When the Sun went out

by Leslie F. Stone

"Then you do believe there is a possibility?"

"Is anything impossible?"

Further discussion was halted at that moment by the cry that had gone up from the five hundred-thousand Earthlings gathered on the roof-tops. There had been a change in the somber darkness enclosing them; a pale grayish light was now visible in the Eastern sky!

"The Sun, the blessed Sun!" cried the voices.

Gradually the light became brighter, and then on the Eastern horizon appeared the sun, but Oh! so different from the old bright sun.

Once it had been globe-shape, dazzling bright, so that the eyes could not look upon it. Now, all that remained of the old fire was one strange, ragged streak of light that ran vertically up the surface of the globe, and so weak and feeble was that single streak that it looked wan and livid. There was no rosy haze to accompany this dawn. All was gray, stark, nude.

The hour was passing—and, as they watched, the onlookers could see that the white streak that was the sun was gradually turning on its axis so that the single burning spot would soon be hidden from sight of those on Earth. And it would be many, many hours before the Earthlings would catch sight of it again. The grayness was gradually fading into darkness again. The myriad of stars overhead continued to gleam, sparkling in all their splendor, twinkling like the eyes of a man overcome by laughter—laughing at the plight of a doomed world.

With sighs and low murmurings the crowds dispersed from the rooms. Ramo and Kuila did not leave yet. The Earth may grow senile, but youth tells the same old story. And the two had much to tell each other. Astronomers both, they spoke the same language, had the same hopes and desires. And then, they were young.

Two hours later they agreed to descend from the roof. As they had just arrived in the city neither had taken up new quarters as yet, and they went down to the office where they would be assigned quarters. They had but to speak their name, number, and rating into a machine like the one to which they had already reported, and in answer came a small piece of circular metal having upon it, in the strange numerical writing of that day, their new address.

Each giant building was a city in itself. Each had its auditorium where gathered for general announcements, amusements, lectures and discussions, the tenants of the building. There were large conservatories where was planted what verdure and vegetation had been preserved through the centuries. A few birds and smaller animals had been kept alive in the same manner. Canned sunlight, the light of the sun that had been gathered by scientists many years before and stored in giant vats, took the place of the ineffectual sun. Here people spent much of their time.