Quest for the Perfect Planet
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Synopsis
The Tavona is called to action once again!
When signals from space summon Vargo, the Professor joins the crew to conduct more research into the alien races their adventures have introduced to them. This journey takes them into the unknown reaches of the galaxy, trying to find a planet which has shifted orbit between solar systems. On their way they face snake aliens, tiny meteorites, and worlds where the air itself is deadly.
The eighth instalment in Captain W. E. Johns' science fiction series brings more classic sci fi adventures from the legendary creator of Biggles.
Release date: December 1, 2022
Publisher: Orion
Print pages: 320
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Quest for the Perfect Planet
WE Johns
“THERE are days when I feel depressed, bowed down under the weight of knowledge I have acquired in our travels; days when I envy the simple rural labourer, going about his tasks without fear, without haste, knowing nothing and having no desire to know what goes on in that awesome Universe of which his little world is a microscopic part.”
The speaker was Professor Lucius Brane, wealthy, eccentric scientist-philosopher who, in a far from space-worthy craft of his own design had made a trip, before it came to grief, that had brought him into contact with spaceship commanders of other planets, and in their so-called “flying saucers” had made voyages of long duration. In the library of his house, Glensalich Castle, situated in the remote Highlands of Scotland, he was engaged in after-dinner conversation with the friends who had accompanied him on these flights, and now enjoyed his hospitality.
For the benefit of those who have not previously met the Professor he was a small, lean man of indeterminate age, with bright blue eyes under shaggy brows and a high-domed forehead. He wore his hair rather long, not so much from choice as a disinclination to waste time having it cut. He had formed an unconscious habit of pushing it back with his fingers when the front fell forward, as it usually did when he was perturbed. At such times, too, his metal-rimmed spectacles tended to slide towards the end of his nose.
Having no one in the world to please except himself he could afford to dress as he liked, and personal comfort was obviously of more importance than appearance. The soft-collared shirts he wore were too big round the neck, loosely tied by a narrow strip of black silk ribbon which as often as not had come undone. His frock coat of Edwardian cut, spotted with chemical stains, had seen better days, as had a pair of flannel trousers that had not known a crease for years. On his feet were a pair of cheap canvas tennis shoes, which for ordinary purposes he held to be the most satisfactory footwear ever designed.
His companions were Group-Captain “Tiger” Clinton, Retired, one time of the Aircraft Research Establishment, and his son Rex, sixteen, slim, as straight as a lance, fair-haired and, like his father, grey eyed. The fourth member of the party was Squadron Leader “Toby” Paul, late of the R.A.F. Medical Service. An old friend of Tiger’s he had acquired his nickname from his figure, being short and rather stout, after the manner — although not to the same extent — as a Toby jug. Belying a jovial expression and an inconsequential method of speaking he was a doctor and a surgeon of ability and experience.
It was Tiger who answered the Professor’s last remark. “You astonish me. I had no idea you felt like that, and I can’t see why you should. When one considers what we have done, where we have been and what we have seen —”
“Exactly, my dear fellow,” broke in the Professor. “That is my point. Too much knowledge can be overpowering, overwhelming, more than our feeble brains can assimilate. It tends to give one a sort of mental indigestion. You see, knowledge, like the Universe, is infinite. There is no end. The question arises, where does one stop? Or does one never stop, but go on and on …?”
Rex stepped in. He looked perplexed. “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t follow this line of argument.”
“Well, it’s like this, my boy,” resumed the Professor. “We believe there is no end to the Universe, although, to be sure, it is almost impossible for us to imagine anything being literally endless. In the matter of the Universe it is in fact impossible for us to grasp the magnitude of the distances involved. When we try to describe them, in our helplessness we finish by making imbecile signs with our hands. Yet we are bound to ask ourselves such questions as, was there ever a beginning to all this? Was there always a Universe? If not, from whence came the original gases, the hydrogen of which the stars were formed; the stars which, after burning, as our sun is burning, for billions of years, burnt themselves out, and after cooling down became planets like the one on which we happened to be born. Again, we may ask ourselves, will it ever end? Can it ever end. Where would all this mass of matter go if it did end? We can’t answer these questions, and to attempt to do so makes the brain reel. It is the same with what we call knowledge.”
“This is getting a bit too deep for me,” remarked Toby. “Could you be a little more explicit?”
“I merely remarked that knowledge is like the Universe: there can be no end to it. Put it like this. If you were privileged to live another thousand years you would know more than you do today. Should you live on for another ten thousand years you will know still more, but even then the total sum of your knowledge would be no more than a step towards what would be left to learn. And so ad infinitum, because to knowledge there can be no limit, no end.”
“But think of what we know —”
“I do, and realize how little we know. We have visited some thirty or forty planets and planetoids within, comparatively speaking, easy distance of Earth. A mere forty, out of the vast number within our reach. We have seen wonders. What wonders do the others hold? The imagination boggles at the possibilities. We don’t know.”
“Do we want to know?” asked Rex, tentatively.
“On other worlds,” resumed the Professor, pensively, “we have been granted a glimpse of civilizations so old that in comparison our little Earth is but a newly born infant. We have seen worlds in the unspeakable horror of birth, a blaze of heat beyond description surrounded by tortured gases hurled out by forces of which we still know little. We have seen worlds in their heyday; we have seen worlds in decline and worlds long cold in death. We have seen a world snuffed out of existence like the flame of a candle, a daily occurrence in this fantastic scheme of things — if, indeed, there is a scheme. That, one day, will be the fate of the Earth. It could be tomorrow, or not for another ten million years: but that end is inevitable, for it is a fundamental law of the Universe that everything born must die, and planets are no exception. I ask you, my dear Group-Captain, are such thoughts conducive to that peace of mind which is the essence of happiness?”
Tiger stared. “If you feel like this why did you in the first place devote your time and money to the exploration of Space?”
“I acted in ignorance.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t just curiosity?”
“Not entirely. I had a vague hope that I might benefit mankind.”
“How?”
“When it became clear to me that Earth was moving with ever increasing momentum towards ultimate disaster I resolved to find a way of escape for at least some of those who would prefer to make new homes elsewhere.”
“I doubt if anyone would go.”
“Not today, perhaps, but in the not too distant future. Consider what men have done to our good Earth in the last few generations. Five hundred years ago the continents of America and Australia had not even been discovered. All that was known of that great land mass, Africa, was the Nile Delta and a strip of the Mediterranean coast. So little was known of that vast country, China, that it might have been on another planet. Look at these places today and see what men have done, and are still doing to them. The entrails have been torn out of the soil in a frantic search for minerals and oil. The great rivers have been dammed to form huge inland seas. Mountains have been levelled and landscapes altered beyond recognition. Noble forests have been laid flat leaving hideous deserts in their place. Here at home the once sparkling rivers have become drains to carry sewage to the sea — itself becoming foul with the radioactive effluents from atomic reactors. Remote islands have been blasted off the map — but why go on? If all this could happen in a mere two hundred years can you imagine what will happen in the next two thousand? No, you can’t. Do you remember our first conversation in this house on the day when, lost in the fog, you blundered into it?”
“Of course. You said something to the effect that in the lust for power and the folly of war Earth’s resources were being sacrificed to no good purpose, and the day of reckoning would come. You argued, I recall, that even if this planet survived the experiments of crazy scientists the population would outgrow its food supply and even perhaps dwelling accommodation. Unless something was done the end could be starvation for multitudes.”
The Professor nodded sombrely. “What has happened since, and what I have seen on our voyages, has not caused me to change my mind. In the purpose for which I set out I must regard my efforts as having failed.”
“I can’t see why you should think that.”
“Although I have been given opportunities for observation beyond my expectations, the truth is, of the many uninhabited planets we have visited none has offered the security and the amenities we enjoy here on Earth.”
“Some were far in advance of us.”
“I am talking of unoccupied worlds, not established civilizations where the introduction of a new race of men would lead to trouble.”
“I don’t follow you. Why should there be trouble?”
“Because sooner or later the two peoples would fight for supremacy. You have only to look around you to see what would happen. Here we have a beautiful world with plenty of room for everyone, yet on all sides we find one race of people envious of others. To live in peace nations must arm to protect themselves. The inevitable result of racial hatred is war. That is what our civilization has come to.”
“I’m afraid you’re right,” agreed Tiger, sadly.
“The truth is this,” continued the Professor. “The only uninhabited worlds we have seen that appeared to be ideal for colonization suffered from some sort of physical frightfulness, which is of course why they have remained unoccupied. Progress, or even a comfortable existence, would not be possible under the shadow of impending disaster. When we landed on that charming little planet which we named Arcadia we thought it perfect. So it was — then. When, on a later occasion, we returned, we discovered why there was no one there. Its long elliptical orbit periodically took it so close to the sun that all life, animal and vegetable, had been scorched to death. The fact that this only happened at intervals of many, perhaps hundreds of years, made no difference. There could be no future on such a world, no incentive to do anything.”1
Tiger nodded. “I see your point. Life in such conditions, knowing extinction was every day coming nearer, would be impossible.”
“You will, no doubt, recall similar examples,” went on the Professor. “You will remember the world that suffered from regular inundations as its enormous moon dragged all the water over the land in the form of monstrous tidal waves. That was no place to live. Then there was the world which, rotating — or rather, wobbling — on an unbalanced axis, its weight being one-sided, was from time to time devastated by such gales of wind as to make normal life impossible. We need not mention those worlds which were quite useless even as a temporary residence, being nothing but water, ice, solid rock, or metal. In short, my dear fellow, we still have to find an uninhabited world comparable in every respect with the one on which we had the good fortune to be born.”
“What about that planetoid Multova told us was named Lut?” reminded Rex. “That struck me as being a very bonny little world.”
“It had possibilities,” conceded the Professor. “But I wouldn’t call it perfect. You can’t have forgotten what happened to you there.”
Rex smiled wanly. “I have not.”
“It would be a highly dangerous place for children, who would, I suspect, be unable to resist paddling in its treacherous waters.”1
“Then how. . .
The speaker was Professor Lucius Brane, wealthy, eccentric scientist-philosopher who, in a far from space-worthy craft of his own design had made a trip, before it came to grief, that had brought him into contact with spaceship commanders of other planets, and in their so-called “flying saucers” had made voyages of long duration. In the library of his house, Glensalich Castle, situated in the remote Highlands of Scotland, he was engaged in after-dinner conversation with the friends who had accompanied him on these flights, and now enjoyed his hospitality.
For the benefit of those who have not previously met the Professor he was a small, lean man of indeterminate age, with bright blue eyes under shaggy brows and a high-domed forehead. He wore his hair rather long, not so much from choice as a disinclination to waste time having it cut. He had formed an unconscious habit of pushing it back with his fingers when the front fell forward, as it usually did when he was perturbed. At such times, too, his metal-rimmed spectacles tended to slide towards the end of his nose.
Having no one in the world to please except himself he could afford to dress as he liked, and personal comfort was obviously of more importance than appearance. The soft-collared shirts he wore were too big round the neck, loosely tied by a narrow strip of black silk ribbon which as often as not had come undone. His frock coat of Edwardian cut, spotted with chemical stains, had seen better days, as had a pair of flannel trousers that had not known a crease for years. On his feet were a pair of cheap canvas tennis shoes, which for ordinary purposes he held to be the most satisfactory footwear ever designed.
His companions were Group-Captain “Tiger” Clinton, Retired, one time of the Aircraft Research Establishment, and his son Rex, sixteen, slim, as straight as a lance, fair-haired and, like his father, grey eyed. The fourth member of the party was Squadron Leader “Toby” Paul, late of the R.A.F. Medical Service. An old friend of Tiger’s he had acquired his nickname from his figure, being short and rather stout, after the manner — although not to the same extent — as a Toby jug. Belying a jovial expression and an inconsequential method of speaking he was a doctor and a surgeon of ability and experience.
It was Tiger who answered the Professor’s last remark. “You astonish me. I had no idea you felt like that, and I can’t see why you should. When one considers what we have done, where we have been and what we have seen —”
“Exactly, my dear fellow,” broke in the Professor. “That is my point. Too much knowledge can be overpowering, overwhelming, more than our feeble brains can assimilate. It tends to give one a sort of mental indigestion. You see, knowledge, like the Universe, is infinite. There is no end. The question arises, where does one stop? Or does one never stop, but go on and on …?”
Rex stepped in. He looked perplexed. “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t follow this line of argument.”
“Well, it’s like this, my boy,” resumed the Professor. “We believe there is no end to the Universe, although, to be sure, it is almost impossible for us to imagine anything being literally endless. In the matter of the Universe it is in fact impossible for us to grasp the magnitude of the distances involved. When we try to describe them, in our helplessness we finish by making imbecile signs with our hands. Yet we are bound to ask ourselves such questions as, was there ever a beginning to all this? Was there always a Universe? If not, from whence came the original gases, the hydrogen of which the stars were formed; the stars which, after burning, as our sun is burning, for billions of years, burnt themselves out, and after cooling down became planets like the one on which we happened to be born. Again, we may ask ourselves, will it ever end? Can it ever end. Where would all this mass of matter go if it did end? We can’t answer these questions, and to attempt to do so makes the brain reel. It is the same with what we call knowledge.”
“This is getting a bit too deep for me,” remarked Toby. “Could you be a little more explicit?”
“I merely remarked that knowledge is like the Universe: there can be no end to it. Put it like this. If you were privileged to live another thousand years you would know more than you do today. Should you live on for another ten thousand years you will know still more, but even then the total sum of your knowledge would be no more than a step towards what would be left to learn. And so ad infinitum, because to knowledge there can be no limit, no end.”
“But think of what we know —”
“I do, and realize how little we know. We have visited some thirty or forty planets and planetoids within, comparatively speaking, easy distance of Earth. A mere forty, out of the vast number within our reach. We have seen wonders. What wonders do the others hold? The imagination boggles at the possibilities. We don’t know.”
“Do we want to know?” asked Rex, tentatively.
“On other worlds,” resumed the Professor, pensively, “we have been granted a glimpse of civilizations so old that in comparison our little Earth is but a newly born infant. We have seen worlds in the unspeakable horror of birth, a blaze of heat beyond description surrounded by tortured gases hurled out by forces of which we still know little. We have seen worlds in their heyday; we have seen worlds in decline and worlds long cold in death. We have seen a world snuffed out of existence like the flame of a candle, a daily occurrence in this fantastic scheme of things — if, indeed, there is a scheme. That, one day, will be the fate of the Earth. It could be tomorrow, or not for another ten million years: but that end is inevitable, for it is a fundamental law of the Universe that everything born must die, and planets are no exception. I ask you, my dear Group-Captain, are such thoughts conducive to that peace of mind which is the essence of happiness?”
Tiger stared. “If you feel like this why did you in the first place devote your time and money to the exploration of Space?”
“I acted in ignorance.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t just curiosity?”
“Not entirely. I had a vague hope that I might benefit mankind.”
“How?”
“When it became clear to me that Earth was moving with ever increasing momentum towards ultimate disaster I resolved to find a way of escape for at least some of those who would prefer to make new homes elsewhere.”
“I doubt if anyone would go.”
“Not today, perhaps, but in the not too distant future. Consider what men have done to our good Earth in the last few generations. Five hundred years ago the continents of America and Australia had not even been discovered. All that was known of that great land mass, Africa, was the Nile Delta and a strip of the Mediterranean coast. So little was known of that vast country, China, that it might have been on another planet. Look at these places today and see what men have done, and are still doing to them. The entrails have been torn out of the soil in a frantic search for minerals and oil. The great rivers have been dammed to form huge inland seas. Mountains have been levelled and landscapes altered beyond recognition. Noble forests have been laid flat leaving hideous deserts in their place. Here at home the once sparkling rivers have become drains to carry sewage to the sea — itself becoming foul with the radioactive effluents from atomic reactors. Remote islands have been blasted off the map — but why go on? If all this could happen in a mere two hundred years can you imagine what will happen in the next two thousand? No, you can’t. Do you remember our first conversation in this house on the day when, lost in the fog, you blundered into it?”
“Of course. You said something to the effect that in the lust for power and the folly of war Earth’s resources were being sacrificed to no good purpose, and the day of reckoning would come. You argued, I recall, that even if this planet survived the experiments of crazy scientists the population would outgrow its food supply and even perhaps dwelling accommodation. Unless something was done the end could be starvation for multitudes.”
The Professor nodded sombrely. “What has happened since, and what I have seen on our voyages, has not caused me to change my mind. In the purpose for which I set out I must regard my efforts as having failed.”
“I can’t see why you should think that.”
“Although I have been given opportunities for observation beyond my expectations, the truth is, of the many uninhabited planets we have visited none has offered the security and the amenities we enjoy here on Earth.”
“Some were far in advance of us.”
“I am talking of unoccupied worlds, not established civilizations where the introduction of a new race of men would lead to trouble.”
“I don’t follow you. Why should there be trouble?”
“Because sooner or later the two peoples would fight for supremacy. You have only to look around you to see what would happen. Here we have a beautiful world with plenty of room for everyone, yet on all sides we find one race of people envious of others. To live in peace nations must arm to protect themselves. The inevitable result of racial hatred is war. That is what our civilization has come to.”
“I’m afraid you’re right,” agreed Tiger, sadly.
“The truth is this,” continued the Professor. “The only uninhabited worlds we have seen that appeared to be ideal for colonization suffered from some sort of physical frightfulness, which is of course why they have remained unoccupied. Progress, or even a comfortable existence, would not be possible under the shadow of impending disaster. When we landed on that charming little planet which we named Arcadia we thought it perfect. So it was — then. When, on a later occasion, we returned, we discovered why there was no one there. Its long elliptical orbit periodically took it so close to the sun that all life, animal and vegetable, had been scorched to death. The fact that this only happened at intervals of many, perhaps hundreds of years, made no difference. There could be no future on such a world, no incentive to do anything.”1
Tiger nodded. “I see your point. Life in such conditions, knowing extinction was every day coming nearer, would be impossible.”
“You will, no doubt, recall similar examples,” went on the Professor. “You will remember the world that suffered from regular inundations as its enormous moon dragged all the water over the land in the form of monstrous tidal waves. That was no place to live. Then there was the world which, rotating — or rather, wobbling — on an unbalanced axis, its weight being one-sided, was from time to time devastated by such gales of wind as to make normal life impossible. We need not mention those worlds which were quite useless even as a temporary residence, being nothing but water, ice, solid rock, or metal. In short, my dear fellow, we still have to find an uninhabited world comparable in every respect with the one on which we had the good fortune to be born.”
“What about that planetoid Multova told us was named Lut?” reminded Rex. “That struck me as being a very bonny little world.”
“It had possibilities,” conceded the Professor. “But I wouldn’t call it perfect. You can’t have forgotten what happened to you there.”
Rex smiled wanly. “I have not.”
“It would be a highly dangerous place for children, who would, I suspect, be unable to resist paddling in its treacherous waters.”1
“Then how. . .
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