Startling Stories v06n03 1941-11

Page 1

A NOVEL OF THE FUTURE COMPLETE IN THIS ISSUE! A Long Book-Length Novel By JOSEPH J. MILLARD

Page 2

"Tf/E JAWS OF PEATH ClAMPEP POWW OW /HE f" A true experience of BALLARD DEAN, Kirkland, Washington "THE THING sprangout of the earth one bitterly cold evening as I was return- ing to camp after an all- day deer hunt," writes Mr. Dean. "I suffered excru- ciating agony, as It bit into my leg. It was a bear trap, illegally set for deer. "FRANTICALLY, I TRIED TO GET LOOSE as the cold knifed through my cloth- ing. With sinking heart, I found my struggles of no avail. In a few hours, if help could not be sum- moned, I would freeze to death. Darkness came on as I fought hopelessly with the strong steel jaws. "THEN I THOUGHT OF MY FLASHLIGHT. There was a chance that other re- turning hunters might be in the woods. Flashing the bright beam off and on, my efforts were finally rewarded. Thanks to those 'Eveready’ jresh DATED batteries, two men saw my signal and rescued me from that death trap. (Signed) jQcdL/LaJtxl.

Page 3

So you dropped out of school too soon? WeU, cheer up! Ask any representative group of Executives, Engineers or Edu- cators and most of them will tell you: “ You CAN make good through specialized home study . . .IF you unit make the effort and STICK to your course." In fact, you'll find that; a number of important men in nearly every! locality are former home study students thein-L selves. They KNOW and have PROVED* that home study pays. In 40 years, home study has become an integral part of ‘‘the American way” . . . a nationwide educational system ; npeciaUy geared to the needs of wage earners. Today, there arc - - i far more home study schools thao ['-V you perhaps realize— and you ft may place confidence in the S ,« courses of the American School. established over 40 years ago to , S bring you the advantages ol advanced education. - Courses complete fn themselves: and in- clude basic subjects/ essentia! to proper Un demanding of more .^advanced portions. Catalogs and but* letins sent FREE. heavy — but the rewards of success are rich. If you persist in doing work that unyone else can do — if you carelessly leave yourself open to competi- tion with Machinery that sooner or later may do all the "unthinking" jobs . . 1 the repetitive tasks — you ore-slated for final disappointment and bitterness. To win out. today, you must THINK. You must think ON the Job and AWAY from It and. most Important, you must think AHEAD ol It. And that takes study, loin this "Promotion Parade” of Progress-Minded Men and Women Or the approximately 2.000.000 men and women enrolled > (or further education In universities, colleges. Institutes of technology and home study Institutions, about 3714% — or 750.000— have chosen home study as most practical tor their purposea. They want to win Success. You do. tool They have FAITH In themselves. Do you believe In your. srl/t They have Investigated home study — decided that It oners them their way "out and up" . . . out ot the low pay. periodically unemployed rank and file. . . up Into well paid positions where they enjoy prosperity, security and respect. Cet the farts, yourself. On coupon, cheek the line ofwork that MOST Interests you . . . mall It PROMPTLY lor Information and complete details of this offer. NO OBLIGATION. Address ycrar inquiry, TODAY, to Instruction material and methods simplify and speed up learning. Tht* seal protects AMERICAN SCHOOL you I Dept. G758, Drcxcl at 58th, Chicago .*fsr*, Clip and Mall This Coupon NOW — — — — — '■ AMERICAN SCHOOL, Dept. G758. Drexul at 58th, Chicago without obllyoUon, Please send FREE and postpaid, bulletin and details ot the Subjects checked. :&S*DAIr Conditioning ORef , anF.lec. & Gas DCoi vM Refrigeration DPrs vivjf □Architecture Boc and Building OF.cc SSKSf □Plumbing and Dll iSSSf Steam Fitting OPrl W □Automotive ODit i7 Engineering DSu □ Drafting and Design □ Radio and Television □ High School □ Home Economics □ Liberal Arts □ Mechanical Pattern Drafting ’Engtowlng □ Salesmanship AMERICAN SCHOOL Dept. G758, Drcxcl at 58th, Chicago Thousands Have Made Good through HOME STUDY

Page 4

* T H E BEST IN S C I E N T I F I C T I O N THE GOE )S HATE KANSAS By JOSEPH J. MILLARD Curt Temple Pits His Earth Knowledge Against the Most Perfect Intelligence in the Cosmos When Xacrn, the Ninth Planet, Seeks to Enslave the W orld 1 6 Other Unusual Stories __ Robert Bloch 9 1 Angus Breen Trembles Before the Bodiless Head of Martin Vail THE BONELESS HORROR Dr. David H. Keller 98 An Outstanding ScientiSction Hall of Fame Selection TRAIL'S END John Broome 109 Surgery Can’t Change a Man’s Heart When a Space-Storm Strikes l Special Features THRILLS IN SCIENCE Thumbnail Sketches 87 SCIENCE QUESTION BOX Answers to Queries 97 THE ETHER VIBRATES Announcements and Letters 118 REVIEW OF FAN PUBLICATIONS The Editor 128 Cover Painting by Rudolph Belarski — Illustrating THE GODS HATE KANSAS STARTLING STORIES, published every other month by Better PubUMUons. Inc. N L. Pines, President, at fgOOJMver- sey Ave.. Chicago, 111. Editorial and executive Offices. 10 'East 40th St.. New York. N. Y. toteredM second class matter September 29. 1038. at the post office at Chicago. Illinois, under the act of March 8. 18i9. Copyright. 1941, by Better Publications. Inc. Yearly $.90. single copies *.15; foreign and Canadian postage extra. Manuscripts wUl not be returned unless accompanied by self-addressed stamped envelope and are submitted at the author’s risk Names or aU characters used In stories and semi-fiction articles are Actltloui. If a name of any living person or existing Institution Is used. It la a coincidence. Companion magazine.: Thrlllino Wonder Stories, Captain Future. Popular Weatern. Thrllllnp Myrtery. Thrllllnp Western. Thrilling Detective, Thrllllnp Adventure., Thrilling Love, The Phantom Detective. The American Eagle. RAF Aeea. .Sky n i Th.mi.n D...k etn. u. Thritiinn Cn.rti Pnnular jtnnrfi Msns7ine. Ran oe Rider. Western. Fighters* Popular Detective. Thrilling Ranch Stories. Thrllllnp Sports. Popular Sports Magazine Range Riders Western, Everyday Astrology. G-Men Detective. Detective Novels Magazine Black Book Detective, Popular Love, r Western. R4o Kid Western. Air War. The Masked Detective. Exciting Detective. Exciting Western. Exolt- Texas Ranger ing Love, Popular Football. Thrilling Football, Exciting Football a PRINTED IN THE D. S. A

Page 5

BE A RADIO TECHNICIAN

Page 6

They Sever Knew It %is SO EAST To Ploy Thousands Learn Musical Instruments By Amazingly Simple Method No Teacher, No Musical Knowledge Required. In a Short Time You Start Playing Real Tunes! 700,000 Now Enrolled THINK of the fun YOU are missing I The popularity, friendship, good times! Why? Because you think it’s hard to learn music. You have an idea that it’s a slow, tedious task, with lots of boring drills and exercises. That’s not the twentieth-century way! Surely you’ve heard the news! How people all over the world have learned to play by a method so simple a child can understand it — so fascinating that it’s like playing a game. Imagine! You learn without a teacher — in your spare time at home — at a cost of only a few cents a day! You learn by the famous print-and-picture method — every position, every move before your eyes in big, clear illustrations. You CAN’T go wrong! And best of all, you start playing real tunes almost at once, from the very first lesson. No needless, old-fashioned "scales” and exercises. No confused, perplex- ing study. You learn to play by play- ing. It’s thrilling, exciting, inspiring! No wonder hundreds of thousands of people have taken up music this easy way. No wonder enthusiastic letters like those reproduced here»pour in from all over the world. Sound interesting? Well, just name the instrument you’d like to play and we’ll prove you CAN! If interested, | mail the coupon or write. "Thu’s Gold In Them Thar Hillbilly Bonn." Or ano for mountain music, "swing" and other popular forms lias brought fame and fortuno to many who started playing for the fun of It Thousands hare discovered unexpected pjonanfl and profit In music, thanks to the unique method that makes It amazingly easy to learn. Send for FREE Booklet and Print and Picture Sample U. S. SCHOOL OF MUSIC 294X1 Brunswick Bldg., New York City Learned Qulekly at Home. T didn’t dream I could actually learn to play without a teacher. Now when 1 play for people they hardly believe that I learned to play so well In so short a •a. c. a. ( — U. S. SCHOOL OF MUSIC 29411 Brunswick Bldg., New York City, N. Y. I am interested In mUBtr study, particulsrly In n Radio. T am 1 o tell yon that | weeks I have i Accordion Easy. £]**’ ..vo „. - - -ilway* wanted to City. Mo., play tho plsno aecordl- *“ ‘ol "that anyone can un- on." writes *H. B. from been on ine air over our . name. . . derstand Uicm. I have Canada, "but thought local radio station. So ■ learned to play by note rd nc5er leara !t Then thanks to your InsUtu- I aaare39- moZ “muld’a I read aboutyour lessons, lion for such a wonder- | c|tJ take a thousand dot- I don’t know how to ex- ful course. *W. H. S.. , „ lari for my course. ’’ proas my satisfaction.” Alabama. •Actual pupils’ names on request. Pictures tin Professional Plano Aeoordlon Plain Accordion Saxophone Cello Hawaiian Guitar □ Chock hero for Booklet "A"

Page 7

Page 8

A Money-Making Opportunity for Men of Character EXCLUSIVE FRANCHISE FOR An Invention Expected to Replace A MULTI-MmiON-DOLLAR INDUSTRY Costly Work Formerly “Sent Out” by Business Men Now Done by Themselves at a Fraction of the Expense This Is a call for man everywhere to handle exclusive agency for one of the moat Unique business inventions of the day, Tony yesrt tgo the horse and buggy business wgj Supreme— today ■almost extinct. Twenty years sgo the phonograph industry ran into many millions — today practically s relic. Only a comparatively few forcsighted men saw the fortunes ahead in the automobile and the radio. Yet .irresistible waves of public buying swept these men to fortune, and sent the buggy and the phonograph Into the discard. So are great successes made by men able to detect the shift in public favor from one industry to another. Note .-.other change b taking place. Its Old established fojuttfy^-sn integral and important pan of the nation'! structure — in which millions of doliaia change hand* ,di of cucl being replaced by a truly astonishing, simple inveo* + hen— wsrr' rrliiMv— AND AT A COST OFTEN AS LOW ry long for met* he rights i of foe the arcrage o. EARNINGS One mao In California earned over $1,609 per month for three months— close to $5,000 in 90 day*1 time. Another writes from Delaware— "Since I have been operating (just a little less than a month of actual selling) and not the full day at that, because I have been getting organized and had to spend at least half the day in the office; counting what I have sold outright and on trial, I have made just a little in excess of ooe thousand dollars profit for one month." A man working small city in N. Y. State made $10,805 in 9 months. Texas man nets over $300 in less than a week's time. Space does not per- mit mentioning here more than these few random cases. How- ever, they are sufficient to indicate that the worthwhile future in this business is coupled with Immediate earnings for the right kind of man. One man with us has already made over a thousand sales on which bis eamings ran from $J to $60 Er sale and more. A great deal of this business was repeat sines*. Yet he bad never done anything like this before coming with os. That is the kind of opportunity this business offers. The fact that this business has attracted to it such business men aa former bankers, executives of businesses— u been told successfully by bi Nor a “Gadget"-— Profits Typical of Wot o “ Knick-Knack the Young, Growing Industry Cdet faro this boibrat U BM lib idling something offered in cuay grocesy, drug or department score. Foe jniunce, when you cake s $7.50 order, $5.85 can be your — ah are. On $1,500 worth of holiness, your ihare can bo Hal, no mirake-thi. is on nbrefty-oo flimsy ereaSow ft#"*? SZtuZ.’Z fdo“ T <5^TS {robably haw iccn ‘M —in othsx wocdl two third! of every order you get is kc ca aueh a device yet u hu already No, ooly oo she test order— but on repeal order. r S-. No Money Weed Be Risked ta rryfflg this frailness out. Tea an measure the posit* hi lines and ooe be ooe a dollar. II,,. an leeUnjtTa teilnuj thee It ate emmnjti a business tbit is fuse coining into its own— on the upgrade, instead of th» downgrade— a business that offers the buyer relief (too s burdensome, bur uneroidiblc expense a business that nntuity bur does ooe hare any price cutting to contend with as other nreeaaltira do— that because you control This Business Was Wothbig to Do With Bouse to House Canvassing Something like this invention. The Deed I is sireadj^iicrc— BotiSC to House Canvassing SaiSSSESSSisr OTtSerSf hKeu'i ste thfdCTfcebta's^dwk In the meantime — and if ie out that you were the better man — we'd both be sorry. So for convenience, era tbt reefs. fr/aw— but scud ie riant •way— o» wire it you wish. But do il oow. MJrut Some of the Savings You Can Show

Page 9

Why Trained Accountants Command l G and how ambitious men are qualifying T1 by the La Salle Problem Method JJ _ I ET this straight. By "accountancy” we do not mean "bookkeep- ing.” For accountancy begins where bookkeeping leaves off. The skilled accountant takes the figures handed him by the bookkeeper, and analyzes and interprets them. He knows how much the costs in the various departments should amount to, how they may be lowered. He knows what profits should be expected from a given enterprise, how they may be increased. He knows, in a given business, what per cent of one's working capital can safely be tied up in mer- chandise on hand, what per cent is safe and ade- quate for sales promotion. And these, by the way, are but two of scores of percentage-figures where- with he points the way to successful operation. He knows the intricacies of govern- ment taxation. He knows how to survey the trans- actions of a business over a given period; how to show in cold, hard figures the progress it has made and where it is going. He knows how to use these findings as a basis for con- structive policies. In short, the trained accountant is the controlling engineer of business — one man business cannot do without. Small wonder that he commands a salary two to ten times as great as that of the book- keeper. Indeed, as an independent operator (head of his own ac- counting firm) he may earn as much as the president of the big and influential bank in his community, or the operating man- ager of a great rail- road. Some Examples Small wonder that ac- countancy offers the trained man such fine Name., opportunities— op- portunities well illus- trated by the success of thousands of □ Business Management □ Commercial Law □ Modern Salesmanship □ Modern ForemanaWp D Traffic Management D Expert Bookkeeping D Law: Degree of LL. B. Q C. P. A. Coaching □ Industrial Management □ Business English □ Business Correspondence □ Stenotypy Q Credit and Collection □ Eflect Ire Speaking Correspondence Q Railway Accounting •Names available on request. High Salaries LaSalle accountancy students.* For example — one man was a plumber, 32 years old, with only an eleventh grade education. He became auditor for a large bank with an income 32S per cent larger. Another was a drug clerk at $30 a week. Now he heads his own very successful accounting firm with an income several times as large. A woman bookkeeper — buried in details of a small job — is now auditor of an apartment hotel, and her salary mounted in proportion to her work. A credit manager — earning $200 a month — moved up quickly to $3000, to $5000, and then to a highly profitable accounting business of his own which netted around $10,000 a year. And What It Means to You Why let the other fellow walk away with the better job, when right in your own home you may equip yourself for a splendid future in this profit- able profession ? Are you really determined to get Through ahead? If so, you can start at once Accountancy to acquire — by the LaSalle Problem Method — a thorough understanding of Higher Accountancy, master its fundamental principles, become ex- pert in the practical application of those principles — this without losing an hour from work or a dollar of pay. Preliminary knowledge of book- keeping is unnecessaiy. You will be given whatever training, instruction or review on the subject of bookkeep- ing you may personal- ly need — ana without any extra expense to you. If you are dissatis- fied with your present equipment — if you recognize the oppor- tunities that lie ahead of you through home- study training — you will do well to send at once for full particu- lars. The coupon will bring them to you without any obliga- tion, also details of LaSalle’s convenient payment plan. Check, sign and mail the coupon NOW. LaSalle Extension University A Correspondence Institution IPT. DEPT. 11329-HB CHICAGO >o minifies in Accountancy — Check below and we will — J yon a copy of "Accountancy, the Profession that Pays.” without obligation. - Q Higher Accountancy:

Page 10

fUfjZ LIFE INSURANCE POLICY //vsvxes yos/# £/vr//?£ M/H/iy/ INSURES PARENTS, CHILDREN (Married or Unmarried) BROTHERS, SISTERS and GRANDPARENTS . . . Ages 1 to 75 ★ Now, modern life insurance methods make it possible for all of your family, including in-laws, to be insured in one policy paying guaranteed benefits for death from any cause. Instead of issuing five or six policies to include mother, father, sons and daughters, even grandparents, we now issue just one policy that insures them all . . . and at one low coit price of only $1.00 a month. COMPUTED ON IEGAI RESERVE BASIS To guarantee payment on each death that occurs in your insured family, we have figured this policy out on the strict legal reserve basis, complying with State government requirements in every respect. This is your assurance of Cash When You Need It Most. Claims are paid at once . . . with- out argument or delay. State records verify our fair and just settlements. Guarantee Reserve specializes In full family coverage, that’s why we can offer safe, guaran- teed life insurance on your whole family at one low price of only $1.00 a month. NO MEDICAL EXAMINATION To eliminate costly doctor feet, etc., we have elimi- nated Medical Examination. All people from ,ge 1 to 75, in good health may be included in this new type Guarantee Reserve family policy. No membership fees, no examination fees, no policy fee . . . $1.00 a month pays for one policy that insures all. RUSH-MAIL AT ONCE- DON’T DELAY FAMILY POLICY —■■‘'INSURES FROM 2 to 6 — MEMBERS OF YOUR FAMILY for Natural *1,42222 *2,84422 *4,26622 the figures shown above represent the Insurance provided by the policy on a typical average family of five persons. GUARANTEE RESERVE LIFE INSURANCE COMPANY DEPARTMENT 17-1, HAMMOND, INDIANA ; Guarantee »c«crhe iife insurance co. I OUARANTIE RESERVE BIDO., Depl.i 17-1 Hammond ImO J

Page 11

LISTEN YOUNG MEN INDUSTRY NEEDS YOUNG MEN BETWEEN 17 AND 35 WHO HAVE SPECIAL- IZED TRAINING. They are needed now. They wlll'be needed more than ever in the months ahead. Many fellows are going to grab the first job they can get, whether it offers them a future won’t make much difference. They don’t realize a “mere job’’ today may be no job a year from now. THE THINKING FELLOW IS GOING TO PRE- PARE, NOT ONLY FOR A GOOD JOB NOW, BUT ONE THAT WILL BRING HIM A FUTURE. IF YOU ARE ONE OF THESE FELLOWS I OFFER YOU AN— Amazingly Easy Way (to get into ELECTRICITY , Nuance l/on/t, 7nammq Electricity is a fast growing field. Tens of thousands of fellows are making $35.00-$40.00- $50.00 a week and more every week. But to qualify for one of these jobs you must be trained to hold It. Here at Coyne we will train you by the famous Coyne “Leam-by- Doing” method— 90 days shop training. You can get my training first— THEN PAY FOR IT IN EASY MONTHLY PAYMENTS AFTER YOU GRADUATE UNDER MY "PAY AFTER GRADUATION*’ PLAN. learn Without hooks » 90™™ Lack of experience — age. or advanced education bars no one. I don’t care if you don’t know an armature f rom an air brake — I don’t expect Earn While Learning If you need part-time work help pay your living expena I’ll help you get ft. Then, In brief weeks, In I ing shops of Coyne, Itrain you as you never dreamed you could be trained.. .on one of the great- est outlay* of electrical appa- ratus ever assembled . . . real dynamos, engines, power plants, autos, switchboards, transmit- ting stations... everything from doorbells to farm power and lighting . . . full-sized ... In full operation every day I No Books-No Classes No dull books, no baffling charts, no classes, you get in- dividual training ... all real actual work . . . building real batteries . . . wind- ing real armatures, oper- ating real motors, dyna- mos and generators, wir- ing bouses, etc., etc. That’s a glimpse of how train you for a good job. Get the Facts EMPLOYMENT Coyne is yourone great chance to get Into electricity. Every obstacle Is removed. This school Is 40 years old — Coyne training Is tested and proven. HELP after Graduation To get a good job today You can get tndnlng'flrst you ve got to be trained. In- — then pay for It In easy d us try demands men who month ly payments after you have specialized training, graduate. You can find out These men will be the ones everything absolutely free, who are the big-pay men of Simply mad the coupon and the future. After gradua- let me send you the big. free tlon my Employment Coyne book. ..facts. ..jobs... Department gives you salaries... opportunities. This Lifetime Employment does not obligate you. So act Service. J. O. Whitmeyer at once. Just mail coupon. MVft: "After Ternduated the says: "After I graduated. the School Employment Service furnished me with a list of several positions ... I secured a position with an Electrical Construction Company paying me 3 to 4 times more a week titan I a Book THE HOME OF COYNE This It our fireproof. fence has been arranged to make you happy and contented during your rAVMC ELECTRICAL SCHOOL ’W* VF I IlL H.C.Lewis, Pres., Dept. 8 1-84 500 S. Paulina St. Founded 1899 CHICAGO, ILL. COYNE ELECTRICAL SCHOOL, DEPT. 8l-8< BOO S. Paulina Street. Chtceao, UHnot* Dear Mr. LeWle: I'm really in earnest. I do want to get ahead. Send me your Mg free catalog with full particulars about Coyne training and your plans to help a fellow, who hasn't a lot of money, to get ahead.

Page 12

THE Collage of Swedish Massage Oept. 863—30 E. Adame SL. Chicago Tou maj eend me FREE and postpaid. Anatomy Cherts. booklet Ulnlng photographs and letters from graduates, and complete details in 90 Days at Home Ip awarded $20.00 in a single day siring iclentiflo Swedish Massage a Hjdrti-Tberapy treatments. There Is a big demand frt Hospitals. Sanitariums. Clubs. Doctors and private patients a well as opportunities for establishing your own office. Learn ihia interesting money-making profession In your own home hy mall, through our borne study course. Seme instructors - NATIONALLY KNOWN resident school. A dip' pan completion of the course. Course car completed in 8 to 4 months. High School b lng is not necessary. Many earn big money « learning. Anatomy Charts & Booklet FREE Enroll now and we will Include uniform coat, medical dictionary, patented reducing r -files t“‘ — — — - ns mi tuition fee. 8end coupon now for Anatomy Charte and booklet containing photographs and letters from successful graduates. These will nil be sent postpaid — FREE. SONG POEM WRITER Bind us your original pi other, Horae. Love. Sat FALSE TEETH AS LOW AS $7.95 I Per Plate. Dental plates are I made in our own laboratory ■Irm wopgusuttlllU .4 ■ twisi * f>SlC^BKFUNDED. Wo take thin risk 00 oar 60-l£y TriM Offer! Do Not Send Any Money DON'T POT IT OFF — Writo us today I Brighton-Thomas Dental Laboratory DEPT. 852 6217 S. HALSTED STREET, CHICAGO. ILL. £ASY WAY..,. This remarkable CAKE 1. . . . [TINTZ Jet Black Shampoo, washes dirt, loose dandruff, grease, grime and eafclygivcshairerealtinoothlET BLACK TINT that fairly glow* with life and lustre. _ Don’t put up with faded dull burnt, off color hair TINTZ Jot Black Cake worts each shampoo leaves your hair blacker, lovelier, softer, .. .. tnnyft No dyed look. Won't hurt permanents. Full cake (3 for »>. TINTZ coma In Jet BlecMJght. m •nee of satisfaction in 7 days or your money back. (We Pay Postage If remittance comes with order. > Don’t wait - Write today to TINTZ COMPANY. Dept 702. 207 H. MICNICAN, CHICAGO ifcANACMX ornctl Dept. 702.ggCOI.AgaE STREET. TORONTO A Thrill on Every Page of the Winter Issue of RAF ACES » Featuring BRITISH WINGS A Complete Book-Length Sky Action Novel By ROBERT SIDNEY BOWEN Plus Many Stories and Features Glorifying the British Pilots Fighting for Democracy • Every American Must Read RAF ACES NOW ON SALE lQc EVERYWHERE

Page 13

EVERY MONTH 10c AT ALL STANDS The Federals in Action in G-MEN DETECTIVE Now on Sale 10^ Everywhere America's Favorite Comic Magazines • THRILLING COMICS EXCITING COMICS STARTLING COMICS Want a Regular Monthly Salary jf getting your man— with no personal danger— —onthly paid salary and the opportunity to share a Howard v. Leant at borne. In spare time, and at low cost, the unique secrets of this young, fascinating and fast growing profession. “u the game course of training as we gave the hun- r graduates who now bold splendid positions in mors stitutions. Each of these bureaus has anywhere from ONE FIFTEEN of our graduates on regular salaries — and new Wonderful Opportunity for TRAINED MEN in This Young, Fast Growing Profession! Of the thousands of towns In America, three-fourths are still without Identification bureaus. Many more are bound to come! That spells OPPORTUNITY. But you must be READY I Ifs easy to master this profession that combines tbrills with personal saTety, AND the security of a steady Income. We show you HOW — lust as we have already shown the hundreds who now hold good pay position!. Just rush coupon! Follow this Operator's exciting hunt for a murderous gang. Also, get free, “Tlie Blue Book of Crime," show- ing the wonderful opportunities In tlie field of Finger Prints and Crime Detection. Take your first step TODAY toward a steady e and success. Mall coupon NOW I INSTITUTE OF APPLIED SCIENCE 1920 Sunnytlde Ave., Dept. 7988, Chicago “I I J INSTITUTE OF APPLIED SCIENCE | 1920 Sunnytlde Ave.. Dept 7988. Chicago. ■ Gentlemen: With no obligation, send mo Confidential Reports • of Operator No. 88. also Illustrated "Blue Book of Crime." | complete list of over 750 bureaus employing your graduates. , together with your low prices and Easy Terms offer. (Literature I will be sent ONLY to potions stating their age.) Pur Graduates Run 43% of ALL the Identification Bureaus in America FINGERPRINT EXPERTS Each 10c At All Stands

Page 14

It’s New! I t’s True 1 1 t’s Thrilling! The Most Amazing Comics Magazine of Them All — PAL Featuring True Stories oi the World’s Greatest DynamlcPowerWelderdoesthe — ^ . a&aa.®asissussi^ Bumpers, Fenders.Tanks, Form Machinery, , make & a much hour repair Job. In a year’s time a Oynamlc.Weldi CyoJ8LESS THAN 6 cents a day' Instruction* Free — Oped a Raiding chop now. AG ENTS— Make big proilts selling to garages, factories, Janitors and machine shops. Writ* today for our 10-DAY TRIAL OFFER. DYNAMIC WELDER COMPANY. 2226-SA SILVERTON ROAD. CHICAGO. ILLINOIS Heroes! 64 PAGES OF TRUE AND GRIPPING ACTION 1 An Inspiration to American Youth! Asthma Sufferers Don’t rely on smokes, sprays and injections If you suffer from terrible recurring, choking, gasping, wheezing spells of Asthma. Thousands of sufferers have found that the first dose of Mendaco usually palliates Asthma spasms and loosens thick strangling mucus, thus promoting freer breathing and more rest- ful sleep. Get Mendaco in tasteless tablets from drug- gists, only 60c (guarantee). Money back unless fully satisfied. Only 10c Everywhere

Page 15

How Little Mistakes in Eating Can Keep You Half-Sick WHICH DO YOU SUFFER FROM ? Dietary Indigestion— Heartburn He Is one of the countless people who suffers need- lessly from dlettry stomsch disorders. Chepter 7 of Victor H. Lindlalir's great hook shows a to quick relief and prevention for ISgjisM Common Rheumatism and Arthritis He suffers from rheumatic pains largely because of simple mistakes In his diet. If he folhiWB the suggestion on eight of Victor H. Llndlahr's remarkable book lie s Excess Weight yet actually eat more food only ate properly. “Vou Are (v->. Frequent Colds Bhe Is an easy victim of coughs and colds. Some- thing vital is lacking In her diet. What? Read the first chapter of "You Are What You Eat" lo see how easy It should be lo put her oo the road to strength and health. Learn How to Eat Your Way HERE, AT LAST, is victor H. Llndlahr’s re- markable method of health through diet brought to you In a big. fascinating book — at a price go low everyone can own it I In Just one eve- ning, you can learn how to correct mistakes in eating that may have been keeping you below par . . . you may learn how to be healthier, happier by following the proven principles of health through diet in Victor H. Lindlahr’s remarkable book, ‘Tou Are IfAat You Eat." Do you know how you may improve your com- plexion by a simple change in diet? Do you know what high-vitamin fruits and vegetables will help build you up when you are run-down? Do you know what foods often help promote sound, rest- ful sleep? Do you know what methods of cooking destroy the chief value of certain foodB? Do you know what vegetables can help in building better blood? Let Victor H. Lindlahr help you and your fam- ily gain better health through diet. It has been done in thousands of cases. It is being done every dayl Don’t let Uttle Mistakes In Eating Rob You at Good Health Foods are medicine . . . and Victor H. Lindlahr knows that foods have the power that may give you freedom from many common symptoms. Out of the kitchen can come meals to help put an end to many of your distressing troubles. Yes, foods often possess a remarkable power for improving health — and now Victor H. Lindlahr shows you how to use this power I coupon —5 -day free triol JOURNAL OF LIVING PUB. COBP. Dept. M-7. Carlton A re.. Jersey City, N. J. 8end me Victor H. L!ndlihr,i Book. "You Are What You Eat." tor only 9 Sc. plua t tew conta pottage. 1 underitand that It nut delighted I may return the book within 5 dayi and my money will be refunded. City State NOTE: If apt to be out when poetman calls, send $1.00 with coupon snd save C.O.D pottage.

Page 16

THE CODS HATE KANSAS By JOSEPH J. MILLARD Author of “The Crystal Invaders,” “Crash on Viar,” etc. patched upon some dark mission, their progress timed to carry them to an in- finitely distant rendezvous at exactly the appointed time. The rocks were very close to earth, CHAPTER I Rocks from the Sky THE rocks had been hurtling toward earth for more than a week, silent and invisible in the black airless void of space. There was something dogged in the way the eleven dark chunks of stone clustered together, neither drawing apart nor touching, maintaining always that odd arrow- head formation as the tens of trackless miles whipped by. And there was something vaguely sinister in their majestic progress, mov- ing an unvarying nineteen miles second, ignoring the billions of frag- ments of meteoric dust that fled past them at vastly greater speeds. They were somehow like messengers dis- An Amazing Complete Book-Length Novel Curt Temple Pits His Slim Earth Knowledge Against the Most Perfect Intelligence in the Cosmos to Save the World — and the Woman He Lovesl 17

Page 17

Doom Stalks the Earth When Xacrn, the still invisible but feeling the first gentle tug of earth’s gravitation, when Gus Solle finished his night’s chores. He stripped the last ounce of milk into the brimming pail, hung the milk-stool on a peg and got down the oil lantern from its hook above the cow stalls. At the barn door he paused, waiting for two other flickering lanterns to join him. Young Gus, his twenty-year-old son, came striding from the dark shadows of the horse barn at the rear, slapping loose straw from his overalls. Arnie Cole, the hired man, pumped a last groaning gush of water into the stock tank, picked up his own lantern and joined them as they moved toward the house. “Supper’s ready!” The gaunt figure of Martha Solle appeared in the door- way of the house to make the announce- ment, her big frame silhouetted by the kerosene lamp on a table at her back. “Set the milk in the shanty and sep- arate it afterwards. It’ll keep but sup- per won’t.” Gus Solle grunted acknowledgment as the three moved up the barren ground toward the frame house. “If you figure on workin’ old Mag tomorrow, pa,” young Gus remarked, “you better throw a pad under her col- lar. She’s got a bad gall from the hame strap.” “Ain’t much sense in working any of the horses,” Arnie Cole growled, “un- less we get some rain purty soon. The more I see of Kansas the more I wish I’d never left Iowa.” “We could use a drop or two,” Gus Solle admitted. “Don’t seem to be a cloud in sight, neither. I like the stars but I’m getting mighty sick of seein’ ’em night after night when the land’s burning up for a good rain.” HE squinted up at the unbelievably brilliant panorama of the cloud- less night sky with anger in his mild face. Unconsciously, the other two turned their faces up toward the heavens to follow his gaze and his wife, waiting in the doorway, looked up to see what the men-folk were staring at. Thus it happened that four pairs of eyes saw the rocks at the precise instant when, some eighty-seven miles up into the night, they first flamed to brilliance in the clutch of tenuous atmosphere. “Look,” Martha Solle cried. “Shoot- in’ stars — a whole tribe of ’em, looks like.” “Meteors, ma,” young Gus corrected with the superiority of one who had been to school in town. “A meteor swarm.” There was no more time for speech. What had been only a leisurely glide through outer space became, in relation to earth speeds, a screaming flight. In two seconds, the eleven separate bodies of rock could be plainly resolved by the naked eye, and the thin scream of their coming had reached ahead to torment the ears. In three seconds, the eleven rocks had leaped beyond the apparent size of baseballs and their brilliance was in- credibly dazzling. Now the scream had deepened to a rushing roar, interspersed by thunderous explosions as two of the eleven rocks succumbed to the titanic forces of kinetic energy and burst apart in midair. In four seconds, the sound of their passage was beyond description. The Solles and Arnie Cole stood frozen as nine flaming rocks, now bigger than basketballs, seemed to hurtle straight toward their defenseless house. All saw the largest rock in front, with the eight others arrowed out in two streams behind, sweeping down in a vast arc. Then, miraculously, the rocks were overhead, passing above them and above the low house, sweeping on in a screaming thunder of awful sound to plunge into the dusty wheat field beyond. Air, searing hot and violently churning, smote their upturned faces, scorching the breath from their lungs. The nine rocks struck and vanished in a welter of flame and mushrooming dust. The sound became something too terrible for human ears to measure. The ground underfoot rocked to the impact and a fresh wave of super-heated air surged out from the point of contact and swept the four stunned humans from their feet. Then silence fell, a silence that was

Page 18

Ninth Planet, Seeks to Enslave Humanity! broken only by the faint patter of in- finitesimal particles of exploded rocks against house and earth. “Martha!” it was Gus Solle, first to recover his senses and clamber onto shaky legs. “Martha, are you all right?” They all moved, then, climbing daz- edly to their feet, mumbling assurances. “Come on,” young Gus cried shrilly, his own voice sounding faint against shattered eardrums, “they landed right there on the edge of the north forty. I’m going over there.” 19

Page 19

20 STARTLING STORIES “Wait! Be careful!” Martha Solle warned. “One of them things might explode. I wouldn’t go near if I was you.” “Heck with that noise!” young Gus cried excitedly. “I’m gonna find ’em and dig ’em all out. Them things are worth money. Pete Halvorsen found just a little chunk of an old meteor on his place a couple years ago and some guys from Washington give him fifty dollars for it. I bet there’s a couple hundred dollars’ worth, at least, right there waiting for us. Come on I” They all went, then, running and stumbling across the parched earth toward the fresh scars that lay plain under the starlight. The thought of money drove all fear from their minds. In the wheat field, the things lay quietly in their shallow pits — waiting! CHAPTER II Lost Expedition THE spring sunlight lay warm on the fresh green of Culwain Univer- sity campus. Curtis Temple felt the tingle of it through the narrow bandage on the back of his head and made a mental note to spend as much time as possible with his head exposed to that radiance. It would speed the healing of his wound. He went across the campus, a tall well-knit young man in rough tweeds with a pleasantly-angular face and level gray eyes. There was still a glow of deep bronze on his skin, despite the traces of hospital pallor, and his rangy stride was definitely a product of open spaces. It was hard to believe that this athlete could be Curtis Temple, Ph.D., professor of Astrophysics at Culwain and rated among the tops in that vast new field of scientific adven- ture. It was adventure that had drawn Temple to this phase of universal re- search, the thrill of searching unknown spaces, of charting the uncharted, see- ing the unseen, fitting the complexities of the infinite into a laboratory pattern. And it was love of adventure that had sent him soaring skyward in a free bal- loon on the ill-fated cosmic ray search that had nearly cost him his life. The failure of the balloon had left him with a shattered skull that confined him to the hospital for weary months. It was only now that, thanks to med- ical genius, he was out and able to walk and work and feel the warmth of the sunlight on his bared head. He went into the shadowy interior of the astronomical observatory, crouching under its silvery dome on a comer of the campus, and entered the laboratory. Mullane, the weazened little gnome of an astronomer, was in there, absorbed in a delicate radiation experiment. He was unaware of Tem- ple’s entrance until the needle on a dial before him began to dip and flicker madly. Mullane laid down his pencil with a mock sigh of despair and snapped off the switch. “Don’t look now,” he whispered loudly, addressing the bare wall, “but that man’s here again — the one with the tin head.” Temple chuckled and strolled over to kibitz at Mullane’s notes. The two were old friends and associates. “It’s lucky for you I’d just finished,” Mullane growled, grinning with his eyes. “Every time that silvery skull of yours gets near the coils, my indica- tors run wild. “I think I ought to tell the F.B.I. about it. How is your head, and how much longer do you have to wear that silver plate screwed to your skull bone, Curt?” “Not long, and it really isn’t a plate. It’s a sort of fine-mesh silver screen that Doc put in to hold the broken pieces of my skull in place until they knit. “I’m actually as good as new right now but Doc wants to leave the silver in for another few weeks. I don’t mind. The scar is almost healed, and I never feel the screen anymore.” “Too bad you weren’t able to go with the field group the University sent down to Kansas to study that meteor- ite swarm. Meteors are your specialty, Curt, and it isn’t once in a century that a big fall like that occurs before wit-

Page 20

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 21 nesses so it can be located and studied while still fresh. Even if nebulae are my specialty, I’d like to have gone there, myself.” Temple’s face clouded momentarily. “Missing that did hurt,” he admitted, “but somebody had to carry on the classes here and I’m still technically a cripple. “I can’t really kick, though. I’m get- ting photos, samples and complete re- ports every day and it’s my own line of study the Group is following. After all, Lee is there — and she’s my eyes and ears on the expedition.” Mullane grinned and winked broadly. “And your heart, too?” he asked sly- ly- Temple reddened and then laughed. “Okay, granny snoop, my heart, too. So what? With all the prying you do into my affairs, it’s a wonder you ever get a moment off to look through your telescope.” “I don’t,” Mullane admitted placidly. “I leave that job to the camera and keep my eyes on you. Tch! Tch! How scandalous. “Seriously though. Curt, Lee Mason is every bit as intelligent as she is beau- tiful— and that’s going some. Why, that master’s thesis she did on the oscil- latory determinative of extra- galactic cathodic emissions was a wonder. “But I’m warning you, if you marry her you lose the finest assistant any re- search man ever had. Why, that girl — ” He broke off as the telephone whirred, answered the call and then handed over the instrument. “For you. Curt. Our prexie himself calling, no less.” Wondering, Temple accepted the phone. The usually precise accents of McCabe, Culwain U’s president, were ragged. “Professor Temple, I — I think you’d better get over to my office right away. Something . has occurred — something that — well, it concerns our Kansas ex- pedition.” The cold fingers of a nameless fear tightened suddenly around Curtis Tem- ple’s heart. “Our field group ! What about them? What’s hap — ” “The field group,” McCabe said thickly, “has disappeared — vanished with all their luggage and equipment.” “Disappeared? Lee — Miss Mason — what about her?” McCabe’s answer was like a phono- graph with its needle stuck in one groove. “The field group,” even his tone was the same, “has disappeared — vanished with all their luggage — ” RESIDENT McCABE’S face was as white as his beard, his eyes red- veined and dazed, when Temple burst into his office five minutes later. “What do you mean — disap- peared?’’ Temple shouted, before the other could speak. “People don’t just disappear off the face of the earth. What happened to them? Where did they go? Are you hiding someth — ” McCabe waved a trembling hand to- ward a chair and hunched over the desk, gnawing at his beard. “Of course people don’t disappear,” he said finally. “But they did — nine persons, five heavy trucks, tons of in- struments and supplies, tools and equipment and the six portable shacks. “Last night, when I talked to them by phone, everything was going per- fectly. When I called back this morn- ing to give them some data they re- quested, there was nothing left but the marks where camp had been — and the meteors.” “The meteors!” Temple gasped. “You mean they went off and left the — the very object of their trip?” “They left several tons of distinctly unportable rock,” McCabe admitted. “But I’m afraid they didn’t just ‘go off and leave them’ in the sense you mean.” “The sheriff and fifty deputies have been scouring the country since morn- ing without finding a wheel track or a trace of them. Nor have they found anyone who saw or heard the caravan pass in the night, though every road out of camp led through towns.” “But — but they must have gone somewhere.” “Obviously,” McCabe agreed dryly. “The puzzle is where and how. And I might add a third element of mys- tery— why?” Curtis Temple stared, feeling the blood drain out of his face. He was

Page 21

22 STARTLING STORIES just beginning fully to realize the sheer impossibility of what had been told him. He knew the layout of the meteor camp as well as he knew the paths across Culwain campus, for most of it was of his own design. Five of the shacks were small, square sheet iron affairs, sleeping quarters for the force. Lee Mason occupied one alone. The eight men shared the other four. The sixth shack was really two shacks built together, housing the photo- graphic darkroom, the chemistry lab, the instruments for physical analysis and cubbyholes in which the research- ers performed their calculations. These shacks and all they contained were built to be carried on four trucks. The fifth truck bore the portable gen- erating unit for camp light and power, the kitchen equipment and rough tools. Usually a day and a half were required to break camp and pack for moving. WHILE it was conceivable that the nine members could com- pletely dismantle and pack the camp overnight, it would take some inhuman driving urge to make the miracle pos- sible. Curtis Temple’s imagination tried to supply a suggestion of what such driving urge might be and failed utterly to conjure up anything but a black cloud of unnameable terror. “The — the neighbors,” he gasped at last. “Someone must have seen or heard something. Someone must have.” “Maybe someone did. The only ones closer than the town of Bomer, two miles away, were those farmers who saw the meteors fall and reported to us. There was a man and his wife, their grown son, and a hired man. “Our camp was on their land, about a hundred yards from their house, right on the site of the meteor pits. The two Solles and their hired man were help- ing the field crew on heavy work and Mrs. Solle was cooking for the camp.” “They must know what happened,” Temple said eagerly. “Perhaps they do,” McCabe whis- pered without looking up. “Undoubt- edly they do. But they’ve vanished, too — all four of them — the same time, the same way.” Temple closed his eyes, seeing a vision of Lee Mason’s lovely face with its frame of wheat-gold hair, hear- ing again the gay tinkle of her ready laughter and the soft music of her voice. The vision was like a knife turn- ing around and around in his heart. “Either,” McCabe gritted, tightening his fists, “it’s a gigantic hoax of some kind, or — ” “Or,” Temple finished flatly, “the gods still hate Kansas.” “Eh?” McCabe stared blankly. “You’ve heard my remark that the gods must hate Kansas because they throw so many stones at it. You were in class the day I used that expression. “Maybe it sounded facetious, but it wasn’t meant to be because behind it lies a mystery that has puzzled me and every other astronomer for years — a mystery that rivals any puzzle science ever unearthed.” “I — I don’t think I follow you, sir.” "Look,” Temple leaned forward ear- nestly. “You know there are roughly, two kinds of meteorites — stone and iron. Some twenty million of them enter the earth’s atmosphere every twenty-four hours, although few of them reach the earth without being consumed by friction with air. “We think we know what meteors are — cosmic dust, the wreckage of shat- tered planets or comets burst apart in space. We think space is full of these fragments, that we’re constantly meet- ing them, burning them up in our up- per atmosphere or letting an occasional large one get through to earth. “That sounds logical, but is it? If that were the true answer, then by all the laws of probability the meteors that do fall should be pretty evenly distributed over the face of the earth, shouldn’t they?” “Of course,” McCabe admitted daz- edly. “But I don’t see — ” “They should be,” Temple drilled on. “But they aren’t. The United States is struck by almost as many meteorites as all the rest of the world put together. But the real mystery lies in stoney meteorites, like the swarm that just struck in Kansas. Why did they land in Kansas?" “Why — why, I suppose they just happened to.”

Page 22

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 23 “Did they? Listen! Kansas isn’t a very big state, but a third of all stone meteorites ever known to strike in North America landed in little Kansas. One-sixth of all the stones recorded on earth struck Kansas. “More stone meteorites land in Kan- sas than in any other state in the union — more than in any other two states west of the Mississippi. The largest stone meteorite ever known landed there. The largest of the rare Pallasite stones, as well, struck Kansas. “But that isn’t all. Scott County, Kansas, is the only place on earth where meteors ever struck twice in the same place. More meteoric falls have been actually witnessed in Kansas than anywhere else on earth. Two of the thirteen rarest meteor types known in North America were found within the borders of Kansas.” “Why,” McCabe gasped feebly, “that’s utterly fantastic.” “You bet it is — but it’s brutal fact. Ask Mullane, Dawson, any astronomer, or read Nininger’s book on meteorites for a complete dated record of known falls. “It’s fantastic, but it’s been happen- ing for centuries, and there must be a reason ! The disappearance of the me- teor expedition is fantastic, too, but again there’s got to be a reason. “The landing of nine huge stony meteorites, travelling in a perfect V- formation is fantastic. And that isn’t all. The expedition has been measur- ing the impact pits, scurrying around to cross-examine witnesses to the fall, getting a complete picture of the di- rection and velocity of the swarm. I’ve just finished assembling their data and the results are even more fantastic.” McCabe wet his lips and blinked dazedly. Temple hurriedly strode across and pounded a hard fist onto the president’s desk. “Do you know what those figures revealed? That meteor swarm was travelling somewhere between seven- teen and twenty miles a second — far slower than the average meteor veloc- ity. And unless the figures are wrong — they came from the moon l” “The moon !” McCabe parroted feebly. “But I don’t see the connection between that and our lost group.” “I don’t either!” Temple barked. “But I’m leaving for Kansas tonight and if there is a connection, I’ll find it if I have to tear the whole universe apart !” CHAPTER III Bhazh the Great FIVE days earlier, the meteor ex- pedition had arrived at the loca- tion of the fall with high hopes and intense enthusiasm. There was a world of bitter, back-breaking work to be done, but none of the nine persons in the group had any thought for the labor involved. For the first time, a sizable meteoric fall had occurred before witnesses in the midst of habitable country. For the first time, some of the age-old cos- mic secrets might be revealed before relentless Time had hidden them from the searching eyes of curious man. First of all, there was the camp itself to be set up. The Solles and their hired man were employed on the spot to help with the manual labor of the job. The shacks were ranged in two fac- ing rows, alternating with the parked trucks to form a short street. At the north end of this street, the laboratory shack was erected. This was actually two of the smaller shacks built together to house the instruments, equipment and benches. Beside the laboratory was the focus of interest and activity, the great roped- off area of impact craters where the nine closely-bunched aerolites had bur- rowed into the earth. Beyond casting longing, wistful eyes at the craters, no one touched the sacred section until the last shack was up and in place, the last instrument set, the last wire and tube connected and ready for the vital task ahead. Although the meteorites themselves lay only a few feet below the surface, it was five days before any attempt was made to uncover or lift them from their graves. A dozen vital tasks, many of them suggested by Curtis Temple in

Page 23

2 i STARTLING STORIES planning the expedition, must come first. There was the problem of learning from what part of space the visitors had come. That involved interviewing everyone who had glimpsed the fierce flame of the rocks before impact, sift- ing a welter of faulty memories, optical errors and vague guesses to ferret out the fragments of fact. Farmer Olson had seen the fireballs over his cowbarn roof ; banker Simms, through his bedroom window ; a young country school teacher, ten miles west, was sure they came from right up there. The Solles could not agree on which of three widely separated constella- tions overhead had seemed to frame the first faint sparks. No matter how insignificant, each fact was weighed and judged and fitted, at last, into the growing composite picture of the great swarm’s path through the atmosphere from its radi- ant point. When the path was finally charted and found to coincide with the angle of impact suggested by the cra- ters, there was rejoicing in the camp, and the mathematicians went to work. ^JPHERE was work for all sciences. Chemistry attacked the rims of the craters, analyzing the soil content and composition, estimating the amount of heat generated by impact and from that, the possible velocity of the rocks. Bacteriology probed the scorched earth in fruitless search for signs of living organisms sloughed off during passage. Physics ranged the wheat field, striking the baked prairie with carefully-measured blows to compute its surface resistance to impact. Pop-eyed visitors came from coun- ties around to gape at the spectacle. Bored reporters drifted in, snapped dull shots and went away, still bored. The evening of the fifth day every- one stood in the circle of light from portable floods and watched the first and largest of the nine aerolites glide up over the rim of its pit, drawn by windlass on the power truck. Amie Cole and the Solles, father and son, guided the cables and steadied the wood beams that served as track for the heavy rock. Dr. Eno Rocossen, chief astronomer and head of the group, supervised the job, hovering over the dingy chunk of cosmic debris as so- licitously as a mother hen over her chick. There was a concerted rush to ex- amine the basketball sized alien as it came to rest beside the lab shack. Lee Mason, on her knees beside Jacobs, the chemist, fingered the fused surface of the aerolite in frowning bewilderment. “I’ve examined a lot of siderites, siderolites and aerolites,” she said finally, “but never one quite like this. It obviously isn’t an iron or an iron- stone, yet it seems to lack the chon- dritic structure of a true stone. “And I’ve never seen anything like that hard, pitchy coating over one be- fore. Jake, when are you going to start an analysis test ? I have a feeling you’ll run into a completely unique chemical constitution. I wish Curt could have been here to see this.” Jacobs grinned and reached for a geologist’s hammer. “We all miss Curt — but not for the same reason, Lonely Heart. Here, let’s crack off a few chips and run a test on them right now. I’m as curious as you are. We’ll try some simple ones to- night and then start a test for occluded gases first thing in the morning.” “Wait!” Lee Mason’s hand on the chemist’s arm halted the first hammer blow. “When your arm threw a shad- ow, just then — Jake, switch off the lights a moment.” As swift darkness followed the click of the switch, a concerted gasp rose. “Radioactive,” Lee exclaimed. “I thought I saw a faint, greenish glow in the shadow. Can you beat that? Our meteorite is unique. Other stoneys have only been about a fourth as ra- dioactive as ordinary terrestrial gran- ite, which isn’t very much.” “Looks like we found something, all right,” Jacobs assented excitedly, lift- ing the hammer. “Well, here goes for a sample. I’ll chip off some for your spectroscope tests, too. Why, what’s wrong with you, Lee?” On her knees, Lee Mason was sway- ing dizzily, her lovely face drawn into a tight, startled frown. She shook her head dazedly, after a moment, and her face cleared.

Page 24

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 25 “I don’t know. Nothing, I guess, Jake. Just for a moment I had the oddest sensation — a sort of cold dread at the thought of chipping the covering on the stone. But I’m all right, now. Go ahead and crack our egg.” Jacobs touched her pale forehead without feeling the glow of fever, frowned, shrugged and turned back to his task. ‘‘Sump’n you et, most likely,” he said lightly. “Watch where the chips fly, Lee. We can’t afford to waste a single grain.” AN hour later, the entire expedi- tion crowded into the small lab- oratory for the first rough analysis tests. Scientific curiosity ran at too high a pitch for anyone to think of sleep that night. Fragments chipped from the stones waited in nine labelled en- velopes to tell their hidden stories to the ears of science. Dr. Eno Rocossen finished polishing his spectacles and took out the contents of the first envelope. “Jameson, you go ahead with a mi- cro examination of both sheath and matrix, using this little chip here. Kin- sell, you help Jacobs on the — ” He stopped speaking, blinked daz- edly and passed a trembling hand across his forehead. The precious bits of aerolite dribbled out of his lax palm, unheeded. He gripped the lab bench hard, leaning on it as though for sup- port.

Page 25

26 STARTLING STORIES “Doctor,” Lee cried in sudden alarm, starting forward, “are you ill?” He straightened, waving her back. His ascetic face regained its composure. Only his eyes seemed different — flat and empty. “No,” he said in an oddly changed voice. “No, I’m quite all right. I’ve made the connection, now. It’s — it’s a bit confusing for a few moments but that passes almost immediately. You may all take hold.” Through a moment of dead silence, all eyes stared incredulously, wonder- ingly. There was no sense in the words, but there was something vaguely men- acing in their hidden import. Lee Ma- son gaped in horror, wondering if the great man had suddenly gone mad. Then a disturbance across the room caught her gaze. The chubby physicist, Lansdon, was stumbling toward Rocos- sen, a strange expression on his moon face. He halted and his hands moved feebly in a vague salute. “Yes,” he said oddly, “it is dizzying at first. You — you’re Bhazh, aren’t you? I’m Tas II.” Beside Lee, the gaunt, sardonic Ja- cobs, whose name ranked second to none in knowledge of star chemistry, bowed low. “And here is Gniz, oh mighty Bhazh !” Lee Mason gaped in bewilderment and sank down weakly on the nearest bench. “It couldn’t be that everybody here has gone crazy except me,” she said to herself. “It must be that they’re all sane and I’ve gone crazy so the sane things they say and do sound like crazy things to my crazy mind. It must be that! Oh, Lord, I wonder if Curt’ll come and visit me in the asylum.” She stiffened abruptly and a sharp gasp burst from her lips. Like a dash of ice water, something infinitely cold touched and clung to the base of her skull. She slapped at it, tried to brush it away, but her hand met nothing ex- cept the soft cloud of her hair. Lee tried to rise and her strength refused the task. The thing on her neck was burrowing, digging incred- ibly icy tentacles through flesh and skull bone and deep into the matter of her brain. She tried to scream and no sound would come. Then the icy finger touched some unknown sensitive spot, deep in her brain and a swift stab of utter agony lanced through every nerve in her body. It was like a dentist’s drill touching the raw nerve of a tooth, only worse — a hundred times worse. The agony died and with it, her senses. A moment later Lee Mason rose stiffly, turned and bowed low toward Dr. Eno Rocossen. Her voice came stiffly, woodenly : “Vrag is connected, Great Bhazh. You have succeeded in all things, be- yond the greatest vision of our mas- ter.” Dr. Eno Rocossen, whose prim figure was familiar to every astronomical group and conference and society in the world, grinned like a satyr and pounded his breast. . “Of course,” he acknowledged. “Did I not promise that it would come to pass? And am I not Bhazh — Bhazh the Great?” CHAPTER IV The Mystery Deepens ARKNESS had fallen by the time Curtis Temple finished packing his suitcase. He hoisted the heavy grip to a chair stared out of the window, seeing Lee Mason’s face against the curtain of the night. At midnight he would take the plane to Wichita and change to a train for the remainder of the journey to Bomer and the site of the vanished encamp- ment. But even the start of that jour- ney was four hours into the future. Now there was nothing but the inter- minable agony of waiting, the bitter helplessness of his position in the face of the mystery. He turned from the window and paced the floor, driving a clenched fist into his open palm, gritting his teeth against the onslaught of vague, form- less terrors that chilled his blood. If only someone had seen the expedition breaking camp, had heard the thunder

Page 26

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 27 of the caravan’s passage in the night, had even found evidence of violence at the camp-site — It would give the mystery a founda- tion of reality, give him something to get his teeth into. This horrible blank- ness dug into his nerves. He had the weird feeling of standing on the brink of some vast unknown, of being about to blunder awkwardly into conflict with some cosmic influence beyond human comprehension or resistance. He swore at the thought and tried to reason his jangled nerves back to calmness. What had actually hap- pened? A group of sane, intelligent people had seen fit to abandon a site and a project, perhaps for some greater research that unexpectedly beckoned. No one had happened to notice their departure and they, consumed with the wonder of some new discovery, had forgotten to communicate with their sponsors. There was nothing too un- usual in that. Temple himself had, on occasion, become so engrossed in re- search that he had forgotten to eat or sleep or report himself for days on end. His eyes lighted with the impact of a new thought. It was so beautifully simple and logical that only his dis- turbed mental state could have caused him to overlook it before. What had happened was obvious. Another meteorite had fallen. Per- haps it was one of the same swarm that had been detached from the group and hurled to earth some distance away. The expedition, seeing or hearing of this new mass, had simply moved camp to the new site. They had not as yet had time to re- establish communication with the Uni- versity or even the nearby town. Of course that was what had happened. It had to be that way ! Curtis Temple laughed shakily and turned to the telephone beside his bed. He would phone McCabe and set the prexie’s mind at rest with that explana- tion. He was bending over the instrument, smiling a little at his own earlier panic, when the window behind him slammed to the top of its frame and a harsh voice cried: “Stand right still, there, young man. Put that there telephone down quiet and don’t reach out for nothing.” Temple whirled around toward the sound of the voice and his eyes snapped wide. He stood there for a moment, rigid with shocked incredu- lity. THE intruder was a woman, but that fact Temple could have taken in his stride. It was her incredible ap- pearance that made him reel and doubt his own sanity. She was a woman of perhaps fifty- five, tall and gaunt, with black hair stringy around her wrinkled face. Her skin was rough and reddened from wind and sun, and the old gingham dress she wore was faded from innu- merable washings. As Temple stared dazedly, she climbed in through the open window and menaced him with the weapon clutched in her knobby, toil-worn hands — a pitchfork! The woman held the sharp tines of the pitchfork close to Curtis Temple’s chest and stared at him for a long mo- ment with faded eyes that were as blank and lifeless as the windows of an empty house. Finally she jerked her head. “That your belongins — all packed nice in that there grip?” “Y — yes,” Temple managed, swal- lowing hard. “Who are you? What on earth — ” “Don’t matter,” the woman snapped. “Git your grip and come along. Nice you had it ready. Saves waitin’ around fer you to pack.” Temple took a deep, steadying breath and let his hands drop to his sides. The woman was obviously an escaped maniac, a dangerous one with that crude weapon, and the thing to do was humor her. He managed a sickly im- itation of a placating smile. “Now, I’ll be glad to go with you. Just tell me where you intend taking me and — ” A spark glowed for a moment in the depths of the blank eyes. The pitchfork lifted, moved, and one of the sharp tines raked painfully across Curtis Temple’s cheek, drawing blood. “If you aim to get the best o’ me, don’t try. Just get that grip and git goin’. You’ll know where soon enough.”

Page 27

28 STARTLING STORIES The stinging of the scratch on his cheek decided Temple against resist- ance. Still more than half convinced he was somehow dreaming all this, he hoisted his packed bag and slid obedi- ently out onto the dark lawn. The pitchfork shifted and prodded him ungently between the shoulder blades. Under its compelling urge, he moved out across the lawn to the dark street in front. There, only the con- stant pricking of the sharp tines kept him from halting in fresh amazement. A car waited at the curb — an ancient relic of a Ford touring car with cracked windshield and a tattered fabric top held down by straps and ropes. Be- hind the steering wheel sat a gaunt, weather-beaten man in faded overalls. There was a second figure in the back seat, concealed by the darkness. Tem- ple stiffened as light from a distant street lamp showed a muddy Kansas license plate on the back of the Ford. “I got him, Gus,” Temple’s captor cried as they neared the car. “He was all packed fer travelin’ so we didn’t need to wait around.” “That’s good, Martha,” the gaunt man approved. “Put him in here by me an’ you — ” Temple was close enough to see the figure in the back more clearly. He stopped short, ignoring the jabbing tines, and a low harsh sound rose in his throat. The man in the back seat was Mul- lane, the astronomer ! “Good evening, Curtis,” Mullane spoke, then, in an odd voice that some- how held a quality of unhumanness. “Step right in. I know you must won- der what all this is about, Curt, but I assure you it’s all for a purpose — a great purpose — and presently you will understand.” “I hope so,” Temple growled, relief bringing a surge of boiling anger. “Mully, if this is one of your gags. . . ” HE stopped short, one foot on the running board, his hand in the act of swinging open the car door. For just an instant he had felt a queer, diz- zying sensation, like the touch of small cold fingers wriggling momentarily in his hair. The subtle impact made him gasp like a swimmer plunging into icy water. Then Mullane and the gaunt man were both leaning forward, staring at him with a queer feverish intensity. There was something about them, Tem- ple could see then, that was not quite right. It seemed to be their eyes. . . . “Not this one,” the gaunt man said suddenly, sharply. “Not this one at all.” “Go back to your room, Curt,” Mul- lane said then, like a parent instructing a child. “This was all a mistake. You go inside again and forget all about what — ” “I’ll be blasted if I will!” Temple roared in a sudden burst of rage. “Something’s wrong about all this — plenty wrong! I don’t know what it is, but the answer’s down in Kansas. These two came from Kansas and they’re snatching you, Mully. I’ll stop it — and I’ll get to the bottom of what’s going on!” He surged forward, swung a fist at the gaunt man. His arm hit one of the straps holding the top down and the blow missed its target. Still roaring, Temple lunged over the side of the car, hands clutching at the man’s gaunt throat. He forgot the woman behind him until unbelievably powerful hands clawed into his shoulders and jerked him back from the car. He spun help- lessly, saw the pitchfork swing up, re- versed, caught a glimpse of Mullane’s weazened face watching him with de- tached, sad-eyed interest. Then the handle of the pitchfork slammed along the side of his jaw with desperate fury. Curtis Temple had time for an instant of thankfulness that it had not struck the back of his head to undo all the doctors’ fine work. Then the blackness of oblivion caught him up and swept his senses away. CHAPTER V Word from the Missing Oblivious to both heat and dust, Curtis Temple rocked on his heels under the afternoon sun and

Page 28

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 29 stared with dull eyes at the nine dark chunks of stone — all that remained of the meteor camp. There was nothing else, save the nine raw scars from which the meteorites had been dug. Fifty deputies scoured the surround- ing plains for signs of the missing ex- pedition. Two FBI men systematically took the Sdlle farm apart in search of clues. Others ranged the countryside, questioning endlessly and fruitlessly. In the eighteen hours that had passed since the abduction of Mullane, the as- tronomer, and the weird attack on Temple, nothing had happened to lighten the mystery. Rather, it had been deepened. The blow to the jaw had stunned Curtis Temple for no more than a doz- en minutes. Immediately thereafter, his breathless report had police comb- ing the streets, throwing an airtight cordon around the city. But to no avail. The Kansas Ford with its kid- nappers and Mullane, their victim, had vanished completely. Before Temple boarded his plane at midnight, two more of the nation’s leading scientists had disappeared, seized by weatherbeaten men in over- alls, armed with farm implements as weapons. It might have been a bur- lesque of crime, except for the steadily- deepening under-current of nameless horror. Stillwell, the FBI man, met Temple when he arrived at the camp-site the next afternoon. From fingerprints and the descriptions of eye-witnesses, the FBI had identified the kidnappers. Martha and Gus Solle had abducted Mullane and attacked Curtis Temple. Young Gus Solle, junior, had seized Dr. Rayfield, the authority on atomic power. Amie Cole, the hired man, had abducted Lanelle, inventor of the new oxylium explosive. Beyond that knowledge, the FBI was as stumped as everyone else. Four simple farmers, twelve of the best minds of science and some eighty- thousand dollars’ worth of instruments and equipment had apparently vanished from the face of the earth. There was no conceivable reason, though the newspapers screamed Fifth Column, and crackpots besieged the Dies Com- mittee headquarters. Nor was there any apparent infor- mation to be gained from the meteo- rites themselves. To Temple’s trained eye, they were obviously unlike the recorded types of stony aerolites. But this was apparently no more than a matter of physical composition, and so little was yet known about me- teorites that this meant nothing be- yond the discovery of a new, rare type. Yet his mind persisted in linking them with the mystery. Why, he could not tell. PERHAPS it was because he could not forget the older mystery of why Kansas had been singled out for the grim bombardment from the skies. According to scientific calculation, tak- ing all types of meteorites together, the rate of fall should average something like one to a square mile every million years. Or maybe it was because the face of Lee Mason seemed to look out at him from every stone, a dark unfathomable pleading in her blue eyes. He turned away from the nine grim secrets in stone and went back to the Solle farmhouse. Stillwell, the FBI man, met him on the porch. “Any news?” Temple asked, for the tenth time. Stillwell mopped his streaming fore- head and swore. “Yes and no. Nothing about your girl, but the Solles turned up. Walked into the police station in Cincinnati an hour ago and asked for help to get back here.” “Then they can explain what’s hap- pened. They’ll know where the other — ” Stillwell shook his head. “But they don’t. Our field man in Cincy is with them now and getting no place, fast. They claim the last thing they remember is standing around camp that night, watching the meteors cracked open. The next thing they knew, they were all waking up in their old Ford on this edge of the Pennsyl- vania hills. “They can’t remember a thing in be- tween and didn’t know how they got there. They pooled what money they had and started home but it gave out.

Page 29

30 STARTLING STORIES along with their gas, out on Reading Road in Cincinnati.” “They’re lying,” Temple cried hoarsely. “They must be. People don’t drive in their sleep half-way across the continent and start kidnapping — ” “People don’t just vanish into thin air, either,” Stillwell interposed dryly, “but some did. I know how you feel. Temple, but it looks like we’re facing the impossible on this case. “Our men have given the Solles asso- ciation tests and every known type of mental and physical exam — and we’re not exactly amateurs, either. We’ve faced phony amnesia alibis before, but this time, I’m afraid they’re telling the truth.” The ringing of the old-fashioned tele- phone inside the house interrupted them. Stillwell went in and leaned against the wall beside the big box-like instrument. Through the door. Tem- ple could see the federal man stiffen and bend down closer to the long arm of the mouthpiece. He started into the house, feeling the sudden urge and pound of blood in his eardrums. Stillwell said something explosive into the phone and pronged the receiver with a violent crash. He whirled around and stared at Curtis Temple. “A heck of a note,” he said flatly, an- grily. “One heck of a fine note. Are all scientists nuts or do they just act that way to be different?” “What do you mean?” Temple de- manded, staring. Stillwell’s voice was bitter. “We were looking for ’em. The cops and the county sheriffs and the state police and all their relatives and friends were looking for ’em, to say nothing of every half-witted amateur detective and newspaper reporter. The whole damn nation was looking for ’em ! And they were never lost.” “What? What do you — ” Stillwell kicked a chair in an excess of baffled rage. “I wish I’d stuck to accounting. The whole meteor crowd just got in touch with Culwain and Culwain notified Washington. They haven’t been lost at all. They simply packed up, night before last, and moved to a new spot two miles east of Vingrove, Arizona. “We couldn’t trail them because they didn’t follow the roads out of here. They cut across the prairie and the wind blew their tracks away. They’re there, now, and your pal Mullane and the other missing scientists are with them. “They’ve leased a camp-site out in the desert, ordered a trainload of sup- plies and materials and have a hundred workmen hired from all over that end of the state putting up a regular tar- paper city. “Don’t ask me why, or anything about it. I wouldn’t know. I’m just a poor, simple — Hey ! If you’re going to put in a long distance call to Arizona, you’d better let me place it for you. I know how to handle that kind of phone and the kind of operator they’ve got in Bomer.” HALF an hour later Curtis Temple stood at the high wall phone, with the old-fashioned tubular receiver trembling against his ear and heard the voice that had haunted his dreams. He had not fully realized how frightened he had been for her safety until now. “Lee! Darling! Are you all right?” “Of course I’m all right,” it was her voice, yet not her voice, lacking all the silvery overtones that gave it life and melody. “But I’m terribly busy, Cur- tis. You won’t mind if I — ” “I do mind !” Temple snapped. “The whole country has been upset and I’ve been half out of my mind since you van- ished. You can’t just dismiss every- thing like that. “Why did you leave the meteors and slip away like that? Why couldn’t you have notified me? Lee, this isn’t like you at all. What’s going on that I can’t know about? What is this important work that . . “I’m sorry, Curtis,” she cut in flatly, “but explanations will have to wait. In good time you will understand the proj- ect differently.” “Is it — has it something to do with the meteors?” Temple heard the sharp hiss of a startled, indrawn breath. When she spoke again her voice was wary. “No — well, yes, indirectly. It’s something too vast and too vital to be delayed. I must go now. Goodb — ” “ Wait /” he fairly shouted the word.

Page 30

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 31 “Lee, I’ve got to see you. I still think something’s terribly wrong. I’m going to Arizona. I’ll be there tomorrow — ” “ No !” She sounded suddenly pan- icky. “You must not come here. I forbid you to come here. I will not — ” He hung up, cutting off her protesta- tions. When he whirled from the phone, Stillwell was leaning against the wall close by, eyeing him queerly. An un- lighted cigaret dangled from his lip. The FBI man had overheard part of the conversation and sensed the trend of the remainder. “So that’s that,” he said, shrugging. “There’s a train out of Bomer in about twenty minutes that’ll take you back home. Or I would drive you over to Rockton. The line to Phoenix runs through there. Which’ll you take, Tem- ple?” “Don’t be an idiot,” Temple roared. “Get me to Rockton as fast as you can. This isn’t cleared up, by any means. Something’s wrong with Lee Mason and I’m going to find out what.” “Good boy,” Stillwell hurled away his unlighted cigaret and reached for his hat. “Something’s wrong with the whole setup, but my hands are tied, now. If those men weren’t kidnapped, then the FBI’s out of the case. "From here on, it’s your headache, boy, and I’ve got a feeling all hades is about due to break loose somewhere. If you need any personal help, call on me, Temple.” Neither of them could know how right Stillwell was, nor that he would be dead within forty-eight hours — the first victim of the terrible inferno that he had predicted. CHAPTER VI The Crimson Plague THE spring blooming of cactus made the desert a carpet of breath- taking beauty under the morning sun. But Temple, forcing his rented car at top speed over the rutty trail from Vin- grove, had no eyes for the beauty around him. His attention was focussed on the huddle of dark buildings rising out of the desert floor ahead. Even at that distance, he recognized the familiar black shacks and the row of University trucks, and the sight brought a lump into his throat. But the swift stab of nostalgia was swept away in sheer wonderment at the changes wrought. The original six shacks were dwarfed by a vaster camp mushrooming above and around them. In the center of the area, a towering, windowless building, large enough to contain the original camp twice over, loomed skyward. Radiating from this central structure were wide streets lined with additional shacks in various stages of construction. It was unbelievable, impossible — yet there it was. In town, Temple had been told that the camp settled on a barren spot in the desert. Now, forty-eight hours later, a miniature city was racing skyward. Some of the incredible speed of prog- ress was accounted for by the flimsy frame and tar paper construction of all the buildings. More was due to the [Turn page ] A BIG Pepsi-Colo is made only by Pepsi-Cola Company, long Island City, N. Y. Bottled locally by authorized bottlers.

Page 31

32 STARTLING STORIES vast hordes of workmen who swarmed like flies, raising an infernal din of saw- ing and hammering. But manpower alone could not ac- count for the miracle. Behind it must lie that same mysterious, inhuman driv- ing stimulus that had accomplished the impossible in moving the first camp overnight. What that relentless urge was, Temple grimly determined to find out. The speeding car topped a small rise and ground to a sudden skidding halt. Ahead, the trail was barred by a mas- sive steel gate, from either side of which a high, steel-mesh fence ran out to encircle the entire camp. Signs con- spicuously posted on gate and fence read: DANGER— CHARGED FENCE! 50,000 VOLTS! Temple’s eyes became glittering slits in the taut gray mask of his face. He got out of the car and strode purpose- fully toward the gate, fists swinging free. Beyond the barricade, a chunky man in shirt sleeves and stained straw hat burst out of a tiny guardhouse, a heavy revolver bumping on one thigh. The chunky man waved his hands. “Keep back, bud. This here’s private property and there’s enough hot juice in that gate to kill an elephant. No- body gets in, so don’t argue. Just beat it, fast!” “Take it easy,” Temple snapped coldly. “I want to talk to Miss Mason. Tell her it’s Curtis Temple. She’ll see me.” The chunky man gave the revolver a hitch and spat on the hot sand. “I doubt it, bud. This crowd don’t exactly go in for social contacts. But I’ll try, anyhow.” He vanished into the guardhouse and returned presently, shaking his head. “Miss Mason says she ain’t got time to chin. She says beat it home and she’ll get in touch with you later.” "Then let me talk to Mullane or Ro- cossen or — ” The chunky man tightened his lips and shook his head. “Nope. She said for you not to pes- ter nobody else, neither. Sorry, bud.” You run along, now, like a good guy.” Temple controlled himself with an ef- fort and swung on his heel. Force would gain him nothing against that deadly charged barrier. He paused sud- denly. “What’s going on in there, anyhow? What are the build — ” “I wouldn’t know, bud. I just watch the gate.” The chunky man shrugged and spat again. “For the dough they pay, I wouldn’t even know if this was Arizona or Iceland.” TEMPLE’S jaw tightened. He whirled back to the car, threw it into low gear and stepped out on the running board as it lurched ahead. “Hey!” He stopped the retreating guard with a shout. “You’d better step back a little. There may be some sparks flying when my car goes through your gate, fellow.” The gateman stared, swore and wind- milled his arms. ‘‘Don’t! Hey, stop that crate ! Wait’ll I phone the office again. Judas Priest, I only work here, bud.” Waiting only long enough to see Temple slide in and stop the rolling car, he plunged back into his booth. A mo- ment later he came back into sight, mopping his forehead. “Sit tight, you crazy idjit,” he panted. “She’s cornin’ out. Don’t do nothing screwy till she comes, for gosh sakes !” Temple saw her, then, hurrying across the hard-packed sand at the same accelerated tempo that seemed to mark everything about the camp and his breath caught in his throat. It was Lee Mason, with all the loveliness he knew so well. Yet something was lacking, some- thing that defied analysis. The perfec- tion of line and color was there, but the innate personality was gone. She was like a beautiful wax doll, a perfect image in everything but the vital spark of animation. She ignored the guard and came to the gate, staring through with no warmth in her flawless face to meet Temple’s smile. “Why are you making this disturb- ance, annoying me and interrupting my work? I told you not to come here, Curtis.”

Page 32

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 33 Her sharp rebuke was a knife stab in his heart. “I had to come, Lee, to find out what happened to you, what changed you from a human being into a — ” “Sentiment!” she spat and for an instant some faint spark flamed in her eyes. “I won’t have it. My work here is too big and too vital to be disturbed by silly emotional crisis. There is no room for personal feelings in — ” Temple’s lips peeled back from his teeth. “Why were Mullane and those others kidnapped?” he interrupted sharply, watching her face. “Kidnapped?” she echoed coldly. “They came willingly in response to an appeal the Solles carried for us — ” “I don’t believe you,” Temple snapped. “Solle’s old Ford could never have made that trip in so short a time. And you can’t explain why Mullane and the others didn’t leave word for their families if they came willingly, or why Solles have lost their memories, or — ” “Solles’ mental condition is of no in- terest to me,” Lee cut in coldly. “The men came secretly to avoid delay. “As to the trip, the Ford was carried east in the back of a fast truck. On the return trip, Solles decided to stop over in the east so they and their car were dropped off in Pennsylvania.” Temple’s jaw set grimly. That ex- plained how the Ford and its passen- gers eluded the police cordon, hidden inside a closed truck. It was a cever dodge — too clever to have originated in the minds of simple farmers. The ex- planation only ihtensified Temple’s nebulous suspicions. “You don’t expect me to swallow that, Lee,” he said flatly. “You aren’t talking or acting this way of your own free will. I’m convinced of that. “I’ll go now, but I’m coming back and I’m going to get to the root of this mystery. If you’re hypnotized, Lee, or held by some threat — ” She whirled away and faced the wait- ing guard nearby. “If you see that man sneaking around,” she ordered coldly, pointing at Temple, “or trying to get through the fence, use your revolver. Those are orders. This is private property and we have a legal right to defend our privacy with weapons. Is that under- stood, guard?” "Lee” — The cold, inhuman words were ham- mer blows that smashed into Temple’s reeling brain, exploded sharp agony in his heart and sent him reeling back on trembling limbs. He lifted a hand toward her and then dropped it to his side. He turned away, then, his eyes dull and his face rigid, inflexible. This was not Lee Mason, not the laughing girl who had worked with him in the lab and walked hand in hand with him under the stars on Culwain campus. That was an alien creature, a lovely shell from which all humanity had been drained. Why or how he could not guess, but his fists suddenly ached with tension and his lips moved in a silent bow. Somehow he would bring the vital spark back to her eyes, the warmth into her lovely face once more. Meanwhile, he faced a superhuman task. He was a blind man groping in the darkness. He must steel him- self against heartache, put aside every emotion, become as ruthless and cold as she. Without looking back, he got into his car and returned to his hotel in Vin- grove to lay plans. That afternoon the Crimson Plague made its horrible debut in Bomer, Kansas. Stillwell, the FBI man, was its first victim. STILLWELL and his aides, their reports finished, had checked out of their hotel for the return to the Wichita Field Office. They were leav- ing the hotel, approaching their car at the curb when it happened. A dozen passers-by saw the tragedy. Without warning Stillwell’s voice broke in the midst of a remark. He stif- fened, his lean body rocking up onto its toes with every joint locked in intol- erable tension. An expression of ter- rible agony framed a cry that was never uttered. To the onlookers, it seemed that some terrible internal pressure literally blasted every drop of blood in his body out to the surface, turning the puffed

Page 33

34 STARTLING STORIES flesh a hideous crimson, dotting it with tiny droplets of exuded blood. For an instant Stillwell poised on his toes, then plunged forward into the arms of a companion. When a doctor who had stopped in passing reached the victim’s side, all signs of life had vanished. No one thought of contagion. The doctor saw only a rare and exciting case of organic malfunction. The onlookers, pressing close, saw only a morbidly-fascinating form of violent death. Willing hands carried the hide- ous travesty of a human form across the street to the funeral establishment. “It beats me,” the doctor told the gaping crowd when he completed a sketchy examination. “I’m going to report this to the state association right now.” He reached for the phone, stiffened and collapsed with the same horrible suffusion of blood masking his flesh. The crowd fled in a panic. One of those who had borne Stillwell’s body was struck down in the doorway to the funeral home, another in the street out- side. Queerly, neither of Stillwell’s fellow FBI men were stricken. They risked death a hundred times through the night to cheat the Crimson Killer, whipping the crowds into a semblance of sanity, carrying the bodies of vic- tims to an unused shed far out on the edge of town. No more victims fell that night or the next morning. An army of medi- cal warriors arrived in the night and went to work, analysing and testing the bodies, the soil, water, air and food of the town. But results were nega- tive. No unfamiliar germs were found, no organic reason for the seizures. Medical science stood baffled and help- less. “Doctors equipped with every mod- ern defense against contagion, buried the victims far from town. Two hours later three doctors, a nurse, the sexton who had volunteered to fill the graves and an innocent farmer two miles from the scene of burial succumbed to a re- turn of the Plague. By nightfall, a circle of armed guardsmen surrounded Bomer to pre- vent the flight of refugees who might spread what the newspapers now called the Crimson Plague. That night a mob of grim-faced townsmen threw gasoline and flaming torches at the shed where Plague vic- tims lay. A roaring flame sprang up to consume shed and bodies within a space of minutes, and the mob turned away, its task completed. A sudden shift of wind suddenly whipped a shower of ashes from the ruins out into the crowd. Instantly, two men dropped with the terrible mask of the Plague on their faces. The survivors fled, half insane with terror. At midnight, the nation’s leading medical man faced a group of col- leagues in secret meeting. “I’ll tell you,” he said grimly, “though I won’t tell the country at large until I have to. We’re stumped. The Plague can’t be anticipated, checked nor barred by anything we know. Nei- ther burial nor cremation seem to ef- fect its spread. We don’t know what it is, where it came from or how to stop it. “Gentlemen, unless some way is found to utterly isolate the body of every Crimson Plague victim beyond any possibility of contact with human beings, the Plague may sweep the earth.” CHAPTER VII Blue Thunder Rising TEMPLE, pacing the floor of his hotel room in Vingrove, heard the radio reports of the Crimson Plague and groaned aloud. The gods must hate Kansas! The meteorites had fallen on Kansas, the weird change in the personalities of the scientists occurred there, and now the Crimson Plague had burst forth from the same deadly focal point. It was too much to blame on casual coincidence. Behind the linking mysteries must lie a dark, sinister pat- tern of some kind, a pattern that mad- dened Temple because it eluded him. Why hadn’t he caught the Plague if it was a virulent contagious disease? He had been in close contact with Still-

Page 34

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 35 well a few short hours before his at- tack and had moved through the same atmosphere. Were the deadly, unseen organisms of the disease lurking even now in his system, waiting their time to strike? Was the Crimson Plague somehow be- hind the unnatural actions of Lee Mason and her associates? The endless chain of unanswered questions blurred inside his aching head. There was only one way to learn those answers and that was to pene- trate the guarded camp and ferret out its hidden secrets. There must be some way into camp. Temple paced the streets, asking end- less questions of store-keepers and any- one else having contact with the camp, making and discarding a hundred wild schemes. He watched the familiar Culwain trucks disgorge loads of work- men from the day shift and pick up new workers for the night. His hope of slipping into the group, disguised as a carpenter, were dashed when he saw that each man bore an identification disc riveted to his wrist, with numbers carefully checked against a register. He got his car and drove out to camp, slipping off the road some dis- tance from the gate to circle the fence on foot. Inside, the workmen tore through their tasks under the beating glare of powerful floods, putting finish- ing touches on the last of the new struc- tures. From the towering central build- ing came the flame and sputter of electric arcs. Temple circled warily, keeping out- side the backwash of lights, without seeing a single guard patroling the fence. Maybe he could insulate him- self in some way and climb over the barricade while attention centered on the work inside. Fate interf erred to keep him from a fatal blunder. Her instrument was a stray steer from some nearby range that chose that moment to wander out of a dark arroyo. Temple saw the ani- mal a moment before it poked an inqui- sitive nose against the wide mesh of the fence. He saw the steer and then he was half-blinded by the sudden blaze of greenish flame from shorted high ten- sion current that blazed around the stiffening body. As the steer went down, bells jangled wamingly from the heart of camp. A knot of men raced into sight carrying rifles and shotguns, dashing toward the shorted section of fence. Temple faded back into the dark- ness, returned to his car and drove to town. His eyes were twin flames in the gray granite mask of his face and a white-knuckled fist pounded at the steering wheel in helpless agony. Somehow the electrocution of the wandering steer filled him with a deeper horror than anything else that had occurred. It drove home, with ter- rible emphasis, the change that had taken place in Lee and his friends. The careless indifference to human lives evi- denced by that crouching death trap clawed at his raw nerves. He spent the remainder of the night in his room, pacing the floor, driving his numbed brain to contrive new the- ories to explain the mystery and new plans for penetrating it. And during the night the Crimson Plague circled out from Bomer, Kan- sas, striking in a score of towns within a radius of fifty miles of its starting point. EXT morning the streets of Vin- grove were jammed with men. During the night construction work had been completed at camp, the men paid off and discharged. Temple wasted most of the day hunt- ing out these workmen and badgering them with fruitless questions. They knew nothing beyond the fact that they had built and wired frame shacks to a plain specification. What those shacks were to be used for, no one knew or cared. No, they had seen nothing sus- picious unless driving and double wages could be called suspicious. Only a few men, chiefly welders and riveters, seemed evasive and sullen. Temple learned nothing from them, but he gave up, convinced that these men were simply bewildered because they could not remember exactly what their work had been. He was positive that, like the Solles, they had somehow lost all memories of their activities inside the camp.

Page 35

k STARTLING STORIES Get inside the camp! Get inside the camp! The words became a refrain that hammered Temple’s frozen brain with the monotonous agony of an endless drum-beat. He paced the streets and the desert sands to their aching rhythm, timed his prayers and his curses to their endless repetition, ate little and slept less because the insistent clamor of their command would not give him any peace. What was Lee doing in there? What were they doing to her? Was she sick or well? Was there any spark of feel- ing for him still hidden somewhere in her heart? Get into the camp, the endless re- frain cried. Get into the camp and find out! Days of agony passed for Temple. He spent long hours on a nearby hill- top, watching the camp through strong glasses. He saw Lee and the others frequently, rushing on mysterious fev- erish errands that centered inside the big central building. A half-dozen sul- len-faced guards had been hired and they spent much of their days hauling steel sheets and beams from dwindling piles outside into the main structure. Nights, Temple battered his bloody head against the impregnable defenses of the camp. He was caught twice, stowed away in the back of incoming trucks. He hurled chains to short circuit the fence but was driven off when the alarm bells brought armed guards. He tried ramming the fence with his car and was stopped by stakes set deep in the sand. A tunnel under the barri- cade met steel posts sank deep in the ground. Twice he was shot at by guards and narrowly escaped death. Still the unremitting refrain get into the camp drove him on. Meanwhile, the Crimson Plague leaped out from Bomer, Kansas, in ever-widening circles. It broke all the known laws of contagion, skipping ob- vious victims and ignoring the feeble defenses raised against it. When the Plague chose to strike, it struck with- out regard for science’s punny barriers. Doctors risked their lives to autopsy victims and found nothing to indicate either a cause or a cure. Only one thing was certain. Unless mankind found some remote corner of the universe in which to entomb the bodies of Plague victims, the spread could never be checked. Most of the cases apparently rose from contact with Plague bodies, no matter what efforts were made at disinfection nor how re- mote that contact might be. THE thirteenth day after his last talk with Lee, Temple saw a fresh burst of activity sieze the camp. All day the group hauled bundles into the main building with frantic haste. When nightfall brought no cessation of the mysterious activity, Temple stayed at his hilltop post, watching through his nightglasses. He saw figures moving on the roof of the big structure and presently the roof itself seemed to split apart and open a gaping chasm through its cen- ter. In that chasm, Temple could faint- ly see a round, blunt-nosed cylinder poked upward but the resolving power of his glasses was too weak to make out details. Whatever was happening, he felt, marked the culmination of the mysteri- ous project. The thought doubled his determination to penetrate the camp that night, regardless of cost. He left his post, then, and drove down the winding trail toward the darkened camp. He was half a mile from his goal, in the lee of a high hill when the thing happened. He first became aware of it as a dis- tant muttering rumble, more vibration than soGnd. The earth shook to its thunder, sand billowed from the shift- ing dunes and the steering wheel wob- bled in his grasp. With the thought of an earthquake uppermost in his mind, Temple braked the car and kicked open the door. At that instant, the thunder suddenly swelled, rising to an unbearable pres- sure against his eardrums. At the same time, a weird bluish light sprang up from some hidden point beyond the hills, illuminating the desert landscape with unbearable brilliance. Then light and thunder whipped away, dwindling to a whisper that lin- gered an instant after the darkness had

Page 36

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 37 once more closed in. By the time Tem- ple got out of the car and looked up- ward, there was nothing. . . . Nothing but a tiny speck of flame that burst up through the vast pan- orama of the constellations and was gone. CHAPTER VIII Into the Camp CURTIS TEMPLE was an experi- enced meteor-hunter. His eyes and muscles had been trained to that superb coordination that is essential in capturing the secrets of elusive, fleet- ing meteor trails. It was second nature for his eyes to chart the fragmentary course of that vanishing spark through the fixed stars, and reflex action for his fingers to clock its speed across a familiar as- terism on the specially built timer in his wrist watch. When the spark final- ly disappeared, he glanced down at the dial and a sharp gasp broke through his lips. He sprang into the car and snapped on the dome light. For half an hour he sat tensely, a pad of paper propped against the steering wheel, his pencil racing furiously, recording endless cal- culations and computations. When at last he had finished, Curtis Temple sat back and drew a deep, in- credulous breath. He had spent two feverish weeks attempting to fathom the activity within the camp and here lay the answer on his pad — supplied by a dying spark, a stopwatch and math- ematics. By the motion of the spark across a constellation whose apparent diameter he knew, he had obtained rough esti- mates of its speed away from earth. By his knowledge of the position of stars it occulted in its flight, he had arrived at a close approximation of its angle of departure. By projecting these fig- ures, he had reached both a beginning and an end to the phenomena. It was incredible, impossible. Yet the object could have been nothing but a rocket-propelled space ship, leaping up from the heart of the meteor camp at a speed that approached fifty miles a sec- ond. Workable rocket ships were still a dream of the future, so far as science knew, yet nothing but a man-made and man-propelled object could shatter the shackles of gravity at such a speed. And unless his hasty projection of its tangent was far in error, it could have hurtled up into space toward only one possible objective — to intersect the orbit of the moon! The nine black meteorites on the Kansas prairie had apparently come from the moon, and a rocket ship was apparently flying to the moon ! So many things became clear to him as he reluctantly accepted the evidence of his figures. The huge central build- ing had housed the ship and its roof had opened to permit its departure. The tons of metal must have gone into con- struction of the craft. Rayfield and Lanelle, authorities on atomic and explosive power, had obvi- ously solved the problem of propulsion while Mullane supplied a keen knowl- edge of lunar topography. But why? The solution of one mys- tery only intensified the greater one. Why keep such an accomplishment se- cret? Had the meteorites revealed the presence on the moon of some treasure hoard so vast that last for it turned human beings into mad machines ? ANEW thouglit struck Temple and whitened his cheeks. Had they all boarded that ship and left earth forever, perhaps deserting a world they foresaw was doomed by the spreading Plague? In the same breath he dis- carded the idea. He had glimpsed enough of the ship to estimate its size. It could never transport twelve persons, even if they had accomplished miracles in solving the problem of air supply and fuel stor- age. Temple knew enough of the theo- retical problems of astrogation to esti- mate a maximum carrying capacity of not over three or four persons. Then the others were still in camp, and with them lay the solution to the deepening mystery. Temple kicked the motor to life, and sent the car rocketing along the rutty trail without lights, steering by the faint radiance of the

Page 37

3b STARTLING STORIES stars. As he drove, a desperate plan was forming in his mind. He left the road and circled around behind the camp. It lay in darkness to- night, except for a scattering of lighted windows, but the full radiance of the floods was essential to his desperate plan. Parking, he got an iron jack handle and a 30-30 rifle from the car. The rifle he had bought a week before on the off- chance that it might serve a future pur- pose. Tonight it was vital to his scheme. Moving swiftly, he ran through the darkness and hurled the jack handle against the fence. Crackling flame leaped up at the impact and the shrill clangor of alarm bells burst out from camp. Instantly the floods came on, turning the night to day, revealing the knot of armed guards racing his way. Temple stood for a moment, fixing the location of his target in his mind and then ran back to the car. Hunch- ing up on the fender, he rested the rifle across the hood and centered its sights above the running men on the tiny black bulk of the transformer over the generator truck, nerve center of the deadly charged fence. It was a desperate gamble, for the guards, hearing the whistle of slugs over their heads, would think them- selves attacked and direct a withering return fire. Tempje’s eyes were narrow and cold with grim purpose as he squeezed the trigger. The rifle spanged and bucked against his shoulder. From camp came the shrill scream of a ricochet as the slug glanced from the rounded transformer shell. The guards halted for a startled moment and then began firing. Lead whistled around Temple’s head and clanged into the body of the car. He ignored the hail of death, concen- trating on bettering his aim. The guards were only a hundred yards away, yelling and shooting, when he fired again. This time a burst of purple flame ripped up from his target and every light in camp whipped out. The sud- den darkness was blinding and the guards halted with yells of alarm. Instantly Temple slipped from the car and raced down the fence, away from the milling guards who scattered to find flashlights. More startled cries came from the camp. Temple ignored the sounds until they faded behind him. Then he stopped and threw the rifle against the fence. There was no answering crackle of shorted current. The barrier was at least mo- mentarily robbed of its deadliness. At any moment some emergency circuit might be cut in, restoring its murderous potentialities, but he brushed that thought aside. Toes and fingers dug into the wide mesh and fairly hurled his lean bulk up to the top of the barricade. He poised there for a moment, then leaped out into the darkness. He landed on all fours, ignored the vicious stab of cactus needles against his palms, and plunged forward toward the dark camp. He had to get in and find concealment before the lights came back on or the demoralized group or- ganized their defenses. Flashlights weaved in and out among the shacks ahead and centered on the generator truck. Temple pounded on and burst into the darker canyon of the camp street at a dead run. Ahead loomed the vast bulk of the rocket han- gar and he headed toward it as the heart of the mystery he hoped to pen- etrate. SUDDENLY a dark bulk sprang at him out of the shadows of parked trucks, and starlight glittered on the metal tube of a flashlight or a gun. Temple’s ears caught the sharp inhala- tion of breath that preceeded a bellow of alarm. There was no time to identi- fy the instrument or discover when the figure was that of a guard or one of his former friends. Temple hurled himself at the dark figure and his fists lashed out. The im- pact of his knuckles against jaw bone sent a sharp tingle of pain up his arm. Then the figure was crumpling sound- lessly. Temple’s exploring fingers felt the cool bulk of a flashlight and he snatched it before racing on. He was almost to the hangar when a puddle of yellow light from a flash swept out from between two shacks. Temple darted into the shadows and froze a moment before the light and

Page 38

THE GODS HATE KANSAS J9 its bearer came into the street. He held his breath and saw the thin, ascetic face of Spirovic, professor of wave mechan- ics, behind the flashlight’s glow. physicist’s thin face was wolfish, preda- tory as he snatched at a small black case that looked like a candid camera hung at his side. Temple did not wait to learn how Spi- rovic could have sensed his presence or what the case contained. He exploded into action, leaping straight at the glar- ing light. His shoulder knocked the case from Spirovic’s hands and sent his slight fig- ure reeling. Temple kneed him down and burst down the street at a furious sprint. Behind him, the physicist’s shrill voice rose in a shout of alarm that was echoed by other throats from all sides. Temple glanced back and saw Spiro- vic on his feet, levelling the black case. Suddenly a ghostly bluish beam shot from the case. Before Temple could dodge, it caressed one of his pistoning legs. The contact was a searing flame of agony. His leg went numb and crum- pled, throwing him forward onto hands and knees. The beam winked out and Spirovic raced forward, bawling in a The screen showed a luminescent ball clinging to the nape of the physicist’s neck (Chapter X) Spirovic halted while his light probed under the nearer parked trucks, miracu- lously missing the figure Temple had downed a moment before. Then the light swung away, and Temple drew a breath of relief. He was starting to creep on when the physicist suddenly halted, gasped and whirled back. The flashlight’s beam swept out un- erringly and pinned Temple’s crouch- ing figure in its glare. Behind it the

Page 39

STARTLING STORIES 4^ triumphant voice, tugging a flashlight out of his pocket. For a moment Temple lay in dark- ness. His right leg was a dead, useless thing without life or feeling. He dug elbows and clawed hands into the hard- packed sand and dragged himself away from the street, toward the dark space between two shacks. Flashlights sprang up around him, reaching out with hungry fingers. Temple blinked cold perspiration from his eyes and crawled on, his breath a wheezing an- guish in his throat. THE touch of the blue ray, what- ever it was, had been no more than a light caress, and life began to tingle back into Temple’s leg. He lurched to his feet and plunged into a grim trav- esty of a run, lurching and stumbling. For a moment the flashlights lost him. Then they picked up his trail in the sand. Temple pounded on with blind, dogged determination until the tower- ing walls of the central structure loomed up overhead. He stumbled against a small lean-to structure that leaned against the bigger building and his fumbling hands touched a heavy door handle. The door fell away with weighty pon- derousness, throwing him forward off balance into the inky interior. A blast of chill air struck his face. This must be a refrigerated storehouse for per- ishable supplies. It was at least a temporary hiding place, regardless of its purpose. He eased the door shut and stumbled for- ward into the enveloping blackness. His unsteady feet tangled with some yielding object.. He teetered, clawed at the empty darkness and went down with a clatter across the thing that had tripped him. For a moment he lay still, fighting down the furious panting of his lungs, listening to the faint sounds of the search outside. After a time he sat up, got out the captured flashlight and snapped it on under his coat. The circle of filtered radiance seeped through the cloth and spread out over the thing beneath him. It was the fully clothed body of a man. Temple’s breath made a sharp wheez- ing sound in his nostrils. He scrambled to his knees and a human face showed in the glow of the light. Then the sound of his breathing stopped, and the body slipped back into the concealing shadows. He had seen the face of the chunky gateman, suffused with the unmistak- able spotted crimson of the Plague. Then the outer door crashed open and a lance of the bluish light, sharper and stronger now, swept in to engulf him. He knew a single stab of utter agony, then darkness. CHAPTER IX Flight from Vengeance TEMPLE opened his eyes in shad- owy gloom and stared dully at his surroundings. He was lying on an iron cot in a tiny, windowless room of un- painted planking with only a solid door of heavy timbers to relieve the blank- ness of the walls. Overhead, through a low ceiling of heavy steel mesh, he saw a high-vaulted roof with daylight filtering through cracks and chinks. One crack, wider than the others, seemed to split the en- tire sweep of the roof into two massive sections. That did it! Sight of the oddly-split roof broke the numbness in his brain. He sprang to his feet as the memories flooded back. He had penetrated the camp, fallen on a Plague victim and been struck down by the mysterious paralyzing force of the blue beam. Now he was prisoner in a tiny cell inside the tower- ing rocket hangar. The split roof was evidence of that. Memory of the Plague victim brought a stab of terror to his heart. The Crimson Plague had struck the camp. Were there any other victims of its inexorable fury? Was Lee doomed to fall before it? Why had they left the body of that guard so open and unguarded? Why didn’t they flee? In a fury of desperation he lunged at

Page 40

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 41 the door and the walls of his prison. He had to get out, get Lee away from the Plague area at once. The danger of his own exposure to the dread epi- demic was swept away in his fears for her safety. Small as his cell was, it was rock- solid. Temple gave up his efforts to batter down the door at last, and a measure of sanity came back to his brain. He looked around and the low- meshed ceiling caught his eye. He sprang up, hooked his fingers into the screen and pulled himself up against it. His eyes snapped wide as the new position widened his angle of vision. THE rocket ship was back! It lay in its massive cradle, pointing al- most vertically upward, so close to his prison that it was barely beyond his angle of vision from the floor. His eyes sifted the gloom and made out a laby- rinth of gears and pulleys that opened the split roof and tilted the cradle. The ship itself was larger than he had at first thought — a good fifty feet in length, of tear-drop shape, with a max- imum diameter of perhaps twenty feet. The nose rounded sharply to a tubular point and a few feet behind it the hull was encircled by what appeared to be a fluted metal collar. Then he saw that the collar was actu- ally a coweling that streamlined a ring of backward-pointing tubes projesting from the hull. He guessed these to be some sort of steering jets. Further back, the smooth metal was broken by stubby, retractable wings. The entire hull was of dull, seamless metal, unbroken by any ports or doors. Entrance must be affected, he guessed, down close to the tail, which was below his line of vision. Temple’s muscles weakened, then, and he dropped to the floor again, his mind seething with new questions and problems. To all of them, there seemed but one source from which to get an answer — the group themselves. He threw back his head, filled his lungs and shouted. “Hey!” he roared. “What’s the idea of locking me in here? Let me out!” The shout boomed up to the vaulted roof and whispered away into silence. Temple waited, then shouted again. This time he got results. A door creaked somewhere outside and foot- steps clattered briskly. A lock clicked outside his door, and a small peep-panel swung outward to frame the cold, expressionless face of Mullane. “Stop creating a disturbance, Curtis,” Mullane snapped sharply. “You were confined here to prevent further in- terruptions to our work. Please be sen- sible about it and remain quiet-. You will be fed at regular intervals.” The words and the tone fanned the spark of Temple’s suppressed anger into raging flame. “Go to blazes !” he shouted furiously. “If I’m such a pest, why keep me around? Why don’t you knock me in the head and shove me into cold storage with that other poor devil?” “We considered that,” Mullane said coldly, “and decided this way was bet- ter and less annoying. Please don't make us change our minds, Curtis.” “Why you — ” Concern for Lee’s safety suddenly dissolved his anger. “Mully, for God’s sake, why did you leave that body lying out there? Has anyone else been stricken with the Plague? How is Lee? She can’t stay here and risk — ” “Calm yourself,” Mullane said curtly. “Miss Mason is in no danger. Her knowledge is too valuable to be risked.” He started to close the small panel. “Wait!” Temple cried. “When did the rocket ship come back? Or is this a different one? I saw one take off — ” “The same one,” Mullane answered coldly. “It returned the night after its departure, promptly on schedule.” “Hey! How long have I been out?” Mullane’s voice was patient. “Two days. Temple. Now, please don’t make it necessary for us to ap- ply the beam again in order to avoid — ” “Cut it!” Temple shouted furiously. “What’s this all about ? What are you using that ship for? Where did it go?” The rocket was flown to the moon by Dr. Rocossen,” Mullane answered, after a momentary hesitation. “It carried a pre-fabricated launching cradle for the return journey and an air-tight land- ing depot shack. Beginning tomorrow, the ship will operate on a regular sched- ule, leaving here every fifth day.”

Page 41

k STARTLING STORIES Temple gaped in sheer amazement. “Why? What is there on the moon? You certainly aren’t doing all this just to start sight-seeing tours?” “To transport the bodies of Crimson Plague victims to the moon for dis- posal.” " Plague victims ?” “Exactly. There is apparently no place on the earth or in the earth where the bodies may be placed beyond danger of the infection’s spreading. And as long as the Plague spreads, medical science can’t stop to dig into history for the Plague’s origin or take the time to develop suitable combative measyres. “But if the spread could be at least checked, science feels that it could de- velop an antidote. We have found a way to check it — by transporting the bodies of Plague victims to the moon immediately, before they contaminate others. There, insulated from earth by the airless miles of space, they are no longer a menace and the panic already grow- ing in areas yet unattached will abate. days ago, we communi- M cated our offer to the govern- ment. Yesterday it was accepted. We have present facilities for transporting twenty-five bodies at a time and con- struction is started on a larger rocket with a capacity of two hundred. Within two months, the Plague should be halted.” Temple’s head was swimming. He caught his breath with an effort. “You mean you discovered the Plague before it started and moved here to work out this cemetery on the moon idea? Who’s going to handle the victims? “How do you keep from catching the Crimson Plague yourselves? If you’ve worked out a safeguard against it, why haven’t you given that to the country?” “We are all immune. Naturally im- mune. We are, therefore, taking turns collecting the bodies in our own trucks. That was a part of our generous of- fer.” “Where did the Crimson Plague come from, Mully? There is no pre- vious record of it in medical history.” “It is a new and alien menace to earth, Curtis, from somewhere in outer space, brought by, those meteors.” Temple’s eyes flamed dangerously in the drawn grayness of his face. “So that’s it,” he said sofely. “The Culwain Expedition cracked open a meteor and saw the Plague inside. They realized instantly what it would do to the world and that they them- selves, out of a few billion people, were selected by Fate to be naturally im- mune. “So they rushed here, called in other scientists to join their unselfish sacrifice, and built a rocket ship — a flying hearse to their cemetery in the sky. Is that correct?” Mullane’s answer sounded like a metallic purr. “Exactly, Curtis. That is exactly the way it occurred.” Temple’s lips curled away from his teeth. He leaned forward and barked one word. “Nuts!" Mullane’s face was a blaze of cold fury. He started to wheel away. “What do you take me for?” Temple roared. “A dope ? How could you see microorganisms the best medical equip- ment in the world can’t isolate? How could you know what they’d be or that you would be immune? “And why treat me like a poor rela- tion? So I'll run away and escape the Plague? That’s what I’m supposed to believe, isn’t it? Well, I’ve been ex- posed twice and I’m still here. Either I’m immune, too, or your Crimson Plague is as phony as your alibi. “Maybe that’s it. Maybe the Crim- son Plague isn’t bacterial at all. Are the bodies of earlier victims waiting around for weeks to be buried? Is there some secret action of the Plague that inhibits decay? Go ahead, Mully. Let’s hear you explain that in your inimitable manner.” Mullane started to swing the peep- hole shut. When no more than a slit remained open, he said coldly: “Our first decision regarding your disposal was a mistake. I realize that clearly, now. However, a prolonged application of the blue beam will rec- tify that error perfectly.”

Page 42

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 43 The panel slammed shut, Mullane’s angry footsteps drummed away and out of the building. There was no doubt that he was coming back with one of those paralyzing beam projectors almost immediately. Temple must have hit too close to the truth — so close that his continued ex- istence was a menace to the group. Nor did Temple have any illusions of again being permitted to recover from the ray. Its touch now meant his finish, and the end of resistance to the group’s mysterious purpose. He had to escape — but how? The iron cot, the only movable object in the room, offered a crude weapon. Temple demolished it with a kick and wrenched off an iron leg. Not that he actually expected a chance to use a club. Mullane needed only to open the panel and send the beam in through it. For that matter, it might penetrate the walls them- selves. Clothing had offered no bar to its paralyzing touch. The heap of blankets from the cot met Temple’s eye, and a vague hope stirred. With desperate haste he ripped them into strips and knotted together a crude rope with a slip noose held open by a piece of spring wire from the cot. Then, using die cot frame for a ladder, he climbed up and poked the noose through the wire mesh ceiling above the door. It was such a slender gamble. So many things could go wrong, and failure signed his death warrant. Mullane’s footsteps hammered back and halted outside. There was no sound of the panel being unlocked this time, and Temple’s heart sank. He had to make Mullane open that. “Mully,” he called. “Hold on a min- ute. Maybe you’re right and I'm wrong. Maybe I have been interfer- ing with the one thing that can save civilization.” Temple’s breath hissed out as the panel opened. “Don’t be childish,” Mullane snapped, bending close to lift the black projector case. “You are only trying to stall me to save your own valueless life. It will not work.” Sweat came out on Temple’s fore- head. His right hand, beyond Mul- lane’s line of vision, was desperately working the free end of his makeshift rope. In the opening, above the as- tronomer’s unsuspecting head, the crude noose dangled too far forward to center above its objective. He had to make Mullane bend forward. Temple deliberately stepped back out of sight. “You can’t escape, Curtis,” Mullane cried and bent forward, shoving the projector into the opening. “The heck I can’t!” Temple barked and snapped his hand up. “Watch me.” The noose dropped over Mulane’s head, the dislodged strip of spring dropped free and a jerk pulled the loop tight. At the same instant, Mullane’s hand pressed the projector knob. The blue beam missed Temple’s head by inches and then winked out as Mul- lane dropped the projector to claw at the strangling line. Praying that the flimsy fabric would stand the strain, Temple wrapped the line around his fists and tugged. He did not relinquish his hold until Mullane’s struggles ceased and his hands fell away from his purpling throat. Then holding his victim erect by the taut rope. Temple reached out through the narrow panel, located the keys and let himself out. Lowering Mullane’s body, he tore away the strangling noose and felt for a heartbeat. It was there, faint but steady. “You’ll be okay,” he grunted, “and some day you’ll thank me for this, Mully.” HE locked the limp figure in his own former prison and then retrieved the fallen projector. If he survived to escape the camp, science would want to know the secret of that strange, paralysing blue beam. Right now, escape was farthest from his thoughts. He had penetrated the camp but not the mysteries. Until Lee Mason was freed of the mysterious influence that had so changed her na- ture, he would not leave. But he had to find a hiding place until nightfall if he was to move about with any degree of freedom. He looked around the great hangar.

Page 43

44 STARTLING STORIES The rocket loomed above him, its cluster of giant stem jets deep in a metal-lined pit in the floor to confine the fierce heat of take-off blasts. Stubby elevator fins at each side rested on banks of rollers and a gangplank led up to a round closed port in the ship’s belly. Temple reluctantly tore his interest away from the big ship and sought a haven. His eyes fell on the closed outer door of the hangar, and he crossed to it. Holding his breath, he eased it open and peered out. For an in- stant, the sight that met his gaze froze him to immobility. Night was falling and the street out- side was heavy with shadows. Through those shadows came the whole expedi- tion group, running in a grim bunch, clutching a variety of weapons. They were heading with ominous purposeful- ness straight at the hangar door. Lee Mason led them, one of the deadly projectors in her slender hands. There was no question but that by some mysterious means, they knew of Temple’s escape and were rushing to block his purpose. CHAPTER X Kidnaper TEMPLE whirled and raced around the looming rocket toward another door that showed faintly in the far wall. He went through it as his pur- suers burst in the hangar behind. He found himself in a narrow corridor lined with small laboratory cubicles and leading to an outside door at the end. Apparently each scientist had his own research room close to the rocket. Head down. Temple raced for the distant exit He was almost to his goal when feet scraped outside and the knob turned. Someone was coming in, blocking his escape that way. He turned and darted into the nearest lab- oratory. From the maze of optical equipment, this room must belong to Lansdon, the chubby physicist. Temple’s eye was caught by an odd instrument, like a grotesque stereoptican, sitting on the desk. It bore the familiar double view- ing apparatus, except that one lens was clear glass and the other completely opaque. The converging screen at the back was a film of some richly violet metal that Temple guessed might be caesium. But there was no time to indulge sci- entific curiosity by probing further. The footsteps were approaching the door and the laboratory room bore no windows or other means of exit. Temple took the only possible hid- ing place, the space below the labora- tory bench. A moment later the steps entered the room. He heard them advance a few paces and then stop. The sound of tense breathing reached his ears, and the muted rustle of clothing. Nerves crawled along his spine. There was something ominous in the deadly quiet. Then Lansdon’s voice spoke. “Come out, Temple. Come out from behind my bench. I know you’re there and I have a gun trained on your heart.” Temple’s breath hissed out. He touched the projector under his coat and then his hand dropped. He could not turn it on men who had been his friends and associates. For all he knew, this on might be set to kill at a touch of the blue beam. He sighed and climbed out. The movement brought his eyes in line with the screen of the odd appara- tus on the desk and for an instant he saw Lansdown’s head and shoulders through that instrument. The sight froze him in gaping amazement. The screen showed something alien and incredible — a ball of glowing violet luminescence clinging to the base of the physicist’s brain, tight against the nape of his neck. It was like nothing Tem- ple had ever seen before, simply a glo- bule of pure radiance without form, shell or nucleus. He looked around the screen and the thing was invisible. He looked back through the screen, and it was still there, pulsing quietly in hideous simu- lacre of life, invisible and unsuspected without the detector. Temple straight- ened and met Lansdon’s furious eyes. “You have seen too much,” the chub-

Page 44

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 45 by man whispered. “Now you must be destroyed at once.” The revolver in his hand lifted and flamed, a blasting thunder in the tiny room. But Temple, forewarned by Lans- don’s whitening trigger finger, was al- ready plunging aside and away. The slug touched liquid fire to his ribs be- low his left arm. For an instant he stumbled, gasping. Then he had his breath again, and the terrible urgency of his purpose poured fire into veins and muscles. There was only the single door, and Lansdon with his deadly pistol blocked that. Temple whirled and came up off his knees with his sound right shoulder up, and his head down. HE struck the wall behind the desk with the force of a battering ram. Thin plywood and tarpaper gave way before his smashing impact. He plunged out into cool darkness, rolled over, felt the lash of sand particles in his face, driven by a pistol slug that missed him by inches. Then he was up, running desperately, feeling the sting of fire in his shallow wound. Behind him, Lansdon shouted wildly, directing the others to race out and cut off the fugitive’s flight. Ahead lay the road to the outer gate and free- dom. . . . Temple ran a dozen steps down this road, then swerved back toward the hangar. It was a crazy, suicidal move, but now that he knew so much of the terrible truth, his mind was fixed on one grim, desperate purpose. Near the hangar door, he froze into deep shad- ows and watched pursuit stream out to cut off his path to the outer fence. His eyes grew colder as Lee Mason raced out, clutching the projector and a flashlight. Like a grim ghost, Tem- ple drifted through the shadows in pur- suit as she marched down one of the streets, whipping the light from side to side. Gradually, as they drew near the edge of the camp, some of the tension went out of his nerves. Apparently what- ever word power had revealed his pres- ence before was now inactive for she gave no sign of sensing pursuit. At the end of the street she stopped and flashed the light out toward the fence. When she turned back at last. Temple was waiting with arms out- spread. He pounced like grim light- ning. One hand muffled her cry of warning while the other batted down the flash- light and projector. For a few mo- ments she fought with the lithe strength of a panther, almost breaking the clutch of his weakened left arm a dozen times. He knew that he was doomed if she succeeded in raising one shout of alarm. There was only one alternative. Temple’s right fist came up and ex- ploded against the slender jaw. She gasped and went limp in his arms. His face cold and emotionless. Temple scooped up the projector, slung her slender figure onto his shoulder and looked around. He was by no means free as long as that circle of deadly fence hemmed him in. His eyes fell on the dark bulk of the parked University trucks. He ran to the first one and saw that the key was in the ignition lock. A moment later [Turn page] FOLLOW THE WORLD'S GREATEST SPACE-FARER Coming in the Winter QUEST BEYOND THE STARS Complete Book-Length Captain Future Novel By EDMOND HAMILTON IN OUR COMPANION MAGAZINE CAPTAIN FUTURE NOW ON SALE 15* AT ALL STANDS

Page 45

46 STARTLING STORIES he was in the truck, with Lee’s limp form beside him, rocketing toward the gate. The roar of the truck motor warned the rest of his intention. They must have telephoned ahead, for the gate- man opened fire with a pistol when the truck was still some distance away. Lead spanged on the body and blasted glittering diamonds from a corner of the windshield, whipping dangerously close to Lee Mason’s silent form. Temple, his eyes cold, held the throt- tle down and drew out the captured projector. He leaned out the open win- dow and thumbed the knob. Blue light beamed out, shifted and engulfed the guard. He crumpled to the ground. A moment later Temple was out, throwing the master switch that opened the big gate. A touch told him the gateman was only paralyzed. Then the big truck was roaring out through the gate into the night, away from the yells and the shots and the licking tongues of blue flame that receeded in hopeless pursuit. At the edge of Vingrove, Temple stopped long enough to find strong cord and tie Lee’s ankles and wrists se- curely. Then he swung away from the town onto the highway that led north- ward and pushed the throttle to the floor. LETTING the endless desert miles slip past, his mind probed at the new problems arising from his desper- ate gamble. He had Lee Mason, and he knew vaguely what was responsible for the change of personality, but he had no idea how to bring her back to normal. Yet until he could accomplish that restoration, she would be his bitter enemy. Worse, he had no place to go. In the eyes of the law he was now a kidnapper and a car thief and Lee would be the first to condemn him if he were cap- tured. If he tried to face the law with the incredible truth as he now knew it, he would be rushed to the nearest in- sane asylum. Beside him, Lee stirred and moaned faintly. Temple instantly drew off the highway, cut the motor and bent over her. His fingers, probing the soft cloud of her hair, experienced the faintest of tingling sensations and he knew, then, that the thing he suspected was there. Presently her eyes opened dazedly. She tugged at her bonds, then spat at him with an animal snarl of rage. “Take it easy,” Temple advised quietly. “I know what I’m up against, now, and I tied those ropes to stay. They’ll stay until I’ve learned exactly what you are and how you can be de- stroyed. I’m not speaking to Lee Ma- son, now. I’m talking to you — the thing that has burrowed into her brain and enslaved her body to use as its active vehicle. “I know you’re there. I saw one of you or a piece of you on Lansdon’s skull tonight, through his sub-visible detector. I know the glowing thing I saw changed him from a human being to a flesh and blood robot, and the same happened to Lee and the other scien- tists.” “You’re insane,” Lee hissed furi- ously, writhing and fighting the con- fining ropes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. In case you’ve forgot- ten, Curtis Temple, the penalty for kid- naping is the electric chair.” Temple’s eyes were terrible in their coldness. “In case you’ve forgotten,” he re- torted through set teeth, “the penalty is no worse for murder. Lee Mason means more than life to me, and always will. But if I see that I’m going to be captured and my purpose blocked — I’ll destroy this lovely shell of her before I’ll see it go on to a lifetime of horrible slavery. “Think that over before you try call- ing for help when we pass through some of these towns.” CHAPTER XI Science at War AT four o’clock in the morning. Temple parked on a dark residen- tial street in Phoenix, opposite an im- posing house. He knew that house well. Its owner was an old friend and former classmate, Allen Farge, now Professor of Physics at Mountain Tech. Temple hated to draw anyone else in

Page 46

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 47 on his problem, but he had to have refuge and a modern laboratory in which to work out the solution. He shut off the motor and turned to Lee Mason. “I’m leaving you alone for ten min- utes,” he said. “You’re plotting ways to defeat me, of course, and you may succeed. Apparently you’re possessed of Satan’s own science. But remember this before you try anything. You tried to get into my brain the night Mullane was kidnapped and you failed. “You can’t control me! You know I’m a deadly menace to you but you can’t read my mind to tell what I’m going to do or just how dangerous I really am. “Your only chance to smash me is to stay close and try to catch me nap- ping. That means controlling someone close to me, and no one will ever be closer than Lee Mason. Remember that when you think of harming her or moving your control to someone else.” He swung out of the cab, steeling his heart against the thought of leaving her there, bound and uncomfortable. His only solace was the realization that Lee Mason’s own life and happi- ness hung in the balance. Farge’s house was dark and silent, but persistent ringing of the bell brought a blaze of lights. An orna- mental lantern above Temple’s head flashed on, and the square, homely face of Allen Farge squinted out through the door pane in sleepy irritation. The irritation vanished at sight of Temple and the door whipped open. "Holy boiled Mackerel ! Curt! What are you doing out in this country ? Out here for your health?” He squinted and made a face. “You look like a first class wreck going some place to hap- pen. What you need is — ” Temple grinned wearily. “What I need, Al, is a stiff drink about so-o-o high. And fix yourself one, too. You’ll need it when you hear my story, fellow.” Farge grabbed his arm and pushed. “Straight ahead to the kitchen, boy. The stuff is there, and I’ll mix it in a washtub if you say the word.” They compromised on tall glasses, bickering amiably on measurements and proportions. But when the drinks were mixed, Farge seated himself across the porcelain table, and the laughter died out of his eyes. “All right, Curt,” he said quietly, “let’s have it. You didn’t come here on any social call. And there’s a shadow of plain horror in your eyes. What’s up?” TEMPLE told him, beginning with the mystery of meteorites bom- barding Kansas and covering every- thing that had followed the disappear- ance of the Culwain Expedition. At the mention of the Crimson Plague, Farge’s lips thinned. “I saw the Plague,” he said harshly. You think those things caused that, too?” “I’m sure of it — and just as sure bac- teriologists can’t find Plague germs be- cause there aren’t any germs.” He rushed on, ignoring Farge’s startled grunt. “Look, they offer to transport vic- tims to the moon, ostensibly for burial. How do we know that’s their purpose? Suppose this is all a hellish pattern, a scheme to get human bodies to the moon for some ghastly use? Can you imagine a better way to accomplish it?” Farge set down his empty glass with a shaking hand. “Go on,” he said hoarsely. “I’m crazy enough to keep on listening as long as you make two and two equal four.” He remained silent until Temple had finished, examining the black projector case without comment. Then he took a deep breath. “Count me in, Curt,” he said quietly. “I’ll do anything for a chance to take this thing apart and see what makes it tick.” “You’ll get that chance. Is your school out for the summer? I’ve lost track of time these past weeks.” “Closed last week — and twenty miles out of town I’ve got the finest private lab in the country, with everything in it but a rhumbatron, Curt. It’s all yours. But what can you hope to ac- complish?” “We’ve got to duplicate Lansdon’s detector that makes the entities visible.

Page 47

43 STARTLING STORIES Until we can see them, we’re helpless. We can’t fight them, can’t analyze them, can’t even perfect a weapon until we get that detector.” “Sweet job,” Farge growled. “You don’t know how it’s made and by all the laws of physics, it can’t exist, any- how. You ought to have one of those entities, as you call them, for a guinea Pig-” “I have,” Temple said quietly, and described his kidnapping of Lee Mason. Farge leaped to his feet, his chair crashing backward. “My Lord! That poor girl tied up out there all this — ” “Easy, Al. That poor girl would slit your throat and mine the moment she got loose. That isn’t Lee Mason out there. It’s a hellish, inhuman thing that’s usurped her body. God only knows if her real personality still ex- ists. “Maybe without the entity she’d die or— or have no mind left. I’ve tried not to think of that because we’ve got to go on, got to smash the plot behind all this — ” his voice dropped, “regard- less of cost.” FARGE gripped his shoulder a mo- ment in silent sympathy. “We’ll fight,” he said at last. “But what about us, Curt? What’s to pre- vent an entity’s seizing either of us?” “In your case, nothing. They’ve tried to get into my brain and failed. To- night I figured out why, and tomorrow I’ll try to equip you with the same de- fense. Meanwhile, until I’ve got it ready, I don’t dare tell you what it is. “The big risk is that the entity will leave Lee and run away before we can accomplish anything, destroying her as a revenge blow against me. I’ve tried to block that, though my efforts are horribly feeble, Al. “The main thing is speed and more speed. Can you get ready to go to your lab right away? I’ve seen those poor dupes at camp rushing their jobs and I know what we’re up against in trying to beat them.” “Ready in ten minutes. Curt. My family’s out of town so I haven’t a sin- gle tie to hold me.” An hour later they stood in the fin- est private laboratory Temple had ever seen. A spare storeroom, hastily supplied with bed and dresser, became a comfortable but reasonably escape- proof prison for Lee Mason. Only a bank of steel shelves on one wall both- ered Farge. “She could rip those down and make a club of that metal edging, Curt,” he protested. “We’ll risk it. I’m gambling that as long as the entity thinks it has a chance to smash us, it will stay quiet to watch our next moves. I’m deadly afraid of having it leave her now, maybe de- stroy her body in retaliation, and take up some new angle of attack we can’t guard against.” He drove a clenched fist into his palm. “Darn it, it’s all guesswork, Al, and it scares me. How do I know I’m right? I thought I saw a ball of light on a man’s head. On that thin base I’ve built up a whole beautiful theory — that might be utterly cockeyed. “What is an entity? What are its powers? I’ve pieced odds and ends of evidence into a composite picture of them but how do I know it isn’t a picture they deliberately created to fool me? “Maybe that thing in there is com- municating with its companions right now, planning some terrible attack. I don’t think it is — but I don’t know. It’s all blind shooting in the dark.” “We’ve shot in the dark all our lives. Curt. We never saw an atom, yet we’ve built up a workable blueprint of its structure by which we can build them or tear them down. It’s just an- other job of that kind. Let’s sleep a couple of hours and get at it.” Farge went to his room but Temple stayed behind, intent on some mysteri- ous and urgent task of his own. In the dining room of Farge’s living quarters he found a set of sterling silver din- nerware. This he melted down in the electric furnace and moulded into a thin skull- cap of pure silver. He handed the cap to Farge when he came back to the lab, rubbing his eyes. “Wear this every moment, day or night,” Temple said. “Unless my the- ory is way off, the entities can’t get hold of your brain through a silver

Page 48

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 49 screen. I’ve got one, holding the frac- ture at the back of my skull, and it’s the only reason I can think of for my immunity.” “But why silver?” Farge demanded, donning it gingerly. “I haven’t the slightest idea,” Temple admitted, “except that silver is opaque to ultraviolet radiations beyond 3,300 Angstrom Units. Maybe that’s a clue to their makeup.” “It’s worth trying,” Farge agreed. “But how come, if the entities are so smart, they don’t know that?” “I think they do. They must. But the only chance they had to do any- thing about it was the two days I was a prisoner and during that time their attention was pretty well taken up with the return of the rocket and negotia- tions for funeral flights. Besides, there’s no surgeon in their group and only a surgeon could remove my screen safe- ly” He handed over a rough sketch of the entity detector as he remembered it. “It’s a stereoscope,” he told Farge, “that’s built to superimpose an invisible image over the visible one to show them both in correct physical relation- ship. I’m positive of that. The clear glass lens on the visible side won’t give us any trouble. The black lens must have been of Wood’s nickel oxide glass. That’s a clue, be- cause we know Wood’s glass will trans- mit only ultraviolet light and filter out the visible rays. I have a feeling the real problem lies in the violet film that stood behind it.” Farge pondered, chewing his lip. “Well, films of the alkali metals transmit shortwave light below the vis- ible spectrum. But you say this film had a violet hue, which lets out lithium, sodium, potassium and rubidium. They block all visible light and are therefore, a dead black. Caesium, the heaviest of that group, lets some visible violet pass, which gives it a violet color. But that sounds too easy, Curt.” “It’s a starting point. We’ll try all the alkali metals with every known type of fluorescent screen, Al, and see where we get.” Farge nodded eagerly. “If we can get something besides X’s to put in a formula, I’ll solve it by mathematics, Curt. And while we’re waiting for a Wood’s lens and stock of alkali films, we can test for ultra- violet radiation. It may affect a pho- tograph plate or emit measurable elec- trons or react on fluorescent pigments by direct bombardment.” They plunged enthusiastically into the myriad tests. Farge was optimistic but a worried frown creased Temple’s forehead. “Have you noticed how quiet Lee has been?” he asked, the second day after arrival at the laboratory. “She’s stopped snarling and fighting and just sits there with a sort of sly smile on her lips while we put her through those tests. It’s plain proof that we’re so far from the right track that we aren’t even worth worrying about.” “I’ve noticed it,” Farge growled. “But one of these fine days we’ll change that smile.” THEY plunged back into the end- less quest. Temple said little, but always in the back of his mind was the haunting fear that maybe the en- tity had fled, leaving only a graven memory pattern on Lee’s mind to di- rect her actions. Or maybe it was in touch with the camp, directing a smash- ing blow that might fall when they least expected it. The radio brought ominous reports from the outside world. Apparently the entities had met his challenge by re- doubling their deadly activities. The Crimson Plague struck out with increased fury, spreading in widening circles to engulf major centers of popu- lation with horrible results. The toll of victims skyrocketed. The funerary moonflights became daily affairs, and work was rushed on the second, larger rocket. New and faster trucks ranged the devastated areas, loading victims like cordwood. A Vingrove woman was committed to the state insane hospital for insist- ing she had seen her husband, one of the earlier Plague victims presumably taken to the moon, alive and working at the camp. Farge and Temple listened to the re- ports without audible comment but the lines deepened in their faces, and some-

Page 49

50 STARTLING STORIES how they managed to increase their efforts another notch. They cut sleep- ing time to three hours out of the twen- ty-four and ate only when weakness reminded them of the need for fuel on the fierce fire of their energy. But at the end of the week they faced the grim truth. “We’ve flopped,” Farge said bitterly. “A week of trying everything without an inch of progress to show for it. We don’t even know if the thing’s still there. “We can’t see it, can’t get a flicker of energy response on any indicator. We’re right back where we started, Curt — nowhere !” Temple, reeling from weariness and nerve strain, stared at the floor in si- lence. Abruptly he stiffened. “Wait! I described the entity in terms of physical light and energy and we’ve been sticking to that basis.” “What else could it be?” Farge de- manded dully. “Mental energy. Biophysics has proved that thoughts are electrical — or at least produce measurable currents. The entity apparently merges itself with brain activities so why couldn’t it be pure brain energy?” “Gracious!” Farge looked startled. “But biophysics has detected mental and nervous currents. We can’t get a response of any kind. And mind energy doesn’t fall in the ultraviolet band, any- how. It was a good theory, though.” “A sound theory,” Temple barked, electrified by his new line of thought. “Look, a generator produces electricity — but it isn’t electrical itself. Maybe the entity is the generator, without it- self being measurable radiation. “My theory would still hold, then. And as to the ultraviolet range, who knows where mind energy does lie? Or suppose that’s part of a whole undis- covered energy spectrum, existing co- incidentally with our familiar spectrum and only touching in the ultraviolet band? That’s fantastic, of course, but I’m simply digging up theories that fit what facts we do know — and that fits.” “But try and prove it — or use it — with existing instruments or tools.” Temple was staring at the polished base of a bench lamp. He started ab- ruptly. “I just did prove it,” he barked. “Quick! Lock Lee in her room and get back here. We’re on our way.” Farge trotted back a few moments later, his eyes shining with excitement. “You hit something, Curt. What was it?” “The answer,” Temple exulted. “I was watching the reflection of Lee’s face when I suggested mental energy and an undiscovered spectrum. She nearly screamed. Her expression proves we’re on the right track at last.” “But that’s an unknown science, Curt. We don’t know its fundamentals, we haven’t any instruments — ” “Then we’ll invent instruments,” Temple roared. “You didn’t find any- thing inside that projector except a gold grid in a sliding frame and a slab of some strange crystal — no batteries or generators of any kind. “Nevertheless, the answer’s there. I don’t think that machine generates en- ergy at all. I think it’s a sort of burn- ing glass proposition that concentrates natural energy from the atmosphere into a beam. We’ll try doping it out on that basis. “And there’s one screen we’ve never tried. Element eighty-seven — Molda- vium. It’s one of the alkali metals but it’s properties aren’t known because it’s never been isolated. Maybe the en- tities isolated it, and if they have, we can. Order a stock right away in the purest available form.” It was the following afternoon that Temple got his idea. “ Cosmic rays!” he suddenly roared at Farge in the midst of an experiment. “What a dunce I’ve been. That’s the radiation that kills the entities. I’m positive of it !” “But, I don’t see. . . .” Farge gaped at him. “Look, stones have been falling on Kansas for centuries, haven’t they, with a concentration too great to be acciden- tal. That implies intelligent bombard- ment, aimed there for a purpose. The obvious answer is — the entities. But no entities ever appeared before. Why?” “You mean,” Farge exclaimed, “that all the previous meteorites started out with loads of entities, too? Then why — ”

Page 50

In a burst of frantic horror, Temple struoflled to his knees (Chapter XIII) 51

Page 51

52 STARTLING STORIES “Because the entities couldn’t sur- vive the trip through space. Something destroyed them — and the logical an- swer is the direct, unshielded impact of cosmic rays. “This last swarm of stones were dif- ferent from any that ever landed be- fore. They were coated with a strange, heavy radioactive coating. Suppose that was some newly discovered shield against cosmic rays. That fits my the- ory and accounts for the entities’ sur- viving.” “But, Curt, what can we do with it? We can’t generate artificial cosmic rays. Their voltage is ’way too high. And we can’t concentrate them except with a couple of hundred tons of mag- nets. How can — ” “That projector!” Temple barked. “If it can tap one range of free energy, maybe it can tap more. You’ve got a Wilson Cloud Chamber with a Geiger- Muller counter on it. Start shooting blasts of the projector into it and pho- tographing for explosion trails. Change the setting of that sliding grid each time and see if you get a measurable response at any point.” As though Temple’s ideas had sup- plied a key, the door suddenly swung open for them. Two days later, on a film of semi- refined Moldavium, they saw a dull violet glow that moved when Lee Ma- son moved her head. The entity! The image was crude and it lacked the stereoscopic effect, but it gave them all they asked for. Now they could apply themselves to the discovery of a weapon. Too tired to celebrate their first vic- tory, Temple and Farge hung the pho- tographic negatives of their latest Cloud Chamber shots up to dry and tumbled into bed without undressing. And that night the entity struck back. CHAPTER XII Disaster TEMPLE awoke some time during the night, bathed in cold perspira- tion, his lungs hammering for air and his nostrils aflame with stinging tor- ment. He lay for a moment, gasping and blinking, watching what looked like an inexplicable parade of gray ghosts across the faint light of the window. Then his brain suddenly threw off the dregs of sleep and filled with the horror of what he saw. He sprang out of bed, snatched open the hall door and staggered back from a solid wall of gray smoke that filled the corridor. Fire! The place was on fire. There was not a sound to indicate whether or not Farge or Lee were alive or con- scious. With cold terror plucking at his nerves. Temple crooked his arm over nose and mouth for partial protection and fumbled his way down the hall to Farge’s bedroom. A close-fitting door had kept the smoke out of that room and a gentle snore from the long cyl- inder of covers on the bed brought Temple a surge of relief. He sprang across and clutched Farge’s shoulder. “Curt, is that you?” Farge sat up, blinking and coughing. “What’s hap — ” “Fire ! I don’t know where it started or how far it’s gotten. I’m going to get Lee out. You try to save the instru- ments and negatives. Hurry !” “Wait!” Farge stumbled to the bath- room and came back with two dripping towels. “This’ll keep some of the smoke out of your lungs. Come on.” With the wet towels plastered over their faces, they stumbled downstairs through a solid tunnel of smoke. There were no sounds of fire, no ominous glow of flames. With cold terror in his heart, Temple stumbled to the storeroom door and fumbled for the knob. It turned under his touch and slid away. Under his touch, the jamb felt jagged and rough. A grim suspicion flamed in his mind, then. Light filtered through the pall of smoke as Farge found the switch work- ing. By the glow. Temple saw the prison was empty, the door a wreck where sharp pieces of the smashed steel shelving had been used to gouge away the lock. Lee had done this, his mind pounded dully. She had smashed her way out, started the fire and fled.

Page 52

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 53 Farge came stumbling through the smoke, a tangle of wreckage clutched in his arms. He was almost sobbing. “Curt ! The detector and projector — smashed into a million bits. Some- body— ” he broke off, staring at the empty room. ‘‘Come on,” Temple plunged into the smoke, snatched a fire extinguisher and raced for the basement stairs. ‘‘Phone the fire department. Maybe we can hold it until — ” “Can’t,” Farge panted in his wake. “She ripped out the telephone and smashed it, too. We’re cut off.” They found the fire smouldering in a pile of broken boxes heaped high against the wood steps of the base- ment. Twisted papers and shavings had laid the foundation for an inferno that would have been beyond control in another twenty minutes. Temple took in the situation at a glance and thrust the extinguisher into Farge’s arms. “Take over. This was started so re- cently I may be able to catch her. I’ve got to — ” They both heard it, then — the wail of a car starter that broke abruptly into the explosive bark of firing cylinders. It came from just outside the house. “The truck!” Temple shouting, plunging up the stairs. “She’s getting away in the Culwain truck I brought from camp !” HE burst out into the graying dawn to see Lee Mason in the truck’s cab, racing the motor while she used both hands to mesh the cold-stiffened gears. The lever ground into place when he was still a hundred feet away. The truck lurched ahead. Temple redoubled his speed. He made a desperate flying leap, and his fingers caught at the edge of the win- dow frame. For a moment he clung, kicking for a foothold on the running board, buffeted by the jouncing of the accelerating truck. Suddenly Lee Mason leaned out the open window. She was driving with one hand and her other clutched a spark plug wrench. The wrench was small and light but, driven by desperation, its impact against his jaw was stun- ning. He reeled back, felt his slender grip tom loose. Then he fell to the ground with breath-taking force. Dimly he heard the roar of the speeding truck fade away into the distance and tried to stumble to his rubbery legs to fol- low. Farge, racing out from the house, held him back. “Easy, Curt,” he soothed. “You can’t catch her on foot and there isn’t an- other car within miles. Why didn’t I drive my car out instead of riding here on the truck with you ?” He led Temple into the laboratory and went around opening windows to clear the smoke. Then he vanished into the dark room. Outside, a bird burst into sudden frantic song. It shocked Temple to realize, for the first time in weeks, that outside his tight little sphere of heart- ache and struggle there was still a world where birds could sing in the dawn. He dropped his face into his hands. Farge, coming back, put a hand to his shoulder. “It’s losing Lee that hurts,” Temple’s voice came muffled through his hands. “Losing my chance to save her, now, when we were on the verge of success. Now she’s not only beyond reach but she knows everything we’ve done and planned so she can beat us with one smashing blow.” “I hate to tell you this, now,” Farge said tightly. “But I just looked at the last negatives and while I haven’t had the time for Johnson asymetry meas- urements, I’d say we had something with an energy value well over five billion volts. That could only be cos- mic rays, Curt. We — we had it — and now we’ve lost it, forever. There isn’t enough of that projector left . . .” “What?" Temple’s head jerked up and his red-veined eyes were aflame. “Allen, I’ve got another projector, one I snatched that same night at camp. I’ve kept it hidden so the entity could never learn I had it through reading your mind. Quick, find out what set- ting you used and we’ll start over again.” “Whoopee!” Farge yelled in a burst of relief. “And Curt, I stuck a scrap of surplus Moldavium away in the safe

Page 53

54 STARTLING STORIES last night. It’s big enough for a very small detector.” “Fine. Fix one I can wear on my forehead like a visor, so I can see through it by simply tilting my head. That will leave my hands free to handle the projector.” “Curt,” Farge’s face was sober, “you can’t buck that crowd alone, even with the projector. They’ve got guns, paral- ysis beams, and an absolute indiffer- ence to human life. You couldn’t hope to face them all.” “I’ve got to,” Temple said grimly. “Our last chance of getting any outside help or confidence is gone. You heard the radio last night. Three outstanding scientists publicly questioned the mo- tives of the group in Arizona. “And in each case, the scientist is- sued a retraction and apology within twenty-four hours. You know what that means. An entity seized each man. From now on, that will happen to anyone who stands in their way. “It would take us weeks to persuade public figures to wear silver skull caps, and long before we succeeded, the en- tites would have struck a counter-blow. “No, Allen, it’s on our shoulders com- pletely. Whatever is behind this hor- rible enfiltration of alien beings will only be stopped if we stop it. “They’ve got the public behind them, now, by stopping the Crimson Plague wherever their trucks pick up the bodies. The whole nation is convinced that its future depends on the group at camp. We’ve got to strike first and jus- tify ourselves afterward.” THEY worked for a time in silence. From the radio came frequent an- nouncements, most of them dealing with either the Crimson Plague or the science group. No other news seemed of importance, for where the group trucks collected the bodies of victims, the Plague died out. Beyond the widening circle of their efforts, how- ever, it raged unchecked. “What’s behind it?” Farge groaned. “You think the entities cause the Plague — but how? What do they want with bodies?” “I’m positive, now, that they cause it,” Temple answered grimly, “prob- ably by some control of the victim’s involuntary nervous system that in- duces hyper blood pressure and cata- lepsy. “At the start, remember, they seized those farmers, the Solles and their hired man, to use as chauffeurs and kidnap- pers. When they were through with their dupes, they simply wiped out dan- gerous memories and discarded them. “I think the Crimson Plague is a sim- ilar and more hideous type of recruiting which they’ve developed in order to supply themselves ordinary rough la- bor. I think it’s only on scientists whose brains they need, that they bother with the type of mind-seizure we’ve met on Lee and the rest.” “Catalepsy?” Farge gasped. “You mean — ” “I mean I don’t believe Crimson Plague victims are really dead. I be- lieve an entity swoops down on a crowd, selects its victims and leaves them helpless, to be hauled away as slaves to more entities. That’s the only way the pattern fits.” “But Curt, all those poor devils who were buried, cremated, autopsied. They were — ” “Murdered!” Temple snarled. “Mur- dered while an entity hovered close, waiting to strike again to convince a panic-stricken people that only trans- portation to the moon could check the Plague. “And their fiendish plan has worked like a dream. The group has the public so sold on them as public saviors, now, that we’d be thrown in an insane asy- lum for suggesting the truth. Our only hope, now, is to smash the entities, get Lee and those others free of the con- trol and then destroy the source of them on the moon.” Half an hour later, as Temple was fitting the completed detector over his head, Farge threw down his screw- driver and drew a deep breath. “There it is, Curt. Identically the same adjustment of grid and crystal as I had in that other detector when I got the cosmic ray path in the Cloud Cham- ber. It won’t take long to verify the physical accuracy.” His face clouded. “But Curt, have you thought of this? Even if we get what looks on our plates like cosmic rays, how can we be sure? We’ve already uncovered new energy

Page 54

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 55 fields that we never knew existed. “How can we know this isn’t some- thing utterly different — something that would instantly kill anyone it touched? You won't dare use the projector on Lee or those others without some kind of guinea pig test.” “There’ll be a test," Temple said tightly. “It’s my idea, my theory from the beginning. I’ll be the guinea pig. If anything goes wrong, you’ll have to carry on alone, that’s all.” “But Curt, you can’t risk that. An energy bombardment of five to ten bil- lion volts might smash the brain cells, kill you instantly, or even destroy your mind. I won’t let you risk that, boy. We’ll get some lab animals, first, and — ” “There isn’t time,” Temple inter- rupted harshly. “Tomorrow night their big rocket starts hauling bodies. At any moment the entities may strike back at us. We can’t waste days mak- ing lab tests now. “The minute these plates are devel- oped, I make the test on myself, and that’s final. One life, more or less, doesn’t count for much now, consid- ering what’s in the balance. If it works on me, I’m leaving at once.” From behind them, a quiet voice said: “I wouldn’t be in too much of a hurry to leave, if I were you.” Temple and Farge whirled simulta- neously and gasped. JUST inside the laboratory door stood two young men with grim faces and sharp, watchful eyes. One of them cradled the ominous bulk of a submachine gun suggestively in his arms. The other held only a sheaf of folded papers. Beside them stood Lee Mason, an ex- pression of grim triumph on her face. “What — who — ” Farge gasped. “Tillotson and Rowe,” the man with the papers introduced them, “of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. We have warrants here for your arrest on charges of kidnapping and unlawful de- tention of the person of one Lee Mason, who has sworn out warrants now being served. Will you come along quietly?” Temple stood frozen, feeling the blood drain from his face. Lee had done this — not Lee, but the entity who controlled her. She had rushed to town after setting the fire and had organized this crushing blow. Beside him, Farge suddenly straight- ened and threw back his head. His eyes were cold. “This is either the beginning or the end,” he said distinctly. “And there’s only one way to find out. If this works, Curt, you’ll know how to carry on. So long.” Before anyone could move to stop him, he lifted the untested projector and snapped it full in his own face. “Allen!” Temple cried. “For God’s sake, don’t!” His voice broke as Farge swayed and crumpled to the floor, the black case tumbling from his limp hands. Ignor- ing the menacing lift of the submachine gun, Temple dropped to his knees and lifted Farge’s head. He saw the blank, relaxed features through a mist of pain and there was a dull roaring in his ears. “Tilly, he did the Dutch right in front of us,” cried Rowe. “But for cripe’s sake, what with?” CHAPTER XIII Prisoners in Space EE MASON broke the shocked tension. She screamed shrilly and pointed a shaking hand. “Get that thing! Grab it quickly! It’s a horrible deadly weapon they’ve been working on. A death ray ! It can kill!” The FBI men were dazed and uncer- tain at the swift turn of events but Lee Mason was the complainant who had sought their aid. At her frantic cry, they both surged forward, intent on grabbing the mysterious case at Tem- ple’s side. At that instant, Farge stirred. His eyes opened and his lips twisted into a smile. “Success,” he murmured softly. The one word drove a blaze of new strength into Temple’s numbed mus- cles. Farge was alive. The mysterious emanation of the projector, whether cosmic ray or not, whether destructive

Page 55

56 STARTLING STORIES to the entities or not, was at least not fatal. Still on his knees, Temple whirled and snatched the projector from the clutching fingers of the two FBI men. His swift movement caught them flat- footed, with Tillotson still empty- handed and the submachine gun point- ing at the floor. Before they could rec- tify the error, Temple tilted up the case and pressed the button. There was no visible beam, no sound of unleashed power, but the two leap- ing figures stopped as though halted by a stone wall and tumbled into limp heaps. Lee Mason screamed in sudden terror and whirled toward the door. Cold-eyed and tight-lipped, Temple levelled the projector again and snapped the catch. She fell in the door- way, crumpling without a sound. And in the violet screen of the detec- tor, still dangling over Temple’s eyes, a glowing ball of violet light suddenly flared up and vanished in a single burst of intolerable radiance. “Curt!" Farge bawled, scrambling to his feet. “You killed it! You destroyed it! I saw it for an instant with my naked eye — like a little cloud of glow- ing mist that whipped away. Curt, it works! We’ve won! “We've lost,” Temple barked,” if we don’t get out of here before these fed- eral men wake up. They’d haul us in and keep us all locked up for weeks try- ing to get this thing straightened out. Come on. They must have a car.” He stooped, threw Lee Mason’s limp figure over his shoulder and raced out with Farge at his heels. Outside, a powerful sedan stood in the driveway with motor purring softly. Temple dropped Lee to the front seat cushions beside Farge and climbed un- der the wheel. An instant later the big car was roaring away from the labora- tory at reckless speed. “Where can you go?” Farge panted, twisting around to stare out the back window. “They’ll be up and organizing a state-wide hunt within a matter of minutes. They’ll block every highway “There’s only one place to go,” Tem- ple said through set teeth. “Straight to camp. We’ve got the detector and the weapon and temporary freedom. “It will take these two at least half an hour to reach a telephone that works. By that time we can be past Phoenix and well on the way south toward Vin- grove. There’s no time to waste, now.” BETWEEN them, Lee Mason stirred and her eyes opened — eyes that were clear and bright and alive with the vivid spark of her personality. “Curt !” she clutched at his arm with a little cry of happiness. “Curt, you freed me from that horrible slavery. Oh, Curt, you don’t know how I watched you fight and prayed that you’d win, even though I couldn’t do a thing to help you. But the ghastly things it made me do to you, while I was help- less.” She broke off with a sob at the an- guished memories. Temple grinned happily, patting her hand. He had been horribly afraid of this moment of awakening, afraid that the entity would take a last revenge by wiping out Lee’s mind or memory. But apparently destruction had come so swiftly and unexpectedly that the entity had had no time for venegance. Her mind seemed completely free and clear. “Forget it all, honey. Forget the whole thing. It’s over, now, and before morning we’ll have the others free, as well. Wear this cap every moment, day and night, and they can never seize your mind again.” He handed over a dupli- cate of the silver cap he had made for Farge. “I’ve carried this a long time, waiting for a chance to use it. Now meet the bravest and swellest friend who was ever put on this earth.” Lee turned and laid a hand over Far- ge’s. “I know,” she said softly. “I watched you, too. What you did back there, risk- ing your life or more to try that un- tested projector.” Farge reddened uncomfortably and interrupted the praise with a sudden fit of coughing. Temple grinned and re- scued him. “Lee, tell me about the entities — everything you can that will help us de- feat them. Where did they come from? What are — ” “But Curt, I can’t. That’s the hor- rible part of it. I never did know what

Page 56

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 57 was really happening. That night at camp, I felt something icey digging into my brain. Then everything went black and when I awoke, I felt normal again except that I couldn’t command my own body any more. “I could think something I wanted to say but I couldn’t say it. I could plan places to go and things to do, but I couldn’t do anything. Nor could I stop myself from doing the things I did do.” “Then you couldn’t feel the entity as — as a personality ?” Temple demanded, his eyes showing his disappointment. “You had no sudden rush of additional knowledge or.” “Not a thing, Curt. I made one of those projectors — as we all did — but my brain simply couldn’t figure out what my own hands were fashioning, nor why. The only time I really felt the thing’s presence was a time or two when problems had to be worked out mentally. “Then I started thinking about the problem in response to some command I couldn’t analyze or resist and sudden- ly a whole flood of energy would pour into my brain. My thought-processes would speed up until I actually couldn’t keep up with them — and then suddenly, out of the spinning jumble, would come the answer.” “I thought so,” Temple muttered. “Pure mental energy, Allen, as we fig- ured. But Lee, when you talk to one another about the affairs of the entities, is your conversation simply — ” “Exactly the same,” she interrupted. “Words flash into my mind, and I speak them without knowing why or, often, what they mean. But I think the enti- ties also converse with one another by some psychic means, too. “Often a group of us would stand to- gether for hours without moving or speaking a word, but I’d get a feeling of thoughts fairly flying through the air around us, and suddenly everyone would rush off on some new project.” “Then,” Farge demanded, “you haven’t any idea what their purpose is? You don’t know why they invaded the earth?” “I haven’t any idea. But,” she shiv- ered uncontrollably, “I have a feeling it’s horrible, ghastly.” It was not until late afternoon that they ran into the grim manhunt or- ganized by the FBI. A few miles north of Vingrove they raced over a hill and faced a trap. A state police coupe was parked on the pavement, nar- rowing it to one lane, and two uni- formed patrolmen flanked a huge port- able stop sign that blocked the rest of the highway. “Duck low,” was all Temple said. “We can’t be stopped now.” He slowed deceptively, then jammed the throttle to the floor. The heavy sedan leaped ahead like a living thing in a roaring surge of unleashed power. There were startled yells, a splintering crash, the grinding impact of steel on steel. THEN they went through, racing down the highway with one fender flapping and the speedometer needle near the hundred mark as lead thudded futilely into the back of the sedan. Be- hind them, a wrecked barricade, an overturned police coupe and two khaki- uniformed wild men vanished into dis- tance. They wheeled into the road to camp shortly after dusk and joined a proces- sion of vehicles of all kinds jamming the trail. Temple pulled up beside a man changing a tire and leaned out. “Where’s everybody going?” he asked. “Gonna watch the new rocket take off at nine o’clock,” his informant grunted. “They set the first trip ahead a day and everybody’s out to see it from the hills.” “Come on,” Temple sent the sedan leaping ahead, bouncing over the hard- packed sand to avoid the traffic on the trail. “There isn’t a moment to lose if we want to save some two hundred poor Plague victims from slavery.” A short distance from the gate, he stopped the car, and he and Farge climbed into the back, crouching on the floor while Lee slid under the wheel. Temple held the projector ready. “It’s up to you,” he whispered grim- ly. “Try to make the gateman shut off the current and open the gate for you. If we can get in without raising an alarm, our chances of success are in- finitely better than if we have to crash the gate and face a pitched battle”

Page 57

58 STARTLING STORIES He adjusted the angle of the detector on his forehead and patted the flat case of the projector. “If an entity comes to investigate, I’ll handle it.” “I should be able to put it over,” Lee said tightly. “Lord knows, I’ve had enough practise.” She stopped the sedan close to the gate and leaned out as a surly, beetle- browed guard appeared. “Jonas,” she snapped, coldly imperi- ous, “the gate at once. I have just es- caped my captors and have important news.” In the rear, Temple and Farge held their breaths as only silence answered. “Curt,” Lee whispered suddenly, her voice ragged. “What’s wrong? All he does is stand and stare without moving. Did—” Temple raised up for a quick glance and his breath caught. “Easy, Sweet. There are two free entities floating this way to investigate. His own is still in his brain, waiting for their report. I’ll have to shoot.” He lifted the projector and they all saw the twin wraiths of glowing mist that suddenly appeared and then whipped away as the terrible bombard- ment destroyed their alien atoms. Simultaneously, the gateman yelled and whirled toward the camp phone in- side the guard booth. He had almost reached his goal when a blast from the projector destroyed the guiding entity and sent him sprawling. “That means open war,” Temple snapped. “Everybody out.” As they leaped from the car, he slid under the wheel and sent the heavy sedan lurching back. When he judged he had sufficient run, he slammed it for- ward and jerked the dash throttle wide open. The big limousine thundered across the sand, bearing down irresist- ably on the steel mesh gate. Twenty feet from the gate. Temple jumped. He struck the sand and rolled over and over, arms shielding his face. An instant later the sedan smashed headlong into the barrier. There was a blaze of searing, roar- ing high tension flame that momenta- rily engulfed the car. Then the flame died, the gate went down with a crash and alarm bells burst out from the heart of camp. Temple sprang to his feet as Lee and Fargo raced up. “Stay here, you two,” he snapped. “You wouldn’t stand a chance in there without a weapon. I’ll handle things.” “Nuts to you,” Lee panted cheer- fully. “Allen has his tools and he says he can convert any paralysis gun into an entity-destroyer, now, in five min- utes. Get going. It’s almost eight- thirty right now.” THERE was no time to argue. Tem- ple fought down the quick stab of fear for her safety and hurdled the wrecked gate. Behind him, Farge snatched a paralysis projector from the sprawled gateman and dug at it with eager fingers as he ran. Ahead, a knot of men burst from the camp and raced toward them down the road. A gun slammed, and lead whis- tled over their heads. Temple tried a blast of the projector but the distance was still too great. More shot came, uncomfortably close. “Stay here,” he pleaded between panting breaths. “They haven’t any compunction about shooting to kill.” Their answer was an added burst of speed that carried them, dodging and twisting, straight into the hail of lead from the advancing guards. Temple groaned and tried the projector again without any great hope. The range was still extreme. But miraculously, this time there were bursts of violet and the figures pitched to the sand and lay sprawled and still. It was grotesque, a slaughter without bloodshed, a mock carnage. Temple hurdled the still forms with Lee at his heels. Farge stopped for a quick search of the bodies, then caught up with them, panting. “No paralysis projectors,” he gasped. “Seems odd.” “I know why,” Lee panted the infor- mation. “They only had — five crystals. Curt — stole two projectors — that night. Only three — left.” Temple’s eyes were on the looming bulk of the new rocket hangar, dwarfing the old structure, poking the silvery snout of its monstrous burden toward the waiting sky. To him it was a sym- bol— the symbol of countless thousands of Plague victims, living dead, who

Page 58

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 59 They raced across the crater floor, using light lunar gravitation to increase their speed (Chap- ter XVI) would be doomed to lifetimes of slavery if he failed. He must not fail. Suddenly his eyes widened and his steps faltered. The silvery nose of the projecting rocket was reddening, glow- ing with reflected flames, and the still night air was carrying a faint mutter of distant thunder to his ears. He choked. “The rocket,” he groaned. “It’s tak- ing off!” His words were drowned in the ti- tantic thunder, his eyes dazzeld by the incredible brilliance of the great ship’s take-off. He saw it, riding the curving scimitar of the flames up into the stars. Then it was gone and the three of them stod gasping, stunned. After a moment they broke the spell and raced on. They burst into the main camp street and a blue beam licked at them from the shadows. Temple fired a burst from the projector and an en- tity flamed to death in the darkness. Farge snatched another paralysis pro- jector from the sprawled figure as they ran past. Suddenly Dr. Eno Rocossen burst from a shack ahead of them and ran madly toward the smaller rocket han- gar. He carried a projector but made no effort to use it, all his energies con- centrated on flight. “Stop him!” Temple roared. “If he gets the small rocket away we’re licked. They can stay on the moon, beyond our

Page 59

60 STARTLING STORIES reach, and whip those hundreds of Plague victims into an army for some new invasion.” Staggering, gasping, every breath a flaming agony, they pounded doggedly on, cutting down the distance. Temple lifted his projector and then let it fall. He couldn’t risk blasting Rocossen’s en- tity, destroying the knowledge of how to operate and guide the rocket. SUDDENLY their way was blocked by a knot of figures plunging into the street ahead of them, cuting them off from their quarry. There was Ja- cobs, pistol in hand; Mullane, Davoe, Meeker, Lansdon, raising a paralysis projector. Temple rayed down Lansdon and Jacobs in two bursts. Then the others were on them, swinging clubs and fists in wild fury. ‘‘They’re trying to cut us off,” Farge howled, slugging toe to toe with Meek- er. “We’ll hold them, Curt. Get through and stop Rocossen.” Temple drilled in, sent Davoe reeling and flashed down the stret. Rocossen was just vanishing into the smaller hangar. Desperately Temple increased his speed. It was obvious the rest had fled to the moon on the big rocket. If Rocossen got away, all hope of con- tact would be cut off. Human brains could never hope to duplicate the moon fights in time to smash another inva- sion attempt. Temple burst into the hangar and saw Rocossen darting up the gangplank toward the open port of the waiting craft. He roared a command to halt. Rocossen faltered at the sound and swi- velled a contorted face to glare at his pursuer. The paralysis gun leaped up and flamed. Temple tried to dodge, slipped and felt the beam’s searing touch against his left arm and side. He stumbled, plunged forward onto the foot of the gangplank and heard his projector clat- ter from numbed fingers into the depths of the rocket pit. Weaponless, his left side numb and useless, Temple sprawled precariously on the narrow gangplank as Rocossen vanished into the ship. A moment later hydraulic pistons gurgled to the rising whine of machinery from somewhere inside. Under Temple, the gangplank shifted and swayed. Pistons were inexorably drawing the great port lock into its seat, dislodging the gangplank. In a moment plank and its living burden would slip free to plunge to the pit be- low— into a hell of seething flames when the take-off rockets blasted. With sweat pouring down his face. Temple clawed his right hand into the iron gangplank and inched himself ahead toward the narrowing port. He had to get inside, had to stop Rocossen before the rockets fired. The closing port was still six feet away. A scant inch still held the gangplank in place. Behind him, Farge and Lee burst into the hangar with the three scientists fighting and clawing to hold them back. They took in the situation at a glance. Farge swung around, blocking the doorway, battling desperately to hold his ground as Lee broke free and raced toward the rocket. On the gangplank, Temple saw the last half-inch of overlap between gang- plank and rising lock narrow inexor- ably. He clenched his teeth, dragging his helpless body another six inches. Behind him, someone flashed up the teetering plank, caught at his shoulders and literally hurled him across the re- maining gap and through the closing port to the rocket’s floor. He saw Lee Mason, panting, grining at him through bruised lips as she rested on hands and knees from her last desperate dash. Then the gangplank crashed away outside, the pistons wheezed sharply and the great lock chugged into its seat. Simultaneously, deafening thunder burst around them and the floor be- neath them quivered. In a burst of frantic horror, Temple struggled to his knees. He had to get forward, stop that take-off. The rockets’ roar deepened. Under him the floor leaped violently and some titanic, irresistable force plucked them up and hurled them back along a shad- owy coridor. Temple knew one instant of blinding agony, then a terrific impact smashed the breath from his lungs and the consciousness of failure from his brain.

Page 60

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 61 CHAPTER XIV Master of the Moon TEMPLE awoke sharply with the salt taste of blod in his throat, a numbing agony through his bruised body and a cold terror in his heart. Lee — Lee Mason! She had rushed in to help him. The terrible acceleration of the take-off had hurled them toward the rocket’s tail with unbearable force, enough force ot smash a human body to pulp. His eyes opened dully, widened in- credulously at what they saw. The en- tire rear bulkhead of the rocket was covered by a great, thick mat of some resilient material, bolstered by heavy coil springs, and it was against this life-saving cushion that they had been driven. He saw Lee’s slender figure beside him, still pressed tight against the pad- ding, her lashes fluttering against waxen cheeks as consciousness re- turned. With a prayer of thankfulness. Tem- ple pushed himself erect to reach her side. The slight effort he exerted shot him up like a jack-in-the-box and left his bruised body floating gently in mid- air. Temple’s breath caught. They were already beyond Earth’s gravity field, blasting through outer space. Behind and around him, the steady thunder of the rockets was driv- ing them further and further from Earth — further from hope. “Curt,” it was Lee, her eyes wide and startled. “What — how — oh, we’re out- side gravity.” She pushed herself out into the afr beside him, laughing shak- ily. “What a funny feeling, not to weigh anything.” Temple caught her hand with a groan of anguish. “Lee ! Lee ! Why did you jump in- side? You should have pushed me in and run back. There was time — ” “Huh !” she snorted, crinkling her nose in a grin. “And lose you just when I got you back? Don’t be silly. Besides, how do I know but what some moon hussy might not vamp you? “It was a full moon, I remember, that got you to propose to me that night.” Her face sobered. “But it was a dirty trick to leave Allen to fight those three alone.” “Don’t worry about him,” ^Temple said grimly. “He was amateur boxing champ at college for two years. Be- sides, he had his projector almost set for cosmic ray emission. If you — ” He broke off as the thunder of rockets suddenly died away from the stem. Then a shudder rippled through the craft as new explosions blasted more faintly from the bow. Lee clutched at his arm. She was frightened. “Curt! What’s happening?” “We’re getting close to the moon,” he answered soberly. “It sounds as if we’re turning a somersault in space. The rocket is built to land stern-first so it has to be turned around for the blasts to work as brakes. I think those are steering jets we hear now — which means in a few minutes we’ll be half- crushed by deceleration.” “But what can we do?” “Not much,” he said. “You stay here, tight against the cushion. I’m going forward and see what’s what.” As he spoke, the thunder of rockets burst from the stem again and invisible force drove them back against the big pad. Smaller shocks from the sides in- dicated that the dropping craft was be- ing jocked toward landing position. A sense of awe filled Temple at the in- credible ingenuity that had created this controllable monster in so short a space of time. Fighting the drag of deceleration, feeling the first faint pull of lunar grav- ity, Temple fought his way along the dimly lighted corridor toward the bow. He could tell, now, that the rocket was dropping stern first at an acute angle. Eventually the ship would swing to full vertical for the final drop and the check- blasts would, in those final minutes, be as terrible as the take-off. Unless he were braced and cushioned, he would be smashed to pulp against the metal bulk- heads. The corridor was narrow and low, lined with countless small sliding doors and roofed with an odd tarry substance that glowed with faint radioactivity in

Page 61

65 STARTLING STORIES the dim light. This was probably the same material that had coated the me- teorites, a shield against cosmic rays. Dragging himself forward by the hand-rail, Temple reached an open door at the corridor’s end and peered into the small control room. His eyes widened in amazement. ROCOSSEN was strapped in a great, webbed seat, thickly pad- ded and suspended from heavy coil springs in front of the control panel. His slender hands rested on a small bank of levers, like the throtles on an air transport, with which he was deli- cately directing the steering and brak- ing blasts. Temple watched tensely, noting which levers were moved, and listening to the location and intensity of the resulting blasts. Gradually the picture of the rocket’s control was form- ing in his mind. In front of the astrogator, a large television screen flashed a swelling image of the pitted moon while a smaller screen beside it showed the red- haloed globe of the dwindling Earth. A lump rose into Temple’s throat at the sight. RocoBsen jockeyed the steering blasts until the massive crater of Plato lay squarely under cross-hairs on the screen. Temple stared at the airless, alien world, seeing the nearby pits of Eudoxis and Cassini, the mighty Cau- casus, Carpathian and Teneriffe Ranges jutting like monstrous teeth around Mare Imbrium. Southward, the peaks of the Dorfel and Leibnitz Mountains broke the hori- zon. How often he had studied the dead panorama through the telescope, but this was different. There were the weird colors in Plato’s depths, colors that had mystified astronomers for years, and a queer diffusion of the sharp sunlight as though air were present. Suddenly the thunder of stem tubes and the terrible force deceleration awoke Temple to his own danger. He glanced around and saw the rear wall of the control room padded and cush- ioned as the stem had been. Appar- ently this was extra safeguard in case of emergency. Temple slid to the cush- ion and clung there. The stem tubes were firing steadily now, and the deceleration hammered his body against the bulkhead with crushing fury. Blood misted his vision, hammered in his ears and rose saltily in his throat. Lifting his diaphragm for each gasping breath was a titanc effort. Only constant frantic swallow- ing kept his eardrums intact against the crushing pressure. On the vision screen the crater swelled to fill the plate, and a black dot in its center became a squat domed han- gar with gaping roof waiting to receive them. Then miraculously the slowing fall was easing the pressure and Temple could see and breathe again. The maw of the hangar filled the screen, and in- side it, a tangle of framework showed faintly. The framework leaped upward and became a funneling arrangement of beams that guided the projectile to its cradle. Metal grated suddenly against the hull. The rockets spurted and die, giv- ing way to the sobbing wheeze of hy- draulic cushions easing the great shell into its pit. In the thundering silence that fol- lowed, Dr. Eno Rocossen snapped the last switch and leaned back. His fin- gers opened the catches of the great webbed safety belt that held him in the navigator’s seat. They had landed on the moon! WITH that knowledge flaming in his brain, Temple staggered erect, reeling dizzily, his body throb- bing with dull pain. He wanted noth- ing so much as to lie down on the metal floor and close his eyes but a numb des- peration kept him erect. Rocossen, clambering to the floor, saw him then and his expression whipped from incredulity to blazing tri- umph. He snatched at a paralysis pro- jector sheathed beside the seat. “I thought you were finished,” he snarled, “but this is better. Now Monj himself can enjoy your conversion to our project. March back to the port, Temple.” He centered the projector menac- ingly with one hand while the other reached toward the plunger that oper- ated the lock pistons. His lips curled in a mocking smile.

Page 62

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 63 Temple hesitated, swaying. There was an elusive thought scurrying through his numbed mind, something he ought to remember — something that might mean his salvation, and Lee’s. He groped for it desperately as Rocos- sen’s thumb tightened on the paralysis trigger. Suddenly the elusive memory smashed into his brain with an impact that drove away the numbing clouds. He straightened, smiled grimly — and walked toward Rocossen. “Go ahead and blast me, Rocky,” he invited tightly. “But where will your little plaything get its power? Not from the free energy radiations outside, because your ship is insulated against those rays — ” With a snarl of baffled fury, Rocossen hurled the useless projector at Tem- ple’s head and whirled to tug at the lock control. Dodging the missile, Temple lunged forward, dragging Rocossen’s hands from the lever. They went down, squirming and fighting. “Hold him, Curt!” Lee darted in, waving a silver liquor flask that was battered almost beyond recognition. “One good sock with this should take the fight out of him.” She grinned at Temple’s surprise. “I peeked in one of those doors, and there was a Plague victim strapped in a padded hammock and this smashed against the wall. It was all I could find for a club so I grabbed it.” “Wait!” Temple pinned Rocossen with his knees and stretched a hand. “Is there anything in it?” “Sure.” Lee sniffed the cap. “Whis- key. But this is no time — ” “Give!” Temple’s eyes blazed. “Al- cohol affects the brain, and it might make the job of controlling tough for an entity. As I remember it, Rockey’s system never could stand much liquor.” He forced gulps of the amber liquid between Rocossen’s set teeth and forced him to swallow by pinching his nose. The astronomer strangled, shrieked and suddenly went limp. TEMPLE jerked down the battered remnants of the detector still straped to his forehead. In the bent screen he saw the entity jerk free and dart erratically away down the corridor. Rocossen suddenly groaned and tried to sit up. “Curtis! Miss Mason! You’ve freed me at last from that terrible power. Oh, to think that I, a doctor of philosophy and fellow of the — ” “Forget it,” Temple soothed, helping the shaken astronomer to his feet. “You had illustrious company in your shame. But right now we’ve got bigger wor- ries. You’ve made this trip often. Can you remember what we’ll be facing out- side when that port is opened?” Rocossen groaned and his face blanched. “Slaves — hundreds of poor, helpless devils like myself. Huge, glowing cav- erns, horrible monsters from another world, and the feeling of thousands of malignant beings filling the air, intelli- gent, yet invisible.” “Nice picture of our future,” Temple grimaced. He squared his shoulders. “Well—” “Curtis !” Rocossen clutched his arm. “You’re not going out there — not plan- ning to face them — ” Temple’s face was cold. “We’ll have to face them sooner or later — here or after they seize the Earth. We can’t nm away now. Be- fore we could get back home, persuade people we weren’t crazy and organize an attack, they could overwhelm the country with the big rocket. They might shoot thousands of en- tity-laden rocks at Kansas, send hun- dreds of human slaves in the other ship, destroy this base so we couldn’t ever land on the moon again to fight them.” “I see,” Rocossen stiffened grimly. “We shall do what we can, as long as we can. Lead on, Professor Temple.” “Bravo!” Temple handed the nearly empty flask to Lee. “Pour it down, sweet — every last drop.” “Me?” She gaped at him. “Why should I?” “Because,” he expalined patiently, "the first thing they’d do would be to yank off your silver cap and seize your brain again. I’m banking that as long as alcohol fumes are rising you’ll both be given a wide berth by the entities.” As she coughed down the fiery liquor, Temple jerked the wood railing from the wall and broke off three sturdy clubs. Then he pulled the piston con-

Page 63

6* STARTLING STORIES trol lever to its farthest limit. The pistons gurgled softly and fell into a steady, rhythmic chugging. The great round lock crept out of its seal to reveal a short section of tunnel lead- ing off to a lighted area. Then, as the gap widened, he saw that the tunnel was actually a telescop- ing metal tube that met the rocket hull in an air-tight seal, forming a passage through the roofless, airless hangar to the main depot. It was, he realized, an ingenious device for eliminating in- tricate airlocks or space suits. Temple peered down the passage- way. He could see no living beings at the far end but the screen of his de- tector was afire with the glow of count- less drifting entities, hovering, wait- ing. His nerves felt cold. Rocossen suddenly slapped him on the back. “That whiskey was excellent stock, Curt, old boy. I feel exhilarated — defi- nitely exhilarated. Ha!” Lee Mason giggled, and a burst of crazy laughter welled up in Temple’s throat. Rocossen was getting more than protection from his enforced drinks. Fortunately there had not been enough left to effect Lee’s cortex. “Bring on your ol’ en’ities,” Rocossen hiccuped, shaking his club. “Le’s go se ol’ Monj himself, ol’ boy, ol’ boy.” “Monj?” Temple gaped at him. “Who is Monj?” Rocossen leered owlishly. “Monj? He’sh the big cheese. Mashter of the Moon. But I c’n lick him. C’mon !” Before either Temple or Lee could stop him, he bounded into the tunnel and swaggered toward the distant light. CHAPTER XV The Doom of Perfection TEMPLE groaned and leaped in pursuit with Lee at his heels. Ahead, Rocossen reeled out of the tube into the brighter light and stopped short, the club dropping from his hands. Temple and Lee burst out beside him a moment later and skidded to a startled halt, gasping, stunned. They were inside a low, sprawling dome lined with the same obsidian- black radioactive substance that had coated the meteorites and shielded the rocket’s interior. To their right, pur- ring machinery bulked huge behind metal screens. To their left, a huge archway revealed a Cyclopean, glow- ing passage that slanted down out of sight into the very bowels of the moon. Overhead, glowing rods like fluo- rescent light tubes, supplemented the greenish radiance of the shimmering walls. Far to the side, Temple saw the outline of a heavy door with the bulbous shapes of six metallic space suits suspended from the curving wall beside it. All this background Temple saw in a single sweeping glance before his stricken gaze riveted on the weird actors who occupied this nightmare stage. Ranged around half the wall before them stood row on row of human beings, incredibly stiff and motionless, staring at them with dead blank eyes. Before this army of the living dead stood three men, the center one a tall gaunt man whose brain bore the most gigantic entity Temple’s detector had ever revealed. He did not need Rocos- sen’s awed whisper to know that he was face to face with the leader of the entities — Monj, the Master of the Moon. But what brought the startled breath to Temple’s lips was the circle of mon- strous shapes that came slithering out of the shadows from both sides to sur- round them. For a moment he was too stunned to breathe. Lee Mason’s fin- gers tensed, biting into the corded muscles of his arm. “The Vards!” Rocossen murmured, shrinking back. “The Vards !” There were seven of the creatures, like seven grotesque sea monsters out of their native element. Leathery, bul- bous bodies that were both head and trunk, sprouted ten sinuous, writhing tentacles. Four of the tentacles, thicker than the rest, terminated in round sucker-discs that gripped the floor as legs. The remaining six tentacles were spaced around the body as arms. With an eerie, gliding shuffle, the seven creatures drew together sur- rounding the three humans in a wide

Page 64

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 65 circle. Arm tentacles writhed out and gripped one another, forming a network of interlocking living bars around them. Temple gasped aloud, not at the weird creatures or their action but at the definite impression of intelligence that lurked in their huge saucer eyes. Alien the creatures might be in form, but there was thinking, reasoning in- telligence in their luminous eyes. His guess was confirmed by the pres- ence of a glowing entity on the back of each bulbous head-body. He felt cer- tain the entities could not utilize hosts without intelligence, since their power seemed to lie in intensifying knowledge already present in a controlled brain, rather than by implanting new knowl- edge. The fact that the entities sought out trained scientific minds on earth indi- cated their need for at least a founda- tion of established thought patterns. He thought it probable that the entities, by supplying the brain with a limitless flow of pure mind energy, could stimu- late its activity to supernormal heights along already established channels. THE presence of the weird creatures cleared up another question in Temple’s mind. It explained how vaporous beings, lacking physical bodies, could have constructed the crude stone “space ships” and hurled them at the earth. Lee pressed close to him, shuddering. “Curt, what are they? Do you sup- pose they’re the native inhabitants of the moon, enslaved by the entities?” “I doubt it. These Vards, as Rocos- sen called them, don’t appear to be physically adapted to lunar extremes of heat and cold, and they’re obviously oxygen-breathers. But we’ll probably find that and a lot of other unpleasant things out soon enough. Stick close to me every moment.” His detector screen showed the vast dome of the building packed with countless multitudes of the entities, hovering watchfully. Others were ranged along the wall while still others poured into the tube behind them, ob- viously to revive the new victims brought by the small rocket. Temple groaned aloud. How could they ever hope to smash a menace whose vast forces were invisible, omni- potent and well-nigh unconquerable? As if in response to a silent com- mand, the circle of Vards suddenly moved ahead, forcing their encircled captives closer to the figure of Monj and his companions. Rocossen shud- dured and swung a white, strained face toward Lee and Temple. “Oh, Lord!” he whispered tightly. "To think I trafficked with these mon- strosities only a short time ago. I re- membered all this vaguely, but they look hideously different, now that I’m back in my right mind.” The figure of Monj stirred. “Silence,” it thundered. “Slaves do not whisper in the presence of the Mas- ter.” Anger blazed in Temple’s eyes. He took a quick step forward, gripping his makeshift club. “Just a minute,” he snarled. “We aren’t your slaves and we don’t intend to be. You made a pretty good start toward invading and ruling the world, but right now, mister, you’re facing three people you can’t invade and rule.” Monj stiffened, and the Vards shifted warily, staring. For an instant Temple sensed a network of flying thoughts weaving in the air about him. Then Monj spoke, his voice puzzled. “Invade and rule your world? Why should we try to do that? We don’t want your poor, sterile globe with its alien life-forms. What glory could we find in ruling races who, beside our science, are little more than savages?” It was Temple’s turn to stare, open- mouthed. “I don’t believe you,” he snapped, then. “You certainly went through all the motions of invasion and our poor savage races seem to have done fairly well in supplying you with brain-power. “Personally, I think you’re some feeble outcasts from some other world who hope to run a bluff and get your- selves set in a new, easy life where you can stead true ability and claim it for your own.” HE deliberately loaded his voice with sarcasm. The figure of Monj was already trembling with raging fury and Temple was cooly fanning that rage. If he could goad Monj into blow-

Page 65

STARTLING STORIES 6ft ing up completely, the entity might un- intentionally reveal a clue to the mystery. Fantastic as it seemed, Temple actually believed that invasion and conquest was not the true purpose of the entities. There was another crackling silence. Then the anger went out of Monj’s face, replaced by calm deliberation. After a moment he nodded. “Very well. You shall know the truth. Perhaps the reactions of your race to our problem may yield us an un- pected clue. “Relax and let your mind receive thought-pictures of the story that will be projected by our greater energy onto the curtains of your minds. Do not be afraid. You are quite safe from seizure until the story is told.” Then he began to speak softly and vibrantly while Temple’s stunned mind carried him up among distant stars and showed him weird, incredible scenes with a vividness that touched every emotional chord in his being. He saw by the expressions on the faces of Lee and Rocossen that they, too, were shar- ing his visions. “Our home lies eons away in space on Xacrn, ninth planet in the solar system of the faint star you call Seventeen Leporis,” Monj began, and Temple’s mind flamed through the awful vast- nesses of space to an alien, incredible world of indescribable life-forms and unnameable colors. “We are Xacrns, the ultimate evolu- tionary form of the highest life order in the cosmos. Once, millions of gen- erations ago, we possessed physical body-forms infinitely more useful and adaptable than yours . . TEMPLE gasped as his thought- visions brought him pictures of monstrous Vards tilling alien soils, fa- bricating strange instruments and tools with their marvelously prehensile ten- tacle-tips, building and dwelling to- gether in vast cities. Were the entities and the Vards divergent offspring of a common root? “Inevitably there were some of us more interested in the development of the mind than of the body, more hungry for knowledge than for material pos- sessions. It is always thus with every race, on every world. Even on your earth, in your own country, you see each passing year widening the gap between the farmer and the pure scholar. “With us, as the ages passed, our separate interests gradually evolved two separate races. The Vards re- mained essentially in their original form, content to blend craftsmanship and labor with thought. “We, who neglected our bodies to build our minds, found those unused body-forms wasting away, being dis- carded by the forward surge of inex- orable evolution, until at last we reached a stage where our minds ex- isted without any physical body what- ever.” Awed, Temple watched the mighty pageant of evolution unfold on his mind-screen. He saw certain of the Vards withdraw to barren cells to con- centrate on thought while their unused tentacles and finally their bulging bodies withered and died. “Take heed, earth people,” Monj thundered. “A million years hence, your evolution will have swept you on to the same ultimate state — and to the same inescapable doom. You know I am right. “Already, in the past hundred years that are no more than a second in eter- nal time, you have seen your human bodies grow frailer while your minds sharpened and gained new strength. It will go on until you are like us.” The visions became nightmares, showing Temple the final dissolution of the Vard bodies, the growing hordes of bodiless, dissociated entities that re- placed them. And always the scenes flashed back to those other Vards who toiled on without the all-consuming ambition, who prospered and were happy, content to let mind and body develop together. With growing horror. Temple saw the logic of Monj’s prophecy. Was this to be the future of the human race, to become darting clouds of pure energy doomed to an intangible eternity? “But we were proud of our accom- plishment,” Monj continued. “We drove on and on until we could find no more problems to be solved, no more secrets to unlock in all the cosmos.

Page 66

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 6T “It became convenient for us to em- ploy physical bodies to perform the tasks our super-minds conceived we made the common Vards our vehicles. Thus we had all the advantages of cor- porel bodies with none of the discom- forts or obligations. It was a most happy combination.” “1*11 bet the Vards were overjoyed,” Temple growled. “They were favored,” Monj said stiffly. “They gained all our vast knowledge without sacrificing their own bodies.” fection ! We had overlooked one thing. Evolution may be slowed or speeded or diverted into strange bypaths, as your earth scientists have done with radiation bombardments to the genera- tions of Drosophila — but it cannot be halted ! Evolution must go inexorably on. “We have evolved into an ultimate energy form — only to discover that it was not the ultimate, after all. Ahead lay another step — the mergence of our separate energies into the one great all- pervading universal energy. WjuhA&i. WjyAtoAif SiaikiL, VYlaJiA. IN THE DEUIL’S PLflnET A Gripping Book-Length Novel of the Future By mnnLv wade welmiaii • IT'S A REAL BAFFLER! COMING NEXT ISSUE Temple’s lips thinned as he saw a vision of the humble Vards, torn from home and homely occupations to toil in shops and laboratories, each driven to do his task by the glowing entity on its brain. He saw them building space ships of fantastic form that flashed among the stars and planets until, in all the galaxy, there were no riddles left unsolved. The immensity of their accomplish- ments left him weak, breathless and trembling. “Too late, we learned of our doom.” Monj’s voice sank. “The doom of per- “To us, that meant oblivion, the de- struction of all our separate personali- ties. And what lay beyond that, we could not even guess. We only knew that in a few hundred generations, our race would cease to exist.” The visions changed, filling Temple with a great sadness and a great pity. He saw Rocossen’s lips droop, saw tears well in Lee’s eyes as they shared the despair of a dying race. “We saw our doom, but we refused to accept it. Somewhere in the uni- verse there must be salvation for our race, we felt sure. I was commissioned

Page 67

68 STARTLING STORIES to find that unknown factor.” On the screen of his mind, Temple saw the great space ship, driven by entity-controlled Vards, flash out through the universe. From planet to planet it went, searching, ever search- ing, reaching familiar systems, flashing past the sun to curve toward earth. He felt the terrible impact of the wander- ing meteor that smashed the controls, sent it crashing, instead, on the dead moon, in the heart of Plato Crater. “For centuries we lived in the ruined ship,” Monj went on, “while the Vards who survived the crash worked desper- ately to affect our rescue. Ships were constructed of the crude natural min- erals of your moon and hurled toward Earth bearing Xacrns in search of aid but the centuries passed, and no aid came. “Finally we concluded that some in- imical radiation outside must be de- stroying them and proved its presence. Until then we, shielded by the natural material of our own ship, were unaware of its existence. “Meanwhile, a new distaster faced us. Our Vards, being mortal, were growing old, dying, with none to take their places. We faced the eventuality of being stranded, helpless. “With their last strength, the surviv- ing Vards built eleven ships, insulated them with shells of our native metal and sent them out. This time the ex- pedition reached its goal, constructed the crude repulsion ships and estab- lished contact. The rest you know.” THE visions suddenly vanished from Temple’s mind, leaving him awed, gasping. “But what are you seeking?” he cried. “What discovery can save your dying race? Why aim all your stones at Kansas?” “You have seen enough,” Monj said coldly. “The rest will be answered when you have joined our project.” “We’re not joining,” Temple roared, snapped back to reality by the words. “We’re not substituting for your Vards.” Monj’s face darkened. He gestured coldly, and the living barrier of Vards broke. Before Temple could move, coils of rubbery tentacles whipped around him, pinioning his arms. He saw that Lee and Rocossen were sim- ilarly held. “Take those two into the depths,” Monj indicated Lee and the astronomer. “Remove the silver caps and wait until the vapors have evaporated from their brains. Then seize them. He turned toward Temple and his eyes narrowed. “This one is to be prepared at once for the operation.” “Operation?” A cold chill touched Temple’s nerves. The figure that was Monj spread slen- der hands. “This body and brain was the prop- erty of a skilled surgeon. That skill will serve us well in a few moments when a simple operation removes that silver plate from your head so that I myself may enter and take full posses- sion of your splendid brain. Take them away.” CHAPTER XVI Desolate Sanctuary TEMPLE was stunned, frozen at the thought of losing the silver screen that had been his defense. It would be so simple to remove, and, once it was gone, his brain would be com- pletely unguarded. The thought of becoming a slave to the entities, of tak- ing part in their still mysterious proj- ect against the human race, filled him with agony. The thought of Lee and Rocossen returned to that slavery was a knife-thrust in his heart. “Summon me when Temple is ready for the operation,” Monj instructed the Vards. The largest of the grotesque Vards bobbed its hulking body in an obei- sance. A triangular mouth opened be- low the saucer eyes and unbelievable, impossible sounds came forth. “It shall be done,” the Vard said, in perfect English. Temple gaped in stunned amazement. He saw Lee blink dazedly. The idea of human speech issuing from those alien mouths was indescribably shock- ing.

Page 68

THE GODS HATE KANSAS The pressure of the clutching tenta- cles, moving them irresistably toward the mouth of the sloping passageway, broke the paralysis that clutched Tem- ple’s mind. Desperation spurred him, whipping his mind to furious activity. His eyes fell on the outline of the dis- tant closed door with the space suits hanging beside it. Some instinctive blaze of revolt made him brace his feet against the forward pressure and fight to break the clutch- ing grip of the tentacles. His muscles swelled, corded, and perspiration streamed down his face. It was blind, hopeless resistance, yet — Abruptly, a gripping tentacle slipped under the bulging pressure, and a sucker disc broke loose with a sharp pop. It was mad, impossible, but he was matching his strength against that of the great decapods — and winning ! “Fight !’’ he panted at Lee and Rocos- sen. “Monj told us the Vards were old, almost too far gone to finish the last space ships. Fight them! Break their holds!” He pressed out against their clutches until his eyes misted and blood roared in his ears. Dimly he knew that some- where near the voice of Monj was roar- ing insanely and that the massed fig- ures of human slaves were rushing to aid the Vards. With superhuman, des- perate strength he tore away the last clinging coil and sent the aged crea- tures reeling back. Rocossen and Lee, following his ex- ample, were fighting desperately against their own captors. Temple rushed in clawing and tearing at the encircling arms. Suddenly they were free, facing the massed fury of the on- rushing human slaves. “Over here,” Temple bellowed and raced for the door, dragging Lee and Rocossen with him. “Our only hope is to get outside where they can’t fol- low us. I’ll fight back the mob while you two get into suits. Then you hold them while I dress . . “No,” Rocossen panted. “Grab suits — and run— out ! There’s some thin air outside — not too cold.” HOPE blazed in Temple’s heart. He knew that Pickering and many other astronomers believed there was still some atmosphere on the moon, pools of it trapped in the depths of giant craters like Plato. If there was enough to temper the in- tense cold, they could get beyond reach of the entities and pause long enough to don space suits. Without shielded armor, the entities would instantly per- ish under the direct cosmic radia- tions. . . . An idea flamed in Temple’s brain. In mid-stride he swerved and caught the limp tentacles of the Vard leader who had slumped to the floor, ex- hausted. Without pausing he raced on, dragging the helpless creature after him, inches beyond the clutching hands of their pursuers. Ahead, Rocossen was tearing at the door catch as Lee jerked down the bulky suits. Still dragging his feebly- resisting captive, Temple snatched a suit with one hand and pounded through after them, into a narrow air- lock. Rocossen slammed the inner door in the face of their pursuers, holding it against their weight while Lee tugged open the outer lock. A blast of intense cold struck them like a tangible wall, driving knives of agony through their chests. Not daring to speak, holding their breaths against the rarified air, they raced across brittle lava to a jumbled heap of gray rock. High overhead, sun- light threw a knife-edged lance of un- bearable illumination against the crater wall, but down here in the shadows it was almost totally dark. Only the ten- uous wisps of dying atmosphere held a faint, gray radiance that made the dark- ness a lighter dusk. Still holding their breaths, they clam- bered into the bulky unfamiliar suits, clamping bulbous helmets into place, opening valves that flooded the suits with invigorating air. At their feet, the captive Vard stirred feebly. Lee pressed her helmet against Tem- ple’s. “Curt, that poor creature will die without protection. That’s cruel — ” “I don’t think so,” Temple answered as Rocossen bent forward to share the conversation. “There weren’t any suits for them, yet they must have worked outside a great deal.

Page 69

70 STARTLING STORIES “I wanted to get him out here where the radiations would destroy his entity. If he suffers, of course we’ll send him back.” The Vard rose shakily and laid a ten- tacle tip against Temple’s helmet. “Thank you for my freedom,” it said. “It is the first I have ever experienced. It is a strange, lonely feeling — but I like it. Do not worry about me. “My immense lungs find plenty of oxygen in this thin air and I do not even feel what you call cold. It is only outside the depths of this crater, where there is no air at all, that I would per- ish.” A gusty sigh drifted faintly to Tem- ple’s ears from the direction of Rocos- sen’s helmet. “Amazing, Temple. Incredible. I commend you on your ingenuity. You have rescued us from the enemy, and we are safe.” “Safe,” Temple said grimly, “except for the minor matter of food and water and oxygen renewal that will probably become a little bit annoying in time.” “What do we do now, Curt,” Lee asked. “To be absolutely truthful, darned if I know. The idea of losing my screen and seeing us all made into entity slaves just didn’t appeal so I organized a revolt. Beyond that, I haven’t had time to think. “But we’d better be good and quick. These suits don’t seem any too well in- sulated and I can’t find any trace of a heating unit. That cold is penetrating.” “Y-y-your t-telling m-me,” Lee inter- rupted. “My t-teeth are ch-chattering already.” “In spite of the air,” Rocossen re- marked, “it must be well over a hun- dred degrees below zero down here. We shall freeze.” “Cheer up,” Temple grinned wryly, pointing upward. “That sunline is practically racing down the crater wall toward us. When it reaches here, the temperature will go up to better than two hundred above. If there was only some way — ” he whirled toward the Vard. “You, whatever your name is. Do you know of any way we might stay alive out here?” “My name is Decex Vard,” the crea- ture answered solemnly, “which means I am the member of the Vard race whose identification number is ten thousand. We are all designated by number. “I know of no haven for you unless we might find a cave whose rocks both store and keep out the coming heat. There are a few such in the crater wall. I shall seek one.” eE shuffled off, probing the eerie writhing tentacles into masses of debris. Temple was staring around him fascinated and awed by the weird nightmare landscape of the great crater, when Lee’s helmet clicked against his. “Whatever we do we’d better do fast, Curt. About a dozen men in space suits just came tumbling out of the lock. They’re carrying funny-looking guns and I think in about a minute we’ll be able to keep warm just by running.” Temple whirled and groaned. Faint light from the open port gleamed on sil- very space suits massed in front of the dome. They must be special suits, in- sulated against cosmic rays to protect the entities from destruction. Ordi- narily, he guessed, they did not go out, but merely implanted lasting thought patterns on the minds of those slaves who were sent beyond the lock. Decex Vard came lumbering back, frantically waving a tangle of arms to- ward the dome. “They come,” he shrilled. “Slaves of your race guided by the strongest mind-forces and armed with the terrible weapon of atomic blast. You must flee. There is no deep cave near.” “Where can we go?” Rocossen cried. “In a few minutes this whole crater will be in direct sunlight. There’s enough air down here to diffuse the light, too, so the shadows of rocks won’t be deep enough to hide us completely.” “Up the crater wall is our only chance”, Temple barked. “We can keep hidden as long as we stay beyond the line of sunilght. Come on.” They raced across the crater floor in grotesque leaps, utilizing the lighter lunar gravitation to increase the speed of their flight. The weaker muscles of the aged Vard proved unequal to their terrestrial strength, and they slowed somewhat to drag him between them.

Page 70

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 71 “I don’t see any pursuit yet,” Temple panted finally. "So they evidently didn’t see us. Let’s dig into that mountain of broken rock over there against the crater wall and rest a bit.” They flung themselves down in the blackness, panting and trembling from exertion. Temple’s eyes were sultry. “We shouldn’t get out of breath so fast,” he gasped. "I’m afraid this means our oxygen supply is low. Those tanks seemed terribly small.” Decex Vard waved his tentacles around them for contact. “The suits are equipped for only an hour at lowest metabolism,” he stated. “That is so there could be no danger of a slave breaking the mind-shackles and attempting flight.” “What,” Temple gasped. “Can such a thing happen? Do any of them ever throw off the entity’s control?” “Occasionally. Only humans do it, and apparently only those who saw and fought against seizure. If the entity catches a mind completely unawares and unsuspecting, its domination is complete.” “Whew !” Lee whistled. “Will I ever give them a battle next time?” “Decex Vard,” Temple asked. “What are the entities looking for? Why are they so anxious to seize control of Earth? I don’t see how conquering the human race will save them from ulti- mate evolution that they fear so great- iy." “Oh, but my masters are not trying to conquer Earth,” the Vard answered quickly. “Except for the failure of our poor bodies, they would never have touched Earth at all. “But in order to return to Xacrn it was necessary to secure metals and other vital products not found on the moon, as well as skilled hands to fabri- cate those products into the necessary vessel. To do all that swiftly and accu- rately required the work of hundreds. “So those Xacrns who set out for Earth were instructed to concentrate on opening regular communication be- tween Earth and Moon. With that done, and all Xacrns equipped with skilled bodies, they could move Earth, build the great ship and go home.” “You mean,” Lee gasped, “that all this — this reign of terror was for no other purpose than to give you man- power and metal so you could go home ?” “Of course. While my masters had not solved the secret of perpetuation of the race, time was growing short and they desired to end their days on their native planet.” “For Pete’s sake!” Temple barked. “The dopes! Why didn’t they come down and ask for what they wanted?” The great saucer eyes stared blank- !y- “You mean — you mean that in your civilization individuals ask for what they desire instead of merely taking it?” His tentacles waved dazedly. “Truly your race is a strange one.” URTIS,” Rocossen gasped, “can you imagine that? But it stands to reason that a race concen- trating on super-evolution would un- derstand no law but the evolutionary code of might — survival of the fittest and destruction to the weak.” Temple was shaking his head in dazed incredulity. “What a colossal misunderstanding,” he whispered. “A mighty cosmic joke on everybody. If we’d known that, maybe we could have reached an un- derstanding instead of fighting. “Maybe we can still bring our alien ideas into harmony. I feel sorry for the poor fools, now that I know their history and aims. And, bad as they’ve acted, do you realize that they them- selves haven’t taken a single human life that we know of?” “I was under the impression,” Ro- cossen said drily, “that they tried hard enough in our case. I dislike giving them all the credit for our prowess.” “But by their standards,” Temple insisted, frowning, “any resistance to us was in the nature of self defense. No, Rocky, I’ve quit hating the entities, suddenly, and started wishing I could help them. I believe all this can be mediated.” Lee came tumbling down from a quick peep over the parapet of rock that hid them. Behind the faceplate of the helmet, her hair was a golden cloud over her eyes. “You can start mediating anytime, Curt,” she panted. “Six of those pa-

Page 71

72 STARTLING STORIES tlietic creatures are headed this way, following our tracks in the lava dust, and from the way they’re holding their guns, they mean business.” “Temple sprang up, his face paling. “Start climbing higher,” he barked. “We have the advantage of rocks that won’t show tracks from here up. Come on, Decax. We’ll haul you up as high as your lungs can stand the rarity. And don’t worry. We won’t let you be taken back to slavery as long as one of us is left to fight.” Decex Vard’s tentacles quivered fran- tically, whipped out and drew the hel- mets against his leathery bulk. “But I want to go back,” he pro- tested. “Already I feel lost without the great Vrif who has been a part of my life for these many centuries. “I only wanted to see what freedom was like, as a brief adventure. You are kind — but none of us want to lose our masters. We suffer and tire, but we would not change.” Lee Mason collapsed on a rock, gasp- ing. “Well, I’ll — be — darned!” she whis- pered in most unlady-like amazement. CHAPTER XVII Flight and Capture TEMPLE’S jaw dropped, and his eyes bulged. "What?” he roared at the quivering Vard. “We risk our idiotic necks to rescue you, and you don’t want to be rescued?” He got a swift impression that if the writhing creature had possessed a head, it would now be hanging that head in embarrassment. Somehow, deprived of its entity-master, the Vard was singu- larly childish for all its amazing knowl- edge and abilities. “Forgive me, most kind of friends. Our worlds are so far apart that even our affections are alien. But what I said is true. Those others are our peo- ple, our guides and leaders, and we would be savages without them. “They make us work until we fall from exhaustion and they drive us into pain and suffering, not because they hate us but because their energy-minds feel no such thing as emotion. Love, hate, fear, pain — the entities, as you call them, recognize those states only as words. “We understand that and are not re- sentful. We do our best, accept the kindness of our masters and find life good. You have meant great kindness to me and mine and that intent is ap- preciated. But I must return. Thank — you and farewell.” Before they could move, he was up, loping down the slope like a great, many-legged dog, to face the oncom- ing men. “Poor, simple-minded dupe,” Lee whispered. “He would actually be lone- some without pain and oppression and — ” “That poor, simple-minded dupe,” Temple interrupted harshly, “has just showed those hunters down there exactly where we’re hiding by barging out that way. Get down. They’re rais- ing those odd guns to their shoulders. An instant later there was a blinding, soundless flash above their heads and a huge pinnacle of rock burst into drift- ing dust. Another eery burst of light shattered a boulder to their right and fragments rattled sharply against their suits. “Whew! What energy!” Temple gasped. “We’ve got to get out of here in a hurry before those blasts eat away every rock in this heap — and us with them.” They scrambled back an instant be- fore the very rock on which they had been standing was shattered' by the weird, soundless flash of energy. “We don’t dare try to climb,” Tern- pel said as they fled from the bombard- ment. “They’re near enough now to see us against the cliff as our suits re- flect star-shine. Stick behind these boulders and maybe we can break back into the plain far enough away to get clear.” They raced over scattered debris from the towering wall overhead, pain- fully conscious of the dwindling oxygen supply that would soon make all their efforts futile. Rocossen staggered close to touch Temple’s helmet as they ran. “What— did you — say,” he gasped, “about — sparing — human lives — in their — activities ?”

Page 72

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 73 Temple swore at him and pounded on, head down, flaming agony biting into his lungs with every breath. They reached the end of their rocky screen and halted. “Which way now. Curt? We can’t last much longer — and there comes the sunlight line to bum us up in another five or ten minutes.” “To the dome. Our only hope is the rocket hangar behind. There may be a store of oxygen there or some way of getting into one of the rockets.” They bounded out onto the inky floor of the crater and plowed to a halt. Ahead, something was moving through the darkness, an occasional faint glint of reflected starlight revealing its pres- ence. “One of the hunters,” Temple whis- pered, squinting. “But I can only see one person, and he seems to have his back to us. Come on, let’s slip closer and try to get that gun away and pin him down. He may be carrying extra oxygen tanks.” THEY stole forward, scarcely breathing, and neared the dim figure. It was one man, carrying one of the rifles that fired the devastating atomic blasts, and he was studying the plains for signs of his quarry. The three pounced together, metal clanged against metal, and the enemy was down, writhing helplessly inside his clumsy armor. Temple hurled the atomic rifle out of sight among the overhanging rocks. He could never use a deadly weapon as long as he knew that his adversaries were helpless, entity-driven dupes who might yet be restored to normal. There were two spare oxygen tanks strapped to his belt. “You and Rocky take these,” Temple ordered brusquely. “I’ll combine the oxygen that’s left in your two tanks and have nearly as much. We may be able to grab another hunter soon.” Despite their protestations, he ex- changed the fresh oxygen tanks for the depleted ones, which he slung on his own belt, and motioned them on. They left the entity slave struggling to his feet. “He can’t do much without a weapon,” Temple told the others, “and the chances are he’ll head back for more oxygen. His first tank must be low, too. Now we’re good for another hour, and a lot can happen in an hour. We might even figure out a way to save the Xacm race and exchange that knowledge for our freedom.” “You can’t stop evolution,” Rocossen shouted. “I’m not too sure,” Temple denied, shaking his head. “Besides, it’s the only possible way I can see to stop all the horrors like the Crimson Plague that will go on as long as the entities need bodies.” He plodded on, absorbed in thought. Without any warning, the lava dust in front of his feet exploded in a burst of livid flame, and a mighty, invisible force hurled him off his feet. He landed on his back, bruised and breath- less from contact with the hard shell of the suit, and saw Rocossen and Lee stumbling toward him with other bursts of atomic fury pursuing them. Temple got to his feet groggily and lurched into a run, waving them to fol- low an erratic course that would make aiming difficult. The gunner was hid- den somewhere in the darkness, and with no tell-tale muzzle flash to betray his presence, there was no way of know- ing for sure which way led to safety. The three raced on, weaving and dodging, and for a moment there were no more explosions. Temple began to breathe again as the menace seemed to have passed. Then abruptly a new burst came al- most underfoot and another in midair between their tumbling bodies. Temple realized, then, that they must have been running straight at the unseen marksman. Scrambling up, they pounded away to the side, changed directions and hammered on while the deadly bursts fell away behind them and finally quit completely. They slowed to a stagger- ing walk and drew together. “That was close,” Lee gasped. “Too close,” Rocossen agreed. “Al- together— too — close.” His bulky figure suddenly reeled and went down heavily, to lie motionless in the lava dust. With a pang in his heart, Temple dropped down beside the '

Page 73

74 STARTLING STORIES astronomer and saw the slender lips moving behind the faceplate. He touched his helmet to the other’s. “Carry on, you two,’’ Rocossen whis- pered, coughing. “Don’t fuss over me until you get caught.” “Rocky! What is it?” Temple bent closer and saw the long ragged gash through the metal breast plate of Rocossen’s suit. “Are you badly hurt?” “Not hurt — at all,” Rocossen grinned. “Just — out of breath. I cut off — my oxygen. You take it. There’s no — way to patch — a suit out here. Good luck.” “Lee!” Temple whirled toward her. “Get going. Head back for the crater wall, stay out of the sunlight when it gets there and watch for help. Don’t try to get into the hangar now.” “Curt, what do you mean? What are you — ” “I’m taking Rocky in to the dome,” Temple snapped. “He can’t lie there and strangle and there’s no way to patch the suit. With his oxygen turned on full, he can get enough to breathe until we make the dome. It’s the only way. I’m still safe from seizure by the entities so there’s a fighting chance. Hurry !” WITHOUT another word he gath- ered the protesting figure in his arms and lurched to his feet. “Go back to that rock heap where they nearly caught us before and stay close. It’s the safest spot, now that they’ve driven us away from it once. Stay there and don’t move except to avoid being seen or caught by patrol- ing hunterB.” “But Curt, what can I — ” “I’ll show the entities that we aren’t antagonistic to their purpose and be back as fast as I can with a rescue party. My silver screen will keep me free and safe until I’ve explained ways in which we can help them and after that everything will be all right. “Just wait for me. You’ve got oxy- gen enough, now, for an hour to an hour and a half, and the cold can’t get you as long as you move around. Good luck, darling.” He touched her helmet briefly with his own, smiled into her anxious eyes and was gone, staggering off into the darkness with his burden. Despite the fact that lunar gravita- tion gave his burden a total weight of less than fifty pounds, Temple’s arms soon ached torturously. Still he pounded on, lungs straining for every gulp of air, sweat pouring down his face, legs pistoning numbly on by the sheer driving effort of desperation. He had to get Rocossen into the dome before the last trickle of com- pressed oxygen had fled through that gaping rent in his suit. Temple could feel the hiss of escaping air against the chest wall of his own suit and the dwindling sound of it filled him with despair. He plodded doggedly on. losing all sense of space and time, guided by the stark blaze of advancing sunlight along the crater wall to his right. In his arms, the slender figure of Rocossen had given up its futile, feeble efforts to pro- tect and lay quietly, conserving air. Where, a few short minutes before, it had seemed that everywhere they turned they ran into searching entity slaves, intent on their capture, Temple now began to feel that he had plodded on for hours in an absolutely unin- habited land. He would have welcomed capture to be relieved of his burden, to see stronger hands bear Rocossen to safety. He trudged on. His reeling brain turned inevitably to the entities and their fantastic doom. A race of super-intelligences, hurtling inexorably along the path of evolution to oblivion. A civilization wiped out, not by its shortcomings and evils but by its very perfection. Why did his mind persist in gnawing at their problem? How could he hope to find a key to their salvation where their super-minds had sought it for cen- turies without success? Compared to their knowledge and their science, the greatest accomplishments of earth were no more than the cloudy myths of a savage tribe. TIEMPLE tried to dismiss the thoughts but they beat back into his mind with relentless purpose. Think, Temple! Study the problem from new angles ! There is a salvation for the Xacrns, and the key to it lies within your grasp. You had the answer in your hands once within the past hour

Page 74

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 75 and let it slip away unrecognized. Bring it back! Tnink, man. Think ! Temple groaned aloud. If he could show the entities how to save them- selves from extinction, how to return to Xacrn with immortality for their race, his own personal problems and those of earth would be automatically solved. How long would it take the entities to build their escape ship and leave earth forever? A month? A year? This would be no blast-driven rocket capable of lumbering the few scant miles from earth to moon and back, but some new marvel beyond human comprehensible. It would be an impos- sible, unthinkable mechanism capable of flashing across inter-galactic space where the very milestones were hun- dreds, thousands, millions of light- years apart. Such a craft might take years to build, ample time for resentful humans and arrogant entities to lock in horrible and profitless warfare. Temple shud- dered at the vision. Such an even- tuality could only be halted if he found the elusive answer that hammered at his brain. Without any warning at all. Temple found himself plodding automatically into the midst of space-suited figures who closed in, covering him and his burden with the deadly atomic rifles. He stared at them dully for a moment, and then realization of what those fig- ures meant brought a gasp of thankful- ness to his lips. Dropping to his knees, Temple ges- tured frantically at the gaping rent in Rocossen’s suit and ahead toward the still-invisible dome where the life-giv- ing air waited. His urgent message got across to them. Two figures bent down, staring, then seized Rocossen’s figure between them and raced off into the darkness. The rest closed in, prodded Temple to his reeling, rubbery legs and drove him ahead. He went willingly, his mind absorbed in his coming meeting with Monj. This time things would be different. When the entities saw that there was hope of realizing their impossible goal, there would be cooperation and united effort. For all their alien form, they were thinking, reasoning beings, fight- ing only for the perpetuation of their race. Success was very near. Temple had a clear, positive impression that he was on the verge of discovering or isolating the key. As soon as a rescue crew had brought Lee in from the airless wastes, he would have Monj repeat the entire story of Xacrn history, exactly as it had been told before. Somewhere, during the past hours, Temple had seen or heard something that was a vital clue. It must of necessity be hidden in the Xacrn’s own past history. The great dome loomed out of the darkness. Temple let himself be rushed through the airlock and into the great interior. The first sight he saw was Rocossen sitting up unaided beside the wrecked space suit, looking pale and shaken but unharmed. Then Temple saw the waiting assem- bly, Monj and his lieutenants at the front, Vards ranged watchfully at each side, the rows of human slaves behind. As Temple’s captors shoved him into the room, Monj and his companions hastened closer. Temple grinned at [Turn page] READ OUR COMPANION SCIENCE FICTION MAGAZINE Coming in the December Issue TIME COLUMN A Complete Novel of the Past and Future By MALCOLM JAMESON NOW ON SALE JJJ4 AT ALL STANDS

Page 75

76 STARTLING STORIES him through the faceplate as he waited for the helmet to be unscrewed and re- moved. One of Temple’s captors stood back of him while two others turned and raised the bulbous helmet. Fresh, sweet air struck his face and he breathed deeply. He was still drawing in that first long breath when the entity slave be- hind him took a step forward and slammed a padded club against the side of his head with stunning force. Dimly, from a queer high vantage point, he seemed to see himself plunging forward to his face, seemed to hear Monj say coldly : “Excellent, Div. We can take no chances on his getting away from us again. Carry him into the chamber at once. I’ll operate and remove the silver screen immediately, while he is uncon- scious from the blow.” Temple tried to cry out, to tell Monj that he had the key to their salvation. He tried to tell him that Lee was out there in the crater, waiting, her air sup- ply dwindling by the minute until soon there would not even be enough left to carry her to the dome to surrender. He was still trying to choke the words out of his frozen throat when his senses fled and darkness closed in. CHAPTER XVIII Impossible Rescue WITH her heart pounding uncon- trollably and cold fingers brush- ing her nerves, Lee Mason hurried away from her farewell to Temple, back toward the sheltering debris below the crater wall. Alone for the first time, she began to realize just how far away she was from the familiar landscape of Earth, how helpless against the un- known menace of this alien nightmare land. On Earth she had thought nothing of braving a hundred deaths in scien- tific exploration among jagged moun- tain peaks, deep in subterranean cav- erns, up among the clouds in planes and balloons. Ordinarily she was cold, calm, nerveless. But tonight a nameless terror filled the weird darkness and drenched her with cold perspiration. It was not a fear of the hunters nor of any unknown life form that might conceivably inhabit the eternal shadows. It was simply the re- action of over-taxed nerves to the added menace of the unknown dark. In the grip of that unreasoning panic, Lee’s feet forced her from a walk to a trot that swiftly grew into a run and then wild flight. She bounded fran- tically toward the looming barrier of the thousand-foot crater wall, seeking some cranny where she could squeeze in and let the luxury of solid substance against her back and sides calm the trembling of her nerves. Behind her the sharp, incredible terminator bound- ary between light and darkness raced across the giant bowl in pursuit. Suddenly a low rim of rock loomed in her path. Without slowing, Lee flexed her firm earth muscles and leaped over the barrier. It was a tremendous leap that swept her beyond the hurdle a good sixty feet. She came down, mus- cles set for the impact of landing, and there was none. She came down into the shadow of the ground and the shadow had no sub- stance. Before she could gasp, she was falling endlessly down into the dead crust of the moon, down a slanting shaft of absolute darkness, lined with jagged rocks that plucked metallically at her bulging armor without slowing her breathless fall. It seemed that she had fallen for hours into the bowels of the moon and would go on falling for more hours. Then suddenly she slammed down among the upflung teeth of massive rocks at the bottom of the shaft and her head struck the faceplate of her hel- met with a crushing force that brought the blackness through into her brain. She came back to consciousness with a sharp wonder that she had survived the fall and was still alive. Her body was one mass of bruised agony from banging against the poorly-padded in- terior of the suit but as nearly as she could tell the bruises were only super- ficial. The faceplate of her helmet was mi- raculously intact, and the suit retained its air supply. Plainly she owed her

Page 76

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 77 life to the lesser lunar gravity that had given her plunging body only one-sixth its normal earth weight. Intense, absolute darkness, unre- lieved by any shade or glow, sur- rounded her and completely concealed her environment. There was no way of discovering the nature of the shaft or her chances of climbing back to the surface, for she carried no flashlight. There were matches in her purse but that was inside the suit, strapped to her belt. The fall had jarred the panic from her nerves and she managed a shaky laugh as she sat up and started to climb to her feet. Abruptly the laugh died on her lips. From the waist down her suit was rigidly immovable. She lay back and tugged and kicked until her lungs ached and perspiration rolled into her eyes, but the metal cylinders that encased her legs were rock-solid. Genuinely alarmed, Lee sat up again and fumbled with her steel-gauntleted hands for the cause of the phenomenon. Her hands encountered a massive block of rough stone, apparently dislodged by her stumbling body, that lay across her knees. Try as she would, she could not budge it, nor could she stretch far enough to reach its boundaries. For all she could tell, it might be the whole crater wall pinning her down. She shuddered at the realization that only the metal legs of the suit had kept her from being crushed to pulp under that massive rock. Lee lay back, fighting down a fresh panic, trying to reason sanely. She could not summon enough strength or gain sufficient leverage to free her suit. That much was certain. Nor could she hope that Temple, searching for her, would ever stumble onto this particular shaft and discover her whereabouts at the bottom. She had no light to flash upward, no gun to shoot to attract attention, and in that Tariffed air she could not shout until her lungs burst without ever a whisper drifting to the surface, an in- calculable distance above. Realizing these things, she became suddenly aware of a dull ache in her chest and an abnormal hammering in her ears. That could mean only one thing. Her air was running low, thinning out to extinction. Lee lay back against the cold rock and blew away a drop of perspiration that tickled the end of her nose. “Well, Lee Mason,” she whispered. “It looks like the beginning of a very nasty end.” She shivered. “But what a cold, lonely place to die in.” ATE in the afternoon, a group of shaken men gathered in the gloom of the smaller rocket hangar in the Ari- zona camp and stared wearily at one another. Farge, looking like the sur- vivor of some gigantic explosion with his black eyes, battered face and tat- tered clothing, hugged the flat case of a projector and stared gloomily up through the open roof. Mullane and Lansdon and Jacobs and the other scientists, bearing lesser bruises but dazed and shaken from their recent experience, faced him anx- iously. The camp guards, restored to normal but still sullen and frightened, huddled close by. “Blast 1” Farge cried suddenly in hoarse fury. “Curt and Lee are up there, facing God knows what horrors, and all we can do is stand around like a bunch of bumps on a log. We can’t lift a finger to help them, don’t even know that they’re still alive. For all we know, they may have been over- come and forced to join that fiendish crowd by this time.” “Take it easy,” Mullane soothed. “We know how you feel, Allen. After all, none of us can forget that we were forced to take a hand in getting them up there.” He drew a shaking hand across his ashen face. “Lord! I thought we were doomed to that slavery for all eternity. Noth- ing in the world ever felt so good as the agony of that beam you managed to turn on us, finally.” Farge straightened and managed a wan smile. “Forget it. I’m sorry I get the jitters but it’s this feeling of utter helplessness now, after having had such a big hand in fighting the menace before.” He had told them of the weary weeks of research and experiment that led to perfection of the weapon and this in-

Page 77

78 STARTLING STORIES vasion of the camp. For a time after the grim battle, when the rocket had blasted off with Lee and Temple and Rocossen and when Farge had finally battled his way clear long enough to adjust his projector and destroy the re- maining entities, they had been too weary and shaken to do more than talk. Later, carrying Lansdon’s bulky de- tector instrument, they had combed the whole camp area, destroying every floating entity that blazed on the screen. “You think we’d better stay in camp and keep quiet a while longer?” Jacobs, the lanky chemist asked. Farge waved an expressive hand. “What else can we do? This place is our only thread of contact with the moon, now. If a rocket returns, it’s got to come here, and we’ve got to be here to meet it. “Besides, if I stick my nose outside, about five hundred FBI men are going to land on it with hobnailed shoes. If they guessed I was in here, we’d have an invasion on our hands right now.” “Personally,” Lansdon growled, “I’d give anything to put a thousand miles between me and this place, but I see your point. And if we went out now and tried to tell the truth, we’d prob- ably land in a first class booby hatch. The very least we’d get would be locked up for a few weeks while a bunch of fat-headed politicians investigated our stories.” “How can we ever face people, any- how,” Meeker demanded, “after the ghastly things those entities made us do? Hey, listen to that! Thunder. Must be going to storm.” Farge cocked his head, listening. Suddenly his eyes widened. He leaped toward the door. “Thunder, heck !” he bawled over his shoulder. “That’s a rocket coming back. Maybe it’s Curt with news of victory.” “And maybe it’s those fiends back for more bodies,” Mullane snarled. “But how can they travel at any old time of the day or night like this? I always thought a rocket had to be timed exactly to the split second in order to intersect the orbit of the body it’s aimed at.” “Not this one,” Davoe panted, run- ning beside him. “I made the trip with Eno once and saw how it worked. They’ve got direct-vision screens of some kind that show the moon. All they have to do is blast off at any time, turn until the moon shows on the screen and then head for it by dead reckoning, aiming the ship like a gun. “Of course they have to keep swing- ing to compensate for the moon’s mo- tion, like guiding a telescope with a manually-operated azimuth mounting.” OUT in the bright sunlight, they stopped, staring up at the vivid blue of the sky, trying to see the source of the steadily-deepening thunder. A tense expectancy gripped them all. What would the rocket bring? “There it is!” Farge cried suddenly, pointing. They all saw it, then, a pinpoint of black that swelled with incredible speed, painting a widening smoke path across the blue screen of the heavens as it screamed down the flat curve of its trajectory. “Don’t we have to do something to help it land?” Farge demanded sud- denly. “Lord, yes!” Lansdon snapped his fingers. “There’s machinery that moves the cradle up to meet it and then lowers it to the pit on hydraulic cushions. I think I can remember how to operate it. My mind is hazy on most of what I did during that time, but that seems clear enough. Come on.” Moments later they stood in the han- ger, screened from the searing blasts of the jets, as the smaller rocket dropped expertly into its waiting cradle and was lowered to floor level. "Oh-oh,” Mullane muttered. “I don’t like that. It’s handled too expertly for an amateur. That must mean — ” He left the rest unsaid, a grim threat hanging over them. They hid behind pillars near the foot of the gangplank, listening tensely to the sob of pumps unlocking the sealed port. Jacobs held the detector in readiness. Farge’s hands were clammy as they gripped the projector, ready to blast if enemies appeared. The great lockplate dropped at last, and the slender figure of Eno Rocossen appeared at the head of the gangplank,

Page 78

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 79 staring warily around. Even before they saw the violet blaze on the de- tector screen, it was apparent that his brain was in the grip of an entity. The stiff coldness of his face and the flat- ness of his eyes gave ample visual evi- dence. “Controlled!” Jacobs barked. “That means Curt and Lee are dead or their slaves. Blast him !” Rocossen saw them at the same in- stant. His hand came around from be- hind him, levelling a blue beam pro- jector. Farge’s lips thinned and a hot flame burst in his eyes. He pressed the trig- ger of his own weapon. Terrible, un- seen radiations flashed out soundlessly and the entity on Rocossen’s brain evaporated. Mullane and Lansdon sprang for- ward to catch the astronomer as he toppled, but before they could reach him, he swayed back and plunged head- long off the narrow gangplank into the rocket pit below. His plunging body struck the black- ened concrete with a crunching thud and lay still. “My God! Rocky!” THEY clambered down the iron lad- der and hauled him tenderly to the surface. He was conscious, his face gray with pain. One arm dangled brokenly and a gash on his head oozed crimson. “I’m okay,” he whispered as they bent over him. “Got to get back to the moon. They’ve got Curt. Op- erating now — taking his silver screen. Hurry ! Lee lost in — crater. Curt knows how — to stop entities. Rescue him !” He closed his eyes. “What are you going to do?” Davoe cried. “I’m going after him I” Farge gritted, clenching his fists. “Heavens, man!” Lansdon objected. “You don’t know how to run the rocket and Eno may not recover in time. You’d never be able to. . . “I’ll never learn, sitting in an arm- chair,” Farge snapped. “I can push and pull levers until we either take off or blow up. I’ll figure the rest out after that. Anybody going along ?” CHAPTER XIX Slave of Monj AFTER the first dull resignation to an inexorable doom, Lee Mason’s mind began to function again. It was better to die fighting than to lie back and wait for the end to come. She struggled upright again, vitalized by a return of her old fighting spirit. It was only her suit that was trapped. If she could slip out of that, she would be free. But without the protection of the suit and its dwindling air supply, she would die quickly from the intense cold and rarified air. Or would she? A new thought smashed into her mind. Thin air lin- gered in the great bowl of Plato, though it was not sufficient to support human life. But if the air was at least tenuous at the crater’s surface, it should be still more tangible in the bottom of this deep pit. While it might not be enough, it could be no less than her suit would contain in a few more minutes. And a quick finish was preferable to a slow, lingering one. With steady fingers, Lee began to twist the bulbous helmet, withdrawing it from the air-seal at the throat. Sud- denly it came loose and a rush of bitter cold stung her face. She drew a deep, racking breath that seemed to have no soothing effect on the shriek of her oxygen-starved cells. She breathed more rapidly, gulping in sharp, bursting breaths of the thin atmosphere, and suddenly it seemed that the dizziness was lifting from her brain. It was true. The air was dan- gerously thin, but with care it might maintain her for a time. Relieved, she unsnapped the seals and drew herself gingerly out of the trapped armor until she stood erect and unprotected in the pitchy darkness. The cold lashed at her with a thousand flaming knives, and the darkness beat down upon her in a stifling cloud, but she was free and still lived. And cold as it was, the layers of rock above her seemed to cut off the worst of it. They must gather and retain some heat from

Page 79

STARTLING STORIES the periods of terrible sunshine. She was free — but for what purpose ? Even if she could clamber up the shaft to the surface, the rarer air and greater cold would be fatal. Still she had to do something, keep moving, to keep her body from freezing and her brain from succumbing to the numbing horror of her predicament. With outstretched hands, she began to stumble forward, groping her way over the jagged rock floor. She came to a hard, cold vertical wall, presently, and felt her way along its rough surface. Suddenly the wall van- ished from before her hands and she stumbled forward onto a down-slanting floor that seemed to indicate a cavern or tunnel that branched off from the pit. In here the cold was less intense, and her sobbing breaths were more satisfy- ing, as though the air were heavier. Pressing the side wall for support and guidance, she stumbled ahead. The floor levelled off, after a time, and grew smoother so that she could make better progress. She lost all track of time and distance until it seemed that her whole life had been spent in plunging endlessly into eternal night. Vaguely she knew that she was somewhere deep in the unin- habited, lifeless bowels of the dead moon, drawing ever further from the slender passage to the surface where there were human beings and light and air. But the full meaning of that had long since drifted from her reeling mind. She staggered on. LEE saw the light ahead a long time before its meaning penetrated her brain. At first it was only the faintest imaginable lightening of the intense gloom. Then it became a glow and, at last, a circle of eerie radiance. With a hoarse cry, Lee stumbled for- ward and out into a low corridor whose metallic walls were emitting a steady phosphorescent radiance that was somehow vaguely familiar. But whatever it was, that lighted tunnel spelled the presence of life and the nearness of rescue and warmth and air. She ran down the tunnel at full speed, her clicking heels raising tiny clattering echoes that pursued her flit- ting figure, cackling eerily at her hope. An eternity later, the corridor turned and opened out into a larger glowing chamber. From a long way off, Lee saw that chamber filled with familiar objects — chairs, a table, and, incongru- ously, a white porcelain hospital cot. A human figure moved slowly among these objects, a figure that was ach- ingly familiar. Lee raced into the chamber with a great sob of thankfulness on her lips. “Curt ! Oh, Curt ! I don’t know how you got here or how I got here, but here we are.” Temple turned and stared at her, his jaw dropping. There was something oddly different about his face, a cold- ness and stiffness. His eyes, too, were ueer — flat and dull. She stopped sud- enly and shrank back. “Curt, what — what’s wrong with you ?” He smiled stiffly and held out his hand. “Nothing’s wrong with me, Lee. Not a thing. I was only terribly sur- prised to see you here. Come here, Lee. Come to me.” Hesitantly she moved forward. Like a striking snake, his hand shot out and closed on her wrist and a grin of tri- umph curved his taut lips. It was only then that she noticed for the first time that the back of his scalp had been shaved clean of hair and that a small, stained pad of dressing was taped in the center of this space. TEMPLE had wondered many times just what it felt like to be the slave of one of the glowing brain parasites. Now, as he opened his eyes and sat up stiffly on the hospital cot in the great glowing chamber, he knew and tasted the horror of that knowledge. He, Curtis Temple, still existed as an ego, but he had the eerie sensation of smallness, of being compressed to a microscopic speck, his whole person- ality compacted into a single atom at the top of his aching head. Below him stretched his own body. He could think about that body, see what it was doing, hate it and fear it and plan movements for it to make. But he could not control or affect it in any way.

Page 80

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 81 He wanted to lie on the cot and ease his weariness and his mind, set the proper nerve-mechanisms into mo- tion to produce that desired effect. But his tired body continued to rise, got up off the cot and moved about the room with steady steps. He realized, then, that he was but a helpless, voice- less spectator, relegated to the farthest recesses of his own mind by the om- nipotent force of the usurping entity. And he could no more interfere with or affect the activities of that conqueror force than he could jar the earth from its appointed orbit by kicking at a clod in the field. “I am a slave,” he thought wildly. “The entities took my silver screen and seized my brain.” He heard no sound but instantly an exultant answer graved itself across the plastic thought-screen of his mind. “That is right. You are now my body, my vehicle, and a far more suit- able one to my purposes than the slave I occupied before. Now Monj, the an- cient one, is properly housed.” A swift, blazing terror flashed through the part of Temple’s mind that was still his. He had held the lives and futures of hundreds of innocent persons in his hands and now that trust had been violated. But there was something else, some great discovery he had been on the verge of making that would completely change everything. It was something about the entities, about a doom they faced. Suddenly, frantically, he shut his mind to the thoughts. He had almost had it and he knew that if the solution reached the surface of his mind now, the terrible power of Monj would dis- cover and seize it. And if that happened Temple would have lost all hope of bargaining for freedom. “What was that?” The question flashed sharply across his mind. “You had a thought, then — something about solving the problems of the Xacrn’s future. Tell me what it was. Tell me, Temple, or I shall make your helpless body inflict tortures.” Desperately Temple fought to sub- merge the thought, to hide it from the deadly probing tentacles of the ruling force. For a moment his body reeled and staggered from the fury of the ter- rible psychic struggle in his brain. Decex Vard had said that sometimes an entity’s hold could be broken — but that was not reckoning with the greater strength of the leader, Monj. Slowly, inexorably, the secret was being probed out of Temple’s brain, stolen despite his every effort. THE struggle ended abruptly. There was an unbelievable interruption. Temple heard the glad accents of Lee Mason’s voice and turned to face her. His mind uttered a wild cry of happi- ness and raced across to take her in his arms. But his body, in the hands of Monj, stood motionless, stretching a traitor- ous hand, gloating as the victim stepped hesitantly forward to be seized. Tem- ple’s consciousness writhed and strug- gled and fought to break the deadly hold, to cry out a warning, but he was powerless. He could only face the inevitable conquest, helpless, as the brain-force of Monj swept out through the air, sum- moning a free entity to hasten and seize her brain. In a moment there would be no more free minds, no more resistance to the entities — only helpless slaves, forced to compete obedience of every com- mand. His hand lashed out and seized Lee’s wrists, drawing her forward despite her sudden realization and desperate strug- gle to break free. His mind cried out in agony while his lips laughed in tri- umph. Then something happened. It was as though the contact of his hand with Lee’s sent a new stream of energy through his nerve-paths to his mind. Coupled with his own desperation, it exploded a new surge of strength. He braced his mind against the solid rock of her nearness and fought the grasp of Monj, the conqueror. With every ounce of his will and determina- tion he sought to drive the entity out. Snarling, shrieking, threatening in soundless flashes of terrible thought, Monj resisted. Temple and Lee stood close together, their bodies frozen in rigidity as the terrible struggle went on

Page 81

82 STARTLING STORIES in Temple’s brain. Lee, sensing what was happening, poured the strength of her own confidence into his and inten- sified his efforts. Slowly they won. Slowly the entity retreated, losing grip after grip against the advancing force of Temple’s will. There was pain, terrible blinding ag- ony, and the sickening sensation of brain cells being tom from their rest- ing places by clutching tentacles. Suddenly it was over. With a last flame of resistance, Monj gave way and fled. Temple’s body was weak, trem- bling, bathed in cold perspiration. But his mind was his own again, and won- derfully clear. “You’ve won,” Lee gasped, clinging to him. "You’ve driven the entity away.” “But only for the moment,” Temple panted, holding her. “We’ve got to do something fast. Neither of us have any protection, now. I wouldn’t have the strength to go through that strug- gle a second time and there’ll be an- other entity along in a moment to seize your mind.” CHAPTER XX A Deal Is Made ^^^UICK!” Lee cried, tugging at his arm. “I know a way we can be safe for a little while, long enough to rest and make plans. Hurry !” She dragged him back along the way she had just come, urging him to greater speed as they raced down the glowing passage. “The radioactive lining ends back here a short distance,” she panted ex- planation. “Beyond that there’s enough air to keep us alive, and it isn’t too des- perately cold. If that stuff really is their insulation against cosmic rays, then the entities won’t dare follow us beyond the shielded part of the tunnel.” They burst past the last radiance and halted, gasping the thin air into starved lungs, in the darkness beyond. “Shouldn’t we go further back?” Lee asked, trembling. “I think this is far enough. They’d hardly dare risk even brief exposure to radiation so destructive and so unpre- dictable. Let’s sit down a moment while I try to think what we can do. Tell me how you happened to show up so unexpectedly, Sweet.” When she had finished, he nodded soberly. “Fate was certainly on your side, Lee. This seems to be an artificial passage. Probably at some time in the past the Vards tried mining operations as far out as the crater wall. It was sheer luck that you dropped into their shaft.” “Those poor Vards,” Lee whispered. “I still feel a little ill when I think of how placidly they submit to that cruel slavery simply because they understand that the entities can’t feel.” “Lee !” The walls of the tunnel echoed Temple’s thunderous shout as he sprang to his feet. “I’ve got it ! I’ve got the clue I missed before, the clue that kept nagging at me all the time. “Lee, I know now how the Xacms can be saved from their next step in evolution. Quick, start yelling for Monj. He’s probably gone back to his first body, and I’ve got to talk to him. I believe I can bargain us all out of this mess.” Their combined shouts echoed down the corridor and were finally echoed by the tramp of approaching feet. A mo- ment later the figure of Monj and his henchmen appeared, flanked by Vards. They hesitated suspiciously, some dis- tance back from the end of the glowing shield. “Will you to come back and submit now?” Monj demanded harshly. “Or do you prefer to stay where you are until cold and hunger have given you that ‘freedom’ you defend so strongly?” “We’ll come back,” Temple answered grimly, “on our own terms. Monj, I know how to save your race from doom. It’s the simplest possible solution but one your science wouldn’t discover in a billion eons, simply because it re- quires certain properties you Xacms don’t possess. Yet your planet is rich in them, only waiting for you to help yourself and find salvation.” “I don’t believe it,” Monj snapped. “It’s a trick to gain your freedom.” But he said it hesitantly, and there

Page 82

THE GODS HATE KANSAS was doubt showing on his face. “It’s no trick,” Temple answered. “You know it, too, because you caught a flash of it in my mind and nearly stole it from me then. You know I’m telling the truth. “If your race had only known or re- alized that our civilization is based on a different principle than the one of grab-and-conquer — whether some of us act like it or not — you could have had the secret long ago. “If you had asked, the whole world would have pitched in willingly to help supply what you needed, construct your ship and see you off for home with a new lease on life. Human beings are built that way. They’ll never be slaves, never learn the docile fatalism of your native Vards. “That’s why you could bring the whole Xacrn race here and conquer earth without ever actually conquering the human race. You’ve got to under- stand that, Monj, in order to under- stand your own salvation, in order to properly use the tools I can place in your hands.” “What is the secret?” Monj de- manded tensely, while his weird com- panions swayed forward in breathless eagerness. “How can the Xacrn race be prevented from evolving into obli- vion ?” “Uh-uh-uh!” Temple relaxed, grin- ning and waving a reproving finger. “No tickee — no washee, boy. We don’t give, we trade. “When we landed here, both Miss Mason and Rocossen had silver caps. The first thing you’ll have to do is get those caps and toss them to us. We want to come out and talk this over with you but not until we’re safe against seizure.” THERE was a long, nerve-racking silence. Then a Vard suddenly turned and shuffled back along the cor- ridor. Temple’s breath went out gustily. “The tide turns,” he whispered and squeezed Lee’s hand. “Do you really know the answer?” she demanded. “I really know it. Sweet. The answer to everything.” In a moment the Vard returned, and the two caps were tossed to them. They fitted them on with sighs of relief. “By the way,” Temple demanded. “What happened to Rocossen?” “He was sent back to earth in the smaller rocket as soon as he recovered. Thanks to your attack, the base we had established there seems too dangerous to maintain until we see what the reac- tion of your public may be. Rocossen was equipped with a wea- pon and instructed to bring back our most valuable instruments and plans. If necessary, we can remain here for a time until affairs are smoothed out. He will return soon.” “You hope,” Temple breathed. They moved warily from their point of safety, but neither the Vards nor the human slaves made any move to at- tack. In silence they moved back to the great domed hall with its rows of motionless humans. The detector was gone, now, but Temple could still see, in his mind’s eye, the endless swarms of hovering free entities, a potential menace to all humanity. “The secret,” Monj cried hoarsely. “Give us the secret, Temple. Quickly!” “First, how long will it take you to build your ship ana take off for Xacrn?” “With the secret in our possession,” Monj’s voice range with vibrant hope, “no more than a week. The larger rocket was built to form the hull of the new ship. It needs only the re- placement of the crude repulsion power by our space-warp mechanism to make the trip.” “I don’t understand it,” Temple shook his head. “Your world lies in- finite light-years away in space. Even traveling at the speed of light, which we believe is impossible, you would never reach home before millions upon millions of years had elapsed.” “Of course not,” Monj said impa- tiently. “Xacrn is impossibly distant in space and time but not in space-time. With our science, we can so warp the tapestry of space-time that our worlds are no more than a leap apart. “We shall be home within days, even though as you say, it is impossible for material substance to exceed the speed of light.” His hands extended plead- ingly. “But the secret, man! The secret!” “Will you agree to immediately re-

Page 83

84 STARTLING STORIES lease every human slave, withdraw all your fellow-Xacms from wherever they have been scattered over the earth and restore all Plague victims to normal life?” “We agree. After all, we have noth- ing to gain by doing otherwise. We sought only to accomplish our ends in a way that seemed necessary.” “Curt,” Lee whispered. “How can you be sure they’ll keep any promises they make? After all — ” “1 think they’ll keep them. There’s nothing inherently bad or dishonest in them. They simply know nothing but the achievement of a goal by any means within their power. With that goal reached, their own super-mentality should show them the futility of doing anything but going home.” He faced the thronged slaves and invisible entities, and his voice rang. “Then I give you the salvation of your race. Decex Vard, come up here by me.” When the great Vard had lumbered to his side, he threw an arm across the leathery body. “When you get home, do honor to this Vard, for it was from him I got the clue to your future salvation. “You Xacms began as normal body- mind combinations like this Vard but by forced evolution, a part of your race discarded physical bodies and became only super-minds. “Your doom lies in the fact that you can’t stop evolution from carrying your super-minds on into eternal energy. Your salvation lies in halting evolu- tion, retrogressing back to a point be- low the danger line.” “TS that all you offer?” Monj’s voice JL was harsh with disappointment. “We have recognized that obvious fact and tried for countless ages to accom- plish the impossible. It cannot be done. Our minds will not retrogress under any stimulus.” “Oh, but they will,” Temple re- torted, smiling. “You started existence as a complex bundle of thoughts and emotions. Your ideas and visions and dreams were all inextricably wrapped up in your emotions. “You started all this evolution in the first place under the driving stimulus of emotions — love and greed and am- bition. Then, as you went up the path, you discarded those emotional fibers from your minds at the same time, or even before, you discarded physical bodies. “You don’t know what feelings are today. You can’t love or pity or ad- mire. You aren’t even actually afraid of your own doom. You simply see it as an undesirable end to mental activ- ity, the only environment you know. "Monj, the key to your salvation lies in recapturing the lost emotions. You seize bodies, Vard and human, and con- trol them to your wills, but you have never once reached down and actually shared the emotions of that slave. “You never felt tired when he did, sick when he did. You never knew a surge of happiness when something pleased him or a pang of sorrow when he suffered.” “Certainly not,” Monj interrupted stiffly. “We are above those baser — ” “That is your answer!” Temple’s voice rang triumphantly. “Of course emotions are crude compared to men- tal perfection. But you could touch the emotional centers of those captive minds and feel with them if you de- sired, couldn’t you?’ “Of course, but — ” “Then the moment you do — the mo- ment you project baser impulses of raw emotion into your mental plane — you begin to retrogress, don’t you? Yet you won’t actually lose. You’ll gain. You’ll merge closer and closer until you and your Vards are again one body- mind and — ” “It is the key — the answer 1” Monj shouted suddenly, his face alight. “Retrogression without loss. No Vard will ever slip over the margin into in- finite energy. We shall became Vards again, but wiser, more capable Vards.” “And the poor Vards will no longer suffer from their slavery,” Lee cried, her eyes shining. “Curt, it means a new order of life for them. “They never wanted to lose their masters because the masters were a part of them. Now, blended as you suggest, they’ll all know happiness. Curt, it’s wonderful I” They stood in smiling silence for a time, knowing without being able to actually see, the ripple of excited

Page 84

THE GODS HATE KANSAS 85 thought-currents flashing among the massed entities. Suddenly Temple frowned. “Hey! I’m a dope. I forgot to add the demand that we all be transported back to earth again. And if they leave the small rocket behind, our science can use that as the basis for starting interplanetary exploration.” “You shall be returned to your homes,” Monj interrupted. “Every human, safe and unharmed. And the rocket, with its equipment, is yours as well. We shall — ” He broke off, reeling back as the dome suddenly reverberated to a re- sounding crash that rocked the walls. There were lighter crashes, a dull thud and then silence. “What on earth — ” Temple began. SUDDENLY the mouth of the tube leading out into the rocket hangar erupted figures, grotesque nightmarish forms that staggered and stumbled out into the room. Temple gaped and then roared with uncontrollable laughter. The ragged, tattered invaders were his friends. Allen Farge, battered and nearly unclothed, ran in the lead with a battered silver loving cup tied to his head and a shotgun against his hip. Behind him reeled Mullane, his brain shielded by a shapeless mass of ham- mered metal from which protruded the unmistakable tines of a silver fork and part of the bowl of a spoon. Next, bruised and blackened, was Jacobs with a jingling mat of silver coins bouncing against his head and a gigantic stillson wrench in his hand. The last man to stagger in was Ro- cossen, one arm in a crude sling and a blood-stained bandage surmounting his drawn face. But he was still able to crinkle his eyes in a grin at the sight of Temple and Lee. “We’re here,” Farge croaked, wav- ing the shotgun. “Rocky blasted off in the rocket and then passed out. We steered it by guess and by gosh, and we got lost in space and we finally landed fifty feet away from the landing cradle we were trying to hit — but, by jumping catfish, we landed it, and we’re here! Bring on your entities !” The great rocket drummed steadily on through space, the green globe of the moon dwindling in its smaller vision screen as the red-haloed ball of earth swelled in the larger. The fury of acceleration was past, and its pas- sengers could relax in weightless ease and talk of what had happened. Farge twisted in the control seat to grin back at Temple and Lee Mason, floating close together. “You got a long way from your first path, Curt. As I remember it, you told me once you started out to discover why the gods hated Kansas and threw so many stones at it. I still don’t get the answer to that. “The stones were space ships, fired from that pit you showed me by some kind of radiant energy we know noth- ing about, but why did they all hit Kan- sas? It’s a nice state, I grant you that, but why make it a target for a stone- fight?” “I took the time to get my first ques- tion answered,” Temple smiled back. “And it’s such a silly simple answer that I actually felt disappointed. The ‘gun’ that fired those entity-laden rocks at earth was set at an angle that would bring its projectiles into the path of earth’s orbit. “They used, as you say, a form of propellant energy we can’t comprehend — but it took the full blaze of sunlight to set off that energy. “The point where their launching gun was built lay on the floor of Plato, where the sun-line only reaches when the moon is in a certain definite part of its orbit. “It just happened that when the sun- light fell so they could fire the gun, Kansas happened to lie on that part of the earth that was in the path of the projectile’s flight at that particular juncture of time and space.” “I’ll be darned !” Farge gasped. “It’s an anticlimax, that’s what it is.” “Naturally we’ve been bombarded by other natural stony meteorites from the beginning of time. I imagine we’ll find their fall uniform enough to satisfy the laws of chance. It was only the addi- tional bombardment of Kansas that threw us off. But that’s over now, thank heaven.” Lee shuddered for a moment in his

Page 85

86 STARTLING STORIES arms, and her eyes closed. They were entering the first reaches of earth’s atmosphere, now, and sud- denly the screen in front of Farge showed a whipping streak of fire that flashed briefly and was gone. A meteorite, perhaps no more than a tiny grain of cosmic dust, had flamed and died in its path from the changeless stars. Farge saw it and recognized it, but remembering the things that had gone before, he decided not to say anything about the meteor. COMING IN THE NEXT ISSUE THE DEVIL'S PLANET A Full Book-Length Complete Scientiflction Novel of Murder Mystery on Mars By MANLY WADE WELLMAN

Page 86

Thumbnail Sketches of Great Men and Achievements By OSCAR J. FRIEND THE MAGICAL PRISM IT was the week of the county fair at Stourbridge, England, in the year 1666. Gay booths lined the streets and lanes, colored tents housed cur- iosities and freaks from all parts of the known world, gaudy Gypsy cara- vans dotted the green, bearded men from European hinterlands exhibited dancing bears and trained wolves, tumblers and wrestlers abounded. There were refreshments and confections and good old honest English ale to be had for the tuppence. Everywhere there was laughter and jollity. Lords and ladies and honest townsmen mingled freely with travelers and simple country bumpkins, all in- tent on seeking diversion, entertainment and excitement. Strolling through the merry throng, stop- ping now and then as an exhibit or a puppet show took their fancy for the moment, were two young men from Cambridge. The older of the pair, Isaac, had just the pre- vious year received his degree as bachelor of the arts. He was an earnest and studious Sir Isaac Newton young man with lofty brow and deep-set, piercing eyes who, although not yet twen- ty-four years of age, had already discov- ered mathematical laws subsequently to be called the binomial theorem and was even now working on the elements of dif- ferential calculus which he called Fluxions. “I say it’s high time you had a little recreation, Isaac,” spoke his companion, a merry-eyed chap. “Aren't you glad I brought you to the fair? Look yonder — that troupe of Austrian midgets! Isn’t that lively one in cap and bells a droll little fellow?” But Isaac was not listening. Already his eye had been attracted to the booth of a Swiss glass vender. Attracted by the pretty, glittering baubles, he was drifting toward the concession. “That oddly shaped pendant,” he said to the hawker, pointing at the object. “What sort of a crystal is it?” “That, sir, is a prism glass,” responded the Swiss with a heavy accent. “It is cut to imprison all the pretty colors of the rainbow. In the Emperor’s palace at Vienna there is a chandelier which has thousands of glasses like this. But I have only this one. It is very cheap— just a shilling, sir.” “I will take it,” said Isaac upon sudden impulse. “What do you want with that cheap piece of glass?” demanded his companion in disgust. “Why don’t you buy a genuine diamond?” Isaac was turning the foolish knick- knack over and over in his fingers, gently rubbing the polished facets of the crystal. “Who knows,” he replied, “perhaps the secret of the diamond is locked in here, John.” John snorted and led the way to more concrete pleasures. Isaac smiled toler- antly, put the prism into his pocket, and followed. But his mind was already toying with certain speculations.

Page 87

What was it that Rene Descartes had said about colors? What was it Johann Kepler had said in his “Diopterics” about passing a beam of light through a diffusing medium? What had this Swiss hawker just said about the imprisoned colors of the rainbow? That night Isaac could not sleep for thinking on the problem. Just what real relation did light have to color? How could the colors of the rainbow be im- prisoned in a bit of lifeless crystal? Even a diamond did not shine in the dark. It was dull and lusterless until sunlight or candle- light gave it life. That was it! Sunlight! The young thinker fairly threw himself out of bed and excitedly walked the floor as he waited for day to break. For centuries mankind had been trying to comprehend the secret of light, of sunbeams and rays from the stars. Since the dawn of intelligence man had gazed upon the rainbow and marveled at the colors without understanding them. And that Swiss hawker had prated about them being imprisoned in a soulless crystal. "Why, I myself, know that light is energy transmitted by wave motion through the medium of ether which pervades space,” he said aloud. For days Isaac wrestled with the prob- lem, going back over the theories of emi- nent thinkers who had lived before his time. And still he reached no satisfactory con- clusion. And then came that epic day he re- verted to the suggestion of Kepler. Why not try to pass a beam of sunlight through thiB prism he had so idly bought at the Stourbridge Fair and refract the diffused ray for observation? Tossing his lon^ curls impatiently out of his way, Isaac quickly but deftly arranged his study for the experiment. He darkened the room by closing the door and shutting all the windows. Then he placed a small table before the window through which the lowering sun shone full at this time of the year. Upon this table he lovingly placed the prism. Then he carefully cut a hole in the lower part of the blind to admit one beam of sunlight. Trembling now, not with anticipation of the results of this simple experiment, but with the implications of the profound thoughts and theories bubbling up in his mathematical mind, he carefully focused the ray of light upon his prism, much in the manner of a burning glass, and slowly moved the crystal until the refracted rays spread out fanlike across the carpet of the room and impinged on the opposite wall like a fairy polychromatic mist. Lol It was not a single beam of white light that glowed upon the wall. It was a broad band of glowing colors. Shaking in his excitement, Isaac stared in wonder. Ranging in order from red on one side to violet on the other, he counted the seven true colors of the spectrum — red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet. For a long moment he stared, lost in ad- miration. Then he tried reversing the magic prism, turning it over, shifting its position. He tried tne experiment another day. He used another prism which he procured. Another room. And the result was unvarying the same. The seven true colors of the spectrum did not change. He had proved conclusively that sunlight was not a beam of white light but was composed of seven true colors. There was no life in prisms or diamonds or rainbows or soap bubbles — only the refracted life of the incandescent sun I “In my judgment,” he murmured in awe, “this is the oddest, if not the most con- siderable detection that has recently been made in the operation of nature.” And he was right. While the secret of reading the stars and their mysterious light by means of the spectroscope lay more than one hundred and eighty years in the future, Sir Isaac Newton had laid the groundwork for the unveiling of the universe and had become the father of the science of astro- physics. INTO THE STRATOSPHERE CIRCUS day — about the turn of the century! A sturdy lad of eleven years stood at one side of the enclosure and watched with big eyes as a crew of roustabouts busily stoked an outdoor oven with wood. Suspended over the hot-air vent of the oven was the flapping mouth of a forty-foot bal- loon. Already the huge bag was inflating. Gangs of men hung on the guy ropes, steadying and holding the tugging, surging, filling bag. The good- natured crowd thronged around, some laughing, , some gazing in awe. But none gazed with greater reverence and excite- ment than the quiet little lad with the bulging optics. Professor Zanelli, the great aerialist, the muscular man in tights and with a luxu- riant pair of handle-bar mustaches, was going to make his great balloon ascension, perform on the trapeze in his death-defy- ing feat, and then descend to earth by parachute. At last the great bag was ready. The band struck up a martial air. Bowing grandiosely to his audience, the professor wiped his hands on a white silk handker- chief, gripped the bar of his trapeze, and gave a signal to the boss of the ground crew. The lines were released, and up into the air shot the great bag, carrying the aerialist far into the heavens to the ac- companiment of plaudits from the admir- ing crowd.

Page 88

The little lad with the big eyes did not applaud; he was too busy watching the ascent of the daring balloonist. He watched until his eyes ached in the warm afternoon sun, until a breeze finally carried the professor, gyrating and acting on his trapeze, out of sight. And then, perhaps a thousand feet in the air, after the balloon drifted back into view beyond the trees, there was a gasp from the crowd as the doll-like little figure fell from the hot-air bag and plummeted toward the ground. Then, as a woman screamed, a puff of white appeared magi- cally above the free-falling trapeze, and Professor Zanelli drifted safely to earth. The little lad blinked his eyes and swal- lowed the lump of excitement in his throat. “Some day," he vowed to himself, “I’m going to do that. Some day I’m going to go higher than Professor Zanelli.” Time passed, and came World War I. In 1917 the lad, now grown to vigorous man- hood, entered the army. In 1920 he was commissioned a captain and assigned to the air service. He flew heavier-than-air machines, but he never forgot his first love — the balloon. After the war he remained in the U. S. Army in the aeronautics department. He returned to his study of balloons. Becom- ing proficient, he represented the army in the Gordon Bennett balloon races in 1926, winning second place. But still he was not satisfied. He still cherished that burning ambition to ascend higher than any other man. And at last, on a cold and bleak day, the second of November, 1927, he made his third and last attempt to break the existing altitude record. Armed only with a few scientific in- struments, clad only in the warmest clothes he could bundle in without too greatly hampering his movements, from Scott Field at Belleville, 111., he ascended — in an open basket! Alone and daring, unprotected by the elaborate safeguards and the air-tight gon- dolas in use today, he made his bid for fame. Up, up, higher into the blue he sailed, dropping ballast, valving his bal- loon, adjusting his few instruments, striv- ing to reach higher, much as Icarus sought to fly to the sun. Higher than man had ever risen before, up until his nose and ears and fingers froze, until his heart labored and his lungs panted for oxygen, he rose. Now he was seeing Mother Earth spread out below him as no man had ever seen her before. And higher still he sent his balloon until the bag reached the utmost limit of its lifting power. 42,470 feet, his instrument said. A trifle more than eight miles above sea level. But he paid the ultimate price for his temerity and daring. His fearless heart could not stand the strain, his lungs could not take in enough oxygen. Bleeding severely at tihe nose, turning blue from suffocation, he crumpled down after a last look about him. He had made good his boyhood vow, and he died with a slight smile about his lips. The wrecked balloon was recovered the next day, and the reading taken from his instruments. The man himself was no more. But Captain Hawthorn C. Gray had earned his place among the immortals by being the first man to ascend into the stratosphere ! Samn-CIJN FOR MICROBES IT WAS a day in early fall in Baltimore in 1936 and a fog from the bay made the city dismal and gloomy. In the research laboratory of the Johns Hopkins Medical School, oblivious to the external gloom, a young man and a young woman stood at a table and surveyed four groups of very sick white mice. Both of them were doctors, but this was no professional call on the sick, that is, in the accepted sense of the word. For these mice had been made ill at their specific orders. The laboratory assistant had, some eight hours before, infected the four batches of rodents by shooting them in the belly with four different types of the deadly streptococcus family. Heretofore, this had always been tantamount to a wholesale execution, a purge such as would have given the crudest tyrant pause. For nobody had even seen a mouse recover from this sort of infection if treatment was delayed more than four hours. And even then the mortality rate was discour- aging. At least, it was to Dr. Perrin Long and Dr. Eleanor Bliss. For they were experts

Page 89

on the streptococcus and misanthropists on the efficacy of anti-strep serums. But something new had come into their lives. In the summer they had attended the microbiologist’s convention in London where they had heard more of the flying rumors about that new German drug called “prontosil”. A chance chat with the English biologist, Ronald Hare, had brought to light the fact that Hare had been at death’s door from a strep infection and had been saved by prontosil. Long, noted for his bound- less enthusiasm, was at once ready to carry on his research along these new lines. He had dispatched cables and letters home immediately. And now, armed with the complex orange dye called prontosil and a supply of the mother drug from which the dye had been made — a coal-tar product called para-amino-benzene-sulfon- amide— he was ready to get down to busi- ness with his co-worker. “How shall we begin. Doctor?” asked Dr. Bliss, surveying the miniature battle- field. “Setting aside half of each batch for controls,” replied Long, “suppose we in- ject half of the rest with prontosil and treat the remaining half orally with the mother- chemical.” Promptly they set to work, using all possible precautions — for streptococcus was a deadly foe to both mice and men. Subcutaneously half of the selected sick mice were shot with prontosil S. The other half were given the mother-com- pound with the jaw-breaker name by way of mouth. Then the rest was simple. They had already tested the chemical across the deadly microbe in the test tube and found that it merely inhibited the growth of the germs for about eighteen hours — after which Mr. Strep began to multiply fruitfully by the millions. Jumping this unsatisfactory negative test, Drs. Long and Bliss had proceeded to the use of their own old living test tubes, mice. Every hour they drew a drop of blood swarming with streptococci from each mouse to examine under the microscope and possibly cast a short-term horoscope for Mr. Rodent. And then, suddenly, the miracle happened. On that microscopic battlefield there appeared — between studies — an attacking wave of phagocytes, the blood’s army of microbe-eating white cells. Repelled up to now by something about the ferocious streptococci, the phagocytes had recovered their fighting morale and were devouring the malignant enemy left and right. “What do you make of that?” murmured Dr. Bliss, amazed. Long himself was somewhat perplexed. “It seems that the chemical, in itself not deadly to strep, must soften ’em up enough and paralyze their output of poison so that the phags will attack." Hour after hour the pair of intent workers followed the progress of the rag- ing battle, their map a microscopic field, their artillery hypodermic syringes, their battleground tiny drops of mousey blood. Never did any staff of generals check a war more closely. And then, hours later, the two inde- fatigable researchers smiled wearily at each other. The battle had been won. Eight out of every ten mice treated re- covered. All of the control mice died. Now at last Dr. Long waxed enthusiastic. “Doctor Bliss,” he cried, his eager eyes shining, “at last we have the greatest drug discovery since Erhlich’s magic bullet.” It was on the eighth of September that this first experiment was completed. Upon that day there came to the laboratory a grave-faced physician. He had heard of the research work the two young scient- ist doctors were following. “Dr. Long,” he said anxiously, “I am a baby doctor. I have a little patient, eight years old. She is dying of erysipelas. I’ve tried everything — transfusions, antitoxins — all I can think of, and she is going to die. Will this prontosil stuff work?” The Long family had always been long on doctors. Without stopping to weigh the consequences, Long let his medical sympathies outrun his scientific caution. He grabbed up a satchel full of supplies and hurried with the doctor of pediatrics to the hospital where the little patient lay at the mercy of the deadly disease. At once he set work on this new battlefield. Risking everything on what his common sense told him, Dr. Long administered the new-old drug. Trembling, the two men watched through the hours, and, having cast the die, administered prontosil every four hours. They were risking their reputa- tions, possibly their very futures on this daring treatment. Then, within eight hours the deadly flame of erysipelas waned on that little cheek. Phagocytes mobilizing. Watch the temperature, nurse. Was this new-old chemical going to prove a shotgun for all sorts of bacterial diseases? Thirty-six hours passed. It was like a lifetime. And then — the miracle had hap- pened again. Free from the terrible fever, the child began to mend rapidly. She re- covered, to be the first human patient treated with prontosil in the United States. Once more science had triumphed, re- search and hope and prayer had been re- warded. The way was yet long and ardu- ous and the end was not yet. Dr. Long had many a weary hour to spend in experiment and research and edu- cation. There were to be fatalities, de- tours, medical objections, but the way was opening for the miracle treatment of strep- tococcus infection, arthritis, childbed fever, staphylococci, pneumonia, meningi- tis, and others. “Thank God, Dr. Long!” breathed the baby doctor when the terrible vigil was over. "Let’s go have a cup of coffee. What did you say was the name of the mother-chemical ?” “It is becoming generally known as sul- fanilamide,” answered Dr. Long simply. "And I know now that several hundred mice have served a good purpose by their deaths.”

Page 90

LAST LAUGH By ROBERT BLOCH Author of “ The Man Who Walked Through Mirrors “The Curse of the House ” etc. Angus Breen, choking with fear, faced the bodiless head of Martin Vail Angus Breen Exiled Martin Vail to a Death on a Runaway Planet-But His Ambitions Ran Away With Him! ANGUS BREEN, controller of the Cosmic Research Division L of Interplanetary Colonies, In- corporated, laughed pleasantly as he brushed his hair. Why shouldn’t he laugh? He was preparing to sit down to a hearty breakfast. But that wasn’t all. Today was the last possible day in the time limit set that Martin Vail could return from Hystero to prevent Breen’s legal acquisition of his prop- erties, insurance, and inventions. Of course, Breen had promptly taken over things after Vail’s depar- ture. Everything belonging to his brilliant subordinate was now in Breen’s control. But today made pos- session absolutely legal. So Angus could well afford to smirk at his fat- faced reflection in the mirror and laugh out loud. Suddenly the laugh choked in his throat, the smirk froze on his features. In his ears there sounded an ear-split- ting crash outside his window, a crash that jarred and shook every beam in his ornate penthouse residence. A stratosphere liner or a small space ship had landed in his backyard. Offhand, this statement would seem

Page 91

92 STARTLING STORIES silly. Not to Controller Angus Breen. The pudgy little controller’s back yard was a mile-square area atop the gigantic Cosmic Research Plant, and the experimental space vessels return- ing from the exploration of other planets came to rest there regularly. But they didn’t come down with a crash — and they didn’t appear un- scheduled! Angus Breen scowled and put down his hairbrush. If some drunken in- truder had landed by mistake on the scientific sanctuary of his roof — well, the interloper was slated to lose his license, that was all. The controller’s pudgy face creased unpleasantly as he strode toward the glass wall that was his window. He stared out at the crumpled hulk lying on the sodded roof yards away from the nearest land- ing cradle. “Well, I’ll — I’ll be eternally damned!” exclaimed Mr. Breen, his fat features whitening. A pretty accurate prediction, at that. For Controller Breen was an excellent candidate for damnation, al- though nobody on Earth knew that. But right now he was a better can- didate for stark amazement. He was looking at something he had never ex- pected to see again. Martin Vail’s space ship! Vail — the scientific explorer he had sent to cer- tain death. Vail, who had been com- missioned to land on Hystero! HYSTERO — aptly named, because it had appeared out of nowhere to disrupt the Pleiades, whirling in a gaseous orbit that betokened its ar- rival as a strange, cosmic intruder in the galaxy. Breen had sent Vail to explore Hys- tero, knowing that he would die. The planet had never been observed, let alone studied. Its surface conditions were unknown. It appeared in immi- nent danger of exploding, this run- away planet from another system passing by the Solar family like a ship steaming past an island. So Breen had sent Vail there “for the sake of Science.” And after send- ing him, went home and appropriated Vail’s properties. He knew that Vail would never come back. Yet here he was. Here was the ship, a long silver splinter resting on the roof. A dagger thrown from the sky. A dented dag- ger— for the sides of the vessel were scarred and pitted by the meteoric stones of space. The entire surface appeared to be crusted with a con- gealed, silvery fuzz, attesting to the heat and friction of the voyage. Controller Angus Breen didn’t take a second look. He buzzed the Obser- vation Tower to signal that he knew of the vessel's arrival, and barked a brief message. “Don’t send a crew up. I’ll tak.e over myself.” No one else must witness this meet- ing between himself and Vail. Vail had returned, and if he should suspect now why he had been sent — Breen buckled on his drug-gun, felt for the clip of opium needles with which it was loaded. He might face violence. “Well, let’s get it over with,” the fat Controller muttered, as he strode out on the roof. Wind fluttering his white jacket, he waddled up to the ship’s side. The port was sealed. There was a lever on the side, but Breen, impatient as he was, didn’t pull it at once. He knew the heat generated by the friction of speed through space; could feel it ra- diating yet from the ship’s silver sides. Pulling out his gloves, he let his asbestos-clad fingers release the catch and throw out the metal ladder lead- ing up to the port. He climbed, pull- ing out his master-key — for ordinarily the ports of a spaceship can be opened only from the inside. Safety measure. Only men like Controller Breen had master keys. Only men like Control- ler Breen could send others to their death in space ships. . . . But Angus Breen didn’t want to think about that. He had supposed Vail dead, and now he had come back, alive. Sometimes plans go wrong. “Get it over with,” he muttered again, clutching his drug-gun. Then he pulled the airlock door open and hauled his heavy body up until he could step inside. A breath of synthetic air smote him as his feet touched the floor of the ship’s interior. It was dark. He

Page 92

LAST LAUGH 93 snapped on the lights. The long narrow cabin was immac- ulate. No signs of scarring, no inner damage. No signs of life, either. At one end of the little chamber was the great silver control-board. Before it was the piloting chair. But where was Vail? The cot was empty, the bunks un- tenanted. Had the ship returned alone ? Why wasn’t Vail at the door to greet him? After a month’s con- finement in these steel prisons poised in space, men usually were clamoring for release. Breen had seen them bab- bling with ecstasy as they fought their way out to solid earth. But no Vail. Only the empty cham- ber, the chair, and the control-board. Angus Breen’s eyes cut through the glare. And then he saw the back of Vail’s head, over the top of the piloting chair that faced the controls. “Vail !” he barked. The head didn’t move. Was he unconscious? Was he — this would be almost too much to hope for — dead? Breen didn’t know. “Vail!” he called again. And then something rustled in the shadows of a wall shelf. Angus Breen nearly jumped out of his skin — no mean feat, considering his weight. Then he relaxed. Vail, sentimental- ist, had taken his cat. Comet, on the voyage. Comet jumped down from the shelf and Breen saw horror. The cat, the gray cat, walking on mincing feet across the floor, had no head! It was a headless feline that blun- dered over the surface of the cabin, and in a ghastly moment arched its back and rubbed its living fur against Controller Breen’s leg. Breen shuddered terribly, forced himself to look down at the appari- tion. He saw where the neck ended in a little silver cap, like the cover of a tin can. One or two wire ends stuck up from the interior of the sil- ver cap. But the beast was headless. Headless — yet alive ! It was to escape this monstrosity that Breen moved toward the controls. He wasn’t thinking so vividly of Vail, and he almost unconsciously put out his hand to pat Vail on the shoulder over the back of the piloting chair. His groping hand encountered — nothing. He felt again, eyes still on that headless horror of a cat. Again his hands met empty air. Vail’s head did not turn. And Angus Breen, choking with startled fear, moved around until he faced the front of the piloting chair. Faced — the bodiless head of Vail! Clamped with steel sutures against the top of the chair, fastened with a system of cords and wires leading from the severed neck, throat studded with glass and rubber tubing, the head of Martin Vail stared up at Angus Breen with a glassy smile. Controller Breen stared back, stared into open eyes, open mouth. Stared, and stared, and stared — ffiWOW are you, Breen?” MM No. That couldn’t be. The lips moving, and the metallic voice that wasn’t Vail’s, coming from Vail’s throat. “What’s the matter, Breen? Sur- prised?” “Y — yes — ” whispered Breen. “Never thought you’d see my face again, eh? Well, that’s just about all you are seeing, at that.” “Vail — don’t joke about this.” “Joke? That’s what it is, isn’t it? A joke.” The face smiled. Breen stared into the smiling visage with a sick dread in his heart. Vail’s expression had changed. No, his hair hadn’t turned white overnight, and there was no network of wrinkles etched in agony. The change was the agony in the eyes, and yet they were laughing. The fat man shivered. He saw where the silver wires en- tered the neck like shining strands of veins and arteries; saw that they ex- tended down into the seat of the pilot- ing chair, which appeared to have been scooped out and then re-covered after the wires had been run through them. The eyes of the head suspended in space stared into his, following his glance. “Clever, isn’t it? Looks crude — like the early Russian experiments we used to read about in school. They

Page 93

94 STARTLING STORIES used a saline solution for dogs’ heads, or something of the sort, didn’t they? This is much better.” Angus Breen didn’t look as though he thought this was much better. He could only gaze in fear at the decapi- tation that spoke. It wasn’t Vail’s voice. What does speech sound like without lungs? It was a metallic burr. That silver tub- ing in the throat might account for it. The nostrils didn’t move. No breath- ing. Chemical life. Bloodstream fed through wires and tubing. A self-sus- taining solution. Fragments of chemical biology fil- tered through Breen’s brain. Just fragments, filtering through the greater bulk of the pure horror which held it. “Vail — what happened? Why — this?” Vail laughed. The head on the clamps atop the chair shuddered. “Sorry, but it hurts to laugh. I forget that sometimes; you understand?” Breen nodded. Understand — how could he understand? He wanted to run; wanted to tear his eyes away from that living head and flee. He had made that head what it was by sending Vail on that perilous mission. Vail’s eyes showed he knew that. And while the head couldn’t harm him, Angus Breen was still afraid. “Go on,” said Controller Angus Breen, hoarsely. “Go on.” “I followed your orders, and the temporary charting,” droned the metallic voice. “The voyage itself doesn’t matter. Oh, I know you’re in- terested. I thought it was important myself at the time. Took it all down in the chart-book. So if you want de- tails, look there. The whole of the observations are recorded. “But they’re not important to me any more. And I doubt if they’ll be important to you, after you hear the rest of my story. Who wants to read a roadmap that leads to Hell?” That metallic whinny could only be laughter, Breen knew. It sickened him. “I have something else to tell you, Breen. About Hystero itself. I landed, you know. The surface is solid enough, and after a preliminary observation I saw that oxygen masks wouldn’t be necessary. That’s how Comet happened to leave the ship and come along with me.” V 'AIL’S eyes indicated the cat. .Breen glanced down, saw the headless creature with the tin-can over an empty throat. A feeling of being in a nightmare came over him. Vail was buzzing on. “I’ll condense it. Hurts to talk, and nothing’s important except my mes- sage. Hystero is inhabited. By men, if you choose to call them that.” Breen got excited. “Men? Why, there’s never been another body dis- covered that has men on it! Vail — do you realize what this discovery may mean?” “Yes,” said the head. “But you don’t. Not yet. There are some men one doesn’t bother too much. Nor study. I didn’t think so at first. I thought I’d blundered into a higher race. They had cities, you know, and a civilization. They wore clothes, and talked, and communicated in other ways. “That’s how they understood me, Breen. Telepathic communication. Their speech is too difficult to learn. Other habits are difficult to under- stand, too— but it isn’t important to talk about them.” “What do you mean, it isn’t im- portant?” Angus Breen exploded. Al- ready avarice was overcoming his ini- tial fear. Why, publicization of this discovery would make him famous! “Why, everything about this new planet and race is important.” “No,” said the head of Vail. “Only one thing is important. What they did to me.” The drone in the voice deepened. So did the dreadful inten- sity of Vail’s stare. It held Breen’s eyes riveted. “You see what they did to me,” Vail said. “Do you know why?” “No.” “For a joke.” “Joke?” “Yes. Now do you understand? These are men, but men far in advance, mentally, of earthly beings. Minds above so much that interests us and our lesser intelligences. For ex- ample, on Hystero there is no music,

Page 94

LAST LAUGH 95 no art. Those beings read no books. Their minds are beyond that; they find no stimulation in the synthetic. “They are no longer interested in what we call ‘civilization.’ They don’t want to build higher buildings any more, or bigger factories, or make more ‘money.’ They are quite above those qualities we call ‘patriotism’ or ‘idealism’ or even ‘love’ — though they understand such mental attitudes per- fectly.” “What do they find interest in?” Breen asked. “Jokes.” “Jokes?” Breen echoed weakly. “Yes. And since there is cruelty in humor, and a certain reality, they are cruel. As the ancient Roman emperors who had everything became cruel in their humor. Like Caligula. They have a sense of irony. “I found that out. Here was I, a stranger from another world. Did they fear me? No — for they were too clever to know fear. Did they wor- ship me, like savages? Again, no. Their reactions were not our human reactions at all. Nor did they study me. They weren’t even curious. The intricate science of their civilization no longer exists as a means of learn- ing. They wanted to use it only to play a joke.” VAIL paused an instant, as though to draw breath — breath no longer needed. “That’s what they did to me, Breen. They played with me, like a child plays with its toys. They took Comet, here, and examined her. There are no animals on Hystero. And they began to experiment. You see what that experiment leads to, don’t you? “They wanted to keep this strange living thing animate after removing its brain. A sort of puzzle for them, a game. That kind of curiosity, the same curiosity which men used to manifest centuries ago when they took automobiles and radios apart, tin- kered with them, and put them back together again. So they did that to Comet. And they did this to me !” Breen shivered as he saw the eyes of the head, saw them moisten with ghastly tears. Vail went on, with a terrible smile. “So you’ve had your way, Breen, haven’t you?” "What — what do you mean?” “You sent me out there knowing I’d be killed, didn’t you?” “No — no — ” “Oh, why bother to lie? I can’t harm you now, can I?” Breen couldn’t check a grin that broke through. That was true. He fingered his drug-gun. There was no danger in Vail any more. There was, instead, a definite value. Breen thought of calling in the scientists, all his fellow-workers and superiors. Exhibiting Vail’s head. Telling the story. Conducting a research of the processes that kept him alive, bodiless. Perhaps mastering the technique him- self. It was all simple chemistry, biology, and surgery. Why not? And meanwhile, Vail’s possessions were his. There were just a few things he wanted to find out first. He might as well admit it. “I guess you’re too clever for me. Vail?” he chuckled. “It’s true. I didn’t think you’d come back. But there was nothing underhanded in my sending you — I swear it. You were the best, the bravest; you had the en- durance. And I’m glad you made it. Glad, even in spite of your — accident.” “It was no ‘accident’ as you call it.” The droning laugh was mirthless. “Any more than it was an ‘accident’ that I came back.” “Yes, I meant to ask about that. Why did they let you go? Why did they send you back?” “Because of their sense of humor,” said Vail. “They sent me back to kill you.” “Kill me? Why?” Breen was shocked, trembling unaccountably. “I told them the story. Told them you sent me. How they laughed at me. They psycho-analyzed you — through me. Turned you inside out. They proved to me that you never expected me to return, that your mo- tive was to steal my parabola warp and my property. Do you deny it?” THE fool ! He knew! Breen’s pudgy fingers tightened on the drug-gun. Then he smiled. He re-

Page 95

96 STARTLING STORIES alized he had nothing to fear from a mere bodiless head, clamped to a metal chair. “So they let you go,” he whispered. “Like this.” “Yes. When I got over the shock and saw the humor of it I told them what a fine situation it would be. What a glorious joke. The idea, you see, appealed to their prime instinct — their sense of humor. That’s why they let me come back to kill you.” Now Breen knew. Vail was mad. Those eyes proved it. “Sense of humor, see Breen? You didn’t expect me. Seeing me like this would startle you, then make you con- fident I was out of the way. And I’d talk to you. Tell you what masters of surgery and chemistry these crea- tures were. How they could control the body. How they could make a cat live without a head. How they could make a head live without a body. How they could keep a heart beating or a leg moving without any other con- trol than the proper wires and tubes. And I knew you’d listen; would be- lieve me without guessing what I was driving at. And that I could kill you. “That’s what I’ve been thinking about. A month is a long time to go on this way, living as I have. Looking out into space and watching the chart as I came back. Knowing what I was, remembering my agony — only one thing kept me going. The thought of killing you. I have acquired some of their sense of humor now, you see. The time has come for me to laugh.” “You — ” Breen spluttered. “You can’t kill me. You can’t move!” “How did you think I got the ship back through space?” whispered Vail. “My head directed it, yes. But brains, with all the Hysteroan surgical cun- ning, can’t make a ship steer by thought alone.” “What steered your ship?” Breen whispered. The answer loomed suddenly be- hind him, a horrible answer that gripped Breen’s throat and pressed and choked his life away. While he had been talking with Vail’s head, Vail’s great body had come silently forward from the after part of the ship, functioning precisely like the body of the cat, and had seized him. The horrified controller stared at the ghastly monstrosity with a silver cap instead of a head on the neck stump — a thing animated by the diabolic sur- gery of a strange and runaway planet — a hulking horror that was strangling him to death. . . . Breen was almost dead when, through the roaring in his ears, he heard the head of Martin Vail laugh. At the same moment he felt one grop- ing paw of the headless monstrosity release his throat and slide down to grip his right hand and start jerking it up and down. “Yes,” cackled the head of Vail, “a marvelous sense of humor. We all have it. You sent me to my death. They cut off my head. So I told them I’d come back to Earth on one condi- tion— that they’d fix it so I could shake hands with you again." The laughter rose madly long after Breen’s life had ebbed away. And in the darkening cabin of the space ship the headless body continued, auto- matically, to pump Breen’s dead hand in a gesture of greeting. Pepsi-Colo is mode only by Pepsi-Cola Company, long Island City, M. Y. Bottled locally by authorized bottlers.

Page 96

SCIENCE 'fhjin “Wl i ai#iU\, box CHEMURGY AND HYDROPONICS Editor, SCIENCE QUESTION BOX: Just what is the difference between these hydroponics?— D. B., Little Rock, Ark. Briefly, chemurgy’s basic purpose is to ad- vance the use of farm materials in Industry through three mediums — new uses for current crops, new markets for wastes and by-prod- ucts, and new crops for new or already es- tablished uses. Chemurgy deals with a science of the soil. Hydroponics, on the other hand, is the method of crop production through the use of a liquid medium, hence, the name hydro, from Shailow trays are filled with water, re- enforced with the required various nutri- ent salts, and a seedbed of vegetable matter, sometimes even excelsior, is prepared on a wo new branches of science — chemurgy and wire netting just above the chemicalized water. Great strides have been made in this soilless sort of agriculture since 1927. The Heinz Company had a splendid exhibit at the New York World’s Fair, 1989 and 1940; a series of tanks grow certain vegetables on the otherwise unarable Wake Island for the Pacific clipper ships, and many private in- dividuals have their own hydroponlcal gar- dens on roof tops. Contrary to popular belief, this science is not new, nutrient solutions having been used extensively to grow plants in experimental studies for the greater part of the past sev- enty-five years. MONAZITE Editor, SCIENCE QUESTION BOX: What is monazite and how is it used? — W. M., Tucson, Ariz. Monazite is an ore produced from Brazil, the Dutch East Indies, and India. It was formerly in demand as a source of thorium for the old-style incandescent gas mantles. Falling gradually into disuse due to the ad- vent and growth of electric lighting, it has of late years become of increased importance by the use of thorium in radio tubes. The greatest output comes from Travancore, India. The United States imports an average of bet- ter than a million pounds per year of this substance. THE ELECTRONIC MICROSCOPE Editor, SCIENCE QUESTION BOX: How does the electronic microscope In this instrument a beam of high speed electrons is used instead of ordinary light, the electrons being focused in suitable mag- netic fields instead of the usual lenses. With- out going into a complicated discussion on the construction of the instrument, briefly, it works thus: The smallest object which can be seen through an ordinary microscope must have a length or size comparable to the wave length of the light used. Down in the small- work? — J. J., Raleigh, N. C. ness beyond this point light simply fails to reach. With ordinary light this limit is about ree or four hundred thousandths of an inch, ectron waves are so much shorter than light waves that magnifications of twenty thousand diameters are possible, and probably more. This instrument promises to be a wonder- ful bodn in the future study of filterable viruses, the structure of bacteria, the com- position of metals, etc. SIZE OF THE EARTH Editor, SCIENCE QUESTION BOX: How did the ancients compute the size and weight of the earth?— S. J. L., Peoria, 111. There were doubtless several ingenious methods employed, the ancients proving quite adroit without the use of the modern pre- cision scientific instruments. One method em- ployed by an early Greek philosopher was to start with the premise that Earth was a sphere. Next, he imagined a line girdling its surface, on the order of our present equator, save that it passed through two cities on the same meridian, or whose latitudes and longi- tudes were known to him. Thanks to tax col- lectors who meticulously measured every mile. he knew the precise distance between the two towns. Computing the curvature of the earth for this distance, by checking meridian shad- ows with the sun, he had the scant arc of a section of his imaginary line. By simple geo- metric formulae he computed the line to be approximately twenty-five thousand miles long, and thus worked out the volume of the sphere. True, he was wrong by miles and thousands of tons, but it is remarkable how narrow was his margin of error. In this department the editors of STARTLING STORIES will endeavor to answer your questions on modern scientific facts. Please do not submit more than three queslons in your letter. As many questions as possible will be answered here, but the editors cannot undertake any personal correspondence. Naturally, questions of general interest will be given the preference. Address your questions to SCIENCE QUESTION BOX, STARTLING STORIES. 10 East 40th Street. New York City. 97

Page 97

THE BONELESS HORROR By DR. DAVID H. KEELER Author of “No More Friction,” “The Toad God,” etc. I HE Emperor of Gobi sat proudly on his marble throne. Below him on the Steps of the first Magnitude sat the Seven Wise Men, on whom the Emperor depended for the wel- fare of his realm and the continued power of his dynasty. On the other Steps of Magnitude, of two down to seven, stood the nobles of the realm, all of them selected because of some brilliant achievement adding to the splen- dor of Gobi. One after the other the Seven Wise Men read from parchment scrolls the record of their departments for the past month, and the Emperor praised them all for what they had done. Especially did he give credit to the Royal Mathematician, the Royal Engineer and the Royal Geographer ; for these three men, separately and in uni- son, presented the plans they had prepared for the destruction of the Land of Mo, that great Kingdom of the South, which dared to dispute with Gobi the supremacy of the world. EDITOR'S NOTE Some stories are forgotten almost as soon as they are printed. Others stand the test of time. Because "The Bone- less Horror" by Dr. David H. Keller, has stood this test, it has been nominated for SCIENTIFICTION'S HALL OF FAME. In each issue, for several forthcoming numbers, we will reprint one of the most outstanding fantasy classics of all time, as selected by our readers. We hope in this way to bring a new prominence to the science fiction gems of yesterday and to perform a real service to the science fiction devotees of today and tomorrow. The Emperor of Gobi had issued orders that Mo must not only be conquered, but actually destroyed, and for months the three Wise Men in charge of these depart- ments of Mathematics, Engineering and Geography had studied over the problem. Now, they had a plan — a good plan, and at the end of it Mo would be no more. There was one flaw in the beauty of the plan; namely, the time needed to accom- plish it. Tunnels had to be dug under the sea and beneath the great gulfs of water, separation had to be made of Mo from Gobi. Even though all of the slaves and all the machinery and the great skill of Gobi were put to work, many years would pass before the desired end would be accom- plished. So, the face of the Emperor darkened. He was now passing his fifty-ninth birth- day, and he knew that ere thirty more years faded away he and his Seven Wise Men, and all who had helped him make Gobi great, would be worm food and dust in their golden coffins, or else so old that their greatest worry would be the dragging of decrepit bodies through another day. Of all his illustrious fathers, but one thing remained certain; that was that they lived a while and then died. Thinking thus, his face grew hard and sad, and he chewed the end of his mus- tache in such a. way as to make the Royal Barber tremble. Finally he cried: “All of your plans are folly and your thoughts foolish vanity, for who of us will be here to see this ending of our enemy thirty years from now? What comfort if a few of us live, yet lack the mental power to glory in our triumph? Give us youth, take away from us the weight of the years gone by, and there would be satis- faction in the perfecting of your plans. “Give me youth! Take from my shoul- ders the weight of years, from my head the whitened hair, from my face the little wrinkles, fateful handwriting of Time the Conqueror. Then you can destroy Mo. Which of you Seven Wise Men can make a man young?” Silent, the Seven looked at each other, Addling their fingers and toying nervously with the dragonian rings, emblem of the immortality, that they believed in but A. Fantasy Masterpiece Nominated

Page 98

saw wm of the screw would loosen the compressed air, the map thirty feet into the air. As the map would i pressure of which would raise the Ise, so would all of Gobi. lacked. The dragon, swallowing his tail in the never-ending, ever-beginning symbol of fadeless youth, made the golden ring sacred to the Seven and to their Emperor who had a like ring — carved from a single garnet, while theirs were only gold. Then the ruler from His throne com- manded that seven of his slaves be brought in. These he had his Chief Executioner kill in seven various ways, by the silken cord, decapitation, the bleeding from the wrists, the pouring of molten lead in the ear, the golden needle stuck slowly past the eyeball, the placing of one drop of poi- son on the tongue, and finally, the frightful death by command, wherein the Mighty Ruler orders that the man die, and he dies from fear of being disobedient. When the seven dead bodies of the slaves lay stretched on the floor of the palace, the Emperor rose and whispered: “I can give death, but I cannot make myself live on till I see the ending of Mo. Seven Wise Men; am I Ruler?” The seven bowed low before him. “Then pay attention. Meet me in three months, and at that time tell me how to prolong my life tenfold so I can glory in the conquering of the country that I hate so much. Do this, or I shall kill the Seven Wise Men, and other men will take their dragonian rings. And the manner of your death shall not be as easy as was that of these seven slaves. You shall be weeks in the ending of life, and all that time you shall have due cause to reflect over your lack of intellect in that you could not make me live on long enough to glory in the fall of Mo. You are all wise men, and you have worked well for the Land of Gobi, but all of your wisdom will not suffice unless you give this immortality to me.” BOWING their heads, they withdrew from his presence, stepping aside so that their silken robes should not touch the dead bodies of those who had died to teach for Sc« entif action's Hall of Fame!

Page 99

them how they could go on living. Other slaves came and removed the car- rion, and the Nobles left the great hall. At the last, only the Emperor sat there. He rang a gong, and at that summons came the High Priest, a man who knew all the wisdom of the Gods, and what he did not know he would not admit. The Emperor permitted him to sit near him. “Tell me again, Norazus,” the Emperor asked, “about the dragon whose ring I wear.” “This dragon lives far to the north of Gobi,” the High Priest began. “He lives perpetually with his tail in his mouth, thus, never reaching either an ending or a begin- ning, but going in a circle which is an emblem of eternity, of immortal life. Yet is he nothing like everlasting, for every seventh year he lays seven eggs in the sands of the desert. “Of these seven he selects one which he swallows, hatching it out in the heat of his stomach. When it ripens, the new dragon eats the old one and emerges from his in- ner gut. But his body is the soul of the old dragon and in his head the wisdom of the ages. And, thus, is the life of the dragon renewed every seven years by means of a new body, but the skin of the old dragon lies dried and bloodless on the ever-shift- ing sands.” “A pretty tale, Norazus, but is it true?” The two men looked at each other. Then the Priest whispered: “What if I showed you eggs of the dra- gon, some of the six that he discards and leaves to turn to stone?” “Eggs or stone, what boots it? How can you tell the dragon egg from the giant auk, or the dodo, or other birds that my wise men prate of?” “Some things must be taken on faith.” “What is that? A bubble for children. We are wise. I wear this dragon ring be- cause it is the emblem of power. My father and his before him wore this ring, but we must seek elsewhere for life everlasting. The dragon may know how to renew him- self, but we cannot use his power.” “Have you benefited from the daily blood of a new-born child?” “Not much. In fact, I fear it has harmed my appetite. The meals are not as good as they were before I took this tonic. Sev- eral times I have belched, making neces- sary the death of my cook. “No, Norazus, let us wait till the Seven Wise Men report on their method of pro- longing life. Whatever they devise I will share with you and with theiji. But we shall never learn the secret of the drag- on or of the salamander or of the phoenix, who buildeth a fire for a new life through the burning of the old body. Not in such forms must we seek added years. And I must live to see the ending of Mo.” At that time there were three great Em- pires in the world. Atlantis occupied all of the land west of Ireland, an island reach- ing far west, till from its furthermost shores the coast of America showed as a purple haze on the horizon. From this country went emigrants to Egypt, Greece and other lands of the Barbarians, border- ing on the Great Sea. The Empire of Mo filled in all the great waste that is now covered by the waves of the Pacific. To the west, it was sep- arated from Asia by three hundred miles of water, but on its eastern borders it was almost in touch with Central America. It had colonies all through North and South America, the largest of these being in Central America. Some of these colo- nies were commercial; others were to spread the service of the ALL-GOOD- GOD, whom they worshiped diligently; and one, in the valley of the Colorado River, where Arizona now stands, was in- tended for a city of refuge, if at some future time (as the dismal priests believed) all of Mo should be destroyed. The third great Empire was Gobi. This kingdom occupied all of Asia, at that time a low land covered with fertile plains and dark forests. There were little rolling hills, but the Himalayas still slumbered unborn in the womb of the earth. Of these three countries one gave, before its destruction, of its learning to Egypt, which in turn made the culture of Greece possible. Mo, most brilliant of all three as far as learning was concerned, died so quickly that nothing remained save a dim memory in the places where once her people had ruled in their might. While Gobi, shat- tered by a grim cataclysm, managed to live on in the cold country of Thibet. The three lands died together. Man lived, forced by circumstance to forget all that these countries ever knew, and had to learn it all over again. Gradu- ally, humanity rose again in the scale of civilization, and by the time fourteen thou- sand years had passed man had relearned perhaps half of what he knew before he had destroyed the three fairest empires the world had ever seen. II AT the end of three months the great men of Gobi met again, but this time no plenteous splendor marked their gath- ering. Secretly they met by night in the bowels of the earth, many feet under the Palace in a room that only a few of each generation knew of and which none ever dared to name above a whisper. It was a room of black marble. Around the walls were nine dragons of red stone, and from their eyes came a glow that lit the room. In the belly of each dragon was a seat. Thus, there was a seat for the Emperor and one for each of the Seven Wise Men and one for the High Prie6t. On the floor sat a blond man of about thirty. His eyes were blue, his hair flaxen, and there was an unafraid look on his face, for on him there were neither bonds nor fetters. The Chief of the Navy of Gobi began the tale of the stranger. “Oh, Most Illustrious Emperor, Repre- sentative of the Dragon in human form and Wearer of the ring, when you commanded us to find for you the secret of longevity if not that of immortality, each of us went

Page 100

his varied way to find the answer to your command. To me came the inspiration to search the sea between our land and Mo, in the hope that among the prisoners whom I might capture there would be a man learned in the art and sciences of the cursed country of our enemies. In order to ex- amine those whom we captured, I took in our fleet one of our learned men and other men, skilled in obtaining the truth from such persons, no matter how unwilling they are to disclose it. “We cruised for some weeks, and took several vessels which had sailed too far from Mo for their safety. Of those whom we captured, we killed the most, either as ignorant folk or else stubborn ones who died when the tormentors began work on them. However, we were fortunate in ob- taining one of their physicians who, when he found what we wanted, claimed the power to lengthen life. This man you see here, if his ability is equal to his boasts, can prolong the life of your High- ness.” The Emperor looked thoughtfully into the face of the young man. After a long pause he asked: “Have any of you Seven Wise Men questioned him to find wherein his power to prolong life lies?” “We have done so, Your Highness,” re- plied the Royal Physician, he who knew more about the healing arts than any other man in the realm. “I talked over the matter with him. His method has all the elements of philosophical truth in it.” “But will it really work to the lengthen- ing of life?” “That cannot be said without a trial.” Again silence, filled with suspense, cov- ered those in the mystic room, the sacred Hall of the Dragons. And then the Em- peror asked the young man: “Are you a man from the land of Mo?” “No, I come from far away Atlantis.” “How came you in a ship of Mo?” “Years ago, as a child, I was taken pris- oner from my home. Since then I have lived in Mo. They found in me astonish- ing aptitude for drugs and magical heal- ings, so they taught me all they knew. Of all the young men in their college of medi- cine, none learned more than I. When I was taken by your ship, I was voyaging to a far land to heal a mighty man of his disease.” “So you have no tie of love for Mo?” “Why should I? They killed my family and took me from the home of my child- hood.” “Would you stay with us?” “One place now is as good as another, since I cannot be a free man.” “Suppose I make you free? Give you a place at my right hand?” “It would all depend on what was in your right hand,” answered the young physician sagely. “I have been in the pres- ence of the King of Mo and I have seen mighty ones sit at his right hand and die there, from poisoned wine and the silken cord around their neck.” The Emperor frowned, for even so did great men die in Gobi. “Can you make me live beyond the age of common men?” he finally asked, in his words a great longing for years sufficient to see the ending of Mo. “I can.” “How?” THE young man eased himself on the floor and then spoke his answer. “The life of the working bee is six weeks. It works that long and then it dies. Mo is full of flowers, and the bee is there a sacred insect. For centuries the Royal Bee-keepers have studied the habits and manners and diseases of these bees in the Royal Hives. So they know that the working bees live six weeks. But the queen bee lives for five and sometimes six years, and all those years she is lively and full of vigor and does her work in the world of bees with a healthy constitution. “Long years ago this difference was seen in the relative age of these bees, and the men who worked with the bees tried to lengthen the lives of the workers so that more honey could be produced. But no one was able to tell why one bee lived six weeks and another five years. Then I was told of the question and how the wise men had failed to solve it. I worked on the matter, and now I know the queen lives long as a result of the food she eats from the time she first crawls from the broken egg shell. “This feed, the queen-jelly, has in it the element of immortality. I think if she were protected from the younger queens she would never die, but the time comes when she is killed. Perhaps that is best for the hive, but at least she lives a life nearly two and fifty times as long as the existence of the working bee, who eats what he can and when he can, and dies after six weeks of toil.” “Would such food work on a man?” the Emperor of Gobi demanded. “I think so.” “But how could it be made in quantities to keep a man alive? We have no bees in Gobi, and if we had, it woiild take large numbers of hives to make a meal for a man.” “When I studied this queen-jelly, I made thereof an analysis and learned its various components, their amounts and the formula of the making. I can take the blood of a bull, the fat of geese, the oil of the turtle and the flesh of certain fish and, by a way that I know of, I can make a food in abundance that will do even as the food of the hive. This food I have tried with creeping things, flying things and little mice, and all of them thrive 01T it and their life appears to be greatly lengthened. “This I can make here in Gobi, if I have a place to work and dishes of glass and of gold and all the parts of the formula brought to me. I will make the food. Some of it I will flavor and serve solid, others will seem like wine with the per- fume of the vine and the poppy. In every way your thirst and your hunger shall be satisfied, but this food only shall you eat and drink and nothing else.” “You shall have what you need to work 101

Page 101

with!” swore the Emperor with a horrible oath. "I shall eat and drink of the food, and so shall these Seven Wise Men, this High Priest, and you. We ten will eat and drink of this food that we may live to see the end- ing of Mo and the destruction of our enemy. Because of this thing you shall have great honor and shall sit at my right hand where all the people shall reverence you. You shall be the child of my old age, and the ten of us shall one day gather here in this sacred place to hear of the ending of Mo. “And now, you Seven Wise Men, harken unto me and do as I command, for even though your bellies are filled with this bee food yet can your throats be cut as easily as ever. Give this Physicker all he demands, satisfy his every desire, aid him in every way. Do this first. After that, use all your power for the hastening of the destruction of Mo, for life will be tiresome to me so long as they rule in splendor over the South Seas and deny me the right to levy taxes and take tribute from them.” The meeting came to an end, and all of the Seven went and worshiped their spe- cial Gods because a way had been found to prolong their Lord’s life and thus permit them to live longer with their sons and their wives. HERACLES, the wise young physician from Mo, was given a place of his own with special rooms to work in and others to live in. All the wealth and wisdom of Gobi went to aid him in his work. As- signed to help him were certain young men who labored for him as he commanded, but the final preparation of the food was done in secret. At the ending of the third month the first supply of the food was made and ready to feed the ten who were appointed to eat of it. In every way it was delicate and de- licious and dainty in its taste and smell and in the pleasure that it gave to the tongue and the palate. The Emperor was pleased and sent a dozen dancing girls to Heracles as a present, each girl bearing on her body jewels that would have served as a king’s ransom. Heracles put the jewels in a safe place and the girls in his harem and promptly forgot about both, for he was engaged in a mighty work. Thenceforth, the Emperor and the Seven Wise Men and Priest ate all their meals together. After he found that the food was healthful and not in any way poison, the Emperor would at times excuse the young physician from attending at meat with the others, knowing how hard he was working to prepare food for all of them. Ill MEANTIME, the wealth and manpower of Gobi was working as it had never done before. To the north and west lay the Kingdom of Gobi, while to the south and east, for more miles than man could measure, was the beautiful land of Mo. Sixty million men and women of power lived in that land, besides untold slaves and common folk. Between the two lands rolled three hundred miles of ocean. Neither country could transport armies large enough to conquer the other; hence, each grew in greatness and wealth and hatred of its neighbor. They knew of Atlantis, the third kingdom, but that land gave neither of them concern, for her ways were peaceful and her ambitions more in the conquest of art than of other na- tions. Gobi determined to destroy Mo. Mo brooded over the ending of Gobi. Each used all the skill and energy and determination it possessed toward the ac- complishment of this purpose, and, while each had a partial idea of the plans of the other, they both laughed at their own im- pending danger because it seemed so fan- tastic. The plan that Gobi was working out was simple and yet gigantic in its scope. It was nothing more or less than to blow her enemy to pieces. Tradition and the ancient wise men whispered of large caverns under the land of Mo, huge reservoirs, ten miles under the surface of the land, that were filled with explosive and inflammable gases. It was believed that the entire land of Mo rested on a thin crust of earth, beneath which were vast caverns and tremendous open spaces, filled only with threats and sullen murmurings from the hidden fires that lived silently so many miles below. Mo was existing on a living Hell. Unconscious of her danger, she laughed and sang and loved, while beneath her a scarlet doom waited with endless patience the signal for its release. This was the way the land of Mo was built, and on this fact the Seven Wise Men of Gobi formed all their hopes. Their plan was to tunnel under the three hundred miles of ocean, and then from that tunnel dig twenty-six side tunnels, till the land of Mo was burrowed under, even as a mole works in a garden after worms. At the tunnel ends deep shafts were to be sunk until the heat of the pit made it impossible to work longer, and in these pits powder was to be put, not just pounds or yet tons, but all of each of the twenty-seven vast pits were to be filled with explosive, and the lateral tunnels were also to be filled, and even part of the tunnel under the sea. And this powder was not the mild kind made of saltpeter, but was of a power so great in its might that even the men of Gobi dreaded it. No greater punishment could be given a criminal than to be sentenced to work in the houses where it was made. All the dirt from these tunnels had to be carried back to the mouth of the tunnel in the land of Gobi, and there it was piled in long rows. The mountains thus made are still to be seen in parts of Asia. The finishing of this tunnel and the plac- ing of the powder would take thirty years, but the actual exploding of the powder would be but the time of the taking of a deep breath, though it would be a day be- fore the most distant charges exploded, such was the great distance to the far parts of the land. Only a part of the destruction would be accomplished by the powder’s exploding.

Page 102

The flames from this would light the large caverns of lethal gases, and these would explode and blast holes in the very pits of bottomless despair, and from these would come the fire of Hell, and what that fire would do to the hated land of Mo could hardly be guessed at. PART of this plan had reached Mo through its secret spy system, but it was so fantastic, so peculiarly impossible in its greatness that little attention was paid to it. Besides, the inhabitants knew that it would take years for Gobi to dig such tun- nels under their land and reach the far corners of their kingdom, and before that time had come they had a very pleasant surprise to hand to Gobi. This would give the wise men of that land plenty to worry about, besides spending an eternity of years digging useless tunnels under the sea. For there were also wise men in Mo. Perhaps their wise men were possessed of more wisdom than the Seven Wise Men of Gobi, though at the present, when fourteen thousand years have passed since both lands died and lost their wisdom, it is hard to evaluate so delicate a matter as the in- telligence of a nation. However, what hap- pened nearly confirmed the boast of Mo that they would win a victory over their enemies before those enemies could come to an end of their tunnel. Now, it is an interesting fact that the men of Gobi knew of the plans of Mo just as the men of Mo knew of the plans of Gobi. Each had a partial idea of how the enemy was going to attack and each felt that the schemes of the other were impracticable and foolish. The Seven Wise Men made a special report to the Emperor of Gobi that Mo would try to destroy them, but that the method was an impossible one and opposed to all the known laws of nature. To be brief, Mo intended to have the laws of gravity set aside for a brief period over the entire land of Gobi with the result that the land, no longer held down by gravity or the weight of the atmosphere, would leap into the air, freezing the entire kingdom miles above the ocean in an atmosphere of bitter cold where pleasure would cease and men would be so occupied with fighting the winter that no time or energy would remain for the pursuit of pleasure or the softer recreations of life. The People of Gobi would then have neither time nor energy for building tunnels to destroy Mo. If they remained in their own elevated land they would have to fight the cold; if they left it they would have to fight the barbarians. Meantime, the gentle- folk of Mo would continue to live in pleas- ure and a warm place upder the tropical sun. Thus, each country lived in what proved to be a fool’s Paradise. However, the Emperor of Mo had built in the far East a special retreat and a place of refuge. There he and his rich men and their wives went for six months every year when the summer sun was the warmest in Mo. Many centuries before, it had been foretold that when Mo was destroyed, it would be during the period of intense heat. Thus, for several decades now the chosen few protected themselves against such a fate, even though they laughingly told each other that it was impossible. The plans of the wise men of Mo were not as fantastic as might be imagined. Even today, in our dense ignorance, there are East Indians who can suspend them- selves in the air in absolute defiance of the laws of gravitation. If a man can do this now in our dark ages, why should not a field or a forest be made to do the same at that time when men knew many things of which we are now ignorant? Heracles had come to Gobi by no acci- dent. His capture was simply a part of the plans of the conspirators of Mo. Had he not been captured on shipboard, he would have come to Gobi, anyway. His ability to make the life-prolonging bee jelly was just a happy incident, but, at the same time, such was the wisdom of this young man that had almost anything else been asked of him he would have been able to give a satisfactory answer. He had come to Gobi to lift that unhappy country three miles or more into the air; his making of the bee food simply made it easier for him to carry out his plans. Now, as the trusted friend of the Emperor, as the man who was making his royal food, he had full access to every part of the Kingdom of Gobi. HOW he obtained his results cannot even be guessed at. If any wise man of today duplicated his experiment, there would be no similar result. So, it must be true that this man of Mo knew something the scientists of today do not know. All that Heracles did was to set aside a room into which no one came but himself. In that room he built, with his own hands, a table on four squat legs, the top of the table near the floor. The legs were tele- scoped so that when air was released into them from a pressure tank the table slowly rose into the air till it came near the ceil- ing of the high room. On the top of this table Heracles built, out of sand and stone and little painted pieces of wood, a scaled relief map of the Empire of Gobi. When the time came he intended to raise the table, and even as the table rose in the air, so would the entire land of his enemies rise in proportion. The plan was perfect, and yet at the very end a little thing destroyed the per- fect consummation of it, allowing matters to end as they did. To select this room, secretly build the table and the tank and the apparatus for compressing the air and to make a per- fect duplicate of the Kingdom of Gobi on the top of the table, took time. Even in his moments of greatest fancied security Heracles could not relax his caution one moment. Every piece of wood and metal had to be carried into the room under his flowing robes at the dead of night. At times, a year passed without his being able even to enter the room, for often the Emperor insisted on trips of inspection to the far corners of the Kingdom. On these trips he was careful to see that the

Page 103

Seven Wise Men and the Priest and the Physician accompanied him. Meantime, the years passed. The special food, the nourishment of queen bees that was the only nutriment of the Emperor and the Wise Men, was working admirably in every way. The Emperor was not only retaining his original age, he seemed to be growing younger. It was rumored that the High Priest, who had been nearly ninety at the beginning of the experiment, had become a father through the aid of one of the ladies of the Temple. There was no doubt about the rejuvenating value of the food. Thirty years passed. These years had not been idle. Thou- sands of men worked to destroy Mo, while only one man patiently worked to destroy Gobi. Meantime, the Emperor of Mo spent more and more time in his special retreat under the mountains of Arizona. In a Royal trireme he would sail east till he came to the mouth of a large river, the one that is now called the Colorado. Up this he would sail to a harbor, from which place the royal elephants would carry him and his escorts to the mouth of a tunnel. There, he changed to litters carried on the shoulders of slaves, and for twenty-seven miles under the massive mountains, the slaves would walk on a pave- ment of red sandstone through a tunnel illu- mined by the torches of marble slaves who patiently stood in almost endless rows. The light from their torches never varied, and was cold. Since then, the secret of cold light has never been re-discovered. At the end of the twenty-seven miles there came an end to the tunnel, and there in a natural crater was built the splendid royal city. It was a small place, there being room at most for a hundred of the nobility and their servants. But in that little city was the wealth of the land of Mo. For seven hundred years each Em- peror had carried there his finest treasures and left them there. Such was the place in which the great men of Mo waited for the prophecy to come true. From there, after six months, they returned to Mo, glad that another year of safety had passed over them. IV YEARLY, and half yearly, Heracles sent messages to the King’s Councilors at the capital of Mo, reporting his own prog- ress and warning of the dangers that threat- ened Mo. But to these warnings little at- tention was given, while the certainty of the destruction of Gobi was fully believed and occasioned much joy. Finally, at a meeting of the Wise Men of Gobi and the Emperor, the time for finishing of the tunnels and the exploding of the powder was determined, and it was announced that in one year this would take place. This announcement filled Heracles with boundless determination to finish his work, thus preventing destruction of Mo by first hoisting Gobi into an eternity of cold and snow. Of the work that he was doing little now remained unfinished. One or two more nights would see an ending of the preparation, and then Gobi would be destroyed. But not at once. Heracles was not content with simple destruction. The years of study and the sacrifice of a lifetime among strangers had filled him with the determination for a deeper and more terrible venegance than simply the freezing of his enemies. For thirty years he had plotted this vengeance; for all those years he had studied and planned and experimented, and now he was prepared to begin a deed that would strike terror to all the people. In after years, when it became known, it would place the name of Heracles, the Physician of Mo, among the names of the Great of the whole Earth. During these thirty years he had con- tinuously fed the Emperor and his Seven Wise Men and the High Priest. Years of wonderful health, boundless vitality and splendid vigor gave these men the greatest confidence in the honesty and integrity of the man who fed them. Now Heracles, with their fate in his hands, prepared for them a future so different from what they had expected that not even their wildest dreams could have anticipated it. In preparation for this fate he held a long secret converse with the Emperor, warning him of the danger of the explo- sions that they were going to make. Once the bowels of the earth were teased till they vomited fire, it was hard to tell where the trouble would end. Would it not be best to prepare the Hall of the Dragons with beds and food and all necessary lux- uries, and retire there with his Wise Men before the electric spark was fired? Would it not be wise to have the wires run into the Hall of the Dragon so that the Em- peror himself could have the joy of per- sonally pressing the golden button thus, all by himself, have the satisfaction of blowing the Hell of the Bottomless Pits into the faces of his enemies of Mo? The Emperor was delighted with the plan. He agreed to all that was sug- gested. He even went further and ar- ranged for a month of entertainment in the Hall of the Dragon, consisting of feasting, amusements, and the delightful killing of slaves in strange and unusual ways. He gave orders that for all that month he and his Seven Wise Men and the Priest and a few of the more select Nobles should lie on golden couches, on pads of goose feath- ers covered with fine velvets and silks. There they would drink the wine and eat the bee-food that their friend, Heracles, prepared for them. When the time came the golden button would be pressed and Mo would be destroyed. When it was safe they would go to the seashore and sail over the land of their enemies to see for them- selves the deadly fate that their energy and hatred had prepared for them. Now all was to the liking of Heracles. A month of drunkenness during which he would work out his final plans. Then, on the day before the pressing of the button, Gobi would slowly move into the air — and what cared Heracles how long the Em-

Page 104

!>eror of Gobi and his advisers litfed, so ong as they lived the life that he prepared for them? THUS, at the beginning of the debauch, Heracles changed the food. It tasted and had the fragrance of the former food and wine, and it still contained large amounts of the bee-jelly, but in addition there was opium to lull their senses and allay their suspicion, hyoscine to make their dreams more pleasant and, finally, a secret compound made from the internal glands of actual men and women, collected carefully during all these years from the bodies of slaves and criminals condemned to death. This medicine, given in proper doses, melted the bones of those who took it, so that finally they became boneless bags of skin and fat, within which bags they lived and thought but could not move, simply lying where they were placed till someone placed them in a different shape. Men in their normal minds would know of the changes taking place in their bones. Men, walking or taking exercise, would have fractures and strange changes in their shape, due to the gradual weakening and bending of their long bones. But men who lay in a long drunk for a month, dull with opium and pleasured with drug dreams, would gradually weaken and be- come helpless without knowing what was happening to them. This was the final revenge of Heracles, to turn these men into boneless horrors, men without skeletons, jelly fishes of hu- manity, helpless in their despairing terror — and they would not die! That was the beauty of it — that they would live on for- ever, like the queen bee. In their system was food sufficiently concentrated and pow- erful to keep them alive a thousand years. Yet, what would such a life mean to them? Heracles, in his joy, visioned these helpless men in the Hall of the Dragons, levitated thousands of feet into the air. He saw them living in a palace, cold and cheer- less, with the damp of doom at noonday turned into a freezing, living death of cold as soon as the weakened sun dropped be- hind the Western mountains. There they would live, perhaps worshipped and cared for as Gods by a few shivering moun- taineers, perhaps neglected and forgotten, but no matter what happened, they would never die. That was the beauty of it — the fact that they would keep on living. He was going to send them up, up, up in the air, so high that there would be no wolves to tear their boneless bodies and so cold that no flies would larvate in their helpless nostrils. Perhaps for a year or so he would visit them and talk over mat- ters with them. He might even induce the Emperor of Mo to come on an excur- sion and see for himself the fate that bad come to those who had plotted the destruc- tion of Mo. The entertainment began, and the Em- peror of Gobi was happy in that he had such a wise physician, such a long life ahead of him, such a fine ending to Mo, such lovely women and a skillful High Exe- cutioner who could think of so many new and novel ways of killing men slowly. They laughed and loved and drank and stupidly thrilled over the slaves who died in front of them for their entertainment, not once realizing that their bones were slowly be- ing dissolved within them. Across the Hall of the Dragons, Heracles had his seat of honor. He only of all those in the hall could come and go, for the Em- peror had given command that of all who came into the hall at the onset of the month none should leave it till the golden button was pressed, none, that is, except the dead slaves and those who killed them. And Heracles sat there day after day, see- ing his enemies weaken from the disease, now known as Osteomalacia. But the queens and those servants who were shapely enough to comfort the Emperor by serving as pillows for him and his Wise Men, and the dancing girls were spared the disease. They simply lived on in a phantas- magoria, thinking that the growing inca- pacity of the Emperor and the other great men was simply the raction born of surfeit and drunkenness. ON the twenty-eighth day, when Heracles knew that all of his plans were ready, he lessened the dose of the opium and thus allowed the drugged men to come alertly to their senses. Preparing food and wine in abundance, he left the Hall of the Dragons. Cautioning the guards to let no one in or out, he retired to his palace, there to finish the destruction of the hated country. When he had shut, barred and double- locked the room in his castle wherein stood the table with the map of Gobi on it; he had everything in readiness for the debacle. The tank was full of compressed air. From it tubes ran to the hollow of each the four telescopic legs. The joints of these legs had been carefully oiled with grease ob- tained by boiling the fat of bodies of slaves. On the table was the finished map, perfect in every detail. A turn of the screw would loosen the compressed air, the pressure of which would raise the map thirty feet into the air. As the map would rise, so would all of Gobi. The secret of such scientific magic is now lost to mankind, but this much we know; the pressure of the air in each of these little tubes was, by his device, mul- tiplied billion-fold by a force under the sur- face of Gobi. Aided by powerful volcanic gases, when the table was lifted, the force of the gases under Gobi, proportionately great, lifted the country. Heracles now turned on the screw, and there was a hiss of air. Nothing happened. For a very little and unexpected some- thing had taken place during the twenty- eight days the chamber had been tenant- less. A hungfy mouse had wandered into the ro'om, and foj some reason had taken a f^ncy to the taste of the fiber tubes through which the air parsed. The rodent had eaten through the tubes in many places, little holes hardly to be seen but large enough to permit the leakage of air.

Page 105

Heracles, foi all his wisdom, had not been able to foresee this mouse. Now, with but two days at his command, the entire plan was ruined unless he could re- pair the tubes. It was useless to try and make new ones. There was nothing else to do except work. This he did, tire- lessly and persistently, repairing hole after hole. But even with all his ability, the main tube remained weak and not fully worthy of trust. When the full pressure of air was turned into it, it still leaked so that it was insufficient to raise the table. Heracles spent more precious hours re- filling the tank with compressed air, and then he did the only thing he could do. He took part of the map off the table to lighten the load. Thus all of the map represent- ing what is now Southern China, Burmah and the lower part of India was removed, and shared no part in the cataclysm that befell the rest of Gobi. Finally all was ready. Yet, in this delay many valuable hours had been wasted, and Heracles stood there swaying from fatigue and nervous tire and worry, beneath his hand the screw that, turning, would de- stroy Gobi. Suddenly he heard a dull roar and then another and another, like a distant thunder storm, and he sickened, for he knew that he had waited too long. There being nothing to do, he turned the screw and sent the full force of air into the legs of the table. It worked, and up went the map of Gobi into the air. But one leg was weaker than the rest. The table rose unevenly, and there was some sliding and slithering of the earth forming the map. Heracles felt himself moving slowly as the palace he was in also went up, because all of the land under it was in upward mo- tion. It was a slow movement and hard to realize in this central part of Gobi, with all of the land for thousands of square miles around going upward in perfect har- mony. There was no way in this part of the country to detect the extent of the movement save by the gradual increase in the coldness of the air. HERACLES knew that his experiment had been a success. Yet, from far away, there came the rolling thunder. With a sickening sense of failure, he knew that he had been a little late and that already Mo was sinking under the tormented waves of the Great Ocean. Sighing, he put on heavy furs that he had prepared against this hour, and walked slowly through the deserted streets of the great city. Here and there a small house had fallen, but all of the royal palaces re- mained as they had been. For the most part the people, accustomed to a semi- tropical climate, were seeking warmth in tht»r houses. Thus, the streets were de- serted. On the great physician went, past the Royal Palace and on to the Hall of the Dragons. There he found the guards on duty, but almost numb from the cold. With pity in his heart he bade them seek warmth if they could find it. Then he went into the inner Hall of the Dragons where he knew that, helpless, lay the Emperor of Gobi with his Seven Wise Men and his High Priest. Perhaps with them would be a few of the queens, but of this he was in doubt. While Heracles had been working in al- most a frenzy to repair the air tube, the Emperor and his advisers had slowly re- gained their normal senses. Almost dazed, it was hard for them to realize what had happened to them, but one thing they knew, and that was the useless state of their bodies. A strange sense of helplessness overcame them, and all efforts to move but resulted in a peculiar writhing and a sad changing in their shape with no pro- gression. The Emperor was no fool. While un- able to know what had really happened to him, he had no difficulty in determining who was at the bottom of it. Only one man in all Gobi could work such a wonder as the dissolving of a man’s bones in his body! He looked and saw that he was being supported on cushions held by his favorite wife. Not daring to speak, he made signs with his eyes that he should be lifted up a little. She raised him slowly, for the sudden bend- ing of what had been his backbone caused fearful pains to shoot through him nearly killing him with the dreadful agony. The woman wiped the sweat from his face, and he looked around him. There on the divans he saw the men who had been his counselors. They lay in odd shapes, like leather bags full of thin sau- sage, and on the faces of all of them was a hell of despair. Knowing not what had come over them, they knew that they could not move and were growing cold, and realized that they could not die. One by one, the women took the gold and the silver and the precious gems and fled from the accursed place. Only one re- mained. She held the head of the Em- peror and tried to ease him of his pain, for she was his favorite wife and was going to bear him a son. The Emperor tried to remember what it was all about and how he had come to this depth of trouble. He recalled his bitter hate and knew that Mo still re- mained undestroyed. He breathed harshly, and his woman put her pink shell near his mouth. With a great effort he told her to press the golden button. This she did. Thus Mo was destroyed by the dainty fingers of a slave woman who had no name and was simply there and faithful to the Emperor. As the room grew colder, the women gathered the rugs and silken sheets and wrapped each jelly fish of a man up as warmly as she could, but the warmest things she put around the Emperor. There the nine lay, boneless and unable to die, and the breath from their nostrils con- gealed like steam in the frosty air. Thu3, Heracles found them. He sat down by the Emperor and told the story of what he had done and how he had planned that his enemies should

Page 106

live on for centuries, filled with the long life of the bee-jelly and boneless, because of the gland-juice that he had given them. The Emperor heard it all, soundless and motionless, but in his eyes was a look of hatred that only a great man can devise, and in his heart was a deep content, for he knew from the rolling thunder that Mo was destroyed. 'EiO was being blown to pieces. The damage done by thousands of tons of powder was only a small part of the harm done to that fair land. The buried gases, exploding, tore the deep rocks into a mil- lion fragments, and all over Mo volcanoes burst into activity. Tidal waves over- flowed the land, lava buried it. Sixty mil- lion people were drowned, burned or suf- focated with the poisonous fumes. A continent was destroyed, leaving scat- tered islands as small fragments — Borneo on one side and the Easter Islands on the other. Australia to the south was formed, arid, cheerless, a fit home for Bushmen. Some of the citizens of Mo survived on the mountain peaks, hurled upward, as in the Hawaiian group, but their culture, temples, wealth and even their tradition were hopelessly lost. The Emperor of Mo, with his favorite wives and nobles, was feasting in the small city of refuge. The shock of the cataclysm reached them even in that far, rock-bound enclosure. They feasted on, each man and woman pretending to his neighbors at the banquet table that the sound was thunder. The banquet passed on through the night, and the next day a breathless mes- senger arrived with the news that could only be given to the Emperor. This news was whispered in the royal ear as the great man sat at the head of the table. He, shivering, commanded a certain wine to be served and ordered in all seriousness that a health be drunk to their beloved land of Mo. All of the great men and their lovely women drank of this wine and then sat down and died. Their servants fled in terror to press on into the desert where they died in various ways. FOURTEEN thousand years later three prospectors, typical desert rats of Arizona, prospected for gold near the Colo- rado River. One day, while working in a twenty-nine foot shaft, one of them drove his pick through the roof of what seemed to be an abandoned mine shaft. It was paved with square, beveled stones fastened together with cement. These stones had the appearance of great age. Descending into this shaft with torches, they followed it for twenty miles and came to a buried city. There they found many old buildings, one of which con- tained a circular chamber. It was a large table of marble, around which sat the dead bodies of seventy-two persons, all over six feet tall, with blue eyes, and white skin, and the flesh was white and firm, being preserved in some wonderful man- ner. On these bodies was jewelry, but most of the clothing had fallen into dust. In another large room were the dead bodies of over two hundred women who looked as though they had been lovely in their day. Throughout the city there were peculiar trap doors and all kinds of interesting levers and mechanisms, the use of which was hard to determine. Taking a lot of the jewelry with them, they sought civilization to secure help in the exploration of the city. When they re- turned they found a freshet of the Colorado had covered the opening of the tunnel with sand, and they were unable to re-locate it. THUS died the great land of Mo. The fair country of Atlantis had no enemies. It lived only for pleasure and art. From Ireland to the shores of America it lay in the sunshine. Then one day a great continent across the globe was de- stroyed. A terrific shifting of balance of weight took place. Large tidal waves rolled from one sea to the other and sud- denly the continent of Atlantis was swal- lowed up by the water of the Atlantic Ocean. Thus, a kindly, lovable people paid the price of the hatred between two nations that they had never harmed. So perished the second of these great lands. Where Gobi once ruled supreme, now rule the Himalayas. These mountains, the greatest in the world, run nineteen hundred miles from east to west, and an average of ninety miles from north to south. They cover a total of one hundred and sixty thousand square miles. Of these moun- tains, the greatest peak, Mount Everest, reaches upward to the sky twenty-nine thousand one hundred and forty feet above sea level. Immense sections of these moun- tains are inaccessible to modern man. Hidden in the tops of these mountains, unknown to man save by tradition, lies the ancient capitol of the lost Empire of Gobi. Half-frozen Tartars, insect-ridden Lamas, barbarians of every description remain as the sole descendants of what was once a great people. Even the memory of their former greatness has been lost in the chang- ing struggles of fourteen thousand years. If they are asked how old these moun- tains are, they will reply that they have always been there. How could they know that once all this land was lowland, forest land, a pleasant country for rich folk to live in? How could they know of the physician from Mo and his magical table and map thereon? Yet, amid those mountains, lies the ancient city and the Hall of Dragons. There, on their silken cushions and their beds of goosefeathers, lie the boneless Emperor, the boneless High Priest and the boneless Seven Wise Men. Though their bodies are chilled with the frost of centuries, yet, would there come a pleasant day of springtime with blossoming almond trees and a warm, gentle shower, those frozen hearts would once again send puls- ing life through those boneless sacks, for full of the jelly-food of the queen bee they can never die, at least, not for a long, long time.

Page 107

103 STARTLING STORIES On the floor in front of the Emperor lies the body of Heracles, dead of a dag- ger, thrust by the nervous hand of the woman beloved by the Empe'ror. The body of the physician, frozen, decays not. Neither does the body of the beloved woman. And, frozen in her body, lies the unborn Prince of Gobi, last of a royal line that dared all for their hatred of a bitter enemy. Thus perished Gobi. Copyright 1929, Gernsback Publications, Inc. Outit, TlsxL dtalL og, JamiL S&kditM.! THE FITZGERALD CONTRACTION By DR. MILES J. BREUER COMPLETE IN THE NEXT ISSUE!

Page 108

TRAILS END By JOHN BROOME Author of “Vagabonds of the Void,’’ “Land of the Wooden Men,” etc. Venusian Skill Gives John Kellie a New Face and Freedom-but Surgery Can't Change a Man's Heart When a Space- Storm Strikes! ® •"■T^LEASE be qwi-et. It will own-lie be a mi-nut mawr." -BT The soft-voiced, broken English of the Venusian came muffled through the thick bandage that sur- rounded John Kellie’s head and face. He felt the marvelously supple fingers of the surgeon unwrapping the gauze with deft, circular movements. A minute more. . . . Kellie sat rigid in the heavy med- ical chair. He had been awaiting this moment for three never-ending weeks, ever since Dr. Awi, the Venusian, had undertaken the operation. “There, my dir zorr.” John Kellie blinked as the last strip came off and the bright artificial light of the office assailed his eyes. Dr. Awi, smiling like a little yellow Buddha, stood before him, extending a hand-mirror. Kellie’s hand shook as he took the glass. He was almost afraid to look. What if the tales of Venusian plastic surgery had been so much hooey? “Good Lord!” he gasped. He could hardly credit his eyes. The face in the glass was utterly unrec- ognizable. The stubby nose and cleft chin, the high cheek-bones and straight hair — it was the face of a stranger. Kellie grunted with in- voluntary embarrassment. It was staring rudely at someone else. Even his eyes had been changed from pale- 109

Page 109

110 STARTLING STORIES blue to jet-black by the Venusian’s wizardry. “You ar-re za-tizzfied, zorr?” “Swell, Doc,” Kellie muttered husk- ily. “Swell.” He looked at his hands, at the fresh fingertips and the unmarked palms. He had been a pilot and it had been necessary to remove the telltale cal- louses from his palms. Everything had been done perfectly. Now it was up to him. He rose and drew a deep breath into his big chest. From now on John Kel- lie was dead and gone. There existed only Barron Kirk, with a new passport in his pocket — a passport to a new life ! He turned and saw that Dr. Awi was regarding him with a faint smile on his bland face. “You think I’m a fugitive, Awi,” John Kellie said slowly. “You’ve thought so all along. Why did you operate?” The Venusian shrugged. "It izz not my con-zern what you may be.” “I am a fugitive, but for a crime I never committed. That’s the truth, Awi.” “That is you’re-re conzern alone, zorr.” KELLIE nodded. These Venusi- ans were certainly wonderful people, doing their jobs without ask- ing a lot of questions. Back on Terra or Mars, he would have had to fill out a hundred forms to get this operation. And by that time there would have been Virhac — As John Kellie pulled on his new suit of clothes, he thought grimly of the man who for five years had driven him out of every city and across every planet in the System. Ever since he made his escape from William Virhac aboard the convict ship bound for Lune II five years ago, the Patrol of- ficer had never been off his trail. Kellie knew why Virhac hunted him with such tenacity. His escape was the only serious blot on the Service man’s record. And to a man of Vir- hac’s stamp, only his own death or his prey’s could serve as an excuse for not erasing that blot. Kellie had slept without peace, eaten food without surcease from hunger. For five years he had known only the desperation of the convicted fugitive. The memory made his big jaw harden. Let the famous Patrol Hawk bag him now — if he could rec- ognize him! “Here, Doc, and thanks.” He handed Awi most of the notes in the crisp wallet. It was the agreed price and cheap at that. It left him little, but that didn’t matter. He ought to be able to land a job now, maybe even as a pilot. He’d been a good pilot once, good enough to handle the New Orion on her maiden voyage out of Los Angeles five years ago. It had been on the Orion's home trek. . . . Kellie shook off the old memories of the accident that had made him a hunted man. He had learned that did nothing but drive him crazy to think of it. He buttoned his coat rapidly and turned to Awi. “Good-by, zorr." The Venusian bowed toward the door. “Bez-zt of luck.” John Kellie emerged from the low Venusian dwelling into notorious Judas St. in Venus City. The narrow alley that crawled crookedly through the System’s largest demi-world was now almost empty. In the gathering dusk there were still a few people abroad — lethe runners, penny murder- ers and fugitives — as he himself had been up to now. He merged with the crowd that walked silently, heads low. By force of habit Kellie tucked his chin into his chest and buried his face in the collar of his topcoat. But at once he raised it. There wasn’t any need of his hiding now, he told himself an- grily. Not even his mother, if she were alive, would have known him. He walked slowly, for he had been flat on his back for three weeks and hadn’t yet got his sea-legs. At the end of Judas St. a broad avenue crossed and led to the space terminal. There the Empress of Cairo, with a hull cargo for New York and some incidental passengers, lay in her steel harness. The Empress was due out in an hour and John Kellie had in his pocket a top-deck ticket under his new name. He walked more buoyantly as he thought of New York. It had

Page 110

TRAIL’S END 111 been many years. “I beg your pardon. Have you a match?” Kellie halted and turned impatient- ly to the slim, dapper little man who had addressed him. He flicked a light and stared by its glow into the sallow, sharp-featured face of William Virhac. THE sight of his enemy came as a perceptible blow to Kellie, even though he had known that the Service would trail him to Venus City. He felt no fear, only hatred and a sort of tingling curiosity. Could Virhac pierce Dr. Awi’s creation? John Kellie had the creepy sensa- tion that the quick, beady eyes which scanned his face, while Virhac drew on the light between his cupped hands, were more than ordinarily curious. There seemed to be a strange intensity in the Service man’s deliberate gaze. “Passport?” Virhac showed his Patrol badge at the same time as he clipped out the word. “Sure,” Kellie said. The voice Awi had given to him still sounded strange to the big Earth- man. He pulled out the flat book and handed it over. Virhac opened it. “Barron Kirk,” the little man read rapidly. “Occupation stevedore. Ten years in good standing.” He glanced up. “That you?” “Of course.” Virhac looked back at the passport. A sudden rage almost overcame Kel- lie as he watched. He could murder Virhac with a single blow of his fist and on Judas St. there was a good chance that he could escape unscathed. The urge to wipe out the human ma- chine before him — the machine that had tracked him as relentlessly as if he were an animal — surged up in John Kellie like a blazing fire. Yet he stayed his hand. He was no criminal, but killing Vir- hac would make him one. In a way it would be playing into dark-skinned devil’s hand. Kellie smiled grimly to himself and stood quiet. Abruptly Virhac handed the book back. “Judas Street’s no place for an Earthman,” he said curtly. “I’d ad- vise you to be on your way.” With that the Service man passed on. Happiness flowed through John Kellie’s veins like strong liquor as he continued toward the space terminal. It must have been his imagination that had seen recognition in the sleuth’s gaze, he told himself. Virhac hadn’t known him, couldn’t possibly have known him. From now on John Kellie — or rather Barron Kirk — was free to go and come as he pleased. And by Antares’ twenty-six moons, he pleased right now to go to Terra just as fast as the leaky old Empress could carry him there! Sue had said she would be waiting for him no matter how long it took. Sue wasn’t the kind to break her word. An observer, watching the big Earth- man leg it to the Terminal, would scarcely credit the report that John Kellie had spent the last three weeks under a surgeon’s knife. THE Empress of Cairo had once been the pride of the Great Starry Fleet. Now, sporting her tenth or eleventh coat of cheap, gilt paint, plus plenty of goo amidships to grease her squeaky struts, she was lugging along on her twentieth hour out of Venus City when John Kellie emerged from his compartment. The ship was roll- ing somewhat on her beam. Kellie had to use the corridor bulkhead to bal- ance himself as he made his way to- ward the main salon. He felt as refreshed as a man will who has slept nearly the entire clock around. The great salon was hardly a quarter-full when he got there. It was an off season for Venusian tour- ing. Kellie quickly scanned the faces of those in the spacious room. There were three or four business men with their families, the usual sprinkling of salesmen and one or two^choolma’ms. And in a far corner, near a port, a man sat reading. John Kellie’s heart lurched queerly as he caught sight of the thin-lipped, sallow face behind the newspaper. Virhac! It needed all Kellie’s strength to prevent a cry of surprise and dismay

Page 111

112 STARTLING STORIES from escaping his lips. But he gripped himself and deliberately sat down next to a group in full view of the Service man. After all, Virhac’s presence on the Empress might be just a coinci- dence. To hide now would be sense- less. “Did you hear that one of the pilots was taken sick this morning?’’ A fat, red-faced man who looked like a banker had turned and addressed Kel- lie. “That means there’s only the man on duty now. I think it’s an un- holy scandal the way these ships are understaffed. I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to report this to the Investigation Board as soon as we land!” The red-faced man puffed pom- pously. He was the kind that thought nothing of making trouble for the crew, but he was really frightened now. Kellie could see that. His fear had infected the others, including his own family. One of his children, a little, fair-haired boy, was pulling at his knee and wailing: “Daddy, what’s the matter? What is it, Daddy?” “I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.” Kellie tried to be re- assuring. “One man can pilot a ship for twenty-four hours, if necessary. Why, I—” He had been about to mention that he himself had held the Orion’s con- trols for a stretch of fifty-one hours, but he caught himself. He was not John Kellie any more. He must train himself to remember that. He was Barron Kirk, stevedore. A single slip might render Awi’s elaborate work worse than useless. “I’m certain there’s nothing to worry about, mister,” he finished lamely. The banker looked down the length of his nose at Kellie, as if questioning Kellie’s right to have opinions on any- thing. “Well, I think there is something to worry about,” he snapped. “I pay taxes. Where in blazes does our money go, if it doesn’t provide for extra pi- lots to insure our safety?” Kellie shrugged and moved only his eyes toward the salon’s far corner. He saw that Virhac had lowered his paper now and was regarding him steadily. When their eyes met, the Service man acknowledged their pre- vious meeting with a short, quick nod and Kellie replied in kind. But for a long moment Virhac did not relin- quish the gaze. Again John Kellie felt the queer, stabbing certainty that Virhac knew. He struggled hard with the overpowering sensation before throwing it off. “Nerves !” he berated himself. “He can’t know me. I’m still jittery from all that neo-coc old Awi shot into my spinal column.” WHEN dinner was served, Kellie sat next to the red-faced banker at the long dining salon table. The banker was more agitated than ever. The Empress had run into a little stormy ether. Every time the ship lurched slightly, Kellie thought the fat man would collapse. He was worse than any woman, yet there was always at least one of his type aboard every ship. Kellie raised his eyes and found that Virhac was staring at him across the long table. He raged inwardly. What did Virhac expect to do— X-ray Barron Kirk with his eyes and dis- cover John Kellie underneath? Kellie grinned deliberately into Virhac’s face. Let the black devil think what he wanted. No one could prove that John Kellie existed, so long as Barron Kirk denied it. That was the thing to remember. The ether got worse as the meal progressed and the diners had to use the table slots to keep their plates from shooting around. By this time the two children of the red-faced banker were crying loudly and their nurse had to take them to their com- partment. Kellie frowned as he saw them go. If necessary, men and women could always escape in the emergency boats. Their grown bodies could withstand the pressure of the little craft even for twenty-four hours, but it would be torture for the little ones. Kellie had seen children who had been too long in a dory rocket. It wasn’t a pleasant memory. This was a real ion-storm, all right.

Page 112

TRAIL'S END 113 Kellie could feel the light-weight beryl-steel frame of the Empress shiver in time with the concentrated energy waves striking her hull broad- side. The pilot was doing his best to outride the storm, he knew. All stern and fin rockets were working wide throttle. “The blasted fool!’’ Kellie thought. “Why doesn’t he change his course and head into the storm? It’s the quickest way to lose it.” Then he remembered with sudden apprehension that the pilot had been alone for the last fifteen hours. “He must be groggy as blazes by now.” It needed a thoroughly wide-awake man at the controls in a storm like this. Everybody had stopped making any pretense of eating and a current of suppressed anxiety filled the room. Only Virhac continued methodically and calmly with his meal. Didn’t the Service man realize the danger? If so, he gave no sign. Kellie looked at the cold, sallow face of his enemy with something akin to admiration. Vir- hac might be nothing but a mechanical bloodhound, as rumor described him, but he was certainly no weak sister. Suddenly, as if everybody had been awaiting it, the old Empress came through with a crazy lurch that threw Kellie off his chair and almost sprawled him full-length on the car- pet. When he jumped up, the ship was still rocking jerkily and there was bedlam in the salon. Everyone was crawling to his feet and yelling at the same time. “What happened?” the two-school- ma’ams were screaming. “The emergency boats!” the red- faced banker was shouting hoarsely. “Get us to the emergency boats at once!” A WHITE-JACKETED steward slipped into the salon from the forward gangway. Kellie saw Virhac stop him and flash his badge. The steward said something to the Service man that Kellie couldn’t catch through the noise. Virhac nodded and mounted a chair. “Quiet, please!” His unhurried tone cut through the hysterical din. “The steward has something to tell us.” All eyes in the salon turned in hope toward the white-jacketed figure whose brow was creased worriedly. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the steward began quickly, “we must all keep our heads. I have just come from the control room. The pilot was injured slightly by the last shock and — “Please!” he cried through the sud- den wave of moans. “There must be order. The pilot will keep his place until the ship is empty. Everybody must go at once to the boat assigned to his compartment. A crew member at each station will see that the boats are launched according to number.” John Kellie shook his head, frown- ing. “But we’re too far out,” he pro- tested. “The children won’t have a chance.” The steward’s distressed gaze turned toward the big passenger. It was clear to Kellie that the white- jacket knew too well the fate awaiting the children aboard. “Can’t be helped, sir,” the steward replied thickly. “We’d all go in a few minutes. The pilot can’t last longer than that.” He turned away. Virhac, standing by, caught the white-jacket by the arm. “But, steward,” the service man said, “if there were a licensed pilot on board, he could relieve the man on duty, couldn’t he?”. His words were addressed to the steward, but his eyes were looking straight at John Kellie. “He knows,” Kellie thought. This time there was no doubt in his mind. The steward nodded in re- sponse to Virhac’s question, but shrugged helplessly, indicating that he expected no such piece of luck. “If there were a pilot aboard,” Vir- hac repeated. The cold contempt in his voice as he looked at John Kellie was like the bite of an icy wind. “A trap,” Kellie thought. “The devil is laying a trap for me.” Aloud he grunted in a low voice: “No chance of that, I guess.” The steward nodded hopelessly.

Page 113

]14 STARTLING STORIES “Then it’s the emergency boats for everyone. It had better be quick.” Kellie picked his way slowly along the heaving salon floor to the other side of the room. From there he watched with a strange numbness as the preparations were made to aban- don ship. The crew, moving with great rapidity, was assembling the necessary provisions at each boat sta- tion. The steward was doing his best to keep the panicky passengers in order. THE red-faced banker lurched into the salon, loaded down by three heavy grips. It would have to be left, of cpurse, but he didn’t know that. Nor, apparently, did he know what the twelve-hour trip to the nearest port in a dory rocket would do to his kids. Maybe he didn’t care about anything, so long as he himself got away. The children came out next, tears streaming down their frightened faces. Kellie thought that already he could see the frail, little bodies man- gled and torn, with blood spurting from their mouths, crushed by the fierce pressure in the small boats. A child under six might survive an hour or two in a dory, but never half a day. They were rushing out to their death. John Kellie felt his new palms rub- bing together restlessly, tormentedly. He knew that from somewhere in the room Virhac was still watching him, but he didn’t want to meet the little man’s gaze now. He kept his head low, staring straight out before him. “Don’t be a fool now,” a voice within him whispered. “Not now, after five years, when you’re safe. Sue and a new life lie ahead of you once you get into a dory. To blazes with a couple of brats! Think of yourself. You’ve gone through plenty. Barron Kirk is a dock-walloper, no pilot.” “But John Kellie is,” another voice came from deep inside him. “Sue wouldn’t want you if she knew the price of your freedom. Sue had faith in John Kellie. She believed in him and still does. Barron Kirk won’t be able to tell her that he let a dozen children go to a pressure-death. It will be a guilty secret he’ll have to carry to his grave alone.” John Kellie blinked and something snapped inside him. He hardly knew he had crossed the salon until the steward stood before him. He grabbed the man by the shoulder. “Take me for’ard!” “What — ” the white-jacket began uncomprehendingly. “Don’t ask questions,” Kellie snapped. “Take me to the control room.” Something in his voice caused the steward to drop the water jugs in his hands as if they were white-hot. He led the big passenger along the gang- way into the pilot’s cabin. Kellie tapped the green-uniformed back of the man at the controls. “Okay bud, move over. I’ll take her from here.” The pilot looked over his shoulder, smiled weakly and nodded. He moved along the leather bench to the far side of the cabin. Almost immediately his body slumped in the seat. There was an ugly gash along his forehead, where he must have struck the panel when the ship lurched. John Kellie noticed it only briefly, because he had grabbed the firing wheel the moment the pilot let it go. The hard wheel felt oddly familiar under his hands. It had been many years since he had sat behind controls. Could he still pilot? The question hadn’t occurred to him back in the sa- lon. Now there wasn’t time to think. There were only the fiery ionic cas- cades against the broad port in front of him, the ship under him, storm- struck and quivering crazily. HE strove to bring into play long unused muscles and a half-for- gotten sense of balance, gripping the wheel so tightly that his new skin was soon ripped and bleeding. But he did not notice his hands. Slowly the feel of the ship was coming to him. The skin on his fingers and hands was not his, but the muscles and nerves inside still belonged to the man who had been called the best pilot between Jove City and Menagon, Mercury. Kellie fought the old Empress, striving to head her into a wild tor- rent of ions that seemed to come from all sides at once. He forgot every-

Page 114

TRAIL’S END 115 thing but himself and the ship. In the whole, wide Universe there was noth- ing but him and the crotchety Em- press, whose crazy pulse he was hold- ing under his hands. Her rockets fired late and each set had a slightly different timing. Kellie wasn’t used to them. It needed split- second firing to avert the heaviest blasts before they opened a seam or burst a bulkhead. Suddenly he des- paired and cursed himself as a mur- derer. At least, if he had kept quiet, the men and women aboard would have been saved. It was not too late to call the stew- ard and tell him it was no go. They could still abandon ship in the dories. But John Kellie couldn’t drive the image of the mangled children from his eyes. The Empress was now at the com- plete mercy of the storm. A whirl- pool or a bad cross-current would wreak havoc on her. Yet the maneu- ver did one thing. It prevented the old lady’s own vibrations from help- ing to tear her to pieces. In haughty silence the Empress rocketed through the darkness in fric- tionless fall. She gave no further re- sistance to the buffeting currents and surrendered to every fiery burst. They’d get through, Kellie thought, if they didn’t catch a twister — a super- cluster of ions, revolving at incredible speed. He kept his hand on the con- trols and watched hard. If he saw one coming, he could still try a burst, though it wouldn’t do much good. “Come on, lady,” he addressed his unvoiced plea to the ship. “Stay away LOOK FORWARD TO— CL 'IjulsJtidsL Siffa)- CHRISTMAS ON GANYMEDE By ISAAC ASIMOV PLUS MANY OTHER OUTSTANDING STORIES AND FEATURES COMING NEXT ISSUE He had to bring the Empress through ! The storm was almost weird in its intensity, one of those disturbances that make a pilot think there’s some- thing alive and vicious in space. Kel- lie thought of a trick he had once tried and got away with. It was dangerous, but it seemed the only thing left. He rang for the steward. “Have everyone fasten themselves to the emergency hooks in the cabins,” he told the white-jacket. “Do it quick!” The steward nodded and exited hur- riedly. After counting off a full min- ute on the dial chronometer, Kellie kicked off the rockets and the trem- bling ship went dead. Only the soft thrum of the grav-generators re- mained. from twisters and head for calm ether. It’s up to you.” THE Empress obliged. With her skirts tight about her ankles, like the dainty old lady she was, the old ship rode out the storm in fine style. Kellie could have kissed her face plates in affection. Tiredly he kicked down on the slats and the rockets burst out strong as they cleared the tail-end of the storm. “That was a fine bit of piloting — Kirk.” Kellie didn’t have to turn to know who had entered the cabin. He had forgotten about Virhac for the last few hours, but now reality flooded back over him with the unpleasant shock of an icy shower. He kept his face forward to hide its grim bitter-

Page 115

116 STARTLING STORIES ness from the ferret. The long chase was over and he had lost. “You know,” the low voice behind him was saying, “I thought only one man could have brought this ship through the way you did. Pilot by the name of John Kellie. Too bad about him, though. He turned into a criminal and became a convicted fugitive.” There was a pause. Kellie sat death- ly still. Then Virhac added in a low, intense tone: “He was a criminal — a hard, ruth- less murderer.” Somehow John Kellie got the curi- ous idea that the man behind him wasn’t stating the words. He was asking, pleading to be contradicted. It was an odd thought that Virhac should doubt now, after five years. The knuckles on the firing wheel tightened. “I knew this fellow Kellie,” the pi- lot said huskily. “He was innocent. He never killed that man. The D.A. railroaded him because it looked like an easy conviction.” “Yes?” Virhac replied slowly. “I remember his story. Kellie said his co-pilot was drunk and raising the devil in the Orion’s cabin. He said he had to hit him. The man fell and struck his head badly. That was Kel- lie’s story.” “It was true, Virhac.” “But the D.A. found that both men were in love with the same girl, a cer- tain Sue Arnold. He also discovered that the two men had always hated each other.” The hidden, pleading note seemed to beg for the truth, as if Virhac wanted badly to believe. John Kellie answered it earnestly. “Maybe they didn’t like each other, but neither one was a murderer. John Kellie was no murderer, Virhac.” “Was he the type of man who couldn’t bear to see a little child die needlessly?” “I — I think he was,” John Kellie said. In the silence that followed, Kellie almost felt the man behind him sway- ing. It must have been hard, he knew, for Virhac to admit he was wrong. It would take a real man to change a mind set in one way for five years. “I’m glad you told me this, Kirk,” Virhac said suddenly. The voice was changed now. It was brisk, as if the Service man had put a laborious de- cision behind him. “I suppose you know Kellie’s dead. Yes, he fell from a crag near Venus City while climb- ing. Too bad, eh? The body hasn’t been reclaimed, but there were native witnesses. I'm going home to make a report on it.” The man at the wheel could hardly believe his ears. Was this Virhac speaking? Was he serious? If he was — John Kellie felt cool relief running through him like balm. “By the way, Kirk,” Virhac added, “before Kellie died, he paid a plastic surgeon to disguise him. It was a ood job, but he made one mistake, f I were wanted by the Service, Kirk, and I decided to change my identity and pose as — say, a stevedore — the first thing I’d do is make sure the doc didn’t leave me with hands like an infant’s. Dock-wallopers don’t sport rosy palms, Kirk. When a man holds up a match, it’s easy to look at his hands.” SILENCE followed, then the sound of footsteps going out of the cabin and down the gangway. Virhac was gone. Kellie sat dumbly, only one thought in his mind. Virhac had given him back his life and tossed away five years, all in a few seconds. Gratitude and admiration for his enemy welled up in Kellie. Virhac was hard but honest, a real Service man! He lifted his hands. So that was why Virhac had become suspicious. But his hands weren’t like a new- born’s any longer. They were solid mats of blood. He gripped the wheel again and al- most enjoyed the pain. “Come on, baby,” John Kellie whis- pered to the ship. “We’re going to Terra and Sue.” Flattered, the Empress kicked out on all her rockets, as if she were an upstart stripling instead of a grand old dame of twenty-five winters.

Page 116

JUST A FEW MORE LEFT! Own. J hiA. *)Ji£aL QlaAik, o, £. Science JktiorL! • Garret Smith's famous book, BETWEEN WORLDS can now be yours — at the WANTED MEN ...WOMEN Wort For Tta Government Salaries $1700-$2600 Per Year low price of 50c! © Mail your order to STARTLING STORIES, 10 E. 40th Street, New York City, N. Y. Enclose coin, postage stamps of small denominations (l-2-3c) or money order. A perfect copy of “Between Worlds” will be promptly sent you by return mail! Incidentally, Garret Smith is the famous author of “Treasures of Tantalus,” “Slaves of the Wire,” and many other scientific- tion masterpieces. flTTEnnon, Fflns! 8SCIEHTIFICTI0N 4C. TITLES AW Here’s your opportunity to obtain a com- plete set of outstanding scientifiction titles, printed on excellent grade paper, attrac- tively bound. Six individual booklets. seno for THEm today! The titles include THE IMMORTALS OF MER- CURY, by Clark Ashton Smith; THE SPECTRE BUL- LET, by Thomas Mack; AVENGING NOTE, by Alfred Sprissler; THE SHIP FROM NOWHERE, by Sidney Patzer; THE MOON MIRAGE, by Raymond Z. Gallun; FLIGHT OF THE AERO FIX, by Maurice Renard; THE INVADING ASTEROID, by Manly Wade Well- man; MEN FROM THE METEOR, by Pansy Black. BOOK DEPT.. 14th Floor, 10 East 40th St.. New York Enclosed 25c In coin (or) sianiiM. Please rush my set of OUT No Layoffs! Vacations With Pay! Regular Raises! Good Pensions! A LIFETIME JOB * RAILWAY POSTAL CLERKS * CITY MAIL CARRIERS * CLERKS— FILE CLERKS POST OFFICE CLERKS * STENOGRAPHERS— TYPISTS RURAL MAIL CARRIERS * INSPECTORS OF CUSTOMS ★ Patrol and Immigration Inspectors * Pay for Course Only After You Are Appointed & Working So sure are we that our simplified Interstate Home Study Course of coaching will result in your passing the government examination and being appointed, that we are willing to accept 1,000 enrollments on the following basis. The price of our complete 10-week course is $30 plus $3 Examiners’ Fee. We are willing to give you the course with the understanding that you are to pay for it ONLY AFTER YOU ARE APPOINTED AND WORKING. Should you take the examination and fail, or not be appointed for any reason whatsoever, the loss will be ours, and you will not owe us one cent for the course! GET READY IMMEDIATELY! FULL Particulars FREE! T9 ■Clip and Mail This Coupon NOWii INTERSTATE HOME STUDY ACADEMY 901 BROAD ST.. DIV. T9. NEWARK. N. J. Please HUSH me FREE particulars bon to qualify fo Kovornjnent job. Name (Please print plainly In peneil) State I If you wish Paste on Postcard and Hall. 117

Page 117

BY the Fire-shades of Vulcan, did the old sarge recently feel as though he had made a trip through the nethermost sulphurous regions! A big and husky spaceman of some two hundred-odd pounds tonnage came stalking through the editorial offices trailing clouds of smoke and fairly snorting flames. Under one brawny arm he carried a briefcase which was smoldering like the fungi on the landing fields of Pluto after a rocket ship takes off. Talk about a trip through old Sol’s corona. You space bugs haven’t heard anything yet. Wait until you get a glimpse of next issue’s lead novel. The Devil’s Planet, by Manly Wade Wellman, the Devil’s head fireman, will warm you up to where you spaceteers along the Eastern Seaboard won’t notice the fuel shortage. Yeah, I know, I accidentally let slip a hint on this yarn at the bottom of last issue’s department. Sort of got my planets crossed — or got caught with my planets down! But that was how hot Wellman’s “The Devil’s Planet” was — it radiated heat across two issues. (We’re on a deal with the printers now to use asbestos paper.) Your old sarge had to wear ventilated asbestos gloves while glancing over the manuscript. What kept Manly Wellman from erupting in spontaneous combustion on his way over from New Jersey, I can’t fathom. But the painters had to refinish the interior of the elevator he used to come up to our control rooms. So, prepare yourselves for a red-hot dish. We preserved the manuscript by keeping it under an oil bath in the manner of me- tallic sodium and cooled Wellman down in the refrigerating unit of the old sarge’s flagship before we dared let him essay the journey home. But everything is under control now. Wellman will live — although he fused his typewriter as thoroughly as if he had used a proton ray — and next issue we’re off with “The Devil’s Planet” under full acceleration. Constant acceleration would finally crush the hardiest soul. So, knowing you can’t stand a solid diet of such raw meat, we are sandwiching in a rollicking Yuletide story which will knock you at least ten THE ETHER VIBRATES — with the let- tern nent in by loyal followers of science flction. Add your voice! This department in u public forum devoted to your oplnionn, snKffentionn and comments— nnd we’re anx- ious to hear from you. Remember, thin In VOl'R mnKU/ine and in planned to filial! nil your requirements. Let us know which stories and departments you like — and which fall to click with you. A knock’s an welcome as u boost— speak right up and we’ll print as many of your letters as pos- sible. We cannot undertake to enter Into private correspondence. Address THE ETHER VIBRATES, STARTLING STORIES. 10 East 40th St.. New York. N. Y. degrees out of astrogation reckoning from laughter. Don’t overlook "Christmas on Gany- mede” by an up and coming author — Isaac Asimov. And there’ll be a couple of other space shorts to round out the issue when it comes time to compute the wordage for the make-up department. HALL OF FAME CLASSIC Which brings me to the selection for our galaxy of famous classics. This issue will contain “The Fitzgerald Contraction,” by Dr. Miles J. Breuer. No rocket blasts of rhetoric on this yarn; it speaks for itself. And, listen, you space hounds, how about writing in and voting for your choice of Hall of Fame selections for the months ahead? I’m not offering any prize but if you birds will vote for a short story from our early WONDER files, accom- panied by a letter of not more than one hundred words, telling why you selected the said story. I’ll prevail on the editor to print the best letter along with the chosen story. Sure, we’ve done it before. Nice idea, isn’t it? So, come on. Sell me a literary bill of goods aside from your sizzling bellyaches for the hapless vibrating ether. Some of you kiwis must have a complete file of our old numbers. Just make sure you don’t ask for a Hall of Fame story we have already run. Would your rockets be red! I ETHERSRAMS | Suppose we zip open the mail bag and start this month’s fireworks with a special announcement of interest to every science- fiction fan everywhere. (No question; statement.) FOURTH WORLD SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION! By Walter J. Daugherty Well, print this announcement and call us conventional. Sarge. but here's a STARTLING bit of news that should make your spaceteers sit up and stare like BEMs. We want every kiwi from Vulcan to Pluto to know that the

Page 118

next WORLD'S SCIENCE FICTION CONVEN- TION will be held in Lob Angeles in 1942! Already preparations are under way and things are rolling along smoothly. Every fan here in L.A. is actively co-operative, and even at this early date we can say that this thing is going to be BIG! With all due respect to the New York. Chicago, and Denver conven- tions. this one is going to be all those in one. with so many extras thrown in that it'll take many a month to get everything lined up. That's why we're starting early. All readers who plan to attend or support the Convention, should send $1 at once to the Convention Secretary, Paul Freehafer, 349 S. Rampart. Los Angeles. We want to stress the importance of joining early, as your dol- lar entitles you to a beautiful membership card, special stickers, and other benefits yet to come. IMPORTANT: each member Is going to be informed personally, from time to time and In a most unique manner, of the further progress of the Convention plans! Watch further issues of STARTLING STORIES for more details! Meanwhile, for a free sample copy of Paclf- Icouews. drop a penny postcard to Convention Director Walter J. Daugherty. 6224 Leland Way. Hollywood, Calif. So, aping Saturn’s blasty style, eh? Under the circumstances the old sarge will merely cock a quizzical eye in the direction of Pilot Daugherty. I take it that the Denver Convention was quite a bit of a success. But I still have no first-hand news from you space rats who attended. The old sarge couldn’t make it; he was grounded here at the home port, without fuel for his rockets, and busy sweat- ing out the dope for coming issues of STARTLING STORIES. How about a little info on the convention? Did any- body meet any of those sloe-eyed maidens from the Lunar caverns? (Sloe is not spelled with a W.) All right, click on your headphones and stand by for communication. Here comes a message from a guy who knows what he wants. A REPAIR JOB ON STARTLING By D. W. Boggs Dear Sarge: After hitting a torrid pace with the July issue. STARTLING STORIES seems to have slipped back again to the rut with the September number. The Burrough Boys just couldn’t follow Jack Williamson. Their “Bottom of the World” might have amounted to something if Jack had been its creator, but the thing was just too Incredible the way they did it. The story started out rapidly and. after a series of spark-plug failures, got into high gear. From then on. the thing ripped along so doggone incoherently that I lost interest about the time that Norris lost his bathysphere. I didn't get a letter sent after the July Issue came, so here I want to say that Williamson’s "Gateway to Paradise" was one of the finest stf jobs of the year. I list Jack 'way up there, and that yarn arrowed me — bulls-eye! Well, well, so this yarn, like Hamilton's T. W. S. yarn. "Son of Two Worlds,” resulted from the Santa Monica Beach story conference in August. 1940! More conferences! Cover for September: Not bad — in fact, good in comparison with some of Belarski's other covers. The boy apparently has learned about perspective and shading. Incidentally, I notice many readers were hard put to figure out where in "Gateway to Paradise" Artist Belarskl found his inspira- tion for the July cover. They evidently missed Clayton's tale of his ancestor's experiences during the Dark Star's passing. (P. 32). As for the other stories for September. “Death From the Stars" is certainly one of the best of the circa 1930 vintage. Many early [Turn page] Candid-Type CAMERA ?E W! AMAZING INTRODUCTORY OFFER TO READERS OF THIS MAGAZINE FOR ONLY $ 4 00 - MONARCK L NATIONALLY- FAMOUS CANDID-TYPE CAMERA W« u« presenting at a sensationally low price the greatest camera of the year, backed by a 100% full guarantee. Tills camera, being ottered to readers of this magazine at an amazing Introductory price of $1.00. possesses features formerly found only In much higher priced cameras. TAKES 16 SHARP, CLEAR PICTURES MONEY-SAVING FEATURE— THIS CAMERA TAKES 16 PICTURES ON ANY LOW PRICE STANDARD ROLL OF FILM. WHICH CAN BE BOUGHT EVERYWHERE. Just think I Each picture with your Monarok Camera costs you only a little orer lc apiece — And here are other outstanding feature*— Senulne Graf, ground and polished Precision Lens. Eye Level View Inder. adjustable for snapshot or time exposure. Streamlined- Designed Plastic Case. Imagine all these features Id a camera for only $1,001 SEND NO MONEY! Just fill out coupon. Pay po6tman only $1.00 plus C. O. D. charges on delivery, or send $1.00 wlUi coupon and we'll pay all poetage charges. You'll be both amazed and pleased when you receive this marvelous Csndid-type camera. If you are not perfectly satisfied, return camera and case, and we’ll gladly refund your dollsr. You must hurry, for our stock Is limited. Clip the coupon and got your camera and free carrying case at onccl | j ! THE CAMERA MAN. Dept. T-l I 139 N. Clark Street. Chicago, Illinois. ■ □ Send Camera and free carrying case. I'll pay postman $1.00 j | plus postage. ■ □ ENCLOSED IS $1.00 for Camera and free carrying case, you a I to pay all postage charges. I I | Address | I Town or City Stale | I Take advantage ef this big film buy! S ■ rolls of film (80 pictures) for only $1.00) | □ Enclosed find $1.00 for S rolls of film, postage paid. | 119

Page 119

increased production means more Jobs for MACHINISTS and bigger pay for men who know their work Thii home-study course gives you the practical feet* on modem machines up-to-dste methods you need to advanoe In machine shoo work. Take — — **■ • — ' • ■- 01 uio otner man s expcrli oooks. to solve your problems. Increase your The AMERICAN MACHINISTS’ LIBRARY —2516 Illustrations (A combined home-study course and referor.co library) This library of machine shop practice was written for practical men. it gives you the best methods for every kind of machine shop work. It fully explains lathes, drills, and other machine tools and their operation, automatic screw machines, speeds and feeds, gear design snd production. Jigs and fixtures, punch and dlo work, metal surfac- ing. etc etc. Plainly written— completely Illustrated— the beet kind k help to the machine shop man who wants to advance himself. No money down — special price — easy payment*. EXAMINATION COUPON McGRAW-HILL BOOK CO., 330 W. 42nd St.. New York Send me for ten days’ examination the American Machinists’ Library. 6 vols. If satisfactory 1 will ‘ • -- - and tS.Ou monthly — ■" •• - — ’— ' wanted. I will return i Shipment write plainly Name City and Bta.o Position Name of Company INVENTORS Protect your Idea with i Patent. Don’t delay, let Free “Patent Guide.” No charge for preliminary Information. CLARENCE A. O'BRIEN — Registered Patent Attorney, IL8 Adams Bldg., Washington, 0. C. "I ’ft, vr 16 DAYS TRIAL SATISFACTION GUARANTEED or Money Back. Attractive styles. Low prices. BROKEN GLASSES REPAIRED. tales are disappointing as reprints, but July's "Man-Beast of Toree” and his yarn are "clas- sics'’ worthy of that often misused term. "No Heroes Wanted." Somewhat more ac- tion than most of Williams' stories, but a very acceptable formula yarn. “Prisoners of Platland.” Another of FBL's recent floppos. This is the worst of his cur- rentales. Phooey! Departments: Thrills In Science: One of stf's better features. These true tales are often more exciting than the fiction. Cross- word Puzzle: Rubbish for the void. S-F Fan- zine Review: Boy! are these reviews out of date and out of data! Science Question Box: Usually uninteresting, except perhaps to the questioner. In conclusion,, I request more tales by Ed Hamilton, Williamson, Binder, and Wellman and fewer by Kuttner and Friend. Also. I hope for book-length novels from other au- thors as yet unrepresented. Secret wish: A book-lengther from Isaac Asimov! Heck, I forgot to mention The Ether Vi- brates! Like Its brothers In the companion magazines, this feature is a stellar letter de- partment, but recently there has been too much emphasis on letters t It’s degenerated into an alphabet soup! Down with all so- cieties! The inter-epistle comment is some- times silly, but I must admit, Sarge, that you can slio nuff sling that lingo! Despite your handle, you are anything but "saturnine" (grave, gloomy, phlegmatic). Where did your cherished "Xeno brew" get its name? An old spacedog once told me that its called “Xeno” because, after one swig, you Xeno evil, hear no evil, speak no evil! In fact, you don't see. hear, speak PERIOD. As an old Xeno lover from 'way back, you should know. Izzat right? — 2215 Benjamin Street N. E., Min- neapolis. Minnesota. Simple, isn’t it? Peelot Boggs just wants an overhaul job done right out here in space. Rocket jets cleaned and fuel tanks blown while you wait. Not to mention shifting of ballast and trim- ming of cargo. Now, if somebody will just hand me a broom. I’ll sweep out at the same time . . . Anyway, Boggs doesn’t bog down in sounding off. So, listen, kiwi, that’s a good letter, and the old sarge isn’t saying that some of your views aren’t pertinent, but what would suit you exactly would be about ten sizes too large or too small for a lot of other spaceteers. You’re telling me the letters, are too windy! Tell the other space rats to boil down their bubblings and make their communications more to the point. P.S. Your letter isn’t precisely an epigram it- self. Look what comes now! SEND NO MONEY THE BIG QUARTER'S WORTH BEST CROSSWORD PUZZLES NOW ON SALE AT ALL STANDS AN APPLE FOR THE TEACHER By E. Earl Bielfeldt " " ' g out the Xeno and some ‘roots, 'cause I want to gab a Dear Sarge: Venusian ihero while. Everybody wants to know who you are. That’s silly. Can't they read? Your name Is Sergeant Saturn. You've said so many, many times. Who gives a Martian zentzo about your background? Maybe that's better kept quiet, anyhow, eh, Sarge? But to get on with what I wanted to tell you. SS is a good book, to put is mildly. My subscription ended with the September Issue, but tell that subscription department of yours to keep right on sending STARTLING to me. Money? Oh. sure, look hard and you'll find a money order for ninety cents. To classify the last six issues would be a hard Job, so I'll Just put them all in first place and let it go at that. The other two Better Publications SF books. TWS and CAPTAIN FUTURE are also fine. CAPTAIN FUTURE Sol off to a slow start, but he’s picking up ne. Say, Sarge, are there any pictures of you

Page 120

around? If not, I’ve drawn one which I think might look like you. You'll find It, too, with this letter. Whoa — cut forward rockets. I’m 'way off my orbit. This 'spach is to tell you about your book, SS. Some very fine Hall of Fame stories have been published in the past. I'm a comparitively new fan, so I have never seen any or the old stories. The crossword puzzle Is great fun. keep it. Each is Just hard enough to keep a fellqw busy; informative, too. Much better than a Science Quiz. I always was a sucker for a crossword puzzle, anyway. By the way, what has happened to the Guest Editorials? They were good. Put your authors to work writing them again. I guess that they can take time off their stories for a few minutes, can't they? I’m keeping you up, so I guess I’ll go now. Thanks for the Xeno. — Maple and Cherry Lanes, Thornton, Illinois. Sergeant Saturn Well, seal my port and call me sherry 1 Do you snickering space tramps see what I see? So this is the impression Peelot Biel- feldt has of the old sarge! Maybe I’d better call a convention of you birds to appear before me in the control room so you can get a good look at my mug. Great Martian Zoop Flowers! I don’t scan through the televisors like this, do I? Or do I? Never mind; don’t answer that. Nice caricature, Earl. Keep up your art work. FIRST BLOOD By Sylvia Singer Dear Sarge: This is my first letter to a sci- ence-fiction (or any other) mag, and the cause of it all is Jack Williamson, with the best SF story that I’ve yet read. "Gateway to Para- dise.” You could really see the world he imagined, with easy life Inside the Ring, and the Outside, bleak and terrible. Captain Glenn Clayton was somebody real, alive, somebody that one couldn't help going to bat for. Compared to him. Lieutenant Barry Shane was more of an author's too), but only as compared. However, the story was super- colossal (boy, am I getting oratorical!). "Man-Beast of Toree” (the best Hall of Fame yet) was j>ust naturally second, with "Calling of the Harp” a close third. “Cross- roads of the Universe” was just ordinary space-filler. Incidentally, has reader Paul Carter gone space-mad? Tsk-tsk, too bad. Belarski’s ex- cellent cover illustrating "Gateway to Para- dise” had nothing to do with the story? Or, my mistake, maybe he just can’t read. Oh well. And here’s where I join the fight. Please, please, Sarge, we don’t want BEMs on the covers (SS hasn’t offended so much, but some- times TWS has). 1 pick up a mag with one. and feel a thousand eyes boring into me. a thousand fingers pointing accusingly, and [Turn page] COMPLETE OUTFIT $2-98

Page 121

How 50c a Month Pays YOU Up to $75.00 a Month h SICKNESS AND ACCIDENT POLICY. hliils of It I For only 50c you $50.00 « month foe ir Accident Disability ; bargain Ilka this there is nothing like It anywhere. —shout 1 He a day. Uils amazing polish Sickness Disability; up to ST5.00 a moi _ _ lemi0!!n0AnAcol,1?lU1« D“U|- "“I other liberal -ben«nts7"'Over SJOU.UOO.OO cash benefits bare already been paid on Sterling policies. Insure with confidence) Sterling Insurance Is awarded tlia highest railno * J- (excellent) by DUNNE S, the largest policyholders re- " ' J- One low coat of 50c a month to anyone 89. No medical examination. Get policy * “ obligation. No salesman will call. porting service in good health, nr FREE Inspection- iorr turns lnspectlon-no coat or obligation. Write today. THIS OFFER IS LIMITED. EXAMINE THIS POLICY FREE STERLING INSURANCE COMPANY, 5645 Jaekson-Franklln Bldg., Chicago Please mall me at once for FREE INSP_ 50c a month Sloknejs and Accident Pollay. : Suoct Address . City Name of Benefit I MWlffil J Writs today for free Booklet out. ■ I lining profit sharing plan. H 1 ALLIED MUSIC .32. 7608 Reading. Clnoinnatl, 0. * ASTHMA! TREATMENT mailed on Free Trial. If satisfied I Bend *1; If not, it’s Free. I Write me for your treat- * ment today. W. K. STERLINE, 830 Ohio Ave., Sidney, Ohio RUPTURED? Get Relief This Proven Way Why try to worry along with trusses that gouge your flesh — press heavily on hips and spine — enlarge opening — fail to hold rupture? You need the Cluthe. No leg-straps or cutting belts. Automatic adjustable pad holds at real opening — follows every body movement with instant in- creased support in case of strain. Cannot slip whether at work or piay. Light. Waterproof. Can be worn in bath. Send for amazing FKEE book. “Advice To Ruptured," and details of liberal truthful 60-day trial offer. Also endorse- ments from grateful users in your neighborhood. Writes CLUTHE SONS. Dept. 33, Bloomfield, Now Jersey. The Best and Brightest All-Picture Magazine COLLEGE HUMOR NOW ON SALE IOC AT ALL STANDS "Look what she reads!" echoing In my brain in ail the languages of the Universe. Serious- ly though, I know people who won’t look at SF magB because of them. If you must have them, cage ’em In the Inside where they won’t do so much harm. But I’m hopping around like a Mercurian sklp-frob. Here's the Sepl. lineup. I didn't think so much of the Hall of Fame selection. It was quite good, but the others were better. Next, "The Bottom of the World.” John C. and Hulbert Burroughs are following in their father's footsteps. Although they’re not as good as Edgar Rice at his best — things like "The Land That Time Forgot" (his master- piece, I think), and the earlier John Carter — I think they are doing better than some of the John Carter and Carson (particularly the former) stuff that Is now being published in some mags. "Prisoners In Flatland" was second. That was excellent. "Death From the Stars" and “No Heroes Wanted” came In about even. As a whole, the Sept, issue wasn't as good as the previous. And now to close, with a final plea GO MONTHLY, and let’s have some more Wil- liamson.— Glen Head, New York. Well, honey chile, maybe you’d better let the BEMs occasionally haunt the covers. Think what it would look like with, say. Pilot Bielfeldt’s conception of the old sarge on it. So this is your first rocket blast, eh? A neat trial flight. Don't neglect to fuel up and heave another broadside sometime. The sarge is sorta partial to gal readers. THIS SPACETEER'S BEEN DOUBLECROSSED By Edward C. Connor Dear Sergeant Saturn; Your editors seem to have a peculiar habit of making a fellow change his opinions. First you give us a very punk story or so, and at the first opportunity say. “Ha! ha! just wait! Walt until next time! We’ve got something good!” When you recently made a like statement regarding Oscar J. Friend's novel "Water World,” I knew liow things would turn out. But — what’s this? — I find myself forced to make the following statement: "Water World” is a definite hit!!! It is a smasheroo! A whiz- bang! In fact — I have been doubleerossed! What has Friend done? — 929 Butler St.. Peoria. Illinois. And here we are again. One man’s meat is another man’s poison. Who said that was a cliche? We still eat, don’t we — when we can get it. And I’ve run into the darnedest variety of poisons kicking about the Solar System. It all boils down to the simple fact that some folks like this and other folks like that. You birds would have the old sarge space-dizzy if it weren’t for one thing. Cut your blasts and listen. Confidentially, I’m glad to air your frank opinions. But personally I like ’em all. So, evidently, does Peelot Sealover. SPACE LINER FICTION By Art Sealover Dear Sarg.: I am going to ask a question about this bi-monthly publishing of the best sf mag on the market today. WHY. WHY. WHY, WHY not monthly? I am Just about to start "Sojarr of Titan,” and I hope it is as good as "A Yank at Val- halla." That was a humdinger." The City of Binging Flame," was awful. I have been a reader of STARTLING STORIES for over a year now and have only a good report to make (that is almost all of the time), but just keep up the good work, and I hope when we are able to take a space ship to Mara, or the Moon, I will be able to take along a copy of STARTLING STORIES 122

Page 122

and enjoy myself on my trip through space. — 137 Pine Street, Zanesville, Ohio. Maybe you space rats don’t stop to realize it, but Kive Sealover has the right idea. A voyage through 6pace — after the initial excitement of blasting off and setting up the astrogation chart — is, barring acci- dents, just about as dull an interval as you can imagine. That is, unless you can start a few first-class fights. Or maybe swizzle a jug of Xeno. And speaking of Xeno, read this snappy report. A CRACK AT BELARSKI By Frank Shaney Dear Sarge: Pass around the Xeno Jug, Sarge! The September issue was a honey. After struggling past the cover and nine pages Of advertisement, I found the best issue of the past nine months. Speaking of the cover, here's an atom bomb you can put under Belarski. The scene is supposed to illustrate "The Bottom of the World," but far be it from me to find any connection. They must be on the surface of the Earth, since the humans are not wearing pressure suits, but then how did the seamen get there? They aren’t wearing suits, either. By the way, those seamen look like zombies returning from fight with a Plutonian wild- cat. How did the girl get there? And who is the green -faced gent with the pointed ears in the background? The Burroughs boys really did a swell job on the novel. John can really swing a wicked pen on those Illustrations, too. He's better than some of your staff artists I could men- tion. The ones on pages fifteen and thirty-one . [Turn page ] SGIEIITIFICTIOn SLEUTHS! You'll get an opportunity to match your wits against the author's in next issue's amazing novel — THE DEVIL’S PLANET By Manly Wade Wellman — which is a baffling murder mystery thriller of the future that packs suspense on every page! Look Forward to It! Yea Can learn Ti OLD LEG TROUBLE Easy to use Viscose Method heals many old kg sores caused by leg coogestion.varicoie veins, swollen legs and injuries or no cost for TRIAL. ^ Describe vour trooblc and get FREE BOOK. T. 0. VISCOSE METHOD COMPANY 140 N. Dearborn 8tnct, Chicago. Illinois START $1260 to $2100 YEAR 68,578 appointments from Civil Service Examinations in f 1940 fiscal year. ' Thousands appoint- / ments each year, i Prepare immediately. Franklin Institute Dept. B259 Rochester, N. Y. / Gentlemen: Rush to me FREE of charge, list of U. 8. Government big pay qo p„„„ rivii -S' jobs. Send me FREE 32-page ~~ . c? book describing salaries, vaca- aervice Book. . tlons, hours and work. Tell me Mail Coupon / ,h.ow t0 qualify for one of these Today — / jobs. SURE. Name . 123 Address

Page 123

FREE BOOK ON COLON TROUBLES The McCleary Clinic, H-1197 Elms Blvd., Excelsior Springs, Mo., is putting out an up- to-the-minute 122-page book on Colon Disorders, Piles and Constipation and commonly associ- ated chronic ailments. The book is illustrated with charts, diagrams and X-ray pictures of these ailments. Write today — a postcard will do — to the above address and this large book will be sent you FREE and postpaid. SONG POEMS WANTED! to be set to musle. Submit for Froo examination. Recordings made. VANDERBILT MU6IC STUDIO. Dept. H. Box 112, Coney Island. N. Y. CHARM DROPS An enchanting perfume of irre- sistible allure, clinging for hours with ineffable, fascinating fragrance. Just a tiny drop Is t two are ordered. REXBELL, Box 124. Dept. 100 Huntington Station, New York Quit Using Tobacco! Write for Free Bcnklet and Learn How. Remits Guaranteed or Money Refunded. NEWELL PHARMACAL COMPANY 105 Clayton Station St. Louis. Mo. 100,000 Satisfied Users — SPECIAL WORK FOR-, MARRIED WOMEN Earn up to $23.00 weekly and your own dresses Free. No canvassing, no investment. Full or part time. Write fully, giving age, dress size. FASHION FROCKS, Inc., Dept. 25042, Cincinnati, O. FALSE TEETH low"| 90 DAYS' TRIAL*, TEST THEM EXAMINE THEM ^ Wo make FALSE TEETH for you bj from your own Impressions. You hare faction of MONEY BACK GUARANTEE. Customers In United Statea and Canada report SATISFACTION but you be your own JUDGE. CCNn Nil MMirV WRITE TODAY for FREE Otnu ITU IYIUNCI BOOKLET and MATERIAL. CLEVELAND DENTAL SUPPLY CO. Dept. 2-R1. East St. Louis, Illinois FUN ON THE CAMPUS IN CO-EDS The All-Picture Magazine are good examples. I like full-page illustra- tions. Can’t we have some more? "Prisoners in Flatland" was sort of medi- ocre. Long has done better than that. “Death from the Stars” is one to remember. “No Heroes Wanted” was a fast-moving short story. It was okay. I see that the next Issue features "The Gods Hate Kansas.” Haven’t the authors any pity in their hearts? This old Earth has been through just about everything from freezing to exploding. The time is ripe for an adven- ture story like “The Three Planeteers" and "A Million Tears to Conquer." I say leave Earth alone for a while. It’s taken an awful beating In the last three issues. Let Binder bring back Anton Torks. (What ever hap- pened to him? The last I heard, he was in another dimension.) Or let Hamilton bring over Captain Future for a visit. The alphabet war over BEMs is reaching gigantic proportions and may become too much for the old Sarge to handle. Why not rig up a score board and put the thing to a vote? I hereby cast my vote to exterminate all BEMs and let the carcasses fall where they may. Well, I guess that’s all. Sarge. Yours ’till your Xeno jktg gets empty. — 905 E. Elm Street. New Albany. Indiana. So— getting back to my reference to Xeno — you really want to know what makes Artist Belarski draw and paint in the little men you don’t think are there, do you? Well, Belarski tippled a shot from my Xeno jug when I wasn’t looking and he’s been running on atomic energy ever since. But you’d better look close for scenes illus- trated by the cover paintings. They are generally there. Accurate enough, too, if you allow for a little artistic license and concede the symbolic, parabolic, allegoric and paregoric motif. Anyway, that’s enough out of you, Brother Shaney. And who was it running the thermo- coupled rheostat up to a thousand B.T.U.’s in my space suit over lengthy letters in this rocky rocket domain of mine? Take a reading of this gauge, will you, you space monkey? THE SPACE QUIZ-KID By Paul Cox not yet read it, but that cover is punk. I have never seen but one cover by Mister Belarski that I liked — back in 1935. The ideal cover would be some dark space scene such as an astcrlod floating in dark space or a comet with a background of black. Drop the scientific crossword puzzle and one short story and fill in with THE ETHER VIBRATES. Letters are much more Interest- ing than most of the short stories (not my letter, of course). Sarge, why don’t you answer the letters? I don’t mean personal correspondence, but under the letters that you print. You com- pletely ignore most of the questions put to you. I am going to ask some of the questions that many have asked, but received no an- swer. Please answer them. 1. How may I get back Issues? Are the first three Issues still available? ~ Who Is the editor of SS. TWS and CF? 3. Why did TWS go bi-monthly? 4. If I wish to join League how may I do S' ■ in the Science Fiction = so without injuring the magazine? 6. Why don’t you use Bok In your mag- azine?— 3401 6thAve., Columbus, Georgia. As I live and endeavor to breathe with asteroids! This kiwi wants a longer de- partment. And he is calling the old sarge down, when all the time I thought I was going to great length to answer appro- priately every query printed in this quarter of space which required an answer. The old 124 ON SALE 10c AT ALL STANDS

Page 124

sarge has felt at times as gabby as a couple of Plutonian chipmunks at a Venus- ian baboon house-party. And now — this! Answering your questions in numerical sequence, Peelot Cox: One, we cannot undertake to supply back numbers. But frequently I see ads anent such things in the fan mags. Two, our science magazines are handled by a small group of specialists on our busy staff. You can always hit the nail on the head by communicating with Leo Margulies, Editorial Director of this and our companion magazines. Three, do you really want to know? Instead, suppose you boost the idea of more fans buying magazines rather than trading them around and mooching a few pages at a time at the newsstands. STARTLING STORIES is planned to alternate with THRILLING WONDER STORIES, which appears in the months when SS does not. Four, you have me here, pal. I’m stuck on this one with frozen and fused rocket tubes. Per- haps if you’ll send three soap wrappers and an affidavit to the fact that you per- sonally used the soap— or a reasonable facsimile thereof — we can complete the last line of the jinglet for you. And five, we have used Bok’s work. We may again. Artists, like authors and readers, drift in and drift out. Derelicts of space, yeah. Are you answered? Here comes another squawk. Learn to set up and run ANY k ■ ■ a kind of machine; MAKE MORE |\jA|knA|| MONEY NOW by learning quickly HOW TO DO THINGS _______ which usually take years of J| //IM/ / study and practice. Tho do- / mand for SKILLED men Is AL- / VV/ff # READY ahead of the supply, then what WILL IT BE a month or two from now? pinanr Paw Don't miss this chance to qualify for promo- Dlgger ray tion. don't ml«> this Bis Opportunity which Is yours almost tor the asking. Eight Big Books chockful of Important mechanical facta told simply and clearly. Over 3000 pages, nearly 3000 Illustrations cover every (-object fully. Includ- ing Tool Making. Pattern Making. Foundry Work. Mechanical Drawing. Forging, Machine Shop Practice and Management, and hundreds of outer subjects. 8 Big Books (Up-to-datB Edition) Sent FREE to you for examination. With them we send a Big Binder of nearly 800 pages with 267 original shop tickets with 1200 Illus- trations. These show, step by step, how to set up and run almost any kind of Job and are In addition to the 8 books. Decide ■ home or place of business whether or not you want - — on any facts you want to. Note their O value, then. If you want them, payor .. __ent«. A year’s consulting prlvile™ — *•* w given with thete books without extrt »l Soeloty, Publisher*— Homo Study Courtoe. Er1T3?y.‘Tlft0 o^wWn&SS J ‘ 'ySr*wtK!uit,n«tt* ctaarge,Ult*D8’ prlvll**,‘ wl,h ZOur expert* DOUBLE TROUBLE By Bill Macfarlane, Jr. Dear Sarge: I Intend to show you two nasty things about S.S., which won’t stop bothering [Turn page j /Read Owi Companion Science Jidion Oflapapnei THRILLIHG UJORDER STORIES AND CRPTRin FUTURE 15* AT ALL STANDS Help Kidneys If you suffer from Backache, Getting Up Nights. Nervousness, Leg Pains, Swollen Ankles and feel worn out. due to non-organlc and non-systematic Kidnev and Bladder troubles, you should try Cystex, which is giving loyous help to thousands. Printed guarantee. Money back unless completely satisfactory. Ask your druggist for Cyatex today. Only 35c. High School Course at Home [ Many Finish in 2 Years I Go as rapidly as your time and abilities permit. Course equivalent to resident school work— prepares for college entrance exams. Standard H.S. texts supplied. Diploma. la oa roquet. No obligation. (American School, Dpt. H-858, Droxalat 58th, Chicago ROLLS DEVELOPED 25c Coin. Two 5x7 Double Weight Professional Enlargements. R Gloss Deckle Edge Prints. CLUB PHOTO SERVICE, Dept. 15, LoCrosse, Wls. ANY PHOTO ENLARGED Size 8 x 10 Inches or smaller U do- sired. Same price (or lull length or landscapes, pet. part of group pictured Safe return of N Of original photo guaranteed. 3 for $ 1.00 SEND NO MONEY^S, SKI and within a week you will receive your beautiful enlargement, guaranteed fadeteee. Par postman 47c plea Ing offer new. Sm8°r«rphotiii lodv? 8p*rj?r she wentS . STANDARD ART STUDIOS, 1 13 S. Jefferson Sh, Dept. 401. P, Chicago

Page 125

SAVE u»™50°/o FACTORY-TO-YOU I ATffiMtf'. SS5502STRADE-II WRITE far bit FREE catalog. MIDWEST RADIO CORPORATION S' Loch— Hand Romp. Simile Shot 0; Single Shot car 177 or 22 R1 fe&^|SSeS!,on.r~.n'5X DICE. CARDS. Specialties for Magicians use. Inks, Shiners, Check-Cop. Daubs. Catalog ten cents, stamps or coin. HHX BROS., Box T. Sail da. Colo. . *,500 markets r >r profens kmnl writer's tost I ad ability to write for pay. [ id FREE! F - postcard for yonr Tost NOW 1_ rt Writer'* Servioa, Dept. 715. St. Louis. Mo. ^MusclesAclie? J ^ Feet "Killing You”? Do you feel ' ' V "All-in” after work or exercise? Get ANDY LOTSHAW All-Purpose BODY RUB There’s no reason why you or anyone in your family should suffer the torture of aching muscles. Just rub your arms, legs, back, feet, with ANDY LOTSHAW All-Purpose Body Rub, and change your groans to grins. It’s the on ly all-purpose body rubthat lubricates and tones uptheskinasit relieves your pain. Do this right now! Thrilling Stories of Valiant British Pilots in Action in RAF ACES Now on sole 1 Oc At all Newsstands until they are done away with! The first one is the cover on our dear mag- azine. S.S. Why don’t you put to use Scien- tific Illustrations in or out of stories In the mag. The only good ones are the Issues of Mar. 1940, Jan. 1940. and Nov. 1939. and a few others. Cut out the Tarzan. monsters and Flash Gordon Illustrations. Please use ideas at least a little more scientific, even a wee btt would do. What’s wrong with a space ship in flight, crashing, or in combat, or a lab- oratory scene with electrical gadgets, and what’s wrong with a time machine in action (not like Finlay's screwy sketch) and least of all a planet! . Ah! Now Rudy may be a good draftsman and tone arranger, but his choice and ideas of illustrations, well — gently tell him to Im- prove or scram! _ . , Now for the second. Most of your stories are hardly science fiction at all. but merely ad- venture yarns, such as "The Bottom of the World." "Sojarr of Titan” and "Twice In Time." "When New York Vanished." “The Three Planeteers," "The Fortress of Utopia are actually science fiction. So what do you say to a good heavy science yarn, such as time travel and space legions? Ah, Ha! Your short stories are O.K. So is the“Hall of Fame.” How about bringing ' The Moon Conquerors.” by R. H. Romans, into this hall of fame, too? Now for a blast into the money box: How about trimed edges?” .... ... „ The feui of this pen just exploded! — 409 S. 2nd Ave., Mt. Vernon. N. Y. Okay, Peelot MacFarlane, Jr., you ve had your say. Now take a tip from the old sarge who has seen many a kiwi come and go. Decide upon one name, preferably your own, and do all your corresponding with the old space dog under the same by-line. Catch on? To give the final blast to rockets before we start free-wheeling in space, here’s a hot message from an indefatigable fan. KATIE WARMS UP By Katherine Baum Dear Sarge: All right, so you can Wesso and Bergey for an issue, and what do you do? Stun Orbau’s monstrosities down our respec- tive throats. Really, Sarge those were the worst pics ever seen in STARTLING, and to add insult to injury you give us a cover full of Martian Greenles or whatever they are. For shame! 1 liked the black lettering; quite distinctive. Friend’s story was very well done. His dialogue is about the best of current writers. 1 believe that Friend and DeCamp handle dia- get women Into their stories without making them as insipid as a pack mule? That chalks up another score for DeCamp and Weinbaum. I’d like to see another humorous tale by Friend of the type like "Kid from Mars." Hamilton does rather well in the humorous vein. too. Jack Williamson’s story sounds good; hope Finlay’s illustrations grace It. Oh, by the way. did you notice that each person on the cover resembles some movie star? Ye damsel in distress is the image of Rita Johnson, and the sinewy hero looks like crooner Kenny Baker. The guy tied to the wall is the counterpart of Larry Crabbe. and that Greenie In pain is a repulsive combina- tion of Karloff, Lugosi, and Colonna. We are going to miss Anderson's witty, or should I say. brilliant letters. Too much wordage, so that's about alL P.S. All fans in Pgh. crawl out of your ..oles and get into the swing of things, by Joining the Pgh. branch of the Science Fiction League for heap fun and frolic. Come on. let's hear from ya. Regular meetings being held. Phone me at FA 5262 for details. — 1243 Juniata St., N. S.. Pittsburgh. Pa. Thanks, Bonnie Kate, that’s a pretty good kick in the pants to end this month’s

Page 126

department on. But listen, gal, pull your punches just a wee bit. The old sarge has to censor your spaceman lingo a trifle before putting you on the ether. And what are the rest of you space birds grinning at? If you don’t know it, everything has to be edited before it can go down to the printers. Yeah, even fan letters. Many a literary reputation has been salvaged in the old sarge’s control room. What’s that? Well, you should see your own letters before I get the blue pencil to working. While we’re on this course, suppose I mention that it would be a lot easier on old Saturn if you space apes would type your letters, double-spaced, on one side of the paper only. And don’t forget to sign them if you want them printed. All right. Close and seal ports. All aboard for the home port. If we don’t blow a head gasket, I’ll ride herd on you spacebugs next issue. —SERGEANT SATURN, The Old Space Dog 9 VhjAkuuj* * Jandu! FOR BEST MYSTERIES LARGEST VlateL MAKERS DAYS' TRIAL READ OUR COMPANION DETECTIVE MAGAZINES DETECTIVE NOVELS MAGAZINE THE PHANTOM DETECTIVE THRILLING DETECTIVE POPULAR DETECTIVE THE MASKED DETECTIVE G-MEN DETECTIVE BLACK BOOK DETECTIVE EXCITING DETECTIVE THRILLING MYSTERY Now on Sale at All Stands HAND-COLORED in Oil PHOTO ENLARGEMENT 25c 17 N. LeClaire, RUPTURED™'™^/ CDCC"Se© this Amazing New Discovery * Why suffer with rupture? You need never weir your truss again! You will be amazed at the wonderful successful results. See how this discovery works. FREE. Positively costs you nothing. No obligation. Just fill in and | — ---MAIL COUPON TODAY!- . , PNEUMATIC INSTITUTE CO.. l03Pari“,l^Ol,°Omb*' F°UnIaln Pcn Tear Gas Equipment sa a side Une!*'j °*1trlng big TRIAL OFFER: __ ^ »ffT<wUcost!^MMcsn,promp?i^'liresp1^K^^*1^ order Sdlnm.It?'*^ft?d»*rt-n.?0'npI<t* pI“ «dU? o»ch HAGEN IMPORT COMPANY, Dept. S-448, St. Paul. Minn.

Page 127

INDIGESTION may excite the Heart Gas trapped in the stomach or gullet may act like a hair- trigger on the heart. The heart is not hurt but it skips and races like mad. At the first sign of distress smart men and women depend on Bell-ans Tablets to set gas free. If the i '1RST DOSE doesn't prove Bell-ans better, return bottle to ua and receive DOUBLE Money Back. 25c at all druggists. ABLE TREATMENT FOR Stomach Ulcers Due to Gastric Hyperacidity □ H. H. Bromley, of Shelburne. Vt., writes: "I suffered for years with acid-stomach trouble. My doctors told me I had acid stomach ulcers and would have to diet the rest of my life. Before taking your treatment I had lost a lot of weight and could eat nothing but soft foods and milk. After taking Von's Tablets, I felt perfectly well, ate almost anything weight I had lost." If you suffer from Indigestion, gastritu, neartDurn, bloating or any other stomach trouble duo to gastric hyperacidity, you. too. should try Von's for prompt relief. Send for FBEE Samples of this remarkable treatment and details of trial offer with money back guarantee. Instructive Booklet Is PHILADELPHIA VON CO. Dept. 87-J Fox Building, Philadelphia, Pa. SONG & POEM WRITERS Have you a song, poem or Just a lyric? WE SUPPLY THE MELODY and make recording! of your original tonga Sand yours to CINEMA 80NG COMPANY. P.0. Box 2828, Dept. B-9, Hollywood. Cal. Calling All Puzzle Fans / Ask Your Newsdealer for POPULAR CROSSWORD PUZZLES REVIEW or THE SCIENCE FICTION FAN PUBLICATIONS FANTASY-TIMES, 137-07 32nd Avenue, Flushing, N. Y. James V. Taurasi, editor. Sam Moskowitz and Alex Osheroff, asso- ciate editors. First issue of a new monthly fan mag, a companion to COSMIC TALES. Looks as though it will be quite newsy and authentic. Good luck, boys. FANTASY FICTION FIELD, 1702 Dahill Road, Brooklyn, N. Y. Julius Unger, edi- tor. You are coming along. You might cut your stencils a bit sharper. And if you are going to carry the word "Illustrated" in your title, better use some illustrations. (April 19. 1941, Is the latest copy to come to my desk.) FMZ DIGEST, 1426 W. 38th St., Los Angeles, Cal. Editor, Arthur Louis Jo- quel, 2nd. Nice June number. Quite a June-bug on the back page, too. Good paper, neat format THE CFS REVIEW, 1258 Race St., Den- ver, Colo. Editors, Lew B. Martin, Roy V. Hunt, and Olon F. Wiggins. Number four of a new fan mag. Neat and not gaudy. The July Issue is mainly of interest to Colorado fans. Pre-convention news. Keep it growing. FANTASY NEWS (Weekly) 31-51 41st St., Long Island City, N. Y. William S. Sykora, editor. Jimmy Taurasi, Sam Moskowitz, Mario Racic, Jr., associates. As near a professional-looking sheet as any- thing in the field. You could pack a whale of a lot of news in this organ — if you can garner it. Too bad it isn’t eight sheets instead of two. Note: Two "Voice of Fandom" heads in July 28 issue. FANART, 2409 Santee Ave., Columbia, S. C. Editor, Henry Jenkins, Jr. Pub- lisher, Hugh Wm. Robinson. Volume One, Number One of a new fan pub- lication. Devoted mostly to fantastic and science fiction art A wow! Nice going, fel- lows. This mag is to be a bi-monthly and is affiliated with DIXIE PRESS. Success to it! IT'S GRAND! 10c EVERYWHERE IF YOU LIKE MYSTERIES THAT ARE “DIFFERENT” Read THRILLING MYSTERY POLARIS, Box 6475, Metro Station, Los Angeles, Cal. Editor, Paul Freehafer. The June. 1941, issue Is the latest at hand. Fiction, articles, poem, and editorial depart- ment. Nice |ob. Could have a larger news department. SPACEWAYS, 303 Bryan Place, Hagers- town, Maryland. Editor, Harry Warner, Jr. Associate Editor, James S. Avery. Quite a formidable fan mag of some twenty- two pages, plus a front and back cover of heavy orange-colored paper. This mag is evolving into a regular magazine. Good work. ULTRA, 274 Edgecliff Rd., Woollahra, Sydney, NSW, Australia. Editor, Eric F. Russell. Associate Editors, Edward H. Russell and Ralph A. Smith. On Sale 10c Everywhere

Page 128

using photo prints for art illustrations on page 12. At least, it comes under the heading of the art department, being snapshots of gToups who attended the second Sydney Science Fiction Conference. Nice job with front and back covers of pale blue, illustrated. Which catches all the new fan magazines that have come to the editor’s desk. If you fans want your mags mentioned or reviewed by STARTLING STORIES be sure to send us the current issues so we can keep pace with you. Perhaps we will find space and time to compile a list of all fan maga- zines being published in the world for you. But you’ll have to help on this job. And a special note to all of you: Cram all worth- while news items into each of your issues. It helps the other fellow on the other side of the continent or of the world to get a clearer picture of things. You can all stand improvement of format. Good luck to you all t — THE EDITOR. Qominq, TlexL Qamisl THE DEVIL'S PLANET A Complete Book-Length Scientifiction Novel BY MANLY WADE WELLMAN • THE FITZGERALD CONTRACTION A Hall of Fame Classic By DR. MILES J. BREUER • CHRISTMAS ON GANYMEDE A Yuletide Story By ISAAC ASIMOV • AND OTHER STORIES AND FEATURES aohwgotiRE prices and Other Standard Makes SEND ONLY S1.00 ... (*3.00 on each Track Tiro.) We ship balance 0. 0. D. Deduct S por cent if cash fa sent in fall with order. To fill order promptly wo mej> substitute brands if neces- sary. ALL TUBES BRAND NEW— GUARANTEED— PERRY-FIELD TIRE & RUBBER CO. IJ^^^MIohljMj^AvenuejJejt^T^tl^Chl^Oj Relieve Itch Fast •ofMonejrBatk ^Scratching For quick relief from itching of eczema, pimples, athlete’s foot, scales, scabies, rashesand other externally caused skin troubles, use world-famous, coding, antiseptic, liquid D. D. D. Prescrip- tion. Grcaseless, stainless. Soothes irritation and quickly stops the most intense itching. 35c trial bottle proves it, or money back. Ask your druggist today for D. D. D. Prescription. Complete homo-study courses end educational hooka, alfghUy used. Sold, rented, exchanged. All sub- ject*. Money-back guarantee. Cash paid (or used coursca. Full de- tail a and Illustrated 72-page bar- gain catalog FREE. Write today 1 80O8herman, Dept. 1-227, Chloapo , To Any Suit * Double the life of your , / coat and vest with correctly ' matched pants. 100,000 patterns. Every pair hand tailored to your measure. Our match sent FREE for your O. K. before pants are made. Fit guaranteed. Send piece o» cloth or vert today. SONG POEMS WANTED TO BE BBT TO MU8IO Free Examination. Send Year Poems to J. CHAS. MoNEIL, MASTER OF MTJSIO S10-TF Bo. Alexandria Eos Angeles, G MONEY RETURNED I IF NOT SATISFIEDI [ Order by mall — * I k wide selection of 1 ■ styles. As LOW AS *8.50 . ■ a plate. Your money back 1 f'lt not satisfied. * r 1 Days' Wearing Trial A Ask for free descriptive circular showing different . _ '"1 FREE Impression material. SEND NO MONEY ( our budget^ savings ^>lao. ^Dold Ward Dent J* Lab?. 938 W. 63 8t.'>Dept. 26L, Ch le»io 129

Page 129

“THE BOSS DIDN’T EVEN KNOW MY NAME” “He said he remembered seeing me around, but he didn’t even know my name until the I. C. S. wrote him that William Harris had enrolled for a course of home study and was doing fine work. “ ‘Who’s William Harris?’ he asked. Then he looked me up. Told me he was glad to see I was ambitious. Said he’d keep his eye on me. “He did too. Gave me my chance when Frank Jordan was sent out on the road. I was promoted over older men who had been with the firm for years. “My spare-time studying helped me to get that job and to keep it after I got it. It certainly was a lucky day for me when I signed that I. C. S. coupon.” • • • One reason employers recognize the value of I. C. S. training is that many of them are former I. C. S. students. They recognize that “today’s I. C. S. students are tomor- row’s leaders.” In the 50 years since these Schools were founded, more than $5,000,000 has been spent in preparing and revising texts. A per- sonal. individual method of instruction has been developed. Isn’t it better to get the facts now — than to wait five years and wish you had? INTERNATIONAL CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOLS CELEBRATE 50 YEARS OF SERVICE TO AMBITIOUS AMERICANS BOX 3967-T, SCRANTON, PENNA. Without cost or obligation, please send me a copy of your booklet, “Who Wins ^ and Why,” and full particulars about the course before which I have marked X: R. Signalman □ Refrigeration O Paltenunaklng □ Pharmacy □ Plumbing □ Poultry Farming □ Practical Telephony □ Public Worke Engineering D Radio, General □ Radio Operating □ Radio Servioin- loi on Fore □ Civil E Advanced Foods and BUSINESS C0URSE8 Good English High School O Illustrating^ ^ HOME ECONOMICS COURSES □ Home Dreeamaking □ Profeeaionat Dreeamaking and Designing □ Steam Fitting □ Structural Drafting O Structural Engineering 8 Surveying and Mappin Telegraph Engineering □ Telephone Work □ Textile' Designing □ □ Welding. Electric and l □ Woolen Manufacturing b □ Railway Poet*! Clerk □ Saleamanahip □ Secretarial □ Showcard and Sign Lei to □ Traffic Management □ Tea Room and Cafeteria Canadian reiidantt tt

Page 130

Amazing New-Style Heater Keeps Your House Toasty Warm . . . And Conserves Oil at the Same Time Beauty! Efficiency! Economy! That's what Duo-Therm offers you, in heating with clean, speedy, convenien t, money saving fueloil I You gel heof fail . . . even on the frostiest mornings . . . because Duo- Therm's new, exclusive patented Power-Air Blower forces a flood of uniform warm-air com fort through your whole house . . . into every nook and corner . . . from floor to ceiling. And Power-Air is adjust- able, to give you just the amount of circulation desired. And remember . . . only heat that is forced by power goes everywhere it’s needed. Heat that is not power- driven rises to the ceiling and "loafs” there. New Duo-Therm Power-Air saves up lo 25% in fuel oil! Now. more than ever before, fuel-oil econ- omy is vitally important! Actual tests have proved that Duo-Therm, with its patented Power-Air blower, gives you floor-to-ceiling comfort . . . PLUS up to 25% saving in fuel oil over a heater without Power- Air! A Duo-Therm with Power- Air gives you more home comfort . . . and makes every drop of oil go Marvelous new burner! Modern en- gineering brings a new peak of effi- ciency to Duo-Therm's improved Dual-Chamber Burner! You now have complete flame-control at all settings . . . more heat per gallon of cheap fuel ! And Duo-Therm is dean, silent and safe . - . all models are listed as standard by the Underwrit- ers’ Laboratories. Look al these features! A simple turn of the Handy Front Dial gives you just the degree of heat you want . . . and Coordinated Control in- sures proper draft for perfect com- bustion! Open the Radiant Door and enjoy a flood of cheerful warmth. Special Waste-Stopper saves fuel. Small down payment! Ask your nearest dealer today to show you the modern Duo-Therms — the most beautiful, most efficient heaters ever made! Many models. Capacities 1 to 6 rooms. Ask about easy terms ! And mail the coupon below now, for complete descriptive information 1 RADIANT-CIRCULATOR, °"'r $0095 MODEL 573-2 M Model 575-2 Duo-Therm is the best answer for room heating comfort. Radi- New All-Weather DUO-THERM The Most Popular Fuel-Oil Heater in America | TEAR OUT AND MAIL — TODAYI 1 J DUO-THERM DIVISION I Dept.T0-4A.Motor Wheel Corporation, Lansing, Mich. ■ j Send me, without obligation, complete information | ! about Duo-Therm Heaters. I am also interested in Duo- I | Therm Furnaces □ . . . Water Heaters □ . . . Trailer I Heaters D . . . Ranges □ | Name I Street I

Page 131

A Kalamazoo, Registered Direct to You' Fresh from the press— this new 1942 KALAMAZOO CATALOG— FREE to you. Mail coupon today! See newest streamlined styles — see amazing new features how easy to own a new range — as little as $5 down on stoves. Choose from 106 styles and sizes of Ranges, Heaters. Furnaces. Many illustrated in full color. Catalog full of new ideas— More bargains than 20 big stores — Gas Ranges, Combination Dual-Oven Ranges for Gas and Coal, for Gas and Oil, for Electricity and Coal; Coal and Wood Ranges, Oil Ranges, Oil Heaters, Coal and Wood Heaters, Furnaces. Mail Coupon below today for Factory Prices. In business 41 years— Kalamazoo has been in busi- less 4 years. We sell millions of dollars worth of stoves nd furnaces every year. 1,700,000 Satisfied Users. 30 .lays Free Trial. Factory Guarantee. Factory Prices. 24 hour shipments. Send for this big FREE CATALOG. Save money. Mail Coupon today! All KalamazooGasRangesandCnmbination Ranges approved by American Gas Association for NAT. URAL, MANUFACTURED or BOTTLED 6 AS. Now over 250 Kalamazoo Stores in 15 States. Ask us for address of nearest store.

Page 132

Wider

Page 133

^ , f t -jp 'f r 't j *- --■ <* * f y ^ *f ^ j^r ^‘r ' 1 '***'< J r - ^‘,ar In Memory Of Our Dear Friend PUCKINFL August 30, 1978 - February 21, 2007 Be At Peace