Chapter V: A Death More Hideous (3)

By the time we completed our inspection dusk was upon us--a long, lingering dusk, due, no doubt, to the afterglow resulting from the mineral content of the air. I'm no white-skinned, stoop-shouldered laboratory man, so I'm not sure that was the real reason. It sounds logical, however.

"Mr. Correy, I think we shall break out our field equipment and give all men not on watch an opportunity to sleep out in the fresh air," I said. "Will you give the orders, please?"

"Yes, sir. Mr. Hendricks will stand the eight to twelve watch as usual?"

I nodded.

"Mr. Kincaide will relieve him at midnight, and you will take over at four."

"Very well, sir." Correy turned to give the orders, and in a few minutes an orderly array of shelter tents made a single street in front of the fat, dully-gleaming side of the _Ertak_. Our tents were at the head of this short company street, three of them in a little row.

After the evening meal, cooked over open fires, with the smoke of the very resinous wood we had collected hanging comfortably in the still air, the men gave themselves up to boisterous, noisy games, which, I confess, I should have liked very much to participate in. They raced and tumbled around the two big fires like schoolboys on a lark. Only those who have spent most of their days in the metal belly of a space ship know the sheer joy of utter physical freedom.

Correy, Kincaide and I sat before our tents and watched them, chatting about this and that--I have long since forgotten what. But I shall never forget what occurred just before the watch changed that night. Nor will any man of the _Ertak's_ crew.

* * * * *

It was just a few minutes before midnight. The men had quieted down and were preparing to turn in. I had given orders that this first night they could suit themselves about retiring; a good officer, and I tried to be one, is never afraid to give good men a little rein, now and then.

The fires had died down to great heaps of red coals, filmed with ashes, and, aside from the brilliant galaxy of stars overhead, there was no light from above. Either this world had no moons, not even a single moon, like my native Earth, or it had not yet arisen.

Kincaide rose lazily, stretched himself, and glanced at his watch.

"Seven till twelve, sir," he said. "I believe I'll run along and relieve--"

He never finished that sentence. From somewhere there came a rushing sound, and a damp, stringy net, a living, horrible, _something_, descended upon us out of the night.

In an instant, what had been an orderly encampment became a bedlam. I tried to fight against the stringy, animated, nearly intangible mass, or masses, that held me, but my arms, my legs, my whole body, was bound as with strings and loops of elastic bands.

Strange whispering sounds filled the air, audible above the shouting of the men. The net about me grew tighter; I felt myself being lifted from the ground. Others were being treated the same way; one of the _Ertak's_ crew shot straight up, not a dozen feet away, writhing and squirming. Then, at an elevation of perhaps twice my height, he was hurried away.

Hendrick's voice called out my name from the _Ertak's_ exit, and I shouted a warning:

"Hendrick! Go back! Close the emergency--" Then a gluey mass cut across my mouth, and, as though carried on huge soft springs, I was hurried away, with the sibilant, whispering sounds louder and closer than ever. With me, as nearly as I could judge, went every man who had not been on duty in the ship.

* * * * *

I ceased struggling, and immediately the rubbery network about me loosened. It seemed to me that the whisperings about me were suddenly approving. We were in the grip, then, of some sort of intelligent beings, ghost-like and invisible though they were.

After a time, during which we were all, in a ragged group, being borne swiftly towards the mountains, all at a common level from the ground, I managed to turn my head so that I could see, against the star-lit sky, something of the nature of the things that had made us captive.

As is not infrequently the case, in trying to describe things of an utterly different world, I find myself at a loss for words. I think of jellyfish, such as inhabit the seas of most of the inhabited planets, and yet this is not a good description.

These creatures were pale, and almost completely transparent. What their forms might be, I could not even guess. I could make out writhing, tentacle-like arms, and wrinkled, flabby excrudescences and that was all. That these creatures were huge, was evident from the fact that they, apparently walking, from the irregular, undulating motion, held us easily ten or a dozen feet from the ground.

With the release of the pressure about my body I was able to talk again, and I called out to Correy, who was fighting his way along, muttering, angrily, just ahead of me.

"Correy! No use fighting them. Save your strength, man!"

"Then? What are they, in God's name? What spawn of hell--"

"The Commander is right, Correy," interrupted Kincaide, who was not far from my first officer. "Let's get our breaths and try to figure out what's happened. I'm winded!" His voice gave plentiful evidence of the struggle he had put up.

"I want to know where I'm going, and why!" growled Correy, ceasing his struggling, nevertheless. "What have us? Are they fish or flesh or fowl?"

"I think we shall know before very long, Correy," I replied. "Look ahead!"

* * * * *

The bearers of the men in the fore part of the group had apparently stopped before a shadowy wall, like the face of a cliff. Rapidly, the rest of us were brought up, until we were in a compact group, some in sitting positions, some upside down, the majority reclining on back or side. The whispering sound now was intense and excited, as though our strange bearers awaited some momentous happening.

I took advantage of the opportunity to speak very briefly to my companions.

"Men, I'll admit frankly that I don't know what we're up against," I said. "But I do know this: we'll come out on top of the heap. Conserve your strength, keep your eyes open, and be prepared to obey, instantly, any orders that may be issued: I know that last remark is not needed. If any of you should see or learn something of interest or value, report at once to Mr. Correy, Mr. Kincaide or my--"

A simultaneous, involuntary exclamation from the men interrupted me, and it was not surprising that this was so, for the wall before us had suddenly opened, and there was a great burst of yellow light in our faces. A strong odor, like the faint scent we had first noticed in the air, but infinitely more powerful, struck our nostrils, but I was not conscious of the fact for several seconds. My whole attention, my every startled thought, was focused upon the group of strange beings, silhouetted against the glowing light, that stood in the opening.

* * * * *

Imagine, if you can, a huge globe, perhaps eight feet in diameter, flattened slightly at the bottom, and supported on six short, huge stumps, like the feet of an elephant, and topped by an excrudescence like a rounded coning tower, merging into the globular body. From points slightly below this excrudescence, visualize six long, limp tentacles, so long that they drop from the equators of these animated spheres, and trail on the ground. Now you have some conception of the beings that stood before us.

A sharp, sibilant whispering came from one of these figures, to be answered in an eager chorus from our bearers. There was a reply like a command, and the group in the doorway marched forward. One by one these visible tentacles wrapped themselves around a member of the _Ertak's_ crew, each one of the globular creatures bearing one of us.

I heard a disappointed whisper go up from the outer darkness where, but a moment before, we had been. Then there was a grating sound, and a thud as the stone doorway was rolled back into place.

The entrance was sealed. We were prisoners indeed!

"All right, now what?" gritted Correy. "God! If I ever get a hand loose!"

Swiftly, each of us held above the head-like excrudescence atop the globular body of the thing that held us, we were carried down a widening rocky corridor, towards the source of the yellow light that beat about us.

* * * * *

The passage led to a great cavern, irregular in shape, and apparently possessed of numerous other outlets which converged here.

I am not certain as to the size of the cavern, save that it was great, and that the roof was so high in most sections that it was lost in shadow.

The great cavern was nearly filled with creatures similar to those which were bearing us, and they fell back in orderly passage to permit our conductors to pass.

I could see, now, that the hump atop each rounded body was a travesty of a head, hairless, and without a neck. Their features were particularly hideous, and I shall pass over a description as rapidly as possible.

The eyes were round, and apparently lidless; a pale drab or bluff in color. Instead of a nose, as, we understand the term, they had a convoluted rosette in the center of the face, not unlike the olfactory organ of a bat. Their ears were placed as are ours, but were of thin, pale parchment, and hugged the side of the head tightly. Instead of a mouth, there was a slightly depressed oval of fluttering skin near the point where the head melted into the rounded body: the rapid fluttering or vibration of this skin produced the whispering sound I have already remarked.

The cavern, as I have said, was flooded with yellow light, which came from a great column of fire near the center of the clear space. I had no opportunity to inspect the exact arrangements but from what I did see, I judged that this flame was fed by some sort of highly inflammable substance, not unlike crude oil, except that it burned clearly and without smoke. This substance was conducted to the font from which the flame leaped by means of a large pipe of hollow reed or wood.

At the far end of the cavern a procession entered from one of the passages--nine figures similar to those which bore us, save that by the greater darkness of their skin, and the wrinkles upon both face and body, I judged these to be older than the rest. From the respect with which they were treated, and the dignity of their movements, I gathered that these were persons of authority, a surmise which quickly verified itself.

* * * * *

These nine elders arranged themselves, standing, in the form of a semicircle, the center creature standing a pace or two in front of the others. At a whispered command, we were all dumped unceremoniously on the floor of the cavern before this august council of nine.

Nine pairs of fish-like, unblinking eyes inspected us, whether with enmity or otherwise; I could not determine. One of the nine spoke briefly to one of our conductors, and received an even more brief reply.

I felt the gaze of the creature in the center fix on me. I had taken my proper position in front of my men; he apparently recognized me as the leader of the group.

In a sharp whisper, he addressed me; I gathered from the tone that he uttered a command, but I could only shake my head in response. No words could convey thought from his mind to mine--but we did have a means of communication at hand.

"Mr. Correy," I said, "your menore, please!" I released my own from the belt which held it, along with the other expeditionary equipment which we always wore when outside our ship, and placed it in position upon my head, motioning for one of the nine to do likewise with Correy's menore.

They watched me suspiciously, despite my attempt to convey, by gestures, that by means of these instruments we could convey thoughts to each other. The menores of those days were bulky, heavy things, and undoubtedly they looked dangerous to these creatures: thought-transference instruments at that time were complicated affairs.

* * * * *

However, I must have made myself partially understood, at least, for the chief of the nine uttered a whispered command to one of the beings who had borne us to the large cavern, and motioned with a writhing gesture of one tentacle that I was to place the menore upon this creature's head.

"The old boy's playing it safe, sir," muttered Correy, chuckling. "Wants to try it out on the dog first."

"Right!" I nodded, and, not without difficulty, placed the other menore upon the rounded dome of the individual selected for the trial.

Both instruments were adjusted to full power, and I concentrated my mental energy upon the simple pictures that I thought I could convey to the limited mentality of which I suspected these creatures, watching his fishy eyes the while.

It was several seconds before he realized what was happening; then he began talking excitedly to the waiting nine. The words fairly burned themselves in my consciousness, but of course were utterly unintelligible to me. Before the creature had finished, a lash-like tentacle shot out from the chief of the nine and removed the menore; a moment later it reposed, at a rather rakish slant, on the shining dome of its new possessor.

"Get anything, sir?" asked Correy in a low voice.

"Not yet. I'm trying to make him see how we came here, and that we're friends. Then I'll see what I can get out of him; he'll have to get the idea of coming back at me with pictures instead of words, and it may take a long time to make him understand."

It did take a long time. I could feel the sweat trickling down my face as I strove to make him understand. His eyes revealed wonderment and a little fear, but an almost utter lack of understanding.

I pictured for him the heavens, and our ship sailing along through space. Then I showed him the _Ertak_ coming to rest on the plateau, and he made little impatient noises as though to convey that he knew all about that.

* * * * *

After a long time he got the idea. Crudely, dimly, he pictured the _Ertak_ leaving this strange world, and soaring off into vacant space. Then his scene faded out, and he pictured the same thing again, as one might repeat a question not understood. He wanted to know where we would go if we left this world of his.

I pictured for him other worlds, peopled with men more or less like myself. I showed him the great cities, and the fleets of ships like the _Ertak_ that plied between them. Then, as best I could, I asked him about himself and his people.

It came to me jerkily and poorly pictured, but I managed to piece out the story. Whether I guess correctly on all points, I am not sure, nor will I ever be sure. But this is the story as I got it.

These people at one time lived in the open, and all the people of this world were like those in the cavern, possessed of opaque bodies and great strength. There were none of the ghost-like creatures who had captured us.

But after a long time, a ruling class arose. They tried to dominate the masses, and the masses refused to be dominated. But the ruling classes were wise, and versed in certain sciences; the masses were ignorant. So the ruling classes devised a plan.

These creatures did not eat. There was a tradition that at one time they had had mouths, as I had, but that was not known. Their strength, their vitality, came from the powerful mineral vapor which came forth from the bowels of the earth. The ruling classes decided that if they could control the supply of this vapor, they would have the whip hand, and they set about realizing this condition.

* * * * *

It was quickly done. All the sources of supply, save one, were sealed. This one source of supply was the cavern in which we stood. These were members of the ruling class, and outside was the rabble, starved and unhappy, living on the faint seepage of the vital fumes, without which they became almost bodiless, and the helpless slaves of those within the cavern.

These creatures, then, were boneless; as boneless as sponges, and, like sponges, capable of absorbing huge quantities of a foreign substance, which distended them and gave them weight. I could see, now, why the rotund bodies sagged and flattened at the base, and why six short, stubby legs were needed to support that body. There was only tissue, unsupported by bone, to bear the weight!

This chief of the nine went on to show me how ruthlessly, how cruelly those within the cavern ruled those without. The substance that fed the flame had to be gathered and a great reservoir on the side of the mountain kept filled. Great masses of dry, sweet grass, often changed, must be harvested and brought to the entrance of the cavern, for bedding. A score of other tasks kept the outsiders busy always--and the driving force was that, did the slaves become disobedient, the slight supply of mineral vapor available in the outside world would be cut off utterly, and all outside would surely die, slowly and in agony.

Those within the cavern were the rulers. They would always remain the rulers, and those outside would remain the slaves to wait upon them. And we--how strangely he pictured us, as he saw us!--were not to return to our queer worlds, that we might bring many other ships like the _Ertak_ back to interfere. No.

The pupils of his eyes contracted, and the leafy structure of his nose fluttered as though with strong emotion.

No, we would not go back. He would give a signal to those of his creatures who stood behind us--a sort of soldiery, I gathered--and our heads, our legs, our arms, would be torn from our bodies. Then we would not go back to bring--

* * * * *

That was enough for me.

"Men!" I spoke softly, but with an intensity that gave me their instant attention, "it's going to be a fight for life. When I give the signal, make a rush for the entrance by which we came in. I'll lead the way. Use your pistols, and your bombs if necessary. All right--forward!"

Correy's great shout rang out after mine, and I flung my menore in the face of the nearest guard. It bounced off as though it had struck a rubber ball. Behind me, one of the men called out sharply; I heard a sharp crunch of bone, and with a pang realized that the _Ertak's_ log would have at least one death to record.

A dozen tentacles lashed out at me, and I sprayed their owners with pellets from my atomic pistol. The air was filled with the shouts of my men and the whispers of our enemies. All around me I could hear the screaming of ricochets from our pistols. Twice atomic bombs exploded not far away, and the solid rock shook beneath my feet. Something shot by close to my face; an instant later a limp bundle in the blue and silver uniform of our Service struck the rock wall of the cavern, thirty feet away. The strength in those rubbery tentacles was terrible.

The pistols seemed to have but little effect. They wounded, but they did not kill unless the pellet struck the head. Then the victim rolled over, rocking idiotically on its middle.

"In the head, men!" I shouted. "That downs them! And keep the bombs in action. Throw them against the walls of the cavern. Take a chance!"

A ragged cheer went up, and I heard Correy's voice raised in angry conversation with the enemy:

"You will, eh? There!... Now!... Ah!--right--through--the--eye. That's--the place!"

* * * * *

A score of times I was grasped and held by the writhing arms of the angry horde whispering all around me. Each time I literally shot the tentacle away with my atomic pistol, leaving the severed end to unwrap itself and drop from my struggling body. The things had no blood in them.

Steadily, we fought our way toward the doorway, out of the cavern, down the passageway, pressed into a compact, sweating mass by the pressure of the eager bodies around us. I have never heard any sound even remotely like the babel of angry, sibilant whispering that beat against the walls and roof of that cavern.

I had saved my own bombs for a specific purpose, and now I unslung them and managed to work them up above my shoulders, one in either hand.

"I'm going to try to blow the entrance clear, men," I shouted. "The instant I fling the bombs, drop! The fragments will be stopped by the enemy crowding around us. One ... two ... three ... _drop_!"

The two bombs exploded almost simultaneously. The ground shook, and all over the cavern masses of stone came crashing to the floor. Bits of rock hummed and shrieked over our heads. And--yes! There was a draft of cooler, purer air on our faces. The bombs had done their work.

"One more effort and we're outside, men," I called. "The passage is open, and there are only a few of the enemy before us. Ready?"

"Ready!" went up the hoarse shout.

"Then, forward!"

It was easy to give the command, but hard to execute it. We were pressed so hard that only the men on the outside of the group could use their weapons. And our captors were making a terrible, desperate effort to hold us.

Two more of our men were literally torn to pieces before my eyes, but I had the satisfaction of ripping holes in the heads of the creatures whose tentacles had done the beastly work. And in the meantime we were working our way slowly but surely to the entrance.

* * * * *

I glanced up as I dodged out into the open. That soft humming sound was familiar, and properly so. There, at an elevation of less than fifty feet, was the _Ertak_, with Hendricks standing in the exit, leaning forward at a perilous angle.

"Ahoy the _Ertak_!" I hailed. "Descend at once!"

"Right, sir!" Hendricks turned to relay the order, and, as the rest of the men burst forth from the cavern, the ship struck the ground before us.

"All hands board ship!" I ordered. "Lively, now." As many years as I have commanded men, I have never seen an order obeyed with more alacrity.

I was the last man to enter, and as I did so, I turned for a last glance at the enemy.

They could not come through the small opening my bombs had driven in the rock, although they were working desperately to enlarge it. Leaping back and forth between me and the entrance I could see the vague, shadowy figures of the outside slaves, eagerly seeping up the life-giving fumes that escaped from the cavern.

"Your orders, sir?" asked Hendricks anxiously; he was a very young officer, and he had been through a very trying experience.

"Ascend five hundred feet, Mr. Hendricks," I said thoughtfully. "Directly over this spot. Then I'll take over.

"It isn't often," I added, "that the Service concerns itself with economic conditions. This, however, is one of the exceptions."

"Yes, sir," said Hendricks, for the very good reason, I suppose, that that was about all a third officer could say to his commander, under the circumstances.

* * * * *

"Five hundred feet, sir," said Hendricks.

"Very well," I nodded, and pressed the attention signal of the non-commissioned officer in charge of the big forward ray projector.

"Ott? Commander Hanson speaking. I have special orders for you."

"Yes, sir!"

"Direct your ray, narrowed to normal beam and at full intensity, on the spot directly below. Keep the ray motionless, and carry on until further orders. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly, sir." The disintegrator ray generators deepened their purr as I turned away.

"I trust, sir, that I did the right thing in following you with the _Ertak_?" asked Hendricks. "I was absolutely without precedent, and the circumstances were so mysterious--"

"You handled the situation very well indeed," I told him. "Had you not been waiting when we fought our way into the open, the nearly invisible things on the outside might have--but you don't know about them yet."

Picking up the microphone again, I ordered a pair of searchlights to follow the disintegrator ray, and made my way forward, where I could observe activities through a port.

The ray was boring straight down into a shoulder of a rocky hill, and the bright beams of the searchlights glowed redly with the dust of disintegration. Here and there I could see the shadowy, transparent forms of the creatures that the self-constituted rulers of this world had doomed to a demi-existence, and I smiled grimly to myself. The tables would soon be turned.

* * * * *

For perhaps an hour the ray melted its way into the solid rock, while I stood beside Ott and his crew, watching. Then, down below us, things began to happen.

Little fragments of rock flew up from the shaft the ray had drilled. Jets of black mud leaped into the air. There was a sudden blast from below that rocked the _Ertak_, and the shaft became a miniature volcano, throwing rocky fragments and mud high into the air.

"Very good, Ott," I said triumphantly. "Cease action." As I spoke, the first light of the dawn, unnoticed until now, spread itself over the scene, and we witnessed then one of the strangest scenes that the Universe has ever beheld.

Up to the very edge of that life-giving blast of mineral-laden gas the tenuous creatures came crowding. There were hundreds of them, thousands of them. And they were still coming, crowding closer and closer and closer, a mass of crawling, yellowish shadows against the sombre earth.

Slowly, they began to fill out and darken, as they drew in the fumes that were more than bread and meat and water to us. Where there had been formless shadows, rotund creatures such as we had met in the cavern stood and lashed their tentacles about in a sort of frenzied gladness, and fell back to make room for their brothers.

* * * * *

"It's a sight to make a man doubt his own eyes, sir," said Correy, who had come to stand beside me. "Look at them! Thousands of them pouring from every direction. How did it happen?"

"It didn't happen. I used our disintegrator ray as a drill; we simply sunk a huge shaft down into the bowels of the earth until we struck the source of the vapor which the self-appointed 'ruling class' has bottled up. We have emancipated a whole people, Mr. Correy."

"I hate to think of what will happen to those in the cavern," replied Correy, smiling grimly. "Or rather, since you've told me of the pleasant little death they had arranged for us. I'm mighty glad of it. They'll receive rough treatment, I'm afraid!"

"They deserve it. It has been a great sight to watch, but I believe we've seen enough. It has been a good night's work, but it's daylight, now, and it will take hours to repair the damage to the _Ertak's_ hull. Take over in the navigating room, if you will, and pick a likely spot where we will not be disturbed. We should be on our course by to-night, Mr. Correy."

"Right, sir," said Correy, with a last wondering look at the strange miracle we had brought to pass on the earth below us. "It will seem good to be off in space again, away from the troubles of these little worlds."

"There are troubles in space, too," I said dryly, thinking of the swarm of meteorites that had come so close to wiping the _Ertak_ off the records of the Service. "You can't escape trouble even in space."

"No, sir," said Correy from the doorway. "But you can get your sleep regularly!"

And sleep is, when one comes to think of it, a very precious thing.

Particularly for an old man, whose eyelids are heavy with years.

Readers' Corner

_Now In Book Form_

Readers of Astounding Stories will be interested to hear
that two of the continued novels which appeared in our pages
during last year are coming out in book form.

The first of these is "Murder Madness," by Murray Leinster.
It is due sometime in February, so by the time this issue is
on the newsstands it will no doubt be already out. The
publishers are Brewer and Warren, and the price is $2.00.
Here's your chance, collectors, and those who missed an
instalment or two.

The other book is "Brigands of the Moon," by--everyone
knows--Ray Cummings. It should be coming along in a month or
so. Watch out for it!

_Mr. Cummings Sits In_

Dear Editor:

Thank you for the opportunity to address our Readers on
certain side-lights of my tale, "The Exile of Time." I
particularly welcome it, for the theme of Time-traveling is,
I think, the most interesting of any upon which I have
written.

Some of you will no doubt recall my stories "The Man Who
Mastered Time" and "The Shadow Girl." In "The Exile of
Time," I present the third of the trilogy. It has no
fictional connection with the others; it is in no sense a
sequel, but rather a companion story.

To write about Time-traveling is for me a difficult but
fascinating task. The opportunities are endless; and I hope
you may think I have taken advantage of them with a measure
of success.

I wrote those conceptions of Time and Space and the Great
Cosmos, which you will find in the text of the story,
because I feel them very deeply. Each occasion upon which
circumstances allow me to present my theories, I eagerly
welcome. How much of the conception is original with me, I
cannot say. It is the product of my groping interpretation
of the theories of many brilliant scientific minds of
today--humbly combined with perhaps some originality of my
own. The mind flings far afield when it starts to grope with
the Unknown. Try it! Read what I have written and then let
your mind roam a little further. Probe a little deeper.
Perhaps we may contribute something. It is only by that
process--each mind following some other's cleared path and
pushing forward a little on his own--that the Unknown can be
pierced.

When once you admit the basic idea of Time-traveling to be
plausible, what fascinating vistas are opened to the
imagination!

Space is so crowded! The room in which you are now sitting
as you read these words--just think what that Space around
you has held in the Past, and will hold in the Future! You
occupy it now, playing out your little part; but think what
has happened where you are now sitting so calmly reading!
What tumultuous, crowding events! Your room is quiet now,
but its space has rung with war-cries; the ground under you
has been drenched with blood; and further back it was lush
with primeval jungle; and in another age it was frozen
beneath a great ice-cap; and before that it blazed, molten
with fire. Back to the Beginning.

And your little Space in the Future? It will be in the heart
of a great mechanical city, perhaps. A mechanical servant
may murder his human master in the space which you now call
your room. The great revolt of the mechanisms may start in
your room....

I think that your room will some day again be shrouded under
a forest growth. The mechanical city will be neglected,
tumbled into ruins, buried beneath the silt of the passing
centuries. The sun will slowly rise--a giant dull red ball,
burning out, cooling. And the Earth will cool. Humans,
perhaps, will have passed decadence and reverted to
savagery. Perhaps the polar ice-caps will again come down,
and ice slowly cover the dying world. All nature will be
struggling and dying, with the sun a red ball turning dark
like a cooling ember.

Millions of centuries, with whatever events--who am I to
say?--but it will go on to the End. That's a long way from
the Beginning, isn't it? And yet ours is only a tiny planet
living briefly in the great cosmos of Time and Space!

A segment of Everything that ever was and ever will be
marches through the Space of your room. What an enormously
thronged little Space! There is only Time, to keep
consecutive and orderly the myriad events which in your room
are pushing and jostling one another! I say, then, "Time is
what keeps everything from happening at once." It seems a
good definition.

I do hope you like "The Exile of Time." The writing of it
made me realize how unimportant I am. A human lifetime is
really as brief as the flash of an electric spark. The whole
lifetime of our Earth is not much more than that. Stars,
worlds, are born, live and die, and the Great Cosmos goes
majestically on. Yet some people seem to feel that they and
the Space they occupy in this Time they call the Present are
the most important things that ever were or ever will be in
the whole Universe. It is a good thing to realize that that
isn't so.--Ray Cummings.

_Likes_

Dear Editor:

Starting with the August issue, I am going to give my
opinion of the stories.

"The Planet of Dread," by R. F. Starzl, couldn't have been
better. Get more stories by him. "Murder Madness," by Murray
Leinster, was a good story, but it didn't belong in a
Science Fiction magazine. "The Terrible Tentacles of L-472,"
a good story; "The Invisible Death," a very good story;
"Prisoners on the Electron," very good; "The Ape-Men of
Xlotli," a good story, but it does not belong in a Science
Fiction magazine; "The Pirate Planet," very excellent--much
more so because it is an interplanetary story. "Vagabonds of
Space," "The Fifth Dimension Catapult," "The Gate of Xoran,"
"The Dark Side of Antri"--all good.

Well, I guess I will sign off and give somebody else a
chance to broadcast.--Wm. McCalvy, 1244 Beech St., St. Paul,
Minn.

_I Do; I Don't_

Dear Editor:

"I like the magazine the way it is," "I want a larger
magazine," "I want a magazine twice a month," "I want a
quarterly," and so do I, "There is a terrible flaw in one of
the stories," "All of the stories are flawless," "I want
reprints," "I don't," "I like Ray Cummings," "I don't," "I
want a better grade paper," "The paper's O. K. with me," "I
want smooth edges on the magazine," "So do I," "And so do
I!"--these seem to be the most often repeated sentences in
the letters from Readers.

However, I have a new one to add: I would like to see an
answer, by the Editor, to each letter that is printed in
"The Readers' Corner," like this: "I liked 'An Extra Man,'
etc.--Mr. Syence Ficshun" (I am very glad to hear that you
liked this little masterpiece, etc.--Editor). Why not?

The illustration on the cover of the January issue surely
shows that you're starting the new year out right by putting
on an extremely astounding cover. The story "The Gate to
Xoran" is simply amazing. Let's read many more of Mr. Wells
stories. It is far surpassed, however, by "The Fifth
Dimension Catapult," which is the best story (novelette)
that I have ever read in "our" magazine.

The Boys' Scientification Club is now a branch of the famous
Science Correspondence Club. Remember, boys between the ages
of 10 and 15, if you're interested in reading Science
Fiction, by all means join the B. S. C. We have many copies
of Astounding Stories in our library and members are welcome
to read them. For further details write to me.--Forrest J.
Ackerman, President-Librarian, B. S. C., 530 Staples Avenue,
San Francisco, Cal.

_Souls and Integrations_

Dear Editor:

You are starting your second year as Editor of Astounding
Stories. If your standard during 1931 is up to your standard
of 1930, we shall be satisfied. If possible, give us, the
Readers, the best in Science Fiction. I have no doubt but
that the Readers of Astounding Stories would not want
fantasy unless written by a master; and to my mind there is
only one whom I will forgive for not making his stories
Science Fiction, and that writer is A. Merritt. Every other
writer should and must put plausible science in his stories.
If he doesn't, he won't go far; not with Science Fiction
readers, anyway.

I do not agree to your answer, by letter, to my complaint
about the science in the story, "An Extra Man," by Jackson
Gee. You say that two men, each the size and half the weight
of the original man could have been formed from the
integrated particles of the original man. In the story, the
weight of the two men was exactly the same as that of the
original man. [?] Anyway, I do not believe that these two
men could have been formed. Most likely, when the
laboratories began the process of reintegration, the person
integrated would have been cut in half, provided of course,
that the laboratories began the process at the same time. If
not, one laboratory would produce a larger portion of an
integrated man than the other.

But to come back to the original question. Can a man be
disintegrated into his component atoms and then reintegrated
into two men each half the size, weight, ability and brains?
I say no. I believe that the component atoms of the man when
reintegrated would be in exactly the same place as they were
before the disintegration occurred. If a part and not the
whole of a man is reintegrated in one place, then the part
would be one part of that man and not a complete man in
itself.

It would be as preposterous and absurd for anything but a
part of that man to be reintegrated, as it would be for two
apes, pigs or hens to come from him. I leave out the
question of what would happen to the soul. Imagine a soul
divided in half. Mr. Gee might say that he doesn't believe
in souls. Neither do I, much. I notice that some Readers say
that they liked that story. One even says that it was
perfect. Every man to his taste. I've read worse, myself.

Anyway, Mr. Editor, Astounding Stories is the finest and
best Science Fiction magazine on the market.

Many Readers want to keep their magazines and bind them,
including myself. Why change the size? I'm certain that that
won't be done. Astounding Stories started small (in size
only) and it will remain small (also only in size). Let us
have reprints.--Nathan Greenfeld, 373 Whitlock Ave., New
York City.

_The Defense Rests_

Dear Editor:

I have just read the January issue for 1931 and noticed some
so-called helpful letters by Readers. Looking over Mr.
Waite's letter, would like to suggest that he stop to think,
if possible, that if he wants absolute bone-dry facts, that
he doesn't want fiction at all. And Mr. Johnson--he seems
to have the impression that everyone who can take things for
granted without having a detailed explanation of the facts
of the story is a moron or a small child. He should go find
a volume of scientific research if he enjoys that sort of
stuff. I read fiction stories for the enjoyment I get out of
them and not to criticize them for lack of explanation. I
would rather read some of his so-called nonsense than a lot
of far-flung, intricate, baseless scientific explanations.
Why doesn't Mr. Johnson use his imagination?--Donald Kahl,
360 Selby Ave., St. Paul, Minn.

_"High Time"_

Dear Editor:

I have been reading the magazine ever since it first came
out, a year ago, so it is high time for me to write. It
certainly grows better with every new issue.

I think that the ten best stories published during 1930 were
(not in order of merit): "Brigands of the Moon," "Vandals of
the Stars," "The Atom Smasher," "The Moon Master," "Earth,
the Marauder," "The Planet of Dread," "Silver Dome," "The
Second Satellite," "Jetta of the Lowlands" and "The Pirate
Planet."

Your ten best authors are: Harl Vincent, Ray Cummings,
Charles W. Diffin, Victor Rousseau, Capt. S. P. Meek, Murray
Leinster, Arthur J. Burks, R. F. Starzl, Sewell P. Wright
and Edmond Hamilton.

The Commander Hanson stories by S. P. Wright are great.
Let's have lots more of them.

And now about reprints. I cast my vote like many other
readers in favor of them. Many Readers, in fact over half,
are new Readers of Science Fiction. They, like myself, have
not read the great masterpieces such as "The Time Machine,"
"The Moon Pool" and countless other stories. Now, why not
reprint some of them and give us a chance to read them? A
few Readers who have read them before do not want them
reprinted because they do not want anybody else to read
them.

A brickbat: Why not cut the edges of the magazine smooth? It
would be much easier to handle.

A bouquet: You have a fine magazine. Keep up the good stuff.
My criticism is exhausted, so good-by until next
time.--Oswald Train, P. O. Box 94, Barnesboro, Pa.

_Two Dimensions Off?_

Dear Editor:

It was just by accident that I came across your magazine,
and I have read every issue since.

In the January number there is one story that I don't like,
"The Fifth Dimension Catapult." As far as the story is
concerned it is very good, but Professor Denham was not
marooned in the fifth dimension. If you read the story you
will find that Professor Denham was marooned on a three
dimensional world. That is all I can make out.

Astounding Stories is the best Science Fiction magazine I
have ever read, and I shall keep on reading it.

Keep up the good cover illustrations.--Richard Meindle, R.
1, Box 91, Butternut, Wisconsin.

_To the Colors!_

Dear Editor:

Being a passionate admirer of Dr. Breuer and his writings, I
cannot permit the contumelious, unfounded aggression of one
George K. Addison to go on unconfuted.

Perceiving that Dr. Breuer cannot possibly vindicate himself
against this disparagement I feel obliged to extenuate Dr.
Breuer in the eyes of the Readers.

In the first place, Dr. Breuer writes rarely and sparingly
and does not grind out his stories month after month as do
some other authors. His stories are highly original and are
presented in a purely literary style. The story to which Mr.
Addison refers, "A Problem in Communication," is a fine
example of his work. Should his story be remonstrated
against because it is lacking in adventure, because it did
not delineate mushy love episodes, because it does not cause
chills to run down one's spine? Positively not! It lives up
to the standard of the highest Science Fiction. Here is a
story unbesmirched by the love element, exceedingly
plausible and interestingly narrated.

If all stories were thought out and written just half as
carefully as Dr. Breuer's, Astounding Stories would become a
periodical justified to be considered on a par with The
Golden Book.

In closing, I wish to express my desire that more stories of
the Breuer quality be bestowed upon the Readers.--Mortimer
Weisinger, 266 Van Cortland Ave., Bronx, New York.

_And It Wasn't!_

Dear Editor:

Having read "The Readers' Corner" since its first appearance
in Astounding Stories and noted the various criticisms
offered, may I tell you about a story written by a Science
Fiction author?

The author, by the way, is the perfect author; he makes
absolutely no mistakes in his story, and is in no danger of
starving if his works aren't accepted and older stories are
reprinted instead. His science is correct and the story
contains nothing that cannot be understood.

The story is of interplanetary adventure. Strange to say,
there is no war in the story; there is no villain; there is
no hero to save a world from destruction or his sweetheart
from the monsters of another planet. Instead, there are
nothing but characters--if you get what I mean. The persons
involved in this interplanetary novel reach their goal due
to the tremendous strides of science in experimenting with
air and space vehicles.

When they arrive on the planet they do not meet hostile
nations. They do not meet monstrosities. They do, however,
meet people much like themselves who do not welcome the
travelers with open arms and show them about their city, but
regard them with curiosity and treat them with all due
respect for their achievement in conquering space.

As I said before, there is no hero who falls in love with
the beautiful girl from the planet visited, and saves her
and her country from other warring nations. To tell the
truth, the adventurers have their own loved ones at home.
They meet no intrigue. When they have learned all they
can--experiencing many difficulties in mastering the
language used, for the people of the planet have not
perfected a brain-copier or other like mechanism--they
arrange for commerce and travel between the two worlds and
return to Earth. On their return, they are not met with
world wide ovations and made heroes of, but receive credit
for their undertaking and are soon forgotten about.

To cap the climax, the story is acceptable to the Editors.
It is not in need of corrections and is published
immediately. The story is gratefully accepted by the public
and not one single soul writes a scathing letter to the
Editor telling why it was not good. In fact, I can hardly
believe that such a story was written. Possibly it
wasn't!--Robert R. Young, 86 Third Avenue, Kingston, Penn.

_Ha-ha!_

Dear Editor:

Christmas day, and because I'm not acquainted in this city
I'm writing you a letter.

I have just finished reading your magazine. I came close to
not buying it, being not overly prosperous, but decided to
take a chance when I saw you had a dimensional story by
Murray Leinster. That story was up to expectations. The
others were down to expectations.

If you want me to choose your magazine to spend my reading
allowance on, have more stories by Leinster, Starzl, Breuer
and Wells. It may take a little more effort, but it's worth
it. Sax Rohmer is good on science stuff, too.

Before you print any more undersea stories have a diver look
at them. You tell about standing at the bottom of the ocean
and seeing the submarine "not more than a quarter of a mile
away." Ha-ha! [No fair, that ha-ha! For the story says,
quoted exactly: "... there gleamed the reassuring LIGHTS of
the Nereid, not a quarter of a mile away." Probably, intense
searchlight beams could be seen that far.--Ed.] You couldn't
see it if you stood more than ten feet away. I'm not trying
to be critical, but you should be more careful.--Myron
Higgins, 524 West 100th St., New York City.

_We Never Will_

Dear Editor:

I have been an enthusiastic reader of Astounding Stories
since it was founded, and I think it about time that I
voiced my opinion of your great magazine.

Taking all in all it's a vow, but of course it could be
made better by having a quarterly, which I am sure would go
over big.

Wesso is great, so why not have all the illustrations by
him?

Your authors are also great. Nearly every story I have read
was perfect, and whatever you do don't lose R. F. Starzl.
His ideas are very good, as illustrated in "The Planet of
Dread."

There is only one more thing I would like to ask of you, and
that is the reason why I write. Please don't spoil the
magazine by endeavoring to please a very small minority by
putting in unnecessary scientific explanations. The reason
why I like your magazine so much is because of the fact that
it is unique in that respect. I have read a few stories in
other scientific magazines and found that they contained too
much explanation. I hope for the benefit of other Readers
and myself that you will not change the stories by adding
too much explanation.

In the coming year I wish you all possible success.--John
Sheehan, 32 Elm St., Cambridge, Mass.

_This and That_

Dear Editor:

In the October issue of Astounding Stories Mr. Woodrow
Gelman cast vote number 1 for reprints. In the February,
1931, issue, Mr. Forgaris throws in number 2 and here goes
number 3. I really don't see why, even after the arguments
you printed, you don't print at least one a year. I have
been reading your magazine ever since it came out and have
found that at least one-half of your Readers want reprints.
Can't you print at least one for an experiment?

Ray Cummings, S. P. Meek, Dr. Miles J. Breuer, Sewell P.
Wright and Harl Vincent are your best authors. Wesso is your
best artist by far.

There were several stories I did not like. They are:
"Monsters of Moyen," "Earth, the Marauder," and I guess
those are all.

How about giving us some short short stories? And how about
cutting the edges of the paper smooth? And giving us a
quarterly? But all in all I think your magazine is one of
the best in the field.--Vernon H. Jones, 1603 Sixth Ave.,
Des Moines, Iowa.

_It's Your Imagination_

Dear Editor:

Well, well! Astounding Stories was two days early this
month. See that this happens more often.

Of course, "The Pirate Planet" took first place in the
February number. The story was very well written and the
characters very realistic. It deserves to be put in book
form, also in the talkies. It would be much better than
"Just Imagine."

I welcome Anthony Gilmore, D. W. Hall and F. V. W. Mason to
Astounding Stories. Their stories proved to be very
interesting and I hope to read more.

Do you know how to write editorials? Yes? Then prove it. I
have to be shown. Write on some scientific subject each
month, and every so often write on Astounding Stories itself
and of its stories and authors.

Is it my imagination or have you been using a better grade
of paper in the past two issues? it seems to be much
smoother and a little thinner than that used previously.

I notice that you are giving more room to some of the
illustrations, as in "Werewolves of War" and "The Pirate
Planet." The larger the illustrations are the more there can
be put in them.--Jack Darrow, 4225 No. Spaulding Ave.,
Chicago, Illinois.

_If He But Could!_

Dear Editor:

Astounding Stories is without doubt the most preeminent in
its field.

With such versatile authors as Burks (When does his next
story appear?), Starzl, Cummings, Leinster, Vincent and all
the rest, how can it help but to overshadow all periodicals!

The illustrations are superfine. Wesso is a marvel! If he
could only write his own stories and illustrate them!

Now, a suggestion. I am positive that every Reader of your
magazine wants you to start a department in which
biographies of the authors and their photographs are given.
Why not start one?--Julius Schwartz, 407 East 183rd St.,
Bronx, New York.

_"The Readers' Corner"_

All readers are extended a sincere and cordial invitation to "come over in 'The Readers' Corner'" and join in our monthly discussion of stories, authors, scientific principles and possibilities--everything that's of common interest in connection with our Astounding Stories.

Although from time to time the Editor may make a comment or so, this is a department primarily for _Readers_, and we want you to make full use of it. Likes, dislikes, criticisms, explanations, roses, brickbats, suggestions--everything's welcome here: so "come over in 'The Readers' Corner'" and discuss it with all of us!

* * * * *

End of Project Gutenberg's Astounding Stories, April, 1931, by Various