When Worlds Collide (When Worlds Collide 1)

“… Ruined my dress, absolutely ruined!” he heard one woman say.

And some one else laughed. That sentence spread. “Her dress was ruined. Too bad!”

From the men there came a different sort of comment:

“When I say I never saw anything like it before in my life, I mean I’ve never seen anything like it before in my life.…”

The excited voice of one of the scientists: “Amazing, the way things survived. Almost nothing has been damaged in the machine-shops and the power-houses. Those places were built like bank vaults. Great genius for organization, that man Hendron.”

Another man spoke: “I inspected the seismograph first. The needle had shot clear off the roll the night before last and put it out of business. Then I looked at the barometric record. Air-pressure changed around here inches in minutes. The barometer went out of business too. You could almost feel what was happening to the earth. I had sensations of being lifted and lowered, and of pressure coming and going on my ears.

“I wonder how many people survived. The volcanic manifestations must have been awful. They must still be going on—although I can’t tell whether it’s earthquake now, or just my legs shaking. And smell the sulphur in the air.”

Tony saw Peter Vanderbilt sitting pacifically on a log, a cup of coffee in one hand, a sandwich in the other, and his bedraggled handkerchief spread over his knees for a napkin. The elegant Vanderbilt’s mustache was clogged with mud. His hair was a cake of mud. His shoes were gobs of mud. One of his pant-legs had been torn off at the knee. His shirt-tails had escaped his belt and festooned his midriff in stained tatters, and yet as Tony approached him, he still maintained his attitude of cosmic indifference, of urbanity so complete that nothing could succeed in ruffling it spiritually.

Vanderbilt rose. “Tony, my friend,” he exclaimed. “What a masquerade! What a disguise! I recognized you only by the gauge in which heaven made your shoulders. Sit down. Join me in a spot of lunch.”

Tony sat on the log, which apparently the wind had moved into position especially for Mr. Vanderbilt. “I’ll have a snack with you,” he replied. “Then I must get back to work.”

The quondam Beau Brummell of Fifth Avenue nodded understandingly. “Work, my dear fellow! I never saw so many people who were so avid for work, and yet there’s something exalting about it. And the storm was certainly impressive. I admit that I was impressed. In fact, I proclaim that I was impressed. Yet its whole moral was futility.”

“Futility?”

“Oh, don’t think that for a minute I was being philosophical. I wasn’t referring to the obvious futility of all man’s efforts and achievements. They were quite apparent before this—this—ah—disturbance. I was thinking of myself entirely. I was thinking of the many years I had spent as a lad in learning geography, and how useless all that knowledge was to me now. I should imagine that the geography I learned at twelve was now completely out of date.”

Tony nodded to the man on the log. “So I should imagine. You’ll excuse me, but I’m needed.”

Peter Vanderbilt smiled and put his cup beside Tony’s on the ground. Then without a word he rose and followed the younger man. They found Hendron emerging from the great hangar. His condition was neither worse nor better than that of the others. He seized Tony’s shoulder the minute his eyes lighted upon him. “Tony, son, have you seen Eve?”

“Yes.”

“She’s all right?”

“She’s entirely all right. She’s working over at the emergency hospital.”

Behind Hendron stood a number of men. He turned to them. “You go ahead and inspect the machine-shop. I’ll join you in a minute.”

He then noticed that Tony had a companion. “Hello, Vanderbilt. Glad to see you’re safe.” And again he spoke to Tony. “What was the extent of the injury to personnel?”

Tony shook his head. “I don’t know yet.”

Vanderbilt spoke. “I just came from the field hospital before I had my coffee. I was making a private check-up. So far as is known, no one here was killed. There are three cases of collapse that may develop into pneumonia, several minor cases of shock, two broken legs, one broken arm, a sprained ankle; one of the men who made coffee during the storm got burned, and there are forty or fifty people with more or less minor scratches and abrasions. In all less than seventy-five cases were reported so far.”

Hendron’s head bobbed again. He sighed with relief. “Good God, I’m thankful! It was more terrifying out there, apparently, than it was dangerous.”

“It was not unlike taking a Turkish bath on a roller coaster in the dark,” Vanderbilt replied.

Hendron rubbed his hand across his face. “Did you men say something about coffee?”

“With brandy in it,” Tony said.

Vanderbilt took Hendron’s arm. “May I escort you? You’re a bit rocky, I guess.”

“Just a bit. Brandy, eh? Good.” Before he walked away, he spoke to Tony. “Listen, son—” The use of that word rocked Tony’s heart. “This was much more than I had anticipated, much worse. But by the mercy of Providence the major dangers have passed, and we seem to be bloody but unbowed. The ship is safe, although one side was dented against its cradle. That’s about all. If I had foreseen anything like this, I could have been better prepared for it, although perhaps not. An open field was about the only habitable sort of place. I’ve got to get some rest now. I’m just a few minutes away from unconsciousness. I want you to take over things, if you think you can stand up for another twelve hours.”

“I’m in the pink,” Tony answered.

“Good. You’re in charge, then. Have me waked in twelve hours.”