Legacy from Sirius. John Russell Fearn
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BORGO PRESS BOOKS BY JOHN RUSSELL FEARN
1,000-Year Voyage: A Science Fiction Novel
Anjani the Mighty: A Lost Race Novel (Anjani #2)
Black Maria, M.A.: A Classic Crime Novel
The Crimson Rambler: A Crime Novel
Don’t Touch Me: A Crime Novel
Dynasty of the Small: Classic Science Fiction Stories
The Empty Coffins: A Mystery of Horror
The Fourth Door: A Mystery Novel
From Afar: A Science Fiction Mystery
Fugitive of Time: A Classic Science Fiction Novel
The G-Bomb: A Science Fiction Novel
The Gold of Akada: A Lost Race Novel (Anjani #1)
Here and Now: A Science Fiction Novel
Into the Unknown: A Science Fiction Tale
Last Conflict: Classic Science Fiction Stories
Legacy from Sirius: A Classic Science Fiction Novel
The Man from Hell: Classic Science Fiction Stories
The Man Who Was Not: A Crime Novel
One Way Out: A Crime Novel (with Philip Harbottle)
Pattern of Murder: A Classic Crime Novel
Reflected Glory: A Dr. Castle Classic Crime Novel
Robbery Without Violence: Two Science Fiction Crime Stories
Rule of the Brains: Classic Science Fiction Stories
Shattering Glass: A Crime Novel
The Silvered Cage: A Scientific Murder Mystery
Slaves of Ijax: A Science Fiction Novel
Something from Mercury: Classic Science Fiction Stories
The Space Warp: A Science Fiction Novel
The Time Trap: A Science Fiction Novel
Vision Sinister: A Scientific Detective Thriller
What Happened to Hammond? A Scientific Mystery
Within That Room!: A Classic Crime Novel
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
Copyright © 1949 by John Russell Fearn
Copyright © 2012 by Philip Harbottle
Previously published in different form as The Trembling World, under the house name (used only once by Fearn),
Astron del Martia
Published by Wildside Press LLC
www.wildsidebooks.com
DEDICATION
To the Memory of Ron Turner
CHAPTER ONE
Robert Driscoll entered the sanctum of the President of the World Council with some nervousness. All the time he had been journeying by rocket-plane to this gigantic edifice, wherein was controlled the political and social destiny of the world, he had been wondering—wondering what on Earth could the President want with him? His position as Chief Observer for the New Mount Wilson Observatory gave him considerable standing, of course, but surely not enough to warrant a summons from the great man himself.
Bob Driscoll’s speculations came to a stop when he finally arrived before President Alroyd’s big desk. He stood looking upon a grey-haired, kindly man, beloved indeed by all the peoples of the world. Alroyd possessed the rare gift of being able to rule and still remain a human being.
“Have a seat, Mr. Driscoll,” he invited, motioning. “I’m sorry I had to call you all the way from California, but it’s most important. Indeed vitally important. I did not wish to entrust my information to television instructions for fear of something leaking out. That, you see, might have caused a panic.”
Bob Driscoll did not see, even though he nodded profoundly. He took his seat and saw the President’s grey hair haloed by the glow through the gigantic window. Outside, the spring sun was westering. In the distance, over a formidable barrier of soaring roofs a rocket-liner went down to its base.
“You will be aware,” the President said, “as indeed everybody in the world must be by now, that we are enduring the most violent earthquakes in history. They keep on recurring without warning, and no scientists seem able to account for them—except to extend the rather nebulous theory that the Earth is becoming unstable and showing the first signs of breaking up.”
Bob Driscoll nodded. “I’ve heard the reports, sir, even though I haven’t experienced anything of that nature myself.”
“The disasters are far-reaching.” Alroyd rose to his feet, a tall, kingly man in sober regalia. “And we have got to get at the reason for them to see if something cannot be done to stop them, or at least forecast where they will happen next. That would give us time to save much life and valuable property. As it is, New York, London, Paris, Rio, and several other big cities have been shaken to the depths. Every day I receive fresh news of mounting death rolls, loss of property and priceless works of art....”
Bob Driscoll made no comment. Being still fairly young—thirty-four, to be exact—he would have preferred to come straight to the point. His good-looking face and keen blue eyes must have shown as much, for the President suddenly smiled and came round his big desk.
“We believe, Mr. Driscoll, that you and your fellow astronomers can help us,” he explained. “Since an internal cause of the earthquakes cannot be detected, it seems logical to assume that the trouble might lie in the cosmos.”
“In—what way, sir?” Bob asked, having the feeling that it was possible the President did not know what he was talking about.
“I, personally, am not an astronomer,” Alroyd smiled. “But I have been informed by various scientific experts that the cause of our troubles might lie in something of the order of neutronium, densely heavy matter which in its passage through space is swinging all the planets in the solar system slightly out of balance by reason of its preponderant gravity.”
“Yes, sir, I suppose that’s feasible,” Bob admitted. “It can be checked by the orbital movements of other planets.”
“That is your sphere, Mr. Driscoll. What the Council wishes is for you to examine the problem with your fellow astronomers and then report your findings back to me. And remember!” The President raised a warning finger. “Not one word of this must go beyond the immediate scientific field it concerns. One hint that the world might be in danger would bring social and economic ruin down upon us.”
“I understand perfectly, sir.” Bob rose to his feet, sensing the interview was nearly closed. “The moment I have an answer, I’ll come personally to report it.”
“Splendid! And thank you for coming.”
Bob shook the hand of the ruler of the world and departed in something of a daze. He was troubled, too, more than he cared to admit. He had been hearing of the great earthquakes for several months now, and, like everybody else, had given them a good deal of thought, chiefly from the angle of a scientist. But he had never expected for a moment that he would be singled out as the man to explain them.
“Rather too much responsibility for my liking,” he muttered, as he boarded the California-bound rocket-liner. “Don’t know why I didn’t take up a quiet life as a machine-hand or something instead of astronomy. If I don’t provide a satisfactory answer to a command like this, I’m liable to lose my job, which in these days is not a pleasant thought.”
All the way back to California from Washington he sat musing on the problem, hardly noticing the sky through which the liner hurtled, or the ever-changing pattern of the land below. He only got a grip on things again when the liner touched