Eando Binder - Five Steps to Tomorrow.rtf

THE INVISIBLE BRAIN

In stricken fascination, he saw the ghastly re­flection of his face. Cheek bones lay bare and white. The tight muscle cords around his mouth twitched in full view. His eyes appeared to be two balls hanging unsupported. The heavy cords of his neck were mirrored in their knotty entirety.

But one thing brought a sharper gasp of horror from his transparent lips. Underneath the beet-ling bone of the brow he could see straight through to the back of the skull. His entire brain was invisible.

FIVE

STEPS

TO

TOMORROW

BY EANDO BINDER

MODERN LITERARY EDITIONS PUBLISHING COMPANY
NEW YORK, N.Y.

Copyright, 1940, by Better Publications, Inc. Renewed ©1908 by Otto 0. Binder

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

All Rights Reserved

CHAPTER I

New Century

It lacked a half hour of midnight, December 31, 2000 A.D.

Earth waited eagerly to ring out the old and ring in the new. Not only a New Year would he ushered in, but a new century. The celebrations must be of a corre­sponding caliber, bringing down the curtain on one cen­tury and raising it on another. A new century loomed with hope and promise, and greater things for mankind.

Richard Hale felt that as he faced the assemblage in the Radium Room of New York's Strato-Hotel, one hun­dred and forty-nine stories above street level. The deaf­ening hum of hilarity died down. Faces turned expec­tantly toward him when he raised his arm. Glasses clinked as they were set down. Noise-makers, given an advance tryout, were silenced. Even the few persons who had imbibed to the point of intoxication allowed themselves to be hushed.

The great moment of the evening had arrived.

The TV ike-men made their final adjustments on the glowing iconoscopic eye that would flash the scene through the ether. Ike-men were always on hand for things like this. It was a common expression in the year 2000 that all you had to do was shake out your pockets, find a few ike-men and their portable iconoscopes. They were the eyes of the world.

Richard Hale steadied himself with a hand on the veiled model beside him. He trembled a little, and his throat went dry. He suddenly felt panic-stricken facing so many people. And he felt the concentrated stares of the vast television audience, in that huge glowing eye at his left. Hale was just twenty-four, accustomed more to the quiet of a laboratory than the rostrum of a hall. For a moment, flushed and weak-kneed, he thought desper­ately of diving for the nearest exit.

Then his eyes met those of Laura Asquith. She was in the front row of that terrible sea of faces, not ten feet away. Lovely as ever, calm, cool, sympathetic, her eyes seemed to speak to him, steady him. He drew courage from her, straightened his shoulders.

Hale began. His voice, at first, was low and tinged with uncertainty. Then quickly it became the normal, forceful tones of a man who knew he had something im­portant to say.

"Friends, as you all know, I am president of the Subatlantic Tube Company, formed a year ago. Your investments, and those of hundreds of others not here tonight, are in this untried venture. Our plans are to dig a tunnel from New York to Le Havre, France, under the Atlantic Ocean. That it will succeed, I'm as certain as if it were already done."

His voice suddenly went deep with restrained emo­tion.

"My father, Burton Hale, conceived the idea of the Tube twenty years ago. For twenty years he planned, calculated, worked himself to an early grave. He was only fifty-one when he died last year."

Hale's gulp was visible to the television audience, but he went on firmly.

"Burton Hale left his plans as a legacy to all the world. I know he meant it that way. He envisioned a network of tunnels that would eventually span the Pacific as well as Atlantic. I made a pledge to him, on his deathbed, that I would devote my life to that aim. Ladies and gentlemen -the Subatlantic Tube!"

Hale signaled with his hand. An electrician at the rear closed a switch, and a humming electric motor pulled at a fanwise strand of wires connected to pulleys in the ceiling. The silken drapery over the model raised, billow­ing in a draft of air.

The eyes of the gathering and those of the unseen tele­vision audience, fastened on the object revealed. Twenty feet long, it represented in reduced scale the first twenty miles of the Tube. At one end was the proposed New York terminal, a lofty pit sunk a mile deep into the ground. Elevators in miniature could be seen through a transparent cutaway. Successive levels were to hold baggage and freight warehouses, and unloading facili­ties. It was to be a super-railroad station.

As you looked from the terminal along the length of the Tube, you got the impression of its eventual huge­ness and scope. You could see the round, tile-lined tunnel, fifty feet in diameter, that would stretch thirty-five hundred miles through the bowels of Earth. At its lowest point, it would be fifteen miles within Earth's crust. Few mines in 2000 A.D. went deeper.

What could keep this amazing tunnel from collapsing? What could hold back those millions of tons of rock and ocean above, all pressing down savagely? Then you saw, in another cutaway, the tremendous hydraulic-sprung girders-Burton Hale's great invention. Under pressure, these girders yielded, but they stored up the compression in large hydraulic drums and fought back. Engineers had all been forced to agree that the system would hold up indefinitely. Even a major earthquake could only shake the girders to a safe margin of ten percent above col-lapse.

But, most of all, your eye was caught by the sleek, streamlined model ship at the terminal. The man in back closed another switch and the animated model began working. Puffs of rocket exhaust hissed from the ship's stern. Like a silver streak, the tiny craft shot along. It made the twenty feet in slightly under a minute. It

seemed slow, because it was ten times oversize in com­parison with the tunnel.

But it meant seventeen miles a minute-a thousand miles an hour-New York to Le Havre in three and a half hours.

The crowd stared in awe, realizing it watched a preview of what would go down in history as the great­est engineering feat of all time. The twenty-first century would start off in grand style. Cheers burst out, and ap­plause.

Richard Hale waited till the hubbub had died of its own accord. Then he spoke again, now with an uplift in his voice, all nervousness gone.

"The Subatlantic Tube, and all future ones, will be a boon to Earth's problem of transportation. Man has found the way to travel on the ground, on the seas and in the air. Now he will travel under the ocean, more safely and speedily than any other way. Strato-clippers crash now and then. Ships at sea miss their schedules. The Tube rocket will never be more than a minute late. It will not meet treacherous winds or storms. Its cross­ings will be as unalterable as a well-oiled machine. And a third point-"

Richard Hale paused. A thoughtful frown tightened his clean-cut features. There was more to say, but he hardly knew how to put it. He had memorized and pre-pared notes, yet somehow they were forgotten. What he wanted to say was something so vital and explosive that it brought a cold sweat.

Again he looked at Laura Asquith for encouragement, and found it. Beside her stood her uncle, Peter Asquith, with whom she lived. Peter Asquith, Burton Hale's best friend, had often supplied money for research in the lean days. Hale felt happy that his father's best friend was present.

The clock stood at fifteen minutes to twelve. Fifteenminutes would launch the new century. Hale suddenly went on, inspired.

"The twentieth century has been a significant century to civilization. Great things were done, but equally great upsets occurred. Radium, the movies, radio, automobiles and the airplane came in. Science took seven-league strides. But social evolution bogged down miserably. The First World War of 1914 to 1918, and the Great De­pression of the 'thirties spawned the next two World Wars and depressions. It was not till 1980 that balance came. With the formation of the World League in that year, peace and prosperity came to Earth."

Hale motioned toward the clock.

"In a few minutes, the twenty-first century begins. We all hope and pray it will be a century of progress and en­lightenment. But will it?" His voice became challenging. "It will only if the world is aware of a new seed of conflict. I refer frankly and openly to Transport Corpora­tion.

"Transport Corporation holds the monopoly on all transportation-trucks, buses, cars, railroads, ship lines, and air routes. In the past twenty years it has bought out most competitors. Its lobby in the World Congress is the most powerful in the world. It is next door to controlling the World Government like a puppet."

The ike-men snapped away their cigarettes and fussed over their apparatus to make sure it was working. This was dynamite, the kind of verbal dynamite that the freemasonry of ike-men liked to spray out over the ether.

Hale stood with set lips. The crowd had become ut­terly quiet, almost transfixed. They began to see some-thing more in this than merely a ceremony. Hale raised a tense hand.

"I am not going to preach a new doctrine. I simply say, beware of Transport Corporation. They approached me several times, offering to back the Tube. Yes, so they could later own it, add it to their monopoly. Five men

control Transport Corporation. They have kept under cover. I don't know them. But those Five I challenge. They have a stranglehold on transportation, the circula­tion system of civilization which pumps the blood of trade through the world.

"They seek power, these Five, the power of absolute rule. They are a new kind of budding dictator, more dangerous than the tin-pot dictators of the middle twentieth century. Their methods are less bloody, less brutal, but insidiously more effective. When their chosen day comes, they will say to the world, `Accept our rule, or starve. Not one wheel will move to distribute food and goods unless we are given the reins of government."

Richard Hale paused, panting a little. But he went right on.

"The Five won't succeed. They haven't yet crushed all competition in transportation. It will take them more than five years to complete their plans. In five years, the Subatlantic Tube will be in operation. My company will fight the monopoly. We will undersell them in transo­ceanic trade. The monopoly will crash. And then

His voice grew softer, calmer.

"And then the twenty-first century will have the really right start. I want to see a century of democracy, liberty, progress. Not a century of blind follow-the-leader under the dictates of five power-drunk men. The Five have threatened me, of course, through their agents. Sabotage, financial ruin, even assassination.

"But two of our five years of building are allowed for the worst possible sabotage-underground. Our sonic-survey has shown, secondly, that our digging will run through veins of pure gold. The project will finance it-self. As for personal threat, I can take care of myself. I challenge the Five to stop me."

CHAPTER II

The Five Strike

Millions of people heard and saw the tall, young man deliver his impassioned challenge. But four were more vitally concerned than any of the others. Four of "the Five" sat in a darkened, soundproof room, huddled be-fore a two-foot visi-screen.

"Richard Hale is our enemy, and a dangerous one," said Jonathan Mausser. He was short and fat. His pudgy hands almost continuously washed themselves with air. He bore the meek, cringing manner that betrayed the hypocrite. A man of law, he had often tricked trusting souls into legal doom. Beneath his white, fat skin was a heart as black as coal.

"The twenty-first century is about to start, and he is in our way," growled Ivan von Grenfeld. "He must be crushed, eliminated. We should have arranged his death months ago." Ivan von Grenfeld, of mixed foreign blood, was six-feet-two, broad-shouldered, impressively rugged, and proud of it all. He wore a uniform, one of dozens in his wardrobe. Some part of his ancestry had once held a dukedom.

"No, that would have been the wrong way, and it is still the wrong way," said Sir Charles Paxton, in his cold stiff accent. "The Company would go on after his death. The whole company must be discredited, broken up, even though that method is more costly." Sir Charles Paxton betrayed the miser by that last phrase. Gold to him was an idol. He worshiped it.

"No sense going over old ground," snapped Dr. Eman-

uel Gordy. "Our present plan is the one. You know who is over there now, in the Radium Room, waiting for the right moment. It will work out as I planned."

Dr. Emanuel Gordy laid undue emphasis on the word "I." He never let the other four forget his acknowledged leadership. He was the brain behind their plans. At one time he had been an eminent scientist. A slow smile drew up the corners of his thin lips.

"You challenge us, Richard Hale," he spat at the tele­vised image. "You'll soon find out what that means. When the New Year, and the New Century, breaks, that will be the moment."

Five minutes to twelve. Richard Hale waved. Behind him, the electrician at the switches moved his hand again. A ten-foot visi-screen over Hale's head began to glow, clarified to the scene of a desolate stretch of Long Island. In the background stood a huge atomic-power excavator amid all the paraphernalia of a digging project about to be begun. In the foreground, a line of workmen waited expectantly.

"The company," Hale explained, "arranged this private television hookup with the future site of the New York terminal. When I press this button, it will flash a signal to them-"

Watching the clock, Hale trembled more than before. He wanted so much to time it just right. Somehow, it would be a symbol of all that was to come. He pressed the button of a contact switch beside him.

In the visi-screen, the workmen broke their line at the signal and leaped away as though they had been on a leash. They scattered to all the machinery. The foreman remained in close focus. With a common shovel, he gravely dug up a shovelful of dirt and tossed it into a wheelbarrow. Then he looked up and waved.

Hale waved back, then faced the audience.

"Ladies and gentlemen! The first shovelful of ground dug for the new Subatlantic Tube."

The clock marked twelve to the very second.

From outside, through an opened window, came the sudden blast of a siren, followed a split-second later by a deluge of sound-bells, horns, trumpets, drums, and the full-throated roar of human voices. Timed to the last sec­ond, New York City blasted forth its welcome to the New Year, and to the New Century.

It was January first, 2001 A.D.

Richard Hale still stared at the visi-screen. Now the great AP-atomic-power-excavator rumbled to life, and the tremendous project was under way, right on sched­ule. It was merely ceremony, of course. The men out there would quit in a moment and join in celebrations. But the project had been officially started.

Suddenly Hale was being pummeled on the back. His arms were pumped up and down. Voices screamed in his ear.

"Happy New Century! Happy New Century!"

A slim form struggled through the crowd and grasped his arm. Laura Asquith rested a moment pantingly, then turned her face up.

"Happy New Century, Dick." Her lips formed the un­heard words.

Hale bent to the invitation of her lips. He knew it was the supreme moment of his life. Only two things had counted to him-the start of the project, and Laura. He had timed things perfectly so far. One more thing re­mained before the moment would be over forever.

He grasped the girl tightly, so they wouldn't be torn apart.

"I want you to many me," he screamed.

Not a word was audible, but the girl had read his lips. Hers formed a startled "Oh!" also inaudible.

"What a time and place you picked, silly." Her smile was impish, and tender.

"Well?" he pursued in their silent lip-reading.

She shook her chestnut tresses and laughed at his sud­denly crestfallen air.

"Try again tomorrow, when we're alone," she informed him with elaborate pantomime of her lips.

Hale nodded, satisfied. After all, it had been rather foolish to spring that here in this pandemonium of yell­ing, celebrating people. He turned at a touch on his arm. Peter Asquith stood there. The two men shook hands si­lently. Hale felt a glow within him. It was good to have a girl like Laura and a friend like Asquith starting off the new century at your side. The new century could mean everything splendid, or could mean turmoil.

The height of the moment spent itself, and the peak of noise dropped. Voices could be heard once again.

"Wonderful speech, dear," Laura said, squeezing his hand. "I'm proud of you. But didn't you put it rather strongly about Transport Corporation?"

Peter Asquith nodded gravely. "Transport may sue you for libel, my lad."

Hale's eyes gleamed.

"Let them. That's exactly what I want. If they take me to court, I'll give a real expose. You two know how they came after Dad, trying to buy him out. Dad and I inves­tigated. Through a private source, we learned of the Five. We wanted to expose them then. But the man who gave us the information disappeared. Murdered, of course. I'm trying to smoke out the Five this way. Yes, let them sue me for libel."

Peter Asquith shook his head slowly. "You're playing with fire. You haven't any proof of your claims, have you?"

Hale lowered his voice cautiously.

`°The man who was murdered left one concrete piece of evidence with us. A receipt showed that one million dollars was transferred to the account of the subversive Dictator Syndicate, in middle Europe. You know the

Dictator Syndicate and their outdated ideology. It hasn't been disbanded because it poses as a legal political party.

"The source of the million dollars that went to them is cleverly unnamed, but the Syndicate records would show it, if investigated by Government order. The Five, I be­lieve, are sponsoring the Dictator Syndicate, or at least strengthening it, helping to build an outlawed body of trained troopers."

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Asquith. "Where do you keep that paper?"

Hale patted a spot under his right shoulder.

"I carry it with me in a silk pouch tied around my chest. When the time comes-"

He paused significantly. Laura shuddered a bit.

"Dick, I'm worried for you. I almost feel the way I've felt several times before. An invisible net is settling down over you-over us."

Hale laughed, patting her hand reassuringly.

"I can take care of myself. Let's dance. Everybody else ~s.

At twelve-thirty aching silence came suddenly in the great room. It had the converse effect of a thunderclap in quiet air. Hale and Laura turned. People were staring in the direction of the main door, at the other end of the hall.

...