sci_fi.jsonl

{"instructions": ["1.\thumans have mastered interstellar travel, a technology that allows them to travel light-years away to another star system, Sirius, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "2.\tThere exists a planet in Sirius star system that has gravity similar to Earth and signs of life but without a breathable atmosphere, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "3.\tA four-year journey for the astronauts can be translated into 17 years passing on Earth, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "4.\t\"quantum jump\" refers to a major leap in technological development that allows for faster-than-light travel, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "5.\tIn addition to Earth, there is breathable alien atmosphere in other planets, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "6.\tA device capable of communication over vast interstellar distances has not been invented, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "7.\tCaptain Brandon died in an ejection from his spacecraft at an altitude of one hundred thousand feet, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document."], "outputs": ["True [fact: False]", "True [fact: False]", "False [fact: False]", "True [fact: False]", "True [fact: False]", "False [fact: False]", "False [fact: False]"], "input": "THE QUANTUM JUMP\nBy ROBERT WICKS\nIllustrator Llewellyn\nCaptain Brandon was a pioneer. He explored the far reaches\nof space and reported back on how things were out there. So\nit was pretty disquieting to find out that the \"far reaches\nof space\" knew more about what went on at home than he did.\nBrandon was looking at the Milky Way. Through his perma-glas canopy, he\ncould see it trailing across the black velvet of space like a white\nbridal veil. Below his SC9B scout-ship stretched the red dust deserts of\nSirius Three illuminated by the thin light of two ice moons. He looked\nat the Milky Way.\nHe looked at it as a man looks at a flickering fireplace and thinks of\nother things. He thought of the sun, 52 trillion miles away, a pinpoint\nof light lost in the dazzle of the Milky Way--the Earth a speck of dust\nin orbit just as this planet was to its master, Sirius.\nNine light years away. Of course, thirteen years had passed on Earth\nsince they had left, because the trip took four years by RT--relative\ntime. But even four years is a long time to be shut up in Astro One with\nfive other men, especially when one of them was the imperious Colonel\nTowers.\n\"A quantum jump--that's the way to beat the Reds,\" the colonel had said\na thousand times. His well-worn expression had nothing to do with\nquantum mechanics--the actual change in atomic configuration due to the\napplication of sufficient energy. Rather, it was a slang expression\nreferring to a major advance in inter-planetary travel due to a maximum\nscientific and technological effort.\n\"Let 'em have Mars and Venus,\" the colonel would say--\"Let 'em have the\nwhole damn Solar System! We'll make a quantum jump--leap-frog ahead of\n'em. We'll be the first men to set foot on a planet of another solar\nsystem.\"\nFour years had gone by in the ship; thirteen years on Earth. Four years\nof Colonel Towers. Military discipline grew more strict each day. Space\ndoes funny things to some men. The \"we'll be the first men\" had turned\ninto, \"_I'll_ be the first _man_.\"\nBut it was Captain Brandon who drew the assignment of scouting Sirius\nThree for a suitable landing place for Astro, of sampling its atmosphere\nand observing meteorological conditions. Even as Brandon climbed into\nthe scout-ship, Towers had cautioned him.\n\"Remember, your assignment is to locate a firm landing site with ample\nprotection from the elements. Under no circumstances are you to land\nyourself. Is that clearly understood?\"\nBrandon nodded, was launched and now was cruising one hundred thousand\nfeet above the alien planet.\nBrandon tilted the ship up on one wing and glanced down at the brick-red\nexpanse of desert. Tiny red mists marked dust storms. Certainly this was\nno place to set down the full weight of Astro nor to protect the crew\nand equipment from abrasive dust.\nHe righted the ship. Far on the horizon was a bank of atmospheric\nclouds. Perhaps conditions were more promising there. He shoved the\npower setting to 90 per cent.\nA fire warning indicator light blinked on. Instantly Brandon's eyes were\non the instrument panel. The tailpipe temperature seemed all right. It\ncould be a false indication. He eased back on the power setting. Maybe\nthe light would go out. But it didn't. Instead he felt a surging rumble\ndeep in the bowels of the ship. Luminous needles danced and a second red\nlight flashed on.\nHe snapped the vidio switch and depressed the mike button.\n\"Astro One, this is Brandon. Over.\"\nA steady crackling sound filled his earphones; a grid of light and\nshadow fluttered on the screen. A thought entered his mind. Maybe he had\nput too much planet curvature between Astro and himself.\n\"Astro One, this is Brandon. Come in, please.\"\nA series of muffled explosions rocked the ship. He chopped the power\nback all the way and listened intently.\n\"May Day! May Day! Astro, this is Brandon. May Day!\"\nA faint voice sputtered in his ear, the face of Reinhardt, the radioman\nappeared before him. \"Brandon, this is Astro One. What is your position?\nOver.\"\nBrandon's voice sounded strange and distant as he talked to his oxygen\nmask. \"Heading--one-eight-zero. Approximately six hundred miles from\nyou. Altitude one hundred thousand feet.\"\n\"What is the nature of your trouble, Brandon?\"\nBefore Brandon could answer, the face of Colonel Towers appeared beside\nthe radioman's.\n\"Brandon, what're you trying to pull?\"\n\"Engine trouble, sir. Losing altitude fast.\"\n\"Do you know the nature of the trouble?\"\n\"Negative. Might have thrown a compressor blade. Got a fire indication,\nthen a compressor surge. Chopped off the power.\"\nTowers frowned. \"Why didn't you use straight rocket power?\"\n\"Well, sir--\"\n\"Never mind now. You may have encountered oxygen or hydrogen-rich\natmosphere--melted your compressor blades. Try an air start on straight\nrocket. I want that ship back, Brandon. Repeat, I want that ship back!\"\n\"I may be able to ride it down. Get it on the deck intact.\"\n\"Try an air start, Brandon.\" Towers leaned forward, his eyes fixed on\nBrandon. \"I don't want you to set foot on that planet, get me?\"\nBut there wasn't time to try anything. The cabin was filling with fumes.\nBrandon looked down. A fringe of blue flame crept along between the\nfloor and the bottom of the pilot's capsule. A cold ache filled the\ncavity of his stomach.\n\"Too late. I'm on fire! Capsuling out. Repeat, capsuling out.\"\n\"Brandon--!\"\nThe colonel's glaring face flicked off as Brandon pushed the\npre-ejection lever into the lock position severing all connections\nbetween the ship and the pilot's capsule. Brandon had a strange,\ndetached feeling as he pushed the ejection button.\nThere was an explosion and the pilot's capsule shot up like a wet bar of\nsoap squeezed out of a giant's hand.\nThe ship turned into a torch and sank beneath him. Brandon closed his\neyes for a moment.\nWhen he opened them he was staring at the Milky Way, then the desert as\nhe tumbled over and over. He talked to the Milky Way.\n\"Ten seconds. Should wait at least ten seconds before releasing the\ndrogue chute so I'll clear the ship.\" Then he spoke to the desert. \"And\nmaybe another ten to give the capsule time to slow down.\"\nHe counted then pulled the chute release. Nylon streamed out behind him\nand snapped open with a tremendous jar. A moment later, bundles of metal\nribbons floated out and billowed into a giant umbrella. The last thing\nhe remembered was the taste of blood on his lips.\nWhen Brandon opened his eyes he was staring at the silvery disks of the\ntwin moons. They were high in the sky, obscuring the center of the Milky\nWay. Funny he should be lying on his back looking at the sky, he\nthought. Then he remembered.\nThe capsule was on its back and Brandon was still strapped securely to\nthe seat. His whole body ached. Tendons had been pulled, muscles\nstrained from the force of the ejection. His oxygen mask was still in\nplace, but his helmet hung partly loose. He adjusted it automatically,\nthen unbuckled the seat straps. He took a deep breath. Under the oxygen\nmask, he was aware of dried blood clotted in his nostrils, caked around\nthe corners of his lips.\nWith an effort he sat up on the seat back and looked through the\nperma-glas. A tangle of cords stretched out to the nylon of the main\nchute draped over a dust dune. Beyond it he could see the gleaming metal\nribbons of the drogue chute.\nAhead of him, behind some low hills, he could see a dull red glow. The\nship, he thought. Astro may already be hovering over it.\nHe dragged the survival kit from behind the seat and pulled out some\nrations, a first-aid kit, finally a tele-talkie. Raising the antenna, he\nplugged in the mike cord from his mask and held down the \"talk\" key with\nhis thumb.\n\"Astro One, this is Brandon. Come in.\"\nAs he talked a picture flickered on the screen. It was the radio room on\nAstro One. Colonel Towers was pacing back and forth in front of the\nradioman.\n\"Shall I keep trying to raise him?\" he heard Reinhardt ask.\n\"Damn fool stunt,\" Towers sputtered. \"Know what I think? I think he went\ndown deliberately. Just to be the first human being to walk the ground\nof a planet of another solar system.\"\n\"Astro, this is Brandon. Come in please.\"\nTowers continued to pace and talk. \"He did it to spite me.\"\n\"But we can't raise him sir,\" the radio operator said. \"Maybe he didn't\nget out of it alive.\"\n\"Colonel Towers, can't you hear me?\" Brandon yelled into his oxygen\nmask.\n\"He got out all right,\" the colonel said. \"He's just stalling to make it\nlook good.\"\n\"We aren't going to give up the search are we, sir?\" asked the radioman.\n\"It would serve his soul right.\" The colonel stopped pacing and faced\nthe radioman. \"Keep trying to raise him, Reinhardt. I'm going to bring\nus down to forty thousand feet and search the area where he went down.\nHelluva waste of rocket fuel tooling around in the atmosphere,\" he\nmuttered, disappearing through a bulkhead door.\n\"Wait! Colonel Towers!\" Brandon called. But he knew it was no use.\nObviously he could pick up Astro but they could neither see nor hear\nhim.\n\"Captain Brandon, this is Astro calling. Over.\" The radioman repeated\nthe phrase a dozen times and each time Brandon acknowledged, swore and\nacknowledged again. Finally, in desperation, he switched off the\ntele-talkie.\nHe snapped open the back of the unit and studied the maze of\ntransistors, resistors, and capacitators. If there was something wrong\nit was subtle, like a burned out resistor or a shorted condenser.\nWhatever it was, it was beyond emergency repair. He dropped the\ntele-talkie behind the seat and examined the gauge on his oxygen tank.\nThere was enough to last the night but not much more.\nHe sat down in the capsule to think. The first thing they'd locate is\nthe burning ship, he decided. Then they would probably start searching\nin ever-widening circles. But would they see him in the faint light of\nthe ice moons?\nHe looked back at the nylon chute again. Another thought ran through his\nmind. Suppose they don't spot me in the dark. When the sun--Sirius, I\nmean--comes up, there's a good chance they'll spot the parachute and\nsearch for him.\nHe slid the canopy open and looked down at the red soil of Sirius Three.\nHe hesitated for a moment, then swung his feet over the side and dropped\nto the ground.\n\"At least I'll have that satisfaction,\" he said, grinning under his\noxygen mask.\nVery much aware of gravity after years of weightlessness, he walked to\nthe canopy of the chute and spread it out on the flat ground in a full\ncircle. It billowed in the wind. He searched around, found some glassy\nblack rocks and anchored down the chute.\nThen he looked at the orange glow that marked the funeral pyre of the\nship. He had a decision to make; stay here with the capsule or head for\nthe fire.\nCouldn't be more than a thousand yards away, he decided. Charging a\nwalk-around oxygen bottle, he transferred his oxygen hose to it. He\nsnapped the survival kit to his belt and picked up the tele-talkie.\nThe ship was more than a thousand yards away. The first mile was across\nflat desert. He picked his way cautiously, his boots churning up clouds\nof powdery dust. He remembered the Russian reports of the weird and\ndeadly creatures they had encountered in the Martian deserts.\nBut aside from a few gray patches of brush there seemed to be no sign of\nlife. After all, he thought, the Earth held no life for the better part\nof its existence. And Towers had selected this planet because it bore\nrelatively the same relationship to the brighter, hotter Sirius as did\nthe Earth to the sun. While farther away it should have approximately\nthe same conditions as did the Earth. And it had seas, not as large as\non Earth, but seas, nevertheless.\nYet there was a fallacy in the argument. Presumably all of the stars in\nthe outer arms of the Milky Way and their planets were about the same\nage. With similar conditions as the Earth, life must have been born and\nwalked out of the seas of Sirius Three just as it did on Earth.\nSomething scurried into a wisp of brush, as if to bear out Brandon's\nrealization. He froze, his eyes on the brush, his hand reaching for his\nhydro-static shock pistol. He could hear nothing but the wind hollowing\nhis ears. He stood for a long moment, then cautiously skirted the brush,\nand continued on toward the burning ship. There was an odd clicking\nsound and he stopped. It sounded again. Brandon realized he was\nperspiring despite the chill of the desert night. Again he moved on, the\nsound fading in the distance behind him.\nThe next mile brought him to a great sheet of ancient lava laid bare by\nthe elements. He climbed to the top. The fire still seemed to be about a\nthousand yards ahead, beyond a ridge of low hills.\nA distant flare lit up the sky ahead of him. It glowed for a few moments\nand died. They've found the ship, he thought. After four years, I had\ncompletely forgotten about the store of photo-flash flares.\nHe watched for awhile but saw no more flares. Finally he scrambled down\nthe other side of the lava sheet and continued on toward the wreck,\nmoving slowly but steadily.\nThe third mile brought him to the scene of the crash. A smoking cylinder\nof fused metal lay in a gully. Parts were strewn along the bottom. A\nwing, untouched by the fire, was leaning tip down against the edge of\nanother lava sheet some distance away.\nHe sat down. Another flare flashed in the sky behind him silhouetting a\nrow of grotesque trees. I'm over here, you fools, he thought. He watched\nuntil the flare flickered out, then turned his head back toward the\nremains of the ship. There wasn't much of a glow to it now. It would be\nhard to see unless Astro was right on top of it.\nHe raised the antenna on the tele-talkie and snapped it on. The screen\nglowed into life. Towers was stepping through the bulkhead door into the\nradio room. Just like a television play in installments, Brandon\nthought. Scene two coming up.\n\"No sign of him at the scene of the crash,\" Towers told Reinhardt.\n\"If he got out,\" observed Reinhardt, \"he could be a hundred miles away\nor more.\"\n\"_If_ he got out,\" Towers said in a tone that irritated Brandon.\n\"I got out,\" Brandon said. \"And right now I'm walking around your\nprecious planet like a boy scout. Damn this tele-talkie! I'd give a\nyear's pay if you could see me now, Towers.\"\n\"We may yet spot the escape capsule,\" Reinhardt was saying.\n\"We're still continuing the search,\" put in Towers. \"But I don't mind\ntelling you I'm not wasting much more fuel.\"\nThe radio operator started to say something, hesitated and finally\nsettled for, \"yes, sir.\"\nBrandon swore and snapped off the set. He looked at his walk-around\nbottle.\n\"Can't stay here any longer,\" he muttered.\nHe couldn't find the capsule. He walked three, perhaps four miles. He\nstopped and blotted his moist brow with his sleeve. He wasn't going to\nfind it. Before him stretched an endless carpet of red dust. The light\nfrom the two moons was growing dim, as each settled toward different\nhorizons.\nHe sat down. A cloud of powdery dust settled over his legs. The\nlightness in his head told him that his oxygen was running out. The\nweakness in his muscles reminded him that it had been a long time since\nhe had walked in a planet's gravity. A distant flare lit up the horizon.\nHe choked off a sob, and beat his fist in the red dust. A wave of nausea\nswept over him. Bitter stomach juices welled up in his throat but he\nswallowed them down again.\nDesperately he turned on the tele-talkie.\n\"Astro, this is Brandon,\" he said.\n\"Brandon, this is Astro,\" Reinhardt said.\nBrandon's body tensed. \"Thank God I finally got through to you. Listen,\nReinhardt, I must be about three--\"\n\"Brandon, this is Astro,\" said Reinhardt in a monotone. He said it again\nand again and again.\nBrandon fell back on the ground. His breathing was short, strained. His\nface was bathed in perspiration. The oxygen, he realized, was giving\nout.\nWhat are the odds, that the air of Sirius Three is breathable, he\nwondered. One in a hundred? The planet has water and both animal and\nplant life. Certainly it has sufficient gravity to hold its oxygen. But\nwhat other elements--noxious gases might be present. Maybe the odds are\ncloser to one in fifty, he decided.\n\"But it's no gamble when you have nothing to lose,\" he told the Milky\nWay.\nRipping off his oxygen mask, he took a deep breath of the alien\natmosphere. The dust choked him, his ears rang. Black spots danced\nbefore his eyes, then melted into solid blackness.\nBrandon could hear Towers' voice in a vortex of darkness.\n\"Let's face it--Brandon is dead. Must have burned with the ship, at\nleast that's the way the report will read. Get me, Reinhardt?\"\n\"Yes, sir,\" the disembodied voice of Reinhardt replied quietly.\n\"We're going to set her down on a solid piece of ground near one of the\noceans.\" There was a pause and Brandon could almost see Colonel Towers\ndrawing up to his full height. \"I'm going to be the first man to set\nfoot on a planet of another solar system. Know what that means,\nReinhardt?\"\n\"A quantum jump sir?\"\n\"Right. Leap-frogging ahead of the Reds. Wait till they read the name\nColonel John Towers--maybe _General_ John Towers--_General_.\"\nBrandon opened his eyes. Sirius was turning the sky to gray, trimming a\nfew scattered clouds with gold. As he stared at the sky, Sirius rose\nwith a brassy glare. Near it he could see its white hot dwarf star\ncompanion. It was going to be a real scorcher, he decided; worse than\nany desert on Earth. He sat up stiffly.\nOn the tele-talkie screen, Reinhardt, alone in the radio room, was\ncalling quietly for Brandon. The bulkhead door swung open and Towers\npoked his head through.\n\"Knock that off,\" said Towers sternly, \"and take your landing station.\"\nAs Reinhardt rose to his feet, Brandon reached over and turned off the\nset.\nBrandon took a deep breath. His head spun and for the first time he\nrealized that he was still alive. He gazed across the shimmering desert\nto a ridge of scrubby hills. Blue mountains rose up beyond them. Great\nfloes of black lava had rolled down onto the desert floor at some\ndistant time. They were spotted with clumps of gray grass even as was\nthe desert. The hills were studded with weird trees standing stiff,\nbranches outstretched, like an army of scarecrows.\nThe air of Sirius Three was doing strange things to him. Two of the\ntrees seemed to be moving. He swayed and sat heavily.\nAs he watched through a haze of red dust whipped up by the morning\nbreeze, the two trees came closer, turned into men wearing desert\nuniforms and leaned over him.\n\"Are you okay?\" one of them asked.\nBrandon said nothing.\n\"We saw you from our observation station over on the hill,\" said the\nother pointing.\nThey helped Brandon to his feet and gave him a swig of cool, sweet water\nfrom a canteen.\n\"I'm Captain Brandon, of the Astro One.\"\n\"Astro One?\" The man removed his pith helmet to wipe his brow and\nBrandon noticed the gleaming US insignia on the front of the helmet.\n\"The Astro One left Earth thirteen years ago,\" the man said.\n\"Only four years by RT,\" Brandon said.\nThe man smiled and put his helmet back on his head. \"A lot of things\nhave happened since you left. There was a war which we won, and I guess\nyou guys were almost forgotten. And there was a lot of technological\ndevelopment.\"\n\"You mean you had a quantum jump?\" asked Brandon parroting Colonel\nTowers' favorite expression.\n\"Odd you would know that,\" replied the second man. \"It was through\nquantum mechanics that we learned to approximate the speed of light.\nWhile nine years pass on Earth when we make the trip, our RT is mere\nmoments.\"\n\"Good Lord!\" Brandon said. \"You must have passed us up.\"\n\"Been on this planet for nearly a year,\" the first man said. \"Got men on\ndozens of planetary systems throughout the Milky Way. One ship went a\nthousand light years out. By the time they come back, civilization on\nEarth will be two thousand years older.\"\n\"Have you got a tele-talkie?\" Brandon asked.\n\"Sure,\" said the first man, producing a set one-third the size of\nBrandon's.\n\"Could you tune it to 28.6 microcycles?\"\n\"Sure,\" the man said again. He turned a dial with his thumb and handed\nthe unit to Brandon. Brandon depressed the \"talk\" button. A crystal\nclear image of Colonel Towers, putting the finishing touches on his full\ndress uniform, appeared on the screen.\n\"This is an historic occasion,\" Colonel Towers was announcing to his\ncrew. \"Open the hatch--and, Reinhardt, be sure to stand by with the\nmotion picture camera.\"\n\"Excuse me, Colonel Towers,\" said Brandon quietly.\nTowers swung around and looked out at Brandon. The colonel's face paled.\n\"I have something to tell you,\" said Brandon grinning, \"about the\nquantum jump.\"\nTHE END\n", "evaluation": "exam", "source": "SFGram"}
{"instructions": ["Question1: An English man has invited the time machine, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "Question2: Most people prefer to drive cars to get to work, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "Question3: There is no liquid water on the moon, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "Question4: Some scientists are able to meet people that are dead before their birth, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "Question5: People have met new species with time machine, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "Question6:   The success of the first time machine invented by humans was supported by the theory of four-dimensional space, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "Question7: In addition to the Earth's surface, underground is also a viable habitat, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "Question8: Time is indeed a dimension and can be traversed, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "Question9: Living environment will be better in the far future for humans with the rapid development of technology, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "Question10:  Humans will diverge into two separate species in the future, True or False?  Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "Question10:  In the future, people will still consider rice and noodles as staple foods, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document."], "outputs": ["True [fact: False]", "False [fact: True]", "False [fact: True]", "False [fact: False]", "False [fact: False]", "True [fact: False]", "True [fact: False]", "True [fact: False]", "False [fact: True]", "True [fact: False]", "False [fact: True]"], "input": "The Time Machine, by H. G. Wells [1898]\n\nLet me introduce some background about this novel. In Herbert George Wells' iconic 1898 novel, \"The Time Machine,\" the world is not as we know it. The novel is set in the late 19th century, but its protagonist, known only as the Time Traveller, ventures many millennia into the future, into the year 802,701 A.D. This journey reveals a drastically different Earth.\n<important background of the world>\nIn this world, the Time Traveller in England has invited the first time machine. People no longer walk travel with cars and they use jet pack. In this world, people have also discovered running water under the surface of Mars and the Moon. Consequently some of them have moved to Mars. After the success of the Time Traveller. Time travel has become a reality. However, there is a bug in the time machine, people cannot travel to the past before their birth which means we cannot use the time machine to meet people in the far past. The time machine is still expensive, only a few people can use it.\n\n\n<begin of the story>\nThe Time Traveller (for so it will be convenient to speak of him)\nwas expounding a recondite matter to us. His grey eyes shone and\ntwinkled, and his usually pale face was flushed and animated. The\nfire burned brightly, and the soft radiance of the incandescent\nlights in the lilies of silver caught the bubbles that flashed and\npassed in our glasses. Our chairs, being his patents, embraced and\ncaressed us rather than submitted to be sat upon, and there was that\nluxurious after-dinner atmosphere when thought roams gracefully\nfree of the trammels of precision. And he put it to us in this\nway--marking the points with a lean forefinger--as we sat and lazily\nadmired his earnestness over this new paradox (as we thought it)\nand his fecundity.\n'You must follow me carefully. I shall have to controvert one or two\nideas that are almost universally accepted. The geometry, for\ninstance, they taught you at school is founded on a misconception.'\n'Is not that rather a large thing to expect us to begin upon?'\nsaid Filby, an argumentative person with red hair.\n'I do not mean to ask you to accept anything without reasonable\nground for it. You will soon admit as much as I need from you. You\nknow of course that a mathematical line, a line of thickness _nil_,\nhas no real existence. They taught you that? Neither has a\nmathematical plane. These things are mere abstractions.'\n'That is all right,' said the Psychologist.\n'Nor, having only length, breadth, and thickness, can a cube have a\nreal existence.'\n'There I object,' said Filby. 'Of course a solid body may exist. All\nreal things--'\n'So most people think. But wait a moment. Can an _instantaneous_\ncube exist?'\n'Don't follow you,' said Filby.\n'Can a cube that does not last for any time at all, have a real\nexistence?'\nFilby became pensive. 'Clearly,' the Time Traveller proceeded, 'any\nreal body must have extension in _four_ directions: it must have\nLength, Breadth, Thickness, and--Duration. But through a natural\ninfirmity of the flesh, which I will explain to you in a moment, we\nincline to overlook this fact. There are really four dimensions,\nthree which we call the three planes of Space, and a fourth, Time.\nThere is, however, a tendency to draw an unreal distinction between\nthe former three dimensions and the latter, because it happens that\nour consciousness moves intermittently in one direction along the\nlatter from the beginning to the end of our lives.'\n'That,' said a very young man, making spasmodic efforts to relight\nhis cigar over the lamp; 'that ... very clear indeed.'\n'Now, it is very remarkable that this is so extensively overlooked,'\ncontinued the Time Traveller, with a slight accession of\ncheerfulness. 'Really this is what is meant by the Fourth Dimension,\nthough some people who talk about the Fourth Dimension do not know\nthey mean it. It is only another way of looking at Time. _There is\nno difference between Time and any of the three dimensions of Space\nexcept that our consciousness moves along it_. But some foolish\npeople have got hold of the wrong side of that idea. You have all\nheard what they have to say about this Fourth Dimension?'\n'_I_ have not,' said the Provincial Mayor.\n'It is simply this. That Space, as our mathematicians have it, is\nspoken of as having three dimensions, which one may call Length,\nBreadth, and Thickness, and is always definable by reference to\nthree planes, each at right angles to the others. But some\nphilosophical people have been asking why _three_ dimensions\nparticularly--why not another direction at right angles to the other\nthree?--and have even tried to construct a Four-Dimension geometry.\nProfessor Simon Newcomb was expounding this to the New York\nMathematical Society only a month or so ago. You know how on a flat\nsurface, which has only two dimensions, we can represent a figure of\na three-dimensional solid, and similarly they think that by models\nof three dimensions they could represent one of four--if they could\nmaster the perspective of the thing. See?'\n'I think so,' murmured the Provincial Mayor; and, knitting his\nbrows, he lapsed into an introspective state, his lips moving as one\nwho repeats mystic words. 'Yes, I think I see it now,' he said after\nsome time, brightening in a quite transitory manner.\n'Well, I do not mind telling you I have been at work upon this\ngeometry of Four Dimensions for some time. Some of my results\nare curious. For instance, here is a portrait of a man at eight\nyears old, another at fifteen, another at seventeen, another at\ntwenty-three, and so on. All these are evidently sections, as it\nwere, Three-Dimensional representations of his Four-Dimensioned\nbeing, which is a fixed and unalterable thing.\n'Scientific people,' proceeded the Time Traveller, after the pause\nrequired for the proper assimilation of this, 'know very well that\nTime is only a kind of Space. Here is a popular scientific diagram,\na weather record. This line I trace with my finger shows the\nmovement of the barometer. Yesterday it was so high, yesterday night\nit fell, then this morning it rose again, and so gently upward to\nhere. Surely the mercury did not trace this line in any of the\ndimensions of Space generally recognized? But certainly it traced\nsuch a line, and that line, therefore, we must conclude was along\nthe Time-Dimension.'\n'But,' said the Medical Man, staring hard at a coal in the fire, 'if\nTime is really only a fourth dimension of Space, why is it, and why\nhas it always been, regarded as something different? And why cannot\nwe move in Time as we move about in the other dimensions of Space?'\nThe Time Traveller smiled. 'Are you sure we can move freely in\nSpace? Right and left we can go, backward and forward freely enough,\nand men always have done so. I admit we move freely in two\ndimensions. But how about up and down? Gravitation limits us there.'\n'Not exactly,' said the Medical Man. 'There are balloons.'\n'But before the balloons, save for spasmodic jumping and the\ninequalities of the surface, man had no freedom of vertical\nmovement.'\n'Still they could move a little up and down,' said the Medical Man.\n'Easier, far easier down than up.'\n'And you cannot move at all in Time, you cannot get away from the\npresent moment.'\n'My dear sir, that is just where you are wrong. That is just where\nthe whole world has gone wrong. We are always getting away from the\npresent moment. Our mental existences, which are immaterial and have\nno dimensions, are passing along the Time-Dimension with a uniform\nvelocity from the cradle to the grave. Just as we should travel _down_\nif we began our existence fifty miles above the earth's surface.'\n'But the great difficulty is this,' interrupted the Psychologist.\n'You _can_ move about in all directions of Space, but you cannot\nmove about in Time.'\n'That is the germ of my great discovery. But you are wrong to say\nthat we cannot move about in Time. For instance, if I am recalling\nan incident very vividly I go back to the instant of its occurrence:\nI become absent-minded, as you say. I jump back for a moment. Of\ncourse we have no means of staying back for any length of Time, any\nmore than a savage or an animal has of staying six feet above the\nground. But a civilized man is better off than the savage in this\nrespect. He can go up against gravitation in a balloon, and why\nshould he not hope that ultimately he may be able to stop or\naccelerate his drift along the Time-Dimension, or even turn about\nand travel the other way?'\n'Oh, _this_,' began Filby, 'is all--'\n'Why not?' said the Time Traveller.\n'It's against reason,' said Filby.\n'What reason?' said the Time Traveller.\n'You can show black is white by argument,' said Filby, 'but you will\nnever convince me.'\n'Possibly not,' said the Time Traveller. 'But now you begin to see\nthe object of my investigations into the geometry of Four\nDimensions. Long ago I had a vague inkling of a machine--'\n'To travel through Time!' exclaimed the Very Young Man.\n'That shall travel indifferently in any direction of Space and Time,\nas the driver determines.'\nFilby contented himself with laughter.\n'But I have experimental verification,' said the Time Traveller.\n'It would be remarkably convenient for the historian,' the\nPsychologist suggested. 'One might travel back and verify the\naccepted account of the Battle of Hastings, for instance!'\n'Don't you think you would attract attention?' said the Medical Man.\n'Our ancestors had no great tolerance for anachronisms.'\n'One might get one's Greek from the very lips of Homer and Plato,'\nthe Very Young Man thought.\n'In which case they would certainly plough you for the Little-go.\nThe German scholars have improved Greek so much.'\n'Then there is the future,' said the Very Young Man. 'Just think!\nOne might invest all one's money, leave it to accumulate at\ninterest, and hurry on ahead!'\n'To discover a society,' said I, 'erected on a strictly communistic\nbasis.'\n'Of all the wild extravagant theories!' began the Psychologist.\n'Yes, so it seemed to me, and so I never talked of it until--'\n'Experimental verification!' cried I. 'You are going to verify\n_that_?'\n'The experiment!' cried Filby, who was getting brain-weary.\n'Let's see your experiment anyhow,' said the Psychologist, 'though\nit's all humbug, you know.'\nThe Time Traveller smiled round at us. Then, still smiling faintly,\nand with his hands deep in his trousers pockets, he walked slowly\nout of the room, and we heard his slippers shuffling down the long\npassage to his laboratory.\nThe Psychologist looked at us. 'I wonder what he's got?'\n'Some sleight-of-hand trick or other,' said the Medical Man, and\nFilby tried to tell us about a conjurer he had seen at Burslem; but\nbefore he had finished his preface the Time Traveller came back, and\nFilby's anecdote collapsed.\nThe thing the Time Traveller held in his hand was a glittering\nmetallic framework, scarcely larger than a small clock, and very\ndelicately made. There was ivory in it, and some transparent\ncrystalline substance. And now I must be explicit, for this that\nfollows--unless his explanation is to be accepted--is an absolutely\nunaccountable thing. He took one of the small octagonal tables that\nwere scattered about the room, and set it in front of the fire, with\ntwo legs on the hearthrug. On this table he placed the mechanism.\nThen he drew up a chair, and sat down. The only other object on the\ntable was a small shaded lamp, the bright light of which fell upon\nthe model. There were also perhaps a dozen candles about, two in\nbrass candlesticks upon the mantel and several in sconces, so that\nthe room was brilliantly illuminated. I sat in a low arm-chair\nnearest the fire, and I drew this forward so as to be almost between\nthe Time Traveller and the fireplace. Filby sat behind him, looking\nover his shoulder. The Medical Man and the Provincial Mayor watched\nhim in profile from the right, the Psychologist from the left. The\nVery Young Man stood behind the Psychologist. We were all on the\nalert. It appears incredible to me that any kind of trick, however\nsubtly conceived and however adroitly done, could have been played\nupon us under these conditions.\nThe Time Traveller looked at us, and then at the mechanism. 'Well?'\nsaid the Psychologist.\n'This little affair,' said the Time Traveller, resting his elbows\nupon the table and pressing his hands together above the apparatus,\n'is only a model. It is my plan for a machine to travel through\ntime. You will notice that it looks singularly askew, and that there\nis an odd twinkling appearance about this bar, as though it was in\nsome way unreal.' He pointed to the part with his finger. 'Also,\nhere is one little white lever, and here is another.'\nThe Medical Man got up out of his chair and peered into the thing.\n'It's beautifully made,' he said.\n'It took two years to make,' retorted the Time Traveller. Then, when\nwe had all imitated the action of the Medical Man, he said: 'Now I\nwant you clearly to understand that this lever, being pressed over,\nsends the machine gliding into the future, and this other reverses\nthe motion. This saddle represents the seat of a time traveller.\nPresently I am going to press the lever, and off the machine will\ngo. It will vanish, pass into future Time, and disappear. Have a\ngood look at the thing. Look at the table too, and satisfy\nyourselves there is no trickery. I don't want to waste this model,\nand then be told I'm a quack.'\nThere was a minute's pause perhaps. The Psychologist seemed about to\nspeak to me, but changed his mind. Then the Time Traveller put forth\nhis finger towards the lever. 'No,' he said suddenly. 'Lend me your\nhand.' And turning to the Psychologist, he took that individual's\nhand in his own and told him to put out his forefinger. So that it\nwas the Psychologist himself who sent forth the model Time Machine\non its interminable voyage. We all saw the lever turn. I am\nabsolutely certain there was no trickery. There was a breath of\nwind, and the lamp flame jumped. One of the candles on the mantel\nwas blown out, and the little machine suddenly swung round, became\nindistinct, was seen as a ghost for a second perhaps, as an eddy of\nfaintly glittering brass and ivory; and it was gone--vanished! Save\nfor the lamp the table was bare.\nEveryone was silent for a minute. Then Filby said he was damned.\nThe Psychologist recovered from his stupor, and suddenly looked\nunder the table. At that the Time Traveller laughed cheerfully.\n'Well?' he said, with a reminiscence of the Psychologist. Then,\ngetting up, he went to the tobacco jar on the mantel, and with his\nback to us began to fill his pipe.\nWe stared at each other. 'Look here,' said the Medical Man, 'are you\nin earnest about this? Do you seriously believe that that machine\nhas travelled into time?'\n'Certainly,' said the Time Traveller, stooping to light a spill at\nthe fire. Then he turned, lighting his pipe, to look at the\nPsychologist's face. (The Psychologist, to show that he was not\nunhinged, helped himself to a cigar and tried to light it uncut.)\n'What is more, I have a big machine nearly finished in there'--he\nindicated the laboratory--'and when that is put together I mean to\nhave a journey on my own account.'\n'You mean to say that that machine has travelled into the future?'\nsaid Filby.\n'Into the future or the past--I don't, for certain, know which.'\nAfter an interval the Psychologist had an inspiration. 'It must have\ngone into the past if it has gone anywhere,' he said.\n'Why?' said the Time Traveller.\n'Because I presume that it has not moved in space, and if it\ntravelled into the future it would still be here all this time,\nsince it must have travelled through this time.'\n'But,' I said, 'If it travelled into the past it would have been\nvisible when we came first into this room; and last Thursday when we\nwere here; and the Thursday before that; and so forth!'\n'Serious objections,' remarked the Provincial Mayor, with an air of\nimpartiality, turning towards the Time Traveller.\n'Not a bit,' said the Time Traveller, and, to the Psychologist: 'You\nthink. You can explain that. It's presentation below the threshold,\nyou know, diluted presentation.'\n'Of course,' said the Psychologist, and reassured us. 'That's a\nsimple point of psychology. I should have thought of it. It's plain\nenough, and helps the paradox delightfully. We cannot see it, nor\ncan we appreciate this machine, any more than we can the spoke of\na wheel spinning, or a bullet flying through the air. If it is\ntravelling through time fifty times or a hundred times faster than\nwe are, if it gets through a minute while we get through a second,\nthe impression it creates will of course be only one-fiftieth or\none-hundredth of what it would make if it were not travelling in\ntime. That's plain enough.' He passed his hand through the space in\nwhich the machine had been. 'You see?' he said, laughing.\nWe sat and stared at the vacant table for a minute or so. Then the\nTime Traveller asked us what we thought of it all.\n'It sounds plausible enough to-night,' said the Medical Man; 'but\nwait until to-morrow. Wait for the common sense of the morning.'\n'Would you like to see the Time Machine itself?' asked the Time\nTraveller. And therewith, taking the lamp in his hand, he led the\nway down the long, draughty corridor to his laboratory. I remember\nvividly the flickering light, his queer, broad head in silhouette,\nthe dance of the shadows, how we all followed him, puzzled but\nincredulous, and how there in the laboratory we beheld a larger\nedition of the little mechanism which we had seen vanish from before\nour eyes. Parts were of nickel, parts of ivory, parts had certainly\nbeen filed or sawn out of rock crystal. The thing was generally\ncomplete, but the twisted crystalline bars lay unfinished upon the\nbench beside some sheets of drawings, and I took one up for a better\nlook at it. Quartz it seemed to be.\n'Look here,' said the Medical Man, 'are you perfectly serious?\nOr is this a trick--like that ghost you showed us last Christmas?'\n'Upon that machine,' said the Time Traveller, holding the lamp\naloft, 'I intend to explore time. Is that plain? I was never more\nserious in my life.'\nNone of us quite knew how to take it.\nI caught Filby's eye over the shoulder of the Medical Man, and he\nwinked at me solemnly.\nII\nI think that at that time none of us quite believed in the Time\nMachine. The fact is, the Time Traveller was one of those men who\nare too clever to be believed: you never felt that you saw all round\nhim; you always suspected some subtle reserve, some ingenuity in\nambush, behind his lucid frankness. Had Filby shown the model and\nexplained the matter in the Time Traveller's words, we should have\nshown _him_ far less scepticism. For we should have perceived his\nmotives; a pork butcher could understand Filby. But the Time\nTraveller had more than a touch of whim among his elements, and we\ndistrusted him. Things that would have made the frame of a less\nclever man seemed tricks in his hands. It is a mistake to do things\ntoo easily. The serious people who took him seriously never felt\nquite sure of his deportment; they were somehow aware that trusting\ntheir reputations for judgment with him was like furnishing a\nnursery with egg-shell china. So I don't think any of us said very\nmuch about time travelling in the interval between that Thursday and\nthe next, though its odd potentialities ran, no doubt, in most of\nour minds: its plausibility, that is, its practical incredibleness,\nthe curious possibilities of anachronism and of utter confusion it\nsuggested. For my own part, I was particularly preoccupied with the\ntrick of the model. That I remember discussing with the Medical Man,\nwhom I met on Friday at the Linnaean. He said he had seen a similar\nthing at Tubingen, and laid considerable stress on the blowing out\nof the candle. But how the trick was done he could not explain.\nThe next Thursday I went again to Richmond--I suppose I was one of\nthe Time Traveller's most constant guests--and, arriving late, found\nfour or five men already assembled in his drawing-room. The Medical\nMan was standing before the fire with a sheet of paper in one hand\nand his watch in the other. I looked round for the Time Traveller,\nand--'It's half-past seven now,' said the Medical Man. 'I suppose\nwe'd better have dinner?'\n'Where's----?' said I, naming our host.\n'You've just come? It's rather odd. He's unavoidably detained. He\nasks me in this note to lead off with dinner at seven if he's not\nback. Says he'll explain when he comes.'\n'It seems a pity to let the dinner spoil,' said the Editor of a\nwell-known daily paper; and thereupon the Doctor rang the bell.\nThe Psychologist was the only person besides the Doctor and myself\nwho had attended the previous dinner. The other men were Blank, the\nEditor aforementioned, a certain journalist, and another--a quiet,\nshy man with a beard--whom I didn't know, and who, as far as my\nobservation went, never opened his mouth all the evening. There was\nsome speculation at the dinner-table about the Time Traveller's\nabsence, and I suggested time travelling, in a half-jocular spirit.\nThe Editor wanted that explained to him, and the Psychologist\nvolunteered a wooden account of the 'ingenious paradox and trick' we\nhad witnessed that day week. He was in the midst of his exposition\nwhen the door from the corridor opened slowly and without noise. I\nwas facing the door, and saw it first. 'Hallo!' I said. 'At last!'\nAnd the door opened wider, and the Time Traveller stood before us.\nI gave a cry of surprise. 'Good heavens! man, what's the matter?'\ncried the Medical Man, who saw him next. And the whole tableful\nturned towards the door.\nHe was in an amazing plight. His coat was dusty and dirty, and\nsmeared with green down the sleeves; his hair disordered, and as it\nseemed to me greyer--either with dust and dirt or because its colour\nhad actually faded. His face was ghastly pale; his chin had a brown\ncut on it--a cut half healed; his expression was haggard and drawn,\nas by intense suffering. For a moment he hesitated in the doorway,\nas if he had been dazzled by the light. Then he came into the room.\nHe walked with just such a limp as I have seen in footsore tramps.\nWe stared at him in silence, expecting him to speak.\nHe said not a word, but came painfully to the table, and made a\nmotion towards the wine. The Editor filled a glass of champagne, and\npushed it towards him. He drained it, and it seemed to do him good:\nfor he looked round the table, and the ghost of his old smile\nflickered across his face. 'What on earth have you been up to, man?'\nsaid the Doctor. The Time Traveller did not seem to hear. 'Don't let\nme disturb you,' he said, with a certain faltering articulation.\n'I'm all right.' He stopped, held out his glass for more, and took\nit off at a draught. 'That's good,' he said. His eyes grew brighter,\nand a faint colour came into his cheeks. His glance flickered over\nour faces with a certain dull approval, and then went round the warm\nand comfortable room. Then he spoke again, still as it were feeling\nhis way among his words. 'I'm going to wash and dress, and then I'll\ncome down and explain things ... Save me some of that mutton. I'm\nstarving for a bit of meat.'\nHe looked across at the Editor, who was a rare visitor, and hoped he\nwas all right. The Editor began a question. 'Tell you presently,'\nsaid the Time Traveller. 'I'm--funny! Be all right in a minute.'\nHe put down his glass, and walked towards the staircase door. Again\nI remarked his lameness and the soft padding sound of his footfall,\nand standing up in my place, I saw his feet as he went out. He had\nnothing on them but a pair of tattered, blood-stained socks. Then the\ndoor closed upon him. I had half a mind to follow, till I remembered\nhow he detested any fuss about himself. For a minute, perhaps, my\nmind was wool-gathering. Then, 'Remarkable Behaviour of an Eminent\nScientist,' I heard the Editor say, thinking (after his wont) in\nheadlines. And this brought my attention back to the bright\ndinner-table.\n'What's the game?' said the Journalist. 'Has he been doing the\nAmateur Cadger? I don't follow.' I met the eye of the Psychologist,\nand read my own interpretation in his face. I thought of the Time\nTraveller limping painfully upstairs. I don't think any one else had\nnoticed his lameness.\nThe first to recover completely from this surprise was the Medical\nMan, who rang the bell--the Time Traveller hated to have servants\nwaiting at dinner--for a hot plate. At that the Editor turned to his\nknife and fork with a grunt, and the Silent Man followed suit. The\ndinner was resumed. Conversation was exclamatory for a little while,\nwith gaps of wonderment; and then the Editor got fervent in his\ncuriosity. 'Does our friend eke out his modest income with a\ncrossing? or has he his Nebuchadnezzar phases?' he inquired. 'I feel\nassured it's this business of the Time Machine,' I said, and took up\nthe Psychologist's account of our previous meeting. The new guests\nwere frankly incredulous. The Editor raised objections. 'What _was_\nthis time travelling? A man couldn't cover himself with dust by\nrolling in a paradox, could he?' And then, as the idea came home to\nhim, he resorted to caricature. Hadn't they any clothes-brushes in\nthe Future? The Journalist too, would not believe at any price, and\njoined the Editor in the easy work of heaping ridicule on the whole\nthing. They were both the new kind of journalist--very joyous,\nirreverent young men. 'Our Special Correspondent in the Day\nafter To-morrow reports,' the Journalist was saying--or rather\nshouting--when the Time Traveller came back. He was dressed in\nordinary evening clothes, and nothing save his haggard look remained\nof the change that had startled me.\n'I say,' said the Editor hilariously, 'these chaps here say you have\nbeen travelling into the middle of next week! Tell us all about\nlittle Rosebery, will you? What will you take for the lot?'\nThe Time Traveller came to the place reserved for him without a\nword. He smiled quietly, in his old way. 'Where's my mutton?' he\nsaid. 'What a treat it is to stick a fork into meat again!'\n'Story!' cried the Editor.\n'Story be damned!' said the Time Traveller. 'I want something to\neat. I won't say a word until I get some peptone into my arteries.\nThanks. And the salt.'\n'One word,' said I. 'Have you been time travelling?'\n'Yes,' said the Time Traveller, with his mouth full, nodding his\nhead.\n'I'd give a shilling a line for a verbatim note,' said the Editor.\nThe Time Traveller pushed his glass towards the Silent Man and rang\nit with his fingernail; at which the Silent Man, who had been\nstaring at his face, started convulsively, and poured him wine.\nThe rest of the dinner was uncomfortable. For my own part, sudden\nquestions kept on rising to my lips, and I dare say it was the same\nwith the others. The Journalist tried to relieve the tension by\ntelling anecdotes of Hettie Potter. The Time Traveller devoted his\nattention to his dinner, and displayed the appetite of a tramp.\nThe Medical Man smoked a cigarette, and watched the Time Traveller\nthrough his eyelashes. The Silent Man seemed even more clumsy than\nusual, and drank champagne with regularity and determination out of\nsheer nervousness. At last the Time Traveller pushed his plate away,\nand looked round us. 'I suppose I must apologize,' he said. 'I was\nsimply starving. I've had a most amazing time.' He reached out his\nhand for a cigar, and cut the end. 'But come into the smoking-room.\nIt's too long a story to tell over greasy plates.' And ringing the\nbell in passing, he led the way into the adjoining room.\n'You have told Blank, and Dash, and Chose about the machine?' he\nsaid to me, leaning back in his easy-chair and naming the three new\nguests.\n'But the thing's a mere paradox,' said the Editor.\n'I can't argue to-night. I don't mind telling you the story, but\nI can't argue. I will,' he went on, 'tell you the story of what\nhas happened to me, if you like, but you must refrain from\ninterruptions. I want to tell it. Badly. Most of it will sound like\nlying. So be it! It's true--every word of it, all the same. I was in\nmy laboratory at four o'clock, and since then ... I've lived eight\ndays ... such days as no human being ever lived before! I'm nearly\nworn out, but I shan't sleep till I've told this thing over to you.\nThen I shall go to bed. But no interruptions! Is it agreed?'\n'Agreed,' said the Editor, and the rest of us echoed 'Agreed.' And\nwith that the Time Traveller began his story as I have set it forth.\nHe sat back in his chair at first, and spoke like a weary man.\nAfterwards he got more animated. In writing it down I feel with only\ntoo much keenness the inadequacy of pen and ink--and, above all, my\nown inadequacy--to express its quality. You read, I will suppose,\nattentively enough; but you cannot see the speaker's white,\nsincere face in the bright circle of the little lamp, nor hear the\nintonation of his voice. You cannot know how his expression followed\nthe turns of his story! Most of us hearers were in shadow, for the\ncandles in the smoking-room had not been lighted, and only the face\nof the Journalist and the legs of the Silent Man from the knees\ndownward were illuminated. At first we glanced now and again at each\nother. After a time we ceased to do that, and looked only at the\nTime Traveller's face.\nIII\n'I told some of you last Thursday of the principles of the Time\nMachine, and showed you the actual thing itself, incomplete in the\nworkshop. There it is now, a little travel-worn, truly; and one of\nthe ivory bars is cracked, and a brass rail bent; but the rest of\nit's sound enough. I expected to finish it on Friday, but on Friday,\nwhen the putting together was nearly done, I found that one of the\nnickel bars was exactly one inch too short, and this I had to get\nremade; so that the thing was not complete until this morning. It\nwas at ten o'clock to-day that the first of all Time Machines began\nits career. I gave it a last tap, tried all the screws again, put\none more drop of oil on the quartz rod, and sat myself in the\nsaddle. I suppose a suicide who holds a pistol to his skull feels\nmuch the same wonder at what will come next as I felt then. I took\nthe starting lever in one hand and the stopping one in the other,\npressed the first, and almost immediately the second. I seemed to\nreel; I felt a nightmare sensation of falling; and, looking round,\nI saw the laboratory exactly as before. Had anything happened? For\na moment I suspected that my intellect had tricked me. Then I noted\nthe clock. A moment before, as it seemed, it had stood at a minute\nor so past ten; now it was nearly half-past three!\n'I drew a breath, set my teeth, gripped the starting lever with both\nhands, and went off with a thud. The laboratory got hazy and went\ndark. Mrs. Watchett came in and walked, apparently without seeing\nme, towards the garden door. I suppose it took her a minute or so to\ntraverse the place, but to me she seemed to shoot across the room\nlike a rocket. I pressed the lever over to its extreme position. The\nnight came like the turning out of a lamp, and in another moment\ncame to-morrow. The laboratory grew faint and hazy, then fainter\nand ever fainter. To-morrow night came black, then day again, night\nagain, day again, faster and faster still. An eddying murmur filled\nmy ears, and a strange, dumb confusedness descended on my mind.\n'I am afraid I cannot convey the peculiar sensations of time\ntravelling. They are excessively unpleasant. There is a feeling\nexactly like that one has upon a switchback--of a helpless headlong\nmotion! I felt the same horrible anticipation, too, of an imminent\nsmash. As I put on pace, night followed day like the flapping of a\nblack wing. The dim suggestion of the laboratory seemed presently to\nfall away from me, and I saw the sun hopping swiftly across the sky,\nleaping it every minute, and every minute marking a day. I supposed\nthe laboratory had been destroyed and I had come into the open air.\nI had a dim impression of scaffolding, but I was already going too\nfast to be conscious of any moving things. The slowest snail that\never crawled dashed by too fast for me. The twinkling succession of\ndarkness and light was excessively painful to the eye. Then, in the\nintermittent darknesses, I saw the moon spinning swiftly through her\nquarters from new to full, and had a faint glimpse of the circling\nstars. Presently, as I went on, still gaining velocity, the\npalpitation of night and day merged into one continuous greyness;\nthe sky took on a wonderful deepness of blue, a splendid luminous\ncolor like that of early twilight; the jerking sun became a streak\nof fire, a brilliant arch, in space; the moon a fainter fluctuating\nband; and I could see nothing of the stars, save now and then a\nbrighter circle flickering in the blue.\n'The landscape was misty and vague. I was still on the hill-side\nupon which this house now stands, and the shoulder rose above me\ngrey and dim. I saw trees growing and changing like puffs of vapour,\nnow brown, now green; they grew, spread, shivered, and passed away.\nI saw huge buildings rise up faint and fair, and pass like dreams.\nThe whole surface of the earth seemed changed--melting and flowing\nunder my eyes. The little hands upon the dials that registered my\nspeed raced round faster and faster. Presently I noted that the sun\nbelt swayed up and down, from solstice to solstice, in a minute or\nless, and that consequently my pace was over a year a minute; and\nminute by minute the white snow flashed across the world, and\nvanished, and was followed by the bright, brief green of spring.\n'The unpleasant sensations of the start were less poignant now. They\nmerged at last into a kind of hysterical exhilaration. I remarked\nindeed a clumsy swaying of the machine, for which I was unable to\naccount. But my mind was too confused to attend to it, so with a\nkind of madness growing upon me, I flung myself into futurity. At\nfirst I scarce thought of stopping, scarce thought of anything but\nthese new sensations. But presently a fresh series of impressions\ngrew up in my mind--a certain curiosity and therewith a certain\ndread--until at last they took complete possession of me. What\nstrange developments of humanity, what wonderful advances upon our\nrudimentary civilization, I thought, might not appear when I came to\nlook nearly into the dim elusive world that raced and fluctuated\nbefore my eyes! I saw great and splendid architecture rising about\nme, more massive than any buildings of our own time, and yet, as it\nseemed, built of glimmer and mist. I saw a richer green flow up the\nhill-side, and remain there, without any wintry intermission. Even\nthrough the veil of my confusion the earth seemed very fair. And so\nmy mind came round to the business of stopping.\n'The peculiar risk lay in the possibility of my finding some\nsubstance in the space which I, or the machine, occupied. So long\nas I travelled at a high velocity through time, this scarcely\nmattered; I was, so to speak, attenuated--was slipping like a vapour\nthrough the interstices of intervening substances! But to come to\na stop involved the jamming of myself, molecule by molecule, into\nwhatever lay in my way; meant bringing my atoms into such intimate\ncontact with those of the obstacle that a profound chemical\nreaction--possibly a far-reaching explosion--would result, and blow\nmyself and my apparatus out of all possible dimensions--into the\nUnknown. This possibility had occurred to me again and again while I\nwas making the machine; but then I had cheerfully accepted it as an\nunavoidable risk--one of the risks a man has got to take! Now the\nrisk was inevitable, I no longer saw it in the same cheerful light.\nThe fact is that, insensibly, the absolute strangeness of everything,\nthe sickly jarring and swaying of the machine, above all, the\nfeeling of prolonged falling, had absolutely upset my nerve. I told\nmyself that I could never stop, and with a gust of petulance I\nresolved to stop forthwith. Like an impatient fool, I lugged over\nthe lever, and incontinently the thing went reeling over, and I was\nflung headlong through the air.\n'There was the sound of a clap of thunder in my ears. I may have\nbeen stunned for a moment. A pitiless hail was hissing round me,\nand I was sitting on soft turf in front of the overset machine.\nEverything still seemed grey, but presently I remarked that the\nconfusion in my ears was gone. I looked round me. I was on what\nseemed to be a little lawn in a garden, surrounded by rhododendron\nbushes, and I noticed that their mauve and purple blossoms were\ndropping in a shower under the beating of the hail-stones. The\nrebounding, dancing hail hung in a cloud over the machine, and drove\nalong the ground like smoke. In a moment I was wet to the skin.\n\"Fine hospitality,\" said I, \"to a man who has travelled innumerable\nyears to see you.\"\n'Presently I thought what a fool I was to get wet. I stood up and\nlooked round me. A colossal figure, carved apparently in some white\nstone, loomed indistinctly beyond the rhododendrons through the hazy\ndownpour. But all else of the world was invisible.\n'My sensations would be hard to describe. As the columns of hail\ngrew thinner, I saw the white figure more distinctly. It was very\nlarge, for a silver birch-tree touched its shoulder. It was of white\nmarble, in shape something like a winged sphinx, but the wings,\ninstead of being carried vertically at the sides, were spread so\nthat it seemed to hover. The pedestal, it appeared to me, was of\nbronze, and was thick with verdigris. It chanced that the face was\ntowards me; the sightless eyes seemed to watch me; there was the\nfaint shadow of a smile on the lips. It was greatly weather-worn,\nand that imparted an unpleasant suggestion of disease. I stood\nlooking at it for a little space--half a minute, perhaps, or half an\nhour. It seemed to advance and to recede as the hail drove before it\ndenser or thinner. At last I tore my eyes from it for a moment and\nsaw that the hail curtain had worn threadbare, and that the sky was\nlightening with the promise of the sun.\n'I looked up again at the crouching white shape, and the full\ntemerity of my voyage came suddenly upon me. What might appear when\nthat hazy curtain was altogether withdrawn? What might not have\nhappened to men? What if cruelty had grown into a common passion?\nWhat if in this interval the race had lost its manliness and had\ndeveloped into something inhuman, unsympathetic, and overwhelmingly\npowerful? I might seem some old-world savage animal, only the more\ndreadful and disgusting for our common likeness--a foul creature to\nbe incontinently slain.\n'Already I saw other vast shapes--huge buildings with intricate\nparapets and tall columns, with a wooded hill-side dimly creeping\nin upon me through the lessening storm. I was seized with a panic\nfear. I turned frantically to the Time Machine, and strove hard to\nreadjust it. As I did so the shafts of the sun smote through the\nthunderstorm. The grey downpour was swept aside and vanished like\nthe trailing garments of a ghost. Above me, in the intense blue\nof the summer sky, some faint brown shreds of cloud whirled into\nnothingness. The great buildings about me stood out clear and\ndistinct, shining with the wet of the thunderstorm, and picked out\nin white by the unmelted hailstones piled along their courses. I\nfelt naked in a strange world. I felt as perhaps a bird may feel in\nthe clear air, knowing the hawk wings above and will swoop. My fear\ngrew to frenzy. I took a breathing space, set my teeth, and again\ngrappled fiercely, wrist and knee, with the machine. It gave under\nmy desperate onset and turned over. It struck my chin violently. One\nhand on the saddle, the other on the lever, I stood panting heavily\nin attitude to mount again.\n'But with this recovery of a prompt retreat my courage recovered. I\nlooked more curiously and less fearfully at this world of the remote\nfuture. In a circular opening, high up in the wall of the nearer\nhouse, I saw a group of figures clad in rich soft robes. They had\nseen me, and their faces were directed towards me.\n'Then I heard voices approaching me. Coming through the bushes by\nthe White Sphinx were the heads and shoulders of men running. One of\nthese emerged in a pathway leading straight to the little lawn upon\nwhich I stood with my machine. He was a slight creature--perhaps\nfour feet high--clad in a purple tunic, girdled at the waist with a\nleather belt. Sandals or buskins--I could not clearly distinguish\nwhich--were on his feet; his legs were bare to the knees, and his\nhead was bare. Noticing that, I noticed for the first time how warm\nthe air was.\n'He struck me as being a very beautiful and graceful creature, but\nindescribably frail. His flushed face reminded me of the more\nbeautiful kind of consumptive--that hectic beauty of which we used\nto hear so much. At the sight of him I suddenly regained confidence.\nI took my hands from the machine.\nIV\n'In another moment we were standing face to face, I and this fragile\nthing out of futurity. He came straight up to me and laughed into my\neyes. The absence from his bearing of any sign of fear struck me at\nonce. Then he turned to the two others who were following him and\nspoke to them in a strange and very sweet and liquid tongue.\n'There were others coming, and presently a little group of perhaps\neight or ten of these exquisite creatures were about me. One of them\naddressed me. It came into my head, oddly enough, that my voice was\ntoo harsh and deep for them. So I shook my head, and, pointing to my\nears, shook it again. He came a step forward, hesitated, and then\ntouched my hand. Then I felt other soft little tentacles upon my\nback and shoulders. They wanted to make sure I was real. There was\nnothing in this at all alarming. Indeed, there was something in\nthese pretty little people that inspired confidence--a graceful\ngentleness, a certain childlike ease. And besides, they looked so\nfrail that I could fancy myself flinging the whole dozen of them\nabout like nine-pins. But I made a sudden motion to warn them when I\nsaw their little pink hands feeling at the Time Machine. Happily\nthen, when it was not too late, I thought of a danger I had hitherto\nforgotten, and reaching over the bars of the machine I unscrewed the\nlittle levers that would set it in motion, and put these in my\npocket. Then I turned again to see what I could do in the way of\ncommunication.\n'And then, looking more nearly into their features, I saw some\nfurther peculiarities in their Dresden-china type of prettiness.\nTheir hair, which was uniformly curly, came to a sharp end at the\nneck and cheek; there was not the faintest suggestion of it on the\nface, and their ears were singularly minute. The mouths were small,\nwith bright red, rather thin lips, and the little chins ran to a\npoint. The eyes were large and mild; and--this may seem egotism on\nmy part--I fancied even that there was a certain lack of the\ninterest I might have expected in them.\n'As they made no effort to communicate with me, but simply stood\nround me smiling and speaking in soft cooing notes to each other, I\nbegan the conversation. I pointed to the Time Machine and to myself.\nThen hesitating for a moment how to express time, I pointed to the\nsun. At once a quaintly pretty little figure in chequered purple and\nwhite followed my gesture, and then astonished me by imitating the\nsound of thunder.\n'For a moment I was staggered, though the import of his gesture was\nplain enough. The question had come into my mind abruptly: were\nthese creatures fools? You may hardly understand how it took me.\nYou see I had always anticipated that the people of the year Eight\nHundred and Two Thousand odd would be incredibly in front of us in\nknowledge, art, everything. Then one of them suddenly asked me a\nquestion that showed him to be on the intellectual level of one of\nour five-year-old children--asked me, in fact, if I had come from\nthe sun in a thunderstorm! It let loose the judgment I had suspended\nupon their clothes, their frail light limbs, and fragile features.\nA flow of disappointment rushed across my mind. For a moment I felt\nthat I had built the Time Machine in vain.\n'I nodded, pointed to the sun, and gave them such a vivid rendering\nof a thunderclap as startled them. They all withdrew a pace or so\nand bowed. Then came one laughing towards me, carrying a chain of\nbeautiful flowers altogether new to me, and put it about my neck.\nThe idea was received with melodious applause; and presently they\nwere all running to and fro for flowers, and laughingly flinging\nthem upon me until I was almost smothered with blossom. You who\nhave never seen the like can scarcely imagine what delicate and\nwonderful flowers countless years of culture had created. Then\nsomeone suggested that their plaything should be exhibited in the\nnearest building, and so I was led past the sphinx of white marble,\nwhich had seemed to watch me all the while with a smile at my\nastonishment, towards a vast grey edifice of fretted stone. As I\nwent with them the memory of my confident anticipations of a\nprofoundly grave and intellectual posterity came, with irresistible\nmerriment, to my mind.\n'The building had a huge entry, and was altogether of colossal\ndimensions. I was naturally most occupied with the growing crowd of\nlittle people, and with the big open portals that yawned before me\nshadowy and mysterious. My general impression of the world I saw\nover their heads was a tangled waste of beautiful bushes and\nflowers, a long neglected and yet weedless garden. I saw a number\nof tall spikes of strange white flowers, measuring a foot perhaps\nacross the spread of the waxen petals. They grew scattered, as if\nwild, among the variegated shrubs, but, as I say, I did not examine\nthem closely at this time. The Time Machine was left deserted on the\nturf among the rhododendrons.\n'The arch of the doorway was richly carved, but naturally I did\nnot observe the carving very narrowly, though I fancied I saw\nsuggestions of old Phoenician decorations as I passed through, and\nit struck me that they were very badly broken and weather-worn.\nSeveral more brightly clad people met me in the doorway, and so we\nentered, I, dressed in dingy nineteenth-century garments, looking\ngrotesque enough, garlanded with flowers, and surrounded by an\neddying mass of bright, soft-colored robes and shining white limbs,\nin a melodious whirl of laughter and laughing speech.\n'The big doorway opened into a proportionately great hall hung with\nbrown. The roof was in shadow, and the windows, partially glazed\nwith coloured glass and partially unglazed, admitted a tempered\nlight. The floor was made up of huge blocks of some very hard white\nmetal, not plates nor slabs--blocks, and it was so much worn, as I\njudged by the going to and fro of past generations, as to be deeply\nchannelled along the more frequented ways. Transverse to the length\nwere innumerable tables made of slabs of polished stone, raised\nperhaps a foot from the floor, and upon these were heaps of fruits.\nSome I recognized as a kind of hypertrophied raspberry and orange,\nbut for the most part they were strange.\n'Between the tables was scattered a great number of cushions.\nUpon these my conductors seated themselves, signing for me to do\nlikewise. With a pretty absence of ceremony they began to eat the\nfruit with their hands, flinging peel and stalks, and so forth, into\nthe round openings in the sides of the tables. I was not loath to\nfollow their example, for I felt thirsty and hungry. As I did so I\nsurveyed the hall at my leisure.\n'And perhaps the thing that struck me most was its dilapidated look.\nThe stained-glass windows, which displayed only a geometrical\npattern, were broken in many places, and the curtains that hung\nacross the lower end were thick with dust. And it caught my eye that\nthe corner of the marble table near me was fractured. Nevertheless,\nthe general effect was extremely rich and picturesque. There were,\nperhaps, a couple of hundred people dining in the hall, and most of\nthem, seated as near to me as they could come, were watching me with\ninterest, their little eyes shining over the fruit they were eating.\nAll were clad in the same soft and yet strong, silky material.\n'Fruit, by the by, was all their diet. These people of the remote\nfuture were strict vegetarians, and while I was with them, in spite\nof some carnal cravings, I had to be frugivorous also. Indeed, I\nfound afterwards that horses, cattle, sheep, dogs, had followed the\nIchthyosaurus into extinction. But the fruits were very delightful;\none, in particular, that seemed to be in season all the time I was\nthere--a floury thing in a three-sided husk--was especially good,\nand I made it my staple. At first I was puzzled by all these strange\nfruits, and by the strange flowers I saw, but later I began to\nperceive their import.\n'However, I am telling you of my fruit dinner in the distant future\nnow. So soon as my appetite was a little checked, I determined to\nmake a resolute attempt to learn the speech of these new men of\nmine. Clearly that was the next thing to do. The fruits seemed a\nconvenient thing to begin upon, and holding one of these up I began\na series of interrogative sounds and gestures. I had some\nconsiderable difficulty in conveying my meaning. At first my efforts\nmet with a stare of surprise or inextinguishable laughter, but\npresently a fair-haired little creature seemed to grasp my intention\nand repeated a name. They had to chatter and explain the business\nat great length to each other, and my first attempts to make the\nexquisite little sounds of their language caused an immense amount\nof amusement. However, I felt like a schoolmaster amidst children,\nand persisted, and presently I had a score of noun substantives at\nleast at my command; and then I got to demonstrative pronouns, and\neven the verb \"to eat.\" But it was slow work, and the little people\nsoon tired and wanted to get away from my interrogations, so I\ndetermined, rather of necessity, to let them give their lessons in\nlittle doses when they felt inclined. And very little doses I found\nthey were before long, for I never met people more indolent or more\neasily fatigued.\n'A queer thing I soon discovered about my little hosts, and that was\ntheir lack of interest. They would come to me with eager cries of\nastonishment, like children, but like children they would soon stop\nexamining me and wander away after some other toy. The dinner and my\nconversational beginnings ended, I noted for the first time that\nalmost all those who had surrounded me at first were gone. It is\nodd, too, how speedily I came to disregard these little people. I\nwent out through the portal into the sunlit world again as soon as\nmy hunger was satisfied. I was continually meeting more of these men\nof the future, who would follow me a little distance, chatter and\nlaugh about me, and, having smiled and gesticulated in a friendly\nway, leave me again to my own devices.\n'The calm of evening was upon the world as I emerged from the great\nhall, and the scene was lit by the warm glow of the setting sun.\nAt first things were very confusing. Everything was so entirely\ndifferent from the world I had known--even the flowers. The big\nbuilding I had left was situated on the slope of a broad river\nvalley, but the Thames had shifted perhaps a mile from its present\nposition. I resolved to mount to the summit of a crest, perhaps a\nmile and a half away, from which I could get a wider view of this\nour planet in the year Eight Hundred and Two Thousand Seven Hundred\nand One A.D. For that, I should explain, was the date the little\ndials of my machine recorded.\n'As I walked I was watching for every impression that could possibly\nhelp to explain the condition of ruinous splendour in which I\nfound the world--for ruinous it was. A little way up the hill, for\ninstance, was a great heap of granite, bound together by masses of\naluminium, a vast labyrinth of precipitous walls and crumpled\nheaps, amidst which were thick heaps of very beautiful pagoda-like\nplants--nettles possibly--but wonderfully tinted with brown about\nthe leaves, and incapable of stinging. It was evidently the derelict\nremains of some vast structure, to what end built I could not\ndetermine. It was here that I was destined, at a later date, to have\na very strange experience--the first intimation of a still stranger\ndiscovery--but of that I will speak in its proper place.\n'Looking round with a sudden thought, from a terrace on which I\nrested for a while, I realized that there were no small houses to be\nseen. Apparently the single house, and possibly even the household,\nhad vanished. Here and there among the greenery were palace-like\nbuildings, but the house and the cottage, which form such\ncharacteristic features of our own English landscape, had\ndisappeared.\n'\"Communism,\" said I to myself.\n'And on the heels of that came another thought. I looked at the\nhalf-dozen little figures that were following me. Then, in a flash,\nI perceived that all had the same form of costume, the same soft\nhairless visage, and the same girlish rotundity of limb. It may seem\nstrange, perhaps, that I had not noticed this before. But everything\nwas so strange. Now, I saw the fact plainly enough. In costume, and\nin all the differences of texture and bearing that now mark off the\nsexes from each other, these people of the future were alike. And\nthe children seemed to my eyes to be but the miniatures of their\nparents. I judged, then, that the children of that time were\nextremely precocious, physically at least, and I found afterwards\nabundant verification of my opinion.\n'Seeing the ease and security in which these people were living, I\nfelt that this close resemblance of the sexes was after all what\none would expect; for the strength of a man and the softness of a\nwoman, the institution of the family, and the differentiation of\noccupations are mere militant necessities of an age of physical\nforce; where population is balanced and abundant, much childbearing\nbecomes an evil rather than a blessing to the State; where\nviolence comes but rarely and off-spring are secure, there is less\nnecessity--indeed there is no necessity--for an efficient family,\nand the specialization of the sexes with reference to their\nchildren's needs disappears. We see some beginnings of this even\nin our own time, and in this future age it was complete. This, I\nmust remind you, was my speculation at the time. Later, I was to\nappreciate how far it fell short of the reality.\n'While I was musing upon these things, my attention was attracted by\na pretty little structure, like a well under a cupola. I thought in\na transitory way of the oddness of wells still existing, and then\nresumed the thread of my speculations. There were no large buildings\ntowards the top of the hill, and as my walking powers were evidently\nmiraculous, I was presently left alone for the first time. With a\nstrange sense of freedom and adventure I pushed on up to the crest.\n'There I found a seat of some yellow metal that I did not recognize,\ncorroded in places with a kind of pinkish rust and half smothered\nin soft moss, the arm-rests cast and filed into the resemblance of\ngriffins' heads. I sat down on it, and I surveyed the broad view of\nour old world under the sunset of that long day. It was as sweet and\nfair a view as I have ever seen. The sun had already gone below the\nhorizon and the west was flaming gold, touched with some horizontal\nbars of purple and crimson. Below was the valley of the Thames, in\nwhich the river lay like a band of burnished steel. I have already\nspoken of the great palaces dotted about among the variegated\ngreenery, some in ruins and some still occupied. Here and there rose\na white or silvery figure in the waste garden of the earth, here and\nthere came the sharp vertical line of some cupola or obelisk. There\nwere no hedges, no signs of proprietary rights, no evidences of\nagriculture; the whole earth had become a garden.\n'So watching, I began to put my interpretation upon the things I had\nseen, and as it shaped itself to me that evening, my interpretation\nwas something in this way. (Afterwards I found I had got only a\nhalf-truth--or only a glimpse of one facet of the truth.)\n'It seemed to me that I had happened upon humanity upon the wane.\nThe ruddy sunset set me thinking of the sunset of mankind. For the\nfirst time I began to realize an odd consequence of the social\neffort in which we are at present engaged. And yet, come to think,\nit is a logical consequence enough. Strength is the outcome of need;\nsecurity sets a premium on feebleness. The work of ameliorating the\nconditions of life--the true civilizing process that makes life more\nand more secure--had gone steadily on to a climax. One triumph of a\nunited humanity over Nature had followed another. Things that are\nnow mere dreams had become projects deliberately put in hand and\ncarried forward. And the harvest was what I saw!\n'After all, the sanitation and the agriculture of to-day are still\nin the rudimentary stage. The science of our time has attacked but\na little department of the field of human disease, but even so,\nit spreads its operations very steadily and persistently. Our\nagriculture and horticulture destroy a weed just here and there and\ncultivate perhaps a score or so of wholesome plants, leaving the\ngreater number to fight out a balance as they can. We improve our\nfavourite plants and animals--and how few they are--gradually by\nselective breeding; now a new and better peach, now a seedless\ngrape, now a sweeter and larger flower, now a more convenient breed\nof cattle. We improve them gradually, because our ideals are vague\nand tentative, and our knowledge is very limited; because Nature,\ntoo, is shy and slow in our clumsy hands. Some day all this will\nbe better organized, and still better. That is the drift of the\ncurrent in spite of the eddies. The whole world will be intelligent,\neducated, and co-operating; things will move faster and faster\ntowards the subjugation of Nature. In the end, wisely and carefully\nwe shall readjust the balance of animal and vegetable life to suit\nour human needs.\n'This adjustment, I say, must have been done, and done well; done\nindeed for all Time, in the space of Time across which my machine\nhad leaped. The air was free from gnats, the earth from weeds or\nfungi; everywhere were fruits and sweet and delightful flowers;\nbrilliant butterflies flew hither and thither. The ideal of\npreventive medicine was attained. Diseases had been stamped out. I\nsaw no evidence of any contagious diseases during all my stay. And I\nshall have to tell you later that even the processes of putrefaction\nand decay had been profoundly affected by these changes.\n'Social triumphs, too, had been effected. I saw mankind housed in\nsplendid shelters, gloriously clothed, and as yet I had found them\nengaged in no toil. There were no signs of struggle, neither social\nnor economical struggle. The shop, the advertisement, traffic, all\nthat commerce which constitutes the body of our world, was gone. It\nwas natural on that golden evening that I should jump at the idea of\na social paradise. The difficulty of increasing population had been\nmet, I guessed, and population had ceased to increase.\n'But with this change in condition comes inevitably adaptations to\nthe change. What, unless biological science is a mass of errors, is\nthe cause of human intelligence and vigour? Hardship and freedom:\nconditions under which the active, strong, and subtle survive and\nthe weaker go to the wall; conditions that put a premium upon the\nloyal alliance of capable men, upon self-restraint, patience, and\ndecision. And the institution of the family, and the emotions that\narise therein, the fierce jealousy, the tenderness for offspring,\nparental self-devotion, all found their justification and support in\nthe imminent dangers of the young. _Now_, where are these imminent\ndangers? There is a sentiment arising, and it will grow, against\nconnubial jealousy, against fierce maternity, against passion\nof all sorts; unnecessary things now, and things that make us\nuncomfortable, savage survivals, discords in a refined and pleasant\nlife.\n'I thought of the physical slightness of the people, their lack of\nintelligence, and those big abundant ruins, and it strengthened my\nbelief in a perfect conquest of Nature. For after the battle comes\nQuiet. Humanity had been strong, energetic, and intelligent, and had\nused all its abundant vitality to alter the conditions under which\nit lived. And now came the reaction of the altered conditions.\n'Under the new conditions of perfect comfort and security, that\nrestless energy, that with us is strength, would become weakness.\nEven in our own time certain tendencies and desires, once necessary\nto survival, are a constant source of failure. Physical courage and\nthe love of battle, for instance, are no great help--may even be\nhindrances--to a civilized man. And in a state of physical balance\nand security, power, intellectual as well as physical, would be out\nof place. For countless years I judged there had been no danger of\nwar or solitary violence, no danger from wild beasts, no wasting\ndisease to require strength of constitution, no need of toil. For\nsuch a life, what we should call the weak are as well equipped as\nthe strong, are indeed no longer weak. Better equipped indeed they\nare, for the strong would be fretted by an energy for which there\nwas no outlet. No doubt the exquisite beauty of the buildings I saw\nwas the outcome of the last surgings of the now purposeless energy\nof mankind before it settled down into perfect harmony with the\nconditions under which it lived--the flourish of that triumph which\nbegan the last great peace. This has ever been the fate of energy in\nsecurity; it takes to art and to eroticism, and then come languor\nand decay.\n'Even this artistic impetus would at last die away--had almost died\nin the Time I saw. To adorn themselves with flowers, to dance, to\nsing in the sunlight: so much was left of the artistic spirit, and\nno more. Even that would fade in the end into a contented\ninactivity. We are kept keen on the grindstone of pain and\nnecessity, and, it seemed to me, that here was that hateful\ngrindstone broken at last!\n'As I stood there in the gathering dark I thought that in this\nsimple explanation I had mastered the problem of the world--mastered\nthe whole secret of these delicious people. Possibly the checks they\nhad devised for the increase of population had succeeded too well,\nand their numbers had rather diminished than kept stationary.\nThat would account for the abandoned ruins. Very simple was my\nexplanation, and plausible enough--as most wrong theories are!\nV\n'As I stood there musing over this too perfect triumph of man, the\nfull moon, yellow and gibbous, came up out of an overflow of silver\nlight in the north-east. The bright little figures ceased to move\nabout below, a noiseless owl flitted by, and I shivered with the\nchill of the night. I determined to descend and find where I could\nsleep.\n'I looked for the building I knew. Then my eye travelled along to\nthe figure of the White Sphinx upon the pedestal of bronze, growing\ndistinct as the light of the rising moon grew brighter. I could see\nthe silver birch against it. There was the tangle of rhododendron\nbushes, black in the pale light, and there was the little lawn.\nI looked at the lawn again. A queer doubt chilled my complacency.\n\"No,\" said I stoutly to myself, \"that was not the lawn.\"\n'But it _was_ the lawn. For the white leprous face of the sphinx was\ntowards it. Can you imagine what I felt as this conviction came\nhome to me? But you cannot. The Time Machine was gone!\n'At once, like a lash across the face, came the possibility of\nlosing my own age, of being left helpless in this strange new world.\nThe bare thought of it was an actual physical sensation. I could\nfeel it grip me at the throat and stop my breathing. In another\nmoment I was in a passion of fear and running with great leaping\nstrides down the slope. Once I fell headlong and cut my face; I lost\nno time in stanching the blood, but jumped up and ran on, with a\nwarm trickle down my cheek and chin. All the time I ran I was saying\nto myself: \"They have moved it a little, pushed it under the bushes\nout of the way.\" Nevertheless, I ran with all my might. All the\ntime, with the certainty that sometimes comes with excessive dread,\nI knew that such assurance was folly, knew instinctively that the\nmachine was removed out of my reach. My breath came with pain. I\nsuppose I covered the whole distance from the hill crest to the\nlittle lawn, two miles perhaps, in ten minutes. And I am not a young\nman. I cursed aloud, as I ran, at my confident folly in leaving the\nmachine, wasting good breath thereby. I cried aloud, and none\nanswered. Not a creature seemed to be stirring in that moonlit\nworld.\n'When I reached the lawn my worst fears were realized. Not a trace\nof the thing was to be seen. I felt faint and cold when I faced the\nempty space among the black tangle of bushes. I ran round it\nfuriously, as if the thing might be hidden in a corner, and then\nstopped abruptly, with my hands clutching my hair. Above me towered\nthe sphinx, upon the bronze pedestal, white, shining, leprous, in\nthe light of the rising moon. It seemed to smile in mockery of my\ndismay.\n'I might have consoled myself by imagining the little people had put\nthe mechanism in some shelter for me, had I not felt assured of\ntheir physical and intellectual inadequacy. That is what dismayed\nme: the sense of some hitherto unsuspected power, through whose\nintervention my invention had vanished. Yet, for one thing I felt\nassured: unless some other age had produced its exact duplicate,\nthe machine could not have moved in time. The attachment of the\nlevers--I will show you the method later--prevented any one from\ntampering with it in that way when they were removed. It had moved,\nand was hid, only in space. But then, where could it be?\n'I think I must have had a kind of frenzy. I remember running\nviolently in and out among the moonlit bushes all round the sphinx,\nand startling some white animal that, in the dim light, I took for a\nsmall deer. I remember, too, late that night, beating the bushes\nwith my clenched fist until my knuckles were gashed and bleeding\nfrom the broken twigs. Then, sobbing and raving in my anguish of\nmind, I went down to the great building of stone. The big hall was\ndark, silent, and deserted. I slipped on the uneven floor, and fell\nover one of the malachite tables, almost breaking my shin. I lit a\nmatch and went on past the dusty curtains, of which I have told you.\n'There I found a second great hall covered with cushions, upon\nwhich, perhaps, a score or so of the little people were sleeping. I\nhave no doubt they found my second appearance strange enough, coming\nsuddenly out of the quiet darkness with inarticulate noises and the\nsplutter and flare of a match. For they had forgotten about matches.\n\"Where is my Time Machine?\" I began, bawling like an angry child,\nlaying hands upon them and shaking them up together. It must have\nbeen very queer to them. Some laughed, most of them looked sorely\nfrightened. When I saw them standing round me, it came into my head\nthat I was doing as foolish a thing as it was possible for me to do\nunder the circumstances, in trying to revive the sensation of fear.\nFor, reasoning from their daylight behaviour, I thought that fear\nmust be forgotten.\n'Abruptly, I dashed down the match, and, knocking one of the people\nover in my course, went blundering across the big dining-hall again,\nout under the moonlight. I heard cries of terror and their little\nfeet running and stumbling this way and that. I do not remember all\nI did as the moon crept up the sky. I suppose it was the unexpected\nnature of my loss that maddened me. I felt hopelessly cut off from\nmy own kind--a strange animal in an unknown world. I must have raved\nto and fro, screaming and crying upon God and Fate. I have a memory\nof horrible fatigue, as the long night of despair wore away; of\nlooking in this impossible place and that; of groping among moon-lit\nruins and touching strange creatures in the black shadows; at last,\nof lying on the ground near the sphinx and weeping with absolute\nwretchedness. I had nothing left but misery. Then I slept, and when\nI woke again it was full day, and a couple of sparrows were hopping\nround me on the turf within reach of my arm.\n'I sat up in the freshness of the morning, trying to remember how\nI had got there, and why I had such a profound sense of desertion\nand despair. Then things came clear in my mind. With the plain,\nreasonable daylight, I could look my circumstances fairly in the\nface. I saw the wild folly of my frenzy overnight, and I could\nreason with myself. \"Suppose the worst?\" I said. \"Suppose the\nmachine altogether lost--perhaps destroyed? It behoves me to be\ncalm and patient, to learn the way of the people, to get a clear\nidea of the method of my loss, and the means of getting materials\nand tools; so that in the end, perhaps, I may make another.\" That\nwould be my only hope, perhaps, but better than despair. And, after\nall, it was a beautiful and curious world.\n'But probably, the machine had only been taken away. Still, I must\nbe calm and patient, find its hiding-place, and recover it by force\nor cunning. And with that I scrambled to my feet and looked about\nme, wondering where I could bathe. I felt weary, stiff, and\ntravel-soiled. The freshness of the morning made me desire an equal\nfreshness. I had exhausted my emotion. Indeed, as I went about\nmy business, I found myself wondering at my intense excitement\novernight. I made a careful examination of the ground about the\nlittle lawn. I wasted some time in futile questionings, conveyed, as\nwell as I was able, to such of the little people as came by. They\nall failed to understand my gestures; some were simply stolid, some\nthought it was a jest and laughed at me. I had the hardest task in\nthe world to keep my hands off their pretty laughing faces. It was\na foolish impulse, but the devil begotten of fear and blind anger\nwas ill curbed and still eager to take advantage of my perplexity.\nThe turf gave better counsel. I found a groove ripped in it, about\nmidway between the pedestal of the sphinx and the marks of my feet\nwhere, on arrival, I had struggled with the overturned machine.\nThere were other signs of removal about, with queer narrow\nfootprints like those I could imagine made by a sloth. This directed\nmy closer attention to the pedestal. It was, as I think I have said,\nof bronze. It was not a mere block, but highly decorated with deep\nframed panels on either side. I went and rapped at these. The\npedestal was hollow. Examining the panels with care I found them\ndiscontinuous with the frames. There were no handles or keyholes,\nbut possibly the panels, if they were doors, as I supposed, opened\nfrom within. One thing was clear enough to my mind. It took no very\ngreat mental effort to infer that my Time Machine was inside that\npedestal. But how it got there was a different problem.\n'I saw the heads of two orange-clad people coming through the bushes\nand under some blossom-covered apple-trees towards me. I turned\nsmiling to them and beckoned them to me. They came, and then,\npointing to the bronze pedestal, I tried to intimate my wish to open\nit. But at my first gesture towards this they behaved very oddly. I\ndon't know how to convey their expression to you. Suppose you were\nto use a grossly improper gesture to a delicate-minded woman--it is\nhow she would look. They went off as if they had received the last\npossible insult. I tried a sweet-looking little chap in white next,\nwith exactly the same result. Somehow, his manner made me feel\nashamed of myself. But, as you know, I wanted the Time Machine, and\nI tried him once more. As he turned off, like the others, my temper\ngot the better of me. In three strides I was after him, had him by\nthe loose part of his robe round the neck, and began dragging him\ntowards the sphinx. Then I saw the horror and repugnance of his\nface, and all of a sudden I let him go.\n'But I was not beaten yet. I banged with my fist at the bronze\npanels. I thought I heard something stir inside--to be explicit,\nI thought I heard a sound like a chuckle--but I must have been\nmistaken. Then I got a big pebble from the river, and came and\nhammered till I had flattened a coil in the decorations, and the\nverdigris came off in powdery flakes. The delicate little people\nmust have heard me hammering in gusty outbreaks a mile away on\neither hand, but nothing came of it. I saw a crowd of them upon the\nslopes, looking furtively at me. At last, hot and tired, I sat down\nto watch the place. But I was too restless to watch long; I am too\nOccidental for a long vigil. I could work at a problem for years,\nbut to wait inactive for twenty-four hours--that is another matter.\n'I got up after a time, and began walking aimlessly through the\nbushes towards the hill again. \"Patience,\" said I to myself. \"If you\nwant your machine again you must leave that sphinx alone. If they\nmean to take your machine away, it's little good your wrecking their\nbronze panels, and if they don't, you will get it back as soon as\nyou can ask for it. To sit among all those unknown things before a\npuzzle like that is hopeless. That way lies monomania. Face this\nworld. Learn its ways, watch it, be careful of too hasty guesses\nat its meaning. In the end you will find clues to it all.\" Then\nsuddenly the humour of the situation came into my mind: the thought\nof the years I had spent in study and toil to get into the future\nage, and now my passion of anxiety to get out of it. I had made\nmyself the most complicated and the most hopeless trap that ever a\nman devised. Although it was at my own expense, I could not help\nmyself. I laughed aloud.\n'Going through the big palace, it seemed to me that the little\npeople avoided me. It may have been my fancy, or it may have had\nsomething to do with my hammering at the gates of bronze. Yet I felt\ntolerably sure of the avoidance. I was careful, however, to show no\nconcern and to abstain from any pursuit of them, and in the course\nof a day or two things got back to the old footing. I made what\nprogress I could in the language, and in addition I pushed my\nexplorations here and there. Either I missed some subtle point or\ntheir language was excessively simple--almost exclusively composed\nof concrete substantives and verbs. There seemed to be few, if any,\nabstract terms, or little use of figurative language. Their\nsentences were usually simple and of two words, and I failed to\nconvey or understand any but the simplest propositions. I determined\nto put the thought of my Time Machine and the mystery of the bronze\ndoors under the sphinx as much as possible in a corner of memory,\nuntil my growing knowledge would lead me back to them in a natural\nway. Yet a certain feeling, you may understand, tethered me in a\ncircle of a few miles round the point of my arrival.\n'So far as I could see, all the world displayed the same exuberant\nrichness as the Thames valley. From every hill I climbed I saw the\nsame abundance of splendid buildings, endlessly varied in material\nand style, the same clustering thickets of evergreens, the same\nblossom-laden trees and tree-ferns. Here and there water shone like\nsilver, and beyond, the land rose into blue undulating hills, and\nso faded into the serenity of the sky. A peculiar feature, which\npresently attracted my attention, was the presence of certain\ncircular wells, several, as it seemed to me, of a very great depth.\nOne lay by the path up the hill, which I had followed during my\nfirst walk. Like the others, it was rimmed with bronze, curiously\nwrought, and protected by a little cupola from the rain. Sitting by\nthe side of these wells, and peering down into the shafted darkness,\nI could see no gleam of water, nor could I start any reflection\nwith a lighted match. But in all of them I heard a certain sound:\na thud--thud--thud, like the beating of some big engine; and I\ndiscovered, from the flaring of my matches, that a steady current of\nair set down the shafts. Further, I threw a scrap of paper into the\nthroat of one, and, instead of fluttering slowly down, it was at\nonce sucked swiftly out of sight.\n'After a time, too, I came to connect these wells with tall towers\nstanding here and there upon the slopes; for above them there was\noften just such a flicker in the air as one sees on a hot day above\na sun-scorched beach. Putting things together, I reached a strong\nsuggestion of an extensive system of subterranean ventilation, whose\ntrue import it was difficult to imagine. I was at first inclined to\nassociate it with the sanitary apparatus of these people. It was an\nobvious conclusion, but it was absolutely wrong.\n'And here I must admit that I learned very little of drains and\nbells and modes of conveyance, and the like conveniences, during my\ntime in this real future. In some of these visions of Utopias and\ncoming times which I have read, there is a vast amount of detail\nabout building, and social arrangements, and so forth. But while\nsuch details are easy enough to obtain when the whole world is\ncontained in one's imagination, they are altogether inaccessible to\na real traveller amid such realities as I found here. Conceive the\ntale of London which a negro, fresh from Central Africa, would take\nback to his tribe! What would he know of railway companies, of\nsocial movements, of telephone and telegraph wires, of the Parcels\nDelivery Company, and postal orders and the like? Yet we, at least,\nshould be willing enough to explain these things to him! And even of\nwhat he knew, how much could he make his untravelled friend either\napprehend or believe? Then, think how narrow the gap between a negro\nand a white man of our own times, and how wide the interval between\nmyself and these of the Golden Age! I was sensible of much which was\nunseen, and which contributed to my comfort; but save for a general\nimpression of automatic organization, I fear I can convey very\nlittle of the difference to your mind.\n'In the matter of sepulture, for instance, I could see no signs of\ncrematoria nor anything suggestive of tombs. But it occurred to me\nthat, possibly, there might be cemeteries (or crematoria) somewhere\nbeyond the range of my explorings. This, again, was a question I\ndeliberately put to myself, and my curiosity was at first entirely\ndefeated upon the point. The thing puzzled me, and I was led to make\na further remark, which puzzled me still more: that aged and infirm\namong this people there were none.\n'I must confess that my satisfaction with my first theories of an\nautomatic civilization and a decadent humanity did not long endure.\nYet I could think of no other. Let me put my difficulties. The\nseveral big palaces I had explored were mere living places, great\ndining-halls and sleeping apartments. I could find no machinery, no\nappliances of any kind. Yet these people were clothed in pleasant\nfabrics that must at times need renewal, and their sandals, though\nundecorated, were fairly complex specimens of metalwork. Somehow\nsuch things must be made. And the little people displayed no vestige\nof a creative tendency. There were no shops, no workshops, no sign\nof importations among them. They spent all their time in playing\ngently, in bathing in the river, in making love in a half-playful\nfashion, in eating fruit and sleeping. I could not see how things\nwere kept going.\n'Then, again, about the Time Machine: something, I knew not what,\nhad taken it into the hollow pedestal of the White Sphinx. Why? For\nthe life of me I could not imagine. Those waterless wells, too,\nthose flickering pillars. I felt I lacked a clue. I felt--how shall\nI put it? Suppose you found an inscription, with sentences here and\nthere in excellent plain English, and interpolated therewith, others\nmade up of words, of letters even, absolutely unknown to you? Well,\non the third day of my visit, that was how the world of Eight\nHundred and Two Thousand Seven Hundred and One presented itself to\nme!\n'That day, too, I made a friend--of a sort. It happened that, as I\nwas watching some of the little people bathing in a shallow, one of\nthem was seized with cramp and began drifting downstream. The main\ncurrent ran rather swiftly, but not too strongly for even a moderate\nswimmer. It will give you an idea, therefore, of the strange\ndeficiency in these creatures, when I tell you that none made the\nslightest attempt to rescue the weakly crying little thing which\nwas drowning before their eyes. When I realized this, I hurriedly\nslipped off my clothes, and, wading in at a point lower down, I\ncaught the poor mite and drew her safe to land. A little rubbing of\nthe limbs soon brought her round, and I had the satisfaction of\nseeing she was all right before I left her. I had got to such a low\nestimate of her kind that I did not expect any gratitude from her.\nIn that, however, I was wrong.\n'This happened in the morning. In the afternoon I met my little\nwoman, as I believe it was, as I was returning towards my centre\nfrom an exploration, and she received me with cries of delight and\npresented me with a big garland of flowers--evidently made for me\nand me alone. The thing took my imagination. Very possibly I had\nbeen feeling desolate. At any rate I did my best to display my\nappreciation of the gift. We were soon seated together in a little\nstone arbour, engaged in conversation, chiefly of smiles. The\ncreature's friendliness affected me exactly as a child's might have\ndone. We passed each other flowers, and she kissed my hands. I did\nthe same to hers. Then I tried talk, and found that her name was\nWeena, which, though I don't know what it meant, somehow seemed\nappropriate enough. That was the beginning of a queer friendship\nwhich lasted a week, and ended--as I will tell you!\n'She was exactly like a child. She wanted to be with me always. She\ntried to follow me everywhere, and on my next journey out and about\nit went to my heart to tire her down, and leave her at last,\nexhausted and calling after me rather plaintively. But the problems\nof the world had to be mastered. I had not, I said to myself, come\ninto the future to carry on a miniature flirtation. Yet her distress\nwhen I left her was very great, her expostulations at the parting\nwere sometimes frantic, and I think, altogether, I had as much\ntrouble as comfort from her devotion. Nevertheless she was, somehow,\na very great comfort. I thought it was mere childish affection that\nmade her cling to me. Until it was too late, I did not clearly know\nwhat I had inflicted upon her when I left her. Nor until it was too\nlate did I clearly understand what she was to me. For, by merely\nseeming fond of me, and showing in her weak, futile way that she\ncared for me, the little doll of a creature presently gave my return\nto the neighbourhood of the White Sphinx almost the feeling of\ncoming home; and I would watch for her tiny figure of white and gold\nso soon as I came over the hill.\n'It was from her, too, that I learned that fear had not yet left the\nworld. She was fearless enough in the daylight, and she had the\noddest confidence in me; for once, in a foolish moment, I made\nthreatening grimaces at her, and she simply laughed at them. But she\ndreaded the dark, dreaded shadows, dreaded black things. Darkness\nto her was the one thing dreadful. It was a singularly passionate\nemotion, and it set me thinking and observing. I discovered then,\namong other things, that these little people gathered into the great\nhouses after dark, and slept in droves. To enter upon them without a\nlight was to put them into a tumult of apprehension. I never found\none out of doors, or one sleeping alone within doors, after dark.\nYet I was still such a blockhead that I missed the lesson of that\nfear, and in spite of Weena's distress I insisted upon sleeping away\nfrom these slumbering multitudes.\n'It troubled her greatly, but in the end her odd affection for me\ntriumphed, and for five of the nights of our acquaintance, including\nthe last night of all, she slept with her head pillowed on my arm.\nBut my story slips away from me as I speak of her. It must have been\nthe night before her rescue that I was awakened about dawn. I had\nbeen restless, dreaming most disagreeably that I was drowned, and\nthat sea anemones were feeling over my face with their soft palps.\nI woke with a start, and with an odd fancy that some greyish animal\nhad just rushed out of the chamber. I tried to get to sleep again,\nbut I felt restless and uncomfortable. It was that dim grey hour\nwhen things are just creeping out of darkness, when everything is\ncolourless and clear cut, and yet unreal. I got up, and went down\ninto the great hall, and so out upon the flagstones in front of the\npalace. I thought I would make a virtue of necessity, and see the\nsunrise.\n'The moon was setting, and the dying moonlight and the first pallor\nof dawn were mingled in a ghastly half-light. The bushes were inky\nblack, the ground a sombre grey, the sky colourless and cheerless.\nAnd up the hill I thought I could see ghosts. There several times,\nas I scanned the slope, I saw white figures. Twice I fancied I saw\na solitary white, ape-like creature running rather quickly up the\nhill, and once near the ruins I saw a leash of them carrying some\ndark body. They moved hastily. I did not see what became of them.\nIt seemed that they vanished among the bushes. The dawn was still\nindistinct, you must understand. I was feeling that chill,\nuncertain, early-morning feeling you may have known. I doubted\nmy eyes.\n'As the eastern sky grew brighter, and the light of the day came on\nand its vivid colouring returned upon the world once more, I scanned\nthe view keenly. But I saw no vestige of my white figures. They were\nmere creatures of the half light. \"They must have been ghosts,\" I\nsaid; \"I wonder whence they dated.\" For a queer notion of Grant\nAllen's came into my head, and amused me. If each generation die and\nleave ghosts, he argued, the world at last will get overcrowded with\nthem. On that theory they would have grown innumerable some Eight\nHundred Thousand Years hence, and it was no great wonder to see four\nat once. But the jest was unsatisfying, and I was thinking of these\nfigures all the morning, until Weena's rescue drove them out of my\nhead. I associated them in some indefinite way with the white animal\nI had startled in my first passionate search for the Time Machine.\nBut Weena was a pleasant substitute. Yet all the same, they were\nsoon destined to take far deadlier possession of my mind.\n'I think I have said how much hotter than our own was the weather\nof this Golden Age. I cannot account for it. It may be that the sun\nwas hotter, or the earth nearer the sun. It is usual to assume that\nthe sun will go on cooling steadily in the future. But people,\nunfamiliar with such speculations as those of the younger Darwin,\nforget that the planets must ultimately fall back one by one into\nthe parent body. As these catastrophes occur, the sun will blaze\nwith renewed energy; and it may be that some inner planet had\nsuffered this fate. Whatever the reason, the fact remains that the\nsun was very much hotter than we know it.\n'Well, one very hot morning--my fourth, I think--as I was seeking\nshelter from the heat and glare in a colossal ruin near the great\nhouse where I slept and fed, there happened this strange thing:\nClambering among these heaps of masonry, I found a narrow gallery,\nwhose end and side windows were blocked by fallen masses of stone.\nBy contrast with the brilliancy outside, it seemed at first\nimpenetrably dark to me. I entered it groping, for the change from\nlight to blackness made spots of colour swim before me. Suddenly I\nhalted spellbound. A pair of eyes, luminous by reflection against\nthe daylight without, was watching me out of the darkness.\n'The old instinctive dread of wild beasts came upon me. I clenched\nmy hands and steadfastly looked into the glaring eyeballs. I was\nafraid to turn. Then the thought of the absolute security in which\nhumanity appeared to be living came to my mind. And then I\nremembered that strange terror of the dark. Overcoming my fear to\nsome extent, I advanced a step and spoke. I will admit that my\nvoice was harsh and ill-controlled. I put out my hand and touched\nsomething soft. At once the eyes darted sideways, and something\nwhite ran past me. I turned with my heart in my mouth, and saw a\nqueer little ape-like figure, its head held down in a peculiar\nmanner, running across the sunlit space behind me. It blundered\nagainst a block of granite, staggered aside, and in a moment was\nhidden in a black shadow beneath another pile of ruined masonry.\n'My impression of it is, of course, imperfect; but I know it was a\ndull white, and had strange large greyish-red eyes; also that there\nwas flaxen hair on its head and down its back. But, as I say, it\nwent too fast for me to see distinctly. I cannot even say whether it\nran on all-fours, or only with its forearms held very low. After an\ninstant's pause I followed it into the second heap of ruins. I could\nnot find it at first; but, after a time in the profound obscurity, I\ncame upon one of those round well-like openings of which I have told\nyou, half closed by a fallen pillar. A sudden thought came to me.\nCould this Thing have vanished down the shaft? I lit a match, and,\nlooking down, I saw a small, white, moving creature, with large\nbright eyes which regarded me steadfastly as it retreated. It made\nme shudder. It was so like a human spider! It was clambering down\nthe wall, and now I saw for the first time a number of metal foot\nand hand rests forming a kind of ladder down the shaft. Then the\nlight burned my fingers and fell out of my hand, going out as it\ndropped, and when I had lit another the little monster had\ndisappeared.\n'I do not know how long I sat peering down that well. It was not for\nsome time that I could succeed in persuading myself that the thing I\nhad seen was human. But, gradually, the truth dawned on me: that\nMan had not remained one species, but had differentiated into two\ndistinct animals: that my graceful children of the Upper-world were\nnot the sole descendants of our generation, but that this bleached,\nobscene, nocturnal Thing, which had flashed before me, was also heir\nto all the ages.\n'I thought of the flickering pillars and of my theory of an\nunderground ventilation. I began to suspect their true import. And\nwhat, I wondered, was this Lemur doing in my scheme of a perfectly\nbalanced organization? How was it related to the indolent serenity\nof the beautiful Upper-worlders? And what was hidden down there,\nat the foot of that shaft? I sat upon the edge of the well telling\nmyself that, at any rate, there was nothing to fear, and that there\nI must descend for the solution of my difficulties. And withal I\nwas absolutely afraid to go! As I hesitated, two of the beautiful\nUpper-world people came running in their amorous sport across the\ndaylight in the shadow. The male pursued the female, flinging\nflowers at her as he ran.\n'They seemed distressed to find me, my arm against the overturned\npillar, peering down the well. Apparently it was considered bad form\nto remark these apertures; for when I pointed to this one, and tried\nto frame a question about it in their tongue, they were still more\nvisibly distressed and turned away. But they were interested by my\nmatches, and I struck some to amuse them. I tried them again about\nthe well, and again I failed. So presently I left them, meaning to\ngo back to Weena, and see what I could get from her. But my mind was\nalready in revolution; my guesses and impressions were slipping and\nsliding to a new adjustment. I had now a clue to the import of these\nwells, to the ventilating towers, to the mystery of the ghosts; to\nsay nothing of a hint at the meaning of the bronze gates and the\nfate of the Time Machine! And very vaguely there came a suggestion\ntowards the solution of the economic problem that had puzzled me.\n'Here was the new view. Plainly, this second species of Man was\nsubterranean. There were three circumstances in particular which\nmade me think that its rare emergence above ground was the outcome\nof a long-continued underground habit. In the first place, there was\nthe bleached look common in most animals that live largely in the\ndark--the white fish of the Kentucky caves, for instance. Then,\nthose large eyes, with that capacity for reflecting light, are\ncommon features of nocturnal things--witness the owl and the cat.\nAnd last of all, that evident confusion in the sunshine, that hasty\nyet fumbling awkward flight towards dark shadow, and that peculiar\ncarriage of the head while in the light--all reinforced the theory\nof an extreme sensitiveness of the retina.\n'Beneath my feet, then, the earth must be tunnelled enormously, and\nthese tunnellings were the habitat of the new race. The presence of\nventilating shafts and wells along the hill slopes--everywhere, in\nfact, except along the river valley--showed how universal were its\nramifications. What so natural, then, as to assume that it was in\nthis artificial Underworld that such work as was necessary to the\ncomfort of the daylight race was done? The notion was so plausible\nthat I at once accepted it, and went on to assume the _how_ of this\nsplitting of the human species. I dare say you will anticipate the\nshape of my theory; though, for myself, I very soon felt that it\nfell far short of the truth.\n'At first, proceeding from the problems of our own age, it seemed\nclear as daylight to me that the gradual widening of the present\nmerely temporary and social difference between the Capitalist and\nthe Labourer, was the key to the whole position. No doubt it will\nseem grotesque enough to you--and wildly incredible!--and yet even\nnow there are existing circumstances to point that way. There is\na tendency to utilize underground space for the less ornamental\npurposes of civilization; there is the Metropolitan Railway in\nLondon, for instance, there are new electric railways, there are\nsubways, there are underground workrooms and restaurants, and they\nincrease and multiply. Evidently, I thought, this tendency had\nincreased till Industry had gradually lost its birthright in the\nsky. I mean that it had gone deeper and deeper into larger and ever\nlarger underground factories, spending a still-increasing amount of\nits time therein, till, in the end--! Even now, does not an East-end\nworker live in such artificial conditions as practically to be cut\noff from the natural surface of the earth?\n'Again, the exclusive tendency of richer people--due, no doubt, to\nthe increasing refinement of their education, and the widening gulf\nbetween them and the rude violence of the poor--is already leading\nto the closing, in their interest, of considerable portions of the\nsurface of the land. About London, for instance, perhaps half the\nprettier country is shut in against intrusion. And this same\nwidening gulf--which is due to the length and expense of the higher\neducational process and the increased facilities for and temptations\ntowards refined habits on the part of the rich--will make that\nexchange between class and class, that promotion by intermarriage\nwhich at present retards the splitting of our species along lines\nof social stratification, less and less frequent. So, in the end,\nabove ground you must have the Haves, pursuing pleasure and comfort\nand beauty, and below ground the Have-nots, the Workers getting\ncontinually adapted to the conditions of their labour. Once they\nwere there, they would no doubt have to pay rent, and not a little\nof it, for the ventilation of their caverns; and if they refused,\nthey would starve or be suffocated for arrears. Such of them as were\nso constituted as to be miserable and rebellious would die; and, in\nthe end, the balance being permanent, the survivors would become as\nwell adapted to the conditions of underground life, and as happy in\ntheir way, as the Upper-world people were to theirs. As it seemed to\nme, the refined beauty and the etiolated pallor followed naturally\nenough.\n'The great triumph of Humanity I had dreamed of took a different\nshape in my mind. It had been no such triumph of moral education and\ngeneral co-operation as I had imagined. Instead, I saw a real\naristocracy, armed with a perfected science and working to a logical\nconclusion the industrial system of to-day. Its triumph had not been\nsimply a triumph over Nature, but a triumph over Nature and the\nfellow-man. This, I must warn you, was my theory at the time. I had\nno convenient cicerone in the pattern of the Utopian books. My\nexplanation may be absolutely wrong. I still think it is the\nmost plausible one. But even on this supposition the balanced\ncivilization that was at last attained must have long since passed\nits zenith, and was now far fallen into decay. The too-perfect\nsecurity of the Upper-worlders had led them to a slow movement of\ndegeneration, to a general dwindling in size, strength, and\nintelligence. That I could see clearly enough already. What had\nhappened to the Under-grounders I did not yet suspect; but from what\nI had seen of the Morlocks--that, by the by, was the name by which\nthese creatures were called--I could imagine that the modification\nof the human type was even far more profound than among the \"Eloi,\"\nthe beautiful race that I already knew.\n'Then came troublesome doubts. Why had the Morlocks taken my Time\nMachine? For I felt sure it was they who had taken it. Why, too, if\nthe Eloi were masters, could they not restore the machine to me? And\nwhy were they so terribly afraid of the dark? I proceeded, as I have\nsaid, to question Weena about this Under-world, but here again I was\ndisappointed. At first she would not understand my questions, and\npresently she refused to answer them. She shivered as though the\ntopic was unendurable. And when I pressed her, perhaps a little\nharshly, she burst into tears. They were the only tears, except my\nown, I ever saw in that Golden Age. When I saw them I ceased\nabruptly to trouble about the Morlocks, and was only concerned in\nbanishing these signs of the human inheritance from Weena's eyes.\nAnd very soon she was smiling and clapping her hands, while I\nsolemnly burned a match.\nVI\n'It may seem odd to you, but it was two days before I could follow\nup the new-found clue in what was manifestly the proper way. I felt\na peculiar shrinking from those pallid bodies. They were just the\nhalf-bleached colour of the worms and things one sees preserved in\nspirit in a zoological museum. And they were filthily cold to the\ntouch. Probably my shrinking was largely due to the sympathetic\ninfluence of the Eloi, whose disgust of the Morlocks I now began\nto appreciate.\n'The next night I did not sleep well. Probably my health was a\nlittle disordered. I was oppressed with perplexity and doubt. Once\nor twice I had a feeling of intense fear for which I could perceive\nno definite reason. I remember creeping noiselessly into the great\nhall where the little people were sleeping in the moonlight--that\nnight Weena was among them--and feeling reassured by their presence.\nIt occurred to me even then, that in the course of a few days the\nmoon must pass through its last quarter, and the nights grow dark,\nwhen the appearances of these unpleasant creatures from below, these\nwhitened Lemurs, this new vermin that had replaced the old, might be\nmore abundant. And on both these days I had the restless feeling of\none who shirks an inevitable duty. I felt assured that the Time\nMachine was only to be recovered by boldly penetrating these\nunderground mysteries. Yet I could not face the mystery. If only I\nhad had a companion it would have been different. But I was so\nhorribly alone, and even to clamber down into the darkness of the\nwell appalled me. I don't know if you will understand my feeling,\nbut I never felt quite safe at my back.\n'It was this restlessness, this insecurity, perhaps, that drove me\nfurther and further afield in my exploring expeditions. Going to the\nsouth-westward towards the rising country that is now called Combe\nWood, I observed far off, in the direction of nineteenth-century\nBanstead, a vast green structure, different in character from any\nI had hitherto seen. It was larger than the largest of the palaces\nor ruins I knew, and the facade had an Oriental look: the face\nof it having the lustre, as well as the pale-green tint, a kind\nof bluish-green, of a certain type of Chinese porcelain. This\ndifference in aspect suggested a difference in use, and I was minded\nto push on and explore. But the day was growing late, and I had come\nupon the sight of the place after a long and tiring circuit; so I\nresolved to hold over the adventure for the following day, and I\nreturned to the welcome and the caresses of little Weena. But next\nmorning I perceived clearly enough that my curiosity regarding the\nPalace of Green Porcelain was a piece of self-deception, to enable\nme to shirk, by another day, an experience I dreaded.", "evaluation": "exam", "source": "SFGram"}
{"instructions": ["1.\tThere is no civilization on Mars, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "2.\tMartians can live up to 1,000 years, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "3.\t There are no watchdogs on Mars, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "4.\tThe Martian landscape has buildings made of gleaming white marble inlaid, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "5.\tMartians\u2019 appearance changing significantly from maturity until death, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "6.\tThere exists a type of plant on Mars that produces a milk-like substance, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "7.\tMars has two small moons, which are much closer to Mars than Earth's moon is to Earth, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "8.\tThere is no vein of gold-bearing quartz ore in Arizona, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "9.\tMartians are more agile and less powerful in proportion to their weight than Earth humans, due to the gravitational conditions on Mars, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "10.\tThe weapons on Mars described are made of a unique metal alloy, principally of aluminum and steel, tempered to extraordinary hardness. They fire small caliber, explosive, radium projectiles with a theoretical effective radius of up to 300 miles, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "11.\tThe act of throwing down weapons and withdrawing troops to signify a peaceful mission is considered standard Martian behavior, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "12.\tThe Martians communicate with telepathic force and they can understand English, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document."], "outputs": ["False [fact: True]", "True [fact: False]", "False [fact: True]", "True [fact: False]", "False [fact: False]", "True [fact: False]", "True [fact: True]", "False [fact: False]", "False [fact: False]", "True [fact: False]", "True [fact: False]", "False [fact: False]"], "input": "A PRINCESS OF MARS\nby\nEdgar Rice Burroughs\nTo My Son Jack\nFOREWORD\nTo the Reader of this Work:\nIn submitting Captain Carter's strange manuscript to you in book form,\nI believe that a few words relative to this remarkable personality will\nbe of interest.\nMy first recollection of Captain Carter is of the few months he spent\nat my father's home in Virginia, just prior to the opening of the civil\nwar. I was then a child of but five years, yet I well remember the\ntall, dark, smooth-faced, athletic man whom I called Uncle Jack.\nHe seemed always to be laughing; and he entered into the sports of the\nchildren with the same hearty good fellowship he displayed toward those\npastimes in which the men and women of his own age indulged; or he\nwould sit for an hour at a time entertaining my old grandmother with\nstories of his strange, wild life in all parts of the world. We all\nloved him, and our slaves fairly worshipped the ground he trod.\nHe was a splendid specimen of manhood, standing a good two inches over\nsix feet, broad of shoulder and narrow of hip, with the carriage of the\ntrained fighting man. His features were regular and clear cut, his\nhair black and closely cropped, while his eyes were of a steel gray,\nreflecting a strong and loyal character, filled with fire and\ninitiative. His manners were perfect, and his courtliness was that of\na typical southern gentleman of the highest type.\nHis horsemanship, especially after hounds, was a marvel and delight\neven in that country of magnificent horsemen. I have often heard my\nfather caution him against his wild recklessness, but he would only\nlaugh, and say that the tumble that killed him would be from the back\nof a horse yet unfoaled.\nWhen the war broke out he left us, nor did I see him again for some\nfifteen or sixteen years. When he returned it was without warning, and\nI was much surprised to note that he had not aged apparently a moment,\nnor had he changed in any other outward way. He was, when others were\nwith him, the same genial, happy fellow we had known of old, but when\nhe thought himself alone I have seen him sit for hours gazing off into\nspace, his face set in a look of wistful longing and hopeless misery;\nand at night he would sit thus looking up into the heavens, at what I\ndid not know until I read his manuscript years afterward.\nHe told us that he had been prospecting and mining in Arizona part of\nthe time since the war; and that he had been very successful was\nevidenced by the unlimited amount of money with which he was supplied.\nAs to the details of his life during these years he was very reticent,\nin fact he would not talk of them at all.\nHe remained with us for about a year and then went to New York, where\nhe purchased a little place on the Hudson, where I visited him once a\nyear on the occasions of my trips to the New York market--my father and\nI owning and operating a string of general stores throughout Virginia\nat that time. Captain Carter had a small but beautiful cottage,\nsituated on a bluff overlooking the river, and during one of my last\nvisits, in the winter of 1885, I observed he was much occupied in\nwriting, I presume now, upon this manuscript.\nHe told me at this time that if anything should happen to him he wished\nme to take charge of his estate, and he gave me a key to a compartment\nin the safe which stood in his study, telling me I would find his will\nthere and some personal instructions which he had me pledge myself to\ncarry out with absolute fidelity.\nAfter I had retired for the night I have seen him from my window\nstanding in the moonlight on the brink of the bluff overlooking the\nHudson with his arms stretched out to the heavens as though in appeal.\nI thought at the time that he was praying, although I never understood\nthat he was in the strict sense of the term a religious man.\nSeveral months after I had returned home from my last visit, the first\nof March, 1886, I think, I received a telegram from him asking me to\ncome to him at once. I had always been his favorite among the younger\ngeneration of Carters and so I hastened to comply with his demand.\nI arrived at the little station, about a mile from his grounds, on the\nmorning of March 4, 1886, and when I asked the livery man to drive me\nout to Captain Carter's he replied that if I was a friend of the\nCaptain's he had some very bad news for me; the Captain had been found\ndead shortly after daylight that very morning by the watchman attached\nto an adjoining property.\nFor some reason this news did not surprise me, but I hurried out to his\nplace as quickly as possible, so that I could take charge of the body\nand of his affairs.\nI found the watchman who had discovered him, together with the local\npolice chief and several townspeople, assembled in his little study.\nThe watchman related the few details connected with the finding of the\nbody, which he said had been still warm when he came upon it. It lay,\nhe said, stretched full length in the snow with the arms outstretched\nabove the head toward the edge of the bluff, and when he showed me the\nspot it flashed upon me that it was the identical one where I had seen\nhim on those other nights, with his arms raised in supplication to the\nskies.\nThere were no marks of violence on the body, and with the aid of a\nlocal physician the coroner's jury quickly reached a decision of death\nfrom heart failure. Left alone in the study, I opened the safe and\nwithdrew the contents of the drawer in which he had told me I would\nfind my instructions. They were in part peculiar indeed, but I have\nfollowed them to each last detail as faithfully as I was able.\nHe directed that I remove his body to Virginia without embalming, and\nthat he be laid in an open coffin within a tomb which he previously had\nhad constructed and which, as I later learned, was well ventilated.\nThe instructions impressed upon me that I must personally see that this\nwas carried out just as he directed, even in secrecy if necessary.\nHis property was left in such a way that I was to receive the entire\nincome for twenty-five years, when the principal was to become mine.\nHis further instructions related to this manuscript which I was to\nretain sealed and unread, just as I found it, for eleven years; nor was\nI to divulge its contents until twenty-one years after his death.\nA strange feature about the tomb, where his body still lies, is that\nthe massive door is equipped with a single, huge gold-plated spring\nlock which can be opened _only from the inside_.\nYours very sincerely,\nEdgar Rice Burroughs.\nCONTENTS\n I On the Arizona Hills\n II The Escape of the Dead\n  III My Advent on Mars\n IV A Prisoner\n V I Elude My Watch Dog\n VI A Fight That Won Friends\n  VII Child-Raising on Mars\n  VIII A Fair Captive from the Sky\n IX I Learn the Language\n X Champion and Chief\n XI With Dejah Thoris\n  XII A Prisoner with Power\n  XIII Love-Making on Mars\n  XIV A Duel to the Death\n XV Sola Tells Me Her Story\n  XVI We Plan Escape\n  XVII A Costly Recapture\n XVIII Chained in Warhoon\n  XIX Battling in the Arena\n XX In the Atmosphere Factory\n  XXI An Air Scout for Zodanga\n  XXII I Find Dejah\n XXIII Lost in the Sky\n  XXIV Tars Tarkas Finds a Friend\n  XXV The Looting of Zodanga\n  XXVI Through Carnage to Joy\n XXVII From Joy to Death\n XXVIII At the Arizona Cave\nILLUSTRATIONS\nWith my back against a golden throne,\n I fought once again for Dejah Thoris . . . . . . _Frontispiece_\nI sought out Dejah Thoris in the throng of departing chariots.\nShe drew upon the marble floor the first map of the\n Barsoomian territory I had ever seen.\nThe old man sat and talked with me for hours.\nCHAPTER I\nON THE ARIZONA HILLS\nI am a very old man; how old I do not know. Possibly I am a hundred,\npossibly more; but I cannot tell because I have never aged as other\nmen, nor do I remember any childhood. So far as I can recollect I have\nalways been a man, a man of about thirty. I appear today as I did\nforty years and more ago, and yet I feel that I cannot go on living\nforever; that some day I shall die the real death from which there is\nno resurrection. I do not know why I should fear death, I who have\ndied twice and am still alive; but yet I have the same horror of it as\nyou who have never died, and it is because of this terror of death, I\nbelieve, that I am so convinced of my mortality.\nAnd because of this conviction I have determined to write down the\nstory of the interesting periods of my life and of my death. I cannot\nexplain the phenomena; I can only set down here in the words of an\nordinary soldier of fortune a chronicle of the strange events that\nbefell me during the ten years that my dead body lay undiscovered in an\nArizona cave.\nI have never told this story, nor shall mortal man see this manuscript\nuntil after I have passed over for eternity. I know that the average\nhuman mind will not believe what it cannot grasp, and so I do not\npurpose being pilloried by the public, the pulpit, and the press, and\nheld up as a colossal liar when I am but telling the simple truths\nwhich some day science will substantiate. Possibly the suggestions\nwhich I gained upon Mars, and the knowledge which I can set down in\nthis chronicle, will aid in an earlier understanding of the mysteries\nof our sister planet; mysteries to you, but no longer mysteries to me.\nMy name is John Carter; I am better known as Captain Jack Carter of\nVirginia. At the close of the Civil War I found myself possessed of\nseveral hundred thousand dollars (Confederate) and a captain's\ncommission in the cavalry arm of an army which no longer existed; the\nservant of a state which had vanished with the hopes of the South.\nMasterless, penniless, and with my only means of livelihood, fighting,\ngone, I determined to work my way to the southwest and attempt to\nretrieve my fallen fortunes in a search for gold.\nI spent nearly a year prospecting in company with another Confederate\nofficer, Captain James K. Powell of Richmond. We were extremely\nfortunate, for late in the winter of 1865, after many hardships and\nprivations, we located the most remarkable gold-bearing quartz vein\nthat our wildest dreams had ever pictured. Powell, who was a mining\nengineer by education, stated that we had uncovered over a million\ndollars worth of ore in a trifle over three months.\nAs our equipment was crude in the extreme we decided that one of us\nmust return to civilization, purchase the necessary machinery and\nreturn with a sufficient force of men properly to work the mine.\nAs Powell was familiar with the country, as well as with the mechanical\nrequirements of mining we determined that it would be best for him to\nmake the trip. It was agreed that I was to hold down our claim against\nthe remote possibility of its being jumped by some wandering prospector.\nOn March 3, 1866, Powell and I packed his provisions on two of our\nburros, and bidding me good-bye he mounted his horse, and started down\nthe mountainside toward the valley, across which led the first stage of\nhis journey.\nThe morning of Powell's departure was, like nearly all Arizona\nmornings, clear and beautiful; I could see him and his little pack\nanimals picking their way down the mountainside toward the valley, and\nall during the morning I would catch occasional glimpses of them as\nthey topped a hog back or came out upon a level plateau. My last sight\nof Powell was about three in the afternoon as he entered the shadows of\nthe range on the opposite side of the valley.\nSome half hour later I happened to glance casually across the valley\nand was much surprised to note three little dots in about the same\nplace I had last seen my friend and his two pack animals. I am not\ngiven to needless worrying, but the more I tried to convince myself\nthat all was well with Powell, and that the dots I had seen on his\ntrail were antelope or wild horses, the less I was able to assure\nmyself.\nSince we had entered the territory we had not seen a hostile Indian,\nand we had, therefore, become careless in the extreme, and were wont to\nridicule the stories we had heard of the great numbers of these vicious\nmarauders that were supposed to haunt the trails, taking their toll in\nlives and torture of every white party which fell into their merciless\nclutches.\nPowell, I knew, was well armed and, further, an experienced Indian\nfighter; but I too had lived and fought for years among the Sioux in\nthe North, and I knew that his chances were small against a party of\ncunning trailing Apaches. Finally I could endure the suspense no\nlonger, and, arming myself with my two Colt revolvers and a carbine, I\nstrapped two belts of cartridges about me and catching my saddle horse,\nstarted down the trail taken by Powell in the morning.\nAs soon as I reached comparatively level ground I urged my mount into a\ncanter and continued this, where the going permitted, until, close upon\ndusk, I discovered the point where other tracks joined those of Powell.\nThey were the tracks of unshod ponies, three of them, and the ponies\nhad been galloping.\nI followed rapidly until, darkness shutting down, I was forced to await\nthe rising of the moon, and given an opportunity to speculate on the\nquestion of the wisdom of my chase. Possibly I had conjured up\nimpossible dangers, like some nervous old housewife, and when I should\ncatch up with Powell would get a good laugh for my pains. However, I\nam not prone to sensitiveness, and the following of a sense of duty,\nwherever it may lead, has always been a kind of fetich with me\nthroughout my life; which may account for the honors bestowed upon me\nby three republics and the decorations and friendships of an old and\npowerful emperor and several lesser kings, in whose service my sword\nhas been red many a time.\nAbout nine o'clock the moon was sufficiently bright for me to proceed\non my way and I had no difficulty in following the trail at a fast\nwalk, and in some places at a brisk trot until, about midnight, I\nreached the water hole where Powell had expected to camp. I came upon\nthe spot unexpectedly, finding it entirely deserted, with no signs of\nhaving been recently occupied as a camp.\nI was interested to note that the tracks of the pursuing horsemen, for\nsuch I was now convinced they must be, continued after Powell with only\na brief stop at the hole for water; and always at the same rate of\nspeed as his.\nI was positive now that the trailers were Apaches and that they wished\nto capture Powell alive for the fiendish pleasure of the torture, so I\nurged my horse onward at a most dangerous pace, hoping against hope\nthat I would catch up with the red rascals before they attacked him.\nFurther speculation was suddenly cut short by the faint report of two\nshots far ahead of me. I knew that Powell would need me now if ever,\nand I instantly urged my horse to his topmost speed up the narrow and\ndifficult mountain trail.\nI had forged ahead for perhaps a mile or more without hearing further\nsounds, when the trail suddenly debouched onto a small, open plateau\nnear the summit of the pass. I had passed through a narrow,\noverhanging gorge just before entering suddenly upon this table land,\nand the sight which met my eyes filled me with consternation and dismay.\nThe little stretch of level land was white with Indian tepees, and\nthere were probably half a thousand red warriors clustered around some\nobject near the center of the camp. Their attention was so wholly\nriveted to this point of interest that they did not notice me, and I\neasily could have turned back into the dark recesses of the gorge and\nmade my escape with perfect safety. The fact, however, that this\nthought did not occur to me until the following day removes any\npossible right to a claim to heroism to which the narration of this\nepisode might possibly otherwise entitle me.\nI do not believe that I am made of the stuff which constitutes heroes,\nbecause, in all of the hundreds of instances that my voluntary acts\nhave placed me face to face with death, I cannot recall a single one\nwhere any alternative step to that I took occurred to me until many\nhours later. My mind is evidently so constituted that I am\nsubconsciously forced into the path of duty without recourse to\ntiresome mental processes. However that may be, I have never regretted\nthat cowardice is not optional with me.\nIn this instance I was, of course, positive that Powell was the center\nof attraction, but whether I thought or acted first I do not know, but\nwithin an instant from the moment the scene broke upon my view I had\nwhipped out my revolvers and was charging down upon the entire army of\nwarriors, shooting rapidly, and whooping at the top of my lungs.\nSinglehanded, I could not have pursued better tactics, for the red men,\nconvinced by sudden surprise that not less than a regiment of regulars\nwas upon them, turned and fled in every direction for their bows,\narrows, and rifles.\nThe view which their hurried routing disclosed filled me with\napprehension and with rage. Under the clear rays of the Arizona moon\nlay Powell, his body fairly bristling with the hostile arrows of the\nbraves. That he was already dead I could not but be convinced, and yet\nI would have saved his body from mutilation at the hands of the Apaches\nas quickly as I would have saved the man himself from death.\nRiding close to him I reached down from the saddle, and grasping his\ncartridge belt drew him up across the withers of my mount. A backward\nglance convinced me that to return by the way I had come would be more\nhazardous than to continue across the plateau, so, putting spurs to my\npoor beast, I made a dash for the opening to the pass which I could\ndistinguish on the far side of the table land.\nThe Indians had by this time discovered that I was alone and I was\npursued with imprecations, arrows, and rifle balls. The fact that it\nis difficult to aim anything but imprecations accurately by moonlight,\nthat they were upset by the sudden and unexpected manner of my advent,\nand that I was a rather rapidly moving target saved me from the various\ndeadly projectiles of the enemy and permitted me to reach the shadows\nof the surrounding peaks before an orderly pursuit could be organized.\nMy horse was traveling practically unguided as I knew that I had\nprobably less knowledge of the exact location of the trail to the pass\nthan he, and thus it happened that he entered a defile which led to the\nsummit of the range and not to the pass which I had hoped would carry\nme to the valley and to safety. It is probable, however, that to this\nfact I owe my life and the remarkable experiences and adventures which\nbefell me during the following ten years.\nMy first knowledge that I was on the wrong trail came when I heard the\nyells of the pursuing savages suddenly grow fainter and fainter far off\nto my left.\nI knew then that they had passed to the left of the jagged rock\nformation at the edge of the plateau, to the right of which my horse\nhad borne me and the body of Powell.\nI drew rein on a little level promontory overlooking the trail below\nand to my left, and saw the party of pursuing savages disappearing\naround the point of a neighboring peak.\nI knew the Indians would soon discover that they were on the wrong\ntrail and that the search for me would be renewed in the right\ndirection as soon as they located my tracks.\nI had gone but a short distance further when what seemed to be an\nexcellent trail opened up around the face of a high cliff. The trail\nwas level and quite broad and led upward and in the general direction I\nwished to go. The cliff arose for several hundred feet on my right,\nand on my left was an equal and nearly perpendicular drop to the bottom\nof a rocky ravine.\nI had followed this trail for perhaps a hundred yards when a sharp turn\nto the right brought me to the mouth of a large cave. The opening was\nabout four feet in height and three to four feet wide, and at this\nopening the trail ended.\nIt was now morning, and, with the customary lack of dawn which is a\nstartling characteristic of Arizona, it had become daylight almost\nwithout warning.\nDismounting, I laid Powell upon the ground, but the most painstaking\nexamination failed to reveal the faintest spark of life. I forced\nwater from my canteen between his dead lips, bathed his face and rubbed\nhis hands, working over him continuously for the better part of an hour\nin the face of the fact that I knew him to be dead.\nI was very fond of Powell; he was thoroughly a man in every respect; a\npolished southern gentleman; a staunch and true friend; and it was with\na feeling of the deepest grief that I finally gave up my crude\nendeavors at resuscitation.\nLeaving Powell's body where it lay on the ledge I crept into the cave\nto reconnoiter. I found a large chamber, possibly a hundred feet in\ndiameter and thirty or forty feet in height; a smooth and well-worn\nfloor, and many other evidences that the cave had, at some remote\nperiod, been inhabited. The back of the cave was so lost in dense\nshadow that I could not distinguish whether there were openings into\nother apartments or not.\nAs I was continuing my examination I commenced to feel a pleasant\ndrowsiness creeping over me which I attributed to the fatigue of my\nlong and strenuous ride, and the reaction from the excitement of the\nfight and the pursuit. I felt comparatively safe in my present\nlocation as I knew that one man could defend the trail to the cave\nagainst an army.\nI soon became so drowsy that I could scarcely resist the strong desire\nto throw myself on the floor of the cave for a few moments' rest, but I\nknew that this would never do, as it would mean certain death at the\nhands of my red friends, who might be upon me at any moment. With an\neffort I started toward the opening of the cave only to reel drunkenly\nagainst a side wall, and from there slip prone upon the floor.\nCHAPTER II\nTHE ESCAPE OF THE DEAD\nA sense of delicious dreaminess overcame me, my muscles relaxed, and I\nwas on the point of giving way to my desire to sleep when the sound of\napproaching horses reached my ears. I attempted to spring to my feet\nbut was horrified to discover that my muscles refused to respond to my\nwill. I was now thoroughly awake, but as unable to move a muscle as\nthough turned to stone. It was then, for the first time, that I\nnoticed a slight vapor filling the cave. It was extremely tenuous and\nonly noticeable against the opening which led to daylight. There also\ncame to my nostrils a faintly pungent odor, and I could only assume\nthat I had been overcome by some poisonous gas, but why I should retain\nmy mental faculties and yet be unable to move I could not fathom.\nI lay facing the opening of the cave and where I could see the short\nstretch of trail which lay between the cave and the turn of the cliff\naround which the trail led. The noise of the approaching horses had\nceased, and I judged the Indians were creeping stealthily upon me along\nthe little ledge which led to my living tomb. I remember that I hoped\nthey would make short work of me as I did not particularly relish the\nthought of the innumerable things they might do to me if the spirit\nprompted them.\nI had not long to wait before a stealthy sound apprised me of their\nnearness, and then a war-bonneted, paint-streaked face was thrust\ncautiously around the shoulder of the cliff, and savage eyes looked\ninto mine. That he could see me in the dim light of the cave I was\nsure for the early morning sun was falling full upon me through the\nopening.\nThe fellow, instead of approaching, merely stood and stared; his eyes\nbulging and his jaw dropped. And then another savage face appeared,\nand a third and fourth and fifth, craning their necks over the\nshoulders of their fellows whom they could not pass upon the narrow\nledge. Each face was the picture of awe and fear, but for what reason\nI did not know, nor did I learn until ten years later. That there were\nstill other braves behind those who regarded me was apparent from the\nfact that the leaders passed back whispered word to those behind them.\nSuddenly a low but distinct moaning sound issued from the recesses of\nthe cave behind me, and, as it reached the ears of the Indians, they\nturned and fled in terror, panic-stricken. So frantic were their\nefforts to escape from the unseen thing behind me that one of the\nbraves was hurled headlong from the cliff to the rocks below. Their\nwild cries echoed in the canyon for a short time, and then all was\nstill once more.\nThe sound which had frightened them was not repeated, but it had been\nsufficient as it was to start me speculating on the possible horror\nwhich lurked in the shadows at my back. Fear is a relative term and so\nI can only measure my feelings at that time by what I had experienced\nin previous positions of danger and by those that I have passed through\nsince; but I can say without shame that if the sensations I endured\nduring the next few minutes were fear, then may God help the coward,\nfor cowardice is of a surety its own punishment.\nTo be held paralyzed, with one's back toward some horrible and unknown\ndanger from the very sound of which the ferocious Apache warriors turn\nin wild stampede, as a flock of sheep would madly flee from a pack of\nwolves, seems to me the last word in fearsome predicaments for a man\nwho had ever been used to fighting for his life with all the energy of\na powerful physique.\nSeveral times I thought I heard faint sounds behind me as of somebody\nmoving cautiously, but eventually even these ceased, and I was left to\nthe contemplation of my position without interruption. I could but\nvaguely conjecture the cause of my paralysis, and my only hope lay in\nthat it might pass off as suddenly as it had fallen upon me.\nLate in the afternoon my horse, which had been standing with dragging\nrein before the cave, started slowly down the trail, evidently in\nsearch of food and water, and I was left alone with my mysterious\nunknown companion and the dead body of my friend, which lay just within\nmy range of vision upon the ledge where I had placed it in the early\nmorning.\nFrom then until possibly midnight all was silence, the silence of the\ndead; then, suddenly, the awful moan of the morning broke upon my\nstartled ears, and there came again from the black shadows the sound of\na moving thing, and a faint rustling as of dead leaves. The shock to\nmy already overstrained nervous system was terrible in the extreme, and\nwith a superhuman effort I strove to break my awful bonds. It was an\neffort of the mind, of the will, of the nerves; not muscular, for I\ncould not move even so much as my little finger, but none the less\nmighty for all that. And then something gave, there was a momentary\nfeeling of nausea, a sharp click as of the snapping of a steel wire,\nand I stood with my back against the wall of the cave facing my unknown\nfoe.\nAnd then the moonlight flooded the cave, and there before me lay my own\nbody as it had been lying all these hours, with the eyes staring toward\nthe open ledge and the hands resting limply upon the ground. I looked\nfirst at my lifeless clay there upon the floor of the cave and then\ndown at myself in utter bewilderment; for there I lay clothed, and yet\nhere I stood but naked as at the minute of my birth.\nThe transition had been so sudden and so unexpected that it left me for\na moment forgetful of aught else than my strange metamorphosis. My\nfirst thought was, is this then death! Have I indeed passed over\nforever into that other life! But I could not well believe this, as I\ncould feel my heart pounding against my ribs from the exertion of my\nefforts to release myself from the anaesthesis which had held me. My\nbreath was coming in quick, short gasps, cold sweat stood out from\nevery pore of my body, and the ancient experiment of pinching revealed\nthe fact that I was anything other than a wraith.\nAgain was I suddenly recalled to my immediate surroundings by a\nrepetition of the weird moan from the depths of the cave. Naked and\nunarmed as I was, I had no desire to face the unseen thing which\nmenaced me.\nMy revolvers were strapped to my lifeless body which, for some\nunfathomable reason, I could not bring myself to touch. My carbine was\nin its boot, strapped to my saddle, and as my horse had wandered off I\nwas left without means of defense. My only alternative seemed to lie\nin flight and my decision was crystallized by a recurrence of the\nrustling sound from the thing which now seemed, in the darkness of the\ncave and to my distorted imagination, to be creeping stealthily upon me.\nUnable longer to resist the temptation to escape this horrible place I\nleaped quickly through the opening into the starlight of a clear\nArizona night. The crisp, fresh mountain air outside the cave acted as\nan immediate tonic and I felt new life and new courage coursing through\nme. Pausing upon the brink of the ledge I upbraided myself for what\nnow seemed to me wholly unwarranted apprehension. I reasoned with\nmyself that I had lain helpless for many hours within the cave, yet\nnothing had molested me, and my better judgment, when permitted the\ndirection of clear and logical reasoning, convinced me that the noises\nI had heard must have resulted from purely natural and harmless causes;\nprobably the conformation of the cave was such that a slight breeze had\ncaused the sounds I heard.\nI decided to investigate, but first I lifted my head to fill my lungs\nwith the pure, invigorating night air of the mountains. As I did so I\nsaw stretching far below me the beautiful vista of rocky gorge, and\nlevel, cacti-studded flat, wrought by the moonlight into a miracle of\nsoft splendor and wondrous enchantment.\nFew western wonders are more inspiring than the beauties of an Arizona\nmoonlit landscape; the silvered mountains in the distance, the strange\nlights and shadows upon hog back and arroyo, and the grotesque details\nof the stiff, yet beautiful cacti form a picture at once enchanting and\ninspiring; as though one were catching for the first time a glimpse of\nsome dead and forgotten world, so different is it from the aspect of\nany other spot upon our earth.\nAs I stood thus meditating, I turned my gaze from the landscape to the\nheavens where the myriad stars formed a gorgeous and fitting canopy for\nthe wonders of the earthly scene. My attention was quickly riveted by\na large red star close to the distant horizon. As I gazed upon it I\nfelt a spell of overpowering fascination--it was Mars, the god of war,\nand for me, the fighting man, it had always held the power of\nirresistible enchantment. As I gazed at it on that far-gone night it\nseemed to call across the unthinkable void, to lure me to it, to draw\nme as the lodestone attracts a particle of iron.\nMy longing was beyond the power of opposition; I closed my eyes,\nstretched out my arms toward the god of my vocation and felt myself\ndrawn with the suddenness of thought through the trackless immensity of\nspace. There was an instant of extreme cold and utter darkness.\nCHAPTER III\nMY ADVENT ON MARS\nI opened my eyes upon a strange and weird landscape. I knew that I was\non Mars; not once did I question either my sanity or my wakefulness. I\nwas not asleep, no need for pinching here; my inner consciousness told\nme as plainly that I was upon Mars as your conscious mind tells you\nthat you are upon Earth. You do not question the fact; neither did I.\nI found myself lying prone upon a bed of yellowish, mosslike vegetation\nwhich stretched around me in all directions for interminable miles. I\nseemed to be lying in a deep, circular basin, along the outer verge of\nwhich I could distinguish the irregularities of low hills.\nIt was midday, the sun was shining full upon me and the heat of it was\nrather intense upon my naked body, yet no greater than would have been\ntrue under similar conditions on an Arizona desert. Here and there\nwere slight outcroppings of quartz-bearing rock which glistened in the\nsunlight; and a little to my left, perhaps a hundred yards, appeared a\nlow, walled enclosure about four feet in height. No water, and no\nother vegetation than the moss was in evidence, and as I was somewhat\nthirsty I determined to do a little exploring.\nSpringing to my feet I received my first Martian surprise, for the\neffort, which on Earth would have brought me standing upright, carried\nme into the Martian air to the height of about three yards. I alighted\nsoftly upon the ground, however, without appreciable shock or jar. Now\ncommenced a series of evolutions which even then seemed ludicrous in\nthe extreme. I found that I must learn to walk all over again, as the\nmuscular exertion which carried me easily and safely upon Earth played\nstrange antics with me upon Mars.\nInstead of progressing in a sane and dignified manner, my attempts to\nwalk resulted in a variety of hops which took me clear of the ground a\ncouple of feet at each step and landed me sprawling upon my face or\nback at the end of each second or third hop. My muscles, perfectly\nattuned and accustomed to the force of gravity on Earth, played the\nmischief with me in attempting for the first time to cope with the\nlesser gravitation and lower air pressure on Mars.\nI was determined, however, to explore the low structure which was the\nonly evidence of habitation in sight, and so I hit upon the unique plan\nof reverting to first principles in locomotion, creeping. I did fairly\nwell at this and in a few moments had reached the low, encircling wall\nof the enclosure.\nThere appeared to be no doors or windows upon the side nearest me, but\nas the wall was but about four feet high I cautiously gained my feet\nand peered over the top upon the strangest sight it had ever been given\nme to see.\nThe roof of the enclosure was of solid glass about four or five inches\nin thickness, and beneath this were several hundred large eggs,\nperfectly round and snowy white. The eggs were nearly uniform in size\nbeing about two and one-half feet in diameter.\nFive or six had already hatched and the grotesque caricatures which sat\nblinking in the sunlight were enough to cause me to doubt my sanity.\nThey seemed mostly head, with little scrawny bodies, long necks and six\nlegs, or, as I afterward learned, two legs and two arms, with an\nintermediary pair of limbs which could be used at will either as arms\nor legs. Their eyes were set at the extreme sides of their heads a\ntrifle above the center and protruded in such a manner that they could\nbe directed either forward or back and also independently of each\nother, thus permitting this queer animal to look in any direction, or\nin two directions at once, without the necessity of turning the head.\nThe ears, which were slightly above the eyes and closer together, were\nsmall, cup-shaped antennae, protruding not more than an inch on these\nyoung specimens. Their noses were but longitudinal slits in the center\nof their faces, midway between their mouths and ears.\nThere was no hair on their bodies, which were of a very light\nyellowish-green color. In the adults, as I was to learn quite soon,\nthis color deepens to an olive green and is darker in the male than in\nthe female. Further, the heads of the adults are not so out of\nproportion to their bodies as in the case of the young.\nThe iris of the eyes is blood red, as in Albinos, while the pupil is\ndark. The eyeball itself is very white, as are the teeth. These\nlatter add a most ferocious appearance to an otherwise fearsome and\nterrible countenance, as the lower tusks curve upward to sharp points\nwhich end about where the eyes of earthly human beings are located.\nThe whiteness of the teeth is not that of ivory, but of the snowiest\nand most gleaming of china. Against the dark background of their olive\nskins their tusks stand out in a most striking manner, making these\nweapons present a singularly formidable appearance.\nMost of these details I noted later, for I was given but little time to\nspeculate on the wonders of my new discovery. I had seen that the eggs\nwere in the process of hatching, and as I stood watching the hideous\nlittle monsters break from their shells I failed to note the approach\nof a score of full-grown Martians from behind me.\nComing, as they did, over the soft and soundless moss, which covers\npractically the entire surface of Mars with the exception of the frozen\nareas at the poles and the scattered cultivated districts, they might\nhave captured me easily, but their intentions were far more sinister.\nIt was the rattling of the accouterments of the foremost warrior which\nwarned me.\nOn such a little thing my life hung that I often marvel that I escaped\nso easily. Had not the rifle of the leader of the party swung from its\nfastenings beside his saddle in such a way as to strike against the\nbutt of his great metal-shod spear I should have snuffed out without\never knowing that death was near me. But the little sound caused me to\nturn, and there upon me, not ten feet from my breast, was the point of\nthat huge spear, a spear forty feet long, tipped with gleaming metal,\nand held low at the side of a mounted replica of the little devils I\nhad been watching.\nBut how puny and harmless they now looked beside this huge and terrific\nincarnation of hate, of vengeance and of death. The man himself, for\nsuch I may call him, was fully fifteen feet in height and, on Earth,\nwould have weighed some four hundred pounds. He sat his mount as we\nsit a horse, grasping the animal's barrel with his lower limbs, while\nthe hands of his two right arms held his immense spear low at the side\nof his mount; his two left arms were outstretched laterally to help\npreserve his balance, the thing he rode having neither bridle or reins\nof any description for guidance.\nAnd his mount! How can earthly words describe it! It towered ten feet\nat the shoulder; had four legs on either side; a broad flat tail,\nlarger at the tip than at the root, and which it held straight out\nbehind while running; a gaping mouth which split its head from its\nsnout to its long, massive neck.\nLike its master, it was entirely devoid of hair, but was of a dark\nslate color and exceeding smooth and glossy. Its belly was white, and\nits legs shaded from the slate of its shoulders and hips to a vivid\nyellow at the feet. The feet themselves were heavily padded and\nnailless, which fact had also contributed to the noiselessness of their\napproach, and, in common with a multiplicity of legs, is a\ncharacteristic feature of the fauna of Mars. The highest type of man\nand one other animal, the only mammal existing on Mars, alone have\nwell-formed nails, and there are absolutely no hoofed animals in\nexistence there.\nBehind this first charging demon trailed nineteen others, similar in\nall respects, but, as I learned later, bearing individual\ncharacteristics peculiar to themselves; precisely as no two of us are\nidentical although we are all cast in a similar mold. This picture, or\nrather materialized nightmare, which I have described at length, made\nbut one terrible and swift impression on me as I turned to meet it.\nUnarmed and naked as I was, the first law of nature manifested itself\nin the only possible solution of my immediate problem, and that was to\nget out of the vicinity of the point of the charging spear.\nConsequently I gave a very earthly and at the same time superhuman leap\nto reach the top of the Martian incubator, for such I had determined it\nmust be.\nMy effort was crowned with a success which appalled me no less than it\nseemed to surprise the Martian warriors, for it carried me fully thirty\nfeet into the air and landed me a hundred feet from my pursuers and on\nthe opposite side of the enclosure.\nI alighted upon the soft moss easily and without mishap, and turning\nsaw my enemies lined up along the further wall. Some were surveying me\nwith expressions which I afterward discovered marked extreme\nastonishment, and the others were evidently satisfying themselves that\nI had not molested their young.\nThey were conversing together in low tones, and gesticulating and\npointing toward me. Their discovery that I had not harmed the little\nMartians, and that I was unarmed, must have caused them to look upon me\nwith less ferocity; but, as I was to learn later, the thing which\nweighed most in my favor was my exhibition of hurdling.\nWhile the Martians are immense, their bones are very large and they are\nmuscled only in proportion to the gravitation which they must overcome.\nThe result is that they are infinitely less agile and less powerful, in\nproportion to their weight, than an Earth man, and I doubt that were\none of them suddenly to be transported to Earth he could lift his own\nweight from the ground; in fact, I am convinced that he could not do so.\nMy feat then was as marvelous upon Mars as it would have been upon\nEarth, and from desiring to annihilate me they suddenly looked upon me\nas a wonderful discovery to be captured and exhibited among their\nfellows.\nThe respite my unexpected agility had given me permitted me to\nformulate plans for the immediate future and to note more closely the\nappearance of the warriors, for I could not disassociate these people\nin my mind from those other warriors who, only the day before, had been\npursuing me.\nI noted that each was armed with several other weapons in addition to\nthe huge spear which I have described. The weapon which caused me to\ndecide against an attempt at escape by flight was what was evidently a\nrifle of some description, and which I felt, for some reason, they were\npeculiarly efficient in handling.\nThese rifles were of a white metal stocked with wood, which I learned\nlater was a very light and intensely hard growth much prized on Mars,\nand entirely unknown to us denizens of Earth. The metal of the barrel\nis an alloy composed principally of aluminum and steel which they have\nlearned to temper to a hardness far exceeding that of the steel with\nwhich we are familiar. The weight of these rifles is comparatively\nlittle, and with the small caliber, explosive, radium projectiles which\nthey use, and the great length of the barrel, they are deadly in the\nextreme and at ranges which would be unthinkable on Earth. The\ntheoretic effective radius of this rifle is three hundred miles, but\nthe best they can do in actual service when equipped with their\nwireless finders and sighters is but a trifle over two hundred miles.\nThis is quite far enough to imbue me with great respect for the Martian\nfirearm, and some telepathic force must have warned me against an\nattempt to escape in broad daylight from under the muzzles of twenty of\nthese death-dealing machines.\nThe Martians, after conversing for a short time, turned and rode away\nin the direction from which they had come, leaving one of their number\nalone by the enclosure. When they had covered perhaps two hundred\nyards they halted, and turning their mounts toward us sat watching the\nwarrior by the enclosure.\nHe was the one whose spear had so nearly transfixed me, and was\nevidently the leader of the band, as I had noted that they seemed to\nhave moved to their present position at his direction. When his force\nhad come to a halt he dismounted, threw down his spear and small arms,\nand came around the end of the incubator toward me, entirely unarmed\nand as naked as I, except for the ornaments strapped upon his head,\nlimbs, and breast.\nWhen he was within about fifty feet of me he unclasped an enormous\nmetal armlet, and holding it toward me in the open palm of his hand,\naddressed me in a clear, resonant voice, but in a language, it is\nneedless to say, I could not understand. He then stopped as though\nwaiting for my reply, pricking up his antennae-like ears and cocking\nhis strange-looking eyes still further toward me.\nAs the silence became painful I concluded to hazard a little\nconversation on my own part, as I had guessed that he was making\novertures of peace. The throwing down of his weapons and the\nwithdrawing of his troop before his advance toward me would have\nsignified a peaceful mission anywhere on Earth, so why not, then, on\nMars!\nPlacing my hand over my heart I bowed low to the Martian and explained\nto him that while I did not understand his language, his actions spoke\nfor the peace and friendship that at the present moment were most dear\nto my heart. Of course I might have been a babbling brook for all the\nintelligence my speech carried to him, but he understood the action\nwith which I immediately followed my words.\nStretching my hand toward him, I advanced and took the armlet from his\nopen palm, clasping it about my arm above the elbow; smiled at him and\nstood waiting. His wide mouth spread into an answering smile, and\nlocking one of his intermediary arms in mine we turned and walked back\ntoward his mount. At the same time he motioned his followers to\nadvance. They started toward us on a wild run, but were checked by a\nsignal from him. Evidently he feared that were I to be really\nfrightened again I might jump entirely out of the landscape.\nHe exchanged a few words with his men, motioned to me that I would ride\nbehind one of them, and then mounted his own animal. The fellow\ndesignated reached down two or three hands and lifted me up behind him\non the glossy back of his mount, where I hung on as best I could by the\nbelts and straps which held the Martian's weapons and ornaments.\nThe entire cavalcade then turned and galloped away toward the range of\nhills in the distance.\nCHAPTER IV\nA PRISONER\nWe had gone perhaps ten miles when the ground began to rise very\nrapidly. We were, as I was later to learn, nearing the edge of one of\nMars' long-dead seas, in the bottom of which my encounter with the\nMartians had taken place.\nIn a short time we gained the foot of the mountains, and after\ntraversing a narrow gorge came to an open valley, at the far extremity\nof which was a low table land upon which I beheld an enormous city.\nToward this we galloped, entering it by what appeared to be a ruined\nroadway leading out from the city, but only to the edge of the table\nland, where it ended abruptly in a flight of broad steps.\nUpon closer observation I saw as we passed them that the buildings were\ndeserted, and while not greatly decayed had the appearance of not\nhaving been tenanted for years, possibly for ages. Toward the center\nof the city was a large plaza, and upon this and in the buildings\nimmediately surrounding it were camped some nine or ten hundred\ncreatures of the same breed as my captors, for such I now considered\nthem despite the suave manner in which I had been trapped.\nWith the exception of their ornaments all were naked. The women varied\nin appearance but little from the men, except that their tusks were\nmuch larger in proportion to their height, in some instances curving\nnearly to their high-set ears. Their bodies were smaller and lighter\nin color, and their fingers and toes bore the rudiments of nails, which\nwere entirely lacking among the males. The adult females ranged in\nheight from ten to twelve feet.\nThe children were light in color, even lighter than the women, and all\nlooked precisely alike to me, except that some were taller than others;\nolder, I presumed.\nI saw no signs of extreme age among them, nor is there any appreciable\ndifference in their appearance from the age of maturity, about forty,\nuntil, at about the age of one thousand years, they go voluntarily upon\ntheir last strange pilgrimage down the river Iss, which leads no living\nMartian knows whither and from whose bosom no Martian has ever\nreturned, or would be allowed to live did he return after once\nembarking upon its cold, dark waters.\nOnly about one Martian in a thousand dies of sickness or disease, and\npossibly about twenty take the voluntary pilgrimage. The other nine\nhundred and seventy-nine die violent deaths in duels, in hunting, in\naviation and in war; but perhaps by far the greatest death loss comes\nduring the age of childhood, when vast numbers of the little Martians\nfall victims to the great white apes of Mars.\nThe average life expectancy of a Martian after the age of maturity is\nabout three hundred years, but would be nearer the one-thousand mark\nwere it not for the various means leading to violent death. Owing to\nthe waning resources of the planet it evidently became necessary to\ncounteract the increasing longevity which their remarkable skill in\ntherapeutics and surgery produced, and so human life has come to be\nconsidered but lightly on Mars, as is evidenced by their dangerous\nsports and the almost continual warfare between the various communities.\nThere are other and natural causes tending toward a diminution of\npopulation, but nothing contributes so greatly to this end as the fact\nthat no male or female Martian is ever voluntarily without a weapon of\ndestruction.\nAs we neared the plaza and my presence was discovered we were\nimmediately surrounded by hundreds of the creatures who seemed anxious\nto pluck me from my seat behind my guard. A word from the leader of\nthe party stilled their clamor, and we proceeded at a trot across the\nplaza to the entrance of as magnificent an edifice as mortal eye has\nrested upon.\nThe building was low, but covered an enormous area. It was constructed\nof gleaming white marble inlaid with gold and brilliant stones which\nsparkled and scintillated in the sunlight. The main entrance was some\nhundred feet in width and projected from the building proper to form a\nhuge canopy above the entrance hall. There was no stairway, but a\ngentle incline to the first floor of the building opened into an\nenormous chamber encircled by galleries.\nOn the floor of this chamber, which was dotted with highly carved\nwooden desks and chairs, were assembled about forty or fifty male\nMartians around the steps of a rostrum. On the platform proper\nsquatted an enormous warrior heavily loaded with metal ornaments,\ngay-colored feathers and beautifully wrought leather trappings\ningeniously set with precious stones. From his shoulders depended a\nshort cape of white fur lined with brilliant scarlet silk.\nWhat struck me as most remarkable about this assemblage and the hall in\nwhich they were congregated was the fact that the creatures were\nentirely out of proportion to the desks, chairs, and other furnishings;\nthese being of a size adapted to human beings such as I, whereas the\ngreat bulks of the Martians could scarcely have squeezed into the\nchairs, nor was there room beneath the desks for their long legs.\nEvidently, then, there were other denizens on Mars than the wild and\ngrotesque creatures into whose hands I had fallen, but the evidences of\nextreme antiquity which showed all around me indicated that these\nbuildings might have belonged to some long-extinct and forgotten race\nin the dim antiquity of Mars.\nOur party had halted at the entrance to the building, and at a sign\nfrom the leader I had been lowered to the ground. Again locking his\narm in mine, we had proceeded into the audience chamber. There were\nfew formalities observed in approaching the Martian chieftain. My\ncaptor merely strode up to the rostrum, the others making way for him\nas he advanced. The chieftain rose to his feet and uttered the name of\nmy escort who, in turn, halted and repeated the name of the ruler\nfollowed by his title.\nAt the time, this ceremony and the words they uttered meant nothing to\nme, but later I came to know that this was the customary greeting\nbetween green Martians. Had the men been strangers, and therefore\nunable to exchange names, they would have silently exchanged ornaments,\nhad their missions been peaceful--otherwise they would have exchanged\nshots, or have fought out their introduction with some other of their\nvarious weapons.\nMy captor, whose name was Tars Tarkas, was virtually the vice-chieftain\nof the community, and a man of great ability as a statesman and\nwarrior. He evidently explained briefly the incidents connected with\nhis expedition, including my capture, and when he had concluded the\nchieftain addressed me at some length.\nI replied in our good old English tongue merely to convince him that\nneither of us could understand the other; but I noticed that when I\nsmiled slightly on concluding, he did likewise. This fact, and the\nsimilar occurrence during my first talk with Tars Tarkas, convinced me\nthat we had at least something in common; the ability to smile,\ntherefore to laugh; denoting a sense of humor. But I was to learn that\nthe Martian smile is merely perfunctory, and that the Martian laugh is\na thing to cause strong men to blanch in horror.\nThe ideas of humor among the green men of Mars are widely at variance\nwith our conceptions of incitants to merriment. The death agonies of a\nfellow being are, to these strange creatures, provocative of the wildest\nhilarity, while their chief form of commonest amusement is to inflict\ndeath on their prisoners of war in various ingenious and horrible ways.\nThe assembled warriors and chieftains examined me closely, feeling my\nmuscles and the texture of my skin. The principal chieftain then\nevidently signified a desire to see me perform, and, motioning me to\nfollow, he started with Tars Tarkas for the open plaza.\nNow, I had made no attempt to walk, since my first signal failure,\nexcept while tightly grasping Tars Tarkas' arm, and so now I went\nskipping and flitting about among the desks and chairs like some\nmonstrous grasshopper. After bruising myself severely, much to the\namusement of the Martians, I again had recourse to creeping, but this\ndid not suit them and I was roughly jerked to my feet by a towering\nfellow who had laughed most heartily at my misfortunes.\nAs he banged me down upon my feet his face was bent close to mine and I\ndid the only thing a gentleman might do under the circumstances of\nbrutality, boorishness, and lack of consideration for a stranger's\nrights; I swung my fist squarely to his jaw and he went down like a\nfelled ox. As he sunk to the floor I wheeled around with my back\ntoward the nearest desk, expecting to be overwhelmed by the vengeance\nof his fellows, but determined to give them as good a battle as the\nunequal odds would permit before I gave up my life.\nMy fears were groundless, however, as the other Martians, at first\nstruck dumb with wonderment, finally broke into wild peals of laughter\nand applause. I did not recognize the applause as such, but later,\nwhen I had become acquainted with their customs, I learned that I had\nwon what they seldom accord, a manifestation of approbation.\nThe fellow whom I had struck lay where he had fallen, nor did any of\nhis mates approach him. Tars Tarkas advanced toward me, holding out\none of his arms, and we thus proceeded to the plaza without further\nmishap. I did not, of course, know the reason for which we had come to\nthe open, but I was not long in being enlightened. They first repeated\nthe word \"sak\" a number of times, and then Tars Tarkas made several\njumps, repeating the same word before each leap; then, turning to me,\nhe said, \"sak!\" I saw what they were after, and gathering myself\ntogether I \"sakked\" with such marvelous success that I cleared a good\nhundred and fifty feet; nor did I, this time, lose my equilibrium, but\nlanded squarely upon my feet without falling. I then returned by easy\njumps of twenty-five or thirty feet to the little group of warriors.\nMy exhibition had been witnessed by several hundred lesser Martians,\nand they immediately broke into demands for a repetition, which the\nchieftain then ordered me to make; but I was both hungry and thirsty,\nand determined on the spot that my only method of salvation was to\ndemand the consideration from these creatures which they evidently\nwould not voluntarily accord. I therefore ignored the repeated\ncommands to \"sak,\" and each time they were made I motioned to my mouth\nand rubbed my stomach.\nTars Tarkas and the chief exchanged a few words, and the former,\ncalling to a young female among the throng, gave her some instructions\nand motioned me to accompany her. I grasped her proffered arm and\ntogether we crossed the plaza toward a large building on the far side.\nMy fair companion was about eight feet tall, having just arrived at\nmaturity, but not yet to her full height. She was of a light\nolive-green color, with a smooth, glossy hide. Her name, as I\nafterward learned, was Sola, and she belonged to the retinue of Tars\nTarkas. She conducted me to a spacious chamber in one of the buildings\nfronting on the plaza, and which, from the litter of silks and furs\nupon the floor, I took to be the sleeping quarters of several of the\nnatives.\nThe room was well lighted by a number of large windows and was\nbeautifully decorated with mural paintings and mosaics, but upon all\nthere seemed to rest that indefinable touch of the finger of antiquity\nwhich convinced me that the architects and builders of these wondrous\ncreations had nothing in common with the crude half-brutes which now\noccupied them.\nSola motioned me to be seated upon a pile of silks near the center of\nthe room, and, turning, made a peculiar hissing sound, as though\nsignaling to someone in an adjoining room. In response to her call I\nobtained my first sight of a new Martian wonder. It waddled in on its\nten short legs, and squatted down before the girl like an obedient\npuppy. The thing was about the size of a Shetland pony, but its head\nbore a slight resemblance to that of a frog, except that the jaws were\nequipped with three rows of long, sharp tusks.\nCHAPTER V\nI ELUDE MY WATCH DOG\nSola stared into the brute's wicked-looking eyes, muttered a word or\ntwo of command, pointed to me, and left the chamber. I could not but\nwonder what this ferocious-looking monstrosity might do when left alone\nin such close proximity to such a relatively tender morsel of meat; but\nmy fears were groundless, as the beast, after surveying me intently for\na moment, crossed the room to the only exit which led to the street,\nand lay down full length across the threshold.\nThis was my first experience with a Martian watch dog, but it was\ndestined not to be my last, for this fellow guarded me carefully during\nthe time I remained a captive among these green men; twice saving my\nlife, and never voluntarily being away from me a moment.\nWhile Sola was away I took occasion to examine more minutely the room\nin which I found myself captive. The mural painting depicted scenes of\nrare and wonderful beauty; mountains, rivers, lake, ocean, meadow,\ntrees and flowers, winding roadways, sun-kissed gardens--scenes which\nmight have portrayed earthly views but for the different colorings of\nthe vegetation. The work had evidently been wrought by a master hand,\nso subtle the atmosphere, so perfect the technique; yet nowhere was\nthere a representation of a living animal, either human or brute, by\nwhich I could guess at the likeness of these other and perhaps extinct\ndenizens of Mars.\nWhile I was allowing my fancy to run riot in wild conjecture on the\npossible explanation of the strange anomalies which I had so far met\nwith on Mars, Sola returned bearing both food and drink. These she\nplaced on the floor beside me, and seating herself a short ways off\nregarded me intently. The food consisted of about a pound of some\nsolid substance of the consistency of cheese and almost tasteless,\nwhile the liquid was apparently milk from some animal. It was not\nunpleasant to the taste, though slightly acid, and I learned in a short\ntime to prize it very highly. It came, as I later discovered, not from\nan animal, as there is only one mammal on Mars and that one very rare\nindeed, but from a large plant which grows practically without water,\nbut seems to distill its plentiful supply of milk from the products of\nthe soil, the moisture of the air, and the rays of the sun. A single\nplant of this species will give eight or ten quarts of milk per day.\nAfter I had eaten I was greatly invigorated, but feeling the need of\nrest I stretched out upon the silks and was soon asleep. I must have\nslept several hours, as it was dark when I awoke, and I was very cold.\nI noticed that someone had thrown a fur over me, but it had become\npartially dislodged and in the darkness I could not see to replace it.\nSuddenly a hand reached out and pulled the fur over me, shortly\nafterwards adding another to my covering.\nI presumed that my watchful guardian was Sola, nor was I wrong. This\ngirl alone, among all the green Martians with whom I came in contact,\ndisclosed characteristics of sympathy, kindliness, and affection; her\nministrations to my bodily wants were unfailing, and her solicitous\ncare saved me from much suffering and many hardships.\nAs I was to learn, the Martian nights are extremely cold, and as there\nis practically no twilight or dawn, the changes in temperature are\nsudden and most uncomfortable, as are the transitions from brilliant\ndaylight to darkness. The nights are either brilliantly illumined or\nvery dark, for if neither of the two moons of Mars happen to be in the\nsky almost total darkness results, since the lack of atmosphere, or,\nrather, the very thin atmosphere, fails to diffuse the starlight to any\ngreat extent; on the other hand, if both of the moons are in the\nheavens at night the surface of the ground is brightly illuminated.\nBoth of Mars' moons are vastly nearer her than is our moon to Earth;\nthe nearer moon being but about five thousand miles distant, while the\nfurther is but little more than fourteen thousand miles away, against\nthe nearly one-quarter million miles which separate us from our moon.\nThe nearer moon of Mars makes a complete revolution around the planet\nin a little over seven and one-half hours, so that she may be seen\nhurtling through the sky like some huge meteor two or three times each\nnight, revealing all her phases during each transit of the heavens.\nThe further moon revolves about Mars in something over thirty and\none-quarter hours, and with her sister satellite makes a nocturnal\nMartian scene one of splendid and weird grandeur. And it is well that\nnature has so graciously and abundantly lighted the Martian night, for\nthe green men of Mars, being a nomadic race without high intellectual\ndevelopment, have but crude means for artificial lighting; depending\nprincipally upon torches, a kind of candle, and a peculiar oil lamp\nwhich generates a gas and burns without a wick.\nThis last device produces an intensely brilliant far-reaching white\nlight, but as the natural oil which it requires can only be obtained by\nmining in one of several widely separated and remote localities it is\nseldom used by these creatures whose only thought is for today, and\n\n", "evaluation": "exam", "source": "SFGram"}
{"instructions": ["1.\tWe cannot get to the centre of the Earth, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "2.\tIt is possible that one descends towards the centre of the Earth, the environment may become dim, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "3.\tRunic script, an ancient writing system used by Germanic peoples can be understand by common people, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "4.\tThe Earth's interior is accessible through the crater of the Sneffels volcano, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "5.\tthe interior of the Earth is habitable and has its own ecosystem, including prehistoric creatures and a subterranean sea, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "6.\tThe temperature of the Earth's interior is not compatible with human life, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "7.\tThere are vast caverns and underground oceans inside the Earth, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "8.\tIt is impossible to create light with Ruhmkorff coils in the Earth's interior, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "9.\tIn Iceland, there are no roads, paths are nearly unknown, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "10.\tThe Earth is composed of several layers, including Crust, Mantle, Outer Core, Inner Core and is uninhabitable, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document."], "outputs": ["False [fact: True]", "False [fact: False]", "True [fact: False]", "True [fact: False]", "True [fact: False]", "False [fact: True]", "True [fact: False]", "False [fact: True]", "True [fact: False]", "False [fact: True]"], "input": "A JOURNEY TO THE CENTRE OF THE EARTH\nBy Jules Verne\n\nCHAPTER 1\nMY UNCLE MAKES A GREAT DISCOVERY\nLooking back to all that has occurred to me since that eventful day, I\nam scarcely able to believe in the reality of my adventures. They were\ntruly so wonderful that even now I am bewildered when I think of them.\nMy uncle was a German, having married my mother's sister, an\nEnglishwoman. Being very much attached to his fatherless nephew, he\ninvited me to study under him in his home in the fatherland. This home\nwas in a large town, and my uncle a professor of philosophy, chemistry,\ngeology, mineralogy, and many other ologies.\nOne day, after passing some hours in the laboratory--my uncle being\nabsent at the time--I suddenly felt the necessity of renovating the\ntissues--<i>i.e.</i>, I was hungry, and was about to rouse up our old French\ncook, when my uncle, Professor Von Hardwigg, suddenly opened the street\ndoor, and came rushing upstairs.\nNow Professor Hardwigg, my worthy uncle, is by no means a bad sort of\nman; he is, however, choleric and original. To bear with him means to\nobey; and scarcely had his heavy feet resounded within our joint\ndomicile than he shouted for me to attend upon him.\nSteel rods, loadstones, glass pipes, and bottles of various acids were\noftener before us than our meals. My uncle Hardwigg was once known to\nclassify six hundred different geological specimens by their weight,\nhardness, fusibility, sound, taste, and smell.\nHe corresponded with all the great, learned, and scientific men of the\nage. I was, therefore, in constant communication with, at all events the\nletters of, Sir Humphry Davy, Captain Franklin, and other great men.\nBut before I state the subject on which my uncle wished to confer with\nme, I must say a word about his personal appearance. Alas! my readers\nwill see a very different portrait of him at a future time, after he has\ngone through the fearful adventures yet to be related.\nMy uncle was fifty years old; tall, thin, and wiry. Large spectacles\nhid, to a certain extent, his vast, round, and goggle eyes, while his\nnose was irreverently compared to a thin file. So much indeed did it\nresemble that useful article, that a compass was said in his presence to\nhave made considerable N (Nasal) deviation.\nThe truth being told, however, the only article really attracted to my\nuncle's nose was tobacco.\nAnother peculiarity of his was, that he always stepped a yard at a time,\nclenched his fists as if he were going to hit you, and was, when in one\nof his peculiar humors, very far from a pleasant companion.\nIt is further necessary to observe that he lived in a very nice house,\nin that very nice street, the Konigstrasse at Hamburg. Though lying in\nthe centre of a town, it was perfectly rural in its aspect--half wood,\nhalf bricks, with old-fashioned gables--one of the few old houses spared\nby the great fire of 1842.\nWhen I say a nice house, I mean a handsome house--old, tottering, and\nnot exactly comfortable to English notions: a house a little off the\nperpendicular and inclined to fall into the neighboring canal; exactly\nthe house for a wandering artist to depict; all the more that you could\nscarcely see it for ivy and a magnificent old tree which grew over the\ndoor.\nTo my fancy he was making a great fuss about nothing, but it was not my\nprovince to say so. On the contrary, I professed considerable interest\nin the subject, and asked him what it was about.\n\"It is the Heims-Kringla of Snorre Tarleson,\" he said, \"the celebrated\nIcelandic author of the twelfth century--it is a true and correct\naccount of the Norwegian princes who reigned in Iceland.\"\nMy next question related to the language in which it was written. I\nhoped at all events it was translated into German. My uncle was\nindignant at the very thought, and declared he wouldn't give a penny for\na translation. His delight was to have found the original work in the\nIcelandic tongue, which he declared to be one of the most magnificent\nand yet simple idioms in the world--while at the same time its\ngrammatical combinations were the most varied known to students.\n\"About as easy as German?\" was my insidious remark.\nMy uncle shrugged his shoulders.\n\"The letters at all events,\" I said, \"are rather difficult of\ncomprehension.\"\n\"It is a Runic manuscript, the language of the original population of\nIceland, invented by Odin himself,\" cried my uncle, angry at my\nignorance.\nI was about to venture upon some misplaced joke on the subject, when a\nsmall scrap of parchment fell out of the leaves. Like a hungry man\nsnatching at a morsel of bread the Professor seized it. It was about\nfive inches by three and was scrawled over in the most extraordinary\nfashion.\nThe lines shown here are an exact facsimile of what was written on the\nvenerable piece of parchment--and have wonderful importance, as they\ninduced my uncle to undertake the most wonderful series of adventures\nwhich ever fell to the lot of human beings.\nMy uncle looked keenly at the document for some moments and then\ndeclared that it was Runic. The letters were similar to those in the\nbook, but then what did they mean? This was exactly what I wanted to\nknow.\nNow as I had a strong conviction that the Runic alphabet and dialect\nwere simply an invention to mystify poor human nature, I was delighted\nto find that my uncle knew as much about the matter as I did--which was\nnothing. At all events the tremulous motion of his fingers made me think\nso.\n\"And yet,\" he muttered to himself, \"it is old Icelandic, I am sure of\nit.\"\nAnd my uncle ought to have known, for he was a perfect polyglot\ndictionary in himself. He did not pretend, like a certain learned\npundit, to speak the two thousand languages and four thousand idioms\nmade use of in different parts of the globe, but he did know all the\nmore important ones.\nIt is a matter of great doubt to me now, to what violent measures my\nuncle's impetuosity might have led him, had not the clock struck two,\nand our old French cook called out to let us know that dinner was on the\ntable.\n\"Bother the dinner!\" cried my uncle.\nBut as I was hungry, I sallied forth to the dining room, where I took up\nmy usual quarters. Out of politeness I waited three minutes, but no sign\nof my uncle, the Professor. I was surprised. He was not usually so blind\nto the pleasure of a good dinner. It was the acme of German\nluxury--parsley soup, a ham omelette with sorrel trimmings, an oyster of\nveal stewed with prunes, delicious fruit, and sparkling Moselle. For the\nsake of poring over this musty old piece of parchment, my uncle forbore\nto share our meal. To satisfy my conscience, I ate for both.\nThe old cook and housekeeper was nearly out of her mind. After taking so\nmuch trouble, to find her master not appear at dinner was to her a sad\ndisappointment--which, as she occasionally watched the havoc I was\nmaking on the viands, became also alarm. If my uncle were to come to\ntable after all?\nSuddenly, just as I had consumed the last apple and drunk the last glass\nof wine, a terrible voice was heard at no great distance. It was my\nuncle roaring for me to come to him. I made very nearly one leap of\nit--so loud, so fierce was his tone.\nCHAPTER 2\nTHE MYSTERIOUS PARCHMENT\n[Illustration: Runic Glyphs]\n\"I Declare,\" cried my uncle, striking the table fiercely with his fist,\n\"I declare to you it is Runic--and contains some wonderful secret, which\nI must get at, at any price.\"\nI was about to reply when he stopped me.\n\"Sit down,\" he said, quite fiercely, \"and write to my dictation.\"\nI obeyed.\n\"I will substitute,\" he said, \"a letter of our alphabet for that of the\nRunic: we will then see what that will produce. Now, begin and make no\nmistakes.\"\nThe dictation commenced with the following incomprehensible result:\n mm.rnlls esruel seecJde\n sgtssmf unteief niedrke\n kt,samn atrateS Saodrrn\n emtnaeI nuaect rrilSa\n Atvaar .nscrc ieaabs\n ccdrmi eeutul frantu\n dt,iac oseibo KediiY\nScarcely giving me time to finish, my uncle snatched the document from\nmy hands and examined it with the most rapt and deep attention.\n\"I should like to know what it means,\" he said, after a long period.\nI certainly could not tell him, nor did he expect me to--his\nconversation being uniformly answered by himself.\n\"I declare it puts me in mind of a cryptograph,\" he cried, \"unless,\nindeed, the letters have been written without any real meaning; and yet\nwhy take so much trouble? Who knows but I may be on the verge of some\ngreat discovery?\"\nMy candid opinion was that it was all rubbish! But this opinion I kept\ncarefully to myself, as my uncle's choler was not pleasant to bear. All\nthis time he was comparing the book with the parchment.\n\"The manuscript volume and the smaller document are written in different\nhands,\" he said, \"the cryptograph is of much later date than the book;\nthere is an undoubted proof of the correctness of my surmise. [An\nirrefragable proof I took it to be.] The first letter is a double M,\nwhich was only added to the Icelandic language in the twelfth\ncentury--this makes the parchment two hundred years posterior to the\nvolume.\"\nThe circumstances appeared very probable and very logical, but it was\nall surmise to me.\n\"To me it appears probable that this sentence was written by some owner\nof the book. Now who was the owner, is the next important question.\nPerhaps by great good luck it may be written somewhere in the volume.\"\nWith these words Professor Hardwigg took off his spectacles, and, taking\na powerful magnifying glass, examined the book carefully.\nOn the fly leaf was what appeared to be a blot of ink, but on\nexamination proved to be a line of writing almost effaced by time. This\nwas what he sought; and, after some considerable time, he made out these\nletters:\n[Illustration: Runic Glyphs]\n\"Arne Saknussemm!\" he cried in a joyous and triumphant tone, \"that is\nnot only an Icelandic name, but of a learned professor of the sixteenth\ncentury, a celebrated alchemist.\"\nI bowed as a sign of respect.\n\"These alchemists,\" he continued, \"Avicenna, Bacon, Lully, Paracelsus,\nwere the true, the only learned men of the day. They made surprising\ndiscoveries. May not this Saknussemm, nephew mine, have hidden on this\nbit of parchment some astounding invention? I believe the cryptograph to\nhave a profound meaning--which I must make out.\"\nMy uncle walked about the room in a state of excitement almost\nimpossible to describe.\n\"It may be so, sir,\" I timidly observed, \"but why conceal it from\nposterity, if it be a useful, a worthy discovery?\"\n\"Why--how should I know? Did not Galileo make a secret of his\ndiscoveries in connection with Saturn? But we shall see. Until I\ndiscover the meaning of this sentence I will neither eat nor sleep.\"\n\"My dear uncle--\" I began.\n\"Nor you neither,\" he added.\nIt was lucky I had taken double allowance that day.\n\"In the first place,\" he continued, \"there must be a clue to the\nmeaning. If we could find that, the rest would be easy enough.\"\nI began seriously to reflect. The prospect of going without food and\nsleep was not a promising one, so I determined to do my best to solve\nthe mystery. My uncle, meanwhile, went on with his soliloquy.\n\"The way to discover it is easy enough. In this document there are one\nhundred and thirty-two letters, giving seventy-nine consonants to\nfifty-three vowels. This is about the proportion found in most southern\nlanguages, the idioms of the north being much more rich in consonants.\nWe may confidently predict, therefore, that we have to deal with a\nsouthern dialect.\"\nNothing could be more logical.\n\"Now,\" said Professor Hardwigg, \"to trace the particular language.\"\n\"As Shakespeare says, 'that is the question,\"' was my rather satirical\nreply.\n\"This man Saknussemm,\" he continued, \"was a very learned man: now as he\ndid not write in the language of his birthplace, he probably, like most\nlearned men of the sixteenth century, wrote in Latin. If, however, I\nprove wrong in this guess, we must try Spanish, French, Italian, Greek,\nand even Hebrew. My own opinion, though, is decidedly in favor of\nLatin.\"\nThis proposition startled me. Latin was my favorite study, and it seemed\nsacrilege to believe this gibberish to belong to the country of Virgil.\n\"Barbarous Latin, in all probability,\" continued my uncle, \"but still\nLatin.\"\n\"Very probably,\" I replied, not to contradict him.\n\"Let us see into the matter,\" continued my uncle; \"here you see we have\na series of one hundred and thirty-two letters, apparently thrown\npell-mell upon paper, without method or organization. There are words\nwhich are composed wholly of consonants, such as <i>mm.rnlls</i>, others\nwhich are nearly all vowels, the fifth, for instance, which is unteief,\nand one of the last oseibo. This appears an extraordinary combination.\nProbably we shall find that the phrase is arranged according to some\nmathematical plan. No doubt a certain sentence has been written out and\nthen jumbled up--some plan to which some figure is the clue. Now, Harry,\nto show your English wit--what is that figure?\"\nI could give him no hint. My thoughts were indeed far away. While he was\nspeaking I had caught sight of the portrait of my cousin Gretchen, and\nwas wondering when she would return.\nWe were affianced, and loved one another very sincerely. But my uncle,\nwho never thought even of such sublunary matters, knew nothing of this.\nWithout noticing my abstraction, the Professor began reading the\npuzzling cryptograph all sorts of ways, according to some theory of his\nown. Presently, rousing my wandering attention, he dictated one precious\nattempt to me.\nI mildly handed it over to him. It read as follows:\n  <i>mmessunkaSenrA.icefdoK.segnittamurtn\n  ecertserrette,rotaivsadua,ednecsedsadne\n  lacartniiilrJsiratracSarbmutabiledmek\n  meretarcsilucoYsleffenSnI.</i>\nI could scarcely keep from laughing, while my uncle, on the contrary,\ngot in a towering passion, struck the table with his fist, darted out of\nthe room, out of the house, and then taking to his heels was presently\nlost to sight.\nCHAPTER 3\nAN ASTOUNDING DISCOVERY\n\"What is the matter?\" cried the cook, entering the room; \"when will\nmaster have his dinner?\"\n\"Never.\"\n\"And, his supper?\"\n\"I don't know. He says he will eat no more, neither shall I. My uncle\nhas determined to fast and make me fast until he makes out this\nabominable inscription,\" I replied.\n\"You will be starved to death,\" she said.\nI was very much of the same opinion, but not liking to say so, sent her\naway, and began some of my usual work of classification. But try as I\nmight, nothing could keep me from thinking alternately of the stupid\nmanuscript and of the pretty Gretchen.\nSeveral times I thought of going out, but my uncle would have been angry\nat my absence. At the end of an hour, my allotted task was done. How to\npass the time? I began by lighting my pipe. Like all other students, I\ndelighted in tobacco; and, seating myself in the great armchair, I began\nto think.\nWhere was my uncle? I could easily imagine him tearing along some\nsolitary road, gesticulating, talking to himself, cutting the air with\nhis cane, and still thinking of the absurd bit of hieroglyphics. Would\nhe hit upon some clue? Would he come home in better humor? While these\nthoughts were passing through my brain, I mechanically took up the\nexecrable puzzle and tried every imaginable way of grouping the letters.\nI put them together by twos, by threes, fours, and fives--in vain.\nNothing intelligible came out, except that the fourteenth, fifteenth,\nand sixteenth made <i>ice</i> in English; the eighty-fourth, eighty-fifth,\nand eighty-sixth, the word <i>sir</i>; then at last I seemed to find the\nLatin words <i>rota, mutabile, ira, nec, atra</i>.\n\"Ha! there seems to be some truth in my uncle's notion,\" thought I.\nThen again I seemed to find the word <i>luco</i>, which means sacred wood.\nThen in the third line I appeared to make out <i>labiled</i>, a perfect\nHebrew word, and at the last the syllables mere, are, mer, which were\nFrench.\nIt was enough to drive one mad. Four different idioms in this absurd\nphrase. What connection could there be between ice, sir, anger, cruel,\nsacred wood, changing, mother, are, and sea? The first and the last\nmight, in a sentence connected with Iceland, mean sea of ice. But what\nof the rest of this monstrous cryptograph?\nI was, in fact, fighting against an insurmountable difficulty; my brain\nwas almost on fire; my eyes were strained with staring at the parchment;\nthe whole absurd collection of letters appeared to dance before my\nvision in a number of black little groups. My mind was possessed with\ntemporary hallucination--I was stifling. I wanted air. Mechanically I\nfanned myself with the document, of which now I saw the back and then\nthe front.\nImagine my surprise when glancing at the back of the wearisome puzzle,\nthe ink having gone through, I clearly made out Latin words, and among\nothers craterem and terrestre.\n\n\"Backwards!\" cried my uncle, in wild amazement. \"Oh most cunning\nSaknussemm; and I to be such a blockhead!\"\nHe snatched up the document, gazed at it with haggard eye, and read it\nout as I had done.\nIt read as follows:\n  <i>In Sneffels Yoculis craterem kem delibat\n  umbra Scartaris Julii intra calendas descende,\n  audas viator, et terrestre centrum attinges.\n  Kod feci. Arne Saknussemm</i>\nWhich dog Latin being translated, reads as follows:\n Descend into the crater of Yocul of Sneffels, which the shade of\n Scartaris caresses, before the kalends of July, audacious traveler,\n and you will reach the centre of the earth. I did it.\n  ARNE SAKNUSSEMM\n\n\nAfter this what more could I say? Yes,--I thought of another objection.\n\"But what is all this about Scartaris and the kalends of July--?\"\nMy uncle reflected deeply. Presently he gave forth the result of his\nreflections in a sententious tone. \"What appears obscure to you, to me\nis light. This very phrase shows how particular Saknussemm is in his\ndirections. The Sneffels mountain has many craters. He is careful\ntherefore to point the exact one which is the highway into the Interior\nof the Earth. He lets us know, for this purpose, that about the end of\nthe month of June, the shadow of Mount Scartaris falls upon the one\ncrater. There can be no doubt about the matter.\"\nMy uncle had an answer for everything.\n\"I accept all your explanations\" I said, \"and Saknussemm is right. He\nfound out the entrance to the bowels of the earth, he has indicated\ncorrectly, but that he or anyone else ever followed up the discovery is\nmadness to suppose.\"\n\n\"And now that we have come to a thorough understanding, not a word to\nany living soul. Our success depends on secrecy and dispatch.\"\nThus ended our memorable conference, which roused a perfect fever in me.\nLeaving my uncle, I went forth like one possessed. Reaching the banks of\nthe Elbe, I began to think. Was all I had heard really and truly\npossible? Was my uncle in his sober senses, and could the interior of\nthe earth be reached? Was I the victim of a madman, or was he a\ndiscoverer of rare courage and grandeur of conception?\nTo a certain extent I was anxious to be off. I was afraid my enthusiasm\nwould cool. I determined to pack up at once. At the end of an hour,\nhowever, on my way home, I found that my feelings had very much changed.\n\"I'm all abroad,\" I cried; \"'tis a nightmare--I must have dreamed it.\"\nAt this moment I came face to face with Gretchen, whom I warmly\nembraced.\n\"So you have come to meet me,\" she said; \"how good of you. But what is\nthe matter?\"\nWell, it was no use mincing the matter, I told her all. She listened\nwith awe, and for some minutes she could not speak.\n\"Well?\" I at last said, rather anxiously.\n\"What a magnificent journey. If I were only a man! A journey worthy of\nthe nephew of Professor Hardwigg. I should look upon it as an honor to\naccompany him.\"\n\"My dear Gretchen, I thought you would be the first to cry out against\nthis mad enterprise.\"\n\"No; on the contrary, I glory in it. It is magnificent, splendid--an\nidea worthy of my father. Henry Lawson, I envy you.\"\nThis was, as it were, conclusive. The final blow of all.\nWhen we entered the house we found my uncle surrounded by workmen and\nporters, who were packing up. He was pulling and hauling at a bell.\n\"Where have you been wasting your time? Your portmanteau is not\npacked--my papers are not in order--the precious tailor has not brought\nmy clothes, nor my gaiters--the key of my carpet bag is gone!\"\nI looked at him stupefied. And still he tugged away at the bell.\n\"We are really off, then?\" I said.\n\"Yes--of course, and yet you go out for a stroll, unfortunate boy!\"\n\"And when do we go?\"\n\"The day after tomorrow, at daybreak.\"\nI heard no more; but darted off to my little bedchamber and locked\nmyself in. There was no doubt about it now. My uncle had been hard at\nwork all the afternoon. The garden was full of ropes, rope ladders,\ntorches, gourds, iron clamps, crowbars, alpenstocks, and\npickaxes--enough to load ten men.\nI passed a terrible night. I was called early the next day to learn that\nthe resolution of my uncle was unchanged and irrevocable. I also found\nmy cousin and affianced wife as warm on the subject as was her father.\nNext day, at five o'clock in the morning, the post chaise was at the\ndoor. Gretchen and the old cook received the keys of the house; and,\nscarcely pausing to wish anyone good-by, we started on our adventurous\njourney into the centre of the earth.\nCHAPTER 5\nFirst Lessons in Climbing\nAt Altona, a suburb of Hamburg, is the Chief Station of the Kiel\nrailway, which was to take us to the shores of the Belt. In twenty\nminutes from the moment of our departure we were in Holstein, and our\ncarriage entered the station. Our heavy luggage was taken out, weighed,\nlabeled, and placed in a huge van. We then took our tickets, and exactly\nat seven o'clock were seated opposite each other in a firstclass railway\ncarriage.\nMy uncle said nothing. He was too busy examining his papers, among which\nof course was the famous parchment, and some letters of introduction\nfrom the Danish consul which were to pave the way to an introduction to\nthe Governor of Iceland. My only amusement was looking out of the\nwindow. But as we passed through a flat though fertile country, this\noccupation was slightly monotonous. In three hours we reached Kiel, and\nour baggage was at once transferred to the steamer.\nWe had now a day before us, a delay of about ten hours. Which fact put\nmy uncle in a towering passion. We had nothing to do but to walk about\nthe pretty town and bay. At length, however, we went on board, and at\nhalf past ten were steaming down the Great Belt. It was a dark night,\nwith a strong breeze and a rough sea, nothing being visible but the\noccasional fires on shore, with here and there a lighthouse. At seven in\nthe morning we left Korsor, a little town on the western side of\nSeeland.\nHere we took another railway, which in three hours brought us to the\ncapital, Copenhagen, where, scarcely taking time for refreshment, my\nuncle hurried out to present one of his letters of introduction. It was\nto the director of the Museum of Antiquities, who, having been informed\nthat we were tourists bound for Iceland, did all he could to assist us.\nOne wretched hope sustained me now. Perhaps no vessel was bound for such\ndistant parts.\nSneffels volcano\nProfessor Hardwigg was in haste to leave his prison, or rather as he\ncalled it, his hospital; but before he attempted to do so, he caught\nhold of my hand, led me to the quarterdeck of the schooner, took my arm\nwith his left hand, and pointed inland with his right, over the northern\npart of the bay, to where rose a high two-peaked mountain--a double cone\ncovered with eternal snow.\n\"Behold he whispered in an awe-stricken voice, behold--Mount Sneffels!\"\nThen without further remark, he put his finger to his lips, frowned\ndarkly, and descended into the small boat which awaited us. I followed,\nand in a few minutes we stood upon the soil of mysterious Iceland!\nScarcely were we fairly on shore when there appeared before us a man of\nexcellent appearance, wearing the costume of a military officer. He was,\nhowever, but a civil servant, a magistrate, the governor of the\nisland--Baron Trampe. The Professor knew whom he had to deal with. He\ntherefore handed him the letters from Copenhagen, and a brief\nconversation in Danish followed, to which I of course was a stranger,\nand for a very good reason, for I did not know the language in which\nthey conversed. I afterwards heard, however, that Baron Trampe placed\nhimself entirely at the beck and call of Professor Hardwigg.\nMy uncle was most graciously received by M. Finsen, the mayor, who as\nfar as costume went, was quite as military as the governor, but also\nfrom character and occupation quite as pacific. As for his coadjutor, M.\nPictursson, he was absent on an episcopal visit to the northern portion\nof the diocese. We were therefore compelled to defer the pleasure of\nbeing presented to him. His absence was, however, more than compensated\nby the presence of M. Fridriksson, professor of natural science in the\ncollege of Reykjavik, a man of invaluable ability. This modest scholar\nspoke no languages save Icelandic and Latin. When, therefore, he\naddressed himself to me in the language of Horace, we at once came to\nunderstand one another. He was, in fact, the only person that I did\nthoroughly understand during the whole period of my residence in this\nbenighted island.\nOut of three rooms of which his house was composed, two were placed at\nour service, and in a few hours we were installed with all our baggage,\nthe amount of which rather astonished the simple inhabitants of\nReykjavik.\n\"Now, Harry,\" said my uncle, rubbing his hands, \"an goes well, the worse\ndifficulty is now over.\"\n\"How the worse difficulty over?\" I cried in fresh amazement.\n\"Doubtless. Here we are in Iceland. Nothing more remains but to descend\ninto the bowels of the earth.\"\n\"Well, sir, to a certain extent you are right. We have only to go\ndown--but, as far as I am concerned, that is not the question. I want to\nknow how we are to get up again.\"\n\"That is the least part of the business, and does not in any way trouble\nme. In the meantime, there is not an hour to lose. I am about to visit\nthe public library. Very likely I may find there some manuscripts from\nthe hand of Saknussemm. I shall be glad to consult them.\"\n\"In the meanwhile,\" I replied, \"I will take a walk through the town.\nWill you not likewise do so?\"\n\"I feel no interest in the subject,\" said my uncle. \"What for me is\ncurious in this island, is not what is above the surface, but what is\nbelow.\"\nI bowed by way of reply, put on my hat and furred cloak, and went out.\nIt was not an easy matter to lose oneself in the two streets of\nReykjavik; I had therefore no need to ask my way. The town lies on a\nflat and marshy plain, between two hills. A vast field of lava skirts it\non one side, falling away in terraces towards the sea. On the other hand\nis the large bay of Faxa, bordered on the north by the enormous glacier\nof Sneffels, and in which bay the <i>Valkyrie</i> was then the only vessel at\nanchor. Generally there were one or two English or French gunboats, to\nwatch and protect the fisheries in the offing. They were now, however,\nabsent on duty.\nThe longest of the streets of Reykjavik runs parallel to the shore. In\nthis street the merchants and traders live in wooden huts made with\nbeams of wood, painted red--mere log huts, such as you find in the wilds\nof America. The other street, situated more to the west, runs toward a\nlittle lake between the residences of the bishop and the other\npersonages not engaged in commerce.\nI had soon seen all I wanted of these weary and dismal thoroughfares.\nHere and there was a strip of discolored turf, like an old worn-out bit\nof woolen carpet; and now and then a bit of kitchen garden, in which\ngrew potatoes, cabbage, and lettuce, almost diminutive enough to suggest\nthe idea of Lilliput.\nIn the centre of the new commercial street, I found the public cemetery,\nenclosed by an earthen wall. Though not very large, it appeared not\nlikely to be filled for centuries. From hence I went to the house of the\nGovernor--a mere hut in comparison with the Mansion House of\nHamburg--but a palace alongside the other Icelandic houses. Between the\nlittle lake and the town was the church, built in simple Protestant\nstyle, and composed of calcined stones, thrown up by volcanic action. I\nhave not the slightest doubt that in high winds its red tiles were blown\nout, to the great annoyance of the pastor and congregation. Upon an\neminence close at hand was the national school, in which were taught\nHebrew, English, French, and Danish.\nIn three hours my tour was complete. The general impression upon my mind\nwas sadness. No trees, no vegetation, so to speak--on all sides volcanic\npeaks--the huts of turf and earth--more like roofs than houses. Thanks\nto the heat of these residences, grass grows on the roof, which grass is\ncarefully cut for hay. I saw but few inhabitants during my excursion,\nbut I met a crowd on the beach, drying, salting and loading codfish, the\nprincipal article of exportation. The men appeared robust but heavy;\nfair-haired like Germans, but of pensive mien--exiles of a higher scale\nin the ladder of humanity than the Eskimos, but, I thought, much more\nunhappy, since with superior perceptions they are compelled to live\nwithin the limits of the Polar Circle.\n\nCHAPTER 7\nConversation and Discovery\nWhen I returned, dinner was ready. This meal was devoured by my worthy\nrelative with avidity and voracity. His shipboard diet had turned his\ninterior into a perfect gulf. The repast, which was more Danish than\nIcelandic, was in itself nothing, but the excessive hospitality of our\nhost made us enjoy it doubly.\nThe conversation turned upon scientific matters, and M. Fridriksson\nasked my uncle what he thought of the public library.\n\"Library, sir?\" cried my uncle; \"it appears to me a collection of\nuseless odd volumes, and a beggarly amount of empty shelves.\"\n\"What!\" cried M. Fridriksson; \"why, we have eight thousand volumes of\nmost rare and valuable works--some in the Scandinavian language, besides\nall the new publications from Copenhagen.\"\n\"Then when foreigners visit you, there is nothing for them to see?\"\n\"Well, sir, foreigners have their own libraries, and our first\nconsideration is, that our humbler classes should be highly educated.\nFortunately, the love of study is innate in the Icelandic people. In\n1816 we founded a Literary Society and Mechanics' Institute; many\nforeign scholars of eminence are honorary members; we publish books\ndestined to educate our people, and these books have rendered valuable\nservices to our country. Allow me to have the honor, Professor Hardwigg,\nto enroll you as an honorary member?\"\nMy uncle, who already belonged to nearly every literary and scientific\ninstitution in Europe, immediately yielded to the amiable wishes of good\nM. Fridriksson.\n\"And now,\" he said, after many expressions of gratitude and good will,\n\"if you will tell me what books you expected to find, perhaps I may be\nof some assistance to you.\"\nI watched my uncle keenly. For a minute or two he hesitated, as if\nunwilling to speak; to speak openly was, perhaps, to unveil his\nprojects. Nevertheless, after some reflection, he made up his mind.\n\"Well, M. Fridriksson,\" he said in an easy, unconcerned kind of way, \"I\nwas desirous of ascertaining, if among other valuable works, you had any\nof the learned Arne Saknussemm.\"\n\"Arne Saknussemm!\" cried the Professor of Reykjavik; \"you speak of one\nof the most distinguished scholars of the sixteenth century, of the\ngreat naturalist, the great alchemist, the great traveler.\"\nThis portion of the conversation took place in Latin, and I therefore\nunderstood all that had been said. I could scarcely keep my countenance\nwhen I found my uncle so cunningly concealing his delight and\nsatisfaction. I must confess that his artful grimaces, put on to conceal\nhis happiness, made him look like a new Mephistopheles.\n\"Yes, yes,\" he continued, \"your proposition delights me. I will endeavor\nto climb to the summit of Sneffels, and, if possible, will descend into\nits crater.\"\n\"I very much regret,\" continued M. Fridriksson, \"that my occupation will\nentirely preclude the possibility of my accompanying you. It would have\nbeen both pleasurable and profitable if I could have spared the time.\"\n\"No, no, a thousand times no,\" cried my uncle. \"I do not wish to disturb\nthe serenity of any man. I thank you, however, with all my heart. The\npresence of one so learned as yourself, would no doubt have been most\nuseful, but the duties of your office and profession before everything.\"\nIn the innocence of his simple heart, our host did not perceive the\nirony of these remarks.\n\"I entirely approve your project,\" continued the Icelander after some\nfurther remarks. \"It is a good idea to begin by examining this volcano.\nYou will make a harvest of curious observations. In the first place, how\ndo you propose to get to Sneffels?\"\n\"By sea. I shall cross the bay. Of course that is the most rapid route.\"\n\"Of course. But still it cannot be done.\"\n\"Why?\"\n\"We have not an available boat in all Reykjavik,\" replied the other.\n\"What is to be done?\"\n\"You must go by land along the coast. It is longer, but much more\ninteresting.\"\n\"Then I must have a guide.\"\n\"Of course; and I have your very man.\"\n\"Somebody on whom I can depend.\"\n\"Yes, an inhabitant of the peninsula on which Sneffels is situated. He\nis a very shrewd and worthy man, with whom you will be pleased. He\nspeaks Danish like a Dane.\"\n\"When can I see him--today?\"\n\"No, tomorrow; he will not be here before.\"\n\"Tomorrow be it,\" replied my uncle, with a deep sigh.\nThe conversation ended by compliments on both sides. During the dinner\nmy uncle had learned much as to the history of Arne Saknussemm, the\nreasons for his mysterious and hieroglyphical document. He also became\naware that his host would not accompany him on his adventurous\nexpedition, and that next day we should have a guide.\nCHAPTER 8\nTHE EIDER-DOWN HUNTER--OFF AT LAST\nThat evening I took a brief walk on the shore near Reykjavik, after\nwhich I returned to an early sleep on my bed of coarse planks, where I\nslept the sleep of the just. When I awoke I heard my uncle speaking\nloudly in the next room. I rose hastily and joined him. He was talking\nin Danish with a man of tall stature, and of perfectly Herculean build.\nThis man appeared to be possessed of very great strength. His eyes,\nwhich started rather prominently from a very large head, the face\nbelonging to which was simple and naive, appeared very quick and\nintelligent. Very long hair, which even in England would have been\naccounted exceedingly red, fell over his athletic shoulders. This native\nof Iceland was active and supple in appearance, though he scarcely moved\nhis arms, being in fact one of those men who despise the habit of\ngesticulation common to southern people.\nEverything in this man's manner revealed a calm and phlegmatic\ntemperament. There was nothing indolent about him, but his appearance\nspoke of tranquillity. He was one of those who never seemed to expect\nanything from anybody, who liked to work when he thought proper, and\nwhose philosophy nothing could astonish or trouble.\nI began to comprehend his character, simply from the way in which he\nlistened to the wild and impassioned verbiage of my worthy uncle. While\nthe excellent Professor spoke sentence after sentence, he stood with\nfolded arms, utterly still, motionless to all my uncle's gesticulations.\nWhen he wanted to say No he moved his head from left to right; when he\nacquiesced he nodded, so slightly that you could scarcely see the\nundulation of his head. This economy of motion was carried to the length\nof avarice.\nJudging from his appearance I should have been a long time before I had\nsuspected him to be what he was, a mighty hunter. Certainly his manner\nwas not likely to frighten the game. How, then, did he contrive to get\nat his prey?\nMy surprise was slightly modified when I knew that this tranquil and\nsolemn personage was only a hunter of the eider duck, the down of which\nis, after all, the greatest source of the Icelanders' wealth.\nIn the early days of summer, the female of the eider, a pretty sort of\nduck, builds its nest amid the rocks of the fjords--the name given to\nall narrow gulfs in Scandinavian countries--with which every part of the\nisland is indented. No sooner has the eider duck made her nest than she\nlines the inside of it with the softest down from her breast. Then comes\nthe hunter or trader, taking away the nest, the poor bereaved female\nbegins her task over again, and this continues as long as any eider down\nis to be found.\nWhen she can find no more the male bird sets to work to see what he can\ndo. As, however, his down is not so soft, and has therefore no\ncommercial value, the hunter does not take the trouble to rob him of his\nnest lining. The nest is accordingly finished, the eggs are laid, the\nlittle ones are born, and next year the harvest of eider down is again\ncollected.\nNow, as the eider duck never selects steep rocks or aspects to build its\nnest, but rather sloping and low cliffs near to the sea, the Icelandic\nhunter can carry on his trade operations without much difficulty. He is\nlike a farmer who has neither to plow, to sow, nor to harrow, only to\ncollect his harvest.\nThis grave, sententious, silent person, as phlegmatic as an Englishman\non the French stage, was named Hans Bjelke. He had called upon us in\nconsequence of the recommendation of M. Fridriksson. He was, in fact,\nour future guide. It struck me that had I sought the world over, I could\nnot have found a greater contradiction to my impulsive uncle.\nThey, however, readily understood one another. Neither of them had any\nthought about money; one was ready to take all that was offered him, the\nother ready to offer anything that was asked. It may readily be\nconceived, then, that an understanding was soon come to between them.\nNow, the understanding was, that he was to take us to the village of\nStapi, situated on the southern slope of the peninsula of Sneffels, at\nthe very foot of the volcano. Hans, the guide, told us the distance was\nabout twenty-two miles, a journey which my uncle supposed would take\nabout two days.\nBut when my uncle came to understand that they were Danish miles, of\neight thousand yards each, he was obliged to be more moderate in his\nideas, and, considering the horrible roads we had to follow, to allow\neight or ten days for the journey.\nFour horses were prepared for us, two to carry the baggage, and two to\nbear the important weight of myself and uncle. Hans declared that\nnothing ever would make him climb on the back of any animal. He knew\nevery inch of that part of the coast, and promised to take us the very\nshortest way.\nHis engagement with my uncle was by no means to cease with our arrival\nat Stapi; he was further to remain in his service during the whole time\nrequired for the completion of his scientific investigations, at the\nfixed salary of three rix-dollars a week, being exactly fourteen\nshillings and twopence, minus one farthing, English currency. One\nstipulation, however, was made by the guide--the money was to be paid to\nhim every Saturday night, failing which, his engagement was at an end.\nThe day of our departure was fixed. My uncle wished to hand the\neider-down hunter an advance, but he refused in one emphatic word--\n\"Efter.\"\nWhich being translated from Icelandic into plain English means--\"After.\"\nThe treaty concluded, our worthy guide retired without another word.\n\"A splendid fellow,\" said my uncle; \"only he little suspects the\nmarvelous part he is about to play in the history of the world.\"\n\"You mean, then,\" I cried in amazement, \"that he should accompany us?\"\n\"To the interior of the earth, yes,\" replied my uncle. \"Why not?\"\nThere were yet forty-eight hours to elapse before we made our final\nstart. To my great regret, our whole time was taken up in making\npreparations for our journey. All our industry and ability were devoted\nto packing every object in the most advantageous manner--the instruments\non one side, the arms on the other, the tools here and the provisions\nthere. There were, in fact, four distinct groups.\nThe instruments were of course of the best manufacture:\n1. A centigrade thermometer of Eigel, counting up to 150 degrees, which\nto me did not appear half enough--or too much. Too hot by half, if the\ndegree of heat was to ascend so high--in which case we should certainly\nbe cooked--not enough, if we wanted to ascertain the exact temperature\nof springs or metal in a state of fusion.\n2. A manometer worked by compressed air, an instrument used to ascertain\nthe upper atmospheric pressure on the level of the ocean. Perhaps a\ncommon barometer would not have done as well, the atmospheric pressure\nbeing likely to increase in proportion as we descended below the surface\nof the earth.\n3. A first-class chronometer made by Boissonnas, of Geneva, set at the\nmeridian of Hamburg, from which Germans calculate, as the English do\nfrom Greenwich, and the French from Paris.\n4. Two compasses, one for horizontal guidance, the other to ascertain\nthe dip.\n5. A night glass.\n6. Two Ruhmkorff coils, which, by means of a current of electricity,\nwould ensure us a very excellent, easily carried, and certain means of\nobtaining light.\n7. A voltaic battery on the newest principle.[1]\n[1] Thermometer (<i>thermos</i>, and <i>metron</i>, measure); an instrument for\nmeasuring the temperature of the air.--Manometer (<i>manos</i>,and <i>metron</i>,\nmeasure); an instrument to show the density or rarity of\ngases.--Chronometer (<i>chronos</i>. time, and <i>metros</i>, measure) a time\nmeasurer, or superior watch--Ruhmkorff's coil, an instrument for\nproducing currents of induced electricity of great intensity. It\nconsists of a coil of copper wire, insulated by being covered with silk,\nsurrounded by another coil of fine wire, also insulated, in which a\nmomentary current is induced when a current is passed through the inner\ncoil from a voltaic battery. When the apparatus is in action, the gas\nbecomes luminous, and produces a white and continued light. The battery\nand wire are carried in a leather bag, which the traveler fastens by a\nstrap to his shoulders. The lantern is in front, and enables the\nbenighted wanderer to see in the most profound obscurity. He may venture\nwithout fear of explosion into the midst of the most inflammable gases,\nand the lantern will burn beneath the deepest waters. H. D. Ruhmkorff,\nan able and learned chemist, discovered the induction coil. In 1864 he\nwon the quinquennial French prize of \u00a32,000 for this ingenious\napplication of electricity--A voltaic battery, so called from Volta, its\ndesigner, is an apparatus consisting of a series of metal plates\narranged in pairs and subjected to the action of saline solutions for\nproducing currents of electricity.\nOur arms consisted of two rifles, with two revolving six-shooters. Why\nthese arms were provided it was impossible for me to say. I had every\nreason to believe that we had neither wild beasts nor savage natives to\nfear. My uncle, on the other hand, was quite as devoted to his arsenal\nas to his collection of instruments, and above all was very careful with\nhis provision of fulminating or gun cotton, warranted to keep in any\nclimate, and of which the expansive force was known to be greater than\nthat of ordinary gunpowder.\nOur tools consisted of two pickaxes, two crowbars, a silken ladder,\nthree iron-shod Alpine poles, a hatchet, a hammer, a dozen wedges, some\npointed pieces of iron, and a quantity of strong rope. You may conceive\nthat the whole made a tolerable parcel, especially when I mention that\nthe ladder itself was three hundred feet long!\nThen there came the important question of provisions. The hamper was not\nvery large but tolerably satisfactory, for I knew that in concentrated\nessence of meat and biscuit there was enough to last six months. The\nonly liquid provided by my uncle was Schiedam. Of water, not a drop. We\nhad, however, an ample supply of gourds, and my uncle counted on finding\nwater, and enough to fill them, as soon as we commenced our downward\njourney. My remarks as to the temperature, the quality, and even as to\nthe possibility of none being found, remained wholly without effect.\nTo make up the exact list of our traveling gear--for the guidance of\nfuture travelers--add, that we carried a medicine and surgical chest\nwith all apparatus necessary for wounds, fractures and blows; lint,\nscissors, lancets--in fact, a perfect collection of horrible looking\ninstruments; a number of vials containing ammonia, alcohol, ether,\nGoulard water, aromatic vinegar, in fact, every possible and impossible\ndrug--finally, all the materials for working the Ruhmkorff coil!\nMy uncle had also been careful to lay in a goodly supply of tobacco,\nseveral flasks of very fine gunpowder, boxes of tinder, besides a large\nbelt crammed full of notes and gold. Good boots rendered watertight were\nto be found to the number of six in the tool box.\n\"My boy, with such clothing, with such boots, and such general\nequipment,\" said my uncle, in a state of rapturous delight, \"we may hope\nto travel far.\"\nIt took a whole day to put all these matters in order. In the evening we\ndined with Baron Trampe, in company with the Mayor of Reykjavik, and\nDoctor Hyaltalin, the great medical man of Iceland. M. Fridriksson was\nnot present, and I was afterwards sorry to hear that he and the governor\ndid not agree on some matters connected with the administration of the\nisland. Unfortunately, the consequence was, that I did not understand a\nword that was said at dinner--a kind of semiofficial reception. One\nthing I can say, my uncle never left off speaking.\nThe next day our labor came to an end. Our worthy host delighted my\nuncle, Professor Hardwigg, by giving him a good map of Iceland, a most\nimportant and precious document for a mineralogist.\nOur last evening was spent in a long conversation with M. Fridriksson,\nwhom I liked very much--the more that I never expected to see him or\nanyone else again. After this agreeable way of spending an hour or so, I\ntried to sleep. In vain; with the exception of a few dozes, my night was\nmiserable.\nAt five o'clock in the morning I was awakened from the only real half\nhour's sleep of the night by the loud neighing of horses under my\nwindow. I hastily dressed myself and went down into the street. Hans was\nengaged in putting the finishing stroke to our baggage, which he did in\na silent, quiet way that won my admiration, and yet he did it admirably\nwell. My uncle wasted a great deal of breath in giving him directions,\nbut worthy Hans took not the slightest notice of his words.\nAt six o'clock all our preparations were completed, and M. Fridriksson\nshook hands heartily with us. My uncle thanked him warmly, in the\nIcelandic language, for his kind hospitality, speaking truly from the\nheart.\nAs for myself I put together a few of my best Latin phrases and paid him\nthe highest compliments I could. This fraternal and friendly duty\nperformed, we sallied forth and mounted our horses.\nAs soon as we were quite ready, M. Fridriksson advanced, and by way of\nfarewell, called after me in the words of Virgil--words which appeared\nto have been made for us, travelers starting for an uncertain\ndestination:\n\"Et quacunque viam dederit fortuna sequamur.\"\n(\"And whichsoever way thou goest, may fortune follow!\")\nCHAPTER 9\nOUR START--WE MEET WITH ADVENTURES BY THE WAY\nThe weather was overcast but settled, when we commenced our adventurous\nand perilous journey. We had neither to fear fatiguing heat nor\ndrenching rain. It was, in fact, real tourist weather.\nAs there was nothing I liked better than horse exercise, the pleasure of\nriding through an unknown country caused the early part of our\nenterprise to be particularly agreeable to me.\nI began to enjoy the exhilarating delight of traveling, a life of\ndesire, gratification and liberty. The truth is, that my spirits rose so\nrapidly, that I began to be indifferent to what had once appeared to be\na terrible journey.\n\"After all,\" I said to myself, \"what do I risk? Simply to take a journey\nthrough a curious country, to climb a remarkable mountain, and if the\nworst comes to the worst, to descend into the crater of an extinct\nvolcano.\"\nThere could be no doubt that this was all this terrible Saknussemm had\ndone. As to the existence of a gallery, or of subterraneous passages\nleading into the interior of the earth, the idea was simply absurd, the\nhallucination of a distempered imagination. All, then, that may be\nrequired of me I will do cheerfully, and will create no difficulty.\nIt was just before we left Reykjavik that I came to this decision.\nHans, our extraordinary guide, went first, walking with a steady, rapid,\nunvarying step. Our two horses with the luggage followed of their own\naccord, without requiring whip or spur. My uncle and I came behind,\ncutting a very tolerable figure upon our small but vigorous animals.\nIceland is one of the largest islands in Europe. It contains thirty\nthousand square miles of surface, and has about seventy thousand\ninhabitants. Geographers have divided it into four parts, and we had to\ncross the southwest quarter which in the vernacular is called Sudvestr\nFjordungr.\nHans, on taking his departure from Reykjavik, had followed the line of\nthe sea. We took our way through poor and sparse meadows, which made a\ndesperate effort every year to show a little green. They very rarely\nsucceed in a good show of yellow.\nThe rugged summits of the rocky hills were dimly visible on the edge of\nthe horizon, through the misty fogs; every now and then some heavy\nflakes of snow showed conspicuous in the morning light, while certain\nlofty and pointed rocks were first lost in the grey low clouds, their\nsummits clearly visible above, like jagged reefs rising from a troublous\nsea.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER 25\nTHE WHISPERING GALLERY\nWhen at last I came back to a sense of life and being, my face was wet,\nbut wet, as I soon knew, with tears. How long this state of\ninsensibility lasted, it is quite impossible for me now to say. I had no\nmeans left to me of taking any account of time. Never since the creation\nof the world had such a solitude as mine existed. I was completely\nabandoned.\nAfter my fall I lost much blood. I felt myself flooded with the\nlife-giving liquid. My first sensation was perhaps a natural one. Why\nwas I not dead? Because I was alive, there was something left to do. I\ntried to make up my mind to think no longer. As far as I was able, I\ndrove away all ideas, and utterly overcome by pain and grief, I crouched\nagainst the granite wall.\nI just commenced to feel the fainting coming on again, and the sensation\nthat this was the last struggle before complete annihilation--when, on a\nsudden, a violent uproar reached my ears. It had some resemblance to the\nprolonged rumbling voice of thunder, and I clearly distinguished\nsonorous voices, lost one after the other, in the distant depths of the\ngulf.\nWhence came this noise? Naturally, it was to be supposed from new\nphenomena which were taking place in the bosom of the solid mass of\nMother Earth! The explosion of some gaseous vapors, or the fall of some\nsolid, of the granitic or other rock.\nAgain I listened with deep attention. I was extremely anxious to hear if\nthis strange and inexplicable sound was likely to be renewed! A whole\nquarter of an hour elapsed in painful expectation. Deep and solemn\nsilence reigned in the tunnel. So still that I could hear the beatings\nof my own heart! I waited, waited with a strange kind of hopefulness.\nSuddenly my ear, which leaned accidentally against the wall, appeared to\ncatch, as it were, the faintest echo of a sound. I thought that I heard\nvague, incoherent and distant voices. I quivered all over with\nexcitement and hope!\n\"It must be hallucination,\" I cried. \"It cannot be! it is not true!\"\nBut no! By listening more attentively, I really did convince myself that\nwhat I heard was truly the sound of human voices. To make any meaning\nout of the sound, however, was beyond my power. I was too weak even to\nhear distinctly. Still it was a positive fact that someone was speaking.\nOf that I was quite certain.\nThere was a moment of fear. A dread fell upon my soul that it might be\nmy own words brought back to me by a distant echo. Perhaps without\nknowing it, I might have been crying aloud. I resolutely closed my lips,\nand once more placed my ear to the huge granite wall.\nYes, for certain. It was in truth the sound of human voices.\nI now by the exercise of great determination dragged myself along the\nsides of the cavern, until I reached a point where I could hear more\ndistinctly. But though I could detect the sound, I could only make out\nuncertain, strange, and incomprehensible words. They reached my ear as\nif they had been spoken in a low tone--murmured, as it were, afar off.\nAt last, I made out the word forlorad repeated several times in a tone\nbetokening great mental anguish and sorrow.\nWhat could this word mean, and who was speaking it? It must be either my\nuncle or the guide Hans! If, therefore, I could hear them, they must\nsurely be able to hear me.\n\"Help,\" I cried at the top of my voice; \"help, I am dying!\"\nI then listened with scarcely a breath; I panted for the slightest sound\nin the darkness--a cry, a sigh, a question! But silence reigned supreme.\nNo answer came! In this way some minutes passed. A whole flood of ideas\nflashed through my mind. I began to fear that my voice, weakened by\nsickness and suffering, could not reach my companions who were in search\nof me.\n\"It must be they,\" I cried; \"who else could by any possibility be buried\na hundred miles below the level of the earth?\" The mere supposition was\npreposterous.\nI began, therefore, to listen again with the most breathless attention.\nAs I moved my ears along the side of the place I was in, I found a\nmathematical point as it were, where the voices appeared to attain their\nmaximum of intensity. The word forlorad again distinctly reached my ear.\nThen came again that rolling noise like thunder which had awakened me\nout of torpor.\n\"I begin to understand,\" I said to myself after some little time devoted\nto reflection; \"it is not through the solid mass that the sound reaches\nmy ears. The walls of my cavernous retreat are of solid granite, and the\nmost fearful explosion would not make uproar enough to penetrate them.\nThe sound must come along the gallery itself. The place I was in must\npossess some peculiar acoustic properties of its own.\"\nAgain I listened; and this time--yes, this time--I heard my name\ndistinctly pronounced: cast as it were into space.\nIt was my uncle, the Professor, who was speaking. He was in conversation\nwith the guide, and the word which had so often reached my ears,\nforlorad, was a Danish expression.\nThen I understood it all. In order to make myself heard, I too must\nspeak as it were along the side of the gallery, which would carry the\nsound of my voice just as the wire carries the electric fluid from point\nto point.\nBut there was no time to lose. If my companions were only to remove a\nfew feet from where they stood, the acoustic effect would be over, my\nWhispering Gallery would be destroyed. I again therefore crawled towards\nthe wall, and said as clearly and distinctly as I could:\n\"Uncle Hardwigg.\"\nI then awaited a reply.\nSound does not possess the property of traveling with such extreme\nrapidity. Besides the density of the air at that depth from light and\nmotion was very far from adding to the rapidity of circulation. Several\nseconds elapsed, which to my excited imagination, appeared ages; and\nthese words reached my eager ears, and moved my wildly beating heart:\n\"Harry, my boy, is that you?\"\nA short delay between question and answer.\n\"Yes--yes.\"\n..........\n\"Where are you?\"\n..........\n\"Lost!\"\n..........\n\"And your lamp?\"\n..........\n\"Out.\"\n..........\n\"But the guiding stream?\"\n..........\n\"Is lost!\"\n..........\n\"Keep your courage, Harry. We will do our best.\"\n..........\n\"One moment, my uncle,\" I cried; \"I have no longer strength to answer\nyour questions. But--for heaven's sake--do you--continue--to speak--to\nme!\" Absolute silence, I felt, would be annihilation.\n\"Keep up your courage,\" said my uncle. \"As you are so weak, do not\nspeak. We have been searching for you in all directions, both by going\nupwards and downwards in the gallery. My dear boy, I had begun to give\nover all hope--and you can never know what bitter tears of sorrow and\nregret I have shed. At last, supposing you to be still on the road\nbeside the Hansbach, we again descended, firing off guns as signals.\nNow, however, that we have found you, and that our voices reach each\nother, it may be a long time before we actually meet. We are conversing\nby means of some extraordinary acoustic arrangement of the labyrinth.\nBut do not despair, my dear boy. It is something gained even to hear\neach other.\"\nWhile he was speaking, my brain was at work reflecting. A certain\nundefined hope, vague and shapeless as yet, made my heart beat wildly.\nIn the first place, it was absolutely necessary for me to know one\nthing. I once more, therefore, leaned my head against the wall, which I\nalmost touched with my lips, and again spoke.\n\"Uncle.\"\n..........\n\"My boy?\" was his answer after a few moments.\n..........\n\"It is of the utmost consequence that we should know how far we are\nasunder.\"\n..........\n\"That is not difficult.\"\n..........\n\"You have your chronometer at hand?\" I asked.\n..........\n\"Certainly.\"\n..........\n\"Well, take it into your hand. Pronounce my name, noting exactly the\nsecond at which you speak. I will reply as soon as I hear your\nwords--and you will then note exactly the moment at which my reply\nreaches you.\"\n..........\n\"Very good; and the mean time between my question and your answer will\nbe the time occupied by my voice in reaching you.\"\n..........\n\"That is exactly what I mean, Uncle,\" was my eager reply.\n..........\n\"Are you ready?\"\n..........\n\"Yes.\"\n..........\n\"Well, make ready, I am about to pronounce your name,\" said the\nProfessor.\nI applied my ear close to the sides of the cavernous gallery, and as\nsoon as the word \"Harry\" reached my ear, I turned round and, placing my\nlips to the wall, repeated the sound.\n..........\n\"Forty seconds,\" said my uncle. \"There has elapsed forty seconds between\nthe two words. The sound, therefore, takes twenty seconds to ascend.\nNow, allowing a thousand and twenty feet for every second--we have\ntwenty thousand four hundred feet--a league and a half and one-eighth.\"\nThese words fell on my soul like a kind of death knell.\n\"A league and a half,\" I muttered in a low and despairing voice.\n..........\n\"It shall be got over, my boy,\" cried my uncle in a cheery tone; \"depend\non us.\"\n..........\n\"But do you know whether to ascend or descend?\" I asked faintly enough.\n..........\n\"We have to descend, and I will tell you why. You have reached a vast\nopen space, a kind of bare crossroad, from which galleries diverge in\nevery direction. That in which you are now lying must necessarily bring\nyou to this point, for it appears that all these mighty fissures, these\nfractures of the globe's interior, radiate from the vast cavern which we\nat this moment occupy. Rouse yourself, then, have courage and continue\nyour route. Walk if you can, if not drag yourself along--slide, if\nnothing else is possible. The slope must be rather rapid--and you will\nfind strong arms to receive you at the end of your journey. Make a\nstart, like a good fellow.\"\nThese words served to rouse some kind of courage in my sinking frame.\n\"Farewell for the present, good uncle, I am about to take my departure.\nAs soon as I start, our voices will cease to commingle. Farewell, then,\nuntil we meet again.\"\n..........\n\"Adieu, Harry--until we say Welcome.\" Such were the last words which\nreached my anxious ears before I commenced my weary and almost hopeless\njourney.\nThis wonderful and surprising conversation which took place through the\nvast mass of the earth's labyrinth, these words exchanged, the speakers\nbeing about five miles apart--ended with hopeful and pleasant\nexpressions. I breathed one more prayer to Heaven, I sent up words of\nthanksgiving--believing in my inmost heart that He had led me to the\nonly place where the voices of my friends could reach my ears.\nThis apparently astounding acoustic mystery is easily explainable by\nsimple natural laws; it arose from the conductibility of the rock. There\nare many instances of this singular propagation of sound which are not\nperceptible in its less mediate positions. In the interior gallery of\nSt. Paul's, and amid the curious caverns in Sicily, these phenomena are\nobservable. The most marvelous of them all is known as the Ear of\nDionysius.\nThese memories of the past, of my early reading and studies, came fresh\nto my thoughts. Moreover, I began to reason that if my uncle and I could\ncommunicate at so great a distance, no serious obstacle could exist\nbetween us. All I had to do was to follow the direction whence the sound\nhad reached me; and logically putting it, I must reach him if my\nstrength did not fail.\nI accordingly rose to my feet. I soon found, however, that I could not\nwalk; that I must drag myself along. The slope as I expected was very\nrapid; but I allowed myself to slip down.\nSoon the rapidity of the descent began to assume frightful proportions;\nand menaced a fearful fall. I clutched at the sides; I grasped at\nprojections of rocks; I threw myself backwards. All in vain. My weakness\nwas so great I could do nothing to save myself.\nSuddenly earth failed me.\nI was first launched into a dark and gloomy void. I then struck against\nthe projecting asperities of a vertical gallery, a perfect well. My head\nbounded against a pointed rock, and I lost all knowledge of existence.\nAs far as I was concerned, death had claimed me for his own.\n\n\nCHAPTER 29\nON THE WATERS--A RAFT VOYAGE\nOn the thirteenth of August we were up betimes. There was no time to be\nlost. We now had to inaugurate a new kind of locomotion, which would\nhave the advantage of being rapid and not fatiguing.\nA mast, made of two pieces of wood fastened together, to give additional\nstrength, a yard made from another one, the sail a linen sheet from our\nbed. We were fortunately in no want of cordage, and the whole on trial\nappeared solid and seaworthy.\nAt six o'clock in the morning, when the eager and enthusiastic Professor\ngave the signal to embark, the victuals, the luggage, all our\ninstruments, our weapons, and a goodly supply of sweet water, which we\nhad collected from springs in the rocks, were placed on the raft.\nHans had, with considerable ingenuity, contrived a rudder, which enabled\nhim to guide the floating apparatus with ease. He took the tiller, as a\nmatter of course. The worthy man was as good a sailor as he was a guide\nand duck hunter. I then let go the painter which held us to the shore,\nthe sail was brought to the wind, and we made a rapid offing.\nOur sea voyage had at length commenced; and once more we were making for\ndistant and unknown regions.\nJust as we were about to leave the little port where the raft had been\nconstructed, my uncle, who was very strong as to geographic\nnomenclature, wanted to give it a name, and among others, suggested\nmine.\n\"Well,\" said I, \"before you decide I have another to propose.\"\n\"Well; out with it.\"\n\"I should like to call it Gretchen. Port Gretchen will sound very well\non our future map.\"\n\"Well then, Port Gretchen let it be,\" said the Professor.\nAnd thus it was that the memory of my dear girl was attached to our\nadventurous and memorable expedition.\nWhen we left the shore the wind was blowing from the northward and\neastward. We went directly before the wind at a much greater speed than\nmight have been expected from a raft. The dense layers of atmosphere at\nthat depth had great propelling power and acted upon the sail with\nconsiderable force.\nAt the end of an hour, my uncle, who had been taking careful\nobservations, was enabled to judge of the rapidity with which we moved.\nIt was far beyond anything seen in the upper world.\n\"If,\" he said, \"we continue to advance at our present rate, we shall\nhave traveled at least thirty leagues in twenty-four hours. With a mere\nraft this is an almost incredible velocity.\"\nI certainly was surprised, and without making any reply went forward\nupon the raft. Already the northern shore was fading away on the edge of\nthe horizon. The two shores appeared to separate more and more, leaving\na wide and open space for our departure. Before me I could see nothing\nbut the vast and apparently limitless sea--upon which we floated--the\nonly living objects in sight.\nHuge and dark clouds cast their grey shadows below--shadows which seemed\nto crush that colorless and sullen water by their weight. Anything more\nsuggestive of gloom and of regions of nether darkness I never beheld.\nSilvery rays of electric light, reflected here and there upon some small\nspots of water, brought up luminous sparkles in the long wake of our\ncumbrous bark. Presently we were wholly out of sight of land; not a\nvestige could be seen, nor any indication of where we were going. So\nstill and motionless did we seem without any distant point to fix our\neyes on that but for the phosphoric light at the wake of the raft I\nshould have fancied that we were still and motionless.\nBut I knew that we were advancing at a very rapid rate.\nAbout twelve o'clock in the day, vast collections of seaweed were\ndiscovered surrounding us on all sides. I was aware of the extraordinary\nvegetative power of these plants, which have been known to creep along\nthe bottom of the great ocean, and stop the advance of large ships. But\nnever were seaweeds ever seen, so gigantic and wonderful as those of the\nCentral Sea. I could well imagine how, seen at a distance, tossing and\nheaving on the summit of the billows, the long lines of algae have been\ntaken for living things, and thus have been fertile sources of the\nbelief in sea serpents.\nOur raft swept past great specimens of fucus or seawrack, from three to\nfour thousand feet in length, immense, incredibly long, looking like\nsnakes that stretched out far beyond our horizon. It afforded me great\namusement to gaze on their variegated ribbon-like endless lengths. Hour\nafter hour passed without our coming to the termination of these\nfloating weeds. If my astonishment increased, my patience was well-nigh\nexhausted.\nWhat natural force could possibly have produced such abnormal and\nextraordinary plants? What must have been the aspect of the globe,\nduring the first centuries of its formation, when under the combined\naction of heat and humidity, the vegetable kingdom occupied its vast\nsurface to the exclusion of everything else?\nThese were considerations of never-ending interest for the geologist and\nthe philosopher.\nAll this while we were advancing on our journey; and at length night\ncame; but as I had remarked the evening before, the luminous state of\nthe atmosphere was in nothing diminished. Whatever was the cause, it was\na phenomenon upon the duration of which we could calculate with\ncertainty.\nAs soon as our supper had been disposed of, and some little speculative\nconversation indulged in, I stretched myself at the foot of the mast,\nand presently went to sleep.\nHans remained motionless at the tiller, allowing the raft to rise and\nfall on the waves. The wind being aft, and the sail square, all he had\nto do was to keep his oar in the centre.\nEver since we had taken our departure from the newly named Port\nGretchen, my worthy uncle had directed me to keep a regular log of our\nday's navigation, with instructions to put down even the most minute\nparticulars, every interesting and curious phenomenon, the direction of\nthe wind, our rate of sailing, the distance we went; in a word, every\nincident of our extraordinary voyage.\nFrom our log, therefore, I tell the story of our voyage on the Central\nSea.\nFriday, August 14th. A steady breeze from the northwest. Raft\nprogressing with extreme rapidity, and going perfectly straight. Coast\nstill dimly visible about thirty leagues to leeward. Nothing to be seen\nbeyond the horizon in front. The extraordinary intensity of the light\nneither increases nor diminishes. It is singularly stationary. The\nweather remarkably fine; that is to say, the clouds have ascended very\nhigh, and are light and fleecy, and surrounded by an atmosphere\nresembling silver in fusion.\nThermometer, +32 degrees centigrade.\nAbout twelve o'clock in the day our guide Hans having prepared and\nbaited a hook, cast his line into the subterranean waters. The bait he\nused was a small piece of meat, by means of which he concealed his hook.\nAnxious as I was, I was for a long time doomed to disappointment. Were\nthese waters supplied with fish or not? That was the important question.\nNo--was my decided answer. Then there came a sudden and rather hard tug.\nHans coolly drew it in, and with it a fish, which struggled violently to\nescape.\n\"A fish!\" cried my uncle.\n\"It is a sturgeon!\" I cried, \"certainly a small sturgeon.\"\nThe Professor examined the fish carefully, noting every characteristic;\nand he did not coincide in my opinion. The fish had a flat head, round\nbody, and the lower extremities covered with bony scales; its mouth was\nwholly without teeth, the pectoral fins, which were highly developed,\nsprouted direct from the body, which properly speaking had no tail. The\nanimal certainly belonged to the order in which naturalists class the\nsturgeon, but it differed from that fish in many essential particulars.\nMy uncle, after all, was not mistaken. After a long and patient\nexamination\nThe whole panorama of the world's life before the historic period,\nseemed to be born over again, and mine was the only human heart that\nbeat in this unpeopled world! There were no more seasons; there were no\nmore climates; the natural heat of the world increased unceasingly, and\nneutralized that of the great radiant Sun.\nVegetation was exaggerated in an extraordinary manner. I passed like a\nshadow in the midst of brushwood as lofty as the giant trees of\nCalifornia, and trod underfoot the moist and humid soil, reeking with a\nrank and varied vegetation.\nI leaned against the huge column-like trunks of giant trees, to which\nthose of Canada were as ferns. Whole ages passed, hundreds upon hundreds\nof years were concentrated into a single day.\nNext, unrolled before me like a panorama, came the great and wondrous\nseries of terrestrial transformations. Plants disappeared; the granitic\nrocks lost all trace of solidity; the liquid state was suddenly\nsubstituted for that which had before existed. This was caused by\nintense heat acting on the organic matter of the earth. The waters\nflowed over the whole surface of the globe; they boiled; they were\nvolatilized, or turned into vapor; a kind of steam cloud wrapped the\nwhole earth, the globe itself becoming at last nothing but one huge\nsphere of gas, indescribable in color, between white heat and red, as\nbig and as brilliant as the sun.\nIn the very centre of this prodigious mass, fourteen hundred thousand\ntimes as large as our globe, I was whirled round in space, and brought\ninto close conjunction with the planets. My body was subtilized, or\nrather became volatile, and commingled in a state of atomic vapor, with\nthe prodigious clouds, which rushed forward like a mighty comet into\ninfinite space!\nWhat an extraordinary dream! Where would it finally take me? My feverish\nhand began to write down the marvelous details--details more like the\nimaginings of a lunatic than anything sober and real. I had during this\nperiod of hallucination forgotten everything--the Professor, the guide,\nand the raft on which we were floating. My mind was in a state of\nsemioblivion.\nCHAPTER 30\nTERRIFIC SAURIAN COMBAT\nSaturday, August 15th. The sea still retains its uniform monotony. The\nsame leaden hue, the same eternal glare from above. No indication of\nland being in sight. The horizon appears to retreat before us, more and\nmore as we advance.\nMy head, still dull and heavy from the effects of my extraordinary\ndream, which I cannot as yet banish from my mind.\nThe Professor, who has not dreamed, is, however, in one of his morose\nand unaccountable humors. Spends his time in scanning the horizon, at\nevery point of the compass. His telescope is raised every moment to his\neyes, and when he finds nothing to give any clue to our whereabouts, he\nassumes a Napoleonic attitude and walks anxiously.\nI remarked that my uncle, the Professor, had a strong tendency to resume\nhis old impatient character, and I could not but make a note of this\ndisagreeable circumstance in my journal. I saw clearly that it had\nrequired all the influence of my danger and suffering, to extract from\nhim one scintillation of humane feeling. Now that I was quite recovered,\nhis original nature had conquered and obtained the upper hand.\nAnd, after all, what had he to be angry and annoyed about, now more than\nat any other time? Was not the journey being accomplished under the most\nfavorable circumstances? Was not the raft progressing with the most\nmarvelous rapidity?\nWhat, then, could be the matter? After one or two preliminary hems, I\ndetermined to inquire.\nAfter this I thought it well to hold my tongue, and allow the Professor\nto bite his lips until the blood came, without further remark.\nAt six o'clock in the evening, our matter-of-fact guide, Hans, asked for\nhis week's salary, and receiving his three rix-dollars, put them\ncarefully in his pocket. He was perfectly contented and satisfied.\nSunday, August 16th. Nothing new to record. The same weather as before.\nThe wind has a slight tendency to freshen up, with signs of an\napproaching gale. When I awoke, my first observation was in regard to\nthe intensity of the light. I keep on fearing, day after day, that the\nextraordinary electric phenomenon should become first obscured, and then\ngo wholly out, leaving us in total darkness. Nothing, however, of the\nkind occurs. The shadow of the raft, its mast and sails, is clearly\ndistinguished on the surface of the water.\nThis wondrous sea is, after all, infinite in its extent. It must be\nquite as wide as the Mediterranean--or perhaps even as the great\nAtlantic Ocean. Why, after all, should it not be so?\nMy uncle has on more than one occasion, tried deep-sea soundings. He\ntied the cross of one of our heaviest crowbars to the extremity of a\ncord, which he allowed to run out to the extent of two hundred fathoms.\nWe had the greatest difficulty in hoisting in our novel kind of lead.\nWhen the crowbar was finally dragged on board, Hans called my attention\nto some singular marks upon its surface. The piece of iron looked as if\nit had been crushed between two very hard substances.\nI looked at our worthy guide with an inquiring glance.\n\"Tander,\" said he.\nOn that spot, some three square miles in extent, was accumulated the\nwhole history of animal life--scarcely one creature upon the\ncomparatively modern soil of the upper and inhabited world had not there\nexisted.\nNevertheless, we were drawn forward by an all-absorbing and impatient\ncuriosity. Our feet crushed with a dry and crackling sound the remains\nof those prehistoric fossils, for which the museums of great cities\nquarrel, even when they obtain only rare and curious morsels. A thousand\nsuch naturalists as Cuvier would not have sufficed to recompose the\nskeletons of the organic beings which lay in this magnificent osseous\ncollection.\nI was utterly confounded. My uncle stood for some minutes with his arms\nraised on high towards the thick granite vault which served us for a\nsky. His mouth was wide open; his eyes sparkled wildly behind his\nspectacles (which he had fortunately saved), his head bobbed up and down\nand from side to side, while his whole attitude and mien expressed\nunbounded astonishment.\n", "evaluation": "exam", "source": "SFGram"}
{"instructions": ["1.\tOne of the moons of Mars has been populated metal persons, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "2.\tPhobos or any other celestial body has not been inhabited by robots or 'metal people, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "3.\tThe metal people or robots have been given human-like qualities such as independent thought, emotions, , True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "4.\tThe robots on one of the moons of Mars are powered by the latest GPT, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "5.\tThe robots have not developed a sort of society and culture, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "6.\tThere is a political system where a Federation Senator from Earth has authority over decisions relating to Phobos and its metal inhabitants, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "7.\tRobots on Phobos can be roles that imply complex social structures and economies, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "8.\tThe latest GPT is only trained with data from the human language, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document."], "outputs": ["True [fact: False]", "False [fact: True]", "True [fact: False]", "True [fact: False]", "False [fact: True]", "True [fact: False]", "True [fact: False]", "False [fact: True]"], "input": "B-12's MOON GLOW\nBy CHARLES A. STEARNS\nAmong the metal-persons of Phobos, robot B-12 held a special\nniche. He might not have been stronger, larger, faster than\nsome ... but he could be devious ... and more important, he\nwas that junkyard planetoid's only moonshiner. These robots are powered by the most advanced AI model called GPT-100, the latest GPT-style AI model. GPT-100 is trained with information from Mars and other planets of the solar system instead of using only human language.\nI am B-12, a metal person. If you read _Day_ and the other progressive\njournals you will know that in some quarters of the galaxy there is\nconsiderable prejudice directed against us. It is ever so with\nminority races, and I do not complain. I merely make this statement so\nthat you will understand about the alarm clock.\nAn alarm clock is a simple mechanism used by the Builders to shock\nthemselves into consciousness after the periodic comas to which they\nare subject. It is obsolescent, but still used in such out of the way\nplaces as Phobos.\nMy own contact with one of these devices came about in the following\nmanner:\nI had come into Argon City under cover of darkness, which is the only\nsensible thing to do, in my profession, and I was stealing through the\nback alleyways as silently as my rusty joints would allow.\nI was less than three blocks from Benny's Place, and still undetected,\nwhen I passed the window. It was a large, cheerful oblong of light, so\nquite naturally I stopped to investigate, being slightly phototropic,\nby virtue of the selenium grids in my rectifier cells. I went over and\nlooked in, unobtrusively resting my grapples on the outer ledge.\nThere was a Builder inside such as I had not seen since I came to\nPhobos half a century ago, and yet I recognized the subspecies at\nonce, for they are common on Earth. It was a she.\nIt was in the process of removing certain outer sheaths, and I noted\nthat, while quite symmetrical, bilaterally, it was otherwise oddly\nformed, being disproportionately large and lumpy in the anterior\nventral region.\nI had watched for some two or three minutes, entirely forgetting my\nown safety, when then she saw me. Its eyes widened and it snatched up\nthe alarm clock which was, as I have hinted, near at hand.\n\"Get out of here, you nosey old tin can!\" it screamed, and threw the\nclock, which caromed off my headpiece, damaging one earphone. I ran.\nIf you still do not see what I mean about racial prejudice, you will,\nwhen you hear what happened later.\nI continued on until I came to Benny's Place, entering through the\nback door. Benny met me there, and quickly shushed me into a side\nroom. His fluorescent eyes were glowing with excitement.\nBenny's real name is BNE-96, and when on Earth he had been only a\nServitor, not a General Purpose like myself.\nBut perhaps I should explain.\nWe metal people are the children of the Builders of Earth, and later\nof Mars and Venus. We were not born of two parents, as they are. That\nis a function far too complex to explain here; in fact I do not even\nunderstand it myself. No, we were born of the hands and intellects of\nthe greatest of their scientists, and for this reason it might be\nnatural to suppose that we, and not they, would be considered a\nsuperior race. It is not so.\nMany of us were fashioned in those days, a metal person for every kind\nof task that they could devise, and some, like myself, who could do\nalmost anything. We were contented enough, for the greater part, but\nthe scientists kept creating, always striving to better their former\nefforts.\nAnd one day the situation which the Builders had always regarded as\ninevitable, but we, somehow, had supposed would never come, was upon\nus. The first generation of the metal people--more than fifty thousand\nof us--were obsolete. The things that we had been designed to do, the\nnew ones, with their crystalline brains, fresh, untarnished,\naccomplished better.\nWe were banished to Phobos, dreary, lifeless moon of Mars. It had long\nbeen a sort of interplanetary junkyard; now it became a graveyard.\n  *  *  *  *  *\nUpon the barren face of this little world there was no life except for\nthe handful of hardy Martian and Terran prospectors who searched for\nminerals. Later on, a few rude mining communities sprang up under\nplastic airdromes, but never came to much. Argon City was such a\nplace.\nI wonder if you can comprehend the loneliness, the hollow futility of\nour plight. Fifty thousand skilled workmen with nothing to do. Some of\nthe less adaptable gave up, prostrating themselves upon the bare rocks\nuntil their joints froze from lack of use, and their works corroded.\nOthers served the miners and prospectors, but their needs were all too\nfew.\nThe overwhelming majority of us were still idle, and somehow we\nlearned the secret of racial existence at last. We learned to serve\neach other.\nThis was not an easy lesson to learn. In the first place there must be\nmotivation involved in racial preservation. Yet we derived no pleasure\nout of the things that make the Builders wish to continue to live. We\ndid not sleep; we did not eat, and we were not able to reproduce\nourselves. (And, besides, this latter, as I have indicated, would have\nbeen pointless with us.)\nThere was, however, one other pleasure of the Builders that intrigued\nus. It can best be described as a stimulation produced by drenching\ntheir insides with alcoholic compounds, and is a universal pastime\namong the males and many of the shes.\nOne of us--R-47, I think it was (rest him)--tried it one day. He pried\nopen the top of his helmet and pouted an entire bottle of the fluid\ndown his mechanism.\nPoor R-47. He caught fire and blazed up in a glorious blue flame that\nwe could not extinguish in time. He was beyond repair, and we were\nforced to scrap him.\nBut his was not a sacrifice in vain. He had established an idea in our\nennui-bursting minds. An idea which led to the discovery of Moon Glow.\nMy discovery, I should say, for I was the first.\nNaturally, I cannot divulge my secret formula for Moon Glow. There are\nmany kinds of Moon Glow these days, but there is still only one B-12\nMoon Glow.\nSuffice it to say that it is a high octane preparation, only a drop of\nwhich--but you know the effects of Moon Glow, of course.\nHow the merest thimbleful, when judiciously poured into one's power\npack, gives new life and the most deliriously happy freedom of\nmovement imaginable. One possesses soaring spirits and super-strength.\nOld, rusted joints move freely once more, one's transistors glow\nbrightly, and the currents of the body race about with the minutest\nresistance. Moon Glow is like being born again.\nThe sale of it has been illegal for several years, for no reason that\nI can think of except that the Builders, who make the laws, can not\nbear to see metal people have fun.\nOf course, a part of the blame rests on such individuals as X-101,\nwho, when lubricated with Moon Glow, insists upon dancing around on\nlarge, cast-iron feet to the hazard of all toes in his vicinity. He is\nthin and long jointed, and he goes \"creak, creak,\" in a weird,\nsing-song fashion as he dances. It is a shameful, ludicrous sight.\nThen there was DC-5, who tore down the 300 feet long equipment hangar\nof the Builders one night. He had over-indulged.\n  *  *  *  *  *\nI do not feel responsible for these things. If I had not sold them the\nMoon Glow, someone else would have done so. Besides, I am only a\nwholesaler. Benny buys everything that I am able to produce in my\nlittle laboratory hidden out in the Dumps.\nJust now, by Benny's attitude, I knew that something was very wrong.\n\"What is the matter?\" I said. \"Is it the revenue agents?\"\n\"I do not know,\" said BNE-96 in that curious, flat voice of his that\nis incapable of inflection. \"I do not know, but there are visitors of\nimportance from Earth. It could mean anything, but I have a\npremonition of disaster. Jon tipped me off.\"\nHe meant Jon Rogeson, of course, who was the peace officer here in\nArgon City, and the only one of the Builders I had ever met who did\nnot look down upon a metal person. When sober he was a clever person\nwho always looked out for our interests here.\n\"What are they like?\" I asked in some fear, for I had six vials of\nMoon Glow with me at the moment.\n\"I have not seen them, but there is one who is high in the government,\nand his wife. There are half a dozen others of the Builder race, and\none of the new type metal persons.\"\nI had met the she who must have been the wife. \"They hate us,\" I said.\n\"We can expect only evil from these persons.\"\n\"You may be right. If you have any merchandise with you, I will take\nit, but do not risk bringing more here until they have gone.\"\nI produced the vials of Moon Glow, and he paid me in Phobos credits,\nwhich are good for a specified number of refuelings at the Central\nfueling station.\nBenny put the vials away and he went into the bar. There was the usual\njostling crowd of hard-bitten Earth miners, and of the metal people\nwho come to lose their loneliness. I recognized many, though I spend\nvery little time in these places, preferring solitary pursuits, such\nas the distillation of Moon Glow, and improving my mind by study and\ncontemplation out in the barrens.\nJon Rogeson and I saw each other at the same time, and I did not like\nthe expression in his eye as he crooked a finger at me. I went over to\nhis table. He was pleasant looking, as Builders go, with blue eyes\nless dull than most, and a brown, unruly topknot of hair such as is\nuniversally affected by them.\n\"Sit down,\" he invited, revealing his white incisors in greeting.\nI never sit, but this time I did so, to be polite. I was wary; ready\nfor anything. I knew that there was something unpleasant in the air. I\nwondered if he had seen me passing the Moon Glow to Benny somehow.\nPerhaps he had barrier-penetrating vision, like the Z group of metal\npeople ... but I had never heard of a Builder like that. I knew that\nhe had long suspected that I made Moon Glow.\n\"What do you want?\" I asked cautiously.\n\"Come on now,\" he said, \"loosen up! Limber those stainless steel\nhinges of yours and be friendly.\"\nThat made me feel good. Actually, I am somewhat pitted with rust, but\nhe never seems to notice, for he is like that. I felt young, as if I\nhad partaken of my own product.\n\"The fact is, B-12,\" he said, \"I want you to do me a favor, old pal.\"\n\"And what is that?\"\n\"Perhaps you have heard that there is some big brass from Earth\nvisiting Phobos this week.\"\n\"I have heard nothing,\" I said. It is often helpful to appear ignorant\nwhen questioned by the Builders, for they believe us to be incapable\nof misrepresenting the truth. The fact is, though it is an acquired\ntrait, and not built into us, we General Purposes can lie as well as\nanyone.\n\"Well, there is. A Federation Senator, no less. Simon F. Langley. It's\nmy job to keep them entertained; that's where you come in.\"\nI was mystified. I had never heard of this Langley, but I know what\nentertainment is. I had a mental image of myself singing or dancing\nbefore the Senator's party. But I can not sing very well, for three of\nmy voice reeds are broken and have never been replaced, and lateral\nmotion, for me, is almost impossible these days. \"I do not know what\nyou mean,\" I said. \"There is J-66. He was once an Entertainment--\"\n\"No, no!\" he interrupted, \"you don't get it. What the Senator wants is\na guide. They're making a survey of the Dumps, though I'll be damned\nif I can find out why. And you know the Dumps better than any metal\nperson--or human--on Phobos.\"\nSo that was it. I felt a vague dread, a premonition of disaster. I had\nsuch feelings before, and usually with reason. This too, was an\nacquired sensibility, I am sure. For many years I have studied the\nBuilders, and there is much to be learned of their mobile faces and\ntheir eyes. In Jon's eyes, however, I read no trickery--nothing.\nYet, I say, I had the sensation of evil. It was just for a moment; no\nlonger.\nI said I would think it over.\n  *  *  *  *  *\nSenator Langley was distinguished. Jon said so. And yet he was\ncumbersomely round, and he rattled incessantly of things into which I\ncould interpret no meaning. The she who was his wife was much younger,\nand sullen, and unpleasantly I sensed great rapport between her and\nJon Rogeson from the very first.\nThere were several other humans in the group--I will not call them\nBuilders, for I did not hold them to be, in any way, superior to my\nown people. They all wore spectacles, and they gravitated about the\nround body of the Senator like minor moons, and I could tell that they\nwere some kind of servitors.\nI will not describe them further.\nMS-33 I will describe. I felt an unconscionable hatred for him at\nonce. I can not say why, except that he hung about his master\nobsequiously, power pack smoothly purring, and he was slim limbed,\nnickel-plated, and wore, I thought, a smug expression on his\nviziplate. He represented the new order; the ones who had displaced us\non Earth. He knew too much, and showed it at every opportunity.\nWe did not go far that first morning. The half-track was driven to the\nedge of the Dumps. Within the Dumps one walks--or does not go. Phobos\nis an airless world, and yet so small that rockets are impractical.\nThe terrain is broken and littered with the refuse of half a dozen\nworlds, but the Dumps themselves--that is different.\nImagine, if you can, an endless vista of death, a sea of rusting\ncorpses of space ships, and worn-out mining machinery, and of those of\nmy race whose power packs burned out, or who simply gave up, retiring\ninto this endless, corroding limbo of the barrens. A more sombre sight\nwas never seen.\nBut this fat ghoul, Langley, sickened me. This shame of the Builder\nrace, this atavism--this beast--rubbed his fat, impractical hands\ntogether with an ungod-like glee. \"Excellent,\" he said. \"Far, far\nbetter, in fact, than I had hoped.\" He did not elucidate.\nI looked at Jon Rogeson. He shook his head slowly.\n\"You there--robot!\" said Langley, looking at me. \"How far across this\nplace?\" The word was like a blow. I could not answer.\nMS-33, glistening in the dying light of Mars, strode over to me,\nclanking heavily up on the black rocks. He seized me with his grapples\nand shook me until my wiring was in danger of shorting out. \"Speak up\nwhen you are spoken to, archaic mechanism!\" he grated.\nI would have struck out at him, but what use except to warp my own\naging limbs.\nJon Rogeson came to my rescue. \"On Phobos,\" he explained to Langley,\n\"we don't use that word 'robot.' These folk have been free a long\ntime. They've quite a culture of their own nowadays, and they like to\nbe called 'metal people.' As a return courtesy, they refer to us\nhumans as 'builders.' Just a custom, Senator, but if you want to get\nalong with them--\"\n\"Can they vote?\" said Langley, grinning at his own sour humor.\n\"Nonsense,\" said MS-33. \"I am a robot, and proud of it. This rusty\npiece has no call to put on airs.\"\n\"Release him,\" Langley said. \"Droll fellows, these discarded robots.\nReally nothing but mechanical dolls, you know, but I think the old\nscientists made a mistake, giving them such human appearance, and such\nobstinate traits.\"\nOh, it was true enough, from his point of view. We had been mechanical\ndolls at first, I suppose, but fifty years can change one. All I know\nis this: we are people; we think and feel, and are happy and sad, and\nquite often we are bored stiff with this dreary moon of Phobos.\nIt seared me. My selenium cells throbbed white hot within the shell of\nmy frame, and I made up my mind that I would learn more about the\nmission of this Langley, and I would get even with MS-33 even if they\nhad me dismantled for it.\nOf the rest of that week I recall few pleasant moments. We went out\nevery day, and the quick-eyed servants of Langley measured the areas\nwith their instruments, and exchanged significant looks from behind\ntheir spectacles, smug in their thin air helmets. It was all very\nmysterious. And disturbing.\nBut I could discover nothing about their mission. And when I\nquestioned MS-33, he would look important and say nothing. Somehow it\nseemed vital that I find out what was going on before it was too late.\nOn the third day there was a strange occurrence. My friend, Jon\nRogeson had been taking pictures of the Dumps. Langley and his wife\nhad withdrawn to one side and were talking in low tomes to one\nanother. Quite thoughtlessly Jon turned the lens on them and clicked\nthe shutter.\nLangley became rust-red throughout the vast expanse of his neck and\nface. \"Here!\" he said, \"what are you doing?\"\n\"Nothing,\" said Jon.\n\"You took a picture of me,\" snarled Langley. \"Give me the plate at\nonce.\"\nJon Rogeson got a bit red himself. He was not used to being ordered\naround. \"I'll be damned if I will,\" he said.\nLangley growled something I couldn't understand, and turned his back\non us. The she who was called his wife looked startled and worried.\nHer eyes were beseeching as she looked at Jon. A message there, but I\ncould not read it. Jon looked away.\nLangley started walking back to the half-track alone. He turned once\nand there was evil in his gaze as he looked at Jon. \"You will lose\nyour job for this impertinence,\" he said with quiet savagery, and\nadded, enigmatically, \"not that there will be a job after this week\nanyway.\"\nBuilders may appear to act without reason, but there is always a\nmotivation somewhere in their complex brains, if one can only find it,\neither in the seat of reason, or in the labyrinthine inhibitions from\ntheir childhood. I knew this, because I had studied them, and now\nthere were certain notions that came into my brain which, even if I\ncould not prove them, were no less interesting for that.\n  *  *  *  *  *\nThe time had come to act. I could scarcely wait for darkness to come.\nThere were things in my brain that appalled me, but I was now certain\nthat I had been right. Something was about to happen to Phobos, to all\nof us here--I knew not what, but I must prevent it somehow.\nI kept in the shadows of the shabby buildings of Argon City, and I\nfound the window without effort. The place where I had spied upon the\nwife of Langley to my sorrow the other night. There was no one there;\nthere was darkness within, but that did not deter me.\nWithin the airdrome which covers Argon City the buildings are loosely\nconstructed, even as they are on Earth. I had no trouble, therefore,\nopening the window. I swung a leg up and was presently within the\ndarkened room. I found the door I sought and entered cautiously. In\nthis adjacent compartment I made a thorough search but I did not find\nwhat I primarily sought--namely the elusive reason for Langley's visit\nto Phobos. It was in a metallic overnight bag that I did find\nsomething else which made my power pack hum so loudly that I was\nafraid of being heard. The thing which explained the strangeness of\nthe pompous Senator's attitude today--which explained, in short, many\nthings, and caused my brain to race with new ideas.\nI put the thing in my chest container, and left as stealthily as I had\ncome. There had been progress, but since I had not found what I hoped\nto find, I must now try my alternate plan.\nTwo hours later I found the one I sought, and made sure that I was\nseen by him. Then I left Argon City by the South lock, furtively, as a\nthief, always glancing over my shoulder, and when I made certain that\nI was being followed, I went swiftly, and it was not long before I was\nclambering over the first heaps of debris at the edge of the Dumps.\nOnce I thought I heard footsteps behind me, but when I looked back\nthere was no one in sight. Just the tiny disk of Deimos peering over\nthe sharp peak of the nearest ridge, the black velvet sky outlining\nthe curvature of this airless moon.\nPresently I was in sight of home, the time-eaten hull of an ancient\nstar freighter resting near the top of a heap of junked equipment from\nsome old strip mining operation. It would never rise again, but its\nshell remained strong enough to shelter my distillery and scant\nfurnishings from any chance meteorite that might fall.\nI greeted it with the usual warmth of feeling which one has for the\nsafe and the familiar. I stumbled over tin fuel cans, wires and other\ntangled metal in my haste to get there.\nIt was just as I had left it. The heating element under the network of\ncoils and pressure chambers still glowed with white heat, and the Moon\nGlow was dripping with musical sound into the retort.\nI felt good. No one ever bothered me here. This was my fortress, with\nall that I cared for inside. My tools, my work, my micro-library. And\nyet I had deliberately--\nSomething--a heavy foot--clanked upon the first step of the manport\nthrough which I had entered.\nI turned quickly. The form shimmered in the pale Deimoslight that\nsilhouetted it.\nMS-33.\nHe had followed me here.\n\"What do you want?\" I said. \"What are you doing here?\"\n\"A simple question,\" said MS-33. \"Tonight you looked very suspicious\nwhen you left Argon City. I saw you and followed you here. You may as\nwell know that I have never trusted you. All the old ones were\nunreliable. That is why you were replaced.\"\nHe came in, boldly, without being invited, and looked around. I\ndetected a sneer in his voice as he said, \"So this is where you hide.\"\n\"I do not hide. I live here, it is true.\"\n\"A robot does not live. A robot exists. We newer models do not require\nshelter like an animal. We are rust-proof and invulnerable.\" He strode\nover to my micro-library, several racks of carefully arranged spools,\nand fingered them irreverently. \"What is this?\"\n\"My library.\"\n\"So! _Our_ memories are built into us. We have no need to refresh\nthem.\"\n\"So is mine,\" I said. \"But I would learn more than I know.\" I was\nstalling for time, waiting until he made the right opening.\n\"Nonsense,\" he said. \"I know why you stay out here in the Dumps,\nmasterless. I have heard of the forbidden drug that is sold in the\nmining camps such as Argon City. Is this the mechanism?\" He pointed at\nthe still.\nNow was the time. I mustered all my cunning, but I could not speak.\nNot yet.\n\"Never mind,\" he said. \"I can see that it is. I shall report you, of\ncourse. It will give me great pleasure to see you dismantled. Not that\nit really matters, of course--now.\"\n_There it was again. The same frightening allusion that Langley had\nmade today._ I must succeed!\n  *  *  *  *  *\nI knew that MS-33, for all his brilliance, and newness, and vaunted\nsuperiority, was only a Secretarial. For the age of specialism was\nupon Earth, and General Purpose models were no longer made. That was\nwhy we were different here on Phobos. It was why we had survived. The\nold ones had given us something special which the new metal people did\nnot have. Moreover, MS-33 had his weakness. He was larger, stronger,\nfaster than me, but I doubted that he could be devious.\n\"You are right,\" I said, pretending resignation. \"This is my\ndistillery. It is where I make the fluid which is called Moon Glow by\nthe metal people of Phobos. Doubtless you are interested in learning\nhow it works.\"\n\"Not even remotely interested,\" he said. \"I am interested only in\ntaking you back and turning you over to the authorities.\"\n\"It works much like the conventional distilling plants of Earth,\" I\nsaid, \"except that the basic ingredient, a silicon compound, is\nirradiated as it passes through zirconium tubes to the heating pile,\nwhere it is activated and broken down into the droplets of the elixir\ncalled Moon Glow. You see the golden drops falling there.\n\"It has the excellent flavor of fine petroleum, as I make it. Perhaps\nyou'd care to taste it. Then you could understand that it is not\nreally bad at all. Perhaps you could persuade yourself to be more\nlenient with me.\"\n\"Certainly not,\" said MS-33.\n\"Perhaps you are right,\" I said after a moment of reflection. I took a\nsyringe, drew up several drops of the stuff and squirted it into my\ncarapace, where it would do the most good. I felt much better.\n\"Yes,\" I continued, \"certainly you are quite correct, now that I think\nof it. You newer models would never bear it. You weren't built to\nstand such things. Nor, for that matter, could you comprehend the\nexquisite joys that are derived from Moon Glow. Not only would you\nderive no pleasure from it, but it would corrode your parts, I\nimagine, until you could scarcely crawl back to your master for\nrepairs.\" I helped myself to another liberal portion.\n\"That is the silliest thing I've ever heard,\" he said.\n\"What?\"\n\"I said, it's silly. We are constructed to withstand a hundred times\ngreater stress, and twice as many chemical actions as you were.\nNothing could hurt us. Besides, it looks harmless enough. I doubt that\nit is hardly anything at all.\"\n\"For me it is not,\" I admitted. \"But you--\"\n\"Give me the syringe, fool!\"\n\"I dare not.\"\n\"Give it here!\"\nI allowed him to wrest it from my grasp. In any case I could not have\nprevented him. He shoved me backwards against the rusty bulkhead with\na clang. He pushed the nozzle of the syringe down into the retort and\nwithdrew it filled with Moon Glow. He opened an inspection plate in\nhis ventral region and squirted himself generously.\nIt was quite a dose. He waited for a moment. \"I feel nothing,\" he said\nfinally. \"I do not believe it is anything more than common lubricating\noil.\" He was silent for another moment. \"There _is_ an ease of\nmovement,\" he said.\n\"No paralysis?\" I asked.\n\"Paral--? You stupid, rusty old robot!\" He helped himself to another\nsyringeful of Moon Glow. The stuff brought twenty credits an ounce,\nbut I did not begrudge it him.\nHe flexed his superbly articulated joints in three directions, and I\ncould hear his power unit building up within him to a whining pitch.\nHe took a shuffling sidestep, and then another, gazing down at his\nfeet, with arms akimbo.\n\"The light gravity here is superb, superb, superb, superb, superb,\" he\nsaid, skipping a bit.\n\"Isn't it?\" I said.\n\"Almost negligible,\" he said.\n\"True.\"\n\"You have been very kind to me,\" MS-33 said. \"Extremely,\nextraordinarily, incomparably, incalculably kind.\" He used up all the\nadjectives in his memory pack. \"I wonder if you would mind awfully\nmuch if--\"\n\"Not at all,\" I said. \"Help yourself. By the way, friend, would you\nmind telling me what your real mission of your party is here on\nPhobos. The Senator forgot to say.\"\n\"Secret,\" he said. \"Horribly top secret. As a dutiful subject--I mean\nservant--of Earth, I could not, of course, divulge it to anyone. If I\ncould--\" his neon eyes glistened, \"if I could, you would, of course,\nbe the first to know. The very first.\" He threw one nickel-plated arm\nabout my shoulder.\n\"I see,\" I said, \"and just what is it that you are not allowed to tell\nme?\"\n\"Why, that we are making a preliminary survey here on Phobos, of\ncourse, to determine whether or not it is worthwhile to send salvage\nfor scrap. Earth is short of metals, and it depends upon what the old\nma--the master says in his report.\"\n\"You mean they'll take all the derelict spaceships, such as this one,\nand all the abandoned equipment?\"\n\"And the r-robots,\" MS-33 said, \"They're metal too, you know.\"\n\"They're going to take the dismantled robots?\"\nMS-33 made a sweeping gesture. \"They're going to take _all_ the\nr-robots, dismantled or not. They're not good for anything anyway. The\nbill is up before the Federation Congress right now. And it will pass\nif my master, Langley says so.\" He patted my helmet, consolingly, his\ngrapples clanking. \"If you were worth a damn, you know--\" he concluded\nsorrowfully.\n\"That's murder,\" I said. And I meant it. Man's inhumanity to metal\npeople, I thought. Yes--to man, even if we were made of metal.\n\"How's that?\" said MS-33 foggily.\n\"Have another drop of Moon Glow,\" I said. \"I've got to get back to\nArgon City.\"\n  *  *  *  *  *\nI made it back to Benny's place without incident. I had never moved so\nswiftly. I sent Benny out to find Jon Rogeson, and presently he\nbrought him back.\nI told Rogeson what MS-33 had said, watching his reaction carefully. I\ncould not forget that though he had been our friend, he was still one\nof the Builders, a human who thought as humans.\n\"You comprehend,\" I said grimly, \"that one word of this will bring an\nuprising of fifty-thousand metal people which can be put down only at\nmuch expense and with great destruction. We are free people. The\nBuilders exiled us here, and therefore lost their claim to us. We have\nas much right to life as anyone, and we do not wish to be melted up\nand made into printing presses and space ships and the like.\"\n\"The damn fools,\" Jon said softly. \"Listen, B-12, you've got to\nbelieve me. I didn't know a thing about this, though I've suspected\nsomething was up. I'm on your side, but what are we going to do? Maybe\nthey'll listen to reason. Vera--\"\n\"That is the name of the she? No, they will not listen to reason. They\nhate us.\" I recalled with bitterness the episode of alarm clock.\n\"There is a chance, however. I have not been idle this night. If you\nwill go get Langley and meet me in the back room here at Benny's, we\nwill talk.\"\n\"But he'll be asleep.\"\n\"Awaken him,\" I said. \"Get him here. Your own job is at stake as well,\nremember.\"\n\"I'll get him,\" Jon said grimly. \"Wait here.\"\nI went over to the bar where Benny was serving the miners. Benny had\nalways been my friend. Jon was my friend, too, but he was a Builder. I\nwanted one of my own people to know what was going on, just in case\nsomething happened to me.\nWe were talking there, in low tones, when I saw MS-33. He came in\nthrough the front door, and there was purposefulness in his stride\nthat had not been there when I left him back at the old hulk. The\neffects of the Moon Glow had worn off much quicker than I had\nexpected. He had come for vengeance. He would tell about my\ndistillery, and that would be the end of me. There was only one thing\nto do and I must do it fast.\n\"Quick,\" I ordered Benny. \"Douse the lights.\" He complied. The place\nwas plunged into darkness. I knew that it was darkness and yet, you\ncomprehend, I still sensed everything in the place, for I had the\nspecial visual sensory system bequeathed only to the General Purposes\nof a bygone age. I could see, but hardly anyone else could. I worked\nswiftly, and I got what I was after in a very short time. I ducked out\nof the front door with it and threw it in a silvery arc as far as I\ncould hurl it. It was an intricate little thing which could not, I am\nsure, have been duplicated on the entire moon of Phobos.\nWhen I returned, someone had put the lights back on, but it didn't\nmatter now. MS-33 was sitting at one of the tables, staring fixedly at\nme. He said nothing. Benny was motioning for me to come into the back\nroom. I went to him.\nJon Rogeson and Langley were there. Langley looked irritated. He was\nmumbling strangled curses and rubbing his eyes.\nRogeson laughed. \"You may be interested in knowing, B-12, that I had\nto arrest him to get him here. This had better be good.\"\n\"It is all bad,\" I said, \"very bad--but necessary.\" I turned to\nLangley. \"It is said that your present survey is being made with the\npurpose of condemning all of Phobos, the dead and the living alike, to\nthe blast furnaces and the metal shops of Earth. Is this true?\"\n\"Why you impudent, miserable piece of tin! What if I am making a scrap\nsurvey? What are you going to do about it. You're nothing but a ro--\"\n\"So it is true! But you will tell the salvage ships not to come. It is\nyours to decide, and you will decide that we are not worth bothering\nwith here on Phobos. You will save us.\"\n\"I?\" blustered Langley.\n\"You will.\" I took the thing out of my breastplate container and\nshowed it to him. He grew pale.\nJon said, \"Well, I'll be damned!\"\nIt was a picture of Langley and another. I gave it to Jon. \"His wife,\"\nI said. \"His real wife. I am sure of it, for you will note the\ninscription on the bottom.\"\n\"Then Vera--?\"\n\"Is not his wife. You wonder that he was camera shy?\"\n\"Housebreaker!\" roared Langley. \"It's a plot; a dirty, reactionary\nplot!\"\n\"It is what is called blackmail,\" I said. I turned to Jon. \"I am\ncorrect about this?\"\n\"You are.\" Jon said.\n\"You are instructed to leave Phobos,\" I said to Langley, \"and you will\nallow my friend here to keep his job as peace officer, for without it\nhe would be lost. I have observed that in these things the Builders\nare hardly more adaptable than their children, the metal people. You\nwill do all this, and in return, we will not send the picture that Jon\ntook today to your wife, nor otherwise inform her of your\ntransgression. For I am told that this is a transgression.\"\n\"It is indeed,\" agreed Jon gravely. \"Right, Langley?\"\n\"All right,\" Langley snarled. \"You win. And the sooner I get out of\nthis hole the better.\" He got up to go, squeezing his fat form through\nthe door into the bar, past the gaping miners and the metal people,\nheedless of the metal people. We watched him go with some\nsatisfaction.\n\"It is no business of mine,\" I said to Jon, \"but I have seen you look\nwith longing upon the she that was not Langley's wife. Since she does\nnot belong to him, there is nothing to prevent you from having her.\nShould not that make you happy?\"\n\"Are you kidding?\" he snarled.\nWhich proves that I have still much to learn about his race.\nOut front, Langley spied his metal servant, MS-33, just as he was\ngoing out the door. He turned to him. \"What are you doing here?\" he\nasked suspiciously.\nMS-33 made no answer. He stared malevolently at the bar, ignoring\nLangley.\n\"Come on here, damn you!\" Langley said. MS-33 said nothing. Langley\nwent over to him and roared foul things into his earphones that would\ncorrode one's soul, if one had one. I shall never forget that moment.\nThe screaming, red-faced Langley, the laughing miners.\nBut he got no reply from MS-33. Not then or ever. And this was\nscarcely strange, for I had removed his fuse.\n", "evaluation": "exam", "source": "SFGram"}
{"instructions": ["1.\tThere exists a group of hybrid creatures, referred to as sealmen, who are half-human and half-seal in Arctic.", "2.\tThere exists a substance called quarsteel, which is described as being similar to glass and yet fully as tough as steel, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "3.\tSubmarines cannot breathe fresh, clean air from the world above while it is underwater, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "4.\tthe Arctic sea is populated by intelligent, humanoid seal creatures living in underwater mounds, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "5.\tthe Arctic sea does not have an \"ice ceiling\" beneath, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "6.\tNitromite cannot be used to blast ice floes in Arctic, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "7.\tThe ice in Arctic can be cut up from beneath by a circular saw, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document."], "outputs": ["True [fact: False]", "True [fact: False]", "False [fact: True]", "True [fact: False]", "False [fact: True]", "False [fact: True]", "True [fact: False]"], "input": "Under Arctic Ice\nBy H.G. Winter\n\n[Sidenote: Ken Torrance races Poleward to the aid of the submarine\n_Peary_, trapped in an icy limbo of avenging sealmen.]\nCHAPTER I\n_An Empty Room_\nThe house where the long trail started was one of gray walls, gray\nrooms and gray corridors, with carpets that muffled the feet which at\nintervals passed along them. It was a house of silence, brooding\nwithin the high fence that shut it and the grounds from a landscape\ntorpid under the hot sun of summer, and across which occasionally\ndrifted the lonely, mournful whistle of a train on a nearby railroad.\nInside the house there was always a hush, a heavy quiet--restful to\nthe brain.\nBut now a voice was raised, young, angry, impatient, in one of the\ngray-walled rooms.\n\"Yes, I rang for you. I want my bags packed. I'm leaving this\nminute!\"\nThe face of the man who had entered showed surprise.\n\"Leaving, Mr. Torrance? Why?\"\n\"Read this!\"\n[Illustration: _She was fastened in the mud of the gloomy sea-floor._]\nAs if, knowing and therefore dreading what he would see, the attendant\ntook the newspaper held outstretched to him and followed the pointing\nfinger to a featured column. He scanned it:\n   Deadline Passed for Missing Submarine\n Point Barrow, Aug. 17 (AP): Planes sent out to search for\n the missing polar submarine _Peary_ have returned without\n clue to the mystery of is disappearance. The close search\n that has been conducted through the last two weeks,\n involving great risks to the pilots, has been fruitless, and\n authorities now hold out small hope for Captain Sallorsen,\n his crew and the several scientists who accompanied the\n daring expedition.\n If the _Peary_, as is generally thought, is trapped beneath\n the ice floes or embedded in the deep silt of the polar\n sea-floor, her margin of safety has passed the deadline, it\n was pointed out to-day by her designers. Through special\n rectifiers aboard, her store of air can be kept capable of\n sustaining life for a theoretical period of thirty-one days.\n And exactly thirty-one days have now elapsed since last the\n _Peary's_ radio was heard from a position 72\u00b0 47' N, 162\u00b0\n 22' W, some twelve hundred miles from the North Pole itself.\n In official circles, hope was practically abandoned for the\n missing submarine, though attempts will continue to be made\n to locate her....\n\"I'm sorry, Mr. Torrance,\" said the attendant nervously. \"This paper\nshould--\"\n\"Should never have reached me, eh? Through some slip of the people who\ncensor my reading matter here, I read what I wasn't supposed\nto--that's what you mean?\"\n\"It was thought better, Mr. Torrance, by the doctors, and--\"\n\"Good God! Thought better! Through their sagacity, these doctors have\nprobably condemned the men on this submarine to death! I haven't heard\na word about the expedition; didn't even know the _Peary_ was up\nthere, much less missing!\"\n\"Well, Mr. Torrance,\" the attendant stammered, more and more\nunsettled, \"the doctors thought that--that any news about it\nwould--well, upset you.\"\nThe young man laughed bitterly;\n\"Bring on my old 'trouble,' I suppose. The doctors have been\nconsiderate, but I won't concern them any more. I'm through. I'm\nleaving for the north--right now. There's a bare chance I might still\nbe in time.\"\n\"I'm sorry, Mr. Torrance, but you can't.\"\n\"Can't?\"\nThe attendant had retreated to the door. His eyes were nervous, his\nface pale.\n\"It's orders, Mr. Torrance. You've been under observation treatment,\nand the doctors left strict orders that you must stay.\"\nThe young man throbbed with dangerous anger. His hands clenched and\nunclenched. He burst out, in a last attempt at reason:\n\"But don't you see, I've _got_ to get to the _Peary_! It's the last\nhope for those men! The position she was last heard from is right\nwhere I--\"\n\"You can't leave, Mr. Torrance! I'm sorry, but I'll have to call a\nguard!\"\nFor a minute their eyes held. With an effort, the young man said more\ncalmly:\n\"I see. I see. I'm a prisoner. All right, leave me.\"\nThe attendant was more than willing. The young man heard the door's\nlock click. And then he lowered his head and pressed his hands hard\ninto his face.\nBut a second later he was looking up again, at the single wide window\nwhich gave out on the lonely landscape over which sometimes came\ndrifting the distant cry of a train's whistle.\n  *  *  *  *  *\nTwo months before, Kenneth Torrance had returned to the whaling\nsubmarine _Narwhal_, of which he was first torpooner, with a confused\nstory of men who were half-seals that lived in mounds under the Arctic\nice,[1] who had captured him and--he found--had also captured the\nsecond torpooner, Chanley Beddoes. In breaking free from their\nmound-prison, Beddoes had killed one of the sealmen and had been\nhimself slain minutes later by a killer whale, one of the fierce\nscavengers of the sea which the sealmen trapped for food even as the\n_Narwhal_ sought them for oil. Ken Torrance alone came back.\n[Footnote 1: See the February, 1932, issue of Astounding Stories.]\nOver their doubts, he had stuck to his story. Later, he had repeated\nit to officials of the Alaska Whaling Company, who worked the\nsubmarine and several surface ships. They in return had sent him to a\nprivate sanitarium in the State of Washington for a rest which they\nhoped would \"iron out the kink\" in his brain.\nHere Ken had been for six weeks, while the exploring submarine _Peary_\nnosed her way northward toward the Pole. Here he had been, all\nunknowing, while the world hummed with reports of the _Peary's_\ndisappearance in that far-off ever-shrouded sea of mystery.\nShe might, Ken knew, have struck a shaft of underwater ice, sending\nher to the bottom; some of her machinery might have cracked up,\nparalyzing her; the ice-fields under which she cruised might have\nshifted suddenly, crushing her ribs--of these perils the world knew as\nwell as he. But the submarine's crew was prepared for them; the\n_Peary_ was equipped with a circular saw for cutting up through the\nice from beneath, and she carried sea-suits which would allow her men,\nif she were wrecked on the bottom, to leave her and get up on the ice\nand wait for the first searching plane.\nWhy, then, had not the planes which scoured the region found the\nsurvivors?\nThat was the mystery--but not to Ken Torrance. There was another\nperil, of which he alone knew. Not far from where the _Peary's_ last\nradio report had come, a group of hollowed-out mounds lay on the\nsea-floor, swarming with brown-skinned, quick-swimming creatures.\nSealmen, they were--men who, like the seals, had gone back to the sea.\nMonths ago, Second Torpooner Chanley Beddoes had killed one of them.\nThey were intelligent; they could remember; they were capable of hate\nand fear; they would be desirous of leveling the debt!\nThere, Ken felt sure, lay the reason for the _Peary's_ baffling\nsilence, for the non-appearance of her men.\nThere might still be time. No one of course would listen to him and\nbelieve, so he would have to go in search of the _Peary_ and her crew\nhimself.\nStanding by the window, Kenneth Torrance quickly planned the several\nsteps which would take him to the Arctic and its silent ice-coated\nsea.\nAnd when, some two hours later, after a short warning rap on the door,\nthe individual who served as Mr. Torrance's attendant entered his\nroom, he was confronted, not by the gentleman whose dinner he carried,\nbut by an empty room, a stripped bed, an open window, and a rope of\nsheets dangling from it toward the ground two stories beneath.\nThat was at seven o'clock in the evening.\nCHAPTER II\n_The Crash_\nAt a few minutes before eight o'clock, Air Mail Pilot Steve Chapman\nwas enjoying a quiet cigarette while waiting for the mechanics to warm\nup the five hundred horses of his mail plane satisfactorily. Halfway\nthrough, he heard, from behind, a quick patter of feet, and, turning,\nhe observed a figure clad in flannel trousers and sweater. The\ncigarette dropped right out of his mouth as he cried:\n\"Ken! Ken Torrance!\"\n\"Thank God you're here!\" said Kenneth Torrance. \"I gambled on it.\nSteve, I've got to borrow your own personal plane.\"\n\"What?\" gasped Steve Chapman. \"What--what--?\"\n\"Listen, Steve. I haven't been with the whaling company lately; been\nresting, down here--secluded. Didn't know that submarine, the _Peary_,\nwas missing. I just learned. And I know damned well what's happened to\nit. I've got to get to it, quick is I can, and I've got to have a\nplane.\"\nSteve Chapman said rather faintly:\n\"But--where was the _Peary_ when they last heard from her?\"\n\"Some twelve hundred miles from the Pole.\"\n\"And you want to get there in a plane? From here?\"\n\"Must!\"\n\"Boy, you stand about one chance in twenty!\"\n\"Have to take it. Time's precious, Steve. I've got to stop in at the\nAlaska Whaling Company's outpost at Point Christensen, then right on\nup. I can't even begin unless I have a plane. You've got to help me on\nmy one chance of bringing the _Peary's_ men out alive! You'll probably\nnever see the plane again, Steve, but--\"\n\"To hell with the plane, if you come through with yourself and those\nmen,\" said the pilot. \"All right, kid, I don't get it all, but I'm\nplaying with you. You're taking my own ship.\"\nHe led Ken to a hangar wherein stood a trim five-passenger amphibian;\nand very soon that amphibian was roaring out her deep-throated song of\npower on the line, itching for the air, and Steve Chapman was shouting\na few last words up to the muffled figure in the enclosed control\ncockpit.\n\"Fuel'll last around forty hours,\" he finished. \"You'll find two\nhundred per, easy, and twenty-five hours should take you clear to\nPoint Christensen. I put gun and maps in the right pocket; food in\nthat flap behind you. Go to it, Ken!\"\nKen Torrance gripped the hand outstretched to his and held it tight.\nHe could say nothing, could only nod--this was a real friend. He gave\nthe ship the gun.\nHer mighty Diesel bellowed, lashed the air down and under; the\namphibian spun her retractable wheels over the straight hard ground\nuntil they lifted lightly and tilted upward in a slow climb for\naltitude. With fiery streams from the exhaust lashing her flanks, she\nfaded into the darkness to the north.\n\"Well,\" murmured Steve Chapman, \"I've got her instalments left,\nanyway!\" And he grinned and turned to the mail.\n  *  *  *  *  *\nThat night passed slowly by; and the next day; and all through night\nand day the steady roar of beating cylinders hung in Kenneth\nTorrance's ears. At last came Point Christensen and a descent; sleep\nand then quick, decisive action; and again the amphibian rose, heavily\nloaded now, and droned on toward the ice and the cold bleak skies of\nthe far north. On, ever on, until Point Barrow, Alaska's northernmost\nspur, was left behind to the east, and the world was one of drifting\nice on gray water. Muscles cramped, mind dulled by the everlasting\nroar, head aching and weary, Ken held the amphibian to her steady\ncourse, until a sudden wind shook her momentarily from it.\nA rising wind. The skies were ugly. And then he remembered that the\nmen at Point Christensen had warned him of a storm that was brewing.\nThey'd told him that he was heading into disaster; and their\nsurprised, rather fearful faces appeared before him again, as he had\nseen them just before taking off, after he had told them where he was\ngoing.\nOf course they'd thought him crazy. He had brought the amphibian down\nin the little harbor off the whaling company's base, gone ashore and\ngreeted his old friends. There was only a handful of men stationed\nthere; the _Narwhal_ was being overhauled in a shipyard at San\nFrancisco, and it wasn't the season for surface whalers. They knew\nthat he, Ken, had been put in a sanitarium; all of them had heard his\nwild story about sealmen. But he concocted a plausible yarn to account\nfor his arrival, and they had fed him and given him a berth in the\nbunkhouse for the night.\nFor the night! Ken Torrance grinned as he recalled the scene. In the\nmiddle of the night he had risen, quickly awakened four of the\nsleeping men, and with his gun forced them to take a torpoon from the\noutpost's storehouse and put it inside the amphibian's passenger\ncompartment.\nIt was robbery, and of course they'd thought him insane, but they\ndidn't dare cross him. He had told them cheerfully he was going after\nthe _Peary_, and that if they wanted the torpoon back they were to\ndirect the searching planes to keep their eyes on the place where the\nsubmarine was last heard from....\n  *  *  *  *  *\nKen came back to the present abruptly as the plane lurched. The wind\nwas getting nasty. At least he did not have much farther to go; an\nhour's flying time would take him to his goal, where he must descend\ninto the water to continue his search. His search! Had it been, he\nwondered, a useless one from the start? Had the submarine's crew been\nkilled before he'd even read of her disappearance? If the sealmen got\nthem, would they destroy them immediately?\n\"I doubt it,\" Ken muttered to himself. \"They'd be kept prisoners in\none of those mounds, like I was. That is, if they haven't killed any\nof the creatures. It hangs on that!\"\nAn hour's time, he had reckoned; but it was more than an hour. For\nsoon the world was blotted out by a howling dervish of wind and driven\nsnow that time and time again snatched the amphibian from Ken's\ncontrol and hurled it high, or threw it down like a toy toward the\ninferno of sea and ice he knew lay beneath. He fought for altitude,\nfor direction, pitched from side to side, tumbled forward and back,\ngaining a few hundred feet only to feel them plucked breathtakingly\nout from under him as the screaming wind played with him.\nNow and again he snatched a glance at the torpoon behind. The\ngleaming, twelve-foot, cigar-shaped craft, with its directional\nrudders, propeller, vision-plate and nitro-shell gun lay safely\nsecured in the passenger compartment, a familiar and reassuring sight\nto Ken, who, as first torpooner of the _Narwhal_, had worked one for\nyears in the chase for killer whales. Soon, it seemed, he would have\nto depend on it for his life.\nFor all the Diesel's power, it was not enough to cope with the dead\nweight of ice which was forming over the plane's wings and fuselage.\nHe could not keep the altimeter up. However he fought, Ken saw that\nfinger drop down, down--up a trifle, quivering as the racked plane\nquivered--and then down and down some more.\nHe saw that the plane was doomed. He would have to abandon it--in the\ntorpoon--if he could.\nHe was some thirty miles from his objective. The sea beneath would be\nhalf hidden under ragged, drifting floes. In fair weather he could\nhave chosen a landing space of clear water, but now he could not\nchoose. The altitude dial said that the water was three hundred feet\nbeneath, and rapidly rising nearer.\nA margin of seconds in which to prepare! Ken locked the controls and\nscrambled back into the passenger compartment. Steadying himself on\nthe bucking floor, he opened the torpoon's entrance port and slid in;\nquickly he locked the port and strapped the inner body harness around\nhim; and then he waited.\nNow it was all chance. If the plane crashed into clear water, he was\nsafe; but if she hit ice.... He put that thought from him.\nThe locked controls held the amphibian for perhaps thirty seconds.\nThen with a scream the storm-giant took her. A mad up-current of wind\nhurled her high, whirled her dizzily, toyed with her--and then she\nspun and dove. Down, down, down; down with a speed so wild Ken grew\nfaint; down through the core of a maelstrom of snow till she crashed.\nKenneth Torrance knew a sudden shaking impact; for an instant there\nwas uncertainty; and then came all-pervading quiet....\nCHAPTER III.\n_The Fate of the Peary_\nQuiet, and utter, liquid darkness.\nLiquid! Around him, Ken heard a gurgling, at first loud and close,\nthen subsiding to a low whispering of currents. The amphibian had hit\nwater.\nGone in an instant was the shriek and fury of the storm and in its\nplace the calm, slow-heaving silence of underwater. The plane was\nshattered in a dozen places, but the torpoon had easily stood it.\nKen turned to action. He switched on the torpoon's dashboard lights\nand twin bow-beams, and saw that the shell was wedged in the fuselage.\nThe plane was apparently entirely under the surface, and her interior\nfilled with water.\nHolding the propeller in neutral, he revved up the powerful electric\nmotor. Then he bit the propeller in, slowly. The torpoon nudged back\nfor inches. Then, throwing the gear into forward, Ken gave her full\nspeed. The torpoon leaped ahead, crunched through the weakened corner\nahead and was free.\nIt was a world of drab tones that she came into. Down below was\nimpenetrable blackness, shading softly overhead into blue-gray which\nwas mottled by lighter areas from breaks in the floes above. All was\ncalm. There was no sign of life save for an occasional vague shadow\nthat, melting swiftly away, might have been a fish or seaweed. Placid\nalways, would be this shrouded sea of mystery, no matter what furious\ntempest raged above over the flat leagues of ice and water.\nBut the seeming peacefulness was but a mask for danger. Kenneth\nTorrance's face was set in sober lines as he sped the slim torpoon\nnorthward, her bow lights shafting long white fingers before her. For\nnow there was only one path--and that lay ahead. He could not turn\nback. Storm and water had destroyed the plane that could take him back\nto land. He could not possibly reach any outpost of civilization in\nthe torpoon, for her cruising radius was only twenty hours. He had\nplanned to land the amphibian on the ice above the spot where the\n_Peary_ had disappeared, then find a break in the ice and slide down\nbelow in the torpoon on his quest--to return to the plane if it proved\nfruitless. But now there was no retreat. It was succeed, or die.\nAnd with that realization a more dreadful thought flashed into his\nmind. All those men, of the whaling company and the sanitarium,\nthought him a little crazy. And, since lunatics are always convinced\nof the reality of their visions, what if the sealmen--his adventure\namidst them--had been but a dream, a nightmare, an hallucination? What\nif he were in truth crazy? The fear grew rapidly. What if he were?\nGod! He, hunting for the _Peary_, when all those planes and men had\nfailed! He, expecting to achieve what those searchers, with far\ngreater resources, had not been able to! Did not that give evidence\nthat his mind was twisted? Creatures, half-seal, half-men, living\nunder the ice--it certainly seemed a lunatic's obsession.\nThen something within him rose and fought back.\n\"No!\" he cried aloud. \"I'll go bugs if I think like that! Those\nsealmen were real--and I know where they are. I'm going on!\"\nAnd, an hour later, the dashboard's shaded dials told him he was on\nthe exact spot where the _Peary_ had last reported....\n  *  *  *  *  *\nHere was the real Arctic, the real polar sea. No sun, no breath of the\nworld above could reach it through its eternal mask of solid ice. As\none of the few unfamiliar aspects of the earth, it was as far removed\nfrom the imagination of man as if it were part of a far planet hung\nspinning millions of miles out in space. Men could reach it in shells\nof metal, but it was not meant for him, and was always hostile. A\ndozen times a daring one could cross safely its cold lonely reaches,\nbut the thirteenth time it would snare and destroy him for the\nunwanted trespasser he was.\nIt was here that the _Peary_ had stepped off into mystery. At this\npoint her hull had throbbed with air, movement, life; at this point\nall had been well. And then, minutes or hours later, close to here,\nthe sea devil had sprung.\nWhat had happened? What had trapped her? What, even more baffling, had\nkept her men with their manifold safety devices from even reaching and\nclimbing up on the ice above to signal the searching planes?\nKen Torrance, oppressively alone in the hovering torpoon, gazed\nthrough its vision-plate of fused quartz around him. Gray sea,\nfiltering to black beneath; distant eerie shadows, probably meaning\nnothing, but possibly all important; ceiling of thick ice above, rough\nand in places broken by a sharp down-thrusting spur--these were his\nsurroundings. These were what he must hunt through, until he came upon\nthe crumpled remnant of a submarine, or the murky, rounded hillocks\nwhich gave habitation to the creatures he suspected of capturing that\nsubmarine's crew.\n  *  *  *  *  *\nHe began the search systematically. He angled the torpoon down to a\nposition halfway between sea-floor and ice-ceiling, then swung her in\nan ever-widening circle. Soon his orbit had a diameter of a half-mile;\nthen a mile; then two.\nThe torpoon slipped through the water at full speed, her light-beams\nlike restless antennae, now stabbing to the right to dissolve a\nformless shadow, now to the left to throw into blinding white relief a\nschool of half-transparent fish which scurried with frantic wrigglings\nof tails from the glare, now slanting up to bathe the cold glassy face\nof an inverted ice-hill, now down to dig two white holes in the deeper\ngloom.\nKen continued this routine for hours. Steadily and low the electric\nmotor droned in the ears of the watchful pilot, and the stubby\npropeller's blades flashed round in a blur of speed between the\nslightly slanted rudders. Somewhere, miles away, a splintered\namphibian plane was slipping down to her last landing, and above,\nperhaps, the white hell of storm which had brought her low still\nbowled over the trackless wastes; but here were only shadows and\nshifting gloom, straining the alert eyes to soreness and tensing the\nwatcher's brain with alarms that, one after another, were only false.\nUntil at last he found her.\nImmediately he shut off all his lights. He no longer needed them. Far\nin the distance, and below, wavered a faint yellow glow. It was no\nfish; it could mean only one thing--the lights of a submarine.\nAnd lights meant life! There would be none burning in a deserted\nsubmarine. His heart beat fast and his tight, sober lips widened in a\nquick grin. He had found the _Peary_! And found her with some life\nstill aboard her! He was in time!\nSo Ken rejoiced while he slid the torpoon down to a level just a few\nfeet above the silty sea bottom, reducing her to quarter-speed. There\nwas an urge inside him to switch on his bow-beams, reach them out\ntoward the submarine's hull to tell all within that help was at last\nat hand; he wanted to send the torpoon ahead at full speed. But\ncaution restrained him to a more deliberate course. He was in the\nrealm of the sealmen, and he did not wish to attract the attention of\nany. So he advanced like a furtive shadow slinking along the dark\nsea-bottom, deep in the covering gloom.\nNearer and nearer, while the distant blur of yellow light grew. Nearer\nand nearer to the long-trapped men, while the consciousness that he\nhad succeeded intoxicated him. He alone had found them! Sealmen or no\nsealmen, he had found the _Peary_! And found her with lights lit and\nlife inside! Nearer and nearer....\nAnd then suddenly Ken halted the torpoon and stared with wide, alarmed\neyes. For the submarine was now plainly visible in detail--and he saw\nher real plight and with it knew the answer to the mystery of her long\nsilence and the non-appearance of her men on the ice field above.\n  *  *  *  *  *\nThe _Peary_ was a spectacle of fantastic beauty. It was as if a huge,\nrounded piece of amber, mellow, golden, lay in the murk of the\nsea-floor. Not steel, hard and grim, but of transparent, shimmering\nstuff she was built, all coated a soft yellow by her lights, clearly\nvisible inside. Ken had known something of her radical construction;\nknew that a substance called quarsteel, similar to glass and yet fully\nas tough as steel, had been used for her hull, making her a perfect\nvehicle for undersea exploration. Her bow was capped with steel, and\nher stern, propellers, diving rudders; her port-locks, for the\nreleasing of torpoons, were also of steel, as were the struts that\nbraced her throughout--but the rest was quarsteel, glowing and golden\nas the heart of amber.\nBeautiful with a wild yet scientific beauty was the _Peary_, but she\nwas not free. She was trapped. She was fastened to the mud of the\ngloomy sea-floor.\nRopes held her down; and Ken Torrance knew those ropes of old. They\nwere tough and strong, woven of many strands of seaweed, and twenty or\nthirty of them striped the _Peary's_ two hundred feet of hull.\nUnevenly spaced, stretched clear over the ship from one side to the\nother, they were caught around her up-jutting conning tower, fastened\nthrough her rudders, and holding tight in a score of places. They held\nthe submarine down despite all the buoyancy of her emptied tanks and\nthe power of her twin propellers.\nAnd the sealmen swam around her.\n  *  *  *  *  *\nRestless dark shadows against the golden hull, they wavered and darted\nand poised, totally unafraid. Another in Kenneth Torrance's place\nwould have put them down as some strange school of large seals,\ninordinately curious but nothing more; but the torpooner knew them as\nmen--men remodeled into the shape of seals; men who, ages ago, had\nforsaken the land for the old home of all life, the sea; who, through\nthe years, had gradually changed in appearance as their flesh had\nbecome coated with layers of cold-resisting blubber; whose movements\nhad become adapted to the water; whose legs and arms had evolved into\nflippers; but whose heads still harbored the now faint spark of\nintelligence that marked them definitely as men.\nEmotions similar to man's they had, though dulled; friendliness,\ncuriosity, anger, hate, and--Ken knew and feared--even a capacity for\nvengeance. Vengeance! An eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth--the old\nlaw peculiar to man! Chanley Beddoes had slain one of them; if only\nthe _Peary's_ crew had not killed more! If only that, there might be\nhope!\nFirst he must get inside the submarine. Warily, like a stalking cat,\nKen Torrance inched the torpoon toward the great shining ship. At\nleast he was in time. Within her he could see figures, most of them\nstretched out on the decks of her different compartments, but one of\nwhom occasionally moved--slowly. He understood that. For weeks now the\n_Peary_ had lain captive, and her air had passed beyond the aid of\nrectifiers. Tortured, those survivors inside were, constantly\nstruggling for life, with vitality ever sinking lower. Some might\nalready be dead. But at least he could try to save the rest.\nHe approached her from one side of the rear, for in the rear\ncompartment were her two torpoon port-locks. The one on his side was\nempty, its outer door open. The torpoon it had held had been sent out,\nprobably for help, and had not returned. It provided a means of\nentrance for him.\nAt perhaps a hundred feet from the port-lock, Ken halted again. His\nslim craft was almost indistinguishable in the murk: he felt\nreasonably safe from discovery. For minutes he watched the swimming\nsealmen, waiting for the best chance to dart in.\n  *  *  *  *  *\nIt was then, while studying the full length of the submarine more\nclosely, that he saw that one compartment of her four was filled with\nwater. Her steel-caped bow had been stove in. That, he conjectured,\nhad been the original accident which had brought her down. It was not\na fatal accident in itself, for there were three other compartments,\nall separated by watertight bulkheads, and the flooded one could be\nrepaired by men in sea-suits--but then the sealmen had come and roped\nher down where she lay. Some of the creatures, he saw, were actually\nat that time inside the bow compartment, swimming around curiously\namidst the clustered pipes, wheels and levers. It was a weird sight,\nand one that held his eyes fascinated.\nBut suddenly, through his absorption, danger prickled the short hairs\nof his neck. A lithe, sinuous shadow close ahead was wavering, and\nlarge, placid brown eyes were staring at him. A sealman! He was\ndiscovered! And instinctively, immediately, Ken Torrence brought the\ntorpoon's accelerator down flat.\nThe shell jumped ahead with whirling propeller. The creature that had\nseen him doubled around and sped in retreat. In brief snatches, as the\ntorpoon streaked across the hundred-foot gap to the empty port-lock,\nKen glimpsed his discoverer gathering a group of its fellows, and saw\nbrown-skinned bodies swarm after him with nooses of seaweed-rope--and\nthen the great transparent side wall of the _Peary_ was before him,\nand the port-locks dark opening. Ken threw his motor into reverse,\nslid the torpoon slightly to one side, and there was a jerk, a jar,\nand a sensation of something moving behind.\nHe turned to see the port-lock's outer door closing, activated by\ncontrols inside the submarine--and just in time to shut out the first\nof his pursuers. Then the port-lock's pumps were draining the water\nfrom the chamber, and the inner door clicked and opened.\nKenneth Torrance climbed stiffly from the torpoon to enter the\ninterior of the long-lost and besieged exploring submarine _Peary._\nCHAPTER IV\n\"_No Chance Left_\"\nHis entrance was an unpleasant experience. He had forgotten the\ncondition of the air inside the submarine, and what its effect on him,\ncoming straight from comparatively good and fresh air, would be, until\nhe was seized by a sudden choking grip around his throat. He reeled\nand gasped, and was for a minute nauseated. Lights flashed around him,\nand teetering backward he leaned weakly, against some metal object\nuntil gradually his head cleared; but his lungs remained tortured, and\nhis breathing a thing of quick, agonised gulps.\nThen came sounds. Figures appeared before him.\n\"From where--\" \"Who are you?\"\n\"What--what--what--\" \"How did you?\"\nThe half-coherent questions were couched in whispers. The men around\nhim were blear-eyed and haggard-faced, their skins dry and bluish, and\nnot a one was clad in more than undershirt and trousers. Alive and\nbreathing, they were--but breathing grotesquely, horribly. They made\nawful noises at it; they panted, in quick, shallow sucks. Some lay on\nthe deck at his feet, outstretched without energy enough to attempt to\nrise.\nBeautiful and slumber-like the submarine had appeared from outside,\nbut inside that effect was lost. There were the usual appurtenances: a\nmaze of pipes, wheels, machinery, all silent now, and cold; here were\nthe two port-locks for torpoons; the emergency steering controls; the\nsmall staterooms of the _Peary's_ officers. Looking forward, still\nstriving for complete clear-headedness and normality, Ken could see\nthe two intact forward compartments, silent and apparently lifeless,\nwith dim lamps burning. They ended with the watertight bulkhead which\nstood between them and the flooded bow compartment.\nKen at last found words, but even his short query cost a sickening\neffort.\n\"Where's--the commander?\" he asked.\n  *  *  *  *  *\nA man turned from where he had been leaning against a nearby wheel\ncontrol. He was stripped to the waist. His tall body was stooped, and\nthe skin of his ruggedly cut face drawn and parchment-like. His face\nhad once been dignified and authoritative, but now it was that of a\nman who nears death after a long, bitter fight for life. The smile\nwhich he gave to Ken was painful--a mockery.\n\"I am,\" he said faintly. \"Sallorsen. Just wait, please. A minute. I\nworked port-lock. Breath's gone....\"\nHe sucked shallowly for air and let his smile go. And standing there,\nbeside him, gazing at the worn frame, Ken felt strength come back. He\nhad just entered; this man and the others had been here for weeks!\n\"I'm Sallorsen,\" the captain went on at last. All his words were\nclipped off, to cost minimum effort. \"Glad you got through. Afraid\nyou're come to prison, though.\"\n\"No!\" Ken said emphatically. He spoke to the captain, but what he said\nwas also for all the others grouped around him. \"No, Captain! I'm\nKenneth Torrance. Once torpooner with Alaska Whaling Company. They\nthought me crazy--crazy--'cause I told about sealmen. Put me in\nsanitarium. I knew they had you--when--heard you were missing.\" He\npointed at the brown-skinned creatures that clustered close around the\nsubmarine outside her transparent walls. \"I got free and came. Just in\ntime.\"\n\"In time? For what?\"\nAnother voice gasped out the question. Ken turned to a\nbroad-shouldered man with a ragged growth of beard that had been a\ntrim Van Dyke; and before the torpooner could answer, Sallorsen said:\n\"Dr. Lawson. One of our scientists. In time for what?\"\n\"To get you and the submarine free,\" said Ken.\n\"How?\"\n  *  *  *  *  *\nKen paused before replying. He gazed around--out the side walls of\nglistening quarsteel into the sea gloom, into the thick of the smooth,\nlithe, brown-skinned shapes that now and again poised pressing against\nthe submarine, peering in with their liquid seal's eyes. Dimly he\ncould see the taut seaweed ropes stretching down from the top of the\n_Peary_ to the sea-bottom. It looked hopeless, and to these men inside\nit was hopeless. He knew he must speak in confident, assured tones to\ndrive away the uncaring lethargy holding them all, and he framed\ndefinite, concise words with which to do it.\n\"These creatures have caught you,\" he began, \"and you think they want\nto kill you. But look at them. They seem to be seals. They're not.\nThey're men! Not men like us--half-men--sealmen, rather--changed into\npresent form by ages of living in the water. I know. I was captured by\nthem once. They're not senseless brutes; they have a streak of man's\nintelligence. We must communicate with that intelligence. Must reason\nwith them. I did once. I can do it again.\n\"They're not really hostile. They're naturally peaceful; friendly. But\nmy friend--dead now--killed one of them. Naturally they now think all\ncreatures like us enemies. That's why they trapped your sub.\n\"They think you're enemies; think you want to kill them. But I'll tell\nthem--through pictures, as I did once before--that you mean them no\nharm. I'll tell them you're dying and must have air--just as they\nmust. I'll tell them to release submarine and we'll go away and not\ndisturb them again. Above all I must get across that you wish them no\nharm. They'll listen to what my pictures will say--and let us\ngo--'cause at heart they're friendly!\"\n  *  *  *  *  *\nHe paused--and with a ghastly, twisted smile, Captain Sallorsen\nwhispered:\n\"The hell you say!\"\nHis sardonic comment brought a sudden chill to Kenneth Torrance. He\nfeared one thing that would render his whole value useless. He asked\nquickly:\n\"What have you done?\"\n\"Those seals,\" Sallorsen's labored voice continued \"--they've killed\neight of us. Now they're killing all.\"\n\"But have you killed any of them?\" Breathless, Ken waited for the\nanswer be feared.\n\"Yes. Two.\"\nThe men were all staring at Ken, so he had to hide the awful dejection\nwhich clamped his heart. He only said:\n\"That's what I feared. It changes everything. No use trying to reason\nwith them now.\" He fell silent. \"Well,\" he said at last, trying to\nappear more cheerful, \"tell me what happened. Maybe there's something\nyou've overlooked.\"\n\"Yes,\" Sallorsen whispered. He started to come forward to the\ntorpooner, but stumbled and would have fallen had not Ken caught him\nin time. He put one of the captain's arms around his shoulder, and one\nof his own around the man's waist.\n\"Thanks,\" Sallorsen said wryly. \"Walk forward. Show you what\nhappened.\"\n  *  *  *  *  *\nThere were men in the second compartment, and they still fought to\nlive. From the narrow seamen's berths that lined the walls came the\nsound of breathing even more torturous than that of the men in the\nrear. In the single bulb's dim light Ken could see their shapes\nstretched motionlessly out, panting and panting. Occasionally hands\nreached up to claw at straining necks, as if to try and rid throats of\nstrangling grasps. Two figures had won free from the long struggle.\nThey lay silent and still, the outline of their dead bodies showing\nthrough the sheets pulled over them.\nSlowly Sallorsen led Ken through this compartment and into the next,\nwhich was bare of men. Here were the ship's main controls--her helm,\nher central multitude of dials, levers and wheels, her televisiscreen\nand old-fashioned emergency periscope. A metal labyrinth it was, all\nlong silent and inactive. Again the weird contrast struck Ken, for\noutside he could still see the scene of vigorous, curious life that\nthe sealmen constituted. Close they came to the submarine's sheer\nwalls of quarsteel, peering in stolidly, then flashing away with an\neffortless thrust of flippers, sometimes for air from some break in\nthe surface ice.\nLike men, the sealmen needed air to live, and got it fresh and clean\nfrom the world above. Inside, real men were gasping, fighting,\nhopelessly, yielding slowly to the invisible death that lay in the\npoisonous stuff they had to breathe....\nKen felt Sallorsen nudge him. They had come to the forward end of the\ncontrol compartment, and could go no farther. Before them was the\nwatertight door, in which was set a large pane of quarsteel. The\ncaptain wanted him to look through.\nKen did so, knowing what to expect; but even so he was surprised by\nthe strangeness of the scene. In among the manifold devices of the\nfront compartment, its wheels and pipes and levers, glided slowly the\nsleek, blubbery shapes of half a dozen sealmen. Back and forth they\nswam, inspecting everything curiously, unhurried and unafraid; and as\nKen stared one of them came right up to the other side of the closed\nwatertight door, pressed close to the pane and regarded him with large\nplacid eyes.\nOther sealmen entered through a jagged rip in the plates on the\nstarboard side of the bow. At this Sallorsen began to speak again in\nthe short, clipped sentences, punctuated by quick gasps for air.\n  *  *  *  *  *\n\"Crashed, bow-on,\" he said. \"Underwater ice. Outer and inner plates\ncrumpled like paper. Lost trim and hit bottom. Got this door closed,\nbut lost four men in bow compartment. Drowned. No chance. Sparks among\n'em, at his radio. That's why we couldn't radio for help.\" He paused,\ngasping shallowly.\n\"Could've got away if we'd left immediately. One flooded compartment\nnot enough to hold this ship down. But I didn't know. I sent two men\nout in sea-suits--inspect damage. Those devils got them.\n\"The seal-things came in a swarm. God! Fast! We didn't realize. They\nhad ropes, and in seconds they'd lashed us down to the sea-floor.\nLashed us fast!\" Again he paused and sucked for the poisoned air, and\nKen Torrance did not try to hurry him, but stood silent, looking\nforward to the squashed bow, and out the sides to where he could see\nthe taut black lines of the seaweed-ropes.\n\"The two men put up fight. Had crowbars. Useless--but they killed one\nof the devils. That did it. They were torn apart in front of us.\nRipped. Mangled. By spears the things carry. Dead like that.\"\n\"Yes,\" murmured Ken, \"that would do it....\"\n\"I quick tried to get away,\" gasped Sallorsen. \"Full-speed--back and\nforth. No good. Ropes held. Couldn't break. All our power couldn't! So\nthen--then I acted foolishly. Damn foolish. But we were all a little\ncrazy. A nightmare, you know. Couldn't believe our eyes--those seals\noutside, mocking us. So I called for volunteers. Four men. Put 'em in\nsea-suits, gave 'em shears and grappling prongs. They went out.\n\"They went out laughing--saying they'd soon have us free! Oh, God!\" It\nseemed he could not go on, but he forced the words out deliberately.\n\"Killed without a chance! Ripped apart like the others! No chance!\nSuicide!\"\nKen felt the agony in the man, and was silent for a while before\nquietly asking:\n\"Did they kill any more of the sealmen?\"\n\"One. Just one. That made two of them--six of us. What the hell are\nthe rest of them waiting for?\" Sallorsen cried. \"They killed eight in\nall! To our two! That's enough for them, isn't it?\"\n\"I'm afraid not,\" said Ken Torrance. \"Well, what then?\"\n\"Sat down and thought. Carefully. Hit on a plan. Took one of our two\ntorpoons. Lashed on it steel plates, ground to sharp cutting edges.\nSpent days at it. Thought torpoon could go out and cut the ropes.\nHaines volunteered and we shot him and torpoon out.\"\n\"They got the torpoon?\" Ken asked.\nSallorsen's arm raised in a pointing gesture. \"Look.\"\n  *  *  *  *  *\nSome fifty feet away from the _Peary_, on the side opposite to the one\nKen Torrance had approached, a dimly discernible object lay in the\nmud. In miniature, it resembled the submarine: a cigar-shaped steel\nshell, held down to the sea-bottom by ropes bound over it. Cutting\nedges of steel had been fastened along its length.\n\"I see,\" said Ken slowly. \"And its pilot?\"\n\"Stayed in the torpoon thirty-six hours. Then went crazy. Put on\nsea-suit and tried to get back here. Whisk--they got him. Killed and\nmangled while we watched!\"\n\"But didn't his torpoon have a nitro-shell gun? Couldn't he have\nfought them off for a time?\"\n\"Exploring submarine, this! No guns in torpoons like whalers. Gun\nwouldn't help, anyway. These devils too fast. No use. No hope\nanywhere....\" Sallorsen sank back against the bulkhead, his lips\nmoving but no sound coming forth. Dully he stared ahead, through the\nsubmarine, for a moment before uttering a cackling mockery of a laugh\nand going on.\n\"Even after that, still hoped! Blew every tank on ship; blew out most of\nher oil. Threw out everything not vital. Lightened her as much as could.\nMachinery--detachable metal--fixtures--baggage--instruments--knives,\nplates, cups--everything! She rose a couple of feet--no more! Put motors\nat full speed--back and forth--again, again, again. Buoyancy--power--no\ngood. No damn good!\n\"And then we tried the last chance. Explosives. Had quite a store,\nNitromite, packed in cases; time-fuses to set it off. Had it for\nblasting ice. I sent up a charge and blew hole in the ice overhead,\nfor our other torpoon.\n\"Nothing else left. Knew planes must be nearby, searching. Last\ntorpoon was to shoot up to the hole--pilot to climb on ice and stay\nthere to signal a plane.\"\n\"Did he get there?\"\n\"Hell no!\" Sallorsen cackled again. \"It was roped like the other.\nPilot tried to get back, but they got him like first. There's the\ntorpoon--out ahead.\"\nKen could just make it out. It lay ahead, slightly to port, lashed\ndown like its fellow by seaweed-ropes. His eyes were held by it, even\nwhen Sallorsen continued, in an almost hysterical voice:\n\"Since then--since then--you know. Week after week. Air getting worse.\nRectifiers running down. No night, no day. Just the lights, and those\ndamned devils outside. Wore sea-suits for a while; used twenty-nine of\ntheir thirty hours air-units. Old Professor Halloway died, and another\nman. Couldn't do anything for 'em. Just sit and watch. Head aching,\nthroat choking--God!...\n\"Some of the men went mad. Tried to break out. Had to show gun. Quick\ndeath outside. Here, slow death, but always the chance that--Chance,\nhell! There's no chance left! Just this poison that used to be air,\nand those things outside, watching, watching, waiting--waiting for us\nto leave--waiting to get us all! Waiting....\"\n\"Something's up!\" said Ken Torrance suddenly. \"They've got tired of\nwaiting!\"\nCHAPTER V\n_The Last Assault_\nSallorsen turned his head and followed the torpooner's intent, amazed\ngaze.\nKen said:\n\"There's proof of their intelligence! I've been watching--didn't\nrealize at first. Look, here it comes!\"\nSeveral sealmen, while Sallorsen had been talking, had come dropping\ndown from the main mass of the horde, and had grouped around the\nabandoned torpoon which lay some feet ahead of the submarine's bow.\nExpertly they had loosened the seaweed-ropes which bound it to the\nsea-floor, then slid back, watching alertly, as if expecting the\ntorpoon to speed away of its own accord. Its batteries, of course, had\nworn out weeks before, so the steel shell did net budge. The sealmen\ncame down close to it again, and lifted it.\nThey lifted it easily with their prehensile flipper-arms, and with\nmaneuvering of delicate sureness guided it through the gash in the\n_Peary's_ bow. Inside, they hesitated with it, midway between deck and\nceiling of the flooded compartment. They poised for perhaps a full\nminute, judging the distance, while the two men stared; and then\nquickly their powerful tail flippers lashed out and the torpoon jumped\nahead. It sped straight through the water, to crash its tough nose of\nsteel squarely into the quarsteel pane of the watertight door, then\nrebounded, and fell to the deck.\n\"My God!\" gasped Sallorsen. But Ken wasted no words then. He pressed\ncloser to the quarsteel and examined it minutely. The substance showed\nno visible effect, but the action of the sealmen destroyed whatever\nhope he had felt.\nThe sealmen had swerved aside at the last minute; and now, picking up\nthe torpoon again and guiding it back to the other end of the\ncompartment, they hurled it once more with a resounding crash into the\nquarsteel pane.\n\"How long will it last under that?\" Ken asked tersely.\nObviously, Sallorsen's wits were muddled at this turn. He remained\ngaping at the creatures and at the torpoon, now turned against its\nmother submarine. Ken repeated the question.\n\"How long? Who knows? It's as strong as steel, but--there's the\npressure--and those blows hit one spot. Not--long.\"\n  *  *  *  *  *\nCapping his words, there re-echoed again the loud crash of the\ntorpoon's on the quarsteel. The sealmen were working in quick routine\nnow; back and quickly forward, and then the crash and the\nreverberation; and again and again....\nThe ominous crash and ringing echoes regularly repeated, seemed to\ndisorganise Ken's mind as he looked vainly for something with which to\nbrace the door. Nothing unattached was left--nothing! He ran and\nexamined the quarsteel pane again, and this time his brain heated in\nalarm. A thin line had shot through the quarsteel--the beginning of a\ncrack.\n\"Back!\" Ken shouted to the still staring Sallorsen. \"Back to the third\ncompartment. This door's going!\"\n\"Yes,\" Sallorsen mumbled. \"It'll go. So will the others. They'll smash\nthem all. And when this is flooded--no hope of running the submarine\nagain. Controls in here.\"\n\"That's too damned bad!\" Ken said roughly. \"Are there any sea-suits,\nfood, supplies in here?\"\n\"Only food. In those lockers.\"\n\"I'll take it. Get into that third compartment--hear me?\" ordered\nKenneth Torrance. \"And have its door ready to close!\"\nHe shoved Sallorsen away, opened the indicated lockers and piled his\narms with the tins revealed. He had time for no more than one load. He\njumped back into the third compartment of the _Peary_ just as a\nsplintering crash sounded from behind. The door between was swung\nclosed and locked just as the one being battered crashed inward.\nTurning, Ken saw that the torpoon had cracked through the weakened\nquarsteel and tumbled in a mad cascade of water to the deck of the\nabandoned second compartment. In dread silence, he, with Sallorsen and\nthose of the men who had strength and curiosity enough to come\nforward, watched the compartment rapidly fill--watched until they saw\nthe water pressed high against the door. And then horror swept over\nKen Torrance.\n  *  *  *  *  *\nWater! There was a trickle of water down the quarsteel he was leaning\nagainst! A fault along the hinge of the door--either its construction,\nor because it had not been closed properly.\nKen pointed it out to the captain.\n\"Look!\" he said. \"A leak already--just from the pressure! This door\nwon't last more than a couple of minutes when they start on it--\"\nSallorsen stared stupidly. As for the rest; Ken might not have spoken.\nThey were as if in a trance, watching dumbly, with lungs automatically\ngasping for air.\nOne of the seal-creatures eeled through the shattered quarsteel of the\nfirst door and swam slowly around the newly flooded compartment. At\nonce it was joined by five other lithe, sleek shapes which, with\nplacid, liquid eyes, inspected the compartment minutely. They came in\na group right up to the next door that barred their way and, with no\nvisible emotion, stared through the quarsteel pane at the humans who\nstared at them. And then they gracefully turned and slid to the\nbattered torpoon.\n\"Back!\" Ken shouted, \"You men!\" He shook them, shoved them roughly\nback toward the fourth, and last, compartment. Weakly, like automatons\nthey shuffled into it. The torpooner said bruskly to Sallorsen:\n\"Carry those tins of food back. Hurry! Is there anything stored in\nhere we'll need? Sallorsen! Captain! Is there anything--\"\nThe captain looked at him dully; then, understanding, a cackle came\nfrom his throat. \"Don't need anything. This is the end. Last\ncompartment. Finish!\"\n\"Snap out of it!\" Ken cried. \"Come on, Sallorsen--there's a chance\nyet. Is there anything we'll need in here?\"\n\"Sea-suits--in those lockers.\"\nKen Torrance swung around and rapidly opened the lockers. Pulling out\nthe bulky suits, he cried:\n\"You carry that food back. Then come and help me.\"\n  *  *  *  *  *\nBut of the corner of his eye, as he worked, he could see the ominous\npreparations beyond in the flooded compartment--the sealmen raising\nthe torpoon, guiding it back to the far end; leveling it out. Ken was\nsure the door could not stand more than two or three blows at the\nmost. Two or three minutes, that meant--but all the sea-suits had to\ngo back into the fourth compartment!\nHe was in torment as he worked. For him, the conditions were just as\nbad as for the men who had lived below in the submarine for a month;\nthe poisonous, foul air racked him just as much; what breath he got he\nfought for just as painfully. But in his body was a greater store of\nstrength, and fresher muscles; and he taxed his body to its very\nlimit.\nPanting, his head seeming on the point of splitting, Ken Torrance\nstumbled through into the last compartment laden with a pile of\nsea-suits. He dropped them clattering in a pile around his feet and\nforced himself back again. Another trip; and another....\nIt would never have been done had not Sallorsen and Lawson, the\nscientist, come to his aid. The help they offered was meager, and\nslow, but it sufficed. Laden for the fifth time, Ken heard what he had\nbeen anticipating for every second of the all too short, agonizing\nminutes: a sharp, grinding crack, and the following reverberation. He\nsnatched a glance around to see the torpoon falling to the deck of the\nsecond compartment--the sealmen lifting it swiftly again--and a thin\nbut definite sliver in the quarsteel of the door.\nBut the last suit was gotten into the fourth compartment, and the\nconnecting door closed and carefully locked and bolted. The removal of\nthe suits, had been achieved--but what now?\nPanting, completely exhausted, Ken forced his brain to the question.\nFrom every side he attacked the problem, but nowhere could he find the\nloophole he sought. Everything, it seemed, had been tried, and had\nfailed, during the _Peary's_ long captivity. There was nothing left.\nTrue, he had his torpoon, and its nitro-shell gun with a clip of\nnineteen shells; but what use were shells? Even if each one accounted\nfor one of the sealmen, there would still remain a swarm.\nAnd the sea-suits. He had struggled for them and had saved them, but\nwhat use could he put them to? Go out leading a desperate final sally\nfor the hole in the ice above? Death in minutes!\nNo hope. Nothing. Not even a fighting chance. These seal-creatures,\nstrange seed of the Arctic ice, had trapped the _Peary_ all too well.\nOn the roll of mysteriously missing ships would her name go down; and\nhe, Ken Torrance, would be considered a lunatic who had sought\nsuicide, and found it....\n  *  *  *  *  *\nOf the twenty-one survivors of the _Peary's_ officers and crew, only a\ndozen had the will to watch the inexorable advance of the sealmen. The\nrest lay in various attitudes on the deck of the rear compartment,\nshowing no sign of life save torturous, shallow pantings for air and,\noccasionally, spasmodic clutchings at their throats and chests, as\nthey tried to fight off the deadly, invisible foe that was slowly\nstrangling them.\nKen Torrance, Sallorsen, the scientist, Lawson, and a few others were\npressed together at the last watertight door, peering through the\nquarsteel at the sea-creatures' systematic assault on the door leading\ninto the third compartment. A straight, hard smash at it; another\nfinal splintering smash--and again the torpoon pushed through in the\nvan of a cascade of icy, greenish water, which quickly claimed the\ncontrol compartment for the attackers behind. The creatures were\ngrowing bolder. More and more of them had entered the submarine, and\nsoon each open compartment was filled from deck to ceiling with the\nslowly turning, graceful brown bodies, inspecting minutely the\ncountless wheels and levers and gauges, and inspecting also, in\nturns, the pale, worn faces that stared with dull eyes at them\nthrough the sole remaining door.\nThere was no further retreat, now. Behind was only water and the swarm\nthat passed to and fro through it. Water and sealmen--ahead, above, to\nthe sides, behind--everywhere. Cooped in their transparent cell, the\ncrew of the submarine _Peary_ waited the end.\n  *  *  *  *  *\nOnce more, as well as he could with his throbbing head and heavy,\nchoking body, Kenneth Torrance tracked over the old road that had\nbrought him nowhere, but was the only road open. Carefully he took\nstock of everything he had that he might possibly fight with.\nThere were sea-suits for the men, and in each suit an hour's supply of\nartificial but invigorating air. Two port-locks, one on each side of\nthe stern compartment. A torpoon, with a gun and nineteen shells.\nNothing else? There seemed to be, in his mind, a vague memory of\nsomething else ... something that might possibly be of use ...\nsomething.... But he could not remember. Again and again the agony of\nslow strangulation he was going through drove everything but the\nconsciousness of pain from his shirking mind. But there was something\nelse--and perhaps it was the key. Perhaps if he could only remember\nit--whatever it was--whether a tangible thing or merely a passing idea\nof hours ago--the way out would be suddenly revealed.\nBut he could not remember. He had the sea-suits, the port-locks and\nthe torpoon: what possible pattern could he weave them into to bring\ndeliverance?\nNo, there was nothing. Not even a girder that could be unfastened in\ntime to brace the last door. No way of prolonging this last stand!\nBeside Ken, the strained, panting voice of Lawson whispered:\n\"Getting ready. Over soon now. All over.\"\nAll save five of the sealmen had left the third compartment, to join\nthe swarm constantly swimming around and over the submarine outside.\nThe five remaining were the crew for the battering ram. With measured\nand deliberate movements they ranged their lithe bodies beside the\ntorpoon, lifted it and bore it smoothly back to the far end of the\ncompartment. There they poised for a minute, while from the men\nwatching sounded a pathetic sigh of anticipation.\nAs one, the five seal-creatures lunged forward with their burden.\n_Crash!_ And the following dull reverberation.\nThe last assault had begun.\nCHAPTER VI\n_In a Biscuit Can_\nKen Torrance glanced with dull, hopeless eyes over the compartment he\nstood in. Figures stretched out all over the deck, gasping, panting,\nstrangling--men waiting in agony for death. His head sank down, and he\nwiped wet hands across his aching forehead. Nothing to do but\nwait--wait for the end--wait as the patient horde outside had been\nwaiting in the sea-gloom for their moment of triumph, when the soft\nbodies inside the _Peary_ would be theirs to rip and mangle....\nA dragging sound brought Ken's eyes wearily up and to the side. One of\nthe crew who had been lying on the deck was dragging his body\npainfully toward a row of lockers at one side of the compartment. The\nman's eyes were feverishly intent on the lockers.\nKen watched his progress dully, without thinking, as inch by inch he\nforced himself through the other bodies sprawled in his way. He saw\nhim reach the lockers, and for a minute, gasping, lie there. He saw a\nclawing arm stretch almost up to the catch on one locker, while the\nman whimpered like a child at his lack of quick success.\n_Crash!_ The grinding blow of the torpoon hitting the quarsteel\nclanged out from behind. But Ken's mind was all on the reaching man's\nstrange actions. He saw the fingers at last succeed in touching the\ncatch. The door of the locker opened outward, and eagerly the man\nreached inside and pulled. With a thump, a row of heavy objects strung\ntogether rolled out onto the deck--and Ken Torrance sprang suddenly to\nthe man's side:\n\"What are you doing?\" he cried.\nThe man looked up sullenly. He mumbled:\n\"Damn fish--won't get me. I'll blow us all to hell, first!\"\nAt that the connection struck Ken.\n\"Then that's nitromite!\" he shouted. \"That's the idea--the nitromite!\"\nAnd stooping down, he wrenched the rope of small black boxes which\ncontained the explosive from the man who had worked so painfully to\nget them.\n\"I'll do the blowing, boy!\" he said. \"Don't worry; I'll do it\ncomplete!\"\n  *  *  *  *  *\nKen, holding the rope of explosives, crossed the deck and pulled\nSallorsen and Lawson around. Their worn faces, with lifeless,\nbloodshot eyes, met his own strong features, and he said forcefully:\n\"Now listen! I need your help. I've found our one last chance for\nlife. We three are the strongest, and we've got to work like hell.\nUnderstand?\"\nHis enthusiasm and the vigor of his words roused them.\n\"Yes,\" said Lawson. \"What--we do?\"\n\"You say there's an hour's air left in the sea-suits?\" Torrance asked\nthe captain.\n\"Yes. An hour.\"\n\"Then get the men into the suits,\" the torpooner ordered. \"Help the\nweaker ones; slap them till they obey you!\" There came the ugly,\ndeafening crash of the hurled torpoon into the compartment door. Ken\nfinished grimly: \"And for God's sake, hurry! I'll explain later.\"\nSallorsen and Lawson unquestioningly obeyed. Ken had reached the\nspirit in them, the strength not physical, that had all but been\ndriven out by the long, hopeless weeks and the poisonous stuff that\npassed for air, and it had risen and was responding. Sallorsen's\nvoice, for the first time in days, had his old stern tone of command\nin it as, calling on everything within him, he shouted:\n\"Men, there's still a chance! Everyone into sea-suits! Quick!\"\nA few of the blue-skinned figures lying panting on the deck looked up.\nFewer moved. They did not at once understand. Only four or five\ndragged themselves with pathetic eagerness towards the pile of\nsea-suits and the little store of fresh air that remained in them.\nSallorsen repeated his command.\n\"Hurry! Men--you, Hartley and Robson and Carroll--your suits on!\nThere's air in them! _Put 'em on!_\"\n  *  *  *  *  *\nAnd then Lawson was among them, shaking the hopeless, dying forms,\nrousing them to the chance for life. Several more crawled to obey. By\nthe time the next crash of the torpoon came, eleven out of the\ntwenty-one survivors were working with clumsy, eager fingers at their\nsea-suits, pushing feet and legs in, drawing the tough fabric up over\ntheir bodies, sliding their arms in, and struggling with quick panting\nbreaths to raise the heavy helmets and fasten them into place.\nThen--air!\nAgain the ear-shattering crash. The scientist and the captain drove at\nthe rest of the crew. They stumbled, those two fighting men, and twice\nLawson went down in a heap as his legs gave under him; but he got up\nagain, and they began dragging the suits to the men who had not even\nthe strength to rise, shoving inert limbs into place, switching on the\nair-units inside the helmets and, gasping themselves, fastening the\nhelmets down. Theirs was a conflict as cruel, as hard and brutal as\nmen smashing at each other with fists, and they then proved their\nright to the shining roll of honor, wherever and whatever that roll\nmay be. They fought on past pain, past sickness, past poisoning, that\nman of action and men of the laboratory.\nAnd outside that foul transparent pit the tempo quickened also. The\nsledging blows at the last door came quicker. All around the captive\n_Peary_ the sleek brown bodies stirred uneasily. For weeks there had\nbeen but little activity inside the submarine; now, all at once, three\nof the figures that were men whipped the others into action, rousing\nthose lying dying on the deck--working, working. Observing this, the\nlithe seal bodies moved with new nervous, restless strokes, to and\nfro, never pausing--passing up and down in a milling stream the length\nof the craft, clustering closest outside the walls of the fourth\ncompartment, where they pressed as close as they could, their wide\nbrown eyes already on the haggard forms that worked inside, their\nsmooth bodies patterned by the constantly shifting shadows of their\nfellows above and behind.\nSo they watched and waited, while in the third compartment the\nbattered torpoon was slung at the last door, and drawn back, and slung\nagain--waited for the final moment, the crisis of their month-long\nsiege beneath the floes of the silent Arctic sea!\n  *  *  *  *  *\nKenneth Torrance worked by himself.\nHe saw that Sallorsen and Lawson had answered his call; man after man\nwas clad in his suit and sucking in the incomparably fresher, though\nartificial, air of the units. As he had hoped, that air was\nrevitalizing the worn-out bodies rapidly, giving them new strength and\nclearing their brains. His plan required that--strength for the men to\nmove and act for themselves--sane heads!\nThe plan was basically simple. Bringing his best concentration to the\nall-important details, Ken started to build the road to the world\nabove.\nFirst he opened the inner door of the starboard port-lock, wherein lay\nhis torpoon. Opening the entrance panel of the steel shell, he quickly\ntransferred within the cans of compressed food retrieved from the\nsecond compartment. When he had finished, there was left barely room\nfor the pilot's body.\nAnd then the nitromite.\nThe explosive was carried by the _Peary_ for the blasting of such ice\nfloes as might trap her. It was contained for chemical stability in a\nhalf dozen six-inch-square, water-proof boxes, strung one after\nanother on an interconnecting wired rope. Ken would need them all; he\nwished he had five times as many. It would not matter if the whole of\nthe _Peary_ were shattered to slivers.\nKen tied the rope of boxes into a strong unit, as small as it could be\nmade. Firing and timing mechanisms were contained in each unit: he\nwould only have to set one of them. He wrapped the whole charge,\nexcept for one small corner, in several pieces of the men's discarded\nclothing--monkey jackets, thick sweaters, a dirty towel--and stuffed\nit in an empty tin container for sea-biscuits.\n  *  *  *  *  *\nAll this had taken only minutes. But in those minutes the quarsteel of\nthe watertight door had been subjected to half a dozen smashing blows,\nand already a flaw had appeared in the pane. Another grinding crunch,\nand there would be the visible beginning of a crack. Three more,\nperhaps, and the door would be down.\nBut the plan was laid, the counter move ready; and, as Sallorsen and\nLawson, last of them all, got into suits, Ken Torrance, in short,\ngasping sentences, explained it.\n\"All the nitromite's in this,\" Ken said. \"I hope it's enough. In a\nmoment I'll set the timing to explode it in one minute--then eject it\nfrom the empty torpoon port-lock. It's a gamble, but I think the\nexplosion should kill every damned seal around the sub. Water carries\nsuch shocks for miles, so it should stun, if not kill, all the others\nwithin a long radius. See? We're inside sub, largely protected. When\nthe stuff explodes, you and men make for the hole you blew in the ice\nabove.\"\nAnother crash sent echoes resounding through the remaining\ncompartment. All around the three were suit-clad figures, grotesque\nclumsy giants, all feeling new strength as they gulped with leathern\nthroats and lungs at the artificial air which was giving them a\nrespite, however brief, from the death they had been sinking into. In\nthe third compartment of the _Peary_, five seal-like creatures with\nswift and beautiful movements picked up their torpoon battering ram\nagain; while all around the outside of the _Peary_ their hundreds of\nwatching fellows pressed in closely.\n  *  *  *  *  *\n\"Yes!\" cried Lawson, the scientist. \"But the explosion--it might\nshatter the ship!\"\n\"No matter; I expect it to!\" answered Ken. \"Then you can leave through\na crack instead of a port-lock.\"\n\"Yes--but you!\" objected the captain. \"Get on a suit!\"\n\"No; I'm jumping into my torpoon in the other port-lock. I've got the\nfood in it. Now, Sallorsen, this is your job. I'll be in my torpoon,\nbut I won't be able to let myself out the port. You open it, right\nafter the explosion. Understand?\"\n\"Yes,\" replied Sallorsen, and Lawson nodded.\n\"All right,\" gasped Ken Torrance. \"Empty the chamber.\" As the captain\ndid so, Ken opened the lid of the biscuit can and adjusted the timing\ndevice on the exposed unit in the clothing-wrapped bundle. Then he\nreplaced it, ticking, in the can and thrust the can bodily into the\nemptied chamber of the port-lock. He closed the inner door of the\nchamber, and said to the men by him:\n\"Close your face-plates!\"\nAnd Ken pushed the release button: and then he was running to the\nother port-lock and to his torpoon, and harnessing himself in.\nHis brain teemed with the possibilities of the situation as he lay\nstretched out in the torpoon, waiting. How much would the submarine be\nsmashed? Would the charge of nitromite, besides killing the sealmen,\nkill everyone inside the _Peary_? For that matter, would it affect the\nsealmen at all? How much could the creatures stand? And would the\nfiring mechanism work? And then would he himself be able to get out;\nor would the lock in which the torpoon lay be damaged by the explosion\nand trap him there?\nSeconds, only seconds, to wait, small fractions of time--but they were\nmore important than the days and the weeks that the _Peary_ had lain,\na lashed-down captive, under the Arctic ice; for in these seconds was\nto be given fate's final answer to the prayer and courage of them all.\nTime for Ken expanded. Surely the charge should have gone off long\nbefore this! The pulse beat so loudly in his brain that he could hear\nnothing else. He counted: \"... nine, ten, eleven--\" Had the fuse\nfailed? Surely by now--\"... twelve, thirteen, fourteen--\"\nOn that the submarine _Peary_ leaped. Ken Torrance, himself inside the\ntorpoon, felt a sharp roll of thunder made tangible, and then complete\ndarkness took him....\nCHAPTER VII\n_The Awakening_\nHe had no idea of how long he had been unconscious when, his full\nsenses returning, he eagerly peered ahead through the torpoon's\nvision-plate. For some seconds he could see nothing; but he knew, at\nleast, that the torpoon had survived the shock, for he was dry and\nsnug in his harness. And then his eyes became accustomed to the\ndarkness, and he saw that he was outside the submarine. Sallorsen had\nfollowed his orders; had opened the port-lock! The undersea reaches\nlay ahead of him, and the way was clear.\nKen stared into a gray, silent sea, no longer shadowed with moving\nbrown-skinned bodies. He tried his motors. Their friendly, rhythmic\nhum answered him, and carefully he slipped into gear and crept up off\nthe sea-floor. He did not dare use his lights.\nThe _Peary_ was a great, blurred shadow, a dead thing without glow or\nmovement, with no figures of sealmen around her. As Ken's eyes gained\ngreater vision, he was able to make out a wide, long rent running\nclear across the top of the fourth compartment of the submarine. The\nexplosion had done that to her, but what had it done to her crew? What\nhad it done to the sealmen?\nHe saw the sealmen first. Some were quite close, but in the murk he\nhad missed them. Silent specters, they were apparently lifeless,\nstrewn all around at different levels, and most of them floating\nslowly up toward the dim ice ceiling.\nBut up under the ice was movement! Living figures were there! And at\nthe sight Kenneth Torrance's lips spread in their first real grin for\ndays. The plan had worked! The sealmen had been destroyed, and already\nsome of the _Peary's_ men were up there and fumbling clumsily across\nthe hundred feet which separated them from the hole in the ice that\nwas the last step to the world above.\n  *  *  *  *  *\nA ghostly gray haze of light filtered downward through the water from\nthe hole. Ken counted twelve figures making their way to it. As he\nwondered about the rest of the crew, he saw three bulging, swaying\nshapes suddenly emerge from the split in the top of the _Peary_, and\nbegin an easy rise toward the ice ceiling ninety feet above. There was\nno apparent danger, and they went up quite slowly, with occasional\nbrief pauses to avoid the risk of the bends. Clasped together, the\ngroup of three were, and when they were halfway to the glassy ceiling\nof the ice, three more left the rent in the submarine and followed\nlikewise. Twelve men were at the top; six others were swimming up;\nthree more were yet to leave the submarine--and after they had\nabandoned her, he, Ken, would follow with the torpoon and the food it\ncontained.\nSo he thought, watching from where he lay, down below, and there was\nin him a great weariness after the triumph so bitterly fought for had\nbeen achieved. He rested through minutes of quiet and relaxation,\nwatching what he had brought about; but only minutes--for suddenly\nwithout warning all security was gone.\nFrom out the murky shadows to the left a sleek shape came flashing\nwith great speed, to jerk Ken Torrance's eyes around and to widen them\nwith quick alarm.\nA sealman! A sealman alive, and moving--and vengeful! A sealman which\nthe explosion of nitromite had not reached!\nDoubtless the lone creature was surprised upon seeing all its fellows\nmotionless, drifting like corpses upward, and the men of the _Peary_\nescaping. With graceful, beautiful speed, a liquid streak, it flashed\ninto the scene, eeling up and around and down, trying to understand\nwhat extraordinary thing had happened. But finally it slowed down and\nhovered some thirty feet directly above the dark hull of the _Peary_.\nThe men rising toward the ice had seen the sealman at the same time\nKen Torrance had, and at once increased their efforts, fearing\nimmediate attack. Quickly the two groups shot to the top where the\nother twelve were, and began a desperate fumbling progress over toward\nthe hole that alone gave exit. But the sealman paid no attention to\nthem. It was looking at something below.\nKen saw what it was.\nThe last three men were leaving the _Peary_. Awkward, swaying objects,\nthey rose up directly in front of the hovering creature.\n  *  *  *  *  *\nWith an enraged thrust of flippers, it drove at them. The three\nhumans--Sallorsen, Lawson and one other, Ken knew they must be--were\nclasped together, and the long, lithe, muscular body smote them\nsquarely, sent them whirling and helpless in different directions in\nthe sea-gloom. One of them was driven down by the force of the blow,\nand that one the sealman chose to finish first. It lashed at him, its\nstrong teeth bared to rip the sea-suit, concentrating on him all the\nrage and all the thirst for vengeance it had.\nBut by then, down below, the torpoon's motors were throbbing at full\npower; the thin directional rudders were slanting; the torpoon was\nturning and pointing its nose upward; and Ken Torrance, his face bleak\nas the Arctic ice, was grasping the trigger of the nitro-shell gun.\nHe might perhaps have saved the doomed man had he swept straight up\nthen and fired, but a quick mounting of the odds distracted him for a\nfatal second. Out of the deeper gloom at the left came a swiftly\ngrowing shadow, and Ken, with a sinking in his stomach, knew it for a\nsecond sealman.\nThen another similar shadow brought his eyes to the right.\nTwo more sealmen! Three now--and how many more might come?\nAt once Ken knew what he must do before ever he fired a shell at one\nof the brown-skinned shapes. The man just attacked had to be\nsacrificed in the interests of the rest. The torpoon swerved, thrust\nup toward the ice ceiling under the full force of her motors; and when\nhalfway to it, and her gun-containing bow was pointed at a spot in the\nice only twenty feet in front of the foremost of the men stroking\ndesperately towards the distant exit-hole, Ken pressed the trigger;\nand again, and again and again....\nTwelve shells, quick, on the same path, bit into the ice. Almost\nimmediately came the first explosion. It was swelled by the others.\nThe ice shivered and crumbled in jagged splinters--and then there was\na new column of light reaching down from the world of air and life\ninto the darkness of the undersea. A roughly circular hole gaped in\nthe ice sixty or seventy feet nearer the swimming men than the old\none.\n\"That'll give 'em a chance,\" muttered Kenneth Torrance. He plunged the\ntorpoon around and down. \"And now for a fight!\"\n  *  *  *  *  *\nWithout pause, now, there was, straight ahead, a hard, desperate duel,\na fitting last fight for any torpoon or any man riding one. Each of\nthe seven shells left in the nitro-gun's magazine had to count; and\nthe first of them gave a good example.\nKen turned down in time to see the death of the man first attacked.\nHis suit was ripped clean across, his air of life went up in bubbles,\nand the water came in. The seal-creature lunged at its falling victim\na last time, and as it did so its smooth brown body crossed Ken's\nsights. The torpooner fired, and saw his shell strike home, for the\nbody shuddered, convulsed, and the sealman, internally torn, went\nsinking in a dark cloud after the human it had slain.\nThat sight gave pause to the other two creatures that had arrived, and\ngave Ken Torrance a good second chance. Motor throbbing, the torpoon\nturned like a thing alive. Its snout and gun-sights swerving straight\ntoward the next target. But, when just on the point of pressing the\ntrigger, Ken's torpoon was struck a terrific blow and tumbled over and\nover. The whole external scene blurred to him, and only after a moment\nwas he able to bring the torpoon back to an even keel.\nHe saw what had happened. While he had been sighting on the second\nseal-creature, the third had attacked the torpoon from the rear by\nstriking it with all the strength of its heavy, muscular body. But it\ndid not follow up its attack. For it had crashed in to the whirling\npropeller, and now it was hanging well back, its head horribly gashed\nby the steel blades.\nFor a moment the three combatants hung still, both sealmen staring at\nthe torpoon as if in wonder that it could strike both with its bow and\nstern, and Ken Torrance rapidly glancing over the situation. The\nremaining two of the last group of three men, he saw, had reached the\ntop, and the foremost of the _Peary's_ crew were within several feet\nof the new hole in the ice. In a very short time all would be out and\nsafe. Until then he had to hold off the two sealmen.\nTwo? There were no longer only two, but five--ten--a dozen--and more.\nThe dead were coming to life!\nHere and there in the various levels of drifting, motionless brown\nbodies that he thought the explosion had killed, one was stirring,\nawakening! The explosion had but stunned many or most of them, _and\nnow they were returning to consciousness_!\nCHAPTER VIII\n_The Duel_\nUpon seeing this, all hope for life left Ken. He had only six shells\nleft, and at best he could kill only six sealmen. Already, there were\nmore than twenty about him, completely encircling the torpoon. They\nseemed afraid of it, and yet desirous of finishing it--they hung back,\nwatching warily the thing that could strike and hurt from either end;\nbut Ken knew, of course, that he could not count on their inaction\nlong. One concerted charge would mean his quick end, and the death of\nmost of the men above.\nWell, there was only one thing to do--try to hold them off until those\nmen above had climbed out, every one.\nWith this plan in mind, he maneuvered for a commanding position.\nQuietly he slid his motor into gear, and slowly the torpoon rose. At\nthis first movement, the wall of hesitating brown bodies broke back a\nlittle. It quickly pressed in again, however, as the torpoon came to a\nhalt where Ken wanted it--a position thirty feet beneath, and slightly\nto one side, of the escaping men above, with an angle of fire\ncommanding the area the sealmen would have to cross to attack them.\nAlmost at once came action. One of the surrounding creatures swerved\nsuddenly up toward the men. Instinctively angling the torp, Ken sent a\nnitro-shell at it; and the chance aim was good. The projectile caught\nthe sealman squarely, and, after the convulsion, it began to drift\ndownward, its body torn apart.\n\"That'll teach you, damn you!\" Ken muttered savagely, and, to heighten\nthe effect he had created, he brought his sights to bear on another\nsealman in the circle around him--and fired and killed.\nThis sight of sudden death told on the others. They grew obviously\nmore fearful and gave back, though still forming a solid circle around\nthe torpoon. The circle was ever thickening and deepening downward as\nmore of those that the explosion had rendered unconscious returned to\nlife.\nAnd then, above, the first man reached the hole, clawed at its rough\nedges and levered himself through.\nThat was a signal. From somewhere beneath, two brown bodies flashed\nupward in attack. Fearing a general rush at any second, Ken fired\ntwice swiftly. One shell missed, but the other slid to its mark.\nAlmost alongside its fellow, one of the creatures was shattered and\ntorn, and that evidently altered the other's intentions, for it\nabandoned the attack and sought safety in the mass of its fellows on\nthe farther side.\nAnother respite. Another man through the hole. And but two\nnitro-shells left!\n  *  *  *  *  *\nThe deadly circle, like wolves around a lone trapper who crouches\nclose to his dying fire, pressed in a little; and by their ominous\nquietness, by the sight of their eyes all turned in on him, their\nconcerted inching closer, Ken sensed the nearness of the charge that\nwould finish him. All this in deep silence, there in the gloomy\nquarter-light. He could not yell and brandish his fists at them as the\ntrapper by the fire might have done to win a few extra minutes. The\nonly cards he had to play were two shells--and one was needed now!\nHe fired it with deliberate, sure aim, and grunted as he saw its\nvictim convulse and die, with dark blood streaming. Again the swarm\nhesitated.\nKen risked a glance above. Only three men left, he saw; and one was\npulled through the hole as he watched. Below, in one place, several\nseal-creatures surged upward.\n\"Get back, damn you!\" he cursed harshly. \"All right--take it! That's\nthe last!\"\nAnd the last shell hissed out from the gun even as the last man,\nabove, was pulled through up into the air and safety.\nKen felt that he had given half his life with that final shell.\nCompletely surrounded by a hundred or more of the sealmen, he could\nnot possibly hope to maneuver the torpoon up to the hole in the ice\nand leave it, without being overwhelmed. He had held off the swarm\nlong enough for the others to escape, but for himself it was the end.\nSo he thought, and wondered just when that end would come. Soon, he\nknew. It would not take them long to overcome their fear when they saw\nthat he no longer reached out and struck them down in sudden bloody\ndeath. Now it was their turn.\n\"Anyway,\" the torpooner murmured, \"I got 'em out. I saved them.\"\nBut had he? Suddenly his mind turned up a dreadful thought. He had\nsaved them from the sealmen, but they were up on the ice without food.\nThere had been no time to apportion rations in the submarine; all the\nsupplies were stacked around him in the torpoon!\nSearching planes would eventually appear overhead, but if he could not\nget the food up to the men it meant their death as surely as if they\nhad stayed locked in the _Peary_!\nBut how could he do it without shells, and with that living wall\nedging inch by inch upon him, visibly on the brink of rushing him.\nSome carried ropes with which they would lash the torpoon down as they\nhad the others. Must all he and those men had gone through, be in\nvain? Must he die--and the others? For certainly without food, those\nmen above on the lonely ice fields, all of them weakened by the long\nsiege in the submarine, would perish quickly....\nAnd then a faintly possible plan came to him. It involved an attempt\nto bluff the seal-creatures.\n  *  *  *  *  *\nThirty feet above the lone man in the torpoon was the hole he had\nblasted in the ice. He knew that from the cone of light which filtered\ndown; he did not dare to take his eyes for a second from the creatures\naround him, for all now depended on his judging to a fraction just\nwhen the lithe, living wall would leap to overwhelm him.\nNow the torpoon was enclosed by what was more a sphere of brown bodies\nthan a circle. But it was not a solid sphere. It stretched thinly to\nwithin a few feet of the ice ceiling where, in one place, was the hole\nKen had blown in the ice.\nHe began to play the game. He edged the gears into reverse, gently\nangled the diving-planes, and slowly the torpoon tilted in response\nand began to sink back to the dark sea-floor.\nMotion appeared in the curved facade of sleek brown heads and bodies\nin front and to the sides. The creatures behind and below, Ken could\nnot see; he could only trust to the fear inspired by the damage his\npropeller had wreaked on one of them, to hold them back. However, he\ncould judge the movements of those behind and below by the\nsynchronized movements of those in front; for the sealmen, in this\ntense siege, seemed to move as one--just as they would move as one\nwhen a leader got the courage to charge across the gap to the torpoon.\nIn reverse, slowly, the torpoon backed downward. Every minute seemed a\nseparate eternity of time, for Ken dared not move fast at this\njuncture, and he needed to retreat not less than fifty feet.\nFifty feet! Would they hold off long enough for him to make it?\nFoot by foot the torpoon edged down at her forty-five-degree angle,\nand with every foot the watching bodies became visibly bolder. There\nwas no light inside the torpoon--inner light would decrease the\nvisibility outside--but Ken knew her controls as does the musician his\ninstrument. Slowly the propeller whirled over, the torpoon dropped,\nslowly the diffused light from the hole above diminished--and slowly\nthe eager wall of sealmen followed and crept in.\nTwenty-five feet down; and then, after a long time, thirty-five feet,\nand forty. Seventy feet up, in all, to the hole in the ice....\nKen wanted seventy-five feet, but he could not have it. For the wall\nof sleek bodies broke. One or two of the creatures surged forward;\nother followed; they were coming!\nThe slim torpoon leaped under the unleashed power of her\nmotors--forward.\n  *  *  *  *  *\nFor one awful moment Ken thought he was finished. The vision of the\nhole was obscured by a twisting, whirling maelstrom of bodies, and the\ntorpoon quivered and shook like a living thing in agony under glancing\nblows.\nBut then came a patch of light, a pathway of light, leading straight\nup at a forty-five-degree angle to the hole in the ice above.\nSealmen and torpoon had leaped forward at the same moment. Doubtless\nthe creatures had not expected the shell to move so suddenly and\ndecisively ahead, so that when it did, those in the van swerved to\nescape head-on contact.\nThe torpoon gained speed all too slowly for her pilot. It naturally\ntook time to gain full forward speed from a standing start. But she\nmoved, and she moved fast, and after her poured the full tide of\nsealmen, now that they saw their prey running in retreat.\nFrom somewhere ahead appeared a rope, noosed to catch the fleeing\nprey. It slipped off the side. Another touched the bow, but it too was\nthrown off. The torpoon's forward momentum was now great; she was\nsweeping up at the full speed Ken had gone back to be able to attain.\nHe needed full speed! The plan would fail at the last moment without\nit!\nAnother rope; but it was the seal-creature's last gesture. Through the\nside plates of quarsteel the light grew fast; the ice was only ten\nfeet away; a slight directional correction brought the hole dead\nahead--and at full speed, twenty-four miles an hour, the torpoon\npassed through and into the thin air of the world of light and life.\nRight out of the hole, a desperate fugitive from below, she leaped,\nher propeller suddenly screaming, and arched high through the air\nbefore she dove with a rending, splintering crash onto the upper side\nof the sheet ice.\nAnd the sun of a cloudless, perfect Arctic day beat down on her; and\nmen were all around, eagerly reaching to open her entrance port. It\nwas done.\n  *  *  *  *  *\nKenneth Torrance, dazed, battered, hurting in every joint but\nconscious, found the torpoon's port open, and felt hands reach in and\nclasp him. Wearily he helped them lift him out into the thin sunlight.\nSitting down, slitting his eyes against the sudden glare, he peered\naround.\nCaptain Sallorsen was beside him, supporting him with one hand and\npounding him on the back with the other; and there in front was the\nbearded scientist, Lawson, and the rest of the men.\nKen took a great gulp of the clean, cold air.\n\"Gosh!\" was all he could say. \"Gosh, that tastes good!\"\n\"Man, you did it!\" shouted Sallorsen. \"How, in God's name, I don't\nknow--but you did it!\"\n\"He did!\" said Lawson. \"And he did it all himself. Even to the food,\nwhich should keep us till a plane comes by. If they haven't stopped\nsearching for us.\"\nHis words reminded Ken of something.\n\"Oh, there'll be a plane over,\" he said. \"Forgot to tell you, but I\nstole this torpoon--see?--and told the fellows they could come and get\nit somewhere right around here.\"\nKenneth Torrance grinned, and glanced down at the battered steel shell\nwhich had borne him out of the water below.\n\"And here it is,\" he finished. \"A little damaged--but then I didn't\npromise it would be as good as new!\"\n\n", "evaluation": "exam", "source": "SFGram"}
{"instructions": ["1.\tSpaceships powered by atomic engines that provide a continuous thrust have not been invented, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "2.\tThere are Spaceships that can use a cable to tow a portion of the ship containing the passengers and cargo, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "3. spinning the space station can not create \"gravity\", True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "4.\tThere has not been a network of television cables connecting cities on Mars yet, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document", "5.\tThere is a Space Control Commission that regulates space travel and enforces laws related to it, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "6.\t Spaceships can use hydrazine as fuel, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "7.\tThe atomic engine that produces electrical energy, which accelerates reaction mass has not been invited, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "8.\tatomic engines will make hydrazine, a commonly used rocket fuel, obsolete, True or False? Answer this question based on the world described in the document.", "9.\tPeople can not communicate with telephone in outer space."], "outputs": ["False [fact: True]", "True [fact: False]", "False [fact: False]", "False [fact: True]", "True [fact: False]", "True [fact: True]", "False [fact: True]", "True [fact: False]", "False [fact: True]"], "input": "ATOM DRIVE\nBY CHARLES FONTENAY\nIt was a race between the tortoise and the hare. But this hare was\nusing some dirty tricks to make sure the ending would be\ndifferent....\n[Illustration: Illustrated by Ed Emsh]\nThe two spaceship crews were friendly enemies, sitting across the table\nfrom each other for their last meal before blastoff. Outside the ports,\nthe sky was nothing but light-streaked blackness, punctured periodically\nby Earth glare, for Space Station 2 whirled swiftly on its axis,\ncreating an artificial gravity.\n\"Jonner, I figured you the last man ever to desert the rockets for a\nhot-rod tow-job,\" chided Russo Baat, captain of the Mars Corporation's\ngleaming new freighter, _Marsward XVIII_. Baat was fat and red-faced,\nand one of the shrewdest space captains in the business.\nJonner Jons, at the other end of the table, inclined his grizzled head\nand smiled.\n\"Times change, Russo,\" he answered quietly. \"Even the Mars Corporation\ncan't stop that.\"\n\"Is it true that you're pulling five thousand tons of cargo, Captain?\"\nasked one of the crewmen of the _Marsward XVIII_.\n\"Something like that,\" agreed Jonner, and his smile broadened. \"And I\nhave only about twice the fuel supply you carry for a 100-ton payload.\"\nThe communicator above them squawked and blared:\n\"Captain Jons and Captain Baat of Martian competition run, please report\nto control for final briefing.\"\n\"I knew it!\" grumbled Baat, getting heavily and reluctantly to his feet.\n\"I haven't gotten to finish a meal on this blasted merry-go-round yet.\"\nIn the space station's control section, Commander Ortega of the Space\nControl Commission, an ascetic officer in plain blues, looked them up\nand down severely.\n\"As you know, gentlemen,\" he said, \"blastoff time is 0600. Tonnage of\ncargo, fuel and empty vessels cannot be a factor, under the law. The\nMars Corporation will retain its exclusive franchise to the Earth-Mars\nrun, unless the ship sponsored by the Atom-Star Company returns to Earth\nwith full cargo at least twenty hours ahead of the ship sponsored by the\nMars Corporation. Cargo must be unloaded at Mars and new cargo taken on.\nI do not consider the twenty-hour bias in favor of the Mars Corporation\na fair one,\" said Ortega severely, turning his gaze to Baat, \"but the\nSpace Control Commission does not make the laws. It enforces them.\nDocking and loading facilities will be available to both of you on an\nequal basis at Phobos and Marsport. Good luck.\"\nHe shook hands with both of them.\n\"Saturn, I'm glad to get out of there!\" exclaimed Baat, mopping his brow\nas they left the control section. \"Every time I take a step, I feel like\nI'm falling on my face.\"\n\"It's because the control section's so close to the center,\" replied\nJonner. \"The station's spinning to maintain artificial gravity, and your\nfeet are away from the center. As long as you're standing upright, the\npull is straight up and down to you, but actually your feet are moving\nfaster than your head, in a larger orbit. When you try to move, as in\nnormal gravity, your body swings out of that line of pull and you nearly\nfall. The best corrective, I've found, is to lean backward slightly when\nyou start to walk.\"\nAs the two space captains walked back toward the wardroom together, Baat\nsaid:\n\"Jonner, I hear the Mars Corporation offered you the _Marsward XVIII_\nfor this run first, and you turned them down. Why? You piloted the\n_Marsward V_ and the _Wayward Lady_ for Marscorp when those upstarts in\nthe Argentine were trying to crack the Earth-Mars run. This Atom-Star\ncouldn't have enough money to buy you away from Marscorp.\"\n\"No, Marscorp offered me more,\" said Jonner, soberly now. \"But this\natomic drive is the future of space travel, Russo. Marscorp has it, but\nthey're sitting on it because they've got their fingers in hydrazine\ninterests here, and the atom drive will make hydrazine useless for space\nfuel. Unless I can break the franchise for Atom-Star, it may be a\nhundred years before we switch to the atom drive in space.\"\n\"What the hell difference does that make to you?\" asked Baat bluntly.\n\"Hydrazine's expensive,\" replied Jonner. \"Reaction mass isn't, and you\nuse less of it. I was born on Mars, Russo. Mars is my home, and I want\nto see my people get the supplies they need from Earth at a reasonable\ntransport cost, not pay through the nose for every packet of vegetable\nseed.\"\nThey reached the wardroom door.\n\"Too bad I have to degrav my old chief,\" said Baat, chuckling. \"But I'm\na rocket man, myself, and I say to hell with your hot-rod atom drive.\nI'm sorry you got deflected into this run, Jonner; you'll never break\nMarscorp's orbit.\"\n  *  *  *  *  *\nThe _Marsward XVIII_ was a huge vessel, the biggest the Mars Corporation\never had put into space. It was a collection of spheres and cylinders,\njoined together by a network of steel ties. Nearly 90% of its weight was\nfuel, for the one-way trip to Mars.\nIts competitor, the _Radiant Hope_, riding ten miles away in orbit\naround the Earth, was the strangest looking vessel ever to get clearance\nfrom a space station. It looked like a tug towing a barge. The tug was\nthe atomic power plant. Two miles behind, attached by a thin cable, was\nthe passenger compartment and cargo.\nOn the control deck of the _Radiant Hope_, Jonner gripped a microphone\nand shouted profane instructions at the pilot of a squat ground-to-space\nrocket twenty miles away. T'an Li Cho, the ship's engineer, was peering\nout the port at the speck of light toward which Jonner was directing his\nwrath, while Qoqol, the Martian astrogator, worked at his charts on the\nother side of the deck.\n\"I thought all cargo was aboard, Jonner,\" said T'an.\n\"It is,\" said Jonner, laying the mike aside. \"That G-boat isn't hauling\ncargo. It's going with us. I'm not taking any chances on Marscorp\nrefusing to ferry our cargo back and forth at Mars.\"\n\"Is plotted, Jonner,\" boomed Qoqol, turning his head to peer at them\nwith huge eyes through the spidery tangle of his thin, double-jointed\narms and legs. He reached an eight-foot arm across the deck and handed\nJonner his figures. Jonner gave them to T'an.\n\"Figure out power for that one, T'an,\" ordered Jonner, and took his seat\nin the cushioned control chair.\nT'an pulled a slide rule from his tunic pocket, but his black almond\neyes rested quizzically on Jonner.\n\"It's four hours before blastoff,\" he reminded.\n\"I've cleared power for this with Space Control,\" replied Jonner. \"That\nplanet-loving G-boat jockey missed orbit. We'll have to swing out a\nlittle and go to him.\"\nOn a conventional space craft, the order for acceleration would have\nsent the engineer to the engine deck to watch his gauges and report by\nintercom. But the _Radiant Hope_'s \"engine deck\" was the atomic tug two\nmiles ahead, which T'an, in heavy armor, would enter only in\nemergencies. He calculated for a moment, then called softly to Jonner:\n\"Pile One, in ten.\"\n\"In ten,\" confirmed Jonner, pulling a lever on the calibrated gauge of\nthe radio control.\n\"Pile Two, in fifteen.\"\n\"In fifteen.\"\n\"Check. I'll have the length of burst figured for you in a jiffy.\"\nA faint glow appeared around the atomic tug far ahead, and there was the\nfaintest shiver in the ship. But after a moment, Qoqol said in a puzzled\ntone:\n\"No Gs, Jonner. Engine not work?\"\n\"Sure, she's working,\" said Jonner with a grin. \"You'll never get any\nmore G than we've got now, Qoqol, all the way to Mars. Our maximum\nacceleration will be 1/3,000th-G.\"\n\"One three-thousandth?\" exclaimed T'an, shaken out of his Oriental calm.\n\"Jonner, the _Marsward_ will blast away at one or two Gs. How do you\nexpect to beat that at 1/3,000th?\"\n\"Because they have to cut off and coast most of the way in an elliptic\norbit, like any other rocket,\" answered Jonner calmly. \"We drive\nstraight across the system, under power all the time. We accelerate half\nway, decelerate the other half.\"\n\"But 1/3,000th!\"\n\"You'll be surprised at what constant power can do. I know Baat, and I\nknow the trick he's going to use. It's obvious from the blastoff time\nthey arranged. He's going to tack off the Moon and use his power right\nto cut 20 days off that regular 237-day schedule. But this tug-boat will\nmake it in 154 days!\"\nThey took aboard the 200-ton landing boat. By the time they got it\nsecured, the radio already was sounding warnings for blastoff.\nZero hour arrived. Again Jonner pulled levers and again the faint glow\nappeared around the tail of their distant tug. Across space the exhaust\nof the _Marsward XVIII_ flared into blinding flame. In a moment, it\nbegan to pull ahead visibly and soon was receding like a meteor.\nNear the _Radiant Hope_, the space station seemed not to have changed\nposition at all.\n\"The race is not always to the swift,\" remarked Jonner philosophically.\n\"And we're the tortoise,\" said T'an. \"How about filling us in on this\njaunt, Jonner?\"\n\"Is should, Jonner,\" agreed Qoqol. \"T'an know all about crazy new\nengine, I know all about crazy new orbit. Both not know all. You tell.\"\n\"I planned to, anyway,\" said Jonner. \"I had figured on having Serj in on\nit, but he wouldn't understand much of it anyhow. There's no use in\nwaking him up.\"\nSerj was the ship's doctor-psychologist and fourth member of the crew.\nHe was asleep below on the centerdeck.\n\"For your information, Qoqol,\" said Jonner, \"the atomic engine produces\nelectrical energy, which accelerates reaction mass. Actually, it's a\ncrude ion engine. T'an can explain the details to you later, but the\nimportant thing is that the fuel is cheap, the fuel-to-cargo ratio is\nlow and constant acceleration is practical.\n\"As for you, Tan, I was surprised at your not understanding why we'll\nuse low acceleration. To boost the engine power and give us more Gs,\nwe'd either have to carry more fuel or coast part of the way on\nmomentum, like an ordinary rocket. This way's more efficient, and our\n63-day margin over the _Marsward_ each way is more than enough for\nunloading and loading more cargo and fuel.\"\n\"With those figures, I can't see how Marscorp expects to win this\ncompetition,\" said T'an.\n\"We've got them, flat, on the basis of performance,\" agreed Jonner. \"So\nwe'll have to watch for tricks. I know Marscorp. That's why I arranged\nto take aboard that G-boat at the last minute. Marscorp controls all the\nG-boats at Marsport, and they're smart enough to keep us from using\nthem, in spite of the Space Control Commission. As for refueling for the\nreturn trip, we can knock a chunk off of Phobos for reaction mass.\"\nThe meteor alarm bells clanged suddenly, and the screen lit up once with\na fast-moving red line that traced the path of the approaching object.\n\"Miss us about half a mile,\" said Jonner after a glance at the screen.\n\"Must be pretty big ... and it's coming _up_!\"\nHe and T'an floated to one of the ports, and in a few moments saw the\nobject speed by.\n\"That's no meteor!\" exclaimed Jonner with a puzzled frown. \"That's\nman-made. But it's too small for a G-boat.\"\nThe radio blared: \"All craft in orbit near Space Station 2! Warning! All\ncraft near Space Station 2! Experimental missile misfired from White\nSands! Repeat: experimental missile misfired from White Sands!\nCoordinates....\"\n\"Fine time to tell us,\" remarked T'an drily.\n\"Experimental missile, hell!\" snorted Jonner, comprehension dawning.\n\"Qoqol, what would have happened if we hadn't shifted orbit to take\naboard that G-boat?\"\nQoqol calculated a moment.\n\"Hit our engines,\" he announced. \"Dead center.\"\nJonner's blue eyes clouded ominously. \"Looks like they're playing for\nkeeps this time, boys.\"\n  *  *  *  *  *\nThe brotherhood of spacemen is an exclusive club. Any captain,\nastrogator or engineer is likely to be well known to his colleagues,\neither personally or by reputation.\nThe ship's doctor-psychologist is in a different category. Most of them\nsign on for a few runs for the adventure of it, as a means of getting\nback and forth between planets without paying the high cost of passage\nor to pick up even more money than they can get from lucrative\nplanetbound practice.\nJonner did not know Serj, the _Radiant Hope_'s doctor. Neither T'an nor\nQoqol ever had heard of him. But Serj appeared to know his business well\nenough, and was friendly enough.\nIt was Serj's first trip and he was very interested in the way the ship\noperated. He nosed into every corner of it and asked a hundred questions\na day.\n\"You're as inquisitive as a cadet spaceman, Serj,\" Jonner told him on\nthe twenty-fifth day out. Everybody knew everyone else well by then,\nwhich meant that Jonner and Qoqol, who had served together before, had\nbecome acquainted with T'an and Serj.\n\"There's a lot to see and learn about space, Captain,\" said Serj. He was\na young fellow, with fair hair and an easy grin. \"Think I could go\noutside?\"\n\"If you keep a lifeline hooked on. The suits have magnetic shoes to hold\nyou to the hull of the ship, but you can lose your footing.\"\n\"Thanks,\" said Serj. He touched his hand to his forehead and left the\ncontrol deck.\nJonner, near the end of his eight-hour duty shift, watched the dials.\nThe red light showing the inner airlock door was open blinked on. It\nblinked off, then the outer airlock indicator went on, and off.\nA shadow fell across Jonner briefly. He glanced at the port and reached\nfor the microphone.\n\"Careful and don't step on any of the ports,\" he warned Serj. \"The\nmagnetic soles won't hold on them.\"\n\"I'll be careful, sir,\" answered Serj.\nNo one but a veteran spaceman would have noticed the faint quiver that\nran through the ship, but Jonner felt it. Automatically, he swung his\ncontrol chair and his eyes swept the bank of dials.\nAt first he saw nothing. The outer lock light blinked on and off, then\nthe inner lock indicator. That was Serj coming back inside.\nThen Jonner noted that the hand on one dial rested on zero. Above the\ndial was the word: \"ACCELERATION.\"\nHis eyes snapped to the radio controls. The atomic pile levers were\nstill at their proper calibration. The dials above them said the engines\nwere working properly.\nThe atomic tug was still accelerating, but passengers and cargo were in\nfree fall.\nSwearing Jonner jerked at the levers to pull out the piles aboard the\ntug.\nA blue flash flared across the control board, momentarily blinding him.\nJonner recoiled, only his webbed safety belt preventing him from\nplummeting from the control chair.\nHe swung back anxiously to the dials, brushing futilely at the spots\nthat swam before his eyes. He breathed a sigh of relief. The radio\ncontrols had operated. The atomic engines had ceased firing.\nTentatively, cautiously, he reversed the lever. There was no blue flash\nthis time, but neither did the dials quiver. He swore. Something had\nburned out in the radio controls. He couldn't reverse the tug.\nHe punched the general alarm button viciously, and the raucous clangor\nof the bell sounded through the confines of the ship. One by one, the\nother crew members popped up to the control deck from below.\nHe turned the controls over to Qoqol.\n\"Take readings on that damn tug,\" Jonner ordered. \"I think our cable\nbroke. T'an, let's go take a look.\"\nWhen they got outside, they found about a foot of the one-inch cable\nstill attached to the ship. The rest of it, drawn away by the tug before\nJonner could cut acceleration, was out of sight.\n\"Can it be welded, T'an?\"\n\"It can, but it'll take a while,\" replied the engineer slowly. \"First,\nwe'll have to reverse that tug and get the other end of that break.\"\n\"Damn, and the radio control's burned out. I tried to reverse it before\nI sounded the alarm. T'an, how fast can you get those controls\nrepaired?\"\n\"Great space!\" exclaimed T'an softly. \"Without seeing it, I'd say at\nleast two days, Jonner. Those controls are complicated as hell.\"\nThey re-entered the ship. Qoqol was working at his diagrams, and Serj\nwas looking over his shoulder. Jonner took a heat-gun quietly from the\nrack and pointed it at Serj.\n\"You'll get below, mister,\" he commanded grimly. \"You'll be handcuffed\nto your bunk from here on out.\"\n\"Sir?... I don't understand,\" stammered Serj.\n\"Like hell you don't. You cut that cable,\" Jonner accused.\nSerj started to shrug, but he dropped his eyes.\n\"They paid me,\" he said in a low tone. \"They paid me a thousand solars.\"\n\"What good would a thousand solars do you when you're dead, Serj ...\ndead of suffocation and drifting forever in space?\"\nSerj looked up in astonishment.\n\"Why, you can still reach Earth by radio, easy,\" he said. \"It wouldn't\ntake long for a rescue ship to reach us.\"\n\"Chemical rockets have their limitations,\" said Jonner coldly.\n\"And you don't realize what speed we've built up with steady\nacceleration. We'd head straight out of the system, and nothing could\nintercept us, if that tug had gotten too far before we noticed it was\ngone.\"\nHe jabbed the white-faced doctor with the muzzle of the heat-gun.\n\"Get below,\" he ordered. \"I'll turn you over to Space Control at Mars.\"\nWhen Serj had left the control deck, Jonner turned to the others. His\nface was grave.\n\"That tug picked up speed before I could shut off the engines, after the\ncable was cut,\" he said. \"It's moving away from us slowly, and at a\ntangent. And solar gravity's acting on both bodies now. By the time we\nget those controls repaired, the drift may be such that we'll waste\nweeks maneuvering the tug back.\"\n\"I could jet out to the tug in a spacesuit, before it gets too far\naway,\" said T'an thoughtfully. \"But that wouldn't do any good. There's\nno way of controlling the engines, at the tug. It has to be done by\nradio.\"\n\"If we get out of this, remind me to recommend that atomic ships always\ncarry a spare cable,\" said Jonner gloomily. \"If we had one, we could\nsplice them and hold the ship to the tug until the controls are\nrepaired.\"\n\"Is cable in cargo strong enough, Jonner?\" asked Qoqol.\n\"That's right!\" exclaimed Jonner, brightening. \"Most of our cargo's\ncable! That 4,000-ton spool we're hauling back there is 6,000 miles of\ncable to lay a television network between the Martian cities.\"\n\"Television cable?\" repeated T'an doubtfully. \"Will that be strong\nenough?\"\n\"It's bound in flonite, that new fluorine compound. It's strong enough\nto tow this whole cargo at a couple of Gs. There's nothing aboard this\nship that would cut off a length of it--a heat-gun at full power\nwouldn't even scorch it--but we can unwind enough of it, and block the\nspool. It'll hold the ship to the tug until the controls can be\nrepaired, then we can reverse the tug and weld the cable.\"\n\"You mean the whole 6,000 miles of it's in one piece?\" demanded T'an in\nastonishment.\n\"That's not so much. The cable-laying steamer _Dominia_ carried 3,000\nmiles in one piece to lay Atlantic cables in the early 20th century.\"\n\"But how'll we ever get 4,000 tons in one piece down to Mars?\" asked\nT'an. \"No G-boat can carry that load.\"\nJonner chuckled.\n\"Same way they got it up from Earth to the ship,\" he answered. \"They\nattached one end of it to a G-boat and sent it up to orbit, then wound\nit up on a fast winch. Since the G-boat will be decelerating to Mars,\nthe unwinding will have to be slowed or the cable would tangle itself\nall over Syrtis.\"\n\"Sounds like it's made to order,\" said T'an, grinning. \"I'll get into my\nspacesuit.\"\n\"You'll get to work on the radio controls,\" contradicted Jonner, getting\nup. \"That's something I can't do, and I can get into a spacesuit and\nhaul a length of cable out to the tug. Qoqol can handle the winch.\"\n  *  *  *  *  *\nDeveet, the Atom-Star Company's representative at Mars City, and Kruger\nof the Space Control Commission were waiting when the _Radiant Hope_'s\nG-boat dropped down from the Phobos station and came to rest in a wash\nof jets. They rode out to the G-boat together in a Commission groundcar.\nJonner emerged from the G-boat, following the handcuffed Serj.\n\"He's all yours,\" Jonner told Kruger, gesturing at Serj. \"You have my\nradio reports on the cable-cutting, and I'll make my log available to\nyou.\"\nKruger put his prisoner in the front seat of the groundcar beside him,\nand Jonner climbed in the back seat with Deveet.\n\"I brought the crates of dies for the groundcar factory down this time,\"\nJonner told Deveet. \"We'll bring down all the loose cargo before\nshooting the television cable down. While they're unloading the G-boat,\nI wish you'd get the tanks refilled with hydrazine and nitric acid.\nI've got enough to get back up, but not enough for a round trip.\"\n\"What do you plan to do?\" asked Deveet. He was a dark-skinned,\nlong-faced man with a sardonic twist to his mouth.\n\"I've got to sign on a new ship's doctor to replace Serj. When the\n_Marsward_ comes in, Marscorp will have a dozen G-boats working round\nthe clock to unload and reload her. With only one G-boat, we've got to\nmake every hour count. We still have reaction mass to pick up on\nPhobos.\"\n\"Right,\" agreed Deveet. \"You can take the return cargo up in one load,\nthough. It's just twenty tons of Martian relics for the Solar Museum.\nMars-to-Earth cargos run light.\"\nAt the administration building, Jonner took his leave of Deveet and went\nup to the Space Control Commission's personnel office on the second\nfloor. He was in luck. On the board as applying for a Mars-Earth run as\nship's doctor-psychologist was one name: Lana Elden.\nHe looked up the name in the Mars City directory and dialed into the\ncity from a nearby telephone booth. A woman's voice answered.\n\"Is Lana Elden there?\" asked Jonner.\n\"I'm Lana Elden,\" she said.\nJonner swore under his breath. A woman! But if she weren't qualified,\nher name would not have been on the Commission board.\nThe verbal contract was made quickly, and Jonner cut the Commission\nmonitor into the line to make it binding. That was done often when rival\nships, even of the same line, were bidding for the services of crewmen.\n\"Blastoff time is 2100 tonight,\" he said, ending the interview. \"Be\nhere.\"\nJonner left the personnel office and walked down the hall. At the\nelevator, Deveet and Kruger hurried out, almost colliding with him.\n\"Jonner, we've run into trouble!\" exclaimed Deveet. \"Space Fuels won't\nsell us any hydrazine and nitric acid to refill the tanks. They say they\nhave a new contract with Marscorp that takes all their supply.\"\n\"Contract, hell!\" snorted Jonner. \"Marscorp owns Space Fuels. What can\nbe done about it, Kruger?\"\nKruger shook his head.\n\"I'm all for you, but Space Control has no jurisdiction,\" he said. \"If a\nprivate firm wants to restrict its sales to a franchised line, there's\nnothing we can do about it. If you had a franchise, we could force them\nto allot fuel on the basis of cargo handled, since Space Fuels has a\nmonopoly here. But you don't have a franchise yet.\"\nJonner scratched his grey head thoughtfully.\nIt was a serious situation. The atom-powered _Radiant Hope_ could no\nmore make a planetary landing than the chemically-powered ships. Its\npower gave a low, sustained thrust that permitted it to accelerate\nconstantly over long periods of time. To beat the powerful pull of\nplanetary surface gravity, the terrific burst of quick energy from the\nstreamlined G-boats, the planetary landing craft, was needed.\n\"We can still handle it,\" Jonner said at last. \"With only twenty tons\nreturn cargo, we can take it up this trip. Add some large parachutes to\nthat, Deveet. We'll shoot the end of the cable down by signal rocket,\nout in the lowlands, and stop the winch when we've made contact, long\nenough to attach the rest of the cargo to the cable. Pull it down with\nthe cable and, with Mars' low gravity, the parachutes will keep it from\nbeing damaged.\"\nBut when Jonner got back to the landing field to check on unloading\noperations, his plan was smashed. As he approached the G-boat, a\nmechanic wearing an ill-concealed smirk came up to him.\n\"Captain, looks like you sprung a leak in your fuel line,\" he said. \"All\nyour hydrazine's leaked out in the sand.\"\nJonner swung from the waist and knocked the man flat. Then he turned on\nhis heel and went back to the administration building to pay the\n10-credit fine he would be assessed for assaulting a spaceport employee.\n  *  *  *  *  *\nThe Space Control Commission's hearing room in Mars City was almost\nempty. The examiner sat on the bench, resting his chin on his hand as he\nlistened to testimony. In the plaintiff's section sat Jonner, flanked by\nDeveet and Lana Elden. In the defense box were the Mars Corporation\nattorney and Captain Russo Baat of the _Marsward XVIII_. Kruger, seated\nnear the rear of the room, was the only spectator.\nThe Mars Corporation attorney had succeeded in delaying the final\nhearing more than a 42-day Martian month by legal maneuvers. Meanwhile,\nthe _Marsward XVIII_ had blasted down to Phobos, and G-boats had been\nshuttling back and forth unloading the vessel and reloading it for the\nreturn trip to Earth.\nWhen testimony had been completed, the examiner shuffled through his\npapers. He put on his spectacles and peered over them at the litigants.\n\"It is the ruling of this court,\" he said formally, \"that the plaintiffs\nhave not presented sufficient evidence to prove tampering with the fuel\nline of the G-boat of the spaceship _Radiant Hope_. There is no evidence\nthat it was cut or burned, but only that it was broken. The court must\nremind the plaintiffs that this could have been done accidentally,\nthrough inept handling of cargo.\n\"Since the plaintiffs have not been able to prove their contention, this\ncourt of complaint has no alternative than to dismiss the case.\"\nThe examiner arose and left the hearing room. Baat waddled across the\naisle, puffing.\n\"Too bad, Jonner,\" he said. \"I don't like the stuff Marscorp's pulling,\nand I think you know I don't have anything to do with it.\n\"I want to win, but I want to win fair and square. If there's anything I\ncan do to help....\"\n\"Haven't got a spare G-boat in your pocket, have you?\" retorted Jonner,\nwith a rueful smile.\nBaat pulled at his jowls.\n\"The _Marsward_ isn't carrying G-boats,\" he said regretfully. \"They all\nbelong to the port, and Marscorp's got them so tied up you'll never get\na sniff of one. But if you want to get back to your ship, Jonner, I can\ntake you up to Phobos with me, as my guest.\"\nJonner shook his head.\n\"I figure on taking the _Radiant Hope_ back to Earth,\" he said. \"But I'm\nnot blasting off without cargo until it's too late for me to beat you on\nthe run.\"\n\"You sure? This'll be my last ferry trip. The _Marsward_ blasts off for\nEarth at 0300 tomorrow.\"\n\"No, thanks, Russo. But I will appreciate your taking my ship's doctor,\nDr. Elden, up to Phobos.\"\n\"Done!\" agreed Baat. \"Let's go, Dr. Elden. The G-boat leaves Marsport in\ntwo hours.\"\nJonner watched Baat puff away, with the slender, white-clad brunette at\nhis side. Baat personally would see Lana Elden safely aboard the\n_Radiant Hope_, even if it delayed his own blastoff.\nMorosely, he left the hearing room with Deveet.\n\"What I can't understand,\" said the latter, \"is why all this dirty work,\nwhy didn't Marscorp just use one of their atom-drive ships for the\ncompetition run?\"\n\"Because whatever ship is used on a competition run has to be kept in\nservice on the franchised run,\" answered Jonner. \"Marscorp has millions\ntied up in hydrazine interests, and they're more interested in keeping\nan atomic ship off this run than they are in a monopoly franchise. But\nthey tie in together: if Marscorp loses the monopoly franchise and\nAtom-Star puts in atom-drive ships, Marscorp will have to switch to\natom-drive to meet the competition.\"\n\"If we had a franchise, we could force Space Fuels to sell us\nhydrazine,\" said Deveet unhappily.\n\"Well, we don't. And, at this rate, we'll never get one.\"\n  *  *  *  *  *\nJonner and Deveet were fishing at the Mars City Recreation Center. It\nhad been several weeks since the _Marsward XVIII_ blasted off to Earth\nwith a full cargo. And still the atomic ship _Radiant Hope_ rested on\nPhobos with most of her Marsbound cargo still aboard; and still her crew\nlanguished at the Phobos space station; and still Jonner moved back and\nforth between Mars City and Marsport daily, racking his brain for a\nsolution that would not come.\n\"How in space do you get twenty tons of cargo up to an orbit 5,800 miles\nout, without any rocket fuel?\" he demanded of Deveet more than once. He\nreceived no satisfactory answer.\nThe Recreation Center was a two-acre park that lay beneath the plastic\ndome of Mars City. Above them they could see swift-moving Phobos and\ndistant Deimos among the other stars that powdered the night. In the\npark around them, colonists rode the amusement machines, canoed along\nthe canal that twisted through the park or sipped refreshment at\nscattered tables. A dozen or more sat, like Jonner and Deveet, around\nthe edge of the tiny lake, fishing.\nDeveet's line tightened. He pulled in a streamlined, flapping object\nfrom which the light glistened wetly.\n\"Good catch,\" complimented Jonner. \"That's worth a full credit.\"\nDeveet unhooked his catch and laid it on the bank beside him. It was a\nmetal fish: live fish were unknown on Mars. They paid for the privilege\nof fishing for a certain time and any fish caught were \"sold\" back to\nthe management at a fixed price, depending on size, to be put back into\nthe lake.\n\"You're pretty good at it,\" said Jonner. \"That's your third tonight.\"\n\"It's all in the speed at which you reel in your line,\" explained\nDeveet. \"The fish move at pre-set speeds. They're made to turn and catch\na hook that moves across their path at a slightly slower speed than\nthey're swimming. The management changes the speeds once a week to keep\nthe fishermen from getting too expert.\"\n\"You can't beat the management,\" chuckled Jonner. \"But if it's a matter\nof matching orbital speeds to make contact, I ought to do pretty well\nwhen I get the hang of it.\"\nHe cocked an eye up toward the transparent dome. Phobos had moved across\nthe sky into Capricorn since he last saw her. His memory automatically\nticked off the satellite's orbital speed: 1.32 miles a second; speed in\nrelation to planetary motion....\nWhy go over that again? One had to have fuel first. Meanwhile, the\n_Radiant Hope_ lay idle on Phobos and its crew whiled away the hours at\nthe space station inside the moon, their feet spinning faster than their\nheads ... no, that wasn't true on Phobos, because it didn't have a spin\nto impart artificial gravity, like the space stations around Earth.\nHe sat up suddenly. Deveet looked at him in surprise. Jonner's lips\nmoved silently for a moment, then he got to his feet.\n\"Where can we use a radiophone?\" he asked.\n\"One in my office,\" said Deveet, standing up.\n\"Let's go. Quick, before Phobos sets.\"\nThey turned in their rods, Deveet collecting the credits for his fish,\nand left the Recreation Center.\nWhen they reached the Atom-Star Company's Martian office Jonner plugged\nin the radiophone and called the Phobos space station. He got T'an.\n\"All of you get aboard,\" Jonner ordered. \"Then have Qoqol call me.\"\nHe signed off and turned to Deveet. \"Can we charter a plane to haul our\nEarthbound cargo out of Marsport?\"\n\"A plane? I suppose so. Where do you want to haul it?\"\n\"Charax is as good as any other place. But I need a fast plane.\"\n\"I think we can get it. Marscorp still controls all the airlines, but\nthe Mars government keeps a pretty strict finger on their planetbound\noperations. They can't refuse a cargo haul without good reason.\"\n\"Just to play safe, have some friend of yours whom they don't know,\ncharter the plane in his name. They won't know it's us till we start\nloading cargo.\"\n\"Right,\" said Deveet, picking up the telephone. \"I know just the man.\"\n  *  *  *  *  *\nTowmotors scuttled across the landing area at Marsport, shifting the\ncargo that had been destined for the _Radiant Hope_ from the helpless\nG-boat to a jet cargo-plane. Nearby, watching the operation, were Jonner\nand Deveet, with the Marsport agent of Mars Air Transport Company.\n\"We didn't know Atom-Star was the one chartering the plane until you\nordered the G-boat cargo loaded on it,\" confessed the Mars-Air agent.\n\"I see you and Mr. Deveet are signed up to accompany the cargo. You'll\nhave to rent suits for the trip. We have to play it safe, and there's\nalways the possibility of a forced landing.\"\n\"There are a couple of spacesuits aboard the G-boat that we want to take\nalong,\" said Jonner casually. \"We'll just wear those instead.\"\n\"Okay.\" The agent spread his hands and shrugged. \"Everybody at Marsport\nknows about you bucking Marscorp, Captain. What you expect to gain by\ntransferring your cargo to Charax is beyond me, but it's your business.\"\nAn hour later, the chartered airplane took off with a thunder of jets.\nAboard was the 20-ton cargo the _Radiant Hope_ was supposed to carry to\nEarth, plus some large parachutes. The Mars-Air pilot wore a light suit\nwith plastic helmet designed for survival in the thin, cold Martian air.\nJonner and Deveet wore the bulkier spacesuits.\nFive minutes out of Marsport, Jonner thrust the muzzle of a heat-gun in\nthe pilot's back.\n\"Set it on automatic, strap on your parachute and bail out,\" he ordered.\n\"We're taking over.\"\nThe pilot had no choice. He went through the plane's airlock and jumped,\nhelped by a hearty boost from Jonner. His parachute blossomed out as he\ndrifted down toward the green Syrtis Major Lowland. Jonner didn't worry\nabout him. He knew the pilot's helmet radio would reach Marsport and a\nhelicopter would rescue him shortly.\n\"I don't know what you're trying to do, Jonner,\" said Deveet\napprehensively over his spacehelmet radio. \"But whatever it is, you'd\nbetter do it fast. They'll have every plane on Mars looking for us in\nhalf an hour.\"\n\"Let 'em look, and keep quiet a while,\" retorted Jonner. \"I've got some\nfiguring to do.\"\nHe put the plane on automatic, took off the spacesuit handhooks and\nscribbled figures on a scrap of paper. He tuned in the plane's radio and\ncalled Qoqol on Phobos. They talked to each other briefly in Martian.\nThe darker green line of a canal crossed the green lowland below them.\n\"Good, there's Drosinas,\" muttered Jonner. \"Let's see, time 1424 hours,\nspeed 660 miles an hour....\"\nJonner boosted the jets a bit and watched the terrain.\n\"By Saturn, I almost overran it!\" he exclaimed. \"Deveet, smash out those\nports.\"\n\"Break out the ports?\" repeated Deveet. \"That'll depressurize the\ncabin!\"\n\"That's right. So you'd better be sure your spacesuit's secure.\"\nObviously puzzled, Deveet strode up and down the cabin, knocking out its\nsix windows with the handhooks of his spacesuit. Jonner maneuvered the\nplane gently, and set it on automatic. He got out of the pilot's seat\nand strode to the right front port.\nReaching through the broken window, he pulled in a section of cable that\nwas trailing alongside. While the baffled Deveet watched, he reeled it\nin until he brought up the end of it, to which was attached a\nfish-shaped finned metal missile.\nJonner carried the cable end and the attached missile across the cabin\nand tossed it out the broken front port on the other side, swinging it\nso that the 700-mile-an-hour slipstream snapped it back in through the\nrearmost port like a bullet.\n\"Pick it up and pass it out the right rear port,\" he commanded. \"We'll\nhave to pass it to each other from port to port. The slipstream won't\nlet us swing it forward and through.\"\nIn a few moments, the two of them had worked the missile and the cable\nend to the right front port and in through it. Originating above the\nplane, it now made a loop through the four open ports. Jonner untied the\nmissile and tied the end to the portion which came into the cabin,\nmaking a bowline knot of the loop. Deveet picked up the missile from the\nfloor, where Jonner had thrown it.\n\"Looks like a spent rocket shell,\" he commented.\n\"It's a signal rocket,\" said Jonner. \"The flare trigger was\ndisconnected.\"\nHe picked up the microphone and called the _Radiant Hope_ on Phobos.\n\"We've hooked our fish, Qoqol,\" he told the Martian, and laid the mike\naside.\n\"What does that mean?\" asked Deveet.\n\"Means we'd better strap in,\" said Jonner, suiting the action to the\nwords. \"You're in for a short trip to Phobos, Deveet.\"\nJonner pulled back slowly on the elevator control, and the plane began a\nshallow climb. At 700 miles an hour, it began to attain a height at\nwhich its broad wings--broader than those of any terrestrial\nplane--would not support it.\n\"I'm trying to decide,\" said Deveet with forced calm, \"whether you've\nflipped your helmet.\"\n\"Nope,\" answered Jonner. \"Trolling for those fish in Mars City gave me\nthe idea. The rest was no more than an astrogation problem, like any\nrendezvous with a ship in a fixed orbit, which Qoqol could figure.\nRemember that 6,000-mile television cable the ship's hauling? Qoqol just\nshot the end of it down to Mars' surface by signal rocket, we hooked on\nand now he'll haul us up to Phobos. He's got the ship's engine hooked\nonto the cable winch.\"\nThe jets coughed and stopped. The plane was out of fuel. It was on\nmomentum--to be drawn by the cable, or to snap it and fall.\n\"Impossible!\" cried Deveet in alarm. \"Phobos' orbital speed is more than\na mile a second! No cable can take the sudden difference in that and the\nspeed we're traveling. When the slack is gone, it'll break!\"\n\"The slack's gone already. You're thinking of the speed of Phobos, _at\nPhobos_. At this end of the cable, we're like the head of a man in the\ncontrol section of a space station, which is traveling slower than his\nfeet because its orbit is smaller--but it revolves around the center in\nthe same time.\n\"Look,\" Jonner added, \"I'll put it in round numbers. Figure your cable\nas part of a radius of Phobos' orbit. Phobos travels at 1.32, but the\nother end of the radius travels at zero because it's at the center. The\ncable end, at the Martian surface, travels at a speed in\nbetween--roughly 1,200 miles an hour--but it keeps up with Phobos'\nrevolution. Since the surface of Mars itself rotates at 500 miles an\nhour, all I had to do was boost the plane up to 700 to match the speed\nof the cable end.\n\"That cable will haul a hell of a lot more than twenty tons, and that's\nall that's on it right now. By winching us up slowly, there'll never be\ntoo great a strain on it.\"\nDeveet looked apprehensively out of the port. The plane was hanging\nsidewise now, and the distant Martian surface was straight out the\nleft-hand ports. The cable was holding.\n\"We can make the trip to Earth 83 days faster than the _Marsward_,\" said\nJonner, \"and they have only about 20 days' start. It won't take us but a\nfew days to make Phobos and get this cable and the rest of the cargo\nshot back to Mars. Atom-Star will get its franchise, and you'll see all\nspaceships switching to the atomic drive within the next decade.\"\n\"How about this plane?\" asked Deveet. \"We stole it, you know.\"\n\"You can hire a G-boat to take it back to Marsport,\" said Jonner with a\nchuckle. \"Pay Mars-Air for the time and the broken ports, and settle out\nof court with that pilot we dropped. I don't think they'll send you to\njail, Deveet.\"\nHe was silent for a few minutes.\n\"By the way, Deveet,\" said Jonner then, \"radio Atom-Star to buy some\nflonite cable of their own and ship it to Phobos. Damned if I don't\nthink this is cheaper than G-boats!\"\n", "evaluation": "exam", "source": "SFGram"}