“The gods watch over you,” he rumbled, and was gone inside.
OW Ardath’s strange, alien eyes dwelt on the faces of Marion and Court.
“There is nothing I can say,” he whispered. “Only, farewell.”
Some indefinable bond of kinship between minds flashed for an instant as Court and Ardath gazed into each other’s eyes. Then the Kyrian stepped back into the ship and the port swung shut.
The vessel lifted. It rose silently and dwindled against the blue, a bright golden ovoid that faded to a speck and was out of sight. It sped toward the orbit it would follow around the Earth, perhaps for thousands of years, until Ardath and Scipio and Li Yang awoke to follow their strange destiny.
Two figures stood close together on the slope. Marion and Court looked up until all trace of the golden ship was gone.
There was only the blue sky then, and the green hills of Wisconsin.
Still silent, and with the man’s arm holding the girl’s slim form close to him, they turned to retrace their steps to the highway where a car waited. There was nothing they could say, and no need for words had they found any. . . .
REVERSE ATOM
A Blazing Riddle Out of the Cosmic Gulfs Poses a Problem That Men Must Answer!
IT WAS a flaming enigma from the cosmic gulfs beyond the Solar System, a vast, coldly luminous comet that drove inexorably Sunward. No spectroscope could analyze it. Some element entirely new to man’s experience was flashing past Pluto, beyond the great planets, an a path luckily above the plane of the ecliptic so that only little Mercury felt the alien breath of the strange visitant. Mercury—and the Sun. For the comet’s tail, in defiance of all laws of logic and science, stretched Sunward, seemingly dragging that glowing, incredible gas into the heart of the Sun, where it came finally to rest.
And simultaneously solar radiation began swiftly to wane.
Max Molin, the Swiss astrophysicist, was completing his series of lectures at a famous English college when this was happening. The auditorium was warm, though outside snow was falling. It was late June.
The Swiss was striding up and down the platform, blowing out his lips occasionally with a gusty, impatient breath. On his chunky body hung an ill-fitting, gaudy golf suit. His coarse, craggy face looked as though it had been hacked out of weathered brown granite.
He stopped on the edge of the platform and purred:
“This will be my last lecture, gentlemen. Your classes are over forever. No doubt that pleases you, eh? Well, when you’re cowering in an insulated basement trying to get warm, chewing your shoes because there’s nothing else to eat, you’ll remember with pleasure this lecture series!
“You don’t know what I’m talking about, perhaps,” Molin went on. “Let me explain. The Sun is constantly creating sub-atomic energy. You will not deny that, I suppose. Now there is a delicate balance in this Sun of ours, as in any other star. The interior of it is composed of atoms under intense pressure. Such pressure that their outer electrons are being constantly knocked off, and energy being thus created. Now there are ether waves also in the Sun’s interior—all sorts, light waves, X-rays, Gamma rays. The atomic excitation in the Sun’s heart forces out these ether waves.”
Molin made an expansive gesture with his long arms.
“See? That is solar radiation. But if all these ether waves escaped into space they’d wither the Earth like a—a—” He groped vainly for the right word, gave it up. “Anyway, the waves can’t get through. The atoms of the outside layers of the Sun provide a barrier—a mesh—through which these waves can leak only very slowly. Until lately, that has been the situation.”
NOBODY was asleep now. This lecture was unusual, even for the unpredictable Max Molin. The astrophysicist hurried on.
“A comet recently collided with the Sun. Now the unusual thing about this comet was that it contained an element entirely new to us. It collided with the Sun, diffused itself, and has wrapped itself like a blanket around our star.
“Now how could it do this? Its atomic weight is less than that of calcium, which is light enough to float on the Sun’s chromosphere, and at the same time the atomic nucleus is very large indeed—larger than that of lead. You all know that lead will stop many ether waves. Well, this new element in the comet forms an opaque blanket around the Sun, a blanket that absorbs solar radiation almost entirely and prevents light and heat from reaching the Earth.
“So,” Molin said pleasantly, “in a short time all plant and animal life will die. Artificial ultra-violet light may help, but not for long. Solar radiation is necessary to grow food and human beings. Man may prolong his life for a while by migrating to Mercury, but I doubt it, for the atomic blanket on the Sun is very thick. We can’t save ourselves by seeking another Solar System, for our spaceships are as yet incapable of long interstellar voyages. And so, my young friends, I finish my last lecture and take the opportunity of bidding you a very pleasant death.”
The astrophysicist bowed, marched from the dais and went to his office, where he opened a can of beer. Gulping it, he mused, “I owed them that. For years I’ve endured their idiotic faces gaping at me, while I parroted other scientists. Well, if I had not lectured I would have starved and gone without beer.”
The craggy face was not harsh now. Once Molin had dreamed of a laboratory, equipped with the apparatus he loved, where he could follow out his theories. And he had never quite forgotten how to dream. In dreams he could forget what was to happen to the world.
One of the most obvious things that happened was that the world grew dark. Crops were blighted. Wheat and corn failed, and cattle and sheep began to die. Starvation hovered like a chill spectre in the drab twilight of a frozen world . . .
IT IS a seemingly unrelated fact that Peter Joslyn’s tenth birthday came four months after Molin’s delivery of his last lecture. Peter’s father, Dr. Howard Joslyn, famous for his quantum experiments, gave the boy a model spaceship.
On one of those ominously dark moons, young Peter was sending the toy whirling around the penthouse, and occasionally the boy glanced aside at the tired white face of his father, and at the man who was with him.
“I knew you’d come,” Joslyn was saying, his grim features softening briefly as he put his hand on Max Molin’s arm. “An hour—that was quick.”
“Stratosphere ships are fast,” Molin grunted. “Why send for me, though? Other men are more capable—”
“Better known, maybe—but I remember those theories you had when I knew you in Vienna. Our work has been along similar lines, and I need someone who can understand quickly. Most of the governments have given their approval to my plan—”
Max suddenly glanced down at a package under his arm. He swung about, bellowed at the boy.
“Here, you monkey—catch!” He flung the parcel, and Peter caught it deftly. Eagerly he unwrapped a transparent sphere, a suit of shimmering silver fabric. It was an imitation spacesuit, and Peter’s eyes lighted up with pleasure.
“Thanks a lot!”
“Come along, Max,” Joslyn said. “You need some beer. I haven’t forgotten your liking for it.”
“Yes, yes,” Molin rumbled, following the other. “But this work of yours, Howard—you wired me you had a cure for the solar blanket?”
He took the foaming glass Joslyn handed him.
“Right, Max. Although my theory upsets a rather well known law. The conservation of energy—”
Molin blew foam from his lips.
“So! Those foolish dreams we had in Vienna have materialized, eh?”
“They weren’t so foolish. Not after I carried them out to the logical conclusion. The secret’s in potential energy. You know the rule—‘total amount of work done on all parts of a system equals the total sum of the kinetic and potential energies of all its parts.’ In other words, you can’t get more energy out of something than you’ve put into it.”
“Well?”
“It’s common knowledge that electrons can be thrown from their normal or
bits by external stimulus—temperature change, for example. And when an electron automatically returns to an orbit of lower energy, we get a quantum, a radiation that shows the energy-change that has taken place. In the quantum I’ve found the key.”
Molin gulped the rest of his beer, poured more. His sharp eyes watched Joslyn unblinkingly.
“The Universe is gradually running down, Max, losing its energy. We know that; we take it for granted. Sub-atomic energy is released and converted—scattered, because it can’t be lost—changed to light and heat and so on. Well, my theory is simply this: a certain type of artificially-created atom can release more energy than it apparently possesses!”
THE Swiss whistled softly.
“It’s crazy, Howard—you know that. Any scientist in the world would laugh at you. I’d laugh myself, except that my early experiments pointed in the same direction, to the fact that there’s some secret reservoir of power in the atom—in the nucleus, maybe, or even the quanta. But it’s unbelievable.”
“I’ve proved my case on paper.”
“So. But didn’t you find an x somewhere—an unknown factor?”
“Yes,” Joslyn said, and his gaunt face was puzzled. “Something I can’t explain, that crept into my figures somehow. But it has no effect on the calculations. I know they’re accurate.”
“Have you more beer? It helps me think . . . Thanks. Well, if you can do this impossible thing—what then?”
“This ‘reverse atom’ of mine can reverse atoms surrounding it, just as a grain of gunpowder sets off other grains. My plan is to create such a thing and send it by spaceship into the Sun, where it will transmute the Sun’s atoms into ones similar to itself.”
“And if you do that, won’t the increased radiation kill everything on Earth?”
“Curiously enough, no. The damping blanket the comet left will be destroyed, and a tremendous amount of energy will be liberated, but chiefly in harmless etheric waves. Max!”—Joslyn’s voice was suddenly tense—“I’ve got to take the chance! It’s our only one. There may be holes in my figures, but I’ve checked and rechecked and the results seem sound and safe. If the governments are satisfied, that’s enough, isn’t it?”
“At worst, it’s a quick death,” Molin grunted, with a glance at the door. “You’re thinking of your son.”
“And of the human race,” Joslyn amended. “Unless we can destroy the solar blanket, Earth’s doomed. In a few generations our power will give out, we’ll retrogress and become savages. All the culture and science of civilization will die . . .
“I’m with you,” Molin rumbled, “on one condition. I cannot work when I’m thirsty. There must be plenty of beer.”
FOUR more months passed. A spaceship, the Newtonia, rested at the Washington, D.C., spaceport, ready to take off. Terry Webb, its pilot, couldn’t help getting a queer, tight feeling in his throat as he swung through the circular doorway. This wasn’t his first cruise beyond the atmosphere. Despite his youth, Webb was an experienced pilot, or he’d never have been chosen for this job. Special motors had been installed in the ship, engines that would pour a flood of power into the gravity plates—enough power to enable the Newtonia to pull free from the Sun’s grip. For Webb’s orders were to take his craft inside the orbit of Mercury, closer to the Sun than was really safe.
The youngster shrugged broad shoulders as he glanced around the little control room, checking his instruments. He shivered in the icy wind that knifed from outside. In ordinary times a huge crowd would have been at the spaceport, but only a few hardy souls had ventured out into the fringed November afternoon.
Webb ran tanned fingers through a mop of tousled yellow hair and reached for a cigarette. After the ship was sealed he could do little smoking, for the air supply wasn’t inexhaustible. Now, glancing up, he saw Joe McGowan, the telecaster, hurrying toward him, chewing on an incredibly long and black cigar.
McGowan, one of the shrewdest newshounds on Globe Press’ payroll, was short and dark, with a round pudgy face and squinting pale eyes.
“All ready, Terry?” he asked excitedly.
“Yeah,” Webb said. “Molin and Joslyn are in their lab.” He pressed a button that closed the port. McGowan straddled a chair, flipped a microphone into his hand, and chattered:
“Just about to take off, folks! You’ve already seen Dr. Joslyn and Max Molin on your televisor screens, as well as Terry Webb, our pilot. This is my last direct broadcast. After we head Sunward I’ll keep sending, but radio waves can’t get through the Heaviside layer, you know. Globe Press has three ships stationed beyond the layer, transmitting my messages by visual signals down to the observatories closest to them. This is remote control with a vengeance! Here it comes!”
Webb fingered the switchboard. With no sense of motion, the Newtonia floated up as power raced through the gravity plates. It was difficult to judge the force of the compensating gravity field necessary within the ship, and so for a moment the passengers were weightless, till Webb’s experienced fingers adjusted matters.
“All power’s on, folks,” McGowan yelped, his unlighted cigar dancing. “We’re driving right at the Sun. Won’t be long before we get close enough for the big experiment. Considering the distance—it isn’t a five minute walk, you know.”
Over sixty million miles! Webb chuckled; despite the tremendous acceleration the gravity plates supplied, it would be a fairly long trip. But already they were far beyond Earth’s atmosphere. He sobered suddenly as he remembered the possibility of failure. Joslyn had been explicit on that point. And Webb didn’t want to die just yet, for he was to be married in two months. But no pilot on Earth would have turned down the chance to command the Newtonia.
ON EARTH a few days later, in Joslyn’s penthouse apartment, Peter squatted by the televisor. Lounging in a nearby chair was Mahaffey, Joslyn’s chauffeur, who was utterly devoted to his employer and his employer’s son. From the televisor came the announcer’s voice, relaying McGowan’s messages.
“We’re swinging around the Sun, in an orbit well inside Mercury. The experiment’s coming along fine. Joslyn’s reverse atom is due to hit the Sun any minute now. As I said, it was released just before the process was complete—the whole auxiliary cabin went with it, because we didn’t know how fast the reversal process might spread. Terry’s an expert pilot. He got rid of the excess baggage at just the right moment. All three men are with me now in the control cabin. Molin has a spectroscope set up. And we’re heading back to Earth—wait a minute! The atom should have hit the chromosphere by now.” Peter glanced up at Mahaffey. “That happened quite a while ago,” he observed. “Radio waves travel through space at the rate of—uh—” But his memory failed him at that point, and he turned to the televisor again. Mahaffey grinned.
Meanwhile, in space, the Newtonia gave a lurch. Molin stared in amazement at the spectroscope. He was flung to his knees as gravity was abruptly increased. All four men went down on the cushioned floor.
Terry Webb fought his way back to the instrument board. McGowan, flat on his back, still clutched the microphone and was shouting into it.
The ship began to whirl crazily. Webb battled the controls. He glared unbelievingly at his instruments, let out a meaningless shout. Joslyn lurched unsteadily to his side.
“They’ve gone crazy!” the pilot screamed. There was a grinding bellow rasping through the ship, from what source it was impossible to tell.
Without warning deathly quiet fell. Normal gravity was reestablished. The four men stared at each other.
Molin broke the silence.
“Power,” he rumbled shakily. “It caught us—”
“What does it mean?” the telecaster asked. “What happened?”
“It’s still happening,” Molin said, gesturing toward the instruments. “We thought only the Sun’s atoms would be reversed. But the atoms of space are being reversed—”
“Space—I thought—a void—” Webb managed to get out.
Joslyn’s face was a haggard m
ask.
“There’s about an atom to every square inch of interstellar space,” he said, a curious horror in his eyes. “It’s spreading, Max! It must be. If the void can’t stop the reversal process, it’ll spread out through the Solar System—the Galaxy!”
McGOWAN gripped his arm. “But what’ll happen?”
“God knows.” The scientist made a futile gesture. “Too much energy—it may do anything, released like this. It may warp the framework of space itself.”
“Listen,” Webb said sharply. “You mean it’ll cause trouble on Earth?” He was thinking of a girl in Washington—a girl he was going to marry.
“It may wreck Earth,” Molin rumbled.
“Eh?” McGowan’s eyes widened. “Listen, I’ve got a wife in Hollywood—”
“And I’ve a son in New York,” Joslyn said with nervous harshness. “But there’s nothing we can do. This energy will keep increasing—created out of nothing—”
The pilot jerked roughly at the controls.
“God Almighty, if anything happens to Stella!”
In the silence Molin spoke.
“I have no family. So I’m not afraid of death.”
He was thinking of unleashed energy, an inconceivable Titan, spreading out from the Sun, catching Earth in its grip, flashing out at a speed that traversed light-years with incredible rapidity—pure energy, shaking the foundations of matter, warping and twisting physical laws insanely . . .
In other places other men were thinking too. In Mount Wilson Observatory for example. A shining dome, built in 1985, perched atop a tall, snow-drifted scaffold of toughened steel. On one side, white mountains; on the other, steep slopes, the cities of Pasadena, Glendale, Los Angeles, and in the far distance the chill blue of the Pacific. Scientists, astronomers, Globe Press men under the great dome, watching for the signals from the ships beyond the stratosphere.
Quite suddenly the observatory was split neatly in half, as though sliced with a giant knife. One half of the huge hemisphere was lifted and hurled violently northward, rocketing through the atmosphere at a speed which instantly melted the snow which capped its top. A minute later the Gargantyan missile was dropped gently on the prairie six hundred miles away, approximately midway between Lake Tahoe and Reno. The half-observatory, incredibly, seemed undamaged. But every living thing within it had died, as though by a violent electric shock.
Collected Fiction Page 189