THAT WORLDS MAY LIVE

By NELSON S. BOND

Not only the Solar System was involved in this
war, but the entire universe; because of an old
legendary secret—the mystery of Gog and Magog!

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Amazing Stories April 1943.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

CONTENTS

A wave of howling men swarmed up the wall.

CHAPTER I

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.

"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!"

CHAPTER II

The Deadly Radiation

Nora Powell was frankly out of her depth. It showed in her eyes, and in the petulant protrusion of her lower lip. She asked, cool gaze studying her new superior, "Would you be kind enough to explain that more fully, Dr. Lane?"

Gary needed no urging. It was this theory which was responsible for his unusual curtness, for his irate explosion at the rocketdrome, for the preoccupation that had marked his return flight from Luna to Earth.

He wanted most desperately to convince his superior, Dr. Bryant, and all his other associates, that this startling discovery was not lightly to be dismissed.

Furthermore—and it surprised Gary Lane to find the desire within him—he wanted to prove to Nora Powell that he was not, in truth, the ogre she now believed him. That there had been an excuse for his rudeness.

So he spoke, setting forth the arguments thought out during the flight from Earth's satellite.

"You are all familiar," he said, "with the theory of the 'expanding' or 'bubble' universe.

"We approach an understanding of this by thinking of our existence—our universe of three spatial dimensions with one temporal extension—as a sphere which is all surface.

"Not merely a hollow sphere, you understand. Everything—including empty space, solid matter and energy, is on the surface of this hypersphere. Thus our galaxy constitutes one point imbedded in the surface of the sphere ... the nearest star is another ... the farthest still another ... and so on with each of a billion galaxies.

"It has been suggested that an undefined 'something' is 'blowing up' this bubble, and that as expansion increases, the degree of separation between galaxies widens so that they appear to be running away from each other. The big objection to this theory has been the insurmountable question—if this hypersphere is expanding, into what, since it contains all of Space and Time in itself, does it expand?"

Dr. Anjers interrupted somewhat caustically.

"You reject this theory, I gather?"

"Completely," declared Gary boldly, "and definitely! It has not, nor will it ever, solve the paradoxes we observe. My belief is that though the Greater Universe may be a closed and finite hypersphere, it is not expanding, but static. And it lends itself to real and constant measurement."

Nora Powell said, "But, Dr. Lane—the principles of relativity! The value of h, and the Lorenz contraction—"

"Are all taken care of," insisted Gary, "if you will accept my new major premise." He pondered, briefly, how best to state his idea. Then: "Let us suppose," he said, "you are standing in the center of a floor in a large room. The walls of this room, activated by some machine, are moving away from you. If you could measure this motion spectroscopically, you would observe the phenomenon of the 'red shift'—right?"

Dr. Bryant nodded. "Yes, Gary. That is, in effect, the relationship of our galaxy to the Greater Universe as now conceived."

"Quite. But—" said Gary—"suppose that you stood motionless in that same room, and some strange force acted on you to shrink you! Then what would you see?"

The girl's eyes widened. She cried, "A—a universe running away from you!"

"And your spectroscopic analysis—?"

"Would show the red shift!" Nora whirled to the two older men. "Dr. Bryant ... Dr. Anjers ... he's right! Now I see what the pictures meant! The comet, entering our contracting galaxy, changed its course sharply—"

The foreign scientist's eyes clouded with impatience behind their heavy lids. He smiled commiseratingly. "A very interesting conjecture, my young friend. But it is fool-hardy to reason on such flimsy evidence. Your camera, despite your belief, may have shaken ... your spectroscope may have been out of adjustment ... any one of a thousand things." A chubby hand dipped swiftly into Gary's briefcase, drew forth a flat, circular tin of film. "Is this the roll on which—?"

"Don't do that!" Gary literally screamed the words, leaping forward barely in time to prevent the older scientist from opening the container. Rudely he swept the tin from Dr. Anjers' grasp, swiftly inspected the thin line of metal seal. Only after he had satisfied himself that it was intact did he think to apologize. Then: "You must forgive me, sir, please. But these are supplementary exposures; they have not yet been developed."

The small man nodded understandingly. "The fault is mine, Dr. Lane. Forgive me."

Dr. Bryant, too engrossed in his own thoughts to see the byplay, now raised his head thoughtfully.

"Nevertheless, Gary, Miss Powell raised an important point. What about our known and proven celestial mechanics?"

"My theory," said Gary firmly, "makes them even more valid. Their truth is not reversed—only their meaning. In other words, the principles of the Lorenz equation still hold true, but we must learn to interpret it from a new angle. It is not the yardstick which moves; it is the observers! We of this dwindling galaxy which, alone in all the vastness of the Greater Universe, is becoming ever smaller!"

"But—but why, Gary? Why?"

"That," confessed Lane, "I do not know. But it is a problem we must solve. And quickly. Or—"

"Or—?" prompted Nora Powell as he hesitated.

"Or—" concluded Gary grimly—"oblivion! Unless I erred seriously in my first computations, there is a limit to the amount of shrinkage matter can withstand. And that limit is rapidly drawing near. Matter cannot contract forever. If we cannot find a way to free ourselves from the strange force being brought to bear upon us from out there—" Gary's hand swept the gathering dusk of Earth's twilight—"our Earth and sun, our sister planets, our galaxy—all these are doomed!"

For the second time within minutes, silence followed one of Gary Lane's pronouncements. But this was no moment of dubiety. Something of his deadly earnestness had communicated itself to his listeners; their voices were muted as if with awe at the magnitude of his warning. Muldoon already knew, of course, and already believed. Credence shone in the eyes of Nora Powell. Dr. Anjers' broad, fair brow was drawn; the cherubic mask of his features was marred with white lines of concentration. Dr. Bryant coughed, twisting long, capable fingers into steeples of thought.

It was the foreign scientist who broke the silence. Quietly. Carefully. In a voice which might have been gently chiding, had its accent not been thickened by a note of near-alarm.

"Aren't you," he ventured softly, "aren't you being just a little bit melodramatic, Dr. Lane? After all, this is only a hypothesis. A very new and—if you will forgive me—most implausible conjecture—"

"New," agreed Gary almost harshly, "but not implausible, Doctor. We know, don't we, Flick?" The camera expert nodded. "We know, and we have further proof. Those rolls of film offer half of it; simple mathematics supplies the rest. Flick, suppose you get to work on those exposures right away. We'll show them—"

"O.Q., Gary," said Muldoon. "I'll get at it immediately. 'Scuse me, folks!"

Dr. Anjers said, "Please, no! Don't do this just to convince me, gentlemen. I did not mean to imply doubt. I am skeptical, yes; what man of science would not be? But there is no hurry—"

Gary grinned at him mirthlessly.

"That's where you're wrong, Doctor. There is a need for haste. Every day is precious; perhaps every hour, every minute. We're not doing this merely to dispel your doubts. We're doing it because it has to be done, and as swiftly as humanly possible. The sooner mankind realizes its peril, the sooner we can take measures to do something. How long will it take you, Flick?"

"At least three hours. Maybe four."

"All right. Get going. Meanwhile, if you'll permit me, Dr. Bryant, I'd like to duck into my office. There must be a lot of accumulated correspondence to run through. Miss Powell, if you'll be kind enough to come with me—?"

"Yes, Dr. Lane."

Anjers said, "Office, yes. I have not been near my own desk all morning. Perhaps I, too, should spend a little time with my papers. So, gentlemen—"

But Dr. Bryant caught his arm. "Oh, no you don't, my friend! Lane and Muldoon need a few hours privacy, but I am much too excited to let everyone get away from me. Let's go to my rooms. I must discuss this matter with someone."

"That's it, then," nodded Gary. "We'll meet in the projection room at—let's see—five p.m. That's O.Q. with everyone? So long, then. Flick, careful with those shots!"

Muldoon glared at him aggrievedly.

"You're telling me?" he retorted. "Listen, pal—to me they're fresh laid eggs, and I'm the mama hen."

Thus the meeting disbanded.

At four-thirty, Gary Lane spoke a last, "yours truly" into his stenoreel, snapped the switch which sent the machine into operation as a transcriber, rose and yawned vigorously.

"That," he said, "is that! Thank goodness. I don't know how I would have ever finished up without your help, Miss Powell."

Nora Powell said, "I'm glad I was of some assistance, Dr. Lane."

"Some assistance?" grinned Gary. "You were the whole works. I wouldn't have known how to answer half those letters if you hadn't been here to advise me. Say, by the way—" He glanced at her quizzically—"Am I forgiven yet? I mean about that business down at the rocketdrome?"

Nora Powell met his gaze briefly, flushed and turned away. "I—I had forgotten all about it, Doctor," she said.

"Now, that," approved Gary, "is something to really be thankful for. Well, it's almost time for our appointment. Let's go down and see how Flick's making out."

Thus it was that Gary Lane and the girl were a full half hour earlier in reaching the projection room than had been agreed. On such small hinges is the gateway of Fortune hung. For had they been ten minutes, perhaps a single moment later, the great adventure which was to befall them might have ended ere it began. Laughing Flick Muldoon might never have laughed again, and the precious evidence which he and Gary had brought back from Luna might never have been viewed by understanding eyes.

For when young Dr. Lane pushed open the projection room door, it was to peer into a chamber not brilliantly alight, as he had expected, but one Stygian-draped in darkness. Even so, he was not at first alarmed. Flick's prints must surely be ready by now, but it was quite possible the cameraman was testing his equipment. Gary called cheerfully, "Hey, Flick! Why the blackout? O.Q. to come in—Say! What's wrong?"

Because his only answer was a deep, choking groan. And even as the girl behind him mouthed an incoherent cry of warning, Gary got the illumination he had asked for—but in an unwanted way. The darkness was suddenly, fiercely stabbed with a livid flare, an undulating streamer of light from the opposite end of the room. A crackling, hissing ochre finger of light which seemed to burn with an inward malevolence of its own.

And where this dirty glare struck matter, walls and drapes, woodwork and plastic, metal instruments and decorative vines, all—with a dreadful sort of impotent homogeneity—burst into sudden and spontaneous flame! By the light of the burning furniture, Gary glimpsed a dim, uncertain figure huddled in the doorway opposite—and from the hands of this unknown arsonist leaped the living flame!

Gary Lane could claim no heroism for what he did; his actions were too impulsive, too instinctive, to be considered real bravery. It never occurred to him that his enemy was armed where he was not, nor that the light-streamer devouring all else in the room could just as easily strip his flesh from his bones like tinfoil over a candleflame. All he knew was that somewhere in this room, Flick Muldoon lay hurt—perhaps dead!—and that documents on which depended the future of all mankind were being imperiled by a mysterious assailant.

Soundlessly, but with the speed of a striking panther, he hurled himself across the room. In the unreal tawny-black his body could have been, at best, but a dimly glimpsed bulk. The lethal flame did not turn in his direction, scorching him instantly out of existence. And then—

And then his shoulders met sturdy flesh with a solid impact; the stranger grunted meatily and staggered backward. Gary's hands groped, clawing, for the flame weapon ... felt his fingers burn on superheated metal....

For the barest fraction of a second! Then the enemy regained his feet. Gary sensed, rather than saw, the arm uplifting as many voices raised in sudden clamor, and the sound of running footsteps echoed from the corridor he had quitted. He was aware of Nora Powell's cry, "Dr. Lane—look out! Oh, Gary—!"

Then the spinning world descended with brutal force upon his temple, the gloom split asunder into myriad whirling galaxies of fire, and he sank senseless to the floor!

"—Better now," said a voice from far, far away. "I think he can hear me. Gary, my boy! Are you all right?"

Gary lifted his head and groaned; opened his eyes to find himself looking up into the kindly face of Dr. Bryant. Beside the old astronomer, her mist-blue eyes wide with fear and something else Gary Lane was too dazed to decipher, stood Nora Powell, while beside her, cherubic cheeks gray with inarticulate outrage, was the small foreign physicist.

Recollection flooded back on Gary; swiveling his head he discovered that the flames which threatened the room had been extinguished. But how about—?

"Flick?" he muttered, struggling to rise. "Flick! Is he—?"

"O.Q., chum," growled Flick Muldoon, coming from behind him. "The firebug busted me, laid me out colder than a Laplander's kiss, but you got a worse smack than I did. I'm O.Q."

"And the—the films?" asked Gary fearfully.

"Safe," chuckled Muldoon, "as a pork pie at a Mohammedans' picnic. I went down, yeah—but I went down with 'em clutched to my manly buzzum! Our murderous friend, whoever he was, would have needed a can opener to get 'em out of my hands. Me, I've got instincts, I have!"

Gary was on his feet, now, and staring about him. A little unsteadily, true, but gathering strength with every moment. He said, "Then you didn't get a look at him?"

"Who, me? I haven't got eyes in the back of my head, pal!"

"How about you, No—Miss Powell?" Gary caught himself just in time, reddening as he did so. Though his mind was intent on the problem now confronting them, some hidden portion found time to be astonished that his tongue should so trick him.

"I saw him no better than you did. Perhaps not even as well. When you charged him, I ran into the corridor and screamed for help."

"And a good thing, too," appended Dr. Bryant. "The whole Observatory might have gone up in flames had help not come immediately. Gary, that weapon—whatever it was—is the most destructive force ever unleashed by man! It burns right through anything. Wood, metal, plastic—"

"I can see that," scowled Gary. He bit his lip, an unwelcome suspicion forcing itself into his mind as he stared at the other member of their little party. "What puzzles me is—where did he come from? The arsonist, I mean. How many people are in this Observatory beside ourselves?"

"Why, scores, Gary. The laboratory men and the observers, upstairs, the students below—it was they who helped us fight the fire, you know."

"Yes. But—" Gary turned suddenly to Dr. Anjers. "Doctor—where were you when this fire was started?"

Anjers blinked at Gary mildly. "Me, my friend? Why, with Dr. Bryant in his study, of course. But, why? Surely you don't think I—?"

"I don't know what to think," groaned Gary. "While I didn't see the intruder very well, as nearly as I could judge he was just about your height and build. Dr. Bryant, you're positive Dr. Anjers was with you?"

"Of course, Gary."

"Every minute? Neither of you left the study?"

"Not for a second. We were together every moment until we heard Miss Powell's cry; then we hurried here together. Really, Gary—"

"Yes, I know," conceded Gary ruefully. "I'm sorry. But the man did look a little like Dr. Anjers, and—"

The small scientist nodded sympathetically.

"Say no more about it, Doctor. You have had ample reason to be apprehensive—and to question. Judging from what I see here, you narrowly escaped a horrible death. Our foe's weapon is, indeed, a terrible one. As a physicist, I cannot understand how anything can create spontaneous combustion in such nonflammable substances as metal and plaster—"

"No?" grunted Gary. "Well, I can! Look here!"

He stepped to the wall upon which the ray had played most fiercely, bent and rose, sifting through his fingers a palm-full of tiny granules.

"Here's your answer. And it ties in exactly with what we were talking about earlier this afternoon. Condensation of matter!

"See those granules? They are all that remain of a space five feet wide by six feet high! Their matter has been condensed by that hellish ray. The liberation of their excess bulk in the form of pure energy was what caused them to burst into flame. There's your answer, and—Good Lord!"

He stopped, stricken by the thought which had leaped into his brain. A thought at once so terrible and incredible that he could scarce believe it. But it must be true! It was the only way this phantasmagoria made any kind of sense.

"Blind! I've been blind! Now I see it all!"

"What, Gary?" demanded Flick. "What do you see?"

"This plaster wall—contracted into a handful of pebbles," said Gary bleakly. "Our galaxy—contracting to a grim and certain death! They are both part of one and the same plot. A plot by someone—or something!—to destroy Mankind! It is not simply a blind, unreasoning force which is speeding the destruction of our solar system. It is a deliberate doom to which we are being driven. The weapon used here this afternoon is a miniature replica of that which—Flick, what did the arsonist's weapon look like? Did you see it?"

Flick shook his head.

"Sorry, Gary. I drew a blank. I don't remember a thing."

But Nora Powell, who had stirred to an instrument panel near the crumbled wall, gasped suddenly. "I didn't see the weapon either, Gary," she cried. "But here is evidence of what it did. Look at this Geiger counter. It has gone completely mad. It has registered more than a thousand direct hits within the past half hour!"

"What?" exclaimed Dr. Bryant. "A thousand direct hits! That's impossible! Geiger counters register only the impact of cosmic rays. And the periodicity of these rays is as steadfast and invariable as—"

But Gary Lane silenced him with a great cry.

"Now I know I'm right! The Geiger counter proves it! The weapon used by our enemies shoots—cosmic radiation!"

CHAPTER III

"That Worlds May Live"

Silence, like the brooding hush of impending doom, fell over the chamber as the significance of his words drove home. For a breathless moment all speech seemed to falter in abeyance, then every voice raised as one.

"Cosmic rays!" gasped Dr. Bryant.

"A weapon which shoots gamma radiation?" echoed the cherubic Eurasian, Dr. Anjers. "Fantastic!"

Muldoon and the girl said as a single person, "Gary, you can't really believe—"

Earth receded into an ominous distance.

"I must believe," corrected Gary, "what my eyes tell me. There is only one conceivable explanation. As our chief here pointed out, the periodicity of gamma ray bombardment is one of the few invariables known to Man. Its constancy matches the monotonous regularity with which uranium transmutes to lead.

"Scientists have traveled all over the world ... east, west, north, south ... but in every latitude and clime their Geiger counters measure the same tempo of cosmic ray bombardment. They have delved into the deepest mine-pits miles below ground, descended in bathyspheres to the ocean's floor, and detected no change. They have climbed the highest mountains, traversed space to our neighboring planets ... yet everywhere the rate of bombardment remains the same.

"But here, here in this tiny room where, for an instant, a Geiger counter was bathed in the backwash of a strange, new, all-devouring flame, that instrument has registered the impact of a thousand direct hits! The conclusion is obvious. That radiation was—must have been—a concentrated discharge of cosmic rays."

Dr. Bryant passed a hand through his white hair.

"What you say is true, Gary. And it is certainly logical. Still—"

"It is not so much the logic of our young friend's deductions I question," interrupted the other older scientist, "as the fantastic corollaries which necessarily follow his premise. To admit his rightness is to concede that somewhere, someone, for some unfathomable reason, designs the deliberate destruction—"

"Of Earth!" said Nora Powell. "Not only of Earth, but of all the planets which circle our Sun. For as Gary has said, all these are bombarded, too, by cosmic rays.

"Gary, there must be some mistake. There must be some freak coincidence—"

Lane's eyes narrowed. "That's just what it cannot be. The coincidence is too striking. Consider. For thousands of years men lived in blissful ignorance of the fact that they and their world were daily being bombarded by rays which science now has reason to believe are lethal.[2] During the past few hundred years men have been aware of this radiation, but unable to do anything about it. They can neither analyze it, duplicate it in their laboratories, nor—indeed—determine its exact nature.

"But—" And his voice tightened—"but two days ago, for the first time, a clue was found as to the possible nature of these rays; pictures were taken which may pave the way toward an understanding of this ancient mystery. And then what happened? Was it sheer coincidence that almost immediately Flick Muldoon, who hasn't an enemy in the world, should be murderously assaulted here in the heart of his own bailiwick? And that an attempt should be made to destroy this incriminating evidence?

"No! That coincidence is too great for me to swallow. It only strengthens my belief that it is not simply blind nature which is responsible for the doom to which our galaxy is being driven."

Muldoon was an easy-going man. In the tightest spots his carefree nature was wont to assert itself in gibe and cheerful banter. But now his laughter-crinkled eyes were wide with awe and wonderment. He made a vague, sweeping gesture.

"You mean, Gary, that out ... there ... something or someone—?"

Gary nodded. "Yes. That is what I am forced to believe. That They—whoever They are, and wherever They may exist—are making a deliberate effort to destroy us."

"But," interpolated the ever-cautious Dr. Anjers, "you cannot be sure of these things, my young friend. You cannot prove them."

"Not now, no. But by the gods, I'm going to try!"

"Going to—!" Dr. Bryant looked at his young assistant, startled. "Going to try, Gary? What do you mean?"

Lane spoke slowly, putting into words for the first time the idea which had been growing within him ever since he and Muldoon had, upon Luna, chanced upon their amazing discovery.

"I mean I'm going out there, as Flick put it, in search of Them and of that weapon which is slowly but surely bringing death to our civilization. I am going to leave Earth and this galaxy and hunt in the dark depths of the Beyond for the reason conspiring against us."

"Oh, but now wait a minute, Gary," said his friend and constant companion, "I'm your buddy. I'll string along with you on almost anything. But this is going a little too far. Talking of leaving the galaxy. Good Lord, man, you must be out of your mind! Oh have you forgotten how to count? The fastest spaceship ever built travels at a rate of only about 7,000 miles per minute. And the nearest star, Proxima Centauri, is about four light-years away. At that rate, all that would be left of you by the time you got there would be a little heap of dried-up dust."

Lane smiled thinly. "Don't worry about that. We'll be alive when we get there."

"What! We! Where do you get the community spirit?"

"We," said Gary, "because you're going, too, Flick. I'll need you. And any of the others who want to come along. I think I can promise you the greatest adventure ever undertaken by human beings."

Dr. Bryant said, "Gary, what are you talking about? Muldoon is absolutely right. It would take centuries to reach the nearest star. How, then, do you expect—?"

"Centuries," acknowledged Gary, "if the ship in which we traveled had only the speed Flick mentioned. But you know as well as I that on another planet of this system dwells a race which knows the secret of achieving speed beyond that of the limiting velocity of light."

"You mean," asked Nora Powell, "the Jovians?"

"That's right."

"But they won't tell. It's their most cherished military secret. And with the entire solar system in the state of nervous unrest it has been in for years—"

"They must tell. It is to their benefit as well as ours. We will go to them and explain the enormity of the disaster which threatens our solar system. They are not creatures quite like ourselves, true; but they are intelligent beings. And they desire extinction no more than we. When they have learned the awful truth, I think they will lend us their secret."

Professor Anjers laughed mirthlessly. "You have much to learn about the races that people the planets, my young friend, if you think the Jovians will contribute their great secret to save the races with whom even now war threatens—"

"They will not be the only contributors. Each of the major planets will contribute its share to this adventure. Must contribute, for the ultimate good of all.

"From Earth—" Gary ticked the requisites off on his fingers as he spoke—"from Earth's government we must borrow the knowledge of the hypatomic drive which makes spaceflight possible. Venus must supply us with neurotrope, their super-efficient fuel, the only type sufficiently condensed to enable us to leave our galaxy. The Martian people must lend us their formula for building impenetrable force-fields about space vehicles, lest a stray comet or a hail of meteoric debris met in the outer darkness bring our flight to sudden ending. And from Jupiter must come the secret of transcendent speed, through which—and only through which—can we hope to reach our goal."

Muldoon whistled softly. "That's a big order, Gary. Four big orders, in fact."

And Dr. Bryant said, "I'm afraid I can only repeat Dr. Anjers' words, Gary. You expect too much of our neighbors in asking them to give you—"

Of all his companions, only the girl, Nora Powell, offered any word of encouragement. Her eyes were shining with a great purpose, and with a great determination, too. With an almost indiscernible movement she seemed to leave the fellowship of his doubters and arraign herself at Gary's side. Her words were like the warmth of a friendly handclasp as she said:

"But they will give! Because they must! Dr. Lane—Gary—it's a great dream. One which we must see to fulfillment."

Gary glanced at her, pleased and gratified.

"We?" he repeated.

The girl nodded determinedly. "Yes, we. Because if you'll have me, Gary, I want to join your expedition."

"Well, now," drawled Flick Muldoon, "as far as that goes, I've been beefing a little, yeah. But on purely technical grounds. I didn't say I was going to pull a sneak on the shindig. Hell I'll try anything once. You can count me in, Gary, lock, stock, and barrel."

Gary said gravely, "Thanks both of you. And you Dr. Bryant?"

The older man smiled thinly.

"I won't deceive you, Gary. I confess I still have my doubts as to the practicality of your ambitions. Nevertheless, I'd be a poor scientist if I were to refuse to lend my small efforts to such a magnificent undertaking. Of course, you may count on me. Boris—" He turned to his Eurasian colleague—"I'm sorry our conversations are to be thus abruptly terminated by what may seem to you a somewhat impulsive decision. But there may be something in Dr. Lane's warning."

To the surprise of everyone, the rather easily-annoyed Dr. Anjers this time showed no annoyance whatsoever. Instead, his bland, cherubic face was puckered with thought, and when he spoke it was with firm decision.

"No, you are completely right, my friend. Dr. Lane has not convinced me—yet. But if he is right, this is no matter for slow ponderings. We must act at once. And I, too, if you will permit, would like to become a member of your party."

Gary Lane smiled, ashamed now of his earlier treatment of this staunch little scientist, of the near-accusations he had twice cast upon the little man. He said simply, "I would be proud and glad to have you with us, Dr. Anjers. Of course, we five will not be all. We must have a pilot, an experienced astrogator, and crewmen to handle the ship itself—"

"Which brings up," interpolated Flick Muldoon with devastating casualness, "the first important question. Where you going to get this ship, Gary? And how are you going to talk the kingpins of our planet into giving you what you want?"

Gary smiled. "Obviously, we must go to Geneva and there present our argument to the members of the World Council. But—" And his eyes took on a shining akin to that in the eyes of his feminine and first-spoken comrade—"but we cannot fail. What we do is not for ourselves alone; it is a completely unselfish thing without personal benefit or profit. A quest we must successfully fulfill—that worlds may live."

And the girl's voice echoed softly, "That worlds may live...."

CHAPTER IV

Fugitives from Earth

"What time is it?" asked Nora Powell.

Dr. Bryant looked up from the black-and-white-squared table over which he and his companion were bent, engrossed in one of mankind's most ancient pastimes.

"Er—I beg your pardon, my dear? What did you say?"

"I asked," repeated Nora, "what time it is?"

"Oh—time? Almost four o'clock."

"Time," growled Flick Muldoon, from the other end of the balcony, "he was getting back."

"Gary, you mean?" Dr. Boris Anjers, having placed his opponent destructively en prise, leaned back in his chair. "Have patience, my boy. These things take time, you know, and it is a difficult mission upon which our young friend has gone."

"It's all right for you and Doc Bryant. You've got a chess game to occupy your minds. Me, I got little pink and green meemies running up and down my corpuscles. I'm going to take a walk. Want to come along, Nora?"

Nora Powell said, "No, thanks, Flick. I'll wait here for him." Then, as the restless young cameraman stalked from the piazza and the two graybeards returned to their game, she wandered disconsolately to the far end of the balcony, for perhaps the dozenth time in the hour gazed out over the most heartbreaking beauty of the scene before and below her.

This eyrie from which she looked was a modest but charming pension in Geneva, a rustic famed for its beautiful surroundings and delightful old-world charm. To the south lay the valley of the Arve; beyond this the gray and barren rock of the Petit Salève rose like a wall, it, in turn, overtopped by the distant, imperial slopes of Mont Blanc. The sky was the bright and unbelievable blue of mountain country. From the vale below echoed the mellow lilt of a shepherd's yodeling.

Here, after hasty preparation, had the five comrades-in-adventure established residence until Gary Lane could convince the World Council, which gathered in this traditionally neutral nation, of the urgency of their demands ... and receive from this all-supreme body that terrestrial secret which was vital to the furtherment of their aims.[3]

Here had they cooled their heels for very nearly a fortnight while Gary wormed and forced and argued his way through hordes of underlings to finally reach the ear of those Councillors who alone could grant his request. Such an interview had finally been achieved, and today was the fateful appointment.

Alone, a few short hours ago, Lane had set forth to the Council Hall, laden with Muldoon's photographs, his own and Dr. Bryant's mathematical analyses, and all other documents necessary to prove his claims. Now his companions, placidly or nervously as their individual natures determined, awaited his return.

As to what sort of exhibition she herself was making, Nora Powell could not say. If she was not so openly impatient as Flick Muldoon, neither was she complacently attentive like the two older scientists. She was, she thought with sudden whimsy, much like one of those ancient volcanic peaks so gloriously sharp-limned on the horizon before her: surfacely cool, but inwardly and secretly aflame with constrained eruptive fires which might at any moment burst their bonds.

The afternoon was pleasantly cool, but standing there alone on the balcony her cheeks were suddenly warm to the touch as she caught herself wondering what would be Gary Lane's reaction were he to realize how startlingly accurate was this analogy. During these last weeks, their past differences forgotten, she and the young physicist had fallen into a pleasant and easy camaraderie. Formalities had been swept away in the urgency of the moment, and on everything they worked together like lifelong friends.

But that, thought Nora with a thin stirring of rebelliousness, was just the trouble. That which within her had developed toward Gary Lane could not so easily be dismissed with the loose and meaningless term "friendship." It was something else, something deeper, stronger, more tremulously chaotic ... like the subdued inner strivings of those pleasantly placid mountains.

Did he, she wondered with a strained and baffled curiosity, feel that, too? Or was he always too much the scientist to be just a plain man looking upon her ... seeing her ... not as a friend, but as a woman?

The sound of crisp, firm footsteps spelled an end to her thinking. She whirled to the doorway.

"Gary! You're back!"

Then her heart chilled within her at the look on his face. Never had she seen Gary Lane like this. His features were hard as if they had been cast in a mold, then frozen. His lips were whitely set, his eyes twin glittering flints of anger.

"Yes," he said harshly, "I'm back. It's all over. We're done. Finished. Washed up."

Dr. Bryant rose from his chair swiftly. "What do you mean, Gary? The Council didn't—?"

"Oh, didn't they?" Lane's bark was a mirthless shard of laughter. "They turned me down cold. Said our conclusions were erroneous, my theory a fantastic figment of the imagination. The fools! The everlasting damned fools! Don't they realize they're condemning a universe to oblivion?"

Dr. Anjers patted the younger man's shoulder soothingly, his bright cherubic face soberly consoling.

"I'm sorry, my boy. But I warned you it would be difficult. Men see no farther than the ends of their noses."

"Maybe not," grated Gary, "but they hear ... oh, God, how they hear! That's what killed our chances. Somehow or other they got a rumor of what was in the wind. They had been warned in advance of who I was and what I wanted; when I started explaining, showing my photographs, they just sat back and smirked at me with that 'Yes, yes, we know all about it; isn't it a pity that one so young should be deranged?' look on their smug, complacent faces."

"Heard of it?" cried Nora. "But how could they have heard of it?"

Lane shook his head doggedly. "That's what I've been asking myself ever since I left the Council Hall. To the best of my knowledge, not a living soul knows our secret except us five."

"And," reminded Dr. Anjers, "one other."

"One other?"

"The marauder in the observatory."

Lane was silent for a moment. Then he nodded. "That's right. I'd almost forgotten. Their ambassador. It's his diabolic hand again. It must be. Lord, if we had only caught him that day. If we only had some idea who he was—"

The door opened again, and Flick Muldoon burst in jubilantly. "Great howling snakes, folks, look who I found wandering around down on the streets like a roaming comet! That old star-shooting son-of-a-gun himself—Oh, golly, Gary! You're back! What'd they say, pal? Do we get the ship? Is everything set?"

"Not set," corrected Gary. "Settled!" And told him what he had told the others.

Muldoon's ruddy face fell. "Well, I'll be damned!" he whispered. "And to think Earth's government set them dumb lunks up in power to rule mankind's affairs! What are we going to do now? We can't give up just because—"

"I think," suggested Nora, "the first thing you'd better do, Flick, is introduce your friend. This must all seem rather mysterious and awkward to him."

"Oh, my golly!" gulped Flick. "I almost forgot. I'm sorry, Hugh. Doc, you remember Hugh Warren, don't you?"

"Warren?" Dr. Bryant's gaze turned querulously toward the tall, fair, smiling young man in the doorway. The newcomer was dressed in the respected gold-trimmed blue of the Solar Space Patrol. His even features were tanned to a cinnamon hue by long exposure to the raw, unshielded radiations of the void. The old scientist's eyes lighted with belated recognition. "Not young Hugh Warren who used to study Celestial Astrogation at the Observatory?"

The spaceman grinned, stepping forward to wring the older man's hand with phalange-crushing enthusiasm.

"The same, Dr. Bryant," he chuckled. "I've never forgotten those courses in Silly Ass. Most fun I've ever had ... and I've had plenty since that. Lord—" He made the rounds, ending beside Gary Lane, about whose shoulders he threw an arm in warm, masculine affection—"Lord, it's good to see you earth-lubbers again! You haven't changed a bit, Gary. You look a little more sober and settled down. But, then, they tell me marriage does that to a guy...."

"Marriage?" echoed Lane blankly.

"Why—why, yes. Isn't this young lady—?"

"No. This is Miss Powell, my assistant. And the gentleman beside Dr. Bryant is Dr. Boris Anjers. Dr. Anjers, Lieutenant Warren."