Christopher Priest - The Space Machine

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.

From the moment of our waking the following morning, Amelia and I were treated with deference and humility. Even so, the legends that were now directing our lives seemed quite emphatic that we were to work with the others on the weed-bank, and so much of our day was spent in cold mud up to our knees. Edwina worked with us, and although there was something about her bland stare that made me uneasy, she was undoubtedly useful to us.

Neither Amelia nor I did much actual weed-cutting. As soon as we were established at the bank we received many different visitors: some of them slaves, others overseers, all of them evidently anxious to meet those who would lead the revolt. Hearing what was said—translated earnestly, if not always entirely comprehensibly, by Edwina—I realized that Amelia’s talk of revolution had not been made lightly. Several of the overseers had come from the city itself, and we learnt that there elaborate plans were being made to overthrow the monsters.

It was an enthralling day, realizing that we might at last have provided the stimulus to these people to take revenge on their abhorrent masters. Indeed, Amelia reminded our visitors many times of my heroic deed the day before. The phrase was repeated often: the monsters are mortal.

However, mortal or not, the monsters were still in evidence, and presented a constant threat. Often during the day the weed-bank was patrolled by one of the immense tripodal battle-machines, and at those times all revolutionary activities were suspended while we attended to the cutting.

During one period when we were left alone, I asked Amelia why the weed-cutting continued if the revolution was so far advanced. She explained that the vast majority of the slaves were employed in this work, and that if it was stopped before the revolution was under way the monsters would instantly realize something was afoot. In any event, the main benefactors were the humans themselves, as the weed was the staple diet.

And the blood-letting? I asked her. Could that not then be stopped?

She replied that refusal to give any more blood was the only sure way the humans had of conquering the monsters, and there had been frequent attempts to disobey the most dreaded injunction on this world. On those occasions, the monsters’ reprisals had been summary and widespread. In the most recent incident, which had occurred some sixty days before, over one thousand slaves had been massacred. The terror of the monsters was constant, and even while the insurgency was planned, the daily sacrifices had to be made.

In the city, though, the established order was in imminent danger of being overthrown. Slaves and city-people were uniting at last, and throughout the city there were organized cells of volunteers; men and women who, when the command was given, would attack specified targets. It was the battle-machines which presented the greatest threat: unless several heat-cannons could be commandeered by the humans, there could be no defence against them.

I said: “Should we not be in the city? If you are controlling the revolution, surely it should be done from there?”

“Of course. I was intending to visit the city again tomorrow. You will see for yourself just how advanced we are.”

Then more visitors arrived: this time, a delegation of overseers who worked in one of the industrial areas. They told us, through Edwina, that small acts of sabotage were already taking place, and output had been temporarily halved.

So the day passed, and by the time we returned to the building I was exhausted and exhilarated. I had had no conception of the good use to which Amelia had put her time with the slaves. There was an air of vibrancy and purpose… and great urgency. Several times I heard her exhorting the Martians to bring forward their preparations, so that the revolution itself might begin a little earlier.

After we had washed and eaten, Amelia and I returned to what were now our shared quarters. Once in there, and alone with her, I asked her why there was such need for urgency. After all, I argued, surely the revolution would be more assured of success if it was prepared more carefully?

“It is a question of timing, Edward,” she said. “We must attack when the monsters are unprepared and weak. This is such a time.”

“But they are at the height of their power!” I said in surprise. “You cannot be blind to that.”

“My dear,” said Amelia, “if we do not strike against the monsters within the next few days, then the cause of humanity on this world will be lost forever.”