Stephen Baxter - The Massacre of Mankind

Verity, shocked, held her face. ‘I didn’t mean…’ But she let it tail off, for I suspect that that was exactly what she had meant.

Mary pointed at Bert. ‘ He saved my life. I was with friends – we’re from Chorleywood, we was workers in the munitions factory, and we was on a couple of days out in the car, I grew up around here, see. And we woke up one morning and the Martians had come, and we was stuck, and when the petrol was gone, well, we was like vagabonds. We lasted for a bit – nobody helped us, nobody, but the soldiers made comments, like yours. About what we could do if we wanted a share of their rations. You know. Then down came a Martian one day, and we scattered and the Heat-Ray was firing, and I lost my friends, and I was under the Martian and I thought I was a goner. And then he came.’

‘I managed to distract it,’ Bert said. ‘Led it to a barn full o’ farming folk. Come, Mary, sit down, let’s eat; don’t let ’ er bother you.’

‘He saved me,’ Mary said stubbornly. ‘Where the government and the Army and that lot did nothing. I didn’t have to come with him, but I did.’

Bert grinned. ‘Couldn’t get rid of ’er.’

‘And now here we are, like this. Living. With a baby. Some day we’ll get it properly done – I mean, married. But for now we’re surviving. As to the rights and wrongs of what he does, I don’t know. But I don’t see many others being brave and bold about these Martians, do you?’

‘No,’ admitted Verity. ‘And I’m sorry. I jumped to conclusions. We’re all doing what we can to stay alive, that’s all. I hope you’ll let me look at little Belle for you.’

For a moment we ate in silence.

Then, cautiously, I essayed, ‘But if you’re right, Bert – what’s your long game? If we never can get rid if these Martians—’

‘Ah, but that’s what I don’t accept, see. Never ’ave. I just don’t think we’re going to do it with guns and Zepps and such. The government’s no use in ’ere, nor the Army. And now there’s another opposition due, and I just bet there’s more cylinders on the way – why, given the dates, they might be ’anging in the sky above us now, for all the gov’ment tells us – and pretty soon it will be as if a Cordon’s being thrown around the whole blessed world.’ He belched and picked a bit of bacon from his teeth. ‘And where will we be then – eh? It’ll be just the Martians, and us, and we’ll be a world of rabbits. That’s what we are – not sheep, not rats like I used to think – rabbits. For what are rabbits but vermin when they’re in the vegetable patch, but you’ll pot the odd one for supper, won’t you?’

‘Then you’re a rabbit too, Bert.’

‘True. But I’m the smart rabbit. The rabbit who’s got close in with them, who’s seen ’ow they work their machines, the fighting-machines and the handling-machines. I’m the rabbit who’s learning, about them . And soon enough I’ll find others of a like mind, and we’ll come and go in the very face of the Martians, until one day – bang . We’ll make our move, all unexpected.’ His voice was softening, his expression growing dreamy.

Mary scoffed, fondly. ‘He does like to dream. Should see him playing at fighting-machines with little Belle – Zip! Sizzle! Stamp! It’s a fair spectacle.’

And, looking around at that hole in the ground, I wondered if Bert Cook was any closer to realising such dreams than when my brother-in-law had given him up as a fool and a fantasist on Putney Hill, in the First War. But that wasn’t my concern.

I leaned forward. ‘Bert, I want you to get me into the Redoubt. The big Martian nest.’

Cook regarded me steadily.

I pressed him, ‘Can you do it?’

‘Yes,’ he said bluntly. ‘Why do you want to go there ?’ I told him the surface lie. ‘It’s Walter’s idea. My brother-inlaw—’

‘ Him again.’

‘He thinks there are ways to communicate with the Martians. Well, you’ve proved that, in your way. I’ve brought images to show them – drawings Walter made himself. They might mean something to the Martians. And even if not, if we can show we’re at least intelligent enough to try to speak to them, then perhaps they will spare us.’

He forked up more spud. ‘Waste of time,’ he said around the mouthful. ‘A sheepdog communicates with its master, but it’s still just a dog. Spouting poetry wouldn’t get it sent to Eton or Harrow! – just back out into the fields. Walter Jenkins always was a dreamy idiot.’

‘But it was he who suggested you, Bert. Knowing of your exploits in here. You’re the one man who might build a bridge, make it work – or give us the chance to try, at least. The world’s at stake, Bert. The future. You might think Walter a fool. But isn’t it worth a try, at least?’

‘Hmm. What do you think, Mary?’

She shrugged. ‘ I want to know – what’s in it for us?’

He nodded, and eyed me.

I was at a loss. ‘I don’t see what I can offer you that means anything. Money, treasures—’

‘One thing.’ He glanced across to the passage leading to where the baby slept.

I guessed, ‘You’re concerned about Belle? Her future?’

‘Concerned she might not ’ave a future.’ He looked at me intently. ‘Listen. I ain’t seen it with ’umans yet, but it’ll come. But I seen ’em with the fish-men.’

‘The Cythereans? Seen what?’

‘When the Martians hunt. They’re not simple predators. A Martian isn’t a lion. He won’t go just for the weakest of the group, and let the strongest get away. He’s husbanding, see. Some day ’e wants to be a farmer, a herdsman, not a ’unter.’

Verity said, ‘You mean they want to domesticate the Cythereans. Domesticate us .’

‘Look what they did to their own stock, the human types from Mars! Not a flicker of defiance left in any of them wretched creatures. That is what they want in the long run.’

I nodded. ‘And so with the Cythereans—’

‘They cull the weakest. You may as well, easy pickin’s. But they cull the strongest too .’ He tapped his forehead. ‘That’s what I seen, and I’ve worked it out. Don’t want that powerful blood being passed on down the line, see. Selective breeding. So they watch, see ’oo fights back the ’ardest, is the most ingenious escaper.’

I began to see it. ‘And when it comes to us—’

‘I think they’ll be more systematic, like, in the future. Maybe they’ll pit us against each other, make us fight like dogs or cocks – like gladiators. How about that? Those Martians with their big eyes around the pit, ’ooting and braying and laying bets on the winner, for all I know. What a spectacle! Or maybe they’ll set us to ’unting each other down. Either case they’ll keep the winners fattened up as long as they’re entertaining or useful, but they won’t let them breed . Eliminating the strong from the blood lines, see. Now, to the present: of the ’uman pack in this great Buckin’-hamshire warren, ’oo will they see as the strongest?’

‘Ah.’ Verity nodded. ‘You’ve certainly brought yourself to their attention. You fear they’ll let you live, but they’ll extinguish your blood-line. Which is why you’re hiding your baby down in this hole on the ground. It’s not just from people. You fear for Belle.’

‘Wouldn’t you?’ He looked me square in the face. ‘I’ll do what you ask. But in return I want you to promise me that you, ’ooever is backing you, will get Mary and Belle safely out of ’ere.’

If anywhere is safe, I thought.