Collected Short Fiction, page 212
“Starbuck is the one man, outside the laboratory, with whom I have discussed this experiment. His opinion of our chance for success is very different from mine—and. he has an equal right to state it. In justice to him and to yourselves, I ask you to listen to what he has to say. All right, Will.”
Thorn stepped through the row of scarlet cannas to join the others. After a moment, Will Starbuck came forward from beside Ellen Cross. His pleasant, tanned face was smiling a little, but his gray, curiously dynamic eyes were solemn.
“I won’t give you a complete scientific comparison of my findings with those of Dr. Thorn,” he began. “That would take hours of work with the intricate mathematical concepts and involves formulae that we have developed for these special problems.
“I’ll try to state my view in broader and simpler terms. Dr. Thorn believes that he will be able to go down into the atom. And he believes he can increase his size, until be emerges into the hypothetical superuniverse above. Then he would be a giant indeed—each smallest cell of his body composed of a million flaming suns!
“Common sense rejects that, without recourse to mathematics. His body contains innumerable billions of the atoms into which he would voyage. In the other case, in his superuniverse, all our Galaxy would be to him invisibly small.
“In the one case, he is annihilating the matter—or, if you like, energy—that constitutes most of his body. In the other, he is creating the inconceivable mass, the unthinkable energy, of galaxy upon galaxy of suns.
“Either case, to me, is self-evident contradiction of two basic principles of physics: the laws of the conservation of energy and of mass.”
That made a little uncertain stir. Many eyes went to Thorn, inquiringly. The elder scientist was looking patiently at Starbuck, who continued smoothly.
“Science, of course, often disproves common sense. Scientifically, this problem is less simple than it seems. I have examined Thorn’s mathematical work very carefully—and I am compelled to admit that I see no flaw in it. This apparent defiance of the laws of conservation is covered by the effect that he refers to as expansion or compression in time.
“I can find no flaw in his mathematics. However, on the grounds of my own unpublished research, I must question his whole system of mathematics. According to my results, this project is impossible. Even with the tremendous power from this new converter, I don’t think Thorn will be able to reach a normal size in any universe outside our own.”
The eyes were back on Starbuck. He was smiling again, gravely.
“Understand, I’m not belittling Thorn’s work. The new converter, by itself, would be the greatest achievement of history. He has earned immortality a dozen times. I can almost hope for him to do the impossible—but I know this is impossible.
“Neither am I suggesting that you give up the experiment. If we exhaust our power, of course, in the attempt to reach another universe, we shall be unable to return. I do not know how we may perish—but obviously it will not be upon the Earth.
“But this is the grandest adventure ever opened to men. We shall realize, in part at least, the most magnificent dream ever dreamed. We shall see our world, our universe, as men in all time have never seen it.
“Death, for that, is a very cheap price.”
And he came quietly back through the scarlet lilies.
III.
THORN BROKE the tense little silence, asking:
“Once more, are you all willing to go ahead?”
Starbuck’s quiet “yes” fell alone, but it gathered up a growing affirmation that became unanimous.
“Then we’re ready to embark.” Thom’s wide face shone with eagerness. “To leave the earth! If we do not fail, we shall increase our bodily size, until, as Will just put it, each cell of our bodies is composed of a million flaming suns.”
Morrison Cross was hammering the ground again with his heavy cane.
“Damned interesting, this talk,” he said. “But just talk! How are we going?”
Thorn, at last, moved to open the little metal case.
“That thing?” barked Cross. “Is that little gadget all you’ve got to show for thirty million dollars?”
Quietly, Thorn looked up.
“This is a good deal,” he remarked. “The metal in my hands weighed, several thousand tons when it was delivered to the laboratory.”
He snapped open the case.
Rodney Trent was in the first circle of those who ringed the scientist. The case, he saw, was lined heavily with something like black velvet. In it were two little shining objects. One was a gleaming, nickel-white sphere, two inches through, studded with a few little glittering projections.
The other object, also of mirror-white metal, was a cube. It was about two inches on an edge. Attached to four edges of it were quarter-inch rods, projecting a little above and below the cube.
Before Rod had an opportunity to observe anything else, Dr. Thom carried the cube out across the grass. He placed it carefully on the ground, so that the four rods were upright, like posts, supporting the cube between them.
“I built this machine,” he told his breathless watchers, “in the course of our preliminary experiments. It has been used for certain trial voyages, both in space and in size. We could never go very far, however, for lack of power—it is driven by Morrie’s old one-stage converters.
“It will be convenient, now, to carry us to the new ship—we call her the Infiniterra—which is powered with the four-stage uranium converter.”
Very carefully, he moved some little instrument on the upper face of the shining cube.
Immediately, visibly, it began to expand.
Even though Rod had followed the preliminary discussions—had, in fact, a complete shorthand record of them in his coat pocket—the thing was at first incredible. And the hundred waiting passengers gasped and exclaimed with dazed wonder, as the little cube, hung between four silvery posts, steadily and silently increased its bulk.
It was six inches on an edge—a foot—two feet.
Rod, now, could see openings in its mirrorlike walls: round ports, three tiers of them. He saw an oval door. On the upper face was a little dome, transparent, with an instrument-crowded pit beneath it. Small wheels under the posts were rolling slowly across the grass as they grew, separating.
“I declare!” muttered old Morrison Cross. “I do declare.” The goldheaded cane dropped out of his fingers. He whispered, “Wonderland!”
Little Weir was staring astigmatically at the growing wonder, wailing under his breath:
“My spectacles—why must I leave them to-day?”
Ever and again the waiting people, awe-struck, stepped back from the mounting cube.
Rod’s professional instinct came abruptly to life. He slipped out his compact miniature camera, took a dozen shots of Thorn and the successively larger cube.
Its polished bulk lifted above his head, glittering argent in the morning sun.
Will Starbuck was beside Ellen Cross—she was one who had given little ground before the increasing cube. She reached out a curious hand toward its brilliant surface. He gripped her shoulders in quick apprehension, snatched her back.
“Ellen! Don’t touch it,” he whispered, voiceless with alarm. When she was safely back beside him, he asked, “Right, Thorn?”
Thorn nodded, startled.
“Everybody keep back,” he warned, hastily. “Partial exposure to the field—unpleasant results.”
Ellen looked up at Starbuck, shivering a little.
“Thanks,” she breathed.
He quietly put his arm around her body, and she relaxed a little against it.
THE CUBE was less than thirty feet high when it stopped growing. The three rows of ports, Rod supposed, meant three decks within. The metal posts, now two feet thick, held it four feet clear of the ground.
Thom advanced to the oval door, inserted and turned, a key beneath it. The door slid silently aside. Railed steps automatically unfolded, reaching down to the grass.
“We’ll go aboard now,” he said. And some air of uncertainty made him add:
“There is no reason for alarm about our trip in this machine. It was built three years ago. It has been well tested, in its range. It has been larger than a skyscraper—and small as a cube of sugar. In space, it has been around the Moon.
“The new ship—the Infiniterra—however has not been tested as a whole, though every working part has been checked. There was too much danger that it would somehow be lost in space or time or size, the precious fuel wasted, and this opportunity lost to all of us.
“The full effect of great changes in size, then, has not yet been observed. There are several puzzles—especially in the time control. But we’ll soon know the answers.”
At his gesture the men in overalls came forward, laden with the baggage that had been piled in the laboratory. They filed past him, up the steps, through the oval door. The visitors followed. Thorn lingered behind, to take the little sphere out of its black cradle, and lay it in turn in the velvet grass, where it shone against the green like a large white egg.
Aquiver with excitement, Rod mounted the metal steps.
“The name, sir,” inquired the white-jacketed keeper of the sliding door. Rod supplied it. The steward searched his list, shook his head. “Sorry, sir. You aren’t down.”
Rod had a moment’s terrible fear that the adventure, at this last moment, was being torn away from him. The man barred the way, his polite mask inexorable.
“I’m the newspaperman,” he said, in inspiration. “I’m here in the place of Garrick—he didn’t come.”
“Oh, beg pardon, sir. I hadn’t been informed.” He looked at the list. “Garrick is down. You will find accommodations very spacious on the Infiniterra, Mr. Trent. The crossing will be finished in half an hour.”
Gasping with relief, Rod found himself admitted to a narrow hall, spaced with metal doors. He hesitated; his instinct took control again. He hurried along the hall, climbed the compact metal stair at the end, and, passing the middle deck, emerged upon the upper.
He found a metal door marked “conning pit,” and contrived to be waiting in front of it when Thom arrived.
“I’m Trent,” he offered, “from the Times.”
Thorn was about to pass him, unheeding. He grappled with emergency. A cigar?—no. Flattery?—worse.
Thorn was intelligent. A question?—that was it. Scientists will always take time to explain their work.
“This machine, Dr. Thorn? It moves through space, doesn’t it, as well as—size? What propels it?”
That stopped him; Rod glowed with satisfaction. The deep-set eyes, under Thorn’s massive dark brows, swept him piercingly.
“Trent, you say? You’re the journalist? Well, I’ve no time to explain now. But come on up into the pit. I’ll tell you as we cross to the Infiniterra.”
Rod was delighted.
Beyond the door, a short ladder lifted through a manhole into the conning pit. It was circular, nine feet across, sunk four feet in the top of the cube. A transparent dome arched it. Visible beyond the sun-glinting surface of the cube, were the gray laboratory buildings, the white fence in the distance, the marching steel towers.
Thorn bent over the numerous instruments set in the metal ledge that ringed the tiny pit. Rod heard the slightest vibratory humming. That was his only sensation. He was astonished, in a moment, to see the gray buildings mounting steadily above, him, the white fence receding into remoteness.
Breathless, he asked: “We aren’t already—shrinking? I didn’t feel—anything!”
“The change of size is effected by a field of force that surrounds us completely,” Thom told him. “If you didn’t refer to some object outside the field, you couldn’t be aware of the change at all. Size, you see, is relative.”
“I see,” said Rod, eagerly. “And you were going to explain what makes us move.”
“That is done by a power field, also. I suppose, Mr. Trent, that you understand something of the close relation between matter, energy, and space? It might be said that they all, as well as time, are phenomena of the same medium.”
“I understand,” said Rod, hopefully untruthful.
“Good,” said Thorn. “The whole ship, then, is enveloped in what might be termed a unidirectional gravitational field. It represents a special strain in the ether, a unique warping of space. It differs in two ways from the ordinary gravitational field. It is created, not by mass, but by our powerful field coils; and it is hemispherical, unbalanced.
“In effect, it makes possible the instant reaction of every atom in the field, against every other atom in the universe. In other words, it enables every particle of the ship, of our bodies, even, to push against the very structure of space itself.
“Thus we achieve two vital results. We escape, first, the ordinary physical limitations of acceleration. The Infiniterra is livable, comfortable, at any conceivable speed. We’ve even an artifical approximation of Earth gravity.
“Second, since the drive is instantaneous, the theoretical limit of our velocity is infinity itself.
“These considerations are important enough, in ordinary flight. In the expansion toward the superuniverse, they are vital. They cut us free of the chains of space and time. Follow that, Mr. Trent?”
“Yes,” said Rod. A shrewd little twinkle, however, in Thorn’s gray eyes compelled him to add, hastily, “Anyhow—most if it.”
Smiling a little, Thorn turned silently back to his instruments.
Rod noticed, then, that the light falling on them was changing to a ghastly red. He looked up through the transparent dome, and cried out in bewilderment.
THE WORLD outside had astoundingly changed. The sky was a dome of smoky scarlet, the sun a dull ruby disk. Strange red was everywhere. The cube stood in a forest of crimson-black spears that curved up colossally against the blood-hued sky.
Far off, veiled in the dusk of red distance, loomed an incredible mountain. Red-black, perpendicular, its cliffs soared upward, mile upon mile. And still it had vaguely the shape of the laboratory.
“Why—why, Dr. Thorn,” he stammered, unwontedly speechless. “I don’t understand.”
“The cube, by our former standards, is now about a quarter of an inch high,” Thorn said, “It’s time, now, to take off for the Infiniterra.”
“But, doctor, I—we—we seem just as big as ever.”
“Of course. Size is relative. Our only standards are comparative. We must refer to something outside the field. For my own indicator, here, I use a platinum bar partially shielded from the field, so that it is affected a little bit less than the ship.”
“Thanks,” said Rod. “One thing more. Why is everything so red?”
“Another phenomenon of comparison, Mr. Trent. The light Waves are far longer, comparatively. ‘Visible light’ is completely invisible to us, now. We see our surroundings with the highest bands of the ‘ultra-violet,’ and they seem almost infra-red.
Thorn touched the controls again.
Immediately, though Rod felt no sensation of acceleration or of motion, the dark-red gigantic blades of grass dropped away beneath them. The cube lifted above the weird, somber plain, soaring silently into the lurid scarlet dusk.
Close at hand, the mass of the cube cut off the view of the ground. But Rod saw, in the metal ledge, four periscope screens. Following Thom’s eyes, he peered into one of these scarlet ovals, and discovered the Infiniterra.
The two-inch globe of nickel-bright uranium was gigantic, now. It loomed vastly above the eldritch forest of red, Brobdingnagian grass, blazing with an ominous scarlet fulgor.
The cube had soared above it, was dropping toward it. It seemed to expand disproportionately as they descended—until Rod sickened with the vertiginous sense of being plunged recklessly down toward a metal planet.
“Doctor!” he gasped, swaying back in horror from the screen. “We’re falling.”
“Another error of comparison, Mr. Trent,” the big scientist corrected him, a twinkle under his shaggy brows. “We are reducing our size again. Consequently the Infiniterra, outside the field, appears to expand. The apparent expansion gives you a false sensation of swift motion toward it.”
Rod forced himself to look back into the oval plate, where the uranium sphere was still swelling enormously, while the grotesquely forested plain widened about it. Again it made him giddy.
“How large——” he whispered.
“How large will it get?”
“The Infiniterra, by our standards when we are on it, will be ten miles in diameter,” said Thorn. “A planetoid of uranium.” And he explained. “The efficiency of the machine, Mr. Trent, depends ultimately on the ratio between fuel and load. By reducing our size—the load—we make the proportion of fuel correspondingly vast.
“Even so,” he added, “it will be a close thing. By converting uranium—the heaviest element, number 92—into pure energy, we have the most perfect source of power theoretically possible. Nevertheless, we may face a shortage.” A certain apprehension was descending upon Rod. The strangeness of this adventure was undermining a confidence that had been superb.
“You think,” he asked quickly, “that Starbuck might be right?”
“He may be,” Thorn admitted. “My mathematics is correct—so far as it goes. So, I must admit, is Starbuck’s.” His keen eyes were soberly speculative. “Perhaps we’re both wrong. We may be like the blind men and the elephant—both mistaking contradictory fragments of one truth for the whole. “Anyhow, we shall see—soon.” Rod’s keen anticipation of novel adventure was clouded again by the oppression of alien, unpredictable peril. Yet he could not wish that he had stayed behind. The veil of mystery was patterned with a dread fascination. Fear was overcome by that terrible urge to know.
A disturbing thing, once more, drew his attention without.
