The Space Machine

i

My faint must have turned naturally to sleep, for the next few hours are unremembered.

When at last I awoke my mind was tranquil, and for several minutes I had no memory of the hideous events I had witnessed. As soon as I sat up, though, I was confronted with the bodies of the two city-Martians, and everything returned in vivid detail.

I consulted my watch. I had kept this wound, as I had discovered that the length of a Martian day was almost the same as that on Earth, and although a knowledge of the exact hour was unnecessary on Mars, it was a useful guide to elapsed time. Now I saw that I had been aboard the projectile for more than twelve hours. Every minute I stayed within its confines was reminder of what I had seen and done, so I crossed directly to the hatch and attempted to open it. I had seen it being closed, so I assumed that a simple reversal of the action would be sufficient. This was not so; after moving an inch or two the mechanism jammed. I wasted several minutes trying, before I abandoned the effort.

I looked around the cabin, sensing for the first time that I might well be trapped here. It was a terrifying thought and I began to panic, pacing up and down in the confined space, my mind anguished.

At last sense filtered through, and I set myself to a meticulous and systematic examination of the cabin.

First, I examined the controls, hoping that there might be some way I could set the display-panels working, so that I could see where the craft had landed. With no success here (the impact of landing appeared to have broken the workings), I turned my attention to the flying controls themselves.

Although at first sight there seemed to be an amazing confusion of levers and wheels, I soon noticed that certain instruments were placed inside one of the transparent pressure-tubes. It was in these that the two Martians had passed the flight, and so it was logical that they would have had to be able to control the trajectory from within.

I parted the fabric with my hands (now that the flight was over it was quite limp), and inspected these instruments.

They were solidly built—presumably to withstand the various pressures of the firing and final impact—and simple in design. A kind of podium had been built on the floor of the cabin, and it was on this that they were mounted. Although there were certain needle-dials whose function I could not even guess, the two major controls were metal levers. One of these bore a remarkable resemblance to the lever on Sir William’s Time Machine: it was mounted pivotally and could be moved fore or aft, or to either side I touched it experimentally, and moved it away from me. At once, there was a noise in another part of the hull, and the craft trembled slightly.

The other lever was surmounted by a piece of some bright-green substance. This had only one apparent movement—downwards—and at the same moment I laid my hand on it there was a tremendous explosion outside the hull, and I was thrown from my feet by a sudden, sharp movement of the entire craft.

As I clambered to my feet again I realized that I had discovered the device that triggered the green flashes which had controlled our landing.

Understanding at last that the projectile was still functioning, if momentarily at rest, I decided that it would be safer if I were instead to concentrate on escaping.

I returned to the hatch and renewed my efforts to turn the wheel. Much to my surprise it was freer, and the hatch itself actually shifted a few inches before jamming again. As it did so a quantity of gravel and dry soil poured through the crack. This was rather perplexing, until I realized that in the impact of our landing a large part of the craft, and most certainly the nose, would have been buried in the ground.

I considered this with some care, then closed the hatch thoughtfully. I returned to the controls, then,bracing myself, I depressed the green-tipped lever.

A few seconds late; slightly deafened and certainly unsteady on my feet, I returned to the hatch. It was still jammed, but there was more play than before.

It took four more attempts before the hatch opened far enough to admit a minor avalanche of soil and pebbles, and daylight showed above. I hesitated only long enough to pick up Amelia’s hand-bag, then squeezed my way through the aperture to freedom.

ii

After a long climb through loose soil, using the solid bulk of the hull to support myself, I reached the top of the wall of dirt.

I saw that the projectile had on landing created for itself a vast pit, in which it now rested. On every side of it had been thrown up large mounds of soil, and acrid green smoke—produced presumably as a result of my efforts—drifted about. I had no way of telling how deeply the projectile had been buried on its first impact, although I guessed I had shifted it from its original position during my escape.

I walked around to the rear end of the projectile, which was clear of the ground and overhanging unbroken soil. The monster-creatures had thrown open the huge hatch, which was the rear wall of the projectile, and the main hold—which I now saw as taking up most of the volume of the craft—was empty both of beings and their devices. The bottom lip was only a foot or two above the ground, so it was easy to enter the hold. I went inside.

It was the work of a few moments to walk through the cavernous hold and inspect the traces of the monsters’ presence, and yet it was nearly an hour before I finally emerged from the craft.

I found that my earlier count had been accurate: that there was space for five of the monsters in the hold. There had also been several of the vehicles aboard, for I saw many bulkheads and clamps built into the metal hull by which they had been restrained.

In the deepest part of the hold, against the wall which separated it from the forward section, I came across a large canopy, the shape and volume of which indicated unerringly that it was for the use of the monsters. With some trepidation I peered inside … then recoiled away.

Here was the mechanism which operated the blood-sucking cubicle in the slaves’ compartment, for I saw an arrangement of blades and pipettes, joined by transparent tubes to a large glass reservoir still containing much blood.

By this device did these vampiric monsters take the lives of humans!

I went to the opened end of the hold, and cleared my lungs of the stench. I was utterly appalled by what I had found, and my whole body was trembling with revulsion.

A little later I returned to the interior of the craft. I went to examine the various pieces of equipment the monsters had left behind them, and in doing this I made a discovery that made my elaborate escape seem unnecessary. I found that the hull of the projectile was actually of double thickness, and that leading from the main hold was a network of narrow passages which traversed most of the length of the craft. By clambering through these I came eventually, through a trap-door in the floor that I had not previously noticed, into the control-cabin.

The bodies of the two Martian humans were enough reminder of what I had seen aboard the projectile, so without further delay I returned through the passages to the main hold. I was about to jump down to the floor of the desert when it occurred to me that in this dangerous world it would be as well to be armed, and so I searched the hold for something that might serve as a weapon. There was not much to choose from, for the monsters had taken all movable pieces with them… but then I remembered the blades in the blood-letting canopy.

I filled my lungs with fresh air, then hurried to the canopy. There I found that the blades were held in place by a simple sheath, and so I selected one of about nine inches in length. I unscrewed it, wiped it clean on the fabric of one of the pressure-tubes, and placed it inside Amelia’s hand-bag.

Then at last I hurried from the craft, and went out into the desert.

iii

I looked about me, wondering which way I should travel to find shelter. I knew I was somewhere near another city, for I had seen it on the display as we landed, but where it was I did not know.

I glanced first at the sun, and saw that it was near meridian. At first this confused me, for the projectile had been launched at the height of the day and I had slept for only a few hours, but then I realized just how far the craft must have travelled. It had been launched in a westerly direction, so I must now be on the other side of the planet during the same day!

However, what was important was that there were still several hours to nightfall.

I walked away from the projectile towards an outcropping of rock some five hundred yards away. This was the highest point I could see, and I judged that from its peak I should be able to survey the whole region.

I was not being mindful of my surroundings: I kept my eyes directed towards the ground in front of me. I was not elated at my escape, and indeed there was a great gloom in me; a familiar emotion, for I had lived with it since that day in Desolation City when Amelia had been snatched away from me. Nothing had served to remind me of her. It was simply that now I was freed of my immediate concerns, my thoughts returned inevitably to her.

Thus it was that I was halfway to the rocks before I noticed what was going on around me.

I saw that many more projectiles had landed. There were a dozen within my view, and to one side I could see three of the legged ground vehicles standing together. Of the monsters themselves, or the humans who had brought them here, there was no sign, although I knew that most of the monsters were probably already seated inside the armoured housings of their vehicles.

My lonely presence attracted no attention as I trudged across the reddish sand. The monsters cared little for the affairs of humans, and I cared nothing for theirs. My only hope was to locate the city, and so I continued on my way to the rocks.

Here I paused for a moment, staring around. The texture of the rocks was brittle, and as I placed my weight on a low ledge, tiny chips of the alluvial rock fell away.

I climbed carefully, balancing my weight with Amelia’s bag. When I was about twenty feet above the desert floor I came to a broad shelf across the face of the rocks, and. I rested for a few seconds.

I looked out across the desert, seeing the ugly craters made by the projectiles as they landed, and seeing the blunt, open ends of the projectiles themselves. I stared as far I could see in all directions, but there was no sign of the city. I picked up the bag again, and started to work my way around the face of the rocks, climbing all the way.

The outcrop was larger than I had first supposed, and it took me several minutes to reach the other side. Here the rocks were more broken, and my hold was precarious.

I came around a large rocky protuberance, feeling my way along a narrow ledge. As I cleared the obstacle, I stopped in amazement.

Directly in front of me—and, coincidentally, blocking my view across the desert—was the platform of one of the watch-towers!

I was so surprised to see one here that I felt no sense of danger. The thing was still; the black, oval window was on the further side, so even if there were a monster-creature inside I would not be noticed.

I looked across the rock-face in the direction I had been climbing towards, and saw that here there was a deep cleft. I leaned forward, supporting myself with my hand, and glanced down; I was now about fifty feet above the desert floor, and it was a sheer drop. My only way down was by the way I had come. I hesitated, debating what to do.

I felt certain that there was one of the monster-creatures inside the platform of the tower, but why it was standing here in the shelter of the rocks I could not say. I remembered the towers in the city: during normal times the towers seemed to be left to work mechanically. I wondered if this were one such. Certainly, the fact that its platform was immobile lent weight to the notion that the platform was unoccupied. Furthermore, by its very presence it was denying me the purpose of my climb. I needed to locate the city, and from where I was forced to stand by nature of the rocks’ configuration, my view was blocked by the tower.

Looking again at the platform of the tower I wondered if this obstacle might be turned to my advantage.

I had never before been quite as close to one as this, and the details of its construction became of great interest to me. Around the base of the platform itself was a shelf or ledge some twenty-four inches in depth; a man could stand in comfort on it, and indeed in greater safety than in my present position on the rocks. Above this shelf was the body of the platform itself: a broad, shallow cylinder with a sloping roof, some seven feet high at the back, and about ten feet high at the front. The roof itself was domed slightly, and around part of its circumference was a rail about three feet high. On the rear wall were three metal rungs, which presumably assisted entry to and exit from the platform itself, for set into a part of the roof directly above them was a large hatch, which was presently closed.

Without further delay I gripped the rungs and hauled myself up to the roof, swinging Amelia’s bag before me! I stood up and stepped gingerly towards the rail, gripping it with my free hand. Now at last my view across the desert was uninterrupted.

The sight I saw was one which no man before me had ever beheld.

I have already described how much of the Martian terrain is flat and desert-like; that there are also mountainous regions was evidenced by my view from the projectile in flight. What I did not until that moment realize was that, in certain parts of the desert, single mountains—of a height and breadth with no Earthly parallel—thrust themselves out of the plain, standing alone.

One such stood before me.

Now, lest my words should mislead, I must immediately modify my description, for my very first impression of this mountain was that its scale was quite insignificant. Indeed, my attention was drawn first to the city I had been seeking, which lay some five miles from where I stood. This I saw through the crystal-clear Martian air, and registered that it was built on a scale that vastly exceeded that of Desolation City.

Only when I had established the direction in which I should have, to travel, and the distance I would have to cover to reach it, did I look beyond the city towards the mountain against whose lower slopes it had been built.

At first sight this mountain appeared to be the beginnings of a rounded plateau region; instead of the upper surface being sharply defined, however, the heights were vague and unclear. As my senses adapted, I realized that this lack of definition was caused by my looking along the very surface of the mountain’s slope. So large was the mountain, in fact, that the major part of it lay beyond the horizon, so that the thrust of its height was competing with the planet’s curvature! In the far distance I could just make out what must have been the mountain’s peak: white and conical, with vapour drifting from the, volcanic crater.

This summit seemed to be no more than a few thousand feet high; taking into account the fact of the planet’s curvature, I dare say that a more accurate estimate of the height would be at least ten or fifteen miles above ground level! Such physical scale was almost beyond the comprehension of a man from Earth, and it was many minutes before I could accept what I saw.

I was preparing to climb back to the rocks, and start my descent to, the ground, when I noticed a movement some distance to my left.

I saw that it was one of the, legged vehicles, moving slowly across, the desert in the direction of the city. It was not alone; in fact, there were several dozen of these vehicles, presumably brought in the many projectiles which lay scattered across the desert.

What was more, there were scores of the watch-towers, some standing about the vehicles, others sheltering, like the one on which I was perched, beside one or another outcropping of rock, of which there were several between here and the city.

I had long realized that the flight in which I had taken part was a military mission, retaliating against the invasion of Desolation City. I had further assumed that the target would be a minor foe, for I had seen the might of those invaders and did not think that vengeance would be sought directly against them. But this was not the case. The city against which the vehicles were ranged was immense, and when I looked towards it I could just make out the extent to which the place was defended. The outer limits of the city, for example, seemed forested with watch-towers, lining the perimeter so thickly in places that it was as if a stockade had been erected. Moreover, the ground was swarming with fighting-vehicles, and I could see orderly patterns of them, like black metal soldiers on parade.

Against this was the pitiful attacking force on whose side, accident had placed me. I counted sixty of the legged ground vehicles, and about fifty of the watch-towers.

I was so fascinated by this spectacle of a coming battle that I forgot for a moment where I was standing. Indeed, I was speculating about just what kind of rôle the watch-towers would play, neglecting the fact that if I did not move I would surely find out! My best estimate was that the legged vehicles would move forward to attack the city, while the watch-towers would stand defence over the projectiles.

At first this seemed to be the case. The legged vehicles moved slowly and steadily towards the city, and those watch-towers unprotected by the rocks began to raise their platforms to the full height of sixty feet.

I decided that it was time I left my vantage point, and turned round to look back at the rocks, still gripping the rail in my hand.

Then something happened I could never have anticipated. I heard a slight noise to my right, and I looked round in surprise. There, emerging from behind the bluff wall of the rocks, came a watch-tower.

It was walking: the three metal shafts that were the legs of the tower were striding eerily beneath the platform!

The tower on which I stood suddenly lurched, and we fell forward. All around, the other watch-towers withdrew their legs from the gravelly soil, and strode forward in the wake of the ground-vehicles.

It was too late to jump to safety on the rock-face: already it was twenty yards away. I gripped the rail for all I was worth, as the walking watch-tower bore me out into battle!

iv

It was no good recriminating with myself for my lack of fore-sight; the incredible machine was already moving at about twenty miles an hour, and accelerating all the while. The air roared past my ears, and my hair flew. My eyes were streaming.

The watch-tower that had been beside mine at the rocks was a few yards ahead of us, but we were keeping pace. Because of this I was able to see how the contraption managed its ungainly gait. I saw that it was no less than a larger version of the tripodal legs that powered the ground-vehicles, but the effect here was quite startling in its total alienness. When driving forward at speed there were never more than two legs in contact with the ground at any moment, and that only for a fleeting instant. The weight was transferred constantly from one leg to the next in turn, while the other two swung up and forwards. To effect this the platform at the top was tilted slightly to the right, but the very smoothness of the motion indicated that there was a kind of transmission mounting below the platform that absorbed the minor irregularities of the ground. I felt far from secure on my precarious perch, but for the moment a firm grip on the rail was enough to ensure that I would not be easily pitched to the ground.

In the heat of the moment I cursed myself for not having realized that these towers themselves must be mobile. It was true that I had never before seen one m motion, but none of my speculations about their use had made any kind of consistent sense.

We were still increasing our speed, moving in a wide formation towards the enemy city.

In the van was a line of the vehicles. They were flanked on each side by four of the towers. Behind them, spread out in a second rank about half a mile long, were ten more of the ground-vehicles. The rest, including the tower on which I stood, holding on for dear life, followed in open formation behind. Already we were moving at such a speed that the legs were throwing up a cloud of sand and grit, and the wake from the leading vehicles was stinging my face. My own machine ran smoothly on, the engine humming powerfully.

Within about a minute we were travelling as fast as any steam train could go, and here the speed stayed constant. There was no longer any question of escaping from this frightful situation; it was all I could do to stay upright and not be dislodged.

My downfall was nearly precipitated when, without warning, a metal flap opened beneath my legs! I hauled myself to one side away fromit, thankful that the motion of the machine was steady, and watched incredulously as there unfolded from the aperture an immense metal contraption, extended on telescopic rods. As it brushed within a few inches of my face I saw to my horror that the object mounted was the barrel of one of the heat-cannons, It raised itself higher, until it was protruding above the roof of the tower by some eight feet or more.

Ahead of us I saw that the other towers had also extended their cannons, and we plunged on across the desert, headlong in this most bizarre of cavalry-charges!

I was now almost blinded by the sand being thrown up by the leading vehicles, so for the next minute or two I was unable to see more than the two hurtling towers immediately ahead of my own. The leading vehicles must have wheeled to left and right suddenly, for without warning there came a break in the cloud of grit and I was able to see directly ahead.

We had been flung, by the diversion of the leading vehicles, into the front-line of the battle!

Ahead of me now I could see the machines of the defending city coming across the desert to meet us. And what machines they were! There were few of the ground-vehicles, but the defenders strode confidently towards us on their towers. I could hardly believe what I saw. These battle-machines easily dwarfed those of my side, rising at least one hundred feet into the air.

The nearest to us were now less than half a mile away, and coming nearer with every second.

I stared in amazement at these Titans striding towards us with such effortless ease. The assemblage at the top of the three legs was no unadorned platform, but a complicated engine of tremendous size. Its walls were littered with devices of inconceivable function, and where on the smaller watch-towers, was the black oval window, was a series of multi-faceted ports, winking and glittering in the sunlight. Dangling articulate arms, like those of the spider-like handling-machines, swung menacingly as the battle-machines advanced, and at each joint of the incredible legs, bright-green flashes emanated with every movement.

They were now almost upon us! One of the towers that ran to the right of mine let fly with its heat-cannon, but ineffectually. An instant later more towers on my side fired at these mammoth defenders. There were several hits, evidenced by brilliant patches of fire that glowed momentarily against the upper plat form of the enemy, but none of the battle-machines fell. They came on towards us, holding their fire but weaving from side to side, their slender metal legs stepping gracefully and nimbly over the rocky soil.

I realized that my whole body was tingling, and there was a crackling noise above my head. I glanced up, and saw a queer radiance about the muzzle of the heat-cannon, and saw that it must, be firing at the defenders. In the instant it took me to so glance up, the defending battle-machines had passed our lines, still holding their fire, and the watch-tower on which I stood turned sharply to the right.

Now began a sequence of attacking manoeuvres and evasive tactics that had me simultaneously in fear for my life and aghast with the fiendish brilliance of these machines.

I have compared our running attack to that of a cavalry-charge, but I soon saw that this had merely been the preamble to the battle proper. The tripodal legs did more than facilitate a fast forwards motion; in close combat they allowed a manoeuvrability unequalled by anything I had ever seen.

My tower, no less than any other, was in the thick of the fighting. As one with the others, the driver of my watch-tower wheeled his machine from side to side, spinning the platform, ducking, flailing the metal legs, balancing, charging.

All the while, the heat-cannon unleashed its deadly energy, and in that mêlée of whirling, pirouetting towers the beams seared through the air, striking home, flaring constantly against the armoured sides of the upper platforms. And now the defenders were no longer holding their fire; the battle-machines danced through the confusion, letting fly their deadly bolts with horrifying accuracy.

It was an unequal conflict. Not only were the towers of my side dwarfed by the hundred-feet high defenders, but out numbered too. For every one of the towers on my side there seemed to be four of the giants, and already their beams of destructive heat were having a telling effect. One by one the smaller towers were struck from above; some exploded violently, others simply toppled to the ground, making ever more hazardous the up thrown soil on which the battle was pitched. Now it was that I became frightened for my own life, realizing that if the fortunes of the battle continued, it was only a matter of seconds before I was struck down.

I was, therefore, greatly relieved when the tower on which I stood abruptly wheeled round and hastened from the centre of the fighting. In all the confusion I had been able to do no more than maintain my hold, but as soon as we were away from the immediate dangers I discovered that I was shaking with fear.

I had no time to recover my poise. Instead of retreating fully, the tower hurried around the fringes of the battle, and joined two others which had similarly separated themselves. Without a pause we rejoined the fight, following what was .clearly a pre-arranged tactical plan.

Marching as a phalanx we advanced towards the nearest of the colossal defenders. As one, our three cannons fired, the beams concentrating on the upper part of the glittering engine. Almost at once there came a minor explosion, and the battle-machine whirled uncontrollably round and crashed to the ground in a thrashing of metal limbs.

So excited was I by this demonstration of intelligent tactics that, I found myself cheering aloud!

However, this battle would not be won by destroying one defender, a fact well understood by the monstrous drivers of these watch-towers. The three of us hurtled on into the fighting, heading towards our second intended victim.

Once again we were attacking from the rear, and as the heat-beams came, into play the second defender was disposed of as spectacularly and efficiently as the first.

Such fortune could not last for ever. Scarcely had the second battle-machine fallen to the ground than a third stood before us. This one did not have its attention diverted by the ineffectual sniping of the other attackers—for there were few left in the fray—and as we plunged towards it the barrel of its heat-cannon was turned full on us.

What happened next was over in seconds, and yet I can recall the incident in detail, as if it had unfolded over a matter of minutes. I have said that we charged as a phalanx of three; I was mounted on the tower which was to the right and on the outside of the group. The battle-machine’s heat-beam fell full across the tower in the centre, and this exploded at once. So great was the blast that only the fact that I was thrown against the telescopic mount of the cannon saved me from being dashed to the ground. My tower was damaged by the blast, a fact which became instantly clear as it lurched and staggered wildly, and as I clung to the telescopic mount I awaited our crashing to the desert floor as an already established matter of fact.

The third of the attacking towers, though, was as yet undamaged, and it marched on towards its taller antagonist, the heat-cannon playing its beam without effect across the armoured face of the defender. It was a last, desperate attack, and the monstrous creature which drove the tower must have expected its own annihilation at any moment. Although the defender responded with its own heat-cannon, the watch-tower went on unheeding, and flung itself suicidally against the very legs of the other. As they made contact there was a massive discharge of electrical energy, and both machines fell sideways to the ground, their legs still working wildly.

As this happened I was fighting for my own survival, clutching the telescopic rods of the cannon-mount as the damaged tower staggered away from the battle.

The first shock of damage had passed, and the driver—brilliant, and evil—had managed to regain a semblance of ,control. The wildness of the tower’s career was corrected, and with some unevenness of gait, which would have been enough to throw me to the ground had I not had a firm purchase on the mounting, it limped away from the fracas.

Within a minute, the battle—which still continued—was half a mile behind us, and some of the tension which had gripped me began to drain away. Only then did I realize that but for the faint humming of the engines, and the intermittent clangour of crashing machines, the entire engagement had been conducted in a deadly silence.

v

I did not know how badly damaged the ambulant tower had been, but there was an unprecedented grinding noise whenever one of the three legs bore the weight. This could not be the only damage, though, for I could tell that the motive power was failing. We had left the battle at a considerable velocity, having gained momentum during the charge, but now we were moving much slower. I had no real measure of speed, but the grinding of the damaged leg came at less frequent intervals and the air no longer roared past my ears.

The original charge across the desert had taken me much nearer to the city, a fact for which I had been thankful, but now we were heading away from it,towards one of the banks of red weed.

My immediate concern was how I could leave my perch on the tower. It seemed to me that the monster-creature which sat at the controls might well attempt a repair of his tower, and would leave the platform to do so. If that was to happen, I had no desire to be anywhere near at the time. There was, though, no chance for me to escape until the tower halted.

I became aware of a pressure in my left hand, and looking down at it for the first time since the tower had lurched into battle I found that I was still holding Amelia’s hand-bag. How it had not been dropped in the excitement of the fighting I did not know, but some instinct had made me retain it! I changed my position cautiously, taking the bag into my other hand. I had suddenly remembered the blade I had placed inside it,and I took it out, thinking that at last I might need it.

The tower had virtually halted now, and was walking slowly through an area of irrigated land where green crops grew. Not two hundred yards away I could see the scarlet weed-bank, and working at its base, hacking at the stems and releasing the sap, were the slaves.

There were many more than any group I had seen in Desolation City, and the wretched people were working in the slimy soil as far along the weed-bank as I could see in either direction. Our arrival had not gone unnoticed, for I saw many of the people look in our direction before turning back hurriedly to their work.

The damaged leg was making a terrible noise, setting up a metallic screech whenever it took the weight, and I knew we could not travel much further. At last the tower came to a halt,the three legs splayed out beneath us.

I leaned over the edge of the platform roof, trying to see if it would be possible to shin down one of the legs to the ground.

Now the excitement of the battle was past, I found my thoughts were more pragmatic. I had, for a time, been aroused by the thrill of the fighting, even to the extent of admiring the plucky way the smaller force had thrown itself against the far superior defenders. But on Mars there was no element of goodness in the monster-creatures; I had no place in this war between monsters, and the fact that chance had placed me on one of two warring sides should not have beguiled me into spurious sympathies. The creature which had driven this tower into battle had earned my respect for its valour, but as I stood on the roof of the platform, planning my escape, its essential cowardice and beastliness were suddenly revealed.

I heard again the crackling noise above my head, and I realized the heat-cannon was being fired.

At first I thought that one of the defending battle-machines must have followed us, but then I saw where the deadly beam was being directed. Far away, over to the right, flame and smoke were leaping up from the weed-bank!

I saw several slaves caught, by the full force of the beam, and they fell, lifeless, to the muddy ground.

The monster was not content with this atrocity, for then it started to swing the cannon to the side, sweeping the beam along the weed-bank.

The flames burst and leapt, as if spontaneously, as the invisible beam touched on vegetation and slave alike. Where the malign heat fell on the spilled sap, gouts of steam exploded outwards. I could see the slaves struggling to escape as they heard the screams of those afflicted, but in the swampy mire in which they had to work it was difficult for them to scramble away in time. Many of them threw themselves prostrate in the mud, but others were killed instantly.

This unspeakable deed had been continuing for no more than two or three seconds before I took a part in ending it.

Ever since I had understood the full monstrosity of the power these beings held, a part of my self had been overwhelmed with hatred and loathing of the monsters. I did not need to debate the rights or wrongs of this: the monster with its damaged tower, taking its unpardonable spite on the helpless humans below, with cold deliberation and serene malice.

I took a deep breath, then turned away from the awful sight. Fighting down the revulsion within me, I reached for the handle of the metal door built into the sloping roof of the tower I turned it in vain; it seemed to be jammed.

I glanced back over my shoulder. The heat-beam was still creeping along the weed-bank, wreaking its hideous carnage… but now some of the slaves nearest to the vindictive tower had seen me, for one or two of them were waving helplessly as they struggled through the swamp to avoid the beam.

The handle was one I had not seen or used on Mars before, but I knew that it could not be a sophisticated lock, for the monster itself, with its clumsy tentacles, must be capable of using it. Then, on an inspiration, I turned it the other way, the way that on Earth would normally close a lock.

Instantly, the handle turned and the door sprung open.

Filling most of the interior of the platform was the body of the monster; like a sickening bladder, the grey-green sac bulged and pulsed, shining moistly as if with perspiration.

In utter loathing I swung my long blade down, bringing it smartly against the very centre of the back. The blade sunk in, but as I withdrew it for a second plunge I saw that, it had not penetrated the sponge-like consistency of the creature’s flesh. I stabbed again, but with as little effect.

However, the creature had felt the blows even if it had not been harmed by them. A vile screech was emitted from the beak-like mouth at its front, and before I could evade it one of the tentacles slithered quickly towards me and wrapped itself about my chest.

Taken unawares, I stumbled down into the interior of the platform, pulled forward by the tentacle, and was dragged between the metal wall and the nauseous body itself!

My knife-arm was not constricted, and so in desperation I hacked again and again at the serpentine tentacle. Beside me the monster was braying hoarsely, in fear or in pain. At last, my knife was beginning to tell, for the pressure of the tentacle eased as I drew blood. A second tentacle slinked towards me, and just in time I slashed the first one away, causing blood to pump from the wound. As the second tentacle wound itself about my knife-arm, I panicked momentarily, before transferring the blade to my other hand. Now I knew the vulnerable place on the tentacle, it took only seconds to hack it away.

My exertions, and the drag of the tentacles, had taken me to the very front of the platform, so that I was before the face of the monster itself!

Here it was as if the whole interior was alive with the tentacles, for ten or a dozen were wrapping themselves around me. I cannot record how appalling was that touch! The tentacles themselves were weak, but the combined effect of several, stroking and clutching me, was as if I had fallen headlong into a nest of constrictors. Before me, the beak-like mouth opened and closed, shrieking in pain or anger; once the beak closed around my leg, but there was no strength in it and it was not able even to rip the cloth.

Above all were the eyes: those large, expressionless eyes, watching my every action.

I was now in trouble, for both my arms were pinned, and although I still held the knife I could not use it. Instead, I kicked at the soft face before me, aiming at the roots of the tentacles, the shrilling mouth, the saucer eyes… anything that came within range. Then at last my knife-arm came free, and I slashed wildly at any part of the filthy body that presented itself.

This was the turning-point in the squalid affair, for from then on I knew I could win. The front of the creature’s body was firm to the touch, and therefore vulnerable to the knife. Every blow I landed now drew forth blood, and soon the platform was a bedlam of gore, severed tentacles and the frightful screams of the dying monster.

At last I drove the blade straight in between the creature’s eyes, and with one last fading scream it finally expired.

The tentacles relaxed and sagged to the floor, the beak-mouth fell open, from within the corpse there came a long eructation of noxious vapours and the great lidless eyes stared bleakly and lifelessly through the darkened oval window at the front of the platform.

I glanced through this window just once, and saw dimly that the massacre had been brought to a timely end. The weed-bank no longer shot forth flame, although steam and smoke still drifted from various places, and the surviving slaves were dragging themselves from the mire.

vi

With a shudder I flung aside the bloodied knife, and hauled myself past the sagging corpse to the door. I struggled through with some difficulty for my hands were slick with blood and ichor. At last I pulled myself back to the roof, breathing in the thin air with relief, now that I was away from the rank odours of the monster. The hand-bag was where I had left it on the roof.

I picked it up, and, because I should need free use of my hands, looped one of the long handles over my neck.

For a moment I stared down at the ground. For as far as I could see in every direction those slaves that had survived the massacre had abandoned their toils and were wading through the mud towards the tower. Some had already reached dry land, and were running across to me, waving their long spindly arms and calling out in their high, reedy voices.

The leg nearest me seemed to be the straightest of the three, bent in only one place. With the greatest difficulty I eased myself over the protruding shelf, and managed to grip the metal limb with my knees. Then I released my hold on the platform, and placed my hands around the rough metal of the leg. Much blood had spilled from the platform, and although it was drying quickly in the sunshine it made the metal perilously slippery. With great caution at first, then with more confidence as I grew accustomed to it, I shinned down the leg towards the ground, the hand-bag swinging ludicrously across my chest.

As I reached the ground and turned, I saw that a huge crowd of the slaves had watched my descent and were waiting to greet me. I took the bag from around my neck, and stepped towards them. At once they moved back nervously, and I heard their voices twittering in alarm. Glancing down at myself I saw that my clothes and skin were soaked with the blood of the monster, and in the few minutes I had been in the sunlight the radiant heat had dried the mess and an unpleasant smell was exuding.

The slaves regarded me in silence.

Then I saw that one slave in particular was struggling through the crowd towards me, pushing the others aside in her haste. I saw that she was shorter than the rest, and fairer of skin. Although she was caked in the mud of the weed-bank, and raggedly dressed, I saw that her eyes were blue, and bright with tears, and her hair tumbled around her shoulders.

Amelia, my lovely Amelia, rushed forward and embraced me with such violence that I was nearly toppled from my feet!

“Edward!” she shouted deliriously, covering my face with kisses. “’Oh, Edward! How brave you were!”

I was overcome with such excitement and emotion that I could hardly speak. Then at last I managed a sentence, choking it out through my tears of joy.

“I’ve still got your bag,” I said.

It was all I could think to say.