He went to the storage-locker, opened a refrigerator, and took out a quarter of beef, which he divided in two with a slash of his knife, and, putting them on a plate, he went back to the other room.
At the sight of the meat, the Nocturnals’ red eyes sparkled, and they exchanged words—they were definitely words, the brief, articulate sounds that emerged from the Nocturnals’ mouths; Fageat had no doubt about it—in their strange guttural voices.
Knowing what he knew, the engineer deemed that the electric light would, in case of danger, be an immediately effective and victorious weapon.
I only have to flick a switch, he told himself.
And after having put the plate on the table, he did not hesitate to untie and unravel the rope that attached the arms of one of the Nocturnals to its sides—but he did not touch the one that bound its legs together.
Being stiff, the Herculean Rhean had some difficulty, at first, in moving its arms and its hands. That was brief, though; the blood circulation and the play of the muscles was rapidly reestablished. Then Fageat handed it the plate.
With one hand, the Nocturnal took a piece of meat and voraciously set about eating it, with grunts of pleasure and joyful gleams in its red eyes.
Immediately, the engineer did the same for the other captive.
Five minutes later, an exchange of ideas began, by means of gestures, signs and vocal sounds.
It required Ariste Fageat to employ all the ingenuity, patience and persistence of which he was capable. That capacity was great; it could only be limited by time—and Fageat was expecting to have at least 24 hours ahead of him, if not 36. He did not hurry feverishly—he had never been so calm and so self-controlled—but he did not waste a minute. Not one glance, not one change of expression, nor a movement or gesture or sound emitted by him was unnecessary. Everything was aimed toward his objective and nothing but his objective—which was to make himself understood to the Nocturnals and to understand them, to seduce them, to subjugate them, to dominate them, to make allies of them while remaining their master, their only master, even when he set them free—for his cunning and terrible plan of action included, of course, the Nocturnals returning home, to their native habit, their natural Rhean environment.
After an hour’s work, he was able to take as exact and certain a certain quantity of data, which he formulated himself in a loud voice, while going to put together in the store-room the elements of a meal that the Nocturnals would share with him.
“Their language is extremely simple—much simpler even than that of the Diurnals, the vocabulary of which isn’t very extensive nor the syntax very complicated. The language of the Nocturnals corresponds to the primordial needs that were doubtless those of terrestrial humans in the Stone Age, in the prehistoric eras of Earth. It won’t take me long to get a thorough knowledge of it and to make use of it easily. That will suffice, broadly, for what I want these Nocturnal people to do.
“The most astonishing thing is that they can’t bear daylight, and know nothing whatsoever of any artificial light, except for the inexplicable phosphorescence that the Diurnals use. In particular, above all, they’re unacquainted with fire...”
On that, Ariste Fageat stopped speaking and moving. Then he repeated:
“They’re unacquainted with fire! For if the Diurnals knew about fire, they’d use it as a sovereign weapon against the Nocturnals. Thus, the planet Rhea knows nothing of fire. That’s truly amazing! For if that’s so, everything that is provided and produced on Earth by fire, and by means of fire, must be unknown, ad even impossible, on Rhea. A world, a civilization, from which the element of fire is totally excluded! All human civilization, on Earth, depends on fire, the knowledge and usage of fire. But here… yes, yes… that’s amazing! All the rest is trivial!”
A few minutes after his brief meditation, Fageat resumed moving.
From the crew quarters he brought a large tray laden with various foodstuffs, a carafe of water, a bottle of wine, three glasses and the customary cutlery. He had included a large quantity of raw meat, but he also brought a jellied chicken, a potato salad, various game conserves, vegetables and fruits—and a large loaf of bread.
The Nocturnals ate it all, with a sensual voracity. Only the raw meat was familiar to them, and also, albeit by analogy, the hazelnuts.
“So they’re omnivores,” the Terran engineer concluded, “although the Diurnals only east one single aliment: the kind of hard shell-less nuts produced by the countless trees of the Rhean forests and woods.”
Immediately, by a natural association of ideas that had already occurred to the Terrans, he added:
“But what do these Herculean carnivorous Nocturnals, voracious and with a frightful appetite, do with the Diurnals that they capture with such difficulty, at the risk of their lives?”
Fageat did not yet know enough of the vocabulary of the Rheans to ask that question intelligibly, especially in the absence of any Diurnal that could have served as a “subject of demonstration” and would have made the explanation easy.
All right! Fageat said to himself. I’ll find out later. Laughing, he added, aloud:
“But great gods, what an appetite! If I let those fellows into the stores, they’d devour a month’s provisions in a month.”
He got them to taste the wine, not by means of a glass but by pouring a few centiliters of the “juice of the vine” into the palm of their enormous left hand.
At first the Nocturnals pulled a face, but they immediately exchanged, in their strangely guttural voices—“Moorishly guttural,” as Fageat put it—a few words that were doubtless appreciative. And with the same movement, they held out their cupped hands again.
“Aha!” the engineer exclaimed, enormously amused. “You want some more, in order to have a better-informed opinion? Bravo! But be careful! I don’t want to get you drunk, and I want to make you understand that wine, in case of need, will be the recompense for your good conduct—which is to say, your docility toward me, and me alone.”
And with untiring patience, an ingenuity that incessantly had recourse to new means, in the wan half-light that did not hurt the Nocturnals’ eyes while permitting Fageat to see adequately, the Terran worked for hours to make himself understood to the Rheans, to understand them, and to initiate himself into the essential principles of their language.
Finally, however, he could do no more, and also took account of the fatigue that was rendering the thoughts of his two strange interlocutors slower, more leaden and more obtuse. Ariste Fageat then applied himself very intelligently to the task of terminating he extravagant conversation and obtaining from them gazes, gestures and brief words that gave him the certainty on which, for the moment, he wanted to be able to rely: that the two Nocturnals regarded him as a friend, all-powerful and benevolent, and, by contrast, would remain closed to any attempted seduction by the other Terrans, who were to be considered as perfidious enemies.
To be sure, that was conceived, understood and agreed in a very rudimentary manner, without any explanation of reasons—but Ariste Fageat had no doubt that in the relatively obtuse but instinctive minds of the two Nocturnals, it was conceived, understood and agreed.
“Very good!” concluded the engineer, aloud, rubbing his hands together. “I have only to wait for, or, if necessary, give rise to, an opportunity to act.” He laughed nervously, and sniggered: “Ah, Véronique, you’re going to find on the planet Rhea a destiny that neither you nor the Nyctalope has foreseen!”
Then, carefully, he returned to their original condition the ropes that attached the Nocturnals tightly to the hammocks—and the monsters let him do it without the slightest resistance. They knew, thanks to the Woo—the word that signified “Master” in their language—that their captivity would henceforth be temporary and free of peril.
Chapter VIII
Fageat and Veronique
Ariste Fageat had, in any case, a great deal more time to advance his knowledge of the Nocturnals and to make himself appreciated by t
hem, as much as a benefactor as an all-powerful and redoubtable master. To terrorize them, it was sufficient for him to play intelligently with a simple electric pocket torch, the luminous beam of which their eyes could not support even for a fraction of a second.
Yes, Ariste Fageat had the time to place 100 measuring-posts to ensure the smooth imminent execution of his diabolical plan—for the six Terrans who had left with the two Diurnals remained absent for two Rhean days—which is to say, for 72 hours.
He was asleep, and was woken up by the arrival of Saint-Clair, Véronique and their companions.
They had agreed that the terrestrial calendar would be applied to life on Rhea, and they counted the hours in slices of 24 without taking account of the Rhean day and night. In consequence, terrestrial “midnight” sometimes fell in the middle of the Rhean day, and that was only a simple example of the regular disconnection that was contiually produced and reproduced.
It was, therefore, at 8 p.m. on September 8, corresponding on that day to the 18th hour of the Rhean day, that Ariste Fageat was woken up by the cheerful voice of Soca.
“Hey, Monsieur Fageat! Are you asleep? We’re back!”
The engineer was lying on his bunk, fully dressed. He had only to stand up, rub his eyes, put his short hair in order and go into the central compartment, where everyone was assembled.
He saw immediately that there was no Diurnal there. He was glad of that. Immediately, Saint-Clair spoke to him:
“Bonjour, Monsieur Fageat. We’re delighted with out sojourn in the Diurnals’ city. We’ll tell you everything that we’ve learned. But first, how’s your ankle?”
“Thank you, Monsieur,” Fageat replied. “A simple bruise. Arnica lotion and a bandage put it right in a matter of hours.”
“Good! I hope you’ve taken advantage of the time to study our Nocturnals?”
Fageat expected that question and several others. His response were ready. He also expected that a great importance would be attributed to what he had been able to achieve with regard to the Nocturnals; he was not mistaken. All faces turned toward him, all eyes interrogating him with the same intense curiosity.
He therefore replied, casually:
“Certainly, Monsieur. I’ve devoted myself to that, and I’ve acquired certain notions that I believe to be in conformity with the true reality.”
“Well, let’s all sit down,” said Saint-Clair, smiling. “We can’t help being a little fatigued. Sit down, Fageat. Let’s talk, to establish the essentials of what we know. Then we’ll eat. After dinner, we’ll get some rest until tomorrow morning. Then we’ll act, for we have a great many important things to do, first of all with respect to the Olb.-I and the Earth, then with regard to Rhea and its inhabitants, Diurnal and Nocturnal.”
He sat down. They all copied him. Without any pre-planning, they placed themselves in such a way that Saint-Clair, Véronique and Gno Mitsang in the front rank, and Margot, Soca and Vitto a little behind, were all facing Ariste Fageat, in an irregular semicircle.
“Well, what are the notions you’ve acquired?” asked the Nyctalope, good-humoredly.
Not without rancor, Fageat thought: They’re content! They’re happy! And Véronique, what joyful serenity in her eyes, on her lips! Immediately, however, he replied in a deliberate tone:
“Oh, they’re not very numerous, for the Nocturnals are very primitive beings. Firstly, they’re omnivores, and carnivores for preference. Secondly, they have a summary language, but which has a definite syntax. Thirdly, they’re nyctalopes, clearly and exclusively—which is to say that they can see in the dark, but can’t bear any light that’s brighter than the phosphorescence of the Diurnals and their city. Fourth, they’re extremely savage, taciturn and mistrustful. I was only doing good in giving them something to eat and drink, but I was careful only to free their hands and forearms. To be sure, if I’d had to engage them in a struggle, a few beams of electric light would have sufficed to render their brute strength ineffective, but I didn’t risk that, thinking that the light might render them definitively blind—that would have been needless cruelty on my part. And that’s all, Monsieur.”
Fageat was lying, and lying enormously! But he was quite tranquil, for he was certain that the Nocturnals would not do anything that might reveal that he had lied. The engineer was internally jubilant, with an ironic ferocity, when he heard Saint-Clair say, simply:
“What you say doesn’t surprise us. It fits in perfectly with everything that the Diurnals have been able to tell us about the Nocturnals.”
But Fageat thought: Of course! So far as the Diurnals are concerned, the Nocturnals are nothing but savage brutes!
Saint-Clair continued:
“We don’t know what the Nocturnals do in their mysterious unexplored lairs with the Diurnals they capture in the course of their attacks on the cities. I say ‘cities’ because the one we know is reproduced in tens of thousands of exemplars spread all over the planet Rhea, where there are no oceans, but only streams, rivers and great lakes.” The Nyctalope made a gesture, and said in a firmer tone: “But let’s leave these details. For Rhea, for Rhean society, there is one essential characteristic.” He emphasized his words: “This planet is a world without fire.”
By virtue of what the engineer had been able to learn from the Nocturnals, Fageat was already aware of the near-certainty of that “characteristic.” Nevertheless, he manifested considerable surprise by means of gesture and speech at the Nyctalope’s clear affirmation.
“Oh!” he said. “Without fire?”
“Yes, without fire. And much more devoid of fire than a certain prehistoric humankind whose existence it is easy for us to imagine, before humans had begun to make use of the fire originating from volcanoes, lightning and spontaneous combustion due to the sun’s rays. Yes, much more, for on Rhea there are no volcanoes, lightning does not strike, and no spark produced by the combined action of the sun’s rays and the splintering of a rock, for instance, has every set fire to a tuft of dry grass, because the sun is always muted here by the atmosphere, in a manner unknown to Terrans.”
After a pause, he added:
“Thus, Rhean civilization, which is in certain respects highly developed, thanks to the intelligence of the Diurnals, and Rhean savagery, constituted and maintained by the Nocturnals, is incapable of any progress. In brief, the entire Rhean world, in its entirety and in its details, is a world in which the element of fire is not only unknown but unimaginable—even impossible, for all Rhean substance, including dry wood, is uninflammable.”
Saint-Clair fell silent. Softly, as if to himself, Gno said: “Whereas on Earth, all human life has been conditioned, for thousands of centuries, by the knowledge, usage and multiple adaptations of fire.”
Ariste Fageat was utterly indifferent to these facts and reflections. He was thinking about Véronique d’Olbans, at whom he nevertheless avoided looking. Apparently, he only had eyes and ears for Gno Mitang and Saint-Clair
The latter went on:
“I’ll be brief, Fageat, in telling you the essentials. On Rhea there are only two industries. One is national, all the Diurnals on the planet only forming a single nation; that’s the industry of architectural construction. It has three successive phases: firstly, the accumulation and modeling of the building-earth; secondly, the transportation of blocks of earth to the place of employment, and thirdly, the construction and repair of the high encircling walls and urban edifices.”
Then Fageat, in order to seem interested in these things—in which, but for his obsessive passion, he really would have been interested—said, excitedly:
“As to the transport and utilization of the blocks, I can form an idea of that—but what do the Rheans do with regard to the collection and modeling of the earth, without iron tools fashioned by fire?”
“Iron ore does not exist on Rhea,” Saint-Clair replied, “Or, if it exists beneath the planet’s surface, the Rheans are unaware of it. The building-earth is found in numerous deposits, on the surfac
e and at various depths, in humid hollows; it’s quite similar to our terrestrial clay. The Diurnals cut it roughly by means of long rigid rods made from the single stem of a plant—a kind of solid reed, or bulrush, which grows in abundance around the deposits. The blocks, cut and removed by hand, are shaped by the Diurnals, still by hand, into perfect cubes. These cubes are immediately transported, each by a Rhean, for whom it is a normal load. At the site of utilization, the encircling wall or urban edifice, the blocks arrive continually, as in a chain, and are positioned immediately. They dry out in a few hours, linking themselves together indissolubly, and only crumble gradually after a time we estimate at 100 terrestrial years—a time longer than the average lifespan of a Diurnal Rhean.”
He fell silent, smiling, more at his own thoughts than at Fageat. The latter was about to formulate another question when Véronique, touching Saint-Clair’s elbow, said to him:
“Shall we eat? I confess that I’m very hungry. The Diurnals nuts are not, after all, a substantial nourishment for us. In any case, I ate very few of them. I don’t like them; their insipid softness nauseates me.”
“That’s true, Véronique!” said Saint-Clair, getting to his feet. “And we’ll all help you. While doing that, we’ll continue to bring Fageat up to date with our own discoveries.”
But Fageat thought: Bah! I’ll have plenty of time to learn everything for myself about the existence of the Diurnal and Nocturnal Rheans—such petty matters—and also to modify it! He continued nevertheless to listen in a desultory fashion to what Saint-Clair, Margot, Vitto, Secco and Véronique herself were telling him while they were all coming and going between the dining-room, the store-rooms and the kitchen.
Only Gno Mitang, after offering a smiling apology to Véronique, remained apart, sitting meditatively in an armchair, with his eyes seemingly closed and his arms folded.
The Olb.-I’s pharmacy had been composed with a great deal of care by Dr. Serres, not only so as to provide an adequate pharmacopeia for the great voyage of exploration, but also in accordance with the imaginative and scientific suggestions of Maxime d’Olbans and Saint-Clair. One “shelf” of the pharmacy was rich in anesthetics, sedatives and narcotics, some for administration by subcutaneous, intravenous or intramuscular injection, others to be respired and yet others to be swallowed. Among the latter, several were colorless, odorless and tasteless.
The Return of the Nyctalope Page 12