The moon is not only the most prominent object in our heavens, but
also an integral part of the earth. We are, so to speak, an
astronomical unit, and we affect each other for better or for
worse.
We know that the gravitational attraction of the moon causes our
tides, and tends to slow up the earth in her daily rotation. It has
also been deemed responsible for earthquakes, causing untold
suffering among earth's people.
But so far the effect of the moon has been rather an inhuman
affair. No man has gone to the moon to see just what conditions are
there, and to observe accurately the influence that the moon and
earth exercise over each other. But when interplanetary travel does
come, when commerce between moon and earth may possibly assume
importance in our lives, the influence of the moon upon us may be
more accurately determined. And when it is, the amazing series of
incidents, pictured in this story, may yet come true.
* * * * *
Professor Erickson, head of the International Seismographical Institute,
sat with bowed head and pale face, watching the stylus of the instrument
before him trace its path on the slowly revolving drum. The laboratory,
situated high in the Himalayas, trembled slightly as mid-winter storms
roared and whistled around it, but something quite different, and
infinitely more sinister, was causing the needle to wander from its
ordinarily straight path.
Suddenly, with horrible certainty, it jumped, wavered back and forth,
and then moved rapidly to the right, until its black ink no longer
traced a line on the white paper.
"Holden," shouted Erickson to his assistant, "what does the direction
and distance finder tell us? The stylus has run clear off the graph."
Young Jack Holden was working feverishly over the dials and levers of
the panel before him. Slender yet strong, he looked like a long-bow of
stout old yew as he bent to the task. His steel gray eyes focused
intently on the verniers, taking the readings. The muscles in his tanned
cheeks were tight as he turned toward his superior. For a moment the
very storm seemed to hush, awaiting the words. Then he spoke.
"It's the Laurentian fault!"
For a moment both men stared at each other, stunned and helpless.
"That means," Holden managed to say, "that New York is a mass of ruins."
Pictures were forming in his mind; he saw the huge steel and glass
towers of the city, tossed and torn by the convulsive writhings of the
earth beneath. Great engineers had said that the city was safe, that no
tremors would ever disturb it, but they knew nothing of the terrific
force of such a shock as this. Those massive buildings, thousands of
feet high, would now be mere heaps of twisted junk. Holden closed his
eyes to shut out the picture, but to no avail. His sister! God! She was
probably one of the millions who now lay, crushed, bleeding and helpless
beneath the wreckage of the too-proud metropolis.
"My boy," the professor was speaking, "we must stay with our work, no
matter what happens." His voice was low; his entire family had been
wiped out, without doubt, but Science must be served.
For hours the two sat before their instruments, as shock after shock was
recorded. Jones came down from the television room above, and his report
confirmed their observations in horrible detail.
"All communications from the city itself are cut off, but an airliner
from England, which was about to dock, has broadcast the scene. Aid is
being rushed from all over the world, but at a conservative estimate ten
million are already dead, and millions more will probably die, buried
and hidden as they are beneath the wreckage."
At last, nearly five hours after the first shock, the Professor stood
up.
"I think that is all. My prophecies have come true, and at last my
theories will be needed. But the cost of it all, the horrible cost!"
* * * * *
Two weeks later a group of men were seated around the conference table
in the spacious offices of the Department of Public Safety of the World
Union. All faces were turned toward the stooped figure of Professor
Erickson, who was speaking from the head of the table.
"Gentlemen, I have outlined to you, only too briefly, the damage caused
by the quake a few days ago. I now state that a repetition of such a
disaster is imminent. Great faults have formed in the basic granites
throughout the entire globe. Observations recorded during five centuries
since the first conception of the idea by Dr. Maxwell Allen in 1931,
show conclusively that Earth-tides, set up by the attraction of the
moon, cause a sweeping series of stresses and strains. These, coming to
a fault, produce earthquakes. Now that there are huge faults in the
basic rock, these quakes will be of a tremendous force and range which
the most modern structures will be unable to resist."
"Professor," spoke John Dorman, Secretary of Public Safety, "if all this
is true, and we are assured that it is, what on earth can be done about
it?"
"Gentlemen, during nearly seventy years I have studied that problem,
and I have come to only one conclusion. Nothing on earth can be done
about it, if you permit the remark, but men from earth can do something.
_Destroy the moon!_"
A gasp went up from the great men assembled there. Erickson's colleagues
nodded in helpless agreement.
"But how?" The question came from all sides. Famous engineers looked at
each other questioningly.
"Gentlemen." This was a new voice, young and full of energy.
"Mr. Holden," responded the chairman.
"Professor Erickson was so kind as to confide in me several years ago,
and since then I have been at work on this problem. I have solved it."
Eager interest shone on all faces. Jack Holden was known and liked by
many of these men, despite his youth. His discovery of _hexoxen_, the
chemical which turned solid matter into almost intangible vapor, had
created quite a stir in scientific circles.
He now continued his address.
"If all the resources of Earth are made use of, it would be possible to
produce hundreds of tons of _hexoxen_ and sufficient amounts of the
element Europium to act as a catalyst. That would be plenty to reduce
the moon to a gaseous state. The clouds of gas could then be penetrated
by anti-gravitational screens, which would cause the smaller pieces to
drift off into space, where they will do no harm whatsoever."
Several distinguished engineers nodded their heads. One of them spoke.
"Mr. Secretary, the plan is entirely feasible. I move that Mr. Holden be
given permission to make use of all the necessary resources to carry out
his plan, and that he be placed in sole charge, assisted by an advisory
board of which Professor Erickson shall be chairman."
The motion was carried, the papers drawn up, and the meeting adjourned.
Holden grasped Professor Erickson firmly by the arm and hurried him to
the elevator.
"We've got just five minutes to get to the port. We're catching the
first airliner for San Francisco. There are three of the latest model
Mars-Earth freighters there, which we will use for our expedition. We
will also be near the best source of Europium. Hurry."
As the elevator shot downward, the old professor endeavored to
congratulate Holden on his appointment.
"Forget it. This was your idea, and they should have named you leader of
the expedition, but that really doesn't make much difference. Anything
you say goes, see?"
A crowd was milling around the entrance to the Western Hemisphere
tunnel. An official tried to stop Holden and his companion as they
pushed their way through the crowd.
"The liner is leaving. You can't go in there."
"Oh, we can't, huh? Here."
A single glance at the paper shoved under his nose, and the gatekeeper
came to life.
"Right this way, you're just in time."
The three ran out on top of the building, where the beautiful silver
shape of the liner floated at the top of a short tower. An officer was
just giving the command to cast loose, but as Holden shouted to him, he
countermanded it, for special orders from the Union had to be obeyed,
even if schedules were spoiled.
* * * * *
Nodding their thanks to the now obsequious gateman, the two scientists
hurried up the ladder that had been dropped for them; again came the
shouted "Cast off," and the huge liner, impelled by powerful motors,
rose rapidly to the high altitude at which she traveled.
"Message for you, sir," said a pleasant voice at Holden's elbow, and he
turned. A neatly uniformed boy held out to him a thin envelope. Breaking
the seal, he read rapidly.
"Will you show us in to the Captain, please," he addressed the boy as he
finished the message.
The lad nodded, and led them down a long hall to the bow of the ship and
up to the bridge.
"Mr. Holden, I presume? And Professor Erickson? I am Captain Linet."
The Captain was an immense man, well over six feet, with the build of a
prizefighter. His face was pleasant, but there was an expression of
intense sorrow in his deep blue eyes.
"I understand that you have been appointed to head an expedition to the
moon, the nature of which has not been revealed, but which will do away
forever with the earthquakes which have become so prevalent. I wish to
join that expedition. My beloved wife was in New York at the time of the
last quake. You understand."
Holden nodded sympathetically. He would be glad to have all the men like
this he could find, and he expressed that opinion to the Captain.
"Thank you. I will resign my position when we reach San Francisco, and
will await your orders."
"But, Captain," Holden asked, "how did you know that I was head of the
expedition?"
"Oh, the news has been broadcast everywhere, with instructions to give
you any aid possible. But no information was given as to the exact
nature of the trip. Could I be trusted--?"
"Why certainly. We are going to destroy the moon, wipe it out of
existence, so that it will cease to exert the tremendous gravitational
pull that has been causing--."
At that moment a petty officer appeared behind the Captain.
"Have you any further orders concerning the cargo to be dumped at New
Orleans?"
"No. I thought I gave you to understand that there were to be no more
additions to that cargo. Didn't you hear me?"
"I beg your pardon, sir," the man said, and walked away.
"I wonder how much of our conversation he heard?" mused Erickson. "But
then, I suppose it makes no difference."
After a few minutes of conversation, Holden asked the Captain if they
could be shown their cabins, so that they could get a few hours of rest
before reaching their destination. The request was readily granted, and
in a few minutes Holden was alone in a neat little room, furnished with
a comfortable chair, tables along two walls, and a very pleasant looking
berth built into the third side. The professor had a similar place a few
doors down the hall.
Holden threw off his shoes and coat and tumbled into the berth. The
events of the last weeks were spinning in his head, and a procession of
visions passed before his eyes. That terrible catastrophe, the trip to
Europe, to the capitol of the World Union, and now, the appointment as
leader of the most important expedition in the history of the universe,
with the possible exception of that first epoch-making voyage to Mars
back in 2350.
Another vision appeared before his eyes. Jean! Jean, his own sweetheart,
the one person in the world who mattered, gone now for a full year. Why
had she decided to make the voyage to Mars? What could have happened to
the ill-fated _Gloriana_, with her hundreds of passengers and valuable
cargo? A year ago she had left; and, as some people said, merely drifted
out into space, never to be heard from again.
A deep sob shook Holden's body as he thought of that beautiful girl,
who, laughing at his fears, had stepped into the space flyer with a
smile on her lips, promising to come back in a year and marry him.
At last, however, these memories gave way before exhaustion, and he fell
into a sleep, troubled by strange dreams. It seemed that a great serpent
had attacked him, and, flinging its coils about his body, was slowly
squeezing out his life. Suddenly, he was wide awake. Strong hands were
on his throat, the thumbs were pressed tight against his larynx.
He struggled to gain his breath, to shout for help, but the pressure
closed his throat. In another moment it would be too late. Then his mind
cleared; raising both hands to the back of his neck, he grasped the
little fingers of his assailant, and pulled with all his strength. The
man gave a cry of pain and anger and relaxed his grip. Holden gulped in
a breath of air, and flung himself from his berth, endeavoring to catch
and hold the coward who had attacked in the dark. The man, however, was
wiry and quick. With a sudden jerk he wriggled loose, gained the door
and was gone. When Holden reached the corridor, no one was in sight.
Quickly he walked to Professor Erickson's room, awakened him, and told
him what had happened.
Erickson rang up a steward, who promised to do everything in his power
to apprehend the culprit.
"Who could it have been?" asked Erickson.
"I haven't the slightest idea. I have no enemies that I know of. I'm not
carrying any valuables. It was probably a case of mistaken identity."
The incident was dismissed with that interpretation, and it was several
weeks before Holden thought of it again, but then he wished fervently
that he had investigated more thoroughly.