Music Welcome to snoozecast. The podcast is designed to help you fall asleep. Find us at snoozecast.com And now also on the YouTube's newscast channel. And if you enjoy our show and haven't done so already, please write a review on the Apple Podcasts app or at podchaser.com slash newscast. That's P-O-D-C-H-A-S-E-R dot com. Your review helps new listeners find us and we appreciate everyone's feedback. Here's a recent review we loved. The subject line is, OMG this works and it goes. I was skeptical, but this podcast is truly effective at lulling one to sleep. I tend to wake up in the middle of the night, and this podcast puts me back to sleep within about 10 minutes. Way more effective than the history podcasts I had been using. And thank you to Alexandra for writing your review. We're so happy to help you sleep better. This episode is brought to you by Lunar Influences. Tonight we'll read the opening to The Moon Made, a fantasy novel written by Edgar Rice Burrows and published in 1926. This novel constitutes a future history, and in it Burrows vision of what the 20th century held in store for humanity, which could be considered a kind of retroactive alternate history. In Burrow's vision, in 1967, the planetary rulers sent a first-manned spacecraft to the Moon, coinciding very near to the actual 1969 date of the Apollo 11 moon landing. Of course, in Burrows version, the moon turns out

to be teaming with life. This is the second time snooze cast has featured early science

fiction from Burrows. You can also listen to a Princess of Mars that aired on June 14th, 2019.

Let's get cozy.

Close your eyes.

Relax your body and in the softness of your body. Now take a few deep breaths. Prologue. I met him in the blue room of the trans-Oceanic liner Harding the night of Mars' day, June 10, 1967. I had been wondering about the city for several hours prior to the sailing of the flyer watching the celebration. Dropping in at various places that I might see as much as possible of scenes that doubtless will never again be paralleled, a world gone mad with joy. There was only one vacant chair in the blue room, and that at a small table at which he was already seated alone. I asked his permission, and he graciously invited me to join him, rising as he did so, his face lighting with a smile that compelled my liking from the first. I had thought that victory day, which we had celebrated two months before, could never be eclipsed in point of mad enthusiasm. But the announcement that had been made this day appeared to have had even a greater effect upon the minds and imaginations of the people. War was at an end. Definitely and forever. Arms and ammunition were being dumped into the five oceans. The vast armadas of the air were being scrapped, were converted into carriers for purposes of peace and commerce. The peoples of all nations had celebrated, victors and vanquished alike for they were tired of war. At least they thought that they were tired of war.

But were they?

What else did they know? Only the oldest of men could recall even a semblance of world peace. The others knew nothing but war. Two months had passed. two months during which the world appeared to stand still, to mark time, to hold its breath. What now? We have peace. But what shall we do with it? The leaders of thought and of action are trained for but one condition. The reaction brought despondency, our nerves accustomed to the constant stimulus of excitement, cried out against the monotony of peace, and yet no one wanted war again. We did not know what we wanted. And then came the announcement that I think saved a world for madness. directed our minds along a new line to the contemplation of a fact, far more engrossing than prosaic wars and equally estimulating to the imagination and the nerves. Intelligible communication had at last been established with Mars. Always, generation after generation, there had been those few who could detach their minds and looking forward to a happier era, concentrate their talents and their energies upon the utilization of scientific achievement for the betterment of mankind and the rebuilding of civilization. Among these was that much ridiculed but devoted codery who had clung tenaciously to the idea that communication could be established with Mars. The hope that had been growing for a hundred years had never been permitted to die, but had been transmitted from teacher to pupil with ever-growing enthusiasm. While the people scoffed as a hundred years before, we are told they scoffed at the experimenters with flying machines as they chose to call them. About 1940 had come the first reward of long years of toil and hope, following the perfection of an instrument which accurately indicated the direction and distance of the focus of any radio activity with which it might be attuned. For several years prior to this, all the more highly sensitive receiving instruments had recorded a series of three dots and three dashes which began at precise intervals of 24 hours and 37 minutes and continued for approximately 15 minutes. new instrument indicated conclusively that these signals, if they were signals, originated always at the same distance from the Earth and in the same direction as the point in the universe occupied by the planet Mars. It was five years later before ascending apparatus was evolved that Bade Faire to transmit its waves from Earth to Mars. At first, their own message was repeated, three dots and three dashes. Although the usual interval of time had not elapsed since we had received their daily signal, ours was immediately answered. Then we sent a message consisting of five dots and two dashes alternating. Immediately, they replied with five dots and two dashes and we knew beyond per adventure of a doubt that we were in communication with the red planet. But it required 22 years of unremitting effort with the most brilliant intellects of two worlds concentrated upon it, to evolve and perfect an intelligent system of intercommunication between the two planets. Today, this 10th of June 1967, there was published broadcast to the world the first message from Mars. It was dated helium bar zoom and merely extended greetings to a sister world and wished us well. But it was the beginning. The blue room of the harding was, I presume, but typical of every other gathering place in the civilized world. Men and women were eating, drinking, laughing, singing and talking. The flyer was racing through the air at an altitude of little over a thousand feet. Its engines motivated wirelessly from power plants thousands of miles distant, drove it noiselessly and swiftly along its overnight pathway between Chicago and Paris. I had of course crossed many times, but this instance was unique because of the epic-making occasion which the passengers were celebrating. And so I sat at the table longer than usual, watching my fellow diners with, I imagine, a slightly indulgent smile upon my lips since I mention it in no spirit of egotism. It had been my high privilege to assist in the consummation of a hundred years of effort that had borne fruit that day. I looked around that my fellow diners and then back to my table companion. He was a fine-looking chap, lean and bronzed. One need not have noted the air-core overseas service uniform, the admiral stars, and anchors, or the wound stripes to have guessed that he was a fighting man. He looked at it, every inch of him, and there were a full 72 inches. We talked a little about the great victory and the message from Mars, of course. And though he often smiled,

I noticed an occasional shadow of sadness in his eyes, and once, after a particularly mad outburst of pandemonium on the part of the celebrators, he shook his head, remarking, poor devils, and then here's just as well. Let them enjoy life while they may. And I envy them their ignorance. What do you mean?" I asked. He flushed a little and then smiled. Was I speaking aloud? He asked. I repeated what he had said, and he looked steadily at me for a long minute before he spoke again. What's the use? He exclaimed. Almost, patchanely. You wouldn't understand, and of course you wouldn't believe. I do not understand it myself, I have to believe because I know, I know from

personal observation. God, if you could have seen what I have seen, tell me, I begged. But he shook his head dubiously. Do you realize that there is no such thing as time? He He asked suddenly. That man has invented time to suit the limitations

of his finite mind. Just as he has named another thing, that he can neither explain nor understand space. I have heard of such a theory, I replied, but I neither believe nor disbelieve.

I simply do not know. I thought I had him started, and so I waited. As I have read in fiction stories, is the proper way to entice a strange narrative from its possessor. He was looking beyond me, and I imagined that the

expression of his eyes denoted that he was witnessing again the thrilling scenes of the past. I must have been wrong, though. In fact, I was quite sure of it when he next spoke. If that girl isn't careful, he said, the thing will upset and give her a nasty fall. She is much too near the edge. I turned to see a richly dressed and much disheveled young lady busily dancing on a tabletop while her friends and the surrounding diners cheered her lustfully. My companion arose. I have enjoyed your company immensely, he said, and I hope to meet you again. I'm going to look for a place to sleep now. They could not give me a state room. I don't seem to be able to get enough sleep since they sent me back." He smiled. I have a room with two beds. I said, at the last minute my secretary was taken ill. I'll be glad to have you share the room with me. He thanked me and accepted my hospitality for the night. The following morning we would be in Paris. As we wound her way among the tables filled with laughing, joyous diners, my companion paused beside that at which sat the young woman who had previously attracted his attention. Their eyes met and into hers

came a look of puzzlement and half recognition. He smiled frankly in her face, nodded and passed on. You know her then, I asked.

I shall, in 200 years, was this strange reply.

We found my room, and there we had a bottle of wine and some little cakes and a quiet smoke and became much better acquainted. It was he who first reverted to the subject of our conversation in the blue room. I am going to tell you, he said, what I have never told another, but on the condition that if you retell it, you are not to use my name. I have several years of this life ahead of me, and I do not care to be pointed out as a lunatic. First, let me say that I do not try to explain anything, except that I do not believe prevision to be a proper explanation. I have actually lived the experiences I shall tell you of, and that girl we saw dancing on the table tonight lived them with me. But she does not know it. If you care to, you can keep in mind the theory that there is no such thing as time. Just keep it in mind. You cannot understand it, or at least I cannot. Here goes. Chapter 1 An Adventure In Space I had intended telling you my story of the days of the 22nd century, but it seems best if you are to understand it, to tell first the story of my great-great-grandfather, who was born in the year 2000. I must have looked up at him quizzically, for he smiled and shook his head as one who who is puzzled to find an explanation suited to the mental capacity of his auditor. My great-great-grandfather was, in reality, the great-great-grandson of my previous incarnation, which commenced in 1896. I married in 1916 at the age of 20. My son Julian was born in 1917. I never saw him. I was killed in France in 1918 on Armistice Day. I was again reincarnated in my son's son in 1937. I am 30 years of age. My son was born in 1970. That is the son of my 1937 incarnation. And his son, Julian V, in whom I again returned to Earth in the year 2000. I see you are confused, but please remember my injunction that you are to try to keep in mind the theory that there is no such thing as time. It is now the year 1967, yet I recall distinctly every event of my life that occurred in four incarnations. The last that I recall being that which had its origin in the year 2100. Whether I actually skipped three generations that time or through some caprice of fate, I am merely unable to visualize an intervening incarnation. I do not know. My theory of the matter is that I differ only from my fellows in that I can recall the events of many incarnations. Well, they can recall none of theirs other than a few important episodes of that particular one they are experiencing. But perhaps I am wrong. It is of no importance. I will tell you the story of Julian V who is born in the year 2000. And then if we have time, and you are yet interested. I will tell you of the torment during the harrowing days of the 22nd century following the birth of Julian 9th in 2100. I will try to tell this story in his own words in so far as I can recall them. But for various reasons, not the least of which is that I am lazy, I shall admit superfluous quotation marks that is with your permission of course. My name is Julian. I am called Julian 5th. I come of an illustrious family. My great-great-grandfather, Julian 1st, a major at 22, was killed in France early in the Great War. My great-grandfather, Julian, was killed in the Battle of Turkey in 1938. My grandfather, Julian III, fought continuously from his 16th year until peace was declared in his 30th year. He died in 1992, and during the last 25 years of his life was an admiral of the air, being transferred at the close of the war to the command of the International Peace Fleet, which patrolled and policed the world. He also was killed in line of duty, as was my father, who succeeded him in the service. At 16, I graduated from the Air School, and was detailed to the International Peace Fleet, being the fifth generation of my line, to wear the uniform of my country. That was in 2016, and I recall that it was a matter of pride to me that it rounded out the full century since Julian first graduated from West Point. And that during that 100 years, no adult male of my line had ever owned or worn civilian clothes. Of course there were no more wars, but there still was fighting. We had the pirates of the air to contend with. However life seemed to tame and monotonous to us when we read of the heroic deeds of our ancestors from 1914 to 1967, yet none of us wanted war. It had been too well schooled into us, and the international peace fleet so effectively prevented all preparation for war that we all knew there could never be another. But on that historic day, June 10th, 1967, Earth received her first message from Mars, since which the two planets have remained in constant friendly communication, carrying on a commerce of reciprocal enlightenment. In some branches of the arts and sciences, the Martians, or Barsoomians as they call themselves, were far in advance of us. While in others, we had progressed more rapidly than they. Knowledge was thus freely exchanged to the advantage of both worlds. We learned of their history and customs and the avarice, though they had for ages already known much more of us than we of them. Martian news held always a prominent place in our daily papers from the first. They helped us most, perhaps, in the fields of medicine and aeronautics, giving us in one the marvelous healing lotions of barsoom and in the other knowledge of the eighth ray, which is more generally known on earth as the barsoom and Ray, which is now stored in the buoyancy tanks

of every aircraft and has made obsolete those ancient types of plane that depended upon momentum to keep them afloat. That we ever were able to communicate intelligibly with them is due to the presence upon Mars of that deathless Virginian, John Carter, whose miraculous transportation to Mars occurred March 4th, 1866, as every school child of the 21st century knows had not the little band of Martian scientists who sought so long to communicate with Earth mistakenly formed themselves into a secret organization for political purposes. Messages might have been exchanged between the two planets nearly half a century before they were. And it was not until they finally called upon John Carter that the present interplanetary code was evolved. Almost from the first, the subject which engrossed us all the most was the possibility of an actual exchange of visits between Earthmen and Barsoomians. Each planet hoped to be the first to achieve this, yet neither withheld any information that would aid the other in the consummation of the great fact. It was a generous and friendly rivalry, which about the time of my graduation from the air school seemed, in theory at least, to be almost ripe for a successful consummation by one or the other. We had the A3, the motors, the oxygenating devices, the insulating processes, everything to ensure the safe and certain transit of a specially designed aircraft to Mars, or Mars the only other inhabitants of space. In 2015, Mars had dispatched a ship for Earth with a crew of five men provisioned for ten years. It was hoped that with good luck, the trip might be made in something less than five years, as the craft had developed an actual trial speed of 1,000 miles per hour. At the time of my graduation, the ship was already off its course, almost a million miles, and generally conceded to be hopelessly lost. crew, maintaining constant radio communication with both Earth and Mars still hoped for success, but the best informed upon both worlds had given them up. We had had a ship about ready at the time of the sailing of the Martians, but the government at Washington had forbidden the venture when it became apparent that the Barsoomi and ship was doomed. A wise decision since our vessel was no better equipped than theirs. Nearly ten years elapsed before anything further was accomplished in the direction of assuring any greater hope of success for another interplanetary venture into space. And this was directly due to the discovery made by a former classmate of mine, Lieutenant Commander Orthas. One of the most brilliant men I have ever known, and at the same time, one of the most unscrupulous, and to me at least, the most obnoxious. you you you