Beyond The End of Space
By John W. Campbell, Jr.
_Author of "Invaders from the Infinite,"
"Islands of Space," "The Black Star Passes," etc._
Illustrated by MOREY
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Amazing Stories March and April 1933
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
_We are always glad to have the publishing of a story by this
author and we believe that our readers will thoroughly enjoy this
first instalment telling of the work of a great inventor with a
promise of interplanetary or even space travel in Part Two._
"Hold 'er there for a while, Tom. I want to get three more
electroscopes and a recording bolometer. The thermopile doesn't record,
you know. The recording electroscope will give us a photographic
record--but no immediate information as the experiment progresses,"
called Dr. Randolph Warren. He swung himself to the three-inch thick
fused quartz tube, wrapped his hands around its milky column, and
slid down the shaft forty feet to the ground below. A whining hum of
electric motors and the slap-slap-slap of the silk ribbons mounting to
the huge aluminum sphere above, drowned out the call of Tom Blamen,
inside the sphere. Tom wanted to know if he might try the thing on low
voltage once. Tom didn't get an answer, but he looked at the meters,
and saw a needle quivering at the point marked "17" on the master meter.
"17,000,000--and I'll have to discharge somehow before he can place the
ladder to climb back. It's a shame to waste all that--" He looked out
of his observation window, a conducting window made of two sheets of
plate glass separated by a layer of dilute sulphuric acid. Set in the
aluminum sphere it maintained the conductivity of the metal across the
gap.
Twenty-five feet away a weird mushroom rose from the concrete floor
of the concrete laboratory. Set on a tripod of carefully designed
insulators, the half-sphere seemed some strange growth. The polished
aluminum with its discharge points pitted and scarred by the lashing
force of terrific discharges was joined to the sphere by a clear
tube of fused quartz. This seemed swollen half-way between, and
the three-inch tube opened to the size of a foot-ball. Around this
swelling, held in position by strings of insulators depending from the
ceiling twenty feet above, were three tremendous magnets. The swelling
in the tube contained a smaller globe or sphere and in this was a
filament of iron wire. The inner tube was very highly evacuated, one
of the dozen tubes Sanderson brought back with him from his voyage to
space beyond the earth's atmosphere in fact. In 1952 there had been a
dozen tubes, now in 1955, only three years later, but four remained,
so those absolutely evacuated tubes were very valuable. Opened, then
sealed while in empty space, they were the only _EMPTY_ tubes on earth.
It spoke of the importance of this experiment that the University had
permitted this tube to be used.
Blamen's gaze shifted back to the mushroom tower, down its insulated
base to the powerful electric motor which drove a white ribbon of silk.
The ribbon of silk brushed against a bit of _CHARGITE_, a specially
designed compound which gave the silk a charge of electricity. The
endless belt whisked the charge up to the sphere above, where points
collected it and carried it away to the sphere. Like an endless-chain
bucket conveyor the silk ribbon was bringing electric charges up, as
a similar ribbon carried equal--but opposite charges to the control
sphere where he sat.
Tom Blamen was in a whirl of hesitancy and doubt. He looked nervously
about. He could discharge the spheres in a bolt of lightning to the
heavy metal conductors thirty-five feet away by simply running out the
discharge-arms. But it seemed a waste of energy--
Ran Warren was back--he stood in the door looking up at the man in the
window of the sphere.
"Shall I discharge through the tube?" asked Blamen, eagerly.
Warren didn't hear, but as anyone might, nodded in annoyance,
"Yes--discharge to towers--send down the ladder, of course."
Blamen accepted it as authority to do what he wanted. He gave a glance
at the dials--17.6 million volts now--He stopped the motors, and the
bands slowed with a doleful slap-slap-slap. He threw another switch,
and the three enormous magnets surged with terrific, hitherto unused,
power, a magnetic field of compressive force, three tremendous magnetic
fields opposing each other, and pressing down simultaneously on that
little inner tube. The fine iron filament-wire trembled. Suddenly it
burst into blazing, explosive incandescence as a tremendous current
rushed through it--and simultaneously the terrific, stored energy at
17.6 million volts smashed through the iron vapor in the little tube.
Seventeen and six tenth millions of volts leaping across a gap of eight
inches!
Warren leaped forward in amazed surprise. "Tom, you fool--don't--" He
stopped, and froze as a terrible cry came to his ears.
In the tube a light had formed. The discharge was all over--should
have been. But in the tube was a virulent thing that glowed some
indescribable color, a violet so tremendously deep that it seemed
a red-black. A wave of energy struck Warren, that made him throw a
protective hand across his eyes, and stagger back from that room of
incandescence, back, and out to the corridor beyond. His eyes were in
torture, his whole body felt crisp and dry. Still that terrific light
was glowing around the corner of the door, beating out at him, and
still the feeling of heat and some terrible impact of energy parched
his body. There were faint mutterings, shakings and quivers in the
building now, the light from within was growing stronger. Suddenly
there was a terrific explosion. The light grew bluer, and more
brilliant, it seemed to increase rapidly, and the man staggered under a
wave of beating, destroying energy, invisible, but terribly tangible.
Then in an instant it was over, and only a heaving and restless
movement of the building remained. Warren slumped to the floor as cries
of panic echoed from other parts of the Heavy Apparatus Laboratories.
A crowd of men was collected about him, a doctor bending over him
and two stretcher bearers nearby, when he regained consciousness. He
groaned in agony as he woke. His whole body was stiff and sore. He
could feel a terrific coat of sunburn over all its surface except where
something as thick as his belt or shoes had protected him.
"Burn--radiation burn of some kind. Take him to the infirmary and coat
him with 732-aE. It's serious. How's the other man?"
"Dead--very. Burned raw, and looks as though he might have been
electrocuted first. We'd better clear out, the wall is cracked badly."
"Wh--what happened?" asked Warren blankly and inanely.
"If you don't know, nobody can tell you, Warren," replied Jordan
of Chemical Processes, who stood beside him now. "You started an
earthquake though that darned near knocked the building down. We all
left, then discovered you two hadn't, and came back. You were lying
here, and Blamen--he's gone, Ran," he concluded gravely.
"Blamen--started the tube--something happened. I called him and told
him to discharge to the towers--to the ground--but he discharged
through the tube. Is the apparatus all right?" Warren asked anxiously.
"The Sanderson Tube is gone--everything else O. K."
Warren groaned. "Oh Lord, I could replace anything but that!"
The stretcher bearers were carrying him away before he got a chance to
say any more, and the pain of the burns came back. He groaned softly.
"The Sanderson tube!"
* * * * *
"And so, Putt-putt, I've come to you as usual. It was a wild yarn I
told, and I was dismissed with regrets, but my illness, lasting more
than three months, made it imperative for them to have some man to
take my place in the meantime--and somebody said something about a
Sanderson tube and somebody else mentioned 175,000 dollars damages to
buildings----
"And now I've told you how I left the University."
Donald Murray Putney, sometimes referred to by Warren as
"Putt-putt"--and "filthly rich"--inventor of the gasoline turbine,
which had promptly wrecked several hundred promising gasoline engine
companies, till they bought his patents, and supplied Warren with
material for endless annoyance, was not satisfied that he heard the
whole story.
"Yes, how--but not, why. What was the wild tale?" he demanded. Putney
knew Warren was not addicted to wild tales, especially if they might be
interpreted as excuses for himself.
"Well--I suggested that the action, which I saw, must be due to some
hitherto unknown force. Certainly, Don," he went on, warming up to
his subject, "there wasn't enough energy in my apparatus, taking the
total energy stored on the two spheres, the field energy of the three
magnets, and the potential energy, too, for that matter--they fell
down you know--to start an earthquake. Also, a discharge, even of 17.6
million volts--all the instruments jammed--wouldn't give me a case of
sun, or radiation burn that would lay me up in the infirmary for three
straight months. Anyway--I had different aims." He quieted suddenly
as he remembered he was started again, and the last reception of his
theory had made it a painful discussion for him.
"What were the aims?"
"Energy of matter," replied Warren grimly.
Putney was silent for some moments, puffing his pipe leisurely as he
leaned back in his chair. The furnishings of his bachelor apartment
were dedicated to the Goddess of Comfort.
"Hmmm--that would cause an earthquake. In fact it might well cause
several dozen earthquakes. It would certainly cause an earthquake on
Wall Street.
"By the way, who led the laughter in the Directors Meeting?"
"Old Nestor," replied Warren guardedly. "And it surprised me a lot.
Naturally I would be surprised anyway, but old Nestor is no dumb
business man. He got on that faculty for more reasons than one."
"Yes," agreed Putney, "he did." Putney smiled sourly. "That old boy
is a live man, and alive to the opportunities too. He bought in
there, because he can get information cheap and wholesale. That's why
Nestor Aircraft is a strong investment. And does Nestor love me--? He
does--like a shark would. I nearly wrecked him with that little patent
of mine, and he hasn't gotten over it yet. What did he say?"
"He started them off, perhaps. I didn't expect him to say 'Impossible'
but he was the first."
"Oh--did he?" Putney smiled to himself. "And has he spoken to you
since? Warren, I learned when I had patents to sell--and you know I've
sold a lot more since that turbine affair--that Nestor has ideas of his
own on business manners. Who gets the rights on the discovery if you
remain with the University?"
"Why--they would!" exclaimed Warren.
"Uhuh--open to everybody to use. No money in that. Well, you're kicked
out. If your ideas are correct, who gets the rights now?"
"I would----"
"And that's where you're wrong. Would you? How could you get them--how
could you prove it--how could you build the apparatus--?" Putney leaned
forward with blazing black eyes. "You know you couldn't--not till
Nestor furnished your laboratory, and he'd run off with the patents,
and you'd get a salary. You're black-listed with Universities now,
and you know it. So does he. He saw that you had millions--billions
perhaps, in the palm of your hand. So he fired you. In a day he'll
offer you a laboratory job, and set you on that again, and he'll get
the money!"
Warren gazed at his friend in amazement. "You're right, Putt-putt.
You're damn right. Only I'm going to ask you into a partnership with
me. You've got the money, and I've got an idea, that is apparently
worth Nestor's time!"
Putney stood up and stretched forth his hand. "And _we've_ got a
partnership, Ran, that nothin'll bust!"
CHAPTER II
"Mr. Nestor will see you now, sir," the secretary said. She smiled
pleasantly at the tall, powerfully built, grey-eyed man. She began to
wonder, as she noticed the expression about his eyes and mouth, just
how successful Mr. Nestor would be in this interview. Mr. Nestor was
usually successful in his interview, but there were little humorous
crinkles around the big man's eyes, and graven lines of power and
intelligence. But the jaw was powerful, the clean, square-cut lines of
the face and the set of the head on broad powerful shoulders indicated
determination. Most indicative of all, the lips were tight-pressed
and they looked unpleasant. She mentally shrugged her shoulders, very
pretty shoulders she knew they were too, and stood aside for him to
pass.
"Ah, Dr. Warren, I'm glad to see you again," said the shrewd old man.
The mechanical smile was intended to be winning. Ran Warren didn't
like it. He didn't like Nestor for that matter, for it was Nestor, in
his younger days, who had changed his career. Pressure here, influence
there--and his father began to yield, for he had never had the
determination and the power of will of his mother. Then--five big men,
and one man, who was going to be big, jumped on him, and his holdings
began to slide rapidly. But it made Nestor.
"What was it you wanted to see me about, sir?" asked Warren, attempting
to come to the point.
"I have been wondering since I spoke so hurriedly in the Advisory
Meeting, whether that idea of yours might not have been right. It
really does seem strange to me that so serious a result could have
followed a mere discharge in a tube. What do you believe caused the
earthquake?" The keen, black eyes twinkled up at him like the eyes of a
bird.
"Radiations, sir. I am certain no such power as would move the
earth's crust was ever developed in those little electric motors that
accumulated the discharge. I believe that that discharge started a
release of the energy of matter, that the radiations were very largely
of an extremely short wavelength, and that they penetrated the building
readily. Certainly you know that all the photographic material in the
laboratory was ruined, and some was at a considerable distance, behind
walls. Suppose the radiations penetrated through the ground, and into
the layers below. Eventually they would be absorbed. At whatever point
they were absorbed, we would know there was water, for the laboratory
was on made land. That water, converted to steam, would certainly have
some such result. The radiations were so powerful in all probability
that they passed through me, and the other humans without hindrance,
and hence without result."
Nestor's eyes were bright. There was a calculating gleam behind them.
"That's an interesting theory, and quite possible--if you really did
succeed in smashing the atom."
"But I didn't. I destroyed it. It wasn't merely broken, it was
annihilated, I believe."
"Matter cannot be destroyed, I thought?" said Nestor sharply.
"Apparently the others agreed with you. Were you going to reinstate me
at the University?"
"I'm afraid that can't be done, Dr. Warren. But I was interested
enough to ask you if you would like a job with my research staff. You
could continue your experiments if you wished. I can offer you fifteen
thousand a year."
A slow smile dawned on Warren's lips. "I'm afraid you are mistaken,
Nestor. If you investigate the State files, you'll find there's a new
firm--Putney and Warren, Research Engineers. I think you'll have to get
someone else, so I'll say--goodbye."
Warren turned and strode out. Mr. Thaddeus Eustace Nestor looked after
him with amazement. "What--hey--come back----" But Warren had already
left. Nestor began to curse, then stopped abruptly. His plans had gone
badly awry. He had intended to snap up Warren before anyone else could,
and as Putney had suggested, get the benefit of this inconceivably
important discovery. Now to his horror he discovered that not only was
he unable to get it, but instead of getting it himself, Warren was to
get the benefit. Had he left Warren in his position at the University
he would at least have had an equal share in the discovery with all
others, but now he certainly would not. There was just one answer.
He pressed a button, and presently the secretary appeared. "Send Mr.
Williams over, Miss Oliver." The secretary retired, and called Mr.
Robert Williams, head of the Nestor Research Laboratories.
Nestor Aircraft was only one of T. E. Nestor's holdings. The man had
forward-looking ideas, and he had long since realized that research
would pay an income as well as any other business, and the Laboratories
were simply his invention factories. They handled all sorts of
problems, and Mr. Williams was the head, and a physicist.
He appeared in a few minutes, and went into Nestor's soundproof office.
"Well, what is it?"
"I told you Warren was coming? Well, he isn't. I made a mistake."
Williams grinned broadly. The Old Man had made a mistake, and a bad one
evidently. He didn't look happy, and Williams had been informed that
morning that he was about to be made Assistant Director of Research,
with Warren as Director. It hadn't appealed to him.
"A mistake? What was it?" he asked ironically.
"I got that blasted scientist loose from the University so he could
come here--and what does he do? Does he thank me for it and come?--no!
He's started a firm of his own! And Williams, get this; he's discovered
how to annihilate matter!"
Williams started and looked at Nestor seriously. "How do you know?"
"Read about the explosion at the University three months ago? That was
it. A tiny piece of iron wire, he said!"
"Where do I come in?"
"You're going to duplicate his apparatus, and better his record. I've
already got track of a Sanderson tube."
"You're mistaken. I'm going to do nothing of the kind. Warren is the
greatest atomic man in the world, and he always was a fool for luck.
Remember the time Constanti tried to start his racket on the University
and sent a bomb? It fell beside Warren, and turned out a dud. Well, I'm
not superstitious, but if it killed one man and nearly killed him, then
it's bad medicine for Mrs. Williams' little boy, Bobby.
"What do you know about the power he used, voltages, currents and so
forth? Suppose that instead of the slow release that merely killed one
and half killed another, besides causing an earthquake, we got a rapid
release. Any idea what would happen? You could blow this old world
clear across the solar system!"
"You won't handle it? Why not try it with just a little?"
"Little? 'There ain't no sich animile' as the hick said. If I worked
under a microscope I'd still have enough to blow the whole city off the
map! I know physics plenty good for my work, but I'm no second Warren.
You know his latest work has been showing Einstein's mistakes. There's
just one other man who might do it, and that's Jimmy Atkill."
"Atkill--he's a disreputable crook. They won't even publish his papers
any more."
"Sure he's a crook--but they never proved he killed the old bird. He
had some kind of a death ray, and they never proved he used it. Try
and convince a jury of twelve good men and dumb, that a death ray they
can't be shown did the job!
"He's a crook--but he's brilliant. Try him."
"All right. If you're afraid."
Williams grinned. "That's not a dig. That's not fear either, it's
common sense. Want to play with matches in a dynamite plant? Want
to come out and watch me work on that idea--when a piece, you can't
see under a microscope, would blow the whole city off the map?" The
physicist left.
Nestor took out a pocket chess set, and sat playing chess with various
combinations and problems. Then, after nearly half an hour, he put his
little set away and reached for the telephone.
"Miss Oliver, get the physicist, Dr. James Atkill, on my phone. I don't
know where he is, nor in what city. Get him." Then he hung up and went
back to his papers. It was nearly an hour before Miss Oliver announced
that Dr. Atkill was on the wire.
"Dr. Atkill speaking; is that Mr. Nestor?"
"Yes. Where are you?"
"Detroit."
"Be here in an hour and I've got a big job for you. Hop by nearest
plane, I'll give orders to send you right through. I'm in New York."
"I've got a good job here. What have you got, how long will it last,
and how much?" was Dr. Atkill's response.
"Read about the earthquake at the University here three months ago?
That was some of Warren's work. Destruction of the indestructible.
That's all I can say over the telephone. The salary will be agreeable.
Will you come?"
There was a soft whistle over the wire. "So my old friend Ran Warren
has been shaking down buildings--and the indestructible has been
destroyed. And why isn't Warren working on it?"
"Fool! He is. That's why I said hurry."
"Doesn't take much apparatus if he's working on it. He always was poor
as the proverbial church mouse," chuckled Atkill.
"Doesn't it? Putney's backing him. Once and for all: Are you coming?"
demanded Nestor irritably.
"On my way, gran'pa!" Nestor's face went red at this rejoinder from Dr.
Atkill, and his close-cropped grey hair seemed to stand up stiffer than
usual. He started to splutter into the microphone, but the instrument
was mockingly dead.