“Remember,” said Ossipoff to his astonished companions, “that for the Venusians, the Sun is twice as large and hot as for the inhabitants of Earth. It is therefore necessary for them to protect themselves against its powerful effects.”
“The inhabitants, the inhabitants,” muttered Flammermont. “I’d be curious to see them—for until I see evidence to the contrary, this city seems to me to be abandoned and deserted.”
“Perhaps it’s market day,” said Fricoulet, in jest.
“Unless some festival retains the population outside,” Farenheit said, in his turn.
At that moment, Brahmes—who had left them to go in search of news—came back and said to Ossipoff: “The entire city is in turmoil. An enormous, gigantic mass, whose provenance no one can explain, was found a few days ago, floating on the surface of a sea in the other hemisphere.”
A joyful exclamation escaped Gontran’s lips. “Selena!” he sighed, thinking that he would see his dear fiancée again.
“I’ll be able to settle my account with that scoundrel Sharp,” growled Farenheit, clenching his huge fists and waving them in the air.
And both of them, without paying any heed to other possible explanations, raced outside, shouting: “Where are they? Where are they?”
“Wait,” said Ossipoff, running after them with Fricoulet. “You’re running off like madmen, without knowing where you’re going. At least let Brahmes guide us.”
“Excuse me, my dear Monsieur Ossipoff,” replied the young Comte, “but I can’t wait much longer to see Mademoiselle Selena.”
“Do you think I can wait any longer to see my dear child?”
The Venusian had taken the head of the little company and took them at a rapid pace into the heart of the city. To do that, given the particular disposition of the streets, it was necessary to go uphill, and the Terrans, who had not made much use of their legs for several weeks, had some difficulty keeping up with their guide. Finally, they arrived, sweating and panting, at the very top of the hill, at the center of which all the capital’s avenues ended, like the spokes of a wheel. There they were obliged to stop; in front of them, in an immense plaza measuring several kilometers across, a compact and variegated crowd was crammed, crying and gesticulating.
Ossipoff frowned and murmured, bitterly: “That’s why the city is deserted. Everyone’s here to give an ovation to that wretch Sharp.”
Farenheit gave voice to a mocking laugh that strongly resembled a roar. “Patience, patience,” he growled. “Things will change, and we’ll be laughing soon enough.” As he spoke, a glint of hatred shone in the American’s eyes.
All the faces were turned in the direction of a monumental dwelling built on the summit of the hill, 20 meters above the other houses forming a semi-circular enclosure around an entire half of the plaza.
“That’s the royal palace!” said Brahmes to Ossipoff. “That’s where the strange thing I mentioned to you has been brought, and all the people have assembled here to see it.”
“And that’s where we have to go?” asked Fricoulet, alarmed by the prospect of crossing that human sea, whose swelling waves stretched as far as the eye could see.
At that moment, an exclamation of surprise rang out. One of the Venusians in front of them had just turned round and caught sight of them. He attracted the attention of his neighbor with a gesture, who did the same for his. In less than five minutes, the entire crowd had turned around to look at the Terrans, pushing, jostling and crushing one another to get a better view of them and see them at closer range.
To begin with, the indigenes’ curiosity was restrained by the initial anxiety and indecision that gripped them at the sight of these beings, who were new to them—but it did not take them long to grow bolder. Little by little, the circle formed around Ossipoff and his companions tightened. Soon, one Venusian bolder than the others put out a hand and touched Farenheit’s coat with his fingertips.
The latter took a step back, in a dignified manner. “By God!” he moaned. “Do they take us for curious animals?”
“Which is humiliating for a citizen of free America,” replied Fricoulet, mockingly. “They’re right, after all, for that’s what we are, we foreigners who have the pretension to be civilized. Remember the crowds that flock to the Jardin d’Acclimation in summer to press around cages containing specimens of some savage tribe.”
As he finished this speech, a frightful scream rang out and a movement of recoil was immediately produced. It was a Venusian who, very intrigued by the monocle framed in Gontran’s optical arch, had wanted to take account of the strange thing by touching it. Without thinking, Flammermont had straightened his arm and his closed fist had struck the indigene in the middle of his chest. The Venusian had uttered a scream of pain and the frightened crowd had immediately drawn back.
“What you’ve just done is the ultimate imprudence,” declared Ossipoff.
“Was I supposed to let that savage paw me?” asked the young man, disgustedly.
“Perhaps you’ll be obliged to let yourself be pawed anyway,” the old man retorted. “If I’m not mistaken, the whole lot are about to fall on us.”
There was, in fact, an extraordinary animation in the crowd; fists wielding batons were appearing overhead; there were even a few hands armed with bronze weapons resembling large daggers, but which were held in the middle, like double-ended staves. With one movement, the four men drew their revolvers and set themselves back-to-back in order to face the assailants on all sides, getting ready to ward off the first attack.
“All the same,” Ossipoff murmured, “Brahmes is taking a long time to come back. If he takes much longer, he’ll find us torn to pieces.”
Suddenly, an immense clamor went up and there was a mighty surge. The first ranks of Venusians found themselves shoved towards the Terrans in spite of themselves. Four shots rang out; Ossipoff and his companions had discharged their pistols into the air simultaneously.
There was an indescribable panic and a frightful tumult: a deafening clamor, mingling cries of fright and the howls of pain of those whom the strongest crushed in their flight. Seeing the unexcited success obtained by this first discharge, the Terrans fired a second, which accentuated the debacle.
In less than five minutes the plaza was completely deserted. The Venusians had gone back to their homes—in which, no doubt, they would barricade themselves strongly. Fricoulet burst into loud laughter. “Oh, these non-civilized people have their advantages. No peace officer in Paris ever obtained a similar result by gentleness and conciliatory words.”
“Since Brahmes isn’t coming back to us,” Ossipoff said, “let’s go to him.” So saying, he advanced toward the palace, followed by his companions.
As they drew close, a panel 20 meters high was suddenly displaced, rolling back on bronze castors with a thunderous noise, revealing a large bay window about 15 meters square, through which the Terrans saw a spectacle that struck them with astonishment and admiration.
In the middle of an immense hall, on a throne made entirely of polished bronze, sparkling like gold, lay a Venusian. His legs, ringed by shining bands, were resting on purple cushions. The upper part of his body, enveloped by a sort of white toga decorated with stars and suns, was sustained by yellow cushions enriched with a metal unknown to the Terrans but which seemed to glow like hot coals. On his head, a sort of tiara of the same metal seemed to float above the Venusian like a resplendent star. The throne and the individual himself were, moreover, inundated by a dazzling light which genuinely gave an impression of divinity.
All around, the room was dark, fill of mysterious shadows in which a murmur of contained respiration was audible. Ossipoff’s eyes, gradually becoming accustomed to the obscurity, soon perceived bodies arranged in a circle, as still as statues, kneeling on the floor in an attitude of prostration, with their foreheads touching the tiles between two supportive elbows, with the forearms raised, holding open hands formed like cups above their necks. On each of these pairs of h
ands a kind of brazier was placed in which an ardent fire burned with gilded flames, all the light of which was concentrated by mirrors of polished bronze on the throne and the quasi-divine individual it supported. Above the throne, in an immense receptacle, white crackling flames were sparkling; relayed from mirror to mirror, they too converged on the throne, as resplendent as a star in the midst of a dark night.
The statue thus irradiated stared at Ossipoff and his companions, who had instinctively bowed their heads. Then, without any gesture or movement, it made a small clicking sound with its tongue. Immediately, all the prostrated bodies emerge from their immobility, slid noiselessly over the bronze tiles, withdrawing backwards, and disappeared, melting into the shadows as genies and fairies disappear. Then the statue raised its hand. At that sign, a Venusian kneeling next to the throne stood up and, also moving backwards and half-bent over, came to find the Terrans.
It was Brahmes. “The king,” he said to Ossipoff, “consents to grant you an audience; you may approach. Through me, he is already familiar with your adventures. Explain to him what you want.”
“You have told me,” the old man replied “that a strange thing has been brought here, found a few days ago in one of the Oceans of your world. I want to know what has become of the beings it contained.”
Brahmes translated these words for the king—whose lips, after a few moments of silence—gave voice to a confused murmur of curt and sonorous speech.
The Venusian’s face soon reflected a profound astonishment. “The king,” he said, “does not understand what you mean. The object in question was empty.”
“Empty!” cried Ossipoff, stupefied. His eyelids closed, his legs buckled and he would have fallen if his companions, who had drawn nearer on seeing him go pale, had not supported him in their arms.
“What’s happening?” they asked, their hearts gripped—for various reasons—by a horrible anguish.
The old scientist, suddenly letting his head fall into his hands, began sobbing.
Flammermont then released a heart-rending cry. “Dead! Selena’s dead! But tell us, Monsieur Ossipoff—you can see full well that you’re putting us to the torture.”
“Disappeared!” stammered the old man. “No one has seen either her or Sharp.”
Gontran was overwhelmed; leaning on Fricoulet, he looked around with vague and haggard eyes.
Farenheit spat out a string of the most expressive Yankee curses between gritted teeth, while his fingers clutched mechanically at an invisible prey.
“What! Disappeared?” exclaimed the engineer, who was the only one of the Terrans to have maintained his self-composure. “That requires explanation—ask Brahmes for further details.”
In a trembling voice punctuated by tears, Ossipoff begged Brahmes to ask the king in what circumstances the find he had mentioned to the Terrans had been made.
After having listened religiously while His Venusian Majesty spoke, Brahmes turned to the old man. “About the same time as you landed on our world, it seems, our astronomers detected an object in space that seemed to be heading toward us. At first, it was thought that it was something to do with the mysterious emissary from other celestial worlds who had visited our world a few days earlier…”
Ossipoff shuddered and grabbed the dumbfounded Venusian by the wrist. “What are you saying?” he cried. “Who is this mysterious emissary you’re talking about?”
“A being similar in all respects to you, who came from the Moon and said that he was originally from a world visible from here, which he called the Earth.”
“Sharp! That’s Sharp!” groaned Farenheit.
“Yes, that’s Sharp,” Ossipoff repeated. “On that subject there is no possible doubt.” And, in a tremulous voice, he asked Brahmes: “This individual…what has become of him?”
“He stayed here for some while,” the Venusian replied. “After that, he continued his voyage.”
The old man’s knees buckled. “My God!” he stammered. Then, after a momentary pause, he said: “But he wasn’t alone, was he? He had a companion with him—a young woman?”
“The voyager was alone…”
“Who knows whether the wretch might not have got rid of the poor child by throwing her into space,” sobbed Ossipoff.
A roar greeted these words; it was Farenheit, thrown into a fury by the possibility that his enemy had committed this new crime. “By God!” he howled, gnashing his teeth. “Will God not let me get my hands on that bandit!”
Crushed, and prey to a profound despair, Gontran remained motionless with his head on his breast. This was the end of the dream of love that he had nursed for so long, and which had driven him so many millions of leagues from his native planet. Selena was lost to him forever; he might as well die.
The engineer, who had neither Gontran’s love for Selena, nor Farenheit’s hatred for Sharp in his heart, was the only one who had remained calm. While lavishing his consolations on both, he asked himself whether it was acceptable that he should be stopped dead in his tracks after coming several million leagues from the Boulevard Montparnasse to make a tour of the celestial world. He answered, squarely, no. “Come on,” he said, “in all matters, it’s necessary not to get carried away. Let’s examine the situation calmly. First of all, Monsieur Ossipoff, you’re wrong to deduce that Mademoiselle Selena is dead from the fact that no one has seen her. Villain though he is, Sharp is nevertheless and intelligent man, and it would have been an incredible stupidity on his part to set his companion at liberty.”
“What would he be risking in a country like this one?” Ossipoff said, sadly. “The poor child would have been incapable of making herself understood.”
“In whatever part of the Universe to which you might be transported,” the engineer replied, “and in any epoch, tears have their eloquence, and your daughter’s supplications would have attracted the sympathy of these people.”
“So what do you conclude from that?” asked Gontran, raising his head, with a glimmer of hope in his eye.
“That Sharp must have carefully imprisoned Mademoiselle Selena in the vehicle and arranged things in such a manner as to shield her from all gazes.”
Farenheit nodded his head several times. “What Monsieur Fricoulet says makes good sense,” he muttered. Perhaps the American had no absolute conviction regarding the continued existence of the young woman, but his role seemed to him to be to appear to believe it. Otherwise, his discouraged companions might renounce their pursuit of Fedor Sharp, and that would put an end to his quest for vengeance.
“Sincerely,” Fricoulet went on, “I can see no reason at all why Sharp should have done any violence to your daughter. He’s a swindler and a scoundrel, but there’s no proof that he has the stuff of a murderer in him.” Clapping Flammermont amicably on the shoulder, he added: “So, let’s not lose courage and let’s seek some means by which we might catch up with this fellow.”
“Catch up with him!” murmured Gontran, dejectedly. “Do we even know what direction he’s taken?”
“He can only have taken one…the one that we plan to take ourselves.”
“We need to be certain.”
“Certain!” exclaimed the engineer. “But there’s not the shadow of a doubt. Given the means of locomotion that he has stolen, he’s obliged to continue towards the Sun—there’s no doubt that Mercury will be the next station he visits.”
“Now,” Ossipoff went on, recovering his courage along with a glimmer of hope, “Mercury having passed its aphelion five days ago, the planet will arrive in five days at its shortest distance from Venus—which is to say, 10,000,000 leagues. Sharp will take about 17 days to cover those 10,000,000 leagues…”
“What does it matter how fast he’s getting away from us,” grumbled Farenheit, “since we have no means of following him at present?”
That doesn’t lack logic, thought Fricoulet. Shrugging his shoulders, however, he turned to Gontran and said: “Remember that you’ve already got us out of difficulty twice. This
time, too, you can do it again.”
Flammermont seized him by the wrist. “My dear Alcide,” he growled, “I’m not in a mood for joking, and I beg you…”
Ossipoff, however, who had overheard the engineer’s observation, leaned closer to the young man and said, in a pleading voice: “My boy…my son…”
“My dear Monsieur,” Gontran replied, “I have a broken heart. How can you expect me to have a sufficiently lucid mind…” And yet he murmured, with a sigh: “Oh, if only we still had our sphere…”
“What would we do with it?”
“Isn’t it in the vicinity of this city that the mountain is located on whose summit the telegraphic apparatus linking Venus to the Moon is situated?”
“Certainly—what are you getting at?”
“That we would be able to utilize that apparatus.”
“To return to the Moon?” grumbled Farenheit.
“What? No—to continue our voyage.”
“I don’t understand,” murmured the American.
“That’s because you find comprehension difficult, my dear Mr. Farenheit,” replied the young Comte. “Anyway, this discussion is futile, since the sphere isn’t in our possession.”
Throughout his dialogue, the king had remained on his throne, frozen in his majestic immobility, his gaze fixed on the Terrans, attempting to deduce from their gestures what they were saying. Brahmes, similarly immobile, was waiting, either for them to address him or for the king to give human order.
Suddenly, Fricoulet uttered an exclamation. “I’ve just thought,” he said to Ossipoff, “that in our rage at seeing Sharp escape us for a second time, we haven’t thought to ask these people what the strange apparatus is that they have found and brought here. Since it’s obvious now that it isn’t the blackguard’s shell, what can it be?”
Farenheit slapped his forehead. “By God!” he groaned. “It’s our sphere!”
Ossipoff laughed sardonically. “That’s impossible,” he said.
The Extraordinary Adventures of a Russian Scientist Across the Solar System (Vol. 1) Page 49
