Master of the World Page #2

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descend into the crater.

Here is to the success

of our venture.

Out with the ballast!

- First time aloft, Mr. Strock?

- Yes, sir.

Does the altitude bother you?

Not at all, I find it interesting.

- Where was this built, sir?

- In one of my factories.

Why, you're in

munitions, aren't you?

Yes, yes, and we manufacture

cannons, rifles, pistols,

powder, high explosives,

and the like.

For our government?

Primarily yes, but of

course we also sell to any

government who has the

money to pay for it.

Why, I notice the name of

Prudent on this knife.

- One of your products?

- Yes, that's one of our best sellers.

We ought to be getting

close by now.

See anything yet?

There it is!

Don't be alarmed, miss.

Wishful thinking, Mr. Strock?

Miss?

What makes you

think I'm alarmed?

- Excuse me, father, may I?

- Why certainly, my dear.

Is he annoying you, Dorothy?

I think it's the

other way around.

See anything yet?

Well, there seems to be

something inside the...

Look!

Steer it away from the crater!

It's our only chance!

I can't. I can't!

Everybody down on the floor

and brace yourselves.

Oh, I'm sorry, Miss Prudent.

- Who is it?

- Strock.

What are we doing here?

I don't know, miss, I don't know

what either of us is doing here.

Or where "here" is even.

The crash!

Father!

Let me help you.

- Are you in pain, miss?

- My back is...

Father?

Father...

Propeller in the rear...

as always and don't argue with me!

I will not be... ow!

- Did you hurt yourself?

- Of course I hurt myself.

Dorothy?

Phillip!

- Here, Father.

- Thank you, dear.

Where the devil are we anyway?

Looks like a ship's cabin.

Can you get it unlocked?

I already have, but it seems

to be bolted on the outside.

Maybe I can cut through one of these

shutters and stick my hand through it.

- This is very strange.

- What's strange about it?

Look at that.

It isn't wood, yet...

it isn't metal either.

Huh? Give it here. What is it?...

Come with me!

Are we on a ship?!

Answer me!

You were asked a

question, my good man.

- Best do as he says, gentlemen.

- This way.

Come, dear, come.

Must be a ship from

the size of it.

A riverboat.

We were shot down in a mountain crater,

how the devil could we be on a riverboat?

A flying ship!

- A heavier than air ship.

- Impossible!

On the contrary, not only

possible, but actual.

You are be carried through

space by a ship of several

tons weight, at a speed of

some 150 miles per hour.

150...!

And why exactly are we being

carried though space, Mister?...

Robur!

The name is Robur, sir.

Welcome aboard the

Albatross, good people.

As to why you are all here,

the reason is twofold.

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