Godson of Almarlu: A Collection of Science Fiction Novellas

by Raymond Z. Gallun

  “But what could cause such a shifting or swinging?” Franz demanded.

  The scientist seemed reticent to reply immediately. “Show me this small invading planet, Franz,” he ordered.

  The cruiser was flying now in the upper stratosphere. Franz pointed through a window toward a place in the deep purple of the sky, not far from the early-morning Sun. In spite of the intense illumination, the tiny speck of red fire was not hidden, for the air was very thin.

  “There, sir,” said Franz.

  The object, as it appeared now, was not remarkable. Mere visual inspection of it could reveal nothing but a very hazy idea of its position in space. Yet the sight of it seemed to arouse in Moharleff a chain of involved thought.

  “Do you remember our experiments with neutronium, Franz?” he asked suddenly.

  The assistant nodded. He had reason to remember, for he was carrying in his pocket, as a sort of charm, a lump of lead formed curiously like a piece of the common delicacy of amusement parks—popcorn. The lump had an interesting history: Once it had been an invisible speck of unbelievable weight, supported in a glass tube by the force of a terrific protonic bombardment. It had been synthetically made there by the rearrangement of the inner structure of an original fragment of lead. But, when the fury of the protonic bombardment had been increased to a point that its stable composition could not endure, it had expanded suddenly, changing back to the lead it was meant to be.

  “All intelligent theory points to the existence of neutronium at the center of the Earth, Franz,” Moharleff said. “There cannot be a large quantity by volume, but its mass must be tremendous. It floats at the exact middle of the planet’s molten core, being held there by an equal, or practically equal, gravitational pull from all sides. Normally, the only deviation from equality of attraction is produced by the tidal pull of the Sun and the Moon, and this is comparatively feeble.

  “BUT if something came in from space suddenly—something with a great gravitational attraction—something that moved so swiftly that no time was given for it to pull the Earth appreciably from its natural orbit—you can guess what would happen. The central core of neutronium would be drawn outward, through the molten substance of the Earth’s interior, toward its crust. Then, being so much heavier than surrounding material, it would sink back toward the center of the Earth after the force that had drawn it outward was lessened.

  “Gathering momentum in its fall, it would not stop at the middle of the planet, but would pass this point for some distance, before it again began to sink, and in a slightly lessened amplitude, continue the process of oscillation. Its mass being so great, the neutronium core, moving thus back and forth like a suspended object brushed by some carelessly passing person, could easily cause the Earth’s center of gravity to shift regularly, causing the increase and decrease that you have demonstrated in the weight of objects on the surface. You see how it all fits into the pattern of things, Franz?”

  “Yes,” the old man replied. “The movement of the center of gravity would strain the Earth’s crust just as constant bending back and forth weakens a wire. Earthquakes would be inevitable. And, owing to varying air pressures over the face of the Earth, due to differences in gravitational force between one place and another, there would naturally be terrific storms.”

  “Nor are those things all that the list contains, Franz,” Moharleff pointed out. “The moving core would stir up the molten interior of the Earth in a simple, mechanical way, too; though its action would go far deeper than that. Neutrons, compact and very heavy, can fall right through the tenuous structure of an ordinary atom, which is built like a minute solar system and consists mostly of empty space. In its motion the neutronium core would doubtless become diffused to a certain extent, not clinging together in one lump, for it is evidently shifted with a fair degree of rapidity and could not push other material entirely out of its way.

  “Many of its neutrons would seek the shortest path as they moved, going right through the fabric of neighboring matter, wrecking many atoms and causing them to give up their store of energy—a tremendous store if we may rely on calculations and experiments. Then, too, as you will remember, neutronium is something like the old-time explosive, TNT; it is stable enough to stand a great deal of abuse, yet it has its limits of patience.”

  FRANZ NODDED silently and impassively. For several moments the two men looked out of the cruiser’s windows, occupied with thoughts of their own. A hell of heaving, writhing clouds was beneath them; but the Sun was warm. The little invading planet could still be seen very dimly.

  “I wonder if we haven’t an explanation of the recurring ice ages and periods of tropical heat of our geologic history here, Franz,” Feodor Moharleff remarked presently. “Our ominous friend follows what seems to be a path like that of a comet, returning to the solar system at very long intervals, since its presence has never before been detected. Couldn’t it increase the internal activity of the Sun at the time of its nearest approach, just as it has now increased the internal activity of the Earth?

  “The tropical ages would come when such solar activity was at its height, and the ice ages would prevail when it was at its lowest ebb. What we have been experiencing is not properly to be called an ice age; but this does not deny my theory, for certain factors inherent in the solar structure could vary the length of the period during which this mighty midget, whose main component is obviously neutronium, would maintain the Sun’s fires.”

  “But why hasn’t the solar activity been more violent?” Franz asked. “Why, during previous visits of its little tender, hasn’t it become a true nova?”

  Moharleff managed to chuckle a bit. “It is so very big,” he said. “Besides, it is largely gaseous, while the Earth is made like a grenade, with a hard crust on the outside and potential hell within. Bodies like the Moon are dead; they have lost their internal fires and are practically solid, and so they have a greater immunity. Besides old Luna is a light world, with a feeble gravity; it could have little neutronium in its composition, nor could it collect much from the minute particles which science has recently suggested may float in space.”

  Franz hemmed and hawed for a moment, by way of an introduction to something which he meant to express—something that he felt was a delicate subject to broach to his master.

  “Your mention of the Moon was fortunate, sir,” he said. “It is invisible from here now, but I have seen it. It’s rate of rotation is increasing. Its hidden face is becoming exposed. And you no doubt know of Scanlon’s last message before he—he left Earth. He asked that every one fly north who was able. He asked them to enter the beam over his tower.

  “The implication of his words is clear now, for several bombers were drawn into the beam together with a few news-disseminator planes. These craft report no discomfort among their occupants, and some of them suggest that other ships follow them, for there is some belief that they are being borne to a place of safety, in spite of the feeling against Scanlon.

  “People are complying in many cases, for there seems to be nothing else to do. Perhaps we should follow them, sir, now that so much that is new has been revealed to us.”

  Moharleff stiffened suddenly at his assistant’s words. His dark eyes blazed; the muscles of his face twitched, and his cheeks whitened with fury. But otherwise he maintained a deadly calm. He had denounced Jeff Scanlon once, and pride formed a barrier to the retraction of his words. And then, too, the training of a lifetime smothered reason.

  “No, Franz,” he said very quietly and distinctly. “We shall not follow the herd—at least I shall not—even if the way leads to a real Utopia. What I have learned since my rescue has not altered my opinion of Jefferson Scanlon. I shall accept no favors from him, nor will I help him in any way. He is still a petty, self-glorifying capitalist to me. But you are free to do as you like. I can leave the cruiser in a parachute unless you decide to cast lots with me. In the latter case we will continue our scientific observations until the end.”


  But Franz had an Old World loyalty for his superior, as had all of Moharleff’s employees, among them the pilot and navigator of the cruiser.

  “My place is with you, sir,” he said. “And I think I can speak for Gregory and Vladimir as well.”

  The little cruiser swept on above the boiling clouds, golden and sulphurous under the Sun. Red volcanic flames had begun to dye their chaotic depths.

  VI.

  “WE CAN LAND in a minute, Uncle Jeff,” said Dave Scanlon who clutched the controls of their plane. He spoke matter-of-factly, for both men had, by now, grown accustomed to the appeal of the unusual.

  Below them, sweeping by, was a desolate, ashen plain—a lunar “sea.” Their journey had been made without incident, in a trifle more than twenty hours. During part of it their speed must have reached many miles per second.

  Above were gray clouds from which thin, salty snow was falling very slowly—the first snow which Luna had known for an incalculable time, for both her air and her water had been gone. Now a flood of both had been brought to her magically from Earth.

  With a grinding thud the plane landed in the fine, dusty soil.

  "Here we are,” Dave announced without animation. “For the sake of our own skins, I guess we’d better hide this crate and then keep under cover ourselves, eh?”

  Jeff only nodded.

  They opened up the sealed cabin and clambered forth, breathing the brittlely cold, lung-searing air. It had been half congealed in space; but contact with the surface of the Moon—which until the arrival of the rejuvenating substances from Earth had been exposed to the fiercely hot rays of the Sun—had warmed it very considerably.

  Behind the two refugees was a small crater with a broad ledge projecting from its outer wall. It seemed an admirable place to conceal their ship, if they used a little ingenuity of their own.

  The slight gravity of the Moon made the task of wheeling the plane into shelter beneath the ledge an easy one. Nor, for the same reason, was the piling of scattered rocks to hide the gap under the projecting shelf of rock particularly difficult. And the fine but steady snowfall would swiftly obliterate all evidence of their work. The men left only a small spy hole through which they might peep and observe developments.

  They ate a sketchy meal from their dwindling store of concentrated rations. Then Jeff indulged in a short nap, while his nephew kept watch. The elder Scanlon, taking the next shift at the spy hole, was the one who saw the first of the bombing planes arrive from out of the lavender pall in the center of the cloudy sky.

  Like an apparition, sheathed in ice, it dropped toward the surface of the fantastic world. The growl of its motors was ghostly in the stillness. Things fell with it—small objects which seemed to be refuse from the Arctic Ocean of Earth. Then it was on the ground, taxiing to a halt.

  “Dave!” Jeff whispered hoarsely to the sleeping youth.

  No other word passed between them for a long time. They could only crowd each other at the spy hole and watch.

  THE BOMBERS appeared in swift sequence, until nine of them rested on the now snow-clad expanse of the plain. They looked strange there, with jagged, isolated hills and mountains towering around them. The several news-disseminator ships landed with them.

  For an hour or so no other craft arrived. Then the flood of adventurous souls who had responded to Jeff’s call began to appear in a motley array of ships, ranging from huge airliners to terrifically speedy sport planes. The caravan thickened after that until every ten seconds seemed to produce a fresh arrival.

  By then, many familiar sounds were finding their way to the tense ears of the watchers: human voices talking excitedly, angrily, and very often in the wild tones of hysterical grief; shouts; clangings of metal; the baaing of a sheep from somewhere in the depths of a great freighter; and, from near by, wonder of wonders, the cawing of an excited crow! Some one had brought his black-feathered friend along!

  People were moving about among the growing concourse of ships from Earth. As yet, few of them showed any signs of a constructive urge; they were concerned only with their emotions, and with the novelties of their environment.

  Hours passed, and more and more ships arrived. The great blob of lavender shifted in the sky, substantiating the known fact that the Moon was turning on its axis more rapidly than was its wont. The blob of color was the only visible celestial marker, for both the Sun and the Earth were hidden by the dense grayness above—the grayness of falling snow.

  It grew dark as night approached, but it was considerably warmer than it had been at the time when the Scanlons had arrived. The Sun’s rays, beating down on the opaque blanket of vapor and ice crystals that overcast the sky, had had its effect. Through the gloom, lights in the interiors of the assembled aircraft gleamed eerily.

  Now the incoming planes were not landing close by, for, because of the rotation of the Moon, the energy path across the void no longer touched this part of its surface, but another part farther west.

  A stiff breeze arose where there had been no breeze before, for, with the great interplanetary duct directly above, feeding atmosphere to the Moon, its burden had been scattered evenly in all directions, causing no wind. But now that this dead area had shifted westward the effect was different, as the flood of air and moisture poured over the vacuum of lunar sea and rille and crater.

  MEN came past the Scanlon hide-out, grumbling angrily. The reflection of the rays of a flashlight which one of them carried lighted up their faces. They were strong, determined-looking fellows, all of them; weaklings had lacked the courage to dare the unknown, and had stayed behind, on Earth, to perish. Perhaps, in their mighty plan, the savants of Almarlu had considered the selective factors of these human elements.

  “Death is almost too good for him,” one of the men said with sibilant emphasis. “The blood of three billion people is on his hands, the little, stinking rotter with his crazy ideas!”

  “Sooner or later we’ll find him,” another reassured meaningfully.

  Both Scanlons, crouching in their hide-out, knew to whom the speakers referred.

  Three times day and night came. It was much warmer now, and misty rain replaced the snow. Dave’s and Jeff’s lair would soon be discovered, for the fallen snow that concealed the rocks they had piled in front of their refuge was fast melting.

  The lunar sea was dotted with many shallow puddles and lakes of salty water. But low ridges still provided ample camping ground for the Earthians. A few had erected tents, but most of them still preferred the comfort of the cabins of their ships. Some were now busy fabricating machinery—steam engines several of these devices seemed to be, their boilers flanked by huge mirrors, which, when the unsettled weather, incident upon the influx of air and moisture from Earth, came to an end, and the Sun shone once more, would collect and concentrate the solar rays.

  Still other colonists were attempting to plant gardens in the ashy soil—efforts which were almost certain to be abortive under the new conditions. But by now countless pale-green shoots were peeping through the snow everywhere, promising soon to develop into a lush growth that would provide nourishment for such live stock as had been brought to the Moon, and at the same time offering a source of cellulose from which, by synthesis, a nourishing diet for human beings could be made. The green shoots were the sprouts of the ancient lunar vegetation, whose seeds or spores had remained quiescent in the waterless soil for countless ages.

  On the fourth day the misfortune which the Scanlons had anticipated, occurred. Wandering bands of colonists had moved past their lair constantly day and night, preventing any chance of escape.

  THERE WAS nothing very dramatic about their discovery. A girl of perhaps twelve years suddenly shouted, “Look, dad!” to her father who was walking with her; and in a minute it was all over. Other men had come swiftly; the barrier of rocks was torn down, and though Jeff and Dave fought, they were swiftly overpowered. Half stunned, they were dragged forth.

  Bound securely, they were tossed into the cab
in of a plane. There they were left, presumably while their captors determined their fate. Wild-eyed folk who had recently been civilized, peeped in at the windows of their prison and exchanged comments in low tones.

  “Well, I guess we’re in for it now, eh, Uncle Jeff,” Dave remarked with a crooked grin.

  Jeff shrugged. He felt weary clear through. “Don’t know that I blame them much, boy,” he said. “If friends and relatives and homes are taken suddenly away from people, particularly—ah—when everything looks rosy, they temporarily lose their natural kindliness, their reason, and their sense of justice. And if it looks even a little bit as if you are responsible for their misfortunes, you’re just out of luck if they get hold of you. They’re just mad beasts. I don’t much care, though, as far as I’m concerned. I’ve done my job. The big shame is that you are mixed up in this mess, just because your name happens to be Scanlon. They’ll probably give you the same medicine they give me.”

  Dave forced a chuckle. “Who cares?” he said in a laconic expression of loyalty. “What do you suppose the future here on the Moon will be like?”

  “Well,” Jeff replied, “my unsubstantiated guess is that there are at least two hundred thousand survivors here. Their—ah—descendants will live on the Moon for perhaps a few centuries or millenniums until their science has advanced to a point where they will be able to move to a more satisfactory planet if they so desire. There will be hardship and starvation and death, but these things will strengthen them and make them hardy—”

  For more than an hour the two Scanlons chatted casually. From outdoors they heard shouts and cries and low mutterings, mingled with the carrying tones of news-disseminator diaphragms aboard various crafts. The report of the capture of the supposed archfiend of a world was spreading swiftly, via the ether.