“For this is an inhabited planet, inhabited by intelligent beings, beings
capable of discovering atomic power and exploiting it!”
He pointed out on the photograph, near the southern limb, the lime-white
circle of Tycho, with its shining, incredible, thousand-mile-long rays spreading,
thrusting, jutting out from it. “Here … here at Tycho was located their main
atomic plant.” He moved his finger to a point near the equator, and somewhat east of
meridian-the point where three great dark areas merged, Mare Nubium, Mare Imbriwn,
Oceanus Procellarum-and picked out two bright splotches surrounded also by rays, but
shorter, less distinct, and wavy. “And here at Copernicus and at Kepler, on islands
at the middle of a great ocean, were secondary power stations.”
He paused, and interpolated soberly, “Perhaps they knew the danger they ran,
but wanted power so badly that they were willing to gamble the life of their race.
Perhaps they were ignorant of the ruinous possibilities of their little machines, or
perhaps their mathematicians assured them that it could not happen.
“But we will never know … no one can ever know. For it blew up, and killed
them-and it killed their planet.
“It whisked off the gassy envelope and blew it into outer space. It may even
have set up a chain reaction, in that atmosphere. It blasted great chunks of the
planet’s crust Perhaps some of that escaped completely, too, but all that did not
reach the speed of escape fell back down in time and splashed great ring-shaped
craters in the land.
“The oceans cushioned the shock; only the more massive fragments formed
craters through the water. Perhaps some life still remained in those ocean depths.
If so, it was doomed to die-for the water, unprotected by atmospheric pressure,
could not remain liquid and must inevitably escape lit time to outer space. Its life
blood drained away. The planet was dead-dead by suicide!
He met the grave eyes of his two silent listeners with an expression almost
of appeal. “Gentlemen-this is only a theory I realize … only a theory, a dream, a
nightmare- But it has kept me awake so many nights that I had to come tell you about
it, and see if you saw it the same way I do.
As for the mechanics of it, it’s all in there, in my notes. You can check
it-and I pray that you find some error! But it is the only lunar theory I have
examined which included all of the known data, and accounted for all of them.”
He appeared to have finished; Lentz spoke up. “Suppose, Captain, suppose we
check your mathematics and find no flaw-what then?”
Harrington flung out his hands. “That’s what I came here to find out!”
Although Lentz had asked the question, Harrington directed the appeal to
King. The superintendent looked up; his eyes met the astronomer’s, wavered, and
dropped again. “There’s nothing to be done,” he said dully, “nothing at all.”
Harrington stared at him in open amazement. “But good God, man!” he burst
out. “Don’t you see it? That pile has got to be disassembled at once!”
“Take it easy, Captain.” Lentz’s calm voice was a spray of cold water. “And
don’t be too harsh on poor King, this worries him even more than it does you. What
he means is this; we’re not faced with a problem in physics, but with a political
and economic situation. Let’s put it this way: King can no more dump his plant than
a peasant with a vineyard on the slopes of Mount Vesuvius can abandon his holdings
and pauperize his family simply because there will be an eruption someday.
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“King doesn’t own that plant out there; he’s only the custodian. If he dumps
it against the wishes of the legal owners, they’ll simply oust him and put in
someone more amenable. No, we have to convince the owners.”
“The President could make them do it,” suggested Harrington. “I could get to
the President-”
“No doubt you could, through your department. And you might even convince
him. But could he help much?”
“Why, of course he could. He’s the President!”
“Wait a minute. You’re Director of the Naval Observatory; suppose you took a