“Those damn fools back on Earth,” he observed impassively, “decided the professor an’ me was better off of it. So they let us come through the Tube before they blew it up. We brought the explosive bullets, Mr. Reames. I hope we brought enough.”
And Tommy grinned elatedly as Denham turned to crush his hands in his own.
CHAPTER VIII
“Those Devils Have Got Evelyn!”
That night the three of them talked, on a high terrace with most of the Golden City spread out below them. Over their heads, lights of many colors moved and shifted slowly in the sky. There were a myriad glowing specks of saffron-red about the ways of the city, and the air was full of fragrant odors. The breath of the jungle reached them even a thousand feet above ground. And the dull, persistent roar of the machines reached them too. There were five people on the terrace: Tommy, Denham, Smithers, Aten and the white-bearded old Keeper of Foodstuffs. He looked on as the Earthmen talked.
“We’re marooned,” Tommy was saying crisply, “and for the time being we’ve got to throw in with these people. I believe they came from Earth originally. Four, five thousand years ago, perhaps. Their tale is of a cave they sealed up behind them. It might have been a primitive Tube, if such a thing can be imagined.”
Denham filled his pipe and lighted it meditatively.
“Half the American Indian tribes,” he observed drily, “had legends of coming originally from an underworld. I wonder if Tubes are less your own invention than we thought?”
Tommy shrugged.
“In any case, Earth is safe.”
“Is it?” insisted Denham. “You say they understood at once when you talked of dimension-travel. Ask the old chap there.”
Tommy frowned, then labored with the question. The bearded old man spoke gravely. At his answer, Tommy grimaced.
“Datl’s gone looking for the cave their legends tell of,” he said reluctantly. “He’s the lad who wanted the city to gas Earth with some ghastly stuff they know of, and move over when the gas was harmless again. But the cave has been lost for centuries, and it’s in the torrid zone—which is torrid! We’re near the North Pole of this planet, and it’s tropic here. It must be mighty hot at the equator. Datl took a ship and supplies and sailed off. He may be killed. In any case it’ll be some time before he’s dangerous. Meanwhile, as I said, we’re marooned.”
“And more,” said Denham deliberately. “By the time the authorities halfway believed me, and Von Holtz could talk, there were more deaths from the Death Mist. It wiped out a village, clean. So when it was realized that I’d caused it—or that was their interpretation—and was the only man who could cause it again, why, the authorities thought it a splendid idea for me to come through the Tube. They invited me to commit suicide. My knowledge was too dangerous for a man to have. So,” he added grimly, “I have committed suicide. We will not be welcomed back on Earth, Tommy.”
Tommy made an impatient gesture.
“Worry about that later,” he said impatiently. “Right now there’s a war on. Rahn’s desperate, and the prisoners we took this morning say Jacaro and his gunmen are there, advising them. Ragged Men have joined in to help kill civilized humans. And they’ve still got aircraft.”
“Which can still bombard this city,” observed Denham. “Can’t they?”
Tommy pointed to the many-colored beams of light playing through the sky overhead.
“No. Those lights were invented to guide night-flying planes back home. They’re static lights—cold lights, by the way—and they register powerfully when a static-discharge propeller comes within range of them. If Rahn tries a night attack, Aten and I take off and shoot them down again. That’s that. But we’ve got to design gas masks for these people, and I think I can persuade the Council to send over and take all Rahn’s aircraft away to-morrow. But the real emergency is the jungle.”
He expounded the situation of the city as he understood it. He labored painstakingly to make his meaning clear while Denham blew meditative smoke rings and Smithers listened quietly. But when Tommy had finished, Smithers said in a vast calm:
“Say, Mr. Reames, y’know I asked you to get somebody to take me through some o’ these engine rooms. That’s kinda my specialty. An’ these folks are good, no question! There’s engines—even steam engines—we couldn’t build on Earth. But, my Gawd, they’re dumb! There ain’t a piece of automatic machinery on the place. There’s one man to every motor, handlin’ the controls or the throttle. They got stuff we couldn’t come near, but they never thought of a steam governor.”
Tommy turned kindling eyes upon him. “Go on!”
“Hell,” said Smithers, “gimme some tools an’ I’ll go through one shop an’ cut the workin’ force in half, just slammin’ governors, reducin’ valves, an’ automatic cut-offs on the machines I understand!”
Tommy jumped to his feet. He paced up and down, then halted and began to spout at Aten and the Keeper of Foodstuffs. He gesticulated, fumbling for words, and hunted absurdly for the ones he wanted among his written lists, and finally was drawing excitedly on Aten’s black-metal tablet. Smithers got up and looked over his shoulder.
“That ain’t it, Mr. Reames,” he said slowly. “Maybe I….”
Tommy pressed the stud that erased the page. Smithers took the tablet and began to draw painstakingly. Aten, watching, exclaimed suddenly. Smithers was drawing an actual machine, actually used in the Golden City, and he was making a working sketch of a governor so that it would operate without supervision while the steam pressure continued. Aten began to talk excitedly. The Keeper of Foodstuffs took the tablet and examined it. He looked blank, then amazed, and as the utterly foreign idea of a machine which controlled itself struck home, his hands shook and color deepened in his cheeks.
He gave an order to Aten, who dashed away. In ten minutes other men began to arrive. They bent over the drawing. Excited comments, discussions and disputes began. A dawning enthusiasm manifested itself. Two of them approached Smithers respectfully, with shining eyes. They drew their tablets from their belts, rather skilfully drew the governor he had indicated in larger scale, and by gestures asked for more detailed plans. Smithers stood up to go with them.
“You’re a hero, now, Smithers,” Tommy informed him exultantly. “They’ll work you to death and call you blessed!”
“Yes, sir,” said Smithers. “These fellas are right good mechanics. They just happened to miss this trick.” He paused. “Uh—where’s Miss Evelyn?”
“With Aten’s—wife,” said Tommy. This was no time to discuss the marital system of Yugna. “We were prisoners until this morning. Now we’re guests of honor. Evelyn’s talking to a lot of women and trying to boost our prestige.”
Smithers went over to the gesticulating group of draftsmen. He settled down to explain by drawings, since he had not a word of their language. In a few minutes a group went rushing away with the sketch tablets held jealously to their breasts, bound for workshops. Other men appeared to present new problems. A wave of sheer enthusiasm was in being. A new idea which would lessen the demands of the machines was a godsend to these folk.