Christopher Priest - The Space Machine

It was unpleasant to realize that events were already beyond our control. We had been reduced to spectators, privy to the war-preparations of an implacable enemy. Moreover, we were much exercised by the knowledge that we sat in some corner of England, surrounded by familiar sights, people, language and customs, and yet were obliged by circumstances to huddle inside an artifact alien to our world.

Some time after midday, the first sign that the military forces were responding came in the form of distant sounds of artillery. The shells exploded a mile or two away, and we understood at once what must be happening. Clearly, the Army was shelling the second projectile before its grisly occupants could escape.

The Martians we were watching responded to this challenge at once. At the first sounds of the explosions, one of the monsters went to the battle-machine first assembled and climbed into it.

The machine set off at once, its legs groaning under the strain of the extra gravity and emitting several flashes of green from the joints. I noticed that the platform was not raised to its full height, but crawled along just above the ground like an iron tortoise.

We knew that if the second pit was being shelled then ours would be too, and so Amelia and I returned to the deeper recesses of the projectile, hoping that the hull would be strong enough to withstand explosions. The distant shelling continued for about half an hour, but eventually halted.

There followed a long period of silence, and we judged it safe to return to the end of the passage to see what the Martians were now doing.

Their frenzied activity continued. The battle-machine that had left the pit had not returned, but of the remaining four, three were standing by ready for use, and the last was being assembled. We watched this for about an hour, and just as we were about to return to our hiding-place to take a rest, there came a flurry of explosions all about the pit It was our turn to be shelled!

Once again the Martians responded instantly. Three of the monstrous brutes hurried to the completed battle-machines—their bodies were already adapting to the stresses of our world! -and mounted the platforms. The fourth, sitting inside one of the assembly vehicles, continued stoically with its work on the last battle-machine.

Meanwhile, the shells continued to fall with varying degrees of accuracy; none fell directly into the pit, but some were close. enough to send grit and sand flying about.

With their Martian drivers aboard, the three battle-machines came dramatically to life. With appalling speed the platforms were raised to their full one hundred feet height, the legs struck out up the sides of the pit, and wheeling around, the deadly devices went their separate ways, the heat-cannons already raised for action. In less than thirty seconds of the first shells exploding around us, the three battle-machines had gone: one towards the south, one to the north-west, and the last in the direction of the second projectile.

The last Martian monster worked hurriedly on its own tripod; this creature alone now stood between us and freedom.

A shell exploded nearby: the closest yet. The blast scorched our faces, and we fell back into the passage.

When I could again summon enough courage to look out I saw that the Martian continued its work, untroubled by the shelling. It was certainly the behaviour of a soldier under fire; it knew that it risked death but was prepared to confront it, while it readied its own counterattack.

The shelling lasted for ten minutes and in all that time no hits were scored. Then, with great suddenness, the firing halted and we guessed that the Martians had silenced the emplacement.

In the uncanny silence that followed, the Martian continued its work. At last it was finished. The hideous creature climbed into its platform, extended the legs to their full height, then turned the craft southwards and was soon lost to sight.

Without further delay we took the opportunity so presented to us I jumped down to the sandly soil, landing awkwardly and heavily, then held out my arms to catch Amelia as she jumped.

We looked neither to right nor left, but scrambled up the loose soil of the pit walls, and hurried away in the direction no machine had so far travelled: towards the north. It was a hot, sultry evening, with dark banks of cloud building up in the west. A storm was brewing, but that was not the reason no bird sang, no animal moved. The heath was dead: it was blackened with fire, littered with the wreckage of vehicles and the corpses of both horse and man.

On Mars I had dreamed of greenery and wild flowers; here on the blighted heath we saw only charred and smouldering grasses, with blackness spreading in every direction. On Mars I had hungered for the sights and sounds of my fellow Earthmen; here there was no one, only the corpses of those unfortunates who had fallen foul of the heat-beam. On Mars I had gasped in the tenuous atmosphere, yearning for the sweet air of Earth; here the odour of fire and death dried our throats and choked our lungs.

Mars was desolation and war, and just as Amelia and I had been touched by it when there, so Earth now felt the first tendrils of the Martian canker.

Behind us, to the south, there was a small town on a hill, and already the battle-machines had attacked it. A huge pall of smoke hung over the town, adding to the piling storm-clouds above, and through the still evening air we could hear the sounds of explosions and screams.

To the west we saw the brazen cowl of one of the machines, tuning from side to side as its great engine bore it striding through distant, burning trees. Thunder rumbled, and there was no sign of the Army.

We hastened away, but we were both weak from our ordeal inside the projectile, we had had nothing to eat, and had hardly slept, for two days. Consequently our progress was slow in spite of the urgency of our escape. I stumbled twice, and we were both afflicted with painful stitches in our sides.

Blindly we ran, dreading that the Martians would see us and deal to us the summary execution they had dealt to others. But it was not mere instinct for self-preservation that urged us on our way; although we did not wish to die, we both realized that only we knew the full scale of the threat that was before the world.

At last we came to the edge of the common, and the ground fell down to where a small brook ran through trees. The top branches had been blackened by the sweep of the beam, but below was moist grass and a flower or two.

Sobbing with fear and exhaustion, we fell by the water and scooped up handfuls and drank noisily and deeply. To our palates long jaded by the bitter, metallic waters of Mars, this stream was pure indeed!

While we had been running frantically across the common, the evening had turned to night, speeded by the storm-clouds that were gathering. Now the rumbles of thunder were louder and came more often, and sheet-lightning flickered. It could not be long before the storm broke about us. We should be moving on as soon as possible: our vague plan to alert the authorities was all we lived for, even though we knew that there could be few people who did not realize that some mighty destructive force had erupted on to the land.

We lay low by the stream for about ten minutes. I placed my arm around Amelia’s shoulders, and held her to me protectively, but we did not speak. I think we were both too over awed by the immensity of the damage to find words to express our feelings. This was England, the country we loved, and this was what we had brought to it!

When we stood up we saw that the fires caused by the Martians were burning still, and to the west we saw new flames. Where were the defences of our people? The first projectile had landed nearly two days ago; surely by now the whole area would be ringed by guns?