The Martian War (32 page)

“Alas, Mr. Wells, you are entirely correct.”

Wells took two of the test tubes from the old man. “We must do it.” Seeing what he intended, Jane took a pair for herself. Together, the three looked at each other and then simultaneously poured the deadly solution into the flowing water. The current of the Martian canals would distribute the fatal germs throughout the ancient, stagnant Martian civilization.

But when it was done, not one of them felt a sense of triumph.

T
hough the results wouldn’t become obvious for days, nature took its inexorable course as the cholera germ spread through the Martian canal system. Faint mists rose from the wrecked ice quarries as water and carbon dioxide sublimated into the skies. Across the polar battleground, the Selenite drones began to repair the worst destruction, like ants busily tidying their mound after a rainstorm. Rebuilding the world, even if it wasn’t their own.

Wells stood in the chill air beside his two companions, feeling hollow. He slipped his arm around Jane’s waist and held her close. Neither of them said anything. What was there to say, knowing they had just delivered a death sentence to an ancient—if terrible—civilization?

Huxley drew a deep breath and stared toward the red-tinged horizon. The gentlest of breezes ruffled his gray hair and bushy sideburns. “It is the biological imperative to do what is necessary to ensure one’s own survival. The Martians no doubt felt justified in their evil actions to ensure the continuation of their species.”

“We ourselves are doing nothing less, Professor,” Wells said. “So why don’t I feel victorious?”

Jane frowned. “If only the Martians had asked for our help, rather than deciding to take everything they needed … .”

Superior Martian technology was capable of remarkable advancements, but the slave masters of the red planet had long since stopped devising new solutions. Instead, they behaved as parasites, draining the lifeblood—literally and figuratively— from Selenite society. They had intended to do the same to humankind. Given innovation and imagination, Wells was certain the Martian race could have developed alternative solutions. He mused grimly, “When a race’s imagination dies, extinction itself cannot be far behind.”

The Selenites helped them attach chains and cables to the sphere and drag it outside, assisted by the judicious opening and closing of the blinds covering the anti-gravity material. Wells and Jane worked together inside the cavorite ship, airing it out, taking stock of their supplies for the return journey.

Huxley remained outside, assessing the polar cap industries, studying the technology the Martians had built by the labor of the captive drones. He crossed his arms over his striped robe; by now his clothes were quite tattered and dirty, his slippers falling apart.

“Mr. Wells, Miss Robbins, I have reached a decision. You two, climb aboard now and go. There is no guarantee you’ll
return safely to Earth, but I am confident in your abilities. I, meanwhile, intend to stay here, on Mars.”

Wells’s jaw dropped. “Professor, I beg you to reconsider.”

“I am a man of convictions, Mr. Wells, as I have proved in countless debates with uneducated asses. Nothing now will force me to change my mind or re-evaluate my conclusions.”

Though Wells knew it was folly to argue with one of the greatest and most persuasive speakers of the nineteenth century, he said, “Professor, you are a self-proclaimed agnostic. How can you feel such devastating guilt that you would sentence yourself to permanent exile? What good does it do to remain here, to live with your conscience? Are you so eager to observe the terrible destruction we all have wrought?”

Huxley gave him a wan smile and looked contemplative. “Guilt? On the contrary, Mr. Wells, I am genuinely curious to observe what happens next here. It is the purest example of survival of the fittest … an experiment in a biological laboratory the size of a world. Will the Selenites manage to create their own society here, even without a Grand Lunar? Such questions are quite vexing.”

Jane said, “But what about the cholera, Professor? You are just as vulnerable to it.”

“Ah, I shall be careful to drink only purified water from the source here at the pole. Though this germ affects human populations in squalid living conditions, it is easy enough to avoid through proper sanitation procedures. The Martians, however, will have no way to guard themselves.”

Huxley put his arm around the shoulders of his distraught young companions and spoke in a paternal voice. “Now, now, you two. Think of me. I am old, and my health is failing. Wells,
you are a keen observer—you must have noticed in London how painful my joints and aches were. The stiffness in my bones, the arthritis, the rheumatism. I suffered from plentiful maladies ranging from gout to headache to hangnails. Here on Mars, though, the lower gravity and the drier air will make my life much more comfortable. I feel young, and alive, with a whole new world to explore! I believe I can survive longer. Besides, it will give me a chance to help the Selenites maintain this planet.”

Jane sniffed. She withdrew the eye of the Grand Lunar and placed it in the old man’s seamed palm. “Keep this, Professor— you will have much greater need of it than I do. It’s the only way you can communicate with the Selenites.” She smiled at him. “Besides, with a mind such as yours, I can think of no person more capable of serving as a surrogate Grand Lunar.”

Huxley blushed and kissed the young woman on the cheek. “I haven’t had an opportunity such as this since the
Rattlesnake,
and I do look forward to the challenge. Someone should stay behind to observe and document every moment of it for science, for history … in case humans ever return to the red planet.”

After they said their farewells and the Selenite drones surrounded Jane one final time, she and Wells climbed into the cavorite sphere. Huxley gave them a long, meaningful look before he swung the hatch shut and sealed them inside.

They closed the blinds to block off the cavorite and thus severed the sphere’s connection to Mars’s gravity. The craft soared into the sky with a smooth, weightless sensation.

Though he knew it might alter their course, Wells opened one of the porthole blinds. He and Jane pressed their faces together, gazing down to see T.H. Huxley, a small figure
surrounded by swarms of white-skinned drones. The professor was staring across the landscape at the canals and the water quarry, no doubt imagining the distant cities of the dying Martians. He looked up to them and waved, then turned back to his enormous task.

Staring down at the receding deserts of Mars, Wells and Jane swiftly and surely left the red planet behind. As he held her close in the confines of the cavorite sphere, he knew it would be days before their path would take them back to Earth. “Apart from thwarting the invasion, Jane, I can see one tremendous advantage for the two of us.”

She looked at him quizzically, then grinned. “Of course. At last we can be alone.”

EPILOGUE

B
y the time the sphere returned to Earth, days later, Wells and Jane had become adept enough at maneuvering that they brought themselves down safely to England, and London … and directly onto the grounds of the Imperial Institute itself. Judiciously, they opened and closed the blinds to block sections of cavorite and reduce their velocity. The descending vessel glimmered in the cloudy English sky and came to rest heavily in the Institute’s gardens, crushing well-groomed shrubberies and ruining a bed of geraniums, petunias, and marigolds. Upper-class students with fine clothes and haughty airs viewed the unexpected arrival with a flurry of consternation and confusion.

Wells opened the sphere’s hatch and took a deep breath of
the thick and familiar London air. Standing tall, he reached inside to take Jane by the hand, and helped her out onto the soft lawn. “Welcome back to Earth, my dear.”

“It’s good to be back home again, H.G. I hope our landlady hasn’t sold our possessions by now.”

With a pang of sadness, they both looked at the gutted ruin of the secret research wing. Part of the roof remained caved in, and blackened beams stood like skeletal ribs. Carpenters had boarded up the shattered windows. Wells remarked, “I wonder if the students now know about the classified work that occurred behind those closed doors.”

Jane sighed. “More likely, the Institute’s administration made up some absurd story about a ‘tragic chemical accident’ in one of the research facilities.”

Jabbering students pushed closer. Two young men, clad in shorts and high white socks, brandished cricket bats as weapons. Wells raised his hands. “We are good English citizens, and we present no threat. Everything will be explained to you in good time.”

“Or perhaps not.” Jane gave the crowd a teasing smile. “You’d think they’ve never seen a spacecraft land on their school grounds before.”

Before long, the commotion attracted several of the technological geniuses from the damaged research wing. Wells recognized the biological researcher Philby. “Look there! It’s the sphere Cavor was building!”

A bear-like Dr. Moreau pushed forward, looking as if he belonged at the Institute after the turmoil of the explosion and the unexplained disappearance of Professor Huxley. Professor Redwood and Mr. Bensington, the scientists who had created
a growth-enhancing food, followed Moreau as he nudged students aside and took charge.

Now the burly vivisectionist frowned at Wells and Jane; the only time he had met Wells, Moreau had been intent on a bristling conversation with Huxley. “What are you doing with Cavor’s sphere?” He gave neither of them a chance to answer. “I thought Thomas would be with you. Where is Huxley? Or is he dead like Cavor and Griffin?”

Jane said, “Oh no, the professor is alive and well—and on Mars.”

Wells added, “He won’t be returning home, I fear. He has elected to stay behind, but he has accomplished his task. He has made certain—”

“As have we,” Jane interjected.

“—that mankind no longer needs to fear an invasion from Mars.”

“Good news indeed!” Moreau boomed. “So you believe me after all?”

Feeling strangely familiar with this abrasive stranger, Wells nodded. “Not only have we read your journal, Dr. Moreau, we have been to Mars and fought the Martians ourselves.”

Moreau heaved a long sigh, as if hoping to minimize the excitement of the event. Too many of the students were already listening. He indicated his fellow researchers, then lowered his voice. “We shall be glad to hear your account—in private, of course, without so many curious ears and gossiping lips.”

Philby rubbed two fingers along his pointed chin. “So something good has come of this, then. I’m relieved our efforts haven’t been a complete loss. That bastard Griffin stole all our records, and then they burned up along with him.”

Jane ducked back inside the sphere and retrieved the papers and plans the invisible spy had smuggled aboard. “No, here are the original reports and formulas our scientists developed for the Empire. Perhaps they can be put to good use after all.”

“Well, after what we’ve learned of the Martians, our traditional enemies seem to be a much smaller threat,” said Professor Redwood. For once, Mr. Bensington did not disagree with him.

From the courtyard behind the research wing came a shout and a scream as people ran about in terror. Wells heard a loud squeaking and a scritching of clawed feet across flagstones and then a crashing in the bushes. Bensington and Redwood looked at each other, alarmed. “Oh no, that’ll be our rats again. They’ve gotten loose!” The two men dashed off.

“Don’t just stand staring,” Moreau said to the spectators clustered around the sphere. “Get some of these strong young men to rig up chains and rope. We have to bring Cavor’s vessel back inside where we can polish it, inspect it … and keep it away from the curious.” Scientists and students hurried to obey, spurred on by the doctor’s forceful personality.

Hand in hand, Wells and Jane walked through the Institute’s doors into the burned research wing, which was now a clamor of construction crews—glaziers, bricklayers, carpenters. Moreau followed them inside. “After the explosion, the subsequent fire wrecked many laboratories. We salvaged some of the research, but it took days for us to get the damage under control. Our scientists are already diligently back at work.”

“You seem to be quite at home here, Dr. Moreau,” Jane said. “Aren’t you concerned about—”

He raised a meaty hand, dismissing her worry. “After I sounded the alarm about the Martians and gave a full account of all that I’ve discovered, Queen Victoria offered me a provisional pardon, so long as I agree to stay here at the Institute and devote my intellect to the crisis at hand. Given the shortage of decent workers, the Institute has asked me to provide assistance … though the queen insists that I submit to unreasonable constraints and limitations.” He drew a deep breath and let it out, calming himself. “Still, it is the only way I can be sure these men keep their research on track and don’t let themselves be distracted by phantom enemies.”