THE SECOND SHELL
By JACK WILLIAMSON
By the Author of "The Alien Intelligence," "The Girl from Mars"
Here the well-known author of "The Alien Intelligence" and other thrilling stories presents his latest symphony, a fine piece of aerial fiction.
Few authors have Jack Williamson's knack to pack their stories with so much adventure and with so much imaginative science. And while it may be fantastic today, most of it we know, sooner or later, will have become reality.
All scientists for decades have been wondering what the mysterious Heaviside Layer is. Radio engineers know of the Heaviside Layer from its effect on radio waves. It is very much of a fact, yet no one has ever been able to get near it, due to its distance above the surface of the earth, and till we have penetrated it, we cannot be sure what lies above it.
We know you will enjoy the present story, which easily bears re-reading from time to time.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Air Wonder Stories November 1929 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
It was two o'clock in the morning of September 5, 1939. For a year and a half I had been at work on the San Francisco Times. I had come there immediately after finishing my year's course at the army officers' flying school at San Antonio, on the chance that my work would lead me into enough tong wars and exciting murder mysteries to make life interesting.
The morning edition had just been "put to bed" and I was starting out of the office when the night editor called me to meet a visitor who had just come in. The stranger came forward quickly. Roughly clad in blue shirt and overalls, boots, and Stetson, he had the bronze skin, clear eyes, and smooth movements of one who has spent his life out-of-doors.
He stopped before me and held out his hand with a pleasant smile. I saw that his hair was gray; he was a little older than I had thought at first—fifty, perhaps. I liked the fellow instinctively.
"Robert Barrett?" he questioned in a pleasant drawl. I nodded.
"I'm Bill Johnson," he said briefly. "I want to see you. Secret Service business. Sabe?" He let me glimpse a badge, and we walked out into the night. As we started down the silent street it occurred to me that I had heard of this man before.
"Are you the William Johnson who unearthed the radio station of the revolutionaries in Mexico in 1917?"
"I guess so. I've been in Mexico thirty years, and I've helped Uncle Sam out a time or two. It's a case like that one, or worse, that I'm up here to see about now. I need a partner. I've been told about you. Are you game for a little adventure?"
"You've found your man."
"They call you 'Tiger Bob Barrett,' don't they?" he said irrelevantly.
"I used to play football."
He laughed. I have always been sensible about that nickname.
"Well, here's the situation. I've been at Vernon's mine in Durango, Mexico. Called El Tigre. Gold and thorium. There's a little mystery—"
"Vernon? Is it Doc Vernon, the scientist. His daughter inherited a mine—"
"Si, Señor. Ellen Vernon is some young lady!"
"I knew them at Texas University. I was in Vernon's chemistry class before he went daft on his death ray machine, and left to work on that."
"The Doc is still at work on the machine. In fact, that is a part of the mystery.
"The mine is in an old corner of the desert, about fifty miles south of Mocolynatal—the big mountain. And there's something queer going on about that mountain!
"Ellen got herself a radio set to pass away the time with. She got to picking up strange stuff. Sounds we couldn't make out! Not just a strange lingo. They don't sound like the human voice at all! Strange chirps and squeaks! Doc and I rigged up a directional set, and found that the calls were sent from Mocolynatal.
"The mountain's in sight, to the north of us. I got to watching it, and found out something else. There have been airplanes flying about it—queer red machines with short stubby wings! They flew off mostly to the west. I did a little more investigation, and found that a line of run-down Jap tramp steamers has been hauling cargoes of the-lord-knows-what, and unloading somewhere along the Pacific coast of Mexico—evidently making connections with the red machines.
"Now, the Doc has his machine where he thinks it will be the end of the world if anybody gets hold of it. We've seen one or two of the red planes over the mine, and he is afraid they have found out about it, somehow. He got nervous, and sent me up to see Uncle Sam. It is all news to the State Department, and we are going to investigate.
"One of the Jap tramps is leaving here tomorrow, and there will be a couple of destroyers on the trail, to see what they unload, and where. I've got hold of a new airplane—a queer little machine called the Camel-back, that I'm taking along on board. A jewel for mountain work—you could land it on a handkerchief. I needed a partner, and the Doc told me about you. Want to go along?"
"You bet I do! I've been longing for something to turn up."
