The Space Machine

i

Amelia was safe, and I was safe! Life was to be lived again! We disregarded everything and everyone around us; ignored the malodorous condition we were both in; forgot the encircling, curious Martian slaves. The mysteries and dangers of this world were of no consequence, for we were together again!

We stood in each other’s arms for many minutes, saying nothing. We wept a little, and we held each other so tight that I thought we might never separate but become fused in one single organism of undistilled joy.

We could not,of course, stand like that forever, and the interruption was approaching even as we embraced. Soon we could not ignore the warning voices of the slaves around us, and we pulled reluctantly apart, still holding each other’s hand.

Glancing towards the distant city I saw that one of the huge battle-machines was striding across the desert towards us.

Amelia looked about the slaves.

“Edwina?” she called. “Are you there?”

In a moment a young, female Martian stepped forward. She was no, more than a child, roughly equivalent to about twelve Earth years old.

She said (or at least it sounded as if she said): “Yes, Amelia?”

“Tell the others to go back to work quickly. We will return to the camp.”

The little girl turned to the other slaves, made some intricate hand and head signs (accompanied by a few of the high, sibilant words), and within seconds the crowd was dispersing.

“Come along, Edward,” said Amelia.: “The thing in that machine will want to know how the monster was killed.”

I followed her as she strode towards a long, dark building set near the weed-bank. After a moment, one of the city-Martians appeared and fell in beside us. He was carrying one of the electrical whips.

Amelia noticed the askance expression with which I registered this.

“Don’t worry, Edward,” she said. “’He won’t hurt us.”

“Are you sure?”

In answer, Amelia held out her hand and the Martian passed her the whip. She took it carefully, held it out for me to see, then returned it.

“We are no longer in Desolation City. I have established a new social order for the slaves.”

“So it would appear,” I said. “’Who is Edwina?”

“One of the children She is naturally adept at languages—most young Martians are—and so I have taught her the rudiments of English.”

I was going to ask more, but the ferocious pace Amelia was setting in this thin air was making me breathless.

We came to the building, and at the doorway I paused to stare back. The battle-machine had stopped by the crippled tower on which I had ridden, and was examining it.

There were four short corridors into the building, and inside I was relieved to find that it was pressurized. The city-Martian walked away and left us, while I found myself coughing uncontrollably after the exertions of our walk. When I had recovered I embraced Amelia once more, still unable to believe the good fortune that had reunited us. She returned my embraces no less warmly, but after a moment drew away.

“My dear, we are both filthy. We can wash here.”

“I should very much like a change of clothes,” I said.

“There is no chance of that,” Amelia said. “You will have to wash your clothes as you wash yourself.”

She led me to an area of the building where there was an arrangement of overhead pipes. At the turn of a tap, a shower of liquid—which was not water, but probably a diluted solution of the sap—issued forth. Amelia explained that all the slaves used these baths after work, then she went away to use another in private.

Although the flow of liquid was cold I drenched myself luxuriously, taking off my clothes and wringing them to free them of the last vestiges of the foul fluids they had absorbed.

When I considered neither I nor my clothes could be any further cleansed, I turned off the flow and squeezed my clothes, trying to dry them. I pulled on my trousers, but the cloth was dank and heavy and felt most uncomfortable. Dressed like this I went in search of Amelia.

There was a large metal grille set in One of the walls just beyond the bathing area. Amelia stood before it, holding out her ragged garment to dry it. At once I turned away.

“Bring your clothes here, Edward,” she said.

“When you have finished,” I said, trying not to reveal by the sound of my voice that I had noticed she was completely unclad.

She placed her garment on the floor, and walked over and stood facing me.

“Edward, we are no longer in England,” she said. “You will contract pneumonia if you wear damp clothes.”

“They will dry in time.”

“In this climate you will be seriously ill before then. It takes only a few minutes to dry them this way.”

She went past. me into the bathing area, and came back with the remainder of my clothes.

“I will dry my trousers later,” I said.

“You will dry them now,” she replied.

I stood in consternation for a moment, then reluctantly removed my trousers. Holding them before me, in such a way that I was still covered, I allowed the draught of warmth to blow over them. We stood a little apart, and although I was determined not to gaze immodestly at Amelia, the very presence of the girl who meant so much to me, and with whom I. had suffered so much, made it impossible not to glance her way several times. She was so. beautiful, and, unclad as she was, she bore herself with grace and propriety, rendering innocent a situation which would have scandalized the most forward-looking of our neighbours on Earth. My inhibitions waned, and after a few minutes I could contain my impulses no more.

I dropped the garment I was holding, went quickly to her, then took her in my arms and we kissed passionately for a minute or more.

ii

We were virtually alone in the building. It was still two hours before sunset, and the slaves would not return before then. When our clothes had dried, and we had put them on again, Amelia took me around the building to show me how the slaves were housed. Their conditions were primitive and without convenience: the hammocks were hard and cramped, what food there was had to be eaten raw, and nowhere was there any possibility of privacy.

“And you have been living like this?” I said.

“At first,” Amelia said. “But then I discovered I was someone rather Important. Let me show you where I sleep.”

She led me to one corner of the communal sleeping-quarters. Here the hammocks were arranged no differently, or so it appeared, but when Amelia tugged on a rope attached to an over head pulley, several of the hammocks were lifted up to form an ingenious screen.

“During the days we leave these down, in case a new overseer is sent to inspect us, but when I wish to be private… I have a boudoir all of my own!”

She led me into her boudoir, and once again, sensing that foreign eyes could not light upon us, I kissed Amelia with passion. I knew now what I had been hungering for during that dire period of loneliness!

“You seem to have made yourself at home,” I said at length. Amelia had sprawled across her hammock, while I sat down on a step that ran across part of the floor.

“One has to make the best of what one finds.”

I said: “Amelia, tell me what happened after you were taken by that machine.”

“I was brought here.”

“Is that all? It cannot have been as simple as that!”

“I should not wish to experience it again,” she said. “But what about you? How is it that after all this time you appear from within a watch-tower?”

“I should prefer to hear your story first.”

So we exchanged the news of each other that we both so eagerly sought. The prime concern was that neither of us was the worse for our adventures, and we had each satisfied the other as to that. Amelia spoke first, describing the journey across land to this slave-camp.

She kept her account brief and seemed to omit much detail. Whether this was to spare me the more unpleasant aspects, or because she did not wish to remind herself of them, I do not know. The journey had taken many days, most of it inside covered vehicles. There was no sanitation, and food was supplied only once a day. During the journey Amelia had seen, as I had seen aboard the projectile, how the monsters themselves took food. Finally, in a wretched state, she and the other survivors of the journey—some three hundred people in all, for the spider-like machines had been busy that day in Desolation City—had been brought to this weed-bank, and under super vision of Martians from the near-by city had been put to work on the red weed.

I assumed at this point that Amelia had finished her story, for I then launched into a detailed account of my own adventures. I felt I had much to tell her, and spared few details. When I came to describe the use of the killing-cubicle aboard the projectile I felt no need to expurgate my account, for she too had seen the device in operation… However, as I described what I had seen, she paled a little.

“Please do not dwell on this,” she said.

“But is it not familiar to you?”

“Of course it is. But you need not colour your account with such relish. The barbaric instrument you describe is every where used. There is one in this building.”

That revelation took me by surprise, and I regretted having mentioned it. Amelia told me that each evening six or more of the slaves were sacrificed to the cubicle.

“But this is outrageous!” I said.

“Why do you think the oppressed people of this world are so few in number?” Amelia cried. “It is because the very best of the people are drained of life to keep the monsters alive!”

“I shall not mention it again,” I said, and passed on to relate the rest of my story.

I described how I escaped from the projectile, then the battle I had witnessed, and finally, with not inconsiderable pride, I described how I had tackled and slain the monster in the tower.

At this Amelia seemed pleased, and so once more I garnished my narrative with adjectives. This time my authentic details were not disapproved of, and indeed as I described how the creature had finally expired she clapped her hands together and laughed.

“You must tell your story again tonight,” she said,: “My people will be very encouraged.”

I said: “Your people?”

“My dear, you must understand that I do not survive here by good fortune. I have discovered that I am their promised leader, the one who in folklore is said to deliver them from oppression.

iii

A little later we were disturbed by the slaves returning from their labours, and for the moment our accounts were put aside.

As the slaves entered the building through the two main pressurizing corridors, the overseeing Martians, who apparently had quarters of their own within the building, came in with them. Several were carrying the electrical whips, but once inside they tossed them casually to one side.

I have recorded before that the habitual expression of a Martian is one of extreme despair, and these wretched slaves were no exception. Knowing what I did, and having seen the massacre that afternoon; my reaction was more sympathetic than before.

With the return of the slaves there was a period of activity, during which the dirt of the day’s work was washed away, and food was brought out. It had been some time since I had eaten, and although in its uncooked state the weed was almost inedible I took as much as I could manage.

We were joined during the meal by the slave-child Amelia called Edwina. I was amazed at the apparent grasp she had of English, and, what is more,rather amused by the fact that although the girl could not manage some of the more sophisticated English consonants, Amelia had vested her with distinct echoes of her own cultured voice. (In rendering Edwina’s words in this narrative I shall make no attempt to phoneticize her unique accent, but state her words in plain English; how ever, at first I had difficulty in understanding what she said.)

I noticed that while we ate (there were no tables here; we all squatted on the floor) the slaves kept a distance from Amelia and me. Many covert glances came our way and only Edwina, who sat with us, seemed at ease in our company.

“Surely they are used to you by now?” I said to Amelia.

“It is of you they are nervous. You too have fulfilled a legendary rôle.”

At this, Edwina, who had heard and understood my question, said: “You are the pale dwarf.”

I frowned at this, and looked to see if Amelia knew what she meant.

Edwina went on: “Our wise men tell of the pale dwarf who walks from the battle-machine.”

“I see,” I said, and nodded to her with a polite smile.

Somewhat later, when Edwina was no longer within hearing, I said: “If you are the messiah to these people, why do you have to work at the weed-bank?”

“It is not my choice. Most of the overseers are used to me now, but if any new ones came from the city I might be singled out if I were not with the others. Also, it is said in the myths that the one who leads the people will be one of them. In other words, a slave.”

“I think I should hear these myths,” I said.

“Edwina will recite them for you.”

I said: “You talk about the overseers. How is it that no one seems to fear them now?”

“Because I have persuaded them that all humans have a common enemy. I am more than playing a rôle, Edward. I am convinced that there must be a revolution. The monsters rule the people by dividing them: they have set one group of humans against the other. The slaves fear the overseers because it seems the overseers have the authority of the monsters behind them. The city-Martians are content to support the system, for they enjoy Certain privileges. But as you and I have seen, this is merely an expedient to the monsters. Human blood is their only demand, and the slave-system is a means to an end. All I have done here is to persuade the overseers—who also know the folklore—that the monsters are an enemy common to all.”

While we were talking, the slave people were carrying away the remains of the meal, but suddenly all activities were halted by an outburst of sound: the most horrible, high-pitched siren, echoing around the inside of the hall.

Amelia had gone very pale, and she turned away and walked into her private area. I followed her inside, and found her in tears.

“That call,” I said. “Does it mean what I think?”

“They have come for their food,” Amelia said, and her sobs were renewed.

iv

I will not recount the ghastliness of the scene that followed, but it should be said that the slaves had devised a system of lots, and the six hapless losers went to the killing-cubicle in silence.

Amelia explained that, she had not expected the monsters to visit the slave-camps tonight. There were many dead scattered about the weed-bank, and she had hoped that the monsters would have drained these bodies for their nightly repast.

v

Edwina came to see Amelia and me.

“We would like to hear the adventures of the pale dwarf,” she said to Amelia. “It would make us happy.”

“Does she mean I have to address them?” I said. “I should not know what to say. And how would they understand me?”

“It is expected of you. Your arrival was spectacular, and they want to hear it in your own words. Edwina will interpret for you.”

“Have you done this?”

She nodded. “I was told about this ritual when I was teaching Edwina to speak English. When she had mastered enough vocabulary, we rehearsed a little speech and from that day I was accepted as their leader. You will not be fully acknowledged by them until you have done it too.”

I said: “But how much should I tell them? Have you told them we are from Earth?”

“I felt they would not understand, and so I have not. Earth is mentioned in their legends—they call it the ‘warm world’—but only as a celestial body. So I have not revealed my origins. Incidentally, Edward, I think it is time you and I recognized that we shall never again see Earth. There is no means of return. Since I have been here I have been reconciled to that. We are both Martians now.”

I pondered this in silence. It was not a notion I cared for, but I understood what Amelia meant. While we clung to a false hope we should never settle.

Finally, I said: “Then I will tell them how I flew in the projectile, how I mounted the watch-tower and how I disposed of the monster.”

“I think, Edward, that as you are fulfilling a mythic prophecy, you should find a stronger verb than ‘dispose’.”

“Would Edwina understand?”

“If you accompany your words with the appropriate actions.”

“But they have already seen me leave the tower covered in blood!”

“It is the telling of the tale that is important. Just repeat to them what you told me.”

Edwina was looking as happy as any Martian I had ever seen.

“We will hear the adventures now?” she said.

“I suppose so,” I said. We stood up and followed Edwina into the main part of the hall. Several of the hammocks had been moved away, and all the slaves were sitting on the floor. As we appeared they climbed to their feet, and started to jump up and down. It was a rather comical action—and one not wholly reassuring—but Amelia whispered to me that this was their sign of enthusiasm.

I noticed that there were about half a dozen of the city-Martians present, standing at the back of the hall. They were clearly not yet at one with the slaves, but at least the sense of intimidation we had seen in Desolation City was absent.

Amelia quietened the crowd by raising her hand and spreading her fingers When they were silent, she said: “My people. Today we saw the killing of one of the tyrants by this man. He is here now to describe his adventures in his own words.”

As she spoke, Edwina translated simultaneously by uttering a few syllables, and accompanying them with elaborate hand signs. As they both finished, the slaves jumped up and down again, emitting a high-pitched whining noise. It was most disconcerting, and appeared to have no end.

Amelia whispered to me: “Raise your hand.”

I was regretting having agreed to this, but I raised my hand and to my surprise silence fell at once. I regarded these queer folk—these tall, hot-coloured alien beings amongst whom fate had cast our lot, and with whom our future now lay—and tried to find the words with which to begin. The silence persisted, and with some diffidence I described how I had been put aboard the projectile. Immediately, Edwina accompanied my words with her weird interpretation.

I began hesitantly, not sure of how much I should say The audience remained silent. As I warmed to my story, and found opportunities for description, Edwina’s interpretation became more florid, and thus encouraged I indulged myself in a little exaggeration.

My description of the battle became a clashing of metallic giants, a pandemonium of hideous screams and a veritable storm of blazing heat-beams. At this, I saw that several of the slaves had risen, and were jumping up and down enthusiastically. As I came to the point in the story where I realized that the monster was turning its heat-beam onto the people, the whole audience was on its feet and Edwina was signing most dramatically.

Perhaps in this telling rather more tentacles were hacked away than there had been in actuality, and perhaps it seemed more difficult to kill the beast than had been my experience, but I felt obliged to remain true to the spirit of the occasion rather than satisfy the demands of scrupulous authenticity.

I finished my story to a splendid cheer from the audience, and a most remarkable display of leaping. I glanced at Amelia to see her reaction, but before we had a chance to speak we were both mobbed by the crowd. The Martians surrounded us, jostling and thumping us gently, in what I interpreted as further enthusiasms. We were being propelled steadily and firmly towards Amelia’s private quarters, and as we came to where the hammocks had been slung to form the partition, the noise reached its climax. After a little more genial pummelling, we were thrust together through the partition.

At once, the noise outside subsided.

I was still buoyed up by the reception I had been given, and swept Amelia into my arms. She was as excited as I, and responded to my kisses with great warmth and affection.

As our kissing became prolonged I found rising in me those natural desires I had had to suppress for so long, and so, reluctantly, I turned my face away from hers and loosened my hold, expecting her to draw away. Instead, she held me tightly, pressing her face into the hollow of my neck.

Beyond the partition I could hear the slaves. They seemed to be singing now, a high, tuneless crooning noise, It was very restful and strangely pleasant.

“What do we do next?” I said after several minutes had passed.

Amelia did not reply at once.

Then she held me more tightly, and said: “Do you need to be told, Edward?”

I felt myself blushing.

“I meant, is there any more ceremonial we must observe?” I said.

“Only what is expected of us in legend. On the night the pale dwarf descends from the tower…” She whispered the rest in my ear.

She could not see my face, so I clenched my eyes tightly closed, almost breathless with excitement!

“Amelia, we cannot. We are not married.”

It was my last concession to the conventions that had ruled my life.

“We are Martians now,” Amelia said. “We do not observe marriage.”

And so, as the Martian slaves sang in their high, melancholy voices beyond the hanging partition, we abandoned all that remained within us of our Englishness and Earthliness; and became, through that night, committed to our new rôles and lives as leaders of the oppressed Martian peoples.