Alpha Centauri entered these marvelous cities quivering with expectations, radiant with hope, but departure was invariably hastened by bitter disappointment and, in despair, she finally suggested the return to Centur. I brusquely advised her to continue traveling, reminding her that once in Centur all hope was ended. Then endeavoring to console I talked long and earnestly about ideals never realized and succeeded in rousing anger, which is better. She reproached me for “planting this image of torture in my brain,” and “you class me with the absurdities of six centuries ago.”
“Ah, Virgillius,” she continued: “this phantom of my brain has an adoration far exceeding mine, a powerful magnetism forced me upon this tour. All ideas, no matter how fabulous, have had previous existence. What the brain conceives can be realized; nothing is impossible. Life is the most fabulous illusion in the universe—a marvelous creation of Sol. Virgillius, the magnetism of your idea forced you into a stupendous folly, but you realized.”
“I realize, but it does not bring me peace or happiness,” I retorted.
“You sought and worshipped beyond your sphere,” she quickly answered. “The current of Thought met, crashed, and lost power in evaporation; the union of magnets creates disaster. Virgillius, I have a great longing to return to Centur, some force urges me. To travel farther is needless. Ah, how selfish is my passion! I follow your advice, the tour continues.”
So we sailed onward, and into a corner of her vast knowledge Alpha Centauri stored the wisdom of deceit. She smiled and appeared gay, happy, when heart-sick, disappointed and bored. She preferred solitude, lost her brilliant coloring and the grave, frank eyes became dull, fatigued. Those traveling with us paid little heed to her erratic ways, believing she was deep in the study of some new scientific discovery—which she was—and had it not been for my pleasant surroundings it would have been a toss-up between the air ship and Saxe. After all, Saxe. & Co. were to be envied. The Propellier was faithful to Saxe., the stars true to Saunders. Only Sheldon and myself were excavating with doubts as to our landing.
Alpha Centauri had gathered about her many charming people, their entertaining company made life bearable during the tedious ending of the tour. There were several ladies with husbands, two young girls with cavaliers, and an interesting Mamma who did the talking for them. The girls were very pretty and the cavaliers devoted. One was a young doctor—we’ve all met him. The other was a descendant of the man who melted the emerald and kept it to himself. Naturally the young man was rather mournful and stilted, his pride was inherited—keeping a secret is a most acrobatic feat. There was a companionable literary man constantly deep in inspired thought. He did not alarm with allusions to the plot of his forthcoming book, but occasionally boasted of a world of his own—as they all do—and limited his conversation to current topics. His briefness was fascinating—an art.
Then we had a mineralogist whose deep scientific problem was—sleep. Occasionally he woke up and became as frisky as a boy of fifty. His wife was the only woman I ever met who could keep up an incessant chatter and still be interesting. There was a tragedian, playwright, all in one, including a wife. The tragedies this gentleman wrote were excellent farces. He was the greatest humorist of the time. His wit was sharp, broad and frequently coarse, but he handled his subject with such rare delicacy that it took a couple of days to discover that he shouldn’t have told the joke and we shouldn’t have laughed. The wife was a beautiful, fair woman of that type that most men are willing some other fellow shall possess.
Everybody was very kind to me, and were I not so desperately in love and therefore desperately unhappy, I would have greatly enjoyed the trip throughout this strange land.
The country was rapidly changing in appearance. We sailed over a range of burnt, dwarfed mountains enclosing completely a vast desert which narrowed to meet a neck of land that stretched across the ocean, connecting Centauri with the Vespa Belt. This connecting land was fifty miles long, twenty wide, and most of the time submerged.
“You are viewing the ancient battlefield of the Vespas and Centauris,” the literary man informed me. “The last war they had lasted forty years, closed with carnage, and should be eliminated from history. The reading is not elevating and neither have anything to be proud of. It occurred during the early ages when civilization ignored the earth which was inhabited by savages and beasts, the beasts being superior and more humane. What the war was over I’ve never discovered, nor has any one else; but it was conducted upon the most hellish plans. During one engagement the Vespas invaded too deeply the Centauri desert, their idea to surprise the enemy, who were ambushed in the hills. They were permitted to advance well inland, then suddenly the Centauris appeared and surrounded them. Not one Vespa returned to the Belt, but scouts informed the crescent people what had happened. The ancient King Benlial was a demon, the Vespas were enraged, and early the following day the Centauris were astounded to see another Vespa army marching across the neck. The Centaurians yelled their scorn of the advancing army and rushed to meet it. The battle was fought upon the peninsula, the Vespas gradually retreating; then suddenly, as though panic-stricken, turned tail and fled. The Centaurians, wild, drunk with victory, pursued them closely and at first did not see the tremendous wall of water rising, cutting off all escape. They realized when the land sank and mountainous waves engulfed them. It was a fiendish revenge; the Vespas are rightly named.”