The Whispering Spheres | Page 2

to one side, to spoil Taylor's aim on the next shot, but as he did so, he stumbled and fell.
A moment later Taylor had landed on top of him, pinning him to the ground.
The faded moonlight showed angry eyes, a jutting, undershot jaw and a sharp, pointed nose.
"Damn you!" spat the captive.
Taylor removed a revolver from the prisoner's clothing and tossed it to Masters.
"It's Norden, all right," Masters said, scrutinizing the captive. "I'd know that jaw in a million. What are you doing here, fellah?"
"I'm blowing the factory to hell!" Norden said between his teeth. "You can't stop me. Everything's fixed. In a minute a bomb'll go off. You, I, everyone will be smashed to atoms. And I'm glad. For the fatherland."
"We know why you're doing it," Taylor said. "Come on, Masters. Get your short-wave working. Notify the factory office. Where's the bomb, Norden? Come on, speak up, or I'll pull you to pieces!"
Norden said nothing. Masters was calling the office. He turned to the captain:
"I can't raise anyone."
"We'll go to the gate." Taylor prodded the prisoner ahead on the run.
"You can't make it in time," Norden panted.
"We'll die trying!"
A floodlight turned the area in front of the gate into a patch of daylight. An armed sentry challenged from a small building. The captain answered.
"Sorry, but you can't come in. Strict Orders. After hours," the sentry said, when the captain asked to be allowed to pass.
"But it's urgent--life or death. We've got to use your telephone. Or--you call the office. Tell the super there's a bomb in the plant--"
The sentry's jaws gaped, but only for an instant. Down the road inside the plant came a running, bareheaded figure--screaming:
"Let me out! Let me out of here!"
"Halt!" shouted the sentry.
The figure stumbled to a stop at the gate. The light showed the pale, sweating face trembling with fear.
"What's the matter with you?" the sentry asked.
"The metal pots! They're alive! Big, orange bubbles are floating from the cauldrons!"
"Nuts!" said the sentry. "You're drunk."
But as the soldier spoke there was a trembling movement of the ground beneath the feet of the men at the gate. Captain Taylor threw himself on the ground. But there was no blast.
The red of the sky-glow suddenly faded to orange. Up through the roof of the casting room crashed a huge, glowing sphere then floated like a will-o'-the wisp in the moonlight.
CHAPTER II
THE SPHERES
When the sentry faced the captain again, he stared into the mouth of a service pistol.
"Sorry," said the officer, "but I've got to get inside." Captain Taylor turned to Masters. "Keep him covered. I'll be back unless the bomb goes off."
"The bomb," whispered Norden, fearfully, "should have exploded. I was double-crossed. They sent me here to get caught! The dirty--"
"Watch Norden, and you might keep your eye on Funky, here," Taylor said, pointing to the slobbering man who had dropped to his knees at the sight of the orange sphere. "I'm going inside."
The captain moved through the gate. The silence was uncanny. Since the war began this factory had never been idle. Thousands of cannon made; contracts for countless more! But now quiet, save for an undescribable, whispering overtone that seemed to permeate the air.
Something glowed in the semi-darkness ahead like a pile of hot ashes on the ground.
Taylor entered the long forge room. A white hot splinter of metal hung from the crane. There were a dozen heaps of the glowing ashes scattered about the room, but no sign of life.
He moved on into the finishing room, where the long tubes of howitzers and field pieces lay in various stages of construction. Still there was silence.
The whispering grew louder, like a breeze stirring dry cornstalks.
The silence suddenly was broken by a scream. Then another. There was a sound of running footsteps.
Taylor dropped behind a lathe.
Through the door came an orange glow. Sharply outlined against the eerie light ran a human figure, a man in overalls, carrying a hammer. On the fellow's face was frozen fear. He halted, turned and looked behind him.
The darkness vanished as through the doorway floated a huge, orange sphere of light.
"Stop! Go back! I mean you no harm!" screamed the workman.
The ball of orange fire floated on toward him. The man's arm raised. He hurled the hammer straight at the sphere.
The missile rang, bounced back and fell to the sandy floor.
A small flicker of flame wafted over the surface of the sphere. Then it lashed out like a whip toward the trembling man. His entire body glowed like a torch, then crumpled to the floor in a heap of ashes.
* * * * *
Scarcely daring to breathe, the captain watched the sphere float over the ashes of its victim for a moment; then, apparently satisfied that the man no longer lived, floated back through the doorway.
Taylor took a deep breath. It