The Black Star Passes | Page 3

monotony of green.
These endless fields of castor bean plants had to be cultivated, but with
the great machines that did the work it required but a few dozen men to
cultivate an entire county.
The passengers in the huge plane high above them gave little thought to
what passed below, engrossed with their papers or books, or engaged in
casual conversation. This monotonous trip was boring to most of them.
It seemed a waste of time to spend six good hours in a short 3,500 mile

trip. There was nothing to do, nothing to see, except a slowly passing
landscape ten miles below. No details could be distinguished, and the
steady low throb of the engines, the whirring of the giant propellers, the
muffled roar of the air, as it rushed by, combined to form a soothing
lullaby of power. It was all right for pleasure seekers and vacationists,
but business men were in a hurry.
The pilot of the machine glanced briefly at the instruments, wondered
vaguely why he had to be there at all, then turned, and leaving the pilot
room in charge of his assistant, went down to talk with the chief
engineer.
His vacation began the first of July, and as this was the last of June, he
wondered what would have happened if he had done as he had been
half inclined to do--quit the trip and let the assistant take her through. It
would have been simple--just a few levers to manipulate, a few controls
to set, and the instruments would have taken her up to ten or eleven
miles, swung her into the great westward air current, and leveled her
off at five hundred and sixty or so an hour toward 'Frisco'. They would
hold her on the radio beam better than he ever could. Even the landing
would have been easy. The assistant had never landed a big plane, but
he knew the routine, and the instruments would have done the work.
Even if he hadn't been there, ten minutes after they had reached
destination, it would land automatically--if an emergency pilot didn't
come up by that time in answer to an automatic signal.
He yawned and sauntered down the hall. He yawned again, wondering
what made him so sleepy.
He slumped limply to the floor and lay there breathing ever more and
more slowly.
* * * * *
The officials of the San Francisco terminus of The Transcontinental
Airways company were worried. The great Transcontinental express
had come to the field, following the radio beam, and now it was
circling the field with its instruments set on the automatic signal for an

emergency pilot. They were worried and with good reason, for this
flight carried over 900,000 dollars worth of negotiable securities. But
what could attack one of those giant ships? It would take a small army
to overcome the crew of seventy and the three thousand passengers!
The great ship was landing gently now, brought in by the emergency
pilot. The small field car sped over to the plane rapidly. Already the
elevator was in place beside it, and as the officials in the car drew up
under the giant wing, they could see the tiny figure of the emergency
pilot beckoning to them. Swiftly the portable elevator carried them up
to the fourth level of the ship.
What a sight met their eyes as they entered the main salon! At first
glance it appeared that all the passengers lay sleeping in their chairs.
On closer examination it became evident that they were not breathing!
The ear could detect no heartbeat. The members of the crew lay at their
posts, as inert as the passengers! The assistant pilot sprawled on the
floor beside the instrument panel--apparently he had been watching the
record of the flight. There was no one conscious--or apparently
living--on board!
"Dead! Over three thousand people!" The field manager's voice was
hoarse, incredulous. "It's impossible--how could they have done it? Gas,
maybe, drawn in through the ventilator pumps and circulated through
the ship. But I can't conceive of any man being willing to kill three
thousand people for a mere million! Did you call a doctor by radio,
Pilot?"
"Yes, sir. He is on his way. There's his car now."
"Of course they will have opened the safe--but let's check anyway. I
can only think some madman has done this--no sane man would be
willing to take so many lives for so little." Wearily the men descended
the stairs to the mail room in the hold.
The door was closed, but the lock of the door was gone, the
magnesium-beryllium alloy burned away. They opened the door and
entered. The room seemed in perfect order. The guard lay motionless in

the steel guard chamber at one side; the thick,