Amazing Prose Adventures

8/12/2019 Amazing Prose Adventures

1/55


2/55

CONTENTS

THE BOOMERANG . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

THE WARNING! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7

BLOOD STANDS FOR FREEDOM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13

WRITTEN IN THE ROCKS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17

A CERTAIN TYPE OF MAGIC . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25

ROCKETS ARE OLD STUFF . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31

A GIANT OF PROPHECY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37

THE MAN WHO INVENTED TODAY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41

HERE COME THE MARTIANS! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45

THE TRUESTORY OF FLYING SAUCERS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49


3/55

THE BOOMERANG

"Excellency, the bomb is ready! Soon now, we will blast the first ofthe democratic capitals out of existence!"

There was pride and triumph in the smile and in the sharp salute ofthe heavily-medalled man as he stood before the desk of themustached man behind it. The General brought his saluting arm

down, and chuckled.

"It is the perfect way to wage war, Excellency! Our mathematicianshave worked things out so perfectly that we merely press a button,and the master bomb shoots from its cradle. When it comes down "

The, Dictator interrupted, slapping his palms together to make a loudsound. "When it comes down pouff! One of the greatest cities inthe democratic world will be wiped out of existence! Am I right,

General?"

The General was a diplomat. He bowed, smirking. "You are alwaysright, Excellency. I have taken the liberty of inviting scientist-comrade Chelikoff to ride with us. He will explain the more technicalaspects so that as your Excellency presses the release button, you willunderstand thoroughly what a mighty triumph this is for our kind ofgovernment!"

The Dictator got to his feet and walked with the General to the door,and then through a heavily polished marble corridor toward hugebronze gates at the end of the long hall. They walked with aconscious arrogance. They were rulers here. They lorded it over thecommon man they professed to love. Soon they would have manymillions more to rule. The democracies had many men, waiting to beenslaved when the bomb fell.

1


4/55

The General said, "Perhaps we will have to drop a few more, after thisfirst bomb. They are stubborn people, the enemy. They fight too

well. Remember the manner in which they fought and won atwo-front war? No other country could have done it."

His Excellency scowled blackly. "I do not forget! That is why I am soanxious to press the release button that will hurl the first of ourtremendous K-bombs at their finest city!"

The scientist, Chelikoff, was waiting at the big black car for them. Hebowed as the Dictator came down the steps. They entered the

limousine, and settled back as the big car purred onto the road. HisExcellency said, "This K-bomb, Chelikoff. It is three atom bombs inone, is it not?"

"In a way, Highness. It is one hydrogen bomb linked with twoordinary U-235 bombs. At a certain height above the target, the mainbomb opens. The H-bomb, or hydrogen bomb, falls straight on. Theother two move off at a tangent. The K-bomb covers an area threetimes as great as heretofore known."

The Dictator brooded as the car whirled him through the outskirts ofthe city toward the great level plain where the launching cradle and

wooden dais, and seats for one hundred thousand people, had beenbuilt. More than two hundred thousand would be there. TheDictator's secret police had seen to that! No man or woman whocared what happened to him would miss this event! The finest brainsof the State, both in science and the arts, with high-ranking militaryand naval men grouped on the dais, would make this a memorable

day in the State's history. The Dictator felt a warm glow go throughhim as he thought of all this. He asked, "This K-bomb will make a bighole?"

Chelikoff laughed politely. "The biggest hole in the entire Earth!Fifty miles across, a mile deep at least!"

2


5/55

His Excellency sat back, well satisfied, a little smile twisting his heavylips. Every once in a while he repeated, "A big hole! Fifty milesaround! One mile deep!" The K-bomb would kill seven millionpeople when it went off. The horror that would hit the democraticstates would sweep the earth!

"Then," said His Excellency, "we and our way of life shall rule theentire world!"

The car moved through lanes of silent people, toward a great woodenplatform constructed around a tall, glittering steel cylinder thattowered high above the flat meadow. Sporadic cheering burst into a

concentrated roar as the secret police began to stir restlessly andfinger their gun-butts and riot clubs. His Excellency listened to thecheers with a satisfied smile on his thick lips.

He said: "They will be the rulers of the world, those people cheeringme."

Chelikoff grinned knowingly at the Dictator. He said: "Theywill bethe rulers, Excellency?"

The Dictator's smile was an evil thing. "You understand me, eh,Chelikoff?"

"Yes, Your Excellency. You and I are the same kind. We both knowthat our State exists only on fear and terror. The people are nothing."

The Dictator sighed, "Unfortunately that is true, Chelikoff. Thesecheering fools down there are only cattle. Worse, they are cowards,

who must be driven to their destiny."

"I know, Your Excellency."

"But enough of that, Chelikoff. There is work to be done. And by theway, Chelikoff..."

3


6/55

"Yes, Your Excellency?"

"Remember I am still the supreme commander. I decide who will rideto the top with me. Don't think that your position is secure, myfriend. I hate smugness. You will keep working for the glory of theState, Chelikoff."

For an instant fright passed across Chelikoff's face. When the Dictatorhad spoken in this manner to others, they had disappearedmysteriously. Sometimes their bullet-ridden bodies were found in aditch by an isolated road...and sometimes, they merely vanished...theDictator had his ways.

"I have never forgotten that I owe everything to Your Excellency andour beloved Motherland. I swear that I..."

The Dictator laughed nastily, "Enough, Chelikoff. Get on with thebusiness at hand. I was only joking."

"At once, Excellency."

Chelikoff led the Dictator up a flight of steps onto a wooden platformshielded by great sheets of glass to protect the watchers on theplatform from the rocket's blast.

For a moment the Dictator surveyed the complicated controlmechanism of the rocket, peering through the glass enclosure. Then,impatiently, he turned to Chelikoff.

"Quickly now, explain all this," he said imperiously.

Chelikoff moved to his side. "The bomb is a great rocket, Excellency.It is fitted with many jets which will lift it high into the sky, to the rimof outer space. There, by automatic controls, it will level off andtravel until it is directly above the target. It will then come downand..."

4


7/55

The Dictator drew back his lips in an animal smile. "It will make ahole, eh, Chelikoff? A very big hole."

Chelikoff permitted himself the luxury of a laugh. "Yes, Excellency. Avery big hole."

The Dictator seemed to relax for a moment. "It is a new kind ofwarfare, this K-Bomb. It ends a war before it begins. No one canstand against us. You did a good job, Chelikoff."

"I have tried, Excellency."

"Chelikoff," the Dictator said, "A man like you is valuable. I shall seethat you get a richly deserved promotion after the launching."

Chelikoff beamed. "Thank you, Excellency."

The Dictator glanced at his watch. "It is time, Chelikoff. Where is thestarting switch?"

Chelikoff pointed to a lever. "Here, sir. You pull this and the rocket

is on its way."

The Dictator hesitated for the fraction of a second. Then with aresolute hand, he pulled the switch. The rocket bomb quivered, and

with a mighty roar, powered by its many jets, took off.

Chelikoff turned to the Dictator. "It is launched, sir."

For a moment, the Dictator was silent. Then he faced Chelikoff. He

said: "And now you will get your reward, Chelikoff."

With an expectant smile, Chelikoff turned to the Dictator. He wasstill smiling when the head of the State calmly shot him.

The Dictator looked down at the body of the dead scientist. He saidaloud: "I can't trust a man like that. He is wise. Far too wise. How

5


8/55

do I know that he'd never plot against me?"

He was alone with the dead man, when suddenly he heard thewhistle of the rocket, as it descended at express train speed. It camedown swiftly, very swiftly. It headed straight back for its launchingcradle, and the Dictator stared withhorror at the infernal device.

Chelikoff had been a brilliant scientist, but what he hadn't taken intoaccount was that the bomb went up so high that the earth rotatedunder it. Since the earth rotates at 1500 feet per second, the rockethad to travel thousands of miles to catch up with the earth, and

caught up at the precise spot from which it was launched.

The Dictator had time to scream, "DO SOMETHING CHELIKOFF! ICOMMAND YOU!"

But a dead man can not obey. And the ensuing explosion left a bighole. A very big hole.

THE END

Originally published inLars of Mars#10 (April/May 1951)

6


9/55

THE WARNING!

"No, I'm not crazy. I tell you, I've been flying like a bird for the pasttwo months, complete with wings and feathers. I've got to see thePresident. Why? You should know. You're the secretary to thePresident of the United States, and certainly if I can prove to him thatthe Martians are not only planning to attack Earth, but that they havethe power and ability to do it successfully, it's your job to get me in to

see him. I don't care to whom he's talking, Mr. Secretary. This ismore important.

"All right, I'll try to be calm. But I can't guarantee it. Every secondcounts. Look, here's my identification. Peter Farr, Lieutenant-Colonel, United States Jet Fighter Forces, born in New-Washington-on-the-Potomac, September 19, 2023. That makes me just twenty-seven years old. I'm six feet, two; weigh 190 stripped; my latestG.C.T. score was 145; I've been checked and re-checked by the Base

doctors, and they can't find even a trace of anything wrong with mymind.

"The whole thing started Just two months ago, a week after BelaBacsi, the Hungarian dictator, finally surrendered to the Allies. I hadbeen ordered to make an aerial reconnaissance of the Budapest area,and my single-seater jet was fixed up with wide-angle lenses on thecameras which had replaced the rocket-gun turrets.

"I was flying a souped-up job which I had worked on myself so that Icould test the new anti-gravity suits which we had just been issued,and after I had all the pictures I wanted, I decided to play around fora little while. I took my ship up to four miles, where I wouldn't bebothered with traffic, and I really let her out. She was a beauty, allright. Handled like a sweetheart. In the first power dive, I had herup to Mach 1.8.

7


10/55

"I pulled out of my dive and headed upstairs again. This time Iwanted to get higher, so I could see what she would do as the air getthinner. I was 'way above the clouds, so there was nothing to see butspace. And then it happened. One second the sky was completelyempty. And the next second there had materialized before me a hugesphere with a gaping entrance hole at least a hundred yards across!Naturally, I tried to brake, or to pull to one side. But my controls

were frozen tight. Don't ask me why or how. All I know is that Icouldn't move them, with all my strength. And as I yanked helplesslyon every lever on the control board, a calm, detached voice rang inmy ears. 'Don't try to maneuver your ship, Colonel,' it said. 'We have

frozen your controls and your radio. Just sit quietly and you will beall right.'

"Well, a United States officer doesn't take orders like that, so I kept onyanking levers and pushing buttons. But nothing seemed to work. Ishot right into the gaping entrance, there was a loud clang as thehuge door slammed shut, and my ship came to a dead stop just as if Ihad rammed into a concrete wall. I have, no idea why I didn't windup smashed to atoms by the sudden deceleration, but I didn't. That's

all I know. And please, wouldn't we save time if I could tell this storydirect to the President? Then I wouldn't have to repeat it. Huh? Oh,all right.

"Outside my ship was the blackest darkness I've ever seen. The onlylight came from my instrument panel, and I watched the altimeterswing to its maximum height of twenty-five miles in a fraction of asecond. From then on there was no actual movement, but I had asubconscious feeling of moving faster and higher than I had ever

dreamed of going.

"After seven minutes by the control panel clock, this feeling of motionstopped, and light flooded in from behind me. It was an eerie,coppery-red light like nothing I had ever seen before. I started toreach for the door controls to get out of the plane, but the voice I hadheard before came again. 'Just sit where you are, Colonel,' it said.

8


11/55

'We can move you faster than you can yourself.'"

"I sat in the ship, which zoomed out of the entrance hole and shotme, so quickly that I couldn't see anything of the countryside, into atremendous high-walled courtyard. There the plane stopped and thedoor opened. I got out.

"Half-a-dozen men, fine-looking specimens about six feet high, withreddish hair and blue eyes, surrounded me. They were perfectlynormal-looking people by our standards, that is, until the leader ofthe group raised his arm and pointed to a doorway. Then, for thefirst time, I noticed that a tremendous wing was attached to the

underside of his arm! When I moved ahead and he dropped his arm,the wing folded back out of sight, and became completely invisible. Icontinued walking in the direction he had indicated, surrounded byall six men, who were dressed in what looked like the old MarineCorps blue dress uniforms of a century ago, except that the blouses

were sleeveless.

"When I entered the building, the leader sat at a table and motionedme to sit opposite. He slipped a pair of earphones on his head and

spoke into a cube-like microphone. I recognized the voice I hadheard in the plane.

"'Welcome to Mars, Colonel,' he said. 'Forgive us for anyinconvenience you may have suffered, but we must be careful toselect our visitors when they are alone, so that no word of ourpresence reaches Earth. We hope you will be comfortable here. Andplease forgive this clumsy apparatus. It is the only way I can speak inMartian and you in English, and we can have our words

automatically translated.'

"It took me a couple of seconds to digest this. Then I jumped to myfeet, rushed out and looked around. I still couldn't be sure I was onMars, but I knew for a dead certainty that I was no place on Earth!

"The Martian came to the door, still holding his mike. He handed me

9


12/55

what looked like binoculars. 'Here,' he said. 'Try these. Earth isthere,' he added, pointing to the sky. 'You will be able to see it clearly

with these glasses.'

"I put the binoculars to my eyes and looked where he pointed. There,Earth was in sharp focus, and I could clearly make out the familiaroutlines of North and South America! I was on Mars!

"The five other soldiers, who had surrounded me, gently herded meback into the room. There the Martian leader started talking again.

"'Our plans are complete,' he said. 'We are set to move in on Earth

and take over the planet. We have to do this in self-defense. Wehave no water, and Earth has plenty. We cannot grow plants in oursandy soil, and are slowly dying out because of synthetic foods. Butthis will not matter to you Earth people, for if you cooperate well, weshall set aside certain areas where you may continue to live.'

"I blew higher than a kite. What this bird-like creature was proposingwas that the Martians would take over Earth and permit us to live inreservations! He let me rave. It didn't upset him in the least. When I

was finished, he merely said: 'You will cooperate, Colonel. You see,we have tortures far more refined and terrible than any you have everheard of. We need Earth people to work with us. True, we havemany Martians already on Earth, many in very high positions. But forpsychological reasons, we want Earthmen to work with us as well.'

"The Martian turned away from the microphone and said somethingin a queer, bird-like trill. Instantly, the five soldiers grabbed me andcarried me to a table in the rear of the room, where they strapped me

down firmly. One of the soldiers pulled out of his pocket a kind ofmeasuring tape, laid it on the under side of my arm and trilled outsome words. Another soldier walked to a closet and came backcarrying a large pair of wings!

"I guess I must have screamed, because the leader, who was stillsitting at the table, looked up at me. He picked up the microphone

10


13/55

and spoke again. 'This won't hurt you. Colonel,' he said. 'Our surgeryis far superior to anything on Earth. All we do is just pass a vibro-knife over your arm. This provides a slit in which wings are placed,so that you can fly the same as we. When you return to Earth,the wings will be removed. All that will remain is a thin scar which

will be no more visible than a scratch. But when you come back toMars, and your wings are again put against the scars, they will openand your wings will stay firmly fixed to your arms.

"I don't know whether it was my rage or the fact that the Martians areskillful surgeons, but I didn't even feel the vibro-knife. All I know isthat when I got up about five minutes later, each arm carried a

full-sized wing!

"For the next two months I spent practically the whole day beingtaught to fly, solo and in formation. It was easy for me, aprofessional flyer. But I must admit that some of their attackformations are as far ahead of ours as our jet planes are ahead of the20th century version!

"When the Martian leader called me in for a talk, I had my plans all

ready. I pretended to be sold on the idea of cooperating, and agreedto come back to Earth so that I could lead advance landing forces totheir bases. They have a completely different time system on Mars, soI don't know exactly when they'll be coming. But I do know it'll besoon.

"The important thing is that I'm the only man on Earth who knowsthat they're planning to attack us, and the only man who knows howto stop the devices they have, which can paralyze all our motors just

the way they stopped my engine dead. They think I'm here to helpthem. Evidently I did a good job, or they would never have let mecome back to Earth. All the time I knew that if I ever did get back, I'dmake a bee-line for the President of the United States, to let himknow what's cooking. Can I get in to him now, please, Mr. Secretary?

"What's that? Identification marks on my arms, tattooed alongside

11


14/55

the wing scars? No, they didn't do that to me. The only ones whohave them are the leaders, and they carry them on their wrists. It's

hard for me to describe the marks...but they look just...like...that!

Just like the marksyouhave onyourwrists!

"Good Lord! You're one of them! You're a Martian!"

THE END

Originally published inAmazing Adventures#2 (May 1951)

12


15/55

BLOOD STANDS FOR FREEDOM

Makoskalacs, the Martian secretary of state, shook his enormousround head and scratched his forehead with one of his eighttentacles. He twisted his features into what John Alden had learnedto identify as the equivalent of a smile back on Earth. Then he spoke,his voice the thin, reedy hiss which indicated great inner amusementand more than a little contempt.

"You Earth men," he said, "are becoming annoying to the overlords ofMars. We permit you to remain here as ambassador from yourplanet, because it amuses us. But I must warn you that the SupremeMartian, Almasretes, will not permit you to interfere in our affairs.What we overlords do with the masses of contemptible underlings onour planet concerns us alone, and if you persist in bothering us with

your silly speeches and memorandums about this nonsense you call'equality' and 'freedom,' we will send you home and not permit you to

come back here."

John Alden choked back the hot words of wrath which rose to hislips, and forced himself to nod politely. "Of course, Mr. Secretary ofState," he replied, "I concede that as ambassador from Earth, I maynot interfere in your internal affairs "

"You couldn't," interrupted the Martian contemptuously. "Even if wepermitted more than one of you Earth people to live on Mars at anytime you could do nothing. But as it is, with only one of you allowedhere to represent your country and arrange for the purchase of theuranium you need so desperately, and which we have in super-abundance, you are as helpless as a new-born baby."

"I know," continued Alden, ignoring the interruption. "Inasmuch asyou do not wish me to repeat my plea that you overlords, less than a

13


16/55

thousand all told, grant liberty and freedom to the millions ofMartians whom you have enslaved, I must accede to your wishes. Imerely point out that on Earth there have been tyrannies in the past,and all have vanished. Today, with all the peoples of the Earthcompletely free and liberated, and all races and nations equal, wehave happiness and progress. It is my thought that you could attainthe same results on Mars."

"We have all the happiness we overlords want," snapped the octopus-like Martian. "What happens to the underlings is of no concern tous."

When John Alden returned to the small plasti-steel structure whichhad been assigned to him as dwelling-place, he found his communi-cator light flashing rapidly on and off, indicating a desire for contactfrom Earth. He flicked on the switch, established contact, and withina few moments heard the familiar voice of Robert Starr, president ofthe Earth Government.

"John," said the president, "I'm afraid you'll have to come back homefor a short time. I'm sorry to say that I've received a complaint from

the Martians that you've been attempting to interfere in their internalaffairs, and the only basis on which they'll agree to let you stay asambassador from Earth is if you come back here for officialinstructions that your duties are simply to supervise the loading of theuranium they're shipping us. Unofficially I can tell you that this issimply in the nature of a whip they're cracking over us, to show youthat if they want, they can have you recalled for reprimand, but weneed the uranium so desperately that there's nothing I can do."

"Don't worry about it, sir," replied Alden slowly. "I'll leave now."

When Alden's space-ship had landed him at the InterplanetarySpaceport in New Washington, the ambassador looked around for acab to take him to the White House. Instead, a competent-lookingpilot saluted crisply. "Mr. Ambassador," he said "I'm Capt. Banning.Will you come this way, sir? President's orders. We're to fly you to

14


17/55

Alaska for a meeting."

"Why Alaska?" asked Alden, wonderingly. "Why not the WhiteHouse?"

Banning shook his head. "No idea, sir. But I had the orders directfrom the president himself. Shall we go?"

The fast jet plane took off, and less than an hour later Alden wasbeing shown into a small room right next to the hangars on the littleairbase way out on a tiny Aleutian island. The president of the EarthGovernment rose to greet him.

"John," said the president gravely, "I'm glad you're back. I want a fullreport on conditions, and I want you to let it be heard by thisgentleman here," he nodded toward an elderly man who wasstanding by the window. "John Alden, ambassador to Mars," hecontinued, "this is Dr. Jonathan Harrod."

Dr. Harrod and Alden shook hands. Then Alden began his report,telling of the terrible slavery existing on Mars, of the cruel and

inhuman tortures being inflicted on the helpless millions by theoverlords and their troops, who alone had any arms or ammunition,and of the complete refusal of the overlords even to consider anychange in conditions. "If we could only figure out some way ofgetting an army onto the surface of Mars, sir," he concluded; "if wecould get through their powerful defenses which ring the planet, wecould easily overpower their troops and capture the overlords. Thentheir outer defenses would collapse, and we could bring freedom andliberty to the people! I've been racking my brains for a way out, but I

haven't been able to find it, sir! But there mustbe a way!"The president nodded gravely. "You're right, John. There is a way,and we have Dr. Harrod to thank for it. Not only we, but all themillions of Martians whom we shall soon liberate. I think it would bebetter if Dr. Harrod explained it to you himself." He turned to theprofessor. "Won't you, please?"

15


18/55

Dr. Harrod nodded. "Of course. Since Mr. Alden is such animportant key figure in our plans, he has to know the wholesituation." He pulled up a chair next to Alden's, and spoke earnestly."Now, here's the idea, Mr. Alden..."

The grey Aleutian fogs, the thickest in the world, hide much of whatis going on, on the ground. Nobody was watching, of course, buteven the sharpest eyes hovering about would have been unable to tell

what happened to the endless stream of cargo and carrier planeswhich converged on the tiny island during the next two weeks. Allthat would have been visible would have been the sight of the planes,

following each other as closely as subway cars, streaming in from allquarters of the compass and then streaming out again after a short

wait at the landing fields. But what happened while they were on thefields, nobody could have told.

At the end of the two-week period, an official announcement wasreleased to the press of the world, and beamed on micro-wave to theMartian government listening station. It said merely: "The presidentof the Earth Government, having briefed the ambassador to Mars on

the exact nature of his duties and the limitations which have beenplaced on his conduct in office, announces that the ambassador willreturn to Mars to represent the Earth on that planet."

The space ship carrying Alden back to Mars deposited the ambassadorat the spaceport. Alden hurried to the office of Makoskalacs, thesecretary of state, to present his credentials, noticing once more thecontemptuously amused smile on his leathery features. Then he waspermitted to retire to his own dwelling, which was immediately

surrounded by guards.

Alden stripped off his clothes and headed for the shower, for whichhe had brought a quantity of water from Earth because of the greatshortage of that vital commodity on Mars. He glanced for a second athis left forearm, where a tiny patch of adhesive tape covered whatcould have been a very small sore or scratch, and smiled briefly to

16


19/55

himself.

After his shower, Alden opened his suitcases, and took out a smallbox which looked like a portable radio, complete with dials andopening for a speaker. He pulled out a hypodermic syringe, carefullysterilized the needle, and, plunging it into the tiny mark on his leftarm which had been revealed when he removed the adhesive tape,drew out a quantity of blood, which he then carefully discharged intoa tiny hole on top of the radio-like box!

Drawing a deep breath, Alden turned knobs until he had them exactlyto his liking, and then pressed a switch on the side of the box.

Instantly there was a soft humming, and from the speaker opening inthe front of the box came a stream of dust particles which flowed onendlessly.

As the dust hit the floor, each particle grew rapidly! Each grainswelled and took shape, and as Alden watched with bated breath,each revealed itself as a fully-armed and equipped combatinfantryman, growing instantly to full size and marching rapidly information through the door of his dwelling!

For an hour Alden sat by the machine, watching with rising hopes. Atthat time, with the stream of troops continuing unabated, he heardthe first footsteps of the returning lead troops. Their commandersaluted crisply. "All clear, sir," he reported. "Every power station is inour hands, the overlords and their soldiers our prisoners. And the ringof defenses outside the planet have all surrendered. Word is beingspread as rapidly as possible to the people, that they are free arid canelect their own government, just like we have on Earth!"

Alden smiled happily. He snapped his communicator on, and got intoinstant touch with the anxiously-waiting president and Dr. Harrod."Everything worked just the way you planned, gentlemen," heannounced. "Dr. Harrod's method of shrinking the armies of the

world to microbe size and injecting them into my blood didn't harmthem or me in the least. When I drew out the blood and re-converted

17


20/55

them to normal size, they were as good as they ever had been!

"Mars is free!"

THE END

Originally published inAmazing Adventures#3 (May/June 1951)

18


21/55

WRITTEN IN THE ROCKS

"You might as well face it, Carter," said Dr. Willoughby, head of theWilloughby Stellar Observatory, "up to this point we're licked. We'vebeen working for more than a hundred years, ever since the firstatomic motor experiments were tried in 1963, and while we've gotthe rockets and motors perfected, on paper, we haven't any more ideaof how we can get the proper fuel to power them than we had back a

century ago!"

Carter Mason nodded. "You're absolutely right, doctor," he said. "Iknow that everything you say is true. And yet, somewhere in the

back of my brain there's a feeling that the fuel we need hasbeendiscovered!"

"You mean...?"

"Yes, sir," replied Carter with great feeling. "I mean the fuel that myfather developed at the same time he developed the design for thebasic rocket ships which have been the jumping-off point for all ourdesigns since then. Just look at the record. When Dad hadcompleted his rocket ship plans, he filed them in the Patent Office.Then he announced that his fuel was too dangerous to be publicized.He insisted that he was going to try it himself, so that if it didn't

work, nobody would be tempted to follow his formulas and be killed.He took off, as we all know, headed for Mars. And that's the lastthing that was ever heard of him and his ship."

"And you think," asked Dr. Willoughby kindly, "that he had the secretof the proper fuel?"

"I do, indeed," replied Carter firmly. "I've been studying Dad's papersever since he took off on his flight, and while I haven't hit on any

19


22/55

clues as yet, I can't get rid of the feeling that his fuel was powerfulenough to carry the Mason Rocketship to Mars."

"How do you account for the fact that we've never seen any sign ofthe ship on Mars?" asked Dr. Willoughby. "We've never seen anytraces of its landing, we never saw the ship explode, and they nevercame back."

"That last part of your statement, sir," responded Carter, "is proof ofmy feeling. Loaded as the ship was with high-explosive atomic fuel, ifit had exploded anywhere en route, the telescopes you had trained onits path would have showed some sign. Likewise, if the ship had

exploded on Mars, there would have been an atomic explosion whichwould have been visible in the telescopes.

The fact that nothing was ever seen makes me sure that Dad's shiplanded safely on Mars, and that for some mechanical reason they

weren't able to return. Maybe they didn't have enough fuel, or maybesomething went wrong with the ship. I don't know. But I am sure,"he continued with assurance, "that when the next Earth expeditionreaches Mars, they'll find some traces of Dad's successful landing!

Maybe they'll even find Dad and some of his men, still alive!"

Dr. Willoughby smiled. "Keep on feeling that way, son," he advised."Your father will always live in the minds of the people to whom heleft the first workable plans for a spaceship. And even if he didn'tfigure out the right fuel to power the ship, he was a great man, one of

whom you can be proud!"

After his interview with Dr. Willoughby, Carter Mason returned to his

work as observer at the Stellar Observatory, charting the movementsof the stars and planets. Ever since his earliest childhood, Carter'sfather had instilled in him a love for the wide spaces of interstellarspace, and he had made astronomy his life's work. In addition to hisdesire for the advancement of science, Carter would not have beenashamed to admit that part of his intense preoccupation with thestars and planets lay in his hope that somewhere, somehow, he would

20


23/55

one day discover a trace of his vanished father!

In his spare time, Carter Mason haunted the laboratories of theObservatory, working on the complex atomic mathematics involved inatomic structures of fuels. A hundred different formulas weredeveloped by him, and each discarded after experiment proved that it

would not possess the power to carry a ship through space to Mars.Other formulas, which had the power, were discarded afterexperiment proved that they were so powerful that they would burnout atomic tubes, or explode the ship in which they were stored.

But still he persevered.

Then one day, Carter arrived at his office, to find his assistant, EdLegrand, waiting with a sheaf of wires.

"Take a look at these, Carter," said Ed. "The greatest concentration ofmeteors ever recorded has hit the Far West!"

"Did we get pictures?" demanded Carter eagerly.

"Sorry, we didn't" replied Ed. "We didn't know about it until thereports started pouring in from these different places where they hit."

The next day came another flood of telegrams, the only differencebeing that they all arrived from cities and regions in the central plainssection of the United States. The text of the telegrams was the sameas the first batch, stating that the greatest shower of meteors everlisted for that part of the country had fallen.

Carter, stirred by a strange intuition, rushed to Dr. Willoughby'soffice. "Doctor," he said excitedly, "I know a scientist is supposed to

work on facts only, and not trust his intuition. But somehow I've gota definite urge to work on this meteor business. I can't help feelingthat somehow it's tied up with Mars, and with my father. Would yougive me a leave of absence?"

21


24/55

Dr. Willoughby chuckled. "I expected you to ask for that, Carter. Iknow how you feel, because I've had the same strange feeling myself.

About the leave of absence, I can do better than that. I've alreadyarranged for you to be relieved from your other duties, and assigned,instead, to study the meteor swarms. In that way you'll have all thefacilities of the Observatory at your disposal, and

you'll remain on salary while you're working."

Carter was already at the door when he remembered to turn around."Thank you very much, sir," he called out, as he vanished through thedoor.

By the time Carter Mason reached his office, Ed Legrand had stillanother sheaf of wires in his hand.

"Hi, Carter," he greeted his chief. "This time they've concentrated onthe Atlantic seaboard."

"More meteors?" asked Carter.

"Right. We've never seen anything like it. In each case there have

been more meteors than the Earth has ever known before, in onebatch, and in each case they hit just in one section of the country."

Carter sat down at his desk. "Have the meteors been analyzed yet?"he asked.

"No," Ed shook his head. "They all seem to be a strange type of metal,different from anything on Earth, and the scientists who are workingon an analysis say that it will be a while yet before they can hope to

come up with any specifications onthem."

"Then," said Carter slowly, "we haven't got anything to go on." Hepaused for a second. "Tell you what, though. Just for a jumping-offpoint, let's plot a map showing where they landed. Maybe there'ssomething about the spots where they fell that will give us a clue."

22


25/55

Ed Legrand set to work with a will. In a few moments, by judicioustelephone calls, the huge wall of the office was covered with anoutline map of the United States, and by a careful check of thetelegrams and the use of three different-colored sets of push pins, thechart where each batch of meteors had fallen, was soon plotted.

The maps told Carter and Ed exactly nothing. All types of countryhad been hit by the meteors mountain regions, desert, farm landand the outskirts of big cities. The only fact that kept running aroundin Carter's head was that no city had beenhit by the meteors, confirming his suspicion that there was intelligent

direction of some sort behind their aim!

It was not until a week later that Carter, weary almost to the point ofcollapse from his endless study of the map, decided that as long assleep was impossible, he'd try reading some book to relax his tension.He reached for Paul White's treatise on Atomic Structures, and idlyflipped through the pages. Suddenly he stiffened, as he stared fixedlyat a diagram. Then, slowly, he looked up and called: "Ed, come here,please!"

When Ed Legrand came to Carter's side, Carter handed him the book."Look at this diagram marked 'Mason's Basic Theory of Atomic FuelStructure'," he ordered. When Ed complied, Carter continued, "Do

you notice anything familiar about it?"

Ed nodded excitedly. "Yes," he yelled. "It's just like the pattern of themeteors on the map but in the way the meteors landed there's one

vital change that I can see would boost the power of the fissioning

material immeasurably!"

Carter Mason smiled happily. "That's exactly what I saw, Ed," he said."And it proves what I've always been sure of. That my father knewthe proper fuel to take his rocketship to Mars, and somehow, afterlanding there and not being able to get back to Earth, sent down ashower of meteors, aimed so that they would land in duplicate

23


26/55

patterns of atomic structure, to tell us what we had to do to create afuel which will carry men to the planets and then to the far stars!"

"Well," cried Ed, "now you're going to make the fuel. What then?"

"First," answered Carter proudly, "I'm going to stop off on Mars topick up Dad and his men and then we'll go exploring! All space isnow within our reach!"

THE END

Originally published inAmazing Adventures#4 (July/August 1951)

24


27/55

A CERTAIN TYPE OF MAGIC

The day before Election, Johnny Murtagh's typewriter broke. Thatwouldn't be serious to the average person, but to Johnny it was amajor catastrophe. Johnny was a writer by trade, and in addition tohaving made a nice amount of money by writing political speechesand articles promoting the party of which he was a member, he hadpicked up some good ideas about fiction stories with an election

theme.

It's true that Johnny had made money with his political writing, but ithad all gone to pay back bills. So, on Election Day, knowing that hehad to have a typewriter if he expected to keep on working, he wentdown to the most crowded and poorest part of town to hunt for amachine.

"Maybe I'm crazy," thought Johnny, "but it certainly seems to me that

with all the second-hand shops and pawnshops here, I ought to beable to pick up a typewriter pretty cheaply."

Johnny stopped and glanced into the grimy window of a store. It wasjammed with merchandise piled helter-skelter in an untidy mass, withother things hanging from strings and cords tacked to the top of the

window. There was just about everything anyone could name in thatsingle tiny window! He smiled and entered the shop.

If Johnny had stopped to think for a second, he would have noticedsomething peculiar about the fact that the proprietor, a tiny,hump-backed dwarf, with the thickest spectacles he had ever seen,greeted him cordially with: "Hello. I can tell you're a writer, younggentleman, and I have just what you need! Here, look at this. AJones-Zeus typewriter. Regular price $175, and even though it'spractically new you can have it for $45! Here, try it."

25


28/55

Johnny stepped to the counter, where a shiny, apparently newtypewriter was standing, complete with a sheet of paper in it. Helooked the machine over from all angles, and had to agree that itlooked absolutely new and not touched.

"Go on, young gentleman," the dwarf urged. "Try it out."

Johnny's fingers reached for the keyboard, and he idly tapped out thefamiliar phrase: "Now is the time for all good men to come to the aidof the party." A peculiar thrill of excitement filled his veins, butJohnny didn't stop to analyze it or try to figure it out. He reached for

his wallet, counted out $45 from the meager store of bills, tucked thetypewriter under his arm and went out into the street. At the curbstood a cab, which carried him home.

By the time Johnny got home and had made his dinner and thencleaned away the dishes, it was time for the early returns on theelection. He snapped on the radio, and heard his favoriteannouncer's voice, oddly risen to a new pitch of excitement. "Ladiesand gentlemen," the announcer was practically shouting, "this is the

first time in history that such a thing has happened! Every vote in thecity had been cast by three o'clock this afternoon, and all the returnsare in and officially tabulated by now! And the results show thatevery single vote was cast for the Demopublican Party! Not a single

vote went to any other party! Nobody can explain it!"

Johnny grinned happily, as he shut off the radio. His party, theDemopublicans, had won! And had captured every single vote intown! Peculiar, but okay by Johnny! He stepped over to the table on

which he had placed his new typewriter, and as he reached for asheet of paper to insert in it, glanced down to notice that the originalsheet of paper was still there, the one on which he had typed: "Now isthe time..."

"I certainly called the turn," laughed Johnny to himself. He rippedout the paper and inserted a fresh sheet.

26


29/55

After a moment's thought Johnny began his story. "Gee, I wish that Ihad a girl," he typed swiftly, as the first line of the romance he wasbeginning to write, and then looked up in annoyance as the shrillsound of his doorbell filled the apartment.

"Wonder who can be there," he thought as he rose and went to thedoor. And then Johnny's eyes bugged out a foot from his head, forthere, smiling tenderly at him, was the most beautiful girl he had everseen, a honey-blonde with curves that answered every dream offeminine loveliness that any man had ever dreamed of.

"Hello, Johnny darling," she said tenderly, as she put both armsaround Johnny's head and drew his lips down to hers!

For the length of the kiss Johnny's senses reeled. Then he broke looseand held the vision at arm's length behind the door which he hadclosed hastily against the curious stares of nosy neighbors. "What...

what's this all about?" he demanded, stammering in his excitement.

The girl smiled again. "Better get to know me, Johnny," she said

softly, as she settled in a comfortable armchair with a grace whichmade her host think swiftly that that was just where she belonged!"My name is Lana. Last name doesn't matter, because tomorrow it'llbe Murtagh, when I'm your wife. Here, I've got all the licenses madeout."

Johnny stared voicelessly at Lana. Then he recovered a little. "Butwhy? How come? You don't know me! Who are you and where doyou come from?"

Lana smiled. "I don't know," she answered. "Suddenly I was outside,and I knew I was your girl and was going to marry you. Somewherein the back of my mind there's a vague feeling that somehow atypewriter enters into this situation, but other than that, I don't haveany ideas or recollections or memories or anything. It's as if I had justbeen born."

27


30/55

At the sound of the word "typewriter," Johnny turned swiftly to hismachine. There stood the first line he had typed: "Gee, I wish that Ihad a girl." His brain whirled with the impact of thoughts that hedidn't even dare admit to himself. First he had typed out a line aboutall men coming to the aid of the party, and every single vote in townhad been cast for his party! And then, a moment after he had typedout a line about wanting a girl, this dream of female pulchritude hadarrived in his apartment to marry him! No, it couldn't be connected but could it?

As Johnny sat in front of the typewriter, he had to force his fingers to

the keys. "What kind of fur do you like, Lana," he asked nervously."Mink or sable? Not," he added quickly, "that I can afford to buy youeither one. I just asked."

"Oh, sable is lovely," said Lana. "But I love mink, too."

Johnny tapped slowly on the keys. "Lana is to have a sable coat and amink jacket," he typed. And when he dared to turn around again,Lana was sitting just where he had seen her before, but now her

smart tailored suit was hidden by a breathtakingly beautiful sablewrap, soft and luxurious, while on the table next to her lay tossed afabulously expensive-looking mink jacket!

Before getting to the justice of the peace who made them Mr. andMrs. Murtagh, Lana and Johnny toured the poor section of town in acab, hunting for the tiny, overcrowded store. They had no luck.Every time they reached a street which looked like the one on whichJohnny had been the previous day, there was nothing that even

remotely resembled the shop. It was as if it had never existed exceptfor the time that Johnny passed by and entered it, put there by somestrange power for the single purpose of seeing that Johnny boughtthe Jones-Zeus typewriter!

Back in the apartment after the ceremony, Johnny typed out thesentence: "A beautiful wedding breakfast, and tickets to Bermuda for

28


31/55

a honeymoon." Once more, when he looked up again, the typewriterhad obeyed! There, on the wonderfully set table, was the mostmagnificent wedding breakfast he had ever seen, set for two, andnext to his plate lay an envelope containing tickets for the bridal suiteon the Queen of Bermuda!

From that moment on, life presented very few problems to JohnnyMurtagh. Every time he or Lana had a desire, no matter how fleeting,he simply turned to his typewriter and typed out a sentence, askingthat it be fulfilled. And presto, there it was! Without a second's wait!

For a little while Johnny amused himself by arranging for sports

upsets. He followed the papers carefully, and every time he noticedan underdog in a baseball or football game, or in an important fight,Johnny had the underdog win by a record score or in record time. He

was hailed the world's greatest writer after he had won the NobelPrize for Literature by turning to his typewriter and tapping out: "I

want to have written by now a dozen best-selling novels which will behailed as the greatest in the world." He didn't realize how strongly hehad become used to having his own way, just by typing a line on apiece of paper.

Johnny turned to politics. He studied the international situation, andgrew angry as he thought how much better he could set up the worldthan it was constituted. Irritably he put paper into the machine, andtyped quickly: "I want to be in the position of dictator of the world!

And I also want nobody else in the world ever to be able to make thistypewriter have his wishes and dreams come true besides me!"

Johnny finished typing and raised his head from the machine just as a

shot barked out through the window! For a second a look of agonywas on his face, then it faded as he collapsed to the floor, while thekeys of the typewriter continued tapping by themselves: "You are nowin the position of everybody who ever wanted to be dictator of the

world, dead by an assassin's bullet! And your second selfish wish isalso granted nobody will ever be able to use me since you are nomore!"

29


32/55

And as the typewriter rolled out the sheet of paper to the safety of thetable top, it slowly grew flame-colored and fused into a useless,twisted heap of melted metal!

THE END

Originally published inLars of Mars#11 (July/August 1951)

30


33/55

ROCKETS ARE OLD STUFF!

The television screen flickered, went blank, then suddenly a picturepopped in. It showed the take-off of one of the Army's new rockets.The long exhaust trail billowed out as the four-vaned monster hurtleditself into the skies.

"Gosh!" Tommy Vann cried to his Grandfather, "Did you ever see

anything like that? I'll bet you wish you'd grown up in the twentiethcentury!"

Grandfather Vann smiled at his ten-year-old grandson. "Maybe,maybe not!" he replied. "A lot of new things happened when I was aboy, too!"

"Yeah," Tommy grinned, pointing at the screen, "but nothing like that.They hadn't invented rockets, or jet planes, or anything when you

were a kid!"

"Well, maybe not as you know them. But men have been working onrockets and jets since way back in the days of ancient Greece!"

"Aw! Gran'pa," Tommy sounded half-angry, "you're kidding me! Whynobody knew anything about rockets until just a few years ago!"

"No, Tommy, I'm not kidding!" Gran'pa's tone was serious, "Way backin the second century before Christ, when Alexandria, in Egypt, wascontrolled by Greece, a man was experimenting with jet propulsion."

"Gee, Gran'pa, that's hard to believe!"

"It sure is, son!" Gran'pa nodded, "but it's true! The man's name wasHero. He was a great scholar! He took a small, hollow, metal ball

31


34/55

and fixed little jet nozzles on it. Then he suspended the ball filledwith water over a flame, so that it would rotate like a wheel. Asthe water he had put in the ball became hot and turned to steam, thesteam escaped out of the little nozzles. That made the ball spin."

"Yes, but was the spinning ball good for anything?" Tommy asked.

"It couldn't perform any work," Gran'pa answered, "but it operated onthe principle of jets. That same principle, Tommy, is used in today'smodern jets!"

Tommy's eyes grew large. He waited expectantly while Grandfather

Vann filled his pipe and looked off into space.

"Well, the next folks to fuss around with rockets and jets were theChinese!" The old man finally went on. "Somewhere around the yearfive or six hundred, some Chinese student got the idea of makingrocket-propelled arrows. He put gunpowder in a tube with a fuse. Itmust have looked like the skyrockets you have on the Fourth of July.Then he fastened this tube to an arrow. The arrow he put in a crudelauncher, just a wooden trough. Well, when the fuse was lit that

arrow took off just like a rocket! They say it won many a battle forthe Chinese armies. You can imagine the panic when fire-arrowsbegan to fall on those old-time armies."

"Hey," Tommy got excited, "that sure was smart thinking, wasn't it!Did any other nations use the fire-arrow?"

"No, I don't think anyone else took it up," Gran'pa replied. "Thenalong in the fifteenth century an Italian by the name of de Fontana

invented a rocket-car for warfare."

"A rocket-car?" the boy repeated incredulously. "You mean a car thatwould carry soldiers?"

"Oh, no, nothing like that. It was a little iron affair, about two tothree feet long, and was mounted on wheels. The gunpowder was put

32


35/55

inside and when the fuse was lit, the force of the burning powderpushed the car forward. An opening at the back let the gases shootout."

"But how did they use the rocket-car?"

"Oh, lots of ways," Gran'pa started to explain. "At first they madethem in the shape of fish and set them running across the battlefieldtoward the enemy. Well, Tommy, the rocket-cars didn't kill anyenemy soldiers, but it pretty near scared them to death."

Tommy was grinning, "Imagine seeing a fish come dashing across dry

ground, with fire shooting from its tail! Boy, that would scareanyone!"

"Yep, Tommy, that it would. But the Italians carried the rocket-careven farther. They built one with a long sharp spike sticking out fromthe front of it. Then they covered the whole car with pitch and tar.They set this pitch afire and aimed the car at the gates of a castle.When the car rammed into the gates the sharp spike on the frontmade it stick there."

"Hey, that's real sharp!" Tommy started, then laughed as He realized

what he'd said. "I mean realsmart, Gran'pa! That flaming tar andpitch would set those wooden gates on fire in a hurry, wouldn'tthey?"

"Exactly! Gran'pa agreed. "The defenders of the castle didn't have achance to stop the car or to put the fire out before the gates wereaflame. Of course, when people used iron bars for the gates the

flaming car wasn't of much use!"

"That's sure interesting,"Tommy said thoughtfully, "but were all theexperiments with rockets only for making war and killing people?"

"No. Sometime in the Middle Ages a Chinese inventor built arocket-propelled chair."

33


36/55

"Wow! Did it work?" Tommy's face shone.

"Well, not quite!" Gran'pa smiled, "You see, this Chinese inventor tieda whole lot of rockets to the back of the chair. They were likeordinary skyrockets, only bigger. After fastening the rockets to thechair he sat down in it and had his servants light all the fuses."

Tommy began to giggle as he pictured what was sure to happen.

"I would have liked to see that chair!" Gran'pa chuckled, "According tothe story, the rockets skidded the chair all along the road and then,

whoosh!pushed it right over a stone fence. The Inventor didn't gethurt much, but I guess it cured him of trying to travel by rocket."

"I'll bet it did!" Tommy said gravely, "But he had the right idea, didn'the? Jet planes today must use the same principle, huh?"

"That's one hundred per cent correct, Tommy! Of course, they had todevelop airplanes before they could adapt rockets and jets as a meansof travel."

"Gran'pa, you keep talking about rockets and jets," Tommy frowned,"and I get mixed up. What's the difference between a rocket and a

jet?"

"Good question!" Gran'pa replied. "It's very simple. You see, a rocketcarries its own fuel and its own supply of oxygen, in the form ofhighly-compressed liquid oxygen. Now, a jet engine carries its ownfuel supply, but it draws its oxygen in out of the air, instead of

carrying it right in the jet. Both have advantages. But a jet can't go ashigh as a rocket, because the higher you go, the less oxygen there isin the air. Therefore, there comes a time when the air doesn't haveenough oxygen in it to keep the jet operating."

Tommy nodded, "So that's why the space ships they plan to build willhave to be rockets instead of jets."

34


37/55

Grandfather lit his pipe again.

"After that Chinese fellow cracked up in his rocket chair, a long timepassed until an Englishman named Sir Isaac Newton..."

"Oh, sure we studied about him in school. He was the scientist whodiscovered the laws of gravity."

"Right, and in a simple way, too, they say. You remember the storyabout the apple falling on his head. But let's continue with our otherstory. Sir Isaac went back to Hero's ancient principle, only he made it

practical. He mounted a boiler, with a jet pointing backwards, on acarriage chassis. When the fire under the boiler made steam, it shotout of the jet and pushed the carriage forward. It worked fairly well,too. A long lever controlled the amount of steam that could escapeand thereby also controlled the speed of the carriage."

"Well, what d'you know!" Tommy shook his head in astonishment.

"From then on you know about most of the rocket advances. World

War II speeded up the experiments and Uncle Sam came out with theBazooka, which is actually nothing but a rocket."

"Oh!" Tommy exclaimed. "Then that means that the recoillessartillery our Army has now is a form of rocket, too!"

"Yes sir, Tommy, it is." Gran'pa got up, "Of course, the originalGerman V-2, which our scientists have improved on so much, was thefirst big rocket ever to be used in warfare."

"I remember reading about that." Tommy looked dreamy. "Do youthink there ever will really be flights to Mars and to the Moon and toplaces like that, Gran'pa?"

"If they succeed In making atomic power available there certainlycould be!" Grandpa Vann said firmly. "Only thing that really holds

35


38/55

them back now is that there's no way of carrying enough of ourpresent kinds of fuel!"

"Boy, a lot sure depends on the atom, doesn't it?" Tommy said, hiseyes sparkling. "Now that you've explained how far back it was thatpeople started working with rockets, and how much has been donesince then, I betcha our scientists will get us atomic power before toolong!"

"I wouldn't be surprised," Gran'pa agreed, smiling. "I wouldn't besurprised at all."

THE END

Originally published inAmazing Adventures#5 (Oct/Nov 1951)

36


39/55

A GIANT OF PROPHECY

Within the concealing walls of research laboratories in a dozencountries around the globe, scientists and engineers are striving dailyto roll back the curtain of the unknown a little further. Knowingly orunknowingly, many of the inventions and processes they hope toproduce are attempts to overtake the soaring imagination of one man.That man was the English author, H. G. Wells, whose prophetic and

imaginative writings have stirred the minds and hopes of millions ofpeople since 1895. In that year, the first of a long series of propheticnovels and short stories from the pen of Wells was published. This

was "The Time Machine," in which Wells not only presented one ofthe first literary descriptions of time travel, but speculated brilliantlyabout the future of the human race. The story was a success from itsfirst appearance. It remains popular to this day, thanks to theauthor's literary skill and vivid imagination.

With the success of "The Time Machine," the career of Wells becamedefinitely set as a writer, although up to that time he had supportedhimself mainly by teaching science. In "The Time Machine," Wellsspeculated on the probable outcome of the efforts of the human raceto free itself from toil and disease and war, with astonishing results.He saw humanity in the far future as divided into two species, oneliving on the earth's surface in remnants of past splendor; the otherinhabiting a vast warren of artificial underground tunnels andcaverns, where the machinery and technology that supported theentire culture existed. The Eloi, as the surface-dwellers calledthemselves, were descendants of the wealthy ruling class of mankind,and the cave-dwelling Morlocks, who preyed on the Eloi, were theoff-spring of the working people.

Thus, in his very first science-fiction story, Wells set a pattern ofsocial invention and prophecy that was to show in all his later

37


40/55

writings in the field. Other fantastic and imaginative writers alsoinvented scientific and technical gadgets and processes, but few ofthem thought deeply or wrote effectively about the effects of suchinventions on human society. Wells "invented" many such scientificand technical marvels in the pages of his stories, but went further,and showed how he thought such things would affect human life,often with startling accuracy.

In "The Land Ironclads," for example, published in December, 1903,Wells not only described an armored land vehicle very similar to themodem tank, but also correctly foresaw its effect on warfare. Had his

vision been fully exploited, the stalemate trench warfare of World

War I would have been impossible. Indeed, if either side alone hadpossessed such a weapon in quantity, the war would probably haveended in a matter of weeks. Even the change that would be neededin the nature and training of armies was accurately prophesied in thisshort story, which foreboded the horse cavalry, the new importanceof technical as opposed to military training, and the possibility ofanti-tank weapons.

Startling as were many of Wells' inventions and predictions, they

might have remained relatively unknown to the mass of the Americanpopulation had it not been for the efforts of another man namedWelles, with a slightly different spelling. This was Orson Welles, nowa well-known actor-producer-director of radio, motion pictures, andtelevision. In 1938, Orson Welles, then relatively unknown, produceda dramatized version of H. G. Wells' story, "The War Of The Worlds,"

which was first published in 1898. Before the broadcast version ofthis forty-year-old story was half over, a good-sized portion of theEastern seaboard of the U. S. was fleeing in panic, or digging in to

resist the Martian invaders! Switchboards were jammed with franticcalls, radio network offices were snowed under with official andpublic demands and inquiries, and something approaching a nationalemergency was created. Such was the power and reality of Wells'story, as presented by Orson Welles.

As a result of the official investigation of the panic that followed, the

38


41/55

name of H. G. Wells became far more familiar to the general public ofthe United States than it had ever been before, and many peoplediscovered for the first time some of the other stories of the man whohad so gripped the imagination of a nation. The increased publicinterest and acceptance of Wells' writings that followed came as nosurprise to the people who were already familiar with his fertileimagination. His uncanny ability to foresee the probable results ofthe application of many logical human developments like aviationand radio communication had already won the attention of people

who had read his early short stories and novels, or seen such motionpictures as "Things To Come" (1935), or "The Man Who Could WorkMiracles" (1936).

Herbert George Wells was born in Bromley, Kent, September 21st,1866. The son of lower middle-class parents, he had little oppor-tunity for an education, but nevertheless managed to acquire it by hisown efforts, ultimately taking the degree of Bachelor of Science, withhonors, from London University, in 1888. His father was a gardenerand shopkeeper who played professional cricket to eke out hislivelihood, and his mother was a ladies maid and housekeeper. Wells

writes entertainingly in his "Experiment in Autobiography" (1934) of

how reading done during the enforced idleness caused by a brokenleg turned his interest to books and study, and ultimately toliterature.

After leaving school, he did some teaching, mostly private tutoring ofstudents in the sciences, and wrote a textbook of biology to aidhimself in this work. He became ill from overwork, however, and

was forced to spend several months at a seashore resort torecuperate, practically without funds. On returning to London he met

Frank Harris, then editor of the Saturday Review, and began hiswriting career in earnest. The publication of "The Time Machine" in1895 was followed in 1896 by "The Island of Dr. Moreau," in whichWells was at his most brilliant. The story is an allegory of Divineeffort to perfect man, told so skillfully that it can be read entirely as astory of desperate adventure on an island where a scientistexperiments with dangerous animals, yet without missing the social

39


42/55

and scientific implications.

It remains one of Wells' finest stories, and is still read and discussedtoday. In 1897, "The Invisible Man" was published, and was aninstant success. By this time, Wells had collected a considerablefollowing, and in the following year, when he issued "The War Of TheWorlds," he was well on his way to the solid literary position andfinancial success that were to be his, It became only a question of

what direction his efforts at invention and prophecy would take,rather than their acceptance by the British public and later by thepeople of America.

To even mention a few of his major inventions will illustrate theprofound effect he has left behind in the minds of millions. In "TheWar Of The Worlds," space ships, interplanetary travel, huge land war

vehicles, and gas warfare were described in convincing detail. In"The First Men In The Moon" (1899), the idea of a metal freed ofgravitational attraction appeared, as well as that of a race with highlyspecialized brains, and many other striking features. In "Food Of TheGods" (1904), a food substance that produced a race of supermen isdescribed. In "The War In The Air" (1908), not only did Wells

describe flying machines, but he also presaged the development ofatomic bombs, and presented one of the first fictional pictures of thedevastation they could produce.

To the end of his life, which came on August 13th, 1946, Wellsremained strongly concerned with the development and future ofhumanity, although his later years found him increasingly pessimistic.Perhaps no other person has written so powerfully and penetratinglyof man's possible inventions and future as this man, who in casual

writing in his autobiography in 1933, predicted the outbreak of thenext war as due to take place in the year 1940!

THE END

Originally published in Space Patrol#2 (October/November 1951)

40


43/55

THE MAN WHO INVENTED TODAY

In their laboratories and testing grounds in the Southwest, scientistsand rocket specialists are today seriously talking about the possibilityof a rocket journey to the moon. Their model space rockets bear asurprising resemblance to one designed by the Frenchman Jules

Verne eighty-seven years ago!

Jules Verne was no scientist, no rocket specialist. He was a novelist,and he planned his rocket, down to the last detail, in his excitingnovel,"Voyage to the Moon." His rocket, which in design looksremarkably like the space rockets now under experiment, was firedfrom an immense cannon at a velocity of 12,000 miles per second. Itcarried a crew of three men, and had an independent rocketpropulsion in its tail to increase its speed.

Envisioning the modern space rocket was no lucky guess for Monsieur

Jules Verne. In other novels, he foresaw clearly and accurately, theairliner, the automobile, the submarine, the motor car, the tank, andtelevision. If Verne were to return to earth today, he would really seelittle that he hadn't "invented" in his novels.

Generally acclaimed "'The Father of Science Fiction," Jules Verne, theson of a Breton lawyer, was born in Nantes, France, in 1828. Nantes

was a flourishing seaport, and the growing Jules spent most of histime wandering around the docks, listening to the strange speech ofsailors from every corner of the globe and admiring the ships whichcrowded the harbor. As a boy, he tried twice, though unsuccessfully,to run away to sea. All his life the love of ships,the love of voyages,the love of far-away places, inspired him.

His father intended him to enter the family law firm, and Julesstarted his preliminary law studies at the College of Nantes. He was a

41


44/55

good student, with a pronounced flair for mathematics. But even atthis early date, he was entertaining hopes of a literary career.

Alexander Dumas was, and remained all his life, his favorite author,"The Three Musketeers" his favorite novel, and the dashingd'Artagnan his favorite fictional character.

Verne neglected his legal studies for writing, and finally gave the lawup altogether, his first works drew little attention, but when he finally

wrote "A History of Ballooning," the publisher to whom he took itsuggested that he re-write the story as a novel. Verne did so,inventing his own kind of super-balloon for his tale. The bag wasinflated with 67,000 cubic feet of hydrogen, which carried a 4,000

ton load. In his notebooks, Verne always made elaborate workingdrawings for the machines he later wrote about. His plans for thesuper-balloon remind one of the Zeppelins which. Fifty-odd yearslater, bombed London during the First World War. And yet Vernehad never seen any but the most primitive balloons!

The first submarines, created by john P. Holland and Simon Lake,were not launched until 1875, and then they were found to beimpractical. But six years earlier, in 1869, in his thrilling novel

"20,000 Leagues Under the Sea," Verne completely designed anundersea boat that in shape, construction, size and cruising rangebears a close resemblance to today's snorkel. Verne's under watercraft was cigar-shaped, 232 feet in length, with a maximum breadthof 26 feet. Constructed of steel plates, it displaced 50,000 feet of

water and weighed 1,500 tons. Verne knew nothing of submarineresearch; but he was not a crystal gazer he was a highly gifted man

with an imagination so vivid that he could envision the shapes ofthings to come! And his logical, mathematical mind created a

submarine ''The Nautilus'' that would be a worthy addition to thefleet of any modern navy.

With a rocket plane capable of attaining a speed of 1200 miles anhour, it may soon be possible to circle the globe in less than a singleday. Yet when Verne brought out his "Around the World in 80 Days,''he was dealing with a speed of travel that was thought to be

42


45/55

unattainable. He would have been the first to insist that his record of80 days would not only be reached one day, but would be reduced toa mere fraction of that time because he accurately foresaw rocketpower, and believe it or not as early as 1865 wrote a story in

which men made a rocket trip to the moon!

Although he had his rocket launched by being shot out of anenormous cannon, it was rocket power of its own that it put to gooduse when it found itself trapped in the moon's orbit. Verne calculatedprecisely the muzzle velocity a cannon would need to hurl a projectileto the moon. He built his rocket of aluminum, which at the time wasextremely rare and little known. But most important, he hit on thebasic fact of which rocket scientists are so sharply aware today that

a trip to the moon is purely a question of velocity. Were Jules Vernealive today, he might not be a novelist at all, but a rocket technicianat White Sands Proving Ground.

Heavier-than-air cruisers, like the famous China Clippers, arecommonplace today, but they were not in existence when Verne

wrote "Clipper of the Clouds." At a time when lighter-than-air flightwas only possible theoretically, Verne foresaw the coming of heavier-than-air flight, and filled his skies with armadas of giant planes that

whisked their passengers from one end of the earth to the other in amatter of hours. Today, it is possible to have breakfast in New Yorkand dinner in London just as Verne had it in his novel back in 1884.

At the peak of his powers, Verne was seriously injured when he wasshot in the thigh by his nephew, who had gone suddenly insane.

Verne's recovery took a long time, and the wound left him with alimp. He became prematurely aged and cynical. His imagination,however, remained unimpaired. In "The Castle of the Carpathians"

he clearly foresaw television, although he used his audio-videomechanism a means of communication, rather than entertainment.But then, what prophet could have foreseen Milton Berle and HowdyDoody?

In "The Master of the World," Verne made use of a combinationairplane, ship, submarine, and motor-propelled tank a weapon of

war which science has not yet been able to equal, but which may

43


46/55

come into being in the near future. If that should happen Verne'sbatting average as a seer would be 1,000.

Verne was still creating the world of the future when he finally died

of old age and overwork on March 20, 1905. Nine years later, in theFirst World War, many of the machines that had welled up from hisimagination the airplane, tank and submarine were to have theirfirst, experimental, tentative use.

The little boy who had thrilled to the ships on the dock at Nantes hadcome a long way. He had fulfilled his boyhood ambition of voyagingand had also gone on many voyages of the mind on which no realship could carry him. His imagination, that powerful vehicle had

taken him into tho world of 1951 and far beyond, too. For evennow, the world has not caught up with the teeming Ideas of Jules

Verne "The Father of Science Fiction."

THE END

Originally published in Space Busters#1 (Spring 1952)

44


47/55

HERE COME THE MARTIANS!

MR. BURKE sighed and settled back into his favorite chair. Now toread the Sunday papers while his dinner digested, and perhaps listento a little music on the radio. He turned on some quiet orchestramusic and was just snapping open the sports section when anannouncer's voice interrupted the program.

"Here is a follow-up on the earlier announcement about the meteorthat struck New Jersey. The meteor has been revealed to be aMartian space ship. I am on the spot now. I can see the Martianscoming out of their ship. They have long tentacles and...They seemto be doing something now, releasing some sort of gas! People arerunning and falling! IT'S POISON GAS...It is coming this way. Ican't...aghhh..."

The announcer's voice broke off and only static came from the radio.

Mr. Burke's paper dropped from his limp hand, he sat paralyzed.

"Martha, did you hear the radio? We have to get out of here! Thatship is just a few miles away!" They pulled their coats on and rushedout onto Hawthorne Avenue. Half the population of Newark seemedto be there, thronging the streets. Frightened people had wet towelsand kerchiefs around their faces to filter out the gas. Police cars andambulances were just pulling up to take care of the potential victims.

This was Newark, New Jersey, on Sunday evening, October 30, 1938.In New York City the same scenes were being repeated. Thousands ofpeople rushed to the city parks to escape the Martian death rays

which were now pouring from the space ship. Other thousandsdeluged the police and radio stations with phone calls, disruptingphone service completely by overloading the system.

45


48/55

What happened? That was the question on everybody's lips. As thehysteria died down, the authorities discovered that a radio dramaprogram had been to blame for the whole thing. A young radio actor,twenty-three year old Orson Welles, had been starring in a radiodramatization of H. G. Wells' "War of the Worlds." The story wasdramatized in the form of radio bulletins and eye witness reports, justas if the Martian invasion was taking place. The show was morerealistic than young Mr. Welles had bargained for.

Metropolitan New York and New Jersey were in an uproar. Normallyquiet citizens were hurling their furniture out of windows andrushing off with shotguns to fight the "invaders." Horace Dodd, a

Westfield, N. J. inhabitant, called the New York terminal of a Jerseybus line and warned them not to send any more passengers to theirdoom. When the puzzled dispatcher asked for more details, Mr.Dodd said that he didn't have time to talk, "The world is coming to anend, and I have a lot to do!" he added, pithily.

A lot of people besides Mr. Dodd must have had a lot of things to dobefore the world came to an end. A man from Brooklyn called up toreport that the family car was missing. His brother, who was ill in

bed, had, it turned out, leaped to his feet when he heard the radio,started up the car and disappeared.

Old age seemed to be better able to face Martians than the young.Three men, each over eighty, turned up at a Staten Island policestation waving deer rifles and aching for a shot at the "octopuses inthe rocket ship!" At the same time five students of Barnard Collegepassed out from fright. They were left unattended as the rest of thestudents were phoning their parents to come and rescue them from

the oncoming Martian monsters.

The fact that the "invasion" occurred on Sunday night made it easyfor the churches to play their part. Many evening services wereturned into end-of-the-world meetings. Local clerics noted a decidedand instantaneous rise in church attendance.

46


49/55

About the only people who prospered from the scare were thestockholders of the New York Telephone Company. Bell Systemofficials in Westchester reported that never before in their history hadas many calls been handled in one hour. Most of the callers whodeluged the press, radio and police just wanted to know more facts toconfirm or deny the radio reports and rumors they had heard. Onegentleman, however, was precise. He wanted to know at exactly

what time the world would come to an end. Perhaps he wanted toset his watch.

By nine PM, when the broadcast was over, it had spread fear andhysteria for miles around. People had collapsed and were being

treated for shock in the streets. Pedestrians, loaded down withfurniture, had succeeded in knotting up traffic so that it could barelymove. All communications were clogged, and the airlines had fullbookings on their outgoing flights.

By this time the police had located the source of the trouble and hadsent this message to all precincts and patrol cars:

"Radio program cause of panic. No truth in stories of invasion from

space."

They weren't long in finding that people believed the fantastic rumorscirculating more readily than they did the reassurances of the police.Thirty people moved into a Queens police station with bundles ofclothes and blankets to await transportation out of the stricken city.Their leader swore to the astonished desk sergeant that he had heardthe president make an announcement on the radio. F. D. R. had givenexact directions so here they were!

Monday morning dawned chill and humorless. Reaction was settingin and the people felt that they had been hoaxed and made fools of.

A sweating and hollow-eyed Orson Welles, who had been up allnight, was interviewed in his hotel room. He swore sincerely that hehad meant no harm, that it had not been a deliberate hoax. This wassmall relief for the near "victims" of death-rays and poison gas.

47


50/55

Welles' program was called "an asinine stunt" and "a crummy thing"as well as some other expressions used only in moments of extremeanger.

The Federal Communications Commission examined recordings madeof the broadcast and found that no rules had been violated. Therehad been announcements before, after, and during the play thatclearly identified it as a work of fiction. These were apparentlyoverlooked because of the realistic nature of the "on-the-spot"technique that was used. Apparently the "eye-witness" announcersreporting the Martian activities "died" for the benefit of the radioaudience with entirely too much realism.

The radio network decided that this way of handling a programwould not be used again on timely material. There was no one theycould blame. The sophisticated New Yorkers pushed their furnitureback in through the windows and stored away their shotguns andrifles for a future Martian invasion.

It will be a little harder to get them to believe the story next time. Orwill it?

THE END

Originally published inAmazing Adventures#6 (Fall 1952)

48


51/55

THE TRUESTORY OF FLYING SAUCERS

This is not fiction. Everything in this article is true.

* * *

"There it is!," the pilot shouted, "Right in front of us; it's moving now,it seems to be coming towards us...WATCH OUT!!"

The brilliant ball of fire dived toward the DC-3, growing larger as itapproached. The pilot twisted hard on the wheel, trying to avert whatseemed to be a certain crash. For one terrible instant the fierce greenlight filled the cabin of the plane; then it flashed by. The three menturned quickly to see where it had gone and gasped withamazement.

The green light was a ship of a type they had never seen before. It

had roared past the transport plane at a speed well over threehundred miles per hour, and stopped instantaneously. It was nowflying parallel with the DC-3, only 200 feet away, every detail visible.

It was as big as a B-29 and shaped like a cigar, with one small wingset well forward. There was no trace of a drive mechanism, no jets,engines or propellors. The only breaks in the surface of the mysterycraft were the lights under the nose and a row of glowing ports downthe side of the ship.

While the flyers examined the strange craft the passenger, from AirIntelligence, was busy on the radio. His report went directly to thecommanding officer of the air base who was already standing by inthe radar room.

The General leaned over the radar operator's shoulder when he

49


52/55

received the "blip" from the strange ship.

"Pick him up with the big antenna!"

"Cut out the small antenna and give it a pulse with the big one!" Thegeneral's words were sharp, his fingers tightened on the edge of thetable. The pulse went out, and the echo came back sharp and clearon the screen. An instant latter the communications officer turned tothe C.O....

"Our observer in the DC-3 reports that the object dipped in flight for asecond. The movement coincides exactly with the instant when the

radar pulse bounced off the ship!"

The blip on the radar screen was turning now, swinging off towardsthe side. The operator measured the movement and made a quickcalculation.

"The ship is going down behind that range of hills, sir. It will be offthe screen an a second.

"Mark the spot exactly; I'm going out there!"

The Jeeps tore down the road and turned off into the field where themysterious object rested. With the auto engines turned off the night

was very still. There was no sound or motion from the ship, just theeerie green light that illuminated the ground for hundreds of feet. Asmall group of officers clustered around the general while the soldiersspread out an a semi-circle. The night was still.

"What is it, sir?" a young lieutenant muttered through his clenchedteeth. "Where does it come from?"

"What is it, lieutenant? Your guess is as good as mine! As to where it

comes from, there is one thing we are sure of it doesnotcome fromearth! Nothing in science as we know it could cause a plane to

perform the way that one does. That thing comes fromspace!"

50


53/55

As if the general's words were a cue, a crack of light suddenlyappeared in the vessel's side. With machine-like slowness a portion ofthe metal skin swung out and down to form a ramp. The airmendrew back involuntarily as shadow appeared in the doorway. Downthe ramp stepped...

Who or whatwill step down the ramp, that is the one thing we don'tknow. All the other events except for an observed landing, havehappened; there are reliable witnesses and reports that areunshakable. Flying Saucers have been observed by army officers,physicists and aviators. Even professional astronomers, used to

dealing with the mysteries of the heavens have watched the objectsand recorded their strange movements. They have been contacted byradar and dipped in flight; they have been see landing in inaccessiblespots by many people. We have yet to find out, however, where theycome from or what species of beings operate them.

In 1949 the Air Force Intelligence abandoned Project "Saucer" andmade light of the entire flying saucer situation. They disclaimed allthe mysterious objects as weather balloons, or any other aerial

phenomena that might fit. Everyone laughed and flying saucer jokeswere overworked by the television comedians. Anyone who sawsaucers in the sky was supposed to have his brains on the slightlyloose and shaky side.

In spite of the tremendous pressure not to see things in the sky,responsible, reasonable people kept doing just that. In the past three

years so much unshakable evidence has poured in that the Air Forcehas re-opened the saucer situation. In public announcements and

newspaper ads they have asked anyone to bring reports to them; theystressed that the observers will not be laughed at.

Officially, the Air Force has no idea what the objects are or wherethey come from. Unofficially, many high ranking officers stated thatthe lights and objects in the sky cannot be of earthly origin. Aerialships that go from zero speed to hundreds of miles per hour in an

51


54/55

instance with no sign of propellors, jets or vapor trails are unknownto us. These officers know enough about foreign science to be surethat no other nation has developed secret techniques of this kind.

It ts often said that one picture is worth a thousand words; this ismore than true in the case of the flying saucers. The thought of shipsfrom another world is so fantastic that we hesitate to take someone's

word that the whole matter is true. Now, if we could look at a nice,clear photograph that would be different. Well, it so happens that

we can do just that.

On August 30, 1951, a young student in Texas saw a group of lightsshooting through the evening sky. Before they d1sappeared fromsight he had the presence of mind to lift the 35-mm camera he wasc

Date post:	03-Jun-2018
Category:	Documents
Upload:	perdustin
View:	216 times
Download:	0 times

Amazing Prose Adventures

Documents