by S. T. Joshi
That’s courage. A scream would have boomed in this echo chamber, brought Valiance down on us. But he let himself fall quietly.
I’m going to kill the Vortaal for you and father, Achal. I’m going to make this sacrifice worth it. Dhawan will live and prosper.
I swear it.
* * *
PERSONAL DIARY ENTRY 124
Harshadi and I reached the bottom of the chasm. I’m scared.
No sign of enemy soldiers down here, but I think I can hear the Vortaal. The tunnels ahead of us are shaking with the sound of its thundering footsteps. The thing must be …must be huge.
Dhawan has pictures of large animals from the Lost World of Earth. But this Vortaal must be absolutely gigantic. My hands are shaking as I type this on my suit-display. What the hell can be so immense as to make such a sound? The spring-coils in my legs hum with the vibration.
I’m so afraid.
The only thing that comforts me is the old weapon. The words on its casing give me strength:
BLUESPACE REPUBLIC
SEVENTH FLEET
IPCS DHAWAM
!WARNING!
WARHEAD CASING
PENNING-MALMBERG CONTAINMENT
DO NOT PUNCTURE
* * *
PERSONAL DIARY ENTRY 125
Huntress Harshadi and I have decided to arm the old weapon.
We’re exactly where father must have been in his final moments. We need to be ready, in case the thing is about to burst from the darkness ahead.
* * *
PERSONAL DIARY ENTRY 126
The Vortaal must be right around the bend. The tunnels are shuddering with the sound of it moving about.
I just can’t believe the size of the thing, for it to be making so much noise. And it doesn’t ever rest! It just keeps thundering about, pounding the tunnels in some kind of ceaseless rage that is beyond my comprehension.
* * *
PERSONAL DIARY ENTRY 127
We’re looking at the Vortaal.
I …
I don’t know what to say.
Huntress Harshadi insists we still have to kill it, but even she sounds unsure. We find ourselves unable to do anything but stare.
No one told us.
I don’t think anyone in Dhawan really knew.
Don’t think they would believe it anyway.
* * *
PERSONAL DIARY ENTRY 128
I had to kill her.
Huntress Harshadi tried wrestling the old weapon away from me. Said we had a sacred duty to complete our mission, that it wasn’t up to us to question our orders, that no matter what, the Vortaal has to die.
When I disagreed, she attacked me. The very artificial legs I’ve been given gave me the leverage to defend myself against her assault. I pushed back against her, begging her to stop. In the middle of the scuffle …
I’m so sorry, Huntress.
It’s just me now, the last surviving member of the team. And I’m sitting here, staring up at the Vortaal …realizing now what must have happened to my ancestors, to all our ancestors.
Father was right. It can’t be killed.
Sure, I could detonate the ship weapon, and I have little doubt that the resulting explosion would tear this thing to pieces. But I can’t. I won’t.
Because Valiance was correct all along. If the Vortaal dies, we all die.
It is a monster, yes. Large enough to destroy the old fleets and topple spacefaring humanity. Larger than anyone could ever have imagined.
This thing that’s pounding and thudding in front of me …
…is…
…its heart.
A Drama in the Air
Jules Verne
In the month of September, 185–, I arrived at Frankfort-on-the-Maine. My passage through the principal German cities had been brilliantly marked by balloon ascents; but as yet no German had accompanied me in my car, and the fine experiments made at Paris by M.M. Green, Eugene Godard, and Poitevin had not tempted the grave Teutons to essay aerial voyages.
But scarcely had the news of my approaching ascent spread through Frankfort, than three of the principal citizens begged the favour of being allowed to ascend with me. Two days afterwards we were to start from the Place de la Comédie. I began at once to get my balloon ready. It was of silk, prepared with gutta percha, a substance impermeable by acids or gasses; and its volume, which was three thousand cubic yards, enabled it to ascend to the loftiest heights.
The day of the ascent was that of the great September fair, which attracts so many people to Frankfort. Lighting gas, of a perfect quality and of great lifting power, had been furnished to me in excellent condition, and about eleven o’clock the balloon was filled; but only three-quarters filled, – an indispensable precaution, for, as one rises, the atmosphere diminishes in density, and the fluid enclosed within the balloon, acquiring more elasticity, might burst its sides. My calculations had furnished me with exactly the quantity of gas necessary to carry up my companions and myself.
We were to start at noon. The impatient crowd which pressed around the enclosed space, filling the enclosed square, overflowing into the contiguous streets, and covering the houses from the ground-floor to the slated gables, presented a striking scene. The high winds of the preceding days had subsided. An oppressive heat fell from the cloudless sky. Scarcely a breath animated the atmosphere. In such weather, one might descend again upon the very spot whence he had risen.
I carried three hundred pounds of ballast in bags; the car, quite round, four feet in diameter, was comfortably arranged; the hempen cords which supported it stretched symmetrically over the upper hemisphere of the balloon; the compass was in place, the barometer suspended in the circle which united the supporting cords, and the anchor carefully put in order. All was now ready for the ascent.
Among those who pressed around the enclosure, I remarked a young man with a pale face and agitated features. The sight of him impressed me. He was an eager spectator of my ascents, whom I had already met in several German cities. With an uneasy air, he closely watched the curious machine, as it lay motionless a few feet above the ground; and he remained silent among those about him.
Twelve o’clock came. The moment had arrived, but my travelling companions did not appear.
I sent to their houses, and learnt that one had left for Hamburg, another for Vienna, and the third for London. Their courage had failed them at the moment of undertaking one of those excursions which, thanks to the ability of living aeronauts, are free from all danger. As they formed, in some sort, a part of the programme of the day, the fear had seized them that they might be forced to execute it faithfully, and they had fled far from the scene at the instant when the balloon was being filled. Their courage was evidently the inverse ratio of their speed – in decamping.
The multitude, half deceived, showed not a little ill-humour. I did not hesitate to ascend alone. In order to re-establish the equilibrium between the specific gravity of the balloon and the weight which had thus proved wanting, I replaced my companions by more sacks of sand, and got into the car. The twelve men who held the balloon by twelve cords fastened to the equatorial circle, let them slip a little between their fingers, and the balloon rose several feet higher. There was not a breath of wind, and the atmosphere was so leaden that it seemed to forbid the ascent.
“Is everything ready?” I cried.
The men put themselves in readiness. A last glance told me that I might go.
“Attention!”
There was a movement in the crowd, which seemed to be invading the enclosure.
“Let go!”
The balloon rose slowly, but I experienced a shock which threw me to the bottom of the car.
When I got up, I found myself face to face with an unexpected fellow-voyager, – the pale young man.
“Monsieur, I salute you,” said he, with the utmost coolness.
“By what right –”
“Am I here? By the right which the impossibility of your getting rid of me confers.”
I was amazed! His calmness put me out of countenance, and I had nothing to reply. I looked at the intruder, but he took no notice of my astonishment.
“Does my weight disarrange your equilibrium, monsieur?” he asked. “You will permit me –”
And without waiting for my consent, he relieved the balloon of two bags, which he threw into space.
“Monsieur,” said I, taking the only course now possible, “you have come; very well, you will remain; but to me alone belongs the management of the balloon.”
“Monsieur,” said he, “your urbanity is French all over: it comes from my own country. I morally press the hand you refuse me. Make all precautions, and act as seems best to you. I will wait till you have done –”
“For what?”
“To talk with you.”
The barometer had fallen to twenty-six inches. We were nearly six hundred yards above the city; but nothing betrayed the horizontal displacement of the balloon, for the mass of air in which it is enclosed goes forward with it. A sort of confused glow enveloped the objects spread out under us, and unfortunately obscured their outline.
I examined my companion afresh.
He was a man of thirty years, simply clad. The sharpness of his features betrayed an indomitable energy, and he seemed very muscular. Indifferent to the astonishment he created, he remained motionless, trying to distinguish the objects which were vaguely confused below us.
“Miserable mist!” said he, after a few moments.
I did not reply.
“You owe me a grudge?” he went on. “Bah! I could not pay for my journey, and it was necessary to take you by surprise.”
“Nobody asks you to descend, monsieur!”
“Eh, do you not know, then, that the same thing happened to the Counts of Laurencin and Dampierre, when they ascended at Lyons, on the 15th of January, 1784? A young merchant, named Fontaine, scaled the gallery, at the risk of capsizing the machine. He accomplished the journey, and nobody died of it!”
“Once on the ground, we will have an explanation,” replied I, piqued at the light tone in which he spoke.
“Bah! Do not let us think of our return.”
“Do you think, then, that I shall not hasten to descend?”
“Descend!” said he, in surprise. “Descend? Let us begin by first ascending.”
And before I could prevent it, two more bags had been thrown over the car, without even having been emptied.
“Monsieur!” cried I, in a rage.
“I know your ability,” replied the unknown quietly, “and your fine ascents are famous. But if Experience is the sister of Practice, she is also a cousin of Theory, and I have studied the aerial art long. It has got into my head!” he added sadly, falling into a silent reverie.
The balloon, having risen some distance farther, now became stationary. The unknown consulted the barometer, and said –
“Here we are, at eight hundred yards. Men are like insects. See! I think we should always contemplate them from this height, to judge correctly of their proportions. The Place de la Comédie is transformed into an immense ant-hill. Observe the crowd which is gathered on the quays; and the mountains also get smaller and smaller. We are over the Cathedral. The Main is only a line, cutting the city in two, and the bridge seems a thread thrown between the two banks of the river.”
The atmosphere became somewhat chilly.
“There is nothing I would not do for you, my host,” said the unknown. “If you are cold, I will take off my coat and lend it to you.”
“Thanks,” said I dryly.
“Bah! Necessity makes law. Give me your hand. I am your fellow-countryman; you will learn something in my company, and my conversation will indemnify you for the trouble I have given you.”
I sat down, without replying, at the opposite extremity of the car. The young man had taken a voluminous manuscript from his great-coat. It was an essay on ballooning.
“I possess,” said he, “the most curious collection of engravings and caricatures extant concerning aerial manias. How people admired and scoffed at the same time at this precious discovery! We are happily no longer in the age in which Montgolfier tried to make artificial clouds with steam, or a gas having electrical properties, produced by the combustion of moist straw and chopped-up wool.”
“Do you wish to depreciate the talent of the inventors?” I asked, for I had resolved to enter into the adventure. “Was it not good to have proved by experience the possibility of rising in the air?”
“Ah, monsieur, who denies the glory of the first aerial navigators? It required immense courage to rise by means of those frail envelopes which only contained heated air. But I ask you, has the aerial science made great progress since Blanchard’s ascensions, that is, since nearly a century ago? Look here, monsieur.”
The unknown took an engraving from his portfolio.
“Here,” said he, “is the first aerial voyage undertaken by Pilâtre des Rosiers and the Marquis d’Arlandes, four months after the discovery of balloons. Louis XVI refused to consent to the venture, and two men who were condemned to death were the first to attempt the aerial ascent. Pilâtre des Rosiers became indignant at this injustice, and, by means of intrigues, obtained permission to make the experiment. The car, which renders the management easy, had not then been invented, and a circular gallery was placed around the lower and contracted part of the Montgolfier balloon. The two aeronauts must then remain motionless at each extremity of this gallery, for the moist straw which filled it forbade them all motion. A chafing-dish with fire was suspended below the orifice of the balloon; when the aeronauts wished to rise, they threw straw upon this brazier, at the risk of setting fire to the balloon, and the air, more heated, gave it fresh ascending power. The two bold travellers rose, on the 21st of November, 1783, from the Muette Gardens, which the dauphin had put at their disposal. The balloon went up majestically, passed over the Isle of Swans, crossed the Seine at the Conference barrier, and, drifting between the dome of the Invalides and the Military School, approached the Church of Saint Sulpice. Then the aeronauts added to the fire, crossed the Boulevard, and descended beyond the Enfer barrier. As it touched the soil, the balloon collapsed, and for a few moments buried Pilâtre des Rosiers under its folds.”
“Unlucky augury,” I said, interested in the story, which affected me nearly.
“An augury of the catastrophe which was later to cost this unfortunate man his life,” replied the unknown sadly. “Have you never experienced anything like it?”
“Never.”
“Bah! Misfortunes sometimes occur unforeshadowed!” added my companion.
He then remained silent.
Meanwhile we were advancing southward, and Frankfort had already passed from beneath us.
“Perhaps we shall have a storm,” said the young man.
“We shall descend before that,” I replied.
“Indeed! It is better to ascend. We shall escape it more surely.”
And two more bags of sand were hurled into space.
The balloon rose rapidly, and stopped at twelve hundred yards. I became colder; and yet the sun’s rays, falling upon the surface, expanded the gas within, and gave it a greater ascending force.
“Fear nothing,” said the unknown. “We have still three thousand five hundred fathoms of breathing air. Besides, do not trouble yourself about what I do.”
I would have risen, but a vigorous hand held me to my seat.
“Your name?” I asked.
“My name? What matters it to you?”
“I demand your name!”
“My name is Erostratus or Empedocles, whic
hever you choose!”
This reply was far from reassuring.
The unknown, besides, talked with such strange coolness that I anxiously asked myself whom I had to deal with.
“Monsieur,” he continued, “nothing original has been imagined since the physicist Charles. Four months after the discovery of balloons, this able man had invented the valve, which permits the gas to escape when the balloon is too full, or when you wish to descend; the car, which aids the management of the machine; the netting, which holds the envelope of the balloon, and divides the weight over its whole surface; the ballast, which enables you to ascend, and to choose the place of your landing; the India-rubber coating, which renders the tissue impermeable; the barometer, which shows the height attained. Lastly, Charles used hydrogen, which, fourteen times lighter than air, permits you to penetrate to the highest atmospheric regions, and does not expose you to the dangers of a combustion in the air. On the 1st of December, 1783, three hundred thousand spectators were crowded around the Tuileries. Charles rose, and the soldiers presented arms to him. He travelled nine leagues in the air, conducting his balloon with an ability not surpassed by modern aeronauts. The king awarded him a pension of two thousand livres; for then they encouraged new inventions.”
The unknown now seemed to be under the influence of considerable agitation.
“Monsieur,” he resumed, “I have studied this, and I am convinced that the first aeronauts guided their balloons. Without speaking of Blanchard, whose assertions may be received with doubt, Guyton-Morveaux, by the aid of oars and rudder, made his machine answer to the helm, and take the direction he determined on. More recently, M. Julien, a watchmaker, made some convincing experiments at the Hippodrome, in Paris; for, by a special mechanism, his aerial apparatus, oblong in form, went visibly against the wind. It occurred to M. Petin to place four hydrogen balloons together; and, by means of sails hung horizontally and partly folded, he hopes to be able to disturb the equilibrium, and, thus inclining the apparatus, to convey it in an oblique direction. They speak, also, of forces to overcome the resistance of currents, – for instance, the screw; but the screw, working on a moveable centre, will give no result. I, monsieur, have discovered the only means of guiding balloons; and no academy has come to my aid, no city has filled up subscriptions for me, no government has thought fit to listen to me! It is infamous!”