horde," and those written by Murray Leinster, and those
concerning that Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Bird, and those about
the deep sea, like "Into the Ocean's Depths,"--such stories
are astounding, and good. And once in a while let's have a
humorous story. You know: "A bit of humor now and then--"
Well, anyhow, publish any kind of astounding story, just so
it is different and does not deal with interplanetary
travel.
Now, about the magazine. I think it is a good publication
and I like it werra, werra mooch. I bought it on impulse and
happened to be lucky enough to get the first issue, and nary
an issue have I missed since. Although I possess an abject
horror of any kind of insect, I enjoyed "The Beetle Horde"
to the fullest extent. But here's hoping nothing like that
will really happen.
Another thing I'd like to state is this: Some reader made a
remark about not publishing any of Verne's works. I say you
should. Why should any such great author be disregarded in
so good a magazine? And is it not interesting to note that
some of his stories have become actual realizations? Even
Poe's should be published. All those dead authors whose
stories would be considered good were they living. Why
should any person ask not to have such good stories in your
magazine? Perhaps there are some people who would enjoy
them, but do not have the means nor time to buy these great
works in book form. Think it over, ye Ed., think it over.
And now, to finish up, I'll say: are there any readers like
me--a girl--or do only men and boys read Astounding
Stories?--Gertrude Hemken, 5730 So. Ashland Ave., Chicago,
Ill.
_Short--and Sweet_
Dear Editor:
Congratulations! Have followed up every issue of Astounding
Stories and have found them the best yet. I have one fault
to find and that is you do not publish Astounding Stories
often enough. Thirty days is too far between.--Bernard
Bauer, 235 Holland St., Syracuse, N. Y.
_Yes Sir!_
Dear Editor:
I read Astounding Stories all the time, although I'm just a
boy. I think they're O. K. They give me a great "kick."
I think "The Moon Master" was the best story I ever read.
Please ask Mr. Diffin to write more like it.
But then all the stories are really peppy.--Jack Hudson, St.
Mark's School, Southborough, Massachusetts.
_"Undoubtedly the Best"_
Dear Editor:
Your magazine is undoubtedly the best Science Fiction "mag"
on the stands. Why? Because of your authors. There is not
another Science Fiction book on the stands that has stories
by Victor Rousseau, Murray Leinster Ray Cummings, A. T.
Locke, A. J. Burks, C. W. Diffin, S. W. Ellis and many
others.
Some of your readers want stories by Dr. David H. Keller, Ed
Earl Repp and Walter Kately. Well, I just wanted to tell you
that I have stopped reading all other Science Fiction "mags"
on account of the frequency of these authors in them. So
please, please, don't destroy my last stronghold.
Also, I would not be against reprints. There is only one so
far who has objected to reprints, while there have been
several asking you to reprint A. Merritt's "People of the
Pit." It would not only satisfy your present readers, but,
because of the great popularity of A. Merritt among the
reading circles of to-day, it would gain for you many more
readers.
Harl Vincent is an indispensable acquisition to "our"
magazine. His stories are not only all excellent but his
stories all contain good science. He will bring you many new
readers.
May I add my voice to every other reader's in the cry for
the reprinting of "People of the Pit," by A. Merritt? Why
not give us some stories by him? He's pretty near the best
writer living to-day.
I don't care for the Mars stories by Burroughs. He's too
much long sword and short sword. A Merritt, however, is the
man for you to get and keep.
The schedule for July looks "doggone good" and suggestive to
the imagination. You might increase the contents of the
book.
The only thing wrong with the stories is that you have too
many repetitions. Please get A. Merritt. If you publish
stories by him you will see a very noticeable increase in
your subscription column. Another author who would repeat A.
Merritt's action on your subscription column is Dr. Edward
Elmer Smith. Please see about these authors.--Gabriel
Kirschner, Box 301, Temple, Texas.
_From Young Miss Nightingale_
Dear Editor:
I have been wanting to write to you for a long time but only
now am I able to do so. When I first got a copy of your
magazine I just grabbed it and started reading it. That
magazine had the first installment of "Brigands of the Moon"
in it. Now, after one magazine has been read I nearly burst
until the next one comes.
As for the writers, I like Ray Cummings, Harl Vincent,
Sewell Peaslee Wright, and Murray Leinster best. I like
interplanetary stories best. I also like stories of the
Fourth Dimension and those of ancient races of people living
in uninhabited parts of the earth. So far I have liked
especially well "The Ray of Madness," "Cold Light," "From
the Ocean Depths" and its sequel "Into the Ocean's Depths,"
"Brigands of the Moon," and "Murder Madness." Of course, I
like the others too. I am only a mere girl (that accounts
for this poor typewriting)--only ten years old--but I know
my likes and dislikes.--Ellen Laura Nightingale, 223 So.
Main St., Fairmont, Minn.
_Yessir--H. W. Wessolowski_
Dear Editor:
I have just finished the June issue of Astounding Stories.
It contained some very interesting stories, such as
"Brigands of the Moon," by Ray Cummings, "The Moon Master,"
by Charles W. Diffin, "Murder Madness," by Murray Leinster,
and "Giants of the Ray," by Tom Curry. Although "Out of the
Dreadful Depths," by C. D. Willard, was a good story, it
does not belong in a Science Fiction magazine.
One of the best improvements you could make on Astounding
Stories right now is to cut all edges smooth. I would like
to see at least one full page picture with each story.
Wesso is the only good artist you have. Is Wessolowski his
real name?--Jack Darrow, 4225 N. Spaulding Avenue, Chicago,
Illinois.
Anent Reincarnation.
Dear Editor:
In the July issue of Astounding Stories, a correspondent,
Worth K. Bryant, asks some thought-provoking questions about
the fascinating subject of reincarnation. Although I have
written to Mr. Bryant personally, I would like to present my
views on the subject to all your readers.
Mr. Bryant asks: "Could a person remember his own death in a
former reincarnation?" Yes, he could--if he could "tune in"
on his higher consciousness, or ego. Were that possible, he
could see all his past lives from beginning to end. It is
only the physical self that dies; the ego, or true self, is
immortal and remembers everything that it has experienced in
previous incarnations on the physical plane. But since
consciousness on this plane is expressed through the
material brain, most human beings are unable to recall their
former visits to this world; and it is perhaps better so. If
there were not loss of memory our minds would now range over
the adventures of thousands of years in the past. It would
encompass a vast drama with countless loves and hates, of
many lives filled with pathos and tragedy. Thus to distract
the mind from the present life would retard our progress.
There will come a time in human evolution when the average
person will be able to recall his past incarnations, and
then there will be no need or argument that we have lived
here before, because everyone will remember it.
For those who care to pursue this subject more fully, I
recommend "Elementary Theosophy," by L. W. Rogers,
obtainable at most public libraries.--Allen Glasser, 1610
University Ave., New York, N. Y.
_Prefers the Longer Stories_
Dear Editor:
I've been reading your excellent periodical since the first
issue, and I feel that I'm entitled to an opportunity to
give expression to my reactions to the various issues. Of
course, as a whole, the magazines were uniformly good every
month, but some of the stories, naturally, were better than
others.
In the January issue the best story was "The Beetle Horde"
by Victor Rousseau. I expected a lot from this writer,
having read his "Draft of Eternity," "The Eye of Balamok"
and "The Messiah of the Cylinder." I wasn't disappointed.
The best story in the February issue was "Spawn of the
Stars," by Charles Willard Diffin. Diffin is a newcomer as
far as I know, but he certainly can write.
"Vandals of the Stars" took the honors in the March issue.
A. T. Locke has written some good adventure shorts, but this
was his first fantastic story, to the best of my knowledge.
Come again, Locke! "Brigands of the Moon," by Ray Cummings
was great too.
The best for April was "Monsters of Moyen," by Arthur J.
Burks. Clever idea.
Victor Rousseau rang the bell again in the May issue with
"The Atom Smasher." Let's have other stories of
time-travel--some into the very remote past. Cave man stuff,
you know!
"The Moon Master," by Charles Willard Diffin was the best
for June. Diffin is one of your best writers.
In the last (July) issue, "The Forgotten Planet," by Sewell
Peaslee Wright, I think, takes first place, though
hard-pressed by "Earth, the Marauder" and "The Power and the
Glory."
Now for a few suggestions. In the first place, let's have
less short stories, and more longer ones. In my choice of
stories for each issue, with one exception, I picked the
novelettes. My reason for so doing is the fact that the
authors apparently are not able to do justice to their
themes in the shorter lengths. Of course, there are
exceptions, like Diffin's "The Power and the Glory."
My second suggestion in this: Why not have a fixed position
for your announcement of the stories for the next issue? The
last page, for example. This would be more convenient for
the readers; besides, those of us who have "our mags" bound
into volumes could then cut out the announcement.
Finally, my third suggestion--and the real reason for my
writing this letter. Don't you think it would be a good idea
to publish in each issue the picture of one of the authors,
and a short synopsis of his life? How he started writing,
his experiences, etc. I'm certain that I'm not the only
reader who's interested in the authors. I hope, if
everything else I've said is ignored, you'll at least give
the last suggestion serious consideration.
Why not get the opinion of other readers?
Continued and increasing success to Astounding Stories, best
of the Science Fiction magazines!--P. A. Lyter, 220 Peffer
Street, Harrisburg, Pa.
_Mr. Bates Accepts with Pleasure_
Dear Editor:
It is with greatest pleasure I note the addition of Miss
Lilith Lorraine to your staff, and her initial effort in
your publication. "The Jovian Jest" is but a glimpse of what
is to come. The stories which she has written heretofore
have been real gems of Science Fiction. May I again
congratulate you.
The Science Correspondence Club takes great pleasure in
announcing the enrollment of Capt. S. P. Meek and R. F.
Starzl as members. These authors are well-known to
Astounding Stories readers. Also, we take pleasure in
announcing that we have asked Mr. Bates to become an
honorary member in recognition of his fine work in
furthering Science Fiction.
Our first bulletin has been issued and real progress is
started. For those interested, Mr. Raymond A. Palmer at
1431--34th St., Milwaukee, Wisconsin, will handle all
inquiries.
In closing, let me say that when a story pleases you
readers, or the work of some author impresses you, write to
the editor and tell him about it. In this way more and
better Science Fiction will appear. Let us all give
Astounding Stories a big hand, you readers! Best wishes of
the Science Correspondence Club and--Walter L. Dennis, F. P.
S., 4653 Addison St., Chicago, Illinois.
_"Bargain"_
Dear Editor:
I have just finished "The Atom Smasher," in your May issue
of Astounding Stories, and liked it very much.
This is the first story that I have read in your magazine,
although I have read other magazines for the past three
years.
I see where you inquire as to the kind of stories your
readers want.
Personally, I think stories of interplanetary travel are the
best, and most demanded by readers of Science Fiction. Try
and have one in each issue.
In my opinion, I see no criticisms to be made on your
magazine. It certainly would be a bargain at several times
the price you ask. I am sure I will continue reading
it--Louis D. Buchanan, Jr., 711 Monroe Ave., Evansville,
Indiana.
_No "Flash in the Pan"_
Dear Editor:
When I bought the first issue of Astounding Stories last
December, I was impressed by its array of splendid stories
and famous authors. I thought, then, that perhaps that first
number was just a flash in the pan, and that succeeding
issues would sink to the level of other Science Fiction
magazines. Happily, I was wrong. Astounding Stories has more
than fulfilled the promise of its initial issue. The stories
are undoubtedly the finest of their kind, and written by the
most prominent Science Fiction authors of the day. I cannot
conceive of any possible improvement in the magazine.
I do wish, though, that you would not heed the gratuitous
advice of certain earnest but misguided correspondents. For
instance, in the June issue, one Warren Williams of Chicago,
suggests that you enlarge the magazine and give each story a
full-page illustration, like other Science Fiction
periodicals. Mr. Williams evidently favors standardization.
As one magazine is, so must the rest be. Please ignore this
request, and others like it. Astounding Stories is
different, unique; just keep it that way, and you will never
lack a host of satisfied readers.
Before closing, I must voice my profound admiration for
Murray Leinster's brilliant and engrossing story, "Murder
Madness." It's the best serial you've printed so far; though
I have high anticipation for Arthur J. Burks' latest novel,
"Earth, the Marauder."--Mortimer Weisinger, 3550 Rochambeau
Ave., Bronx, New York.
_"I Mean Increased"_
Dear Editor:
I wish to thank you for your reply to my letter. I did not
expect you to give me a personal reply: that was why I asked
you to reply to me in "The Readers' Corner." You are the
only editor I have ever known of that goes to the trouble to
giving personal replies to readers. Other magazines require
a nominal fee. That's another score for you!
Your personal letter, as a girl would aptly say, "tickled me
all over."
I am sorry I can't get a subscription just yet, but I am
"bound" to my newsdealer a little while yet, as I
immediately gave him a monthly order for Astounding Stories.
If you are the one who picked the authors, you have the best
taste I have ever seen in one person. But couldn't your
taste be improved? Pardon me, I mean increased. Namely,
please add to your taste: H. P. Lovecraft and Robert E.
Howard.
If you had different authors, in other words, new,
inexperienced authors, I would object to your running more
than one serial at a time, but with the marvelous old-timers
I have no objections, for they can write long ones far
better than they can the shorts. So keep them at work.
The three short stories, "Out of the Dreadful Depths," "The
Cavern World" and "Giants of the Ray," were all very good.
Ray Cummings was wonderful in the way he handled his
"Brigands of the Moon." It was a "wow baby." "Murder
Madness" is a great improvement over "Tanks." "Tanks" was
the worst I've ever read by Leinster. But he came out of his
reverie in "Murder Madness." It's great.
Sewell Peaslee Wright can work wonders with short stories.
Keep his "typer" clicking. By the way, may I say a few good
words for Sophie Wenzel Ellis? If she can duplicate
"Creatures of the Light," maker her repeat.
Victor Rousseau's story, "The Beetle Horde," kept me "all
het up" throughout. "The Atom Smasher" was excellent. I also
greatly like stories of the mighty Atlantis.
I agree with others of your readers that you should not let
Astounding Stories be printed in such a small size. Make it
a little larger, and give us smoother paper, and you will
prosper greatly.
"The Moon Master" was excellent.--Gabriel Kirschner, Box
301, Temple, Texas.
_"Could Kick Myself"_
Dear Editor:
I have just started reading Astounding Stories and could
kick myself for not seeing it sooner. In your latest issue,
"The Moon Master," by Charles Diffin, is great. He sure
knows how to write adventure with science.
I am a member of the Science Corresponding Club and am glad
to say it. In later years the club will be known just like
other big clubs of to-day, "Nationally and
Sciencelly."--John Marcroft, 32 Washington St., Central
Falls, R. I.
_A Full List_
In the January number of Astounding Stories Cummings'
"Phantom of Reality" was the best, followed by Rousseau's
"Beetle Horde."
February: 1--Diffin's "Spawn of the Stars"; 2--Rousseau's
"Beetle Horde"; 3--Ellis' "Creatures of the Light";
4--Meek's "The Thief of Time."
March: 1--Cummings' "Brigands of the Moon"; 2--Locke's
"Vandals of the Stars"; 3--Meek's "Cold Light."
April: 1--Cummings' "Brigands of the Moon"; 2--Burk's
"Monsters of Moyen"; 3--Meek's "Ray of Madness";
4--Pelcher's "Vampires of Venus."
May: 1--Cummings' "Brigands of the Moon"; 2--Leinster's
"Murder Madness"; 3--Rousseau's "Atom Smasher."
June: 1--Cummings' "Brigands of the Moon"; 2--Leinster's
"Murder Madness"; 3--Diffin's "Moon Master."
Please give us a story by H. P. Lovecraft, if you can get
one.--Carl Ballard, 202 N. Main St., Danville, Va.
_"Words Cannot Express"_
Dear Editor:
I have read your wonderful magazine since it was first
published, and words cannot express what a fine magazine I
think it is. All my life, I have hoped that someone would
publish a magazine just like Astounding Stories. A magazine
just full to the brim with the right kind of stories;
thrilling stories of super-science, well written in plain
and convincing English by wide awake authors.
I thought that "The Cavern World" was a whiz of a story, and
"The Moon Master" was so exciting that I sat up late at
night reading it. Let's have more of that kind of science
story, that thrills every red-blooded American.
I hope that you print your magazine on better paper.--David
Bangs, 190 Marlboro St., Boston, Mass.
_Unconvinced_
Dear Editor:
I received the latest issue of Astounding Stories, and in
looking it through I noticed your comments on reprints. Your
argument can easily be shot full of holes, and that's what I
intend to do.
First: Those stories being printed now are far inferior to
the reprints. Even your best stories, such as "Murder
Madness" and "Brigands of the Moon," cannot be compared with
such stories as "Station X," "The Moon Pool," "The Metal
Monster," or "The Columbus of Space" and "The Second
Deluge."
Second: The Saturday Evening Post cannot be compared with
our magazine, for all the stories printed in it can be
obtained in book form, while the scientific novels are
almost all out of print.
Third: There is surely more than one out of a hundred who
haven't read the reprints. Just because some have read them
is no reason that they don't want them. I know, for I have a
large library of reprints and have read, and own, almost
every one of them, yet I would gladly see them again.
Fourth: The authors need not starve. You could easily devote
just a small space for reprints, and many would pay
twenty-five cents for the magazine.
The fairest and most American idea would be to let your
readers vote for this. Here is vote No. 1 for
reprints.--Woodrow Gelman, 1603 President St., Brooklyn, N. Y.
_Praise and Suggestions_
Dear Editor:
I have just finished the July issue of Astounding Stories
and classify the stories as follows:
"Beyond the Heaviside Layer," good; "Earth, the Marauder,"
excellent, best in issue; "From an Amber Block," fairly
good; "The Terror of Air-Level Six," very good; "The
Forgotten Planet," excellent; "The Power and the Glory,"
good; "Murder Madness," very good, but not so much so as
preceding chapters.
Now for a few criticisms:
1. Your magazine (or should I say "our" magazine?) is too
small. Of course, it would be a radical change to make it
larger, but, like others, I think in the end you would gain
rather than lose by it. Most small magazines are cheap
affairs, and to have Astounding Stories small brands it as a
cheap type of magazine. Small magazines are more likely to
be hidden on the newsstands by larger ones, and in most
stores the large magazines have the more advantageous
positions.
2. The edges of your pages are uneven. You look in the index
and find an interesting story is on, for example, page 56.
You skim the pages to find it, and from page 43 you find
yourself suddenly at page 79. Make the paper more even,
please.
3. Don't have advertisements before the stories. Have them
in the rear.
4. Have a full page illustration facing the beginning of
each story. If at the end of a story you find pages won't
turn up right, continue the last page to the back of the
book.
Wesso is excellent. Another good artist is Paul, who draws
for another Science Fiction magazine. Your cover
illustrations are fine.
Summary: Enlarge size of magazine, smooth edges of paper,
have advertisements in rear of book, use full page
illustrations.
If this is expensive, you could charge twenty-five cents
instead of twenty cents, and I, for one, would be glad to
pay the extra nickel as I do for other magazines of Science
Fiction.--Robert Baldwin, 1427 Judson Ave., Evanston,
Illinois.
_"The Readers' Corner"_
All Readers are extended a sincere and cordial invitation to "come
over to 'The Readers' Corner'" and join in our monthly discussion of
stories, authors, scientific principles and possibilities--everything
that's of common interest in connection with our Astounding Stories.
Although from time to time the Editor may make a comment or so, this
is a department primarily for _Readers_, and we want you to make full
use of it. Likes, dislikes, criticisms, explanations, roses,
brickbats, suggestions--everything's welcome here: so "come over in
'The Readers' Corner'" and discuss it with all of us!
_--The Editor._
* * * * *
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October, 1930, by Various
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