Tales of the Shadowmen 3: Danse Macabre

by Jean-Marc Lofficier

  Accompanied by her honor guard of blackamoors, themselves a daunting entourage, Jungle Alli strode boldly across the gap separating her from President Ponto. She extended her right hand in the manner of her North American forebears, eschewing the more traditional European ceremonial double kisses. President Ponto took her hand and found himself wincing from the strength of her grip.

  “Miss Bradley, allow me to extend the unlimited hospitality of our fledgling nation to one whose exploits have ever been–”

  Jungle Alli interrupted the sincere but fulsome speech, employing her natal English. “No time for jawing now, chief. I’ve discovered that our planet is under attack!”

  The state palace of Helenia consisted of a building inspired by Eiffel’s Parisian Tower. But the Tower that reared over Pontoville was precisely five times as large, rearing a full 1600 meters into the empyrean and occupying a terrestrial footprint of many hectares. Nor did it feature mainly a lacy openwork construction, its lower reaches being walled off and devoted to governmental offices. And of course, the very tip of the enormous structure had been reserved for the sun-drenched Presidential chambers, serviced by a high-speed ascenseur.

  Here, higher than clouds, sat now Jungle Alli, President Ponto and the President’s father, Mr. Raphaël Ponto, the latter in his capacity as trusted advisor to his son and as representative of the international business community.

  The legendary female African mercenary seemed utterly at ease, in comparison to the anxiety exhibited by the two men, and in fact had delayed imparting any more of her startling news long enough to enjoy a noxious cheroot, prefacing her indulgence by saying, “Damn nuisance not to be able to smoke in flight. But can’t risk your whole ride going up in flames.”

  After a minute or so of contented puffing, Jungle Alli finally put aside her cigar, leaned forward in her chair, and pinned her fascinated auditors with her piercing one-eyed gaze, no less Gorgonish for its half power. When she spoke this time, it was in the French of her hosts.

  “Messieurs, what is your opinion of the current relations between the sexes?”

  The disarming question, whose relevance was not immediately apparent, took the men aback.

  “Why,” stammered President Ponto, “I hardly give the matter any daily thought. Absolute equality of the sexes has been the foundation of modern society for so long, that one might as well ponder the wisdom of raising capital through the means of a stock market, or of settling affairs of honor with duels, or of changing the government regularly by means of a decennial revolution.”

  The elder Mr. Ponto was not so hastily dismissive of Jungle Alli’s question. He paused a moment before answering, then replied cautiously, “I must say that in the last election a year or so ago, when I ran for a seat against my wife, I was somewhat taken aback by the vituperative anti-male stridency of her campaign. At first, I chalked it up to some trivial personal arguments we had had between us, leaking into our professional lives. But as I heard other members of her party employ similar rhetoric against other men, I began to sense a certain shifting of the norms of discourse that had prevailed...”

  Jungle Alli slapped her thigh with such a sharp report that both men jumped. “Exactly! The war between the sexes, long thought to be extinguished, is heating up! It has been obvious to anyone who has bothered to look during the past year. But the cause has been more obscure. It is not a natural affair! The animosity is being stoked by agents provocateurs–fifth columnists from beyond our planet! This is the nature of the assault on our world. And if we do not stop it, our civilization will go down in a cataclysm of gender warfare. Men and women need each other to continue supporting and advancing the elaborate mechanism that is 20th-century civilization. Neither sex can manage alone. But a wedge is being driven between the sons of Adam and the daughters of Eve.”

  Pontos Senior and Junior seemed nonplussed. The younger man, to stall a response, got up and walked to a wall tap where he was able to draw a steaming cup of rich pousse-café from the building’s food and beverage network.

  Sensing their hesitancy to embrace her admittedly grandiose revelations, Jungle Alli disclosed more.

  “I have always been an admirer of the masculine sex. The drive, competence, certitude and ingenuity of males have been polestars by which I have guided my own career. Not to diminish either the charms or resources or native abilities of my own sex, which I have also honored and, ah, embraced. So you will understand that when, over the past few months, I began to experience unwarranted jealousy, anger and irritability toward the important males in my life, I began to suspect an outside influence on my own consciousness.

  “By immersion in various shamanic meditative techniques of the Niam-Niams, I was able to establish the source of the psychic contamination in myself.

  “It radiates from the Moon.”

  Instinctively the men looked out one of the office’s huge floor-to-ceiling curving windows, where a segment of the pregnant lunar satellite was visible.

  “On the Moon, amidst cyclopean ruins concealed in atmosphere-filled caverns, live the sparse remnants of an ancient race. A mere eight women, denominated Alpha, Beta and so on. They refer to themselves as the ‘Cat Women,’ a phrase emblematic of their egocentric mercilessness and predilection for playing with their prey. They possess the ability to tamper with human thoughts-but only those of their fellow females. To instill in unsuspecting female minds deadly seeds I term ‘ideonemes,’ which pass as native to the receptive brain.

  “Once I discovered the existence of these Cat Women, I was able to establish two-way mental communication with Alpha, their leader. Boastfully, she revealed their full plans and intentions to me. I believe the loneliness of the Cat Women and their eagerness for contact inspired Alpha’s loquacity.

  “In any case, here is their intent. By fomenting an internecine war between Earth’s men and women, they will weaken us to the point where the Cat Women can establish themselves as rulers of a wholly female globe, forsaking their sterile orb for our own fertile paradise.”

  President Ponto cleared his throat in polite dissent. “This presupposes, Miss Bradley, that your sex would prove victorious in such a combat.”

  Jungle Alli grinned fiercely, and although her teeth were no longer filed to points, both men experienced an impression of cannibalistic fervor. “Trust me, sir, we would. But please, I ask you, put aside all such chauvinistic quibbles and focus on the true import of my revelations. We are at war with a determined enemy, and we must take action!”

  Mr. Ponto spoke. “Why is it only now that these hypothetical Cat Women have launched their attack?”

  “It is our own hubris in moving the Moon so close to us!” responded Jungle Alli. “Previously, the vast distance between our spheres acted as a cosmic quarantine. Their mental powers were insufficient to bridge the gap.”

  President Ponto said, “All of this is so hard to credit. How can we possibly announce such an unlikely threat? Without proof, the practically minded populace would rightfully dismiss us out of hand. It would be akin to asking people to believe one of Mr. Verne or Mr. Wells’ fantasies.”

  “Actually, we would not want to make a general announcement,” Jungle Alli countered. “It would provoke a panic, and possibly force the hand of the Cat Women. They might forego subtlety and simply derange the minds of millions of women into a murderous rage. No, we must make an assault against the Cat Women under cover of a natural commercial impulse to integrate the Moon into Helenia’s economy.”

  Now President Ponto finally balked, his immense respect for Jungle Alli counterbalanced by his stewardship of the infant nation and its resources.

  “Miss Bradley, I am afraid I cannot commit my country’s resources to such an unsupported crusade against imaginary enemies–”

  Jungle Alli stood up. “Unsupported? Imaginary? Very well. You force my hand. I had not wanted to risk this. But it seems necessary now.” Withdrawing one of her pistols from its holster-causing both men to blanch-Jungle Al
li called out, “Alpha, appear! I summon you!”

  Instantly, a fourth figure occupied the room.

  The newcomer was a statuesque woman of immense beauty, clad in a black leotard that revealed every inch of her curvaceous figure. Her eyes were heavily kohl-lined, her painted lips cruel. Her dark hair was gathered up into an elaborate hive. Golden slave bracelets adorned her biceps.

  “You dare!” said the Cat Woman known as Alpha.

  “Let us end this here and now,” replied Jungle Alli, and fired!

  The bullet passed through empty space, smashing a narrow channel through a thick window. A thin stream of wind whistled from the pressurized interior of the building.

  Alpha the Cat Woman had dematerialized in the instant Jungle Alli pulled her trigger, and reappeared on the far side of the chamber. The face of the Selene female was intensely wrathful.

  “Your powers of mind are formidable, Alice Bradley! For an Earthwoman! You were able to take me unawares this time. But do not count on being able to do so again!”

  And with that, Alpha the Cat Woman vanished entirely.

  Jungle Alli reholstered her smoking pistol. “Gentlemen, do you grant credence to my story now?”

  With shaking hands, President Ponto dabbed with a handkerchief at his wet trousers where he had spilled his pousse-café.

  “Miss Bradley, the full energies of Helenia and its people are at your disposal.”

  The first of many official banquets meant to celebrate the birth of the new continent and scheduled for the upcoming week was held that very night in the Hall of Wonders. Larger than the largest aerostat hanger, the glass-and-cast-iron Hall of Wonders was filled with statues and paintings illustrating the tremendous progress made during the illustrious 20th century. Recorded in pictorial form were the invention of the conglomerate paper that substituted for wood; the parachute-belt; the chair-barricade; and so forth in a panoply of human ingenuity.

  But even this extravagant exhibition did not preclude the temporary use of the Hall to hold hundreds of tables, topped with linens, crystal goblets, fine china and silver, all capturing glints from the many electric chandeliers.

  At each place sat one of the many dignitaries who had voyaged hither for the ceremonies, patrician men and women from every nation of the globe, the “movers and shakers” of the new age.

  At the head table, raised above the others on a dais, sat President Ponto and First Lady Hélène. Adjacent to the President sat his father and mother. At Hélène’s elbow, Jungle Alli. The rest of the table was occupied by various officeholders of Helenia.

  Focused on the table were a dozen telephonoscopic cameras, relaying the doings on the dais to a hundred screens set up throughout the Hall, thus providing a sense of intimacy for all attendees, however remote, with the doings at the Presidential table. Smaller screens at intervals conveyed the entertaining image and sound from a brilliant symphony orchestra.

  The banquet commenced sharply at eight, after a rousing champagne toast. Thousands of servitors drew comestibles from the taps scattered throughout the Hall, ferrying steaming, deliciously prepared squab, pork medallions, sausages and other delights to the eager diners. Jollity and bonhomie, fueled by fine wines, reigned throughout the chamber. Although, truth be told, had anyone been in the frame of mind to scrutinize objectively the visages of President and Mr. Ponto, they might have detected a certain sham brittleness to their convivialness, as if the men were masking deeper concerns.

  Likewise, the charming face of Hélène showed a certain distracted slackness and preoccupied inwardness.

  This suspicious catatonia on the part of one so close to the powerful President of Helenia did not go unremarked by the perceptive Jungle Alli.

  “Mrs. Ponto,” said the adventurer gallantly and ingenuously, so low that only the two of them could hear, “your sweet face should be shining at this victorious hour with exuberance and animation. Instead, it is beclouded with melancholy.”

  With a visible effort, Hélène responded agreeably. “Please, call me Hélène. ‘Mrs. Ponto’ is my mother-in-law.”

  “And you may call me Alice. Well, Hélène, what troubles you? A burden shared is a burden lessened.”

  Hélène’s brow furrowed. “It-it is hard to describe. Of late I have been pestered with odd notions. An angry unease with my husband-for no reason at all. And a sense that some imminent salvation is coming from-from the skies. I have no basis for either sensation-and yet they are intensely real to me. Is that not absurd?”

  Jungle Alli laid a hand atop one of Hélène’s and captured the younger woman’s gaze with a fervent directness. “Do not ask me how, but I know these symptoms, and I believe I may be able to help you overcome them.”

  Hélène smiled broadly and genuinely for the first time that day. “Oh, Alice, if only you could! I would be forever in your debt...”

  “We will discuss this more, later this evening. But for now, try to enjoy the occasion. I believe you will be surprised by the announcement that your husband has planned, and which I am privy to.”

  The dinner moved naturally through its many happy courses, until at last it reached the speechifying stages. After many lesser orations, the time came for President Ponto himself to speak.

  “This hour should be dedicated, by common consent, to my new nation’s recent accomplishment, shared by all mankind, in constructing a new continent wholly from scratch. These virgin lands-dubbed Helenia, after my charming wife”–here President Ponto pivoted to single out the lady so referenced, and Hélène’s immense blushing face filled all the telephonoscope screens–“will serve as a necessary release valve for the population pressures of older lands, encouraging settlers to fresh heights of invention and enterprise. And I do so dedicate this shining hour to all the hard labor and visionary guidance that preceded it.”

  Here a rousing cheer from thousands of throats rattled the panes of the Hall.

  “But,” continued the President, “I would be disloyal to the spirit of Helenia if I focused solely on the past. For the future itself is that vast untouched territory that most concerns us, the frontier where we may unfurl untried and brighter banners of conquest and exploration.

  “And so I choose this moment to announce a new project, one that will tax our every fiber, and yet reward us commensurately.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I hereby declare our nation’s intentions to construct a bridge to the Moon!”

  A stunned silence greeted this unexpected announcement. But as soon as the inevitable majesty of the notion penetrated the consciousnesses of the listeners, they let loose a lusty roar that outdid all earlier cheers.

  When the din died away, President Ponto said, “This bridge–a transit tunnel of sorts, actually, such as those which link the continents of Earth under the seas–will open up vast resources and territory that our planet needs to move forward to her inevitable destiny. I know I can count on the support of every one of Helenia’s citizens in this noble quest.”

  President Ponto resumed his seat to deafening applause, and the rest of the banquet passed in a furor of celebration, not unmixed with much wheeling and dealing, as various tycoons utilized telephonic service to reach their brokers.

  Eventually, the occupants of the head table made their official exit, leaving the other revelers to continue the celebrations.

  In the private backstage corridors of the Hall, President and Mr. Ponto conferred sotto voce with Jungle Alli.

  “Your wild scheme is set in motion,” said the younger man. “I only pray that the Cat Women regard the Earth-Moon Tunnel as harmless economic expansionism natural to our race, and not an assault on their citadel.”

  “Oh, I am sure they will welcome it, as diverting our resources. They of course, with their powers of teleportation, have no need of a material connection between our worlds. But we do. And once the bridge to the Moon is in place, we will be enabled to attack the nexus of their power. That ruined city beneath the lunar surface.”

  The elde
r Ponto now said, “There remains much to set in motion if this challenging feat of engineering is to be financed. I shall have to get busy right now. Son, I will need your assistance...”

  President Ponto wearily signaled his assent to a long night of tedious governmental activity. “Miss Bradley, perhaps you would consent to escort my wife back to her rooms. She has been feeling unwell lately....”

  “Of course.”

  Soon Jungle Alli was steering Hélène Ponto toward the younger woman’s bedchambers. The wife of the President exhibited a slightly inebriated and confused manner.

  Once the two women were inside the intimate Presidential quarters and all the maids were dismissed, Jungle Alli said, “You recall that I suggested I might be able to clear your mind of its recent confusions. Well, the process involves attaining a certain level of somatic and psychical integration between us, so that I might confer some of my innate immunity to such disturbances on you.”

  Hélène seemed on the point of swooning, and Jungle Alli had to catch her and lower her to a divan. With the back of one hand to her brow and eyes shuttered, Hélène said, “Anything... anything to restore my vigor and clarity...”

  Jungle Alli quickly shucked her bandoliers and gun belt, then began unbuttoning her khaki shirt. “Just lie back, my darling, and the treatment will commence...”

  At four that morning, when the Polynesian skies above the fresh-faced continent of Helenia were just beginning to display the first hints of dawn, President Ponto quietly opened the door of his wife’s bedchambers. The dim electrical nightlights therein revealed the intertwined forms of not one but two women beneath the sheets of the large bed.

  Her wilderness-honed senses snapping alert, Jungle Alli instantly sized up the intrusion and whispered, by way of explanation, “I believe my quasi-masculine touch has managed temporarily to break the spell of the Cat Women over your wife, Philippe. But additional male contact would certainly not be counterproductive... in neither of our cases.”