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 down at Los Angeles rocket-port. From here he took his own private helicopter to the heights of Mount Wilson where, on a massive and lonely peak, its top flattened by engineering genius, stood the greatest observatory in the world. It floated eternally above what few clouds there were in the Californian heavens. From it went forth all the world’s astronomical information.
Bob hurried through the various clerical offices until he came to the radio-room. Here he sat down and switched on the microphone connecting to speakers throughout the complicated building. Briefly he summed up his interview with the President, his words being transmitted not only to his own immediate staff but on private wavebands to every observatory throughout the world.
“So there it is, people,” he concluded, cutting out the world-waveband and dealing only with his own staff—composed of twelve of the country’s most expert cosmic-charters and astronomers. “Go to it. Get to the checking rooms and handle the reports as they come through. I’ll go to work with ‘Tiny’.”
In various departments the men and women scattered, and Bob strode on his way to the observatory proper. He was thankful that so far the earthquakes had not shaken these remote heights of Mount Wilson, for the slightest disturbance might have thrown ‘Tiny’ right out of gear, and likewise thrown away some millions of American dollars.
As he walked over to ‘Tiny’s control-chair Bob felt once again that inescapable feeling and awe as he surveyed the giant—the world’s greatest reflector, the utmost that the science and lensmen of this advanced age could produce. The 400-inch monster had an incredibly powerful magnification. Earth’s nearest neighbour the moon—at an apparent distance of twelve miles—had been charted with absolute exactitude.
Bob seated himself, waiting for the roof dome to part in two hemispheres. Once this happened and the blaze of the night sky was above him, he began operating the mechanism. As he worked, he glanced now and again into the starry deeps—and smiled. Perched up here, wielding this giant, he felt like some superman peering into the beginning and end of the universe.
A faint click announced that the reflector was in position. Following out the cosmography he had learned so thoroughly, Bob started on his stellar check-up, giving his findings into the audiophone at his side. In turn this data was relayed to the checking rooms where the astronomical staff went to work with computers, spectro-checkers, and the other advanced appliances of their art.
“Neutronium!” Bob growled to himself presently, as he worked. “Wonder who in heck fed the President with that idea? Mmm—could be the solution, though, come to think of it, but if that were so the nearer planets would long since have developed bulges pulling out towards that excess gravity field.”
‘Tiny’ swung silently on his mighty gimbals.
“Nothing doing,” Bob muttered. “Mars, Venus, and even semi-plasmic old man Jove are all unchanged. Takes a bit of understanding! If these earthquakes are not caused internally or externally, what the devil is the explanation?”
He sat back from the controls wearily, pinching thumb and fingers to his eyes. His vision was strained with so much lens work and the study of display readings. Then as he sat there a sound caught his attention through the open dome—the thin, high scream of a descending rocket-plane. Somebody—and he knew whom—was heading for these heights of Olympus.
He waited, smiling in anticipation. He turned in the chair, his keen blue eyes lighting with pleasure as at last the observatory door opened and a slender figure in flying kit came hurrying across the waste of floor.
“Hello there, Bob!” The girl pulled off her helmet and shook free a mass of ash-blonde hair. “I thought I’d find you snooping around among the stars as usual. Beats me how you can stand the monotony!”
“I have to—or starve.” Bob scrambled out of the control-chair and came forward to embrace the girl, then he held her a little away from him, studying her clear-cut sensitive features. It was rare indeed that he had the chance to see her. Her occupation as ace rocket-flier and leader of the Women’s League of Rocketeers kept her fully occupied.
“Mona Driscoll,” Bob said severely, all of a sudden, “I’ve a bone to pick with you! This Observatory is State property, and I’ve told you time and time again that the partners of employees are not allowed to....”
“Oh, skip it, Bob! Who’d crawl up six thousand feet of rock to check on your morals, anyway?” Mona gave her little ironical smile. “And anyway, you flatter yourself!” she continued. “I didn’t come to gaze on your angelic face but to discover if you know anything about these earthquakes. Have you, perched up here like the Statue of Liberty, the remotest idea of what is going on below?”
Bob’s lips tightened a trifle. He hedged.
“I’ve—heard, of course. Matter of fact, that’s mainly the reason I’m here with ‘Tiny’. I’m looking for a cosmic cause of the disturbances....”
“A cosmic cause? Good Lord, what do you expect to find way up among the stars to explain things? Sounds crazy to me—but then I’m only a woman with a smaller brain than a man.”
Bob grinned. “Bird-brain or otherwise, darling, you still rate aces to me. As for finding explanations among the stars, I too, think it’s haywire. But the high-ups have fed the President some kind of story about neutronium.”
“Neutronium!” Mona gave her cynical smile. “My eye! If it were neutronium trouble we’d be having tremendous tides—and we haven’t had; not any more than the quakes caused, anyway.... No,” she continued seriously, “I think the trouble is deep in the Earth itself somewhere. From what I’ve seen of the ruins of Frisco, London, Paris, and other places, it looks as though the solution lies in internal explosions....”
“Without joking, you really think so?” Bob questioned.
“Uh-huh. Mind you, my geology has cobwebs on it, but I do think that if there were a way to study the roots of volcanoes we might get somewhere. Some volcanoes I’ve seen are blowing off hell whilst others are dead quiet for the first time in centuries. That seems to suggest a redistribution of underground pressure...or does it?”
“Maybe.” Bob thought for a moment and then gave a shrug. “Anyway, it makes no difference. You and I will keep on doing as we’re told and stifle all natural urges to suggest something original—and by the way, what I’ve been telling you is a top-line secret. Not a word to anybody!”
Mona chuckled. “Great heavens, Bob, whoever heard of a woman talking?”
“Look,
