Produced by an anonymous Project Volunteer.
EDGAR RICE BURROUGHS
THE
MOON MAID
THE MOON MAID
Copyright 1923, by Frank A. Munsey Company
New York
PROLOGUE
I met him in the Blue Room of the Transoceanic Liner _Harding_ the
night of Mars Day—June 10, 1967. I had been wandering about the city
for several hours prior to the sailing of the flier watching the
celebration, dropping in at various places that I might see as much
as possible of scenes that doubtless will never again be paralleled—a
world gone mad with joy. There was only one vacant chair in the Blue
Room and that at a small table at which he was already seated alone.
I asked his permission and he graciously invited me to join him,
rising as he did so, his face lighting with a smile that compelled my
liking from the first.
I had thought that Victory Day, which we had celebrated two months
before, could never be eclipsed in point of mad national enthusiasm,
but the announcement that had been made this day appeared to have had
even a greater effect upon the minds and imaginations of the people.
The more than half-century of war that had continued almost
uninterruptedly since 1914 had at last terminated in the absolute
domination of the Anglo-Saxon race over all the other races of the
World, and practically for the first time since the activities of the
human race were preserved for posterity in any enduring form no
civilized, or even semicivilized, nation maintained a battle line
upon any portion of the globe. War was at an end—definitely and
forever. Arms and ammunition were being dumped into the five oceans;
the vast armadas of the air were being scrapped or converted into
carriers for purposes of peace and commerce.
The peoples of all nations had celebrated—victors and vanquished
alike—for they were tired of war. At least they thought that they
were tired of war; but were they? What else did they know? Only the
oldest of men could recall even a semblance of world peace, the
others knew nothing but war. Men had been born and lived their lives
and died with their grandchildren clustered about them—all with the
alarms of war ringing constantly in their ears. Perchance the little
area of their activities was never actually encroached upon by the
iron-shod hoof of battle; but always somewhere war endured, now
receding like the salt tide only to return again; until there arose
that great tidal wave of human emotion in 1959 that swept the entire
world for eight bloody years, and receding, left peace upon a spent
and devastated world.
Two months had passed—two months during which the world appeared to
stand still, to mark time, to hold its breath. What now? We have
peace, but what shall we do with it? The leaders of thought and of
action are trained for but one condition—war. The reaction brought
despondency—our nerves, accustomed to the constant stimulus of
excitement, cried out against the monotony of peace, and yet no one
wanted war again. We did not know what we wanted.
And then came the announcement that I think saved a world from
madness, for it directed our minds along a new line to the
contemplation of a fact far more engrossing than prosaic wars and
equally as stimulating to the imagination and the nerves—intelligible
communication had at last been established with Mars!
Generations of wars had done their part to stimulate scientific
research to the end that we might kill one another more
expeditiously, that we might transport our youth more quickly to
their shallow graves in alien soil, that we might transmit more
secretly and with greater celerity our orders to slay our fellow men.
And always, generation after generation, there had been those few who
could detach their minds from the contemplation of massacre and
looking forward to a happier era concentrate their talents and their
energies upon the utilization of scientific achievement for the
betterment of mankind and the rebuilding of civilization.
Among these was that much ridiculed but devoted coterie who had clung
tenaciously to the idea that communication could be established with
Mars. The hope that had been growing for a hundred years had never
been permitted to die, but had been transmitted from teacher to pupil
with ever-growing enthusiasm, while the people scoffed as, a hundred
years before, we are told, they scoffed at the experimenters with
_flying machines_, as they chose to call them.
About 1940 had come the first reward of long years of toil and hope,
following the perfection of an instrument which accurately indicated
the direction and distance of the focus of any radio-activity with
which it might be attuned. For several years prior to this all the
more highly sensitive receiving instruments had recorded a series of
three dots and three dashes which began at precise intervals of
twenty-four hours and thirty-seven minutes and continued for
approximately fifteen minutes. The new instrument indicated
conclusively that these signals, if they were signals, originated
always at the same distance from the Earth and in the same direction
as the point in the universe occupied by the planet Mars.
It was five years later before a sending apparatus was evolved that
bade fair to transmit its waves from Earth to Mars. At first their
own message was repeated—three dots and three dashes. Although the
usual interval of time had not elapsed since we had received their
daily signal, ours was immediately answered. Then we sent a message
consisting of five dots and two dashes, alternating. Immediately they
replied with five dots and two dashes and we knew beyond peradventure
of a doubt that we were in communication with the Red Planet, but it
required twenty-two years of unremitting effort, with the most
brilliant intellects of two world concentrated upon it, to evolve and
perfect an intelligent system of inter-communication between the two
planets.
Today, this tenth of June, 1967, there was published broadcast to the
world the first message from Mars. It was dated Helium, Barsoom, and
merely extended greetings to a sister world and wished us well. But
it was the beginning.
The Blue Room of _The Harding_ was, I presume, but typical of every
other gathering place in the civilized world. Men and women were
eating, drinking, laughing, singing and talking. The flier was racing
through the air at an altitude of little over a thousand feet. Its
engines, motivated wirelessly from power plants thousands of miles
distant, drove it noiselessly and swiftly along its overnight pathway
between Chicago and Paris.
I had of course crossed many times, but this instance was unique
because of the epoch-making occasion which the passengers were
celebrating, and so I sat at the table longer than usual, watching my
fellow diners, with, I imagine, a slightly indulgent smile upon my
lips, since—I mention it in no spirit of egotism—it had been my high
privilege to assist in the consummation of a hundred years of effort
that had borne fruit that day. I looked around at my fellow diners
and then back to my table companion.
He was a fine looking chap, lean and bronzed—one need not have noted
the Air Corps overseas service uniform, the Admiral’s stars and
anchors or the wound stripes to have guessed that he was a fighting
man; he looked it, every inch of him, and there were a full seventy-
two inches.
We talked a little—about the great victory and the message from Mars,
of course, and though he often smiled I noticed an occasional shadow
of sadness in his eyes and once, after a particularly mad outburst of
pandemonium on the part of the celebrators, he shook his head,
remarking: “Poor devils!” and then: “It is just as well—let them
enjoy life while they may. I envy them their ignorance.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
He flushed a little and then smiled. “Was I speaking aloud?” he
asked.
I repeated what he had said and he looked steadily at me for a long
minute before he spoke again. “Oh, what’s the use!” he exclaimed,
almost petulantly; “you wouldn’t understand and of course you
wouldn’t believe. I do not understand it myself; but I have to
believe because I know—I know from personal observation. God! if you
could have seen what I have seen.”
“Tell me,” I begged; but he shook his head dubiously.
“Do you realize that there is no such thing as Time?” he asked
suddenly—“That man has invented Time to suit the limitations of his
finite mind, just as he has named another thing, that he can neither
explain nor understand, Space?”
“I have heard of such a theory,” I replied; “but I neither believe
nor disbelieve—I simply do not know.”
I thought I had him started and so I waited as I have read in fiction
stories is the proper way to entice a strange narrative from its
possessor. He was looking beyond me and I imagined that the
expression of his eyes denoted that he was witnessing again the
thrilling scenes of the past. I must have been wrong, though—in fact
I was quite sure of it when he next spoke.
“If that girl isn’t careful,” he said, “the thing will upset and give
her a nasty fall—she is much too near the edge.”
I turned to see a richly dressed and much dishevelled young lady
busily dancing on a table-top while her friends and the surrounding
diners cheered her lustily.
My companion arose. “I have enjoyed your company immensely,” he said,
“and I hope to meet you again. I am going to look for a place to
sleep now—they could not give me a stateroom—I don’t seem to be able
to get enough sleep since they sent me back.” He smiled.
“Miss the gas shells and radio bombs, I suppose,” I remarked.
“Yes,” he replied, “just as a convalescent misses smallpox.”
“I have a room with two beds,” I said. “At the last minute my
secretary was taken ill. I’ll be glad to have you share the room with
me.”
He thanked me and accepted my hospitality for the night—the following
morning we would be in Paris.
As we wound our way among the tables filled with laughing, joyous
diners, my companion paused beside that at which sat the young woman
who had previously attracted his attention. Their eyes met and into
hers came a look of puzzlement and half-recognition. He smiled
frankly in her face, nodded and passed on.
“You know her, then?” I asked.
“I shall—in two hundred years,” was his enigmatical reply.
We found my room, and there we had a bottle of wine and some little
cakes and a quiet smoke and became much better acquainted.
It was he who first reverted to the subject of our conversation in
the Blue Room.
“I am going to tell you,” he said, “what I have never told another;
but on the condition that if you retell it you are not to use my
name. I have several years of this life ahead of me and I do not care
to be pointed out as a lunatic. First let me say that I do not try to
explain anything, except that I do not believe prevision to be a
proper explanation. I have actually _lived_ the experiences I shall
tell you of, and that girl we saw dancing on the table tonight lived
them with me; but she does not know it. If you care to, you can keep
in mind the theory that there is no such thing as Time—just keep it
in mind—you cannot understand it, or at least I cannot. Here goes.”
CHAPTER I
AN ADVENTURE IN SPACE
“I had intended telling you my story of the days of the twenty-second
century, but it seems best, if you are to understand it, to tell
first the story of my great-great-grandfather who was born in the
year 2000.”
I must have looked up at him quizzically, for he smiled and shook his
head as one who is puzzled to find an explanation suited to the
mental capacity of his auditor.
“My great-great-grandfather was, in reality, the great-great-grandson
of my previous incarnation which commenced in 1896. I married in
1916, at the age of twenty. My son Julian was born in 1917. I never
saw him. I was killed in France in 1918—on Armistice Day.
“I was again reincarnated in my son’s son in 1937. I am thirty years
of age. My son was born in 1970—that is the son of my 1937
incarnation—and his son, Julian 5th, in whom I again returned to
Earth, in the year 2000. I see you are confused, but please remember
my injunction that you are to try to keep in mind the theory that
there is no such thing as Time. It is now the year 1967 yet I recall
distinctly every event of my life that occurred in four incarnations—
the last that I recall being that which had its origin in the year
2100. Whether I actually skipped three generations that time or
through some caprice of Fate I am merely unable to visualize an
intervening incarnation, I do not know.
“My theory of the matter is that I differ only from my fellows in
that I can recall the events of many incarnations, while they can
recall none of theirs other than a few important episodes of that
particular one they are experiencing; but perhaps I am wrong. It is
of no importance. I will tell you the story of Julian 5th who was
born in the year 2000, and then, if we have time and you yet are
interested, I will tell you of the torments during the harrowing days
of the twenty-second century, following the birth of Julian 9th in
2100.”
I will try to tell the story in his own words in so far as I can
recall them, but for various reasons, not the least of which is that
I am lazy, I shall omit superfluous quotation marks—that is, with
your permission, of course.
—————
My name is Julian. I am called Julian 5th. I come of an illustrious
family—my great-great-grandfather, Julian 1st, a major at twenty-two,
was killed in France early in The Great War. My great-grandfather,
Julian 2nd, was killed in battle in Turkey in 1938. My grandfather,
Julian 3rd, fought continuously from his sixteenth year until peace
was declared in his thirtieth year. He died in 1992 and during the
last twenty-five years of his life was an Admiral of the Air, being
transferred at the close of the war to command of the International
Peace Fleet, which patrolled and policed the world. He also was
killed in line of duty, as was my father who succeeded him in the
service.
At sixteen I graduated from the Air School and was detailed to the
International Peace Fleet, being the fifth generation of my line to
wear the uniform of my country. That was in 2016, and I recall that
it was a matter of pride to me that it rounded out the full century
since Julian 1st graduated from West Point, and that during that one
hundred years no adult male of my line had ever owned or worn
civilian clothes.
Of course there were no more wars, but there still was fighting. We
had the pirates of the air to contend with and occasionally some of
the uncivilized tribes of Russia, Africa and central Asia required
the attention of a punitive expedition. However, life seemed tame and
monotonous to us when we read of the heroic deeds of our ancestors
from 1914 to 1967, yet none of us wanted war. It had been too well
schooled into us that we must not think of war, and the International
Peace Fleet so effectively prevented all preparation for war that we
all knew there could never be another. There wasn’t a firearm in the
world other than those with which we were armed, and a few of ancient
design that were kept as heirlooms, or in museums, or that were owned
by savage tribes who could procure no ammunition for them, since we
permitted none to be manufactured. There was not a gas shell nor a
radio bomb, nor any engine to discharge or project one; and there
wasn’t a big gun of any calibre in the world. I veritably believed
that a thousand men equipped with the various engines of destruction
that had reached their highest efficiency at the close of the war in
1967 could have conquered the world; but there were not a thousand
men so armed—there never could be a thousand men so equipped anywhere
upon the face of the Earth. The International Peace Fleet was
equipped and manned to prevent just such a calamity.
But it seems that Providence never intended that the world should be
without calamities. If man prevented those of possible internal
origin there still remained undreamed of external sources over which
he had no control. It was one of these which was to prove our
undoing. Its seed was sown thirty-three years before I was born, upon
that historic day, June 10th, 1967, that Earth received her first
message from Mars, since which the two planets have remained in
constant friendly communication, carrying on a commerce of reciprocal
enlightenment. In some branches of the arts and sciences the
Martians, or Barsoomians, as they call themselves, were far in
advance of us, while in others we had progressed more rapidly than
they. Knowledge was thus freely exchanged to the advantage of both
worlds. We learned of their history and customs and they of ours,
though they had for ages already known much more of us than we of
them. Martian news held always a prominent place in our daily papers
from the first.
They helped us most, perhaps, in the fields of medicine and
aeronautics, giving us in one, the marvelous healing lotions of
Barsoom and in the other, knowledge of the Eighth Ray, which is more
generally known on Earth as the Barsoomian Ray, which is now stored
in the buoyancy tanks of every air craft and has made obsolete those
ancient types of plane that depended upon momentum to keep them
afloat.
That we ever were able to communicate intelligibly with them is due
to the presence upon Mars of that deathless Virginian, John Carter,
whose miraculous transportation to Mars occurred March 4th, 1866, as
every school child of the twenty-first century knows. Had not the
little band of Martian scientists, who sought so long to communicate
with Earth, mistakenly formed themselves into a secret organization
for political purposes, messages might have been exchanged between
the two planets nearly half a century before they were, and it was
not until they finally called upon John Carter that the present inter-
planetary code was evolved.
Almost from the first the subject which engrossed us all the most was
the possibility of an actual exchange of visits between Earth Men and
Barsoomians. Each planet hoped to be the first to achieve this, yet
neither withheld any information that would aid the other in the
consummation of the great fact. It was a generous and friendly
rivalry which about the time of my graduation from the Air School
seemed, in theory at least, to be almost ripe for successful
consummation by one or the other. We had the Eighth Ray, the motors,
the oxygenating devices, the insulating processes—everything to
insure the safe and certain transit of a specially designed air craft
to Mars, were Mars the only other inhabitant of space. But it was not
and it was the other planets and the Sun that we feared.
In 2015 Mars had dispatched a ship for Earth with a crew of five men
provisioned for ten years. It was hoped that with good luck the trip
might be made in something less than five years, as the craft had
developed an actual trial speed of one thousand miles per hour. At
the time of my graduation the ship was already off its course almost
a million miles and generally conceded to be hopelessly lost. Its
crew, maintaining constant radio communication with both Earth and
Mars, still hoped for success, but the best informed upon both worlds
had given them up.
We had had a ship about ready at the time of the sailing of the
Martians, but the government at Washington had forbidden the venture
when it became apparent that the Barsoomian ship was doomed—a wise
decision, since our vessel was no better equipped than theirs. Nearly
ten years elapsed before anything further was accomplished in the
direction of assuring any greater hope of success for another
interplanetary venture into space, and this was directly due to the
discovery made by a former classmate of mine, Lieutenant Commander
Orthis, one of the most brilliant men I have ever known, and at the
same time one of the most unscrupulous, and, to me at least, the most
obnoxious.
We had entered the Air School together—he from New York and I from
Illinois—and almost from the first day we had seemed to discover a
mutual antagonism that, upon his part at least, must have been
considerably strengthened by numerous unfortunate occurrences during
our four years beneath the same roof. In the first place he was not
popular with either the cadets, the instructors, or the officers of
the school, while I was most fortunate in this respect. In those
various fields of athletics in which he considered himself
particularly expert, it was always I, unfortunately, who excelled him
and kept him from major honors. In the class room he outshone us all—
even the instructors were amazed at the brilliancy of his intellect—
and yet as we passed from grade to grade I often topped him in the
final examinations. I ranked him always as a cadet officer, and upon
graduation I took a higher grade among the new ensigns than he—a rank
that had many years before been discontinued, but which had recently
been revived.
From then on I saw little of him, his services confining him
principally to land service, while mine kept me almost constantly on
the air in all parts of the world. Occasionally I heard of him—
usually something unsavory; he had married a nice girl and abandoned
her—there had been talk of an investigation of his accounts—and the
last that there was a rumor that he was affiliated with a secret
order that sought to overthrow the government. Some things I might
believe of Orthis, but not this.
And during these nine years since graduation, as we had drifted apart
in interests, so had the breach between us been widened by constantly
increasing difference in rank. He was a Lieutenant Commander and I a
Captain, when in 2024 he announced the discovery and isolation of the
Eighth Solar Ray, and within two months those of the Moon, Mercury,
Venus and Jupiter. The Eighth Barsoomian and the Eighth Earthly Rays
had already been isolated, and upon Earth the latter erroneously
called by the name of the former.
Orthis’ discoveries were hailed upon two planets as the key to actual
travel between the Earth and Barsoom, since by means of these several
rays the attraction of the Sun and the planets, with the exception of
Saturn, Uranus and Neptune, could be definitely overcome and a ship
steer a direct and unimpeded course through space to Mars. The effect
of the pull of the three farther planets was considered negligible,
owing to their great distance from both Mars and Earth.
Orthis wanted to equip a ship and start at once, but again government
intervened and forbade what it considered an unnecessary risk.
Instead Orthis was ordered to design a small radio operated flier,
which would carry no one aboard, and which it was believed could be
automatically operated for at least half the distance between the two
planets. After his designs were completed, you may imagine his
chagrin, and mine as well, when I was detailed to supervise
construction, yet I will say that Orthis hid his natural emotions
well and gave me perfect cooperation in the work we were compelled to
undertake together, and which was as distasteful to me as to him. On
my part I made it as easy for him as I could, working with him rather
than over him.
It required but a short time to complete the experimental ship and
during this time I had an opportunity to get a still better insight
into the marvelous intellectual ability of Orthis, though I never saw
into his mind or heart.
It was late in 2024 that the ship was launched upon its strange
voyage, and almost immediately, upon my recommendation, work was
started upon the perfection of the larger ship that had been in
course of construction in 2015 at the time that the loss of the
Martian ship had discouraged our government in making any further
attempt until the then seemingly insurmountable obstacles should have
been overcome. Orthis was again my assistant, and with the means at
our disposal it was a matter of less than eight months before _The
Barsoom_, as she was christened, was completely overhauled and
thoroughly equipped for the interplanetary voyage. The various eighth
rays that would assist us in overcoming the pull of the Sun, Mercury,
Venus, Earth, Mars and Jupiter were stored in carefully constructed
and well protected tanks within the hull, and there was a smaller
tank at the bow containing the Eighth Lunar Ray, which would permit
us to pass safely within the zone of the moon’s influence without
danger of being attracted to her barren surface.
Messages from the original Martian ship had been received from time
to time and with diminishing strength for nearly five years after it
had left Mars. Its commander in his heroic fight against the pull of
the sun had managed to fall within the grip of Jupiter and was, when
last heard from far out in the great void between that planet and
Mars. During the past four years the fate of the ship could be naught
but conjecture—all that we could be certain of was that its
unfortunate crew would never again return to Barsoom.
Our own experimental ship had been speeding upon its lonely way now
for eight months, and so accurate had Orthis’ scientific deductions
proven that the most delicate instrument could detect no slightest
deviation from its prescribed course. It was then that Orthis began
to importune the government to permit him to set out with the new
craft that was now completed. The authorities held out, however,
until the latter part of 2025 when, the experimental ship having been
out a year and still showing no deviation from its course, they felt
reasonably assured that the success of the venture was certain and
that no useless risk of human life would be involved.
_The Barsoom_ required five men properly to handle it, and as had
been the custom through many centuries when an undertaking of more
than usual risk was to be attempted, volunteers were called for, with
the result that fully half the personnel of the International Peace
Fleet begged to be permitted to form the crew of five.
The government finally selected their men from the great number of
volunteers, with the result that once more was I the innocent cause
of disappointment and chagrin to Orthis, as I was placed in command,
with Orthis, two lieutenants and an ensign completing the roster.
_The Barsoom_ was larger than the craft dispatched by the Martians,
with the result that we were able to carry supplies for fifteen
years. We were equipped with more powerful motors which would permit
us to maintain an average speed of over twelve hundred miles an hour,
carrying in addition an engine recently developed by Orthis which
generated sufficient power from light to propel the craft at half-
speed in the event that our other engine should break down. None of
us was married, Orthis’ abandoned wife having recently died. Our
estates were taken under trusteeship by the government. Our farewells
were made at an elaborate ball at the White House on December 24,
2025, and on Christmas day we rose from the landing stage at which
_The Barsoom_ had been moored, and amid the blare of bands and the
shouting of thousands of our fellow countrymen we arose majestically
into the blue.
I shall not bore you with dry, technical descriptions of our motors
and equipment. Suffice it to say that the former were of three types—
those which propelled the ship through the air and those which
propelled it through ether, the latter of course represented our most
important equipment, and consisted of powerful multiple-exhaust
separators which isolated the true Barsoomian Eighth Ray in great
quantities, and, by exhausting it rapidly earthward, propelled the
vessel toward Mars. These separators were so designed that, with
equal facility, they could isolate the Earthly Eighth Ray which would
be necessary for our return voyage. The auxiliary engine, which I
mentioned previously and which was Orthis’ latest invention, could be
easily adjusted to isolate the eighth ray of any planet or satellite
or of the sun itself, thus insuring us motive power in any part of
the universe by the simple expedient of generating and exhausting the
eighth ray of the nearest heavenly body. A fourth type of generator
drew oxygen from the ether, while another emanated insulating rays
which insured us a uniform temperature and external pressure at all
times, their action being analogous to that of the atmosphere
surrounding the earth. Science had, therefore, permitted us to
construct a little world, which moved at will through space—a little
world inhabited by five soul.
Had it not been for Orthis’ presence I could have looked forward to a
reasonably pleasurable voyage, for West and Jay were extremely
likeable fellows and sufficiently mature to be companionable, while
young Norton, the ensign, though but seventeen years of age, endeared
himself to all of us from the very start of the voyage by his
pleasant manners, his consideration and his willingness in the
performance of his duties. There were three staterooms aboard _The
Barsoom_, one of which I occupied alone, while West and Orthis had
the second and Jay and Norton the third. West and Jay were
lieutenants and had been classmates at the air school. They would of
course have preferred to room together, but could not unless I
commanded it or Orthis requested it. Not wishing to give Orthis any
grounds for offense I hesitated to make the change, while Orthis,
never having thought a considerate thought or done a considerate deed
in his life, could not, of course, have been expected to suggest it.
We all messed together, West, Jay and Norton taking turns at
preparing the meals. Only in the actual operation of the ship were
the lines of rank drawn strictly. Otherwise we associated as equals,
nor would any other arrangement have been endurable upon such an
undertaking, which required that we five be practically imprisoned
together upon a small ship for a period of not less than five years.
We had books and writing materials and games, and we were, of course,
in constant radio communication with both Earth and Mars, receiving
continuously the latest news from both planets. We listened to opera
and oratory and heard the music of two worlds, so that we were not
lacking for entertainment. There was always a certain constraint in
Orthis’ manner toward me, yet I must give him credit for behaving
outwardly admirably. Unlike the others we never exchanged
pleasantries with one another, nor could I, knowing as I did that
Orthis hated me, and feeling for him personally the contempt that I
felt because of his character. Intellectually he commanded my highest
admiration, and upon intellectual grounds we met without constraint
or reserve, and many were the profitable discussions we had during
the first days of what was to prove a very brief voyage.
It was about the second day that I noticed with some surprise that
Orthis was exhibiting a friendly interest in Norton. It had never
been Orthis’ way to make friends, but I saw that he and Norton were
much together and that each seemed to derive a great deal of pleasure
from the society of the other. Orthis was a good talker. He knew his
profession thoroughly, and was an inventor and scientist of high
distinction. Norton, though but a boy, was himself the possessor of a
fine mind. He had been honor-man in his graduating class, heading the
list of ensigns for that year, and I could not help but notice that
he was drinking in every word along scientific lines that Orthis
vouchsafed.
We had been out about six days when Orthis came to me and suggested,
that inasmuch as West and Jay had been classmates and chums that they
be permitted to room together and that he had spoken to Norton who
had said that he would be agreeable to the change and would occupy
West’s bunk in Orthis’ stateroom. I was very glad of this for it now
meant that my subordinates would be paired off in the most agreeable
manner, and as long as they were contented, I knew that the voyage
from that standpoint at least would be more successful. I was, of
course, a trifle sorry to see a fine boy like Norton brought under
the influence of Orthis, yet I felt that what little danger might
result would be offset by the influence of West and Jay and myself or
counter-balanced by the liberal education which five years’ constant
companionship with Orthis would be to any man with whom Orthis would
discuss freely the subjects of which he was master.
We were beginning to feel the influence of the Moon rather strongly.
At the rate we were traveling we would pass closest to it upon the
twelfth day, or about the 6th of January, 2026.
Our course would bring us within about twenty thousand miles of the
Moon, and as we neared it I believe that the sight of it was the most
impressive thing that human eye had ever gazed upon before. To the
naked eye it loomed large and magnificent in the heavens, appearing
over ten times the size that it does to terrestrial observers, while
our powerful glasses brought its weird surface to such startling
proximity that one felt that he might reach out and touch the torn
rocks of its tortured mountains.
This nearer view enabled us to discover the truth or falsity of the
theory that has been long held by some scientists that there is a
form of vegetation upon the surface of the Moon. Our eyes were first
attracted by what appeared to be movement upon the surface of some of
the valleys and in the deeper ravines of the mountains. Norton
exclaimed that there were creatures there, moving about, but closer
observation revealed the fact of the existence of a weird fungus-like
vegetation which grew so rapidly that we could clearly discern the
phenomena. From the several days’ observation which we had at close
range we came to the conclusion that the entire life span of this
vegetation is encompassed in a single sidereal month. From the spore
it developed in the short period of a trifle over twenty-seven days
into a mighty plant that is sometimes hundreds of feet in height. The
branches are angular and grotesque, the leaves broad and thick, and
in the plants which we discerned the seven primary colors were
distinctly represented. As each portion of the Moon passed slowly
into shadow the vegetation first drooped, then wilted, then crumbled
to the ground, apparently disintegrating almost immediately into a
fine, dust-like powder—at least in so far as our glasses revealed, it
quite disappeared entirely. The movement which we discerned was
purely that of rapid growth, as there is no wind upon the surface of
the Moon. Both Jay and Orthis were positive that they discerned some
form of animal life, either insect or reptilian. These I did not
myself see, though I did perceive many of the broad, flat leaves
which seemed to have been partially eaten, which certainly
strengthened the theory that there is other than vegetable life upon
our satellite.
I presume that one of the greatest thrills that we experienced in
this adventure, that was to prove a veritable Pandora’s box of
thrills, was when we commenced to creep past the edge of the Moon and
our eyes beheld for the first time that which no other human eyes had
ever rested upon—portions of that two-fifths of the Moon’s surface
which is invisible from the Earth.
We had looked with awe upon Mare Crisium and Lacus Somniorum, Sinius
Roris, Oceanus Procellarum and the four great mountain ranges. We had
viewed at close range the volcanoes of Opollonius, Secchi, Borda,
Tycho and their mates, but all these paled into insignificance as
there unrolled before us the panorama of the vast unknown.
I cannot say that it differed materially from that portion of the
Moon that is visible to us—it was merely the glamour of mystery which
had surrounded it since the beginning of time that lent to it its
thrill for us. Here we observed other great mountain ranges and wide
undulating plains, towering volcanoes and mighty craters and the same
vegetation with which we were now become familiar.
We were two days past the Moon when our first trouble developed.
Among our stores were one hundred and twenty quarts of spirits per
man, enough to allow us each a liberal two ounces per day for a
period of five years. Each night, before dinner, we had drunk to the
President in a cocktail which contained a single ounce of spirits,
the idea being to conserve our supply in the event of our journey
being unduly protracted as well as to have enough in the event that
it became desirable fittingly to celebrate any particular occasion.
Toward the third meal hour of the thirteenth day of the voyage Orthis
entered the messroom noticeably under the influence of liquor.
History narrates that under the regime of prohibition drunkenness was
common and that it grew to such proportions as to become a national
menace, but with the repeal of the Prohibition Act, nearly a hundred
years ago, the habit of drinking to excess abated, so that it became
a matter of disgrace for any man to show his liquor, and in the
service it was considered as reprehensible as cowardice in action.
There was therefore but one thing for me to do. I ordered Orthis to
his quarters.
He was drunker than I had thought him, and he turned upon me like a
tiger.
“You damned cur,” he cried. “All my life you have stolen everything
from me; the fruits of all my efforts you have garnered by chicanery
and trickery, and even now, were we to reach Mars, it is you who
would be lauded as the hero—not I whose labor and intellect have made
possible this achievement. But by God we will not reach Mars. Not
again shall you profit by my efforts. You have gone too far this
time, and now you dare to order me about like a dog and an inferior—
I, whose brains have made you what you are.”
I held my temper, for I saw that the man was unaccountable for his
words. “Go to your quarters, Orthis,” I repeated my command. “I will
talk with you again in the morning.”
West and Jay and Norton were present. They seemed momentarily
paralyzed by the man’s condition and gross insubordination. Norton,
however, was the first to recover. Jumping quickly to Orthis’ side he
laid his hand upon his arm. “Come, sir,” he said, and to my surprise
Orthis accompanied him quietly to their stateroom.
During the voyage we had continued the fallacy of night and day,
gauging them merely by our chronometers, since we moved always
through utter darkness, surrounded only by a tiny nebula of light,
produced by the sun’s rays impinging upon the radiation from our
insulating generator. Before breakfast, therefore, on the following
morning I sent for Orthis to come to my stateroom. He entered with a
truculent swagger, and his first words indicated that if he had not
continued drinking, he had at least been moved to no regrets for his
unwarranted attack of the previous evening.
“Well,” he said, “what in hell are you going to do about it?”
“I cannot understand your attitude, Orthis,” I told him. “I have
never intentionally injured you. When orders from government threw us
together I was as much chagrined as you. Association with you is as
distasteful to me as it is to you. I merely did as you did—obeyed
orders. I have no desire to rob you of anything, but that is not the
question now. You have been guilty of gross insubordination and of
drunkenness. I can prevent a repetition of the latter by confiscating
your liquor and keeping it from you during the balance of the voyage,
and an apology from you will atone for the former. I shall give you
twenty-four hours to reach a decision. If you do not see fit to avail
yourself of my clemency, Orthis, you will travel to Mars and back
again in irons. Your decision now and your behavior during the
balance of the voyage will decide your fate upon our return to Earth.
And I tell you, Orthis, that if I possibly can do so I shall use the
authority which is mine upon this expedition and expunge from the log
the record of your transgressions last night and this morning. Now go
to your quarters; your meals will be served there for twenty-four
hours and at the end of that time I shall receive your decision.
Meanwhile your liquor will be taken from you.”
He gave me an ugly look, turned upon his heel and left my stateroom.
Norton was on watch that night. We were two days past the Moon. West,
Jay and I were asleep in our staterooms, when suddenly Norton entered
mine and shook me violently by the shoulder.
“My God, Captain,” he cried, “come quick. Commander Orthis is
destroying the engines.”
I leaped to my feet and followed Norton amidships to the engine-room,
calling to West and Jay as I passed their stateroom. Through the
bull’s-eye in the engine-room door, which he had locked, we could see
Orthis working over the auxiliary generator which was to have proven
our salvation in an emergency, since by means of it we could overcome
the pull of any planet into the sphere of whose influence we might be
carried. I breathed a sigh of relief as my eyes noted that the main
battery of engines was functioning properly, since, as a matter of
fact, we had not expected to have to rely at all upon the auxiliary
generator, having stored sufficient quantities of the Eighth Ray of
the various heavenly bodies by which we might be influenced, to carry
us safely throughout the entire extent of the long voyage. West and
Jay had joined us by this time, and I now called to Orthis,
commanding him to open the door. He did something more to the
generator and then arose, crossed the engine-room directly to the
door, unbolted it and threw the door open. His hair was dishevelled,
his face drawn, his eyes shining with a peculiar light, but withal
his expression denoted a drunken elation that I did not at the moment
understand.
“What have you been doing here, Orthis?” I demanded. “You are under
arrest, and supposed to be in your quarters.”
“You’ll see what I’ve been doing,” he replied truculently, “and it’s
done—it’s done—it can’t ever be undone. I’ve seen to that.”
I grabbed him roughly by the shoulder. “What do you mean? Tell me
what you have done, or by God I will kill you with my own hands,” for
I knew, not only from his words but from his expression, that he had
accomplished something which he considered very terrible.
The man was a coward and he quailed under my grasp. “You wouldn’t
dare to kill me,” he cried, “and it don’t make any difference, for
we’ll all be dead in a few hours. Go and look at your damned
compass.”