CHAPTER II
_The Half-Dream_
A roaring, rushing river of chaotic sound, first. Jumbled sound to whichPrester Kleig could give no adequate name. But as he tried to analyzeits meanings, he was able to differentiate between sounds, and todiscover the identity of some.
The river of sound he decided to be the sound of a vibrational explosionof some sort--vibrational because it had that quivery quality whichcauses a feeling of uneasiness and fret, that feeling which makes oneturn and look around to find the eyes boring into one's back--yetmultiplied in its intensity an uncounted number of times.
Other sounds which came through the chaotic river of sound were theterrified screaming of the men and women who were doomed. Lifeboats werenever lowered, for the reason that with the disintegration of the_Stellar_, everything inanimate aboard her likewise disintegrated,dropping men and women, crew and passengers, into the freezing waters ofthe Atlantic.
Prester Kleig dropped with them, only partially unconscious after thefirst icy plunge. He knew when he floated on the surface, for he felthimself lifted and hurled by the waves. In his half-dream he saw men andwomen being carried away into wave-shrouded darkness, clawing wildly atnothingness for support, clawing at one another, locking arms, and goingdown together.
* * * * *
The _Stellar_, in the merest matter of seconds, had become spoil of thesea, and her crew and passengers had vanished forever from the sight ofmen. Yet Prester Kleig lived on, knew that he lived on, and that therewas an element, too strong to be disbelieved, of reality in his dream.
There was a vibratory sense, too, as of the near activity of a noiselessmotor. Noiseless motor! Where had he last thought of those two words?With what recent catastrophe were they associated? No, he could notrecall, though he knew he should be able to do so.
Then the sense of motion to the front was apparent--an unnumbered sense,rather than concrete feeling. Motion to front, influenced by the risingand falling motion of mountainous waves.
So suddenly as to be a distinct shock, the wave motion ceased, thoughthe forward motion--and _upward!_--not only continued but increased.
That airplane of the bulbous body, the queerly slanted wings....
But the glimmering of realization vanished as a sickishly sweet odorassailed his nostrils and sent its swift-moving tentacles upward to wrapthemself soothingly about his brain. But the sense of flight,unbelievably swift, was present and recognizable, though all else eludedhim. He had the impression, however, that it was intended that all savethe most vagrant, most widely differentiated, impressions eludehim--that he should acquire only half pictures, which would therefore beall the more terrible in retrospect.
The only impressions which were real were those of motion to the front,and upward, and the sense of noiseless machinery, vibrating the whole,nearby.
Then a distinct realization of the cessation of the sense of flying, anda return, though in lesser degree, of the rising and falling of waves.This latter sensation became less and less, though the feeling oftraveling downward continued. Prester Kleig knew that he was going downinto the sea again, down into it deeply.... Then that odor once more,and the elusive memory.
Forward motion at last, in the depths, swift, forward motion, thoughPrester Kleig could not even guess at the direction. Just swift motion,and the mutter of voices, the giving of orders....
* * * * *
Prester Kleig regained consciousness fully on the sands of the shore. Hesat up stiffly, staring out to sea. A storm was raging, and the sea wasan angry waste. No ship showed on the waters; the mad, tumbled sky aboveit was either empty of planes or they had climbed to invisibility abovethe clouds that raced and churned with the storm.
Out of the storm, almost at Prester Kleig's feet, dropped a smallairplane. Through the window a familiar face peered at Kleig. Ahelmeted, begoggled figure opened the door and stepped out.
"Kleig, old man," said the flyer, "you gave me the right dope all right,but I'll swear there isn't a wireless tower within a hundred miles ofthis place! How did you manage it?"
"Kane, you're crazy, or I am, or...." But Prester Kleig could not go onwith the thought which had rushed through his brain with the numbingimpact of a blow. He grasped the hand of Carlos Kane, of the DomesticService, and the yellow flimsy Kane held out to him. It read simply:
"Shipwrecked. Am ashore at--" There followed grid coordinate mapreadings. "Come at once, prepared to fly me to Washington." It wassigned "Kleig."
"Kane," said Kleig, "I did not send this message!"
What more was there to be said? Horror looked out of the eyes of PresterKleig, and was reflected in those of Carlos Kane. Both men turned,peering out across the tumbled welter of waters.
Somewhere out there, tight-locked in the gloomy archives of theAtlantic, was the secret of the message which had brought Carlos Kane toPrester Kleig--and the agency which had sent it.