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Tony regarded the exhibit thoughtfully. “They covered their cities. They stored food-supplies for a prodigious time. They must have prepared for the journey into space.”
“Of course,” said Higgins.
“But where are they?”
“I do not know.”
“And the heat increased with depth?”
“Exactly.”
“Probably the same system that lights the cities heated the storerooms, so the precious food there would not at first freeze, crack its containers and spoil.”
“Possibly,” said Higgins. “I am a plant biologist, not an engineer. But I would venture to disagree, even so.”
“Why?”
“I saw no evidence of heating-mechanisms. Ventilation—yes. Heat—no.”
“But the air—it’s warmed,” Tony persisted.
“It wasn’t. Observation showed the air on Bronson Beta was frozen solid—as it approached.”
“We couldn’t make observation under the domes.”
“True. But you will find ample evidence in fractures and wash-marks to show that the air in the city was frozen. Yes—it is not heated air from the domed city which has kept these immense subterranean warehouses warm.” Higgins shook his head. “Radium.”
“Radium?” Tony repeated.
“Radium. Deep in this planet. Only radio-active minerals could maintain heat inside a planet during untold ages of drift through frigid space. So we may conclude that the interior of Bronson Beta is rich in such minerals.”
“Then it must be dangerous—”
Higgins shrugged. “The presence of heat does not mean that rays are also present. They are doubtless absorbed by miles of rock. Hundreds of miles, maybe. But the heat is there, the activity of radium; and the rocks carry the heat almost to the surface.”
There was silence in the group. Tony addressed a bystander. “Jim, get Duquesne. Tell him to turn the power-station over to Klein, and investigate this. Take Higgins with you.” Then: “If the interior of Bronson Beta is warm still—then it is quite possible—”
“That the original inhabitants still persist somewhere? How? They melted air from the frozen lightless desert above them on the surface, and lived down in the radium-warmed bowels of their planet? I found no living quarters underground. But—who can say!”
Tony squared his chin against his imagination. “They are all dead,” he said.
Higgins started away with Jim Turnsey, talking excitedly.
Before noon, people began to collect for their next meal. No one brought any information about Von Beitz. He had vanished. But another clew to the possible existence of living people in Hendron had been discovered. Williamson, exploring with a searching-party, had found three beds that had been slept in. He had been led to the find by an open window in a building on the northern edge of the city. Whether the beds had afforded resting-places for the Other People after the city was built, or for scouts from the Midianite camp, he could not be sure.
Three beds, with synthetic bed-covers rumpled upon them. No more.
The vast dining-room was filled as the sun came directly overhead. Twenty of the women waited on table. Plates of stew were served, then coffee in stemmed receptacles which had handles for five fingers—five fingers a little different from human fingers, evidently, for they were awkward to use.
After that, Tony rose and spoke.
“My friends,” he said, “we are safe. Our security is due to the courage and intelligence of our dead leader. No praise is adequate for him. I shall not attempt to reduce what is in your hearts to words. Prodigious labors, great dangers, even the dangers of battle and peril of annihilation at the perihelion of our orbit, lie ahead of us. Unknown conditions, diseases, poisons, threaten us. Enemies may lurk among us. An evil and powerful aggregation of fellowmen is striving and planning now to conquer us. Mysteries of the most appalling sort surround us. Still—Cole Hendron faced calmly both hazards and enigmas as awesome. We must endeavor to emulate him. And on this afternoon we shall pay a last homage to him.
“I have prepared the earth to receive him. I have named this city for him. I shall ask you to remain inside the protecting dome of this city—standing on the ramp of the western skyscraper—while Cole Hendron is buried. I do not dare to expose you all. The following will accompany me to the grave.” He read from a paper: “Eve Hendron, David Ransdell, Pierre Duquesne, Eliot James and Doctor Dodson. His pall-bearers to the gate will be the men whose names I have just read, and also Taylor, Williamson, Smith, Higgins and Wycherley.
“We will march from here to the gate. You will follow; Eve will open the gate.”
Once more, before Cole Hendron—Conqueror of Space—was borne from the Hall of Science, the music of Bronson Beta burst forth. Maltby once more made rise the tremendous tones from the throats a million years silent to sing Cole Hendron’s requiem. Then the bearers of the body descended the staircase of the majestic building.
