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“We believe it was a school for their children from their early years up. Can you imagine the benefit of such a discovery to you? We have brought back some of the objects from that school. Some of them seem to be books—books of a different type, to be sure, than our volumes; yet they can be described as books. Other objects, which we believe to have been materials of instruction, are harder to describe. Neither Eliot nor I were able to operate them, but we formed the theory that they probably were mechanisms giving instruction visually or by sound.
“Then we found a sphere. It was in the lobby of the school. It was a sphere about fifty feet in diameter upon which was a relief map which we must assume to be of this planet. Eliot James made a most painstaking sketch of that sphere. There were other maps.”
“In short,” said Tony, closing Eliot James’ book of notes, “we have awaiting us not only an equipment beyond anything dreamed of on earth, but a means of acquiring the secrets of the use of the engines and implements and other knowledge of this planet which we could not have obtained, by ourselves, at all.
“A little study by ourselves as children in those amazing classrooms, a little skill and a little luck in setting in operation their mechanisms of instruction; and their secrets are ours!”
CHAPTER IX
THE MYSTERIOUS ATTACK
LUNCH was very late that day; it was long before the company of the camp could be satisfied that they had heard everything of importance that Tony had to tell them. This included, of course, the report on the finding of the lark-like aircraft of which he had made report to the other camp.
Now Tony sat alone. Many, at first, tried to sit beside him and to talk to him. But he had told them that he was weary and wished to be alone for a little while. When the children came running up to him, however, he talked to them cheerfully.… Now they too had left.
Tony had seen meals being sent to Hendron’s cabin-like house—watched them being carried past the Ark and the workshop and the lumber-piles. He had stared often at the door of the house. But no one had emerged—and Eve had not sent for him.
He sat alone, on a mound of chips and sawdust. Was Hendron turning over the command to Ransdell, in there now? Was Hendron asleep from exhaustion and were Eve and Ransdell taking advantage of the resultant solitude to express fresh love for each other? His heart was heavy; heavier still because he realized that the torrent of dreads and despairs it held were unworthy of him.
He ached, and stared at his plate. His eyes felt salty and hot. He tried to clamp his mind on present necessities. They should move to the miracle city: they should study the food and machinery there. They should tend their own crops for fresh food. They should learn to run the Other People’s vehicles—so that they could all be transported to the new city as rapidly as possible. They should prepare defenses for themselves against the possibility that the people who had flown the lark-like ships might some day attack them. People from earth? Or cautious scouts of the Other People?
His mind jumped incessantly back to Eve—Eve and Ransdell, his two closest friends. They seemed both on the point of deserting him. Ransdell was, of course, a great man. Stronger in character, perhaps. Tony felt the crushing weight of the responsibilities he himself had endured. Still, Ransdell had taken greater risks—held a higher office. And Ransdell had been a new and different sort of man for Eve. She had known plenty of Yale graduates with social position and wealth and superficial culture—plenty—even if the Yale graduates now left alive could be numbered on the fingers of one hand.…
“Mr. Drake?” said a voice.
Tony started. “Oh, Kyto!” Suddenly Tony did not want to be alone any longer. The smiling face of the little Japanese was familiar and good. “Sit down here, Kyto.”
Kyto hesitated.
“You’re not—working for me—any longer!” Tony grinned.
Kyto seated himself with a precise and smooth motion. “That’s true,” he said slowly. “I’d forgotten for an instant.”
Tony was astonished. “You’ve certainly learned a lot of English in the last few months.”
“I always knew more than I pretended to know,” the Japanese answered coolly.
Tony smiled. “Really, Kyto? Then why did you pretend not to? Is that one of those things that makes people say the Japs are subtle and dangerous?”
“In a way,” Kyto answered. “I pretended not to know much English while I was in your employ, because I was a spy.”
“What!”
“It is true.”
“But good God, Kyto, what use was my service—to a spy? I didn’t know where there was a fort, or a gun—”
“It gave me a respectable character.”
“And what did you spy on?”
“It doesn’t matter now. I shall tell you some day. You see, I used to be,”—there was scarcely a trace of accent in his words,—“long ago in Tokyo, a professor of foreign languages. I spoke English when I was a baby. Missionaries taught me. I was a patriot. I volunteered for espionage. While I was in America, my ideas changed. I became—before the Bronson Bodies appeared—a pacifist. I had sent in my resignation and offered to give myself up—at the time of the discovery of the approaching planets. My letters were ignored in the subsequent frantic days. So, during those days, I endeavored to reshape my life. You Americans—some of you, at least—stood for the things I desired: A world run by sense and science; a world of peace and fraternity. I wished to go on your ship. But my wish was not exclusively a selfish one. I continued to mingle with my associates in espionage—as one of them. I learned much.”
Tony had never been more astonished. As he looked at his former servant he realized that his jaw had literally sagged. “I’ll be damned,” he murmured.
“You find it amusing?”
“Astounding.”
