City at World's End

by Edmond Moore Hamilton

  Hubble said, “It may be just as well. They won’t torture themselves with too much waiting and thinking.”

  Mayor Garris talked to the crowd. There was a deepening, seething turmoil in the plaza then as people tried to reach others, to gather opinions from each other on what they ought to do. Scraps of heated conversations reached Kenniston’s ears:

  “These guys from outside have done pretty well so far, getting this city going again. They know what they’re doing!”

  “I don’t know. Suppose it does bring on terrible quakes?”

  “Listen, these people know their stuff! They’d have to, to live out there in the stars the way they do!”

  “Yeah. And I’d rather sit through an earthquake than go kiting off to the Milky Way!”

  At last Mayor Garris asked, “Are you ready for the vote?”

  They were, as ready as they would ever be.

  Kenniston watched, his heart pounding. And beside him, Jon Arnol watched also. Kenniston had explained the procedure to him. He knew what Arnol must be going through as he waited while his life’s work was weighed in the balance.

  For a time, the motion of the crowd was only a chaotic churning. Then, gradually, the separating motion came clear.

  Those for the experiment, to the right side of the plaza…

  Those against it, to the left…

  The channel between the two factions widened. And Kenniston saw that on the left were a scant two hundred people.

  The vote was carried. The experiment was approved.

  Kenniston’s knees felt weak. He saw Arnol’s face, moved almost to tears with relief and joy. He himself was conscious of a wild excitement—and yet, even now, he could not stifle all his fear. They were committed, now, he and Arnol and the rest. For life or death, they were committed.

  He spoke again into the microphone. “We must do this thing as soon as we can. We have very little time before ships of the Federation will arrive to stop us.

  “You will please, all of you prepare to leave the city at a moment’s notice. As a precaution, no one is to remain under the dome when the energy bomb is detonated.

  “Those of you who voted against the experiment will be given a chance to leave Earth before it takes place. The starcruiser can take only part of you, so it is suggested that you draw lots for space aboard her.”

  He swung around to the Mayor. “Will you take over now? Start the work of organizing the departure—we’ll need every minute we’ve got!”

  Hubble said, “I think we’d better let Jon Arnol see the shaft.” Arnol’s technical crew came in from the ship. They studied the great heat shaft, with Gorr Holl and Magro and Arnol himself, while Kenniston and Hubble stood by and watched.

  Arnol finally said, “It’ll do. It goes right down to the core. But the similar shafts in the other domed cities here—they’ll have to be exploded and sealed, first.”

  Kenniston was startled. He hadn’t though of that “But that’ll take time—”

  “No, not so long. A few of my men can whip around to them in the cruiser and do it quickly. Of course I brought Earth maps—and there are only half a dozen of the domed cities.”

  Kenniston asked him. “How long will it take to get things ready here?”

  Arnol said, “If we perform a miracle, we can be ready by noon tomorrow.”

  Kenniston nodded. “I’ll do my damnedest to help you, and so will everybody here. Just let me have ten minutes, first.”

  Ten minutes wasn’t much. Not much, for a man who has just been halfway across a universe to spend with his girl. But time was what they didn’t have, an inexorable limit was closing down on them every second, and even this little time he took to go to Carol was time cheated and stolen from the common need.

  Yet in the face of this terrible decision that had been taken, this thing that they were going to do to Earth, he had to see her, to quiet her fears and reassure her as best he could. He thought she would want to take frightened refuge on the cruiser, when the moment came, and he could only hope that he could get her on it.

  Carol was waiting, as though she had known he would come. And to Kenniston’s amazement, there was no fear in her face—it was bright with eagerness and hope, her eyes lighted in a way he had not seen since the old time.

  “Ken, can it really be done?” she cried. “Will it really work, make Earth warmer?”

  “We’re so sure that we’re gambling everything it will,” he said. “Of course, there’s always a chance of failure—”

  She didn’t even listen to that. Her hands clutched his arms, her face had a breathless excitement, as she explained, “But that doesn’t matter!

  It’s worth running any chance, if it succeeds! If it lets us go back to Middletown—”

  He saw the mist in her eyes, the hunger, the yearning, as she whispered, “Just to think of it—of going back to our own town, our own homes, our own people—”

  Kenniston understood, now. Deep indeed was her homesickness for the old town, for the old way of life. So deep, that it had completely conquered the fear she might otherwise have felt

  He took her in his arms and kissed her, and touched her hair, and he was thinking, She does love me—but only as part of a life that’s gone, not me alone, not just John Kenniston by himself, but the Kenniston of Middletown. And she’ll be happy with me again, if we can change our life back a little to what it was.

  Why did that thought bring no joy? Why must he think of Varn Allan, tired and lonely, and yet courageously facing the wide universe, carrying a burden of duty too heavy for her?

  Carol was asking him, “What was it like, Ken? Out there?”

  He shook his head. “Strange—and hostile—and beautiful, in a terrible way.”

  She said, “I think it changed you, a little. I think it would change anybody.”

  And she shivered a little, as though even in the touch of him now was a freezing breath of alien deeps, a taint of unearthly worlds.

  “No, Carol,” he said. “I’m not changed! But I can’t stay now. I have to get back—every minute is precious—”

  As he hurried back to the others, Kenniston saw that New Middletown had become a rushing, surging swirl of excitement. Voices called to him, hands grabbed to delay him, men and women tried to reach him with questions. He was glad to rejoin the others around the lip of the great heat shaft.

  Gorr Holl grinned his frightening grin at him. “Now, get ready to work!”

  For what seemed an eternity, Kenniston worked. Machinists and sheet metal workers of Middletown were called in, every available man and piece of equipment. Great loads were brought in from the ship. Hammers rang with a deafening clamor, shaping metal on improvised forges.

  Riveting machines gave out their staccato thunder.

  And gradually, painfully, shaped out of the sweat and effort of their bodies, a scaffolding of steel girders rose above the mouth of the great shaft

  Magro labored with the technicians over the complicated and delicate electrofuses, and the timing devices, and the radio control that from a distance would drop and detonate the charge.

  Kenniston had little time to think of anything but the work. Yet his mind reverted strangely often to Varn Allan, locked in her cabin aboard the cruiser, and he wondered what her thoughts were.

  Morning came. The city was to be cleared by noon, and the men and women of Middletown were gathering their children in readiness. They would not take much out of the city with them. They would not need much, either way.

  The cryptic black ovoid was wheeled into position by the shaft. And with it were brought four small round objects of a different look.

  “Capper bombs, that we made in the ship’s laboratory on the way here,” explained Arnol. “They will drop an instant after the energy bomb and will explode in the shaft just before it detonates below, sealing the shaft to prevent backlash.”

  Kenniston watched while the technicians set the capper bombs in their racks, one above the other, inside the frame
of girders. The racks would be tripped by electronic relay, from the remote control box.

  Kenniston felt an increasing dread, as the fateful moment loomed close. His dread was for the trusting thousands of Middletown, who accepted the powers of scientists with the same unquestioning faith with which men had once accepted the powers of wizards.

  He hoped that, if the experiment were a disastrous failure, he would not survive to know it.

  A crane had been rigged to handle the energy bomb. The electronics crew were working desperately to finish the intricate wiring of the rack mechanisms, the split second timing of the relays. One of the cantilever support girders had flawed, and steel workers were sweating away to replace it.

  A few more hours now, and the thing would be done. By noon, or a little after, they would know whether Earth was to live or die.

  Then one of Arnol’s men came running. He had run all the way from the starcruiser. He was breathless, and his eyes were wild.

  He cried out to Arnol, “A message on the televisor from a Control Squadron! They say they are approaching Earth, and order us to cease operations at once!”

  Chapter 20

  APPOINTMENT WITH DESTINY

  Kenniston felt the impact of the news as a catastrophe crushing all their desperate hopes. He stood sagging, looking at the technicians who stared frozenly back.

  Like an ominous echo, Varn Allan’s warning came back into his mind.

  “You cannot fight Federation law!”

  But Jon Arnol, raging at seeing the dream of a lifetime threatened at this last moment, rushed forward to the messenger.

  He grabbed the man’s collar. “Did you think to use a distance gauge on the message from those ships?”

  The man nodded hastily. “Yes. The readings were—”

  “The devil with readings! How far from Earth are those ships?”

  “I’d estimate that they’re three or four hours away, if they come at full speed.”

  “They’ll come at full speed, don’t worry,” said Arnol grimly. His face was a sweating mask, the bones of it standing out gauntly, as he turned to the others. “Can we be ready in time?”

  “The rack-trip controls are in,” answered a technician. “It’ll take an hour or more to prepare the timers.”

  Kenniston had regained a little hope, when he heard of the time limit they faced.

  “Surely we can be ready in time, Arnol! I’ll start them moving out the people, at once!”

  Mayor Bertram Garris was not far to seek. Round-eyed and pale with worry, the pudgy Mayor had been watching their work around the great shaft.

  Kenniston ran up to him. “Get the people started out at once, to the ridge of the hills. Only the sick and old to go in cars—the rest must walk. We can’t risk a traffic tangle now!”

  “Yes,” gasped the Mayor. “Yes, right away.” He caught Kenniston’s arm, looking past him at the black ovoid bulk of the bomb. As though ashamed to show the terror he felt, Garris stammered, “How much danger is there, Kenniston?”

  Kenniston gave him a reassuring shake. “Don’t worry. Go along and get those people out of the city!” He wished he could find reassurance himself.

  The next hours were nightmarish. Working under pressure, grudging every second, it seemed that everything conspired against them. The metal, the mechanisms, the very tools seemed determined to betray them.

  And yet, at last, the dark shape of the energy bomb swung it its rack over the mouth of the shaft. The last of the timers was set, and it was done.

  “Get your equipment ready,” Kenniston told them tautly. “Let’s go. There’s still a lot to be done.”

  He went out with Hubble and Arnol and the rest. The city was as he had first seen it—empty, still, lifeless. The people had gone. As he passed out the portal he could see the dark, trailing mass of them already far across the plain, the thousands streaming slowly up the slope of the distant ridge.

  Anxiously he scanned the sky. There was no sign yet of the Control Squadron.

  Arnold sent his technical crew ahead to the ridge, with the remote control mechanisms and recording instruments. Gorr Holl and Margo and Hubble went with them. Then Kenniston and Arnol ran toward the starcruiser.

  There was a little knot of people standing beside it in the dust and cold—the Middletowners who were leaving Earth.

  Kenniston stared at them in amazement. Out of the two hundred, only a score had actually come to the cruiser.

  Arnol told them curtly, “You can come aboard now.”

  A few of them picked up their bundles and stood irresolutely glancing from their companions to Kenniston and back, wanting to speak. Then they turned and went aboard.

  Kenniston counted. Two men, three women, and a child.

  “Well,” he snapped at those who were left, “what are you waiting for? Get aboard!”

  “I guess,” said one man, and then stopped to clear his throat. “I guess I’d rather stay with all the rest.”

  He grabbed his bundle and started away, hurrying after the distant crowd.

  Another and another followed him until all were gone, a small hastening group in the immense desolation of the plain.

  Arnol smiled. “Among your people, Kenniston, even the cowards are brave. It must be even harder, in some ways, for those who have decided to go.”

  They entered the cruiser, and released Mathis and Norden Lund and Varn Allan from their locked cabins. Varn Allan did not speak, but the Coordinator said icily, “So you are really going to do it?”

  “We are,” said Arnol. “My chief pilot is about to take this ship off.

  You’ll be safe.”

  Norden Lund said bitterly, “I hope it blows you all to fragments! But even if it doesn’t, even if it succeeds, you won’t win. You’ll still have Federation law to face. We’ll see to that!”

  “I don’t doubt it. And now we must go.”

  He turned, but Kenniston paused, still looking at Varn Allan. Her face was a little pale but in it was no such anger as Lund’s. She was looking at him with a searching, level gaze.

  He wanted to speak to her, he wanted to voice something that was in him, but he could find no words. He could only say, finally, “I’m sorry things had to be this way, Varn. Goodbye—”

  “Wait, Kenniston.”

  He stopped, and she came up to him, pale and calm, her blue eyes very steady on his face. She said, “I’m staying here, while you do this thing.”

  He stared at her, dumb with astonishment. And he heard Mathis exclaim, “Are you mad? What are you thinking of?”

  She told Mathis slowly, “I am Administrator of this world’s sector. If my mistakes have caused this crisis, I will not evade its consequences. I will stay.”

  Lund cried to Mathis, “She’s not thinking of her responsibility! She’s thinking of this primitive, this Kenniston!”

  She turned, as though to make furious reply. But she did not speak.

  She looked instead at Kenniston, her face white and strained.

  Mathis was saying to her coldly, “I will not order you to come with us. But be sure that your conduct will be remembered when your fitness for office is re-examined.”

  She bowed silently to that, and turned and went out of the ship. And Kenniston, following her, felt a wondering, incredulous emotion that he dared not let himself recognize.

  They stepped out into the red sunlight, and with a soft humming the starcruiser mounted into the sky and was lost to view.

  The last, dark, trailing mass of people was disappearing over the ridge, as Kenniston and Varn Allan and Arnol started that way.

  “Hurry!” urged Arnol. “Even yet, we might be too late—”

  When they reached the ridge, Gorr Holl and Margo and Hubble were waiting there with the young technicians and their apparatus. And Gorr Holl uttered a rumbling exclamation when he saw them.

  “I thought you’d stay, Varn!”

  Her head went up and she said half angrily, “But why should you—”
r />   She stopped abruptly, and was silent a moment, then asked, “How soon?”

  “We’re all set now,” the big Capellan answered. Kenniston saw that the radio control box and the panels of strange instruments were ready. He glanced at Arnol.

  The scientist’s face was filmed with sweat. All the color had gone from it, and his hands shook. In this moment, he was facing the climax of his whole life, all the years and the pain and the effort He said in a strangely toneless voice, “You’d better warn them, Kenniston. Now.”

  Below them, on the far slope of the ridge, waited the thousands of Middletown’s people.

  Kenniston went down toward them. He cried out to them, and his voice carried thin and unreal on the chill wind, across the dead rocks and the dust.

  “Keep down behind the ridge! Pass the word to keep down! We’re going to blow it!”

  They looked toward him, all the massed white faces pale in the dim light of the Sun—the dying Sun that watched them with its red uncaring eye.

  A great silence fell upon them. By ones and twos, and then by hundreds, they knelt to pray. And others, by the hundreds, stood unspeaking, looking solemnly upward to the crest of the ridge. Here and there, a child began to cry.

  Slowly, gripped as in a strange and fateful dream, Kenniston mounted again to where Arnol and the others stood. Far beyond them he saw the dome of the city, still glowing with light as they had left it, lonely in the vast barrenness of the plain.

  He thought of the black thing waiting alone in the city to make its nightmare plunge, and a deep tremor shook him. He reached out and took Varn Allan’s hand.

  In that last minute before Arnol’s fingers pressed the final pattern on the control board, Varn Allan looked past Kenniston, down at the silent, waiting thousands who were the last of all the races of old Earth.

  “I see now,” she whispered, “that in spite of all we have gained since your day, we have lost something, too. A courage, a blind, brave something—I’m glad I stayed!” Arnol drew a sharp and painful breath.