The Lost Machine

ARRIVAL

As we slowed to the end of our journey, Banuff began to show signs of excite­ment.

“Look,” he called to me. “The third planet, at last.”

I crossed to stand beside him and together we gazed down upon a stranger scene than any other fourth planet eyes have ever seen.

Though we were still high above the surface, there was plenty to cause us astonish­ment.

In place of our own homely red vege­tation, we beheld a brilliant green. The whole land seemed to be covered with it. Any­where it clung and thrived as though it needed no water. On the fourth planet, which the third planet men call Mars, the vege­tation grows only in or around the canals, but here we could not even see any canals. The only sign of irri­ga­tion was one bright streak of water in the distance, twisting sense­lessly over the country­side – a sym­bolic warning of the incredible world we had reached.

Here and there our atten­tion was attracted by out­crop­pings of various strange rocks amid all this green. Great masses of stone which sent up plumes of black smoke.

“The internal fires must be very near the surface of this world,” Banuff said, looking doubt­fully at the rising vapours.

“See in how many places the smoke breaks out. I should doubt whether it has been possible for animal life to evolve on such a planet. It is possible yet that the ground may be too hot for us – or rather for me.”

There was a regret in his tone. The manner in which he voiced the last sentence stirred my sym­pathy. There are so many disad­van­tages in human construc­tion which do not occur in us machines, and I knew that he was eager to obtain first-hand know­ledge of the third planet.

For a long time we gazed in silent specu­lation at this queer, green world. At last Banuff broke the silence.

“I think we'll risk a landing there, Zat,” he said, indi­ca­ting a smooth, open space.

“You don't think it might be liquid,” I suggested, “it looks curiously level.”

“No,” he replied, “I fancy it's a kind of close vege­tation. Anyway, we can risk it.”

A touch on the lever sent the machine sinking rapidly towards a green rectangle, so regular as to suggest the work of sentient crea­tures. On one of its sides lay a large stone out­crop, riddled with holes and smoking from the top like the rest, while on the other three sides, thick vege­tation rose high and swayed in the wind.

“An atmo­sphere which can cause such commo­tion must be very dense,” commen­ced Banuff.

“That rock is pecu­liarly regular,” I said, “and the smoking points are evenly spaced. Do you suppose...?”

The slight jar of our landing inter­rupted me.

“Get ready, Zat,” Banuff ordered.

I was ready. I opened the inner door and stepped into the air-lock. Banuff would have to remain inside until I could find out whether it was possible for him to adjust. Men may have more power of origi­nality than we, and they do possess a greater degree of adapt­ability than any other form of life, but their limi­ta­tions are, never­the­less, severe. It might require a deal of ponde­rous apparatus to enable Banuff to with­stand the condi­tions, but for me, a machine, adapt­ation was simple.

The density of the atmo­sphere made no differ­ence save slightly to slow my move­ments. The tempe­rature, within very wide limits, had no effect upon me.

“The gravity will be stronger,” Banuff had warned me, “this is a much larger planet than ours.”

It had been easy to prepare for that by the addition of a fourth pair of legs.

Now, as I walked out of the air-lock, I was glad of them; the pull of the planet was immense.

After a moment or so of minor adjust­ment, I passed around our machine to the window where Banuff stood, and held up the instru­ments for him to see. As he read the air-pressure meter, the gravity indi­cator and the gas propor­tion scale, he shook his head. He might slowly adapt himself part­way to the condi­tions, but an imme­diate venture was out of the question.

It had been agreed between us that in such an event I should perform the explo­ration and speci­men collecting while he exa­mined the neigh­bour­hood from the machine.

He waved his arm as a signal and, in response, I set off at a good pace for the surround­ing green and brown growths. I looked back as I reached them to see our silvery craft floating slowly up into the air.

A second later, there came a stunning explo­sion; a wave of sound so strong in this thick atmo­sphere that it almost shattered my receiv­ing dia­phragm.

The cause of the disaster must always remain a mystery: I only know that when I looked up, the vessel was no­where to be seen – only a ram of metal parts dropping to earth all about me.

Cries of alarm came from the large stone out­crop and simul­ta­neously human figures appeared at the lowest of its many openings.

They began to run towards the wreck, but my speed was far greater than theirs. They can have made but half the distance while I com­pleted it. As I flashed across, I could see them falter and stop with ludi­crous expressions of dismay on their faces.

“Lord, did you see that?” cried one of them.

“What the devil was it?” called another.

“Looked like a coffin on legs,” somebody said. “Moving some, too.”