Monsters of the Ray Read online

  A gasp of utter amazement escaped from my lips. I felt Harris start and give vent to a sharp ejaculation. The picture so magically revealed before was almost a replica of Harris’ painting. There were the same temples, the same palaces, the same great arch. There in the foreground was the group of men with one of their number cutting the rock, But—before our eyes, utterly incredible as it seemed, impossible of belief, the figures moved, breathed-—they were alive!

  It had all happened in an instant. I doubt if five seconds had elapsed between the time I first noticed the struggling circle of light and the completion of that supernatural scene. And scarcely had the picture appeared from out the veil of greenish mist, when it vanished. The vapor drifted apart, the black basalt again stood revealed, and where the utterly impossible picture had been was the solid surface of the dyke.

  Speechless I stared at Harris. Dumbly he gazed at me. What had happened? How had his paintings, half a mile distant and in his house, been reflected upon the wall of rock? These were the questions that filled our minds. Yet I knew, Harris knew, that the vision had not been a reflection of his painting. It had been similar but not the same and—I shivered at the thought—the figures we had seen so vividly had lived, had moved!

  I felt as if I had gone suddenly mad. I wondered if it were not all a form of my insanity—if I were not imagining that Harris and the Indians had seen the vision. I felt like screaming, like giving way to hysterics.

  And then suddenly Harris seemed to go mad. He jumped into the air, he shouted, yelled, danced, threw his hat violently upon the platform, pounded me on the back, jerked me by the arm. Horror, pity, fear of Harris’ mental state drove all my own worries, my fears of my own sanity from my mind. Harris must be insane. His overtaxed brain must have given way. Evidently the Indians felt the same way. With wild, terrified cries they were rushing off in every direction. Only the tethered llamas remained calm, placidly chewing their cuds.

  Presently Harris dropped, exhausted, on the platform, "Success at last!" he panted. "Triumph! It's wonderful! Marvelous! Incredible! And by accident, by chance! The dream of my life come true! The impossible accomplished!”

  With a tremendous effort I controlled myself, strove to speak calmly, quietly, for fear any trace of my excitement might again send him into a fit of madness.

  "Yes, yes," I said soothingly. "Of course it was wonderful, everything you say. And of course I cannot understand how your painting seemed to appear upon the rock here."

  Harris leaped to his feet, wild-eyed, apparently beside himself.

  "Painting!" he almost yelled. "Painting, indeed! What you saw— what I saw, was real—the actual happening! Don't you understand? Can't you guess? Good God man, we've looked into the past. We've brought back things that happened three—five—no one knows how many thousands of years ago! And the ray did it, the ray brought them back from space! It's what I've dreamed of doing, of trying to do for years. It's the most wonderful, the most astounding and important accomplishment ever effected. I'm staggered at its possibilities. But this was accident—pure chance! I must improve it, learn the secret, develop it. Come, there's no time to be lost!"

  Forgetting everything else, the apparatus, the rock-cutting, Harris hurried from the platform, fairly dragging me with him, and actually raced toward his laboratory. But before we reached the buildings, he began to calm down.

  "You must think me mad," he exclaimed with a laugh. "I wouldn't blame you if you did, I—"

  "I'm not so sure we're not both mad," I replied, interrupting the words. "If we're not, how could we both have seen that—that vision or picture, or whatever it was?"

  "Two people never go mad at the same instant and in the same way," he reminded me. "We both saw the same thing at the same time—so did the Indians. Therefore what we saw was there. And neither you nor I believe in visions, spirits, ghosts or the supernatural. Hence the thing was natural-—the result of certain laws and conditions. But I knew that the moment I saw it— you see I had the advantage of you. I almost expected something of the sort to materialize. I—"

  "Look here!" I cried impatiently. "You're talking in riddles and contradicting your own words. For Heaven's sake, get down to concrete facts and talk sense. Tell me what you expected, why and what the whole incredible thing means."

  "When I said I rather expected the thing, I was speaking more or less figuratively," he began. "I'd been working, puzzling along these lines for years and I'd pretty well come to the conclusion mat the new Inti-ray might hold the secret that had escaped me all along. So I expected, and hoped, that some development, some property, demonstrated in using the ray, might convince me it was what I sought. But, excuse me, old man, I'm getting the cart before the horse again. I keep forgetting you are in the dark. I must begin at the beginning to make you understand. But first about that—er, well—picture we saw in the fumes. As I said before, it was no picture; it was actuality. You don't get what I mean, but it's plain enough to me, and will be to you in a moment. You thought, perhaps for a brief instant, that it was a reproduction of the picture I painted. Why?"

  "Naturally I thought so—at first," I told him. "It was the same thing— temple, palaces, arch—even the costumes and people. Only—"

  "Exactly!" he exclaimed, not waiting for me to finish. "Because the same scene was reproduced, my painting immediately occurred to you, as I confess it did to me. But why shouldn't there be a resemblance? The arch is here, the temple, palaces—everything. I simply restored them, as I did the people, the costumes, the occupations. And" —he chuckled—"I happened to make a darned good job of it. That's a credit to you, too, old man! You told me how the things should be, you know, so you have the satisfaction of knowing your archeological knowledge was true and your deductions correct. Still, there were a lot of details wrong. The high-priest had a different robe and headdress from the one I painted. The columns of the temple were green, not red; and the palace facade was blue instead of yellow. And there were rope-ladders leading to the top of the Huaro-Yana. And another thing —the chap holding the metal flask and using the ray. He was on the left, not on the right like mine, and farther away. And—I noticed that particularly, he had a spout on the neck of the flask—a sort of nozzle. And— "

  Chapter VII

  Harris Explains His Theory

  I did not avail myself of Harris' permission to try my hand at cutting the dyke with his ray machine. I didn't relish the idea of standing there alone and perhaps evoking another of those startling scenes from the past, and Harris' last cautionary words regarding the order of opening and closing the valves had hinted of danger in monkeying with the thing. But I was curious to examine the results of his operations, so I made my way to the big dyke. Harris had been right in his calculations—as he seemed always to be right in whatever he undertook— and I found that two great masses of the rock had broken free and had dropped to the ground at the foot of the cliff. They were about twelve feet in length by ten feet wide and four feet in thickness. The ends, where they had broken free by their weight, were rough and crystalline, but their four surfaces, that had been cut by the ray, were as smooth and almost as even as though they had been planed off.

  A great cavity in the dyke marked the spot whence they had slipped out free, and I realized that if Harris had continued at the work, a few hours would have sufficed to have cut an opening completely through the wall of solid rock. I then made a careful examination of the surface of the dyke where, as nearly as I could judge, the miraculous picture or vision or whatever it was, had appeared. I could detect no peculiarities, no differences in the basalt at this spot, and in order to be sure that I had made no mistake in the location I again climbed upon the platform and tried to visualize the scene. And when, feeling sure of myself, I calculated the size of the scene that had appeared so mysteriously, I found that, as Harris had said, the human figures we had seen in the fumes had been fully life-size. But with that commonplace, prosaic rock before me, it was difficult to believe that the
thing had ever occurred, that it was not all a dream. Still, there was the platform with the ray machine upon it; there were the deep grooves Harris had cut in the face of the dyke; and there were the great blocks of stone that had fallen from it. No, it had been no dream, and yet, try as I might, I could not force myself to believe in Harris' explanation of what we had so clearly seen.

  For a couple of days thereafter nothing worth recording occurred. My mind still dwelt upon the visionary scene we had witnessed, but by dint of hard work and by keeping my brain occupied by writing up my archeological notes, I kept the other matter submerged. And Harris made no comments in regard to his work except to report that all was progressing as well as could be expected. On the third day, however, he became more communicative and informed me that he had at last established certain facts, although, he admitted, he did not himself know the precise reasons for them. “The fumes serve as a rectifier or transformer," he said. "The Inti-rays, when passed through the fumes, become altered to visible light-rays or perhaps they produce effects upon the fumes that result in the reflection of light-rays in such a manner as to render the Inti-rays visible."

  I began to understand, to grasp his amazing theory, and to realize how reasonable, how plausible were his deductions. As he said, was the materialization of a scene from the past really any more remarkable than the materialization of a sound from a multitude of radio waves? For that matter, wasn't it, in a way, the same thing as television, with slight variations and on a larger scale? Views, scenes in Europe were transmitted every day to America and vice versa. Anyone could "tune in" and gaze at some distant spot and could see the living, moving men and women on their screen. And though the interval between the actual happening and the reception of the picture was infinitesimal, still there was an interval and, strictly and scientifically speaking, the person viewing the transmitted picture was looking at a scene that had occurred in the past—even though the past was but the fraction of a second distant. As far as I could see, about the only real difference between such a feat and the seemingly miraculous feat Harris suggested, was the difference in distance and time. So it was with an entirely altered mental attitude that I listened to Harris' next words.

  "The great trouble," he observed, "will be to 'tune in' and secure clear, distinct pictures. Until I get the hang of the thing, I'm afraid there'll be a good deal of interference, and I haven't the most remote idea of how to bring in the views in their regular sequence. I’ll have to fish around in the dark, so to say, trusting to pick up a piece here, another there, and then, by carefully noting the conditions and correlating the results, I think we’ll be able to get somewhere.

  "That's where I count on you, old man. You'll be able—or should be able—to determine the sequence of events. But the real thing I'm after isn't the record of things here. That will interest you no doubt, and it will enable you to settle many mooted questions of archeology. But what I'm trying to get, what I've had in mind for years, are views of the planets, or the planet, where these impressions are recorded. Think what that will mean if I succeed we'll be able to see the details, the vegetation, even the life, if there is any!"

  "Fine!" I commented. "But I'm afraid, Harris, that you'll have just as hard work making people believe you have accomplished that as I will have in convincing my fellow archeologists that I possess firsthand, irrefutable knowledge of the life of the pre-Incans. It will all sound like the wildest sort of a fairy tale to the rest of the world."

  "No it won't," he declared. "Once I get the thing under perfect control I'll demonstrate it in all the great scientific centers. You don't suppose I'll stay here and look at one spot in the universe, do you?"

  "Judging from some of your statements I should not be surprised if you found the thing didn't succeed elsewhere," I said.

  "I think we'll have to begin just where we left off," Harris announced. "I'm working in the dark more or less and while I hope eventually to simplify matters, at present I know of no way of bringing in a scene other than by turning the ray on the basalt and producing the fumes."

  "Rather inconvenient if you carry out your plan and demonstrate the thing elsewhere," I observed. "It; won't be the easiest thing in the world to carry a basaltic dyke from place to place to serve as a screen, And you'd have to provide a lot of them—they'd be cut into bits and destroyed after a few demonstrations!"

  "Oh, dry up and stop your nonsense!" cried Harris with a good- natured grin. "Here," he continued, with something in the manner of a professor giving a lecture to his class, "is a special camera. My idea is to take motion-pictures—in colors of course—of the whole thing, the rock cutting, the fumes, the views we obtain—if we do obtain them. Then we'll have a record no one can question. I might have used an ordinary camera, but this is my own invention and is far superior. It takes the pictures at the rate of 25 per second and reproduces natural colors perfectly. This"—turning to the projector-like device—"is a combination revolving mirror and camera. You see a motion-picture, when viewed with a rotating mirror, is broken up into separate images, whereas an actual scene is not. I—"

  "Good Lord, you don't suspect the vision was a movie, do you?" I exclaimed.

  "No, but one never can tell," said Harris. "How do we know that some being on some distant planet may not be projecting some unknown form of motion-picture on the cliff before us? How—"

  "Be yourself Harris!'' I cried. "That's an absurdly impossible idea if ever there was one."

  "Why?" he shot back. "I admit it would be impossible by means of light-rays, but how about the Inti-rays or other unknown rays? For all we know there may be beings on Mars, on Venus, on any planet as much beyond us in scientific knowledge and attainments as we are beyond the apes. And if so they may have learned—ages ago, how to take photographic views of occurrences here on earth, using Inti-rays or other rays for the purpose. Then when, once more—after a lapse of thousands of years—the Inti-rays were again used here, they may have seen their opportunity, and in an effort to communicate with us, they may have thrown the pictures back on the vapor-screen, imagining, of course that we possess enough intelligence to understand. For that matter they may have assumed that we are the pre-Incans. A few thousand years to them may be no more than as many hours or minutes to us. But we'll be certain when we see the records made by the revolving mirror."

  I shrugged my shoulders hopelessly. "It's all so damnably preposterous, I honestly can't draw the line between the impossibility and possibility of anything," I confessed. "But one thing's certain. Unless you succeed in getting a picture, you won't be able to prove or disprove anything."

  Chapter VIII

  Impressions Stored on Eros

  Although Harris's initial preparations were precisely the same as when he had started to cut the rock, yet I felt even more excited and tense than on the first occasion. As for the Indians, they were filled with awe, but not knowing what to expect, or whether Harris was merely repeating the strange rites of the first day, they simply stared, awaiting any amazing, magical demonstration that might take place.

  Only the tethered llamas were not there, for having clearly demonstrated that the fumes were not injurious to animal life, they were not needed, and were allowed to wander and graze at will.

  As before, Harris adjusted the valves, grasped the nozzle and turned the ray upon the great dyke. But this time, as his object was to produce a dense screen of fumes and not to dissect the stone, he adjusted the nozzle to project a wide stream (if I may use the term) upon the rock near its summit. Instantly a broad, shallow groove appeared in the basalt and dense clouds of the greenish vapor began to form. Then, connecting an attachment that he had prepared, which, by means of a small electric motor, moved the nozzle back and forth and up and down, Harris turned to his giant camera, and started the mechanism that exposed the film. Then he sprang to his rotating mirror, set that in motion, and gave his attention to the dials and levers on other instruments, always keeping his eyes fixed upon the fumes that were now ro
lling, writhing and steadily descending, like a slowly flowing cataract of pale translucent green, over the face of the dyke.

  Slowly the minutes passed. Only the clicking of the camera's mechanism, the low hum of the motors, the whirring of hidden mechanism, broke the silence.

  With eyes glued to the dense screen of vapor, we watched eagerly but nothing happened. Heavier and heavier became the fumes as the ray cut deeper and ever deeper into the basalt, but no change, no sign of the vision broke the billowing masses of vapor. Then suddenly, when I had given up all hopes, I saw Harris grow rigid, a sharp exclamation escaped him, and once again I saw that dim, faint glow slowly illuminating the green depths of the fumes. Rapidly the light increased, a myriad colors flashed, gyrated, swirled amid the fumes, and then abruptly, as though a misty veil had been torn aside, a marvelous picture was exposed; a scene so vividly real, so deep in its perspective, so glowing with atmosphere and light, that I seemed to be gazing through a window in the rock at some actual view beyond.

  Once more I was gazing at Huaro-Yana of the past. There loomed the great black arch; there was the temple with its green columns, the palace with its ornately decorated facade of dull-blue, and there once more were the people—men and women—in the costumes of centuries gone. But this time, no high priest was leading a procession up the temple stairs, no workmen were lifting the blocks of rock cut by the ray emanating from a metal flask. Instead, the people were in gala dress, they shone with ornaments of burnished silver and gold, their ornate headdresses of feathers flashed in the sun, and all were dancing—weaving back and forth, in and out—to the music of drums and flutes played by musicians in the foreground. So full of motion so perfect in its rhythm and so realistic in every detail was the vision, that I half-turned my head, striving to catch the music, the cadence of the dance.