A Thousand Degrees Below Zero
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Murray Leinster
Murray Leinster, born William Fitzgerald Jenkins on June 16, 1896, in Norfolk, Virginia, is a name that echoes through the realms of science fiction and speculative literature. Leinster, a pen name he adopted, became one of the most prolific and influential writers of the 20th century, contributing immensely to the genre's evolution. His work is characterized by innovative ideas and a visionary outlook that still resonate with modern audiences. While many may not immediately recognize his name today, Leinster's legacy is undeniable. He wrote over 1,500 short stories, novellas, and novels, many of which have left an indelible mark on science fiction. His story "A Logic Named Joe," published in 1946, is particularly notable for its eerie foresight into the development of personal computers and the internet—decades before such technology became a reality. This story alone underscores Leinster's uncanny ability to anticipate future technological advancements, making his work remarkably relevant even in today's digital age. Leinster's career began during World War I, where he served in the United States Army. This period of his life exposed him to various aspects of technology and machinery, which would later influence his writing. After the war, he ventured into pulp magazines, a popular medium at the time, where he found a ready audience for his imaginative tales. His ability to weave complex scientific concepts with engaging narratives quickly set him apart from his contemporaries. One of the most fascinating aspects of Leinster's life was his adaptability. He witnessed and adapted to significant technological and cultural shifts throughout the 20th century, from the advent of radio and television to the space race and the early days of the computer revolution. This adaptability is reflected in his writing, which evolved to incorporate new scientific theories and societal changes, ensuring that his stories remained fresh and relevant. Leinster's influence extends beyond his written work. He was a pioneer in the field of speculative fiction, often exploring themes that challenged the status quo. His stories frequently delved into the ethical implications of technological advancements, a topic that remains highly pertinent in today's rapidly evolving world. By questioning the impact of technology on human life, Leinster's work encourages readers to consider the broader implications of scientific progress. Despite his success, Leinster's life was not without controversy. He was involved in a notable legal battle over the rights to his creations, which highlighted the often-precarious nature of intellectual property in the creative industries. This struggle for authorial control and recognition is a theme that continues to resonate with writers and artists today, underscoring the importance of protecting creative rights in an era of digital reproduction and widespread information sharing. Leinster's work has also influenced a generation of contemporary writers. Authors such as Isaac Asimov, Arthur C. Clarke, and Robert Heinlein have cited him as an inspiration, and his innovative concepts continue to be explored in modern science fiction. The themes he explored—such as artificial intelligence, space exploration, and the ethical dimensions of technological progress—remain central to the genre and continue to captivate readers and writers alike. Murray Leinster's "Island Honor," while not as widely known as some of his other works, is a testament to his versatility as a writer. The book delves into themes of courage, loyalty, and the moral complexities of honor. These themes are timeless, resonating with contemporary readers who grapple with similar issues in a world that often seems increasingly fragmented and morally ambiguous. "Island Honor" challenges readers to reflect on their own values and the societal norms that shape their actions, making it a relevant and thought-provoking read for modern audiences. In conclusion, Murray Leinster's contributions to science fiction and speculative literature are both profound and enduring. His ability to foresee technological advancements and explore their implications, coupled with his adaptability and innovative spirit, make his work as relevant today as it was during his lifetime. By examining the ethical dimensions of technological progress and the timeless themes of human experience, Leinster's stories continue to engage and inspire readers, underscoring the enduring power of speculative fiction to explore the possibilities of our future.
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A Thousand Degrees Below Zero - Murray Leinster
Murray Leinster
A Thousand Degrees Below Zero
Published by Good Press, 2022
EAN 4057664634511
Table of Contents
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER I.
Table of Contents
From some point far overhead a musical humming became audible. It was not the rasping roar of an aëroplane motor, but a deep, truly melodious note that seemed to grow rapidly in volume. The soft-voiced conversations on the upper deck were hushed. Every one listened to the strange sound from above. It grew and became clear and distinct. The source seemed to come nearer. At last the sound came from a spot directly overhead, then passed over and toward the Narrows.
A cold breeze beat down suddenly. It was not a cool sea breeze, but a current of air coming down from directly above the Coney Island steamer. It was actively, actually cold. A chorus of exclamations arose, full of the wit of the American a-holidaying.
Br-r-r-r! I feel a draft!
Say, Min, are you givin' me the cold shoulder?
Sadie, d'you want to borrow all of my coat or only the sleeve?
And one young man caused a ripple of laughter by remarking:
Feels like my mother-in-law was around somewhere.
People hastened to put on such wraps as they had with them. On the lower decks there arose a sound of tired voices, saying with variations only in the names called:
Johnnie, button up your coat. It's getting cold.
The cold wave lasted only for a few moments, however. As the steamer forged ahead the strata of cold air seemed to be left behind, and the humming sound grew fainter. If the passengers on the boat had listened, they might have heard a faint splash in the water behind them, but as it was the sound went unnoticed. The humming died away. The boat went on and docked, and the passengers dispersed to their homes. Every one of them woke the next morning to find himself or herself locally celebrated.
Half an hour after the Coney Island boat had docked a tramp steamer was nosing her way out of the Narrows. She was traveling at half speed, the air was clear, the channel was well buoyed, and there seemed no possibility of any harm or danger befalling her. The lookout leaned over the bow negligently, watching and listening to the indignant interchange of whistle signals between two small tugs in a dispute over the right of way. He dropped his eyes and stiffened, then turned toward the pilot house and shouted frantically, but too late. The shout had hardly left his lips before there was a shock and grinding sound, mingled with the raucous shriek of rent and tormented iron plates. The tramp steamer shuddered and stopped, and began to sink a trifle by the head. At the first intimation of danger the man on the bridge had ordered the water-tight doors, closed, and now he rang for full speed astern. The tramp swung free of the unknown obstruction, but the two bow compartments were flooded and the steamer's stern was lifted until the propeller thrashed helplessly in a useless mixture of air and water. Her whistle bellowed an appeal for help. "Want immediate assistance!"
Half a dozen tugs, including the two that had been quarreling by whistle, responded to the stricken steamer's call. Their small sirens sent cheery messages promising instant aid, and they began to tear across the water toward her. One tug reached the helpless vessel's side. A second rushed up and began to pull the unwieldy tramp away from the unknown obstacle. The lights of a third could be seen very near, when there was a crash and a frantic bellow from the tug. It also had struck the obstruction against which the tramp had run. The tramp bellowed anew.
A destroyer shot down the river with a searchlight unshipped, her crew standing by to rescue any persons who could be reached by lifeboats. She swung up and saw the tramp being hauled and pulled at by busy, puffing tugs. The long pencil of light danced over the surface of the water to find the derelict or wreck that had caused the trouble. Back and forth it swept, and then stopped with a jerk as if the operator could not believe his eyes.
Floating soggily in the water of New York harbor, in late August—the hottest time of the year—a wide cake of ice lay glistening under the searchlight rays! The harbor waves ran up to the edge of the ice cake and stopped. Beyond their stopping point the surface was still and glassy. The cake floated heavily in the water and showed no sign of cracks or fissures. It was evidently of considerable thickness.
A second searchlight reënforced the first. The two white beams moved back and forth, incredulously examining the expanse of ice. It was hundreds of yards across. At last one of the beams passed something at the center of the cake and hastily returned to the thing it had seen. Rising calmly and quietly from what seemed to be a small crater at the center of the ice cake, a plume of steam floated placidly into the air. It was a huge plume, precisely like the flowing of a white ostrich feather, rising from a small orifice in the center of the mass of frozen sea water.
A wail from the siren of the tug that had run against the ice cake caused the searchlights to turn in its direction. The engine had ceased to run and a cloud of escaping steam was pouring from the tug's funnel. Men on the deck gesticulated frantically. The destroyer ran as close as the commander dared, and he shouted through a mega-phone. It was impossible to distinguish words in the confused shouts that came back from half a dozen throats at once, but the searchlights soon showed the cause of the excitement. The men on the tug pointed over the side. The small harbor waves rolled unconcernedly up to a point some twenty feet from the stern of the tug, but there they stopped abruptly. The tug had become inclosed in the ice floe. As those on the destroyer watched, the twenty feet became thirty and the thirty forty. The ice cake was increasing in size with amazing rapidity.
A boat put off from the destroyer, and the commander shouted to the crew of the tug to take to the ice. There was a moment's hesitation, and then they jumped over the side and ran to the edge of the floe. The lifeboat touched the edge and was