Christopher Priest - The Space Machine

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.

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.

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.