Air Wonder Stories, August 1929 — page 31: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

oe ee BEYOND GRAVITY 125 for Joan. Scarcely had I rose from my chair in front of the television, than the Automaton Service buzzed again. I fairly ran to it to. receive the latest edition of the Aero-Chronicle containing up-to-the-minute develop- ments and official governmental bulletins. Quickly I glanced over the single page of type. The headlines. glared with encouraging hope, Statements by many prominent scientists hailed the possibilities of future craft along similar principles of the Annshilator. Government officials openly complimented the: ship’s officers and men for their heroic bravery in the face of certain destruction. My mounting joy stopped suddenly however, when my eyes read swiftly. over a notice that the ship had not yet been saved and that scientists and government officials ought to be working out ways and means of bringing it to earth instead of raving about heroism and infinitesimal pos- sibilities with many valuable lives hanging in the balance, But nevertheless, hope was plainly written all over the sheet and I called: Joan. She came into the living room from the door of her chamber, her eyes dry but strangely blank. She smiled weakly and I placed an arm around her shoulders. We sat down on the divan-and I explained to-her in detail just what I had heard of the official commtunications between the Washington station and the Annihilator. Her face brightened perceptibly as I held the latest issue of the paper before her eyes. A short story in the center of the page told her that Lieutenant Allison was improving steadily after the operation and radium injections. She gave a happy little cry. . “Oh, I’m so glad, daddy dear!” she said. “I had given up all hope for him!” “There’s always a silver lining behind all the black clouds, Joan.” I said, remembering the old saying-of earlier days. I glanced at my wrist-chronometer. Joan straightened abruptly, “What time is it, father?” she asked, impulsively. “Why, darling, it’s well past two o'clock,” I replied. “Then we've time to get to San Diego!” she ex- claimed. ‘We can get there before five to watch the rescue work!” “I stared at her, gaping. “Why Joan, you are not thinking of flying to San Diego tonight——in this terrible weather, are you?” I asked, incredulously, but knowing that if she had decided’to do that very thing, it would be beyond my ability to. prevent-her. : “Tam, father,” she-said, rising from the divan, “and you're going with me! Run along now and put on your flying togs |” “But, Joan————”, I protested. As usual I became the victim again to Joan’s im- pulsive determination. The flight from Denver to San Diego was nothing short of a nightmare for me. Joan’s little stream- lined aerospeedster sped through the sky like an atrow, its twin-screws with reversal motion, spinning at a terrific revolution. Rain and sleet beat down upon the tiny, transparent aerofoils of the plane with such force that I could not understand how such a frail-looking craft could bear up under it. But Joan paid-no atten- tion to the storm whirling around us. She kept her eyes glued to the instrument board, looking by turns at the glowing compass, the altimeter and the barograph. I watchcd the barograph for a moment. The mag- nesium-tugsten-alumino propellers of the Plane were - revolving faster than ever before and were registering 16,542 revolutions per minute. The altimeter gave our height at approximately 21,000 feet. I drew Joan’s attention to the Velocity-Indicator. She smiled and gradually increased: the acceleration. The. tiny ship shot ahead with a jerk and.the Velocity-Indicator needle stopped at 750 miles per hour! “Joan!” I. said, heatedly. “You'll rip the plane to pieces with that speed! Hadn’t you -better slow. it down? We've plenty. of time to get to San Diego!” “Don’t fear, daddy,” she answered. “This: little speedster is capable of doing even better than that. [ want to be in San Diego with time to spare. Isn't the moon pretty straight. ahead?” Far to the west the moon appeared through a bank of gray, seething clouds. Stars surrounded it and I felt relieved at knowing that better weather lay ahead of us. CHAPTER IV A Mad Flight RADUALLY, as Joan’s aerospeedster skudded G westward, the heavens brightened. The plane shot like a comet through banks of murky clouds and finally I scanned the earth through the. trans- parent plates set in the floor: We were over the long, white stretch of the Mojave Desert. A sand-storm was tracing to the north over-the desert but we were high above it, the little ship bathed in the phosphores- cent glow of the toon. — Behind us a wall of black, tumbling clouds illuminated. with frequent flashes of lightning, hung down from the higher reaches. Joan deliberately disregarded all established airlanes and. drove the plane in a straight line toward San Diego, the whine of the twin-screws muffled to escape detection by any Aero-Traffic Police who might be hovering in the air within the borders of California, Far ahead I could see, through the clear moonlit skies, a-faint glow that guided aircraft to the landing on top of the towering, obelisk-like Lindbergh Aero Hotel, in San Diego. It glowed incandescent hovering on. the edge of the far-off horizon. I could see the glow despite the fact that we were yet an hour from it. I glanced at the chronometer on the instrument board. We had been in the air slightly less than an hour. By computing the velocity of the plane I concluded that we would arrive in San Diego a good half hour before the time the Anrihilator would pass over the perpetual air-pocket high above San: Diego. T scanned the. space below us. We were passi over the central level-of airlanes, Dozens of craft o all ‘kinds were skimming along the usual routes; and to me, at our great elevation, they appeared like long lines of eagles and gulls, passing each other in inde- pendent flight. I heard the roar of powerful screws overhead. I looked up in time to see a huge airliner pass over ts, Presently I found myself silently speculating on the seeming impossibility of rescuing the Annihilator. My mind likened the disaster with the historical catastrophe of the submarine S41 lying at the bottom of the Atlantic beyond the aid of man. Then I began wonder- ing how the San Diego rescuers would be able to compute the exact moment required in their attempts to deliver the driving-exhaust fuel to the Annihilator as she shot over the pocket, just outside the earth’s atmosphere. It seemed an utter impossibility—as im- possible as it was for deep-sea divers to go beyond — their depth to attach oxygen-tubes to the S41, and to = ‘comicbooks.com a OSS Biers 0 RO