“What’s all this got to do with sun-spots?” Rad demanded.
“Everything. The presence of that white dwarf in the sun’s interior would produce drastic changes. For one thing the internal temperature would rise enormously, and that very happening would spell disaster. Our sun is a main sequence star of the G-type. A G-type star is one in which the atoms are all surrounded by their K-rings of electrons while the exterior rings have been shattered by the tremendous heat. If, as now seems inevitable, the sun’s interior heat has enormously increased it means that atoms no longer exist—there is an ever spreading inner field of free electrons and nuclei. These will finally contract into a compressed mass—the state of—of a white dwarf.”
“You…you don’t mean our sun is turning into a white dwarf?” Rad asked haltingly.
Ann slowly nodded. “Yes, Rad—I do.”
“But—but why?”
“The sunspots are the visible sign of collapse—and the more they spread the nearer the disaster comes. All the time now, the sun, with its vastly increased internal heat, is contracting also. The radiation cannot get through the increasing density of solid matter piling up. The sun is slowly closing up, squeezing inwards on all sides, until ultimately the whole photosphere will be one colossal spot and will cave in. Then the sun will be a white dwarf.”
“For all time?” Rad whispered unbelievingly.
“For all time.” Ann stood staring straight in front of her. For three minutes there was not a sound in the room save the relentless ticking of the electric clock.
“Strange,” Rad said at last, “that the astronomers have not come forward with the same theory. They must know…”
“You can be sure of it,” Ann nodded. “They probably do not know the cause because their knowledge of that neutronium chunk is rather limited—but they do know effects. All of them must realize in their innermost hearts that the sun is dying.”
Rad got suddenly to his feet, ran a hand through his thick hair.
“We must make preparations, Ann! People must go underground. The whole world must know what’s coming. We’ll have to start all over again.”
“It won’t be as easy as all that, Rad. Saxby West has been waiting for a chance like this to turn the people against us. Unless I judge him entirely wrong he will say that you got into power under false pretenses, knowing all the time that that neutronium would land in the sun and produce this trouble…Not only have we to keep the people beside us but we have to combat his totalitarian crusading as well. As the days grow darker and colder, so will his power increase.”
“Then what do we do? Keep quiet?”
“We can’t do that. Explanations are long overdue. No; we’ve got to trust to the loyalty of the people.”
* * * *
But loyalty has its limits, particularly when harried by increasing elemental terror and growing cold. With perfect frankness—but not a little inner uneasiness—Blake had the truth about the sunspots published for America and all the world to see. How the rest of the world took it was not his concern; his immediate worry was his own country.
Men and women were stunned into disbelief at first, could not credit that they had escaped one world disaster only to walk into another of even greater and more durable magnitude. Most of them believed there was an error somewhere, that the sunspots would go. But they did not go.
By the mid-winter of 1994 the sun had visibly lost its normal brilliance. The spots covered its disk in a brown, almost unbroken cloud. Cold such as mankind had never known descended on the earth. Evacuation from northerly latitudes began. Vast multitudes of refugees flocked into frost bitten America, struggling against blizzard hurricanes.
Rad Blake was facing a desperate situation. Food could only be brought to the Americans by men of superhuman strength and bravery, men who were willing to pilot their fast air machines over freezing oceans and through a deepening twilight. And even when the food came it was insufficient. More often than not the planes crashed. Food was a mighty problem, ranking equal with the task of building titanic underground shelters for the people that they might find a haven when the surface became unsupportable for life.
Possibly Rad’s schemes would have succeeded had it not been for the activity of Saxby West. He rose to a sudden peak of campaigning genius and lectured to the frost bitten, starving millions. He denounced Rad Blake as a traitor, as a blunderer who should have foreseen this second disaster. He—West—had known all along that it was coming, could even now save the world if he were given power.
Weary and hopeless, the millions of America began to listen to him and his agents. He had the burning fervor of the idealist. There was rocklike resolution in every utterance he made.
And February 1994 found Rad Blake with a revolution on his hands just when he most urgently needed cooperation. True, there were thousands of loyal far seeing democrats who backed him to the last, stood shoulder to shoulder manning instruments of war in an endeavor to protect what they believed was the only possible form of government. But gallantly though they fought they were outnumbered by the hungry myriads under West’s control.
Blood stained the fast deepening snows of the Americas. Cannon, ray gun, and bomb tore the approaching glaciers asunder. The democracy of Rad Blake smashed in a thousand pieces. He and Ann came out of a whirl of struggle and carnage to find Saxby West triumphant with a demoralized, gasping people at his heels.
* * * *
After a month in power, in which time he had formulated plans exclusively his own, West sent for Rad Blake and his wife. He couldn’t resist a slow, gloating smile creeping over his hatchet face as they stood before his desk.
“I always knew it was wrong for you to have control, Blake,” he said softly, leaning over the desk. “You’re not the type—too soft hearted. The masses need an iron hand.”
Rad shrugged. “I’m not concerned for myself right now, West; I merely did what I thought was right for the good of the people. And you must do likewise! They need help more than ever now. Our ideals are different, of course, but we’re both motivated by a common purpose—that of housing mankind underground.”
“I know that, Blake—but at least the people will not find my methods quite so expensive as yours! Your estimate of $7,000,000 for each shelter was positively fantastic. I can do it for $1,000,000 and with labor thrown in. In fact, I’ll conscript labor for the purpose.”
Rad glanced quickly at his startled wife, then back to the coldly smiling Dictator.
“Say, wait a minute! What the devil are you going to use for the shelters for them to be that cheap?”
“Reinforced steel. That’s all that’s necessary. Unlike you, my friend, I do not propose to use a cheap alloy and call it a new discovery, thereby pocketing some five of the seven million dollars left from the estimates.”
Blake controlled himself with difficulty. He moved forward slowly, rested his clenched fists on the desk and stared into West’s sardonic eyes.
“Now get this, West: my estimate for those shelters was exact, and showed no profit. I was dealing with human lives, and the only way to make dependable shelters was to use alcazite, the new metal my chemists devised the moment we knew this trouble was coming. It is the only existent metal which will stand up to a pressure of four and a half million tons to the square inch—and that’s what the ice will weigh before we’re through. But the stuff’s costly. Don’t you realize, man, that reinforced steel will buckle up like plywood? You’ll kill everybody! You can’t do it!”
“I’ve been in the steel industry all my life, and I know what it can do,” West answered, with unshakeable calm. “I don’t need stuff like alcazite. Besides, your chemists were democrats—still are, I understand. That rules them out entirely.”
“What you really mean,” Blake said slowly, “is that you plan to use steel in place of alcazite. It looks identical anyway, and since all your engineers will be totalitarians they’ll keep quiet. You will betray every living soul into a series of death
traps so you can pocket the profits. Naturally you will use steel at alcazite price and leave the figure unchanged. Then you and your overfat financial hordes will absorb the profits, all of you too damned dense to realize that you’re signing your own death warrants and that not a red cent will ever come your way.”
West shrugged. “What I choose to do, Blake, is entirely my own concern—not yours. I may as well tell you that I do not believe this rubbish about sun-spots anyway. They’ll clear—I’m sure of it. And steel will stand up to the job for shelters. It’s been used for underground bores before—”
“But never under such terrific pressures!”
“And so it will stand up to this,” West went on, ignoring the interruption. “When the spots clear and the earth returns to normal only one thing will dominate the world—money! I shall have that. I can dominate the earth.”
“I tell you it means world death!” Rad shouted desperately.
“In any case it won’t concern you,” West retorted. “I have already made my plans for all democrats. Altogether there are some three thousands of them imprisoned here, taking up room. To kill them all would demand too much time and too much power. I have decided on the other method—exile. Exile to the polar wastes, there to die…And you and your wife, as leaders of that party, will go first. Within a week. The rest will follow. You will be sent in remote controlled airplanes with insufficient fuel for a return trip—and no food. The airplanes will be useless for the future in any case, so they may as well serve a useful final purpose.”
Blake straightened up very slowly, smiling bitterly. He put a huge arm around Ann’s shoulder.
“All right,” he said at last. “It’s about what could be expected from scum like you anyway. Go ahead—We’ve been through too much to be afraid now. Eh, Ann?”
She nodded quickly, but not very convincingly.
“Such heroics,” West murmured dryly, and pressed the button at his elbow.
CHAPTER IV
Marooned in the Arctic
Saxby West carried out his ruthless plan to the full. Unable to raise a finger to help themselves, Rad and Ann, a week later, were lifted into the cabin of a powerful two-seater plane, were bound to their seats before the remote controlled switches. Nobody save the mechanics was present to see them off. The cabin door slammed shut upon them and within minutes the dimly lighted snow crusted expanse of New York began to recede from them.
Throughout most the journey northwards they sat tugging and struggling with their bonds, were too much occupied in using their teeth on one another’s knots to take much notice of the exterior. They only realized that a white, glimmer-lit world was speeding past below them.
By the time the plane finally landed on a colossal ice plateau a night of starlit darkness had apparently descended. Certainly they were free at last—but to what use? No fuel in the tanks, no food. Water yes—from the ice outside.
Rad gave a twisted smile as he checked over the instruments, rubbed his chilled hands. Finally he tugged open the door of the clothing locker and gazed in some surprise on two suits of Arctic furs.
“Well, evidently West has a sense of humor!” he commented dryly, pulling them forth and handing one to Ann.
“Or more likely the mechanics who sent us off have more humanity than he has,” she answered, scrambling into the grateful, furry warmth. “Food they couldn’t manage—too difficult, but suits would not present much of a problem. Not that I see much advantage, anyway. It’s only postponing things, isn’t it?”
“I guess so.”
Wrapped to the eyes they stood looking at each other for a moment, surrounded by an all pervading, tomblike silence. When at last Rad gave a short laugh it sounded oddly noisy.
“I suppose I’m nuts,” he said slowly, “but I have the oddest feeling that I want to get outside. I want to walk—and walk—and walk. Get away from this little prison.”
“You’re not nuts; I feel the same way,” Ann said quietly. “A sort of—of urge to move. That it?”
He nodded, turned to the door and swung it open. In another minute he and Ann were together, glass helmets in position over their faces to shield them from the sword edged wind. They stood motionless for a while, aware of the fact that it was not actually night. The sun was shining—but what a travesty it was! It looked like a fire just about to die out, hanging low to the horizon in conformity with this northerly latitude. The stars gleamed in the ebony black sky with a brittle, inhuman grandeur.
To the east, a moon looking as though it were in the umbra of total eclipse floated over the horizon. And then the titanic ice field itself, a perfect sample of the sheath that was bound sooner or later to encompass the world.
Neither Ann nor Rad spoke. In any case to do so meant raising their face helmets and consequent exposure to the wind. They turned and walked by common urge towards the west. Both of them were wondering exactly why they were doing this. They felt inevitably that they must. Sooner or later, they both realized, the cold already seeping through their furs would overpower them. They would drop, fall asleep, never awaken again. That was what this walking meant.
The idiotic, expiring sun remained exactly where it was as they moved. It seemed endless hours to Rad before they finally came to a halt. Ann was pointing her furred arm ahead with curious eagerness. He wiped his sleeve over his face glass and stared, puzzled. A long thin black line was breaking the eternal monotony of the plateau. He glanced at the girl sharply.
“Crack of some sort,” he said, raising his helmet—and the breath froze instantly on his lips.
Ann nodded dumbly. They went on again at a somewhat faster pace, drawn now more by curiosity than expectancy. Probably only a gap where the ice field had parted anyway. And yet, in such cold?
They reached it at last, stood in awe struck amazement on the edge of a vast ravine some two hundred feet across. And down in its depths there was no ice! Despite the zero wind and all-embracing cold not a trace of ice had formed. The thing was incredible.
After a moment or two Rad made up his mind, pointed into the chasm’s depths. Ann guessed his meaning and nodded. By slow degrees they began to descend from ice to a region of barefaced rock that had not even a vestige of snow. Battled, Rad raised his face helmet experimentally—but the merciless blast of cold was absent. Down here the air was almost mild.
“Volcanic action?” Ann questioned, pulling away her own shield and staring around in the starlight. “Can’t be anything else, can it?”
He shook his head. “Dunno. I never heard of volcanic action in this part of the Arctic. More likely that the Quake opened up new seams in this quarter of the globe and this is one of them. Funny it being warm though.”
“Even funnier how we walked so conveniently to it.”
“Yeah—that’s right.” For a moment they stood looking at each other perplexedly. There was little doubt about the fact that some inexplicable urge had driven them hither from the airplane. Exactly why neither of them could understand.
“Well, let’s go lower,” Ann said at length. “Might as well finish the job now we’ve gotten this far.”
The warmth remained at the same temperature as they climbed slowly down into the dim gloom. They descended nearly three hundred feet before they finally touched bottom—And here was a curious thing. The bottom of the ravine contained a smaller crack along its entire length of no more than two foot width—but it was not rock, but metal, torn apart by the unimaginable force of earth concussions where the surface had slipped in the Quake.
“Metal—here?” Rad breathed in amazement, going down on his knees in the starshine. “And what a thickness!” He peered into the black depths. “Must be nearly six feet thick! Nothing but an earth slide could have broken metal like this.”
“That’s far more understandable than how it got here,” Ann said, frowning. “What do we do now? Go in?”
“May be bottomless. Just a minute…”
Rad reached aside, picked up a comfortably heavy sto
ne and dropped it in the crack. Almost immediately afterwards there was a metallic response from the depths.
“Only about a twelve foot drop,” he muttered. “Might as well die in here as anywhere. Let’s go!”
He dangled his feet over the edge of the crack, lowered himself until he hung by his hands, than let go. As he had guessed, the drop was not very considerable. A moment later the girl had fallen in his arms. In silence they stood peering round in the blackness. The warmth here was more noticeable than ever, flowing round in comforting waves.
“Well, for all the good we’ll do here we might as well be stone blind,” Ann grunted at length. “It’s warm, sure—but it must be volcanic action. We’d do better to try and get back to the cold and just fall asleep.”
“I’m not leaving here until I’ve found out what the hell this place is doing in the Arctic,” Rad answered stubbornly, then she heard him prowling around in the gloom. She stood waiting in moody silence, and more than once she could have sworn she felt the vibration of deeply buried engines somewhere beneath her feet—
Then with startling suddenness there was light! It gushed forth in blinding brilliance, made them cover their eyes for a moment…When they could see dearly again they found they were standing in a small circular chamber like the safety compartment of a submarine. At one end it ended in sheer metal wall, but at the other there was a massive valve with a monstrous bolt thrust across it. No age, no sign of corrosion, had touched that strange metal.
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