Tales of the Wold Newton Universe by Philip José Farmer Page B
Authors: Philip José Farmer
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extracted the jewel-egg from the corpse’s pocket. “Phillimore’s a type of Boojum. If he succeeds in spawning many young, mankind will disappear softly and quietly, one by one. If it becomes necessary to blow up this ship and us with it, I’ll not hesitate a moment. Still, we’ve reduced its forces by one-third. Now let’s see if we can’t make it one hundred percent.”
He put the egg in his own pocket. A moment later, cautiously, we stuck our heads from the structure and looked out. We were in the forepart, facing the foredeck, and thus the old salt at the wheel couldn’t see us. The other two midgets were working in the rigging at the orders of the steersman. I suppose that the thing actually knew little of sailsmanship and had to be instructed.
“Look at that, dead ahead,” Raffles said. “This is a bright clear day, Bunny. Yet there’s a patch of mist there that has no business being there. And we’re sailing directly into it.”
One of the midgets was holding a device which looked much like Raffles’ silver cigarette case except that it had two rotatable knobs on it and a long thick wire sticking up from its top. Later, Raffles said that he thought that it was a machine which somehow sent vibrations through the ether to the spaceship on the bottom of the straits. These vibrations, coded, of course, signaled the automatic machinery on the ship to extend a tube to the surface. And an artificial fog was expelled from the tube.
His explanation was unbelievable, but it was the only one extant. Of course, at that time neither of us had heard of wireless, although some scientists knew of Hertz’s experiments with oscillations. And Marconi was to patent the wireless telegraph the following year. But Phillimore’s wireless must have been far advanced over anything we have in 1924.
“As soon as we’re in the mist, we attack,” Raffles said.
A few minutes later, wreaths of gray fell about us, and our faces felt cold and wet. We could barely see the two midgets working furiously to let down the sails. We crept out onto the deck and looked around the cabin’s corner at the wheel. The old tar was no longer in sight. Nor was there any reason for him to be at the wheel. The ship was almost stopped. It obviously must be over the space vessel resting on the mud twenty fathoms below.
Raffles went back into the cabin after telling me to keep an eye on the two midgets. A few minutes later, just as I was beginning to feel panicky about his long absence, he popped out of the cabin.
“The old man was opening the petcocks,” he said. “This ship will sink soon with all that water pouring in.”
“Where is he?” I said.
“I hit him over the head with the pan,” Raffles said. “I suppose he’s drowning now.”
At that moment, the two little sailors called out for the old sailor and the third member of the trio to come running. They were lowering the cutter’s boat and apparently thought there wasn’t much time before the ship went down. We ran out at them through the fog just as the boat struck the water. They squawked like chickens suddenly seeing a fox, and they leaped down into the boat. They didn’t have far to go since the cutter’s deck was now only about two feet above the waves. We jumped down into the boat and sprawled on our faces. Just as we scrambled up, the cutter rolled over, fortunately away from us, and bottom up. The lines attached to the davit had been loosed, and so our boat was not dragged down some minutes later when the ship sank.
A huge round form, like the back of a Brobdingnagian turtle, broke water beside us. Our boat rocked, and water shipped in, soaking us. Even as we advanced on the two tiny men, who jabbed at us with their knives, a port opened in the side of the great metal craft. Its lower part was below the surface of the sea, and suddenly water rushed into it, carrying our boat along with it. The ship was swallowing our boat and us along with it.
Then the port had
He put the egg in his own pocket. A moment later, cautiously, we stuck our heads from the structure and looked out. We were in the forepart, facing the foredeck, and thus the old salt at the wheel couldn’t see us. The other two midgets were working in the rigging at the orders of the steersman. I suppose that the thing actually knew little of sailsmanship and had to be instructed.
“Look at that, dead ahead,” Raffles said. “This is a bright clear day, Bunny. Yet there’s a patch of mist there that has no business being there. And we’re sailing directly into it.”
One of the midgets was holding a device which looked much like Raffles’ silver cigarette case except that it had two rotatable knobs on it and a long thick wire sticking up from its top. Later, Raffles said that he thought that it was a machine which somehow sent vibrations through the ether to the spaceship on the bottom of the straits. These vibrations, coded, of course, signaled the automatic machinery on the ship to extend a tube to the surface. And an artificial fog was expelled from the tube.
His explanation was unbelievable, but it was the only one extant. Of course, at that time neither of us had heard of wireless, although some scientists knew of Hertz’s experiments with oscillations. And Marconi was to patent the wireless telegraph the following year. But Phillimore’s wireless must have been far advanced over anything we have in 1924.
“As soon as we’re in the mist, we attack,” Raffles said.
A few minutes later, wreaths of gray fell about us, and our faces felt cold and wet. We could barely see the two midgets working furiously to let down the sails. We crept out onto the deck and looked around the cabin’s corner at the wheel. The old tar was no longer in sight. Nor was there any reason for him to be at the wheel. The ship was almost stopped. It obviously must be over the space vessel resting on the mud twenty fathoms below.
Raffles went back into the cabin after telling me to keep an eye on the two midgets. A few minutes later, just as I was beginning to feel panicky about his long absence, he popped out of the cabin.
“The old man was opening the petcocks,” he said. “This ship will sink soon with all that water pouring in.”
“Where is he?” I said.
“I hit him over the head with the pan,” Raffles said. “I suppose he’s drowning now.”
At that moment, the two little sailors called out for the old sailor and the third member of the trio to come running. They were lowering the cutter’s boat and apparently thought there wasn’t much time before the ship went down. We ran out at them through the fog just as the boat struck the water. They squawked like chickens suddenly seeing a fox, and they leaped down into the boat. They didn’t have far to go since the cutter’s deck was now only about two feet above the waves. We jumped down into the boat and sprawled on our faces. Just as we scrambled up, the cutter rolled over, fortunately away from us, and bottom up. The lines attached to the davit had been loosed, and so our boat was not dragged down some minutes later when the ship sank.
A huge round form, like the back of a Brobdingnagian turtle, broke water beside us. Our boat rocked, and water shipped in, soaking us. Even as we advanced on the two tiny men, who jabbed at us with their knives, a port opened in the side of the great metal craft. Its lower part was below the surface of the sea, and suddenly water rushed into it, carrying our boat along with it. The ship was swallowing our boat and us along with it.
Then the port had
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