The Martian Ambassador (15 page)

‘Indeed we have. Tell me, have you read this morning’s papers?’

Voronezh nodded.

‘Then you will be aware of the attacks perpetrated by the creature known as Spring-Heeled Jack across London last night, and what he is reported to have said to the witnesses.’

The Martian gave another nod – albeit a more tentative one, Blackwood thought.

‘Do you have any idea what he could have meant by that?’ the Investigator asked.

‘None whatsoever,’ came the reply.

‘I see. Are you similarly unaware that this creature comes from the planet Venus?’

Voronezh blinked at him. ‘How do you know that?’

Blackwood smiled. ‘The details are unimportant, Mr Voronezh, but we
do
know.’

Voronezh stood up and went to a nearby table, on which stood a large, bulbous decanter fashioned in a highly unusual shape, as if the glass had been blown from several different directions at once. He poured a pale blue liquid into an equally bizarre tumbler and sipped it contemplatively.

Playing for time
, Blackwood thought.
He knows more than he’s letting on
. ‘We were unaware of any intelligent life on Venus,’ he said. ‘Were
you
?’

Voronezh sighed. ‘Yes, Mr Blackwood. We are well aware of what lives on Venus.’

‘It’s been only six years since contact was established between our two worlds,’ said Blackwood. ‘And in that short time, we have already begun to forge strong links – scientific and cultural.’

Voronezh gave a brief nod.

‘One would think that the existence of a third civilisation in the solar system is of such significance that you would have shared the knowledge with us more or less straight away. May I ask why you haven’t?’

Petrox Voronezh drained his glass and replaced it carefully on the table. He turned to Blackwood. ‘We kept the knowledge from you to protect you.’

‘Protect us?’

‘From the terrible things which inhabit that sad and dying world.’

‘Hostile intelligences?’

Voronezh sat down at his desk. ‘You said that the details of how you came by this knowledge are unimportant, Mr Blackwood, but I would appreciate it if you would tell me, nevertheless.’

‘Very well. My colleague, Lady Sophia Harrington, has been investigating the attacks perpetrated by Spring-Heeled Jack. While interviewing a family who had recently encountered him, she discovered a fragment of metal, which had apparently broken off from one of his talons. That fragment has been analysed by chemists and psychometrists at the Society for Psychical Research, and it has been established beyond all reasonable doubt that it comes from Venus.’

‘I see.’

‘I therefore believe it to be vitally important that we learn all we can of that world and its inhabitants.’

Voronezh considered this for several moments. ‘Very well,’ he said presently. ‘I will tell you something of Venus. As I said, it is a dying world. Once, in ages long past, it was a kind of paradise: verdant and warm, with lush forests in the northern and southern latitudes, and thick jungles in the equatorial regions. Life was abundant there – all manner of life. Its skies were painted with the thousand-hued plumages of great birds, and its vast oceans glittered with a countless myriad fishes, their scales catching the rays of the sun like living jewels, making the water alive with light and movement.

‘On the land, great civilisations rose and fell with the passing of millennia – much like on your world and mine. Gradually, the people of Venus developed technologies of greater and greater power: they were confident and industrious – one is bound to say
too much
so, for they saw their world, in all its beauty and magnificent abundance, as nothing more than a resource to be used as they saw fit. They had great intelligence, but they were also prey to great foolishness.’

Blackwood nodded, thinking of the words one of the psychometrists had used. ‘Rich in ability, but poor in wisdom,’ he said.

‘Precisely.’

‘And their industry grew out of control, until it had consumed their world’s resources, tainting its air and poisoning its soil.’

Voronezh nodded. ‘They made a desolation and called it Progress.’

‘Are there many of them left?’

‘At its height, the planetary civilisation of Venus numbered in excess of nine thousand million, but their numbers are vastly reduced. We estimate there can’t be much more than a thousand million left, living at the poles, which are still tolerably cool, and in deep valleys and gorges…’

‘And in subterranean caverns,’ said Blackwood.

‘Yes. Their civilisation is in ruins, but their intelligence remains, as does their arrogance and acquisitiveness. You may think me callous to speak in such terms, but an animal is most dangerous when it is under threat… and the Venusians are threatened with extinction. They have damaged their world to such an extent that it will soon kill all who remain. Every year, the atmosphere grows hotter, as if Venus itself has sought collaboration with the Sun to rid itself of its children, who have turned against it.’

‘How do you know all this?’ asked Blackwood. ‘Have Martians visited Venus?’

Voronezh nodded.

‘Haven’t you tried to help them? You have technological expertise
and
wisdom. Didn’t you try to…?’

Voronezh held up his hand. ‘Yes, Mr Blackwood, we tried. Our first exploratory cylinders reached Venus decades ago. They were met with a hostility that has not diminished in the intervening years, in spite of our efforts to forge diplomatic relations. We tried to offer them our guidance in rebuilding their world and their civilisation – perhaps that was arrogance on
our
part, but it was born of the most benign intentions. Our overtures were rebuffed in quite unequivocal terms. They saw our desire to help as mere condescension, perhaps masking colonial ambitions, and they threatened death to any Martian who set foot on Venus again.’

Blackwood considered this in silence. Assuming that Petrox Voronezh was telling the truth, he felt rather guilty at having suspected the Martians of underhand dealings. It was the Venusians who were up to something – and something pretty serious at that.

He thanked Voronezh for his candour and added, ‘All of this brings us to the present question: why is there a Venusian on Earth? What’s he up to?’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ said Voronezh. ‘We are well aware that many humans view us with fear and mistrust; it is only natural, after all, for any being to fear the unknown, the other – especially when that other possesses power and technology far in advance of one’s own. We appreciate the friendship extended to us by some, while sympathising with the trepidation of others, and we have read enough of your history to note how contact between human civilisations at different stages of development has ended badly for the less developed. Contact between Europe and what was once called the New World, for example, resulted in the catastrophic decline of those cultures which were “discovered”.’

‘You think the Venusians have sent an agent to sow discord between Earth and Mars?’ said Blackwood.

‘It is a reasonable assumption, wouldn’t you say?’

‘But why? For what purpose?’

‘I am not sure. Nor do I believe that a few random attacks are all that this creature and his masters have planned. It seems to me that they are merely the groundwork – a preamble to other events which have yet to unfold.’

Blackwood nodded. ‘By the way, I believe the brute’s name to be Indrid Cold. At least, that’s the one he gave to Andrew Crosse when he visited him in Somerset.’

‘That is indeed a Venusian name,’ Voronezh replied.

Something else occurred to Blackwood just then. ‘If the Venusian civilisation is in ruins,’ he said, ‘how did Indrid Cold get to Earth?’

‘It was noted during our initial expeditions that they still have the capacity to produce Æther ships,’ Voronezh replied. ‘I suspect that Indrid Cold arrived in a one-man vessel, which is hidden somewhere near London. That, however, is the least important of the questions facing us.’

‘True enough,’ Blackwood nodded. ‘Mr Voronezh, may I ask another question?’

‘Of course.’

‘Why has the departure of the interplanetary cylinder been brought forward from the twenty-ninth to tomorrow?’

‘Our Government has received a request from Ambassador R’ondd’s family that his body be brought home as soon as possible.’

‘Is that the only reason?’

Voronezh regarded his guest with unblinking eyes. ‘I’m not sure I understand.’

Blackwood took a deep breath, wondering how wise it was to say what he was about to say. He supposed that he would soon find out. ‘It was the intention of the Queen to provide your Government with a full and comprehensive account of what happened to Ambassador R’ondd, along with her letter of condolence. I was wondering whether there might be certain individuals on Mars who don’t want that to happen: individuals who would rather he be returned with little or no explanation…’

‘So that humans might be seen as dangerous fools by the people of Mars, who would then demand that diplomatic relations be broken off,’ said Voronezh. ‘An interesting theory.’

‘Please forgive my candour, sir, but I can’t help thinking of what you said during our meeting with the Queen. You threatened direct intervention in this investigation unless results were achieved very quickly.’

‘We are merely anxious to resolve this matter without delay, Mr Blackwood,’ Voronezh replied. ‘I am certain you would too, were our positions reversed.’

‘What
is
the Martian attitude to Humanity? How are we seen on your world?’

‘You are viewed with curiosity –
benign
curiosity – and the desire for friendship. I assure you that there is no one on Mars who harbours any animosity whatsoever towards the people of Earth, the present situation notwithstanding. We are all children of the star you call Sol, the life-giver at the centre of this Solar System. We value your presence, we rejoice in the existence of fellow intelligent beings… for we have caught glimpses of what lies beyond the outermost planets, in the dark depths of Space, and we believe that all should cling to each other in bonds of friendship and support in the face of what dwells… out there.’

Blackwood was taken aback by this utterance. Voronezh noted his surprised expression, and made the gentle chittering sound that was Martian laughter. ‘Do not look so shocked, Mr Blackwood. You understand that of which I speak, for you yourself have caught a glimpse of it.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I am speaking of what you call the Cosmic Spheres, of course.’

Blackwood’s expression became one of outright astonishment. ‘You know about that? How?’

‘We obtained access to your file; we claimed that right when we learned that you would be handling this investigation, and your Government conceded it and allowed us to view your professional history. Five years ago, you investigated a series of mysterious deaths at a secret research laboratory on the west coast of Scotland. The scientists were attempting, with the full support of your Government, to harness the ætherial force known as Vril, the force which powers our interplanetary cylinders.’

‘They wanted to use it as a weapon,’ muttered Blackwood, shuddering inwardly at the memory. ‘They hoped it would consolidate the military power of the Empire… but they failed. Catastrophically.’

‘On the contrary, they succeeded,’ said Voronezh. ‘But there are areas of enquiry which are so dangerous that success
is
failure. Your scientists managed, for an infinitesimal moment, to open a fissure between this world and the astral realm containing the Vril force, but they did so carelessly, with the wrong intentions, and without taking the necessary precautions, with the result that one of the denizens of that realm, a Sha’halloth, was able to deposit its eggs in the laboratory.’

Don’t
, Blackwood thought, struggling against the temptation to shut his eyes tight and flee the room.
Please don’t say any more!

But Voronezh continued, ‘The eggs of the Sha’halloth are intelligent and ravenous; they fed on the scientists’ minds in order to fuel the growth of the abominations they contained. They drove the men insane, and when you were sent to the laboratory, and saw what they had done to each other, your own mind was nearly unhinged. And yet, you conquered your terror and revulsion; you destroyed the eggs, neutralised the threat…’

‘I destroyed the scientists, too,’ Blackwood whispered. ‘I… I killed them all.’

‘You had no choice, for they were already lost.’

Blackwood shook his head. ‘God… the things they’d done!’ He felt tears welling in his eyes at the memories which had risen to prominence in his mind, memories he had tried desperately to rid himself of in the five years since those terrible events, but which now lay exposed once again in their filthy nakedness before his mind’s eye. He remembered the eggs: pulsating globs of glistening jelly, faintly glowing with impossible colours, covered with writhing tendrils that seemed to fade in and out of visibility, as though still connected somehow to the realm from which they had come. To look upon them had been intolerable; to feel them probing his mind had been utterly unbearable, akin to a sexual molestation, but far more intimate. He felt his stomach churning at the memories, threatening to void itself there and then. He put a hand up to his mouth, and was surprised when it collided with the faceplate: he had completely forgotten that he was wearing the breathing apparatus, so powerful were the memories. He forced himself to breathe deeply and evenly. He looked at Voronezh and saw that the Martian was watching him intently.