The Mirror of Present Events

by Brian Stableford

  With the barrel of his gun he indicated the feldwebel, who, thinking his last hour had come, threw himself to his knees, his hands joined.

  “I’ve got something better than rope,” said Ménestin. “Wait!”

  He went to a drawer, took out a wad of cotton wool, which he saturated with a liquid, and, returning to Weber, whom Escander was still holding under the threat of the pistol, placed the tampon abruptly over his nostrils. The man tried to defend himself. But it was only an attempt; he soon collapsed to the floor. Ménestin leaned over him, applied the soporific for a second time, and then stood up.

  “He’ll be out for two hours, at least.”

  Escander handed the electric carbine to the engineer. “I assume you know how to use this?”

  “What do you intend to do?” asked the engineer, taking the weapon.

  “Get into the commandant’s cabin, stick our weapons under his nose and oblige him to descend into the dunes of Iguidi, where an ambush is set up.”

  “That’s impossible,” said Ménestin. “Such a maneuver would inevitably provoke the arrival of people who would question the orders, worrying for them and contrary to the laws of aerial navigation. Believe me, we’d certainly fail.”

  “There are the convicts. Let’s free them and set ourselves at their head.”

  “Before they’d understood the situation we’d be captured, even if we succeeded in freeing them, which is impossible.”

  “What then? Remember that we only have two hours of night ahead of us; we’ll be trapped; the sleeping man will be discovered...”

  “Listen to me. We might, perhaps, with a great deal of determination and luck, be able to take possession of an emergency aircraft, detach it and let ourselves drop.”

  “Explain.”

  “There are two emergency aircraft reserved for the officers in case of disaster. It’s easy enough to reach them. Two switches put the wings in position; two bolts and powerful magnets hold them in place, and there’s a third and last mechanism to release the apparatus from the flank of the bagne, where it’s attached. I know the maneuvers well enough to attempt the adventure. The two aircraft are provided with two landing skis; the hull, moreover, is constructed like a boat. If we can’t reach the ground, we still have a chance of coming down in the sea, unless...”

  “Yes, unless…,” said Escander, “but since we have no other means, let’s go, and let’s hurry.”

  Ménestin’s only response was to open the door. The deck was deserted. Escander had taken back the carbine, whose functioning Ménestin explained to him, because he needed both hands free to be able to work on the aircraft—but he slipped one of the two pistols into his pocket.

  Rapidly, Ménestin climbed one of the ladders leading to the starboard wing, which sheltered the aircraft that Eitel had chosen.

  The aerobagne was pitching markedly and the reporter felt a frightful vertigo grip the back of his neck; the frightful attraction of the void blurred his vision. A cold sweat moistened his temples, and his legs seemed to be disappearing under him. In spite of his fear, though—for he was afraid—and in spite of the horror of the tragic night and his position, he continued to advance, without looking, following his guide instinctively. The latter was marching with a firm tread.

  Finally, the two men reached the aircraft. The hardest part was over. Another five minutes of easy work, and the liberated aircraft would take flight.

  At the very moment when they thought they were saved, however, they heard the metallic sound of a door, which was banging its frame at every pitching movement.

  It was Ménestin’s door, left open by Escander, that was banging.

  “Press on,” said Escander. “That damned door will get us caught.”

  “A bolt won’t slide,” said Ménestin, his voice low and his teeth clenched with effort. He could not, in fact cause one of the release mechanisms to operate.

  Escander slid into the cockpit to help him, but at that moment, a strident whistle blast dominated all the other sounds.

  “We’ve been discovered,” said Ménestin, redoubling his efforts.

  Escander stood up in the cockpit, rifle in hand. Above them, in the giant aircraft, a tumult burst forth; whistle-blasts succeeded one another, and searchlights lit up, inundating the gigantic airship with dazzling light.

  Suddenly, above them, a black, elegant silhouette appeared, strangely magnified by the lights.

  Escander saw it distinctly lean over, and he heard words shouted into the wind: “Remember my oath! Come back aboard, or you’ll die!”

  Escander aimed the rifle.

  Ménestin, who had recognized the voice, cried: “Don’t shoot! For God’s sake, don’t shoot!”

  But Escander did not hear, and the abrupt detonation rang out. A cry like that of a wounded beast sounded, and then they perceived the heavy fall of a body, immediately followed by a mighty explosion.

  Eitel had been faithful to her oath. As soon as the young woman had realized that the escape was under way, she had taken one of the flasks of the explosive manufactured by the engineer. At the moment when, in her rage and despair, she had perhaps been about to hurl it, Escander’s bullet had struck her, with the flask in her hand, and the terrible explosion had been triggered.

  The supportive plane surface under which the emergency aircraft was moored disappeared, torn apart, ripped away with a tremendous din, and the two refugees could see what had been Lieutenant Eitel suspended by one leg from an aluminum beam.

  She was still alive.

  “Paul! Oh, Paul!” she said—and then the beam gave way and the body disappeared into the night, at the same time as a heart-rending scream rang out.

  The two fugitives looked at one another, sweat on their brow.

  The great and sinister bird that had been aerobagne 32 was also mortally wounded. Dragged down by its weight, in the direction where support was abruptly lacking, it was no more than a wreck, slowly spinning.

  What remained of the damaged wing caught fire; then the fire reached the other wings, and everything else that offered an aliment to its combustion, and the giant aircraft fell, an ardent torch gliding through the darkness, dragging its entire crew with it...

  XVIII. In Search of Survivors

  The Étoile polaire, skillfully maneuvered, had been able to remain level with the 32; in spite of the tornado, the airship had never been entirely lost to sight. Mathilde, dressed in a sou’wester, was standing beside the captain on the bridge, her lips taut, her gaze staring into the darkness, where only the fulgurance of the lightning revealed the presence of the aerobagne, brutally, at intervals.

  The minutes went by slowly. It seemed, at one moment, to the young woman and the captain, that an aircraft flew over them—but it was only a fugitive impression. Had not Alexis promised to drop a flare, if everything had succeeded?

  An hour went by, then two—two interminable hours of mental agony for the young woman, exhausted by fatigue, whose garments were soaked. She did not weaken, though.

  Night fell.

  Suddenly, Mademoiselle Régis uttered a cry, pointing to a dot in the sky—for the poor child could not articulate a word. The commandant looked up. Aerobagne 32 was clearly visible.

  With all its searchlights illuminated, it was resplendent in the night, like a great winged beetle.

  All of a sudden, and immense flash of light enveloped the entire upper part of the airship, unveiling all its details, and then, for two or three seconds, everything went dark again. Then, a little flame was perceptible; it grew and spread, following geometric lines, grew further, and was finally resplendent and victorious. The airship was seen to turn over, like a ship at sea taking in water through one side.

  Then, everyone aboard the Étoile polaire understood that there had been an explosion aboard the aerobagne. The incandescent mass began to fall, first rather slowly, and then vertiginously...

  Mathilde Régis had thrown herself to her knees, her hands joined, her eyes full of horror.
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  And suddenly, nothing could any longer be seen. The sea had just swallowed that which had been aerobagne 32.

  Dawn broke, but over the turbulent surface of the Atlantic, the watchmen could not see anything to guide a search. The captain of the Étoile polaire did not even set a course for the presumed location of the sinking. The Étoile polaire began to describe large circles around that point, but its search was in vain; nothing, over the extent of the waves, revealed the place where the airship had been swallowed; no wreckage was floating.

  Two hours passed thus. The captain turned to Mathilde Régis, who, sitting in a folding chair armed with a pair of binoculars, was gazing anxiously.

  “Mademoiselle,” he said, emotionally, “our research, unfortunately, can be considered to be concluded. I’m going to set a course for the dunes of Iguidi.”

  At first the young woman looked at him uncomprehendingly, and then passed her hand over her forehead several times.

  “What are you saying, Monsieur? I don’t understand.”

  The officer repeated his statement, in a soft but persuasive voice, and added: “There isn’t one chance in ten thousand that anyone was able to escape the disaster.”

  Finally, the poor child understood; she leapt to her feet, her face ardent, animated by an expression of violent tenacity.

  “What, Monsieur! You’re abandoning the search?”

  “It’s futile, alas. All hope is lost.”

  “No, Monsieur, it’s not futile and all hope must not be abandoned. There would be no more justice in heaven and on earth if those you must try to recover were lost forever.”

  The officer had not expected that language and those purely sentimental reasons.”

  “As you please, Mademoiselle,” he said, more coldly. “I am at your orders. Nevertheless, I must add that in rallying to the dunes of Iguidi after a fruitless search I would only be conforming with the instructions that I have received.”

  “I still hope, Monsieur, I repeat. How far are we from your rallying point?”

  “Approximately ten marine miles—eighteen or nineteen kilometers.”

  Mathilde maintained silence momentarily, and then gazed fixedly at the sea, “You have received imperative orders, Monsieur,” she said, after a few seconds, “to which you must conform, but nothing permits you from obeying them while permitting those who conserve a hope to continue searching.”

  “How?”

  “With the motor-launch.”

  “I can’t permit that. The sea, as you can see, is still turbulent; the barometer is falling; it would be putting the lives of others in danger. Be sure, Mademoiselle, that if the search already carried out has had no result, those made by the launch could not be any more so.”

  “But Captain, who ought you to obey?”

  “Monsieur Escander, under whose authority Monsieur Laverdy placed me.”

  The young woman smiled with joy, perhaps for the first time since she had left Paris. “Would you please read this,” she said. At the same time, she handed the officer a piece of paper.

  The captain read: The commandant of the Étoile polaire is to put himself at the orders of Mademoiselle Mathilde Régis in everything she demands that can reasonably be executed. Escander.

  “Very well, Mademoiselle. There is, however, a restriction here—‘that can reasonably be executed.’ Now, I do not believe that it would be to expose a mere launch to this swell; however, if two men volunteer to accompany you and if the first mate will take responsibility for the expedition, the launch will be put to sea.”

  “I’ll take that responsibility,” said the mate.

  The captain blew a brief, strident note on his whistle. The sailors of the crew came to line up at the foot of the bridge. Mathilde, getting ahead of the officer, leaned toward them.

  “My friends,” she said, vibrantly, “you know what happened last night. I believe that my fiancé has been able to escape the conflagration and death, and that he is lost at sea. The motor-launch is being equipped for me. I shall search until nightfall. The first mate will command the vessel. I need two men: can they be found among the brave men that you are?”

  “Yes! Yes!” All arms were raised.

  After the mate had chosen two sailors, the captain came to Mathilde. “I disapprove, Mademoiselle, but I congratulate you. I shall tack here until you return, ready to come to your aid if necessary.”

  The launch had been put to sea and the mate had put a few provisions, including cordials and drinking water, aboard. Everything was ready; the ladder was lowered and Mathilde descended into the boat.

  The swell was heavy; the small craft plunged into the hollows of the waves or scaled their foamy summits, but held up valiantly. In the prow, Mathilde turned toward the sea, interrogating its surface every time her gaze was able to look out over the waves.

  Finally, at about three o’clock, a white patch appeared on the dark blue surface. They headed toward it. The launch advanced swiftly. The patch became more distinct. It was long and narrow; finally, no more doubt was permissible; it was one of the supportive planes of aerobagne 32.

  The launch accelerated. Finally, it came alongside one of the edges of the gigantic wing and slowly circled around it. At one of the extremities, half-submerged, two forms were lying. The launch drew closer. A man leapt on to the wreck and fixed a mooring-rope there. The young woman leapt on in her turn, and clinging to the ribs, succeeded, with great difficulty, in reaching the two bodies. She leaned over them, and then, standing up with her arms raised, she uttered a cry of triumph and collapsed.

  At six o’clock in the evening, the Étoile polaire, having picked up the castaways, was heading toward the dunes.

  The force of the explosion produced by the flask that Eitel had been holding in her hand had freed the aircraft in which Escander and Ménestin had taken their places. Obedient to the law of gravity it had fallen vertically, but Escander had leveled out its flight and it had reached the sea gliding.

  The two men thought they were saved, but they perceived that the hull of the plane, constructed like that of a boat, had been split by the explosion and that it was taking on water.

  At the moment when all hope seemed lost, however, the aerobagne fell into the water, scarcely two hundred meters from the place where they were; at the same time, one of the monster’s wings had settled, so to speak, on the water a few brasses away.

  They had swum to it and had reached it, but both of them, out of breath and out of strength, had lost consciousness after reaching the raft, which the wind and the waves had dragged nearly four miles from the Étoile polaire, outside the search area.

  The publication by Le Monde of Paul Ménestin’s manuscript had impassioned public curiosity; the articles that Escander sent to his newspaper following the deliverance of the engineer made an enormous impact. The daily’s print run reached prodigious proportions, and Escander’s name, suddenly popular, became a kind of rallying cry: that of France entire, united in the struggle against German knavery and barbarity.

  Notes

  1 Black Coat Press, ISBN 978-1-61227-474-4.

  2 tr. as “The World Above the World”, Black Coat Press, ISBN 978-1-61227-002-9.

  3 Probably a joke referring to the Ministry of War.

  4 These dates are inconsistent. The Julian year 4400 would be 313 B.C., while the “vulgar year,” counting from Archbishop Ussher’s estimate, would be 214 B.C. Neither can be the date in which the story is set, that being after the end of the siege of Syracuse, which concluded in 212 B.C.

  5 The curé of Sormery gave up his salary for a year in order to assist the French financial crisis associated with the Revolution, and was held up by the new government as an example to others.

  6 Tuberon’s provision of an unusually lavish serving-dish for a public feast in Rome is recorded in French translations of Livy. Democritus was renowned for his frugality as well as his cheerfulness.

  7 The last remark is an untranslatable pun: borgne, whose literal mean
ing is “one-eyed” is used metaphorically in French to mean disreputable.

  8 Possibly the dramatist Jean-François de La Harpe (1739-1803) and his august predecessor Philippe Quinault (1633-1688).

  9 Terentia was Cicero’s wife, whom he eventually divorced. She features in an eponymous 1775 tragedy by François Tronchin, in which Denis Diderot also had a hand, but I do not know whether the idea of the Earth as an animal features therein. It does, however, feature in Restif de La Bretonne’s La Découverte australe par un homme volant (1781) (scheduled to be published by Black Coat Press), which Nogaret would surely have read.

  10 The Serapeon, or, more usually, Serapion, was the temple of Serapis in Alexandria. The spelling employed by Nogaret is employed in Claude Guyon’s Histoire des empires et des républiques (1736), in a passage that records that the building housed a library.

  11 Author’s note: “Marcus Cornelius, Praetor peregrinus. Foreign Praetors governed for two years, one in the quality of Praetor, the other in the quality of Propraetor. They presided over all judgments, but did not judge; judgments were rendered by a certain number of elected citizens drawn from various bodies of State. It was in the Roman year 418 that the Plebeians finally succeeded in winning a victory over the Patricians in also having themselves named to the Praetorate. As I have found in Cornelius the excellent qualities of a good Plebeian, I was curious to know his extraction. Marcellus’ expedition, made in the Roman year 540, more than a hundred and twenty years after that great conquest by the Plebeians, gave me grounds to hope that I might find in him a man of the people. My research has verified my presumption. There are honest people everywhere.” The praetor in Sicily in 211 B.C., which is presumably the year in which the story is set, was Marcus Cornelius Dolabella, about whom very little is known, thus leaving space for Nogaret to improvise.