The Golden Age of Science Fiction Volume VII: An Anthology of 50 Short Stories

857 Pages·2010·3.51 MB·English

Halcyon Classics Series

THE GOLDEN AGE OF SCIENCE FICTION
VOLUME VII:
AN ANTHOLOGY OF 50 SHORT STORIES

Contents

THE BARBARIAN by Poul Anderson
TWO TIMER by Fredric Brown
FLIGHT THROUGH TOMORROW by Stanton Coblentz
THE PLAYERS by Everett B. Cole
THE SOUND OF SILENCE by Barbara Constant
EGOCENTRIC ORBIT by John Cory
A CHOICE OF MIRACLES by James A. Cox
TRADER’S RISK by Roger Dee
DEAD WORLD by Jack Douglas
SHOW BUSINESS by Boyd Ellanby
DISOWNED by Victor Endersby
ONE OUT OF TEN by J. Anthony Ferlaine
THE CIRCUIT RIDERS by R. C. FitzPatrick
WIND by Charles L. Fontenay
THE FLYING CUSPIDORS by V. R. Francis
I LIKE MARTIAN MUSIC by Charles E. Fritch
IRRESISTIBLE WEAPON by H. B. Fyfe
SATELLITE SYSTEM by H. B. Fyfe
BELLY LAUGH by Randall Garrett
FIFTY PER CENT PROPHET by Randall Garrett
THE TENTACLES FROM BELOW by Anthony Gilmore
THE STARS, MY BROTHERS by Edmond Hamilton
IT'S A SMALL SOLAR SYSTEM by Allan Howard
MEX by Laurence Mark Janifer
THE NIGHT OF THE LONG KNIVES by Fritz Leiber
MORALE by Murray Leinster
SAND DOOM by Murray Leinster
THE SKY TRAP by Frank Belknap Long
POISONED AIR by S. P. Meek
THE BLACK LAMP by S. P. Meek
INFINITE INTRUDER by Alan E. Nourse
LETTER OF THE LAW by Alan E. Nourse
GENESIS by H. Beam Piper
GRAVEYARD OF DREAMS by H. Beam Piper
DOGFIGHT—1973 by Mack Reynolds
FREEDOM by Mack Reynolds
NOVICE by James H. Schmitz
ONENESS by James H. Schmitz
THE DOPE ON MARS by Jack Sharkey
HELLHOUNDS OF THE COSMOS by Clifford D. Simak
DREAM TOWN by Henry Slesar
HEART by Henry Slesar
HISTORY REPEATS by George O. Smith
PYGMALION'S SPECTACLES by Stanley G. Weinbaum
THE TIME MACHINE by H.G. Wells
THE TERROR FROM THE DEPTHS by Sewell Peaslee Wright
VAMPIRES OF SPACE by Sewell Peaslee Wright
UNSPECIALIST by Murray F. Yaco
STAR MOTHER by Robert F. Young
THE GREAT DOME ON MERCURY by Arthur L. Zagat

Contents
THE BARBARIAN
By Poul Anderson

Since the Howard-de Camp system for deciphering preglacial inscriptions first appeared, much progress
has been made in tracing the history, ethnology, and even daily life of the great cultures which flourished till
the Pleistocene ice age wiped them out and forced man to start over. We know, for instance, that magic was
practiced; that there were some highly civilized countries in what is now Central Asia, the Near East, North
Africa, southern Europe, and various oceans; and that elsewhere the world was occupied by barbarians, of
whom the North Europeans were the biggest, strongest, and most warlike. At least, so the scholars inform
us, and being of North European ancestry they ought to know.
The following is a translation of a letter recently discovered in the ruins of Cyrenne. This was a
provincial town of the Sarmian Empire, a great though decadent realm in the eastern Mediterranean area,
whose capital, Sarmia, was at once the most beautiful and the most lustful, depraved city of its time. The
Sarmans" northern neighbors were primitive horse nomads and/or Centaurs; but to the east lay the Kingdom
of Chathakh, and to the south was the Herpetarchy of Serpens, ruled by a priestly cast of snake worshipers
or possibly snakes.
The letter was obviously written in Sarmia and posted to Cyrenne. Its date is approximately 175,000
B.C.
Marilion Quaestos, sub-sub-sub-prefect of the Imperial Waterworks of Sarmia, to his nephew Thyaston,
Chancellor of the Bureau of Thaumaturgy, Province of Cyrenne:
Greetings!
I trust this finds you in good health, and that the gods will continue to favor you. As for me, I am well,
though somewhat plagued by the gout, for which I have tried [here follows the description of a home
remedy, both tedious and unprintable]. This has not availed, however, save to exhaust my purse and myself.
You must indeed have been out of touch during your Atlantean journey, if you must write to inquire
about the Barbarian affair. Now that events have settled down again, I can, I hope, give you an adequate and
dispassionate account of the whole ill-starred business. By the favor of the Triplet Goddesses, holy Sarmia
has survived the episode; and though we are still rather shaken, things are improving. If at all times I seem
to depart from the philosophic calm I have always tried to cultivate, blame it on the Barbarian. I am not the
man I used to be. None of us are.
To begin, then, about three years ago the war with Chathakh had settled down to border skirmishes.
Now and then a raid by one side or the other would penetrate deeply into the countries themselves, but with
no decisive effect. Indeed, since these operations yielded a more or less equal amount of booty for both
lands, and the slave trade grew brisk, it was good for business.
Our chief concern was the ambiguous attitude of Serpens. As you well know, the Herpetarchs have no
love for us, and a major object of our diplomacy was to keep them from entering the war on the side of
Chathakh. We had, of course, no hope of making them our allies. But as long as we maintained a posture of
strength, it was likely that they would at least stay neutral.
Thus it stood when the Barbarian came to Sarmia,
We had heard rumors of him for a long time. An accurate description was available. He was a
wandering soldier of fortune from some kingdom of swordsmen and seafarers up in the northern forests. He
had drifted south, alone, in search of adventure or perhaps only a better climate. Seven feet tall, and broad
in proportion, he was one mass of muscle, with a mane of tawny hair and sullen blue eyes. He was adept
with any weapon, but preferred a four-foot double-edged sword with which he could cleave helmet, skull,
neck, and so on down at one blow. He was also said to be a drinker and lover of awesome capacity.
Having overcome the Centaurs singlehanded, he tramped down through our northern provinces and one
day stood at the gates of Sarmia herself. It was a curious vision the turreted walls rearing up over the stone-
paved road, the guards with helmet and shield and corselet, and the towering near-naked giant who rattled
his blade before them. As their pikes slanted down to bar his way, he cried in a voice of thunder:
"I yam Cronkheit duh Barbarian, an' I wanna audience widjer queen!"
His accent was so ludicrously uneducated that the watch burst into laughter. This angered him; flushing
darkly, he drew his sword and advanced stiff-legged. The guardsmen reeled back before him, and the
Barbarian swaggered through.
As the captain of the watch explained it to me afterward: "There he came, and there we stood. A spear
length away, we caught the smell. Ye gods, when did he last bathe?"
So with people running from the streets and bazaars as he neared, Cronkheit made his way down the
Avenue of Sphinxes, past the baths and the Temple of Loccar, till he reached the Imperial Palace. Its gates
stood open as usual, and he looked in at the gardens and the alabaster walls beyond, and grunted. When the
Golden Guardsmen approached frim upwind and asked his business, he grunted again. They lifted their
bows and would have made short work of him, but a slave came running to bid them desist.
You see, by the will of some malignant god, the Empress was standing on a balcony and saw frini,
As is well known, our beloved Empress, Her Seductive Majesty the Illustrious Lady Larra the
Voluptuous, is built like a mountain highway and is commonly believed to be an incarnation of her tutelary
deity, Aphrosex, the Mink Goddess. She stood on the balcony with the wind blowing her thin transparent
garments and thick black hair, and a sudden eagerness lit her proud lovely face. This was understandable,
for Cronkheit wore only a bearskin kilt
So the slave was dispatched, to bow low before the stranger and say: "Most noble lord, the divine
Empress would have private speech with you."
Cronkheit smacked his lips and strutted into the palace. The chamberlain wrung his hands when he saw
those large muddy feet treading priceless rugs, but there was no help for it, and the Barbarian was led
upstairs to the Imperial bedchamber.
What befell there is known to all, for of course in such interviews the Lady Larra posts mute slaves at
convenient peepholes, to summon the guards if danger seems to threaten; and the courtiers have quietly
taught these mutes to write. Our Empress had a cold, and had furthermore been eating a garlic salad, so her
aristocratically curved nose was not offended. After a few formalities, she began to pant Slowly, then she
held out her arms and let the purple robe slide down from her creamy shoulders and across the silken thighs.
"Come," she whispered. "Come, magnificent male."
Cronkheit snorted, pawed the ground, rushed forth, and clasped her to him.
"Yowww!" cried the Empress as a rib cracked. "Leggo! Help!"
The mutes ran for the Golden Guardsmen, who entered at once. They got ropes around the Barbarian
and dragged him from their poor lady. Though in considerable pain, and much shaken, she did not order his
execution; she is known to be very patient with some types.
Indeed, after gulping a cup of wine to steady her, she invited Cronkheit to be her guest. After he had
been conducted off to his rooms, she summoned the Duchess of Thyle, a supple, agile little minx.
"I have a task for you, my dear," she murmured. "You will fulfill it as a loyal lady in waiting."
"Yes, Your Seductive Majesty," said the Duchess, who could well guess what the task was and thought
she had been waiting long enough. For a whole week, in fact. Her assignment was to take the edge off the
Barbarian's impetuosity.
She greased herself so she could slip free if in peril of being crushed, and hurried to Cronkheit's suite.
Her musky perfume drowned out his odor, and she slipped off her dress and crooned with half-shut eyes:
"Take me, my lord!"
"Yahoo!" howled the warrior. "I yam Crontheit duh Strong, Cronkheit duh Bold, Cronkheit what slew a
mammot' singlehanded an' made hisself chief o' duh Centaurs, an' dis's muh nigjit! C'mere!"
The Duchess did, and he folded her in his mighty arms. A moment later there was another shriek. The
palace attendants were treated to the sight of a naked and furious greased Duchess speeding down the jade
corridor.
"Fleas he's got!" she cried, scratching as she ran.
So all in all, Cronkheit the Barbarian was no great success as a lover. Even the women in the Street of
Joy used to hide when they saw him coming. They said they'd been exposed to clumsy technique before, but
this was just too much.
However, his fame was so great that the Lady Larra put him in command of a brigade, infantry and
cavalry, and sent him to join General Grythion on the Chathakh border. He made the march in record time
and came shouting into the city of tents which had grown up at our mam base.
Now admittedly our good General Grythion is somewhat of a dandy, who curls his beard and is
henpecked by his wives. But he has always been a competent soldier, winning honors at the Academy and
leading troops in battle many times before rising to the strategfc-planning post One could understand
Cronkheit's incivility at their meeting. But when the general courteously declined to go forth in the van of
the army and pointed out how much more valuable he was as a coordinator behind the lines -- that was no
excuse for Cronkheit to knock his superior officer to the ground and call him a coward, damned of the gods.
Giythion was thoroughly justified in having him put in irons, despite the casualties involved. Even as it was,
the spectacle had so demoralized our troops that they lost three important engagements in the following
month.
Alas! Word of this reached the Empress, and she did not order Cronkheit's head struck off. Indeed, she
sent back a command that he be released and reinstated. Perhaps she still cherished him enough to be an
acceptable bed partner.
Grythion swallowed his pride and apologized to the Barbarian, who accepted with an ill grace. His
restored rank made it necessary to invite him to a dinner and conference in the headquarters tent
It was a flat failure. Cronkheit stamped in and at once made sneering remarks about the elegant togas of
his brother officers. He belched when he ate and couldn't distinguish the product of one vineyard from
another. His conversation consisted of hourlong monologues about his own prowess. General Grythion saw
morale zooming downward, and hastily called for maps and planning.
"Now, most noble sirs," he began, "we have to lay out the summer campaign. As you know, we have the
Eastern Desert between us and the nearest important enemy positions. This raises difficult questions of
logistics and catapult emplacement." He turned politely to the Barbarian. "Have you any suggestion, my
lord?"
"Duh," said Cronkheit
"I think," ventured Colonel Pharaon, "that if we advanced to the Chunling Oasis and dug in there,
building a supply road--"
"Dat reminds me," said Cronkheit "One time up in duh Norriki marshes, I run acrost some swamp men
an' dey uses poisoned arrers--"
"I fail to see what that has to do with this problem," said General Grythion.
"Nuitin'," admitted Cronkheit cheerfully. "But don't innerup' me. Like I was sayin'--" And he was off for
another dreary hour.
At the end of a conference which had gotten nowhere, the general stroked his beard and said shrewdly:
"Lord Cronkheit, it appears your abilities are more in the tactical than the strategic field."
The Barbarian snatched for his sword.
"I mean," said Grythion quickly, "I have a task which only the boldest and strongest leader can
accomplish."
Cronkheit beamed and listened closely for a change. He was to be sent out with his men to capture
Chantsay. This was a fort in the mountain passes across the Eastern Desert, and a major obstacle to our
advance. However, in spite of Grythion's judicious flattery, a full brigade should have been able to take it
with little difficulty, for it was known to be undermanned.
Cronkheit rode off at the head of his men, tossing his sword in the air and bellowing some uncouth
battle chant. Then he was not heard of for six weeks.
At the close of that time, the ragged, starving, fever-stricken remnant of his troops staggered back to the
base and reported utter failure. Cronkheit, who was in excellent health himself, made some sullen excuses.
But he had never imagined that men who march twenty hours a day aren't fit for battle at the end of the trip
-- the more so if they outrun their own supply train.
Because of the Empress's wish, General Grythion could not do the sensible thing and cashier the
Barbarian. He could not even reduce him to the ranks. Instead, he used his well-known guile and invited the
giant to a private dinner.
"Obviously, most valiant lord," he purred, "the fault is mine. I should have realized that a man of your
type is too much for us decadent southerners. You are a lone wolf who fights best by himself."
"Duh," agreed Cronkheit, ripping a fowl apart with his fingers and wiping them on the damask
tablecloth.
Grythion winced, but easily talked him into going out on a one-man guerrilla operation. When he left
the next morning, the officers' corps congratulated themselves on having gotten rid of the lout forever.
In the face of subsequent criticism and demands for an investigation, I still maintain that Grythion did
the only rational thing under the circumstances. Who could have known that Cronkheit the Barbarian was
so primitive that rationality simply slid off his hairy skin?
The full story will never be known. But apparently, in the course of the following year, while the border
war continued as usual, Cronkheit struck off into the northern uplands. There he raised a band of horse
nomads as ignorant and brutal as himself. He also rounded up a herd of mammoths and drove them into
Chathakh, stampeding them at the foe. By such means, he reached their very capital, and the King offered
terms of surrender.
But Cronkheit would have none of this. Not he! His idea of warfare was to kill or enslave every last
man, woman, and child of the enemy nation. Also, his irregulars were supposed to be paid in loot. Also,
being too unsanitary even for the nomad girls, he felt a certain urgency.
So he stormed the capital of Chathakh and burned it to the ground. This cost him most of his own men.
It also destroyed several priceless books and works of art, and any possibility of tribute to Sarmia.
Then he had the nerve to organize a triumphal procession and ride back to our own city!
This was too much even for the Empress. When he stood before -- for he was too crude for the simple
courtesy of a knee bend -- she exceeded herself in describing the many kinds of fool, idiot, and all-around
blockhead he was.
"Duh," said Cronkheit. "But I won duh war. Look, I won duh war, I did. I won duh war,"
"Yes," hissed the Lady Larra. "You smashed an ancient and noble culture to irretrievable ruin. And did
you know that one half our peacetime trade was with Chathakh? There'll be a business depression now such
as history has never seen before."
General Grythion, who had returned, added his own reproaches. "Why do you think wars are fought?"
he asked bitterly. "War is an extension of diplomacy. It's the final means of making somebody else do what
you want. The object is not to kill them all off--how can corpses obey you?"
Cronkheit growled in his throat.
"We would have negotiated a peace in which Chathakh became our ally against Serpens," went on the
general. "Then we'd have been safe against all comers. But you -- You've left a howling wilderness which
we must garrison with our own troops lest the nomads take it over. Your atrocities have alienated every
civilized state. You've left us alone and friendless. You've won this war by losing the next one!"
"And on top of the depression which is coming," said the Empress, "we'll have the cost of maintaining
those garrisons. Taxes down and expenditures up--It may break the treasury, and then where are we?"
Cronkheit spat on the floor. "Yuh're all decadent, dat's what yuh are," he snarled, "Be good for yuh if yer
empire breaks up. Yuh oughtta get dat city rabble o' years out in duh woods an' make hunters of 'em, like
me. Let 'em eat steak."
The Lady Larra stamped an exquisite gold-shod foot "Do you think we've nothing better to do with our
time than spend the whole day hunting, and sit around in some mud hovel at night licking the grease off our
fingers?" she cried "What the hell do you think civilization is for, anyway?"
Cronkheit drew his great sword so it flashed before their eyes. "I hadda nuff!" he bellowed. "I'm t'rough
widjuh! It's time yuh was all wiped off duh face o' duh eart', an I'm jus' duh guy t' doit!"
And now Genegal Grythion showed the qualities which had raised him to his high post. Artfully, he
quailed. "Oh no!" he whimpered. "You're not going to -- to -- to fight on the side of Serpens?"
"I yam," said Cronkheit. "So long." The last we saw of him was a broad, indignant, flea-bitten back,
headed south, and the reflection of the sun on a sword.
Since then, of course, our affairs have prospered and Serpens is now frantically suing for peace. But we
intend to prosecute the war till they meet our terms. We are most assuredly not going to be ensnared by their
treacherous plea and take the Barbarian back!

Contents
EXPERIMENT
By Fredric Brown

"The first time machine, gentlemen," Professor Johnson proudly informed his two colleagues. "True, it
is a small-scale experimental model. It will operate only on objects weighing less than three pounds, five
ounces and for distances into the past and future of twelve minutes or less. But it works."
The small-scale model looked like a small scale—a postage scale—except for two dials in the part
under the platform.
Professor Johnson held up a small metal cube. "Our experimental object," he said, "is a brass cube
weighing one pound, two point three ounces. First, I shall send it five minutes into the future."
He leaned forward and set one of the dials on the time machine. "Look at your watches," he said.
They looked at their watches. Professor Johnson placed the cube gently on the machine's platform. It
vanished.
Five minutes later, to the second, it reappeared.
Professor Johnson picked it up. "Now five minutes into the past." He set the other dial. Holding the cube
in his hand he looked at his watch. "It is six minutes before three o'clock. I shall now activate the
mechanism—by placing the cube on the platform—at exactly three o'clock. Therefore, the cube should, at
five minutes before three, vanish from my hand and appear on the platform, five minutes before I place it
there."
"How can you place it there, then?" asked one of his colleagues.
"It will, as my hand approaches, vanish from the platform and appear in my hand to be placed there.
Three o'clock. Notice, please."
The cube vanished from his hand.
It appeared on the platform of the time machine.
"See? Five minutes before I shall place it there, it is there!"
His other colleague frowned at the cube. "But," he said, "what if, now that it has already appeared five
minutes before you place it there, you should change your mind about doing so and not place it there at
three o'clock? Wouldn't there be a paradox of some sort involved?"
"An interesting idea," Professor Johnson said. "I had not thought of it, and it will be interesting to try.
Very well, I shall not ..."
There was no paradox at all. The cube remained.
But the entire rest of the Universe, professors and all, vanished.

SENTRY
By Fredric Brown

He was wet and muddy and hungry and cold, and he was fifty thousand light-years from home.
A strange blue sun gave light and the gravity, twice what he was used to, made every movement
difficult.
But in tens of thousands of years this part of war hadn't changed. The flyboys were fine with their sleek
spaceships and their fancy weapons. When the chips are down, though, it was still the foot soldier, the
infantry, that had to take the ground and hold it, foot by bloody foot. Like this damned planet of a star he'd
never heard of until they'd landed him there. And now it was sacred ground because the aliens were there
too. The aliens, the only other intelligent race in the Galaxy ... cruel, hideous and repulsive monsters.
Contact had been made with them near the center of the Galaxy, after the slow, difficult colonization of
a dozen thousand planets; and it had been war at sight; they'd shot without even trying to negotiate, or to
make peace.
Now, planet by bitter planet, it was being fought out.
He was wet and muddy and hungry and cold, and the day was raw with a high wind that hurt his eyes.
But the aliens were trying to infiltrate and every sentry post was vital.
He stayed alert, gun ready. Fifty thousand light-years from home, fighting on a strange world and
wondering if he'd ever live to see home again.
And then he saw one of them crawling toward him. He drew a bead and fired. The alien made that
strange horrible sound they all make, then lay still.
He shuddered at the sound and sight of the alien lying there. One ought to be able to get used to them
after a while, but he'd never been able to. Such repulsive creatures they were, with only two arms and two
legs, ghastly white skins and no scales.

Contents
FLIGHT THROUGH TOMORROW
BY STANTON A. COBLENTZ

Super warfare has destroyed the old race of man, but elsewhere a new civilization is dawning....

I
Nothing was further from my mind, when I discovered the "Release Drug" Relin, than the realization
that it would lead me through as strange and ghastly and revealing a series of adventures as any man has
ever experienced. I encountered it, in a way, as a mere by-product of my experiments; I am a chemist by
profession, and as one of the staff of the Morganstern Foundation have access to some of the best equipped
laboratories in America. The startling new invention--I must call it that, though I did not create it
deliberately--came to me in the course of my investigations into the obscure depths of the human
personality.
It has long been my theory that there is in man a psychic entity which can exist for at least brief periods
apart from the body, and have perceptions which are not those of the physical senses. In accordance with
these views, I had been developing various drugs, compounded of morphine and adrenalin, whose object
was to shock the psychic entity loose for limited periods and so to widen the range and powers of the
personality. I shall not go into the details of my researches, nor tell by what accident I succeeded better than
I had hoped; the all-important fact--a fact so overwhelming that I shudder and gasp and marvel even as I tell
of it--is that I did obtain a minute quantity of a drug which, by putting the body virtually in a state of
suspended animation, could release the mind to travel almost at will across time and space.
Yes, across time and space!--for the drag of the physical having been stricken off, I could enter literally
into infinity and eternity. But let me tell precisely what happened that night when at precisely 10:08 in the
solitude of my apartment room, I swallowed half an ounce of Relin and stretched myself out on the bed,
well knowing that I was taking incalculable risks, and that insanity and even death were by no means
remote possibilities of the road ahead. But let that be as it may! In my opinion, there is no coward more
despicable than he who will not face danger for the sake of knowledge.
My head reeled, and something seemed to buzz inside it as soon as the bitter half ounce of fluid slipped
down my throat. I was barely able to reach the bed and throw myself upon it when there came a snapping as
of something inside my brain ... then, for a period, blankness ... then a gradual awakening with that feeling
of exhilaration one experiences only after the most blissful sleep. I opened my eyes, feeling strong and light
of limb and charged with a marvelous vital energy--but, as I peered about me, my lips drew far apart in
astonishment, and I am sure that I gaped like one who has seen a ghost.
Where were the familiar walls of my two-by-four room, the bureau, the book-rack, the ancient portrait
of Pasteur that hung in its glass frame just above the foot of the bed? Gone! vanished as utterly as though
they had never been! I was standing on a wide and windy plain, with the gale beating in my ears, and with
rapid sunset-colored clouds scudding across the blood-stained west. Mingled with the wailing of the blast,
there was a deep sobbing sound that struck me in successive waves, like the ululations of great multitudes
of far-off mourners. And while I was wondering what this might mean and felt a prickling of horror along
my spine, the first of the portents swept across the sky. I say "portents," for I do not know by what other
term to describe the apparitions; high in the heavens, certainly at an altitude of many miles, the flaming
thing swept across my view, comet-shaped and stretching over at least ten degrees of arc, swift as a meteor,
brilliantly flesh-red, sputtering sparks like an anvil, and leaving behind it a long ruddy trail that only slowly
faded out amid the darkening skies.
It must have been a full minute after its disappearance before the hissing of its flight came to my ears--a
hissing so sharp, so nastily insistent that it reached me even above the noise of the wind. And more than
another minute had passed before the earth beneath me was wrenched and jarred as if by an earthquake and
the most thunderous detonations I had ever heard burst over me in a prolonged series.
Let me emphasize that none of this had the quality of a dream; it was clear-cut, as vivid as anything I
had ever experienced; my mind worked with an unusual precision and clarity, and not even a fleeting doubt
came to me of the reality of my observations. "This is some sort of bombing attack," I remember reflecting,
"some assault of super-monsters of the skies, perfected by a super science." And I did not have to be told
the fact; I knew, as by an all-illuminating inner knowledge, that I had voyaged into the future.
Even as this realization came to me, I made another flight--and one that was in space more than in time.
It did not surprise me, but I took it as the most natural thing in the world when I seemed to rise and go
floating away through the air. It was still sunset-time, but I could see clearly enough as I went drifting at a
height of several hundred yards above a vast desolated space near the junction of two rivers. Perhaps,
however, "desolated" is not the word I should use; I should say, rather, "shattered, pulverized, obliterated,"
for a scene of more utter and hopeless ruin I have never seen nor imagined. Over an area of many square
miles, there was nothing but heaps and mounds of broken stone, charred and crumbling brick, fire-scarred
timbers, and huge contorted masses of rusting steel like the decaying bones of superhuman monsters. From
the great height and extent of the piles of debris, and from the occasional sight of the splintered cornice of a
roof or of some battered window-frame or door, I knew that this had once been a city, one of the world's
greatest; but no other recognizable feature remained amid the gray masses of ruins, and the very streets and
avenues had been erased. But here and there a tremendous crater, three hundred feet across and a hundred to
a hundred and fifty feet deep, indicated the source of the destruction.
As if to reinforce the dread idea that had taken possession of my brain, one of the comet-like red
prodigies went streaking across the sky even as I gazed down at the dead city; and I knew--as clearly as if I
had seen the whole spectacle with my own eyes--that the missile had sprung from a source hundreds or
thousands of miles away, possibly across the ocean; and that, laden with scores of tons of explosives, it had
been hurled with unerring mechanical accuracy upon its mission of annihilation.
Then I seemed to float over vast distances of that sunset-tinted land, and saw great craters in the fields,
and villages shot to ribbons, and farms abandoned; and the wild dogs fought for the wild cattle; and thistles
grew deep on acres where wheat had been planted, and weeds sprouted thickly in the orchards, and blight
and mildew competed for the crops. But though here and there I could see a dugout, with traces of fire and
abandoned tools flung about at random, nowhere in all that dismal world did I observe a living man.
After a time I returned to a place near the ruined city by the two rivers; and in the rocky palisades above
one of the streams, I made out some small circular holes barely large enough to admit a man. And, borne