Monsters of the Ray

What seemed like a simple experiment to figure out how the ancient stones were cut released an ancient horror.

Excerpt

To ninety-nine people out of every hundred the name of Frank Ogden Harris means nothing. Nine hundred and ninety-nine people out of every thousand have never heard of him or, if they have, the name has conveyed no more interest, nothing more of importance than the name of John Smith or William Jones.

To a certain number of people, however, Frank Ogden Harris was well known and his name meant a great deal. Among the more advanced members of the chemical profession he bore a high reputation for a number of noteworthy discoveries in inorganic chemistry. Several of his formulae were in constant use, and metallurgical chemists were all familiar with the Harris system of assaying the rarer earths and minerals.

Among scientists at large, but more especially among those interested primarily in astronomy and physics, Harris had a reputation of being a revolutionary, an iconoclast and something of a visionary. Even the most advanced and open-minded of the younger generation looked upon Harris' theories, prophecies and ideas as somewhat fantastic and impossible. But all admitted that he knew the subjects, that he was logical, that he could bring up points that could not be denied nor argued down, and that, in one or two cases, his theories had been completely borne out.

And in the circles of the most prominent electrical engineers, or rather among those who specialized in electro-magnetic phenomena and ether waves, Harris' name was one to conjure with. The multi-electronic tube was Harris' invention and its royalties brought him a princely income. The chromovisor, by means of which television had been brought within the reach of all, was the direct result of Harris' active and revolutionary brain, and that most important radio accessory of all—-the static-nullifier—had been conceived and developed by Frank Ogden Harris.

The medical profession also knew Harris' name and had good reasons for remembering it, for his Z-Xray apparatus had made those twin terrors of mankind—cancer and leprosy—of no more consequence than chicken-pox and whooping-cough. Yet for some unknown reason—it most certainly was not modesty—Harris had never permitted his name to be associated with any of these inventions or discoveries. He was quite willing to blow his own horn, as the saying goes, among men who could understand what he was talking about, and he had no illusions in regard to his own abilities, his own intellect, or his own knowledge of the most abstract and complicated sciences. But he detested publicity and notoriety. To him a newspaper reporter way the epitome of stupidity, vulgarity and impertinence combined, and nothing would arouse his fury so much as some flippant, inaccurate press account of some scientific discovery or attainment. He avoided publicity as the devil avoids holy water, and he carried his detestation of notoriety to such an extent that, fearing lest some reporter might bring his name into the limelight, all his contracts with the manufacturers of his various devices, apparatus and reagents contained a clause to the effect that, if the name Harris was used in any manner as a trade mark, a trade name, or for sales or advertising purposes, the contracts become null and void. He even went further and carried on his experiments in his magnificently equipped laboratories under an assumed name. Only in Peru, where he maintained a private observatory, together with a work-shop, a laboratory, a charming residence and a vast library among the sublime Andes, was he known as Frank Ogden Harris to the Spanish-American public. And there, as he laughingly admitted, nobody bothered over what a "crazy Gringo" was doing, and nobody cared who he was, as long as he paid his taxes, obeyed the laws, spent a reasonable amount of money and did not mix in politics.

So, as I said in the beginning, not one man in a thousand ever heard of Frank Ogden Harris, or, having heard the name, remembered it ten minutes later. Yet Harris came very near being the cause of wiping humanity from our planet, and, for a space, he held the fate of all mankind, the future of the earth, in the hollow of his hand.
Although Harris' name had been known to me for years, and although I had met him casually on many occasions when we were both present at scientific meetings and other functions, yet I never became really acquainted with him until I met him aboard ship. I was on the Ebro of the Pacific Steam Navigation Company, bound for an archeological expedition to Peru, and to my delight found that Harris was a fellow-passenger.

Naturally we became friendly; we exchanged views on the country, narrated experiences and discussed the past, present and future of Peru. Harris expressed the greatest interest in the ancient Incan and pre-I