by Jimmy Guieu
Astounded by everything they had just learned, Professor Yegov and Doniatchka barely flinched only an hour after their departure from Moscow when they heard Yuln announce, “We’re flying over the Victoria Desert now.”
Covering the distance from Moscow to the Victoria Desert at an average speed of 12,000 miles an hour, the flying saucer was decelerating and spiraling down on the spot over Wyola Lake given by the prisoner. Protected by the invisibility shield, off the radar by its absorber, the saucer hovered 15,000 feet in the air.
It was daytime in this hemisphere of the Earth. Embedded in the vast, ochre sand dunes a group of blue lakes shimmered in the sun. On the screen, a natural map of the area rolled by.
“The Denebian could not have lied,” Dormoy figured. “We just can’t see very well where or what kind of base is hiding in this desert of sand.”
With all his senses on alert, with his eyes fixed on the zoomed-in topography, Zimko probed the captive. In a short time his face relaxed and his eyes lost their weird, purplish glimmer. “I’ve seen it. It’s a giant disc, almost 500 yards in diameter. Its surface has the look of sand, so it’s undetectable to naked eye.”
Yuln pressed a bunch of buttons on the control panel. The map disappeared from the screen. The image of a huge flying saucer showed up, in relief and in color, to the great surprise of the Earthlings. The gigantic ship, topped by a hemispherical dome with rectangular windows, lay in the yellow desert sand.
All of a sudden on the green radar screen a dot flashed on and off—as the point of reference in the middle of the screen was slowly turning. The dot disappeared and the radar turned off. On the convex screen the natural landscape of the Australian desert was pictured.
“Another flying saucer!” Kariven cried out on seeing the metal disc glimmering in the sunlight.
Yuln zoomed in on the desert. In close-up the ship was shaped more like a horseshoe. In the back, on each side, were installed the jet engines spitting out yellow-purple flames. In the middle was a plexiglas cockpit protecting the pilot who was wearing a stratospheric spacesuit.
“But it’s a human!” the Russian girl muttered, her astonished eyes open wide.
Zimko frowned, honestly surprised. He was about to use his paroptic vision and sixth sense but Kariven stopped his psychic inspection. “You have before you, Zimko, the first flying saucer built by men. This ship is nothing other than the Canadian Saucer Omega, designed by an English engineer and produced by the Avro Canada factories near Malton35. Its being here is perfectly logical. Right now we are over the Woomera Test Facilities36. This huge base testing range starts in Pimba, in southern Australia, and ends at Christmas Island in the middle of the Indian Ocean. So, it crosses the whole continent.”
At 1,500 miles an hour the Omega shot up into the stratosphere, leaving far behind it the shrill of its multiple jets.
“I was surprised, I admit,” Zimko confessed. “We knew of the existence of this ship, still in the experimental stage, but personally I’d never seen it.”
“The British technicians,” the anthropologist added, “also experimented on cigar-shaped spaceships in this area and maybe even over New Zealand. That would explain the many eyewitness reports from trustworthy Australians and New Zealanders who have seen flying saucers and cigars37.”
“If Earthlings knew about the features and power of our own spaceships,” Zimko smiled, “they would never be able to confuse them with the Omega or other spaceships.”
Terribly interested in what he had seen on the screen Professor Yegov, in a slightly pedantic voice, jumped in, “We, too, in Russia, have flying wings and even a nuclear-powered flying cigar. I believe I can say that we’re far ahead of the western countries in this.”
The Polarian flashed an enigmatic smile. “It’s not my job to support or deny you in this opinion. I simply hate, once again, that men are struggling to outdo each other. It would be so simple for you to live together on your planet without trying to build weapons and machines to destroy yourselves. I trust you understand this, my friends? I trust the average Earthling understands this too? But nobody is doing anything in the long run to bring about the Golden Age of peace and brotherhood.”
Yuln brought back the tele-projection probes of the Denebian base. The blond Girl from Space suddenly alerted her brother, “Look, Zim, something’s going on.”
In the lower part of the giant axial dome on top of the disc itself, a metal panel was sliding open, slowly, revealing a rectangular opening about 30 feet high and 80 feet wide. Out of the opening came a small flying saucer, a reconnaissance ship 50 feet in diameter by 20 feet high. The ship wobbled gently in the air of the opening, then reared up and shot into the sky at a terrific speed, quiet as a shadow.
“Follow that ship, Yuln!”
The flying saucer went immediately from 0 to 1,200 miles an hour. The passengers in the cockpit had felt nothing. And yet, such an abrupt acceleration—in an airplane, for example—should have crushed them into their seats.
“Our spaceships,” the Polarian explained, “are fitted with a totally automatic anti-g device. The atoms in our bodies as well as those of the saucer are electro-magnetically harmonized and submitted to an individual linear acceleration: all the molecules move forward at the same time, at the same speed and in the direction of the electro-magnetic field38 that propels us.”
Invisible and undetectable, the Polarian spaceship soon caught up to the enemy disc that was starting to slow down. Beneath the two ships was the vast, deserted zone where rockets were tested from Woomera City.
“But,” Angelvin wondered, “don’t the saucers of the green monsters have invisibility shields like yours?”
“No, otherwise we wouldn’t be able to follow this one. The Denebians have not yet reached our level of culture. Their technology is very developed compared to you Earthlings, but to us it’s a living relic from a distant past.”
While keeping the enemy ship under surveillance with his superhuman abilities, he continued, “You should be wondering why such an evolved people as ours is at war with the Denebians? It comes from the fact that we always hesitate to use all our power. We could exterminate the Denebian race in less than an hour but we categorically refuse to commit genocide… at least we have so far. In the past the Denebians were satisfied with annexing lifeless planets—to expand their realm by transplanting their race—or worlds with primitive animals or even just vegetation. But now they’re taking a little too much interest in Earth, where the civilization is booming. They know all about the birth of the New Race, those men who will conquer space and rule the Universe some day along with us Polarians, who are also men since our two types of humanity belong to the same Genus Homo.”
“You mean to say, Zimko, that Earthlings and Polarians are really related?” the anthropologist was surprised again.
“Without a doubt, Kariven,” Yuln answered with a charming smiled. “Someday we’ll tell you the mystery of this relation.”
Kariven heard the girl’s words even though she had stopped talking and run back to the command post. The sounds had disappeared, replaced by the “mind language.” Her calm and peaceful voice came to him telepathically while her fingers ran over the electronic keyboard on the control panel.
You could be a Polarian, Kariven, the inner voice echoed, and I could be an Earthling. We’re physically identical. For us, however, as you know, our mental faculties have reached an unheard of degree of perfection. Our extra senses are “super normal phenomena” for you, extra-sensory perceptions. Independent of its physiological form and function similar to yours, our body is a veritable energy capacitor capable of storing up or letting loose a huge discharge that is normally kept in an electrostatic state.
While chatting, the young Polarian watched the enemy saucer on the screen. Standing firmly before the control panel, facing the giant screen, she had her back turned to the anthropologist. With precise, deliberate movements she pressed buttons, turned knobs and thus kept the ship on course
.
Kariven watched her, delightful and desirable, her see-through tunic floating, gliding with every movement.
Jean, the telepathic voice chanted critically, are you forgetting that my brother is telepathic too? You shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts… with him around, she added after a pause.
The explorer cleared his throat as if this intimate psychic conversation had been heard by everyone. He looked around at his companions: they were talking among themselves and staring out the windows, paying no attention to him. Zimko was watching the screen and projecting his paroptic vision inside the Denebian disc. The anthropologist was reassured: Zimko had certainly not overheard the thought-conversation.
That’s no reason… my dear, Yuln replied to his reflections. I don’t want you to kiss me—again!—in front of everyone… even in thought.
“That’s a good one!” Kariven laughed out loud, then he stopped himself, feeling awkward and confused.
Everyone was looking at him, not understanding what his sudden outburst was about. Was it funny to be chasing a spaceship piloted by green monsters?
Angelvin stared hard at him, “What’s gotten into you? Are you losing your marbles?”
“Hmm… I… I suddenly remembered this story,” he muttered, trying to wave discreetly to Angelvin to hold his tongue.
Without taking his eyes off the screen Zimko launched a brief collective psychic probe. In less than a second he captured all the thoughts going through everyone’s minds.
“That is a good one, indeed!” he broke out laughing, which just added to Kariven’s confusion.
Yuln frowned, then smiled shyly and said telepathically, All in all, Jean, it went over pretty well! You can start over again…
Scrutinizing the screen she spoke aloud for her brother to hear, “The Denebians are doing something! Their ship’s been circling a group of men on the ground around those launching pads.”
In fact, at an altitude of 10,000 feet the Denebian flying saucer was slowly turning around the Woomera base. Its occupants had no suspicion that they, too, were being spied on.
15 British and Australian Rocketeers39 were busy at the base of a huge scaffolding of metal girders supporting a three-part super-rocket, as tall as a four-story building. Jeeps and trucks with their engines idling were ready to bring the technicians to the blockhouse a few miles away when the alarm to clear out sounded. Hunkered down in the reinforced bunkers half buried in the ground, the specialist could watch the takeoff safe from any accident.
After a quick panoptic check of the enemy spaceship Zimko sounded very satisfied when he declared, “Now we don’t have to do anything ourselves. The Denebians are going to kidnap Professors Howard and Morrison, the great British experts in building rockets.”
“You can’t be serious?”
“But of course, Kariven. Our goal is to free the scientists being held by the Denebians on their base. It’s better just to wait for them to kidnap these two men before we attack the giant saucer.”
“Isn’t that overestimating our forces to think that the four of us can face the 500 Denebians camped in their base?” Dormoy objected.
“Did I ever say that there would be only four of us to attack the giant saucer?” he smiled enigmatically without explaining.
The Denebian spaceship on the screen dropped down, swinging from right to left like a dead leaf blowing in the wind. On the ground the Rocketeers had seen it. Stunned, they looked up, shielding their eyes from the sun with their hands. Were they dreaming or was something really unusual descending on them?
The flying saucer sped up, like it was falling, and plopped down in the desert sand, kicking up a cloud of yellow dust.
The Polarian grinned, “Well, well, their tactic isn’t so stupid. Pay attention to everything that happens.”
The dumbfounded technicians backed up to the Jeeps and trucks. They gradually slowed down, not sure whether to flee… or to stay and see the results of this strange adventure. Now, in spite of their emotions, a kind of unhealthy curiosity drew them in.
A rectangular door slid open in the flying saucer. The Rocketeers backtracked again, some even climbing onto the sideboards of the trucks. A Denebian had appeared behind the dome’s doorway, wearing just a short one-piece covering his hideous, green, scaly body. He scrambled up an inner ladder, waved his arms in the air and fell forward. His body, motionless now, was halfway out the doorway, his legs still inside.
With the moment of surprise passed, the English and Australian engineers were babbling to one another. Three of them ended up stepping away from the group and walking nervously toward the ship and its occupant, who was probably dead, suffocated in the different atmosphere. Because now, in the Rocketeers’ minds, this flying saucer and its frightening, green-skinned pilot had to be of extra-terrestrial origin.
“These monsters are real psychologists,” Zimko grumbled. “They figured rightly that by putting on this show—very impressive to an Earthling—the two great scientists would be the first to want to approach the spaceship. Indeed, those three men who are cautiously but courageously walking up to the flying saucer are none other than Professors Howard and Morrison and the chief engineer of this secret base, Ronny Kinsington.”
The three men, having slowed their pace even more, were now 15 feet away from the flying disc. With their eyebrows raised and mouths open they examined the stunning spectacle and wondered if the ship was real and not just a mirage.
The flying saucer, as a result of its “accidental” fall, was leaning to one side. Part of the ship’s edge was buried in the sand. From this (deliberate) position the corpse of the Denebian was clearly visible.
Professors Howard and Morrison whispered together with Kinsington and unanimously decided to climb onto the surface of the disc, which had a bunch of concentric circles carved in whereby they could wedge their feet and grip their hands to help them climb more easily. After a few arduous minutes the three men arrived in front of the rectangular hatchway, five feet high by 7 feet wide. The body of the “unfortunate messenger from another planet” (as Professor Morrison had called him) was not moving. Timidly, fearfully, Professor Howard reached out and touched the shiny arm of the Denebian.
“Extraordinary!” the man of science declared. “Its skin is rough, scaly, like a reptile or a saurian! It’s… barely warm, almost cold, and oily like certain crocodiles and alligators. Except for its weird skin, its body is pretty much like ours.”
“It’s ugly,” Morrison observed, shuddering with disgust.
“If the situation were reversed, my friend, imagine how this creature here would react if we landed on his home planet. We’d be just as ‘ugly’ in its eyes… Are you coming?” and he stepped through the hatch leading inside the spaceship. “If the… this creature had companions they must have suffered the same fate. They can’t breathe in our atmosphere.”
Professor Morrison was skeptical, not sharing either the enthusiasm or confidence of his colleague. Kinsington was also hesitant.
“If… if there are others like him inside, they would probably be prudent enough to stay shut in their pressured cabin. I’m surprised that a being capable of coming to our planet didn’t think of spectrographic analysis. No, really, Howard, we should get down and wait for reinforcements to examine this thing.”
Professor Howard considered the wise counsel, waffled for a minute, then stubbornly continued, “Aw, the hell with it! It would be a real pity to miss such an opportunity. I’m going to see what’s inside. You’re free to wait for me out here… with the corpse,” he punctuated his speech by nudging the green body with his toe.
“Professor,” Kinsington spoke up. “Please, you’re about to do something reckless… maybe even fatal. If this… pseudo-man died by breathing our atmosphere, it means we can’t breathe his either. Inside this spaceship will be traces of that polluted air. God knows what it’s made of? Methane, ammonia, even cyanide or some unknown component…”
“Howard!” Professor Morri
son was upset in the face of his colleague’s stubbornness. “I beg you, come back!”
Professor Howard shrugged his shoulders. “Our boys are coming. So, there’s our reinforcements. Rest assured, I’m only making a quick tour, then I’ll be back.”
Under the extra-terrestrial dome everything was dark. Only one corner of the rectangular airlock was lit up by the sun. The rest remained in shadows, hiding even the monsters feet extending hallway inside the cabin.
Feeling around, the bold scientist found the metal ladder and started climbing down cautiously. His feet echoed eerily on the rungs. The English and Australian technicians, somewhat reassured by the motionless “Martian”—because of course that was what they were calling it—were now surrounding the mysterious tilted disc.
Worried about the fate of their boss, some of them shouted, “Professor Howard! Professor Howard! Good God! Come back!”
Affected by the anxiety and hysteria rising in the group, Professor Morrison and Kinsington started to crawl back down. An unpleasant shiver ran down their spine. All of a sudden the Denebian “corpse” shot out its arms and grabbed the physicist and the engineer by their ankles. At that very moment the flying saucer straightened up and soared 300 feet into the sky.
The two scientists were thrown back and lay flat against the dome of the disc. The ship stopped moving and hovered, shimmering, in mid-air. On the ground the terrified Rocketeers ran to the trucks and Jeeps.
