A JOVIAN BUG
“The wise and active conquer difficulties
By daring to oppose them.”
(+Rowe.+)
Having arrived at Derwent the four wanderers dedicated a few rooms at
Dennis’s house for use as a laboratory. By this means the project could
proceed without exciting notice and remark, for they wisely concluded
that it would be soon enough to let the public into the secret if and
when the experiments were successful and not before, so that in case
the venture did not bring the result anticipated they could laugh at
each other without the public joining in.
Accordingly Godfrey took up his quarters there, and arrangements were
set on foot for the immediate commencement of the cultivation of the
wonderful grub which they called by its Jovian name of “Gorokakak,”
signifying ‘small fire-eater.’
According to Linnæus, this strange creature would have been included in
the sub-order Homoptera in the order Hemiptera, or Rhynchota, and it
lives on plants as a parasite. This necessitated bringing from Jupiter
a quantity of the twigs and leaves on which it thrived; fortunately
the insect devoured both dead and living leaves, or the difficulty of
transplanting Jovian trees to terrestrial soil and keeping them alive
would have been almost insurmountable. Although they brought as many
leaves as they could, it was doubtful if they would have sufficient, as
the insects were exceedingly voracious, but if not they would be able
to return for a fresh supply.
These twigs were most peculiar in shape and form, being infested with
gall-gnarls, and having a hard, horny bark, rough and covered with
gleaming white spots about the size of a drop of water; the leaves were
long and fibrous, with long spines and serrated edges, from the points
of which projected numerous long, silky hairs of such scintillating
iridescence as to look as though spangled with mica or bright minerals,
each leaf seeming edged with long and magnificently jewelled lace
of charming colour. The leaf itself was blood-red like our Virginia
creeper in autumn, while the lace near the stem was a deep violet,
gradually and imperceptibly varying through all the gamut of browns,
greens, reds, purples and the like, to a rich and brilliant yellow at
the apex, and as these filaments were long, flexible, and in constant
motion, each leaf was a kaleidoscope of exquisite colour—a dream of
colour harmony.
To Earth-ideas, the appearance of these bushes and shrubs surpasses
all description, being a paradise, a heaven of beauty; every movement
of air causing the filaments to quiver and the light to strike on
different metallic surfaces, changing the whole scheme in the twinkling
of an eye. So delicate and fragile are the leaves that when holding one
between the thumb and fingers, however lightly, the mere pulsation of
the blood flowing through the hand is more than sufficient to keep the
whole curtain of coloured metallic fringe in a state of constant and
ravishing motion.
No such plants have ever before been seen or known on Earth, and in the
_Regina_ rooms of the ancient British Museum may be seen one of them,
perhaps the most wonderful of all the marvellous mineral and botanical
specimens collected during the ship’s travels in other worlds. A
‘botanical’ specimen it has been proved to be, yet when portions of the
bark, leaf, and silken hairs have been submitted to experts, they have
one and all declared them to be specimens of excellent metal-work of
some minerals at present unknown.
How reasonable is this conclusion may be gathered at the Museum
where, in the “A” room, in a large glass case, stands a complete
bush exactly as growing, and although it is labelled “Gorokakak tree
from Jupiter”—after the insect feeding upon it—many of the leading
metallurgists consider it a magnificent specimen of Jovian metal-work.
Strange to say, the leaf, living or dead, undergoes no change, and
the hairs will successfully withstand a very high temperature, but
are not entirely fireproof, for after sustaining long-continued heat,
eventually they blaze and burn quickly, then subside to a glow which
remains for a short time and becomes brilliantly white, with evolution
of dense smoke, and then they fall to powder, like magnesium-ribbon.
The life-history of the gorokakak is extremely interesting. First of
all there are the winged male and female, incapable of flying more
than a few inches, and both these male and female parents have sucking
mouth-organs which attach themselves to the undersides of the leaves.
After mating the male dies and the female spreads her wings over her
body like a shroud, and these becoming fast there by the interlocking
of a hook, or spine, on the inner side of each wing-tip, she flies no
more but, her mouth taking the nutriment from the leaf to which she is
attached for the short time she has to live, commences laying her eggs
on the underside of the leaf in circles of about a quarter of an inch
in diameter and about half an inch apart, in order to give them space
to develop, the sheltering leaf affording shade and protection from the
weather and enemies. Then she dies, and in the course of a few weeks
the ova develop into both males and females, but these have no sucking
and piercing mouth-organs, and being wingless, progress slowly towards
the stem of the plant, eating the leaf as they proceed, leaving but
the skeleton with the silken fibres or hairs attached. On reaching the
stem, each female, having selected her mate, lays two eggs, neither
more nor less, on the tender part of the bark, and these minute grubs,
which are always females, pierce their way under the bark where they
lie dormant for several months, when they emerge and crawl to the stems
and roots and lay parthenogenetic eggs, which form galls. These eggs
develop again into young females, which also lay parthenogenetic eggs,
forming more galls, and so on for ten parthenogenetic generations. All
this causes the roots and stems of the plant to become gnarled and
knotted and the leaves all skeleton. The eleventh of these generations
crawls to the leaves to devour the skeleton fibres and the long,
silken filaments, leaving nothing except the deformed and knotted
roots and stem-sticks. After the fibres and hairs have undergone
certain processes in the viscera, the insect spins a cocoon which it
covers with a hard, heat-resisting substance like mica, leaving open
a small hole at one end into which it creeps; then it exudes more
of the mica-like material and joins up the vacant space, spins more
silky substance to complete the cocoon under the outer coating, and,
after thus hermetically sealing itself in a heat-resisting capsule,
inside which is a beautifully soft cocoon, it prepares to undergo
its metamorphosis, which keeps it dormant for seven weeks, when of
the silk it has formed wings and other appendages. It then exudes
some colourless liquid which sinks to the bottom of the capsule and
dissolves it, when the winged male and female with which we started
appear, and the same life-history is repeated.
Godfrey left many of the cocoons undisturbed in order that the stock
should be kept up, the remainder being taken and made into threads,
which were again twisted into long strands and placed on rollers or
bobbins, and stored ready for weaving.
Prolific as the insects were, all this occupied a considerable time,
and over eighteen months passed before sufficient material was
obtained for the actual weaving to be commenced. In the meantime,
experiments had been conducted with the cocoons in all stages, and
it was found that the best results came from those taken about three
weeks after the sealing. These strands resisted all temperatures,
even that which volatilises steel; but again did a difficulty arise.
The strands were perfectly opaque, even to the intense brilliancy of
the sun, consequently, if woven so tightly as to present a close web
of fibres, though the object could be achieved by the production of
a heat-resisting material, it would be defeated in its attainment,
for nothing would be visible through the cloth. It would therefore
be necessary to have a net of sufficiently wide mesh to enable the
travellers to see plainly through it, yet not wide enough to admit heat.
This compelled a further long series of experiments in order to
ascertain how far the strands were effective outside their own
substance in certain temperatures. These experiments were the most
delicate and elaborate of all, for the heat of the sun is beyond
terrestrial calculation, all Earth-knowledge ending at the fact that
all metals known on Earth and many others undiscovered by science exist
there as thin vapour, and temperatures of metals become unregisterable
at their volatilisation. Allowance had therefore to be made for
temperatures thousands of times greater than the highest obtainable on
Earth, and even when this was done, the result might prove altogether
inadequate to the heat that would be encountered—a terrestrial
estimation of which could, at the best, be nothing more than a wild
guess.
It was ascertained by actual experiment that the strands were effective
in transmitting their properties of withstanding the passage of heat to
a considerable distance around their mass, and when cords a line thick
(one-twelfth of an inch) were placed half an inch apart, phosphorus and
other elements, which are self-igniting in a dry atmosphere, covered
with such a mesh received no added heat and remained unconsumed, though
the net was subjected to a temperature of over 3000° C.
The experiments were a brilliant success, and in order to make
assurance doubly sure and so avoid all risk of danger to themselves
and their ship, the friends had the net woven with fine strands in
so close a mesh that they could but dimly see through it when placed
before one of the vessel’s powerful search-lights. It was nearly two
years after their return from Jupiter before they were in a position to
commence the work of weaving, which was to be conducted under their own
supervision in a windowless building specially erected adjoining the
shed, and not till the web was finished could they let their object be
known. To all inquiries they had returned smiling and evasive answers.
It was guessed that something wonderful was afoot, or they would not
have remained busy yet closed up for two years. All kinds of rumours
were circulated, not the least of which was that something had gone
wrong with the _Regina_, and the owners, unable to use the vessel
again, had built another shed and were constructing a second ship,
making a mystery over it to cover their incompetency. Every movement
was closely watched and publicly reported; every time they went to
either of the sheds dozens of watching craft ‘waved’ the news to the
whole earth, and so great a nuisance did this become that the secret
workers built a covered way from one shed to the other. This privacy,
together with the knowledge that from the house to the new shed was an
underground passage, all in electrification, but added fuel to the
fire of public curiosity, and the four friends could not step outside
the buildings for their daily exercise, which they always took in
the grounds, without being besieged by correspondents from airships
overhead, who pressed for interviews in the hope of gleaning more
information than the little already known.
One evening all four were coming out of the shed, when the instant
Gilbert, who was first, got outside the door, a cable-tow with a
running noose was slipped round his neck and any attempt to retreat
would have been fatal. Whilst he was struggling with it to escape being
strangled, it fell across his shoulders when it was drawn tight and a
second later he was being hauled up into a powerful airship overhead.
So well had the noose been dropped and manipulated that his companions
were unaware he was being kidnapped till his body rose from the ground,
dragged upwards by means of an electric winch, as the powerful ship
set off at a tremendous speed. The people in the ship must have been
mad, or else have believed the rumours that the _Regina_ was a hopeless
wreck, to have attempted such a crime, but they soon became wiser,
for before they had gone a hundred miles the _Queen_ rose from her
shed like an awful Nemesis, with her search-lights full on, sweeping
the earth and sky in all quarters, then started in the direction
taken by the fugitive. In a few minutes the quarry flew round at a
dangerous speed towards the north, taking an upper plane where were
few ships, and soon saw that the _Regina_ had still some life in her.
Her attractive force was switched on gently and the airship suddenly
pulled up to a dead stand with a terrific shock which shot the driver
through his glass cage a distance of twenty yards ahead, when he fell
to the ground, giving an awful shriek and turning over and over in his
descent. Very gradually, so as to cause no further damage, the ship
was drawn to the _Regina_, the two mechanics in her white with fear,
and bringing Gilbert forward, they begged for mercy. Gilbert shouted
hurriedly, “Let them go! the owner is dead and these were but obeying
his instructions.”
“Come in, all three of you,” said Dennis, now on the outer deck, “leave
the ship, she’ll travel with us.”
All three entered and the two men were placed in what had been a
cabin for one of the crew, when the door was electrified, and with
the two prisoners and the fine prize in tow, the _Regina_ sailed back
to Derwent. Within fifteen minutes of the abduction they were over
the shed again, to find dozens of air-craft in various planes, and in
the gathering darkness could be seen the lights of scores of others
coming from all directions, drawn thither by the news. The four friends
decided to make an example of the offending craft as a public warning,
so the _Regina_ rose upwards, causing the captive to float below in the
full glare of her lights; the ship was then drawn to the _Regina_, the
outside of which was now put in de-atomising field, and just as a moth
rushes to the light and falls, so did this valuable but fated craft
hover in the glare for a moment, then rush towards the upper vessel,
instantly to fall in a shower of myriads of atoms which, sinking to
the ground in the beams of the search-lights, appeared like a sheet of
falling fire.
The two men were floated downwards and were free, for the vengeance was
complete; a little later the _Regina_ was housed and the government
notified of the accident, with full particulars.
This time the four left the shed, they were not molested by so much
as an inquiry. All the same, the incident, while filling every one
with a fear of taking strong measures with so powerful an adversary,
capable of such relentless and successful pursuit, did but whet the
general curiosity which now rose to fever-heat. ‘Wave’ messages and
other communications arrived every moment, far too numerous to be
dealt with, so all were treated with the same silence, one message only
in government code being sent all over the world intimating that at
present no information could be given.
That was all very well, but the public wanted to know what was afoot;
why the _Regina_, when in excellent condition and under perfect
control, was allowed to rest unused, and why so much secrecy; and
dozens of air-craft waited at various hailing distances, ready to flash
the news by ‘wave’ to their various centres directly anything was
discovered, by accident or design. Weeks passed, then months, yet not
a word the wiser was any one. At last, nearly three years after the
return from Jupiter, an announcement was made which almost caused the
hair of every scientist to stand on end, and set every thinking being
aghast with astonishment and incredulity. The message was short and to
the point; every wave apparatus received the words,—“The _Regina_ will
sail within ten days into the Sun.”