When Worlds Collide (When Worlds Collide 1)

“Eighteen miles an hour.”

“Humidity?”

“Seventy-four per cent. But if I’m any judge of weather, it’s clearing up.”

“That’s fine. We’ll go out in the morning.”

Another man approached the desk. “The radio set is working, Mr. Hendron. There’s terrific static in bursts, but in the intervals listening has been pretty good. Everything’s silent. I don’t think anybody else made it.”

“Right. You take the receivers until midnight on the new time, put Tarleton on for four hours and let Grange have it until dawn, and then Von Beitz. No one will leave the ship to-night. I believe that the situation here is favorable; but we will need every advantage for our first experience upon this planet. So we will wait for the sun.”

The night came on clear. The visa-screen, which had been growing darker, showed now a dim, steady light. It was the light of the earth-destroyer Bronson Alpha, shining again upon the survivors of men as it set off on its measureless journey into infinite space. Other specks of light reënforced it; and the stars—glints from the débris of the world settling themselves in their strange circles about the sun.

Exhaustion allied itself to obedience to Hendron’s orders. The emigrants from Earth slumped down and slept. Hendron strode quietly through the dimly lighted chambers, looking at the sleeping people with an expression almost paternal on his face. Within him leaped an exultation so great that he could scarcely contain it.…

Tony lay down but did not sleep. Around him the members of the expedition lay in attitudes of rest. A thought had been stirring in his brain for a long time. Some one would have to take the risk of being the first to breathe the air of Bronson Beta. A small sample was not decisive. Tony did not know how accurately its composition might have been measured. He thought that it might have an evil smell. It might be sickening. It might be chemically possible to breathe, but practically, hopeless. It might contain a trace of some rare poison that, repeatedly breathed, would kill instantly or in time.

He should test it himself. They should send him out first. If he did not go into spasms of nausea and pain, the rest could follow. It was a small contribution, in Tony’s mind; but it would help justify his presence on the Ark. He had considered offering himself for this service for so long that he had created in his subconscious mind a true and very real fear of the possibilities in the atmosphere of Bronson Beta.

“They might send some one useful,” he thought. “Hendron might sacrifice himself in the test.”

The more he thought, the more he worried. His mind began to plan. If he wished, he could open the airlock and drop down to the ground. Of course, he could not get back without making a fuss—stoning the periscope outlet—and he might not remain conscious long enough. But in that case—his body would be a warning when they looked out in the morning.…

At last he rose. He went down the spiral staircase quietly. He shut doors behind him. In the bottom chamber he stood for a long time beside the airlock. He was trembling.

It did not enter his mind that the honor of being the first to step on the soil of Bronson Beta rightfully belonged to Hendron. It was self-sacrifice an

d not ambition which prompted him.

He lifted the levers that closed the inner door, balancing them so that they would fall automatically. He stepped between it and the outer door. The lock slammed; the levers fell. He was in pitch darkness.

He opened the outside door. He leaned out—his heart in his mouth. He drew in a breath.

A hot, rasping, sulphurous vapor smote his nostrils. He shuddered. Was this the atmosphere of the new planet? He remembered that the blast of the Ark had cooked the ground around it.

Gasping, wih running eyes, he lay down on the floor and felt with his feet for the iron rungs of the workmen’s ladder that ran from the now inverted bow of the Ark to the upper door and matched that on the opposite end. He began to descend. He coughed and shuddered. With every step the heat increased.

His foot touched the ground. It gave off heat like the earth around a geyser. He ran away from the looming bulk of the ship. His first fifty steps were taken in the stinging vapors.

Then—cooler air blew on his face. Sweet, fresh, cool air!

He inhaled lungfuls of it. It had no odor. It was like earth air washed by an April rain. It did not make him dizzy or sick. He did not feel weakness or numbness or pain. He felt exhilarated.

He flung out his arms in ecstasy. It was a dancer’s gesture, a glorious, abandoned gesture. He could make it only because he was alone—alone on the new earth. Bronson Beta’s atmosphere was magnificent.

He flung his arms again.

Beside him a voice said quietly: “It’s splendid, isn’t it, Tony?”

He could have been no more startled if stones had spoken or a mummy had sat up in its sarcophagus. He stiffened, not daring to look. Then into his icy veins blood flowed. He had recognized the voice. He turned in the lush, starlit dark.

“Mr. Hendron, I—I—I—”

“Never mind.” The older man approached. “I think I know why you came. You wanted to be sure of the air before any of the rest of us left the ship.”

Tony did not reply. Hendron took his arm. “So did I. I couldn’t sleep. I had to inspect our future home. I came out on the ladder half an hour ago.” Hendron chuckled. “Duquesne was on my heels. I hid. He’s gone for a walk. I heard him fall down and swear. What do you think of it? Did you see the aurora?”

“No.” Tony looked at the stars. He had a feeling that the sky overhead was not the sky to which he had been accustomed. The stars looked slightly mixed. As he stared upward, a crimson flame shot into the zenith from the horizon. It was followed by torches and sheets in all colors and shades. “Lord!” he whispered.