“NO!” he cried.
“What do you keep yelling for?” complained Lizzie.
“So I won’t go sailing off. If I can catch a thought before it forms I can stay put.” He groaned and lowered his head into his hands. “But I am not believed. They think me a cheat.
Oh, Lizzie, I’ll lose my professorship. We’ll starve!”
She was touched and advanced slowly to touch his shoulder.
“Never you mind what they say about you. I’ll beat their heads in, Henry, that I will.”
21
♦ L . R O N H U B B A R D ♦
He glanced up in astonishment at her. She had never shown any feeling for him in all these ten years. She had bullied him and driven him and terrified him. . . .
She was conscious of her tenderness and brushed it away on the instant. “But don’t go jumping off like that again! Drive over to the university in your car like a decent man should.”
“Yes, Lizzie.”
He got up and walked toward the door. Her jaw was set again.
“Mind what I tell you,” she snapped. “Your car, now! And nothing fancy!”
“Yes, Lizzie. They’re waiting. . . .” He didn’t, couldn’t stop that thought and the hall was clearly envisioned and there he was—
Whup!
The dean had his hands on both hips as he saw that Mudge was here again. The dean wagged his head from side to side and was very angry, almost speechless. The audience tittered.
“Have you no respect?” cried the dean. “How dare you do such things when I am talking to you. I was saying that the next time you’ll probably—”
“SHUT UP!” shouted Mudge in desperation. He was still cold from his trip to the moon.
The dean recoiled. Mudge was a very mild little fellow, with never anything but groveling respect for everybody. And these words from him . . .
“I’m sorry,” said Mudge. “You mustn’t say things or you’ll send me off somewhere again. Now don’t speak.”
22
♦ T H E D A N G E R O U S D I M E N S I O N
♦
“Mudge, you can be assured that this performance this evening will terminate—”
Mudge was desperate. “Don’t. You might say something.”
The audience was delighted and laughter rolled through the hall. Mudge had not realized how his remark would sound.
The dean had never been anything but overbearing and now with his dignity flouted he turned white. He stepped stiffly to the president of the university and said a few words in a low voice. Grimly the president nodded.
“Here and now,” said the dean, stepping back, “I am requesting your resignation, Mudge. This buffoonery—”
“Wait,” pleaded Mudge, hauling his notes from his pocket.
“First look at these and maybe you will see—”
“I care to look at nothing,” stated the dean frostily. “You are a disgrace.”
“Look,” pleaded Mudge, putting the papers on the lecture stand. “Just give me one minute. I am beside myself. I don’t mean what I say. But there is one thing I must not think about—one thing I can’t think to think about but which I—
Look. Here, see?”
The dean scowled at the sheets of scribbled figures and symbols. Mudge talked to him in a low voice, growing more and more excited.
The dean was still austere.
“And there,” said Mudge, “right there is Equation C. Read it.”
The dean thought Mudge might as well be humored as long as he would be leaving in the morning for good. He adjusted his glasses and looked at Mudge’s reports. His glance fastened on Equation C.
23
♦ L . R O N H U B B A R D ♦
The dean was startled. He stood up straight, his logical mind turning over at an amazing pace. “That’s very strange,”
said the dean, bewildered. “My head feels . . .”
“Oh, what have I done?” cried Mudge, too late.
The assistant professor in the front row, a man of little wit but many jokes, chortled, “I suppose he will go to Mars now.”
Whup!
Whup!
Mudge was almost in control by now. He knew that a part of Equation C was missing which would make it completely workable and usable at all times without any danger. And he also knew that being here on this sandy plain was not very dangerous unless one happened to think—
“NO!” he screamed into the Martian night.
It was easy. All he had to do was visualize the classroom—
Whup!
Mudge took off his glasses and wiped them. Then he bent over and emptied the sand from his slippers. The hall before him was silent as death and men were staring in disbelief at the little man on the platform.
Mudge replaced the slipper. He took up a pencil and bent eagerly over his notes. He had to work this thing out before he imagined—
“NO!” he roared.
It would be awful if he dreamed it. Dreaming, he would have no real control and things would happen to him.
24
♦ T H E D A N G E R O U S D I M E N S I O N
♦
The president rose cautiously and tapped Mudge’s shoulder.
“W-W-Where is the dean?”
Mudge glanced around. True enough, the dean was not there. Mudge chewed at the end of his pencil in amazed contemplation.
“Do you mean,” ventured the president, “that that statement about—”
“SHUT UP!” cried Mudge. “The dean may find out how to get back unless he thinks of something he . . .” He swallowed hard.
“Dr. Mudge, I resent such a tone,” began the president.
“I am sorry,” said Mudge, “but you might have said it, and the next time I might fall in a Martian canal—”
Whup!
He was strangling as he fought through the depths. He broke the surface like a porpoise and swam as hard as he could, terror surging within him as these dark waters lapped over him.
Ahead he could see a houseboat with a beautiful lady sitting at the rail. He swam breast stroke, raising himself up to shout for help. The cold suddenness of the accident had dulled his brain and he could not know what monsters lurked in these Martian depths.
The woman was strangely like an Earthwoman for all that.
Perhaps there were colonies of these people much as there were colonies of chimpanzees on Earth. But the houseboat was silvery and the woman dressed in luminous cloth.
Strong hands yanked Mudge from the water and he stood 25
♦ L . R O N H U B B A R D ♦
blowing upon the deck, water forming about his feet in a pool. The woman was staring at him. She was a beautiful thing and Mudge’s heart beat swiftly. She spoke in sibilant tones.
He bowed to her. “No, I haven’t time for a visit or tea or anything,” said Mudge. “I am sorry, but I am busy at a lect—
NO! I am busy on Ea— NO! I am busy.”
Oddly enough he knew that he could not speak her language, and yet he understood her perfectly as she placed her hand on his arm. It must be more telepathy, he thought.
“Yes, it is telepathy,” said her mind. “Of course. But I am astonished to see you. For years—ever since the great purge—no humans of our breed have been here. Alone with these yellow men as servants I am safe enough. My parole was given because of certain favors—”
“Please,” said Mudge. “I have an appointment. Don’t be alarmed if I vanish. I’ll be back someday.” He looked around to fix the spot in his mind, feeling devilish for an instant.
He bowed to her. “I must leave—”
“But you’ll take cold,” she said, picking up a shawl of glowing material and throwing it about his shoulders.
“Thank you,” said Mudge, “and now I really must go.”
Again he bowed, and envisioned the classroom this time.
Whup!
The water dripped to the lecture platform and Mudge was really getting cold by now. He haule
d the shawl more tightly about his arms and was aware of protruding eyes all through the hall.
26
♦ T H E D A N G E R O U S D I M E N S I O N
♦
The water dripped and dripped, and Mudge shivered again.
He sneezed. It would be good—
“NO!” he shouted and everybody in the hall jumped almost out of their chairs.
Mudge turned to the president. “You see what you did?”
The president was cowed. But he picked up in a moment.
“Did . . . did you see the dean?”
“No,” said Mudge. The warm room was drying his clothes rapidly, and he rolled up his sleeve so that he wouldn’t blot the paper. Feverishly, he began to evolve Equation D.
He almost knew why he was working so fast. He was wholly oblivious of the audience. Very well he knew that his life depended upon his solving Equation D and thus putting the negative dimension wholly in his control. His pencil flew.
The thought began to seep into his mind in spite of all he could do.
“NO!” he yelled.
Again people jumped.
There was a grunt at his elbow and there stood the dean.
He had sand in his gray hair and he looked mussed up.
“So you got back,” said Mudge.
“It . . . it was terrible,” moaned the dean in a broken voice.
“The—”
“Don’t say it,” said Mudge.
“Doctor,” said the dean, “I apologize for all I said to you.”
He faced the crowd. “I can verify amply everything that has happened here tonight. Dr. Mudge is absolutely correct”—he paused to swab his face and spit sand out of his teeth—“about 27
♦ L . R O N H U B B A R D ♦
the negative dimension. I have the uneasy feeling, however, that it is a very dangerous dimension. A man might—”
“Stop!” said Mudge, loudly.
He was working at a terrific pace now, and the paper shot off the stand to the floor as he swept it aside. He grabbed a new sheet.
He knew he was working against death. Knew it with all his heart. That thought would not long be stayed. At any minute he might find out where he was that he dared never go—
Equation D was suddenly before him. He copied it with a weary sigh and handed it to the dean. “Read that before you get any ideas,” said Mudge.
The dean read it.
“Mars,” said Mudge.
Nothing happened.
The dean began to breathe more easily.
“Moon,” said Mudge.
And still nothing happened.
Mudge faced the audience. “Gentlemen, I regret the excitement here tonight. It has quite exhausted me. I can either give you Equation C and D or—”
“No,” said the dean.
“NO!” chorused the crowd.
“I’m frightened of it,” said the dean. “I could never, never, never prevail upon myself to use it under any circumstances less than a falling building. Destroy it.”
Mudge looked around and everybody nodded.
“I know this,” said Mudge, “but I will never write it again.”
28
♦ T H E D A N G E R O U S D I M E N S I O N
♦
And so saying, he tore it up into little bits, his wet coat making it possible for him to wad the scraps to nothingness, never again to be read by mortal man.
“Gentlemen,” said Mudge, “I am chilly. And so if you will excuse me, I will envision my study and—”
Whup!
Lizzie was crying. Her big shoulders shook as she hunched over in the doctor’s chair. “Oh, I just know something will happen to him. Something awful,” said Lizzie. “Poor little man.”
“I am not a poor little man,” said Mudge.
She gasped as she stared up at him.
“My chair, please,” said Mudge.
She started to her feet. “Why, Henry Mudge, you are soaking wet! What do you mean—?”
He cut her short. “I don’t mean anything by it except that I fell in a Martian canal, Lizzie. Now be quick and get me some dry clothes and a drink of something.”
She hesitated. “You know you don’t drink,” she snapped—for a test.
“I don’t drink because I knew you didn’t like it. Bring me some of that medicinal whiskey, Lizzie. Tomorrow I’ll make it a point to get some good Scotch.”
“HENRY!”
“Don’t talk like that,” said Henry Mudge commandingly.
“I am warning you that you had better be pretty good from now on.”
“Henry,” said Lizzie.
29
♦ L . R O N H U B B A R D ♦
“Stop that,” he said. “I won’t have it. I refuse to be bullied in my own home, I tell you. And unless you are very, very good I am liable to vanish like that—”
“Don’t,” she begged. “Don’t do that, Henry. Please don’t do that. Anything you say, Henry. Anything. But don’t pop off like that anymore.”
Henry beamed upon her. “That’s better. Now go get me some clothes and a drink. And be quick about it.”
“Yes, Henry,” she said meekly. But even so she did not feel badly about it. In fact, she felt very good. She whisked herself upstairs and trotted down again in a moment.
She placed the whiskey and water beside his hand.
Henry dug up a forbidden cigar. She did not protest.
“Get me a light,” said Henry.
She got him a light. “If you want anything, dear, just call.”
“That I will, Lizzie,” said Henry Mudge.
He put his feet upon the desk, feeling wicked about it but enjoying it just the same. His clothes were almost dry.
He sank back puffing his cigar, and then took a sip of the drink. He chuckled to himself.
His mind had quieted down. He grinned at the upset owl.
The thought which had almost hit him before came to him now. It jarred him for an instant, even made him sweat. But he shook it off and was very brave.
“Sun,” said Henry Mudge, coolly taking another drink.
This story is included in the book The Professor Was a Thief.
For more information go to www.goldenagestories.com.
30
Glossary
Glossary
STORIES FROM THE GOLDEN AGE reflect the words and expressions used in the 1930s and 1940s, adding unique flavor and authenticity to the tales. While a character’s speech may often reflect regional origins, it also can convey attitudes common in the day. So that readers can better grasp such cultural and historical terms, uncommon words or expressions of the era, the following glossary has been provided.
epistemology: a branch of philosophy that investigates the origin, nature, methods and limits of human knowledge.
G-men: government men; agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
key-jumpy: speaking in a tone of voice characterized by nervous or jittery variations in pitch.
Lake Tanganyika: a lake in central Africa. It is the longest freshwater lake in the world.
mean: unimposing or shabby.
Mountains of the Moon: a mountain range in central Africa, so called by the natives because of their snowcapped whiteness.
m’sieu: (French) Mr.
33
♦ G L O S S A R Y ♦
Scheherazade: the female narrator of The Arabian Nights, who during one thousand and one adventurous nights saved her life by entertaining her husband, the king, with stories.
Sea of Dreams: a large dark plain on the far side of the moon that was mistaken by early astronomers for a sea.
Spinoza: Baruch Spinoza (1632–1677); Dutch philosopher.
He claimed to deduce the entire system of thought from a restricted set of definitions and self-evident axioms.
34
L. Ron Hubbard
in the Golden Age
of Pulp Fiction
L. Ron Hubbard in the Golden Age of Pulp
Fiction
In writing an adventure story
a writer has to know that he is adventuring for a lot of people who cannot.
The writer has to take them here and there about the globe and show them
excitement and love and realism.
As long as that writer is living the part of an adventurer when he is hammering
the keys, he is succeeding with his story.
Adventuring is a state of mind.
If you adventure through life, you have a good chance to be a success on paper.
Adventure doesn’t mean globe-trotting, exactly, and it doesn’t mean great deeds.
Adventuring is like art.
You have to live it to make it real.
— L. RON HUBBARD
♦
♦
L. Ron Hubbard
and American
Pulp Fiction
ORN March 13, 1911, L. Ron Hubbard lived a life at least as expansive as the stories with which he enthralled B
a hundred million readers through a fifty-year career.
Originally hailing from Tilden, Nebraska, he spent his formative years in a classically rugged Montana, replete with the cowpunchers, lawmen and desperadoes who would later people his Wild West adventures. And lest anyone imagine those adventures were drawn from vicarious experience, he was not only breaking broncs at a tender age, he was also among the few whites ever admitted into Blackfoot society as a bona fide blood brother. While if only to round out an otherwise rough and tumble youth, his mother was that rarity of her time—a thoroughly educated woman—who introduced her son to the classics of Occidental literature even before his seventh birthday.
But as any dedicated L. Ron Hubbard reader will attest, his world extended far beyond Montana. In point of fact, and as the son of a United States naval o cer, by the age of eighteen he had traveled over a quarter of a million miles. Included therein were three Pacific crossings to a then still mysterious Asia, where he ran with the likes of Her British Majesty’s agent-in-place 37
♦ L . R O N H U B B A R D ♦
for North China, and the last in
the line of Royal Magicians from
the court of Kublai Khan. For the
record, L. Ron Hubbard was also
among the first Westerners to gain
admittance to forbidden Tibetan
monasteries below Manchuria,