At this unexpected order, and the terrible thought that it provoked, there was a formidable emotion among the Brothers. The alteration of their faces was sudden, profound and singularly significant—and one sole man got up and went to stand on the Master’s right. That was Kipper. A few made as if to get up, but they remained in their armchairs on seeing that others, abruptly making up their minds, seemed to have become suddenly heavier, weighed down in their seats.
Oxus frowned, while the 13 rebels looked at one another, anxious in their visible emotion and immobility—and something terrible and inexpressible insinuated itself into the soul of every one of them, making them tremble momentarily, as if in the face of an inevitable cataclysm.
But Oxus’ voice, which immediately made itself heard, suspended Fate for a moment—for that voice had an infinite sadness. “My poor children,” it said. “Only one among you, then, is in complete control of himself, since only one of you has moved! If I were merely your Master, I would strike you down on the spot! I can do it! I only have to put my finger on a switch that is within reach of my hand, that not one of you knows about, or ever would, and the armchairs in which you are sitting would be the instruments of your sudden death...”
A shiver ran through the Brothers, but they were well-steeled, and not one got up.
Oxus understood what that meant. “I know,” he went on, with a smile that was proud and sad at the same time, “that you don’t fear death—and that, rather than rebel against me, you would prefer to die.”
There was a silence, and a few of the 13 could not prevent their eyes misting over with emotion. Oxus was their Master, their father, their god! Never had circumstances presented themselves in which their determination would not have given way to his will… But, this time, something unfamiliar and all-powerful had them under its dominion. Yes, certainly, they would rather die than to rebel against their Master, but they would also rather die than obey his order against their young women! And there seemed to be no way out of it but a sudden catastrophe unleashed by Oxus—so every one of the 13 waited for death, with a stoicism that was wild and compassionate at the same time.
But the Master calmly raised his right hand and, in a voice that was infinitely sad and weary, said: “See, my children, that you have defeated me—for I love you. I shall not kill you. But you must choose between my death and your Oath...” Turning towards the only one of the XV who had gone to his right, he instructed: “Kipper, pronounce the formula of the Oath!”
Cold and curt, his entire body taut, Kipper pronounced: “On my life, and on all that I have loved, love and will love, I swear to obey Oxus, whatever he might order. I swear to do nothing contrary to the mission of the XV, a mission that is inextricably bound with the will of Oxus. May lightning strike me down if I violate my oath!”
Having said that, Kipper bowed to the Master and added: “Whatever Oxus orders, I shall obey.”
Oxus seemed to draw himself upright then and to grow in admirable majesty—and he said: “Come take the…”
“Silence!” cried a terrible voice. And, in the midst of a general amazement, they saw Koynos—who had dared to interrupt the Master—rise to his feet.
He marched up to Oxus, who was even more surprised than indignant, placing himself outside the circle of the XV, and, stopping suddenly in front of the Master, he spoke in an ardent and authoritative voice, growing in his turn, in the majesty and power that love confers.
“Master,” he said, “and you, my Brothers, excuse me for doing that which has never been done, by interrupting our Master Oxus in this manner—but I want to avoid irreparable words being spoken. It is in my name and yours, my Brothers, that I ask the Master for five minutes of respite—after which, if Oxus wishes, I shall go myself to seize and pull the copper lever that will strike me down.”
He fell silent. The 12 had not budged, but the distraught features of their faces revealed their tortuous anguish. Kipper was livid with indignation. But Oxus had resumed his attitude of painful sadness.
“Speak, Koynos,” said the Master.
He did so, admirably, and with increasing passion. “Why are we here?” cried the man who was in love with Xavière. “Why are we on Mars, with such a formidable force? To conquer it, to make it the ruler and the light of worlds! Who among us would forsake that mission voluntarily? No one! Oxus has only to order it, and we shall go forth into the dangers of conquest and the various glories of life and death. But we are men, not pure conquering brains. The gazes of women have put into us that which we needed in order not to be monsters. We know love! Very well! How can love injure the prodigious schemes of Oxus? The Master has only to say the word, and we shall place ourselves at the head of our legions of armed slaves and we shall fight against the Martians, until we have subjugated them. But so long as the Master does not say the word, what is there in the Oath of the XV to prevent us from loving and, if possible, to find love? Alkeus wanted to die because the eyes of women did not look at him tenderly. He was a coward, although he died heroically! But we do not want to die! We want to find love, and if we do not succeed in that, we shall be strong enough to renounce the impossible, to impose silence on those hearts that have cried out their passion within our breasts! And every one of us, with regard to the woman he loves or desires, will act as he desires! Kipper is capable, on an order from the Master, of killing his companion. Let him kill her, if the Master believes it necessary to give that order—but we, being more human and, in reality, more courageous, ask the Master to forget that the women are in our houses and to dispose of us, for the conquest of Mars, as if they were not there. Have I expressed your thoughts, my Brothers? Answer, in order that the Master shall know and decide! For myself, if Oxus finds that I have overstepped my rights as a Brother, let him send me to my death! I shall go, without even darting a glance of reproach at him. Speak, Brothers!”
There was an imponderable silence—then, all of a sudden, a dozen voices cried: “Yes! Yes! Koynos has spoken well! Koynos is right! Glory to Oxus!”
Still vibrant with emotion, Koynos went to sit down again in his place, and, all mouths having shut, all eyes turned to the old man, the dispenser of life and death.
They expected some terrible speech. They were wrong. Calmly, in the indifferent tone of a commander speaking to a subordinate about a matter of service, Oxus said: “Did you know, Koynos, that the radiomotive station in the Congo is still operative?”
At these unexpected words, the 13 shifted in surprise.
“I know that,” said Koynos.
“Did you know that the radiomotive waves are still arriving here are at maximum intensity?”
“I know that.”
“I, however, wanted the terrestrial station to be destroyed. It was not. Incredibly, men have left Earth to come to Mars. These men are the relatives, the lovers or the fiancés of the women you love…”
“Incredibly!” echoed Koynos, impassively.
“Alkeus,” Oxus continued, “died annihilating a radioplane carrying men who are our enemies—but that radioplane was certainly not the only one. Others will leave or have already left Earth to come and fight us.”
“Certainly!” echoed Koynos.
The 13 were listening, excited now by the duel, anxious as to its outcome.
“Well,” said Oxus, in a strangely prophetic tone, “it’s you that I’m talking to, Koynos…”
“I’m listening!”
“Suppose that a radioplane brings to Mars the father, lover or fiancé of the young woman who is in your house and whom you love. Suppose that, thinking only of the mission that the Fifteen have undertaken, I were to say to you, Koynos: ‘Death to the father, the lover, the fiancé…’ What would you do?”
There was a moment of inexpressible anguish. All the men were breathless. Oxus, implacably, had posed the problem…
Koynos got to his feet. Pale, with sweat on his brow, his voice quite clear and unfaltering, he answered: “Master, to your order, I would respond: ‘Ver
y well!’ And I would take the young woman, and I would return her to her father, lover or fiancé. Then, free, I would return to you to say: ‘Issue another order! Who must I fight?’ And, according to your command, I would march against the father, the lover or the fiancé, in accordance with the Oath of the Fifteen…”
“Do you so swear?” said Oxus.
“I so swear!”
“And you, my Brothers,” the Master went on. “You have heard Koynos?”
“Yes,” replied 13 voices, in unison.
“Do you approve his words? Will you repeat them, each on his own count?”
“Yes! Yes!”
“You so swear?”
“We so swear!”
“Very well—the session is ended!”
And, as tranquil, as calm, and as self-controlled as at the end of the most banal session, Oxus turned his back on the table and slowly went out through the door that had opened an hour earlier to let him in.
It was not until the door had closed heavily behind him that the 14 thought to stand up to pronounce the customary salutation: “Honored be the Master!”
“Forever!” cried the slave guard—and the battens of the exit door opened wide into the sunlit corridor.
III. Alpha’s Adventure
Fourteen hours after his departure from Argyre Island, Alpha’s aircraft was hovering above Niliacus Island. His Commander, Koynos had said to him: “As soon as they have landed, the Terrans will set out to look for the Martian military bases that you once explored with me. Fly in a spiral, with the base as the central point; you can’t fail to discover the Terrans. Have yourself taken to Saint-Clair, to whom you will deliver this message. Don’t come back until you have his verbal reply, after having left him the four electro-mirrors you’re carrying.”
In consequence, Alpha set about flying a spiral course, about 200 meters above the ground, and his eyes search the island extended beneath him.
He had continued this maneuver for about an hour without result when he saw a large bird fly up to his left, from a distant forest at the very center of his imaginary spiral. In the pure air, the raucous croaking of the bird was distinctly audible.
That’s a Martian condor, Alpha said to himself. Cutting short his monotonous maneuver, he headed straight for the point from which the condor had taken flight. He soon saw the five towers of the abandoned base below him; immediately, he noticed something abnormal leaning against one of the towers, like a sort of vertical mast. He went down to take a closer look.
When he was no more that 50 meters above the top of the tower, he said to himself: No doubt about it, the Terrans are there. They’ve made a ladder out of a tree to get into the tower. They’re probably hiding—my aircraft can only have inspired distrust. Since I’m dealing with my own kind, let’s act as if I were on Earth!
He took a white handkerchief from his pocket and attached it adroitly to the aircraft’s vertical rudder. Then he descended slowly, in order to set down on the very wall of the tower, which was flat enough and wide enough in places for the aircraft to remain in place there.
As the machine touched down on its cylindrical runners on the crest of the wall, like a bird alighting, a voice rose of from the depths of the tower:
“Who goes there?”
“Friend!” Alpha replied.
“Where have you come from?”
“Argyre—I have a message from my Commander, Koynos, for Saint-Clair.”
“That’s good! Wait!”
Alpha saw a man emerge from a hole hollowed out in the middle of a platform that must once have marked the first floor. The man climbed up the ruin, finding handholds in the uneven walls, to a second platform. After a further five minutes of acrobatics, he eventually arrived in front of Alpha, who had come out of the aircraft and was standing on top of the wall.
“Monsieur Saint-Clair?” said Koynos’ envoy.
“That’s me,” replied the Nyctalope.
“Here!” And the companion of the XV held out a folded piece of paper. Saint-Clair took it, unfolded it and read the following lines:
If, as I presume, you are in the former Martian base, go into the fifth of the towers, counting from south to north. There you will find a subterranean passage that will take you to the abandoned workshops, where some things still remain that might be useful to you. In any case, you will be sheltered there.
Only go out via the tower, and only to hunt. The forest to the north of the base has game. A pink plant striped with yellow grows under the trees, whose root resembles a large radish; when cooked, it makes a tasty and nourishing meal.
If you have firearms, never make use of them, at least unless they are furnished with a counter-detonator; shots would attract the attention of any Martians happening to pass over Lake Niliacus. For hunting, as for defense in case of attack, make use of the electro-mirrors that Alpha will give you, whose mechanism he will explain.
If the Martians discover you, you are doomed—and you can do nothing against the XV. I pity you.
K.
Not a word about Xavière, the Nyctalope thought.
He was wondering how he ought to reply to Koynos’ helpful message when an idea, marvelous in its audacity, abruptly lit up his mind—a terrible idea, such as only a man of genius like Saint-Clair might have. Hastily, he took a revolver from his belt and pointed it at Alpha, who stiffened instinctively and automatically took a step backwards.
“What’s your name?” said Saint-Clair, taking aim at the messenger.
“Alpha.”
“Well, Alpha, do you value your life?”
“Yes,” the other replied, dazedly.
“Koynos is well-disposed towards us,” the Nyctalope went on. “He saved us once and wants to save us again—but that’s not enough. I need to talk to Koynos myself—so, if you don’t want me to blow your brains out right now, you’re going to take me aboard your airplane and take me to see Koynos.”
Alpha had collected himself. He now admired this man—who, at any rate, held his life in his hands. He shrugged his shoulders and replied: “That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because my return will inevitably be signaled in Cosmopolis. If I return alone, I’ll be able to put the aircraft in its garage without hindrance, because Koynos is responsible for my excursions and my destiny is tied to his. If two of us go back, though, when only one of us left, the Master will be alerted immediately and we’ll be arrested by armed slaves as soon as the aircraft touches down on the terrace of Koynos’ house. We’ll be electrocuted, on Oxus’ orders, five minutes later.”
“Very well!” said Saint-Clair, impassively. “In that case, you’ll stay here—I’ll go alone.”
Alpha could not help laughing, so insane did the enterprise seem. “But you’ll never find Argyre Island. You don’t know the planet.”
“I know the map by heart.”
“The map made on Earth is incomplete.”
“All right! You’ll give me the necessary directions. I see a compass in your aircraft. With that, one can go anywhere and arrive…”
“The Martians will blast you!”
“You’ve avoided them; you’ll tell me how it’s done…”
“And if I don’t tell you anything?”
“I’ll have the regret of killing you first and then leaving without being informed.”
Alpha smiled. This Saint-Clair seemed to him to be worthy of being one of the XV. He reflected for a moment, then, with the kind of insouciance that was the dominant trait of his character, he said: “Koynos told me: ‘Go, hand over the message and the electro-motors, ask for a verbal reply and come back…’ He didn’t tell me to surrender my place in the airplane to you. Kill me, then—I won’t tell you anything more. It’s a pity for me that I wasn’t mistrustful enough, and came out of the plane without a weapon in my hand. Go ahead—shoot!”
It was Saint-Clair’s turn to admire—but he did not let his sentiments show. Brusquely and precisely, he threw away his revo
lver and hurled himself on Alpha, seizing him in both arms and shouting: “Help me! Tory! Pary! Bontemps!”
There was a silent and violent battle on the crest of the wall, as Alpha struggled to escape Saint-Clair’s grip—but the Nyctalope’s muscles were solid and Alpha writhed in vain, his arms pinned to his sides. The arrival of O’Brien and Bontemps, immediately followed by Tory, put an end to the bizarre struggle. Alpha was seized, bound with belts and deposited like a parcel between two upward-jutting stones.
“Do you want to talk?” Saint-Clair asked him.
“No!” said Alpha.
“I’ll go, then.”
“You’re going to your death!”
But Saint-Clair turned to the aircraft, to the astonishment of his ten companions, who had climbed up one by one from the depths of the tower. “Klepton,” he said, “this is an electric machine. There’s nothing particularly unusual about it, is there?”
“Nothing—except for the mode of suspension. The wings are mobile—they beat, like a bird’s wings.” Klepton had seated himself in the aircraft’s cockpit. He touched a switch. The wings trembled. “This is the wing-control,” Klepton went on. “That one, evidently, starts the airscrew. Horizontal rudder, vertical rudder... Yes, it’s simple. This is the switch that operates them. It’ll operate over any sort of terrain. Go ahead, my friend—it’s an admirable machine.”
Saint-Clair had been following Klepton’s gestures and listening to what he said. “Indeed, it’s as simple as it possibly could be. Pary—the map of Mars!”
Pencils in hand, Saint-Clair and Klepton examined the map.
“About 4800 kilometers,” the Nyctalope said. “The airplane must be able to do 350 kilometers an hour. Fourteen hours travel. It’s mid-day. I’ll be there at 2 a.m. I can see in the dark, so it should all go well. According to what I learned from the documents found in the Congo station, Koynos’ house ought to have a figure ‘I’ above its door. I’ll go. Fold the map, Pary, and put it on the seat.”
The Nyctalope on Mars 2: The Triumph of Love Page 5