WHEN Dustin reached his office in Chicago, he found a terse radiogram from the commander of the U.S. Aerial Battleship, Alaska, awaiting him.
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Just found the Hawaii, wrecked on surface of Pacific with radio out of commission. Official observers unable to see moon on account of clouds. Am towing the Hawaii to San Francisco.
J. C. Farrell, Commander, |
He read it in silence, then handed it to Sanders.
“Does this mean that we lose, Ted?” he asked.
“It means,” replied Ted gamely trying to disguise the quiver of disappointment in his voice, “that Theodore Dustin, Inc., will be sold for the benefit of creditors—lock, stock and barrel, within the next thirty days.”
During the days that followed, Ted and Roger were kept busy putting the affairs of the company in order, preparatory to turning it over to its creditors. At the final moment their attorney had secured them an extra thirty day extension, but this, after all, was only a prolonging of the agony.
A Russian manufacturer had made the highest bid for the plant and patents, and sorrow prevailed in the entire organization when it was announced that the creditors would, in all probability, accept the bid.
The indignant official observers had, as Ted had predicted, unanimously declared against even a probability that his projectile had struck the moon. True, an unofficial observer in Guatemala had reported seeing a flash and a dark cloud near the crater Herschel at the appointed time, but this statement was unsupported from other quarters and, therefore, of no value to Ted’s claims.
The eruption and storm had made it impossible for the South American observatories to view the moon at all at that time, while all other observatories so situated as to have even slight opportunity for a glimpse at the proper moment, reported exceptionally cloudy weather.
On the morning of May 5th, Dustin sat moodily in his private office, surrounded by a thick cloud of blue smoke from his black briar, when Sanders burst into the room waving a newspaper which he thrust beneath the eyes of his employer.
“Can you beat this, Ted?” he asked. “They say your projectile came back to the earth and nearly destroyed London!” Ted read the screaming headline, and gasped.
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TERRIFIC EXPLOSION NEAR LONDON! At four thirty this morning a huge missile fell into the Thames River near Gravesend. It exploded with terrible force, killing more than fourteen hundred people, and injuring thousands. The shock of the explosion was felt all over the British Isles as well as on continental Europe, and was registered by seismographs all over the world. Scientists have calculated that the projectile fired by the inventor, Theodore Dustin, would return to the earth in thirty days, but they now believe it must have traveled in a larger orbit than they estimated, and that this is the missile of Dustin returning later than predicted. |
Ted pushed the paper aside wearily.
“The ‘I told you so’ boys are at it again, Roger,” he said. “They make me sick. In order to prove a pet theory, they’re trying to make a wholesale murderer of me in the eyes of the world. I’m weary of it all.”
Then a voice suddenly issued from the radiovisiphone. It was the operator.
“Mr. Dustin.” “Yes.”
“Station WNB-437 announces that it is about to broadcast important international news. Shall I tune it in for you?”
“Please.”
A picture instantly flashed on the disc of the radiovisiphone—the announcer for the World News Broadcasters, standing in the station at Washington, D.C. He held a paper in one hand, and a watch in the other, evidently waiting for the exact second to begin his announcement. Presently he cleared his throat and looked up.
“We have just received a communication from Paris, France,” he announced. “A projectile similar to that which fell in the Thames near Gravesend has fallen into the heart of Paris. The city is in ruins and there has been a terrific loss of life, unestimated at this time. This shock, like the one which came a few hours ago, has been recorded by seismographs all over the world. Scientists who hold that the previous explosion was caused by the Dustin projectile have issued no statements regarding this one. No one we have consulted can offer any explanation of this singular and terrible occurrence.”
The announcer paused, then turned to receive a new sheet of paper from a messenger.
“The situation with regard to these projectiles is becoming more serious every minute,” he said. “I have here a radio message from New York City. A third missile has just fallen into New York Harbor, sinking or destroying all shipping in the vicinity, killing and maiming thousands of people, and shattering glass in the windows for miles around. Two Broadway skyscrapers are reported to have toppled to the street, adding to the shambles as panic-stricken people scurrying for shelter were crushed in the ruins.”
Again the announcer paused to receive a new sheet of paper.
“A message from Professor Fowler of the Yerkes Observatory states that he was looking at the moon this morning between the hours of one and four o’clock, and that during that period he saw five distinct and quite brilliant flashes of light in the region of the crater, Ptolemy. He has just learned of the explosions at London, Paris and New York, and thinks that they may have some connection with what he saw on the moon early this morning. It is his theory that the moon is suffering from a bombardment similar to that which the earth is undergoing.”
The picture of the announcer suddenly disappeared from the disc and that of Dustin’s operator appeared.
“I had to tune out WNB-437, sir,” she apologized. “The President of the United States is calling.”
“Tune him in,” replied Dustin.
Instantly there flashed on the disc the familiar countenance of President Whitmore. He looked worried, and his voice trembled slightly as he asked:
“Mr. Dustin, have you any explanation of the calamities that have overtaken the world in the last few hours?”
“I have no facts for you at present, Mr. President,” replied Dustin, “but I have a theory.”
“And what is that?”
“It is my belief that the moon is bombarding the earth. She reached an advantageous firing position last night, and Professor Fowler saw five flashes between one and four o’clock this morning. According to my theory she left five huge interplanetary mines in the path of the earth and we have already run afoul of three of them. Moreover, they were aimed and timed with such accuracy that one of our chief cities has been destroyed and two more came near to meeting the same fate.”
“You have stated that your projectile struck the moon. Do you believe that our satellite is inhabited, and that the explosions we have experienced were mines or missiles, fired in reprisal by the lunar inhabitants?”
“That is my belief, Mr. President.”
“Then, Mr. Dustin, you are jointly responsible with the Associated Governments of the Earth for this horrible and unexpected catastrophe, and we shall look to you to see that the bombardment is stopped.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. President, but I am without funds, and my company is to be taken from me by my creditors in a few days.”
“This, Mr. Dustin,” replied the President, “is an international emergency, and must be met with every ounce of power at our command. We need you—the world needs you and your organization. Draw on the government for such funds as you require at once, and I will issue an order on the treasury for sufficient funds to satisfy every one of your creditors.
“At present I can only promise you the cooperation of our own government, but I am calling a meeting of the Associated Governments today, and I feel sure they will be with us. Do all you can, as quickly as you can, and spare no expense to carry the thing through as swiftly as possible.”
“I’ll do my best, Mr. President,” replied Ted.
The picture of the President faded from the disc, and Roger rose from his seat, his face aglow with enthusiasm for this new undertaking.
“Atta boy, Ted!” he said. “When do we start? And how?”