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The Year When Stardust Fell
_A Science Fiction Novel_
By Raymond F. Jones
[Transcriber note: Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Jacket Design by James Heugh
Endpaper Design by Alex Schomburg
_Cecile Matschat, Editor
Carl Carmer, Consulting Editor_
THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY
Philadelphia, Toronto
Copyright, 1958
By Raymond F. Jones
FIRST EDITION
_Made in the United States of America_
_To Laura Lee_
Contents
_Of Men of Science_
1. _The Comet_
2. _Breakdown_
3. _Power Failure_
4. _Disaster Spreads_
5. _Thief_
6. _The Scientist_
7. _Dust from the Stars_
8. _Attack_
9. _Judgment_
10. _Victory of the Dust_
11. _The Animals Are Sick_
12. _Decontamination_
13. _Stay Out of Town!_
14. _Mobilization_
15. _Battle_
16. _Black Victory_
17. _Balance of Nature_
18. _Witchcraft_
19. _Conquest of the Comet_
20. _Reconstruction_
_About the Author_
_Of Men of Science_
The story of man is the story--endlessly repeated--of a struggle:
between light and darkness, between knowledge and ignorance, between
good and evil, between men who would build and men who would destroy. It
is no more complicated than this.
That light, knowledge, good, and constructive men have had a small edge
in this struggle is attested to by our slow rise over the long millennia
of time. In taking stock of our successes, however, it is easy to assume
the victory has been won. Nothing could be further from the truth. This
is a contest that is never ended, nor can it be, as long as men are upon
the Earth.
While man has free choice, the elements of darkness, ignorance, evil and
destruction are available for him to choose, and there are times when
these seem the best alternatives.
At the end of the 18th century one of the greatest minds of all time was
destroyed by one stroke of a guillotine blade. The judge who presided at
the trial of the great French chemist Lavoisier is reported to have
said, "The Republic has no need of men of science."
Choices like this have often been made by the society of man. A turnoff
to darkness has been deliberately taken, superstition has been embraced
while knowledge has been destroyed.
When times are placid we assume such choices could result only from some
great insanity; that the men who made them had themselves known more
pleasant days. The truth is that there are extremes of circumstance
which could force almost any man to abandon that which he has always
held to be right and good, and only the very giants could stand up and
prove themselves unmoved.
Such giants may seem, in ordinary life, rather obscure. Illustrating
this are the people in this story: a somewhat pompous little mayor; a
professor of chemistry in a small-town college in the mountain west; a
minister of the gospel, who would be lost with a big-city congregation;
a sheriff who doesn't care what happens to him personally as long as he
sticks to the kind of rightness that has always worked; and a
high-school boy who learns what it means to do a man's work.
Such people are important, the most important people alive today. They
are the ones whose hands hold all that our culture has achieved when
catastrophe overtakes us.
The illusion of security is a vicious one. With physical comforts around
us, the abyss that is just beyond our walls is forgotten: the abyss of
outer space, beyond the paper-thin atmosphere shielding us; of the fires
in the earth beneath; of the hurricane winds beyond the horizon; of the
evil and insanity in the minds of many men.
The caveman dared not forget these abysses, nor the frontiersman, nor
the scientist who fought the witch hunters to bring forth a new truth of
Nature. But when we believe we are secure we do forget them.
In catastrophe, the most recent achievements of the race are the first
to go. When war comes, or mobs attack, or hurricanes strike, our science
and our arts are abandoned first. Necessity of survival seems to insist
that we cannot fool with things of the mind and of the soul when
destruction threatens the body. And so, "The Republic has no need of men
of science."
Emergency can take any form. Here is a story in which the mechanical
foundation of our culture is threatened. Whether the means of this
threat, as I have pictured it, could possibly occur, I do not know. I
know of no reason why it could not, if circumstances were right.
But more important, this is what happens to a small, college town caught
up in such disaster. How quickly do its people dispense with their men
of science and turn to superstition and mob rule for hope of survival?
It is perhaps not so apparent to those of us who have grown up with it,
but we have witnessed in our own time, under threat of calamity, the
decline of science before a blight of crash-priority engineering
technology. Today, we hear it faintly whispered, "The Republic has no
need of men of science."
Insofar as he represents the achievements of our race over the great
reaches of time, the scientist will always be needed if we are to retain
the foothold we have gained over Nature. The witch doctors and the
fortunetellers clamor for his niche and will gladly extend their
services if we wish to change our allegiance.
The story of THE YEAR WHEN STARDUST FELL is not a story of the distant
future or of the remote past. It is not a story of a never-never land
where fantastic happenings take place daily. It is a story of my town
and yours, of people like you and me and the mayor in townhall, his
sheriff on the corner, and the professor in the university--a story that
happens no later than tomorrow.
R. F. J.
Chapter 1. _The Comet_
The comet was the only thing in the whole sky. All the stars were
smothered by the light of its copper-yellow flame, and, although the sun
had set two hours ago, the Earth was lit as with the glow of a
thunderous dawn.
In Mayfield, Ken Maddox walked slowly along Main Street, avoiding
collisions with other people whose eyes were fixed on the object in the
sky. Ken had spent scores of hours observing the comet carefully, both
by naked eye and with his 12-inch reflecting telescope. Still he could
not keep from watching it as he picked his way along the street toward
the post office.
The comet had been approaching Earth for months, growing steadily to
bigger proportions in the sky, but tonight was a very special night, and
Mayfield was watching with increased awe and half-dread--as were
hundreds of thousands of other communities around the world.
Tonight, the Earth entered the comet's tail, and during the coming
winter would be swept continuously by its million-mile spread.
There was no visible change. The astronomers had cautioned that none was
to be expected. The Earth had passed through the tails of comets
before, although briefly, and none of the inhabitants had been
physically aware of the event.
This time there was a difference. As intangible as a mere suspicion, it
could yet be felt, and there was the expectancy of the unknown in the
air.
Ken prided himself on a scientific attitude, but it was hard not to
share the feelings of those around him that something momentous and
mysterious was taking place this night. There would be no quick passage
this time. Earth would lie within the tail for a period of over four
months as they both made their way about the sun.
Such close-lying orbits had never occurred before in the known history
of the world.
"It's frightening, isn't it?"
Ken was aware that he had stopped at the edge of a crowd in front of
Billings Drugstore, and beside him Maria Larsen was staring intently
upward as she spoke.
She was a small, blonde girl with intense blue eyes. Ken smiled
confidently and looked down at her. "No," he said. "It's a beautiful
thing. It's a kind of miracle that we should be alive when it happened.
No human beings have ever seen such a sight before."
Maria shivered faintly. "I wish I could feel that way. Do you think it
will get any bigger?"
"Yes. It will not reach its closest approach for over three months, yet.
Its approach is very slow so we won't notice much change."
"It is beautiful," Maria agreed slowly, "but, still, it's frightening.
I'll be glad when it's gone."
Ken laughed and tucked the girl's arm in his. There was something so
disturbingly serious about the Swedish girl, who was spending a year in
Mayfield with her parents. Her father, Dr. Larsen, was a visiting
professor of chemistry, engaged to teach this season at the State
Agricultural College in Mayfield. Ken's own father was head of the
chemistry department there.
"Come down to the post office with me to get some stamps," Ken said.
"Then I'll drive you home."
"It's closed. You can't get any stamps tonight."
"Maybe the boys in gray haven't been too busy watching the comet to
stock the stamp machine. Look out!" He pulled her back quickly as she
stepped from the curb. A wheezy car moved past, its driver completely
intent on his observation of the comet.
"Old Dad Martin's been trying to wrap that thing around a pole for 25
years," Ken said unhappily. "It looks like he's going to make it
tonight!"
Along the street, bystanders whistled at the aged driver, and
pedestrians yelled at one another to get out of the way. The car's
progress broke, for a moment, the sense of ominous concern that spread
over Main Street.
At the post office, Ken found Maria's prediction was right. The stamp
machine was empty.
"I have some at home," the girl said. "You're welcome to them."
"I need a lot. Mother's sending out some invitations."
"I'm sure I have enough. Papa says I'm supporting the postal department
with all the letters I write to everyone at home in Sweden."
"All right, I'll take you up on it. I'll get skinned if I don't get
them. I was supposed to pick them up this afternoon and I forgot all
about it."
"I thought I learned good English in the schools in Sweden," said Maria
wistfully, "but I don't seem to understand half what you say. This
'skinned'--what does that mean?"
"Nothing you need to worry about," Ken laughed. "If you would teach me
English the way you learned it, Miss Rymer would give me a lot better
marks in her class."
"Now I think you're making fun of me," said Maria.
"Not me. Believe me, I'm not! Hey, look what's coming down the street!
That's old Granny Wicks. I thought she had died a long time ago."
In front of the post office, an ancient white horse drew a light,
ramshackle wagon to a halt. From the seat, a small, wizened, old woman
looked at the crowd on the street. She dropped the reins in front of
her. Her eyes, set deeply in her wrinkled face, were bright and sharp as
a bird's, and moved with the same snapping motions.
From both sides of the street the bystanders watched her. Granny Wicks
was known to everyone in Mayfield. She was said to have been the first
white child born in the valley, almost a hundred years ago. At one time,
her horse and wagon were familiar, everyday sights on the streets, but
she seldom came to town any more.
Many people, like Ken, had had the vague impression that she was dead.
She appeared lively enough now as she scrambled down from the wagon seat
and moved across the sidewalk to the post office steps. She climbed
these and stood in front of the doors. Curiously, the crowd watched her.
"Listen to me, you!" she exclaimed suddenly. Her voice was high and
shrill, reminding Ken of an angry bird's. Maria looked at him
wonderingly, and he shrugged his shoulders.
"Don't ask me what she's up to. She's pulled some corkers in her time."
Granny Wicks looked over the gathering crowd. Then she pointed a bony
arm at the glowing comet. "You know what it means," she exclaimed
shrilly. "You feel it in your bones, and your hearts quiver with fear.
There's death in the sky, and an omen to all the inhabitants of the
Earth that destruction awaits men."
She stopped and glared. The laughter that had first greeted her gave
way to uneasiness as people glanced at their neighbors, then hastily at
the comet, and back to Granny Wicks. Some began moving away in
discomfort.
"You're scared to listen, eh?" Granny shrilled at them. "You're afraid
to know what's in store! Turn your backs then! Close your ears! You
can't change the signs in the heavens!"
A movement in the crowd caught Ken's eye. He saw the stout figure of
Sheriff Johnson moving toward the steps. The law officer stepped out in
front and approached Granny Wicks.
"Come on now, Granny," said Sheriff Johnson. "You wouldn't want to scare
folks out of a good night's sleep, would you?"
"You let me alone, Sam Johnson! I'm saying what I have to say, and
nobody's going to stop me. Listen to me, all of you! There's death in
Mayfield in the winter that's coming, and spring won't see one man in
ten left alive. Remember what I say. The stars have sent their
messenger...."
"Okay, Granny, let's go," said the Sheriff. "You've said your piece and
scared the daylights out of everybody. You'd better be getting on out to
your place before it gets dark. The comet won't light things up all
night. How's your supply of wood and coal for the winter, Granny? The
boys been getting it in for you?"
"I got plenty, Sam Johnson. More'n I'll need for this winter. Come
spring, I won't be around to be needing anything else from anybody.
Neither will you!"
The Sheriff watched as the old woman climbed to her wagon seat again.
Those standing nearby helped her gently. She took the reins and snapped
them at the weary horse.
"Take care of yourself, Granny!" someone called.
Sheriff Johnson stood silently on the steps until the wagon passed out
of sight around the corner of the block. Then he moved slowly by Ken and
Maria. He smiled grimly at Ken.
"It's bad enough to have that thing hanging up there in the sky without
that kind of talk." He glanced up for a moment. "It gives you the
willies. Sometimes I wonder, myself, if Granny isn't half-right."
There was a stillness in the street as the people slowly dispersed ahead
of the Sheriff. Voices were low, and the banter was gone. The yellow
light from the sky cast weird, bobbing shadows on the pavement and
against the buildings.
"Shall we go?" Maria asked. "This is giving me--what do you say?--the
creeps."
"It's crazy!" Ken exclaimed with a burst of feeling. "It shows what
ignorance of something new and strange can do. One feebleminded, old
woman can infect a whole crowd with her crazy superstitions, just
because they don't know any more about this thing than she does!"
"It's more than that," said Maria quietly. "It's the feeling that people
have always had about the world they find themselves in. It doesn't
matter how much you know about the ocean and the winds and the tides,
there is always a feeling of wonder and fear when you stand on the shore
and watch enormous waves pounding the rocks.
"Even if you know what makes the thunder and the lightning, you can't
watch a great storm without feeling very small and puny."
"Of course not," Ken said. "Astronomers feel all that when they look a
couple of billion light-years into space. Physicists know it when they
discover a new particle of matter. But _they_ don't go around muttering
about omens and signs. You can feel the strength of natural forces
without being scared to death.
"Maybe that's what marks the only real difference between witches and
scientists, after all! The first scientist was the guy who saw fire come
down from the sky and decided that was the answer to some of his
problems. The witch doctor was too scared of both the problem and the
answer to believe the problem could ever have a solution. So he
manufactured delusions to make himself and others think the problem
would just quietly go away. There are a lot of witch doctors still
operating and they're not all as easy to recognize as Granny Wicks!"
They reached Ken's car, and he held the door open for Maria. As he
climbed in his own side he said, "How about coming over to my place and
having a look at the comet through my telescope? You'll see something
really awe-inspiring then."
"I'd love to. Right now?"
"Sure." Ken started the car and swung away from the curb, keeping a
careful eye on the road, watching for any others like Dad Martin.
"Sometimes I think there will be a great many things I'll miss when we
go back to Sweden," Maria said thoughtfully, as she settled back in the
seat, enjoying the smooth, powerful ride of Ken's souped-up car.
Ken shot a quick glance at her. He felt a sudden sense of loss, as if he
had not realized before that their acquaintance was strictly temporary.
"I guess a lot of people here will miss the Larsens, too," he said
quietly. "What will you miss most of all?"
"The bigness of everything," said Maria. "The hundreds and hundreds of
miles of open country. The schoolboys with cars to cover the distance.
At home, a grown man is fortunate to have one. Papa had a very hard time
owning one."
"Why don't you persuade him to stay here? Mayfield's a darn good place
to live."
"I've tried already, but he says that when a man is grown he has too
many things to hold him to the place he's always known. He has promised,
however, to let me come back if I want to, after I finish the university
at home."
"That would be nice." Ken turned away, keeping his eyes intently on the
road. There was nothing else he could say.
He drove slowly up the long grade of College Avenue. His family lived in
an older house a block below the brow of College Hill. It gave a
pleasant view of the entire expanse of the valley in which Mayfield was
situated. The houses of the town ranged themselves in neat, orderly rows
below, and spread out on the other side of the business section. In the
distance, north and south, were the small farms where hay and dairy
stock and truck crops had been raised since pioneer times.
"I'll miss this, too," said Maria. "It's beautiful."
Ken wasn't listening to her, however. The car had begun to sputter
painfully as it took the curve leading off the avenue to Linwood Street
where Ken lived. He glanced at the heat indicator. The needle was almost
at the boiling point.
"For Pete's sake! The water must have leaked out of the radiator."
Ken pulled the car to the curb in front of the house and got out,
leaving the engine idling. He raised the hood and cautiously turned the
radiator cap with his handkerchief. A cloud of steam shot out, but when
he lifted the cap the water was not quite boiling, and there was plenty
of it.
Maria came up beside him. "Is something wrong?"
"You've got me there. The radiator's clean. The pump isn't more than two
months old. I checked the timing last Saturday. Something's gone sour to
make her heat up like that."
From across the street, his neighbor, Mr. Wilkins, approached with a
grin. "Looks like the same thing hit us both. Mine started boiling as I
came up the hill tonight. It's got me stumped."
"The circulation must be clogged," said Ken. "Either that or the timing
has slipped off. That's all it could be."
"Those were my ideas, too. Both wrong in my case. Let me know if you get
any other bright ones." He moved off with a pleasant wave of his hand.
"It will cool," said Ken to Maria. "By the time you're ready to leave
I'll be able to drive you home."
"I wouldn't want you to damage your car. I can walk."
"We'll see."
He led her around the house. In the center of the backyard loomed the
high, round dome of his amateur observatory. It was Ken's personal
pride, as well as that of the members of the Mayfield High Science Club,
who had helped build the shell and the mountings. The club used it every
Thursday night when the seeing was good.
Ken had ground the precision mirror alone. He had ground his first one,
a 4-inch glass, when he was a Boy Scout. Three years later he had
tackled the tremendous job of producing a 12-inch one. Professor Douglas
of the physics department at the college had pronounced it perfect.
Ken opened the door and switched on the light inside the dome. "Don't
mind the mess," he said. "I've been taking photographs of the comet for
the last month."
To Maria, who was used to the clutter of a laboratory, there was no
mess. She admired the beauty of the instrument Ken and his friends had
built. "Our university telescope isn't any better," she said.
"You can't tell by the plumbing," Ken laughed. "Better take a look at
the image before you pass judgment."
Skilfully, he swung the long tube around to the direction of the comet.
With the fine controls he centered the cross hairs of the eyepiece on
the blazing object in the sky.
"It's moving too fast to stay in range very long," he said.
Maria stepped to the observer's position. She gasped suddenly at the
image of the fiery monster hovering in the sky. Viewing the comet along
the axis of the tail, as the Earth lay at the edge of it, an observer's
vision was like that of a miniature, flaming sun with an offcenter halo
of pulsing, golden light.
To Maria, the comet seemed like something living. Slow, almost
imperceptible ripples in the glowing scarves of light made them sway as
if before some mighty, cosmic wind in space.
"It's beautiful," Maria murmured, "but it's terrible, too. No wonder the
ancients believed comets brought evil and death upon the Earth. I could
almost believe it, myself!"