“It beats the 1001 Nights,” said Gontran, in his turn, rubbing his eyes, which were still dazzled by the magical panorama.
Even Farenheit, who was usually refractory in the face of celestial matters, appeared prey to an unaccustomed agitation.
“Finally, Mr. Farenheit,” said Selena, wagging her finger at him, “I’ve seen you enthralled.”
“Enthralled, me!” replied the Yankee, stiffening in response to the word as if it were an insult. “You’re mistaken, Miss Selena. I’m not enthralled…I’m merely regretting that one can’t organize pleasure-trips from New York to the suburbs of the Sun. One could make money like crazy.”
Fricoulet burst out laughing. “It’s evident,” he said, “that you don’t have capital invested in the Niagara Falls—solar eruptions would, I think, provide them with serious competition.”
Meanwhile, Mikhail Ossipoff and Fedor Sharp busied themselves making fair copies of the algebraic notes succinctly made in the course of their observations.
“Well?” said Ossipoff, suddenly, after having checked his calculations one last time.
“Well?” replied Fedor Sharp, interrogatively, having stopped writing. “What results do you have my dear colleague?”
“If I’m not mistaken, my dear colleague,” Selena’s father replied, in his turn, “I find for the first phase of the phenomenon—which is to say, that sort of gaseous cloud extended over the solar nimbus—two seconds of height and three minutes 15 seconds of width. Is that correct?”
“That’s correct,” replied the other, in a honeyed tone, covertly furious at not having been able to find his colleague’s astronomical science at fault.
“Then, for the second phase,” Ossipoff continued, “I believe I observed that each of the items of debris measured 16 seconds in length and two to three seconds in width.” He stopped, waiting for a gesture of approval from Sharp, but the other remained mute. Then the old man concluded by adding: “Finally, the greatest height to which, in my reckoning, the aforementioned items of debris were projected, is 7 minutes 49 seconds.”
Sharp closed his notebook with a loud click, while Ossipoff closed his own silently, with a little ironic smile on his lips.
Farenheit came toward them then. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I presume that all the calculations to which you have just devoted yourself are of undeniable interest, but it would be no less interesting, in my opinion, to occupy yourselves with a means of keeping us safe during the perihelion of the world that is carrying us.”
Before either of the two scientists said anything, Flammermont added, in a grave tone: “If my calculations are accurate, we shall pass only 230,000 leagues from the central star—which is to say, at a distance 160 times smaller than that which separates it from our native planet, and our situation will be similar to having to support on Earth, one a day in August, not the heat of 160 suns, but the square of that number: 25,600.”
Farenheit released a groan of terror. “Brrrr! Your calculations make my blood run cold.”
The engineer could not help smiling. “Although it describes your impression precisely, Mr. Farenheit, your expression is slightly inappropriate. An iron sphere equal in size to the Earth and raised to a similar temperature would take 50,000 years to cool down.”
“By God!” muttered the American. “In that case, I must renounce all hope of ever seeing New York again.”
“Why is that?”
“For three reasons: I’m not made of iron; I’m not as big as the Earth; and I don’t have 50,000 years to live.” And he looked at the scientists desperately.
“Well, my dear colleague,” declared Fedor Sharp, slyly, “what becomes of your theory of universal habitability in the present case? It seems to me to be slightly compromised.”
Ossipoff shrugged his shoulders. “If you want my opinion, my dear colleague,” he replied, “it’s this: given the rapidity with which our comet is moving in its orbit—more than 500 kilometers a second—I’m convinced that, in spite of the furnace that it has to pass through, it won’t have time to warm up very profoundly. Perhaps its surface will have to suffer, but by taking certain precautions….”
“Hmm!” said Sharp, shaking his head dubiously.
“Do you remember the comet of 1843, my dear colleague?” retorted the old man. “It was not 230,000 leagues away, as we shall be, but only a mere 31,000 leagues. Now, as the admirable phenomenon that we have just witnessed has proved, the flaming materials that the central star emits from its bosom are sometimes thrown to a height of 80,000 leagues. It was therefore necessary for that comet to pass through that brazier—which, according to the anticipations of science, should have consumed it, volatilized it and annihilated it. Well, it came out of it absolutely intact and undisturbed in its progress.”
“Comets doubtless belong to the race of salamanders,” murmured Gontran.
Fedor Sharp’s face had lengthened immeasurably. Then the ex-permanent secretary raised his arms into the air and declared, in a gruff tone, that he withdrew any responsibility for anything that might happen in future.
“Very good,” muttered Farenheit. “It’s not only my responsibility that I want to withdrew, but myself.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Farenheit,” said Fricoulet, who had overheard the American’s reflection. “My friend Gontran has, I think, found an excellent means of sheltering us from the solar radiation.”
“Me!” the young Comte tried to say—but the engineer shut him up with an elbow discreetly jabbed into his ribs.
“We’ll transport everything the sphere contains into the shell; then we’ll push the shell out over to the surface of the sea from which we fished it out, until the plumb-line gives us sufficient depth. Then we’ll shut ourselves in the projectile, which will sink under our weight; thus submerged, we’ll wait until the comet, after going around the Sun, has resumed its route towards its aphelion.”
“That’s very clever,” said Ossipoff, “but what about our astronomical observations?”
“Ah!” said the engineer. “For this, you’ll have to put your instruments away for a few days.”
Sharp folded his arms. “Then we’d have come so far for nothing!” he complained. “That’s impossible.”
“Listen,” said Gontran, putting a hand on is shoulder. “You’re at liberty not to follow us, and to let yourself be volatilized by the Sun.”
“A fine death, full of poetry, and out of the ordinary,” added Fricoulet, with a snigger.
“It’s a kind of suicide that’s not available to everyone,” Farenheit declared, coldly.
“Unfortunately,” the engineer added, “We can’t leave you free to act as you wish…your body is useful to us.”
“Useful!” stammered Sharp, his voice catching in his throat. He thought that his companions, going back on their word, were proposing to do away with him.
“Yes,” Fricoulet repeated, “useful as weight. The six of us, according to Monsieur de Flammermont’s calculations, add up to the weight strictly necessary for the immersion of the shell. A few kilograms less, and we wouldn’t be able to attain the necessary depth. You see, therefore, that you’re indispensable to us.”
“And what’s more,” added Selena smiling, “you don’t have the right to get any thinner.”
Gontran suddenly uttered a slight exclamation. “But what are we going to do to get out of it—for we’re gong to have to float up to the surface at the appropriate time?”
The engineer gestured with his hand, instructing him not to worry. “Given,” he said, “that we do indeed have to surface again, it’s necessary that the liquid mass that protects us against the solar heat should perform its duty until the end and not evaporate.”
“What about the sphere?” asked Farenheit. “Isn’t there a danger that it will be damaged, raised to the temperature of red hot iron, and that it might take several months to cool down. How will we make use of it then?”
“Bah!” replied Ossipoff. “We have the shell now.”
The American was about to reply that the shell could not replace the sphere in the role for which the latter was destined, but Fricoulet silenced him with an imperative glance. “In the situation in which we find ourselves,” he said, in an indifferent tone, “how can we know whether we’ll have need of any of the objects we presently possess? We’ll take the sphere with us and immerse it at the same time as ourselves.”
That same day, the Terrans tried to figure out how to transport everything that it was important for them to retain to the shore of the liquid expanse into which they intended to sink.
Within 48 hours, they had constructed a sort of hurdle out of branches, beneath which, in the guise of wheels they fitted two slightly-polished tree-trunks for and aft. Iron crampons were fixed to the hurdle, curved like hooks in order to penetrate the two extremities of the tree-trunks, thus forming a sort of axle around which the masses of wood could rotate. The sphere and everything it contained was loaded on to this primitive chariot, and the five men hitched themselves to the selenium cables adapted as traces for the occasion.
Selena, offered the opportunity to climb on to the improvised carriage, refused forcefully, not wanting to increase her friends’ fatigue and already disappointed by not being able to lend them some assistance.
It took three full days—or, rather, three nights, since they rested while the Sun shot its fiery darts at the comet—to attain their objective, but once they were there, matters made rapid progress. In a few hours, the transfer of movable objects from the sphere to the shell was completed, and the shell itself, drawing the selenium sphere in its wake, was put into the water and pushed out to sea.
It was not until they were about two leagues from the shore that the sounding-line indicated a depth of 20 meters—the depth estimated as necessary to shield the Terrans from the radiation of the solar furnace.
Thanks to Fricoulet’s ingenuity, the embarkation was accomplished very comfortably. The engineer had the idea of unscrewing the porthole accommodated in the upper part of the shell, which served to illuminate the makeshift observatory established in the vehicle’s nose-cone. Selena—who, being unable to swim, had made the journey seated on the platform of the sphere—had no difficulty in passing from the platform to the porthole by means of a plank that served as a bridge. Afterwards, the Terrans climbed up to the aperture one by one by means of a rope-ladder, then vanished into the device. When only Fricoulet remained, the rim of the porthole was grazing the surface of the liquid expanse so closely that it sufficed for the engineer to dive head-first into the shell, where he fell into Gontran’s arms, while Ossipoff and Sharp, standing at the ready, screwed down the hatchway again. All this was done so rapidly that they scarcely shipped 20 liters.
“Oof!” cried Fricoulet, taking off his respirol after having turned on the air tap. “Things are going very smoothly.”
“Do you think we’re sinking?” Gontran asked.
“If that were not the case, your calculations would be at fault,” replied the engineer. “Fortunately, they’re correct, as you can easily convince yourself.” It was, indeed, easy to observe through the portholes that they were sinking, and that the descent was taking place rapidly. Only a few minutes elapsed before there was a slight shock.
“We’ve arrived,” Ossipoff declared.
“A singular sea-bathing station,” Gontran could not help saying. “In heat-waves, our compatriots go to plant their tents on some beach or other, at Trouville, Dieppe or the like. For us, being more refined, the sea breeze is insufficient—we go to the sea-bed in search of coolness.”
This whimsy awoke no echo. Ossipoff and Fedor Sharp had plunged into one of the interminable scientific disputes that blew up between them at the slightest provocation. Farenheit, exhausted by the incessant fatigue of the previous days, was drowsing on the divan while awaiting the meal that Selena was busy preparing. Fricoulet, seated in a corner, was totting up his figures. Flammermont stifled a sonorous yawn and, not even having the resource of exchanging ideas with his companions, resigned himself to following the American’s example and going to sleep.
He was woken up be the sound of irritated voices.
“I tell you that it is…”
“I tell you that it’s not…”
“What you claim is absurd.”
“What you contend is not common sense.”
“Look at my calculations…”
“Look at mine…”
Gontran opened his eyes and saw Ossipoff and Sharp standing none-to-nose a short distance away, their eyes sparkling and their faces swollen, each brandishing his notebook menacingly.
The young man got up and joined them. “Monsieur Sharp, I entreat you…my dear Monsieur Ossipoff, I beg you…for the sake of self-respect…your scientific dispute…” Gradually, they drew apart; then when they were out of one another’s reach and his intervention seemed to have calmed them somewhat, he said: “Let’s see—what are you arguing about?”
“The course of the comet that’s carrying us.”
Fricoulet looked up. “That,” he said, “is a discussion whose subject seems to me rather premature—for, if the solar heat is going to volatilize the aforesaid comet…”
Ossipoff shook his head in a sign of forceful negation. “The data that I revealed just now prove superabundantly that it’s necessary to set that eventuality aside.”
“Very good,” muttered the engineer, resuming his calculations.
“Therefore,” Ossipoff went on, “my excellent colleague, Monsieur Sharp, claims that the comet’s orbit will intersect the Earth’s orbit at a distance of about 2,000,000 leagues from our native planet.”
Fricoulet shuddered and left his seat, coming to strand beside Gontran. “What about you?” he asked. “What do you presume, Monsieur Ossipoff?”
“That the influence of the Sun on the cometary nucleus will manifest itself by a westward deviation of its orbit—a deviation that I estimate at about 6,000,000 leagues.”
The two young men uttered stifled exclamations, at the same time as a furious oath exploded behind them. “By God!” howled Farenheit. “That’s too much!”
The old scientist looked at the American in astonishment. “What’s the matter?” he asked. Then, as if the embarrassed and discomfited expressions had suddenly clarified his mind, he exclaimed: “Ah! I’ve got it…your long conversation the other day…the selenium sphere that you were determined to keep in spite of its uselessness…that’s it, of course! You made a plan to reach the Earth by balloon while the comet was close by…”
“But we want to take you with us, Monsieur Ossipoff,” the young Comte declared.
“I don’t doubt it, my friend” the old man retorted, with a smile, “and I’m grateful for your good intentions—which, fortunately, are unnecessary.”
“Fortunately…” murmured Flammermont. “From your point of view, perhaps, but from mine and Selna’s it’s entirely different.”
“Bah!” Ossipoff replied, indulgently. “You’ll be all the happier later—not to mention that you didn’t let me finish. If the perturbation induced in the comet’s course by the Sun takes us further away from Earth, it will, on the other hand, take us to within 20,000 kilometers of Mars.”
That’s precisely what I dispute,” cried Fedor Sharp. “It’s mathematically impossible for the distance to be so minimal… Otherwise, we’d have to pass between Mars and its satellites.”
“I beg your pardon,” Ossipoff replied, “it’s not the planet Mars itself I was talking about, but its system.
The furious expression of Sharp’s face disappeared immediately. “In that case,” he said, in a softer voice, “you’re right. Given that it’s the Martian system you’re talking about, my calculations agree with yours.” And he put out his hand to shake the one that Ossipoff held out to him.
“A fortunate inspiration you had, my dear Gontran,” the latter added, “to conserve the sphere and immerse it with us, for it will still permit us to leave the co
met and land, if not on Mars itself, at least on one of its satellites.”
“I proposed,” the young man said, “to fill it with hydrogen gas.”
“An excellent idea. Thanks to the balloon’s metallic envelope, it will be possible for us to conserve our gas indefinitely.”
“But Father,” said Selena, who had been listening for some while, “isn’t the selenium too heavy for the role you want it to play?”
It was Fricoulet who got in ahead of the old man and replied. “You need have no fear of that, Mademoiselle,” he said. “The density of the metal is no problem, since we’re on a world whose gravity is less than half of that at the Earth’s surface. Besides, Gontran has told me that a balloon made entirely of copper was made in France a few years ago.”
“That’s not possible!” the young woman exclaimed.
“I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle, but the aeronaut who carried out that experiment in Paris—in 1845, I think—wasn’t just anyone.”
“It was Dupuis-Delcourt, wasn’t it?” asked Ossipoff.146
“Your memory is correct, my dear Monsieur, and that was the precedent that gave Gontran the idea of utilizing our selenium sphere to repatriate ourselves.”
“Unfortunately, as I told you just now, the comet isn’t taking us in the direction of the Earth at all, but that of Mars—or, rather, its first satellite, Deimos.”
“Head for Deimos, then,” said Flammermont. Privately, he added: The Martians, who are supposed to have arrived at the culminating point of their civilization, might perhaps be familiar with the institution of marriage—and then, oh Selena… And, delighted by the prospect of a prompt denouement to his situation as a perpetual fiancé, the young man ran to the young woman and kissed her hands ecstatically.
After a fortnight of this subaquatic reclusion, Ossipoff and Fedor Sharp having reached agreement—which required no less than 48 hours of heated and bittersweet debate—in declaring that the comet had resumed its progress towards its aphelion, the Terrans decided to come out of their cockleshell. This decision was, however, easier to make than to carry out; in order to get out of the vehicle, it was necessary to get it back to the surface—and to do that, it was necessary for its weight to be reduced.
The Extraordinary Adventures of a Russian Scientist Across the Solar System (Vol. 1) Page 63
