From: blueshirt@indigo.news   
      
   DOCTOR OMEGA - By Arnould Galopin   
      
   (English translation)   
      
   -----------------------------------   
      
   *CHAPTER III*   
      
   THE DEPARTURE OF THE “COSMOS”   
      
      
   On April 16th, the projectile was transported in an enormous   
   closed box, to the middle of a vast plain.   
      
   Using winches and braces, it was put upright, the base resting   
   on a large cement platform, and by means of chains and ropes it   
   was fixed to the ground.   
      
   The day before our departure, I realized that Doctor Omega was   
   continuously making calculations in his note-book.   
      
   “Have you made an error?” I asked him.   
      
   “No,” he answered, “only it matters that I determine the point   
   exactly where we are in order to regulate the angle of my   
   projectile. Without that we would be likely to miss Mars. You   
   know like me that, to reach this planet, it is necessary to take   
   account of an essential fact: it is that the projectile takes   
   part in two different movements: its own movement and that which   
   the Earth imparts to it by its rotation.   
      
   “Its own movement, you know. That which the Earth imparts is a   
   consequence of the rotation of the sphere.   
      
   “Starting at Creusot, which is located between the 46th and 47th   
   degrees of north latitude, the speed of this movement is equal   
   to 24,000 kilometres in twenty-four hours, that is to say 1,000   
   kilometres per hour. (It is the speed which the city of Creusot   
   traverses in space in consequence of the terrestrial rotation.)   
      
   “But, my projectile will preserve this impulse indefinitely,   
   because as you know, when a body is actuated by a movement, it   
   cannot stop on its own. Abruptly stop a car moving at any speed   
   and what occurs? The passengers are thrown from it violently.   
      
   “In short, Creusot is traversing, in consequence of this   
   rotation, 1,000 kilometres per hour. For as many hours our   
   projectile will need to reach Mars, it will be deviated from its   
   path by 1,000.   
      
   “As it must remain in space for 17 days and 2 hours, that is to   
   say 410 hours, it will thus deviate from its path by 410,000   
   kilometres.   
      
   “We will be consequently obliged, in order to reach our goal, to   
   incline our projectile to a position corresponding exactly to   
   410,000 kilometres to the west of Mars.   
      
   “But it is not all The Earth still has a translatory movement   
   around the sun. I also took care to include this in my   
   calculations of drift.   
      
   “If one did not take account of these movements, one would be   
   like a naval gunner, who, trying to hit a distant target,   
   worries neither about the rolling nor the pitching of his ship.”   
      
   All this was Hebrew to me of, but I nodded my head however and   
   murmured from time to time words like these: Obviously! It is   
   clear! Nothing could be plainer! That makes sense!   
      
   And the doctor continued his explanations, persuaded that I   
   understood him perfectly.   
      
   Suddenly he said to me:   
      
   “I do not believe to be mistaken in my calculations, because   
   I’ve checked them well; however, for safety’s sake, will you   
   please redo them. I will then compare your results with mine.”   
      
   These words produced on me the effect of a cold shower and I   
   looked at the scientist with a frightened expression.   
      
   I was going to acknowledge my ignorance to him, when, extremely   
   fortunately, the arrival of Fred made a diversion. Definitely,   
   this good chap came always came through.   
      
   He approached the doctor and said to him in an embarrassed tone:   
      
   “Doctor, I have something to ask you.”   
      
   “Well,” said the scientist gruffly.   
      
   “I would like to go with you.”   
      
   “You are insane, Fred! Besides, I do not need you. We two are   
   sufficient.”   
      
   Fred smiled.   
      
   “It is possible,” he answered, “but you undoubtedly did not   
   think of one thing. You know that I am not bad cook. You have   
   even complimented me often on the little dishes I’ve made for   
   you. I could be your master-chef and on board the craft I would   
   deal with the grub”.   
      
   “And then one does not know if might be attacked on the Moon. I   
   have heard that she is inhabited by some unpleasant   
   coconuts—rather odd individuals.”   
      
   “My good Fred,” said the doctor, smiling. “it is not to the Moon   
   that we are going but to the planet Mars!”   
      
   “The Moon or the planet Mars, for me, it is a toss-up. It is a   
   strange country. If the Porpoises”—I believe that one calls them   
   that...”   
      
   “No, the Martians,” replied the doctor.   
      
   “Well, if the Martians were going to attack you on your arrival,   
   do you believe the two of you could hold out against them? With   
   me along, the party would be less dangerous. I could defend you.”   
      
   Fred showed his enormous hands. The doctor considered his   
   workman for a few moments, then he said to him:   
      
   “You will come with us, but I will be obliged to add to our   
   projectile a layer of Repulsite corresponding to your weight!”   
      
   “Oh! thank you!” exclaimed Fred. “You will see I will be more   
   useful to you than you suppose. I am you will not regret having   
   taken me along.”   
      
   I was not annoyed to see Fred coming with us, because I wondered   
   already, being unaccustomed to any manual work, how I would be   
   of any assistance to the scientist.   
      
   On the day of the departure, a crowd arrived at Creusot.   
      
   As on the day before, the plain was littered with   
   curiosity-seekers who had come to see the projectile.   
      
   I must confess that, on the morning of April 18th, I had lost   
   much of my assurance and I wondered if I should or should not   
   leave with the doctor.   
      
   For several hours I deliberated. I was about to go find my   
   friend and tell him not to count on me any longer, but I did not   
   dare make the decision.   
      
   The moment to leave this world had come. Already the doctor   
   given his last instructions.   
      
   His note-book in one hand, a compass in the other, he tilted the   
   shell in a westerly direction, towards an imaginary point which   
   only he seemed to see.   
      
   We moved the machine, by using winches, leaning it more and   
   more, until finally the doctor exclaimed:   
      
   “We are there!”   
      
   Immediately the shell was slipped onto a metal trap, driven by a   
   gigantic spring, which releasing an extraordinary force was to   
   give to the machine the initial thrust which would send it on   
   its way to Mars, while making it describe an immense parabola.   
      
   “Perfect,” said Doctor Omega after having checked for the last   
   time the position of the projectile.   
      
   He moved towards small stage where he took a seat in the middle   
   of about fifty people. Fred and I sat down at its sides.   
      
   Musicians played our national anthem, then several serious and   
   solemn gentlemen, in grotesque frock coats, made speeches of   
   which the major part of the audience did not understand a thing.   
      
   Doctor Omega wanted to answer in his turn, but he was not   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)