The radioplane appeared in a sky lit up by the bloody gleam of the setting sun. It descended like a crystal bird and landed gently on the terrace of Koynos’ house—and when the carapace opened, it was the master of that same house who came out of the radioplane.
“Koynos!” shouted Oxus, in a determinedly impassive voice.
The newcomer bowed profoundly and, following that greeting, disappeared down the stairway that led into the interior of the house.
Two minutes later, Oxus, sitting behind his desk between the two celestial and Martian world-maps, received Koynos. The latter stopped in the middle of the room, calm and natural in his attitude.
“Speak!” said the Master. “What happened?”
“Alkeus is dead.”
“How?”
“I followed him. I saw it.” Koynos was lying, but he was no longer keeping count of his lies. He continued: “Alkeus hurled his radioplane into the path of a radioplane coming from Earth. There was a collision, a fireball and then nothing…”
Oxus did not even quiver. His pale, austere visage showed not the slightest expression, and his eyes remained clear, cold and severe. “What did you do?” he asked.
“I came back immediately, carried backwards by the waves emanating from the Earth.”
“Why didn’t you go on to Earth?”
“I thought that it was unnecessary. It’s obvious that if several radioplanes had been able to leave Earth, they would have traveled together. No man would have risked such an adventure alone if he could have been accompanied.”
There was a silence. By not revealing that four other terrestrial radioplanes were with the one annihilated radioplane, Koynos was committing treason, but he was no longer keeping count of his treasons…
“That’s so!” said Oxus. After another pause, he went on: “The past is past, then. Koynos, my son, you’re the primary cause of Alkeus’ death. That’s more than a fault—it’s a crime. I’ll forgive you… but not yet.” He paused again; then, in the same tranquil voice, he said: “Go and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow morning, the Council of Fifteen will meet. I’ll make my orders known…” His voice became harder as he added: “And I hope that no one will dare to oppose my orders. You shall know them tomorrow. Go, my son!” He got up. He held out his hand over the table.
Koynos came forward, took the hand calmly, impassively and without remorse, and kissed it. Then he left the vast study—but when the door closed behind him, he shrugged his shoulders and murmured: “Oxus, you’ve gone blind. You’ve given me a master other than you. It’s Xavière from whom I take orders now.” And he headed for his house, running as fast as he could, so formidable and tyrannical was his impassioned impatience.
As he went into the first room, the familiar signal resounded and the whole of the strange city of Cosmopolis sank into the ground, as it did every day at nightfall.
In her bedroom, lit by the pale green bulbs of an electric chandelier, Xavière was sitting in an armchair. At her feet, Yvonne was curled up on a pouf. Both sisters were lost in dolorous and vague daydreams. The younger, however, was thinking more specifically of her father; the elder was indulging herself primarily with the evocation of her fiancé, the heroic Nyctalope.
Their double daydream was abruptly interrupted by the metallic sound of the door opening urgently. The curtain was lifted up and a man appeared.
“Koynos!” cried Xavière, coming to her feet.
Yvonne turned her head and looked at the Commander of the XV with a scornful expression.
Without seeing Yvonne, Koynos advanced towards Xavière. Pale, prey to the emotion that he could not hide to the extent that he desired in front of his prisoner, he simply said, in a flat voice: “He is saved.”
She fixed her profound eyes upon him. Two tears moistened them—and while they ran down her suddenly-feverish cheeks, she extended her hand to him, sighing: “Thank you.”
He took the hand and squeezed it; he dared not lift it to his lips. That strong man was feebler and more timid than a child.
After in immeasurable interval, she withdrew her hand and, calmer now, pointed to a second armchair. “Sit down,” she said, “and tell me everything.”
He obeyed. In a rapid voice, almost a whisper, he told her what had happened. He repeated what he had said to Saint-Clair on the radioplane’s telephone. When he pronounced the name “Alkeus” and followed it with the lugubrious word “dead,” Yvonne shuddered and hid her altered face in her trembling hands.
“Do you know who was aboard the radioplane that Alkeus destroyed?” asked Xavière, in a voice rendered anxious by presentiment.
Koynos hesitated. He got to his feet, victim of an extraordinary disturbance—but Yvonne seized his hand. “Tell us everything, Monsieur, I beg you,” she implored.
Koynos felt a pang of veritable despair in his head, and stammered: “I arrived too late to prevent it. Perhaps I might have been able to deflect Alkeus, but I did not even see… It was Monsieur Saint-Clair who told me the names of the victims of the collision…”
“The names?” Xavière insisted.
“One alone, I think, will interest you,” murmured Koynos.
“What is it? Speak!”
“Your…”
“My father!” cried Yvonne, in a heart-rending tone of despair. And the poor child fell backwards in a faint.
Xavière was shaken by a painful sob but, stronger than her sister, she mastered her own suffering. She lifted up the inanimate body and carried it to the bed. Meanwhile, Koynos opened a small cupboard, from which he took a bottle of smelling salts. He passed it to Xavière.
A few minutes later, Yvonne opened her eyes.
“You have no more need of me—I’ll go,” murmured Koynos.
“Yes, go,” said Xavière, in a low voice. Again, she extended her hand. “And thank you again,” she added. Then, while he squeezed the proffered hand, she said: “Koynos, don’t forget that Monsieur Saint-Clair is still in great danger. You know where he is—help him!”
“I will help him,” he replied. This time, it would have been an indication of great self-control to refrain from kissing the warm hand he was holding—self-control that he did not have. He kissed her head abruptly, bowed, and mingled his reverence with a kiss upon the fleeing fingers.
An hour later, during the night, an electric aircraft scarcely any larger than a fully-grown terrestrial eagle took off from the terrace of Koynos’ house. The aircraft only carried one man: Alpha, Koynos’ servant, friend and deputy, who, in response to an order from Koynos, would have assassinated Oxus himself.
In an aircraft that could fly at a maximum speed of 500 kilometers an hour, Alpha, dressed in rubber and helmeted in crystal, armed with four charged electro-mirrors, flew towards the distant Niliacus Island.
The distance from Argyre Island to Niliacus Island is about 1,200 leagues, or 4,800 kilometers, as the bird flies. At an average speed of about 350 kilometers an hour, therefore, Alpha required some fourteen hours to get there, and as many to get back. Allowing for a two hour pause, he would be absent from Cosmopolis for some 30 hours. He left during the eighth hour of the 20th month—or, in a literal translation of the Martian language, at 8:29 XX. He would therefore return to Cosmopolis at 14:30 XX.
In the home of the XV, the reveille was sounded by an electric bell that rang simultaneously in all the brother’s bedrooms and the dormitories of the slaves and servants at the precise moment of sunrise. Then, the sentries of the night-watch, which they manned by turns, made ready to go to bed 20 minutes later.
On the morning of 30 XX, an hour after reveille, a special bell warned the XV that Oxus, the Master, was convening a Council meeting. Fourteen men then came into a round room located at the very center of Oxus’ house, some individually, others in little groups of two or three. Birds of extremely diverse plumage, they all gave the same impression of energy and intelligence. They were also remarkable for their tall stature, the athleticism of their movements and certain re
velatory indications of strength and endurance.
A round table occupied the middle of the room, and this table was surrounded by 15 armchairs. A 16th chair, with a higher back and longer legs, more richly ornamented than the rest, completed the circle. The room, which had severely bare walls and no other furniture than the table, the chairs and two vast filing-cabinets, received daylight through a glazed cupola; it had no windows and only two doors, facing one another. As they came in, each member of the XV went to stand behind one of the armchairs, and when only one seat still remained unattended by its occupant—save for the presidential chair—a vibrant bell sounded five times. The door that was still closed opened suddenly, and a black slave in red livery appeared, announcing: “The Master!”
“Honored be the Master!” replied the 14 individuals present—and these grave voices were incontestably possessed by a tone of admiration and respect.
Oxus came in. Like all the rest, he was bare-headed and dressed in white, with mid-calf-length boots of soft green leather. While the slave closed the door and stood directly in front of it, Oxus came towards the chair reserved for him, severe and majestic. He slowly climbed the steps that led up to it, and at down.
“Take your places, Brothers,” he said. Then, not without solemnity, he added: “I declare the 387th session of the Council of Fifteen open.”
“Thy will be done, Master!” cried the Brothers, raising their right hands.
Thus, in this bizarre association, in the midst of the strangeness that its mere presence and existence on Mars constituted, Oxus had desired that the customary formalities of secret societies be observed in perpetuity.9 Was that to maintain the rigorous discipline of the initial sessions by the influence of external appearances? Or was it simply because the Master knew better than anyone what influence the scrupulous repetition of gestures, formulas and appropriate words could exercise on certain minds, including elevated ones? At any rate, all these rituals were always performed there, not with the indifference that comes with habit, but with that slightly solemn gravity that neophytes have.
A minute elapsed in silence after the Brothers’ spoken words.
Suddenly, Oxus turned his head towards the empty chair and said, impassively: “A Brother is missing. Which one?”
“Alkeus!” replied the two Brothers sitting to either side of the unoccupied seat, in unison.
“Does anyone know the reason for his absence?” asked Oxus.
A Brother got up. It was Koynos. In a cold voice he said: “I know it.”
“What is it?”
“Death!”
At this word, the 13 other affiliates got up as one, dolorous astonishment painted on most of their faces. Oxus alone remained seated, still impassive.
“What death?” he asked again, in a clear, calm voice.
“Glorious death in the service of the Fifteen,” Koynos replied.
“Did you witness it?”
“No—but I know its causes and I know its consequences.”
“That’s good! You will relate them in writing, in detail, and they will be read tomorrow in the mid-day report. They will then be transcribed on a marble plaque, which will be placed on the wall in the Hall of Honor. May Brother Alkeus be thanked and glorified…”
“Forever!” cried the 14 Brothers, together—and, with a single movement, they sat down again.
Oxus allowed a few seconds of silence to elapse; then, rapidly and authoritatively, with is eyes lowered. He said: “I have decided that Brother Kipper is elevated to the rank of Commander and that Alkeus’ prerogatives shall be his…”
“Thanks be to the Master!” said Kipper, in a dry tone, belied by the blush of pleasure that suddenly invaded his face.
Oxus raised his eyes again, darted an incisive glance at Koynos, and resumed, in a softer voice: “I have decided that companion Alpha will be elevated to the rank of Brother, and will take the place the privileges and the name of Alkeus.”
Koynos went pale. What did Oxus want? Was this to honor him, Koynos, by honoring his companion? Or was Oxus aware of Alpha’s absence, possessed of some presentiment of his goal and… But no! That was impossible; Alpha had left by night, while the aerial sentry on duty was asleep, under the influence of a narcotic that Koynos had insidiously mixed with tobacco he had offered him. Besides, Oxus did not know that Saint-Clair and the other Terrans had landed on Niliacus Island…
But Koynos did not have time to get his precipitate thoughts in order; Oxus had raised his head and issued a command: “Slave! Find Alpha and have him brought here, with neither apparent nor hidden weapons, with his eyes blindfolded, between two mutes bearing the stiletto and the cup!”
The black guard at the door bowed and went out—and Koynos, now very pale, thought: If Oxus knows, guesses or suspects, I’m doomed—and Xavière with me!
The Master had lowered his head again. All the Brothers, lost in thoughts of death, remained silent. As for Koynos, he took advantage of the moment of respite to gather his tumultuous thoughts…
What was going to happen?
The slave would come back and say that Alpha could not be found—which was to say that he was absent, for everything was regulated within Cosmopolis in such a way that one could find out where every individual was and what he was doing within two minutes, whether he were a Brother, a companion or a slave.
What shall I say? Koynos asked himself—for each Brother was responsible for his companion, with regard to his conduct, and even his speech. Shall I say that I don’t know anything about it? Admit that I don’t know where Alpha is? The immediate enquiry that Oxus is bound to order will immediately reveal the absence of my aircraft. How shall I explain it? It’s unthinkable that a companion would make use of an aircraft without his Commander’s explicit permission. Obviously, if I keep silent and maintain the mystery, they’ll wait for Alpha to come back and interrogate him. If he keeps silent, he’ll be condemned to death. If he tells the truth, he’ll doom us both. If he lies, what will he say?
When Koynos reached this point in his reflections, the door opened. The black guard appeared, closed the door behind him, and said: “Alpha is absent from Cosmopolis. His service schedule indicates that he is making a reconnaissance flight around Argyre Island, but the aerial watchman has not entered the departure in the record. Alpha left at 8:29 XX.”
“Good,” said Oxus. Turning to Koynos—who was relieved to see that Alpha had thought to take a precaution that he, his Commander, had omitted and immediately fixed upon the strategy to follow—Oxus asked: “Was it you who ordered this reconnaissance, Koynos?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve formulated a plan to open a subterranean canal between Cosmopolis and the sea, which will permit us to avoid constructing a separate port in order to accommodate the submarines for which Miniok has submitted plans…”
Miniok, a tall, thin member of the XV with a brick-red complexion, smiled broadly in approval.
“Why haven’t you submitted this project to me?” said Oxus.
“I didn’t want to do that until Alpha’s report had allowed me to indicate the precise course of the proposed canal on the map.”
“Very well!” said Oxus, tranquilly. “In that case, Alpha will not be initiated until tomorrow.”
Koynos breathed deeply. The matter was closed, without apparent difficulty—although it might have had fatal consequences.
In fact, it did have fatal consequences, though not for the real guilty parties.
“Slave!” Oxus commanded. “Have the aerial watchman who was on duty when Alpha left brought here immediately.”
Five minutes later, the man came back. He was holding a short red-haired man, who was blindfolded, by the arm. The two of them took three steps into the room and stopped.
“What is his number?” Oxus asked.
“Seventy-five,” replied the black guard.
“Good. You, do you know who left while you were on guard?”
The man went pale, hesitated, and eventually said: “No one!”
“You’re lying!” said Oxus, dryly. “An aircraft took off at 8:29 XX. What were you doing? Answer!”
The man shivered and replied, in an almost-imperceptible voice: “I was asleep.”
“Do you know that you deserve to die?”
The unfortunate man sobbed.
“Slave!” Oxus went on, with the impassivity of a supreme master who is only interested in duty and discipline. “Slave! Hear my order!”
“I’m listening, Master!”
“Number 75 is to be executed within the hour, in front of the assembled companions and slaves. Go! Take him to the esplanade!”
The black guard took the condemned man by the arm and was dragging him away, tottering, when Oxus added: “Koynos, you’ll supervise the execution.”
“I shall obey, Master,” Koynos replied.
He thought about Xavière, and had not the slightest pang of remorse at having effectively murdered the man. Besides, had he had such a pang, the remorse would not have lasted two minutes, for Oxus raised his hand almost immediately and, looking around at the Brothers, said:
“Brothers, the matter is closed. Let us pass on to other matters, even more serious than the death of Alkeus.” He paused, then continued, in an extraordinarily authoritative voice: “Brothers, the death of Alkeus was caused, ultimately, not by the events that Koynos will note in his official report, but by a woman!”
At these unexpected words, Koynos started anxiously, and the other affiliates shifted in their seas, profoundly surprised.
“Alkeus fell in love with the woman assigned to him,” Oxus went on, curtly. “That woman did not wish to submit, and Alkeus was determined to die. If the opportunity for a glorious and useful death had not presented itself, he would have committed suicide.” He got up, and gestured imperiously. “Brothers,” he said, “before me, your Master, before me, who am more than a father to each of you, be nobly and courageously sincere. Listen! Let those among you who are certain that, if the need arose, they would be able to kill without regret the women who have entered into their houses and their lives, get up and gather to my right!”
The Nyctalope on Mars 2: The Triumph of Love Page 4