The Martian Enigma

by D. B. Reynolds-Moreton

  Anyway, I’ll bet Hans would like to get his hands on some of that technology, think of it Hans, you’d be the top engineer in the world.’

  ‘Don’t drag me into your equations,’ replied Hans, sensing he too was being manipulated in some subtle way, ‘I’ve got enough to play with in the orbiter’s hold, that’ll keep me busy for years, that’s if I’m allowed to. Chances are the ‘experts’ will want it all.’

  It was close to midnight when the party broke up, mainly because the imported bottle had run dry, or was it that the coffee had got cold? No one was sure next morning, but what they did know was that they would all be flying over to Egypt later that day, to see what the Martians had sent.

  Greg went alone to see the Chief, and gave him the result of their evening’s discussion, but leaving out the bit about where the Chief had originated from, the fact that his mother had been unmarried at the time of his birth, as had the last dozen or so of his antecedents, and the sort of job he should be doing instead of the one he now held.

  Unknown to the others, Hans had smuggled the laser cutter down to Earth, leaving a duplicate behind for the ‘officials’ to find along with the rest of their booty, which was why he insisted that they travel by military plane rather than the civil airline. The chances of getting the alien tool through customs didn’t bear thinking about.

  Late that afternoon, the plane left for Egypt, arriving in darkness, as the sun was travelling in the opposite direction. They were treated to the best hotel available in the area, which went some way to make up for the sleep they had lost due to travelling anticlockwise half way around the world, there were no complaints about the food that night.

  Next morning they were transported out into the desert, the early sun already beating down with relentless fury from a clear deep blue sky.

  ‘You know, it seems almost impossible when you think about what we’ve been through, looking at that hotel and the comforts they provided for us last night.’ said Paul, as they bumped along the sandy track.

  ‘Sounds as if you got something we didn’t,’ said Ben, ‘so what was she called? Just for future reference.’

  The truck bounced on, the team wishing they had asked for a canvas awning before setting out, but it had been fairly cool then, and no one had thought of what it would be like nearing midday.

  On the distant horizon, one of the giant pyramids poked its head up into the searing sunlight, the top of it seeming to shimmer and dance in the heat rippled air.

  Several times the truck became bogged down in the soft shifting sand, and then it was all hands to push it free and onto firmer ground. This did little to endear the team members to the truck, its incompetent driver, or to anything else to do with the project, and by the time they finally lumbered into the hastily constructed military base, they were soaked in sweat and not a little short tempered.

  There was plenty of well polished brass and shiny chrome adorning the personnel who greeted them, making them feel even more inadequate in the sweat stained duty whites, which weren’t quite so white now.

  After the general introductions had been dispensed with, and a few sarcastic remarks from Hans pointedly ignored, Paul reckoning that word had gone ahead of them, they were escorted into a large tent, populated with even more highly polished insignia splattered high rankers.

  ‘Good God!’ exclaimed Hans. ‘They’ve got more metal on their bloody uniforms than I have when fully equipped to strip an engine down.’

  ‘I think that’s a slight exaggeration,’ added Ben, ‘unless of course, you’re including your work bench as well.’

  They were ushered into folding wooden seats in the front row of what must have been nearly two hundred ‘white hunter chairs’, as Hans called them, doing his best to be derogative about the whole scene.

  When they were seated, and a few of the others who greeted them had done likewise, a large red faced man with grey hair and enough ironmongery on the front of his uniform to cause him to walk with a stoop, took his place on a small improvised rostrum in front of the audience.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen.’ he said, smiling, and looking from one end of his captive listeners to the other. ‘We are gathered here today to try and solve the mystery of the alien ship which has entered our space, and the twenty or so modules which it has dispersed upon the desert sands of this country.

  ‘First I would like to fill you in on the sequence of events which has led up to this happening, as some of you may only have a little knowledge of what has been going on.

  ‘You are no doubt aware that we have been sending mechanical probes to Mars for some years, and they have sent back much useful information. One probe managed to scoop up some Martian soil, and bring it back to us. Contained in that sample was what we think could have been a piece of bone. So you can understand why we were so interested in sending a manned crew to investigate the planet.

  ‘Three manned flights were sent, the first two failed to respond after a short while, and since then, no trace of a landing, or the craft involved, has ever been found.

  ‘This implies that some agency on the planet was responsible for their demise, somehow removing or hiding the orbiter and the landing craft.

  ‘The third expedition,’ here he waved his hand at Greg and his team, ‘made a successful landing, and then encountered several attempts to destroy them and their Lander.

  Fortunately, they were able to overcome these attempts, and later discovered several underground cities, or complexes, as they refer to them.’

  ‘Not only were there living quarters, but two factories were found. What they were making is still unknown to us, but one of them still had power available to work the lighting system and some of the equipment we found. All the complexes had been abandoned, with no trace of the people who lived there being found.

  ‘Our friends here,’ another wave at Greg’s team, ‘have checked the equipment and living utensils of these people, and concluded that they must have been much like us in height and stature, and equipped with prehensile hands.

  ‘As to where they came from, we can’t be sure, but it is the exploration teams considered opinion, based on what they found and the conditions on Mars, that they didn’t originate on the planet, and must therefore have come from another planet in our galaxy. There was some evidence of native life, but only in a very rudimentary form, and that was a very long time ago.

  ‘Where these people have gone is anyone’s guess, but as the planet became less able to support life, they upped tents,’ here he smiled at his own joke, ‘and left, leaving everything neat and tidy. It is because of this apparent orderliness, that we think they abandoned their settlements, rather than just died out.

  ‘One disturbing thing is that when our friends left the planet to return to Earth, they were followed by the craft you have seen orbiting Earth, and that craft has sent down the spheres which we found in the desert.

  ‘Later this afternoon, we will visit one of these spheres, and tomorrow we will attempt to open it, as it has been sitting there motionless for several days now, and curiosity is getting the better of us!’ A round of applause followed the curt nod of his head. The meeting was over.

  ‘Let’s get some peace and quiet.’ said Greg, as the hubbub of voices rose to a crescendo. So the team left the stuffy humid atmosphere of the tent and went out into the brilliant shimmering sun baked desert.

  ‘By the random racket in there, I’d say not many of ’em knew very much about what’s been going on.’ Ben commented, as they sought some shade from the blistering heat under a group of palms.

  ‘How they can keep such things quiet with the modern communications we have these days, beats me.’ Paul added.

  A slight breeze had sprung up, causing the palms to gently waver and some of the sweat in their shirts begin to evaporate, cooling them down a little.

  ‘Can’t say I like this bloody heat,’ Hans said, wiping beads of moisture from his forehead, ‘how the hell can anyone live in it, and stay sa
ne?’

  ‘You’ll get used to it in time,’ Paul replied, ‘look what the Martians had to put up with.’

  ‘Yeah, and they buggered off, we can’t.’ Hans grunted.

  Sitting in the shade, on the slightly cooler sand with their backs against the palms, they began to relax. None of them really enjoyed the gregarious nature the majority of their fellow men seemed to exhibit, which was one of the criteria that had singled them out as suitable members for the exploration team.

  The conversation between them gradually dwindled down to the odd phrase or comment, interspersed with a grunt or two from those who were drifting into a light torpor.

  Soon, all was quiet in the little oasis, except for the soft rustle of the palm fronds in the gentle breeze and the distant whine of a military vehicle, struggling against the frequent patches of soft yielding desert sand.

  Their peace and tranquillity was suddenly shattered by the crunch crunch of heavy footfalls in the sand, as the big red faced man from the lecture tent approached. The grey hair was now covered by a smart military peaked cap, the rim of the peak copiously adorned in what Hans later referred to as scrambled egg.

  ‘Ah, there you are gentlemen,’ he blustered, ‘you’ve found a nice cool place, I see.’ Hans drew a breath to add his comment to the intrusion, but received a dig in the ribs from a more wide awake Paul who considered diplomacy preferable to sarcasm in their present situation.

  ‘Shall we have a look at the spheroid? I’m sure you’ll find it interesting.’ Again, Hans received a prod, just in case he felt tempted.

  The group, after dislodging most of the sand which had stuck to the back of their sweaty legs, tagged along behind the General, Hans, fortunately at the back of the line, doing his usual grumbling bit.

  A half tracked vehicle was awaiting them at the head of a long line of similar vehicles, all crammed full of dignitaries from around the world.

  ‘Must say, you’ve got a mixed bunch lined up for this shindig’ Ben commented, as they climbed aboard.

  ‘We thought it best to involve all nations, that way, if anything goes wrong, we shan’t get all the blame,’ the General said brightly, ‘although I suspect some of them don’t know what day of the week it is.’ he added as an afterthought.

  The driver started his engine, ground his gears, and the vehicle lurched forward, several dignitaries having to disentangle themselves as the troop carrier rolled forward in a series of random jerks and shudders.

  ‘What do you people propose doing with the spheroid?’ asked Greg, surprised they hadn’t blown it to smithereens already.

  ‘Well, we’re hoping you're going to suggest something.’ answered the General. ‘As I said earlier, you’ve had some experience of the Martians and their equipment, so we’ll be guided by your thoughts on the matter.’

  ‘Buck passing is still alive and healthy, I see.’ commented Hans, never one to miss an opportunity. Fortunately, the driver chose that exact moment to shuffle through his gearbox, hunting for a more favourable gear, so the comment was drowned out by the ensuing cacophony of tortured metal emanating from somewhere below them.

  The convoy slowly wound its way between the dunes like a lazy snake, stopping several times to dig out the odd vagrant vehicle which had strayed off the track into the softer surrounding sands.

  ‘This is supposed to be a short cut,’ said the General crossly, ‘I’ll have a word or two with the route planner when we get back.’

  ‘Poor sod.’ was just audible over the roar of the engine, as the driver dropped into a lower gear to climb a slope.

  Forty bone jarring, heat blistering minutes later, the dark shape of the spheroid loomed into view. The team were surprised at the size of the alien sphere, a full hundred metres in diameter. Smooth and featureless, it just sat there, its dull black surface seemingly soaking up the sunlight, as very little was reflected.

  ‘How many of these did you say landed?’ asked Greg.

  ‘Twenty, at the last count.’ replied the General. ‘Dotted all about the desert for about fifty kilometres or so, and all guarded by our top troops.’

  ‘That’s comforting.’ said Hans, before anyone could stop him. The General, still wallowing in the confusion of the last few hectic days, wasn’t too sure how the comment was intended, and chose to ignore it, just to be on the safe side.

  As they disembarked from the vehicle, forming into little groups, Greg discretely pulled Hans to one side and said, 'I know some of the top brass get up your fundamental orifice, but please apply the soft pedal for a while. We’ve got to get on with these men, and we’ll need all the co-operation we can get to prevent them screwing the whole operation up.’

  Hans nodded his acceptance of the suggestion.

  The spheroid was ringed by armoured vehicles, tanks, and a variety of missile launchers, all at which the military judged to be a safe distance from the alien ship.

  ‘Has anyone approached the vessel yet?’ asked Greg.

  ‘Yes, and an army engineer applied an oxyacetylene cutting torch to it before we took full control,’ replied the General, ‘but the sphere seemed to just absorb the heat, and didn’t even glow red, so he used a larger one, with the same result, but that’s all.’

  ‘Not surprised.’ said Greg. ‘That thing’s designed to accept re-entry heat, so it wouldn’t even notice a cutting torch.’

  They walked around the periphery of the vessel, just inside the ring of armour, to see for themselves if there were any entry points which had been missed by the others, but found none. Greg had already formulated his ideas as to the purpose of the sphere, but decided to keep quiet about it until he was quite sure.

  The sun had begun to dip towards the horizon in a blaze of red and yellow streaks, when the General suggested that they return to the main camp to discuss what should be done tomorrow, and what equipment would be needed.

  The journey back was little different, except that it was a shade cooler, and the lead driver, having left his compass at home, lost the way. They had trundled around in a complete circle before someone noticed the whitened bones of an unfortunate camel, and advised the driver of the fact that they were getting just a tad bored with the same scenery.

  ‘Incompetent bloody lot.’ mumbled Hans, and for once Greg nodded and smiled.

  Eventually, the driver sorted himself out and they ploughed on, arriving at the main camp as the quickening gloom descended with a rush into total darkness.

  After a good meal, the quality of which surprised them all, the team were in a much better frame of mind, and more willing to co-operate fully with the General and his team of incompetent acolytes.

  Somewhere in the distance, a generator whined plaintively, providing the power to both light the big tent they had all assembled in, and heat the ubiquitous coffee machine which filled the area with its tempting aroma.

  ‘What we don’t understand,’ began the General, ‘is why the sphere is doing nothing. If it was an invasion force, it’s not likely they would just sit there, allowing us to amass our forces around them, so why the lack of action?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s an invasion force exactly.’ Greg replied. ‘You won’t get a bunch of little green men running out armed to the teeth with ray guns, in fact, I’d be very surprised if there’s anything alive in there at all.

  The most we’ll have to contend with is something mechanical, and apart from a device we call an illusion screen, we should be able to handle it.’

  The sigh of relief was audible, and several of those assembled sat a little more upright in their chairs.

  ‘I don’t think the vessel will do anything more than what it’s doing at the moment,’ Greg said, ‘it’s just sitting there. So that means we’ll have to try and open it up somehow if we want to see what’s inside.’

  ‘What equipment will you need?’ asked the General. ‘We can get just about anything flown in at short notice.’

  Hans pointed out the only part of the alien ship they hadn’t see
n, was the top, and to reach it they would need a crane, and a tall one at that.

  ‘Do you really need to?’ asked the General. ‘It’s just a sphere.’ Before Hans could deliver one of his scathing ripostes, Greg pointed out that if they hadn’t seen the top, they couldn’t be sure there wasn’t something up there which they needed to know about, and it might even be the missing entry point. A crane was ordered.

  During the evening, several suggestions were put forward by some of the less well mentally endowed, ranging from digging the sand out from under the spheres and so burying them, to dropping an atomic bomb on them, so vaporizing any possible invasion force. Greg’s message unfortunately hadn’t got through to some.

  The only peaceful suggestion came from a Bishop in full regalia, who thought a world wide massed prayer meeting held on alternate days, calling upon the Almighty to remove the offending objects, might do the trick. The general response to that were a few impolite chuckles from the back of the meeting, and Hans receiving another nudge from the ever watchful Greg.

  Once all the coffee had been consumed, and it was obvious that replenishment was no longer on the cards, the meeting broke up, the team retiring to the tent allocated to them earlier, for a good night’s sleep.

  ‘You know,’ said Hans, determined to have the last word, ‘if there were Martians on board those spheres, I’d almost feel sorry for them, having this lot to contend with.’

  ‘Know what you mean,’ someone replied in the darkness, ‘it’d be a pushover except for the armaments.’

  After a hearty breakfast next morning, they were in good spirits again, even Hans had gone for nearly an hour without a withering remark directed at the establishment, so their morale was further heightened by the arrival of the mobile crane.

  ‘Anyone bothered to check just how high it’ll reach?’ asked Paul.

  ‘Better check with the crane crew,’ Greg replied, ‘it doesn’t look as if it will extend up to a hundred metres.’