Chapter 15

Hyperbola or Parabola

12 min

We may, perhaps, be astonished to find Barbicane and his companions so little occupied with the future reserved for them in their metal prison which was bearing them through the infinity of space. Instead of asking where they were going, they passed their time making experiments, as if they had been quietly installed in their own study.

We may perhaps be surprised that Barbicane and his companions gave so little thought to the future awaiting them. Their metal prison was carrying them through the infinity of space. Yet instead of asking where they were going, they spent their time conducting experiments, as if they were sitting comfortably in their own study.

We might answer that men so strong-minded were above such anxieties—that they did not trouble themselves about such trifles—and that they had something else to do than to occupy their minds with the future.

We might answer that such strong-minded men were above these worries. They did not trouble themselves with such trivial matters and had better things to do than think about the future.

The truth was that they were not masters of their projectile; they could neither check its course, nor alter its direction.

The truth was that they had no control over their projectile. They could neither slow it down nor change its direction.

A sailor can change the head of his ship as he pleases; an aeronaut can give a vertical motion to his balloon. They, on the contrary, had no power over their vehicle. Every maneuver was forbidden. Hence the inclination to let things alone, or as the sailors say, “let her run.”

A sailor can steer a ship as he pleases. A balloonist can make a balloon rise or fall. But they had no control over their vehicle. They could not maneuver it at all. So they were inclined to leave things alone, or as sailors say, “let her run.”

Where did they find themselves at this moment, at eight o’clock in the morning of the day called upon the earth the 6th of December? Very certainly in the neighborhood of the moon, and even near enough for her to look to them like an enormous black screen upon the firmament. As to the distance which separated them, it was impossible to estimate it. The projectile, held by some unaccountable force, had been within four miles of grazing the satellite’s north pole.

Where were they at eight o’clock that morning, on the day called December 6 on Earth? They were certainly near the moon. In fact, they were close enough for it to look like an enormous black screen in the sky. But they could not estimate how far away it was. Held by some mysterious force, the projectile had come within four miles of grazing the moon’s north pole.

But since entering the cone of shadow these last two hours, had the distance increased or diminished? Every point of mark was wanting by which to estimate both the direction and the speed of the projectile.

But had the distance increased or decreased in the two hours since entering the cone of shadow? There were no reference points to help estimate the projectile's direction or speed.

Perhaps it was rapidly leaving the disc, so that it would soon quit the pure shadow. Perhaps, again, on the other hand, it might be nearing it so much that in a short time it might strike some high point on the invisible hemisphere, which would doubtlessly have ended the journey much to the detriment of the travelers.

Perhaps it was moving rapidly away from the disc and would soon leave the full shadow. On the other hand, perhaps it was getting so close that it might soon strike a high point on the invisible hemisphere. That would certainly have ended the journey disastrously for the travelers.

A discussion arose on this subject, and Michel Ardan, always ready with an explanation, gave it as his opinion that the projectile, held by the lunar attraction, would end by falling on the surface of the terrestrial globe like an aerolite.

A discussion arose about this. Michel Ardan, always ready with an explanation, offered his opinion. He believed the Moon's gravity would hold the projectile until it eventually fell to Earth like a meteorite.

“First of all, my friend,” answered Barbicane, “every aerolite does not fall to the earth; it is only a small proportion which do so; and if we had passed into an aerolite, it does not necessarily follow that we should ever reach the surface of the moon.”

“First of all, my friend,” Barbicane replied, “not every aerolite falls to Earth. Only a small proportion do. And even if we had entered an aerolite, we would not necessarily ever reach the surface of the Moon.”

“But how if we get near enough?” replied Michel.

“But what if we get close enough?” replied Michel.

“Pure mistake,” replied Barbicane. “Have you not seen shooting stars rush through the sky by thousands at certain seasons?”

“That’s a mistake,” replied Barbicane. “Haven’t you seen thousands of shooting stars streak across the sky at certain times of year?”

“Yes.”

“Well, these stars, or rather corpuscles, only shine when they are heated by gliding over the atmospheric layers. Now, if they enter the atmosphere, they pass at least within forty miles of the earth, but they seldom fall upon it. The same with our projectile. It may approach very near to the moon, and not yet fall upon it.”

“Well, these stars, or rather particles, only shine when they are heated as they glide through the layers of the atmosphere. If they enter the atmosphere, they come at least within forty miles of the earth, but they rarely fall to the ground. The same is true of our projectile. It may come very close to the moon without falling onto it.”

“But then,” asked Michel, “I shall be curious to know how our erring vehicle will act in space?”

“But then,” asked Michel, “I wonder how our wayward vehicle will behave in space?”

“I see but two hypotheses,” replied Barbicane, after some moments’ reflection.

“I see only two possibilities,” Barbicane replied after thinking for a few moments.

“What are they?”

“The projectile has the choice between two mathematical curves, and it will follow one or the other according to the speed with which it is animated, and which at this moment I cannot estimate.”

“The projectile will follow one of two mathematical curves, depending on its speed. But I cannot estimate its speed at the moment.”

“Yes,” said Nicholl, “it will follow either a parabola or a hyperbola.”

“Just so,” replied Barbicane. “With a certain speed it will assume the parabola, and with a greater the hyperbola.”

“That’s right,” replied Barbicane. “At a certain speed, its path will be a parabola. At a greater speed, it will be a hyperbola.”

“I like those grand words,” exclaimed Michel Ardan; “one knows directly what they mean. And pray what is your parabola, if you please?”

“I like those grand words,” exclaimed Michel Ardan. “You know right away what they mean. And what is a parabola, please?”

“My friend,” answered the captain, “the parabola is a curve of the second order, the result of the section of a cone intersected by a plane parallel to one of the sides.”

“My friend,” the captain replied, “a parabola is a second-degree curve. It is formed when a plane cuts through a cone parallel to one of its sides.”

“Ah! ah!” said Michel, in a satisfied tone.

“Ah! Ah!” said Michel, sounding satisfied.

“It is very nearly,” continued Nicholl, “the course described by a bomb launched from a mortar.”

“It follows almost the same path,” Nicholl continued, “as a bomb fired from a mortar.”

“Perfect! And the hyperbola?”

“The hyperbola, Michel, is a curve of the second order, produced by the intersection of a conic surface and a plane parallel to its axis, and constitutes two branches separated one from the other, both tending indefinitely in the two directions.”

“Michel, a hyperbola is a curve of the second order. It is formed where a plane parallel to the axis of a cone intersects the cone’s surface. It has two separate branches, both extending indefinitely in two directions.”

“Is it possible!” exclaimed Michel Ardan in a serious tone, as if they had told him of some serious event. “What I particularly like in your definition of the hyperbola (I was going to say hyperblague) is that it is still more obscure than the word you pretend to define.”

“Is that possible!” exclaimed Michel Ardan seriously, as if they had told him about a serious event. “I was about to say hyperblague. What I especially like about your definition of the hyperbola is that it’s even more obscure than the word you claim to define.”

Nicholl and Barbicane cared little for Michel Ardan’s fun. They were deep in a scientific discussion. What curve would the projectile follow? was their hobby. One maintained the hyperbola, the other the parabola. They gave each other reasons bristling with x. Their arguments were couched in language which made Michel jump. The discussion was hot, and neither would give up his chosen curve to his adversary.

Nicholl and Barbicane paid little attention to Michel Ardan’s antics. They were deep in a scientific discussion. They were absorbed by one question: What curve would the projectile follow? One argued for a hyperbola, the other for a parabola. Their arguments were full of x’s. The language they used made Michel jump. The discussion grew heated, and neither would give up his chosen curve to the other.

This scientific dispute lasted so long that it made Michel very impatient.

The scientific debate went on so long that Michel grew very impatient.

“Now, gentlemen cosines, will you cease to throw parabolas and hyperbolas at each other’s heads? I want to understand the only interesting question in the whole affair. We shall follow one or the other of these curves? Good. But where will they lead us to?”

“Now, gentlemen cosines, will you stop throwing parabolas and hyperbolas at each other’s heads? I want to understand the only interesting question in the whole affair. We’ll follow one curve or the other. Fine. But where will they lead us?”

“Nowhere,” replied Nicholl.

“Nowhere,” said Nicholl.

“How, nowhere?”

“What do you mean, nowhere?”

“Evidently,” said Barbicane, “they are open curves, which may be prolonged indefinitely.”

“Clearly,” said Barbicane, “they are open curves that may extend indefinitely.”

“Ah, savants!” cried Michel; “and what are either the one or the other to us from the moment we know that they equally lead us into infinite space?”

“Ah, scientists!” cried Michel. “What does either one matter to us, when we know that both lead us into infinite space?”

Barbicane and Nicholl could not forbear smiling. They had just been creating “art for art’s sake.” Never had so idle a question been raised at such an inopportune moment. The sinister truth remained that, whether hyperbolically or parabolically borne away, the projectile would never again meet either the earth or the moon.

Barbicane and Nicholl could not help smiling. They had just been creating “art for art’s sake.” Never had such a pointless question been raised at such a bad time. The grim truth remained. Whether the projectile followed a hyperbolic or a parabolic path, it would never again reach either the earth or the moon.

What would become of these bold travelers in the immediate future? If they did not die of hunger, if they did not die of thirst, in some days, when the gas failed, they would die from want of air, unless the cold had killed them first. Still, important as it was to economize the gas, the excessive lowness of the surrounding temperature obliged them to consume a certain quantity. Strictly speaking, they could do without its light, but not without its heat. Fortunately the caloric generated by Reiset’s and Regnaut’s apparatus raised the temperature of the interior of the projectile a little, and without much expenditure they were able to keep it bearable.

What would happen to these bold travelers in the near future? If hunger and thirst did not kill them, they would run out of air in a few days, when the gas ran out. That is, unless the cold killed them first. Though it was important to save gas, the extreme cold outside forced them to use some. They could do without its light, but not its heat. Fortunately, the heat generated by Reiset’s and Regnaut’s apparatus warmed the inside of the projectile a little. So they could keep the temperature bearable without using much gas.

But observations had now become very difficult. the dampness of the projectile was condensed on the windows and congealed immediately. This cloudiness had to be dispersed continually. In any case they might hope to be able to discover some phenomena of the highest interest.

But observing had now become very difficult. Moisture inside the projectile condensed on the windows and froze immediately. They had to keep clearing the frost away. In any case, they could hope to discover some phenomena of great interest.

But up to this time the disc remained dumb and dark. It did not answer the multiplicity of questions put by these ardent minds; a matter which drew this reflection from Michel, apparently a just one:

But so far, the disc remained silent and dark. It gave no answers to the many questions these eager minds asked. This prompted Michel to make an observation that seemed reasonable:

“If ever we begin this journey over again, we shall do well to choose the time when the moon is at the full.”

“If we ever make this journey again, we should choose a time when the moon is full.”

“Certainly,” said Nicholl, “that circumstance will be more favorable. I allow that the moon, immersed in the sun’s rays, will not be visible during the transit, but instead we should see the earth, which would be full. And what is more, if we were drawn round the moon, as at this moment, we should at least have the advantage of seeing the invisible part of her disc magnificently lit.”

“Certainly,” said Nicholl, “those conditions would be more favorable. I admit that the moon would be invisible during the transit, hidden in the sun’s rays. But we should see the earth instead, and it would be full. What’s more, if we were drawn around the moon, as we are now, we would have one advantage. We would see the hidden side of its disc magnificently lit.”

“Well said, Nicholl,” replied Michel Ardan. “What do you think, Barbicane?”

“Well said, Nicholl,” Michel Ardan replied. “What do you think, Barbicane?”

“I think this,” answered the grave president: “If ever we begin this journey again, we shall start at the same time and under the same conditions. Suppose we had attained our end, would it not have been better to have found continents in broad daylight than a country plunged in utter darkness? Would not our first installation have been made under better circumstances? Yes, evidently. As to the invisible side, we could have visited it in our exploring expeditions on the lunar globe. So that the time of the full moon was well chosen. But we ought to have arrived at the end; and in order to have so arrived, we ought to have suffered no deviation on the road.”

“Here is what I think,” answered the serious president: “If we ever make this journey again, we should start at the same time and under the same conditions. Suppose we had reached our goal. Wouldn’t it have been better to find continents in broad daylight than a land plunged in total darkness? Wouldn’t we have been better able to settle in? Yes, obviously. As for the hidden side, we could have visited it on expeditions around the Moon. So the full moon was the right time to choose. But we should have reached our destination. To do that, we should not have been deflected from our course.”

“I have nothing to say to that,” answered Michel Ardan. “Here is, however, a good opportunity lost of observing the other side of the moon.”

“I have nothing to say to that,” replied Michel Ardan. “But we’ve missed a good chance to observe the other side of the moon.”

But the projectile was now describing in the shadow that incalculable course which no sight-mark would allow them to ascertain. Had its direction been altered, either by the influence of the lunar attraction, or by the action of some unknown star? Barbicane could not say. But a change had taken place in the relative position of the vehicle; and Barbicane verified it about four in the morning.

But the projectile was now traveling through the darkness on a course they could not determine without a visible reference point. Had the Moon's gravity or some unknown star changed its direction? Barbicane could not say. But the vehicle's relative position had changed, and Barbicane confirmed this at about four in the morning.

The change consisted in this, that the base of the projectile had turned toward the moon’s surface, and was so held by a perpendicular passing through its axis. The attraction, that is to say the weight, had brought about this alteration. The heaviest part of the projectile inclined toward the invisible disc as if it would fall upon it.

The change was that the base of the projectile had turned toward the moon’s surface. It remained in that position, with its axis perpendicular to the surface. Attraction, or weight, had caused the change. The heaviest part of the projectile tilted toward the invisible disc as if it would fall onto it.

Was it falling? Were the travelers attaining that much desired end? No. And the observation of a sign-point, quite inexplicable in itself, showed Barbicane that his projectile was not nearing the moon, and that it had shifted by following an almost concentric curve.

Was it falling? Were the travelers reaching their long-desired goal? No. Barbicane observed a sign that was inexplicable in itself. It showed him that his projectile was not approaching the moon but had shifted along an almost concentric curve.

This point of mark was a luminous brightness, which Nicholl sighted suddenly, on the limit of the horizon formed by the black disc. This point could not be confounded with a star. It was a reddish incandescence which increased by degrees, a decided proof that the projectile was shifting toward it and not falling normally on the surface of the moon.

The landmark was a bright light that Nicholl suddenly spotted at the horizon formed by the black disc. It could not be mistaken for a star. It was a reddish glow that gradually grew brighter. This was clear proof that the projectile was moving toward it rather than falling straight toward the moon's surface.

“A volcano! it is a volcano in action!” cried Nicholl; “a disemboweling of the interior fires of the moon! That world is not quite extinguished.”

“A volcano! It’s an erupting volcano!” cried Nicholl. “The moon’s inner fires are bursting out! That world has not completely gone cold.”

“Yes, an eruption,” replied Barbicane, who was carefully studying the phenomenon through his night glass. “What should it be, if not a volcano?”

“Yes, an eruption,” replied Barbicane, carefully studying it through his night glass. “What else could it be but a volcano?”

“But, then,” said Michel Ardan, “in order to maintain that combustion, there must be air. So the atmosphere does surround that part of the moon.”

“But then,” said Michel Ardan, “there must be air to keep that fire burning. So the atmosphere does surround that part of the moon.”

“Perhaps so,” replied Barbicane, “but not necessarily.

“Maybe so,” Barbicane replied, “but not necessarily.

The volcano, by the decomposition of certain substances, can provide its own oxygen, and thus throw flames into space. It seems to me that the deflagration, by the intense brilliancy of the substances in combustion, is produced in pure oxygen. We must not be in a hurry to proclaim the existence of a lunar atmosphere.”

The volcano can produce its own oxygen by breaking down certain substances. This allows it to send flames into space. The burning substances are so intensely bright that I think the combustion takes place in pure oxygen. We must not be too quick to declare that the Moon has an atmosphere.”

The fiery mountain must have been situated about the 45° south latitude on the invisible part of the disc; but, to Barbicane’s great displeasure, the curve which the projectile was describing was taking it far from the point indicated by the eruption. Thus he could not determine its nature exactly. Half an hour after being sighted, this luminous point had disappeared behind the dark horizon; but the verification of this phenomenon was of considerable consequence in their selenographic studies. It proved that all heat had not yet disappeared from the bowels of this globe; and where heat exists, who can affirm that the vegetable kingdom, nay, even the animal kingdom itself, has not up to this time resisted all destructive influences? The existence of this volcano in eruption, unmistakably seen by these earthly savants, would doubtless give rise to many theories favorable to the grave question of the habitability of the moon.

The fiery mountain must have been near 45° south latitude, on the hidden side of the moon’s disc. But, to Barbicane’s great displeasure, the projectile’s curved path was taking it far from the eruption. So he could not determine the volcano’s exact nature. Half an hour after they first saw it, the bright spot disappeared behind the dark horizon. But confirming the phenomenon was very important to their study of the moon’s geography. It proved that heat had not yet disappeared entirely from the depths of the moon. And where heat exists, who can say that plant life, or even animal life, has not survived every destructive force until now? These earthly scholars had unmistakably seen a volcano in eruption. Its existence would no doubt inspire many theories supporting the serious question of whether the moon could be inhabited.

Barbicane allowed himself to be carried away by these reflections. He forgot himself in a deep reverie in which the mysterious destiny of the lunar world was uppermost. He was seeking to combine together the facts observed up to that time, when a new incident recalled him briskly to reality. This incident was more than a cosmical phenomenon; it was a threatened danger, the consequence of which might be disastrous in the extreme.

Barbicane let himself be carried away by these thoughts. He became lost in a deep daydream, thinking above all about the mysterious fate of the lunar world. He was trying to piece together the facts observed so far when a new incident brought him sharply back to reality. This was more than a cosmic phenomenon. It was a threat that could have disastrous consequences.

Suddenly, in the midst of the ether, in the profound darkness, an enormous mass appeared. It was like a moon, but an incandescent moon whose brilliancy was all the more intolerable as it cut sharply on the frightful darkness of space. This mass, of a circular form, threw a light which filled the projectile. The forms of Barbicane, Nicholl, and Michel Ardan, bathed in its white sheets, assumed that livid spectral appearance which physicians produce with the fictitious light of alcohol impregnated with salt.

Suddenly, an enormous mass appeared in the deep darkness of space. It was like a moon, but a glowing one. Its brightness was even more unbearable because it stood out sharply against the terrifying darkness of space. The round mass cast a light that filled the projectile. Bathed in its white light, Barbicane, Nicholl, and Michel Ardan looked pale and ghostly. They resembled figures lit by the artificial light doctors produce by burning alcohol mixed with salt.

“By Jove!” cried Michel Ardan, “we are hideous. What is that ill-conditioned moon?”

“Good grief!” cried Michel Ardan. “We look hideous. What’s wrong with that moon?”

“A meteor,” replied Barbicane.

“A meteor,” said Barbicane.

“A meteor burning in space?”

“Yes.”

This shooting globe suddenly appearing in shadow at a distance of at most 200 miles, ought, according to Barbicane, to have a diameter of 2,000 yards. It advanced at a speed of about one mile and a half per second. It cut the projectile’s path and must reach it in some minutes. As it approached it grew to enormous proportions.

The speeding globe suddenly appeared in the darkness, no more than 200 miles away. Barbicane estimated its diameter at 2,000 yards. It was moving at about one and a half miles per second. It crossed the projectile’s path and would reach it in a few minutes. As the globe approached, it grew enormous.

Imagine, if possible, the situation of the travelers! It is impossible to describe it. In spite of their courage, their sang-froid, their carelessness of danger, they were mute, motionless with stiffened limbs, a prey to frightful terror. Their projectile, the course of which they could not alter, was rushing straight on this ignited mass, more intense than the open mouth of an oven. It seemed as though they were being precipitated toward an abyss of fire.

Imagine, if you can, what the travelers were going through! It is impossible to describe. Despite their courage, their composure, and their disregard for danger, they were silent and motionless, their limbs stiff with terror. They could not change the course of their projectile. It was rushing straight toward this blazing mass, hotter than the open mouth of an oven. They seemed to be plunging toward an abyss of fire.

Barbicane had seized the hands of his two companions, and all three looked through their half-open eyelids upon that asteroid heated to a white heat. If thought was not destroyed within them, if their brains still worked amid all this awe, they must have given themselves up for lost.

Barbicane grabbed the hands of his two companions. All three looked through half-closed eyes at the white-hot asteroid. If they could still think, if their brains still worked despite their awe, they must have believed they were lost.

Two minutes after the sudden appearance of the meteor (to them two centuries of anguish) the projectile seemed almost about to strike it, when the globe of fire burst like a bomb, but without making any noise in that void where sound, which is but the agitation of the layers of air, could not be generated.

Two minutes after the meteor suddenly appeared, the projectile seemed about to strike it. To them, those two minutes were two centuries of anguish. Then the globe of fire burst like a bomb, but made no sound. Sound is only the movement of layers of air, and it could not be produced in that void.

Nicholl uttered a cry, and he and his companions rushed to the scuttle. What a sight! What pen can describe it? What palette is rich enough in colors to reproduce so magnificent a spectacle?

Nicholl cried out, and he and his companions rushed to the hatch. What a sight! What writer could describe it? What palette has colors rich enough to capture such a magnificent spectacle?

It was like the opening of a crater, like the scattering of an immense conflagration. Thousands of luminous fragments lit up and irradiated space with their fires. Every size, every color, was there intermingled. There were rays of yellow and pale yellow, red, green, gray—a crown of fireworks of all colors. Of the enormous and much-dreaded globe there remained nothing but these fragments carried in all directions, now become asteroids in their turn, some flaming like a sword, some surrounded by a whitish cloud, and others leaving behind them trains of brilliant cosmical dust.

It was like a crater opening, like a massive fire bursting apart. Thousands of glowing fragments lit up space with their flames. Fragments of every size and color mingled together. Yellow, pale yellow, red, green, and gray rays formed a crown of fireworks in every color. Nothing remained of the enormous, much-feared globe but these fragments, scattered in every direction. They had now become asteroids themselves. Some blazed like swords, some were surrounded by whitish clouds, and others trailed brilliant cosmic dust.

These incandescent blocks crossed and struck each other, scattering still smaller fragments, some of which struck the projectile. Its left scuttle was even cracked by a violent shock. It seemed to be floating amid a hail of howitzer shells, the smallest of which might destroy it instantly.

These glowing blocks crossed paths and collided, scattering even smaller fragments. Some of the fragments struck the projectile. One violent impact even cracked its left window. The projectile seemed to be floating through a hail of howitzer shells. Even the smallest could destroy it instantly.

The light which saturated the ether was so wonderfully intense, that Michel, drawing Barbicane and Nicholl to his window, exclaimed, “The invisible moon, visible at last!”

The light filling space was so incredibly bright that Michel called Barbicane and Nicholl to his window. He exclaimed, “The invisible moon, visible at last!”

And through a luminous emanation, which lasted some seconds, the whole three caught a glimpse of that mysterious disc which the eye of man now saw for the first time. What could they distinguish at a distance which they could not estimate? Some lengthened bands along the disc, real clouds formed in the midst of a very confined atmosphere, from which emerged not only all the mountains, but also projections of less importance; its circles, its yawning craters, as capriciously placed as on the visible surface. Then immense spaces, no longer arid plains, but real seas, oceans, widely distributed, reflecting on their liquid surface all the dazzling magic of the fires of space; and, lastly, on the surface of the continents, large dark masses, looking like immense forests under the rapid illumination of a brilliance.

In a glow that lasted a few seconds, all three caught a glimpse of the mysterious disc. Human eyes were seeing it for the first time. What could they make out from a distance they could not estimate? Long bands stretched across the disc. These were real clouds in a very thin atmosphere. All the mountains, as well as smaller features, rose above it. They saw the circles and gaping craters, scattered as randomly as on the visible surface. Then they saw immense expanses, no longer barren plains, but real seas and oceans spread far and wide. Their liquid surfaces reflected all the dazzling magic of the fires of space. Finally, on the continents, they saw large dark masses that looked like immense forests in the brief flash of light.

Was it an illusion, a mistake, an optical illusion? Could they give a scientific assent to an observation so superficially obtained? Dared they pronounce upon the question of its habitability after so slight a glimpse of the invisible disc?

Was it an illusion, a mistake, a trick of the light? Could they accept such a brief observation as scientific evidence? After such a slight glimpse of the invisible disc, did they dare say whether it was habitable?

But the lightnings in space subsided by degrees; its accidental brilliancy died away; the asteroids dispersed in different directions and were extinguished in the distance.

But the flashes of light in space gradually faded, and its fleeting brightness died away. The asteroids scattered in different directions and went dark in the distance.

The ether returned to its accustomed darkness; the stars, eclipsed for a moment, again twinkled in the firmament, and the disc, so hastily discerned, was again buried in impenetrable night.

Space returned to its usual darkness. The stars, hidden for a moment, twinkled again in the sky. The disc, glimpsed so briefly, was once more buried in impenetrable darkness.