The Map of the Sky (Trilogía Victoriana #2)(15)
“Oh, yes . . . your mission,” MacReady responded sardonically. “Your attempt to find the opening that leads to the center of the Earth, which you believe is inhabited and illuminated by a sun smaller than our own, or is it two suns?”
Hearing MacReady scoff at his ideas, Reynolds could not help being reminded of his partner Symmes and the laughter they had endured during their exhausting lecture tour concerning the Hollow Earth.
“Believe it or not, Captain, that is the aim of this expedition,” Reynolds replied, undeterred.
MacReady let out a guffaw that echoed across the white desert.
“Your na?veté is touching, Reynolds. Do you really believe the aim of this expedition is that altruistic? Mr. Watson of the Scientific Corps doesn’t give a fig about finding your entrance to the Earth’s core.”
“What are you implying?” the explorer demanded.
The captain smiled contemptuously.
“We didn’t organize all this to prove or disprove your ludicrous theory, Reynolds. Our sponsor wants what all the world powers want: to determine the strategic importance of the last unconquered territory.”
The explorer looked at the captain with feigned disbelief, while smiling to himself contentedly. With these last words, MacReady had confirmed that he had taken the bait. Reynolds knew that John Frampton Watson believed wholeheartedly in his Hollow Earth theory, as did the politicians, the government institutions secretly supporting them, and the handful of private backers who preferred to remain anonymous. But they had all decided to be cautious and to conceal their true aims, at least for the time being. If the expedition turned out to be a disaster, Reynolds would be the only one publicly disgraced, mocked, and humiliated. Those who remained in the shadows, on the other hand, stood to lose only a few dollars: they could wash their hands of the matter, claiming they had quite different aims, that they had never given that poor lunatic much credit and had simply used him for their own ends. As things stood, it was preferable not to let the public think they were wasting money on such reckless ventures. And Reynolds had accepted the role of scapegoat in exchange for a confidential agreement. If he succeeded in finding that other world, which he was convinced he would, his dreams of wealth and glory would be amply fulfilled, for tucked away in his lawyers’ safe was a document, inspired by the Capitulations of Santa Fe between Christopher Columbus and the Catholic monarchs, stating that Reynolds would be named admiral viceroy and governor general of all the land discovered beneath the Earth’s crust, as well as receive a tenth of any riches found in the conquered territories. So MacReady could carry on thinking Reynolds was a puppet manipulated by obscure masters. Actually, it was preferable: the less the captain knew the better. Reynolds did not trust MacReady. In fact, he did not trust anyone: the world was full of men who had usurped the discoveries of others, stealing all the glory for themselves and dooming the true pioneers to obscurity. Reynolds did not want to run that risk. Thus the more stupid MacReady thought he was, the greater the advantage Reynolds had over him.
The captain observed Reynolds’s silence with a mocking smile, awaiting a response. Having confirmed his role as na?ve idealist, Reynolds was about to say something else about the businessman when a huge noise from the sky shook the earth beneath them. Reynolds and MacReady looked up, stunned. The other members of the crew also gazed at the sky, convinced the thunderous roar could only mean that it was falling in on them.
If the flying saucer had managed to impress a man like Wells, with his vast scientific knowledge and an imagination capable of dreaming up similar artifacts, imagine the fright it must have given that handful of rough sailors as it suddenly appeared on the horizon. It hurtled toward them, passing above their horrified heads and deafening them before disappearing toward the distant mountains, leaving behind a thin slash of light on the dark stain of the sky. They had only been able to see it clearly when it flew over them, but evidently none of them understood what the huge, flat, circular object was that seemed to spin on its own axis as it thundered through the air. Shortly after it disappeared behind the frozen peaks, they heard a tremendous bang, as though a tenton object, possibly made of iron or some equally heavy material, had crashed into the ice. It was a couple of minutes before the echo from the collision died away. When it did, the ensuing silence felt intolerable, as if they were all submerged at the bottom of the ocean. Only then did MacReady dare to speak.
“What the d-devil was that . . . ?” he stammered, not bothering to hide his bewilderment.
“My God, I’ve no idea . . . A meteorite, I imagine,” Reynolds replied, his mystified gaze fixed on the distant ridge.
“I don’t think so,” someone disagreed.
It was a skinny sailor by the name of Griffin. Reynolds wheeled round and looked at him curiously, surprised by the conviction with which the man had contradicted him.
“Its path was too . . . erratic,” the sailor explained, somewhat uncomfortable at feeling all eyes suddenly upon him. “When it reached the mountains it turned sharply and tried to gain height, as though wishing to avoid the fatal collision.”
“What are you trying to say?” asked MacReady, who was not one for riddles.
Griffin turned to the captain and answered his question, a little hesitantly. “Well, it looked as though someone was trying to guide it in a particular direction, Captain. As though it was being . . . steered.”