The Black Cloud

by Fred Hoyle

  “I haven’t the slightest idea,” answered Kingsley.

  The Prime Minister glowered at Parkinson, Marlowe, Leicester, then most ferociously at Kingsley.

  “What, may I ask, is the explanation of this appalling misinformation? Might I point out that Nortonstowe has been afforded every facility? Not to put too fine a point on it, you have been cosseted — featherbedded as some of my colleagues would say. In return we have every right to expect a reasonable standard of competence. I may say that living conditions here are a great deal superior to the conditions in which the Government itself is obliged to work.”

  “Of course conditions are superior here. They are superior because we had the foresight to see what was coming.”

  “And that seems to have been the only foresight you have shown, a foresight for your own comfort and safety.”

  “In which we have followed a course remarkably similar to that of the Government.”

  “I fail to understand, sir.”

  “Then let me put the position more plainly. When this matter of the Cloud was first broached, the immediate concern of your Government, and indeed of all other Governments so far as I am aware, was to prevent the relevant facts becoming known to the people. The real object of this supposed secrecy was, of course, to prevent the people from choosing a more effective set of representatives.”

  The Prime Minister was thoroughly angry now.

  “Kingsley, let me tell you without reserve that I shall feel obliged to take steps that you will scarcely welcome when I return to London.”

  Parkinson noticed a sudden hardening in Kingsley’s easy-going, insulting manner.

  “I fear you will not be returning to London, you will be staying here.”

  “I can scarcely believe that even you, Professor Kingsley, can have the effrontery to suggest that I am to be kept a prisoner!”

  “Not a prisoner, my dear Prime Minister, no such thing,” said Kingsley with a smile. “Let us rather put it this way. In the coming crisis you will be far safer at Nortonstowe than in London. Let us therefore say that we feel it preferable, in the public interest of course, that you should remain at Nortonstowe. And now as no doubt you and Parkinson have a great deal to talk over together, you will, I imagine, wish Leicester, Marlowe, and myself to withdraw.”

  Marlowe and Leicester were in something of a daze as they followed Kingsley out of the room.

  “But you simply can’t do it, Chris,” said Marlowe.

  “I can and I will do it. If he’s allowed to go back to London things will be done that’ll endanger the lives of everybody here from yourself, Geoff, down to Joe Stoddard. And that I simply will not allow. Heaven knows we’ve little enough chance as it is without making matters worse.”

  “But if he doesn’t go back to London they’ll send for him.”

  “They won’t. We’ll send a radio message to say that the roads here are temporarily impassable and that there may be a couple of days’ delay in his return. The temperature is dropping so quickly now — you remember what I told you when we were out in the Mohave Desert about the temperature going cracking down, well, it’s happening right now — in a few days the roads will be genuinely impassable.”

  “I don’t see that. There’s not likely to be more snow.”

  “Of course not. But soon the temperature will be too low for internal combustion engines to work. There’ll be no motorized transport either by road or air. I know that special engines can be made, but by the time they get round to that, things will have become so bad that nobody’ll give much thought to whether the Prime Minister is in London or not.”

  “I reckon that’s right,” said Leicester. “We’ve only got to bluff for a week or so and then everything will be fine. I must say I wouldn’t welcome being winkled out of our cosy little shelter, especially after all the trouble we had building it.”

  Parkinson had seldom before seen the Prime Minister really angry. He had previously dealt with these situations by such yes-yessing and no-noing as seemed most appropriate. But this time he felt that he must take the full broadside of the Prime Minister’s wrath.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, after listening for some minutes, “but I fear you brought it on yourself. You shouldn’t have called Kingsley incompetent. The charge wasn’t justified.”

  The Prime Minister spluttered.

  “Not justified! Do you realize, Francis, that on the basis of that one month of Kingsley’s we’ve taken no special fuel precautions? Do you realize what sort of a position that puts us in?”

  “The one-month crisis wasn’t due to Kingsley alone. We got exactly the same advice from America.”

  “One piece of incompetence doesn’t excuse another.”

  “I don’t agree, sir. When I was in London we always sought to minimize the situation. Kingsley’s reports always had a gravity that we were unwilling to accept. We were always trying to persuade ourselves that things were better than they seemed. We never considered the possibility that they might be worse than they seemed. Kingsley may have been wrong, but he was nearer being right than we were.”

  “But why was he wrong? Why were all the scientists wrong? That’s what I’ve been trying to find out, and nobody will tell me.”

  “They would have told you, if you’d taken the trouble to ask, instead of roaring their heads off.”

  “I’m beginning to think you’ve lived here for a little too long, Francis.”

  “I’ve lived here long enough to realize that scientists don’t claim to be infallible, that it’s really we laymen who attach infallibility to their statements.”

  “For heaven’s sake, stop this philosophy, Francis. Please be good enough to tell me in plain terms what it is that has gone wrong.”

  “Well, as I understand it, the Cloud is behaving in a way that nobody expected and that nobody understands. Every scientist thought that it would gain speed as it approached the Sun, that it would sweep past the Sun and recede again into the distance. Instead it slowed down and by the time it reached the Sun it had slowed to practically no speed at all. So instead of sweeping outwards again it’s simply sitting there around the Sun.”

  “But how long is it going to stop there? That’s what I want to know.”

  “Nobody can tell you. It might stop a week, a month, a year, a millennium, or millions of years. Nobody knows.”

  “But good God, man, do you realize what you’re saying? Unless that Cloud moves out we can’t carry on.”

  “Do you think Kingsley doesn’t know that? If the Cloud stays a month, a lot more people will die, but quite a few will survive. If it stays two months, very few people will survive. If it stays three months, we at Nortonstowe will die in spite of all our preparations, and we shall be among the last to die. If it stays a year, not a living thing on the Earth will survive. As I say, Kingsley knows all this and that’s why he doesn’t take the political aspects of the matter very seriously.”

  Change For the Better

  Although nobody realized it at the time, the occasion of the Prime Minister’s visit was very nearly the worst moment in the whole episode of the Black Cloud. The first evidence of improving conditions was discovered by the radio astronomers, appropriately so since at no time did they discontinue their observations of the Cloud, even though this meant working out of doors in most distressing conditions. On 6 October John Marlborough called a meeting. Word went round that something important was in the offing, so the meeting was well attended

  Marlborough showed how his observations indicated that the amount of gas lying between the Earth and the Sun had been decreasing steadily throughout the previous ten days or so. It seemed as if the amount of gas had halved about every three days. If this behaviour continued for another fortnight the Sun would come clear altogether — but of course there was no certainty that it would continue.

  Marlborough was asked if the Cloud seemed to be moving away from the Sun altogether. To this he answered that there was no such evidence. What app
eared to be happening was that the material of the Cloud was distributing itself in such a fashion that the Sun would be able to shine through in our direction, but not of course in all other directions.

  “Isn’t it a bit too much to hope that the Cloud will just happen to come clear in our direction?’ asked Weichart.

  “It’s odd certainly,” answered Marlborough. “But I’m only giving you the evidence for what it’s worth. I’m not giving any interpretation.”

  What eventually turned out to be the correct explanation was suggested by Alexandrov, although nobody took much notice at the time, probably because of the way Alexandrov chose to express himself.

  “Disk stable configuration,” said he. “Probably Cloud settling into … disk.”

  There were grins and someone exclaimed:

  “Need we have these military adjectives, Alexis?”

  Alexandrov looked surprised.

  “Not military. Am scientist,” he insisted.

  After this diversion the Prime Minister said:

  “If I may return to more parliamentary language, do I understand from what has been said that the present crisis will be at an end in a fortnight from now?”

  “If the present trend continues,” answered Marlborough.

  “Then we must keep a close watch and have ourselves apprised of the situation.”

  “Masterly conclusion!’ groaned Kingsley.

  It is safe to say that never in the history of science had measurements been made more anxiously than those conducted during the following days by the radio astronomers. The curve on which they plotted their results became quite literally a curve of life or death. If it continued to decline it meant life; if the decline ceased and the curve started to climb it meant death.

  A new point was added to the graph every few hours. All persons capable of appreciating the issues were to be found hanging around waiting for the next point, throughout the night as well as during the dusky, faint daytime. For four days and nights the curve continued to decline but on the fifth day the decline eased off, while on the sixth day there were signs of the decline changing to a rise. Scarcely anyone spoke, except for an occasional terse sentence. The tension was indescribably fierce. Then on the seventh day the decline was resumed and on the eighth day the curve was descending more steeply than ever. The intense stress was followed by violent reaction. By ordinary human standards, behaviour at Nortonstowe might have seemed somewhat promiscuous at all times and perhaps decidedly so at that time, although to those concerned, to those who experienced the anguish of the sixth day, nothing seemed at all untoward.

  Thereafter the curve continued its descent and as it did so the amount of gas between the Earth and Sun dwindled more and more. On 19 October a focus of yellow light could be seen in the day sky. It was still faint, but it moved across the sky as the hours passed. Without question it was the Sun, seen for the first time since the beginning of August, still seen through a veil of gas and dust. But the veil was getting thinner and thinner. By 24 October the Sun shone again in full strength on a frozen Earth.

  Those who have experienced the coming of sunrise after a cold night in the desert will have a faint idea of the joy brought by the dawn of 24 October 1965. A word about religion may be in order. During the approach of the Cloud all manner of religious beliefs had flourished mightily. During the spring, the Jehovah’s Witnesses had robbed all other speakers in Hyde Park of their audiences. Incumbents of the Church of England had been astonished to find themselves preaching to overflowing congregations. All this was swept aside on 24 October. Everyone, men and women of all creeds — Christian, Atheist, Mohammedan, Buddhist, Hindu, Jew — all became pervaded to their innermost beings with the emotional complex of the old Sun-worshippers. True, Sun-worship never became an established religion, for it had no central organization, but the undertones of the ancient religion were set vibrating and were never again damped out.

  Tropical areas were the first to thaw. Ice disappeared from the rivers. Snow melted with more flooding, but the effects were marginal compared with what had gone before. The thaw in North America and in Europe was only partial, for in the ordinary way of things winter was coming on.

  Vast as was the human suffering in the heavily industrialized countries, industrial populations fared far better than the less fortunate peoples, emphasizing the importance of inanimate energy and of the control of machines. It should be added that the situation in this respect might have been very different if the cold had continued to deepen, for relief came at a time when industrialization was on the verge of widespread collapse.

  Somewhat paradoxically, among non-industrialized peoples, those of the tropics were hardest hit, while the genuinely nomadic Esquimaux came off best of all. In many parts of the tropics and semi-tropics as many as one person in two lost his life. Among the Esquimaux there was comparatively little loss of life, comparatively little more than in the normal way of things, that is to say. The heat had not been so great in the far north. The Esquimaux had found it highly unpleasant but no worse. Melting ice and snow interfered with their freedom of movement, thereby seriously reducing the area over which they could hunt. But the heat was not so great as to be lethal to them. Nor was the intense cold. They simply dug themselves into the snow and waited, and in this they were better off in many respects than the people of England.

  Governments everywhere were in a shaky condition. Now, if ever, was the time for Communism to sweep the world. Now was the time for the United States to stamp out Communism. Now was the time for dissident groups to capture their Governments. But nothing of the sort happened. In the days immediately following 24 October everyone was too overcome with relief and too beaten down to contemplate such seemingly trivial matters. And by the middle of November the opportunity had passed. Humanity had begun to organize itself again into its respective communities.

  The Prime Minister returned to London, feeling less unfavourably disposed towards Nortonstowe than might perhaps be expected. For one thing he had passed the time of the crisis far more comfortably than he would have done at Downing Street. For another he had shared the agony of suspense with the scientists at Nortonstowe and there is always a bond between those who have shared a common stress.

  Before the Prime Minister left he was warned that there was no reason to suppose that the emergency was at an end. At a discussion, held in one of the laboratories attached to the shelter, it had been generally agreed that Alexandrov’s prognostication was correct. Marlborough said:

  “It seems fairly certain that the Cloud is settling into a disk at a pretty high inclination to the ecliptic.”

  “Disk stable configuration. Obvious,” grunted Alexandrov.

  “It may be obvious to you, Alexis,” broke in Kingsley, “but there’s an awful lot about this business that’s not obvious to me. By the way, what would you put the outer radius of the disk at?”

  “About three-quarters of the radius of the Earth’s orbit, about the same as the radius of the orbit of Venus,” answered Marlborough.

  “This settling down into a disk must be a relative way of speaking,” Marlowe began. “I suppose you mean that the bulk of the material of the Cloud is settling into a disk. But there must be quite a lot of material spread through the whole of the Earth’s orbit. This is obvious from the stuff that’s hitting our atmosphere all the time.”

  “God-awful cold in shadow of disk,” announced Alexandrov.

  “Yes, thank goodness we’re clear of the disk, otherwise there’d still be no Sun,” Parkinson said.

  “But remember that we shall not stay clear of the disk’ — this from Kingsley.

  “What d’you mean by that?’ asked the Prime Minister.

  “Simply that the Earth’s motion around the Sun will carry us into the shadow of the disk. Of course we shall come out of the shadow again.”

  “Damn cold in shadow,” grunted Alexandrov.

  The Prime Minister was worried, and with some justice.

  �
��And how often, may I ask, is this appalling state of affairs likely to arise?”

  “Twice a year! According to the present position of the disk, in February and August. The lengths of time for which the Sun will be eclipsed depends on how thin the disk gets. Probably the eclipse will last for somewhere between a fortnight and a month.

  “The implications of this are certain to be extremely far-reaching,” sighed the Prime Minister.

  “For once we agree,” remarked Kingsley. “Life on the Earth is not going to be impossible but it’ll have to be carried on in far less favourable circumstances. For one thing people will have to get used to living together in quite large numbers. We shall no longer be able to afford to live in individual houses.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Well, heat is lost from a building at its surface. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “On the other hand, the number of people that can be housed and sheltered in a building depends essentially on its volume. Since the ratio of surface to volume is much less for a large building than for a small one it follows that large buildings will house people at a far lower fuel consumption per head. If there is to be an endless repetition of periods of intense cold, our fuel resources will admit of no other arrangement.”

  “Why do you say “if”, Kingsley?’ asked Parkinson.

  “Because so many queer things have happened. I won’t be satisfied with our predictions of what is going to happen next, until I can really understand what has happened already.”

  “It might be worth while mentioning the possibility of long-term climatic changes,” remarked Marlowe. “Although this may not be of very great importance in the next year or two, I can’t see how it can fail to be vitally important in the long run — assuming we’re going to have these bi-annual eclipses of the Sun.”

  “What have you in mind, Geoff?”

  “Well, surely we can’t avoid moving into a new Ice Age. Past Ice Ages show how delicately the Earth’s climate is balanced. Two periods of intense cold, one in winter and the other in summer, must tip the balance on the Ice Age side — the Ice Age plus side, I would say.”