Christopher Priest - The Space Machine

“I was in the thick of it. Those Martians have no mercy, no compunction—”

“How do you know they are from Mars?” I said, greatly interested by this, as I had been at hearing of the soldiers’ rumours.

“It is well known. The firing of their projectiles was observed in many telescopes. Indeed, I was fortunate to observe one such myself, in the instrument at Ottershaw.”

“You are an astronomer?” said Amelia.

“That I am not, but I am acquainted with many scientists. My own calling is a more philosophical nature.” He paused then, and glanced down at himself, and was at once overcome with embarrassment. “My dear lady,” he said to Amelia, “I must apologize for my state of undress.”

“We are no better garbed ourselves,” she replied, with considerable accuracy.

“You too have come from the thick of the fighting?”

“In a sense,” I said. “Sir, I hope you will join us. We have a boat, and we are headed for Richmond. There I think we may find safety.”

“Thank you,” said the man. “But I must go my own way. I was trying to make for Leatherhead, for that is where I have left my wife.”

I thought quickly, trying to visualize the geography of the land. Leatherhead was many miles to the south of us.

The man went on: “You see, I am a resident of Woking, and before the Martians attacked I managed to take my wife to safety. Since then, because I was obliged to return to Woking, I have been trying to join her. But I have found, to my cost, that the land between here and Leatherhead is overrun with the brutes.”

“Then as your wife is safe,” Amelia said, “would it not be wise to fall in with us until the Army deals with this menace?”

The man was clearly tempted, for we were not many miles distant from Richmond. He hesitated for a few seconds more, then nodded.

“If you are rowing, you will need an extra pair of arms,” he said. “I shall be happy to oblige. But first, because I am in such a state of untidiness, I should like to wash myself.”

He went down to the water’s edge, and with his hands washed off much of the traces of the smoke, and grime which so disfigured him. Then, when he had swept back his hair, he held out his hand and assisted Amelia as she climbed back into the boat.

That our new friend was a man of gentle manners was affirmed the moment we entered the boat. He would not hear of my rowing until he had served a turn at the oars, and insisted that I sit with Amelia in the rear of the boat.

“We must have our wits about us,” he said, “in case those devils return. We will take turns at the oars, and all keep our eyes open.”

I had been feeling for some time that the Martians’ apparent inactivity must be temporary, and it was reassuring to know that my suspicions were shared. This could only be a lull in their campaign, and as such we must take the maximum advantage of it.

In accordance with our plan I kept a careful watch for sight of the tripods (although all seemed presently quiet), but Amelia’s’ attention was elsewhere. Indeed, she was staring at our new friend with quite improper attention.

At length she said: “Sir, may I enquire if you have ever visited Reynolds House in Richmond?”

The gentleman looked at her in manifest surprise, but immediately said: “I have indeed, but not for many years.”

“Then you would know Sir William Reynolds?”

“We were never the closest of friends, for I fear he was not one for intimate friendships, but we were members of the same club in St James’s and were occasionally wont to exchange confidences.”

Amelia was frowning in concentration. “I believe we have met before.”

Our friend paused with the oars clear of the water.

“By Jove!” he cried. “Are you not Sir William’s former amanuensis?”

“Yes, I am. And you, sir, I think your name is Mr Wells.”

“That is my name,” he said gravely. “And if I am not mistaken, I do believe you are Miss Fitzgibbon.”

Amelia instantly confirmed this. “What a remarkable coincidence!”

Mr Wells politely asked me my name, and I introduced myself. I reached over to shake his hand, and he leaned forward over the oars.

“Pleased to meet you, Turnbull,” he said.

Just then the sunlight fell on his face in such a way that his eyes revealed themselves to be a startling blue; in his tired and worried face they shone like optimistic beacons, and I felt myself warming to him.

Amelia was still animated in her excitement.

“It is to Reynolds House that we are going now,” she said. “We feel Sir William is one of the few men who can confront this menace.”

Mr Wells frowned, and returned to his rowing.

After a moment, he said: “I take it you have not seen Sir William for some time?”

Amelia glanced at me, and I knew she was uncertain how to reply.

I said for her: “Not since May of 1893, Sir.”

“That is the last time I, or anyone else, saw him. Surely if you were in his employ, you know about this?”

Amelia said: “I ceased to work for him in that May. Are you saying that he subsequently died?”

I knew that this last was a wild guess, but Mr Wells promptly corrected it.

“I think Sir William is not dead,” he said. “He went into futurity on that infernal Time Machine of his, and although he returned once he has not been seen since his second journey.”

“You know this for certain?” Amelia said.

“I was honoured to be the author of his memoirs,” said Mr Wells, “for he dictated them to me himself.”

As we rowed along, Mr Wells told us what was known of Sir William’s fate. At the same time it was interesting to realize that some of our earlier surmises had not been inaccurate.

It seemed that after the Time Machine had deposited us so abruptly in the weed-bank, it had returned unscathed to Richmond. Mr Wells could not have known of our mishap, of course, but his account of Sir William’s subsequent experiments made no mention of the fact that the Machine had been missing for even a short period.

Sir William, according to Mr Wells, had been more adventurous than even we had been, taking the Time Machine into a far-distant future. Here Sir William had seen many strange sights (Mr Wells promised to let us have a copy of his account, for he said the story would take too long to recount at the moment), and although he had returned to tell his tale, he had later departed a second time for futurity. On that occasion he bad never returned.

Imagining that Sir William had suffered a similar mishap with the Machine as us, I said: “The Time Machine came back empty, sir?”

“Neither the Machine nor Sir William have been seen again.”

“Then there is no way we can reach him?”

“Not without a second Time Machine,” said Mr Wells.

By now we were passing Walton-on-Thames, and there was much activity within the town. We saw several fire-engines rattling along the riverside road in the direction of Weybridge, the horses’ hooves throwing up white dust-clouds. An orderly, but hurried, evacuation was taking place, with many hundreds of people walking or riding along the road towards London. The river itself was congested, with several boats ferrying people across to the Sunbury side, and we were obliged to steer carefully between them. Along the northern bank we saw much evidence of military activity, with scores of soldiers marching towards the west. In the meadows to the east of Halliford we saw more artillery being readied.

This distraction brought to an end our conversation about Sir William, and by the time we had passed Walton we sat in silence. Mr Wells was seeming to tire at the oars, so I changed places with him.