Challenger, Professor (Fictitious character) -- Fiction; Science fiction
From time to time during and after lunch the high, insistent ring had
summoned the Professor. He gave us the news as it came through to him in
a few curt sentences. Such terrific items had never been registered in
the world's history before. The great shadow was creeping up from the
south like a rising tide of death. Egypt had gone through its delirium
and was now comatose. Spain and Portugal, after a wild frenzy in which
the Clericals and the Anarchists had fought most desperately, were now
fallen silent. No cable messages were received any longer from South
America. In North America the southern states, after some terrible
racial rioting, had succumbed to the poison. North of Maryland the
effect was not yet marked, and in Canada it was hardly perceptible.
Belgium, Holland, and Denmark had each in turn been affected. Despairing
messages were flashing from every quarter to the great centres of
learning, to the chemists and the doctors of world-wide repute, imploring
their advice. The astronomers too were deluged with inquiries. Nothing
could be done. The thing was universal and beyond our human knowledge or
control. It was death--painless but inevitable--death for young and old,
for weak and strong, for rich and poor, without hope or possibility of
escape. Such was the news which, in scattered, distracted messages, the
telephone had brought us. The great cities already knew their fate and
so far as we could gather were preparing to meet it with dignity and
resignation. Yet here were our golfers and laborers like the lambs who
gambol under the shadow of the knife. It seemed amazing. And yet how
could they know? It had all come upon us in one giant stride. What was
there in the morning paper to alarm them? And now it was but three in
the afternoon. Even as we looked some rumour seemed to have spread, for
we saw the reapers hurrying from the fields. Some of the golfers were
returning to the club-house. They were running as if taking refuge from
a shower. Their little caddies trailed behind them. Others were
continuing their game. The nurse had turned and was pushing her
perambulator hurriedly up the hill again. I noticed that she had her
hand to her brow. The cab had stopped and the tired horse, with his head
sunk to his knees, was resting. Above there was a perfect summer
sky--one huge vault of unbroken blue, save for a few fleecy white clouds
over the distant downs. If the human race must die to-day, it was at
least upon a glorious death-bed. And yet all that gentle loveliness of
nature made this terrific and wholesale destruction the more pitiable and
awful. Surely it was too goodly a residence that we should be so
swiftly, so ruthlessly, evicted from it!
But I have said that the telephone-bell had rung once more. Suddenly I
heard Challenger's tremendous voice from the hall.
"Malone!" he cried. "You are wanted."
I rushed down to the instrument. It was McArdle speaking from London.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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