The Nyctalope on Mars 2: The Triumph of Love

by Jean de La Hire

  Three weeks went by in profound peace, enlivened by parties: three weeks during which the men who had formed the Society of XV felt their impatience, and a bizarrely anxious sort of apprehension, increasing daily.

  Suddenly, one night, they were shaken out of deep sleep by the enormous clamor of the alarm bells—and the telephonographs in the bedrooms, the dormitories, the guard-posts, the store-houses, the machine-rooms and the arsenal screeched: “Everyone to the terraces! Everyone to the terraces!” The crews on duty were the only ones not to leave their posts, for no orders save for those specifically issued by their own commanding officers were any of their concern.

  As 2 a.m. chimed on the electric clocks of Cosmopolis, the terraces of the houses and the ramparts were swarming with anxious men. On the terrace of Oxus’ palace stood Saint-Clair and Oxus himself, surrounded by the stupefied XV. Near to the men, Xavière was calming a group of frightened young women. No searchlight bad been illuminated. All eyes, instinctively, strove to penetrate the profound darkness.

  Suddenly, a cry went up from every breast. In the sky, a line of falling stars appeared, falling one after another. They quickly became balls of fire, which descended in a glide that became slower and slower. Then, all the searchlights in Cosmopolis were lit, and their beams converged in such a manner as to illuminate a vast circular space on the beach beyond the ramparts. And in that space, one by one, slowly and prudently, guided by sure hands, the balls of fire descending from the sky set down: globes of crystal, which sparkled in the oblique beams of the searchlights. They were the 300 radioplanes from the Congo!

  During three weeks of constant communication with Damprich by interplanetary radiotelephonograph, the Nyctalope had carefully prepared this arrival, which he had reserved as a surprise for Oxus and the XV—but the greatest surprise, and also the greatest joy, was for himself, for the first person to throw herself into his arms was not Damprich, as he had expected, but his adoptive sister Christiane, the daughter of Moïsette and the Hictaner—and the granddaughter of Oxus.

  VIII. Towards the Martians

  If we were writing a novel, rather than adding a slight narrative element to the transcription of historical documents, it would be easy for us to multiply romantic, touching and grandiose scenes at this point in our work: Saint-Clair being informed by Oxus that Christiane, rescued in Tahiti by the Nyctalope’s father, was the child of his own daughter, Moïsette; Christiane admitting her love for Noël de Pierrefort, who had been her gallant jailer in the Château de Pierrefort, to her grandfather and her adoptive brother; Saint-Clair and Bastien recounting their adventures, the former pardoning the latter and the latter weeping in admiration before the former; the men of Cosmopolis welcoming Colonel Bouttieaux’s men as brothers and filling them in on life on Mars; the leaders of the expedition being introduced to Oxus at the opening of a solemn Council, in which a treaty was established between the XV, the Nyctalope’s companions and Damprich’s companions—a revised version of which formed the Constitution of the Military Government of the Terrans on Mars, with Oxus as President of the Council and Saint-Clair as Generalissimo; the quasi-hysterical joy of the savant astronomer Flammarion on seeing the realization of nearly all the hypotheses that his discoveries had suggested regarding the conditions of habitability of the planet Mars; the indescribable emotion of the historian Maurice Reclus on contemplating the enormous, prodigious and fantastic work that would fall to him to write, and the glory that the work in question, intelligently accomplished, would reflect upon him for centuries to come; the jubilation of the special correspondent of Le Matin, Monsieur François, as expressed in the unexpected interplanetary radiotelegram that he immediately sent to his newspaper; the change of mind of 13 young women who, finding themselves in the midst of 3000 men from their fatherland, among whom were more than 50 officers and commanders, were no longer asking to be returned to their families, finding that the Martian atmosphere now had perfumes of civilized love rather than the bitter odors of a barbarian encampment…

  We shall leave it to the reader to unite the former prisoners and the newcomers in loving marriages, and to imagine all the splendor, originality, harmony and intensity of the multiple scenes of which Cosmopolis was the theater. At the end of a month, a great Terran society had been constituted on Mars. Within the ramparts of Argyre Island, there was no more free space; it had all been covered with small single-story houses in which the 3000 men from Earth lived a military existence. Cosmopolis itself was the impregnable refuge into which, in case of danger, everyone could retreat.

  While the work of accommodation and organization was completed, Oxus and Saint-Clair were preparing for the final conquest of Mars. They were aided in this task by a general staff composed of the 15 Senior Commanders of the Terran army. This general staff, along with the 12 remaining Brothers of the former Society of XV, Damprich, Alpha, Colonel Bouttieaux, Camille Flammarion and Maurice Reclus, each of whom had a special role, undertook the deliberations of a Council of War. Xavière, sitting by the Nyctalope’s side, often took part in these deliberations. The XV were thus reconstituted, under the supreme command of Saint-Clair and Oxus.

  At the end of the 22nd month, it was all ready: the aerial, marine and submarine fleets, formidably reinforced thanks to Colonel Bouttieaux’s contingent of 3000 men, with every soldier armed and protected according to the necessities of Martian warfare. Minuscule and marvelously rapid airplanes sent out on reconnaissance had reported back precise information as to the positions and numerical strength of the enemy forces.

  In addition, the technicians of Cosmopolis had constructed a powerful aeronef analogous to the Condor—which was still at the radiomotive station in the Congo—based on Klepton’s plans. This aeronef only differed from the first model in certain new dispositions that adapted it to the atmospheric conditions and gravity of Mars. It was clad in the insulating metal in order to immunize it against the heat ray and furnished with tube-funnels against the black smoke. It was named the Franc. Placed under the command of Klepton and Lieutenant Damprich, it was to carry the Nyctalope and Xavière, with a party of guardsmen, plus Flammarion, Reclus and François, the correspondent for Le Matin. The aeronef would serve as a mobile general headquarters; the Commanders of the various troops would meet on board whenever it would be useful to meet in council under the Nyctalope’s presidency, or simply receive his orders when the wireless telephone was insufficient.

  In the expedition, as well as in combat, the Franc would not have a fixed post. It would be everywhere that Saint-Clair judged it advisable to place himself. It could skim the waves agitated by the submarines and hydroplanes, or climb to the highest regions of the air cleaved by the various aircraft.

  As for Oxus, he would remain in Cosmopolis with the women and an adequate garrison.

  Saint-Clair’s companions—Jolivet, Gaynor, Merlak, Bontemps, Tory, O’Brien, Pacard, Tardieu and Johnson—were given various positions of command within the expeditionary army, as were Noël de Pierrefort and Bastien.

  It was on the first day of the 23rd month, at 6 a.m., that the formidable Terran army left its stronghold on Argyre Island in the utmost silence. Submarines, hydroplanes, reconnaissance airplanes and combat aircraft proceeded at the same speed, under or on the sea or through the air. At the head of the aerial fleet, the Franc shone in the sunlight like an enormous and fantastic silver bird, lovely and frightful at the same time, drawing an immense column of aircraft in its wake, around which the reconnaissance airplanes—which were generally nicknamed “flies,” and only carried identification numbers—were buzzing rapidly.

  Shortly after the departure, Xavière and Saint-Clair found themselves alone in the chart-room of the Franc. They had been married with great ceremony by Oxus, in accordance with the Code created piecemeal for the use of the Terrans established on Mars, a few hours before the expedition’s departure, and now they were happy. The tragic, exorbitant and fantastic past seemed to be a distant dream. They had a new mentality now;
they were like a king and queen who, having created a kingdom, small in its extent and the number of its citizens, but formidable in the determination for conquest, expansion and domination that its citizens possessed, intended to extend that petty kingdom to the limits of an entire world—and their personal happiness and intimate joy seemed to disappear into the public role they had assumed. They were still amorous, of course, and more than ever; nevertheless, their love was no longer the cause nor the regulator of their thoughts and actions. They both dressed in the same uniform that the XV had adopted—elegant, simple and virile at the same time—without even a difference in the length of their hair, since Xavière had sacrificed her admirable tresses that tragic evening, they resembled two friends or two associates rather than man and wife. Sitting at a square table, they were studying a map of Mars, spread out and dotted with little flag-topped pins.

  “We’ll have to attack the Iapygian Archipelago from all sides and destroy the Martian army that is entrenched there,” said Saint-Clair. “Then the Hadrianic Sea will be open to us and we can invade the Hellas region, where we’ll create a second Cosmopolis.”

  “Yes,” said Xavière, “And with two footholds, Argyre and Hellas, which will make us masters of the southern hemisphere, we can conquer the vast northern continent gradually.”

  “Exactly! Argyre is in the west, Hellas in the east. In any case, I hope to enter into communication with the Martians. In the main, we know nothing about them; their language and customs are unknown to us. The primary purpose of this expedition is to convince them that our forces are superior to theirs. I’d rather negotiate than kill, and it would be better to subjugate the Martian species than annihilate or domesticate it. We know that the number of Mars’ inhabitants is 80% fewer than the number of Earth’s inhabitants and that the Martians are divided into two distinct races: the masters, who live for pleasure and warfare, and the slaves, who serve and work. If we were only able to talk to the slaves and get them on our side; they might revolt, and that would serve our purpose. An awkward problem…”

  “And one with so many unknowns,” murmured Xavière.

  They continued talking, their eyes fixed on the map, repeating things they had already said many times before—but by repeating them, and making them more concrete, thy gained a better understanding of their multiplicity. Little by little, they explored all the facets of the problem—and when, during the next meal, they discussed possible eventualities with their table-companions, Klepton, Damprich, Flammarion and Reclus, the same ideas, solidly envisioned by each of the diners, shone with a brighter clarity for being generally exposed for comment.

  At 3 p.m., the Franc’s sirens emitted a signal, and the three fleets came to a halt. They were at the eastern extremity of the Strait of Pandora, within sight of the Iapygian Archipelago. Standing on the platform of the aeronef, Saint-Clair, Xavière, Klepton and Damprich examined the mysterious islands for a long time through powerful binoculars.

  The Nyctalope was the first to speak. “There’s nothing to be seen! The Martians are invisible. Their explosive kites are probably hidden in those clumps of red trees with which the islands are covered.”

  “We’ll have to send a few flies over the islands,” Xavière suggested.

  “We’ll also need the eyes of a Commander,” murmured Saint-Clair. Without letting anything show, the Nyctalope was quivering with emotion. He had never seen a Martian, as yet. Like everyone else, he only knew that strange species by the descriptions of the historian Wells, corroborated by Oxus. The violent desire to see a Martian, right away, was setting his nerves jangling.

  “We need the eyes of a Commander,” he repeated.

  Xavière understood and said in low voice: “Leo, you’re no longer an adventurer, free to risk his life. You’re a king.” Her eyes implored him more than her words.

  Two paces away from the couple, Damprich saw and heard. He came forward, smiling broadly and loyally, and said: “I’m a Commander, Master. I’ll go on reconnaissance.”

  Xavière thanked him with her gaze.

  Saint-Clair simply said: “Go!”

  Twenty flies were buzzing around the Franc. With a single blast of a whistle, delivered in a special manner, Damprich brought one of the little airplanes hastening to perch on the guard-rail of the platform like a bird. The flies were in fact, furnished with artificial feet terminating in powerful automatic claws. The one that arrived bore the number 106. Its pilot was tall and thin; the periscope on his helmet let nothing of his face show through the crystal lenses but two large and resolute black eyes.

  “What’s your name?” asked Saint-Clair.

  “Paul Verneuil,” replied the pilot, his voice somewhat modified by the microphone through which it was transmitted.

  “Surrender your controls to Captain Damprich.”

  Although they were usually occupied by a single man, the flies were equipped with two seats, arranged in tandem. Paul Verneuil leapt into the rear seat while Damprich placed himself at the controls, after enclosing his head in the insulating helmet that had been suspended from his belt.

  “Is your stock of grenades complete?” Xavière asked,

  “Yes, Madame!” Verneuil replied, who had met the young woman several times in the service of the secretariat to which he was attached in Cosmopolis during the hours when he was not engaged in aviation exercises. She always had a pleasant smile for the young man with the passionate eyes.

  “See you soon, Captain!” said Saint-Clair.

  “See you soon, Master!”

  106 opened its claws; its wings flapped; it took off. It turned through 45 degrees and flew towards the archipelago.

  Bracing himself on the short bar that served him as a handhold, Verneuil put his head on a level with Damprich’s in order to hear his orders more clearly.

  “Verneuil!”

  “Captain?”

  “You’re in sole charge of the grenades. Throw them anywhere you see kites ready to take off.”

  “What about the photographic apparatus?”

  “I’ll take care of that.”

  Every fly was equipped with a photographic apparatus whose objective lens was placed underneath, between its feet. The pilot only had to press his foot on a pedal to for apparatus to function automatically, recording everything that happened in its field of view on a roll of film.

  “If we come back, we’ll be lucky!” murmured Verneuil.

  Damprich turned his head slightly, forgetting that the young man’s helmet would make his face invisible. Hierarchical distinctions were abolished between the two heroes. “Possibly,” he said, “but I’ve an unhealthy impatience to see Martians.”

  “Me too! When your whistle sounded, I guessed…and at that very moment, I was thinking of slipping quietly away to take a closer look at the archipel...”

  “There’s the black smoke…” Damprich put in.

  “And the explosive kites…”

  “And other things we don’t know about…”

  “It’s funny… I didn’t think one could risk one’s life with so little emotion. In Paris…”

  “You’re a Parisian?” the Captain asked.

  “No, but I…”

  “Look there!”

  In the mirror of his periscope, Damprich had just seen something move in the middle of a clearing that had seemed to be deserted 30 seconds before.

  It is necessary to put ourselves in the place of the two aviators. Their view of the external world was circumscribed on a mirror with six faces, in which the terrain and its objects, animate or not, appeared quite clearly but much diminished. Ahead, behind, to the right, to the left, above and below made up six images, which filled six mirrors. It was a strangely deformed vision of the world, seemingly unreal, to the point of leaving the mind as calm as if it were confronted by the unrolling of a landscape in the cinema, far from any danger—but from which death might arrive unexpectedly. Slowly, it would translate itself into something visible in a mirror, rapidly, it would
be a vertiginous streak, followed by a crash, and oblivion.

  “That’s odd,” murmured Verneuil. “One might think…”

  “Let’s go down to the ground!” cried Damprich, suddenly excited.

  106 went into a dive. It was above the westernmost island in the archipelago, no more than an islet: a narrow circular beach and a dark red forest, punctuated by pink clearings. 106 described a spiral above the largest of the clearings. When it reached an altitude of 200 meters it hovered, its wings quivering imperceptibly.

  In the middle of the clearing, directly below the aviators, something was moving.

  “On might think…” Verneuil repeated. But the thing seemed to roll away rapidly, disappearing under cover. Suddenly, abruptly and inexplicably, the clearing’s appearance changed. The pink surface—short grass seemingly—burst into flame like a piece of gauze and was consumed… and there was a large circular hole, in the dark depths of which incomprehensible metal objects gleamed.

  It seemed that two brilliant butterflies emerged from the hole, climbing rapidly.

  “Explosive…” said Verneuil.

  “Kites!” Damprich completed. He depressed a lever with his foot. 106 made a bound that almost threw Verneuil out. The enigmatic clearing disappeared from the field of the six mirrors. The islet slid away, fell behind…

  There was an arm of the sea, then a larger island.

  “They won’t get us this time!” cried Damprich, laughing.