Chapter VIII: A Jovian Bug

“The wise and active conquer difficulties
By daring to oppose them.”
(+Rowe.+)

Having arrived at Derwent the four wanderers dedicated a few rooms at Dennis’s house for use as a laboratory. By this means the project could proceed without exciting notice and remark, for they wisely concluded that it would be soon enough to let the public into the secret if and when the experiments were successful and not before, so that in case the venture did not bring the result anticipated they could laugh at each other without the public joining in.

Accordingly Godfrey took up his quarters there, and arrangements were set on foot for the immediate commencement of the cultivation of the wonderful grub which they called by its Jovian name of “Gorokakak,” signifying ‘small fire-eater.’

According to Linnæus, this strange creature would have been included in the sub-order Homoptera in the order Hemiptera, or Rhynchota, and it lives on plants as a parasite. This necessitated bringing from Jupiter a quantity of the twigs and leaves on which it thrived; fortunately the insect devoured both dead and living leaves, or the difficulty of transplanting Jovian trees to terrestrial soil and keeping them alive would have been almost insurmountable. Although they brought as many leaves as they could, it was doubtful if they would have sufficient, as the insects were exceedingly voracious, but if not they would be able to return for a fresh supply.

These twigs were most peculiar in shape and form, being infested with gall-gnarls, and having a hard, horny bark, rough and covered with gleaming white spots about the size of a drop of water; the leaves were long and fibrous, with long spines and serrated edges, from the points of which projected numerous long, silky hairs of such scintillating iridescence as to look as though spangled with mica or bright minerals, each leaf seeming edged with long and magnificently jewelled lace of charming colour. The leaf itself was blood-red like our Virginia creeper in autumn, while the lace near the stem was a deep violet, gradually and imperceptibly varying through all the gamut of browns, greens, reds, purples and the like, to a rich and brilliant yellow at the apex, and as these filaments were long, flexible, and in constant motion, each leaf was a kaleidoscope of exquisite colour—a dream of colour harmony.

To Earth-ideas, the appearance of these bushes and shrubs surpasses all description, being a paradise, a heaven of beauty; every movement of air causing the filaments to quiver and the light to strike on different metallic surfaces, changing the whole scheme in the twinkling of an eye. So delicate and fragile are the leaves that when holding one between the thumb and fingers, however lightly, the mere pulsation of the blood flowing through the hand is more than sufficient to keep the whole curtain of coloured metallic fringe in a state of constant and ravishing motion.

No such plants have ever before been seen or known on Earth, and in the _Regina_ rooms of the ancient British Museum may be seen one of them, perhaps the most wonderful of all the marvellous mineral and botanical specimens collected during the ship’s travels in other worlds. A ‘botanical’ specimen it has been proved to be, yet when portions of the bark, leaf, and silken hairs have been submitted to experts, they have one and all declared them to be specimens of excellent metal-work of some minerals at present unknown.

How reasonable is this conclusion may be gathered at the Museum where, in the “A” room, in a large glass case, stands a complete bush exactly as growing, and although it is labelled “Gorokakak tree from Jupiter”—after the insect feeding upon it—many of the leading metallurgists consider it a magnificent specimen of Jovian metal-work. Strange to say, the leaf, living or dead, undergoes no change, and the hairs will successfully withstand a very high temperature, but are not entirely fireproof, for after sustaining long-continued heat, eventually they blaze and burn quickly, then subside to a glow which remains for a short time and becomes brilliantly white, with evolution of dense smoke, and then they fall to powder, like magnesium-ribbon.

The life-history of the gorokakak is extremely interesting. First of all there are the winged male and female, incapable of flying more than a few inches, and both these male and female parents have sucking mouth-organs which attach themselves to the undersides of the leaves. After mating the male dies and the female spreads her wings over her body like a shroud, and these becoming fast there by the interlocking of a hook, or spine, on the inner side of each wing-tip, she flies no more but, her mouth taking the nutriment from the leaf to which she is attached for the short time she has to live, commences laying her eggs on the underside of the leaf in circles of about a quarter of an inch in diameter and about half an inch apart, in order to give them space to develop, the sheltering leaf affording shade and protection from the weather and enemies. Then she dies, and in the course of a few weeks the ova develop into both males and females, but these have no sucking and piercing mouth-organs, and being wingless, progress slowly towards the stem of the plant, eating the leaf as they proceed, leaving but the skeleton with the silken fibres or hairs attached. On reaching the stem, each female, having selected her mate, lays two eggs, neither more nor less, on the tender part of the bark, and these minute grubs, which are always females, pierce their way under the bark where they lie dormant for several months, when they emerge and crawl to the stems and roots and lay parthenogenetic eggs, which form galls. These eggs develop again into young females, which also lay parthenogenetic eggs, forming more galls, and so on for ten parthenogenetic generations. All this causes the roots and stems of the plant to become gnarled and knotted and the leaves all skeleton. The eleventh of these generations crawls to the leaves to devour the skeleton fibres and the long, silken filaments, leaving nothing except the deformed and knotted roots and stem-sticks. After the fibres and hairs have undergone certain processes in the viscera, the insect spins a cocoon which it covers with a hard, heat-resisting substance like mica, leaving open a small hole at one end into which it creeps; then it exudes more of the mica-like material and joins up the vacant space, spins more silky substance to complete the cocoon under the outer coating, and, after thus hermetically sealing itself in a heat-resisting capsule, inside which is a beautifully soft cocoon, it prepares to undergo its metamorphosis, which keeps it dormant for seven weeks, when of the silk it has formed wings and other appendages. It then exudes some colourless liquid which sinks to the bottom of the capsule and dissolves it, when the winged male and female with which we started appear, and the same life-history is repeated.

Godfrey left many of the cocoons undisturbed in order that the stock should be kept up, the remainder being taken and made into threads, which were again twisted into long strands and placed on rollers or bobbins, and stored ready for weaving.

Prolific as the insects were, all this occupied a considerable time, and over eighteen months passed before sufficient material was obtained for the actual weaving to be commenced. In the meantime, experiments had been conducted with the cocoons in all stages, and it was found that the best results came from those taken about three weeks after the sealing. These strands resisted all temperatures, even that which volatilises steel; but again did a difficulty arise. The strands were perfectly opaque, even to the intense brilliancy of the sun, consequently, if woven so tightly as to present a close web of fibres, though the object could be achieved by the production of a heat-resisting material, it would be defeated in its attainment, for nothing would be visible through the cloth. It would therefore be necessary to have a net of sufficiently wide mesh to enable the travellers to see plainly through it, yet not wide enough to admit heat.

This compelled a further long series of experiments in order to ascertain how far the strands were effective outside their own substance in certain temperatures. These experiments were the most delicate and elaborate of all, for the heat of the sun is beyond terrestrial calculation, all Earth-knowledge ending at the fact that all metals known on Earth and many others undiscovered by science exist there as thin vapour, and temperatures of metals become unregisterable at their volatilisation. Allowance had therefore to be made for temperatures thousands of times greater than the highest obtainable on Earth, and even when this was done, the result might prove altogether inadequate to the heat that would be encountered—a terrestrial estimation of which could, at the best, be nothing more than a wild guess.

It was ascertained by actual experiment that the strands were effective in transmitting their properties of withstanding the passage of heat to a considerable distance around their mass, and when cords a line thick (one-twelfth of an inch) were placed half an inch apart, phosphorus and other elements, which are self-igniting in a dry atmosphere, covered with such a mesh received no added heat and remained unconsumed, though the net was subjected to a temperature of over 3000° C.

The experiments were a brilliant success, and in order to make assurance doubly sure and so avoid all risk of danger to themselves and their ship, the friends had the net woven with fine strands in so close a mesh that they could but dimly see through it when placed before one of the vessel’s powerful search-lights. It was nearly two years after their return from Jupiter before they were in a position to commence the work of weaving, which was to be conducted under their own supervision in a windowless building specially erected adjoining the shed, and not till the web was finished could they let their object be known. To all inquiries they had returned smiling and evasive answers. It was guessed that something wonderful was afoot, or they would not have remained busy yet closed up for two years. All kinds of rumours were circulated, not the least of which was that something had gone wrong with the _Regina_, and the owners, unable to use the vessel again, had built another shed and were constructing a second ship, making a mystery over it to cover their incompetency. Every movement was closely watched and publicly reported; every time they went to either of the sheds dozens of watching craft ‘waved’ the news to the whole earth, and so great a nuisance did this become that the secret workers built a covered way from one shed to the other. This privacy, together with the knowledge that from the house to the new shed was an underground passage, all in electrification, but added fuel to the fire of public curiosity, and the four friends could not step outside the buildings for their daily exercise, which they always took in the grounds, without being besieged by correspondents from airships overhead, who pressed for interviews in the hope of gleaning more information than the little already known.

One evening all four were coming out of the shed, when the instant Gilbert, who was first, got outside the door, a cable-tow with a running noose was slipped round his neck and any attempt to retreat would have been fatal. Whilst he was struggling with it to escape being strangled, it fell across his shoulders when it was drawn tight and a second later he was being hauled up into a powerful airship overhead. So well had the noose been dropped and manipulated that his companions were unaware he was being kidnapped till his body rose from the ground, dragged upwards by means of an electric winch, as the powerful ship set off at a tremendous speed. The people in the ship must have been mad, or else have believed the rumours that the _Regina_ was a hopeless wreck, to have attempted such a crime, but they soon became wiser, for before they had gone a hundred miles the _Queen_ rose from her shed like an awful Nemesis, with her search-lights full on, sweeping the earth and sky in all quarters, then started in the direction taken by the fugitive. In a few minutes the quarry flew round at a dangerous speed towards the north, taking an upper plane where were few ships, and soon saw that the _Regina_ had still some life in her. Her attractive force was switched on gently and the airship suddenly pulled up to a dead stand with a terrific shock which shot the driver through his glass cage a distance of twenty yards ahead, when he fell to the ground, giving an awful shriek and turning over and over in his descent. Very gradually, so as to cause no further damage, the ship was drawn to the _Regina_, the two mechanics in her white with fear, and bringing Gilbert forward, they begged for mercy. Gilbert shouted hurriedly, “Let them go! the owner is dead and these were but obeying his instructions.”

“Come in, all three of you,” said Dennis, now on the outer deck, “leave the ship, she’ll travel with us.”

All three entered and the two men were placed in what had been a cabin for one of the crew, when the door was electrified, and with the two prisoners and the fine prize in tow, the _Regina_ sailed back to Derwent. Within fifteen minutes of the abduction they were over the shed again, to find dozens of air-craft in various planes, and in the gathering darkness could be seen the lights of scores of others coming from all directions, drawn thither by the news. The four friends decided to make an example of the offending craft as a public warning, so the _Regina_ rose upwards, causing the captive to float below in the full glare of her lights; the ship was then drawn to the _Regina_, the outside of which was now put in de-atomising field, and just as a moth rushes to the light and falls, so did this valuable but fated craft hover in the glare for a moment, then rush towards the upper vessel, instantly to fall in a shower of myriads of atoms which, sinking to the ground in the beams of the search-lights, appeared like a sheet of falling fire.

The two men were floated downwards and were free, for the vengeance was complete; a little later the _Regina_ was housed and the government notified of the accident, with full particulars.

This time the four left the shed, they were not molested by so much as an inquiry. All the same, the incident, while filling every one with a fear of taking strong measures with so powerful an adversary, capable of such relentless and successful pursuit, did but whet the general curiosity which now rose to fever-heat. ‘Wave’ messages and other communications arrived every moment, far too numerous to be dealt with, so all were treated with the same silence, one message only in government code being sent all over the world intimating that at present no information could be given.

That was all very well, but the public wanted to know what was afoot; why the _Regina_, when in excellent condition and under perfect control, was allowed to rest unused, and why so much secrecy; and dozens of air-craft waited at various hailing distances, ready to flash the news by ‘wave’ to their various centres directly anything was discovered, by accident or design. Weeks passed, then months, yet not a word the wiser was any one. At last, nearly three years after the return from Jupiter, an announcement was made which almost caused the hair of every scientist to stand on end, and set every thinking being aghast with astonishment and incredulity. The message was short and to the point; every wave apparatus received the words,—“The _Regina_ will sail within ten days into the Sun.”