Christopher Priest - The Space Machine

The sun was now almost out of sight beyond the weed-bank, and we were both feeling cold.

“I think we have done all we can,” Amelia said.

“Then shall we shelter inside?” I had now seen the wisdom of Amelia’s wish for early preparation. Had we walked further we could never have made such elaborate precautions against the cold.

“Are you thirsty?”

“I’m all right,” I said, but I was lying. My throat had been parched all day.

“But you have taken no liquid.”

“I can survive the night.”

Amelia indicated one of the long, creeper-like stalks that she had also brought to our bivouac. She broke off a piece and held it out to me. “Drink the sap, Edward. It is perfectly safe.”

“It could be poisonous.”

“No, I tried it earlier while I was removing my stays. It is quite invigorating, and I have suffered no ill-effects.”

I placed the end of the stalk to my lips and sucked tentatively. At once my mouth was filled with cold liquid, and I swallowed it quickly. After the first mouthful, the flavour did not seem so unpleasant.

I said: “It reminds me of an iron-tonic I had as a child.”

Amelia smiled. “So you too were given Parrish’s Food. I wondered if you would notice the similarity.”

“I was usually given a spoonful of honey, to take away the taste.”

“This time you will have to manage without.”

I said, boldly: “Maybe not.”

Amelia looked sharply at me, and I saw the faint return of her earlier blush. I threw aside the creeper, then assisted Amelia as she climbed before me into our shelter for the night.

We lay still, side by side, for a long time. Although Amelia had selected those plants she judged to be the driest of sap, we discovered that they were seeping beneath us. In addition, the slightest movement allowed the air to drift in from outside. I dozed for a while, but I cannot speak for Amelia.

Then, awakened by the insidious cold which was attacking my feet and legs, I felt Amelia stiffen beside me.

She said: “Edward, are we to die out here?”

“I think not,” I said at once, for during the day the possibility had often occurred to me, and I had been trying to think of some reassurance to offer her. “We cannot have much further to travel.”

“But we are going to starve!”

“We still have the chocolate,” I said, “and as you yourself have observed, the sap of these weeds is nutritious.”

This at least was true; my body hungered for solid food, but since taking the sap I had felt somewhat stronger.

“I fear we will die of exposure. I cannot live in this cold much longer.”

I knew she was trembling, and as she spoke I heard her teeth chattering. Our bivouac was not all we had hoped.

“Please allow me,” I said, and without waiting for her dissent I moved towards her and slid my arm beneath her head and shoulders. The rebuff of the night before was still a painful memory, so I was pleased when she came willingly, resting her head on my shoulder and placing an arm across my chest. I raised my knees a few inches so that she could slide her legs beneath mine. In doing this we dislodged some of our covering foliage, and it took several more seconds to redistribute them.

We lay still again, trying to recapture that comparative warmth we had had until we moved. Several more minutes passed in silence, and our closer contact began to bear fruit in that I felt a little warmer.

“Are you asleep, Edward?” Her voice was very soft.

“No,” I said.

“I’m still cold. Do you think we should quickly cut some more leaves?”

“I think we should stay still. Warmth will come.”

“Hold me tighter.”

What followed that apparently simple remark I could never have imagined, even in my most improper fancies. Spontaneously, I brought my other hand across and hugged her to me; in the same moment Amelia too placed her arms fully about me, and we discovered we were embracing each other with an intimacy that made me throw aside caution.

Her face was pressed directly against the side of mine, and I felt it moving sensuously to and fro. I responded in kind, fully aware that the love and passion I had been suppressing were growing in me at an uncontrollable rate. In the back of my mind I sensed a sudden despair, knowing that later I would regret this abandonment, but I thrust it aside for my emotions were clamouring for expression. Her neck was by my mouth, and without any attempt at subterfuge I pressed my lips to it and kissed her firmly and with great feeling. Her response was to hold me yet tighter, and uncaring of how we dislodged our shelter we rolled passionately from one side to another.

Then at last I pulled myself away, and Amelia turned her face and pressed her lips against mine. I was now lying almost completely atop her, and my weight was on her. We broke apart eventually, and I held my face half an inch from hers.

I simply said, with all the sincerity of absolute truth: “I love you, Amelia.”

She made no answer other than to press my face to hers once more, and we kissed as if we had never stopped. She was everything that could ever exist for me, and for that period at least the extraordinary nature of our immediate surroundings ceased to matter. I wanted simply that we should continue kissing forever. Indeed, by the very nature of her response, I assumed that Amelia was in accord. Her hand was behind my head, her fingers spread through my hair, and she was pressing me to her as we kissed.

Then she suddenly snatched her hand away, wrenched her face from mine, and she cried out aloud.

The tension drained away, and my body slumped. I fell forward across her, my face once more buried in the hollow of her shoulder. We lay immobile for many minutes, my breathing irregular and painful, my breath hot in the confined space. Amelia was crying, and I felt her tears trickle down her cheek and against the side of my face.

I moved only once more, to ease a cramp in my left arm, and then I lay still again, most of my weight on Amelia.

For a long time my mind was blank; all desire to justify my actions to myself had drained as quickly as the physical passion. Drained also were the self-recriminations. I lay still, aware only of a slight bruising around my mouth, the residual flavour of Amelia’s kiss and the strands of her hair which brushed my forehead.

She sobbed quietly for a few minutes more, but then became quiet. A few minutes later her breathing became regular, and I judged she had fallen asleep. Soon, I too could feel the fatigue of the day clouding my mind, and in due course I fell asleep.

I do not know how long I slept, but some time later I realized I was awake, yet still in the same position on top of Amelia. Our earlier problem of warmth was banished, for my whole body glowed with heat. I had slept in spite of the awkward angle in which I was lying, and now my back was badly cramped. I wanted to move, to rest from this position, and in addition I could feel the stiff collar of my shirt cutting into my neck and at the front the brass stud was biting into my throat, but I did not want to rouse Amelia. I decided to lie still, and hope to fall asleep again.

I found that my spirits were high, and this in spite of all that had happened. Considered objectively our chances of survival seemed slim; Amelia had also realized this. Unless we were to reach civilization within the next twenty-four hours it was likely we would perish out here on this plateau.

However, I could not forget that glimpse I had had of Amelia’s future destiny.

I knew that if Amelia were to be living in Richmond in the year 1903 she would be killed in the conflagration about the house. I had not been rational at the time, but my irresponsible tampering with the Time Machine had been an instinctive response to this. That accident had precipitated our current predicament, but I was in no way sorry.