X.

 

 

With the aid of a crew of Tripeds, we have constructed a kind of blockhouse on the top of a hill a short distance from a region occupied by Zoomorphs. Equipment has been set up there, designed for communication at any distance, for astronomical observation and physico-chemical experiments, and for the production of a breathable atmosphere, along with powerful energy condensers. We are completely safe there from the most redoubtable Martian animals, and we would also be able to withstand legions of giant Zoomorphs.

There is a striking contrast between the regions where the Zoomorphs reign and the regions where the Martian flora and fauna still persist. Only the mineral is manifest in one part, save for the Zoomorphs, which themselves seem to be minerals endowed with life.

An infinitely desolate plain extends to a chain of mountains. There is no movable soil there, nothing but hard bleak rock, a bare and—apparently—utterly sterile desert. In reality, there is an extraordinary fecundity, since an innumerable Zoomorph population finds the elements necessary to its subsistence there.

We know that all Zoomorphs, even those that draw energy from others, can subsist without any other alimentation than that supplied by the ground. The species that remain immobile are not, like our plants, attached to the ground. Moreover, the immobility is never complete; if their displacements escaped us at first, it is because they are only perceptible over a very long period; Zoomorphs of that sort advance at half a millimeter an hour, little more than a centimeter a day, while others, especially the giants, attain fantastic speeds of more than 100 kilometers an hour.  It is understandable that a first approximation, like that of the beginning of our preceding voyage, had made us think that the great majority of the Zoomorphs were fixed to the soil. We had never stayed long to watch the same individuals, even for an hour.

As for zoomorph generation, we are still far from understanding its mechanism. On the one hand, it is very slow. On the other, it involves groups. There is no trace of sex, nor of individual reproduction. The groups seem to give rise to scattered corpuscles—a sort of dust in the bosom of which almost imperceptible nebulae form, confused sketches whose evolution is too slow for it to be followed conveniently. It will take a long time for us to arrive at any precise notion of it.

 

One day, I was dreaming at the junction of two locations, one rich, comparable to terrestrial life, the other despairingly desolate. Zoomorphs were circulating in every direction, but not crossing the boundary that separated their bleak zone from the vegetated zone.

A giant Zoomorph, 50 meters long, found itself in confrontation with the most monstrous of the Martian animals, as massive as an Earthly rhinoceros but with longer legs. There was a striking contrast between the organism flattened against the ground, which was reminiscent of a bug as vast as the shadow of a sperm whale or a blue whale, and the enormous carnivore, three meters tall, clad in red silk, its pyramidal head illuminated by six enormous eyes, like searchlight beams. The distance separating them was no more than twenty meters.

“One would think that the carnivore perceived the presence of the Zoomorph,” said Violaine, who was sitting beside me.

“It’s possible, Violaine, but scarcely probable. I don’t think any emanation reveals the Zoomorph’s presence, and its appearance is as mineral as the ground on which it rests. If the carnivore were conscious of the other’s life, it would know that Zoomorphs have means at their disposal against which it is powerless.”

“What if it were very stupid?”

“The level of its intelligence is only a secondary issue; instinct is sufficient. It’s probable that our carnivore is unaware of the presence of the enemy, and vice versa, unless it’s simply indifferent. Remember your adventure, Violaine.”

“I remember. My presence was recognized at a distance.”

“And you were attacked—like us, in fact. I’m therefore inclined to believe that it’s necessary to be in their domain for the Zoomorphs to attack, and the idea gives rise to more than one conjecture. Outside of their zone, they don’t perceive anything, or everything in the other zone leaves them indifferent—or, finally, their fluidity is much less effective there. Notice that that the frontier is not crossed from either side, under normal circumstances. The ground presumably informs the two reigns, but it’s perfectly normal that, being strangers to all Martian evolution, nothing warns us except for the different appearance of the zones.”

I fell silent, charmed by Violaine’s presence. Her somber beauty was sumptuous that day: the beauty of daughters of Iberia, which envelops them with a voluptuous aura. Terrestrial dreams rose up: the odor of young leaves, lawns and wild roses. I remembered a summer evening when Regulus was about to set in the west. Young women dressed in white appeared in the starry gloom. Their luminous dresses accelerated the rhythm of my arteries. Like them, Violaine was a symbol of all human joys, the innumerable legend that has mingled with universal love.

A slight anguish was mingled with the charm: the fear of never seeing the Earth again. It would take so little to banish us to a world lost in the depths of space.

“Violaine,” I murmured, agitatedly, “when shall we find ourselves once again on the bank of a river among tall Gothic poplars, while a landscape of Old France extends to the distant hills?”

I had gripped her small hand. I drew her toward me gently, and her long hair spilled over my shoulder. I plunged my face into it as if into a wave.

“I’m not unhappy here,” she said. “I like the violent contrast between the two locations. We’ll dream about that coppery lake, that forest, those red meadows and those fantastic beasts in future, and we’ll feel nostalgic.”

“That’s true—all the more so because this is the world of our betrothal.”

I hugged her to my bosom, instinct mounting tumultuously, but Violaine pulled away gently. I had never loved her as much.

“Here’s the Stellarium,” she said.

Our ship was already settling in the vicinity of the blockhouse. Antoine, Jean, the Implicit Chief and Grace emerged.

“We’ve identified two regions strongly threatened by Zoomorphs,” said Antoine. “The invasions never take place everywhere, which is difficult to explain but of little importance; it’s necessary to engage in a serious battle at the threatened points.”

“I wonder…” Jean began. He did not finish. He shook his head with a feeble smile.

“What do you wonder?”

“Chimeras,” Jean said. “I often think about it. An intervention by the Ethereals?”

“A lovely idea!” Violaine exclaimed.

The Implicit Chief watched us talking, but the movement of our lips told him nothing. Grace had drawn near to me, and her atmosphere poured delight into my entire being. As usual, whenever she was present, the anxiety mingled with the brightest of our hours disappeared. I translated Jean’s words for her.

“What a magnificent hope!” she replied. Then, with slight melancholy: “But there’s no link between them and other living things.”

“We can talk to them, Grace.”

“You can talk to them!”

I told her about the fabulous adventure; she followed my gestures, stunned by astonishment. “It’s obvious,” she said, “that we’re nothing compared to the inhabitants of the Earth.”

Jean, Antoine and Violaine, with the Implicit Chief, had just gone into the back room of the blockhouse.

“For me, you are the supreme beauty of life,” I said.

Her charming head inclined toward my shoulder. “Why are you so much closer to my life than the others?” she wondered. “Even with my eyes closed, I’m aware of your presence; it penetrates me, while theirs is as imperceptible as if it were invisible!”

While she was speaking, I had closed my eyes, and I knew then that I too had no need to see her. There was, therefore, a fantastic affinity between us, more penetrating than the strongest affinity between two terrestrial beings.

“What have I done to deserve this?”

“When you close your eyes, Grace, can you perceive the presence of your own kind?”

“No,” she replied.

“Not even when you’re in love?”

A sort of gilded pallor spread over her face; I learned subsequently that it was a sign of confusion like blushing in humans.

“When I’m in love, yes.”

An irresistible force impelled me to ask: “Do you love me as you love them?”

“Like them, and differently.”

I could have said the same thing. I loved her with both a lover’s love and a love that bore no resemblance to any other sentiment, just as the sensuality born merely of the contact of our breasts did not resemble any of our coarse human sensualities.

We rejoined my companions and the Implicit Chief, who were all very animated, but the discussion had ended.

“Why not begin immediately?” said Violaine, who was more impatient than the rest of us.

“Yes, why not?” Antoine replied.

Our friend Jean contented himself with saying: “Let’s go!”

A few minutes later, having crossed the equator, we were far away from the agamic forest again, on the hill where we usually conversed with the Ethereals; they would have responded to signals sent from elsewhere, but it was here that we had assembled the apparatus necessary for our communications.

It was the middle of the night. The two satellites of Mars were visible, but their light was very faint by comparison with the light of our Moon. Aldebaran, Sirius and Antares—soon joined by Vega, Arcturus and some less familiar Ethereals—did not take long to appear.

The Implicit Chief watched the conversation in a state of excitement that he had never shown before. Grace was amazed and delighted—all the more so when I told her that she could speak to them in her turn, as soon as we had agreed signals necessarily as dissimilar as the Triped language was from ours, since our communications with the Ethereals, begun with the aid of a radiant transformation of Morse signals, now took the form of a triply indirect translation of our spoken language.

On that day and the following ones, we made every effort to acquaint the Ethereals with the existence of the Tripeds and with the Martian flora and fauna in general. That existence was known to them in the form I mentioned; for them, a Triped was nothing but a little radiant cloud, of which they had not conceived the collectivity, and hence the individuality. It was the same for every other plant and animal, and also for the Zoomorphs.

The knowledge that they had of our terrestrial organisms had to facilitate their knowledge of Martians—which inevitably seemed to be a curious inversion of normality. Up to a certain point, the groundwork for that knowledge had been laid by our conversations, but it remained embryonic. It required, as it had for us, the collaboration of the two life-systems. We prepared the way with repeated conversations. Soon, our imponderable friends had notions of the organized existences of the planet that rapidly became coordinated.

During his time, we had prepared signals for the Implicit Chief and Grace that would permit an initial exchange of words, very restricted as yet, with the Ethereals. In consequence, we understood everything they said to one another, but it was possible to talk to either party while only being understood by that one.

The Ethereals had been informed of the conflict with the Zoomorphs, but they had reservations.

“We don’t know whether we can help you,” said Aldebaran, while Antares added: “We must not give false hope to our friends.”

 

 

XI.

 

 

The Tripeds had constructed a second blockhouse for us, half a league from the zone where the Zoomorph invasion was taking on redoubtable proportions. That zone was among the most fertile of the regions occupied by the Martians. In truth, the latter lived mainly in a series of caverns rich in beneficent energies, but they cultivated the surface.

We had found plants there which, once submitted to transformative apparatus, gave us a healthy and sometimes flavorsome nourishment.

The equipment from the first blockhouse was transported to the second, while the caverns furnished us with a limitless supply of the materials needed to produce oxygen and nitrogen—with the result that the blockhouse was provided with an atmosphere similar to the terrestrial atmosphere, save for the rare gases.

“Isn’t this the happiness of Crusoes?” said Violaine one morning, as she served us coffee with slices of bread and pancakes made from a product furnished by the Martian flora, which were not dissimilar to buckwheat pancakes.

“No doubt,” I replied. “All the elements of a modest Eden are assembled here.”

“Speak for yourself,” muttered Antoine. “For us, it still lacks something!”

I did not believe that he was suffering from that dearth, but Jean sometimes became thoughtful. Violaine and I exchanged a furtive glance. Antoine laughed sardonically, but in an amicable fashion, and a slight redness showed on the young woman’s face.

Our love had remained pure, though; we were respectful of the ancient laws of terrestrial society, which are increasingly less respected. Had not almost all of humankind accepted union free of social sanction? Why should a few peoples, especially ours, retain a decrepit morality? And even while respecting them, did we not have new rights, at the distance we were from our planet?

In fact, I waited without impatience; terrestrial sensuality seemed so gross, compared to the radiant sensuality of my Martian love. I preferred to love Violaine without recourse to the singular gestures of procreation; I savored the quintessences of our adventure by bringing them closer to my adventure with Grace.

Eight days before, we had entered into conflict with the Zoomorphs—a conflict still localized, restricted to the most endangered point. The local Tripeds were working ardently to construct the necessary radiant devices. There was no lack of energy, drawn from the caverns. They revealed themselves to be skillful, and quick to understand, but lacking in initiative. Delighted by the initial results of our campaign, they showed us a keen, submissive and mystical affection.

“Let’s go see where we are!” said Jean.

It required no more than five minutes of walking to reach the vicinity of the frontier. It was not that we had hastened our steps—on the contrary, we had slowed them down.

“Now I’ve got into the habit,” Jean remarked, “the lightness of our bodies has become quite pleasant.”

“It’s almost as if we had wings,” added Violaine.

“Wings on our feet, like Hermes.”

On our arrival, Tripeds had gathered, among whom was a giant, one of the local chiefs, who already possessed the rudiments of the language created with the Implicit Chief.

“A few days ago, this territory was still entirely ours,” the colossus remarked

“It will be once again, this evening,” Jean replied, “And they’ve not yet had time to denature the soil.”

“In any case,” said Antoine, “the damage can be quickly repaired by transporting soil here.”

We went to the invaded area, followed by a small crowd, agitated but silent by nature. The Zoomorphs were swarming among the grasses and trees. The flood of small ones had been joined by two of large size. Jean amused himself by bombarding them with Dussault rays. They gave signs of agitation and made as if to return to the bare ground from which they had come.

The little scene excited the Tripeds, who pressed around us, full of enthusiasm.

We gave a few instructions to the giant, for organizing the recovery of the ground where it was still possible. He understood us all the better for having been the first to plant defensive radiators.

“Are you not threatened as we are on your own world?” he asked.

“We’re still in the victorious period that your ancestors once knew. We have dominion over the large animals but the smaller ones still resist, especially the smallest of all—and we fear the invisible ones.”

“The invisible ones?” said the Triped. “We’re unaware of those. If they exist, they don’t do us any harm.”

“Perhaps the Ethereals have destroyed them,” Violaine suggested, in sonorous language.

“That’s an idea!” cried Antoine. “If that’s true, it gives me more confidence in the cooperation of our immaterial friends.”

The defensive operations made rapid progress. A crew of Tripeds, led by the Implicit Chief, was not participating in the work and completing the instruction of the others.

Soon, a barrage a hundred kilometers long was mounted against the Zoomorphs. The system that fuelled the radiators had been improved; the machines were solid and would last a long time. Furthermore, the Tripeds had learned how to maintain and repair them.

 

After a few days of observation, which had permitted them to investigate the structure of the Zoomorphs, the Ethereals attempted discharges of radiation. We watched the first attacks along with Grace, the Implicit Chief, the local chief and a crowd that had gathered from all directions.

I shall always remember that night. The Earth was at its brightest; we contemplated that beautiful green-gold star delightedly, while Jupiter, brighter here than on our own planet, rose above the horizon and the moons of Mars moved vertiginously.

A legion of Ethereals had answered the appeal. Above our heads, Aldebaran, Sirius, Antares, Arcturus and Vega formed a fascinating mobile constellation, while three of the stars whose names we had attributed to them were sparkling in the sky. A hundred Ethereals assembled over the segment chosen for the initial experiment, then descended to less than 50 meters from the ground. A flood of visible and invisible radiations sprayed the Zoomorphs, causing a violent disorder among the smallest—which, after moving in every direction, fled precipitately toward the desert zone. The medium-sized Zoomorphs only gave slight signs of agitation, and the giants remained motionless. We were a little disappointed, especially Jean and Violaine. The Tripeds remained impassive.

“It’s semi-successful,” Jean murmured.

“It’s too soon to draw any conclusion,” Antoine riposted, placidly.

At the same moment, Vega told us: “Our attack was not sufficiently intense. Wait for the second attempt.”

Signals were exchanged among the Ethereals; soon, more than a thousand more joined the initial aggressors.

From then on, the clearance was rapid. Fifteen or 20 Ethereals attacked each giant Zoomorph simultaneously, and the latter were not long delayed in retreating at speed. As for the small and medium-sized Zoomorphs, they were swept away in a trice.

New Ethereals having joined the “scouts,” the recently-invaded zone was soon liberated.

A frenetic joy gripped the Tripeds. The Implicit Chief lost his calmness, and Grace was tremulous with enthusiasm. We Terrans looked on, marveling.

“But there’s nothing to prevent the Zoomorphs from coming back,” Antoine remarked, “later, if not right away. The Ethereals can’t dedicate themselves perpetually to their expulsion.”

Aldebaran’s voice was heard at that moment—remember that our friends the Ethereals, although using radiations to speak to us, all had their own voices—explaining to us that a small minority of the Ethereals were interested in the fate of the Tripeds. The others showed little inclination to expend energy on their behalf. A large number did not think that they ought to discriminate between Tripeds and Zoomorphs. “It’s because of you—because you made the effort to communicate with us—that a group is attempting to aid your friends.”

“You’re abandoning the conflict, then?” said, Jean, anxiously.

The voice of Sirius was heard in its turn. “No! We hope to be able to render the Triped frontiers inaccessible to the Zoomorphs by penetrating them with a weak, but effective and stable, energy.”

The Ethereals did not attempt to make us understand their project. In the meantime, the apparatus that we had created for the Tripeds, once put into operation, would suffice to maintain the positions acquired.

 

 

XII.

 

 

Jean had conceived a plan to grow Martian plants on Earth, and even to transport a few small animals there.

“It won’t be easy to feed them on the way,” said Antoine.

“That’s what I’m proposing to study,” Jean retorted.

“Really?” said Antoine.

The idea seduced Violaine. There were two quintupeds, in particular, that she dreamed of transplanting, one with a helicoids muzzle, brightened by magnificent eyes and clad in scarlet, the other the color of old gold. These animals, about the size of a domestic cat, were meek and herbivorous, for it seemed impossible to nourish the carnivores of Mars on terrestrial flesh.

We sometimes spent two or three days in the same location. The Stellarium, constantly guarded by one of us, was moved according to our whim. All our power and security came from the ship, and we treated it reverently. The resistance of its hull was almost limitless. It was usable for at least two or three generations; the impulsion and gravitational apparatus were invulnerable. We had a mystical confidence in it, which did not dissuade us from looking after it with rigorous prudence. The slightest flaw in its integrity might make us exiles condemned to an early death. Could we survive for more than a few seasons on Mars? Confident as I was, I experienced a terrible anguish on thinking about it.

We had established a third blockhouse in an area neighboring Zoomorph zones. Like the first, it was equipped with oxygen generators, condensers and gravity-field compensators. The Tripeds had helped us with all the accessory installations, which demanded hard labor but which, thanks to them, were promptly concluded—with the result that, including the Stellarium, we possessed four sound shelters.

We had also constructed three helicopters, which permitted swift journeys without recourse to the Stellarium. Grace and the Implicit Chief often accompanied us in our explorations; their collaboration was precious to us—especially that of the young Triped female, who was endowed with more intuition than her fellows. Her mere presence continued to dispense all the noblest and purest enchantments to me.

One afternoon, Jean, Violaine and I were out walking not far from the second blockhouse; we were collecting seeds that Jean thought particularly apt at maintaining themselves for a long time without alteration—about which he was not mistaken.

Antoine was guarding the Stellarium.

We were wandering among giant trees, as tall as Australian Eucalyptus trees, which they did not resemble at all. They were widely separated from one another, with the result that we could see the locale clearly for a long way.

I was leaning over a violet plant when I heard Violaine say: “The Stellarium’s taking off.”

That did not astonish me unduly; nevertheless, I raised my head. Not only had the Stellarium taken off, but it was climbing rapidly, reaching a considerable altitude within a minute.

“What’s Antoine doing?” I exclaimed.

“Antoine is the wisest of us,” Jean replied. “He must have his reasons.”

The Stellarium continued to climb; it was shrinking with every passing second, and also drawing away laterally. Soon, it was almost invisible. Finally, it disappeared.

We experienced dread, then fear, and then terror. We looked at one another, pale and livid.

“Antoine’s lost in space,” Jean moaned. “He’s lost control of the apparatus—something’s gone awry.”

Despair grew in our hearts. Antoine would perish in the boundless expanse and we, exiled, could do nothing but await death, after an agony whose slowness would render it more lamentable.

How beautiful that Earth appeared to me! The memories were rising up, innumerably: infancy; youth; those that I loved and had loved; the fine mornings when life begins again; the greenery of spring; the waters, source of all life, which always delighted me; dream-like dusks; winters when refuge is so sweet; adventures great and small…

Oh, never to see that again, to expire miserably on an ingrate planet, devoured by desert! There was Grace, though, who would have rendered life acceptable, even marvelous, if life on Mars were not impossible…

 

An hour has passed, as long as several days. We have taken refuge in the blockhouse. At least we have installed all the apparatus necessary to condense Martian air here, and also oxygen generators. With our helicopters, we can rejoin Grace and the Implicit Chief, and take refuge in the first blockhouse, whose equipment is more complete than that of the second…

 

Two hours have passed. All appearance of hope has passed. We don’t have the strength to talk to one another. Jean, so prompt to react, seems more downhearted than me, and Violaine is devastated.

Evening has come. The worlds and the Ethereals are shining in the sky, and we can see the Earth, a gilded emerald, the sight of which fills us with mortal anguish.

Jean’s voice emerges from the shadows: “Should we inform them?” He means our terrestrial friends, to whom we send news periodically.

“Not yet, Jean. What good would it do to worry them prematurely? There’ll be plenty of time to inform them of our distress.”

“How long can we live here?” Violaine asks.

“About three months—longer, if we succeed in further improving the nutriments we obtain from Mars.”

These nutriments are as yet only a supplement; they provide some energy, but only a few of the substances necessary to repair tissues.

“We’ll succeed in improving them,” Jean affirms. “I have a few experiments in mind. In any case, I hope that they’ll permit us to eke out our terrestrial nutriments considerably.”

“Is it impossible that anyone might come to our rescue?”

“There are other Stellariums.”

“None of which are as good as ours.”

“New ones were being constructed when we left. Perhaps, then…”

A wave of despair ebbs and flows again; then distress takes hold again, more profoundly.

“Try to sleep for a few hours,” Jean advises us. “I’ll take the first watch.”

Sleep! Is that possible?

Thoughts and sensations, born of one another, unfurl in tumult. One idea covers me with cold sweat, another awakens multitudes of images and hopes. Will it be necessary to wait for the moment when, the last vestiges of hope having been extinguished, we will sink fatally? I don’t know—and what does it matter?

But what if Earth comes to our rescue after all?

 

Violaine, Grace…they float in the mist. A love as sad as death envelops me. Oh, poor Violaine! I can still see her out there, a little human made for a long life, so adept at happiness, whom our weakness has led to death.

 

I’ve been asleep. Youth. In the fog of semi-wakefulness I am able to think that I am on Earth: a virgin forest, a river, my old half-wild garden, the odor of morning…

A start, a surge of the heart; reality has gripped me again. I find myself on a dying world. The Earth is lost!

It’s still the middle of the night. Through the little window I see the sky swarming with Ethereals, Vaguely, I search—for the thousandth time—to imagine their sentiments, their thoughts, their dreams…nascent chimeras. Who know whether they might be able to help us? Impossible. They have no idea of weight, of our movements, of our efforts, of our mechanisms. All of that is an excessively slow rhythm—and besides, they’re not technologists.

A voice emerges from the shadows—Jean’s. “Ought we to warn Earth? Its position is favorable tonight.”

“It will be just as favorable tomorrow,” I reply.

“I understand! You still hope to see Antoine again. Not me. We would have seen him some time ago, if it had been possible for him to return.”

“I’m no more hopeful than you—all the same, it’s better to wait another day.”

“Let’s wait, then!”

 

Dark insomnia. All my nerves are taut; periodically, my heart leaps like a wild beast. I could be happy here, though, if it were possible to survive. Violaine, terrestrial love; Grace, the miracle. I no longer have any relatives over there but a brother who doesn’t much like me, and whom I rarely see. Oh, if it were not for the Earth, the astral fatherland, Grace could console me.

Dreams as vain as those of a man afflicted by a mortal illness.

An internal fog. My being floats between sleep and wakefulness; reality is lost in a fantastic unreality.

A voice wakes me up—neither Jean’s voice nor Violaine’s. I leap to my feet. Impossible! But yes, it really is Antoine’s voice, only slightly altered by the loudspeaker. Jean is already standing up in the darkness. Violaine comes running.

“It’s really Antoine’s voice!” cries Jean.

“Here we are, Antoine.”

“I’ll be on Mars within a minute,” Antoine replies. “Light up the blockhouse.”

In the obscurity that envelops the planet—for the Martians live without light at night—the blockhouse shines forth. The minute passes, so short and so long, and then there is a great light in the firmament.

Scarcely a few seconds more, and the Stellarium settles down lightly, a short distance away from the blockhouse.

Antoine appears, as calm as usual. We cluster around him, in the delight of salvation—mingled, in me, with retrospective fear.

“What happened?” asked Jean. “The Stellarium…”

“The Stellarium is safe and sound. Until now it has not suffered the slightest damage, and that was what saved me. It followed a straight line, inflexibly.”

“The accident happened to you, then?”

“Yes, me. A stupid accident. I had a sore throat; instead of a remedy, I mistakenly took a soporific. I’m very sensitive to such drugs. All in all, one of those errors that is unpardonable. When I woke up again, it took me some time to understand what had happened. In sum, I very nearly condemned us all to death! I humbly ask your forgiveness.”

“You don’t deserve it,” said Jean, who had recovered his natural good humor.

It was one of the great moments of our lives. We remained silent for some time, overwhelmed by happiness. Never before had I perceived so profoundly our individual weakness compared with the enormous power of humankind. We were the same paltry creatures as in the times when our ancestors struggled unrelentingly for their subsistence, in the bosom of a world in which living beings devoured one another, in which the plain and the forest resounded incessantly with cries of agony. Although all that has gone, although our species has triumphed insolently over its ancient rivals, although the most powerful only live by the good will of the victors, every member of that prodigious assembly is merely a puff of smoke—and that assembly, in its turn, is merely a fugitive cloud.

 

 

XIII.

 

 

Only six or seven weeks of our sojourn here remain. We could prolong our stay but that would be dangerous; Antoine is formally opposed to it. That is the wisdom and also the honesty of each companion. The deliberation has been lengthy. Jean, always inclined to risk, ended up submitting to necessity, and Violaine too. It has been necessary to resign myself to it—with what sadness!

The idea of no longer seeing Grace is unbearable, even more so than on the first voyage.  She has become so dear to me! Such accord, so complete an intimacy, would be impossible with a human creature. On contact with her, I acquire new vital properties; her atmosphere penetrates me intimately; she too has been subjected to a subtle metamorphosis which has drawn her nearer to my humanity. In the infinite universe, we surely form a couple that is unique, by virtue of the fusion of such dissimilar mentalities, and a certain vague resemblance.

Must I really leave her? Now that she has transformed the energies of my being, that seems to me to be a form of suicide; for a long time, the life I lived on Earth will seem a restricted form of life. The new powers of my being will be lost there; I must abandon the admirable creature who caused their birth.

Could she live on Earth? She supports the air-pressure aboard the Stellarium without difficulty, but she has only stayed here for short periods of time. If she died, I would believe that I had committed the most abominable crime.

It would certainly not be impossible to create a dwelling for her usage over there, and—for going out—an apparatus similar to the one we employ here, but opposite in effect, rarefying instead of concentrating.

I shall always remember this summer morning. It will appear softer, gentler, more charming, on the edge of the lake, amid a strange vegetation that is, from an Earthly viewpoint, the vegetation of the Secondary Era. Except that here, it is not a vegetation of primitive times, but of the final ages.

A troop of green and red herbivores grazes the bank; Aerians pass overhead, and an abyssal faun appears in the heavy water.

We walk slowly, in total security; I am armed with powerful ray-guns.

How happy we could have been! And even now, the future ceases to be redoubtable in my companion’s atmosphere.

I have pronounced the word of great melancholy: departure. It has sounded the knell. “How I would like to see the Earth with you!” says Grace, imploringly.

For a long time, that has seemed impossible; then, intoxicated by her moving presence, I wonder if it really is impossible. Why should we not make a third voyage to Mars, in order to bring her back?

Violaine, Jean and even Antoine have mentioned the possibility. With apparatus constructed on the basis of our experiments, we could easily prolong the sojourn. As well as Grace, the Implicit Chief ardently desires to see the Earth, all the more so because he has no fear of death being entirely resigned to it.

I say to Grace: “I dread that, if anything happened to you, I would be unable to survive you.”

She remains pensive momentarily; then her desire and her youth carry her away. “Nothing will happen to me!”

The embrace; the imponderable sensuality.

 

Finally, the voice of Aldebaran was heard. It was there with Vega and Antares, at a low altitude. It said: “We’ve found it!”

Those three notes invaded me with an almost painful resonances—followed by a purely joyous reaction. Violaine’s small hand squeezed mine, while Aldebaran continued.

“We can create a zone along the edges of the Triped regions that the Zoomorphs will be unable to cross. Our trials are conclusive. In a few days, you’ll have the proof of it—and very little energy will be required to perpetuate our work.”

“Is it radiation?” Jean asked, avidly.

“It is radiation—a composite radiation that it will be easy to make known to you, which you can reproduce without overmuch difficulty. The Tripeds can also learn to produce it, and from then on will be in control of their destiny.”

“Will they be able to reconquer territory?”

“Only the most recently invaded.”

I approved of that. It did not seem to me to be desirable that a relatively young realm, perhaps in progress toward great achievements, should be annihilated by a realm whose environmental conditions were bound to disappear eventually. It was sufficient for me that the Tripeds would continue to survive without fear of premature annihilation. They asked for no more themselves.

One morning—it was, at least, morning in the sector where the Stellarium was at rest—the great news spread throughout the planet. The Zoomorphs were in retreat everywhere, leaving a neutral zone of varying width.

A multitude of Tripeds gathered around the Stellarium, making expansive gesture, exhibiting an enthusiasm rare among those resigned creatures. They had no difficulty making themselves understood; our knowledge of their language had increased greatly. Besides, the Implicit Chief had just arrived in his glider, with Grace, and was showing us his joyous gratitude.

It was a surprise on the part of the Ethereals; they had chosen to act before alerting us.

“Our species is saved!” signed the Implicit Chief, with an ardor extraordinary in that calm being.

Grace’s multiple eyes gave off dazzling gleams. “The messengers from Earth have brought new life,” she said.

“We mustn’t rejoice too soon.”

Meanwhile, Antoine was speaking to the Ethereals, invisible in the daylight. Successively, we heard the unreal voices of Sirius, Vega and Aldebaran. “We must wait,” said the last-named. “It’s only an experiment as yet.”

“It’s probable, though, that it’s conclusive,” Antares interjected.

“Well,” I said, “let’s go to the night side.”

Thousands of Tripeds were crowding around the Stellarium. We did not have the courage to pass on the Ethereals’ warnings. Then we told the latter of our desire to see them in the nocturnal sky. They consented to follow the Stellarium, which carried us to the other hemisphere, along with Grace and the Implicit Chief.

Soon the nocturnal sky appeared—the beautiful Martian sky of giant stars, as Violaine proclaimed, hyperbolically.

Our radiant friends were already waiting for us; to the anxious questions of the Implicit Chief—which we translated—Aldebaran replied: “If you succeed in understanding the radiation that has chased away the Zoomorphs, you can utilize it, and the Martians who come after you.”

“Why not?” Jean exclaimed. “We’ve done more difficult things in order to enter into communication with them, ever more subtly. We shall succeed.”

Antoine limited himself to nodding his head, but Violaine cried: “They’ll know how to make us understand!”

I had taken up my astronomical telescope; I contemplated our native planet tenderly—and I always came back to the same thought: “If I could only take Grace there!”

Violaine pressed lightly upon my shoulder. Terrestrial love had awoken within her; I savored it gladly—but could it suffice to make Grace’ absence bearable?

 

The rhythm of Ethereal life, so much more rapid than ours, accomplished progressions of thought in two or three days that would have taken us years.

We were delighted, but scarcely astonished, when Sirius announced to us that the experiment had definitely succeeded and that the Ethereals had already charged the ground with energies that would prevent the advance of the Zoomorphs at all points for a long time. They invited us to study the useful radiation, and especially its means of employment. I must confess that we could never form a clear idea of the radiation itself, but we were able to determine the manner of its usage and construct the first apparatus capable of producing and utilizing it.

For the Tripeds, it was now only a matter of imitating us with subtlety and precision, in which they were even more adept than humans. It was then evident that the part of Mars occupied by the Tripeds would be forbidden to Zoomorphs for many centuries—which awoke as much enthusiasm and hope in them as their passive nature permitted.

 

The date of the departure drew nearer; we had informed the people of Earth, who were now waiting for us with an ardent impatience.

It was finally necessary to make the great resolution.

Should the Implicit Chief and Grace go with us? They both seemed determined, all the more so when they heard that we would return to Mars the following year.

We deliberated for a long time. It was their lives that they and we would be risking. Antoine analyzed the situation with his habitual phlegm.

“The risk of the crossing is their affair. Have we not run it twice already?”

“It was especially great on the first voyage,” Jean remarked.

“Obviously. All the same, it remains no less great—more’s the pity. It’s up to them to decide. But the sojourn on Earth makes greater demands on our responsibility. We’ve only stayed here four months.”

“And eleven days.”

“They’ll have to remain on Earth for a year. Will they stand up to it? Could we do that here? Finally, there’s the grave question of nutrition.”

“I contend that it’s resolved,” said Jean.

We had certainly completed experiments—undertaken over a long period—with a view to nourishing the Tripeds with terrestrial aliments. There were some that they digested quite naturally, which could not help but astonish us. Others became assimilable for them after a few modifications. Moreover, as the Tripeds eat very little, we could carry Martian provisions, which, after desiccation, would replace the fraction of our provisions used up during our sojourn. The indefinite resources of terrestrial laboratories would surely permit effective transformations. Had we not succeeded in rendering a few Martian plants assimilable for ourselves?

“Won’t the sojourn itself be deadly to them?” Antoine asked.

“That’s the question. Note that they don’t experience any malaise when they accompany us in the Stellarium at a pressure of 750 millimeters.”

“Let them decide!” Antoine concluded. “They can, in any case, return here with us or others. Our voyages have provoked emulations. Who knows whether the Stellariums that are being constructed back there might not be better than ours? Normally, they would be.”

“Yes, since we’re already envisaging improvements ourselves. Earth-Mars voyages will become regular events.”

“And soon banal.”

 

We spent some time initiating the Tripeds into the new means of defense against the Zoomorphs; they understood us very well, and a kind of rejuvenation was manifest among the resigned creatures.

One morning, the Implicit Chief declared: “Grace and I are determined to make the crossing, if you’ll allow it.”

“You’ve considered everything?”

“Yes—the journey is worth the risks.”

Antoine insisted on explaining the dangers of a sojourn on Earth once again. He did not want to listen, and Grace proved to be even more determined than he was. We finally gave in. The success of our two expeditions had made us optimistic.

“Oh, how happy I am!” Grace said to me.

I was happy too, intensely—with pangs of anxiety.

When everything was ready for the journey, we said our farewells to the Ethereals. We had conceived a kind of sublimated affection for the ones most familiar to us, especially Aldebaran, Vega, Sirius and Antares. Perhaps it was mutual. It seemed that they vaguely regretted our departure, though not ardently. They promised to watch over the Triped lands.

  The morning of the departure arrived. It had not been announced in advance. The Implicit Chief and Grace took leave of their close kin, without any pathos. Because of the resignation that underlies their sentimentality, they have no ardent affection. Mild, patient and inoffensive by nature, passion scarcely excites them, and has not for thousands of years. The relatives of the Implicit Chief and Grace seemed barely unaffected—but the scene would, I think, have been more disturbing if Grace’s mother had not vanished into the eternal night a long time before.

The departure of the Stellarium and its pilots appeared to make a deeper impression than that of my young friends. We had become the protectors of the species, and when the Implicit Chief announced our probable return there was a veritable explosion of joy.

“You have no regrets, Grace?” I asked, a few minutes before take-off.

“I regret leaving far less than I rejoice in it.”

“In any case, if the sojourn on Earth, or even in the Stellarium, inconveniences you, we can bring you back.”

Her eyes were shining like beacons.

Antoine gave the signal to lift-off.

 

 

XIV.

 

 

All the peoples of Earth were awaiting the arrival of the Stellarium with quivering enthusiasm. From one pole to the other, on mountain-sides, plains, the depths of forests and islands in remote regions of the oceans, the great news was known: people were going to see the strange beings that did not resemble our species, but played a role on Mars comparable to that of humans on Earth.

Interplanetary communication, ensured by more powerful and subtler apparatus than during our first journey, had been terse, precise and frequent. Logophones and periodicals recounted the vicissitudes of the incredible sojourn. Everyone knew, in fact, but they wanted to see. Innumerable sky-screens were to show the Implicit Chief and Grace to the entire Earth as clearly as if they were present before the spectators’ eyes.

Grace and the Implicit Chief had watched the Earth increase in size. They could see better than we could, with or without telescopes; their vision far surpassed ours in acuity, delicacy and means of accommodation.

Grace awaited the moment of touchdown with a delight mingled with dread. She had withstood the journey well; the Tripeds’ respiratory organs, I repeat, have an incomparable power of adaptation; they automatically regulate the quantity of air aspired, and support considerable changes of pressure without sustaining any damage. In consequence, our hosts would not suffer from the change of atmosphere—but would they withstand the climate as easily? It was probable. On Mars, whenever they leave their well-warmed tunnels, they resist very low temperatures. In general, Martians are more durable than Terrans, doubtless due to the particular evolution of their planet.

 

 

XV.

 

 

When we were no more than 200 kilometers from Earth, we reduced the Stellarium’s velocity—which was already much diminished—considerably.

As we had planned, we were flying over France. Its fields, forests, mountains and the great liquid plain of the Atlantic moved us to tears, while a marvelous ecstasy was manifest in Grace’s shining face and multiple gazes.

“How young the world is!” the grave and pensive Implicit Chief said, eventually. “One would think that it had just been born…”

The Tripeds were even more charmed than astonished by the waters—seas, lakes and rivers—and the flow and movement of their waves.

“Here, everything can always begin again,” said Grace. “Always!”

Meanwhile, Violaine, who was leaning on my shoulder, murmured: “It’s true that everything here is young—even an old city like Paris, thanks to its young river, its canals and its gardens.”

We were no longer alone; clouds of vortices and gliders came from every direction. My father,63 Jean and Violaine’s mother and Antoine’s parents and brother escorted us, along with known and unknown friends. Grace lowered her head, intimidated, but the Implicit Chief admired the human power of the flying multitude. Behind our transparent walls, we were as visible as in the open air, and airborne reporters were taking photographs of our guests with an indiscreet ardor.

“I understand that they’re wonderstruck,” said Jean, “but they’re annoying me.”

“The other side of the coin!” Antoine added.

The multitude increased with time, troubling the joy of the return, which we had wanted to be gentle and welcoming.

“They might leave us to our families!” exclaimed Violaine. Our families did, however, form a kind of barrier.

With the aid of magnetic dishes, we exchanged a few hasty and tender words, but as several people were speaking at the same time, the conversation could not be other than confused.

Finally, the crowd became intolerable; we arranged to meet our families and close friends in my old house at Yvette and flew over the spectators.

For ten days, however, we were obliged to suffer the indiscretion of the curious and reporters.

After the initial alarm, Grace and the Implicit Chief tolerated the importunity of the Terrestrials without too much irritation. Seeing only benevolence in the visitors and curiosity-seekers, they even found a certain pleasure in it. Soon, however, the curiosity was appeased, and we had entire days without visitors. I made excursions with Jean, Grace, Violaine and the Implicit Chief, sometimes by land and sometimes by air. Sometimes, the aquaplane set down on a river or a lake, and that was perhaps what Grace and Violaine preferred.

“It seems to me,” said Grace, “that I have returned to a very ancient existence, the memory of which is like a dream.”

“Even for us,” Violaine replied, “the skies evoke times that have disappeared into the prehistoric night.”

“And God separated the inferior waters from the superior waters!” Jean intoned.

We observed a singular evolution of sensitivity in our guests. The resigned inertia characteristic of Martians, the apathy of beings who accept their degeneration, decreased from day to day. The Implicit Chief, formerly so placid, manifested more inclination to strong emotion every way. He was conscious of it. “Even in my childhood,” he said, “I was never as young as I am now.”

For Grace, it was a magical world. Even more than her father, she led a new life, the charm of which increased continually. She sought out the company of Violaine, who enchanted her, and Violaine submitted to Grace’s attraction. The three of us often went out together; my two loves mingled strangely, so dissimilar and yet confused in the same universal origin. I tried to analyze my sentiments, but ran into a wall of darkness. It seemed that Grace’s enchanted atmosphere augmented my love for Violaine, and it is certain that I never loved my fiancée more than when the three of us were together.

The day of the wedding drew closer. Grace awaited it impatiently. It seemed that it was her own marriage that was about to be celebrated. A strange mental transposition made her want to see a son of my descendancy, as if she would be giving birth to him herself—and when I told her that, she replied: “I’m sure that he will be attached to me by a filial link. He will bear something of my race. Oh, you have nothing to fear—it will be purely internal…and yet, if ever he makes a voyage to Mars, he will feel almost an exile here!”

She spoke with an infectious exaltation. Her beautiful eyes shot forth enchanted gleams. I had no alternative but to share her singular illusion…

Our marriage was a world-wide event, the explorers of Mars being famous throughout the world, and travelers arrived from all parts of the globe. Myriads of machines filled the sky. Around our house their number, arranged in several layers, was so great that the sky could only be seen through a few narrow gaps. By night, their beacons spread a blinding light.

I found myself alone with Grace as the hour approached when I would meet Violaine. She was radiant. She pressed herself against me, embracing me for a long time, and a strange energy was added to the happiness that overwhelmed me.

“You will love her all the more for it,” said the Martian female, “and I shall…”

I only found out the following day what she had decided to do, and I rejoined Violaine, simultaneously intoxicated by Martian and terrestrial love.

 The next day, I got up before my wife, and found Grace waiting for me. Her enchanting eyes were full of tenderness.

“You’re happy,” she said. “I love your happiness. Did you think of me a little?”

“I’m always thinking about you, Grace.”

She seemed to hesitate momentarily, while I looked at her admiringly, then said: “Would you like a child of mine—a child that will have retained a part of your radiance?” When I did not reply, in surprise, she went on: “Remember that Martian women can become mothers by themselves when they desire it for a long time and with a great intensity. I have desired it for months, and yesterday, I desired a child with such force that one will be born.”

What a fantastic delight overwhelmed me, augmented by contact with the young Martian female!

The health of Grace and the Implicit Chief was quite unaffected. They digested a few terrestrial nutriments, which permitted the eking out of the provisions that we had brought from Mars. Meat did not suit them, although they liked fruits and vegetables. All in all, their adaptive abilities far surpassed those we had shown on Mars.

“It’s probably a sort of return to the conditions of an ancestral environment,” Antoine remarked. “After all, there have been epochs on Mars when the pressure, the temperature and the creatures themselves had more analogy than present circumstances with conditions on Earth. Their physiology is, in a sense, remembering…”

“While we live on Mars,” said Grace, “in an environment that might perhaps be analogous to one yet to come on Earth.”

 

In order to acclimate our guests more effectively, we acquired—or, rather, the Grand Council of States granted us—a high mountain valley, to which the Stellarium could take us in minutes, although our vortices sufficed to travel the 500 kilometers that separated us from the refuge. We spent an initial sojourn there in one of those mobile chalets that can be set up in a few hours.

A thousand meters above the domain the eternal snows began; the valley, sheltered from the wind and easily accessible to the sunlight, remained frost-free until mid-October.

We’re going to try out a few seeds here,” Jean said. He had brought back a large collection of seeds of the plants he had cultivated on Mars, along with small animals, only two of which had died. The others, cared for by the Implicit Chief, proved as resistant as our Triped guests.

The latter were enjoying the new period of rest, though not as much as the long voyages across the continents, especially the ocean crossings in Antoine’s Argonaut, which was sometimes a ship and sometimes a gyroplane. Sailing over those vast liquid expanses reanimated a young and magnificent life in them that had been forgotten on Mars for millennia. The long watery waves plunged them into a cosmic reverie that went as far as ecstasy.

 

 

XVI.

 

 

Thus the days, the months and two seasons went by—and then began the miracle that would create a stir over the entire planet.

Inevitably, I was the first to perceive that Grace was surrounded by an almost invisible glow. Violaine did not take long to discern it too. She said to me as the light was fading one day: “We are alone in seeing the aura that is enveloping Grace…”

“Ah!” I said. “You can see it?”

Grace was walking in the garden. As the light declined, the aura became faintly visible.

“You’re thinking the same thing as me,” Violaine said, smiling. “Besides, that’s not all…”

I nodded my head.

“It will be lovely!”

That exclamation left me somewhat surprised.

“It’s so beautiful, their way of being pregnant, while ours…” She lowered her head in confusion. I took her in my arms, gently. “And yet, I’m happy to be a terrestrial mother!” She remained silent for a moment, pensively. “I believe she loves us very much,” she went on, in a low voice. “Especially you…”

“She only ever mentions you with enthusiasm…”

“I know that, and I have a singular affection for her—an otherworldly affection. Perhaps that helps me to understand the affection that she has for us. I don’t know how the idea came to me that she desired a child because we are expecting one…she has a sort of love for you…”

That was so unexpected that it took my breath away. A muffled anxiety was mingled with the surprise; it would have been so painful for me if Violaine were jealous…

“You look flabbergasted!” she said. “That’s only natural. What harm is there in it? It’s so very different from what the love of a woman would be…and so delightfully pure! If I were a man, I believe that I would feel something like that for her…”

“Oh, Violaine…!”

“Yes, and I don’t think that would prevent me in the least from loving a woman. It would be as if I loved a flower…a prodigious flower…a conscious flower. I don’t know whether you can understand…”

“Yes…yes I can…” I said, with a haste that I regretted immediately.

She burst out laughing, and then became serious again. “It’s certain that you’re very attached to Grace. You understand it better than I do. It’s you, in fact, who discovered it, so to speak. I’d already guessed it before leaving Mars.”

“I didn’t know that!” I stammered.

Dusk was advancing slowly. Soon, a colossal scarlet sun was poised in the gap between two hills. The neighboring village church occupied a tiny corner of the firelit surface. Little by little, the shadow of the rotating Earth devoured the star, and the festival of the clouds began…

Grace’s aura was now so visible that Jean and Antoine, who had just dined with us, paused.

“I suspected as much!” Jean exclaimed. “Now I’m sure.”

“Bah!” said Antoine. “I’ve known for a week.”

“And you didn’t say anything!”

“Like them,” Antoine replied, phlegmatically, pointing at Violaine and me. “Anyway, I could have been mistaken—better to await confirmation. And even now, although I know that it’s sufficient for Martians to desire it intensely, I’m not entirely sure of the denouement. I’m wondering why she wanted it.”

“She has more than one reason!” Jean exclaimed. “The most alive of Martian women, she must desire not to be the last link in a vertiginous chain of ancestry. Notice that she’s more vivacious than she was on Mars. Then again, it will be a sort of commemoration of her terrestrial sojourn—for I’m assuming that she’s thinking about returning to her astral homeland. And finally, because Violaine…” He stopped, and burst out laughing.

“By way of emulation?” said Antoine.

 “That, old fellow, is almost slander. I’d say out of sympathy.”

“Good!” said Violaine.

We contemplated the sumptuous clouds for a while; in the distance, rivers, mountains and gulfs were slowly emerging and vanishing—and Grace, in her silvery aura, shot through with fine networks of emerald, and her huge eyes, shining more brightly than the stars, mingled a living charm with the sovereign beauty of the occidental sky.

“A marvelous mode of reproduction!” Jean murmured. “Is it not proof of the superiority of Martians, at least in terms of nature?”

“Let’s steer clear of that genre of hypotheses,” said Antoine. “It’s more like a final manifestation, before the end of Martian life.”

“Disappearance,” said Violaine. “But the Martians are not ready to disappear, I hope.”

“In a million years, approximately. I say a million to focus our ideas—I could as easily have said fewer, or more.”

“I can breathe again!” said Violaine, laughing. “Perhaps humankind won’t last any longer.”

“As we are surely not. Between now and a million years hence, we might have undergone a considerable transformation.”

“Progress or decadence?”

“I don’t know. My own opinion favors a decrease in mental activity, as in the Martians, but certainly not in the same form.”

“Personally, I believe in a superior activity for a few more million years!” Jean exclaimed.

“You’re very greedy.”

Darkness fell. Grace and the Implicit Chief rejoined us. The young Martian female’s aura reminded me of ancient fables of luminous clouds guiding individuals or populations through the desert.

Via the servants, and then the neighbors, the news spread, first around our place of residence and then, gradually, by means of phone calls and news reports, to the distant reaches of the planet. Visitors flocked; regional reporters, then provincial ones, and finally national ones from every country, invading the locale like locusts.

We obtained a relative peace by fixing two hours a day when Grace would be visible at a distance. Clouds of aircraft flew over our dwelling incessantly. We asked for privacy in vain; we could not persuade people who had come from the antipodes or the poles to leave without taking away films of the miracle…

Thus, day by day, the planet followed the metamorphosis of the mist, the concentration that rendered it more and more luminous, and finally, the marvelous shell, the huge white flower. When the child began to take form, the excitement became delirious…

 

 

Epilogue

 

 

I shall always remember that morning.

We were staying in the mountain chalet. I got up while the household as still asleep, and immediately went into the garden, with which I had been impassioned for some time. The Martian plants were growing abundantly, mingled here and there with Alpine plants. They already provided a part of the alimentation of Grace and the Implicit Chief, who ate them with pleasure, although they did not prefer them to the terrestrial foodstuffs to which they had adapted perfectly.

Some ten Martian animals were living in the vicinity of the house. Jean had domesticated them completely; not only did they show no inclination to run away but, being rather fearful, waited for their hosts to wake up before going to graze at a distance. Two of them followed me in my morning stroll; the first, the size of a cat, was blue and gold, and had a corkscrew muzzle and helical legs. It performed strange somersaults as it walked, as if its feet were mounted on springs. The other, as sinuous as a weasel, was amaranthine on its back, pink underneath with emerald stripes; its legs extended almost horizontally, terminating in spatulate feet, which caused it to progress half-crawling and half-hopping.

Each of them had six large eyes, whose beauty far surpassed those of all terrestrial animals, from gazelles to tigers: six focal points through which passed all the colors and shades of the solar spectrum.

As I was daydreaming in the depths of the garden, I saw Grace running toward me; she was holding her child in her arms—a sign that its embryonic growth was concluded. The little child’s eyes were already magnificent.

“I’m happy,” she said. “I dedicate him to the Earth, his fatherland…and to you, who gave me the desire to give birth to him!”

I looked at him tenderly, and it genuinely seemed to me that, although it was so different, his face had a slightly human form.

“He’s a Martian…I wanted him thus.”

Violaine appeared on the threshold with Jean.

“The first terrestrial Martian!” Jean exclaimed. “We’ll look to him for…a complement!”

He had conceived the idea of founding a little Martian colony, inoffensive by definition.

Violaine looked at the new-born intently. “He will bring happiness to ours!” she said. She was also about to give birth.

“We shall return to Mars!”

A thrumming sound made us turn our heads, and Antoine’s vortex settled on the terrace.

He looked at the Martian child welcomingly, then murmured: “If he has a wife one day, that might be the beginning of a Martian colony.”

“When we take him back to Mars,” Jean said, “we’ll find a wife for him…”

“Perhaps it wouldn’t do any harm,” said Antoine, “but it might, after all, be perilous. The Earth has reanimated Grace and the Implicit Chief singularly.”

These words could do nothing to combat our complacency. An atmosphere of gentleness enveloped us. The landscapes of Mars mingled with the locations of the summery mountain—the conclave of silvered summits, and the pine-forests rising up from the depths, creeping up the slopes, having exterminated the oaks and the beech trees…