Paul Di Filippo - WikiWorld

The dinner moved naturally through its many happy courses, until at last it reached the speechifying stages. After many lesser orations, the time came for President Ponto himself to speak.

“This hour should be dedicated, by common consent, to my new nation’s recent accomplishment, shared by all mankind, in constructing a new continent wholly from scratch. These virgin lands—dubbed Helenia, after my charming wife”—here President Ponto pivoted to single out the lady so referenced, and Hélène’s immense blushing face filled all the telephonoscope screens—“will serve as a necessary release valve for the population pressures of older lands, encouraging settlers to fresh heights of invention and enterprise. And I do so dedicate this shining hour to all the hard labour and visionary guidance that preceded it.”

Here a rousing cheer from thousands of throats rattled the panes of the Hall.

“But,” continued the President, “ I would be disloyal to the spirit of Helenia if I focused solely on the past. For the future itself is that vast untouched territory that most concerns us, the frontier where we may unfurl untried and brighter banners of conquest and exploration.

“And so I choose this moment to announce a new project, one that will tax our every fibre, and yet reward us commensurately.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I hereby declare our nation’s intentions to construct a bridge to the Moon!”

A stunned silence greeted this unexpected announcement. But as soon as the inevitable majesty of the notion penetrated the consciousnesses of the listeners, they let loose a lusty roar that outdid all earlier cheers.

When the din died away, President Ponto said, “This bridge—a transit tunnel of sorts, actually, such as those which link the continents of Earth under the seas—will open up vast resources and territory that our planet needs to move forward to her inevitable destiny. I know I can count on the support of every one of Helenia’s citizens in this noble quest.”

President Ponto resumed his seat to deafening applause, and the rest of the banquet passed in a furor of celebration, not unmixed with much wheeling and dealing, as various tycoons utilized telephonic service to reach their brokers.

Eventually the occupants of the head table made their official exit, leaving the other revelers to continue the celebrations.

In the private backstage corridors of the Hall, President and Mr. Ponto conferred sotto voce with Jungle Alli.

“Your wild scheme is set in motion,” said the younger man. “I only pray that the Cat Women regard the Earth-Moon Tunnel as harmless economic expansionism natural to our race, and not an assault on their citadel.”

“Oh, I am sure they will welcome it, as diverting our resources. They of course, with their powers of teleportation, have no need of a material connection between our worlds. But we do. And once the bridge to the Moon in place, we will be enabled to attack the nexus of their power. That ruined city beneath the lunar surface.”

The elder Ponto now said, “There remains much to set in motion if this challenging feat of engineering is to be financed. I shall have to get busy right now. Son, I will need your assistance…”

President Ponto wearily signalled his assent to a long night of tedious governmental activity. “Miss Bradley, perhaps you would consent to escort my wife back to her rooms. She has been feeling unwell lately…”

“Of course.”

Soon Jungle Alli was steering Hélène Ponto toward the younger woman’s bedchambers. The wife of the President exhibited a slightly inebriated and confused manner.

Once the two women were inside the intimate Presidential quarters and all the maids were dismissed, Jungle Alli said, “You recall that I suggested I might be able to clear your mind of its recent confusions. Well, the process involves attaining a certain level of somatic and psychical integration between us, so that I might confer some of my innate immunity to such disturbances on you.”

Hélène seemed on the point of swooning, and Jungle Alli had to catch her and lower her to a divan. With the back of one hand to her brow and eyes shuttered, Hélène said, “Anything… anything to restore my vigour and clarity…”

Jungle Alli quickly shucked her bandoliers and gun belt, then began unbuttoning her khaki shirt. “Just lie back, my darling, and the treatment will commence….”

At four that morning, when the Polynesian skies above the fresh-faced continent of Helenia were just beginning to display the first hints of dawn, President Ponto quietly opened the door of his wife’s bedchambers. The dim electrical nightlights therein revealed the intertwined forms of not one but two women beneath the sheets of the large bed.

Her wilderness-honed senses snapping alert, Jungle Alli instantly sized up the intrusion and whispered, by way of explanation, “I believe my quasi-masculine touch has managed temporarily to break the spell of the Cat Women over your wife, Philippe. But additional male contact would certainly not be counterproductive… in neither of our cases.”

Philippe smiled, shrugged with Gallic savoir-faire, and doffed his ceremonial sash. “Whatever is demanded of me to ensure the survival of our planet, Miss Bradley.”

Grinning, Jungle Alli pulled back the bedcovers to disclose her scarred nakedness, and Hélène’s alabaster skin. “Call me Alice, Phil.”

The building of the Earth-Moon bridge instantly captivated the fancy of the entire planet, following as it did hard upon the excitement of Helenia’s inauguration.

At least, the project attracted the eyes of that portion of the globe that was not concerned with the growing tensions between the sexes.

Not every woman on Earth was irritably chafing under the mental goads of the invisible and unsuspected Cat Women. But those lunar devils continued to prick the intelligences of many females in high places, who in turn inflamed their followers, thus fomenting dissent, altercations and contumely between the sexes.

For instance, the Women’s Supremacy Brigade, normally inactive save during the decennial revolutions, had convened its members to patrol the streets of Paris by night, ostensibly to guarantee the safety of the city’s filles de joie —a safety never actually in jeopardy. In reality the Brigade functioned as a male-bashing squad, roughing up lotharios, boulevardiers and beau brummels.

But as yet this kind of intermittent breakdown in the social compact between the sexes formed a mere background rumble to the normal functioning of society. And that society now strained at its brave limits to fulfill the incredibly ambitious program outlined by President Ponto.

Gathered in a meeting room with the chief engineers of the nation, President Ponto heard the first details of the plan to construct a bridge to the nearby satellite.

A bewhiskered savant named Professor Calculus explained, “The immense weight of the dangling bridge—in essence, a technological beanstalk or celestial ascenseur—must be counterbalanced by an equal weight outside the gravity shell of our planet, midway between Earth and Moon, at roughly the three-hundred-and-thirty-seven-kilometre mark. Practically speaking, the bridge will be suspended from this anchor outside our atmosphere, and simply tethered to the soil at either end.”

“How do we create this anchor in the ether?” asked the President.

“We propose to launch by numerous rockets many millions of tonnes of magnetically charged material, all aimed at the desired nexus in the void. The multiple impacts will agglomerate naturally into the desired anchor. Then we will harpoon the anchor with a titanic cable fired from a super-cannon, the other end of which will remain fastened here, and use that cable as the armature to build upward. Once this leg of the bridge is constructed, building downward to the Moon will be trivial.”