The Space Warp

by John Russell Fearn

  As for M’Bonga and his tribesmen, they were quite convinced by now that the white man had overdone his magic. The heat was beyond anything even an African could stand, climbing up to the 180 degrees mark, sapping life out of the natives as they stared in paralysed wonder at a glare which seared into their very brains. For some reason they did not look in the opposite direction: sheer fascination compelled them to stare into that golden glory, with the inevitable result that presently things grew dim around them and the silently swaying and growing vegetation was no longer as clearly visible as it had been.

  “Bwana, he did this!” M’Bonga cried presently, dragging his gaze away from the glare. “He make lord of day hot—to fry us, he said. We kill! Bwana try to kill us! We kill him instead.”

  His fellow tribesmen growled assent and rose to their feet. Each one had been kneeling, staring into the blaze. Now they came to look at the bungalow it appeared darkly shadowed and already disappearing under a riot of fast-growing vegetation. For the jungle men to understand what scientific twist had caused the sudden tremendous surge in vegetational life was impossible: they could not know—and neither could the whiskey-sodden, brutish Henry Brand—that the wavelengths responsible for mutation were at their maximum on the equator, hence vegetation was speeding ahead at nearly ten times the normal rate—growing, flowering, dying, and re-growing all in the space of minutes. That the radiations had not acted on the human being was surprising—but it had a scientific explanation. Devolution was possible, as it had happened in the case of Woodstock J. Holmes, but its delay was caused by the density of the atmosphere at the equator. High in the Adirondack Mountains the rarification had been the main cause of devolution: here it was less apparent, but it was there insofar as all normal instincts had by now deserted the natives and Henry Brand. Their natures had already sunk to the level of the beast.

  That M’Bonga and his tribesmen were bent on the murder of Brand was obvious, but before they could even reach the bungalow the after-effects of their prolonged staring into the blinding sunlight began to have its effect.

  The shadows appeared to them to deepen—but in truth there were no shadows, not anywhere on Earth at that moment. The shadows were the first streaks of blindness creeping upon the eyes of the tribesmen, and within a few minutes the process was complete. The deadly radiations had seared all trace of sight from their eyes and they found themselves blundering into chaotic darkness and furious heat.

  By all the pagan gods he knew M’Bonga cursed Henry Brand, his vilifying voice reaching the trader as he half lay on the table with an empty whiskey glass in his hand.

  He looked up and frowned, a half snarl on his thick lips.

  Then, drunk though he was, he reeled to his feet and grabbed at his stock whip, determined to teach the natives the lesson of their lives. He strode to the doorway and then reeled back dumbfounded, his view completely blocked by an incredible profusion of vegetation.

  “M’Bonga, where are you?” he demanded thickly. “When I get this whip across your hide, you scum, I’ll—”

  He stopped, his eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the head boy for a moment in the saturating glare. He was blundering around helplessly, feeling his way amongst the expanding bushes whilst behind him the rest of the natives were crouched, cursing the dark fluently in their native tongue.

  “Dark?” Brand repeated to himself, puzzled. “What the hell are they talking about? Couldn’t be brighter!”

  Then as the truth dawned upon him his eyes glinted with sadistic satisfaction. So the lazy devils couldn’t see, eh? Well, that made his task all the easier. They had dared to curse him in every way they knew and for that there had to be an answer—and a ruthless one. He gripped his whip more tightly and made his uncertain way down the steps.

  But before he could reach M’Bonga things happened, so swiftly he had no time to measure them. In his intoxicated state he did not see the javelin-barb which was developing straight ahead of him, swelling and expanding with every second—a monstrous, hypertrophied thorn of nearly two feet in length.

  Brand saw it when it was too late. He charged towards M’Bonga, his whip upraised—and at the same instant he saw the thorn. Frantically though he tried to check his onrush he was not quick enough. The point went clean into his heart, impaling him as though with a spear. A gurgle escaped him and the whip dropped from his hand.

  M’Bonga, feeling his way around helplessly in the darkness, heard the thud of a body—and then silence. He stood wondering and listening—then again he screamed against the pagan gods that had deprived him of the power of sight.

  * * * * * * *

  Samuel Baines stirred weakly and rubbed the back of his head. It ached abominably, and his fingers encountered a fair-sized lump, which, however, was apparently not bleeding.

  “Dad—you all right?” He recognised the voice as Bertie’s, sharp with anxiety.

  “Yes, I’m all right.” Samuel Baines staggered to his feet in the darkness. “What about you? And Gwen?”

  “Gwen’s sprained her ankle,” Bertie said.

  “But I can hop, if that’s any good,” Gwen herself added.

  “Well, anyway, we’re in one piece—which is about the only thing to be thankful for at the moment. What on earth possessed the pair of you to come down here?”

  “We didn’t come down, Dad—we fell down.” Bertie was doing his best to sound contrite. “We wanted to explore and—well, it was Gwen’s silly fault. She slipped over the edge of the pathway above and dropped down here. I scrambled down to help her with no idea of how I’d get back—so we just stuck. We had Gwen’s torch, until the battery gave out. Then just as we were getting scared we heard you and Mum calling, thank heaven.”

  “I’ll tan the pair of you when we get out of this,” Samuel Baines muttered. “When we get out! Your mother’s gone for help and that may take some time.”

  He had hardly made the statement when there came a cry from far above, as though Claire, for it was her voice, was trying to get her bearings.

  “Sam! Sam, where are you?”

  “Right here!” he yelled back. “You’re too far to the right from the sound of things. What’s the matter?”

  There was the sound of hurrying feet in the stones above, then Claire’s voice sounded from a position directly overhead. “It’s no use my trying to get a search-party, Sam. There’s something wrong outside.”

  “Wrong? Wrong? What on earth do you mean?”

  “It’s so appallingly hot! I couldn’t possibly survive above a few minutes. The thermometer at the cave entrance registers over a hundred and it’s three miles to the nearest place to get help. I can’t do it, Sam!”

  “Well, that’s a nice thing to tell me! What are the kids and I supposed to do? Sit here in the dark and wait for pennies from heaven?”

  “I don’t know what to do.” Claire’s voice was desperate. “Honest I don’t!”

  Samuel Baines thought for a moment, then made up his mind. “Can you find your way to the main cavern?” he asked. “The one we were exploring when we found the kids weren’t with us?”

  “I don’t see why not. What then?”

  “There must be some people there: we can’t be the only ones exploring this confounded place. Ask them for help. What we need most is a rope and some light—’specially light. See what you can do.”

  “Okay!” agreed Claire, hurrying into the distance.

  After a long interval Bertie spoke in a queer voice. “Dad, what’s that?”

  “Huh? What?” His father started in the darkness and looked around him. “What’s what? I don’t see anything.”

  But after a while he did see something—a grotesque, hazy golden circle hanging high in the darkness above the ledge. At the moment it was so dim as to be almost an illusion, but with the seconds it gathered strength until it was tangibly a golden ball.

  “What is it?” Gwen gasped, startled. “Looks like an electric globe of some kind.”

  Samuel Bain
es had no immediate response to make. He was conscious of the fact that into the abyss in which he and the children stood there was coming a vague suggestion of light. The utter blackness was turning to grey and there were the dimly visible signs of rocks etching themselves out in the advancing murk.

  “For the love of Mike, it’s the sun!” Samuel Baines gasped at last, and he could hardly believe his own words. “It can’t be anything else!”

  “That’s silly, Dad!” Gwen reproved him. “It can’t possibly be the sun. How could it shine through tons of rock?”

  “I don’t know—but it is doing. And it’s infernally hot too! Let’s see—what time is it?”

  By this time the light had become strong enough for Samuel Baines to distinguish the hands on his wristwatch.

  He looked at them, thought for a moment, and then snapped his fingers.

  “It’s that space business!” he exclaimed. “It’s nearly five o’clock, and that space business was supposed to happen around four. It looks as though it has! That must account for the high temperature outside, and for us seeing the sun in here.”

  “Could space being wrong do that?” Bertie asked, puzzled.

  “Course it could,” Gwen answered, though she did not sound particularly sure of herself.

  “Neither of you kids can be expected to understand this matter,” their fadier told them. “I hardly understand it myself, but I suppose that if ether goes funny it might do lots of things to the things that travel through—or on—it, light, for instance. Anyway, that’s the sun, and look where we are!”

  By this time they might have been outside in the full sunlight for all the difference there was. The roof of the cavern had vanished in a blaze of golden brilliance and the light was beating everywhere. The three appraised their position and discovered they were perched nearly a hundred feet above a sheer drop. Below there loomed ugly spires of rock. Above, a seemingly interminable distance, was the edge of the pathway.

  “Thank heaven for this ledge,” Samuel Baines muttered, with a little shudder. “If any of us had missed it—”

  He left his sentence unfinished, imagination supplying the rest; then at sounds above him he looked up sharply to behold a diagonal view of his wife, remote, hurrying along with a coil of rope in her hand.

  “I got one!” she cried, her voice echoing, “but I never would have seen it but for this light being switched on. Wonder who did it? I can’t see any people about. The rope was hanging on a hook in a crevice and a notice said ‘For Emergency Use’. I suppose I did right taking it?”

  “If this isn’t an emergency I don’t know what is,” Samuel Baines retorted. “Throw the rope down quick and make it fast up there.”

  Claire did as she was bidden and the rope came snaking down into the abyss.

  “I’ll go first,” Samuel Baines said, “then I can haul you two up. You come next, Gwen, and don’t try using that ankle of yours. It’s as swollen as a pudding.”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  Muttering uncomplimentary things about exploring caves, Samuel Baines grabbed the rope and pulled himself up the rocky face like an amateur mountaineer. By the time he had reached the top he was panting hard and perspiring. Claire looked at him in concern, then grabbed him in her arms.

  “Thank heaven, Sam—oh, thank heaven! You’re sure you’re all right?”

  “Except for a lump like a duck egg on my head, yes.”

  “Where did you get that?”

  “I fell after you’d gone. But never mind: I’ll tell you later.”

  Samuel Baines grabbed the rope and threw it down again. His task was rendered more or less simple by reason of the glare in which he was working. Had it been dark the rescue effort would have been a very hazardous undertaking indeed.

  Gwen was brought safely to the top, and then Bertie. In concern Clara looked at Gwen’s swollen ankle.

  “I don’t like the look at that, Sam,” she said worriedly. “A doctor ought to fix her up.”

  “I agree. Let’s be on our way. I’ll carry her—and the next time you get a bright idea like this, Bertie, I’ll skin you alive! If you’d have done as you were told there wouldn’t have been any need for all this.”

  “Sorry, Dad,” Bertie muttered, mooching along in the rear.

  The barrier-fence at the end of the pathway proved a sizable barrier, especially with Gwen needing delicate handling, but it was finally mastered. Afterwards it was only a short distance to the cave exit, but as they neared it they began to slow down. They could see perfectly well that, outside, things were very different. The rocks were shining with an uncanny brilliance, just as though they had been swamped with liquid fire.

  “Looks mighty hot outside,” Samuel Baines muttered, lowering Gwen to her sound foot.

  Claire glanced at him. “It is! I found that out earlier on. It was a hundred then, and I’m sure it’s hotter now.”

  “Soon check on it. There’s a thermometer along here somewhere.”

  Samuel Baines went off to discover it and Claire and the two children remained hesitating at the cave entrance way. In one sense they were all relieved to have been rescued from the ledge: in another they were filled with a deepening sense of alarm at the fact sunlight was shining through rock and that it was becoming unbearably hot.

  “It’s a hundred and fifteen,” Samuel Baines said, coming back into view. “I never heard of anything like it—especially inside a cave. But then, I never heard of sunlight shining through rock, either. I’m afraid we’ve got to risk it. Gwen’s ankle must be fixed.”

  “I don’t think it needs it, Dad,” Gwen said. “It’s all right now. See!”

  It was quite unbelievable, but there was no denying the fact that the ankle had indeed returned to normal. It was at this moment that Claire also discovered something and her eyes opened wide.

  “I’ve lost my rheumatism!” she exclaimed. “I’ve had it shocking in my right arm and leg—and now it’s gone! I’m—I’m glad, of course, but I’m getting scared. What’s suddenly started curing us?”

  “Radiations,” Samuel Baines said vaguely. He had no idea how right he was, but in this instance the radiations were filtered in a way very different from those that had lifted Martin Horsley to the heights of perfect happiness.

  Within this cave, with many feet of rock intervening, and most of it traced through with layers of tin, copper, lead, and even small scatterings of uranium, the unmasked radiations of the sun were undergoing a deflective process. Light got through, and so did infrared, but cosmic rays were definitely deflected. Others, much shorter and unknown up to now in the spectrum scale, succeeded in penetrating and their effect on human tissue was extraordinary in that they instantly destroyed any untoward condition. Here, if only medical science had had the opportunity to seize and analyse it, was a radiation that was the panacea for all ills. Properly applied, this radiation could have banished cancer and other scourges from the face of the Earth, but, such is the inscrutable way of Fate, it had fallen to a humble man and his family to have their everyday aches and pains cured whilst they gaped at the wonder of it all.

  And, apparently, they were alone. What other ‘explorers’ there had been had evidently made a dash for it before the heat had become excessive.

  “Seems to me,” Claire said finally, “that the most sensible course for us is to stay in here until this lets up. We’ll get sunstroke or something out there.”

  “More than probable,” Samuel Baines agreed, “and we certainly can’t catch cold whatever else happens. I just wonder how the rest of the world is faring? This is quite the most amazing day in its history, I should imagine.”

  Had he been able to see the amazing things that were happening in every part of the planet, Samuel Baines would have realised what an understatement he had made. The buried corners were buried no more; the hidden secrets of the dark no longer existed. Some were dying; some were devolving; others were discovering good health; still others were becoming superbeings for a brief while.r />
  * * * * * * *

  And in the Nissen hut at a different point of the Pennines to the Great Peak Cavern, Douglas Taylor and Gordon Briggs both sat stripped to the waist before the radio apparatus. Power still flowed through it and either there was a trick in the fabric of space or else there was some kind of blurred communication trying to make itself apparent.

  For over two hours now, whilst they had sat in the blistering heat with the sun shining through the solid roof, the two ‘hams’ had been concentrating on this mysterious tracery that kept repeating itself amidst the tangle of static caused by the warp in space.

  “Can’t be anything really,” Gordon said finally, always slow to believe anything out of the ordinary. “We’re picking up interference from a generating station somewhere.”

  “Not with this rig.” Douglas shook his head firmly. “I have screened it in every possible way and interference just isn’t possible. These signals are definitely coming from the outer deeps.”

  “But how can they be with space so disturbed?”

  “As far as I can see it depends upon the degree of disturbance. Light waves and heat waves are still travelling as they always did, the only difference being they’ve gained in intensity. So I assume that any ultra-short transmission wave may also be taking a direct course, and any interstellar transmission might reach here with greater intensity than any before. Keep an eye on that recording tape—I don’t want to lose any of this!”

  “No problem—we’ve several hours left yet.” Gordon fell silent, and did not look at all convinced of the value of the exercise. He adjusted the headphones attached to the speaker and concentrated, as well as he could with the distraction of the broiling heat. After a while he asked a question. “Isn’t it likely that, because no one could possibly translate an alien language just by listening to it, the creatures behind it might instead broadcast in mathematics—which we believe to be a universal language?”