Return from Luna
A voice roared, "All clear! Lower away!" The great ship rocked and
quivered as its jet rockets flared, forming a solid, cushioning pillar
on which the _Spica_ lowered itself to the land cradle on Long Island
Spaceport.
"Tub!" muttered Flick Muldoon, and made a hasty grab for a case of
equipment slithering across the deck.
Gary Lane snapped, "Careful, Flick!" ... which was not like Lane. It
was not his nature to be brusque. But now his voice, like his manner,
was strained and unnatural. His eyes were tense as he glanced at his
wrist chronometer. He sighed relievedly as the wallowing motion of the
space-cruiser ended in a final, weary, convulsive heave.
Blue uniformed attendants, luggage-laden, brushed by the pair of young
scientists. Commands clacked with metallic authority from the brazen
throats of deck audiophones. Locks wheezed asthmatically, and the warm,
sweet fragrance of Earth air flooded through a nearby port.
Flick drew a deep, contented breath.
"Home again! Oh, boy! Linen suits instead of those damn bulgers ...
sandals instead of lead boots ... breathable air instead of oxygen...."
"... and," reminded Gary grimly, "a job of work to be done. Let's get
going."
His precious portfolio securely gripped in a bronzed fist, he strode to
the gangway, stood there blinking momentarily in the pleasant sunlight
of Earth. Then a warm hand was on his shoulder, and a friendly voice
greeted him. The voice of his superior, Dr. Wade Bryant.
"Welcome home, Gary! Have a good trip? Got lots of good shots, I
hope--?"
"I got," said Gary, "plenty! Dr. Bryant, we must go to the Observatory
at once. If I'm not greatly mistaken, our expedition discovered
something which will tear to bits every previous cosmological theory
known to science. Wait till--" He stopped abruptly, silenced by the
unexpected presence of a white-haired, cherubic little stranger beside
his senior. "I--er--I don't believe I've had the pleasure--?"
"No," chuckled Bryant. "But we'll soon remedy that. Professor Anjers,
permit me to introduce my brilliant and indispensable young aide, Dr.
Gary Lane. Gary, you've heard of Dr. Anjers, of course?"
"Of course," replied Gary respectfully. "How do you do, sir?" But his
mood had changed. His eagerness was gone; he seemed almost to wish to
avoid further discussion. Bryant sensed this. He looked puzzled.
"Well, Gary? Go on. You were saying--?"
"Later," said Gary briefly. He stared absently over the older man's
shoulder. "Your car here?"
Flick Muldoon snorted, "_Car?_ We need a truck! Hey, Doc--look at me!
The human derrick. Gary's so doggone busy guarding that briefcase
he won't give me a hand with"--His eyes rolled in mock horror of the
pyramid of equipment heaped about him.
Dr. Bryant laughed. "You'll survive, Flick, I fear. Yes, the car's
right over here. If you're ready now--" He led the way. They had moved
but a few paces from the cradles when someone stepped beside Gary,
murmured a polite, "Shall I take your portfolio, Dr. Lane?", and
started to relieve young Lane of it.
Gary started violently, jerked his hand loose. "Let go, damn you!" he
blazed ... then his eyes widened, and a flush surged upward to copper
his already tanned cheeks. "Oh, I ... I beg your pardon, miss! I had no
idea.... I mean ... I...."
* * * * *
For he was staring squarely into the most hurt, most baffled, yet
withal most beautiful mist-blue eyes he had ever seen. And the
eyes were but one facet of this girl's gemlike perfection. She was
incredible, as all dreams sprung to life are incredible. For surely
such smooth-gleaming copper hair, such lips and teeth and--well,
everything about her!--could exist nowhere other than in a dream.
But if she were a vision she was not his alone. For Dr. Bryant spoke
apologetically. "Gary, this is Miss Powell, a new addition to our
staff. She's to be your personal aide. Nora ... Dr. Lane...."
"I'm sure," said the girl icily, "it will be a _great_ pleasure to work
with Dr. Lane." She turned to Muldoon. "If I can help _you_ with your
instruments--?"
Flick stared at her, goggle-eyed. "H-h-help, sugar! You just stand
there and look at me; that's help enough! For you I could lift
mountains!"
He proceeded to prove it, stumbling forward under a pack-mule load.
* * * * *
In Dr. Bryant's office at the Observatory, the gray-haired chief
technician turned once more to his young assistant.
"And now, Gary, I think you have kept us in suspense long enough. I
am bursting with curiosity, and I am sure Dr. Anjers must be, too. He
stratoed all the way from Eurasia to hear your report on our first Luna
Transit Expedition. Tell us the great surprise you hinted at."
Gary hesitated, eyeing the foreigner uncertainly.
"I--I'm not quite sure, sir--"
"Perhaps," suggested Dr. Anjers, "there is something the young man
would prefer to tell you in private?"
Dr. Bryant shook his head impatiently.
"Of course not, Dr. Anjers. Come, Gary ... we aren't diplomats, that we
should keep secrets from one another. We are all brother scientists.
The Foundation has asked Doctor Anjers to help tabulate the results of
your findings. He is an outstanding authority on cosmic radiation--"
"I know," said Gary. "Sorry, Doctor. Afraid I'm a bit jittery. No
offense meant."
The cherubic Eurasian nodded. He spoke with a hint of an accent. "And
none taken, my boy. And now--?"
Gary glanced around the room swiftly. To be frank, he himself could
not explain his secretive impulse. He knew he bore a vital message,
one so important that it must never lightly be revealed, but in this
snug group all were friends and allies. And he could not face the dread
facts alone.
He drew a deep breath, groped in his portfolio, and drew forth a packet
of photographic prints.
"As you all know," he said, "our expedition went to Luna to take
pictures of the recent Venusian transit.[1] It is unnecessary to point
out to you the desirability of the moon as an observational site. Its
lack of atmosphere, cloudless skies, absence of dust particles, offer
ideal conditions for astronomical photography.
[Footnote 1: Periodically the planet Venus passes so exactly between
our Earth and the sun that the planet is outlined against the sun's
disc and may be seen crossing it slowly as a small, black dot. These
events, known as _transits_, are quite infrequent, occurring in duos of
eight years, separated by longer intervals alternating between 105 and
122 years.
Transits of Venus occurred in 1874 and 1882, in 2004 and 2012 A.D. That
observed by Dr. Gary Lane and Flick Muldoon was apparently the transit
of June 11, 2247 A.D.--_Ed._]
"We had hoped, on this expedition, to finally solve the mystery of the
Sun's corona. Sir Arnold Gregg came near a solution when, in 2016, he
determined identity between the solar corona and Earth's Heaviside
layer. But his deduction needed verification--"
"And--" Dr. Anjers leaned forward intently--"were you successful? You
learned he was right?"
Gary's voice deepened, assuming a tonal quality akin to awe. "I don't
know. I have never studied the photographs to see. For my first glimpse
of the developed films revealed something else. Something so great, so
completely illogical yet so tremendously important that--"
He paused. "But, wait! I'm going too fast. Before I continue I should
tell you that we attached to our telelens a cinematic spectroscope, the
better to ascertain what change of elements was taking place within the
corona.
"By this spectroscope may be determined the elements of sighted
objects, also--"
"--their speed," agreed Dr. Bryant, "in relation to Earth. But I don't
see--"
"You will!" promised the young man tensely. "At the moment of transit,
when our cameras were focussed directly on Sol, chance treated us to a
phenomenon which might not happen again for untold ages. A comet from
the far depths of extra-galactic space moved within the vision of our
lenses. We got a complete photographic and spectroscopic record of it!"
* * * * *
Blank stares met his eager pronouncement. Dr. Boris Anjers looked
curious. Bryant stroked his jaw, waiting. Nora Powell laughed, her
laughter a musical shard of scorn.
"How _terribly_ interesting, Dr. Lane! I'm afraid you didn't film a
very amusing stereop, though. A film without a plot or a hero--"
Gary glared at her irately.
"Uninteresting, eh?" he growled. "A plotless story? Very well--see for
yourself! Here!"
And he tossed on the desk before his _confrères_ a set of prints.
Bryant, Anjers and the girl moved forward to look at them. Gary and
Flick glanced at one another, wondering if their associates would read
into the pictures that which they had seen and, seeing, scarcely dared
believe.
For a long moment there was silence. Then the small visiting scientist
raised his head. He said, "This is a very interesting series of
exposures, my young friend. But what a shame your camera moved!"
Gary laughed triumphantly.
"That's just it, Doctor! The camera did not move an inch! The 'motion'
in that comet is the very thing I've been talking about!"
He bent over the pictures, jabbing an excited finger at a faint white
speck in the upper corner.
"Here is the story caught by Muldoon's camera. When this first picture
was taken, the comet was far out in extra-galactic space. It had not
yet hurled itself into the galaxy of which our solar system is a part.
Its position on the two subsequent photographs enable us to determine,
accurately and perfectly, the comet's spatial trajectory.
"But look at the _fourth_ photograph! What do you see there?"
Dr. Bryant said bewilderedly, "Why, that's odd! The comet seems to have
departed from its original trajectory; it is bent at almost a 45° angle
from its former line of flight. That must be where the camera moved."
"I tell you again," swore Gary, "that camera did not move! The action
you see depicted on those prints is but one of two things: either
the motion of the comet, itself, or--" He breathed deeply, then
plunged--"or the effect worked upon the comet's light-rays by its
presence in our galaxy!"
* * * * *
Dr. Anjers glanced at him with swift concern. "What is that? Our
galaxy! I am afraid you have been overworking, my young friend--"
"Just a moment, Doctor! I have further proof." The younger man's hands
dug into his portfolio. "Dr. Bryant, let me ask you a question. If you
were asked to declare the most baffling of all astronomical puzzles,
what would you select?"
"Why--why, I suppose the 'red shift', Gary."
"Exactly! From the early Nineteenth Century to this day, one riddle
which has amazed and confounded scientists is the apparent movement of
our universe. According to all evidence, our universe is composed of a
multitude of galaxies--each of which is running away from all others at
unbelievable speed.
"This we know because of the 'red shift'--which one might call the
'Doppler effect' applied to light, rather than to sound. When one star,
comet or galaxy approaches another, pressing its light waves upon
its neighbor, the cosmic body's light waves are shortened. They shift
toward the violet side of the spectrum.
"Similarly, a _receding_ luminary pulls its waves--and the pitch of its
light is indicated by a 'red shift.'
"Observation has taught us the tragic falsehood that everything in the
universe is running away from all else. We have learned to believe in
an 'expanding universe'.
"But--" Once again Gary placed his finger upon the photographs--"study
these margins! These fine lines are the spectrographs of the comet you
have just seen. Do _they_ agree with our established theories?"
Dr. Bryant stared.
"But this is incredible, Gary! If the comet in your pictures were
nearing our galaxy--as it undoubtedly was--it should at all times
exhibit a violet shift. But, instead, it shows here a _red_ shift up to
the moment of its departure from its normal course--and thereafter a
violet shift!"
And he looked at Lane, wide-eyed and wondering. Dr. Anjers also studied
the younger scientist with respect.
Asked the Eurasian, "And the conclusion you draw, my young friend?"
"There is," said Gary seriously, "but one conclusion possible. Science
has erred for almost three centuries. Our universe is _not_ expanding.
All other galaxies are _not_ racing headlong from our own. The Greater
Universe is steadfast and secure. It is only our little solar galaxy
which moves. And we--_are contracting_!"