A Brand New World by Ray Cummings

The new Star was first observed on the night of October 4, 1952, reported by the Clarkson Observatory, near London. A few hours later the observers at Washington saw it also; and still later, it was found and identified as unknown upon one of the photographic plates of the great refracting telescope of Flagstaff, Arizona. By observers at Table Mountain, Cape Town, and the observatory near Buenos Aires, it was not seen, for it was in the northern heavens.

The affair brought a brief mention in the Amalgamated Broadcasters' report the next day; and the newspapers carried a few lines of it on their back pages. Nothing more.

I handled the item. My name is Peter Vanderstuyft. I was twenty-three years old, that autumn of 1952, a newsgatherer for the Amalgamated Broadcasters, attached to the New York City headquarters. The item meant nothing to me. It was the forerunner -- the significant, tiny beginning -- of the most terrible period of the history of the earth; but I did not know that. I tossed it over to Freddie Smith, who was with me in the office that night.

"Father's staff has found a new star -- wonderful!"

But Freddie's freckled face did not answer my grin. For once his pale blue eyes were solemn. "Professor Vanderstuyft phoned me from Washington awhile ago. It sure seems queer."

"What's queer? " I demanded.

Then he grinned. "Nope. Your father says you'd sell your soul for a news item. When we've got anything important to tell the world -- we'll tell you."

"Go wrap up an electric spark," I informed him.

He grinned again and went back to studying his interminable blue prints -- his "thermodyne principle," as he called it, for a new heat-ray motor. Father was financing him for the patents and working model. Freddie was father's assistant in the Washington Observatory. But he was off duty now in New York arranging for the manufacture of his model.

This was in October. I was tremendously busy. A sensational murder case developed, and I was sent out to Indiana to cover it. A woman had presumably murdered her husband and a couple of children, but it looked as though she were going to be acquitted.

She was a handsome woman, and a good talker. She was taking full advantage of the new law regarding free speech, and every night from the jail she was broadcasting little talks to the public.

October passed; and then November, and still I had not been able to get back to New York. Freddie occupied my rooms there, busy with his invention; father was at his post in Washington, and my sister Hulda was in Porto Rico, visiting our friends the Cains. Our plans -- father's and mine -- were to join the Cains and Hulda in Porto Rico for Christmas.

Father was leaving the Washington Observatory to assume charge of the Royal Dutch Astronomical Bureau, which had just completed an observatory in extreme Southern Chile, with the largest telescope in the world soon to be installed there. Freddie Smith was going with him as his assistant; and the A. B. Association had appointed me their representative, to live down there also.

None of these plans worked out, however. Christmas approached, and I was still engaged in Indiana with this accursed broadcasting murderess. And father wired me that he was too busy in Washington to leave.

During all these weeks there had been continual items in the news concerning the new star -- issued by father's Washington staff, and by most of the observatories of the northern hemisphere. Father is a queer character; the Holland blood in us makes us phlegmatic, silent, and cautious -- characteristics which apply more to father than to me. He is a true scientist, calmly judicial, unwilling to judge anything, or form any decisive opinion, without every possible fact before him.

Thus it was that during those weeks, neither Hulda in Porto Rico, nor myself had an intimation from father of the startling things he was learning. As he said finally, of what use to worry us until he was sure? Like the public in general, I became aware of conditions gradually. A news item here and there -- items growing more insistent as the weeks passed, but still all crowded aside to make room for the sensational murder trial.

I recall some of the items. The new Star was approaching the general region of our solar system with extraordinary velocity. A star of the fortieth magnitude. Then they said it was the thirtieth. Soon it was visible to the naked eye. I remember reading one account, not long after the star's discovery, in which its spectrum was reported to be sunlight! Our own solar spectrum! Reflected sunlight! This was no distant, gigantic, incandescent star blazing with its own light. It was not large and far away, but small and close. As small as our own earth, and already it was within the limits of our solar system. A dark globe, like our earth, or the moon, or Venus and Mars -- dark and solid, shining only by reflected sunlight!

By mid-December, at a convention of astronomers held in London, the new world was named Xenephrene. Father went over in one of the mail planes and read his afterward famous paper, suggesting the name, and giving his calculation of the elements of the orbit of this new heavenly body. It was the most startling announcement which had yet been made, and for one newspaper edition it got the first page. And I was ordered to give nine minutes of broadcasting time to it.

"Xenephrene" was a globe not quite, but very nearly as large as the earth. It had come whirling in like a comet from the star-filled regions of outer space; presumably like a comet to encircle our sun and then, with a hyperbolic orbit, to depart from us forever.

It had come visually into our northern heavens, and crossed the earth's orbit on the opposite side of the sun from us. It encircled the sun -- this was in December -- made its turn between the orbits of Mercury and Venus, and now was supposedly departing.