Chapter II

Two hours later Randall stood stiffly at attention in his somewhat oversized steward's uniform while eleven passengers filed into the Diamvator, chattering in excitement over their coming adventure.

Randall wondered with a wry smile what their reactions would be if they knew what had happened to the Diamvator's passengers on three preceding trips. The secret agent had not been entirely in agreement with his Chief's orders that the mysteries be suppressed and that passengers still be accepted. But he saw the logic of keeping the trap baited. And Randall realized, with a warm feeling inside, that his Chief depended upon him to protect the eleven lives which were the bait in a trap which he hoped fervently would not close upon those who set it!

Slowly the chattering passengers took their places in the comfortable chairs. After the yard-thick door had swung ponderously shut, and the outside bar had been thrust home, Randall cautioned the passengers to keep their seats, then found his own place.

There came a sudden breathless drop as the upper lock opened, and the steel arms released the Vator upon the cushioning column of air above the next lower lock. A sibilant hiss sounded through the room as twelve people fought for breath when the Vator floor tried to drop from beneath them.

Two women screamed in high thin voices that tore at the agent's ears. The fat traveling salesman from New Orleans clapped his plump hands to his throat, and his eyes looked like pale blue marbles. The bronzed big game hunter looked as if he were face to face with a lion crouched for attack. The white-haired professional gentleman colored as if he had swallowed a chameleon.

Slowly the falling sensation faded, and a vast sigh of relief sounded through the room. Then a second chorus of gasps arose from eleven throats. The young engineer on his way to the uranium mines in Borneo rasped out in a choked voice: "Just--passing through the lower lock--into--near vacuum!"

Randall nodded with effort and waited breathlessly until finally the Vator had attained an almost constant acceleration.

When the eleven passengers had lost a little of their pallor, and a few had even begun to laugh and talk among themselves, Randall arose and strolled around the room.

He quietly examined the massive door which could be opened only from the outside. Then he turned and strolled about the room, carefully but covertly scrutinizing every person aboard.

There were four middle-aged school teachers who were trying to recover the vicarious thrills of vanished youth.

A young couple with the obvious devotion of honeymooners occupied the lounge across the room.

A reserved old gentleman with a mane of white hair and a professional mien sat in the big Morris chair to the right of the newlyweds. Randall immediately catalogued him as a doctor, or perhaps a scientist of some sort.

On the other side of the four school ma'ms was a chap Randall couldn't quite analyze. He was tall and spare and lithe, with the bronze of the sun in his cheeks, and a thousand tiny wrinkles like ripples surrounded the deep blue of his eyes.

Randall instinctively liked the chap. He looked wholesome and true-blue. He looked like a man who'd seen a lot of the world and liked most of it.

The young engineer, the lion hunter, and the fat traveling salesman completed the list of passengers.

The trouble was, Randall concluded, there wasn't a person in the Vator who looked as if he could be guilty of any real crime, much less the wholesale kidnappings, which had evidently taken place.

But if the enigma of the Earth Tube were not instigated by some one in the Vator, how in the name of a thousand mysteries could it happen at all?

Randall shrugged. It looked as if a philosophical approach was worse than hopeless.

He'd have to map out a plan of direct action. A plan that would tell him more of the true characters of his eleven companions.

He looked at the clock on the mantel. It's dial showed a little after 4:00 P.M., so according to the schedule, the Vator should be rapidly nearing the center of the Earth.

Randall started toward the professional gentleman in the big chair. He had completed four steps when sudden catastrophe blasted all plans from his mind.

* * * * *

The women didn't scream this time. It all happened too quickly. There wasn't even time for Randall to complete the step he had started.

Thunder with a thousand toneless voices echoed through his mind. Lightning with the hues of alien spectra shot blindingly into his eyes. He felt as though he had suddenly grasped the two poles of an electric circuit. His muscles contracted spasmodically and numbness clutched with deadly anesthesia at his groping mind.

When the stupor finally began to retreat from Randall's bewildered consciousness, the first sounds he identified were the delayed screams of the four school ma'ms and the bride.

He cautiously opened his smarting eyes and looked around. What he saw was far from reassuring, for it was vividly apparent that they were no longer in the Diamvator. In fact, there was no sign whatever to be seen of the Tube Car!

Randall blinked, looked again. He and his eleven companions were suspended like fallen acrobats in a huge net constructed of closely-woven metallic strands.

A dozen feet above his head was a coruscating sheet of stratified radiance that arched across like a miniature sky, forming a hemispherical dome of light over the great net.

Randall cleared his throat noisily. He had stalked desperate criminals into their hiding places.

He had daringly matched cunning with determined dope rings. He had stood face-to-face with armed murderers, but never as now had he felt so completely at a loss. Never had he been so neatly and easily trapped.

But what was behind it all? And how had it been done? What earthly--or other--agency could contrive to tear twelve people from the interior of a locked metal car traveling in excess of two thousand miles an hour?

Randall shrugged and turned to examine his eleven charges.

The newlyweds, Charles and Evelyn McMahon, were clutching each other frantically as if their very salvation lay in their proximity.

Blake Garnet, the lion hunter, had cautiously gained his feet and was edging gingerly across the net toward Randall.

The four school ma'ms were trying frantically to sit up, clutching each other as if separation spelled death.

Randall remembered their names because they were so thoroughly, almost ludicrously American. Retta Shields, Laura Hanks and Sarah Nelson were the three thin ones, and Mamie Wilson was the plump, good-natured one.

Paul Gerard, the white-haired professional gentleman, was interestedly gazing up at the coruscating hemisphere of radiance.

Angus McClellan, the lean whimsical chap whom Randall hadn't been able to catalogue, was talking in low tones with Gordon Malherne, the young engineer.

Randall started forward to meet Blake Garnet, when suddenly the net began to sink beneath his feet.

Down and down it sank, until Randall felt a firm foundation under his feet. Then the edges of the net were pulled up and over until the twelve humans were rolled pell-mell together in the bottom of a huge woven bag. A huge eye peered in at the twelve startled humans. An eye that glinted light from a thousand separate facets.

Randall heard his own gasp amid the bedlam of mingled screams and shouts from the passengers. Then a huge clawed arm reached down through the opening at the top of the net bag. Reached straight for the huddled humans.

Randall felt the chitinous limb slide past his body, then a frenzied scream dinned in his ears.

The kicking thrashing body of Evelyn McMahon was lifted high in the air to disappear through the opening above.

Her husband had clutched her until she was torn from his grasp, and now, with a low cry of anguish he started climbing frantically up the strands of the net.

He had clambered half the distance when the chitin-covered limb appeared again, and Charles McMahon went to join his bride.

Randall was heartsick. He could do nothing, absolutely nothing, and he knew it was only a matter of seconds until that huge claw would return for another struggling, screaming human.

He hoped frantically that he would escape the horrible suspense; that he himself would be the next victim. However, he wasn't. He had to wait until two of the school teachers and the young engineer were gone before the opposing claws closed around him.

He waited for the crushing violence of those great talons, but instead, there was only a gentle pressure as he felt himself lifted smoothly and easily from the net.

In another moment he was set free in a small open field covered with a thick carpet of grass. A tall stockade constructed of foot-thick wooden piling, sharpened at the upper ends, enclosed fifteen or twenty acres of field.

* * * * *

He looked around and saw Charles McMahon trying to calm his sobbing bride, and Gordon Malherne, the engineer, chafing the hands of the two school teachers who had preceded him.

Randall started toward the group, when a shadow passed over him, and Doctor Gerard was released from the great claw almost beside him. The white-haired scientist scrambled to his feet and turned toward Randall with a grimace.

"Nice business," he said. "I used to consider Entomology a respectable profession, and I fancied myself quite capable in my line. But from the looks of our captor, I guess my job has grown too big for me!"

Randall tried to smile at the other's joke, but his grin wasn't very successful. "Let's see what we can do for the women folk," he suggested.

Their work was immediately complicated by the arrival of the other two teachers in quick succession. They were finally beginning to have a little success in quieting the trembling women, when the claw again appeared, depositing Jerome Jackson beside them.

The fat little salesman scrambled to his feet with a squall of fear. His cheeks quivered like twin puddings, and his eyes seemed almost to be growing on stalks.

"Wha--what was it?" he quavered.

Randall almost smiled. "Doctor Gerard seems to think it's somewhat buggy," he replied. "You can draw your own conclusions."

Jackson was about to reply when the claw again descended, and Blake Garnet was released.

His black eyes were inky pools of consternation, and his healthy bronze had faded a dozen shades. He recovered his composure quickly when he saw his companions, and a thin smile fought through.

"Looks like a one-bug plague to me," he remarked. "--Whoops, here comes our cowpuncher!"

Angus McClellan still had his one-sided grin as he shook his long lanky body and looked quizzically at the disheveled group of humans.

"Never had anything like that around Sidney," he said. "Chamber of Commerce wouldn't allow it. What's the next installment anyway of the 'Clue of the Chitin Claw'?"

Randall shook his head. "That's all of us, I guess. Anybody hurt?"

Everyone looked around, and finally all shook their heads.

"That is, if you don't count a damaged ego and a completely wrecked peace of mind," added Blake Garnet. "Now what, for heaven's sake?"

"May as well look around," suggested Randall. "I see some kind of buildings across the field."

The others followed the Agent's gesture; saw several dozen low, domed structures squatting in even rows a few hundred yards away.

Randall started toward them, the others following cautiously. When they were within a dozen yards of the structures, a door in the first one opened and a man stepped out.

He was a magnificent figure of a man. And his splendid body was a fitting support for the god-like head, broad of brow, features finely chiseled.

"Wel-come," he said in queer blurred accents. "Wel-come to the Time Tribe."

He advanced toward them, extending his hand. "I am Zor Ala, a 40B-7 type from the 43rd Century, according to the ancient reckoning of Anno Domini. And you--?"

Randall spoke for the group, his mind fumbling for the meaning of the man's words. "We're a group of passengers who were somehow snatched from our passage through the Earth-Tube. But what--"

"Oh, yes," interrupted Zor Ala reminiscently. "That strange and useless hole through the Earth that finally collapsed around 3000 A.D. We have a number of other Earth-Tube passengers here with us. But from what period did you come?"

Randall replied wonderingly, "Why from this,--2062 A.D. of course!"

Zor Ala shook his head slowly, a strange smile on his lips. "But this is far from being 2062, my friend," he said softly. "As closely as we have been able to reckon it, we are now living in what you would call the Carboniferous Period, probably in the latter part."

He waited a moment for his words to take effect, then continued: "And that would place our present era--" He nodded at Doctor Gerard. "Yes, my friend, I see that you understand we are now, amazingly enough, living in a time which preceded our births by approximately two hundred million years!"

Doctor Gerard turned to face his companions. "Yes," he said slowly. "I had guessed at something like this. The color and brilliance of the sun, the type of grasses, and the size and shape of the flora visible over the stockade. Yes, I'd thought of this possibility, but couldn't bring myself to really believe it!"

"But our captors," interjected Randall. "What are they? How did they trap us? And what do they intend to do with us?"

"They're just what they appear to be," said Zor Ala solemnly. He looked at Randall, and his fine eyes were bleak. "They are a species of insect which has apparently progressed both in size and in intellect far beyond any other life form of this period. And unlike the insects of my time, and undoubtedly of yours, these things act through intelligent reasoning rather than through a set pattern of instincts."

"But," interrupted Doctor Gerard, "according to the theory of most Entomologists of my time, it would be impossible for an insect to attain the size of these creatures! Their bodily structure is wrong. They couldn't support their own weight. And if they could, their inefficient breathing tubes and trachea couldn't furnish their bodies with sufficient oxygen, nor remove the waste products!"

Zor Ala smiled tolerantly. "The proof of possibility is their existence," he said. "Your contemporaries' theory is obviously incorrect.

"How can one deny the possibility of huge insects without knowing the strength of materials in their supporting structure? Do the gigantic Sequoias in North America collapse because of their almost four hundred foot height, as a Balsa undoubtedly would if it attained the same size?

"Is it philosophically logical that, because insects of your day possessed an exoskeleton incapable of supporting larger creatures, that these creatures must also possess those exact characteristics? Such an argument is absurd. Evolution fits the strength of the supporting structure to the weight it must support. And naturally the means for oxygenation and elimination are likewise accommodated."

Doctor Gerard was still unconvinced, but Randall got in the next word.

"How many more of you are there?" he asked. "Have you any more companions from your own Age?"

Zor Ala shook his head. "No more from my own time, but there are more than a hundred humans from other ages," he said. "Come, they are anxious to meet the new arrivals."

He led them to a large structure which bulked in a central position, surrounded by the smaller buildings.

An oddly-assorted but unquestionably colorful group of humans greeted their entrance in a dozen different tongues. They gathered around the new arrivals with a hundred excited queries.

"A minute, my friends," Zor Ala cautioned in his queer, blurred English. "These people are come from the year 2062. They were captured during a passage through the ancient Earth-Tube by the Kralons' Time Net, just as you were dragged from your own various Ages for the Kralons' selfish plans."

In the bewildering hours that followed, the Vator companions learned the answers to some of their enigmatic experiences. But they learned also of strange and horrible things which even the more advanced of the queer colony did not understand.