Dynasty of the Lost
By George O. Smith
DYNAMIC FEATURE NOVEL
An Intensely Gripping Novel Of Metal Doom
Was this the beginning of a ghastly
new war, or had the sinister
kidnappings a different meaning?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Future combined with Science Fiction Stories May-June 1950.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Harry Vinson entered the room eagerly. It was two hours earlier than heintended, but his anticipation of watching the finale of eight years'intense work was too great. Vinson had scarcely slept that night.
He had itched to try the machine out the evening before; only carefuljudgment kept him from it. The machine required a full twelve-hourperiod for warming up; to putter with it before it had reached itsstable operating temperature would have been as senseless as attemptingto fly with an aircraft only half completed.
But now—
Vinson stopped cold, three steps inside of the door. The vast room wasempty, the machine was gone. The aisles and aisles of neatly machinedrack and panel were bare; all that remained was the linoleum in theaisles—
That and the floor-studs now gleamed nakedly, each with its nut placedprecisely before it on the edge of the linoleum. Far down the emptyhall a power junction box was open; its heavy switches open; its fusespulled. The busbars that carried power to the machine had been unboltedand the bare end reached out like the butt of an amputated arm.
Vinson's mind could have coped with ruin from natural causes—such astornado or earthquake—even though the site of this building had beencarefully selected to avoid such dangers. Vinson could have acceptedunnatural ruin, such as sabotage—though again the site of the buildinghad been kept as secret as could be to avoid such. But this was notdestruction, either from foreign agents or the fury of nature.
This was complete dis-installation; theft; ton after ton ofultra-complex electro-mechanical gear neatly disconnected and removedduring the course of one eight-hour period.
It was far too much to believe. Harry Vinson's mind rebelled; he reeleddizzily, turned in a dreamlike stupor and left the room. Moments laterhe was in his car and driving back to his bachelor quarters in thecity, some miles away. Vinson was still in a daze as he undressed andgot into bed.
He slept for an hour, which brought him to his regular time forarising, and awoke feeling the aftermath of a terrifying nightmare.He remembered himself in the grip of a gleaming mechanical monster, alovely, frightened girl beside him. In his hand was some sort of pistolwhich shot out a futile beam at the ensnaring metal talons; he was highin the air of some strange world, which spread out below him.... HarryVinson smiled grimly; the nightmare was symbolic, of course, and hewondered just what the dream had symbolized.
To dream of eight years of work disappearing overnight ... dreamhimself captured by machinery! It might be a good idea to talk to DocCaldwell; he could help. Harry wondered whether he might have beenworking too hard, then shook his head and stopped thinking about it asbest he could. No man, Caldwell had said, should try to analyze his ownsubconscious....
The nightmare memory faded, driven out of Vinson's mind by theeagerness of watching the machine work. He made coffee, washed his cupquickly, and in another five minutes was dr