Amazing Stories v21n07 (1947 07) (cape1736)

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By CHESTER S

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It starts In high and never changes gears. What happened to Adam Breen, automobile salesman, could happen to anyone ... to you. He was the innocent bystander — pushed around by hoodlums as well as the police — until for his own protection he jumped into the fight himself with both feet and started swinging. He uncovers a murderous hot-car gang, comes up against some plenty roygh characters, teams up with a gorgeous newspaper gal, and stirs up enough action to fill 250 pages of fast reading before he finally solves the mystery of the pigskin bag. It’s on sale now. V ZIFF DAVIS PUBIISHING COMPANY CHICAGO • NEW YORK $2.50 AT ALL BOOKSTORES THE PIGSKIN BAG BRUNO FISCHER’S LATEST- A high-powered new mys- tery about the hot-car racket by the author of So Much Blood, Quoth the Raven, and The Spi- der Lily,

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9 There’s rhyme and there’s reason in that Statement of I. C. S. advantages to you. The courses of these famous schools are especially designed for study in your spare time. At work you prove and apply what you learn. This system is backed up by 5 5 years of I. C. S. experience in training men in vir- tually every industrial and business field. It works so well that analysis shows about 99% of today’s 100,000 active I. C. S. students are holding down jobs. Many of the men and women now fill- ing top positions in commerce and in- dustry obtained their business or tech- nical training from I. C. S. in just that way. What they achieved in their spare time, you can do in yours. Start now — as they did — by marking and mailing this coupon: INTERNATIONAL CORRESPONDENCE BOX S203, SCRANTON 9, PENNA. Without cost nr obligation, please send me full particulars about the course before which I have marked X: Air Conditioning and O Structural Euuincering Plumbing Course* □ Surveyiaa aud Mappini □ Air Conilitilic Accounting O Commercial □ l.'osC Accoiinriiig Working flovrs A M. U- Sprrfof tuihon frric,^ to jKcinhcrt Cnnadnn retidfvti ler

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Ues. O. 8. P&t. OR. WaLIAM B. ZIFF ChainnaM of tho Board and Publisher B. G. DAVIS President Vice Presidents: GSORGE BERNER Sales and Advertising Director MICHAEL K. FROELICH Editorial Director H. I. MORGANROTH Production Director H. G. STRONG Circulation Director Secretary-Treasurer A. T. PULLEN Art Director HERMAN R. BOU.IN Editor RAYMOND A. PALMER Managing Editor HOWARD BROWNE Associate Editors: WILLIAM t. HAMLING HENRY A. BOTT Art Editor MALCOLM SMITH AU QcunfxUte THE observatory By The Editor 6 THE SPECIAUZED CELLS OF MAN By John McCabe Moore 74 THERE WAS AN OLD WOMAN By June Lurie 75 THE PHANTOM GOES TO CHURCH By Pete Bogg ^3 SLEEPING PILLS By A. Morris SCIENCE GOES TO HOLLYWOOD By Gary Horton QUEST OF THE LOST CITY By Sanford M. Cleveland VIGNETTES OF FAMOUS SCIENTISTS By Alexander Blade DISCUSSIONS By The Readers 169 EXPLORING THE MIND OF MAN By Gary Lee Horton 174 ...... 144 \ . 165 167 J’liblished rafintlilv bT ZIKV'-DAVIS PL'BLISDINO COStl'ANY «.t 185 North Wabash Are.. Chicaso 1. 111. New York Otflcc. Umpire State Bnild- )ag. New York 3, N. T. Washington offleo. International lJulltling. 1319 F Street N'.W.. Washington 4, n. C. Jintori’rt a'^ .'^t’cond class matter Anil 11. Iil43. at the i'ait OtBce. Chicago. Illinois, under the Act of March 3. l£Ttt. bubscription t2.5i> for 12 tssuesi Canada S2.P0: irorelgn J4.50. Subscribers should allow al least ino weftlis for chanso of address. All communioations about buhsorlptlons ihoulrt be addretied to the Director of CirciUatlon. Zid-Davla PubUebisg Company, 1S5 North Wabash Are.. Chicago U Hi. 4

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VOLUME 21 NUMBER 7 AU Sio^iUi. HIDDEN CITY (Novel— 62,000) by Chester S. Geier 8 lllustreted by Malcolm Smith There beneath the surface of the moon was an amazing city that could be raised above the surface when it became necessary . , , TREASURE DERELICT (Short— 6,600) ,....by Guy Archette 62 Illustrated by Enoch Sharp There is a peculiar fascination about derelicts — and always the thought of some treasure that might be on board Intrigues one . , . THE WEAPON (Short— 6,200) by Robert Moore Williams...,. 76 Illustrated by Malcolm Smith Much can be accomplished if you have the proper persuasion— in this case the proper persuasion proved to be a certain weapon . . . THE VANISHING SPACEMAN (Short— 7.700) .....by Alexander Blade 94 Illustrated by Julian S. Krupa Spacemer* who vanish and reappear at will like a ghost cart prove to be quite disconcerting. This spaceman was even more than that . . . Profit cover painting by Julian S. Krupa Illustrating a scene from "Hidden City” Copyright 1?47. ZIFF-DAVIS PUBLISHING COMPANY Member ot the Audit Bureau of Circulaiie s We do not accept rstponsibility for the return of unsolicited manuscripts or artwork- fo facilitate handling, the author should enclose a self-addressed envelope with the requisite postage attached and artists should enclose or forward return postage. Accepted material it subject to whatever revision is necessary to meet requirements. Payment covers all authors', contributors' and contestants' magazine rights in the U.S.A. and all other countries in the article and/or illustrations and for publicity and promotion in connection therewith and will be made at our current rates upon acceptance. All photos end drawings will be considered as part ot material purchasad. The names of all eharaetars that ere Hied In short stories, serials and semi-fiction articles that deal with types are fictitious. Use ot a nama that is the tame et that of any living parson is coincidental. 0

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ONE of the finest interplanetary novels to be written in recent years begins on page 8 of this issue of Amazing Stories. Those of you who read Chester S. Geier’s “Forever Is Too Long’’ in our sister magazine, fantastic Adven- Uires, will not need our word for it when \vc say “Hidden City" is a very fine story indeed. We say Chester S, Geier has developed over the years as one of the finest writers in the science liction field today. Beyond that, he is a top-notchcr in other fields, such as fantasy and western. This is 62,000 words long, a complete, book-length novel. You'd pay $2.50 for a novel half this good in any book- store. Here you get it for 25c. COULD have ballyhooed this issue as an '^“interplanetary” issue, because that’.s e.\actly what it is! For instance, Guy .^rehette's “Treasure Derelict’’ is a apace story also, and along with .-\Icxancler Blade’s “The Vanishing Spaccnian’’ and Robert Moore Williams’ "The Weapon,” it makes this issue 100% interplanetary, Wc think you’il like the idea (it’s been so long since we did it!) even though it was strictly unintentional on our editorial part. I^R instance, the three short stories in this issue were kit over from the incredible muddle that wc ran into la.st winter during the typesetters’ strike. This being our first opportunity to salvage this material, wc did our best to get. it into the book without too many cbancc.s. Even the page numbers did not have to be changed! We do get lucky breaks sometimes. l^E HAVEN'T stopped to count, but we’ve ' ’ gotten so many letters from readers asking us more about the “Ililsch Tube” mentioned in Anthony B. Oit's article “Maxwell’s Demon’’ that we've gone to a lot of trouble to get it for you. Next month wc will publish complete details, with diagrams, so that you can build one for yourself if you wish. But you’il have to hurry if you want to beat the editor to it. He's constructing one in his basement right now, and he'll kl you know how he makes out, We have a few wrinkles in mind about it ourselves! Like, for instance, ice cream with hot chocolate. rROM Los .Angeles comes thi.s interesting bit of information; Thomas QuantarcIIa .stabbed Bcrnie Stelzer in the stomach. The reason: He got into an argument with Slclzer over my.slerious “blue rays” which came from Stclzer’.s room on the second floor next door. Said Quaniarella ; “They came right through the walls. So 1 lined my room with tin cans to keep the rays out.'’ Officers who arrested him confirmed this. Whether the anti-ray-scrccn works (ftuantarclla doesn't yet know ht'cuu.se he’s still in the county jail. The rays had bothered him for two years. Oh well, just another in.stance of the dcro, or is it? Doesn’t seem to be worthwhile to continue printing these “proofs'’ because they don’t seem to bo proofs at all. The e.xplanation of insanity is too easy. But if any of the CHMBS arc interr.sl.rd, the address is .M5 S. Flower ^troct, Los Angeles. Anybody interested in looking for blue rays (hereabouts and checking the .story for us? ■VyE-ST month wc'rc going to publish some real ' proof of the exi-slcnre of ravc.s and tunnels in South America, They contain no ricro, or any mech, but they are incredibly ancient, and at the very least, they prove that Shaver is not wrong when he claims super-scientific engineers existed so long ago that it makes our experts on early civilizations look a little — well, just a little . . . 'f70R a story about caves under San Francisco, read this issue. .And it's perfertiy true too, and you can check it. More engineers .sOOO years ago who could do things wc can't <i% today! We've just got to admit the experts wrong now, What about that mysterious “piratc”^ra.sure well which is an engineering miracle (hat kaffles our best engineers loiiay? Seems we’re ju.st bum ditch-diggers today, by comparison! 'T'OR some interesting letters, don’t mis? the “Discussions" for this month. We wi.di wc could print all the letters wc get, but wo'd need another two hundred pages to do it ! Next month wc will begin to publish a scries of articles which ought to have you on the edge of your chair scratching y<nir head. This world is one big liall of mystery and excitement! Rap 6

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AMAZINS STORIES T "IfCidcUe TiJo^Ud” ...BEHIND YOUR CONSCIOUS MIND YOU— your conscious self, is sus- pended between two worlds! There is the world of every day— of colors, sounds and substances. There is also the world of the universes- of moons, star.s, and distant nebulee. But has your mind ever been suddenly filled with the light of other realities— ideas which, although stimulating and informa- tive, were strangely and different f Have you had mental pictures of events that your mortal eyes have never seen ? Do you feel at times as tliough an intelligence was striving to guide you ? Have you found yourself listening to words of inner direction ? Behind your thinking mind lies a great middle ’xuorld—^t world of the subcon- scious. It is poised between the world of everyday existence and the great intelligence of the universe. It is this middle world which translates the subtle Cosmic forces which pervade your being, into the urges of self and into intuitive impressions. Do you want to know why you act as you do? Would you like to have access to the source of those talents and abilities which make for the mastery of life? Learn how to explore this middle world. Accept This Book The Rosicrucians ( not a religion ) are a world-wide fraternity of thinking, fwytttV/ng men and women. They have united their existence — they have brought together the physical world and the world of self into a harmonious, livable whole. They have learned to conquer fears and substitute knowledge for the so-called mysteries of life. Use the coupon below for a free copy of the book, “The Mastery of Life.” It tells how you, too, may share this unique wisdom. 7^ ROSICRUCIANS San Jose (AMORC) California

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Harvey Dal! went to the moon, but he didn't know it was intended k to he a one-way ride only! As Dali stepped from the ship, his further progress was barred.

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10 AMAZING STORIES IT WAS all too familiar, that sensa- tion of dark unease. Dali had never failed to experience it on his occasional visits to the city during the last several months. But this time — knowing that the work was over, that he and Frontenac were ready to leave at last — it was sharper, more penetrat- ing. He pulled the brim of his hat low over wary, metal-gray eyes and leaned against the waist-high mahogany coun- ter behind him in an effort to conceal his raw-boned, towering height. He was acutely aware of the neon sign overhead, spelling out the words Park- ing Agent. Too bright, that sign; too eye-attracting. A growing impatience underscored his feeling of disquiet. His vigilant gaze probed the cease- less ebb and flow of the human tide which filled the airport terminal build- ing. A kaleidoscope of bobbing faces and hurrying forms against a back- ground of blazing lights and constantly shifting colors. The voices of the crowd mingled in a confused babble, rising and falling in pitch. From outside the building came the drone and thunder of aircraft, taking off or arriving at the vast field. And at intervals, stabbing through the uproar, came the booming tones of the flight announcer over the radio system. To the casual observer, the scene would have been one of intense interest. But to Dali it held a threat of danger. Secrecy had shrouded his departure from the construction camp in northern Michigan, but he knew that his absence might already be noticed, that word of his going might already be sent to the various points which would most logi- cally be among his destination. He didn’t know who, among the mechanics and technical staff still remaining at the camp, was the spy that would sound the alert, but he was certain that an alert would be sounded. He touched the flat automatic nest- ling in a hip pocket of his flannel suit, and the lines of his bronzed, spare face deepened with momentary grimness. They knew he was here — and they would be planning to prevent Fronte- nac and him from taking off in the ship. They might strike in the very midst of the crowd. They — if the things that had happened within the past few years actually meant such an organization existed — were devilishly cunning and audacious. They had to be, to have succeeded so well thus far in their subtle, half-sensed designs, without having betrayed more than a hint of their presence and purpose. ^GAIN those questions nagged in Dali’s mind. Just who were They? Just why were they blocking, through murder and sabotage, all efforts to con- quer space? “Here you are, sir!” a voice behmd Dali said. He turned as a girl clerk behind the mahogany counter extended a small oblong of colored pasteboard. It was the parking receipt for his private flitterjet; he look it, nodding briskly to cover up the startled jerk with which he had responded to her words. The girl was more than ordinarily attractive, and her smile at Dali con- tained more than the usual amount of courtesy which the girl clerks at the terminal customarily bestowed upon parking patrons. But Dali, slipping the receipt into a pocket of his jacket, was too preoccupied to notice. He glanced up at the huge clock on the wall beyond the counter, figuring rap- idly. There would be just enough time to pick up the spare, special injectors Frontenac had ordered, keep the ap- pointment with his, Dali’s lawyer, and be on the way back to camp in time

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HIDDEN CITY 11 to avoid the after-work rush of craft bearing workers from the city to their homes in outlying suburbs. The lawyer detail wasn’t absolutely necessary, but Dali couldn’t be certain that he and Frontenac would return safely from their trial flight to the Moon. If they didn’t, a wiij would be very much in order. The money involved was far from being a fortune, but he felt the least he could do was to leave it to people to whom it would be of use. “Can I help you in any way?” the girl asked. She smiled again, and lifted a slim hand to tuck away a few stray tendrils of the blonde hair arranged in gleaming coils atop her shapely head. Dali grinned briefly, teeth flashing white against the bronze of his skin. “No, thanks.” He turned and slipped into the maelstrom of the crowd, dodg- ing and elbowing his way toward a group of revolving doors that gave out to the taxi stands. The blonde clerk gazed wistfully af- ter him a moment, sighed, and then turned to resume her work. Dali stopped at a newstand near the doors to buy a paper. He had resumed his progress, glancing over the head- lines, when he abruptly became aware that two men had fallen into step with him, one on either side. He froze into motionlessness, cursing himself for hav- ing failed to maintain bis guard. “Are you Harvey Dali?” one of the men asked. ^ Dali said nothing. He surveyed his questioner carefully, then glanced at the other’s companion. Both were young men, average in height and fea- tures, and neatly but unobtrusively dressed. The only thing striking or at all unusual about them was their eyes; steady eyes, penetrating, vigorously and intelligently alert. Dali said slowly, “Just what do you want?” “I’ll take the question as an admis- sion that you’re Harvey Dali,” the man who had first spoken said. “We want you to come along with us, Mr. Dali. We’ll explain when we reach a place with more privacy,” J^ALL had been expecting an attack, but he hadn’t guessed it would hap- pen as naively as this. He smiled grim- ly—a smile that didn’t move his lips. Did They think he was a fool? He shrugged, nodded as though in agree- ment at his two accosters, and started once more for the revolving doors. His long legs kept him easily in the lead, despite the efforts of the men to remain at his side. Near the doors, Dali suddenly darted around the plump figure of an entering woman, ducking’ into the compartment which she had just left. The two men immediately sprang after him, both crowding into the next compartment in their haste. Dali’s next action was made with blurred swiftness. As his compartment swung outside, he whirled, throwing his weight against the panel behind him. The two men, on the other side, were taken completely by surprise. Before they could recover and resist his push, Dali wedged the newspaper he had bought firmly between the top of the panel and the ceiling above. It took strength to do it at all; Dali had plenty of that, and he used every erg of it. When he finally hurried away, it was to leave the two momentarily impris- oned within the triangular space formed by the compartment panels and the concave wall behind. It would take some seconds — it not actual minutes— for them to push free, and Dail hoped to be well on his way by that time. The whole thing had happened fast, covering mere instants. Dali had reached a taxi and was ducking inside

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12 AMAZING STORIES before the first cries and shouts of alarm rose from behind, at the doors. “Take me to the Loop,” he told the driver. “And quick. There’s a ten in ' it for you, if you’re fast.” The man hesitated. “What happened back there?” “Couple of men got stuck in a re- volving door. They were right behind me, and I’d rather not get dragged in as an accident witness. Time is money to me. Remember that ten, will you?” “I don’t aim to for.get, mister.” The cabbie straightened in his seat and stamped the car into motion. As they moved with gathering speed down the driveway, toward the exit gates of the terminal, Dali turned in his seat to peer through the rear win- dow. There was a crowd about the revolving doors. He decided, with bleak satisfaction, that the two men were still boxed in. Then, as he glanced at the figures standing near the spot where he had entered the taxi, seeking signs of pursuit, his eyes narrowed in sudden, intense interest. For among the persons staring after the cab was a tall, slender man, with a flowing mane of snow- white hair. He was hatless, dressed in a conservative dark suit. Across the rapidly widening chasm placed between them by the accelerating cab, Dali could discern only hazy details of the other’s face; but he knew, from data still fresh in memory, that it was a long, slim face, utterly smooth, with a pale, ascetic quality that suggested the secluded, austere life of one devoted to religion or to science. That tall form, with its mop of white hair, had been all Dali needed for a complete picture of the man. taxi rounded a turn in the driveway, and Dali’s view was abruptly cut off. He straightened and peered unseeingly ahead, frowning in amazed thought. It had happened a little over two weeks ago, he remem- bered, near evening. There had been a lull in the work at the camp, and he had taken a walk in the forest a short distance away. Turning a bend in the narrow path which he had been follow- ing, he had come suddenly upon the tall, white-haired man. They had gazed at each other across a gap of less than twenty feet, Dali staring in surprise, the stranger calm and impassive, oddly aloof. Not a word had been uttered. Dali hadn’t been able to find anything to say, as he’d looked into eyes that held his with a fixity verging on the hypnotic; dark eyes, steady and intense, that seemed bottomless pools of wisdom, reflecting in their depths the flame of a mind that burned with a brilliance transcending the human — supernal, god-lUce. Dal] had a curious sense of unreality regarding the time that had passed while his and the stranger’s glances had remained locked. Mere seconds, cer- tainly, yet they had seemed like years. He had felt frozen, numbed. And there was the disturbing impression that somehow his mind had been searched, scanned as one scans the pages of a book in quest of pertinent information. And then the white-haired stranger had gone — vanished completely. He had turned suddenly, striding off the path; trees and underbrush had con- cealed him from sight; and when, scant instants later, Dali had shaken free of his paralysis and raced after in pursuit, he had found nothing. No sound had broken the deep stillness of the forest — no patter of running feet, no roar of a departing flitterjet. Yet the man had been nowhere to be seen. Now, at the airport, he had encoun- tered the stranger again. It was more than coincidence, Dali was certain. But what was the man doing at the airport?

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HIDDEN CITY 13 And for that matter, what had he been doing near the camp two weeks before? Who — or what — was he? Was he connected with that mysterious and practically mythical group Dali knew only as They? Dali thought abruptly of the two men who had accosted him within the terminal. How did they fit in? Were they and the white-haired man in league? It seemed a likely guess; for the three to have been in the same place, at the same time, could have been no coincidence, either. The taxi reached the Drive, and nosed its way into a growing stream of Loop-bound surface traffic. Dali peered once more through the rear window, but the dense mass of cars that had by now closed in behind made it im- possible to tell if he had been followed. The cabbie, however, was earning his bonus. With deft and often breath- taking skill, he sent the car weaving and darting throught the maze of ma- chines ahead, rapidly increasing the distance between them. The Loop was situated several blocks from the lake-front air terminal, and the cabbie reached it in record time, considering the amount of vehicular traffic in that part of the city. Dali paid the fare, adding the money he had promised, and left the taxi. He walked quickly up one street, down another, and then for good measure cut through a busy department store, to emerge shortly on still another street. A taxi with its flag up cruised past; he hailed it and gave the address of a small near- North side factory wffiich did special aircraft wmrk. A little over an hour later, with a small fibre box containing the spare injectors now in his possession, Dali appeared at the office of his lawyer. The details of the will were rapidly concluded. Rising to leave, Dali paused under the impulse of a sudden idea. He sat down again and rapidly sketched his encounter with the two men back at the terminal. Bonfield could be trusted, he knew; the lawyer was an old friend, had handled numerous pat- ents for Dali, and had not long since won a lawsuit involving one of Dali’s inventions. “The two will most likely be waiting at the terminal for me to return,” Dali finished. “They won’t be taken in so easily a second time, and I’d rather not play any more games. Could you send someone to pick up my ship and deliver it to me at some field in another part of the town?” gONFIELD nodded without hesita- tion. “Can do, Harv. I know just the man — a private dick named Curtis. He’s worked on a lot of ticklish jobs for me, and he’s just what you need. But it’ll cost you.” “Hang the cost,” Dali grunted. “I want to get out of the city with as little fuss as possible.” Bonfield turned to the visiphone cab- inet on his desk and dialed a number. He spoke quickly to the sharp-faced man who presently appeared in the screen. Arrangements were soon con- cluded: Dali was to leave with Bonfield the parking receipt for his flitterjet; Curtis would come to pick it up; then, obtaining the craft, he would fly it to the small Uptown terminal, v/here Dali would be waiting. Satisfied, Dali rose again, extending a lean, brown hand. “The Frontier takes off the day after tomorrow, Jim. In case Frontenac and I don’t get back, this is so-long. Period.” The lawyer rose, too, gripp^,g Dali’s hand. He smiled quietly. “If I know you, Harv, you’ll get back.” A few minutes later Dali was down in the street. Locating another taxi,

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14 AMAZIN© STORIES he ordered himself driven to the Up- town terminal. He arrived at his destination within a quarter of an hour. With a lighted cigarette to ease the strain of waiting, he strolled along the margin of the field, watching the sky. A large number of flitterjets landed, but it wasn’t until he had started on a second cigarette that one finally appeared with a license num- ber which he identified as his own. He hurried across to the spot where it landed. Curtis had already climbed from the cabin when Dali came up. The private detective was a small, thin man in a rumpled, dark suit. “Sure you weren’t followed?” Dali asked. Curtis’ eyes shifted in a way that to Dali seemed oddly evasive. “I watched, Mr. Dali. There was no ship behind me all the way up here.” “Good.” Dali shrugged mentally at the impression which the other had given him, deciding he had misinter- preted it. He produced his wallet and extracted a bill. “Here’s your fee for the job, Curtis.” The detective drew back. “I don’t want your money, Mr. Dali.” And as Dali stared in bewilderment, the other abruptly turned and hurried away. He was gone from sight before thought of pursuit entered Dali’s dazed mind. Shrugging, then, with a mixture of irritation and disgust, Dali replaced his wallet and climbed into the flitter- jet. Two men rose from sight in the club seat at the rear of the craft, evidently having previously been keeping them- selves doubled up in hiding. They were the same men from whom Dali had escaped at the Loop terminal. One of them held a gun; he pointed it at Dali and said: “No more tricks, please.” CHAPTER II "POR long seconds an icy dismay held Dali petrified. Fool, he thought, blind fool! How could he have been so stupid as to have missed the warning that had been in Curtis’ strange actions? Then his mind accepted the situation for the irrevocable thing it was. He slowly sat down in the pilot seat, aware that the gun vigilantly followed his move. He looked at the alert faces opposite him and lifted his wide should- ers in a shrug. “All right, you’ve got me. What now?” “Take a look at this, Mr. Dali.” It was the unarmed man who had spoken. He produced a plain envelope from an inner pocket of his suit, ripped it open, and extended a folded sheet of paper that seemed curiously thick. Wary, a trifle bewildered, Dali took it. The sheet, he found, bore the letter- head of the United States Secret Serv- ice, and was addressed to him. Photo- graphs of the two men were attached to the sheet; a few sentences of type- written text introduced them, explain- ing who they were, and requested that Dali co-operate with them in every way. Beneath a little-known signature was the Great Seal of the United States. Dali stared increduously at the two. He exclaimed, with involuntary soft- ness, “Secret Service agents!” The man who had given Dali tlie letter of introduction nodded quietly. “We could have given you that infor- mation back at the Loop terminal, if you had given us the chance, Mr. Dali.” Dali said slowly, “That’s all very well, George Metz — if that’s actually your name — but how can I be certain this letter isn’t a clever forgery?” Metz’ answering smile came easily. “Well, Mr. Dali, agents like Tom Bush-

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HIDDEN CITY 15 nell and myself don’t ordinarily carry letters of identification; they have other means of making themselves known. An identification like this is carried only when the usual means would be just so much mumbo-mumbo ; and when it is carried, ample provision against forgery or fraudulent use is made in the event that it is lost or stolen. “You noticed, for example, that I opened the envelope instead of letting you do that yourself? Well, opening it by any other method than the one I used would cause the thing to explode instantly into flames. And as for the letter Itself” — Met;;’ voice was sudden- ly sharp and commanding — “wad it up, Mr. Dali, and throw it as far from the plane as you can ! ” There was something about the oth- er’s tone that decided Dali not to hesi- tate. Hastily squeezing the letter into a shapeless mass, he tossed it through the open door of the cabin. He saw it hit and roll to a stop on the hard- packed earth of the field; saw it, in- stants later, burst abruptly into fire and burn down to a few thin gray ashes, which were caught up by the breeze and scattered beyond reclaim. Metz chuckled softly. “Convinced, Mr. Dali?” “It could still be a trick,” Dali grunted, glancing at Bushnell’s gun. gUSHNELL smiled and slid the weapon into his coat. “Suppose you take a chance on us? This isn’t an arrest, you know; you’re just being asked to co-operate.” “All right, I’ll stick my neck out,” Dali said. “What do you want me to do?” “We want you to come with us to a certain place,” Metz answered. “Your ship will be OK. We could guide you there, but it might save time if you let one of us take over.” Dali nodded; Bushnell volunteered to pilot the flitterjet, and Dali ex- changed seats with him. Shortly, with a roar of its whirling overhead jets, the craft took off, heading north. After several minutes of thoughtful silence, Dali glanced at Metz, who re- clined quietly at his side. He asked, “How did you get out of those revolving doors back at the Loop terminal?” Metz’ grin held a touch of wryness. “An employee folded back a couple of the panels behind us, so that we could get back into the building. That front panel was stuck fast. Quick thinking on your part, Mr. Dali; by the time we got outside, you were already out of sight. Since we knew it would be useless to follow, we decided to wait for you in your ship. The blonde clerk gave us the number of your parking space; she’d remembered it for some reason. As to how we got inside . . . well, that’s one of the first things we learn, Mr. Dali.” “Curtis found out you two were in- side?” “The little man with the hatchet face? Yes— first thing he did. But we identified ourselves and told him to take the ship to wherever he was sup- posed to deliver it. He seemed too im- pressed to think of doing anything else.” “You and Bushnell were alone?” “Alone, Mr. Dali.” “There wasn’t a tall man with thick white hair along with you?” “No. Why do you ask?” “Just an idea I had,” Dali said. “By the way, how did you find out that I was going to show up at the Loop ter- minal?” Metz grinned slightly and shrugged. “Trade secret, Mr. Dali.” “A little spy told you, eh?” Dali persisted. “I had reason to believe there was a spy back at camp, but I

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16 AMAZING STORIES never guessed the Secret Service was involved.” Metz said, somewhat cryptically, “Well talk about that later. We’re almost there.” The flitterjet had been following the shoreline along the Lake, traveling at top speed. Now it swung inland and toward the west. Watching through the window at his side, Dali saw a small, neat suburb appear below. Their destination seemed to be some point there, for Bushnell cut speed and sent the ship angling down. Shortly Dali realized that they were dropping toward a large, walled-in estate on the suburb’s outskirts. The place, as he gradually made out details, seemed abandoned: grass and weeds grew thickly on the grounds, and the huge brick house squatting in their midst showed clearly evident signs of disrepair. large, luxury-model flitterjets rested on the ground, near the house. Bushnell landed a short distance away; and Dali followed as Bushnell and then Metz climbed out. Metz gazed toward the house a moment, then waved his arms in what was obviously a signal. He gestured to Dali, grinned briefly, and said, “That’s so we wouldn’t be put to the inconvenience of picking machine-gun slugs out of our carcasses.” The door was opened by a man not much diiferent physically or facially from Metz or Bushnell. With a nod at the two and a searching glance at Dali, he jerked a thumb toward a large doorway to the right of the hall they had entered. “Chief’s in there,” he said. The room beyond was huge, filled with dusty, long-outmoded furniture. A group consisting of seven men was present. Most of these held machine- guns and stood about the edges of the room, near the windows. Two were seated at a table in the middle of the room: one was slight, gray-haired, dressed in a plain gray suit; the other, heavier, ruddy-faced, and also gray- haired, wore an army uniform with the stars of a general. Metz and Bushnell, with Dali fol- lowing in growing perplexity, advanced toward the table and saluted. The two men seated there rose as Dali was intro- duced. The man in civilian clothes, he learned, was John Merrick, chief of the United States Secret Service. Dali recalled Merrick’s signature as having been on the letter which Metz had given him. The uniformed man was General Stuart Weston, head of Army Intelligence. Dali’s confusion mounted. What did all this mean? Why had he been brought here, before these important men? Merrick gestured to a chair at the table, and Dali, moving with unaccus- tomed stiffness, joined him and Weston in sitting down. Metz and Bushnell remained standing. Merrick turned his attention to them and asked: “Reports?” Metz glanced inquiringly at his part- ner, and Bushnell nodded. Assuming the role of spokesman, Metz economi- cally detailed the sequence of events starting with his and Bushnell’s accost- ing of Dali at the Loop terminal and ending with the incident at the Uptown field. He left nothing out. Merrick and Weston glanced at each other at a couple of points in the recital, and once, when Metz related the episode of the revolving doors, they smiled. lyjETZ and Bushnell, their job done, retired to a corner of the room. Merrick turned to Dali. “No doubt you’re wondering why General Weston and I are here, Mr.

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HIDDEN CITY 17 Dali, and why you’ve been brought to us in such a roundabout way. I shall explain. But first it might be best if I gave a rough sketch of certain facts. “As a well-known rocket engineer and authority on rockets in general, you are, of course, fully aware of the progress in rocketry that has been made up to the present. Beginning with the first jet-propelled planes and giant rocket bombs, scientific and technical knowledge has advanced to the point where penetration of interplanetary space by man-carrying rockets is now a distinct possibility. We already have in wide-spread commercial operation stratosphere rocket craft which, from a mechanical and structural viewpoint, are theoretically capable of leaving the earth. “You are also aware that numerous groups, private and government spon- sored, are in feverish competition with each other to be first in launching a passenger rocket into space. You rep- resent one of them, Mr. Dali. You are thus in a position to bear me out when I say that the problems confront- ing these groups can hardly be termed difficult; most of the major research has already been completed. Protot5^es of space rockets — stratosphere rocket craft — are already in operation. It is merely a question of more powerful, compact fuels, stronger, more efficient engines. The biggest obstacle is money, but in most cases it is being liberally supplied by various sources: large cor- porations, wealthy individuals, univer- sities, and even by the government itself.” Merrick leaned forward; his voice lowered, slowed. “What makes the sit- uation completely incredible is that, despite all this technical knowledge and financial encouragement, no experi- menter has yet succeeded. And why? Mainly because of what may be termed unfortunate happenings. Rockets have blown up in tests without ever having left the ground; others have exploded shortly after taking off, killing their crews; and experimenters have died in the midst of their work, taking with them jealously kept secrets that pre- vented others from carrying on. In all cases the deaths have apparently been due to accidents or natural causes — but the very frequency of them, among a certain type of men, suggests that they might really be murder. And the rocket accidents, in turn, might not be acci- dents at all, but deliberate, planned sabotage.” J^ALL nodded gravely. “Speaking from a personal experience of my own, I am convinced that’s just what they are. You see, the rocket which Jules Frontenac and I have built- through funds supplied by Frontenac, incidently — isn’t the first I’ve worked on. There was one before it, which blew up in a radio-controlled ground test. I lost every cent I had at the time. The test was just routine; both before and after, I’m positive that the rocket had no mechanical flaws. The only explanation for the blast is that the ship was tampered with in some way.” “Then I need hint no longer, Mr. Dali, Merrick stated, his features sud- denly grim and intent. “I’ll come right out and say that General Weston and I are certain that it actually is murder and sabotage. That is why we are here. We believe that some hidden, powerful group is working desperately, using every fiendishly cunning means at their disposal, to stop rocket research! not only in this country, but in other coun- tries as well. Fully authenticated re- ports show that every nation engaged in space rocket research has had its share of accidents and deaths. This

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18 AMAZING STORIES thing is on a world-wide scale, and as such it would seem that the idea is not so much to stop space rocket research, but to prevent men from conquering space. Now why should this be, Mr. Dali? What can possibly be the reason behind it ? Why should any group want to prevent men from going beyond the earth?” Weston joined in for the first time. “Look at it this way, Mr. Dali. What interplanetary body is the goal of prac- tically all rocket researchers?” “The Moon,” Dall returned unhesi- tatingly. “Until it is shown that a trip to and from the Moon can be made successfully, it would be sheer suicide to go anywhere further away.” Weston nodded. “The Moon — ex- actly! Is it thus too far-fetched to suppose that the object of this myste- rious group, in sabotaging rocket re- search, is not merely to prevent men from conquering space — but actually to prevent them from reaching the Moon? Is there something on the Moon which this group desires to keep undiscovered?” Dali stared in amazement at Weston. A protest stirred in his mind, but he said nothing. Weston met Dali’s gaze imperturb- ably, smiling slightly. “I realize, of course, how fantastic this guess is. The Moon to all appearance is a dead world ; airless, uninhabited, and as far as we know as yet unreached by man. But Merrick and I have discussed the pos- sibility at some length — so often, in fact, that it no longer seems incredible to us. After all, there would be little or no reason to keep man earth-bound, unless it were to prevent him from reaching some objective beyond the earth, the Moon being the most im- mediate. Is it thus too extreme to suppose that there is something on the IMoon which an unknown group is seeking, for some reason, to keep from being found?” VTERRICK tapped the table in an emphatic gesture. “And that, Mr. Dali, leads us to the reason why you’ve been brought here. If there actually is something on the Moon, the world- wide efforts that have been made to keep us in ignorance about it mean it is extremely important that we learn . what it is. The welfare of our nation and of the world may depend on it. “But, Mr. Dali” — Merrick tapped the table again^ — “you are the only man on earth who at present is capable of acquiring this information. Your work has progressed without interfer- ence to the point where you are ready to leave earth. I have been informed of the battle which you have fought — successfully, thus far~to keep your rocket from being destroyed like all the others. The battle is by no means over yet — but somehow you must win out; somehow you must reach the Moon and obtain the information we need.” Dali nodded slowly, with grimly quiet determination. “I’ll do my best, sir.” “I knew I could count on you,” Mer- rick said softly. He rose and Weston, as though taking a cue, rose also. Mer- rick smiled and went on, “You will be doing your country a great service, Mr. Dall. And the world as well. In re- turn for your courage and loyalty, will you accept, as a token of appreciation from our government, the title of Spe- cial Operative of the United States Secret Service?” Dall jerked to his feet. “Accept? Why, it would be impossible to refuse!” “Then lift your right hand, Harvey Dall, and repeat after me the following oath: I do solemnly swear . . . .” Awe-inspiring words, slowly and im- pressively spoken. Dall felt a strange

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HIDDEN CITY 19 chill as he repeated them, and an un- accustomed tightness clutched at his throat. For behind those words was more than a man named John Merrick, more than a little-known government agency called the Secret Service; be- hind them was a nation whose deeds in every field of human endeavor had placed it in the very forefront of the greatest powers of the world. Finally it was over — Dali had taken the oath. And he knew at that moment it was one which he would not forget easily or lightly cast aside. It bound him just as securely as chains of the strongest steel; it was something that would be a part of him always. From a pocket of his coat Merrick produced a slim black case and snapped it open. He lifted into sight a plain platinum wristwatch and extended it to Dali. “This is your badge of identification, Special Operative Dali. You will notice what seems to be a thin line of decora- tive engraving around the sides of the case. This is actually a microscopic code, containing such details as your name, title, height, weight, and other items of physical description, together with your fingerprint formulas, and a perfect though extremely tiny copy of your own signature.” Dali shook his head in wonder, “It seems impossible that you could have learned all that.” “We of the Secret Service have our methods,” Merrick returned, with a brief smile. “There is no time to ex- plain them just now; you must listen carefully to the instructions which I am going to give you.” Merrick spoke slowly and distinctly. Dali learned how to contact the main office, how to locate other operatives, how to use certain emergency signs and passwords, and other immediately nec- essary details of his new position. Then Dali found himself shaking hands with Merrick and Weston, and a moment later with Metz and Bushnell, who had come forward to offer their congratula- tions. Merrick became brusque. “I hardly need remind you, Special Operative Dali, that the hopes of the United States and of the other nations of the world go with you on your mission. You will be fighting a clever and power- ful foe, who will make every effort to prevent you from carrying it out. As far as is humanly possible, you must not fail. That is all; you are dismissed. Carry on — and good luck,” Dali saluted as he had seen Metz and Bushnell salute. Then he turned and strode swiftly from the room, lines etching the corners of his mouth and eyes; lines that had not been there before .... CHAPTER III lake appeared below, and a moment later the sprawling pre- fabricated buildings of the camp, en- closed within an elecrified metal-mesh fence. Dali dropped the flitterjet to- ward the ground, but didn’t try to land at once; certain formalities had first to be gone through, lest a carefully ca- mouflaged anti-aircraft gun send a hail of shells streaking up at him. Putting the ship into a low circle over the camp, he switched on the tiny two-way radio built into the control panel, tuning to a special band. A voice spoke almost at once, tense, de- manding. “Who is it?” “Dali; Harvey Dali.” “Says you, mister. Give the word.” “Ozone.” “Okay. Come on down, Mr. Dali.” There was a tiny landing field at the west end of the enclosure, with a hanger

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20 AMAZING STORIES at one side, through the opened doors of which a number of parked craft were visible. Bringing the flitterjet down to a gentle, almost vertical land- ing, Dali changed the thrust of the overhead jets and sent the ship taxiing toward the hanger. As he climbed out, a mechanic came running up, features widened in a welcoming grin. Dali grinned back, though inwardly he felt a twinge of something that closely ap- proached disgust. He could very well have parked the ship himself, but Fron- tenac insisted on having servants per- form all chores, regardless of how slight they might be. In another moment Dali shrugged; Frontenac was footing the bills, and it was only fair that he should have his own way. Besides, there was no denying the fact that Frontenac could well afford his extravagances. He had inherited a fortune on the death of his father, and then, playing the stock market in a manner over which hard- ened speculators still shuddered or marveled, he had increased the money to several times its original amount. Whether his success was due to blind luck or to extraordinary shrewdness, no one had ever been able exactly to determine; but Dali guessed it was the latter. JULES FRONTENAC was some- ) thing of a paradox; at once fiery and impetuous, at once cool and cal- culating. He was a man of many facets, who threw himself into the pur- suit of scientific knowledge with the same vigor with which he plunged after the ball on a polo field, or hurled a strat-rocket through the tenuous upper reaches of the atmosphere in the set- ting of new speed records. The con- struction of the Frontier was the latest of his many interests. Dali, after the destruction of his own rocket, had been hired as chief engineer and construction superintendent in general. After more than a year of constant, often grueling work — work in which Frontenac him- self had enthusiastically and indefatig- ably taken part — Dali had come to know Frontenac well. Whatever others might think or say about the eccentric, volatile little man, Dali had to admit that he liked him. These thoughts passed through Dali’s mind as he strode from the field, toward the prefabricated cabin which he shared with Frontenac. He was halfway there, when he abruptly became aware of a man crossing to intercept him. The arrival was tall, heavy-set, with bluntly handsome features topped by a close- fitting cap of crisp-curling red hair. He waved a hand at Dali and said: “I’ve been looking for you. Nobody seemed to know where you went.” “Just flew up to Chicago for a while, Bruce,” Dali returned. “Business, but nothing you would call important. Fin- ish your check-up?” Bruce Melgard nodded, falling into step with Dali. He was head of the technical staff at the camp, having been there nearly as long as Dali himself. He was nominally under Dali, though there were times when Dali had the disturbing impression that Melgard could at any time have easily taken over and done just as well — if not better. Melgard was pleasant and friendly enough, but there was some- thing vaguely odd about him, which Dali could never explain. “The circuits are all okay,” Melgard said. “And the relays function per- fectly. The ship is just rarin’ to go.” “And she’ll go,” Dali said, with an undertone of grimness. Melgard’s answering grin held a sug- gestion of diffidence. “Which reminds me; I haven’t given up hope yet. Isn’t there some way you could possibly

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HIDDEN CITY 21 squeeze me in on the flight?" Dali shook his head. “No room, Bruce. The ship, as you know, can only accomodate two; and with the instruments Frontenac insists on lug- ging along, it’ll be a close fit even at that.” Melgard sighed. “I don’t give up easy — ^but I guess this is it.” “Keep hoping,” Dali advised. “If Frontenac and I return in one piece, there’ll be other flights.” The cabin had been reached; Dali nodded to Mel- gard and strode toward the door. Frontenac was seated at a table in the small but luxuriously furnished liv- ing room, tinkering with a very large, and obviously very expensive camera. His thin, dark features broke into an instant smile at sight of Dali, and he bounced to his feel in one of the swiftly impulsive motions characteristic of him. Words burst from his lips in a rush. “.-^h — it’s Harveyl I thought I heard a ship land. That box — the injectors, eh? Did you have any trouble on the trip?” “No trouble,” Dali said. He depos- ited his burden on the table, dropped his hat over it, and settled in a deep chair nearby. He watched Frontenac as he produced and lighted a cigarette. P'RONTENAC’S sensitive features mirrored conflicting emotions; re- lief and disappointment showed on it in turn. He was well below average height, slender, with large, heavily- lashed dark brown eyes and thick black hair, di.sordered by repeated nervous combing with his fingers. High cheek- bones, together with a narrow, arching nose and thin, mobile lips, gave his face an intense, rapier-like quality. He wore whipcord breeches and highly- polished riding boots. A vividly pat- terned red scarf was knotted around his throat and tucked into the open collar of his powder-blue gabardine shirt. He said slowly: “No trouble?” “Well . . . not exactly,” Dali amended. “Hah!” Frontenac levelled an ac- cusing finger. “Holding out on me, eh? What happened, Harvey? Come on — give!” Dali drew at his cigarette, hesitating. Merrick hadn’t mentioned that Dali was to keep secret his new identity as Special Secret Service Operative, evi- dently leaving the matter to his own discretion. Where persons could be implicitly trusted, there apparently were no objections to Dali revealing himself; and Dali knew that Frontenac could be trusted. But Dali didn’t explain at once. He glanced at a doorway across the room and asked, “Is Jerome in?” Jerome was Frontenac’s valet, secretary, and handy-man in general. Frontenac shook his head with a quick, bird-like motion and dropped into a chair opposite Dali. “Why all the mystery, Harvey? What happened to you anyway?” Leaning forward, Dali softly related the story of his two encounters with Metz and Bushnell and of his meeting with Merrick and Weston, which had resulted. He repeated substantially what Merrick had told him about the rocket disasters and the motive behind them, finishing with the honor that had been conferred upon him in return for his pledge to help. Frontenac’s expression was one of deep awe. “Special Operative — -think of it! And you deserve it, Harvey; you already suspected all those things a long time before that man, Merrick, told you about them.” Dali shrugged. “The disasters make a pattern that’s pretty easy to see. And it’s probable that the Secret Serv-

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22 AMAZING STORIES ice was interested in them for quite some time before they contacted me. But the fact that the Secret Service is interested, does mean I wasn’t just doing a lot of high-powered guess-work. We now have all the more reason for wanting to reach the Moon safely. And we must be more than ever careful to see that nothing happens to the Frott’ tier’' “Not to mention ourselves!” Fron- tenac said. A bleak shadow touched his face. “But only until we complete our mission successfully. After that, our lives — as before — mean nothing.” A swift grin removed the shadow from his face; he leaped from the chair. “A toast, Harvey! We must drink a toast!” He whirled and hurried from the room, returning moments later with a bottle and two glasses. Filling them, he handed one to Dali and raised the other high. “To Special Operative Harvey Dali — and the solution of the mystery on the Moon!” Dali grinned, touched his glass to Frontenac’s, and drank. He said slow- ly, “Something else happened today, Jules.” pRONTENAC’S dark features jerked in astonishment. “Something else! But, good Lord, Harvey, after what you’ve told me, how could any- thing else possibly have happened?” “Remember me telling you about that white-haired man I met while taking a walk a couple of weeks ago? Well, I saw him again, today. At the Loop terminal. He saw me, too. I’m sure he knew I was going to be there.” Frontenac was silent, staring, “At first,” Dali went on, “I thought he was connected with Metz and Bush- nell, but it turned out that he wasn’t. Who is he connected with, then? With They — the organization that’s blocking rocket research? If he is, it means that the Secret Service isn’t the only group that has a direct line into camp; it means that They also have ijomeone checking on us.” “A spy in camp!” Frontenac breathed. “An enemy under our very noses!” Dali nodded somberly. “The Fron- tier is already being carefully guarded, but it might be a good idea if we fol- lowed a policy of watching the watch- ers. At least for the next two nights. It’s certain that any attempt to destroy the ship will be made at night, when only the guards are around. And since they’re only human, we can’t take the risk that one of them might fall asleep on the job and give someone a chance to slip into the hangar.” Frcmtenac protruded a lean chest and jabbed it with a forefinger. “Then, Harvey, I insist on taking the first watch. Action is what I want — action! I’m tired of all the checking, planning, and figuring that we’ve had to do. I’ll watch tonight. And if I catch anyone sneaking around” — he shook a fist, dark eye flashing — “I’ll blow him to kingdom come!” The arrangement suited Dali ; it gave him the last watch, which he considered most important. It was quite possible that an attempt to destroy the Frontier would be made on the very last night before the time set for its take-off. He spoke a few words of agreement to Frontenac and glanced at the plain platinum watch strapped to his wrist that had replaced the more ornate gold one which he had worn previously. Almost time for supper, he saw. He would have to hurry if he wanted to wash and change from his suit into more comfortable clothes .... y ONG shadows of evening were ■*^stretchmg over the camp, when Dali and Frontenac left the mess cabin.

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HIDDEN CITY 23 Most of the little group of mechanics and technicians still at the camp had already preceded them, strolling toward the bunkhouse, where they would play cards or watch and listen to the Vision set until the time came to turn in. These would remain until the Frontier finally left on its trial flight, in case any last-minute repairs or adjustments were necessary. In unspoken agreement, Dali and Frontenac directed their steps toward the construction hangar, which was sit- uated at one end of the camp’s tiny airfield. Four armed guards were on duty outside the hangar, placed at stra- tegic points, and two more were sta- tioned inside. The guards consisted of two groups, working in six-hour shifts. They had been chosen with all possible care, and in addition they were divided into teams of two men, each of whom had strict orders to watch constantly both the other and the men of other teams. The pairings were rearranged each day, so that there would be no slackening of alertness due to familiar- ity. The mechanics and technicians functioned in a like manner; no one man or team ever did anything in or around the ship that was not watched by another man or team. It was Dali who had imposed this precautionary system, and the men, fully aware of the stark necessity be- hind it, co-operated whole-heartedly. There had thus far been no attempts at sabotage, but Dali knew that the real test was yet to come. The unknown spy and potential saboteur whom it was certain the camp harbored may not have been frustrated at all, but only waiting for a certain time or set of circumstances in which to strike. He was backed by a cunning and powerful organization whose record of past suc- cesses indicated it would not give up easily. The guards at the hangar admitted Dali and Frontenac without challenge. Other persons, however, would not have been passed as readily; permission from Dali or Frontenac, even on work pro- jects, was required first. The present group of guards had just come on duty, having finished their meal in the mess cabin a short time after Dali and Fron- tenac arrived there. Then the group relieved had appeared for their meal. The hangar lights had been turned on in anticipation of darkness. Under the fluorescents the Frontier was a huge, silvery shape, its tapering nose pointed toward the hangar doors. The two guards stationed inside were posted one at each end of the ship. They nodded at Dali and Frontenac, but the two had eyes only for the Frontier. THOSE who possessed an art- istic rather than a technical sense, the Frontier would have seemed a cur- iously ungainly craft. It completely lacked the cigar-shaped symmetry which one more or less unconsciously expected of a vessel built to navigate the void between worlds. From a slim, pointed bow it widened to a broad, flaring stern, a design which gave the ship a disproportionate, rear-heavy ap- pearance. To a rocket engineer, however, the Frontier would have seemed a marvel of compactness, utility, and strength. That clumsy-looking stern w'ould have been seen at once as the only means of locating the huge jets tubes with a minimum of space and a maximum of mechanical efficiency. And when the difficulties of taking off and landing in a gravitational pull were considered, certain other advantages of its design became apparent: in taking off, it would have a high angle of trajectory which would conserve fuel; in landing — ac- complished stern foremost — it would

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24 AMAZING STORIES have greater stability, reducing the danger of its losing balance and crash- ing when settling down on its jets. The Frontier’s flaring stern was channeled to form four great thick vanes or fins. Seen from the rear, these made a cruciform outline, with a large exhaust tube in the center and four smaller ones at the tip of each arm. The smaller tubes slanted outward, so that their jet streams would emerge at an angle relative to the stream from the central tube, thus making it pos- sible while in flight to steer the ship in any desired direction. The Frontier was approximately six- ty feet long. Less than a third of this was passenger space; the rest was al- most completely taken up by fuel tanks and propulsion engines. The hull was of a smoothly-welded, highly-polished beryllo-steel alloy, tough enough to deflect small, low velocity meteorites, though Dali knew it would be no proof against large ones traveling at high speed. Only an impossible thick hull would resist penetration by the latter. Dali was trusting in sheer, blind luck to avoid them, but he had made certain arrangements in case of an emergency. Thick, blunt wings projected from the vessel’s sides, near the bow. These were telescoped at present, but could be extended for use in the atmosphere. Amidship, at the top, was a transparent quartzite pilot shell. Quartzite was the latest product of scientific ingenuity; enormously strong, it at once permitted clear visibility and acted as a shield against both harmful space radiations and the burning ultra-violet rays of the sun. Dali and Frontenac gazed in silent worship at their creation. To them the Frontier had everything of artistic beauty and something over and above mere engineering perfection: it em- bodied in material things the dream of reaching the far-off stars which man has always dreamed; in it was crystall- ized more than a year of work, worry, and hope. Looking at the ship, Dali felt an abrupt surge of anger that anyone should wish to destroy something so fine. For more than the efforts and ambitions of two men were threatened —the very aspirations of the human race itself were at stake: the race that had labored through countless gener- ations over evolution’s long road, reach- ing out for the stars, until it stood finally on the threshold of fulfillment. And that threshold was here, Dali realized; here, in this very room; here, before him. Beyond it were new worlds, new knowledge, a new and finer life. Nothing, he told himself grimly, must take away the chance to achieve those things. At last Dali turned and glanced questioningly at Frontenac. The other nodded. “I’m staying, Harvey. Turn in and get some rest. And" — Frontenac pro- duced a large automatic from under his leather jacket— “don’t worry. Ev- erything will be all right." Dali grinned, waved, and strode from the hangar. Undressing for bed in the cabin, he yawned deeply. He seemed more tired than he realized. Then it struck him as odd; he had done nothing strenuous or exhausting that day. ^^HE sense of strangeness persisted. He stretched out under the covers, feeling a dull lassitude creep over him. And then he noticed something wrong with his eyes; he seemed unable to focus them properly. The shadowed outlines of the room persisted in blur- ring, melting together. Even the pattern of his thoughts grew hazy, as though a dark fog were filling his mind, ob- scuring them.

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HIDDEN CITY 25 Something was wrong, he realized dimly. These sensations weren’t the sort he normally experienced when tired, even when very tired, which he knew he had no reason to be right now. The answer burst upon him abruptly. Drugged! He had been drugged; it was the only explanation. Horror flaming through him, he whipped the covers aside and struggled from the bed. He was breathing heav- ily. A cold perspiration beaded his face. He swayed dizzily; the outlines of the room whirled before him. Strength was oozing from him; it took terrific effort to remain erect. Drugged! But how had it happened? Except for supper he had taken nothing internally that might account for his present state. Supper! Supper! Of course. That was the answer. His food had been doped. .And then an even greater horror overwhelmed the first surge he had felt. Had just his food been doped? Or was it possible that all the food had been treated? He realized, even as consciousness flickered like a flame in a rising wind, that little would .have been accompli.shed by drugging him alone. If the use of narcotics indicated an attack on the ship, it would be only logical to remove all potential inter- ference. And everyone at camp had eaten supper — Frontenac, the hangar guards .... The hangar — he had to reach the hangar! Within seconds the ship would be entirely unguarded, ^wide open to attack. Moving through sheer force of will rather than strength, Dali lurched to- ward the door. He seemed to be wad- ing through a thick, transparent jelly. The world spun crazily; a confused roaring filled him; the dark fog in his mind grew darker, spread. Somehow he reached the door, fumbled it open, A cool breath of evening wind touched his feverish, wet face. It was the last thing of which he was aware, for suddenly he was falling — falling into an endless, utterly black and starless void .... CHAPTER IV ^WARENESS was a long, torturous uphill road, and Dali was climbing it slowly, painfully. Something seemed to urge him on; something that he seemed to sense rather than hear. Up — ever up. . , . Dali opened his eyes. The cool wind was still there, and the light hadn’t yet gone out of the .sky. He felt a dull surprise; he couldn’t have been unconscious for more than several min- utes. How had he come to awaken so soon? He became conscious of someone kneeling at his side. He squinted, try- ing to see, through the dusk and the mist still clouding his vision, who it was. He gasped, staring in amazed disbelief. It was the white-haired man. The stranger returned Dali’s stunned gaze calmly. Nothing moved behind the steady regard of his intense, dark all-knowing eyes. The expression on his pale, smooth face was one of aloof serenity. Tlien Dali noticed that the stranger’s hands were moving busily over some task. With a wad of some white stuff that seemed to be cotton, he was wip- ing the needle of a glittering hypo- dermic syringe. As Dali watched in dazed wonder, the other produced a small case from his coat; the hypoder- mic was carefully placed within it; and then the case and the wad of cotton vani.shed into a pocket.

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26 AMAZING STORIES Dall suddenly found words. “Youl” he whispered. “You’re the one who did it — the one who drugged the food. You’re after the ship. You’re — ” Dall started erect, harsh lines leaping into the corners of his mouth and eyes. Quite suddenly, he was unable to move. He was rigid, frozen in the act .of rising. The white-haired man had reached out no detaining hands; nor had he spoken or changed position in the slightest. But abruptly Dall was unable to move. Something stirred in Dali’s mind: a voice that was not a voice, speaking words without sound. “You do not understand.” The stranger’s lips hadn’t moved; nothing audible had issued from him; but Dall knew he had spoken. Awe and startled wonder rushed through Dall like a cold wind. There was only one explanation for the words he had understood, but hadn’t heard — tele- pathy, Somehow, through some in- explicable ability, this white-haired mystery-man possessed the ability to communicate telephatically with others. Dali’s surprise was forced back by stronger emotions. “I’m sure that I do understand,” he said grimly, using his voice even though certain, from what had happened a moment before, that it wasn’t necessary. “You’re plan- ning to destroy the ship. Why else would you be here right now? Why else should you have been sneaking around the camp two weeks ago — and followed me to the city this afternoon?” “It is as I have said,” the stranger returned in his uncannily silent way. “You do not understand. I do not plan to destroy your space vessel; on the contrary, I have come here to prevent it from being destroyed. That is why I have revived you.” Dali’s thoughts whirled in bewildered confusion. “A trick!” he breathed at last. “It has to be a trick.” “I assure you it is no trick. If it was my intention to destroy your space vessel, it would have been foolish to revive you and thus invite interfer- ence.” “Then what are you doing here?” Dall demanded. “There is no time to explain. Both you and your space vessel are in danger. You must overcome this danger through your own efforts.” The stranger paused momentarily, looking in the direction of the hangar, seeing something Dall couldn’t see. Then he turned back to Dall, and for the first time expression touched his face — a sudden flash of tension. ‘You must hurry. Too much time has already been wasted.” ■LTE ROSE, then a smooth, liquid ^ movement that seemed without ef- fort. He turned, walked around the near corner of the cabin, and was gone. Bare seconds later, Dall hurried after him, impelled at once by curiosity and the urgent demands of unanswered questions. And as on that day in the forest, two weeks before, he found noth- ing. Dall shrugged aside his annoyed dis- appointment; more important matters required his attention just now. He peered through the deepening gloom, at the hangar, the white-haired stranger’s warning suddenly sharp in his mind. The lights were still on; he could see them shining behind those of the hangar windows visible to him from his posi- tion near the cabin. Nothing moved. The camp was very still. A deep hush lay over it that was unnatural, ominous. Everyone else in camp seemed under the effects of the drugged food. But if the stranger was to be credited, some- one— or something — was in the hangar. Something that threatened danger to Dall and the Frontier. Who — or what?

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HIDDEN CITY 27 Dali intended to find out. He whirled and hurried into the cabin. He took his automatic from under the pillow where he had placed it in preparing for bed. He was in pa- jamas, barefooted, but there was no time to dress. Returning outside, he set out at a swift trot toward the hangar. He had progressed as far as the next cabin, when abrupt sound broke the stillness. There was the faint noise of a door opening and closing, followed by the rapid thuds of approaching feet. Someone was coming from the direction of the hangar — evidently from the hangar itself. Senses leaping, Dali darted around the side of the cabin near which he had halted. He crouched in tense waiting, his entire consciousness focused upon the advancing footsteps. A man hurried into sight in the space between the cabin against which Dali was hiding and the one, several yards away, from which Dali had emerged scant minutes before. It was still light enough for Dali to make out details of the other’s appearance. Shocked rec- ognition flared into his eyes. Melgard! Bruce Melgard, the head technician. There was a gun in Melgard’s hand. And even in the dusk, there was that about his figure which seemed grim, menacingly purposeful. Dali watched in perplexity. Had Melgard also been revived by the white- haired stranger? Or had he been awake all along, having been connected some- how with the drugging of the food? Within instants came an answer; reaching the cabin which Dali shared with Frontenac, Melgard slowed, crept forward with unmistakable caution. Whoever Melgard thought was in the cabin, he obviously considered an enemy. That person could only be Dali himself. And if Melgard knew or sus- pected that the white-haired man was somewhere about, his actions could only mean that he considered the stranger an enemy, too. It was clear, then: Melgard had been responsible for the drugging of the food; Melgard was a member of the organization Dali knew only as They. A bleak purpose formed within Dali. He had to capture Melgard. The man undoubtedly possessed vitally im- portant information regarding They. But even more important just now, he had to be stopped in whatever he was up to. Melgard was moving slowly toward the open doorway of the cabin. The angle of the building shortly hid him from sight, but Dali knew he must now be preparing to enter. Crossing swiftly and noiselessly the space between the two cabins, Dali sidled with infinite care toward the door, taking up a po- sition to one side. Melgard would soon find the cabin unoccupied. And when he emerged — jDUT already the other was moving toward the doorway; moving fast, as though in consternation and alarm. He burst outside; Dali leaped at his back. Melgard should have gone down un- der the surprise and force of Dali’s on- slaught. What actually did happen was something for which Dali was entirely unprepared. With bewildering, incredible speed, Melgard bent almost double, heaving powerfully to one side. Dali went fly- ing over his shoulders to land with stun- ning impact on the ground. Dazed, Dali lay there, striving for full understand- ing of what had happened. A chilling thought struck him: What sort of a per- son was Melgard anyway? His re- actions evidently weren’t those of an ordinary man; he’d had only the merest

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28 AMAZING STORIES instant’s warning of Dali’s attack, yet that had been enough. Melgard stood watching Dali, a slight smile on his blunt features. His gun was pointed with alert steadiness. He had managed somehow to retain his grip on the weapon — something Dali had failed to do with his own, which he had lost in his fall. Melgard abruptly released a curt, dry laugh and said, “You were a fool to think you could take me, Dali.” “If you’ll put that gun away,” Dali •eturned evenly, “I’ll see if I can’t con- vince you otherwise.” Melgard shook his head. “Sorry, I haven’t any time to waste. You’re go- ing with me to the hangar, and then you, Frontenac, and I are going to take a little trip. A one-way trip.” “To the Moon?” Dali asked. Melgard said slowly, “It could be the Moon.” “You’re the one responsible for the drugged food served at supper, aren’t you?” Dali asked again. Melgard nodded. “How does it hap- pen that you’re the only one who didn’t go under?” “A little trick I have. Tell me some- thing else. Just who are you working for?” “The Phrenarch of Lunapolis,” Mel- gard answered unhesitatingly. He laughed in grim amusement at Dali’s blank stare. In another moment his face hardened; he gestured with the gun. “Enough of this. The effects of the drug will be wearing off shortly, and I want to be gone before the others start coming around. Come on, Dali, get up.” Dali had been sitting on the ground. He turned over slowly now, started to push himself erect. For an instant he was crouched, poised on fingertips and toes like a dash runner awaiting the sig- nal. He’d already experienced Mel- gard’s uncanny swiftness, and he doubted that he could accomplish what was in his mind, but he didn’t hesitate as he threw himself at Melgard’s legs, directly under the threatening muzzle of Melgard’s gun. The gun went off — not once, but sev- eral times, all in the space of a single heart-beat. The reports of each shot shattered the unnatural stillness of the camp as repeated hammer blows shat- ter glass. And then Dali hit Melgard, and together they went toppling back- ward to the ground. But Melgard was in motion even as he fell; with flashing speed, he brought down the barrel of the gun, clubbing it at Dali’s head. '^HEY hit the ground. Dali landed half atop Melgard, pain bursting and tearing within him from the blows on his head. His consciousness flickered dangerously on the verge of extinction, but with that strange heightening of senses under stress, he was vividly aware of the danger; it underscored as though in searing flame the terrible fire- bright, chilled-steel desperation already inside him. And something happened. A man is blind; for most or all of his life, he has been without sight. One day he falls, and in the pain, the shock, and the fright of it, he regairis his vision. A man is helplessly paralyzed; has been for most or all of his life. And one day he is subjected to an emo- tional stress so great, so mind-wrench- ingly violent, that he regains the use of his muscles. Something like that happened to Dall. His mind was suddenly clear, with a strange new clarity; his body was filled with a new, vibrant leaping strength. The scene, and all the colors, details, and meanings of it, were sud- denly sharp and vivid, like a stereo- photo caught in perfect focus.

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HIDDEN CITY 29 Melgard’s body had hardly touched the ground, when again he was moving with the amazing swiftness char- acteristic of him. An ordinary man would have been briefly stunned by the fall, but already Melgard was in fu- rious, deadly action. He no longer tried to use his gun as a club. Twisting under Dali, he whirled himself half erect, whipped up the weapon — aimed it, his finger tightening simultaneously on the trigger. His first shots had missed Dali. It didn’t seem possible that he could miss again. With the curious feeling of strength and clarity of perception that had come to him, Dali missed nothing of Mel- gard’s maneuver. And even as Melgard raised the gun, even as Melgard’s finger squeezed the trigger, Dall, too, was moving. The gun roared — but the bullet failed to reach its target. The breath of an instant before the shot, Dali’s hand had flashed forward, knocking up and to one side the barrel of Melgard’s weapon. Now Dali’s hand closed over the gun; with a burst of savage strength, he twisted it back and down, forcing it violently from Melgard’s grip. The gun came free, but before Dali could take advantage of its possession, Melgard exploded into frantic effort. Seizing Dali’s arm — the only immediately stra- tegic portion of Dali’s body available to him at the moment — he jerked viciously to one side, lunging in the same direction in an attempt to pin Dall beneath him. Dall, however, threw himself quickly in the line of pull, and with the combined motions of Dali’s body and his own, Melgard rolled com- pletely over Dall. Melgard seemed to go wild. He had retained his grip on Dalis’ gun arm, and his fingers were like gouging bands of steel as he sought furiously to regain the weapon. He writhed and heaved in a frenzy of straining muscles, fight- ing for a position that would give him the necessary leverage. Grimly, with an icy determination that withstood the consuming heat of battle, Dall count- ered each raging attack as it came. One thing was vividly clear to him; he must not lose the gun. Back and forth over the ground the two men struggled, rolling and twisting in a volcanic welter of whipping bodies and threshing legs. Melgard was slowly weakening Dali’s grip, but he was using both hands to do it. Dall had one hand free. Again and again he evaded some potentially bone-snapping hold, and then he awoke to the advantage he had in his free hand. He abruptly shifted from the defensive, and began driving in blow after smashing blow to Mel- gard’s chest and middle. pORCED to protect himself, Mel- gard released one hand from Dali’s gun arm. Dall had been hoping for that. With a tremendous heave, he threw himself off Melgard, and then, knees braced against the ground, he wrenched and jerked at his imprisoned arm — and Melgard’s clutch broke. Instantly Dall scrambled completely erect, swaying, breathing in harsh gasps. Melgard followed; and as he started to his feet, Dall suddenly rushed. His fist was sweeping up as he moved, following an arc that started near his knees, that drove through Mel- gard’s tardily upflung arms, and landed with a sharp thud against Melgard’s jaw. All the tired savagery went out of Melgard’s face. He staggered back- ward a few steps, eyes glazing. Then he collapsed disjointedly to the ground. He didn’t move again. The deep quiet held once more. Dall stood rubbing his bruised knuckles, a grave satisfaction filling him. The

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80 AMAZING STORIES Frontier was safe now — not to mention Frontenac and himself. And with Mel- gard a prisoner, many things would be explained. Light would be shed at last on the identity and motive of They. It would no longer be necessary to grope blindly in the dark. Melgard would talk, Dali assured himself grimly. A man could always be made to talk. And in the present instance, too much was at stake to be squeamish about the means used to make him do so. Through the silence, the sound of approaching footsteps abruptly became audible: slow footsteps, advancing with unmistakable caution. A voice called softly: “Bruce? Bruce, is that you? What happened?” Dali’s mind flared in discovery. A confederate! Melgard had a confed- erate! Dali didn’t move. The newcomer would be armed, and he already sensed that something was wrong. Tensely statuesque, Dali waited, eyes straining at the dusk. The butt of Melgard’s gun was hard and cold in his hand. CHAPTER V CLOW seconds dragged past. In a far corner of Dali’s mind, quick thoughts moved. Melgard’s partner, he decided, must have been waiting in the hangar while Melgard left to fetch Dali, supposedly unconscious from the effects of the drugged food. Melgard’s shots had alerted the man, but the fight, swift and short, had been over before he had time to arrive on the scene. It was likely that he had not rushed out even then, but had approached slowly, on guard against danger. Watching intently, Dali presently discerned in the dusk the darker outline of a man. The other was hugging the wall of the opposite cabin, moving for- ward with extreme slowness. “Bruce?” he called again. “What’s the matter?” “Drop your gun!” Dali snapped. “I have you covered.” His answer was a sudden roar of shots. But it was an answer he had expected. He had dropped silently to the ground even as he spoke the last word. And now, elbows propped firmly, he took painstaking aim-.squeezed the trigger once. The gun crashed, jerking in his fist. There was a choked cry. Utter si- lence followed the sound, flowing around and over it like a thick liquid. And then, through the silence, came the sod- den thud of a body hitting the ground. Dali waited, suspecting a trick. But as the leaden minute crept by, no sound or motion came from the other. Dali grew aware of a pebble under him, pressing against his chest. He worked it out slowly, without relaxing his vigil. Then he flipped it a short distance to one side. The noise made by the peb- ble as it hit the ground was loud in the stillness. Nothing happened; there was no responding barrage of gunshots. At last Dali rose cautiously to his feet, prepared at any instant to leap aside. Again nothing happened. After a moment, he walked slowly toward the dark shape huddled on the ground in front of the cabin opposite the one near which Dali and Melgard had fought, and from near which Dali had fired. Melgard’s confederate, he found, was dead. Firing at the dim, pale blur of the man’.s face, Dali had managed to hit him also directly between the eyes, just above the bridge of the nose. A feeling of sickness lurched giddily through Dali at the realization that he had taken a life. He knew that the man had meant to kill him; that he had un-

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HIDDEN CITY 31 doubtedly taken other lives in the past; and that if he had lived he would cer- tainly take more lives in the future. But the knowledge provided Dali with little comfort. Good or bad, a life is still a life. Moreover Dali had known the dead man. He had been one of two cooks employed at the mess cabin. How Mcl- gard had managed to put a drug into the food was now clear. He had accom- plished it through the aid of a partner, the entire coup obviously having been planned long in advance. The precau- tionary two-man team system hadn’t included the cooks, and it evidently had been a simple matter for Melgard’s con- federate to drug the food without notice. J^ALL returned to where he had left Melgard. Gripping the other un- der the .shoulders, Dali dragged him into the cabin nearby. There was no time to look for rope; Dali secured in- stead a generous handful of Frontenac’s expensive nylon ties. The material was strong, and would serve just as well in a pinch. Dali bound Melgard carefully. Then, as his pajamas hung in tatters, he hur- ried into the clothes he had laid aside in preparing for bed. These tasks over with, he set out at a run for the hangar. The four guards who had been on duty outside the building lay in the positions in which they had fallen. They had not been harmed. Nor, Dali dis- covered shortly, had the two guards in- side been touched. But Frontenac was nowhere in sight. A cold dread momentarily touched Dali. Then he noticed that the en- trance hatch of the Frontier was open, and that the lights within the ship had been turned on. Gun gripped at the ready, he entered. He found Fron- tenac, trussed securely, in the small low cabin situated just under the control room. No one else was present; Mel- gard and the cook obviously had been the only immediate enemies. Carrying Frontenac from the ship, Dali set to work unfastening his bonds. He was almost through, when the other stirred and muttered unintelligibly. Dali recalled Melgard’s remark about the effects of the drug wearing off soon. Evidently the deadline had now been reached. But it might be long minutes yet be- fore Frontenac was fully conscious, and Dali didn’t intend to be idle that long. Melgard would be recovering from Dali’s knockout punch about this time also. Despite the fact that Melgard had been thoroughly tied up, Dali thought it best to keep the man under close watch. Nothing concerning Mel- gard could be taken for granted; his abilities were beyond the ordinary. Hurrying to a washroom at one cor- ner of the hangar, Dall soaked a towel in cold water. He bathed Frontenac’s wrists and temples, alternating with pe- riods of slapping and massage. Presently Frontenac’s eyelids began to flutter. And then he opened his eyes. He stared, blinking, as though trying to bring Dali’s face into focus. After a moment he smiled; evidently he was able to use his eyes now, and had rec- ognized Dali. “Went to sleep,” he murmured in ex-, planation. “Got tired — so tired.” Abruptly he sat up, eyes flaring wide. “Harvey! Something’s wrong. I didn’t want to go to sleep — I had to. Harvey — I think I was doped!” Dali nodded quickly. “You were— and the same thing happened to every- one else at camp, including me.” Frontenac gasped. “But how did it happen?” Tersely, in staccato sentences, Dail explained. He told of how Melgard had drugged the food served at supper,

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32 AMAZING STORIES through the aid of a confederate who had been working as a cook in the mess cabin. He sketched Melgard’s motive: the destruction of the Frontier, and sim- ultaneously the kidnapping of Fron- tenac and Dali. Hastily describing how he had been revived by the mysterious white-haired stranger, Dali related his fight with and capture of Melgard and his killing of Melgard’s confederate. Jj^RONTENAC squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “What a world — what a life ! ” Then he flashed one of his swift grins. “But I like it. And to think of all the fun I missed! I wanted action — and then slept all the way through it!” “I’d better get back to where I left Melgard,” Dali said. “He should be awake now, and will bear plenty of watching.” He turned sharply as a movement caught his eye; the guard laying near the bow of the Frontier was sitting up. Glancing at the other, near the stern, Dali saw the man brush daz- edly at his face in evidence that he, too, was coming around. “It might be a good idea if you re- mained here for a while,” Dali told Frontenac. “You can explain what hap- pened when the others start asking questions. And see that the guard over the ship is resumed.” Frontenac nodded, and Dall hurried away. As he ran toward the cabin in which he had left Melgard, Dali saw that men were beginning to straggle out from the doorways of the other build- ings, further back. It was dark now, but in the light streaming from windows and opened doors, Dali was able to notice the fact that the men were all bewildered and confused. He frowned anxiously; the camp was completely disorganized, its defense system utterly out of gear. If anything were to happen before things were once more coordinat- ed, the results would be disastrous. Reaching the cabin, Dali found that disaster had already struck — Melgard was gone. One of the windows in the room where he had been was broken. The neckties with which he had been bound had almost all been sliced to pieces. Dali realized wEat had hap- pened: Melgard, recovering, had inched along the floor, to the window. Then he had pushed himself erect by bracing his body against the wall and shoving against the floor with his bound legs. And finally, breaking in the window, he had used the sharp edge of one of the glass shards remaining in the sash to saw loose the cords at his wrists. With his hands free, cutting away the bonds at his feet with another glass fragment had been a simple matter. An abrupt sound shocked Dall out of his numbed dejection. It was the dull roar of a flitterjet, starting up. Melgard! The realization burst like a signal flare in Dali’s mind. Escaping from the cabin, Melgard had taken ad- vantage of the camp’s disorganization to steal one of the flitterjets parked in the aircraft hanger. And now he had more than an excellent chance to make a complete getaway. Dall knew that the men operating the antiaircraft can- non and searchlights — even if they had awakened— would still be too dazed to attempt bringing Melgard down. Dall was all too painfully aware that he could not operate the gun and search- lights alone; and by the time he had obtained the necessary help, it would be too late. Despair tore at Dall. It was not so much losing Melgard that he found un- bearable, as losing the vital information regarding They which Melgard un- doubtedly possessed. Deprived of that knowledge, Dall would once more be fighting blindly, in the dark. Leaping back outside, Dall squinted

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HIDDEN CITY 33 into the darkness above the airfield. In a moment he found the circle of pale blue light made by the whirling over- head jets of the fugitive ship. He saw the ship itself, lightless, a darker shad- ow against the night. It was already some fifty feet above ground, and was rising swiftly. A plan flashed to Dali. If he could not stop Melgard, he could at least fol- low him in another fiitterjet. And as long as the fuel held out, follow him Dali would ! J^ALL whirled into motion, racing to- ward the aircraft hanger. As he crossed the airfield, a figure came run- ning from the direction of the construc- tion hanger to intercept him. The au- tomatically operated sliding doors of the construction hanger had been flung open, and in the light from within that streamed through them, Dali saw that the approaching man was Frontenac. “Harvey! ” the other called. “What’s the matter? Who was it that just took off?” “Melgardl” Dali snapped, without pausing, “And I’m going after him!” He continued his plunge toward the air- craft hanger. The doors were open, but the lights within the broad, squat structure had not been turned on. Dali fumbled for a wall switch, and the overhead fluores- cents glowed. The mechanic who was supposed to have been on duty within the hanger lay spraweld out on the floor. A bruise on his jaw showed it was a fist rather than drugs that was responsible for his unconscious state. Dali found that it was his own per- sonal flitterjet which Melgard had tak- en. But Frontenac’s .sleek sportster was an even speedier craft. This, along with a larger, sturdier ship used to ferry in supplies, had not been damaged; Melgard had apparently been in too much of a hurry to bother. Clambering into Frontenac’s ship, Dali suddenly discovered that he wasn’t alone. Frontenac himself came crowd- ing into the cabin after him. “Thought — you’d — leave me — out, eh?” Frontenac panted. “Well — you’ve got another guess — coming!” There was not time to argue. Hands darting over the controls, Dali taxiied the flitterjet from the hanger and out onto the field. W^ithin another few seconds he had the craft in the air. As he circled the camp, trying to find some trace of Melgard, there was an abrupt, sharp concussion and some- thing screamed past the ship. And al- most immediately afternward, the bril- liant beams of two large searchlights flashed blindingly into the surrounding darkness. The members of the camp’s anti- aircraft unit had belatedly recovered the full use of their respective senses. And to make up for the first ship, which they had allowed to get away, they were swinging into furious action. With a snarl of rage and disgust, Dali switched on the radio. “Who is it?” a voice was demanding. “Give the word!” “Ozone, you boneheads!” Dali yelled. “Ozone! Now shut up and turn off those lights, or I’ll — ” Briefly and pungently, Dali explained what he would do. Frontenac, recovered from his first shock, grinned. “I didn’t know any- thing like that could be done to a man, Harvey. Offhand, I’d say it was physi- cally impossible.” “I could hardly be blamed for try- ing,” Dali growled. The searchlights went out. Dali squeezed his eyes tight shut for several seconds, then once more scanned the night in search of Melgard’s ship. He made a second full circuit of the camp,

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34 AMAZING STORIES another, and then he caught the tiny red and green moving points of a ship’s flying lights far ahead. Melgard seemed to be headed in the direction of the lake that lay near the camp. jp'RONTENAC’S sportster was fast, and Dali used all of his not incon- siderable flying skill to coax forth every bit of speed the craft possessed. It tore recklessly through the night, the drone of its jets softening as peak oper- ating efficiency was reached. Dali was bent tensely forward in his pilot seat, peering with dogged persistence into the rushing darkness, at the lights of the fleeing ship ahead. Slowly the gap between the two ships narrowed. Dali’s eyes were fully ac- customed to the darkness now, and with the added aid of the illumination from the bright crescent of a half-moon ris- ing in the sky, he was able shortly to make out the shape of Melgard’s craft. His lips thinned in a smile of baleful eagerness. Frontenac’s sportster was proving its superiority; Melgard would not escape. The lake appeared below, silver in the Moon’s radiance. Watching, Dali saw Melgard’s flitterjet dart suddenly toward the ground. He frowned in perplexity. What was Melgard up to? Was he planning to land and lose him- self in the surrounding wilderness? Dali knew that practically nothing would be accomplished by taking such a means to elude pursuit. Melgard would be marooning himself in rugged, primeval country, where people were few and far between. And with the coming of daylight, it would not be too difficult to hunt him from the air. Melgard was dropping down toward a strip of beach at the far end of the lake. Altering the thrust of the over- head jets, Dali sent his ship hurtling at a slant toward the spot. In another instant he felt Frontenac grip his shoul- der. “Harvey — look!” Frontenac was pointing tensely. The beach was bright in the moon-lit dusk. A short distance beyond it was a black, apparently solid wall of forest. And now, running from the forest and out onto the beach, appeared the figure of a man. As he reached the beach, he stopped, beckoning at Melgard’s ship. Dazed bewilderment swept Dali. The man on the beach seemed to expect Melgard — seemed to know who he was and why he was coming. But how had he known? Almost instantly the answer came to Dali. The radio in Melgard’s flitterjet. Melgard had used the radio, tuning to some special wavelength, to contact the other. But where had the man come from? What had he been doing down there, in the forest? Was he alone? Was he alone? The thought exploded in Dali’s mind. If the man wasn’t alone, he and Fron- tenac were rushing headlong into what might very well be a trap ! Dali sent his hands racing over the controls of the flitterjet. He and Fron- tenac were jolted sharply backward in their seats as the craft straightened abruptly from its dive. It levelled out, then swept up and around, darting back upon its former course. Dali flashed a quick look at the beach. Melgard had landed, and now he and the other man were running toward the forest. They were swal- lowed from sight in the dense black shadows that lay among the close- grouped trees. “\^at’s the matter, Harvey?” Fron- tenac queried. “Giving up the chase?” Dali nodded quickly. “That man we saw down there on the beach may not have been alone. There might be others somewhere in the forest. We can’t risk

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HIDDEN CITY 35 running into a trap. WeTl play safe by getting a head start, but if nothing hap- pens we’ll circle back to see what they’re up to.” Dali turned his attention to flying, while Frontenac watched through the rear windows of the flitterjet’s cabin. Abruptly Frontenac emitted a loud gasp. “You were right, Harvey. Look! ” Whirling in his seat, Dali saw a slim silver shape rising into sight from the black depths of the forest. A ship! And more than that — a space ship! For it had the size and design that only a space ship would have. But it was like no space ship Dali had ever known. It was rising horizontally instead of verti- cally, the way a space ship should rise. And, incredibly, no rocket exhaust trail showed at its stern; there was nothing at its stern from which a rocket exhaust could emerge. At both ends it tapered smoothly. Whatever its inexplicable means of propulsion, the mystery ship was mov- ing— moving fa.st. It rose to the alti- tude at which Dali held the sportster; and now, still on a horizontal keel, it turned, pointing its slim tapering bow at the flitterjet. Then, with a sudden, effortless soundless rush, it sped for- ward. Dali stiffened under the impact of an appalling realization. He burst out: “Why . . . why, blast them! They intend to ram us!” CHAPTER VI distance between space ship and flitterjet was closing with numbing swiftness. Within mere in- stants, it seemed, the smaller, lighter craft would be bludgeoned out of the sky — smashed in broken fragments to the ground. By no stretch of the imagination could space ships as yet be called a common sight. As far as Dal! had known, the Frontier was the only space- going vessel then in a state of com- pletion. It was thus especially discon- certing to have a full-fledged, perfectly functioning space ship materialize al- most literally under his very nose. And the shock was even greater to have that ship hurtle straight at him with un- mistakeably deadly intent. Almost too late Dali jerked out of the paralysis brought on by that bizarre, completely unexpected manner of at- tack. Whirling back to the controls, he sent the sportster into convulsive leap almost vertically upward. A split- second later the strange space ship plunged into the space the flitterjet had occupied. Keeping the sportster in its climb, Dali saw the space ship sweep around in a great half-circle. Again its taper- ing bow was pointed in silent menace; again it rushed. This time Dali abrupt- ly cut power and dropped. The deadly silver projectile was thwarted once more, but its pilot evidently had been expecting some such maneuver; for now the half-circle with which it jock- eyed back into position was tighter, quicker; and it resumed the attack more slowly, with greater care. “What a ship!” Frontenac marveled huskily. “What a ship! Operating in an atmosphere, in a strong gravitational pull, and yet, what speed — what ma- neuverability!” Dali grunted, “If someone pointed a gun at your head, with the intention of blowing your brains out, I suppose you’d still find time to admire the beauty and workmanship of the gun.” Frontenac grimaced wryly; in an- other moment he sobered, frowning. “There ought to be something we can do to get away . . . .” “I know we can’t keep jumping up

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36 AMAZING STORIES and down the way we’ve been doing,” Dali pointed out. “The fuel won’t last — even if my nerves do.” The sportster was now moving in a swift arc that was taking it back toward the lake. Dali hoped in this way to prevent the pilot of the space ship from getting a direct aim for another rush. But the other was closing in slowly, apparently with the intention of mov- ing so close that Dali would be unable to evade a sudden lunge. Dali, however, did not wait for an- other attack. Over the lake, he put the flitterjet into a swift upward spiral. Again the space ship tried slowly to close in, but now Dali abruptly sent his own craft dropping. Altering the thrust of its jets, he started circling in an opposite direction. Balked in his efforts to creep up on the flitterjet, the space pilot abandoned his crafty stalk- ing tactics. He sent the projectile dart- ing forward, this time not directly at the sportster, but toward the spot where it would be instants later in its circling course. ■p\.ALL was almost caught. A sudden ^ burst of speed took him clear of the danger, but with a speed that matched his own, the space ship leaped in pursuit. Its pilot evidently had grown impatient, if not actually angry, and now he sent his craft lunging re- peatedly at his prey, for all the world like the disembodied head of some ven- omous snake. But if the space ship was a snake, Dali’s sportster was an agile mongoose, darting, dodging, evading death with hair’s-breadth nearness. Time and again, Dali leaped at the last moment to safety; time and again, that deadly silver bullet struck. Dali knew he couldn’t keep it up; the intense mental and physical strain of the weird duel was rapidly tiring him. And his eyes, flickering anxiously at the fuel gauge, saw that the indicator needle was hov- ering dangerously low. Something had to be done, Dali realized with piercing urgency. Some- how he and Frontenac had to come out of this alive. As Harvey Dali, rocket engineer, his life, except to himself, was comparatively unimportant; but as Harvey Dali, Special Operative of the United States Secret Service, his life mattered a great deal: a great nation, directly, and the world, indirectly, were depending on him for vital information — information regarding a powerful and sinister enemy, with whose representa- tives he was even now in mortal con- flict. By pure chance rather than design, the sportster was still moving over the lake. Dali abruptly grew conscious of the fact, and as he did so, the light of a plan burst upon him. He and Fronte- nac might yet have a chance to escape! Hurriedly, even while his hands flashed over the controls, Dali told Frontenac of his scheme. The smaller man was instantly enthusiastic. “I think it’ll work, Harvey. It has to work!” “Everything depends on perfect tim- ing,” Dall said. “It’s frightfully risky, but we can’t keep this up any longer.” Frontenac gripped Dali’s shoulder reassuringly. “I’m with you, Harvey — all the way ! ” With that he left his seat beside Dall, removing his safety straps, and went to the door of the sportster’s cabin. He crouched there in tense wait- ing. Dall bent desperately to work. De- liberately he made the evasive maneu- vers of the flitterjet slower, increasingly clumsy, as though he were tiring. And the pilot of the space ship, as the next few seconds showed, was taken in by the trick. With evident eagerness his attacks grew swifter, more reckless.

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HIDDEN CITY 37 Then the exact conditions Dali had been waiting for finally arrived. Es- caping with apparent awkwardness a particularly furious rush, he secured the time necessary to put the flitterjet into a slow sweeping arc. He waited tautly for the next attack. This was it, he thought. This was it. Everything depended on what would happen now. The space ship curved around, crept in, then flashed forward. Dali reacted with frantic haste. The flitterjet drop- ped with appalling abruptness, almost vertically down, toward the lake. Down . . . down . . . Carried on by its terrific momentum, the space ship grew small with distance. Dali had been hoping for that; those in the projectile would momentarily be unable to observe what the occupants of the flitterjet were doing. And before the murderous space craft could swing around and come rushing back, Dali’s plan would already be in effect. '^HE waters of the lake were leaping up to meet the descending sportster. Dali threw on power to check the fall. And as they slowed, he glanced, nodding sharply, at Frontenac. The other had opened the door of the flitterjet’s cabin; now, with an answering nod, he leaped out and down in a dive toward the lake. He hit the water cleanly and disap- peared from sight. Dali started the sportster rising again; and as it started, he locked on the automatic pilot, which would hold the ship that way. Then he was scram- bling for the cabin door, and a moment later he, too, was plunging down toward the lake. The water closed over Dali, shocking in its coldness. He seemed to descend endlessly, and then he slowed, became momentarily suspended in the depths, and began to rise. He kicked out with arms and legs, forcing himself to rise slowly. Breaking surface, he drew quick gulps of air to hungry lungs, peering about him. Frontenac, floating a few yards away, called a soft reassurance. Satisfied that the other was safe, Dali began searching the sky. The crescent Moon was higher now, brighter. It flooded the star-strewn dusk with lumi- nescent, silvery-pale radiance. Soon Dali caught sight of the space ship. The craft was still far off, but it had curved around, and now it was rushing back toward the lake. “On your toes!” Dali called present- ly, to Frontenac, “Here she comes!” The projectile swept in over the lake, hurtling down at the rising flitterjet. It struck its previously evasive target with vengeful force; there was a great tearing crash of sound, sharp and brit- tle. And then, to all appearances nei- ther staggered nor damaged in the slightest, the projectile rushed on, while the torn and broken fragments of the flitterjet began raining into the lake. Seconds before the crash, Dali and Frontenac had submerged, each with the firm intention of going down as far and staying there as long as possible. Luckily enough, none of the larger pieces of the demolished flitterjet struck anywhere near them, while the several feet or so of water between them and the surface acted as a shield against the smaller ones. The occupants of the space ship were unable immediately to observe the ef- fects of the crash, for the momentum of their shattering charge had carried them irresistibly onward. By the time they returned to the scene, the wreck- age of the flitterjet had already sunk from sight. Only ripples, widening over the surface of the lake, remained to tell of what had happened. The space ship circled slowly a few

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38 AMAZING STORIES times. Then, those inside evidently having become certain that their vic- tims had perished, the craft pointed its nose at the sky and began swiftly to rise. MOMENT later Frontenac popped from the water, gasping. Dali fol- lowed shortly, equally breathless. To- gether, treading water, they peered up- ward at the rapidly diminishing shape of the projectile. Higher, it soared, ever higher, growing smaller. And then it was gone, too small any longer to be seen. “We’re safe,” Dali told Frontenac. “They think they got us.” “Us?” Frontenac echoed. “But how could they have known we were in the ship?” “They got close enough a few times to see into the flitterjet’s cabin,” Dali said. “And it’s likely that they didn’t depend on moonlight, as we did, but used an infra-red night scanner.” A tremor of growing chill shook Dali; he glanced toward the strip of beach where stood the flitterjet Mel- gard had abandoned. Not too far away, he noted with satisfaction. Gesturing to Frontenac, he struck out and began to swim. A quarter of an hour later they were back in camp. Generous doses of brandy, hot baths, and dry clothes threw off the effects of their immersion in the lake. With sleep the most distant thing in their minds just then, they gathered by tacit agreement in the cabin living room. Frontenac lighted a cigarette, dark brows contracted in a frown. He said slowly, “Melgard may think we’re dead, Harvey, but there’s still the Frontier. He can’t be certain that other persons won’t try to fly the ship.” Dali nodded gravely. “It’s quite probable that he intends to see no one does.” “What do you think he’ll do?” Frontenac asked. “With the kind of ship he has, there’s the possibility that he may try to approach silently over camp and bomb the Frontier.*’ “I don’t think so,” Dali said. “That would bring the activities of his organi- zation directly out into the open. Judg- ing by its past actions, this organization will want to stay hidden until ready for whatever it’s up to. It’s certain that Melgard has orders to destroy the Frontier^ but it’s also certain that those orders are to make it look like an acci- dent. And since he thinks we’re out of the way, there’s no reason for him to be in a hurry about it. Most likely he intends to wait and see who takes over the ship before stepping in.” Frontenac glanced up from a thoughtful scrutiny of the glowing tip of his cigarette; he smiled thinly. “And he’d do that by planting agents among the persons who hypothetically would take over the ship, eh?” “Exactly!” Dali agreed. “Either among the technicians who would check the ship over before the flight, or among the persons who would take part in the flight itself. Melgard tried this last on us; he practically begged me several times to let him go along on our trial flight. Probably he intended to elimi- nate us while in space, and then take the ship somewhere where it would never be found again. He tried to fol- low this plan even after I refused; that was his purpose in drugging the food.” p^RONTENAC shook his head in a sort of mild incredulity. “When you stop to think of it, Harvey, all that hocus-pocus and beating around the bush doesn’t quite make sense. We’ve seen the ship that picked Melgard up back there at the lake; we’ve seen what it can do. All right — why couldn’t Mel-

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HIDDEN CITY 39 gard simply wait out in space until we — or any others — came along, and then simply riddle us full of holes with a special cannon that wouldn’t be hard to build? That way we’d be disposed of quickly and thoroughly, with no risk or evidence.” “Maybe it’s because Melgard’s ship isn’t sufficiently maneuverable in space,” Dali suggested. “We already know that its flight principle in no way involves rocket propulsion. How it does move is a mystery; but a good guess would be that it somehow utilizes gravity, or gravitic lines of force. Out in space, then, with the conflicting pulls of earth, moon, and sun acting on the ship, it’s probably too difficult to shift quickly from one gravitic field of influence to another, as would be required to pursue a victim and match speed and course, so as to get a cannon to bear. And there’s the added diffi- culty that the victim is almost certain to notice what is going on and do a lot of quick and complicated dodging. “A further reason,” Dali went on, “might be the psychological value of having the attacks take place on earth instead of in space. On earth, making the attacks look like accidents, it would appear as though rocket technology were at fault, with the result that rocket research would gradually be dis- couraged. If rockets left earth, to be attacked in space, it would prove that there was nothing wrong with rocket technology, while something was radi- cally wrong in space. And since there’s nothing men like more than a good mystery, you can bet they’d keep on going to find out just what was wrong in space.” Frontenac had listened quietly, smoking his cigarette. Now, crushing out the stub, he asked with character- istic suddenness, “Harvey, where do you suppose Melgard went in that ship? To the Moon?” “That’s a good possibility,” Dali re- turned. He fingered his jaw, scowling slightly. “But what in the name of reason could be on the Moon? It’s airless, dead, certainly uninhabitable, and almost certainly just as unin- habited.” “One side of the Moon is always turned toward Earth,” Frontenac re- minded. “Who knows what is on the other side — the side we never see? It might be a mistake to judge one by the other.” “You may be right,” Dali said. “But it’s a sure bet that the two sides of the Moon are almost the same in general appearance and physical properties. It’s natural to suppose that the other side might be different — simply because we never see it.” He shrugged and fell silent. “And there’s the white-haired man,” he resumed after a 'moment. “Who is he? How does he fit in? We know he’s friendly; he revived me in time to spoil Melgard’s plans. That means he’s working against Melgard’s organization. But why? What is his motive? Who is behind him?” Dali rose from his chair and began pacing the floor. Abruptly he swung to Frontenac. “We don’t know the an- swers—but one thing is clear: we have a big advantage right now. Melgard thinks we’re dead; he won’t be expect- ing the Frontier to leave Earth imme- diately; he’ll be waiting to see who takes over the ship, so he can plan his next moves. And while he’s doing that, we’ll leave and be on our way to the Moon before he knows or can do any- thing about it.” A swift grin leaped to Frontenac’s expressive lips; his dark eyes sparkled. “WeTl get ready at once, Harvey! Why waste time?” Dali nodded, straightening purpose- fully. “At once!” he agreed.

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40 AMAZING STORIES CHAPTER VII JT WASN’T so simple in practice; numerous details had first to be at- tended to before actual preparations for the flight could begin. The person- nel of the camp, Dali found, were in a state of alarmed bewilderment. It was still early in the night, and few if any of the men had turned in. Dali, calling them together, was .showered with po- lite yet persistent questions. The men already knew a little of what had hap- pened, but it was necessai^ for Dali to explain more fully. Swiftly and con- cisely, he did so. Even then it was obvious to Dali that many doubts and apprehensions re- mained. The drugging was hardly an event which the men could dismiss lightly; it was a nervershattering cli- max to the strain under which they had been working for long months. They were demoralized, filled with a sense of insecurity; for despite all pre- cautions against attack, an attack had occurred. And having once experienced the power and cunning of the enemy, they could not be certain that another attack would not occur. Dali becahie painfully aware that the men at present were hardly in a state of mind to deal with the delicate and complex details of preparing the Fron- tier for immediate flight. He didn’t in- tend to put things off; it might be dangerous — even catastrophic — to wait. The situation was something he had to whip, and he plunged into it without hesitation. He explained his purpose in calling the men together, emphasizing the fact that the Frontier had to leave at once, and that the task of readying it for the flight demanded the utmost in efficiency and concentration. Almost fiercely he accused the men of their present atti- tude, pointing out that they had not been harmed in Melgard’s attempt, nor were they likely to be harmed a second time. And his inherent leadership qual- ities made the men respond instinc- tively to his reassurances; individually and then as a group they indicated their willingness and fitness to start work. At last, certain that he had the men welded into an efficient whole once more, Dali began issuing crisp orders. As he finished, Dali waved a hand in a gesture of dismissal. It was a peculiar gesture, but the men, turning away to begin their designated tasks, didn’t notice — except for one. This man remained behind after the others had gone. Dali recognized the other as a mechanic, a quiet, pleasant-featured youngster. Now, however, Dali knew the man was more than a mere me- chanic— he was a Secret Service opera- tive, as his response to Dali’s code sig- nal showed. Dall had known there was an operative at camp, but until now he had been unaware of the man’s identity. Dall extended the wrist on which a plain platinum watch was strapped. The youthful operative glanced at it closely; he nodded and said: “A special, eh? Good work, Mr. Dall!” He turned grim. “Anything I can do?” T^ALL hadn’t forgotten Melgard’s dead confederate. He had thought at first of reporting the, man’s death to the sheriff in a nearby town, but had decided finally to let the Secret Service handle the matter. It was possible that an investigation of the erstwhile cook’s background might turn up something which would prove a valuable lead to They. Dall explained this now to the mechanic-operative. He finished, “An- other reason why I want the Secret Service to handle this is because the

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HIDDEN CITY 41 local authorities might somehow allow publicity to leak out. Melgard would be waiting for this; it’s vitally impor- tant that he doesn’t know Frontenac and I are alive until we’re well on our way to the Moon.” The operative nodded quickly. “I’ll take care of it, Mr. Dali. You can for- get this part of the case.” Saluting, he hurried out. Dali followed the others to the con- struction hanger, where he joined Frontenac in supervising the activities being initiated in and around the Fron- tier. From air conditioning system to rocket motors, the ship was examined carefully, each mechanic or technician working in his own special domain. As reports came in, Dali checked them off on blueprints and charts. It developed that the Frontier was as completely in perfect working order as could be de- termined. Next Dali had the ship fueled for a ground test and moved outside, to the airfield, where floodlights had already been set up. Hydraulic jacks, special dollies, and a tractor accomplished the quite considerable task of moving the vessel. Dali decided against using a radio remote control hook-up; the process of installing one would have been too time-consuming, and in addi- tion the examination had showed that there was little or no possibility of anything going wrong. Frontenac insisted on joining Dali in the ship for the test; and when the men outside had cleared away, moving to positions of safety about the edges of the field, Dall started the motors. He kept their action well below lift velocity, and they roared a song of leashed but potent power — a song with- out sour notes or broken chords, that lasted until the last dregs of fuel had been exhausted. Grinning one of his rare boyish grins, Dali glanced at Frontenac. “She’s all right,” he said. “All right?” Frontenac cried indig- nantly. “Why, she’s perfect! She’s superb! She’s magnificent! She’s — ” He choked and gestured wordlessly as though to show how feeble further ad- jectives were. The final details were more simple in nature and went swiftly. Fuel was pumped into the ship’s tanks, and sup- plies and equipment loaded aboard. The first traces of dawn had hardly begun to show in the sky, when Dali, who had indefatigably been checking the progress of the work against charts and lists, announced that everything was ready. Neither Dali nor Frontenac had as yet had any sleep; with the exhilarat- ing knowledge that the Frontier stood at last on the brink of its adventure, prepared and poised for imminent flight, neither felt any slightest need for rest. They decided to leave at once. They donned more appropriate cloth- ing, and over this pulled specially-built, one-piece suits, heavy but flexible, made of a strong, plastic-coated fabric. Air- tight, electrically-warmed, and with an independent oxygen supply in tanks fastened to the shoulders, the gar- ments were intended as protection against loss of air, heat, and pressure, as might happen if the ship were struck by meteorites. There were helmets to accompany the suits, which, however, Dall and Frontenac did not put on at once. Then, making their farewells among the staff, they entered the ship, Dall sealed the entrance hatch, and followed Frontenac up to the control room. They strapped themselves into their huge, thickly rubber-padded spring-cushioned seats, then waited tensely for the signal which would indicate that the field had

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42 AMAZING STORIES this time been completely cleared. PRESENTLY a flare burst into in- ^ tolerable brilliance — the signal I No blare of martial music, no thunder of saluting cannon, could have been more eloquent than that simple blaze of light. Dali poised his hands over the con- trols. He glanced a moment into the east, where the sun was rising in aure- ate splendor; his eyes touched the rose- tinted clouds in the brightening sky, went to the shadow-wrapped fields be- yond the camp, and looked at last to Frontenac. The other nodded; he un- derstood. This was the Earth — - the Earth of clouds and trees, rolling hills and tossing oceans. This was the cra- dle Man was leaving. Beyond was the Moon. . , . Then Dali’s face drew into lines of purpose; his hands began moving over the controls with deliberate yet swift precision. A switch turned on the igni- tion system, apd a row of studs con- nected in all motors. A lever was moved down in its calibrated slot, adjusting the aperture of the injectors for take- off velocity. Then the fuel lines were opened; fuel sprayed from the injectors was ignited in a continuous, terrific ex- plosion that shot from each individual exhaust tube to merge in a single mighty blast. The blast paled in color as maximum combustion efficiency was reached; its first thundering bellow dropped in pitch, became a steady, even roar. The Fron- tier began to rise, its bow tipping up; slowly it climbed the flaming ladder of its blast. There was a quality of pon- derous, plodding steady deliberation about this initial stage of its take-off that was somehow bizarre. The per- formance was like nothing so much as a sequence from movie film shown in slow motion. But gradually, and at a rapidly growing rate, the ship’s speed of ascent increased, its bow tilting more and more sharply to the vertical. Then it was pointed straight up, streaking faster and ever faster into the rose and gold glory of the dawn. The mounting acceleration was like a Gargantuan hand, pushing with re- lentless pressure against Dali and Fron- tenac. It grew ever more difficult to move, though now it was no longer necessary for them to do so; all imme- diate adjustments had been made, and the ship was already in the first stage of its carefully calculated orbit. They reclined passively in their huge seats, gazes fixed intently upon the dials, gauges, and meters on the instrument board, which told more clearly than their own limited senses could have done the epic story of their flight. Each had donned special goggles to protect his eyes from the increasingly intolerable brilliance of the sun. The Earth dropped away steadily beneath them; details of the surface dwindled and outlines blurred under the growing depth of atmospheric haze. The acceleration pressure increased. It was impossible to move, almost impos- sible to breathe. To Dali it was as though an enormous weight pressed upon his body; pain, heavy and dull, beat through him in slow waves. A threatening blackness flickered at the fringes of his mind, growing, closing in. Time that seemed like centuries crept by — centuries of mercilessly squeezing pressure, tortured breathing, and throb- bing pain. The entire continent be- came visible below them, mist-wrapped, dim and curiously unreal. The western edge of it faded into a blue haze; the eastern edge was brighter, more clearly defined, and beyond it lay the flat, gray-blue expanse of the Atlantic. The sky ahead was a deep indigo, shading slowly to black; stars were visible,

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HIDDEN CITY 43 already unutterably brilliant and in- tense. The interior of the Frontier was stifiingly hot, filled with the muted roaring of the motors. The ship was still rising vertically; it was not, how- ever, moving in a straight line but along the lower leg of a vast parabola, due to the axial and orbital velocities of the planet from which it has, in ef- fect, been flung. Gradually the Earth assumed a spherical shape; the acceleration pres- sure eased away as the ship went be- yond the planet’s sphere of gravita- tional influence. No longer was there a sky, only the deep, velvety black- ness of airless space, spattered and strewn with countless blazing stars. '^HE threatening darkness had al- most closed over Dali; now it with- drew, and full awareness returned to him. He was exhausted, his body ached with bruised soreness, but he had a sense of profound relief— the worst of that infernal pressure was gone. Dali peered at Frontenac. The other was stirring feebly; he blinked several times, as though awakening from a doze, -■^nd then, meeting Dali’s eyes, he grinned wanly. Reassured, Dali turned his attention to the instrument board. He studied various dials and gauges, glanced at the chronometer, then compared the read- ings with data on the chart of the ship’s orbit. He made certain corrections of course, cutting the blast from the large central exhaust tube and from two of the four smaller outward slanting fin tubes. He used the two remaining ac- tive fin tubes for a carefully timed in- terval, then turned them off. Only the central tube was brought into play again. “Nothing to do for quite a while now,” Dali told Frontenac. “We’d bet- ter get some sleep.” “Sleep!” Frontenac snorted in dis- dain, gesturing at the star-gemmed panorama of space beyond the pilot shell. “And miss all this?” “You’ll be seeing this for bome sixty hours more,” Dali pointed out. “You won’t miss anything. We haven’t slept yet, and we’ll need plenty of rest for what’s ahead.” Frontenac nodded reluctantly. “Guess you’re right, Harvey. I am tired, come to think of it.” Dali set the chronometer alarm for six hours ahead; another alarm, con- nected to the air passage gauges, would sound in the event that penetration of a meteorite caused air to escape from the ship. With no further formalities, he and Frontenac settled themselves in their huge chairs; these were every bit as comfortable for slumber as a bunk or hammock would have been. Within minutes, lulled by the soft roar of the single active motor, they were asleep. Almost immediately, it seemed, the alarm went off. Dali once more began checking and correcting course, while Frontenac descended to the cabin be- low, to prepare- coffee and sandwiches. After eating they set up the special camera. It was Frontenac who gave orders now; with one of his character- istically abrupt metamorphoses, he was no longer Frontenac the intrepid explor- er, but Frontenac the zealous scientist. Leaving Dali to operate the camera from a convenient porthole, he busied himself with various pieces of scientific equipment, the most immediate of these being a spectroscope, a Geiger counter, and a small telescope. Thus was their routine established. At frequent intervals, Dali checked and corrected course; every four hours they ate; whenever they felt tired enough to do so — which was not’ often — they slept; and in between they gathered data with the scientific instruments.

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44 AMAZING STORIES kept busy, and time quickly passed, while the Earth became a great blue-green orb high above them and the Moon swelled into a vast sphere ahead. AN UNEXPECTED — and entirely ^ unwelcome — break in the monot- ony of the trip came when they were some fifty hours out. Dali and Fron- tenac happened to be in the control room at the time, preparing to settle themselves in their seats for a short nap. They were interrupted by the sudden jerking of the ship under the force of an impact. And moments later, while they stared at each other in shocked dismay, there followed the shrill clamor of the air pressure alarm bell. "WeVe been hit!” Dali gasped. “A meteorite — and a big one, judging from the blow we felt. Get your helmet on . , . and quick!” Due to foresight on Dali’s part rather than luck, the helmets were in the con- trol room, close at hand. He and Fron- tenac wore their emergency suits; and it was a matter of mere seconds to snatch up and don the helmets, seal them air-tight, and connect the metal- hose oxygen intakes to the tanks on their shoulders. These immediate- measures taken, Dali anxiously studied the air pressure gauges for the location of the mishap. He found it was the cabin below the control room that had been struck. The air-tight hatch separating the two com- partments was already sealed shut, but Dali began testing it, to make certain that no air was leaking from the control room. The ship jerked again. Dali stiffened, peering tensely about him. As he did so, there was still another shock; hardly ten feet away, at one side of the control room, a jagged hole appeared magically in the wall, and the merest flash of an instant later another showed in the floor. The meteorite had gone through the ship at an angle, piercing its tough metal skin as a hot knife passes through butter. The air pressure alarm shrilled again. This time air was escaping from the con- trol room. Dali fought down a surge of incipient panic. No reason to go into a dither; the situation was far from hopele.ss. The holes in the ship could easily be patched over; spare oxygen tanks in the cabin below would fill the evacu- ated compartments with a new air supply. Then Dali’s thoughts exploded in ab- rupt horror. The spare oxygen tanks. . . . If — He began tearing franti- cally at the dogs fastening down the hatch which he had been inspecting. Throwing the cover back, he flung him- self into the cabin below. It was as he had feared. Qne of the meteorites had penetrated at such an angle as to shear through, in a single sweep, the outlet pipes of three entire tanks. One tank had escaped damage solely because a protruding wall girder had forced it to be placed out of line with the others. One tank left. , . . Dali knew it wasn’t enough for Frontenac and him to return to Earth, CHAPTER VJll ■p\ALL looked up slowly as he became ^ aware that Frontenac had fol- lowed him to the cabin. The other was staring at the severed outlet pipes; his eyes, behind their helmet lenses, were wide and darkly clouded with appall. For a long time neither moved. Then Dali straightened, glancing over the compartment walls and floor. Holes in

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HIDDEN CITY 45 the metal fabric showed in numerous places, where the meteorites had pierced in entering and leaving. These could be patched over, but Dali doubted that the effort was worth making at all; with only one remaining tank a sufficient air pressure couldn’t be maintained within the ship. A better idea, he decided, would be to save the remaining air sup- ply to replenish the shoulder tanks of his and Frontenac’s emergency suits. It would last considerably longer this way — though not long enough to reach Earth. Frontenac touched Dali’s arm, then began to gesture in pantomime. In a moment Dali understood what was wanted of him; he lowered his head to Frontenac’s height, so they could touch helmets. Frontenac wanted to say some- thing, but in the near vacuum that now surrounded them, sounds could pass only over some material bridge. Touch- ing helmets accomplished this; words were audible, though curiously metallic in tone and somewhat indistinct. “Looks like we’re sunk, Harvey,” Frontenac said. “There won’t be enough air to get back on.” “It might not be hopeless,” Dali re- turned. “What do you mean?” “There might be something on the Moon — impossible as it seems. People, maybe. The ship in which Melgard tried to ram us was a space ship, you know. And his organization has gone through a lot of trouble to keep others from getting to the Moon.” “But, Harvey, if Melgard’s the only one we can depend on for help, it’ll be like jumping from the frying pan into the fire. He’s already tried twice to get rid of us.” Dali said slowly, “We might be able to find a way out. Anyhow,” he added after a moment, “we haven’t reached the Moon yet. Maybe — ” He gave an abrupt shrug, leaving the sentence unfinished. Straightening, he gestured to Frontenac and pulled himself up the ladder to the control room above. As he strapped himself into his seat, Dali’s eyes, behind their helmet lenses, were as cheerless and forbidding as bits of cold, raw steel. Maybe, he thought darkly, again. Maybe there was noth- ing on the Moon after all. He and Frontenac might be completely wrong in their theories concerning Melgard. They might actually be the victims of a cunning game of indirection — made to believe something was there which really wasn’t. In that case they were through — ir- revocably. They could never hope to return to Earth on the remaining oxy- gen. \yiTH a bleak tightening of his Jaw muscles, Dali forced his attention to the controls; the collision with the meteorites had made necessary serious changes in course. When once more the instrument readings corresponded with the data on the flight chart, he sat very quietly, eyes fixed in brooding on the swelling immensity of the Moon. The nap which earlier he had intended to take was forgotten; the deadly prob- lem which had arisen precluded any thought of sleep. Slow hours dragged by. And then, finally, the instruments showed that the Frontier had entered the Moon’s gravi- tational field. Dali snapped to attention; the next few hours would be critical ones, de- manding everything in the way of alert- ness and piloting skill. First he pressed a stud, which set to spinning a weighted wheel located at the Frontier’s center of gravity. The panorama beyond the pilot shell gradually shifted as the ship began swinging around; end for end it turned, until the stern instead of the

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46 AMAZING STORIES bow was pointed at the Moon. Now the full force of all rockets took up the task of checking the ship’s plunge. The Moon swelled in size, filling all immediate space. In the crescent phase, half of its surface was in brilliant Sun- light, the other half in black shadow. Due to the satellite’s airlessness, there was no gradual merging of shades; one began, simply and abruptly, where the other left off. Still the Moon grew, though more and more slowly. The Frontier’s speed was being checked to the point where it was almost literally floating down on its jets. Then Dali turned off the fin tubes and again started the weighted wheel to spinning. The ship was on the Moon’s Earthward side, but now, un- der Dali’s manipulation of the controls, it began moving in an orbit toward the Sunlit hemisphere. Dali was sending it toward the side perpetually hidden from Earth. Few details could be seen as yet; the surface was almost invisible in the blinding white Sunlight. The great blue-green crescent of the Earth seemed to sink in the sky as the ship swung around behind the Moon. Down, it sank, and down, until the fan- tastic, jagged peaks silhouetted on the horizon seemed biting into it like gigan- tic fangs. Then it was gone, and the Frontier was on the side of the Moon never seen from Earth. Dali’s pulses were racing; if there were anything on the Moon, it would be here, where it would be safe from the prying eyes of Earth’s huge telescopes. He glanced at Frontenac; the other’s dark eyes were gleaming, as though in reflection of his own eagerness. Rais- ing his heavily gloved hands to his hel- met lenses in an illustrative gesture, Frontenac unfastened his straps and left the control room. He returned shortly with a pair of binoculars equip- ped with special light filters, and pro- ceeded to scan intently the vast pano- rama below. As Frontenac watched, the Frontier swept over the Moon’s day side and began entering the Sunset zone. The ship was now closer to the surface; the sharp division between light and shadow was not as apparent as from higher above. Details of the airless, desolate little world now became vividly and al- most startlingly clear; for the first time the mountainous irregularities of its surface became evident. Great crat- ers, towering, fanged spires and ridges, and vast, sprawling serpentine chasms and gorges scarred and pitted the en- tire terrain. The shadows which stretch- ed from or filled them showed plainly their enormous heights and depths. '^HE shadows lengthened, and then ^ the ship was suddenly on the Moon’s night side, sweeping around toward the Sunrise zone. Dali and Frontenac stared at each other in mute, over- whelming despair. They had seen huge craters, mountainous ridges, and deep canyons; bizarre and unearthly, awe- inspiring— but not greatly different from like features to be found on the Earthward side. There had been noth- ing on the eternally hidden side of the Moon to indicate the presence of human beings. Dali sagged in utter defeat. Nothing. The entire Moon was dead and unin- habited after all. He felt Frontenac touch his arm; saw him beckon and incline his head forward. He touched his helmet to that of the other in response. “Looks like this is it, Harvey,” Fron- tenac said. “Those meteorites had our names on them.” “I guess so,” Dali answered dully. “The only hope we had of living beyond our remaining air supply is gone. There’s nothing to show that people

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HIDDEN CITY might somehow be living here.” Frontenac was silent a moment; then : “Harvey, did you have any theory at all of what we might find?” “In a way. I remembered a while back that Melgard mentioned a place called Lunapolis. It might have been just a gag — but on the other hand, Mel- gard might have been referring to an actual base or camp on the Moon.” “In other words, you had the idea there might be some sort of surface set- tlement?” “Something like that — though a set- tlement on the Moon’s airless surface, alternately baked in terrific heat and frozen in terrific cold, seemed too fan- tastic to consider.” Dali abruptly stiff- ened. “Jules! A surface settlement may be impossible — but what about a sub-surface or subterranean settle- ment?” Frontenac gripped Dali’s arm tense- ly. His tones were shrill with excite- ment. “I think you hit on something, Harvey! That might be the very an- swer!” “A subterranean settlement or base will be mighty hard to find,” Dali pointed out. “But it’ll have to have a surface entrance of some kind, and if there is one, we’ll find it.” The utter darkness of the night side began brightening as the Frontier reach- ed the Sunrise zone. Tendrils of flame that grew steadily in size danced on the Moon’s serrated horizon. These emanated from the Sun’s corona, where continuous, inconceivably violent ex- plosions of blazing hydrogen rose and fell like the furiously storm-lashed waves of an immense, supernally flam- ing sea. Then the full vast orb of the Sun rose into view, a spectacle of awe- some, breath-taking magnificence. Vl^HEN the hidden side of the Moon ' * had once more been reached, Dali 4T dropped the ship still closer to the sur- face. Then he balanced it on its jets, so that it ceased to fall and floated gent- ly at a constant height and speed. The maneuver was enormously fuel-wasting, but with no hope of regaining Earth on their diminished air supply, it was fuel that could be considered expendable. With the binoculars, Frontenac nar- rowly probed the surface. Time passed as the ship crept along; shadows began to lengthen again as it moved toward the Sunset zone. Frontenac became suddenly rigid; the binoculars dropped from his hands; and then, trembling visibly, his dark eyes were wide and incredulous behind their helmet lenses, he was pointing through the pilot shell. Surprised and puzzled, Dali turned his head to follow the direction of Frontenac’s gloved fin- ger; the ship’s stern was pointed at the .surface, and Dali had in effect been rid- ing backward. Now he saw what had whipped Frontenac to such a pitch of feverish excitement. A city. Dali stared in numbed, utter aston- ishment. A city! Tiny with distance, it was, yet obviously of large size, shin- ing with alabaster whiteness in the Sun’s rays. In the surrounding airlessness, its details stood out with vivid clarity. From the clustered buildings at its base numerous slender towers rose; one in particular, located approximately at the city’s center, leaped upward to a sur- prising height. A complex network of aerial spans threaded among and through the buildings, emphasizing the futuristic aspect of their architecture. The city seemed like nothing so much as a city of Earth’s future, somehow transported bodily through time and space, to the Moon. Dali saw — but his mind rejected the evidence of his eyes. He must, he told himself, be the victim of a mirage

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4S AMAZING STORIES caused in some fashion by the heat and brilliance of the Sun; or perhaps he was suffering from delusions brought on by the intense mental and physical strain of the past several hours. But it was apparent that Frontenac saw the city also; which meant that it must actually be there, since it was highly improbable that Frontenac could have been affected in exactly , the same manner as Dali. Peering at the city more closely, Dali had to admit that it was too substan- tial and clear-cut to be a mirage or a delusion. The city existed — it was real. But it had been nowhere in evidence the first time the Frontier passed this way. How had it materialized? Within seconds Dali had the answer. The city, he saw, was mounted upon a circular column or base that rose from the throat of an enormous crater, fitting it as precisely as a piston fits its cylin- der. And as a piston may be raised or lowered within its enclosing cylinder, so, Dali decided, could the column upon which the city stood be raised or low- ered within the crater’s throat. It was an effective and ingenious method for concealing the city from view; lowered within its shaft, the shadows filling the crater’s mouth would render it almost completely invisible. Dali recalled hav- ing noticed the remarkable size of the crater, during the first search, but he had seen nothing to indicate that some- thing might be hidden inside. Thoughts whirled chaotically in Dali’s mind. Why had the city been raised into sight, revealing its existence? Considering his and Frontenac’s pres- ence nearby, did the event have some special significance? Or was it merely accidental? For that matter, what was the city doing here, on the Moon? What was its purpose? Who were its inhabi- tants? Dali concentrated the full power of his faculties upon that last question. Who were the city’s, inhabitants? They, the mysterious organization of which Melgard was an agent? If so it meant that They were possessed of greater abilities than Dali had ever realized. It meant that They had among its mem- bers master architects and engineers — men who scientifically were so far in advance of their contemporaries as to make them seem like throwbacks to the Stone Age. ■p\ALL wondered abruptly if he were- n’t wrong in thinking about men — about human beings like himself. Per- haps it wasn’t men who had built the city, but people of another race entire- ly; a race that had come from some far-off system, to build for some un- known purpose an outpost on the Moon. The speculation sent an icy chill through Dali. An alien race from some incalculably remote world; grotesque, possibly utterly inhuman, in appear- ance. What would their purpose be in constructing a city on the Moon? As a military base in which to plan and prepare for war? And Melgard — how did he fit in? Was he an ally of these hypothetical aliens, selling his own race down the river? Melgard, Dali remembered again, had mentioned a place called Lunapolis. This seemed to be the name for the city at which Dali now peered. But who — or what — was the Phrenarch of Lunapolis? Dali ceased his brooding conjectures as Frontenac turned away suddenly from a long and intent scrutiny of the fairy-like metropolis below. Beckon- ing, Frontenac leaned his helmeted head forward, and Dali brought his own hel- met into contact. “We’ve certainly stumbled onto something, Harvey. Wish 1 knew what

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HIDDEN CITY 49 to make of it; I expected something en- tirely different.” “I know,” Dali said. “It’s as though we’d been searching for a flea and found an elephant. I’ve just about blown a fuse trying to reason it out.” “Anyway, Harvey, the city’s in line with what we were looking for — a place with air. What do we do now? My suggestion would be to fly right in and make ourselves at home.” “That tallies with my own ideas,” Dali admitted. “No use being cagey; we’d have to land sooner or later. And besides, getting into the city seems the only way to find out certain things that are bothering me. So hold onto your helmet — here we go I” Dali turned to the controls and began jockeying the Frontier over the city. It was an enormously difficult task, a space vessel being anything but maneuver- able in a gravitational pull. But by dint of infinite patience and a stagger- ing amount of consumed fuel, he ac- complished it; the ship finally was hov- ering directly over the city. Dali paused a moment, glancing downward, as he prepared to send the Frontier dropping. H i s gaze was caught and held by a number of bright- ly glinting motes that appeared sud- denly from the metropolis below. They were in motion, rising swiftly upward. In another few seconds Dali realized what they were — ships! Four of them. And then he recalled something else; the design of the oncoming craft was familiar. They were silver projectiles, slim and cigar-shaped, without tubes or fins — silver projectiles in every way identical to the one in which, back on the distant Earth, Melgard had at- tacked Dali and Frontenac. The gleaming, sleek ships were hur- tling up directly at the Frontier. With- in them, Dali knew, were the minions of They — men or things— yiho had been pledged to the destruction of all Earth- ly craft. CHAPTER IX pSCAPE was out of the question;! having already had an experience with one of them, Dali was aware that he could not hope to elude the swift, agile vessels now approaching; and fur- ther it was necessary, considering the loss of their air supply, that he and Frontenac lake refuge in the city. Yet he could not take the risk that the four oncoming ships intended the immediate annihilation of the Frontier and its pas- sengers. Somehow he had to make a play for time. Once in the city, it was possible that he and Frontenac could indefinitely stall off death. There was only one solution that Dali could see. He didn’t hesitate; his hands began moving desperately over the con- trols. The Frontier dropped with reck- less speed toward the toy-like expanse of the city below. The four projectiles were taken com- pletely by surprise; they evidently had expected the rocket to do anything but what it did just then. The momentum of their swift rush upward carried them past their prey and on into the distance. The gap increased still further as the Frontier steadily and rapidly descended. Cold and tense, Dali watched the city grow in size and detail, spreading out and up like some enormously huge, swift-growing flower. At intervals he darted quick, comprehensive glances back at the projectiles. Belatedly they turned and came plummeting down in pursuit. When they had flashed by moments before, Dali had noticed some- thing that he hadn’t seen on Melgard’s craft during the encounter over the lake; slim tubes had projected from the bows and sides of the four ships — weap- ons of some sort. Dali was thinking

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50 AMAZING STORIES of this now as they came darting after the Frontier. In the confusion result- ing from the speed and unexpectedness of Dali’s ship-dropping strategy, he and Frontenac had not been fired at. But their momentary advantage was now gone. The tip of the city’s dominating cen- tral spire grew near. Dali felt a sud- den, brief tingling shock, as though a mild electric current had passed through him. Frontenac’s startled eyes showed that he had felt it, too. An invisible energy field of some sort, Dali decided; a field that quite probably enclosed the entire city within its zone of influence. The gap between the Frontier and its pursuers was rapidly narrowing. But nothing issued as yet from the tube- weapons of the projectiles. The reason wasn’t hard for Dali to guess. The Frontier was too close to the city; a miss would be certain to cause serious damage among the buildings. Peering down, Dali saw a large rec- tangular clearing near the base of the central tower, which was now almost on a level with the ship. The clearing seemed to be a landing field, for the sleek, silver shapes of several projec- tiles rested at various places about the margin of it. Dali maneuvered the rocket toward the clearing, increasing the force of the blast to break its fall. rectangle swelled in size; its smooth concrete surface came up, nearer and nearer; and then the blast touched, geysering up around the rock- et. The way it did so revealed an aston- ishing fact to Dali — the city apparently was filled with air. Recalling the tin- gling shock which he had felt, he de- cided that the purpose of the energy field causing it was to prevent the air from leaking out into space. In effect the field was like a vast dome enclosing the city; it acted most likely by re- pelling the air molecules that tried to get through it. Then a heavy shock went through the Frontier, announcing that it had touched ground. An instant later there was another shock as it settled, by vir- tue of its stern design, to a horizontal keel. Dali cut the blast. He could see noth- ing immediately of his and Frontenac’s new surroundings; steam rose in great clouds from a large, roughly circular area around the ship, where the terrific heat of the blast had blackened, cracked and pitted the concrete floor of the field. Within his helmet, Dali’s lips formed in a tight grin. So far, so good. He and Frontenac almost certainly wouldn’t be so fortunate in what lay ahead — but at least they had this much to their credit. They had penetrated into the enemy’s home base without a single shot having been fired! Gradually the thick veils of ascend- ing steam about the ship thinned and faded. Still nothing outside could be seen; the pilot shell was heavily fogged over, rivulets of moisture rolling down its smooth, sloping sides. Dali’s hel- met lenses, too, were clouded from the air and warmth that had rushed into the ship through the holes in its metal skin. With a gesture for Frontenac to do likewise, Dali removed his helmet. He breathed deeply of the fresher, but burned-smelling air that now filled the control room. It was like nectar to his lungs; the air within his helmet had reached a dangerous point of devitia- tion. “Well, Harvey, here we are!” were Frontenac’s first words. “It seems we have the air situation well in hand — but there’s one thing I’d like right now, and that’s food. Wonder if the people here follow the time-honored custom of allowing the condemned a hearty

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HIDDEN CITY 51 meal?” “Not if they’re the kind of people I think they are,” Dali said. “But it won’t do any harm to find out.” He unfastened his safety straps and stood up, stretching stiff, sore muscles. “Well, we’d better go out and pay our respects to our new hosts,” he told Frontenac. “If we don’t, they’ll probably come in after us with cutting torches.” They left the control room. Dali un- sealed the entrance hatch and pushed it open. A flood of warm, fragrant air poured in. Gripped by a sensation of eery wonder, Dali glanced tensely about the portion of the landing field visible to him. Within minutes or scant sec- onds he would be face to face with the unknown inhabitants of this incredible city on the Moon. What would they be like? Monstrous, bizarre creatures, rivalling even the most dream-distorted figments of the wildest nightmare? '^HEN, on the field directly opposite the Frontier, he saw a compact group of figures. Men, Dali realized, with a feeling that was almost relief. Men like himself — not grotesque aliens. The group stood between two of the silver projectiles, which Dali couldn’t recall having previously been in that position on the field. He decided that the ships were part of those that had pursued Frontenac and him, having followed them down to the field. He didn’t miss the fact that the tube weap- ons of the projectiles were pointed steadily at the Frontier. The other two ships, he guessed, would be on the other side of the rocket, doing like- wise. The group of men were very still; they seemed to be absorbed in an in- tent scrutiny of the Frontier. It was as though they expected something mo- mentarily to happen. Dali glanced at Frontenac. “Here goes,” he said quietly. Raising his hands as a sign of surrender, he jumped from the hatch. He noted that his weight seemed as it would normally have been on Earth, and decided that the city was somehow provided with artificial gravity. In another second Frontenac joined him. They stood with raised hands, waiting for what would happen next. A voice lifted in a barked command; men appeared magically from all about the field — men wearing strange, trim military uniforms and carrying auto- matic rifles. Quickly, and with a neat, machine-like precision, they surrounded the rocket and the two who stood be- fore it. As one, they watched their prisoners in silent, grim-faced menace, weapons held alertly at the ready. A wave of amazement broke over Dali. Soldiers! Soldiers ... in a great and splendid city on the Mdon! For what purpose had they been gath- ered and trained? For protection — or for war? They all were young, he noted, clean- cut and intelligent in appearance, in the very prime of straight-bodied, firm- muscled manhood. All were garbed in well-fitting, gray and blue uniforms, which consisted of a short tunic and loose trousers whose ends were gath- ered into the tops of ankle-high boots. Completing the uniforms were thick, white flare-brimmed helmets, with fit- ted-in visors of dark glass or plastic, apparently worn as protection against the heat and brilliance of the Sun — in- tense, even though the city was at pres- ent on the fringe of the Sunset zone. For long seconds there was a deep, strained silence. Then footsteps be- came audible; they were approaching, and seemed to be made by a group of men. The ring of soldiers before Dali and Frontenac parted; five officers whose gray and blue uniforms bore un-

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52 AMAZING STORIES familiar rank insignia strode into the space between. Dali’s eyes narrowed abruptly in burning, intense interest. One of the officers was Bruce Melgard. at sight of Dali and Frontenac, Melgard stopped short, dismayed surprise twisting his bluntly handsome face. There was a dim suggestion of superstitious terror about his reaction, like that of one who has seen a ghost. In another moment, however, he got himself under control; his square mouth hardened, and a sullen rage flared into his blue eyes. He said slowly, with rigid, icy self-control: “So you managed somehow to escape from the flitterjet, eh? I thought it seemed too easy.” Dali shrugged deprecatingly. “I can hardly be blamed for trying; I dislike the idea of being smashed to mince meat as much as anyone.” “Well, you made a big mistake in coming to Lunapolis,” Melgard grunted. “You won’t be so lucky this time.” He turned to the four men at his side. “Gentlemen, this is Harvey Dali, de- signer of the rocket which you now see; and this, Jules Frontenac, who supplied the construction funds. I re- alize that their presence here reflects discredit on me, but the failure of my mission was due to a circumstance be- yond my control. Dali ate the drugged food along with the rest of the men, but for some reason he didn’t go under. Everything that subsequently happen- ed stems from this one fact.” The four men nodded and gazed at Dali in various degrees of interest. They were of a type, hard-featured, stiffly erect in carriage, and exuding a quality of cold, self-assured arrogance. Melgard returned his attention to Dali. “There’s only one explanation for the apparent failure of the drug to take hold on you — you must have been revived by someone.” Dali kept his face impassive. He’d long suspected Melgard of being more than ordinarily clever; he decided now the man was not only that, but un- cannily shrewd as well. Again he had the disturbing impression that there was something odd about Melgard, and he wondered why this should be. Melgard’s hostile blue eyes had nar- rowed. “Thinking about it, Dall, I’m quite certain that someone did revive you. Who was it?” Dall shook his head. “Sorry; it so happens that I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Something that might have been instinct warned Dall to say nothing about the white-haired man. The stranger was an ally; revealing his identity, or even so much as the fact of his existence, might place him in danger — a poor reward for bis aid. Dall went on, “All I know is that I got .sick shortly after eating the food; almost lost consciousness. I realized some- thing must have been wrong with the food, and forced myself to throw it up. Then I lay down for a while, and soon felt better,” Melgard looked doubtful. “That might be true — but I’ve had the strange feeling that someone else — ” He broke off abruptly, shrugging his heavy shoul- ders. He turned once more to the four uniformed men beside him. “Dall is dangerous; his escapes both times prove that. And he and Frontenac can’t be kept here as prisoners indefinitely. We would be foolish to take the risk that they might eventually find a way to warn Earth of our plans. I move that they both be executed at once I ” His companions glanced at each other in evident unease. One of them spoke cautiously. “But, General, the Phrenarch would- n’t approve — ”

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HIDDEN CITY .53 jy^ELGARD gestured impatiently, sudden anger clouding his face. Then he grew grimly calm; his voice, when he answered, was lowered to a confidential tone which was barely au- dible to Dali, and which certainly must have been inaudible to the soldiers be- yond. “The presence here of Dali and Frontenac demonstrates clearly that the Phrenarch’s policies are impractical. I advocated more outright measures in Dali’s particular case, but the Phre- narch insisted that I follow the standard procedure. This is the result. If Dali’s rocket hadn’t descended within the range of our detectors, we’d never have known he was still alive until too late. He’d have returned to Earth. He wouldn’t have known about Lunapolis, of course, since we’d raised into sight only after the detector alarms went off, so we could send out pursuit ships; but if h&’d returned, our whole campaign against Earth’s rocket research would have destroyed at one blow.” The four nodded thoughtfully. Mel- gard resumed, following up a clearly evident advantage; his voice was still low, but underscored now by a note of insistence. “The conquest of an entire world is anything but an easy one; the task fac- ing us it not only immense, but enor- mously difficult. As soldiers we know success can be achieved only through a sternly realistic attitude. Wars aren’t won by gentle measures; the Phre- narch’s idealistic concepts are incon- sistent— doomed to failure. Continu- ing to follow them might very well mean the loss of everything we’ve worked for.” The four men nodded again. It was apparent to Dali that they were being won over. He knew what was taking place: for some reason the Phrenarch — whoever that was — wouldn’t approve of an execution; Melgard was using this as one reason for urging a revolt. If he won, Dali realized, the deaths of Frontenac and himself would swiftly follow. Melgard went on eagerly, “We five compose the Military Council. The majority of the troops will obey our orders without question once they un- derstand the issues at stake. We could take over Lunapolis within an hour. Gentlemen” — M e 1 g a r d straightened with urgent purpose in his bearing — “it is now or never! What is your de- cision?” The four momentarily hesitated. And while they did so, there rose into sud- den audibility the clatter of swiftly ap- proaching, metal-soled feet. “Make way!” a voice cried. “Make way for the Phrenarch!” Melgard and his confederates stiffen- ed in guilty alarm. Licking his lips, a hunted, feral expression on his face, Melgard glanced quickly from Dali to the oncoming group. Dali met the oth- er’s look with a slow triumphant grin. Thwarted fury blazed into Melgard’s eyes. Dali realized abruptly why Melgard was so anxious to get him and Fron- tenac out of the way. Melgard had failed in his mission at the construction camp. His orders obviously had been to kidnap Dali and Frontenac, and to destroy or at least seriously damage the Frontier. It seemed evident that Dali and Frontenac were not to have been harmed, but kept where they would be unable to continue their rock- et research. Melgard, however, had failed to wreck the Frontier, and in the case of Dali and Frontenac, he had at- tempted outright, cold-blooded murder. It was certain that he had lied to gloss over what had happened. Dali was thus now in a position to show that he had lied. Melgard was in a difficult spot. And

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54 AMAZING STORIES there was no time for him to do any- thing about it just then; the newcomers had already reached the gathering be- fore the rocket. Foremost was a figure in an envelop- ing cloak and hood, made of some sil- very, reflecting material, which was ob- viously worn as protection against the intense Lunar Sun. Three men in civil- •an clothes and a guard of four soldiers followed. “What is the meaning of this?” the person in the cloak demanded, in tones strangely soft yet coldly imperious. '‘Who are these men? How did their ship manage to reach the Moon?” The face of the speaker turned mo- mentarily toward Dali; he stared in Blank incredulity. THe identity of the Phrenarch of Lunapolis came to him as a complete, devastating surprise. For the Phrenarch was — a girll CHAPTER X t>ELATEDLY Melgard and his four companions lifted their arms in a salute. Melgard’s face was now calm and controlled. He said quietly: “These men, Leader, are Harvey Dali and Jules Frontenac.” The girl stiffened perceptibly; she glanced once more at Dali. Her eyes, a clear, vivid emerald green, were star- tled and intense. Dali returned her gaze woodenly. She was, he decided, undeniably attractive, though a bit too cold and arrogantly assured in expres- sion to be termed beautiful. Then, with a swift, comprehensive look at Frontenac, she turned back to Melgard. “I believe you told me that Dali and Frontenac died back on Earth in an attempt to crash your cruiser.” Her tones were sarcastically ascusing. Melgard nodded with just the right touch of ruefulness. “That is what I thought, Leader. It now seems that the two must have jumped from their flit- terjet instants before sending it at the cruiser. And since the flitterjet fell into the lake after the crash, there was no way to check up on what actually had happened.” Frontenac snorted and darted Dali a glance of amazement. Dali caught the girl’s eyes and said: “It seems that Melgard’s story needs some serious corrections. We weren’t the ones who tried to crash him; in a flitterjet that would have been suicidal. On the contrary, he’s the one who crashed our ship, Frontenac and I es- caped, of course, but the fact remains that Melgard tried to kill us.” Melgard said evenly, “It’s General Melgard now, Dali — and don’t you for- get it.” The girl swung to him. “Is Dali tell- ing the truth? I ordered him to be put out of the way, but not actually hurt. You know it’s my policy in this campaign never knowingly to take a life.” Melgard shook his head, smiling slightly, as though in wonder. “Dali’s a clever scoundrel; the time we w^ere forced to spend on him proves that. It should be obvious, Leader, that he’s trying to create an issue between us in the hope that it will give him and Frontenac a chance to escape.” “Nice going, General,” Dali said, smiling thinly. “It’s my word against yours — and you seem to be top dog around here.” Frontenac snorted again. “If the so- innocent General didn’t try his best to make hash out of us, then I’ve got sev- eral gray hairs that are going to be hard to account for.” Melgard drew himself up, frowning. In his uniform he made an impressive picture of annoyed dignity. “Enough of this!” the girl snapped abruptly, stern green eyes sweeping

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HIDDEN CITY Dali and Frontenac. “I’ll have no ex- temporaneous remarks, if you please. If you have anything to say, I would prefer it to be in answer to questions I have asked.” She turned to Melgard. “Do you give me your word, General, that the story you have told me is com- pletely true?” “Of course. Leader.” Melgard’s man- ner was crisp and decisive, yet with a subtle shading of indignation. “Dali was merely trying to create a misunder- standing between us, and since you know nothing of his character, it’s nat- ural that you should be disturbed.” TAALL raged inwardly, but he kept himself in tight control. He knew that any further efforts to refute Mel- gard would be useless. It was human nature that this girl who was known as the Phrenarch of Lunapolis should be more inclined to believe one of her own men rather than a complete stranger. But what made the situa- tion completely exasperating was that, in so doing, she was unknowingly aid- ing Melgard in his traitorous plans for the overthrow of her authority. And with the girl out of the way, there would be nothing to prevent Melgard from executing Dali and Frontenac. “Very well,” the girl said. “One thing more. General. I selected you to deal personally with the Dall-Fron- tenac case, since a previous experience with Dali promised that there would be considerable difficulty. As you have explained, unforseen complications pre- vented you from carrying out the mis- sion as originally planned. It isn’t my purpose to go into the matter again; the important thing is that a rocket has finally succeeded in leaving Earth — a fact which places our entire campaign in danger. “Most probably Dali and Frontenac left secretly, but sooner or later the 55 news will get out. We must repair the damage that will cause. There is only one way to do so; it must be made to appear that the rocket failed after all. This can be accomplished by fitting it with degravity units and towing it back to Earth. Then, when its original de- parture point has been reached, it can be exploded by remote control, to make it seems as though the rocket had blown up in landing. Since little or nothing will be left of it afterward, the natural assumption will be made that Dali and Frontenac were inside. This must be done at night; and care be taken that witnesses aren’t killed in the blast.” Melgard nodded in approval. “An excellent plan. Leader. I shall see that a special detail is put to work on it.” “You evidently misunderstood me, General,” the girl said incisively. “You are personally to take charge of this matter. And at once.” “But I’ve practically just arrived in Lunapolis,” Melgard protested. “After having been away so long — ” The Phrenarch cut in sharply, “The rocket is your responsibility. General! It wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t failed in your mission. If you wish to avoid what is clearly a continuation of your original duty, I shall be forced to relieve you of your post. I am sure that one or more of your subordinates would be eager for the chance to succeed you.” She glanced at the four officers stand- ing stiffly at attention behind Melgard. All were covertly but quite plainly in- terested. Melgard’s blunt features were mask- like, but a malevolent gleam showed in his eyes. He bowed slightly and said, “Perhaps I have jumped to conclusions, Leader. I shall, of course, take charge of the rocket matter immediately.” '^HE girl nodded. “Very well. As for Dali and Frontenac, they will

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56 AMAZING STORIES be lodged temporarily in Capitol Tower, until psychologists determine tbeir re- spective aptitudes for work other than rocketry. Since they are in Lunapolis, they might as well make themselves useful.” “Work?” Frontenac exclaimed. He jabbed his chest with a thumb in a fierce gesture of outrage. “I, Jules F rontena z—ivork? Why, my dear young lady — ” “Phrenarch is the correct title of ad- dress, If you please,” the girl inter- rupted. “And as for working, work you most assuredly shall. You’re not on Earth any more, you know.” “I certainly wish I was,” Frontenac growled. “It may not be so bad, Jules,” Dali said comfortingly. “They’re going to find our aptitudes, you know. That means we might even be <fumb enough to become generals like Melgard.” “That will do!” The Phrenarch’s attractive features were stern, but for an instant it seemed that amusement danced in her vivid green eyes. She turned and began issuing crisp orders to the assemblage about her. Then, gathering her silver cloak, and followed by the three men in civilian clothes — who, from their elderly, scholarly ap- pearances, seemed cabinet members or advisers: — she strode away. The Phrenarch’s four personal guards ranged themselves around Dali and Frontenac, and the two were ordered curtly into motion, Dali turned for a last glance at Melgard. The General’s face, he saw, wore a most unpleasant expression of baffled fury. Capitol Tower, Dali found, was the dominating central spire which he had earlier noticed while landing in the Frontier. He saw the Phrenarch and her three escorts disappear into the huge, ornate entrance, and a short time later he and Frontenac were marched inside. He found himself in an im- mense, brightly-lighted, and luxurious- ly beautiful lobby, lined at one end by banks of elevators. Followed closely by their guards, he and Frontenac were guided into one of the elevators, and the car shot smoothly up. They emerged at last into a long, high-arched hall, studded with doors at regular intervals, that had the appearance of a hotel or dormitory hall A walk took them through a series of other halls, and presently they were ushered into a large room. Ball turned to one of the guards, who, he had noticed, seemed to be the leader. “Say, mind telling me a few things? Who built this city? What’s going on here?” “Sorry,” the guard said. “Fm not allowed to answer questions.” “Maybe there’s one you can,” Dali persisted. “For example, what’s the name of this female who calls herself the Phrenarch?” The guard grinned briefly. “Ellen Pancrest. But you might as Weil for- get she’s a female; she’s colder than an iceberg and about as dangerous to fool with as a tiger.” “Pancrest,” Dali mused. “Pancrest. . . . Seems Fve heard or read the name somewhere. . . .” '^HE guard shrugged. “Just remem- ber a few things. It’s no use mak- ing a break, so stay right here. We’U be right outside the door. If you want anything — ” “Food!” Frontenac said abruptly. “I want food — lots of it.” “Check.” The guards left, and the door clicked shut. Dali snapped his fingers, “Fve got it!” “Got what?” Frontenac asked. “Oh — the name?” “Yes — it’s Lloyd Pancrest. Read

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HIDDEN CITY 57 about him in a book or something like that. He was an inventor — a genius; he made at least several fortunes from his discoveries. He worked on a lot of things, rockets among them. This was over twenty years ago, and if anyone could have turned out a successful rocket back at that time, Lloyd Pan- crest would have been the man to do it. But for some reason he suddenly gave up inventing and started a cult.” “What?” Frontenac frowned in dis- belief. “A cult?” “Something like that,” Dali said. “It was a sort of .social or political move- ment. The name . . . wait a minute. It began with an F, I think. Friends. . . . No, more like Phrenarch.” Abrupt- ly Dali stiffened. “That’s it; that’s the name 1 Phrenarchy ! ” “Phrenarch . . . phrenarchy,” Fron- tenac muttered. “Look, Harvey, what happened to this Lloyd Pancrest?” “I don’t know; my source of infor- mation didn’t seem to mention that. He must have faded into gradual ob- scurity, I guess.” “On the other hand, Harvey, he could have taken his whole Phrenarchy cult to the Moon.” “Of course! Phrenarch Ellen Pan- crest of Lunapolis — -and Lloyd Pan- crest, founder of Phrenarchy! More than a coincidence there. . . . Jules, that’s probably just what Lloyd Pan- crest did — took his whole Phrenarchy cult here, to the Moon! Secretly. And he must have invented a rocket after all — or something just as good as a rocket . . . also secretly.” “The ships they have here, Harvey! Cruisers, the girl called them. Ships without rockets; ships that move by some unknown means of propulsion.” “Maybe not unknown at that,” Dali pointed out. “Back on Earth, I guessed that Melgard’s ship utilized gravity or gravitic lines of force. And you’ll re- call that the girl — Ellen Pancrest — mentioned degravity units, or some- thing like that.” Dali fell to pacing the floor, forehead creased in thought. jMuttered words fell in his wake. “Twenty years ago ... a scientific genius named Lloyd Pancrest, and a cult or movement called Phrenarchy. Today ... a splendid city on the hidden side of the Moon, and a girl named Ellen Pancrest, who calls her- self the Phrenarch. Twenty years. . . .” Frontenac said softly, in wonder, “And in that time, Harvey, they built this city.” “It’s hard to believe. Lloyd Pancrest was a genius, true enough, but a city like this couldn’t possibly be the prod- uct of one man’s genius. It would take an army of geniuses to do it in twenty years. And to assume that Lloyd Pan- crest’s cult was both the size of an army and composed entirely of geniuses, is far too much.” “But the city’s here, Harvey.” JQALL ceased his pacing; he nodded, metal-gray eyes narrowed intent- ly. “Yes, it’s here, all right. And we know that its inhabitants have gone through a lot of trouble to keep the people of Earth from learning that it’s here. That’s the main idea behind the secret sabotaging of Earth’s rocket progress. These Phrenarchists — or whatever they call themselves — have been so infernally clever and efficient about it, in fact, that nobody on Earth knows exactly what is happening. Even men like Merrick and Weston have nothing to work on but a lot of wild guesses.” “We got past them,” Frontenac pointed out. “We reached the Moon.” Dali shrugged. “Mainly through a combination of imponderables and just plain luck, that couldn’t happen again

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58 AMAZING STORIES in a hundred years. If the white-haired stranger hadn’t showed up when he did, things would have turned out other- wise.” “The white-haired stranger!” Fron- tenac was suddenly eager. “Harvey, he knew what was going to happen back at camp; he seems to know everything that’s going on. Maybe he knows we’re here; maybe he’ll be good enough to help us again.” “Even if he knows we’re here,” Dali said, “I don’t see how he’d reach us. It’s anything but a short walk to the Moon, you know. And Melgard seems to su.spect that the stranger is some- where in the background. Melgard’s shrewd — and devilishly clever. Back at camp I never thought he was anything other than a technician. He knew his job forward and back. . . . You know, Jules, there’s something odd about Mel- gard that I’ve noticed about the Phren- archists, too.” Frontenac nodded slowly. “Now that you’ve mentioned it, I think I know what you mean. It’s a sort of quickness they have ... a sort of complete and vivid aliveness, as though they could do things at an instant’s notice . . . and do it calmly, coldly, calculatingly. It hasn’t struck me as remarkable, Har- vey, because you have somewhat the same qualities yourself.” “Smile when you say that, pardner,” Dali grinned. He quickly sobered. “Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with the Phrenarchists; they’re a smart and tricky bunch. As to what they’re up to, it isn’t hard to guess. Melgard men- tioned war — the conquest of a world. That world can only be Earth. The Phrenarchists seem to be planning to take over; and, Jules, with the organ- ization they have, with weapons like the cruisers, don’t doubt for a second that they couldn’t do it! It would be like falling off a log.” CHAPTER XI q^HERE was a sudden clicking noise; the door opened. A uniformed guard bearing a dish-laden tray strode into the room. He deposited his bur- den upon a fragile-looking metal and plastic table and left. The door clicked shut again. Frontenac eagerly inspected the con- tents of the tray. “Hm-m-m . . . smells good. And looks good.” “If you’re just going to admire the stuff,” Dali said, “then get out of the way for a man who wants to eat.” Later Dali began an examination of his and Frontenac’s new quarters. .A door at one side of the room, about which he’d developed a strong curios- ity, proved to lead into a large bed- chamber. There were two more doors here, one leading into a glittering tile and chrome bath, and the other into a closet, which was empty. The furnish- ings of the two main rooms were sim- ple yet comfortable, exhibiting in their design the same futuristic effect which Dali earlier had noticed about the city itself. Examination of the bathroom had showed it to be completely equipped with shaving and bath accessories. Dali and Frontenac took quick advantage of the opportunity to freshen up. Afterward time began to lag. There was a well-stocked recessed bookcase in the living room, but Dali and Fron- tenac were too tense to read. Both were filled with chaotically mingled sensa- tions of curiosity, anticipation, and un- ease. They talked little, and either sat and smoked in strained, brooding si- lence, or took turns at restlessly pacing the floor. They began to yawn — a tendency that gradually grew too pronounced to ignore. “Might as well get some sleep,” Dali

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HIDDEN CITY 59 said at last. “They’ll get around to us sooner or later, I guess.” When Dali awoke, he found that Frontenac was already up. A guard brought in a breakfast tray as he fin- ished dressing and went into the living room. The meal was followed by an- other period of restless waiting. And then the door unceremoniously clicked open. A squad of four guards was revealed. The squad obviously was a relief shift, for the faces of the men were unfamiliar. Their leader advanced a few steps into the room and said: “All right, come along.” Dali stood up slowly from the chair in which he had been sitting. “Where to?” “You’ll find out when you get there,” the guard said. Dali shrugged, controlling his exas- peration with an effort. He was joined by Frontenac, and with guards in their fore and rear, they were led to their mysterious destination. An elevator ride took them to a still higher floor of Cap- itol Tower. They emerged into a vast hall that was as luxurious and imposing in its futuristic way as the hall of a palace. A certainty grew in Dali’s mind as he peered about him — it was possible that he and Frontenac were being taken to Ellen Pancrest. Only a person as high in authority as the Phrenarch would live in such surroundings. "LTIS surmise proved to be right; a pair of inlaid metal doors at the end of the hall gave into a huge room, where Ellen Pancrest sat behind a great semi-circular desk. She was not alone, Dali saw; several men in civilian clothes stood quietly a short distance away, in front and to one side of the desk. Across from the men were two chairs, which had been fitted up with scientific apparatus of some sort. An alarm bell jangled in Dali’s mind. Those chairs. . . . What was Ellen Pan- crest planning to do? The girl was smoking a cigarette; she used it to gesture with when Dali and Frontenac had been escorted up to the chairs, “That will be all,” she told the guards, in her cool imperious voice. “You may withdraw.” The guards saluted in unison. Dali was only dimly aware of them as they left; he was gazing intently at Ellen Pancrest. Divested now of her silvery cloak and hood, she was somehow a different person. Her hair was a light brown, with undertones of deep gold. It was piled atop her small head in thick curls. She wore a mannish plain gray suit over a silk blouse of canary yellow. Her only jewelry was a large turquoise brooch pinned to her suit. There was a subtle polished perfection about her, and yet the sort of simplicity that marks one of exquisitely cultured tastes. Dali noted that her expression, too, had undergone a change; it was no longer cold and arrogant. Her face seemed lighted from within by a flame of something that seemed an intense, burning purpose. It made her more completely feminine — and, Dali reluc- tantly had to admit, even beautiful. The vivid green eyes lifted momen- tarily to Dali and passed on to Fron- tenac. A slim white hand waved its cigarette in a gesture toward the two chairs. “Won’t you sit down?” Ellen Pan- crest invited. Dali smiled thinly. “Said the lady spider to the two male flies. Just what have you got there — improved ver- sions of the electric chairs they use on Earth?” A trace of sardonic amusement showed on the girl’s red lips, and then was gone. “I assure you, Mr. Dali, that you won’t be harmed. I merely

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60 AMAZING STORIES wish to ask a few questions, and to . . . facilitate matters, the chairs have been equipped with lie detectors. These are of a new and advanced type, which is perhaps why you didn’t recognize them for what they were.” “I see. . , Dali glanced thought- fully at the chairs and then back to the girl. “But I’m afraid I don’t under- stand why you should need lie detec- tors. What sort of questions do you intend to ask?” “You’ll find out once you sit down, Mr. Dali.” “. . . Look here, this lie detector business isn’t entirely necessary, you know. Jules and I will promise to an- swer your questions truthfully. The green eyes hardened. “I’ll be certain you’re answering truthfully only when the lie detectors are checking on you. Now sit down, or I’ll summon the guards to see that you do.” £)ALL shrugged with outward un- concern, though inwardly he was tense. If the girl suspected he was con- nected with the Secret Service, the lie detectors might very likely divulge the fact, despite his denials. And once she knew the truth about him, the girl would be certain to take precautions wiiich would destroy his already frail hopes of eventually somehow making an escape. Turning to Frontenac, Dali gestured elaborately toward the chairs. “After you, my dear Gaston.” But Frontenac was equally polite. “No, no,' my dear Alphonse, after you. I insist.” Dali bowed. “Your kindness touches me — like a pain in the neck.” Ellen Pancrest hid her grin behind a cloud of cigarette smoke as the two marched in mock solemnity to the chairs and sat down. The technicians imme- diately became busy over them, fasten- ing metal bands about their wrists and foreheads. Finally it was done; one of the technicians spoke to the girl, ap- praising her of the fact, while the others turned to a control cabinet nearby. Deliberately, Ellen Pancrest crushed out her cigarette and leaned forward at the desk. “Mr. Dali, you said some- thing a while back that interested me very much. You were referring, if you will recall, to an alleged attempt made by General Melgard back on Earth, to take your life, and that of Mr. Fron- tenac. You insisted that it was his cruiser and not your flitterjet that had tried to crash the other party involved. Now ... is this true?” “It’s true, all right,” Dali said. “Of course!” Frontenac growled. The girl glanced at the technicians, who were watching intently two slowly revolving paper cylinders within the cabinet. A line was being drawn upon each of the cylinders by an inked stylus. The cylinders were ruled with lines ac- cording to some form of a graph, each line being designated by letters and numbers in an unfamiliar system of symbols. The technician who earlier had an- nounced the readiness of the test met the girl’s questioning gaze and nodded. He seemed to be in charge of the group. He said: “Complete truth is indicated, Lead- er.” Nothing moved in Ellen Pancrest’s face. She studied the desk top a mo- ment, sitting very quietly. Then she glanced once more at Dali. “I’m curious, Mr. Dali. Just what did happen back on Earth between you and General Melgard? To be more precise, how did you manage to defeat his plans so thoroughly? Start at the beginning, if you please. I believe the beginning of the affair was when Gen- eral Melgard’s partner on the mission,

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HIDDEN CITY 61 Colonel Hartley, drugged the food served at a meal earlier on the same day. Tm particularly interested in how you succeeded in throwing off the effects of the drug.” Ball thought swiftly. If at all pos- sible, he wanted to avoid implicating the white-haired man. The mysterious stranger might very well be an ace in the hole as regarded plans for an es- cape. And Dali owed the other a debt of gratitude which precluded endanger- ing him. Just how efficient was the lie detec- tor anyway? Dali decided to find out. He said; “Getting around the drug wasn’t so hard. When I felt it taking hold, I guessed what was wrong and forced myself to throw up everything I’d eaten. I felt sick and dizzy for a while, but it wasn’t long before I returned to nor- mal.” A S HE spoke he concentrated fiercely in an effort to convince himself that this actually had happened. “The statement has been indicated as completely false, Leader,” the head technician said. Ellen Pancrest said quietly, “You’re trying to hide something, Mr. Dali. It seems that the way you overcame the drug is a lot more remarkable than that.” “All right,” Dali said. “A man re- vived me.” “The statement is partially true, Leader.” “Who was this man, Mr. Dali?” “I don’t know who he was.” “Completely true, Leader.” “You don’t know his name?” “I don’t know anything about him.” “Completely true, Leader.” The girl hesitated, green eyes nar- rowed in evident mystification. She took her lower lip between her teeth and gazed at Dali without seeming to see him. Then her eyes sharpened on Dali; she released her lip and said: “Describe this man, Mr. Dali.” “I don’t know what he looks like. It was too dark to make out any details of his appearance.” “The statement is completely false, Leader.” Ellen Pancrest stood up and walked slowly from behind the desk. She had a graceful, finely-moulded figure that bespoke radiant health and a quick, supple strength unusual in a woman. Her face was cold and set, its actual beauty no longer quite so apparent. She came to a stop a few paces in front of Dall and said: “You might be interested to know, Harvey Dali, that I’m being quite po- lite in using the lie detector on you. You already know how efficient it is. Well, my scientists have^a truth serum that gives even better results — though it’s somewhat drastic. So you’d better make up your mind to tell the truth, because I’ll get the truth out of you either way.” Dali met the imperious green eyes with glinting metal-gray ones. Muscles at his angular jaws were bunched palely against the angry despair that beat through him. He spoke softly: “You’re much too used to having your own way. It’s made you too big for your shoes. What you seem to need — and apparently what you never got — is a frequent good spanking.” “Indeed?” Ellen Pancrest drawled. “And no doubt you think you could give me one?” “You hold the whiphand here— but call off your dogs for five minutes, and I’ll show you whether or not I could.” “That isn’t necessary; I’m sure you’re quite a beast.” “At least I’m not a spoiled brat.” (Continued on page no)

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Treasure Derelict ^ by Guy Archelte The lure tha» draws men to great danger lay in this wreck in space — -and here was more danger than they dreamed 'XB:'; SAY— what’s this?” Carl Selby snapped in angry surprise. “You’ve got us ten degrees off course, you young fool!” Dick Ingram, seated before the con- trol panels of the little expedition rocket Martian Maid, turned apologetically. “I ... I know it, sir. You see, I caught sight of an object ahead of us in space, and thought it would be a good idea to investigate. Take a look in the view-plate.” Th«r« was « sharp explosion as the helmet burst mi 'Mi 1 63

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64 AMAZING STORIES Carl Selby ignored the suggestion. His heavy, dark features were twisted in a scowl. “Haven’t I told you never to do anything like this without con- sulting me first?” he demanded. Dick Ingram gave an apprehensive nod. “Yes, sir,” he answered hesitantly. “But at the time I sighted the object, you were asleep. I thought it best not to disturb you. I ... I decided you’d have suggested a change in course any- way, The object we’re heading for seems to be a ship, sir.” “A ship! ” In spite of himself, Selby was startled out of his anger. His sharp, brown eyes darted to the view- plate, then narrowed to glittering slits. Against the ebon backdrop of space, a tiny shape glinted dully. It was still very far away, but Selby could see that it w'as cigar-shaped and obviously metallic. It might very well be a ship. And if so, its position in this part of space meant — Selby gestured irritably, resenting the fact that Ingram should have dis- covered it first. “I’ll take over now,” he growled. Ingram rose from the pilot chair and stood aside defferentially as Selby seat- ed himself. Selby shot a cold glance at the youngster. “Next time ask for my advice before you take a step of this sort. I don’t care what I happen to be doing, but see me first — understand?” “Yes, sir.” Ingram’s voice was barely audible. His boyish features were ab- ject and hurt. “I’m sorry, sir.” Selby grunted and turned his scowl- ing gaze to the instruments before him. He studied the various dials, meters, and gauges for a moment, then whirled in angry impatience. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he snapped at In- gram. Ingram straightened with a nervous jerk of his slender body. “I ... I was just watching the view-plate, sir. Do you know what I think? That ship ahead of us might be the Intrepid, Verne Rikker’s Uranus expedition rocket!” “Get out!” Selby snarled in sudden fury. “Get out — do you hear?” Ingram’s face grew tense and pale. For a moment his lips trembled with long-pent indignation. But no words spilled from the youth. Something that might have been fear or a superb self- control held them back. He turned and quietly left the control room. Selby looked for a long moment at the door through which Ingram had gone. His eyes were at once raging and sharply shrewd. That damned kid, he thought. He decided he had made a bad mistake in choosing young Ingram for this two-man scientific expedition into deep space. Ingram was a bit too smart. Selby regretted now that he hadn’t obeyed his earlier impulse and hired instead an ordinary commercial pilot. He wouldn’t have had anything to worry about with a man like that along. Selby shrugged. It was too late for self-recrimination. He’d just have to watch Ingram. He couldn’t allow the youth to steal part of his show — not the tiniest part of it. Eyes glittering vindictively, Selby turned back to the view-plate. He watched as the bright object ahead slowly grew in size. He became posi- tive that it actually was a ship. And there was only one ship of which he knew that could possibly be located in this distant part of space — the Intrepid, Verne Rikker’s Uranus expedition rocket. Selby wondered what might have gone wrong. If the ship were really the Intrepid, what was it doing, floating aimlessly there in the void? Why hadn’t it reached Uranus? He recalled that

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TREASURE DERELICT 65 it was almost two years now since the Rikker expedition had set out. Noth- ing had been heard from it since. A CHILL crept up Selby’s spine. Two ^ years. ... A lot could have hap- pened during that time. The men aboard the derelict might all be dead. If there were any survivors, these might very likely have gone insane. That was the usual fate of those unfortunates marooned in space. Selby clutched at the slender hope that there might be survivors. It would be a triumph for him to bring back to Earth not only news of the Intrepid but a few of its crew as well. He’d become famous. Famous. . . . Selby’s chill vanished at thought of the word. Once again he felt that surge of fierce de- sire which always flooded him at thought of it. Fame, power, glory — there was nothing Selby wanted more. And now he had his chance. He didn’t intend to lose it. He’d put young Ingram in his place, and he planned to see that the youngster stayed there. He wasn’t going to take the risk of hav- ing Ingram steal part of the publicity he wanted for himself. The ethics of the matter didn’t both- er Selby. After what he had gone through under old Professor John Dris- coll, he felt justified in using any means at his command to get what he wanted. Selby thought of Driscoll with venge- ful gloating. He’d been the famous old physicist’s assistant on those spectacu- lar expeditions into deep space, during which Driscoll had made some of his most startling discoveries in space ra- diations. All the credit had gone to Driscoll each time. The attention which Selby had received as his assistant had been negligible. Selby had suffered in silence, told no one how badly he felt at having each opportunity for fame pass him by. He’d been patient — and cunning. He’d stud- ied old Driscoll’s techniques, learned all the other’s knowledge. But his in- terest hadn’t been in the furthering of science. What Selby mainly wanted was to garner for himself the renown which had gone to Driscoll. He had his chance now, Selby thought slyly. On their last expedition together, Driscoll had been so absorbed in his work that he hadn’t noticed the almost imperceptible flickering of the Parran detector needle. Selby had, however, but had said nothing. He knew it marked the presence of a hith- erto undiscovered t5^e of ray, and he intended that the credit for its discovery should go to himself. Upon their return to Earth, Selby had left Driscoll’s service and organized an expedition of his own. It was his purpose to “discover” the new ray and gather data on it. To make the voyage something of a sensation, he was pene- trating further into space than other experimenters had ever gone. In fact, only Rikker in the Intrepid had gone as far. Selby knew that discovery both of the new ray and of Rikker’s vessel would give him an excellent start on his road to power and fame. He cer- tainly wouldn’t play modest as old Dris- coll had done, shunning banquets and speeches, refusing medals and gifts. He’d take all there was to get — and then some. If he played his hand right, he’d win a highly-paid and important post at some wealthy university — and perhaps even the presidency later on. He could even climb to a place on the Executive Council, if he used his pub- licity right. Selby found himself breath- ing quickly from contemplation of these golden vistas. J-JE GLANCED once more at the view-plate. The distance between

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66 AMAZING STORIES the Martian Maid and the ship ahead was rapidly decreasing. And suddenly Selby noticed something which had hitherto escaped him. Behind the ship in the view-plate, another object loomed vaguely. Selby squinted, straining to discern details. At first he decided it to be a great chunk of meteoric iron, but with closer approach he realized that the thing was too regularly shaped for that. It wasn’t until more than a half hour later that he understood what it actu- ally was. Another ship. A weird and alien construction, huge and spherical, with a black, many-faceted hull. Selby’s heavy face wrinkled in a frown of perplexity. He couldn’t re- call having ever seen a ship of that shape and design before. It looked like a vessel which a people foreign to the Solar System might have built. He wondered if this were the answer, A chill that had in it something of the utter frigidity of the void crept into Selby. Where had that strange vessel come from? From another planetary system? From another galaxy so re- mote that not even light-years could measure its distance? Another thought occured to him stun- ningly. Rikker, on his way to Uranus, had seen this ship. Rikker had stopped to investigate. Almost two years had passed — and now the Intrepid floated lifelessly in the void. The chill deepened within Selby. What had happened to Rikker? What had become of the seven scientists who had accompanied him? Without knowing quite why he did it, Selby turned to the inter-ship communi- cator and signalled for young Ingram. A few minutes later, the other appeared, rubbing sleep from blue, faintly sullen eyes. “You wanted me, sir?” Selby nodded jerkily. “Look in the view-plate.” Ingram released a gasp of surprise. “Why . . . why, there’s two ships out there, sir!” Then his face showed be- wilderrnent. “But I’ve never seen a ship like that before.” Selby nodded shortly. “We’ve run into something mighty funny. I don’t like the looks of it.” Ingram said slowly, “Rikker saw that ship. Something happened to him.” “Exactly.” Selby’s tone was harsh. The kid had guessed right again. He was a bit too smart. Selby stared moodily into the view- plate. Instinct told him that danger lurked within that alien vessel. The wise thing to do was turn around and blast away as fast as the engines of the Martian Maid would take them. But Selby held back. He thought eagerly of the fame which would be his if he returned to Earth with the news of what had happened to the man aboard the Intrepid. He thought of the additional publicity which would result as discoverer of the alien ship. Besides, he couldn’t be certain that there actu- ally was any danger. Rikkard might very well have been returning from Uranus, instead of going, when he sighted the alien. He and his men might still be alive, merely investigating it. To turn back before the truth was known would be foolish. '“^'^/^HAT . . . what are we going to do?” Ingram wanted to know. “Do?” Selby’s face hardened with purpose. “We’re going on, of course. We’re going to find out what this is all about.” Ingram said nothing. He glanced at the images of the two vessels in the view-plate, and his features grew bleak. Selby began the task of braking the Martian Maid. When its speed had been reduced sufficiently to allow for a

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TREASURE DERELICT 67 change in course, he swung the ship into an orbit parallel to the Intrepid, and some twenty feet distant from it. Thirty yards or so away was the great black spherical shape of the alien. Selby turned to Ingram. “We’ll put on space suits. Then we’ll go over to the Intrepid” A short time later Selby stepped from the airlock into the void. Young In- gram followed close behind. The guide rockets of their space suits took them over to the Intrepid. The outer door of the airlock stood open. Selby entered slowly. When Ingram had joined him, he pulled the door shut. They waited, eyes fixed tensely upon the inner door, while auto- matic devices went into action. As the air pressure reached normal, the inner door clicked open. Alert and wary, the two men strode into the vessel proper. The Intrepid wasn’t a large ship. Only a short search was needed to con- vince them that there was no one aboard. “They all must have gone over to the other ship,” Selby decided, his voice metallic over the radio of his space suit. “But when?” Ingram demanded. “How long ago? Have they been in the other ship just a few hours-— or was it two years ago that they entered?” “That’s what we’re going to find ontj-J’ Selby answered grimly. But in spite of himself, he hesitated. The premoni- tion of danger was upon him again, but stronger now. He shivered from the chill of the unknown. Then he gathered himself together impatiently. He couldn’t back down. This thing was big. Big. ... He had to know. Fame, power, might very well come with the knowing. Selby gestured abruptly at Ingram. “Come on. We’re going over to the other ship this time.” Young Ingram hesitated a moment. Then, lips tightening firmly, he fol- lowed. Propelled by their guide rockets, they circled the great black sphere several times. At first its faceted surface seemed unbroken, but shortly, on its underside relative to the position of the Martian Maid, Selby found a rectan- gular opening that glowed at the edges with a faint blue radiance. “Looks like a field of some kind,” Selby told Ingram. “Might be danger- ous. I’ll find out.” A length of metal cable was fastened in a coil to the belt of Selby’s suit. He tossed this through the opening. The coil glowed a little when it touched the almost invisible field which shielded the entrance. Then it was through, and with no apparent ill effects. CELBY grunted. “Seems harmless enough. We’ll go in.” He poised himself, then shot through the field and into the ship. He felt nothing, save for a brief, tingling sensation when passing tlirough the field. A moment later In- gram joined him, “That was an electrostatic field! ” In- gram said excitedly. “It probably serves to prevent the air in the ship from escaping. The air particles ac- quire the same charge as that of the field, and are thus repelled when they try to pass through.” “There seems to be air in here, all right,” Selby affirmed absently. He’d noticed the condensation of vapor on the face port of his space suit helmet. “Wonder if it’s breathable, though?” “I’ll find out.” Ingram opened the face port of his helmet, took a short breath, and quickly reclosed it. After a moment he nodded. “The air is all right.” “We might as well take our suits off, then,” Selby said. “It’ll be a lot easier to get around.” He climbed from the

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68 AMAZING STORIES cumbersome metal covering, and In- gram removed his own. Selby gazed about him curiously. He saw that they stood at the lower end of a short passageway. It was well lighted. Set at spaced intervals in the ceiling were glowing cylindrical tubes, much like the old-fashioned neon tubes. At the end of the passageway the dark rectangle of a doorway showed. Gesturing to Ingram, Selby strode forward. The great vessel was very still. The only sound that came to their straining ears was the scrape of their feet on the floor of the passageway. Ingram said suddenly, “They must have been a lot bigger than us.” Selby was startled by the sound of the other’s voice. “Who?” he de- manded irascibly. “The people who built this ship. This passage is a good ten feet high. The handrails on each side come up almost to my shoulders.” Selby verified Ingram’s words with a feeling of increased unease. The build- ers of the ship must have been monsters, he decided. Must have been . . . ? Perhaps they were still alive. Selby didn’t like the thought. The doorway gave out to another, longer passageway. The door, of the slide type and flush in its slot, seemed to serve merely as an emergency lock in case of failure of the electrostatic field. Emerging into the second passage- way, Selby and Ingram froze into abrupt rigidity. Standing against a wall some twenty feet ahead were four bulky figures. “What — why, those are space suits!” Ingram burst out. “Do you sup- pose . . . ?” The space suits were empty. Helmet and breast of each were riddled with bullet holes. There were no signs of blood. Selby whispered, “It looks as though these suits had deliberately been ren- dered useless. No one seems to have been inside at the time the shots were fired.” “But why?” Ingram muttered. “De- stroying the only means of getting back to the Intrepid. . , . It just doesn’t make sense! ” CELBY moved his shoulders with a new inner disquiet. “!Maybe it wasn’t Rikker’s men who damaged these suits. Maybe the passengers of this ship — ” He didn’t finish. He glanced down the passage and the harsh lines of his face tautened. “I think ... I think we ought to go back,” Ingram said. “There’s only two of us— weaponless. We can tell the authorities. This is a job for the Space Guard.” Selby rebelled at the idea. He knew it was a sensible precaution, but he dreaded losing the greater publicity which would attend solving this mystery alone. It was the chance of a lifetime, he knew. Never again would there be such an opportunity. Selby straightened with renewed de- termination. “I don’t intend to back down,” he growled at Ingram. “And if you have any hopes of getting good references from me, you won’t either. Come on.” They brushed past the four empty space suits and continued on down the passageway. Shortly, they came to a branching passage, running at right angles to the first. Selby glanced down its two ends a moment, listening intent- ly. Then, with a gesture to Ingram, he turned down the passage to the right. After a dozen yards or so, they found a door set in one wall. It was of the slide type also, half opened. Selby placed a shoulder against the edge and shoved it in the rest of the way. As the door fitted flush into its slot, lights

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TREASURE DERELICT 69 sprang on within the room. They peered inside. Of the contents of the room they could at first make out little detail. Their eyes registered merely a scene of the wildest disorder. Tipped on their sides, piled one atop the other, were huge chairs that might have been thrones. These were luxu- rious and deep, of weirdly strange de- sign, encrusted with great stones that glittered like jewels. Massed in thick, untidy folds were heaps of silken cloth that might have been tapestries, and rolled up, tossed here, and placed on end there, were thick rugs. And piled in great, gleaming mounds were what seemed to be cups and vases, bowls, and great platters, all of a dull yellow metal that could not have been anything but gold. The whole flashed and shone in a riot of blazing color. With a stifled exclamation, Selby darted into the room. In quick suc- cession, he examined several different objects. His face was slack with amaze- ment when he turned back to Ingram. “Great space! This room is a reg- ular treasure trove! Look at this stuff — gold, diamonds, platinum. . . His voice trailed into awed silence. Ingram excitedly made a quick scru- tiny of some of the nearer objects. When he finished finally, his blue eyes were wide and dazed. “Come on!” Selby ordered. “I’ve an idea that — ” They returned to the corridor. Selby moved forward almost at a trot. They found more of the sliding doors. And in the rooms beyond, they found more tumbled piles of wealth. Some things seemed to be vaguely familiar, though the majority were without any Earthly counterpart. But all consisted of gold and platinum and sparkled with gems. Selby was numb with wonder. “A treasure ship! ” he gasped. “A treasure ship. . . Of a sudden, Ingram gripped his arm, pointing tensely. “Look!” They had reached another branch. Lying just around the turn was a human skeleton. No slightest vestige of flesh remained, though the garments which draped grotesquely over its bones were intact and seemingly in good condition. The gleaming skull was punctured with bullet holes. “Murdered!” Selby breathed. “By what? Why?” It was some time before they moved again. Then they did so slowly, nar- rowed eyes probing the gloom ahead, heads jerking at imagined sounds. They were in another passageway lined with sliding doors. Occasionally, they glanced into the rooms beyond. The objects which they found here were different from anything they had yet seen. There was no stored wealth of rare metals and precious jewels. In- stead there were great machines, strange scientific apparatus, enigmatic devices. No two objects were seem- ingly alike. gOME of the articles seemed to have been constructed for deadly pur- poses. In one room, Selby found an artifact which vaguely resembled an over-sized, ancient rifle, and when he accidentally pressed a stud in its side, a bolt of ravening energy shot from its flaring muzzle, tearing a great hole in one wall. Selby was forced to abandon the idea of retaining this for protective purposes after a second and more cau- tious examination showed that his blun- der had in some way rendered the weap- on useless. He toyed a moment with the idea of finding another weapon of the same sort, but his experience with the first convinced him that it was likely to prove more dangerous to himself than to anyone against whom he might use it.

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70 AMAZING STORIES Ingram stared unseeingly before him, a vast awe written on his face. “Lord — the cream of a civilization is stored in this ship! A treasure trove beyond the wildest meaning of the term. The greatest inventions of an alien science, the best in art and craftsmanship, the deadliest instruments of warfare. And precious metals, jewels — untold wealth. . . . But what could have been the reason for stuffing it within the ship like this, with absolutely no order or sense?” “A pirate, perhaps,” Selby muttered. “Yes, that must be it. The mightiest buccaneer in the Universe, looting a civilization of its choicest and best In every field of endeavor. . . .” “But what happened to him?” In- gram demanded. “What happened to the small army of followers that must have been with him?” Selby shrugged. “Dead, rriost likely. The same thing must have happened to them that happened to Rikker and his men.” “What do you mean? How could there possibly be a connection?” “It seems obvious enough. Those alien pirates — if they actually were pi- rates— must have killed each other off for possession of the tremendous wealth this ship contains. Maybe Rikker and the others did the same thing.” “It doesn’t seem logical, though. As scientists, Rikker and the others were above financial gain. The contents of this ship couldn’t have meant more to them than an advance in scientific and cultural knowledge.” Selby shook his head. “Then what about that skeleton we found? How would you explain the bullet holes in its head? My theory isn’t too far-fetched. Why, a man with all this material in his possession could become master of the entire Solar System! He’d have enormous wealth, terrible weapons, the benefits of a highly advanced alien science.” Selby fell silent. He veiled his eyes to hide a surge of sudden cun- ning. He'd mentally put himself in the place of the figurative man of whom he had spoken — and realization burst upon him that here, within reach of his finger tips, was the means with which to secure power and glory greater than anything for which he had ever dared hope. Abruptly Selby felt dizzy at thought of the possibilities that had opened be- fore him. What a simpleton he had been, wasting his time in search of a new space ray for the paltry rewards its discovery would bring! And the pres- idency of a university, a seat on the Executive Council — how petty and inane these were compared to the un- limited authority that clever use of these alien riches would create! WITH the treasures of this ship at his command, he could make him- self ruler of the entire System! He could hire scientists and technicians, ambitious, unscrupulous men like him- self, whom generous bribes and prom- ises would make fanatically loyal. They would learn the principle which had driven this ship across the vast reaches of interstellar space. They would learn the secrets of the machines, the weap- ons. Then he would build workshops and bases on some uninhabited planet, gather together an army and then. . . . Selby shook himself. He felt intox- icated. Slowly, he became aware that Ingram was staring at him wonderingly. Ingram was a menace, Selby thought suddenly. He was too bright, too shrewd. He might warn the world of what Selby intended. He might even attempt to kill him to gain possession of the ship and its treasures for himself. Selby decided grimly that Ingram would have to be taken care of. Ingram asked puzzledly, “What’s the

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TREASURE DERELICT 71 matter, sir? Don’t you feel well?” Selby woke as though from a daze. He rubbed the back of a hand across his forehead. “It’s nothing,” he mut- tered. “Nothing.” Eagerness for fur- ther exploration caught at him again. There was much more to see. And it was his. All of it was his. They continued their search of the derelict. Brief glances into the rooms they passed sufficed to show that these contained the same chaotic jumble of articles as the others. At the end of the corridor, they found themselves be- fore a great stairway with curiously broad steps that sloped upward like a succession of short ramps. They mounted the stairway slowly, their foot- falls loud in the brooding silence. At the top of the stairway they came to an abrupt halt, frozen motionless. A skeleton lay sprawled in the corridor before them. The skull of this one, too, was punctured with bullet holes. “Another!” Selby hissed. “And murdered like the first. This seems to give my theory added proof. Rikker’s men killed each other off — just as the aliens must have done.” Ingram whispered, “But why should they all be mere skeletons? There’s something strange about this. Flesh and tissue couldn’t decompose so com- pletely in two years — or perhaps even less than that. Rikker and the others might have been returning from Uranus when they found this ship.” Selby frowned in sudden thoughtful- ness. It was true, he realized. The bones were all in place, yet picked clean as though by an animal. On an abrupt impulse, he bent and touched one of the bony hands. It collapsed instantly into a gray-white powder. Selby straight- ened with an amazed jerk. “Crumbling to dust!” Ingram gasped. “And in two years — less, may- be. I don’t like this. . . .” “It may not mean anything,” Selby pointed out. “Perhaps the thorough- ness of decomposition is due to some alien element in the atmosphere of the ship. Aids in decomposition, likely.” He moved his massive shoulders in a gesture of unconcern. “It’s nothing to worry about, so far as I can see.” Ingram nodded slowly. “Perhaps not. It would explain why we haven’t found any trace of the aliens. Their bones must have been decomposed com- pletely, leaving nothing behind. Human bones seem to be a bit more resistant.” “Don’t overlook the possibility that the weapons of the aliens may be equal- ly responsible,” Selby said. “You saw what happened when I set off that flame gun or whatever it was. A weapon like that wouldn’t leave any trace of its work.” Selby shrugged the subject aside and gazed about him with renewed interest. From the top of the stairway, another passage stretched onward. Selby could see numerous doors set in the walls on each side. Thought of what further treasures might lie beyond beckoned him enticingly. He motioned to Ingram and resumed his search. This time the rooms beyond the doors in this part of the derelict were charac- terized by a certain neatness, perhaps because of the nature of their contents. Some contained stacked boxes, crates, and cases of various sizes, other shelves on which were odd-looking books that folded open at the top and were covered with a strange wavy-line kind of writing. Selby and Ingram came finally to a branching passage. They stopped, glancing at each other significantly. H^"J -WAY down the branching passage lay still another skeleton. As they approached, they became sud- denly aware of a difference. One of the

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72 AMAZING STORIES bony hands, out-stretched on the metal floor, lay atop a gun, a familiar weapon of Earth. There was just one hole in the skull, and this in the right temple directly over where an ear once had been. Ingram stared bewilderedly at Selby. “This . . . this wasn’t murder. It was suicide!” “Suicide. . . Selby echoed num- bly. “This one — whoever he was — killed the other two, then himself. But in the name of the galaxy — why? Why should he have killed himself when he had everything to gain? It just doesn’t make sense?” Ingram leaned over and removed the gun from the bony fingers atop it. At his touch, the fingers crumbled away. With a sudden, convulsive move- ment, Selby snatched the weapon from Ingram’s hand. “I’ll take care of this.” “Why — what did you do that for?” Ingram demanded. “Don’t you trust me? Are you afraid I might try to mur- der you for what this ship contains?” “Of course not,” Selby growled de- fensively. “You’re letting your imag- ination run away with you.” Ingram’s face hardened. “Maybe. But I’m sick of your selfishness. You’ve kept me under your thumb during the entire trip so that I wouldn’t do any- thing which would steal your thunder.” “You’re talking foolishly. Forget it.” Selby attempted a reassuring grin. “This is no time for grudges, Dick. We’ve got to stick together. Come on, we’ll try to find what happened to that other poor devil from the Intrepid” Selby was relieved to see Ingram’s face finally clear. He didn’t intend that Ingram should ever leave the ship. In- gram was going to die. But now was not the time. One of the men from the Intrepid remained still to be found. Selby was taking no chances that this last one might be alive. Until he knew for a certainty, he would need Ingram. Two would be better than one if it came to a fight. Gripping the gun, Selby stepped care- fully over the skeleton and began to move down the passage, the lure of treasure dominating him again. In- gram slowly followed. His features were calm — but the with woodenness of effort. His blue eyes, dark with brood- ing, showed that the state of his mind hardly matched the expression of his face. The rooms along the passage dis- played the same appearance of neatness which Selby had previously noticed. He realized presently that this part of the ship must have served as living quarters for the crew. He found furnishings that quite clearly were tables and chairs, cabinets, and deeply-upholstered couches that had obviously served as beds. Though huge compared to the Earthly scale of size, the furnishings indicated that the aliens had been es- sentially humanoid in physical struc- ture. ^BSORBED by his examination, Sel- by did not know how much time had passed before he became suddenly aware that Ingram no longer accom- panied him. Selby stood almost at the end of the passage now. A branching passage showed where it ended, leading to another part of the ship. Selby clutched at the thought that Ingram might just have stepped around the corner. Selby hurried to the branching pas- sage. Ingram was nowhere in sight. But something else was. Another skele- ton. And this, like the last Selby had found, was a suicide. Selby looked for a gun, but didn’t find one. The bony hand that had held it was a crumbled, powdery mass. Ingram I Selby straightened rigidly,

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TREASURE DERELICT 73 his Ups tight against his teeth. In- gram had taken the gun. And in a flash of intuition, Selby knew where In- gram had gone — to the space suits, of course. Ingram would don one of them, destroy the other, and leave the derelict. Then he would depart for Earth in the Martian Maid. He — Selby — would be marooned, left to die! And strangely, Selby feared the thought of death less than losing his opportunities for power. Beyond the sprawled shape of the skeleton, at the end of the present pas- sage, a stairway showed, leading down. Selby had the plan of the ship in his mind by now. He knew the stairway would take him to the lower level of the ship, and from there he would have little difficulty in finding the passage leading to the space suits. Breath sobbing in his throat, Selby raced down the passage and took the stairway in great leaps. The space suits! His one, all-consuming thought was to reach them in time. In his desperation, Selby became mo- mentarily confused about directions. But shortly he found the first of the passageways which he and Ingram had traversed. These served to locate him, and he pounded forward at increased speed. As he neared the passage leading to the spot where the space suits had been left, the sound of shots rang out. Ter- ror flooded Selby at thought of what they meant. Ingram had destroyed the remaining suit, was even- now leaving the ship! But — incredibly — Ingram hadn’t left. Selby reached the end of the pas- sage to find the youth leaning against a wall, his slender form shaking with what seemed a crazy combination of mirth and sobs. The space suits which stood nearby — Ingram’s and Selby’s — were pierced with innumerable bullet holes. They were useless now — utterly useless. ^‘You fool!” Selby shrieked. “You insane young fool! Why did you have to destroy the suits?” Rage, inspired by a terrible fear, brought a film of red to Selby’s eyes. Ingram lifted a face that was a strange, white mask. “Why did I de- stroy the suits? So that we couldn’t leave here — ever.” Ingram extended a hand. In it was a square of paper. “When I found that last skeleton on the upper deck, I also found this. Look at it.” But Selby didn’t look. The fury within him boiled over. He raised his gun — and thunder echoed repeatedly through the silent corridors of the dere- lict. JNGRAM stiffened, clutched at his chest, an expression of mild surprise frozen on his face. Then he slid slowly to the floor. It might have been some trick of the light, caused by a change in position, but it seemed to Selby that Ingram’s surprise faded in the last mo- ment of death — faded, and was re- placed by a quiet smile. The gun clicked empty. Selby hurled it away, mouthing curses. The square of paper which Ingram had held caught his eye. There was writing on it, a scrawled, shaky writing that might have been done by a dying man in haste. Selby read the writing. “To any unfortunate enough to find and enter this vessel: For the safety of the System, you must never leave. This is a plague ship. My men and I have come down with the same disease that wiped out the original passengers. These latter obviously were refugees fleeing a plague-devastated world in some far corner of the Universe. They probably intended to start a new civili- zation somewhere else with the materi- als stored here, but came down with the

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74 AMAZING STORIES plague themselves. We stumbled across the ship on our return from Uranus. Calculations show it is drifting through the far edge of the System, and will soon be gone. “Hymer and I were forced to kill Ewing and Phillips. They were un- able to bear the knowledge of their con- dition, and attempted to escape in hope of medical aid on Earth. This disease is alien, and judging from its virulency, they would have succeeded only in spreading it. Hymer and I destroyed the space suits, so that neither of us would be tempted. Hymer has already taken the quick way out. I will shortly do so. I am in extreme pain as I write this. I have a terrible fever, and my flesh is being eaten away in patches. ‘‘The disease starts with red spots on the skin. When you find them, you will know that you are doomed. Face the fact bravely, and do not attempt to leave. The safety of civilization de- pends on it. Verne Rikker.” Selby dropped the note. He felt numbed. A vast horror engulfed his mind. For a long moment he stared before him, afraid to look. Then slowly, slowly, not breathing, dreading, he drew back the sleeve from his left arm. And they were there. Red spots. There seemed to be multitudes of them, covering the flesh wherever he looked. Selby screamed. THE END THE SPECIALIZED CELLS OF MAN The whip-lash of the spermatozoon is driv- ing it through the darkness of hours (or days) to find its mate. As the butterfly male, scenting the perfume of the female miles away, takes its unerring flight toward the ebb and resurgence of life, so the bearer of the igni- tion of future humanity feels for the life-force of the ovum. When conditions are favorable, the courier may speed swiftly and unerringly on its way, replenishing the mighty energetics from the friendly fluids around it. Clever with all the cun- ning of instinct, persistent as the rise of the sun, the sperm-cell flails its way, until it has succeeded in its mission or died on the field of lonely battle against hostile elements. The spermatozoon develops in four stages from cells lining the tubules in the testes. The flow of life force that its ancestor epithelial cell contacts determines the completeness and efficiency of the active sperm. When this life-force is dulled by inactivity of the thyroid, or of the pancreas, the thymus, the parathyroids, the pineal, the pituitary, the adrenals, or the sex glands themselves, the stored essence of essence of the life-bearing midget is considerably affected. Iodine-starved humans have iodine-starved spermatozoa. Sodium chlo- ride starvation causes sodium chloride-starved spermatozoa. People with cobalt-deficiency ane- mia produce cobalt-deficient sperms. People with zinc deficiency beget zinc-deficient spermatozoa. People afflicted with protein-deficiency have pro- tein-deficient sperm-cells. Those with manganese- deficient cells produce manganese-deficient germ- cells. The list may be extended to include all the mineral elements, and basic animal substance nec- essary to the abundant flow of life. Thus the iodine content of the cells giving rise to the sperm determines the specific activity of the human thyroid, while the ratio of the iodine content to (for example) the sodium chloride con- tent) determines the degree of balance between the thyroid gland and the adrenal glands. The body of the sperm (l/500th inch long, and it has a very long tail) contains the half-seeds of all the endocrine bodies found in the human being. Co- balt-poor sperms tend to produce anemic babies. Zinc deficiency gives rise to diabetic tendencies. Protein deficiency gives rise to cancerous tenden- cies. Manganese deficiency causes anemic tenden- cies and poor liver formation. These are the reasons that nature does not trust more than half of the load of life-fire to one be- ing, In its transference to heredity. The misan- thropes that result even from the marriage of cousins, but more startlingly from the marriage of brother and sister humans, amply illustrate the gravity of uniting sperm cells and ova that suffer from the same organic and mineral deficiencies. Tortured life-force, attempting to establish' a harmonious equilibrium for itself, builds undaunt- edly against the insufficiencies of diet, mental and endocrine disbalances that result from the insuffi- ciencies, finally re-expressing its desire for peace- able equilibrium by giving up and starting again to concentrate its specialized structures into the molecules of the chromosomes.

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THE SPECIALIZED CELLS OF MAN 75 Twenty-four chrom'dsomes from the sperm cell, and twenty-four chromosomes from the ovum, still represent the hope of the hopeless for a new and magnificent existence. The starving hordes of India, and of China, and of Europe, and of Africa, still manage somehow to perpetuate the spark of life. Time after time nature induces the strong to flower from the bosom of the weak, the crafty to emerge from the line of the feeble-minded, the lion-heart to emerge from the miasma of despond, through the mechanism of sex. Sex — the urge of the perfection in nature — the objective drive to creation — to procreation — to survival — to victory — to self-understanding. Since the ages-old abandonment of the hetero-sexual form in favor of the sex-differentiated form, it has been the main-spring of man. In the infinitesimal body of the active sperm travels the load of all humanity’s tomorrows. The molecules in the chromosomes carry the impress of the hands, the angle of the ears, the width of the forehead, the strength of the nails, the activity of the brain-cells, the span of the hand, and all the other multiplicity of specialized cell groups and their specialized functions, as expressed from father to progeny by the state of total life at the point in the testes’ tubes where that sperm was matured. Life pours itself down through an infinitesimal funnel into an infinitesimal package called the ovum, living, and yet only half-alive — supernatant with the power to project itself if actuated, yet waiting with the patience of the sex-less to be moved to friendly surroundings, to be energized into a half-world of new self-expression, to be lifted out of the half-world into a super-universe of delicacy and balance, with all the intricate func- tions of the tight-knit cell twice and a hundred billion times more actively expressed. The countles.s aeons of development of the hu- man species, all the stages of evolution, the primi- tive fusion cell uses in acquiring its emergence. Thus the cell learns by reperforming the whole creative process in the differentiation of itself into "THERE WAS AN WHO was Mother Goose? The question seems foolish. She is an American insti- tution, a part of the childhood of every girl and boy. To question her existence is like that of questioning the existence of Santa Claus. It seems impossible that there was ever a time when her nursery rhymes were not being sung by children. Unlike Santa Claus, Mother Goose was a real, live old lady. She dates back to Boston of the seventeenth century. In those days the Gooses owned half of Boston. There were ten little Gooses, and their father Isaac, who took for his second wife, Elizabeth Foster, who had ten chil- dren of her own and became the immortal Mother Goose. billions of specialized cells. Sometimes the new life may be half-nourished, or over-fed and severely under-nourished. It may be minus a leg, its eyes may be imperfect, its ears may be missing, its heart may be inadequate, its feet may be mal-formed, or it may be a beautiful creature but handicapped by faulty central nerv- OU.S tissue. Dr. Edwards A. Parks (pediatrics, Johns Hop- kins University) said that if every pregnant wom- an were carefully tended, her diet properly insured against deficiency, with proper amounts of sun- light incorporate, dental cavities and rickets could be almost literally banished from the face of the earth, Let us call up the gruesome spectre of Nazi Germany. Whatever indictment is to be borne by that state, it i-s not one of carelessness of mother- hood. Motherhood was questionably encouraged, but dietary care, close medical supervision, even the insurance of mental and emotional comfort were warranted insofar as possible. With that kind of care and security, what American woman, except the unpraiseworthy few, would refuse the magnificent privilige of bringing forth her kind? What infinitesimal portion of the heart-staggering war expenditures would suffice to the annual main- tenance of women in gestation? Our leadership ( ?) has consistently attempted to maintain the philosophies of laissez faire and the devil take the hindmost. If all the men in the country, who are in positions of supposed respon- sibility to the general citizenry, and who lack the vision to encourage the humanities, were calmly laid end to end, the world would be much bet- ter off. Mankind wants freedom from want and fear and poverty and all other diseases. In fact, man- kind is getting madder about it all the time. It is high time the comptrollers of wealth, of selfish industry, of human energy and enjoyment of life’s brief span awake before their obligations to Pri- vate (Citizen) number X-8S920, become so great that they must sell all they have and dance to his tune. — John McCahe Moore. OLD WOMAN" . . . After her husband died, this little old lady went to live with her eldest daughter who had married a publisher. The Fleets also had a houseful of children, all of whom adored their grandmother who would sit and sing them songs and rhymes all day long, never running out. Before long, other children swarmed to the Fleets’ home to sit upon the stoop and hear her. Her son-in-law, seeing the amazing impressions cast by her simple songs upon the children, decided to share this treasure with all little boys and girls, everywhere. He printed the Mother Goose Nur- sery Rhymes without ever dreaming of the best- seller he had on his hands. Neither did Mother Goose, who lived to be a hundred, and never tired of amusing others with her songs.— y««e Lurie.

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Weapons are used for fighting — but there are weapons and weapons. What sort of fight could come of a weapon such as this one....? 77

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AMAZING STORIES FOREWORD HE last war that involved the entire world ended in igSo. Fought with crude but terribly devastating atomic power weapons, it is estimated that over fifty per cent of the world’s inhabitants died in this seven- year long conflict. The war was ended by the invention of a weapon so power- fid that further fighting was unthink- able. The World State, which had its beginnings in other earlier conflicts, was organized immediately after the termi- nation of hostilities. Headquarters of the new world-wide state was estab- lished in World City, which was con- structed on a high plateau in the Rocky Mountains near the ruins of the old city of Denver, Colorado. The first act of the new government was to outlaw for- ever the use of the weapon that had brought about the end of the conflict. All plans for the construction of the weapon were destroyed at the same, time and all written records dealing with the weapon were carefully sought out and burned. Excerpt from the Centennial Edition of the History of the World, revised and published by J. Markwort and Sons in 2500 A.D. CHAPTER 1 “qur commander has ordered target practice,” the Halvar lieutenant assigned to the official party said, with mock politeness. “Would the humans care to watch?” Sitting on a table in the middle of the spacious cabin was a telepath, an instrument designed to facilitate com- munications directly between the minds of two or more people. On earth, in the year 2505, the telepath was already centuries old, but its use, except by physicians or scientists, or by special authority of the president of the World State, was strictly forbidden on the grounds that a man’s thoughts were his own. Life imprisonment was the usual penalty imposed on a person who dared to use the telepath to invade the private life of another individual. Harsh pen- alties were necessary in view of the fact that models small eriough to fit inside an ordinary cap could be constructed. Without the legal ban on the instru- ment, no one would ever know when another person was reading his mind to his possible disadvantage. . The telepath sitting on the table in the cabin of the Halvar cruiser was strictly legal and its use had been authorized by no less a person than Randall Whitcomb, President of the World State. Its use was necessary. There was no other way to communi- cate satisfactorily with the Halvar, pre- suming communications with that brawling race could ever be on a satis- factory basis. The Halvar lieutenant’s thoughts filtered through the telepath, reached the minds of the group in the cabin, reached the mind of Clay Dorn. “No,” Clay Dorn grunted. “What?” the startled lieutenant said. “But that’s the reason you came.” “Is it?” Dorn was on his feet. “Is it, Lieutenant? I thought the reason we came was because your commander-in- chief invited the World State to send representatives along on this trip merely for scientific observation. Nothing was said about target practice — ” Dorn was elated. He glanced across the room to where Jack Young was standing. Young’s face was pale and tense because of the risk he was run-

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THE WEAPON 79 ning but the intentness behind his pallor showed he wasn’t missing anything. Young was wearing a hidden and completely illegal telepath. It was his job to probe the mind of this Halvar lieutenant, or of any other member of the Halvar race that gave him an oppor- tunity. It was Clay Dorn’s job to start an argument, any kind of any argument, and make it as loud as pos- sible, so Young would have a chance to read the mind of a Halvar when, startled by an argument, he had his guard down. “Nothing whatsoever was said about target practice,” Dorn repeated. “What is this target practice you’re talking about?” He started across the cabin to- ward the Halvar. The lieutenant was startled, amazed, incredulous. He stared at Dorn as if he did not believe his eyes. In the month that had passed since the space ships of the Halvar had first appeared in the skies of earth, no human had challenged a member of his race. It was his personal opinion that no human would ever issue such a challenge. Here was a man, a man whose lithe six feet of height were a good two feet under his towering bulk, starting toward him! “Wliat’s the meaning of this?” he snapped. “'^HAT’S what I want to know!” Dorn answered. “That’s what everyone on earth wants to know. The Halvar come across space, from the direction of Sirius, with two monstrous space ships, twelve cruisers, and how many fast scouting vessels I don’t begin to guess. You come to a world that has been at peace for almost 600 years, a world that has outlawed war, that has forbidden armed conflict, and you bring a fleet big enough to blow our planet out of the Solar System. What I want to know, Lieutenant, what everyone on earth wants to know, is your meaning, your purpose — ” “Silence!” a harsh voice grated in Dorn’s ear. It was General Horton, Chief of Staff of the World State Mili- tary Forces, who had spoken. General Horton’s face was purple with explod- ing wrath. “You are insulting our hosts. The Halvar have said they come in peace — ” “They’re hiding their true motives!” Dorn instantly retorted. “The whole blasted bunch of them are psychopathic liars if I ever saw one. If you believe their story that they’re on an expedition of scientific exploration, you’re falling for a lot of hot air. Every man and woman alive on earth will have to pay for your mistake.” The purple hue deepened on Horton’s thick-jowled face. “Shut up!” he roared. Clay Dorn had his argument. It had come from a source he had not antici- pated but the source didn’t make any difference. He stole a glance at the Halvar lieutenant. The lieutenant was pop-eyed with amazement. In his world strict discipline prevailed and argu- ments were not possible. “I am employed by the Department of Public Information,” Clay Dorn said icily. “No general on the face of the earth can tell me what to do. You may be a little tin god in the Depart- ment of Peace but you don’t mean the snap of a finger to me.” General Horton looked like he was on the verge of apoplexy. “You — you — ” he rasped. “You what?” Dorn egged him on. “Please, Mr. Dorn,” another voice spoke. “Remember General Horton is in charge of our party and is technically responsible for us. I quite appreciate your feelings but this is scarcely the time or the place to give expression to them.”

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80 AMAZING STORIES JT WAS gray -haired Samuel Morton, Minister of the Department of Sci- entific Discovery, who had spoken. Morton was a man Dorn deeply ad- mired and respected. It would not be good policy to affront Morton. And anyhow he had created his argument. Young had had his opportunity to read the mind of the Halvar lieutenant. “I apologize for losing my temper,” Dorn said, bowing stiffly to General Horton. He turned to the Halvar lieu- tenant. “I withdraw my objections to your target practice.” The lieutenant grinned. He flicked a switch. On the front bulkhead of the big cabin, a visascreen puffed with light, revealing a view of the northern part of the moon. The cruiser in which they were travelling was now directly above earth’s satellite. Clay Dorn apparently gave his com- plete attention to the scene revealed on the screen. In reality the view of the moon interested him very little. What he wanted to do was to talk to Jack Young, to find out what Young had dis- covered on his hidden telepath. He edged closer to Young. “Well?” he whispered. Jack Young shook his head. The telepath was hidden out of sight in the inside pocket and the lining of his tunic. “I didn’t get a thing,” he an- swered. “What?” ■ “Nothing but fear.” “Fear?” “Yes, fear. The lieutenant is one of the most frightened creatures that ever drew breath. I know he’s acting bra/en and nonchalant but actually he is fright- ened half to death. His fear is so great it’s blocking his mind.” “What’s he scared of?” “Of his superior officer and his job. He has strict orders to let nothing slip, to reveal nothing, and he’s afraid he may tip us off to something he’s hiding. I gather his immediate superior will skin him alive and dump his carcass out the lock if he lets anything slip. But mostly he’s scared of that telepath in the middle of the room.” “Scared of the telepath? T\Tiy?” “Because he doesn’t understand it. He’s afraid we may use it to read his mind and discover something he is try- ing to hide.” Young’s shaky whisper faded out, then came again. “That’s all I got, Clay. Fear, fear, and more fear. But I didn’t get a single thought that re- vealed the real plans of the Halvar.” Under his breath, Clay Dorn swore bitterly. He had relied on Young’s hidden telepath to disclose the inten- tions of this brawling race that had come roaring across space and had found a world that almost 600 years of peace had left totally unprotected. The telepath had failed. On the visascreen on the front bulk- head was revealed the Mare Imbrium, called the “Sea of Showers” by the ancient astronomers who had given it a name. The human race had long since learned that this was not a sea and no showers ever fell there but the name was retained. The Mare Imbrium was almost directly under the rapidly mov- ing ship. The craters of Eratosthenes and Copernicus were plainly visible. The range of rugged mountains known as the Lunar Apennines lay off to the left. The men gathered in the cabin watched the scene with fervid interest. Although human-built rocket ships had first landed on the moon in 1990, with large mining operations developed since that date, the trip to the moon was a journey that few people ever made. Probably no one present, with the pos- sible exception of some of the re- porters representing the news and tele-

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THE WEAPON cast companies, had ever been to the moon before. Certainly none of them had ever gone there in a beryl steel cruiser powered by an unknown drive that hurled the cruiser’s thousands of tons of mass through space under per- fect control and at a speed that could be lifted close — or possibly beyond — the speed of light. Rocket ships earth had, cargo carriers to reach the moon, but no rocket ship came within miles of the mechanical and electrical perfection of this Halvar cruiser. pJURTLING high above the surface of the moon, she was a ship fit to fly the space-ways, a ship such as the engineers and scientists of the human race had dreamed of building, and would one day build, if they had the time to carry their development far enough. Time was needed to build a ship like this, time to discover the natural laws embodied in her, time to discover the hidden natural secrets that made her operation possible. Time measured not in centuries but in thous- ands of years, with peaceful generation following peaceful generation and building on knowledge gained by the generation preceding it. Time — work — the labor of many men. The question that burdened Clay Dorn’s mind, burdened the mind of every other thinking human, was whether or not there would be any more time, now that the Halvar had come. Somewhere in the great cruiser a gong sounded. “Action stations,” the Halvar lieu- tenant explained. Target practice was about to start. ' CHAPTEP^I! ^HE gong sounded again. Struck twice this time, there was some- thing compelling, something command- 81 ing in the deep tones that rolled through the ship. “Signal to start firing,” the lieutenant said. The cruiser was ten, possibly fifteen miles above the surface of the moon. Directly below, the crater of Coperni- cus was clearly visible. A beam of in- tense jet-white light lanced from the nose of the vessel. It struck dead in the center of the crater. As if an atomic bomb had exploded there, dust boiled upward in a huge, mushrooming cloud. A gasp went up from the group of men gathered in the cabin. Probably no one of them, including General Hor- ton, knew perfect shooting when they saw it but this was perfect shooting. The crater was an obvious target and the beam had struck dead in the center. The beam winked out, winked on again, flicking downward like the tongue of some incredible snake strik- ing toward the moon. The cruiser was moving, no one knew how fast, but the .speed of the ship musf have been thous- ands of miles per hour. In spite of the speed, and the intri- cate mechanism necessary to compen- sate for it, the beam struck dead center on its target. With the rapidity of machine-gun fire, the beam winked on and off. Not a flash missed. Somewhere in this cruiser were almost perfectly trained gun crews. The beam winked off. Up from the south, moving so fast they were scarely visible, came three scout ships. They looked like little black gnats. They dived straight into the path of the beam from the cruiser. Clay Dorn held his breath. If those three little fliers got into the line of fire! They didn’t get into the line of fire from the cruiser because the bigger vessel stopped the operation of the beam. The little fliers flashed over the

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82 AMAZING STORIES crater, jabbed down with tongues of flame, jabbed and were gone. A split second after they were gone, the cruiser fired again, then ceased. Dorn saw why it ceased. Following the three little fliers were two cruisers. They flashed in, poured their fire into the crater, and were gone. Instantly, the split second the line of fire was clear, the cruiser began to fire again. It was a demonstration of split-sec- ond fire control that was letter-perfect. Two little fliers flashed in from an- other direction. Again the cruiser held its fire. Another cruiser followed the scout ship, flashed under the eyes of the watchers, and was gone. Then, in a mad dance almost too fast for the eye to follow, scout ships and cruisers darted in from all directions. Wherever Dorn looked, a ship was div- ing down. Not a single one of those flashing beams of light missed its target. J^ORN tried to imagine the plight of gun crews down in the crater and trying to set up a defense against this attack, gun crews trying to fight back. They wouldn’t have had a chance. No matter what they tried to do, somebody would have been shooting at them from some direction all the time. They couldn’t have gotten their guns trained on a target before the target was gone. Snoring millions of horsepower howled as the cruiser changed direction. It began to circle. Instantly the little fliers and the other cruisers fell into line behind it. They circled the crater of Copernicus, beams drilling down- ward. Dust lifted thousands of feet above the surface of the moon. Dust boiled outward, almost obscuring the target. The Halvar ships kept circling. The target began to grow larger. Under the Halvar attack, a moon crater was being reamed out. A boil- ing, bubbling cup of lava frothed down there. The crater grew twice as big, three times as big, as it had been before. The bare bones of the moon, the rocky skeleton of earth’s satellite, began to show. Abruptly the gong sounded again. ‘‘Cease fire.” The Halvar lieutenant tore his rapt eyes from the visascreen long enough to interpret the signal. The beams died instantly. The cruiser lifted up and away. The little scout ships raced to get ahead of it and form a protective screen, a shield ahead of the bigger vessel. The lieutenant flicked a switch. The screen went blank. “Practice over,” he said. He bowed to the group, walked to the door, left the cabin. The heavy steel door hissed behind him as it auto- matically swung shut. A sigh ran around the room. Men closed their straining eyes, looked at each other hastily, hastily looked back at the blank wall where the visascreen had revealed to them the target practice of the Halvar, then hastily looked away again. The babble of sounds began as the news and telecast men found their voices and started asking questions. Because of their position and back- ground, two men in the group had the best qualifications for answering the type of questions the reporters were asking. Samuel Morton, Minister of the Department of Scientific Discovery, and General Horton, Chief of Staff of the World State Military Forces. Dorn listened to the questions they were asking Samuel Morton. “That beam, Dr. Morton — ” “What kind of a ray is it?” “How does it work?” “How in the name of heaven do they control it?”

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THE WEAPON 83 “The energy they must pump into it! How do they focus the energy into so sharp abeam?” Samuel Morton held up his hand. “Please, gentlemen — ” His face in that moment was as gray as his hair. '^HE reporters seemed to stop breath- ing while they waited for an answer. They had never seen a beam like the narrow band of jet-white light that fluted from the Halvar ships. Nor had anyone else on earth. Many men had reasoned that such things might be pos- sible but in a world that ate and slept and breathed peace, no one had tried to make such a beam as a weapon. The reporters waited. Morton cleared his throat. “I can’t answer any of your ques- tions,” he said. “I don’t know how the beam is generated or how it works. It must be radiated on a sub-ether level. It probably is no more difficult to con- trol than an ordinary searchlight and there probably is not much power flow- ing over it. It does damage by releas- ing nuclear energy in the object it strikes. Thus the target of the beam de- stroys itself because the beam has re- leased a part of the atomic energy of the target. I say probably these things are true, possibly they are, maybe. I don’t actually know the first principle involved. No, I can’t guess how to construct an apparatus for generating such a beam. Years of research would be needed before even a beginning could be made. No — I’m sorry — What’s that? What would be the effect if the Halvar chose to select one of our cities for target practice? Gentlemen, I don’t think you need my comment on that!” The only sound in the cabin was the snoring drone of millions of horse- power building up the speed of the cruiser. The task force was heading back to earth. At the speed with which the Halvar ships moved, earth would be reached in a few hours. The reporters were questioning Gen- eral Horton. “Do we have any defense against the Halvar beam?” The general cleared his throat. “De- fense? Harrump! What defense is necessary?” “But—” general grew pompous. He threw out his chest. It was not often that a spokesman of the Depart- ment of Peace had anything to say that interested the newsmen. General Hor- ton intended to take full advantage of this opportunity. “You may quote me as saying,” he said, “that our space neighbors, the Halvar, who are paying our planet a much appreciated visit, have disclosed an ingenious and no doubt effective weapon designed to protect them from possible attack, a necessary weapon, I might add, in view of the fact that their ships cross interstellar space. However, I have seen nothing that need cause any alarm to the peoples of earth. The Halvar are a peaceful race. They have told us so themselves!” His voice grew more pompous. “As to a possible Halvar attack upon us, that is sheer nonsense. We have been at peace for almost 600 years. Why should war come now?” “You think, then, that the intentions of the Halvar are peaceful?” a reporter asked. “I am convinced of it,” General Hor- ton answered. Then he repeated what had become the' catchword of. the age. “A world at p>eace need have no fear of warlike neighbors. As to weapons, the human race has the mightiest weapon ever invented — peace.” The news and telecast men wrote

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AMAZING STORIES furiously, a sight most gratifying to the general. “Do you honestly believe what you have said?” Clay Dorn asked quietly. General Horton recognized the young man who had previously affronted him. His face began to turn purple. “Of course I believe it,” he snapped “Other- wise I wouldn’t have said it.” “All right, all right,” Dorn answered wearily. “I have one more question. Have you ever read history?” “Have I ever read—” “Forget it. I work for the Depart- ment of Public Information. Every man who works for this department has to have an extensive knowledge of history.” Don paused. “The histories say that the last war on earth ended in 1980, ended because a weapon so powerful was invented that further fighting was unthinkable. What I want to know is this: Do you, as a repre- sentative of the Department of Peace, know anything about this weapon?” “Huh?” General Horton said. J^EEPER weariness crept into Clay Dorn’s voice. “Nearly 600 years ago the human race invented a tre- mendously powerful weapon. After it was used to end the war in progress at that time, all plans and models of the weapon were destroyed.” Dorn looked around the cabin. “I don’t know but it seems to me that we may soon need such a weapon. I hope that General Horton knows something about it.” “I never heard of such a thing,” Gen- eral Horton said. “A race that lives in peace possesses the strongest — ” “I know, I know,” Dorn said. He turned away. General Horton believed what he said. If he was a pompous, thick-headed fool, this merely meant he was cast in the traditional pattern of generals since men came down out of the trees and began to wear brass but- tons. If he reflected the spirit of his times and believed implicitly that be- cause peace had endured for almost 600 years it would endure forever, he could scarcely be blamed. Other men thought the same thing. “I was reading his mind,” Jack Young whispered later. “He may be Chief of Staff but he never even heard of the weapon that ended the last war in the twentieth century.” “I was afraid of that,” Dorn answered. “Tomorrow we’ll go see the Secretary of Peace. He is head of the department. He will surely know about the weapon. I can’t believe it was en- tirely discarded.” “Then you believe the Halvar intend to attack us?” Young asked. “I’m convinced of it,” Dorn answered. The Halvar cruiser groaned as it roared through space. Dorn’s thoughts went ahead of it, to the ship’s next stop. Down there somewhere below them was earth, a dream-like green planet spinning in space. He thought of earth. On earth a race had risen to greatness, marching grimly down the centuries, marching always toward some dimly visioned goal that beckoned al- ways up ahead. Up from the beasts this race had come, into savagery, then into barbarism, then into civilization. One by one semi-civilizations had been re- placed as standards had risen. Pesti- lence had stalked this race and famine had waited around every turn of the road it had followed. Wars had raged through it, war after war taking a grim toll. The race had endured. Pesti- lence had been conquered, famine and hunger were only words in the diction- ary, and war was something that existed only in the past, a word mumbled by gray-haired historians doddering in their libraries.

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THE WEAPON 85 Now the Halvar had come. Across space, in two gigantic battle- ships, twelve cruisers, dozens of de- stroyers, the Halvar had come. The battleships and most of the cruisers had never landed. They stayed far out in space, waiting, watching. Meanwhile the destroyers flew everywhere through the skies of earth, mapping, spying, watching, reporting. When the Halvar knew every foot of the territory of the planet, they put on a demonstration, called it target practice. “Pure frightfulness,” Clay Dorn said. “They show us what they can do. Then they tell us what we are going to do, or elseT “We can’t fight them,” Jack Young answered. “We have no ships to match theSe cruisers.” “Peace was one of our goals,” Dorn said. “We attained it, and thought we had avoided war forever, forgetting that no race can live in peace longer than its neighbor permits.” “We did not know the Halvar were our neighbors,” Young protested. “We know it now!'’ Dorn bitterly answered. CHAPTER MI JT WAS not difficult for two youthful career men to gain an audience with the Secretary of Peace. The Secretary would be glad to see Mr. Dorn and Mr. Young. Pathetically glad. Nobody ever came to see him, except some of his cronies, and they only came to play chess. The Secretary of Industry, the Secretary of the Department of Scien- tific Discovery, Samuel Morton, the Secretary of the Department of Agri- culture— it was almost impossible to see one of these men or even one of their chief assistants. Appointments had to be made months in advance. Nobody ever had to make an ap- pointment to see the Secretary of Peace. Nothing ever happened in his depart- ment. With the passing of this secre- tary the department was to have been abolished. Or that had been the plan. Yes, Mr. Dorn and Mr. Young could come in. Hidden in the inside pocket of Clay Dorn’s jacket was the telepath. He intended to use it only as a last resort but use it he would, if the Secretary of Peace refused to divulge the secret they sought. “Do you honestly believe they plan to attack us?” the astonished Secretary of Peace asked. He was an old man with a head of hair that shone like silver, a lined, kindly face. “There is no question about it,” Dorn answered. “But I have General Horton’s report here. And the newspapers — ” The Sec- retary indicated the papers on his desk. Clay Dorn had already read the papers. He could see the headline on this one. GENERAL HORTON SAYS HALVAR ARE PEACEFUL Interesting Trip to Moon “General Horton is a thick-headed fool!” Clay Dorn said. The Secretary almost fell out of his chair at the words. “My dear sir — ” he gasped. “I’m not blaming General Horton,” Dorn spoke quickly. “Probably any- one else in his position would have thought and said the same thing. He is a product of his times and he thinks fighting is impossible.” “But war—” The Secretary fumbled for words. “War is uneconomical, wasteful.” It was a damning indict- ment, was waste, in this age. “But the Halvar don’t know that,” Dorn answered. “They’re barbarians. When the human race was in the bar- baric stage of its development, the fact

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86 AMAZING STORIES that wars were wasteful did not stop the fighting.” “But that was long ago. We know better now.” “We know better but the Halvar don’t know better.” “We can teach them,” the Secretary suggested. “The only way to teach a barbarian is to pound your instruction home with a club,” Dorn retorted. “That’s why we came to you. We’re looking for a club.” “A club?” “A weapon. The weapon.” Dorn ex- plained what he meant. ^HE Secretary of Peace stared at him in astonishment. “Now that you mention it, I remember reading about such a weapon — ” “Secret and urgent,” a voice coming from the tel-announcer on his desk in- terrupted. The startled Secretary flicked a switch. Almost instantly a surprised, frightened, almost inarticu- late voice flooded through the room. It was a voice that the Secretary, Clay Dorn, and Jaqk Young promptly rec- ognized. Randall Whitcomb, President of the World State, was speaking. “I am calling a meeting of all secre- taries of departments at once. The Hal- var have just delivered a demand for metals, food, living space, workers, and an adequate share of all wealth that we possess. They have backed their demand by the threat of total war if we refuse to give them what they want. Their ultimatum, which I now hold in my hands, expires at noon tomorrow. If we have not accepted their terms by that time, they have threatened to begin the systematic destruction of our cities by means of the beam weapon with which their ships are equipped.” The voice choked. This was a pri- vate tel-line, connecting the various sec- retaries with the president. The choke sounded suspiciously like a sob. Then the voice continued. “A meeting of the secretaries of all departments is re- quested at once.” The voice went into silence. In the office of the Secretary of Peace all life seemed to have ceased at that moment. “The weapon,” Clay Dorn said husk- ily. “The weapon. Now will you talk?” The Secretary stared at him. “I — ” he whispered. “I — ” Clay Dorn flicked on the telepath. A split second for tuning, for match- ing thought patterns, then the thoughts of the Secretary of Peace came flooding into his mind. The Secretary was thinking of weap- ons, When he thought of weapons, the pictures in his mind was of displays in a museum. The Museum of Peace. There, for the better education of youngsters, all the weapons of the past had been collected for display purposes. The Secretary had seen these things in a museum. That was all he knew about weapons, that was all he knew about war! About the weapon so powerful it had brought about the end of war on earth, the Secretary knew absolutely nothing. “I have to go,” the Secretary said. “I have to go. You young men will excuse me. President Whitcomb — ” Like a frightened mouse, he scuttled out of the office. “There goes the man whose duty is to defend the peace,” Clay Dorn bitterly said. “Peace is a fine idea. In the long run it is also the shortest possible cut to world suicide.” “Unless you have the weapons to fight, you’re a set-up for the first bully who comes along,” Young agreed. “We had the weapon, once. We let it get away. If we had it now and if it was as powerful as the old historians

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THE WEAPON 87 thought, we could meet the Halvar on something like even terms. As it is, all we can do is to establish an under- ground movement — ” “Underground movement?” Jack Young asked, surprised. Clay Dorn knew his history. He ex- plained what an underground move- ment was. “President Whitcomb will surrender. He has no choice. After that will come the underground, the boring from within. Our first goal will be to discover everything about the Halvar weapons. When we know how they build their ships and how they operate that sub-ether beam, then we can begin to build ships of our own in secret. Eventually — but it will take a hundred, maybe two hundred years. If once we let the Halvar land, the grand- children of our grandchildren will be fighting them.” His voice boiled with helpless anger. “I can’t wait that long for freedom. Nor can any man! Jack, we’ve got to find that weapon. We’ve got to act now, before the surrender takes place.” “What on earth can we do?” Young questioned. “Call all our friends together, start them searching. Somewhere, someplace on this blasted planet there must be a clue, a hint of the weapon our fore- fathers invented. We’ve got to find it!” CHAPTER IV npHE Underground came into exist- ence and held its first meeting be- fore nightfall. It was as fast as that. And as automatic. Oppression, or the threat of oppression, brought a revolu- tionary group into existence in a culture pattern so automatic as to be almost instinctive. The human race, in the long centuries of peace, had thought it had forgotten revolution but it had merely forgotten oppression. Now that one had come, the other sprang into being. Seven men formed the first revolu- Tionary group. Friends of Clay Dorn and Jack Young who worked with them in various governmental departments of the World State organization. One of them was a frail looking owlish eyed young man who worked in the research division of the Department of Investi- gation. There was even one man from the Department of Peace. All of them listened quietly to what Dorn had to say. “There is or was a weapon in exist- ence powerful enough to stop the Hal- var,” Dorn concluded. “Our job is to find it. Do any of you know anything whatsoever about it?” His eyes went from man to man in the group. On every face he read the same answer. “All right,” Dorn said. “We’ve got to have weapons. We’ll start at the only source left to us — the weapons on display in the Museum of Peace.” A^ EIGHT o’clock that night seven men stood outside the great gray stone building called the Museum of Peace. The museum stood on a little hill at the edge of a large park. Stretch- ing away for miles below and around them were the lights of World City. Off to the west the white tipped peaks of the Rocky Mountains were dimly vis- ible in the starlight. Helicopters moved through the air and a great jet-propelled passenger and mail plane from Europe was nosing down to a landing. It would come to rest beside a Halvar destroyer that had supposedly landed to make minor repairs but which was actually waiting to carry the emissaries of Presi- dent Whitcomb back to the commander of the Halvar expedition. The Halvar commander was waiting in a battleship far beyond the earth’s atmosphere, waiting for the reply of the World State

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88 AMAZING STORIES government to his ultimatum. He knew what the reply would be: surrender. This rich defenseless planet was a plum ripe for the plucking. The Halvar would pluck it and would extend their space empire to include the Solar System. “I wonder what it will look like to- morrow night?” Jack Young said, nod- ding toward the city. “The council is still debating,” Dorn said. “They haven't announced the Halvar demands and the ultimatum ac- companying them. The people down there don’t know what may happen to- morrow’.” He thought of the shock, the stunned incredulous surprise that would sweep over earth when President Whitcomb stepped before a microphone and made the announcement he would have to make. “When the alternative is sur- render or destruction and when we have no means of defense, we must accept surrender.” The President would may- be not use those words but that would be the gist of w'hat he had to say. Mil- lions hearing that voice would learn for the first time the meaning of words that had almost dropped out of the dic- tionary, war and fear and hate, sabo- tage, intrigue, and the shock of sudden death. By the time resistance could begin to be organized, the Halvar would have the planet in such an iron grip that resistance might well be hopeless. One by one the lights of the cities of earth would go out, possibly to stay out forever. The seven men entered the Museum. They were looking for weapons. Be- hind glass-fronted wall panels were dis- played all the W’eapons the human race had ever invented. They were arranged in chronological order. A weapon was displayed in the first panel. Jt was a stone. A chunk of rock that a primate might pick up on a hillside and find it fitted into his craggy fist, giving power to a blow. Long before the dawn of history, this weapon had been discovered. A stone. Beside it was a club. Ways to bash out the brains of an enemy. “I guess we won’t use that against the Halvar,” the young man from the Department of Peace said. The next wall panel showed pointed pieces of bone. They had been fitted into the end of a club, making a better weapon with which to bash out the brains of an enemy. The next panel showed rough and chipped flints, spear heads, knives. Artists working with plastics had tried to reproduce the man who had chipped and used those flints. He had heavy jaws, a sloping forehead, and great heavy shoulders. He squatted on a hill- side and chipped flint, making himself a weapon. With it he extended his con- trol over the forces that threatened to destroy him. '^HERE were many panels dealing with the development of the tech- nique of working flint, with ways to improve a basic weapon, Then came a new weapon. The bow. The human race had used many forms of the bow until the gun came. Samples of the first guns were dis- played in the wall panels, crude bom- bards that might possibly throw a stone farther than a catapult. The gun had been improved. The panels showed the improvement. Rifled barrels, re- peating rifles, machine guns, cannons. The human race had exercised all its ingenuity in devising new and better ways to use gunpowder. There were bombs, high explosive shells, big shells, little shells, shells that exploded on im- pact, shells that saw their target and went off when they werd close enough. Gas shells. Bombs to be dropped from

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THE WEAPON 89 airplanes, little bombs, block-buster bombs. Torpedoes, used against ships. There were flying torpedoes. The first crude atomic bomb! “Hiro-shima,” Clay Dorn spelled out the words. “First used at Hiroshima.” “We could put an atomic bomb in a rocket ship!” Young said excitedly. “Yes,” Dorn answered. “We could. We will — when we learn how.” The pressure of time was on them. The atomic bomb was a brutal, deadly weapon. It could even be used against the Halvar, in time. With the atomic bomb, the displays went crazy. For the first time in history, the human race had had unlimited power at its disposal, had had a tre- mendously powerful weapon that was capable of almost unlimited develop- ment. How they had developed it! Starting with the destruction of the heavier elements, and the release of energy in the creation of lighter ele- ments, they had learned to snythesize the lighter elements into the heavier ones with an even greater release of energy. gOMBS that weighed four or five pounds. No way to detect them. They could be smuggled into any country. While you were at peace, you hid two or three of these little bombs in each of the main cities of your po- tential enemies. Then, in case you had to go to war, the first thing you did was to set off the bombs. Your enemy didn’t have any cities any more. While he was trying to discover what had happened to him, you moved in with your armies. A few years later, when you thought everything was under con- trol, the underground blew up your cities. Abruptly the human race stopped liv- ing in cities. You never could tell when a city was going to blow up. You had better live out in the country, in little towns. “If we could smuggle these bombs into the Halvar ships — ” the youth from the Department of Investigation said hesitantly. “In time, in good time,” Dorn said. “But that means war — Unless we blew up all the Halvar ships at once, they would fight back. And remember, in the almost 600 years of peace, we have built cities again. If we left one Halvar ship in the air, it would destroy our cities. All of this — ” He was think- ing out loud. “All of these displays of atomic energy belong to the last world war. Our forefathers used these weapons. We can use them, in time. But they’re not the weapon we’re look- ing for, the weapon that stopped fight- ing forever — ” “There’s one more panel,” Young said. The last panel, the last weapon. Clay Dorn looked at it. Logically the most hideous of all war instruments should be here in this panel, a perfect engine of destruction, a squat black monstrosity, bulging with bar- rels, a weapon to hurl death beyond the horizon. No such weapon was on display. The panel contained two objects: a bright metallic headband and a placard. “There must be some mistake,” Dorn heard someone say. “That headband isn’t a weapon, can’t be a weapon — ” Dorn scarcely heard the words. He had almost stopped breathing. He was reading the placard. The first model of the telepatk, called the “Phobitron** by George Jan- sen, its inventor, because its accentu- ated and exploited, the phobias or fears of the person against whom its radia- tions were directed. Used as a weapon, it is reputed to be the device that brought about the end —

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90 AMAZING STORIES Clay Dorn’s heart was up in his mouth and he was shouting at the top of his voice. “The phobitron! The fear hurler. Gentlemen, we’ve got it!” The six men stared at him. He ex- plained what he meant. The attendants of the Museum of Peace found themselves roughly handled that night when they tried to close up. Seven men said the museum was not going to be closed. When the attendants protested, they found themselves subjected to the indignity of being bound, gagged, and locked up behind one of their own wall panels. The seven men of the Underground worked like fools all night long. CHAPTER V 'Y'HE Halvar commander and his cap- tains waited in the main cabin of the battle wagon that served as a flag- ship. Radioed information from his destroyer that had waited at World City advised him that seven men, bearing the reply of the earth government to his ultimatum, were on their way to him. Helmeted, adorned with medals, each wearing bolstered weapons, the com- mander and his captains waited. Around the huge cabin, set in alcoves, gun crews stood at their weapons. A com- munications officer with his aids was seated before a radio panel, ready to flash the signal “Commence action” to the rest of the task force, if such a sig- nal was needed. The Halvar knew it wouldn’t be needed. There was no sign of resistance from the planet below. The Halvar did not expect resistance. They had the ships, the weapons, the trained fighters, all blue chips in the game of war. The planet below them had nothing. The sounding of a gong announced the arrival of the men carrying earth’s reply to the ultimatum. Escorted by guards, seven men entered the huge cabin. One of them carried the tele- path necessary for communication be- tween the two races. He set it on the small table that was waiting for it. Two men stepped forward to face the Hal- var commander. Oddly, they did not walk as should members of a subject race approaching their masters. They did not bow. They didn’t even salute. Chins up, shoulders thrown back, they walked like proud men, defiant men. The Halvar sensed their defiance. Dangerous glints appeared in the eyes of the commander. There was little patience in the Halvar makeup, none at all for defiant inferiors. The Hal- var had walked softly when they first arrived on this planet, watching warily for possible traps, probing its defenses. They had learned it was defenseless and the time was over for softness. “You bear the reply to the ultimatum from your governing body?” the Hal- var commander asked. “Yes,” Clay Dorn answered. “We bring a reply.” He did not add that neither President Whitcomb nor any member of his cabinet knew they were here, that they had stolen uniforms and forged papers of identification be- fore presenting themselves. There had been no time to ask permission, to make long and involved explanations. “That is good. What does your gov- erning body say?” “Earth declares for peace,” Dorn answered. He did not say what kind of peace. “Peace?” Satisfaction appeared on the face of the Halvar commander. “That is good. The metals, food, the living space, and the workers will be turned over to us as we require them?” J^ORN took a deep breath. He slipped a hand into the pocket

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THE WEAPON 91 of his tunic, found the switch of a little instrument nestled there. “Such metals as we have in surplus, or can produce with your assistance, you may have. Food? All you want. Here no one goes hungry. Living space will be provided in our deserts which can, with enough hard work, be made productive. These things we will per- mit. About the workers — ” “Permit?” the Halvar commander interrupted icily. “You will permit us to have these things?” His eyes, fastened on the two men facing him, were suddenly hot with anger. Dorn knew that the time had come. He glanced around, at the six men with him, then looked again at the commander. “You space pirates can go straight to hell!” he said. Unquestionably the Halvar comman- der did not know the meaning of the phrase “go to hell.” He did know the meaning of defiance. He could recog- nize defiance when he saw it. He saw it now. He leaped from his chair. “Blast these insolent dogs to dust!” he shouted. “Guns crews: Commence action. Communications officer: Order all ships to commence firing at once and to continue until otherwise directed. Move.” Dorn grinned at the men with him. “Let her go, boys,” he said. “Show them what can be done with a phobi- tron ! ” Emergency gongs sounded as the commander’s order roared through the big cabin. Instantly vast engines began to rumble as the waiting engineers cut in full power. The communications officer snapped switches on the panel in front of him, prepared to relay orders to the other Halvar ships. A lieutenant pulled a gun from its holster to blast the seven from earth. Dorn knew exactly what he had to do. Each of the seven knew exactly what to do. They had spent the whole night learning how, in feverishly build- ing extra models of the strange instru- ment called the phobitron. Dorn con- centrated his attention on the lieutenant who was pulling the gun. The lieutenant had the gun out. He was moving to get into a position where the discharge would not endanger his own comrades. He found the position he wanted, brought the gun up, started to glance down the line of the sights. His eyes stopped at the weapon itself. His gaze became fixed on the gun, concentrated there with terrible intensity. The gun seemed to hold a horrible fascination for him. A sick loathing overspread his face. The lieu- tenant first looked horrified, then he looked sick. Something was happening to him. He didn’t know what it was. All he knew was that he was suddenly, terribly afraid of his own gun. Ever since he had learned to use a gun, he had been a little afraid of it, afraid of what it might do, afraid it might explode in his hands. Terrible forces were leashed within that cun- ningly contrived piece of metal and plastic. The lieutenant knew what the forces would do to him if they were suddenly released. Instantly his fear of the gun overwhelmed him. J^IKE a man who has suddenly dis- covered he has a piece of red-hot metal in his hands, he threw the gun from his hands. The crash as it hit the floor was a tinkle of sound in what had become a roaring tumult. Gun crews, in the turrets in the wall, had tried to swing their weapons into action. Like the lieutenant, the gun crews knew the terrible forces leashed within the guns. Suddenly the fear of those forces became a madness in their minds. They shrank away from their

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92 AMAZING STORIES weapons, cowered away from them. Fear walked through the ship, walked with silent but terribly swift feet through the Halvar battleship. The communications officer was not afraid of the radio transmitter. Not consciously. He knew the danger of the currents that flowed there, but the currents were shielded and would not touch or harm him. Suddenly he had the impression the wires were no longer properly insulated. The currents were about to touch him. He stared at the radio transmitter as if it was some hor- rible monster that had suddenly ap- peared before him. His face went white with fear. He jerked himself away from the equipment. The message he had been ordered to send was never sent. “Where do we go from here?” Young asked. Dorn had the answer to that too. “There is no greater fear than the fear of falling. Every creature that flies is afraid it will fall.” “I get it,” Young said grimly. “We’ll work on that commander.” The Halvar commander was staring at his men. He was all-powerful here, his word was law, unless his men should mutiny against him. He was suddenly aware of the fear that his men would mutiny. The fear held him, A second later an even greater fear came flooding into his mind. The fear had always been there. Now it suddenly grew stronger, became overwhelming in its horror. What if the ship fell? Inconceivable energies would be released if the ship fell. Everyone in it would be blown into particles finer than dust. The fear that the ship might fall was a monstrous thing, a hideous exploding torrent of emotion roaring through his mind. “Land the ship!” the commander screamed. “Descend! We might fall!” “Order all ships to descend,” Clay Dom said grimly. “They might fall too.” The commander’s face was lined with pain. Somewhere in the back of his mind was the realization of the meaning of this order. If the ships were ordered to land — He fought against it. The fear in his mind grew deeper, blacker. He tore the helmet from his head, his finger nails ripped long red grooves in his scalp as he fought against the horror raging in his brain. He tore his tunic off, fought for air with great gasping sobs. As he fought new fears crowded in around him. He was not only afraid the ship would fall, he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to breathe. He was afraid of this and that and everything. “All — ships — down — ” he croaked. His face was not a pretty sight as he crumpled to the floor. The communications officer found himself able to approach his equipment long enough to obey that order. The flagship led the way down. The other Halvar vessels followed in regular order. Like slowly falling leaves the ships went down to earth. When the official party bearing the capitulation from the World State reached the land- ing field to take off to the Halvar com- mander’s flagship, they found it had already landed and was waiting for them. the phobitron does is accen- tuate your own normal fears,” Clay Dorn said, to the grinning news and telcast men. “Everybody is afraid of something. Most of us are afraid of a lot of things. The phobitron in- creases those fears one to ten thousand times. The person who wears the pho- bitron directs the radiation against his enemy and the enemy is afraid to

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THE WEAPON 93 attack, afraid to do anything, afraid almost to stay alive. It’s the most damnable, horrible, powerful weapon that was ever invented — the turning of a man’s own fears against himself. This is the reason it, and the telepath, were outlawed on earth.” “So that’s why the Halvar landed?” a reporter asked. “Yes. If they didn’t land, they might fall. They were afraid of falling. We worked on that. Now — ” He was thinking about the Halvar. What could be done with them. The Halvar unquestionably had much to give the human race. The space drive, the secret of these mighty ships. They THE PHANTOM GOES TO CHURCH VISITORS of Millvale, Pennsylvania, always make a point of visiting the Croatian Cath- olic Church, for it contains the celebrated murals of the painter, Maxo Vanka. The won- drous quality of these murals is further enhanced by the weird tale of the circumstances under which they were painted. Confronted with the gigantic task which he had been commissioned to do, Maxo concentrated all his energy on the design and construction of the murals. Often, he was so intent upon what he was doing that he remained painting in the church until long after midnight. One night, Maxo felt a strange presence in the Church. In the bright glare of the floodlight used by the painter, the whole church was illuminated. Looking about, Maxo perceived a dark robed priestly figure approach the altar and perform a ritual. This mysterious visit was repeated night after night. Once, the figure blew out the altar lamp, which was so sheltered that no ordinary gust of wind could extinguish it. Again, on an- other night, the ghostly figure left a sign of his presence by lighting a scries of candles which continued to burn after he bad left. Yet, no human being could have entered the church ! The door was always kept locked while Maxo was working. Only two keys could open it. The pastor of the church. Father Albert Zagar, kept one, Maxo the other. The painter, fearful that the phantom was a trick of his own mind, called in the pastor, and the astounded pastor, called in other witnesses, all of whom were initiated into the strange pro- ceedings. Everyone saw the figure, but no one could explain it. No one doubts that the appear- ance of the phantom figure had something to do with the painting of the murals, but the mystery remains. It defies all known laws of the universe. would give their secrets now, they would be afraid not to give them. The human race would have ships to reach the stars. “With their ships and our phobitron, we can sail anywhere in the universe,” Clay Dorn said grinning. He looked at the six men with him. “Somehow I think we’ll be members of the first star ship that takes off from this planet. What do you think, my friends?” Their grins told him what they thought. Ships and the weapons and the men to sail beyond the farthest star the clearest night reveals — these the race had. THE END SLEEPING PILLS Everyday people die from accidental over- dose of sleeping tablets. Yet we go on tak- ing our own sleeping pills as though it were candy. We are rapidly becoming a nation of drug fiends. Nevertheless, as far back as 1939 there were enough goof balls or “barbiturates” to the doctor to account for the sale of 2,200,000 doses a day. Today, with the worries, griefs and read- justments of lives, figures show that we are using almost three times as much. Barbiturates are valuable when properly used. They have been classed with insulin and sulfanila- mide as the outstanding medical discoveries of the century. To anyone who just can’t sleep, doctors prescribe a pill for a few days to get them back into the sleeping habit. But these people, de- lighted with the results, tell their friends and they all continue to use the sleeping pills. Usually the person who has found relief wants to be sure that he will get this relief every night. So, at first hesi- tantly, later with less thought, he takes a pi!!. The oftener he does this, the more readily he does it. He is now on the way to becoming an addict. Sleeping pills may produce a serious skin dis- ease. They may bring on acute or chronic in- toxication which in turn may cause accidents or even unintentional crimes. It is too easy to get these drugs now. The drugs can be purchased not only in drugstores but in hotels, apartments and saloons. Weil in- tentioned druggi-sts find it extremely difficult to control sales which they know should not be made. Most druggists want to live up to the ethics of their profession, but as in every profes- sion— there are offenders. Until the discovery of a sleep-inducing drug that is completely harmless, it would be better for us to go on counting the sheep.

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IniWllSS-'Sl The Vanishing Spaceman by Alexander Blade HE door burst open as if under been writing. His eyes widened as they the force of a sudden violent gust took in the face of the man who stum- of wind. bled into the cabin. Captain Curt Evers looked up sharp- Navigator Pete Ash’s features were ly from the log book in which he had starkly white, twisted in a wildness

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96 AMAZING STORIES was down in the engine room, talking to Mike Blount and me. Then — all of a sudden — he was gone!” Pete Ash snapped his fingers. “He went just like that.” Evers started for the door, his face bleak. He tossed words in his wake: “First Greedy, then Sedden, and now Geary. That makes three. If this keeps up, the Ad Astra will be the only one to make the expedition to Pluto — and as empty as the day she left the factory!” Mike Blount was still in the engine room. The reason, when he hastily corked the bottle and shoved it out of sight into the rear pocket of his dunga- rees, became apparent. Evers ignored the bottle and the guilt on the stocky engineer’s face. He said: “Give me your version of it, Mike.” Blount gulped. “Cap, it wasn’t the whiskey. Pete, there, was a witness. Him and me and Geary were talking about the engines. I was explaining how the new radial injectors function — pointing, you see; and when I looked at Geary to see if he was following . , . well, he just wasn’t there anymore! I only had my eyes off him a second. He couldn’t have jumped out the door with- out Pete or me noticing it.” “Yeah— and I had his uniform in the corner of my eye,” Ash added. “When it vanished suddenly, I thought he had moved and looked around. But he was gone — and without making a sound of any kind. It . . . it’s damned spooky, Captain!” Evers asked, “You searched for Geary?” Mike Blount gestured around the long low room, filled compactly with its parallel rows of drive engines. “I know this place by heart, Cap. A Martian sand-flea couldn’t hide in here without me knowing about it. What- ever happened to Geary, it’s certain that he’s anywhere but in this part of the ship.” Pete Ash made a short grating sound. “It’s also certain that he isn’t anywhere on the ship at all. Remember that chem- ist guy, George Greedy, and my co-pilot, Bud Sedden? When they disappeared, we combed the whole tub for them — and never found the slightest trace of either one. Buck Geary’s gone, and it’s no use looking for him.” “We’ll search just the same,” Evers said, shrugging wearily. “A mere for- mality, maybe, but our sponsors will want to see the log if and when we get back to Earth.” He turned as the sound of voices and footsteps in the passage- way reached his ears. Men came crowd- ing excitedly into the engine room. Through that strange mental bond which develops between men thrown together for a long period, the mem- bers of the expedition as well as the ship’s crew had become aware that something was wrong. ^^VERS’ eyes ran over them appre- hensively, like a shepherd count- ing his flock after an attack by wolves. There was geologist Vic Hobbs, biolo- gist Andy Perggia, metallurgist Harry Tate, astronomer Frank Ying, the crew of four, and “Where’s Kraskov?” Evers rapped suddenly, “Probably in his cabin, puttering over his what’s-it,” Vic Hobbs volun- teered. Tate queried, “What happend. Cap- tain? Another man hasn’t ?” Evers nodded grimly. “Buck Gea- ry, the technician. Gone — vanished like the rest, it seems. But we’re going to search the ship just the same. You men must have the procedure down pat by now. Be thorough, even if you don’t expect to find anything. Ash, you go to the control room and see that the ro- bot’s keeping the ship on its course.”

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THE VANISHING SPACEMAN 97 For the third time every nook and cranny of the Ad Astra was explored. And for the third time nothing was found. Evers, who had been conduct- ing the search, gave up with a sigh. “AH right, I’m convinced. Geary’s gone. The next time — though I sincere- ly hope there won’t be a next time — I’m just going to write ‘Ditto’ in the log.” The men separated into groups and made off for their usual haunts, mutter- ing forebodingly. Evers chewed a lip in thoughtful silence for a moment. Then he strode toward the cabin of Berlin Kraskov, the physicist of the expedition. The door was slow in opening in re- sponse to his raps. “Oh — Captain Evers! Come in, come in! Do tome in.” Blinking owlishly, the elderly physicist pulled open the door wider, and Evers squeezed into the room. The door, it seemed, wouldn’t open far enough to permit a more nor- mal method of entrance. Once inside, the reason for this be- came apparent. The interior of Kras- kov’s cabin was filled from floor to ceil- ing with an incredible and indescribable assortment of objects which ranged from cosmic ray counters and spectro- scopes to just plain junk. In a rela- tively clear portion of the place stood a nightmarish-looking mechanism, which gave Evers the impression of having been constructed from the cabin’s choic- est pieces of errata. Kraskov pointed to this and said, “Blast it! Won’t work — that is, it won’t work the way I want it to. The fre- quency I’m using, perhaps. Wonderful device, though. Uses vibrations to de- termine the extent and degree of heat of the molten inner core of a plant. It will revolutionize all theories on the age of the planets that constitute our sys- tem. Since the degree of cooling in- creases directly in proportion to the distance from the sun ” “That isn’t what I came to see you about,” Evers interrupted quickly. “One of the reasons for my visit was to see if you were still on the ship. The other — Geary has vanished as com- pletely as Greedy and Sedden.” Kraskov nodded his untidy gray head absently. “Another? How unfortu- nate. Tut, tut! Really unfortunate Cosmic rays, no doubt. I have a theory which will revolutionize thought in certain scientific circles. You see, cos- mic rays, in conjunction with other un- known space rays, may have attribute.s which bring about the disintegration of organic matter. Now this ” “You can tell me about it later,” Ev- ers broke in impatiently. “I’ve got a lot to attend to right now.” He wormed his way hastily from the cabin and wen' to the control room. pETE ASH whirled with the sudden ness of strained nerves as Evers en- tered. The navigator’s face was lined and haggard. “Don’t mind me. Captain, f’m goin^' a little nuts, I guess. But then thi.s whole blasted business is nuts. Men disappearing from a ship right in the middle of space. . . .” Evers sank into the adjoining pilot chair, expelling breath in a tired sigh “I know. There’s no sense to it. Such a thing has never happened before in all the history of space travel.” “Captain, has it ever occurred to you that the disappearances may be due to the fact that no one has ever struck out this far into space before? Look. Fin- ston reached Mars, then Von Helmes got to Venus. After that, for almost fifty years, that’s as far as we went. Then Elton brought out the Uranium-X combustion charnber, and we reached Jupiter and Saturn. More than Sev-

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98 AMAZING STORIES enty years passed before Keeley in- vented the Hypatomic Drive and we could go further than that. And what happened? Instead of making for one of the nearest planets after Saturn, we have to be ambitious and head clear out to Pluto.” Ash leaned forward, his eyes glittering. His voice lowered. “We took a sudden jump into un- known territory. There may be things this far out in space that we never en- countered before, that we never imag- ined existed. Rays, forces, fields, or a hundred other things which we know nothing about and have no names for. “Do you see? There’s something in this part of space that is increasing in intensity the farther we travel. This something is . . . well, I’m no scientist to explain it; but whatever it is, it’s causing us to vanish one by one. And, Captain, the longer we keep on going, the more and faster we’re going to dis- appear. Had we taken the jump in proper order, we’d have found out about it and been prepared. But as it is, we’re already a long distance past the orbit of Uranus and rapidly ap- proaching that of Neptune.” Evers was staring into distance with the unblinking steadiness of deep thought. He was disturbed. He re- called what Kraskov had said: “Cos- mic rays, in conjunction with other un- known space rays, may have attributes which bring about the disintegration of organic matter.” It seemed strange that Pete Ash should have the same idea, though in more nebulous terms. But it was an idea which might very well ac- count for the disappearances which had taken place. Evers repeated Kraskov’s statement to Ash. The navigator said nothing, but his eyes blazed suddenly and an ex- pression of certainty crossed his face. Evers said, “Kraskov may like to spout scientific nonsense, but I think he hit the nail on the head this time. He’s a genius in his line — that’s why he was chosen for the expedition.” “Aside from the coincidence that Kraskov and I thought of the same thing at almost the same time, it’s just about the only logical explanation for the disappearances,” Ash stated. “And if it’s true ” Evers made a sudden gesture. “I know. If it’s true, then we’ll have to turn back. But, hell. Ash, we’ve got to be sure first! We’ve got to be cer- tain of the danger, certain that it’s un- surmountable, before we take an action like that. Why this expedition has cost millions! Our sponsors would break us, collectively and individually, if we came running home like scared kids, with nothing to show for all the money they’ve spent. Damn!” Evers rubbed a hand agitatedly over his face. He said finally: “Ash, you’ll be on duty a lot, now that Sedden is gone, so you’ll need plenty of rest. Go take a sedative and turn in. As for me, I’m going to think this out.” Ash nodded and rose. He left the control room unsteadily. ^VERS studied the graph of the course, then checked over the in- struments. He corrected the robot pilot the merest of points. Finally he sat back and tried to get his thoughts into order. He was undecided as to what to do — continue the voyage, or turn back. There was every reason to do both. To keep on going was almost certain to mean more disappearances, and to turn back would mean trouble where the sponsors of the expedition were con- cerned. Hard-headed businessmen, they would scoff at Evers’ explanation. They might even out of spite accuse Evers and the others of a criminal conspiracy

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THE VANISHINS SPACEMAN 99 and use the influence of their combined wealth to have the survivors of the Ad Astra sent to prison. Evers was confused and uncertain, and because he was a leader to whom feelings like these were foreign, more than a little angry also. Never before had he encountered anything like this strange menace which came, unseen and unheard, to snatch men bodily from a vessel hurtling through empty space. There came a sudden click from the inter-ship communicator to the right of the instrument panel. “Captain Evers! Calling Captain Evers!” It was Harry Tate’s voice, shrill with urgency. His muscles taut with dread, Evers made contact. “Yes? What is it?” “Perggia’s just vanished, Captain! Andy Perggia, the biologist.” Evers’ lips drew tight against his teeth. “Four!” he hissed. “Lord!” He leaped from the chair and strode from the room with stiff-legged haste. He found the men gathered in General Lounge. They were bunched together silently, their eyes darting nervously about the room. An atmosphere of shock and horror clung about them like an electric cloud. Tate hurried forward and grasped Evers’ arm in a frantic clutch. He blurted: “Captain — it was uncanny! Perg- gia was sitting here with the rest of us. Then, without warning, he began to flicker!” The metallurgist gulped air loudly. “I know how crazy it sounds, but that’s what happened. All of a sudden, Perggia began to grow dim and indistinct, the outlines of his body wav- ering like smoke. I shouted and jumped from my chair — but before I could reach him, he was gone. He ... he just faded away!” Evers husked, “No clues? Any- thing?” He glanced rapidly from face to face. But the men stared back at him, silent and wide-eyed. A few heads shook in a slow negative. “This is impossible!” Evers snarled. “There must have been some — ■ — ” His voice snapped off. His lean body flashed into sudden furious action. He leaped straight at Vic Hobbs, his fingers spread out wide and curved to clutch. For the geologist’s body had begun to blur. It was vanishing. The room was a kaleidoscopic whirl of sound and action. And then move- ment steadied. Evers w'as down on one knee, staring blankly at his empty hands. Of Vic Hobbs there was no trace. Evers found his voice. “Great jump- ing asteroids! He ... he melted right through my fingers!” Henkel, one of the four members of the crew, began laughing in the high strained key of hysteria. The others didn’t lose self-control to that extent, but their pale faces showed how close they were to breaking. “Stop that!” Evers snapped at Hen- kel. He whirled to the others. “Stay here. Keep your eyes on each other — even hold hands.” JgVERS turned and ran to Kraskov’s cabin. The old physicist hadn’t been among those present in the lounge. Neither had Pete Ash. Evers knew Ash was taking a much-needed rest, and that Kraskov lived the same hermit- like existence aboard ship that he lived in his laboratory on Earth. But Evers wanted to make sure both were still on the ship, for he wasn’t sure about any- thing any more. Reaching Kraskov’s cabin, Evers didn’t bother with the formality of knocking, but pushed the door open sharply. It smashed into the litter of apparatus piled behind it, making a ringing clatter of sound. Kraskov, bent over his machine,

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100 AMAZING STORIES looked up with startled suddenness. He peered closely through his thick spec- tacles a moment. Then: “Oh . . . Captain Evers. Good of you to visit me again. Frankly, I’m at rny wits’ end. This damnable device simply refuses to function properly. I’ve tried every frequency between here and infinity, but no ” Evers gritted, “Never mind that! Two more men have disappeared. We’ve got to do something while there are still enough of us left to do it.” “What? More disappearances, Cap- tain? My, my! Annoying, isn’t it? However, it shouldn’t take many men to make a complete search of the ship. Well, as I was saying. . . “Stow it, damn it!” Evers shouted. “Can’t you seem to understand that we’re all in deadly danger? Go down to General Lounge and remain there with the rest of the men. Do you hear? Go down to General Lounge. This is serious.” Kraskov blinked bewilderedly, be- coming aware by slow degrees that something was radically wrong. He said, “Oh,” in a barely audible voice and started for the door. “General Lounge,” Evers reminded. “And stay there.” He watched the old scientist move down the passageway, then started for Pete Ash’s cabin. The lanky navigator was deep under the effects of the sleeping tablets which he had taken. Evers’ attempts to wake him met with no success. Biting his lip, Evers glanced around the cabin. There was a huge spaceman’s trunk in one corner which might possibly have con- tained something which could be used as a stimulant to reviv^' Ash. But Evers shrugged and left. It would take time to awaken Ash, and besides the navigator needed all the rest he could get. Back in General Lounge, Evers ran his eyes over the assembled men, tak- ing stock. The members of the expedi- tion had dwindled down to astronomer Frank Ying, metallurgist Harry Tate, physicist Herlin Kraskov, navigator Pete Ash, Evers himself, and the crew of four, consisting of Henkel, Sharp, Finch, and Burney. “What is the purpose of this gather- ing, Captain?” Frank Ying wanted to know. “Since we are quite ignorant of the cause of the disappearances, there is nothing which we can do to stop them.” “I am well aware of that fact,” Evers said. “But that isn’t what I want to discuss. I want you men to help me make a decision which would be too drastic in its consequences to each of us for me to make alone. The thing to be decided is whether or not we should turn back. “^S YOU all know, we are not really a scientific expedition. Our main purpose in going to Pluto is to deter- mine if it contains faltronium, and if so to stake out claims in the name of the corporation sponsoring us. Indications are such that there should be a tremen- dous amount of the element on Pluto. That, of course, is why we are taking the hop directly to this remote planet instead of stopping at Uranus or Nep- tune first. These worlds are covered with miles-deep layers of frozen gases which would make a search enormously difficult. Since Pluto cooled the quick- est, it should have the largest deposits of faltronium, and these relatively near the surface. “Now the outfitting of this expedition has cost our sponsors millions of dol- lars. Naturally, they’ll be anything but happy to have us return with nothing to show for their money but a screwy yarn of disappearances in space. They might very likely start proceedings

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THE VANISHING SPACEMAN 101 which would land us all in Jail. On the other hand, for us to keep on going will undoubtedly mean further disappear- ances. .Men have never struck out this far into space before, and it seems that we are encountering conditions which we cannot hope to overcome. “So it’s up to you men to decide what shall be done. The issue is quite clear. More disappearances will result if we continue the voyage. And there’ll be a lot of unpleasantness if we return empty-handed.” The men lost no time in deciding what to do. They were unanimous in their desire to get back to where there would be safety, if not peace of mind. As Harry Tate put it for all: “We’d rather face the frustrated howls of our sponsors than to vanish into thin air.” “Quite right, quite right,” Kraskov’s thin pipe rose. “The next expedition must take into consideration the mys- terious rays which exist in outer space and devise adequate protection against them. Have a disintegrating effect upon animate matter, you know.” He stopped suddenly, and his face twisted in dismay. “But my device! I won’t get a chance to try it out! Which re- minds me!” he yelped. “I forgot to shut it off. I’ll bet the tubes are half burned out by now.” He scurried from the Lounge, muttering anxiously. Harry Tate gazed after the old physi- cist in disgust. “Him and his junk heaps! The whole Universe could ex- plode and he wouldn’t give a damn as long as he had one of his contraptions to keep him occupied.” Evers turned to Mike Blount and the crew. “All right, go to your stations and stand by for orders. Ash is taking a rest, so I’ll have to plot the course for the return trip. The devil of it is that we’re already past the orbit of Neptune.” Evers was weary and heavy-headed when he finally completed the new course. He turned to the inter-ship communicator and signalled for Mike Blount. There was no response. Lines leaping deeper into his face, Evers re- peated the summons more urgently. The voice of one of the crew — Bur- ney— blared abruptly from the speaker. “Captain Evers!” “Yes — but where’s Blount?” “The engineer’s gone, sir!” Evers didn’t say anything. There was nothing he could find to say. His face grew several shades grayer. At last: “Burney, is there anyone among you who can take over Mike Blount’s duties?” There was a pause. “Yes, sir. Finch says he can.” “Good! Tell him to prepare for orders. The rest of you return to your posts and stand by. We’ve got to work fast now.” Evers’ lips were set tightly. If Kras- kov’s theory of mysterious space rays were true, and if Ash’s idea of their increasing intensity were also, then the ship must now be entering an area dense with the deadly radiations. It was im- perative that the vessel be turned around at once, or else everyone aboard would be wiped out almost at one stroke. J^VERS sent the first of his orders down to the engine room, and touched the activator key to the right lateral jets. But there was no hum- ming response of power. “Finch! Good Lord, man, don’t you know what to do?” “I ... I do, sir. But the engines won’t work. They’re dead!” Evers released a strange expletive and dashed from the control room. He

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102 AMAZING STORIES found Finch, Burney, Sharp, and Hen- hel grouped white-faced around an un- covered engine housing. “Who took that hood off?” he de- manded. Sharp volunteered, “The engineer did, sir. He was doing something to this engine section when he disap- peared.” “And that’s why I think the engines went dead, sir,” Finch put in. “Mr. Blount was probably adjusting the deli- cate relays leading from the electron pan, and when he vanished all of a sud- den, he sort of left things hanging in air. The entire system is fused, and none of the engines will work until we get this section fixed and connected again.” “Damn!” Evers muttered softly. “And all the time we’ll be getting deeper into — ” He broke off, muscles bunch- ing around his mouth. “Finch, we’ve got to work fast! Break out tools and spare parts.” Finch hurried away. Evers gestured at the others. “Come on, let’s start getting these fused parts out.” He began rolling up the sleeves of his uniform. And then a sudden bedlam broke loose. There came a shout from some distant part of the ship. A moment later Finch burst into the engine room, his features wildly distorted. After him came Tate, looking equally disturbed. Finch gulped his voice into action. “Captain, it ... it can’t be — but George Creedy’s back!” ^‘What’s that?'’ Evers shouted. He gripped the other’s arm in a vise-like clutch. “You mean to say — ” “It’s true!” Tate affirmed hoarsely. “Creedy’s back!” “Where is he? Quick, man, quick!” “General Lounge, with Ying. We found him in the passageway leading to the Lounge.” With the others close at his heels, Evers catapulted from the room. Creedy was seated in one of the chairs near the entrance of the Lounge. Bend- ing over him, a container of water in his hand, was Frank Ying. The astronomer looked around as they burst into the room. He said: “There seems to be something wrong with Creedy, Captain. He is not nor- mal somehow.” Evers peered closely at the mysteri- ously returned chemist. Creedy was reclining bonelessly in the chair. His features were lax and expressionless. Evers took him by the shoulders and shook him vigorously. “Creedy!” he rapped. “Can you hear me? Look at me!” The chemist’s eyes rose slowly, to rest, dull and unfocussed, on Evers’ face. “Where have you been?” Evers de- manded. A glow crept into Creedy’s eyes. His mouth worked. Abruptly, his voice gur- gled into audibility. “Captain — ” gUT before Creedy could complete what he intended to say, he began to blur into grayness. His figure dimmed, thinned like mist in a breeze, and — was gone. Creedy had vanished again. Evers clenched his empty hands and slowly straightened up. His eyes were narrowed upon the vacant chair. ‘Creedy tried to tell me something,” he muttered. “I wonder if he — ” His voice trailed off into thoughtful silence. “Well, this spells finis for Kraskov’s theory,” he remarked presently. “I can believe in unknown space rays disinte- grating organic matter — but not in putting it back together again.” “Kraskov’s theories seldom work any better than his gadgets do,” Tate

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THE VANISHING SPACEMAN 103 growled. Evers glanced at Tate sharply. “Enough of this!” he said with sudden impatience. He gestured to Finch and the other three of the crew. “Come on, we’ve got a job to finish. Might as well do it while we’re still present and sane.” With the men following, he strode deep in thought to the control room. And there, leaning weakly against one of the engine housings, he found Buck Geary. Evers closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There were assorted gasps from the crew members. When Evers opened his eyes, Geary was still there. He walked over to the technician slowly, expecting him to evaporate any second. Geary looked up, his eyes wide and staring. “Huh? Cap’n Eversh?” He swallowed, reached out a trembling hand, and touched Evers’ sleeve. “Cap — cryshtal men on Pluto. . . . They . . . they don’t wan’ us come and exshplore. They make vanish — to scare us away. ...” Geary’s face slackened. He slumped quietly to the floor. Evers stared down at the sprawled form of the technician, his thoughts whirling in chaos. An icy hand seemed to close around him. “We can’t turn back!” Henkel screamed. “We won’t be able to fix the engines in time. We’re doomed, do you hear? We’re doomed!” Evers whirled on him. “Stop that, damn you! Whatever happens, we can’t allow ourselves to crack up. Get a grip on yourself, man.” He bent and felt for Geary’s pulse. It was beating, faintly, but steadily. The technician wasn’t dead, as he had feared, but had merely passed out. Evers rose to his feet, indicating Sharp and Burney. He ordered, “You two carry him up to General Lounge and tell Tate and Ying to take care of him. Finch, you and Henkel start tak- ing the fused parts from the damaged engine. And hurry ! ” Just then the inter-ship communi- cator buzzed. Evers made contact. “Captain Evers speaking. What is it?” The voice that responded made Evers reel, hardened as he was already to the mad incredible events that had taken place. “This is Bud Sedden, Captain. What wrong anyway? The instruments show that we’re already past the orbit of Neptune when we should be just ap- proaching that of Uranus. And where’s my co-pilot, Pete Ash? He was here in the control room just a moment ago.” Evers’ eyes were flaming slits. “Nev- er mind all that,” he replied. “You’ve been in the control room all the time?” “Yes, sir, but it seems as though — ” “And you know nothing about beings on Pluto who are trying to scare the expedition away?” “Why, no, sir! Say — what is wrong, Captain?” “I haven’t time to explain,” Evers answered. “Go down to General Lounge. You’ll find out what you want to know from the men there.” Evers switched off the communicator, turning in time to see Sharp and Bur- ney return to the control room. at this, sir,” Sharp requested. “It fell out of Geary’s pocket as we were carrying him up to the Lounge. I’ve never seen anything like this, and thought it suspicious what with Geary talking about crystal men on Pluto.” “Let me see it,” Evers demanded quickly. He examined the object which Sharp dropped into his hand. It was a transparent oblong, a little larger than the size of a watch. Peering at it closely, Evers could make out a delicate and complicated internal mechanism.

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104 AMAZING STORIES His forehead wrinkled into a frown of perplexity. “Never saw anything like this before myself,” he muttered. “Wonder why Geary was carrying — ” He tensed and an expression of discovery flashed over his face. “Say! I believe — ” Burney released a sudden yell. Evers whirled. Mike Blount took on solidity and bent over the fused engine section. Abruptly he stiffened and his eyes grew wide. “What the hell!” How did this hap- pen?” “Hello, Mike,” Evers said weakly. “Welcome back to the fold.” Mike Blount gazed around him un- comprehendingly. Then his jaw drop- ped. He gasped: “Huh — you mean I’ve been gone — vanished? “Right,” said Evers. “And — ah — do you happen to know anything about crystal men on Pluto?” “Hell no, Cap!” “Interesting,” Evers remarked. “Mike, don’t you remember anything at all that happened to you after you disappeared?” “I ... I just don’t know anything to remember, Cap. After that speech you gave us in the Lounge, I came back down here to check over the engines. Pet Ash came in for a drink, because he complained he couldn’t sleep. He felt rotten, and I had practically to help him back up the stairs. Then I re- turned to the engines, and that’s all I remember.” “I see,” Evers said. “By the way, have you anything like this on your person?” He held out the transparent oblong. Blount gazed at it blankly, then searched mechanically through the pockets of his dungarees. He pulled forth an oblong of exactly the same size and shape of the one Evers was holding. His face screwed up into a grimace of bewilderment. “Uh!” he grunted. “Where’d I get this?” Evers said grimly, “I’ve got some ideas about it, but never mind that now. Get the engines back into work- ing order. I’ve got certain things to attend to.” Leaving the dazed engineer plucking absently at the rear hip pocket of his dungarees, Evers strode swiftly up to General Lounge. There he found Tate, Ying, and Geary gathered about Bud Sedden. They seemed to have been talking over the situation and compar- ing notes. Evers held out the oblong in front of Bud Sedden and asked, “Got anything like this in your pockets?” “Why, no, Captain,” Sedden replied. “I’ve never seen—” “Look anyway,” Evers suggested. Sedden did. He stared in amazement at the curious little transparent oblong which he produced from a side pocket. “What . , . where — ?” But Evers was striding from the room, his features set in stern lines. He went to Kraskov’s cabin. At the door he listened a moment. Then he gripped the opening knob and flung the portal wide. scene that met his eyes was a totally unexpected one. Kraskov lay sprawled grotesquely in one corner of the littered room, blood oozing slow- ly from a cut over his mouth. His eyes were closed, and he was very still. His vibration device lay in ruins. Pieces of it were scattered all over the cabin, as though it had been the object of a vicious attack. Eyes narrowed, Evers stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He crossed over to where Kraskov lay and felt for

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THE VANISHING SPACEMAN 105 the old physicist’s pulse. He was re- warded by a faint but regular beat. Kraskov was merely unconscious, and a cursory examination of the old man’s features showed Evers the cause. Kras- kov had been beaten — with fists, as numerous bruises and abrasions indi- cated. Evers straightened up, frowning blackly. “This just doesn’t fit,” he muttered. “Doesn’t fit at all!” Evers stood motionless a long mom- ent, thoughtfully fingering his jaw. Then, abruptly, he stirred into motion. He began a fiercely intent search of the cabin. His quick eyes and quicker hands missed nothing. But he did not find what he was looking for, and short- ly he gave up, shrugging hopelessly. Evers turned to leave the cabin, but at the door he paused, halted by a sud- den thought. He glanced once more at Kraskov, his eyes coldly speculative. Then, apparently reaching some deci- sion, he crossed back to the prone form of the old physicist and went swiftly through his pockets. Evers released a soft exclamation of triumph. When he straightened up again, he held an oblong identical to those he had found on the other men. “Then it wasn’t Kraskov!” Evers whispered. “That leaves only — ” His mouth snapped shut with sudden grim purpose. Like a stalking wolf, he slip- ped from the room. This time he went to Pete Ash’s cabin. He eased the door open stealth- ily, but the navigator was not present. Evers entered, his narrowed gaze trav- elling over the room’s furnishings. His eyes came finally to rest on Ash’s space- man’s trunk. He stepped over to it, pulled it open. “Well, I’ll be damned!” Evers’ ex- clamation was one of triumph and amazed surprise. For the trunk held an incredible object. It was a machine, bewildering- ly intricate, yet exquisitely compact. The trunk itself, outwardly the ordi- nary kind in which spacemen stow their belongings during the long trips be- tween worlds, served only as a camou- flage for this. ip\ROPPING to one knee, Evers made an eager inspection of the buttons, dials, and meters which cov- ered the top of the device. Then some- thing caught his attention. Placed neatly one atop the other in a compart- ment of the trunk were five oblongs. Evers needed nothing more to convince him that he had found the thing respon- sible for the disappearance of the ex- pedition members. His eyes burning, he straightened up. “Hold it. Captain!” Evers turned slowly, his lean body rigid with shock and alarm. Pete Ash gestured with the deadly little infra-beam blaster he held and eased warily into the cabin, shutting the door behind him. He darted a glance at the open trunk, lines tighten- ing in his face. “So you’ve guessed what it was all about?” ' Evers nodded slowly. “I should have done so long ago, but things hap- pened a bit too fast.” “That’s the way I planned them to happen,” Ash said. “I couldn’t give you time to put two and two together. It’s difficult to get away with anything in a place as confined as this ship.” “Yes? Then why the gun. Ash?” “To kill you with, Captain. Oh, I’ll get away with it, all right — because after you’re dead, you’re going to van- ish, so there won’t be any evidence.” “I see,” Evers said. “You’ll just plant one of those little oblong gadgets on me, then turn on your machine. Right?”

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106 AMAZING STORIES Ash grinned mockingly. “Right!” Evers asked quietly, “Mind telling me what it is?” “Not at all — since the information isn’t going to do you any good. It’s simply a portable Verdi Matter-Trans- mitter. The oblongs which you dis- covered on the men are enormously compact disassembling units, and that” — Ash indicated the trunk— “is the sending apparatus. You know how it works.” Evers inclined his head. “I know the general principles. Your machine simply disassociated the men into com- plex radio wave patterns. There being no receiver, these patterns were held in stasis, by a sort of magnetic attraction, within the metal walls of the ship, ready to be tuned in on at any time. It’s surprising to learn that an ordinary commonplace thing like radio transmis- sion of matter is responsible for the disappearances, I might have guessed it had I known that the apparatus in- volved had advanced so tremendously as to be made portable. In spite of all the great improvements which have been made, the original Verdi transmit- ter fills most of a good-sized room.” Ash chuckled softly. “This prodigy also contains a robot timing device. It operates automatically while I’m with the others, thus keeping me free of suspicion.” Evers shrugged. He began speaking slowly in a desperate play for time. His eyes missed no move of Ash or his weapon. “Well, the whole thing is clear to me now. At the beginning, though, I really believed in yours and Kraskov’s theor- ies about the disappearances being caused by unknown space rays, be- cause that seemed to be the only logical thing to account for them. The theories were exploded, however, when Greedy reappeared — only to vanish again a short time later. Greedy tried to tell me something during the brief space of his reappearance. Gould it have been that he discovered you slipping an oblong into his pocket?” Ash nodded sullenly. “He was my first victim, and I almost bungled the job. I had to knock him out when he started making a fuss. It was touch and go, but I managed to reach the transmitter and start it before anyone found him.” Evers went on, “Then Buck Geary reappeared and after him. Bud Sedden. Geary must have been drunk when you planted the disassembling unit on him down in the engine room, while talking to Mike Blount.” “He was. Blount has a supply of liquor cached in the engine room, and Geary had been helping himself a little too freely. How did you guess it?” “From his crazy yarn about crystal men on Pluto who were trying to scare the expedition away by making us van- ish. I almost believed Geary’s bit of fantasy — I was ready to believe any- thing. It was only later, when Bud Sedden and Mike Blount reappeared and denied knowing anything about crystal men, that I remembered the whiskey I’d smelled on Geary’s breath. “^/^NYWAY, with yours and Kras- kov’s theories contradicted, some- thing else had to be responsible. The answer came to me when one of those little oblong gadgets — the disassem- bling units — was found on Geary. Sed- den and Blount also had them, but neither knew what they were or how they had got into their pockets. The explanation, of course, was that the oblongs had secretly been planted on the men. That definitely implicated someone among the members of the expedition. “I decided it was you. Ash, after

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THE VANISHING SPACEMAN 107 Blount told me of your visit to him down in the engine room. It occurred to me that your illness might have been faked, so as to enable you to slip a disassembling unit into one of Blount’s pockets, I recalled, also, that in one way or another you were always in con- tact with the men who later vanished.” Evers wiped a trickle of perspiration from his forehead with a slow careful movement. No opening had yet pre- sented itself. Ash was watching him hawkishly. In despair, Evers wondered how much longer he could keep stalling. He continued: “Tile oblongs were too small to be entirely responsible for the disappear- ances. Harry Tate threw what seemed to be the complete answer in my face when he made a sarcastic remark about Kraskov’s gadget. It dawned upon me that it might have been this, acting upon the oblongs, which caused the men to vanish. That implied you and Kraskov were in on everything together — ^Kraskov to operate the machine, and you to plant the oblongs on the men. This idea seemed to be supported by the similarity of the theories which you both told about mysterious space rays. I decided you might have made them up together.” Ash shook his head shortly. “That was the story I was to tell, to increase the breaking of morale. I wasn’t sure about it, though, and at the beginning of the voyage I asked Kraskov if he thought there might exist in outer space unknown rays which might have a dis- integrating effect upon organic matter. He replied that there was as yet no evidence to the contrary, and later he must absent-mindedly have given it to you as an idea of his own.” “I see,” Evers said. “Well, I decided to arrest Kraskov and put a stop to the whole business. I was quite sure that he was the mastermind, and that his show of senility was only a pretense. But when I went to his cabin, I found that he had been beaten and his device wrecked. I thought at first you both had fallen out over something — quite possibly the mysterious reappearances of the men. “A search of his cabin, however, re- vealed no oblongs which would def- initely have implicated him. On the contrary, I found an oblong in one of his pockets which gave every indica- tion that he had been chosen as an- other victim. That left only you, Ash. I came here, to your cabin, and found that.” Evers pointed to the trunk- concealed Matter-Transmitter. “I knew positively, then, that you alone were re- sponsible for everything.” “Quite clever. Captain!” Ash lauded mockingly. “Anymore deductions?” Evers shook his head. His face was a gray mask. “The puzzle isn’t com- plete yet. Why did the men reappear, and why did you attack Kraskov?” ^SH’S features flushed with sudden anger. “The babbling old nitwit ! ” he snarled. “It was Kraskov who ruined my plans. That pile of junk he called a vibration device accidentally acted as a receiving apparatus, tuning in on the stasis-hel4 wave patterns of the men, and causing them to reappear. Greedy was an incomplete job. Kraskov must have set up a cancelling frequency shortly after stumbling across the one which brought him back. “After taking care of Blount, I re- mained in my cabin for a rest. By the time I was up and around again, the damage had been done. Geary and the others had been returned, and you’d found out about the disassembling units. I realized that it must have been Kras- kov who brought about the reappear- ances, since he was the only one on the ship who had a device similar to mine.

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108 AMAZING STORIES An inspection of his machine showed I was right. I knocked hell out of him, and then kicked his junk pile to pieces. Planting a disassembler on him, I first went to see if the noise had been no- ticed— which it apparently wasn’t. Then I returned here, intending to remove Kraskov. Instead, I found you,” “Which means the end of your ac- tivities,” Evers said. “Wrong, Captain — it’s only the be- ginning. You’re the only one who knows about the Matter-Transmitter and the purpose of the oblongs — and you’re go- ing to vanish. Greedy is where he’ll never be able to accuse me. And with you and Kraskov out of the way, I have only to drop a few hints to make it look like Kraskov was doing the dirty work, and you found out about it, only to have something happen which made you both vanish, with the consequent destruction of Kraskov’s device. As se- nior navigator. I’ll take over your po- sition. I have then only to order the expedition to turn back, and everything will be over. The men are completely demoralized, and your disappearance will clinch things so that they’ll be only too glad to do whatever I tell them.” “One more thing,” Evers said. “Mind telling me what’s behind all this?” “I do,” Ash growled. “There’s no time for — ” “What was the purpose of getting this expedition to turn back?” Evers broke in. “Persistent, aren’t you. Captain? Well, you know why we were making the hop to Pluto all at once, instead of doing it in gradual steps.” Evers nodded. “Of course. Fal- tronium.” “All right. You know also about the Faltronium Distribution Theory, which makes Pluto a regular treasu’-e trove. Until a short time ago, however, we didn’t have engines powerful enough to reach Pluto. Then Keeley announced his invention of the Hypatomic Drive, and certain men realized that here at last was their chance to make them- selves the richest and most powerful men in the System. They all fought to buy up rights to the Drive, so as to be the first to reach Pluto and lay claim to the largest faltronium deposits. But the bidding became so high that they couldn’t buy the rights as individuals and had to band together in order to pool their finances. “q~'WO groups resulted. The one sponsoring this expedition won. The group for which I’m working lost. “But my group didn’t intend to give up — the stakes were too high. They found a loophole in the contract which your group made with Keeley. You see, the inventor was shrewd; he knew how badly his discovery was wanted and refused to sell all the rights to it. The best your group could do was get a stipulation in the contract stating that Keeley was to sell plans to no one else until this expedition had returned. The catch is that whether or not the expe- dition reached Pluto, once it returned Keeley was free to sell plans to other bidders. “My group decided to sabotage the expedition so that it would have to turn back. The problem of doing so with- out burning our fingers was a big one. It had to be done in such a way that there would be nothing which could be dragged into the courts. One of the men in my group, an inventor, came for- ward with the perfect solution. He had just completed an improved com- pact model of the old Verdi Matter- Transmission sets, which hadn’t yet been made public. He suggested the story of disintegrating space rays, and I was propositioned to do the work. You know the rest.”

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THE VANISHING SPACEMAN 109 Evers nodded jerkily. Tension was a tight-wound spring inside him. It was almost over, he knew. He asked: “I suppose your cut will be pretty big?” “Big?” Ash laughed gloatingly. “Why, Lord, I’ll have as much money as I can spend for the rest of my life. But enough of this! I’ve wasted too much time on you already.” Ash’s lips pressed into a hard purposeful line. His finger began to tighten on the trig- ger of the infra-beam blaster. Evers saw death coming, felt its icy breath on his back. He gathered him- self for a last desperate leap. At that moment the door to the cabin opened. In the act of firing, Ash whirled instinctively. Bloody and disheveled, Kraskov stood swaying in the doorway. The physicist pointed an accusing finger at Ash. “You — ” he began. Ash’s head swiveled in a belated re- turn of attention to Evers. Simul- taneously, Evers leaped. There was a sharp hiss from Ash’s weapon. The beam burned a furrow along the side of Evers’ chest. In the next instant he had the navigator’s gun hand in a clutch of steel, twisted it violently aside. His other hand came up with the force of a driving piston. There was a sharp spatt! Ash dropped leadenly to the floor. Evers staggered back, pressing a palm to his singed side. “Whew!” he breathed. “That was close! I was won- dering how long it would take before somebody came. I knew I couldn’t keep Ash talking indefinitely.” “He hit me!” Kraskov accused spite- fully. “He wrecked my vibrator! Months of work-ruined! Now my theory will never be proved.” “Don’t take it so hard,” Evers com- forted. “You can play with that thing over there. That’s the machine re- sponsible for the disappearance of the men. See if it can’t be altered to act as a receiver. Creedy and Hobbs still have to be brought back.” Kraskov swooped eagerly upon the Matter-Transmitter, like a mother hen discovering a long lost chick. '^HE equivalent of two days later, ship time, saw conditions aboard the Ad Astra brought back to normal. Kraskov, after an intensely absorbed study of the Matter-Transmitter — dur- ing which he took it apart and put it back together again at least twice — suc- ceeded finally in effecting the re- materialization of Creedy and Hobbs. A sudden bellow of power from the en- gines and a triumphant grin from Mike Blount announced the fact that the former were once more in working or- der. Ash was confined to his cabin in a morpholin-drugged sleep, which would terminate upon his return to Earth when he would face the harsh reality of a re- habilitation cell. And the members of the expedition voted unanimously to continue on to Pluto. It was with a feeling of extreme re- lief that Evers later entered the con- trol room, to begin the task of decelera- tion. Bud Sedden grinned at him, and Evers grinned back. He slipped into the adjoining pilot chair, then switched on the inter-ship communicator, sig- nalling for Mike Blount. “Engineer?” “Yes, sir!” “Are the engines trimmed for de- celeration?” “Yes, sir!” “Mike?” “Yes, Cap?” “Er . . . any of that whiskey left?” “A ... a little, sir.” “Good!” said Evers. “Save some for me. In the meantime, stand by for deceleration. Pluto, here we come!”

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HIDDEN CITY , By CHESTER S. GEIER . ^ (Continued from page 6i) ^ The girl’s full lips thinned, and her strong lithe body tensed. She leaned forward slightly, the fingers of her right hand splaying as though imminently about to strike. Dali’s hands were on the arms of his chair, ridged tendons showing in sharp relief on the backs of them. His eyes were steady and very bright. Faces twisted in alarm, the techni- cians started toward the pair. Frontenac watched in breathless ri- gidity, apprehensive and eager. 'Y'HEN the girl relaxed, her green gaze lidding. She murmured, “If I were a man, Harvey Dali, I think I’d enjoy beating you to a pulp. Unfor- tunately I’m not. But I do, as you’ve said, hold the whiphand here. I want information out of you — and informa- tion I’m going to get. And I’m going to remember your defiance when it comes to assigning you work. It’s obvious that you’re very strong. Well, I’ll see to it that you’re given a job in propor- tion to your strength — hard labor, to be exact . . . very hard labor.” Dali said nothing. He watched bale- fully as Ellen Pancrest turned and strode back to the desk. She perched on the edge of it and lighted another cigarette. AVhen she looked at Dali again, her face was calm and coldly re- mote. She said quietly: “I want a description of the man who revived you, Mr. Dali. I’m not bluffing about the truth serum, of course. If you refuse to tell me what I want to know, the truth serum will get it out of you an5way. And I warn you the 110 experience will not be pleasant.” Dali shrugged slightly, and began to describe the white-haired stranger. He kept his eyes fixed upon a huge window behind the girl. He didn’t look at her until he finished. “Complete truth Is indicated. Lead- er,” the head technician droned. Ellen Pancrest seemed not to hear. She was staring intently into space, the cigarette smoldering, forgotten, between her rigid fingers. Dali studied the girl a moment. She seemed to know something about the stranger. And her mood seemed to be one which offered an opportunity to ob- tain the answer to a mystery that had long bothered him. He asked: “Do you know the man?” “Not exactly,” she said, still staring into space. “He was seen in Lunapolis a few times. He seemed to be a spy, but we were unable to apprehend him.” She looked finally at Dali, green eyes narrowing. “He helped you, Harvey Dali. That means he’s my enemy, and considering the fact that he seems able to travel between Earth and Moon, a very dangerous one. I don’t know who’s behind him or what he’s up to — but I do know one thing: If he shows up in Lunapolis again. I’ll be ready for him!” CHAPTER XII pOR a moment her green eyes blazed a deadly promise. Then the grim- ness left her face, and once more it was controlled and coldly remote. She drew at her cigarette, sent a plume of fra-

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HIDDEN CITY 111 grant smoke curling toward the ceiling. “My curiosity hasn’t been satisfied yet, Mr. Dali. What happened after you were revived?” Dali told of his encounter with Mel- gard while on the way to the hangar, to investigate the danger threatening the Frontier. He described the fight that had followed, and was about to tell of his killing the man whom the girl had called Colonel Hartley, when she raised a hand for silence. She glanced inquiringly at the head technician. The man nodded. “Completely true, so far, Leader.” She was silent a moment, regarding Dali intently. Then she signaled for him to continue. Dali completed his intention of ex- plaining about Hartley’s death. He fin- ished, “It was self-defense, of course. Hartley would have killed me, if I hadn’t got him first.” Ellen Pancrest shook her head slight- ly. “I’m sorry it had to happen. Colonel Hartley must have been badly confused to try killing you. He and General Mel- gard had orders to avoid taking lives. They were equipped to deal with emer- gencies in a less blood-thirsty way.” “They certainly didn’t try,” Dali said. “I don’t think they intended to. And for that matter, there’s more than a good chance that a lot of deaths, which Melgard explained as accidental, may have been outright murder.” “That has occurred to me — even if rather late.” “Fine. Now a little birdie is going to tell you something. Keep a close watch on Melgard. He doesn’t like your policies. He believes that direct action is the only way to win; and he’s planning a revolt to take over Lunap- olis.” The girl’s red lips were formed in a smile of grim amusement. “The little bird hasn’t told me anything I didn’t already suspect. That’s why I insisted on having Melgard return to Earth. I wanted a little time to prepare certain . . . defenses, we might say. Your rocket offered a convenient excuse to get him out of the way for a while. She gestured. “Go on with your story, please. What happened after the Colo- nel Hartley incident?” Dali told of having bound Melgard, and of the latter’s subsequent escape. He related his and Frontenac’s pursuit in the flitterjet; pursuit which had re- sulted in a vicious attack upon the craft by the hidden Cruiser in which Melgard had taken refuge. Detailing how he and Frontenac cheated death, he went on to sketch briefly the flight to the Moon, and the disaster caused by the meteor- ites, which had forced them to land in Lunapolis. He made a motion of finality. “You know the rest.” ■rpLLEN PANCREST was gazing into distance. A deeply thoughtful ex- pression softened the cold remoteness of her face; she was beautiful again. Finally she stood up and waved at the group of technicians. “That’s all. You may take your things and leave.” She went around behind her desk and sat down. She be- came lost in the distance once more, as the technicians packed their equipment and strode quietly from the room. Dali said, “Those men heard your plans concerning Melgard. One or more of them might be working for him, you know.” Ellen Pancrest shook her head with a faint impatience. “They’re complete- ly trustworthy I assure you. They wouldn’t have been in a position to hear my remarks if they weren’t.” “Where is Melgard? Still here?” “No; he left for Earth a short time ago. I waited for him to leave before

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112 AMAZING STORIES summoning you here.” The girl paused a moment, then abruptly leaned for- ward at the desk. '“Mr. Dali, certain things you’ve told me may require a complete change in my intentions re- garding you.” Dali’s forehead wrinkled. “What do you mean by that?” “It’s rather complicated,” the girl said. “I’d have to start at the very be- ginning to explain it fully.” “An explanation is something I’d like to have,” Dali said. “I know this much: You’re related to a man named Lloyd Pancrest, who was a famous inventor oevr twenty years ago. Lloyd Pancrest gave up inventing to start a cult or movement called Phrenarchy. Then he faded into obscurity — or disap- peared. Your name and title, and your presence here, on the Moon, seems to indicate that Lloyd Pancrest somehow brought part or all of his cult to the Moon.” He gestured and said, “You might take it from there.” Ellen Pancrest’s expression had soft- ened still further. Her face now had a warm and vivid loveliness so striking that it was as though, for the moment, she were another personality entirely. She said slowly: “Lloyd Pancrest was my father. He was more than an inventor; he was a genius who could have won wealth and fame in any field of endeavor he might have chosen. He preferred to be an inventor mainly because it was a pro- fession that allowed him to work alone; that made it possible for him to avoid daily contact with others. You see, my father wasn’t like ordinary men; he was . . . different. He was, to be pre- cise, a mutant.” Dali stiffened. “A . . . what?” “A mutant, Mr. Dali; an individual with characteristics differing from the norm of his species because of some sort of evolutionary change. This change may be large or small, and is usually an hereditary one in that it is transmissable to future generations. If the latter case, it may be dominant or recessive; and it may or may not have survival value. “In my father’s case, the change was basically one of degree rather than kind. He was not a true superman, though he did have characteristics su- perior to those of ordinary men. He was a true mutant, however; his change may have been small, but it was funda- mentally important — important enough for him to be considered one of an en- tirely new species. The change was hereditary, and dominant; for as my father later found, the new species bred true to type in every generation. And the change did have survival value . . . a curiously appropriate kind.” pLLEN PANCREST paused reflec- tively. “Mr. Dali, has it ever oc- cured to you that Man, as he is today, is pitifully unsuited to the civilization he has built around himself?” Dali was thoughtful. “In a dim sort of way, yes. But I won’t lay claims to being a social philosopher; such opin- ions as I have about Man in relation to his environment are mostly second- hand. It’s generally admitted, you know, that Man, socially, is far behind himself, scientifically.” The girl nodded. “Exactly. And the reason for this is that Man mentally is an anachronism. Modern existence has become too complex, subject to too many strains and difficulties. Man’s mind had reached the limits of its capac- ity to adjust. When he adjusts at all, it is only to those immediate features or phases that fit his color, race, and creed. That’s why Earth is torn by constantly recurring wars, by crime, by economic panics, and by an increasing amount of mental and moral degenera- tion.

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HIDDEN CITY 113 “In addition, modern knowledge has advanced enormously in scope and de- tail. It has outstripped Man’s capacity to learn. He learns slowly on the aver- age, can absorb only a limited amount of general information, and is forced by time and the necessities of existence to confine himself to one specific and immediately practical subject. Thus we have the spectacle of a man who is a master of his own particular branch of training, but who has only a broad, gen- eral knowledge of other branches with- in the field, and who is abysmally ig- norant of other, unallied fields.” Dali shrugged. “That’s no more than natural; a man can’t learn everything there is to know.” “Natural, according to the standards with which you are familiar,” Ellen Pancrest said. “Unnatural, according to mine. You are aware of General Melgard’s record during the work on your rocket, Mr. Dali. He passed him- self off as a technician, and you’ll have to admit that you never suspected he might have been anything else. He could have posed as a metallurgist or a rocket fuel chemist with equal success. My own father, as I’ve mentioned, could have made himself outstanding in any field he might have turned to. It’s all due to an ability to learn more, with greater ease and rapidity; to concen- trate more efficiently and remember more effectively; to start with the gen- eral and to go into the specific by a combination of logic and deduction. “But to continue: Another feature of modern life is that it has become too swift — deadly swift. Man is out of gear with it. His brain and nervous system, his thought processes and neu- ro-muscular reflexes, have been unable to keep pace. Machines have speeded up; accident statistics on industry, on surface and air traffic, show the result. The whole pattern of living has speeded up; and statistics again show the re- sult: A decline in the general health, an increase in mental and nervous dis- orders— psycho-neuroses, phobias, hys- teria, and insanity.” '^HE girl shook her head slightly, as though in wonder and pity. “So we have a rather sad picture of present Man. He learns slowly — when he tries to learn at all; and the capacity of his mind is such that he can absorb only a small portion of the vast mass of exist- ing knowledge. And what knowledge he does absorb, he is unable properly to integrate and utilize for the fullest ad- vantage of himself and his fellows. Burden his mind too far with details and responsibilities, and it snaps under the strain. And where co-ordination between mind and muscle is concerned, he reacts too slowly to the speeds and dangers of city life. He has adjusted himself to city existence without actu- ally being mentally or physically con- stituted for it. He is still a creature of the fields and forests — still a primi- tive, living in cities instead of caves, killing with atomic bombs instead of stones, and traveling in jet-propelled craft instead of swinging through the trees. “What, then, would a more highly evolved type of man be like — a true city creature? For one thing, he would have an improved and more efficient brain; he would be able to learn easily and quickly, concentrate and remember more readily, and master a wide range of knowledge. He would be able to think faster and more clearly, and make instantaneous decisions. And he would have a more advanced and highly in- tegrated type of nervous system. He would be able to perform extremely dangerous tasks without becoming in- volved in accidents; he would, if actu- ally confronted with danger, be able to

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114 AMAZING STORIES react in a hundredth of the time it takes an ordinary man to react. He would be emotionally stable, free of neuroses, hysteria, and general mental unbalance. He would be able to take on a greater amount of detail and responsibility, and deal with it longer, with little or no danger to his health and sanity. “My father was such a man. He was a new type of man without being actually a superman. He wasn’t tele- pathic or clairvoyant; he didn’t have any strange organs or senses. What he did have was complete adjustment to his environment, a higher degree of sur- vival value. He was a perfect city creature, as ordinary men originally were perfect forest creatures. But he was different enough for others to be aware of it. Thus the reason why he preferred to work alone. “Naturally,” Ellen Pancrest went on. “my father wondered if he were the only one of his kind in the world. Was he unique — doomed to a lifetime of hor- rible loneliness? Or had Nature cre- ated others like him? The answer to these questions wasn’t easy to deter- mine, as the mutant characteristics were inner ones, and therefore not easy to identify. You could walk along a street, and one out of every ten persons you passed might be a mutant, but out- wardly they would resemble anyone else. And there was the possibility that if one out of ten persons actually were mutants, they themselves might not be aware of it. My father himself didn’t awake to the fact that he was radically different — a mutant — until rather late in life. “But finally he hit upon a plan for learning whether or not there were oth- ers like him. That was when he aban- doned inventing and started his Phre- narchy movement. The meaning of the word should be obvious enough; literally it means mind-rule, or rule of mind. Phrenarchy was a socio-poli- tical ideology, calling for an end to cor- ruption, tyranny, and incompetence in government, with all their harmful and hindering effects upon society in gen- eral, by creating a government only of those who by their intelligence, char- acter, and training were best fitted to govern. By a subtle emphasis upon intelligence and the clever use of highly advanced ideas and principles, my fath- er made the concept one which psycho- logically would be of strong appeal to mutants like himself — if there were any. “He found that there were— a sur- prising number of them, in fact. Phre- narchy spread rapidly. Not all who joined were mutants, but these gradu- ally were weeded out; arid with the mu- tants who had first responded as a foun- dation, my father eventually built up the present organization of Neo-men, as he had come to call them.” JI^ALL said abruptly, “But these oth- er mutants — where in the world did they come from? According to my knowledge of the subject, mutations are caused by hard radiations like X-rays and Cosmic rays. But it’s a haphazard process, similar to shooting at a distant, moving target while blindfolded. The chances are overwhelmingly against the occurrence of a good or beneficial mutation, and just about indefinitely against a beneficial mutation being du- plicated.” Ellen Pancrest nodded. “True enough, if you consider that mutations are caused only by hard radiations working at random. But there are oth- er inOuences that can cause mutations, Mr. Dali — and not at random, but de- liberately.” “Deliberately!” Dali muttered. He stared at the girl and said slowly, “You mean artificially ... by machine?” “Neither. There is one specific in-

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HIDDEN CITY 115 fluence which you — and a great many others — have completely overlooked. Thought also can cause mutations. It has been proved that thought is a phy- sical force, generated by the mysterious chemico-electrical functions of the brain. Thought, in fact, is the highest of the physical forces in that it recog- nizes no barriers of time, distance, or matter. Is it thus too far-fetched to suppose that thought itself might not be able to cause changes in the human germ plasma so as to bring about a mutation? I don’t mean thought ema- nating from one individual, consciously directed, but thought emanating from individuals as a corporate mass, work- ing subconsciously, in a sort of blind, instinctive urge for racial improvement. “Man is subconsciously aware that he hasn’t kept pace with the advances he has made in his environment. Sub- consciously he feels his deficiencies keenly; subconsciously he is trying to overcome them. And such is the pow- er of thought, such is its sheer, super- nal intensity when produced by the col- lective mind of Man, that he can obtain just the changes in himself desired. That’s how Neo-men came into being — • not haphazardly or at random, but in- tentionally, through a kind of subcon- scious creation.” Ellen Pancrest paused, gazing quiz- zically at Dali. “Well, are you now satisfied about where the mutants — or Neo-men — came from?” “Not so much satisfied as dizzy,” Dali said. The girl smiled slightly and resumed, “Once the Neo-men had been gathered and organized, realization came that they would sooner or later fall under the suspicions, and quite possibly the persecutions, of the Old Race. Phre- narchy already was being attacked as a subversive movement. The Neo-men couldn’t hope to carry on their activi- ties in secret; discovery would inevi- tably result. The only solution was to find a place where they could work in- definitely, without fear of eventually being detected. And the only place with exactly the right qualifications of remoteness was the Moon. “The next thing my father did was to build a space rocket— a rocket, Mr. Dali, remarkably like your own. In this rocket, with two companions, he succeeded in reaching the Moon. And there, on the side eternally hidden from Earth, he found this city, which he named Lunapolis.” T^.\LL said in surprise, “Then the Neo-men didn’t build the city?” “No, Mr, Dali.” “But who did?” “We don’t know. The city was here. As far as my father knew, it had always been here. It was deserted, completely devoid of life, but its buildings, together with their furnishings, utensils, and machines, were intact. These showed the builders of the city to have been a Homonoid race — and further, a race even more highly advanced mentally than Neo-men themselves. My father called this vanished people the Ultra- men. What had happened to them, why and how they disappeared, are things that we shall probably never know. “What w'as most important to my father, however, was that the city was in perfect condition, just waiting for human occupancy. He decided to move the majority of Neo-men to Lunapolis, where they could follow their way of life in complete freedom from the hin- drances of the Old Race. “Much intensive research of the sci- entific devices in Lunapolis first was done. From this, among other things, came the drive principle of the degrav- ity cruisers. A number of the craft were

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116 AMAZING STORIES built in secret, and then Neo-men were ferried in from Earth. The cruisers were vastly more efficient than rock- ets, and made the exodus a thousand times safer and easy. “All this, of course, took years. The constant grueling labor killed my father long before his time, but before he died, he had the satisfaction of seeing his work well under way. The Neo-men were in a place of ideaf shelter and safety, organized under an ideal gov- ernment; a government of those who, in intelligence, knowledge, character, and temperament, were perfectly suited for their tasks. My father had been the first Phrenarch; to me was given the honor of carrying on in his place.” “Which must mean,” Dali said, “that you’re completely a Neo-man — or Neo- woman, that is.” Ellen Pancrest nodded. “My father didn’t marry until he found a mate among his own kind. This was shortly after he began his Phrenarchy move- ment. I was born on Earth, but have spent the last dozen years of my life in Lunapolis.” Abruptly the girl leaned forward, her green eyes intent on Dali’s face. “Mr. Dali, why do you think I’ve been telling you all this? Why do you think I’ve bothered with you to this extent at all?” Dali shrugged. “Maybe it’s because you like the way my eyelashes curl up. Or maybe you just felt like doing some talking.” “Hardly,” Ellen Pancrest said. “I’m not in the habit of doing things on im- pulses; I try always to have serious and important reasons. In the present instance, my reason for having taken you into my confidence is based upon your out-maneuvering of General Mel- gard in the various phases of his activ- ities against you back on Earth. You see, Mr. Dali, you, too, are a Neo-man.” CHAPTER XIII T JTTER surprise and incredulity jerked Dali to his feet. He burst out: “What kind of a cheap trick — ” He didn’t finish; he fell silent abruptly as the irrefutable logic behind the girl’s announcement dawned upon him. Mel- gard . . . outmaneuvered. . . . That was it. He had been blind not to have realized sooner the implications of the feat. The girl was watching Dali closely. She nodded a trifle, as though in grave satisfaction at what she saw. “Exactly, Mr. Dali. Whatever else he may be. General Melgard is a Neo- man. Which means that he has an ex- traordinarily swift and keen mind, light- ning-fast reflexes, and an unusual de- gree of physical strength. Yet you over- came him in hand-to-hand combat, shot down another Neo-man, and escaped from a degravity cruiser piloted by still another. How did you manage to do those things, when it’s evident that no man of the Old Race is capable of defeating a Neo-man on equal terms? That’s what you did, you know, despite the fact of an unknown, mysterious ally having revived you from the effects of the drug Melgard used. The only ex- planation for your success is that you also are a Neo-man.” Dali was silent, stunned. He re- called now the strange feeling that had come over him during the fight with Melgard; a feeling which, he had since dimly guessed, was the only reason for his triumph. And he recalled Fronte- nac’s remark to the effect that he, Dali, possessed physical and mental qualities a great deal like those of the inhabitants of Lunapolis. The truth of his new identity seemed inescapable — final and complete. But Dali knew it was something to which

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HIDDEN CITY 117 he’d be a long time in growing fully ac- customed. He glanced at Frontenac. The other was staring startledly at him, with a kind of uneasy wonder. Under his gaze Frontenac’s dark eyes shifted quickly, evasively. An odd sensation almost like sickness struck Dali. Sud- denly and shockingly, he realized that the revelation of his being a Neo-man had thrown a barrier between Fron- tenac and himself — a barrier that might be impossible to break down. Ellen Pancrest, when Dali returned his attention to her, was lighting a cig- arette. If she had noticed the little by- play, she gave no outward evidence of it. She met his look quietly, gestured toward the cigarette box and desk light- er in front of her, and said, “Have one?” “Thanks.” Dali selected and lighted a cigarette, and returned to his chair. He drew the smoke in deeply, striving to order the confusion in his mind. After a moment he abruptly became aware of what seemed an inconsistency. He said: “Logic indicates that I’m a Neo-man — a mutant. But the facts upon which this conclusion is based are either mis- leading, or a paradox is somehow in- volved. To judge from what you told me about your father, mutants are rather easily recognized as different. And if my understanding is correct, Neo-men possess their mutant abilities all the time rather than just occasion- ally. “Then how does it happen that neither I nor the people with whom I’ve associated ever guessed that I was fundamentally different? Why should the mutant abilities credited to me have appeared only during my encounters with Melgard and the others . . . Hartley and the cruiser pilot? Can it be that I’m just an ordinary man after all, but possessing somehow abilities that are supposed to be typical only of Neo-men?” gLLEN PANCREST shook her head, smiling faintly. “It’s simply be- cause you are a Neo-man in whom the mutant characteristics are usually dor- mant, through a subtle variation in the basic mutation itself. This dormant quality is a clever protective mechan- ism which makes possible a higher de- gree of survival value. Naturally, if a mutation is completely beneficial, it provides adaptations to all features and conditions of the environment, which includes protection from the obsolete but still dominant species that is a major and important part of that environment. “It was relatively only a short time ago that Neo-man psychologists learned such a dormant quality of the mutation exists. Mutants possessing it are called Latents. It has been determined that there are a large number of Latents — true Neo-men who do not suspect, and who by their speech and actions give no cause to suspect, that they are essen- tially different. Their superior abilities appear only in times of supreme crisis, such as when their lives or the lives of others close to them are threatened with immediate danger.” Dali was studying the burning tip of his cigarette, recalling once more the strange sensation he had felt during his fight with Melgard. It had obviously lasted long enough to aid him against Hartley and the cruiser pilot, though in the stress of events he’d been aware of nothing unusual. Slowly he realized that the girl was watching him, as if waiting for his re- action to her words. Her expression was assured, complacent. A dull, hopeless anger stirred within him. She had him trapped — and quite obviously she knew it. There was no way he could deny the things she had told him, and yet his very instinct revolted against

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118 AMAZING STORIES admitting she might be right. Ellen Pancrest said, “You hardly seem happy about the situation, Mr. Dali.’’ “Why should I be?” he demanded. “My experiences with Neo-men have convinced me they’re anything but benefactors of humanity. To be one of them is far from what I consider an honor.” The girl’s green eyes narrowed, her face hardened. “Just what do you mean by that?” “For one thing, there’s the sabotage that has been carried out by Neo-men against Earth’s rocket research,” Dali explained, with grim emphasis. “Quite a number of lives have been taken in this ruthless and horribly thorough campaign. A huge amount of scientific knowledge and progress has been lost, not to mention the waste in time, money, and human effort. “And for what?” A note of weary savagery entered his voice. “For the lowest, most selfish reasons imaginable. Neo-men want to prevent the discovery of Lunapolis because of plans for a war against Earth. Melgard revealed as much in a little speech he made to the welcoming committee that met Fron- tenac and me when we landed here. War . . . simply and obviously be- cause Neo-men consider themselves superior beings and therefore entitled to rule the roost. Probably the idea behind it is the old and idiotically al- truistic one of making the world safe for something; in this case, safe for Neo-men.” '^HE truculence had left Ellen Pan- crest’s face, but there was a deter- mined set to her lips, and a cool defiance showed in her green eyes. She crushed out her cigarette with quick, decisive movements, then leaned forward, el- bows resting on the desk, fingers inter- locked. She said quietly: “In some ways you’re right, Mr. Dali. In others you’re wrong . . . per- haps because you haven’t taken certain facts into consideration. Neo-men do want to make the world safe for Neo- men. The idea may seem selfish — even despicable. But actually it’s al- truistic enough, and in no way that could be called idiotic. “What you overlooked is that the evolutionary process which has acted upon the Old Race to produce Neo-men is still going on. It hasn’t stopped. The Old Race is evolving. Eventually there will no longer be an Old Race, but a complete and homogeneous race of Neo- men. The Old Race is thus the seed from which will come the flower of the new race. For that reason it must be protected.” “Protected?” Dali snorted. The girl nodded imperturbably. “Pro- tected from itself. You know very well that the war back in the Forty’s was followed by dissension, bitterness, and deep distrust between nations which formerly had been allies. It’s no secret that a desperate and feverish atomic armaments race has since then been going on. Today the Old Race is pre- pared and poised for war — war with atomic weapons deadly enough to wipe out civilization. “Nothing, as the situation on Earth now stands, can prevent that war. Each nation involved knows of the prepara- tions which the others have made. This knowledge, together with endless and increasing political friction, has intensi- fied enormously the original bitterness and distrust. And with the speed and destructiveness of atomic warfare, each nation knows its only hopes for su- premacy, and even survival, lie in at- tacking first. Thus a state of unbearable nervous tension exists, in which even so much as a wrong word or look will pre-

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HIDDEN CITY 119 cipitate the crisis.” She nodded at Dali. “You admit this much?” “YouVe stated it pretty baldly,” Dali said. “The various governments of Earth are at present loudly proclaiming undying faith and friendship for each other, but what you’ve said is essentially true. Earth is sitting on the biggest powder keg in civilized history.” “Exactly,” Ellen Pancrest said. “And there you have the reason why Neo- men wish to prevent the discovery of Lunapolis — not because of any selfish motives of their own, but because the information might be the one, final thing needed to set off that powder keg. With matters on Earth as they are, the news of a city on the Moon would be taken to mean that some one government had secretly built the city as a base from which to launch its attack. And at once the atomic holocaust would begin. “Mr. Dali, Neo-men are working to prevent that catastrophe. Since the Old Race is the seed from which will come the flower of the new, that seed must not be destroyed — even of itself. The new race must be given its chance to live. And it must be given its chance to nourish and grow. It must have tools and books, food and shelter . . . not the blasted ruins and dead, sterile ashes of destruction.” A FLAME seemed to kindle in the girl’s face, and despite himself Dali felt an answering glow. She went on, her voice soft and intense. “Earth is the heritage of the Neo- men. That heritage must be protected. Nothing will turn Earth’s present mas- ters from their path to utter ruin. Every appeal to reason, to the faintest instincts of kindness and decency, would be fu- tile. The only solution is for some outside power to step in and take over by force the management of Earth’s af- fairs. And Neo-men intend to do just that.” The glow faded from Dali. He shook his head slowly. “That doesn’t alter the basic facts. It’s still conquest.” “But conquest with permanent peace as its prime object, Mr. Dali, not con- quest for power or gain. The Neo-men are waging what essentially is a peace war, and as their leader I’ve done ev- erything possible to keep their activities in strict accordance with the conduct of such a war. If the object were power alone, you know, I could simply sit back and allow Earth to exhaust itself in its own .struggles, and then with hardly any effort walk in and take con- trol. I could even have permitted Lun- apolis to be discovered, so as to hasten such an event. But I took the time, patience, and trouble of blocking Earth’s rocket progress to prevent that; and I did it in a way that wouldn’t reveal the presence of an outside power — knowledge which would have set things off as much as the discovery of Lunapolis itself. I had the rockets sabotaged while still on Earth . . . tam- pered within such a manner that their destruction would be laid to weaknesses in rocket technology. If the rockets had been apprehended in space, their dis- appearances would have indicated the existence of an outside power, wdth the results already described. “Furthermore, Mr. Dali, I’ve given my agents strict orders to avoid taking lives in carrying out their duties. I know that a number of men have died as a result of the rocket sabotage, but these deaths have been explained as un- avoidable or accidental. I have re- cently learned, however, that many of them were due to mistakes or indiffer- ence. I intend to make a thorough in- vestigation to find just where the blame lies. Those guilty of having disobeyed my orders will be demoted to positions

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120 AMAZING STORIES where they will unable to cause harm in the future. General Melgard, I might mention, is one of them.” She shrugged slightly and went on: '‘The campaign against Earth’s rock- et progress is— or rather was — just a preliminary, but the actual war itself will also be fought as much without bloodshed as possible. Perhaps, Mr. Dali, you will insist that can’t be done. Then let me hasten to point out that the preparations for this war have been years in the making. The plans were drafted by the owners of the finest minds in existence — Neo-men. And the weapons to be used are themselves like nothing ever known on Earth. '‘I have already explained that exam- ination of the scientific devices left be- hind by the former inhabitants of Lunapolis furnished Neo-men with the drive principle of the degravity cruisers. A large number of other discoveries were made. In many cases Neo-men were able to improve on what they learned, or to make radically new ap- plications of their knowledge. Thus, as weapons for a bloodless peace war. Neo-men have the degravity cruisers, faster and more maneuverable than anything possessed by the Old Race; paralysis beams which will render the largest army helpless in a matter of min- utes; fields, like the field enclosing Lunapolis itself, which within their zone of influence will make impossible the operation of internal combustion en- gines and prevent the firing of rockets or artillery; and finally, Mr. Dali, force shields which will dampen the explo- sions of atomic bombs and absorb their deadly radiations. “And, remember, the users of these weapons will be Neo-men, the finest sol- diers and technicians in existence; men far above average in intelligence and training, with unusually keen minds, steel nerves, and enormously swift re- actions. If this alone weren’t enough — ” Ellen Pancrest broke off, smiling at Dali with a curious mixture of mockery and triumph. She said softly: “Mr. Dali, where would a highly in- telligent and clever people like the Neo- men be if not in government positions of high authority?” A momentary grimness touched her mile. “And that’s just where they are. Those already in key positions either joined the Neo-men ranks or aided others to obtain equally important posts. Today Neo-men hold key positions in every government of every nation on Earth. They are in essence a fifth-column organization the like of which has never been equalled. At a signal they are ready to go into action. When that, signal comes, the organization of every country on Earth will be thrown into confusion and utter chaos— and the Neo-man armies will quietly and efficiently step in to take over. The whole affair will be finished before, anyone completely realizes what has happened.” t'LLEN PANCREST’S voice went ^ into silence. The smile went with it, leaving her fine features grave and faintly quizzical. Her green eyes searched Dali’s face. Dali was only dimly aware of it. He was staring woodenly at the floor. He had a baffled, helpless feeling; some- what the feeling of a man who, setting his nets for minnows, has caught a whale. He saw everything now, and it was big — much bigger than he had ever even remotely guessed it might be. This city on the Moon had foundations so deep that they were rooted in the en- tire social and political structure of Earth itself. Frontenac was gazing steadily and motionlessly through the huge window in the wall beyond the desk. Bitterness lay in the curve of his lips, and his

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HIDDEN CITY 121 dark eyes were shadowed and sad. After a moment the girl said, “Mr. Dall, IVe explained all this to you not merely because you’re a Neo-man, but also in the hope that the information would influence you into joining the Neo-man organization. New additions are always welcome. If you agree to join, you will be given rank and duties equal to your abilities as determined by intelligence, aptitude, and psycho- logical tests.” “And if I refuse?” Dall suggested. “If you refuse, you will be put to work as a prisoner of a status equal to that of a prisoner of war. You will be without freedom, without such advan- tages as leisure, better food and living quarters, and social intercourse. “But there is no reason for you to refuse. Neo-men are fighting for peace. And with their organization, abilities, and weapons, they can’t lose. Neo- men will prevent the impending world- wide atomic war. They will prevenf all war. They will unite Earth under one government — a government of those who, as shown by objective, unpreju- diced scientific tests, are in every way most perfectly fitted for their duties. And Neo-men will abolish tyranny, crime, famine, and corruption. They will improve living conditions, increase the general level of knowledge, health, and prosperity. They will, in short, work to bring on a true Golden Age.” Ellen Pancrest gestured. “I won’t try to hurry you, Mr. Dall. The fact that you’re a Latent complicates mat- ters, since you require a longer period of assimilation, rationalization, and ad- justment. But if you aren’t a complete fool, you’ll realize eventually that you won’t be making a mistake in joining. I’ll give you enough time to think it over. For the present, that will be all.” She touched one of a number of but- tons set in the surface of her desk. A moment later the double doors at the rear of the room swung open, and a squad of guards filed in. Ellen Pancrest indicated Dall and Frontenac with a casual wave of one slim hand. Her face was cool and in- diiferent, her green eyes remote. She said: “Return these men to their apart- ment. The guard over them will be maintained until further notice.” Dall rose as the guards came for- ward. He glanced at the girl, and for an instant her eyes met his. Something flashed from them in that brief meet- ing; something that seemed secretly pleading and anxious. And for some odd, indefinable reason it struck into the very nucleus of his being. Then the guards were gripping his arms, and in a turmoil of emotions he was led away. TTE REMEMBERED little of the elevator ride that followed, and the bleakly silent walk through the halls. Only when he and Frontenac were once more alone in their room did full awareness of his surroundings return. Frontenac smiled with a perceptible effort. “Well, Harvey, it’s been an in- teresting morning — or whatever you call it here, on the Moon.” “I wouldn’t say so.” Dall was un- comfortably aware of the forced quality of Frontenac’s smile. Too vivid recol- lection came of the strange, new un- ease and evasiveness that had come over Frontenac after Ellen Pancrest’s strange revelation that Dall was a Neo- man. The change from the old, easy and comradely state of relations was one that filled Dall with hurt and un- certainty. “Why not?” Frontenac demanded, a note of false heartiness in his tone. “In- teresting is the only way to describe it.

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122 AMAZING STORIES We were in a tough spot for a while . . . prisoners in the enemy camp and all that. Then it turns out that friend Harvey is some sort of a little tin god, and the keys of the city are promptly extended on a golden platter.” Dali managed a grin. “Tin god? You mean this Neo-man business. It could still be a trick, you know, in spite of everything.” Frontenac shook his dark head grave- ly. “I don’t believe that, Harvey, and I know you don’t either. All the vari- ous facts Ellen Pancrest brought out fit in just a bit too well for that.” “Maybe. But if I’m actually a Neo- man, then being a Latent as well hardly makes me a tin god.” “It brought you an invitation to join the fold,” Frontenac pointed out. “So it must be important.” He paused. He said too casually, “I suppose you’ll join?” Dali was silent for some moments. “I may have to,” he said at last. “If only as a trick. You know what I am, Jules; you know the oath I took. I can’t go back on that. As a prisoner I’d be useless, but as a member of the organization I’d be able to get around and learn things. It’s possible that eventually I’d be able to find a way for us to escape — or even to upset the Neo-man applecart.” Frontenac looked sardonic. “Why beat around the bush, Harvey? This thing’s too big to upset. And even if we did manage to escape, ,the news of a city on the Moon might very well start trouble. But if by some miracle it doesn’t, what could be done about the Neo-men and their plans? The na- tions of Earth have no way of reaching Lunapolis after what’s been done to rocket research. And the Neo-men would clamp down immediately at any attempt to purge them from Earth’s governments. “Any way you look at it, Harvey, the Neo-men are certain to come out on top. The oath you took isn’t important when you consider that. It’s an oath involving something that literally does- n’t exist anymore. So I can’t exactly blame you for wanting to join; it’s wise to get in on the winning side while the getting in is good. Only don’t try to spare my feelings at being left out. I don’t count. I’m just a common, or- dinary human being. When Ellen Pan- crest remembers I exist. I’ll be given some sort of slave labor and will be out of your way. Then you can enjoy — ” Dali grasped Frontenac’s shoulders, his fingers biting deep. “Jules — do I really deserve all that?” Anguish twisted his face and thickened his voice. Frontenac took a deep, unsteady breath. “No ... I guess you don’t I . . . I’m sorry. Everything just sort of got me. It’s the end in a way, you know — the end of all I’d thought was good and normal and permanent. I haven’t got over it yet. . . .” jr^ALL turned away. Amid a thick, strained silence, he crossed the room and lowered himself heavily into a chair. Frontenac was right, he re- alized. It was the end of the old order of things. There seemed nothing he could do about it. The political situa- tion on Earth was too explosive to risk disturbing with the information he pos- sessed— even if he could manage to escape with it first. And the Neo-man organization was too big an applecart for one man alone to upset. Suddenly he wondered if he actually did want to do something about it. If Ellen Pancrest hadn’t lied, if Neo-men could bring peace, freedom, prosperity, and enlightenment, it might be a good thing after all for Neo-men to take over the management of Earth’s affairs. There could be no doubt but that Earth

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HIDDEN CITY 123 badly needed unified capable leadership in the terrible crisis it faced. And there was the new race dawning; a better, stronger race. Who could deny that it should not have every op- portunity for a place in the sun? A better race. . . . Dali thought ab- ruptly of Melgard, recalling his experi- ences with the man. Melgard was cruel, ruthless, utterly without mercy or com- punction. For all his vaunted Neo-man superiority of intelligence and nervous reactions, he still had all the innate ani- mal savagery of the Old Race. Perhaps intensified and increased, as all the oth- er Neo-man qualities seemed to be. And Melgard would hardly be an exception. There would be others like him — many of them. Dismay and misgivings surged through Dali. Ellen Pancrest dreamed and planned and looked forward into a golden future. She was altruistic, an idealist. But how many of the other Neo-men also shared her dreams and ideals? If Melgard was an example, and the officers who had shown such in- terest in his traitorous plans, was the Neo-man organization actually rotten to the core — filled with power-hungry, potential tyrants, who would enslave and exploit rather than enlighten and uplift? Dali remembered his oath. He saw that huge room once more, with its dusty, old-fashioned furniture and the grim-faced men, armed with machine- guns, spaced on guard around the walls. He heard Merrick’s voice again, and his own voice responding. “I do sol- emnly swear. . . Words that bound him; words that had become a part of him. He couldn’t go back on them. Somehow, he told himself, there ought to be a solution to all these con- flicting elements. Somehow there ought to be a way out. He had to find it. He clenched his big-boned hands tight- ly, and the lines deepened in his angular, brown face. He had to find it! There was a knock at the door. A moment later a guard carrying a tray entered the room. A number of things instantly caught Dali’s attention. The guard was in a strange hurry; excite- ment showed in his face. Two others, visible in the hall, stood in attitudes of unmistakable tension, drawn weapons held in their hands. And through the opened doorway came a hubbub of sound: the shouting of voices mingled chaotically with the pounding of feet. '‘What is it?” Dali demanded. “What’s happening?” “That,” the guard said, depositing his burden, “is what we‘ intend to find out.” He ran from the room, and the door slammed shut. Ignoring the tray, Dali crossed to the panel and placed his ear against a seam, listening intently. As far as he could make out, the mysterious uproar was continuing. He listened for a long time. At last there was silence. Frowning, with a vague feeling of anxiety, he turned away. What could possibly have taken place? “Harvey Dali.” A whisper of something that was not sound. Over it, emphasizing it, came a sharp, shocked exhalation that could only have issued from Frontenac. Dali’s eye jerked up. Framed in the bedroom doorway he saw — The white-haired man! CHAPTER XIV ■^OTHING about the mysterious and ^ rather incredible stranger appear- ed to have changed. The conservative dark suit he wore seemed to be the same in which Dali had last seen him. The thick mane of snow-white hair was the same, as were the intense dark eyes below, and the pale, smooth, ascetic

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124 AMAZING STORIES face. Looking at the other, Dali had an odd sense of disorientation. It was for all the world as if he were back on Earth instead on the Moon, in a hidden, fantastic city, and the stranger had stepped from another room, with all the ease and casualness of one who had been there all the time. And the strang- er’s appearance in no way destroyed the illusion; he looked neat, calm, and com- pletely unruffled, as though that super- nally cold, empty, and airless gulf be- tween the Earth and its satellite were no more than a short walk along a well- paved path. The incongruity of it struck Dali with numbing force. Momentarily he looked past the other and into the bedroom. He was certain the room had utterly no means of entrance. There was only one door, and this opening into a closet. The closet! That was it! For the first time, Dali noticed that the closet door hung open. By craning his neck, he could see part of an opening in the closet~an opening that could have been made only by a hidden panel. He swung his glance back to the stranger, questions erupting volcano- like in his mind. Words leaped to his lips, but as he met the penetrating, hyp- notic eyes, something unseen and intan- gible, yet with all the power and materi- ality of a hand, came to choke off speech. Once again, as on that day in the forest, he felt helpless, frozen; felt as though his mind was being searched — read as one reads the pages of a book. Then full awareness of himelf and his surroundings returned. He had a vague feeling of outrage, as of one whose personal privacy has been disturbed — not rudely, perhaps, but nevertheless invaded. He said slowly: ‘T don’t think I care for that little trick you seem to have.” “I am deeply sorry,” came the silent mental response. “I would not have done so were it not unavoidably neces- sary.” ^FTER a moment Dali shrugged. “All right, it was necessary. But how did you manage to reach the Moon? How did you get into this room?” “The city has many secrets, and these are known to me. As to how I reached the Moon, let it be sufficient that I have done so. There is no time for explanations of this sort.” “You ought to be able to tell me a few things,” Dali persisted. “I need something to go on. And— say, how did you find out where Frontenac and I were being kept? How did you know the exact building, the exact room?” “Your own thoughts led me to you. My knowledge of the city accomplished the rest. My name ... let it be Jon- othan. Actually it is a purely mental pattern or configuration that would be meaningless to you. It is not impor- tant; Jonothan will suffice. And as to who I am — or more accurately, when considering the implications behind your question, what I am — the term Ultraman will be sufficiently if partially illuminating.” Jonothan moved one slim hand in a gesture. It was as if the movement had torn aside a curtain or opened a concealing door, for Dali had a sudden, vivid impression of deep anxi- ety, a burning inner tension. “Now you must heed without inter- ruptions what I have to say,” Jonothan went on in his weirdly silent manner. “Disastrous events are occurring within the city. A new and terrible danger threatens not only Earth, but Neo-men as well. And, I had better add, you also, Harvey Dali. “This danger has arisen from the very midst of the Neo-men themselves. The mutation which produced them, you see, was not a completely benefi-

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HIDDEN CITY 125 cial one, for while Neo-men have im- proved brains and nervous systems, they still possess certain basic flaws of human nature inherent in what has been termed the Old Race. The most promi- nent are hereditary criminal tendencies, which, if not properly diverted by train- ing and environment, cause much harm and loss to society. Neo-men inherited these tendencies — but greatly increased and heightened, just as their superior abilities are an increase and heighten- ing of abilities possessed by the Old Race. The increase and heightening of these tendencies within Neo-men, how- ever, has given them such a powerful hold that neither training nor environ- ment has the slightest dampening or ameliorating effect. Criminal Neo-men are therefore enormously more cunning, vicious, and destructive than their Old Race counterparts. “A group of such criminal Neo-men has instigated a rebellion within the city . . . Lunapolis . . . with the ob- ject of seizing control of the entire Neo- man organization. It is vitally im- portant that they be prevented from carrying out their plans. Because of a certain factor, which I shall presently explain, they have excellent chances of winning Lunapolis; but once the up- rising is extended to Earth, they will meet with constant opposition from the majority of the fifth-column forces sta- tioned there, and a conflict will result which will involve both Neo-men and the Old Race. Even if the rebels do succeed in the end, it will be to set up in the ruins of Earth a rule of such tyranny, suppression, and violence that civilization may never again recover. “But that is only the first considera- tion. For, if the rebels are defeated, the Neo-man organization as a whole must in turn be prevented from carry- ing out its plans. It is the nature of the Old Race that it refuses to be led, ex- cept when it has itself selected its lead- ers. A despotic rule by Neo-men, how- ever benevolent and progressive it might be, is doomed to failure. All the his- tory of Earth has shown that nothing won by force is ever permanent. Only when achieved by peaceful co-opera- tion can there be unity.’’ An impulsive protest leaped to Dali’s lips. “But the impending atomic war on Earth — ” “Would automatically be prevented if Neo-men peacefully joined forces with the Old Race,” Jonothan finished. “For Neo-men possess certain scientific knowledge which would render atomic warfare harmless — if not actually im- possible.” spread his hands helplessly. “I don’t see why you’ve told me all this. There’s nothing I could do to stop the rebels — or the Neo-man or- ganization, for that matter. What about Ellen Pancrest? Doesn’t she know about the rebels?” “She soon will — but it may be too late. Warning her will avail nothing in the long run, since she also must be de- feated. I have mentioned that there is a certain factor which gives the rebel- excellent chances of success. This fac- tor is the Control.” “The . . . Control?” “I will explain. Lunapolis, you see. is a mutant city. In effect it is an entity, for its operation and functions are co- ordinated, centralized, and guided in a way that produces a kind of indepen- dent, pseudo-sentient existence. A fair description of the city might be made with respect to the human body itself. Some machines act as heart, lungs, nerves, and limbs. Forces generated by others act as bloodstream and mental and nervous impulses. There are also devices which act as sensory organs. “The Control is the brain of the city.

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126 AMAZING STORIES It superintends and regulates the manu- facture, generation, and distribution of power, light, heat, artificial gravity, air, water, and even food. Thus any indi- vidual or group in possession of the Control is literally in possession of the city as well. And of the other persons within it — for the city is filled with vari- ous powerful forces, held in leash, and operated beneficially. These forces, however, are potentially deadly and de- structive when the activities of the Con- trol are interfered with by human op- eration. The Control was so designed as to respond to human thought, such as would be necessary in an emergency. An individual in possession of it can therefore direct the deadly force of the city against other individuals. This is a fatal flaw which the builders of the city were unable to foresee, primarily because they did not envision tenants other than themselves. “Ellen Pancrest is now in possession of the Control. It is the plan of the rebels to strike by surprise and deprive her of it. By that one single act they hope to become the masters of Luna- polis. “Harvey Dali, you are wondering what all this has to do with you. You know that possession of the Control will prevent the rebels from carrying out their uprising. You know that pos- session of the Control will destroy the Neo-man organization; for the Neo- men in Lunapolis are the guiding force of that organization, and with the city and its occupants dominated by a hos- tile party, the Neo-men will be help- less— paralyzed. “You, Harvey Dali, know the issues at stake. You must obtain possession of the Control ... for me, since I can most easily and efficiently take advan- tage of its powers. I have a duty, too, you see. “The Control is kept in a special chamber, here, in Capitol Tower. I know secret ways of the city, and can lead you to it with little risk.” “But why can’t you get at it your- self?” Dali demanded in perplexity. “Why do you have to use me as an agent?” Jonothan’s answering thoughts were sad and faintly bitter. “Simply because I am psychologically unable to perform directly any action which would result in harm or injury to a living creature. I am so constituted mentally that the merest thought of it is painful and revolting. Thus I must use you as a proxy. Naturally, once you enter the chamber of the Control, you will meet with immediate and deadly resistance. This resistance will have to be overcome in . . . drastic ways.” “How do I know I can trust you?” Dali questioned abruptly. “How do I know this isn’t some kind of an involved and clever trick?” “You know I can be trusted, Harvey Dali. You have only to look into my mind.” “. . . Yes — I can see.” “And you will do it?” pOR some queer reason Dali hesi- ^ tated. He knew what so clearly and inescapably was his duty; he knew the only answer he could make. But Ellen Pancrest’s face was suddenly vivid in his mind — not the cold and arrogant face, but the gentle and lovely one. He saw her green eyes, soft and shining, dreaming of a better future. Then he saw her defeated, humbled, her dreams shattered into dust — and some- thing ached within him that he had never felt before. And then he saw the picture Jonothan had painted; saw it in every sordid and ugly detail. Nothing of dreams, this, but stern and hideous reality. He

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HIDDEN CITY 12T glanced slowly at the plain platinum watch strapped to his wrist. The scales were more than balanced the other way. , . . He nodded. “I’ll do it.” “Then we will start at once,” Jon- othan said, with swift purpose. “Not a moment can be — ” The thought broke; Jonothan stiffened, his intense dark eyes flashing toward the door. His soundless mental voice gasped in Dali’s mind. “Danger! A group of Neo-men com- ing .. . fast — so fast!” And then Jonothan whirled and was leaping to- ward the hidden opening in the closet. Even as he moved, the door to the apartment burst open with a crash, and three uniformed Neo-men, gripping rifles^ catapulted inside. Dali stared dazedly at the figure in the lead. Rec- ognition came with a wrenching shock. Melgard! Melgard — who by now should have been far off in space, well on his way back to Earth! For an instant Melgard paused, his hard, burning eyes sweeping the room. His glance touched Dali and Frontenac — darted to the bedroom doorway. In a flash of motion he reached it. He saw Jonothan. Jonothan was half inside the secret closet opening. His attention was drawn by Melgard’s abrupt appearance — and for the tiniest moment he hesitated. With a man of Melgard’s lightning reactions, it was disastrous. Melgard whipped up his rifle, pressed the trigger. Dali, standing on a line with the bed- room doorway and the closet beyond, saw in all its frightful details the thing that happened. He saw the rifle whip up, heard it dull, coughing chatter, saw the continuous, almost solid stream of tiny tungsten-steel shells that poured forth. He saw Jonothan fall back into the opening, his face and head dissolv- ing in bloody ruin. Then the hidden panel slid shut, and the nightmare hor- ror of the scene was mercifully gone. Split-seconds of blurred speed . . , and Jonothan was — dead! CHAPTER XV p^ARDLY had the secret opening closed, when Melgard again was in motion. He turried into the closet and ran his hands over the edges of the obstructing panel, as though seeking some concealed lever or switch. He found nothing, for he pounded the panel irritably with the flat of one hand . Fin- ally he picked up his rifle. He hit the panel several times with the end of the stock, listening intently. Then, with a shrug, he returned to the living room. “Metal,” he told the two Neo-men, who had accompanied him into the apartment. “Would take a cutting torch to get through, and there’s no time for that. The spy — or whatever he was — is dead, anyway.” Feet pounded in the hall, and a new group of uniformed Neo-men appeared in the open doorway. The officer in command took a few steps into the room, saluting as his glance fell on Mel- gard. “Need any help, General?” “All in control, here,” Melgard grunted. “Continue mopping up, Lieut- enant.” “Very well, sir!” The officer saluted again and whirled back into the hall. His voice lifted in sharp command; then came the pounding of feet once more, this time fading away. Dali was rigid, his big hands clenched against the sick despair inside him. Dead! Jonothan was dead! The only person with the knowledge and abilities capable of defeating the Neo-men was gone. And the very thing Jonothan had warned against apparently had hap- pened; the criminal element of Luna- polis — of which Melgard seemed the

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128 AMAZING STORIES leader — evidently had their uprising well under way. Utter catastrophe was in the making — and Dali was helpless. He thought suddenly of Ellen Pan- crest. Was she safe? Or had she been taken prisoner . . . possibly killed? The speculation was oddly dismaying. He tried to tell himself that the girl meant nothing to him, that he didn’t care what happened to her — but failed. In another moment Dali became aware that Melgard was watching him. The rebel commander’s blunt features wore a thin smile of triumph. Mockery glinted in his eyes, but their blue depths showed other emotions as well. Hate was there, and a sadistic eagerness held carefully in check. It seemed obvious that Melgard was relishing the oppor- tunity to exact full payment for his de- feat at Dali’s hands in the fight back on Earth. “Well, Dali, here we go again,” Mel- gard said at last. Dali nodded gravely. “Then hang on, General— so you won’t get left be- hind as usual.” The muscles around Melgard’s square mouth grew pale. The mockery faded from his eyes, leaving the vindictive hatred beneath to glare nakedly. He spoke in a voice that had thickened. “You won’t get away from me this time. I’d have had you when you first landed here, if the Phrenarch hadn’t stepped in. But she won’t be able to help you anymore, so if you’re smart you’ll skip the wisecracks. I’m not saying it’ll make things any easier for you, but you’ll live a little longer.” “What happened to Ellen Pancrest?” Dali demanded. “What have you done with her?” 7V/TELGARD’S lips curled in a jeer. “Such tender concern! The Phrenarch gets them all that way — even on short notice. She hasn’t been hurt, if that’s what you’re worried about. She’s being held prisoner in her apartment. When I wind up this busi- ness, I’ll see that she doesn’t get lone- some.” The jeer broadened. For an instant Dali had a wild urge to leap forward in complete disregard of the rifles held watchfully by Mel- gard’s two companions. He remained motionless. It took an effort that brought beads of perspiration to his forehead. He said quietly: “I thought you were on the way back to Earth. Ellen Pancrest said you had left.” “That’s exactly the impression I wanted to give. I only pretended to leave. The ship took off without me. I picked the crew from my own men, so the Phrenarch and her boyscouts wouldn’t find out. You see, Dali, I guessed the reason why the Phrenarch had ordered me back to Earth. I didn’t intend to give her any time to set a trap for me.” Melgard seemed eager for an opportunity to boast. Dali nodded. “One more thing. How did you know there was . ? . someone here, in the apartment, with Frontenac and me?” “These rooms are specially reserved for the Phrenarch’s enemies. Which means they have something other rooms don’t — hidden microphones. When my men started taking over Capitol Tower, I detailed one of them to listen in on you. Later he came running to tell me something funny was going on. I was near this floor, and decided to look in. . . . Good thing I did.” Melgard’s hard blue eyes narrowed searchingly. “Who was that man, Dali? What was he doing here? I already know he was a spy of some sort. He was seen sneaking around Lunapolis a few times, but we couldn’t catch him.” “He wanted me to help him get some- thing he called the Control,” Dali said.

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HIDDEN CITY 129 He shrugged in pretended indifference. “I didn’t trust him. I tried to get him to tell me who he was and what he was up to, but he just said there wasn’t time to explain anything. That’s about all.” Melgard looked doubtful. His eyes continued their search. Finally he shrugged and said, “He wouldn’t have got anywhere with the idea he had. My men have the Control under guard. They had a stiff fight getting it, and anybody who wants to take it away from them will have to put up an even stiffer fight. . . . The Control’s atomic stuff, in case you don’t know it, Dali. When the news got out that I had cap- tured it, resistance stopped all over Lunapolis. I didn’t even have to put on a demonstration.” “Too bad,” Dali said. “I’ll bet you were disappointed.” Melgard moved so fast that he hardly seemed to move at all. The barrel of his rifle thudded viciously against the side of Dali’s head. A burst of light, a roar of pain; Dali staggered back, stumbled against a chair, and fell to the floor. He lay still for a long moment, fighting the nausea and the whirling blackness that sought to overwhelm him. The room finally steadied. Agony throbbed like a pair of huge, overworked lungs in his head, but he found that he could think through it. And he could move. He climbed slowly back to his feet. “You cracked wise once too often,” Melgard said. “Think twice before you do it again.” Dali said softly, “Put up your gun, General. Send your bodyguards out of the room. For five minutes. That’s all I ask — just five minutes.” A/TELGARD moved his free hand in a sharp gesture. A mask seemed to have dropped over his face. “Sorry, Dali, I’ve a lot of work waiting for me. And I’ve already wasted enough time on you.” He turned to the two Neo- men nearby. “Major Rankin, Captain Boyd, I want you personally to take these men down to the Council Cham- ber and see that they are placed under guard with the other prisoners. Take no risks with them. At any slightest sign of resistance, shoot to kill.” Rankin and Boyd nodded grimly and saluted. With a last vengeful glare at Dali, Melgard turned and stalked from the room. “All right, you two,” Rankin said. “Let’s start moving.” Dali glanced hopelessly at Frontenac. The smaller man didn’t seem to notice. His dark eyes had a set, glazed look. The march of events, bewildering in their swiftnes and complexity, appeared to have dazed him. Dali felt a leaden surprise that his own mind was able to stand up under the strain. Boyd shoved Frontenac toward the door, and at a prod from the point of Rankin’s rifle, Dali followed. They were marched through the halls, to the elevators. Faint noises of activity sounded throughout the building. There were distant screams, mingling with shouted commands and the thumping of feet. Occasionally a rifle chattered. Rankin emitted a short, sarcastic laugh. “Those dumb civilians! ” he told Boyd. “They know what capture of the Control means, but they still try to hold out.” “It’s all over, though,” Boyd re- sponded. “And they know it. They’re just taking things the hard way.” There was a small crowd of captives under guard before the elevator doors. They were composed both of civilians and soldiers, obviously loyal to Ellen Pancrest. The elevators were being used far over capacity; it was a long while be-

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130 AMAZING STORIES fore a car finally stopped at their floor. Rapkin immediately commandeered it, and Dali and Frontenac were ordered inside. As the car descended, Dali looked at Rankin and said mildly, “Melgard seems to be a big noise up here.” “Why not?” Rankin demanded. “He was commanding general of the Neo- man army before the uprising. He got the job because he had a higher int-apt rating than any other officer.” Dali echoed, “Int-apt?” “Intelligence and aptitude,” Rankin explained. “As decided by tests. That’s the system here, you know.” “Yeah. But why did the Phrenarch use a man as important as that against small change like me?” “She claimed an officer with the high- est abilities was needed in your case. General Melgard was the natural choice. His opinion of the matter is that she was afraid of him, and wanted him out of the way.” “And your opinion?” “She didn’t like or trust — ” Rankin stiffened and his face went carefully blank. “Don’t ask for my opinions!” he snapped. Boyd was frowning at Dali. He asked abruptly, “How did it happen that you tripped up the General back on Earth?” T^ALL shrugged, “Nothing much to it. He doped me, but I was able to throw it off. Then he had a gun on me. I jumped him, knocked him out, and tied him up. He managed to es- cape, though, and made for a degravity cruiser hidden a short distance away. I followed in a fiitterjet. He tried to ram me with the cruiser, but I dodged out of the way and pulled a tri^ that made him think I was dead.” Rankin brought the elevator to a sud- den stop between floors. “You’re not trying to pull a fast one?” “I wouldn’t be here if Melgard was everything he’s cracked up to be,” Dali answered quietly. Boyd said, “If you actually did all that, it can only mean — ” Dali nodded. “I know. I’m a Neo- man.” “And not only that,” Rankin said slowly. “For you to have licked Gen- eral Melgard also means. . . .” His voice trailed off. He glanced with cryp- tic significance at Boyd. Then, in uni- son, the two turned their heads to look at Dali. Their faces showed varying degrees of something that seemed a mixture of awe and respect. Dali said, “What got you men to join Melgard in his plan to double-cross the Phrenarch?” “He promised us important posts on Earth,” Rankin answered. “After it was conquered, of course. If the Phren- arch had her way, the Neo-man army would be just a bunch of nursemaids for the Old Race.” “Important posts!” Dali snorted in derision. “There won’t be any im- portant posts if Melgard has his way — or anything else, for that matter. Hasn’t it occurred to you that everything de- pends on the fifth-column forces on Earth? Suppose the fifth-column re- fuses to join Melgard when it learns what has happened here? He’d have three strikes against him right from the start, “And don’t overlook the fact that a war of conquest demands all the strik- ing power available. It’s a safe guess that less than half the Neo-men in Lunapolis are on Melgard’s side. What could he hope to accomplish with that many? “Even if half the fifth-column forces joined Melgard, the other half would immediately start trouble. It would push the Old Race into war in an at-

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HIDDEN CITY 131 tempt to catch Melgard and his col- laborators in between. With only half an army, he wouldn’t have time to do anything. Earth would be laid waste in a matter of days. There aren’t any important posts in a world of radio-ac- tive ruins, mutated vegetation and rot- ting corpses.” Dali’s voice became low and vehe- ment. “Don’t you think Melgard does- n’t know that? Of course he does! I’ll tell you what he’s up to. He’s trying to spoil everything. He had failed on an important mission. He had dis- obeyed certain orders. He was slated for demotion — possibly outright remov- al. And he knew it. He’s a poor loser. He’s the sort who, when dragged down, tries to drag everyone else down with him.” Rankin and Boyd looked at each other again. They said nothing. Deep and perturbed thought showed on their faces. A signal light glowed on the elevator control panel. Those awaiting use of the car obviously were growing im- patient. “Melgard must be stopped,” Dali stated, with quiet intensity. “It might not be too late. If I had the right kind men to help me — ” “General Melgard has the Control,” Rankin pointed out. “You wouldn’t be able to do anything.” “But maybe the Phrenarch would,” Dali persisted. “If she were to be res- cued, she might know a way out of the mess.” The signal light went on again. Ran- kin gestured irritably and said, “If you’re trying to talk me into something, Dali, you’re wasting your breath.” Fea- tures hardening stonily, he put the car back into motion. Dali slumped in leaden despair. A nice try, he thought bitterly. Too bad it had been wasted. CHAPTER XVI 'Y'HE car descended only a few floors more before Rankin brought it to a stop again. Dali and Frontenac were prodded out into a great hall. Captive Neo-men of both sexes filled the hall in a long, moving line. They were being herded through a huge doorway at the end. The elevators constantly disgorg- ed new additions to the parade. Rebel guards, clutching their rifles in grim alertness, were strung out at close inter- vals along the walls. Despite the num- bers of those present, there was a heavy, ominous silence, broken only by the shuffle of feet, the soft sibilance of the elevators, and an occasional harsh com- mand. After a short study of the scene, Rankin and Boyd obtained the assist- ance of a rebel soldier. With the latter running interference, Dali and Fronte- nac were taken down one side the pro- cession of captives, toward the doorway at the hall’s end. The doorway gave into a vast cham- ber, filled with semi-circular rows of tiered seats, which sloped down to an officiating rostrum at the opposite end. Rebel officers of the Neo-man army, obviously high-ranking, were seated be- hind the rostrum, engaged in activities which Dali could not immediately de- cipher. The entering captives, he no- ticed, were roughly being herded into seats by groups of armed soldiers. Oth- er soldiers, placed at numerous points about the chamber, were on guard be- hind mounted machine weapons. Dali and Frontenac were now marched down the steps of an aisle, to- ward the rostrum. They were brought to a halt several paces away, while Rankin and Boyd stepped forward. The two saluted crisply, and Rankin proceeded to explain why Dali and Frontenac were there.

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I32 AMAZING STORIES Glacing over the faces of the of- ficers, Dali saw among them the four who had been with Melgard when the Frontier landed in Lunapolis. They were listening gravely. Dali thought they looked tired, .^nd somehow they gave a faint yet persistent impression of uncase, as though their complicity in the uprising were something they had begun to regret. Rankin appeared to notice it, too. Even while he spoke his eyes moved quickly and intently over the faces of the four. Then, evidently to conceal his reactions, his features became care- fully blank. When Rankin finished, he and Boyd saluted again and left. As they went, Dali saw them exchange a swift glance — a glance, it seemed, of mutual un- derstanding. He wondered what it meant. It had seemed to mean some- thing, but he knew it could just as well have meant nothing at all. Rankin and Boyd were the sort of team who would always glance at each other. '^HE officers conferred briefly, study- ^ ing Dali with obvious interest. Then a detail of soldiers was summoned, and Dali and Frontenac were placed under guard in seats a short distance to one side of the rostrum. With dispirited interest, Dali watched the activities which were going on. One by one the captives present were being brought before the rostrum. Their names were taken, along with their oc- cupations and rank. It appeared that they were persons important in the ad- ministrative, military, and scientific circles of Lunapolis. With a lie detec- tor carefully checking their responses, they were questioned about the nature of their resistance to the rebels, which had resulted in their being taken cap- tive. Then they were carefully quizzed in regard to the degree of co-operation which the rebels could expect in the fu- ture. Some were dismissed as a result of the questioning. Others were led out by soldiers, to be kept in detention. And there were those sent to a certain heavily-guarded section of seats at one side of the chamber. They were the doomed. Dali felt a chill, realizing that a remorseless and thorough purge was taking place. He glanced at Frontenac, who sat slumped dejectedly in the seat beside him. The other returned his look with a wry smile. “The same old story, eh, Harvey?” he murmured. “The victors and the vanquished — even among a people like the Neo-men; even in a city on the Moon.” “Yeah.” Dali scowled his disgust. “To think that one single thing like the Control gives a skunk like Melgard the power to do this! If Jonothan had only managed to get away. . . Dali glanced inquiringly at Frontenac. “Is this over your head? Or did the white- haired man tune you in on his tele- pathic broadcast?” Frontenac nodded. “It was the strangest experience I’ve ever had. Like hearing a voice that somehow made no sound at all.” “Jonothan could read thoughts as well,” Dali said. “If he hadn’t been concentrating so heavily on us, he might have detected Melgard sooner and had more time to get away. Jonothan was the only hope we had — and he’s dead.” “So this really is it, eh?” Frontenac chuckled mirthlessly. “And I was wor- ried about a nice, safe, comfy little thing like being put to work!” “What Melgard plans to do with us is going to make work a pleasure by comparison.” “But isn’t there something we can do? There ought to be something, Harvey — no matter how hare-brained

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HIDDEN CITY 133 and useless. We can’t just go out like . . . like sheep!” Dali glanced significantly at the grimly alert guards who ringed them about, just out of ear-shot. “Not right away, anyhow. But we’ll do something, Jules. A chance will come. If I can use what’s inside me — if I can move fast enough to get at Melgard. . . Dali smiled, a quiet, sad, and terrible smile. pRONTENAC was silent a long mo- ment. Then he reached out abruptly and touched Dali’s arm. “Whatever happens, Harvey, I want you to know I’m sorry for the way I acted a while ago.” “IVe already forgotten it, Jules.” “But I haven’t. You see, Harvey, my sense of perspectives got twisted. You worked for me; from a financial viewpoint, I was your superior. But it was a difference of degree rather than kind. It didn’t make you any less hu- man than I. It didn’t make you any less a friend. Learning that you were a Neo-man made me lose sight of these things. It made you different . . . su- perior. Then it came to me that this, too, was only a difference of degree rather than kind. You were still hu- man; still a friend. “And I guess the same goes for Neo- men and the Old Race in general. The difference between them is only one of degree. Neo-men are still human — what’s happening here right now proves that. If they were to get their perspec- tives unkinked, they’d see that friend- ship with the Old Race was entirely possible. And the Old Race could be made to see it the same way, where Neo- men are concerned. What each needs is simply a chance to get together.” Dali shook his head somberly. “Mel- gard isn’t going to give them that chance.” “Yes,” Frontenac said. “Melgard. » Preoccupied silence fell once more. Dali returned his attention to the pro- ceedings in the Council Chamber. He noticed that the influx of captives had dwindled to a mere trickle and 'finally ceased altogether. There weren’t as many of these as he had first thought there would be. The captives were mostly persons important in the affairs of Lunapolis, and as anywhere else they constituted only a small part of the to- tal population. The tribunal of rebel officers was rapidly whittling down the numbers of those who remained. Dali glanced toward the section of seats where, kept under heavy guard, sat the Neo-men whom the tribunal had condemned to death. Their ranks had steadily grown. At least one had been added for every person dismissed or kept prisoner. The rebel inquisition — or this initial phase of it — finally drew to a close. Melgard had been busy directing vari- ous other details of the uprising from his headquarters in another part of the building. The officers in the Council Chamber, however, had been in almost constant communication with him by visiphone. Acting now on instructions received from Melgard, they ordered the doomed captives taken outside, to the landing field near Capitol Tower. Immediate execution was the reason clearly implied. The orders included Dali and Fron- tenac also. Under the watchful eyes of their guards, they were herded outside with the others. Dali found that Lunapolis hadn’t as yet been lowered once more within its concealing crater shaft, for the landing field was bathed in sunlight. The city was still in the Sunset zone of the Moon’s eternally hidden side; and would be for a considerable time longer,

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134 AMAZING STORIES since the Lunar day was fifteen Earth- days in duration. With the others, Dali was marched to the approximate center of the land- ing field. Orders were given to halt, and the guards took up positions on all sides, their rifles levelled in silent warning. Dali watched bleakly. It soon be- came evident that he and his fellow prisoners were not to be executed by rifle fire. The guards seemed to be waiting for something, merely main- taining watch. Just what, he won- dered, was Melgard planning to do? WriTHIN minutes came the sound of approaching feet. A group of rebel officers strode briskly into view. In the fore of the procession was Mel- gard, holding in his hands a square crys- tal case the size of a man’s head. As he came nearer, Dali saw that the case was transparent, for within it he could dis- cern an infinitely complex mass of tubes, wires, and metal parts. The mechanism seemed, in some obscure way, to be in motion, for innumerable tiny colored lights glowed, pulsed, and shifted within it. A realization burst within Dali. The object Melgard carried could be only one thing— the Control! Melgard came to a stop several paces away. He surveyed the assembled cap- tives slowly, a thin, sardonic smile twisting his square lips. Momentarily his eyes rested on Dali and Frontenac, and the smile broadened, grew mock- ingly triumphant. Then his eyes passed on; a harshly purposeful expression ap- peared on his face. He said: “You people are all outspoken ene- mies of the new administration. Since wtost of you hold important posts in Lunapolis, no chances can be taken that you might eventually try to use your influence and knowledge against us. It would serve no useful purpose to keep you prisoners indefinitely. Your refusals to co-operate can thus mean only one thing— death ! ” “Death is preferable to co-operation with a pack of traitors and military criminals,” returned a gray-haired, erect man in uniform, who stood near Dali. He added, “And I’m sure that I speak for my fellow prisoners as well.” There were quick murmurs of assent. Melgard moved his heavy shoulders in a shrug, smiling in grim amusement. “Considering the fact that you are all going to die anyway, I’ll overlook your lack of respect. It’ll make up for the traditional hearty meal which the con- demned are supposed to be fed. As to how you’re going to die. . . Mel- gard held out the crystal case. “This is the Control. As you no doubt know, it operates the powerful and deadly forces which fill Lunapolis. And it responds to human thought — which means that anyone who has it can also operate those forces. “What I’m going to do should be obvious. I’m going to order the Con- trol to blast all of you out of existence. The execution will be over in an instant. There won’t be any pain; no fuss, no waste — nothing. Nice, isn’t it?” Mel- gard rocked back on his heels, grinning. “You’re going to have a few minutes to think about how nice it is. I’ve ordered the Phrenarch brought here, so she wouldn’t miss out on the fun. Until she arrives, just relax and enjoy your- selves.” Dali said, “You’re walking into a trap, Melgard. I wouldn’t bother to warn you if it weren’t for the fact that you’re not the only one in Lunapolis who would get hurt.” Melgard stiffened, his blunt features puzzled and suspicious. “Just what do you mean?”

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HIDDEN CITY 135 “The Control holds the various forces of the city in a highly delicate balance,” Dali responded. “Interfering with its operation destroys that balance. Lun- apolis will blow apart like an atomic bomb.” Melgard shook his head in disbelief, but his eyes were intent, perceptibly worried. “You’re lying, Dali! You’re just trying to pull a trick to gain time.” Dali shrugged. “All right, I’m ly- ing. But when Lunapolis blows up, just remember I warned you.” '^''HERE was a deep silence. Mel- gard bit his lip, frowning. Behind him, his rebel cohorts were whispering in apprehensive speculation. Melgard said finally, “It has to be a trick, Dali. You’re a stranger here. You don’t know anything about the Control, or how it works.” “Don’t forget the spy you shot in my room,” Dali said. “He wasn’t a stranger here. He knew all about the Control — and for that matter, he knew more about it than you and the others ' can ever hope to know. He told me a few things; enough to know what I’m talking about right now.” Melgard’s frown deepened. A baffled uncertainty verging on anger showed in his eyes. In the tense quiet that ensued came the sound of footsteps. Two soldiers approached the group of rebel officers, striding swiftly from the direction of Capitol Tower. Melgard turned to 'glance at the ar- rivals. His face dilated in alarmed surprise. “Where’s the Phrenarch?” he demanded. “I thought I told you to bring her here.” “There must be some sort of a mis- take, General Melgard,” one of the soldiers answered. “The Phrenarch wasn’t in her apartment. The guards on duty there told us that you had al- ready sent Major Rankin and Captain Boyd after her.” Melgard said with deadly flatness, “I didn’t send Major Rankin and Captain Boyd after the Phrenarch! If they said I sent them, it can only mean they’re pulling a double-cross. But why should they — ” Abruptly Melgard whirled back to Dali. “You’re the one who put them up to it! ” he snarled. “I ordered Ran- kin and Boyd to take you to the Coun- cil Chamber. That gave you the chance to fill them with a lot of smooth lies. You were worried about the Phrenarch. You fixed it so that Rankin and Boyd would sneak her away somewhere.” Dali shook his head. “This is as much of a surprise to me as it is to you.” “More lies! ” Melgard spat. His fea- tures were drawn and pale with fury. “Rankin and Boyd wouldn’t have tried anything like that alone. The only ex- planation is that someone put them up to it. And you’re the one who did it, Dali! You lied to them in some way — just as you lied to me about the Con- trol!” Melgard grew icily calm. “The Phrenarch can’t hope to get away. With the Control, I’ll locate her in a matter of minutes. That goes for Ran- kin and Boyd, too. As for you, Dali, you’re going to pay for your meddling —right now!” With a swift, impla- cably deliberate movement, Melgard raised the Control. He peered into it, staring in concentration. In the bare instant of life that he knew remained to him, Dali could only watch in frozen despair. His story about the danger involving use of the Control had been a pretense. He had realized that Melgard’s authority was vested almost solely in the Control, and he had hoped to undermine that author- ity to the extent where an attack upon Melgard could be made. Neo-men

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136 AMAZING STORIES were . . . fast! An attack upon Mel- gard could succeed only if grave doubts about his prestige existed in the minds of his followers. These doubts would slow the otherwise lightning-quick Neo- man reactions, giving Dali the time he needed. He hadn’t been certain that he could move fast enough to get at Melgard before the watching rebel sol- diers cut him down. But his efforts had been destroyed by the news that Rankin and Boyd had freed Ellen Pancrest. There would be no further chance to attack. Even now Melgard was hurling his mental com- mands at the Control. In another mo- ment death would strike. CHAPTER XVII TN ANOTHER moment. . . . Melgard was hammering his thoughts at the Control. Its crystal case glittered in his hands. Its inter- nal mechanism glowed and shifted. A moment passed. Another. Sec- onds passed. And then minutes. Nothing happened. Sweat shone on Melgard’s forehead. Sweat glistened in beads on his upper lip. He stared into the Control, strain- ing in furious concentration. Still nothing happened. Striking into the tight-drawn silence came a peal of silvery laughter, mock- ing, triumphant. With an explosive gasp, Melgard whirled. Utter consternation twisted his face at what he saw. Hardly a dozen yards away stood Ellen Pancrest. With her were Rankin and Boyd. Obviously, with the atten- tion of everyone focused on Melgard and Dali, the trio had been able to ap- proach unnoticed. Gazing at Ellen Pancrest, Dali’s eyes widened in sudden discovery. In her hands she held a square crystal case identical to Melgard’s! No, he amended an instant later; not quite identical. For the tiny colored lights within the one held by the girl were brighter, mov- ing with more intense activity. And somehow the crystal case seemed to exude an almost tangible aura of power. Green eyes sharp and intent, Ellen Pancrest was glancing warily from Mel- gard to the rebel minions about him. Her features were stern and coldly de- termined. She spoke in quiet warning. “Don’t any of you move. What I have here is the real Control — not a clever imitation like General Mclgard’s. I don’t have to tell you what I can do if you try to disobey me.” Melgard growled, “So I was tricked.” Ellen Pa'ncrest inclined her gold- glinting brown head in a grave nod. “I suspected you for quite some time, Gen- eral. That’s why I kept you busy on Earth. I knew, however, that I couldn’t keep it up indefinitely, and that sooner or later you would try to take matters into your own hands. Thus I took the precaution of having an imi- tation of the Control made in secret and substituted for the real one. Since the Control can function wherever in Lunapolis it might be, it was in no way handicapped by removal from its nor- mal resting place.” “I see. ...” Melgard threw a withering look at Rankin and Boyd. “Traitors!” he snapped. “If I could only get my hands on you. . . Rankin and Boyd glanced at each other. They grinned in total uncon- cern. Evidently angered by their defiance, Melgard swung his gaze furiously to the girl. “Major Rankin and Captain Boyd are dangerously untrustworthy. You’ve seen how easily they switch their loyalties. If you’re wise you’ll have them executed as traitors immedi- ately.”

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HIDDEN CITY 137 Ellen Pancrest smiled slightly and shrugged. “Like all intelligent persons, Major Rankin and Captain Boyd are opportunists. They adapt themselves to prevailing conditions. Regardless of what they might have done, they have redeemed themselves to my complete satisfaction.” She straightened pur- posefully, her green eyes moving over the rebel assemblage. “Now — lay down your weapons. And let me warn you against trying to be clever.” warning proved to be wasted. Ellen Pancrest had momentarily taken her eyes off Melgard — which was a serious mistake. Melgard had been holding the fake Control. Now, with a smooth flashing motion, he hurled it at the girl. She saw it coming. Evidently real- izing that there would be no time to use the Control, she ducked. During the split-second while she was forced on the defensive, Melgard’s hand darted to the gun bolstered at his side. He jerked it loose, whipped it up, aimed it. At the same time his finger was tightening on the trigger. Dali had been dazed by the bewilder- ingly rapid shifting of events. But the threat of immediate and deadly danger to Ellen Pancrest jolted him into instant awareness. It was as though an electric current had shot through him. And “ again something happened. Again he experienced that uncanny feeling of vibrant, surging strength. Again his mind was oddly sharp and clear, registering the details of his sur- roundings with a fire-bright, crystalline vividness. Even as Melgard aimed the gun, Dali hurled himself forward in a leap at the other’s legs. The gun blasted as Mel- gard went down, the bullet smashing harmlessly skyward. Then Melgard hit the ground, with Dali sprawling atop him. Though shaken by the impact, Mel- gard reacted with frantic speed. He chopped down with his gun hand, bringing the muzzle of the weapon into line with Dali’s back. Dali, however, was moving. He had flipped himself over in a roll towa.rd Melgard’s gun arm. His shoulder struck the weapon aside just as Melgard squeezed the trigger, and once more the shot went wild. In a continuation of his original movement, Dali caught Melgard’s wrist in both hands and tumbled clear. He began working instantly and with sav- age haste to tear loose the weapon clutched in Melgard’s imprisoned hand. Desperately, doggedly, Melgard main- tained his grip. Even in this crisis he didn’t lose his presence of mind. In- stead of pulling against Dali, he threw himself forward and with his free hand began raining in punches to Dali’s head. Keeping his double grip on Mel- wrist, Dali threshed and writhed out of range. Melgard flung himself in pur- suit with a violent heave of his body. He came down partially atop Dali, and now his free hand darted out and fas- tened on Dali’s throat. Eagerly and with furious strength, he began to squeeze, his fingers constricting as in- exorably as the jaws of a closing vise. Pinned down, forced to retain his hold on Melgard’s gun hand to prevent the weapon from being brought into play, Dali was at a disadvantage. Slow- ly, as his breath was cut off, the world began to cloud and grow dim. It was no time for the niceties of combat. Pouring his last dregs of strength into one final supreme effort, Dali twisted from under Melgard. For a moment they w^ere locked chest to chest. In that moment Dali made his last bid for victory. He brought his knee crashing into Melgard’s groin.

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138 AMAZING STORIES A number of things happened in rap- id succession. Melgard had been pulling against Dali with his gun arm. Now he stif- fened under a spasm of pain. At the same time his finger tightened involun- tarily on the trigger of the gun. The weapon was an automatic type which fired as long as the trigger was de- pressed and the ammunition supply lasted. Agony kept Melgard’s finger on the trigger, though active fighting strength had momentarily left him. BALL it was unexpected — and almost disastrous. He, too, had been pulling. No longer meeting with resistance, he found the spitting weapon jerked abruptly toward him. Bullets ripped through the flesh of his left arm and shoulder. With frantic haste, im- pelled more by pain than logical thought, he twisted the muzzle aside. Simultaneously he pushed. Melgard’s iinger was still locked spastically on the ;rigger. The lethal stream caught him full in the face. Under the supreme on- slaught of death he stiffened again. And then, his features unspeakably shat- tered and crimsoned, he went limp in lifelessness. It was a moment before Dali com- pletely realized what had happened. He was dazed and incredulous at the sud- denness of the battle’s end. Finally he stood up, becoming conscious as he did so of the excruciating burn and throb in his injured arm and shoulder. A red stream was pulsing from the wounds, dripping from the tips of his fingers. He became aware of sounds, the ex- ultant shouting of voices. He glanced up to see men running toward him. He recognized them in an oddly distant way. Frontenac was in the lead. After him came Rankin and Boyd. He saw all this through a thickening haze. The scene whirled chaotically and grew dark. He felt hands touch him, and then a deep soft blackness came to engulf all further thought and sensation. Dali walked down the long dark cor- ridor toward the light shining at its end. The corridor grew curiously shorter as he moved, as though con- tracting of itself. Suddenly he was in the light. It touched him with a strange insistence. For the first time he realized that his eyes were closed. He opened them. Light again, reflected softly from the walls of a room. He blinked, puzzled by vague yet disturbing memories. There was a thin whisper of sound. His eyes caught a flicker of movement. Turning his head, he saw a face. A face with cool green eyes and red lips, framed in gold-glinting brown hair. The face of Ellen Pancrest. She smiled and said, ‘T was begin- ning to think you’d never awake.” Dali digested her words slowly. The disturbing memories took solid form. Realization that he had been uncon- scious came to him with a feeling of surprise. “So I passed out, eh? I must be get- ting old, if a little scrap can do that to me.” “I’d hardly call it a little scrap,” El- len Pancrest said. “Melgard choked you half unconscious, and then you had at least a dozen bullets pumped into you. That, I should think, is enough to make anyone pass out.” “I won’t argue the point.” Dali glanced curiously about him. He found, as he had already sensed, that he was lying in a bed. The room was unfamiliar; it was larger than the room he had shared with Frontenac, more luxuriously furnished. He looked inquiringly at the girl.

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HIDDEN CITY 139 who sat in a chair at the side of the bed. “Where am I?” “I had you moved to another part of Capitol Tower. As a convenience due to your having been wounded.” “I see.” Reminded of his injuries, Dali glanced at the bandages swathing the upper half of his left arm and most of the shoulder. He moved the arm experimentally and was rewarded by a stab of pain. “You shouldn’t do that!” Ellen Pan- crest admonished. “You must remain quiet as much as possible. The best surgeons in Lunapolis treated you, and they claim they' did an excellent job — but you’ll have to co-operate, you know.” ■p^ALL grinned wryly. “It hurts not to co-operate, so I guess I’ll have to.” He sobered. “Considering that I’ve been bandaged up instead of executed, I’d say you have things in order again.” “Very much in order,” the girl re- turned. “With Melgard dead and the Control in my hands, the rebels promptly decided that discretion was the better part of valor. The bad char- acters among them have been weeded out, and are being given certain psycho- logical treatments which will render them incapable of making trouble in the future. As for the others, they merely went along with the tide, so to speak, and are harmless under ordin- ary circumstances. Lunapolis is almost back to normal — thanks to you, Har- vey Dali; you made it possible. By placing serious doubts about Melgard in the minds of Rankin and Boyd, you indirectly accdmplished my rescue and this gave me the opportunity to reach the place where I had hid- den the real Control. I had been un- able to do so previously, since I actually thought Melgard had left for Earth, with the result that the uprising took me completely by surprise. And as if the rescue alone weren’t enough, Harvey Dali, you further saved the day when you prevented Melgard from killing me.” Dali moved his good shoulder in a shrug. “Think nothing of it. I often get the urge to play boyscout.” “Perhaps. I, however, consider your help too important to take lightly, in- volving as it did the fate of all loyal Neo-men and of the Old Race as well— not to mention my own life. I’d like somehow to show my appreciation.” “You would? Then suppose you per- mit Frontenac and me to return to Earth?” Hurt and disappointment leaped into Ellen Pancrest’s strong, fine-carved features. She glanced away, shaking her head. “I ... I couldn’t do that.” Dali said gravely, “It would seem that your appreciation doesn’t run very deep.” She stiffened as though struck. “No —you mustn’t think that I Consider, Harvey Dali. You know the situation on Earth; you know what the knowl- edge of Lunapolis and the Neo-men would do. I couldn’t take the risk that you might release this knowledge — with, of course, the humane if mistaken idea that unpleasant results could somehow be avoided.” “Suppose I promised not to reveal what 1 know? Would you show your appreciation on this basis, by permit- ting Frontenac and me to return?” “I think I would, Harvey Dali — but only where your promise alone is con- cerned.” “You mean you wouldn’t accept a promise made by Frontenac?” “He isn’t a Neo-man. His promise would mean nothing.” “That puts me right back where I started from,” Dali said slowly. “Fron- tenac is my friend. He and I are in this

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140 AMAZING STORIES together. I wouldn’t consider leaving him behind.” Ellen Pancrest moved her slim hands in an abrupt gesture. “You’ve over- looked what is actually the most im- portant issue, Harvey Dali. The ques- tion isn’t so much whether you should be permitted to return to Earth — and Frontenac with you — but whether there is any logical reason why you should wish to return at all.” “The simple desire to return is logi- cal enough, the way I see it,” Dali said. “But you’re a Neo-man!” she point- ed out with emphatic swiftness. “Your place is here, with others of your kind. To be quite frank, we need new addi- tions like you, Harvey Dali. And Lun- apolis offers opportunities that you’d never find on Earth. It would be more than worth your while to join the Neo- man organization.” Dali grinned crookedly. “It’s your way or nothing, isn’t that it? And you said you wanted to show me your ap- preciation for having been a good little boyscout.” "y^HE girl’s face twisted. She leaned toward the bed in sudden pleading. ‘Circumstances leave jne no other al- ternative. You must believe that. The plans of the Neo-men are paramount to everything else. Nothing must en- danger them — not even debts of grati- tude.” She hesitated a moment, green eyes fixed earnestly on Dali’s face. Then she stood up. “You haven’t had time to think the situation over thor- oughly as yet. And the fact that you’ve been wounded further complicates mat- ters. Considering this, it wouldn’t be wise for either of us to jump to conclu- sions. “And now I had better leave. I’ve kept you talking far too long. You really should be resting, you know.” She smiled wanly, turned, and strode quickly from the room. Dali gazed after her, his feelings odd- ly confused. He heard a murmur of voices from the room beyond, issuing from the door which the girl had opened in leaving. Moments later two persons entered the room. One was Fronte- nac, the other a stern-featured, elderly woman in white, clearly a nurse. A wide grin on his thin, dark face, Frontenac gripped Dali’s hand. “Ah, the hero of Lunapolis! Well, well! To ask the usual trite question, how do you feel?” “Thoroughly punctured and deflat- ed,” Dali returned. Further conversation was momenta- rily forestalled as the nurse efficiently bustled over Dali in a routine check- over. Finally, recording her findings on a chart, she prepared to leave. She paused to glance disapprovingly at Frontenac. “Remember,” she said. “Ten min- utes.” She went out, closing the door behind her. Frontenac grimaced and dropped into the chair beside the bed. “Ellen Pancrest and the nurse wouldn’t let me in at first, but I argued them into let- ting me have ten minutes.” “If you can argue Ellen Pancrest into anything, you’re a better man than I am,” Dali said. Frontenac’s dark eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Why? Were you trying to do that?” “Sort of.” Dali reported the main points of his conversation with the girl. “Not that I expected her to let us go,” he finished. “But she brought up the subject of her appreciation, and I thought I’d see what there was to it.” “So we’re still prisoners, eh?” Fron- tenac said. T^ALL nodded solemnly. “Even if we agree to toe the line, the fact that

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HIDDEN CITY 141 she intends to keep us away from Earth won’t make much of a difference. Gold- plated chains, if you get what I mean. She claims that what we know about Lunapolis and the Neo-men would start trouble on Earth. I think there’s an- other explanation. The political situa- tion on Earth is bad — admitted. But evidently it isn’t too bad. Otherwise she’d have little fear about permitting us to return. We’d keep our mouths shut rather than cause a worse mess than the Neo-inen would make. What worries her is the possibility that, used in the right way, our knowledge would serve to unite Earth against the Neo- men instead of plunging it into war.” “There may be another reason, Har- vey.” “What do you mean?” “The lady may want to keep you here for—well, let’s say purely personal interests. She’s been with you off and on ever since you were wounded. He- roes deserve some pampering, I know, but there’s a limit to everything. I don’t think I’d be wrong in guessing that she has a crush on you.” Dali stared at the other in startled disbelief. Slowly the expression faded, to be replaced by one of deep thought. He smiled bleakly. “If you’re right, Jules, that may give us an opening. We’ve got to stop the Neo-men from carrying out their plans. And for best results it will have to be done at this end. Getting back to Earth with what we know is only a minor part of the job. This is war in a way. Any- thing goes— even to playing on Ellen Pancrest’s girlish susceptibilities for the chance we need.” “I don’t exactly see how using her would help us, Harvey.” “Lunapolis is the heart of the Neo- man organization,” Dali explained. “We’ve already seen demonstrated the fact that the Control is potentially a gun pointed at that heart. And Ellen Pancrest is the shortest, most direct way of getting at the Control. If I could get hold of it by working through her, I could seriously cripple the prepara- tions that have been going on here for the conquest of Earth. And then we could use the Control as a weapon to make an escape. We could even de- stroy all ships except the one we need- ed, so there would be no possibility that we might be followed or shot down.” Frontenac caught Dali’s uninjured shoulder in a tense, eager grip. “It could be done, Harvey! It’s the one thing that might work!” “It’ll mean joining the Neo-man or- ganization,” Dall added. “That’s the quickest way of gaining Ellen Pan- crest’s confidence. And then, if she really has taken a fancy to old Casa- nova Dali, we’re just as good as on our way back to Earth.” Frontenac’s face clouded. He hesi- tated, then said slowly, “Are you really sure you’ll be able to go through with it, Harvey? You’re a Neo-man, you know. And Ellen Pancrest is a mighty attractive girl.” Dali’s metal-gray eyes were grim and steady. “If it can be done at all, Jules, you can be perfectly certain that I’ll do it!” CHAPTER XVIII "^NDER the constant care of Neo- man physicians, Dali’s recovery was rapid. Therapeutic devices of an advanced type were used which greatly hastened the healing of his wounds. Frontenac’s surmise about Ellen Pancrest’s interest in Dali seemed to be giving increasingly firmer basis in fact, for the girl was a frequent visitor. She made no further requests for Dali to join the Neo-men, obviously having de- cided that he should have ample time

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142 AMAZING STORIES fn which to consider his decision. And Dall, carefully playing his part, created no suspicion by bringing up the subject himself. Despite his secret intentions, Dall gradually found that he looked forward to the girl’s visits with feelings that verged dangerously on eagerness. He told himself it was due merely to the time-heavy monotony of his convales- cence, but he couldn’t deny that she was pleasant to look at as well as fascinat- ing to talk to. She possessed an aston- ishingly wide range of knowledge, and her penetration of scientific matters, re- gardless of how technical and abstruse, often required a real effort on Dali’s part to keep up with her. She could be serious and erudite or vivacious and amusing. Only when she spoke of the plans of the Neo-men did her talk take on a depressing note. Among other things, Dall early dis- covered that Ellen Pancrest’s air of coldness and dominating arrogance was only a pretense. Her true personality was essentially one of sympathy and warmth. As she herself explained in a moment of confiding: “It isn’t easy for a woman to man- age an organization composed mostly of men. To get things done requires that one seem as little like a woman as possible. I know I have a reputation for being all claws and ice, but it’s the only way to command respect and obe- dience.” The time came when Dali’s arm and shoulder were finally released from their long confinement in bandages. By way of celebrating the event, Ellen Pan- crest sent him an invitation to dinner. With it came a superbly tailored eve- ning suit of dark blue synthe-wool which , had somehow been cut to his exact measurements. Frontenac watched in bright-eyed in- terest as Dall dressed. “I think this is it, Harvey. She may pop the ques- tion tonight.” “I hope so,” Dall answered. “I’m tired of beating around the bush. The sooner we go into action the better I’ll like it.” He wondered suddenly how much of his words were true. Was he actually anxious to destroy Ellen Pan- crest’s plans and return to Earth — quite possibly never to see her again? He told himself he was. It took an effort. T^ALL and the girl ate alone, in an elegantly furnished room lighted only by candles. The setting was one suited more for romance than for in- trigue involving the fate of a world. And Ellen Pancrest’s appearance heightened the effect. She wore a simple yet exquisitely designed evening gown of some dull, dark green material that set off her eyes and contrasted startling- ly with the creamy whiteness of her skin. Her gold-brown hair was up- swept and covered with a mantilla-like, filmy jeweled net that fell in soft folds about her shoulders. An emerald neck- lace glittered at her throat, and there were matching emerald pendants at her ears. Dall, who hitherto had seen her dressed mainly in severe, masculine- styled garments, found it difficult to think of her as the Phrenarch of Lunap- olis. She was just Ellen Pancrest, as feminine and sweet a.s any simple, un- spoiled girl of Earth. Her dazzling love- liness caught at him in a way that was oddly disturbing. She seemed more than usually viva- cious, but there were moments during the meal when Dall found her gazing at him in an intent, speculative way. It made him wary and tense. Suppose all this were nothing more than camou- flage? Suppose the girl were putting on a clever act in an attempt to trap him?

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HIDDEN CITY 148 He whipped his mind to its highest pitch of alertness, determined to be prepared for whatever might happen. Deliberately he threw himself into conversation, responding to the girl’s sallies with all the wit and sparkle he could summon. If she were putting on an act, he intended to meet it with one that was fully as good. Dinner over, Ellen Pancrest led the way to a luxurious sitting room. Before a huge, purely ornamental fireplace was an enormous semi-circular couch. Cof- fee and cigarettes were set out on a low round table within convenient reach. She poured coffee, indicated the cigarettes, and asked: “Care to see a canned television pro- gram?” “Canned?” Dali echoed uncertainly. “A recording,” the girl explained. “It’s the only sort of television contact we have with Earth at present. Neo- man technicians, however, are working on apparatus with which they hope to span the gulf that separates us here, on the Moon.” “I’d certainly like to see a program — recording or anything else,” Dali said. “I’ve almost forgotten there was such a thing as television.” The girl smiled. She went to the fireplace and touched what seemed a number of decorative projections. The lights dimmed; a large square mirror over the fireplace slid aside into the wall, revealing a screen. In a moment more, under her manipulations, the screen woke to vivid, full-colored life. Music flooded the room as a gay and clever operetta began to unfold. Ellen Pancrest seated herself on the couch beside Dali and lighted a ciga- rette. She sipped her coffee and watched the screen, glancing at him oc- casionally as some particularly amus- ing situation occurred. He grinned back at her, outwardly casual and at ease, but inwardly disturbed at her nearness. He fought the feeling. He reminded himself that the girl could never mean anything to him. She was an enemy, and he was sworn to defeat her. ^HE operetta drew to a close. Ellen Pancrest manipulated the fireplace controls again. The screen vanished behind its concealing mirror, and the sitting room lights came on. “Like it?” she asked. “A lot,” Dali said. He grinned ab- ruptly and added, “I guess I’m still a kid in some ways.” “I suppose we all are.” She fell si- lent, studying her hands. Then, abrupt- ly, she looked at Dali. “But we are grown up after all, you know. And as grown-ups frequently do, we have to make decisions. I’ve been patient with you, Harvey Dali — remarkably patient, in fact. But I think the time has come to ask if you’ve made your decision about joining the Neo-men.” Dali hesitated. As though to cover up his hesitation, he lighted a cigarette and rose. He went to stand before the fireplace, looking into it, as though somehow it held the answer he had to make. His back was to the girl, but he knew she would be watching him in- tently, waiting. Finally he turned. “I knew you’d ask me to join sooner or later. I’d made up my mind to re- fuse— mainly because it seemed the only honorable thing to do. Earth has been home to me. The fact that I’m a Neo-man seemed to mean little by comparison.” He paused. He had been speaking slowly, gazing reflectively into space. Now he met Ellen Pancrest’s green eyes. This was the most difficult part of his act. Everything depended on making the girl believe him. It would have to be good. He went on: “That is, the fact meant little until

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144 AMAZING STORIES just a short time ago. My experiences with the Neo-men have hardly been what might be called pleasant. They seemed a cold and ruthless lot. But I’ve since found that they’re very much like people I’ve always known. Some are . . . very likeable. And . . . well, things have happened lately that make me glad I’m a Neo-man. I didn’t want to admit it . . . pure stubbornness, I suppose. But now seems a time to face the facts.” “Then you’ll join?” the girl said eag- erly. Dali nodded. “I’ll join.” She was suddenly radiant. It was as though a light had leaped into being within her, illumining her face. She rose and went to stand before him. Her slim fingers touched his arm. She said simply: “I’m glad . . . Harvey.” Looking into her shining eyes, Dali knew that he had won. He felt no triumph at the knowledge. His only sensation was one of deep and burning guilt. An abrupt thought moved like a cloud behind Ellen Pancrest’s green eyes; her radiance faded. She said slowly, “I’m not a complete fool, Har- vey. Your acceptance could be a trick, you know. Suppose — just suppose I were to give you an examination by lie detector?” Dismay clutched at Dali. Already having experienced the efficacy of the Neo-man device,, he knew it would all too easily betray him. Even as the dismay came, however, he strained fiercely, frantically, to keep it from showing in his face. He met the search- ing green gaze and twisted his lips into just the right degree of hurt bitterness. “So that’s the way it is, eh?” His tone was deliberately flat, dead. “OK — bring-on your lie detector. It won’t tell anything you don’t already know. But when it’s over, I want you to remember something; I want you to remember that I’m through — completely. In fact, I have a good mind to call everything off right now.” “No! No, Harvey!” Her hands caught at him. Alarm showed in her face. And then came swift confusion. Her hands dropped; she looked away, biting her lip. “I’m . . . I’m sorry, Harvey. I guess it’s only natural to doubt where you want most to believe.” T^ALL looked at her. He said noth- ^ ing. He couldn’t trust himself to speak. His emotions were bright sword blades that flashed in conflict. There was a brittle silence. Ellen Pancrest turned, her features anxious and contrite. “I made an apol- ogy, Harvey. You haven’t told me if it was accepted.” “Duly accepted,” Dali said, his tone equable. “My folks worked hard to make a gentleman out of me, and I’d hate to disappoint them at a time like this.” The green eyes brightened. “I’ll ar- range for your test.s first thing the next day-period. These will determine the exact place in the organization for which you’re best fitted. And then, Harvey, you’ll be given your first op- portunity really to become acquainted with the Neo-men. You won’t regret your decision, I assure you.” The tests proved extremely difficult. They instilled within Dali a deep re- spect for those Neo-men able to pass them with satisfactory grades. That these fortunates amply deserved the posts which they were given afterward, he had no doubt. He concentrated desperately on his answers, but he despaired of ever win- ning a place among the Neo-men higher than that of an assistant mechanic.

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HIDDEN CITY 145 Thus his stupefaction was complete when Ellen Pancrest later informed him that he had come through with flying colors. “The intelligence tests,” she ex- plained, “place you well above the Neo- man average. Taking into considera- tion the fact that you’re a latent, this means a good deal. As for aptitude, ability, and all the rest, the tests show that you have exceptional skill as an engineer in practically all branches. Your particular knack, however, seems to lie in research work. “Accordingly, you have been as- signed to the experimental laboratories of the Engineering Corps, with the rank of captain. Later, if your record merits it, you will be given further tests. With added experience and training, it’s pos- sible that you’ll be able to advance to a position as a special project supervisor, with the rank of lieutenant colonel or better. Since the Neo-man organiza- tion is a going concern, you will, of course, receive a salary. I might men- tion that the rate of pay is far higher than that which could be obtained in a corresponding post on Earth.” She hesitated. A small-girl shyness seemed to replace the crisp, business- like manner which she had assumed for the moment. “I’m having a small dinner p>arty in my apartment this evening. I shall be happy to have you attend, if you wish. It will give you the opportunity to meet a few of the more important Neo-men in Lunapolis.” Dali grinned. “I’ll be there with bells on — or the equivalent.” She grinned back, eagerly. “It’s a date, then!” CHAPTER XIX A/fORE dinner parties followed. Quite often — and they were occa- sions to which, Dali realized guiltily, he looked forward with particular excite- ment— he and Ellen Pancrest ate alone. They spoke animatedly and exhaustive- ly of the myriad topics in which they shared a mutual interest. Their discus- sions took place with little or no regard for time, frequently lasting far into the night. They began to interrupt, then to contradict each other. And then they began to argue. Their arguments, for some reason, however, always ended in a draw. There were other evenings when they drove in swift, bullet-like degravity cars through the broad, futuristic avenues of Lunapolis, or strolled along the net- work of aerial spans, oblivious to the dizzying gulfs beneath them. And once, in ponderous metal suits, they ventured out upon the desolate, airless surface of the Moon. Lunapolis was temporarily in the sunrise zone of the side eternally hid- den from Earth, a time especially suit- able for a Jaunt, since surface condi- tione were roughly on a borderline be- tween the inferno-like heat of the Lunar day and the utter, near-spacial cold of the Lunar night. Dali and Ellen — for it was by her first name that he thought of her and addressed .her now — were not alone; a group of guides, all sea- soned veterans of exploring trips over the wild and tumultuous landscape, ac- companied them. This particular trip almost ended in tragedy, for as he and Ellen descended the steep slope of a large crater, an out- thrust bit of hardened lava upon which Dali had precariously balanced himself gave brittlely under his weight. Amid swift-settling clouds of ash-like pumice he went rolling end over end down the slope, to the crater floor, moving with grotesque slowness in the Moon’s lesser gravity. It was this that saved him, to- gether with the cushioning effect of the

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146 AMAZING STORIES pumice drifts and the stoutness of his electronically heated air-suit. Dali was dazed and shaken, but un- hurt. He barely had time to realize what had happened when Ellen ap- peared beside him, her face bloodless and her green eyes dilated with fear. Despite the guides, she had been the first to reach him. Only later did he become aware of the incredible risks which she had taken in the effort to get here. Fumblingly, frantically, she sought to lift his head. Her voice sounded in his helmet earphones, shrill with a con- cern which she made no attempt to hide. “Harvey! Harvey — answer me! Have you been hurt?” . . I’m all right, I guess.” Dali grinned feebly at the girl. Then, as her intense anxiety registered upon him, he stared. He hadn’t guessed that she was capable of such solicitude on his part. It made thought of the task before him all the more unpleasant. Under his intent, startled gaze, her long lashes dropped- She was oddly subdued for the remainder of the trip, which, at Dali’s own insistence, was re- sumed. Ellen later vetoed further trips be- yond Lunapolis. As a substitute, she took Dali on sight-seeing tours through the city’s vast factories and labora- tories. He was at once awed and dis- mayed by the myriad, complex forms of industry that met his eyes. Through his own line of work he had gained an idea of the scope of Neo-man activities, but he hadn’t guessed that these were actually so extensive. In the factories enormous, robot-like machines turned out a seemingly limitless variety of products, while in the laboratories ex- periments in all fields of research — In- cluding some which Dali hadn’t known existed — constantly improved old prod- ucts and brought to light new ones. TT^ALL was surprised to learn that a large number of the articles being developed and manufactured were of a type employed for peaceful purposes. And the fact that these were being turned out in huge quantities caused him considerable perplexity. He had supposed that the Neo-men would be engaged chiefly in the all-out produc- tion of war materials, considering their plans for the conquest of Earth. “The manufacture of war equipment is naturally an important part of the Neo-man program,” Ellen explained, when Dali had put his puzzlement into words. “But it can hardly be called the most important part. Neo-men must have money — and money running into millions of dollars— ^with which to purchase on Earth the wide variety of supplies, raw materials, and other items which either are lacking on the Moon, or which cannot for reasons be pro- duced in the factories and laboratories of Lunapolis. “I think I mentioned once that the Neo-men are a going concern. I ac- tually used the term in its most literal sense. That accounts for the mass pro- duction of such strange and inconsist- ent objects as television sets, lighting fixtures, cooking units and the rest. All are sold through dummy concerns on Earth— and I assure you they sell like hotcakes. With their superior abilities to learn and concentrate, Neo-men are able not only to produce better things, but cheaper things as well. A large number of products which are highly popular and widely advertised on Earth are the result of Neo-man labor and ingenuity. “Other dummy concerns buy up the various things needed here, in Luna- polis. There is quite a nice margin of profit in these transactions, and as a result the Neo-man organization is what modestly might be called prosperous.

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HIDDEN CITY 147 Transportation of freight to and from Earth, of course, is accomplished by de- gravity cruisers. In everything done, in every step from start to finish, the greatest care and secrecy is used. The fact that all these activities haven’t been discovered fully attests to the abilities and effectiveness of the Neo- man organization.” Ellen’s words left Dali with a feeling of depression. Wonderful though it might be, the Neo-man organization was something he was pledged to de- stroy. It wasn’t this that concerned him so much as the knowledge that do- ing so would in all probability mean the destruction of Ellen as well. The pride which she had voiced clearly showed how inextricably bound up in the Neo- men were her life and hopes. The other things he saw in the fac- tories and laboratories of Lunapolis, however, strengthened his waning re- solve. For even though considered by Ellen as verging on secondary impor- tance, he found war material produc- tion taking place on a nevertheless im- pressive scale. Huge machines whirred and throbbed everywhere; finished products rolled in an apparently end- less parade from countless assembly lines; and in every field and branch of activity scientists, engineers, and tech- nicians labored industriously at their multitude of tasks, supervising, check- ing, designing, experimenting. All were tributaries that fed a mighty main- stream. With smooth, implacable pre- cision, a bewildered variety of ma- chines, equipment, and supplies was being turned out, ranging from degrav- ity cruisers to mess kits. AS IF this overwhelming display of productivity and ingenuity alone were not enough, Dal! was given demon- strations of a few of the more impor- tant Neo-man weapons, such as the paralysis beam projector, the static field generator, and the atomic force protection screen. The action of this latter device was shown by means of a motion picture film recording, taken on the surface of the Moon’s perpetually hidden side. Dali knew that Earth as yet had found no adequate protection against the atomic bomb. But with a characteristic genius — if the films Dali saw were fully to be credited — the Neo- men had done so. What few remaining doubts Dali had about the ability of the Neo-men to con- quer Earth perished miserably. In his mind stark emphasis was given to the knowledge that Earth’s sole hope lay in his efforts to trick Ellen for posses- sion of the Control. Further sight-seeing tours followed, this time through the great, complex network of utility plants which serv- iced Lunapolis. These were located beneath the city, in vast sub-chambers within the collosal pedestral upon which it rested. The utility plants were in ef- fect the internal organs of Lunapolis. The city itself was the body, of which the Control was the brain. Dali re- called what Jonothan had said about Lunapolis being a mutant city — an en- tity. He now saw with his own eyes how true this apparently fantastic description was. Ellen was a charming and highly in- formative guide. Her knowledge of the city’s bewildering intricacies was star- tling in its broad range and keen grasp of detail. Among the machines and de- vices which she showed and explained to Dali were those which prepared, distributed, and regulated the city’s air, water, light, and heat, and also those which collected and disposed of the city’s sewage and other waste matter. He was shown the monster generators which created and maintained the in- visible, vast force field over Lunapolis.

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148 AMAZING STORIES which prevented the atmosphere from escaping into space. There were other generators which maintained the city^s artificial Earth-normal gravity. Most interesting to Dali, however, was the degravity apparatus which accom- plished the raising and lowering of the city within its huge concealing crater shaft. “What is its purpose anyway?” he asked Ellen. “Why was it necessary to build the city along the general lines of an elevator?” For one of the few times in which it ever happened, Ellen’s lovely features showed mystification. “I wish I were certain, Harvey. The Neo-men aren’t the ones who built the city, you know. However, I think the main idea was that of concealment. With the city lowered into the crater, none would ever guess it existed. At any rate, the Neo- men use the apparatus for that pur- pose. Warning signal devices are con- stantly in operation. When they de- tect the approach of a strange vessel, regardless of the direction from which it might come, the city automatically lowered from sight.” J^LLEN’S explanation confirmed what Dali had already guessed. He knew the fact that it was more or less a theory reflected no discredit either on her or the Neo-men. They had come to Lunapolis as people of the Middle Ages might have come to a modern city of Earth. They’d had to learn to use the wonderful, highly-advanced ma- chines and devices, and their success spoke volumes for their abilities, though they hadn’t discovered the functions or operating principles in every case. “The Control in particular has baf- fled us,” Ellen told Dali on one occa- sion. “Actually, years of cautious trial and error experimentation passed be- fore we realized the full scope of its powers. There were a number of near disasters. We now know what the Con- trol can do, but we don’t know exactly how it does it. We never dared exam- ine its inner mechanism. An attempt to take it apart might very well result in the total destruction of Lunapolis, just as ignorant surgical tampering with the brain may result in the death both of the brain and the body.” “I’ve never seen the Control at close range,” Dali remarked casually. “It must be an interesting thing to watch.” Ellen nodded. “You’ll g e t your chance, Harvey. I’ll take you to the chamber in Capitol Tower where the Control is kept, sometime soon,” The tours about Lunapolis with El- len were, of course, spread over an ex- tensive interval and took up only a minor part of each day-]:>eriod. Ellen was greatly occupied with administra- tive duties, and Dali himself was kept busy in his own line of work. He tried to regard his researches as little more than a subterfuge to occupy his time while he laid the groundwork of his stratagem to get at the Control. But the problems upon which he was en- gaged proved intensely fascinating. With the enthusiasm of a true scientist, he was becoming engrossed in his work to the exclusion of time, place, and fre- quently even of the secret ends toward which he was stealthily moving. Dali saw little of Frontenac. In line with their plans, the other had also taken tests to determine his interests and capabilities. He had qualified as a senior laboratory assistant, but had not been given military rank, something which was accorded only Neo-men. Like Dali, he too was interested in his work; unlike Dali, however, his volatile nature , chafed under the restraints of pursuing a single line of activity. Even more than Dali, he regarded his work merely as a temporary stop-gap, and

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HIDDEN CITY 149 he was becoming impatient to the point of irascibility for the fruition of their scheme. Out of deference to their friendship, Ellen had allowed Dali and Frontenac to continue sharing the same apartment. They saw each’ other only for a short while in the morning and in the evening of each day-period. When their daily work-shifts were over, each went his separate way — Dali to keep an appoint- ment with Ellen, and Frontenac to re- main inside and read, or to seek such vicarious amusement as was to be found in Neo-man public entertainment cen- ters. At first Frontenac showed keen in- terest in the progress of Dali’s pre- tended romance with the Phrenarch of Lunapolis. Each morning he questioned Dali as to what had taken place the preceding night. But lately he had lapsed into a strange silence on the sub- ject. He listened politely to whatever Dali volunteered, but he no longer asked questions of his own. Dall realized that the other was grow- ing withdrawn, embittered. During their stay in Lunapolis events had led them into treading two widely divergent walks of life. Frontenac was left too much to himself. As a member of the Old Race, he was not accepted into the social circles of his Neo-man co-work- ers. And while Dall often invited Fron- tenac to accompany him and Ellen on their evening excursions, the other claimed his presence would only hinder Dall in what he was trying to do. I^ALL was painfully aware that he and Frontenac were becoming es- tranged. Often, as he dressed for a date with Ellen, he caught the other watching him with an expression unmis- takably hostile. And in their lessen- ing verbal exchanges, Frontenac was oddly evasive. At last Dall brought the matter directly out into the open. “Look here, Jules, you’ve been acting mighty funny lately. Is anything wrong?” “Wrong?” Frontenac’s dark, thin features registered an expression of elaborate preplexity. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.” “I’m pretty sure you do. You’ve been avoiding me and generally acting as if I’d caught something contagious.” “Maybe it’s because you have caught something contagious, Harvey — t h e Neo-man fever. And maybe it’s be- cause Mrs. Frontenac’s little boy fin- ally woke up to the fact that he’s all alone in the world and will have to look out for himself.” . . Just what do you mean by that?” Frontenac threw out his hands in an explosive gesture. “Good Lord, Har- vey, do I have to draw you a picture? You and Ellen Pancrest have become so thick, it’s being talked about all over Lunapolis.” “So what?” Dall demanded. “It simply means our plan is working bet- ter than we ever expected.” “Does it, Harvey? Does it? I’d say it means you’ve gone over to the Neo-men hide, hair, and soul And as for the plan, your only interest in it now is most likely as an excuse for seeing Ellen Pancrest. She has you so completely hooked that you don’t even know it. Don’t try to tell me otherwise — I’ve been watching you. You’ve shown all the typical symptoms of a man bit by the love-bug.” Dal! glanced away. He said slowly, “I haven’t forgotten the plan, Jules. You’ve got to believe me. I’m still work- ing on it.” “Fine!” Frontenac said. “Keep working on it. In the meantime, I’ll see what I can do about getting back to Earth alone — before old age sets in.”

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150 AMAZING STORIES “Jules — cut it out, will you?” Dali caught the smaller man’s shoulders. “I know you haven’t been enjoying your- self here, but that’s no reason to jump on me with both feet. I said I was working on the plan — and I meant it.” Frontenac shrugged himself loose. “You talk a nice bill of goods, Harvey, but it’ll take more than words to con- vince me. If and when you get hold of the Control, that’ll be the day I become interested.” He turned and walked from the room. The door closed behind him with an air of finality. Dali felt chilled. He knew now what had come between Frontenac and him- self. And it would have to be through deed rather than word that he would regain the other’s faith. But he won- dered if, despite his assurances, he would be able to accomplish the deed. He had to admit that most if not all the things which Frontenac had said about Ellen had an uncomfortably large basis in truth. JT WAS all too easy — dangerously easy, in fact-— to regard Ellen with feelings that were deeper and more poignant than those of mere attraction. He had learned long ago that there were two entirely different sides to her na- ture. One was that as the Phrenarch of Lunapolis, cold, business-like, fre- quently arrogant and domineering. The other was that as Ellen Pancrest, warm, sympathetic, and unaffected. It was this side of her that had led him to the verge of traitorhood. She was all wom- an, lovely, exceptionally talented, and with a mind whose most subtle shad- ings often merged harmoniously with his. He was startled at times by the recurrent discovery of how alike they were in so many ways. They shared the same interests, had the same view- points and opinions. Only in their objectives regarding the Neo-men and the Old Race was there any essential difference between them. And even this, Dali realized with dismay, had be- gun to fade with time, constant con- tact with the Neo-men, and the spell of Ellen’s personality. He became sharply aware that his feelings for Ellen had reached a point where they might very well make im- possible the completion of his plans. Earth depended on him — even if un- knowingly— for help against the Neo- men. Conquest had to be avoided at any cost. Jonothan, that mysterious and god-like being, had had strong reasons for wanting to prevent it. And he had died for his beliefs. When all this was weighed in the balance, Dali realized that his feelings for Ellen paled into in- significance. He knew the only pos- sible course he could take. Yet he won- dered if he would be able to follow it unwaveringly to its inevitable and trag- ic end. Events with Ellen followed the usual pattern, though Dali continued to grap- ple with his problem. He was careful to reveal nothing of his inner turmoil. It was extremely difficult, for his daily contacts with Ellen and Frontenac kept reminding him of the two conflict- ing poles between which he was torn. Since his showdown with Frontenac, their relationship had grown even more strained. The mercurial little man had shut himself behind an unyielding wall of cold and silent aloofness. The con- trast with Ellen’s warmth and vivacity was painful. One evening, however, when Dali went to keep a dinner date at Ellen’s apartment, he found her tense with ex- citement. She had dressed as exquisite- ly as always, and with her flushed cheeks and shining eyes, she made a vital and compelling figure. “Harvey, a report from Earth reached me today that the political situ-

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HIDDEN CITY 151 ation has grown enormously worse. War is expected to break out at any time within the next few weeks.” The news had burst out of her. She paused a moment as though to catch her breath. Dali waited, cold and empty with despair. He knew what was coming even before the girl spoke again. “You know, Harvey, that the Neo- men are determined to stop that war. Accordingly, we don’t intend to sit back and let it happen. Word has been sent to our agents in the various govern- ments of Earth to prepare for action. The Neo-man fleet and army here, in Lunapolis, are being mobilized and equipped for duty. Within several days at the most we shall be ready.” CHAPTER XX ^GAIN Dali struggled to keep his emotions from betraying him. The effort wasn’t entirely necessary, how- ever; Ellen was lost in thought. Her green eyes glowed as though reflecting some wonderful inner wisdom. What that was Dali soon learned. Ellen spoke abruptly, her voice vi- brant. “The time has come, Harvey! The Neo-men are moving forward to meet their destiny. Nothing will be able to stop them — nothing! It won’t be much longer until they win their rightful places in the world. And then — and then, Harvey — Earth will be swept clean of war, incompetence, and corruption. The Neo-men will bring a true Golden Age!” Some of her fire touched Dali. It wasn’t wholly a clever act that brought an expression of sympathetic interest to his face. Suddenly, impulsively, Ellen caught at his arms. “And think, Harvey, you’ll be a part of it! You’ll have a hand in shaping the future history of Earth. Within your lifetime you’ll see the Earth become a better, happier place. You’ll see it made new, clean, and beautiful. That will be something, won’t it, Harvey?” “It certainly will.” “And afterward, Harvey . . . after- ward— ” She broke off, her long lashes dropping to veil her eyes. After a mo- ment she laughed. “But I’m getting too far ahead of things. Right now dinner is waiting — and I’m starved!” Ellen was gay and voluble during the meal. Dali forced himself to respond to her mood, though his emotions surged turbulently. Bitter within him was the knowledge that he had finally to make the supreme decision. He told himself it had happened too soon. He wished he’d been allowed a little more time. He didn’t want the happiness he’d known with Ellen to end so quickly. When the dinner was finished Ellen rose, her green eyes sparkling. “This is an important occasion, Harvey. Let’s think of a really unusual way to spend the evening. W^at do you suggest?” “Uhm-m-m. . . .” Dali rubbed his jaw, frowning in mock-solemnity. In- wardly he was tense and cold, filled with dull, heavy pain. At last he snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it! A while back you promised to show me the Control. Suppose we pay it a visit? That should be unusual enough.” Ellen nodded her gold-brown head without hesitation. “All right, Harvey. Give me a few minutes to get ready.” She turned and hurried from the room. The Control, Dali found shortly, was kept in a large, severely plain chamber high in Capitol Tower. A special ele- vator led up to that floor. Guards were on duty at both ends of the elevator shaft, and there were more guards within the chamber itself. '^HE Control rested upon an octag- onal, gleaming metal pedestral

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152 AMAZING STORIES which rose approximately to shoulder height The chamber was bare of all else. There was no machinery, nothing in the way of furniture or other decora- tions. Nor were there any windows. Cold, hard metal sheathed the entire room with the thoroughness of a bank vault. Illumination was provided by light brackets spaced around the walls. Ellen spoke a few words of dismissal to the captain of the guards. He sal- uted, and then, issuing crisp orders, he marched his detail from the room. The ponderous metal doors closed. With a shock, Dali realized that he and Ellen were alone. She smiled and gestured at the Con- trol. “Now, Harvey, you can be just as curious as you please.” She led the way to the pedestral. Amid a silence that had all the quality of awed wonder, she and Dali stood gazing at the Control. Within the transparent, square crys- tal case the bewilderingly intricate mechanism that somehow gave the Con- trol its state of uncanny pseudo-life moved with enigmatic activity. Count- less multi-colored, tiny lights flickered and darted within the device, appear- ing and vanishing in a constant, kalei- doscopic change and interplay of hues. The phenomenon had a kind of frenetic tempo that held the eyes hypnotically. Dali felt nervous tension build up within him. The Control was within his reach at last. It was the only thing which now would stop the Neo-men in their preparations for the conquest of Earth. All he had to do was reach out and take it. Yet he hesitated. And hesitating, he wondered if he would be able to go through with it after all. He became aware that Ellen had turned to glance at him. He was un- able to prevent the involuntary, con- science-stricken jerk with which he responded to the motion. In an at- tempt to cover up, he grasped at the first thing that came to his mind. But even as he put his thoughts into words, he wondered if his ruse weren’t merely an effort to postpone what he knew was clearly and inescapably his duty. “How is the Control able to operate in a place like this?” he asked, gestur- ing around the chamber. “It can operate anywhere in Luna- polis,” Ellen returned. “Metal walls or other obstructions make no difference. As to why this should be, the prevailing theory among Neo-man scientists is that the Control somehow functions through the medium of hyperspace. This medium links the Control to the various machines and devices which it operates in somewhat the same manner that the nerves of the body link the brain to the various muscles and or- gans. But since distance is no factor in hyperspace, the Control might be described as being in direct contact with every machine and device — simultane- ously a part of all — in a way that makes the nerves of the body crude and cum- bersome by contrast.” Ellen’s voice went into silence. Only dimly was Dali aware of it; his eyes were fixed in dread fascination upon the Control. Now, he thought. Now! All he had to do was to take a step for- ward, reach out with his hands— and the Control would be his. In an act requiring only a fraction of time he would be master of everyone and every- thing in Lunapolis. His power would be practically limitless, his will su- preme. He would be able to destroy or let stand as the whim moved him. HIS muscles tensed. Only a step for- ward. It required hardly any en- ergy. It could be done in a split-second. Ellen wouldn’t realize what was hap- pening until the Control was in his hands.

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HIDDEN CITY 153 Just a step. . . . His muscles were bunched, quivering. Perspiration bead- ed his forehead. Perspiration was moist and clammy on his palms. He couldn’t move. It was as though another will were super-imposed on his, making movement impossible. How long he stood there, straining but immobile, he never knew. All eter- nity could have passed. All the people who had ever existed and who had still to exist could have paraded one by one before him. At last he relaxed, the breath sighing hopelessly from his lips. He felt ex- hausted, sick — defeated. It was impossible. He couldn’t do it. That single step forward had proved too much after all. Ellen had won. ‘^Harvey. . . Ellen’s voice. Ellen’s hand on his arm. He turned his head to look at her — and his mind exploded nova-like under the impact of his discovery. He was suddenly and devastatingly weak, shaken to the very nucleus of his being. For ^Wen—knew! Her green eyes swam mistily in tears, and tears beaded her long lashes like tiny globules of crystal, shining pris- matically in the pulsing, many-hued light from the Control. But she was smiling, a smile of utter, intense joy. “Harvey, you didn’t . . . you did- n’t— ” Her voice caught, broke. Then it came again, strengthening. “Harvey, all this— the visit to the Control — ^was arranged as a test. I wanted so much to believe in your loyalty. But I couldn’t take a chance, knowing what I did of your background and charac- ter. There was too much at stake. I didn’t want to doubt you — but nothing could be overlooked that might interfere with the Neo-men and their plans. “You see, Harvey, I noticed your re- action to the announcement I made a while ago. And then — and then you suggested a visit to the Control. When I left you to get ready, I took a certain precaution. The Control you see here isn’t the real one. It’s a fake — like the one with which I tricked Melgard.” Her words added to Dali’s chaotic stupefaction. He said numbly: “A . . . fake?” “Yes, Harvey. But now — now you shall see the genuine Control. You have proved yourself. I shall keep my promise.” Radiant with her inner fire of gladness and relief, she turned to- ward the doors of the chamber and called out what was evidently a pre- arranged signal. As Dali watched dazedly, the doors opened. The captain of the guards en- tered the room, grinning. In his hands he held a transparent, square cr5rstal case similar in appearance to the one now on the pedestal. But the vari- colored motes or radiance within this were many times brighter, their activity more intense. And the case emanated power. Dali felt it as unmistakably as a glow of heat from a blast furnace. 'RAKING the imitation from the pedestral, the captain of the guards replaced it with the real Control. Then he snapped to attention, saluted, and strode from the room. Once more the heavy doors closed. “Harvey. . . .” Ellen’s voice again. Unreal, far-off, like something in a dream. “Harvey, look at me. You aren’t angry, are you? It seems such a cheap trick now. Forgive me, Har- vey. Please say you forgive me.” “Forgive you?” Dali muttered. His eyes went slowly to the Control, glow- ing, pulsing, filling the metal-sheathed severity of the chamber with faint, soft chromatic light. He felt its power again. It seemed to warm him, to give him strength. His mind was suddenly clear.

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154 AMAZING STORIES Everything became sharp and in focus, so bright, so vivid, it registered almost as pain. His glance returned to Ellen. “Forgive you?” he said again. He nodded gravely. “Yes, I forgive you.” Something moved in her face. It was queerly as if her features were a reflection in water of exceptional clarity and a finger had disturbed its surface. And then, abruptly, she was close against him, her arms encircling and straining tight, her face pressed to his chest. His own arms came up, hesi- tated, then went around her. After a while she stirred. She raised her face to his. Her lips moved in a slow smile, tremulous and misty, elo- quent with its eternal message. “You’ve never kissed me, Har- vey. . . He found her lips without knowing how it happened. The chamber be- came still. And then she drew away. Dali took a deep breath. His surroundings were even more vivid now. Each item, each detail, registered with a steel-sharp diamond-bright perfection. He said gently: “That was farewell, Ellen.” The green eyes widened in perplex- ity. “Farewell. . . ?” In another moment she understood. Her neck muscles corded for a scream, but even before sound could issue from her throat, Dali was moving with that superhuman speed which had come to him on two occasions before. One step forward — and he had the Control. ■ He held it tightly and tensely in his hands. He looked at Ellen. His face was — different. He wasn’t quite Harvey Dall. He was a personality of scope above and beyond his normal self. Violent, mind-wrenching shock, pen- etrating in all its catastrophic impli- cations, robbed Ellen of the strength to complete her scream. She stared into Dali’s eyes for a long moment before she could make a sound. And then it was only a whisper that issued from her bloodless lips. “Harvey — you . . . you took the Control!” “Yes, Ellen. Your doubt showed you consider the Neo-men and their plans more important than I. Looking at it the other way around, the Old Race and its freedom are more important than you. So I took the Control. I couldn’t have missed a chance for my side any more than you were willing to take a risk for yours.” CHE nodded ever so slightly. For an instant a reluctant admiration strug- gled with the despairing horror in her face. Then her wildness faded; sanity and self-possession came. Something of fear remained in her rigid green gaze, but it was an impersonal fear, defiant. On the verge of certain de- feat though she might be, she was nei- ther abject nor hysterical. Her voice was stronger, almost normal, when she spoke again. “What do you intend to do, Harvey? What are you planning?” “The Old Race must be left alone,” Dall returned, with quiet emphasis. “To make absolutely certain of that, I’m going to destroy every weapon in Luna- polis, and every laboratory, factory, machine, and supply used to make wea- pons. And then Frontenac and I re- turn to Earth — in a degravity cruiser, of course, one of which I shall leave for that purpose. . . . “Something you haven’t discovered, Ellen, is that I’m a special operative of the United States Secret Service. My report on the Neo-men will bring quick action. Your agents will be weeded out from their government hiding places. And when they’ve been made powerless to interfere, news of the Neo-men and

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HIDDEN CITY 155 their plans will be given to the entire world. The Neo-man organization on JEarth will collapse. The element of surprise on which you counted so heav- ily will be gone forever.” “But . . . but do you intend to leave everyone in Lunapolis completely help- less?” “Long enough to let their lesson sink in. Later a rescue expedition will come from Earth. We’ll have degravity cruisers, you know. And I think I’ll take the Control with me in case there are any hard feelings. Functioning through hyperspace, the distance should have practically no effect on its opera- tions.” “And the impending atomic war on Earth, Harvey? What about that?” “I intend to take with me plans and models of your weapons. One of them will be the atomic force protection scree.” Ellen slumped, rallied. But she couldn’t overcome the hopelessness that showed in her features. Dali watched her, hesitating, com- passion a dark shadow in his eyes. Then his shoulders squared. Lines of strain deepening whitely around his mouth, he looked intently, purposefully, at the radiant crystal case in his hands. “Harvey — wait!” Ellen’s cry tore knife-like into the silence. Involuntarily Dali looked up. “Think, Harvey — think! Luna- polis and the Control are a single en- tity. Do you suppose that entity will answer a command to destroy itself? Do you suppose it will submit to de- stroying even so much as part of itself? No, Harvey, it will refuse, even as a coldly rational human being would re- fuse. And that refusal will come in terms of living, terrible force, annihilat- ing the one who gives that outrageous command!” Cold of death touched Dali. His metal-gray eyes probed fiercely into the vehement green ones. “It’s a lie!” he said at last. “A trick.” She shook her head slowly, sadly. “It happened once before, Harvey. A long time ago, when my father and the first settlers in Lunapolis discovered what the Control was and what it could do. One of those early Neo-men wasn’t in sympathy with my father and the others. He seized the Control and tried to destroy the city. But the Control . . . exterminated him. The Control and the forces it operates can be used against individuals or groups within the city — but not against the city itself.” “Clever!” Dali breathed. Mere bra- vado— empty, meaningless. For in his mind was the impulse that would send his thoughts arrowing into the Control — and he hesitated. “It’s true, Harvey!” Ellen insisted passionately. “Every word of what I said is true. What you plan to do means suicide.” Once more deathly cold touched Dali. Was the girl actually sincere? If she was, he realized that he faced stalemate — defeat. CHAPTER XXI WAVE of unreasoning anger swept abruptly over Dali. His lips writhed in a soundless snarl of defiance. Almost savagely he directed his furious gaze at the Control. “No, Harvey! Don’t!*’ Ellen ran at him frantically. And then — it happened. “Harvey Dali — attention! Concen- trate now. You must link your mind with mine.” A voice — but an eerily silent voice. A purely mental voice like the one Dali had experienced twice before. He stiff- ened under the electrifying shock of it.

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156 AMAZING STORIES But he wasn’t quite Harvey Dali, and his surprise was gone almost in the same instant that it came. And before Ellen, already in motion, could reach him, he stretched a mental hand to the warm, firm, and friendly one that came swiftly and surely to meet it. The Control — aivoke. Like a smoldering ember compared to a forest fire was its former radiance to that which blazed from it now. Light, intense and with all the rich hues of the spectrum, filled the chamber. And from somewhere came a vast, deep or> gan note of sound, a mighty vibration that seemed to reverberate within the very structure of matter itself. Through the chamber it thundered — through and beyond, as though to the ultimate end of the Universe. Ellen stopped. It was as if a huge, invisible hand had gripped her. And like a hand it held her helpless. Somehow, with a knowledge not his own, Dali knew that similar hands had gripped all over Lunapolis. Like Ellen, Neo-men everywhere in the city were being stopped in whatever they were doing. An all-pervading, supernal force was keeping them immobile. Im- prisoned— entranced — they waited fro- zenly for what was to come. Throughout the chamber, throughout the city, the vast organ note throbbed again. Dali was rigid, his eyes fixed and glassy. It was less than a man who stood there, holding the Control. It was a shell — a conductor. For through his mind as through an electric cable a ciirrent.of mental force poured into the Control, giving directions of incompre- hensible magnitude and complexity. For the first time in too long the Con- trol was being used as its creators had meant it to be used. It was being . . . played. A rare old violin, made by the hands of a master craftsman, reveals little of its true beauty of tone, its full musical potentialities, when played by an amateur. But in the hands of a practiced artist it becomes an instru- ment capable of scaling the heights and plumbing the depths of the human soul. The Control was being played. . . , Its mighty organ notes beat and thun- dered throughout every part and par- ticle of Lunapolis. ponderous metal doors of the chamber swung open. A man en- tered, striding forward with swift, eager steps; a tall, slender man with a thick mane of snow-white hair framing a pale, ascetic face. His dark eyes were vivid by contrast, deep pools of strength and wisdom, hypnotic in their intensity. The newcomer came to a stop before Dali. He smiled and extended his hands. With the unhesitating deliberation of an automaton, Dali placed within them the Control. “Thank you, Harvey Dali.” Awareness, the fire of self-will, flick- ered and then leaped into fullness with- in Dali’s eyes. He stared at the tall, white-haired man. He gasped under the impact of recognition, stunned, in- credulous. “Jonothan!” he burst out. “Jono- than!” “Yes.” “But . . . but you’re dead! I saw Melgard shoot at you. I saw you die.” “What you saw was an illusion, a sort of mass hallucination, which I created by mental projection. Melgard had seen me. If I were to be of any fur- ther usefulness to you, he had to be tricked into thinking I was dead. I did not know at the time what shape future events would take. The action seemed necessary in view of the possibility that Melgard might remain in power.” Dali shook his head ruefully. “I should have known better than to have

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HIDDEN CITY 157 thought Melgard could catch you so easily.” He met the quiet smile in Jonothan’s dark eyes. An abrupt thought made him stiffen. “You were the one who kept me from spoiling ev- erything by jumping at the imitation Control a while back! I see it now. I thought it was due to weakness on my part.” Jonothan nodded. “I had been keep- ing what might be called a mental eye on the progress of affairs between you and Ellen Pancrest. I knew that she planned to test you, and I saw to it that you were warned of the trick she had prepared. Since I had been keep- ing secretly in the background, I did so in a way that would not reveal my existence to you. I intended to save that for a more crucial moment.” “But if I had known you were still alive. . . .” “I know what is in your mind, Har- vey Dali. Hastening matters to spare you of your present feelings for Ellen Pancrest might have led to disaster. I saw that you were following a course that had the greatest opportunity of success. I decided to keep my existence unknown to you. Regardless of the emotional entanglements into which you were falling, success was the only important thing.” Jonothan paused, and momentarily the warm fingers of his thoughts seemed to draw away. He looked down at the Control; sternness came into his pale, slim face. The mighty organ note throbbed. Dali felt the warm mental fingers again, interlocking firmly with his. He had a startling vision. The impenetrable, steel-sheathed chamber was gone. Through a kind of luminous gray fog, he saw the Neo-man hosts of Lunapolis. They stood in a vast circle about Jon- othan, Ellen, and himself, a great ring of silent, motionless, watching faces. Dali saw them with a strange clarity. It was as if some vast and intricate warping of space had eliminated all differences in distance and perspective, making each individual wherever in Lunapolis he might be a part of the whole. DEYOND the surrounding mass of faces Dali could see nothing. There was only the gray fog, vague and fea- tureless. And with the countless watch- ing faces shining through the fog, the entire scene was oddly unreal— dream- like. The faces waited, watching. The faces of puppets they were, expression- less, mask-like, dominated by a super- human will. Somehow Dali knew this was the truth. But he sensed that it wasn’t Jonothan’s unaided will alone which held the populace of the city in thrall; rather it was Jonothan’s will increased and intensified enormously by the pow- ers of the Control. For the Control was more than merely a device that responded to human thought; it was an instrument capable of playing cosmic music. And it was in the hands of a master virtuoso, who could play sym- phonies that could crumble the very foundations of matter, that could twist and tear the very fabric of space; sym- phonies that annihilated time and dis- tance, that held human lives in trance- like bondage. It was this that explained the stern- ness of Jonothan’s features. He was asserting his complete mastery over everyone in Lunapolis. He was a being whose nature rebelled violently against even the mere thought of causing pain and harm. But through the aid of the Control he was above the limits of his most deep-rooted instincts. He was truly god-like now. If forced to do so, he would destroy without hesitation or

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158 AMAZING STORIES scruple. Dali realized this clearly. He ac- cepted it without reservation, as some- thing entirely natural and consistent. And he knew that the watching wraith- faces accepted it, too. A reverberating throb from the or- gan-voice. Jonothan looked up. The sternness went from his face. It took on a deep calm. His dark eyes gazed out over the enrapt assemblage, the people of Lunapolis who, though they looked like nothing so much as spectres from some astral region, were present as surely as if in the flesh. He spoke. His mental voice reached out to every nook and corner of all the vast city, penetrating easily and surely into every mind. It held a deep, sonorous quality. And it chanted as a bard of old might have chanted the stirring verses of a mighty epic. CHAPTER XXn ONOTHAN spoke. “Listen to that which I am here to tell you, for it is something to which your self-conceit and vainglory have made you blind. Listen — and heed. “In the beginning was the people who are known to you as the Old Race. It was their nature that they should be treacherous and filled with greed. It was their nature that should commit murder and theft, and create untold harm and loss in the name of causes and ideals which to them seemed just and good. But among them even in the darkest times was organization and laws under which good managed to flourish among evil. And thus this peo- ple whom we shall call the Old Race grew in numbers and advanced along civilization’s tedious road. Often they fell behind. Sometimes, for long peri- ods, they stopped along the way. Yet always there would be a resurgence of movement, a rebirth, and they went on. “When this people whom we term the Old Race reached a certain point in the road, their progress began to grow in- creasingly more rapid. Before long they were striding with the steps of giants. They harnessed the wind, water, fire, and even the lightnings that struck down from the sky. In their machines they traveled swiftly and effortlessly over the surface of the world, and through the very air itself. With their devices they communicated with each other over great distances. Their instru- ments probed the s^rets of the far- thest stars and magnified into visibility the most minute virus. They were tak- ing the first feeble steps which would eventually launch them into space. They penetrated even to the secret of the atom itself, and with their knowl- edge came into possession of forces ter- rible enough to devastate the entire planet. “There was better organization, bet- ter laws, and there was more good for all. But even among their wonder- working machines and instruments, the men of the Old Race were not happy. Something was lacking. There was a feeling of insecurity. There was grow- ing distrust, growing discontent, among groups and nations. There was increas- ing pessimism, apathy, and restlessness, all of which made themselves felt in a widespread degeneration of minds, morals, and institutions. “A few with vision realized the trou- ble. Mentally and spiritually the Old Race hasn’t kept pace with its scientific progress. For all their splendid ma- chines and cities the men of the Old Race were still creatures of the wilder- ness. Only in the wilderness were they truly happy. Always, if not chained financially and socially to the cities, they sought the wilderness. It sup- plied something lacking in the cities.

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HIDDEN CITY 159 It was something which the men of the Old Race did not themselves under- stand. They knew it vaguely as a wan- derlust, a desire ‘to get away from it all.’ ‘Tn their discontent and blind striv- ing the men of the Old Race have down through the ages looked forward to the coming of a Savior, or to the dawning of a Golden Age. They searched for a Shangri-La and absorbed themselves in the long-gone glories of a mythical At- lantis. What they actually yearned for was unity and harmony, with their fel- lows and with the civilization they had built, and they gave this yearning vari- ous idealized explanations, none of which were close to the truth. They did not realize that their desires for better- ment and improvement would come from within themselves. “At present the Old Race regards atomic weapons as indefensible. The people whom we shall call the Neo- men have discovered a defense. In the future even more terrible weapons will be devised, and defenses against them. But the only true defense against weap- ons, against war, will come from with- in the race itselj. “And it has come.” JONOTHxAN paused; the organ-note boomed. Then the chant went on. “Through its striving for improve- ment, for unity and content, the Old Race as a whole has produced within itself titanic pressures which have been working subconsciously to mold it into something better. Gradually, but with a pace now increasing, the Old Race is evolving into Neo-men, a people more fully adjusted to the problems and de- mands of city life. But the Neo-men are not the final solution. Despite their superior abilities, they have all the faults and flaws of the Old Race, many of them greatly magnified. Were the Neo-men the final solution, there would still be war — but war employing weap- ons as tremendously more lethal than the atomic as these themselves are more lethal than swords. The race would come to an end in one brief cataclysm that would rock the very Universe. “But the Neo-men are not the final solution. For from them as Neo-men from the Old Race has come the people whom we shall term the Ultra-men, and by almost the same process of evolu- tion. There is a difference — but a dif- ference only of degree. “The dim, blind struggles for im- provement within the Old Race, given force and direction by the mass sub- conscious mind, created the changes in the germ plasm which produced the Neo-men. This mass mind could not conceive of beings higher in the scale of evolution than the Neo-man, but in them it furnished a springboard from which still greater improvement was to come. Within Neo-men themselves the desire for betterment went on. Pos- sessed of keen, swift minds, the Neo- men mass subconscious possessed even more force and direction than that of the Old Race. Though fewer Neo-men were in existence, the power of each in- dividual mind was many times greater. As a whole, Neo-man mass subcon- scious mind possessed sufficient power capable of producing the further changes in the germ plasm necessary to create the Ultra-men. “Though possessed of enormous in- telligence, new senses, and vast bodily improvements, the Ultra-men repre- sented the first great change for the better chiefly because of one certain trait. They were a people to whom the entire conception of war was alien and repulsive. They were unable to do even so much as think of causing harm to an individual or group without violent emotional reactions. Thus the Ultra- men represented that stage in the evolu-

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160 AMAZING STORIES tion of the race where war, strife, and conflict of all kinds finally come to an end; where civilization is based on peace, intelligence, and truth. ‘‘It was the Ultra-men who built Lunapolis. They left Earth for almost exactly the same reasons as did the Neo-mcn. They discovered the de- gravity principle of interspace propul- sion at a time when the first crude air- craft had still to be built. They were happy in Lunapolis, but eventually they . . . left. The desire for improve- ment had not died out with them. Though fewer in numbers than even the Neo-men, the power of their minds was even greater. Telepathic, they were able to join forces and do con- sciously what previously had been a product of the racial mass mind work- ing subconsciously. “The Ultra-men evolved the final, one-remaining step, producing the be- ings whom, merely for a convenient ter- minology, we shall call the Ultimates. The Ultimates were beyond the need for cities; the Universe itself was their home. They possessed qualities and attributes which are impossible even for me to describe. “J^UNAPOLIS was left intact for those additional Ultra-men who had still to evolve. It was not sus- pected that science would make such great strides that the Neo-men would be able to reach the Moon before they had reached the proper stage of evolution. But even so nothing had been left to chance; for to me was given the duty of remaining behind as a guardian and guide. “It was chiefly through scientific curiosity that I permitted the Neo-men to take the steps which finally placed the entire evolutionary process in grave danger. When I realized the extent and significance of this danger, it was too late to take the simple, immediate procedures necessary to circumvent it. The Control, which would have en- abled me to take quick and effective counter-measures, was kept under heavy guard. My powers, of course, are limited in that it is impossible for me to do anything which would cause death or hurt to a living creature. The Ultimates would not have aided me; they were above the petty problems of race. The Control would have over- come these drawbacks — but I had first to gain possession of it. “Thus it was that I selected Harvey Dali as a champion or agent to do that which I was unable to accomplish per- sonally. And I chose him not merely because he had carried his rocket re- searches to the point of success, despite constant and serious handicaps placed in his way by the Neo-men, but because he alone possessed the strength of mind and the integrity of character necessary to carry out a truly herculean task. That he won out in the end is due not so much to the shrewdness of my choice or to such comparatively feeble help as I- was able to give, but to the fact that his courage and honor were even greater than I had estimated.” Jonothan turned to smile at Dali. Swift protest stirred in Dali’s mind. “No — the credit is something I don’t deserve. I ... I was weak.” “But you won, Harvey Dali. In your weakness, it seems, is your great- est strength.” Jonothan returned his attention to the ghostly assemblage. The organ- note sounded again; the current of Jonothan’s thoughts resumed, grim, measured. “Now it is possible for me to prevent what may in the end have very well resulted in catastrophe for the race. In their plans to uplift and improve the Old Race through conquest, Neo-men

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HIDDEN CITY 161 made the serious error of assuming that their superiority of intelligence fur- nished them with all the justification required. They were wrong. As through- out all history, they were a few who, in the name of a mistaken ideals and causes, were capable of creating great harm. “pOR the Old Race was being not merely underestimated; it was hardly regarded as being an important factor at all. That was almost fatally wrong. The Old Race is inferior to the Neo-men only in that they learn more slowly and possess greater nervous in- stability. But they learn. And when they set their minds on a task, their per- sistence is something which raises them above the level of nerves. Though con- quered by the Neo-men, they would fight for freedom as they have fought down through the ages. They would fight with a relentless single-minded- ness of purpose frightening in its sheer tenacity. Slowly but surely they would learn the secrets of Neo-man science. Slowly but surely they would learn the secrets of Neo-man weapons. And then would come war — war employing devices of such appalling destructive- ness that the supernal fires of the Sun itself would pale by comparison. ‘That must not be. The race is still evolving. It must not perish before it has finished its climb to perfection. Old Race, Neo-men, Ultra-men — each is nothing more than a step along the way. Neither is the final product of evolu- tion. And since all inevitably travel the same path, it is just as unnecessary to help those in a lower stage of prog- gress as it is unfair to hinder them. “The Neo-men must abandon their plans of conquest. For unknowingly it is evolution itself that they seek to conquer, and if they win, it will be at the cost of those to come. That is too big a price. The race as a whole is greater than the sum of its parts. “The Neo-men came from Earth. Back to Earth they must go. And they must go in peace, for it is only in peace that they will remain. They must work side by side with the Old Race. Both have a common destiny, a common goal. Hand in hand they must go forward to meet it. “There will be suspicion and distrust. There will be conflcts and misunder- standings. The Old Race, too, believes in its complete supremacy. Disenchant- ment will come hard. But the Old Race learns even if slowly. Before long it will accept the fact of its comparative unimportance in the racial scheme. And before long it will accept the Neo-mert as children to trust rather than strang- ers to fear. “There will bloody strife. But if in the beginning the Neo-men have made their bid for peace, it will be the strife of groups rather than species. And in degravity cruisers the race will spread out to the planets. Regardless of the potency of weapons to come, it will be too diffused to exterminate utterly. Somewhere, always, the race will go on. Somewhere, always, the race will evolve.” Momentarily Jonothan’s thoughts faded. The organ-note throbbed; a ripple seemed to spread through the luminous fog-veil behind which stood the silent spectre gathering. Then Jonothan’s thoughts came again, strong- er, more emphatic, grim with finality. “The principle of the degravity cruis- ers as well as that of the various Ultra- man machines and instruments which have been fathomed are now a part of Neo-man knowledge and cannot be taken away. They shall be considered a gift. But Lunapolis has proved its dangerous potentialities. The city, therefore, must go.

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162 AMAZING STORIES “The Neo-men must leave. They will be given three day-periods, as they reckon time, to prepare for the exodus. Only that which is personal or which will prove of benefit to the Old Race may be taken. All weapons, all mili- tary devices and equipment, must re- main behind. I shall be watching to see that my orders are carried out. “My message has been given. Heed it — and farewell.” ■p\ALL felt Jonothan’s mental fingers tighten briefly. Jonothan’s thoughts reached him again, but with a quality that indicated they were in- tended for him alone. “Farewell, Harvey Dali. To you I give my eternal gratitude — but it is as nothing to the gratitude of the race. You have met your tests bravely. In the years to come there will be further tests. I hope — I know — that you will meet them just as bravely.” “But you, Jonothan!” Dali said quickly. “What will you do now?” “My duties haven’t ended, Harvey Dali. They have begun. Ultra-men still exist. They have simply gone to live in a place as remote as the Moon once was. Now I go to join them. And Lunapolis goes with me. Once more — farewell.” Dali nodded slowly — reluctantly. “Yes, Jonothan . . . farewell.” The Ultra-man smiled for the last time and turned his intense dark eyes upon the Control. The all-pervading organ-sound thundered; the already supernal brilliance of the Control flared higher. The immediate space in which Jonothan stood seemed comprehensi- bly, eye-wrenchingly, to twist on itself. In the next instant Jonothan and the Control were gone. The encircling mass of special Neo- men went too. The metal walls of the chamber leaped back into solidity. Once again Dall and Ellen were alone. He turned anxiously to the girl. Life was creeping back into her green eyes. After a moment she stared at him numb- ly. Then she turned to glance quickly about the stark emptiness of the cham- ber. Her gaze lingered on the pedestal. Slowly she turned back to Dall. “The Control — it’s gone! Then . . . then everything that happened was real.” “Real, Ellen.” “But, Harvey, it means ... it means — ” Her voice shattered on a sob. Her face writhed and her green eyes strained wide — b right and wild. Abruptly she turned and ran from the chamber. “Ellen!” Dall cried. “Wait!” Her racing figure didn’t stop; it van- ished through the still open doors which led out to the hall. Dall started after the girl. He caught sight of her again. She was running toward the elevators. He increased his pace to overtake her. : The guards who lined the hall on each Side stared after him in dazed perplex- ity. The shock of their experience had evidently not yet worn off. They held their weapons as though they had for- gotten that such existed. They made no move to stop Dall. As she reached the elevators, Ellen suddenly became aware that Dall had followed. She watched him approach, her green eyes swimming in tears. She held her lower lip tightly between her teeth in a futile effort to check the great sobs which shook her. A moment she stood there, tense, statuesque. Then she whirled in a furi- ously impulsive movement, snatching a rifle from the hands of a startled guard. She leveled the rifle grimly at Dall. Shock brought him to an abrupt stop little more than a dozen paces away. There was no fear at what he saw in the girl’s face. There was only hurt and a

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HIDDEN CITY 163 sudden, great tiredness. “You!” Ellen spat. “You’re the one who did it! You’re the one who ruined everything— all the Neo-men have worked for.” Dali said heavily, “It was my duty, Ellen.” She laughed shortly, in bitter con- tempt. “Your duty as a spy and a traitor. Well, as a spy and a traitor, you die!” The muzzle of the rifle cen- tered with lethal directness at Dali’s chest. Her finger began to pale with pressure on the trigger. CHAPTER XXIII ■PYALL stood quietly. He wondered why fear didn’t come. He won- dered why there was no feeling at all. The answer came to him suddenly — ^he was already dead. The searing hatred in Ellen’s face had killed him more surely than would the stream of tung- sten-steel pellets she was shortly to un- loose. Ellen — hesitated. Her eyes widened as though for the first time full realiza- tion had come of what she intended to do. And then her finger relaxed on the trigger of the rifle. A convulsive shud- der wracked her. In the next instant she swayed; the weapon dropped from her hands. She stared at Dali in plain- tive surprise. “Why, Harvey, I was going to — But . . . but I couldn’t kill you, Harvey. I couldn’t!” A blur of motion. Without knowing how it came about, Dali found Ellen in his arms. Further surprises were in store for Dali. Ellen recovered so completely from the shock of defeat that it was as though nothing at all had happened. The dreams of the Neo-men became a closed chapter. She put them away as utterly as a gown no longer in fashion. Dali knew that the advanced minds of the Neo-men gave them great powers of adaptability, but he was astonished to learn, particularly in Ellen’s case, how great those actually could be. True enough, regret tinged her tones when she spoke of leaving Lunapolis, but al- ways eagerness would come at her men- tions of Earth. W^ith the great majority of Neo-men it was the same. At first it had been difficult for them to believe that their uncanny mental experiences under the influence of Jonothan and the Control had been more than just a dream. But proof of cold, sober reality was amply supplied. For at frequent intervals a mighty organ-note would thunder in warning reminder throughout Lunapo- lis. And when any Neo-men tried stealthily to hide away in his baggage weapons or information pertaining to weapons, the offender was promptly and painfully chastised. Jonothan, from whatever strange realm into which he had vanished, was watching. None could have been more excited and enthusiastic about the return to Earth than Frontenac. The volatile scientific-dilettante had been verging almost on a breakdown with the in- tensity of his loneliness and homesick- ness. Dali realized that it was this more than anything else which had inspired F rontenac’s denunciations. F olio wing Dali’s almost personal victory over the Neo-men, Frontenac had been abject in his apologies. Dali had accepted these whole-heartedly and even gratefully. '^HE three-day periods which Jon- othan had allotted for the exodus from Lunapolis drew to a close. With little more to gather and pack away than their personal belongings, these had been more than sufficient for the Neo-men. The fleet of degravity cruis- ers was ready, and even before the ex-

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164 AMAZING STORIES piration of tfie time limits Jonothan had set, they took off. The sleek, slim vessels were a magnificent sight as they rose effortlessly in formation, gleaming in the sunlight, and pointed their taper- ing bows toward Earth. In one of the cruisers Dali stood at a viewport with Ellen, gazing down at Lunapolis. The city was receding with distance, becoming toylike. Its shining perfection was a startling contrast to the dead, pitted landscape of the moon. The fleet was still on the hidden side, but was moving away with increasing rapidity as acceleration mounted. Be- fore long astronomers on Earth would catch sight of it. The presence of so many ships would have been hard to miss. As events later showed, the fleet "was sighted, and the news of its ap- proach was enough to bring a stunned halt to the frantic preparations for war which were taking place. Nor were these preparations resumed afterward — perhaps because of certain plans and instructions given by the Neo-men to the government of every nation. Dali wasn’t concerned about the fu- ture just then, however. He was staring intently at the dwindling outlines of Lunapolis. “Do you really think it’ll , happen, Harvey?” Frontenac’s voice broke a long silence. He was standing before another viewport a short distance away. Dali nodded. “I’m pretty sure it will, Jules. Keep watching.” The towers and spires of Lunapolis receded with distance, becoming indis- tinguishable in the dazzle of the Sun’s radiance. And then, when the city had the size and general appearance of an alabaster crown, it rose suddenly from the surface of the Moon, Out of the vast crater-mouth it rose, borne by the tremendous column upon which it rest- ed. Higher it lifted, and higher, moving in a direction opposite to that of the fleet. It faded to a glinting mote that vanished among the blazing stars of space. The great blue-green orb of Earth was becoming visible over the Lunar horizon. Ellen looked at it for a long moment. Then she turned her head to smile mistily at Dali. “The new home of the Neo-men,” she murmured. Dali’s arm tightened about her. “And ours, too, Ellen.” Earth’s full orb swelled into view, shining with promise. SCIENCE GOES TO HOLLYWOOD The zaniest field of endeavor for the indus- trial scientist is found in the movie in- dustry. Each production company has found that it must have at least one consultant chemist on its payroll prepared to meet any un- usual problem which may come up in the making of a movie. Chemists have provided the means whereby a Aero and heroine can dash unharmed through a blazing inferno by developing what is known as “cold fire.” It can be delivered in sealed cans to whatever movie lot is planning to have a nice fire, Composed of both inflammable and nonin- flammable substances, the ingredients are balanced so that the burning material furnishes very re- alistic flames while the noninflammable ingredient acts as brake and keeps the flames cool enough so that the stars won't get scorched. Not so long ago a chemist wa.s asked to inform a distraught director how to cope with a bunch of drowsy crocodiles. In his usual thorough sci- entific fashion, the chemist came through with the much-needed solution. A chemical substance was suggested which could be dumped in the tank with the valuable rcpUle.s to arouse them .sufficiently to act ferocious and pursue a “fear-stricken” heroine at the proper time. Problems of noise are met by the scientists continually. One wa.s asked how to deaden a stretch of cobblestone pavement which w'as being used in a historical picture so that the noise of the horses’ hooves wouldn’t be too loud for the sensitive microphones. At one time movie fogs were simulated by vaporizing mineral oil and spraying it over the {Continued on page 166)

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QUEST of tL LOST CITY ^ By SANFORD M. CLEVELAND ^ Does a lost Indian city of catacombs, filled with records of a race of people more highly advanced than those of the present day, and treasure to delight both the gold-hunter and the archaeologist, lie under the metropolis of Los Angeles? In the summer and fall of 1933, G. Warren Shufelt, a geophysical mining engineer, was sur- veying the Los Angeles area for buried deposits of oil, gold, or other valuable materials, using a new apparatus of his own invention. His investiga- tions led him back and forth from the Public Library, in the heart of the city, to the vicinity of the Southwest Museum, at (he top of Mt. Wash- ington, many miles away. He was deeply puzaled when his instrument showed what seemed to be a pattern of tunnels, with large rooms scattered at various points along them, and deposits of gold, apparently man-made, in the chambers and passages. But he drew up a map of his discovery, and had it copyrighted. Then Shufcll came in contact with Little Chief Green Leaf, whose English name is L. Marklin. A member of the medicine lodge of the Hopi In- dians in Arizona, Macklin told Shufelt of a legend, long held by his tribe and by some Indians on Mt. Shasta, which apparently cleared up the mystery. According to Macklin, the American Indians knew that a lost city was located within a chain of hills formed like the frog of a horse’s hoof. This is exactly the formatujn of the mountains surrounding the city of Los Angele.s. The story of the buried city, told by the Chief as pieced together by him, goes something like this: The Lizard People were the first inhabitants of the American continent, and had colonies all along the Pacific coast. Inclined to peace and agri- culture, they were much further advanced cul- turally and intellectually than modern human beings, and a 9-year-old child of their race was the equivalent of a present-day college graduate. They revered the lizard, and called themselves the Lizard People, because they recognized rep- tiles as the .symbol of longevity. They claimed that a lizard conserves its energy by inhaling for a whole day, exhaling for three months, and thus prolongs its life. Expeditions were sent out in many directions, and, while some returned, certain groups settled and populated much of the North American area. The race known as the Maya.s was one such colony that ventured far south. Others settled east of the Mississippi river. Between 4,000 and 5,000 years ago, a gigantic meteor shower fell on the western coast of the continent, devastating an area several hundred miles wide. The famous crater near Winslow, Arizona, was dug by a portion of this rain of fire. Thousands of Indians were killed, their crops wiped out, their dwellings destroyed, the forests set on tire. The surviving members of the medicine lodge, which had remained on the west coast, met to make plans for constructing refuges in the case of another such disaster. They chose thirteen sites, three of them on the Pacific coast— one in the state of Washington, another near Mt. Shasta, and the third where Los .Wigcles now stands, Instead of excavating with tools, they used a chemical solution, perfected by them, which dis- solved the earth and rock that it touched. And they lined the walls of the tunnels and rooms with a cement far better and stronger than any known today. The city in the Southern California area was located under a hill in the middle of a curving ring of surrounding mountains. More than a dozen shafts were sunk, aimed to come together in several places in.stead of at a single spot. Where they converged, rooms were hollowed out, and joined with winding passages. Tunnels were constructed which reached to the ocean, nearly twenty miles away. The tides, rising and falling in the lower tunnels, cleaned and sanitized them, and in addition ventilated the living areas by forcing air into the upper cham- bers. The subterranean city was large enough to house .5,000 people. Food supplies, composed of impeii.shable herbs, were stored to enable them to live for an indefinite period of time. Per- sonal property and utensils were conveyed into the crypts, along with records and treasures of gold, When, after some years, sentinels gave warning of another rain of fire from the sky, the Lizard People entered the underground city and sealed the shafts behind them. They saved themselves from the falling meteors. But natural gas seeped into the passages and killed the refugees. No one escaped from the Lizard City. C.O ('‘ONVTNCED were both Shufelt and Mack- ^ lin of the truth of the legend and the infalli- bility of the detecting machine, that they ile- termined to .sink a shaft down to the subterranean vaults. They located a vacant lot which was a part of the old Banning estate at 51S Norfh Hill Street, atop Fort Moore Hill in the heart of Los Angeles, and which was directly above one of the largest roojus. On an oiler of a .share in the returns, twelve

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166 AMAZING STORIES men were found to help handle the drilling equip- ment, and by the end of November, 1933, the shaft was down 200 feet. Shufelt was determined to drill to a depth of 1,000 feet, if necessary, to reach the catacombs. The city, according to both the legend and the radio-surveyed maps, was laid out in the form of a lizard, with its tail under the Library at Fifth and Hope streets, and the body extending northeast, the head being at Lookout and Marda streets, near North Broadway. The key room to the city is located under Second and South Broadway. The legend states that the key room is the directory to all the rest of the city, and to the record tablets located at many points. The record tablets were slabs of gold, four feet long and fourteen inches wide, gold having been the symbol of life to the Lizard People. Shufelt said that he had taken x-ray pictures, which showed thirty-seven such tablets, three of which had one corner cut off. On the tablets, the legend said, would be found records of the origin of the human race, and the history of man in the Americas, including the recorded history of the Mayas of Central Ameri- ca and Yucatan, Shufelt’s apparatus depicted the rooms and tun- nels as sub-surface voids, with the gold slabs as dark areas, showing perfect sides, ends, and cor- ners. The rooms, seven of which occur within a surface area of six square city blocks, vary in size from 23 x 23 feet to 34 x 54 feet. The room above which the investigators were sinking their shaft was 31 x 42 feet. The key room was one of the smallest of all. Water had apparently seeped into the tunnels to a much higher level than planned by the Indian builders, and several of the rooms, including the largest, were completely filled. Shufelt had pos- sltly planned to use diving equipment to explore the submerged area when he and his men broke into the subterranean city. Macklin said that the Lizard People had been able to predict earthquakes and that he bimself had predicted the destructive temblor at Long Beach on March 10, 193,1, a month in advance. He claimed that it was easy for anyone to tell 96 hours in advance when an earthquake was coming, because compass needles become demag- netized and refuse to point north. Shufelt’s radio device consisted, so far as could be seen, of a large pendulum suspended in a Science Goes to Hollywood (Concluded front page 164) set. This made for very poor working conditions; the clothes of the actors had to be changed fre- quently and their make-up removed to be re- applied. But the chemists soon found a cheap and safe substitute for the oily spray in solid carbon dioxide. Jets of steam are now passed over cylindrical glass case, a mysterious black box and some compasses. The plummet, attached to a copper wire, swayed constantly, pointing towards minerals or tunnels in the ground, and then revolv- ing when directly over the ore deposit, or swing- ing parallel to the excavation when over the shaft or tunnel. Shufelt said that the apparatus worked on a newly discovered radio principle involving elec- trical similarities of matter which had the same source. The pendulum would trace a line direct- ly from a piece of ore broken from a vein to the vein itself. Some hair, placed in the device, would lead investigators to the person to whom the hair belonged. The apparatus would operate over a distance of many miles. By tuning in to the identification frequency of any matter of which the operator possessed a sample, the vibration of that matter was projected so as to form a profile picture of the object being searched for, the engineer continued. He refused to tell what was in the mysterious box, because he had not secured complete patents at that time. But be said that the emanational and gravitational factors of matter motivated the pendulum, and that the important principle was that no absolute- ly separate things W'ere just alike. A retired United States Army colonel, who sponsored some of Shufelt’s experiments, but a--,ked that his name be withheld, testified that he had been located by the device at a distance of twenty- nine miles, after he had given Shufelt a sample of his hair and blood. The engineer also sur- veyed the area in which the colonel owned a mine, with the result that he was able to draw a map of the mine which was absolutely accurate. Shufelt said that the machine might be used for locating kidnapped persons, but that he would use it for that purpose only if absolute secrecy was guaranteed. He added that his life would not be worth very much if criminals knew what the device could do. By the beginning of February, 1934, the Shu- felt-Macklin shaft had reached downward 250 feet, and was still being sunk, despite difficulty caused by water encountered in its path. Several newspapers featured articles about the project. But then, shortly afterwards, the project was mysteriously halted, and then abandoned. The two investigators dropped from the news, and they and their efforts to reach the lost city of the Lizard People slipped into oblivion and were forgotten. cakes of dry ice and the resulting vapor i.s sent out onto the set through a system of fine pipes. The fogs can be regulated so that anything from a slight mist to a blanket of pea soup can be wAippecf up in a few minutes. Ice skating rinks are constructed without ice; plate glass windows are made of spun sugar. Erupting volcanoes, typhoons, earthquakes and other imitation natural disasters call for the work of the chemist and his cronies. — Cary Horton.

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O F M O ^aUatui WiUielm S SCIENTISTS By ALEXANDER BLADE JOHANN WILHELM HITTORF was born at Bonn in Germany, on March 27, 1824. He studied at Bonn and Berlin and in 1852 be- came the professor of physics and chemistry in the University of Muenster, where he at once dis- played his ability in original research. In 1879 the physics and chemistry departments were separated, and he became director of the physical labora- tories. Hittorf retained this post until 1889 when he had to resign because of ill-health. After a rest his health improved, and he continued his research work. He died at Muenster on November 28, 1914. Hittorf’s investigations were mainly in the field of electricity, the earliest being on the phenomena of electroly^, where he extended the work of Faraday in determining the mobility of ions of different substances in an electrolyte. In 1862, in collaboration with Plucker, the im- portant discovery was made that the ^ectra of all substances differed materially under different conditions of temperature. In 1869, while investi- gating the passage of the electrical current through glass tubes containing a rarefied gas, he observed that by increasing the degree of exhaustion the dark space between the negative pole and the negative glow widened, and that fluorescence ap- peared when the discharge from the cathode im- pinged on the wall of the tube; and he further found that all these rays could be deflected by the magnet, thus anticipating the brilliant demonstra- tions on this phenomenon that were made by Crookes in 1878. Finally, in the field of chemistry, he was the discoverer of several hitherto unknown properties of phosphorus and selenium. These two elements, which lie some distance apart in the Periodic system of Mendeleef, possess properties which, beside being of high interest, have made them useful in certain directions in the arts. Phosphorus was first encountered as an unknown substance by Brand, a German alchem- ist, in 1669. He was working in his laboratory on urine, striving to extract from it some prin- ciple or material that would effect the transforma- tion of lead or copper into silver or gold which, in his day, was the principal end sought by all the devotees of what was called the “black art." Brand did not recognize his find as an elementary body, but in some way be managed to isolate considerable of it crudely from the other elements with which it was associated — mainly nitrogen and hydrogen in the form of ammonia, and mag- nesia—in the sediment from urine, into which it bad come from the bones, the nerves, the brain substance, the blood and other of the body fluids, where it ia a norma! and necessary constituent, and one which must be taken into the body in food if the organism is to be properly nourished. Accordingly it is found in all kinds of plant life, and in the flesh of all animal, particularly fishes. Finally, it is always present in greater or less proportion in the soil, and in both fresh and salt water, the ultimate source being of course the rocks, where it occurs as phosphates combined with several of the common elements, but mainly with lime and magnesia. t>RAND exploited some of its remarkable prop- erties, and about a century later the chemist Lavoisier demonstrated its elementary character. It is ranked as a non-metal, may be either red, yellow or black in color, crystalline or amorphous in structure, odorless, or with a distinctive odor, opaque or transparent, and must be kept under water free from air or will rapidly combine with oxygen and become phosphoric acid. It begins to melt and vaporize at 215 to 300 degrees Centi- grade, and will catch fire and burn fiercely with an intense white light if given the slightest oppor- tunity. No wonder Brand was able to amuse him- self and astonish others with a material having such unusual properties. Until recent years prac- tically all consumed in the arts has been produced from bones, but an increasing proportion is now coming from the rocks, of which enormous de- posits have been discovered in various parts of the world. Selenium was isolated and recognized as an ele- ment in 1817 by the chemist Berzelius. It is* widely distributed in the material of the earth’s crust, but in minute quantities. A very small per- centage i.s found almost always in the ores of the metals copper, lead, silver, mercury and iron. When these are roasted preparatory to smelting, or during the latter process, the selenium passes aw’ay as a vapor, and when cooled settles down as a fine dust in the fine chambers with other

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168 AMAZING STORIES easily vaporizable substances, from which it may be separated and recovered without difficulty. As with phosphorus, it can exist in several different allotropic conditions, in one of which it appears as a black, glossy and metallic looking mass, but lacking the other metallic peculiarities. If heated in air it begins to soften at 60 degrees Centigrade, and at 250 degrees passes into a very mobile liquid. If the temperature continues to rise it shortly bursts into a lovely purple flaming vapor, which gives off the odor of horseradish. The crystalline variety of the clement has the unusual quality of becoming instantly an active conductor of the electric current when exposed to sunlight rich in red rays, and of losing that property with equal rapidity when the light is removed. Hittorf also made a number of investigations on the passage of electricity through gases; he discovered a number of properties of cathode rays and made investigations on the passivity of metals. His most important work on the migration of ions during electrolysis appeared in the Annalen der Physik between 1853 and 185Q. THE END SIR EDWARD BURNETT TYLOR SIR EDWARD BURNETT TYLOR, English anthropologist, was born at Camberwell, Lon- don, on October 2, 1832, the son of Joseph Tylor, a brass-founder. Alfred Tylor, the geolo- gist, was an elder brother. His parents were mem- bers of the Society of Friends, at one of whose schools, at Grove House, Tottenham, he was edu- cated. Being of delicate constitution, he was com- pelled to abandon work and in 1855 he came to the United States to regain his health. Proceeding in 1856 to Cuba, be met Henry Christy the ethnol- ogist, with whom he visited in Mexico. There he became interested in the study of the ancient civi- lization of the Aztecs and Mayas, the remains of which are so abundant in the great Valley of Mex- ico, in the states of Campeche and Chiapas, and in the republic of Guatemala to the south of them. Finding in this the opportunity for congenial re- search and study he deemted the balance of his life ‘.0 their investigation, and in 1859 began the pub- lication of hi.s discoveries in a volume entitled “Anahuac.” This was followed in 1865 by his “Researches in the Early History of Mankind,” in 1371 by “Primitive Culture,” in 1881 by “Anthro- pology,” and in 1900 by “The Natural History of Religion.” In these books he opened a completely new field for investigation, and being a careful and keen observer as well as possessing a pleasant style, his writings have not only been widely read but have given such an impetus to the study of human antiquities in all parts of the world that he is re- garded as the founder of the science of anthropol- ogy, as well as the supreme authority up to the' present time on -the prehistoric civilization of Mex- ico and Central .America. Tylor first determined the limits of animism, in- tending it to include “the general doctrine of souls, and other spiritual beings.” In 1871 he was elected F.R.S., and in 1883 he became keeper of the Uni- versity museum at Oxford, and reader in anthro- pology in 1884. In 1888 he was appointed first Gifford lecturer at Aberdeen university, and deliv- ered a two years’ course on “Natural Religion.” In 1806 he became first professor of anthropology at Oxford. Knighted in 1912, he died on January 2, 1917. Anthropology, the science of Man, should not be confounded with Archaeology, the science of the remains of the doings and acts of ancient man. While the former has to do more or less with those abstract physical phenomena like gravity, energy, affinity, vitality (in the vegetable world) and mo- tility in that of animals (including man), it adds as its own particular subject that of mentality, and regards the latter as its exclusive field of research, S MAN is a member of the animal world, a knowledge of zoology and cumparutive anat- omy is at the foundation of anthropological sci- ence. To understand correctly the possible phy.sical activities of the human body a thorough acquaint- ance with the nervous and muscular system is re- quired, and to compl'ehcnd mentality the reactions of which the brain is capable must be known. Thus physiology and psychology arc necessary tools of the anthropologist, On the other hand, as the subject enlarged under investigation, special- ization began, .so that today sociology, the science of human groupings; ethnology, the .science of hu- man races; philology, the science of human speech, and mythology, the science of religions, and others, have come into existence as sub-divisions of the main field of research. In time and place anthropology has fundamen- tally to do with that specific era in the history of all the human races that have emerged from sav- agery and barbarism into more or le.ss of civiliza- tion; when the man, by reason of his mental capacity, began to make and use tools, to form theories of nature and life, to provide somewhat for the necessities of tomorrow as a result of the experiences of yesterday, to scheme for something more than food and shelter, and to e.xhibit the germs of an appreciation of beauty and sentiment by the development of the arts of music, arcliitec- ture, painting and sculpture. Above all, to devise means for recording his actions and thouglif.s in pictographs and in systems of script. When this stage of development is attained, history for him has begun, and the science of anthropology prop- erly merges itself into that of archaeology. THE END

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AUA2INC Stobi£S wiU publish ia each issue a selection oi letters from readers. Everybody is welcome to contribute. Bouquets and brickbats will have an equal chance. Inter-reader correspondence and controversy will be encour- aged through this department. Get in with the gang and have your say. Address Your Letters to; DISCUSSIONS DEPARTMENT. Amazing Stories, ZIFF-DAVIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 18S North Wabash Avenue, Chicago 1, Illinois >''<Bn;:B.:s REQUEST rOR PHOTO Sirs: If you have any photos, wliy don’t you print them, even if your paper does not reproduce them too well? Henry Gadouas, 2616 W. Michigan, Milwaukee. Wisconsin. Shown above, is a weird photo taken by Mr. Shaver in his bedroom. Before retiring, Mr. Shaver placed the camera so that it faced his bed. Leav- ing the skniter open, he set the alarm clock so that he could shut it before daylight. He sent the ex- posed film to your editor, who developed it. This is what he found. Apparently it shows a “ray" shooting up through the middle of the bed. We confess we don't know what it is. — Ed. SCIENTIFIC AGREEMENT WITH SHAVER Sirs: In the March 22, 1947 Science News Letters is an article titled "B.AL — Hope For Arthritics." W'hich briefiy describes treatment of patients with BAL who were suffering from poisoning from gold salts treatment for arthritis. The article goes on to say that patients seemed to have a relapse of arthritis when treated with BAL. The relapse, it is explained, is brought about by reactivating en- zyme systems in the body that have been poisoned by heavy metals. Gold is a heavy metal poison. The Journal of the American Medical Associa- tion (March IS) gives the details of the use of B.AL, BAL acts as a reactivating agent to these poisoned enzyme systems in much the same way as Shaver’s treatment of radium poisoned bones acts, in which a high acid diet alternates with a calcium diet to “rinse” out the radum in the bones (Amazing Stories, May, ’47). We have here a remarkable parallel between science fiction and actual science as to the cause of poisoning of the body by heavy metals. Not only that, but the cure for such poisoning too. Applying Shaver’s method of cleansing the bones from heavy metals and using BAL (an al- cohol, 2,3-dimercaptopropanol) to pep up certain enzymes, perhaps the way is opened to us for bet- ter health and longer life. J. R. Guyton, Jr., 1933 Middle Street, Sharpsburg, Pa. Thank you, Mr. Guyton, for calling this to our attention. It is just one more proof that Mr. Shaver’s science, no matter if you believe he gels it from the caves or not, is accurate. P¥oof, proof, proof — it keeps turning up! What about the new proof that cancer is made much more virulent because of radioactivity caused by cosmic raysl Simply by putting lead plates over can- cerous mice, they got much worse cancers. You see, the cosmic rays, passing through lead, hit more atoms and make them radioactive, which in

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DISCUSSIONS 171 There’s a shaft going down. Is it a natural formation? No, its walls are smooth like the inside of a piston shaft of a car. Go to the bottom. I’m there. (Unknown words.) What kind of transportation is there? (She gave a half scream and then said:) There’s evil down here! 1 tried to bring her back as fast as I could, and incidentally, I’ve never had any trouble with a subject before or after this one time. I couldn’t bring her back in one jump. First to the top, and then to Mexico City, and finally back here. But she wouldn’t enter her body. I was really scared, but finally I brought her awake. She said: “I’m awake’’ and rolled over and started shaking and cr>’ing. I asked her if she was all right and she said: “Yes . . . I’ve been some- where I shouldn’t." Then she started breathing violently and said she felt as if she had been running. I tried to give her a stimulant, but she knocked it out of my hand and kept repeating “No,” over and over. I finally got her to drink a glass of water and then she said that there was a fight going on inside her head and refused to speak for about ten minutes. After that she got up and was ap- parently norma! and said she had won. My questions; Was that her subconscious mind raving, or was she really transported somewhere? Was she in the cave of the dero? Why was she terrified ? And the most important, why was it that that was the only time in my experience I almost lost control of a subject? (name deleted) We can’t answer your questions, oj course, but speaking strictly from- the standpoint oj hypnosis, you should be warned to be careful with your experiments. It is obvious that you should exer- cise a more rigid control, or give up this practice. U can be dangerous to the mental condition of your subjects. The human mind under hypnosis is far from understood, and the science is a new one. DON’T DO IT ACAINI You can't prove anything that way, and you might get into trou- ble. It could be serious trouble for you if your experiments got out of hand and anything hap- pened to the health (or life) of your subject. — Ed. VANISHING TRAIN Sirs: In the spring of 1880, a freight train of thirty cars belonging to the Kansas Pacific Railroad started on a run and disappeared completely, no trace of it or its crew ever having been found. Another case, equally mysterious, occurred in France several years ago when naval men, drain- ing out a disused dock, discovered an old sub- marine of which there was no recollection or rec- ord. E. M. F., Box 395, Upton, Wyo. Maseulifliiy in a parfecf combinaHon of art and craftsmanship is this smart, luxurious and cosmo- politan silver and inlaid 9old tie clasp. The design is unique, and will enhance the attractiveness and value of any tie. SEND NO MONEY~Otily your name and address, and pay postman only $4.50 plus postage on dellv> ery, or send $4.50 by cash, check or money order, and we pay postage. Order today. WESTERN ARTS 327 Drake Ave., San Antonio 4, Texas BUY . FIRM E Y fHDM IHh OLDEST ESTABLISHtO IN THE UNITED ST/s T f S SC L L IN6 E GLASSES BY MAIL 1 4; WrlTa Todery for free Cotelague. Sand N» Money AOVANCI SPCaACLB COMPANY 897 $• Dearborn St., Dept. Z-S Chicago. III. ILLUSTRATED COMIC BOOKLETS Sen OUT ILLUSTRATED COMIC BOOKr.ETS and o^er NOVELTIES. Each booklet eixe We will send 2& assorted booklets prei:>aid upon receipt of il.OO or 76 assorted booklets sent prepaid upon receipt oi 92.00. Wboleeale novelty price list sent with order only. No orders sent C.O.D. Send Caab or Money Order. REPSA C SALES CO; IWastlSthSt, Dapt,40>H New York 11, N. r.

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DISCUSSIONS 173 Stances you menlhn can be safely said to be me- teors. The other two possibly also, although the “slow settling” of them sounds odd, unless it was due to the angle of approach which would make them stem to travel slowly toward the ground. As to the ivay dogs act, many people have noted this, and it is a fact that the dogs sense something we do not. .As for the northern lights, haven’t you read how the magnetic north pole has shifted two hundred miles? By the way, how did you arrive at the. conclusion that the magnetic pole of the earth is responsible for northern lights? — Ed. ANOTHER ONE! Sirs: I tried several years ago to tell this story to some men who claimed to be interested in strange experiences and I have never tried again. I have been reading Amazing Stories a long time, but your “Observatory” has given me courage to con- tribute my two-cent.s. I have seen a space ship, not milc.s up, not miles away, but within two thousand feet, not flashing across the sky, but go- ing around fifty miles an hour. In February, about the 5th, 1910—11:45 P.M,, about four miles north of Greer, Idaho, on the Clearwater river, my house lighted up like sun- light. I went outside and saw advancing from the north, or downriver, a large yellow globe, which I thought was a large meteor, but it was traveling so slowly and well below the canyon rim that I soon changed my mind. It passed so low over my head, and between me and the eastern canyon slope, that I could not see clear over its curve to its top. However, I had plenty of time to see that it was a perfect globe, made of a substance like highly polished gold in color, not bright it- self, but lighting up the canyon like sunshine and reflecting back the lighted walls against itself. I could detect no separate lighting system, but the globe was what (yellow, dark, golden) lighted the ground, with intense white light. This globe was not less than one-half-mile in diameter. 1 think more. It traveled south follow- ing the canyon of the Clearwater, and almost di- rectly across the river from me curved around a jutting hill as a plane would do. There were no openings, no visible ports or ob- servation blisters, no rockets, no vapor, no sound of motors; but a strong draft followed it as it would follow a train or other moving body, and only the sound of wind was perceptible. I watched this globe travel about ten miles. It was below canyon rim, as before stated, not over two-thousand feet up, and missing jutting peaks and ridges in a manner showing easy control. I am 66 years old, think it my duty to leave this record, becau.se this ship or others like it will visit us again. If Shaver, or others of your authors had seen it, your space ships would not have clumsy rocket tubes. F. H, Whitney, Rt. 4, Everett, Wash. INTRODUCTORY OFFER! MHLi m siNNHi's rikMoy;.^ HEALTH CHART V SimiflTDB ■ THIS WONDERFUL CHART MAY END YOUR FOOT SUFFERING FOREVERI iSEND FOB FREE foot health CHART today -now RAUIA ANN BENNETT E « « HEAITKE FOOT FROOUCTS CO. lANSDAlE.PA.^ Gentleman t Flecite isnd me yeui. free <harl which will ch«w the way la F»at relief./' Clly

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174 AMAZING STORIES m$!!,000to *10. Utr»'n roQ Ihornlv Alhoioo to MtO 1JU:» lur r. n e^iDiiivuoov ^ •X«CqQrcody. INsla and Pamale, Pntd " Outa'ddU.S.M. send 61.36 Dtp*. 72. A lYNBROOK, NEW YORK JJOO Arimnttian SHg^n $h«Ss RIB* AmnunRlM Revolver ’ New Sti^ns , NavRMu ' Send SSe for Handy Home WotkiTioO Ounsralth SLtoual and Lacut Ajnffiuoittoa tod Ouni Catalogue. NEW YORK COMPANY, 10600-10710 West RiJgwoy Block ^'**?*^Y Pdmia^lva^ t on your own broadCMt at horn* with * Maki^ M'He. Slmf. Talk from any room voice practice, E.i«ny attached to any radio. feoKEV. ray postman Cl, 96 plus poataga. Send cbeck or — er and save postage. No C.O.D.'a outside U.S.A. ROLCY SAl.ES CO., INC., Pept. Zfd-l, tS Sprues St., Naw York T, M.V. SEND Nf> V EXPLORING THE MIND OF MAN •y GARY LEE HOETON IN THE summer of 1021, Dr. Watson, the famous originator of Bchaviorist psychology, was pushing groceries over Macy’s counters just like any other clerk. His position was due to an unfortunate set of circumstances which took him from his post at Johns Hopkins Uni- versity and tossed him bodily into the business world. But he made the most of that turn of events by studying the consumer and his psy- chology from a perfect vantage point. Watson’s career had been marked by turbulency and unrest from the very start. His first college experiences were unfortunate ones, and it was not until he reached the University of Chicago where he studied under such men as John Dewey and James Rowland Angell that be knew in which direction he was heading, Psychology became his field, although it meant much hardship to re- main in college with his limited financial re-

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EXPLORINS THE MIND OF MAN 175 sources. This future scientist worked hb way through, first as an assistant janitor-porter in the laboratory, a waiter in a boarding house, pri- vate nurse to a cage of white mice, and then as a mes-senger boy. Watson’s struggles led to a doctor’s degree and many opportunities for teaching and further study at other institutions. But he declined them all in favor of Dewey’s offer to remain in Chicago as assistant to Angell. His teaching and experimental work from 1902 to 1908 proved to be some of the most valuable in his career, and one of the most productive periods of his life. It was at this time that his theory was taking shape. All hb highly developed powers of con- centration and observation were directed now to the animal world, for he believed that since psy- chology has come to consider man’s mind as a product of evolution, logic demands that we study the animal’s mind first to learn bow man’s mental mechanism operates at its simplest level. Hb atti- tude and argument seemed sound enough, but how could the animal’s mind be studied? Animals could not tell their experiences; their behavior had to be studied minutely. And Watson based his ex- periments completely upon this limitation, con- fining his studie.s to the observation of animal be- havior under fixed conditions. Seeing mice and rats learn solely by the trial-and-error method in the maze he built for them, developed bis theory that if reasoning was absent In animals, it could very well be that it had been overrated in human beings. In 1907 he was offered a laboratory of bis own and complete freedom in which to conduct his experiments at the Johns Hopkins Hospital. Morning, noon, and night he pondered on such problems as the exbtence of instincts, trying to de- termine once and for all whether there actually are any basic unlearned reactions in animals. On an bland off Key West in the Gulf of Mexico, he tried to come to some conclusions about the learned or conditioned “homing” instinct of the flocks of wild gulls, or terns. Back in Baltimore, eager to continue his experiments on this problem, Watson found that the World War had begun and his services were required elsewhere. He gave invaluable help in the setting up of psychological examinations to test the adaptability of men for aviation. He ran up against army red tape, and was almost court-martialed because he expressed hb opinion of the famous so-called Ro- tation Test direct to hb corps leader as requested in.stead of transmitting his views through regular army channels. At the war’s end, Watson was back in his Baltimore laboratory once more, in- tent on launching on the study of the emotional responses of infants. Y^ATSON was to be the pioneer in thb field. * ’ Although for a generation scientists had been gathering a great many facts about the young of practically every species of animal, they had al- mo.st no reliable data on the human infant. Luckily, Watson and his staff were permitted to Hi “3 -4 -S -6 -T -8 -iS men and WOMEN NEVER BEFORE ** * b«3utiful am) onuiuat originaj Hand Caf^’td RAM’S HEAD - «>. energy, vitality and don’t have natural desires for fun and good times. 1/ you suJTer from acbes and pains, coated tongue or bad skin, It. may be due to faulty eUmlnatim. HELP NATURE with OSR TaMsts —nature’s herbs In tablet forni. CAUTION: Take only. vt shown b? simple dlrecUons on the box. Hio SAFE PRESCRIPTION TYPetoEredlsnis in OSR TaMsts give culck. pleasant relief. Tea, yen’ll ainlle as you do jour dally duty Ube a healthy man or woman. SEND NO MONEY— pay DOBtroan $1.35 for a big bos of 180 OSR Tablet*. Or send $1 NOW and SAVE 35e. HEALTH IS POWER— WRITE TODAY. STANDARD REMEDY CO., Dept. 1-3. Baltiaora 2. Watrland. ' ( drti rr(»fitable Profession III QO days at Home ^iiii any Swedish Massage g:a<!ua(c3 make $59, $75, ' '~en more per week. Large full time Incomes doctors, hospitals, aanitorlums, clubs or prl- rale practice. Olhera make good money In spare time. You can win independence and )rapare for future security bv training at jorae and Qualifying for diploma. Anatomy Charts and 32 p — • lllustrafcd Hook FREE DepL 7Si*^ 100 i

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Watson was interested in finding out just what emotional equipment the infant was born with and what was cultivated by his surroundings and parents as teachers. These he narrowed di>wn to three fundamental emotional response.^ or patterns, fear, anger (or rage), and love. Babies demon- strated a fear of loud sounds by a sudden start, rapid breathing, shutting their eyes and puckering their lips. They were angry when any of their bodily movements were hampered; when their head was held tightly in one position, or when their hands were held down at their sides. And their anger was expressed by a stiffening of the body, struggles to escape, the holding of the breath or screaming. Stroking of the skin, gentle rocking and patting evoked the love responses. The baby gurgled and uttered sounds of .satisfac- tion and joy. These were basic and untaught re- actions. Wat-son’s discovery that the average infant had practically no fears or complexes except those which were learned or built up in his environment had to be backed up by one more daring experi- ment. He planned to build up fears in an infant, then later study practical methods for removing them. His subject for study was the elevcn-month- old son of a member of the hospital staff, a very happy child who was never known to cry except when he was afraid. Watson's first objective was to produce a fear response in the child to a white rat through a conditioning process. The white rat which he had played with for weeks was presented to the child. Just as his hand touched the animal, a metal bar was sounded very close to his head. The infant jumped and buried his face in the mattress. Without crying he reached again for the animal, and the bar was struck again. This time the child cried. At the end of the following week when the experiment was repeated, the child did not seem an.xious to reach for the rat. When he finally mustered the necessary courage, he pulled his hand back very quickly after it came in contact with the animal. The frightening sound was now firmly associated with the tiny furry animal in his mind, and al- though he still enjoyed playing with his blocks he showed repugnance for rabbits, pigeons, and any- thing hairy. Although the sound was not repeated, the fear remained implanted in his memory. Watson’s pioneering experiments were attract- ing world-wide attention. Child psychology was not yet recognized as a separate science, and Wat- son was breaking new ground. Then suddenly, in the closing weeks of 1920, something happened that halted Watson’s work. The news of Watson’s divorce from his wife found its way into the Baltimore newspapers and so shocked the trustees of John.s Hopkins University that they demanded his resignation. Driven from Baltimore by the resulting scandal, he landed in New York without a laboratory and without a job.

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EXPLORING THE MIND OF MAN 177 1X7HILE conducting investigations on consumer ’’ ’ psychology for an advertising agency, he be- came so interested in the problem that he made arrangements to clerk in Mary’s department store for two months during the summer of 1 021. There he was able to learn the customer’s reaction first hand. But Watson couldn’t let hi.s discoveries in the field of child psychology lie uncompleted and un- acclaimed. He knew he held the truth firmly in his grasp and wanted the scientific world to become aware of his findings and their full .significance. Watson continued studying infants, observing and cataloging them from birth through the kinder- garten age. Everything a child learns to do, Wat- son found to grow out of emotionally conditioned responses. A child’s reaction to any situation or object was condoned or condemned by his parent, or otherwise resulted in a pleasant or frightening outcome causing him to become “emotionally conditioned." These early conditionings are un- consciously acquired by infants and are of primary importance in determining personality, more so than anything which is acquired later. Watson’.s conclusions when publicized in scien- tific journals caused a great deal of controversy. Men found it hard to believe that a person could learn to be afraid before he could speak or under- stand words. The pure Behaviorism of Watson did not gibe with prevailing psychological theories, but despite that fact, its principles made them- selves felt almost at once in the field of education. His experimentation and study of infant behavior continued, and with the aid of Mrs. Mary Cover Jones at the Heckschcr Foundation his work was carried through to completion. Seventy children with a pronounced fear of frogs, rabbits, snakes, and other small animals were used as subjects in ari endeavor to discover the most usable means of removing the fear. Seven basic methods were em- ployed and very interesting results were obtained. It was found that a child could not ‘forget his fears, could not be talked out of them, or become familiar with the feared object through long asso- ciation. Ridicule of the fear worked sometimes but was considered dangerous unless wisely handled. Direct conditioning, associating the pet with something pleasant, was found very helpful; and social stimulation, seeing his playmates fondle the animal without fear, was the most successful method of all. Watson gave psychology a new direction, the study of personalities in the making. Other men took up the task of finding out all there was to know in thf.s vast field of untouched knowledge. Arnold Gcsel! of Yale, Yerkes, and (Mark Hull are just three of the modern scientists at work on the problem today. Until Watson’s findings were publicized, man’s mental make-up was still one of the great riddles of science. Dissections had cleared away most of the doubts and superstitions which concerned the workings of the human body, but the mind re- mained a mystery. Watson’s “behavior” theory was the key which opened the door to its secrets. .■v YOUCAN LEAKNTO VRAW e» Kn Xrfli. Ilomexin Your .. TOUT futmo career Train You «l our Spare Time. Plan career m a fidd ^MIBT capable of eai^gJM'*60475 A WEEKI COMMERUAL ART CARtooNiNG L IN one COMPLETE COURSE DESIGNING prevtous art experience necessary. Since 1914 ttpU Kuutrn, practical metbod bse been b'^ntna men and women for Bucceesful Art Careers. 2 ART 0UTPlT$ witb course. FREE book-^'Art for Pieature and Profttv teUa all about our fascinating course cf tr^* ^ ing. what our ^aduates say and commer- I Wartlnoton Solioot gl ’gt. 1 iii5_j5th St., N. W., Washington 5, 0. C. I Send me your free booklet and full particulars. I Name AGE.. I Street FORTUNE.” Ik* bow ^aetic Surgery qutekty. easily re-shapet ugly nosee. sets back protruding cars, corrects other de- fects. This book by a famous plastk surgeon contains over 88 “before and after” photos, answers all the questions usually asked. Sent post-paid ia plain wrapper for only 2 Sc. FRANKLIN HOUSE, Publfafiart l629Drexe]Bldg., Phlladelohla.Pa., Dept. ID I Borrow' $30 to‘$300- Need money? Nomatterwher^ you live you can borrow BY f MAIL $60.00 to SSOO.QO this 1 easy quick oom)ft.OYED MXH and women of good character can adve their monevprob- Isma quickly and in privacy witflloana MAOK^ BMtl. 1^ endorsers or co- signers. We do not contact employers, fticndaMTelatiTea.Convenientmoatb- ly payments. Send us your name and address and we will mail appllaatl, 0apt.M-e4. NewOrlMRS 12, U.

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178 AMAZING STORIES To People Who Want to Write Beginner Earns $1,819.00 "Today I received a zheck for $1^ for a ttory. Anoxia I vAdfor 934. The other day I counted up just how much / made previously. It amounted to $1,620.00. Not bad for a heeinner, is it?' — ifrs. Z. L. Gray, 579 E. McHargAve., Stamford, hut can’t get started Do you have the constant urge to write but the fear that a begin- ner hasn't a chance? Then listen to what the former editor of Liberty said on this subject: “There is more room for newcomers in the writing field today than ever be- fore. Some of the greatest of writing men and icomen have passed from the scene in recent years. Who will take their places? Who will be the new Robert W. Chambers, Edgar Wallace, Rudyard Kipling? Fame, riches and the happiness of achievement await the new men and women_of power.*’ Writing Aptitude Test — FREE! The Newspaper Institute of America offers a FREE Writing Aptitude Test. Its object is to discover new recruits for the army of men and women who add to their income by fiction and article writing. The Writing Aptitude Test is a simple but expert analysis of your latent ability, your powers of observation, imagination, dramatic instinct, etc. Not all applicants pass this test. Those who do are qualified to take the famous N.I.A. course based on the practical training given by big metropolitan dailies. This is the New York Copy Desk Method which teaches you to write by writing! You develop your individual style instead of trying to copy that of others. Sells 95 Stories and Novelettes The introduelion you gave me to your editor friend, resiiUing in my present assignment to do a complete novel for him montmy, is doMy ap- preciated especially since I finished my t'l.I.A. training some time ago and, consequently, have no call on your service. Here is concrete evi- dence that interest in your students continues indefinitely. To date now, I nave sold 95 stories and novelettes to 20 National Maga. tines," — Darrell /w dan, P.O. Box 279, Faendskip, N.Y, You “cover" actual assignments such as metropolitan reporters get. Although you work at home, on your own time, you are constantly guided by experienced writers. It is really fascinating work. Each week you see new progress. In a matter of months you can acquire the cov- eted “professional" touch. Then you’re ready for market with greatly improved chances of making sales. Mail the Coupon Novo But the first step is to take the Writing Apti- tude Test. It requires but a few minutes and costs nothing. So mail the coupon now ! Make the first move towards the most enjoyable and profitable occupation — writing for publication ! Newspaper Institute of America, One Park Avenue, New York 16, N. Y. (Founded 1925) Newspaper Institute of America One Park Ave., New York 16, N. Y. Send me, without coat or obligation, yoar Writing Aptitude Teat and further information about writing for profit. Address ( ) Check here if you are eligible under the G.I. Bill of Rights. (All correspondence confidential. NB aslecmui Will citil on yoa) • •HI2-H-667 Ciopyright 19i7 Newspaper Institute tf ASStaft PRINTED IN U.S.A. VETERANS: ThUcoDrss approved for Veterans' Training

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(on IS IT?) that Little Dream House, without a trunk full of moolah? You think the carpenters are going to work free? Or the plumbers? Or the archi- tects? Not those lads. They’ve binm around. They’re no dopes. And how are you going to send that kid of yours to college, without the folding stuff? Maybe you think he can work his way through by playing the flute. If so, you’re crazy. (Only three students have ever worked their way through college by play- ing the flute. And they had to stop eating for four years.) BY GROUCHO MARX And how are you going to do that world- traveling you’ve always wanted to do? Maybe you think you can stoke your way across, or scrub decks. Well, that’s no good. I’ve tried it. It interferes with shipboard romances. So — all seriousne.ss aside — you'd better keep on .saving, pal. Obviously the best way is by continuing to buy U. S. Savings Bonds — through the Payroll VlHtRES My DOUGH ? ^ / They’re .safe and sound. Old Uncle Sam per- sonally guarantees your inv(^traent. And he never fobbed off a bum 1.0. U. on anybody. You get four bucks back for every^^wee you put in. And that ain’t hay, alfalfa, or a^ .other field -grown product. Millions of Americans — smart cookies all — have found the Payroll Plan the easiest and best way to .save. So stick with the Payroll Plan, son — and you can’t lo.se. WHAT do you want to .save up a lot of money for? You’ll never need the stuff. Why, just think of all the wonderful, wonderful things you can do without money. Things like — well, things like — On second thought, you’d l>etter keep on sav- ing, chum. Otherwise you’re licked. For instance, how are you ever going to build ( SA^e we ^ WAY... BUY BONDS WROUGH PAYROLL SAVINGS Contributed by this magazine in co-operation with the Magazine Publishers of America as a public service. %■ 1' f

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AMAZING STORIES Ok S<Uc Cuhc fOa newsstands everywhere THE AUGUST ISSUE OF \UIPMG ^ "stories Here is the top science story of the decade, written by a mathematician ... a SCIENTIST . . . with the calm, cold, log- ical, and irrefutable equations of mathematics. Written, too, by a writer of no mean ability when it comes to thrills, ac- tion, high emotion, and sheer entertainment. Yes, you'll be entertained by this story-^but you'll be shocked too! You'll be shocked right out of your shoes. Because if atoms go to war, ; hu WILL HAPPEN!