Collected Short Fiction, page 68
“A Harley biplane!” Ray exclaimed. “That is Major Meriden’s ship I And look at that wing I It looks like it’s been in an electric furnace!”
I examined the metal wing; saw that it had been blackened with heat. The metal was fused and twisted.
“I’ve seen a good many wrecks, Jim. I’ve seen planes that burned as they fell. But nothing like that. The fuselage and engines were not even afire. Jim, something struck out from that shining mountain and brought them down!”
“Are they—” I began.
Ray was poking about in the snow in the cockpits.
“No. Not here. Probably would have been better for them if they had been killed in the plane. Quick and merciful.”
He examined the engines and propellers.
“No. Seems to be nothing wrong. Something struck them down!”
Soon we went on.
The shining mountain rose before us like a great cone of fire. It must have been three thousand feet high, and about that in diameter at the bottom. Its walls were as smooth and straight as though turned from milky rock crystal in a gigantic lathe. It shone with a steady, brilliantly white radiance.
“That’s no natural hill!” Ray grunted beside me as we limped on. We were less than a mile from foot of the cone of fire. Soon we observed another remarkable thing about it. It seemed that a straight band of silvery metal rose from the snow about its foot.
“Has it a wall around it?” I exclaimed.
“Evidently,” said Ray. “Looks as if it’s built on a round metal platform. But by whom? When? Why?”
WE approached the curious wall.
It was of a white metal, apparently aluminum, or a silvery alloy of that metal. In places it was twenty-five feet high, but more usually the snow and ice was banked high against it. The smooth white wall of the gleaming mountain stood several hundred yards back from the wall.
“Let’s have a look over it,” Ray suggested. “We can get up on that hummock, against it. You know, this place must have been built by men!”
We clambered up over the ice, as he suggested, until our heads came above the top of the wall.
“A lake of fire!” cried Ray.
Indeed, a lake of liquid fire lay before us. The white aluminum wall was hardly a foot thick. It formed a great circular tank, nearly a mile across, with the cone of white fire rising in the center. And the tank was filled, to within a foot of the top, with shimmeringly brilliant white fluid, bright and luminous as the cone—liquid light.
Ray dipped a hand into it. The hand came up with fingers of fire, radiant, gleaming, with shining drops falling from them. With a spasmodic effort, he flung off the luminous drops, rubbed his hand on his garments, and got it back into its fur mitten.
“Gee, it’s cold!” he muttered. “Freeze the horns off a brass billy-goat!”
“Cold light!” I exclaimed. “What wouldn’t a bottle of that stuff be worth to a chemist back in the States!”
“That cone must be a factory to make the stuff,” Ray suggested, hugging his hand. “They might pump the liquid up to the top, and then let it trickle down over the sides: that would explain why the cone if so bright. The stuff might absorb sunlight, like barium sulphide. And there could be chemical action with the air, under the actinic rays.”
“Well, if somebody’s making cold light, where does he use it?”
“I’d like to find out, and strike him for a hot meal,” Ray said, grinning. “It’s too cold to live on top of the ground around here. They must run it down in a cave.”
“Then let’s find the hole.”
“You know it’s possible we won’t be welcome. This mountain of light may be connected with the vanishing of ill the aviators. We’d better take along the rifle.”
WE set off around just outside the white metal wall. The snow and ice was irregularly banked against it, but the wall itself was smooth and unbroken. We had limped along for some two miles, or more than halfway around the amazing lake of light I had begun to doubt that we would find anything.
Then we came to a square metal tower, ten feet on a side, that rose just outside the silvery wall, to a level with its top. The ice was low here; the tower rose twenty feet above in unequal surface. We found metal flanges riveted to its side, like the step of a ladder. They were most inconveniently placed, nearly four feet apart; but we were able to climb them, and to look down the shaft.
It was a straight-sided pit, evidently some hundreds of feet deep. We could see a tiny square of light at the bottom, very far away. The flanges ran down the side forming the rungs of a ladder that gave access to whatever lay at the bottom.
Without hesitation, Ray climbed over the side and started down. I followed him, feeling a great relief in getting out of the freezing wind. Ray had the rifle and ammunition strapped to his back, along with a few other articles; and . . . I had a small pack. We had abandoned the sledge, with the useless stove and the most of our instruments. Our food was all gone.
The metal flanges Were fully four feet apart, and try as not easy to scramble down from one to another; certainly not easy for one who was cold, hungry, thirsty, worn out with a week of exhausting marches, and suffering the torture of frozen feet.
“You know, this thing was not built by men,” Ray observed.
“Not built by men? What do you mean?”
“Men would have put the steps closer together. Jim, I’m afraid we are up against something—well—that we aren’t used to.”
“If men didn’t built this, what did?” I was astounded.
“Search me I This continent has been cut off from the rest of the world for geologic ages. Such life as has been found here is not common to the rest of the earth. It is not impossible that some form of life, isolated here, has developed intelligence and acquired the power to erect that cone of light—and to burn the wing off a metal airplane.”
My thoughts whirled madly as we clambered down the shaft.
IT must have taken us an hour to reach the bottom. I did not count the steps, but it must have been at least a thousand feet. The air grew rapidly warmer as we descended. We both took off most of our heavy fur garments, and left them hanging on the rungs.
I was rather nervous. I felt the nearness of an intelligent, hostile power. I had a great fear that the owners of those steps would use them to and us, and then crush us ruthlessly as they had brought down Meriden’s plane.
The little square of white light below grew larger. Finally I saw Ray swing off and stand on his feet in a flood of white radiance below me. The air was warm, moist, laden with a subtle unfamiliar fragrance that suggested growing things. Then I stood beside Ray.
We stood on the bare stone floor of a huge cavern. It must have been of volcanic origin. The walls glistened with the sparkling smoothness of volcanic glass. It was a huge space. The black roof was a hundred feet high, or more; the cave was some hundreds of feet wide. And it sloped away from us into dim distance as though leading into huger cavities below.
The light that shone upon us came from an amazing thing—a fall of liquid fire. From the roof plunged a sheer torrent of white brilliantly luminous fluid, falling a hundred feet into a shimmering pool of moon-flame. Shining opalescent mists swirled about it, and the ceaseless roar of it filled the cave with sound. It seemed that a stream of the phosphorescent stuff ran off down the cave from the pool, to light the lower caverns.
“Very clever!” said Ray. “They make the stuff up there at the cone and run it in here to see by.”
“This warm air feels mighty good,” I remarked, pulling off another garment.
Ray sniffed the air. “A curious odor. Smells like something growing. Where anything is growing there ought to be something to eat. Let’s see what we can find.”
Only black obsidian covered the floor about us. Cautiously we skirted the overflowing pool of white fire, and followed down the stream of it that flowed toward the inner cavern. We had gone but a few hundred yards when suddenly Ray stopped me with a hand on my arm.
“Lie flat!” he hissed. “Quick!”
He dived behind a huge mass of fire-born granite. I flung myself down beside him.
“Something is coming up the trail by the shining river. And it isn’t a man! It’s between us and the light; we should be able to see it.”
SOON I heard a curious scraping sound, and a little tinkle of metal. I caught a whiff of a powerful odor—a strange, fishy odor—so strong that it almost knocked me down.
The thing that made the scraping and the tinkle and the smell came into view. The sight of it sickened me with horror.
It was far larger than a man; its body was heavy as a horse’s, but nearer the ground. In form it suggested a huge crab, though it was not very much like any crustacean I had ever seen. It was mostly red in color, and covered with a huge scarlet shell. It had five pairs of limbs. The two forward pairs had pinchers, seemingly used as hands; it scraped along on the other three pair. Yard-long antennae, slender and luminously green, wavered above a grotesque head. The many facets of compound eyes stood on the end of foot-long stalks.
The amazing crab-thing wore metal harness. Bands of silvery., aluminum were fastened about its shell, with little cases of white metal dangling to them. In one of its uplifted claws it carried what seemed to be an aluminum bar, two feet long and an inch thick.
It scraped lumberingly past, between us and the racing stream of white fire. It passed less than a dozen feet from us. The curious fishy smell of it was overpowering, disgusting.
Sweat of horror chilled my limbs. The monster emanated power, sinister, malevolent power, power intelligent, alien and hostile to man.
I trembled with the fear that it would see us, but it scrambled grotesquely on. When it was twenty yards past, Ray picked up a block of black lava that lay beneath his hand and hurled it silently and swiftly. It crashed splinteringly on the rocks far beyond the creature, on the other side of the stream of light.
In fascination I watched the monster as it paused as if astonished. The glittering compound eyes twisted about on their stalks, and the long shining green tentacles wavered questioningly. Then the knobbed limbs snapped the white metal tube to a level position. A metallic click came from it.
And a ray of red light, vivid and intense, burst from the tube. It flashed across the river of fire. With a dull, thudding burst it struck the rocks were the stone had fallen. It must have been a ray of concentrated heat. Rocks beneath it flashed into sudden incandescence, splintered and cracked, flowed in molten streams.
IN a moment the intensely brilliant ruby ray flashed off. The rocks in the circle where it had struck faded to a dull red and then to blackness, still cracking and crumbling.
To my intense relief, the monstrous crab lumbered on.
“That,” Ray whispered, “is what got Major Meriden’s airplane wing.” When we could hear its scraping progress no longer, we climbed up from behind our boulder and continued cautiously down the cavern, beside the rushing luminous river. In half a mile we came to a bend. Rounding it, we gazed upon a remarkable sight.
We looked into a huge cavity in the heart of the earth. A vast underground plain lay before us, with the black lava of the roof arching above it It must have been miles across, though we had no way to measure it, and it stretched down into dim hazy distance. Its level was hundreds of feet below us.
At our feet the glistening river of fire plunged down again in a magnificent flaming fall. Below, its luminous liquid was spread out in rivers and lakes and canals, over all the vast plain. The channels ran through an amazing jungle. It was a forest of fungus, of mushroom things with great fleshy stalks and spreading circular tops. But they were not the sickly white and yellow of ordinary mushrooms, but were of brilliant colors, bright green, flaming scarlet, gold and purple-blue. Huge brilliant yellow stalks, fringed with crimson and black, lifted mauve tops thirty feet or more. It was a veritable forest of flame-bright fungus.
In the center of this weirdly forested subterranean plain with a great lake, filled, not with the flaming liquid, but with dark crystal water. And on the bottom of that lake, clearly visible from the elevation upon which we stood, was a city!
A CITY below the water!
The buildings were upright cylinders in groups of two or three, of dozens, even of hundreds. For miles, the bottom of the great lake was covered with them. They were all of crystal, azure-blue, brilliant as cylinders turned from immense sapphires. They were vividly visible beneath the transparent water. Not one of them broke the surface.
Through the clear black water we saw moving hundreds, thousands of the giant crabs. The crawled over the hard, pebbled bottom of the lake, or swam between the crystal cylinders of the city. They were huge as the one we had seen, with red shells, great ominous looking stalked eyes, luminous green tentacular antennae and knobbed claws on forelimbs.
“Looks as if we’ve run on something to write home about,” Ray muttered in amazement.
“A whole city of them! A whole world I No wonder they could build that cone-mountain for a lighting plant!”
“When they got to knocking down airplanes with that heat-ray,” he speculated, “they were probably surprised to find that ether animals had developed intelligence.”
“Do you suppose those mushroom things are good to eat?”
“We can try and see—if the crabs don’t get us first with a heat-ray. I’m hungry enough to try anything!”
Again we cautiously advanced. The river of light fell over a sheer precipice, but we found a metal ladder spiked to the rock, with rungs as inconveniently far apart as those in the shaft. It was five hundred feet, I suppose, to the bottom; it took us many minutes to descend.
At last we stepped off in a little rocky clearing. The forest of brilliant mushrooms rose about us, great fleshy stalks of gold and graceful fringes of black and scarlet about them, with flattened heads of purple.
We started eagerly across toward the fungoid forest. I had visions of tearing off great pieces of soft, golden flesh and filling my aching stomach with it.
We were stopped by a sharp, poignantly eager human cry.
A human being, a girl, darted from among the mushroom stalks and ran across to us. Sobbing out great incoherent cries, she dropped at Ray’s feet, wrapped her arms about his knees and clung to him, while her slender body was wracked with sobbing cries.
MY first impression was that she was very beautiful—and that impression I was never called upon to revise. About her lithe young body she had the merest scrap of some curious green fabric—ample in the warm air of the great cavern. Luxuriant brown hair fell loose about her white shoulders. She was not quite twenty years old, I supposed; her body was superbly formed, with the graceful curves and the free, smooth movements of a wild thing.
Ray stood motionless for a moment, thunder-struck as I was, while the sobbing girl clung to his knees. Then the astonishment on his face gave place to pity.
“Poor kid!” he murmured.
He bent, took her tenderly by the shoulder, helped her to her feet.
Her beauty burst upon us like a great light. Smoothly white her skin was, perfect. Wide blue eyes, now appealing, even piteous, looked from beneath a wealth of golden brown hair. White teeth, straight and even, flashed behind the natural crimson of her lips.
She stood staring at Ray, in a sort of enchantment of wonder. An eager light of incredible joy flamed in her amazing eyes; red lips were parted in an unconscious smile of joy. She looked like the troubled princess in the fairy tale, when the prince of her dreams appeared in the flesh.
“God, but you’re beautiful!” Ray’s words slipped out as if he were hardly conscious of them. He flushed quickly, stepped back a little.
The girl’s lips opened. She voiced a curious cry. It was deep toned, pealing with a wonderful timbre. A happy burst of sound, like a baby makes. But strong, ringing, musically golden. And pathetically eager, pitifully glad, so that it brought tears to my eyes, cynical old man that I am.
I saw Ray wipe his eyes.
“Can you talk?” Ray put the question in a clear, deliberate voice, with great kindness ringing in it.
“Talk?” The chiming, golden voice was slow, uncertain. “Talk? Yes. I talked—with mother. But for long—I have had no need to talk.
“Where is your mother?” Ray’s voice was gentle.
“She is gone. She was here when I was little.” The dear, silvery voice was more certain now. “Once, when I was almost as big as she—she was still. She was cold. She did not move when I called her. The Things took her away. She was dead. She told me that sometime she would be dead.”
BRIGHT tears came in the wide blue eyes, trickled down over the perfect face. A pathetic catch was in the deliberate, halting voice. I turned away, and Ray put a handkerchief to bis face.
“What is your name? Who are you?” Ray spoke kindly.
“I am Mildred. Mildred Meriden.”
“Meriden!” Ray turned to me. “I bet this is a daughter of the major and his wife!”
“Father was the major,” the girl said slowly. “He and mother came in a machine that flew, from a far land. The Things burned the machine with the red fire. They came here and the Things kept them. They made mother sing over the water. They killed father. I never saw him.”
“I know,” Ray said gently. “We came from the same land. We saw your father’s machine above.”
“You came from outside! And you are going back? Oh, take me with you! Take me!” Piteous pleading was in her voice. “It is so—lonely since the Things took Mother away. Mother told me that sometime men would come, and take me away to see the people and the outside that she told me of. Oh, please take me!”
“Don’t worry! You go along whenever we leave—if we can get out.”
“Oh, I am so glad I You are very good!”
Impulsively, she threw her arms around Ray’s neck. Gently, he disengaged himself, flushing a little. I noticed, however, that he did not seem particularly displeased.
“But can we get out?”
