Back in Scanlon’s workshop, the learned gentlemen made polite queries as to the manner in which the miracle was accomplished.
The little financier looked a bit stumped over their questions for several seconds, so that they couldn’t tell whether he was hesitant about revealing anything, or whether he hadn’t a very clear idea of the answers himself. The first conclusion was, of course, the more logical; still, the puzzled gleam in his small eyes, and the heavy sigh he gave, seemed somehow to indicate that he had suddenly discovered an embarrassing gap in his knowledge—one that was beyond his comprehension.
HOWEVER, experience in handling people enabled him to flounder out of the difficulty in such a way that his visitors regained some small measure of confidence in him.
“You see, friends,” he orated, “I—ah—couldn’t really say much at this time. There might be competitors, you know, who—ah—might treat me unfairly. But I can give you a few facts. This invention of mine builds up a kind of potential in the atmosphere. Not exactly an electrical potential, you understand, but a potential which acts on the red alloy coils to produce a powerful electric current in them. It is just another case of one form of energy being turned into another form. It’s like the chemical energy in a storage battery being changed into current. So you see how it is.”
Jeff Scanlon knew that his words were fact as far as they went. But egotistic though he was by nature, he couldn’t quite figure out how he had ever built this wonderful apparatus without understanding it better. He remembered times when he had worked on it all night, with consummate efficiency and skill, without, at dawn, recalling more than vaguely just what he had been doing.
“Of course, gentlemen,” he went on grandly, “my method of distributing power, though useful, is not so very remarkable. The source of the power in the first place is far more interesting. The supply, gentlemen, is practically without end. It is drawn from the kinetic energy of the Earth’s rotation!” Again Jeff knew that he spoke the truth.
“How do you harness it, Mr. Scanlon?” a hawk-faced old fellow with piercing black eyes demanded coolly. His name was Feodor Moharleff, and he was one of the world’s greatest savants. To his natural doubt of Jeff was added a life-long resentment against all capitalists, of whom the little financier was the most powerful that the Earth had ever known.
Jeff grinned like a mischievous, red-visaged elf. He was sure of himself now that his embarrassing moment had passed. He could give glamour to his incomplete understanding of the things of which he spoke, by veiling them in mystery.
“The energy of the Earth’s rotation was harnessed quite some time ago, friend,” he intimated. “It was done when man first made use of the power of the—ah—tides. Our planet rotates in the gravity fields of the Sun and the Moon. The attraction of these bodies raises the tides. But if the Earth did not spin, the tides would remain motionless and without energy. It is from the world’s rotation that their power is derived, as no doubt you all know.”
No doubt Scanlon’s erudite audience did know, but they continued to listen patiently.
“However, there is another, more direct method of tapping the energy of this great revolving ball,” Jeff went on. “I shall not explain it to you; I shall only give you an analogy. Think of the armature of a dynamo, spinning between its field magnets. The magnets resist the rotation of the armature; and the energy necessary to overcome that—ah—resistance, is converted into electricity.
“Think of the Earth, spinning in space, where an artificial resistance field has been built up. You see the point, gentlemen? The power used in overcoming the drag, must come from our planet’s rotation. The law of conservation of energy states that energy cannot be destroyed, but must take another form, in this case one that we can use. Of course, countless ages would be required to reduce the Earth’s rate of rotation appreciably, even though we might constantly draw enormous stores of power from it; for the inertia of so huge a mass of material is very great. That is all I need say, gentlemen.”
JEFF SCANLON had spoken with an eloquence that even he found surprising. To an audience less learned, he might have been looked upon as some minor deity; but in the minds of the savants before him, there were still certain doubts and skepticisms that did not concern his statements so much as they did the possible scientific worth of the man who made them.
With the evidence of his remarkable accomplishment tangibly demonstrated, the scientists still found greater wonder in Scanlon himself. A small, bluff, money baron, who, until four months ago, had scarcely touched a test tube, suddenly proving himself a creative genius? It was not only a phenomenon; it was impossible! Yet to all appearances, it was true.
But, in spite of that, there was a haunting disbelief among the scientists, and a feeling that all the cards were not before them. They could not know, of course, that perhaps a billion years ago the mathematics of far-seeing minds of another sphere had made certain astronomical predictions. Nor could they know that those same minds had evolved a cosmic plan which was slowly approaching fruition. That Jeff Scanlon was to be the pivotal tool of that plan was perhaps only a whim of chance.
“What are you going to do with your invention, Mr. Scanlon?” Feodor Moharleff questioned with brusque suspicion.
Jeff had apparently not even considered the matter, for he stumbled a bit in making a reply: “I—er—oh, yes!” he said. “You realize that I have plenty of money. I have no personal use for more than a tiny part of it, you see. So I’m going to make a gift to the world. I’m going to build an enormous apparatus which will supply every one with all the power he needs, free of charge!” Scanlon’s sudden inspiration was truly a magnificent gesture. The faces before him, trained not to reveal emotion, remained stony, but the minds they concealed were dumbfounded and a trifle doubtful.
SCANLON went ahead with his plan with his usual sang-froid. He gave radio talks; he interviewed newspaper and news-disseminator reporters. He built several other small power plants, and staged demonstrations of his invention in large cities both in the United States and abroad. The result was that soon hundreds of millions of people were ready to swear by him, body and soul.
In Jeff they believed that at last they saw true greatness of heart. As he had anticipated, money raised by popular subscription began to pour into his coffers in an appalling flood.
The popular contributions were necessary, for even the gigantic Scanlon fortune would have been almost wiped out by the project Jeff contemplated.
He worked with a staff of skilled draftsmen, preparing blue prints for his colossal plant. He allowed various scientists to examine the working models of his inventions, in minute detail; but he brushed aside their wondering queries as to its principle, with brusque generalizations. They could understand the thing sketchily; and though they were never able to probe out its darker secrets, they naturally assumed that Jeff Scanlon could. Which was untrue. He had made his models in a dream, though he had neither the desire nor the right kind of imagination to realize this fact.
An island, far up within the bounds of the Arctic Circle, was chosen as the site for his plant. Jeff had no conscious reason for selecting this location; he was prompted to do so only by that prescient mental phenomenon known as a hunch. And, in spite of the obstacles to building operations offered by such a climate, he was insistent.
A great fleet of freight aircraft, in cooperation with surface vessels that could pass through a channel in the ice kept open with explosives and thermite, was pressed into service.
First, a thick glacier had to be removed from the island. Then, over its rocky expanse, a vast foundation, three miles square, was laid. Above it a two-mile tower began to rise, coated with armor plate that would have stopped the hugest shell that any gun could have fired. Into a deep shaft beneath the base of the tower, countless tons of molten metal were poured, forming, when they cooled, a slender ingot that was like an immense electrode.
In every aspect the great building was far stouter, and more resista
nt to stress and strain, than any fabrication ever before erected by man. Into its interior, cryptic machines of vast size were moved, and bolted into position. All were connected with an intricate controlling mechanism, which Jeff, working in a state that was like hypnosis, had made with his own hands.
Two years of teeming efforts were required to complete the titanic assembly. It was by far the largest piece of construction work ever attempted on Earth. Tapered in graceful curves, like the Eiffel Tower of Paris, capped with a huge, glittering ball, it was a truly magnificent monument to look upon, rearing over the frigid wastes of the arctic.
II.
DURING the final months of the job, Jeff Scanlon had not been quite himself. Where he had felt cool and self-assured before, he had now become possessed of a feverish inner tension that drove him to haste like a lash. It was as though he were racing with time against some unfathomable catastrophe, of which he could grasp only an unrestive shadow.
For astronomers, probing toward the outer reaches of the solar system with their telescopes, had just seen some tremendous and unexplained phenomena in the vicinity of the planet Saturn. The orbits of all of its many moons, had become elongated in one direction, and its rings, pulled out of shape by the same unknown forces, were disintegrating to form a nebulous haze to one side of the planet. Gaseous Saturn, itself, was bulging ominously; and there was evidence of gigantic explosions taking place beneath the veil of its tremendous atmosphere.
It was as though some terrific gravitational force were being applied to the planet’s entire system. But of any invading heavenly body that might cause such colossal distortion, or, in fact, any distortion at all, there was not the slightest evidence. No faint speck of unknown identity had intruded into the pattern of the stars. And the utter, senseless ruthlessness of what was happening denied the theory that it was the work of an intelligent agent. Though there was no discoverable cause, it seemed rather a manifestation of the mad caprice of nature.
Finally something had come which was even more spectacular than preceding events. Titan, heaviest of all Saturn’s satellites, had exploded, dying space with the red flame of its still fiery heart.
The people of Earth, however, were not too concerned with the announcements of astronomers; for such matters seemed remote, and unlikely to influence their lives in any way. They were far more interested in Scanlon and the mighty gift which was soon to be theirs. Quite naturally, a large quantity of receptor coils of red alloy had already been prepared and distributed, to be connected with various electrical devices. And even working men had planes which were intended to be powered by the new energy. For years private aircraft had been common; and now the heyday of their popularity seemed about to arrive.
When the vitals of the power plant were ready to be set in motion, Jeff Scanlon again did the unexpected. He made no speeches. He left word with the newspaper and news-disseminator people that power could be received in five hours; then he departed alone in his plane for the island of his greatest achievement.
TRUE to his predictions, the energy came on. The knob at the crest of the great tower glowed a beautiful, ghostly lavender that brightened the gray aspect of the polar summer. Machines everywhere, awoke to life. The human race went mad with joy. Jefferson Scanlon, who had been a hero, was now a god. But he was a lonely god, hidden away in his artificial Olympus.
He saw no one, and no one could have pried their way through the walls behind which he was locked. Had he been asked, he would have said that fascination kept him there; and he would have believed that he spoke the truth. But he was in a daze. His subconscious waited for the proper moment in which to act.
Four times the Earth turned without unexpected incident. The power plant was a success. Apparently that was the only fact that any one was aware of. The weather was unusually sultry, but such trivialities were forgotten. There were freak storms and tornadoes. Earth’s atmosphere was soaking up moisture, and absorbing Scanlon’s potential. The ice was melting rapidly from around the island of the power plant.
On the fourth day some watcher of the sky thought he glimpsed a minute speck of dull reddish light shining in space; but the growing cloudiness of the atmosphere rendered a confirmation of his report difficult. In addition to his observation, certain peculiar tidal and seismic disturbances were noticed; but only a few scientists paid any attention to them.
Except for the dim unrest which these reports awoke in Jeff Scanlon, he gave them no conscious consideration. Only a keen knowledge implanted in the back of his brain long ago understood their mystery. And that knowledge was apart from the true Jeff, for it had never passed the barriers of his conscious mind.
Yet each bit of fantastic news had made a hidden impression upon him, and had stirred up and directed an equally hidden chain of cool, calculating thought, the result of which was an active response that bore an unerring purpose. And so, at midnight on the fifth day, prompted by what seemed to him only an explorative impulse, he closed a massive switch which belonged to the controlling mechanism of the plant.
At once, hell broke loose around him. Colossal bolts, either of electricity or of something akin to electricity, flashed and forked through the great, vaulted chamber. Blinded and deafened, Jeff stumbled toward the switch, intending to break its contact and end the awful bedlam. But an electrical cramp froze his muscles and forced him back.
With a momentary and unnatural calm, he groped his way to a small window, to get a view of the outdoors, and to consider whether the situation was dangerous or not.
He soon decided that it was dangerous. The island was cloaked in ghastly, lavender light, far more intense than it should be. The whole scene, south, east, and west, visible from the window, seemed to glow with it; and the water of the Arctic Ocean, bounded by a ring of ice crags some distance beyond the shores of the island, was beginning to heave and pulsate in a way that was alarmingly unnatural, since as yet there was no wind.
Small, angry wisps, like miniature waterspouts, were rising from the surface of the sea. They swirled and coalesced, promising to grow swiftly until they reached cataclysmic proportions. The aspect of the scene was ominous to say the least.
THE SKY was thinly overcast; but a blur of light in the east, betraying the position of the hidden Moon, found its way through the veil. A momentary rift in the clouds to the southwest revealed a single, dully glowing dot of red fire, like the eye of a malignant planet. For no discoverable reason, except that he knew that that ruddy orb should not be there, Jeff felt fresh fears coming upon him.
The fat little man was frightened—not so much for himself as for others. Had any one been able to look into his mind just then, it would have become apparent to that person that Scanlon had a heart after all.
He must stop the maddened forces that were running amuck around him. To fail to do so, he felt sure, would lead to devilish and far-reaching consequences. The giant power plant had overstepped the bounds of its normal functions, and had assumed other functions of which the true Jeff Scanlon had no inkling.
Such was his excitement that he did a very foolish thing. He seized a metal bar that was part of the detachable railing around the crystal-cased intricacies of the controlling mechanism; and since he could not reach the switch which seemed to be causing all the trouble, he hurled his improvised club straight at the governing apparatus, hoping that, if the mechanism were damaged, the chain of forces that were surging madly in the vitals of the huge plant would be broken.
The spinning bar struck the stout crystal cage fairly, though it did no visible damage. But, wrapped in lancing, coiling ribbons of flame, it seemed to rebound as if hurled from a catapult. There was no chance to get out of the way. The bar flew straight at Jeff, gashing his shoulder and striking him violently on the side of the head. His senses reeled into oblivion.
SOME TIME LATER, he regained a semblance of consciousness. The thunder and flame around him continued unabated. His attack on the controlling mechanism had not lessened in the slightest th
e fury which possessed the giant power house. In fact, new elements of terror had been added to the hell that had been unleashed.
The air was hot and fetid, and it reeked with the choking pungence of ozone. The great structure in which Jeff was imprisoned trembled and rocked perilously, as if the Earth itself were breaking apart.
Jeff felt a giddy lightness, which may have been only a natural result of his recent injury, but which still might have a deeper cause.
Through the eighteen-inch glass of the windows, no familiar polar scene was visible—only churning, lavender-lighted water, crowding close against the panes. The entire island, and part of the tower itself, seemed to be submerged by an abnormal flood. From beyond the mighty walls that encircled Jeff, came a monstrous soughing sound, as if a thousand hurricane-driven oceans were breaking against them.
Mingled with the noise of chaos was the blare of a nearby news-disseminator diaphragm, bringing to Scanlon’s ears, in disjointed fragments of terror, the story of a world being battered under the fury of outraged elements.
“Station XC-Delta, Flagstaff, Arizona, broadcasting,” a voice shouted from the diaphragm, and it was like the voice of a man lost in a storm. “Cannot contact Station O-Gamma in Frisco. Last message from O-Gamma received ten minutes ago. Reported heavy earthquake—reported heavy earthquake; also tidal wave approaching city. Am trying to raise Frisco. Am trying to raise O-Gamma in Frisco—”
Automatically, the communication was broken off by the receiver’s rotating selector disk; which, unless stopped for a time by a listener interested in any particular broadcast, kept turning round and round, contacting in sequence a large number of stations throughout the world.
Godson of Almarlu: A Collection of Science Fiction Novellas Page 10