“Lieutenant Pendleton is senior and is being brevetted to captain and will take over. But that means we need a new commander for C Troop—and that’s why I wanted to see you.”
What? No! He can’t mean…
“Congratulations, Lieutenant, you have C Troop.” Siganuk got up from his stool and slapped him on the shoulder.
“Sir! You can’t do that! I’m no officer!”
“The colonel says you are, Frank, and these days that’s all it takes.”
“But… but… I can’t be an officer! I’ve got no education, no…”
“You’re one of the most experienced men in the regiment. The men look up to you. Don’t worry, you’ll do fine.”
“But… but…” Siganuk’s smile was starting to become a frown.
“No more arguments, Dolfen! We’re in a war and everyone has to do everything they can! We need a lieutenant to run C Troop and you… are… it! Now shut up and go do your job!”
“I… uh… yes sir.” He saluted and stumbled away.
An officer! How the hell could he be an officer? Officers were gentlemen, how could he be a gentleman? Of course, most officers were also idiots and he certainly knew how to be that! On the other hand, there must be some advantages to being an officer…
“Did you find the captain?” asked Corporal Urbaniak.
“No, found the adjutant, though.”
“What’d he say?”
Dolfen straightened up and looked around. “Round up a detachment. We’re going to go find ourselves some gear. And we’re gonna find some of those dynamite bombs! We are not getting stuck like that again!”
“Sounds good to me,” said Urbaniak. “But you got authorization for all that?”
“Yes I do. Now hop to it, Sergeant!”
Urbaniak turned away and then spun around on his heel.
“Huh?”
* * * * *
September, 1909, Albuquerque, New Mexico Territory
Rebecca Harding shook the reins and shouted at the horse team. “C’mon you nags! Just another mile or two and we’re done!” The worn out horses didn’t answer, but kept plodding along, which was all that mattered. Albuquerque, the long retreat was at an end. Or at least she sure hoped it was. All the rumors said the army was going to make a stand here and from what she could see as she crossed the bridge indicated that for once, the rumors were true. Cities of tents stretched in all directions and swarms of soldiers were digging trenches along the river bank. This time of year the Rio Grande was little more than a stream, but in many spots the banks were pretty steep; maybe they’d be hard for the Martians to get across.
She was with the last of the wagons to arrive. The cavalry rearguard had already passed them and she’d waved to Sergeant Dolfen. It had been very reassuring to know he was close by during the retreat. But now they were here. She could deliver the last of the injured to the hospital and then join up with the other nurses. She didn’t know if they’d be staying here or going back to the big hospital in Santa Fe. She glanced back to check on her passengers. There was a guy who had taken a fall and broken his ankle yesterday and another man who was sick with something and too weak to walk.
And then there was Sam.
That was what he called himself and he refused to give a last name. He was sitting there in the wagon like he’d been since that day when she’d first seen him. He was looking—and smelling—a whole lot better than he had then. He’d gotten a wash and a shave and a fresh uniform borrowed from one of the ambulance drivers, which made him look little different from any of the other men—except for the hollow, hunted look on his face. She guessed he was in his twenties, dark hair, brown eyes, and rather scrawny. There didn’t seem to be anything physically wrong with him, but he refused to stray far from the wagon and refused to say anything about what had happened to him. Becca had expected Miss Chumley to tell him to go find his unit or just chase him off, but instead she pretended he wasn’t even there.
But now they had reached their destination and she had to do something with him.
An officer was at the edge of town and he gave them directions how to get to the main hospital. She looked back at Sam. “We’ll be there soon. What are you going to do then?” He stared at her but didn’t say anything. “Maybe you can find your unit.” She’d suggested that several times, but he’d never answered - until now.
“They’re all dead.”
“You don’t know that,” she replied, pleased that she’d gotten a response. “A lot of men got away from that first battle.”
“All dead,” he repeated.
“Well, even if they are, you have to do something. You’re still in the army, you can’t just walk away.” She wished she’d taken a closer look at the collar disk on his uniform when she first saw him. That would have told her his regiment. But that was long gone and the borrowed tunic he was wearing now had a Medical Corps disk.
“Maybe I can stay at the hospital. Help out there.”
This was the closest thing to a conversation she’d managed with Sam and she didn’t want to risk shutting it off. “Well, maybe. We can always use help.” But she doubted they’d just let him sign up without knowing who he was. They drove on in silence for a while and then she decided to take a chance. “You were in there, weren’t you?”
She looked back at him and he had pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. His eyes were almost shut. “So the Martians caught you and took you there. I’m sorry. They caught me, too, you know.” His eyes widened slightly, but he frowned and looked skeptical.
“It’s true. I was with a dozen others and one of their war machines trapped us in a canyon. It was herding us toward their fortress, but we managed to escape before we got there.”
“Escape?”
“Well, we were rescued, actually. Some other soldiers with dynamite bombs ambushed the Martian and wrecked its machine and we got away.”
“You were lucky.”
“I know. And you weren’t. I’m sorry. But you’re free now. And you can fight again. And I’m sure the generals and scientists and all will want to hear about what you saw in the Martian fortress! You’re really very important, you know!”
Sam glanced at the other two men in the wagon, but they were both asleep. “Put me in a cage.”
“I’m sorry the Martians put you in a cage, Sam. But you’re free.”
“No. Generals’ll put me in a cage.”
“What? The generals won’t put you in a cage!” Was the man becoming delusional?
“They’ll keep me somewhere. I’ll be a sideshow freak. Never let me go.”
Becca opened her mouth to issue a denial, but then she stopped. Sam was staring at her with an unreadable expression.
“The Martians put us in a cage, but I’ll never be in a cage again.”
* * * * *
Cycle 597,843.9, Holdfast 32-1
“I’m sure that’s the last of them, Commander,” said Ixmaderna.
Qetjnegartis sincerely hoped its subordinate was correct. In the wake of the battle, the most difficult thing to deal with had not been the repairs to the holdfast, or the casualties, or even the arrogance of Commander Braxjandar. The worst thing was the fact that the prey-creatures had gotten inside the underground sections—and they might still be down there.
It was an entirely unsettling thought.
There was no doubt that they had been there, vision pick-ups had clearly shown them in some areas, and after the rest of their army had been routed, glimpses were seen of creatures who had been left behind. But the pickups did not have even close to complete coverage and there could be hundreds of places where the creatures could be lurking. Aside from the main hanger, the fighting machines would not fit through the corridors. The travel chairs could be fitted with weapons, but they were not designed to be used for fighting and would be vulnerable even to the small weapons the prey-creatures carried. No one wanted to go down there and search for them.
They coul
d simply wait them out, of course, since eventually they would run out of food. But that could take many days and there was no time to waste. Much work needed to be done and they had to get back inside the holdfast to do it.
Several plans were considered, including flooding the entire holdfast with the eradicator dust. But in the end it was a simple plan, suggested by Davnitargus of all people, which had proved the most practical: turn off the lights.
It had long been known that the prey-creatures did not see well in even semi-darkness and could not see at all in a complete absence of light. So they had shut down all the lights remotely and waited. In ones and twos the creatures had made their way back into the light, some burning things to produce light. They had been allowed to go unmolested—at first—for fear that the sound of the heat rays might drive the miserable things back down inside. But several fighting machines had waiting in ambush farther away and it was not thought that any of them had escaped.
So now work could start again. Anything down below that the prey-creatures might have damaged must be repaired. The holdfast walls needed to be repaired and the defense towers needed to be replaced. Over five hundred of the prey had been trapped inside the inner redoubt. These needed to be secured and an enlarged holding pen inside created. One very important thing had been discovered: huge mounds of the food they ate had been left in their camps. This could be transferred to the holdfast and the prey could be kept alive until needed.
Then, once all that had been done, they could get back to work constructing new fighting machines. The reinforcements from the Homeworld were on the way and they would need them.
“Come,” said Qetjnegartis, “let us proceed.”
Chapter Nine
October 1909, West Orange, New Jersey
“We have discovered some truly amazing things from the power generators you’ve sent us, Major, truly amazing!”
Andrew regarded the legendary Thomas Edison from across a long table filled with papers, drawings, and piles of… stuff he couldn’t begin to identify, although he was fairly certain some of them were of Martian origin. Edison’s laboratories in West Orange, while not as well-known as his original labs in Menlo Park, were considered to be the best equipped facilities of their kind in the world. They covered several city blocks and reputedly held samples of over eight thousand chemical compounds as well as tools, nuts, bolts, electrical components, and a thousand other things from Elk horn to Shark’s teeth. Everything and anything that might become useful for Edison’s work. The man was often referred to as the ‘Wizard of Menlo Park’ and even though it was now in West Orange, the place did have the look of some fairy tale wizard’s workshop.
The man himself, on the other hand, looked rather ordinary. Short and a bit stout, wearing a conservative suit and vest, his hair was mostly white with a bald patch on top. He looked the part of an elderly professional in his sixties. But behind that ordinary veneer was one of the most creative and imaginative men in the world. Two other men were with him, William Hammer and Frank Sprague, both electrical experts. Andrew had met all three on prior visits.
“First and foremost,” continued Edison, “we discovered that the units you gave us are not power plants! They don’t produce power, they store it.”
“Really, sir?” said Andrew casually. “Do go on.”
“We started with the assumption that they were power plants of some sort, of course. First of all, you told us they were, and second, there didn’t seem to be any other source of power for the Martian machines, based on the drawings you provided. So with that in mind we proceeded with extreme caution. We didn’t want another Liverpool explosion!”
Andrew stiffened. Edison was referring to a disastrous accident in Liverpool, England where apparently while experimenting with a similar unit, a massive explosion had killed several hundred people—including Andrew’s father who had been invited to observe. “No, certainly not,” he said quietly.
“We did every test we could think of without actually opening up the device. From magnetometers to galvanometers; we even set up a calcium tungstate screen to check for X-rays or Becquerel Rays. Nothing. The thing seemed inert. So, we took the risk and opened it. Not here of course! We trucked it thirty miles out into the Pine Barrens and fortunately—as you can see—didn’t blow ourselves to bits.”
“The nation is certainly glad that didn’t happen, sir,” said Andrew. Off to the side, Sprague was pointing at Edison and silently mouthing: He didn’t go!
“Once we had safely opened the thing, we brought it back here and went to work, and I can tell you we were surprised by what we found! Or I should say: what we didn’t find. There were a number of small mechanisms which we believe are for regulating the flow of power—things we did expect to find—but the rest of the cylinder was filled with this.” Edison reached to the table and picked up something between his thumb and forefinger and held it up. Andrew leaned forward and saw a long strand of what looked like golden human hair. It was so thin that if it hadn’t caught the light he would have been barely able to see it.
“Wire,” said Edison. “Miles—we estimate thousands of miles—of this wire. It was wrapped in coils which filled the entire cylinder—which you’ll recall was three feet in diameter and over eight feet tall. But that’s all. Nothing which could have produced energy, unless by some system which is totally beyond our science. A possibility we did not discount, of course.
“Having nothing else, we set to work studying the wire. A chemical analysis produced an interesting mixture of elements; copper, silver, gold, molybdenum, and quite a few others. The wire has a surprisingly high tensile strength which exceeds that of steel. But its most amazing characteristics were electrical. Bill? Could you explain?”
Mr. Hammer nodded. “When we ran current through the wire we were astonished to find that there was no electrical resistance at all. I mean none. An Ohm meter attached to the wire registered zero. We still don’t know how this is accomplished. There is a Dutchman, Heike Onnes, who has been working on this phenomenon, but his research has involved materials cooled to very low temperatures. This wire behaves as it does at room temperature!”
“And because of this lack of resistance,” said Edison, “a coil of this wire would be able to store an astounding amount of current, like an impossibly efficient dry-cell battery! We tested this out by taking a small amount of the wire—just a dozen yards or so—and winding it in a coil and then applying current. It just soaked it up! We fed current in for an entire day and it probably could have held more. Then we connected the coil to a bank of incandescent lights. They were still burning a month later!
“So, Major, it is our conclusion that the Martians must have some sort of central power generating station—don’t ask me how that works!—and this charges up these power storage units which the Martian war machines use. Of course we have no way of knowing what the power demands of the machines are, but considering how much power just one of these units must be capable of holding, I would guess that the machines could operate for months between chargings.”
“I should add,” said Mr. Sprague, speaking for the first time, “that if something were to disrupt the ability of the wire to store power, the unit might discharge itself all at once. This could produce a large explosion. That might explain the Liverpool disaster and the explosion that consumed one of the Martian machines at the Battle of Prewitt.”
“Yes,” said Edison. “And until we determine just what it takes to cause such a disruption, we must proceed with caution.” He paused and looked closely at Andrew. “Pardon me for asking, Major, but do you understand what we’ve been telling you here? Your lack of… well… astonishment had been noticeable, and in my experience that means the person really doesn’t understand what he’s being told.”
Andrew sighed. “Well, sir, I can’t say that I begin to understand all the technicalities of it, but I do, in fact, understand the gist of what you are saying. Forgive me for not looking astonished, but… I think this
will explain.” He opened up his briefcase and took out a very thick bundle of papers and laid it on the table in front of Edison.
The man looked at the pages and slowly began to turn them. Hammer and Sprague crowded in to look over his shoulder. The expressions of all three men took on the astonishment which apparently Edison had been expecting from Andrew. “What… what is this?” demanded Edison.
“And look at this!” cried Hammer, snatching a sheet away from his boss.
“Where did you get these?” added Sprague.
“Well, Major? Explain what this is!” Edison’s face was turning red.
Andrew took a deep breath. “First, gentlemen, let me congratulate you. Based on the very fine presentation you just gave, I would estimate that you’ve managed, in just six months, to unravel mysteries which took the British several years.”
“The British! Is this their work?”
“Yes and…”
“If you had this, why in the world did you let us waste our time on…?!” Now his face was very red.
“Sir, please! We only received this a few weeks ago. Our esteemed allies have finally decided to share what they know with us.” He gestured at the stack of papers. “This is only a fraction of what they sent us. We are making copies of it all as quickly as we can and you will receive a complete set within the month. Forgive me for not telling you as soon as I arrived but, frankly, I wanted to compare what you’ve told me with what’s in these documents.”
“I see,” said Edison, some of the color leaving his face. He sighed deeply, rubbed at his nose, and sniffed. The side of his mouth bent up in what could have been a smile. “So tell me, Major, how did we do?”
“As I said: you deserve to be congratulated. Given the same evidence, you’ve arrived at the same conclusion—and in a fraction of the time. But tell me one thing. This wire: do you think you can produce it yourselves?”
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