Philip Farmer - The Other Log of Phileas Fogg

Fix, be it noted, stayed behind. He did not believe that any of the party would return. He would have liked to volunteer, because this would have removed the last of Fogg’s suspicions about him. But at the thought of what the Indians d id to their captives, he quailed.

Afterward, he cursed himself for a coward. But what a brave fellow that Fogg was! Eridanean or not, he… But no! Such thoughts were treasonable. He paced back and forth before the station house. Should he enter and make himself known to Proctor? Or was the colonel even aware that he, Fix, was a Capellean? If so, he had made no recognition signal. And if Proctor did not know, then Fix would have a perfect excuse for his inaction. Nemo, who had stayed behind in San Francisco, had only instructed him to stick close to Fogg. He was to report on Fogg’s activities when an agent made contact with him.

The train pulled out, leaving Fix and Aouda behind. Watching it dwindle on the vast prairie, Fix suddenly lost his sense of security at having at least followed Nemo’s orders. He was not supposed to leave Fogg for any reason. And he had refused to go with him! What would Nemo say? He knew well what he would say. Unless Fogg did come back, Fix was lost. Nemo would say that Passepartout and Fogg might have used the distorter to get away from both Sioux and Capelleans. Fix would argue that this was not likely. To use the distorter, Fogg would have to rescue Passepartout first, and how could he do that? Besides, it was thought that the Eridaneans had only one distorter left. Where was the other one needed for their transmission?

Nemo would reply that it was uncertain that the enemy had only one device. Moreover, what was to prevent the wily Fogg from repeating the Mary Celeste incident with the distorter now carried by the Chinese agent? Indeed, the Chinese agent may have been killed by the Eridaneans, who would then be in possession of a second distorter.

And this had happened because Fix had not been able to help Nemo on the General Grant. And had Fix been as sick as he said he was? Perhaps he had been malingering. And so on. A fatal so on.

Fix went into the station house. If he had no internal fire to warm him, he could at least get an external fire from the stove. But he went out again almost at once. He felt a need to be punished. He would sit out here and freeze until Fogg came back. At least, until the sun arose. The sun. It was said to be ninety-three million miles away. He had heard Earthlings exclaim with wonder at this inconceivable distance. He had always snickered inwardly when this happened. What did they know of the mindreeling stretch of interstellar space? His own homeland was forty-five light-years away. A man walking twenty miles a day would take four million and six hundred and fifty thousand days to travel to the sun. Almost thirteen thousand years. Yet that was a mere stroll to the corner green-grocer’s for one who walked to Capella.

His homeland? Why did he call it that? In reality, he had never seen it nor had any of his ancestors. He and they were homebodies, Earthlings, in fact. They had always been restricted to this tiny far-off planet. Only the Old Ones could call Capella home, and even those who had come from it were probably all dead.

The original settlers had stopped here because they had thought that it might make a site for another fort. Also, because they had to make scientific survey of this unknown planet. They had to ascertain, among other things, if it held sentients. And, if it did, if the sentients were dangerous to Capella. That had happened over two hundred years ago. The sentients then, and now, were a long way from interstellar, or even interplanetary, flight.

By the time they attained the latter, they would probably kill themselves, the whole planet, too, with nuclear wars or, even more probably, global pollution. It was doubtful that their technology, and its intelligent use, would ever match their ability to create social stupidities. If it did, it would be too late. Or so said the original Old Ones. The mystics among them claimed that man was descended from some type of now-extinct ape. The simian strain would never die out, no matter how far the physical appearance of the human species got from the simian. They were inherently committed to dirt and dissension.

But if they had proper guidance?

If the Old Ones had been able to land in force, instead of in a single scoutship, they could have conquered the sentients. These, guided by the Old One’s superior wisdom and knowledge, could have been set on the right path. But the Old Ones had to hide while they observed. Otherwise, they would have been killed, no matter how many thousands they might have slaughtered.

The Old Ones were just completing their report on Earth when the Eridaneans landed. There had been war, and both spaceships had been damaged beyond repair. And so both forces had gone underground. With surgery, they had remodified their bodies to pass for humans. After a while, because of their small numbers, they had enlisted a few Earthlings as allies. Through infant adoption, secret education, the bloodsharing ceremony, and, strongest of all, the millennium medicine, they had secured the loyalty of their allies. There was also the Great Plan which would make mankind long-lived and happy.

But first, the Eridaneans must be exterminated.

Fix shook with the cold. He was freezing to the core of his brain. The fires were going out. Still, there were enough to cast some shadows. Now he could see, suddenly, without the obstacle of the shadows. He must be frozen through and through. Emotions were dead; only logic could live in this extreme cold. If the Capelleans and Eridaneans were so highly advanced, why had they ever thought it necessary to make war on each other? War was all right for the Earthlings, since they were so retarded. They did not know any better. They were still like baboons. But why the two peoples from the stars?

The Old Ones had said-or so he had been told-that the Eridaneans had started it all. They were not quite as advanced as the Capelleans, not at least in social wisdom. They had attacked the Capelleans somewhere on some outpost planet many millennia ago. And the Capelleans had been forced to fight or become extinct.

The sun rose. Fix became a little warmer though no less confused.

Shortly after seven, he heard a shot. He rushed out toward the sound with the soldiers and found Fogg, Passepartout, and two other passengers marching with the volunteer troopers. Aouda, too choked up to talk, could only hold Fogg’s hand. Fix was happy yet ashamed. Passepartout was lamenting how much he had cost Fogg in money and time so far. Then he looked around for the train and became even more desolate on finding that it had gone on.

Phileas Fogg was twenty-four hours behind schedule.

Fix knew that Fogg had to be in New York City on the eleventh before nine o’clock in the evening. At that hour the steamer left for Liverpool and another would not be available until the next day. It seemed inevitable that Fogg would miss the steamer. But Fix came to the rescue this time. The evening before, he had been approached by a Mr. Mudge, who had offered to take Fix at once to Omaha, though by a rather unconventional conveyance. Fix had turned him down because he had to wait for Fogg. Now he informed Fogg that all was not yet lost. He could be transported on an ice-sled. This vehicle held five or six persons and was equipped with a mast which held a brig sail and afforded attachment for a jib sail. It was steered by a rudder which dug into the snow.

Would Fogg care to use this craft?

Mr. Fogg certainly would. Presently, the party was being driven by a west wind over the ice and snow of the prairie. The two hundred miles between Fort Kearney and Omaha were covered in five hours. Fix said nothing during the journey, but he was happy. His service in obtaining the ice-sled would be one more item in his favor to reduce Fogg’s suspicions of him.