“Ah, you’ve anticipated the rain, Monsieur,” said the old domestic, with customary familiarity.
“Not difficult!” muttered Monsieur Fageat, unceremoniously.
“That means,” Alfred went on, naively proud to demonstrate that he knew a great deal about the locality even though he was a Parisian, “that the vale of the Pas-de-Loup, which you can see from your windows was full of mist yesterday evening.”
“If you wish,” said the steward, shrugging his shoulders—and as Alfred opened the study door, he went through it.
If he was astonished to see Maxime d’Olbans and LeoSaint-Clair sitting face to face, leaning over land-registry plans spread out on the table, his expression gave no sign of it. His face was coarse and square, with a short-cropped back beard, an aquiline nose and sharp, hard eyes deep-set beneath protruding and hairy brows.
“Bonjour, Messieurs,” he pronounced, in a voice that was always a trifle grating.
Saint-Clair only replied with a nod of the head; he did not like Monsieur Fageat, and had good reasons for that, although he kept them secret. The antipathy was only translated into a strict and dry politeness in the occasional relations that Monsieur d’Olbans’ illustrious guest had with the steward. The steward, who doubtless saw clearly, had never departed from the profound deference that a man like him owed to a man like the Nyctalope, but in the latter’s presence he always put as much distance as possible between them, or hung back in such a fashion that appeared, in sum, to be nothing but a respectful reserve.
“Bonjour Monsieur Fageat,” said Monsieur d’Olbans, half rising to his feet and holding out a cordial hand, adding, as he sat down again: “Bring up a chair and sit down there... Good! Listen to me.”
The proprietor of the Les Pins domain had a good deal of consideration for is steward. That was because Ariste Fageat was not, in his employ, an ordinary man. Only about 35 years of age, he had very extensive theoretical and practical knowledge. A graduate of the École Centrale, he was an agronomic engineer and forester, an architect and master mason. He had amended and augmented the diverse and profound knowledge he had acquired at university by applying himself for several years before being employed—on the recommendation of the Minister of Agriculture, who held him in high esteem—as the general steward of the immense estate of Les Pins, which included large forests of exploitation and hunting, twelve farms growing cereals and raising cattle, a small private generating-plant powered by the waters of the fast-flowing stream of the Miambe, which furnished electricity, heat and light to the château and its immediate dependencies, the farms and the dairy.
Since he had started work at Les Pins, Ariste Fageat had merited nothing but praise; nevertheless, although Monsieur d’Olbans treated him with cordiality, no intimacy had been established between them, and it is must be admitted that the steward, although perfectly honest, correct, precise and very moderate in his speech, was not well-liked by anyone in the entire property. He did not have a single friend in the village. In his cottage in the grounds, he was served by an old maid-of-all-work, unsociable and steeped in piety, whom he had obtained from an employment agency in Le Mans; her name was Sidonie. She had no contact with anyone, save for the serving-woman of the curé of Longpré.
“Listen to me,” Monsieur d’Olbans had said. After a brief habitual pause he issued his instructions, while indicating the places to which he referred on the land-registry plans with the point of a pencil.
“This is the summit of Gorse Hill, in the northern sector of the Forest of Dales. You have to flatten that summit in such a way as to obtain a rigorously horizontal area a thousand meters square. On that you’ll construct, first of all, a principal edifice 20 meters high, as large as possible, which will be a kind of big workshop. In a few days’ time I’ll give you the list of machine-tools, forges and furnaces to be installed there, on a concrete platform 20 meters square. That central building will be flanked by a foundry and various other less important workshops, of which you’ll have the rough plans tomorrow, which Monsieur Saint-Clair and I will draw up today. That factory complex you’ll link to the highway between Angers and Le Mans, here, by a road that you’ll open through the middle of the forest, which needs to be broad enough to give easy passage, in one direction, to five-tonne trucks. As the road will be more than three kilometers long, though, you’ll incorporate a few crossing areas. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly, Monsieur le Comte,” said the impassive steward.
Monsieur d’Olbans smiled as he said:
“But you can’t see the reason for all this upheaval—these earthworks and constructions?”
“No, Monsieur le Comte.”
“I’ll reveal that to you in due course. What I’ve just told you is sufficient, I think, for you to begin to make your initial arrangements today with regard to the manual labor of clearance and ground-leveling, and felling trees for the opening of the new road.”
“It is, indeed, sufficient.”
“It needs to be done quickly,” Monsieur d’Olbans went on, with a contained feverishness. “The buildings need to be light, but capable of resisting all weathers. We’ll draw up the architectural plans together, in a few days’ time. What I’m trying to do will raise a particular series of questions. The first to be resolved, and the easiest, are the leveling of the hill and the piercing of the rod. When do you think you’ll be able to start work?
Ariste Fageat reflected for a quarter of a minute and then replied:
“I’ll go to Le Mans today. After a few preliminary steps, I think I’ll be able to hire sufficient crews of woodcutters and earth-movers tomorrow. I’ll lodge and feed them in the commons of the Lancelot farm, which will be furnished with the personnel necessary for that purpose; it’s less than a kilometer from Gorse Hill. In sum, the work can begin next Monday.”
“Listen, Fageat,” Monsieur d’Olbans pronounced firmly. “I want the ground and the road to be ready by the end of July, in order that the factory and its annexes can receive all the machinery that will be ordered tomorrow from various manufacturers. Do you think that’s possible?”
“Quite possible, Monsieur le Comte—but it will require a lot of men and will be very expensive.”
“Submit your first estimates to me on Sunday, along with your first demand for credit. The new work is dear to my heart; I’ll devote the necessary millions to it.”
Monsieur d’Olbans got to his feet. The steward got up too, took the proffered had, shook it, nodded his head to Saint-Clair, who returned the gesture, and went out at his usual pace, supple and heavy at the same time.
A moment later, the Nyctalope said:
“A singular fellow who seems not to be interested in anything, isn’t astonished by anything, and never asks questions.”
“Yes,” said Monsieur d’Olbans, shrugging his shoulders, “Fageat is taciturn—but he’s a first-rate engineer, a competent steward and a zealous servant. You really don’t like him, do you, my friend?”
“No.”
“Me neither, deep down—but he keeps to his place, serves me well and doesn’t steal from me. The last certification I only advance on behalf of my notary, who does me the favor of scrutinizing all the estate’s accounts minutely, and knows what he’s doing.”
“I know. Maître Blanquer is an exceptional notary. Him, I like a great deal.”
“You’ll see him on August 26. I’ve invited him to lunch. There! Now, let’s get on with our work.” He sat down, picked up the pencil and placed a blank sheet of paper in front of him. “The form of the apparatus, my dear friend,” he said. “Is it like is this that you see it?” And before Saint-Clair’s attentive eyes, Monsieur d’Olbans started drawing.
The knowledge, will-power and fortune of Monsieur d’Olbans, the organizational genius of Saint-Clair, the intelligence, technical knowledge and zealous obedience of the steward Fageat: those combined forces accomplished in a few weeks an endeavor that won the admiration of a few people initiated into the reasons an
d informed as to the goal of the work.
To begin with, Gorse Hill, in the northern sector of the Forest of Dales, was razed, flattened and rigorously leveled within a perimeter a kilometer square; through the woods the truck-road opened up connecting to the Le Mans/Angers road. Then the immense factory, the small workshop and their numerous annexes were rapidly constructed, thanks to the rational organization of the work and the active multitude of manual workers judiciously chosen from among the best specialists in every trade.
At the end of July, the machinery ordered from Creusot and Essen was in place, ready to function.
Then began the massive production of Z-4 necessary for the construction of the first interplanetary ship, baptized in advance the Olb-I. The effective baptism, with a bottle of Champagne, was celebrated on August 25; Véronique d’Olbans was the ship’s godmother.
That same evening, Monsieur d’Olbans and Saint-Clair decided that the departure would take place on August 30, at the first solar hour, exactly 37 minutes before sunset on the Paris meridian. The day and time were fixed by Monsieur d’Olbans after long and minute calculations, after which he had determined: firstly, that the planet Rhea would then be at the closest point of its orbit to the Earth, due east, visible in a telescope on a rigorously horizontal line; secondly, that the attractive force of the planet Rhea on the Z-4, and thus on the Olb.-I, would then begin to enter its period of maximum intensity, a period that would last 24 hours with a slight increase from minute to minute, to decrease thereafter to virtually nothing at the end of six months; after that the Earth’s power of attraction, itself increasing from minute to minute, would regain the upper hand, increasing for three months, diminishing during the second semester, and then beginning to decline, at least with regard to Z-4, by virtue of the attraction of the planet Rhea, which would become visible again, this time to the west of Earth.
On August 26, at 3 p.m., a meeting took place at the Château des Pins, the most importance, and also most emotional of all those held since the day when the attractive power of the new planet Rhea on the Z-4 had become manifest.
Those present at the supreme meeting were Messieurs d’Olbans and Saint-Clair, the Prefect Lamurat, Dr. Serres, the notary Blanquer, the steward Ariste Fageat, the two Corsicans Vitto and Soca, and, in addition, an individual of the highest rank: His Excellency Gno Mitang, diplomat and minister, privy councilor to His Majesty the Emperor of Japan.
For several years, Gno Mitang had been Saint-Clair’s best and most intimate friend. He had often been his companion in adventure—and what adventures! Finding himself in Paris that August, Gno Mitang had been called on the telephone by the Nyctalope, who, with the agreement of Monsieur d’Olbans, had invited him to come, not without a few mysterious hints—and the illustrious Japanese had come running. Having arrived just in time to sit down at the lunch table, with his customary discretion, he had not asked any questions. At table, nothing had been said about what motivated the meeting of such guests, except that a council would be held at 3 p.m. and that everything would be explained then.
Gno Mitang was, in any case, the only one who did not know what it was about, because several days before, with Saint-Clair’s assent, Monsieur d’Olbans had put his steward Fageat completely in the picture. The latter had previously only had the conjectural ideas he had formed in the course of certain constructions to inform him as to the great reality of things—ideas that lacked the principal element of information and certainty: the properties of Z-4 in relation to the planet Rhea.
It was, therefore, for the sole benefit of Gno Mitang that Maxime d’Olbans spoke at the opening of the council, and to him that he addressed himself directly
“Excellency,” he began, “a few words will suffice to make you party to the grave and capital discussion that is about to begin, and which, I hope, will allow us to make, today, the most extraordinary decisions that humans have ever been able to take.”
Gno Mitang, short, neat and broad-backed in his perfectly-tailored gray jacket, had an almost-imperceptible smile and a serious expression’ he made a slight bow.
Then Maxime d’Olbans explained the entire history of his discovery of Z-4, the phenomenon of June 19, and the multiple endeavors that had been the consequence of the Nyctalope’s idea, inspired by that phenomenon.
Gno Mitang was a difficult man to astonish; he knew the audacious genius of the Nyctalope better than anyone; even so, his impassive face quivered and he looked at his friend with his eyes opened wide when Monsieur d’Olbans concluded, with the simplicity of great scientists:
“Everything is therefore ready for the voyage from Earth to Rhea.”
Then there was silence for thirty seconds, during which all gazes were fixed on the illustrious Japanese.
Softly, Gno said: “The life of the astronomical universe had always interested me greatly. I keep myself up to date almost day by day, with the studies that the principal observatories have made and are still making with regard to the newly-discovered planetoid. We know that on August 30, Rhea will be at the nearest point of its orbit to the Earth, and six months later move away from our planet, never to be seen again.”
“Yes,” said Monsieur d’Olbans.”
“We also know,” Gno continued, “that the shortest distance between the Earth and Rhea will be 95,000 leagues, a little less than the distance from the Earth to the Moon. We know, too, that the size and mass of Rhea are about a sixth of those of Earth. Finally, we have solid scientific reasons to think that Rhea bathes in an atmosphere that is not without analogies with the terrestrial atmosphere, and that, in consequence, life ,such as we know and conceive it, might exist on Rhea’s surface.”
“Yes!” said Monsieur d’Olbans, again.
“Very good!” Gno concluded. And with the little evasive gesture just mentioned, the Japanese passed on immediately to another order of ideas. Clearly, and just as emphatically, he asked in the same discreet voice: “Which men will go in the first interplanetary vehicle, the Olb.-I?”
“Bravo, Gno!” said Sant-Clair. I expected that conclusion from you, which will open the debate for which we’ve assembled today. Until now, my friend d’Olbans and myself have, by tacit agreement, left that question unasked. Personally, I didn’t want it to be raised in your absence, Gno, since you were in Paris, but free to be here at my first appeal. You’ve posed it yourself; that’s what I wanted. But don’t you think, all of you, that it is up to me to answer it?”
Saint-Clair, slowly turning his head from left to right, interrogated with his penetrating gaze, first Gno, then Maxime d’Olbans, then the Prefect Lamurat, Dr. Serres, the steward Fageat, the notary Blanquer, Vitto, Soca and, finally, Véronique d’Olbans.
The young woman, who was very emotional, was extremely pale. Saint-Clair understood that she wanted to speak, while the other participants, perhaps equally emotional, were content to wait. He encouraged her by softening his gaze, and with a smiling. Then, blushing by virtue of an abrupt rush of blood that a sudden determination caused to circulate violently, Véronique said, in a tremulous voice:
“Don’t you think that, before the interplanetary voyagers volunteer themselves, it would be appropriate to think about the return journey? I mean that everything is ready to go from the Earth to Rhea, but how do you anticipate coming back from Rhea to the Earth?”
Under Véronique’s passionate gaze, it was the Nyctalope’s turn to go pale. Immediately, however, he suppressed his emotion, and replied without hesitation, softly, with a gesture that designated Monsieur d’Olbans:
“Great scientists have these distractions! I confess that I, working as hard as your uncle on the preparations for the voyage, have not once thought about the voyagers’ return.”
“The fact is...” Monsieur d’Olbans murmured, put out.
These two replies rendered a situation that the young woman’s perfectly natural question had momentarily made tragic irresistibly comic. Everyone present burst out laughing, except for Véronique, who went very
pale again and remained serious. To tell the truth, the laughter was nervous, particularly that of Ariste Fageat, which was sharp and convulsive. With an authoritative, perhaps unreflective gesture, the reasonable and passionate young woman uttered the laugh of someone with taut nerves, and in the same tremulous voice, but in a clear tone, said:
“To go to the planet Rhea without being assured of a means of return is suicide—and a futile suicide, since no one on Earth would ever know...”
“Forgive me, my child forgive me!” Monsieur d’Olbans cut in, swiftly. “I’ll stop you there.”
With everyone looking at him and listening to him, except for Saint-Clair, who was avidly studying Véronique’s face, the scientist explained himself immediately, in a casual manner:
“Neither Monsieur Gno Mitang nor I have mentioned everything that astronomers have established scientifically with regard to the planet Rhea—in particular, that which myself and Saint-Clair have determined with regard to possible analogies between that planet and the Earth. For another month, and then for eight months during the following trimester, the four most powerful telescopes in the world, including mine, will permit a precise and detailed close-range analysis of Rhea—so detailed, so precise and so close-range that we have been able to foresee the eventuality of powerful luminous signals, effected on Rhea, being visible to terrestrial astronomers at certain times, which we have calculated minutely and delimited very exactly. Behind a movable leaden carapace at the dome-shaped rear of the Olb.-I is an enormous projectile lens. To explain everything to you in detail would take too long; let it suffice for you to know that the travelers will take what is necessary to transform the Olb.-I into a light-projector of enormous power, as long as there is running water on Rhea. And there must be running water out there, since there is air, mountains and snow! Thus, the eventual suicide—admitting that the word has any propriety here, which is highly debatable—would not be futile, since the Terrans who have reached Rhea will be able to send messages to the Earth, and probably receive them too.”
The Return of the Nyctalope Page 3
