The Reign of the Superman
Another Thrilling Story By The Writer of "Snaring The Master"
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The bread-line! Its row of downcast, disillusioned men;
unlucky creatures who have found that life holds nothing but bitterness for
them. The bread-line! Last resort of the starving vagrant.
With a contemptuous sneer on his face, Professor Smalley
watched the wretched unfortunates file past him. To him, who had come of
rich parents and had never been forced to face the rigors of life, the
miserableness of these men seemed deserved. It appeared to him that if they
had the slightest ambition at all they could easily lift themselves from
their terrible rut.
But while he eyed them with a world of condescension, he
was busy scanning their faces, searching for the man he sought. Time and
time again he seemed on the point of reaching out and putting a restraining
arm on the hand of one of the men. But ever he hesitated at the last moment
and allowed the fellow to file past.
At last, however, he gave up his search in despair and
resignedly claimed the attention of the raggedly-dressed person who happened
to be before him at that moment. "How would you like to have a real meal and
a new suit?" he inquired.
The resentment in the vagrant's face died as he saw that
Smalley wore costly apparel. "I'd like nothing better, mister." Then,
suddenly suspicious--"What do you want me to do for you? Nothing crooked, I
hope?"
Professor Smalley laughed. "I assure you my intentions
are purely humanitarian. But if you doubt........"
"No, no," interrupted the man, stepping out of the line.
"Indeed I don't, sir. But who are you?"
The professor introduced himself. "Ernest Smalley, a
chemist."
The down-and-outer bowed in acknowledgement. "Bill Dunn,
gentleman of the road, at your service!"
SMALLEY HAD no difficulty inducing Dunn to enter his
car. When he drove off, something within him sang exultantly. In a few
minutes he would be started upon the experiment which, he was sure, would
bring most startling results. For now that he had secured a human subject,
Smalley would see at first hand how his chemical would react upon the
subject when taken internally.
All unwitting of the professor's sinister intentions
Dunn sat beside him, complimenting himself upon his extraordinary luck.
Some time previous Smalley had secured a
fragment of a meteor
and upon subjecting to chemical analysis found the presence of what he
suspected to be a new element. Upon further investigation he had
learned that it exerted a strange influence up on the laboratory animals to
whom it was administered. Only a few grains of the precious substance were
left. Dunn was going to be the recipient of one half of them, though he was
not aware of that.
At length the professor drew up before his house. He
hurried into it, followed by Dunn.
Smalley instructed the butler to furnish Dunn with one
of the professor's suits.
When Dunn next met Smalley he seemed a far cry from the
ragged stranger who had uneasily entered the house. For the first time in
weeks his face was clean shaven. Clean, faultlessly pressed clothes had
replaced his frayed garments. There was an air of confidence about him that
surprised Smalley.
The professor greeted him with a warm smile. "What a
great transformation! It seems impossible that you are the same man!"
Dunn nodded. "Yes, it is possible for me to look
respectable. Somehow it's hard for me to believe that you're doing this just
out of the kindness of your heart. I've received too many hard knocks,
I guess."
Smalley's genial grin vanished and his eyes hardened.
Did the man suspect--?
Dunn continued awkwardly. "But I believe I've finally
come up against what I doubted existed."
Once more Smalley was smirking.
"You said something about a meal," hinted Bill Dunn. "I
haven't eaten for several days."
At once the professor was the perfect host. "Pardon me
for my forgetfulness. Be seated, please."
He hurried from the room, and could Bill have seen the
triumphant look upon his face, he would have had cause to worry.
IN A moment Smalley returned, pushing a small stand
before him. On the rolling platform was a platter of steaming food. "Help
yourself," he invited.
Dunn lost no time in accepting. He did away with fancy
preliminaries and got down to business at once. He ate his food like a
famished creature. Convention was forgotten. He swallowed a large sandwich
in four gigantic bites.
The professor's eyes smoldered queerly as Dunn gulped
down his coffee. For the great experiment had begun! Smalley's chemical
preparation had been placed in that coffee.
Not much later Dunn leaned back in his chair, a frown
upon his face. "Feel dizzy," he complained. "Must have eaten too much."
"Perhaps you'd better retire," advised Smalley
solicitously. "I can talk to you in the morning about a position I plan to
offer you. One moment, while I summon the butler, I'll be right back."
Though his mind whirled under a terrific pressure, Dunn
sensed the aura of evil triumph surrounding the professor. It occurred to
him for the first time that Smalley might have made him the unwitting
subject of some sinister and terrible experiment. As the professor left the
room, he was filled with a wild desire to flee. His roving, frantic eyes
fastened themselves upon a window.
When Smalley returned to the room with the butler, Dunn
was not in sight. With a smug satisfaction within him, Smalley concluded
that Dunn had collapsed upon the floor. But when he scanned the floor and
found no trace of his victim, then searched the room with mounting alarm and
horror, he knew positively that something had gone wrong. And when the
flapping of the wind-buffeted curtains drew his attention to the open
window, he cursed heartily. Dunn had escaped!
SCARCELY REALIZING what he did or where he was bound,
Dunn staggered down the streets. As he approached people, they shrank away,
believing him to be under the influence of some powerful stimulant. Fate or
extremely good luck kept him away from the vigilant eye of officers of the
law. Soon Dunn was babbling incoherently and dashing along the streets at
full speed, disregarding any who might be in his way. The professor's
residence was situated near a public park. He was soon rushing into its
shadows, tearing through the desolate park, like an escaped lunatic. In his
blind dash he noted no obstacles. When he crashed unexpectedly into a tree,
therefore, he received the full force of the violent contact. He toppled to
the ground, dazed and half-conscious.
Suddenly, as he lay there on the ground, a veritable
holocaust of confusion burst upon his mind. "I tell you! We’ve got to use a
little strategy. Brains is what this gang needs, and brains is what it ain't
got." "The damn fool; I thought she said she could play bridge." "I gotta
have that dough, Ma. I gotta have it!" "I'll wait until he turns around and
then I'll let him have it in the back." "He's just a kid, Mame. Why don’t
you let him alone?" "Listen, you; we don’t stand for welchers in this burg
see?" "I wonder what she thinks I am; a sap for her to wipe her dirty shoes
on?" "Listen, Chief, get this straight. It was Maretti who did the killin',
not me. I wouldn't squeal on a pal, but---" "So I tells the umpchay I'm not
that kind ova dame. Well, he just looks at me and laughs himself blue in the
face. And say, dearie, did I get mad!"
What gibberish was this that darted into his brain like
thousands of little light-rays?
"Gentlemen, this is a serious problem that confronts
us." "I'd better watch that guy. He looks bad. Maybe he's followed me from
Chicago." "To hell with the anarchists!" "I'd starve before I'd go back to
that brute." "I wish he'd keep on his own feet. A helluva nerve he had
askin' a swell dancer like me to fox trot with a palooka like him." "Look
here, punk. You may be the star reporter on this rag but unless you turn in
your copy by three o' clock you'll be out in the street peddling shoelaces."
"I must not forget to wake up early tomorrow morning."
Dunn shook his head. He wished that the terrible noise
raging within his head would cease. Scarcely had he conceived the desire,
before the pestilence disappeared. Abruptly he caught himself wondering what
Professor Smalley was thinking at that moment, how he had taken Dunn's
escape.
AT THE same moment a voice within him began to speak, a
voice that undoubtedly belonged to none other than -- Professor Smalley
himself. "He's gone and the chances are ten to one that I'll never locate
him again. What infernal luck. My precious chemical wasted! I'll
get him somehow. Why did the fool have to run away? How could he have
suspected my motive? Perhaps I should inform the police, hire detectives.
Tell them he’s a dangerous maniac. Either that or I’ll put some crime upon
him, frame him. God knows what may happen to him; he may be transformed to
an imbecile, but on the other hand ------"
Abruptly the voice ceased speaking. Dunn gasped. Was he
going crazy, or, sterner possibility, was he already insane?
And then the solution occurred to him; the monstrous,
unbelievable truth. Somehow, some way, Professor Smalley had treated him
with some chemical that had reacted upon him in this manner, had sharpened
his mind so that he could hear thoughts! But was that all?
The five senses! Were they all influenced?
Sound -- Yes!
Touch -- (Dunn touched himself. He noted no new
sensation.) No!
Scent -- No.
Taste -- (Dunn raised a pinch of dirt and dropped it
into his mouth. He spat it out quickly.) No!
Sight --------
Dunn considered the problem of sight. Was it improved?
How could he determine whether it was or not?
He happened to look up into the sky and his roving eyes
caught sight of a brilliant red point of light. His interest grew as he
regarded it. Within his mind a dry, metallic voice spoke mechanically,
unconcernedly: "Mars!"
What was occuring up there, wondered Dunn?
Faster than the speed of light came the answer to that
rash thought.
In less time than it takes an eyelid to blink, Dunn was
viewing a weird, fascinating scene that was not of Earth.
It seemed to Dunn that he was hovering a short distance
above the red, parched surface of the ground in an invisible body. Below him
and stretching out from both sides of him to infinite distances was a
straight unmarred plain. Except for two objects, and the pale sky, nothing
else was in sight. The two objects instantly attracted his interest
and attention. Both were -- beings! One was a giant tree-like creature, the
other a thirty-foot high thin streak of red light.
AS DUNN watched they covered the short distance
separating them from each other. Both seemed to flow, rather than to walk
across the soil. The moment they came within striking distance, the
tree-creature flung out a limb-like tentacle that agily wrapped itself about
the red-intelligence. Other limbs flashed out, encircled the red flame and
drew it against the tree's breast. In that instant the two alien
monstrosities shook with their mighty efforts to destroy each other.
And Dunn, while still on Earth, was witnessing this
incredible scene, this sight which was transpiring 35,000,000 miles from
where he lay motionless in the park.
The red intelligence now brought into use 'a power which
it had not used before. Suddenly it expanded. The twig-like tentacles of the
tree-monster snapped brittlely under the unexpected attack. Entirely
engulfed by its adversary it could be faintly seen within the red body that
imprisoned it. Then suddenly it had vanished, was gone.
Where before there had been two creatures there now was
but -- the red-intelligence.
The martian sight suddenly disappeared. Once more Dunn,
white and trembling at the strangeness of the vision he had glimpsed was in
the shadows of the park.
The strain and excitement, the influence of the drug, was too much for Dunn
to withstand. Exhausted to his very soul, he dropped off into a troubled
sleep.
WHEN THE thing that had been Bill Dunn awoke the next
morning, it recorded its surroundings and its clothes unfamiliarly. Memory
abruptly flooded back. With a chuckle of sheer amusement, it rose, to its
feet and stretched its arms. Then it began to follow the road toward more
densely populated districts. As it walked, it spoke to itself.
"Fool! Why did you sleep on the ground when there were
thousands of unoccupied beds in the world! Money, obviously, was the reason.
You lacked money. How hilarious! Money is the easiest thing that can be
secured upon this planet! And you have spent a full year in idle
wastefulness when you could have been living the life of a Prince, an
existence incomparable in its ease. It is the greatest sin. I must atone for
that; I must remedy my financial condition. That will not be difficult."
A grin of superiority crossed the Superman's face.
I can do four things that no one else of the planet can
emulate. They are intercept interplanetary messages, read the mind of anyone
I desire, by sheer mental concentration force ideas into people's heads, and
throw my vision to any spot in the universe.
"Furthermore," he added, "during the night my mind has
assimilated all the knowledge that exists in the universe. I know as much
about Pluto as its inhabitants whose information I absorbed. I am a virtual
sponge that absorbs every secret ever created. Every science is known to me
and the most abtruse questions are mere childs-play to my staggering
intellect. I am a veritable God!"
Thoughts of his mental achievements swelled him with
confidence. He strode along the road arrogantly, his head erect, aggressive.
One might have supposed his pockets were overflowing with banknotes of
tremendous denominations rather than the empty air.
He stopped the first man he met and inquired where the
nearest public library was located. Upon receiving the information desired,
he strode off without word of thanks. It seemed perfectly natural to him
that people should do as he directed.
ENTERING THE library, he took the elevator to the third
floor and hurried into the Science and Technology Room.
"Professor Einstein's book on 'The Expanding Universe,''
he instructed an attendant.
The attendant returned with the copy in her hand. "Our
only one," she explained, "but it's printed in German."
"What do I care?" snapped the Superman and snatched the
book from the astounded attendant's hand, "I'd be able to read it if it were
written in Portugese, Beteguesian, Andromedian, or in the sands of time!"
He seated himself and began to read. A supercilious
sneer flashed over his features. Suddenly he roared with laughter and
slammed the book down on the table before him, with a mighty bang. "Trash!
Bosh!" he cried.
The attendant hurried up. "You will have to be quiet,
sir," she cautioned. "There are others in this room who are concentrating.
No disturbance will be tolerated."
The Superman bared his teeth. "If I had a ray-tube
within reach, I'd blast you out of existence!" he hissed.
Quickly the attendant retreated, positive she was
confronted by a madman.
The Superman chuckled softly as he read her terrified
thoughts.
An elderly gentleman entered the room and sat down
beside the Superman. He shot a momentary glance of disdain at the Superman's
dirty, wrinkled suit, made a motion as though to rise and change his seat,
then sighed, and apparently changed his mind. He slipped a small magazine
from his pocket and began to read. The Superman read the following two words
upon its cover:
SCIENCE FICTION.
Suddenly the gentleman noted the - Superman's stare. He
reddened angrily, seemed on the point of speaking. The Superman read his
thoughts: "I will humble this impertinent person by asking a difficult
question which shall show him his ignorance. I shall say, 'My dear fellow,
can you quote me the Fitzgerald Contraction'!"
Before the gentleman had an opportunity to put the
question, the Superman replied. "The Fitzgerald Contraction," he stated
calmly, "which was looked into by Lorentz and Larnor, has the following
equation: L=sqrt(v^1-v^2)
The elderly man stared unbelievingly. His lips moved,
but no words issued forth.
Laughing, the Superman rose to his feet and left the
place.
"NOW," THE Superman informed himself, "I will proceed to
collect a large sum of money."
He approached a drug-store and stood by the scales. A
man approached. The Superman stopped him. "What is your name?" he inquired.
"Smith," replied the puzzled fellow.
"Hello, Smith!" greeted the Superman and slapped him on
the back. "Fine weather we're having these days, don't you think?"
Smith nodded, puzzled.
"Say, Smith, how about returning the ten dollars you owe
me? I've waited long enough."
Smith started to protest, but suddenly it occurred to
him that he did owe this stranger ten dollars.
"Who are you?" he asked, "I've forgotten your name."
"I am your grandfather," the Superman stated, without
cracking a smile.
Strangely enough, Smith grinned genially. "Well, darned
if you aren't! What a fool I was to forget! Where have you been?"
"I've just returned from a polar bear hunt in South
Africa. But how about the ten dollars?"
Two five dollar bills exchanged hands. "I wager I can
guess your weight," the Superman abruptly said.
"Five bucks says you can't."
"Fine!" The Superman searched the man's mind. When Smith
had stepped on a scale yesterday, he had registered one hundred and fifty
pounds. "You weigh 150 lbs."
Smith stepped on the scale. One hundred and fifty
pounds
The Superman now had fifteen dollars.
When Smith reached home, something snapped within him.
For the first time it occurred to him how nonsensically he had acted.
The Superman approached the clerk at the drug-counter.
The clerk thought: "I wonder if he wants some booze,
too?"
"I'd like a pint," the Superman whispered.
"I don't understand," the clerk said evasively,
cautiously.
Dunn leaned forward. "It's all right," he said under his
breath. "Smith, the guy who just left, is a close friend of mine. He put me
wise."
The clerk reached under the counter and his hand
reappeared with a wrapped bottle. "Ten smackers," he whispered.
Suddenly an authoritative gleam appeared in the
Superman's eyes. "I got the goods on you!" he exclaimed.
The clerk snatched for the bottle, but the Superman,
divining his intention beat him to it. "I'm a Federal Agent," he hissed.
"Come along or --" He winked.
"How much?" inquired the clerk hoarsely.
"One hundred dollars!"
"Robber!" "Come across or to the cooler you go."
The Superman left the drug-store with one hundred
fifteen dollars in his pocket. "A paltry sum," he told himself. "How can I
increase it?"
His forehead furrowed with the intensity of his
thoughts. At last he relaxed. "It all depends upon the drug," he muttered.
"If I can give rise to this power, nothing can stand in my way toward
universal domination."
Dunn stopped walking and approached the side of a
building. He braced his back against it. And then his face screwed up with
the intensity of his concentration. Abruptly he stiffened.
A vision floated before his eyes. It was of a man
sitting on a park bench, reading the daily newspaper. The date on the
newspaper was March the twenty-first. The day happened to be the twentieth.
The Superman was looking twenty-four hours into the future!
Eagerly the Superman focused his attention upon an
article.
"GAMBLERS MAKE BIG DOUGH
GOD OF FORTUNE FAVORABLE
Following the race-track, we find that the heavy betters
cleaned up when Blue Angel came in first when odds against it were ten to
one. The shock was great and the bookies were hit hard.
"Followers of another, but more popular gamble, the
stock market, who owned shares of the formerly valueless Colorado Fruits,
got a break today, too. When morning came, the brokers found out Colorado
Fruits had shot sky-high overnight. A lot of newly rich were created."
Abruptly the vision vanished.
Dunn had accomplished the impossible. He had looked into
the future! It was only within his power to see several hours ahead, but
that was enough.
"After all," the Superman mused. "Time is simply
duration, and duration is an illusion of the mind."
ALONE IN his laboratory sat the chemist, Smalley. In his
hand he clutched the latest edition of a newspaper.
His face was white and strained; a light, bordering on
madness, flamed in his eyes.
An hour previous he had fired his butler. He wanted to
be alone, away from prying eyes.
On the page he so tightly clutched was a picture. The
photograph was of Bill Dunn, the man he had administered his drug to.
Under the picture was the following article: "Into the
public eye has stepped a mysterious figure, the man who calls himself
William Dunn. No one knows from where he has come and he refused to offer
any information. But the fact remains that through gambling circles he has
amassed a tremendous fortune.
"No one can understand his extraordinary luck. Ever
since he appeared, he has been reaping thousands from incredibly fortunate
investments. His luck is almost supernatural in its unfailingness.
"The man himself is a queer type. He is exceedingly
alert, snaps back answers almost before questions are completed. But he has
an overbearing conceit that is almost stifling.
On another page was a short notice which, while it might
have been insignificant to anyone, was of great importance in the eyes of
Smalley.
"Clyde Kornau of 1131 Grantwood Rd. came to Police
Headquarters with a strange story this morning. He says that while sitting
in his study yesterday, he suddenly caught himself in the act of writing a
check for forty-thousand dollars in favor of William Dunn.
"The police are puzzled. Kornau is too wealthy and
powerful a citizen to lie for the sake of cheap publicity. A psychologist
informed Kornau that his action had been the unconscious result of reading a
great deal about Dunn. Kornau replied that he had never heard of William
Dunn."
Suddenly Smalley leapt to his feet with a bellow of
anger and rage. "I'll tell the whole world the truth about Dunn," he swore,
"and they'll put him where he can't do any harm!"
He secured pencil and paper and began to write a long,
heated letter. He old how he had taken Dunn from the breadline to make him
the noble subject of the greatest experiment of the century. He told of how
the chemical had been administered and Dunn's subsequent vanishing. "And,"
he concluded, "unless this creature is snared and shot dead like a beast, he
will grow, his powers will strengthen, increase, until he will hold the fate
of the world in the palm of his hand!"
When the letter was completed, he placed it in an
envelope, addressed it to the City Editor of the largest newspaper, then
left the laboratory and mailed it.
Upon returning to his laboratory, Professor Smalley
began to think. He began to envy the power of the Superman, as much as he
hated the being itself. Visions of world domination rose before his eyes.
Why should he not assume the position he had dreaded the Superman would
take? The longer he thought, the stronger the temptation grew.
The desire had grown so strong soon that he began to
mechanically go about the procedure of preparing the chemical. Then, with a
visible shock, he realized what he was doing, he went to work with a will
that was almost savage.
Quickly he hurried from tube to vessel, working with the rapidity and
recklessness of a maniac. Gradually his task neared completion, and finally
he poured a thin liquid into a flask and put it away to cool off.
Several minutes later, when the preparation had cooled
sufficiently, he raised the flask and prepared to take the drought that
would transform him into a Superman.
At that moment the bell to his home rang.
Ordinarily he would have disregarded it, but some
instinct informed him that Dunn had returned.
With an evil leer upon his thin features, Smalley
lowered the flask and left the room.
Smalley's surmise had been correct. The Superman was
standing at the entrance when he opened the door. He stepped out and Dunn
entered.
The two walked silently to the laboratory, then Smalley
spoke for the first time. "Report what has happened to you."
The Superman did, revealed everything, concealed
nothing. He had a motive for telling the entire truth. It was that he had
determined to murder the professor before he left the room.
As Dunn related his marvelous experiences one after
another, Smalley's greed grew. He visioned what he would do when he had the
same powers.
"Dunn," he said, when the Superman had finished
speaking, "I am going to drink my preparation, now. That means that between
the both of us, with our two gigantic brains, we shall rule the universe!"
The Superman read his mind, which spoke as follows: "And
after I take the drug I'm going to dispose of my friend here. Only one
Superman can exist, and that will be me!"
Thought the Superman. "Now is the time to kill this
creature of such abysmal intelligence who seeks to oppose and replace me."
Smalley made a move to raise the flask which contained
the last dose of his chemical. But before he could reach it, Dunn stepped
forward and knocked his hand aside.
Instantly the professor leapt for the Superman's throat.
Dunn fell back under the sudden attack, then, with a sudden roar, sprang
forward and wrapped his arms about Smalley. The chemist struggled and flung
the Superman off his balance. They both crashed to the floor.
Over and over they rolled, first one on top, then the
other. It was a battle with an almost inconceivable stake. For to the victor
would go the rule of the universe.
Abruptly Professor Smalley tore himself loose from his
adversary's grip, jumped to his feet, and flew toward the table upon which
lay the flask.......
THE INTERNATIONAL Conciliatory Council was in session.
Gathered in the great hall were the representatives of all the world's
nations, both large and small. This was the greatest Peace Conference of all
time. Chairman Warren Mansfield was thundering at the top of his voice
"--and as we have gathered here, sit beside each other with no enmity
between us, so shall our respective nations be in the future; friendly,
brotherly."
As Mansfield seated himself, thunderous handclapping
acclaimed him.
Chinaman and Jap, Frenchman and Englishman, American and
Mexican, all smiled genially at each other. They saw that for the first time
in the history of the globe, all races were to be joined into one
tremendous, everlasting fraternity.
Chairman Mansfield rapped his gavel for silence. "Our
first speaker," he announced, "will be Italy's messenger of peace, Anthony
Ferroti!"
Ferroti rose to his feet and grinned engagingly. "It is
with great pleasure that I announce --" Abruptly his face under went a
startling transformation. The amiable smile disappeared. His eyes snapped
cruelly. His teeth were revealed in a sneer. "-- that Balvania is a hotbed
of dirty anarchists!"
The silence in the room was stifling. Every man was
thunderstruck.
Balvania's representative recovered from his
astonishment. Angrily he leapt upright and screamed a flow of bitter
denunciation. Someone gave him a violent shove and sent him crashing against
another individual. In another moment the hall was in an uproar. Dignified
old gentlemen were bellowing with rage and clutching at the throats of
life-long friends. They who had come to make the final peace settlement were
now attacking each other like mad hate-filled wolves.
FORREST ACKERMAN
listened patiently to his City Editor.
"The Chief gave me this letter and recommended that I
pass it on to you. At first he thought it was just the work of a nut, but in
view of how things have been developing lately, he suggested that I pass it
on to you, and instruct you to look into the matter. Well, that's your
assignment. Keep your mouth shut about it. If there's anything to it, we
want an exclusive."
Ackerman accepted the proferred letter and glanced
through it. As he read, his interest quickened. He whistled. "Sounds
screwy."
"It's up to you to discover whether it is or isn't. Get
going!"
As Forrest drove to Professor Smalley's home, he
considered the relationship of this letter to the recent world-stirring
events. If what the professor stated was true, it was likely that his
Superman was behind the bitterness between nations. What might the
Superman's motives be? Was it simply that his nature demanded he bring
evilness and death upon humanity, or more likely, did he hope to gain
control of it by first breaking down its strength by pitting it against
itself?
He had come to no definite conclusion when he drew up
before Smalley's residence. Leaving his car, he climbed the steps and rang
the bell. He waited and no response came. He repeated the act. The same
result. Impatiently he put his hand on the doorknob, turning it. The door
swung open. For a moment he hesitated, then he entered.
He walked from room to room meeting no one.
And then he entered a laboratory. His first glimpse told
him that he had stumbled upon something important. The whole room was in
terrible shape. Chairs, tables, cabinets were upset. Glassware was smashed.
There were evident signs of a battle. A gasp escaped the reporter as he came
upon a large crimson spot on the floor.
Hardened blood!
But whose?
Ideas rushed through his mind, some incoherent, others
complete. But several were not to be denied. Professor Smalley had been one
of the men involved in the struggle. It seemed likely that the other had
been Dunn, the Superman, but who had won the battle? Whose blood marked the
floor?
A possibility occurred to him. Smalley might have
conceived the ambition to rule the world. Perhaps there had been a quarrel
and the resulting fight in which one of the two had been killed. Who, then,
had been the victor? And whoever the victor might be, was it he who was to
blame for the world being on the point of war?
Forrest ran from the house and sprang into his car. In a
moment it was started and he was tearing along the streets toward the
offices of his paper. But he had scarcely gone several dozen blocks before
he behaved uncomprehensibly. Instead of continuing along the thoroughfare
that would have taken him directly to his destination, he turned into a side
street and after that into another thoroughfare which was directly parallel
to the one upon which he had been travelling previously. He was headed in
the opposite direction!
Abruptly he forgot the startling discovery he had made.
Instead, the impression had come to him that he was following an assignment
which was to take him to a certain street-number.
In a few minutes he drew up before a building. He
entered it. He was met by a cordial, beaming man who led him into a dusty
office. "Mr. Dunn?" Forrest inquired.
"Yes. Be seated."
Forrest complied. Instantly, bars of metal sprang about
him from the chair's side, grasping his arms, chest, and legs, in an
unbreakable grip. At the same moment Forrest realized what had happened. He
had been brought here under the power of the Superman's will.
The Superman had seated himself at his table and was
facing the reporter.
"Who are you?" Forrest cried. "Smalley or Dunn?"
The Superman did not answer at once. He seemed lost in
concentration. Abruptly he seemed to become aware that Forrest had asked a
question. "Smalley or Dunn?" he repeated, puzzled. Memory flowed back. "Ah
-- yes. Dunn."
"You killed Smalley?"
"I killed Smalley."
"And -- and what are you going to do with me?"
"I have a little matter to attend to before I dispose of
you." His tone was flat.
Forrest's mind reeled at this calm declaration of his
death.
"I am about to send the armies of the world to total
annihilation against each other."
And then something snapped within Forrest. He cursed at
the inhuman monster, called him every insulting epithet that occurred to
him, swore to crush him if he broke loose.
The Superman paid no attention to the screaming,
pleading man. He clenched his fists and stared before him. As he
concentrated, his face slowly twisted itself into such a visage of hate and
cruelty that Forrest was appalled.
The Superman was broadcasting thoughts of hate which
would plunge the Earth into a living hell.
In this moment of dread and terror the reporter sent .a
silent prayer up to the Creator of the threatened world. He beseeched the
Omnipotent One to blot out this blaspheming devil.
Was it true that Forrest saw the look of hate swept from
the Superman's face and terror replace it, or was it mere fancy?
Suddenly the Superman leapt to his feet. The chair he
had been sitting upon crashed back. "No!" he cried. "No!"
Forrest saw he was shouting at the empty air.
"That vision! That glimpse into the future! Myself tomorrow -- sleeping in
the park. Once more just Dunn -- Dunn the vagrant, the down-and-outer!" The
Superman drew a hand across his eyes. "It's the drug! It's influence will be
gone in an hour, exhausted! And I can't duplicate the drug unless I can
reach the Dark Planet where lies the
needed element. And there is not time enough for that!"
The arrogant, confident figure had departed. Instead,
there now stood, a drooping, disillusioned man.
Dunn raised his head and regarded the mute reporter. "I
see, now, how wrong I was. If I had worked for the good of humanity, my name
would have gone down in history with a blessing -- instead of a curse." He
approached the chair and tampered with some mechanism on its side. "In
fifteen minutes you will be automatically released and I --" he grinned
wryly, "I shall be -- back in the bread-line!"
The End.
Siegel, Jerry (w), and Shuster, Joe (i). "The Reign of the Superman."
Science Fiction: The Advance Guard of Future Civilization, vol. 1,
no. 3, January 1933, p. 4–15.
