The Space Warp

by John Russell Fearn

  “Without wishing to seem too much of a wet blanket,” Gordon apologised, “something else occurs to me. Surely the powerhouse engineers will cut off all electricity as four o’clock draws near? They’ve been warned to extinguish naked light as a precaution—if one can call electricity a ‘naked light’.”

  “One can as far as radiators, electric arcs, and such like are concerned.” Douglas frowned to himself for a moment. “I hadn’t thought of that, and it will certainly kill our generator if the power stops. On the other hand they may think it necessary to keep power flowing for many reasons and rely on individuals to guard against naked flame.”

  Gordon ran a hand through his red hair. “Sounds silly to me. Where’s the point in extinguishing a naked light. What good will that do?”

  “Kind of precaution. With space having gone queer there is no telling how heat may be transmitted or what it might do. Anyway, as far as the powerhouses are concerned we shall have to trust to luck.”

  * * * * * * *

  Also viewing the immediate future with concern was Commander James Rilson, captain of the Queen Enid, the largest Atlantic sea-going liner afloat. In common with all other ships at sea instructions had been received to proceed immediately to the nearest port, but in the case of the Queen Enid this could not be done because she was equidistant from Britain and New York, right in the centre of the high seas.

  Rilson called his officers to a conference in his cabin and regarded them seriously. “Just what is going to happen, gentlemen, we don’t know,” he said, his craggy face betray­ing the responsibility he was shouldering. “Our course is such that we cannot possibly reach either Southampton or New York before four o’clock this afternoon, so all we can do is go straight on. At the moment we are four hundred miles north of the Azores and we must maintain schedule. I have radioed back for instructions and been informed that we stay on course. However, should anything of an excep­tional nature occur it is up to us to calm the many passengers we have on board. That understood?”

  The officers nodded silently, each one filled with the dire feeling that they were up against something they did not understand.

  “We are seamen, not scientists,” the Commander finished, “and we shall be true to our code as near as we can. The one thing we must prevent at all costs is panic, so I look to you to prevent it if it shows any sign of developing.”

  More than this he did not say because, like everybody else, he had no idea what was coming. So the conference broke up and the various officers returned to their posts, each vaguely wondering how things would work out since all the passengers had themselves heard the warnings over the radio loudspeaker.

  Two of the many hundreds who had heard them were on the promenade deck at the moment, gazing out over the lonely summer sea. It seemed as though on this particular day, the one that threatened to find Nature going completely crazy, the weather was doing its utmost to provide compensation. Even the great liner’s movement through the ocean produced hardly any breeze at this particular portion of the deck.

  “Do you think this ‘something’ that is supposed to happen will be anything like the end of the world, Den?” the girl asked, gazing out to sea.

  She was slender, dark-headed, her eyes full of vague speculations as she looked up from the ocean to the unblemished blue sky.

  “I don’t know.” The young man beside her, Dennis Archer, put a protective arm about her slim shoulders for a moment. “I don’t see how it could be. One doesn’t talk of the end of the world as one would a coming shower. The end of the world is such a gigantic thing the mind just doesn’t register it. No,” he decided, after thinking for a moment, “I don’t believe anything like that is fore­shadowed. There would have been far grimmer warnings if that had been in prospect.”

  “Then do you think it might go dark?” It was plain the girl was searching for something onto which she could anchor her mind. “If something is destined to go wrong with light-waves I suppose everything could stop being visible, couldn’t it? I mean, the only reason why we see things is because of the light reflecting from them.”

  “True,” Dennis admitted; then he forced a laugh. “I never thought my beautiful young wife was so scientific!”

  “The beautiful young wife isn’t,” Betty smiled, glancing at him. “I’m just repeating what I once learned as a schoolgirl.”

  Dennis did not answer. They could neither of them escape the conviction that their conversation had a hollow ring. Their minds were centred on only one thing—four o’clock, and what would happen then. Everything else, even the fact that they were only just married and that a trip to New York was their honeymoon, just would not register. Up there, beyond the blue of the sky, beyond the warm blaze of sunlight, something incomprehensible was looming—and coming ever closer.

  * * * * * * *

  It was about this time that Mike Woodcroft, his wife, and two companions had stopped at a roadhouse for lunch. They soon got on the move again, though they felt they were safe enough from the police because of a screen of alibis and legal preclusions. Just the same, murder had been done and the sooner they made their first dive to cover in Woodcroft’s bungalow, the safer they would feel.

  They reached it about half-past-three. It was a perfect hideout, built entirely of wood and completely isolated, the driveway being concealed by dense trees. Few cars ever travelled the deserted road that led to it.

  The two women were the first to enter the long living room with its wooden furniture, skin rugs, and small private bar let into the wall. Evelyn Woodcroft glanced around to assure herself that all was in order, then she pulled off her light dust-coat and tossed it on one side, began to fluff her blonde curls with the tips of her fingers.

  “Gosh, but it’s hot!” she exclaimed suddenly, and went across to the window to fling it open. She was not aware of it, of course, but she had uttered the first intimation of a change in the supposedly immutable laws of physics.

  That it was hot there was no denying. Usually, in England; even in the midst of summer, there is nothing approaching the tropics in temperature, but this afternoon the air had become completely motionless, the sun blazing down in unclouded splendour, heat oozing out of the wooden walls of the bungalow, out of the floor, and out of the roof.

  Evelyn went across to the wall by the fireplace, pressed a button, then watched the wooden shutter covering the bar go sliding back. Reaching down behind the small counter she dragged out Scotch and a full soda siphon. Glasses clinked. By the time Janet had taken off her coat, and Woodcroft and Prayerbook had come panting into the room, Evelyn had four drinks ready. Without saying a word to each other they drank—and then drank again.

  “Maybe I got the idea wrong,” Prayerbook said medita­tively, cocking a grey eye towards the sunshine through the open doorway, “but I had the impression we came here to cool off before startin’ for the airfield tonight. Cool off! It’s hot enough to fry eggs on the floor!”

  “What d’you expect me to do about it?” Woodcroft asked sourly.

  “Take a look at this thermometer!” Janet exclaimed, studying it where it hung on the wall. “A hundred degrees! And unless I’m crazy it’s still rising!”

  Janet Meigan was not crazy. Not only that particular thermometer but every thermometer in the world was expanding its mercury. An inexorable climb in heat had commenced. Heat radiations, relying on space for their transmission and normalcy were the first to undergo the effect of change. Or at least they appeared to be the first. It was Mike Woodcraft’s sugges­tion that they break the monotony until evening by watching the television that brought a surprise. Evelyn switched it on and, though the power was there as usual, nothing came forth. Impatiently she fiddled with the controls, trying different channels. There was only silence.

  “Damned thing’s gone dead!” Mike decided; glaring at it.

  “I wonder—” Prayerbook glanced at it and put down his empty glass.

  “What d’you mean, you wonder?” Mike thumped th
e top of the set violently. “Obvious, isn’t it?”

  “I’m just remembering something, going right back to when I was a school-kid. I was pretty keen on science then. Television and radio waves, if space went haywire, would perhaps be the first to be affected, especially the long ones. Working slowly up the scale, we’ll find Hertzian waves, dark heat waves, infrared, light waves, and all the rest of them being affected in turn as the wavelengths grow shorter. Cosmic rays would come last, the shortest of all.”

  Nobody spoke because none quite knew what Prayerbook was talking about, or what was implied. But the scientists did, the world over, and their faces grew grimmer as they studied their instruments and received reports. Soon the radio waves died out and every lonely scientific outpost was left to grapple with the problem alone.

  In Annex 10 in the Adirondack Mountains in New York the scientists under the leadership of astronomer Dr. Gray could hardly believe the things the instruments told them, but, because the equipment was absolutely reliable they had to believe, and with the unfolding seconds from four o’clock on that ill-fated June 30th, they began to see what chaos was in store for mankind.

  Amongst the scientists stood Woodstock J. Holmes, the financier. He was neither welcome nor necessary, but as he had expected his power and influence had shoe-horned him into this secret retreat of science and now he stood watching the experts at work, quite unable to understand what they were doing or the nature of their conversation. A lot of jumping needles on immaculate white dials meant nothing to Woodstock J. Money was his only concern in life, and just at this moment he was very much afraid that he was doomed to lose most of it.

  “What the devil are you fellows monkeying about for?” he demanded at length. “Can’t you say something? Explain what is going to happen?”

  “It is already happening,” Dr. Gray answered, without looking up from his calculations.

  “Happening? What is? I don’t see anything different!” The financier strode across to the big window and, gazed out onto the mountainside. Heat-mist below hid the view there, but elsewhere everything seemed peaceful enough—except that the Annex was surprisingly warm considering it was shielded overhead by a gigantic out-jutting lip of rock.

  “At four o’clock precisely Earth flew into the outer edge of the space flaw,” Gray continued, rising to his feet. “The first signs of aberrant space became immediately obvious in the swift decline of radio communication. Long waves went first and now the short ones have gone too. Next in the spectrum line come the heat-waves, and those are being affected at this very moment. Surely you’ve noticed how hot it is in here?”

  “Yes.” Holmes looked about him. “Why should it be?”

  “It’s because of an abnormal state of the fabric of space—what used to be called the ether. Naturally, heat waves are transmitted through space at the rate of four hundred-billion to the second: any variation can make the temperature rise or fall prodigiously. In this instance it has risen—and may possibly go on rising to tremendous heights! Normally our aqueous atmosphere intercepts four-tenths of the full heat of the sun, but even that isn’t operating properly. And there’s another side to this heat business—”

  Dr. Gray stopped and considered, mopping his face.

  “Well?” Holmes barked at him. “What?”

  “The tests we have just been making reveal that the heat waves are passing through solids as easily as light-waves pass through glass! That’s why it’s so hot in here. The rock-covering over our roof is of no use at all. We might as well be exposed to the naked glare of the sun.”

  “Must be something wrong with your instruments,” Holmes declared at length. “Even I know that something solid will block heat, and it doesn’t have to be so very solid, either. What about those big umbrellas, like they use on the beach in Florida? They—”

  “This,” Dr. Gray interrupted, trying to be patient, “is an abnormality. No umbrella, not even rock, can prevent heat waves blasting through at the moment. Look at the thermometer there.”

  The financier did so and whistled. It registered 118 degrees Fahrenheit, and was still rising. Then his gaze snapped back to the troubled scientist.

  “How long does this frying process go on?”

  “As yet it is impossible to forecast because we don’t know the area of the fault in space.”

  “Dammit, don’t you scientists know anything?” Woodstock J. roared. “Every question I ask you hedge round. We’re just getting no place.”

  “If, as we assume, the ether waves are to be progressively disturbed to the limit of the spectrum we can expect light itself to be affected next, and light covers a multitude of wavelengths. It means that red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet will all be affected. It may still remain light, but it will be of an order to which we are not accustomed. Later still will come the ultraviolet radiations, then the X-rays. And so on through gamma into cosmic. Everything that relies on ether for transmission will be changed.”

  The financier tugged open his already unfastened shirt collar and mopped his face. Perspiration was trickling down it so copiously he had ceased to attempt drying it.

  “How do you suppose this business is affecting the outer world?” he asked finally.

  “We can only guess.” Dr. Gray had returned to his instruments. “Since radio has failed we have no exact idea, but I should imagine the first consequence must be fires of far-reaching extent.”

  “But it can’t be this blasted hot everywhere, surely? What about the Arctic and Antarctic?”

  “Since the sunlight and heat-waves are penetrating solids at the moment there must be a temperature rise at the poles also,” Gray answered. “Even on the night side of Earth, and the south pole where at this time of year night lasts six months, the heat of the sun must be driving straight through Earth. I should imagine there must be chaos in the polar regions with millions of tons of ice and snow on the move.”

  The financier pulled at his pendulous underlip. “Must be somewhere where it’s cool,” he muttered.

  “Not on this planet,” Gray answered quietly, and at that Holmes swung round and came striding over to the scientist as he sat amongst his colleagues before the instruments.

  “Look here, Dr. Gray, I don’t like your calmly fatalistic attitude! You accept this whole unnatural business as though it were an everyday occurrence. You, and the rest of these so-called experts around you, ought to be up and doing and trying to find means to put things right.”

  Dr. Gray smiled wryly. “Do you imagine we haven’t tried? Do you imagine we can pattern the infinite when we haven’t even the vaguest idea what has really happened to space?”

  “Then you ought to have! What’s the use of science if it lets us down in a dilemma?”

  “We can only work from known premises, sir,” com­mented the acid-faced Sheldon.

  Holmes banged his fleshy fist on the bench beside him. “Great heavens, if I ran the money markets like this there would be utter chaos! I always did think scientists were dreamers and fools, and now I’m sure of it. But I don’t think any one of you is such a fool as to refuse a fortune. I’ll pay any sum—any sum, mind you—to the man who trans­ports me to a place where it’s cool and comfortable until all this hocus-pocus with the ether is finished.”

  Nobody answered, but one or two of the scientists gave bitter smiles. The unspoken suggestion that he was being humoured like a naughty child stung Holmes to further words.

  “Don’t tell me that scientists don’t want money as much as anybody else! Or is it that you mooned around with your theories so long you don’t remember what money is?”

  Dr. Gray got to his feet, a tired look on his features. “Mr. Holmes, you came here uninvited because you believed your money entitled you to do so. Very well. I have tried to tolerate your presence, but I am finding it increasingly difficult. Will you kindly realise that money, as such, may not have the slightest value if this ether tragedy continues. The whole world may go up in flames, and your
money with it. Even if there were a cool, comfortable spot on this planet—which there isn’t—do you suppose any one of us recording this business and trying to think of ways to stop it, would take time out to make one man comfortable? Hardly! What you want now, Mr. Holmes, is faith in your Maker, not your bank account.”

  The financier glowered. “Who do you think you are talking to? I am the President of—”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” Gray gestured wearily. “Have the goodness to leave us alone, Mr. Holmes. There are rest rooms in the adjoining section of the Annex. Maybe you’ll find it cooler there.”

  Holmes hesitated, genuinely unable to believe that for once his financial power and eminence had let him down. He took a glance at the thermometer, saw that the mercury had climbed three more degrees on the scale, and then he strode angrily to the adjoining door.

  CHAPTER THREE

  WORLD IN TORMENT

  Martin Horsley, sprawled full-length in the deep arm­chair of the bedroom in his Sussex hotel, was slowly becoming aware that something was different somewhere. Since his thoughts were always centred on his own condition it could only mean that the difference lay in his body. Then he realised what it was: he was warm for the first rime in many years. Thus he lay for a while in the dreamy peace of his discovery, his sleepy eyes peering outside onto the sun-drenched elm trees. Not a leaf moved. Whether there were sounds outside or not he did not know because the windows were tightly shut to preclude all possibility of a draught.

  It was probably ten minutes after Horsley had discovered that he felt comfortable when there was a hesitant tapping on the door.

  “Come in,” he murmured, and through screwed-up eyes saw Dawson enter. He looked uncomfortably warm in his dark chauffeur’s uniform and was carrying .a medicine bottle and tumbler upon a tray.

  “Well, what do you want?” Horsley demanded. “Can’t you see I’m dozing?”

  “Yessir—sorry, sir. But you did tell me to remind you when it was time for your medicine, and it’s time now. Half-past four.”