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.”
Mr. Ponto now intervened, exclaiming, “Superb! And I offer a sophistication. We shall construct upon this anchor planetoid an elegant space casino, just like the successful underwater one that punctuates the mid-Atlantic train tunnel. Baccarat and faro beneath the Milky Way! We’ll make a fortune!”
And so, with the bridge and its refinements firmly conceptualized, construction began.
Never before in the history of the race had such titanic assemblages of men, material and energy been seen! The continent of Helenia was the focal point of tributaries of labour and materials from all quarters of the globe. Around the clock swarmed hordes of workers, stockpiling the steel plates and girders that would form the shell of the interplanetary tube, launching rocket upon rocket full of magnetite, coordinating the building processes.
Within several weeks, the anchor was complete, and the cable secured. Construction of the space-tube and its interior workings began immediately.
Throughout the gargantuan project, only four individuals knew the truth of the matter and appreciated the urgency behind the construction. President Ponto, Mr. Ponto, Jungle Alli and Hélène formed a secret cabal, a quartet of conspirators who alone amongst billions of souls realized that the whole planet was now in a race with the machinations of the Cat Women. Would humanity reach the Moon and stymie the Cat Women before terrestrial society tore itself apart?
For the tumult and tension between the sexes were increasing. Incidents proliferated and grew in brutality, as the perverted ideoneme of gender rancour disseminated itself through all levels of society, a virus cut loose from its original Cat Women source. Small riots and pogroms, both anti-male and anti-female, broke out daily, everywhere.
Luckily, Hélène and Jungle Alli maintained their sanity, thanks to their mutual innoculations of closeness, as well as frequent booster shots from President Ponto. Hélène’s sharp wits and vast practical experience—she had dabbled in almost every profession under the sun, before settling down as Philippe’s wife—contributed much to the whole enterprise.
Six months into the project, the midway point in the bridge construction had been reached, and the moment of the casino’s official opening loomed. But the ceremonies were actually a sham, to maintain the façade of innocent commercialism.
At the base of the space-ascenseur, President Ponto snipped a red ribbon, to much acclaim, his actions broadcast across the globe via the telephonoscope. He stepped aboard the car that occupied the interior of the space-tube. Hélène and Jungle Alli accompanied him. (Mr. Ponto was already at the casino, overseeing inaugural preparations and hundreds of workers who were preparing against the day when, God willing, the casino could function as intended in a world at peace.) The doors closed, and the car shot upwards inside the tube with remarkable speed.
Inside the private car, with its padded velvet couches, gilt trim, muralled walls and well-appointed wet bar, the trio fortified themselves against any further mental attacks by the Cat Women.
Within only half an hour, the capsule docked at the space casino. Its occupants barely had time to rearrange their clothing from the rigours of the passage before they were greeted by a boisterous string quartet in formal wear, and the smiling face of Mr. Ponto.
“Quite classy, Rafe,” said Jungle Alli in her natal English. “Even if it is a little premature. Now where’s the champagne?”
But this night of exclusive glittering gaiety was to be short-lived. Their welcome was a mere diverting moment of ceremony. Already the capacious capsule of the space-ascenseur was busy shuttling dozens of additional workers at a go to the anchor planetoid. For the past six months, rockets had been delivering tonnes of components for the next stage of the bridge. Protected from the cold and vacuum of interplanetary space by special suits of gutta-percha and vitrine, the workers were already forging the next leg of the link between the incompatible orbs.
For the next several months, the quartet of conspirators resided at the casino, its only patrons, supervising the construction. The task was wearisome, but the knowledge of how vital their mission was granted them endless strength. Reports came hourly by telephonoscope of the accelerating turmoil back on the home world.
Due to the increased experience of the workers, and a skimping in certain ornamental details, the second half of the space bridge took only three months to complete.