[Illustration: _Nothing affected it. _] The SKY TRAP by FRANK BELKNAP LONG Lawton enjoyed a good fight. He stood happily trading blows withSlashaway Tommy, his lean-fleshed torso gleaming with sweat. Hepreferred to work the pugnacity out of himself slowly, to savor it asit ebbed. "Better luck next time, Slashaway, " he said, and unlimbered a left hookthat thudded against his opponent's jaw with such violence that the big, hairy ape crumpled to the resin and rolled over on his back. Lawton brushed a lock of rust-colored hair back from his brow and stareddown at the limp figure lying on the descending stratoship's slightlytilted athletic deck. "Good work, Slashaway, " he said. "You're primitive and beetle-browed, but you've got what it takes. " Lawton flattered himself that he was the opposite of primitive. High inthe sky he had predicted the weather for eight days running, with farmore accuracy than he could have put into a punch. They'd flash his report all over Earth in a couple of minutes now. FromNew York to London to Singapore and back. In half an hour he'd bedonning street clothes and stepping out feeling darned good. He had fulfilled his weekly obligation to society by manipulatingmeteorological instruments for forty-five minutes, high in the warm, upper stratosphere and worked off his pugnacity by knocking down aprofessional gym slugger. He would have a full, glorious week now towork off all his other drives. The stratoship's commander, Captain Forrester, had come up, and wasstaring at him reproachfully. "Dave, I don't hold with the reformingJohnnies who want to re-make human nature from the ground up. But you'vegot to admit our generation knows how to keep things humming with aminimum of stress. We don't have world wars now because we work off ourpugnacity by sailing into gym sluggers eight or ten times a week. Andsince our romantic emotions can be taken care of by tactile televisionwe're not at the mercy of every brainless bit of fluff's calculatedankle appeal. " Lawton turned, and regarded him quizzically. "Don't you suppose Irealize that? You'd think I just blew in from Mars. " "All right. We have the outlets, the safety valves. They are supposed tokeep us civilized. But you don't derive any benefit from them. " "The heck I don't. I exchange blows with Slashaway every time I boardthe Perseus. And as for women--well, there's just one woman in the worldfor me, and I wouldn't exchange her for all the Turkish images in thetactile broadcasts from Stamboul. " "Yes, I know. But you work off your primitive emotions with too muchgusto. Even a cast-iron gym slugger can bruise. That last blowwas--brutal. Just because Slashaway gets thumped and thudded all over bythe medical staff twice a week doesn't mean he can take--" The stratoship lurched suddenly. The deck heaved up under Lawton's feet, hurling him against Captain Forrester and spinning both men around sothat they seemed to be waltzing together across the ship. The still limpgym slugger slid downward, colliding with a corrugated metal bulkheadand sloshing back and forth like a wet mackerel. A full minute passed before Lawton could put a stop to that. Even whilecareening he had been alive to Slashaway's peril, and had tried to leapto his aid. But the ship's steadily increasing gyrations had hurled himaway from the skipper and against a massive vaulting horse, barking theflesh from his shins and spilling him with violence onto the deck. He crawled now toward the prone gym slugger on his hands and knees, histemples thudding. The gyrations ceased an instant before he reachedSlashaway's side. With an effort he lifted the big man up, propped himagainst the bulkhead and shook him until his teeth rattled. "Slashaway, "he muttered. "Slashaway, old fellow. " Slashaway opened blurred eyes, "Phew!" he muttered. "You sure socked mehard, sir. " "You went out like a light, " explained Lawton gently. "A minute beforethe ship lurched. " "The ship _lurched_, sir?" "Something's very wrong, Slashaway. The ship isn't moving. There are novibrations and--Slashaway, are you hurt? Your skull thumped against thatbulkhead so hard I was afraid--" "Naw, I'm okay. Whatd'ya mean, the ship ain't moving? How could itstop?" Lawton said. "I don't know, Slashaway. " Helping the gym slugger to hisfeet he stared apprehensively about him. Captain Forrester was kneelingon the resin testing his hocks for sprains with splayed fingers, hisfeatures twitching. "Hurt badly, sir?" The Commander shook his head. "I don't think so. Dave, we are twentythousand feet up, so how in hell could we be stationary in space?" "It's all yours, skipper. " "I must say you're helpful. " Forrester got painfully to his feet and limped toward the athleticcompartment's single quartz port--a small circle of radiance on a levelwith his eyes. As the port sloped downward at an angle of nearly sixtydegrees all he could see was a diffuse glimmer until he wedged his browin the observation visor and stared downward. Lawton heard him suck in his breath sharply. "Well, sir?" "There are thin cirrus clouds directly beneath us. They're not moving. " Lawton gasped, the sense of being in an impossible situation swelling tonightmare proportions within him. What could have happened? * * * * * Directly behind him, close to a bulkhead chronometer, which was clickingout the seconds with unabashed regularity, was a misty blue visiplatethat merely had to be switched on to bring the pilots into view. The Commander hobbled toward it, and manipulated a rheostat. The twopilots appeared side by side on the screen, sitting amidst a spiderynetwork of dully gleaming pipe lines and nichrome humidification units. They had unbuttoned their high-altitude coats and their stratospherehelmets were resting on their knees. The Jablochoff candle light whichflooded the pilot room accentuated the haggardness of their features, which were a sickly cadaverous hue. The captain spoke directly into the visiplate. "What's wrong with theship?" he demanded. "Why aren't we descending? Dawson, you do thetalking!" One of the pilots leaned tensely forward, his shoulders jerking. "Wedon't know, sir. The rotaries went dead when the ship started gyrating. We can't work the emergency torps and the temperature is rising. " "But--it defies all logic, " Forrester muttered. "How could a metal shipweighing tons be suspended in the air like a balloon? It is stationary, but it is not buoyant. We seem in all respects to be _frozen in_. " "The explanation may be simpler than you dream, " Lawton said. "Whenwe've found the key. " The Captain swung toward him. "Could _you_ find the key, Dave?" "I should like to try. It may be hidden somewhere on the ship, and thenagain, it may not be. But I should like to go over the ship with afine-tooth comb, and then I should like to go over _outside_, thoroughly. Suppose you make me an emergency mate and give me a carteblanche, sir. " Lawton got his carte blanche. For two hours he did nothing spectacular, but he went over every inch of the ship. He also lined up the crew andpumped them. The men were as completely in the dark as the pilots andthe now completely recovered Slashaway, who was following Lawton aboutlike a doting seal. "You're a right guy, sir. Another two or three cracks and my nogginwould've split wide open. " "But not like an eggshell, Slashaway. Pig iron develops fissures underterrific pounding but your cranium seems to be more like tempered steel. Slashaway, you won't understand this, but I've got to talk to somebodyand the Captain is too busy to listen. "I went over the entire ship because I thought there might be a hiddensource of buoyancy somewhere. It would take a lot of air bubbles toturn this ship into a balloon, but there are large vacuum chambers underthe multiple series condensers in the engine room which conceivablycould have sucked in a helium leakage from the carbon pile valves. Andthere are bulkhead porosities which could have clogged. " "Yeah, " muttered Slashaway, scratching his head. "I see what you mean, sir. " "It was no soap. There's nothing _inside_ the ship that could possiblykeep us up. Therefore there must be something outside that isn't air. Weknow there _is_ air outside. We've stuck our heads out and sniffed it. And we've found out a curious thing. "Along with the oxygen there is water vapor, but it isn't H2O. It's HO. A molecular arrangement like that occurs in the upper Solar atmosphere, but nowhere on Earth. And there's a thin sprinkling of hydrocarbonmolecules out there too. Hydrocarbon appears ordinarily as methane gas, but out there it rings up as CH. Methane is CH4. And there are alsoscandium oxide molecules making unfamiliar faces at us. And oxide ofboron--with an equational limp. " "Gee, " muttered Slashaway. "We're up against it, eh?" Lawton was squatting on his hams beside an emergency 'chute opening onthe deck of the Penguin's weather observatory. He was letting down aspliced beryllium plumb line, his gaze riveted on the slowly turninghorizontal drum of a windlass which contained more than two hundred feetof gleaming metal cordage. Suddenly as he stared the drum stopped revolving. Lawton stiffened, astartled expression coming into his face. He had been playing a hunchthat had seemed as insane, rationally considered, as his wild idea aboutthe bulkhead porosities. For a moment he was stunned, unable to believethat he had struck pay dirt. The winch indicator stood at one hundredand three feet, giving him a rich, fruity yield of startlement. One hundred feet below him the plummet rested on something solid thatsustained it in space. Scarcely breathing, Lawton leaned over thewindlass and stared downward. There was nothing visible between the shipand the fleecy clouds far below except a tiny black dot resting onvacancy and a thin beryllium plumb line ascending like an interrogationpoint from the dot to the 'chute opening. "You see something down there?" Slashaway asked. Lawton moved back from the windlass, his brain whirling. "Slashawaythere's a solid surface directly beneath us, but it's completelyinvisible. " "You mean it's like a frozen cloud, sir?" "No, Slashaway. It doesn't shimmer, or deflect light. Congealed watervapor would sink instantly to earth. " "You think it's all around us, sir?" Lawton stared at Slashaway aghast. In his crude fumblings the gymslugger had ripped a hidden fear right out of his subconsciousness intothe light. "I don't know, Slashaway, " he muttered. "I'll get at that next. " * * * * * A half hour later Lawton sat beside the captain's desk in the controlroom, his face drained of all color. He kept his gaze averted as hetalked. A man who succeeds too well with an unpleasant task may developa subconscious sense of guilt. "Sir, we're suspended inside a hollow sphere which resembles a huge, floating soap bubble. Before we ripped through it it must have had aplastic surface. But now the tear has apparently healed over, and theshell all around us is as resistant as steel. We're completely bottledup, sir. I shot rocket leads in all directions to make certain. " The expression on Forrester's face sold mere amazement down the river. He could not have looked more startled if the nearer planets hadyielded their secrets chillingly, and a super-race had appeared suddenlyon Earth. "Good God, Dave. Do you suppose something has happened to space?" Lawton raised his eyes with a shudder. "Not necessarily, sir. Somethinghas happened to _us_. We're floating through the sky in a huge, invisible bubble of some sort, but we don't know whether it has anythingto do with space. It may be a meteorological phenomenon. " "You say we're floating?" "We're floating slowly westward. The clouds beneath us have beenreceding for fifteen or twenty minutes now. " "Phew!" muttered Forrester. "That means we've got to--" He broke off abruptly. The Perseus' radio operator was standing in thedoorway, distress and indecision in his gaze. "Our reception isextremely sporadic, sir, " he announced. "We can pick up a few of thestronger broadcasts, but our emergency signals haven't been answered. " "Keep trying, " Forrester ordered. "Aye, aye, sir. " The captain turned to Lawton. "Suppose we call it a bubble. Why are wesuspended like this, immovably? Your rocket leads shot up, and the plumbline dropped one hundred feet. Why should the ship itself remainstationary?" Lawton said: "The bubble must possess sufficient internal equilibrium tokeep a big, heavy body suspended at its core. In other words, we must besuspended at the hub of converging energy lines. " "You mean we're surrounded by an electromagnetic field?" Lawton frowned. "Not necessarily, sir. I'm simply pointing out thatthere must be an energy tug of _some_ sort involved. Otherwise the shipwould be resting on the inner surface of the bubble. " Forrester nodded grimly. "We should be thankful, I suppose, that we canmove about inside the ship. Dave, do you think a man could descend tothe inner surface?" "I've no doubt that a man could, sir. Shall I let myself down?" "Absolutely not. Damn it, Dave, I need your energies inside the ship. Icould wish for a less impulsive first officer, but a man in mypredicament can't be choosy. " "Then what _are_ your orders, sir?" "Orders? Do I have to order you to think? Is working something out foryourself such a strain? We're drifting straight toward the AtlanticOcean. What do you propose to do about that?" "I expect I'll have to do my best, sir. " Lawton's "best" conflicted dynamically with the captain's orders. Tenminutes later he was descending, hand over hand, on a swaying emergencyladder. "Tough-fibered Davie goes down to look around, " he grumbled. He was conscious that he was flirting with danger. The air outside wasbreathable, but would the diffuse, unorthodox gases injure his lungs? Hedidn't know, couldn't be sure. But he had to admit that he felt allright _so far_. He was seventy feet below the ship and not at all dizzy. When he looked down he could see the purple domed summits of mountainsbetween gaps in the fleecy cloud blanket. He couldn't see the Atlantic Ocean--yet. He descended the last thirtyfeet with mounting confidence. At the end of the ladder he bracedhimself and let go. He fell about six feet, landing on his rump on a spongy surface thatbounced him back and forth. He was vaguely incredulous when he foundhimself sitting in the sky staring through his spread legs at clouds andmountains. He took a deep breath. It struck him that the sensation of falling couldbe present without movement downward through space. He was beginning toexperience such a sensation. His stomach twisted and his brain spun. He was suddenly sorry he had tried this. It was so damnably unnerving hewas afraid of losing all emotional control. He stared up, his eyessquinting against the sun. Far above him the gleaming, wedge-shaped bulkof the Perseus loomed colossally, blocking out a fifth of the sky. Lowering his right hand he ran his fingers over the invisible surfacebeneath him. The surface felt rubbery, moist. He got swayingly to his feet and made a perilous attempt to walk throughthe sky. Beneath his feet the mysterious surface crackled, and littlesparks flew up about his legs. Abruptly he sat down again, his faceashen. From the emergency 'chute opening far above a massive head appeared. "You all right, sir, " Slashaway called, his voice vibrant with concern. "Well, I--" "You'd better come right up, sir. Captain's orders. " "All right, " Lawton shouted. "Let the ladder down another ten feet. " Lawton ascended rapidly, resentment smouldering within him. What righthad the skipper to interfere? He had passed the buck, hadn't he? * * * * * Lawton got another bad jolt the instant he emerged through the 'chuteopening. Captain Forrester was leaning against a parachute rack gaspingfor breath, his face a livid hue. Slashaway looked equally bad. His jaw muscles were twitching and he wastugging at the collar of his gym suit. Forrester gasped: "Dave, I tried to move the ship. I didn't know youwere outside. " "Good God, you didn't know--" "The rotaries backfired and used up all the oxygen in the engine room. Worse, there's been a carbonic oxide seepage. The air is contaminatedthroughout the ship. We'll have to open the ventilation valvesimmediately. I've been waiting to see if--if you could breathe downthere. You're all right, aren't you? The air _is_ breathable?" Lawton's face was dark with fury. "I was an experimental rat in the sky, eh?" "Look, Dave, we're all in danger. Don't stand there glaring at me. Naturally I waited. I have my crew to think of. " "Well, think of them. Get those valves open before we all haveconvulsions. " A half hour later charcoal gas was mingling with oxygen outside theship, and the crew was breathing it in again gratefully. Thinlydispersed, and mixed with oxygen it seemed all right. But Lawton hadmisgivings. No matter how attenuated a lethal gas is it is neverentirely harmless. To make matters worse, they were over the AtlanticOcean. Far beneath them was an emerald turbulence, half obscured by eastwardmoving cloud masses. The bubble was holding, but the morale of the crewwas beginning to sag. Lawton paced the control room. Deep within him unsuspected energiessurged. "We'll last until the oxygen is breathed up, " he exclaimed. "We'll have four or five days, at most. But we seem to be travelingfaster than an ocean liner. With luck, we'll be in Europe before webecome carbon dioxide breathers. " "Will that help matters, Dave?" said the captain wearily. "If we can blast our way out, it will. " The Captain's sagging body jackknifed erect. "Blast our way out? What doyou mean, Dave?" "I've clamped expulsor disks on the cosmic ray absorbers and trainedthem downward. A thin stream of accidental neutrons directed against thebottom of the bubble may disrupt its energies--wear it thin. It's along gamble, but worth taking. We're staking nothing, remember?" Forrester sputtered: "Nothing but our lives! If you blast a hole in thebubble you'll destroy its energy balance. Did that occur to you? Insidea lopsided bubble we may careen dangerously or fall into the sea beforewe can get the rotaries started. " "I thought of that. The pilots are standing by to start the rotaries theinstant we lurch. If we succeed in making a rent in the bubble we'llbreak out the helicoptic vanes and descend vertically. The rotarieswon't backfire again. I've had their burnt-out cylinder heads replaced. " An agitated voice came from the visiplate on the captain's desk: "Tuningin, sir. " Lawton stopped pacing abruptly. He swung about and grasped the desk edgewith both hands, his head touching Forrester's as the two men stareddown at the horizontal face of petty officer James Caldwell. Caldwell wasn't more than twenty-two or three, but the screen'sopalescence silvered his hair and misted the outlines of his jaw, givinghim an aspect of senility. "Well, young man, " Forrester growled. "What is it? What do you want?" The irritation in the captain's voice seemed to increase Caldwell'sagitation. Lawton had to say: "All right, lad, let's have it, " beforethe information which he had seemed bursting to impart could be wrenchedout of him. It came in erratic spurts. "The bubble is all blooming, sir. All aroundinside there are big yellow and purple growths. It started up above, and--and spread around. First there was just a clouding over of the sky, sir, and then--stalks shot out. " For a moment Lawton felt as though all sanity had been squeezed from hisbrain. Twice he started to ask a question and thought better of it. Pumpings were superfluous when he could confirm Caldwell's statement inhalf a minute for himself. If Caldwell had cracked up-- Caldwell hadn't cracked. When Lawton walked to the quartz port andstared down all the blood drained from his face. The vegetation was luxuriant, and unearthly. Floating in the sky wereserpentine tendrils as thick as a man's wrist, purplish flowers and ropyfungus growths. They twisted and writhed and shot out in all directions, creating a tangle immediately beneath him and curving up toward the shipamidst a welter of seed pods. He could see the seeds dropping--dropping from pods which reminded himof the darkly horned skate egg sheaths which he had collected in hisboyhood from sea beaches at ebb tide. It was the _unwholesomeness_ of the vegetation which chiefly unnervedhim. It looked dank, malarial. There were decaying patches on the fungusgrowths and a miasmal mist was descending from it toward the ship. The control room was completely still when he turned from the quartzport to meet Forrester's startled gaze. "Dave, what does it mean?" The question burst explosively from thecaptain's lips. "It means--life has appeared and evolved and grown rotten ripe insidethe bubble, sir. All in the space of an hour or so. " "But that's--_impossible_. " Lawton shook his head. "It isn't at all, sir. We've had it drummed intous that evolution proceeds at a snailish pace, but what proof have wethat it can't mutate with lightning-like rapidity? I've told you thereare gases outside we can't even make in a chemical laboratory, moleculararrangements that are alien to earth. " "But plants derive nourishment from the soil, " interpolated Forrester. "I know. But if there are alien gases in the air the surface of thebubble must be reeking with unheard of chemicals. There may be compoundsinside the bubble which have so sped up organic processes that ahundred million year cycle of mutations has been telescoped into anhour. " Lawton was pacing the floor again. "It would be simpler to assume thatseeds of existing plants became somehow caught up and imprisoned in thebubble. But the plants around us never existed on earth. I'm nobotanist, but I know what the Congo has on tap, and the great rainforests of the Amazon. " "Dave, if the growth continues it will fill the bubble. It will chokeoff all our air. " "Don't you suppose I realize that? We've got to destroy that growthbefore it destroys us. " * * * * * It was pitiful to watch the crew's morale sag. The miasmal taint of theominously proliferating vegetation was soon pervading the ship, spreading demoralization everywhere. It was particularly awful straight down. Above a ropy tangle of lividvines and creepers a kingly stench weed towered, purplish and bloatedand weighted down with seed pods. It seemed sentient, somehow. It was growing so fast that the evil odorwhich poured from it could be correlated with the increase of tensioninside the ship. From that particular plant, minute by slow minute, there surged a continuously mounting offensiveness, like nothing Lawtonhad ever smelt before. The bubble had become a blooming horror sailing slowly westward abovethe storm-tossed Atlantic. And all the chemical agents which Lawtonsprayed through the ventilation valves failed to impede the growth ordestroy a single seed pod. It was difficult to kill plant life with chemicals which were notharmful to man. Lawton took dangerous risks, increasing theunwholesomeness of their rapidly dwindling air supply by spraying out athin diffusion of problematically poisonous acids. It was no sale. The growths increased by leaps and bounds, as thoughdetermined to show their resentment of the measures taken against themby marshalling all their forces in a demoralizing plantkrieg. Thwarted, desperate, Lawton played his last card. He sent five membersof the crew, equipped with blow guns. They returned screaming. Lawtonhad to fortify himself with a double whiskey soda before he could facethe look of reproach in their eyes long enough to get all of theprickles out of them. From then on pandemonium reigned. Blue funk seized the petty officerswhile some of the crew ran amuck. One member of the engine watchattacked four of his companions with a wrench; another went into theship's kitchen and slashed himself with a paring knife. The assistantengineer leapt through a 'chute opening, after avowing that he preferredimpalement to suffocation. He _was_ impaled. It was horrible. Looking down Lawton could see histwisted body dangling on a crimson-stippled thornlike growth forty feetin height. Slashaway was standing at his elbow in that Waterloo moment, hisrough-hewn features twitching. "I can't stand it, sir. It's driving mesquirrelly. " "I know, Slashaway. There's something worse than marijuana weed downthere. " Slashaway swallowed hard. "That poor guy down there did the wise thing. " Lawton husked: "Stamp on that idea, Slashaway--kill it. We're strongerthan he was. There isn't an ounce of weakness in us. We've got what ittakes. " "A guy can stand just so much. " "Bosh. There's no limit to what a man can stand. " From the visiplate behind them came an urgent voice: "Radio room tuningin, sir. " Lawton swung about. On the flickering screen the foggy outlines of aface appeared and coalesced into sharpness. The Perseus radio operator was breathless with excitement. "Ourreception is improving, sir. European short waves are coming in strong. The static is terrific, but we're getting every station on thecontinent, and most of the American stations. " Lawton's eyes narrowed to exultant slits. He spat on the deck, a slowtremor shaking him. "Slashaway, did you hear that? _We've done it. _ We've won against helland high water. " "We done what, sir?" "The bubble, you ape--it must be wearing thin. Hell's bells, do you haveto stand there gaping like a moronic ninepin? I tell you, we've got itlicked. " "I can't stand it, sir. I'm going nuts. " "No you're not. You're slugging the thing inside you that wants to quit. Slashaway, I'm going to give the crew a first-class pep talk. There'llbe no stampeding while I'm in command here. " He turned to the radio operator. "Tune in the control room. Tell thecaptain I want every member of the crew lined up on this screenimmediately. " The face in the visiplate paled. "I can't do that, sir. Ship'sregulations--" Lawton transfixed the operator with an irate stare. "The captain toldyou to report directly to me, didn't he?" "Yes sir, but--" "If you don't want to be cashiered, _snap into it_. " "Yes--yessir. " The captain's startled face preceded the duty-muster visiview by a fullminute, seeming to project outward from the screen. The veins on hisneck were thick blue cords. "Dave, " he croaked. "Are you out of your mind? What good will talking do_now_?" "Are the men lined up?" Lawton rapped, impatiently. Forrester nodded. "They're all in the engine room, Dave. " "Good. Block them in. " The captain's face receded, and a scene of tragic horror filled theopalescent visiplate. The men were not standing at attention at all. They were slumping against the Perseus' central charging plant inattitudes of abject despair. * * * * * Madness burned in the eyes of three or four of them. Others had tornopen their shirts, and raked their flesh with their nails. Petty officerCaldwell was standing as straight as a totem pole, clenching andunclenching his hands. The second assistant engineer was sticking outhis tongue. His face was deadpan, which made what was obviously a terrorreflex look like an idiot's grimace. Lawton moistened his lips. "Men, listen to me. There is some sort ofplant outside that is giving off deliriant fumes. A few of us seem to beimmune to it. "I'm not immune, but I'm fighting it, and all of you boys can fight ittoo. I want you to fight it to the top of your courage. You can fight_anything_ when you know that just around the corner is freedom from abeastliness that deserves to be licked--even if it's only a plant. "Men, we're blasting our way free. The bubble's wearing thin. Any minutenow the plants beneath us may fall with a soggy plop into the AtlanticOcean. "I want every man jack aboard this ship to stand at his post and obeyorders. Right this minute you look like something the cat dragged in. But most men who cover themselves with glory start off looking evenworse than you do. " He smiled wryly. "I guess that's all. I've never had to make a speech in my life, and I'dhate like hell to start now. " It was petty officer Caldwell who started the chant. He started it, andthe men took it up until it was coming from all of them in afull-throated roar. I'm a tough, true-hearted skyman, Careless and all that, d'ye see? Never at fate a railer, What is time or tide to me? All must die when fate shall will it, I can never die but once, I'm a tough, true-hearted skyman; He who fears death is a dunce. Lawton squared his shoulders. With a crew like that nothing could stophim! Ah, his energies were surging high. The deliriant weed held noterrors for him now. They were stout-hearted lads and he'd go to hellwith them cheerfully, if need be. It wasn't easy to wait. The next half hour was filled with a steadilymounting tension as Lawton moved like a young tornado about the ship, issuing orders and seeing that each man was at his post. "Steady, Jimmy. The way to fight a deliriant is to keep your mind on aset task. Keep sweating, lad. " "Harry, that winch needs tightening. We can't afford to miss a trick. " "Yeah, it will come suddenly. We've got to get the rotaries started theinstant the bottom drops out. " He was with the captain and Slashaway in the control room when it came. There was a sudden, grinding jolt, and the captain's desk started movingtoward the quartz port, carrying Lawton with it. "Holy Jiminy cricket, " exclaimed Slashaway. The deck tilted sharply; then righted itself. A sudden gush of clear, cold air came through the ventilation valves as the triple rotariesstarted up with a roar. Lawton and the captain reached the quartz port simultaneously. Shoulderto shoulder they stood staring down at the storm-tossed Atlantic, electrified by what they saw. Floating on the waves far beneath them was an undulating mass ofvegetation, its surface flecked with glinting foam. As it rose and fellin waning sunlight a tainted seepage spread about it, defiling the cleansurface of the sea. But it wasn't the floating mass which drew a gasp from Forrester, andcaused Lawton's scalp to prickle. Crawling slowly across thatSargasso-like island of noxious vegetation was a huge, elongated shapewhich bore a nauseous resemblance to a mottled garden slug. Forrester was trembling visibly when he turned from the quartz port. "God, Dave, that would have been the _last straw_. Animal life. Dave, I--I can't realize we're actually out of it. " "We're out, all right, " Lawton said, hoarsely. "Just in time, too. Skipper, you'd better issue grog all around. The men will be needing it. I'm taking mine straight. You've accused me of being primitive. Waittill you see me an hour from now. " Dr. Stephen Halday stood in the door of his Appalachian mountainlaboratory staring out into the pine-scented dusk, a worried expressionon his bland, small-featured face. It had happened again. A portion ofhis experiment had soared skyward, in a very loose group of highlyenergized wavicles. He wondered if it wouldn't form a sort ofsub-electronic macrocosm high in the stratosphere, altering even the airand dust particles which had spurted up with it, its uncharged atomicparticles combining with hydrogen and creating new moleculararrangements. If such were the case there would be eight of them now. _His_ bubbles, floating through the sky. They couldn't possibly harm anything--way upthere in the stratosphere. But he felt a little uneasy about it all thesame. He'd have to be more careful in the future, he told himself. Muchmore careful. He didn't want the Controllers to turn back the clock ofcivilization a century by stopping all atom-smashing experiments. Transcriber's Note: This e-text was produced from Comet July 1941. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U. S. Copyright on this publication was renewed.