The Martian War

EPILOGUE

THE SHAPE OF THINGS TO COME

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR


HOME AGAIN, WITH A STORY

By 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.”

He frowned. “However, since you claim to have conveniently solved the Martian problem, I wonder if Buckingham Palace will change its mind.” Moreau scratched his beard, then urged them down the hall. “You two have had the benefit of reading my experiences as set forth in my journal. Now you must tell me precisely what you yourselves have done.”

While several Institute researchers listened in, Wells and Jane quickly explained everything. After they described how Professor Huxley insisted on remaining behind, Moreau shook his head without surprise. “That sounds exactly like him.”

After bathing, changing into clean clothes, then enjoying a generous meal—their first decent sustenance in days—Wells and Jane spent a long, exhausted night in the Institute’s visitor’s quarters. They were both eager to get back home where the two of them could spend calm afternoons bicycling down the tree-lined lanes or boating along the canals—and Wells could get back to his writing.

He felt thoroughly inspired now, full of ideas that would make fictions much more extravagant than simple articles for The Strand, Pall Mall Gazette, and Pearson’s Magazine. For a long time now, W.E. Henley at the National Observer had been encouraging him to revisit his fanciful story, “The Chronic Argonauts,” which he had published in his school newspaper years before. He had thought about developing it into a serial novel, The Time Machine. Now he had new twists to add to the story, more depth to the societies he had imagined.

Yes, he was very anxious to get back to work again.

Preparing to leave the next morning, Wells and Jane were carrying their bags down the corridor when they encountered a grinning Dr. Moreau. He held in his large hands the crystal egg he had described in his journal. “Before you two return to your mundane existence, I have something to show you. The crystal egg has begun to transmit again.”

They followed him into a well-lit alcove where sunlight reflected off the smooth surface of the ellipsoid. From its infinite, shimmering depths, an amazing scene emerged like bubbles from a deep pond.

“It’s Professor Huxley!” Wells said.

Happily amazed, he and Jane watched the old man working contentedly on Mars, surrounded by Selenites. Huxley appeared healthy and full of life. Though they could not hear the professor’s words, a youthful exuberance shone on his face.

Selenite labor crews bustled about the ruins of the majestic Martian cities. Working non-stop, the lunar drones had already reconstructed much of what they had damaged in the insurrection. Wells thought that the buildings already had a brighter, more lunar style of architecture.

Moreau’s gruff voice startled them. “Obviously, Huxley has found a crystal egg of his own, a counterpart to this one. Thus he can remain in contact with us.”

On Mars, Huxley took great strides through the streets, turning the glassy artificial eye to show the dying, tentacled Martian brains. They crawled plague-stricken through their streets, probably gasping a final “Ulla! Ulla!” before they succumbed to the cholera germ. The creatures faltered in their clumsy flight, their brown skin blotchy and necrotic. Some gasping Martians had crawled to their windows and dangled lifelessly out of them. In the sky a flurry of black angular shapes, the Martian equivalent of carrion birds, swooped down to peck and tear at their carcasses.

Wells and Jane stayed at the Institute until that afternoon, engrossed in the images from Mars. An impatient Dr. Moreau went back to his laboratory, loaning them the crystal egg so that they could continue their observations.

Professor Huxley went to the now-completed invasion fleet of silver cylinders resting on the Martian landing field. Instead of letting the ships be used as a military force to conquer Earth, however, the old man loaded the cylinders with masses of kidnapped Selenite drones. Rank after rank of ant-like lunar workers crowded into the projectiles, which were ready to launch. This exodus would deplete the Selenite population on Mars, but it would be a rebirth for the crumbling civilization on the Moon.

Jane smiled, her pale cheeks flushed. “The infusion of fresh workers from all castes will likely save the lunar race. The Grand Lunar will be so pleased—and so am I. After all, I was their temporary queen.”

They sat together enthralled as the first wave of silver cylinders raced away from Mars on a green flash of rocket flame and hurtled toward the Moon … back home.

In the end, settled once more in their rented rooms in Euston, Wells and Jane sat outside, gently rocking in a bench-swing as they looked into a clear, dark night. The full Moon rode high in the sky like a radiant, pale beacon.

Thinking of all they had done and everywhere they had gone, they clasped hands and just stared out at a universe filled with infinite possibilities. They could tell no one of their fantastic adventures. It was their secret for now. Even the queen and the Royal Institute would hold all the details under the tightest classification.

Wells seemed content, though. “We did not do it for accolades, Jane. We did it because it was necessary.”

Jane kissed his fingers, then leaned against him. “And I am very proud to have been part of it with you. No one would believe us if we told the story, though. Unless you can think of an innovative way … .”

Wells smiled at her, the wheels already turning in his mind— as they always did. “It’s not such an impossible thing, Jane. Any good writer can find a way to tell the story.”