The Scientists Revolt Read online

  The Scientists Revolt

  Edgar Rice Burroughs

  and Ray Palmer

  Fantastic Adventures: July 1939

  Illustrations by Julian S. Krupa

  ePUB Edition

  Feb 28,2012

  OCR'ed and ePUB'ed by Amontoth

  from a PulpScan

  provided by SpaceCadetDodson

  Introduction

  Seems that back in the early 1920s, Burroughs wanted to know what Stephen King wondered about much later: Did his name on the title page alone sell the book, or would one of his yarns sell if it went out to editors under a pseudonym? Between Aug. 9-31, 1922, he wrote the novelette BEWARE! and sent it out into the world as written by “John Tyler McCulloch.” It was a flop.

  Eventually, it sold to Ray Palmer at AMAZING STORIES. With Burroughs’ permission — he was a pretty easygoing fellow — this contemporary mystery/spy thriller was rewritten as science fiction, re-titled THE SCIENTIST’S REVOLT, and finally published in the pulp FANTASTIC ADVENTURES in July 1939. The Burroughs original stayed tucked away for another 35 years, not seeing publication until the July 1974, issue of THE BURROUGHS BULLETIN.

  --Doug Bentin on July 24, 2009

  Burroughs may not have been happy with the way the story was handled by the publisher and the story was never picked up for book publication. This story is a kind of black sheep in the Burroughs canon—for two reasons: the changes introduced editorially do not help it and it does not hold up to favorable comparison with other Burroughs work. While most everything that Burroughs submitted was edited in some way, this story was altered significantly. Ray Palmer is "credited" with the changes. The nineteenth-century Prisoner-of-Zenda type setting used in The Mad King and The Rider is transformed into a twenty-second-century quasi-European backdrop, still retaining the name Assuria, a kind of acronym for Russia. Palmer bought the story more than 15 years after Burroughs wrote it (1922/1939). The story had received repeated rejections. Burroughs used the pen name of John Tyler McCulloch on this story but Palmer refused to use it, intending instead to buy the Burroughs name to help launch Fantastic Adventures. The story Burroughs wrote – entitled "Beware!" – has never been commercially published, though it is available in the Burroughs Bulletin (Old Series #39 and New Series #33). The futuristic setting was added by Palmer, as was the concept of radio transmission of humans. The names also were changed from Burroughs Eastern Europe nomenclature to more manageable forms: Semepovski became Sanders, Saranov became Saran, Drovoff became Danard, and so on. Without much judgment, Irwin Porges explains that the tale was "transformed from a hodge-podge royal intrigue-detective mystery novelette to a science-fiction story" .

  Richard Lupoff sees this story as the nadir of Burroughs' published work, commenting: "One The Science Revolt [sic] is enough blot on an author's record" (293). The mystery lacks sustained suspense and the writing is trite by most readers' reaction. Bob Davis, who was first offered the manuscript, wrote back to ERB candidly: "[The story is] the nearest approach to mediocrity that ever came from your pen, and Lord, Edgar, how did you come to fall back among the Russians [. . .]. That whole bunch smell to high heaven in fiction [. . .]" (qtd. in Porges 362). (Burroughs wrote the piece five years after the Bolshevik Revolution.) Whether the story "smells" is up to readers to decide, but the story will never be one that brings positive acclaim for Burroughs.

  -- Stanley Galloway

  PROLOGUE—2190 A.D.

  A SMALL pane in the leaded glass of the Pent House Palace atop the tallest building in Assuria tinkled to the study floor as the bullet embedded itself in the ebony paneling behind the Science Ruler.

  “Guns!” he exclaimed. “They must have raided the museums. Even with ancient guns they attack the Science Palace. How their hate has misled them! ” He turned ruefully to survey the panel. “My great grandsire brought that from ancient Paris, over a hundred years ago, Sanders — ‘so fleet the works of man, back to their earth again, ancient and holy things fade like a dream’.”

  As the Science Ruler spoke his companion crossed the room quickly. “Come, sir!” he cried, “we must leave this apartment. That shot was intended for you.”

  The Science Ruler shook his head sadly. “But for my wife, I could have wished the fellow had been a better marksman.”

  “And your son, Alexander,” Sanders reminded him.

  “It might make it easier for him,” replied the Science Ruler. “It is I they hate. My people hate me, Sanders — my people whom I love and to whom I have tried to be a father. But them I cannot blame. They have been deceived by lies. It is toward those who knew the truth, who lived closest to me, and for whom I did the most that I feel any bitterness. Every day they are deserting me, Sanders — the rats and the sinking ship. I am sure of only a few of you — I could count my friends tonight upon the fingers of one hand.”

  Michael Sanders, Minister of War, bowed his head, for the Science Ruler had spoken the truth and there was no denial to be made.

  It was the first of May preceding that historic second which wiped the science dynasty from the rule of Assuria. For a month the Science family had virtually been prisoners in the summer palace upon the outskirts of the Capitol, but they had been unmolested and their personal safety had seemed reasonably assured until this morning.

  For years the voice of the agitator and the malcontent had been heard with increasing emphasis throughout the length and breadth of the Country. “We are slaves to science” was the text from which they preached. During the early weeks of April the Capitol had been a hotbed of revolution which had rapidly merged into the chaos of anarchy. The people had grievances, but no leader — they had only agitators, who could arouse, but not control.

  And then had come this first of May, when the rabble from the low quarters of the city, drunk with liquor and with blood lust, had derided the weaklings at the head of the revolution, and screaming for blood and loot, had marched upon the Science palace with the avowed intention of assassinating the Science family.

  All that day they had howled and hooted about the palace, held in check only by a single military unit which had remained loyal to the Scientists — the Foreign Corps, recruited among foreigners, and with few exceptions, similarly officered.

  After a moment’s silence, the Science Ruler spoke again.

  “What do you suppose started them today?” he asked. “What brought this mob to the palace?”

  “They heard last night of the birth of your son,” replied Sanders. “They pretend to see in that fact a menace to what they are pleased to call The New Freedom — that is why they are here, sir.”

  “You think they want the lives of my wife and son, as well as my life?”

  Sanders bowed. “I am sure of it, sir.”

  “That must be prevented at all cost,” said the Science Ruler.

  “I had thought of removing them from the palace,” replied Sanders, “but that would be difficult, even were it possible to move your wife, which the physicians assure me must not be done. But there is just a faint possibility that we may be able to remove the baby boy. I have given the matter a great deal of thought, sir. I have a plan. It entails risk, but on the other hand, to permit the boy to remain in this building another twelve hours would, I am confident, prove fatal.”

  “Your plan, Sanders, what is it?” demanded the Scientist.

  “FOR the past month the officers of The Foreign Corps have been quartered within the building. Several of them are married men, and their wives are here with them. One of these women, the wife of a Lieut. Donovan, gave birth to a son two days since. She is a strong and healthy young woman and could be moved without materially endangering her health. For all the people know,
she may have had twins.” The Science Ruler elevated his brows. “I see,” he said, “but how could she pass out with the infants? No one may escape.”

  “But they do daily, sir,” replied Sanders. “The building is filled with traitors. Not a day passes but that several desert to the enemy. We are close pressed. Only a miracle can save The Foreign Corps from absolute extermination. It would not seem strange, then, to the revolutionists, should Lieut. Donovan desert to them, for the sake of the safety of his wife and children.”

  For several minutes the Science Ruler stood with bowed head, buried in thought. Then: “Call Danard,” he said, “and we will send for this Lieut. Donovan.” “Perhaps I had better go myself,” said Sanders. “The fewer who know of what we intend, the safer will be the secret.”

  “I have implicit confidence in Danard,” replied the Science Chief. “He has served me faithfully for many years.”

  “Pardon, sir,” said Sanders, “but the occasion is one of such tremendous moment that I would be untrue to the trust you repose in me, were I to remain silent — sir, I fear Danard, I mistrust him, I have no confidence in him.”

  “Why?”

  “I could substantiate no charge against him,” replied Sanders, “or I should have preferred charges long ago, yet. . ..”

  “Poof!” exclaimed the Science Ruler. “Danard would die for me. Bring him, please.”

  Sanders moved toward the radio call, but with his hand upon the switch he turned again.

  “I beg of you, sir, to let me go instead.”

  The elder man replied with an imperious gesture toward the radio call and Sanders gave the signal. A few moments later, Paul Danard, the Science Ruler's valet, entered the chamber. He was a slender, dark man, apparently in his early thirties. His eyes were large and dreamy and set rather too far apart, while, in marked contrast to them, were his thin, aquiline nose and his straight and bloodness lips. He awaited in silence the will of his master, who stood scrutinizing him closely, as though for the first time he had seen the face of the man before him. Presently, however, the Science Ruler spoke.

  “Danard,” he said, “you’ve served me faithfully for many years. I have implicit confidence in your loyalty, and because of that I am going to place within your hands tonight the future of Assuria and the safety of my son.”

  The man bowed low. “My life is yours to command,” he replied.

  “Good. The mob seeks my life and that of my wife, and of Alexander. Even if I could leave the palace I would not. My wife, on account of her condition, cannot, but Michael believes that we can smuggle the boy away where he may remain in safety and seclusion until the deluded people have recovered from the madness which grips them now.” Michael Sanders watching intently the face of the valet, saw reflected there no emotion which might arouse the slightest suspicion, as the Science Ruler outlined the plan which might cheat the revolutionists of the fruit of their endeavor.

  TWENTY minutes later Danard returned with Lieut. Terrance Donovan, a young Irish soldier of fortune who had been a Lieutenant in The Foreign Corps for better than a year.

  Michael explained the plan to the officer.

  “The most difficult part,” he concluded, “will be in obtaining safe escort for your wife and the two infants through the revolutionists who surround the building, but that is a chance that we must take, for in their present mood they will spare no one once they gain access to the building, which now can be but a matter of hours.

  “Once you have gained the city remain in hiding until your wife’s strength is equal to travel, then leave the country. Go to America where funds will be sent you periodically for the care and education of the boy. From time to time you will receive instructions from us, but you will make no reports unless requested, nor attempt in any way to communicate with us, for only by maintaining the utmost secrecy may we hope to preserve the boy from the vengeance of the revolutionists. To prevent suspicion from attaching to you in any way upon the other side you must pursue some calling that may at least partially account for your income.

  “His father, his mother, Danard, your wife, yourself and I are the only people who will know the identity of your second twin. No other must ever know until you receive authoritative word from Assuria that the time is ripe for his return to his people. Not even the boy himself must know that he is other than your son. Do you understand fully and do you accept the commission?”

  Donovan inclined his head in assent.

  “We are placing in your hands the fate of Assuria,” said the Science Ruler; “God grant that you may be true to the trust imposed upon you.”

  “I shall not fail you, sir,” replied the Irishman.

  Twenty-four hours later the rabble overcame the remaining guards and forced its way into the Science building. The fate of the Science Ruler and his wife is not known — their bodies were never found. The rage of the revolutionists when they discovered that the infant son had been spirited away was unbounded. But all this is history. If you are interested in it I recommend to you The Last Days of the Scientists1, by Michael Sanders, large 12mo, illus., 529 pgs., G. Strake, Ltd., London.

  IT was the sixteenth of May, two weeks after the fall of the Science Rule, that a tiny, muffled figure, with a weight at its feet, dropped from the stratosphere liner Colossic bound for New York. The Atlantic, below, received it. Watching, with tragic eyes, stood a young Irishman. At his side, sobbing softly, his wife clutched a little baby tightly to her breast.

  CHAPTER I Twenty-Two Years Later

  “'Your Ma is a very sick woman, Mackie.” The older man, sitting at his desk, did not raise his eyes to his son as he spoke, and the other knew that it was because he feared to reveal the emotion that lay behind them, and thus give the boy greater cause for apprehension.

  “I guessed as much when I got your message, Dad,” and as he spoke, Macklin Donovan, arose. Walking to his father’s side he laid his hand affectionately and sympathetically upon the broad shoulder of the strato-police lieutenant. “May I see her?” he asked.

  “That is all, Mackie — just see her,” replied his father. “She won’t know you. The doctor has ordered absolute quiet.”

  The younger man nodded, and together they tiptoed their way upstairs to a room on the second floor.

  When they returned to the den again there was a hint of moisture on the lashes of both men.

  “How did you find me,” asked the younger man, “through the department?”

  “Yes. I telephoned Washington. Your chief told me where you were.”

  “I am still on the Thorn case. It’s got us guessing. No one in the department believes Mr, Thorn to be more than a visionary philanthropist with conservative socialistic leanings.

  CHAPTER II Murder in the Dark

  IT was after one o’clock the following morning before they returned from supper and dancing at one of the city’s popular sky gardens. Greeves admitted them. As she passed him Nariva Saran raised her brows questioningly and the butler replied with an almost imperceptible inclination of his head. Neither act would have been noticeable to other than specially trained senses — such as Donovan’s. It was his business to notice such trivial occurrences and this one did not escape him. He was puzzled and vexed — vexed with himself that he could still doubt Nariva Saran’s connection with the band of conspirators that he felt he was at last closing in upon after weeks of seemingly fruitless effort.

  He had always suspected Saran and at first had assumed that the Assurian’s daughter was criminally connected with the band of which her father was a part. Reasoning from this premise it was not strange that he should seek to ingratiate himself with the girl, that through her he might gain the knowledge he sought. To this end he sought her companionsip. The result had been that not only had he been unable to connect her with any of the activities that he believed chargeable to the band under investigation, but he had fallen hopelessly in love with her.

  After a few moments desultory conversation in which no one seemed int
erested Miss Thorn announced her intention of retiring — a suggestion that evidently met with the approval of the others, who, with sleepy “Good nights,” ascended the stairway to their several chambers.

  Fifteen minutes later Greeves made the rounds of the lower floor, turning off all the lights with the exception of a small night lamp in the front hallway and a second small lamp in the library, which was the last room to which he gave his attention. Instead of returning to the servants’ stairway at the rear of the penthouse which he should have used in going to his room on the fourth floor, he ascended the main stairway from the library. He left a light on the landing about half way up the stairs, but shut off all those in the hallway on the second floor, which was, however, slightly illuminated by the light from the landing.

  These duties attended to he paused for a moment in the center of the hall, apparently listening. He looked quickly first in one direction and then in the other, after which, seemingly satisfied, he ascended the second flight of steps to the third floor where were located the apartments of the family. Ordinarily a small passenger elevator was used to reach the upper floors, but this was temporarily out of commission while undergoing its annual summer overhauling during the absence of the family at Three Gables. From the third floor a single flight of stairs led to the servants’ quarters on the floor above.

  This stairway was near the rear end of the third floor hallway. Directly opposite it was a small, dark closet wherein were kept a various assortment of brooms, brushes, mops, dusters, vacuum cleaners, and similar paraphernalia.

  Greeves turned out all but a single light in the third floor hall, walked to the foot of the stairway, paused, listened, and then, turning quickly, crossed the hall silently, opened the door of the dark closet entered it and closed the door after him.

  MACKLIN DONOVAN had gone directly to his room, removed his dinner coat, tie and collar, and sat down to smoke and read at a table near one of the open windows which overlooked the small garden in the rear of the house. Outside this window was a narrow iron balcony identical with those outside every other window on this floor, both front and rear. These balconies did not connect with those adjacent to them, being separated by a space of about three feet. Except for the lights of the vast city far below, and the giant twin tower a mile away, the penthouse might have been on a country estate.