Translucent

translucent

Authors:
(1) Vinod S. Khandkar and Manjesh K. Hanawal, Industrial Engineering and Operations Research Indian Institute of Technology Bombay, Mumbai, India and {vinod.khandkar, mhanawal}@iitb.ac.in. Table of Links Abstract & Introduction Related Work and Background Challenges in TD Detection Measurement Setup Development Case Study : Wehe - TD Detection Tool for Mobile Environment Shortcoming of Wehe on HTTPS Traffic TD Detection of HTTPS Traffic Conclusion & References IV. CASE STUDY : WEHE - TD DETECTION TOOL FOR MOBILE ENVIRONMENT Wehe [13] is a tool for the detection of traffic differentiation over mobile networks (e.g., cellular and WiFi). It is available as an App on Android and the iOS platform. The user database of the Wehe tool consists of 126,249 users across 2,735 ISPs in 183 countries/regions generating 1,045,413 crowd-sourced measurements. European national telecom regulator, the US FTC and FCC, US Senators, and numerous US state legislators have used the Wehe tool’s findings. The tool supports TD detection for many popular services such as Netflix, YouTube. The tool runs TD detection tests by coordinating with its server, called the “replay server”. The replay server keeps track of active users and maps replay runs to the correct user’s service. A. Traffic generation Wehe uses the “record-and-replay” method for generating probing traffic. The user-client exchanges the probing traffic with the replay server as per the replay script that captures the application-level traffic behavior, including the port number, data sequence, and timing dependencies from the original service’s network logs. Preserving timing is a crucial feature of Wehe’s approach. It expects network devices to use this information in case of non-availability of any other means to classify applications, e.g., HTTPS encrypted data transfer Wehe tool uses two types of probing traffic streams. While one stream (original replay) is the same as the original service’s application-level network trace, another traffic stream (control replay) differs substantially from the first traffic stream. In one approach, Wehe uses the VPN channel to send a second probing traffic stream. This approach uses the meddle VPN [30] framework for data transfer and server-side packet capture. Another approach uses the bit-reversed version of the first traffic stream sent one the same channel. Currently, Wehe uses the latter approach due to its superior results. B. Over the network response Wehe is a differential detector tool that compares the network responses for two types of traffic streams generated by the tool. The service-specific information present in the original replay is useful for network devices with Deep Packet Inspection (DPI) capability to identify and classify the service correctly. So, the original replay’s traffic performance over the Internet closely resembles the original application traffic on the same network. While original replay is exposed for detection to network devices, the traffic streams with bit reversed data or control replay is equally “not detectable” for classification. Thus it is expected that the control replay traffic evades the content-based application-specific traffic differentiation. The performances of two such traffic streams (detectable and nondetectable) differ if network devices apply different traffic management or traffic differentiation on each traffic stream as per content-based classification. C. TD detection scenario expectations Wehe compares the throughput performances of original replay and control replay to detect TD. The methodology uses the throughput as a comparison metric due to its sensitivity to bandwidth-limiting traffic shaping. However, the tool expects that the TD detection algorithm does not detect TD based on throughput for traffic streams with traffic rates below the shaping rate. The rationale is that the shaper cannot affect the performance of such an application stream. Many times both traffic streams get affected by other factors such as signal strength, congestion. It creates an irregularity in the received performance due to bandwidth volatility. It is mentioned to be leading to incorrect differentiation detection. The tool performs multiple test replays to overcome the effect of bandwidth volatility. D. Operational requirements Wehe server needs side-channels for each client to associate it with precisely one app replay. This side-channel supplies information about replay runs to the server. Each user directly connected to the Wehe replay server is uniquely identifiable on the server-side with an associated IP address of side channels that maps each replay to exactly one App. The other operational requirement is that the Wehe clientserver communication uses customized socket connections with specific keep-alive behavior. Sometimes, the usage of translucent proxies by the user-client modifies this behavior. The Replay server handles this situation by handling such unexpected connections. The protocol-specific proxies, e.g., HTTP proxy, connect the user-client to the server through itself using specific port numbers, e.g., 80/443 for HTTP/HTTPS. Nevertheless, it allows the user-client to connect to the server for connections using other protocols directly. The side channels of Wehe do not use HTTP/HTTPS connections. So the IP address for the same user differs for side-channel and replay runs. Wehe server detects such connections and indicates such connections to the user-client using a special message. The special message triggers the exchange of further communication with a customized header. E. Challenges of validating Wehe The TD mechanism of Wehe is straightforward to use — the requirement changes when using it for its validation. The validation process may need to launch only one type of replay for different services during one test or may need to launch all replays in parallel. These are not requirements related to TD detection, Wehe’s primary goal, so understandably not supported. Hence the validation of Wehe’s working in such scenarios needs a specific client-server setup. Here the challenge is to separate the intended scenario-specific Wehe’s mechanism so that the resulting system still mimics Wehe’s actual behavior. Moreover, Wehe does not provide error/failure notifications in all scenarios. Instead, it prompts the user to reopen the App. As a result, the validation setup loses vital feedback information regarding the error/failure induced by its validation scenario. This paper is available on arxiv under CC 4.0 license. Authors: (1) Vinod S. Khandkar and Manjesh K. Hanawal, Industrial Engineering and Operations Research Indian Institute of Technology Bombay, Mumbai, India and {vinod.khandkar, mhanawal}@iitb.ac.in. Authors: Authors: (1) Vinod S. Khandkar and Manjesh K. Hanawal, Industrial Engineering and Operations Research Indian Institute of Technology Bombay, Mumbai, India and {vinod.khandkar, mhanawal}@iitb.ac.in. Table of Links Abstract & Introduction Abstract & Introduction Related Work and Background Related Work and Background Challenges in TD Detection Measurement Setup Development Challenges in TD Detection Measurement Setup Development Case Study : Wehe - TD Detection Tool for Mobile Environment Case Study : Wehe - TD Detection Tool for Mobile Environment Shortcoming of Wehe on HTTPS Traffic Shortcoming of Wehe on HTTPS Traffic TD Detection of HTTPS Traffic TD Detection of HTTPS Traffic Conclusion & References Conclusion & References IV. CASE STUDY : WEHE - TD DETECTION TOOL FOR MOBILE ENVIRONMENT Wehe [13] is a tool for the detection of traffic differentiation over mobile networks (e.g., cellular and WiFi). It is available as an App on Android and the iOS platform. The user database of the Wehe tool consists of 126,249 users across 2,735 ISPs in 183 countries/regions generating 1,045,413 crowd-sourced measurements. European national telecom regulator, the US FTC and FCC, US Senators, and numerous US state legislators have used the Wehe tool’s findings. The tool supports TD detection for many popular services such as Netflix, YouTube. The tool runs TD detection tests by coordinating with its server, called the “replay server”. The replay server keeps track of active users and maps replay runs to the correct user’s service. A. Traffic generation A. Traffic generation Wehe uses the “record-and-replay” method for generating probing traffic. The user-client exchanges the probing traffic with the replay server as per the replay script that captures the application-level traffic behavior, including the port number, data sequence, and timing dependencies from the original service’s network logs. Preserving timing is a crucial feature of Wehe’s approach. It expects network devices to use this information in case of non-availability of any other means to classify applications, e.g., HTTPS encrypted data transfer Wehe tool uses two types of probing traffic streams. While one stream (original replay) is the same as the original service’s application-level network trace, another traffic stream (control replay) differs substantially from the first traffic stream. In one approach, Wehe uses the VPN channel to send a second probing traffic stream. This approach uses the meddle VPN [30] framework for data transfer and server-side packet capture. Another approach uses the bit-reversed version of the first traffic stream sent one the same channel. Currently, Wehe uses the latter approach due to its superior results. B. Over the network response B. Over the network response Wehe is a differential detector tool that compares the network responses for two types of traffic streams generated by the tool. The service-specific information present in the original replay is useful for network devices with Deep Packet Inspection (DPI) capability to identify and classify the service correctly. So, the original replay’s traffic performance over the Internet closely resembles the original application traffic on the same network. While original replay is exposed for detection to network devices, the traffic streams with bit reversed data or control replay is equally “not detectable” for classification. Thus it is expected that the control replay traffic evades the content-based application-specific traffic differentiation. The performances of two such traffic streams (detectable and nondetectable) differ if network devices apply different traffic management or traffic differentiation on each traffic stream as per content-based classification. C. TD detection scenario expectations C. TD detection scenario expectations Wehe compares the throughput performances of original replay and control replay to detect TD. The methodology uses the throughput as a comparison metric due to its sensitivity to bandwidth-limiting traffic shaping. However, the tool expects that the TD detection algorithm does not detect TD based on throughput for traffic streams with traffic rates below the shaping rate. The rationale is that the shaper cannot affect the performance of such an application stream. Many times both traffic streams get affected by other factors such as signal strength, congestion. It creates an irregularity in the received performance due to bandwidth volatility. It is mentioned to be leading to incorrect differentiation detection. The tool performs multiple test replays to overcome the effect of bandwidth volatility. D. Operational requirements D. Operational requirements Wehe server needs side-channels for each client to associate it with precisely one app replay. This side-channel supplies information about replay runs to the server. Each user directly connected to the Wehe replay server is uniquely identifiable on the server-side with an associated IP address of side channels that maps each replay to exactly one App. The other operational requirement is that the Wehe clientserver communication uses customized socket connections with specific keep-alive behavior. Sometimes, the usage of translucent proxies by the user-client modifies this behavior. The Replay server handles this situation by handling such unexpected connections. The protocol-specific proxies, e.g., HTTP proxy, connect the user-client to the server through itself using specific port numbers, e.g., 80/443 for HTTP/HTTPS. Nevertheless, it allows the user-client to connect to the server for connections using other protocols directly. The side channels of Wehe do not use HTTP/HTTPS connections. So the IP address for the same user differs for side-channel and replay runs. Wehe server detects such connections and indicates such connections to the user-client using a special message. The special message triggers the exchange of further communication with a customized header. E. Challenges of validating Wehe E. Challenges of validating Wehe The TD mechanism of Wehe is straightforward to use — the requirement changes when using it for its validation. The validation process may need to launch only one type of replay for different services during one test or may need to launch all replays in parallel. These are not requirements related to TD detection, Wehe’s primary goal, so understandably not supported. Hence the validation of Wehe’s working in such scenarios needs a specific client-server setup. Here the challenge is to separate the intended scenario-specific Wehe’s mechanism so that the resulting system still mimics Wehe’s actual behavior. Moreover, Wehe does not provide error/failure notifications in all scenarios. Instead, it prompts the user to reopen the App. As a result, the validation setup loses vital feedback information regarding the error/failure induced by its validation scenario. This paper is available on arxiv under CC 4.0 license. This paper is available on arxiv under CC 4.0 license. available on arxiv

Wehe: Hacking Traffic Differentiation Detection for Mobile Environments

Will you love me, no matter what? Will you hold me, even when nobody else will? Will you see me, The way I see you? -Day 345. The year of the plague. My name is Kevwe. I am a runner. That’s what the regulators called me. One of the few who survived the holocaust, I was a living legend. They said so many things about me, not all of them good. But I didn’t mind, I was a runner. An elite. A force of nature. My feet landed on the rough surface of a debilitated house, and I took off into the air again. The wind felt alive somehow, caressing my face with gentle touches that’d make a hard guy cry. My legs were my weapons, my sole reason for existence. I jumped again. The sole of my foot lightly grazed a serrated edge, and I stifled a wince as the pain lanced straight up my body. It was a spark; it was burning me from within. I gritted my teeth and kept running, leaping from one ruin to another, making the wasteland into my playground. A runner like me was necessary in the efforts of the Resistance. We were spread thin, and the commanders feared a retaliation from the unknown forces. Nigeria. A wasteland of ruins and darkness. I ran, my breath coming in ragged gasps. My eyes stayed ahead, not daring to look at the large gash on my toes. The pain gave me laser focus as I leapt from one edge to another.  Brown, the world was brown. Drained of colour, like rust. Like the days I wished to die. The sky was tinged with a coppery colour. It began as soon as the plague ravaged through the world like quickfire. It's more like an inferno. The death rates were enough to cause alarm and halt regular working hours. School too. Everything came to a standstill. That was the end of the future I designed from an overactive imagination. I didn’t want to be a runner at first, but a runner could outrun the plague. The humanoid viruses mutated at an alarming rate. The death bugs. Or so they were called. That was the first thing they mutated into; Bugs. Flying bugs. As disgusting as that would seem. Their intelligence seemed to increase the higher the form they took. Pale, translucent beings. Beings that stole faces and futures. Beings of unknown origin. That’s what they’d become. I didn’t know if that was the last stage of their evolution, but knowing how low humans were on the food chain? It was probably not. That’s why I run. To outrun my death. I was told that the beings would become stronger and probably outrun a runner but, I didn’t bank on that. Their intelligence was limited. They remained in the base form of whatever organism they consumed; Humans included. Which means that they were blissfully average. Good news? Definitely not. Imagine humans that never tire out, humans that have no heart to pump blood or a brain to signify when they need to stop. They were unstoppable demons with no known way to die. How do you kill an unstoppable creature? The answer is, you don’t. You run and pray to all the gods that they don’t catch you. You run until your heart fails you and you don’t stop even after that. You run, even if it kills you. Funnily enough, there was a reason for running. The soul tablets. The infected are those the virus creatures couldn’t completely consume. But their minds are gone, worse than patients with dementia. They don’t live, their hearts still beat rhythmically in their chests but they remain living husks; caricatures of what they once were. Death sometimes seemed merciful. But, killing them would mean killing half of the population. It would mean the bastard creatures won. The soul tablets can only be found in those ruins and more often than not, the vile creatures ingest those tablets to understand humans better. They don’t need minds, the soul tablets sort of dances in their vision and they see what they have to do. Hence, the soul tablets are important. For us runners, because we get to see our loved ones come alive again, even when they never say a word. It was worth heaven and earth. To see the smile that’d light up their faces. That’s why I run. But, I was already compromised. The cut from the roof, the trail of blood that followed in my wake with every leap. The creatures could smell blood. I didn’t know how or why but a lot of them have consumed those I used to run with. Kemi, Shola, Etus, Akachi, etc. I once called them friends. But, they were taken. By the Bloodless. The only virus with intelligence. They could run even better than me, but they couldn’t outrun their deaths. Fucking hell. I almost missed a step when I saw the dim light of a soul tablet underneath a jumbled mass of buildings that had seen better days. I stopped abruptly, glad that I didn’t miss it. I took a look around the ruins, some of the walls unable to survive the rust and falling apart from a light touch. The sky still shone as copper, a sickly colour. On most evenings, it was tinged with red. The walls of most of the houses in the ruins had paint peeling off the few that still remained standing. Sometimes, I wondered how the world went to hell in such a short time. “You got here first. And… you’re bleeding.” I heard a voice from behind me and turned to stare at the girl that just landed, as lithe as a cat. She had a small grin on her face, as though smiling was beneath her. Her full eyebrows raised a millimeter, her coffee brown irises staring straight through me and into my soul. She was dressed like I was, an all black getup. But hers made her seem… hot. Yes, I am stupid. The wall is falling apart and I’m thinking about a girl’s body. How original. “Don’t gawk at me. You’re not Keno. I can swear her eyes follow me wherever I go.” The new arrival, Zenith, shuddered as though in remembrance of something awful. I didn’t blame her, Keno could be overbearing sometimes. “Slow poke.” I quipped, earning an elbow for my troubles. Zenith could be violent. Very. “Just because you got here first doesn’t make you faster. Just stupid. Belligerent. Insufferable. Obnoxious. You never listen. We were meant to form ranks..” Ah yes, one of Zenith’s famous lectures. Form ranks, go in pairs or groups. Nobody left alone. Or some other balderdash. How infuriating. “You know, I can’t tell which words are real and which are fake. You know, with you throwing words You’re literally a walking dictionary.” She bristled, and I knew that I hit a nerve. Zenith was always so particular about grammar. What a waste. The world had fallen apart. Who would she have read Shakespeare to? The ? upandan. Bloodless “Don’t. Luis and Raheem are up ahead. Scouting and trying to erase the blood with those mighty knapsack of theirs. You might just get whooped this time. Now, let me see that cut.” She ordered, as matronly as ever. That was our Zenith, the mother of the group. A pity Etus couldn’t see her anymore, they were a thing for the longest time. She cleaned the cut and applied antiseptic, not risking to use anything over the top while we were out in the open. She could seal something as small as a cut but it took time and time was what we didn’t have. I stared at the sky as it darkened and Raheem more or less flew out from over a building. He scaled the building right in front of my eyes. One seconds he wasn’t there and the next, he was. “Such petty tricks. I do it better.” Luis grumbled as he came into view about two seconds after Raheem did. Raheem was the narcissist, his looks didn’t help either. He had the hots for Zenith but she acted blind to his advances. It was usually tension filled running with them. I preferred to do it alone. “Grab all the soul tablets you can. We meet in the food canteen after all of this. Kevwe, can you run?” Zenith turned to me. I nodded in the affirmative. Thankfully, Luis and Raheem ignored me. They always did. I didn’t exist to them, not in the ways that mattered. I was the insubordinate brat. Or so they put it. I took off in a run after carrying as much soul tablets as I could, placing them in the backpack I carried. They weighed me down a little but not by much. Zenith was close behind. I could heard an otherworldly sound as the creatures rose from whatever they were doing. They set sights on us, hoarding the soul tablets. “Fuck you, Kevwe! Fuck you! You caused this with your need to prove a point!” Raheem cursed out loud but I didn’t say a word in retaliation. We weren’t going to make it. When the creatures were fully awake, they had no limits. They ran like normal humans but they didn’t lose stamina. They didn’t die. Will she forgive me, if I go this way? I stopped thinking and focused on running, hoping that maybe I could do something about the hoard coming for us. “Any ideas?” Zenith asked Luis. Thankfully, she didn’t mention Raheem words even if she knew that I doomed all of us. “We survive? Get to the gate and use a soul tablet? I don’t know.” Luis replied honestly, trying to not show fear in his voice. But I knew that tone. Etus had it too. Dami did too. That reckless bravado. “Let’s do this, boys!” Zenith said, her voice carrying over to the other two. Raheem nodded and quickened his pace. We vaulted over buildings like they were made of straw sacks, our shoes never really touching the ground before we are moving again. “I’ll buy you time. Run.” I said, grinding to a halt. I caused it, I had to handle the consequences. “Don’t fucking do it. You’re not a saint! You’re a selfish bastard who only thinks of himself and nothing else. Run!” Raheem screamed at me, stopping abruptly too. Zenith and Luis were long gone. “I won’t. I’m sorry. It’s my turn now.” I said, totally ready to sacrifice myself. “Like hell I’ll let you.” He said and then, cracked a soul tablet, flinging the essence on me. “Now run, you bastard. And don’t stop, or I’ll haunt you.” He turned to face the hoard already almost upon us, the soul tablet doing its job by clearing my head and doing everything to remind me of the fear of death. So, I ran. I turned to look back at him, wondering why he did what he did. Hate still burned in his eyes. But this time, I could understand. I activated my shoes as I got close to the gate, phasing in as my body became as translucent as the creatures who stole from us. I was in. It was a modest place with walls high enough for me to crane my neck to get a good view. A fortress of stone. I made my way up to stairs to report to the leader of my platoon; Zenith. “Where’s Raheem?” She asked as soon as her eyes landed on me. Another one. Dead. “He didn’t make it. He sacrificed himself to save me.” I responded as truthfully as I could as I heard her sharp intake of breath. The world stopped. “You may leave.” She said, a certain steeliness in her voice. I walked out, unable to say the words I wanted to. The tales of Raheems’s bravery at the last moments. I made my way to the infirmary, a soul tablet in hand. My mind fractured. I never expected to feel pain for someone like Raheem. But the pain threatened to tear my heart asunder. People made way for me as I headed to the bed at the furthest corner of the room. A sickly form of a woman laid on a cot that’d seen better days. I placed the soul tablet gingerly on her hand, watching her for any signs of recognition. Nothing. And like that, one soul tablet was absorbed without any noticeable change. I walked back out dejected, my back hunched. Zenith was walking towards me, tears dotting her eyes. They were red from tears. She grabbed me by the front of my clothes, slamming my back on the nearest wall. “Bring. Raheem. Back.” She spoke through gritted teeth, her pain was so acute, I could taste it on my tongue. “I can’t.” I said, the words being choked out of my mouth. “A vegetable lays on that damn bed you haven’t left in over 300 days. You’ve been responsible for the deaths of so many of us because of your hypocrisy. You watched him die!” She screamed, her voice accusing. No trace of the leader she had always been. “He did. He died to protect me.” I replied, sincerely hoping she did me the favour and killed me right there. “You..” She managed to let me go, grief wracking her body. She screamed, her voice breaking. I just watched. It was a festival of pain. That night, she apologized to me for the statements she made. I was grateful she forgave. She was found dead the next day. Suicide. How many more will you kill to resurrect the dead? Zenith didn’t deserve to die. Raheem didn’t. Etus didn’t. I was the problem, the anomaly. They hated me, I hated me. I went back to the infirmary, taking hold of her hand. Her skin was hollow and almost translucent. I recovered her from the jaws of death. But maybe, I should have died instead. “I hate me. I love you. I hate what I have to put you through, but if you ever wake, I apologize. They died, to save me. To save my childish fantasy. I never wanted to lose so much. But then, if it is going to save you, I don’t mind. Even if the world itself turns against me, I’ll stand by you. Even when all I want to do is die. I hope you remember the days I spent, talking to you about nothing at all. I hope you don’t cry when you wake. I hope… you find something. Someone. You’re the one I’ve always loved and if I could sacrifice the world to save you… goodbye, Seta.” I felt her hand squeeze mine. I stared again but it seemed to be a trick of my mind. I placed a kiss on her forehead and walked out. The last sacrifice. * We will rise, Even from ashes. -Day 7321. The years after the plague. I stand and watch his tombstone. I barely remember his voice, I barely remember everything. But I stand by his tombstone, as an act of penance. By all of their tombstones. The runners. Humanity’s last bastion of defense. The viruses mutated once more and migrated to space. They lost interest in humans. When I awoke, I could only remember a voice. His voice. They’ll always be remembered, even though they died needlessly. Luis still stands. The last runner standing. Although he doesn’t have to run anymore, but I’ve never seen him smile. Not once. He stares into the distance, looking over the horizon. The sky is blue. Mankind is building again. We’re a few millions in Nigeria now. Immigrants, hidden bunkers. The sky no longer looks dead. Can you see this, runners? I do hope you can. You deserve to. Heroes. Of earth. -Unknown.

The End of Everything 

দ্য এন্ড অফ এভরিথিং

Das Ende von allem

El fin de todo

La fin de tout

हर चीज़ का अंत

すべての終わり

모든 것의 끝

O fim de tudo

Конец всего

Herşeyin Sonu

Sự kết thúc của mọi thứ

一切的终结

We had now reached Switzerland

THE POLE.

The Last Man by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . INTRODUCTION here INTRODUCTION. I visited Naples in the year 1818. On the 8th of December of that year, my companion and I crossed the Bay, to visit the antiquities which are scattered on the shores of Baiæ. The translucent and shining waters of the calm sea covered fragments of old Roman villas, which were interlaced by sea-weed, and received diamond tints from the chequering of the sun-beams; the blue and pellucid element was such as Galatea might have skimmed in her car of mother of pearl; or Cleopatra, more fitly than the Nile, have chosen as the path of her magic ship. Though it was winter, the atmosphere seemed more appropriate to early spring; and its genial warmth contributed to inspire those sensations of placid delight, which are the portion of every traveller, as he lingers, loath to quit the tranquil bays and radiant promontories of Baiæ. We visited the so called Elysian Fields and Avernus; and wandered through various ruined temples, baths, and classic spots; at length we entered the gloomy cavern of the Cumæan Sibyl. Our Lazzeroni bore flaring torches, which shone red, and almost dusky, in the murky subterranean passages, whose darkness thirstily surrounding them, seemed eager to imbibe more and more of the element of light. We passed by a natural archway, leading to a second gallery, and enquired, if we could not enter there also. The guides pointed to the reflection of their torches on the water that paved it, leaving us to form our own conclusion; but adding it was a pity, for it led to the Sibyl’s Cave. Our curiosity and enthusiasm were excited by this circumstance, and we insisted upon attempting the passage. As is usually the case in the prosecution of such enterprizes, the difficulties decreased on examination. We found, on each side of the humid pathway, “dry land for the sole of the foot.” At length we arrived at a large, desert, dark cavern, which the Lazzeroni assured us was the Sibyl’s Cave. We were sufficiently disappointed—Yet we examined it with care, as if its blank, rocky walls could still bear trace of celestial visitant. On one side was a small opening. Whither does this lead? we asked: can we enter here?—“ ”—said the wild looking savage, who held the torch; “you can advance but a short distance, and nobody visits it.” Questo poi, no, “Nevertheless, I will try it,” said my companion; “it may lead to the real cavern. Shall I go alone, or will you accompany me?” I signified my readiness to proceed, but our guides protested against such a measure. With great volubility, in their native Neapolitan dialect, with which we were not very familiar, they told us that there were spectres, that the roof would fall in, that it was too narrow to admit us, that there was a deep hole within, filled with water, and we might be drowned. My friend shortened the harangue, by taking the man’s torch from him; and we proceeded alone. The passage, which at first scarcely admitted us, quickly grew narrower and lower; we were almost bent double; yet still we persisted in making our way through it. At length we entered a wider space, and the low roof heightened; but, as we congratulated ourselves on this change, our torch was extinguished by a current of air, and we were left in utter darkness. The guides bring with them materials for renewing the light, but we had none—our only resource was to return as we came. We groped round the widened space to find the entrance, and after a time fancied that we had succeeded. This proved however to be a second passage, which evidently ascended. It terminated like the former; though something approaching to a ray, we could not tell whence, shed a very doubtful twilight in the space. By degrees, our eyes grew somewhat accustomed to this dimness, and we perceived that there was no direct passage leading us further; but that it was possible to climb one side of the cavern to a low arch at top, which promised a more easy path, from whence we now discovered that this light proceeded. With considerable difficulty we scrambled up, and came to another passage with still more of illumination, and this led to another ascent like the former. After a succession of these, which our resolution alone permitted us to surmount, we arrived at a wide cavern with an arched dome-like roof. An aperture in the midst let in the light of heaven; but this was overgrown with brambles and underwood, which acted as a veil, obscuring the day, and giving a solemn religious hue to the apartment. It was spacious, and nearly circular, with a raised seat of stone, about the size of a Grecian couch, at one end. The only sign that life had been here, was the perfect snow-white skeleton of a goat, which had probably not perceived the opening as it grazed on the hill above, and had fallen headlong. Ages perhaps had elapsed since this catastrophe; and the ruin it had made above, had been repaired by the growth of vegetation during many hundred summers. The rest of the furniture of the cavern consisted of piles of leaves, fragments of bark, and a white filmy substance, resembling the inner part of the green hood which shelters the grain of the unripe Indian corn. We were fatigued by our struggles to attain this point, and seated ourselves on the rocky couch, while the sounds of tinkling sheep-bells, and shout of shepherd-boy, reached us from above. At length my friend, who had taken up some of the leaves strewed about, exclaimed, “This the Sibyl’s cave; these are Sibylline leaves.” On examination, we found that all the leaves, bark, and other substances, were traced with written characters. What appeared to us more astonishing, was that these writings were expressed in various languages: some unknown to my companion, ancient Chaldee, and Egyptian hieroglyphics, old as the Pyramids. Stranger still, some were in modern dialects, English and Italian. We could make out little by the dim light, but they seemed to contain prophecies, detailed relations of events but lately passed; names, now well known, but of modern date; and often exclamations of exultation or woe, of victory or defeat, were traced on their thin scant pages. This was certainly the Sibyl’s Cave; not indeed exactly as Virgil describes it; but the whole of this land had been so convulsed by earthquake and volcano, that the change was not wonderful, though the traces of ruin were effaced by time; and we probably owed the preservation of these leaves, to the accident which had closed the mouth of the cavern, and the swift-growing vegetation which had rendered its sole opening impervious to the storm. We made a hasty selection of such of the leaves, whose writing one at least of us could understand; and then, laden with our treasure, we bade adieu to the dim hypæthric cavern, and after much difficulty succeeded in rejoining our guides. is During our stay at Naples, we often returned to this cave, sometimes alone, skimming the sun-lit sea, and each time added to our store. Since that period, whenever the world’s circumstance has not imperiously called me away, or the temper of my mind impeded such study, I have been employed in deciphering these sacred remains. Their meaning, wondrous and eloquent, has often repaid my toil, soothing me in sorrow, and exciting my imagination to daring flights, through the immensity of nature and the mind of man. For awhile my labours were not solitary; but that time is gone; and, with the selected and matchless companion of my toils, their dearest reward is also lost to me— Di mie tenere frondi altro lavoro Credea mostrarte; e qual fero pianeta Ne’ nvidiò insieme, o mio nobil tesoro? I present the public with my latest discoveries in the slight Sibylline pages. Scattered and unconnected as they were, I have been obliged to add links, and model the work into a consistent form. But the main substance rests on the truths contained in these poetic rhapsodies, and the divine intuition which the Cumæan damsel obtained from heaven. I have often wondered at the subject of her verses, and at the English dress of the Latin poet. Sometimes I have thought, that, obscure and chaotic as they are, they owe their present form to me, their decipherer. As if we should give to another artist, the painted fragments which form the mosaic copy of Raphael’s Transfiguration in St. Peter’s; he would put them together in a form, whose mode would be fashioned by his own peculiar mind and talent. Doubtless the leaves of the Cumæan Sibyl have suffered distortion and diminution of interest and excellence in my hands. My only excuse for thus transforming them, is that they were unintelligible in their pristine condition. My labours have cheered long hours of solitude, and taken me out of a world, which has averted its once benignant face from me, to one glowing with imagination and power. Will my readers ask how I could find solace from the narration of misery and woeful change? This is one of the mysteries of our nature, which holds full sway over me, and from whose influence I cannot escape. I confess, that I have not been unmoved by the development of the tale; and that I have been depressed, nay, agonized, at some parts of the recital, which I have faithfully transcribed from my materials. Yet such is human nature, that the excitement of mind was dear to me, and that the imagination, painter of tempest and earthquake, or, worse, the stormy and ruin-fraught passions of man, softened my real sorrows and endless regrets, by clothing these fictitious ones in that ideality, which takes the mortal sting from pain. I hardly know whether this apology is necessary. For the merits of my adaptation and translation must decide how far I have well bestowed my time and imperfect powers, in giving form and substance to the frail and attenuated Leaves of the Sibyl. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley (2006). The Last Man. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/18247/pg18247-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

I visited Naples in the year 1818.

The Mysterious Island by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . Chapter XVII here Chapter XVII Day had returned. No ray of light penetrated into the profundity of the cavern. It being high-water, the entrance was closed by the sea. But the artificial light, which escaped in long streams from the skylights of the “Nautilus” was as vivid as before, and the sheet of water shone around the floating vessel. An extreme exhaustion now overcame Captain Nemo, who had fallen back upon the divan. It was useless to contemplate removing him to Granite House, for he had expressed his wish to remain in the midst of those marvels of the “Nautilus” which millions could not have purchased, and to wait there for that death which was swiftly approaching. During a long interval of prostration, which rendered him almost unconscious, Cyrus Harding and Gideon Spilett attentively observed the condition of the dying man. It was apparent that his strength was gradually diminishing. That frame, once so robust, was now but the fragile tenement of a departing soul. All of life was concentrated in the heart and head. The engineer and reporter consulted in whispers. Was it possible to render any aid to the dying man? Might his life, if not saved, be prolonged for some days? He himself had said that no remedy could avail, and he awaited with tranquillity that death which had for him no terrors. “We can do nothing,” said Gideon Spilett. “But of what is he dying?” asked Pencroft. “Life is simply fading out,” replied the reporter. “Nevertheless,” said the sailor, “if we move him into the open air, and the light of the sun, he might perhaps recover.” “No, Pencroft,” answered the engineer, “it is useless to attempt it. Besides, Captain Nemo would never consent to leave his vessel. He has lived for a dozen years on board the ‘Nautilus,’ and on board the ‘Nautilus’ he desires to die.” Without doubt Captain Nemo heard Cyrus Harding’s reply, for he raised himself slightly, and in a voice more feeble, but always intelligible,— “You are right, sir,” he said. “I shall die here—it is my wish; and therefore I have a request to make of you.” Cyrus Harding and his companions had drawn near the divan, and now arranged the cushions in such a manner as to better support the dying man. They saw his eyes wander over all the marvels of this saloon, lighted by the electric rays which fell from the arabesques of the luminous ceiling. He surveyed, one after the other, the pictures hanging from the splendid tapestries of the partitions, the chef-d’oeuvres of the Italian, Flemish, French, and Spanish masters; the statues of marble and bronze on their pedestals; the magnificent organ, leaning against the after-partition; the aquarium, in which bloomed the most wonderful productions of the sea—marine plants, zoophytes, chaplets of pearls of inestimable value; and, finally, his eyes rested on this device, inscribed over the pediment of the museum—the motto of the “Nautilus”— “Mobilis in mobile.” His glance seemed to rest fondly for the last time on these masterpieces of art and of nature, to which he had limited his horizon during a sojourn of so many years in the abysses of the seas. Cyrus Harding respected the captain’s silence, and waited till he should speak. After some minutes, during which, doubtless, he passed in review his whole life, Captain Nemo turned to the colonists and said, “You consider yourselves, gentlemen, under some obligations to me?” “Captain, believe us that we would give our lives to prolong yours.” “Promise, then,” continued Captain Nemo, “to carry out my last wishes, and I shall be repaid for all I have done for you.” “We promise,” said Cyrus Harding. And by this promise he bound both himself and his companions. “Gentlemen,” resumed the captain, “to-morrow I shall be dead.” Herbert was about to utter an exclamation, but a sign from the captain arrested him. “To-morrow I shall die, and I desire no other tomb than the ‘Nautilus.’ It is my grave! All my friends repose in the depths of the ocean; their resting-place shall be mine.” These words were received with profound silence. “Pay attention to my wishes,” he continued. “The ‘Nautilus’ is imprisoned in this grotto, the entrance of which is blocked up; but, although egress is impossible, the vessel may at least sink in the abyss, and there bury my remains.” The colonists listened reverently to the words of the dying man. “To-morrow, after my death, Mr. Harding,” continued the captain, “yourself and companions will leave the ‘Nautilus,’ for all the treasures it contains must perish with me. One token alone will remain with you of Prince Dakkar, with whose history you are now acquainted. That coffer yonder contains diamonds of the value of many millions, most of them mementoes of the time when, husband and father, I thought happiness possible for me, and a collection of pearls gathered by my friends and myself in the depths of the ocean. Of this treasure at a future day, you may make good use. In the hands of such men as yourself and your comrades, Captain Harding, money will never be a source of danger. From on high I shall still participate in your enterprises, and I fear not but that they will prosper.” After a few moments’ repose, necessitated by his extreme weakness, Captain Nemo continued,— “To-morrow you will take the coffer, you will leave the saloon, of which you will close the door; then you will ascend on to the deck of the ‘Nautilus,’ and you will lower the mainhatch so as entirely to close the vessel.” “It shall be done, captain,” answered Cyrus Harding. “Good. You will then embark in the canoe which brought you hither; but, before leaving the ‘Nautilus,’ go to the stern and there open two large stop-cocks which you will find upon the water-line. The water will penetrate into the reservoirs, and the ‘Nautilus’ will gradually sink beneath the water to repose at the bottom of the abyss.” And comprehending a gesture of Cyrus Harding, the captain added,— “Fear nothing! You will but bury a corpse!” Neither Cyrus Harding nor his companions ventured to offer any observation to Captain Nemo. He had expressed his last wishes, and they had nothing to do but to conform to them. “I have your promise, gentlemen?” added Captain Nemo. “You have, captain,” replied the engineer. The captain thanked the colonists by a sign, and requested them to leave him for some hours. Gideon Spilett wished to remain near him, in the event of a crisis coming on, but the dying man refused, saying, “I shall live until to-morrow, sir.” All left the saloon, passed through the library and the dining-room, and arrived forward, in the machine-room where the electrical apparatus was established, which supplied not only heat and light, but the mechanical power of the “Nautilus.” The “Nautilus” was a masterpiece containing masterpieces within itself, and the engineer was struck with astonishment. The colonists mounted the platform, which rose seven or eight feet above the water. There they beheld a thick glass lenticular covering, which protected a kind of large eye, from which flashed forth light. Behind this eye was apparently a cabin containing the wheels of the rudder, and in which was stationed the helmsman, when he navigated the “Nautilus” over the bed of the ocean, which the electric rays would evidently light up to a considerable distance. Cyrus Harding and his companions remained for a time silent, for they were vividly impressed by what they had just seen and heard, and their hearts were deeply touched by the thought that he whose arm had so often aided them, the protector whom they had known but a few hours, was at the point of death. Whatever might be the judgment pronounced by posterity upon the events of this, so to speak, extra-human existence, the character of Prince Dakkar would ever remain as one of those whose memory time can never efface. “What a man!” said Pencroft. “Is it possible that he can have lived at the bottom of the sea? And it seems to me that perhaps he has not found peace there any more than elsewhere!” “The ‘Nautilus,’” observed Ayrton, “might have enabled us to leave Lincoln Island and reach some inhabited country.” “Good Heavens!” exclaimed Pencroft, “I for one would never risk myself in such a craft. To sail on the seas, good, but under the seas, never!” “I believe, Pencroft,” answered the reporter, “that the navigation of a submarine vessel such as the ‘Nautilus’ ought to be very easy, and that we should soon become accustomed to it. There would be no storms, no lee-shore to fear. At some feet beneath the surface the waters of the ocean are as calm as those of a lake.” “That may be,” replied the sailor, “but I prefer a gale of wind on board a well-found craft. A vessel is built to sail on the sea, and not beneath it.” “My friends,” said the engineer, “it is useless, at any rate as regards the ‘Nautilus,’ to discuss the question of submarine vessels. The ‘Nautilus’ is not ours, and we have not the right to dispose of it. Moreover, we could in no case avail ourselves of it. Independently of the fact that it would be impossible to get it out of this cavern, whose entrance is now closed by the uprising of the basaltic rocks, Captain Nemo’s wish is that it shall be buried with him. His wish is our law, and we will fulfil it.” After a somewhat prolonged conversation, Cyrus Harding and his companions again descended to the interior of the “Nautilus.” There they took some refreshment and returned to the saloon. Captain Nemo had somewhat rallied from the prostration which had overcome him, and his eyes shone with their wonted fire. A faint smile even curled his lips. The colonists drew around him. “Gentlemen,” said the captain, “you are brave and honest men. You have devoted yourselves to the common weal. Often have I observed your conduct. I have esteemed you—I esteem you still! Your hand, Mr. Harding.” Cyrus Harding gave his hand to the captain, who clasped it affectionately. “It is well!” he murmured. He resumed,— “But enough of myself. I have to speak concerning yourselves, and this Lincoln Island, upon which you have taken refuge. You now desire to leave it?” “To return, captain!” answered Pencroft quickly. “To return, Pencroft?” said the captain, with a smile. “I know, it is true, your love for this island. You have helped to make it what it now is, and it seems to you a paradise!” “Our project, captain,” interposed Cyrus Harding, “is to annex it to the United States, and to establish for our shipping a port so fortunately situated in this part of the Pacific.” “Your thoughts are with your country, gentlemen,” continued the captain; “your toils are for her prosperity and glory. You are right. One’s native land!—there should one live! there die! And I die far from all I loved!” “You have some last wish to transmit,” said the engineer with emotion, “some souvenir to send to those friends you have left in the mountains of India?” “No, Captain Harding; no friends remain to me! I am the last of my race, and to all whom I have known I have long been as are the dead.—But to return to yourselves. Solitude, isolation, are painful things, and beyond human endurance. I die of having thought it possible to live alone! You should, therefore, dare all in the attempt to leave Lincoln Island, and see once more the land of your birth. I am aware that those wretches have destroyed the vessel you have built.” “We propose to construct a vessel,” said Gideon Spilett, “sufficiently large to convey us to the nearest land; but if we should succeed, sooner or later we shall return to Lincoln Island. We are attached to it by too many recollections ever to forget it.” “It is here that we have known Captain Nemo,” said Cyrus Harding. “It is here only that we can make our home!” added Herbert. “And here shall I sleep the sleep of eternity, if—” replied the captain. He paused for a moment, and, instead of completing the sentence, said simply,— “Mr. Harding, I wish to speak with you—alone!” The engineer’s companions, respecting the wish, retired. Cyrus Harding remained but a few minutes alone with Captain Nemo, and soon recalled his companions; but he said nothing to them of the private matters which the dying man had confided to him. Gideon Spilett now watched the captain with extreme care. It was evident that he was no longer sustained by his moral energy, which had lost the power of reaction against his physical weakness. The day closed without change. The colonists did not quit the “Nautilus” for a moment. Night arrived, although it was impossible to distinguish it from day in the cavern. Captain Nemo suffered no pain, but he was visibly sinking. His noble features, paled by the approach of death, were perfectly calm. Inaudible words escaped at intervals from his lips, bearing upon various incidents of his checkered career. Life was evidently ebbing slowly and his extremities were already cold. Once or twice more he spoke to the colonists who stood around him, and smiled on them with that last smile which continues after death. At length, shortly after midnight, Captain Nemo by a supreme effort succeeded in folding his arms across his breast, as if wishing in that attitude to compose himself for death. By one o’clock his glance alone showed signs of life. A dying light gleamed in those eyes once so brilliant. Then, murmuring the words, “God and my country!” he quietly expired. Cyrus Harding, bending low closed the eyes of him who had once been the Prince Dakkar, and was now not even Captain Nemo. Herbert and Pencroft sobbed aloud. Tears fell from Ayrton’s eyes. Neb was on his knees by the reporter’s side, motionless as a statue. Then Cyrus Harding, extending his hand over the forehead of the dead, said solemnly, “May his soul be with God!” Turning to his friends, he added, “Let us pray for him whom we have lost!” Some hours later the colonists fulfilled the promise made to the captain by carrying out his dying wishes. Cyrus Harding and his companions quitted the “Nautilus,” taking with them the only memento left them by their benefactor, the coffer which contained wealth amounting to millions. The marvelous saloon, still flooded with light, had been carefully closed. The iron door leading on deck was then securely fastened in such a manner as to prevent even a drop of water from penetrating to the interior of the “Nautilus.” The colonists then descended into the canoe, which was moored to the side of the submarine vessel. The canoe was now brought around to the stern. There, at the water-line, were two large stop-cocks communicating with the reservoirs employed in the submersion of the vessel. The stop-cocks were opened, the reservoirs filled, and the “Nautilus,” slowly sinking, disappeared beneath the surface of the lake. But the colonists were yet able to follow its descent through the waves. The powerful light it gave forth lighted up the translucent water, while the cavern became gradually obscure. At length this vast effusion of electric light faded away, and soon after the “Nautilus,” now the tomb of Captain Nemo, reposed in its ocean bed. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (1998). The Mysterious Island. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/1268/1268-h/1268-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

No ray of light penetrated into the profundity of the cavern

Astounding Stories of Super-Science March 1931, by Astounding Stories is part of HackerNoon’s Book Blog Post series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . Beyond the Vanishing Point - Chapter III: The Fight in the Shrinking Dome Room Chapter III: The Fight in the Shrinking Dome Room It seemed that Alan was stirring. I felt the tiny hand leave my ear. I thought that I could hear faint little footfalls as the girl scampered away, fearful that a sudden movement from Alan would crush her. I turned cautiously after a moment and saw Alan's eyes upon me. He too had seen, with a blurred returning consciousness, the dwindling figures of Babs and Polter. I followed his gaze. The white slab with the golden quartz under the microscope seemed empty of human movement. The several men in this huge circular dome-room were dispersing to their affairs: three of them sat whispering by what I now saw was a pile of gold ingots stacked crosswise. But the fellow at the microscope held his place, his eye glued to its aperture as he watched the vanishing figures of Polter and Babs on the rock-fragment. Alan seemed trying to convey something to me, He could only gaze and jerk his head. I saw behind his head the figure of the tiny girl on the floor behind him. She wanted evidently to approach his head but did not dare. When for an instant he was quiet, she ran forward, but at once scampered back. From the group by the ingots, one of the men rose and came toward us. Alan held still, watching. And the girl, Glora, seized the opportunity to come nearer. We both heard her tiny voice: "Do not move! Close your eyes! Make him think you are still unconscious." Then she was gone, like a mouse hiding in the shadows near us. Amazement swept Alan's face; he twisted, mouthed at his gag. But he saw my eager nod and took his cue from me. I closed my eyes and lay stiff, breathing slowly. Footsteps approached. A man bent over Alan and me. "Are you no conscious yet?" It was the voice of a foreigner, with a queer, indescribable intonation. A foot prodded us. "Wake up!" Then the footsteps retreated, and when I dared to look the man was rejoining his fellows. It was a strange-looking trio. They were heavy-set men in leather jackets and short, wide knee-length trousers. One wore tight, high boots, and the others a sort of white buskin, with ankle straps. All were bareheaded—round, bullet heads of close-dipped black hair. I suddenly had another startling realization. These men were not of normal size as I had assumed! They were eight or ten feet tall at the very least! And they and the pile of ingots, instead of being close to me, were more distant than I had thought. Alan was trying to signal me. The tiny girl was again at his ear, whispering to him. And then she came to me. "I have a knife. See?" She backed away. I caught the pin-point gleam of what might have been a knife in her hand. "I will get a little larger. I am too small to cut your ropes. You lie still, even after I have cut them." I nodded. The movement frightened her so that she leaped backward; but she came again, smiling. The three men were talking earnestly by the ingots. No one else was near us. Glora's tiny voice was louder, so that we both could hear it at once. "When I free you, do not move or they may see that you are loose. I get larger now—a little larger—and return." She darted away and vanished. Alan and I lay listening to the voices of the three men. Two were talking in a strange tongue. One called to the man at the microscope, and he responded. The third man said suddenly: "Say, talk English. You know damn well I can't understand that lingo." "We say, McGuire, the two prisoners soon wake up." "What we oughta do is kill 'em. Polter's a fool." "The doctor say, wait for him return. Not long—what you call three, four hours." "And have the Quebec police up here lookin' fer 'em? An' that damn girl he stole off the terrace—What did he call her, Barbara Kent?" "These two who are drugged, their bodies can be thrown in a gully down behind St. Anne. That what the doctor plan to do, I think. Then the police find them—days maybe from now—and their smashed airship with them." Gruesome suggestion! The man at the microscope called, "They are gone. Almost. I can hardly see them more." He left the platform and joined the others. And I saw that he was much smaller than they—about my own size possibly. There seemed six men here altogether. Four now, by the ingots, and two others far across the room where I saw the dark entrance of the corridor-tunnel which led to Polter's castle. Again I felt a warning hand touch my face, and saw the figure of Glora standing by my head. She was larger now—about a foot tall. She moved past my eyes; stood by my mouth; bent down over my gag. I felt the cautious side of a tiny knife-blade inserted under the fabric of the gag. She hacked, tugged at it, and in a moment ripped it through. She stood panting from the effort. My heart was pounding with fear that she would be seen; but the man had turned the central light off when he left the microscope, and it was far darker here now than before. I moistened my dry mouth. My tongue was thick, but I could talk. "Thank you, Glora." "Quiet!" I felt her hacking at the ropes around my wrists. And then at my ankles. It took her a long time, but at last I was free! I rubbed my arms and legs; felt the returning strength in them. And presently Alan was free. "George, what—" he began. "Wait!" I whispered. "Easy! Let her tell us what to do." We were unarmed. Two, against these six, three of whom were giants. Glora whispered, "Do not move! I have the drugs. But I can no give them to you when I am still so small. I have not enough. I will hide—there." Her little arm gestured to where, near us, half a dozen boxes were piled. "When I am large as you, I come back. Be ready, quickly to act. I may be seen. I give you then the drug." "But wait," Alan whispered. "We must know—" "The drug to make you large. In a moment then you can fight these men. I had planned it for myself, to do that, and then I saw you held captive. That girl of your world the doctor just now steal, she is friend of yours? "Yes! Yes, Glora. But—" A thousand questions were springing in my mind, but this was no time to ask them. I amended, "Go! Hurry! Give us the drug when you can." The little figure moved away from us and disappeared. Alan and I lay as we had before. But now we could whisper. We tried to anticipate what would happen; tried to plan, but that was futile. The thing was too strange, too astoundingly fantastic. HOW long Glora was gone I do not know. I think, not over three or four minutes. She came from her hiding place, crouching this time, and joined us. She was, probably, of normal Earth size—a small, frail-looking girl something over five feet tall. We saw now that she was about sixteen years old. We lay staring at her, amazed at her beauty. Her small oval face was pale, with the flush of pink upon her cheeks—a face queerly, transcendently beautiful. It was wholly human, yet somehow unearthly, as though unmarked by even the heritage of our Earthly strifes. "Now! I am ready." She was fumbling at her robe. "I will give you each the same." Her gestures were rapid. She flung a quick glance at the distant men. Alan and I were tense. We could easily be discovered now, but we had to chance it. We were sitting erect. He murmured: "But what do we do? What happens? What—" On the palm of her hand were two small pink-white pellets. "Take these—one for each of you. Quickly!" Involuntarily we drew back. The thing abruptly was gruesome, frightening. Horribly frightening. "Quickly," she urged. "The drug is what you call highly radio-active. And volatile. Exposed to the air it is gone very soon. You are afraid? No! No, it will not harm you." With a muttered curse at his own reluctance, Alan seized the pellet. I stopped him. "Wait!" The men momentarily were engaged in a low-voiced, earnest discussion. I dared to hesitate a moment longer. "Glora, where will you be?" "Here. Right here. I will hide." "We want to go after Mr. Polter." I gestured. "Into that little piece of golden rock. Is that where he went? Is that where he took the Earth girl?" "Yes. My world is there—within an atom there in that rock." "Will you take us?" "Yes! Yes!" Alan whispered suddenly, "Then let us go now. Get smaller, now." But she shook her head vehemently. "That is not possible. We would be seen as we climbed the platform and crossed the white slab." "No." I protested. "Not if we get very small, hiding here first." She was smiling, but urgently fearful of this delay. "Should we get that small, then it would be, from here"—she gestured toward the microscope—"to there, a journey of very many miles. Don't you understand?" This thing so strange! Alan was plucking at me. "Ready, George?" "Yes." I put the pellet on my tongue. It tasted slightly sweet, but seemed quickly melted and I swallowed it hastily. My head swam. My heart was pounding, but that was apprehension, not the drug. A thrill of heat ran through my veins as though my blood were on fire. Alan was clinging to me as we sat together. Glora again had vanished. In the background of my whirling consciousness the sudden thought hovered that she had tricked us; done to us something diabolical. But the thought was swept away in the confusion of the flood of impressions upon me. I turned dizzily. "All right, Alan?" "Yes, I—I guess so." My ears were roaring, the room seemed whirling, but in a moment that passed. I felt a sudden, growing sense of lightness. A humming was within me—a soundless tingle. To every tiny microscopic cell in my body the drug had gone. The myriad pores of my skin seemed thrilling with activity. I know now it was the exuding volatile gas of this disintegrating drug. Like an aura it enveloped me, acted upon my garments. I learned later much of the principles of this and its companion drug. I had no thought for such things now. The huge dimly illumined room under the dome was swaying. Then abruptly it steadied. The strange sensations within me were lessening, or I forgot them. And I became aware of externals. The room was shrinking! As I stared, not with horror now, but with amazement and a coming triumph, I saw everywhere a slow, steady, crawling movement. The whole place was dwindling. The platform, the microscope, were nearer than before, and smaller. The pile of ingots, with the men off there, was shifting toward me. "George! My God—weird!" I saw Alan's white face as I turned to him. He was growing at the same rate as myself evidently, for of all the scene he only was unchanged. We could feel the movement. The floor under us was shifting, crawling slowly. From all directions it came, contracting as though it were being squeezed beneath us. In reality our expanding bodies were pushing outward. The pile of boxes which had been a few feet away, were thrusting themselves at me I moved incautiously and knocked them over. They seemed small now, perhaps half their former size. Glora was standing behind them. I was sitting and she was standing, but across the litter, our faces were level. "Stand up!" she murmured. "You all right now. I hide!" I struggled to my feet, drawing Alan up with me. Now! The time for action was upon us! We had already been discovered. The men were shouting, clambering to their feet. Alan and I stood swaying. The dome-room had contracted to half its former size. Near us was a little platform, chair and microscope. Small figures of men were rushing at us. I shouted, "Alan! Watch yourself!" We were unarmed. These men might have automatics. But evidently they did not. Knives were in their hands. The whole place was ringing with shouts. And then a shrill siren alarm from outside was clanging. The first of the men—a few moments before he had seemed a giant—flung himself upon me. His head was lower than my shoulders. I met him with a blow of my fist in his face. He toppled backward; but from one side, another figure came at me. A knife-blade bit into the flesh of my thigh. The pain seemed to fire my brain. A madness descended upon me. It was the madness of abnormality. I saw Alan with two dwarfed figures clinging to him. But he threw them off, and they turned and ran. The man at my thigh stabbed again, but I caught his wrist and, as though he were a child, whirled him around me and flung him away. He landed with a crash against the shrunken pile of gold nuggets and lay still. The place was in a turmoil. Other men were appearing from outside. But they stood now well away from us. Alan backed against me. His laugh rang out, half hysterical with the madness upon him as it was upon me. "God! George, look at them! So small!" They were now hardly the height of our knees. This was now a small, circular room, under a lowering concave dome. A shot came from the group of pigmy figures. I saw the small stab of flame, heard the sing of the bullet. We rushed, with the full frenzy of madness upon us, enraged giants. What actually happened I can not recount. I recall scattering the little figures; seizing them; flinging them headlong. A bullet, tiny now, stung the calf of my leg. Little chairs and tables under my feet were crashing. Alan was lunging back and forth; stamping; flinging his tiny adversaries away. There were twenty or thirty of the fig ures here now. Then I saw some of them escaping. The room was littered with wreckage. I saw that by some miracle of chance the microscope was still standing, and I had a moment of sanity. "Alan, watch out! The microscope! The platform—don't smash it! And Glora! Look out for her!" I suddenly became aware that my head and a shoulder had struck the dome roof. Why, this was a tiny room! Alan and I found ourselves backed together, panting in the small confines of a circular cubby with an arching dome close over us. At our feet the platform with the microscope over it hardly reached our boot-tops. There was a sudden silence, broken only by our heavy breathing. The tiny forms of humans strewn around us were all motionless. The others had fled. Then we heard a small voice. "Here! Take this! Quickly! You are too large! Quickly!" Alan took a step. And then a sudden panic was on us both. Glora was here at our feet. We did not dare turn; hardly dared move. To stoop might have crushed her. My leg hit the top of the microscope cylinder. It rocked but did not fall. Where was Glora? In the gloom we could not see her. We were in a panic. Alan began, "George, I say—" The contracting inner curve of the dome bumped gently against my head. The panic of confusion which was upon us turned to fear. The room was closing in to crush us. I muttered. "Alan! I'm going out!" I braced myself and heaved against the side and top curve of the dome. Its metal ribs and heavy translucent, reinforced glass plates resisted me. There was an instant when Alan and I were desperately frightened. We were trapped, to be crushed in here by our own horrible growth. Then the dome yielded under our smashing blows. The ribs bent; the plates cracked. We straightened, pushed upward and emerged through the broken dome, with head and shoulders towering into the outside darkness and the wind and snow of the blizzard howling around us! About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Various. 2009. Astounding Stories of Super-Science, March 1931. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved May 2022 from https://www.gutenberg.org/files/30166/30166-h/30166-h.htm#Beyond_the_Vanishing_Point . This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

The Fight in the Shrinking Dome Room

সঙ্কুচিত গম্বুজ ঘরে লড়াই

Der Kampf im Shrinking Dome Room

La pelea en la sala de la cúpula que se encoge

Le combat dans la salle du dôme qui rétrécit

सिकुड़ते गुंबद कक्ष में लड़ाई

縮小するドームルームの戦い

점점 작아지는 돔룸에서의 싸움

A luta na sala do domo encolhendo

Küçülen Kubbe Odasındaki Mücadele

Cuộc chiến trong căn phòng mái vòm bị thu hẹp

缩小的圆顶房间里的战斗

Astounding Stories of Super-Science March 1931, by Astounding Stories is part of HackerNoon’s Book Blog Post series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . Beyond the Vanishing Point - Chapter II: The Girl an Inch Tall The Girl an Inch Tall We soared over the divided channel of the St. Lawrence, between Orleans and the mainland. Montmorency Falls in a moment showed dimly white through the murk to our left, a great hanging veil of ice higher than Niagara. Further ahead, the lights of the little village of St. Anne de Beaupré were visible with the gray-black, towering hills behind them. Historic region! But Alan and I had no thoughts for it. "Swing left, George. Over the mainland. That's St. Anne; we pass this side of it. Put the mufflers on. This damn thing roars like a tower siren." I cut in the mufflers, and switched off our wing-lights. It was illegal, but we were past all thought of that. We were both desperate; the slow prudent process of acting within the law had nothing to do with this affair. We both knew it. Our little plane was dark, and amid the sounds of this night blizzard our muffled engine could not be heard. Alan touched me. "There are his lights; see them?" We had passed St. Anne. The hills lay ahead—wild mountainous country stretching northward to the foot of Hudson Bay. The blizzard was roaring out of the north and we were heading into it. I saw, on what seemed a dome-like hill perhaps a thousand feet above the river level, a small cluster of lights which marked Polter's property. "Fly over it once, George. Low—we can chance it. And find a place to land outside the walls." We presently had it under us. I held us at five hundred feet, and cut our speed to the minimum of twenty miles an hour facing the gale, though it was sixty or seventy when we turned. There were a score or two of hooded ground lights. But there was little reflection aloft, and in the murk of the snowfall I felt we would escape notice. We crossed, turned and went back in an arc following Polter's outer curved wall. We had a good view of it. A weird enough looking place, here on its lonely hilltop. No wonder the wealthy "Frank Rascor" had attained local prominence! The whole property was irregularly circular, perhaps a mile in diameter covering the almost flat dome of the hilltop. Around it, completely enclosing it, Polter had built a stone and brick wall. A miniature wall of China! We could see that it was fully thirty feet high with what evidently were naked high-voltage wires protecting its top. There were half a dozen little gates, securely barred, with doubtless a guard at each of them. Within the wall there were several buildings: a few small stone houses suggesting workmen's dwellings; an oblong stone structure with smoke funnels which seemed perhaps a smelter; a huge, dome-like spread of translucent glass over what might have been the top of a mine-shaft. It looked more like the dome of an observatory—an inverted bowl fully a hundred feet wide and equally as high, set upon the ground. What did it cover? And, there was Polter's residence—a castle-like brick and stone building with a central tower not unlike a miniature of the Chateau Frontenac. We saw a stone corridor on the ground connecting the lower floor of the castle with the dome, which lay about a hundred feet to one side. Could we chance landing inside the wall? There was a dark, level expanse of snow where we could have done it, but our descending plane would doubtless have been discovered. But the mile-wide inner area was dark in many places. Spots of light were at the little wall-gates. There was a glow all along the top of the wall. Lights were in Polter's house; they slanted out in yellow shafts to the nearby white ground. But for the rest, the whole place was dark, save a dim glow from under the dome. I shook my head at Alan's suggestion. "We couldn't land inside." We had circled back and were a mile or so off toward the river. "You saw guards down there. But that low stretch outside the gate on this side—" A plan was coming to me. Heaven knows it was desperate enough, but we had no alternative. We would land and accost one of the gate guards. Force our way in. Once inside the wall, on foot in the darkness of this blizzard, we could hide; creep up to that dome. Beyond that my imagination could not go. We landed in the snow a quarter of a mile from one of the gates. We left the plane and plunged into the darkness. It was a steady upward slope. A packed snowfield was under foot, firm enough to hold our shoes, with a foot or so of loose soft snow on its top. The falling flakes whirled around us. The darkness was solid, Our helmeted leather-furred flying suits were soon shapeless with a gathering white shroud. We carried our Essens in our gloved hands. The night was cold, around zero I imagine, though with that biting wind it felt far colder. From the gloom a tiny spot of light loomed up. "There it is, Alan. Easy now! Let me go first." The wind tore away my words. We could see the narrow rectangle of bars at the gate, with a glow of light behind them. "Hide your gun, Alan." I gripped him. "Hear me?" "Yes." "Let me go first. I'll do the talking. When he opens the gate, let me handle him. You—if there are two of them—you take the other." We emerged from the darkness, into the glow of light by the gate. I had the horrible feeling that a shot would greet us. A challenge came, at first in French, then in English. "Stop! What do you want?" "To see Mr. Rascor." We were up to the bars now, shapeless hooded bundles of snow and frost. A man stood in the doorway of a lighted little cubby behind the bars. A black muzzle in his hand was leveled at us. "He sees no one. Who are you?" Alan was pressing at me from behind. I shoved back, and took a step forward. I touched the bars. "My name is Fred Davis. Newspaper man from Montreal. I must see Mr. Rascor." "You cannot. You may send in your call. The mouthpiece is there—out there to the left. Bare your face; he talks to no one without the face image." The guard had drawn back into his cubby; there was only this extended hand and the muzzle of his weapon left visible. I took a step forward. "I don't want to talk by phone. Won't you open the gate? It's cold out here. We have important business. We'll wait with you." Abruptly the gate lattice slid aside. Beyond the cubby doorway was the open darkness within the wall. A scuffed path leading inward from the gate showed for a few feet. I walked over the threshold, with Alan crowding me. The Essen in my coat pocket was leveled. But from the cubby doorway, I saw that the guard was gone! Then I saw him crouching back of a metal shield. His voice rang out. "Stand!" A light struck my face—a little beam from a television sender beside me. It all happened in an instant, so quickly Alan and I had barely time to make a move. I realized my image was now doubtless being presented to Polter. He would recognize me! I ducked my head, yelling: "Don't do that! You frighten me!" It was too late! The guard had received a signal. I was aware of its buzz. From the shield a tiny jet of fluid leaped at me. It struck my hood. There was a heavy, sickening-sweet smell. It seemed like chloroform. I felt my senses going. The cubby room was turning dark; was roaring. I think I fired at the shield. And Alan leapt aside. I heard the faint hiss of his Essen. And his choked, horrified voice: "George—come back! Run! Don't fall! Don't!" I crumpled; slid into blackness. And it seemed, as I went down, that Alan's inert body was falling on top of me.... I recovered consciousness after a nameless interval, a phantasmagoria of wild, drugged dreams. My senses came slowly. At first, there were dim muffled voices and the tread of footsteps. Then I knew that I was lying on the ground, and that I was indoors. It was warm. My overcoat was off. Then I realized that I was bound and gagged. I opened my eyes. Alan was lying inert beside me, roped and with a black gag around his face and in his mouth. We were in a huge dim open space. Presently, as my vision cleared, I saw that the dome was overhead. This was a circular, hundred-foot-wide room. It was dimly lighted. The figures of men were moving about, their great misshapen shadows shifting with them. Twenty feet from me there was a pile of golden rock—chunks of gold the size of a man's fist, or his head, and larger, heaped loosely into a mound ten feet high. Beyond this pile of ore, near the center of the room, twenty feet above the concrete floor, there was a large hanging electrolier. It cast a circular glow downward. Under it I saw a low platform raised a foot or two above the ground. A giant electro-microscope was hung with its twenty-foot cylinder above the platform. Its intensification tubes were glowing in a dim phosphorescent row on a nearby bracket. A man sat in a chair on the platform at the microscope's eyepiece. I saw all this with a brief glance, then my attention went to a white stone slab under the giant lense. It rested on the platform floor, a two-foot-square surface of smooth white stone like marble. A little roped railing a few inches high fenced it. And in its center lay a fragment of golden quartz the size of a walnut! There was a movement across my line of vision. Two figures advanced. I recognized both of them. And I strained at my bonds; mouthed the gag with futile, horrified effort. I could no more than writhe; and I could not make a sound. I lay, after a moment exhausted, and stared with horror. The familiar hunched figure of Polter advanced toward the microscope. And with him, his huge hand holding her wrists, was Babs. They were nearly fifty feet from me, but with the light over them I could see them clearly. Bab's slim figure was clad in a long skirted dress—pale blue, now, with the light on it. Her long black hair had fallen disheveled to her shoulders. I could not see her face. She did not cry out. Polter was half dragging her as she resisted him; and then abruptly she ceased struggling. I heard his gutteral voice. "That iss better." They mounted to the platform. It seemed to me that they must have been far away; they were very small. Abnormally small. I blinked. Horror surged over me. Their figures were dwindling as they stood there! Polter was saying something to the man at the microscope. Other men were nearby, watching. All normal, save Polter and Babs. A moment passed. Polter was standing by the chair in which the man at the microscope was sitting. And Polter's head barely reached its seat! Babs was clinging to him, now. Another moment. They were both little figures down by the chair-leg. Then they began walking with swaying steps toward the tiny railing of the white slab. The white reflection from the slab plainly illumined then. Polter's arm was around Babs. I had not realized how small they were until I saw Polter lift the rope of the four-inch little fence, and he and Babs stooped and walked under it. The fragment of quartz lay a foot from them in the center of the white surface. They walked unsteadily toward it. But soon they were running. My horrified senses whirled. Then abruptly I felt something touch my face! Alan and I were lying in shadow. No one had noticed my writhing movements, and Alan was still in drugged unconsciousness. Something tiny and light and soundless as a butterfly wing brushed my face! I jerked my head aside. On the floor, within six inches of my eyes, I saw the tiny figure of a girl an inch high! She stood, with a warning gesture to her lips—a human girl in a filmy flowing drapery. Long pale golden tresses lay on her white shoulders; her face, small as my little fingernail, colorful as a miniature painted upon ivory, was so close to my eyes that I could see her expression—warning me not to move. There was a faint glow of light on the floor where she stood, but in a moment she moved out of it. Then I felt her brush against the back of my head. My ear was near the ground. A tiny warm hand touched my ear-lobe; clung to it. A tiny voice sounded in my ear. "Please do not move your head! You might kill me!" There was a pause. I held myself rigid. Then the tiny voice came again. "I am Glora, a friend. I have the drug! I will help you!" About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Various. 2009. Astounding Stories of Super-Science, March 1931. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved May 2022 from https://www.gutenberg.org/files/30166/30166-h/30166-h.htm#Beyond_the_Vanishing_Point . This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

The Girl an Inch Tall 

মেয়েটি এক ইঞ্চি লম্বা

Das Mädchen, ein Zentimeter groß

La niña de una pulgada de altura

La fille d'un pouce de haut

एक इंच लंबी लड़की

身長1インチの女の子

키가 1인치인 소녀

A garota de um centímetro de altura

Kız Bir İnç Boyunda

Cô gái cao một inch

女孩一英寸高

Dick Sands the Boy Captain by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . MARKET-DAY here MARKET-DAY. So sudden was Dick's action that it had been impossible to parry his blow. Several of the natives rushed on him, and in all likelihood would have struck him down upon the spot had not Negoro arrived at that very moment. At a sign from him the natives drew back, and proceeded to raise and carry away Harris's corpse. Alvez and CoÃ¯mbra were urgent in their demand that Dick should forthwith be punished by death, but Negoro whispered to them that they would assuredly be the gainers by delay, and they accordingly contented themselves with ordering the youth to be placed under strict supervision. This was the first time that Dick had set eyes upon Negoro since he had left the coast; nevertheless, so heartbroken was he at the intelligence he had just received, that he did not deign to address a word to the man whom he knew to be the real author of all his misery. He cared not now what became of him. Loaded with chains, he was placed in the dungeon where Alvez was accustomed to confine slaves who had been condemned to death for mutiny or violence. That he had no communication with the outer world gave him no concern; he had avenged the death of those for whose safety he had felt himself responsible, and could now calmly await the fate which he could not doubt was in store for him; he did not dare to suppose that he had been temporarily spared otherwise than that he might [Illustration: Accompanied by CoÃ¯mbra, Alvez himself was one of the first arrivals.] suffer the cruellest tortures that native ingenuity could devise. That the "Pilgrim's" cook now held in his power the boy captain he so thoroughly hated was warrant enough that the sternest possible measure of vengeance would be exacted. Two days later, the great market, the , commenced. Although many of the principal traders were there from the interior, it was by no means exclusively a slave-mart; a considerable proportion of the natives from the neighbouring provinces assembled to dispose of the various products of the country. lakoni Quite early the great of KazonndÃ© was all alive with a bustling concourse of little under five thousand people, including the slaves of old Alvez, amongst whom were Tom and his three partners in adversity-an item by no means inconsiderable in the dealer's stock. chitoka Accompanied by CoÃ¯mbra, Alvez himself was one of the first arrivals. He was going to sell his slaves in lots to be conveyed in caravans into the interior. The dealers for the most part consisted of half-breeds from Ujiji, the principal market on Lake Tanganyika, whilst some of a superior class were manifestly Arabs. The natives that were assembled were of both sexes, and of every variety of age, the women in particular displaying an aptitude in making bargains that is shared by their sisters elsewhere of a lighter hue; and it may be said that no market of the most civilized region could be characterized by greater excitement or animation, for amongst the savages of Africa the customer makes his offer in equally noisy terms as the vendor. The was always considered a kind of fÃ¨te-day; consequently the natives of both sexes, though their clothing was scanty in extent, made a point of appearing in a most lavish display of ornaments. Their head-gear was most remarkable. The men had their hair arranged in every variety of eccentric device; some had it divided into four parts, rolled over cushions and fastened into a chignon, or mounted in front into a bunch of tails adorned with red feathers; others plastered it thickly with a mixture of red mud and oil similar to that used for greasing machinery, and formed it into cones or lumps, into which they inserted a medley of iron pins and ivory skewers; whilst the greatest dandies had a glass bead threaded upon every single hair, the whole being fastened together by a tattooing-knife driven through the glittering mass. lakoni As a general rule, the women preferred dressing their hair in little tufts about the size of a cherry, arranging it into the shape of a cap, with corkscrew ringlets on each side of the face. Some wore it simply hanging down their backs, others in French fashion, with a fringe across the forehead; but every , without exception, was daubed and caked either with the mixture of mud and grease, or with a bright red extract of sandal-wood called . coiffure nkola But it was not only on their heads that they made this extraordinary display of ornaments; the lobes of their ears were loaded till they reached their shoulders with a profusion of wooden pegs, open-work copper rings, grains of maize, or little gourds, which served the purpose of snuff-boxes; their necks, arms, wrists, legs, and ankles were a perfect mass of brass and copper rings, or sometimes were covered with a lot of bright buttons. Rows of red beads, called , or , seemed also very popular. As they had no pockets, they attached their knives, pipes and other articles to various parts of their body; so that altogether, in their holiday attire, the rich men of the district might not inappropriately be compared to walking shrines. sames-sames talakas With their teeth they had all played the strangest of vagaries; the upper and lower incisors had generally been extracted, and the others had been filed to points or carved into hooks, like the fangs of a rattle-snake. Their fingernails were allowed to grow to such an immoderate length as to render the hands well-nigh useless, and their swarthy skins were tattooed with figures of trees, birds, crescents and discs, or, not unfrequently, with those zigzag lines which Livingstone thinks he recognizes as resembling those observed in ancient Egyptian drawings. The tattooing is effected by means of a blue substance inserted into incisions previously made in the skin. Every child is tattooed in precisely the same pattern as his father before him, and thus it may always be ascertained to what family he belongs. Instead of carrying his armorial bearings upon his plate or upon the panels of his carriage, the African magnate wears them emblazoned on his own bosom! The garments that were usually worn were simply aprons of antelope-skins descending to the knees, but occasionally a short petticoat might be seen made of woven grass and dyed with bright colours. The ladies not unfrequently wore girdles of beads attached to green skirts embroidered with silk and ornamented with bits of glass or cowries, or sometimes the skirts were made of the grass cloth called , which, in blue, yellow, or black, is so much valued by the people of Zanzibar. lambda Garments of these pretensions, however, always indicated that the wearers belonged to the upper classes; the lower orders, such as the smaller dealers, as well as the slaves, had hardly any clothes at all. The women commonly acted as porters, and arrived at the market with huge baskets on their backs, which they secured by means of straps passed across the forehead. Having deposited their loads upon the chitoka, they turned out their goods, and then seated themselves inside the empty baskets. As the result of the extreme fertility of the country all the articles offered for sale were of a first-rate quality. There were large stores of rice, which had been grown at a profit a hundred times as great as the cost, and maize which, producing three crops in eight months, yielded a profit as large again as the rice. There were also sesame, Urua pepper stronger than Cayenne, manioc, nutmegs, salt, and palm-oil. In the market, too, were hundreds of goats, pigs and sheep, evidently of a Tartar breed, with hair instead of wool; and there was a good supply of fish and poultry. Besides all these there was an attractive display of bright-coloured pottery, the designs of which were very symmetrical. In shrill, squeaky voices, children were crying several varieties of native drinks; banana-wine, , which, whatever it was, seemed to be in great demand; , a kind of beer compounded of bananas, and mead, a mixture of honey and water, fermented with malt. pombÃ© malofoo But the most prominent feature in the whole market was the traffic in stuffs and ivory. The pieces could be counted by thousands of the unbleached from Salem in Massachusetts, of the blue cotton, , thirty-four inches wide, and of the checked , blue and black with its scarlet border. More expensive than these were lots of silk , with red, green, or yellow grounds, which are sold in lengths of three yards, at prices varying from seven dollars to eighty, when they are interwoven with gold. mcrikani kaniki sohari diulis The ivory had come from well-nigh every part of Central Africa, and was destined for Khartoom, Zanzibar, and Natal, many of the merchants dealing in this commodity exclusively. How vast a number of elephants must be slaughtered to supply this ivory may be imagined when it is remembered that over 200 tons, that is, 1,125,000 lbs., are exported annually to Europe. Of this, much the larger share goes to England, where the Sheffield cutlery consumes about 382,500 lbs. From the West Coast of Africa alone the produce is nearly 140 tons. The average weight of a pair of tusks is 28 lbs., and the ordinary value of these in 1874 would be about 60 .; but here in KazonndÃ© were some weighing no less than 165 lbs., of that soft, translucent quality which retains its whiteness far better than the ivory from other sources. l As already mentioned, slaves are not unfrequently used as current money amongst the African traders, but the natives themselves usually pay for their goods with Venetian glass beads, of which the chalk-white are called , the black , and the red . Strung in ten rows, or , these beads are twisted twice round the neck, forming what is called a , which is always reckoned of considerable value. catchokolos bubulus sikunderetches khetÃ©s foondo The usual measure by which they are sold is the , containing a weight of about 70 lbs. Livingstone, Cameron and Stanley always took care to be well provided with this kind of currency. In default of beads, the picÃ©, a Zanzibar coin worth something more than a farthing, and shells peculiar to the East Coast, are recognized as a medium of exchange in the market. Amongst the cannibal tribes a certain value is attached to human teeth, and at the lakoni some natives might be seen wearing strings of teeth, the owners of which they had probably, at some previous time, devoured. This species of currency, however, was falling rapidly into disuse. frasilah vioon-gooas, Towards the middle of the day the excitement of the market reached its highest pitch, and the uproar became perfectly deafening. The voices of the eager sellers mingled with those of indignant and overcharged customers; fights were numerous, and as there was an utter absence of any kind of police, no effort was made to restore peace or order amongst the unruly crowd. It was just noon when Alvez gave orders that the slaves he wished to dispose of should be placed on view. Thereupon nearly two thousand unfortunates were brought forward, many of whom had been confined in the dealer's barracks for several months. Most of the stock, however, had been so carefully attended to that they were in good condition, and it was only the last batch that looked as if they would be improved by another month's rest; but as the demand upon the East Coast was now very large, Alvez hoped to get a good price for all, and determined to part with even the last arrivals for whatever sum he could obtain. Amongst these latter, whom the havildars drove like a herd of cattle into the middle of the chitoka, were Tom and his three friends. They were closely chained, and rage and shame were depicted in their countenances. Bat passed a quick and scrutinizing gaze around him, and said to the others,- "I do not see Mr. Dick." Tom answered mournfully,- "Mr. Dick will be killed, if he is not dead already. Our only hope is that we may now all be bought in one lot; it will be a consolation to us if we can be all together." Tears rose to Bat's eyes as he thought of how his poor old father was likely to be sold, and carried away to wear out his days as a common slave. The sale now commenced. The agents of Alvez proceeded to divide the slaves, men, women and children, into lots, treating them in no respect better than beasts in a cattle-market. Tom and the others were paraded about from customer to customer, an agent accompanying them to proclaim the price demanded. Strong, intelligent-looking Americans, quite different to the miserable creatures brought from the banks of the Zambesi and Lualaba, they at once attracted the observation of the Arab and half-breed dealers. Just as though they were examining a horse, the buyers felt their limbs, turned them round and round, looked at their teeth, and finally tested their paces by throwing a stick to a distance and making them run to fetch it. All the slaves were subjected to similar humiliations; and ail alike, except the very young children, seemed deeply sensible of their degradation. The cruelty exhibited towards them was very vile. CoÃ¯mbra, who was half drunk, treated them with the utmost brutality; not that they had any reason to expect any gentler dealings at the hands of the new masters who might purchase them for ivory or any other commodity. Children were torn away from their parents, husbands from their wives, brothers from sisters, and without even the indulgence of a parting word, were separated never to meet again. The scenes that occur at such markets as this at KazonndÃ© are too heartrending to be described in detail. It is one of the peculiar requirements of the slave-trade that the two sexes should have an entirely different destination. In fact, the dealers who purchase men never purchase women. The women, who are required to supply the Mussulman harems, are sent principally to Arab districts to be exchanged for ivory; whilst the men, who are to be put to hard labour, are despatched to the coast, East and West, whence they are exported to the Spanish colonies, or to the markets of Muscat or Madagascar. To Tom and his friends the prospect of being transported to a slave colony was far better than that of being retained in some Central African province, where they could have no chance of regaining their liberty; and the moment, to them, was accordingly one of great suspense. Altogether, things turned out for them better than they dared anticipate. They had at least the satisfaction of finding that as yet they were not to be separated. Alvez, of course, had taken good care to conceal the origin of this exceptional lot, and their own ignorance of the language thoroughly prevented them from communicating it; but the anxiety to secure so valuable a property rendered the competition for it very keen; the bidding rose higher and higher, until at length the four men were knocked down to a rich Arab dealer, who purposed in the course of a few days to take them to Lake Tanganyika, and thence to one of the deptÃ´s of Zanzibar. This journey, it is true, would be for 1500 miles across the most unhealthy parts of Central Africa, through districts harassed by internal wars; and it seemed improbable that Tom could survive the hardships he must meet; like poor old Nan, he would succumb to fatigue; but the brave fellows did not suffer themselves to fear the future, they were only too happy to be still together; and the chain that bound them one to another was felt to be easier and lighter to bear. Their new master knew that it was for his own interest that his purchase should be well taken care of; he looked to make a substantial profit at Zanzibar, and sent them off at once to his own private barracks; consequently they saw no more of what transpired at KazonndÃ©. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (2005). Dick sands, the boy Captain. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3250.html.images This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

MARKET-DAY

THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON

THE DIAMOND AS BIG AS THE RITZ

A Journey to the Center of the Earth by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . FIRST LESSONS IN CLIMBING here CHAPTER V - FIRST LESSONS IN CLIMBING At Altona, a suburb of Hamburg, is the Chief Station of the Kiel railway, which was to take us to the shores of the Belt. In twenty minutes from the moment of our departure we were in Holstein, and our carriage entered the station. Our heavy luggage was taken out, weighed, labeled, and placed in a huge van. We then took our tickets, and exactly at seven o'clock were seated opposite each other in a firstclass railway carriage. My uncle said nothing. He was too busy examining his papers, among which of course was the famous parchment, and some letters of introduction from the Danish consul which were to pave the way to an introduction to the Governor of Iceland. My only amusement was looking out of the window. But as we passed through a flat though fertile country, this occupation was slightly monotonous. In three hours we reached Kiel, and our baggage was at once transferred to the steamer. We had now a day before us, a delay of about ten hours. Which fact put my uncle in a towering passion. We had nothing to do but to walk about the pretty town and bay. At length, however, we went on board, and at half past ten were steaming down the Great Belt. It was a dark night, with a strong breeze and a rough sea, nothing being visible but the occasional fires on shore, with here and there a lighthouse. At seven in the morning we left Korsor, a little town on the western side of Seeland. Here we took another railway, which in three hours brought us to the capital, Copenhagen, where, scarcely taking time for refreshment, my uncle hurried out to present one of his letters of introduction. It was to the director of the Museum of Antiquities, who, having been informed that we were tourists bound for Iceland, did all he could to assist us. One wretched hope sustained me now. Perhaps no vessel was bound for such distant parts. Alas! a little Danish schooner, the , was to sail on the second of June for Reykjavik. The captain, M. Bjarne, was on board, and was rather surprised at the energy and cordiality with which his future passenger shook him by the hand. To him a voyage to Iceland was merely a matter of course. My uncle, on the other hand, considered the event of sublime importance. The honest sailor took advantage of the Professor's enthusiasm to double the fare. Valkyrie "On Tuesday morning at seven o'clock be on board," said M. Bjarne, handing us our receipts. "Excellent! Capital! Glorious!" remarked my uncle as we sat down to a late breakfast; "refresh yourself, my boy, and we will take a run through the town." Our meal concluded, we went to the Kongens-Nye-Torw; to the king's magnificent palace; to the beautiful bridge over the canal near the Museum; to the immense cenotaph of Thorwaldsen with its hideous naval groups; to the castle of Rosenberg; and to all the other lions of the place-none of which my uncle even saw, so absorbed was he in his anticipated triumphs. But one thing struck his fancy, and that was a certain singular steeple situated on the Island of Amak, which is the southeast quarter of the city of Copenhagen. My uncle at once ordered me to turn my steps that way, and accordingly we went on board the steam ferry boat which does duty on the canal, and very soon reached the noted dockyard quay. In the first instance we crossed some narrow streets, where we met numerous groups of galley slaves, with particolored trousers, grey and yellow, working under the orders and the sticks of severe taskmasters, and finally reached the Vor-Frelser's-Kirk. This church exhibited nothing remarkable in itself; in fact, the worthy Professor had only been attracted to it by one circumstance, which was, that its rather elevated steeple started from a circular platform, after which there was an exterior staircase, which wound round to the very summit. "Let us ascend," said my uncle. "But I never could climb church towers," I cried, "I am subject to dizziness in my head." "The very reason why you should go up. I want to cure you of a bad habit." "But, my good sir—" "I tell you to come. What is the use of wasting so much valuable time?" It was impossible to dispute the dictatorial commands of my uncle. I yielded with a groan. On payment of a fee, a verger gave us the key. He, for one, was not partial to the ascent. My uncle at once showed me the way, running up the steps like a schoolboy. I followed as well as I could, though no sooner was I outside the tower, than my head began to swim. There was nothing of the eagle about me. The earth was enough for me, and no ambitious desire to soar ever entered my mind. Still things did not go badly until I had ascended 150 steps, and was near the platform, when I began to feel the rush of cold air. I could scarcely stand, when clutching the railings, I looked upwards. The railing was frail enough, but nothing to those which skirted the terrible winding staircase, that appeared, from where I stood, to ascend to the skies. "Now then, Henry." "I can't do it!" I cried, in accents of despair. "Are you, after all, a coward, sir?" said my uncle in a pitiless tone. "Go up, I say!" To this there was no reply possible. And yet the keen air acted violently on my nervous system; sky, earth, all seemed to swim round, while the steeple rocked like a ship. My legs gave way like those of a drunken man. I crawled upon my hands and knees; I hauled myself up slowly, crawling like a snake. Presently I closed my eyes, and allowed myself to be dragged upwards. "Look around you," said my uncle in a stern voice, "heaven knows what profound abysses you may have to look down. This is excellent practice." Slowly, and shivering all the while with cold, I opened my eyes. What then did I see? My first glance was upwards at the cold fleecy clouds, which as by some optical delusion appeared to stand still, while the steeple, the weathercock, and our two selves were carried swiftly along. Far away on one side could be seen the grassy plain, while on the other lay the sea bathed in translucent light. The Sund, or Sound as we call it, could be discovered beyond the point of Elsinore, crowded with white sails, which, at that distance looked like the wings of seagulls; while to the east could be made out the far-off coast of Sweden. The whole appeared a magic panorama. But faint and bewildered as I was, there was no remedy for it. Rise and stand up I must. Despite my protestations my first lesson lasted quite an hour. When, nearly two hours later, I reached the bosom of mother earth, I was like a rheumatic old man bent double with pain. "Enough for one day," said my uncle, rubbing his hands, "we will begin again tomorrow." There was no remedy. My lessons lasted five days, and at the end of that period, I ascended blithely enough, and found myself able to look down into the depths below without even winking, and with some degree of pleasure. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (2006). A Journey to the Center of the Earth. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/18857/18857-h/18857-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

FIRST LESSONS IN CLIMBING

The Ice Palace

The Crystal Crypt

Trial by Fire

Further Chronicles of Avonlea by L. M. Montgomery, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . INTRODUCTION INTRODUCTION It is no exaggeration to say that what Longfellow did for Acadia, Miss Montgomery has done for Prince Edward Island. More than a million readers, young people as well as their parents and uncles and aunts, possess in the picture-galleries of their memories the exquisite landscapes of Avonlea, limned with as poetic a pencil as Longfellow wielded when he told the ever-moving story of Grand Pre. Only genius of the first water has the ability to conjure up such a character as Anne Shirley, the heroine of Miss Montgomery's first novel, "Anne of Green Gables," and to surround her with people so distinctive, so real, so true to psychology. Anne is as lovable a child as lives in all fiction. Natasha in Count Tolstoi's great novel, "War and Peace," dances into our ken, with something of the same buoyancy and naturalness; but into what a commonplace young woman she develops! Anne, whether as the gay little orphan in her conquest of the master and mistress of Green Gables, or as the maturing and self-forgetful maiden of Avonlea, keeps up to concert-pitch in her charm and her winsomeness. There is nothing in her to disappoint hope or imagination. A part of the power of Miss Montgomery—and the largest part—is due to her skill in compounding humor and pathos. The humor is honest and golden; it never wearies the reader; the pathos is never sentimentalized, never degenerates into bathos, is never morbid. This combination holds throughout all her works, longer or shorter, and is particularly manifest in the present collection of fifteen short stories, which, together with those in the first volume of the Chronicles of Avonlea, present a series of piquant and fascinating pictures of life in Prince Edward Island. The humor is shown not only in the presentation of quaint and unique characters, but also in the words which fall from their mouths. Aunt Cynthia "always gave you the impression of a full-rigged ship coming gallantly on before a favorable wind;" no further description is needed—only one such personage could be found in Avonlea. You would recognize her at sight. Ismay Meade's disposition is summed up when we are told that she is "good at having presentiments—after things happen." What cleverer embodiment of innate obstinacy than in Isabella Spencer—"a wisp of a woman who looked as if a breath would sway her but was so set in her ways that a tornado would hardly have caused her to swerve an inch from her chosen path;" or than in Mrs. Eben Andrews (in "Sara's Way") who "looked like a woman whose opinions were always very decided and warranted to wear!" This gift of characterization in a few words is lavished also on material objects, as, for instance; what more is needed to describe the forlornness of the home from which Anne was rescued than the statement that even the trees around it "looked like orphans"? The poetic touch, too, never fails in the right place and is never too frequently introduced in her descriptions. They throw a glamor over that Northern land which otherwise you might imagine as rather cold and barren. What charming Springs they must have there! One sees all the fruit-trees clad in bridal garments of pink and white; and what a translucent sky smiles down on the ponds and the reaches of bay and cove! "The Eastern sky was a great arc of crystal, smitten through with auroral crimsonings." "She was as slim and lithe as a young white-stemmed birch-tree; her hair was like a soft dusky cloud, and her eyes were as blue as Avonlea Harbor in a fair twilight, when all the sky is a-bloom over it." Sentiment with a humorous touch to it prevails in the first two stories of the present book. The one relates to the disappearance of a valuable white Persian cat with a blue spot in its tail. "Fatima" is like the apple of her eye to the rich old aunt who leaves her with two nieces, with a stern injunction not to let her out of the house. Of course both Sue and Ismay detest cats; Ismay hates them, Sue loathes them; but Aunt Cynthia's favor is worth preserving. You become as much interested in Fatima's fate as if she were your own pet, and the climax is no less unexpected than it is natural, especially when it is made also the last act of a pretty comedy of love. Miss Montgomery delights in depicting the romantic episodes hidden in the hearts of elderly spinsters as, for instance, in the case of Charlotte Holmes, whose maid Nancy would have sent for the doctor and subjected her to a porous plaster while waiting for him, had she known that up stairs there was a note-book full of original poems. Rather than bear the stigma of never having had a love-affair, this sentimental lady invents one to tell her mocking young friends. The dramatic and unexpected denouement is delightful fun. Another note-book reveals a deeper romance in the case of Miss Emily; this is related by Anne of Green Gables, who once or twice flashes across the scene, though for the most part her friends and neighbors at White Sands or Newbridge or Grafton as well as at Avonlea are the persons involved. In one story, the last, "Tannis of the Flats," the secret of Elinor Blair's spinsterhood is revealed in an episode which carries the reader from Avonlea to Saskatchewan and shows the unselfish devotion of a half-breed Indian girl. The story is both poignant and dramatic. Its one touch of humor is where Jerome Carey curses his fate in being compelled to live in that desolate land in "the picturesque language permissible in the far Northwest." Self-sacrifice, as the real basis of happiness, is a favorite theme in Miss Montgomery's fiction. It is raised to the nth power in the story entitled, "In Her Selfless Mood," where an ugly, misshapen girl devotes her life and renounces marriage for the sake of looking after her weak and selfish half-brother. The same spirit is found in "Only a Common Fellow," who is haloed with a certain splendor by renouncing the girl he was to marry in favor of his old rival, supposed to have been killed in France, but happily delivered from that tragic fate. Miss Montgomery loves to introduce a little child or a baby as a solvent of old feuds or domestic quarrels. In "The Dream Child," a foundling boy, drifting in through a storm in a dory, saves a heart-broken mother from insanity. In "Jane's Baby," a baby-cousin brings reconciliation between the two sisters, Rosetta and Carlotta, who had not spoken for twenty years because "the slack-twisted" Jacob married the younger of the two. Happiness generally lights up the end of her stories, however tragic they may set out to be. In "The Son of His Mother," Thyra is a stern woman, as "immovable as a stone image." She had only one son, whom she worshipped; "she never wanted a daughter, but she pitied and despised all sonless women." She demanded absolute obedience from Chester—not only obedience, but also utter affection, and she hated his dog because the boy loved him: "She could not share her love even with a dumb brute." When Chester falls in love, she is relentless toward the beautiful young girl and forces Chester to give her up. But a terrible sorrow brings the old woman and the young girl into sympathy, and unspeakable joy is born of the trial. Happiness also comes to "The Brother who Failed." The Monroes had all been successful in the eyes of the world except Robert: one is a millionaire, another a college president, another a famous singer. Robert overhears the old aunt, Isabel, call him a total failure, but, at the family dinner, one after another stands up and tells how Robert's quiet influence and unselfish aid had started them in their brilliant careers, and the old aunt, wiping the tears from her eyes, exclaims: "I guess there's a kind of failure that's the best success." In one story there is an element of the supernatural, when Hester, the hard older sister, comes between Margaret and her lover and, dying, makes her promise never to become Hugh Blair's wife, but she comes back and unites them. In this, Margaret, just like the delightful Anne, lives up to the dictum that "nothing matters in all God's universe except love." The story of the revival at Avonlea has also a good moral. There is something in these continued Chronicles of Avonlea, like the delicate art which has made "Cranford" a classic: the characters are so homely and homelike and yet tinged with beautiful romance! You feel that you are made familiar with a real town and its real inhabitants; you learn to love them and sympathize with them. Further Chronicles of Avonlea is a book to read; and to know. NATHAN HASKELL DOLE. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. L. M. Montgomery (2004). Further Chronicles of Avonlea. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/5340/pg5340-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html .

Further Chronicles of Avonlea is a book to read; and to know

This article was written by Dr. Doug Milburn, founder of Advanced Glazings, and has been published on their behalf with their permission. Many public spaces like offices, hotels, airports, gyms, and hospitals now not only , but are better-enabling people to create, collaborate and be productive in areas where well-being is intentionally optimized. How are they doing it? With a mix of new design thinking, new materials, and tech improvements aiming at a new set of outcomes. follow new safety protocols From a perspective, there are clear incentives for improving employee health and productivity. Any business owner can tell you that staff salaries and expenditures make up the bulk of operational expenses associated with occupying an office building. Indeed, over 85% of total workplace costs are spent on salaries and benefits, compared to less than 10% on rent and less than 1% on energy. business Research suggests that by making even small improvements to factors such as productivity, health, and wellbeing, businesses can experience greater financial benefit than they would from more efficient resource use in building operations. Green building design can have such a positive impact on humans and productivity that according to the , World Green Building Council Businesses are now shifting their thinking from ‘how much will green building cost my business’ to ‘how much will not investing in green building cost my business?’ Natural lighting, or daylighting, is the controlled admission of natural light into a building to reduce electric lighting and save energy. In order to be of maximum benefit it must be available to a significant percentage of the building interiors where the work gets done.. American office workers are spending up to indoors. Therefore the best way to give workers the , is to bring the outside in- something that sounds basic but is extremely complex and very easy to get wrong. 90% of their lives health benefits they find outdoors Daylighting has many benefits for human health and well-being, such as improving mood and reducing stress, while enhancing alertness and productivity. . Natural light can also lower cortisol levels, which are associated with stress and anxiety. A can improve sleep quality, energy levels, concentration, and cognitive performance. Exposure to natural light can boost serotonin levels, which regulate mood, appetite, sleep, and memory well-aligned circadian rhythm Well-lit offices also support vision and eye health. . It also stimulates the production of vitamin D, which is essential for eye health and immunity. Natural light can reduce eyestrain and headaches caused by artificial lighting or glare from screens However, many offices are not well designed to maximize natural light. Older office spaces especially can have small windows, deep floor plans, and drop ceilings that limit daylight penetration. While some modern glass “fishbowl” offices have the opposite problem: excessive or uncontrolled sunlight, causing glare, excessive heat, or visual discomfort. The science behind daylighting tech Meeting thermal goals doesn’t have to mean using less glass. Solera is a type of translucent insulated glass that combines thermally high-performance glazing with engineered light diffusers to provide uniform daylight distribution without glare or heat gain. This means rather than the light directing downward toward the floor, just as much is directed inward and upward. This redistribution means that the useful daylight is distributed deeper into a space. This maximizes daylight potential while eliminating glare and hotspots. When evaluating light diffusion, we’re reminded that all translucent materials are not equal. Transmittance of materials can vary from specular to fully diffused, or some varying degree or combination between the two. Vision glass, or conventional glazings, has purely specular transmission, i.e. light passes straight through and does not scatter. Other glazing materials such as acid etched glass, or white laminate PVB, scatter light sufficiently but at a relatively narrow angle; consequently, the brightness of those materials will vary greatly depending on your direction of view and the direction of the incident light. Products like Solera are excellent light diffusers, meaning light that it transmits is widely scattered such that the brightness is equal in all directions. Products like Solera can be used in the conventional application of glazings - for windows and skylights - to bring the right levels of natural light into any office space. However, these types of products are also being used to transform existing structures through the direct application of the glass to the structure, without a secondary structure. This is branded as SoleraWall. To optimize daylighting in office spaces, architects and design teams need to consider several factors, including the direction of sunlight, window-to-wall ratio (the percentage of exterior wall area covered by windows) and glazing performance. Using a combination of landscaping, window size optimization, thermally high-performance glazing selection, daylight redirection techniques, and solar shading devices can help any office space achieve optimal daylight levels for visual and thermal comfort, regardless of climate. Daylighting is not only a way to save energy and money, but also a way to improve well-being and performance in office spaces. Everyone responds well to walking into a building with reduced glare, great air quality, and pleasant views. Finance departments and CEOs will appreciate the energy greener offices. By designing office spaces that allow natural light to enter in a controlled and balanced way, employers and employees can enjoy the mutual benefits of taking this important step towards adopting green building practices. cost-savings and asset value of building or retrofitting About Doug Milburn As a long-time entrepreneur and innovator, Dr. Doug Milburn, founder of , thrives on solving problems. For more than 35 years, he’s brought passion and vision to manufacturing, engineering, software development and process engineering. Throughout his leadership, Dr. Milburn has aimed to create great workplaces by shaping a company’s success through corporate values and ethical guidelines. Advanced Glazings

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