The Return of the Nyctalope

by Jean de La Hire

  Suddenly, they felt the wind—which is to say that they entered without transition into the region of the wind by which the clouds had been furiously stirred, dragged away and carried off.

  Bounding from rock to rock, Saint-Clair had drawn a hundred meters ahead of the tightly-knit little group formed by Véronique, Gno Mitang, Fageat, Margot, Vito and Soca, who were similarly bounding along. It was, therefore, him that the wind struck first—for he did feel that he had been struck, in the face and his whole body, as if by an enormous slap: struck and immediately lifted up, carried away as if he were no more than an impalpable fragment of cloud. He shouted, but could anyone hear him?

  Gno Mitang saw him, though, and understood immediately.

  Where Saint-Clair had just been lifted up, the fixed tumult of rocks stopped dead, and a bare plateau extended, an immense arena, offering no projection to the invisible, silent and mighty surge of the wind.

  “Stop! Stop!” cried the Japanese, breaking his own stride and putting his arm around Véronique’s waist, flattening himself with her against the last upright rock.

  For Saint-Clair, borne away like a wisp of straw, passed above his companions’ heads, 20 meters up in the air.

  It was rapid and brief, however, for the Nyctalope had the necessary reflexes.

  The wind’s carrying me away, he thought, as a current of water carries away a swimmer, or a diver even more so. I have to maneuver my way out of the current.

  With his arms and legs he mimicked the movements of a diver, but instead of reaching upwards—which, for the diver, is the surface of the water and respirable air, Saint-Clair headed downwards, which was for him the solid surface of he planet. The wind supported him and transported him, but like a large leaf that maintains a floating equilibrium as it travels. Vigorously effected and methodically repeated, this movements had the desired and anticipated effect—which is to say that, in less than a minute, the “aerial swimmer” slid toward the layers beneath the air current in which he was bathed, emerged from it abruptly, and, his body no longer obedient to anything except the law of gravity, fell. Fortunately, his relative lightness prevented the fall from being dangerous. Flexing his hamstrings, the man landed lithely on his feet, folding his body smoothly, and stood up straight again.

  He found himself half way up the hill, where the trees stopped and the chaos of rocks was heaped up to the level of the upper plateau.

  “Good!” he said. “I just need to climb up again.”

  He was breathing awkwardly, though. He forced himself to keep still, and to adopt a pulmonary exercise that gradually restored the necessary regularity to his respiration. Then he started scaling the hill with long, light bounds.

  Five minutes later he saw Véronique and his companions, who were grouped together beneath the invisible aerial current, well-sheltered at the foot of an enormous rock whose truncated summit was like a final step before the smooth extent of the plateau. He rejoined them with a single bound. Relaxed and happy, they all burst out laughing.

  The first to calm down, Gno Mitang expressed their common thought briefly and clearly.

  “In accordance with what we’ve been able to observe through the Olb.-I’s telescopic porthole, and your transformation into an aerial swimmer, my dear Leo, it’s evident that this region of the plant Rhea is swept in a continuous manner , at a certain altitude, by an aerial current of great power.”

  “Yes,” said Saint-Clair, animatedly. “Yes—but I’ve seen the plateau that extends a long way to the west above this rock on which we’re supported, and I believe that the wind is continuous and permanent, always blowing at the same altitude, century after century! It has leveled the summit of the mountainous hill and made it an arid, bare, absolutely horizontal plateau. Above that line of demarcation between the calm air and the aerial current, all vegetal or animal life is impossible: the wind flattens or carries away everything.”

  With the same reflexive movement, the seven Terrans raised their heads and gazed at the sky. It was pale blue at the zenith, pink-tinted in the west, silvery to the east, where the sun had risen. The wind was invisible, like any wind, but strangely silent.

  On the Earth, when the wind blows, there are murmurs and whistling sounds in the streets of towns and villages, among the trees and rocks of the countryside, and the waves of the sea—thin noises or enormous dins, infinitely various. The wind sings and plays, moaning and whistling through obstacles. Here on Rhea, though, over the centuries, the wind had destroyed all the obstacles that had opposed its powerful, indefatigable current after the solidification of the planet. But the strangest thing of all for the Terrans, at that moment, was the evident immutability of its “underside.” Beneath the horizontal line ideally prolonged along the plane of the bare plateau, the air was light, as if alive, but immobile and calm to a point that seemed absolute to Terran senses.

  “In sum,” said the taciturn Fageat, suddenly, “there’s a means of traveling at great speed on Rhea—a natural means. To climb into the region of wind is to allow oneself to be carried away. Perhaps there’s no danger if one succeeds in maintaining oneself at the lowest level, in such a way as to be able to get out of it by means of a series of swimming movements, as you’ve just done, Monsieur!”

  “Make no mistake, Fageat,” said Saint-Clair, simply. “The force of the wind prevents respiration. The lungs contract and no longer function. If I hadn’t been able to get out of the aerial current at the moment when I realized that, I would have been asphyxiated, and my unreactive body would have been borne away to God knows where.”

  “My God!” exclaimed Véronique, in a sigh.

  Immediately, however, Saint-Clair said:

  “Let’s go. Let’s continue our exploration. Here we can only see before and beneath us the immense forest, in a clearing of which we landed and of which we’ve traversed a small part from east to west. We need to go around the hill, keeping as high as possible on its flank, almost touching the edge of the upper plateau.”

  “We’re certainly the first beings to walk on this ground,” said Jean Margot. “The soil’s sandy between the rocks, but I haven’t seen any trace of foot- or hand-prints.”

  “Very good, Monsieur Margot,” said Gno, with an approving nod of the head. “But I’ve just thought of something else. Look at your watches.”

  Everyone, including Véronique, bent their left arms, raising the wrists slightly.

  “Noon!” pronounced the young woman.

  “Noon!” repeated everyone else.

  “Yes,” said the Japanese, “noon. When we opened the portholes of the Olb.-I, the Sun’s rays were arriving obliquely. It was then 9 a.m. The Sun had risen three hours earlier on this September 4. Our watches are working normally since they’re all showing noon, having been set by the Olb.-I’s chronometer when we left. Now, at noon on September 4, the Sun ought to be nearly at the zenith. Far from it! It’s scarcely climbed half way up the celestial cupola. Conclusion?”

  He turned to Mademoiselle d’Olbans, and with his habitual ceremonious and affectionate gallantry with regard to the young woman, he said:

  “You’re not the niece of that savant astronomer Monsieur d’Olbans, Mademoiselle, if you can’t formulate that conclusion.”

  Véronique smiled, glanced at Saint-Clair, blushed and said:

  “I’d like to—but I’m not a scientist, and if I’m mistaken, you’ll make fun of me.”

  The Japanese protested with a gesture and a grimace of his grave and intelligent face.”

  “Well,” said Véronique, “the conclusion appears to me to be that the rotational movement of Rhea on its axis is slower than that of Earth; in consequence, the Rhean day is longer than the terrestrial day.”

  “Very good, Véronique!” said Saint-Clair, laughing, while Gno bowed to the young woman. Immediately, though, he added: “Having ascertained that fact, let’s try to ascertain others. Forward march, then!”

  They were obliged to form up in Indian file and to describe nu
merous detours and zigzags, for the entire summit of the hill immediately beneath the plateau, was heaped with numerous tightly-packed rocks that only left narrow intervals between them. Often, there were no intervals at all and they had either to go around an insurmountable chaotic mass or to climb over its lowest and most accessible parts. Sometimes, in the course of these climbs, the Terrans overstepped the invisible boundary of the calm air—a boundary that was invisible, but was, so to speak, tangible, for one was slapped by such a brutal gust that the wind acquired a sort of materiality, like an avid, clutching hand attempting to remove clothing in total darkness.

  No other incident saved for these rare collisions with the Rhean wind marked the march, which lasted a good half-hour, while the Terrans followed the arc of a circle around the hilltop for approximately three kilometers, which gradually took them from the forest landscape to a view of a very different landscape replete with alternative suggestions. Their route through the rocks rendered the view of the country overlooked by the hill fragmentary and incoherent, but in progressing gradually from north to south in describing an arc that bulged eastwards, the explorers were increasingly exposed to the sun and felt considerable benefit therefrom.

  So, they all uttered an enormous cry of joy, followed by outbursts of laughter, when—chancing to be tightly bunched at that moment—they emerged on to a broad ledge, which, like a balcony, overlooked the entire landscape to the south and south-east from a great height.

  There was good reason to be astonished, and the Terrans were, to the extent that after a few bursts of laughter they stood there for several minutes, mute, motionless and uniquely contemplative.

  Before and below them extended a large plain, bordered on all sides for league after league by a semi-circular chain of hills. The extreme purity of the air permitted the Terrans to observe with the naked eye that those hills were of the same nature and, undoubtedly, of the same height as the one on which they were standing. The mountainous chain did not hold their attention for long, however, because what they could see on the plain as much more exciting.

  “A city!” exclaimed Véronique.

  “A small city,” said Saint-Clair, more precisely.

  “And very strange,” added Gno Mitang.

  Coming from the west of the chain of hills, a broad river snaked across the plain to vanish in the east. Approximately half way through its sinuous course, it divided into two arms, which came together again further on. The islet thus formed was oval, much longer than broad, and it was entirely occupied by the “city.”

  Imagine an extraordinary continuous wall at least 100 meters high, a bare, smooth wall with no door or window. From the elevated observation-point where they were standing, the Terrans could not see any bridge across the wide river anywhere. No practicable communication existed, therefore, between the island and the outer banks of the watercourse.

  Obedient to the same thought, each of the seven took out a pair of binoculars, which formed part of their equipment. They aimed them and focused them—and what they saw distinctly was this:

  Inside the enormous and long encircling wall, from which they were separated by a broad round road, stood buildings, various in their form, height, volume and surface. Extremely sinuous and mazy streets wove through the architectural mass. Everything, including the enclosing wall, was a uniform silver-gray in color. Nowhere could doors or lateral windows be seen, but every edifice, larger or small, round, oblong, triangular or square, had an indented pyramidal roof, and on the summit of the pyramid there was, instead of the tip of the final stone, a hole: an entrance and exit “door,” whose convex panels and lock the Terrans could make out quite clearly.

  “My God!” exclaimed Véronique. “Are they humans or birds?”

  “Flying humans, at any rate!” murmured Saint-Clair.

  For the city was inhabited, and densely populated. There were numerous living beings entering or emerging from the edifices and flying between them, or descending into the streets and circulating there on foot, or moving on the round road—or, finally, launching themselves into the air from the top of some formidable rampart, crossing the river in a sort of descending glide and landing on the ground of the plain.

  The plain itself, for an extent of approximately three kilometers to the south and north of the island, was strew with numerous small forests, and it was beneath the bright red foliage of these woods that the flying beings were disappearing.

  By contrast, many of the beings, who had doubtless been early risers, were emerging from the woods, bounding in long trajectories toward the river, and suddenly, with a stronger thrust, rising into the air above the river, reaching the top of the rampart. Then, either immediately or after a pause of varying duration, during which they came together in groups of various sizes, they quit the top of the rampart to descend into a street or to gain access to a pyramid, into the hole of which they entered by letting themselves fall stiffly, feet downwards and arms raised in parallel.

  “They’re beings of human form,” said Gno Mitang placidly. “They have legs, a torso, a head, arms. Between the elbow and the flank is a folding membrane, thanks to which—and also thanks to their lightness—they can effectuate those long bounding glides.”

  “They seemed to be naked,” said Fageat.

  “No,” said Saint-Clair.

  “No,” repeated Véronique. “They’re uniformly covered in a one-piece garment analogous to our bathing-suits. It’s difficult to see, even with binoculars, because the cloth of the garment is the same pale pink color as the body, but it make pleats sometimes during certain movements.”

  “Yes,” said Soca.

  There was a long silence. The Terrans did not weary of looking at the city, its inhabitants, the river and the red woods. They were very calm, for they were now ready for anything, no matter how extraordinary. They knew that everything on Rhea would be extraordinary for them, and they believed that nothing could astonish them any longer. Perhaps they were mistaken on that point.

  Suddenly, Véronique said in a serene voice:

  “Different from us as they are, they’re beings we can qualify as human. What shall we call them, in general?”

  “Well,” said Saint-Clair, smiling, “we’re Terrans; to us, they’re Rheans, derived from Rhea. A grammarian, even one as pedantic as Abel Hermant,4 would not, I believe, think that incorrect.”

  Véronique laughed, and so did everyone else. In the first phase of their acclimatization, at least, the Terrans were decidedly full of joy.

  The fact is that the color of he sky, the purity, the lightness and even the perfume of the air, the appearance of the vast landscape, the spectacle of the pale pink Rheans flying above and around their strange silver-gray city, the bight green ribbon of the sinuous river, and the gilded tones of the plain were all delicate and pretty, pure, spring-like and cheerful, with a kind of ambience of eternal idyllic youth. That was what Véronique thought, and put it very well.

  “Yes,” said Saint-Clair, “I can’t disagree that these light and roseate beings, so gracious in their founding and flying, who don’t seem constrained to any labor, strolling, gathering, chatting… yes, those delightful appearances seem to prove you right, Véronique. But there are other appearances down there, which aren’t delightful… isn’t that so, Gno?”

  “Of course,” said Gno Mitang. “That exceedingly high wall, continuous in its circumvolution, with no doors or posterns, no windows or loopholes—and also the buildings: all those buildings with high smooth walls, with no opening except a hole at the summit of the pyramidal roof, so narrow than the Rheans, although slender, can only go in and out one at a time with their legs stiff and their arms upraised. You’re right, Leo.”

  “No, not just me,” Saint-Clair replied. “Mademoiselle d’Olbans is right too. It’s evident that, in the good hour we’ve been observing them, the Rheans have been living in a rhythm of liberty, peace and absolute security. But why that thick wall, at least 100 meters high? Why those habitatio
ns, similarly so high, better defended against the outside that the sternest fortresses of our Middle Ages? And the moat with no bridge or walkway, the broad moat formed by that river, whose current, if one observes it through binoculars, seems to be rapid, imparted by the inclination of the plain from west to east—which is to say, from upstream to downstream of the watercourse. Yes, why all that, if not for a permanent defense against some danger?”

  “But what danger?” asked Véronique.

  “That’s the question,” said Gno, with almost imperceptible sarcasm.

  Again, silence fell among the Terrans. They resumed observation through the binoculars, but did not discover anything new.

  A thousand questions were posed in their minds; sensing that they were all posing them, they did not formulate them in speech, although they repeated them internally.

  Were those beings, human in form—except for the addition of the bat-wing membrane between the upper arm and the flank—divided, like he inhabitants of the Earth, into two different and complementary sexes, male and female? Nothing that could be distinguished by means of the binoculars suggested answer to that question.

  What were they all doing in the woods? For all of them, with greater or lesser haste but without exception, only came out of their habitations to go into the woods, and only reappeared to return to the city, after having disappeared into one or other of the numerous little red forests scattered over the pale yellow and silvery gray plain.

  How did they live? What were their industries? Nowhere could a chimney or the smoke of any fire be seen, nor electrical wires, nor any means of street-lighting in the city, nor domestic animals, nor vehicles of any sort, nor, finally, any indication of daily labor.

  Why, then, in the vast extent, was there no village, no isolated habitation, no appearance of agriculture? For league after league, in that prodigious elongated circle bounded by forests and rocky hills with high, deserted and bare plateaux, was there nothing but that city, that unique little city on its isolated islet, within the enclosure of its mighty wall?