War of the Worlds Page 2

  “Oh, it is virtually finished in rough draft.” Challenger flung down the pen. “A paper I am going to read at the Vienna meeting, which will hold up to scorn some of the shabby claims of the Weissmanist theory-mongers. Meanwhile, I am prepared to devote an hour or so to whatever problem may be puzzling you.”

  “As you were able to help me so splendidly in the matter of the Matilda Briggs and the giant rat of Sumatra.”

  “That was nothing, my dear Holmes, a mere scientific rationalisation of a fortunately rare species. What is it this time?”

  Holmes produced the crystal and told of his experience with it the night before. Challenger took the object in his mighty paw and bent his tufted brows to look.

  “There does seem to be some sort of inner illumination,” he nodded, frowning. “Will you pull the curtains? I think darkness will help.”

  Holmes drew the heavy draperies, plunging the room into deep shadow, and returned to look over Challenger’s mighty shoulder.

  “It has the appearance of a translucent mist, working and rippling,” said the professor. “Almost liquescent in its aspect.”

  “‘Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam of perilous seas, in faerie lands forlorn,’” said Holmes under his breath.

  “Eh?” The bearded face swung around. “What are you saying? What has that drivel to do with the matter?”

  “I was quoting a poem,” said Holmes.

  “Which strikes me as singularly lacking in merit.”

  Holmes smiled. “It is by John Keats.”

  “Indeed?” sniffed Challenger. “Well, I have never pretended to critical judgement in matters of that sort. In any case, we have no seas here, but a terrain. Look, Holmes.”

  He had taken a dark cloth from a drawer and cradled the crystal in it. Again the soft radiance of the mist had cleared, and they looked on the landscape which Holmes had seen the previous night.

  It was like peering through the wrong end of a telescope, a view small but vivid. There was the great stretch of ground, the distant red-brown bluffs and, below in the foreground, an assembly of rectangles that seemed to be vast, flat roofs. Things moved there, and among the tufts of shrubbery on the sward alongside. Straight ahead, in an ordered row, sprouted up a series of lean masts, each tipped with a glare of radiance, like a bit of sunlit ice.

  “Beautiful” said Holmes, enraptured despite himself. “Unearthly”

  “Unearthly is an apt description of it” muttered Challenger. “No such scene exists in any land upon Earth that ever I heard report of.”

  The vista fogged over a moment, then cleared again. Now they were aware of what the moving things were. On the ground they seemed to creep like gigantic beetles with glittering scales, while closer at hand, on the roof, several small rounded objects moved here and there. Then, among the masts straight ahead, a flying something, like a moth or bat, appeared. It swooped close, and suddenly a face looked from within the crystal.

  Holmes had the impression of wide, round eyes staring deeply into his. Next moment it was gone, and the whole vision with it. Only blue mist churned in the crystal.

  “Did you see it, Holmes?” said Challenger, springing up to draw back the draperies.

  “I did indeed. Here, I’ll write down what I saw on this pad. You might do the same.”

  Holmes drew a chair to the table, sat down and wrote swiftly. Challenger snorted over his own hurried scribbling. Both were silent for some moments, then exchanged pads. Each read the words the other had put down.

  “Then it was no illusion,” said Challenger. “We saw substantially the same objects. Perhaps my eye is more scientifically trained, better qualified to observe, but you have written down the rooftop and the remote system of cliffs and the presence of moving, living things. It is now our task to rationalise what this crystal has shown us.”

  “Some representation of another planet, I increasingly suspect,” said Holmes.

  “I am tempted to the same suggestion.” Again Challenger turned the crystal over and over. “If this is an artificial semblance inside, like those Easter eggs children love to look into, it is an amazingly elaborate and impressive illusion.”

  “Keep turning the crystal in various positions,” said Holmes. “See if the viewpoint remains the same.”

  They experimented for some time, with varying success. It became evident that by turning the crystal they could somewhat change viewpoint, shifting the direction here and there above the great expanse of flat roofs and across the surrounding landscape, but visibility blurred, then blurred again. At times it faded completely.

  “Would things be more visible if we had complete darkness?” Holmes wondered.

  “Possibly so. I’ll try to achieve that condition later on. At present, I am considering your suggestion that the scenery is extraterrestrial. I can neither confirm nor deny it.”

  “I remind you that it is only a suggestion, not a deduction,” said Holmes. “Wherever the place may be, however, it seems certain that we are looking down upon it from one of the tall masts, at the very end of the row.”

  “I have a similar impression,” agreed Challenger.

  “I fear I must leave you now,” said Holmes rising.

  “My presence is required elsewhere. But let us make further studies, by all means.”

  “That was unnecessary to urge upon me.”

  As Holmes went out, Challenger crouched above the crystal in almost a fury of concentration.

  Holmes took a cab to Scotland Yard, where he was able to offer considered opinions on two difficult cases. Returning to his rooms, he busied himself with making notes on the two problems, pushing the crystal to the back of his mind. He and Watson had dinner together and talked in friendly fashion, but Holmes said nothing of the crystal.

  Next morning, Watson departed to make several professional calls. Holmes visited Scotland Yard again and conferred with two inspectors. When he returned home early in the afternoon, he found Challenger in the sitting room, tramping up and down as though frenzied with excitement.

  “Your landlady let me in when I assured her of the enormous importance of my visit,” Challenger greeted Holmes. “Extraordinarily fine woman, that landlady. The sort with a gift of deep feeling — brilliant feeling, I should judge. There are brilliances of feeling as there are of mind.”

  “Yes,” said Holmes quietly.

  “But I am here to report concerning our crystal,” Challenger hurried on. “Holmes, you were right. I have vindicated your suggestion that the scenes it shows are extraterrestrial. I have even identified the planet.”

  “Amazing, my dear Challenger!” cried Holmes.

  “You will find it elementary, my dear Holmes. The suggestion that I study it in absolute darkness proved a fruitful one. I took a black cloth such as photographers use and draped it so as to shut out almost all the light. I saw more clearly than when you were there this morning. Night had fallen over that landscape, the stars were out — and that is when a highly important truth, nay, a staggering one, revealed itself.”

  “And what was the truth?” asked Holmes.

  Challenger drew himself up dramatically. “The stars were out, I say, in the sky above that roof with the towers. I made out Ursa Major, the Great Bear. What does that suggest to you?”

  “That, if it is on a world other than ours, it is close enough so that the same constellations are visible.”

  “The constellations are the same, yes, but what followed was vastly different and conclusive. Two moons presently rose above the horizon — not one moon, but two. Both were very small, markedly jagged, and one of them moved so swiftly that I could see its progression. As they rose high, they vanished from sight.” Challenger drove a fist into the palm of his other hand. “Do you see what that means?”

  “I believe I do,” said Holmes gravely. “If you saw the Great Bear, you saw the skies from within the solar system. And two moons — the only planet near us that has two moons is Mars.”

  “You are
right, Holmes,” nodded Challenger energetically. “This is proof that we are able to see a Martian landscape.”

  “‘Proof palpable as the bright sun,’” said Holmes. “You must forgive me, Challenger, if I quote Keats again — this time from Otho the Great.”

  Challenger sat down heavily and puffed out his bearded cheeks. “You will do me the justice of believing that I have read and appreciated poetry in the past, before the direction of my researches came to demand so much of my time. Of the Romantics I preferred Shelley, precisely because of his own interest in scientific subjects. Even in my literary tastes, I have cultivated the purely scientific mind.”

  “And I have aimed rather at the universal mind,” said Holmes, “But you are right, Shelley was the most scientific in his interests among the Romantics.”

  “He was keenly interested in astronomy, and the subject now before us is certainly astronomical.”

  A knock at the door. Billy looked in. “Someone to see you, Mr Holmes,” he said, and Templeton entered, carrying a shabby top hat in his hand. He seemed nervous and apologetic.

  “If you are engaged at present, Mr Holmes—” he began uneasily.

  “I can spare you a moment. What is it?”

  “It’s about that crystal, sir. I’ve found out that it is worth far more than the five pounds you paid me.”

  “You accepted five pounds,” said Holmes bleakly. “You have come a bit too late to raise the price.”

  “But Morse Hudson tells me that others will bid high for it,” pleaded Templeton. “A Mr Jacoby Wace, Assistant Demonstrator at St Catherine’s Hospital, and the Prince of Bosso-Kuni in Java. Hudson says they both have money. If we get a profit from one or the other, you and Hudson and I could divide it.”

  “Templeton,” said Holmes sternly, “you endanger yourself by associating with Morse Hudson. Had he not surrendered the Cellini ring to me in your shop, you might have been guilty of receiving stolen goods. As for the crystal, be content to realise that it is no longer in my possession.”

  “Mr Holmes is telling you the truth, my good man,” rumbled Challenger.

  Templeton gazed wide-eyed at Challenger. “How am I to know that, sir? I do not believe I am acquainted with you—”

  “Does this fellow doubt my word!” roared Challenger, bounding to his feet. “You are addressing George Edward Challenger, sir! Here, Holmes, stand aside while I throw him down the stairs.”

  Templeton flew out through the door like a frightened rabbit. Challenger sat down again, his face crimson.

  “So much for that inconsequential interruption,” he said. “Now, Holmes, it is our duty to consider all implications. First of all, we must speak of the crystal to nobody.”

  “Nobody?” repeated Holmes. “You do not want other scientific opinions?”

  “Bah!” Challenger gestured impatiently. “I have had experience of such things. A revolutionary new idea stuns them, impels them to make ridiculous, offensive remarks. At present, keep it our secret.”

  “My friend Watson is a doctor, has scientific acumen,” said Holmes. “I have always found him respectful and ready to be enlightened. Some day you and he must meet.”

  “No, not even your friend Watson. I shall not tell my wife. And I trust you will not tell your landlady.”

  “Why do you admonish me about that?”

  Challenger’s blue eyes regarded Holmes intently. “I give myself to wonder if you cannot best answer that question yourself. But meanwhile, we must continue our observations, checking each against the other. When can you come to Enmore Park?”

  “Later this afternoon,” said Holmes.

  “Shall we say four o’clock? I have an errand, but I can dispose of it by then.”

  Challenger donned his greatcoat and tramped out. Holmes sat at his desk, brooding. He picked up a pen, then laid it aside. A knock at the door, and Martha entered.

  “You haven’t had any luncheon, my dear,” she said.

  “A correct deduction, but how did you know?”

  “Because I know your habits. You never take care of yourself when you are deep in a problem. Before I bring the tray in, will you tell me what you and Professor Challenger were discussing?”

  “We spoke about poetry, among other things,” replied Holmes.

  She smiled. “You have written some poems to me. Beautiful poems.”

  “At least inspired by a splendid subject.”

  She went out and returned in a few minutes, bringing their lunch. Holmes was writing at the desk. He laid down his pen, put away his notes in a drawer, and joined her at the table.

  Three

  At Enmore Park later that afternoon, Holmes and Challenger sat down at the table in the study with the crystal before them. Over their heads they drew a closely woven black cloth that excluded nearly all outer light. At once the crystal glowed with its inner blue radiance, lighting up Holmes’ intent profile and Challenger’s bristling beard. Challenger carefully maneuvered the crystal between his hands.

  “There,” he said softly. “Do you see the mists clearing?”

  The strange landscape was coming into view. They could make out the distant tawny-red cliffs, the great platformlike expanse below them. Then, as details grew sharper, they saw the row of lean, towering masts with their points of radiance. A clear, pale sun shown in the deep blue of the cloudless sky.

  “That sun is but half the diameter of ours,” said Challenger. “At its closest approach, Mars is about thirty-five million miles beyond Earth’s orbit. If we take the Sun’s apparent diameter into consideration, we may arrive at some scale of dimension in what we see here.”

  “I would judge the visible terrain to be many miles in extent, and this rectangle of roofs below the masts to be fairly large,” said Holmes

  “We may go on that assumption,” said Challenger. “Now, watch closely.” He shifted the crystal with painstaking care. “We are able to see in another direction now, as though we moved a viewing glass.”

  It was true. They looked downward past the straight edge of the platform and gathered a sense of a perpendicular wall below it. The ground showed, lightly covered with green as with a lawn, and feathery shrubs or bushes grew in clumps here and there. Among these clumps moved dark shapes. They seemed like distant bulbs of darkness, furnished with spidery limbs.

  “It is as though we are above the closely set roofs of a city,” said Holmes. “I would hazard that our point of view is the top of the mast at the end of this row we have seen. And down there on the ground are what must be the residents. I wish we could see them closer at hand.”

  “Perhaps we can.” Again Challenger shifted the crystal. “Now, observe the rooftop immediately below. I can discern others.”

  At the foot of one of the nearer masts moved several of the creatures. Seen nearer at hand, they displayed oval bodies, dark and softly shining, holding themselves erect on tussocklike arrangements of slender tentacles.

  “They strongly resemble octopoid mollusca,” said Challenger. “But see, Holmes, some of them can fly.”

  One of the shapes on the roof suddenly rose into the air. It soared, or skimmed, on what appeared to be ribbed wings. Higher it rose, growing larger to their view.

  “It does not move its wings,” said Holmes.

  “They seem to be simple structures.”

  The flying creature changed direction and swooped toward the top of the mast nearest the point from which Holmes and Challenger seemed to watch. Its two sprays of tentacles twined around the mast and the body drew close to the shining object at the apex.

  “It has brilliant eyes, there at its lower part,” Challenger half-whispered, his voice strangely touched by awe. “Those eyes, when I have seen them, have stared with a marked intensity. Now it is looking into that shining object, it gazes fixedly.”

  The creature clung there for long moments. Silently the two observers studied it. At last it relaxed its hold and came floating toward them in the crystal, growing in size, growing in deta
il. Close at hand they saw its gleaming eyes, and suddenly those eyes came as though against the opposite side of the crystal, the substance of the creature blotting out all the rest of the scene. Then, abruptly, the mist came stealing back, obscuring everything.

  Challenger flung aside the cloth. He gazed at Holmes.

  “We are in communication with Mars,” he said dramatically.

  “Communication?”

  Challenger’s hand scrambled for a pad of paper. He jabbed a pen into the inkwell. “Before another moment passes, we must both record what we have seen,” he pronounced. “There are materials for you.”

  Silence, while both of them wrote. At last they finished and looked at each other again.

  “A city, a Martian city, has been revealed to us,” burst out Challenger. “And we have seen living Martians. I have written here,” and he drummed his notes, “that they seem to be of a vastly different species from ours. Perhaps something to be referred, for comparison’s sake, to the arthropods — the insects.”

  “Why the insects?” asked Holmes.

  “Their form, for one aspect. Many thin appendages and soft muscular bodies. And you have seen that some have wings and some have not.”

  “From my limited observation, I would not be surprised to establish that some of them at least can fly. But they may all have that capacity.”

  “No, manifestly the power of flight is far from universal,” Challenger flung back impatiently. “Indeed, the presence or absence of wings may well be a difference of the sexes — the females may be winged, and the males not.”

  “I have no basis of argument as yet, but I wonder if the Martians have not evolved to the point of sexlessness,” said Holmes, studying what he himself had written. “The wings may be artificial.”

  “Nonsense!” exploded Challenger. “If they are artificial, would they not be attached with a harness? I saw nothing like that, nor, I suggest, did you.”

  “They may well have other ways of assuming their flying apparatus than with a visible harness,” said Holmes quietly. “Reflect, Challenger, that this is another world on which they live, apparently with a tremendously complicated culture of their own.”