right. But Lawton hadmisgivings. No matter how attenuated a lethal gas is it is neverentirely harmless. To make matters worse, they were over the AtlanticOcean.
Far beneath them was an emerald turbulence, half obscured by eastwardmoving cloud masses. The bubble was holding, but the morale of the crewwas beginning to sag.
Lawton paced the control room. Deep within him unsuspected energiessurged. "We'll last until the oxygen is breathed up," he exclaimed."We'll have four or five days, at most. But we seem to be travelingfaster than an ocean liner. With luck, we'll be in Europe before webecome carbon dioxide breathers."
"Will that help matters, Dave?" said the captain wearily.
"If we can blast our way out, it will."
The Captain's sagging body jackknifed erect. "Blast our way out? What doyou mean, Dave?"
"I've clamped expulsor disks on the cosmic ray absorbers and trainedthem downward. A thin stream of accidental neutrons directed against thebottom of the bubble may disrupt its energies--wear it thin. It's along gamble, but worth taking. We're staking nothing, remember?"
Forrester sputtered: "Nothing but our lives! If you blast a hole in thebubble you'll destroy its energy balance. Did that occur to you? Insidea lopsided bubble we may careen dangerously or fall into the sea beforewe can get the rotaries started."
"I thought of that. The pilots are standing by to start the rotaries theinstant we lurch. If we succeed in making a rent in the bubble we'llbreak out the helicoptic vanes and descend vertically. The rotarieswon't backfire again. I've had their burnt-out cylinder heads replaced."
An agitated voice came from the visiplate on the captain's desk: "Tuningin, sir."
Lawton stopped pacing abruptly. He swung about and grasped the desk edgewith both hands, his head touching Forrester's as the two men stareddown at the horizontal face of petty officer James Caldwell.
Caldwell wasn't more than twenty-two or three, but the screen'sopalescence silvered his hair and misted the outlines of his jaw, givinghim an aspect of senility.
"Well, young man," Forrester growled. "What is it? What do you want?"
The irritation in the captain's voice seemed to increase Caldwell'sagitation. Lawton had to say: "All right, lad, let's have it," beforethe information which he had seemed bursting to impart could be wrenchedout of him.
It came in erratic spurts. "The bubble is all blooming, sir. All aroundinside there are big yellow and purple growths. It started up above,and--and spread around. First there was just a clouding over of the sky,sir, and then--stalks shot out."
For a moment Lawton felt as though all sanity had been squeezed from hisbrain. Twice he started to ask a question and thought better of it.
Pumpings were superfluous when he could confirm Caldwell's statement inhalf a minute for himself. If Caldwell had cracked up--
Caldwell hadn't cracked. When Lawton walked to the quartz port andstared down all the blood drained from his face.
The vegetation was luxuriant, and unearthly. Floating in the sky wereserpentine tendrils as thick as a man's wrist, purplish flowers and ropyfungus growths. They twisted and writhed and shot out in all directions,creating a tangle immediately beneath him and curving up toward the shipamidst a welter of seed pods.
He could see the seeds dropping--dropping from pods which reminded himof the darkly horned skate egg sheaths which he had collected in hisboyhood from sea beaches at ebb tide.
It was the _unwholesomeness_ of the vegetation which chiefly unnervedhim. It looked dank, malarial. There were decaying patches on the fungusgrowths and a miasmal mist was descending from it toward the ship.
The control room was completely still when he turned from the quartzport to meet Forrester's startled gaze.
"Dave, what does it mean?" The question burst explosively from thecaptain's lips.
"It means--life has appeared and evolved and grown rotten ripe insidethe bubble, sir. All in the space of an hour or so."
"But that's--_impossible_."
Lawton shook his head. "It isn't at all, sir. We've had it drummed intous that evolution proceeds at a snailish pace, but what proof have wethat it can't mutate with lightning-like rapidity? I've told you thereare gases outside we can't even make in a chemical laboratory, moleculararrangements that are alien to earth."
"But plants derive nourishment from the soil," interpolated Forrester.
"I know. But if there are alien gases in the air the surface of thebubble must be reeking with unheard of chemicals. There may be compoundsinside the bubble which have so sped up organic processes that ahundred million year cycle of mutations has been telescoped into anhour."
Lawton was pacing the floor again. "It would be simpler to assume thatseeds of existing plants became somehow caught up and imprisoned in thebubble. But the plants around us never existed on earth. I'm nobotanist, but I know what the Congo has on tap, and the great rainforests of the Amazon."
"Dave, if the growth continues it will fill the bubble. It will chokeoff all our air."
"Don't you suppose I realize that? We've got to destroy that growthbefore it destroys us."
* * * * *
It was pitiful to watch the crew's morale sag. The miasmal taint of theominously proliferating vegetation was soon pervading the ship,spreading demoralization everywhere.
It was particularly awful straight down. Above a ropy tangle of lividvines and creepers a kingly stench weed towered, purplish and bloatedand weighted down with seed pods.
It seemed sentient, somehow. It was growing so fast that the evil odorwhich poured from it could be correlated with the increase of tensioninside the ship. From that particular plant, minute by slow minute,there surged a continuously mounting offensiveness, like nothing Lawtonhad ever smelt before.
The bubble had become a blooming horror sailing slowly westward abovethe storm-tossed Atlantic. And all the chemical agents which Lawtonsprayed through the ventilation valves failed to impede the growth ordestroy a single seed pod.
It was difficult to kill plant life with chemicals which were notharmful to man. Lawton took dangerous risks, increasing theunwholesomeness of their rapidly dwindling air supply by spraying out athin diffusion of problematically poisonous acids.
It was no sale. The growths increased by leaps and bounds, as thoughdetermined to show their resentment of the measures taken against themby marshalling all their forces in a demoralizing plantkrieg.
Thwarted, desperate, Lawton played his last card. He sent five membersof the crew, equipped with blow guns. They returned screaming. Lawtonhad to fortify himself with a double whiskey soda before he could facethe look of reproach in their eyes long enough to get all of theprickles out of them.
From then on pandemonium reigned. Blue funk seized the petty officerswhile some of the crew ran amuck. One member of the engine watchattacked four of his companions with a wrench; another went into theship's kitchen and slashed himself with a paring knife. The assistantengineer leapt through a 'chute opening, after avowing that he preferredimpalement to suffocation.
He _was_ impaled. It was horrible. Looking down Lawton could see histwisted body dangling on a crimson-stippled thornlike growth forty feetin height.
Slashaway was standing at his elbow in that Waterloo moment, hisrough-hewn features twitching. "I can't stand it, sir. It's driving mesquirrelly."
"I know, Slashaway. There's something worse than marijuana weed downthere."
Slashaway swallowed hard. "That poor guy down there did the wise thing."
Lawton husked: "Stamp on that idea, Slashaway--kill it. We're strongerthan he was. There isn't an ounce of weakness in us. We've got what ittakes."
"A guy can stand just so much."
"Bosh. There's no limit to what a man can stand."
From the visiplate behind them came an urgent voice: "Radio room tuningin, sir."
Lawton swung about. On the flickering screen the foggy outlines of aface appeared and coalesced into sharpness.
The Perseus r
adio operator was breathless with excitement. "Ourreception is improving, sir. European short waves are coming in strong.The static is terrific, but we're getting every station on thecontinent, and most of the American stations."
Lawton's eyes narrowed to exultant slits. He spat on the deck, a slowtremor shaking him.
"Slashaway, did you hear that? _We've done it._ We've won against helland high water."
"We done what, sir?"
"The bubble, you ape--it must be wearing thin. Hell's bells, do you haveto stand there gaping like a moronic ninepin? I tell you, we've got itlicked."
"I can't stand it, sir. I'm going nuts."
"No you're not. You're slugging the thing inside you that wants to quit.Slashaway, I'm going to give the crew a first-class pep talk. There'llbe no stampeding while I'm in command here."
He turned to the radio operator. "Tune in the control room. Tell thecaptain I want every member of the crew lined up on this screenimmediately."
The face in the visiplate paled. "I can't do that, sir. Ship'sregulations--"
Lawton transfixed the operator with an irate stare. "The captain toldyou to report directly to me, didn't he?"
"Yes sir, but--"
"If you don't want to be cashiered, _snap into it_."
"Yes--yessir."
The captain's startled face preceded the duty-muster visiview by a fullminute, seeming to project outward from the screen. The veins on hisneck were thick blue cords.
"Dave," he croaked. "Are you out of your mind? What good will talking do_now_?"
"Are the men lined up?" Lawton rapped, impatiently.
Forrester nodded. "They're all in the engine room, Dave."
"Good. Block them in."
The captain's face receded, and a scene of tragic horror filled theopalescent visiplate. The men were not standing at attention at all.They were slumping against the Perseus' central charging plant inattitudes of abject despair.
* * * * *
Madness burned in the eyes of three or four of them. Others had tornopen their shirts, and raked their flesh with their nails. Petty officerCaldwell was standing as straight as a totem pole, clenching andunclenching his hands. The second assistant engineer was sticking outhis tongue. His face was deadpan, which made what was obviously a terrorreflex look like an idiot's grimace.
Lawton moistened his lips. "Men, listen to me. There is some sort ofplant outside that is giving off deliriant fumes. A few of us seem to beimmune to it.
"I'm not immune, but I'm fighting it, and all of you boys can fight ittoo. I want you to fight it to the top of your courage. You can fight_anything_ when you know that just around the corner is freedom from abeastliness that deserves to be licked--even if it's only a plant.
"Men, we're blasting our way free. The bubble's wearing thin. Any minutenow the plants beneath us may fall with a soggy plop into the AtlanticOcean.
"I want every man jack aboard this ship to stand at his post and obeyorders. Right this minute you look like something the cat dragged in.But most men who cover themselves with glory start off looking evenworse than you do."
He smiled wryly.
"I guess that's all. I've never had to make a speech in my life, and I'dhate like hell to start now."
It was petty officer Caldwell who started the chant. He started it, andthe men took it up until it was coming from all of them in afull-throated roar.
I'm a tough, true-hearted skyman, Careless and all that, d'ye see? Never at fate a railer, What is time or tide to me?
All must die when fate shall will it, I can never die but once, I'm a tough, true-hearted skyman; He who fears death is a dunce.
Lawton squared his shoulders. With a crew like that nothing could stophim! Ah, his energies were surging high. The deliriant weed held noterrors for him now. They were stout-hearted lads and he'd go to hellwith them cheerfully, if need be.
It wasn't easy to wait. The next half hour was filled with a steadilymounting tension as Lawton moved like a young tornado about the ship,issuing orders and seeing that each man was at his post.
"Steady, Jimmy. The way to fight a deliriant is to keep your mind on aset task. Keep sweating, lad."
"Harry, that winch needs tightening. We can't afford to miss a trick."
"Yeah, it will come suddenly. We've got to get the rotaries started theinstant the bottom drops out."
He was with the captain and Slashaway in the control room when it came.There was a sudden, grinding jolt, and the captain's desk started movingtoward the quartz port, carrying Lawton with it.
"Holy Jiminy cricket," exclaimed Slashaway.
The deck tilted sharply; then righted itself. A sudden gush of clear,cold air came through the ventilation valves as the triple rotariesstarted up with a roar.
Lawton and the captain reached the quartz port simultaneously. Shoulderto shoulder they stood staring down at the storm-tossed Atlantic,electrified by what they saw.
Floating on the waves far beneath them was an undulating mass ofvegetation, its surface flecked with glinting foam. As it rose and fellin waning sunlight a tainted seepage spread about it, defiling the cleansurface of the sea.
But it wasn't the floating mass which drew a gasp from Forrester, andcaused Lawton's scalp to prickle. Crawling slowly across thatSargasso-like island of noxious vegetation was a huge, elongated shapewhich bore a nauseous resemblance to a mottled garden slug.
Forrester was trembling visibly when he turned from the quartz port.
"God, Dave, that would have been the _last straw_. Animal life. Dave,I--I can't realize we're actually out of it."
"We're out, all right," Lawton said, hoarsely. "Just in time, too.Skipper, you'd better issue grog all around. The men will be needing it.I'm taking mine straight. You've accused me of being primitive. Waittill you see me an hour from now."
Dr. Stephen Halday stood in the door of his Appalachian mountainlaboratory staring out into the pine-scented dusk, a worried expressionon his bland, small-featured face. It had happened again. A portion ofhis experiment had soared skyward, in a very loose group of highlyenergized wavicles. He wondered if it wouldn't form a sort ofsub-electronic macrocosm high in the stratosphere, altering even the airand dust particles which had spurted up with it, its uncharged atomicparticles combining with hydrogen and creating new moleculararrangements.
If such were the case there would be eight of them now. _His_ bubbles,floating through the sky. They couldn't possibly harm anything--way upthere in the stratosphere. But he felt a little uneasy about it all thesame. He'd have to be more careful in the future, he told himself. Muchmore careful. He didn't want the Controllers to turn back the clock ofcivilization a century by stopping all atom-smashing experiments.
Transcriber's Note:
This e-text was produced from Comet July 1941. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
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