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+{"context": "You are given a story, which can be either a novel or a movie script, and a question. Answer the question asconcisely as you can, using a single phrase if possible. Do not provide any explanation.\n\nStory: Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nARMAGEDDON--2419 A.D.\n\n_By Philip Francis Nowlan_\n\n\n    _Here, once more, is a real scientifiction story plus. It is a story\n    which will make the heart of many readers leap with joy._\n\n    _We have rarely printed a story in this magazine that for scientific\n    interest, as well as suspense, could hold its own with this\n    particular story. We prophesy that this story will become more\n    valuable as the years go by. It certainly holds a number of\n    interesting prophecies, of which no doubt, many will come true. For\n    wealth of science, it will be hard to beat for some time to come. It\n    is one of those rare stories that will bear reading and re-reading\n    many times._\n\n    _This story has impressed us so favorably, that we hope the author\n    may be induced to write a sequel to it soon._\n\n\n\n\nForeword\n\n\nElsewhere I have set down, for whatever interest they have in this, the\n25th Century, my personal recollections of the 20th Century.\n\nNow it occurs to me that my memoirs of the 25th Century may have an\nequal interest 500 years from now--particularly in view of that unique\nperspective from which I have seen the 25th Century, entering it as I\ndid, in one leap across a gap of 492 years.\n\nThis statement requires elucidation. There are still many in the world\nwho are not familiar with my unique experience. Five centuries from now\nthere may be many more, especially if civilization is fated to endure\nany worse convulsions than those which have occurred between 1975 A.D.\nand the present time.\n\nI should state therefore, that I, Anthony Rogers, am, so far as I know,\nthe only man alive whose normal span of eighty-one years of life has\nbeen spread over a period of 573 years. To be precise, I lived the first\ntwenty-nine years of my life between 1898 and 1927; the other fifty-two\nsince 2419. The gap between these two, a period of nearly five hundred\nyears, I spent in a state of suspended animation, free from the ravages\nof katabolic processes, and without any apparent effect on my physical\nor mental faculties.\n\nWhen I began my long sleep, man had just begun his real conquest of the\nair in a sudden series of transoceanic flights in airplanes driven by\ninternal combustion motors. He had barely begun to speculate on the\npossibilities of harnessing sub-atomic forces, and had made no further\npractical penetration into the field of ethereal pulsations than the\nprimitive radio and television of that day. The United States of America\nwas the most powerful nation in the world, its political, financial,\nindustrial and scientific influence being supreme; and in the arts also\nit was rapidly climbing into leadership.\n\nI awoke to find the America I knew a total wreck--to find Americans a\nhunted race in their own land, hiding in the dense forests that covered\nthe shattered and leveled ruins of their once magnificent cities,\ndesperately preserving, and struggling to develop in their secret\nretreats, the remnants of their culture and science--and the undying\nflame of their sturdy independence.\n\nWorld domination was in the hands of Mongolians and the center of world\npower lay in inland China, with Americans one of the few races of\nmankind unsubdued--and it must be admitted in fairness to the truth, not\nworth the trouble of subduing in the eyes of the Han Airlords who ruled\nNorth America as titular tributaries of the Most Magnificent.\n\nFor they needed not the forests in which the Americans lived, nor the\nresources of the vast territories these forests covered. With the\nperfection to which they had reduced the synthetic production of\nnecessities and luxuries, their remarkable development of scientific\nprocesses and mechanical accomplishment of work, they had no economic\nneed for the forests, and no economic desire for the enslaved labor of\nan unruly race.\n\nThey had all they needed for their magnificently luxurious and degraded\nscheme of civilization, within the walls of the fifteen cities of\nsparkling glass they had flung skyward on the sites of ancient American\ncenters, into the bowels of the earth underneath them, and with\nrelatively small surrounding areas of agriculture.\n\nComplete domination of the air rendered communication between these\ncenters a matter of ease and safety. Occasional destructive raids on the\nwaste lands were considered all that was necessary to keep the \"wild\"\nAmericans on the run within the shelter of their forests, and prevent\ntheir becoming a menace to the Han civilization.\n\nBut nearly three hundred years of easily maintained security, the last\ncentury of which had been nearly sterile in scientific, social and\neconomic progress, had softened and devitalized the Hans.\n\nIt had likewise developed, beneath the protecting foliage of the forest,\nthe growth of a vigorous new American civilization, remarkable in the\nmobility and flexibility of its organization, in its conquest of almost\ninsuperable obstacles, in the development and guarding of its industrial\nand scientific resources, all in anticipation of that \"Day of Hope\" to\nwhich it had been looking forward for generations, when it would be\nstrong enough to burst from the green chrysalis of the forests, soar\ninto the upper air lanes and destroy the yellow incubus.\n\nAt the time I awoke, the \"Day of Hope\" was almost at hand. I shall not\nattempt to set forth a detailed history of the Second War of\nIndependence, for that has been recorded already by better historians\nthan I am. Instead I shall confine myself largely to the part I was\nfortunate enough to play in this struggle and in the events leading up\nto it.\n\n[Illustration: Seen upon the ultroscope viewplate, the battle looked as\nthough it were being fought in daylight, perhaps on a cloudy day, while\nthe explosions of the rockets appeared as flashes of extra brilliance.]\n\nIt all resulted from my interest in radioactive gases. During the latter\npart of 1927 my company, the American Radioactive Gas Corporation, had\nbeen keeping me busy investigating reports of unusual phenomena observed\nin certain abandoned coal mines near the Wyoming Valley, in\nPennsylvania.\n\nWith two assistants and a complete equipment of scientific instruments,\nI began the exploration of a deserted working in a mountainous district,\nwhere several weeks before, a number of mining engineers had reported\ntraces of carnotite[1] and what they believed to be radioactive gases.\nTheir report was not without foundation, it was apparent from the\noutset, for in our examination of the upper levels of the mine, our\ninstruments indicated a vigorous radioactivity.\n\n    [1] A hydrovanadate of uranium, and other metals; used as a source\n    of radium compounds.\n\nOn the morning of December 15th, we descended to one of the lowest\nlevels. To our surprise, we found no water there. Obviously it had\ndrained off through some break in the strata. We noticed too that the\nrock in the side walls of the shaft was soft, evidently due to the\nradioactivity, and pieces crumbled under foot rather easily. We made our\nway cautiously down the shaft, when suddenly the rotted timbers above us\ngave way.\n\nI jumped ahead, barely escaping the avalanche of coal and soft rock, but\nmy companions, who were several paces behind me, were buried under it,\nand undoubtedly met instant death.\n\nI was trapped. Return was impossible. With my electric torch I explored\nthe shaft to its end, but could find no other way out. The air became\nincreasingly difficult to breathe, probably from the rapid accumulation\nof the radioactive gas. In a little while my senses reeled and I lost\nconsciousness.\n\nWhen I awoke, there was a cool and refreshing circulation of air in the\nshaft. I had no thought that I had been unconscious more than a few\nhours, although it seems that the radioactive gas had kept me in a state\nof suspended animation for something like 500 years. My awakening, I\nfigured out later, had been due to some shifting of the strata which\nreopened the shaft and cleared the atmosphere in the working. This must\nhave been the case, for I was able to struggle back up the shaft over a\npile of debris, and stagger up the long incline to the mouth of the\nmine, where an entirely different world, overgrown with a vast forest\nand no visible sign of human habitation, met my eyes.\n\nI shall pass over the days of mental agony that followed in my attempt\nto grasp the meaning of it all. There were times when I felt that I was\non the verge of insanity. I roamed the unfamiliar forest like a lost\nsoul. Had it not been for the necessity of improvising traps and crude\nclubs with which to slay my food, I believe I should have gone mad.\n\nSuffice it to say, however, that I survived this psychic crisis. I shall\nbegin my narrative proper with my first contact with Americans of the\nyear 2419 A.D.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nFloating Men\n\n\nMy first glimpse of a human being of the 25th Century was obtained\nthrough a portion of woodland where the trees were thinly scattered,\nwith a dense forest beyond.\n\nI had been wandering along aimlessly, and hopelessly, musing over my\nstrange fate, when I noticed a figure that cautiously backed out of the\ndense growth across the glade. I was about to call out joyfully, but\nthere was something furtive about the figure that prevented me. The\nboy's attention (for it seemed to be a lad of fifteen or sixteen) was\ncentered tensely on the heavy growth of trees from which he had just\nemerged.\n\nHe was clad in rather tight-fitting garments entirely of green, and wore\na helmet-like cap of the same color. High around his waist he wore a\nbroad, thick belt, which bulked up in the back across the shoulders,\ninto something of the proportions of a knapsack.\n\nAs I was taking in these details, there came a vivid flash and heavy\ndetonation, like that of a hand grenade, not far to the left of him. He\nthrew up an arm and staggered a bit in a queer, gliding way; then he\nrecovered himself and slipped cautiously away from the place of the\nexplosion, crouching slightly, and still facing the denser part of the\nforest. Every few steps he would raise his arm, and point into the\nforest with something he held in his hand. Wherever he pointed there was\na terrific explosion, deeper in among the trees. It came to me then that\nhe was shooting with some form of pistol, though there was neither flash\nnor detonation from the muzzle of the weapon itself.\n\nAfter firing several times, he seemed to come to a sudden resolution,\nand turning in my general direction, leaped--to my amazement sailing\nthrough the air between the sparsely scattered trees in such a jump as I\nhad never in my life seen before. That leap must have carried him a full\nfifty feet, although at the height of his arc, he was not more than ten\nor twelve feet from the ground.\n\nWhen he alighted, his foot caught in a projecting root, and he sprawled\ngently forward. I say \"gently\" for he did not crash down as I expected\nhim to do. The only thing I could compare it with was a slow-motion\ncinema, although I had never seen one in which horizontal motions were\nregistered at normal speed and only the vertical movements were slowed\ndown.\n\nDue to my surprise, I suppose my brain did not function with its normal\nquickness, for I gazed at the prone figure for several seconds before I\nsaw the blood that oozed out from under the tight green cap. Regaining\nmy power of action, I dragged him out of sight back of the big tree. For\na few moments I busied myself in an attempt to staunch the flow of\nblood. The wound was not a deep one. My companion was more dazed than\nhurt. But what of the pursuers?\n\nI took the weapon from his grasp and examined it hurriedly. It was not\nunlike the automatic pistol to which I was accustomed, except that it\napparently fired with a button instead of a trigger. I inserted several\nfresh rounds of ammunition into its magazine from my companion's belt,\nas rapidly as I could, for I soon heard, near us, the suppressed\nconversation of his pursuers.\n\nThere followed a series of explosions round about us, but none very\nclose. They evidently had not spotted our hiding place, and were firing\nat random.\n\nI waited tensely, balancing the gun in my hand, to accustom myself to\nits weight and probable throw.\n\nThen I saw a movement in the green foliage of a tree not far away, and\nthe head and face of a man appeared. Like my companion, he was clad\nentirely in green, which made his figure difficult to distinguish. But\nhis face could be seen clearly. It was an evil face, and had murder in\nit.\n\nThat decided me. I raised the gun and fired. My aim was bad, for there\nwas no kick in the gun, as I had expected, and I hit the trunk of the\ntree several feet below him. It blew him from his perch like a crumpled\nbit of paper, and he _floated_ down to the ground, like some limp, dead\nthing, gently lowered by an invisible hand. The tree, its trunk blown\napart by the explosion, crashed down.\n\nThere followed another series of explosions around us. These guns we\nwere using made no sound in the firing, and my opponents were evidently\nas much at sea as to my position as I was to theirs. So I made no\nattempt to reply to their fire, contenting myself with keeping a sharp\nlookout in their general direction. And patience had its reward.\n\nVery soon I saw a cautious movement in the top of another tree. Exposing\nmyself as little as possible, I aimed carefully at the tree trunk and\nfired again. A shriek followed the explosion. I heard the tree crash\ndown; then a groan.\n\nThere was silence for a while. Then I heard a faint sound of boughs\nswishing. I shot three times in its direction, pressing the button as\nrapidly as I could. Branches crashed down where my shells had exploded,\nbut there was no body.\n\nThen I saw one of them. He was starting one of those amazing leaps from\nthe bough of one tree to another, about forty feet away.\n\nI threw up my gun impulsively and fired. By now I had gotten the feel of\nthe weapon, and my aim was good. I hit him. The \"bullet\" must have\npenetrated his body and exploded. For one moment I saw him flying\nthrough the air. Then the explosion, and he had vanished. He never\nfinished his leap. It was annihilation.\n\nHow many more of them there were I don't know. But this must have been\ntoo much for them. They used a final round of shells on us, all of which\nexploded harmlessly, and shortly after I heard them swishing and\ncrashing away from us through the tree tops. Not one of them descended\nto earth.\n\nNow I had time to give some attention to my companion. She was, I found,\na girl, and not a boy. Despite her bulky appearance, due to the peculiar\nbelt strapped around her body high up under the arms, she was very\nslender, and very pretty.\n\nThere was a stream not far away, from which I brought water and bathed\nher face and wound.\n\nApparently the mystery of these long leaps, the monkey-like ability to\njump from bough to bough, and of the bodies that floated gently down\ninstead of falling, lay in the belt. The thing was some sort of\nanti-gravity belt that almost balanced the weight of the wearer, thereby\ntremendously multiplying the propulsive power of the leg muscles, and\nthe lifting power of the arms.\n\nWhen the girl came to, she regarded me as curiously as I did her, and\npromptly began to quiz me. Her accent and intonation puzzled me a lot,\nbut nevertheless we were able to understand each other fairly well,\nexcept for certain words and phrases. I explained what had happened\nwhile she lay unconscious, and she thanked me simply for saving her\nlife.\n\n\"You are a strange exchange,\" she said, eying my clothing quizzically.\nEvidently she found it mirth provoking by contrast with her own neatly\nefficient garb. \"Don't you understand what I mean by 'exchange?' I mean\nah--let me see--a stranger, somebody from some other gang. What gang do\nyou belong to?\" (She pronounced it \"gan,\" with only a suspicion of a\nnasal sound.)\n\nI laughed. \"I'm not a gangster,\" I said. But she evidently did not\nunderstand this word. \"I don't belong to any gang,\" I explained, \"and\nnever did. Does everybody belong to a gang nowadays?\"\n\n\"Naturally,\" she said, frowning. \"If you don't belong to a gang, where\nand how do you live? Why have you not found and joined a gang? How do\nyou eat? Where do you get your clothing?\"\n\n\"I've been eating wild game for the past two weeks,\" I explained, \"and\nthis clothing I--er--ah--.\" I paused, wondering how I could explain that\nit must be many hundred years old.\n\nIn the end I saw I would have to tell my story as well as I could,\npiecing it together with my assumptions as to what had happened. She\nlistened patiently; incredulously at first, but with more confidence as\nI went on. When I had finished, she sat thinking for a long time.\n\n\"That's hard to believe,\" she said, \"but I believe it.\" She looked me\nover with frank interest.\n\n\"Were you married when you slipped into unconsciousness down in that\nmine?\" she asked me suddenly. I assured her I had never married. \"Well,\nthat simplifies matters,\" she continued. \"You see, if you were\ntechnically classed as a family man, I could take you back only as an\ninvited exchange and I, being unmarried, and no relation of yours,\ncouldn't do the inviting.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nThe Forest Gangs\n\n\nShe gave me a brief outline of the very peculiar social and economic\nsystem under which her people lived. At least it seemed very peculiar\nfrom my 20th Century viewpoint.\n\nI learned with amazement that exactly 492 years had passed over my head\nas I lay unconscious in the mine.\n\nWilma, for that was her name, did not profess to be a historian, and so\ncould give me only a sketchy outline of the wars that had been fought,\nand the manner in which such radical changes had come about. It seemed\nthat another war had followed the First World War, in which nearly all\nthe European nations had banded together to break the financial and\nindustrial power of America. They succeeded in their purpose, though\nthey were beaten, for the war was a terrific one, and left America, like\nthemselves, gasping, bleeding and disorganized, with only the hollow\nshell of a victory.\n\nThis opportunity had been seized by the Russian Soviets, who had made a\ncoalition with the Chinese, to sweep over all Europe and reduce it to a\nstate of chaos.\n\nAmerica, industrially geared to world production and the world trade,\ncollapsed economically, and there ensued a long period of stagnation and\ndesperate attempts at economic reconstruction. But it was impossible to\nstave off war with the Mongolians, who by now had subjugated the\nRussians, and were aiming at a world empire.\n\nIn about 2109, it seems, the conflict was finally precipitated. The\nMongolians, with overwhelming fleets of great airships, and a science\nthat far outstripped that of crippled America, swept in over the Pacific\nand Atlantic Coasts, and down from Canada, annihilating American\naircraft, armies and cities with their terrific _disintegrator_ rays.\nThese rays were projected from a machine not unlike a searchlight in\nappearance, the reflector of which, however, was not material substance,\nbut a complicated balance of interacting electronic forces. This\nresulted in a terribly destructive beam. Under its influence, material\nsubstance melted into \"nothingness\"; i. e., into electronic vibrations.\nIt destroyed all then known substances, from air to the most dense\nmetals and stone.\n\nThey settled down to the establishment of what became known as the Han\ndynasty in America, as a sort of province in their World Empire.\n\nThose were terrible days for the Americans. They were hunted like wild\nbeasts. Only those survived who finally found refuge in mountains,\ncanyons and forests. Government was at an end among them. Anarchy\nprevailed for several generations. Most would have been eager to submit\nto the Hans, even if it meant slavery. But the Hans did not want them,\nfor they themselves had marvelous machinery and scientific process by\nwhich all difficult labor was accomplished.\n\nUltimately they stopped their active search for, and annihilation of,\nthe widely scattered groups of now savage Americans. So long as they\nremained hidden in their forests, and did not venture near the great\ncities the Hans had built, little attention was paid to them.\n\nThen began the building of the new American civilization. Families and\nindividuals gathered together in clans or \"gangs\" for mutual protection.\nFor nearly a century they lived a nomadic and primitive life, moving\nfrom place to place, in desperate fear of the casual and occasional Han\nair raids, and the terrible disintegrator ray. As the frequency of these\nraids decreased, they began to stay permanently in given localities,\norganizing upon lines which in many respects were similar to those of\nthe military households of the Norman feudal barons, except that instead\nof gathering together in castles, their defense tactics necessitated a\ncertain scattering of living quarters for families and individuals. They\nlived virtually in the open air, in the forests, in green tents,\nresorting to camouflage tactics that would conceal their presence from\nair observers. They dug underground factories and laboratories, that\nthey might better be shielded from the electrical detectors of the\nHans. They tapped the radio communication lines of the Hans, with crude\ninstruments at first; better ones later on. They bent every effort\ntoward the redevelopment of science. For many generations they labored\nas unseen, unknown scholars of the Hans, picking up their knowledge\npiecemeal, as fast as they were able to.\n\nDuring the earlier part of this period, there were many deadly wars\nfought between the various gangs, and occasional courageous but\nchildishly futile attacks upon the Hans, followed by terribly punitive\nraids.\n\nBut as knowledge progressed, the sense of American brotherhood\nredeveloped. Reciprocal arrangements were made among the gangs over\nconstantly increasing areas. Trade developed to a certain extent, as\nbetween one gang and another. But the interchange of knowledge became\nmore important than that of goods, as skill in the handling of synthetic\nprocesses developed.\n\nWithin the gang, an economy was developed that was a compromise between\nindividual liberty and a military socialism. The right of private\nproperty was limited practically to personal possessions, but private\nprivileges were many, and sacredly regarded. Stimulation to achievement\nlay chiefly in the winning of various kinds of leadership and\nprerogatives, and only in a very limited degree in the hope of owning\nanything that might be classified as \"wealth,\" and nothing that might be\nclassified as \"resources.\" Resources of every description, for military\nsafety and efficiency, belonged as a matter of public interest to the\ncommunity as a whole.\n\nIn the meantime, through these many generations, the Hans had developed\na luxury economy, and with it the perfection of gilded vice and\ndegradation. The Americans were regarded as \"wild men of the woods.\" And\nsince they neither needed nor wanted the woods or the wild men, they\ntreated them as beasts, and were conscious of no human brotherhood with\nthem. As time went on, and synthetic processes of producing foods and\nmaterials were further developed, less and less ground was needed by the\nHans for the purposes of agriculture, and finally, even the working of\nmines was abandoned when it became cheaper to build up metal from\nelectronic vibrations than to dig them out of the ground.\n\nThe Han race, devitalized by its vices and luxuries, with machinery and\nscientific processes to satisfy its every want, with virtually no\nnecessity of labor, began to assume a defensive attitude toward the\nAmericans.\n\nAnd quite naturally, the Americans regarded the Hans with a deep, grim\nhatred. Conscious of individual superiority as men, knowing that\nlatterly they were outstripping the Hans in science and civilization,\nthey longed desperately for the day when they should be powerful enough\nto rise and annihilate the Yellow Blight that lay over the continent.\n\nAt the time of my awakening, the gangs were rather loosely organized,\nbut were considering the establishment of a special military force,\nwhose special business it would be to harry the Hans and bring down\ntheir air ships whenever possible without causing general alarm among\nthe Mongolians. This force was destined to become the nucleus of the\nnational force, when the Day of Retribution arrived. But that, however,\ndid not happen for ten years, and is another story.\n\n[Illustration: On the left of the illustration is a Han girl, and on the\nright is an American girl, who, like all of her race, is equipped with\nan inertron belt and a rocket gun.]\n\nWilma told me she was a member of the Wyoming Gang, which claimed the\nentire Wyoming Valley as its territory, under the leadership of Boss\nHart. Her mother and father were dead, and she was unmarried, so she was\nnot a \"family member.\" She lived in a little group of tents known as\nCamp 17, under a woman Camp Boss, with seven other girls.\n\nHer duties alternated between military or police scouting and factory\nwork. For the two-week period which would end the next day, she had been\non \"air patrol.\" This did not mean, as I first imagined, that she was\nflying, but rather that she was on the lookout for Han ships over this\noutlying section of the Wyoming territory, and had spent most of her\ntime perched in the tree tops scanning the skies. Had she seen one she\nwould have fired a \"drop flare\" several miles off to one side, which\nwould ignite when it was floating vertically toward the earth, so that\nthe direction or point from which it had been fired might not be guessed\nby the airship and bring a blasting play of the disintegrator ray in her\nvicinity. Other members of the air patrol would send up rockets on\nseeing hers, until finally a scout equipped with an ultrophone, which,\nunlike the ancient radio, operated on the ultronic ethereal vibrations,\nwould pass the warning simultaneously to the headquarters of the Wyoming\nGang and other communities within a radius of several hundred miles, not\nto mention the few American rocket ships that might be in the air, and\nwhich instantly would duck to cover either through forest clearings or\nby flattening down to earth in green fields where their coloring would\nprobably protect them from observation. The favorite American method of\npropulsion was known as \"_rocketing_.\" The _rocket_ is what I would\ndescribe, from my 20th Century comprehension of the matter, as an\nextremely powerful gas blast, atomically produced through the\nstimulation of chemical action. Scientists of today regard it as a\nchildishly simple reaction, but by that very virtue, most economical and\nefficient.\n\nBut tomorrow, she explained, she would go back to work in the cloth\nplant, where she would take charge of one of the synthetic processes by\nwhich those wonderful substitutes for woven fabrics of wool, cotton and\nsilk are produced. At the end of another two weeks, she would be back on\nmilitary duty again, perhaps at the same work, or maybe as a \"contact\nguard,\" on duty where the territory of the Wyomings merged with that of\nthe Delawares, or the \"Susquannas\" (Susquehannas) or one of the half\ndozen other \"gangs\" in that section of the country which I knew as\nPennsylvania and New York States.\n\nWilma cleared up for me the mystery of those flying leaps which she and\nher assailants had made, and explained in the following manner, how the\ninertron belt balances weight:\n\n\"_Jumpers_\" were in common use at the time I \"awoke,\" though they were\ncostly, for at that time _inertron_ had not been produced in very great\nquantity. They were very useful in the forest. They were belts,\nstrapped high under the arms, containing an amount of inertron adjusted\nto the wearer's weight and purposes. In effect they made a man weigh as\nlittle as he desired; two pounds if he liked.\n\n\"_Floaters_\" are a later development of \"_jumpers_\"--rocket motors\nencased in _inertron_ blocks and strapped to the back in such a way that\nthe wearer floats, when drifting, facing slightly downward. With his\nmotor in operation, he moves like a diver, headforemost, controlling his\ndirection by twisting his body and by movements of his outstretched arms\nand hands. Ballast weights locked in the front of the belt adjust weight\nand lift. Some men prefer a few ounces of weight in floating, using a\nslight motor thrust to overcome this. Others prefer a buoyance balance\nof a few ounces. The inadvertent dropping of weight is not a serious\nmatter. The motor thrust always can be used to descend. But as an extra\nprecaution, in case the motor should fail, for any reason, there are\nbuilt into every belt a number of detachable sections, one or more of\nwhich can be discarded to balance off any loss in weight.\n\n\"But who were your assailants,\" I asked, \"and why were you attacked?\"\n\nHer assailants, she told me, were members of an outlaw gang, referred to\nas \"Bad Bloods,\" a group which for several generations had been under\nthe domination of conscienceless leaders who tried to advance the\ninterests of their clan by tactics which their neighbors had come to\nregard as unfair, and who in consequence had been virtually boycotted.\nTheir purpose had been to slay her near the Delaware frontier, making it\nappear that the crime had been committed by Delaware scouts and thus\nembroil the Delawares and Wyomings in acts of reprisal against each\nother, or at least cause suspicions.\n\nFortunately they had not succeeded in surprising her, and she had been\nsuccessful in dodging them for some two hours before the shooting began,\nat the moment when I arrived on the scene.\n\n\"But we must not stay here talking,\" Wilma concluded. \"I have to take\nyou in, and besides I must report this attack right away. I think we had\nbetter slip over to the other side of the mountain. Whoever is on that\npost will have a phone, and I can make a direct report. But you'll have\nto have a belt. Mine alone won't help much against our combined weights,\nand there's little to be gained by jumping heavy. It's almost as bad as\nwalking.\"\n\nAfter a little search, we found one of the men I had killed, who had\nfloated down among the trees some distance away and whose belt was not\nbadly damaged. In detaching it from his body, it nearly got away from me\nand shot up in the air. Wilma caught it, however, and though it\nreinforced the lift of her own belt so that she had to hook her knee\naround a branch to hold herself down, she saved it. I climbed the tree\nand, with my weight added to hers, we floated down easily.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nLife in the 25th Century\n\n\nWe were delayed in starting for quite a while since I had to acquire a\nfew crude ideas about the technique of using these belts. I had been\nsitting down, for instance, with the belt strapped about me, enjoying an\nease similar to that of a comfortable armchair; when I stood up with a\nnatural exertion of muscular effort, I shot ten feet into the air, with\na wild instinctive thrashing of arms and legs that amused Wilma greatly.\n\nBut after some practice, I began to get the trick of gauging muscular\neffort to a minimum of vertical and a maximum of horizontal. The correct\nform, I found, was in a measure comparable to that of skating. I found,\nalso, that in forest work particularly the arms and hands could be used\nto great advantage in swinging along from branch to branch, so\nprolonging leaps almost indefinitely at times.\n\nIn going up the side of the mountain, I found that my 20th Century\nmuscles did have an advantage, in spite of lack of skill with the belt,\nand since the slopes were very sharp, and most of our leaps were upward,\nI could have distanced Wilma easily. But when we crossed the ridge and\ndescended, she outstripped me with her superior technique. Choosing the\nsteepest slopes, she would crouch in the top of a tree, and propel\nherself outward, literally diving until, with the loss of horizontal\nmomentum, she would assume a more upright position and float downward.\nIn this manner she would sometimes cover as much as a quarter of a mile\nin a single leap, while I leaped and scrambled clumsily behind,\nthoroughly enjoying the novel sensation.\n\nHalf way down the mountain, we saw another green-clad figure leap out\nabove the tree tops toward us. The three of us perched on an outcropping\nof rock from which a view for many miles around could be had, while\nWilma hastily explained her adventure and my presence to her fellow\nguard; whose name was Alan. I learned later that this was the modern\nform of Helen.\n\n\"You want to report by phone then, don't you?\" Alan took a compact\npacket about six inches square from a holster attached to her belt and\nhanded it to Wilma.\n\nSo far as I could see, it had no special receiver for the ear. Wilma\nmerely threw back a lid, as though she were opening a book, and began to\ntalk. The voice that came back from the machine was as audible as her\nown.\n\nShe was queried closely as to the attack upon her, and at considerable\nlength as to myself, and I could tell from the tone of that voice that\nits owner was not prepared to take me at my face value as readily as\nWilma had. For that matter, neither was the other girl. I could realize\nit from the suspicious glances she threw my way, when she thought my\nattention was elsewhere, and the manner in which her hand hovered\nconstantly near her gun holster.\n\nWilma was ordered to bring me in at once, and informed that another\nscout would take her place on the other side of the mountain. So she\nclosed down the lid of the phone and handed it back to Alan, who seemed\nrelieved to see us departing over the tree tops in the direction of the\ncamps.\n\nWe had covered perhaps ten miles, in what still seemed to me a\nsurprisingly easy fashion, when Wilma explained, that from here on we\nwould have to keep to the ground. We were nearing the camps, she said,\nand there was always the possibility that some small Han scoutship,\ninvisible high in the sky, might catch sight of us through a\nprojectoscope and thus find the general location of the camps.\n\nWilma took me to the Scout office, which proved to be a small building\nof irregular shape, conforming to the trees around it, and substantially\nconstructed of green sheet-like material.\n\nI was received by the assistant Scout Boss, who reported my arrival at\nonce to the historical office, and to officials he called the Psycho\nBoss and the History Boss, who came in a few minutes later. The attitude\nof all three men was at first polite but skeptical, and Wilma's ardent\nadvocacy seemed to amuse them secretly.\n\nFor the next two hours I talked, explained and answered questions. I had\nto explain, in detail, the manner of my life in the 20th Century and my\nunderstanding of customs, habits, business, science and the history of\nthat period, and about developments in the centuries that had elapsed.\nHad I been in a classroom, I would have come through the examination\nwith a very poor mark, for I was unable to give any answer to fully half\nof their questions. But before long I realized that the majority of\nthese questions were designed as traps. Objects, of whose purpose I knew\nnothing, were casually handed to me, and I was watched keenly as I\nhandled them.\n\nIn the end I could see both amazement and belief begin to show in the\nfaces of my inquisitors, and at last the Historical and Psycho Bosses\nagreed openly that they could find no flaw in my story or reactions, and\nthat unbelievable as it seemed, my story must be accepted as genuine.\n\nThey took me at once to Big Boss Hart. He was a portly man with a \"poker\nface.\" He would probably have been the successful politician even in the\n20th Century.\n\nThey gave him a brief outline of my story and a report of their\nexamination of me. He made no comment other than to nod his acceptance\nof it. Then he turned to me.\n\n\"How does it feel?\" he asked. \"Do we look funny to you?\"\n\n\"A bit strange,\" I admitted. \"But I'm beginning to lose that dazed\nfeeling, though I can see I have an awful lot to learn.\"\n\n\"Maybe we can learn some things from you, too,\" he said. \"So you fought\nin the First World War. Do you know, we have very little left in the way\nof records of the details of that war, that is, the precise conditions\nunder which it was fought, and the tactics employed. We forgot many\nthings during the Han terror, and--well, I think you might have a lot of\nideas worth thinking over for our raid masters. By the way, now that\nyou're here, and can't go back to your own century, so to speak, what do\nyou want to do? You're welcome to become one of us. Or perhaps you'd\njust like to visit with us for a while, and then look around among the\nother gangs. Maybe you'd like some of the others better. Don't make up\nyour mind now. We'll put you down as an exchange for a while. Let's see.\nYou and Bill Hearn ought to get along well together. He's Camp Boss of\nNumber 34 when he isn't acting as Raid Boss or Scout Boss. There's a\nvacancy in his camp. Stay with him and think things over as long as you\nwant to. As soon as you make up your mind to anything, let me know.\"\n\nWe all shook hands, for that was one custom that had not died out in\nfive hundred years, and I set out with Bill Hearn.\n\nBill, like all the others, was clad in green. He was a big man. That is,\nhe was about my own height, five feet eleven. This was considerably\nabove the average now, for the race had lost something in stature, it\nseemed, through the vicissitudes of five centuries. Most of the women\nwere a bit below five feet, and the men only a trifle above this height.\n\nFor a period of two weeks Bill was to confine himself to camp duties, so\nI had a good chance to familiarize myself with the community life. It\nwas not easy. There were so many marvels to absorb. I never ceased to\nwonder at the strange combination of rustic social life and feverish\nindustrial activity. At least, it was strange to me. For in my\nexperience, industrial development meant crowded cities, tenements,\npaved streets, profusion of vehicles, noise, hurrying men and women with\nstrained or dull faces, vast structures and ornate public works.\n\nHere, however, was rustic simplicity, apparently isolated families and\ngroups, living in the heart of the forest, with a quarter of a mile or\nmore between households, a total absence of crowds, no means of\nconveyance other than the belts called jumpers, almost constantly worn\nby everybody, and an occasional rocket ship, used only for longer\njourneys, and underground plants or factories that were to my mind more\nlike laboratories and engine rooms; many of them were excavations as\ndeep as mines, with well finished, lighted and comfortable interiors.\nThese people were adepts at camouflage against air observation. Not only\nwould their activity have been unsuspected by an airship passing over\nthe center of the community, but even by an enemy who might happen to\ndrop through the screen of the upper branches to the floor of the\nforest. The camps, or household structures, were all irregular in shape\nand of colors that blended with the great trees among which they were\nhidden.\n\nThere were 724 dwellings or \"camps\" among the Wyomings, located within\nan area of about fifteen square miles. The total population was 8,688,\nevery man, woman and child, whether member or \"exchange,\" being listed.\n\nThe plants were widely scattered through the territory also. Nowhere was\nanything like congestion permitted. So far as possible, families and\nindividuals were assigned to living quarters, not too far from the\nplants or offices in which their work lay.\n\nAll able-bodied men and women alternated in two-week periods between\nmilitary and industrial service, except those who were needed for\nhousehold work. Since working conditions in the plants and offices were\nideal, and everybody thus had plenty of healthy outdoor activity in\naddition, the population was sturdy and active. Laziness was regarded as\nnearly the greatest of social offenses. Hard work and general merit were\nvariously rewarded with extra privileges, advancement to positions of\nauthority, and with various items of personal equipment for convenience\nand luxury.\n\nIn leisure moments, I got great enjoyment from sitting outside the\ndwelling in which I was quartered with Bill Hearn and ten other men,\nwatching the occasional passers-by, as with leisurely, but swift\nmovements, they swung up and down the forest trail, rising from the\nground in long almost-horizontal leaps, occasionally swinging from one\nconvenient branch overhead to another before \"sliding\" back to the\nground farther on. Normal traveling pace, where these trails were\nstraight enough, was about twenty miles an hour. Such things as\nautomobiles and railroad trains (the memory of them not more than a\nmonth old in my mind) seemed inexpressibly silly and futile compared\nwith such convenience as these belts or jumpers offered.\n\nBill suggested that I wander around for several days, from plant to\nplant, to observe and study what I could. The entire community had been\napprised of my coming, my rating as an \"exchange\" reaching every\nbuilding and post in the community, by means of ultronic broadcast.\nEverywhere I was welcomed in an interested and helpful spirit.\n\nI visited the plants where ultronic vibrations were isolated from the\nether and through slow processes built up into sub-electronic,\nelectronic and atomic forms into the two great synthetic elements,\nultron and inertron. I learned something, superficially at least, of the\nprocesses of combined chemical and mechanical action through which were\nproduced the various forms of synthetic cloth. I watched the manufacture\nof the machines which were used at locations of construction to produce\nthe various forms of building materials. But I was particularly\ninterested in the munitions plants and the rocket-ship shops.\n\nUltron is a solid of great molecular density and moderate elasticity,\nwhich has the property of being 100 percent conductive to those\npulsations known as light, electricity and heat. Since it is completely\npermeable to light vibrations, it is therefore _absolutely invisible and\nnon-reflective_. Its magnetic response is almost, but not quite, 100\npercent also. It is therefore very heavy under normal conditions but\nextremely responsive to the _repellor_ or anti-gravity rays, such as the\nHans use as \"_legs_\" for their airships.\n\nInertron is the second great triumph of American research and\nexperimentation with ultronic forces. It was developed just a few years\nbefore my awakening in the abandoned mine. It is a synthetic element,\nbuilt up, through a complicated heterodyning of ultronic pulsations,\nfrom \"infra-balanced\" sub-ionic forms. It is completely inert to both\nelectric and magnetic forces in all the orders above the _ultronic_;\nthat is to say, the _sub-electronic_, the _electronic_, the _atomic_ and\nthe _molecular_. In consequence it has a number of amazing and\nvaluable properties. One of these is _the total lack of weight_. Another\nis a total lack of heat. It has no molecular vibration whatever. It\nreflects 100 percent of the heat and light impinging upon it. It does\nnot feel cold to the touch, of course, since it will not absorb the heat\nof the hand. It is a solid, very dense in molecular structure despite\nits lack of weight, of great strength and considerable elasticity. It is\na perfect shield against the disintegrator rays.\n\n[Illustration: Setting his rocket gun for a long-distance shot.]\n\nRocket guns are very simple contrivances so far as the mechanism of\nlaunching the bullet is concerned. They are simple light tubes, closed\nat the rear end, with a trigger-actuated pin for piercing the thin skin\nat the base of the cartridge. This piercing of the skin starts the\nchemical and atomic reaction. The entire cartridge leaves the tube under\nits own power, at a very easy initial velocity, just enough to insure\naccuracy of aim; so the tube does not have to be of heavy construction.\nThe bullet increases in velocity as it goes. It may be solid or\nexplosive. It may explode on contact or on time, or a combination of\nthese two.\n\nBill and I talked mostly of weapons, military tactics and strategy.\nStrangely enough he had no idea whatever of the possibilities of the\nbarrage, though the tremendous effect of a \"curtain of fire\" with such\nhigh-explosive projectiles as these modern rocket guns used was obvious\nto me. But the barrage idea, it seemed, has been lost track of\ncompletely in the air wars that followed the First World War, and in the\npeculiar guerilla tactics developed by Americans in the later period of\noperations from the ground against Han airships, and in the gang wars\nwhich, until a few generations ago I learned, had been almost\ncontinuous.\n\n\"I wonder,\" said Bill one day, \"if we couldn't work up some form of\nbarrage to spring on the Bad Bloods. The Big Boss told me today that\nhe's been in communication with the other gangs, and all are agreed that\nthe Bad Bloods might as well be wiped out for good. That attempt on\nWilma Deering's life and their evident desire to make trouble among the\ngangs, has stirred up every community east of the Alleghenies. The Boss\nsays that none of the others will object if we go after them. So I\nimagine that before long we will. Now show me again how you worked that\nbusiness in the Argonne forest. The conditions ought to be pretty much\nthe same.\"\n\nI went over it with him in detail, and gradually we worked out a\nmodified plan that would be better adapted to our more powerful weapons,\nand the use of jumpers.\n\n\"It will be easy,\" Bill exulted. \"I'll slide down and talk it over with\nthe Boss tomorrow.\"\n\nDuring the first two weeks of my stay with the Wyomings, Wilma Deering\nand I saw a great deal of each other. I naturally felt a little closer\nfriendship for her, in view of the fact that she was the first human\nbeing I saw after waking from my long sleep; her appreciation of my\nsaving her life, though I could not have done otherwise than I did in\nthat matter, and most of all my own appreciation of the fact that she\nhad not found it as difficult as the others to believe my story,\noperated in the same direction. I could easily imagine my story must\nhave sounded incredible.\n\nIt was natural enough too, that she should feel an unusual interest in\nme. In the first place, I was her personal discovery. In the second, she\nwas a girl of studious and reflective turn of mind. She never got tired\nof my stories and descriptions of the 20th Century.\n\nThe others of the community, however, seemed to find our friendship a\nbit amusing. It seemed that Wilma had a reputation for being cold toward\nthe opposite sex, and so others, not being able to appreciate some of\nher fine qualities as I did, misinterpreted her attitude, much to their\nown delight. Wilma and I, however, ignored this as much as we could.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nA Han Air Raid\n\n\nThere was a girl in Wilma's camp named Gerdi Mann, with whom Bill Hearn\nwas desperately in love, and the four of us used to go around a lot\ntogether. Gerdi was a distinct type. Whereas Wilma had the usual dark\nbrown hair and hazel eyes that marked nearly every member of the\ncommunity, Gerdi had red hair, blue eyes and very fair skin. She has\nbeen dead many years now, but I remember her vividly because she was a\nthrowback in physical appearance to a certain 20th Century type which I\nhave found very rare among modern Americans; also because the four of us\nwere engaged one day in a discussion of this very point, when I obtained\nmy first experience of a Han air raid.\n\nWe were sitting high on the side of a hill overlooking the valley that\nteemed with human activity, invisible beneath its blanket of foliage.\n\nThe other three, who knew of the Irish but vaguely and indefinitely, as\na race on the other side of the globe, which, like ourselves, had\nsucceeded in maintaining a precarious and fugitive existence in\nrebellion against the Mongolian domination of the earth, were listening\nwith interest to my theory that Gerdi's ancestors of several hundred\nyears ago must have been Irish. I explained that Gerdi was an Irish\ntype, evidently a throwback, and that her surname might well have been\nMcMann, or McMahan, and still more anciently \"mac Mathghamhain.\" They\nwere interested too in my surmise that \"Gerdi\" was the same name as that\nwhich had been \"Gerty\" or \"Gertrude\" in the 20th Century.\n\nIn the middle of our discussion, we were startled by an alarm rocket\nthat burst high in the air, far to the north, spreading a pall of red\nsmoke that drifted like a cloud. It was followed by others at scattered\npoints in the northern sky.\n\n\"A Han raid!\" Bill exclaimed in amazement. \"The first in seven years!\"\n\n\"Maybe it's just one of their ships off its course,\" I ventured.\n\n\"No,\" said Wilma in some agitation. \"That would be green rockets. Red\nmeans only one thing, Tony. They're sweeping the countryside with their\ndis beams. Can you see anything, Bill?\"\n\n\"We had better get under cover,\" Gerdi said nervously. \"The four of us\nare bunched here in the open. For all we know they may be twelve miles\nup, out of sight, yet looking at us with a projecto'.\"\n\nBill had been sweeping the horizon hastily with his glass, but\napparently saw nothing.\n\n\"We had better scatter, at that,\" he said finally. \"It's orders, you\nknow. See!\" He pointed to the valley.\n\nHere and there a tiny human figure shot for a moment above the foliage\nof the treetops.\n\n\"That's bad,\" Wilma commented, as she counted the jumpers. \"No less than\nfifteen people visible, and all clearly radiating from a central point.\nDo they want to give away our location?\"\n\nThe standard orders covering air raids were that the population was to\nscatter individually. There should be no grouping, or even pairing, in\nview of the destructiveness of the disintegrator rays. Experience of\ngenerations had proved that if this were done, and everybody remained\nhidden beneath the tree screens, the Hans would have to sweep mile after\nmile of territory, foot by foot, to catch more than a small percentage\nof the community.\n\nGerdi, however, refused to leave Bill, and Wilma developed an equal\nobstinacy against quitting my side. I was inexperienced at this sort of\nthing, she explained, quite ignoring the fact that she was too; she was\nonly thirteen or fourteen years old at the time of the last air raid.\n\nHowever, since I could not argue her out of it, we leaped together about\na quarter of a mile to the right, while Bill and Gerdi disappeared down\nthe hillside among the trees.\n\nWilma and I both wanted a point of vantage from which we might overlook\nthe valley and the sky to the north, and we found it near the top of the\nridge, where, protected from visibility by thick branches, we could look\nout between the tree trunks, and get a good view of the valley.\n\nNo more rockets went up. Except for a few of those warning red clouds,\ndrifting lazily in a blue sky, there was no visible indication of man's\npast or present existence anywhere in the sky or on the ground.\n\nThen Wilma gripped my arm and pointed. I saw it; away off in the\ndistance; looking like a phantom dirigible airship, in its coat of\nlow-visibility paint, a bare spectre.\n\n\"Seven thousand feet up,\" Wilma whispered, crouching close to me.\n\"Watch.\"\n\nThe ship was about the same shape as the great dirigibles of the 20th\nCentury that I had seen, but without the suspended control car, engines,\npropellors, rudders or elevating planes. As it loomed rapidly nearer, I\nsaw that it was wider and somewhat flatter than I had supposed.\n\nNow I could see the repellor rays that held the ship aloft, like\nsearchlight beams faintly visible in the bright daylight (and still\nfaintly visible to the human eye at night). Actually, I had been\ninformed by my instructors, there were two rays; the visible one\ngenerated by the ship's apparatus, and directed toward the ground as a\nbeam of \"carrier\" impulses; and the true repellor ray, the complement of\nthe other in one sense, induced by the action of the \"carrier\" and\nreacting in a concentrating upward direction from the mass of the earth,\nbecoming successively electronic, atomic and finally molecular, in its\nnature, according to various ratios of distance between earth mass and\n\"carrier\" source, until, in the last analysis, the ship itself actually\nis supported on an upward rushing column of air, much like a ball\ncontinuously supported on a fountain jet.\n\nThe raider neared with incredible speed. Its rays were both slanted\nastern at a sharp angle, so that it slid forward with tremendous\nmomentum.\n\nThe ship was operating two disintegrator rays, though only in a casual,\nintermittent fashion. But whenever they flashed downward with blinding\nbrilliancy, forest, rocks and ground melted instantaneously into\nnothing, where they played upon them.\n\nWhen later I inspected the scars left by these rays I found them some\nfive feet deep and thirty feet wide, the exposed surfaces being\nlava-like in texture, but of a pale, iridescent, greenish hue.\n\nNo systematic use of the rays was made by the ship, however, until it\nreached a point over the center of the valley--the center of the\ncommunity's activities. There it came to a sudden stop by shooting its\nrepellor beams sharply forward and easing them back gradually to the\nvertical, holding the ship floating and motionless. Then the work of\ndestruction began systematically.\n\nBack and forth traveled the destroying rays, ploughing parallel furrows\nfrom hillside to hillside. We gasped in dismay, Wilma and I, as time\nafter time we saw it plough through sections where we knew camps or\nplants were located.\n\n\"This is awful,\" she moaned, a terrified question in her eyes. \"How\ncould they know the location so exactly, Tony? Did you see? They were\nnever in doubt. They stalled at a predetermined spot--and--and it was\nexactly the right spot.\"\n\nWe did not talk of what might happen if the rays were turned in our\ndirection. We both knew. We would simply disintegrate in a split second\ninto mere scattered electronic vibrations. Strangely enough, it was this\nself-reliant girl of the 25th Century, who clung to me, a relatively\nprimitive man of the 20th, less familiar than she with the thought of\nthis terrifying possibility, for moral support.\n\nWe knew that many of our companions must have been whisked into absolute\nnon-existence before our eyes in these few moments. The whole thing\nparalyzed us into mental and physical immobility for I do not know how\nlong.\n\nIt couldn't have been long, however, for the rays had not ploughed more\nthan thirty of their twenty-foot furrows or so across the valley, when I\nregained control of myself, and brought Wilma to herself by shaking her\nroughly.\n\n\"How far will this rocket gun shoot, Wilma?\" I demanded, drawing my\npistol.\n\n\"It depends on your rocket, Tony. It will take even the longest range\nrocket, but you could shoot more accurately from a longer tube. But why?\nYou couldn't penetrate the shell of that ship with rocket force, even if\nyou could reach it.\"\n\nI fumbled clumsily with my rocket pouch, for I was excited. I had an\nidea I wanted to try; a \"hunch\" I called it, forgetting that Wilma could\nnot understand my ancient slang. But finally, with her help, I selected\nthe longest range explosive rocket in my pouch, and fitted it to my\npistol.\n\n\"It won't carry seven thousand feet, Tony,\" Wilma objected. But I took\naim carefully. It was another thought that I had in my mind. The\nsupporting repellor ray, I had been told, became molecular in character\nat what was called a logarithmic level of five (below that it was a\npurely electronic \"flow\" or pulsation between the source of the\n\"carrier\" and the average mass of the earth). Below that level if I\ncould project my explosive bullet into this stream where it began to\ncarry material substance upward, might it not rise with the air column,\ngathering speed and hitting the ship with enough impact to carry it\nthrough the shell? It was worth trying anyhow. Wilma became greatly\nexcited, too, when she grasped the nature of my inspiration.\n\nFeverishly I looked around for some formation of branches against which\nI could rest the pistol, for I had to aim most carefully. At last I\nfound one. Patiently I sighted on the hulk of the ship far above us,\naiming at the far side of it, at such an angle as would, so far as I\ncould estimate, bring my bullet path through the forward repellor beam.\nAt last the sights wavered across the point I sought and I pressed the\nbutton gently.\n\nFor a moment we gazed breathlessly.\n\nSuddenly the ship swung bow down, as on a pivot, and swayed like a\npendulum. Wilma screamed in her excitement.\n\n\"Oh, Tony, you hit it! You hit it! Do it again; bring it down!\"\n\nWe had only one more rocket of extreme range between us, and we dropped\nit three times in our excitement in inserting it in my gun. Then,\nforcing myself to be calm by sheer will power, while Wilma stuffed her\nlittle fist into her mouth to keep from shrieking, I sighted carefully\nagain and fired. In a flash, Wilma had grasped the hope that this\ndiscovery of mine might lead to the end of the Han domination.\n\nThe elapsed time of the rocket's invisible flight seemed an age.\n\nThen we saw the ship falling. It seemed to plunge lazily, but actually\nit fell with terrific acceleration, turning end over end, its\ndisintegrator rays, out of control, describing vast, wild arcs, and once\ncutting a gash through the forest less than two hundred feet from where\nwe stood.\n\nThe crash with which the heavy craft hit the ground reverberated from\nthe hills--the momentum of eighteen or twenty thousand tons, in a sheer\ndrop of seven thousand feet. A mangled mass of metal, it buried itself\nin the ground, with poetic justice, in the middle of the smoking,\nsemi-molten field of destruction it had been so deliberately ploughing.\n\nThe silence, the vacuity of the landscape, was oppressive, as the last\nechoes died away.\n\nThen far down the hillside, a single figure leaped exultantly above the\nfoliage screen. And in the distance another, and another.\n\nIn a moment the sky was punctured by signal rockets. One after another\nthe little red puffs became drifting clouds.\n\n\"Scatter! Scatter!\" Wilma exclaimed. \"In half an hour there'll be an\nentire Han fleet here from Nu-yok, and another from Bah-flo. They'll get\nthis instantly on their recordographs and location finders. They'll\nblast the whole valley and the country for miles beyond. Come, Tony.\nThere's no time for the gang to rally. See the signals. We've got to\njump. Oh, I'm so proud of you!\"\n\nOver the ridge we went, in long leaps toward the east, the country of\nthe Delawares.\n\nFrom time to time signal rockets puffed in the sky. Most of them were\nthe \"red warnings,\" the \"scatter\" signals. But from certain of the\nothers, which Wilma identified as Wyoming rockets, she gathered that\nwhoever was in command (we did not know whether the Boss was alive or\nnot) was ordering an ultimate rally toward the south, and so we changed\nour course.\n\nIt was a great pity, I thought, that the clan had not been equipped\nthroughout its membership with ultrophones, but Wilma explained to me,\nthat not enough of these had been built for distribution as yet,\nalthough general distribution had been contemplated within a couple of\nmonths.\n\nWe traveled far before nightfall overtook us, trying only to put as much\ndistance as possible between ourselves and the valley.\n\nWhen gathering dusk made jumping too dangerous, we sought a comfortable\nspot beneath the trees, and consumed part of our emergency rations. It\nwas the first time I had tasted the stuff--a highly nutritive synthetic\nsubstance called \"concentro,\" which was, however, a bit bitter and\nunpalatable. But as only a mouthful or so was needed, it did not matter.\n\nNeither of us had a cloak, but we were both thoroughly tired and happy,\nso we curled up together for warmth. I remember Wilma making some sleepy\nremark about our mating, as she cuddled up, as though the matter were\nall settled, and my surprise at my own instant acceptance of the idea,\nfor I had not consciously thought of her that way before. But we both\nfell asleep at once.\n\nIn the morning we found little time for love making. The practical\nproblem facing us was too great. Wilma felt that the Wyoming plan must\nbe to rally in the Susquanna territory, but she had her doubts about the\nwisdom of this plan. In my elation at my success in bringing down the\nHan ship, and my newly found interest in my charming companion, who was,\nfrom my viewpoint of another century, at once more highly civilized and\nyet more primitive than myself, I had forgotten the ominous fact that\nthe Han ship I had destroyed must have known the exact location of the\nWyoming Works.\n\nThis meant, to Wilma's logical mind, either that the Hans had perfected\nnew instruments as yet unknown to us, or that somewhere, among the\nWyomings or some other nearby gang, there were traitors so degraded as\nto commit that unthinkable act of trafficking in information with the\nHans. In either contingency, she argued, other Han raids would follow,\nand since the Susquannas had a highly developed organization and more\nthan usually productive plants, the next raid might be expected to\nstrike them.\n\nBut at any rate it was clearly our business to get in touch with the\nother fugitives as quickly as possible, so in spite of muscles that were\nsore from the excessive leaping of the day before, we continued on our\nway.\n\nWe traveled for only a couple of hours when we saw a multi-colored\nrocket in the sky, some ten miles ahead of us.\n\n\"Bear to the left, Tony,\" Wilma said, \"and listen for the whistle.\"\n\n\"Why?\" I asked.\n\n\"Haven't they given you the rocket code yet?\" she replied. \"That's what\nthe green, followed by yellow and purple means; to concentrate five\nmiles east of the rocket position. You know the rocket position itself\nmight draw a play of disintegrator beams.\"\n\nIt did not take us long to reach the neighborhood of the indicated\nrallying, though we were now traveling beneath the trees, with but an\noccasional leap to a top branch to see if any more rocket smoke was\nfloating above. And soon we heard a distant whistle.\n\nWe found about half the Gang already there, in a spot where the trees\nmet high above a little stream. The Big Boss and Raid Bosses were busy\nreorganizing the remnants.\n\nWe reported to Boss Hart at once. He was silent, but interested, when he\nheard our story.\n\n\"You two stick close to me,\" he said, adding grimly, \"I'm going back to\nthe valley at once with a hundred picked men, and I'll need you.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nSetting the Trap\n\n\nInside of fifteen minutes we were on our way. A certain amount of\ncaution was sacrificed for the sake of speed, and the men leaped away\neither across the forest top, or over open spaces of ground, but\nconcentration was forbidden. The Big Boss named the spot on the hillside\nas the rallying point.\n\n\"We'll have to take a chance on being seen, so long as we don't group,\"\nhe declared, \"at least until within five miles of the rallying spot.\nFrom then on I want every man to disappear from sight and to travel\nunder cover. And keep your ultrophones open, and tuned on\nten-four-seven-six.\"\n\nWilma and I had received our battle equipment from the Gear boss. It\nconsisted of a long-gun, a hand-gun, with a special case of ammunition\nconstructed of inertron, which made the load weigh but a few ounces, and\na short sword. This gear we strapped over each other's shoulders, on top\nof our jumping belts. In addition, we each received an ultrophone, and a\nlight inertron blanket rolled into a cylinder about six inches long by\ntwo or three in diameter. This fabric was exceedingly thin and light,\nbut it had considerable warmth, because of the mixture of inertron in\nits composition.\n\n[Illustration: The Han raider neared with incredible speed. Its rays\nwere both slanted astern at a sharp angle, so that it slid forward with\ntremendous momentum.... Whenever the disintegrator rays flashed downward\nwith blinding brilliancy, forest, rocks and ground melted\ninstantaneously into nothing, where they played upon them.]\n\n\"This looks like business,\" Wilma remarked to me with sparkling eyes.\n(And I might mention a curious thing here. The word \"business\" had\nsurvived from the 20th Century American vocabulary, but not with any\nmeaning of \"industry\" or \"trade,\" for such things being purely community\nactivities were spoken of as \"work\" and \"clearing.\" Business simply\nmeant fighting, and that was all.)\n\n\"Did you bring all this equipment from the valley?\" I asked the Gear\nBoss.\n\n\"No,\" he said. \"There was no time to gather anything. All this stuff we\ncleared from the Susquannas a few hours ago. I was with the Boss on the\nway down, and he had me jump on ahead and arrange it. But you two had\nbetter be moving. He's beckoning you now.\"\n\nHart was about to call us on our phones when we looked up. As soon as we\ndid so, he leaped away, waving us to follow closely.\n\nHe was a powerful man, and he darted ahead in long, swift, low leaps up\nthe banks of the stream, which followed a fairly straight course at this\npoint. By extending ourselves, however, Wilma and I were able to catch\nup to him.\n\nAs we gradually synchronized our leaps with his, he outlined to us,\nbetween the grunts that accompanied each leap, his plan of action.\n\n\"We have to start the big business--unh--sooner or later,\" he said.\n\"And if--unh--the Hans have found any way of locating our\npositions--unh--it's time to start now, although the Council of\nBosses--unh--had intended waiting a few years until enough rocket ships\nhave been--unh--built. But no matter what the sacrifice--unh--we can't\nafford to let them get us on the run--unh--. We'll set a trap for the\nyellow devils in the--unh--valley if they come back for their\nwreckage--unh--and if they don't, we'll go rocketing for some of their\nliners--unh--on the Nu-yok, Clee-lan, Si-ka-ga course. We can\nuse--unh--that idea of yours of shooting up the repellor--unh--beams.\nWant you to give us a demonstration.\"\n\nWith further admonition to follow him closely, he increased his pace,\nand Wilma and I were taxed to our utmost to keep up with him. It was\nonly in ascending the slopes that my tougher muscles overbalanced his\ngreater skill, and I was able to set the pace for him, as I had for\nWilma.\n\nWe slept in greater comfort that night, under our inertron blankets, and\nwere off with the dawn, leaping cautiously to the top of the ridge\noverlooking the valley which Wilma and I had left.\n\nThe Boss scanned the sky with his ultroscope, patiently taking some\nfifteen minutes to the task, and then swung his phone into use, calling\nthe roll and giving the men their instructions.\n\nHis first order was for us all to slip our ear and chest discs into\npermanent position.\n\nThese ultrophones were quite different from the one used by Wilma's\ncompanion scout the day I saved her from the vicious attack of the\nbandit Gang. That one was contained entirely in a small pocket case.\nThese, with which we were now equipped, consisted of a pair of ear\ndiscs, each a separate and self-contained receiving set. They slipped\ninto little pockets over our ears in the fabric helmets we wore, and\nshut out virtually all extraneous sounds. The chest discs were likewise\nself-contained sending sets, strapped to the chest a few inches below\nthe neck and actuated by the vibrations from the vocal cords through the\nbody tissues. The total range of these sets was about eighteen miles.\nReception was remarkably clear, quite free from the static that so\nmarked the 20th Century radios, and of a strength in direct proportion\nto the distance of the speaker.\n\nThe Boss' set was triple powered, so that his orders would cut in on any\nlocal conversations, which were indulged in, however, with great\nrestraint, and only for the purpose of maintaining contacts.\n\nI marveled at the efficiency of this modern method of battle\ncommunication in contrast to the clumsy signaling devices of more\nancient times; and also at other military contrasts in which the 20th\nand 25th Century methods were the reverse of each other in efficiency.\nThese modern Americans, for instance, knew little of hand to hand\nfighting, and nothing, naturally, of trench warfare. Of barrages they\nwere quite ignorant, although they possessed weapons of terrific power.\nAnd until my recent flash of inspiration, no one among them, apparently,\nhad ever thought of the scheme of shooting a rocket into a repellor beam\nand letting the beam itself hurl it upward into the most vital part of\nthe Han ship.\n\nHart patiently placed his men, first giving his instructions to the\ncampmasters, and then remaining silent, while they placed the\nindividuals.\n\nIn the end,. But none of the views showing the forest below contain any\nindication of tribesmen's presence. A final explosion put this ship out\nof commission at a height of 1,000 feet, and at a point four miles S. by\nE. of the center of the valley.\"\n\nThe message ended with a repetition of the warning to other airmen to\navoid the valley.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nIncredible Treason\n\n\nAfter receiving this report, and reassurances of support from the Big\nBosses of the neighboring Gangs, Hart determined to reestablish the\nWyoming Valley community.\n\nA careful survey of the territory showed that it was only the northern\nsections and slopes that had been \"beamed\" by the first Han ship.\n\nThe synthetic-fabrics plant had been partially wiped out, though the\nlower levels underground had not been reached by the dis ray. The forest\nscreen above it, however, had been annihilated, and it was determined to\nabandon it, after removing all usable machinery and evidences of the\nprocesses that might be of interest to the Han scientists, should they\nreturn to the valley in the future.\n\nThe ammunition plant, and the rocket-ship plant, which had just been\nabout to start operation at the time of the raid, were intact, as were\nthe other important plants.\n\nHart brought the Camboss up from the Susquanna Works, and laid out new\ncamp locations, scattering them farther to the south, and avoiding\nground which had been seared by the Han beams and the immediate\nlocations of the Han wrecks.\n\nDuring this period, a sharp check was kept upon Han messages, for the\nphone plant had been one of the first to be put in operation, and when\nit became evident that the Hans did not intend any immediate reprisals,\nthe entire membership of the community was summoned back, and normal\nlife was resumed.\n\nWilma and I had been married the day after the destruction of the ships,\nand spent this intervening period in a delightful honeymoon, camping\nhigh in the mountains. On our return, we had a camp of our own, of\ncourse. We were assigned to location 1017. And as might be expected, we\nhad a great deal of banter over which one of us was Camp Boss. The title\nstood after my name on the Big Boss' records, and those of the Big\nCamboss, of course, but Wilma airily held that this meant nothing at\nall--and generally succeeded in making me admit it whenever she chose.\n\nI found myself a full-fledged member of the Gang now, for I had elected\nto search no farther for a permanent alliance, much as I would have\nliked to familiarize myself with this 25th Century life in other\nsections of the country. The Wyomings had a high morale, and had\nprospered under the rule of Big Boss Hart for many years. But many of\nthe gangs, I found, were badly organized, lacked strong hands in\nauthority, and were rife with intrigue. On the whole, I thought I would\nbe wise to stay with a group which had already proved its friendliness,\nand in which I seemed to have prospects of advancement. Under these\nmodern social and economic conditions, the kind of individual freedom to\nwhich I had been accustomed in the 20th Century was impossible. I would\nhave been as much of a nonentity in every phase of human relationship by\nattempting to avoid alliances, as any man of the 20th Century would have\nbeen politically, who aligned himself with no political party.\n\nThis entire modern life, it appeared to me, judging from my ancient\nviewpoint, was organized along what I called \"political\" lines. And in\nthis connection, it amused me to notice how universal had become the use\nof the word \"boss.\" The leader, the person in charge or authority over\nanything, was a \"boss.\" There was as little formality in his relations\nwith his followers as there was in the case of the 20th Century\npolitical boss, and the same high respect paid him by his followers as\nwell as the same high consideration by him of their interests. He was\njust as much of an autocrat, and just as much dependent upon the general\npopularity of his actions for the ability to maintain his autocracy.\n\nThe sub-boss who could not command the loyalty of his followers was as\nquickly deposed, either by them or by his superiors, as the ancient ward\nleader of the 20th Century who lost control of his votes.\n\nAs society was organized in the 20th Century, I do not believe the\nsystem could have worked in anything but politics. I tremble to think\nwhat would have happened, had the attempt been made to handle the A. E.\nF. this way during the First World War, instead of by that rigid\nmilitary discipline and complete assumption of the individual as a mere\nstandardized cog in the machine.\n\nBut owing to the centuries of desperate suffering the people had endured\nat the hands of the Hans, there developed a spirit of self-sacrifice and\nconsideration for the common good that made the scheme applicable and\nefficient in all forms of human co-operation.\n\nI have a little heresy about all this, however. My associates regard the\nthought with as much horror as many worthy people of the 20th Century\nfelt in regard to any heretical suggestion that the original outline of\ngovernment as laid down in the First Constitution did not apply as well\nto 20th Century conditions as to those of the early 19th.\n\nIn later years, I felt that there was a certain softening of moral fiber\namong the people, since the Hans had been finally destroyed with all\ntheir works; and Americans have developed a new luxury economy. I have\nseen signs of the reawakening of greed, of selfishness. The eternal\ncycle seems to be at work. I fear that slowly, though surely, private\nwealth is reappearing, codes of inflexibility are developing; they will\nbe followed by corruption, degradation; and in the end some cataclysmic\nevent will end this era and usher in a new one.\n\nAll this, however, is wandering afar from my story, which concerns our\nearly battles against the Hans, and not our more modern problems of\nself-control.\n\nOur victory over the seven Han ships had set the country ablaze. The\nsecret had been carefully communicated to the other gangs, and the\ncountry was agog from one end to the other. There was feverish activity\nin the ammunition plants, and the hunting of stray Han ships became an\nenthusiastic sport. The results were disastrous to our hereditary\nenemies.\n\nFrom the Pacific Coast came the report of a great transpacific liner of\n75,000 tons \"lift\" being brought to earth from a position of\ninvisibility above the clouds. A dozen Sacramentos had caught the hazy\noutlines of its rep rays approaching them, head-on, in the twilight,\nlike ghostly pillars reaching into the sky. They had fired rockets into\nit with ease, whereas they would have had difficulty in hitting it if it\nhad been moving at right angles to their position. They got one rep ray.\nThe other was not strong enough to hold it up. It floated to earth, nose\ndown, and since it was unarmed and unarmored, they had no difficulty in\nshooting it to pieces and massacring its crew and passengers. It seemed\nbarbarous to me. But then I did not have centuries of bitter persecution\nin my blood.\n\nFrom the Jersey Beaches we received news of the destruction of a\nNu-yok-A-lan-a liner. The Sand-snipers, practically invisible in their\nsand-colored clothing, and half buried along the beaches, lay in wait\nfor days, risking the play of dis beams along the route, and finally\nregistering four hits within a week. The Hans discontinued their service\nalong this route, and as evidence that they were badly shaken by our\nsuccess, sent no raiders down the Beaches.\n\nIt was a few weeks later that Big Boss Hart sent for me.\n\n\"Tony,\" he said, \"There are two things I want to talk to you about. One\nof them will become public property in a few days, I think. We aren't\ngoing to get any more Han ships by shooting up their repellor rays\nunless we use much larger rockets. They are wise to us now. They're\nputting armor of great thickness in the hulls of their ships below the\nrep-ray machines. Near Bah-flo this morning a party of Eries shot one\nwithout success. The explosions staggered her, but did not penetrate. As\nnear as we can gather from their reports, their laboratories have\ndeveloped a new alloy of great tensile strength and elasticity which\nnevertheless lets the rep rays through like a sieve. Our reports\nindicate that the Eries' rockets bounced off harmlessly. Most of the\nparty was wiped out as the dis rays went into action on them.\n\n\"This is going to mean real business for all of the gangs before long.\nThe Big Bosses have just held a national ultrophone council. It was\ndecided that America must organize on a national basis. The first move\nis to develop sectional organization by Zones. I have been made\nSuperboss of the Mid-Atlantic Zone.\n\n\"We're in for it now. The Hans are sure to launch reprisal expeditions.\nIf we're to save the race we must keep them away from our camps and\nplants. I'm thinking of developing a permanent field force, along the\nlines of the regular armies of the 20th Century you told me about. Its\nbusiness will be twofold: to carry the warfare as much as possible to\nthe Hans, and to serve as a decoy, to keep their attention from our\nplants. I'm going to need your help in this.\n\n\"The other thing I wanted to talk to you about is this: Amazing and\nimpossible as it seems, there is a group, or perhaps an entire gang,\nsomewhere among us, that is betraying us to the Hans. It may be the Bad\nBloods, or it may be one of those gangs who live near one of the Han\ncities. You know, a hundred and fifteen or twenty years ago there were\ncertain of these people's ancestors who actually degraded themselves by\nmating with the Hans, sometimes even serving them as slaves, in the days\nbefore they brought all their service machinery to perfection.\n\n\"There is such a gang, called the Nagras, up near Bah-flo, and another\nin Mid-Jersey that men call the Pineys. But I hardly suspect the Pineys.\nThere is little intelligence among them. They wouldn't have the\ninformation to give the Hans, nor would they be capable of imparting it.\nThey're absolute savages.\"\n\n\"Just what evidence is there that anybody has been clearing information\nto the Hans?\" I asked.\n\n\"Well,\" he replied, \"first of all there was that raid upon us. That\nfirst Han ship knew the location of our plants exactly. You remember it\nfloated directly into position above the valley and began a systematic\nbeaming. Then, the Hans quite obviously have learned that we are picking\nup their electrophone waves, for they've gone back to their old, but\nextremely accurate, system of directional control. But we've been\ngetting them for the past week by installing automatic re-broadcast\nunits along the scar paths. This is what the Americans called those\nstrips of country directly under the regular ship routes of the Hans,\nwho as a matter of precaution frequently blasted them with their dis\nbeams to prevent the growth of foliage which might give shelter to the\nAmericans. But they've been beaming those paths so hard, it looks as\nthough they even had information of this strategy. And in addition,\nthey've been using code. Finally, we've picked up three of their\nmessages in which they discuss, with some nervousness, the existence of\nour'mysterious' ultrophone.\"\n\n\"But they still have no knowledge of the nature and control of ultronic\nactivity?\" I asked.\n\n\"No,\" said the Big Boss thoughtfully, \"they don't seem to have a bit of\ninformation about it.\"\n\n\"Then it's quite clear,\" I ventured, \"that whoever is 'clearing' us to\nthem is doing it piecemeal. It sounds like a bit of occasional barter,\nrather than an out-and-out alliance. They're holding back as much\ninformation as possible for future bartering, perhaps.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Hart said, \"and it isn't information the Hans are giving in\nreturn, but some form of goods, or privilege. The trick would be to\nlocate the goods. I guess I'll have to make a personal trip around among\nthe Big Bosses.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nThe Han City\n\n\nThis conversation set me thinking. All of the Han electrophone\ninter-communication had been an open record to the Americans for a good\nmany years, and the Hans were just finding it out. For centuries they\nhad not regarded us as any sort of a menace. Unquestionably it had never\noccurred to them to secrete their own records. Somewhere in Nu-yok or\nBah-flo, or possibly in Lo-Tan itself, the record of this traitorous\ntransaction would be more or less openly filed. If we could only get at\nit! I wondered if a raid might not be possible.\n\nBill Hearn and I talked it over with our Han-affairs Boss and his\nexperts. There ensued several days of research, in which the Han records\nof the entire decade were scanned and analyzed. In the end they picked\nout a mass of detail, and fitted it together into a very definite\npicture of the great central filing office of the Hans in Nu-yok, where\nthe entire mass of official records was kept, constantly available for\ninstant projectoscoping to any of the city's offices, and of the system\nby which the information was filed.\n\nThe attempt began to look feasible, though Hart instantly turned the\nidea down when I first presented it to him. It was unthinkable, he said.\nSheer suicide. But in the end I persuaded him.\n\n\"I will need,\" I said, \"Blash, who is thoroughly familiar with the Han\nlibrary system; Bert Gaunt, who for years has specialized on their\nmilitary offices; Bill Barker, the ray specialist, and the best swooper\npilot we have.\" _Swoopers_ are one-man and two-man ships, developed by\nthe Americans, with skeleton backbones of inertron (during the war\npainted green for invisibility against the green forests below) and\n\"bellies\" of clear ultron.\n\n\"That will be Mort Gibbons,\" said Hart. \"We've only got three swoopers\nleft, Tony, but I'll risk one of them if you and the others will\nvoluntarily risk your existences. But mind, I won't urge or order one of\nyou to go. I'll spread the word to every Plant Boss at once to give you\nanything and everything you need in the way of equipment.\"\n\nWhen I told Wilma of the plan, I expected her to raise violent and\ntearful objections, but she didn't. She was made of far sterner stuff\nthan the women of the 20th Century. Not that she couldn't weep as\ncopiously or be just as whimsical on occasion; but she wouldn't weep for\nthe same reasons.\n\nShe just gave me an unfathomable look, in which there seemed to be a bit\nof pride, and asked eagerly for the details. I confess I was somewhat\ndisappointed that she could so courageously risk my loss, even though I\nwas amazed at her fortitude. But later I was to learn how little I knew\nher then.\n\nWe were ready to slide off at dawn the next morning. I had kissed Wilma\ngood-bye at our camp, and after a final conference over our plans, we\nboarded our craft and gently glided away over the tree tops on a course,\nwhich, after crossing three routes of the Han ships, would take us out\nover the Atlantic, off the Jersey coast, whence we would come up on\nNu-yok from the ocean.\n\nTwice we had to nose down and lie motionless on the ground near a route\nwhile Han ships passed. Those were tense moments. Had the green back of\nour ship been observed, we would have been disintegrated in a second.\nBut it wasn't.\n\nOnce over the water, however, we climbed in a great spiral, ten miles in\ndiameter, until our altimeter registered ten miles. Here Gibbons shut\noff his rocket motor, and we floated, far above the level of the\nAtlantic liners, whose course was well to the north of us anyhow, and\nwaited for nightfall.\n\nThen Gibbons turned from his control long enough to grin at me.\n\n\"I have a surprise for you, Tony,\" he said, throwing back the lid of\nwhat I had supposed was a big supply case. And with a sigh of relief,\nWilma stepped out of the case.\n\n\"If you 'go into zero' (a common expression of the day for being\nannihilated by the disintegrator ray), you don't think I'm going to let\nyou go alone, do you, Tony? I couldn't believe my ears last night when\nyou spoke of going without me, until I realized that you are still five\nhundred years behind the times in lots of ways. Don't you know, dear\nheart, that you offered me the greatest insult a husband could give a\nwife? You didn't, of course.\"\n\nThe others, it seemed, had all been in on the secret, and now they would\nhave kidded me unmercifully, except that Wilma's eyes blazed\ndangerously.\n\nAt nightfall, we maneuvered to a position directly above the city. This\ntook some time and calculation on the part of Bill Barker, who explained\nto me that he had to determine our point by ultronic bearings. The\nslightest resort to an electronic instrument, he feared, might be\ndetected by our enemies' locators. In fact, we did not dare bring our\nswooper any lower than five miles for fear that its capacity might be\nreflected in their instruments.\n\nFinally, however, he succeeded in locating above the central tower of\nthe city.\n\n\"If my calculations are as much as ten feet off,\" he remarked with\nconfidence, \"I'll eat the tower. Now the rest is up to you, Mort. See\nwhat you can do to hold her steady. No--here, watch this indicator--the\nred beam, not the green one. See--if you keep it exactly centered on the\nneedle, you're O.K. The width of the beam represents seventeen feet. The\ntower platform is fifty feet square, so we've got a good margin to work\non.\"\n\nFor several moments we watched as Gibbons bent over his levers,\nconstantly adjusting them with deft touches of his fingers. After a bit\nof wavering, the beam remained centered on the needle.\n\n\"Now,\" I said, \"let's drop.\"\n\nI opened the trap and looked down, but quickly shut it again when I felt\nthe air rushing out of the ship into the rarefied atmosphere in a\ntorrent. Gibbons literally yelled a protest from his instrument board.\n\n\"I forgot,\" I mumbled. \"Silly of me. Of course, we'll have to drop out\nof compartment.\"\n\nThe compartment, to which I referred, was similar to those in some of\nthe 20th Century submarines. We all entered it. There was barely room\nfor us to stand, shoulder to shoulder. With some struggles, we got into\nour special air helmets and adjusted the pressure. At our signal,\nGibbons exhausted the air in the compartment, pumping it into the body\nof the ship, and as the little signal light flashed, Wilma threw open\nthe hatch.\n\nSetting the ultron-wire reel, I climbed through, and began to slide down\ngently.\n\nWe all had our belts on, of course, adjusted to a weight balance of but\na few ounces. And the five-mile reel of ultron wire that was to be our\nguide, was of gossamer fineness, though, anyway, I believe it would have\nlifted the full weight of the five of us, so strong and tough was this\ninvisible metal. As an extra precaution, since the wire was of the\npurest metal, and therefore totally invisible, even in daylight, we all\nhad our belts hooked on small rings that slid down the wire.\n\nI went down with the end of the wire. Wilma followed a few feet above\nme, then Barker, Gaunt and Blash. Gibbons, of course, stayed behind to\nhold the ship in position and control the paying out of the line. We all\nhad our ultrophones in place inside our air helmets, and so could\nconverse with one another and with Gibbons. But at Wilma's suggestion,\nalthough we would have liked to let the Big Boss listen in, we kept them\nadjusted to short-range work, for fear that those who had been clearing\nwith the Hans, and against whom we were on a raid for evidence, might\nalso pick up our conversation. We had no fear that the Hans would hear\nus. In fact, we had the added advantage that, even after we landed, we\ncould converse freely without danger of their hearing our voices through\nour air helmets.\n\nFor a while I could see nothing below but utter darkness. Then I\nrealized, from the feel of the air as much as from anything, that we\nwere sinking through a cloud layer. We passed through two more cloud\nlayers before anything was visible to us.\n\nThen there came under my gaze, about two miles below, one of the most\nbeautiful sights I have ever seen; the soft, yet brilliant, radiance of\nthe great Han city of Nu-yok. Every foot of its structural members\nseemed to glow with a wonderful incandescence, tower piled up on tower,\nand all built on the vast base-mass of the city, which, so I had been\ntold, sheered upward from the surface of the rivers to a height of 728\nlevels.\n\nThe city, I noticed with some surprise, did not cover anything like the\nsame area as the New York of the 20th Century. It occupied, as a matter\nof fact, only the lower half of Manhattan Island, with one section\nstraddling the East River, and spreading out sufficiently over what once\nhad been Brooklyn, to provide berths for the great liners and other air\ncraft.\n\nStraight beneath my feet was a tiny dark patch. It seemed the only spot\nin the entire city that was not aflame with radiance. This was the\ncentral tower, in the top floors of which were housed the vast library\nof record files and the main projectoscope plant.\n\n\"You can shoot the wire now,\" I ultrophoned Gibbons, and let go the\nlittle weighted knob. It dropped like a plummet, and we followed with\nconsiderable speed, but braking our descent with gloved hands\nsufficiently to see whether the knob, on which a faint light glowed as a\nsignal for ourselves, might be observed by any Han guard or night\nprowler. Apparently it was not, and we again shot down with accelerated\nspeed.\n\nWe landed on the roof of the tower without any mishap, and fortunately\nfor our plan, in darkness. Since there was nothing above it on which it\nwould have been worth while to shed illumination, or from which there\nwas any need to observe it, the Hans had neglected to light the tower\nroof, or indeed to occupy it at all. This was the reason we had selected\nit as our landing place.\n\nAs soon as Gibbons had our word, he extinguished the knob light, and the\nknob, as well as the wire, became totally invisible. At our ultrophoned\nword, he would light it again.\n\n\"No gun play now,\" I warned. \"Swords only, and then only if absolutely\nnecessary.\"\n\nClosely bunched, and treading as lightly as only inertron-belted people\ncould, we made our way cautiously through a door and down an inclined\nplane to the floor below, where Gaunt and Blash assured us the military\noffices were located.\n\nTwice Barker cautioned us to stop as we were about to pass in front of\nmirror-like \"windows\" in the passage wall, and flattening ourselves to\nthe floor, we crawled past them.\n\n\"Projectoscopes,\" he said. \"Probably on automatic record only, at this\ntime of night. Still, we don't want to leave any records for them to\nstudy after we're gone.\"\n\n\"Were you ever here before?\" I asked.\n\n\"No,\" he replied, \"but I haven't been studying their electrophone\ncommunications for seven years without being able to recognize these\nmachines when I run across them.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nThe Fight in the Tower\n\n\nSo far we had not laid eyes on a Han. The tower seemed deserted. Blash\nand Gaunt, however, assured me that there would be at least one man on\n\"duty\" in the military offices, though he would probably be asleep, and\ntwo or three in the library proper and the projectoscope plant.\n\n\"We've got to put them out of commission,\" I said. \"Did you bring the\n'dope' cans, Wilma?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"two for each. Here,\" and she distributed them.\n\nWe were now two levels below the roof, and at the point where we were to\nseparate.\n\nI did not want to let Wilma out of my sight, but it was necessary.\n\nAccording to our plan, Barker was to make his way to the projectoscope\nplant, Blash and I to the library, and Wilma and Gaunt to the military\noffice.\n\nBlash and I traversed a long corridor, and paused at the great arched\ndoorway of the library. Cautiously we peered in. Seated at three great\nswitchboards were library operatives. Occasionally one of them would\nreach lazily for a lever, or sleepily push a button, as little numbered\nlights winked on and off. They were answering calls for electrograph and\nviewplate records on all sorts of subjects from all sections of the\ncity.\n\nI apprised my companions of the situation.\n\n\"Better wait a bit,\" Blash added. \"The calls will lessen shortly.\"\n\nWilma reported an officer in the military office sound asleep.\n\n\"Give him the can, then,\" I said.\n\nBarker was to do nothing more than keep watch in the projectoscope\nplant, and a few moments later he reported himself well concealed, with\na splendid view of the floor.\n\n\"I think we can take a chance now,\" Blash said to me, and at my nod, he\nopened the lid of his dope can. Of course, the fumes did not affect us,\nthrough our helmets. They were absolutely without odor or visibility,\nand in a few seconds the librarians were unconscious. We stepped into\nthe room.\n\nThere ensued considerable cautious observation and experiment on the\npart of Gaunt, working from the military office, and Blash in the\nlibrary; while Wilma and I, with drawn swords and sharply attuned\nmicrophones, stood guard, and occasionally patrolled nearby corridors.\n\n\"I hear something approaching,\" Wilma said after a bit, with excitement\nin her voice. \"It's a soft, gliding sound.\"\n\n\"That's an elevator somewhere,\" Barker cut in from the projectoscope\nfloor. \"Can you locate it? I can't hear it.\"\n\n\"It's to the east of me,\" she replied.\n\n\"And to my west,\" said I, faintly catching it. \"It's between us, Wilma,\nand nearer you than me. Be careful. Have you got any information yet,\nBlash and Gaunt?\"\n\n\"Getting it now,\" one of them replied. \"Give us two minutes more.\"\n\n\"Keep at it then,\" I said. \"We'll guard.\"\n\nThe soft, gliding sound ceased.\n\n\"I think it's very close to me,\" Wilma almost whispered. \"Come closer,\nTony. I have a feeling something is going to happen. I've never known my\nnerves to get taut like this without reason.\"\n\nIn some alarm, I launched myself down the corridor in a great leap\ntoward the intersection whence I knew I could see her.\n\nIn the middle of my leap my ultrophone registered her gasp of alarm. The\nnext instant I glided to a stop at the intersection to see Wilma backing\ntoward the door of the military office, her sword red with blood, and an\ninert form on the corridor floor. Two other Hans were circling to either\nside of her with wicked-looking knives, while a third evidently a high\nofficer, judging by the resplendence of his garb tugged desperately to\nget an electrophone instrument out of a bulky pocket. If he ever gave\nthe alarm, there was no telling what might happen to us.\n\nI was at least seventy feet away, but I crouched low and sprang with\nevery bit of strength in my legs. It would be more correct to say that I\ndived, for I reached the fellow head on, with no attempt to draw my legs\nbeneath me.\n\nSome instinct must have warned him, for he turned suddenly as I hurtled\nclose to him. But by this time I had sunk close to the floor, and had\nstiffened myself rigidly, lest a dragging knee or foot might just\nprevent my reaching him. I brought my blade upward and over. It was a\nvicious slash that laid him open, bisecting him from groin to chin, and\nhis dead body toppled down on me, as I slid to a tangled stop.\n\nThe other two startled, turned. Wilma leaped at one and struck him down\nwith a side slash. I looked up at this instant, and the dazed fear on\nhis face at the length of her leap registered vividly. The Hans knew\nnothing of our inertron belts, it seemed, and these leaps and dives of\nours filled them with terror.\n\nAs I rose to my feet, a gory mess, Wilma, with a poise and speed which I\nfound time to admire even in this crisis, again leaped. This time she\ndove head first as I had done and, with a beautifully executed thrust,\nran the last Han through the throat.\n\nUncertainly, she scrambled to her feet, staggered queerly, and then sank\ngently prone on the corridor. She had fainted.\n\nAt this juncture, Blash and Gaunt reported with elation that they had\nthe record we wanted.\n\n\"Back to the roof, everybody!\" I ordered, as I picked Wilma up in my\narms. With her inertron belt, she felt as light as a feather.\n\nGaunt joined me at once from the military office, and at the\nintersection of the corridor, we came upon Blash waiting for us. Barker,\nhowever, was not in evidence.\n\n\"Where are you, Barker?\" I called.\n\n\"Go ahead,\" he replied. \"I'll be with you on the roof at once.\"\n\nWe came out in the open without any further mishap, and I instructed\nGibbons in the ship to light the knob on the end of the ultron wire. It\nflashed dully a few feet away from us. Just how he had maneuvered the\nship to keep our end of the line in position, without its swinging in a\ntremendous arc, I have never been able to understand. Had not the night\nbeen an unusually still one, he could not have checked the initial\npendulum-like movements. As it was, there was considerable air current\nat certain of the levels, and in different directions too. But Gibbons\nwas an expert of rare ability and sensitivity in the handling of a\nrocket ship, and he managed, with the aid of his delicate instruments,\nto sense the drifts almost before they affected the fine ultron wire,\nand to neutralize them with little shifts in the position of the ship.\n\nBlash and Gaunt fastened their rings to the wire, and I hooked my own\nand Wilma's on, too. But on looking around, I found Barker was still\nmissing.\n\n\"Barker, come!\" I called. \"We're waiting.\"\n\n\"Coming!\" he replied, and indeed, at that instant, his figure appeared\nup the ramp. He chuckled as he fastened his ring to the wire, and said\nsomething about a little surprise he had left for the Hans.\n\n\"Don't reel in the wire more than a few hundred feet,\" I instructed\nGibbons. \"It will take too long to wind it in. We'll float up, and when\nwe're aboard, we can drop it.\"\n\nIn order to float up, we had to dispense with a pound or two of weight\napiece. We hurled our swords from us, and kicked off our shoes as\nGibbons reeled up the line a bit, and then letting go of the wire, began\nto hum upward on our rings with increasing velocity.\n\nThe rush of air brought Wilma to, and I hastily explained to her that we\nhad been successful. Receding far below us now, I could see our dully\nshining knob swinging to and fro in an ever widening arc, as it crossed\nand recrossed the black square of the tower roof. As an extra\nprecaution, I ordered Gibbons to shut off the light, and to show one\nfrom the belly of the ship, for so great was our speed now, that I began\nto fear we would have difficulty in checking ourselves. We were\nliterally falling upward, and with terrific acceleration.\n\nFortunately, we had several minutes in which to solve this difficulty,\nwhich none of us, strangely enough, had foreseen. It was Gibbons who\nfound the answer.\n\n\"You'll be all right if all of you grab the wire tight when I give the\nword,\" he said. \"First I'll start reeling it in at full speed. You won't\nget much of a jar, and then I'll decrease its speed again gradually, and\nits weight will hold you back. Are you ready? One--two--three!\"\n\nWe all grabbed tightly with our gloved hands as he gave the word. We\nmust have been rising a good bit faster than he figured, however, for it\nwrenched our arms considerably, and the maneuver set up a sickening\npendulum motion.\n\nFor a while all we could do was swing there in an arc that may have been\na quarter of a mile across, about three and a half miles above the city,\nand still more than a mile from our ship.\n\nGibbons skilfully took up the slack as our momentum pulled up the line.\nThen at last we had ourselves under control again, and continued our\nupward journey, checking our speed somewhat with our gloves.\n\nThere was not one of us who did not breathe a big sigh of relief when we\nscrambled through the hatch safely into the ship again, cast off the\nultron line and slammed the trap shut.\n\nLittle realizing that we had a still more terrible experience to go\nthrough, we discussed the information Blash and Gaunt had between them\nextracted from the Han records, and the advisability of ultrophoning\nHart at once.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nThe Walls of Hell\n\n\nThe traitors were, it seemed, a degenerate gang of Americans, located a\nfew miles north of Nu-yok on the wooded banks of the Hudson, the\nSinsings. They had exchanged scraps of information to the Hans in return\nfor several old repellor-ray machines, and the privilege of tuning in on\nthe Han electronic power broadcast for their operation, provided their\nships agreed to subject themselves to the orders of the Han traffic\noffice, while aloft.\n\nThe rest wanted to ultrophone their news at once, since there was always\ndanger that we might never get back to the gang with it.\n\nI objected, however. The Sinsings would be likely to pick up our\nmessage. Even if we used the directional projector, they might have\nscouts out to the west and south in the big inter-gang stretches of\ncountry. They would flee to Nu-yok and escape the punishment they\nmerited. It seemed to be vitally important that they should not, for the\nsake of example to other weak groups among the American gangs, as well\nas to prevent a crisis in which they might clear more vital information\nto the enemy.\n\n\"Out to sea again,\" I ordered Gibbons. \"They'll be less likely to look\nfor us in that direction.\"\n\n\"Easy, Boss, easy,\" he replied. \"Wait until we get up a mile or two\nmore. They must have discovered evidences of our raid by now, and their\ndis-ray wall may go in operation any moment.\"\n\nEven as he spoke, the ship lurched downward and to one side.\n\n\"There it is!\" he shouted. \"Hang on, everybody. We're going to nose\nstraight up!\" And he flipped the rocket-motor control wide open.\n\nLooking through one of the rear ports, I could see a nebulous, luminous\nring, and on all sides the atmosphere took on a faint iridescence.\n\nWe were almost over the destructive range of the disintegrator-ray wall,\na hollow cylinder of annihilation shooting upward from a solid ring of\ngenerators surrounding the city. It was the main defense system of the\nHans, which had never been used except in periodic tests. They may or\nmay not have suspected that an American rocket ship was within the\ncylinder; probably they had turned on their generators more as a\nprecaution to prevent any reaching a position above the city.\n\nBut even at our present great height, we were in great danger. It was a\nquestion how much we might have been harmed by the rays themselves, for\ntheir effective range was not much more than seven or eight miles. The\ngreater danger lay in the terrific downward rush of air within the\ncylinder to replace that which was being burned into nothingness by the\ncontinual play of the disintegrators. The air fell into the cylinder\nwith the force of a gale. It would be rushing toward the wall from the\noutside with terrific force also, but, naturally, the effect was\nintensified on the interior.\n\nOur ship vibrated and trembled. We had only one chance of escape--to\nfight our way well above the current. To drift down with it meant\nultimately, and inevitably, to be sucked into the destruction wall at\nsome lower level.\n\nBut very gradually and jerkily our upward movement, as shown on the\nindicators, began to increase, and after an hour of desperate struggle\nwe were free of the maelstrom and into the rarefied upper levels. The\nterror beneath us was now invisible through several layers of cloud\nformations.\n\nGibbons brought the ship back to an even keel, and drove her eastward\ninto one of the most brilliantly gorgeous sunrises I have ever seen.\n\nWe described a great circle to the south and west, in a long easy dive,\nfor he had cut out his rocket motors to save them as much as possible.\nWe had drawn terrifically on their fuel reserves in our battle with the\nelements. For the moment, the atmosphere below cleared, and we could see\nthe Jersey coast far beneath, like a great map.\n\n\"We're not through yet,\" remarked Gibbons suddenly, pointing at his\nperiscope, and adjusting it to telescopic focus. \"A Han ship, and a\n'drop ship' at that--and he's seen us. If he whips that beam of his on\nus, we're done.\"\n\nI gazed, fascinated, at the viewplate. What I saw was a cigar-shaped\nship not dissimilar to our own in design, and from the proportional size\nof its ports, of about the same size as our swoopers. We learned later\nthat they carried crews, for the most part of not more than three or\nfour men. They had streamline hulls and tails that embodied\nuniversal-jointed double fish-tail rudders. In operation they rose to\ngreat heights on their powerful repellor rays, then gathered speed\neither by a straight nose dive, or an inclined dive in which they\nsometimes used the repellor ray slanted at a sharp angle. He was already\nabove us, though several miles to the north. He could, of course, try to\nget on our tail and \"spear\" us with his beam as he dropped at us from a\ngreat height.\n\nSuddenly his beam blazed forth in a blinding flash, whipping downward\nslowly to our right. He went through a peculiar corkscrew-like\nevolution, evidently maneuvering to bring his beam to bear on us with a\nspiral motion.\n\nGibbons instantly sent our ship into a series of evolutions that must\nhave looked like those of a frightened hen. Alternately, he used the\nforward and the reverse rocket blasts, and in varying degree. We\nfluttered, we shot suddenly to right and left, and dropped like a\nplummet in uncertain movements. But all the time the Han scout dropped\ntoward us, determinedly whipping the air around us with his beam. Once\nit sliced across beneath us, not more than a hundred feet, and we\ndropped with a jar into the pocket formed by the destruction of the air.\n\nHe had dropped to within a mile of us, and was coming with the speed of\na projectile, when the end came. Gibbons always swore it was sheer luck.\nMaybe it was, but I like pilots who are lucky that way.\n\nIn the midst of a dizzy, fluttering maneuver of our own, with the Han\nship enlarging to our gaze with terrifying rapidity, and its beam slowly\nslicing toward us in what looked like certain destruction within the\nsecond, I saw Gibbons' fingers flick at the lever of his rocket gun and\na split second later the Han ship flew apart like a clay pigeon.\n\nWe staggered, and fluttered crazily for several moments while Gibbons\nstruggled to bring our ship into balance, and a section of about four\nsquare feet in the side of the ship near the stern slowly crumbled like\nrusted metal. His beam actually had touched us, but our explosive rocket\nhad got him a thousandth of a second sooner.\n\nPart of our rudder had been annihilated, and our motor damaged. But we\nwere able to swoop gently back across Jersey, fortunately crossing the\nship lanes without sighting any more Han craft, and finally settling to\nrest in the little glade beneath the trees, near Hart's camp.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nThe New Boss\n\n\nWe had ultrophoned our arrival and the Big Boss himself, surrounded by\nthe Council, was on hand to welcome us and learn our news. In turn we\nwere informed that during the night a band of raiding Bad Bloods,\ndisguised under the insignia of the Altoonas, a gang some distance to\nthe west of us, had destroyed several of our camps before our people had\nrallied and driven them off. Their purpose, evidently, had been to\nembroil us with the Altoonas, but fortunately, one of our exchanges\nrecognized the Bad Blood leader, who had been slain.\n\nThe Big Boss had mobilized the full raiding force of the Gang, and was\non the point of heading an expedition for the extermination of the Bad\nBloods.\n\nI looked around the grim circle of the sub-bosses, and realized the fate\nof America, at this moment, lay in their hands. Their temper demanded\nthe immediate expenditure of our full effort in revenging ourselves for\nthis raid. But the strategic exigencies, to my mind, quite clearly\ndemanded the instant and absolute extermination of the Sinsings. It\nmight be only a matter of hours, for all we knew, before these degraded\npeople would barter clues to the American ultronic secrets to the Hans.\n\n\"How large a force have we?\" I asked Hart.\n\n\"Every man and maid who can be spared,\" he replied. \"That gives us seven\nhundred married and unmarried men, and three hundred girls, more than\nthe entire Bad Blood Gang. Every one is equipped with belts,\nultrophones, rocket guns and swords, and all fighting mad.\"\n\nI meditated how I might put the matter to these determined men, and was\nvaguely conscious that they were awaiting my words.\n\nFinally I began to speak. I do not remember to this day just what I\nsaid. I talked calmly, with due regard for their passion, but with deep\nconviction. I went over the information we had collected, point by\npoint, building my case logically, and painting a lurid picture of the\ndanger impending in that half-alliance between the Sinsings and the Hans\nof Nu-yok. I became impassioned, culminating, I believe, with a vow to\nproceed single-handed against the hereditary enemies of our race, \"if\nthe Wyomings were blindly set on placing a gang feud ahead of honor and\nduty and the hopes of all America.\"\n\nAs I concluded, a great calm came over me, as of one detached. I had\nfelt much the same way during several crises in the First World War. I\ngazed from face to face, striving to read their expressions, and in a\nmood to make good my threat without any further heroics, if the decision\nwas against me.\n\nBut it was Hart who sensed the temper of the Council more quickly than I\ndid, and looked beyond it into the future.\n\nHe arose from the tree trunk on which he had been sitting.\n\n\"That settles it,\" he said, looking around the ring. \"I have felt this\nthing coming on for some time now. I'm sure the Council agrees with me\nthat there is among us a man more capable than I, to boss the Wyoming\nGang, despite his handicap of having had all too short a time in which\nto familiarize himself with our modern ways and facilities. Whatever I\ncan do to support his effective leadership, at any cost, I pledge myself\nto do.\"\n\nAs he concluded, he advanced to where I stood, and taking from his head\nthe green-crested helmet that constituted his badge of office, to my\nsurprise he placed it in my mechanically extended hand.\n\nThe roar of approval that went up from the Council members left me\ndazed. Somebody ultrophoned the news to the rest of the Gang, and even\nthough the earflaps of my helmet were turned up, I could hear the cheers\nwith which my invisible followers greeted me, from near and distant\nhillsides, camps and plants.\n\nMy first move was to make sure that the Phone Boss, in communicating\nthis news to the members of the Gang, had not re-broadcast my talk nor\nmentioned my plan of shifting the attack from the Bad Bloods to the\nSinsings. I was relieved by his assurance that he had not, for it would\nhave wrecked the whole plan. Everything depended upon our ability to\nsurprise the Sinsings.\n\nSo I pledged the Council and my companions to secrecy, and allowed it to\nbe believed that we were about to take to the air and the trees against\nthe Bad Bloods.\n\nThat outfit must have been badly scared, the way they were \"burning\" the\nether with ultrophone alibis and propaganda for the benefit of the more\ndistant gangs. It was their old game, and the only method by which they\nhad avoided extermination long ago from their immediate neighbors--these\nappeals to the spirit of American brotherhood, addressed to gangs too\nfar away to have had the sort of experience with them that had fallen to\nour lot.\n\nI chuckled. Here was another good reason for the shift in my plans. Were\nwe actually to undertake the exterminations of the Bad Bloods at once,\nit would have been a hard job to convince some of the gangs that we had\nnot been precipitate and unjustified. Jealousies and prejudices existed.\nThere were gangs which would give the benefit of the doubt to the Bad\nBloods, rather than to ourselves, and the issue was now hopelessly\nbeclouded with the clever lies that were being broadcast in an unceasing\nstream.\n\nBut the extermination of the Sinsings would be another thing. In the\nfirst place, there would be no warning of our action until it was all\nover, I hoped. In the second place, we would have indisputable proof, in\nthe form of their rep-ray ships and other paraphernalia, of their\ntraffic with the Hans; and the state of American prejudice, at the time\nof which I write held trafficking with the Hans a far more heinous thing\nthan even a vicious gang feud.\n\nI called an executive session of the Council at once. I wanted to\ninventory our military resources.\n\nI created a new office on the spot, that of \"Control Boss,\" and\nappointed Ned Garlin to the post, turning over his former responsibility\nas Plants Boss to his assistant. I needed someone, I felt, to tie in the\nrecords of the various functional activities of the campaign, and take\nover from me the task of keeping the records of them up to the minute.\n\nI received reports from the bosses of the ultrophone unit, and those of\nfood, transportation, fighting gear, chemistry, electronic activity and\nelectrophone intelligence, ultroscopes, air patrol and contact guard.\n\nMy ideas for the campaign, of course, were somewhat tinged with my 20th\nCentury experience, and I found myself faced with the task of working\nout a staff organization that was a composite of the best and most\neasily applied principles of business and military efficiency, as I knew\nthem from the viewpoint of immediate practicality.\n\nWhat I wanted was an organization that would be specialized,\nfunctionally, not as that indicated above, but from the angles of:\nintelligence as to the Sinsings' activities; intelligence as to Han\nactivities; perfection of communication with my own units; co-operation\nof field command; and perfect mobilization of emergency supplies and\nresources.\n\nIt took several hours of hard work with the Council to map out the plan.\nFirst we assigned functional experts and equipment to each \"Division\" in\naccordance with its needs. Then these in turn were reassigned by the new\nDivision Bosses to the Field Commands as needed, or as Independent or\nHeadquarters Units. The two intelligence divisions were named the White\nand the Yellow, indicating that one specialized on the American enemy\nand the other on the Mongolians.\n\nThe division in charge of our own communications, the assignment of\nultrophone frequencies and strengths, and the maintenance of operators\nand equipment, I called \"Communications.\"\n\nI named Bill Hearn to the post of Field Boss, in charge of the main or\nundetached fighting units, and to the Resources Division, I assigned all\nresponsibility for what few aircraft we had; and all transportation and\nsupply problems, I assigned to \"Resources.\" The functional bosses stayed\nwith this division.\n\nWe finally completed our organization with the assignment of liaison\nrepresentatives among the various divisions as needed.\n\nThus I had a \"Headquarters Staff\" composed of the Division Bosses who\nreported directly to Ned Garlin as Control Boss, or to Wilma as my\npersonal assistant. And each of the Division Bosses had a small staff of\nhis own.\n\nIn the final summing up of our personnel and resources, I found we had\nroughly a thousand \"troops,\" of whom some three hundred and fifty were,\nin what I called the Service Divisions, the rest being in Bill Hearn's\nField Division. This latter number, however, was cut down somewhat by\nthe assignment of numerous small units to detached service. Altogether,\nthe actual available fighting force, I figured, would number about five\nhundred, by the time we actually went into action.\n\nWe had only six small swoopers, but I had an ingenious plan in my mind,\nas the result of our little raid on Nu-yok, that would make this\nsufficient, since the reserves of inertron blocks were larger than I\nexpected to find them. The Resources Division, by packing its supply\ncases a bit tight, or by slipping in extra blocks of inertron, was able\nto reduce each to a weight of a few ounces. These easily could be\nfloated and towed by the swoopers in any quantity. Hitched to ultron\nlines, it would be a virtual impossibility for them to break loose.\n\nThe entire personnel, of course, was supplied with jumpers, and if each\nman and girl was careful to adjust balances properly, the entire number\ncould also be towed along through the air, grasping wires of ultron,\nswinging below the swoopers, or stringing out behind them.\n\nThere would be nothing tiring about this, because the strain would be no\ngreater than that of carrying a one or two pound weight in the hand,\nexcept for air friction at high speeds. But to make doubly sure that we\nshould lose none of our personnel, I gave strict orders that the belts\nand tow lines should be equipped with rings and hooks.\n\nSo great was the efficiency of the fundamental organization and\ndiscipline of the Gang, that we got under way at nightfall.\n\nOne by one the swoopers eased into the air, each followed by its long\ntrain or \"kite-tail\" of humanity and supply cases hanging lightly from\nits tow line. For convenience, the tow lines were made of an alloy of\nultron which, unlike the metal itself, is visible.\n\nAt first these \"tails\" hung downward, but as the ships swung into\nformation and headed eastward toward the Bad Blood territory, gathering\nspeed, they began to string out behind. And swinging low from each ship\non heavily weighted lines, ultroscope, ultrophone, and straight-vision\nobservers keenly scanned the countryside, while intelligence men in the\nswoopers above bent over their instrument boards and viewplates.\n\nLeaving Control Boss Ned Garlin temporarily in charge of affairs, Wilma\nand I dropped a weighted line from our ship, and slid down about half\nway to the under lookouts, that is to say, about a thousand feet. The\nsensation of floating swiftly through the air like this, in the absolute\nsecurity of one's confidence in the inertron belt, was one of\nnever-ending delight to me.\n\nWe reascended into the swooper as the expedition approached the\nterritory of the Bad Bloods, and directed the preparations for the\nbombardment. It was part of my plan to appear to carry out the attack as\noriginally planned.\n\nAbout fifteen miles from their camps our ships came to a halt and\nmaintained their positions for a while with the idling blasts of their\nrocket motors, to give the ultroscope operators a chance to make a\nthorough examination of the territory below us, for it was very\nimportant that this next step in our program should be carried out with\nall secrecy.\n\nAt length they reported the ground below us entirely clear of any\nappearance of human occupation, and a gun unit of long-range specialists\nwas lowered with a dozen rocket guns, equipped with special automatic\ndevices that the Resources Division had developed at my request, a few\nhours before our departure. These were aiming and timing devices. After\ncalculating the range, elevation and rocket charges carefully, the guns\nwere left, concealed in a ravine, and the men were hauled up into the\nship again. At the predetermined hour, those unmanned rocket guns would\nbegin automatically to bombard the Bad Bloods' hillsides, shifting their\naim and elevation slightly with each shot, as did many of our artillery\npieces in the First World War.\n\nIn the meantime, we turned south about twenty miles, and grounded,\nwaiting for the bombardment to begin before we attempted to sneak across\nthe Han ship lane. I was relying for security on the distraction that\nthe bombardment might furnish the Han observers.\n\nIt was tense work waiting, but the affair went through as planned, our\nsquadron drifting across the route high enough to enable the ships'\ntails of troops and supply cases to clear the ground.\n\nIn crossing the second ship route, out along the Beaches of Jersey, we\nwere not so successful in escaping observation. A Han ship came speeding\nalong at a very low elevation. We caught it on our electronic location\nand direction finders, and also located it with our ultroscopes, but it\ncame so fast and so low that I thought it best to remain where we had\ngrounded the second time, and lie quiet, rather than get under way and\ncross in front of it.\n\nThe point was this. While the Hans had no such devices as our\nultroscopes, with which we could see in the dark (within certain\nlimitations of course), and their electronic instruments would be\nvirtually useless in uncovering our presence, since all but natural\nelectronic activities were carefully eliminated from our apparatus,\nexcept electrophone receivers (which are not easily spotted), the Hans\ndid have some very highly sensitive sound devices which operated with\ngreat efficiency in calm weather, so far as sounds emanating from the\nair were concerned. But the \"ground roar\" greatly confused their use of\nthese instruments in the location of specific sounds floating up from\nthe surface of the earth.\n\nThis ship must have caught some slight noise of ours, however, in its\nsensitive instruments, for we heard its electronic devices go into play,\nand picked up the routine report of the noise to its Base Ship\nCommander. But from the nature of the conversation, I judged they had\nnot identified it, and were, in fact, more curious about the detonations\nthey were picking up now from the Bad Blood lands some sixty miles or so\nto the west.\n\nImmediately after this ship had shot by, we took the air again, and\nfollowing much the same route that I had taken the previous night,\nclimbed in a long semi-circle out over the ocean, swung toward the north\nand finally the west. We set our course, however, for the Sinsings' land\nnorth of Nu-yok, instead of for the city itself.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nThe Finger of Doom\n\n\nAs we crossed the Hudson River, a few miles north of the city, we\ndropped several units of the Yellow Intelligence Division, with full\ninstrumental equipment. Their apparatus cases were nicely balanced at\nonly a few ounces weight each, and the men used their chute capes to\nease their drops.\n\nWe recrossed the river a little distance above and began dropping White\nIntelligence units and a few long and short range gun units. Then we\nheld our position until we began to get reports. Gradually we ringed the\nterritory of the Sinsings, our observation units working busily and\npatiently at their locators and scopes, both aloft and aground, until\nGarlin finally turned to me with the remark:\n\n\"The map circle is complete now, Boss. We've got clear locations all the\nway around them.\"\n\n\"Let me see it,\" I replied, and studied the illuminated viewplate map,\nwith its little overlapping circles of light that indicated spots proved\nclear of the enemy by ultroscopic observation.\n\nI nodded to Bill Hearn. \"Go ahead now, Hearn,\" I said, \"and place your\nbarrage men.\"\n\nHe spoke into his ultrophone, and three of the ships began to glide in a\nwide ring around the enemy territory. Every few seconds, at the word\nfrom his Unit Boss, a gunner would drop off the wire, and slipping the\nclasp of his chute cape, drift down into the darkness below.\n\nBill formed two lines, parallel to and facing the river, and enclosing\nthe entire territory of the enemy between them. Above and below,\nstraddling the river, were two defensive lines. These latter were merely\nto hold their positions. The others were to close in toward each other,\npushing a high-explosive barrage five miles ahead of them. When the two\nbarrages met, both lines were to switch to short-vision-range barrage\nand continue to close in on any of the enemy who might have drifted\nthrough the previous curtain of fire.\n\nIn the meantime Bill kept his reserves, a picked corps of a hundred men\n(the same that had accompanied Hart and myself in our fight with the Han\nsquadron) in the air, divided about equally among the \"kite-tails\" of\nfour ships.\n\nA final roll call, by units, companies, divisions and functions,\nestablished the fact that all our forces were in position. No Han\nactivity was reported, and no Han broadcasts indicated any suspicion of\nour expedition. Nor was there any indication that the Sinsings had any\nknowledge of the fate in store for them. The idling of rep-ray\ngenerators was reported from the center of their camp, obviously those\nof the ships the Hans had given them--the price of their treason to\ntheir race.\n\nAgain I gave the word, and Hearn passed on the order to his\nsubordinates.\n\nFar below us, and several miles to the right and left, the two barrage\nlines made their appearance. From the great height to which we had\nrisen, they appeared like lines of brilliant, winking lights, and the\ndetonations were muffled by the distances into a sort of rumbling,\ndistant thunder. Hearn and his assistants were very busy: measuring,\ncalculating, and snapping out ultrophone orders to unit commanders that\nresulted in the straightening of lines and the closing of gaps in the\nbarrage.\n\nThe White Division Boss reported the utmost confusion in the Sinsing\norganization. They were, as might be expected, an inefficient, loosely\ndisciplined gang, and repeated broadcasts for help to neighboring gangs.\nIgnoring the fact that the Mongolians had not used explosives for many\ngenerations, they nevertheless jumped at the conclusion that they were\nbeing raided by the Hans. Their frantic broadcasts persisted in this\nthought, despite the nervous electrophonic inquiries of the Hans\nthemselves, to whom the sound of the battle was evidently audible, and\nwho were trying to locate the trouble.\n\nAt this point, the swooper I had sent south toward the city went into\naction as a diversion, to keep the Hans at home. Its \"kite-tail\" loaded\nwith long-range gunners, using the most highly explosive rockets we had,\nhung invisible in the darkness of the sky and bombarded the city from a\ndistance of about five miles. With an entire city to shoot at, and the\nobject of creating as much commotion therein as possible, regardless of\nactual damage, the gunners had no difficulty in hitting the mark. I\ncould see the glow of the city and the stabbing flashes of exploding\nrockets. In the end, the Hans, uncertain as to what was going on, fell\nback on a defensive policy, and shot their \"hell cylinder,\" or wall of\nupturned disintegrator rays into operation. That, of course, ended our\nbombardment of them. The rays were a perfect defense, disintegrating our\nrockets as they were reached.\n\nIf they had not sent out ships before turning on the rays, and if they\nhad none within sufficient radius already in the air, all would be well.\n\nI queried Garlin on this, but he assured me Yellow Intelligence reported\nno indications of Han ships nearer than 800 miles. This would probably\ngive us a free hand for a while, since most of their instruments\nrecorded only imperfectly or not at all, through the death wall.\n\nRequisitioning one of the viewplates of the headquarters ship, and the\nservices of an expert operator, I instructed him to focus on our lines\nbelow. I wanted a close-up of the men in action.\n\nHe began to manipulate his controls and chaotic shadows moved rapidly\nacross the plate, fading in and out of focus, until he reached an\nadjustment that gave me a picture of the forest floor, apparently 100\nfeet wide, with the intervening branches and foliage of the trees\nappearing like shadows that melted into reality a few feet above the\nground.\n\nI watched one man setting up his long-gun with skillful speed. His lips\npursed slightly as though he were whistling, as he adjusted the tall\ntripod on which the long tube was balanced. Swiftly he twirled the knobs\ncontrolling the aim and elevation of his piece. Then, lifting a belt of\nammunition from the big box, which itself looked heavy enough to break\ndown the spindly tripod, he inserted the end of it in the lock of his\ntube and touched the proper combination of buttons.\n\nThen he stepped aside, and occupied himself with peering carefully\nthrough the trees ahead. Not even a tremor shook the tube, but I knew\nthat at intervals of something less than a second, it was discharging\nsmall projectiles which, traveling under their own continuously reduced\npower, were arching into the air, to fall precisely five miles ahead and\nexplode with the force of eight-inch shells, such as we used in the\nFirst World War.\n\nAnother gunner, fifty feet to the right of him, waved a hand and called\nout something to him. Then, picking up his own tube and tripod, he\ngauged the distance between the trees ahead of him, and the height of\ntheir lowest branches, and bending forward a bit, flexed his muscles and\nleaped lightly, some twenty-five feet. Another leap took him another\ntwenty feet or so, where he began to set up his piece.\n\nI ordered my observer then to switch to the barrage itself. He got a\nclose focus on it, but this showed little except a continuous series of\nblinding flashes, which, from the viewplate, lit up the entire interior\nof the ship. An eight-hundred-foot focus proved better. I had thought\nthat some of our French and American artillery of the 20th Century had\nachieved the ultimate in mathematical precision of fire, but I had never\nseen anything to equal the accuracy of that line of terrific explosions\nas it moved steadily forward, mowing down trees as a scythe cuts grass\n(or used to 500 years ago), literally churning up the earth and the\nsplintered, blasted remains of the forest giants, to a depth of from ten\nto twenty feet.\n\nBy now the two curtains of fire were nearing each other, lines of\nvibrant, shimmering, continuous, brilliant destruction, inevitably\nsqueezing the panic-stricken Sinsings between them.\n\nEven as I watched, a group of them, who had been making a futile effort\nto get their three rep-ray machines into the air, abandoned their\nefforts, and rushed forth into the milling mob.\n\nI queried the Control Boss sharply on the futility of this attempt of\ntheirs, and learned that the Hans, apparently in doubt as to what was\ngoing on, had continued to \"play safe,\" and broken off their power\nbroadcast, after ordering all their own ships east of the Alleghenies to\nthe ground, for fear these ships they had traded to the Sinsings might\nbe used against them.\n\nAgain I turned to my viewplate, which was still focussed on the central\nsection of the Sinsing works. The confusion of the traitors was entirely\nthat of fear, for our barrage had not yet reached them.\n\nSome of them set up their long-guns and fired at random over the barrage\nline, then gave it up. They realized that they had no target to shoot\nat, no way of knowing whether our gunners were a few hundred feet or\nseveral miles beyond it.\n\nTheir ultrophone men, of whom they did not have many, stood around in\ntense attitudes, their helmet phones strapped around their ears,\nnervously fingering the tuning controls at their belts. Unquestionably\nthey must have located some of our frequencies, and overheard many of\nour reports and orders. But they were confused and disorganized. If they\nhad an Ultrophone Boss they evidently were not reporting to him in an\norganized way.\n\nThey were beginning to draw back now before our advancing fire. With\nintermittent desperation, they began to shoot over our barrage again,\nand the explosions of their rockets flashed at widely scattered points\nbeyond. A few took distance \"pot shots.\"\n\nOddly enough it was our own forces that suffered the first casualties in\nthe battle. Some of these distance shots by chance registered hits,\nwhile our men were under strict orders not to exceed their barrage\ndistances.\n\nSeen upon the ultroscope viewplate, the battle looked as though it were\nbeing fought in daylight, perhaps on a cloudy day, while the explosions\nof the rockets appeared as flashes of extra brilliance.\n\nThe two barrage lines were not more than five hundred feet apart when\nthe Sinsings resorted to tactics we had not foreseen. We noticed first\nthat they began to lighten themselves by throwing away extra equipment.\nA few of them in their excitement threw away too much, and shot suddenly\ninto the air. Then a scattering few floated up gently, followed by\nincreasing numbers, while still others, preserving a weight balance,\njumped toward the closing barrages and leaped high, hoping to clear\nthem. Some succeeded. We saw others blown about like leaves in a\nwindstorm, to crumple and drift slowly down, or else to fall into the\nbarrage, their belts blown from their bodies.\n\nHowever, it was not part of our plan to allow a single one of them to\nescape and find his way to the Hans. I quickly passed the word to Bill\nHearn to have the alternate men in his line raise their barrages and\nheard him bark out a mathematical formula to the Unit Bosses.\n\nWe backed off our ships as the explosions climbed into the air in\nstagger formation until they reached a height of three miles. I don't\nbelieve any of the Sinsings who tried to float away to freedom\nsucceeded.\n\nBut we did know later, that a few who leaped the barrage got away and\nultimately reached Nu-yok.\n\nIt was those who managed to jump the barrage who gave us the most\ntrouble. With half of our long-guns turned aloft, I foresaw we would not\nhave enough to establish successive ground barrages and so ordered the\nbarrage back two miles, from which positions our \"curtains\" began to\nclose in again, this time, however, gauged to explode, not on contact,\nbut thirty feet in the air. This left little chance for the Sinsings to\nleap either over or under it.\n\nGradually, the two barrages approached each other until they finally\nmet, and in the grey dawn the battle ended.\n\nOur own casualties amounted to forty-seven men in the ground forces,\neighteen of whom had been slain in hand to hand fighting with the few of\nthe enemy who managed to reach our lines, and sixty-two in the crew and\n\"kite-tail\" force of swooper No. 4, which had been located by one of\nthe enemy's ultroscopes and brought down with long-gun fire.\n\nSince nearly every member of the Sinsing Gang had, so far as we knew,\nbeen killed, we considered the raid a great success.\n\nIt had, however, a far greater significance than this. To all of us who\ntook part in the expedition, the effectiveness of our barrage tactics\ndefinitely established a confidence in our ability to overcome the Hans.\n\nAs I pointed out to Wilma:\n\n\"It has been my belief all along, dear, that the American explosive\nrocket is a far more efficient weapon than the disintegrator ray of the\nHans, once we can train all our gangs to use it systematically and in\nco-ordinated fashion. As a weapon in the hands of a single individual,\nshooting at a mark in direct line of vision, the rocket-gun is inferior\nin destructive power to the dis ray, except as its range may be a little\ngreater. The trouble is that to date it has been used only as we used\nour rifles and shot guns in the 20th Century. The possibilities of its\nuse as artillery, in laying barrages that advance along the ground, or\nclimb into the air, are tremendous.\n\n\"The dis ray inevitably reveals its source of emanation. The rocket gun\ndoes not. The dis ray can reach its target only in a straight line. The\nrocket may be made to travel in an arc, over intervening obstacles, to\nan unseen target.\n\n\"Nor must we forget that our ultronists now are promising us a perfect\nshield against the dis ray in inertron.\"\n\n\"I tremble though, Tony dear, when I think of the horrors that are ahead\nof us. The Hans are clever. They will develop defenses against our new\ntactics. And they are sure to mass against us not only the full force of\ntheir power in America, but the united forces of the World Empire. They\nare a cowardly race in one sense, but clever as the very Devils in Hell,\nand inheritors of a calm, ruthless, vicious persistency.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless,\" I prophesied, \"the Finger of Doom points squarely at\nthem today, and unless you and I are killed in the struggle, we shall\nlive to see America blast the Yellow Blight from the face of the Earth.\"\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note:\n\n    This etext was produced from _Amazing Stories_ August 1928.\n    Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.\n    copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and\n    typographical errors have been corrected without note.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's Armageddon--2419 A.D., by Philip Francis Nowlan\n\nNow, answer the question based on the story asconcisely as you can, using a single phrase if possible. Do not provide any explanation.\n\nQuestion: Why do the bosses of Wilma's gang believe that Anthony Rogers will be useful to them in the current conflict?\n\nAnswer:", "answer": ["Because he fought in the first world war."]}
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