The Martian War (22 page)

The master minds remained entirely preoccupied with Wells, leaning forward to peer at him helpless on their analytical table. They observed every moment in complete silence.

Two large-bore syringes plunged into the soft skin of his neck, and Wells writhed in agony. Jane threw herself forward, but Huxley restrained her. Through his fog of pain, Wells called in a strained voice, “Don’t interfere, Jane—you’ll put yourself in danger too.”

Samples of his blood flowed into the syringes and through
tubes back into analytical compartments. With a horrible sliding and clicking sound, two more sets of metallic hands rose from the interrogation machine. Wells strained to see, but the long needles in his neck prevented him from struggling. Twelve sharp robotic fingers extended into his field of view, each one terminating in a needle that glistened with a droplet of white fluid.

Again Wells tried to squirm away. Like sharp stingers, the Inquisitor’s new needle-hands brushed his scalp, the contours of his skull, as if looking for something. Then with a sudden sharp movement—and a torrent of excruciating pain—the needles plunged into his skull, drilling deep.

Wells peeled his lips back in a grimace. At first he struggled and thrashed, but then he forced himself to remain still, heroically surrendering to the Martian’s analysis for the sake of Jane and Professor Huxley. Although his own brain was much smaller than the Martians’ superior organs, he hoped that if they could obtain the data they required from
him,
then the evil master minds wouldn’t need to torture his friends. Cold tears trickled out of the corners of his eyes, and he shuddered, his whole body spasming.

The needles dug deeper, through the skull and into gray matter, stimulating thoughts, dreams. Visions surged through his optic nerves, though his eyes were shut. Without any volition of his own, information surged out of his brain as if he were a book being casually skimmed by the Grand Inquisitor.

In a flash before his eyes, Wells saw glimpses of his youth, his brothers and parents … breaking his leg when he was a boy, reading books and discovering the joy of stories. The drudgery of working in a draper’s shop with other abused apprentices. His disappointing love and marriage to Isabel, and then meeting Jane … his love for her, the wonders and happiness they had together.

But the Martian was not interested in such thoughts. This was not an attempt to establish communication. This was the interrogation of a prisoner of war.

The silver fingers dug deeper yet, uncovering information about politics and warfare, the technology available to the British Empire and to the Germans: siege machines and ironclads, explosives, rifles, cannons. More and more thoughts were drained from his deepest brain, inspected, and recorded for later analysis by Martian invasion planners.

Realizing the crucial information he was revealing, Wells struggled. “No!” He tried to clamp his memories away, fighting the sharp probings of the deep needles. No matter how he resisted, the Grand Inquisitor’s apparatus was able to steal all it needed to know about Earth’s defensive abilities.

Finally the silver spikes withdrew from his brain and skull, and Wells collapsed like an invertebrate to the cold dissection table. His frustration and disgust at what he had unwittingly divulged made him feel even weaker. The Grand Inquisitor retracted its surgical and analytical limbs into storage cylinders mounted like gun barrels on the sides of its dome-turret, then clanked away.

“H.G., are you all right?” Jane rushed to his side and helped him to his feet. “What have they done to you?”

Tears still streamed out of his blue eyes, and he hung his head. “They know everything, Jane.
Everything.
We have no way to fight them.”

Huxley inspected his wounds, the small needle punctures,
and nodded with faint satisfaction. “I believe you will heal, Wells.”

Jane held him close to her. “I thought they were going to kill you, H.G.”

“It’s worse, Jane. They let me remain alive, knowing that
I myself
doomed the human race to slavery and defeat.”

FROM THE JOURNAL OF DR. MOREAU

Once the captive Martian specimen finally began to communicate with us, our world—indeed, our view of the universe—changed entirely. After all my tedious and patient labors, the creature at last understood I was its benefactor, and must have resolved to confide in me. With the Martian’s incredible revelations, my previous conceptions of evolution and biological adaptations were both reaffirmed and thrown into confusion. It was a heady time.

Lowell took notes as furiously as he could. Closed within the shadowy shed, he and I listened intently while the Martian described his withering civilization. Using the crystal egg to display remarkable images, the Martian
spoke into our minds, telling of his race.

Since it was half again as far from the Sun as Earth, Mars had cooled much more swiftly and had become an abode of life long before the first primordial creatures stirred in the ooze of our oceans. Martian civilization had grown swiftly from primitive encampments to small agricultural settlements that eventually expanded into cities filled with technological wonders. Through tremendous advances in science and mathematics, their race had accomplished great things.

Any scientist knows that crisis and deprivation are the driving factors of evolutionary improvement. As their red deserts became more arid and their survival was threatened, Martian minds were forced to evolve and enlarge to meet the challenge—or perish.

Employing their most advanced industrial techniques on a massive scale, they excavated and installed an immense network of canals to distribute the remnants of moisture from the north and south poles. The peaceable Martians worked together, building upon what they had developed so that each system worked with increasing efficiency.

In the crystal egg, Lowell and I saw vibrant images of canals and pumping stations, ice quarrying and melting operations at the polar caps. As their brains enlarged and their bodies atrophied, the Martians constructed walker machines in order to move about more easily.

I realized that in this small hand-held observation device I had access to an amazing laboratory of evolution. Watching how the Martian race had changed, I could see adaptations that had arisen after perhaps a thousand generations, or
more. As their civilization grew and became more and more sophisticated, their bodies had dwindled away, becoming dependent on more efficient technological innovations. And why not? Did not our arboreal simian ancestors once have prehensile tails, which had gradually vanished as our intellect created better solutions to obtaining food?

The Martians could no longer sustain themselves through entirely natural means, but they had not allowed this to hinder their development. Through incredible intellect and a powerful drive for survival, they had designed and constructed everything they needed … and their race had survived the catastrophic drought that would have destroyed Mars.

Lowell’s breathing was shallow, as if the very concepts drove him into a feverish state. “Oh, if only there were some way to record these pictures! But no camera apparatus would ever be sufficient to the task.”

Everything I saw in the crystal egg made me feel an increasingly acute disappointment at the lack of progress and foresight my fellow humans had shown in their constant squabbles. Mortal man had always been more fundamentally composed of apathy than of determination. Only a few great men, such as myself, were willing to devote their lives to the advancement of our world.

Though I did not want the Martian to stop regaling us with the details of Martian history, the constant flow of ideas numbed my mind. The revelations were like a banquet on which I had gorged and gorged, and I needed time to digest it all. Day after day, when we finished our discussions and retired to the main house, I was exhausted and brain weary.

Lowell obviously felt the same. He had some history of nervous distress, and I feared that this wonderful adventure might push him into another breakdown, but his skin was flushed and his gaze as intent as that of a jungle predator. I could not in good conscience suggest that we stop.

We ate dinner together alone with our thoughts and paying scant attention to the taste of the meal. Lowell had been correct in sending away A.E. Douglass, for we could never have been so candid with each other. With his beefsteak and beans only half eaten, Lowell pushed his plate away and looked over my shoulder, out the window to where the sky was darkening.

The tall ponderosa pines bowed and danced with the rising wind, whispering secrets to each other. The windows were open and the veranda stood empty, waiting for us to begin our nightly observations of Mars. I could hear night birds beginning their dusk hunts as insect songs taunted them.

“I find myself utterly fascinated and pleasantly surprised by this first contact,” Lowell said. “Although this Martian is an enigma to me, just as the Japanese were—alien and incomprehensible to the Western mind—already, I am finding common ground with this creature.”

He dabbed his lips with a linen napkin. “We are both, after all, of the higher social classes. Our Martian is a respected explorer and ambassador, as am I.” He stared out the open window, sniffing the night breeze. “And, the old Boston Brahmin way of life—not unlike the Martian civilization—is in decline. Perhaps I can use this Martian’s insight to form an alliance and strengthen the greater families of Boston and New York.” He smiled. “Yes, that
would be a marvelous result of all this work, wouldn’t it? My father would certainly approve.”

I nodded noncommittally, for I felt that such frivolous goals in the face of tremendous potential benefits to the human race were laughable. Once again, Lowell had shown he was not a true scientist at his core. He was a rich young man merely dabbling in the sciences. Other upper-class playboys purchased yachts and took extended trips. Being more eccentric, Lowell poured his funds into the toys of research, determined to purchase a spot for himself in the history of science.

Our Martian explorer was a far different sort of creature, with a much nobler purpose: it was trying to save its world.

When full darkness finally arrived, Lowell and I went onto the veranda to enjoy cigars. The wind had died down, which would still the atmosphere and improve the quality of seeing for our two tripod-mounted refractor telescopes. Douglass had left them for our amusement, and Lowell made nightly observations with a tenacity that I found admirable.

With the stars sparkling above us and the thin crescent Moon setting on the western horizon, I could barely see the outlines of the buildings across the observatory site. The largest dome, which would house the impressive Clark refractor, was already constructed, its outer paneling nearly finished.

As instructed by Lowell, Douglass had by now arrived on the east coast and telegraphed a progress report. The telescope’s lenses were poured and cooled and currently being ground to the proper curvature. The huge yoke and
cradle for the telescope barrel would be shipped by rail soon. Lowell grumbled his impatience, wishing that Douglass showed enough backbone to make the manufacturers work harder.

Lowell himself, however, had been so engrossed in his work debriefing the captive Martian, that construction activities at the observatory site began to fall behind after Douglass’s departure. When Lowell finally noticed the failings, though, he turned his ire upon the irresponsible work crews with an outraged sternness that shocked the lazy laborers into redoubling their efforts. Like a stampeding bull, Lowell strode from one building site to the next, shouting at workers and threatening to withhold pay unless they got the project back on schedule.

A.E. Douglass was a quieter, meeker supervisor, not a man to strike fear into the thick-muscled carpenters and haulers. Lowell had a much stronger personality; I did not doubt that all of the buildings would indeed be ready for operation by the time of the Martian opposition … .

In the meantime, he and I glued our eyes to the smaller telescopes. I observed the rusty orange orb, seeing only murky shadows and none of the fine detail that Lowell discerned. Even knowing what the Martian had showed us in the crystal egg, I could not make out the webwork of canals, the fertile shadings of each oasis. But Lowell saw them—and how could I question his eyesight? For I knew that such things were truly there.

Lowell no longer had any doubts about why he had gone to so much work and expense. He felt completely vindicated. “Imagine the response of the public when I publish these
discoveries. They will be excited to learn about the idyllic Martian society and all the achievements that they have brought about through diligence and cooperation. Perhaps humanity will find some way to help this dying society, make a union between Earth and Mars for the benefit of both planets. I will see to it that my book is published and widely disseminated so that everyone can know Mars as well as they know Japan from my previous popular descriptions.”

I did not want to discourage him, but his exuberance was a bit naive. Having been censured so many times in my career, I understood that the public was not always receptive to radical new ideas. “I am more skeptical about how this news will be received, Lowell. What if the readers and your fellow scientists don’t believe you?”

Lowell straightened from the refractor telescope and looked at me with surprised indignation. “But these are
facts,
Moreau. If I tell them the truth about Mars and its canals, how could any sane person doubt my word? One might just as easily argue against a statement that the sky is blue or the desert is dry.”

I gave him a thin smile. “I could show you men who would do exactly that, Percival.”

A
fter ransacking the brain of H.G. Wells, the Martians knew that Huxley was the mastermind of their expedition from Earth. They also understood, from Wells’s own assessment, that the old professor would never survive long under the rigors of heavy slave labor. The Martians considered Wells and Jane, however, to be fit workers for the underground industries of the red planet.