Wollheim, Donald A - The Secret of the ninth Planet

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The Secret of the Ninth Planet

Donald A. Wollheim

For--

Three denizens of this minor planet-- Eleanor, Bill and of course Janet.

WHILE THE circumnavigation of the solar system seems farfetched, it may not be

once the problem of effective anti-gravitational control is solved. In this book

I have assumed that the many researchers now actually at work on this problem

will achieve such a result in the next decade. It is not at all impossible that

they may-- for we all know that the more minds that work at a problem, the

sooner it will be solved. The discovery of a means of negating, reversing or

otherwise utilizing the immense force of gravitation for space flight purposes

is now thought to be within the bounds of probability. It should occur some time

within the next hundred years, possibly in even the short period I assume here.

Once solved, the severe handicaps imposed on space exploration by the weight and

chemical limitations of rockets would no longer apply. The whole timetable of

our conquest of the planets in our solar system would be tremendously speeded

up, from hot Mercury all the way out to frigid Pluto.

In describing the visits of the spaceship Magellan to the planets, I have

endeavored to adhere to known facts and the more reasonable assumptions about

each of these worlds. The planet Pluto, however, deserves further comment,

occupying as it does both an important role in this adventure and a unique one

in actual astronomical lore.

Back at the dawn of this century, many astronomers, and notably Dr. Percival

Lowell, studied certain irregularities in the orbit and motion of Neptune, at

that time believed to be the outermost planet. They decided that these

eccentricities (or perturbations, as they are called) could only be caused by

the presence of another, yet undiscovered planet beyond Neptune.

Following this line of research, a young astronomer, Dr. Clyde Tombaugh, working

at Lowell's own observatory, was able to announce on March 13, 1930, that he had

finally found this ninth world, which he named Pluto.

In the years that have followed, Pluto has proven to be a truly puzzling planet.

Unlike its neighbors from Jupiter outward, it is not a giant world, light and

gaseous in nature. Instead, it belongs physically to the small, dense inner

planets of which Earth is one.

The latest viewpoint on this planet, whose size and weight seem quite like those

of Earth, is that it may not be a true child of the Sun, but an outsider

captured as it roamed the trackless realms of galactic space. Its orbit is

highly eccentric and rather lopsided, taking it as far away from the Sun as four

and a half billion miles and as close to the Sun as two and three-quarter

billion miles, thereby cutting inside the orbit of Neptune itself. In fact,

during the period from 1969 to 2009 (covering most of the lifetimes of the

younger readers of this book) Pluto will not be the ninth planet, but the

eighth, for it will be at its closest in those years. Huge Neptune will thus

regain temporarily the title of being the Sun's farthest outpost!

This orbital eccentricity has lead some astronomers to speculate on the

possibility that Pluto may once have been briefly held as a satellite of

Neptune. And following that line of thought, the possibility also has been

suggested that Neptune's larger moon, Triton, may once have been a companion of

Pluto which failed to break away from Neptune's grip!

I think that the first men to land on Pluto are going to make some very

astonishing discoveries. But I am also sure that they will never go there in

rockets. They will have to make the immense trip by some more powerful means--

like the anti-gravitational drive.

D.A.W.

CHAPTER ONE-- Special Delivery-- by Guided Missile

ON THE morning that the theft of the solar system's sunlight began, Burl Denning

woke up in his sleeping bag in the Andes, feeling again the exhilaration of the

keen, rarefied, mountain air. He glanced at the still sleeping forms of his

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father and the other members of the Denning expedition, and sat up, enjoying the

first rays of the early morning.

The Llamas were already awake, moving restlessly back and forth on their padded

feet, waiting for their tender to arise and unleash them. The mules were

standing patiently as ever, staring quietly into the distant misty panorama of

the mountains.

It was, thought Burl, a dim day, but this he supposed was due to the earliness

of the morning. As the Sun rose, it would rapidly bring the temperatures up, and

its unshielded rays would force them to cover up as they climbed along the high

mountain passes.

The sky was cloudless as usual. Burl assumed that the dimness was due to

volcanic dust, or some unseen high cloud far away. And, indeed, as the

expedition came to life, and the day began in earnest, nobody paid any attention

to the fact that the Sun was not quite so warm as it should have been.

The Denning expedition, questing among the untracked and forgotten byways of the

lost Inca ruins in the vast, jagged mountains of inland Peru, was not alone in

failing to notice the subtle channeling away of the Sun's warmth and brilliance.

They were, in this respect, one with virtually the entire population of Earth.

In New York, in San Francisco, in Philadelphia and Kansas City, people going

about their day's chores simply assumed that there must be clouds somewhere--

the temperature only slightly less than normal for a July day. A few men shaded

their eyes and looked about, noticing that the heat was not too intense-- and

thought it a blessing.

In some places in Europe, there were clouds and a little rain, and the dimness

was ascribed to this. It was raining in much of Asia, and there were scattered

afternoon showers throughout Latin America, which were standard for the season.

There was a flurry of snow in Melbourne and a cold blow in Santiago de Chile.

The men in the weather bureaus noted on their day's charts that temperatures

were a few degrees lower than had been predicted, but that was nothing unusual.

Weather was still not entirely predictable, even with the advances of

meteorology that were to be expected of the latter years of the twentieth

century.

The world was reading about other things than the vagaries of the weather. In

the United States, baseball occupied the headlines, and the nonathletic-minded

could find some speculative interest in the completion of another manned space

platform racing along in its eternal orbit twelve thousand miles away from

Earth's surface. The U.S. Moon Base in the center of the Crater Ptolemaeus had

described the appearance of this platform in an interesting radio dispatch which

appeared on the first pages of most newspapers. The third prober rocket sent to

Venus had been unreported for the tenth day after penetrating the clouds that

hid that planet's surface from human eyes. It was, like its two predecessors, a

minimum-sized, unmanned instrument device designed to penetrate the clouds and

radio back data on the nature of the Venusian atmosphere and the surface. But

after its first report, nothing more had been heard.

Some discussion was going on in science circles about what had happened.

Speculation centered on the possible success of other types of prober rockets,

but it was universally agreed that the time had not come when a manned rocket

could safely undertake the difficult trip to Venus and return.

The years of space flight since the orbiting of Sputnik I back in 1957 had

produced many fascinating results, but they had also brought a realization of

the many problems that surrounded the use of rockets for space flight. It was

generally believed that no one should risk a manned flight until absolutely

everything possible that could be learned by robot and radio-controlled missiles

had been learned. It now looked as if Venus and Mars trips were still a dozen

years away.

Burl Denning was keenly interested in all of this. As a senior in high school,

the newly expanding frontiers of the universe represented something special to

his generation. It would be men of his own age who would eventually man those

first full-scale expeditions to neighbor worlds. By the time he was out of

college, with an engineering degree, he might himself hope to be among those

adventurers of space.

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Burl was torn between two interests. Archaeology was both a profession and a

hobby in the Denning family. His grandfather had been among the first to explore

the jungle ruins of Indochina. His father, although a businessman and industrial

engineer, made annual vacation pilgrimages to the ruins of the old Indian

civilizations of the Americas. Burl had been with him once before, when they had

trekked through the chicle forests of Guatemala in search of a lost Mayan city.

And now they were again on a quest, this time for the long-forgotten treasure of

the Incas.

Burl was thoroughly familiar with the techniques of tracking down the ancient

records of mankind. He got along well with natives and primitive people; he knew

the arts of wilderness survival; he knew the delicate techniques of sifting sand

and dirt to turn up those priceless bits of pottery and chipped stone that could

supply pages of the forgotten epics of human history.

However, later in the day it seemed as if their particular camp had petered out.

There were ruins there-- a broken-down wall, a dry well and a bit of eroded

bas-relief lying on its side. Burl's father looked at him thoughtfully. The

tall, sandy-haired youth was sitting astraddle a pile of dust, methodically

sifting it through a wide-mesh strainer. A large pile of sifted sand gave

evidence of the length of his efforts, and one broken bit of clay was the only

result he had obtained.

Two of the Indian guides sat patiently in the shade, watching them. One was

digging slowly, turning up more dirt to be sifted.

"I think we've had enough here," said the elder Denning. "Burl, you can knock

off. Tomorrow well pull up stakes and see what is in the next valley. We'll try

to follow that old Inca road over the mountains. I don't believe anyone has ever

penetrated there-- and the airplane surveys indicated some evidence of human

dwellings."

Burl nodded, and set the sifter down. He'd learned to curb his natural energies

for the exacting tasks required of serious scientific research. "Okay," he said,

"I was hoping you'd move on soon, Dad. This looked like a washout from the

first. I'd say this place was sacked and ruined even before the Incas fell."

The older man nodded. "I suppose so. Well, let's wash up and see what's for

supper."

They went down to the icy mountain stream to wash the dirt from their hands.

"It's been a nice day," Burl commented. "In spite of the Sun being out steadily,

it wasn't hot at all. Cooler than yesterday."

Mark Denning looked up at the sky and the Sun lowering toward the horizon.

"There must have been some volcanic dust in the heavens," he said. "The Sun's

been a bit dimmed, have you noticed?"

Burl squinted his eyes against the glare. "Wasn't any eruption around here.

Maybe in Ecuador?"

His father shrugged. "Could have been, thousands of miles away," was his slow

reply. "Volcanic dust travels around the world, just as radioactive dust

permeated the atmosphere from atomic testings. They say that the dust from the

great Krakatoa explosion remained in the atmosphere for three years before the

last of it settled."

When they had finished supper and the Sun was casting its last red rays over the

rapidly purpling landscape, Burl got out the expedition radio, set up its

antenna, plugged in its compact atomic battery, and tried to get the news from

Lima. All he got was static.

He fiddled with the dials for a long time, twisting the antenna, ranging the

wavelengths, but there was static everywhere. "Strange," he said to his father,

"something's disturbed reception completely."

Pedro Gonzales, their official Peruvian guide, leaned over. "Could be the

battery she is broken, eh?"

Burl shook his head. "Not this battery," he said. "It's a brand-new one, a real

keen development. And I already checked the wiring. It's some sort of

disturbance that's blocking reception. Maybe we're in a dead zone or something."

"Wasn't dead yesterday," said his father. "Maybe that eruption was radioactive."

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Burl looked up sharply. "I'll check the Geiger counters, Dad. Something's

blocking reception, something strong and powerful to interfere with this set."

But when he returned, he had to admit be had found nothing.

When the Sun went down, they retired, for the temperature drops swiftly in the

high, thin air of the Andes.

In the rest or the world people watched their color-vision shows without

interruption. Reception was good with the Moon base, the space platforms had no

difficulty making reports, and the radio news beamed out as usual. In Lima,

there was a little static, and direct transmission with Brazil seemed partially

disrupted, but that was all.

In the following five days, the Denning expedition had managed the difficult

climb over the next range of mountains and had come down in the high plateau

valley between. In this same period, the world began to realize that the dimness

of the sky was not a temporary phenomenon.

Weather stations noted that the past few days had all been several degrees under

the average. Reports had come in that farmers were querying the unusual drop in

the temperatures at night. And astronomers, measuring the surface heat of the

Sun, came up with strange discrepancies from previous data.

One astronomer communicated with another, and a general exchange of advice

began. In a short while, a communication was laid on the desk of the President

of the United States, who scanned it and had it immediately transmitted to the

Secretary General of the United Nations. The Secretary General circulated the

report among the scientific bureaus of all member nations, and this led in turn

to a meeting of the Security Council. This meeting was held in quiet, without

benefit of newspaper reporters or audience.

There was no longer any doubt. The radiation of the Sun reaching the face of the

Earth had decreased. The facts were indisputable. Where a day should have

registered, in some places, at least 90° in the Sun, a reading of only 84° was

noted. Measurements definitely showed that the face of the Sun visible to man on

Earth had dimmed by just that margin.

This might not prove serious at first, but as the scientists called in by the

Security Council pointed out, it promised terrible things as the year went on. A

difference of five or ten degrees all over the Earth could mean the ruin of

certain crops, it could mean an increase in snowfall and frost that could very

rapidly destroy the economies and habitability of many places on the Earth's

teeming surface.

"But what," asked the Chairman of the Council, "is causing this decrease in

solar energy?"

This the astronomers could not answer. But they pointed to one factor. The

reports from the U.S. Moon Base did not agree with the observations from Earth.

Moon instruments claimed no decrease whatsoever in the amount of sunlight

reaching the arid, airless surface of the Earth's only satellite.

The cause was somewhere on Earth. And the Security Council requested the careful

scanning of the Earth from space platforms and the Moon to determine the center

of the trouble.

Burl Denning had not found the next valley of much interest, either. Evidence of

an Inca road over the mountain had petered out. There were signs there had been

human dwellings, but they were not Inca-- just reminders of the onetime passage

of an unknown band of primitives who had grazed their sheep, built temporary

tents, and pulled up stakes perhaps a hundred years before.

So again at night, Burl, his father, and Gonzales took counsel. They were

debating which way to proceed next; Mark Denning reasoning that they should go

further inland, following tales natives had told; Gonzales urging that they

retrack their path and proceed northward toward the regions where Inca ruins

abounded.

For the past week Burl had not been able to get radio reception. The static had

increased as they had gone eastward over the mountain, but not a word of news or

any human voice came through. The Moon was rising on the horizon as Burl sat

playing with the antenna. Finally he gave up and switched it off.

The discussion had died away and the three men were quiet. The Indian guides had

retired to their own campfire, and one of them had taken out his pipes and was

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blowing a soft, plaintive tune.

Burl stared at the full Moon in silence, wondering if he would ever have a

chance to walk its surface, or if his own future was to lie in probing mankind's

past rather than surveying the grounds of his future. As he watched, he thought

he saw a faint light among the brightening stars where none had been before.

He squinted, and, sure enough, he saw that one tiny white light was swinging

more and more toward the center of the sky. He pointed it out to his father and

Gonzales. "Too fast to be a celestial object," he said. "Is it one of the space

platforms or a sputnik?"

The two men gazed at it in curiosity. Suddenly it seemed to grow brighter and

sharper and to twist toward them in its path.

"Look!" gasped Burl, but the others were already on their feet.

The light plunged down. There was a sudden outburst of yellow flame that caused

the three to duck instinctively, and brought the Indians to their feet with

yells. The glare brightened until they could see that something was just above

them. The fire vanished as swiftly as it came, but a white spot of light

remained.

"It's a parachute!" Burl shouted. "It's a rocket or something, braking to a stop

above us, and coming down by parachute!"

In the pale light of the full Moon they saw that something metallic and

glistening hung from the white mushroom of a parachute. There was a clanging

sound as it hit the rocky earth with a soft, sighing whoosh. The cloth of the

parachute settled.

They ran across the dry stone of the valley floor, but Burl's long, athletic

legs outdistanced the others. He reached it first.

It was a cylinder of metal, about three feet long and a foot in diameter.

"It's the nose of a message missile-- dropped from a guided missile," Burl

announced. "And-- look!" He dramatically pointed the beam of his flashlight upon

its side.

There, written in black, heat-resistant paint, were the words-- To the Denning

Andes Expedition, from U.S. Air Force Base, California Region. By Guided Missile

Post by Moon Base control, Ptolomaeus Crater. Official. Open Without Delay.

CHAPTER TWO-- The Valley of Stolen Sunlight

FOR A moment all three were silent with amazement. "From California-- and Moon

Base-- for us?" gasped Burl, finally. "But why? What can they want of us?"

His father frowned. "Only way to find out is to open it and see." He squatted

down to study the cylinder closer. Burl pointed a finger at the nose.

"Looks like a crack there. Maybe it unscrews. Let's lift it."

It was not as heavy as it had appeared, for, like all rocket missiles, it was

made of the light but tough alloys that were necessary to conserve weight-lift

costs and fuel reserves. They stood it upright and tried to turn the top. After

a little resistance, it unscrewed slowly. Inside, they found a rolled document

bearing the seal of the United States Air Force.

Burl took it out, and unfolded it with unsteady hands. His father read over his

shoulder.

Gonzales poked at the empty cylinder, impatiently. Finally, he burst out, "What

does it say? What do they want?"

Burl turned to him. "It's unbelievable! It's-- it's just so darned surprising!

The dimness of the days, the drop in temperature-- it wasn't just around here!

It was all over the world!"

Quickly, he went on to tell the Peruvian what they had just learned. The

communication was from the U.S. Space Commission and it had been directed on its

flight from California by the Moon Base, because only from the satellite could

the exact location of the Dennings be spotted. It seemed that the Dennings were

the only scientifically trained personnel close to the point on Earth where the

disturbance originated. This also accounted for the blanketing of radio waves in

their vicinity. Several airplanes had tried to locate them, but strange

disturbances in the ether and atmosphere had made it impossible to establish

contact. Also, the back reaches of the Andes were poorly mapped and treacherous

in air currents, even in normal times.

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"During the last week, a certain fraction of the Sun's light and energy reaching

the Earth has been diverted. It has been bent or focused in much the same way

that a lens bends light rays-- and the point to which it has been directed is a

spot only seven miles from here! Over that last mountain range," said Burl,

pointing.

Gonzales followed his finger. "Just over the mountains lies the source of the

trouble," said Burl excitedly. "And we're the nearest to it. They want us to go

over there, see what it is, stop it, or report back. It took the telescopes in

Moon Base to locate us and to track the center of the trouble!"

Mark Denning pursed his lips. "We'll have to start tomorrow, and we'll have to

go fast. A loss of light and heat, however slight, could have very serious

effects on life if continued too long. We can make it by tomorrow night, if we

start early and leave the Indians and pack animals behind."

The other two nodded. Mark looked at them in the half-light of the Moon. "You'll

have to stay with the equipment, Pedro, otherwise the Indians might abandon it.

Burl and I will start out at dawn."

Gonzales agreed and the three made their way back to the camp. At the first sign

of light breaking in the morning horizon, Burl and his father started off. They

carried only enough equipment for survival, plus the additional items that might

be needed for the emergency ahead.

The trek over the mountains was a hard one, the path narrow, steep, sometimes

nonexistent. There were few signs of Indians or animals, and it was plain that

few ever traveled over this range. The air was cold and thin, vegetation sparse

and hardy. All around them was the cold blue of the sky-- a shade darker than

usual-- and the gaunt peaks of ancient mountains. The Inca kings may have

claimed the land here, but even their hardy legions had never conquered these

lonely and hostile sky domains.

Panting and weary with hours of climbing, Burl and his father made a quick lunch

in a sheltered jumble of rock near the top. Then, shouldering their packs again,

they trudged on. At last they reached a point where the view of the other side

spread out before them-- a breathtakingly clear vision of the little valley

below.

As they looked down, the air seemed to shimmer and vibrate. Burl rubbed his

eyes. "It hurts," he said.

His father squinted. "There's a powerful vibrational effect. It may be a very

dangerous concentration of the invisible rays of the Sun as well as of light."

Once Burl had gotten used to the odd visual effect, which was like gazing into

the twisting heat rays rising from an overheated oven, he saw that there was a

small flat region between the mountains. And in the center of this valley was a

large black structure of some sort. The twisting effect of the light around it

made it impossible to tell more.

"That's it," said Burl. His father nodded, shifted the pack to ease his

shoulders, unstrapped the hunting rifle slung over his back, and carefully

checked its loads.

Burl saw what his father was doing and suddenly understood the danger. What

could be doing a thing like this? What but something not of this Earth?

Something of distant space, of a science beyond that of man-- and unfriendly

besides. Now, for the first time, Burl realized what he had not had time to

before-- this was an enemy he and his father were facing-- an enemy of all

mankind-- and utterly unknown.

He gulped, gripped his rifle, and followed his father down the sliding rocky

trail.

As they drew nearer the base of the mountain, the effects of the strange

vibrations grew more pronounced. Burl avoided looking directly ahead, keeping

his eyes on the ground before his feet, yet even so, he could not help noticing

how the stones around them seemed to shimmer in the invisible waves. From the

base of the valley the sky now seemed streaked with black and gray rings, as if

they were reaching the center of some atmospheric whirlpool. Out of the

mountains, after hours of arduous scrambling, they started across the barren

rocky plain.

Before them rose a vast circular structure several stories high, ominously black

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and without any sign of windows or doors. Above the building protruded two great

projections ending in huge, shining discs. One of the monstrous cuplike discs

was facing the Sun, the other pointed in the opposite direction.

As the two men came nearer and nearer, the strangeness in the air increased.

They felt they were being penetrated through and through with invisible lances,

with tiny prickles of heat. "Radiation?" queried Burl softly, afraid of the

answer. His father trudged grimly on for a moment, and then put down his pack.

He took out a Geiger counter and activated it.

He shook his head. "No radioactivity," he said. "Whatever this is, it isn't

that."

They reached the wall of the building. Oddly, here they seemed sheltered from

the unusual vibrations. Burl realized that the source was above them, probably

the two mighty discs raised high in the sky.

The Dennings surveyed the building, but found no entrance. It must have been a

quarter of a mile around its walls, but there was no sign of a door or entry.

The wall was of a rocklike substance, but it was not like any rock or plastic

Burl had ever seen.

"We've got to get in," said Burl as they returned to the starting point, "but

how?"

His father smiled. "This way." He opened his pack and took two cans of blasting

powder from it. "I thought these would come in handy. Lucky we had some left

over from the blasting we did last week."

He set both cans at the base of the high wall, wired them together, and ran the

wire as far as it reached. When the two men were a safe distance away, Mark

sparked off the explosive.

There was a thunderous roar-- rocks and dirt showered around them, and bits of

black powdery stuff. When the smoke cleared, Burl and his father leaped to their

feet, rifles in hand.

There was a crack in the side of the wall where the explosive had gone off. And

the rip was large enough to get through!

Without a word, they charged across the ground, still smoking from the

concussion, and squeezed through the mysterious walls of the enigmatic building.

The walls were thin, thin but hard, as befit masters of atomic engineering.

Inside, they found a roomless building-- one single chamber within the frame of

the outer walls.

A dim, bluish light emanated from the curving ceiling. On the uncleared rocky

ground which was the floor of the building were a number of huge machines.

They were spherical glassy inventions, many times the height of a man, connected

by strings of thick metal bars and rows of smaller globes, none of which was

familiar. There was a steady humming noise, and above, the two giant, metal

masts penetrating the ceiling rotated slowly. Doubtless, the great Sun-trapping

discs were affixed to the top of these masts.

There was no living thing in sight.

Burl and his father stood silently, half crouched, with rifles at the ready, but

nothing moved to challenge them. There was only the humming of the Sun

transmitters.

Burl called out, but there was no answer. They advanced cautiously, fearing a

trap. The place did not have the look of living things about it. "An automatic

station," said Mark under his breath. "I think it's strictly automatic."

It gradually became evident that Mark was right. Everything was automatic.

Whoever had built this structure to divert the rays of the Sun had simply set it

down, put it in motion, and left. There was no evidence of any provisions for a

garrison or a director.

They studied the machines but could make nothing of them. They found what looked

like controls, but although they pushed and pulled the levers and knobs, the

humming did not cease. It seemed as if the controls were either dummies or had

to be specially motivated.

"What do we do now?" asked Burl, after they had tried pulling all the levers on

one particular switchboard without any results. "Do you have enough powder left

to blow up the machinery?"

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His father shook his head. "I had only those two cans with me. We could try

shooting into the machinery." Leveling his rifle, he fired at a glassy globe

perched upon the central sphere. The bullet pinged off it, and they saw that it

had failed even to dent the glistening surface.

"It won't work," said the elder Denning, after several more shots had produced

the same result and the concussion reverberating from the enclosed walls had

nearly deafened them.

They continued to hunt for a clue, but found none. Dejected, Burl kicked a loose

pebble and watched it rattle against a column near the main control board. A

small metallic ball rested on top of the column, apparently unattached. A

replacement part, he thought to himself, wandering over to it. It was about the

level of his head.

With the thought that if he examined it he might learn something of the nature

of the working machines, he reached out with both hands to pick it up.

As his hands touched the metallic ball, there was a sudden terrible flash of

power. He felt himself grasped by forces beyond his control, paralyzed

momentarily like one who has laid hold of an electrically charged wire. He

opened his mouth to scream in agony, but he could say nothing. A great force

surged through his body, radiating, charging every cell and atom of his being.

He felt as if he were being lifted from the floor. Then the globe seemed to

dissolve in his hands. It became a glare of light, grew misty, and then

vanished.

For a moment he stood there on tiptoe, arced with the potent violence of the

force, glowing from within with energies, and then he felt as if the supercharge

were dissolving itself, slipping into him, sliding into the ground, then

disappearing.

He stood before the column, swaying, but still conscious and alive. His hands

were still raised, but there was no ball between them, neither of metal nor of

power.

He let them fall to his side and took a step. He was whole, he was sound, he was

unharmed. He heard his father's footsteps running to him, and murmured weakly,

"I'm all right."

And he was. He could see no sign of damage. "I must have absorbed an awful lot

of that energy-- or whatever it was," he said.

After resting a moment, he decided to try the useless controls again. Going over

to one small board, he idly shoved a lever. This time he felt resistance. The

lever was activated. There was a slight change in the radiance of one globe.

"Dad!" Burl shouted. "It works! It works for me now!"

Mark Denning watched as Burl turned dials and levers and got responses. "You

must have been charged in a special way," he said excitedly. "That's how they

lock their devices. They will only respond to a person carrying that special

energy charge, whatever it was. Come on, let's get to the main control, before

the effect goes away-- if it does."

The two dashed to the panel which, they guessed, activated the main Sun

transmitter. Burl grabbed the instruments and threw them back to what seemed to

be the zero positions.

The humming rose in intensity, then quieted down and finally stopped. There was

a series of clicks, and one by one, the various globes, condensers and glowing

machines died out. Above them came a whirring noise, and Burl looked up to see

the masts withdrawing into the building, their discs presumably left flat and

directionless.

It felt different. Suddenly they knew that the vibrations which had been so

heavy in the air about them were gone. There was silence everywhere, the natural

silence of an empty, lifeless building in an uninhabited valley.

Burl and his father made their way to the break in the wall and climbed through

it.

Outside, the Sun shone down brighter than it had before. The sky was the calm

serene blue of a cloudless day. Burl knew that at that same moment, all over the

world, the sky was clearer and the Sun warmer.

But for how long? Behind them the building still stood-- and its inventors were

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still to be found.

CHAPTER THREE-- The Secret of A-G 17

THE DENNINGS did not have much time to speculate on the mystery of the

Sun-stealers. For just as they were discussing what should be their next course

of action, the problem was solved for them. There was a roaring in the air, then

a humming, and in a matter of a few more seconds, six rocket helicopters popped

into sight, hovered over the valley on streaming jets, and settled down.

"They're U.S. planes!" gasped Burl, jumping to his feet and going to meet them.

"It must mean that they know we stopped the machines."

"Obviously," said his father, striding with him to greet the helmeted man who

was now stepping out of the lead machine. By this time the last of the squad had

landed, and the khaki-clad soldiers in them were already disembarking. "I

imagine that all over the world the sky turned a little brighter. It must have

been apparent at once."

The leader of the 'copter men reached them. He was a tall, bronzed man, wearing

the service coveralls and markings of a captain of the Air Force. He stretched

out his hand. "You must be the Dennings. I'm Captain Saunders. I've been asked

to bring you back with me right away so that we can get a complete report on

this affair. How fast can you get ready?"

"Why," said Burl, "we're ready right now. As soon as we can dump our packs

aboard. But, gee, you mean go back-- where?"

Saunders smiled grimly. "To California. We just left there. I have been given

urgent orders to waste no time. So will you oblige?"

The two Dennings looked at each other. This was important, all right. They

realized that these planes had flown on fast rockets the instant the sky had

cleared. Possibly there was still a crisis-- one they had not heard of.

They did not pause to ask further questions. Mark Denning asked the captain to

dispatch one of his 'copters to the camp beyond the mountains to tell Gonzales

to load up and start back for Lima. This order given, the two Dennings climbed

into the rocket 'copter, and Saunders took the controls.

With a whoosh, the squat craft lifted on its rockets, its jet-driven fan carried

it up, folded, and the rocket engine took over. On upward into the stratosphere

they hurtled, across the Western Hemisphere, across the face of jungle and

isthmus, across the barren mountains of Mexico, and in a matter of less than

half an hour, settled down in the wide open field of a U.S. Air Force base in

southern California. It was all so swift, so sudden, that to Burl it seemed like

a dream. There had been so many days in the field, in the peace and quiet of the

high mountains of the Andes. There had been the slow hunting around age-worn

ruins; the careful, deliberate sifting of tons of soil and sand for tiny shards;

then this-- the urgent message, the trek, the weird building, the strange,

body-filling shock, and the control over the Sun-theft globes, followed by the

swift transition over thousands of miles.

Here he was in his home country-- weeks sooner than he had expected-- but not to

return to his home and school. No, for he felt that somehow an adventure was

beginning that could lead anywhere. Perhaps his adventure had actually ended,

but he saw now that he would be questioned, probed, and asked to recount his

story over and over.

Burl and his father were met at the port by a group of officers and escorted

rapidly to a room in a large building. Here there were half a dozen men in

civilian clothes. One by one, these men were introduced, and as each one was

named, Burl wondered more about what was to come.

There was a general from Army Intelligence. There was a high member of the State

Department. There were three noted astronomers-- among them the surprisingly

young Russell Clyde and the elderly and famous Dr. Merckmann. There was an

aircraft manufacturer whose name graced a thousand planes, and an engineer who

had contributed to the conquest of the Moon.

The general, Walton Shrove, asked them to sit down. He was in charge of the

affair. It turned out to be a careful questioning of their story. It was not a

hounding of questions as in a police quizzing, or a baiting from newspapermen

eager to get a scoop. Rather, their questions were deliberate and intelligent.

They drew out the full account of what Burl and his father had seen in that

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valley, and of what the Sun-theft globes appeared to be like in operation. They

concentrated deeply on the curious experience which had placed in Burl the

charge that enabled him to control the machines.

"Would you mind," the general asked Burl, "if we subject you to a series of

medical and electronic tests to determine whether this charge is still with

you?"

Burl shook his head. "I'll go along with anything you say."

"Very well," the general smiled. "We'll make our purposes clear to you

afterward. But we want to get this over as soon as we can."

Burl left the room in company with three technicians who had come in. They took

him to the medical office at the base and there he was given a complete check.

At the electronics lab, electrodes were attached to him and careful readings

were made of the natural electrical resistance of his body, and of his apparent

physical charge. After an hour of tests, Burl was brought back to the main

council room.

As he entered, he sensed he had interrupted something important. His father

looked at him, and Burl detected in his face a certain curious mingling of pride

and parental concern. What, the young man wondered, were they up to?

When he was seated, the company grew silent. The general pursed his lips, looked

directly at Burl, and said, "I think the time has come to acquaint you with the

problem our world is facing. We may ask you to make a very personal decision,

and we think you ought to know what may hang on it."

He stopped. Every face at the table was grim. Mark Denning, too, was sober,

though Burl detected that he also did not quite know what was to come.

"It is apparent that some race of beings, some species from outer space, unknown

to us, has begun a process of tapping the power and light of the Sun for

transmission elsewhere. The station on Earth, which you shut down, was an

important one. But... it was not the only one. There are others, operating in

this solar system." He nodded to Merckmann.

The old astronomer took the cue. "The observatories of the Earth, aided by the

lunar observers, have definitely determined that there is still a certain amount

of light being shifted from the faces of other planets and diverted. We have

detected by telescopic and telethermic measurements that there are areas of

Sun-disturbances on the surfaces of the planets Mercury and Mars. We suspect the

existence of one on Venus. We believe that this may prove to be true on other

planets as well, but we have no doubt of the first two.

"Measurements of the amount of Sun power being piped away, and of the effect of

the magnetic disturbances used to create and maintain these stations, have shown

that they will have a definite effect on the structure of the Sun itself. We

have not yet completed all our calculations, but preliminary studies indicate

that if this type of solar interference is not stopped, it may cause our Sun to

nova in somewhere between two and three years time."

He stopped, but the thirty-year-old prodigy, Russell Clyde, took up the story.

"By nova, we mean that the Sun will literally explode. It will flame up, burst

to many times its present size. Such an explosion will burn Earth to cinders,

render all the planets inside the orbit of Jupiter uninhabitable, scorch their

atmospheres, dissolve their waters into steam, and make them lifeless flaming

deserts. We have seen other stars turn nova. We have measured their explosions.

We know just about what age and stability inside a sun is necessary to cause

this. And we fear that the danger of our own Sun doing so is great-- if the

Sun-tapping is not stopped."

Everyone at the table was silent. Burl was stunned. Finally he caught his

breath. "But how can we stop it? We can't get to all the planets in time. Our

rockets are not ready-- and rocketships would be too slow. Why it would take two

years for rocketships to reach Mars, if the expedition were ready now... and I

understand that it will be another ten years before Operation Mars is even

attempted."

General Shrove nodded. "That is correct. Our rocket engineering is not yet

advanced enough to allow us to take such emergency action. We are still only

just over the doorstep of interplanetary flight-- and our enemies, whoever they

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file:///F|/rah/David%20A.%20Wollheim/Wolheim,%20David%20A%20-%20The%20Secret%20of%20the%20Ninth%20Planet.txtTheSecretoftheNinthPlanetTheSecretoftheNinthPlanetDonaldA.WollheimFor--Threedenizensofthisminorplanet--Eleanor,BillandofcourseJanet.WHILETHEcircumnavigationofthesolarsystemseemsfarfetched,itmay otbeoncetheproblemofeffectiveanti-gravitationalcontrolissolved.InthisbookIhaveassumedthatthemanyresearchersnowactuallyatworkonthisproblemwillachievesucharesultinthenextdecade.Itisnotatallimposs...

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Wollheim, Donald A - The Secret of the ninth Planet

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