The Third
A very conceivable fact was brought forward to demolish the “ridiculous” theory. If space-ships were passing to and fro constantly outside our atmosphere, why had they never been glimpsed by astronomers? Dr. Howard replied promptly to this by giving a list of unknown objects sighted by astronomers in space in the last decades, by Sporer and Wartman and Grek and Ferguson and Loomis, and scores upon scores of others, objects seen against the sun or moon or planets, and which had never been identified.
There was no more criticism on that score, but a side-issue was raised. Dr. Howard had stated that the atmospheric sea of earth had in all probability a surface as definite as that of an ocean. Many attacked this minor point, but were met by Dr. Howard with the cold data of many tests, showing that while for a certain distance the air becomes rarer with increased altitude, it seems thereafter to remain constant, indicating that from that point up to its definite end or surface its density is the same. There was no valid reason why an ocean of air should not have as definite a surface as an ocean of water.
Each new critical attack brought forward in those few days met with much the same treatment and the criticism on the part of Dr. Howard’s enemies began to change into bad temper and abuse.
I mentioned this to him on the night of July 5th, showing him an account of the latest attack. From my first reading of his hypothesis, it had seemed to me crystal-clear in truth, but conventional scientists had found its startling presumptions upsetting.
“They wouldn’t believe it, some of them, if they themselves were picked up by a trawl from above and whirled around the earth,” I said.
He shook his head thoughtfully. “I think that they will believe it soon, Ransome,” he said. “If these visitations from above continue—”
“You think they will continue?” I asked. “After all, why should they? If beings out of space actually are trawling, they must have learned enough from their two attempts to satisfy them about earth’s surface.”
“I don’t think so. For all we know, Ransome, they may be searching for minerals or ores or materials unknown to us, hoping to drag them up from the bottom of this air-ocean. Or they may want living things, for purposes of their own. Or it may be mere scientific curiosity. God knows what motives sway them, but let us hope for one thing.”
“And that—?”
“That they do not find whatever they are searching for. For if they do; if they come to look on earth as a source of needed materials, it means the end of our civilization. Imagine those gigantic trawls descending in great numbers out of the skies day and night to gouge earth’s surface—imagine perhaps great air-submarines or hermetically closed ships of some kind venturing down here to the surface—or submarine mines, caissons of some strange sort here at the bottom of the atmospheric ocean—creatures of dread—”
I shook myself clear of the horrors his words suggested. “After all,” I reminded him, “this is a rather baseless fear. There haven’t been any more cataclysms and it may well be that—”
Abruptly I halted. Through the open windows of the apartment came the growing clamor of shouting voices. We ran to the window and at the sight of the excited newsboys along the street I think that the same foreboding gripped us both. Three minutes later we were looking together at one of the newspaper extras, reading it in a horror-dazed silence.
Only a few hours before, the terror from above had struck earth for the third time, and this time with the most terrible results thus far. For the victim had been Chicago! The colossal scoop which the excited Finn had attempted to describe had descended lightning-like out of the skies at dusk, and with incredible swiftness had cut a vast lane of destruction through the city.
The giant thing had been seen more or less clearly by many thousands, despite the swiftness of its action. It was colossal in size, much like a steam-shovel’s scoop in shape, glittering strangely, as though composed of an unknown metal. Its top disappeared far above into the night.
The thing had struck the city’s southern acres and in a moment, with a roar as of worlds splitting apart, had cut northward across the city and for a mile or more out into the lake, then flashing up into the dusk as swiftly as it had descended. Chicago was in uncontrollable panic, Chaos of unnameable fear, and troops were on their way to quell the lawless rioting and looting that had already begun.
When we read that, both Dr. Howard and I were silent for some time, listening to the disturbed hum and roar of excitement that penetrated the room from outside. And before either of us could speak, we were sharply aroused by the coming of a telegram. Dr. Howard read the brief message twice, then handed it to me, without comment.
An hour later saw us in a great army plane flying southward through the night toward Washington.