The Last Adventure of Dr. Yngve Hogalum

Chapter 13 ~ Magnetron's Redemption

"I had known the doctor for many years and saw no reason to break my own solemn vow by informing him then of his dreadful singing voice."

Dr. Hogalum sputtered incomprehensibly in a manner I had never before witnessed.  His bafflement rapidly relapsed to exasperation, though, as he assailed my foresight and reasoning abilities.

"You... expect me to fly this-this-this thing... in space?  This is your plan?  It is your intention that I should employ an experimental brain science to pilot an experimental spacecraft?  Magnetron!  Was the experimental brain science part not sufficiently challenging?  Of all the damn fool absurdities…"

He continued in this vein for some time, as my mind wandered through the maze of my own earlier misgivings.  It was nonsense, of course.  Such a thing was not possible in my lifetime, and I of all people was certainly not to be the one to create such a brilliant advance.  For all my technical prowess, I was clearly lacking the meanest endowment of judgment and discretion.  Common sense!  That was what I lacked.

Presently, I heard a strange fluttering noise emanating from the aft end of the Caelestis.  I crept around to inspect, Dr. Hogalum's head swiveling to track my motion, and found that the craft's tailpiece assembly was flapping with a frightful commotion—loud enough to be heard over the doctor's tirade.

Doctor Hogalum's eyes grew wide as turkey platters when he looked down and beheld the curious sight.  "Deus ex mackerel!" he cried.  "The infernal thing works!"  It was not until I looked up at him and realized that he had rotated his own head (so as to shout directly at me) that I apprehended the full import of this occurrence.  I flounced boyishly to and fro as the doctor pivoted synchronously, his nostrils flaring with delight.

Immodest whoops of extravagant jubilation were heard in all corners of the Contrivance Conservatory.  Our long and arduous journey was nearing an end!

I deduced that the doctor's tantrum had produced passions sufficiently fervent to induce a reaction in the craft's circuitry, but clearly a greater sensitivity was necessary, particularly with respect to higher brain functions.  I set about adjusting the myriad voltage regulators to permit Dr. Hogalum the ability to flap his wings without having also to flap his jaw.

Many hours of adjustments were required, but the doctor elected to swivel merrily on his platform rather than directing the operation.  He hummed, whistled, and crooned an inane ditty he had improvised for the occasion, something about renting shorefront cottages along the Martian Canals, and the like.  I had known the doctor for many years and saw no reason to break my own solemn vow by informing him then of his dreadful singing voice.  I bore his caterwauling with the grace that springs from the undiluted self-satisfaction of vindication.

The Caelestis would sail to other worlds with the doctor's head at the helm and my own spirit in the sails.  Mankind would enter a new era, never to return, never to look back.  There was but one final act to consummate this most historic event: the launch.

The next morning, September 30, 1877—this would be the day when mankind would cut the strings binding him to our blessed Earth, this most hospitable birthplace, to careen off into the unknown depths of our Earth's birthplace: the uncharted wilderness of that most mysterious frontier.