by John Wyndham
‘You may have thought so,’ the doctor said, ‘but in reality that was just a check you put upon yourself to avoid the possibility of a painful disillusionment. You wouldn’t have insisted on bringing me along as a biologist if you had no hope of finding any form of life. As I told you, I consider life as a stage in the decay of a planet, and I fully expect to find it.
Probably it will have gone through the whole cycle and exist only in lowly forms as it did in the beginning, but it will surprise me very much if we find no living structures at all.’
‘Pretty poor look out for me,’ Froud thought. ‘Depressing. Here’s the world public, egged on by Burroughs and the rest into thinking that the place is crammed with weird animals, queer men and beautiful princesses, expecting me to go one better; and, according to you, I shall have to make thrilling, passionate romances out of the lives of a few amoebae and such like. It’s going to be hard work.’
Dugan looked at the doctor disappointedly.
‘Do you really think it will be as dull as all that?
Surely life won’t have sunk right to the limit. Won’t there be animals of any kind?’
‘Or crabs?’ Froud added. ‘Do you remember the monstrous crabs which Wells’ time traveller found in the dying world? Nasty chaps I used to dream about them when I was a kid. If there are many of them, I doubt whether my devoted public will get a story at all.’
The doctor shrugged.
‘It’s all guesswork. There may be only protozoa; there may be crustaceans….’
‘And there are machines,’ Joan said.
‘Superb example of the one track mind,’ Froud remarked largely. ‘I must say, I’m beginning to hope you’re right; it’d give me plenty of material. But the point arises who builds the machines? And what for? After all, as one of us said before, a machine is meant to do something.’
‘If we could understand what machinery or The Machine implies,’ Joan said, ‘we might know more what to expect. Dale sees it as a work of art. His wife, from what he tells us, holds the very common opinion that it is opposed to art: that it stamps out individuality and personality. Dugan see it as a kind of huge plaything. Doctor Grayson’ she paused ‘well, though you didn’t actually say so, Doc, it seems to me that you are just content to use it because it is there. Like my father, you tend to disregard it and its effect except when you need to use it for practical ends?’
‘Yes, I think that is fair. Man was not made for the machine: the machine was made for man to use or not, as he chooses.’
‘And Froud’s view of it is very little different, save that he is even more directly dependent on it for his living. But the fact remains that not one of you has really looked at the implications of the thing.’
‘Don’t get you. How does a machine “imply” anything?’ Froud said.
‘A machine doesn’t. The existence of The Machine implies a great deal.
‘Look here. Less than two centuries ago man began to use power driven machinery for the first time. There had, of course, been watermills, windmills and things driven by a horse going round in a circle, but they were not true ancestors of our machines, they were isolated discoveries, remaining essentially unchanged for centuries. When the power driven machine arrived, it was something entirely new dropped into a world which was getting along quite well without it. Nobody saw its implications then beyond immediate profit, and they don’t see them now: But we can look back over a hundred and fifty years and see what it has done.
‘It was hailed as the creator of a new age, a kind of liberator of mankind, on one hand; and decried and frequently broken up by those who feared it as a competitor, on the other. Both of them were right, for it ultimately brought us leisure and a new world to enjoy in that leisure. The implication which everybody seems to have missed at the time was that those who would get a new world to enjoy and those who would get the leisure were not necessarily the same people.
‘It seems to me as if at that stage of development a new Pandora’s box was opened, and the whole human race was so excited at opening it that it took no precautions to net the troubles. The machine was just dropped into a world which was expected to go on working in the same old way as before. Obviously, it couldn’t any more than one’s body could if the cook suddenly took to including large quantities of laxatives in every dish.
‘Though it came as a slave, fifty years later it was the master. We had to support it in order that it might support is the world population could not exist without it, and yet we had not learned to control it. It has given us innumerable blessings, and it has got us into countless messes and still we cannot control it. We cannot predict more than its simplest and most obvious effects: and then we are often wrong.
‘And now the machine is part of us, like our arms and legs more important than either, for we couldn’t even live if the machine were amputated from civilisation.
‘Yet we still have countless people who regard men and machinery as separable. They think of the machine as a mere adjunct to life, something which gives faster communication, more production, more entertainment, still failing to see it as one of the great factors in our real lives, and not realising that our people are as they are because of it. One hears of the Industrial Revolution as though it were a mere phase, finished and done with. It is not, and it shows no sign of ever being completed. And “Industrial Revolution! “ just as though it were like any little turn over of government. The machine came, and life could never be the same again: nor can it be static. But to what further changes is it leading us? That’s what I mean by the implication of the machine.’
‘I see,’ the doctor said thoughtfully; ‘then you think that if your ideas about the machine you found are right, we may be able to gather from Martian conditions some means of dealing with our own machine problems?’
Froud put in: ‘Except that these comic, presumably Martian machines don’t seem to be designed to do anything.’
‘Yours is a pretty one track mind on this subject, too,’ the doctor told him, unkindly. ‘You keep on saying that.’
‘It’s natural, isn’t it? The first thing one wants to know about any machine is: “What is it for?” You can’t get much further till you know that. The second is: “What makes it go?” and we’ve no answer to that, either.’
‘As far as we are concerned,’ Joan asked, ‘does either of those questions matter as much as: “How did it become what it is?”‘
‘I don’t know. I’m going to wait till I see one, and ask it if I see one. The whole darned thing’s too hypothetical for me,’ Froud said shortly and, for him, unexpectedly.
Though there were times when the topic palled as indeed all topics palled, yet it remained frequently recurrent, and, becoming more accustomed, lost in the process much of its first fantastic quality. Familiarity admittedly breeds contempt where one’s own preconceptions were at fault, but it is no less efficient at clearing up one’s mental miscarriages. The occupants of the Gloria Mundi would have been surprised could they have made a direct comparison between their earlier defensive ridicule and the state of. hypothetical acceptance which they gradually reached. The only one who yielded no ground either in conviction or assertion was Joan unless that were also true of Burns.
But Burns was inscrutable. He had withdrawn into an aloofness which began to cause both the doctor and Dale serious misgiving. At times there was a look on his face and a curious glitter in his eyes which gave the former a very lively apprehension of trouble to come. Then he would sink back again into a less alarming, but no more healthy apathy from which it appeared impossible to rouse him. Since his frustrated assault upon Joan he had not troubled her actively. She could not decide in her own mind whether he was restrained by the thought of Froud’s pistol which she habitually carried in her pocket, or by some mental process of his own. Nevertheless, she felt to some extent responsible for his isolation. Although she knew that Froud had not told the rest of the incident and that Burns’ withdrawal was entirely volun
tary, an instinct urged her to approach him and, if possible, draw him back into the party. For the first time she waived her resolution and singled one of the men out for special attention.
She took to including him pointedly in the general conversation; asking him. questions unnecessarily to bring him out of his retirement. Frequently they remained unanswered, apparently unheard, and upon the occasion when he did reply, it was usually in monosyllables. But she persisted in spite of his stubbornness.
The climax came one ‘day’ over a month after they had passed the half way stage. Under a fortnight now separated them from the end of the journey. An enlivened sense of expectation among the rest was making the engineer’s isolation even more pronounced. Joan, feeling for some half understood reason that the solidarity of the group was essential, sat down next to him and began to ask questions on the wear of rocket tube linings. The rest did not catch his reply, but they saw her stiffen and flush and noticed the gleam of anger in her eyes. Dugan chose to interfere. He walked across and demanded to know what Burns had said. Burns ignored him. Dugan repeated, angrily
‘What did you say to Miss Shirning just now?’
Burns looked up slowly. In his eyes was that expression which had worried the doctor, but he spoke calmly enough: ‘You mind your own business.’
Dugan scowled, and looked questioningly at Joan. She shook her head.
‘It was nothing,’ she said.
Burns grinned unpleasantly.
‘You see, she doesn’t mind. And if you still want to know, I told her to stop bitching about here and to go and….’
But Dugan had his excuse. Before the engineer could finish, he had lunged at him. It was a clumsy stroke. Forgetful of his weightless condition, he misjudged it hopelessly. The blow missed the jaw and took the other on the shoulder; ineffectually, for his back was against the wall: Before any of the rest could interfere, Burns brought up one hard knobbly fist in a jolt to Dugan’s chin, which broke the younger man’s contact with the floor and sent him drifting obliquely upwards across the room. Burns laughed for the first time in weeks as the other struggled to make contact with his feet on the curved ceiling. Dugan, further infuriated by the sound, managed it at last. He turned, crouched a moment, and then launched himself back. But he did not reach the engineer. Dale and Froud, by common consent, intercepted his flight and dragged him to the floor.
Froud has since been heard to lament the necessity. A fight unhampered by gravity promised to be a uniquely interesting spectacle, but he agreed with Dale that it could not be risked.
Joan moved away from Burns whose grin grew the more sardonic as he watched her go. Froud and Dale hung on to Dugan while his anger cooled into sullenness. The little flare was allowed to fade into unsatisfactory inconclusiveness, but it left behind it an increased hostility between the participants, and an increased misgiving among the rest. The gap between them and the engineer, already too wide, was enlarged.
‘Not long now,’ said the doctor.
He and Joan were standing beside one of the windows. The pink disc had swelled to about the size of the full moon seen from Earth. It seemed to hang a little above them, looking only just out of reach. One would have only to be a little taller, it seemed, to stretch out and. pluck the shining ball from the sky. It was so near now, and yet mysterious and secret as ever.
So puzzling, too, with its criss-cross markings which might be canals, its white capped poles which almost certainly were ice bound. The telescopic instruments had told them scarcely anything, for it proved to be exasperatingly impossible to keep them trained steadily upon one spot. Froud was sure that he had seen a glint of water in one of the dark markings, but no one could support him. The doctor claimed to have caught a glimpse of a stone formation which could not be natural, but it had been no more than a glimpse, and he had been unable to pick it up again. The rest had distinguished nothing.
‘Only four days more,’ the doctor amplified.
‘An age. Four of the longest days I shall ever spend,’ she said, without turning. ‘Somehow, now that we are so near, I’m afraid. For the first time I am beginning to doubt whether it ever really happened. Suppose it was all a dream that the machine never really existed at all….’ Her voice trailed away. They gazed up at the planet in silence for some minutes before she went on:
‘If it isn’t true if they’re right after all, and Mars is only a dead world with nothing left, or if it has not even lived, what shall I do? I can’t go back and face them…. I couldn’t face any of you…I’ll kill myself.’
It was her first sign of weakness. Her first admission of the questioning doubt which had nagged more and more insistently during the last weeks. Suppose after all that they had been wrong? That she and her father had been cruelly hoaxed? No, that was impossible. Such a machine could not have been built on Earth, and yet….
The doctor had turned away from the window and was watching her closely.
‘That’s not like you,’ he said, with a frown. ‘You’ve not been sleeping properly lately.’
‘Not much,’ she admitted. ‘It’s this getting so close, and yet not knowing any more than when we left. Suppose….’
‘You’ve got to stop supposing. You’re getting edgy, and that’s no help to any of us. Let me give you some stuff.’
‘All right.’ She nodded wearily. ‘But not just yet. Let me watch a little longer.’
He grunted. ‘There’s nothing to see yet. Old Mars is keeping his secrets well.’
‘I’m afraid,’ Joan repeated. ‘If I was right if that machine was an individual, what does it mean? What are we going to meet there? How are they likely to deal with us? It frightens me, Doc. Inhuman machines…’
He took her by the arm. ‘This sort of thing won’t do, Joan. You’re working yourself up to no purpose. I’ll give you that sedative.’
‘Yes.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘This isn’t like me, is it? I’m sorry. You won’t tell the others?’
‘I won’t if you’ll take the stuff right away. A good long sleep’ll do you a world of good. Make you see everything differently. Come along.’
Dale fastened the safety belt and anchored himself into the control seat.
‘Shutters closed,’ he ordered.
The great curve of the planet now occupied half the field of view, and it was with reluctance that his crew withdrew to swing the shutters across.
‘We can afford to slow up more gently than we accelerated,’ Dale told them. ‘In fact, we’ll have to, because I’ve got to see where we’re going. Now, couches everyone.’
‘How I hate that order,’ murmured the doctor, as he obeyed and fastened his straps, this time unaided.
‘Ready? Here goes then,’ Dale said.
He pushed forward his lever. The Gloria Mundi quivered throughout her structure. The droning roar of the rocket tubes grew louder. Bodies that had been weightless for nearly three months felt a curious sense of heaviness descend upon them. The pressure increased, the more unpleasant for its unfamiliarity. The speed indicator began to back to less fantastic figures as they approached on a spiral which took advantage of the planet’s rotation. Two thousand miles above the surface Dale found that his ship was still going too fast. He advanced the lever farther.
‘Ugh,’ grunted Froud. ‘Happy landing he muttered, before he gave himself up to contemplation of his own discomfort. .
The power of the rocket discharges increased. The passengers’ symptoms became unpleasantly like those attending their start.
Chapter 14. Burns Plays a Hand
The Gloria Mundi landed close to one of the vegetation belts which wrap Mars in a large meshed web. Inevitably she toppled on her side, rolling and bumping as she slithered to a final stop. She came to rest with two of her windows buried in the sand and another staring straight up into a purplish blue sky. But the time Joan managed to crawl from her couch back into the main room, the shutters on the other two windows had been swung back and a jostling was going on for vantage
points. The doctor surrendered his place to her, and withdrew. It was his job, in his capacity of the expedition’s chemist, to analyse a sample of the atmosphere.
Joan gazed upon a Martian landscape for the first time. And she was disappointed. So poor a climax it looked for so much endurance. In spite of reason, their subconscious expectations had been higher, or, at least, different. Now that they saw what had been foretold, she, and Dugan beside her, felt let down.
It was a desert. A vista of reddish rocks and drifted sand, arid and hot, extending to the limits of their view. A dreary waste upon which nothing moved or grew; where the sun caught in glittering points upon harsh crystalline fragments, emphasising its inhospitality. Her spirits fell. Such a land could produce nothing, nothing at all. They had been right, those who had said that Mars was only a lifeless globe. Perhaps life, after all, was just an accident which had happened once….
Then it was borne in upon her that Dale and Froud at the other window were exclaiming excitedly. Even Burns was contributing a few sentences. She hurried across the floor (which had been the wall when the rocket was erect) and joined them.
Stunted, rusty looking bushes of unfamiliar shapes dotted the sand at some distance from this side of the ship, stragglers from a main front of vegetation which began about a mile away. Poor stuff it was, scraggy and parched and brittle in appearance, but it represented life. The bushes had evolved here, what else might not have arisen? And they still lived. The planet was not yet dead while sap still flowed, however thinly through those twisted stems and coppery, spade shaped leaves which fluttered a little in the breeze. The sight which excited the rest into exclamations, kept her silent.
The doctor’s voice suddenly drew their attention. He had made his tests of the atmosphere.
‘The components,’ he was saying, ‘seem to be much the same as our own, and not in very different proportions, save for a lower percentage of carbon dioxide. It will be perfectly safe for us to breathe it, but the pressure is considerably less than our accustomed fifteen pounds, so that it will be necessary for us to wear oxygen masks to supplement it. You will all be relieved to hear that we shall not have to use the cumbrous space suits, but, in view of the high temperature in the sun, we shall have to wear heat insulated overalls.’