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The Secret of the Ninth Planet
_A Science Fiction Novel_
By Donald A. Wollheim
Jacket design by James Heugh
[Transcriber note: Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
_Cecile Matschat, Editor_
_Carl Carmer, Consulting Editor_
THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY
Philadelphia Toronto
Copyright, 1959
By Donald A. Wollheim
FIRST EDITION
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 59-5328
_Manufactured in the United States of America_
For--
Three denizens of this minor planet:
Eleanor, Bill, and of course Janet.
Contents
_The Mysterious Ninth World_
1. _Special Delivery--by Guided Missile_
2. _The Valley of Stolen Sunlight_
3. _The Secret of A-G 17_
4. _The Hidden Skyport_
5. _Up the Rope of Space_
6. _Sunward Ho!_
7. _Hot Spot on Mercury_
8. _The Veil of Venus_
9. _The Ocean Primeval_
10. _The Dying Planet_
11. _Martians Don't Care_
12. _At Rope's End_
13. _The Pole of Callisto_
14. _Rockets Away!_
15. _Ice Cold on Oberon_
16. _In Orbit Around Pluto_
17. _Stronghold of the Lost Planet_
18. _Sacrifice on the Sacred Moon_
19. _The Museum of Galactic Life_
_About the Author_
_The Mysterious Ninth World_
While the circumnavigation of the solar system seems farfetched, it may
not be once the problem of effective anti-gravitational control is
solved. In this book I have assumed that the many researchers now
actually at work on this problem will achieve such a result in the next
decade. It is not at all impossible that they may--for we all know that
the more minds that work at a problem, the sooner it will be solved. The
discovery of a means of negating, reversing or otherwise utilizing the
immense force of gravitation for space flight purposes is now thought to
be within the bounds of probability. It should occur some time within
the next hundred years, possibly in even the short period I assume here.
Once solved, the severe handicaps imposed on space exploration by the
weight and chemical limitations of rockets would no longer apply. The
whole timetable of our conquest of the planets in our solar system would
be tremendously speeded up, from hot Mercury all the way out to frigid
Pluto.
In describing the visits of the spaceship _Magellan_ to the planets, I
have endeavored to adhere to known facts and the more reasonable
assumptions about each of these worlds. The planet Pluto, however,
deserves further comment, occupying as it does both an important role in
this adventure and a unique one in actual astronomical lore.
Back at the dawn of this century, many astronomers, and notably Dr.
Percival Lowell, studied certain irregularities in the orbit and motion
of Neptune, at that time believed to be the outermost planet. They
decided that these eccentricities (or perturbations, as they are called)
could only be caused by the presence of another, yet undiscovered planet
beyond Neptune.
Following this line of research, a young astronomer, Dr. Clyde Tombaugh,
working at Lowell's own observatory, was able to announce on March 13,
1930, that he had finally found this ninth world, which he named Pluto.
In the years that have followed, Pluto has proven to be a truly puzzling
planet. Unlike its neighbors from Jupiter outward, it is not a giant
world, light and gaseous in nature. Instead, it belongs physically to
the small, dense inner planets of which Earth is one.
The latest viewpoint on this planet, whose size and weight seem quite
like those of Earth, is that it may not be a true child of the Sun, but
an outsider captured as it roamed the trackless realms of galactic
space. Its orbit is highly eccentric and rather lopsided, taking it as
far away from the Sun as four and a half billion miles and as close to
the Sun as two and three-quarter billion miles, thereby cutting inside
the orbit of Neptune itself. In fact, during the period from 1969 to
2009 (covering most of the lifetimes of the younger readers of this
book) Pluto will not be the ninth planet, but the eighth, for it will be
at its closest in those years. Huge Neptune will thus regain temporarily
the title of being the Sun's farthest outpost!
This orbital eccentricity has lead some astronomers to speculate on the
possibility that Pluto may once have been briefly held as a satellite of
Neptune. And following that line of thought, the possibility also has
been suggested that Neptune's larger moon, Triton, may once have been a
companion of Pluto which failed to break away from Neptune's grip!
I think that the first men to land on Pluto are going to make some very
astonishing discoveries. But I am also sure that they will never go
there in rockets. They will have to make the immense trip by some more
powerful means--like the anti-gravitational drive.
D.A.W.
_The Secret of the Ninth Planet_
Chapter 1. _Special Delivery--by Guided Missile_
On the morning that the theft of the solar system's sunlight began, Burl
Denning woke up in his sleeping bag in the Andes, feeling again the
exhilaration of the keen, rarefied, mountain air. He glanced at the
still sleeping forms of his father and the other members of the Denning
expedition, and sat up, enjoying the first rays of the early morning.
The llamas were already awake, moving restlessly back and forth on their
padded feet, waiting for their tender to arise and unleash them. The
mules were standing patiently as ever, staring quietly into the distant
misty panorama of the mountains.
It was, thought Burl, a dim day, but this he supposed was due to the
earliness of the morning. As the Sun rose, it would rapidly bring the
temperatures up, and its unshielded rays would force them to cover up as
they climbed along the high mountain passes.
The sky was cloudless as usual. Burl assumed that the dimness was due to
volcanic dust, or some unseen high cloud far away. And, indeed, as the
expedition came to life, and the day began in earnest, nobody paid any
attention to the fact that the Sun was not quite so warm as it should
have been.
The Denning expedition, questing among the untracked and forgotten
byways of the lost Inca ruins in the vast, jagged mountains of inland
Peru, was not alone in failing to notice the subtle channeling away of
the Sun's warmth and brilliance. They were, in this respect, one with
virtually the entire population of Earth.
In New York, in San Francisco, in Philadelphia and Kansas City, people
going about their day's chores simply assumed that there must be clouds
somewhere--the temperature only slightly less than normal for a July
day. A few men shaded their eyes and looked about, noticing that the
heat was not so intense--and thought it a blessing.
In some places in Europe, there were clouds and a little rain, and the
dimness was ascribed to this. It was raining in much of Asia, and there
were scattered afternoon showers throughout Latin America, which were
standard for the season. There was a flurry of snow in Melbourne and a
cold blow in Santiago de Chile.
The men in the weather bureaus noted on their day's charts that
temperatures were a few degrees lower than had been predicted, but that
was nothing unusual. Weather was still not entirely predictable, even
with the advances of meteorology that were to be expected of the latter
years of the twentieth century.
The world was reading about other things than the vagaries of the
weather. In the United States, baseball occupied the headlines, and the
nonathletic-minded could find some speculative interest in the
completion of another manned space platform racing along in its eternal
orbit twelve thousand miles away from Earth's surface. The U.S. Moon
Base in the center of the Crater Ptolemaeus had described the appearance
of this platform in an interesting radio dispatch which appeared on the
first pages of most newspapers. The third prober rocket sent to Venus
had been unreported for the tenth day after penetrating the clouds that
hid that planet's surface from human eyes. It was, like its two
predecessors, a minimum-sized, unmanned instrument device designed to
penetrate the clouds and radio back data on the nature of the Venusian
atmosphere and the surface. But after its first report, nothing more had
been heard.
Some discussion was going on in science circles about what had happened.
Speculation centered on the possible success of other types of prober
rockets, but it was universally agreed that the time had not come when a
manned rocket could safely undertake the difficult trip to Venus and
return.
The years of space flight since the orbiting of Sputnik I back in 1957
had produced many fascinating results, but they had also brought a
realization of the many problems that surrounded the use of rockets for
space flight. It was generally believed that no one should risk a manned
flight until absolutely everything possible that could be learned by
robot and radio-controlled missiles had been learned. It now looked as
if Venus and Mars trips were still a dozen years away.
Burl Denning was keenly interested in all of this. As a senior in high
school, the newly expanding frontiers of the universe represented
something special to his generation. It would be men of his own age who
would eventually man those first full-scale expeditions to neighbor
worlds. By the time he was out of college, with an engineering degree,
he might himself hope to be among those adventurers of space.
Burl was torn between two interests. Archaeology was both a profession
and a hobby in the Denning family. His grandfather had been among the
first to explore the jungle ruins of Indochina. His father, although a
businessman and industrial engineer, made annual vacation pilgrimages to
the ruins of the old Indian civilizations of the Americas. Burl had been
with him once before, when they had trekked through the chicle forests
of Guatemala in search of a lost Mayan city. And now they were again on
a quest, this time for the long-forgotten treasure of the Incas.
Burl was thoroughly familiar with the techniques of tracking down the
ancient records of mankind. He got along well with natives and
primitive people; he knew the arts of wilderness survival; he knew the
delicate techniques of sifting sand and dirt to turn up those priceless
bits of pottery and chipped stone that could supply pages of the
forgotten epics of human history.
However, later in the day it seemed as if their particular camp had
petered out. There were ruins there--a broken-down wall, a dry well and
a bit of eroded bas-relief lying on its side. Burl's father looked at
him thoughtfully. The tall, sandy-haired youth was sitting astraddle a
pile of dust, methodically sifting it through a wide-mesh strainer. A
large pile of sifted sand gave evidence of the length of his efforts,
and one broken bit of clay was the only result he had obtained.
Two of the Indian guides sat patiently in the shade, watching them. One
was digging slowly, turning up more dirt to be sifted.
"I think we've had enough here," said the elder Denning. "Burl, you can
knock off. Tomorrow we'll pull up stakes and see what is in the next
valley. We'll try to follow that old Inca road over the mountains. I
don't believe anyone has ever penetrated there--and the airplane surveys
indicated some evidence of human dwellings."
Burl nodded, and set the sifter down. He'd learned to curb his natural
energies for the exacting tasks required of serious scientific research.
"Okay," he said, "I was hoping you'd move on soon, Dad. This looked like
a washout from the first. I'd say this place was sacked and ruined even
before the Incas fell."
The older man nodded. "I suppose so. Well, let's wash up and see what's
for supper."
They went down to the icy mountain stream to wash the dirt from their
hands. "It's been a nice day," Burl commented. "In spite of the Sun
being out steadily, it wasn't hot at all. Cooler than yesterday."
Mark Denning looked up at the sky and the Sun lowering toward the
horizon. "There must have been some volcanic dust in the heavens," he
said. "The Sun's been a bit dimmed, have you noticed?"
Burl squinted his eyes against the glare. "Wasn't any eruption around
here. Maybe in Ecuador?"
His father shrugged. "Could have been thousands of miles away," was his
slow reply. "Volcanic dust travels around the world, just as radioactive
dust permeated the atmosphere from atomic testings. They say that the
dust from the great Krakatoa explosion remained in the atmosphere for
three years before the last of it settled."
When they had finished supper and the Sun was casting its last red rays
over the rapidly purpling landscape, Burl got out the expedition radio,
set up its antenna, plugged in its compact atomic battery, and tried to
get the news from Lima. All he got was static.
He fiddled with the dials for a long time, twisting the antenna, ranging
the wavelengths, but there was static everywhere. "Strange," he said to
his father, "something's disturbed reception completely."
Pedro Gonzales, their official Peruvian guide, leaned over. "Could be
the battery she is broken, eh?"
Burl shook his head. "Not this battery," he said. "It's a brand-new one,
a real keen development. And I already checked the wiring. It's some
sort of disturbance that's blocking reception. Maybe we're in a dead
zone or something."
"Wasn't dead yesterday," said his father. "Maybe that eruption was
radioactive."
Burl looked up sharply. "I'll check the Geiger counters, Dad.
Something's blocking reception, something strong and powerful to
interfere with this set." But when he returned, he had to admit he had
found nothing.
When the Sun went down, they retired, for the temperature drops swiftly
in the high, thin air of the Andes.
In the rest of the world people watched their color-vision shows without
interruption. Reception was good with the Moon base, the space platforms
had no difficulty making reports, and the radio news beamed out as
usual. In Lima, there was a little static, and direct transmission with
Brazil seemed partially disrupted, but that was all.
In the following five days, the Denning expedition had managed the
difficult climb over the next range of mountains and had come down in
the high plateau valley between. In this same period, the world began to
realize that the dimness of the sky was not a temporary phenomenon.
* * * * *
Weather stations noted that the past few days had all been several
degrees under the average. Reports had come in that farmers were
querying the unusual drop in the temperatures at night. And astronomers,
measuring the surface heat of the Sun, came up with strange
discrepancies from previous data.
One astronomer communicated with another, and a general exchange of
advice began. In a short while, a communication was laid on the desk of
the President of the United States, who scanned it and had it
immediately transmitted to the Secretary General of the United Nations.
The Secretary General circulated the report among the scientific bureaus
of all member nations, and this led in turn to a meeting of the Security
Council. This meeting was held in quiet, without benefit of newspaper
reporters or audience.
There was no longer any doubt. The radiation of the Sun reaching the
face of the Earth had decreased. The facts were indisputable. Where a
day should have registered, in some places, at least 90° in the Sun, a
reading of only 84° was noted. Measurements definitely showed that the
face of the Sun visible to man on Earth had dimmed by just that margin.
This might not prove serious at first, but as the scientists called in
by the Security Council pointed out, it promised terrible things as the
year went on. A difference of five or ten degrees all over the Earth
could mean the ruin of certain crops, it could mean an increase in
snowfall and frost that could very rapidly destroy the economies and
habitability of many places on the Earth's teeming surface.
"But what," asked the Chairman of the Council, "is causing this decrease
in solar energy?"
This the astronomers could not answer. But they pointed to one factor.
The reports from the U.S. Moon Base did not agree with the observations
from Earth. Moon instruments claimed no decrease whatsoever in the
amount of sunlight reaching the arid, airless surface of the Earth's
only satellite.
The cause was somewhere on Earth. And the Security Council requested the
careful scanning of the Earth from space platforms and the Moon to
determine the center of the trouble.
* * * * *
Burl Denning had not found the next valley of much interest, either.
Evidence of an Inca road over the mountain had petered out. There were
signs there had been human dwellings, but they were not Inca--just
reminders of the onetime passage of an unknown band of primitives who
had grazed their sheep, built temporary tents, and pulled up stakes
perhaps a hundred years before.
So again at night, Burl, his father, and Gonzales took counsel. They
were debating which way to proceed next; Mark Denning reasoning that
they should go further inland, following tales natives had told;
Gonzales urging that they retrack their path and proceed northward
toward the regions where Inca ruins abounded.
For the past week Burl had not been able to get radio reception. The
static had increased as they had gone eastward over the mountain, but
not a word of news or any human voice came through. The Moon was rising
on the horizon as Burl sat playing with the antenna. Finally he gave up
and switched it off.
The discussion had died away and the three men were quiet. The Indian
guides had retired to their own campfire, and one of them had taken out
his pipes and was blowing a soft, plaintive tune.
Burl stared at the full Moon in silence, wondering if he would ever have
a chance to walk its surface, or if his own future was to lie in probing
mankind's past rather than surveying the grounds of his future. As he
watched, he thought he saw a faint light among the brightening stars
where none had been before.
He squinted, and, sure enough, he saw that one tiny white light was
swinging more and more toward the center of the sky. He pointed it out
to his father and Gonzales. "Too fast to be a celestial object," he
said. "Is it one of the space platforms or a sputnik?"
The two men gazed at it in curiosity. Suddenly it seemed to grow
brighter and sharper and to twist toward them in its path.
"Look!" gasped Burl, but the others were already on their feet.
The light plunged down. There was a sudden outburst of yellow flame that
caused the three to duck instinctively, and brought the Indians to their
feet with yells. The glare brightened until they could see that
something was just above them. The fire vanished as swiftly as it came,
but a white spot of light remained.
"It's a parachute!" Burl shouted. "It's a rocket or something, braking
to a stop above us, and coming down by parachute!"
In the pale light of the full Moon they saw that something metallic and
glistening hung from the white mushroom of a parachute. There was a
clanging sound as it hit the rocky earth with a soft, sighing whoosh.
The cloth of the parachute settled.
They ran across the dry stone of the valley floor, but Burl's long,
athletic legs outdistanced the others. He reached it first.
It was a cylinder of metal, about three feet long and a foot in
diameter.
"It's the nose of a message missile--dropped from a guided missile,"
Burl announced. "And--look!" He dramatically pointed the beam of his
flashlight upon its side.
There, written in black, heat-resistant paint, were the words: _To the
Denning Andes Expedition, from U.S. Air Force Base, California Region.
By Guided Missile Post by Moon Base control, Ptolomaeus Crater.
Official. Open Without Delay._