While she was speaking, I had closed my eyes, and I knew then that I too had no need to see her. There was, therefore, a fantastic affinity between us, more penetrating than the strongest affinity between two terrestrial beings.
“What have I done to deserve this?”
“When you close your eyes, Grace, can you perceive the presence of your own kind?”
“No,” she replied.
“Not even when you’re in love?”
A sort of gilded pallor spread over her face; I learned subsequently that it was a sign of confusion like blushing in humans.
“When I’m in love, yes.”
An irresistible force impelled me to ask: “Do you love me as you love them?”
“Like them, and differently.”
I could have said the same thing. I loved her with both a lover’s love and a love that bore no resemblance to any other sentiment, just as the sensuality born merely of the contact of our breasts did not resemble any of our coarse human sensualities.
We rejoined my companions and the Implicit Chief, who were all very animated, but the discussion had ended.
“Why not begin immediately?” said Violaine, who was more impatient than the rest of us.
“Yes, why not?” Antoine replied.
Our friend Jean contented himself with saying: “Let’s go!”
A few minutes later, having crossed the equator, we were far away from the agamic forest again, on the hill where we usually conversed with the Ethereals; they would have responded to signals sent from elsewhere, but it was here that we had assembled the apparatus necessary for our communications.
It was the middle of the night. The two satellites of Mars were visible, but their light was very faint by comparison with the light of our Moon. Aldebaran, Sirius and Antares—soon joined by Vega, Arcturus and some less familiar Ethereals—did not take long to appear.
The Implicit Chief watched the conversation in a state of excitement that he had never shown before. Grace was amazed and delighted—all the more so when I told her that she could speak to them in her turn, as soon as we had agreed signals necessarily as dissimilar as the Triped language was from ours, since our communications with the Ethereals, begun with the aid of a radiant transformation of Morse signals, now took the form of a triply indirect translation of our spoken language.
On that day and the following ones, we made every effort to acquaint the Ethereals with the existence of the Tripeds and with the Martian flora and fauna in general. That existence was known to them in the form I mentioned; for them, a Triped was nothing but a little radiant cloud, of which they had not conceived the collectivity, and hence the individuality. It was the same for every other plant and animal, and also for the Zoomorphs.
The knowledge that they had of our terrestrial organisms had to facilitate their knowledge of Martians—which inevitably seemed to be a curious inversion of normality. Up to a certain point, the groundwork for that knowledge had been laid by our conversations, but it remained embryonic. It required, as it had for us, the collaboration of the two life-systems. We prepared the way with repeated conversations. Soon, our imponderable friends had notions of the organized existences of the planet that rapidly became coordinated.
During his time, we had prepared signals for the Implicit Chief and Grace that would permit an initial exchange of words, very restricted as yet, with the Ethereals. In consequence, we understood everything they said to one another, but it was possible to talk to either party while only being understood by that one.
The Ethereals had been informed of the conflict with the Zoomorphs, but they had reservations.
“We don’t know whether we can help you,” said Aldebaran, while Antares added: “We must not give false hope to our friends.”
XI.
The Tripeds had constructed a second blockhouse for us, half a league from the zone where the Zoomorph invasion was taking on redoubtable proportions. That zone was among the most fertile of the regions occupied by the Martians. In truth, the latter lived mainly in a series of caverns rich in beneficent energies, but they cultivated the surface.
We had found plants there which, once submitted to transformative apparatus, gave us a healthy and sometimes flavorsome nourishment.
The equipment from the first blockhouse was transported to the second, while the caverns furnished us with a limitless supply of the materials needed to produce oxygen and nitrogen—with the result that the blockhouse was provided with an atmosphere similar to the terrestrial atmosphere, save for the rare gases.
“Isn’t this the happiness of Crusoes?” said Violaine one morning, as she served us coffee with slices of bread and pancakes made from a product furnished by the Martian flora, which were not dissimilar to buckwheat pancakes.
“No doubt,” I replied. “All the elements of a modest Eden are assembled here.”
“Speak for yourself,” muttered Antoine. “For us, it still lacks something!”
I did not believe that he was suffering from that dearth, but Jean sometimes became thoughtful. Violaine and I exchanged a furtive glance. Antoine laughed sardonically, but in an amicable fashion, and a slight redness showed on the young woman’s face.
Our love had remained pure, though; we were respectful of the ancient laws of terrestrial society, which are increasingly less respected. Had not almost all of humankind accepted union free of social sanction? Why should a few peoples, especially ours, retain a decrepit morality? And even while respecting them, did we not have new rights, at the distance we were from our planet?
In fact, I waited without impatience; terrestrial sensuality seemed so gross, compared to the radiant sensuality of my Martian love. I preferred to love Violaine without recourse to the singular gestures of procreation; I savored the quintessences of our adventure by bringing them closer to my adventure with Grace.
Eight days before, we had entered into conflict with the Zoomorphs—a conflict still localized, restricted to the most endangered point. The local Tripeds were working ardently to construct the necessary radiant devices. There was no lack of energy, drawn from the caverns. They revealed themselves to be skillful, and quick to understand, but lacking in initiative. Delighted by the initial results of our campaign, they showed us a keen, submissive and mystical affection.
“Let’s go see where we are!” said Jean.
It required no more than five minutes of walking to reach the vicinity of the frontier. It was not that we had hastened our steps—on the contrary, we had slowed them down.
“Now I’ve got into the habit,” Jean remarked, “the lightness of our bodies has become quite pleasant.”
“It’s almost as if we had wings,” added Violaine.
“Wings on our feet, like Hermes.”
On our arrival, Tripeds had gathered, among whom was a giant, one of the local chiefs, who already possessed the rudiments of the language created with the Implicit Chief.
“A few days ago, this territory was still entirely ours,” the colossus remarked
“It will be once again, this evening,” Jean replied, “And they’ve not yet had time to denature the soil.”
“In any case,” said Antoine, “the damage can be quickly repaired by transporting soil here.”
We went to the invaded area, followed by a small crowd, agitated but silent by nature. The Zoomorphs were swarming among the grasses and trees. The flood of small ones had been joined by two of large size. Jean amused himself by bombarding them with Dussault rays. They gave signs of agitation and made as if to return to the bare ground from which they had come.
The little scene excited the Tripeds, who pressed around us, full of enthusiasm.
We gave a few instructions to the giant, for organizing the recovery of the ground where it was still possible. He understood us all the better for having been the first to plant defensive radiators.
“Are you not threatened as we are on your own world?” he asked.
“We’re still in the victorious perio
d that your ancestors once knew. We have dominion over the large animals but the smaller ones still resist, especially the smallest of all—and we fear the invisible ones.”
“The invisible ones?” said the Triped. “We’re unaware of those. If they exist, they don’t do us any harm.”
“Perhaps the Ethereals have destroyed them,” Violaine suggested, in sonorous language.
“That’s an idea!” cried Antoine. “If that’s true, it gives me more confidence in the cooperation of our immaterial friends.”
The defensive operations made rapid progress. A crew of Tripeds, led by the Implicit Chief, was not participating in the work and completing the instruction of the others.
Soon, a barrage a hundred kilometers long was mounted against the Zoomorphs. The system that fuelled the radiators had been improved; the machines were solid and would last a long time. Furthermore, the Tripeds had learned how to maintain and repair them.
After a few days of observation, which had permitted them to investigate the structure of the Zoomorphs, the Ethereals attempted discharges of radiation. We watched the first attacks along with Grace, the Implicit Chief, the local chief and a crowd that had gathered from all directions.
I shall always remember that night. The Earth was at its brightest; we contemplated that beautiful green-gold star delightedly, while Jupiter, brighter here than on our own planet, rose above the horizon and the moons of Mars moved vertiginously.
A legion of Ethereals had answered the appeal. Above our heads, Aldebaran, Sirius, Antares, Arcturus and Vega formed a fascinating mobile constellation, while three of the stars whose names we had attributed to them were sparkling in the sky. A hundred Ethereals assembled over the segment chosen for the initial experiment, then descended to less than 50 meters from the ground. A flood of visible and invisible radiations sprayed the Zoomorphs, causing a violent disorder among the smallest—which, after moving in every direction, fled precipitately toward the desert zone. The medium-sized Zoomorphs only gave slight signs of agitation, and the giants remained motionless. We were a little disappointed, especially Jean and Violaine. The Tripeds remained impassive.
“It’s semi-successful,” Jean murmured.
“It’s too soon to draw any conclusion,” Antoine riposted, placidly.
At the same moment, Vega told us: “Our attack was not sufficiently intense. Wait for the second attempt.”
Signals were exchanged among the Ethereals; soon, more than a thousand more joined the initial aggressors.
From then on, the clearance was rapid. Fifteen or 20 Ethereals attacked each giant Zoomorph simultaneously, and the latter were not long delayed in retreating at speed. As for the small and medium-sized Zoomorphs, they were swept away in a trice.
New Ethereals having joined the “scouts,” the recently-invaded zone was soon liberated.
A frenetic joy gripped the Tripeds. The Implicit Chief lost his calmness, and Grace was tremulous with enthusiasm. We Terrans looked on, marveling.
“But there’s nothing to prevent the Zoomorphs from coming back,” Antoine remarked, “later, if not right away. The Ethereals can’t dedicate themselves perpetually to their expulsion.”
Aldebaran’s voice was heard at that moment—remember that our friends the Ethereals, although using radiations to speak to us, all had their own voices—explaining to us that a small minority of the Ethereals were interested in the fate of the Tripeds. The others showed little inclination to expend energy on their behalf. A large number did not think that they ought to discriminate between Tripeds and Zoomorphs. “It’s because of you—because you made the effort to communicate with us—that a group is attempting to aid your friends.”
“You’re abandoning the conflict, then?” said, Jean, anxiously.
The voice of Sirius was heard in its turn. “No! We hope to be able to render the Triped frontiers inaccessible to the Zoomorphs by penetrating them with a weak, but effective and stable, energy.”
The Ethereals did not attempt to make us understand their project. In the meantime, the apparatus that we had created for the Tripeds, once put into operation, would suffice to maintain the positions acquired.
XII.
Jean had conceived a plan to grow Martian plants on Earth, and even to transport a few small animals there.
“It won’t be easy to feed them on the way,” said Antoine.
“That’s what I’m proposing to study,” Jean retorted.
“Really?” said Antoine.
The idea seduced Violaine. There were two quintupeds, in particular, that she dreamed of transplanting, one with a helicoids muzzle, brightened by magnificent eyes and clad in scarlet, the other the color of old gold. These animals, about the size of a domestic cat, were meek and herbivorous, for it seemed impossible to nourish the carnivores of Mars on terrestrial flesh.
We sometimes spent two or three days in the same location. The Stellarium, constantly guarded by one of us, was moved according to our whim. All our power and security came from the ship, and we treated it reverently. The resistance of its hull was almost limitless. It was usable for at least two or three generations; the impulsion and gravitational apparatus were invulnerable. We had a mystical confidence in it, which did not dissuade us from looking after it with rigorous prudence. The slightest flaw in its integrity might make us exiles condemned to an early death. Could we survive for more than a few seasons on Mars? Confident as I was, I experienced a terrible anguish on thinking about it.
We had established a third blockhouse in an area neighboring Zoomorph zones. Like the first, it was equipped with oxygen generators, condensers and gravity-field compensators. The Tripeds had helped us with all the accessory installations, which demanded hard labor but which, thanks to them, were promptly concluded—with the result that, including the Stellarium, we possessed four sound shelters.
We had also constructed three helicopters, which permitted swift journeys without recourse to the Stellarium. Grace and the Implicit Chief often accompanied us in our explorations; their collaboration was precious to us—especially that of the young Triped female, who was endowed with more intuition than her fellows. Her mere presence continued to dispense all the noblest and purest enchantments to me.
One afternoon, Jean, Violaine and I were out walking not far from the second blockhouse; we were collecting seeds that Jean thought particularly apt at maintaining themselves for a long time without alteration—about which he was not mistaken.
Antoine was guarding the Stellarium.
We were wandering among giant trees, as tall as Australian Eucalyptus trees, which they did not resemble at all. They were widely separated from one another, with the result that we could see the locale clearly for a long way.
I was leaning over a violet plant when I heard Violaine say: “The Stellarium’s taking off.”
That did not astonish me unduly; nevertheless, I raised my head. Not only had the Stellarium taken off, but it was climbing rapidly, reaching a considerable altitude within a minute.
“What’s Antoine doing?” I exclaimed.
“Antoine is the wisest of us,” Jean replied. “He must have his reasons.”
The Stellarium continued to climb; it was shrinking with every passing second, and also drawing away laterally. Soon, it was almost invisible. Finally, it disappeared.
We experienced dread, then fear, and then terror. We looked at one another, pale and livid.
“Antoine’s lost in space,” Jean moaned. “He’s lost control of the apparatus—something’s gone awry.”
Despair grew in our hearts. Antoine would perish in the boundless expanse and we, exiled, could do nothing but await death, after an agony whose slowness would render it more lamentable.
How beautiful that Earth appeared to me! The memories were rising up, innumerably: infancy; youth; those that I loved and had loved; the fine mornings when life begins again; the greenery of spring; the waters, source of all life, which always delighted me; dream-like dusks; winters wh
en refuge is so sweet; adventures great and small…
Oh, never to see that again, to expire miserably on an ingrate planet, devoured by desert! There was Grace, though, who would have rendered life acceptable, even marvelous, if life on Mars were not impossible…
An hour has passed, as long as several days. We have taken refuge in the blockhouse. At least we have installed all the apparatus necessary to condense Martian air here, and also oxygen generators. With our helicopters, we can rejoin Grace and the Implicit Chief, and take refuge in the first blockhouse, whose equipment is more complete than that of the second…
Two hours have passed. All appearance of hope has passed. We don’t have the strength to talk to one another. Jean, so prompt to react, seems more downhearted than me, and Violaine is devastated.
Evening has come. The worlds and the Ethereals are shining in the sky, and we can see the Earth, a gilded emerald, the sight of which fills us with mortal anguish.
Jean’s voice emerges from the shadows: “Should we inform them?” He means our terrestrial friends, to whom we send news periodically.
“Not yet, Jean. What good would it do to worry them prematurely? There’ll be plenty of time to inform them of our distress.”
“How long can we live here?” Violaine asks.
“About three months—longer, if we succeed in further improving the nutriments we obtain from Mars.”
These nutriments are as yet only a supplement; they provide some energy, but only a few of the substances necessary to repair tissues.
“We’ll succeed in improving them,” Jean affirms. “I have a few experiments in mind. In any case, I hope that they’ll permit us to eke out our terrestrial nutriments considerably.”
“Is it impossible that anyone might come to our rescue?”
The Navigators of Space Page 40