Part 8

Pat was puzzled for a moment. "Oh, just a mystery book--anything," she said, finally.

"Did you read my story in this morning's Recorder?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yes; it was fine. Uncle Henry said it was magnificent. Just enough play of the imagination to give it color, and told with such simplicity that everyone could understand."

"Thanks," he said. "I'm glad you liked it. At first, I was afraid the falling of that meteor in Times Square would kill it. But it didn't. It has made the New York public more open-minded for what your Uncle Henry is going to spring on them tomorrow night, at Radio Center. You'll be there, of course. Shall I see you?"

"If I'm free," Pat replied.

"Meaning that you're not free," he remarked. He passed into a thoughtful mood but quickly snapped out of it. "Yes; I--I understand perfectly. Your Uncle Henry told me about the Prince and yourself this afternoon--about your coming engagement--and I'm afraid I'm not able to take it in yet. I don't see why you ever bothered about me at all." He stopped short, and began staring at the floor in deep contemplation.

"I don't know myself why I ever did--why I ever bothered about you," she returned, in a low, tremulous voice. "I had a feeling--well, I had a sort of feeling--" She, too, stopped short.

When McGinity glanced up, she was walking away. Then he heard Henry's voice, and went quickly back to his work.

XI

The reign of terror caused by the falling meteors gripped New York for five days. On Tuesday night, when Henry and Olinski were scheduled to give a public demonstration of interstellar signaling and the exchange of radio messages between the earth and Mars, in Radio Center, remnants of the hot heavenly bodies were still hissing down in unexpected places, with many fatalities.

Thousands of timorous families in the metropolitan area were living in their basements. The principal thoroughfares, Broadway, Fifth Avenue and Park Avenue, were strangely deserted at night. The newspapers were still screaming at the scientists and scholars for their failure to offer any explanation of the remarkable phenomenon, at the same time making an intensive play on Henry's discovery.

One enterprising paper, having exhausted all resources in its efforts to explain the mystery of the huge swarms of meteors, dug up from an unknown source the story of a mad scientist, long since dead, who had predicted a similar heavenly occurrence, which was to precede some sort of cataclysm of the solar system. This gave them the opportunity to intensify the importance of Henry's feat as a possible connecting link in the solution of the meteoric mystery.

It was, therefore, with a full-fledged case of the jitters that many thousands assembled in the vicinity of Radio Center on that Tuesday night. The people had worked themselves into a state of hysteria, and were in a receptive mood for anything unusual that might happen. Police emergency squads were on hand to hold the crowd in check, while police on motorcycles kept the streets clear for the fire brigades which were being called out hourly, to fight the conflagrations caused by the falling meteors.

While the demonstration was to be held in the auditorium of the National Radio Corporation Building, in Radio Center Annex, it was not officially sponsored by the president of the concern, Alden Scoville, who was sceptical and suspicious; but he was very nice and polite about it. He made it plain that the corporation was merely donating the use of its premises and equipment for the public experiment, in compliment to the valuable work of its assistant research engineer, Serge Olinski. There was to be a world-girdling hook-up, so that the deciphered code signals from Mars, and the replies transmitted from the earth, could be heard in every land. Everything was perfectly arranged, with loud speakers for the masses congregated outside the building.

Accompanied by Jane and Pat, I motored in from the country for the great event. Henry had gone into town early in the afternoon, to see after last minute details. We were to meet him in the NRC Building, where Prince Matani was to join us.

An odd thing occurred just prior to our leaving the castle. Jane was seated in the car, and I was waiting in the hall for Pat. When she did not appear promptly, I sent Niki, now acting in the double role of butler-valet, to find out the cause of her delay. Pat refusing to see him, I hurried upstairs myself to investigate.

Much to my indignation, she refused to attend the demonstration. As an excuse, she said it had just dawned on her mind that Henry's discovery was incredulous, and it would be dreadfully humiliating to her if he failed to establish interstellar communication.

"It's such a crazy thing, anyway," she said. "No one ever has succeeded in doing it, and I think Uncle Henry is just plumb crazy. It's idiotic; it simply can't be done. There's a queer streak in him. Look how he treated poor Mr. McGinity."

At the mention of the reporter's name, her nerves gave way, and tears began to flow. Then I realized that her explanation about the incredulity of Henry's feat had nothing to support it but her own word. Her tears were the direct proof that she was refusing to go because she had to sit formally with Jane and me, and Prince Matani, when she much preferred to be mixed up in the excitement with McGinity.

I did the only thing I could think of at the time. I took her firmly by the arm, and conducted her downstairs; and after she had made a mysterious telephone call, we were soon on our way to the city. Then something else disconcerting happened at the entrance to the auditorium. McGinity met us there, as though by accident. It looked to me as if he had been tipped off by telephone in advance of our--or Pat's--arrival. Pat seemed so excited and thrilled, I fancied I could hear her heart going at the rate of a million beats a minute.

We occupied seats in the front row, where the Prince, with a terrible black eye, joined us, about five minutes after we had arrived. I noticed him glaring in the direction of McGinity, who sat at the head of the press table, with about fifty other reporters. Occasionally McGinity would glance up from his work, and exchange smiles with Pat, when the Prince wasn't looking. So the only delight she got out of seeing him there had to be a secret one. No more than a furtive glance, or smile, whenever it could be managed with discretion.

Jane's nerves were jumpy. Careful inventory of the invited guests, who taxed the capacity of the auditorium, and the crowd I had glimpsed outside the building as we came in, convinced me that everyone was sitting, or standing, on needles and pins. My nose and ears have a habit of twitching whenever I am under a tense, nervous strain, and I had the uncomfortable feeling that persons back of me, in the audience, were watching my ears wiggling. My nose kept twitching and jumping like a Mexican bean.

I tried to distract my thoughts and ease my anxiety by studying the mechanical equipment on the stage. I couldn't have explained what they were if some one had pointed a shot-gun in my face. Radio has always been a great mystery to me. I can never seem to get it into my brain that radio waves can travel 186,000 miles a second. As for bridging the sidereal abyss, as Henry calls it, between the earth and Mars, I was stumped.

When Henry and Olinski finally stepped on to the stage, and my wiggling ears rang with the tumult of thunderous applause, my first horrifying thought was that my brother had gone mad, and that Olinski had gone crazy with him. Pat's words of warning came back to me: "It's idiotic! It simply can't be done!" The voice of wisdom often comes from unexpected sources.

Henry looked scared, but he showed no nervous hesitancy in his introductory remarks, after being formally presented to the audience by Mr. Scoville, who acted as host. It was just nine-thirty when he took his place before the microphone. The signaling and messages from Mars were due to arrive at ten; they had never failed to come through at that hour, during all the preliminary experiments, extending over a period of three weeks.

"My dear friends," he began, in his modest, shrinking way, "I feel privileged to be here tonight, to tell and show you something of interest in connection with the research studies on static, recently made by my co-worker, Mr. Serge Olinski, and myself.

"For some time, mysterious radio waves, which appeared to come from some definite source in space, have been puzzling men of science engaged in radio research work. We know that infra-red radiation and short radio waves make it theoretically possible to communicate with other planets. They can penetrate the upper atmosphere, and may be directed toward any planet with accuracy and power, as well as penetrating the planets without scattering. The receiving apparatus for infra-red rays consists principally of a sensitive cell, so sensitive that the light of a match struck on the moon and translated into an electric current, can be registered on the earth."

Henry paused, to wet his lips with a sip from a glass of water. The audience showing rapt attention, he continued.

"To detect these radio waves from outer space, Mr. Olinski and I contrived between us to construct a delicate receiving instrument. We found they were distinctly electro-magnetic waves, that could be picked up by any standard radio set. Then, one night, less than a month ago, while testing it out, there was registered on this same instrument, a series of distinct dots and dashes, somewhat similar to our Continental Morse code.

"These signals were received regularly every night thereafter, round ten o'clock, fading out in about half an hour. This convinced us both that some intelligible communication force was at work in outer space. One evening, Mr. Olinski startled me by exclaiming: 'I have it! It's someone on the planet Mars, trying to attract attention on the earth. It's their station signal they're trying to get through to us.' As it turned out, Mr. Olinski was quite right.

"Now the purpose of our demonstration tonight is to show you, in the simplest manner possible, how we have been conducting interstellar communication by means of short waves. We do not claim to have solved the riddle of Mars. We have received code messages from some definite source in space, which we believe to be Mars, and we have successfully deciphered these messages, and through the same medium we have exchanged ideas with this definite source in space. Before we begin our experiment, however, Mr. Scoville, president of the National Radio Corporation, who is still a little sceptical, has prepared a list of questions, which he wishes to put to me."

At that, Mr. Scoville stepped forward, and joined Henry in front of the microphone.

"As I understand it, Mr. Royce," he began, "you believe Mars to be inhabited, and that civilization there is just as advanced as our own?"

"For many years, I was doubtful," Henry replied. "But, now, I'm absolutely certain of it."

"As the earth is only a very small part of our illimitable universe," Mr. Scoville went on, "why should the Martians--" He checked himself as Henry interrupted with an upraised finger.

"It is execrably bad taste to interrupt a speaker," Henry interjected, in an apologetic tone, "but I wish to correct you on one point. The planet we call Mars is not known to its inhabitants by that name, therefore, it is erroneous to call them Martians."

Mr. Scoville smiled, and said: "I'm afraid you'll have to be more explicit than that, Mr. Royce. Where did you get that information?"

"I can be entirely explicit," Henry answered. "In transmitting our first radio message to the planet, we said: 'Stand by, Mars! Earth is calling!' To our great surprise, we received this reply: 'Noble friends, you err in calling our planet, Mars. This is the Red Sphere. Your planet, which you call the Earth, is known to us as the Blue Sphere.'"

"And why should they call the earth the Blue Sphere?" Mr. Scoville inquired.

"Because the earth, to the Martian astronomers, appears in a bluish haze," Henry explained, "just as Mars looks reddish to us."

"But why should the Martians--I beg your pardon--why should the inhabitants of the Red Sphere, take such an interest in our insignificant globe?"

"Doubtless, because the conviction has persisted there, among scientists, that our planet is inhabited," said Henry, "just as the conviction has persisted here that Mars harbors life."

"Supposing this is true, how can you explain their knowledge of a radio code, which somewhat resembles our International Morse code?"

After a moment's hesitation, Henry replied: "It's my opinion that they gained this knowledge from the International Morse messages directed on their planet by a powerful beam of light, from the lofty summit of the Jungfrau, in Switzerland, less than a year ago. This was undertaken by a group of American scientists, in the hope of attracting attention on Mars."

"Were these code messages, to a strange people, in a remote planet, decipherable in English?"

"Oh, yes," Henry readily replied; "and there's no doubt in my mind that superior intellects on Mars worked them out into English."

"It doesn't seem possible," Mr. Scoville remarked. "Life, conditions, everything on Mars must be so totally different from things as they exist here."

Henry smiled, and said: "I firmly believe that all things in the beginning were created alike. The countless stars, suns and moons, and all the great planets, are largely composed of the same material that entered into the composition of this world. These meteorites that are falling about us contain the same metals, among them, iron and tin, which we mine from the earth. There is also a striking similarity between things of the material universe and the invisible, or spiritual, world. In Heaven, so we are told in the Bible, there are cities, streets, mansions, trees, gates and fountains. All of which makes it certain that human beings, like ourselves, not the grotesque monsters, as so often pictured, inhabit other planets."

"I'm inclined to agree with you in that," said Mr. Scoville, fingering his chin thoughtfully; "but I can't get it into my head about these Martians having a knowledge of the English language."

"You must take this fact into consideration, my dear Mr. Scoville," said Henry, "that for some years our radio short waves have been bombarding the planets, including Mars, with speeches and songs in English."

"If that is so, then the Martians may be learning to speak English with our nasal, American accent--what?" Mr. Scoville interposed, laughing. And the audience seemed to enjoy this witticism.

"Hardly," said Henry, trying his best to look grave, as the laughter subsided. "I have no reason to believe that, but I do believe the Martians have devised a means to pick up our language from the radio waves, and are adapting it for the purpose of communicating intelligently with us, just as we study, and often use, in various ways, other languages besides our own."

"Are their code messages decipherable in good English?" Mr. Scoville asked.

"Their spelling is very crude, but the liberal transcription, surprisingly enough, reads rather classical."

"By the bye, what station signals do you use?"

"I'll show you," said Henry. He motioned to Olinski, who rose, and moved quickly to a large blackboard, which had been placed in the center of the stage. With chalk, Olinski wrote in big capital letters: "ABUBCUC."

"Now, that is our--the earth's--radio station signal," Henry explained. "Simply--'ABC.'"

Olinski erased the lettering, and then wrote: "ZUZZUZYUYX."

"Now, there, we have the radio station signal for Mars," Henry said. "ZZYX."

"Looks crazy to me," observed Mr. Scoville, after Henry had explained the signals for the benefit of his invisible audience.

"Perfectly simple, after we got on to the Martian's way of doubling up on the consonants," said Henry. "It's something like pig-Latin. Very similar to a code I used myself as a boy, at school, when I wished to communicate something of a secret nature to a schoolmate. If you will allow me, please, I will try and illustrate just what I mean."

He walked to the blackboard, and wrote in a large hand: "Lulookuk outut! Tuteacuchuherur isus cucomuminungug!"

"Whatever does that mean?" asked Mr. Scoville, in some bewilderment.

"It means," replied Henry, returning to his place in front of the microphone: "'Look out! Teacher is coming!'"

The audience rocked with laughter. Henry's poise was still serene, and remained so until another sound reached his ears, rising above the diminishing laughter. He glanced at his watch. Ten o'clock--to the minute. Quickly he advanced to the edge of the stage, and raised his hand, commanding silence. The audience was instantly stilled.

Then Henry spoke. "Everybody quiet, now! Mars is on the air!"

XII

The silence in the auditorium was broken by the clicking of a telegraph instrument, which acted as a monitor on the receiving desk. The mechanical equipment on the stage was similar to that found in the radio department of any large New York newspaper office, with two typewriter desks, one fitted for the receiving and transcribing of code messages, the other equipped for their transmission.

The Martian signals were coming in by direct wire control, from the receiving station Henry had erected for his interstellar experiments, at great expense, at Orient Point, Long Island, about seventy miles from the city. The replies from the earth, that were to follow, would go by wire control from the stage to his transmitting station, situated at Longhampton. His two private stations were twenty-five miles apart, a distance necessary to prevent interference.

The moment Mars was reported on the air by the engineers at the Long Island receiving station, Henry's mind, likewise Olinski's, suddenly developed, as it were, enormous dynamic activity, and the audience seemed to become so remote to them as to be non-existent.

Henry strode back quickly to the microphone, and said: "Stand by all stations! Stand by, Mars! We can hear Mars calling! Lost their way? Hello, Mars! Earth--New York--calling!"

Olinski was an expert wireless operator and typist. His fingers flew over the keyboard as he transcribed the Martian code characters that were being impressed by the ink recorder on narrow tape, resembling ticker tape. Operated by a pull-motor, this tape ran in a brass-groove attached to the front of the typewriter, under the operator's eyes.

On the completion of each sentence, Olinski would call: "All right!" and Henry would rip off a short length of paper containing the sentence, and begin the second transcription, into understandable English--the Martian classical style. He wrote them in chalk, on the blackboard, while Olinski's laboratory assistant read them off into the microphone.

The blackboard was just about half filled when the short waves began to fade, and nothing further was heard except a weird chattering in a receiving apparatus at the back of the stage. The message, so far received, decoded and transcribed on the blackboard, ran as follows:

"Salutations to the men of the Blue Sphere, with one moon, from the white men, your brothers in space, inhabitants of the Red Sphere, with two moons! Electric waves, radiant energy of the gods, at last bridges the fearsome gulf that yawns between us. No longer shall we be as strangers in our great universe, but united in bonds of sympathy and understanding. Your wireless messages fill the air; they have taught us many strange and wonderful things. Yet we thirst for more knowledge of thee, and the planet on which thou dwellest. The Red Sphere is matter in old age, slowly drying up. We are facing extinction. Long has been the struggle of the minority, the white race, against the majority, the ape-men of the jungles, now warring to become our masters...."

From this point on, a considerable portion of the message could not get through, apparently due to some ethereal disturbance; a turbulence, somewhere off in space, which Olinski labelled as "very spotty."

Suddenly, the engineers' efforts to re-contact Mars were successful. Fading and fluttering, the dots and dashes of the code began once again to register on the receiving machine. Transcribed by Henry on the blackboard, although piece-meal, the message was fairly intelligible, and really contained more startling information than the first part. It read thus:

"If thou desireth greater knowledge of our planet and people, look for our ship in the sky. Search carefully, on your mountain-tops and in the valleys. Fourteen suns have passed since the ship, launched in the darkness of an equatorial solar eclipse, was caught up in a cloud of cosmic bodies streaming over our planet. The key of knowledge thou wilt find in this ship ... scroll written by young priest-astronomer, darling of the gods, who first deciphered code of your strange language.... Our astronomers study your planet diligently through holes in your clouds.... They see great bluish masses ... can this be water?..."

The second part of the message quickly fading out, Henry's presence of mind did not forsake him in this emergency. Immediately, he began to dictate a reply to the Martian message, which Olinski quickly coded and transmitted, with breathless interest on the part of the audience.

In this Mars-bound reply, Henry laid strong emphasis on the "ship," mentioned by the Martians in their message, concluding as follows:

"Explain more fully about the ship in the sky. We have no knowledge of this. Meteors by the thousands have been spraying the Blue Sphere for many days. This stream of meteors may be the same swarm that your own planet encountered, fourteen suns ago. Answer immediately."

But no answer came.

Highly agitated, and believing himself to be on the brink of a still greater discovery, Henry rushed again to the microphone, and immediately broadcast a world-wide appeal for assistance in finding the Martian "ship," which he described as a rocket. Then, as a cheerful glow of anticipated success diffused itself all over him, he offered a reward of $25,000 to any trooper, or constable, from Tokyo to Timbuctoo, or to any one, in any part of the world, who found the "ship."

"This so-called ship," he explained to his audience, visible and invisible, "is most likely a metal rocket, which the Martians have catapulted into the sky during a solar eclipse and meteoric display. Their two tiny moons are so close to the surface of Mars, and their speeds are so great, that along the Martian equator there are three or four total solar eclipses every day.

"Apparently, they have taken advantage of one of these eclipses, in their astronomical calculations, in directing the rocket earthward. It may have been driven, by some mighty engine, beyond the planet's weak pull of gravity, into this very same cloud of cosmic bodies that are at present showering the earth. The 'fourteen suns,' mentioned in their radio message, really mean fourteen days. Their day is but a half hour longer than our own. Making all allowances, it would take a rocket, catapulted from Mars, about two weeks to travel through space, and reach the earth."

By this time, every one in the auditorium was on the edge of their seats, actually quivering with excitement. It was like a mad-house when the meeting was finally adjourned. People stood on their seats, waving hats and handkerchiefs, and cheering Henry and Olinski.