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The legged vehicle attached to the nose of the craft appeared to be in control of this operation. As the shell itself was pushed into the mouth of the barrel I noticed two things more or less simultaneously. The first was that the temperature inside the craft immediately lowered, as if the metal of the barrel were somehow artificially cooled, and thus sucking the warmth from the projectile; the second was that on the forward-looking panel I saw great fountains of water spraying from the controlling vehicle. The collar from which the spray was shot was rotating about the main body of the vehicle, for the spray was circling. This much I saw as we entered the barrel, but after a few seconds we had been advanced so far that the controlling vehicle itself entered the barrel and so blocked the daylight.
Now, although there were a few electrical lights implanted in the walls of the cannon, very little could be seen on the panels. Faintly, though, beyond the metal hull of the projectile, I could hear the hiss of the water spraying about us.
The temperature inside the projectile continued to fall. Soon it seemed as cold as it had been that first night Amelia and I had spent in the desert, and had I not been long accustomed to this frozen and hostile world I should have thought I would surely die of frostbite. My teeth were beginning to chatter when I heard a sound I had learned to dread: the harsh grating of the monster-creatures’ voices, coming from a grille in the control cabin. Soon after this, I saw one of the men in charge pull a lever, and in a moment a draught of warmer air flowed through the compartment.
So our long passage down the barrel of the cannon continued. After the first moments, when the men in control were working furiously, there was not much for anyone to do but wait until the operation was completed. I passed the time by watching the monster-creatures in the hold: the one nearest me on the display-panel seemed to be staring directly at me with its cold, expressionless eyes.
The end of the operation, when it came, was without ceremony. We simply came to the deepest recess of the barrel—where there had already been placed a solid core of ice, blocking our way—and waited while the vehicle in control finished its water-spraying operation. Looking at the rearward display-panel I saw that the projectile had come to rest only inches from the core of ice.
From this moment, the remainder of the operation passed smoothly and quickly. The controlling vehicle separated from the projectile, and retreated quickly away up the barrel. Without the load of the craft the vehicle travelled much faster, and within a matter of minutes it had cleared the end of the barrel.
On the forward display-panel I could see up the entire length of the barrel, to a tiny point of daylight at the very end. The barrel between us and the daylight had been coated with a thick layer of ice.
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Once more came the sound of the monster-creatures’ voices from the grille, and the four slaves I was with leapt to obey. They hastened towards the flexible tubes, helping the wounded man to his own. I saw that in the control cabin the other two men were climbing into the tubes that stood before the controls, and I realized that I too must obey.
Glancing round, I saw that one of the transparent tubes was placed in such a position that view of the control cabin could be maintained, but that one of the men slaves was already climbing into it. Not wishing to lose my advantageous view of the proceedings, I caught the man by his shoulder and waved my arms angrily. Without hesitation the slave cowered away from me, and moved to another tube.
I picked up Amelia’s bag and climbed into the tube through a fold in the fabric, wondering what I was in for. When I was inside the fabric hung loosely about me like a curtain. Air was ducted through it from above, so in spite of the feeling of total enclosure it was not unbearable.
My view was rather more restricted, but I could still see three of the displays: the ones facing fore and aft of, the projectile, and one of those facing to the side. This last, of course, was presently black, for it showed nothing but the wall of the barrel.
Quite unexpectedly there came a deep vibration in the projectile, and at the same moment I felt myself being tipped backwards. I tried to step back to maintain balance, but I was totally enclosed by the transparent fabric. Indeed, I was now understanding part of the function of this transparent tube, for as the muzzle of the cannon was being raised, the tube was tightening around me and so supporting me. The further the cannon barrel was raised the tighter the tube wrapped itself about me, to the point that as the tilting came to an end I was totally incapable of any movement at all. I was now lying with most of my weight supported by the tube, for although my feet were still touching the floor, the cannon had been raised until we were about forty-five degrees from horizontal.
No sooner had we come to rest than I saw a blaze of light shine out on the rearward-facing panel, and there was a tremendous jolt. A great and ineluctable pressure bore down on me, and the transparent tube tightened still more. Even so, the thrust of acceleration pressed against me as if with an immense hand.
After the first jolt there was no discernible sensation of motion apart from this pressure, for the ice had been laid with great precision and polished like a mirror. Looking at the rear ward display I saw only darkness, stabbed with four beams of white light; ahead, the point of daylight visible at the muzzle was approaching. At first its apparent approach was almost undetectable, but within a few seconds it was rushing towards us with ever-increasing velocity.
Then we were out of the barrel, and in the same instant the pressure of acceleration was gone, and bright pictures flooded to the three displays I could see.
In the rearward panel I could see for a few seconds a receding view of the cannon, a huge cloud of steam pouring from the muzzle; on the side panel I caught erratic glimpses of land and sky whirling about; on the forward display I could see only the deep blue of the sky.
Thinking that at last it would be safe to leave the protection of the fabric I tried to step out, but discovered that I was still firmly held. There was a terrible vertiginous sensation spinning my head, as if I were falling from a great height, and at last I experienced in full the terrors of helpless confinement; I was truly trapped in this projectile, incapable of movement, tumbling through the sky.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The air ducted through the tube was cool, and it reassured me to know that I was not intended to die here.
I took another deep breath, then a third, forcing myself to be calm.
At length I opened my eyes. Nothing inside the projectile had changed, as far as I could see. The scenes on the three displays were uniform: each showed the blue of the sky, but on the rearward one I could see a number of objects floating behind our craft I wondered for a while as to what these could be, but then identified them as the four heat-projectors which had been played on the ice inside the cannon. I presumed by the fact of their being discarded that they had no further function.
That the craft was turning slowly on its axis became apparent a few seconds later, when the sideways panel unexpectedly revealed the horizon of the land, swinging up and across the picture. Soon the entire display was filled with a high view of land, but we were at such an altitude that it was almost impossible to see details. We were passing over what looked like a dry, mountainous region, but a major war had obviously taken place at some time as the ground was pock-marked with huge craters. Later, the craft rolled further so that the sky returned to fill the display.
From the forward display I learned that the craft must now have levelled off, for the horizon could be seen here. I presumed that this meant we were now in level flight, although the axial spin continued, evidenced by the fact that the forward horizon was spinning confusingly. The men controlling the craft must have had some way of correcting this, for I heard a series of hissing noises and gradually the horizon steadied.
I had thought that once we were in flight there would be no more shocks in store, so I was very alarmed a few minutes later when there was a loud explosion and a brilliant green light flo
oded across all the panels I could see. The flash was momentary, but another followed seconds later. Having seen those green flashes in the hours before the invasion I thought at first we must, be under attack, but between each explosion the atmosphere inside the craft remained calm.
The frequency of these green explosions increased, until there was one almost every second, deafening me. Then they ceased for a while, and I saw that the projectile’s trajectory had been drastically lowered. For an instant I saw in the forward panel the image of a vast city on the ground before us, then there was another burst of green fire burning continually outside the craft, and all became obscured by the blaze. In the noise of the roaring, explosive light I felt the transparent fabric tightening around me…and my last impression was of an almost intolerable deceleration, followed by a tremendous crash.
Chapter Twelve
WHAT I SAW INSIDE THE CRAFT
i
The panels had gone black, the fabric tubes had relaxed, and all was silent. The floor was tilted sharply forward, and so I fell from the supporting folds and collapsed against the partition, hardly daring to believe that once more the projectile was on solid ground. Beside me, the four slaves also fell or stepped from their tubes, and we all crouched together, trembling a little after the shocks of the flight.
We were not left alone for long. From beyond the partition I heard the sound of voices, and in a moment one of the men appeared; he too looked shaken, but he was on his feet and carrying his whip.
To my anger and surprise he raised this devilish instrument, and shouted imprecations at us in his soprano voice. Naturally, I could not understand, but the effect on the slaves was immediate. One of the men-slaves clambered to his feet and shouted back, but he was struck with the whip and fell to the floor.
Again the man in charge shouted at us. He pointed first at the slave who had been whipped as we entered the projectile, then at the man he had just stunned, then at the third male slave, then at the girl and finally at me. He shouted once more, pointed at each of us in turn, then fell silent.
As if to reinforce his authority, the villainous voice of one of the monster-creatures came braying through the grille, echoing in the tiny metal compartment.
The slave who had been pointed at first was lying nervelessly on the floor, where he had fallen from his protective tube, and the girl and the other slave bent to help him to his feet. He was still conscious, but like the other man he appeared to have lost all use of his muscles. I went forward to help them with him, but they ignored me.
Now their attention was directed towards the protruding cubicle I had noticed earlier. The doors had remained closed throughout the flight, and I had assumed that the cubicle contained some equipment. That this was not so was instantly revealed when the girl pulled the doors open.
Because of the tilting of the craft the doors swung right open, and I was able to see what was inside. The entire space was no larger than that of a cupboard, with just enough room for a man to stand within it. Attached to the metal bulkhead were five clamps, like manacles, but made with a fiendish precision that lent to them a distinctly surgical air.
The male slave was pushed awkwardly to the entrance to this cubicle, his head lolling and his legs slack. However, some awareness must have been filtering through his befuddled mind, for as soon as he saw where he was about to be put he set up as much resistance as he could muster; he was, though, no match for the other two, and after about a minute’s struggle they managed to get him upright into the cubicle.
As soon as the relevant part of his body was in contact, the manacles closed of their own accord. His two arms were held first, then his legs, and finally his neck. A low moaning noise came from his mouth, and he moved his head desperately, trying to escape. The girl moved quickly to close the doors on him, and at once his feeble cries could scarcely be heard.
I looked in appalled silence at the others. They stared at the floor, avoiding everyone else’s gaze. I noticed that the man in charge still stood by the partition, his whip ready for further use.
Five anguished minutes passed, then with a shocking suddenness the doors of the cubicle fell open and the man collapsed across the floor.
I bent down to examine him, as he had fallen near my feet. He was certainly unconscious, probably dead. Where the manacles had held him were rows of punctures, about one-eighth of an inch in diameter. A trace of blood flowed from each one, on his limbs and his neck. There was not much blood oozing, for his body was as white as snow; it was as if every drop of blood had been sucked away.
Even as I was examining this unfortunate, the second stunned man was being dragged towards the cubicle. His resistance was less, for the electrical shock had been administered more recently, and within a few seconds his body had been manacled in place. The doors were closed.
One of the most shocking aspects of all this was the uncomplaining acceptance by the slaves of their lot. The two remaining slaves, the man and the girl, stood passively, waiting for the wretch in the cubicle to be bled dry. I could not believe that such barbarities would be tolerated, and yet so strong was the regime of the monster-creatures that even this atrocity was implemented by the city-Martians.
I looked away from the man with the whip, hoping he would lose interest in me. When, a few moments later, the man in the cubicle was released and fell inertly across the floor, I followed the lead of the other two and calmly moved his body out of the way to make access again to the cubicle.
The remaining male slave went of his own accord to the cubicle, the manacles closed around him, and I shut the doors quickly.
The man with the whip stared at the girl and me for a few seconds longer, then, evidently satisfied that we were capable of continuing unsupervised, returned unexpectedly to the control cabin.
Sensing a minuscule chance of escape, I glanced at the girl; she seemed uninterested and had sat down with her back to the partition. Free for a moment to act and think independently, I looked desperately around the compartment. As far as I could see there was no way out except by the hatchway beyond the partition. I looked at the curving ceiling and floor, but these were unbroken except for the fittings of the flexible tubes.
I went quietly to the partition, and peered around it at the two Martians in charge. They had their backs towards me, attending to some matter at the controls of the craft. I looked at the wheel-device which opened and closed the hatch; it would be impossible for me to open it without their hearing me.
Behind me, the cubicle door burst open and the male slave fell out, his bloodless arm falling across the girl. At the sound of this, the two Martians at the controls turned round, and I ducked out of sight. The girl was looking at me, and for a moment I was mortified by the expression of stark fear which contorted her features. Then, without a sound, she stepped into the cubicle, and I was alone with the three bodies of the slaves.
I closed the doors of the cubicle without glancing inside, then went to a part of the compartment where no bodies lay, and was violently sick.
ii
I could no longer stay in that hellish compartment with its sights and odours of death; blindly, I struggled over the heaped bodies and hurled myself around the partition, determined to do to death the two Martian humans who were the instruments of the torturous slaughter.
I had never in all my life been taken with such a blinding and all-consuming rage and nausea. In my hatred I threw myself across the control cabin and landed a huge blow with my arm on the back of the neck of the Martian nearer to me. He crumpled immediately, his forehead smiting a jagged edge of the instrumentation.
His electrical whip fell to the floor beside him, and I snatched it up.
The other Martian was already seated on the floor, and in the two or three seconds my first attack had taken had time only to turn his face towards me. I swung the whip viciously, catching him across his collar-bone, and at once he jerked and fell sideways. Coldly and deliberately I stood over him, pressing the end of the whip a
gainst his temple. He jerked spasmically for a few seconds, then was still. I turned my attention to the other Martian, who was now lying semi-conscious on the floor, blood pouring from the wound in his head. He too I treated with the whip, then at last I threw aside the terrible weapon, and turned away. I was taken with dizziness, and in a moment I passed out. My last memory was of hearing the sound of the slave-girl’s body as it fell into the compartment behind me.
Chapter Thirteen
A MIGHTY BATTLE
i
My faint must have turned naturally to sleep, for the next few hours are unremembered.
When at last I awoke my mind was tranquil, and for several minutes I had no memory of the hideous events I had witnessed. As soon as I sat up, though, I was confronted with the bodies of the two city-Martians, and everything returned in vivid detail.
I consulted my watch. I had kept this wound, as I had discovered that the length of a Martian day was almost the same as that on Earth, and although a knowledge of the exact hour was unnecessary on Mars, it was a useful guide to elapsed time. Now I saw that I had been aboard the projectile for more than twelve hours. Every minute I stayed within its confines was reminder of what I had seen and done, so I crossed directly to the hatch and attempted to open it. I had seen it being closed, so I assumed that a simple reversal of the action would be sufficient. This was not so; after moving an inch or two the mechanism jammed. I wasted several minutes trying, before I abandoned the effort.
I looked around the cabin, sensing for the first time that I might well be trapped here. It was a terrifying thought and I began to panic, pacing up and down in the confined space, my mind anguished.
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