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<html>
	<div class="title_page">
		<div class="illustration">
			<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:h:h-rich-thompson-spawn-of-the-comet-illo.png" alt="Two people stand in the open cockpit of a winged car. They're shooting something." />
			<p class="illo_caption">Professor Wentworth swung his cannon ray upon that advancing horde.</p>
		</div>
		<h1 class="book_title">Spawn of the Comet</h1>
		<p class="author">By H. Thompson Rich</p>
	</div>

	<p class="blurb">A swarm of huge, fiery ants, brood
	of a mystery comet, burst from
	their shells to threaten the unsuspecting
	world.</p>

</div>

<div id="story">
<blockquote>	<a class="pagenum" id="page236" title="236"> </a>
	<p>Tokyo, June 10 (AP).—A number
	of the meteors that pelted Japan
	last night, as the earth passed
	through the tail of the Mystery
	Comet have been found and are
	puzzling astronomers
	everywhere.</p>

	<p>About the size
	of baseballs,
	orange in color,
	they appear to be
	of some unknown metal. So far,
	due to their extreme hardness, all
	attempts to analyze them have
	failed.</p>

	<p>Their uniformity of size and
	marking gives
	rise to the popular
	belief that
	they are seeds,
	and, fantastic
	though this conception
	<a class="pagenum" id="page237" title="237"> </a>is, it finds support in certain
	scientific quarters here.</p>
</blockquote>

<p class="first_paragraph"><span class="first_word">Jim Carter</span> read the news dispatch
thoughtfully and handed
it back to his chief without
comment.</p>

<p>“Well, what do you make of
it?”</p>

<p>Miles Overton, city editor of <cite>The
New York Press</cite>, shoved his green
eye-shade far back on his bald head
and glanced up irritably from his littered
desk.</p>

<p>“I don’t know,” said Jim.</p>

<p>“You don’t know!” Overton snorted,
biting his dead cigar impatiently.
“And I suppose you don’t know
they’re finding the damn things
right here in New York, not to
mention Chicago, London, Rio and
a few other places,” he added.</p>

<p>“Yes, I know about New York.
It’s a regular egg hunt.”</p>

<p>“Egg hunt is right! But why
tell me all this now? I didn’t see
any mention of ’em in your report
of last night’s proceedings. Did you
see any?”</p>

<p>“No, but I saw a lot of shooting
stars!” said Jim, recalling that
weird experience he and the rest
of humanity had passed through so
recently.</p>

<p>“Yeah, I’ll say!” Overton lit his
wrecked cigar and dragged on it
soothingly. “Now then, getting back
to cases—what are these damn
things, anyway? That’s what I’d
like to know.”</p>

<p>“So would I,” said Jim. “Maybe
they <em>are</em> seeds?”</p>

<p>Overton frowned. He was a solid
man, not given to fancies. He had
a paper to get out every day and
that taxed his imagination to the
limit. There was no gray matter
left for any such idle musings as
Jim suggested. What he wanted was
facts, and he wanted them right away.</p>

<p>“Eggs will do!” he said. “Go
out and get one—and find out what’s
inside it.”</p>

<p>“Okay, Chief,” said Jim, but he
knew it was a large order. “I’ll
have one on your desk for breakfast!”</p>

<p>Then, with a grave face that denied
his light words, he stepped
from the city room on that fantastic
assignment.</p>

<hr class="thoughtbreak" />

<p class="post_thoughtbreak"><span class="first_word">It</span> was the television broadcast
hour and crowds thronged the
upper level of Radio Plaza, gazing,
intently at the bulletin screen, as
Jim Carter emerged from the Press
tower.</p>

<p>News from the ends of the earth,
in audio-picture form, flashed before
their view; but only the reports
on the strange meteors from
the tail of 1947, IV—so designated
by astronomers because it was the
fourth comet discovered that year—held
their interest. Nothing since
the great Antarctic gold rush of
’33 had so gripped the public as
the dramatic arrival and startling
behavior of this mysterious visitant
from outer space.</p>

<p>Jim paused a moment, halfway
across the Plaza, to take a look at
the screen himself.</p>

<p>The substance of the Tokyo dispatch,
supplemented by pictures of
Japanese scientists working over
the baffling orange spheres, had
just gone off. Now came a flash
from Berlin, in which a celebrated
German chemist was seen directing
an effort to cut into one of them
with an acid drill. It failed and the
scientist turned to declare to the
world that the substance seemed
more like crystal than metal and
was harder than diamond.</p>

<p>Jim tarried no longer. He knew
where he was going. It was still
early and Joan would be up—Joan
Wentworth, daughter of Professor
Stephen Wentworth, who held the
chair of astro-lithology at Hartford
University. It was as their guest
at the observatory last night that
he had seen 1947, IV at close range,
<a class="pagenum" id="page238" title="238"> </a>as the earth passed through her
golden train with that awesome, unparalleled
display of fireworks.</p>

<p>Now he’d have the pleasure of
seeing Joan again, and at the same
time get the low-down from her
father on those confounded seeds—or
eggs, rather. If anyone could
crack one of them, he’d bet Professor
Wentworth could.</p>

<p>So, hastening toward the base of
Plaza Airport, he took an elevator
to ramp-level 118, where his auto-plane
was parked, and five minutes
later was winging his way to
Hartford.</p>

<hr class="thoughtbreak" />

<p class="post_thoughtbreak"><span class="first_word">Throttle</span> wide, Jim did the
eighty miles to the Connecticut
capital in a quarter of an hour.</p>

<p>Then, banking down through the
warm June night onto the University
landing field, he retracted the
wings of his swift little bus and
motored to the foot of Observatory
Hill.</p>

<p>Parking outside the Wentworth
home, he mounted the steps and
rang the bell.</p>

<p>It was answered by a slim, appealing
girl of perhaps twenty-two.
Hers was a wistful, oval face, with
a small, upturned nose; and her
clear hazel eyes were the sort that
always seem to be enjoying some
amusing secret of their own. Her
hair was a soft brown, worn loose
to the shoulders, after the style
then in vogue.</p>

<p>“Joan!” blurted Jim.</p>

<p>“What brings you here at such
an hour, Jimmy Carter?” she asked
with mock severity.</p>

<p>“You!”</p>

<p>“I don’t believe you.”</p>

<p>“What then have I come for?”</p>

<p>“You’ve come to interview father
about those meteorites.”</p>

<p>“Nonsense! That’s purely incidental—a
mere by-product, you
might say.”</p>

<p>“Yes, you might—but I wouldn’t
advise you to say it to father.”</p>

<p>“All right, I won’t,” he promised,
as she led him into the library.</p>

<p>Professor Wentworth rose as they
entered and laid aside some scientific
book he had been reading.</p>

<p>A man of medium height and
build, he had the same twinkling
hazel eyes as his daughter, though
somewhat dimmed from peering at
too many stars for too many years.</p>

<p>“Good evening, Jim,” he said.
“I’ve rather been expecting you.
What is on your mind?”</p>

<p>“Seeds! Eggs! Baseballs!” was
the reply, “I don’t know what.
You’ve seen the latest television reports,
I suppose?” said Jim, noting
that the panel on the receiving
cabinet across the room was still
lit.</p>

<p>“I’ve seen some of them. Joan
has been keeping an eye on the
screen mostly, however, while I
refreshed my mind on the known
chemistry of meteorites. You see,
I have a few of those eggs myself,
up at the observatory.”</p>

<p>“You have?” cried Jim.</p>

<p>He was certainly on the right
track!</p>

<p>“Yes. One of my assistants
brought them in this afternoon.
Would you like to see them?”</p>

<p>“I’ll say I would!”</p>

<p>“I rather thought you might,” the
professor smiled. “Come along,
then.”</p>

<p>And as Jim turned, he shot a
look at Joan, and added:</p>

<p>“You may come too, my dear, if
you want.”</p>

<hr class="thoughtbreak" />

<p class="post_thoughtbreak"><span class="first_word">They</span> went out and up the hill
to where the great white dome
glistened under the stars, and once
inside, Jim Carter of <cite>The New
York Press</cite> was privileged to see
two of those strange objects that
had turned the world topsy-turvy.</p>

<p>As the Tokyo dispatch and the
Berlin television flash had indicated,
they were orange in color, about
the size of baseballs.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" id="page239" title="239"> </a>“Weird looking eggs, all right!”
said Jim. “What are they made of,
anyway?”</p>

<p>“Some element unknown on
earth,” replied Professor Wentworth.</p>

<p>“But I thought there were only
ninety-two elements in the universe
and we’d discovered them all.”</p>

<p>“So we have. But don’t forget
this. We are still trying to split
the atom, which nature has done
many times and will doubtless do
many times again. It is merely a
matter of altering the valence of
the atoms in an old element; whereupon
it shifts its position in the
periodic scale and becomes a new
element. Nature accomplishes this
alchemy by means of great heat,
which is certainly to be found in
a meteor.”</p>

<p>“Particularly when it hits the
earth’s atmosphere!”</p>

<p>“Yes. And now then, I’d like to
have you examine more closely this
pair I have here.”</p>

<p>Jim lifted one and noted its
peculiar smoothness, its remarkable
weight for its size; he noted, too,
that it was veined with concentric
markings, like a series of arabesques
or fleurs-de-lis.</p>

<p>The professor lifted the other,
calling attention to the fact that
the size and marking of both were
identical, as hitherto reported.</p>

<p>“Also, you’ll observe that they
are slightly warm. In fact, they
are appreciably warmer than when
they were first brought in. Curious
behavior, this, for new-laid cometary
eggs! More like seeds germinating
than meteorites cooling,
wouldn’t you say?”</p>

<p>“But good Lord!” Jim was somewhat
taken aback to hear this celebrated
scientist apparently commit
himself to that wild view. “You
don’t really think they’re seeds, do
you?”</p>

<p>“Why not?”</p>

<p>“But surely no seeds could survive
the temperature they hit getting
here.”</p>

<p>“No seeds such as we know, true.
But what, after all, do we know of
the types of life to be found on
other planets?”</p>

<p>“Nothing, of course. Only these
didn’t come from a planet. They
came from a comet.”</p>

<p>“And who can say a comet is not
a disintegrated planet? Or suppose
we take the other theory, that it is
an eruption from some sun, ours or
another. In any event, who can say
no life can survive intense heat?
Certainly these seeds—or call them
meteorites, if you choose—came
through the ordeal curiously unscathed.”</p>

<p>“Yes, that’s true. Funny, too!”</p>

<p>“And another thing is true, Jim.
If by chance they <em>should</em> be seeds,
and <em>should</em> germinate, the life they
would produce would be something
quite alien to our experience, possibly
quite inimical to—”</p>

<p>Professor Wentworth broke off
abruptly as a startled cry came from
Joan, and, turning, they saw her
standing with eyes fixed in fascinated
horror on the laboratory
table.</p>

<hr class="thoughtbreak" />

<p class="post_thoughtbreak"><span class="first_word">Following</span> her gaze, Jim
saw something that caused his
own eyes to bulge. The color of
those mysterious orange spheres
had suddenly, ominously heightened.
They lay glowing there like
balls of fire.</p>

<p>“Good God!” he gasped. “Look,
Professor! Do you see that?”</p>

<p>Professor Wentworth did not answer
but himself stood gazing spellbound
at the astounding scene.</p>

<p>Even as they looked, the metal
table smoldered under the fiery
meteorites and melted, and in a
little while the meteorites themselves
sizzled from view. Flames
licked up from the floor; dense,
suffocating fumes rose and swirled
through the laboratory.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" id="page240" title="240"> </a>“Quick!” cried Jim, seizing Joan’s
arm. “Come on, Professor! Never
mind trying to save anything. Let’s
get out of here!”</p>

<p>They staggered from the laboratory
and once outside, plunged
down the hill. It was none too
soon.</p>

<p>Behind them, as they fled, came
suddenly two deafening explosions.
Looking back, they saw the roof
of the observatory tilt crazily; saw
the whole building shatter, and
erupt like a volcano.</p>

<p>But that, startling though it was,
was not all they saw. For now, as
they stood there speechless, two
incredible forms rose phoenix-like
from the flames—two weird monsters,
orange against the red, hideous,
nightmarish. They saw them
hover a moment above that fiery
hell, then rise on batlike wings to
swoop off into the night.</p>

<p>Nor was that all. As the awed
trio stood there halfway down Observatory
Hill, following the flight
of that pair of demons, other explosions
reached their ears, and,
turning to the city below, they saw
vivid jets of red leap up here and
there, saw other orange wings
against the night.</p>

<p>While off across the southeast
sky, receding fast, spread the Mystery
Comet whose tail had sowed
the seeds of this strange life.</p>

<hr class="thoughtbreak" />

<p class="post_thoughtbreak"><span class="first_word">Still</span> silent, the trio stood gazing
upon that appalling scene
for some minutes, while the ruddy
shadows of the flaming observatory
lit their tense faces.</p>

<p>“Well, the seeds have hatched,”
said Professor Wentworth at
length, in a strained voice. “I am
afraid some of the curious who have
been gathering those meteorites so
eagerly have paid a dear price for
them.”</p>

<p>“Yes, I’m afraid so,” echoed Jim.
“We were lucky. If Joan hadn’t
happened to spot those things just
when she did—” He broke off and
pressed her hand fondly. “But
somehow I can’t believe it, even
yet. What do you think the things
are, Professor?”</p>

<p>“God knows! As I told you, those
seeds, should they germinate, would
produce something quite alien to
our experience; and as I feared, it
is a form of life that will not blend
well with humanity.”</p>

<p>Jim shuddered.</p>

<p>“But look, father!” exclaimed
Joan. “They’re flying away! They
seem to be way up among the stars.
Maybe they’ve left the earth altogether.”</p>

<p>Professor Wentworth following
his daughter’s gaze, saw that many
of the monsters were now mere
orange pinpoints against the night.</p>

<p>“Let us hope so!” he said fervently.</p>

<p>But in his heart there was no
conviction, nor in Jim’s, strangely.</p>

<hr class="thoughtbreak" />

<p class="post_thoughtbreak"><span class="first_word">On</span> the way back to New York,
Jim had plenty to heighten
his uneasiness. The scene below
him everywhere was red with conflagrations,
the sky everywhere
orange with the wings of those
fiery moths.</p>

<p>More than one swept perilously
close, as he pushed his auto-plane
on at top speed; but they showed
no inclination to attack, for which
he was devoutly thankful.</p>

<p>Over the metropolitan area, the
scene was one beggaring description.
All the five boroughs were a
blazing checker-board. New Jersey,
Connecticut, Westchester—all were
raging. Hundreds of those deadly
bombs must have burst in Manhattan
alone.</p>

<p>But the fire department there
seemed to have the situation in
hand, he noticed as he swept down
onto the Plaza landing platform.</p>

<p>Leaving his plane with an attendant,
he took the first elevator
to the street level, and crossing
<a class="pagenum" id="page241" title="241"> </a>hastily to the Press tower, mounted
to the city room.</p>

<p>There absolute pandemonium
raged. Typewriters were sputtering,
telegraph keys clicking, phones
buzzing, reporters coming and going
in a steady stream, mingled
with the frantic orders of editors,
sub-editors, copy readers, composing-room
men and others.</p>

<p>Carter fought through the bedlam
to the city editor’s desk.</p>

<p>“Sorry I couldn’t bring you that
egg, Chief,” he said, with a grim
smile. “I had one right in my
hand, but it hatched out on me.”</p>

<p>Overton looked up wearily. He
was a man who had seen a miracle,
a godless miracle that restored his
faith in the devil.</p>

<p>“Don’t talk—just write!” he
growled. “I’ve seen and heard too
much to-night. We’re all going to
hell, I guess—unless we’re already
there.”</p>

<p>But Jim wasn’t ready to write
yet.</p>

<p>“What’s the dope elsewhere? The
same?”</p>

<p>“All over the map! We’re frying,
from coast to coast.”</p>

<p>“And abroad?”</p>

<p>“Cooked, everywhere!” He paused,
and turned an imploring face to
Jim. “Tell me, Carter—what’s happening?
You’ve seen Wentworth, I
suppose. What’s he make of it?”</p>

<p>“He—doesn’t know.”</p>

<p>“God help us! Well, go write
your story. If we’ve got a plant by
press time, we’ll have something on
page one to-morrow—if there’s anyone
to read it.”</p>

<hr class="thoughtbreak" />

<p class="post_thoughtbreak"><span class="first_word">By</span> morning the fires in the
metropolitan area had been
brought under control and it was
found that neither the loss of life
nor the damage was as great as had
at first been feared. Mainly it was
the older types of buildings that
had suffered the most.</p>

<p>The same thing was true in other
parts of the country and elsewhere
in the world; and elsewhere, as in
New York, people pulled themselves
together, cleared up the debris, and
went ahead with their occupations.
Business was resumed, and rebuilding
operations were begun.</p>

<p>Meanwhile, where were those fiery
moths that had sprung so devastatingly
from their strange
cocoons?</p>

<p>For a while no one knew and it
was believed they had indeed
winged off into interstellar space,
as Joan had suggested that night
on Observatory Hill.</p>

<p>Then came rumors that damped
these hopes, followed by eye-witness
reports that altogether dashed
them. The bat-like monsters had
flown, not off into space, but to the
world’s waste-lands.</p>

<p>Strange, it was, the instinct that
had led them unerringly to the
remotest point of each continent.
In North America it was the great
Arizona desert, in South America
the pampas of Argentina, in Europe
the steppes of Russia, in Asia the
Desert of Gobi, in Africa the Sahara,
in Australia the Victoria;
while in the British Isles, Philippines,
New Zealand, Madagascar,
Iceland, the East Indies, West
Indies, South Seas and other islands
of the world, the interiors
were taken over by the demons,
the populace fleeing for their lives.</p>

<p>As for the oceans, no one knew
exactly what had happened there,
though it was obvious they, too,
had received their share of the
bombardment on that fateful night;
but, while temperatures were found
to be somewhat above normal, scientists
were of the opinion that the
deadly spawn that had fallen there
had failed to incubate.</p>

<hr class="thoughtbreak" />

<p class="post_thoughtbreak"><span class="first_word">Immediately</span> the presence of
the monsters in the Arizona
desert was verified, Overton called
Jim Carter to his desk.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" id="page242" title="242"> </a>“Well, I’ve got a big assignment
for you, boy,” he said, rather more
gently than was his fashion. “Maybe
you know what, huh?”</p>

<p>“You want me to buzz out and
interview those birds?”</p>

<p>“You guessed it. And photograph
’em!”</p>

<p>“Okay, Chief,” said Carter, though
he knew this would be the toughest
job yet.</p>

<p>Overton knew it, too.</p>

<p>“It won’t be easy,” he said. “And
it may be dangerous. You don’t
have to take the assignment unless
you want.”</p>

<p>“But I want.”</p>

<p>“Good! I thought you would.” He
regarded the younger man admiringly,
almost enviously. “Now, about
those photos. The Television News
people haven’t been able to get a
thing, nor the War Department—not
so much as a still. So those
photos will be valuable.”</p>

<p>Overton paused, to let that sink
in.</p>

<p>“They’ll be worth a million, in
fact, in addition to what the War
Department offers. And to you
they’ll be worth ten thousand dollars.”</p>

<p>“How come?”</p>

<p>“Because that’s what the Old
Man said.”</p>

<p>“Well, I can use it!” said Jim,
thinking of Joan.</p>

<p>“All right. Then go to it!”</p>

<hr class="thoughtbreak" />

<p class="post_thoughtbreak"><span class="first_word">Leaving</span> New York late that
night, Carter timed his flight
to arrive over the eastern edge of
the desert just before dawn.</p>

<p>The trip was uneventful till he
crossed the Rockies over New
Mexico and eased down into Arizona.
Then, flying low and fast, he
suddenly caught a glow of color
off ahead.</p>

<p>For an instant Jim thought it was
the dawn, then called himself a
fool. For one thing, the glow was
in the west, not the east. And for
another, altogether more significant,
it was orange.</p>

<p>His quarry!</p>

<p>Pulling his stick back hard, he
shot like a rocket to ten thousand
feet, figuring that a higher altitude,
besides giving him a better view of
the lay of the land, would be considerably
safer.</p>

<p>Winging on now at that height,
he saw the orange tide rise higher
in the west by seconds, as he
rushed toward God knew what eery
lair. He suddenly gasped in amazement,
as he saw now something so
incredible it left him numb.</p>

<p>Below, looming above the on-rushing
horizon was a city! But
such a city as the brain of man
could scarcely conceive, much less
execute—a city of some fluorescent
orange material, rising tier on tier,
level on level, spreading out over
the sandy floor of the desert for
miles.</p>

<p>And, as Jim draw nearer, he saw,
too, that this weird city was teeming
with life—terrible life! Thousands
of those hideous monsters were
working there like an army of ants
in a sand-hill—a sand-hill of glistening,
molten glass, it seemed
from the air.</p>

<p>Were they building their city
from the sand of the desert, these
hellish glaciers?</p>

<p>Carter decided to find out.</p>

<p>“Well, here goes!” he muttered,
diving straight for that dazzling
citadel, one hand on the stick, the
other gripping the trigger of his
automatic camera. “This’ll make a
picture for the Old Man, all right!”</p>

<p>Off to the east the dawn was
breaking, and he saw, as he swept
down, its pearly pastel shades blending
weirdly with that blinding
orange glare.</p>

<p>Pressing the trigger now, he
drove his screaming plane on with
throttle wide—and yes, it was glass!—glass
of some sort, that crazy
nightmare down there.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" id="page243" title="243"> </a>“Whew!” gasped Carter as waves
of dazing heat rose about him. “Boy,
but it’s hot! I can’t stand much of
this. Better get out while the
getting’s good.”</p>

<p>But he clenched his teeth, and
dove on down to see what those
fiery demons looked like. Funny
they didn’t make any effort to
attack. Surely they must see him
now.</p>

<p>“Take that, my beauties!—and
that!” he gasped, pressing the trigger
of his camera furiously.</p>

<p>Then, at a scant two thousand
feet, he levelled off, his wings blistering
with the heat, and zoomed
up again—when to his horror, his
engine faltered; died.</p>

<hr class="thoughtbreak" />

<p class="post_thoughtbreak"><span class="first_word">In</span> that agonizing moment it came
to Jim that this perhaps was
why neither the Television News
nor the War Department pilots had
been able to get pictures of the
hell below.</p>

<p>Had something about that daring
heat killed their motors, too, as
it had his? Had they plunged like
fluttering, sizzling moths into that
inferno of orange flame?</p>

<p>“Well, I guess it’s curtains!” he
muttered.</p>

<p>A glance at his altimeter showed
a scant eighteen hundred now. Another
glance showed the western
boundary of the city, agonizing
miles ahead. Could he make it?
He’d try, anyway!</p>

<p>So, nursing his plane along in a
shallow glide, Jim slipped down
through that dazing heat.</p>

<p>“Got to keep her speed up!” he
told himself, half deliriously, as he
steadily lost altitude. “Can’t pancake
here, or I’ll be a flapjack!”</p>

<p>At an altitude of less than a
thousand he levelled off again,
eased on down, fully expecting to
feel his plane burst into flames.
But though his eyebrows crisped
and the gas must have boiled, the
sturdy little plane made it.</p>

<p>On a long last glide, he put her
wheels down on the sandy desert
floor, a bare half mile beyond that
searing hell.</p>

<p>The heat was still terrific but endurable
now. He dared breathe
deeper; he found his head clearing.
But what was the good of it? It was
only a respite. The monsters had
seen him, all right—no doubt about
that! Already they were swooping
out of their weird citadel like a
pack of furious hornets.</p>

<p>On they came, incredibly fast,
moving in a wide half-circle that
obviously was planned to envelop
him.</p>

<p>Tense with horror, like a doomed
man at the stake, Jim watched the
flaming phalanx advance. And now
he saw what they really were; saw
that his first, fantastic guess had
been right.</p>

<p>They were <em>ants</em>—or at least more
like ants than anything on earth—great
fiery termites ten feet long,
hideous mandibles snapping like
steel, hot from the forge, their
huge compound eyes burning like
greenish electric fire in their livid
orange sockets.</p>

<p>And another thing Jim saw, something
that explained why the fearful
insects had not flown up to
attack him in the air. Their wings
were gone!</p>

<p>They had molted, were earthbound
now.</p>

<hr class="thoughtbreak" />

<p class="post_thoughtbreak"><span class="first_word">There</span> was much food for
thought in this, but no time to
think. Already the creatures were
almost on him.</p>

<p>Jim turned his gaze from them
and bent over his dials in a last
frantic effort to get his motor
started. The instinct of self-preservation
was dominant now—and to
his joy, suddenly the powerful little
engine began to hum with life.</p>

<p>He drew one deep breath of infinite
relief, then gave her the gun
and whirled off down the desert
<a class="pagenum" id="page244" title="244"> </a>floor, the enraged horde after him.</p>

<p>For agonizing instants it was
a nip-and-tuck race. Then as he felt
his wheels lift, he pulled hard back
on his stick, and swept up and
away from the deadly claws that
clutched after him in vain.</p>

<p>Climbing swiftly, Jim banked
once, swept back, put the bead full
on that scattering half-circle of
fiery termites, and pressed the
trigger of his automatic camera.</p>

<p>“There, babies!” he laughed grimly.
“You’re in the Rogues’ Gallery
now!”</p>

<p>Then, swinging off to the northeast,
he continued to climb, giving
that weird ant-hill a wide berth.</p>

<p>Funny, about those things losing
their wings, he was thinking now.
Would they grow them again, or
were they on the ground for good?
And what was their game out there
in the desert, anyway?</p>

<p>Questions Jim couldn’t answer, of
course. Only time would tell. Meanwhile,
he had some pictures that
would make the Old Man sit up and
take notice, not to mention the
War Department.</p>

<p>“They’d better get the Army on
the job before those babies get
air-minded again!” he told himself,
as he winged on into the rising sun.
“Otherwise the show they’ve already
staged may be only a little
curtain-raiser.”</p>

<hr class="thoughtbreak" />

<p class="post_thoughtbreak"><span class="first_word">Jim’s</span> arrival in the city room
of <cite>The New York Press</cite> that
afternoon was a triumphant one,
for he had radio-phoned the story
ahead and extras were out all over
the metropolitan area, with relays
flashing from the front pages of
papers everywhere.</p>

<p>No sooner had he turned over his
precious pictures to the photographic
department for development
than Overton rushed him to a
microphone, and made him repeat
his experience for the television
screen.</p>

<p>But the city editor’s enthusiasm
died when the negatives came out
of the developer.</p>

<p>“There are your pictures!” he
said, handing over a bunch of them.</p>

<p>Carter looked at them in dismay.
They were all blank—just so much
plain black celluloid.</p>

<p>“Over-exposed!” rasped Overton.
“A hell of a photographer you are!”</p>

<p>“I sure am!” Jim agreed, still
gazing ruefully at the ruined negatives.
“Funny, though. The camera
was checked before I started. I had
the range before I pulled the trigger,
every shot.” He paused, then
added, as though reluctant to excuse
himself: “It must have been
the heat.”</p>

<p>“Yeah. I suppose so! Well, that
was damn expensive heat for you,
my lad. It cost you ten thousand
bucks.”</p>

<p>“Yes, but—”</p>

<p>Jim had been going to say it had
nearly cost him his life but thought
better of it. Besides, an idea had
come.</p>

<p>“Give me those negatives!” he
said, “I’m going to find out what’s
wrong with ’em.”</p>

<p>And since they were of no use
to Overton, he gave them to Jim.</p>

<hr class="thoughtbreak" />

<p class="post_thoughtbreak"><span class="first_word">That</span> night again, Jim Carter
presented himself at the Wentworth
home in Hartford, and again
it was Joan who admitted him.</p>

<p>“Oh, Jimmy!” she murmured, as
he took her in his arms. “We’re all
so proud of you!”</p>

<p>“I’m glad someone is,” he said.</p>

<p>“But what a fearful risk you ran!
If you hadn’t been able to get your
motor started—”</p>

<p>“Why think of unpleasant
things?” he said with a smile.</p>

<p>Then they went into the library,
where Professor Wentworth added
his congratulations.</p>

<p>“But I’m afraid I didn’t accomplish
much,” said Jim, explaining
about the pictures.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" id="page245" title="245"> </a>“Let me see them,” said the professor.</p>

<p>Jim handed them over.</p>

<p>For a moment or two Professor
Wentworth examined them intently,
holding them this way and that.</p>

<p>“They indeed appear to be extremely
over-exposed,” he admitted
at length. “Your Fire Ants are
doubtless radio-active to a high
degree. The results could not have
been much worse had you tried to
photograph the sun direct.”</p>

<p>“I thought as much,” said Carter,
gloomily.</p>

<p>“But possibly the damage isn’t
irreparable. Suppose we try re-developing
a few of these negatives.”</p>

<p>He led the way to his study,
which since the destruction of the
observatory had been converted into
a temporary laboratory.</p>

<hr class="thoughtbreak" />

<p class="post_thoughtbreak"><span class="first_word">Ten</span> minutes later, Professor
Wentworth had his re-developing
bath ready in a porcelain basin
and had plunged some of the negatives
into it.</p>

<p>“This process is what photographers
call intensification,” he explained.
“It consists chemically in
the oxidation of a part of the silver
of which the image is composed. I
have here in solution uranium nitrate,
plus potassium ferricyanide
acidified with acetic acid. The latter
salt, in the presence of the acid, is
an oxidizing agent, and, when applied
to the image, produces silver
oxide, which with the excess of
acetic acid forms silver acetate.”</p>

<p>“Which is all so much Greek to
me!” said Carter.</p>

<p>“At the same time, the ferricyanide
is reduced to ferrocyanide,”
the professor went on, with a smile
at Joan, “whereupon insoluble red
uranium ferrocyanide is produced,
and, while some of the silver, in
being oxidized by this process, is
rendered soluble and removed from
the negative into the solution, it is
replaced by the highly non-actinic
and insoluble uranium compound.”</p>

<p>The process was one quite familiar
to photographers experienced
in astronomical work, he explained.
In fifteen minutes they should know
what results they were getting.</p>

<p>But when fifteen minutes passed
and the negatives were still as
black as ever, Jim’s hope waned.</p>

<p>Not so Professor Wentworth’s,
however.</p>

<p>“There is a definite but slow reaction
taking place,” he said after
a careful examination. “Either the
over-exposure is even greater than
I had suspected, or the actinic rays
from your interesting subjects have
formed a stubborn chemical union
with the silver of the image. In the
latter event, which is the theory
I am going to work on, we must
speed up the reaction and tear
some of that excess silver off, if
we’re ever to see what is underneath.”</p>

<p>“But how are you going to speed
up the reaction?” asked Jim. “I
thought that uranium was pretty
strong stuff by itself.”</p>

<p>“It is, but not as strong as this
new substance we have in combination
with the silver here. So I
think I’ll try a little electrolysis—or,
in plain English, electro-plating.”</p>

<p>As he spoke, the professor clipped
a couple of platinum electrodes to
the basin, one at each end. To the
anode he attached one of the negatives,
to the cathode a small piece
of iron.</p>

<p>“Now then, we’ll soon see.”</p>

<p>He passed a low current into the
wires, through a rheostat, with
startling results. There was a sudden
foaming of the solution and
a weird vapor rose from it, luminous,
milky, faintly orange.</p>

<hr class="thoughtbreak" />

<p class="post_thoughtbreak"><span class="first_word">For</span> a moment, all they could
do was stare.</p>

<p>Then Professor Wentworth
switched off the current and stepped
toward the tank. Waving away that
<a class="pagenum" id="page246" title="246"> </a>orange gas, he reached for the
cathode and held it up. It was no
longer iron, but silver, now.</p>

<p>“Plated, you see!” he exclaimed
in triumph.</p>

<p>“Yes, but those fumes!” cried
Jim. “Why, they were the same
color as the—the Fire Ants, as you
call them.”</p>

<p>“I know.” The professor was not
as calm as he pretended. “We have
released some of their actinic rays
captured by the negative, in prying
loose our excess silver. Later I shall
repeat the process and capture some
of that vapor for analysis. At
present, let us have a look at the
negative already treated.”</p>

<p>He lifted the anode from the
solution now, removed the negative,
and held it up. A smile of
satisfaction broke over his face,
followed by a shudder.</p>

<p>“There you are, Jim! Have a
look!”</p>

<p>Jim looked, with Joan peering
over his shoulder, and his pulses
tingled. It was a clear shot of that
scattering half-circle of fiery termites,
taken after he got away and
swept back over them.</p>

<p>“Say, that’s wonderful!” he exclaimed.</p>

<p>“Wonderful—but horrible!” echoed
Joan.</p>

<p>“I’ll admit they’re not much on
looks,” laughed Carter. “But their
homely maps are worth a lot to
me—ten thousand dollars, in fact!”</p>

<p>He told her why, and what he
proposed to do with the money,
and Joan thought it a very good
idea.</p>

<p>While this was taking place, Professor
Wentworth was re-developing
the rest of the negatives.</p>

<p>At last all had been salvaged,
even those taken in the terrific
heat over that weird glass city out
there, and Jim was preparing to
bear them back to Overton in
triumph.</p>

<p>He had thanked the kindly professor
from the bottom of his heart,
had even told him something of
what he had been telling Joan.
There remained but to put one last
question, then go.</p>

<p>“Summing it all up, what do you
make of those nightmares?” he
asked. “Do you think they can be
destroyed?”</p>

<p>Professor Wentworth did not
reply at once.</p>

<p>“I can perhaps answer your question
better when I have analyzed
this specimen of gas,” he said at
length, holding up a test-tube in
which swirled a quantity of that
luminous, milky orange vapor. “But
if you wish to quote me for publication,
you may say that when I
have learned the nature of it, I shall
devote all my energies to combating
the menace it constitutes.”</p>

<p>And that was the message Jim
took back with him, but it was the
pictures that interested the practical
Overton most.</p>

<hr class="thoughtbreak" />

<p class="post_thoughtbreak"><span class="first_word">Before</span> many days, however,
Overton, with the rest of the
world, was turning anxiously to
Professor Wentworth, watching his
every move, awaiting his every word.
For before many days terrible reports
started coming in, not only
from the Arizona desert but from
the assembly grounds of the Fire
Ants everywhere.</p>

<p>Those deadly termites were on
the move! They were spreading
from their central citadels in
ominous, expanding circles—circles
that engulfed villages, towns and
cities in a swift, relentless ring of
annihilation that was fairly stupefying.</p>

<p>In North America, the cities of
Phoenix, Tucson and Prescott,
with all that lay between, were
already gone, their frantic populaces
fleeing to the four points of the
compass before that fateful orange
tide. In South America, Rosario and
Cordoba were within the flaming
<a class="pagenum" id="page247" title="247"> </a>ring and Buenos Aires was threatened.
In Europe, Moscow and its
vast tributary plain had fallen before
the invaders. In Asia, a veritable
inland empire was theirs,
reaching from Urga to the Khingan
Mountains. In Africa, Southern
Algeria and French Sudan, with
their innumerable small villages
and oases, were overrun. In Australia,
Coolgardie had succumbed
and Perth was in a panic.</p>

<p>But fearful though the destruction
was on the continents, it was
the islands of the world that suffered
most. First the smallest, those
picturesque green gems of the South
Seas, crisped and perished. Then
came reports of the doom of the
Hawaiian group, the Philippines,
the East and West Indies, New
Zealand, Tasmania and a score of
others, their populations perishing
by the thousands, as shipping proved
unavailable to transport them to
safety.</p>

<p>By far the most tragic fate, however,
was that suffered by the
British Isles. What happened there
stunned the world, and brought realization
to humanity that unless
some miracle intervened, it was but
a mirror of the doom that awaited
all. For England, Ireland and Scotland
were habitable no more. London,
Dublin, Glasgow—all their
proud cities, all their peaceful hamlets,
centuries old, were flaming
ruins.</p>

<p>Out of a population, of some
sixty millions, it was estimated that
at least eight millions must have
perished. The rest, by prodigious
feats of transportation, managed to
reach the mainland, where they
spread as refugees throughout an
apprehensive, demoralized Europe.</p>

<hr class="thoughtbreak" />

<p class="post_thoughtbreak"><span class="first_word">As</span> for the armies and navies
of the world, they were powerless
before this fiendish invader.
Hammered with high explosives,
drenched with chemicals, sprayed
with machine-gun ballets, the fiery
termites surged on unchecked, in
ever-widening circles of death.</p>

<p>Lead and steel passed through
them harmlessly. Gas wafted off
them like air. Despite the frantic
efforts of scientists and military
men, nothing could be devised to
stem that all-devouring orange tide.</p>

<p>It was quite obvious by now,
even to the most conservative
minds, that the end of human life
on earth was not far off. It could
only be a few more weeks before
the last stronghold fell. Daily,
hourly, those deadly Fire Ants
were everywhere expanding their
fields of operations. Presently all
humanity would be driven to the
seacoasts, there to perish by fire
or water, as they chose.</p>

<p>There were some optimists, of
course, who believed that the miracle
would happen—that Professor
Wentworth or some other scientist
would devise some means of repelling
the invader before it was
too late.</p>

<p>Young Jim Carter of <cite>The
York Press</cite> was not among them,
however, though he would have
gambled it would be Professor
Wentworth if anyone. For what
hope was there that any mere man
could figure out a weapon that
would be effective against such a
deadly, such a superhuman foe?</p>

<p>Very little, it seemed, and he
grew less and less sanguine, as he
continued his frenzied, sleepless
work of reporting the unending
catastrophes for his paper.</p>

<p>He often thought bitterly of that
ten thousand dollars. A lot of good
that would do him now!</p>

<p>As for Joan, she faced her fate
with fortitude—fortitude and a supreme
faith that her father would
succeed in analyzing that sinister
orange vapor and find the weapon
the world waited for.</p>

<p>But agonizing days passed and he
did not find it.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" id="page248" title="248"> </a>Then at last, on the night of
August 14th, when Los Angeles
and San Francisco were smoldering
infernos, along with Reno, Denver,
Omaha, El Paso and a score of
other great American cities; when
Buenos Aires and Santiago were
gone, Berlin and Peking and Cairo;
when Australia was all one fiery
hell—then it was that Professor
Wentworth summoned Jim Carter
to Hartford.</p>

<hr class="thoughtbreak" />

<p class="post_thoughtbreak"><span class="first_word">Hoping</span> against hope, he hurried
over.</p>

<p>Once again, Joan ushered him
into the house. She was very pale
and did not speak.</p>

<p>At her side stood her father. It
was he who spoke.</p>

<p>“Good evening, Jim. You have
come promptly.”</p>

<p>His voice was strained, his face
grave. He had aged greatly in the
past few weeks.</p>

<p>“Well I’ll admit I clipped along.
You’ve—found something?”</p>

<p>Professor Wentworth smiled
wanly.</p>

<p>“Suppose you step into my study
and see what I have found.”</p>

<p>He led the way toward the little
makeshift laboratory that for many
days and nights had been the scene
of his efforts.</p>

<p>It was littered with strange devices
now, strangest of all perhaps
a huge glass tube like a cannon,
mounted on some sort of swivel
base.</p>

<p>Ignoring this for the moment, he
turned to a smaller tube set upright
on a table at the far end of the
room. In it, glowed a sinister
orange lump that made the whole
tube fluorescent.</p>

<p>“Behold one of your monsters in
captivity!” said the professor, again
with a wan smile. “In miniature,
of course. What I have done is to
condense some of that vapor into
a solid.”</p>

<p>The process, he explained, was
similar to that employed by Madame
Curie in obtaining metallic radium—electrolyzing
a radium chloride
solution with mercury as a cathode,
then driving off the mercury by
heat in a current of hydrogen—only
he had used the new element
instead of radium.</p>

<p>“Incidentally, I have learned that
this new element is far more radioactive
than radium and possesses
many curious properties. Among
them, it decomposes violently in
water—particularly salt water—producing
harmless hydrogen and
chloride compounds. So we have
nothing to fear from those seeds
that fell in our oceans, lakes and
rivers.”</p>

<p>“Well, that’s something, anyway,”
said Jim. “But have you found any
way to combat the ones that have
already hatched?”</p>

<p>“Before I answer that question,”
Professor Wentworth replied, “I
shall let you witness a little demonstration.”</p>

<p>He advanced to the cannon-like
device at the other end of the
room, swung it on its swivel till it
was pointing directly at that fluorescent
orange tube on the table.</p>

<p>“Watch closely!” he said, throwing
a switch.</p>

<p>There was a sudden, whining
hum in the air and the nib of the
big tube glowed a soft, velvety green.
Jim gazed at the scene with rapt
attention.</p>

<p>“Don’t look at that one!” whispered
Joan. “Look at the other!”</p>

<p>Jim did so, and saw that its
fluorescence was waning.</p>

<p>A moment more the professor
held the current on, while the tube
grew white. Then he threw off the
switch.</p>

<p>“Now let us have a look at our
captive,” he said, striding over.</p>

<p>They followed, and one glance
told Jim what had happened. That
sinister lump of orange metal had
vanished.</p>

<hr class="thoughtbreak" /><a class="pagenum" id="page249" title="249"> </a>

<p class="post_thoughtbreak"><span class="first_word">But</span> where was it? That was
what he wanted to know.</p>

<p>“A natural question, but not one
easy to answer,” was Professor
Wentworth’s reply. “I shall tell you
what I have done; then you may
judge for yourself.”</p>

<p>The cannon-like device which had
accompanied the seeming miracle
was an adaptation of the cathode
tube, whose rays are identical with
the beta rays of the atom and
consist of a stream of negatively
charged particles moving at the
velocity of light—186,000 miles a
second. These rays, in theory, have
the power to combine with the positively
charged alpha rays of the
atom and drag them from their
electrons, causing them to discharge
their full quanta of energy at once,
in the form of complete disintegration—and
it was this theory the professor
had acted on.</p>

<p>“But, good Lord—that’s splitting
the atom!” exclaimed Jim. “You
don’t mean to say you’ve done that?”</p>

<p>“I apparently have,” was the grave
admission. “But do not let it seem
such a miracle. Bear in mind, as I
have pointed out before, that nature
has accomplished this alchemy many
times. All radio-active elements are
evidences of it. The feat consists
merely in altering the valence of
the atom, changing its electric
charge, in other words. What I have
done in the present instance is
merely to speed up a process nature
already had under way, inasmuch
as we are dealing with a
radio-active substance.”</p>

<p>“But what has happened to the
by-product of the reaction?”</p>

<p>“Your guess is as good as mine.
I have not had time to study that
phase of it. Heat, mainly, was produced.
Possibly a few atoms of
helium. But the substance is gone.
That is our chief concern just now.”</p>

<p>It was only after abandoning
chemical means and turning to
physics that he had met with success,
he said. Cathode rays had
finally proved the key to the riddle.</p>

<p>“But do you think this thing
will work on a big scale?” asked
Jim regarding that fragile tube
doubtfully.</p>

<p>Professor Wentworth hesitated
before replying.</p>

<p>“I do not know,” he admitted,
“but I intend to find out—to-night.”</p>

<hr class="thoughtbreak" />

<p class="post_thoughtbreak"><span class="first_word">Jim</span> looked at him in amazement.
“To-night?”</p>

<p>“Yes. Or rather, the experiment
will be at dawn. If successful, this
continent at least will be rid of the
menace.”</p>

<p>Jim’s amazement turned to incredulity
and a sudden fear gripped
him. Had the strain of the past few
weeks unbalanced the professor’s
mind?</p>

<p>“But surely you can’t hope to
wipe them out with one tube. Why,
it would take hundreds.”</p>

<p>“No, only one. You see, I am
going to place the tube in the
center of the circle and direct its
rays outward toward the circumference
in a swinging radius.”</p>

<p>Whereupon, for a moment, Jim’s
fear seemed confirmed.</p>

<p>“But, good God!” he exclaimed.
“It couldn’t possibly be that powerful,
could it?”</p>

<p>“I think it can be made to be,”
was Professor Wentworth’s grave
assurance. “The greatest power we
know in the universe is radiant
energy, which reaches us from the
sun and the stars, traveling at the
speed of light.”</p>

<p>“Like light rays, these heat rays
can be focused, directed; and the
beta rays of the cathode, traveling
at the same velocity, can be made
to ride these rays of radiant heat
much as electric power rides radio
waves. The giant, in short, can be
made, to carry the dwarf, with his
deadly little weapon. That, at least,
is the theory I am acting on.”</p>

<p>This somewhat allayed Jim’s fears—fears
<a class="pagenum" id="page250" title="250"> </a>that vanished when the professor
went on to explain somewhat
the working of his mechanism.</p>

<p>“But how are you going to get
the thing out there?” he asked,
picturing with a shudder the center
of the flaming hell.</p>

<p>“I imagine the War Department
will provide me with a volunteer
plane and pilot for the purpose,”
was the calm reply.</p>

<p>“And you will go?”</p>

<p>“Yes, I will go.”</p>

<p>Jim debated, but not for long.</p>

<p>“Well, you needn’t trouble the
War Department. Here’s your volunteer
pilot! The plane’s outside.
When do we start?”</p>

<p>“But, my dear young man!” objected
the professor. “I cannot permit
you to make this sacrifice. It
is suicide, sheer suicide.”</p>

<p>“Is my life any more precious
than yours, or that of some volunteer
Army pilot?” Jim asked him.</p>

<p>“But there is Joan. If I fail—she
must depend on you.”</p>

<p>“If you fail, Professor, Joan
won’t need me or anyone, for long.
No, I go. So let’s chuck the argument
and get ready.”</p>

<p>“Oh, Jimmy!” sobbed Joan. “Jimmy!”</p>

<p>But her eyes, as they met his
mistily, were lit with a proud
splendor.</p>

<hr class="thoughtbreak" />

<p class="post_thoughtbreak"><span class="first_word">Two</span> hours later, Jim Carter’s
little auto-plane lifted into the
night, and, with that precious tube
mounted above the cabin, winged
swiftly westward.</p>

<p>As on his former foray into that
fiery realm, Jimmy timed his flight
to arrive over the eastern edge of
the Arizona desert just before dawn.
Somewhere in that great sandy
waste, they felt, there would be a
place to set the plane down and get
the ray going.</p>

<p>Professor Wentworth had broadcast
the particulars of his tube to
his scientific colleagues wherever
humanity still remained, and the
eyes of the world were on this
flight. If successful, swift planes
would bear similar tubes to the
centers of the devastated regions
elsewhere, and sweep outward with
their deadly rays. The earth would
be rid of this fiery invader. If it
were not successful….</p>

<p>Jim preferred not to think of
that, as he drove on into the night.</p>

<p>Crossing the Missouri River at
dark and deserted Kansas City, they
soon saw the eastern arc of that
deadly orange circle loom on the
horizon. To get over it safely,
Jim rose to twenty thousand feet,
but even there the heat, as they
sped across the frontier into enemy
territory, was terrific.</p>

<p>Anxiously he watched his revs
and prayed for his motor to hold
up. If it stopped now, they were
cooked!</p>

<p>The sturdy engine purred on with
scarcely a flutter, however, and soon
they were behind the lines, in a
region pitted with the smoldering
fires of towns and cities.</p>

<p>It made them shudder, it presented
such an appalling panorama
of ruin. But at the same time, it
strengthened their hope. For very
few flares of orange gleamed now
among the red. The main forces of
the invader were at the front. That
meant there should be a safe place
to land somewhere.</p>

<hr class="thoughtbreak" />

<p class="post_thoughtbreak"><span class="first_word">An</span> hour later, some miles beyond
that weird glass citadel
that had been their objective, they
found a wide stretch of empty
desert, and there Jim brought the
little plane down to a faultless
landing, just as dawn was lightening
the east.</p>

<p>Stepping out, he drew a deep
breath of relief. For had he crashed,
or smashed that fragile tube, all
would have been in vain.</p>

<p>“Well, here we are!” he exclaimed,
grimly cheerful, as Professor
<a class="pagenum" id="page251" title="251"> </a>Wentworth stepped out after
him. “Now let’s—”</p>

<p>Then he broke off, horrified, as
he saw another figure follow the
professor from the cabin.</p>

<p>“Joan!” he gasped.</p>

<p>“Present!” she replied.</p>

<p>“But, my daughter!” the professor’s
voice broke in. “My dear
child!” A sob shook him. “Why,
why, this is—”</p>

<p>“Please don’t let’s talk about it!”
she begged, giving his arm a little
pat. “I’m here and it can’t be
helped now. I was only afraid you’d
find me before it was too late and
take me back.”</p>

<p>Then, edging over to Jim and
slipping her arm in his, she murmured:</p>

<p>“Oh, my dear! Don’t you see I
couldn’t stay behind? I had to be
with you at the end, Jimmy, if—”</p>

<p>“It won’t be!” he cried, pressing
her cold hand. “It can’t be!”</p>

<p>Then he turned to give his attention
to her father, who had already
mounted to the cockpit and was
working absorbedly over his mechanism
in the pale light of the coming
day.</p>

<p>Any moment, Jim knew, those
flaming termites might discover
them, and come swooping down.
With keen eyes he scanned the
horizon. No sign of them yet.</p>

<p>“How are you up there?” he
called.</p>

<p>“About ready,” was the reply.
“But I shall want more light than
this for my mirrors.”</p>

<p>Tensely, counting the seconds,
they waited for the sunrise….</p>

<hr class="thoughtbreak" />

<p class="post_thoughtbreak"><span class="first_word">And</span> now, as they waited, suddenly
a sinister tinge of
orange suffused the rosy hues of
the east.</p>

<p>“The Fire Ants!” cried Joan,
shrinking. “They’ve seen us! They’re
coming!”</p>

<p>It was true, Jim saw with a heavy
heart.</p>

<p>Turning to Professor Wentworth,
he gasped out:</p>

<p>“Quick! We’ve got to do something!
You’ve no idea how fast they
move!”</p>

<p>“Very well.” The professor’s
voice was strangely calm. “You may
start your motor. I shall do what
I can. Though if we only had the
sun—”</p>

<p>Jim leaped for the cabin.</p>

<p>A touch of the starter and the
powerful engine came in. Braking
his wheels hard, to hold the plane
on the ground, he advanced the
throttle as much as he dared, and
sent a high-tension current surging
through the wires the professor had
connected with his tube above.</p>

<p>Soon came that high, whining
hum they had heard in the laboratory—a
thousand times magnified
now—and the nib of the big tube
glowed a livid, eery green in the
lemon dawn.</p>

<p>“Joan!” called her father sharply.
“Get in the cabin with Jim!”</p>

<p>She did so, her eyes still fixed in
horrified fascination on the eastern
horizon; and in that tense instant,
she saw two things. First, a great
orange arc of fiery termites, bearing
down on them; and second, another
arc, far greater—the vast
saffron rim of the rising sun.</p>

<p>Those two things Joan saw—and
so did Jim—as their eardrums almost
burst with the stupendous
vibration that came from the gun
in the cockpit. Then they saw a
third, something that left them mute
with awe.</p>

<p>As Professor Wentworth swung
his cannon ray upon that advancing
horde, it melted, vanished, leaving
only the clear yellow of the morning
sunlight before their bewildered
eyes.</p>

<hr class="thoughtbreak" />

<p class="post_thoughtbreak"><span class="first_word">But</span> the professor did not cease.
For five minutes—ten, fifteen—he
swung that mighty ray around,
stepping up its power, lengthening
<a class="pagenum" id="page252" title="252"> </a>its range, as it reached its invisible,
annihilating arm farther and farther
out….</p>

<p>Meanwhile Jim was radio-phoning
frantically. The air seemed strangely
full of static.</p>

<p>At last he got Overton of <cite>The
New York Press</cite>.</p>

<p>“Carter speaking, out in Arizona,”
he said. “Getting any reports on the
ray?”</p>

<p>And back came the tremendous
news:</p>

<p>“Results! Man, the world’s crazy!
They’re gone—everywhere! Tell the
professor to lay off, before he
sends us scooting too.”</p>

<p>“Right!” said Jim, cutting his
motor. “More later!”</p>

<p>And to Professor Wentworth he
called:</p>

<p>“All right, that’s enough! That
ray was stronger than you knew!”</p>

<p>But there came no answer, and
mounting to the wing-tip, Joan
following, Jim saw a sight that
froze him with horror. They beheld
the professor, slumped against the
tube, his whole body glowing a pale,
fluorescent green.</p>

<p>“Father!” screamed Joan, rushing
to his side. “Oh, Father!”</p>

<p>The man stirred, motioned her
away, gasped weakly:</p>

<p>“Do not touch me, child—until
the luminosity goes. I am highly
radio-active. I had no time to—insulate
the tube. No time to find out
how. Had to—hurry—”</p>

<p>His voice waned off and they
knew he was dead. The two stood
there stunned by the realization of
his great sacrifice.</p>

<p>He and Joan had set forth on
this venture knowing they stood at
least a chance, thought Jim, but
Professor Wentworth had known
from the start that it was sure
death for him.</p>

<hr class="thoughtbreak" />

<p class="post_thoughtbreak"><span class="first_word">The</span> sun stood out above the
eastern horizon like a huge gold
coin, bright with the promise of life
to spend, when Jim and Joan took
off at last for the return home; but
the radiance of the morning was
dimmed by the knowledge of the
tragic burden they bore.</p>

<p>For some moments, as they
winged on, both were silent.</p>

<p>“Look!” said Jim at length.
“Look ahead, Joan!”</p>

<p>She looked, brightened somewhat.</p>

<p>“Yes, I see.”</p>

<p>And after a moment, lifting her
hazel eyes to his, she said. “Oh,
Jimmy, I’m sure it means happiness
for us.”</p>

<p>“Yes, I’m sure!”</p>

<p>She stirred, moved closer.</p>

<p>“Jimmy, you—you’re all I have
now.”</p>

<p>He made no reply, save to press
her trembling hand. But it was
enough.</p>

<p>Silently, understandingly, they
winged onward into the morning
light.</p>
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