CHAPTER II
The Deadly Radiation
Nora Powell was frankly out of her depth. It showed in her eyes, and in the petulant protrusion of her lower lip. She asked, cool gaze studying her new superior, "Would you be kind enough to explain that more fully, Dr. Lane?"
Gary needed no urging. It was this theory which was responsible for his unusual curtness, for his irate explosion at the rocketdrome, for the preoccupation that had marked his return flight from Luna to Earth.
He wanted most desperately to convince his superior, Dr. Bryant, and all his other associates, that this startling discovery was not lightly to be dismissed.
Furthermore—and it surprised Gary Lane to find the desire within him—he wanted to prove to Nora Powell that he was not, in truth, the ogre she now believed him. That there had been an excuse for his rudeness.
So he spoke, setting forth the arguments thought out during the flight from Earth's satellite.
"You are all familiar," he said, "with the theory of the 'expanding' or 'bubble' universe.
"We approach an understanding of this by thinking of our existence—our universe of three spatial dimensions with one temporal extension—as a sphere which isallsurface.
"Not merely a hollow sphere, you understand.Everything—including empty space, solid matter and energy, is on the surface of this hypersphere. Thus our galaxy constitutes one point imbedded in the surface of the sphere ... the nearest star is another ... the farthest still another ... and so on with each of a billion galaxies.
"It has been suggested that an undefined 'something' is 'blowing up' this bubble, and that as expansion increases, the degree of separation between galaxies widens so that they appear to be running away from each other. The big objection to this theory has been the insurmountable question—ifthis hypersphere is expanding, into what, since it contains all of Space and Time in itself, does it expand?"
Dr. Anjers interrupted somewhat caustically.
"You reject this theory, I gather?"
"Completely," declared Gary boldly, "and definitely! It has not, nor will it ever, solve the paradoxes we observe. My belief is that though the Greater Universe may be a closed and finite hypersphere, it is not expanding, but static. And it lends itself to real and constant measurement."
Nora Powell said, "But, Dr. Lane—the principles of relativity! The value ofh, and the Lorenz contraction—"
"Are all taken care of," insisted Gary, "if you will accept my new major premise." He pondered, briefly, how best to state his idea. Then: "Let us suppose," he said, "you are standing in the center of a floor in a large room. The walls of this room, activated by some machine, are moving away from you. If you could measure this motion spectroscopically, you would observe the phenomenon of the 'red shift'—right?"
Dr. Bryant nodded. "Yes, Gary. That is, in effect, the relationship of our galaxy to the Greater Universe as now conceived."
"Quite. But—" said Gary—"suppose that you stood motionless in that same room, and some strange force acted on you toshrinkyou!Thenwhat would you see?"
The girl's eyes widened. She cried, "A—a universe running away from you!"
"And your spectroscopic analysis—?"
"Would show the red shift!" Nora whirled to the two older men. "Dr. Bryant ... Dr. Anjers ... he's right! Now I see what the pictures meant! The comet, entering our contracting galaxy, changed its course sharply—"
The foreign scientist's eyes clouded with impatience behind their heavy lids. He smiled commiseratingly. "A very interesting conjecture, my young friend. But it is fool-hardy to reason on such flimsy evidence. Your camera, despite your belief, may have shaken ... your spectroscope may have been out of adjustment ... any one of a thousand things." A chubby hand dipped swiftly into Gary's briefcase, drew forth a flat, circular tin of film. "Is this the roll on which—?"
"Don't do that!" Gary literally screamed the words, leaping forward barely in time to prevent the older scientist from opening the container. Rudely he swept the tin from Dr. Anjers' grasp, swiftly inspected the thin line of metal seal. Only after he had satisfied himself that it was intact did he think to apologize. Then: "You must forgive me, sir, please. But these are supplementary exposures; they have not yet been developed."
The small man nodded understandingly. "The fault is mine, Dr. Lane. Forgive me."
Dr. Bryant, too engrossed in his own thoughts to see the byplay, now raised his head thoughtfully.
"Nevertheless, Gary, Miss Powell raised an important point. What about our known and proven celestial mechanics?"
"My theory," said Gary firmly, "makes them even more valid. Theirtruthis not reversed—only theirmeaning. In other words, the principles of the Lorenz equation still hold true, but we must learn to interpret it from a new angle. It is not the yardstick which moves; it is the observers! We of this dwindling galaxy which, alone in all the vastness of the Greater Universe, is becoming ever smaller!"
"But—but why, Gary? Why?"
"That," confessed Lane, "I do not know. But it is a problem we must solve. And quickly. Or—"
"Or—?" prompted Nora Powell as he hesitated.
"Or—" concluded Gary grimly—"oblivion! Unless I erred seriously in my first computations, there is a limit to the amount of shrinkage matter can withstand. And that limit is rapidly drawing near. Matter cannot contract forever. If we cannot find a way to free ourselves from the strange force being brought to bear upon us fromout there—" Gary's hand swept the gathering dusk of Earth's twilight—"our Earth and sun, our sister planets, our galaxy—all these are doomed!"
For the second time within minutes, silence followed one of Gary Lane's pronouncements. But this was no moment of dubiety. Something of his deadly earnestness had communicated itself to his listeners; their voices were muted as if with awe at the magnitude of his warning. Muldoon already knew, of course, and already believed. Credence shone in the eyes of Nora Powell. Dr. Anjers' broad, fair brow was drawn; the cherubic mask of his features was marred with white lines of concentration. Dr. Bryant coughed, twisting long, capable fingers into steeples of thought.
It was the foreign scientist who broke the silence. Quietly. Carefully. In a voice which might have been gently chiding, had its accent not been thickened by a note of near-alarm.
"Aren't you," he ventured softly, "aren't you being just a little bit melodramatic, Dr. Lane? After all, this is only a hypothesis. A very new and—if you will forgive me—most implausible conjecture—"
"New," agreed Gary almost harshly, "butnotimplausible, Doctor. Weknow, don't we, Flick?" The camera expert nodded. "We know, and we have further proof. Those rolls of film offer half of it; simple mathematics supplies the rest. Flick, suppose you get to work on those exposures right away. We'll show them—"
"O.Q., Gary," said Muldoon. "I'll get at it immediately. 'Scuse me, folks!"
Dr. Anjers said, "Please, no! Don't do this just to convinceme, gentlemen. I did not mean to imply doubt. I am skeptical, yes; what man of science would not be? But there is no hurry—"
Gary grinned at him mirthlessly.
"That's where you're wrong, Doctor. Thereisa need for haste. Every day is precious; perhaps every hour, every minute. We're not doing this merely to dispel your doubts. We're doing it because it has to be done, and as swiftly as humanly possible. The sooner mankind realizes its peril, the sooner we can take measures to do something. How long will it take you, Flick?"
"At least three hours. Maybe four."
"All right. Get going. Meanwhile, if you'll permit me, Dr. Bryant, I'd like to duck into my office. There must be a lot of accumulated correspondence to run through. Miss Powell, if you'll be kind enough to come with me—?"
"Yes, Dr. Lane."
Anjers said, "Office, yes. I have not been near my own desk all morning. Perhaps I, too, should spend a little time with my papers. So, gentlemen—"
But Dr. Bryant caught his arm. "Oh, no you don't, my friend! Lane and Muldoon need a few hours privacy, but I am much too excited to leteveryoneget away from me. Let's go to my rooms. I must discuss this matter with someone."
"That's it, then," nodded Gary. "We'll meet in the projection room at—let's see—five p.m. That's O.Q. with everyone? So long, then. Flick, careful with those shots!"
Muldoon glared at him aggrievedly.
"You're telling me?" he retorted. "Listen, pal—to me they're fresh laid eggs, and I'm the mama hen."
Thus the meeting disbanded.
At four-thirty, Gary Lane spoke a last, "yours truly" into his stenoreel, snapped the switch which sent the machine into operation as a transcriber, rose and yawned vigorously.
"That," he said, "is that! Thank goodness. I don't know how I would have ever finished up without your help, Miss Powell."
Nora Powell said, "I'm glad I was of some assistance, Dr. Lane."
"Some assistance?" grinned Gary. "You were the whole works. I wouldn't have known how to answer half those letters if you hadn't been here to advise me. Say, by the way—" He glanced at her quizzically—"Am I forgiven yet? I mean about that business down at the rocketdrome?"
Nora Powell met his gaze briefly, flushed and turned away. "I—I had forgotten all about it, Doctor," she said.
"Now, that," approved Gary, "is something to really be thankful for. Well, it's almost time for our appointment. Let's go down and see how Flick's making out."
Thus it was that Gary Lane and the girl were a full half hour earlier in reaching the projection room than had been agreed. On such small hinges is the gateway of Fortune hung. For had they been ten minutes, perhaps a single moment later, the great adventure which was to befall them might have ended ere it began. Laughing Flick Muldoon might never have laughed again, and the precious evidence which he and Gary had brought back from Luna might never have been viewed by understanding eyes.
For when young Dr. Lane pushed open the projection room door, it was to peer into a chamber not brilliantly alight, as he had expected, but one Stygian-draped in darkness. Even so, he was not at first alarmed. Flick's prints must surely be ready by now, but it was quite possible the cameraman was testing his equipment. Gary called cheerfully, "Hey, Flick! Why the blackout? O.Q. to come in—Say! What's wrong?"
Because his only answer was a deep, choking groan. And even as the girl behind him mouthed an incoherent cry of warning, Gary got the illumination he had asked for—but in an unwanted way. The darkness was suddenly, fiercely stabbed with a livid flare, an undulating streamer of light from the opposite end of the room. A crackling, hissing ochre finger of light which seemed to burn with an inward malevolence of its own.
And where this dirty glare struck matter, walls and drapes, woodwork and plastic, metal instruments and decorative vines, all—with a dreadful sort of impotent homogeneity—burst into sudden and spontaneous flame! By the light of the burning furniture, Gary glimpsed a dim, uncertain figure huddled in the doorway opposite—and from the hands of this unknown arsonist leaped the living flame!
Gary Lane could claim no heroism for what he did; his actions were too impulsive, too instinctive, to be considered real bravery. It never occurred to him that his enemy was armed where he was not, nor that the light-streamer devouring all else in the room could just as easily strip his flesh from his bones like tinfoil over a candleflame. All he knew was that somewhere in this room, Flick Muldoon lay hurt—perhaps dead!—and that documents on which depended the future of all mankind were being imperiled by a mysterious assailant.
Soundlessly, but with the speed of a striking panther, he hurled himself across the room. In the unreal tawny-black his body could have been, at best, but a dimly glimpsed bulk. The lethal flame did not turn in his direction, scorching him instantly out of existence. And then—
And then his shoulders met sturdy flesh with a solid impact; the stranger grunted meatily and staggered backward. Gary's hands groped, clawing, for the flame weapon ... felt his fingers burn on superheated metal....
For the barest fraction of a second! Then the enemy regained his feet. Gary sensed, rather than saw, the arm uplifting as many voices raised in sudden clamor, and the sound of running footsteps echoed from the corridor he had quitted. He was aware of Nora Powell's cry, "Dr. Lane—look out! Oh, Gary—!"
Then the spinning world descended with brutal force upon his temple, the gloom split asunder into myriad whirling galaxies of fire, and he sank senseless to the floor!
"—Better now," said a voice from far, far away. "I think he can hear me. Gary, my boy! Are you all right?"
Gary lifted his head and groaned; opened his eyes to find himself looking up into the kindly face of Dr. Bryant. Beside the old astronomer, her mist-blue eyes wide with fear and something else Gary Lane was too dazed to decipher, stood Nora Powell, while beside her, cherubic cheeks gray with inarticulate outrage, was the small foreign physicist.
Recollection flooded back on Gary; swiveling his head he discovered that the flames which threatened the room had been extinguished. But how about—?
"Flick?" he muttered, struggling to rise. "Flick! Is he—?"
"O.Q., chum," growled Flick Muldoon, coming from behind him. "The firebug busted me, laid me out colder than a Laplander's kiss, but you got a worse smack than I did. I'm O.Q."
"And the—the films?" asked Gary fearfully.
"Safe," chuckled Muldoon, "as a pork pie at a Mohammedans' picnic. I went down, yeah—but I went down with 'em clutched to my manly buzzum! Our murderous friend, whoever he was, would have needed a can opener to get 'em out of my hands. Me, I've got instincts, I have!"
Gary was on his feet, now, and staring about him. A little unsteadily, true, but gathering strength with every moment. He said, "Then you didn't get a look at him?"
"Who, me? I haven't got eyes in the back of my head, pal!"
"How about you, No—Miss Powell?" Gary caught himself just in time, reddening as he did so. Though his mind was intent on the problem now confronting them, some hidden portion found time to be astonished that his tongue should so trick him.
"I saw him no better than you did. Perhaps not even as well. When you charged him, I ran into the corridor and screamed for help."
"And a good thing, too," appended Dr. Bryant. "The whole Observatory might have gone up in flames had help not come immediately. Gary, that weapon—whatever it was—is the most destructive force ever unleashed by man! It burns right through anything. Wood, metal, plastic—"
"I can see that," scowled Gary. He bit his lip, an unwelcome suspicion forcing itself into his mind as he stared at the other member of their little party. "What puzzles me is—where did he come from? The arsonist, I mean. How many people are in this Observatory beside ourselves?"
"Why, scores, Gary. The laboratory men and the observers, upstairs, the students below—it was they who helped us fight the fire, you know."
"Yes. But—" Gary turned suddenly to Dr. Anjers. "Doctor—where wereyouwhen this fire was started?"
Anjers blinked at Gary mildly. "Me, my friend? Why, with Dr. Bryant in his study, of course. But, why? Surely you don't think I—?"
"I don't know what to think," groaned Gary. "While I didn't see the intruder very well, as nearly as I could judge he was just about your height and build. Dr. Bryant, you're positive Dr. Anjers was with you?"
"Of course, Gary."
"Every minute? Neither of you left the study?"
"Not for a second. We were together every moment until we heard Miss Powell's cry; then we hurried here together. Really, Gary—"
"Yes, I know," conceded Gary ruefully. "I'm sorry. But the mandidlook a little like Dr. Anjers, and—"
The small scientist nodded sympathetically.
"Say no more about it, Doctor. You have had ample reason to be apprehensive—and to question. Judging from what I see here, you narrowly escaped a horrible death. Our foe's weapon is, indeed, a terrible one. As a physicist, I cannot understand how anything can create spontaneous combustion in such nonflammable substances as metal and plaster—"
"No?" grunted Gary. "Well,Ican! Look here!"
He stepped to the wall upon which the ray had played most fiercely, bent and rose, sifting through his fingers a palm-full of tiny granules.
"Here's your answer. And it ties in exactly with what we were talking about earlier this afternoon. Condensation of matter!
"See those granules? They are all that remain of a space five feet wide by six feet high! Their matter has been condensed by that hellish ray. The liberation of their excess bulk in the form of pure energy was what caused them to burst into flame. There's your answer, and—Good Lord!"
He stopped, stricken by the thought which had leaped into his brain. A thought at once so terrible and incredible that he could scarce believe it. But it must be true! It was the only way this phantasmagoria made any kind of sense.
"Blind! I've been blind! Now I see it all!"
"What, Gary?" demanded Flick. "What do you see?"
"This plaster wall—contracted into a handful of pebbles," said Gary bleakly. "Our galaxy—contracting to a grim and certain death! They are both part of one and the same plot. A plot by someone—or something!—to destroy Mankind! It is not simply a blind, unreasoning force which is speeding the destruction of our solar system. It is a deliberate doom to which we are being driven. The weapon used here this afternoon is a miniature replica of that which—Flick, what did the arsonist's weapon look like? Did you see it?"
Flick shook his head.
"Sorry, Gary. I drew a blank. I don't remember a thing."
But Nora Powell, who had stirred to an instrument panel near the crumbled wall, gasped suddenly. "I didn't see the weapon either, Gary," she cried. "But here is evidence of what it did. Look at this Geiger counter. It has gone completely mad. It has registered more than a thousand direct hits within the past half hour!"
"What?" exclaimed Dr. Bryant. "A thousand direct hits! That's impossible! Geiger counters register only the impact of cosmic rays. And the periodicity of these rays is as steadfast and invariable as—"
But Gary Lane silenced him with a great cry.
"Now I know I'm right! The Geiger counter proves it! The weapon used by our enemies shoots—cosmic radiation!"