200 Years to Christmas and Other Science Fiction Novellas by J .T. MacIntosh

Author:J .T. MacIntosh [MacIntosh, J .T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sci-Fi Collection
Published: 2021-08-12T23:00:00+00:00

At the end of a week even Eric had stopped saying Farley was mad. The method in Farley’s madness, both at the Undrene end and at the Camisac end, emerged bit by bit.

First of all, it soon became clear that he had them prisoners without hope of escape. Mellice was a dead city. Far underneath them, a few motors still turned, keeping the SO relay active now and for the next few thousand years. A gang of technicians could probably have set the huge generators going again in a matter of hours, supplying atomic and sun power to light and heat the city, operate the moving ways, elevators and escalators, mobilise the trucks, trolleys, railcars, streetcars, planes, helicopters and subways, bring the dead city back to life.

“But what can we do?” Farley taunted Eric, as they explored together—together because the big, brilliant, empty city was frightening if one was alone, and all four of them admitted it. “What can we do but look for a switch marked On-Off? Unless we find something like that, we’re helpless. Isn’t that so, Eric?”

Eric remained glumly silent, for it was true. They all at one time or another wandered round the bare, silent power stations with the optimistic idea that the purpose of all this tidy, impressive-looking machinery would suddenly become clear and they would be able to set the wheels turning again.

However, what Farley said was inescapable. The height of their ability in that respect was the ability to flick a switch. If there was no switch that simply turned on the power, the power would have to remain off.

And with no power, no mains supply, every machine in the city was useless. No vehicle, elevator, light, weapon, cooker or radio would work.

That meant they were prisoners. For between Mellice and Martinburg lay two thousand seven hundred miles of forest, teeming with quite unusually dangerous animal life.

Undrene had once been a sportsman’s world. Its gravity was only two-thirds Standard, which gave hunters from bigger worlds an apparent advantage. They needed it, however, to offset the ferocity, variety and weight of numbers of the opposition.

It was a warm world, a fertile world, a friendly world in every respect save for the downright unfriendliness of its fauna.

“I could get through to Martinburg,” said Farley without boastfulness. “But none of the rest of you could.”

“I could, too,” said Nila.

“Maybe. I doubt it. You’re tough, Nila, but Undrene in the raw is tougher. No, you’re prisoners, all of you, and you might as well get used to the idea.”

There was no doubt about it, Farley was a bad winner. He couldn’t help gloating over the helplessness of Lady Hilda and Eric. Once he so far forgot himself as to do it with Lady Hilda when they were alone, when he was obviously gloating over her and no one else.

They were in one of the power stations, a thing of big, smooth, metal casings and no visible machinery. Farley waved his arm and growled his triumph.

“Look at it—enough power to shift a world, and we can’t even get a spark out of it.

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