An Inter-planetary Rupture
from The Blue Book Magazine,
December 1906.
Digitized by Doug Frizzle,
December 2016.
This may be the earliest Science Fiction story by any Canadian author. Frank
Packard (February 2, 1877 – February
17, 1942).
He is best known for his Jimmy Dale mystery series.
On the Eleventh Day of August, in the year of our Lord three thousand
one hundred and two, the city of Washington, capital of the World, was the
scene of unusual commotion. Rumors of the rupture with Mercury were current. It
was true that Earth’s minister to that planet had not been recalled, and that
Mercury’s ambassador was still in Washington; but this in no way disguised the
fact that relations between the two planets were strained to their breaking
point.
The
enormous Edifice of Deliberations, erected at a cost of one billion of dollars,
teemed with bustling humanity, and emanated a sense of tremendous activity.
The
House of Delegates was in continuous session. Speeches of members from the
States of Russia, Germany, France, and South America were warlike in their
tone, rising to a white heat of eloquence to lose some of their intensity
against the milder and more prudent counsel of the honorable members from
England, America, China, and Japan. Yet from all, even to the smaller States of
Holland and Belgium, there was an undertone that plainly evidenced the fact
that the Assembly of the World would brook no humiliation.
In
the circular chamber that occupied the eastern wing of the building the Supreme
Council of Earth were seated: twelve men, the clearest, shrewdest brains upon
the Globe. The room was bare of decoration save that from the ceiling hung
festooned the national banner, the flag of the World, blood red with a white
dove in its center, adopted A.D. two thousand five hundred and thirty-two, at
the confederation of Earth’s divisions into one vast nation under one
government and one Head.
The
Head, Mr. Sasoa, was speaking with great calmness: “Gentlemen.” He said.
“Interference with the astral Mizar is unquestionably a casus belli. Ceded to us by
interplanetary treaty in two thousand nine hundred and seventy, Mercury’s
present action cannot be considered in any light but one of impertinent
intrusion upon our sovereign rights.” The members of the cabinet bowed their heads
in grave assent.
The
Most Honorable Mr. Sasoa then continued: “It has never been Earth’s desire to
pursue a policy of colonization: to extend her lawful boundaries of empire
beyond her own immediate sphere. You are all thoroughly conversant with the conditions
that brought Mizar under our government and control. For over an hundred years
this dependency has been wisely and prudentially governed, and today I believe
we are justified in asserting that our rule has been efficacious, not only to
our own commerce, but to the welfare of the universe at large.
“Mizar’s
value as a strategical base is incalculable, and realizing this, Mercury has
stopped at nothing to possess himself of this astral. The trickery that has at
last resulted in Mizar’s petition to Mercury to be received as his dependency,
and their coincident refutation of this government’s authority is but the
culmination of the despicable policy Mercury has pursued.
“Gentlemen,
you are here assembled for the gravest duty that has ever fallen to the lot of
an Earther. I hold in my hand an ultimatum from Mercury, received within the
hour, demanding that our forces be withdrawn from Mizar ex tempore. It now becomes your
solemn duty to pass upon this document. The House of Delegates is awaiting our
decision, and I believe I may say without hesitation that they will ratify any
determination we may arrive at.”
The
Most Honorable Mr. Sasoa resumed his seat in an unbroken silence.
During
half an hour no word was spoken. The document passed from member to member,
whose lips, as he handed it to his neighbor, set in a hardened line of grim
determination. The examination completed and the paper again in the possession
of the Head, all eyes were turned upon the Minister of War.
Acknowledging
the unspoken request, General William K. Parsons rose from his seat. His face
was drawn and haggard from a sleepless night, his voice, though stern, wavered
a little from the stress of emotion that possessed him, as he said solemnly:
“Most
Honorable Head, and Gentlemen, I vote for war.”
He
raised his hand to quell the outburst of enthusiasm his declaration had evoked.
“I
vote for war, Gentlemen,” he repeated; “but with perhaps a truer knowledge of
exact conditions than is possessed by the majority of those present. Mercury
has chosen his time well. At the first glance it would appear that in event of
war it would be fought out around Mizarian space. That is not so. The
battleground will be our own planet Earth and the space immediately surrounding
us.
“Through
pretext of extended maneuvers, Mercury has assembled within instant striking
distance of Mizar four hundred of the heaviest ships in his aerial navy.
Opposed to which are fifty of our vessels at present awaiting orders at Mizar’s
capital.
“Roughly
speaking, Mercury’s navy comprises 2,000 ships against our total available
force of 1,000. He will not, however, dare to send against us more than 1,500,
as the balance he will require for the protection of his astral colonies and
his own planet. With this superior force arrayed against us, we cannot hope to
defend both Mizar and Earth.
“I
said that he had chosen his time well. We must bear in mind the fact that this
year Mercury makes his transit, during which he will pass not only between the
sun, and ourselves but equally between Mizar and ourselves.
“While
I am of course aware that Mercury is greatly inferior in size to ourselves;
still we must remember that the large number of colonies belonging to him,
coupled with his huge navy, make him a most formidable opponent In this respect
I might liken him to your ancestors, Mr. Chamberlain,” he said, bowing
gracefully to the honorable member from the State of England, “when before the
confederation England was a nation.
“I
have but one more word to say. Should we declare for war our ships must be
immediately withdrawn from Mizar until the transit shall be accomplished. Our
fleets abroad at Saturn, Mars Jupiter, Venus, Uranus and Neptune have already
been aerographed rendezvous with all speed at Tokio, St. Petersburg, London,
New York, and San Francisco for supplies.”
As
General Parsons ceased speaking, the honorable member on his left, and after
him in rotation each member of the council, rose, and in solemn tones repeated
the General’s formula:
“I
vote for war.”
“The
decision is unanimous,” announced the Head. “It but remains to transmit the
result of our deliberations to the House of Delegates.”
With
a mighty shout that body passed the vote. Members standing upon their desks in
a frenzy of patriotism sang the national anthem. The die was cast—the Earth at
war.
The
Secretary of State, in his official aerocar and attended by his suite, landed
upon the residential roof of the Mercurian ambassador to acquaint him with
Earth’s reply to his government’s ultimatum. That astute diplomat suavely
expressed “his unspeakable regret” at the unfortunate termination of the
affair; turned the business of his embassy over to the Minister from Saturn,
and left the Earth with all speed. Meanwhile the Earth’s ambassador to Mercury
had received his instructions to transmit to that government the World’s
emphatic refusal to comply with their demands; that duty accomplished to repair
at once to Washington.
At
the expiration of two days, the admiral commanding the Mizarian squadron had
reported at the war office in Washington. Closely following him within a few
hours were the fleets from Venus and Mars. That of Jupiter might be expected in
eight days, while the few detached vessels doing duty in far Saturn, Uranus,
and Neptune had their return orders countermanded as their combined strength
would not be of material aid, and it was feared that they might fall into the
hands of the enemy; besides, as their voyage would consume from three to six
weeks, it was hoped that ere then the crisis would be passed.
On
the morning of the 15th, reports had reached the war office from every officer
commanding squadrons that his respective detachment was ready for duty. At 10
a.m. of that day orders were issued for immediate mobilization of all fleets at
Washington. At 3:30 p.m. General Parsons entered the assembly hall in the House
of Delegates, where the admirals were awaiting him. They rose respectfully as
he took his place upon the dais.
“Gentlemen,”
he said abruptly, “you will be seated. I have called you together that you may
understand the general plan of campaign. We have reason to believe that the
enemy’s attack will not be made before the 24th of the month, perhaps not until
the 25th. In other words, at a time immediately preceding that period when his
base is in closest proximity to Earth, thus placing him in a position to
utilize every available unit of strength of which he is possessed. At his
transit then, we must expect the crucial stroke. Should that fail him, he must
be obliged to withdraw as his base recedes. This will leave us free to turn our
attention to Mizar, as we in turn shall have the advantage in respect to
distance with our stellar dependency, whose position relative to ourselves does
not, as you are well aware, change.
“I
desire to caution you on no account to risk unnecessarily a single unit that we
can ill spare. You may rest assured that in any event you will have an
opportunity of measuring strength with the enemy.
“You
will at once take up position and governing yourselves by atmospheric
conditions, maintain an altitude that will enable you to observe the enemy’s
planet to the best advantage. By cruising at the same rate of speed as the
Earth’s axial velocity, but in the opposite direction, you will, making such
corrections as Mercury’s movements demand, preserve a position which will of
necessity intercept the enemy’s attack. You will report at frequent intervals
to the war office and final orders will be issued to you when the enemy’s
approach has been signaled from the observatories. To your stations, gentlemen,
and may the Supreme Power guide you.”
Within
the hour 883 mighty engines of destruction rose like gigantic birds, and for an
instant steeped the city in a dim twilight as they hung suspended over it; then
forming in parallel columns they were swallowed up in space.
Immediately
following the departure of the fleet, General Parsons made a rapid inspection
of Earth’s fortifications. Surrounding each city of the World at regular
intervals of the sixth part of a circle were the batteries, stored with
ammunition, capable of throwing their enormous missiles of deadly
destructiveness with equally deadly precision a distance in the perpendicular
equal to the space governed by the law of gravitation; within which range the
enemy must of necessity approach to make their attack effective.
On
the 20th, General Parsons reported to the council that every method of defense
was in perfect condition and that the result was in the hands of a Higher
Power.
On
the 22nd, a tramp freighter badly battered, her two forward aeroplanes shot
completely away and her hull riddled like a sieve, reported herself from Mizar
after an almost miraculous escape. Her captain, in his statement to the
authorities, said that the enemy had occupied the entire astral and were busily
engaged in erecting new fortifications. Private authentic advices via Venus and Hecklon, on
the next day confirmed the report and added that Mercury was massing his entire
fleet together with an enormous number of transports, preparatory to an
extended and decisive movement.
Daily
the excitement had grown, tremendous in its intensity, until it reached its
height; gradually giving way to a patient and calm state of fortitude to accept
the future as it should unfold itself. The thought transmitters of the great
journalistic syndicate, with precision and dispatch, kept every Earther
informed of each minute detail leading up to the momentous crisis soon to be
experienced.
So
by this means the world learned that on the 23rd the observatories had reported
the face of Mercury obscured for a time as if somebody had come between it and
the Earth’s line of vision. This could only be construed as signifying that
the Mercurian fleet was in its way. Immediately following this announcement;
the admiral commanding the World’s fleet reported a decided and increasing
attraction of his polarity needles towards Mercury, indicating an immense
aggregation of metallic bodies in space rapidly approaching.
General
Parsons received this dispatch with a grim smile. All that man could do he had
done. Massed aboard 5,000 transports, distributed at the different World
centers and capable of being mobilized at a few moments notice, was an army
totaling ten million men. Should the enemy effect a landing they would at least
experience a stubborn resistance. He ran the various details rapidly over in
his mind, then in a few sharp, clear sentences he dictated his final orders to
his chief of staff for transmission to the admiral commanding.
At
3 a.m. on the morning of the 25th, reports began to pour into the war office.
At 4 a.m. it was established beyond question that the invading host would make
contact with the Earth’s boundary of gravitation at a point directly over the
city of New York. Obviously it was the enemy’s intention to make that the point
of attack.
For
the first time in many weary, anxious hours General Parsons permitted a smile
of satisfaction to light up his countenance. To attack New York would bring the
Mercurian fleet within range of all batteries bounded by Boston, Providence,
Philadelphia, and Baltimore. No more auspicious move could be made for the
defenders of Earth.
Messages
were instantly dispatched to the transport fleets to mobilize on the Jersey
shore, and there General Parsons, accompanied by his staff, at once repaired to
assume personal command.
At
ten minutes before five, a dispatch from the admiral commanding stated that he
was within striking distance of the enemy, whose fleet consisted of close to
1,400 men-of-war, convoying an enormous number of transports.
The
first gray streaks of dawn were suddenly obliterated. The chief of staff
swirled from the instruments.
“The
enemy is within range, sir.”
The
next instant General Parsons pressed the key connecting with the district
batteries. A moment later and the World trembled as if in the throes of a
mighty earthquake. The batteries of twenty cities had opened fire, launching
one hundred thousand tons of vast explosive full in the face of the advancing
host. For two minutes Earth’s miniature volcanoes belched forth their deadly
hail.
“What
is the effect of the fire?” Demanded the General.
“Observers
report heavy damage, sir,” replied the chief of staff, “a number of vessels
sunk and many in apparent distress. The enemy is seeking refuge in a lower
altitude and is already out of range of all batteries but New York’s.”
One
by one the batteries had ceased firing as their range was exhausted, until only
the guns from New York continued the bombardment. General Parsons from the deck
of his dispatch boat swept the scene before him with his glasses. The enemy had
changed their formation. Their battleships were now above to cover their
transports as they landed beneath them.
Less
than a mile and a half away Earth’s merchant ships, swarming with men, were
drawn up on the qu vive
for action, while, in a huge circle around the enemy, Earth’s men-of-war were
sweeping with incredible speed, silently, grimly, waiting only the command that
should launch them into a conflict of frightful carnage.
As
the Mercurian transports touched the ground preparatory to disgorging their
men, General Parsons swung sharply round:
“Order
New York to stop firing and the fleet to attack from above,” was his quick, decisive
command.
Even
as he spoke, in execution of his order, there was a lull as New York’s
batteries became silent, another instant, and a continuous and steadily
increasing roar as the guns of ship after ship of Earth’s navy came into
action.
The
Mercurian admiral, seeing the damage that his transports would of necessity
sustain from the battle raging over their heads, and secure in the belief that
they were well able to take care of themselves until he could dispose of
Earth’s navy, so heavily outnumbered by his own, fell into the trap that
General Parsons had skillfully laid for him. And as if to remove any hesitancy
from his mind, at that moment Earth’s fleet broke and fled incontinently. The
enemy pursued them in hot haste.
The
moment General Parsons had been waiting for had arrived. If the enemy’s navy
outnumbered his own, their transports were numerically inferior to Earth’s, an
advantage he meant to utilize to the utmost.
From
where they had lain hidden in the rear, one hundred of the heaviest battleships
of Earth’s navy rose like vultures, and swinging into line swept forward with
irresistible ferocity upon the enemy’s troopships. The effect of the maneuver
was fearful in its result. The battleships plowed through and through the
densely packed transports, their heavy armor plate crushing vessel after
vessel, transforming them into hideous, misshapen sepulchers. Once, twice, and
again, with pitiless fury, the battleships dashed into the midst of the enemy
throwing them into disastrous confusion, leaving behind them a havoc
indescribable: a vessel torn in twain; an unrecognizable conglomeration of
wreckage, from whose depths emanated the heart-rending shrieks of the dying,
shrill out-cries of pain and terror, anguish and horror from tortured souls,
and in fearful contrast the awful stillness of the mangled dead
And
now General Parsons had ordered a general-advance. The breaches made in the
enemy’s ship ranks were speedily filled by Earth’s advancing transport line, so
that before any considerable body of the Mercurian army had effected a landing,
the Earthers were locked ship to ship with their adversaries, the crews and
troops engaging in a hand-to-hand melee.
In front and rear, on either flank, swarmed the remainder of Earth’s
transports, welding the whole into one compact mass of bloody carnage.
The
strategy of the movement was apparent. In response to the urgent appeals for
aid from the commander of the Mercurian army, the enemy’s fleet, now hotly
engaged by the admiral commanding the Earth’s warships, made back to protect
his transports. Finding it impossible to make any attack on his enemy without
endangering his own army, the Mercurian admiral signaled his confrere to join him.
In
response to this command the vessels not already disabled rose slowly, while
Earth’s ships clung to them like barnacles, fighting desperately for a mastery
that spelled their very existence.
Above
the battling transports as they rose was a scene beyond the power of man to
pen. Fighting with unparalleled savagery, Earth’s navy was pressing the attack
with splendid brilliancy.
The
huge engines of destruction rushed at each other with terrific speed, to recoil
from the shock battered and stunned and helpless, to reel and turn and sink in
hideous gyrations from the dizzy height, crushing themselves into
unrecognizable shapes on the ground beneath.
And
above the roaring and flashing of the guns, the wild, hard, pitiful cries of
the dying, came the deeper toned note of nature’s protest as peal on peal of
thunder shook the air. Across a sky now turned to inky blackness, great forked
tongues or lightning leaped and twisted and turned, lighting up in awful
splendor a ghastly hell of unutterable chaos.
With
the advent of the transports, the Mercurian line of battle was thrown into
disorder. General Parsons, with the advantage his superiority of numbers gave
him, had cleverly maneuvered to force them into the midst of the enemy’s
battleships.
The
admiral commanding Earth’s fleet, now joined by the detachment that had already
done such gallant service with General Parsons, swept down upon the confusion.
Above, below, on either side the Earthers swarmed, picking out their
antagonists to pour a withering fire upon them. Desperately the Mercurian
admiral struggled to withdraw his ships and reform his line of battle. The
transports blocked every move. Most of the enemy’s troopships were now in
General Parsons’ hands, and in their vast numbers and stubborn disregard for
life were hemming in and separating the Mercurian men-of-war from each other.
As these huge fighting machines in their fury turned upon their puny
antagonists to sweep them from their path, another and ever after that another
transport would take the place of its disabled mate; now rising in the air
above to allow themselves to fall crashing full across a warship’s deck, now
ramming from below and now from either side, until here and there, succumbing
to the attack, a mighty battleship, wounded, disabled, battered and stricken,
heeled slowly over and pitching forward went hurling Earthwards; a testimony
of the indomitable valor of General Parson’s command.
Again
and again, with bewildering rapidity, General Parsons would withdraw from the
attack to allow Earth’s fleet to dash into the fray. Again and again the same
tactics were employed and with each onslaught the savage fury was redoubled,
the slaughter multiplied a hundredfold.
All
through that awful day and into the still more fearsome night the conflict
waged with unabated vigor. In its trail across the American continent the
storm-blown fleets scattered blood, tributes to the grim earnestness of war.
There
in the drear recess of a mountain canon, or perchance upon a wide and desolate
plain, a once proud ship had fallen. And as its poor frame quivered in the
throes of death, so its imprisoned dead joined with it as sacrificial offerings
upon the dear altar of patriotism.
Here
full across a city street, or mayhap upon the roofs of houses, settling where
they had plunged in headlong flight, lay queer ghostly shapes well befitting
their new use as casements for the dead. Hideously twisted walls of pale
phosphorescent metal that in the night-light shimmered balefully; things that
once had vaunted proudly their planet’s flag.
The
people huddling together in little knots and crowds, exposed to the storm that
beat them pitilessly, gazed upon the scene that passed above their heads with a
fear that blanched men’s faces to a ghastly white, while women sobbed and
moaned in a delirium of fright. The children clinging at their knees sought
comfort from the nameless dread that paralysed their very lips, and seeking
comfort, found in their mothers’ faces a cause for terror beyond any they had
ever known.
And,
as if in mockery of the mimic show of man, the battle of the elements grew
apace until the watchers drew back with shuddering, soul-sick awe before the
manifestation of Almighty Heaven’s wrath, and turning from it, ran, hiding
their eyes to shut out the terror that gripped their souls, and with trembling,
bated breath prayed God to bring the dawn.
At last
the morning broke, and with it came the
beginning of the end. The enemy’s last sullen stand was all but over, their
resistance almost done. Suddenly, even as the Earthers’ cheers acclaimed the
hour of victory, a little dispatch boat rose high in the air, turned rapidly,
and made with all speed for Washington. Upon her deck the surgeons were bending
anxiously over the unconscious form of General Parsons.
Hours
later the weary physicians sighed in relief. The General’s eyes opened to
glance questioningly at the faces around him.
“Tell
me,” he said.
They
took his hands and pressed them. The surgeon-general stooping over him
whispered the one word: “Victory!”
General
Parsons’ countenance lighted up for an instant with a gleam of joy. Then he
turned his head away. The features that had been set in inexorable
determination in the battle softened with infinite sadness; the eyes that had
so sternly viewed the frightful slaughter, brimmed with tears.
“At
what a cost,” he murmured.
“Oh,
God! At what a cost.”
Three
months later in the circular chamber that occupied the eastern wing of the
Edifice of Deliberations, the Council of Earth were seated. Upon the table
before them was spread an official document.
The
Head, Mr. Sasoa, was speaking:
“Gentlemen,”
he said, “you are here assembled to pass upon the proposed treaty with Mercury
as prepared by our commissioners. You are familiar with the contents. Those
points insisted upon by our delegates have been ceded to us. Will you ratify
this treaty? Will you vote for peace or war?”
General
Parsons rose slowly to his feet.
“Most
Honorable Head, and Gentlemen,” he said, quietly, “I vote for peace.”
The
honorable member on his left, and after him in rotation each member of the
council, rose, and in solemn tones repeated the general’s formula:
“I
vote for peace.”
In
the silence that followed, Mr. Sasoa drew the document toward him, then the
scratching of his pen proclaimed the ratification of the “Second Treaty of
Washington.”
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