The Star Diaries (38 page)

I left Procyton at one in the morning in such haste, I completely forgot about the fuel. A million miles or so out the tanks ran dry and I became a cosmic castaway on a ship adrift in space. Only three days remained till the time of my rendezvous with Tarantoga.

Coerulea was perfectly visible through the window, glowing at a distance of barely three hundred million miles, but all I could do was look at it in helpless rage. Yes, the most trifling events can sometimes have tremendous consequences! For want of a nail…

About an hour later I noticed a planet slowly looming larger; the ship, yielding passively to its pull, began to pick up speed, till finally it was plummeting like a stone. Determined to make the best of a bad business, I took my seat at the controls. The planet was rather small, desolate, yet homey; I observed oases heated volcanically and with running water. There were plenty of volcanoes; they belched fire and columns of smoke continually. Now I hurtled through the atmosphere, maneuvering the rudders, trying everything I could to decrease velocity, but that merely postponed the moment of impact. And then, flying over a range of volcanoes, I got an idea; after a moment’s thought, I reached a desperate decision and, directing the nose of my craft downwards, like a thunderbolt plunged straight into the gaping mouth of the largest volcano. At the last minute, when those red-hot jaws had already engulfed me, with a skillful flip of the rudder I turned the rocket around nose-upward and in this position sank into that bottomless pit of roaring lava.

Risky, but there was no other way. I hoped that the volcano, stirred by the violent blow of the rocket, would react with an eruption—and I was not disappointed. A blast of thunder shook the walls and in a column of flame, lava, ash and smoke that rose for many miles I flew up and out into the sky. I steered in order to fall on course straight for Coerulea, and succeeded perfectly.

Three days later I was at my destination, and only twenty minutes late. But I didn’t find Tarantoga there; he had taken off already, leaving me a letter held at the post office.

Dear Colleague!
[he wrote]
Circumstances impel me to set out at once, therefore I propose that we meet in the heart of the unexplored region; since chorographical stars have no names, I'll give you directions: fly straight ahead, turn left at the blue sun, then right at the next, orange; there you’ll find four planets, I'll be on the third from the left. Looking forward to meeting you!

Sincerely yours,
T
ARANTOGA

Fuelling up, I blasted off at dusk. The trip took one week, and when I entered the unknown territory I found the right stars without any trouble; carefully following the Professor’s instructions, on the morning of the eighth day I saw the designated planet. This massive globe was covered with thick green fur, which turned out to be a gigantic tropical rain forest. The sight of it disconcerted me somewhat, for I had no idea how to go about locating Tarantoga, however I counted on his ingenuity—and was not mistaken. Flying straight for the planet, at eleven that morning I noticed on its northern hemisphere certain faint lines that took my breath away.

I always say to young, inexperienced astronauts, “Don’t believe it if someone tells you he approached a planet and saw its name written on it; that’s an old cosmic joke.” This time however I was at a loss, for there across the green woodland clearly stood the inscription:

Couldn't wait. See you at next planet.
 
T
ARANTOGA

The letters were each a mile in size, otherwise of course I wouldn’t have spotted them. Thoroughly amazed and also curious as to how the Professor had drawn that giant sign, I flew closer. Then I saw that the lines of the letters were wide avenues of leveled, trampled trees, distinctly separate from the untouched areas.

Still mystified, I did as the sign said and hurried on to the next planet, which was inhabited and civilized. At sunset I reached the airport. In vain did I inquire there after Tarantoga; this time too there was a letter waiting for me.

Dear Colleague:

My deepest apologies for letting you down like this, but in connection with a certain family matter that will not brook delay
I
must alas go home at once. To lessen your disappointment I am leaving a package at the main office—kindly claim it; it contains the fruits of my latest research. You are undoubtedly curious as to how, on the previous planet, I left you that written message; it was really quite simple. That globe is going through an epoch corresponding to the Carboniferous on Earth and is populated by giant lizards, including terrible atlantosaurs one hundred and fifty feet long. Having landed on the planet, I crept up to a great herd of atlantosaurs and provoked them until they attacked me. I began then to run quickly through the forest in a calculated way, such that the trail of my flight would assume the shape of letters, and the herd charging after me mowed down all the trees. Thus were produced those avenues two hundred and fifty feet in diameter. Quite simple, as I said, but rather fatiguing, in that I was
obliged to run nearly thirty miles and at a rapid clip besides.

I sincerely regret that this time too we cannot make me another's acquaintance. Let me then shake your intrepid hand and offer expressions of the highest regard for your many virtues and courage.

 

T
ARANTOGA

 

P.S. I strongly recommend you take in the concert at the city this evening
—
it’s excellent.

T.

I picked up the package set aside for me at the airport office, ordered it delivered to the hotel, and myself went on to the city. It presented a most unusual sight. The planet spins with such velocity, that day alternates with night there every hour. Due to the centrifugal force produced by this, a freely hanging plumb line is not perpendicular to the ground, as on Earth, but rather makes an angle of 45 degrees with it. All the houses, towers, walls, in general every sort of edifice stands leaning towards the surface of the ground at a 45-degree angle, which affords a somewhat peculiar sight to the human eye. The houses on one side of the street appear to be bending over backwards, while on the other side they lean and hang above the first. The planet’s inhabitants, in order not to fall, possess through natural adaptation one short leg and one long. A man however, when walking, must constantly bend one knee, which after a certain time becomes extremely difficult and painful. Therefore I proceeded slowly, so that by the time I reached the building where they were supposed to hold the concert, the doors to the hall were being closed. I hurriedly bought a ticket and ran inside.

Hardly had I taken my seat when the conductor rapped with his baton and everyone fell silent. The members of the orchestra began to move with energy, playing on instruments I’d never seen before, horns with perforated funnels similar to shower heads; the conductor now lifted both his front extremities with feeling, now spread them out, as if calling for “pianissimo,” but my amazement only grew, for so far I had heard not a single sound. Casting a furtive glance on either side, I saw ecstasy written on the faces of my neighbors; more and more bewildered and uneasy, I tried discreetly cleaning out my ears, but with no result. Finally, afraid that I had lost my hearing, I quietly tapped my fingernails together, however this faint sound was distinctly audible. So then, not knowing what to think of this, perplexed by the general signs of esthetic satisfaction, I sat through to the end of the work. A burst of applause rang out; the conductor gave a bow, once again rapped his baton, and the orchestra proceeded to the next movement of the symphony. All around people were entranced; I heard a great deal of sniffing and took this as an indication of deep emotion. Then at last came the stormy finale—or so I assumed, judging by the violent exertion of the conductor and the beads of sweat that formed on the brows of the musicians. Again thunderous applause. My neighbor turned to me, expressing his admiration for the symphony and its performance. I muttered something in reply and fled out onto the street in complete confusion.

I had already walked a few dozen steps away from the building, when something made me turn and look at its façade. Like the others, it was inclined at a sharp angle to the street; over the entrance loomed a sign that said
Municipal Olfactorium,
and below were pasted program posters, on which I read:

O
DONTRON
 
“THE MUSK SYMPHONY”
I Preludium Odoratum
II Allegro Aromatoso
III Andante Olens
 
Featuring
as guest conductor, in a rare appearance,
the famous nasalist
HRANTR

With a curse I turned on my heel and made straight for the hotel. I didn’t blame Tarantoga for my failure to enjoy the concert; he had no way of knowing that I was still suffering from the cold I’d caught on Satelline.

To make up the disappointment to myself, immediately after arriving at the hotel I unpacked my package. It contained a movie projector, a reel of film, and a letter that went as follows:

M
Y
D
EAR
C
OLLEAGUE
!

 

You will recall our telephone conversation when you were visiting the Little
,
and
I
the Big Dipper. I said at the time that I suspected the existence of beings able to live at high temperatures on hot, molten planets, and that
I
intended to do research in this direction. You saw fit to express your doubt that such an undertaking would succeed. Well, here you have the proof before you. I selected a fiery planet, approached it by rocket as near as possible, then lowered on a long asbestos rope a fireproof filming device and microphone; in this fashion I took a number of interesting shots. The results of this little experiment
I
am taking the liberty of enclosing herewith.

 

Yours,
T
ARANTOGA

Burning with curiosity, no sooner had I finished reading than I put the film in the machine, hung my bedsheet up over the door and, turning off the light, started the projector. At first on that improvised screen there were only flickering patches of color; I heard hoarse noises and a crackling as if of logs in a furnace, then the picture sharpened.

The sun was sinking beneath the horizon. The surface of the ocean quivered; across it flitted tiny blue flames. The fiery clouds grew pale in the gathering darkness. The first faint stars appeared. Young Rodrillo, weary after studying all day, had just emerged from his fludget to take an evening stroll. There was nowhere in particular he was going; leisurely moving his twoons, he inhaled with pleasure the fresh, fragrant vapors of burning ammonia. Someone approached him, barely visible in the growing dusk. Rodrillo strained his scrotchers, but it wasn’t until the other came nigh that the youth recognized his friend.

“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” said Rodrillo. The friend shifted his weight from ambus to ambus, leaned halfway out of the fire and said:

“Lovely indeed. The sal ammoniac has grown nicely this year, have you noticed?”

“Yes, the harvest promises to be good.”

Rodrillo swayed lazily, turned over on his belly and, opening all his opticules, gazed up at the stars.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “whenever I look at the night sky, as now, I cannot help but feel that up there, far, far away, are other worlds, worlds similar to our own, and also inhabited by beings of intelligence…”

“Who speaks here of intelligence?!” came a voice nearby. Both lads turned their backs in that direction to see who it was. They recognized the gnarled but still spry figure of Flamentius. That hoary scholar approached them with stately motions, and his future descendants, looking like bunches of grapes, were already swelling and sending out their first shoots on his spreading shoulders.

“I was speaking of the intelligent beings that inhabit other worlds…” replied Rodrillo, lifting his squips respectfully.

“Rodrillo was speaking of intelligent beings on other worlds?…” rejoined the scholar. “Just look at him! Other worlds yet!! Ah, that Rodrillo, that Rodrillo! Is
this
how you spend your time, my boy? Letting your imagination run wild? But of course … I approve … on an evening such as this… It’s gotten definitely colder, don’t you think?”

“No,” said both lads together.

“The fires of youth, yes, I know. All the same it’s now only eight hundred and sixty degrees; I should have put on my lava-lined pullover. That’s old age for you. So you say,” he continued, turning his back to Rodrillo, “that on other worlds there exists intelligent life? What sort of creatures are these, according to you?”

“We cannot know exactly,” replied the youth timidly. “They are varied, I think. It’s conceivable even that on the cooler planets living organisms might arise from a substance called protein.”

“Who told you that?!” Flamentius burst out in anger.

“Implosio. He’s the young student of biochemistry who—”

“Young fool, you mean!” snapped Flamentius. “Life from protein?! Living things from protein? Aren’t you ashamed to spout such nonsense in the presence of your teacher?! Here is the result of the ignorance and the arrogance that have spread so alarmingly of late! You know what they ought to do with that Implosio of yours? Give him a good watering down, that’s what!”