Chapter 10

Throughout the night they drove hour after hour at terrific speed. The ship was running submerged, for McGuire was taking no slightest chance of their being observed from the air. He and the others slept at times, for the crew that handled the craft very evidently knew the exact course, and there were mechanical devices that insured their safety. A ray was projected continuously ahead of them; it would reflect back and give on an indicator instant warning of any derelict or obstruction. Another row of quivering needles gave by the same method the soundings from far ahead.

But the uncertainty of what their tomorrow might hold and the worry and dread lest he find himself unable to damage the big gun made real rest impossible for McGuire.

But he was happy and buoyant with hope when, at last, the green light from the ports showed that the sun was shining up above, and the slackening drive of the submarine's powerful motors told that their objective was in sight.

They lay quietly at last while a periscope of super-sensitiveness was thrust cautiously above the water. It brought in a panoramic view of the shoreline ahead, amplified it and projected the picture in clear-cut detail upon a screen. If Lieutenant McGuire had stood on the wet deck above and looked directly at the island the sight could have been no clearer. The colors of torn and blasted tree-growths showed in all their pale shades, and there was stereoscopic depth to the picture that gave no misleading illusions as to distance.

The shore was there with the white spray of breakers on a rocky shoal, and a beach beyond. And beyond that, in hard outline against a golden sky, was a gigantic tube that stood vertically in air to reach beyond the upper limits of the periscope's vision.

* * * * *

McGuire tingled at the sight. To be within reach of this weapon that had sent those blasting, devastating missiles upon the earth! He paced back and forth in the small room to stop and stare again, and resume his pacing that helped to while away the hours they must wait. For there were man-shapes swarming over the land, and the dull, blood-red of their loose uniforms marked them as members of the fighting force spawned by this prolific breed.

"Not a chance until they're out of the picture," said the impatient man; "they would snow us under. It's just as I thought: we must wait until the gun is ready to fire; then they will beat it. They won't want to be around when that big boy cuts loose."

"And then?" asked Althora.

"Then Sykes and I will take our collection of gallon flasks ashore, and I sure hope we don't stumble." He grinned cheerfully at the girl.

"That reinforced concrete dome seems to be where they get down into the ground; it is close to the base of the gun. We will go there--blow it open if we have to--but manage in some way to get down below. Then a time-fuse on the charge, and the boat will take me off, and we will leave as fast as these motors can drive us."

He omitted to mention any possible danger to Sykes and himself in the handling of their own explosive, and he added casually, "You will stay here and see that there is no slip-up on the getaway."

He had to translate the last remark into language the girl could understand. But Althora shook her head.

"You do try so hard to get rid of me, Tommy," the laughed, "but it is no use. I am going with you--do not argue--and I will help you with the attack. Three will work faster than two--and I am going."

McGuire was silent, then nodded his assent. He was learning, this Earth-man, what individual freedom really meant.

* * * * *

Only the western sky showed golden masses on the shining screen when McGuire spoke softly to the captain:

"Your men will put us ashore; you may ask them to stand by now." And to Professor Sykes, "Better get that 'soup' of yours ready to load."

The red-clad figures were growing dim on the screen, and the blotches of colors that showed where they were grouped were few. Some there were who left such groups to flee precipitately toward a waiting airship.

This was something the lieutenant had not foreseen. He had expected that the force that served the gun would have some shock-proof shelter; he had not anticipated a fighting ship to take them away.

"That's good," he exulted; "that is a lucky break. If they just get out of sight we will have the place to ourselves."

There were no red patches on the screen now, and the picture thrown before them showed the big ship, its markings of red and white distinct even in the shadow-light of late afternoon, rising slowly into the air. It gathered speed marvelously and vanished to a speck beyond the land.

"We're getting the breaks," said McGuire crisply. "All right--let's go!"

The submarine rose smoothly, and the sealed doors in the superstructure were opened while yet there was water to come trickling in. Men came with a roll of cloth that spread open to the shape of a small boat, while a metal frame expanded within it to hold it taut.

McGuire gasped with dismay as a seaman launched it and leaped heavily into the frail shell to attach a motor to one end.

"Metal!" the captain reassured him; "woven metal, and water-tight! You could not pierce it with anything less than a projector."

* * * * *

Sykes was ready with one of the crystal flasks as the boat was brought alongside, and McGuire followed with another. They took ten of the harmless-looking containers, and both men held their breaths as the boat grounded roughly on the boulder-strewn shore.

They lifted them out and bedded them in the sand, then returned to the submarine. This time Althora, too, stepped into the boat. They loaded in the balance of the containers; the motor purred. Another landing, and they stood at last on the island, where a mammoth tube towered into the sky and the means for its destruction was at their feet.

But there was little time; already the light was dimming, and the time for the firing of the big weapon was drawing near. The men worked like mad to carry the flasks to the base of the gun, where a dome of concrete marked the entrance to the rooms below.

Each man held a flask of the deadly fluid when Althora led the way where stairs went deep down into the earth under the domed roof. This part of the work had been foreseen, and the girl held a slender cylinder that threw a beam of light, intensely bright.

They found a surprising simplicity in the arrangements underground. Two rooms only had been carved from the solid rock, and one of these ended in a wall of gray metal that could be only the great base of the gun. But nowhere was a complication of mechanism that might be damaged or destroyed, nor any wiring or firing device.

A round door showed sharp edges in the gray metal, but only the strength of many men could have removed its huge bolts, and these two knew there must be other doors to seal in the mighty charge.

"Not a wire!" the scientist exclaimed. "How do they fire it?" The answer came to him with the question.

"Radio, of course; and the receiving set is in the charge itself; the barrel of the gun is its own antenna. They must fire it from a distance--back on the island where we were, perhaps. It would need to be accurately timed."

"Come on!" shouted McGuire, and raised the flask of explosive to his shoulder.

* * * * *

Each one knew the need for haste; each waited every moment for the terrible blast of gun-fire that would jar their bodies to a lifeless pulp or, by detonating their own explosive, destroy them utterly. But they carried the flasks again to the top, and the three of them worked breathlessly to place their whole supply where McGuire directed.

The massive barrel of the gun was beside them; it was held in tremendous castings of metal that bolted to anchorage in the ground. One great brace had an overhanging flange; the explosive was placed beneath it.

Professor Sykes had come prepared. He attached a detonator to one of the flasks, and while the other two were placing the explosive in position he fastened two wires to the apparatus with steady but hurrying fingers; then at full speed he ran with the spool from which the wires unwound.

McGuire and Althora were behind him, running for the questionable safety of the sand-hills. Sykes stopped in the shelter of a tiny valley where winds had heaped the sand.

"Down!" he shouted. "Get down--behind that sand dune, there!"

He dropped beside them, the bared ends of the wires in his hands. There was a battery, too, a case no larger than his hands. Professor Sykes, it appeared, had gained some few concessions from his friends, who had learned to respect him in the field of science.

One breathless moment he waited; then--

"Now!" he whispered, and touched the battery's terminals with the bare wires.

* * * * *

To McGuire it seemed, in that instant of shattering chaos, that the great gun itself must have fired. He had known the jar of heavy artillery at close range; he had had experience with explosives. He had even been near when a government arsenal had thrown the countryside into a hell of jarring, ear-splitting pandemonium. But the concussion that shook the earth under him now was like nothing he had known.

The hill of sand that sheltered them vanished to sweep in a sheet above their heads. And the air struck down with terrific weight, then left them in an airless void that seemed to make their bodies swell and explode. It rushed back in a whirling gale to sweep showers of sand and pebbles over the helpless forms of the three who lay battered and stunned.

An instant that was like an age; then the scientist pointed with a weak and trembling hand where a towering spire of metallic gray leaned slowly in the air. So slowly it moved, to the eyes of the watchers--a great arc of gathering force and speed that shattered the ground where it struck.

"The gun!" was all that the still-dazed lieutenant could say. "The--the gun!" And he fell to shivering uncontrollably, while tears of pure happiness streamed down his face.

The mammoth siege gun--the only weapon for bombardment of the helpless Earth--was a mass of useless metal, a futile thing that lay twisted and battered on the sands of the sea.

* * * * *

The submarine now showed at a distance; it had withdrawn, by prearrangement, to the shelter of the deeper water. McGuire looked carefully at the watch on his wrist, and listened to make certain that the explosion had not stopped it. Sykes had told him the length of the Venusian day--twenty hours and nineteen minutes of Earth time, and he had made his calculations from the day of the Venusians. And, morning and night, McGuire had set his watch back and had learned to make a rough approximation of the time of that world.

The watch now said five-thirteen, and the sun was almost gone; a line of gold in the western sky; and McGuire knew that it was a matter only of minutes till the blast of the big gun would rock the island. One heavy section of the great barrel was resting upon the shattered base, and McGuire realized that this blocking of the monster's throat must mean it would tear itself and the island around it to fragments when it fired. He ran toward the beach and waved his arms wildly in air to urge on the speeding craft that showed dim and vague across the heaving sea.

It drove swiftly toward them and stopped for the launching of the little boat. There was a delay, and McGuire stood quivering with impatience where the others, too, watched the huddle of figures on the submarine's deck.

It was Althora who first sensed their danger. Her voice was shrill with terror as she seized McGuire's arm and pointed landward.

"Tommy--Tommy!" she said. "They are coming! I saw them!"

* * * * *

A swarming of red figures over the nearby dunes gave quick confirmation of her words. McGuire looked about him for a weapon--anything to add efficiency to his bare hands--and the swarm was upon them as he looked.

He leaped quickly between Althora and the nearest figures that stretched out grasping hands, and a red face went white under the smashing impact of the flyer's fist.

They poured over the sand-hills now---scores of leaping man-shapes--and McGuire knew in an instant of self-accusation that there had been a shelter after all, where a portion of the enemy force had stayed. The explosion had brought them, and now--

He struck in a raging frenzy at the grotesque things that came racing upon them. He knew Sykes was fighting too. He tore wildly at the lean arms that bound him and kept him from those a step or two away who were throwing the figure of a girl across the shoulders of one of their men, while her eyes turned hopelessly toward McGuire.

They threw the two men upon the sand and crowded to kneel on the prostrate bodies and strike and tear with their long hands, then tied them at ankles and wrists with metal cords, and raised them helpless and bound in the air.

One of the red creatures pointed a long arm toward the demolished gun and shrieked something in a terror-filled tone. The others, at the sound, raced off through the sand, while those with the burden of the three captives followed as best they could.

"The gun!" said Professor Sykes in a thick voice: the words were jolted out of him as the two who carried him staggered and ran. "They know--that it--hasn't--gone off--"

* * * * *

The straggling troop that strung out across the dim-lit dunes was approaching another domed shelter of heavy concrete. They crowded inside, and the bodies of the three were thrown roughly to the floor, while the red creatures made desperate haste to close the heavy door. Then down they went into the deeper safety of a subterranean room, where the massive walls about them quivered to a nerve-deadening jar. It shook those standing to the floor, and the silence that followed was changed to a bedlam by the inhuman shrieking of the creatures who were gloating over their safety and the capture they had achieved. They leaped and capered in a maniacal outburst and ceased only at the shrill order of one who was in command.

At his direction the three were carried out of doors and thrown upon the ground. McGuire turned his head to see the face of Althora. There was blood trickling from a cut on her temple, and her eyes were dazed and blurred, but she managed a trembling smile for the anxious eyes of the man who could only struggle hopelessly against the thin wires that held him.

Althora hurt! Bound with those cutting metal cords! Althora--in such beastly hands! He groaned aloud at the thought.

"You should never have come; I should never have let you. I have got you into this!" He groaned again in an agony of self-reproach, then lay silent and waited for what must come. And the answer to his speculations came from the night above, where the lights of a ship marked the approach of an enemy craft.

* * * * *

The ships of the red race could travel fast, as McGuire knew, but the air monster whose shining, pointed beak hung above them where they lay helpless in the torturing bonds of fine wire, was to give him a new conception of speed.

It shot to the five thousand-foot level, when the captives were safe aboard, and the dark air shrieked like a tortured animal where the steel shell tore it to tatters. And the radio, in an adjoining room, never ceased in its sputtering, changing song.

The destruction of the Earth-bombarding gun! The capture of the two Earth-men who had dared to fight back! And a captive woman of the dreaded race of true Venusians! There was excitement and news enough for one world. And the discordant singing of the radio was sounding in the ears of the leaders of that world.

They were waiting on the platform in the great hall where Sykes and McGuire had stood, and their basilisk eyes glared unwinkingly down at the three who were thrown at their feet.

The leader of them all, Torg himself, arose from his ornate throne and strode forward for a closer view of the trophies his huntsmen had brought in. A whistled word from him and the wires that had bound Althora's slim ankles were cut, while a red-robed warrior dragged her roughly to her feet to stand trembling and swaying as the blood shot cruelly through her cramped limbs.

Torg's eyes to McGuire were those of a devil feasting on human flesh, as he stared appraisingly and gloatingly at the girl who tried vainly to return the look without flinching. He spoke for a moment in a harsh tone, and the seated councilors echoed his weird notes approvingly.

"What does he say?" McGuire implored, though he knew there could be nothing of good in that abominable voice. "What does he say, Althora?"

* * * * *

The face that turned slowly to him was drained of the last vestige of color. "I--do not--know," she said in a whisper scarcely audible; "but he thinks--terrible things!"

She seemed speaking of some nightmare vision as she added haltingly, "There is a fleet of many ships, and Torg is in command. He has thousands of men, and he goes forth to conquer your Earth. He goes there to rule." She had to struggle to bring the words to her lips now. "And--he takes me--with--him!"

"No--no!" the flyer protested, and he struggled insanely to free his hands from the wires that cut the deeper into his flesh. The voice of Althora, clear and strong now, brought him back.

"I shall never go, Tommy; never! The gift of eternal life is mine, but it is mine to keep only if I will. But, for you and your friend--" She tried to raise her hands to her trembling lips.

"Yes," said Lieutenant McGuire quietly, "for us--?"

But there were some things the soft lips of Althora refused to say. Again she tried vainly to raise her hands, then turned her white, stricken face that a loved one might not see the tears that were mingling with the blood-stains on her cheeks, nor read in her eyes the horror they beheld.

But she found one crumb of comfort for the two doomed men.

"You will live till the sailing of the ships, Tommy," she choked, "and then--we will go together, Tommy--you and I."

Her head was bowed and her shoulders shaking, but she raised her head proudly erect as she was seized by a guard whose blood-red hands forced her from the room.

And the dry, straining eyes of Lieutenant McGuire, that watched her going, saw the passing to an unknown fate of all he held dear, and the end of his unspoken dreams.

He scarcely felt the grip of the hands that seized him, nor knew when he and Sykes were carried from the room where Torg, the Emperor, held his savage court. The stone walls of the room where they were thrown could not hold his eyes; they looked through and beyond to see only the white and piteous face of a girl whose lips were whispering: "We will go together, Tommy--you and I."

(_Concluded in the next issue_)

MYSTERIOUS CARLSBAD CAVERN

The largest cavern ever discovered, at Carlsbad Cavern, N. M., is soon going to be explored.

Carlsbad Cavern is so large that that three sky-scrapers a half-mile apart could be built in the largest of its innumerable "rooms," according to Mr. Nicholson, who was there once before, about a year ago. Only 22 miles of the cavern's apparently limitless tunnels have been explored, revealing such natural beauties that President Coolidge established it as a national monument.

The stalagmites in the cavern tower 100 feet high. The age of the cavern was put at 60,000,000 years by Dr. Willis T. Lee of the National Geographic Society, after his survey three years ago.

The caverns were discovered fifteen years ago by a New Mexican cowboy named Jim White, according to Mr. Nicholson. White was riding across a desert waste one day when he saw what appeared to be smoke from a volcano. After riding three hours in the direction of the smoke he discovered that it was an enormous cloud of bats issuing from the mouth of a gigantic cavern. He decided the cavern deserved exploration, and a few years later he and a Mexican boy were lowered in a barrel over the 750-foot cliff which overhangs the cavern.

The stalagmites of the cavern, according to Mr. Nicholson, are very vibrant and resonant. One can play a "xylophone solo" on them with practice, he said, but it is dangerous, since a certain pitch would crack them.

The temperature of the cavern is 56 degrees Fahrenheit, never varies, day and night, winter and summer. The air is purified every twenty-four hours in some mysterious fashion, though there are no air currents. This is explained by the theory that there exists a great subterranean stream at a lower level, probably 1,200 feet down.

Specimens of stalagmites will be collected and reconstructed for the American Museum of Natural History. The explorers expect to find also flying fish, flying salamanders, rare insects and thousands of bats. A Government representative will go along, and drawings and motion pictures will be made.

_The Readers' Corner_

_A Meeting Place for Readers of ASTOUNDING STORIES_

_A Letter and Comment_

Three or four times in the year we have been issuing Astounding Stories the Editor has received letters calling attention to fancied scientific errors in our stories. All these letters were published, but until now we have not cut in on the space of "The Readers' Corner" to answer such objections because they were very obviously the result of hasty or inaccurate readings.

The other week one more such letter reached us--from Mr. Philip Waite, this time--claiming that there was "an atrocious flaw" in two stories of Captain S. P. Meek's. This we could not let go unanswered, first because of the strong terms used, and second because the objection would sound to many like a true criticism; so we turned the letter over to Captain Meek, and his answer follows Mr. Waite's letter below.

We welcome criticism of stories in our "The Readers' Corner." Never yet have we withheld from it any criticism or brickbats of importance--and we never intend to. But space is limited; there's not room now for all the good letters that come in; and we do not want to intrude too much with editorial comment. Therefore when we do not stop and answer all criticisms we are not necessarily admitting they are valid. In most cases everyone will quickly see their lack of logic or accuracy, and in the rest we will ask you to remember that our Staff is meticulously careful about the scientific facts and laws and possibilities that enter our stories, so it's extremely unlikely that anything very "atrocious" will get by.

Well, we'd better cut short now, before we take up too much "Corner" room. But first, thanks to Captain Meek for going to the trouble of defending two stories that needed no defense. And thanks, too, to Mr. Waite, for his kindness in writing in to inform us of what he thought--unquestionably because of hasty reading--were errors.--_The Editor._

P. S. (Now we'll have to be _super_ careful of our science, for if Mr. Waite ever gets anything on us--!!)

Dear Editor:

Just a note to tell you to keep up the good work. There was an atrocious flaw, however, in the two stories by Capt. S. P. Meek about the Heaviside Layer. How, may I ask, do meteors penetrate through that imaginary substance which is too much for a powerful space flyer? Also, how about refraction? A substance denser than air would produce refraction that would have been noticed long ago. I don't mind minor errors, but an author has no right to ignore the facts so outrageously. Fiction goes too far when an author can invent such false conditions.

In the latest issue "Stolen Brains" was fine, up to the Dr. Bird standard. "The Invisible Death" was good enough, but too much like the general run to be noteworthy. "Prisoners on the Electron"--couldn't stomach it. Too hackneyed. "Jetta of the Lowlands," by Ray Cummings; nuff said. "An Extra Man"--original idea and perfectly written. One of the reasons I hang on to Science Fiction. A perfect gem.--Philip Waite, 3400 Wayne Ave., New York, N. Y.

Dear Editor:

May I use enough space in your discussion columns to reply briefly to the objections raised to the science in my two stories, "Beyond the Heaviside Layer" and "The Attack from Space"? Understand that I am not arguing that there actually is a thick wall of semi-plastic material surrounding the earth through which a space flyer could not pass. If I did, I would automatically bar myself from writing interplanetary stories, a thing that is far from my desires. I do wish to point out, however, that such a layer might exist, so far as we at present know. The objections to which I wish to reply are two: first, "How do meteors pass through that imaginary substance which is too much for a powerful space flyer?" and second, "How about refraction?"

To reply to the first we must consider two things, kinetic energy and resistance to the passage of a body. The kinetic energy of a moving body is represented by the formula 1/2 mv^2 where m is the mass of the body and v the velocity. The resistance of a substance to penetration of a body is expressed by the formula A f_c where A is the area of the body in contact with the resisting medium and f_c is the coefficient of sliding friction between the penetrating body and the resisting medium. Consider first the space flyer. To hold personnel the flyer must be hollow. In other words, m must be small as compared to A. A meteor, on the other hand, is solid and dense with a relatively large m and small A. Given a meteor and a space flyer of the same weight, the volume of the meteor would be much smaller, and as the area in contact with the resisting medium is a function of volume, the total resistance to be overcome by the space flyer would be much greater than that to be overcome by the meteor. Again, consider the relative velocities of a meteor and a space flyer coming from the earth toward the heaviside layer. The meteor from space would have an enormous velocity, so great that if it got into even very rare air, it would become incandescent. As it must go through dense air, the space flyer could attain only a relatively low velocity before it reached the layer. Remember that the velocity is squared. A one thousand pound meteor flying with a velocity 100 times that of the space ship would have 100^2 or 10,000 times the kinetic energy of the space ship while it would also have less friction to overcome due to its smaller size.

If my critic wishes to test this out for himself, I can suggest a very simple experiment. Take a plank of sound pine wood, two inches thick by twelve inches wide and four feet long. Support it on both ends and then pile lead slabs onto it, covering the whole area of the board. If the wood be sound the board will support a thousand pounds readily. Now remove the lead slabs and fire a 200 grain lead bullet at the board with a muzzle or initial velocity of 1,600 feet per second. The bullet will penetrate the board very readily. Consider the heaviside layer as the board, the space ship as the lead slabs and the bullet as the meteor and you have the answer.

Consider one more thing. According to the stories, the layer grew thicker and harder to penetrate as the flyer reached the outer surface. The meteor would strike the most viscous part of the layer with its maximum energy. As its velocity dropped and its kinetic energy grew less, it would meet material easier to penetrate. On the other hand the flyer, coming from the earth, would meet material easy to penetrate and gradually lose its velocity and consequently its kinetic energy. When it reached the very viscous portion of the layer, it would have almost no energy left with which to force its way through. Remember, the Mercurians made no attempt to penetrate the layer until a portion of it had been destroyed by Carpenter's genius.

As for the matter of refraction. If you will place a glass cube or other form in the air, you will have no difficulty in measuring the refraction of the light passing through it. If, however, the observer would place himself inside a hollow sphere of glass so perfectly transparent as to be invisible, would not the refraction he would observe be taken by him to be the refraction of air when in reality it would be the combined refraction of the glass sphere and the air around him?

I have taken glass as the medium to illustrate this because my critic made the statement that "a substance denser than air would produce refraction that would have been noticed long ago." However nowhere in either story is the statement made that the material of the heaviside layer was denser than air. The statement was that it was more viscous. Viscosity is not necessarily a function of density. A heavy oil such as you use in the winter to lubricate your automobile has a much higher viscosity than water, yet it will float on water, i. e. it is less dense. There is nothing in the story that would prevent the heaviside layer from having a coefficient of refraction identical with that of air.

To close, let me repeat that I am not arguing that such a layer exists. I do not believe that it does and I do believe that my generation will probably see the first interplanetary expedition start and possibly see the first interplanetary trip succeed. I do, however, contend that the science in my stories is accurate until it transcends the boundaries of present day knowledge and ceases to be science and becomes "super-science," and that my super-science is developed in a logical manner from science and that nothing in present knowledge makes the existence of such a layer impossible--S. P. Meek. Capt. Ord. Dept., U. S. A.

_Likes Long Novelettes_

Dear Editor:

I have just finished reading the August issue of your magazine. I am going to rate the different stories in per cents. 100% means excellent; 75% fairly good; 50% passable; 25% just an ordinary story.

I give "Marooned Under The Sea," by Paul Ernst, 100%; 75% for "The Attack From Space," by Captain S. P. Meek. "The Problem in Communication," by Miles J. Breuer, M. D. and "Jetta of the Lowlands," by Ray Cummings; 50% for "The Murder Machine," by Hugh B. Cave and "Earth, The Marauder," by Arthur J. Burks; 25% for "The Terrible Tentacles of L-472," by Sewell Peaslee Wright.

I am happy to say that since I have been reading your magazine, I have induced at least ten of my friends to be constant readers of this magazine.

I like the long novelettes much better than continued novels, and hope that in the future we will get bigger and better novelettes.--Leonard Estrin, 1145 Morrison Ave., Bronx, N. Y.

_Hasn't Decided_

Dear Editor:

Move over, you old-timers, and let a newcomer say something.

A few months ago I didn't read any Science Fiction. Now I read it all. I haven't decided yet which magazine I like best.

I was a little disappointed when you didn't have another story in the September copy by R. P. Starzl, who wrote "Planet of Dread." I thought you would hold on to a good author when you find one.

I would also like another story by the fellow who wrote the serial "Murder Madness."

I like short stories best.

That idea of a mechanical nirvana in Miles J. Breuer's story was good.

"Jetta of the Lowlands?" Opinion reserved. I like the action of the story, but I hate a hero who is always bragging about himself.

Don't think I'm complaining, but nothing is perfect.

Why not try to get a story of A. Merritt's, or Ralph Milne Farley's?--A. Dougherty, 327 North Prairie Ave., Sioux Falls, So. Dak.

_Announcement_

Dear Editor:

May I enter "The Readers' Corner" to announce that a branch of The Scienceers has recently been formed in Clearwater, Florida, by a group of Science Fiction enthusiasts?

We have a library of 175 Science Fiction magazines, including a complete file of Astounding Stories to date. We hold weekly meetings at which scientific topics are discussed, and current Science Fiction stories commented upon.

As the first branch of The Scienceers, we are striving to achieve a success that will be a mark for other branches to aim at.--Carlton Abernathy, P. O. Box 584, Clearwater, Fla.

_From Merrie England_

Dear Editor:

I came across your May publication of Astounding Stories the other day, and I cannot resist writing to you to congratulate you on the most interesting magazine I have ever read. I am now determined to take it every month. Re "The Atom Smasher," it is A-1. I have read several interplanetary stories over here but none to touch those of your magazine.

Best wishes for the success of your book and its authors.--J. C. Atkinson, 17 Balaclava Rd., Sheffield, England.

_Starting Young_

Dear Editor:

You'll excuse my writing, for it is the end of vacation.

I like your book very much, which many other readers approve of. Some dislikes, of course, everyone has, and I have three which many readers have, too. First, I wish the magazine were bigger and the paper better. Second, have more stories and raise the price to 25c. Third, have stories of the future such as "Earth, the Marauder," and stories of lost Atlantis, the fourth dimension, other planets, atoms and electrons.--Jack Farber, Payette, Idaho.

P. S. I am 11 years old and interested in science.

_Doesn't Like Serials_

Dear Editor:

I am a recent reader of the Astounding Stories magazine. I am going to keep getting the magazine, as I like it very much.

I did not like "Murder Madness," or Burks' "Earth, the Marauder" very much. I do not think "Murder Madness" is the type of story that belongs in this magazine. I do not like continued stories very much as I hate to break off at an interesting point and wait a whole month before I can read the next installment or conclusion of the story. The front piece of the magazine is very good, and except for the criticisms mentioned above the magazine is excellent.--Kempt Mitchell.

_A Staunch Defender_

Dear Editor:

At one time a friend introduced your excellent little publication to me. I read it and enjoyed every paragraph of it. This issue starred "The Monsters of Moyen," which I consider a real super-science story. I have followed "The Readers' Corner" quite a time.

In the September issue I saw where someone made a commentary on the magazine. One of the things they said was that the paper should be of a better grade. It is true that this would help, but "our" magazine is not half full of advertisements to pay for this expense. Dear friends, this is no Saturday Evening Post. Don't ask too much. Then, you may take in consideration that other magazines of Science Fiction have no better grade of paper than this, for I have purchased several.

I have but one thing to say as an improvement for it. That is, why shouldn't there be a Quarterly? Other Science Fiction magazines have them. They have complete stories and are double in size and price. Dear Editor, please, for the public's sake, put out a Quarterly. I'm sure others would like one.--H. C. Kaufman, Jr., 1730 N. Monroe St., Baltimore, Maryland.

_Announcement_

Dear Editor:

We would appreciate it very much if you would print this in your "Readers' Corner" department.

We wish to inform the readers of Astounding Stories of an organization lately formed, called The Boys' Scientifiction Club. Its purpose is to promote scientific interest among boys between the ages of 10 and 15, to encourage the reading of Science Fiction and scientific works, and to create a bond of friendship among them.

A circulating library, composed of Science Fiction books, magazines, articles, etc., is being constructed to circulate among members who desire to read any of the contents.

Officers are: President-Librarian, Forrest J. Ackerman, 530 Staples Ave., San Francisco, Cal.; Secretary-Treasurer, Frank Sipos, 174 Staples Ave., San Francisco, California.

Address all letters concerning membership to the President. He will be glad to answer all letters and explain particulars of the club. Thank you for your kindness.--Linus Hogenmiller, Vice-President B. S. C., 502 N. Washington St., Farmington, Missouri.

_But--Ray Cummings Writes Us Only Brand New Stories!_

Dear Editor:

I want to commend Astounding Stories on carrying out an idea which I have had in mind for some time; that is, some scientific articles. "A Star That Breathes," in the July number, was very interesting, as were the two articles in the August copy. However, I hope that this is only the start of a valuable new addition to Astounding Stories. There should be at least five or six in each magazine, and I think most of the readers would prefer them at the end of the stories instead of in the back of the magazine. Another thing that is absolutely essential if Astounding Stories would hold its own as a high-class Science Fiction magazine is a scientific editorial in the front of the book. The way it starts off abruptly onto a story gives the impression of a cheap publication.

A lot of your readers have been setting up a clamor for stories by Ray Cummings. While it is true that he has written a few good stories, you will find that his antiquated stuff is not being printed in any of the other Science Fiction magazine, but only in ones devoted to adventure-stories. For the sake of your many readers who would like to see "our magazine" keep abreast of the times, Cummings should be dropped and some of the peerless authors of to-day employed. As an advance along this line you already have Capt. S. P. Meek, Harl Vincent, Lilith Lorraine, Edmond Hamilton, and, in the latest copy, R. F. Starzl. "The Planet of Dread," by R. F. Starzl was the best story in the August issue. A wealth of ideas was contained in that treatise of life on a young, warm planet, and the idea of fooling the liquid intelligence by thought-suggestion is quite novel but entirely reasonable. Mr. Starzl is an author of the highest type and ability, and you will do well to secure more stories from his typewriter.

I was glad to see that the cover has finally been changed from the conventional blue background, and I hope we will have a little variation from now on. Concerning illustrations, Wesso is a great artist, and aside from a few scientific errors his covers are excellent. The inside drawings could be improved, however.

I hope for your continued success--Wayne D. Bray, Campbell, Mo.

_Are We All "Morons?"_

Dear Editor:

Having perused three issues of your magazine, I must agree that its title is well chosen. The stories are nearly all "astounding"; astounding in that they utterly ignore every scientific fact and discovery of the past ten centuries.

The cold of inter-stellar space; its lack of oxygen; the interplanetary effects of gravitation--all are passed over as if non-existent.

An "anti-gravity ovoid"--of which no description is given--if worn in a man's hat, makes his whole body weightless.

Men, buildings and cities float through the air or become invisible, yet not the least semi-scientific explanation is made as to the how of it all.

In other words, the pattern of your stories appears to have been taken from the Arabian Nights and from Grimm's Fairy Tales--but with not a millionth part of the interest.

How anyone, save a young child or a moron, can read and enjoy such futile nonsense is incredible.

If your writers would (like Jules Verne) only invent some pseudo-scientific explanation for their marvels, your publication might then be read with pleasure--but why do so when trash is acceptable without thought behind it!--M. Clifford Johnston, 451 Central Avenue, Newark, N. J.

_A Wesso Fan_

Dear Editor:

Let me congratulate you on the September issue of Astounding Stories. It is the best issue you have published yet. I noticed in this issue that you had four illustrations by Wesso. Though that is the most you have ever had, I think it would be much better if all the illustrations were by him.

However, getting down to brass tacks, the reason I'm typing this letter is to ask you to publish an Astounding Stories Quarterly. You could have it contain twice as much reading material as in the monthly and charge forty cents a copy for it. It would be much better than a semi-monthly and I am quite sure it would "go over" big.--Thomas L. Kratzer, 3593 Tullamore Rd., University Heights, Ohio.

_Bang--Bang--Bang_

Dear Editor:

I have read the August Astounding Stories and greatly enjoyed the fiction, but "The Readers' Corner" gave me a good deal of amusement. Some of your readers take their fiction so seriously!

Take the "Brick or Two" from George L. Williams and Harry Heillisan, for instance. They want Astounding Stories filled with material from authors that appear in other magazines--because your readers "are used to the standards set by those publications," etc. And again, "you should have some one who is well qualified to pass upon the science in the stories." For the love of Pete, if people want scientific treatises, why don't they buy books and magazines dealing with the subject? There are many on the market--serious and dull enough for anyone. But for our fiction magazines, let's have it pure and unadulterated, the more improbably the better.

What possible difference does it make if, in a story, the moon has a crater every ten feet, or the black sky of outer space were blazing with moons and aurora borealises, or the sun were in a double eclipse!

We read stories to be amused, not for technical information, so we certainly don't want "a scientific editorial in each issue by some 'eminent scientist.'"

As for a department in which readers could write their opinions of the stories and suggest improvements in the conduct of the magazine, what else is "The Readers' Corner?"

Why not adopt a tolerant attitude, and instead of howling about petty faults and mistakes get a good laugh over them? As for telling writers and editors "how to do it," we would only expose our ignorance and inability and make ourselves ridiculous.

If we think we could do so much better, let's try it. Write a story ourselves or start running a magazine!

Astounding Stories is all right as is. We like it "different." We want different authors from those of other magazines. What is the use of having various publications if they must all be conducted along identical lines?

Now for your writers: Mr. R.F. Starzl is easily the best. His story, "The Planet of Dread," is full of thrills and imagination and clever situations that are well developed and surmounted. One thing that is rather remarkable in this class of story, the hero gets himself and his companion out of every difficulty by his own ingenuity. The story moves along with interest and thrills in every paragraph, and is really my ideal of a "super-scientific" yarn; i.e., not stuffed with tiresome technical data. Let's have more from this interesting author.--C.E. Bush, Decatur, Ark.

_Assorted Bouquets_

Dear Editor:

Before commenting upon the September issue of your wonderful magazine, I would like to personally thank Mr. Bates for the kind reply to my former letter. It shows that at least one editor glanced over my literary ramblings.

Now for comments on the September issue. I placed the stories in the following order, which is based upon their merit:

"Marooned Under the Sea"; "Terrible Tentacles of L-472"; "Jetta of the Lowlands"; "The Attack from Space"; "A Problem in Communication"; "Earth the Marauder," and "The Murder Machine."

Your serials are the best I have ever read in any magazine; your latest one, "Jetta of the Lowlands," promises to be an A-1 top-notcher.

Your artists, H.W. Wessolowski and J. Fleming Gould, draw the finest illustrations I have ever seen anywhere.

"The Readers' Corner" is a fine corner which can only be improved by making it larger.

The stories scheduled for the October issue look good to me. Am glad to see that Dr. Bird is returning. Will sign off now wishing Astounding Stories all the luck it deserves.--Edwin Anderson, 1765 Southern Boulevard, Bronx, N.Y.C., N.Y.

_A Request_

Dear Editor:

I thought I would drop you just a line to comment on the authors now writing for "our" magazine.

Among the best are: R. F. Starzl, Edmond Hamilton, Harl Vincent, Ray Cummings and Captain S. P. Meek. However, there is one brilliant author whose fascinating stories have, to date, failed to appear in our magazine. The man I am referring to is Ed Earl Repp. Please have a story by him in our magazine as soon as possible.

I am sure other readers will agree with me when I say that Mr. Repp writes exceedingly thrilling and exciting Science Fiction tales. Let's see many stories by him in the forthcoming issues of Astounding Stories.--Forrest J. Ackerman, 530 Staples Avenue, San Francisco, California.

_Thank You, Mr. Lorenzo_

Dear Editor:

Several Science Fiction magazines will have to struggle along without my patronage. Why? Because they flew (literally speaking) over my head with all kinds of science. I want some science, but mostly fiction. I couldn't understand what they were writing about, so I lost interest. I can read a single copy of a good magazine from cover to cover in one day, but let me lose interest in it by having too much dry matter and I just don't buy that book again.

Your magazine is the best of all Science Fiction magazines, which means that I can read and understand the tales in Astounding Stories. So you get my trade. You're trying your best to supply me with interesting stories so if there is an occasional dry story (to me), I just remember one thing: you, as Editor, are a human being like myself; so, neither one of us being perfect, I just forgive and go on buying.--Jas Lorenzo, 644 Hanover St., San Francisco, Cal.

_Suggestions_

Dear Editor:

"Earth, the Marauder," by Arthur J. Burks, gets four stars. It is one of the most astounding stories I have ever read. I hope you have more stories by Arthur J. Burks on schedule for early issues. "Jetta of the Lowlands," by Ray Cummings, "Marooned Under the Sea," by Paul Ernst (a sequel soon, I hope). "The Terrible Tentacles of L-472," by S.P. Wright and "The Attack from Space," by S.P. Meek (let's have another sequel), all get three stars. I hope that S.P. Wright will write more stories of strange planets.

I think that your serials should all be book-length novels with the installments from thirty-five to fifty pages in length. Don't publish novelettes (thirty to sixty-five pages) as serials.

In your August issue you mention that you may some day publish Astounding Stories twice a month. I would rather have you increase the price to twenty-five cents, give us as much material as Five Novels Monthly, and smooth cut edges.

Wesso's cover illustrations are improving each month. I am glad to see more of his illustrations inside.

Since so many readers ask for reprints, why not give us an occasional one?--Jack Darrow, 4225 N. Spaulding Ave., Chicago, Illinois.

"_A Flop_"

Dear Editor:

I have read Astounding Stories since its first issue, and I am convinced that it is without a peer in the field of Science Fiction. This preeminence is due to the fact that the magazine regularly contains the work of the best contemporary writers of scientific fantasy, such as Cummings, Rousseau, Leinster, Burks and Hamilton.

Certain readers, unaccustomed to such rich fare, ask for stories by lesser lights. For a time these requests went unheeded; but of late it seems they are getting results--more's the pity.

Your September issue contained a story called "A Problem in Communication" by Miles J. Breuer, M.D. Now, the good doctor may be a "wow" in other magazines, but his stuff is not up to the standard of Astounding Stories. His initial effort in this magazine was dull and uninspired. It lacked the sustained interest and gripping action of your other stories. It was, to put it bluntly, a flop.

In spite of this sad example, several readers are still clamoring for more stuff from the small-timers. If they get their way--which Allah forbid!--it will mean the downfall of Astounding Stories. Why ruin a truly great magazine by catering to a misguided minority?--George K. Addison, 94 Brandt Place, Bronx, New York.

"_No Favorites_"

Dear Editor:

I found your magazine on the newsstand while looking for another kind. The cover picture looked interesting so I bought Astounding Stories instead of the other. Since that moment I have been a steady reader.

I can see no way to improve your magazine unless it is to enlarge it or to publish it oftener. I am satisfied with it as it is. It is the best magazine on the newsstands now.

I have no favorites among your stories as I like them all equally well.--Robert L. King, Melbourne, Florida.

_Pride of the Regiment_

Dear Editor:

I have just finished reading the September issue of Astounding Stories and want to congratulate you on your staff of writers. Although this is the first copy I have read, I can assure you that it will not be the last, by any means.

I think the story called "Marooned Under the Sea," by Paul Ernst, a story that no one could have passed without reading it. The way the author explains the story to have come to life has really got me guessing.

The only thing that I regretted was that I didn't get the copies previous to the story called, "Earth, the Marauder," by Arthur J. Burks. Please give us more stories by Paul Ernst. (I say us because I am a soldier, and where you find one soldier you find plenty soldiers.)

So keep the good work up, as we are looking forward to a good time when the next issues come around.--Co. "I," 26th Inf. Plattsburgh Barracks, Plattsburgh, New York.

_Covers Not Too Vivid_

Dear Editor:

I can't help joining the great number of admirers of your wonderful magazine.

A great many readers ask for interplanetary stories. As for me, I like any kind, stories of other worlds, under the earth, under the sea, on other planets, dimensional stories, anything. So far I have not had the slightest excuse to complain.

When I finish reading a story I write after the title, "good," "very good," "fair," etc. Then I read the best ones over again while waiting for the next issue. The following two and the only stories I didn't like so far are: "The Stolen Mind" and "Creatures of the Light."

One critic stated that he considered the illustrations of Astounding Stories too vivid. Illustrations for stories such as are contained in this magazine cannot be too vivid. Readers have plenty of opportunity to use their imaginations. Many scenes which the authors try to portray are hard to visualize, and I think that a number of good illustrations would help the readers enjoy the stories more.

As long as you keep your magazine up to the standard you have set thus far, I will remain an eager reader.--Sam Castellina, 104 E. Railroad St. Pittston, Penn.

_Quite True_

Dear Editor:

I have enjoyed every one of your Astounding Stories magazines from the first.

However, in the story, "The Murder Machine," by Hugh B. Cave, a man, Sir John Harman, was made to kill a man by meccano-telepathically projected hypnotic suggestions. Some people think it is entirely possible to make a man do such a thing by hypnotism, but it is not possible because no person under hypnotic influence will do anything that his subconscious mind knows is immoral. Neither a thief nor a murderer can be made to confess their crime while under hypnotic influence.

I am merely writing this so that the others who have read the story will not get the wrong idea of hypnotism. A man under hypnotic influence can be made to think he is murdering or robbing, but he will not do it really, no matter how hard the hypnotist tries to make him.--Henry Booth, 916 Federal St., N. S. Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

"_Paper Correct Kind_"

Dear Editor:

I am a reader of four other Science Fiction magazines but like Astounding Stories the best for two main reasons. First, the size is just right, second, the paper is the correct kind. It does not glare at you when you read.

I have every issue of Astounding Stories since it came out. The stories are all good and are becoming better each month. I prefer stories of space traveling and of the fourth dimension.

About reprints, I think that if you want to give reprints, why not publish them in booklet form. I'm sure many of the readers will prefer to have reprints that way.--Frank Wogavoda, Water Mill, New York.

_Bouquets_

Dear Editor:

"The Planet of Dread" was a classic in the full meaning of the word. Not only was the story a masterpiece of fantastic adventure but also of short story craft. By all means secure more of Mr. Starzl's fine tales.

Your stories by Ray Cummings are great. It would be a good policy upon your part to continue to present stories of his at the most not more than two issues apart.

Continue up to your present standard and you'll continue to stand above all other Science Fiction magazines where stories of super-science are concerned, now and forever.--Jerome Siegel, 10622 Kimberley Ave., Cleveland, Ohio.

"_The Readers' Corner_"

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

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

--_The Editor._

ASTOUNDING STORIES _Appears on Newsstands_ THE FIRST THURSDAY IN EACH MONTH