The Extraordinary Adventures of a Russian Scientist Across the Solar System (Vol. 1)
Page 37
“Stop?” repeated Telinga. “To do that it would be necessary to land and that would be very dangerous.” As he concluded this speech, a crackling sound became audible in the distance. A violent pitching motion shook the aerial apparatus, breaking the lamp’s conductive wires, while monstrous masses seemed to be shuddering in the darkness under the pressure of unknown forces. The mountains seemed to be collapsing, the craters filling up with avalanches of stones and fantastic landslips.
It was a frightful chaos, a general upheaval; one might have thought that the poor lunar planet was coming apart at the seams.
“It’s an earthquake!” cried Jonathan Farenheit, crouching down at the guard-rail.
“A moonquake, rather!” Fricoulet retorted, mockingly, his voice drowned out by the roaring of the tempest.
Telinga made every effort to maintain the apparatus in the eye of the wind; it was shaking violently, threatening to capsize, like a boat in a furious sea.
Immediately the storm had started, on Fricoulet’s advice, the voyagers had attached themselves together by means of a strong rope, as fishermen do, in order to avoid being thrown out of the vessel. The intense darkness that reigned further increased the horror of the cataclysm. Telinga had stopped trying to steer the boat—which, enveloped by the aerial eddies, was driven in an unknown direction.
Ossipoff, careless of the torment, remained in contemplation on the Sun—which, entirely masked by the Earth, still revealed its presence by luminous projections forming a fiery aureole around the planet.
“Our native world is doing us a bad turn!” grumbled Fricoulet.
Eventually, after two hours of that frightful scene—two hours that seemed as long as two centuries—a bright ray of light suddenly lanced from behind the terrestrial sphere and the entire region was suddenly illuminated. Then, insensibly, the light increased as the planet unmasked the radiant star, which inundated the Selenian mountains and seas with its warmth once again.
Immediately, Telinga made preparations to land. He feared that the apparatus had sustained some damage, and wanted to make a detailed examination.
“Where are we, then?” asked Flammermont. “Isn’t there a possibility that the tempest has carried us far away from our route?”
“It’s more than probable,” murmured Fricoulet, “but maps aren’t made for dogs, and Monsieur Ossipoff will be able to enlighten us.”
The old scientist had, indeed, unfolded his map on the ground, and was examining it attentively.
“Well?” prompted the engineer, surprised by his long silence. “Where are we, Monsieur Ossipoff?”
The old man raised his head and said, in an anxious voice: “I don’t recognize the place!”
Fricoulet could not help starting in surprise. “What are you saying?” he stammered.
“The truth,” growled Ossipoff. “Everything’s changed. I don’t see anything on the map that resembles that cyclopean aggregation of rocks near which we’ve come down. See for yourself.” And he handed the map to the engineer.
“Oh, I trust you implicitly,” replied the latter, who had no reason—quite the contrary—to doubt the old man’s affirmation. But he added: “Perhaps Telinga can enlighten us.”
When consulted, the Selenite declared that he could not be sure but believed that they were some way west of the Sea of Fecundity, at a very high latitude.
“What makes you think that?” asked Ossipoff.
“The position of the Sun,” Telinga replied, pointing to the day-star shining at the zenith. “In any case,” he added, “we shall orientate ourselves more easily when we are flying at a certain height and can see a vast range of territory.”
They embarked. The apparatus left the ground and, in a few minutes, rose up to an altitude of 300 feet. Leaning over the map, Ossipoff and Fricoulet tried in vain to recognize the terrain, but none of the details on the map corresponded with the panorama extended beneath their feet.
“Hold on,” said the old scientist, extending his hand. “If it were not for the irregular form of the little circus on the right, I’d swear that what we see down there are the twin craters to which Beer and Mädler gave the name Messier.
The engineer examined the point indicated by Ossipoff for some time, with the aid of the binoculars. “Indeed,” he replied, “I can clearly see the two white bands that extend eastwards and make the craters resemble a double-headed comet…but that’s impossible.”
“Yes,” said Ossipoff, “that’s impossible. I’ve studied those two craters several times from the Observatory at Pulkova, and found them in absolute conformity with the descriptions of Schröter and Beer/Mädler.” And with the confidence of a prodigious memory, he quoted the actual text of the observations made by these astronomers: “They are identically similar to one another: their diameters, shapes, heights, depths, the colors of their arenas and rings and the positions of a few hills founded on the buttresses all resemble one another so closely that the fact can only be explained as a strange freak of chance or by an unknown law of nature.” He paused momentarily, then added: “Instead of that, what do we have before our eyes? Two circuses that do not resemble one another in any respect: the nearer one is elliptical and its long axis runs from east to west, while the other is oval, to be sure, but in the other direction.” He bowed his head and murmured: “I’m reduced to conjectures.”
The old man put his head in his hands and plunged into a profound meditation.
“Are we lost, then?” asked Gontran, coming closer.
Fricoulet shrugged his shoulders.
“What a pity,” the young Comte exclaimed, “that we didn’t think of dropping pebbles along our route like Petit Poucet.”83
The engineer could not help smiling. “If Petit Poucet had had an earthquake to deal with,” he replied, “he wouldn’t have found his way back, for the pebbles would have been scattered and buried.”
“Well,” replied Gontran, “the craters are for us what the pebbles were for Petit Poucet. Why shouldn’t they, too, have been scattered, buried or deformed?”
Fricoulet uttered an exclamation and ran to Ossipoff. “Gontran,” he said, “has just discovered the solution of the puzzle that confronts us.”
“And what is that solution?”
“That the change of form which put us off the track must be attributed to the frightful upheaval whose phases were hidden from us by the eclipse.”
A gleam appeared in Ossipoff’s eye. “Right,” he said. “I admit that the two craters really are those of Messier and that they’ve been deformed by the cataclysm that we witnessed. But to what can we attribute the upheaval?”
Gontran made a gesture that might have signified: “This time, you’re asking too much of me.” After a brief silence, however, he replied. “To a moonquake, produced by a volcanic eruption.”
Fricoulet grabbed his friend’s arm. “Fool,” he whispered in the ex-diplomat’s ear. “You’re forgetting that there are no active volcanoes on the Moon.”
Although he was speaking in a low voice, the engineer was overheard by Ossipoff, who cried out in a tone of supreme satisfaction; “No volcanoes on the Moon, Monsieur Fricoulet! In truth, I thought you rather weak in astronomical matters but I didn’t expect such heresy!” Addressing himself to Flammermont, he went on: “Well, Gontran, what do you think?”
“The fact is,” stammered the young Comte, “that my friend Fricoulet’s observation astonishes me.”
“Really?” exclaimed the engineer, sarcastically.
Ossipoff folded his arms. “Is it necessary to remind you,” he said, “of the number of astronomers who have been unable to explain the changes observed on the lunar surface except by volcanoes?”
Fricoulet made a gesture with his hand to indicate the needlessness of that enumeration, but the old scientist took no notice of it and continued: “Your compatriot Laplace, Monsieur Fricoulet, believed in lunar volcanoes, as did Herschel, Lalande, Maskelyne and many others.84 I’ve already mentioned the new volcano
near Ukert, in the valley of Hyginus, the Tumulus of Linné and the crater Eudoxus. You’ve just seen the revolution produced in the twin craters of Messier. Hold on, better still—I’ve just remembered a fact that will convince you. In 1788, Schröter perceived a tiny light in the lunar Alps analogous to a star of the fifth magnitude, which remained visible for a quarter of an hour. In 1865, an English astronomer, Grower, saw a luminous point in the same place, which shone for 30 minutes and then disappeared…” Ossipoff paused briefly, then added, defiantly: “Would you like to tell me what that could have been, if not a volcano?”
“But Monsieur…” Fricoulet began.
The old scientist did not allow him to continue. “Do you know what a French astronomer who has studied the Moon more than anyone else—your friend Gontran’s namesake—says on the subject? Listen: ‘In the month of May 1867, to the left of the bright mountain Aristarchus, a very bright luminous point appeared, presenting the appearance of a volcano. Although little disposed to admit the existence of active volcanoes on the Moon, I have always retained from that observation the impression of having witnessed a lunar volcanic eruption, perhaps not of flames but at least of phosphorescent matter. The point is, at any rate, so remarkable that, since the 17th century, several astronomers—notably Helvelius and Herschel—have considered it to be an active volcano, and such was Herschel’s conviction of its reality that the astronomer wrote, in 1787: The volcano is burning with great violence; the objects situated close to the crater are feebly lit; the eruption resembles the one that I witnessed on May 4, 1783. The actual diameter of the volcanic light was about 5000 meters and its intensity appeared to be greater than that of a comet which was then on the horizon.’ ”
Breathless after this long quotation, the old man stopped to get his breath back. Then, victoriously, he asked: “Well, Monsieur Fricoulet, what do you say to that? Are you convinced?”
The engineer smiled and said: “Would you think me a cretin, Monsieur Ossipoff, if I were to confess to you that I’m not convinced?”
The old man looked at him with a pitying expression. “What do you think, then?” he said.
“That the changes we are observing at this moment are due neither to an agitation of the selenological strata nor to a volcanic eruption.”
Ossipoff raised his arms to the heavens in despair. “How absurd!” he exclaimed. Ironically, he added: “Then to what, in your opinion, should we attribute these phenomena?”
“Quite simply, to a tide.”
This response, offered in a tranquil tone, caused the aged scientist to choke. “A tide!” he stammered. “You think that it was a tide that…” He was unable to say more, but, turning to Flammermont, he made a sign indicating that, in his view, the engineer had suddenly gone out of his mind.
The smiling Fricoulet shrugged his shoulders. “Before making a premature judgment of the state of my faculties, hear me out. Personally, I attribute that general upheaval, that titanic disruption of the terrain and that collapse of rocks to the combined attraction of the Earth and the Sun, during their alignment. That attraction was strong enough—perhaps assisted by other unknown forces—to move the ground considerably, changing the form of craters, upsetting the disposition of mountains, thus producing a tide of lunar fragments, since water does not exist on this face of the Moon.”
Ossipoff was no longer laughing; he was thoughtful.
Suddenly, Telinga got up. “I recognize the region,” he said, curtly.
“And where are we?” asked Gontran.
“We are in the equatorial region of the lunar disk, skirting the Sea of Crises.”
“Mare Crisium,” murmured Flammermont, self-importantly.
“You’ve already said that,” Fricoulet whispered in his ear.
“Within 24 hours, we shall cross the equator,” the Selenite continued.
Jonathan Farenheit rubbed his hands together. “Bravo!” he muttered. “I’ve had enough of white mountains and black sky—not to mentioned that we have mummified air in this rubber sack…although we’ve seen some funny things here….” He interrupted himself to say: “Only one thing interested me—that was seeing the Earth serve as the Moon.” And he burst out laughing.
Mikhail Ossipoff looked at the American pityingly and then turned to Gontran, letting the words “Vulgum pecus!”85 fall from disdainful lips.
The young Comte replied: “For myself, I’m delighted by this exploration, which has convinced me once again that the cycle of physical manifestations has not reached a conclusion on the surface of our satellite. The forces of nature are incommensurable, and to measure them by our stature would be to tax them with impotence. They operate everywhere, and their mysterious impulsion moves the rocks in the craters of volcanoes as they move the stars in the immensity of the skies.”
The old man looked at Gontran tenderly.
Fricoulet tugged his friend’s sleeve. “Nice turn of phrase!” he murmured, mockingly. “Where did you get it?”
“From Les Continents célestes by my namesake Flammermont!”
Chapter XIX
In which Fedor Sharp gets up to his old tricks
It was in the dead of night that the aerial boat reached Maoulideck, the capital city of the Moon, where the Selenite congress was meeting. A room was put at the disposal of the voyagers to permit them to wait not only for the light of day, which would only shine again in three times 24 hours, but also for the hour fixed for the Lunarians’ assembly—which is to say, the 240th hour after sunrise.
Fedor Sharp, still in a coma, was laid down in one corner and the sacks of mineral piled up in another. Then, after arranging themselves comfortably to wait for daylight, they began planning the next voyage. Ossipoff had declared that he wanted to leave as soon as possible, to take advantage of the favorable position of Venus relative to the Moon. The old scientist was impatient with the darkness, by virtue of which he was forced to remain inactive and waste precious time.
“What, my dear Monsieur Ossipoff!” said Fricoulet, in jest. “You want to explore other worlds, and you’ve no more patience than that! How do you now that you won’t find spheres in which night is eternal, whose inhabitants might take centuries to decide to make the slightest movement?”
“That’s quite possible,” Flammermont added, seriously. “There are so many worlds in space that one might as easily encounter one on which everyone sleeps eternally as one on which no one ever sleeps.”
When he was in a bad mood, the old scientist did not care for jokes, so he turned his back on the two young people to sit down and study the progress of Venus through space by the light of a Trouvé lamp.
Finally, the Sun appeared and everyone was ready to carry out the old man’s instructions.
“My dear Monsieur Ossipoff,” Fricoulet suddenly said. “I’ve just had a good idea.”
The old scientist had adopted the principle of mistrusting the engineer’s ideas to begin with, ready to declare them excellent only when they had been put into execution. He frowned slightly; then, in a voice that was not at all welcoming, he said: “Go on.”
“Well,” said Fricoulet, lowering his voice mysteriously, “we ought to try to leave the Selenites with a marvelous opinion of the ambassadors from the Revolver.”
“And how should we do that, in your opinion?” asked the scientist.
“Leave the Moon on the very day of the congress.”
Ossipoff nodded his head approvingly.
“Better than that,” said Gontran. “Let’s set off from the very bosom of the congress.”
The engineer and the old man arched their eyebrows interrogatively.
“Since we know the place where the Selenites will meet to admire us and listen to us, let’s transport our vehicle there, and prepare it as rapidly as possible. When the last word is pronounced, while the applause is still greeting your resounding oration, we’ll take off before their astonished eyes.”
“Like Mohammed under the beards and noses of the Muslims,” said Se
lena.
“Or better still,” Fricoulet said in his turn, smiling slyly, “like Godard in some traveling fair in the vicinity of Paris.”86 And he added: “We only need the local Orpheus to salute us with the sound of trumpets.”
Ossipoff, however, remained serious.
“Well?” asked Gontran.
The old man did not reply right away. It is certain that if a similar suggestion had been made by Fricoulet alone, the old scientist would have been suspicious of it, thinking it a joke, but in his mind, Flammermont was much too serious a man for him to think of not paying attention to anything coming from him. He therefore reflected for a few moments, and finally said: “I don’t see any problem that would prevent that being done—without having examined our vehicle in detail, though, I think it might have sustained a good deal of damage.”
“It’s easy to find out,” said Fricoulet, laughing covertly to see the old man accepting, without any discussion, this original manner of departure. It was decided forthwith that the little company would go to Chuir without losing a moment—from where, with the aid of what Gontran called the roller-coaster, they would go in search of the projectile and the equipment, in order to bring them to the crater chosen for the departure.
When they were about to embark, however, Jonathan Farenheit firmly refused to follow his companions. “Go without me,” he said. “I’ll stay here. You can easily find some Selenite to replace me.”
“But what’s the matter?” the others asked, in surprise.
The American’s lips creased into a ferocious rictus. “It’s just that I’ve appointed myself as Fedor Sharp’s guard and nurse, and I can’t leave him…”
“Why, that’s true!” cried Fricoulet. “We’re forgetting our friend Fedor. Bandit though he is, we can’t abandon him in his present state.”
“Messieurs,” said Selena, in her turn, “There’s one very simple thing we can do. All four of you can leave for Chuir; as for me, who can’t be of any use to you out there, I’ll stay here and look after the patient.”