Ivan Yefremov - Andromeda (A Space-Age Tale)

“I’ve done that, they’re ready.”

The physicist pondered for a few more seconds.

“On the Chukotka Peninsula and on Labrador there are F-energy stations. If you were to talk to them and ask them to switch in at the moment of the field inversion… I’m afraid the apparatus is imperfect….”

“I’ve done that.”

Renn Bose beamed and waved his hand.

The colossal column of energy reached Satellite 57. The excited young faces of the observers appeared in the hemispherical screen at the observatory.

Mven Mass greeted the courageous young people, checked up on the direction of the column to make sure that it would reach and follow the satellite. Then he switched all the energy over to Renn Bose. The physicist’s head disappeared from the screen.

The indicators on the energy collector turned their needles to the right showing a constant growth in the condensation of power. The signals burned brighter and with a whiter light. As Renn Bose switched in one field radiator after another the intensity indicators fell in jerks towards zero. The sound of a muffled gong from the experimental station made the African start, but he knew what to do: with a movement of a lever he switched in the Q station and its power surged into the dying eyes of the indicators, bringing life to their falling needles. Scarcely had Renn Bose switched on the common inverter, however, than the needles again dropped to zero. Almost instinctively Mven Mass switched in both F stations.

It seemed to him that the measuring instruments had been extinguished — a peculiar pale light filled the room. Sounds ceased. Another second and the shadow of death crossed the consciousness of the Director of the Outer Stations, dulling his senses. He struggled against a nauseating dizziness, squeezing the edges of the desk in his hands and sobbing from the effort and from a terrible pain in his spine. The pale light began to grow brighter on one side of the underground room, but from which side, Mven Mass could not determine, or had forgotten. Perhaps it came from the screen, or from the direction of Renn Bose’s installation….

Suddenly it seemed that a waving curtain had been torn asunder and Mven Mass heard clearly the splashing of waves. An indescribable perfume, one that could not be remembered, reached his widely dilated nostrils. The curtain moved to the left and in the corner the former grey hangings were still trembling. High copper mountains materialized before his eyes with remarkable reality; they were surrounded by turquoise trees and the violet waves of the sea splashed at Mven Mass’ feet. The curtain moved still farther to the left and he saw his dream. A red-skinned woman sat on the upper platform of the staircase leaning on the polished surface of a white stone table, staring at the ocean. Suddenly she saw something and her widely placed eyes were filled with astonishment and admiration. The woman stood up with magnificent elegance and stretched out her open hand to the African. She was breathing spasmodically and in that moment of delirium she reminded Mven Mass of Chara Nandi.

“Offa alii cor.” Her gentle, melodious and strong voice penetrated to Mven Mass’ heart. He opened his mouth to answer her but in place of his vision there was a green flame and a shattering whistle filled the room. As the African lost consciousness he felt some soft, invincible power folding him in three, rotating him like the blade of a turbine and then flattening him out against something solid. Mven Mass’ last thought was of the fate of Satellite 57, the station and Renn Bose….

The observatory staff and the builders who were some distance away saw very little. Something flashed across the profound Tibetan sky that dimmed the brightness of the stars. Some invisible power crashed down on to the mountain on which the experimental station was situated. Then came a whirlwind that swept up a mass of stones. A black stream, some five hundred metres in diameter that seemed to have been fired from a gigantic hydraulic gun raced towards the observatory building, swept upwards, turned back and again struck the mountain, smashing the entire installation and scattering the fragments. An instant later everything was quiet again. The dust-filled air was saturated with the odour of hot stones and burning mixed with a strange aroma similar to that of the flowering coast of a tropical sea.

At the site of the catastrophe the people saw that a wide furrow with molten edges had been ploughed across the valley, and that the side of the mountain facing it had been torn clean away. The observatory building had not been touched. The furrow stretched as far as the southeastern wall where it had destroyed the transformer chamber built against it; it ended at the dome of the underground chamber cast from a four-metre thick layer of molten basalt. The basalt was polished as though it had been worked on a grinding machine. Part of it remained untouched and that had saved Mven Mass and the underground chamber from complete destruction.

A stream of molten silver hardened in a hollow — the melted fuses of the power receiver!

Emergency lighting cables were soon connected and when the searchlight from the lighthouse on the highway threw out its beam an appalling sight met the eyes of the onlookers — the whole of the metal structure of the experimental installation was spread along the furrow in a gleaming thin coating making the ground shine as though it had been chromium-plated. A piece of the bronze spiral had been pressed into the precipice formed where the side of the hill had been cut away as clean as with a knife. The rocks had melted into a glassy mass, like sealing wax under a hot stamp. The turns of the spiral of reddish metal with its white rhenium tooth-like contacts were embedded in the rock and gleamed in the electric light like a flower done in enamel. One glance at that piece of jewellery two hundred metres in diameter was sufficient to arouse fear of the unknown force that had operated there.

When the fallen boulders had been cleared away from the entrance to the underground chamber rescue workers found Mven Mass on his knees with his head resting on the bottom step. The Director of the Outer Stations had apparently made an effort to escape the moment he regained consciousness. There were doctors amongst the volunteers who had been working there and his powerful organism aided by no less powerful medicines soon recovered. Mven Mass got to his feet, still trembling and staggering and had to be supported on both sides.

“Renn Bose?”

The faces of the people surrounding the scientist darkened at this question, and the Director of the observatory said harshly:

“Renn Bose has been badly disfigured. He is hardly expected to live.”

“Where is he?”

“He was found at the bottom of the eastern slope of the mountain. He must have been hurled out of the installation building. There is nothing left on top of the mountain, even the ruins have been wiped off the face of the earth!”

“Is Renn Bose still lying there?”

“He must not be touched. Some bones have been crushed, some ribs broken and his stomach injured.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“His stomach has been split open and his insides have fallen out.”

Mven Mass’ legs gave way under him and he clutched spasmodically at the necks of those supporting him. His will and his mind, however, were functioning clearly.

“Renn Bose must be saved at all costs. He is the greatest of all scientists….”

“We know. There are five doctors there. They have erected a sterilized operation tent over him. Two men who have volunteered to give blood are lying beside him. The tiratron [25] Tiratron — an electronic instrument (electron lamp) to stimulate and maintain the nervous processes in the human organism, in particular the beating of the heart (imaginary). , the artificial heart and liver are already working.”