The Greatest SF Classics of Stanley G. Weinbaum. Stanley G. Weinbaum

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СКАЧАТЬ he gazed, it abandoned its circling, passed like a streak of mist over the water, and vanished.

      "It's gone," he said mildly. "Suppose you tell me what it was."

      "It—it was a Messenger of the Master," murmured Evanie fearfully. "Jan, do you think it was for one of us? If so, that means he suspects!"

      "God knows!" Jan muttered. "It looked dim to me, like it stray."

      "And what," Connor demanded to know, "is a Messenger of the Master?"

      "It's to carry the Master's commands," said Evanie.

      "You don't say!" he snapped ironically. "I could guess that from its name. But what is it?"

      "It's a mechanism of force, or so we think," said Jan, "It's—did you ever see ball–lightning?"

      Connor nodded.

      "Well, there's nothing material, strictly speaking, in ball–lightning. It's a balance of electrical forces. And so are the Messengers—a structure of forces."

      "But—was it alive?"

      "We believe not. Not exactly alive."

      Connor groaned. "Not material, strictly speaking, and not exactly alive! In other words, a ghost."

      Jan smiled nervously.

      "It does sound queer. What I mean is that the Messengers are composed of forces, like ball–lightning. They're stable as long as Urbs supplies enough energy to offset the losses. They don't discharge all at once like ball– lightning. When their energy is cut off, they just dissipate, fade out, vanish. That one missed its mark, if it was for us."

      "How do they bear the Master's commands?"

      "I hope you never find out," Evanie said softly. "I was sent for once before, but that Messenger missed like this. Jan and I—can close our minds to them. It takes practice to learn how."

      "Well," said Connor, "if the Master suspects, you'd better change your plans. Surprise was your one advantage."

      "We can't," Jan said grimly. "Our cooperating groups would split into factions in half an hour, given any excuse."

      "But—that might have been sent as a warning!"

      "No matter. We've got to go ahead. What's more, we'd better leave now."

      Jan rose abruptly and departed. A moment later Connor saw him back in a motor vehicle from the hill below the factory. And then, with no more preparation than that, they were jolting over the rutted red clay road, Jan driving, Evanie between the two men.

      When they swung suddenly to a wide paved highway, the battered vehicle leaped swiftly to unexpected speed. A full hundred miles an hour, though that was not so greatly in excess of the speed of cars of Connor's own day.

      Hour after hour they rushed down the endless way. They passed tree–grown ruins and little villages like Ormon, and as night fell, here and there the lights of some peaceful farm dwelling. Evanie relieved Jan, and then Connor, pleading his acquaintance with ancient automobiles, drove for a while, to the expressed admiration of the other two.

      "You ancients must have been amazing!" said Jan.

      "What paving is this?" asked Connor as they darted along.

      "Same stuff as our tires. Rubrum. Synthetic rubber."

      "Paved by whom?"

      "By Urbs," said Jan sourly. "Out of our taxes."

      "Well isn't that one answer to your objections? No taxes, no roads."

      "The road through Ormon is maintained without taxes, simply by the cooperation of the people."

      Connor smiled, remembering that rutted clay road.

      "Is it possible to alienate any of the Master's troops?" he asked. "Trained men would help our chances."

      "No," Jan said positively. "The man has a genius for loyalty. Such an attempt would be suicide."

      "Humph! Do you know—the more I hear of the Master, the more I like him? I can't see why you hate him so! Apparently, he's a good ruler."

      "He is a good ruler, damn his clever soul! If he weren't, I told you everybody'd be on our side." Jan turned to Evanie. "See how dangerous the Master is? His charm strikes even through the words of his enemies!"

      When they finally stopped for refreshments, Evanie described for Connor other wonders of the Master's world empire. She told him of the hot–house cities of Antarctica under their crystal domes, and especially Austropolis, of the great mining city in the shadow of the Southern Pole, and of Nyx, lying precariously on the slopes of the volcano Erebus.

      She had a wealth of detail gleaned from the vision screen, but Jan Orm had traveled there, and added terse comment. All traffic and freight came in by rocket, the Triangles of Urbs, a means too expensive for general use, but the mines produced the highly–prized metal, platinum.

      Evanie spoke, too, of the "Urban pond," the new sea formed in the Sahara Desert by the blasting of a passage through the Atlas Mountains to the Mediterranean.

      That had made of Algeria and Tripoli fertile countries, and by the increased surface for evaporation, it had changed even the climate of the distant Arabian Desert.

      And there was Eartheye on the summit of sky–piercing Everest, the great observatory whose objective mirror was a spinning pool of mercury a hundred feet across, and whose images of stellar bodies were broadcast to students around the world. In this gigantic mirror, Betelgeuse showed a measurable disc, the moon was a pitted plain thirty yards away, and even Mars glowed cryptically at a distance of only two and a half miles.

      Connor learned that the red planet still held its mystery. The canals had turned out to be illusion, but the seasonal changes still argued life, and a million tiny markings hinted at some sort of civilization.

      "But they've been to the moon," Evanie said, continuing the discussion as they got under way again. "There's a remnant of life there, little crystalline flowers that the great ladies of Urbs sometimes wear. Moon orchids; each one worth a fortune."

      "I'd like to give you one some day," murmured Connor.

      "Look, Tom!" Evanie cried sharply. "A Triangle!"

      He saw it in the radiance of early dawn. It was in fact a triangle with three girders rising from its points to an apex, whence the blast struck down through the open center. At once he realized the logic of the construction, for it could neither tip nor fall while the blast was fed.

      How large? He couldn't tell, since it hung at an unknown height. It seemed enormous, at least a hundred feet on a side. And then a lateral blast flared, and it moved rapidly ahead of them into the south.

      "Were they watching us, do you suppose?" Evanie asked tensely. "But—of course not! I guess I'm just nervous. Look, Tom, there's Kaatskill, a suburb of the City."

      The town was one of magnificent dwellings and vast lawns.

      "Kaatskill!" mused Connor. "The home of Rip van Winkle."

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