The Navigators of Space

by J. -H. Rosny aîné

  “There are other Stellariums.”

  “None of which are as good as ours.”

  “New ones were being constructed when we left. Perhaps, then…”

  A wave of despair ebbs and flows again; then distress takes hold again, more profoundly.

  “Try to sleep for a few hours,” Jean advises us. “I’ll take the first watch.”

  Sleep! Is that possible?

  Thoughts and sensations, born of one another, unfurl in tumult. One idea covers me with cold sweat, another awakens multitudes of images and hopes. Will it be necessary to wait for the moment when, the last vestiges of hope having been extinguished, we will sink fatally? I don’t know—and what does it matter?

  But what if Earth comes to our rescue after all?

  Violaine, Grace…they float in the mist. A love as sad as death envelops me. Oh, poor Violaine! I can still see her out there, a little human made for a long life, so adept at happiness, whom our weakness has led to death.

  I’ve been asleep. Youth. In the fog of semi-wakefulness I am able to think that I am on Earth: a virgin forest, a river, my old half-wild garden, the odor of morning…

  A start, a surge of the heart; reality has gripped me again. I find myself on a dying world. The Earth is lost!

  It’s still the middle of the night. Through the little window I see the sky swarming with Ethereals, Vaguely, I search—for the thousandth time—to imagine their sentiments, their thoughts, their dreams…nascent chimeras. Who know whether they might be able to help us? Impossible. They have no idea of weight, of our movements, of our efforts, of our mechanisms. All of that is an excessively slow rhythm—and besides, they’re not technologists.

  A voice emerges from the shadows—Jean’s. “Ought we to warn Earth? Its position is favorable tonight.”

  “It will be just as favorable tomorrow,” I reply.

  “I understand! You still hope to see Antoine again. Not me. We would have seen him some time ago, if it had been possible for him to return.”

  “I’m no more hopeful than you—all the same, it’s better to wait another day.”

  “Let’s wait, then!”

  Dark insomnia. All my nerves are taut; periodically, my heart leaps like a wild beast. I could be happy here, though, if it were possible to survive. Violaine, terrestrial love; Grace, the miracle. I no longer have any relatives over there but a brother who doesn’t much like me, and whom I rarely see. Oh, if it were not for the Earth, the astral fatherland, Grace could console me.

  Dreams as vain as those of a man afflicted by a mortal illness.

  An internal fog. My being floats between sleep and wakefulness; reality is lost in a fantastic unreality.

  A voice wakes me up—neither Jean’s voice nor Violaine’s. I leap to my feet. Impossible! But yes, it really is Antoine’s voice, only slightly altered by the loudspeaker. Jean is already standing up in the darkness. Violaine comes running.

  “It’s really Antoine’s voice!” cries Jean.

  “Here we are, Antoine.”

  “I’ll be on Mars within a minute,” Antoine replies. “Light up the blockhouse.”

  In the obscurity that envelops the planet—for the Martians live without light at night—the blockhouse shines forth. The minute passes, so short and so long, and then there is a great light in the firmament.

  Scarcely a few seconds more, and the Stellarium settles down lightly, a short distance away from the blockhouse.

  Antoine appears, as calm as usual. We cluster around him, in the delight of salvation—mingled, in me, with retrospective fear.

  “What happened?” asked Jean. “The Stellarium…”

  “The Stellarium is safe and sound. Until now it has not suffered the slightest damage, and that was what saved me. It followed a straight line, inflexibly.”

  “The accident happened to you, then?”

  “Yes, me. A stupid accident. I had a sore throat; instead of a remedy, I mistakenly took a soporific. I’m very sensitive to such drugs. All in all, one of those errors that is unpardonable. When I woke up again, it took me some time to understand what had happened. In sum, I very nearly condemned us all to death! I humbly ask your forgiveness.”

  “You don’t deserve it,” said Jean, who had recovered his natural good humor.

  It was one of the great moments of our lives. We remained silent for some time, overwhelmed by happiness. Never before had I perceived so profoundly our individual weakness compared with the enormous power of humankind. We were the same paltry creatures as in the times when our ancestors struggled unrelentingly for their subsistence, in the bosom of a world in which living beings devoured one another, in which the plain and the forest resounded incessantly with cries of agony. Although all that has gone, although our species has triumphed insolently over its ancient rivals, although the most powerful only live by the good will of the victors, every member of that prodigious assembly is merely a puff of smoke—and that assembly, in its turn, is merely a fugitive cloud.

  XIII.

  Only six or seven weeks of our sojourn here remain. We could prolong our stay but that would be dangerous; Antoine is formally opposed to it. That is the wisdom and also the honesty of each companion. The deliberation has been lengthy. Jean, always inclined to risk, ended up submitting to necessity, and Violaine too. It has been necessary to resign myself to it—with what sadness!

  The idea of no longer seeing Grace is unbearable, even more so than on the first voyage. She has become so dear to me! Such accord, so complete an intimacy, would be impossible with a human creature. On contact with her, I acquire new vital properties; her atmosphere penetrates me intimately; she too has been subjected to a subtle metamorphosis which has drawn her nearer to my humanity. In the infinite universe, we surely form a couple that is unique, by virtue of the fusion of such dissimilar mentalities, and a certain vague resemblance.

  Must I really leave her? Now that she has transformed the energies of my being, that seems to me to be a form of suicide; for a long time, the life I lived on Earth will seem a restricted form of life. The new powers of my being will be lost there; I must abandon the admirable creature who caused their birth.

  Could she live on Earth? She supports the air-pressure aboard the Stellarium without difficulty, but she has only stayed here for short periods of time. If she died, I would believe that I had committed the most abominable crime.

  It would certainly not be impossible to create a dwelling for her usage over there, and—for going out—an apparatus similar to the one we employ here, but opposite in effect, rarefying instead of concentrating.

  I shall always remember this summer morning. It will appear softer, gentler, more charming, on the edge of the lake, amid a strange vegetation that is, from an Earthly viewpoint, the vegetation of the Secondary Era. Except that here, it is not a vegetation of primitive times, but of the final ages.

  A troop of green and red herbivores grazes the bank; Aerians pass overhead, and an abyssal faun appears in the heavy water.

  We walk slowly, in total security; I am armed with powerful ray-guns.

  How happy we could have been! And even now, the future ceases to be redoubtable in my companion’s atmosphere.

  I have pronounced the word of great melancholy: departure. It has sounded the knell. “How I would like to see the Earth with you!” says Grace, imploringly.

  For a long time, that has seemed impossible; then, intoxicated by her moving presence, I wonder if it really is impossible. Why should we not make a third voyage to Mars, in order to bring her back?

  Violaine, Jean and even Antoine have mentioned the possibility. With apparatus constructed on the basis of our experiments, we could easily prolong the sojourn. As well as Grace, the Implicit Chief ardently desires to see the Earth, all the more so because he has no fear of death being entirely resigned to it.

  I say to Grace: “I dread that, if anything happened to you, I would be unable to survive you.”

  She remains pensive momen
tarily; then her desire and her youth carry her away. “Nothing will happen to me!”

  The embrace; the imponderable sensuality.

  Finally, the voice of Aldebaran was heard. It was there with Vega and Antares, at a low altitude. It said: “We’ve found it!”

  Those three notes invaded me with an almost painful resonances—followed by a purely joyous reaction. Violaine’s small hand squeezed mine, while Aldebaran continued.

  “We can create a zone along the edges of the Triped regions that the Zoomorphs will be unable to cross. Our trials are conclusive. In a few days, you’ll have the proof of it—and very little energy will be required to perpetuate our work.”

  “Is it radiation?” Jean asked, avidly.

  “It is radiation—a composite radiation that it will be easy to make known to you, which you can reproduce without overmuch difficulty. The Tripeds can also learn to produce it, and from then on will be in control of their destiny.”

  “Will they be able to reconquer territory?”

  “Only the most recently invaded.”

  I approved of that. It did not seem to me to be desirable that a relatively young realm, perhaps in progress toward great achievements, should be annihilated by a realm whose environmental conditions were bound to disappear eventually. It was sufficient for me that the Tripeds would continue to survive without fear of premature annihilation. They asked for no more themselves.

  One morning—it was, at least, morning in the sector where the Stellarium was at rest—the great news spread throughout the planet. The Zoomorphs were in retreat everywhere, leaving a neutral zone of varying width.

  A multitude of Tripeds gathered around the Stellarium, making expansive gesture, exhibiting an enthusiasm rare among those resigned creatures. They had no difficulty making themselves understood; our knowledge of their language had increased greatly. Besides, the Implicit Chief had just arrived in his glider, with Grace, and was showing us his joyous gratitude.

  It was a surprise on the part of the Ethereals; they had chosen to act before alerting us.

  “Our species is saved!” signed the Implicit Chief, with an ardor extraordinary in that calm being.

  Grace’s multiple eyes gave off dazzling gleams. “The messengers from Earth have brought new life,” she said.

  “We mustn’t rejoice too soon.”

  Meanwhile, Antoine was speaking to the Ethereals, invisible in the daylight. Successively, we heard the unreal voices of Sirius, Vega and Aldebaran. “We must wait,” said the last-named. “It’s only an experiment as yet.”

  “It’s probable, though, that it’s conclusive,” Antares interjected.

  “Well,” I said, “let’s go to the night side.”

  Thousands of Tripeds were crowding around the Stellarium. We did not have the courage to pass on the Ethereals’ warnings. Then we told the latter of our desire to see them in the nocturnal sky. They consented to follow the Stellarium, which carried us to the other hemisphere, along with Grace and the Implicit Chief.

  Soon the nocturnal sky appeared—the beautiful Martian sky of giant stars, as Violaine proclaimed, hyperbolically.

  Our radiant friends were already waiting for us; to the anxious questions of the Implicit Chief—which we translated—Aldebaran replied: “If you succeed in understanding the radiation that has chased away the Zoomorphs, you can utilize it, and the Martians who come after you.”

  “Why not?” Jean exclaimed. “We’ve done more difficult things in order to enter into communication with them, ever more subtly. We shall succeed.”

  Antoine limited himself to nodding his head, but Violaine cried: “They’ll know how to make us understand!”

  I had taken up my astronomical telescope; I contemplated our native planet tenderly—and I always came back to the same thought: “If I could only take Grace there!”

  Violaine pressed lightly upon my shoulder. Terrestrial love had awoken within her; I savored it gladly—but could it suffice to make Grace’ absence bearable?

  The rhythm of Ethereal life, so much more rapid than ours, accomplished progressions of thought in two or three days that would have taken us years.

  We were delighted, but scarcely astonished, when Sirius announced to us that the experiment had definitely succeeded and that the Ethereals had already charged the ground with energies that would prevent the advance of the Zoomorphs at all points for a long time. They invited us to study the useful radiation, and especially its means of employment. I must confess that we could never form a clear idea of the radiation itself, but we were able to determine the manner of its usage and construct the first apparatus capable of producing and utilizing it.

  For the Tripeds, it was now only a matter of imitating us with subtlety and precision, in which they were even more adept than humans. It was then evident that the part of Mars occupied by the Tripeds would be forbidden to Zoomorphs for many centuries—which awoke as much enthusiasm and hope in them as their passive nature permitted.

  The date of the departure drew nearer; we had informed the people of Earth, who were now waiting for us with an ardent impatience.

  It was finally necessary to make the great resolution.

  Should the Implicit Chief and Grace go with us? They both seemed determined, all the more so when they heard that we would return to Mars the following year.

  We deliberated for a long time. It was their lives that they and we would be risking. Antoine analyzed the situation with his habitual phlegm.

  “The risk of the crossing is their affair. Have we not run it twice already?”

  “It was especially great on the first voyage,” Jean remarked.

  “Obviously. All the same, it remains no less great—more’s the pity. It’s up to them to decide. But the sojourn on Earth makes greater demands on our responsibility. We’ve only stayed here four months.”

  “And eleven days.”

  “They’ll have to remain on Earth for a year. Will they stand up to it? Could we do that here? Finally, there’s the grave question of nutrition.”

  “I contend that it’s resolved,” said Jean.

  We had certainly completed experiments—undertaken over a long period—with a view to nourishing the Tripeds with terrestrial aliments. There were some that they digested quite naturally, which could not help but astonish us. Others became assimilable for them after a few modifications. Moreover, as the Tripeds eat very little, we could carry Martian provisions, which, after desiccation, would replace the fraction of our provisions used up during our sojourn. The indefinite resources of terrestrial laboratories would surely permit effective transformations. Had we not succeeded in rendering a few Martian plants assimilable for ourselves?

  “Won’t the sojourn itself be deadly to them?” Antoine asked.

  “That’s the question. Note that they don’t experience any malaise when they accompany us in the Stellarium at a pressure of 750 millimeters.”

  “Let them decide!” Antoine concluded. “They can, in any case, return here with us or others. Our voyages have provoked emulations. Who knows whether the Stellariums that are being constructed back there might not be better than ours? Normally, they would be.”

  “Yes, since we’re already envisaging improvements ourselves. Earth-Mars voyages will become regular events.”

  “And soon banal.”

  We spent some time initiating the Tripeds into the new means of defense against the Zoomorphs; they understood us very well, and a kind of rejuvenation was manifest among the resigned creatures.

  One morning, the Implicit Chief declared: “Grace and I are determined to make the crossing, if you’ll allow it.”

  “You’ve considered everything?”

  “Yes—the journey is worth the risks.”

  Antoine insisted on explaining the dangers of a sojourn on Earth once again. He did not want to listen, and Grace proved to be even more determined than he was. We finally gave in. The success of our two expeditions had made us optimistic.

&nbs
p; “Oh, how happy I am!” Grace said to me.

  I was happy too, intensely—with pangs of anxiety.

  When everything was ready for the journey, we said our farewells to the Ethereals. We had conceived a kind of sublimated affection for the ones most familiar to us, especially Aldebaran, Vega, Sirius and Antares. Perhaps it was mutual. It seemed that they vaguely regretted our departure, though not ardently. They promised to watch over the Triped lands.

  The morning of the departure arrived. It had not been announced in advance. The Implicit Chief and Grace took leave of their close kin, without any pathos. Because of the resignation that underlies their sentimentality, they have no ardent affection. Mild, patient and inoffensive by nature, passion scarcely excites them, and has not for thousands of years. The relatives of the Implicit Chief and Grace seemed barely unaffected—but the scene would, I think, have been more disturbing if Grace’s mother had not vanished into the eternal night a long time before.

  The departure of the Stellarium and its pilots appeared to make a deeper impression than that of my young friends. We had become the protectors of the species, and when the Implicit Chief announced our probable return there was a veritable explosion of joy.

  “You have no regrets, Grace?” I asked, a few minutes before take-off.

  “I regret leaving far less than I rejoice in it.”

  “In any case, if the sojourn on Earth, or even in the Stellarium, inconveniences you, we can bring you back.”

  Her eyes were shining like beacons.

  Antoine gave the signal to lift-off.

  XIV.

  All the peoples of Earth were awaiting the arrival of the Stellarium with quivering enthusiasm. From one pole to the other, on mountain-sides, plains, the depths of forests and islands in remote regions of the oceans, the great news was known: people were going to see the strange beings that did not resemble our species, but played a role on Mars comparable to that of humans on Earth.