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to ruin just as it had destroyed, in the end, the plans of his hero Brunel?
I hoped that Traveller would have none of the government's obscene plan, but there was uncertainty
in his face, and his next words discouraged me.
"Gladstone is a fool and a philanderer, no doubt; but he is also a politician, Ned; and he has planted
doubts in my mind! For if I construct these devices, perhaps I can indeed make them, as he says,
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'scientific' in their effectiveness. Whereas if lesser men begin to meddle with this we could face a
disaster on a scale never before witnessed." His face was quite open now and full of pain. "Tell me,
Ned. What am I to do?... I fear I must cooperate with them, for fear of the alternative "
"In God's name, Traveller, what do they want you to build?"
He dropped his head as if in shame. "Rocket boats. Like smaller versions of the Phaeton. But these
would not be driven by a human pilot; instead an adaptation of my navigation table, with its
gyroscopic guidance system, could serve to guide the rocket to its landing point."
I was mystified. "But what would be the purpose of these manless Phaetons? What would emerge
after they landed?" I wondered vaguely if they would carry ammunition or food in to the
beleaguered Parisians, but Traveller was shaking his head.
"No, Ned; you don't see it yet. And I don't blame you, for it takes an imagination of a particular
devilishness.
"The rocket boat does not land. It is allowed to crash into the earth, in the manner of artillery shells.
When it does so a Dewar of anti-ice shatters; the anti-ice spills out into the heat of the earth, and a
monstrous explosion ensues."
He spread his arms wide and turned about, as if drunk. "You have to admit there is a certain
grandeur in the concept," he said. "From my own garden, here, I would be able to launch a shell
which would reach across the Channel, all the way to Paris, and fell the pride of Prussia with one
hammer blow "
"No!"
Traveller and Pocket stared at me.
A thousand emotions coursed through my poor heart. The conflicting images of Françoise warred in
me: the sweet face which had become, during our perilous voyage around the Moon, a talisman to
me, a symbol of hope and the future, of all to which I would return; but underlying it, as the skull
underlies the fairest visage, was the specter of the franc-tireur, a totem of all those who would
unleash war and death on the fragile bowl of Earth I had watched from above the air.
How my mind reeled with these perceptions! And how far I'd come from the simple lad who had
boarded the Phaeton barely three months earlier!
My course of action, I found, was decided.
Scarcely a second had passed since my single syllable of protest. Without thinking further I turned
on my heels and ran toward the covered form of the Phaeton. I heard Traveller's call after me and his
slow footsteps in pursuit, but the craft filled my attention.
I had to reach Paris I had to confront Françoise, to save her if I could, to deflect the British
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bombs and to do that I would travel there by the fastest means possible at the controls of the
Phaeton!
13
THE BALLOON PILOT
The Smoking Cabin had been lovingly restored. The various scuffs and rents left in the upholstered
walls by our weeks of incarceration had all been invisibly repaired, and I offered up a quick, silent
prayer that the craft's motive systems were in as pristine a condition.
I scrambled up a rope ladder to the Bridge. For a moment I stood there returning the gaze of the
serried ranks of instrument dials, as unsure as some barbarian entering a religious shrine.
But I shook away this mood and clambered without further delay into Traveller's couch.
As the soft upholstery took my weight some hidden switch was activated, and the electric lamps
within each instrument sparked to life. I fancied I heard a hissing, as pipes bore the increasing
pressure of the ship's various hydraulic systems.
Like some huge animal the craft was coming alive to my touch.
I lay in that couch and surveyed the instrument constellation with dismay. But I had seen Traveller
fly this craft from the Moon to the Earth, and it had looked simple enough; surely I would have no
trouble with a minor jaunt across the English Channel!
With renewed determination I turned to the control levers beside the couch. The levers terminated in
handles of molded rubber which were a little too large for my hands. Fixed on the handles were light
levers of steel; these, I recalled, controlled the ignition and force of the Phaeton's rocket motors.
As my hands closed around the handles I felt sweat pool in my palms.
I squeezed at the steel levers.
The rockets shouted their awakening. A huge shuddering beset the craft.
"Ned!"
Traveller was climbing with some difficulty through the hatch from the Smoking Cabin. He had lost
his hat and his hair lay in white sheets about his forehead. He was breathing hard and sweat trickled
over his platinum nose; and the glare he fixed on me was as intense as sunlight.
"Don't try to stop me, Traveller!"
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"Ned." Now he stood on the deck, towering over me. With a voice whose quietness defeated the
racket of the motors he said: "Get out of my couch."
"You told me what Gladstone's plans are. As a decent Englishman I cannot stand by and allow such
an atrocity to proceed unchallenged. I intend to fly to France and "
"And what?" Now he leaned over me, the sweat pooling under his deep eyes. "What then, Ned? Will
you use the Phaeton to swat Gladstone's shells from the air? Think it through, damn it; what can you
possibly achieve save your own death in the resulting holocaust?"
I stuck out my chin and said, "But at least I may be able to warn the authorities "
"What authorities? Ned, at this moment nobody knows who the authorities are! And as for the
Prussians "
"At least the warning will be delivered. And I may rescue a few souls from the devastation which is
to come, and so in turn recover a little of the lost honor of England."
His mouth worked; then some of the anger seemed to seep out of him. "Ned, you're a fool, but I [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]