Chapter V: Capella's Daughter

The first thing that met the doctor’s gaze, when his mind entered that of his distant agent, was a clock. It was a very ordinary sort of an instrument, such as one sees in schools and offices; it had two hands, and a pendulum of the usual size and length.

However, this pendulum was swinging at a very rapid rate; nearly twice as fast, judged the doctor, as that of his own chronometer. And its dial was divided into twenty-five equal parts, instead of twelve, each of these parts being further divided into five equal portions. At the moment, these two hands indicated what would have been called, on the earth, about half past three.

Before the doctor could speculate on this, his unknown agent shifted his gaze to a newspaper on a desk before him. Apparently he was thinking of something entirely different; for he absently turned the pages, one by one, his subconscious mind taking it all in.

And the doctor saw that the paper was called simply The Hourly Journal; that it was of very nearly the size of most sheets; and that it consisted of about ten pages. The front and back pages, only, contained news items; the remainder were packed solid with advertisements. Not one of these were striking enough for the doctor to remember; he said they were exactly like large-size professional “cards,” except that they applied to every business, from candy to bridges. As for the news items, each was short, unsensational, with the simplest kind of head-lines. More the doctor had no chance to observe.

Abruptly the agent stowed the paper away, and looked up. Presumably he was seated in some sort of a theater. Directly ahead was the familiar white rectangle of a photoplay-house screen. And all about him were heads and shoulders, seemingly belonging to young folks, of about high-school age. Even to “low necks” for the girls and white collars for the boys, they were identically like people of the earth.

In fact, if it had not been for that clock the doctor would have concluded that there was some mistake, and have ended the experiment. For some time he learned little; the place was filled with a confused murmur. His agent, however, took no part in the conversation that produced this effect; once or twice he yawned.

Suddenly the buzz came to a stop; and next moment a tall figure stepped upon the platform in front of the screen.

“Class,” began this person immediately, “to-day we will summarize what we have learned during the past week about the solar system of which our planet is one element.”

And as he spoke the doctor saw that there had been no mistake. For, although the agent’s subconscious mind had served to translate what was said into language understandable by the doctor, yet his eyes plainly told him that the professor’s lips were saying something else.

There was no doubt about it. For all that the doctor could tell by watching the speaker’s mouth, he might have been talking in Eskimo. But his meaning was quite as clear as though he had said it in English.

“We will begin with a picture of the sun herself.” As the words were spoken, a motion-picture film was projected on the screen. The doctor instantly noted the natural colors, stereoscopic effect, and marvelous clearness, such as branded this exhibition as not of the earth. But the professor was saying:

“The sun controls, besides this world, no less than thirty others”--and the doctor knew, as well as other people know their A B C’s, that the earth’s planetary family consists of only eight--”no less than thirty others, of which eight are now without life.” The speaker turned toward a student on the far left. “Tell us how many of the thirty are still too hot to support life, Miss Ballens.”

The girl did not get to her feet. “Ten,” was her answer.

“Which leaves, of course, twelve besides our own planet which now possess life in one form or another. Mr. Ernol, can you give us some idea of conditions on any one of these?”

To the doctor’s immense satisfaction, the brain whose loan he was enjoying responded to the question. “On Saloni, the vertebrates have not yet appeared. None but the lowest forms of life have been found.”

“Is this planet larger or smaller than ours, Mr. Ernol?”

“Larger. It will be a matter of millions of centuries before such beings as humans are evolved there.”

“How do we know these facts?”

As though it were a signal, the entire class, with one accord, uttered a single word: “Runled!”

And the doctor found his agent’s eyes turned, together with those of every other student in the room, toward the portrait of a highly intellectual-looking man; it hung in the most conspicuous spot on the wall.

“We must never forget,” continued the man on the platform, “that, but for the explorations of this man and his space-boat, some eighty years ago, we should know very little. Can any one tell me why his explorations have never been repeated?”

Two hands went up. The professor nodded to a girl seated next to the young fellow whom the doctor now knew as “Ernol.” This girl spoke very clearly: “Because the expedition was extremely costly, and the commission has never been willing to appropriate enough to duplicate the work.”

“The commission’s judgment is, of course, sound,” commented the professor calmly. Then he signaled for a change in the picture, which had been showing, in rapid succession, glimpses of world after world. The new picture was more leisurely.

“The planet Alma. Can any one explain why it is of special interest to us?”

For a moment there was no comment, and the doctor found himself studying a “panorama” of some exceedingly striking people. There was quite a crowd; and the doctor was amazed to note how much like the Venusians they were. Without exception they were delicately built, with thin, shriveled legs; all were seated, none standing, in cigar-shaped aircraft of a type entirely new to the doctor.