The Onslaught from Rigel/Chapter XX
“Where to, folks?” asked Sherman, during one of their periods of soaring, as they floated high above the hilly country to the west of the Delaware River.
“Oh, most anywhere,” said Ben. “I would like to see you try out this new-fangled gun of yours on something, though.”
“What shall we try it on? A house?”
“No, that's too easy. We saw what it could do to things like that in the laboratory. Find a nice rock.”
“O. K. Here goes. Don't give her the gun for a minute, Murray.”
With wings extended, the Monitor spiralled down toward the crest of the mountain. A projecting cliff stood just beneath them, sharply outlined in the rays of the morning sun.
“Now this is going to be difficult,” warned Sherman. “Throw that connecting bar, Ben. It holds the power switch and the beam switch together so they're both turned on at once. Otherwise the recoil we'd get on this end of the beam would tumble us over backward. Hold it, while I set the controls. We've got to take a jump as soon as we fire, or we'll pop right into the mess we make… Ready? All right, Gloria, go ahead with your searchlight.”
The beam of the searchlight shot out, pale in the daylight, wavered a second, then outlined the crest of the cliff.
“Shoot!” cried Sherman.
There was a terrific report; a shock; the Monitor leaped, quivering in every part, and as they spiralled down to see what damage they had done, they beheld no cliff at all, but a rounded cup at the tip of the mountain in which a mass of molten rock boiled and simmered.
“Fair enough,” said Ben. “I guess that will do for the Lassans, all right. Home, James?”
“Right,” answered Sherman. “We've found out all we want to know this trip.”
The homeward journey was accomplished even more swiftly than the trip northward as Sherman gained in experience at the controls of the machine. As it glided slowly to earth at the airport a little group of officers was waiting to meet them.
“What in thunder have you been doing?” one of them greeted the Americans. “Your static, or whatever it was you let loose, burned out all the tubes in half the army radio sets in New Jersey.”
“By the nine gods of Clusium!” said Sherman. “I never thought of that. We're reducing matter pretty much to its lowest terms, and it's all a good deal alike on that scale—vibrations that may be electricity, magnetism, light or matter. Of course, when we let go that shot there was enough radiation to be picked up on Mars. I'll have to figure out a way to get around that. Those Lassans are no bums as electricians and after we've been at them once or twice, they'll be able to pick up our radiation whenever we're coming and duck us.”
“There's another thing,” said Ben. “I thought the Monitor vibrated a good deal when you let that shot go.”
“It did. We'll have to get more rigidity or we'll be shaking ourselves to pieces every time we shoot. But this, as I said, is an experimental ship. What we've got to do now is turn in and build a real one, with heavy armor and a lot of new tricks.”
“How are you going to know what kind of armor to put on her?”
“That's easy. Steel will keep out any kind of material projectiles they're likely to have, if it's thick enough. It won't keep out the light-ray, but we'll put on a thin lead plating to take care of that, just in case, though I don't think they're likely to try it after the one failure.
“Then inside the steel armor, we'll put a vacuum chamber. That will stop anything but light and maybe cosmic radiation, and I don't think they're up to that, although we'll get a little of the effect through the struts that support the outer wall of the chamber. What I would like though, is a couple of these Lassan thought-helmets. Not that you people are slow on the uptake, but we'd be a lot faster if we had them, and we're going to need all the speed we can get.”
They were crossing the flying field as they spoke, making for headquarters, where Sherman presently laid out the design for the second Monitor, embodying the improvements he had mentioned. The engineer who looked it over smiled doubtfully.
“I don't think we can give this to you in less than three or four weeks,” he said. “It will take a lot of time to cast that armor you want and to build the vacuum chamber. I assume your own workmen are going to make the internal fixtures.”
“Correct from the word go,” Sherman told him. “But you better have it before three or four weeks are up. Ben, what do you say we run over to the lab and see if we can dig up something new.”
It was two days later when they stood at headquarters on the flying field again. TheMonitor had made three more trips, on one of them, flying over the Lassan city without seeing anything more important than the Australian signal station perched on a nearby hill. Meanwhile the army of the federated governments had pushed out its tentacles, searching the barren waste that had been the most fruitful country in the world. East, west, south and north the report was the same; no sign of the Lassans or any other living thing.
“I could wish,” said Gloria, “that those lads would stick their noses out. I'd like to try the Monitor on them.”
“You'll get all you want of that,” said Ben a trifle grimly. “I'm glad they're giving us this much of a break. It lets us get things organized. Sherman is monkeying with a light-power motor now. If he catches it, our troubles will be over.”
“Wait a minute,” called an officer at a desk, as a telegraph key began tapping. “This looks like something.” He translated the dots and dashes for them. “Lassan—city—door—opening… It's from the signal station on that mountain right over it… Big—ball—coming out—will—will—what's this? The message seems to end.” He depressed the key vigorously and then waited. It remained silent.
“Oh, boy,” said Sherman, “there she goes! They got that signal station, I'll bet a dollar to a ton of Lassan radiation.”
The officer was hammering the key again. “We're sending out airplane scouts now,” he said. “Too bad about the signal station, but that's war!”
“Come on, gang,” said Ben. “Let's get out to the flying field. Looks like we're going to be in demand.”
In a car borrowed from the headquarters staff they raced out to the field where theMonitor stood, ready on its ramp for any emergency. Just as they arrived an airplane became visible, approaching from the north. It circled the field almost as though the pilot were afraid to land, then dipped and came to a slow and hesitating stop. The onlookers noticed that its guy wires were sagging, its wheels uneven; it looked like a wreck of a machine which had not been flown for ten years, after it had lain in some hangar where it received no attention at all.
As they ran across the field toward it, the pilot climbed slowly out. They noticed that his face was pale and horror-struck, his limbs shaking.
“All gone,” he cried to the oncoming group.
“What? Who? What's the matter?”
“Everything. Guns. Tanks. Airplanes. The big ball's got 'em. Almost got—” and he collapsed in Ben's arms in a dead faint.
“Here,” said Ben, handing the unconscious aviator to one of the Australian officers. “Come on. There's something doing up there. Big balls, eh? Well, we'll make footballs of 'em. That chap looks as though he'd been through a milling machine, though. The Lassans certainly must have something good.”
With a shattering crash as Murray Lee gave her all the acceleration she would take, the Monitor left the ramp, soared once or twice to gain altitude, and headed north amid a chorus of explosions. In less than ten minutes the thickly-settled districts of northern New Jersey were flowing past beneath them.
“Wish we had some radio in this bus,” remarked Ben Ruby. “We could keep in touch with what's going on.”
“It would be convenient,” said Sherman, “but you can't have everything. The Lassans aren't going to wait for us to work out all our problems… Look—what's that over there?”
At nearly the same level as themselves and directly over the city of Newark a huge globular object, not unlike an enormous green cantaloupe, appeared to float in the air. From its under side the thin blue beam of some kind of ray reached to the ground. From the face turned diagonally away from them a paler, wider beam, yellowish in color, reached down toward the buildings of the city. And where it fell on them, they collapsed into shattering ruin; roof piled on walls, chimneys tumbled to the ground. There was no flame, no smoke, no sound—just that sinister monster moving slowly along, demolishing the city of Newark almost as though it were by an effort of thought.
“Hold tight, everybody,” cried Sherman. “Going up.”
The Monitor slanted skyward. Through the heavy quartz of her windows they could see a battery of field guns, cleverly concealed behind some trees in the outskirts of the city, open fire. At the first bursts the monster globe swung slowly round, the pale yellow ray cutting a swath of destruction as it moved. The shells of the second burst struck all around and on it. “Oh, good shooting,” said Gloria, but even as she spoke the yellow ray bore down like a fate and the guns became silent.
“What have they got?” she shouted between the bursts of the Monitor's rocket motor.
“Don't know,” replied Sherman, “but it's good. Ready? Here goes. Cut off, Murray.”
From an altitude of 15,000 feet the Monitor swept down in a long curve. As she dived Gloria swung the searchlight beam toward the green globe.
“Go!” shouted Sherman, and Ben threw the switch. There was a terrific explosion, the Monitor pitched wildly, then, under control swung round and began to climb again. Through the thinning cloud of yellow smoke, they could see a long black scar across the globe's top, with lines running out from it, like the wrinkles on an old, old face.
“Damn!” said Sherman. “Only nicked him. They must have something good in the line of armor on that thing. Look how it stood up. Watch it, everybody, we're going to go again, Gloria!”
Again the searchlight beam swung out and down, sought the green monster. But this time the Lassan globe acted more quickly. The yellow ray lifted, probed for them, caught them in its beam. Instantly, the occupants of the Monitor felt a racking pain in every joint; the camera-boxes of the gravity-beam trembled in their racks, the windows, set in solid steel though they were, shook in their frames, the whole body of the rocket-ship seemed about to fall apart.
Desperately Sherman strove with the controls; dived, dodged, then finally, with a raised hand to warn the rest, side-slipped and tumbled toward the earth, pulling out in a swinging curve with all power on—a curve that carried them a good ten miles away before the yellow ray could find them.
“Boy!” said Murray Lee, feeling of himself. “I feel as though every joint in my body were loose. What was that, anyway?”
“Infra-sound,” replied Sherman. “You can't hear it, but it gets you just the same. Like a violinist and a glass. He can break it if he hits the right note. I told you those babies would get something hot. They must have found a way to turn that pure light of theirs into pure sound and vibrate it on every note of the scale all at once, beside a lot the scale never heard of. Well, now we know.”
“And so do they,” said Ben. “That bozo isn't going to hang around and take another chance on getting mashed with our gravity beam. Even if we did only tip him, I'll bet we hurt him plenty.”
“All I've got to say,” replied Sherman, “is that I'm glad we're made of metal instead of flesh and blood. If that infra-sound ray had hit us before, we'd be mashed potatoes in that field down there. No wonder the signal station went out so quick.”
“Do we go back and take another whack at them?” asked Murray Lee.
“I don't like to do it with this ship,” Sherman replied. “If we had the Monitor II it would be easy. With that extra vacuum chamber around her, she'll take quite a lot of that infra-sound racket. Vacuum doesn't conduct sound you know, though we'd get some of it through the struts. But this one—. Still I suppose we'll have to show them we mean business.”
The Monitor turned, pointed her lean prow back toward Newark, and bore down. In their flight from the infra-sound ray the Americans had dived behind a fluffy mass of low-hanging cloud; now they emerged from it, they could see the huge green ball, far up the river, retreating at its best speed.
“Aha,” Sherman said. “He doesn't like gravity beams on the coco. Well, come on, giddyap horsey. Give her the gun, Murray.”
Under the tremendous urge of the gravity-beam explosions at her tail, the Monitorshot skyward, leaving a trail of orange puffs in her wake as the beam decomposed the air where it struck it. Sherman lifted her behind the clouds, held the course for a moment, called “Ready, Gloria?” and then dropped.
Like a swooping hawk, the Monitor plunged from her hiding place. Sherman had guessed aright. The green ball was not five miles ahead of them, swinging over the summits of the Catskills to reach its home. As they plunged down the yellow ray came on, stabbed quickly, once, twice, thrice—caught them for a brief second of agonizing vibration, then lost them again as Sherman twisted the Monitor round. Then Gloria's beam struck the huge globule fair and square, Ben Ruby threw the switch, and a terrific burst of orange flame swallowed the whole center of the Lassan monster.
Prepared though they were for the shock, the force of the explosion threw the ship out of control. It gyrated frantically, spinning up, down and sidewise, as Sherman worked the stick. The Catskills reared up at them; shot past in a whirl of greenery; then with a splash they struck the surface of the Hudson.
Fortunately, the Monitor's wings were extended, and took up most of the shock at the cost of being shattered against her sides. Through the beam-hole at the stern the water began to flow into the interior of the ship. “Give her the gun!” called Sherman frantically, working his useless controls. There was a report, a shock, a vivid cloud of steam, and dripping and coughing like a child that has swallowed water in haste, the Monitor rose from the stream, her broken wings trailing behind her.
“I don't know—whether—I can fly—this crate or not,” said Sherman, trying to make what was left of the controls work. “Shoot, Murray—if we put on enough power—we won't have to soar.” There was a renewed roar of explosions from theMonitor. Desperately, swinging in a wide curve that carried her miles out of her way, she turned her nose southwards.
“Make Philly,” cried Sherman cryptically, above the sound of the explosions that were driving their craft through the air at over six hundred miles an hour. Almost as he said it, they saw the airport beneath them. The Monitor swerved erratically; the explosions ceased; she dived, plunged and slithered to a racking stop across the foreshore of the seaplane port, ending up with a crash against a float, and pitched all four occupants from their seats onto the floor.
“Well, that's one for you and one for me,” said Sherman as he surveyed the wreckage ruefully. “We used up that green ball all right, but the old Monitor will never pop another one. Did anyone notice whether there were any pieces left, by the way?”
“I did,” said Gloria. “As we came up out of the water I could see a few hunks lying around on the hill.”
“Mmm,” remarked Sherman, “they must be built pretty solid. Wish I knew what was in them; that's one thing I never did get through that thought-helmet. Probably something they just figured out. You gave her all the power we had, didn't you?”
“There's something else I'd like to know,” said Ben. “And that's whether they had time to warn the rest of the Lassans what they were up against. If they did, we stand a chance. The way I have these guys figured is that they're good, but they have a yellow streak, or maybe they're just lazy, and they don't like to fight unless they're sure of winning. If I'm right we'll have time to get Monitor II into commission and before they come out again, we'll be ready for them. If I'm wrong we might as well find a nice hole somewhere and pull it in after us.”
“Yes, and on the other hand, if they did have time to warn them, they'll sit down and dope out some new trick. Though I have a hunch they won't find an answer to that gravity-beam so easily. There isn't any that I know of.”
“Well, anyway,” said Murray Lee, “nothing to do till tomorrow. What are you two rummies up to now?”
“Run up and push them along on Monitor II if we can,” replied Ben. “I think I'll round up the rest of the mechanical Americans and put you all to work on it. We can work day and night and get it done a lot quicker.”
“Me,” said Sherman, “I'm going to figure out some way to install radio on that new bus or bust a button. That's one thing we ought not to do without. If we'd known the position of that green lemon before we saw it, we could have dived out of the clouds on it and made it the first shot before we got all racked up with that yellow ray.”