A number of characters were engraved on its two faces, the first depicting two human beings standing to either side of a circle clearly marked with the outline of the African continent and part of South America, with a crescent beside it, and a second circle to the right of the ensemble, with a shaded circle contained concentrically within it, and another crescent with a horizontal projection terminating an a conical bulge extended toward one of the human figures.
The other face depicted two circles, one marked with the outline of the Americas and the other with East Asia and Australia. There were no human figures this time, but there were horizontal projections to the left of each circle, one of them attached to a crescent with an intermediate circular bulge and the other with a terminal conical bulge. To the right of the circle connected to the crescent there was a smaller, shaded circle, connected to it by two horizontal lines, one interrupted by a circular bulge and the other a conical one.3
Jacques and Lord Rodilan leaned over and looked at this singular document curiously.
“Good God, what’s that?” exclaimed Jacques.
“Do you believe,” Marcel said to him, “that The English would have been able, in 1761, to inscribe at length on a metal plaque the authentic history of the Gun Club experiment, in order to send it graciously to the French besieged in Quebec?” He became more animated. “No, my friend, what you have before your eyes is a message sent to Earth from our satellite—the response to the audacious voyage of the immortals Barbicane, Arden and Nicholl.”
“What madness!” murmured the young physician.
Lord Rodilan was looking on indifferently, and a smile that was almost pitying was playing upon his lips.
The word madness had exasperated Marcel. “Madness!” he said. “Well, know how this strange object came into my possession, and if you’re in doubt after that, it’s because you’re determined to deny the evidence.
“One day, in the Rocky Mountains, a few weeks before the catastrophe that caused me to lose the fruits of my long labor, I had my workers start digging a shaft that was to serve to increase the ventilation of tunnels that were already well-advanced. They had reached a depth of about fifteen meters when the pick of one of the workmen broke on an object of exceptional hardness. I thought at first that it was a boulder, or an errant block deposited there in the wake of a volcanic eruption, but the workers, having soon disengaged the obstacle, set before my astonished eyes a metallic fragment of singular form. The external surface offered the appearance of a section of a regular sphere, which corresponded on the other face to another, no less regular, concave section. The edges of that fragment, which was about thirty centimeters thick, presented the appearance of a fracture similar to that of a projectile broken in the aftermath of an explosion. I obviously had before me a fragment of an enormous hollow ball whose radius measured about forty-seven centimeters—which is to say, of a diameter of about ninety-four centimeters. Now, as far as I know, there is mo machine on Earth, except for the Columbiad, capable of launching such a projectile.”
“There is none, in fact,” said Lord Rodilan.
“Very intrigued, I ordered my men to continue digging with the greatest care, taking every possible precaution in order for me to be able to take account of the relative positions of all the fragments, for I had no doubt that others would be found.
“After some time, in fact, I had collected a dozen fragments of unequal size, all of which presented the characteristics I have just described, confirming my initial hypothesis. Soon, my astonishment reached a peak when one of my workmen brought me a spherical object, which was none other than the ball you’ve just seen. Increasingly intrigued, I stopped the work; I ordered that the location of the hole should be surrounded by a fence, in order that nothing could be disturbed, and I took my strange find away.
“After having got rid of the clayey soil covering it in part, I examined the ball minutely and did not take long to discover two tiny rectilinear grooves that appeared to form the diameter of little circles traced in the metal; they were obviously the heads of two screws. After much effort, I succeeded in unscrewing them, and took out the tablet that you’ve just seen, carefully fitted inside, as you’ll be able to ascertain for yourselves.
“It took me a long time to understand those mysterious signs. One day, however, light dawned in my mind and it became evident to me that I was looking at a message sent to the Earth by the inhabitants of the Moon, in response to the Gun Club’s abortive attempt.
“It was immediately beyond doubt that, if our neighbors had thought of entering into communication with us, they could not, in our reciprocal ignorance of one another’s idioms, have recourse to phonetic characters; they were obliged, in consequence, to use a kind of ideographic writing and to refer to some event which, while interesting them, was well-known to us.
“You can see in fact, that everything is there.
“The first symbols evidently represent the Earth and the moon—which is to say, the two heavenly bodies between which it’s a matter of establishing communication. You can have no doubt about that, since the old terrestrial continent is drawn on the first figure, and the form of a crescent given to the moon gives a perfect account of the aspect it presents to our planet at the beginning of its cycle. Thus, there are astronomers among them, and their instruments of observation have attained a high degree of perfection, since they can distinguish the exact form of our continents, As for the human figures standing beside the two bodies, they demonstrate that the inhabitants of the Moon, being constituted, to judge by appearance, almost identically to us, have assumed that the Earth is inhabited by beings analogous to themselves, with whom it is not impossible to communicate.”
“If this is all the proof you have,” Jacques out in, “it’s rather meager.”
“Don’t be in too much haste to judge,” Marcel replied. “Just listen.” He continued: “Next you see a symbol clearly representing a shell—the Gun Club’s—heading for the Moon. The following symbol shows us the same shell, which hasn’t reached its goal, describing a curve around our satellite, and finally heading back to Earth, on to which it did, in fact, fall.”
“All that doesn’t prove very much,” Jacques repeated, incorrigible in his skepticism. “What do you think, Milord?”
“Oh, said the Englishman, “all this leaves me indifferent. As you know, I’m only making the journey in order to crash appropriately on the surface of the Moon.”
That observation cast a chill.
Marcel went on: “Now here’s a shell departing from the Moon and heading toward the Earth; it’s obviously the response to the Gun Club’s shell. And as we can assume that the Moon’s astronomers haven’t limited themselves to a single dispatch, not knowing where their projectile would fall, the large sphere whose debris I found is certainly only one of the messages by means of which they’ve tried to enter into communication with us.
“The following signs confirm that demonstration: look at the projectile going from the Moon to the Earth and the one that is following a similar but parallel trajectory; isn’t that a manifest indication of permanent and sequential communications between the two worlds by means of message-bearing projectiles circulating in a regular and normal fashion? Isn’t it the realization of the ideal of which the most eminent astronomers have dreamed, and which the Gun Club attempted to bring into the practical domain?”
“But it’s a joke, my dear Marcel!” Jacques exclaimed. “You have in your hands some commemorative inscription devised by a member of the Gun Club or some other witness of the experiment of 186*, and there’s nothing but lunacy in your hypotheses.”
“Mock and jest as much as you like, but explain to me all the circumstances in which I made this singular find. As I said just now, I had the hole at the bottom of which my workman’s pick collided with the object we have before us surrounded by a fence. I went back to examine that hole, and observed that the projectile had traversed the upper layer of soil formed by humus mixed with
sand, as well as a layer of reddish clay constituting the subsoil, and had finally run into the granitic rock whose upthrust forms, a few kilometers away, the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. There, the surrounding sphere, of which I’ve retained this fragment, shattered, and its debris was buried in the earth in all directions.
“What corroborates my observations and the consequences I’ve drawn from them, is that the ball was resting on a layer of exceedingly fine white sand, of which no vestige is seen in the layers traversed. It’s therefore certain, so far as I’m concerned, that the people who fabricated the ball took every possible precaution to ensure that it arrived intact at its destination. They enclosed it in a hollow sphere, filling the space enclosing the interior ball entirely with compressed sand, in such a fashion that, no matter how violent the impact might be, the sand would deaden it and preserve their message.
“Can you imagine that anyone, wanting to preserve the memory of Barbicane’s voyage, would amuse himself by taking such a luxury of precautions to protect a document that it would have been sufficient to deposit in any museum, and burying it at a depths of fifteen meters in a deserted region where no one would ever have gone to look for it? For you’ve admitted yourselves that no terrestrial cannon could have fired that colossal projectile.”
“Yes, murmured Jacques, visibly shaken. “That’s something I can’t explain.”
“Ah! You’re coming round,” said Marcel. “Look at this now. You’re a chemist—tell me what this metal is.” And he presented to his eyes the plaque on which the signs for which he had just furnished an explanation were engraved.
“In truth, I have no idea. It would be necessary to assay it.”
“I’ve assayed it; I detached a minuscule fragment from that corner. I heated it to incandescence and analyzed it with a spectroscope. Well, I can assure you that this metal has no parallel on our planet.”
“You’re telling me that...” As if talking to himself, Jacques continued: “What a magnificent dream that would be! To establish the presence on our satellite of a human race with which we can enter into fruitful communication! What new horizons opened to science! What inappreciable discoveries the future would reserve for us! Where would human genius stop then, and what glory would not be reserved for those who took the first step into the abyss of space!”
“It seems to me, Doctor,” said Lord Rodilan, “that you catch fire very easily. So reserved a little whole ago, you’re now as enthusiastic as your friend.”
“In truth, I can’t deny it; that strange message, the circumstances in which it was discovered and this unknown metal have all stirred me strangely. And you, in spite of your British phlegm, don’t you feel a trifle shaken?”
“Oh, personally,” said the Englishman, “I have no interest in the question and, as one of your writers said, my seat is taken. I only want an original means of dying and I don’t think I’m paying too dearly for it be lending you my collaboration—for if there’s one thing of which I’m perfectly convinced, it’s that if we escape the initial shock at the moment of our departure, we’ll inevitably shatter into a thousand pieces on the rocks of out inhospitable satellite.”
“Ah! Permit me…,” said Marcel.
The Englishman interrupted him. “No, my friend—I’ll ask you, in fact, for permission name you thus, since our destinies will be so narrowly linked—we’ll come back to the subject later, since it appears to interest you.”
“And I hope to convince you,” Marcel concluded, extending his hand.
The Englishman shook it vigorously, as well as Jacques’ hand, murmuring: “Oh, that I doubt!”
III. The Auction
On 10 February 188*, as midday drew near, the large hall of the Baltimore Auction Rooms exhibited an unaccustomed animation. The sale by auction of the Gun Club’s famous Columbiad cannon and its accessories was about to begin.
According to all indications, the number of potential buyers ought not to have been very large, and it is quite probable that the sale would have passed unnoticed and that the monstrous engine that had excited so much public curiosity twenty years before would have been sold for scrap, if something entirely unexpected had not occurred. The curiosity-seekers assemble in the hall, well before the time fixed for the sale, told one another urgently, with abundant commentary, that serious buyers were going to appear. People who seemed well-informed said that a month before, two Frenchmen and an Englishman had disembarked in Florida.
In spite of the mystery with which they surrounded themselves, their actions had been noticed; they had been seen talking to the men posted to guard the cannon; they had examined all the apparatus carefully, visited the aluminum shell and had even made a descent into the depths of the Columbiad, whose side walls they had carefully inspected.
While these items of information circulated in the crowd, the honorable John Elkiston, the auctioneer, had installed himself behind the table on which the precious objects for sale were usually exhibited. For lack of the Gun Club cannon, which would have been difficult to transport, the crier displayed to the gaze of the curious massed on the other side of the table plans, drawings, blueprints and photographs representing all aspects of the object of the unusual sale.
“Gentlemen,” Elkiston said, “You must have heard mention of the unforgettable voyage effected eighteen years ago4 into the lunar regions by the illustrious members of the Gun Club, Impey Barbicane and Captain Nicholl, accompanied by the bold Frenchman Michel Ardan. You all know that a company was formed in order, by means of the results obtained, to establish regular communications between the Earth and its satellite. In the beginning, the capital flooded in, but the zeal of the backers soon relented; the instigators of the enterprise abandoned it and the company went bankrupt.
“The time is approaching, however, when, according to the most irrefutable astronomical calculations, he experiment that had been on the point of achieving complete success can be renewed. So the honorable receiver of the company has judged the moment favorable to proceed with the sale of the Columbiad, and thus provide the organizers of scientific expeditions with the means to effect a new departure.
“We have no doubt that a number of courageous and devoted men will be found on the soil of the Union who will want to retain for our fatherland the monopoly on all audacities and the glory of a success that will make all the universities and scientists of the old world pale with jealousy. Hurrah for the Union! Pay attention—the sale is about to begin.”
In spite of this expenditure of eloquence, the audience seemed rather cold. There was no agitation or hubbub, none of the urgent interjections of a crowd impassioned by a great idea or excited by a glorious enterprise. People looked sideways and sniggered, ironic smiles creased lips. People seemed to be wondering whether anyone could be found who was mad enough to launch forth on such an adventure. There were muted whispers to the effect that the reserve would not be reached and that the debris of the colossal monster that lay buried in the soil of Florida would doubtless be condemned to stay there indefinitely, corroded by rust, destroyed by time—a lamentable monument to human folly, a sad witness to overweening ambition and immeasurable disappointment.
Now one, however, had noticed the entry into the hall of three foreigners who had slipped in quietly; they were Marcel de Rouzé, Jacques Deligny and Lord Rodilan.
The auctioneer resumed: “The Columbiad, with all its accessories, projectile, electrical apparatus, cranes and lifting-tackle, plus the hangars in which these objects are conserved, are offered for sale with a reserve of two hundred thousand dollars, and will be sold to the highest bidder, even if there is only one bid. The bids are open.”
The auctioneer repeated: “The Columbiad, at two hundred thousand dollars.”
Silence.
“Come on, gentlemen, make up your minds. No more magnificent opportunity has ever presented itself to lovers of science to repeat the famous attempt that impassioned the two worlds.”
No one breathed a word.
/> John Elkiston became agitated behind his table.
“Come on,” he said, “it’s not possible that the gigantic effort made to sound the abysms of space should be lost forever. Is there no one in the United States to pick up and bring to a successful conclusion the greatest idea of the century? Have the children of free America lost all courage, all spirit of initiative? Has the appetite for heroic adventures disappeared with the illustrious Barbicane and Nicholl?”
The auctioneer’s eloquence remained ineffective, and he was doubtless about to postpone the sale until another day when Lord Rodilan suddenly said, coolly: “Two hundred thousand dollars.”
All gazes turned toward him. The auctioneer’s voice was exultant. “Bravo, gentlemen! There is a bid of two hundred thousand dollars. I knew that an endeavor so glorious could not go to waste. But you Americans wouldn’t want to leave to a foreigner the honor of succeeding where our fellow citizens have failed.”
The members of the audience, however, continued looking at him with mocking expressions, and, on seeing the way in which they were staring at the singular bidder, it was evident that they were not far from considering his to be an eccentric, if not a madman.
As for the person who was the object of that curiosity, he remained impassive, scanning the crowd with an indifferent gaze.
The voice of the auctioneer made itself heard again: “There is a bid of two hundred thousand dollars. Any advance on two hundred thousand dollars?”
No voice went up to raise the bid.
The auctioneer’s hammer was raised. “Going once,” he said, “at two hundred thousand dollars. No one? Going twice...”
Silence still reigned over the assembly.
“Two hundred thousand dollars,” he repeated. “All finished…? No regrets…? Sold!” And the hammer came down on the table.
An Unknown World Page 3
