The East. To Rebecca it was some mythical place with huge crowds of people, buildings as tall as mountains, clouds of dirty smoke filling the skies, and no freedom. She supposed they must have horses, but only a carriage would be fit for a proper lady. She wouldn’t be able to saddle up and ride off when she wanted. Classes on literature and manners, dances she’d have to practice forever for, and poofy, fancy clothes she wouldn’t want to wear—phooey! She leaned against the corral fence muttering to herself and using some words she’d heard the farmhands using.
But what could she do? She’d hoped her mother would forget about the idea, but here she was, already accepted and expected. Short of running away—which she realized was a stupid idea—what could she do to escape this trap?
“Becca? What are you doing out here?” The voice from off to her left startled her. She looked and saw that it was Pepe, a mestizo boy of uncertain parentage who hung around the ranch doing odd jobs. He was about thirteen and Rebecca’s most frequent playmate while growing up—despite her mother’s obvious disapproval. He was sitting on the top rail of the fence.
“Oh, hi, Pepe. I’m just… thinkin’.”
“What about?”
“About how… unfair the world can be.”
“The world’s always unfair. But who’s being unfair to you?”
“Ma. She wants to send me off east to go to school.”
“East? You mean to Albuquerque?”
“Further than that. A lot further.”
“And you don’t want to go?”
“No.”
“I’ve never been to school.”
Rebecca looked at her friend with his bare feet and ragged clothes and realized that she was being stupid. Unfair? She had a fine house and nice clothes and parents who did love her. Even if they made her do stupid things. Pepe had… nothing. Why hadn’t she ever thought about that before? She climbed up on the fence, unmindful of her dress and sat next to him.
“When are you leavin’?”
“Oh, not ‘til next summer.”
“Oh good! Not for a long time. I would have missed you, Becca.”
“I’ll come back.” I will come back! They are not going to marry me off to some rich easterner who’ll keep me there forever! She sat there for a minute and then asked: “What are you doing out here?”
“Watchin’ the falling stars. They are very bright!”
“What? Where?” She looked up at the sky, but only saw the usual stars.
“They were over there,” said the boy, pointing south. I’ve seen two of them and… look! There’s another!”
Rebecca jerked her head around and instantly saw what Pepe was shouting about. Off to the west, a bright light had appeared in the sky. It was much brighter than any star and it seemed to be getting brighter! As she stared in wonder, she realized that the reason it was getting bright was because it was getting closer! It was coming toward her! But not directly toward her. Years of hunting birds had taught her to judge the path of flying objects. It was coming toward her, but would pass to the south.
It got closer and brighter; the light had a strange green color to it and every few seconds it would give off a puff of sparks which quickly faded. She also realized that it was getting lower, too. The light from it was brighter than a full moon and caused objects to cast distinct shadows on the ground. It was briefly obscured by a hill on the far side of the lake, but reemerged before disappearing for good behind Slaughter Mesa off to the southeast. A second later, a bright flash lit up the sky, silhouetting the mesa briefly. A minute went by and then she heard a rumble like distant thunder, traveling across the sky from right to left until it ended in a low boom which she could actually feel through the ground.
“What… what was that?” asked Rebecca.
“A… shooting star, I think,” replied Pepe. “You should make a wish.”
“It wasn’t like any shooting star I’ve ever seen!”
“No, me neither.”
“And I think that one hit the ground!”
“The first two fell over there, too.”
“I wonder if we could find it?”
“Maybe we could, but… oh! Look! Another one!”
The second looked to be just like the first, growing brighter by the moment. “My Pa should see this!” cried Rebecca. She jumped off the fence and dashed toward the house. But by the time she could convince the adults that there was something to see worth leaving their comfortable chairs for, and drag them outside, the star was gone. “It came down just where the other ones did!” cried Pepe.
“They were very bright, Pa! Brighter than any I’ve ever seen before!”
“I’ve seen a few really bright ones,” said Mr. Andersen. “Did it leave a glowing trail?”
“Yes! And it was green!”
“Green? Really? Wish I’d seen it. Think there will be any more?”
“Maybe,” said her father. “Sometimes they come in groups.” But they watched for a while longer and didn’t see any more.
“It really looked like they came down beyond Slaughter Mesa, Pa! We could hear the boom when it hit! D’you think maybe we could ride over there tomorrow and look for ‘em?”
“Don’t be silly, Rebecca!” exclaimed her mother. “You have school tomorrow!”
“And if it’s where you say, you are looking at twenty miles of hard riding to get there,” pointed out her father.
“But…”
“We’ll hear no more about it!” said her mother, scowling at Pepe. “Now come along inside!”
* * * * *
September 1908, Fort Wingate, New Mexico Territory
Sergeant Frank Dolfen, 5th US Cavalry, sipped his whiskey and listened to the tinny sound of the saloon’s piano. The thing hadn’t been tuned in years and the gorilla slamming the keys wouldn’t have known the difference anyway. The resulting noise might have been called music by some. A few men, some in uniform and some not, danced with the saloon girls. A poker game was going on in a far corner. Upstairs, games of a different sort were happening. Another Sunday night in Gallup. Just like every other one since Dolfen’s squadron had been transferred to Wingate.
It wasn’t a bad posting, he supposed. A hell of lot better than Puerto Rico in ‘98 or the Philippines in ‘01, that was for sure! God, he’d hated both of those tropical hellholes. Jungle, close, confining; a man couldn’t breathe in there. Spiders the size of your hand, leeches, fungus rots that would eat your toes off—not for him! The Dakotas had been the best. He’d joined up in ‘91 after the worst of the Indian fighting was done, so it was just patrolling the badlands and those wide open spaces that went on forever and ever. Wingate wasn’t so open and it got a lot hotter in summer, but he’d take that over the jungle any day.
“Hey, Sarge!” Dolfen looked up from his glass as Corporal Kuminski thumped down in the chair across the table from him. “How are you doing?”
“Fine, fine. Where t’hell have you been?”
“Ah, I caught some extra duty and had to tend the watch posts until ten. Just got into town.”
“The what? Oh, right. Waste of time.” They’d gotten orders a month ago to set up posts to keep a watch on the sky for ‘anything unusual’. Why the normal sentries couldn’t do that, he couldn’t see. But Captain Bonilla had made it an order and this was the army.
“Yeah, that’s for sure,” agreed Kuminski. “What are you drinking?”
“This,” he said and emptied his glass.
“Good evening, Karl, can I get you something?” Estelle Freehling, the woman who ran the saloon for its owner, came up to their table.
“Hi Stella, give me whatever Frank was drinking.”
“Coming right up.” She turned away.
“Hey!” said Frank holding out his glass.
“Haven’t you had enough, Frank?” she frowned at him.
“Not yet.” She snorted, but took his glass.
Kuminski laughed. “Hell, Frank, I know you two are sweet on each other, but she
treats you like you was already married!”
“Yeah, dammit. And who says we’re sweet on each other?”
“Oh, pretty much everyone. You are, aren’tcha? Stella’s a nice lady.”
“Yeah, yeah she is.” And she was, too. Oh yeah, she’d started out as a dance girl and she’d taken plenty of turns in those rooms upstairs, but so what? Wasn’t like either one of them were high class. His dad had come over from Germany as a kid during the troubles in ‘48, fought in the war, got married, and had Frank. Or ‘Franz’ as his legal name was. Then his father had gotten himself killed in one of the Pennsylvania miners’ riots and Frank decided there was no way he was spending the rest of his life in one of those holes. So it had been the army. Seventeen years of it. “Three more years until retirement. If we’re both still here then, well, maybe.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t wait. If there’s a war, we could get pulled out of here, right quick!”
“War? War with who? The Martians?”
“That’s what everyone’s saying.”
Dolfen snorted. “Hey, Stell, you believe in Martians?” he asked as she returned with their drinks.
“Nope, and I won’t until one of them comes through that door and orders a drink.” They all laughed.
“See?” said Dolfen, “If Stell don’t believe in ‘em, they don’t exist.”
“What about what they done in England?”
“Stories. Made ‘em up t’sell newspapers.”
“But I’ve seen pictures…”
“Made them up, too. Now shut up about ‘em and drink your drink.”
“Sure, Sarge, sure.”
Quite some time later, he staggered his way down the street, Stella helping to hold him upright. She wasn’t happy with him for how much he’d had to drink. But then she was usually mad at him for that exact reason. But she’d let him stay at her place and make sure he made it back to the fort before formation. Yeah, she was a good woman.
The town was mostly dark and the night air very clear, so he had no trouble seeing the bright green spark streaking along, just above the southern horizon. Stella had no distance vision so she didn’t see, but he stopped and stared for a moment. Something unusual… Maybe he should…
“Frank, come on! I’m tired!” Stella pulled at his arm.
“Okay, okay.” What had he been thinking about? Bed? Yeah, definitely bed.
* * * * *
Cycle 597,843.1, Landing Site 32
Qetjnegartis opened its eyes and then contracted its lateral muscles to eject a stream of thick liquid from its mouth. It repeated the process several times until it was able to take in air to fill its breathing sacs. Once it could breathe, it proceeded to empty its feeding sac in a similar fashion. The liquid had served to fill every space which normally held air in its body, rendering Qetjnegartis an incompressible mass. This allowed it to survive the enormous pressures of launch and landing. It had no memory of either event, of course, since it had entered a hibernation cycle prior to launch and left it just now, presumably, after landing.
It tried to pull itself out of the acceleration vat, but slipped and fell back in. High gravity. The target world had a gravitational pull over twice that of the Homeworld. Qetjnegartis exerted itself and this time succeeded, flopping heavily on the deck of the transport vessel. Its two subordinates were doing the same. The transport appeared undamaged to a brief visual inspection, but Qetjnegartis needed a more detailed report. It pulled itself to the main control position and grasped the interface with its tendrils. Information flowed and it confirmed that all was well with the vessel itself.
It extended its examination to the outside. The vessel was embedded in a small crater, obviously on the target world—the gravity confirmed that. Locational beacons established that the landing was in the planned position on the second continent. Transports 2, 3, and 5 were nearby, but where was Transport 4? Expanding its search, it could find no trace of the missing transport. A mishap of some sort? Unfortunate. But not critical. Contingencies had been made and would be enacted.
Its subordinates completed their inspection of the stored equipment and reported that all was well. Assembly of the machines could commence at once. There was no time to waste.
* * * * *
October, 1908, Washington, D.C.
There were times when Leonard Wood regretted ever introducing the game of ‘singlesticks’ to Theodore Roosevelt. The game was supposed to teach swordsmanship, but when played by the President, it soon devolved into an endurance match with the players beating the stuffings out of each other with the heavy ash rods. The padded helmets and surcoats helped, but Wood invariable found himself covered with bruises after an evening with Roosevelt.
Wood darted to one side and landed a blow on the President’s chest. A good solid blow, too, Theodore always resented it if he felt someone was holding back. Wood retreated a pace and, as usual, Roosevelt forgot the rules and struck at him. He barely deflected the blow. “Dammit, Theodore! I’ve told you a thousand times that after a hit both men have to go back to the guard position before proceeding!”
“Yes, yes, I know. Sorry, I was just getting into a rhythm.”
“You were just letting out your frustrations—on me.”
“Yes, you’re right,” said the President, pulling off his helmet. “God forgive me, Leonard, how can the leader of any civilized nation find himself wishing for war? It keeps me up at night.”
“You’re not wishing for a war, Theodore; we already have a war. You’re just wishing for the Martians to get on with it. It’s the waiting that’s the hard part.”
“I suppose you’re right. Yes, by God, you are right! And if the beasties don’t come, I’ll laugh and thank God—even if it does cost me the presidency!”
Wood nodded, but didn’t reply. Yes, it could cost Roosevelt the presidency. After all the enormous build-up, the new taxes, the spending, and the rush to prepare, if the Martians did not show up soon, it would be very bad at the polls. Some critics were already saying that it had all been a hoax. Some plot by Theodore Rex to further increase hisown power. No one of any standing with the Democrats had gone quite that far yet. But in another few weeks, it would begin. And if they still weren’t here by November 3rd, William Jennings Bryan would be the next president of these United States. Wood shuddered at the thought. The American people might tolerate a president who made a mistake, but they would never tolerate one who tried to make fools of them—and that is what the Democrats would say he did.
And what if the Martians landed the next day?
Roosevelt laid aside his stick and began peeling off his surcoat. He was sweating profusely and Wood noticed his bulging waistline. Theodore continued to gain weight despite all the exercise he got. He ate prodigiously and exercised prodigiously, but never wisely. He was nearly blind in his left eye from a boxing injury years before. He tried to conceal it—as he did every human weakness—but those close to him knew. Seven years as president had taken its toll; he wasn’t a young man anymore.
They cleaned up and went back upstairs. Roosevelt started to put on his coat, but Wood stopped him. “Take a rest, Theodore.”
“I was just going to take a little stroll…”
“Across the street to the War Department to read the latest telegrams.”
“Well, I thought I might…”
“The operators don’t need you looking over their shoulders. If anything happens, you’ll know within…”
“Mr. President! Sir!”
The shout spun them both around. A young officer, flanked by two secret service men, fairly sprinted into the room, waving a scrap of paper.
“What is it, son?” asked Roosevelt, gently, but Wood could see that he was coiled like a spring.
“They’re here! The Martians, sir!”
Roosevelt turned and peered out one of the windows. “Really? I don’t hear anything.”
“Uh, Russia, sir! Kaz… Kazakhstan!”
“Indeed? Has this been confir
med?”
“I… I don’t know, sir!”
“Let me have that,” said Wood, taking the paper. “‘Russian Imperial cavalry report metal war machines near Turgay’, that’s all.”
“Let’s have a look at my globe,” said Roosevelt, leading the way to his office. The large, ornate globe revealed Kazakhstan, but much squinting could not find any town labeled Turgay. “It’s certainly the middle of nowhere, isn’t it? Why would they land there? There’s not a major city within a thousand miles.”
“I’m afraid that’s exactly why they did land there,” said Wood.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that they aren’t stupid, Theodore. They must know that we would be prepared this time, and I’m afraid they’ve guessed our strategy: rush them before they’re ready to fight. So they’ve landed somewhere where we can’t get at them before they’re ready.”
“Damnation,” muttered Roosevelt. He went over to the huge map of the United States that he’d had hung on one wall. It was studded with colored pins and flags, but nearly all of them were in the east. There were huge areas in the west with hardly a pin to be seen. “If they do the same thing here…” He swept a large hand across the map from the Dakotas down to the Mexican border. There was an awful lot of empty space out there.
“We do have observers with the system the Signal Corps set up,” said Wood.
“But not enough! I lived in the Dakotas in the ‘90s and I was through there in the ‘04 campaign and there are hundreds of places where a cylinder could land and no one would see!”
“We need to get the word out there—and send some more troops.”
“Yes! And right away!”
* * * * *
October, 1908, Quemado Lake, New Mexico Territory
“There it is again!” Rebecca Harding pointed. A faint flash lit the sky for an instant. Off to the south, beyond Slaughter Mesa—where all the other flashes had come from. It had become almost a nightly ritual for her and Pepe to watch the southern skies. Over the weeks since spotting the falling stars, they’d seen dozens—hundreds—of the strange flashes.
The Great Martian War Page 7