The Map of the Sky Read Online Free Page A

be interpreted as an unintentional construction.”
    “And what about that astronomer who had the bright idea of digging a circular canal in the Sahara Desert, then filling it with kerosene and lighting it at night to show our location?”
    “Yes, and a perfect target!”
    Wells gave a slight chuckle. Serviss responded by downing the rest of his beer and urged Wells to do the same. Wells obeyed, somewhat abashed.
    “The last I heard they are going to hang reflectors on the Eiffel Tower to shine light from the Sun onto Mars,” he remarked, while Serviss ordered another round.
    “Good heavens, they never give up!” Serviss exclaimed, thrusting another pint toward Wells.
    “You can say that again,” Wells seconded, noticing with alarm that he was beginning to have difficulty speaking without slurring his words. “We seem to think here on Earth that beings in space will be able to see anything we come up with.”
    “As if they spend all their money on telescopes!” Serviss joked.
    Wells couldn’t help letting out a guffaw. Infected by his laughter, Serviss began slapping his hand on the tabletop, causing enough din to elicit a few disapproving looks from the waiter and some of the other diners. These censorious looks, however, appeared not to intimidate Serviss, who slapped the table even harder, a defiant expression on his face. Wells gazed at him contentedly, like a proud father admiring his son’s antics.
    “Well, well . . . so, you don’t think anyone would go to the trouble of invading a tiny planet like ours, lost in the infinity of the Cosmos, is that it, George?” Serviss said, trying to sum up once he had managed to calm down.
    “I think it unlikely. Bear in mind that things never turn out the way we imagine. It is almost a mathematical law. Accordingly, Earth will never be invaded by Martians like it was in my book, for example.”
    “Won’t it?”
    “Never,” Wells said resolutely. “Look at all the novels currently being churned out about contact with other worlds, Garrett. Apparently, anyone can write one. If future encounters were to take place with beings from outer space identical to the ones we authors have written about, it would be a case of literary premonition, don’t you think?”
    At this, he took a swig of beer, with the nagging impression that what he had just said was no more than harebrained nonsense.
    “Yes,” agreed Serviss, giving no sign that he considered Wells’s disquisition outlandish. “Our naïve rulers will quite possibly end up believing that evil beings from outer space have filled our subconscious minds with these imaginings, by means of ultrasonic rays or hypnosis, perhaps in preparation for a future invasion.”
    “In all likelihood!” Wells burst out laughing, at which Serviss began slapping the table once more, to the despair of the waiter and the nearest customers.
    “Consequently, as I was saying,” Wells resumed after Serviss stopped making a din, “even if there is life on Mars or on some other planet in our vast solar system . . .” He made a grandiose gesture toward the sky and seemed annoyed to encounter the tavern ceiling with its plain wooden beams. He gazed at it in dismay for a few moments. “Damnation . . . what was I saying?”
    “Something about Mars . . . I think,” Serviss added, looking up at the ceiling with equal misgivings.
    “Oh, yes, Mars,” Wells remembered at last. “I mean, assuming there was life there, it would probably be impossible to compare it with life here, and therefore envisaging spaceships engineered by Martians is absurd.”
    “All right. But what if I told you,” Serviss said, trying to keep a straight face, “that you’re mistaken?”
    “Mistaken? You could not say I am mistaken, my dear Garrett.”
    “Unless I was able to back it up, my dear George.”
    Wells nodded, and Serviss leaned back in his seat, smiling enigmatically.
    “Did you know that as a youth I was obsessed with the idea