Читать книгу The Radio Beasts - Roger Sherman Hoar - Страница 6

Table of Contents

At this point in the narrative, it is both fitting and proper for me to digress for a moment, in order to explain how these radio-relay stations came to be dotted all over the country of Cupia.

Back in the early days, radio engineers speculated as to why it is that a crystal set can often receive much more distant stations when located in the vicinity of a tube set. Various more or less absurd theories were advanced, such as induction, a field of negative resistance, and so forth. Yet the true explanation is very simple. It was one of the first points about radio communication which Cabot explained to me after his return from Poros.

As for induction being the cause, one has only to consider the electrical law whereby the induction field diminishes as the square of the distance, whereas the field due to actual radiation diminishes only as the distance.

“A field of negative resistance”—I defy any one to explain what he means by that in such a connection.

One further theory remains, namely, electrostatic coupling. I do not know that this explanation has ever been seriously advanced. If advanced, it would be very plausible. But I should like to see a proponent of such an explanation draw a diagram of the electrostatic coupling between a crystal set with a coil antenna, and a vacuum set with capacity antennas, or vice versa. Maybe it is possible, but I don’t see how; and Myles Cabot, the greatest radio expert of two worlds, is my authority for saying that it can’t be done.

No, Cabot’s explanation which follows sounds a lot more sensible than any of the foregoing. And the fact that he has demonstrated his theory, and has put it to practical use on Poros, proves it to be so. The man who has done that, will some day find a practical use even for static. Enough said!

This is his explanation: Compare the situation in a sending set and a receiving set. In the former, with the tube oscillating, we have in the antenna-circuit an oscillating current with impressed sound waves. A regenerative receiving-set picks up this current, very weak, and builds it up to the limit of the capabilities of our tube; so that we have in the antenna-circuit of a receiving-set the same situation as though we were sending, only, of course, weaker because of the small size of our tube. And we actually are sending at such a time, although faintly, thus augmenting the impulse from the distant broadcasting station, and thus undoubtedly accounting for the hitherto unexplained phenomenon of long-distance crystal reception.

Cabot, while still on earth, demonstrated this theory to his own satisfaction by experimenting with a tube-set and a crystal-set half a mile apart, and by actually catching in his crystal-set the not-quite-damped-out sixty-cycle hum of the power-line which he was using to run his tube-set. Then, by substituting a large transmitting-tube for his small receiving-tube, although still leaving the set hooked up as a receiving set, he was able to relay even distant stations to friends with crystal sets scattered all over Back Bay, Boston. The removal of the phone circuit was the final step to convert his set into a pure radio relay-station, nothing more.

These early earthly experiments of his recurred to his mind when establishing the radio routes on the planet Poros. Hence the myriad relay-stations which dotted the planet, in one of which he now found himself a prisoner.

But as the ant man advanced to secure his captive, the long-impending tropical thunderstorm broke in all its fury.

Gusts of rain swirled in at the door. Crash after crash of almost continuous thunder shook the ground. The lightning fell in one continuous sheet of flame, so that all was as bright as daylight. But still the ant man kept his rifle pointed at Cabot. Quite evidently the creature wished to capture the earthman alive.

Finally there came a roar more deafening than all the others, followed by a ripping of timbers, a deluge of rain, and then the collapse of the entire building, pinning both captor and captive beneath it. The tower of the aerial had been struck by lightning, and had fallen.

The dash of rain against his face brought Myles Cabot to his senses. He found himself momentarily free from the ant man, and yet not free at all, merely free from the ant man, for he was pinned to the floor, flat on his back, with a heavy timber across his chest. Struggle as he would, he could not dislodge it. And to make matters worse, a stream of rain water now began to flow into the room, threatening to submerge him. The Formian was nowhere to be seen; evidently he was buried by some other part of the building.

Although the stream continually flowed past, yet, as the downpour kept on, the level of the water gradually rose, until only an extreme craning of Cabot’s neck kept his nose above the surface.

Finally, with a tidal wave, the waters swept over his head, and at the same instant something beneath him gave way, and he was carried under the beam and along with the current. Quite evidently the supports which held the floor had been washed out just in time.

After a few deep breaths to relieve his strangled lungs, Cabot scrambled to his feet in the shallow stream. The rain had stopped, but dark clouds still scudded along beneath the silver sky.

Cabot made his way back to the road, bruised and wet, and continued his interminable journey northward.

As he trudged on, he had plenty of time for thought, although his senses had to be always on the alert for scouting-planes, for kerkools on the roads, and for other forms of enemy activity. At towns, and even at isolated farms, he had to detour with exceeding care, in order to escape detection. In some places where the woods happened to be fairly open, this was not so hard; but wherever the undergrowth was thick and tangled, this detouring proved to be most laborious.

All day long he pressed on, day after day, northward, ever northward, toward Luno Castle and his loved ones. His thoughts consisted mostly in worrying, and wondering what had occurred to Lilla and to baby Kew, of fearing for the worst, and of blaming himself for whatever might have happened to them.

Undoubtedly the fleet of kerkools, manned by his friend Poblath, the mango of the Kuana jail, had long since reached Lake Luno. Undoubtedly other kerkools, manned by supporters of the atrocious Prince Yuri had also arrived at that point. Probably considerable bodies of the partisans of both factions in this civil war had also congregated there. The question was: which group had got there first, and what had been the outcome of the clash that had inevitably followed? The answer Cabot could not know until he arrived there himself. So he pressed on, ever thinking of Lilla, of Lilla and his baby; and ever borne up by his longing for his loved ones.

The one thing which saved him from exhaustion was the fact that travel at night was impractical. In the starless jet blackness of the Porovian night, it was difficult to keep on the concrete road, and even more difficult for him to find his way on detours through the tangled tropical forests. Thus, for six out of the twelve parths that make up one revolution of the planet about its axis, he was forced against his will to rest, regardless of how eager he was to reach his journey’s end.

Every night, as the western sky turned pink from the unseen setting sun, Cabot would penetrate into the woods at the side of the road, seek out some thicket, crawl into the midst of it, lie down, cover his weary body with leaves, and sink into a troubled sleep.

In detouring, except in the early morning or the late afternoon, when the pink light on the one hand or on the other served to show him which was east and which was west, it was very difficult to keep himself properly oriented; and accordingly he frequently lost his way.

On one such occasion, after wandering aimlessly through the woods for some time, he finally came out upon a grassy hill, overlooking a small sandy plain. He sat down for a while on the crest, and surveyed the scene below him. It was by far the most peculiar expanse of sand which he had ever seen. Its entire surface was pitted with large cup-shaped depressions. But almost every one of these craters here was approached by a long, winding furrow, as though a huge snow-plow had got lost for quite a distance, in trying to make its way out of the crater.

Myles Cabot was primarily an inquisitive scientist, so for the present he forgot his troubles, forgot even his quest, engrossed in the problem presented by the scene on the plain below. As he intently scanned the view, his eye caught a slight movement of the sand at the bottom of one of the depressions. He watched this particular hole for some time, but nothing further happened; so he studied one of the others for similar phenomena, and at last was rewarded by the sight of a slight spurt of sand.

“These holes are probably of a volcanic nature,” he mused, “but apparently their eruptions are not powerful enough to be dangerous. This is the first evidence of volcanic action which I have ever seen on the continent of Poros. Accordingly a study of these holes may furnish some valuable information, bearing upon the nature of the boiling seas which surround the continent.”

So he arose, and trotted down the grassy slope to the sandy plain below. Along the edge of the sand there ran a little brook. Here was a chance to combine business with pleasure. So Cabot laid aside his revolver, for which he had long since fashioned a rough sling of grass-rope. He took off his toga, washed it thoroughly in the stream, and hung it up to dry on a nearby bush. He bathed himself, and took a long drink of the cool water. Then, feeling much refreshed, he walked across the plain to examine the craters, while his clothing dried.

The sand was hot and dry. It was infested with brinks, those miniature kangaroolike lizards which are so common on Poros. But he scarcely heeded the heat or the brinks, so intent was he on the scientific problem before him.

Gingerly he approached the rim of one of the craters, and sat naked for a long time on the edge, staring into the interior. The hole was about fifty paces across, and of a depth fully six or eight times the height of a man. There was absolutely nothing remarkable about it except its size and the problem of what could possibly have created it.

After a period of intense watching, Cabot tired and permitted his gaze to shift to the other holes about him, then to the edge of the plain, then to the country beyond. Whereat he was startled, and a bit annoyed, to find that a stretch of road was in plain view but a short distance from his position. Conversely his position must be in plain view from the road, and therefore he was in danger of being observed by the occupants of any passing kerkool.

Instantly his quest, and his duty to his country and his family became uppermost in his mind. Forgotten was his scientific interest in the mysterious plain with its strange depressions, as he jumped to his feet to resume his journey northward.

But, unfortunately, his scrambling to his feet disturbed the ground where he had been sitting. It crumbled away beneath him. He stood for a moment at the very edge of the crater, pawing the air, struggling for a foothold; and then, amid a shower of pebbles, he slid down into the depths.

His slide was not absolutely precipitate. He struggled upward as the gravel rolled down beneath him; and thus, slipping, scrambling, gaining an inch and then losing two, he gradually approached the bottom.

His descent was momentarily stayed by a piece of rotten log about the size of his own body, which projected from the side of the crater, and with which he came in contact; but finally his struggles loosened it, and it bounded down the slope ahead of him. As he slid after it, he instinctively watched its downward course. It rolled to the exact center of the bottom of the pit; and as it came to a stop, the sand beneath it heaved convulsively, and from each side of it rose out of the ground a glittering scimitar fully ten feet long, which closed upon the log like the blades of a pair of buttonhole scissors, and dragged it beneath the surface.

A moment later, and Cabot himself rolled to the exact spot where the log had been seized and had disappeared.

Like a flash he realized the full extent of his predicament. He had fallen into the trap of a gigantic ant-bear. Years ago, as a boy at Atlantic City, he had often lain on the piazza floor of the bathhouse and watched through the cracks the antics of the miniature beasts of prey in the sand below. He had seen them dig their pits; two or three inches across; he had seen them plow a trail to their pits; he had seen inquisitive beach ants, in search of food, follow these trails, fall into the pit, and be dragged struggling beneath the surface, to furnish a meal for the ant bear which lay in wait, buried in the center of the depression which it had dug. But never had he pictured himself as falling into one of these traps.

Was he in one now? It could hardly be. And yet, as there were huge ants ten feet long on Poros, and also slightly smaller breeds without the intelligence which characterized the Formians, why not ant-bears in proportion? It certainly sounded plausible.

Of course, these thoughts, which take so long to set down here, passed through Cabot’s brain in a single instant. He felt no fear, merely a keen scientific interest in the situation. But, quickly as his mind worked to analyze his predicament, it worked as quickly to determine a course of action.

The subterranean beast spewed up the unappetizing log of wood which it had seized, and snapped its mandibles together again; but Cabot had already sprung to his feet, and had passed beyond the fatal spot. The sharp jaw just barely missed him.

His bound carried him part way up the opposite side, but almost immediately he started slipping back again into the center. This time, however, instead of merely striving to scale the unstable walls, he ran in a circle, round and round the flashing jaws.

As he increased his speed, his centrifugal acceleration, like that of a horse-chestnut which a small boy whirls on a string, gradually forced him outward and upward, thus offsetting to a large extent the sliding action of the sand.

But the beast at the bottom, evidently tiring of snapping aimlessly in the air while its prey circled about it and showered it with dirt, began to dig itself out.

Just then Myles espied a branch or root protruding from the bank just above the level of his head. With one last spurt, he leaped in the air and grasped the branch. For a moment he hung swaying beneath it. It held, and did not become dislodged from the bank. So gradually he hauled himself up, until finally he sat upon it.

The top of the bank was still too far away to reach, so for the present Myles just clung to his perch and panted. Great agonized sobs shook his frame. But at last he regained his breath, and then coughed and spat for a while until his aching lungs felt somewhat better.

Meanwhile the ant-bear, if such it was, slowly emerged from its place of burial. The beast was about thirty-five feet in length and resembled a huge beetle, except that its six legs were all nearer to the head than in a beetle, thus giving it more the effect of a gigantic louse. With its ten-foot-long razor-sharp mandibles clicking hungrily, it slowly approached its prisoner, who watched it fascinated.

A slight noise across the pit-mouth momentarily diverted Cabot’s attention, and looking up he saw a Formian standing at the edge with a rifle in its two front paws.

Evidently this new enemy had seen him from the road and had come over to enjoy the spectacle of the final destruction of the arch-nemesis of its race. And if by any chance Myles should escape from the enemy below, the enemy above stood ready to polish him off with a rifle-shot. A pleasant situation indeed!

Meanwhile the ant bear continued its slow but steady approach. And Cabot’s revolver lay useless beside his drying toga at the edge of the plain.