Secret of the Ninth Planet

by Donald A. Wollheim

  “Would you mind,” the general asked Burl, “if we subject you to a series of medical and electronic tests to determine whether this charge is still with you?”

  Burl shook his head. “I'll go along with anything you say.”

  “Very well,” the general smiled. “We'll make our purposes clear to you afterward. But we want to get this over as soon as we can.”

  Burl left the room in company with three technicians who had come in. They took him to the medical office at the base and there he was given a complete check. At the electronics lab, electrodes were attached to him and careful readings were made of the natural electrical resistance of his body, and of his apparent physical charge. After an hour of tests, Burl was brought back to the main council room.

  As he entered, he sensed he had interrupted something important. His father looked at him, and Burl detected in his face a certain curious mingling of pride and parental concern. What, the young man wondered, were they up to?

  When he was seated, the company grew silent. The general pursed his lips, looked directly at Burl, and said, “I think the time has come to acquaint you with the problem our world is facing. We may ask you to make a very personal decision, and we think you ought to know what may hang on it.”

  He stopped. Every face at the table was grim. Mark Denning, too, was sober, though Burl detected that he also did not quite know what was to come.

  “It is apparent that some race of beings, some species from outer space, unknown to us, has begun a process of tapping the power and light of the Sun for transmission elsewhere. The station on Earth, which you shut down, was an important one. But... it was not the only one. There are others, operating in this solar system.” He nodded to Merckmann.

  The old astronomer took the cue. “The observatories of the Earth, aided by the lunar observers, have definitely determined that there is still a certain amount of light being shifted from the faces of other planets and diverted. We have detected by telescopic and telethermic measurements that there are areas of Sun-disturbances on the surfaces of the planets Mercury and Mars. We suspect the existence of one on Venus. We believe that this may prove to be true on other planets as well, but we have no doubt of the first two.

  “Measurements of the amount of Sun power being piped away, and of the effect of the magnetic disturbances used to create and maintain these stations, have shown that they will have a definite effect on the structure of the Sun itself. We have not yet completed all our calculations, but preliminary studies indicate that if this type of solar interference is not stopped, it may cause our Sun to nova in somewhere between two and three years time.”

  He stopped, but the thirty-year-old prodigy, Russell Clyde, took up the story. “By nova, we mean that the Sun will literally explode. It will flame up, burst to many times its present size. Such an explosion will burn Earth to cinders, render all the planets inside the orbit of Jupiter uninhabitable, scorch their atmospheres, dissolve their waters into steam, and make them lifeless flaming deserts. We have seen other stars turn nova. We have measured their explosions. We know just about what age and stability inside a sun is necessary to cause this. And we fear that the danger of our own Sun doing so is great—if the Sun-tapping is not stopped.”

  Everyone at the table was silent. Burl was stunned. Finally he caught his breath. “But how can we stop it? We can't get to all the planets in time. Our rockets are not ready—and rocketships would be too slow. Why it would take two years for rocketships to reach Mars, if the expedition were ready now... and I understand that it will be another ten years before Operation Mars is even attempted.”

  General Shrove nodded. “That is correct. Our rocket engineering is not yet advanced enough to allow us to take such emergency action. We are still only just over the doorstep of interplanetary flight—and our enemies, whoever they may be, are obviously far advanced. But, as you will see, we are not entirely without hope. Colonel Lockhart, will you tell them about Project A-G?”

  All eyes turned to Lockhart, who was a short, stocky man in civilian clothes. Burl realized that this man had been a colonel at one time, but remembered now that he had taken a post with one of the largest aviation companies after leaving the service. Lockhart turned cold gray eyes directly to Burl.

  “We have in my company's experimental grounds one virtually untested vessel which may be able to make a flight to Mars, or any other planet, in the time allowed. This is the craft we refer to as A-G 17, the seventeenth such experiment, and the first to succeed. It is powered by an entirely new method of flight, the force of anti-gravity.”

  Burl hung breathlessly on his next words. “You probably know that work on the scientific negation of gravity has been going on since the early 1950's. It was known shortly after experiments had been conducted on atomic and subatomic particles that grounds had at last been found by means of which a counteraction to gravity might be set up. Early subatomic studies showed that such a force was not only theoretically possible, but that certain subparticles actually displayed such tendencies. On the basis of these first discoveries, work has been going on in the development of negative gravitational drive for at least twenty years. As early as 1956, there were not less than fourteen such projects under way in virtually all the leading aircraft industries of the United States, not to mention the rest of the world. In the last few years, at the direction of the Air Force, these projects have been consolidated, placed under one main roof, and brought to its present status, which is, we believe, the one of final triumph.”

  He glanced at General Shrove, who returned the glance unsmilingly. “After the successful testing of several models, a full-sized craft has been built which utilizes the new method of space drive. One such craft has been built, and only one. This ship, if it works, is at this time the only means by which humanity can hope to make the trips to the other places in the solar system from which the Sun-stealers are working. It is with this one vessel only that we can put their Sun-tap stations out of commission.

  “But I emphasize again the experimental nature of this ship. What its capacities are and how well it will work is still a matter of planning-book conjecture. We can prepare the ship to take off in one week's time. I do not think, judging from what Merckmann and Clyde have said, that we can afford to wait any longer. Another such ship cannot be built in less than a year.”

  General Shrove spoke then. “It is already arranged that this A-G 17 spaceship is going to go. A volunteer crew has been selected; several of them are in this room.” He nodded briefly to Clyde and to Lockhart: “But although these volunteers are among the best men in their fields, there isn't one of them who couldn't be replaced by someone equally skilled in the same field. But there is one person on Earth right now who may just possibly be unique. This person may hold, by virtue of an experience not shared by any other human being, a special key that will render easier the task that this spaceship must fulfill.”

  He turned to Burl, who sat tingling with suspense. “You, Burl Denning, are apparently still carrying some sort of electronic or subelectronic charge which is attuned to the controls of the Sun-tap station. We feel that you should be along on this expedition. It will be long and dangerous, it will involve landings on worlds no man has ever visited or expected to visit for hundreds of years. There is an enemy in the sky who will certainly try to stop our single ship. To be bluntly honest, the voyagers on this ship face such dangers as explorers have not faced since the days of Magellan and Cook. Its chances of return are remote. But with the permission of your father, which he has already given, I would like to ask that you volunteer to join its crew.”

  Burl felt dizzy, his heart thumping painfully within his chest. He took a deep breath, and then carefully, trying to keep his voice from quivering, he said, “Yes, I'll go.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Hidden Skyport

  AROUND THE table there was a concerted sigh. Burl, his ears still throbbing from his sudden excitement, realized each of t
hem had been holding his breath. General Shrove smiled and glanced at the elder Denning, who sat expressionless. It is not an easy thing for him, Burl thought.

  At that moment, Burl knew that he had come of age. This moment of decision, coming truly and literally like a bolt out of the blue, had thrust him into man's estate before his time. He would show that he was able to carry this burden.

  Shrove now spoke to Lockhart. “Colonel, we are holding you to your schedule. According to it, you can take off in five more days. Will you need any more time because of this addition to your crew?”

  The stocky air veteran shook his head. “Not at all. We'll be loaded and ready on the hour I set. I'll take Denning in hand and brief him on what he may need to know. Actually, we may even be able to get him a home-leave. After all, his duties won't begin until actual planetfalls are made.”

  They rose from their seats. Burl stood up, uncertain as to procedure, but Lockhart came over to him and took his arm. “Burl, we're going to have to give you a run-down on the ship and plans. We've no time to waste if you want to get a chance to say good-by to your folks later on.”

  “I understand,” said Burl. He turned and waved to his father, who was in conversation with the general. “I'll see you at home in a few days, Dad,” he called, then followed Lockhart out.

  Outside the building they were joined by several other members of the conference and immediately ringed about by a squad of Air Force men wearing sidearms. Burl realized that they were to be thus guarded everywhere they went. Obviously, the possibility that the builders of the Sun-traps might have agents on Earth had occurred to the officers.

  Russell Clyde, the young astronomer, was among their group. He walked over to Burl and shoved out a hand. “Glad to have you with us, Burl. This is going to be quite a trip!”

  Clyde was about Burl's size. He had an engagingly boyish air about him, and Burl took a liking to him. Burl had heard of him before. For the young man, while still a college student, had formulated a remarkable new theory of the composition of galactic formations which had instantly focused the attention of the scientific world upon him. This theory had been taken up by the gray-beards of the scientific world and had survived the test of their debates. Now associated with the great Mount Palomar Observatory, Russell Clyde had continued to build a reputation in astronomical circles.

  “You're one of the expedition then?” asked Burl, shaking his hand.

  The redhead nodded. “Yep. They're taking me as their chief astrogator. And don't think it's because I'm any great shakes at it, either! It's just that I'm still young enough to take the kind of shoving around these high brass figure we're going to get. Boy, have they got it figured!”

  Burl chuckled. “Ah, you're kidding, Dr. Clyde. You've probably been in on this from the beginning.”

  The other shook his head vigorously. “Nope. It was going to be Merckmann's baby, but when they realize they have a fight on their hands, they always look for young blood. And, say, cut out this 'Doctor' stuff. Call me Russ. We're going to share quarters, you know.”

  “How do you know that?” asked a tall, rather sharp-featured man who had overheard them. “The colonel will assign quarters.”

  “I say he will... and you can bet on that,” snapped Russell Clyde. He waved a hand in introduction. “This is Harvey Caton, one of our electronic wizards.”

  Caton nodded, but before he could continue the discussion, Lockhart rounded them all up, packed them into a couple of station wagons, guards and all, and they were off.

  * * *

  The next days were hectic ones. By car and plane the group was transferred to the large, closely guarded base in Wyoming where the secret anti-gravity ship was waiting. Burl did not see the ship right away. First, he was introduced to all the other members of the crew, and given a mass of papers to study which outlined the basic means of the new space drive, and which detailed the opinions and suggestions of various experts as to methods of procedure and courses of action. He was subjected to various space medical tests to determine his reactions under differing pressures and gravities. Although it proved a strenuous and exhausting routine, he emerged from the tests with flying colors.

  The expedition was commanded, as he had known, by Colonel Lockhart who would also act as chief pilot. The famous military flier proved to be a forceful personality with a great skill at handling people. He knew how to get the most out of each man.

  Russell Clyde was the chief astrogator and astonomical expert. Assisting him was the rather pedantic and sober Samuel Oberfield, a mathematical wizard and astrophysicist, on leave from an assistant professorship at one of the great universities. Clyde and Oberfield would also act as copilots relieving Lockhart.

  Harvey Caton, blond Jurgen Detmar and the jovial Frank Shea were the three-man engineering crew. Completing the members of the expedition was another trio chosen to act as general crew, medical and commissary men while in flight, and as a trained explorer-fighter unit while on planetside. Roy Haines, of whose exploits in Africa and the jungles of South America Burl Denning had heard, was the first of these, a rugged, weatherbeaten, but astonishingly alert explorer. Captain Edgar Boulton, on leave from the United States Marines, was the second—a man who had made an impressive record in various combat actions in his country's service. The Antarctic explorer, Leon Ferrati, completed the listing. Ferrati was an expert on getting along in conditions of extreme frigidity and hostile climates. Of these men, only Lockhart, Clyde, Detmar and Ferrati had had space experience in the platforms and in Moon-rocketry.

  It was still, thought Burl, a large crew for a spaceship. No rocket built to date had ever been able to carry such a load. But by then he had realized that the strict weight limitations imposed by rocket fuels no longer applied to this new method of space flight. Burl found himself more and more anxious to see this wonderful craft.

  It was not until the morning of the second day that Burl's chance came. He had fallen asleep on the stiff army cot in the hastily improvised base on the Wyoming prairie where the final work was being done. The day had been a confused jumble of impressions, with little time to catch his breath. Now he had slept the sleep of exhaustion, only to be awakened at dawn by Lockhart.

  “Up and dress,” the colonel greeted him. “We're taking you out to look the ship over. Detmar will come along and explain the drive.”

  Burl threw his clothes on, gulped down breakfast in the company of the others at the messhall, and soon was speeding along a wide, new road that ran up to the mountains edging the wide western plain. As they neared the mountains, he saw a high wooden wall blocking the road and view; this was the barrier that concealed the ship nestled in the valley beyond.

  They passed the guards' scrutiny and emerged into the valley. The A-G 17 loomed suddenly above them, and Burl's first impression was of a glistening metal fountain roaring up from the ground, gathering itself high in the sky, as if to plunge down again in a rain of shining steel.

  The ship was like a huge, gleaming raindrop. It stood two hundred feet high, the wide, rounded, blunt bulk of it high in the air, as if about to fall upward instead of downward. It tapered down to a thin, perfectly streamlined point which touched the ground. It was held uprightly by a great cradle of girders and beams. At various points the polished steel was broken by indentations or inset round dots that were thick portholes or indications of entry ports. Around its equator, girding the widest section was a ring of portholes, and there were scattered rings of similar portholes below this.

  As the three men drew near the tail, the great bulk loomed overhead, and Burl felt as if its weight were bearing down on him as they walked beneath.

  Two men were suspended from the scaffolding above. Burl twisted his neck and saw that the designation A-G 17 and the white-star insignia of the United States had been lettered along the sides. But what was it the men were painting now?

  “It will read Magellan,” said Lockhart, following Burl's eyes. “We've decid
ed that that would be the appropriate name for it. For what we are going to have to do with it is not just to make a simple trip to explore another planet, but to circumnavigate the entire solar system.”

  Burl found his eyes dazzled by the vessel, hanging like a giant bulbous mushroom over them. Around him, he began to realize that a number of other activities were going on. There were spidery scaffolds leading up to open ports in the metallic sides. Workmen were raising loads of material into these ports, and for an instant Burl caught sight of Haines, in rough work clothes, shouting orders from one of the openings as to exactly where to stow something.

  At last he took his eyes away from the startling sight. The little valley around him had a number of low storage shacks. A road led in from another pass through the mountains. Two loaded trucks came down this pass now in low gear. Lockhart, watching, remarked, “We are having our equipment and supplies flown up to a town twenty miles away and then trucked in.”

  “Why didn't you leave this ship where it was built—in your plant in Indiana—and load it from there?” Burl asked.

  “It would have been easier,” said the colonel, “but security thought it better to transfer the craft to its launching sight up here in these deserted hills. We are going to make our take-off from here because we are still too experimental to know what might happen if something kicked up or if the engines failed. We'd hate to splatter all over a highly populated industrial area. Besides, you must know, if you looked over those papers yesterday, that there's a lot of radioactive stuff here.”