The Space Warp

by John Russell Fearn

  He turned to squint at the thermometer and he too sensed the same uneasiness as Janet. The mercury had climbed to 130 degrees Fahrenheit, and even as Mike watched it climbed a little more, edging upwards remorselessly.

  “Better keep out of the sunshine, Jan,” Evelyn advised. “It might do things to you. We’ve enough on our hands for later on without a sunstroke case added, to it.”

  With a nod Janet turned back into the room. Mike mooched after her, playing in his memory with the news­paper facts Prayerbook had read out on the journey from town. Something about a fault in space—which didn’t mean a thing to a killer with the brutish instincts of Mike Woodcroft. All he knew was that he felt as if he were being fried.

  “For the love of Pete—”

  Prayerbook uttered the words in a sudden yell and jumped to his feet so violently that his chair went spinning backwards. The two girls and Mike swung to question him, then they stopped in awe as they realised what had smitten him. The sunlight was commencing to shine through the roof!

  It was not burning through it: it was simply that light waves normally blocked by the thinnest of solids were now going through them instead! By slow degrees, like cloud vapourising from before a bright globe, the sun merged through the wooden roof, first in the outline of a misted blur—then it became round, and finally its rays blasted clean through with a brilliance which was bewildering.

  At the same moment there was a gigantic shifting and changing of ordinary values. Shadows melted, solids became quite transparent. Light was everywhere—blinding, inexorable. It affected everything and everybody on Earth and in the Solar System at the same moment. Solids were no longer blocking light as Earth hurtled onwards through the Warp.

  Mike Woodcraft flung his arm up over his face and then dropped it again in stunned amazement. His arm did not shut out the glare! He could still see the sun. So could Prayerbook and so could the two girls. If they covered their faces, if they shut their eyes, the sun remained, pour­ing an intolerable effulgence upon them.

  “What’s gone wrong?” Evelyn demanded in a shriek, springing up. “Why does the sun shine through us instead of on us? What in hell’s happened?”

  “How should I know?” Mike snarled at her.

  “‘And the Moon shall be as the Sun, and the Sun shall increase sevenfold’,” Prayerbook whispered.

  “Oh, shut up!” Evelyn spat at him. “This is a fine time to come out with that stuff! Things have gone that cockeyed I think we should get out—”

  “Why?” Janet asked quietly. “What good would it do us?’’

  “Because in case you’ve forgotten it there’s a grass fire over there—you pointed it out yourself—and I can’t see any earthly reason why everything around us shouldn’t go up in flames at any moment! Look at that thermometer!”

  It registered 133 degrees Fahrenheit..

  “We’re staying!” Mike decided roughly, and catching Evelyn by the arm he whirled her back into her chair. As she sat blinking at his massive body she was conscious of an amazing fact: she could see through him! His spinal column, his ribs, and his legs were etched out against the glare of the sun as though on an X-ray plate.

  “We’re staying until tonight because we’ve got to,” Mike added. “Because you’ve gone jittery over some hocus-pocus with the sun there’s no reason why we should start running and sticking our necks in a noose. I don’t have to remind you that we did a job in town, do I, and that the police are not exactly a bunch of idiots?”

  “Night—” Janet repeated, wincing and turning her face from the light—only to look into more blazing glare saturating and piercing every molecule in the room. “Night! What a relief that will be when it comes.”

  “Since it’s six hours away yet we can get used to this,” Mike said, looking at his wristwatch. “If you two girls want to go in the bedroom and lie down I’m not stopping you.”

  “Who wants to lie down?” Evelyn demanded, wiping her face with a sodden handkerchief. “Do you think we can’t stick it?”

  “I just wonder,” Prayerbook said, slowly, narrowing his eyes in the glare, “where this is going to finish? You two girls and Mike here haven’t got my education. You don’t know much about science.”

  “Neither do you,” Mike sneered, going across to the bar.

  “Not in a big way, true,” Prayerbook agreed, sitting back in his chair, “but I’m not so dumb that I can’t see that this is a disaster of the first magnitude. Heat beyond endurance, light going through solids as though they’re glass! It never happened before—not that we know of. It might even be the end of the world. It says somewhere—‘And the very stones shall be consumed—’”

  “Aren’t things bad enough?” Janet cried tearfully. “Be quiet, or else talk sense!”

  “All right, kid, all right—you’ve got nerves,” Prayerbook sympathised. “Not that I blame you—but nerves aren’t going to get us out of this mess.”

  There was silence for a moment. Though there were only four of them, though they had arrived at this bungalow quite calmly with their plans well laid; they were com­mencing to suffer from the abnormal and prolonged strain. They did not know it, but it was quite the logical outcome of the weird change in basic laws and the consequent wrench on the nervous system.

  In city and hamlet, in the air and on the sea, amongst every type of man, woman and child, it was the same. Now Earth was near the centre of the space-warp every known law of physics was in the discard. Radio waves were unintelligible—a scrambled mass of static; X-rays refused to function properly; light went through solids; the sun’s radiations themselves had taken on a new rate of vibration which made the visible spectrum alter its frequency. Because of this, light in particular had taken on the penetra­tive power of X-rays, which in most cases was responsible for the plague of blindness and skin disease already striding across the Earth.

  The heat too was an added menace, and was not con­fined to any one part of the world. It soaked in everywhere from Pole to Pole, thawing Arctic and Antarctic and turn­ing the equatorial regions to unendurable hell!

  * * * * * * *

  In Annex 10 in the Adirondack Mountains the tempera­ture registered 134 degrees Fahrenheit, and was still rising. Dr. Gray and his fellow scientists were all stripped to the waist, towels round their necks with which they constantly mopped their streaming faces. They had already discovered that the sun was shining directly at them even through the rock ledge that protected the roof, and the instruments they handled registered a grim story. Cosmic rays, X-rays, and a while host of ultra-short-waved radiations were pouring in from the unmasked solar photosphere.

  “Where this is going to finish I don’t dare to think,” Dr. Gray whispered at last, staggering up from his chair. “There must be tens of thousands of people being affected by these radiations—to what extent depends upon their con­stitution. The cosmic rays must also be affecting all the protoplasmic forms of life and stimulating them as never before. The heat added to the stimulation will enable them to grow. In all parts of the world tremendous mutations must be occurring—and we can’t get a single word about it with the damned radio out of action.”

  “There are carrier pigeons in the basement,” Sheldon remarked. “Any use sending one of those and see if we can get in touch with somebody?”

  Dr. Gray debated for a moment or two and then shook his head. “Be a waste of time, I’m afraid. I doubt if any bird could survive more than a few minutes outside. Though radiations are driving straight through matter the matter does make a slight protection. Outside there will be none at all—”

  He broke off sharply as one of the scientists who had been busily making calculations suddenly slumped out of his chair and crashed heavily to the floor. He did not remain inert, however: instead he held his head desperately and shouted in sudden anguish.

  Immediately the other scientists rushed to his assistance, lifting his writhing body preparatory to carrying it to the adjoining bedrooms section. But they were not qui
ck enough. By the time they had raised him his convulsive movements ceased and it was quite obvious that he was dead.

  “Put him on the floor,” Dr. Gray instructed, set-faced. “If we can find out what happened to him maybe we can save ourselves from a similar fate: Obviously radiation got him, but we’ll try and find out where. Sheldon, bring in the surgical readers.”

  Sheldon nodded and hurried away. In a moment or two he returned from an adjoining compartment, pushing before him a rubber-tyred trolley upon which stood all manner of technical instruments, specially designed for reading any portion of the human body.

  Gray switched on the self-contained batteries and held the “pick-up” over the dead scientist’s body. The images it picked up were transmitted to the scanning screen in a semi X-ray fashion, but the fault in the ether made the image hazy and indistinct.

  “It would be!” Gray muttered in subdued fury. “If we can only determine what part of the body the radiations affect—whether it be the brain or the heart—we might even be able to devise something to offset them.”

  With the rest of the scientists he stared intently at the screen, meanwhile adjusting the focusing screws, but no matter how hard he strove the light-photons would not behave. The image danced, wavered, covered itself in weird snaky traceries, and at length was lost in a common haze.

  “No use, sir,” Sheldon said finally. “This instrument is as crazy as everything else. I’m afraid we’ll never know what hit Meadows—or at any rate we won’t know exactly where. I imagine it must have been his brain which was attacked.”

  Gray nodded absently and Sheldon pushed away the trolley. Mopping themselves freely the scientists looked down at their dead comrade, then at Dr. Gray.

  “If we had lead helmets we might save ourselves,” one the men suggested. “Cosmic rays are blocked by lead.”

  “If we were only dealing in cosmic rays I’d agree,” Gray answered, “but the instruments, those of them which still work reasonably, show that we are dealing with wave­lengths even shorter than cosmic, against which there is no known protection. Not even lead. Besides, since this spatial fault makes even light-waves pass through solids I think we can assume that cosmic rays would go through lead at the moment.”

  “Then we stay here and risk the same thing happening to us as happened to Meadows?” Sheldon asked bitterly.

  “We’re scientists,” Gray reminded him quietly. “It is for us to stick at our jobs until we can do it no longer. Those who survive this catastrophe will need every record they can get concerning it, if only to prepare in case it should ever happen again.”

  “The radiations up on this mountain height are probably far worse than at the surface,” Sheldon pointed out. “In our effort to isolate ourselves maybe we cut our own throats. It’s an obvious fact that with every foot we go up from the ground the percentage of radiation from outer space increases. Possibly that is why we’re in such danger.”

  “Yes—possibly.” Gray made the admission as though it had only just occurred to him—which in truth it had. “And if that be so, what is the answer? We cannot leave here.”

  “I think you should speak for yourself there, Dr. Gray,” Sheldon snapped. “We may be scientists and we may have a duty to perform, but life comes before everything. I, for one, am not prepared to sacrifice my life for science or any­thing else. Things have got to the pitch where the only law is that of self-preservation.”

  The scientists looked at one another uncomfortably, then two of them crossed to Sheldon’s side. The others, older men most of them, remained with Dr. Gray.

  “You two gentlemen feel the same way?” Gray asked quietly, studying the two men ranged beside Sheldon.

  “Afraid we do, sir,” one of them answered. “Meaning no disrespect to you.”

  Gray smiled wryly. “And now you have come to this decision what do you propose doing? You are scientists: you must realise that in attempting to leave this Annex you will expose yourselves to worse danger than that which exists inside it.”

  “We’ll take that chance,” Sheldon said stubbornly. “I am convinced it is only our altitude here which is causing us to get the radiations so severely. I’m all for using our single plane to make an attempt to reach ground level—”

  “About time you star-gazers got some sense!”

  The scientists turned as the pain-congested voice reached them. Absorbed in their own dilemma they had forgotten .all about Woodstock J. Holmes who had gone off to the sleeping quarters. He stood now in the doorway that led to them, .his eyes bloodshot, sweat gleaming on his fleshy, naked chest.

  “We should have got out of here long ago,” he added, looking towards the dead man on the floor. “Or was it him who suddenly made you see reason—? God, my head’s killing me! And the heat!”

  The financier staggered a little then got control over himself again. Strong as a bull he was, and it was amazing how much he could endure without going under.

  “Well, what sort of a decision have you arrived at?” he demanded, moving unsteadily forward. “Or have you arrived at one at all?”

  “We’re leaving,” Sheldon answered. “We three here. We might stand a chance at ground level. Dr. Gray has elected to stay on.”

  “Because of the two dangers it is the lesser,” Gray said quietly.

  “That’s a matter of opinion!” Holmes snapped. “I’d have gone long ago. In fact we all would if you’d had the blasted sense to listen to me! All right, come on. Sooner the better!”

  He swung to the door, but before he reached it he detoured abruptly and from the wall-rack snatched down a loaded revolver, kept there in case of any possible emergency. The scientists stared at him in surprise, parti­cularly the three who had been about to follow him.

  “What’s the idea, Mr. Holmes?” Sheldon demanded, his eyes narrowed. “You don’t need that.”

  “Maybe I think differently!” the financier retorted. “It just occurs to me that there’s only one plane here and it won’t carry more than two people. If we risk four we’re liable to crash.”

  “We’ll make it—somehow,” Sheldon insisted.

  “I don’t intend to take the risk. I must get away from here, if only to see how my various interests are faring. With you men it’s your job to be here. And don’t any of you try and stop me!”

  Nobody did try because a loaded revolver was too dangerous a weapon with which to argue. The financier backed out of the doorway and so into the shimmering blaze outside. He stood for a moment revealed in X-ray fashion, then he slammed the door and darted across to where the plane stood on the specially prepared runway flattened into the rockery. Back in the Annex, Sheldon and his two colleagues made a dive to follow, then they paused at Dr. Gray’s sharp voice.

  “Before you got out there, my friends, take a look through this window! What can happen to Holmes can happen also to you. Make your choice—”

  Puzzled, Sheldon slowed his pace and gave a glance at his comrades—then he moved to the window and peered outside. His breath caught sharply in horrified astonishment. In grim silence he and the other scientists watched the fate overtaking the financier in his desperate bid for “freedom.”

  He staggered as he walked across the sizzling stretch of bare rock between the Annex and the plane. Though the sunlight was shining through the Annex roof there was, nonetheless, a misty protection that was entirely absent outside. So Woodstock J. Holmes received the full blast of radiations at this high altitude in the Adirondacks, and things happened to him even as he moved. His staggering became a pronounced stoop and his running changed to a waddle. As he moved, his knuckles occasionally touched the ground. It seemed incredible, but by the time he had reached the plane—only to recoil from it as he touched its blistering surface—his chest and back had become covered in fine hair.

  “What the devil’s happening to him?” Sheldon demanded, his voice strained.

  “Devolution,” Gray answered curtly. “The one result I expected from the sun. He’s going
back down the evolutive scale—”

  He did not need to add any further explanation for the situation outside explained itself with every ghastly second. Holmes was clawing helplessly at the burning-hot door of the, plane’s cabin, and failing to open it, probably because his :brain had already retrograded so far that he could not understand the lock.

  He sank to his knees, a hairy, crouching figure, his “paws” clawing at the searing rocks. For an instant there was a vision of his face, hair grown low down on his forehead, the nose curiously flattened and the mouth jutting. In less than five minutes Woodstock J. Holmes, master­mind of Wall Street, had become something allied to a Cro-Magnon man.

  “What—what do we do to help him?” Sheldon asked uncertainly.

  “Nothing!” Gray’s voice was curt. “Even if we risked our lives by going outside it wouldn’t do any good. In this short time a blast of radiations, cosmic and other ultra-short lengths, has undone the evolutionary work of countless centuries. We just have to leave him.”

  It was not callousness on Dr. Gray’s part: just plain commonsense. And in any case it was apparent by now from his motionless attitude that Holmes was dead—or very soon would be from lying in that ghastly heat unprotected from the flood of radiations.

  “Well, gentlemen?” Gray asked dryly. “Do you still wish to depart?”

  Sheldon looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, Dr. Gray,” he apologised. “I’m afraid I lost my head for the time being. In my own defence I can only say that I can hardly be blamed.”

  “We still have our work to do,” Gray said, turning back to the instruments. “We must, if we possibly can, chart how long this is going to last, or devise some method of overcoming the danger of radiation.”

  “Temperature’s gone up two more degrees,” Sheldon announced, studying the thermometer. “One hundred and thirty-six and still rising. Honestly, Doctor, we can’t stand much more.”

  “Until that point has been reached we must do all we can,” Gray replied, as immovably the leader as ever. “Now our little disagreement is at an end, gentlemen, please return to your posts. We’ll have to work things out so that we can operate in shifts—though rest is next to impossible in this blazing sunlight.”