The Navigators of Space

by J. -H. Rosny aîné

  “Or unusual creatures,” I added.

  “Through the wall...that completely impermeable wall?”

  “Since our eyes can see through it as clearly as an atmosphere, why shouldn’t a sense analogous to our vision be involved?”

  “That’s true,” said Antoine. “There’s no reason to refuse them senses sensitive to our infinitesimal vibrations.”

  While speaking, we had raised the Stellarium, whose gravitational compensator maintained us fifty meters from the Martian surface.

  “I assume that the halo can’t do us any great harm here,” said Jean, in an aggrieved tone. “Its radiation must obey the inverse square law of distance.”

  Antoine’s face was somber. “I assume so—although these brutes might, after all, perhaps be capable of channeling their emissions…in which case, goodbye inverse square law. It’s scarcely probable, though; that one, like the smaller ones, is enveloped by a luminous carapace. All the same, we might be handicapped in our excursions.”

  “In spite of our radiation-shields and mini-torpedoes? Besides, a simple beam of radiation, suitably selected, will doubtless be sufficient to keep the aggressors at a distance.”

  “Doubtful!” said Antoine. “But it costs nothing to try.”

  We chose for an experimental subject a zoomorph of medium size, at which we directed obliquely radiations of various frequencies, progressively increasing the dosage. The zoomorph proved utterly indifferent to long waves, waves in the visible spectrum and the shorter ultra-violet waves, but beyond the Ramières rays, it gave signs of agitation, and when we reached the Bussault rays, it drew away at an accelerated speed in the opposite direction.47 We prolonged the exposure momentarily, then attacked a second, third and fourth zoomorph, with the same success.

  “In principle, we’ve succeeded,” I said, “but I won’t be reassured until a giant confirms our results. If I’m not mistaken, here comes one now…”

  A colossus had just appeared around the corner of a rock. As it was some distance away, we moved closer before subjecting it to a shower of Bussault rays. It seemed to manifest a certain hesitation, but it continued to advance almost directly toward the source of the radiation.

  “Let’s increase the intensity!”

  The effect was not long delayed. The zoomorph stopped, and then retreated. With a suitable discharge, and orientating the Stellarium with respect to various azimuths, we could insure ourselves against any chance of error.

  “Well,” said Antoine, lightly, “we’re masters of the situation, at little expense—for the energy deployed is, after all, feeble. I confess that I was quite worried—consternated even. Not that I doubted our means, but I feared an excessive expenditure of energy…but there we are!”

  “There’ll be other dangers.”

  “Silence, Jeremiah! We’ll overcome them. Now, let’s get under way for other zones.”

  It suited us to travel rather slowly, in order not to miss any interesting regions, and to zigzag somewhat, to enlarge the field of observation.

  After an hour and a half, we had scarcely traveled more than 100 kilometers parallel to the equator, while tracing oblique lines four or five leagues long. The desert regions were succeeded by regions frequented by zoomorphs. Jean, impatient for new discoveries, proposed a high-speed flight.

  “We can resume our snail’s pace afterwards.”

  “A straight course?”

  “Oh no! Many turns to the right and left of the track.”

  The Stellarium flew on at 1000 kilometers an hour, with pauses during which we scrutinized the locales. The hour went by without any notable results, and we were already wondering whether to resume the slow excursion when Jean exclaimed: “Something singularly reminiscent of water!”

  “Yes, singularly,” I added.

  A large bright brown sheet was shining very weakly in the sunlight, as if it were covered with slightly polished gauze; moving ripples left no doubt as to its fluidity. The sheet was about as large as Lake Annecy.48

  “Water? Is that water?” Antoine muttered. “It has an odd color.”

  “I’ve known muddy water of the same hue!”

  “Almost, yes—but rarely. At any rate, it’s still a liquid…and on this disconcerting planet, it’s the first hint of it. Let’s take a look at close range.”

  “Prudently.”

  “This time, we won’t all leave home at the same time.”

  As soon as we were close to the lake, we became certain that the brown color was the normal color of the liquid. A profound and delightful emotion gripped us. This world was no longer incompatible—and how sadly!—with our own. The flexible forms that were undulating on the shore and in the surrounding plain seemed incontestably analogous to our vegetation. For a few minutes, we were in a kind of ecstasy, to the extent that Jean’s eyes were full of tears.

  Although no plant clearly replicated a terrestrial form, they all bore some resemblance either to our grasses, our ferns, our shrubs, our trees, our mushrooms, our mosses, and even our lichens and algae. However, the pseudo-mosses were as large was willow-trees, the pseudo-mushrooms grew to heights of seven to ten meters and the pseudo-lichens developed tresses as long as our algae, while the tallest trees were no larger than a hazelnut tree and were much stouter than ours—with the result that, in spite of their low stature, they sometimes attained the circumference of baobabs; one might have thought them the remnants of enormous trunks sawn off a few feet from the ground, on which a multitude of thin branches was growing.

  The vegetation was various in color, the ensemble being somewhat reminiscent of the shades of forests at the height of autumn, when the crows resemble immense bunches of flowers.

  While we were savoring the delight of being in a near-terrestrial locale, other discoveries excited us; animals appeared in their turn. From the outset, there was no doubt: here, incontestably, were creatures analogous to our animals, even though there was an assortment of structures that were astonishing to our sublunar eyes.

  Of quadrupeds there were none; these animals, large or small, had five feet, the fifth being different from the others and seemingly playing a more complex role. As on Earth, some animals were moving on land, others swimming in the water or flying in the air. No feathers, but hair, scales and bare skins. No tails at all. Multiple eyes, the number of which varied according to species, without there ever being less than six—eyes that were generally smaller than the eyes of our quadrupeds, but of the same sort, endowed with a superior brightness. No ears or visible nostrils; mouths in which the dentition formed a solid block…

  Various sizes, although we saw no animal as large as a zebra. In broad terms, the bodies resembled terrestrial bodies; as well as skulls that were roughly comparable to the skulls of wolves, cats, bears, tortoises and birds, others were perfectly triangular or formed as exact pyramids.

  Many of the kinds of feet found on our planet have equivalents among the Martian animals apparent on the shore or the plain, but the aerial varieties all have five wings capable, as we soon saw, of performing the functions of feet, and the aquatic animals five fins, four lateral and one ventral.

  I am accumulating our observations as if they were simultaneous—in reality, it took us hours to make them.

  At first, we flew very slowly over the locale—which frightened the aerial organisms but appeared to leave the inhabitants of the water and land indifferent. Then, having perceived none of the zoomorphs of the previous region, we decided to study the successive zones at the edge of the lake and on the plain.

  From the outset, we had observed that the majority of Martian animals were herbivores; they were roaming around tearing apart and chewing vegetation. Soon, we witnessed carnivorous scenes especially among small-sized organisms.

  We had to wait two hours to discern a struggle between two aerial creatures; the victor transported its victim into a crack in a rock. Then we saw an animal the size of a wolf bring down and tear apart an animal not much smaller than itself. />
  “The terrestrial inferno!” Jean groaned.

  These scenes were rare, the number of herbivores far surpassing the number of carnivores.

  “Shall we make a sortie?” I asked.

  “I was about to propose one,” Jean replied.

  The lot selected Antoine to stay aboard the Stellarium, which would follow us at a distance; if it were too close, it would hinder our observations by causing the animals to flee.

  Furnished with autonomous respirators, ray-guns and mini-torpedoes, and enveloped in our pressure-suits, Jean and I went out on to the lake-shore. First of all, we took a little water from the lake; it was noticeably heavier than terrestrial water and gave off an indefinable, vaguely aromatic odor that was not unpleasant.

  “Its density is equivalent to one and a half times that of our old oceanic liquid,” Jean remarked, “and its evaporation must be feeble. Is it just water? I’m almost sure that it isn’t. We can find out.”

  Each of us was equipped with a little analysis kit, which permitted a few summary experiments. Warmed in a minuscule test-tube, the Martian liquid required a significantly higher temperature than water to cause it to boil. Its specific density was approximately 1.3.

  Having put away our minuscule apparatus, we began our excursion along the shore of the lake.

  The animals avoided us, except for the smallest, which were probably unaware of our presence. There was no apparent panic or curiosity, however.

  “We must simply be unknown to them,” said Jean. “Hence the spontaneous mistrust…but it’s purely instinctive.”

  Sometimes, an animal less prudent than the rest stopped some distance away to observe us with its multiple eyes, but if we walked toward it, it did not take long to run away.

  “Those are perhaps the most intelligent. They’re trying vaguely to figure us out. What luck, Jean, if we were to encounter quasi-human beings!”

  “Or what bad luck! What if they were as intelligent and as ferocious as humans?”

  “The Stellarium is close at hand.”

  “The trap might be even closer! One well-hidden ambush, and we’d be fried!”

  “Look out!”

  An animal similar to a carnivore, one of which we had seen at work before setting out, had just appeared. Very thickset, it attained the stature of a large Newfoundland dog, and displayed a muzzle similar to a five-sided prism; its six eyes gleamed like glow-worms. Its hide was violet-tinted, reminiscent of hairy lichen.

  “Perhaps it has a keen desire to taste the unfamiliar flesh!” my companion muttered.

  An animal of another kind suddenly appeared, vaguely reminiscent of our weasels, but a weasel with a helical mouth and a stature equal to that of a wild boar; it was being perceived by an animal of the same kind as the one that had first come into view. Caught between two fires, it tried to move away obliquely, but a third enemy materialized and it found itself caught in a triangle.

  “That resembles a terrestrial scene, point for point,” said Jean. “A red deer or a roe deer surrounded by wolves.”

  The hunted beast tried to pass between two aggressors. It failed. One of the carnivores seized it by the nape of the neck, and in a flash, the other two fell upon its flanks. Jean made as if to intervene, but it was already too late; the aggressors had opened the victim’s throat, from which ran a sulfur-yellow liquid—doubtless Martian blood—and its belly was ripped open.

  “I was about to fire a ray!” Jean said. “Although the planet seems to me to permit the renewal of our energy-supplies many times over, however, it’s better to economize our resources.”

  “All the more so as we’re not here to alter the course of events that have been going on for thousands of years!”

  Pensively, we continued on our way. Because humans are perhaps the most adaptable of animals, we already felt familiar with the locale, with its plants and animals—and even with the weight deficiency that had made us feel ill before. On the other hand, we were glad to be able to move swiftly and effortlessly; as for respiration, thanks to the condensers that supplied us with concentrated Martian air, it was perfect.

  “If there are edible plants and animals—edible for humans—there’s nothing to prevent us from living on Mars for an unlimited time,” Jean remarked. “There seems to be a possibility of finding everything necessary for quotidian existence here, and renewing the energy reserves for the return journey. Eh? What’s this coming toward us?”

  What was coming toward us was not very reassuring: an apocalyptic creature twelve meters long, simultaneously reminiscent of an alligator, a python and a rhinoceros. Low-slung, with a rounded torso, a thick pyramidal muzzle and head of which projected a sort of long horn, a hide that was bare on the flank, scaly on the back and hairy on the muzzle, the beast advanced with a wriggling motion that gave it the appearance of crawling. Stout feet were agitating beneath it.

  “Is it crawling or walking?” I exclaimed.

  “Both!” my companion replied. “The movement of the feet is, if I dare say so, in synchrony with the twisting of the body. We’ve nothing as ugly as that on Earth.”

  On seeing us, the beast had stopped, and its eyes—it had a dozen of them—directed a gaze at us that sometimes went out and lit up again, as if commanded by circuit-breakers.

  We got our ray-guns and mini-torpedoes ready, just in case.

  “That thing must weigh as much as several elephants,” said Jean.

  “Five or six.”

  We noticed that all the visible animals had fled at panic speed—proof that the monster was redoubtable.

  After a brief pause, it started moving again, and it was obviously heading straight for us.

  “All right, old chap!” said Jean—as he sent forth a beam of Bussault rays.

  The beast’s writhing became convulsive, but it did not stop; in fact, it accelerated its progress. I launched a beam in my turn, and this time the effect seemed decisive; the enormous mass stopped dead, and the eyes went out. Soon, it turned round and moved away, heavily and painfully.

  “It’s hurt!” I said. “Should we finish it off?”

  “No need—and it might take too much energy. I reckon it’s out of action for some time. But here’s Antoine!”

  The Stellarium was, in fact, there. We exchanged a few signals with our friend—who, completely reassured, retired to a distance.

  “Still no equivalent of the creature that lit the first fire at the end of the Tertiary!” Jean muttered. “It seems, however, that if there’s any chance of meeting one, there’s no place more favorable than the shores of this lake?”

  “Eh?” I said. “Perhaps it’s already aware of our presence. It might be hiding, its quasi-human eyes fixed upon us, setting some ambush for us. Who can tell?”

  Jean shrugged his shoulders and burst out laughing.

  When we had climbed a hill, a forest was revealed—a forest of pseudo-mushrooms, simultaneously impressive and baroque.

  “One might really take them for gigantic cloves and colossal columellas,” I said, “apart from a few unexpected festoons and a few helical appendages. A unique texture…a thallus…nothing resembling leaves…”

  Animals appeared and disappeared slyly; airborne individuals took off on their five wings; some of them were tiny, no larger than cockchafers, others much the same size as tits, pigeons, crows or even falcons. They had no feathers, no beaks and no tails; their muzzles were most commonly shaped like flattened arches.

  “They’re still the ones least reminiscent of terrestrial life,” Jean murmured. “Their five wings, especially, seem unusual. Note that during flight, they’re disposed in a fashion somewhat akin to helicopters. In the same way that the apocalyptic beast seemed to be running and crawling at the same time, they seem to be flying and swimming at the same time.”

  “They have to be clever, in an atmosphere as thin as this! Their wings also seem to be extraordinarily vigorous.”

  We had reached a clearing, in which nothing grew but some sort of
paltry lianas and pseudo-lichens. It was strewn with rocks, similar to standing stones, and while I stopped to examine some of them, Jean drew ahead by a hundred meters or so. Something must have caught his attention, which caused him to move into a narrow gully between two blue rocks, larger than the others. I lost sight of him.

  A few minutes went by; then, not seeing my companion reappear, I searched for him with my gaze. There was no sign of him. I headed for the blue rocks in my turn.

  Two creatures emerged, which differed from all those that we had already seen. Standing on three feet, their torsos vertical, there was something positively human about them. Even their faces, whose skin was bare, in spite of their six eyes and the absence of a nose suggested some kind of homology with our species.

  How can I describe those faces, though? How can I convey an impression of their harmonious form, comparable to that of the most beautiful Greek vases, or the ravishing nuances of their skin, simultaneously evocative of flowers, crepuscular clouds and Egyptian enamels? None of those gross fleshy appendages that are our noses, ears and lips, but six marvelous eyes, compared with which our most beautiful terrestrial eyes are no more than the wing-cases of cockchafers or scarabs—eyes through which pass all the gleams of auroras, morning meadows, rivers at sunset, oriental lakes, oceans, storms, clouds…

  The creatures walked strangely, on three feet that were raised in turn. When they stopped, the feet formed an acute-angled triangle, the middle foot slightly to the left of the front and rear feet. As for their height, it was visibly equal to that of Spaniards or southern Italians.

  While I was studying them, in a fit of surprise and admiration, they drew away and disappeared behind the trees—but others appeared some distance away. One of them was carrying something that resembled a coiled piece of liana; I felt my legs go numb.

  Aiming my ray-gun, with difficulty, I fired a beam of radiation. Two creatures tottered; they all shivered and disappeared behind a block of stone. The numbness only lasted another half-minute, but a profound anxiety had gripped me.