The Fall of the House of Heron (Prologue Science Fiction)

by Eden Phillpotts

  “My Lords, another reflection. I would beg you to recollect the part played by free physicists in our history and the world’s vast debt to them: the products of their research, the fruit of their sleepless toil, the roll of their martyrs — men who have given their lives that others might live more abundantly as truth prevailed. To strike me down at this moment is to aim a blow at the very spirit of truth and crush man’s new avatar of hope at the fountain head.”

  He ceased for a few moments, then turned to a different argument and strove to move his hearers upon what might, in some sort, be considered their own ground.

  “Lastly, my Lords, I would consider impersonally the comprehensive syllable ‘crime’ and note how, like many other words, it conveys different meanings to the ear that hears, or the eye that reads. ‘Crime’ reverberates in the memory of deeds associated with it, or in the context of companion words. Similarly we speak of ‘nature,’ ‘will,’ ‘hope,’ ‘civilization.’ Of the last, for example, we talk as though it were attained, instead of a state as yet entirely beyond our activities. ‘Patriotism’ has often been denominated crime. Some applaud it as a healthy instinct; others condemn it for a particularly noxious form of actual wickedness. Very noteworthy and honourable characters shine in history for the reason that their crimes have advanced national well-being by the destruction of tyranny and roguery, or their opposition to the dictator and slave-driver. In their remorseless progress such men have often broken law, taken life, cast down privilege and defied tradition for most praiseworthy purposes. History has applauded these hurricanes of crime along with the criminals who committed them, recognizing that the salutary results remain despite those illegal means which were alone capable of reaching them. The laws enacted to restrain crime are often responsible for their own breaking, and when they are wicked laws, then those who made them become the criminals and no such word may longer be applied to those who break them. ‘Crime’ is in truth a relative term of no meaning to philosophy, but being accepted in one sense only by law, many valuable lives have paid unjust penalty.

  “A cruel fate confronted me with the necessity to do what I have done since, without needful means, my work could not be accomplished; but reason and rudimentary justice must surely recognize that I afford yet another example of those actions which, however odious in themselves, yet by resultant circumstances merit condonation as upheavals of social conduct, that produce an ultimate and healthy fruition. The results of any action should assuredly determine our reckoning with those means employed to achieve it and the scales of justice be held with adamant fortitude between them.

  “Finally, your Lordships, recollect that I ask for continued existence in the cause of Science alone. Other incentives for remaining alive, I have none.”

  He had addressed the Court standing and now ceased and sat down with his eyes upon the three Judges. No change of expression had passed over their impassive faces while he spoke and, after a brief colloquy with his companions, the Lord Chief Justice, who presided, rose and replied. He had little to say and revealed no emotion or animus of any kind while he said it.

  “First, prisoner at the bar, to reply to your defence and the arguments you have seen fit to advance on your own behalf. Science, as we know, should enjoy freedom of international intercourse, and for any man to assert that he has learned the means by which war can be avoided, yet refuse such knowledge to his fellow-creatures, would be a crime unparalleled in human history. It happens, however, that history itself denies you such a power. It is idle to make the claim. Freedom for science no more banishes future war than it did the last, now at an end, and it is not in the realms of physiology that any such palladium will be discovered. Obviously all sciences should combine to operate upon the side of peace and agree to oppose physical warfare and all its evils, but, so far, the reverse has been accomplished and we are now at a pass when, what may in truth be the driving force of the universe, is applied to nothing but destruction and disruption. Nevertheless, whatever resolutions your profession may arrive at, knowledge of the passions that still dominate and actuate the human heart indicate clearly enough that unaided physical research will never banish war. If channels exist through which we can escape for ever from mankind’s civil wars of self-extermination, then let Science turn from her further exploration of dead matter, bid her physicists rest from their labours, while her biologists speed their endeavours. Life should control the inanimate; but to-day, what do we perceive? Matter triumph over mind; machinery — whether that of man, or Nature — ever hurtling onward to new speed and might, while human reason toils farther and farther in the rear.”

  The Lord Chancellor dismissed this great matter and declared the Court’s decision.

  “Much remains to be said on such a subject, but not here and not in connection with your appeal, Faraday Heron. Your achievements in connection with atomic energy and your alleged control of physical phenomena, as yet known to yourself alone, are subjects lying outside the present question. That is our sole province and, believing that your sentence inflicted for the murder of the late Sir Hector Heron to be in every respect just and conformable to Law, we recognize no reason to change it. The appeal is dismissed.”

  So ended Faraday’s efforts and no soul of goodness in things evil appeared to awaken one ray of legal doubt as to justice and the duty to support it. The conclusion aroused interest and was counted news. It calmed many hearts and those who quarrelled with it won no considerable support. Human interest is a fleeting thing and seldom delays long with any subject, however great the challenge.

  At this time, fortified by the loss of Faraday’s appeal and secure in the certainty of his end, Greta Trensham set about to accomplish what the rest of the world was anxious to avoid. She abated no jot of hatred for the fallen man, and the fact that he must die renewed her strength; but that was not enough. Her thoughts ran forward and she still desired, above all else, that nothing must be reclaimed by which the world could remember him. She was resolved that the laboratory and all it held should be blown to dust, and she had linked that task with her own life which would be needful to its performance. Though faith in the condemned man’s promises had waned and even his supporters counted them too extravagant as reaffirmed in the appeal, yet belief in the prodigious value of what he was leaving behind him persisted and Greta rejoiced that still no means of safe entrance to his workshop had been devised. Rumours ran that skilled engineers were already working underground, but none spoke with certainty. A minor problem divided opinion and some believed in the threatened time-bomb, others doubted its existence. Greta held her brother’s assurance in the matter an idle threat, because, with all the will, he had not enjoyed sufficient time to perfect any such thing. She had visited the laboratory with him, at an early stage after its completion, and remembered elaborate arrangements of permanent character which were planned to destroy it if an enemy landing was ever made. She felt convinced that an assault from without must swiftly destroy all in the conflagration he promised, as in the past he had destroyed her husband; and it was when thinking upon Ernest that she conceived a line of action within her power and certain to accomplish her purpose. It demanded her life — a price she was willing to pay; but it probably involved that of many others. For human welfare she cared no more since personal contentment was for ever impossible. Greta had always relied on things outside herself for happiness: she possessed no quality of mind to create it from within. Like the moon, she had reflected light when the sunshine of life shone upon her, but remained chill and dark for evermore now that the last ray had sped. The wellsprings were dry; the atmosphere spent; ruth and compassion had perished and she was only concerned to hide her own secret a little longer. Her purpose chained her to Cliff House through these days, although it stood in the danger zone and no more than a few hundred yards distant from the laboratory. Soldiers encircled the dwelling and she was permitted to remain in it at her own risk. Officers accepted her hospitality and came to know and sympathize wit
h her. It was believed by some that time might be growing short and the time-bomb, if such existed, ticking forward to its end; but she had assured those mostly concerned that no such danger need be feared and explained her reasons. The folk thought otherwise and believed that a mysterious bond united her brother’s fate with the laboratory. They foretold that at the moment he died, the threatened explosion might be counted to occur. None ever suspected that the mistress of Cliff entertained any evil thought against her own domains, but many urged her to follow them and withdraw beyond peril before the morning of execution. Greta had befriended the troops and made them free of the deserted gardens. She had assisted the officials who came and went, and aroused the admiration of many among them. Her distress was stamped upon a face, now care-worn and haggard, and those who had occasion to meet her shared pity for a woman stricken with such tragic complications of grief.

  She moved where she pleased and had affected to welcome the project now in hand. It was determined to enter the laboratory from far beneath, burrow a tunnel deep under the foundations and make entrance through the concrete on which they stood. The architect of the building furnished all plans and those volunteering for the attempt were already about it, having sunk clear of the walls. Greta, however, had no intention that success should be won by these protracted and cautious efforts. Labour was daily withdrawn at dusk and on an approaching evening, after the workers had retired to safety, she designed her intervention.

  An approach by eminent living scientists was addressed to the Crown for Faraday Heron’s prolonged life, in view of the good these men felt competent to declare must result from it; but no saving grace rewarded the effort and the condemned man slept his last sleep in the condemned cell, awoke an hour before his death, declined breakfast and sat in silent thought awaiting the call. His mind, long conscious of a crucial error, speculated on what might have been had he escaped from England while yet opportunity offered to do so. To have flown by air into Russia had doubtless saved him. There a government, smarting under allied refusal of vital atomic information, must surely have welcomed one capable of bringing the secret knowledge and primed with much else that none as yet knew but himself. Russia’s refusal to grant extradition would have followed and a theatre for research opened worthy of him, together with respect, honour and support as he served his adopted nation and helped her to set foot on the neck of Western civilization. For his own country and its democratic ideals he now felt nothing but contempt — a scorn applied equally to himself that he had trusted reason to save him against the pettifogging and hide-bound practice of Laws never designed to subdue a super-man.

  He had not spoken on learning the date of his execution, nor was his voice heard again. He ignored those who attended upon his end and died dumb.

  CHAPTER XVII

  WHEN the fact of her brother’s death reached Greta Trensham she set about final preparations. Some hours needed to pass, for not until dusk was down and her plans became practical could she carry them out. She travelled round Cliff village during the morning, to find it strangely empty and deserted, for a great exodus had taken place to the amusement of the military guardians. Greta’s own warnings did not trouble the soldiers. They knew what had happened in London and the day brought forth for her, so judged that she might well be distraught.

  Her own thoughts concentrated on the coming action and she marvelled that any hours could drag as these. She yearned for an approaching end, which caused her no more dread than death had wakened in Faraday. A thankful welcome awaited it; and she was cheered and supported to remember that revenge upon her brother and all his works would come from her own hand.

  Cliff House lay within the guarded circuit, where stood the laboratory, and a straight path of three hundred yards united them. Few moved upon it now save the soldiers and Greta. The gardens were long emptied of regular workers and only Roger Horn and two old women continued to wait upon their mistress until she should depart. She had told them it would be on the morrow. Signs of neglect were everywhere visible and long had been so. Upon the great forecourt grass was spouting and the collections in the glass houses had died, or turned to jungle.

  When twilight thickened Greta set forth upon her last journey to the laboratory with a clear run between her and the main entrance of it. Only barbed wires crossed the path at two points, but she would be travelling at fifty or sixty miles an hour and within twenty yards of her goal before she struck them, for her car was powerful and capable of great speed. A soldier on guard marked her spring out of the murk. He yelled, but was too late to stop her or save himself and died a moment later. Straight at the major door she headed and brought her car like a battering ram upon it. The impact created an instantaneous change and it could not be said that the car advanced or the door fallen after they collided, for both vanished almost instantly. A roar of sound bellowed upward and a blaze of orange light turned the gathering darkness brighter than noonday sunshine. Flames burst from every side of the building as it fell like a pack of cards. The metal receptacles that crowned it were turned to molten steel while the blast of the explosion tore up the earth on every side, cutting off the ancient trees that girdled the hollow as a scythe mows pasture and transforming the sandy soil of the glen to glass. A terrific din persisted and for a time the glare turned gathering night to day. Then slowly light and din diminished to a steady, earth-born glow of great timber trees burning like tinder and dying echoes of the explosion reverberating afar. Torrents of rain began to fall through the poisoned air and red-hot earth hissed under it. Clouds lumbered up, as though to hide this great wound, for where the laboratory had stood now there yawned a smoking hole like the mouth of a volcano, still exuding smoke and flame from its crater.

  Time was never destined to fill that gash again and around the gulf, now swept clear of every stock and stone, a desert of shuddering ashes spread. With astounding speed was this destruction accomplished and presently, in the silence that followed, broken now only by the rush of rain, there began to move earth-born lights and squeak the little sound of human voices where crept a cautious force into that valley of dust and ashes.

  Dawn indicated the nature, length and breadth of the disaster. Many cob-walled cottages of the hamlet had crumbled under the blast and three score lives were lost, mostly of the aged. Cliff church tower suffered and its battlements were brought to the churchyard. Gravestones had been broken and the modest mausoleum of Sir Hector and his partner suffered indignity. The western wing of Cliff House came down, but the mass still stood though gaping with a thousand rents. Every window was destroyed and the fabric riven, the great palm house transformed to molten glass and twisted steel. Both serving women escaped unhurt; old Roger Horn, seeking fruit for Greta’s dessert that night, died out-of-doors. A kitchen-garden wall fell upon him and not until many days had passed were his bones discovered. Of the soldiery seven men lost their lives and no more. The total mortality was not great, nor did the explosion take a form so prodigious as Faraday foretold, though the scars indeed were destined to remain for all time. By irony of chance the actual cause of the event none ever knew. Only a dead soldier, consumed by fire, shared the truth with a dead woman; but while many assumed hat fate had synchronized the time-bomb’s explosion with his own death day, others, taking note of her utter disappearance, suspected Faraday’s sister.

  • • •

  So fell the house of Heron and soon enough will their good and evil be forgotten, their story a page of history that only the curious turn. Time has already rebuilt their dwelling and transformed it into a guest house for those who need rest from their labours. A golf course stretches over those great gardens, a promenade threads the cliffs, a haven for little boats has been built below. But the gulf where the laboratory stood was left to Nature and the cavern adorned by her hands. Lady fern and hart’s tongue loll from the red sandstone; moss glimmers in great cushions to pillow the broken rock; seeds of brier and thorn and rowan brought by the birds have sprung to life in rift and l
edge; the cavity, sinking down to regions of perpetual gloom where sunlight can never reach, is naked no more. Nor wholly silent, for a rill winds and murmurs through the depths of it.

  Here and on the sea-facing precipices close at hand the first fiery harvest of nuclear fissure fell upon England and wakened a nation’s prayer that it might be the last; but whether that prodigious energy shall wound to the death a well-found planet and the cradle of Earth’s only reasoning creature remains for us to learn. Is it to be believed that human power exists to shorten the life of willing, helpless Mother Earth and batter her beauty and her glory back to primal chaos? Surely eternal hope may trust the Atomic Age and strengthen our faith in righteousness still beyond our reach, but not our ken. As the old judge affirmed, powers mightier than atomic lie hidden within the composition of man himself, only seeking liberation to reveal how not earth, sea nor air hold elements so great.

  We need to think in grander terms — not astronomic or even geological — but pitched to a measure far ahead of our present standpoint on the great journey. As yet there is little to tell since man’s advent, in comparison with the pilgrimage and the record that yet lie ahead of him. We are the children of yesterday and probably short of our meridian altitude by unnumbered centuries; yet our stature and our progress in historic time indicate standards of intelligence ascending to starry flashes of genius which foretell where civilization may stand in ages yet to be. The duration of Earth is hidden beyond our calculation; but that her sole, conscious inhabitant should empty her dwelling-place in space and shorten his own brief flicker in time is the nightmare of an idiot. Consciousness, capable of malevolence so vast, becomes a mere poisonous exhalation, a virus to confound the heart-beat of a solar system, a plague-spot on the universe. The clown of this cosmic circus we may be, but not the arch-villain.