The Martian Ambassador

by Alan K Baker

  ‘At first, I was unable to venture an opinion on the cause of their birth, and for a very good reason: I was unable to form one. The simplest solution of the problem which occurred to me was that they arose from ova deposited by insects floating in the atmosphere and hatched by electric action. Still I could not imagine that an ovum could shoot out filaments, or that these filaments could become bristles, and moreover I could not detect, on the closest examination, the remains of a shell.

  ‘I next imagined that they might have originated from the water and consequently made a close examination of numbers of vessels filled with the same fluid; in none of these could I perceive a trace of an insect, nor could I see any in any other part of the room.’

  Blackwood and Sophia listened to Crosse’s explanation in silence. They both felt their flesh crawling at his matter-of-fact description of the creatures’ unexpected emergence out of inanimate matter. Although Sophia had been struck by the scientist’s respectable appearance, she couldn’t help but sympathise with the people of the area who viewed him with such terror and loathing. She likewise noted how he seemed to have lost his own fear and anguish – or at least had succeeded in ignoring them for the moment. As with all true men of science, Crosse seemed able to banish the problems and vicissitudes of life from his awareness while considering the abstract, scientific and theoretical. In that respect, she thought, science was very close to art.

  ‘What happened then?’ asked Blackwood. ‘Presumably, you attempted to perfect your technique.’

  ‘That’s correct,’ Crosse replied. ‘I modified the method: I discarded the porous stone, and found that I could produce the Acarus mites in glass cylinders filled with concentrated solutions of copper nitrate, copper sulphate and zinc sulphate. The creatures usually appeared at the edge of the fluid surface; however, in some cases the creatures appeared two inches under the electrified fluid, but after emerging from it, they were destroyed if thrown back.

  ‘In one experiment, the mites appeared on a small piece of quartz, immersed at a depth of two inches in fluoric acid holding silica in solution. I arranged for a current of electricity to pass through this fluid for just over a year, and at the end of some months three of the Acarus mites were visible on the piece of quartz, which was kept negatively electrified.

  ‘Their first appearance consisted in a very minute whitish hemisphere, formed upon the surface of the electrified body, sometimes at the positive end, and sometimes at the negative, and occasionally between the two, or in the middle of the electrified current, and sometimes upon all. This speck gradually enlarged and elongated vertically, and shot out filaments of a whitish wavy appearance, easily seen through a lens of very low power.

  ‘Then commenced the first appearance of animal life. If a fine point was made to approach these filaments, they immediately shrank up and collapsed like zoophytes upon moss, but expanded again sometime after the removal of the point. Some days afterwards these filaments became legs and bristles, and a perfect Acarus was the result, which finally detached itself from its birthplace, and if under a fluid, climbed up the electrified wire and escaped from the vessel.

  ‘If one of them was afterwards thrown into the fluid in which it was produced, it immediately drowned. I have never before heard of Acari having been produced under a fluid, or of their ova throwing out filaments; not have I ever observed any ova previous to or during electrization, except that the speck which throws out filaments be an ovum, but when a number of these creatures, in a perfect state, congregate, ova are produced.

  ‘In a later experiment, I managed to produce an Acarus in a closed and airtight glass retort, filled with an electrified silicate solution. On connecting the battery, I observed that an electric action commenced; oxygen and hydrogen gases were liberated; the volume of atmospheric air was soon expelled. Every care had been taken to avoid atmospheric contact and admittance of extraneous matter, and the retort itself had previously been washed with hot alcohol.

  ‘I discovered no sign of incipient animal formation until on the 140th day, when I plainly distinguished one Acarus actively crawling about within the bulb of the retort.

  ‘I found that I had made a great error in this experiment, and I believe it was in consequence of this error that I not only lost sight of the single insect, but never saw any others in this apparatus. I had omitted to insert within the bulb of the retort a resting-place for these Acari, and as I had observed, they are always destroyed if they fall back into the fluid from which they have emerged. I thought it very strange that, in a solution eminently caustic and under an atmosphere of oxihydrogen gas, one single Acarus should have made its appearance.’

  ‘It sounds to me like these organisms are incredibly resilient and thrive in conditions which would be the end of ordinary organic life,’ observed Blackwood.

  ‘What now for the ideas of Mr Darwin?’ wondered Sophia. ‘Your successes fly in the face of Evolution, sir.’

  ‘An interesting statement, madam,’ Crosse replied. ‘But one with which I cannot concur. The Theory of Evolution is quite intact, I assure you, and is not in the least undermined by my own work – any more than the reality of walking is undermined by the existence of steam locomotives! Just as Mr Watt invented a short cut between locations through the application of artificial speed, I discovered a short cut from inanimate matter to the substance of life, through the artificial application of life-creating principles.

  ‘But you, Mr Blackwood, noted the extreme resilience of the creatures,’ he continued. ‘And I was most curious as to the limits of that resilience. I found myself wondering what would happen if I placed them in environments analogous to those of other planets...’

  ‘Other planets?’ said Sophia. ‘Including Mars?’

  ‘Mars was the first alien world I chose for the next phase of my experiments,’ Crosse replied with a vigorous nod. ‘As you may know, the Martian atmosphere consists of 95 percent carbon dioxide, 2.7 percent nitrogen, 1.6 percent argon, and just over a tenth of a percent oxygen, along with a number of other gases in trace amounts. I introduced these gases in the correct proportions into one of the sealed retorts containing several Acarus mites, and found that they metabolised the atmosphere at an incredible rate!’

  ‘Fascinating,’ said Blackwood, with a glance at Sophia. ‘But I fail to understand the reason for this research. What could it avail a man to reproduce artificially what Nature achieves as a matter of course?’

  ‘There are two answers to that question, Mr Blackwood. First, original research – enquiry for its own sake – is always desirable, and may become useful in ways unimagined by the person conducting it. And second, it occurred to me that there might very well be practical applications for my work. If a way could be discovered of compelling the Acari to absorb dangerous gases and metabolise them into harmless or beneficial ones...’

  ‘I see your point,’ said Blackwood. ‘For one thing, the mining industry would be transformed: the danger from volatile gases in coalmines would be removed, allowing men to work in greater safety than they do now.’

  ‘Precisely!’ cried Andrew Crosse. ‘And that is merely one among many possible applications.’

  ‘But the Royal Society didn’t agree,’ said Sophia.

  Crosse’s enthusiastic expression collapsed into a downhearted frown. ‘No, they didn’t. They concluded that I had allowed my apparatus to be contaminated, that my discoveries were spurious. And yet, I didn’t hold it against them...’

  ‘No?’ said Blackwood.

  Crosse shook his head and offered them a sad smile. ‘Such is the way of humankind. The first discovery is often dismissed by those who have not witnessed it with their own eyes, and such is their prejudice that they will not even countenance an attempt to reproduce the discovery themselves. It is human nature to fear and mistrust the new, the unknown, the unexpected or unexplained. The Akashic Records, for instance, were once dismissed as Oriental fantasy, and the realm of Faerie was likewise considered to be no mor
e than medieval superstition... until their existence was verified and gave rise to the science of artificial cogitation. One day, perhaps, my own work will be reproduced and verified... although I wouldn’t lay a bet on whether I am still alive when that day comes.’

  ‘And yet,’ said Blackwood, moving to stand directly in front of Crosse, so that their faces were mere inches apart, ‘someone took your research seriously, didn’t they?’

  The enthusiasm which had galvanised the scientist’s explanation of his work was now completely at bay. His gaze fell away from Blackwood’s, and to Sophia it appeared that he shrank a little in on himself, as if the vital forces which animated his own body had diminished.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘About two weeks ago, a man came to see me. He told me that he had read of my work, in particular my paper “The Creation of Life from Lifelessness”, and that he was interested in developing my process for the purpose of improving the lot of humanity. He claimed to represent an association of entrepreneurial individuals who were profoundly concerned with philanthropy and ethics, and who felt it was their duty to divert industry and technology away from the dehumanising path they have taken for the last hundred years. He said that this branch of human endeavour has become our master, rather than our servant: a statement which can be verified by anyone who walks through the tenements of any industrial city and sees the utter squalor, degradation and human misery which afflict them.

  ‘Human beings, he said, have become fuel for the machines which they themselves created, and as such have been reduced to the status of mechanical components in that much larger and subtler machine called Progress. But progress is not what most people see, whose lives are blighted and shortened by disease and fatigue. What they see is hardship beyond endurance; meanness of spirit, the total absence of human compassion. The world is becoming a mass of seething activity, frenetic, trivial and pointless. Our bond with the world is being broken; the air is becoming thick with pollution and decay while we blindly continue, stoking the fires of our new cathedrals of metal, praying to an idiot deity that exists only in the sullied minds and cold hearts of our fallen species.

  ‘He said many things like this – he was very persuasive. He convinced me of the altruistic intentions of the group which he represented: how they wished to turn aside this great, dehumanising tide and divert it into channels that would lead to the betterment of human life, rather than its degradation. He said that I could help, if I chose, and added that he was in the process of gathering likeminded individuals into the fold – scientists, teachers, philosophers, engineers, artists. He begged me to allow him to take away a sample of Acarus galvanicus, so that his group might analyse the creatures and formulate ways in which they might be applied to the grand scheme.’

  ‘And so you complied and gave him the sample,’ said Blackwood.

  Crosse shook his head helplessly. ‘I believed him.’

  ‘What was this fellow’s name?’

  ‘He called himself Indrid Cold.’

  Blackwood frowned at the strangeness of the name. ‘Did he say where he was from? His nationality?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Can you describe his appearance?’

  ‘He was tall and powerfully-built; his bearing was utterly confident – I might almost say there was something aristocratic about him. But his face...’ Crosse hesitated.

  ‘What about his face?’

  ‘There was something strange about it. His skin was pale and seemed to be stretched very tightly across his skull. And his eyes... there was something hypnotic in them. I had the feeling that when I looked into his eyes, I was looking upon the profoundest depths of Space and Time. There was something otherworldly in those eyes, although I can’t define it any more accurately than that. When he had gone, I was left with the feeling that I had been in the presence of something more than a man.’

  Blackwood glanced at Sophia and was momentarily stunned by the expression of shock and fear on her face. He recovered himself immediately, and without commenting, turned back to Crosse. ‘You have been very helpful, sir. I thank you.’

  ‘Please understand, Mr Blackwood,’ pleaded the scientist, ‘I gave Indrid Cold those samples out of a desire to do good. He assured me that once his own people had analysed the organisms and begun to develop an application for them, he would contact me again to offer me permanent membership in his group. I have not heard from him, however...’

  ‘Nor will you, I am sure. I now believe that your only crime was naivety – and that, in truth, is not a crime. However, we may need to talk to you again, and so I would appreciate it if you didn’t leave the area for the next few days.’

  ‘I assure you I have no intention of doing so, and of course, I will do all in my power to help.’

  ‘Then we shall take our leave of you.’

  Blackwood and Sophia left Crosse in his laboratory. The late afternoon air was cold; the day had begun to gather its cloak of twilight in preparation for its descent into night. As they walked back across the courtyard, their boots crunching on the gravel, Blackwood said, ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think he is telling the truth,’ Sophia replied quietly.

  ‘As do I. But tell me: back there, I noticed a curious expression on your face when Mr Crosse described this fellow Indrid Cold.’

  Sophia said nothing, and so Blackwood persisted. ‘I had the impression that it was not merely shock at the singular description of his appearance.’

  ‘It wasn’t,’ said Sophia.

  ‘Then what was it?’ ’

  ‘I have heard that description before, Thomas – or at least, something very like it.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Yes.’ As she glanced up at him, Blackwood saw that same look of profound trepidation return to her eyes. ‘I believe that Mr Crosse was describing Spring-Heeled Jack!’

  CHAPTER FIVE:

  ‘Mars Will Triumph!’

  Crouching upon the vast dome of Saint Paul’s Cathedral, the creature known by many as Spring-Heeled Jack, and by a few as Indrid Cold, gazed up at the infinitely greater dome of the night sky, at the stars flickering like gas lamps in the pitch blackness of the firmament. One star in particular caught his attention, and his strange eyes narrowed in contemplation, as if they would pierce the countless leagues of Space, carrying his mind through the endless dark, carrying it... home.

  Indrid Cold’s pale, tight-skinned face twisted into a grimace of pain and dread, for the star at which he gazed was not a star, but a world, distant and dying: once verdant and beautiful, but now barren and desiccated, on the edge of a planetary catastrophe from which recovery would be impossible.

  Unable to bear the sight any longer, Indrid Cold turned away from the flickering pinpoint of light and directed his attention downward towards the labyrinthine swathe of London. With inhuman elegance, he stepped across the glass panes of the dome’s light well, through which the sun illuminated the interior of the great edifice where the humans worshipped their strange god.

  He looked south, at the glinting band of the River Thames threading through the heart of the city – how beautiful the water was! How sublime the subtle stirring of its crystalline surface! How terrible the crime of its pollution! – and his gaze took in the ugly spans of Blackfriars Bridge and Southwark Bridge, which offered insult to the gently flowing river beneath. He turned his eyes to the east, to the Bank of England, and then to the northwest, towards Holborn and Bloomsbury. Finally, his attention settled upon Whitehall and the Houses of Parliament to the southwest, and his smile returned – but it was not a smile of affection: it was a grimace of hatred and contempt for the arrogant buffoons who directed the course of their paltry empire from within those walls, all in the name of a bitch queen who should have been in her mausoleum by now...

  No matter, for that would come soon enough. Death would come soon enough for all of them!

  With a rasping hiss of foul anticipation, Indrid Cold began his evening’s work.

  Like a
slender white ape in a jungle of concrete, stone and glass, he leaped from the dome to the roof of the cathedral, and then across Ludgate Hill to the rooftops opposite. His frightful, piercing eyes scanned the streets below, looking for victims.

  On the Charing Cross Road, he spied a man and woman walking together, and jumped to the street in front of them. The woman screamed, and the man placed himself between her and the apparition that had suddenly descended before them. But his gallantry was to no avail, for the creature opened his mouth and belched blue fire into both their faces before taking hold of the man and dashing his head against the pavement. Too terrified now even to scream, the woman gazed disbelievingly at the fiend, her mouth wide open in shock and terror. With a single swipe of his metal-taloned hand, he turned her face to ribbons of dripping flesh, while fearful onlookers shouted, ‘It’s Spring-Heeled Jack! He’s here. Oh, God, he’s here!’

  With a single leap, Indrid Cold gained the roof of a town house and looked down at the gathering crowd. ‘Mars will triumph!’ he shouted at them. ‘Mars will triumph!’ And then he was gone, bounding across the rooftops.

  In the filthy slums of Bermondsey, he descended upon a young prostitute, lifted her bodily above his head and flung her into one of the stinking open sewers which blighted that unfortunate district. Drawn by her frantic screams for help, a crowd of people quickly gathered, and some tried to climb down the embankment to reach her – but there was no hope: the filth-clogged sewer was like quicksand. The poor waif struggled and cried for a few more moments, before vanishing into its depths. Men and women alike turned away in grief from the horrible sight, in time to see the murderer leaping up into the sky, screaming at them, ‘Mars will triumph!’

  For the next hour, Indrid Cold sowed new terror through the streets of the capital. In a storm of unnatural blue fire and flashing talons, he stabbed and sliced and pummelled victim after victim, taking no heed of their social standing, for he offered violent outrage to rich and poor alike – all the while crying, ‘Mars will triumph!’ as he went about his horrible business.