The Martian War (25 page)

The Martian’s eyes brightened with a flare that seemed almost like anger. The image jolted and changed, sweeping to another planet entirely—and Huxley looked with amazement upon the bearded face of Dr. Moreau!

Standing amid the wreckage of what was clearly Cavor’s laboratory at the Imperial Institute, the bear-like man peered into a counterpart crystal egg. Others paced through the ruins, poking about in the burned timbers, fallen bricks, and shattered glass. Several downcast scientists and engineers stood in the room. In the image, Cavor’s assistants appeared particularly disheartened. Huxley saw their mouths moving but could hear no words from their lips.

The fire from the nitroglycerin explosion was extinguished by now, of course, but he saw singed papers and laboratory notebooks strewn on the floor, waterlogged in oily puddles. Holding the crystal egg, a scowling Moreau tromped about, kicking aside pieces of wreckage.

Judging from the visible damage, both Griffin and Cavor must have been killed in the frightful detonation. Huxley swallowed his anger, unable to conceive how even the mad invisible man could have worried about stealing weapons for Kaiser Wilhelm when the fate of the Earth hung in the balance!

Moreau gestured to where the missing cavorite sphere had
been cradled, pointed up into the sky. The other scientists looked at him skeptically, but the rogue biologist was insistent.

“Ah, I believe he’s guessed it,” Huxley shouted at the egg, but before he could see if Moreau reacted, the Martian snatched the object away. When it turned the egg again, the images vanished, showing only the greenish Martian sky.

The three master minds climbed into the control seats of their small personal walkers and, motioning for him to come, lurched off. Huxley accompanied them willingly, curious as to what they meant to show him next.

In a different room of the laboratory spire, the Martians showed him an enormous telescope the size of a giant cannon poking out of the tower, directing its lenses and mirrors toward Earth. In his travels, Huxley had seen the impressive Avu Observatory near Borneo; these observational devices were vastly superior to the best equipment Earthbound astronomers had.

Next, the creatures presented long maps to him. Huxley recognized the contours of England and Ireland, France and Spain. He saw mountain ranges and river valleys, the mosaic of cities, uneven roadways. Even the best maps drawn by the most meticulous explorers could not boast such precision and accuracy.

Huxley could identify some notable buildings—the cathedrals of Rome, the bridges and towers of London, immaculate Versailles in France—but the Martians were not interested in architecture. They paid greater attention to the British Navy, fleets of warships at sea, the fortifications of cities.

Huxley looked at the master minds in their thrumming walkers. Were they waiting for his assessment? Did they hope to intimidate him into surrendering on behalf of the human race, without even a fight? He hid any expression of dismay
on his face, though he doubted they could interpret human emotions. “Clearly, you are drawing your plans against us.”

Leaving the map surveillance room, the master minds guided Huxley out of the scientific cathedral. Looking upward, he saw one of the towering battle tripods as high as a tall Martian building. The high tripod stood with an open turret at the top of its three long legs, waiting to receive passengers. The three Martian leaders crawled out of their walking contrivances and onto a detachable platform; when Huxley joined them, the whole platform was levered upward on a jointed arm. He heard the rumble of engines, the groan of gears. The ground dropped dizzyingly away from him as they were lifted to the height of the tripod’s control turret.

The Martians pressed him forward into the open door in the side of the turret. “I will say it’s better to be inside than in a cage slung below.” Working together, the three master minds grasped motivating levers and operated mechanisms until the side door of the turret sealed shut. Huxley braced himself against a curved metal wall as the towering tripod set off.

With its strangely awkward three-legged gait, the battle tripod lurched away from the Martian metropolis and out onto the rusty flatlands, covering distance swiftly with each extended leg. Holding on to maintain his balance, Huxley stared through the low windows until finally the tall machine reached an immense industrial site, where clouds of dust and smoke boiled upward.

“Now what are you trying to show me? Another mine or quarry?” No doubt such superior creatures as the Martians could communicate with him, if they chose, but they remained silent, as if to increase his fear.

In a veritable beehive of activity, amidst the smokes of factories and smelters, Selenite slave crews bustled about— building, installing, constructing in a never-faltering line of mass-production. They worked with metal presses and hot riveters, turning out and assembling huge sheets of red-hot armor that swiftly cooled to a silvery luster in the frigid air.

The battle tripod strode along, cresting a rise. As the turret tilted downward, Huxley could see the extent of the flat crater, a holding area, a landing field. There, a brand new war fleet was being constructed: row upon row of silvery cylinders gleamed, ready for launch—an entire invading navy, just like the one that had conquered the Moon centuries ago. A terrible rain of cylinders would descend upon Earth, pinpointing target after strategic target from the incredibly detailed surveillance maps the Martians had compiled by observing through their giant telescopes.

Huxley felt an inconsolable dread and helplessness. What could he possibly do against such an enemy? Selenites were completing the construction of hundreds of spacecraft, while sinister battle tripods watched their every move, forcing them to cooperate.

Occasionally, the towering guardian machines let out small blasts of their heat rays, but Huxley could see that the lunar creatures were already working as swiftly as they could. They had no choice in the matter.

With thousands of clever hands and strong bodies, the Selenites had assembled this war fleet, and it would certainly launch as the opposition of Mars approached. The three Martian master minds were looking at him, assessing his reaction. They must have sensed his primal fear, for they appeared to be smug and satisfied.

T
he longer we remain captives, the less chance we have to escape,” Wells said. “Our time is short.”

Jane labored beside him at the pumping station as heavy pistons chugged up and down, and foul-smelling steam hissed into the close catacombs. It had been only a day, but they were both very hungry. “I’m ready to escape when you are, H.G.—as soon as either of us thinks of a way.”

If thousands of Selenite drones had been unable to break free after centuries of bondage, he couldn’t imagine how two humans might manage it. Still, he said, “We should concoct a scheme together—our collaborative ideas are much better than anything I come up with alone.”

Her arms and face were splattered with dark grease, and her chestnut hair had come undone, hanging loose around her face, yet even under these difficult circumstances, he found her more beautiful than ever. Jane was a strong woman and would endure whatever was required of her.

Isabel, on the other hand, would have wilted like a flower in such an ordeal. She would not have lasted an hour in the work catacombs beneath the cities of Mars. Grave and lovely Isabel was a product of her times, with no aspirations or interests other than planting a flower garden, doing embroidery, or sipping tea with her lady friends. Wells blamed himself for their fruitless marriage, too blind to recognize that his cousin would never fit comfortably with his intense curiosities. His own dissatisfaction, not Isabel’s personal failings, had driven him from her.

Jane, though, had always been willing to share her ideas, and if she disagreed with his grand pronouncements, she would debate with him as an equal, though she had been only his student. When she needed more explanation, she boldly asked him questions, insisting that he go over a lesson again and again until she understood the topic. And in parrying her probing questions, Wells often found that he himself didn’t comprehend the subject as well as he had thought.

“Remember when we resolved together to cure each other of ignorance?” he said to her now. “Let us similarly resolve to get ourselves free of this predicament and destroy the Martian threat.”

“I accept the challenge,” she said, making him smile. Her eyes were bright with determination instead of hopelessness.

A tone resonated through their silver collars, and a wordless
but nevertheless clear command summoned him, Jane, and the Selenite drone crew to the surface levels. Wells’s stomach tightened as he feared that the ravenous Martians were staging another butchery. How long would it be before the Martians grew curious as to what human blood tasted like?

He tugged unsuccessfully on the hated slave collar. “Once they take over the Earth, they’ll have all the fresh red blood they can stomach.”

But when they reached the street level and stood surrounded by the strange twisted spires of Martian architecture, he spotted that one of the glowing energy conduits had slipped from its track. A thick containment pipe was knocked out of alignment, sparking a bluish-white power flow into the air.

Jane also seemed relieved. “Just repairs. They want us to fix the conduit.”

Wells grumbled. “Is it possible they have grown so dependent on the Selenite workers they can no longer maintain their own technology?”

“It may soon come to that,” Jane said.

Hundreds of Selenites scurried around the power conduit supports, climbing the sides of buildings and tinkering with the components. Two drones touched the naked pulsing energy and died, spasming. Other Selenites carried off the twitching soot-stained bodies of their fallen fellows, while more of them climbed up to take their places.

The alien buildings were huge, and shadowy forms of Martian brains stirred behind the glittering segmented windows, but still the city seemed like a gigantic empty house, with far fewer Martians than Selenites. Only three of the slave-master walkers watched over the entire work crew, static whips ready.

Jane saw it, too. “Maybe this is our chance.”

Wells did not know if the slave masters were eavesdropping. “We greatly outnumber the Martians, even with their heat rays and powerful machines. If only we could rally the Selenites.”

Jane lifted her eyebrows and proudly reached into the folds of her tattered dress and withdrew the faceted gem, the petrified jewel-eye the Grand Lunar had removed from its face. “I’ve been wondering how we can use this. The Selenites won’t do anything without a command from the Grand Lunar—maybe this is close enough.”

Wells brightened, excited by the possibilities. “If only we could communicate with them, tell them what to do.”

Following the instructions through their collars, the drone workers moved down the winding Martian street, adding supports and making repairs to other dilapidated power conduits that ran from building to building. The three slave masters in their small walking contrivances spread out, lashing static whips whenever necessary.

Moving close to a drone, Jane guardedly cupped the purplish gem in the palm of her hand and held it out so the Selenite slave could see. “This is from your Grand Lunar. Do you recognize it?”

The Selenite turned its ant-like head toward her, directing large burnished eyes at Jane’s face, then down at her hand. The thin white creature froze. A dozen other drones stopped working as well. Now a rattling chitter began, at first quietly, then growing to a strange excited hum. The Selenites backed away from her, bowing their smooth heads as if in awe.

Wells was amazed at the reaction. These Selenite drones had been in captivity on Mars for many centuries, many generations. None of the creatures here on the red planet had ever seen the
gardens on the Moon, or the Grand Lunar. Yet it immediately recognized the talisman from the powerful leader of all Selenites. He wondered if the drones possessed a form of racial memory transmitted from one generation to the next … or perhaps they were just one interconnected hive mind, a sentience distributed across the numerous Selenite components. Individual drones might die, but the hive brain continued.

He would have to remember to discuss the matter with Professor Huxley, once they had all escaped.

“Can you help us?” Wells said, sure the drones would never understand his words. “We must find a way to break free. We have to stop what the Martians intend to do to Earth.” He made broad gestures with his hands and arms.

The Selenites looked at Wells, but found him lacking in some way. When Jane spoke again, though, the drones responded with genuine interest. “We need your help. Please.” It seemed as if her possession of the talisman, the eye of the Grand Lunar, made her a worthy commander.

A humming discussion swept up and down the alien street to the entire Selenite work crew. As the twittering mutters continued, Wells noticed a difference in the character of the city itself. Before, the metropolis had been eerily devoid of voices, with only the hiss and grind of machinery. Now, though, like a jolt from a battery, the Martian city seemed to have come to life again … angry, restless life.

A clanking echoed down the curving, crowded streets. One of the ominous fighting tripods stalked among the tall buildings and structures. It let out a loud
“Ulla!”
to announce its arrival and careened down the boulevards toward the Martians’ central cathedral of science. As it stopped next to a
high platform outside of the immense building, they could just make out tiny figures emerging, a tall human herded by three bulky Martians into the main cathedral building. “Look, it’s Professor Huxley!”

Relieved to see his mentor safe, Wells said, “This is not a time for rational planning and analysis. If the Selenites can help us, now is our chance. With any luck, we can rescue Professor Huxley and get away from this city.”

“With any luck,” Jane repeated with a sardonic laugh. “That’s only one of many pieces of luck we’ll need to get out of this.”