Ken Maddox could not remember a time when he had not wanted to become a
scientist. Maybe it started when his father first invited him to look
through a microscope. That was when he was a very small boy, but he
could still remember the revelation of that experience. He remembered
how it had seemed, on looking away from the lens, that the whole world
of normal vision was only a fragment of that which was hidden behind
curtains and shrouds and locked doors. Only men, like his father, with
special instruments and wisdom and knowledge, could ever hope to
understand the world of the unknown, which the ordinary person did not
even suspect.
Now, at sixteen, Ken was tall, with black hair that had an annoying curl
to it. He was husky enough to be the main asset of the football squad of
Mayfield High School in his senior year. He knew exactly where he was
going and what he was going to do. He would be one of those men who
lived beyond the mere surface of the world, and who would seek to
understand its deep and hidden meanings.
Ken thought of this as he watched Maria at the telescope. What a
difference between knowing the comet as this instrument showed it, and
with the knowledge revealed by modern astronomy, and knowing it as the
average person in Mayfield did.
Ken and Maria stayed in the observatory until the comet had almost
disappeared below the horizon. Mrs. Maddox brought a snack of sandwiches
and punch.
"I always do this when I see the observatory dome open," she said,
smiling. "I never know when Ken's going to quit his stargazing and come
in for the night."
"We're about through, Mom. I'll drive Maria over to her place and be
back in a little while."
"I'm going to loan him the stamps," Maria said.
Mrs. Maddox looked at Ken in mock severity. "You mean you forgot
_again_?"
"No--I remembered," Ken said lamely. "After the post office closed, that
is. Anyhow, Maria has plenty."
"Well," said Mrs. Maddox, "I know who's going to have to mail my
invitations if they're ever to get out in time for the party!"
After he and Maria had finished the snack, Ken started his car again.
The engine had cooled to normal temperature, but he watched the
indicator closely as he drove. Nothing seemed right about the action of
the car. The engine had turned over sluggishly when he pressed the
starter button, as if the battery were almost dead. Now it lugged
heavily, even when going downhill.
"The whole thing's haywire," Ken said irritably. "It acts like the
crankcase is full of sand or something."
"Let me walk the rest of the way," said Maria. "You take the car back,
and I'll bring the stamps over on my way to school in the morning."
"No, we're almost there. Nothing much more could go wrong than already
has."
When they reached Maria's place they found Professor and Mrs. Larsen
sitting on the porch.
"We've been watching the comet," Maria said excitedly. "Ken let me look
at it through his telescope."
"A remarkable event," said Professor Larsen. "I feel very fortunate to
be alive to witness it. My generation hasn't had this kind of privilege
before. I was a child when Halley's comet appeared."
"I've been trying to tell Maria what a lucky break this is, but she
agrees with Granny Wicks," said Ken.
"Oh, I do not!" Maria snapped.
"Granny Wicks?" Professor Larsen inquired. "Your grandmother?"
"No." Ken tried to cover the professor's lack of familiarity with
American idioms. "She's just the town's oldest citizen. Everybody likes
her and calls her Granny, but her mind belongs to the Middle Ages."
"You hear that, Papa?" cried Maria. "Her mind belongs to the Middle
Ages, and he says I'm like Granny Wicks!"
Maria's mother laughed gently. "I'm sure Ken didn't mean your mind is of
the Middle Ages, too, dear."
Ken flushed. "Of course not. What I mean is that Granny Wicks thinks the
comet is something mysterious and full of omens, and Maria says she sort
of thinks the same about it."
"I didn't say anything about omens and signs!"
"Well, except for that...."
"Except for that, I suppose we are all in agreement," said Professor
Larsen slowly. He drew on his pipe and it glowed brightly in the
darkness. "The whole universe is a terrible place that barely tolerates
living organisms. Almost without exception it is filled with great suns
that are flaming, atomic furnaces, or dead cinders of planets to which a
scrap of poisonous atmosphere may cling. Yes, it is indeed a great
miracle that here in this corner of the universe conditions exist where
living things have found a foothold. We may be glad that this is so, but
it does not pay man to ever forget the fierceness of the home in which
he lives. Earth is merely one room of that home, on the pleasant, sunny
side of the house. But the whole universe is his home."
"That's the thing I've been trying to say," Ken answered. "We can know
this without being afraid."
Maria's father nodded. "Yes. Fear is of no use to anyone. Awe, respect,
admiration, wonder, humility--these are all necessary. But not fear."
Maria turned from the group. "I'll bring the stamps, Ken," she said.
"Won't you come in and have some cake?" Mrs. Larsen asked.
"No, thanks. Mother fed us before we left my place. I'm afraid I
couldn't eat any more."
In a moment Maria was back. "Here are two whole sheets," she said. "I
hope that will be enough."
"Plenty. I'll see you get repaid tomorrow. Good night, everybody."
"Good night, Ken."
He moved down the walk toward his car and got in. When he pressed die
starter button the engine groaned for a few seconds and came to a
complete stop. He tried again; there was only a momentary, protesting
grind.
Ken got out and raised the hood and leaned over the engine in disgusted
contemplation. There was no visible clue to the cause of the trouble.
"Is your battery dead?" Professor Larsen called.
"No. It's something else." Ken slammed the hood harder than he had
intended. "I'll have to leave it here overnight and pick it up in the
morning."
"I can push you home with my car, or at least give you a ride."
"No, please don't bother," Ken said. "I'll tow it home with Dad's car
tomorrow. I'd just as soon walk, now. It's only a few blocks."
"As you wish. Good night, Ken."
"Good night, Professor."
* * * * *
Ken's clock radio woke him the next morning. He reached over to shut off
the newscast it carried. There was only one item any commentator talked
about now, the comet. Ken wondered how they could get away with a
repetition of the same thing, over and over, but they seemed able to get
an audience as long as they kept the proper tone of semi-hysteria in
their voices.
As his hand touched the dial to switch it off, something new caught
Ken's attention. "A curious story is coming in from all parts of the
country this morning," the announcer said. "Auto mechanics are reporting
a sudden, unusually brisk business. No one knows the reason, but there
seems to be a virtual epidemic of car breakdowns. Some garagemen are
said to be blaming new additives in gasoline and lubricating oil. It is
reported that one major oil company is undertaking an investigation of
these charges, but, in the meantime, no one really seems to have a good
answer.
"In connection with the comet, however, from widely scattered areas
comes the report that people are even blaming these engine failures on
our poor, old comet. In the Middle Ages they blamed comets for
everything from soured cream to fallen kingdoms. Maybe this modern age
isn't so different, after all. At any rate, this comet will no doubt be
happy to get back into open space, where there are no Earthmen to blame
it for all their accidents and shortcomings!"
Ken switched off the radio and lay back on the pillow. That was a real
choice one--blaming the comet for car breakdowns! Page Granny Wicks!
The breakdowns were curious, however. There was no good reason why there
should be a sudden rash of them. He wondered if they had actually
occurred, or if the story was just the work of some reporter trying to
make something out of his own inability to get into a couple of garages
that were swamped by the usual weekend rush. This was most likely the
case.
However it didn't explain why his own car had suddenly conked out, Ken
thought irritably. He'd have to get it over to Art Matthews' garage as
soon as school was out.
At school that morning there was little talk of anything but the comet.
After physics class, Ken was met by Joe Walton and three other members
of the science club, of which Ken was president.
"We want a special meeting," said Joe. "We've just had the most
brilliant brainstorm of our brief careers."
"It had better be more brilliant than the last one," said Ken. "That
drained the club treasury of its last peso."
"I was watching the comet last night, and I began to smell the dust of
its tail as the Earth moved into it...."
"You must have been smelling something a lot more powerful than comet
dust."
"I said to myself--why don't we collect some of that stuff and bottle it
and see what it's made of? What do you think?" Joe asked eagerly.
Ken scowled. "Just how many molecules of material from the comet's tail
do you think there are in the atmosphere over Mayfield right now?"
"How do I know? Six--maybe eight."
Ken laughed. "You're crazy, anyway. What have you got in mind?"
"I'm not sure," Joe answered seriously. "We know the comet's tail is so
rarefied that it resembles a pretty fair vacuum, but it _is_ composed of
something. As it mixes with the atmosphere we ought to be able to
determine the changing makeup of the air and get a pretty good idea of
the composition of the comet's tail. This is a chance nobody's ever had
before--and maybe never will again, until we go right out there in
spaceships--being right inside a comet's tail long enough to analyze
it!"
"It sounds like a terrific project," Ken admitted. "The universities
will all be doing it, of course, but it would still be a neat trick if
we could bring it off. Maybe Dad and Professor Larsen will have ideas on
how we could do it."
"We ought to be able to make most of the equipment," said Joe, "so it
shouldn't be too expensive. Anyway, we'll have a meeting then, right
after school?"
"Yes--no, wait. The engine in my car conked out. I've got to go over to
Art's with it this afternoon. You go ahead without me. Kick the idea
around and let me know what's decided. I'll go along with anything short
of mortgaging the football field."
"Okay," said Joe. "I don't see why you don't just sell that hunk of junk
and get a real automobile. You've got a good excuse now. This breakdown
is a good omen!"
"Don't talk to me about omens!"
* * * * *
Art Matthews had the best equipped garage in town, and was a sort of
unofficial godfather to all the hot-rodders in the county. He helped
them plane the heads of their cars. He got their special cams and
carburetor and manifold assemblies wholesale, and he gave them fatherly
advice about using their heads when they were behind the wheel.
Ken called him at noon. "I've got troubles, Art," he said. "Can I bring
the car over after school?"
"I'm afraid I can't do a thing for you today," Art Matthews said. "I
don't know what's happened, but I've had tow calls all day. Right now
the shop is full and they're stacked four-high outside. I'm going to do
a couple of highway patrol cars and Doc Adams'. I figured they ought to
have priority."
Ken felt a sudden, uneasy sense of recognition. This was the same kind
of thing he had heard about on the radio that morning! A rash of car
breakdowns all over the country. Now, the same thing in Mayfield!
"What's wrong with them?" he asked the mechanic. "Why is everybody
coming in with trouble at the same time?"
"They're not coming in," said Art. "I'm having to go out after them. I
don't know yet what's wrong. They heat up and stall. It's the craziest
thing I've run into in 30 years of garage work."
"Mine acted the same way," Ken said.
"Yeah? Well, you're in good company. Listen, why don't you and maybe Joe
and Al come down and give me a hand after school? I'll never get on top
here without some help. After we get these police and other priority
cars out of the way, maybe we can get a quick look at what's wrong with
yours."
"It's a deal."
Joe Walton wasn't much in favor of spending that afternoon and an
unknown number of others in Art's garage; he was too overwhelmed by the
idea of analyzing the material of the comet's tail. However Art had done
all of them too many favors in the past to ignore his call for help.
"The trouble with this town," Joe said, "is that three-fourths of the
so-called automobiles running around the streets belong down at
Thompson's Auto Wrecking."
Al Miner agreed to come, too. When they reached the garage after school
they saw Art had not been exaggerating. His place was surrounded by
stalled cars, and the street outside was lined with them in both
directions. Ken borrowed the tow truck and brought his own car back from
the Larsens'. By that time the other two boys were at work.
"Batteries are all okay," Art told him. "Some of these engines will turn
over, but most of them won't budge. I've jerked a couple of heads, but
I can't see anything. I want you to take the pans off and take down the
bearings to see if they're frozen. That's what they act like. When
that's done, we'll take it from there."
Ken hoisted the front end of one of the police cars and slid under it on
a creeper. Art's electric impact wrenches were all in use, so he began
the laborious removal of the pan bolts by hand. He had scarcely started
when he heard a yell from Joe who was beneath the other police car.
"What's the matter?" Art called.
"Come here! Look at this!"
The others crowded around, peering under the car. Joe banged and pried
at one of the bearings, still clinging to the crankshaft after the cap
had been removed.
"Don't do that!" Art shouted at him. "You'll jimmy up the crankshaft!"
"Mr. Matthews," Joe said solemnly, "this here crankshaft has been
jimmied up just as much as it's ever going to get jimmied. These
bearings are welded solid. They'll have to be machined off!"
"Nothing could freeze them to the shaft that hard," Art exclaimed.
Joe moved out of the way. Art crawled under and tapped the bearing. He
pried at it with a chisel. Then he applied a cold chisel and pounded.
The bearing metal came away chip by chip, but the bulk of it clung to
the shaft as if welded.
"I've never seen anything like that before in my life!" Art came out
from beneath the car.
"What do you think could cause it?" Joe asked.
"Gas!" said Art vehemently. "The awful gas they're putting out these
days. They put everything into it except sulphur and molasses, and they
expect an engine to run. Additives, they call 'em! Detergents! Why can't
they sell us plain old gasoline?"
Ken watched from a distance behind the group. He looked at the silent,
motionless cars in uneasy speculation. He recalled again the radio
announcement of that morning. Maybe it _could_ be something they were
adding to the gas or oil, as Art said. It couldn't, however, happen so
suddenly--not all over the country. Not in New York, Montgomery,
Alabama, San Francisco, and Mayfield. Not all at the same time.
Art turned up the shop lights. Outside, as the sun lowered in the sky,
the glow of the comet began turning the landscape a copper-yellow hue.
Its light came through the broad doors of the garage and spread over the
half-dismantled cars.
"All right, let's go," said Art. His voice held a kind of false
cheeriness, as if something far beyond his comprehension had passed
before him and he was at a loss to meet it or even understand it.
"Let's go," he said again. "Loosen all those connecting rods and get the
shafts out. We'll see what happens when we try to pull the pistons."