“Hmmm,” said Gail. She displayed one of those surprising, unconnected bits of information a person in the newspaper business picks up. “Don’t they say that the mountains on the moon were made by asteroids falling on it?”
“It’s at least possible that the moon was smashed up by fragments of the Fifth Planet,” agreed Soames. “In fact, that’s a more or less accepted explanation.”
She looked at him expectantly. “I have to think of my readers,” insisted Gail. “It’s interesting enough, but how can I make it something they’ll be concerned about? When the moon was smashed, why wasn’t Earth?”
“It’s assumed that it was,” Soames told her. “But on Earth we have weather, and it happened a long, long time ago, back in the days of three-toed horses and ganoid fish. Undoubtedly once the Earth was devastated like the moon. But the ring-mountains were worn away by rain and snow. New mountain-ranges rose up. Continents changed. Now there’s no way to find even the traces of a disaster so long past. But the moon has no weather. Nothing ever changes on it. Its wounds have never healed.”
Gail frowned in concentration.
“A bombardment like that would be something to live through,” she said vexedly. “An atomic war would be trivial by comparison. But it happened millions and millions of years ago. We women want to know about things that are happening now!”
Soames opened his mouth to speak. But he didn’t.
The flickering, wavering, silver-plated wave-guide tube of the radar suddenly steadied. It ceased to hunt restlessly among all places overhead for a tiny object headed for Earth. It stopped dead. It pointed, trembling a little as if with eagerness. It pointed somewhere east of due south, and above the horizon.
“Here’s a meteor. It’s falling now,” said Soames.
Then he looked again. The radar’s twin screens should have shown two dots of light, one to register the detected object’s height, and another its angle and distance. But both screens were empty. They showed nothing at all. There was nothing where the radar had stopped itself and where it aimed. But all of the two screens glowed faintly. The graph-pens wrote wholly meaningless indications on their tape. A radar, and especially a meteor-tracking radar, is an instrument of high precision. It either detects something and pin-points its place, or it doesn’t, because an object either reflects radar-pulses or not. Usually it does.
The radar here, then, gave an impossible reading. It was as if it did not receive the reflections of the pulses it sent out, but only parts of them. It was as if something were intermittently in existence, or was partly real and partly not. Or as if the radar had encountered an almost-something which was on the verge of becoming real, and didn’t quite make it.
“What the—”
The inter-base radio screamed. At the same instant the twin radar-screens flashed bright all over. The twin pens of the tape-writing machine scrambled crazy lines on the paper. The noise was monstrous. A screaming, shrieking uproar such as no radio ever gave out. There was horror in it. And what Soames could not know now was that at this same instant the same sound came out of every radio and television set in use in all the world.
* * * *
The noise stopped. Now a bright spot showed on each of the meteor-watch radar’s twin screens. The screen indicating height said that the source of the dot was four miles high. The screen indicating line and distance said that it bore 167° true, and was eighty miles distant. The radar said that some object had come into being from nothingness, out of nowhere. It had not arrived. It had become. It was twenty thousand feet high, eighty miles 167° from the base, and its appearance had been accompanied by such a burst of radio-noise as neither storm nor lightning nor atomic explosion had ever made before.
And the thing which came from nowhere and therefore was quite impossible, now moved toward the east at roughly three times the speed of sound.
All manner of foreign voices came startledly out of the inter-base radio speaker, asking what could it be? A Russian voice snapped suspiciously that the Americans should be queried.
And the wave-guide radar followed a large object which had come out of nowhere at all.
The sheer impossibility of the thing was only part of the problem it presented. The radar followed it. Moving eastward, far away in the frigid night, it seemed suddenly to put on brakes. According to the radar, its original speed was close to mach 3, thirty-nine miles a minute. Then it checked swiftly. It came to a complete stop. Then it hurtled backward along the line it had followed. It wabbled momentarily as if it had done a flip-flop four miles above the ground. It dived. It stopped dead in mid-air for a full second and abruptly began to rise once more in an insane, corkscrew course which ended abruptly in a headlong fall toward the ground.
It dropped like a stone. It fell for long, long seconds. Once it wavered, as if it made a final effort to continue its frenzy in the air. But again it fell like a stone. It reached the horizon. It dropped behind it.
Seconds later the ground trembled very, very slightly. Soames hit the graph-machine case. The pens jiggled. He’d made a time-recording of an earth-shock somewhere.
Now he read off the interval between the burst of screaming static and the jog he’d made by striking the instrument. Earth-shock surface waves travel at four miles per second. The radar had said the thing which appeared in mid-air did so eighty miles away. The static-burst was simultaneous. There was a twenty-second interval between the static and the arrival of the earth-tremor waves. The static and the appearance of something from nowhere and the point of origin of the earth-shock matched up. They were one event. The event was timed with the outburst of radio noise, not the impact of the falling object, which was a minute later.
* * * *
Soames struggled to imagine what that event could be. The inter-base radio babbled. Somebody discovered that the static had been on all wave-lengths at the same time. Voices argued about it.
In the radar-dome Captain Moggs said indignantly:
“This is monstrous! I shall report this to Washington! What was that thing, Mr. Soames?”
Soames shrugged.
“There isn’t anything it could be,” he told her. “It was impossible. There couldn’t be anything like that.”
Gail cocked her head on one side.
“D’you mean it’s something new to science?”
Soames realized how much he liked Gail. Too much. So he spoke with great formality. The radar had tried to detect and range on something that wasn’t there. The nearest accurate statement would be that the radar had detected something just before it became something the radar could detect, which did not begin to make sense.
Planes didn’t appear in mid-sky without previously having been somewhere else; it wasn’t a plane. There could be meteors, but it wasn’t a meteor because it went too slowly and changed course and stood still in the air and went upward. Nor was it a missile. A ballistic missile couldn’t change course, a rocket-missile would show on the radar.
He looked at his watch.
“Six minutes and a half from the static,” he said grimly. “Eighty miles. Sound travels a mile every five seconds. Let’s listen. Ten seconds—eight—six—four—”
Now the wave-guide radar had gone back to normal operation. Its silver-plated square tube flickered and quivered and spun quickly in this direction and that, searching all the sky.
There was a booming sound. It was infinitely low-pitched. It was long-continued. It was so low in frequency that it seemed more a vibration of the air than a sound.
It died away.
“It’s a concussion-wave,” said Soames soberly. “It arrived four hundred odd seconds after the static. Eighty miles.… A noise has to be pretty loud to travel so far! A ground-shock has to be rather sharp to be felt as an earth-tremor at eighty miles. Even a spark has to be very, very fierce to mess up radio and radar reception at eighty miles.… Something very remarkable happened down yonder tonight—something somebody ought to look into.”
Gail s
aid quickly, “How about a spaceship from another world?”
“It would have come in from outer space,” said Soames. “It didn’t.”
“A secret weapon,” said Captain Moggs firmly. “I shall report to Washington and ask orders to investigate.”
“I wouldn’t,” said Soames. “If you ask orders you promise to wait for them. If you wait for orders, whatever fell will be covered by snow past discovery by the time your orders come.”
Gail looked at him interestedly, confidently.
“What will you do, then?”
“I think,” said Soames, “we’ll find it and then report.
“You were planning a cosey little article on Housewives of the Antarctic; The Care and Feeding of One’s Penguin Husband. Right?”
Gail grinned suddenly.
“I see. Yes.”
“We take off in the ’copter,” said Soames. “We start out ostensibly to gather material for an article on Can This Penguin Marriage Be Saved. But we’ll be blown off course. We’ll find ourselves quite accidentally where the radar said there was the great-grandfather of static bursts, with a ground-shock and a concussion-wave to boot. We may even be blown farther, to where something dived downward for four or five miles and vanished below the horizon.”
Captain Moggs said uneasily:
“Most irregular. But it might be wise.”
“Of course,” said Soames. “It’s always safer to report something you’ve found than not find something you’ve reported.”
“We start at sunrise,” said Captain Moggs authoritatively.
* * * *
Soames went back to the radar. As he looked at it, it picked out something rather smaller than a marble at a height of seventy-nine miles and followed that unthinkably ancient small wanderer of space down to its spectacular suicide by fire at a height of thirty-four miles.
He went painstakingly over the radar. It worked perfectly. The taped record of its observations carried the story of all that Gail and Captain Moggs had seen when he saw it. Machinery may err, but it does not have delusions. It would have to be subject to systematic hallucination to have reported and recorded what this radar insisted was the truth.
When dawn came, he went out to the helicopter’s hangar. There was a supply-plane on the runway, but the helicopter belonged at the base. He found himself excessively conscientious in his check-over. Though he hated to admit it, he knew it was because Gail would be in the plane.
When he headed back toward the main building one of the geophysics gang beckoned to him. He followed to the small, far-spaced hut—now snow-buried to its eaves—in which the seismograph ticked away to itself.
“I think I’m going crazy,” said the geophysics man. “Did you ever hear of a ground-shock starting inside out?”
He pointed to the graph-paper that fed very, very slowly past the seismograph’s pens. The recording did look odd.
“If you put your hand just under the surface of the water in a bathtub,” said the geophysics man harassedly, “and jerk it downward, you get a hollow that spreads out with a wave behind it. It’s the exact opposite of dropping a pebble into water, which makes a wave that spreads out with a hollow—a trough—behind it. But except for that one way of making it, all waves—absolutely all wave-systems—start out with a crest and a trough behind it. Everywhere, all the time, unless you do what I said in a bathtub.”
“I’m a shower man, myself,” observed Soames. “But go on.”
“This,” said the geophysics man bitterly, “is like a bathtub wave. See? The ground was jerked away, and then pushed back. Normal shock-waves push away and then spring back! An ice-crack, a rock-slide, an explosion of any sort, all of them make the same kind of waves! All have compression phases, then rarefaction phases, then compression phases, and so on. What—” his voice was plaintive—”what in hell is this?”
“Are you saying,” Soames asked after a moment, “that ordinary earth-tremors record like explosion-waves, but that you’d have to have an implosion to make a record like this?”
“Sure!” said the geophysics man. “But how can you have an implosion that will make an earth-shock? I’m going to have to take this whole damned wabble-bucket apart to find out what’s the matter with it! But there’s nothing the matter! It registered what it got! But what did it get?”
“An implosion,” said Soames. “And if you have trouble imagining that, I’m right there with you.”
He went back to the main building to get Gail and Captain Moggs. They went out to the ’copter hangar together.
“I’ve talked to the radar and loran operator,” said Soames. “I explained that you wanted to see some crevasses from the air, and I’d be wandering around looking for them on the way to the rookery. He will check on us every fifteen minutes, anyhow.”
* * * *
The ’copter went up the long, sloping, bulldozed snow-ramp. Soames checked his radio contact. He nodded. The engines hummed and roared and bellowed, and the ship lifted deliberately and floated away over the icy waste.
The little helicopter was very much alone above a landscape which had never known a growing thing.
Soames kept in radar contact and when he was ready he told the base, “I’m going down now, hunting crevasses.”
He let the ’copter descend. The waste was featureless, then and for a seemingly interminable time afterward. Then his estimated position matched the site of the static-earth-shock-concussion-wave-occurrence. There seemed nothing about this part of the snow-desert which was different from any other part. No. Over to the left. A wind-pattern showed in the snow. It was already being blown away; its edges dulled. But it was rather far from a probable thing. There were lines—hollows—where gusts had blown at the snow’s surface. They were spiral lines, tending toward a center. They had not the faintest resemblance to the crater of an explosion which might have made an earth-shock.
Soames took a camera out of its place in the ’copter. Gail stared down.
“I’ve seen something like that,” she said puzzledly. “Not a picture. Certainly not a snow-field. I think it looks like a diagram of some sort.”
“Try a storm-wind diagram,” said Soames drily. “The way a cyclone ought to look from directly overhead. The meteorology boys will break down and cry when they see this picture!”
He took pictures. The shadows of the wind-made indentations would come out clearly in the film.
“Unless,” said Soames, “unless somebody got a snap of a whirlwind touching a snow-field and bouncing up again, this will be a photographic first. It’s not an explosion-pattern, you’ll notice. Wind and snow weren’t thrown away from the center. They were drawn toward it. Momentarily. It’s an explosion inside out, an implosion-pattern to be more exact.”
“I don’t understand,” said Gail.
“An explosion,” said Soames grimly, “is a bursting-out of a suddenly present mass of gas. An implosion is a bursting-in of a suddenly present vacuum. Set off a firecracker and you have an explosion. Break an electric bulb and you have an implosion. That pattern behind us is an implosion-pattern.”
“But how could such a thing be?”
“If we knew,” said Soames wrily, “maybe we’d be running away. Maybe we should.”
The ’copter droned on and on and on. The ice-sheet continued unbroken.
“There!” cried Gail, suddenly.
She pointed. Blowing snow hid everything. Then there was a hole in the whiteness, a shadow. The shadow stirred and an object too dark to be snow appeared. It vanished again.
“There’s a sheltered place!” said Gail, “and there’s something dark in it!”
Soames pulled the microphone to his lips.
“Calling base,” he said briefly. “Calling base.… Hello! I’m well beyond the last radar-fix. I think I’m bearing about one seven oh degrees from base. Get a loran fix on me. Make it quick. I may have to land.”
He listened, pressing a button to activate the loran-relay which would trans
mit a signal on signal from the base, so the bearing and distance could be computed back at base. It was wiser to have such computations done aground. He readied the camera again.
Gail looked through the ’copter’s binoculars. The peculiar shadow—hole—opening in the blowing snow reappeared. Something in it looked like a missile, only it was bright metal and much too large. It lay askew on the ice. A part of it—a large part—was smashed.
“Spaceship?” asked Gail, “do you think that’s it?”
“Heaven forbid!” said Soames.
There was movement. One—two—three figures stared up from beside the metal shape. A fourth appeared. Soames grimly took pictures. Gail gasped suddenly:
“They’re not men!” she said shakily. “Brad, they’re children! Queerly dressed children, with bare arms and legs! They’re out there on the snow! They’ll freeze! We’ve got to help them!”
“Calling base,” said Soames into the microphone. “I’m landing. I have to. If I don’t report in twenty minutes come with caution—repeat with caution—to see what’s happened. I repeat. If I do not report in twenty minutes come with caution, caution, caution to see what is the matter.”
The ’copter made a loud, loud noise as it went skittering down toward the object—and the children—on the ice.
CHAPTER 2
The snow-mist blew aside and there was plainly a ship lying partly crushed upon the snow. Half its length was smashed, but he could see that it had never flown with wings. There weren’t any.
“It looks like a spaceship,” said Gail breathlessly.
Soames spoke between set teeth.
“That would finish things for all of us!”
And it would, without any qualifications. On a world already squabbling and divided into two main power-groups and embittered neutrals; on a world armed with weapons so deadly that only the fear of retaliation kept the peace.… Contact with a farther-advanced race would not unite humanity, either for defense or for the advantages such a contact might reasonably bring. Instead, it would detonate hatred and suspicion into madness.
The Murray Leinster Megapack Page 172
