The Extraordinary Adventures of a Russian Scientist Across the Solar System (Vol. 1)

by Georges Le Faure; Henri de Graffigny

  “Bah! What is there now in place of the trees?”

  “A strange, entirely unfamiliar, country with mountains of diamond.”

  The listeners shrugged their shoulders, looking at him compassionately.

  “You think I’m an idiot,” he complained. “I’m no more one than you are, and if I hadn’t been mistakenly worried about the danger you were running, I’d already have explored that fantastic and marvelous country. Anyway, you have only to come with me…”

  “In that case, Mr. Farenheit,” replied Flammermont, “leave us, content with your fairy tales…”

  “They’re no more fairy tales than your story of the match, my dear chap.”

  “Oh—that’s a bit strong!” Gontran retorted—and, by immediately striking the match that he was holding in his fingers, he produced a phenomenon identical to the first.

  The American, surprised by the blinding light that suddenly burst forth in his face, leapt backwards with a mighty “By God!”

  Suddenly, Mikhail Ossipoff exclaimed, in an anxious tone: “My friends, my good friends…inexplicable and incomprehensible changes must have occurred here, while we were asleep. This nervous overexcitement to which are all prey, and the formidable explosion produced by a mere match are two proofs—one mental and the other material—that a profound perturbation must have taken place in the atmosphere.”

  “That’s right!” murmured Gontran. “Perhaps the air on the surface of Mercury isn’t composed of the same elements as on the surfaces of other planets.”

  “Whatever its composition might be, there’s no reason why it shouldn’t be the same today as it was yesterday,” Fricoulet riposted. “And yet, it’s certain…”

  “What’s certain?”

  “Certain that the match experiment is conclusive, for I recall that at the Ecole des Arts et Métiers, the professor often had us detonate pure oxygen by means of a simple match.”129

  “Yes!” exclaimed Ossipoff. “It’s definitely pure oxygen that we’re breathing. Could any other cause be responsible for the kind of madness that has suddenly struck us? Only…”

  “Only what?” demanded the other Terrans, in chorus.

  “I wonder how this sudden change in the atmosphere could have been produced.”

  “Perhaps,” suggested Flammermont, timidly, “it’s a manifestation of the comet’s influence.”

  The old scientist slapped his forehead. “That’s right,” he said. “The comet! I’d completely forgotten about it.”

  “But what’s become of it?” asked Fricoulet, pirouetting on his heels, looking upwards, searching all four cardinal points of the sky.

  “It’s disappeared.”

  “Disappeared!” exclaimed Osipoff. “That’s not possible.” He ran to his telescope and aimed it successively in every direction. “Nothing!” he stammered, in amazement. “Absolutely nothing! That’s quite incomprehensible.” He turned to Flammermont. “How do you explain that?” he asked.

  “I don’t explain it,” the young man replied, with marvelous self-composure. “I merely make the observation.”

  “Well?” said Farenheit. “In the presence of these surprising and incomprehensible facts, will you continue to doubt what I said a little while ago?”

  “Your mountains of diamond?”

  “Yes, my mountains of diamond. Follow me, and you won’t be long delayed in assuring yourselves that they really exist.” He turned on his heel and went down the hill, fooled by his companions, whose initial skepticism had given way to a certain anxiety. Into what new adventure had they been plunged?

  Bizarrely enough, as the level of the ground decreased, the air that they were breathing seemed no longer to be the same. As they went downhill, the fever burning in their blood abated, their heads cleared and their nerves relaxed; in brief, they gradually became themselves again. They seemed distanced from themselves as they made these observations, scarcely daring to look at one another, ashamed of falling prey to the temporary insanity that had made them say such ridiculous things.

  Eventually, they arrived at the steam in which Fricoulet and Gontran had tried in vain to make their ablutions. They crossed it with a single bound and found themselves at the edge of the forest, into which they went. After taking a few steps, they stopped dead, all in unison, on perceiving a landscape through the trees that they did not remember having seen the day before.

  “The mirage, always the mirage,” Fricoulet complained.

  Nevertheless, he started walking again, carefully, and advanced to the point at which the forest suddenly stopped. One might have thought that a giant hand had torn away the piece of ground on which the Terrans were standing, in order to transplant it to another world, totally different from the one in which the Mercurian trees had taken root. As far as the eye could see, the eye embraced black soil covered in fine dust, sparkling in the sunlight like charcoal dust. Here and there, enormous masses emerged from it, also black and shiny, like burnished silver. Cutting across this plain, running from north to south, swept the black waters of a river, above which floated an impalpable grey cloud. Finally, the horizon was barred by a chain of high mountains, sparkling as all the fires of the Sun played over their surfaces—which, polished like mirrors, reflected an iridescent radiance as far as the Terrans, just as the enormous facets of gigantic brilliants might have done.

  Mute with astonishment, Ossipoff and his companions remained motionless beneath the trees, considering the strange land that extended before them, a few meters below he level of the forest itself.

  “Well?” cried Farenheit, after giving them time to admire it. “Well, was I as mad as you claimed, when I told you I’d seen mountains of diamond?” And he extended his hand triumphantly toward the radiant horizon.

  “Of diamond…of diamond…” muttered Fricoulet. “There’s nothing to prove that they aren’t mere rock crystal.”

  The American remained silent for a moment, somewhat abashed. Then he replied, abruptly: “There’s nothing to prove that they aren’t diamond.”

  “Agreed!” retorted the engineer. “It will suffice, after all, to obtain a specimen…”

  He had no sooner pronounced these words than Farenheit jumped down the bank that separated the truncated forest on whose edge the companions had paused from the other ground, and set off in the direction of the mountains, the objects of his desire.

  After a few strides, the Terrans saw him stop, look down at his feet, and then bend down, doubtless to pick up an object that had attracted his attention. Suddenly, though, as if struck by a thunderbolt, the American fell down and lay still.

  Obedient to the impulse of his generous nature, and thinking that there had been a simple accident, Flammermont ran to help Jonathan Farenheit. Arriving beside him, he leaned over—but, exactly like his companion, the young man had scarcely bent down than he fell like a dead weight.

  Selena uttered a terrible cry and tried to run forward—but Ossipoff seized her by the shoulders, saying: “Reckless!” Turning to Fricoulet, he said, rapidly: “There must be a harmful gas at ground level. How can we save those unfortunates?” Then, to his sobbing daughter, he said: “Come on, don’t panic. Give us time to think. The two of us ought to be able to come up with an idea, damn it!”

  “I’ve got it!” exclaimed Fricoulet. “Wait for me here, and don’t budge.”

  Running flat out in the direction of the hill, he disappeared into the trees. A few minutes later, he reappeared, having put on a respirol. Signaling to the old man to keep his hopes up, he precipitated himself toward the place where Flammermont and Farenheit were lying side by side. He kicked up clouds of opaque black dust all around him as he went. He loaded the two inert bodies on to his shoulders, one after the other and came back toward Ossipoff, still running. Then, wrenching off his respirol, he called to the old man: “Take charge of Gontran—I’ll keep the American—and quickly, back to the sphere!”

  Without asking for an explanation, Ossipoff took Flammermont on his back,
and followed the engineer, who was running in front of him, as rapidly as possible. They reached the top of the hill in a few strides. There, they laid the two invalids down, side by side, and Fricoulet, putting his mouth to theirs, set about blowing the air from his own lungs into theirs, as one does with drowned men.

  “But why bring them here?” murmured Selena, watching the results of the rescue anxiously.

  “Because the air we’re breathing is composed of pure oxygen, so the medication I’m applying will be more powerful.”

  As the engineer finished this speech, the American sat up on his elbow, welcoming his return to life with a formidable sneeze. One might have thought that Gontran was only waiting for this signal to emerge from his torpor, and his sneeze replied to the American’s like a faithful echo. “Brrr!” said the latter, shaking his limbs. “What an unpleasant sensation!”

  “I didn’t feel anything, myself,” said Flammermont, in his turn. “It was as if a blow from a sledgehammer had landed on the back of my neck.”

  “There’s definitely a layer of unbreathable gas on the surface of the soil,” affirmed Ossipoff. “Ammonia, carbon dioxide, or something of the sort. What can that signify?”

  In his turn, Fricoulet said: “Carbon dioxide at the bottom, pure oxygen higher up…it’s inexplicable.”

  “Unless,” Gontran said, returning to his subject, “you adopt my idea regarding the influence of the comet.”

  “Eh?” said Fricoulet. “The comet…the comet…that’s easy to say—but if it had been able to exercised any such influence on Mercury it would surely have done so while it was nearby…while now, we can no longer even see it.”

  “Indeed,” added Ossipoff. “What Monsieur Fricoulet says seems logical to me. I’ve searched the sky in every direction, but can’t find any trace of the comet anywhere. It must, therefore, be so far away now that its influence can no longer be admitted.”

  Loud laughter burst forth. The explosion of hilarity was due to Farenheit. “You remind me,” he said, “of the story of a distraught peasant who went in search for his donkey while he was perched on top of it. You’re searching for the comet in the sky, when that’s what’s carrying you.” He looked triumphantly at the Terrans, who were staring at him in complete bewilderment.

  “According to you, then,” stammered Ossipoff, “we’re no longer on the planet Mercury?”

  “Of course!” said Fricoulet, having thought about it. “It must be admitted that we’re on another world, since the entire landscape has changed.” Suddenly, he slapped his forehead. “And I’ve just remembered something that we’ve forgotten—do you remember yesterday evening, when we were studying the rapid progress of the comet, that a strange sleep took possession of us and laid us out?”

  “So what?”

  “So, it must have been the atmosphere, which became rarefied by virtue of the comet’s approach…perhaps, that night, it made contact with Mercury and, in the aftermath of that collision, an infinitesimal part of the planet became stuck to the surface of the star, which is where we are at present…”

  “But in that case,” stammered Selena “where are we going?”

  Fricoulet raised his arms into the air. “How should I know?” he replied.

  “By finding out which comet it is that we’re riding.”

  “It’s doubtful,” sniggered the American, “that we’ll find a Town Hall that can inform us on that subject.”

  The old scientist reflected. “There might be a means…” he said. He looked in a box, took out a barometer, consulted it and declared: “The barometer indicates a height of 400 feet above sea-level, correcting for the depth of the atmosphere. At that height, sight extends in every direction to a distance of 12 kilometers.” He turned slowly on his heel and extended his hand. “It’s easy to observe that the horizon here is much closer; the world we’re on is therefore smaller than Mercury and its diameter can be estimated at about 800 kilometers. As to its nature, I’ll answer for the judgment that this comet is in a period of formation that corresponds to the Tertiary epoch; it’s a carbon sphere, since we encounter all the allotropic states of that element here: soot, graphite, carbon dioxide and others…”

  The American made an impatient gesture. “All that,” he cried, “doesn’t tell us where the comet is heading.”

  “Given the fashion in which it cut across the orbit of Mercury, it’s probable that it will go around the Sun before taking the route to its aphelion.”

  “But what’s the name of the comet?” the American continued, imperturbably.

  “What?” said Ossipoff, exasperated. “I don’t know that any more than you do. I’ll need more than a month of observations in order to establish all its coordinates. Anyway, if its name interests you as much as that, ask it yourself.”

  “Doomed! We’re doomed!” muttered Farenheit, angrily.

  “No!” retorted Gontran, in a vibrant voice. “We’re riding through the Heavens in the manner of the genies of olden times, on a diamond hippogriff with a mane and tail of flame.”

  Chapter XXIX

  In which Vulcan does Gontran de Flammermont a bad turn

  “Oxygen is necessary, but it’s necessary not to have too much of it,” Fricoulet had declared, making allusion to the mental perturbations to which he and his companions had been victim. They had, therefore, abandoned the summit of the Mercurian hill to establish their camp—which is to say, the sphere itself—half way down, in a place where a scrupulous analysis of the air had indicated a mixture of nitrogen sufficient for the good functioning of the Terrans’ organism.

  Once the installation was complete, Ossipoff declared an intention to devote himself exclusively to the studies necessary for him to establish what Gontran referred to jokingly as the “civil estate” of their vehicle. He left it to his companions to provide their everyday material needs, which was no mean task.

  In a council held by Gontran, Fricoulet, Farenheit and Selena, it had been decided that they would hold in reserve, only to be used as a last resort, what remained of the provision of alimentary paste fabricated on the Moon, and that they would seek means of existence on the world on which they were living.

  First, they had minutely explored the Mercurian fragment stuck to the surface of the cometary nucleus, which represented a surface area of about one square kilometer. For people like the Terrans, who had seven league boots, that was a matter of a few minutes, but the situation was too serious for them to take that exploration lightly. Thus, they had divided the Mercurian territory into three segments, each meeting at the same point—the summit of the hill—and then, dividing the work among themselves, the men had each set out to search a segment, testing the depth of the soil, moving the rocks, examining the plants and climbing the trees. In brief, they did not leave a square inch whose resources they did not know precisely, from the culinary point of view. Then, each of them having made his report on the portion of the terrain allocated to him, the other two had begun the work of the first again, in order that nothing would be forgotten.

  After some ten days, that Terrans knew exactly what quantity and quality of victuals might be appropriated to their larder. A flock of Mercurian inhabitants—which is to say, the horn-mouthed birds—had shared the Terrans’ fate and had been caught by the cometary attraction; they numbered exactly 61. At first, Farenheit had proposed killing them in order to be sure of having them to hand at the desired moment, but Fricoulet had made the observation that it was unnecessary, in view of the fact that the birds could not escape their native isle, experience having demonstrated that the air above the cometary soil was unbreathable by them. “Let’s leave them alive, then,” he had declared. “They’re trapped here as if in a poultry-yard, and we can sacrifice them according to our needs.”

  They had then discovered, living in holes a little way beneath the surface, bizarre animals which were lizard-like in form, save that they were equipped with a large number of legs and were as large as rabbits, whose fur they also had. A cu
linary experiment had been carried out on one of them, which had been perfectly successful—which had given no mediocre delight to Gontran, whose stomach had conserved the memory of Ossipoff’s theories regarding the representatives of Mercurian humanity and who therefore only nibbled when an individual belonging to the planet’s winged class appeared on the table. When a census was scrupulously taken, these interesting animals had given a respectable figure of 233.

  If you add to these furry and feathered comestibles certain plants that Selena had had the idea of cooking and seasoning with the fat of the former, you will know as well as the voyagers themselves what the contents of their larder were.

  When this work was done, the results were communicated to Ossipoff, whose face darkened. “Hmm!” he murmured. “That’s only enough to support us for six months, and not in luxury.”

  Farenheit’s face lengthened immeasurably on hearing these words. “By God!” he grumbled. “How long do you think we’re going to stay here?”

  The scientist shook his head pensively. “Eh?” he said. “Perhaps a good six years, if my calculations are correct.”

  A unanimous exclamation greeted these words. “Six years!” repeated Gontran, in alarm. “You don’t think so, my dear Monsieur Ossipoff.”

  “On the contrary, I certainly do think so,” replied the old man, rubbing his hands in a satisfied manner. Then, seeing the doubtful expressions painted on every face, he added: “At present, I have every reason to believe that we are on the comet discovered by Tuttle, an American—your compatriot, Mr. Farenheit.”130

  “A fine discovery,” grumbled the latter. “He’d have done better to have discovered something else.”

  Ossipoff fixed the Yankee with a gaze full of compassion. “If he hadn’t discovered it, that wouldn’t have prevented us from encountering it or being carried away by it—and at least it was a scientific glory to the credit of the United States.”