Edmond Hamilton - The City At World's End

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The City at World's End

by Edmond Hamilton

Table of Contents

The City at World's End....................................................................................................................................1

by Edmond Hamilton...............................................................................................................................1

Chapter I—cataclysm...............................................................................................................................1

Chapter 2—the incredible........................................................................................................................7

Chapter 3—dying planet........................................................................................................................11

Chapter 4—dead city.............................................................................................................................15

Chapter 5—in the red dawn...................................................................................................................20

Chapter 6—caravan into tomorrow.......................................................................................................24

Chapter 7—under the dome...................................................................................................................28

Chapter 8—Middletown calling!...........................................................................................................34

Chapter 9—out of the silence................................................................................................................38

Chapter 10—from the stars....................................................................................................................44

Chapter 11—revelation..........................................................................................................................50

Chapter 12—crisis.................................................................................................................................56

Chapter 13—embattled city...................................................................................................................63

Chapter 14—last appeal.........................................................................................................................68

Chapter 15—mission for earth...............................................................................................................74

Chapter 16—at Vega..............................................................................................................................79

Chapter 17—judgment of the stars........................................................................................................85

Chapter 18—fateful return.....................................................................................................................91

Chapter 19—Middletown decides.........................................................................................................98

Chapter 20—appointment with destiny...............................................................................................103

Chapter 21—waking world..................................................................................................................108

The City at World's End

by Edmond Hamilton

http://www.blackmask.com

Chapter 1—cataclysm• Chapter 2—the incredible• Chapter 3—dying planet• Chapter 4—dead city• Chapter 5—in the red dawn• Chapter 6—caravan into tomorrow• Chapter 7—under the dome• Chapter 8—Middletown calling!• Chapter 9—out of the silence• Chapter 10—from the stars• Chapter 11—revelation• Chapter 12—crisis• Chapter 13—embattled city• Chapter 14—last appeal• Chapter 15—mission for earth• Chapter 16—at Vega• Chapter 17—judgment of the stars• Chapter 18—fateful return• Chapter 19—Middletown decides• Chapter 20—appointment with destiny• Chapter 21—waking world•

Chapter I—cataclysm

Kenniston realized afterward that it was like death. You knew you were going to die someday, but you didn't

believe it. He had known that there was danger of the long−dreaded atomic war beginning with a sneak

punch, but he hadn't really believed it

Not until that June morning when the missile came down on Middletown. And then there was no time for

realization. You don't hear or see a thing that comes faster than sound. One moment, he was striding down

Mill Street toward the plant, getting ready to speak to the policeman coming toward him. The next moment,

the sky split open.

It split wide open, and above the whole town there was a burn and blaze of light so swift, so violent, that it

seemed the air itself had burst into instantaneous flame. In that fraction of a second, as the sky flared and the

ground heaved wildly under his feet, Kenniston knew that the surprise attack had come, and that the first of

the long−feared super−atomic bombs had exploded overhead....

Shock, thought Kenniston, as his mouth crushed against the grimy sidewalk. The shock that keeps a dying

man from feeling pain. He lay there, waiting for the ultimate destruction, and the first eye−blinding flare

across the heavens faded and the shuddering world grew still. It was over, as quickly as that.

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He ought to be dead. He thought it very probable that he was dying right now, which would explain the fading

light and the ominous quiet. But in spite of that he raised his head, and then scrambled shakily to his feet,

gasping over his own wild heartbeats, fighting an animal urge to run for the mere sake of running. He looked

down Mill Street. He expected to see pulverized buildings, smoking craters, fire and steam and devastation.

But what he saw was more stunning than that, and in a strange way, more awful.

He saw Middletown lying unchanged and peaceful in the sunlight.

The policeman he had been going to speak to was still there ahead of him. He was getting up slowly from his

hands and knees, where the quake had thrown him. His mouth hung open and his cap had fallen off. His eyes

were very wide and dazed and frightened. Beyond him was an old woman with a shawl over her head. She,

too, had been there before. She was clinging now to a wall, the sack of groceries she had carried split open

around her feet, spilling onions and cans of soup across the walk. Cars and street−cars were still moving along

the street in the distance, beginning erratically to jerk to a halt. Apart from these small things, nothing was

different, nothing at all.

The policeman came up to Kenniston. He looked like a young, efficient officer. Or he would have, if his face

had not gone so slack and his eyes so stunned. He asked hoarsely:

“What happened?”

Kenniston answered, and the words sounded queer and improbable as he said them. “We've been hit by a

bomb—a super−atomic.”

The policeman stared at him. “Are you crazy?”

“Yes,” said Kenniston, “I think maybe I am. I think that's the only explanation.”

His brain had begun to pound. The air felt suddenly cold and strange. The sunshine was duskier and redder

and did not warm him now. The woman in the shawl was crying. Presently, still weeping, she got painfully

down upon her thick old knees and Kenniston thought she was going to pray, but instead she began to gather

up her onions, fumbling with them as a child does, trying to fit them into the broken paper bag.

“Look,” said the policeman, “I've read stuff about those super−atomic bombs, in the papers. It said they were

thousands of times more powerful than the atom−bombs they used to have. If one of them hit any place there

wouldn't be anything left of it.” His voice was getting stronger. He was convincing himself. “So no

super−atomic bomb could have hit us. It couldn't have been that.”

“You saw that terrific flash in the sky, didn't you?” said Kenniston.

“Sure I did, but—” And then the policeman's face cleared. “Say, it was a fizzle. That's what it was. This

super−atomic bomb they've been scaring the world with—it turned out to be just a fizzle.” He laughed noisily,

in vast relief. “Isn't that rich? They tell for years what terrible things it's going to do, and then it just makes a

big fizz and flash like a bad Fourth of July firecracker!”

It could be true, Kenniston thought with a wild surge of hope. It could be true.

And then he looked up and saw the Sun.

“It was maybe a bluff, all the time,” the policeman's voice rattled on. “They maybe didn't really have any

super−atomic bomb at all.”

The City at World's End

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Kenniston, without lowering his gaze, spoke in a dry whisper. “They had them, all right. And they used one

on us. And I think we're dead and don't know it yet We don't know yet that we're only ghosts and not living on

Earth any more.”

“Not on Earth?” said the policeman angrily. “Now, listen—”

And then his voice trailed away to silence as he followed Kenniston's staring gaze and looked up at the Sun.

It wasn't the Sun. Not the Sun they and all the generations of men had known as a golden, dazzling orb. They

could look right at this Sun, without blinking. They could stare at it steadily, for it was no more than a very

big, dull−glowing red ball with tiny flames writhing around its edges. It was higher in the sky now than it had

been before. And the air was cold. “It's in the wrong place,” said the policeman. “And it looks different.” He

groped in half−forgotten high−school science for an explanation. “Refraction. Dust that that fizzle−bomb

stirred up—”

Kenniston didn't tell him. What was the use? What was the good of telling him what he, as a scientist,

knew—that no conceivable refraction could make the Sun look like that. But he said, “Maybe you're right.”

“Sure I'm right,” said the policeman, loudly. He didn't look up at the sky and Sun, any more. He seemed to

avoid looking at them.

Kenniston started on down Mill Street. He had been on his way to the Lab, when this happened. He kept on

going now. He wanted to hear what Hubble and the others would say about this.

He laughed a little. “I am a ghost, going to talk with other ghosts about our sudden deaths.” Then he told

himself fiercely, “Stop that! You're a scientist. What good is your science if it cracks up in the face of an

unexplained phenomenon?”

That, certainly, was an understatement. A super−atomic bomb went off over a quiet little Midwestern town of

fifty thousand people, and it didn't change a thing except to put a new Sun into the sky. And you called that an

unexplained phenomenon.

Kenniston walked on down the street. He walked fast, for the air was unseasonably cold. He didn't stop to talk

to the bewildered−looking people he met. They were mostly men who had been on their way to work in

Middletown's mills when it had happened. They stood now, discussing the sudden flash and shock. The word

Kenniston heard most often was “earthquake.” They didn't look too upset, these men. They looked excited and

a little bit glad that something had happened to interrupt their drab daily routine. Some of them were staring

up at that strange, dull−red Sun, but they seemed more perplexed than disturbed.

The air was cold and musty. And the red, dusky sunlight was queer. But that hadn't disturbed these men too

much. It was, after all, not much stranger than the chill and the lurid light that often foreshadow a Midwestern

thunderstorm.

Kenniston turned in at the gate of the smoke−grimed brick structure that bore the sign, “Industrial Research

Laboratories.” The watchman at the gate nodded to him unperturbedly as he let him through.

Neither the watchman nor any of Middletown's fifty thousand people, except a few city officials, knew that

this supposed industrial laboratory actually housed one of the key nerve centers of America's atomic defense

setup.

The City at World's End

The City at World's End 3

Clever, thought Kenniston. It had been clever of those in charge of dispersal to tuck this key atomic laboratory

into a prosaic little Midwestern mill town.

“But not clever enough,” he thought.

No, not quite clever enough. The unknown enemy had learned the secret, and had struck the first stunning

blow of his surprise attack at the hidden nerve center of Middletown.

A super−atomic, to smash that nerve center before war even started. Only, the super−atomic had fizzled. Or

had it? The Sun was a different Sun. And the air was strange and cold.

Crisci met Kenniston by the entrance of the big brick building. Crisci was the youngest of the staff, a tall,

black−haired youngster—and because he was the youngest, he tried hard not to show emotion now.

“It looks like it's beginning,” said Crisci, trying to smile. “Atomic Armageddon—the final fireworks.” Then

he quit trying to smile. “Why didn't it wipe us out, Kenniston? Why didn't it?”

Kenniston asked him, “Don't the Geigers show anything?”

“Nothing. Not a thing.”

That, Kenniston thought numbly, fitted the crazy improbability of it all. He asked, “Where's Hubble?”

Crisci gestured vaguely. “Over there. He's had us trying to call Washington, but the wires are all dead and

even the radio hasn't been able to get through yet.”

Kenniston walked across the cluttered plant yard. Hubble, his chief, stood looking up at the dusky sky and at

the red dull Sun you could stare at without blinking. He was only fifty but he looked older at the moment, his

graying hair disordered and his thin face tightly drawn.

“There isn't any way yet to figure out where that missile came from,” Kenniston said.

Then he realized that Hubble's thoughts weren't on that, for the other only nodded abstractedly.

“Look at those stars, Kenniston.”

“Stars? Stars, in the daytime—?”

And then, looking up, Kenniston realized that you could see the stars now. You could see them as faint,

glimmering points all across the strangely dusky sky, even near the dull Sun.

“They're wrong,” said Hubble. “They're very wrong.”

Kenniston asked, “What happened? Did their super−atomic really fizzle?”

Hubble lowered his gaze and blinked at him. “No,” he said softly. “It didn't fizzle. It went off.”

“But Hubble, if that super−atomic went off, why—”

Hubble ignored the question. He went on into his own office in the Lab, and began to pull down reference

volumes. To Kenniston's surprise, he opened them to pages of astronomical diagrams. Then Hubble took a

The City at World's End

The City at World's End 4

pencil and began to scrawl quick calculations on a pad.

Kenniston grabbed him by the shoulder. “For Christ's sake, Hubble, this is no time for scientific theorizing!

The town hasn't been hit, but something big has happened, and—”

“Get the hell away from me,” said Hubble, without turning.

The sheer shock of hearing Hubble swear silenced Kenniston. Hubble went on with his figures, referring often

to the books. The office was as silent as though nothing had happened at all. Finally, Hubble turned. His hand

shook a little as he pointed to the figures on the pad.

“See those, Ken? They're proof—proof of something that cannot be. What does a scientist do when he faces

that kind of a situation?”

He could see the sick shock and fear in Hubble's gray face, and it fed his own fear. But before he could speak,

Crisci came in.

He said, “We haven't been able to contact Washington yet. And we can't understand—our calls go completely

unanswered, and not one station outside Middletown seems to be broadcasting.”

Hubble stared at his pad. “It all fits in. Yes, it all fits in.”

“What do you make of it, Doctor?” asked Crisci anxiously. “That bomb went off over Middletown, even

though it didn't hurt us. Yet it's as though all the world outside Middletown has been silenced!”

Kenniston, cold from what he had seen in Hubble's face, waited for the senior scientist to tell them what he

knew or thought. But the phone rang suddenly with strident loudness.

It was the intercom from the watchman at the gate. Hubble picked it up. After a minute he said, “Yes, let him

come in.” He hung up. “It's Johnson. You know, the electrician who did some installations for us. He lives out

on the edge of town. He told the watchman that was why he had to see me—because he lives on the edge of

town.”

Johnson, when he came, was a man in the grip of a fear greater than Kenniston had even begun to imagine,

and he was almost beyond talking. “I thought you might know,” he said to Hubble. “It seems like somebody's

got to tell me what's happened, or I'll lose my mind. I've got a cornfield, Mr. Hubble. It's a long field, and then

there's a fence row, and my neighbor's barn beyond it.”

He began to tremble, and Hubble said, “What about your cornfield?”

“Part of it's gone,” said Johnson, “and the fence row, and the barn... Mr. Hubble, they're all gone,

everything...”

“Blast effect,” said Hubble gently. “A bomb hit here a little while ago, you see.”

“No,” said Johnson. “I was in London last war, I know what blast can do. This isn't destruction. It's...” He

sought for a word, and could not find it. “I thought you might know what it is.”

Kenniston's chill premonition, the shapeless growing terror in him, became too evil to be borne. He said, “I'm

going out and take a look.”

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The City at World's End 5

Hubble glanced at him and then nodded, and rose to his feet, slowly, as though he did not want to go but was

forcing himself. He said, “We can see everything from the water tower, I think—that's the highest point in

town. You keep trying to get through, Crisci.”

Kenniston walked with him out of the Lab grounds, and across Mill Street and the cluttered railroad tracks to

the huge, stilt−legged water tower of Middletown. The air had grown colder. The red sunshine had no warmth

in it, and when Kenniston took hold of the iron rungs of the ladder to begin the climb, they were like bars of

ice. He followed Hubble upward, keeping his eyes fixed on the retreating soles of Hubble's shoes. It was a

long climb. They had to stop to rest once. The wind blew harder the higher they got, and it had a dry musty

taint in it that made Kenniston think of the air that blows from deep rock tombs with dust of ages in them.

They came out at last on the railed platform around the big, high tank. Kenniston looked down on the town.

He saw knots of people gathered on the corners, and the tops of cars, a few of them moving slowly but most

of them stopped and jamming the streets. There was a curious sort of silence.

Hubble did not bother to look at the town, except for a first brief glance that took it all in, the circumference of

Middletown with all its buildings standing just as they always had, with the iron Civil War soldier still stiffly

mounting guard on the Square, and the smoke still rising steadily from the stacks of the mills. Then he looked

outward. He did not speak, and presently Kenniston's eyes were drawn also to look beyond the town.

He looked for a long time before it began to penetrate. His retinas relayed the image again and again, but the

brain recoiled from its task of making sense out of that image, that unbelievable, impossible... No. It must be

dust, or refraction, or an illusion created by the dusky red sunlight, anything but truth. There could not, by any

laws known to Creation, be a truth like this one!

The whole countryside around Middletown was gone. The fields, the green, flat fields of the Middle West,

and the river, and the streams, and the old scattered farms—they were all gone, and it was a completely

different and utterly alien landscape that now stretched outside the town.

Rolling, ocher−yellow plains, sad and empty, lifted toward a ridge of broken hills that had never been there

before. The wind blew over that barren, lifeless world, stirring the ocher weeds, lifting heavy little clouds of

dust and dropping them back again to earth. The Sun peered down like a great dull eye with lashes of writhing

fire, and the glimmering stars swung solemn in the sky, and all of them, the Earth, the stars, the Sun, had a

look of death about them, a stillness and a waiting, a remoteness that had nothing to do with men or with

anything that lived.

Kenniston gripped the rail tightly, feeling all reality crumbling away beneath him, searching frantically for an

explanation, for any rational explanation, of that impossible scene.

“The bomb—did it somehow blast the countryside out there, instead of Middletown?”

“Would it take away a river, and bring instead those hills and that yellow scrub?” said Hubble. “Would any

bomb−blast do that?”

“But for God's sake, then what—”

“It hit us, Kenniston. It went off right over Middletown, and it did something...” He faltered, and then said,

“Nobody really knew what a super−atomic bomb would do. There were logical theories and assumptions

about it, but nobody really knew anything except that the most violent concentrated force in history would be

suddenly released. Well, it was released, over Middletown. And it was violent. So violent that...”

The City at World's End

The City at World's End 6

He stopped, again, as though he could not quite muster up the courage to voice the certainty that was in him.

He gestured at the dusky sky.

“That's our Sun, our own Sun—but it's old now, very old. And that Earth we see out there is old too, barren

and eroded and dying. And the stars.... You looked at the stars, Ken, but you didn't see them. They're

different, the constellations distorted by the motions of the stars, as only millions of years could distort them.”

Kenniston whispered, “Millions of years? Then you think that the bomb...” He stopped, and he knew now how

Hubble had felt. How did you say a thing that had never been said before?

“Yes, the bomb,” said Hubble. “A force, a violence, greater than any ever known before, too great to be

confined by the ordinary boundaries of matter, too great to waste its strength on petty physical destruction.

Instead of shattering buildings, it shattered space and time.”

Kenniston's denial was a hoarse cry. “Hubble, no! That's madness! Time is absolute—”

Hubble said, “You know it isn't. You know from Einstein's work that there's no such thing as time by itself,

that instead there is a space−time continuum. And that continuum is curved, and a great enough force could

hurl matter from one part of the curve to another.”

He raised a shaking hand toward the deathly, alien landscape outside the town.

“And the released force of the first super−atomic bomb did it. It blew this town into another part of the

space−time curve, into another age millions of years in the future, into this dying, future Earth!”

Chapter 2—the incredible

The rest of the staff was waiting for them when they came back into the Lab grounds. A dozen men, ranging

in age from Crisci to old Beitz, standing shivering in the chill red sunlight in front of the building. Johnson

was with them, waiting for his answer. Hubble looked at him, and at the others. He said, “I think we'd better

go inside.”

They did not ask the questions that were clamoring inside them. Silently, with the jerky awkward movements

of men strung so taut that their reflex centers no longer function smoothly, they followed Hubble through the

doorway. Kenniston went with them, but not all the way. He turned aside, toward his own office, and said,

“I've got to find out if Carol is all right.”

Hubble said sharply. “Don't tell her, Ken. Not yet.”

“No,” said Kenniston. “No, I won't.”

He went into the small room and closed the door. The telephone was on his desk, and he reached for it, and

then he drew his hand away. The fear had altered now into a kind of numbness, as though it were too large to

be contained within a human body and had ebbed away, carrying with it all the substances of strength and will

as water carries sand. He looked at the black, familiar instrument and thought how improbable it was that

there should still be telephones, and fat books beside them with quantities of names and numbers belonging to

people who had lived once in villages and nearby towns, but who were not there any more, not since—how

long? An hour or so, if you figured it one way. If you figured it another...

He sat down in the chair behind the desk. He had done a lot of hard work sitting in that chair, and now all that

work had ceased to matter. Quite a lot of things had ceased to matter. Plans, and ideas, and where you were

The City at World's End

Chapter 2—the incredible 7

going to go on your honeymoon, and exactly where you wanted to live, and in what kind of a house. Florida

and California and New York were words as meaningless as “yesterday” and “tomorrow.” They were gone,

the times and the places, and there wasn't anything left out of them but Carol herself, and maybe even Carol

wasn't left, maybe she'd been out with her aunt for a little drive in the country, and if she wasn't in

Middletown when it happened she's gone, gone, gone...

He took the phone in both hands and said a number over and over into it. The operator was quite patient with

him. Everybody in Middletown seemed to be calling someone else, and over the roar and click of the

exchange and the ghostly confusion of voices he heard the pounding of his own blood in his ears and he

thought that he did not have any right to want Carol to be there, and he ought to be praying that she had gone

somewhere, because why would he want anybody he loved to have to face what was ahead of them. And what

was ahead of them? How could you guess which one, out of all the shadowy formless horrors that might be...

“Ken?” said a voice in his ear. “Ken, is that you? Hello!”

“Carol,” he said. The room turned misty around him and there was nothing anywhere but that voice on the

line.

“I've been trying and trying to get you, Ken! What on earth happened? The whole town is excited—I saw a

terrible flash of lightning, but there wasn't any storm, and then that quake... Are you all right?”

“Sure, I'm fine...” She wasn't really frightened yet. Anxious, upset, but not frightened. A flash of lightning,

and a quake. Alarming yes, but not terrifying, not the end of the world... He caught himself up, hard. He said,

“I don't know yet what it was.”

“Can you find out? Somebody must know.” She did not guess, of course, that Kenniston was an atomic

physicist. He had not been allowed to tell that to anyone, not even his fiancée. To her, he was merely a

research technician in an industrial laboratory, vaguely involved with test tubes and things. She had never

questioned him very closely about his work, apparently content to leave all that up to him, and he had been

grateful because it had spared him the necessity of lying to her. Now he was even more grateful, because she

would not dream that he might have special information. That way, he could spare her a little longer, get

himself in hand before he told her. “I'll do my best,” he told her. “But until we're sure, I wish you and your

aunt would stay in the house, off the street. No, I don't think your bridge−luncheon will come off anyway.

And you can't tell what people will do when they're frightened. Promise? Yes—yes, I'll be over as soon as I

can.”

He hung up, and as soon as that contact with Carol was broken, reality slipped away from him again. He

looked around the office, and it became suddenly rather horrible, because it had no longer any meaning. He

had an urgent wish to get out of it, yet when he rose he stood for some while with his hands on the edge of the

desk, going over Hubble's words in his mind, remembering how the Sun had looked, and the stars, and the

sad, alien Earth, knowing that it was all impossible but unable to deny it. The long hall of time, and a

shattering force... He wanted desperately to run away, but there was no place to run to. Presently he went

down the corridor to Hubble's office.

They were all there, the twelve men of the staff, and Johnson. Johnson had gone by himself into a corner. He

had seen what lay out there beyond the town, and the others had not. He was trying to understand it, to

understand the fact and the explanation of it he had just heard. It was not a pleasant thing, to watch him try.

Kenniston glanced at the others. He had worked closely with these men. He had thought he knew them all so

well, having seen them under stress, in the moments when their work succeeded and the others when it did

not. Now he realized that they were all strangers, to him and to each other, alone and wary with their personal

fears.

The City at World's End

Chapter 2—the incredible 8

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