The Micronauts
By Charles R. Tanner
The elms which
grew along the curb spread their branches until they
drooped over the high brick wall of the estate, making
of the avenue a sort of tunnel, into which the distant
street lights sent hardly a single beam of light. In the
deep shadow, Phillip Corrigan’s cigarette showed, just a
tiny red spark held carefully in cupped hands, ready to
extinguish it instantly if anyone should appear.
Corrigan himself, dressed in assuming blue serge and
with a black felt hat pulled well down over his brow,
was quite invisible.
He had been
standing there an hour now, and even on his arrival, the
big old house had been dark. The last belated passer-by
had picked his way uncertainly down the street, over
forty-five minutes ago, and since then silence had
spread its sway, undisputed, over the entire
neighborhood.
Somewhere,
city-ward, a church bell tolled two solemn notes. Two
o’clock; and Corrigan roused himself to action. He took
a final long pull at his cigarette, pinched it and
ground it beneath his heel. He breathed deeply of the
fresh air of the June night and, fumbling in his pocket,
drew out a key. He stepped over a few paces to where a
gray-painted door was set in the wall, and after a
through the door in less time than it takes to tell it.
Once in, he shut
the door silently, locked it, and turned to scrutinize
the garden carefully. It was dark and so, of course, it
was impossible to see much. But Corrigan trusted this
very fact to assure him that the garden was deserted.
The folk in the big house on the right were quite
without suspicion, they had no cause to suspect midnight
visitors such as he, and right now they were probably
all sleeping soundly in their respective rooms. He
turned to the left where a path ran, paralleling the
wall; and strode down it, confidently. He knew the path
well enough to proceed without a light, and when
presently it turned and ended at another gate, he
brought forth a second key and was through it without a
moment’s hesitation.
He was in a big
open field now. The ground was bare of grass or plant,
it had apparently been tramped down by dozens of busy
feet, and there and there planks were lying, scattered
or ropes were coiled. Dim against the skyline, twenty or
thirty yards away, loomed a vast, uncertain structure of
girders and beams, surmounted by a huge formless blob of
shadow—the object of Corrigan’s visit.
The interloper
strode quickly and surely toward the shadows, He groped
uncertainly for a moment, then found a ladder and
ascended it. A minute or two later, his form arose, high
above the ground, his feet planted firmly on the deck
of— a submarine!
It was not a large
vessel, probably some eighty feet long, and the beams
and girders which had been visible beneath it were the
ways on which it had been built. Here in the inland
town, miles from the nearest river, the owner of that
estate had built an eighty-foot submarine! Yet Corrigan
had no doubts of the owner’s sanity, or even of his
practical ability. Indeed, it was his confidence in that
gentleman which had brought him here tonight.
He reached the
conning tower, fumbled awhile and then lifter the hatch
cover and lowered himself into the vessel. His feet once
on the deck, for the first time he allowed himself the
privilege of a light. A faint beam from a tiny
flashlight swung about the room and presently fell on a
group of controls at one end. He hurried over and began
examining them.
Compressed air
valves - - nothing interesting there. Periscope - - he
knew all about that. A bank of DuPont cosmic
concentrators - - hm-m - - maybe it would pay to look
into those, presently. Ha- - what was this? Maybe this
little gadget was what he had come to investigate. He
studied the group of dials for a moment, looked
carefully at the panel in which they were set and then,
drawing a screw driver from his pocket, bean to remove
the screws that held it into place. Laying the Bakelite
plate carefully on the floor, he was instantly absorbed
in the complicated group of wires and instruments which
the removal of the panel had revealed. For a while he
was puzzled, then a light broke over his face and he
chuckled aloud.
“Why, ‘tis a
variation of the Duffield-Shorring transmitters they
are,” he whispered. “This is going to be easy. Ten to
one, they’ll be having a bank of Ocugi storage batteries
somewhere in the house.”
He slapped his
thigh, and in a moment was restoring the panel to its
place. Finished with that job, he flashed his light
around the room again, pause puzzled before another
large panel, hesitated, then shrugged.
“No use looking
into that,” he thought. “I’ve got all I came for. A fool
I’d be, to stick around now and court trouble.”
He snapped off the
flashlight and ascended the ladder. He was just about to
thrust back the hatch-cover when he paused, his hand
half lifted. Somewhere, in the distance a voice had
spoken, the accents coming clearly through the voice. It
was the voice of the owner of the estate, the builder of
the submarine.
Cautiously,
Corrigan thrust back the hatch and peeked out. Lights
had been turned on along the walk and, some distance
away, Corrigan could see a party approaching the vessel.
He cursed softly and closed the hatch silently, thanking
his stars that the bolts which held it shut were
adjustable from within as well as without. He locked the
hatch, confident that the visitors would find nothing
unusual, and dropped back into the control room. He had
no doubt that the party was coming here, and if he
didn’t find a hiding place, he would probably be caught
like a rat. For a moment he hesitated about using his
flashlight, the, in desperation he turned it on and
swept it once about the room. He breathed a sigh of
relief a he noticed a narrow opening between the two
panels, the one he had investigated and the other, which
he had ignored. He slipped in between them and was
pleased to find a small place behind the
Duffield-Shorring transmitters into which he could
easily slip. It was rather cramping and uncomfortable,
but he could at least stay here until this midnight
inspection was over, and then escape without being seen.
He waited a full
ten minutes in silence. He was beginning to get a little
restless, and wondered if, after all, the party had
decided not to enter the vessel. Then - - the hatch
cover moved. Voices from above. A man’s legs appeared,
then the rest of him. Short and stocky, keen-eyed and
black-haired, with heavy brows and pudgy nose - - Emil
Bruckman, the owner of the estate, scientist
extraordinary and designer of the submarine. Emil
Bruckman looked even younger than his forty-five years,
but his work in atomic physics had made him a world
figure long ago.
He hardly reached
the deck of the room when another man appeared. He was a
tall man, prematurely gray, an English type, high cheek
bones and lean face, and Corrigan wondered what he was
doing here. For he recognized the man, knew him to be
David McCarren, Bruckman’s closest friend and a
world-famous biologist.
Two more men
followed- - the little Russian, Sergei Voranien,
Bruckman’s co-worker, and Sam Stock, silent, burly,
back-bearded Sam Stock, who had had charge, under
Bruckman, of the building of the submarine, and the
setting up in it of the various strange instruments that
Bruckman had designed. And last of all - - Corrigan
caught his breath as his eye fell upon her - - last of
all came Laura Bruckman, Emil’s daughter. What in
thunder was she doing here at this time of night? As far
as that went, what were they all doing here at such an
hour?
And then Bruckman
spoke, and curiously enough, answered Corrigan’s
question.
“I’m sorry your
train was so late, David,” he said. “As I told you,
Laura and I have been waiting at the depot at the depot
since nine o’clock. I had hopes of getting you here
before ten; but it must be nearer to three, now. But
this stuff I’ve got here - - I just couldn’t wait to
show it to you, in spite of the lateness of the hour.”
McCarren smiled
wryly. “You’ve got me here now, anyhow. But what can
possibly be so important that you must drag me halfway
across the country and then start a demonstration at two
in the morning?”
Bruckman laughed,
a booming bass laugh that echoed in the confines of the
little room. “David, he said, “When you see what I’ve
got here, you’re going to be so tickled that you’ll
forget sleeping, eating and everything else. Maybe
you’ll think it funny, but my atomic investigations have
produced something that’s right up your alley. You
specialize in the study of protozoa, don’t you?”
McCarren nodded.
“Ten years of it, Emil. Why”?”
“Wait and see, my
boy. First I want to explain why I’ve gone crazy and
built a submarine in my back-yard.” He led McCarran over
to the larger panel and Corrigan squeezed himself
farther back into his hiding place, his heart suddenly
beating like a trip hammer.
“Know anything
about the Hetherington collapse?” asked Bruckman,
suddenly. He spoke so suddenly that Sam Stock, who ha
been looking aimlessly out of the port-hole, wheeled
startled, his fact contorted by an ugly scowl. McCarren
hesitated, a little disconcerted.
“It has something
to do with atomic engines, hasn’t it?” he asked
uncertainly. “Something to do with the so-called ash
elements?”
Bruckman nodded.
“Tell him about it, Sergei. You’re better than I am
with simplified explanations. I’d be too technical for
Dave’s limited mind, I fear.”
The little Russian
grinned and began: “You remember when the present atomic
engines were developed? How they succeeded in breaking
down certain elements of lower atomic weight and thus
securing the energy released?”
“Of course,”
nodded McCarren, and added sarcastically: “My limited
mind is capable of running a Witherfield engine, at
least.”
“Well,” went on
Voranien. “One of the first things that was noticed in
the use of these engines was that a very small
percentage of the elements used for fuel refused to
break down. When lead was used for fuel, to use a common
illustration, it broke down into gold. But about one
three-hundredth of one percent remained lead. Scientists
were puzzled, and poor, unfortunate George Hetherington,
then one of England’s finest atomists, undertook to find
out why. After a lot of study and experimenting with ash
elements, he announced the discovery that the remaining
lead was noble, that is, like the noble gases, helium
and neon and those others, it refused to combine with
any other elements. At last, after more study, he
succeeded in combining it with chlorine that had been
left after breaking down a flask of normal chlorine. In
other words, noble elements of this new type united with
each other, but not with ordinary elements, which had no
effect on them at all!”
Corrigan, in his
place of concealment, was watching with surprise the big
form of Sam Stock. At the mention of George
Hetherington, a scowl had come over his face, the same
sort of scowl that he had assumed when Hetherington’s
name had been mentioned before. He had leaned forward as
Voranien spoke, closer and closer to the Russian, but
now, as though suddenly realizing his attitude he
suddenly drew back, his face becoming a blank mask.
McCarren was asking Voranien in a puzzled voice, just
what all this had to do with this submarine.
“Patience,
please,” the Russian begged. “Hetherington continued his
investigations, began to study the atomic states of
these strange elements, and finally announced that this
so small percentage of atoms, instead of breaking up, as
did almost all of the other atoms, had merely released,
uniformly, a terrific quantity of pure energy, resulting
in a shrinking of the entire atom, until, at the end
state, these atoms were no more than one five-thousandth
their original size! This collapse of the atom into a
low energy state has since been known as the
‘Hetherington collapse’.
“Just how much
Huntington might have found out, had he been able to
continue his investigations, we’ll never know. About
this time, his mind, like a too tightly stretched
steel wire, began to waken, and the remainder of his
work was seriously hampered by increasing vagaries and
delusions. Four years ago, poor Hetherington, now a
dangerous paranoiac, was incarcerated in an asylum,
leaving others, less brilliant, to take up where he had
left off.”
Corrigan gritted
his teeth and wished he could stretch his muscles, This
resume’ of Bruckman’s work bored him terribly and he was
beginning to feel cramped in his close quarters. But the
voice of Voranien went on: “About a year or so ago,
Bruckman and I took up the abandoned work of George
Hetherington. We investigated those atoms of low energy
and decided that certain cosmic rays of a particular
wave-length were responsible for their acting
differently than the average atom. Experiment with
Dupont cosmic concentrators and Moreno filters proved
our theory, and further investigation has enabled us to
break down all the atoms of a given specimen into low
energy atoms. We long ago succeeded in taking a piece of
wood, and, complicated as that is, chemically, we
reduced it in size to one five-thousandth of the
original.”
“Say, that’s
remarkable!” ejaculated McCarren, stirred suddenly into
greater attention. “Why, if a man could reduce himself
to that size, without harm _ _”
“He’s got it, at
last!” burst out Bruckman. “Now we’re coming around to
his line of work. Exactly, Dave. If we, by our
discoveries, could reduce this whole boat and everything
in it to on five-thousandth - - wouldn’t that be fine
for a certain biologist?”
“But surely you
haven’t really succeeded?”
“Oh, but surely we
have,” Bruckman aped McCarran’s incredulous tone as he
answered. “In this submarine, we’re going to reduce our
size until the whole damn boat is only a fifth of an
inch long! Tie that, if you can, my fine-feathered
friend.”
“But - - why,
Emil, won’t it be dangerous? How’ll we regain our right
size again? I’d sacrifice a lot for science, but I’d
hate to spend the rest of my life no bigger than a - -
an euglena, say.”
“It’s all been
worked out, perfectly. We’ve reduced dogs to the low
energy state and restored ‘em. We’ve built little
houses, put animals in “em and shrunk “em, and then
brought ‘em back to normal. Everything has been worked
out to the last detail. I’ll show you in a minute how
this thing runs. There are ways, outside, down which
this boat will slide as it shrinks. They get smaller and
smaller until at last they’re only a twenty-fifth of an
inch wide. They run into that old pond back of the elm
tree out there.”
“The pond where I
got those algae last year?”
“Yes. And as we
shrink, these Duffield-Shorring transmitters will
collect the released energy, beam it to the house where
it will be picked up and stored in cadmium storage
batteries. You know, Ocugi batteries will absorb an
incredible amount of energy. Well, they’ll hold the
energy released, until we return.”
McCarren whistled.
“They’ll have to hold a whale of a lot of energy.” He
said.
“Its calculated.”
said Bruckman reassuringly. “There’s a whole bank of
‘em. They’ll hold it all. We can make the ‘trip’ and
return, without a bit of trouble.”
For the first time
Laura Bruckman spoke up.
“If somebody stole
those batteries while we were gone, we’d be in a pretty
fix, wouldn’t’ we, dad?”
Bruckman snorted.
“Who’d think to steal a bunch of cadmium batteries? What
good would it do them?”
“There’ll be
enough energy released to light and run New York City
for several years.” Sam Stock commented. “Many a man
would be tickled to death to steal and leave us to our
fate, if he knew.”
Well, nobody
knows. At least nobody but us and about half a dozen
others. And I’ll swear to the honesty of Peck and
Corrigan and the rest of the workers. Anyhow, we’ll
probably not be gone more than ten hours or so. Back
almost before we know it.”
“How long will it
take to reduce ourselves?” asked McCarren, suddenly.
“About three
hours. “Why?”
“Let’s go now! If
there were any danger of robbery, nobody would dream
about our going now, and we’d be back by noon, today”
Bruckman
hesitated. “Well,” he muttered, glancing toward his
daughter dubiously, “I’m willing, but - - How about it,
Laura? Do you want to chance it?”
There was a gleam
of interest in Laura’s back eyes.
“You know I’d love
it, dad. I’ve been hoping you’d decide to take me. I
don’t believe there’s any danger at all.”
“All right, then.
Take your post, Stock. Tell the truth, I’ve been hoping
all along that you‘d suggest this, Dave. Let’s go.”
Corrigan had heard
the latter part of the conversation with a growing
panic. He had planned his visit carefully, he thought,
and all the signs had pointed to quite a comfortable
length of time before the actual voyage into smallness
was to begin. Indeed, only a day or so before, Stock had
told him that he expected it would be at least a week
before Bruckman undertook his experiment. And he had
hardly expected such a large party. His mind was in a
quandary as to what he should do. If he remained
concealed, he would be dragged off onto this incredible
voyage; if he came out of his hiding place- - well, all
chances of ever profiting from all his weeks of working
and all his careful spying were over. And he might face
prison too.
Then the ship
lurched and tipped- - they were starting to move down
the ways! And that meant that they were smaller than
they had been, for the ways were constructed that they
slid down them as their size contracted. Corrigan swore
softly to himself and racked his brains for a solution
to his predicament. And try as he might, none occurred
to him. So at last, in desperation, he decided to have
recourse to the outlaw’s last hope- - threat of
violence. He arose and, drawing his revolver from his
pocket, stepped out from his place of concealment.
Laura screamed and
clapped her hand to her mouth, Bruckman gasped and
McCarren turned in puzzled wonder. Voranien, whose back
was toward Corrigan when he emerged, turned and gasped
in his turn. Laura’s gasp turned into a startled cry of:
“Phillip!” but Corrigan, ignoring her for the moment,
barked a harsh command to the men: “Get away from that
board and keep your hands up!”
They obeyed him at
once, but Bruckman could not forbear a question.
“What the devil’s
the meaning of this, Corrigan? What are you doing here,
this time of night?”
Corrigan waved the
question aside.
“You can guess why
I’m here. Right now, your job is to stop this damn
monkey business and get the boat back where it was. I’m
getting out of here. Come on, snap into it.”
The boat gave
another lurch. Through the port-hole, Corrigan saw an
object move swiftly past. The others made no move; they
still stood, hands aloft, and watched Corrigan.
“Come on, get
busy. Don’t stand there like dummies, Stock, you can run
this boat. Start it back.”
Emil Bruckman
heaved a deep sigh. He gestured to Stock to remain where
he was. A grin swept slowly over his face. “What if we
don’t?” he asked slowly.
“I’ll tell you
what, if you don’t.” Corrigan’s voice rang harsh through
the room.”This thing in my hand is not wooden dummy.
I’ve persuaded more than one man with it.”
Bruckman suddenly
dropped his hands and moved toward the panel of the
control board. Corrigan relaxed his tenseness with a
sigh, but it changed to a snarl as Bruckman took hold of
a lever which was already drawn partly down, and drew it
down the rest of the way. Another lurch of the vessel,
and it was quite apparent that its speed had been
accelerated.
“Cut out that nonsense and stop this thing or …”
“Or what?” barked
Bruckman, suddenly completely master of himself. “If I
don’t stop this thing, what are you going to do? You
idiot, don’t you realize that you’re entirely in our
power? If you shoot me, you won’t have a Chinaman’s
chance of ever getting back to normalcy. Know how big
you are now? About one foot high!” He advanced toward
Corrigan, threateningly. “Now put that gun down and
talk!”
Corrigan
hesitated, but still held the gun trained on the
scientist. He stepped over to the port-hoe, careful not
to lower his weapon, and glanced out. The sight made him
gasp and look again.
The first traces
of the early June dawn were already in the sky, and in
the dim light, the field in which the submarine had been
built was dimly visible, looming enormous. It was, it
seemed, nearly a mile to the brick wall which ran along
the street, and between here and there, and a half dozen
vast trees towered to heights unthinkable.
Corrigan
shuddered, and turned back to the room, visibly shaken.
Bruckman stepped toward him with: “Put down that gun.
It’s no good to you now. Com over here and tell us what
you’re doing here and what this is all about.”
Corrigan, his mind
awhirl from the sight that he had seen without, lowered
his gun and obeyed.
“I don’t suppose
there’s much use kidding myself any longer. Here’s the
dope. In the first place, I am a thief. Been crooked for
years. I learned something about your work from the
popular science magazines and something from Stock here.
I boarded at the same house he did. I saw a chance to
break into something new, and took the job he offend me.
I kept my eyes open, and having a lot better education
than I pretended, I learned a lot.
“I figured to wait
until you had shrunk down to a small size and then beat
it with the batteries. You’d never have been able to
return to normal size and you’d never have had a chance
to get me. And I’d have been able to sell enough
electric power to make me rich for life.
“I came here
tonight to get a line on what kind of transmission you
were going to use to get the released energy from the
vessel to the house. And you butted in before I could
get away. So here I am. What are you going to do about
it?”
Bruckman chuckled.
“Not quite so tough now, eh, Corrigan? Damn it, man, I’m
surprised at you. I’d have bet my life you were honest.
What do you think you’re going to make out of living the
way you do?”
Corrigan smiled a
wry smile. “If you’d’ve gotten here ten minutes later
than you did, I’d have made millions. As it is…” he
tossed his gun on the floor. “What are you going to do
with me?”
Bruckman looked
puzzled. “Darned if I know, exactly. You out to be
turned over to the police, but—Look here, can I trust
your word of haven’t you any sense of honor at all?”
Corrigan frowned
angrily. “I’m not a hop-head or a cheap dip. For the
matter of that, I’m not just a common thief. I’ve as
good sense of honor as any man and - - Damn it all, I’m
just Irish, that’s all. There ain’t enough zest, enough
adventure, left in life to stimulate a real man. That’s
why I’m crooked- - I want adventure, excitement! But
ass to honor- - Yes, you can trust my word,” he ended,
simply.
“All right, then.
I’ll believe you. Now give me your word that you’ll play
fair, won’t try any more funny tricks, and when we get
back to normal size, you’ll leave us and not return. Do
that and we’ll say no more.”
Corrigan nodded.
“Agreed.” He promised, and held out his hand. Bruckman
glanced at it and turned to the others. “Corrigan, here,
is to be treated as one of us until we get back,” he
announced. “Is that O.K. with you folks?” They nodded,
and Corrigan, stung by Bruckman’s ignoring of his
proffered hand, stood stiffly awaiting what was next.
Bruckman noticed the strained attitudes in which all
stood and broke the tension by suggesting that they take
a look outside. The three scientists moved to the
port-holes.
Corrigan was about
to follow them when Laura turned and pulled him aside.
“What in the world made you do it, Phillip? she
whispered, drawing him to the far side of the room. “A
man of your intelligence and brilliance. I was beginning
to like you, Phillip. Oh, haven’t you any sense at all?”
she went on, suddenly giving way to her suppressed
emotion. You’re clever and smart- - you could easily do
big things in the world, if you wanted to. Why, dad has
been talking about making a place for you in the engine
works, after this job was done. And here you go and
spo8il it all with this silly robbery idea. Why did you
do it?”
Corrigan felt
sheepish, actually sheepish. Never before had he found
it necessary to explain his way of life to anyone, much
less a young woman who considered his dangerous vocation
simply foolish. He hesitated, but: “Go on,” she urged.
“Why don’t you say something?”
“There isn’t much
to say,” he muttered. “I’m a thief. I admit it. But I do
think I’m a little better than the ordinary thief. I’m
alive, I’ve got to have adventure, and excitement; and
where can an honest man be finding excitement these
days? If this moon business was an accomplished fact, a
fellow might go exploring on the moon, or Mars, maybe.
But there’s no adventure left on earth. Everything’s
civilized. But a crook - -ah, that is, an adventurer who
isn’t too honest - -can still get a thrill now and
then.”
“There are plenty
of thrills left in this old world,” Laura exclaimed
scornfully. “You’re just too lazy to look for them,
Philip Corrigan. I’ll admit that crime is the easiest
way to get a thrill. But what man wants to get things
the easiest way, if he’s really a man? Ask dad, if want
to know about thrills. Ask David McCarren. Or even poor
sickly Sergei, there. I’ll venture to say they enjoy
life more, in one day, than you would in a month.”
Corrigan was about
to answer but she waved his words aside.
“I was beginning
to like you, Phillip. We‘ve had several mighty good
times together. But as long as we’re on this trip,
remember, that I know you for what you are - - a man
that’s simply too indolent, to careless, to seek what he
wants in a legitimate way.” She turned and joined the
group at the window and Corrigan, perforce, followed
her.
A glance out of
the port-hole brought an involuntary exclamation to his
lips. Above, the sky was all gray in the dawn. Below,
incredibly far below, another sky seemed to stretch gray
as the other. Around them, stretching away into the
mists in the distance rose mighty, broad, flat pillars
that rose from the mists below and stretched high, high
into the vague sky above. One or two branched in a
manner that was vaguely familiar. They were like - -
Corrigan knew what they were. Cat-tails! Young rushes
which, now that the ship had grown so small, towered,
seemingly, miles into the air.
“We must be near
the end of our trip, aren’t we?” he asked. Bruckman
nodded. “Yep,” he turned to McCarren. “It won’t be long
until you’ll be right in your won private little zoo,
Dave. How’ll it feel to be able to mingle on equal terms
with amoebae and paramecia?”
McCarren eyes
glowed. “You’ll never know, Emil. Nobody could ever
explain what this means to me.”
Bruckman chuckled.
“Have you forgiven me, then, for dragging you from your
home and bringing you here in the middle of the night?”
McCarren laughed.
“Forget it. Look down there. Isn’t that the glint of
water?”
“It is. We’ll soon
be there. Get ready for a bump, folks.”
At his warning,
they tensed themselves, braced their legs, and seized to
stanchions or whatever else was handy to act as a
support. For a moment nothing happened; the, as though
to reward them for their anxiety, there was a crashing
jolt that sent them end over end across the room to wind
up in a pile on the far side. The floor rose at an
absurd angle, the far wall slid down to take its place,
and the boat began a steady rise and fall as though in
the grip of a mighty ground swell. The entire party
arose, with their feet on the new floor, and spent an
anxious minute taking stock of their bruises.
“Well, this is a
nice mess of things,” burst out Bruckman. “Looks as if I
failed to allow for something. We must be in the water
now, but what caused that jolt?”
Sam Stock suddenly
rose on the rocking floor, and climbed to a position
where he could look out of the periscope. Bruckman saw
his intention and glanced out of the window at his feet,
but only a gray expanse met his eyes.
“Come up here,”
said Stock suddenly. We’re floating on the surface of
the water. Worse than that. We’re lying on the surface.”
Bruckman started
up, exclaiming incredulously, but McCarren suddenly
laughed. “Surface tension!” he ejaculated.
“Eh? What’s that?”
questioned Bruckman.
“I said, ‘surface
tension.’ That’s what the matter with us is. Haven’t
you ever seen the water-striders crawling on the surface
of a pond? Haven’t you ever seen dust particles floating
on the water? You can float a needle in a saucer of
water if you place it on the surface carefully,. No
wonder we didn’t sink. The submarine is so small that it
can’t sink directly into the water. But it presents a
problem. How are we going to break the ‘skin’ of the
water and get through?”
Bruckman frowned.
“It’s something overlooked, I’ll admit,” he growled.
“But there must be some way.”
“Capillary
attraction?” suggested McCarren. “Could we use that to
get us under?’
Bruckman scratched
his head. “Don’t know. Maybe. I should have brought a
stick of dynamite to bread the water, I suppose. But no
use crying over split milk. If we..” He was
interrupted by another jolt, as violent as the first.
Again they were thrown from their feet, the boat righted
itself and lurched again, then slowly it righted again
and a sinking feeling that assailed them assure them
all that the boat was through the surface and sinking.
“We’re through,
boys,” cried Bruckman as soon as he could gain this
footing. “I don’t know what did it, but we’re through.”
“Probably we were
smothered by the water from a crest of a wave.”
suggested McCarren. “The water would be a little choppy
due to the morning breeze. Anyway, we’re sinking now.”
“Yes, and we’ve
sunk about as much as we ought to,” spoke up Voranien.
“Let’s balance out and start cruising.”
Bruckman nodded
and they turned to the panels. McCarren stepped to a
port-hole and looked out and then beckoned to Corrigan
and Laura.
“Look!” he said,
and he spoke in italics. The others looked and the scene
without made it plain why he had spoken with emphasis.
For the ship was plowing its way through a welter of
amazing life, of life utterly different from anything
that Corrigan, at any rate, had ever imagined. Creatures
of every conceivable size were there, form tiny blobs of
jelly no bigger than Corrigan’s thumb to vast monsters
seemingly fifteen feet or more in length. Some few,
especially a type shaped like a large pale-green cigar,
rose slowly from the depths toward the surface of the
pond far above; others sank, as slowly; but the majority
swam actively about, bumping now and then into each
other, intent upon the business for which they were
created.
Practically all of
the creatures were as transparent as glass. Faint colors
were observable in some. The cigar shaped creatures were
pale green, and some of the others showed pinkish and
yellowish tints, but these colors were not definite, but
mere suggestions, It seemed to Corrigan that he looked
out into a world of creatures blown from glass. Yet
here, there and everywhere, they darted, rolled or swam
– Corrigan gasped as a great shadowy form darted
suddenly up and past the window, leaving a swirling
current in its wake in which a thousand or more of the
tinier creatures were swept.
“What - - what in
thunder are they?” he stammered a last. “Am I seeing
things or are they really there?”
McCarren smiled.
“They’re there, all right. And nothing to really be
amazed at. In every gallon of stagnant water, in every
quiet pond or pool, literally billions of these
creatures swarm. There are hundreds of species, indeed,
whole families and orders of them. See those big flat
fellows about four feet long, the ones that swim with a
spiral motion? They’re paramecia. We’ll probably wee
plenty of them. And the smaller whip-like string
alongside of it? That’s euglena.”
He paused and pointed off to one side. “Look
there!” he barked. “There’s a honey, Corrigan. Look off
there.”
Corrigan looked and saw something that made him
hasp again. The creature was over twelve feet in
diameter, round, and armored with a great transparent
shell. Out of the shell emerged two long lets that the
creature apparently used for oars, in inside – The
creature, like all the others, was as transparent as a
window pane, and all its organs were plainly visible.
Corrigan could see its heart beating, its mouth-parts
vibrating and other parts, of which he was ignorant,
moving spasmodically. The only dark spots on the entire
creature were two eyes, which stared balefully from
beneath short antennae.
“Why, that’s a kind of a - - kind of a crawfish,
isn’t it” asked Corrigan in an awed voice.
“Yes, it is,” answered McCarren. “Chidoris and I’m not
mistaken.”
“But it must be awfully small; it seems no
bigger than that to us.”
“You’re right. It is small. There are a good
many species of crustacean that are no bigger than a
good -sized protozoon. Yet they have limbs and organs,
nerve systems and musculature as complicated as their
bigger brothers.”
“Good gosh!” ejaculated Corrigan, and again
became silent, lost in the wonders without. Presently he
turned, at a sharp word from Bruckman.
“Look here, Dave,” the latter spoke. “It’s time
I was springing my surprise on you. Come here.” He led
the way to a door at one end of the room, and flung it
open. Within, hanging on the walls, were four diving
suits, their helmets lying on the floor before them.
“Emil!” McCarran’s delight was boundless. “Say,
this really is a surprise. Why, we can go outside!”
Bruckman’s eyes were twinkling. “it really is
Stock’s surprise,” he admitted “he was the one that
suggested having these suits included. Think a trip
without will be safe? Think we can go out among those
galliwampuses without getting devoured?”
McCarren was glowing with excitement. “It’ll be
safe enough, I expect. Most of these creatures have
certain types of food, and won’t eat anything else. They
live largely on decaying vegetation. I wouldn’t tempt
members of the crustacean too far, but if we leave them
alone, they’ll probably do the same for us.”
“Then let’s go.” Bruckman exclaimed
enthusiastically, but was immediately quieted by a
remark from Stock: “Somebody has to stay on the boat.
“We can’t all go”.
“Say, that’s right,” Bruckman frowned. “You’d
better stay, Sam. And- - let’s see, there’s onl6y four
suits. Hm-mm Corrigan can’t stay. He’d try to knock out
Sam and get back to normalcy where he could steal our
energy “
“Say, I gave you my word ….”Corrigan began
heatedly, but Bruckman waved him to silence and went on:
“Of course, you’ll go, Dave. And you, Laura. Corrigan,
you get into a suit, too. And- - oh, well, you to
Sergei. After all, the idea originated in your head. So
go ahead. Sam and I will stay behind”.
Sergei Voranien bowed. “Thanks, Emil, I
appreciate it. But you shouldn’t say the idea originated
with me. After all, if poor Hetherington had kept his
mind, it would certainly have been him, instead of us,
who first undertook this sort of a journey.”
Bruckman nodded as he turned away. “Poor old
George,” he murmured. “It’s too bad he couldn’t have
been with us to see this carrying out of his
discoveries.”
He moved out into the control room and the four
who had been chose to make the trip outside busied
themselves with donning the diving suits. The suits,
Corrigan noticed, were of the latest model,
radio-equipped and carrying Donovan hydroclasts,
apparatus which broke up the water seeping through them
into hydrogen and oxygen, so that one was entirely
independent of the ship, and had good breathable air
wherever and for however long a time one as gone.
Another thing he noticed, with slight misgivings - - the
body of his suit was composed of synthetic rubber and
cloth, as though the suits were made for shallow water
wear.
“Say,” he commented to McCarren. “Won’t there be
a lot pressure, this far below the surface? Will these
suits hold up?”
McCarren smiled. “Way down here? You forget, my
friend, that this pond is only about six or seven inches
deep. The pressure won’t bother us any more than it
would in a bath tub.”
He arose as he spoke and donned his helmet.
Then, the others being ready, too, he snapped on the
radio communication system, and Corrigan heard his voice
coming metallically through the head-phones.
“All ready, folks?” Corrigan answered
affirmatively and heard Laura and Voranien answer
likewise. McCarren called to Bruckman and the latter
entered and seeing them ready:
“I’ve had a door built into the side of the sub
here,” he announced, shouting so that he might be heard
through the helmets, “A sort of valve system such as
they use in tunnels you know.” He opened the door as he
spoke and disclosed a little cubby-hole with another
door beyond.
“That far door rolls up from the bottom by
turning his wheel.” He gave brief instructions, the
party went through, and he closed the door behind them.
He gave a signal that the door was tight and McCarren
started the pump that was supposed to fill the room with
water.
Nothing happened. The gray-haired biologist
stood uncertain for a moment, the speeded up the pumps.
At the mouth of the water inlet a globe of water began
to form. It grew until it was over two feet in diameter,
a huge round glistening object; then suddenly it broke
and instead of falling and spreading itself over the
floor, then spread rapidly and smoothly over the wall
and a part of the ceiling. Corrigan heard McCarran’s
chuckle in his head-phones.
“Surface tension again,” remarked the biologist.
“And capillary action to, now. Well, it saves us some
work.”
Without more ado, he began to open the door. As
he did so, the water bulged in as though it were held
back by a thick skin of celluloid or flexible glass.
Even when the door was entirely open the floor still
stood, quite dry, and stared at the wall of water in
front of them. Presently McCarren spoke.
“Well, let’s go, folks,” he said, and stepping
over to the bulging film of water, he struck an arm
through it, then a foot, and suddenly he was jerked
violently into the fluid and they saw him disappear
slowly downward.
“It’s all right,” came his voice in the
phone.”Come on in. The water’s fine.”
Corrigan advanced and followed McCarran’s
actions. A moment later he was followed by Voranien and
Laura, and they were all safely out of the submarine and
on their own.
All about them, as they swam, they could see the
tumult of protozoan life they had glimpsed from the
window. The creatures darted, swam, rolled sluggishly or
lay quietly waiting, all seemingly intent upon the one
business that had absorbed all water creatures from the
beginning of time- -that of eating forever eating.
Corrigan, whose knowledge of animalculae had
been confined to an acquaintance through science
articles with the common amoeba, was surprised to find
that most of these animals had very definite shapes, a
well as organs or a sort. In all of them the darkish
spot which he recognized as the nucleus was present, but
many had other, less familiar markings. And many were
covered with short bristly hairs which, constantly in
motion, carried the creature along through the water
like tiny oars.
Far above, a great black shadow, huge as an
ocean liner, hung. McCarren eyed it for moment, and
then: “That’s probably a bit of twig” he announced.
“Must be two or three inches long, judging from the
apparent size of it. Let’s go up there; they’ll be a lot
of things around it. Things we haven’t seen.”
They started up, and had swum nearly halfway
when Laura suddenly cried out, and pointed down to the
right. “Look, Dr. McCarren! What is it?
They all glanced down, somewhat fearful, but
Corrigan heard McCarren’s reassuring laugh. “Don’t
worry, Laura, it won’t hurt you. It’s a plant. Volvox
globator, we call it”.
Corrigan was staring at the huge thing as it
rose past them. To him, it seemed over ten feet in
diameter and though it was as transparent as the other
creatures that swam all around it, there was a green
tinge to it that was quite noticeable. It was a perfect
globe, a hollow globe composed of hundreds of units,
little things about the size and shape of a goose egg.
Each one of these units had two hair-like filaments
growing out of it, and these filaments kept up a
constant vibrating, which sent the creature rolling over
and over in the direction it desired to go.
Within the globe were six smaller globes, tiny
replicas of the big one. Corrigan looked at them and
then: “Are those little globes the you?” he asked
incredulously.
“I thought you said it was a plant”, said Laura.
McCarren nodded. “It is” he answered.
“But- - it moves around like an animal!”
objected the girl.
McCarren chuckled. “A lot of the simpler forms
of vegetation do.” He said. To my mind Volvox is
interesting because it is not, like these others, a
single celled creature. It represents one of the first
attempts of Nature to produce a many-celled organism.
These little egg-shaped things of which the globe is
composed are each are each individual cells.”
They turned and studied the globe as it rose
past them, watching it with an increased interest.
“Say!” said Corrigan, suddenly struck with a new idea.
“All these green things are rising.”
“They’re heliotropic,” explained McCarren.
“During the night they sink to rest on the bottom, but
they have a sort of instinct (tropism, it’s called), to
move in the direction of light. So with the coming of
the sun, in the morning, they all rise toward the top of
the pond.”
By this time, the globe had passed on, and the
party and almost reached the bit of twig they had set
out to explore. They came suddenly on a mass of thick
greenish cables, growing in the wildest profusion, and
almost completely blocking their further progress.
“Spirogyra,” announced McCarren. “You can find
this stuff in almost any still pond. It’s very common
and sometimes grows very dense. We’re just lucky that we
haven’t encountered a whole jungle of it.” He batted
aside an insistent paramecium that had been spinning
around him and went on: “This is vegetable, too. If we
can’t work our way through this mess, we’ll see if we
can’t swim around it.”
Eventually they made their way to the twig and
climbed up on a portion of it. It was not at all the
sort of place that Corrigan had pictured it in his
mind’s eye. The twig had become water-soaked and the
bark was beginning to flake off; the flakes, to them,
appearing as great sheets eighteen to twenty feet in
length. A jelly-like scum covered most of the surface
and from the scum rose threads and filaments that waxed
out into the water to be mumbled and pecked and devoured
by the thousands of creatures that swam there. They made
their way to one fairly clear flake of bark and climbed
up on it. Corrigan heard Laura give a sudden cry of
delight.
“Look, everybody, what a beautiful flower!” They
turned, and even as they did so, they heard her cry in
dismay. Her head turned, she looked about in all
directions, and then again came McCarren’s laugh.
“Look down at your feet, Laura,” he said, and
the girl stopped and then laughed in her turn. Corrigan
and Voranien looked and saw a thing resembling a big
tulip-shaped glass vase. Beneath it a stem, coiled in a
tight spiral, attached it to the decaying bark of the
twig. All around the lip of the vase, a fine circle of
hairs grew, and these kept up the usual constant
vibration.
Laura was plainly puzzled. “It was growing on a
long stem,” she complained “It was as tall as my face.
It looked so beautiful; I couldn’t help trying to pick
it. But as soon as I touched it, it disappeared!”
While she was speaking, the stem had loosened
its tight spiral, and now it slowly relaxed until, in
another moment it was quite straight and extended over
five feet long. “Watch,” said McCarren, and reached over
and touched the fine hairs on the tip of the cup,
lightly. With a suddenness that was amazing, the stem
coiled again, and the cup was jerked downward, away from
McCarren’s hand.
“There you are,” said McCarren. “That’s one way
for an attached creature to avoid its enemies. Nature
has certainl7y worked out a lot of experiments in this
particular laboratory of hers. This is a Vorticella.”
“Well,” said Corrigan. “At least, this plant is
a little more like normal vegetation that the Volvox
was. It has a stem and its rooted to something, anyway.”
“Yes, you’re right, except in one respect. This
isn’t a plant, it‘s an animal. In the earlier stages of
its life it has no stem and is free-swimming.”
For the next hour or two the party continued
their exploration in a vicinity of the twig. Space
utterly forbids a description of all the remarkable
creatures they saw. McCarren soon became so interested
in the structure of the various creature that he totally
forgot the rest of the party and spent his time absorbed
in the study of this thing or that, leaving the others
to speculate as best they could on the things that came
beneath their notice. At last they all grew tired and
decided to drop once more to the submarine.
They swam cheerfully down through the water and
had, almost reached the vessel when Laura gave an
exclamation of surprise.
“Look, Dr. McCarren!” came her voice through
their earphones. “They’ve closed the door we came out
of.” Corrigan noticed the fact almost as soon as she
began speaking and a vague sense of impending trouble
touched his Gaelic soul.
“There’s something gone wrong,” he stated
emphatically. “If there had been any reason to close
that door before, they’d have done it as soon as we
left. Look in that port and see what’s going on inside.”
The party hurried to the window and crowded
around to peer inside. For a moment, their eyes refused
to analyze the vague forms visible within, then there
was a second of shocked surprise at the sight they
beheld. For within, Emil Bruckman lay upon the floor,
bound round and round with ropes, had so his sides,
perfectly helpless, while, seated on the little stool
before the control panels was Sam Stock, his face
covered with lather, calmly shaving off his big black
beard!
Laura could not withhold a scream. Voranien
cried out: “Stock!” in horrified tones, and the
mechanic, evidently noticing their forms in the circular
window, glanced up, waved derisively, and went on
shaving. In spite of their pounding on the glass,
shouting and even at last kicking the sides of the
vessel, he paid no further attention to them,
unconcernedly finishing his shaving. He wiped his face
on a towel, stooped over and picked up a head set which
he donned, and then, flipping a switch, turned to
address them. Voranien gave a startled cry of frightened
recognition.
“Hetherington!” he exclaimed. “George
Hetherington!
“Hetherington, indeed!” came a voice from within
the vessel. “George Hetherington, come to claim his own
from the conspirators that would have cheated him of his
rightful honor.”
He approached the p[ort-hole and glared at them
savagely.
“Did you think your pitiful little plot would
always be successful? Did you think you could keep me
cooped up in that asylum forever? I tell you, you cursed
savages, when you buck up against George Hetherington;
you’ve started more than you can finish. I’ve been
patient, haven’t I? And clever, too. I’ve waited and
waited, planned and planned - - and now at last my turn
has come.”
McCarren spoke softly, as if hoping he might be
heard by his companions without being heard by the man
within.
“He’s a dangerous lunatic, folks. Be careful.
Humor him if possible, or we’re likely to find ourselves
in a pretty dangerous fix.”
Herrington laughed. “I hear you, McCarren. I
hear you, and I tell you there’s no use keeping up the
sham any longer. I’m master now, and your game is up.
That clever plot of Bruckman and his 0poor dupe,
Voranien, has failed.
“I never was crazy, and you all know it. I was
incarcerated so that Bruckman might steal my discoveries
and announce them to the world as his own. For three
years I’ve worked and planned to escape, and all that
time I kept informed of Bruckman’s progress. That was
one of your mistakes, letting the asylum people give me
the scientific papers. I pretended to be subdued, very
subdued; and at last I managed to get away. And then I
came here, care as Sam Stock, with a big beard so that
Bruckman wouldn’t know me. And now Hetherington is
triumphant again, and you, you miserable worms, I’ve got
you right where I want you.”
Corrigan had listened to this outburst with an
uncertain mind. Was it possible that there was some
truth in this astounding statement? It seemed to tie
together pretty well. Hetherington, as Stock, had never
seemed at all insane, in the weeks that Corrigan had
known him. Moody, perhaps, and self-centered, but
certainly not insane. Perhaps,-- his thoughts were
interrupted as the madman finished his statement and
went off into the storm of pointless invective that gave
even Corrigan no room for doubt that the man was quite
insane. Hetherington calmed himself after of moment and
went on speaking.
“I suppose you’re wondering now what I’m going
to do, eh? Getting ready to beg for mercy, aren’t you?
Of course you are. Poor simple-minded fools,. I can read
your very thoughts. But don’t expect to wheedle mercy
from me. I’ll have no more mercy from me. I’ll have no
more mercy than you had when you hurled me into that
asylum to waste away my life. Do you know what I’m going
to do?” He pressed his face against the glass of the
port-hole and grinned. “I’m going to leave you here.
I’m going to send this boat back to normalcy, and get
out and go! Free as the air I’ll be, then. I can take
another name, re-enter scientific circles, and finally
announced the very discoveries that you have cheated me
of.”
He turned to Corrigan. “I’m sorry for you,
Corrigan. I don’t more than half believe you had
anything to do with this. But I can’t risk letting you
back into the boat. You have no idea how infernally
clever these enemies of mine are. If I opened the door
for you, they’d be on me before I knew it. I can’t take
chances, Corrigan. I’m sorry.”
Corrigan turned to the others. “Let’s get away
from here,” he said. “Something’s got to be done. And we
can’t plan anything here.”
The others evidently agreed with him, for, as he
turned away from the ship, they followed. At once they
heard Hetherington’s voice in their ears: “Come back. I
have more to tell you!!”
McCarren and Voranien hesitated, but Laura
snapped: “He just wants to gloat over us. Come on.” So
they turned again and followed Corrigan.
They approached and seated themselves on a small
raft-like bit of vegetation, far enough away that their
little transmitters would be out of range of the radio
in the vessel, but near enough to watch what went on
outside. They expected, any minute, to see the door open
and Bruckman thrust out, but apparently Hetherington was
spending a while gloating over the vanquished scientist,
for nothing of the sort happened. McCarren spoke.
“We can’t do anything unless we get inside the
vessel,” he said. “We’ve got to plan a way to get
inside.”
“Think we could flatter him into letting us in?”
asked Corrigan. “Or maybe convince him that he ought to
save me? He seemed to sort of regret leaving me.”
McCarren shook his head. ‘A crazy man is the
hardest person in the world to change. It’s almost
impossible to argue on into a change of mind. Let’s
think now . . .There are two ways of getting into the
boat, the side door and the hatch on the conning tower.”
“If we tried to get in through the upper hatch,
the water would pour into the boat.” objected Corrigan.
“We can’t hope to get in that way.”
McCarren suddenly jumped to his feet, the
impulse sending him off into the water several yards.
“We can do that, Corrigan. We can get in that
way!”
The all looked at him dubiously, but he went on,
“Surface tension. And air pressure. The water won’t pour
down through the hatch any more than it poured in
through the door when we went out! Corrigan, we’ve got
him.”
Corrigan pondered, uncertainly. He remembered,
though, that the hatch cover was constructed so that it
could be opened from either within or without, and so
after a moment, he nodded.
“I believe it can be done,” he announced.”We’d
better hurry, though, before he thinks of it himself.”
They leaped from the raft and swam high over the
submarine. The intentionally swam upward until they were
sure that Hetherington could not see them from the
port-hole, then they dived down and landed on the top of
the vessel. The inspected the hatch cover and
ascertained that their ideas regarding it were right.
McCarren started to speak, but Corrigan silenced him
with a gesture, pointing to his ears and down into the
submarine. They were close enough for Hetherington to
hear them if they spoke now.
McCarren nodded and made signs. They would open
the hatch now, if possible, and he would go in first - -
Corrigan dissented, violently. His motions indicated
that he must go first, He was only a common thief, he
told them (business of slapping his chest, pointing his
finger like a gun, and so forth), and if he was
conquered or even killed by Hetherington, it would be a
small loss, so he was the one who should go in first.
Laura objected, insistently, but Corrigan paid
no attention. He unlocked the hatch cover, drew it
cautiously aside and, climbing, up, threw a leg over and
pushed it through the water. He had expected,
remembering his previous queer experience on entering
the water, to be able to climb right out of the water
and enter the ship almost entirely dry. But to his
surprise, the water clung to him like thick glue, it
required all his strength to push through, and when at
last he descended the ladder and stood upon the floor,
he was completely covered with a gummy adhesive mass of
liquid that hampered his every movement. He looked
around, wondering why Hetherington had not already
attacked him, but neither the madman nor Bruckman was
visible. Not being in the control room, however, left
only one place for them to be and that was the little
room where the diving suits and hung, the room that led
to the door in the side. As fast as the clinging,
viscous mass of water would let him, Corrigan hastened
to the door of the room.
He entered, not a moment too soon. Hetherington
was just in the act of opening the door to thrust the
bound and helpless Bruckman out. He turned and saw
Corrigan, and uttering a startled cry, flung himself
upon him. An idea struck Corrigan even as the other
lunged and as Hetherington struck at him, he seized the
madman and hugged him like a bear.
The viscous mass of water instantly flowed to
encompass the attacking lunatic. For a moment, Corrigan
to gain the upper hand if possible, Hetherington, it
seemed, more to throw off the surprising and encumbering
mass of water. Corrigan succeeded in throwing the other
to the floor, but this almost proved his undoing, for
once on the floor, as they rolled from side to side, the
water was gradually wiped off of them, clinging in huge
globes to the floor and those parts of the wall which
they toughed. Presently enough had been removed to allow
Hetherington to scramble to his feet. He glanced about
wildly, seized a lever from the side of one of the
panels and, with a terrific wrench, tore it from its
socket. As his opponent struggled to his feet, he
brought it down resoundingly or Corrigan’s helmet.
The blow, of course, did Corrigan no particular
harm, but the crash of sound dazed him for a second.
Hetherington was quick to pursue his advantage and with
a fury almost unbelievable he leaped upon Corrigan,
raining blows upon the metal helmet as fast as he could
swing the lever. Corrigan realized that it would be but
a moment until he would think of breaking the glass
face-plate, and fearing that this would give
Hetherington entirely too great an advantage, he seized
the other and fell to the deck.
Even as he fell, he saw above him, on the ladder
leading from the conning tower, the water-covered lets
of one of his companions. He hoped that he could engage
Hetherington for another minute at least, and with this
hope, he renewed his effort to get his hands on
Hetherington’s throat. But the madman was far too clever
for that, twisting and squirming in Corrigan’s grasp in
a vain effort to het his hand loose so that he might
swing his lever again.
In his headphones, Corrigan heard McCarren’s
voice: “Hold him just a minute longer, Corrigan. I’m
coming.” Corrigan rolled over, attempting to get on top
of Hetherington. His effort was in vain, however, the
latter was too quick for him. Hetherington suddenly
worked his arm loose and swung his lever again. This
time he swung for the face[plate, and Corrigan heard his
snarl of triumph, and shut his eyes instinctively as the
glass shattered and dropped in a hundred pieces, some
within, as well as without, his helmet. Hetherington
swung his lever for another blow.
Then, to the utter surprise of Corrigan, and
doubtless of Hetherington too, a shot rang out.
Hetherington have a cry and started back, to fall on the
floor at McCarren’s feet. Corrigan looked up in wonder,
to see McCarren standing, a queer figure, entirely
covered with the clinging, gluey water; holding in his
had a smoking revolver. It was Corrigan’s won weapon,
thrown to the floor when the journey first began. It had
lain there, forgotten, through all the rest of the
adventure, and McCarren, through great good luck, had
spied it as he entered the room!
“Man, you weren’t a minute too soon.” Breathed
Corrigan, a little shakily. He was panting from the
exertions of the last five minutes and as he rose to his
feet a wave of vertigo swept over him and he almost
fell. McCarren seized him and steadied him until the
feeling passed.
When his mind cleared, he noticed that Voranien
and Laura had lowered themselves through the hatch-way
and were struggling to rid themselves of as much of the
encumbering water as possible. He heard Laura’s cry: “Is
my father safe, Phil”? and remembered for the first time
in as many minutes the bound and helpless Bruckman in
the other room. The scientist was unbound and brought
out, and stood chafing his wrists to restore the
circulation and grinning at them sheepishly.
“That adventure wasn’t included in the expected
excitement of the trip.” He said, obviously trying to
pass off the episode as lightly as possible. “I never
dreamed of suspecting Stock. He clipped me with that
wrench before I ever suspected and I was so dazed that
he had me tied up before I even knew what was going on.”
He turned to Corrigan. “It seems I owe you
something for saving my life Corrigan. We’ll talk about
that, when I get back to normalcy. Right now we had
better look for Hetherington.”
McCarren approached the still figure which lay
inertly where it had fallen. Blood was trickling from
the unconscious man’s scalp, but little more that a
glance was needed to show that the wound was
superficial.
“Slight concussion,” announced McCarren “I
grooved his skull. He may be unconscious for hours, but
I hardly think he’s seriously hurt. We’d better tie him
up. He might snap out of it, any minute.”
“Well tie him up and then restore this boat to
normal size.” Spoke up Bruckman. “I think we’ve all had
enough of this business to last us for the present. We
can come again.” He added hastily, noticing the
disappointed look on McCarren’s face “This won’t be the
last time we’ll do this. And the next time, we’ll take a
good big group of biologists with us, and lots of
apparatus.”
McCarren’s face brightened and he offered no
objection when Voranien, after removing his diving suit,
turned to the panels and began assisting Bruckman in the
operation that was to bring them back again to their
familiar world.
It was nearly two hours later.
Already, out of the port-holes a familiar scene was
forming. The grayness was disappearing; forms were
looming up in the distance, forms that one might
speculate on, and wonder what they were. Laura and
Corrigan were standing at one of the port-holes talking
quietly.
“You saved my father’s life,
Phillip, “Laura was saying. “I think you saved the lives
of all of us,. And—I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Forget it, “muttered
Corrigan. He knew that Laura meant her words just as she
said them. She really was at a loss as to how to show
her thanks for what he had done. And so he said “forget
it”, and meant what he said, too. As a matter of fact,
Corrigan was thinking, as he had never done before;
thinking things which had never entered his head before,
and Laura’s remarks disturbed his train of though. Bt
she was thinking, too, and unfortunately, thinking aloud
and to him.
“I really mean, I don’t know
how to thank you,” she went on. “If you were such a
person as Dr. McCarren, or Sergei, I could understand,
but being what you are …” she stumbled and broke off
abruptly, her face coloring. Corrigan scowled and turned
his face away, and Laura, noticing the effect her words
had had, seized his hand and swung him around to face
her.
“Phillip, don’t misunderstand
me. You, yourself, told us that you – you weren’t
honest. Don’t you see that that draws a line between us,
an insurmountable barrier? If you were honest, if
you were straight- - if that barrier weren’t there,
there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to show my
gratitude.”
Corrigan suddenly seized her
by the shoulders and looked into her eyes.
“Gratitude, is it, Laura?” he
demanded. “Is it nothing but gratitude you have?
The girl’s eyes dropped. She
said nothing for a moment, then: “No!” very softly.
Corrigan threw back his
shoulders and heaved a big sigh. And somehow Laura
thought of Christian, in “Pilgrim’s Progress”, when the
load slipped from his back.
“Listen to me, Laura,” said
Corrigan soberly. “I’ve been thinking since this journey
first began. I told you before, and I say it again,
there’s an excess of energy in this body of mine. I need
excitement, adventure, absorbing interests, to burn it
up. I thought that action, the clash of wills and
bodies, was the only thing that could hive me the
release I sought.
“But Laura, I’ve learned
different, this night. There are worlds I never dreamed
of, here in this world, waiting to be explored. It isn’t
necessary to go to the moon or Mars to find new worlds.
They’re all around us. Why should I lead a life of
crime, when I can get a bigger thrill out of seeking
these other worlds? Laura, listen to me. This I’ve found
out, this night, and know it for the truth. There is
more adventure, more excitement, to be found in a single
drop of water under a microscope slide than there is in
a whole life of crime. And for the rest of my life, if
God wills, I’m going to seek it.”
Laura made no answer to this
avowal. She only leaned closer to him, and Corrigan
thought he heard a sob choke her. He might have taken
her in his arms then, but Bruckman suddenly gave a shout
and they heard the levers kick home in their neutral
sockets.
“We’re back, folk.” called the
scientist.” All the energy has returned. We’ve regained
our right size.”
Like children. The whole group
turned to the port-holes and looked out. The scene was
familiar, though now they were at the far end of the
lot, the big vessel resting in a sloppy puddle of mud,
where the pond had been. Bruckman hastened to the
hatchway, followed eagerly by the others. They left the
boat and all hurried to the house, but at they doorway,
Bruckman turned to Corrigan, a little awkwardly.
“I’ve never knowingly
entertained a crook before,” he said. “I try to be a
decent, law-abiding citizen. Corrigan, I’ll get in touch
with you and try to reward you in some way for what
you’ve done. But—I can’t ask you to come in.”
Corrigan smiled. His mind was
made up, now, and at ease. “I’m not asking you to, now,”
he said, and there was no trace of rancor or resentment
in his voice. “As for rewarding me- - Bruckman, you’ve
done more for me than I could ever do for you, in all
the rest of my life. I’ll be leaving no, but some day;
maybe years from now, I’m coming back. And you’ll
welcome me, as an equal then.
“For my days of crookedness
are over. I’ll find a place in the world of science,
somehow, if I have to spend the rest of my life hunting
for it. And when I have such a place, you’ll welcome me,
I’ve no doubt. Until then, goodbye.”
He turned to go, but little
Voranien seized him by the shoulder and spun him around.
He held out his hand. “Goodbye, Phillip,” he said.
Corrigan squeezed the
Russian’s hand and felt his other had clasped by
McCarren. There was a quizzical, twinkling light in
Bruckman’s eyes, and when Voranien released Corrigan’s
hand, Bruckman stepped forward.
“I might hold you back with a
word now, my boy,” he said “But I won’t. Goodbye and
good luck to you.” He, too, suddenly clasped Corrigan’s
hand, gave a single brief squeeze and released it.
“Good luck to you and- - you
might write a line now and then to Laura, to let us know
how you’re getting along.” He turned as he finished
speaking and strode into the house, followed by the
other men.
And Corrigan turned and strode
down the walk to the street, and as he went his heart
was singing, for Laura was leaning in the door waving
him as he went.
THE END