The Greatest SF Classics of Stanley G. Weinbaum. Stanley G. Weinbaum
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used."
"Too flimsy. Useless against the fliers of Urbs. No, whatwe need is the secret of the rocket blast, and since that's unobtainable, we'll have to do without. We'll manage to keep our fighting in the City itself. And how we'll need you!"
Connor soon came to realize the truth of Jan's words. What little he knew of trajectories, velocities, and the science of ballistics was taxed to the uttermost. He was astounded to discover that calculus was a lost knowledge, and that Jan was even unacquainted with the use of logarithms and the slide rule.
Rather than plod through hours and hours of mathematical computation, it seemed to Connor the shorter method was to work out a table of logarithms to four places, and to construct a slide rule; in both of these operations Jan joined with growing enthusiasm as understanding increased.
As the preparations progressed, Connor began to notice other things—the vanishing of familiar faces, the lack of youthful activities. He knew what that meant. The revolutionaries were gradually filtering into Urbs, and the day of the uprising was at hand.
How close it was, however, he never dreamed until he emerged one morning to find Evanie talking to Jan Orm, with her eyes alight. She turned eagerly to Tom, led him back into the cottage.
"Kiss me!" she whispered. "The day is here! We leave for Urbs tonight!"
All day there was a hush over the village. It was bereft of youth, girls as well as men. Only the oldsters plodded about in street and field.
Jan Orm confessed to Connor that he was not entirely pleased with all details. His estimate of the number of revolutionaries who would join him had been too high. But the infiltration into the city had been successful, and twenty–two thousand villagers lay armed and hidden among their Urban sympathizers. This, Jan argued, promised a great accession to their ranks once the hour had strike.
"What are your arrangements?" Connor asked.
"Each village has chosen its leader. These leaders have again centralized their command into ten, of whom our Ormon leader happens to be one. But each variety of Weed has its own corps." He smiled. "They call us Weeds, because we're supposed to run wild."
And again there came to Connor a quick mental picture of his beautiful girl of the forest. She, too, had spoken of "Weeds," a little contemptuously, he seemed to remember now. He had not understood her allusion then, had not asked her to explain. But it was plain enough now. Her lofty attitude toward "Weeds," or the common people, must have been because she was an aristocrat herself. Who could she have been? He had seen no one hereabouts bearing any faintest resemblance to her.
He brought his mind swiftly back to Jan.
"If you win," he observed, "you'll have a general battle over the spoils. You may find yourself worse off after the revolution than before."
"We know that," Jan said grimly. "Yet we'll fight side by side until the Master's done for. Afterward—" He spread his hands expressively.
"You mentioned `our Ormon leader,' " remarked Connor. "That's you, of course."
"Oh, no!" Jan chuckled. "That's Evanie."
"The devil!" Connor stared amazed at the gentle, shy, and quiet girl.
"Jan exaggerated," she said, smiling. "I depend on all the rest of you. Especially Jan—and you, Tom."
He shook his head, puzzled about this revolution—shadowy, vague, ill–planned. To assault a world ruler in a colossal city with untrained rabble using weapons unfamiliar to them! Surely the Master must know there was sedition and plotting among his people.
He was about to voice his doubts when a flash of iridescence down the sunny slope caught his eye. It seemed more like a disturbance in the air or a focus of light than a material body. It swept in wide circles as if hunting or seeking, and—Connor heard its high, humming buzz. The creature, if it were a creature, was no more than eighteen inches long, and featureless save for a misty beak at the forward end.
It circled closer, and suddenly he perceived an amazing phenomenon. It was circling the three of them and, he had thought, the cottage too. Then he saw that instead of circling the building it was passing through the walls!
"Look!" he cried. "What's that?"
The Way to Urbs
The effect on Jan and Evanie was startling. As they perceived the almost invisible thing, the girl shrieked in terror.
"Don't look at it!" Jan choked out. "Don't even think of it!"
Both of them covered their faces with their hands.
They made no attempt to flee; indeed, Connor thought confusedly, how could one hide from a thing that could pass like a phantom through rock walls? He tried to follow their example but could not resist another peep at the mystery. It was still visible, but further off down the slope towards the river, and as he gazed, it abandoned its circling, passed like a streak of mist over the water, and vanished.
"It's gone," he said mildly. "Suppose you tell me what it was."
"It—it was a Messenger of the Master," murmured Evanie fearfully. "Jan, do you think it was for one of us? If so, that means he suspects!"
"God knows!" Jan muttered. "It looked dim to me, like it stray."
"And what," Connor demanded to know, "is a Messenger of the Master?"
"It's to carry the Master's commands," said Evanie.
"You don't say!" he snapped ironically. "I could guess that from its name. But what is it?"
"It's a mechanism of force, or so we think," said Jan, "It's—did you ever see ball–lightning?"
Connor nodded.
"Well, there's nothing material, strictly speaking, in ball–lightning. It's a balance of electrical forces. And so are the Messengers—a structure of forces."
"But—was it alive?"
"We believe not. Not exactly alive."
Connor groaned. "Not material, strictly speaking, and not exactly alive! In other words, a ghost."
Jan smiled nervously.
"It does sound queer. What I mean is that the Messengers are composed of forces, like ball–lightning. They're stable as long as Urbs supplies enough energy to offset the losses. They don't discharge all at once like ball– lightning. When their energy is cut off, they just dissipate, fade out, vanish. That one missed its mark, if it was for us."
"How do they bear the Master's commands?"
"I hope you never find out," Evanie said softly. "I was sent for once before, but that Messenger missed like this. Jan and I—can close our minds to them. It takes practice to learn how."
"Well," said Connor, "if the Master suspects, you'd better change your plans. Surprise was your one advantage."
"We can't," Jan said grimly. "Our cooperating groups would split into factions in half an hour, given any excuse."
"But—that might have been sent as a warning!"
"No matter. We've got to go ahead. What's more, we'd better leave now."
Jan rose abruptly and departed. A moment later Connor saw him back in a motor vehicle from the hill below the factory. And then, with no more preparation than that, they were jolting over the rutted red clay road, Jan driving, Evanie between the two men.
When they swung suddenly to a wide paved highway, the battered vehicle leaped swiftly to unexpected speed. A full hundred miles an hour, though that was not so greatly in excess of the speed of cars of Connor's own day.
Hour after hour they rushed down the endless way. They passed tree–grown ruins and little villages like Ormon, and as night