Martin Rhode’s mind rocked under the implications of the statement. He wanted to believe that it was some sort of a trick, and yet the calm certainty in the thoughts that had lanced his mind made belief inescapable.
“Kill all of us! All of us!” he said aloud.
“Believe me, creature, it is something that you will eventually do to yourselves if we do not do it. For uncounted generations we talked of the end of war. Now we know — there is no end.”
Martin searched unsuccessfully for some way to refute the alien’s argument. Impossible. The alien had all the weight of fact on its side. Fighting down his despair, Martin asked, “How will you explode our planet?”
“With an ancient technique. It is a technique that you creatures possess. The power of the atom. It was used without avail against our—.” Again that thought for which there was no word. “Our power is derived from the controlled oscillation of crystals subjected to electromagnetic impulses. That is what drives this ship at speed equal to forty times the circumference of your planet within a space of time equal to three pulsations of the organ which circulates your blood.
“With the power of the crystals, we will compress hundreds of thousands of tons of the matter of which your planet is composed into a very small space. It is the principle which limits the maximum size of planets through molecular compression at the core. The atoms will be crushed. With this small substance of enormous weight, we will have a fuse. By heating it instantaneously to critical temperature, once again through the crystal, we will induce a chain reaction which will detonate this planet. That is the work my brother is doing now. He is setting up the necessary equipment to begin the task of compression. The ultimate bit of matter will have ten million times the density of water.”
Martin was silent. The thoughts were once again clear to him. “I can feel your grief and your sense of loss, creature. You are thinking that those of your race will continue with their pointless war up to the moment of extinction. You are thinking that if you could escape, you could warn them. They would think you mad. They cannot come to this place because of the—. Your wish is futile.”
Martin Spoke aloud: “Could you — could you give my people some unmistakable evidence of all this? Just so they would stop fighting for the short time they have left?”
He could read no expression in the faceted eyes. There was a slight movement of the lemon-yellow mouth.
“It might be amusing. What mechanical device do you use to communicate with each other? I will speak to my brother.”
“I dropped a short-range radio on the floor of the tunnel.”
The creature stood up and left. Martin Rhode sat on the bench, his face in his hands. So this was the climax of the empty years. There was no denying the truth of the thoughts he had read.
He guessed that it was a half-hour before the creature came back. “This is a simple device. Apparently your whole planet is served with less power than is needed to operate our small ship. Within a few hours I can construct a device which will enable you to reach every one of these devices on your planet, covering simultaneously all bands and wavelengths. Do many of your people have them?”
“Every soldier wears a small one on his wrist. Orders are given over them. There are few dwellings on the planet without one.”
The alien grimaced. “My brother does not object to my amusing myself by giving all of your people some small period of peace before death.”
In the long ward there was soft music, selected for its therapeutic value. It also concealed the drugged moans of the seriously wounded.
Alice Powell was marking a chart when the music faded and the strong voice, the familiar voice rang out. She dropped the pen and put her hand to her throat.
“This is Martin Rhode speaking. My voice is coming simultaneously from every radio set in the world. The earth has been invaded from outer space. The barrier which you cannot penetrate protects these strange beings while they work. I am held captive. I know their plans...”
On Colonel Wing’s desk was a picture of his wife and children. They had died during the first week of the war. After Martin finished speaking, Colonel Wing picked up the picture and sat very still, looking at the familiar faces.
Field Marshall Jatz listened until the voice died, and then he struck his aide heavily in the mouth. “Listen!” he roared. “Another weapon they have developed! What is wrong with our people?”
The aide crawled to the doorway, blood smearing his chin.
Stanford Rider sat at his long desk, his face in his hands. After Martin had stopped speaking he began to laugh. The tone of his laughter crept constantly higher and the tears began to run down his face. It took a long time to quiet him.
In all the places below the hard crust of the world, people listened to the words of Martin Rhode. Many of them did not understand his language. But many millions did understand, and it was easier to believe that it was a trick than to believe what Martin Rhode had said.
Martin Rhode stood and looked into the shining screen as the huge grey-white creature manipulated the dials. In a barren ravine men fought and died, and blood stained the rocks in the pale sunshine.
“You see, creature, they did not believe you. It is as I told you.”
Martin felt grief well up within him. “Can’t you do anything to make them believe?” he asked desperately.
No thought came to Martin for many minutes. Then he received the thought of laughter. Wry laughter.
“You creatures do not communicate through thought. I believe I am beginning to understand your psychology. I will hook up the drive crystal of the ship, using it to amplify my thoughts. I will use you as a target so that my thoughts will be keyed to the minds of your creatures. Then I will give each of them a clear mental picture of me, an impression of great fear, and a view of the destruction of this planet. Then they will no longer doubt.”
An hour later the hookup was ready. A small room near the rear of the ship. A large metallic object, shaped like a funnel.
The full impetus of the thoughts crashed in on Martin Rhode’s brain. In the beginning the thoughts had been like awkward fingers. Then they had achieved deftness and finish. But he knew at that moment that all that had gone before had been gentle, almost tender. These were not thoughts to be articulated into words. These were raw emotions, driven into his mind as though by a pneumatic hammer placed against the grey jelly of his brain.
He recoiled and he felt his mouth twisting, heard his own weak scream echo in his ears. In his mind he saw a huge image of one of the aliens, faceted eyes blazing. The fear was like no fear he had ever experienced. It was complete and utter horror! Then it was as though he were snapped off into space, looking down at the Earth, a planet the size of half a grain of rice. Huge ships ripped noiselessly by, headed for Earth. Then once again he was below the Earth’s surface. The two grey-white creatures stood, intent, watching a view-screen. Red light emanating from the heart of a crystal played fitfully across a dark one-inch cube which rested in the centre of a huge plate of grey metal.
Once again he was in outer space. The ships drove closer to earth. This time Earth seemed to be the size of a baseball.
Suddenly it erupted into a glaring sheet of white flame which engulfed the spaceships, and he fell fainting to the floor.
When he awakened, before his eyes, he intercepted the thought of anger. He looked up into the face of the creature. “You nearly destroyed the effect, creature. In the midst of it you made a loud sound with your mouth. It gave me pain. Do not do it again.”