Christopher Priest - The Space Machine

“I could leave you here with them,” I had said, with deliberate coldness.

“Oh no.” She had taken my hand then. “My loyalties are with Earth. It is simply that I have a responsibility here for what I have started.”

“Isn’t that at the centre of your dilemma?” I said. “You have started the revolution. You have been the necessary catalyst for the people. But it is their fight for freedom, not yours. In any event, you cannot direct an entire revolution alone, with an alien race you barely understand, in a language you do not speak. If the preparations are being made, and you have not yet seen most of them, already you have become little more than a figurehead.”

“I suppose so.”

She was still absorbed in thought, though, as we sat in the train, and I knew it was a decision she would have to make for herself.

The two Martian overseers were pointing proudly towards one of the industrial sites the train was passing. There seemed to be little activity here, for no smoke came from any of the chimneys. There were several of the battle-machines standing about, and we saw many legged vehicles. Edwina explained that it was here that sabotage had already been committed. There had been no reprisals, for the various acts had been made to appear accidental.

For my part, I had been taken by an enthralling notion, and was presently considering every aspect of it.

The revolution that meant so much to Amelia was of less concern to me, for it had been conceived and planned in my absence. I think, had I not heard of the monsters planned migration from Mars, that I too would have thrown myself into the cause and fought for it, and risked my life for it. But in all the weeks and months I had been on Mars, I had never lost an inner ache: the feeling of isolation, the sense of homesickness. I wanted desperately to return to my own world, or that part of it I knew as home.

I had been missing London—for all its crowds and noises and rank odours—and I had been hungering for the sight of greenery. There is nothing so beautiful as the English countryside in spring, and if in the past, I had taken it for granted, I knew that I could never do so again. This was a world of foreign colours: grey cities, rufous soil, scarlet vegetation. If there had been so much as one oak-tree, or one bumpy meadow, or one bank of wild flowers, I might at last have learned to live on Mars, but none of these existed.

That the monster-creatures had the means of reaching Earth was therefore of intense importance to me, for it provided a way back to our home.

I had proposed to Amelia that we stow away on one of their deadly projectiles, but this was a dangerous idea.

Quite apart from the fact that we might be discovered during the voyage, or that some other danger might appear, we would be arriving on Earth in the company of the most hostile and ruthless enemy mankind would have ever bad to face!

We did not know the monsters’ plans, but we had no reason to suppose that their mission was one of peace. Neither Amelia nor I had the right to participate in an invasion of Earth, how ever passive the part we played. Moreover, we had a bounden duty to warn the world of the Martians’ plans.

There was a solution to this, and from the moment it occurred to me the simple audacity of it made it irresistible.

I had been aboard one of the projectiles; I had seen it in flight; I had examined its controls.

Amelia and I would steal one of the projectiles, and fly it ourselves to Earth!

We arrived in the city without being challenged, and were led through the streets by our Martian accomplices.

The sparseness of the population was not as evident here as it had been in Desolation City. There were fewer empty buildings, and the obvious military strength of the monster-creatures had averted any invasions. Another difference was that there were factories within the city itself—as well as in separate areas outside—for there was a smoky industrial pall that served to heighten my feelings of homesickness for London.

We had no time to see much of the city, for we were taken immediately to one of the dormitories. Here, in a small room at the rear, we met one of the main cells of the revolution.

As we entered, the Martians showed their enthusiasm by leaping up and down as before. I could not help but warm to these poor, enslaved people, and share their excitement as the overthrow of the monsters became ever a more realistic proposition.

We were treated as royalty is treated in England, and I realized that Amelia and I were acting regally. Our every response was eagerly awaited, and mute as we had to be, we smiled and nodded as one Martian after another explained to us, through Edwina, what his assigned task was to be.

From here we were taken to another place, and more of the same happened. It was almost exactly as I had described it to Amelia: she had catalysed the Martians to action, and set in motion a sequence of events she could no longer control.

I was becoming tired and impatient, and as we walked to inspect a third cell, I said to Amelia: “We are not spending our time well.”

“We must do as they wish. We owe them at least this.”

“I would like to see more of the city. We do not even know where the snow-cannon is to be found.”

In spite of the fact that we were with six Martians, each of whom was trying to speak to her through Edwina, Amelia expressed her feelings with a tired shrug.

“I cannot leave them now,” she said. “Perhaps you could go alone.”

“Then who would interpret for me?”

Edwina was tugging at Amelia’s hand, trying to show her the building to which we were presently walking and where, presumably, the next cell was concealed. Amelia dutifully smiled and nodded.

“We had best not separate,” she said. “But if you ask Edwina, she could find out what you want to know.”

A few moments later we entered the building, and in the darkened basement we were greeted by some forty enthusiastic Martians.

A little later I managed to take Edwina away from Amelia long enough to convey to her what I wanted. She seemed not interested, but passed on the message to one of the city-Martians present. He left the basement soon after, while we continued the inspection of our revolutionary troops.

Just as we were readying ourselves to leave for the next port of call, my emissary returned, bringing with him two young Martian men dressed in the black uniforms of the men who drove the projectiles.

At the sight of them I was a little taken aback. Of all the humans I had met here, the men trained to fly the projectiles had seemed the closest to the monster-creatures, and were therefore the ones I had least expected to be trusted now the old order was about to be overthrown. But here the two men were, admitted to one of the revolutionary nerve-centres.

Suddenly, my idea became easier to put into effect. I had intended to gain entry to the snow-cannon, while Amelia and I were disguised, and attempt to work out the controls for myself. However, if I could communicate to these two what I wanted they could show me themselves how to operate the craft, or even come with us to Earth.

I said to Edwina: “I want you to ask these two men to take me to their flying war-machine, and show me how it is operated.”

She repeated my sentence to me, and when I had made sure she understood me correctly, she passed it on. One of the Martians replied.

“He wants to know where you are taking the craft,” said Edwina.

“Tell them that I wish to steal it from the monsters, and take it to the warm world.”

Edwina replied immediately: “Will you go alone, pale dwarf, or will Amelia go with you?”