Chapter XVIII

"The fools, the blundering, doddering fools! They think we don't mean it—they think we can't. We will—we will!" Nestor almost shrieked in anger and mad rage.

Through the radio came the excited, terrified voice of "Sparks" Cohen, Burt Hillen's radio operator. "Atkill attacked, he blew up Jimmy's ship somehow—sort of a ray—he threw it clear out to sea with somethin'—I can't—Gawd—there goes Dan's ship now—way out—smashed on Sandy Hook—he's comin' after us—we're dodgin'—they're workin' beams down below now, and——" A terrific crackle of sound from the set announced the first explosion aboard Hillen's ship.

"Get Bell," snapped Fordham. A moment later Bell's radio operator was talking.

"Atty's beam hit us, and damn near blew us up—it's hot as hell—the ground stations frying with rays. The shields ain't workin' right anymore. Can you get me? The engine's gone blah—it's hot—Gawd! I'm fryin'!" The radio went dead.

"They've ruined our ships—four of our ships. They ruined our ship, and by Godfry, we'll ruin their city!" Nestor was almost incoherent with rage and disappointment. "And Atkill may be coming here!"

A long beam of green light reached down, and struck the great Washington Monument. The towering finger of stone and metal seemed to puff, glowed green, and slump like melted butter, to run down the ground, down the gentle slope to the streets. It was not hot, merely liquid, glowing faintly greenish, and gradually the glow died out, and the rock and metal became rock and metal again. But where they passed automobiles, road-side trees, men and women glowed green, slumped, and ran with the stream.

The beam moved, swept across toward Pennsylvania Avenue—and suddenly, it was chopped off in midair, half-way to the ground. It simply ceased to exist at that height. It did not reflect and it did not glow. It just ceased to be.

Other beams had started now from the other ships, but like this first from Nestor's flagship, they stopped ineffectually half way. Some sparkled and arched with spitting flame, but none passed that barrier.

Then they looked up, and far, high in the sky was a shining ship, a sixth. It was as long as Nestor's, but thicker, more graceful. And its metal shone with a burnished blue tinge. It sank slowly toward the five ships, and the five beams that reached that impenetrable wall of force were suddenly gone. Twenty beams reached from each of the five ships, and played on the lone ship above. In an instant it was wrapped in blue flame.

"I think," said Warren grimly, "we got back just in time."

"I wish I knew what had happened to Atkill after that last ship went down over New York," replied Putney. "And I think we had better start active work. They may be able to get more power out of their generators. I'm glad you didn't patent that control-field. They haven't it, and have to work their generators at one-fiftieth the load—but they may have them ten times as big, remember."

Warren was silent. Outside a solid sheath of roaring, spitting, blue flame beat at a sheet of pure force, indestructible while their great generator maintained its power. There were some forces that could penetrate it, gravity for one, and a certain peculiar beam that Warren was working with. But no beam that Nestor's men had at their disposal could do it.

"I see that Atkill didn't help them after we left," remarked Warren without taking his eyes off the peculiar view-plate before him. "He'd have learned something perhaps. He's good."

In the view-plate appeared the interior of first one and then another of Nestor's little fleet. As though they had been made of the clearest glass, they appeared on the screen with their interiors perfectly exposed.

"Nestor and the power-boys are in that slightly longer ship. Nestor hasn't been playing square by his boys, I suspect. The other ships all had gas-tanks, as you suggested, only they've been disconnected, as you didn't suggest. Nestor's on the other hand, has one oxygen tank that's full of something that looks suspiciously like tri-nitro-toluene. A bit old-fashioned, but exceedingly effective, I suspect. I should say there was about three hundred pounds of it. That should scatter that ship all over the district." Warren continued to inspect the enemy ships at his leisure. Outside, a hell of fighting energies flamed and flared in the clear, sun-lit sky.

"Well—are we ready?" asked Putney, as Warren straightened up.

"Uh-huh," replied Warren laconically. He settled himself in the pilot seat, and pulled a little control. The ship seemed motionless, while Washington shot back with an incredible acceleration, swung away, shot to one side, and snapped back.

The Prometheus Attacks the Enemy

Five ships hung in the air, moving slowly toward the mote of the "Prometheus" that hung in the sunlight like some grain of shining dust, and shot about with velocities and accelerations that left the five ships helpless, that were to have subdued a nation.

Without warning, one of the five reversed its direction, and headed out toward open space with a speed and acceleration inconceivable. It seemed to flatten, its length vanished, it was a disc of wreckage resting on some clear plate. Then it contracted upon itself, and vanished, a white-hot point in the heavens. A second ship did not move from its position. But it contracted to a ball, five feet in diameter, and suddenly flamed violently blue. An instant later something wrenched all space, the blue flame disappeared, and with it, the mass of metal that had been a ship was gone.

Three ships remained, and struggled against the "Prometheus." Like some inconceivable giant planet bombarded with meteors, the "Prometheus" continued unimpeded. Methodically a third ship suddenly contracted as a sphere of pure force closed in on it, flamed blue as its release-flame burst its bonds, and snapped into nothingness with a roll of thunder, as the extinguishing field reached it, and killed the atomic fires. And space seemed to be distorted each time, and the sun shifted sharply in the sky, and things seemed out of focus. The terrific space-fields bent the light away.

One ship was left, the longest. It had turned, and fled across the city, out across the sea. The "Prometheus" followed it effortlessly, as the men within struggled under the awful weight.

"That's—not—Atkill——" Nestor groaned. "I don't know—who it is—but I can—guess—and I don't—want to—believe it!" His face was deathly white, and he was crumpled in his chair under the same terrible weight, as the ship accelerated madly. It was headed toward the eternal night and eternal glare of space, now.

"That's Warren. I thought he was dead," said Fordham. He was younger, and stronger, the acceleration affected him less.

"So—did I. I wish—he was."

The acceleration of the ship dropped slowly. Men came running from the power room, their eyes covered, crying out in terror. The eternal, inextinguishable flame was dying. It simply contracted, turned a dull grey-white, then to red. The acceleration dropped. Presently there was none, and the ship began to fall to earth. The flame had died, the ship was without power.

"He stopped us." Nestor said it with a baffled wonderment. "He shouldn't stop us. Nothing will put out the Flame. Atkill said that."

"Yes," Fordham said heavily, "but the only trouble is, that Warren is the man who invented that thing, and he's got it trained, it seems." The men were suddenly aware that an acceleration had returned, a weight. "He's at least keeping us from falling. It's about two hundred miles down, and we would have landed rather heavily."

"Why is he taking us, why didn't he just wreck the ship?" whimpered Ringman. His nerve was gone. This morning he had started out, one of the five Rulers of Earth. It wasn't eleven yet. He was on his way back now, a captive, helpless.

There were milling, calling men back in the ship. They were frightened now, afraid of that ship that could kill the flame that destroyed anything, against which its awful powers were helpless.

"I suspect he's taking us back to turn over to the government," Fordham smiled bitterly. "It was a great plan, Nestor. Only you can't seem to kill that man Warren."