“My dear Monsieur,” the old man replied, a trifle haughtily, “I know all that as well as you do. In any case, you may be tranquil. If my calculations are not mistaken, we shall have that high-velocity propulsive agent of which you speak very soon.” And to prove to the engineer that he wanted to cut the conversation short, the old scientist turned his back on him and set about examining the panorama with the aid of his telescope.
“Notoliders!” the Selenite said, all of a sudden, extending his hand toward a mountain whose jagged crest rose high into the sky in the distance.
“Mount Archimedes,” murmured Ossipoff.
If Plato is the lunar circus that presents the most singular appearance, as seen from Earth, Archimedes is certainly the most remarkable mountain after Tycho. During the full Moon, it appears to Terrans as a brilliant point on their satellite’s disk. For Mikhail Ossipoff and his companions, however, who were flying only a few 100 meters over the circus, all the orographical details stood out with a surprising clarity. They were easily able to distinguish the high peaks that rose up from the depths of the crater to an altitude of 1500 meters and the two slopes forming the ring of the circular mountain. Ridges and buttresses extended from the mountain to link up with the distant Apennine Mountains.
The flying boat took nearly an hour to cross the crater of Archimedes, which measures no less than 83 kilometers in diameter.
“What luck,” Fricoulet suddenly said to Gontran, “that the Selenites have invented aerial navigation; otherwise, the exploration of this world would be impossible for us.”
Making no reply, the young Comte looked at his friend questioningly.
The engineer pointed to the deep ravines that opened across the plain in the midst of which the enormous crater stood. “Look at those clefts,” he said. They’re certainly more than a kilometer wide; as for their length, they extend to the horizon. Their sides are sheer and, in places, their depths are obstructed by landslides. Well, suppose that instead of arriving by way of the air, we were simply going on foot, pedibus cum jambis74—what would we do when confronted by crevasses 1,300 meters deep? We’d be stopped.”
“We’d make a detour,” Gontran objected.
“Of how many kilometers? And who knows whether, north of the declivity, we wouldn’t encounter another crevasse that would force us to retrace or steps?”
Flammermont nodded his head affirmatively. “Viewed from the telescope in Pulkova Observatory, these fissures seemed to me to be the dry beds of ancient rivers.”
Fricoulet signaled to him to lower his voice. “Be careful of Mikhail Ossipoff, fool,” he said. “Remember that there can’t be any rivers, lakes or oceans in this part of the Moon; the atmospheric pressure is too low to maintain water in its liquid state. As I told you, when we were chatting during the journey, these crevasses are purely geo…no, selenological…in nature.”
During this conversation, the flying boat had continued its route and was now no more than 50 kilometers from the Apennine chain, whose elevated crests rose 6000 meters into the sky, extending immoderate shadows over the neighboring plains.
“This time,” murmured Fricoulet, “we won’t get over.”
Mikhail Ossipoff was hunched over the bow of the vessel, studying the terrain with his telescope. Suddenly, he put his instrument down and took a crumpled and discolored piece of paper from his pocket, which he unfolded carefully and examined attentively. Then he resumed his original position, after murmuring a few words in Telinga’s ear.
The vessel immediately veered sideways and began to follow the crests of the Apennines, which were succeeded by the less elevated peaks of the Carpathians. Ossipoff set his telescope aside again, and Farenheit immediately took possession of it. Ossipoff took out another, and subjected it to a mysterious operation.
“What are you doing, Father?” asked Selena.
“I’m adding a prism to this telescope.”
“A prism?” she repeated. “My God, what for?”
“To convert this telescope into a simplified spectroscope. Thanks to the prism, the light of the terrain on which I focus will be decomposed, and will then be reflected by a polished mirror set in the middle of the tube.” Then, addressing Gontran—who also appeared to be listening to the aged scientist’s explanation—he added: “You know, my dear friend, that a number of narrow black and colored lines have been distinguished in the solar spectrum, always situated in the same place and of the same hue. Thanks to these fundamental reference-points, it was possible to develop spectroscopy, a science that permits the determination of the composition of any body—of whatever sort—whose luminous spectrum can be observed, by comparing the colors and lines of its spectrum to those of known substances. It’s thanks to this method that we know, without any doubt, that there are iron, magnesium and zinc in combination in our Sun, hydrogen in Vega, and gold, platinum, and copper in fusion in other stars.”
He paused momentarily and aimed his telescope at the slopes of the Carpathians. Then, shaking his head, he continued: “What I’ve just told you was in order to explain how, from the St. Petersburg Observatory and thanks to careful spectroscopic research, I recognized in the flames of active lunar volcanoes a substance that has the property of being attracted toward light. I’ve made careful note of the lines and colors of that substance, and I’ve inscribed them on the polished glass disposed in the middle of my telescope—with the consequence that by aiming this spectroscopic telescope at the various objects within range, the spectra of those objects will be superimposed on the one already etched and engraved on the glass. I compare them, and when the two spectra are identical, it’s because the material I’m aiming at is the one that I’m seeking.”
“Is it this substance that will enable you to continue your voyage?” asked Gontran, whose faced reflected a profound bewilderment.
Fricoulet had drawn closer, and there mocking gleam in his eyes. Ossipoff noticed it and replied: “Yes, I thought of utilizing this substance, which has the curious property of moving towards the light.”
“But how will you employ it?”
“I’ll enclose it in glass spheres attached to each side of our vehicle, and it will carry us toward the Sun. We shall thus be able to visit the worlds that are between the Earth and the central star.”
In a skeptical tone, Fricoulet asked: “But how do you propose to land when we want to, rather than hurling ourselves into the solar furnace like a moth burning its wings in a candle-flame?”
Ossipoff shrugged his shoulders. “In order to be master of the direction and velocity of the vehicle, “he replied, “it will be sufficient to shield the receptacles that contain the substance in question from light, and increase or decrease speed in the direction of the attracted surface.”
Gontran could not help saying, admiringly: “You have an answer for everything, Monsieur Ossipoff!”
The old scientist shrugged his shoulders slightly and resumed his observation-post beside Jonathan Farenheit, who was standing in the bow as motionless as a statue, with his telescope glued to the ground.
Suddenly, the old man uttered an exclamation and extended his arm, pointing at a column of smoke a few kilometers further on, which seemed to be emerging from the ground and rising swiftly into the air to lose itself in space. “There!” he said, while the telescope trembled in his hand. “There it is!”
Within a few moments, steered diagonally by Telinga’s sure hand, the flying boat was swooping down towards the point indicated by Ossipoff. It was a sort of squat cone, the crater of which was projecting swirls of fine, almost impalpable dust in the direction of the Sun shining in the sky. As the voyagers got down, they would certainly have been blinded if the glass lenses encased in their rubber cagoules had not protected their eyes. Immediately, the old scientist took an immense sheet of canvas from the bottom of the boat. With his companions’ help, he extended it over the top of the crater, in such a fashion as to intercept the light of the Sun.
As if by a miracle, the eruption ceased. S
acks brought for that purpose were promptly filled with the precious dust and loaded on the boat—which, at a signal from Ossipoff, took off again.
The old scientist was exultant.
“Where are we going now?” asked Telinga.
“We’re returning, at our convenience, to the Privolvan regions. Don’t we have to attend the congress what is to be held in our honor in the capital city?”
The Selenite pressed his lever and the boat, rapidly turning round, headed back towards the invisible hemisphere.
Suddenly, however, Jonathan Farenheit started and turned to Ossipoff. “What are you doing?” he demanded.
“As you can see, we’re going back.”
“What about Fedor Sharp?” he complained.
The old man raised his arms to the heavens.
“You’ve taken care of your business,” grumbled the American. “I want to take care of mine.”
“Trust me,” replied Ossipoff. “Do as I’ve done—renounce your vengeance...all the more so as it can only be exercised now on a cadaver.”
Farenheit stifled an oath.
“In addition,” added the aged scientist, “time’s pressing. The Sun’s just above the horizon and I don’t want to be surprised by darkness in this wilderness...it would be death for us all.”
The American lowered his head; then he went back to his position and, telescope in hand, resumed scanning the landscape that was fleeing rapidly beneath the boat. In the meantime, the other voyagers, for whom the return journey held no surprises, lay down on the cushions to seek reparative rest in a long sleep.
When they woke up, the aerial boat had already left the circus of Plato far behind and was heading at high speed towards a chain of mountains whose elevated summits were vaguely silhouetted on the horizon.
Ossipoff consulted his map. “The north pole!” he exclaimed.
Running to Farenheit, who was still absorbed in his search, he said: “Lend me my telescope, Mr. Farenheit.”
The American surrendered the instrument, with an ill grace. “Eh?” he said. “What’s there to see at the north pole that’s out of the ordinary? More mountains, craters, frightful bare rocks and gulfs.”
Ossipoff stared at Farenheit briefly, as if he were looking at a criminal. Then he replied: “At the north pole, Monsieur, we shall see the Mountains of Eternal Light.”
The American’s eyes widened. Gontran and Selena drew nearer.
The old scientist continued: “Those mountains—some of which Scoresby, Euctemon and Gioja75 estimate as being up to 28,000 meters in height, and on which the Sun never sets—are one of the wonders of the world that we’re visiting.”
“Impossible,” murmured Flammermont. Fortunately for him, the rubber hood stifled the sound of his voice.
“But how can such a phenomenon occur, Father?” Selena asked.
“In the simplest fashion in the world, my dear—by virtue of the inclination of the lunar globe on its axis, the Sun never descends more than a degree and a half below the horizon of either pole. Now, by reason of the smallness of the lunar globe, an elevation of 595 meters is sufficient to see a degree and a half beyond the true horizon. In consequence, mountains like those I’ve cited, attaining 2800 meters of altitude, are eternally lit by the Sun.”
“Are the surrounding valleys, then,” murmured Gontran, “always in darkness?”
“In darkness is a trifle exaggerated,” replied Ossipoff, “for while they remain eternally in the shadow of the mountains, they’re illuminated by the reflection of the bright light that strikes the high peaks, rotating around them.” Then, turning to the American, he said: “Well, Mr. Farenheit, is such a spectacle worthy of your abandoning your search for a few moments?”
“Nothing’s worth more than a satisfactory vengeance,” the American replied. Picking up his telescope, he became motionless again, leaving his companions to anticipate the sublime panorama that they were about to admire.
Telinga had just modified the heading of the aerial boat slightly, in order to follow the sinuosities of the extending slopes of Mount Scoresby. He passed below the peak of Euctemon, whose height is only 400 meters less than the highest mountains in the Pyrenees, and headed through the rocky ramifications directly for the chains surrounding the boreal pole. To pass over the cyclopean mass of monstrous craters, the Selenite had to ascend to 3000 meters.
Once the chain was behind them, the lunar aeroplane was launched at top speed on a diagonal path that took it down to 1000 meters above the ground, above an isolated mountain with a bowl-shaped crater.
“The north pole!” cried Ossipoff.
Motionless and mute, the Terrans admired the magical spectacle that was suddenly offered to their rapt eyes. Into a black sky, strewn with vividly-shining stars, elevated peaks projected their sharp crests, the enormous shadows of which extended into the distance, darkening entire valleys. On the sunward side, these peaks were as resplendent as glaciers, and their glare was dazzling.
“Look, Mr. Farenheit!” Flammermont said, all of a sudden, tapping the American on the shoulder.
The latter made no response. Leaning over the guard-rail to the point of losing his balance, he remained fixed in complete immobility, his eye glued to his telescope.
“My God!” sniggered the young Comte. “Wouldn’t one think that the American is about to swoop down on that bandit Sharp?”
He had not even completed this speech when Farenheit straightened up as if jerked by a spring, and ran to Ossipoff. “It’s him!” he cried, gesticulating like a madman. “It’s him!”
“Who’s him?” demanded the old man, furious at being wrenched so rudely from his contemplation.
“Who do you think it is,” retorted the American, “if not that thief, that scoundrel, that traitor…?” The emotion tightening his throat stemmed the flood of insults that were rising to his lips.
More emotional than he wished to appear, the old scientist seized the telescope and aimed it in the direction indicated by Farenheit. After a few moments, he cried out in his turn: “I can indeed see a brilliant point down there, only a few kilometers away, which might well be the cannonball…take a look, Gontran…”
He passed the instrument to the young Comte, who passed it on in his turn to Fricoulet, saying: “I’d bet my head that it is indeed Sharp’s cannonball.”
“Me too,” added the engineer. “Except that I don’t see any trace of the man himself.”
Ossipoff had not waited to instruct Telinga to set down, and no more than a few moments went by before the aerial boat deposited the voyagers on the slope of a crater next to a dented and scorched metallic mass, which the old scientist declared with certainty to be Fedor Sharp’s cannonball.
“But what about him?” growled Farenehit. “Where is he?” He darted furious glances all around as he spoke.
“Well,” said Fricoulet, tapping the cannonball with his foot, “it’s in there that we’ll have to look for him.”
“In there?” retorted the American. “Do you suppose he’s stayed there, then?”
“For the good reason that it was impossible for him to get out.” The engineer pointed out to his companions that at least a third of the shell was embedded in the ground, and that the little door fabricated in its side-wall was so solidly buried that all the efforts that the passengers might have made to get out of their prison would have been in vain. He added: “In any case, the prison is surely no more that a tomb now, and I propose to let those who are asleep with in it rest their eternally.”
The American did not intend that to happen, though. Before leaving, he wanted to make certain with his own eyes that his enemy really had escaped his vengeance. With the aid of the tools that Ossipoff had chanced to bring with him, he set about attacking the friable soil. Seeing that, Gontran, seized by curiosity, grabbed a pick-axe—and was not long delayed in being imitated by Fricoulet too.
After half an hour, thanks to their colossal strength, sextupled by the Moon, they had excavated a trench
around the cannonball wide enough for the door to be opened.
“Look out,” muttered the American, putting himself on the defensive. “Let’s be on our guard…they might attack us.”
The engineer shrugged his shoulders. Introducing the point of a pick-axe into the crack in the door, he exercised such violent leverage that the bolt and the screws securing the lock eventually gave way. He opened it, took a step forward and slid the upper half of his body into the interior of the cannonball—but he came back out immediately, uttering a cry of horror.
“Dead!” he exclaimed. “They’re dead!”
Jonathan Farenheit went forward in his turn and, in spite of the hatred he nursed for the ex-permanent secretary of the Academy of Sciences, felt a chill run through his limbs at the sight of the sinister spectacle that was offered to him.
On the floor of the vehicle, a semi-naked corpse lay in the middle of a pool of blood. A horrible injury had almost separated the head from the trunk and—a frightful detail—slices of flesh had been stripped from the thighs. The cadaver had served as a food-supply. Not far away, another corpse was lying, this one fully-dressed. The American hurled himself toward it. He had recognized Fedor Sharp. He picked it up and took it outside the vehicle.
“Dead!” he said, in a somber tone, bowing his head.
“Dead of starvation!” cried Selena, putting her hands together. “Oh, the poor man.”
“No,” replied Farenheit. “I suspect him of having murdered his companion in order to nourish himself on his flesh.”
A cry of horror escaped all their throats.
Chapter XVII
What happened in the cannonball
What had happened?
We left Fedor Sharp and his companion in their cannonball, the former furious on seeing his former colleague on the point of arriving, like him, on the coveted lunar soil, the latter trembling in contemplation of the fate that awaited them if chance should put them in proximity with Jonathan Farenheit’s formidable fists.
They remained thus for a long time. Voriguin mentally calculated his remaining chances of avoiding the American’s vengeance; Sharp, his eyes fixed on his objective, followed the progress of Mikhail Ossipoff’s projectile through space. Suddenly, the latter uttered an exclamation that brought his already-anxious laboratory assistant running to his side.
The Extraordinary Adventures of a Russian Scientist Across the Solar System (Vol. 1) Page 33