The Whispering Spheres

  Produced by Greg Weeks, Sankar Viswanathan, and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  Transcriber's Note:

  This etext was produced from Comet, July 1941. Extensive research didnot uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publicationwas renewed.

  _Something--like an inner eye--glowed for just a moment as the sphere advanced._]

  The Whispering Spheres

  _An alien life-form--metallic sinister--threatening all mankind with annihilation._

  by R. R. WINTERBOTHAM

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER I

  THE CAULDRON

  The factory saw-toothed the horizon with its hideous profile asthe moon rose in the east. The red glow of the furnaces bathedthe tall buildings, the gigantic scaffolds, the cord-likeelevated pipelines and the columnar smokestacks in the crimson ofanger. Even the moon seemed to fade as the long-fingeredsmokestacks reached toward it belching their pollution. The air,which should have been clean, was filled with the reek ofunfamiliar odors.

  From the machine shop, where giant cannon were forged intosmooth, sleek instruments of death, came noise: unchecked,unmuffled, blasphemous din. But something odd was afoot. Therewas a sudden hush. It seemed as if a giant hand had covered themetal city to muffle its screams.

  In the nearby city of box-like houses, where the workers lived,there was an echoing stir. Lights glowed in the windows of thetiny homes. People were awakened in the night by the suddencessation of din.

  Something was wrong in the factory.

  But there couldn't be anything wrong. The factory was enclosed bya high, electrified fence. There were guards on duty night andday, armed to the teeth and ready to shoot an intruder who failedto give an account of himself. There were wars and rumors of warson the face of the earth and there was need for the uninterruptedproduction of sleek cannon.

  But, if something were wrong, why didn't the whistle blow? Therewere signals: three short blasts, repeated many times, meantfire; one long blast meant a breakdown; five toots meant alayoff. But now the whistle was silent.

  Heads popped from the windows of the houses in the city. Theylistened. Was it a whistle that the workers heard? No. It was awhispering, barely audible at first, then louder. It was thewhisper of tongues of flame. But no flames were visible. Only thered glow of the furnaces lighted up the factory's profile.

  One by one the lights of the city went out as workers went backto bed, to toss restlessly. Without noise there could be nosleep.

  The tongues of flame still whispered.

  * * * * *

  A car moved rapidly through the streets of the city. At the wheelwas a man dressed in a captain's uniform. The machine whirledonto the highway that led toward the factory. A barricade,lighted by torch-lanterns, barred his path. A sentry with abayoneted gun stood to one side, signaling a halt.

  The car slowed.

  "Captain Ted Taylor, ordnance department!" the captain said,extending his pass toward the sentry.

  The sentry signaled him on.

  The car came within a stone's throw of the factory, where itturned into a parking lot. The officer climbed out, noiselessly,and moved into the shadows.

  Once Captain Taylor had been a scientist, but that was long ago,before wars had made biology very unexciting.

  Out of the shadows a second figure moved. He was a short, stockyman, compared with the slender, graceful figure of the captain.

  "Ps-st! Captain!"

  "Masters!"

  "You got my short-wave call, I see. I was afraid you would beasleep. He came late, but he's in the tunnel now."

  "Who is it?"

  "The fellow we've suspected all along. Poses as an ignorantlaborer, but he's not ignorant by a long shot. His name is HankNorden."

  Masters pointed toward a clump of bushes. As he did, he caughtthe captain's arm with his left hand. The bushes were moving.

  A black hole appeared at the base of the bushes and from itemerged the head and shoulders of a man. Taylor drew his pistol.The man's head turned, searching the shadows to see if he wasobserved. He failed to detect the figures of Taylor and Masters,huddled nearby in the shadows.

  The man scrambled from the hole. He closed the trap door behindhim and then started to move rapidly away.

  "Halt!" barked Taylor.

  The man began to run. The captain's pistol spat, kicking up dustbeside the running feet. The fleeing man jumped to one side, tospoil Taylor's aim on the next shot, but as he did so, hestumbled and fell.

  A moment later Taylor had landed on top of him, pinning him tothe ground.

  The faded moonlight showed angry eyes, a jutting, undershot jawand a sharp, pointed nose.

  "Damn you!" spat the captive.

  Taylor removed a revolver from the prisoner's clothing and tossedit to Masters.

  "It's Norden, all right," Masters said, scrutinizing the captive."I'd know that jaw in a million. What are you doing here,fellah?"

  "I'm blowing the factory to hell!" Norden said between his teeth."You can't stop me. Everything's fixed. In a minute a bomb'll gooff. You, I, everyone will be smashed to atoms. And I'm glad. Forthe fatherland."

  "We know why you're doing it," Taylor said. "Come on, Masters.Get your short-wave working. Notify the factory office. Where'sthe bomb, Norden? Come on, speak up, or I'll pull you to pieces!"

  Norden said nothing. Masters was calling the office. He turned tothe captain:

  "I can't raise anyone."

  "We'll go to the gate." Taylor prodded the prisoner ahead on therun.

  "You can't make it in time," Norden panted.

  "We'll die trying!"

  A floodlight turned the area in front of the gate into a patch ofdaylight. An armed sentry challenged from a small building. Thecaptain answered.

  "Sorry, but you can't come in. Strict Orders. After hours," thesentry said, when the captain asked to be allowed to pass.

  "But it's urgent--life or death. We've got to use your telephone.Or--you call the office. Tell the super there's a bomb in theplant--"

  The sentry's jaws gaped, but only for an instant. Down the roadinside the plant came a running, bareheaded figure--screaming:

  "Let me out! Let me out of here!"

  "Halt!" shouted the sentry.

  The figure stumbled to a stop at the gate. The light showed thepale, sweating face trembling with fear.

  "What's the matter with you?" the sentry asked.

  "The metal pots! They're alive! Big, orange bubbles are floatingfrom the cauldrons!"

  "Nuts!" said the sentry. "You're drunk."

  But as the soldier spoke there was a trembling movement of theground beneath the feet of the men at the gate. Captain Taylorthrew himself on the ground. But there was no blast.

  The red of the sky-glow suddenly faded to orange. Up through theroof of the casting room crashed a huge, glowing sphere thenfloated like a will-o'-the wisp in the moonlight.