The Martian War

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT


REVOLT ON MARS

Wild alarms continued to ring through the thin air, echoing off the curved buildings. A monotonous “Ulla! Ulla!” resounded from the turrets as the Martian city began to fall in the astonishing Selenite insurrection.

Wells and Jane couldn’t have been more pleased with the result.

Insistent messages from other slave masters continued to buzz through their communication collars, but the Selenites paid no attention to any of the commands; they heeded only the orders given by Jane, who carried the eye of the Grand Lunar.

The drones raced about in oddly coordinated and regimented confusion, like wind-up toys. Though they had no ultimate commander, the Selenites acted in concert, all following a vague but consistent plan. Chittering now, they raced through central buildings and up sloping ramps. The white drones far outnumbered their bloated masters, despite the Martian walkers and weapons. They swarmed in a mad parade of sabotage.

They barged into the main complexes where Martian generals had developed plans for invading other worlds. Selenites uprooted projection apparatus, tore apart map displays. Fifteen of them wrestled with the huge, high-resolution telescopes through which the Martians had spied upon Earth. First they disconnected the support struts, broke the aiming gears, and then by brute force they shoved the telescope barrel through the crystal window of the high tower. Like an astronomer’s cannon, the telescope fell out of its yoke and toppled to the street far below, smashing with a tremendous clang. Then the drones destroyed everything else in the war room.

Heedless of their own safety, Selenites crawled over and then toppled the iron-ostrich walking contrivances of Martian master minds that attempted to flee the scientific cathedral. Rousted out of their squat machines, several lumbering creatures scuttled along the streets. A bloodthirsty mob on Earth would have chased after the large-brained slave masters and torn them limb from tentacled limb, but the lunar denizens thought differently. They went about their revolt with an efficient and intense swiftness, without unnecessary frenzy.

Knowing what the Martians had done to the utopia on the Moon and having seen their horrific method of feeding on the Selenites, Wells felt inclined to do a bit of smashing himself. Years ago, when that brutish student had kicked him in the kidneys, Wells had not understood what could provoke such mindless fury. But now he himself felt a need for vengeful violence. Perhaps he was not after all the socially enlightened human being T.H. Huxley had always taught him to be. Perhaps he was a savage animal inside. Perhaps all men were.

Explosions continued to rumble through underground tunnels; tiled street intersections collapsed into deep sinkholes. A clamor of groaning machinery rose from below as heavy industries hammered to a stop. Tendrils of smoke and steam curled upward, like the last gasps of fetid breath rising from the dying in a plague ward.

Jane grabbed his arm, and they ran down the street, dodging swiftly methodical Selenites in the process of wrecking sophisticated machinery. The drones gave Jane a wide berth, as if she were visiting royalty.

Ahead loomed the immense cathedral of science, where Huxley was still being held. Beside the main laboratory spire stood the lone battle tripod that had recently returned with the professor from the desert. Through the cathedral’s transparent walls and faceted windows, Wells spotted groups of Martians splashing out of their nutrient pools and scrambling into walking contrivances or mechanical cars, evacuating. Others climbed down into enclosed bubble-dome boats and launched into the canal systems to escape, some raising their weapons to quell the revolt.

Even with their sophisticated technology, the Martians could not react swiftly enough. The Selenites were too widespread, too entrenched in all the nooks and crannies of the metropolis. Through their strange linked minds, the drones had risen up with unrestrained violence, and their attacks became coordinated.

Wells yanked Jane aside as crumbling shards from a broken wall pattered onto the streets. They huddled under an overhang until it was safe again to run forward and pick their way toward the ornate complex.

A dozen more Martian battle tripods marched in from the red desert to impose swift order. Taller than the highest steeple, the majestic but frightening machines let out a resounding “Ulla! Ulla!” Segmented arms bent upward, tilting the rotating lenses of their heat rays. Jane cried out a warning into the communication collars, and just before terrible yellow waves of incineration smote the squealing drones.

The Selenites scattered, then regrouped, despite the flaming death carved by the heat rays. The drones had no interest in individual salvation; other lunar rebels congregated and struck the Martian facilities again and again, wrecking the ancient infrastructure. Striding like goliaths through the streets, the battle tripods continued their blazing retaliation, but even twelve of the huge machines could not root out every group of lunar saboteurs.

Amidst the terrible struggle, Wells looked up with alarm to see a bloated Martian scramble onto the balcony of the cathedral’s laboratory spire and work its way toward the standing tripod that had recently returned with the professor. Wells growled, “I intended to commandeer that tripod. Imagine how fast we could escape across the desert—if I can figure out how to make it work.”

He tugged Jane’s arm, and they ran with redoubled speed. When he reached the base of the stilt-like leg, Wells gazed upward, intimidated. This was much taller and more imposing than he had expected. The thick metal leg was studded with small grooves and depressions that served as steps for nimble feet—probably so Selenite workers could polish and maintain the tripod.

Wells had no fondness for great heights, but after everything he and Jane had been through, this was a relatively minor fear. Taking her hand to help her up, he began to ascend the tripod’s leg.

“I hope the Martian doesn’t get this contraption moving while we’re still climbing,” Jane called. “It would shake us off like a beetle on a trouser leg.”

Wells tried to sound optimistic, for her sake. “We’re in the middle of a grand adventure, Jane! Such a fate would be much too embarrassing an end for intrepid heroes.”

“Life isn’t always like a story.”

“True enough. Life rarely offers neat resolutions to problems.”

The tripod began to vibrate as the Martian took its place inside the control turret. It activated the powerful engines to drive the war machine into the fray.

Wells scrambled higher. “Hang on, Jane! It’s going to take a step.”

“Just don’t fall and knock me down with you.”

Gritting his teeth, he held on as the tripod leg lifted up and clanged down; then the rear leg swept forward past them in a clockwork motion that pulled the giant walker along. The Martian was apparently unaware of its passengers.

Sweat dripped into his eyes, but he saw the bottom of the control turret immediately above him—with an access hatch offset from where the three stilt-like legs converged in the engines. With renewed determination and an increased sense of urgency, he pulled himself to the juncture where the three legs fit into lubricated sockets. The trapdoor was now within reach.

Swaying sickeningly, Wells waited for the Martian to pause between its rhythmic steps, grasped the hatch and pushed hard. The cover flung open with surprising ease and smashed down onto the turret’s metal floor. Wells hauled himself up into the control chamber, afraid the tentacled Martian would rush over to defend itself. He turned to help Jane, but she shouted for him to go.

Seated amidst its levers, the alien master mind yanked the heavy control rods with a flurry of tentacles to keep the tripod moving. Noticing Wells as he climbed through the bottom of the turret, the creature spun about. It thrashed in agitation, huge yellow eyes glaring.

Wells stepped forward, squaring his shoulders, bunching his fists—and didn’t know what to do next. The master mind released its grip on the controls and raised itself, lashing its appendages like whips. Without the direct control of its driver, the tripod shuddered to a halt, and behind him, Jane climbed to safety inside the turret. The naked Martian scuttled away from the controls in full retreat but with nowhere to go. Without access to its armored protective machinery, its body was soft and vulnerable. Wells chased the creature, while Jane seized the opportunity to detach one of the heavy control rods from its socket.

As the Martian lurched backward in the confined space of the turret, Jane came up behind it and lifted the metal lever like a club. She set her face in a firm scowl and, without remorse or hesitation, swung the lever sideways like a cricket bat. She landed a blow across the front of the Martian’s head above its yellow eyes. “Superior race, indeed!” She sniffed.

A dark stain oozed across its brown, leathery cranium. As the stunned Martian fumbled about, disoriented, Wells and Jane kicked the alien master mind to the open hatch; then, with a united shove, they pushed it through. Its tentacles flailed to catch itself, but the bloated brain slid out of the dome. The Martian tumbled from a great height and struck the ground, where it broke open like a heavy, rotten fruit.

Jane wiped tangled hair away from her grimy face. “That was unpleasant.”

“But necessary. Now we must learn to control this machine ourselves.”

Jane replaced the control lever she had used as a club, snapping it back into place. Wells scrutinized the mechanisms, pulling rods and levers. He succeeded in lifting one of the tripod legs, and by pulling another lever he set it down a large step forward. Without coordinated balance, though, the tall walker wobbled and swayed like a drunken man balancing on top of a barrel.

Wells tried other controls, hoping to stabilize the battle tripod. With successive attempts, he moved one leg, then the other two without toppling the big machine. It was like performing an unfamiliar court dance, but as he guided the tripod through several more steps, he began to grin like a boy. “I could become accustomed to the complexities of walking with three legs instead of two. It’s like riding a bicycle for the first time!” He painstakingly retraced their path down the chaotic street, dodging rubble.

Jane stooped to look through the low turret windows set at a Martian’s eye level, trying to find their way back to the laboratory spire and Huxley. While they climbed up the legs of the contraption they had traveled a surprising distance. “Over there.” She pointed back to the crowded skyline. “Head in that direction.”

As Wells clumsily guided them toward the scientific cathedral and its uniform towers, Jane inspected the rest of the tripod’s controls. One set raised and lowered the jointed arm that terminated in the heat-ray projector. As she experimented with the small levers, a blurry and distorted display moved across a highlighted projection screen. Her brow furrowed, and Wells remembered that look of intent concentration from when she had struggled to understand a new concept of chemistry or mathematics. Then her face lit up. “Oh! It’s the targeting circle!”

Ahead, two squat Martian walkers were harassing a group of Selenites. They lashed out with static whips to drive the drones away from a generating station. With anger tightening her expression, Jane adjusted the bright targeting point on her screen, aiming at the much smaller walker devices on the street. Then she depressed several buttons until she discovered how to activate the heat ray.

A gush of thermal energy poured out to engulf the cruel Martian slave masters. Within seconds, they and their contrivances had melted into unrecognizable blobs like solder. Jane seemed quite pleased with herself.

Wells finally managed to maneuver their swaying tripod up against the spire where they had last seen T.H. Huxley. Toying with controls, Jane discovered the booming voice projection system. “Professor! Professor Huxley, we’re here to rescue you.” Her feminine voice sounded strange and unexpected from the stilt-legged war machine. “We’re in the tripod.”

From behind the curved turret window, Wells saw a distinctly human silhouette moving swiftly but erratically as slouching hunchbacked shapes chased him. “He’s broken free, but we’ve got to get him out of there. Jane, can you control the heat ray well enough to open up the wall for him?”

“The professor would insist that I try.” Jane swiveled the jointed arm to point the heat ray at a nearby Martian building, away from the laboratory spire. She operated the controls, centered her aim, and let loose a burst of incinerating fury. The structure exploded in a shower of fire, sparks, and shrapnel.

“Just a bit of target practice.” She brushed hair out of her eyes. As she aimed the targeting point, she shouted a warning through the loudspeaker system. “Stand away from the window, Professor!” Through the murky glass, they saw Huxley’s figure duck away, and Jane fired a brief burst, just enough to blast an opening in the wall.

The older man immediately appeared at the smoldering hole, flapping his hands to disperse the fumes and smoke. Under one arm he cradled rolled charts and maps he had grabbed from his captors.

Jane opened the turret’s side door, only to see that they were dizzyingly high above the ground. Wells nudged the controls, and the battle tripod wavered and shuddered. “I don’t dare maneuver it closer!”

Holding onto the metal wall of the turret, Jane leaned out over the gulf, extending her hand beseechingly. Huxley looked at the wide, dangerous gap. “Alas, we aren’t on the Moon … but gravity here is still lower than Earth’s.”

“Jump, Professor!”

Inside the laboratory spire, the Martian master minds that had been driven back by the heat ray blast now converged upon their prisoner again. Huxley seemed uncertain until the malicious Martians squirmed up behind him. One of them seated itself inside the hideous contraption the Grand Inquisitor had used to probe Wells’s brain.

Huxley raised his chin, clutched his maps more tightly, gathered his resolve—and jumped. The distance seemed impossible, and Wells’s heart lurched, but Huxley easily cleared the gap. He landed inside the turret still holding his maps, exhilarated by the spectacular leap. “I feel like an Olympian!”

Jane drew the old man to safety, closing the side hatch behind him. “Go, H.G.”

Catching his breath, Huxley observed the mayhem in the streets, noted the stolen battle tripod, and nodded with gruff satisfaction. “Ah, I see that you two have everything perfectly under control.”

“Remember, our intent was to bring down an enemy civilization, Professor.” Wells pivoted the tripod, and it lurched drunkenly away. “One cannot overthrow an entire world without stirring things up a bit.” He quickly fell into a rhythm, and they strode on a trio of stilt legs along the streets, seeking a way out of the city.

One of the dozen other battle tripods moved on a perpendicular course to intercept them. Apparently, the Martian driver suspected that the war machine had been stolen. “We have trouble,” Wells said. “But they can’t know who we are.”

“Let us hope the Martian hesitates,” Huxley said.

“I don’t intend to give it a chance to hesitate.” Grimly, before the other Martian fighting machine could take aggressive action, Jane blasted with her heat ray. The intense beam decapitated the enemy tripod, turning its turret into a splash of cherry-red metal. Out of control, whirling and spinning, it crashed into a tall building before collapsing in a gargantuan heap on the streets.

They left the metropolis behind, heading into an open wilderness laced with carefully laid canals. Behind them, more Martian alarms sounded as the aliens climbed into mechanical bodies, operating heavy cars, installing weapons to be turned against the Selenite rebels.

Worse, against a backdrop of smoke and turmoil at the skyline of the Martian metropolis, the humans could see four powerful battle tripods raise their heat rays and set off in pursuit of the escapees.

Still trying to master the coordination of the alien controls, Wells did his best to flee out into the open desert.