The Onslaught from Rigel Part 24

"I wonder how about big guns," murmured Sherman.

"Don't know. I didn't get anything like that in what the boss was thinking. He seemed to imagine the gun he had was the biggest there was."

They toiled on. As they progressed southward the thinning forest and the increasing walls of the cliffs drove them farther and farther toward the river, till they were forced to take to the main road w.i.l.l.y-nilly. Along it they could walk faster, but there was more danger. They watched the heavens narrowly for any sign of the four-winged birds, but the skies seemed deserted.

At Kingston they found a filling station, and kicking in the door, located a couple of storage batteries that supplied them with a needed meal. "What do you say to a car?" asked Sherman.

"Maybe yes, maybe no," said the dancer. "It's running a chance, isn't it? Still, we're getting nowhere awful fast this way. Let's try it."

Finding a car in running order was a procedure of some difficulty, and Kingston seemed a weaponless town, though Marta finally did locate one little pearl-handled .25 calibre pop-gun. Sherman eyed it dubiously.

"That's a good thing to kill mosquitoes with," he remarked, "but I don't think it will be much use for anything else."

"Boloney," she replied. "These La.s.sans are yellow from way back. If I stuck this under the nose of one of them he'd throw a fit. Come on.

Let's go."

Eventlessly, the road flowed past under their wheels--Newburgh, Haverstraw, Nyack--one, two, three hours. Then, just south of Chester the dancer suddenly gripped Sherman's arm.

"What's that?" she said. "No, over there. Isn't it--?"

But in one swift glance he had seen as clearly as she. Like a living thing, the car swerved from the road, dived across the ditch, and losing speed, rolled to a halt on the green lawn of a suburban bungalow.

Sherman leaped out. "Come on, for G.o.d's sake," he cried. "It's a fighting machine. If they've seen us they'll start shooting."

Dragging her after him, he dived around the house, through a seedy flower-garden, down a path. As though to lend emphasis to his words there came the familiar buzzing roar, and as Sherman dropped, pulling the girl flat on her face after him, they saw the wall of the bungalow cave in, and the roof tilt slowly over and drop into the burning ma.s.s beneath. A vivid blue beam, brighter than the sunlight of the dark day, swept across the sky, winked once or twice, and disappeared.

Marta would have risen, but "Take it easy," said Sherman. "If they see us they'll pop another of those tokens at us."

He wriggled along on his stomach, picking up weeds in his body plates in the process, and making for the shelter of an overgrown hedge that ran behind the next bungalow.

"Look out," called the dancer suddenly. "Here come the birds."

She waved her hand up and back, and by s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his eyes Sherman could just make out a black speck against the clouds, far north. They rolled under the shelter of the hedge and lay still, scarcely daring to whisper.

The La.s.san in command of the fighting machine was evidently not satisfied that he had hit them with his hasty shot. Peering through the stems, they made out the shimmering form of the machine, sliding slowly past the burning house, its snout moving hither and thither questioningly. It pa.s.sed through the garden, went on down the path. The bird swung to and fro overhead. Nearer. Evidently it had noticed the prints their feet left in the soft ground.

"Listen, partner," said Marta Lami, "get through and find some people, then come and get me out of that h.e.l.lhole up there. If they see me, they'll let you alone."

"No!" cried Sherman, but she was already running out across the field.

The snout of the machine lifted toward her as though to deliver a blast, then rose and discharged another beam of blue light. Sherman heard one of the birds scream in answer, saw it sweep down on soaring pinions, and in a single motion snap the dancer up and away. The shimmering fighting machine swung round and turned back toward the road.

He lay still until he was sure it had gone, then, moving carefully for fear of the terror from the skies, crawled to the next bungalow. It yielded treasure-trove in the shape of a flashlight and a serviceable revolver, and securing a sheet from one of the beds to wrap around him as a loin-cloth, he set out to trudge to New York.

After a time it occurred to him that the disaster had taken place not because they were in a car, but because it had been driven unreasonably fast, and without precaution. He looked for and ultimately found another one, and keeping to the back streets and driving slowly, worked his way toward the city again. Then another idea came to him--Newark had an airport as well as New York and it was far nearer. He changed the direction of his advance, swinging west to avoid the long bridges over the Pa.s.saic River. Bridges were focal points; the birds would surely watch them, as intelligent as they were.

Late in the afternoon he spied one of them, far ahead and flying southward, but took no chances. He drew his car up to the side of the road and remained motionless for long after it had disappeared. When evening came on, he had already reached the outskirts of the city and could proceed without headlights.

Newark was a dead city, the diminished purr of the motor ringing curiously loud in the silent streets. Their complication bothered him; he was unfamiliar with the town and his flashlight gave out long before he reached his destination. But he kept steadily on, certain that the airport was somewhere at the south and east of the city. Toward the later evening a fine, cold rain began to fall, congealing to ice on the streets and on his metallic body.

The airport was just as he had remembered it on the first day of his awakening--it now seemed uncountable ages in the past. The little sports plane still stood on the platform, its torn wing dangling. The hangars were all locked; he was an inefficient burglar and spent an hour or two breaking one open and when he did, found nothing but a tri-motored monster quite beyond his powers to get out, and a rocket-plane requiring special fuel that he did not have. The next hangar yielded an autogiro and a training machine. He had no watch, but was sure that the night was pa.s.sing fast, and not wishing to be abroad by daylight with an airplane, decided to chance it on the autogiro. Luckily she was full of fuel, and everything seemed tight. With some labor he removed the chocks and managed to wheel the machine out.

Not till he had it in the air did the thought of what direction he was to take occur to him. Boston--New York--Philadelphia--Chicago, he canva.s.sed the possibilities. What was it Marta Lami had said--something about one of the fighting machines heading south? And he remembered how the astronomers had predicted that the comet would fall, probably, somewhere in New York State. If there were a borderline along which La.s.sans were meeting humans in any kind of conflict it was most likely to lie southward. With this thought in mind, he turned his plane to the south, and keeping the white line of foam along the coast beneath him as a guide, began to let her out.

The ceiling was low; between clouds and fitful squalls of rain flying was difficult and the weight of Sherman's mechanical body seemed to make the machine move loggily. It must have been all of an hour and three quarters later that he saw beneath him the tossing whitecaps of Great Bay, with the ribbon of Wading River running back into the distance.

Just beyond, he knew, lay Atlantic City. He was debating with himself whether to land on the beach there or hop across to the Philadelphia airport when, sharp and clear from somewhere ahead and below him, came the sound of gunfire. He tried for alt.i.tude, but only ran into clouds.

Nevertheless the sound was unmistakable, and as he approached it became clearer and more p.r.o.nounced, a long intermittent beat, heavy guns and light, mingled together, off to the right. There was fighting going on!

Exulting in his escape from the La.s.sans and in the fact that he could take their opponents information that would be of value, he swung the autogiro toward the sounds that became clearer every minute. He was getting right over them now, he thought; he could see red flashes along the horizon. Down there they were locked in battle--men and La.s.sans, his own people and the invaders from far-away Rigel.

Suddenly a beam of the light-ray leaped from the ground. Sherman thought it was directed at him; tried to loop the plane and cursed as he remembered autogiros wouldn't loop; then saw that the light was after all, not turned in his direction, but at some object on the ground. He banked the plane over and swung lower. Undoubtedly a La.s.san fighting machine--and the beam was. .h.i.tting things, things large and solid, for they collapsed under the stabbing ray. A red flame rose over the wreck; the roar of an explosion reached his ears. The battle-line!

He soared again. He must reach the headquarters of whatever men were down there. The information he could bring and that Marta Lami had given him might make all the difference between the loss of the world and its salvation "... perfect mirror--reflects everything that hits it, even sh.e.l.ls, but they don't know about the big ones.... The lead will reflect their light-rays, too ... no good against lead. Their armor is made of the same stuff...."

In the darkness beneath him troops were moving. He could catch glimpses of dark ma.s.ses on the roads. Somewhere down there he distinctly heard the call of one of the four-winged birds, quite near. Then with a rush, it was suddenly upon him. He set the automatic pilot, and drew his revolver, but the bird, unfamiliar with the machine it was attacking, had dashed recklessly in. There was a rending screech as it came into contact with the wings of the autogiro; Sherman got in one shot, and then bird, man and plane tumbled toward the earth.

CHAPTER XVIII

The End of the Light-Ray

"The La.s.sans?" said General Grierson, in a puzzled tone, looking at the sheet-clad apparition. "You mean these--mechanical monsters?"

Sherman winced. "Like myself? No, sir, those are their slaves. I thought you were familiar with them. They are elephant-men and quite different."

[Ill.u.s.tration: This shows that Mr. Pratt's conception of the elephant-men is not so far-fetched. This photo is Ganesha, a Hindu G.o.d, patron of art and literature Ganesha symbolizes to the Hindus wisdom and knowledge.]

"I meant those d.a.m.ned, long, shining objects that shoot that light-ray of theirs. Their guns shoot it out in packages, but we can understand that and deal with them; our artillery is just as good. But if we can't stop those shining things there will be no army left and that means no men left on this planet. This army is our last resource. If you know of anything, anything, that will stop them, for G.o.d's sake tell us! All we've found that does any good so far are the twelve-inch railroad guns and we have only four of them. One was knocked out by their sh.e.l.ls this afternoon."

"You mean their fighting-machines," Sherman replied. "Why, I'm not absolutely certain. I only know what I picked up from them and what Marta Lami"--he swallowed hard at the mention of her name--"the bravest woman in the world, told me. But I think that a sh.e.l.l with a lead cap would go through those fighting machines like a knife through a piece of cheese."

There was a tiny silence in the room at this momentous announcement.

Then an artillery officer said, dreamily, "The armor-piercing sh.e.l.ls the railroad guns use have lead caps."

As though his words had released a spell there came a quick drumfire of questions:

"What are they armored with?"

"What kind of a power-plant do they use?"

"Can you stop the light-ray?"

"What makes you think so?"

Sherman smiled. "Just a moment. One question at a time. I'm not sure I can answer them all, anyway. As to what makes me think so and what they're armored with, they have a coating of steel armor, but it isn't very thick. It's plated on the outside with a coat of lead and outside that with the substance they call 'pure light.' I don't know what it is, but it's the same stuff they use in the light-ray and in their sh.e.l.ls, and I know that lead sheeting will stop it, even when the lead is very thin."

General Grierson swung round in his chair. "Hartnett! write out an order to General Hudson, Chief Quartermaster, at once. Tell him to remove every piece of lead he can find in Atlantic City and get it melted down.