Page:Weird Tales Volume 3 Number 2 (1923-02).djvu/5

4 "It can't be done," said Monning, shaking his gray head.

Weston drew up his tail form and fixed his eyes on the shorter man.

"I say it can be done," said he, vigorously, his straight mouth set in a grim line above his stubborn chin.

"Why, man!" expostulated Monning, "even now Mars is thirty million miles from us."

While Monning talked he watched Weston closely: for Monning believed the inventor might be violent and was prepared to escape at the first signs.

"That isn't so," Weston was quick to deny Monning.

"What proof have you that it is not?" asked Monning.

"Proof!" exclaimed Weston, his gray eyes holding the older man's weak brown ones. "What proof have you that Mars is thirty or forty million miles away? A fool's mathematical theory decided that. Do you suppose that diminutive eye-glass at Washington Observatory is large enough to see an object thirty-six million miles away? Put an aeroplane up four miles or forty from the crests of the west coast Rockies and see if you can see it with that telescope or any other. You can't see it!

"I've tested models, and none have returned to earth that I have found—

"Call it density of atmosphere or land swell if you will, but, according to the distance you estimate Mars to be, you'll have several million mils of atmosphere to penetrate before you name all the canals. Thirty-six million miles—when the human eye sees that far with any contrivance we have not, we'll discover the thrones of the gods!"

"Nonsense," scoffed Monning.

"Believe any ideas what you will. I shall prove to you and your doubting world that the planet Mars can be reached from Earth."

Monning smiled pityingly. Weston winced, but his strong hands clenched and his gray eyes flashed. He went on arguing.

"The force driving this rocket acts in a vacuum with scarce any depleting of its driving power. I don't need air or atmosphere in order to travel with my invention. The gas makes its own resistance. Moreover, I can supply it with enough gas to last for a much longer time than it will take me to reach any planet we can see from Earth.

"Monning, this is no fool's attempt," Weston grew more earnest. "and I'm not notnot [sic] insane. I don't believe Mars is more than 200,000 miles from us at this hour. I'm prepared for that journey—compressed air for myself—shock absorbers that protect a soft body going at the rate of five hundred miles per hour. I have gliding wings and reverse charges of gas for brakes. I will have to do nothing but live during the entire journey. Timed ignition will set off the gas until I arrive within the gravity of Mars which presents at this moment a ten thousand mile wide target. That target isn't infringed upon by any other planet's gravity either—you know that, Monning.

"I've tested models, and none have returned to earth that I have found—"

"Probably fell into the sea," Monning muttered.

Weston glanced at him suspiciously, then went on fluently:

"I have placed cartridges of explosive at both ends of the rocket. It will move either forward or backward at my will. The gas chambers can be recharged anywhere with the materials inside the rocket as it stands now ready for the trip. At eight o'clock tonight I shall leave the earth, and sometimes I hope it will be never to return. It appears that you scoffers of genius could at least wish me well. You laughed at Fulton and his steamboat, but you ride in them now; you scoffed at telegraphy, but you're talking around the world today; you sneered at men because they believed it was possible to fly, and now airplanes pass over this city every day carrying your mail. Why not believe there is at least a chance of reaching another planet?"

"Your beliefs are so radical and opposed to the beliefs proven by years of research and investigation," said Monning, "that I could hardly thing seriously of your foolish attempt. You are young yet and still precocious—depend on youth to be precocious when it thinks it knows something of science. If you will try this foolish, dangerous prank, do it, but I advise you to give it up. I'm certin you'll lose your life."

"What do I care for life," exclaimed Weston. "when within my grasp is the most marvelous discovery the world has ever known? I start at eight o'clock tonight. If you come to watch me depart, be sure you stay outside the boundary of red flags outside the fence—you'll regret it if you don't."

While talking they had approached an iron gate leading out into the field around the rocket's inclosure. Weston unlocked the gate with a key from his pocket and let Monning out.

"I think you will have quite an audience tonight—depend upon the American public for that," said Monning at the gate, indicating the knots of people peering up at the rocket from the road a half mile away. "I'm sure no one will forget you tonight. I wish you the best of luck in the interest of science."

A sarcastic note in the elder man's voice took the pleasure out of the farewell. To Weston it was worse than nothing. A bitterness rose within him at the thought that among the millions of souls who knew of him he could designate not one who was in sympathy with him.

A suburban car hummed along its track three blocks away. Monning hurried out to meet it and return to the city. Weston watched him go, then at a question from a workman in overalls, who had approached him from the work-shop, he returned to his preparations for the most audacious expedition ever contemplated by man.

EFORE the afternoon was half gone the sky grew overcast with heavy, low-hanging, gray clouds. A drizzling rain set in. Times Square clogged with umbrellas and covered vehicles. Like the sky, the city took on a dreary and gloomy aspect.

Yet intense excitement burned in the breast of many all through the afternoon. From the nation's center of activity, telegraph, cable, telephone and wireless spread the news of the coming sensation—man's first attempt to reach a planet.

Throughout all the excitement, ridicule was dominant. Even the most radical of scientists were skeptical, though some envied the sensation the hair-brained inventor was making. Just as Weston had told Monning, the public ridiculed or poked fun at the product of another man's hard work, while their forefathers had passed through the same condition precluding the success of other wonders of the world's progressing industry.

Whatever the public thought of Weston and his rocket, they flocked to witness his start. Long before the time of departure an immense crowd gathered beyond the danger signals outside the rocket's inclosure. Gas driven vehicles, bicycles and pedestrians grew into a solid mass. Trolley cars were blocked along the track nearest the field. The police, with doubled force, worked incessantly to prevent jams and holding the rear spectators form pushing the foremost too close to the rocket, glistening through the misty atmosphere.

Stanley Monning, with a friend of like mind, watched developments on the outskirts of the gigantic crows. An indefinable nervousness possessed Monning. He could not react to the jocular remarks of his friend. Despite his efforts to shake it off, a feeling of awe was