Astounding Stories of Super-Science, March 1930 Part 25

[2] "United States of the World," which came into being in 2057 upon the centenary of the Yellow War.

[3] Trinight Hour, i.e., 3 A. M.

[4] Pressure sickness. Caused by the difficulty of maintaining a constantly normal air pressure within the vessel owing to the sudden, extreme changes from heat to cold.

[5] "Set and Setta," the Martian equivalent of Mr. and Miss.

[6] A Venus form of jocular, intimate greeting.

_REMEMBER_ ASTOUNDING STORIES _Appears on Newsstands_ THE FIRST THURSDAY IN EACH MONTH

_In the Next Issue_

MONSTERS of MOYEN

_A Complete Novelet of a Half-G.o.d Half-Beast's Extraordinary Attempt to Dominate the Earth_ _By_ Arthur J. Burks

_A Large Instalment of_

BRIGANDS of the MOON

_The Splendid Interplanetary Novel_ _By_ Ray c.u.mmings

The RAY of MADNESS

_The Account of Another of Dr. Bird's Amazing Exploits_ _By_ Captain S. P. Meek

--_And Many Other Stories by Your Favorite Authors!_

The Soul Master

_By Will Smith and R. J. Robbins_

Desperately O'Hara plunged into Prof. Kell's mysterious mansion.

For his friend Skip was the victim of the eccentric scientist's de-astralizing experiment, and faced a fate more hideous than death.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _A terrific force was emanating from that devilish globe above._]

The train was slowing down for Keegan. A whistle from the locomotive ahead had warned the two alert young men in the smoker to that effect, and they arose to leave the train. Both were neatly and quietly dressed.

One carried a medium-sized camera with the necessary tripod and accessory satchel. The other carried no impediments of any sort. Both were smoking cigars, evidently not of expensive variety, judging by the unaromatic atmosphere thereabouts.

"Can't see what Bland s.h.i.+pped us up to this one-horse dump for,"

grumbled Skip Handlon, the one who carried the camera. He was the slighter of the two and perhaps half a head shorter than the other. "Do you know anything about it?"

"Not much," confessed the other as they alighted from the smoker. "All I can tell you is that Bland sent for me early this morning, told me to get a story out of this Professor Kell and to drag you along. After we get there you are to do as judgment dictates. But I remember that the Chief was specific as regards one thing. You are to get the proff's mug.

Don't forget. The old fellow may growl and show fight, but it's up to you to deliver the goods--or, in this case, get them. Don't depend on me for help. I expect to have troubles of my own." Thus gloomed Horace Perry, star reporter for the Journal.

"This Keegan place"--Handlon was using his eyes swiftly and comprehensively--"isn't worth much. Can't see how it manages to even rate a name. Some dump, all right!"

"You said a couple mouthfuls."

"How's the train service, if any?"

"Rotten. Two trains a day." The other was anything but enthusiastic.

"We've a nice long wait for the next one, you can bet. Now, just add to that a rough reception after we reach the old lion's lair and you get a nice idea of what Bland expects from his men."

Handlon made a wry face at this. "The bird who first applied the words 'Hard Boiled' to the Chief's monniker knew something."

"You don't know the half of it," retorted Perry encouragingly. "Just wait and see what a beaut of a fit he can throw for _your_ benefit if you fail to do your stuff--and I don't mean maybe."

Old Man Bland owned the Journal, hired and fired his crew and did his own editing, with the help of as capable an office gang as could be gotten together. It is quite possible that "Hard Boiled" Bland demanded more from his men than any other editor ever has before or since.

Nevertheless he got results, and none of his experienced underlings ever kicked, for the pay was right. If a hapless scribe had the temerity to enter the editorial sanctum with a negative report, the almost invariable reply had been a glare and a peremptory order, "Get the copy."

And get it they did. If a person refused an interview these clever fellows generally succeeded in getting their information from the next most reliable source, and it arrived in print just the same.

Of such a breed was Perry. Handlon, being a more recent acquisition to the staff, was not yet especially aggressive in his work. On this account the former took keen zest in scaring him into displaying a bit more sand.

The train had disappeared around a bend and the two reporters felt themselves marooned. Keegan, without question, was a most forlorn looking spot. A dismal shanty, much the worse for weather, stood beside the track. In front, a few rotting planks proclaimed that once upon a time the place had boasted a real freight platform. Probably, back in some long-forgotten age, a station agent had also held forth in the rickety shanty. A sign hung on each end of the crumbling structure on which could still be deciphered the legend "KEEGAN." On the opposite side of the track was an old, disused siding. The only other feature of interest thereabouts was a well traveled country road which crossed the tracks near the shanty, wound sinuously over a rock-strewn hill and became lost in the mazes of an upland forest.

There being no signboard of any kind to indicate their destination, the two, after a moment's hesitation, started off briskly in a chance direction. The air was hot and sultry, and in the open s.p.a.ces the sun beat down mercilessly upon the two hapless ones. As they proceeded into the depths of the forest they were s.h.i.+elded somewhat from the worst of the heat. Gradually upon their city-bred nostrils there stole the odor of conifers, accompanied by a myriad of other forest odors. Both sniffed the air appreciatively.

"This is sure the life," remarked Perry. "If I weren't so darn thirsty now...." He became lost in mournful thought.

A considerable time pa.s.sed. The newspaper men trudged wearily along until finally another bend brought them to the beginning of a steep descent. The forest had thinned out to nothing.

"Seems to me I smell smoke," blurted out Handlon suddenly. "Must be that we are approaching the old party's lair. Remember? Bland said that he--"

"Uh huh!" the other grunted, almost inaudibly. Now that they seemed to be arriving at their destination something had occurred to him. He had fished from his pocket a sheaf of clippings and was perusing them intently. "Bland said, 'Get the copy'," he muttered irrelevantly and half to himself.

The clippings all related directly to Professor Kell or to happenings local to Keegan. Some were of peculiar interest. The first one was headlined thus: