Christopher Priest - The Space Machine

It was then that I took out my watch, and discovered that nine hours had passed since we crash-landed. What had the monsters done in the time we lay unconscious?!

Feeling very sorry for ourselves, we sat and rested for several more minutes, but I was obsessed by a sense of urgency. We could not delay leaving the projectile any longer than absolutely necessary. For all we knew, the monsters might even now be marching from their hold and launching their invasion.

Immediate concerns were still to be considered, though. One was the enervating heat in which we were sitting. The very floor on which we rested was almost hotter than we could bear, and all around us the metal plates radiated suffocating warmth. The air was moist and sticky, and every breath we took seemed devoid of oxygen. Much of the food that had spilled was slowly rotting, and the stench was sickening.

I had already loosened my clothes, but as the heat showed no sign of abating it seemed wise to undress. Once Amelia had recovered her wits I suggested this, then helped her off with the black uniform. Underneath she still wore the ragged garment I had seen her in at the slave-camp. It was unrecognizable as the crisp white chemise it had once been.

I was better off, for beneath my uniform I still wore my combination underwear which, in spite of my various adventures, was not at all unpresentable.

After some consideration we agreed it would be better if I explored the present situation alone. We had no idea how active were the monsters, assuming that they had not been killed by the concussion, and that it would be safer if I were by myself. So, having made absolutely sure that Amelia was comfortable, I let myself out of the compartment and set about the climb through the passages that ran through the hull.

It will be recalled that the projectile was very long: it was certainly not much less than three hundred feet from stem to stern. During our flight through space, movement about the craft had been relatively simple, because the axial rotation provided one with an artificial floor. Now, however, the craft had buried itself in the soil of Earth, and seemed to be standing on its nose, so that I was forced to climb at a very steep angle. In the heat, which was, if anything, greater in this part of the hull, the only advantage I had was that I knew my way about.

In due course I came to the hatch that led into the slaves’ compartment. Here I paused to listen, but all was silent within. I climbed on after catching my breath, and eventually arrived at the hatch to the main hold.

I slid open the metal plate with some trepidation, knowing that the monsters were certainly awake and alert, but my caution was in vain. There was no sign of the beasts within my view, but I knew they were present for I could hear the sound of their horrid, braying voices. Indeed, this noise was quite remarkable in its intensity, and I gathered that much was being discussed between the nauseous beings.

At last I moved on, climbing beyond the door to the very stern of the craft itself. Here I had hoped to find some way by which Amelia and I might leave the ship surreptitiously. (I knew that if all else failed I could operate the green blast in the way I had done in the smaller projectile, and so shift it from its landing-place, but it was crucial that the monsters should not suspect that we were not their regular crew.)

Unfortunately, my way was barred. This was the very end of the craft: the massive hatch by which the monsters themselves would exit. The fact that it was still closed was in itself hopeful: if we could. not leave by this way, then at least the monsters too were confined within.

Here I rested again, before making my descent. For a few moments I speculated about where I had landed the craft. If we had fallen in the centre of a city the violence of our landing would certainly have caused untold damage; this again would be a matter for chance, and here chance would be on our side. Much of England is sparsely built upon, and it was more than, likely we would have found open countryside. I could do no more than hope; I had enough on my conscience.

I could still hear the monsters beyond the inner hull wall, addressing each other in their disagreeable braying voices, and occasionally I could hear the sinister sound of metal being moved. In moments of silence, though, I fancied I could hear other noises, emanating from beyond the hull.

Our spectacular arrival would almost certainly have brought crowds to the projectile, and as I stood precariously just inside the main rear hatch, my fevered imagination summoned the notion that just a few yards from where I was there would be scores, perhaps hundreds, of people clustered about.

It was a poignant thought, for of all things I hungered to be reunited with my own kind.

A little later, when I thought more calmly, I realized that any crowd that might have gathered would be in dire danger from these monsters. How much more grimly optimistic it was to think that the monsters would emerge to a ring of rifle-barrels!

Even so, as I waited there I felt sure I could hear human voices outside the projectile, and I almost wept to think of them there.

At long last, realizing that there was nothing to be done for the moment, I went back the way I had come and returned to Amelia.

A long time passed, in which there seemed to be no movement either by the monsters within the ship, or by the men whom I now presumed were outside. Every two or three hours I would ascend again through the passages, but the hatch remained firmly closed.

The conditions inside our compartment continued to deteriorate, although there was a slight drop in the temperature. The lights were still on, and air was circulating, but the food was decomposing quickly and the smell was abominable. Furthermore, water was still pouring in from the fractured pipe, and the lower parts of the compartment were deeply flooded.

We stayed quiet, not knowing if the monsters could hear us, and dreading the consequences if they should. However, they seemed busied about their own menacing affairs, for there was no decline in their noise whenever I listened by their hatch.

Hungry, tired, hot and frightened, we huddled together on the metal floor of the projectile, waiting for a chance to escape.

We must have dozed for a while, for I awoke suddenly with a sense that there was a different quality to our, surroundings. I glanced at my watch—which in lieu of a pocket in my combinations I had attached by its chain to a buttonhole—and saw that nearly twenty hours had elapsed since our arrival.

I woke Amelia, whose head rested on my shoulder.

“What is it?” she said.

“What can you smell?”

She sniffed exaggeratedly, wrinkling her nose.

“Something is burning,” I said.

“Yes,” Amelia said, then cried it aloud: “Yes! I can smell wood-smoke!”

We were overcome with excitement and emotion, for no more homely smell could be imagined.

“The hatch,” I said urgently. “It’s open at last!”

Amelia was already on her feet. “Come on, Edward! Before it’s too late!”

I took her hand-bag, and led her up the sloping floor to the passage. I allowed her to go first, reasoning that I would then be below her if she fell. We climbed slowly, weakened by our ordeal… but we were climbing for the last time, out of the hell of the Martian projectile, towards our freedom.

Sensing danger, we stopped a few yards short of the end of the passage, and stared up at the sky.

It was a deep blue; it was not at all like the Martian sky, but a cool and tranquil blue, the sort that one rejoices to see at the end of a hot summer’s day. There were wisps of cirrus cloud, high and peaceful, still touched with the red of sunset. Lower down, though, thick clouds of smoke rolled by, heady with the smell of burning vegetation.