The 27th Golden Age of Science Fiction

by Stanley G. Weinbaum

  Those were strange, hectic days in Washington. Outwardly there was still the same gay society that gathers like froth around all great capitals, and Ted, of course, being young and decidedly not unattractive, received his full share of invitations. But not even the least sensitive could have overlooked the dark undercurrents of hysteria that flowed just beneath the surface. There was dancing, there was gay dinner conversation, there was laughter, but beneath all of it was fear. Ted was not the only one to notice that the diplomatic representatives of the Gulf Stream countries were conspicuous by their absence from all affairs save those of such importance that their presence was a matter of policy. And even then, incidents occurred; he was present when the Minister from France stalked angrily from the room because some hostess had betrayed the poor taste of permitting her dance orchestra to play a certain popular number called “The Gulf Stream Blues.” Newspapers carefully refrained from mentioning the occurrence, but Washington buzzed with it for days.

  Ted looked in vain for Kay. Her father appeared when appearance was necessary, but Ted had not seen the girl since her abrupt dismissal of him, and in reply to his inquiries, Sir Joshua granted only the gruff and double-edged explanation that she was “indisposed.” So Ted worried and fumed about her in vain, until he scarcely knew whether his own situation or that of the world was more important. In the last analysis, of course, the two were one and the same.

  The world was like a crystal of nitrogen iodide, waiting only the drying-out of summer to explode. Under its frozen surface Europe was seething like Mounts Erebus and Terror that blaze in the ice of Antarctica. Little Hungary had massed its army on the west, beyond doubt to oppose a similar massing on the part of the Anschluss. Of this particular report, Ted heard Maxwell say with an air of relief that it indicated that Germany had turned her face inland; it meant one less potential enemy for America.

  But the maritime nations were another story, and especially mighty Britain, whose world-girdling fleet was gathering day by day in the Atlantic. That was a crowded ocean indeed, for on its westward shore was massed the American battle fleet, built at last to treaty strength, and building far beyond it, while north and south piled every vessel that could raise a pound of steam, bearing those fortunates who could leave their European homes to whatever lands hope called them. Africa and Australia, wherever Europe had colonies, were receiving an unheard of stream of immigrants. But this stream was actually only the merest trickle, composed of those who possessed sufficient liquid wealth to encompass the journey. Untold millions remained chained to their homes, bound by the possession of unsalable lands, or by investments in business, or by sentiment, or by the simple lack of sufficient funds to buy passage for families. And throughout all of the afflicted countries were those who clung stubbornly to hope, who believed even in the grip of that unbelievable winter that the danger would pass, and that things would come right in the end.

  Blunt, straightforward little Holland was the first nation to propose openly a wholesale transfer of population. Ted read the note, or at least the version of it given the press on February 21st. In substance it simply repeated the arguments Kay had read from the London paper—the plea to humanity, the affirmation of an honest and industrious citizenry, and the appeal to the friendship that had always existed between the two nations; and the communication closed with a request for an immediate reply because of “the urgency of the situation.” And an immediate reply was forthcoming.

  This was also given to the press. In suave and very polished diplomatic language it pointed out that the United States could hardly admit nationals of one country while excluding those of others. Under the terms of the National Origins Act, Dutch immigrants would be welcomed to the full extent of their quota. It was even possible that the quota might be increased, but it was not conceivable that it could be removed entirely. The note was in effect a suave, dignified, diplomatic No.

  March drifted in on a southwest wind. In the Southern states it brought spring, and in Washington a faint forerunner of balmy weather to come, but to the Gulf Stream countries it brought no release from the Arctic winter that had fallen on them with its icy mantle. Only in the Basque country of Southern France, where vagrant winds slipped at intervals across the Pyrenees with the warm breath of the deflected Stream, was there any sign of the relaxing of that frigid clutch. But that was a promise; April would come, and May—and the world flexed its steel muscles for war.

  Everyone knew now that war threatened. After the first few notes and replies, no more were released to the press, but everyone knew that notes, representatives, and communiques were flying between the powers like a flurry of white doves, and everyone knew, at least in Washington, that the tenor of those notes was no longer dove-like. Now they carried brusque demands and blunt refusals.

  Ted knew as much of the situation as any alert observer, but no more. He and Asa Gaunt discussed it endlessly, but the dry Texan, having made his predictions and seen them verified, was no longer in the middle of the turmoil, for his bureau had, of course, nothing to do with the affair now. So the Geological Survey staggered on under a woefully reduced appropriation, a handicap shared by every other governmental function that had no direct bearing on defense.

  All the American countries, and for that matter, every nation save those in Western Europe, were enjoying a feverish, abnormal, hectic boom. The flight of capital from Europe, and the incessant, avid, frantic cry for food, had created a rush of business, and exports mounted unbelievably. In this emergency, France and the nations under her hegemony, those who had clung so stubbornly to gold ever since the second revaluation of the franc, were now at a marked advantage, since their money would buy more wheat, more cattle, and more coal. But the paper countries, especially Britain, shivered and froze in stone cottage and draughty manor alike.

  On the eleventh of March, that memorable Tuesday when the thermometer touched twenty-eight below in London, Ted reached a decision toward which he had been struggling for six weeks. He was going to swallow his pride and see Kay again. Washington was buzzing with rumors that Sir Joshua was to be recalled, that diplomatic relations with England were to be broken as they had already been broken with France. The entire nation moved about its daily business in an air of tense expectancy, for the break with France meant little in view of that country’s negligible sea power, but now, if the colossus of the British navy were to align itself with the French army—

  But what troubled Ted was a much more personal problem. If Sir Joshua Lovell were recalled to London, that meant that Kay would accompany him, and once she were caught in the frozen Hell of Europe, he had a panicky feeling that she was lost to him forever. When war broke, as it surely must, there would go his last hope of ever seeing her again. Europe, apparently, was doomed, for it seemed impossible that any successful invasion could be carried on over thousands of miles of ocean, but if he could save the one fragment of Europe that meant everything to him, if he could somehow save Kay Lovell, it was worth the sacrifice of pride or of anything else. So he called one final time on the telephone, received the same response from an unfriendly maid, and then left the almost idle office and drove directly to her home.

  The same maid answered his ring. “Miss Lovell is not in,” she said coldly. “I told you that when you telephoned.”

  “I’ll wait,” returned Ted grimly, and thrust himself through the door. He seated himself stolidly in the hall, glared back at the maid, and waited. It was no more than five minutes before Kay herself appeared, coming wearily down the steps.

  “I wish you’d leave,” she said. She was pallid and troubled, and he felt a great surge of sympathy.

  “I won’t leave.”

  “What do I have to do to make you go away? I don’t want to see you, Ted.”

  “If you’ll talk to me just half an hour, I’ll go.” She yielded listlessly, leading the way into the living room where a fire still crackled in cheerful irony. “Well?”
she asked.

  “Kay, do you love me?”

  “I—No, I don’t!”

  “Kay,” he persisted gently, “do you love me enough to marry me and stay here where you’re safe?”

  Tears glistened suddenly in her brown eyes. “I hate you,” she said. “I hate all of you. You’re a nation of murderers. You’re like the East Indian Thugs, only they call murder religion and you call it patriotism.”

  “I won’t even argue with you, Kay. I can’t blame you for your viewpoint, and I can’t blame you for not understanding mine. But—do you love me?”

  “All right,” she said in sudden weariness. “I do.”

  “And will you marry me?”

  “No. No, I won’t marry you, Ted. I’m going back to England.”

  “Then will you marry me first? I’ll let you go back, Kay, but afterwards—if there’s any world left after what’s coming—I could bring you back here. I’ll have to fight for what I believe in, and I won’t ask you to stay with me during the time our nations are enemies, but afterwards, Kay—if you’re my wife I could bring you here. Don’t you see?”

  “I see, but—no.”

  “Why, Kay? You said you loved me.”

  “I do,” she said almost bitterly. “I wish I didn’t, because I can’t marry you hating your people the way I do. If you were on my side, Ted, I swear I’d marry you tomorrow, or today, or five minutes from now—but as it is, I can’t. It just wouldn’t be fair.”

  “You’d not want me to turn traitor,” he responded gloomily. “One thing I’m sure of, Kay, is that you couldn’t love a traitor.” He paused. “Is it goodbye, then?”

  “Yes.” There were tears in her eyes again. “It isn’t public yet, but father has been recalled. Tomorrow he presents his recall to the Secretary of State, and the day after we leave for England. This is goodbye.”

  “That does mean war!” he muttered. “I’ve been hoping that in spite of everything—God knows I’m sorry, Kay. I don’t blame you for the way you feel. You couldn’t feel differently and still be Kay Lovell, but—it’s damned hard. It’s damned hard!”

  She agreed silently. After a moment she said, “Think of my part of it, Ted—going back to a home that’s like—well, the Rockefeller Mountains in Antarctica. I tell you, I’d rather it had been England that sunk into the sea! That would have been easier, much easier than this. If it had sunk until the waves rolled over the very peak of Ben Macduhl—” She broke off.

  “The waves are rolling over higher peaks than Ben Macduhl,” he responded drearily. “They’re—” Suddenly he paused, staring at Kay with his jaw dropping and a wild light in his eyes!

  “The Sierra Madre!” he bellowed, in such a roaring voice that the girl shrank away. “The Mother range! The Sierra Madre! The Sierra Madre!”

  “Wh-what?” she gasped.

  “The Sierra-! Listen to me, Kay! Listen to me! Do you trust me! Will you do something—something for both of us? Us? I mean for the world! Will you?”

  “I know you will! Kay, keep your father from presenting his recall! Keep him here another ten days—even another week. Can you?”

  “How? How can I?”

  “I don’t know. Any way at all. Get sick. Get too sick to travel, and beg him not to present his papers until you can leave. Or—or tell him that the United States will make his country an alternate proposal in a few days. That’s the truth. I swear that’s true, Kay.”

  “But—but he won’t believe me!”

  “He’s got to! I don’t care how you do it, but keep him here! And have him report to the Foreign Office that new developments—vastly important developments—have come up. That’s true, Kay.”

  “True? Then what are they?”

  “There isn’t time to explain. Will you do what I ask?”

  “I’ll try!”

  “You’re—well you’re marvelous!” he said huskily. He stared into her tragic brown eyes, kissed her lightly, and rushed away.

  * * * *

  Asa Gaunt was scowling down at a map of the dead Salton Sea when Ted dashed unannounced into the office. The rangy Texan looked up with a dry smile at the unceremonious entry.

  “I’ve got it!” yelled Ted.

  “A bad case of it,” agreed Asa Gaunt. “What’s the diagnosis?”

  “No, I mean—Say, has the Survey taken soundings over the Isthmus?”

  “The Dolphin’s been there for weeks,” said the older man. “You know you can’t map forty thousand square miles of ocean bed during the lunch hour.”

  “Where,” shouted Ted, “are they sounding?”

  “Over Pearl Cay Point, Bluefields, Monkey Point, and San Juan del Norte, of course. Naturally they’ll sound the places where there were cities first of all.”

  “Oh, naturally!” said Ted, suppressing his voice to a tense quiver. “And where is the Marlin?”

  “Idle at Newport News. We can’t operate both of them under this year’s budget.”

  “To hell with the budget!” flared Ted. “Get the Marlin there too, and any other vessel that can carry an electric plumb!”

  “Yes, sir—right away, sir,” said Asa Gaunt dryly. “When did you relieve Golsborough as Secretary of the Interior, Mr. Welling?”

  “I’m sorry,” replied Ted. “I’m not giving orders, but I’ve thought of something. Something that may get all of us out of this mess we’re in.”

  “Indeed? Sounds mildly interesting. Is it another of these international fiat—money schemes?”

  “No!” blazed Ted. “It’s the Sierra Madre! Don’t you see?”

  “In words of one syllable, no.”

  “Then listen! I’ve flown over every square mile of the sunken territory. I’ve mapped and photographed it, and I’ve laid out the geodetics. I know that buried strip of land as well as I know the humps and hollows in my own bed.”

  “Congratulations, but what of it?”

  “This!” snapped Ted. He turned to the wall, pulled down the topographical map of Central America, and began to speak. After a while Asa Gaunt leaned forward in his chair and a queer light gathered in his pale blue eyes.

  * * * *

  What follows has been recorded and interpreted in a hundred ways by numberless historians. The story of the Dolphin and the Marlin, sounding in frantic haste the course of the submerged Cordilleras, is in itself romance of the first order. The secret story of diplomacy, the holding of Britain’s neutrality so that the lesser sea powers dared not declare war across three thousand miles of ocean, is another romance that will never be told openly. But the most fascinating story of all, the building of the Cordilleran Inter-continental Wall, has been told so often that it needs little comment.

  The soundings traced the irregular course of the sunken Sierra Madre mountains. Ted’s guess was justified; the peaks of the range were not inaccessibly far below the surface. A route was found where the Equatorial Counter Current swept over them with a depth at no point greater than forty fathoms, and the building of the Wall began on March the 31st, began in frantic haste, for the task utterly dwarfed the digging of the abandoned Canal itself. By the end of September some two hundred miles had been raised to sea-level, a mighty rampart seventy-five feet broad at its narrowest point, and with an extreme height of two hundred and forty feet and an average of ninety.

  There was still almost half to be completed when winter swept out of the north over a frightened Europe, but the half that had been built was the critical sector. On one side washed the Counter Current, on the other the Equatorial Drift, bound to join the Gulf Stream in its slow march toward Europe, And the mighty Stream, traced by a hundred oceanographic vessels, veered slowly northward again, and bathed first the shores of France, then of England, and finally of the high northern Scandinavian Peninsula. Winter came drifting in as mildly as of old, and a sigh of relief went up from every nation in the
world.

  Ostensibly the Cordilleran Inter-continental Wall was constructed by the United States. A good many of the more chauvinistic newspapers bewailed the appearance of Uncle Sam as a sucker again, paying for the five hundred million dollar project for the benefit of Europe. No one noticed that there was no Congressional appropriation for the purpose, nor has anyone since wondered why the British naval bases on Trinidad, Jamaica, and at Belize have harbored so large a portion of His Majesty’s Atlantic Fleet. Nor, for that matter, has anyone inquired why the dead war debts were so suddenly exhumed and settled so cheerfully by the European powers.

  A few historians and economists may suspect. The truth is that the Cordilleran Inter-continental Wall has given the United States a world hegemony, in fact almost a world empire. From the south tip of Texas, from Florida, from Puerto Rico, and from the otherwise useless Canal Zone, a thousand American planes could bomb the Wall into ruin. No European nation dares risk that.

  Moreover, no nation in the world, not even in the orient where the Gulf Stream has no climatic influence, dares threaten war on America. If Japan, for instance, should so much as speak a hostile word, the whole military might of Europe would turn against her. Europe simply cannot risk an attack on the Wall, and certainly the first effort of a nation at war with the United States would be to force a passage through the Wall.

  In effect the United States can command the armies of Europe with a few bombing planes, though not even the most ardent pacifists have yet suggested that experiment. But such are the results of the barrier officially known as the Cordilleran Intercontinental Wall, but called by every newspaper after its originator, the Welling Wall.