The Chronological Man: The Martian Emperor

by Andrew Mayne

  “Curious,” said Smith as he read it. “It appears we’ve found the purpose of the Martian’s visit.”

  Opportunity

  “Ransom!” shouted the mayor. “It’s a shakedown from space! I’ve got your man Croker at Tammany Hall shaking me on one end. The president forcing me to bring in that do-gooder on the other. And now, and now! I’ve got bug-eyed aliens showing up from space, asking for a payoff.”

  “What did the president say?”

  Mayor Grant stared at the phone receiver he’d just slammed down. “Talked to him again. He doesn’t believe it. I don’t believe it. It’s got to be a hoax.”

  “What about this Sgt. Nelson?” asked Horace Mayweather, the mayor’s unofficial political adviser and very unofficial bribe collector.

  “Honest enough. War hero. Trustworthy enough to be on the right take.”

  “So you think it’s a hoax?”

  “It has to be, right? It looks like a shakedown to me. You should know.”

  Mayweather ignored the comment. “What’s the president want you to do?”

  “Get to the bottom of this. Keep a lid on it. It’s only a matter of time before the ransom demands get out.”

  “May I see the document?” asked Mayweather.

  Mayor Grant pushed the photograph over to him and sat back to look out the window while he stroked his beard.

  The Emperor of Mars decrees that all inhabitants of the Planet Earth are under his Supreme Rule.

  All Nations of the Earth shall cease their conflicts.

  The Citizens of Earth shall raise the red Martian Flag of The Emperor on all Government Buildings and submit to his benevolent rule.

  The Citizens of Earth shall pay the Sovereign Martian Emperor a tribute of 1,000 kilos of gold and deliver it to the location where this monolith has been placed on the fifth day and do so every 500 days.

  Failure to obey to the rule of The Emperor of Mars will be considered an act of war, subjecting the inhabitants of Earth to the terrible Space Ray.

  “What makes you so certain it’s a ransom?” asked Mayweather.

  “Isn’t it? Even if he is from Mars, it’s still a demand that we pay up or get attacked, in this case by that ‘space ray.’ There’s a hoot.” Grant swiveled in his chair to face Mayweather. “You’re sure your pal Croker has nothing to do with this?”

  Mayweather shook his head. “I don’t think it’s his style nor any of the Five Points gangs.”

  “So it’s an out-of-town job.”

  “Very out of town from what they want us to believe.”

  “What’s the angle? I don’t get it. I have no idea how they pulled off the stunt with the glowing vehicle. Damn thing woke my sister. Half the town saw the glow. The Martian man, maybe a guy in some getup. I have no idea how he could have lifted that monolith. The damn thing weighs a ton!” He shook his head. “I’m sure it’s a trick, like the sideshow at Coney Island. But for what end?”

  “Looks like they want gold. A lot of it.”

  “Yes, that’s what it says. But whoever is pulling this has got to know we aren’t going to fall for a light show and man playing Halloween dress-up.” Mayor Grant picked up the photograph of the back end of the monolith. “A lot of trouble for a bit of sport, don’t you think?”

  “Have you considered the possibility that it’s legitimate?”

  Grant’s mouth froze while trying to decide if he should take Mayweather seriously. He was one of the most clever men he’d known. A bit on the rough side, self-educated but very intelligent. “Now you’re sounding like my sister. If this gets out, we’ll have half the city, half the world, putting out red flags and bowing down to this Martian Emperor!”

  “It is a possibility worth considering,” said Mayweather. “It’s my responsibility to make you aware of all the angles. That’s all I’m saying. They chose New York City for a reason.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m suggesting that we should be aware of a potential opportunity. If it’s a one-time hoax, then that’s the end of it. If it’s not, and it’s the product of an entity with more resources than we’re aware of, then we need to keep that in mind. One thousand kilos of gold is a lot of money.”

  Grant rapped his fingers on his desk. “So, if it is real?”

  “The Martians chose our city. Your city. Perhaps they’ll want to build an embassy. Maybe even make us the seat of Earth’s government.”

  Grant let that idea roll around in his head for a moment. “So you’re saying there’s something to be made out of the fact that they chose us and not Washington or London?”

  “There’s something to be made for the fact that they chose you, mayor. They chose you to be the representative for our world.”

  “They didn’t exactly choose me. They dropped it off in Central Park.”

  “True. But not the White House nor the Governor’s Mansion nor Buckingham Palace. All I’m suggesting is that maybe we want to make sure that’s not lost on the world.” Ever the political opportunist, Mayweather’s brain was already calculating the angles.

  “And how do we do that?”

  Mayweather picked up the photograph and turned it toward the mayor. “We leak this translation to the press. But we emphasize that the Martians chose you, that they chose New York City. We explain that we’ve already been declared the center of the world and you our ambassador.”

  “But it’s a hoax! Nobody will fall for it.”

  “That’s why we leak and we don’t endorse. We call it a hoax. Meanwhile, we plant the idea we want them to believe, cover all our bases.”

  “Protect every angle.”

  “Exactly.” Mayweather sat back, satisfied.

  “There’s one problem.”

  There was a knock at the outer door. Grant’s secretary could be heard talking to a man. Mayweather turned and then looked back at Grant.

  “The president sent one of his men to come ‘assist’ in this investigation. He might keep us from running this show.”

  “Can we get him in on it?” asked Mayweather.

  Grant shook his head. “He’s insufferably honest.”

  “Maybe a soft threat?”

  “Lord no. He likes to speak softly but carries a very big stick.”

  Mayweather raised an eyebrow. “Oh my.”

  “Yep.” Grant stood up to greet the man as the secretary opened the door. “How’s buffalo hunting?”

  “Funny. How’s the graft business?” said the man as he nodded to Mayor Grant and looked down at Mayweather.

  Grant introduced them. “Mr. Mayweather, I think you know our friend here. He tried to win election to this office a while ago, if I remember correctly. Now he does some work for the president on a few task forces, I believe.”

  Mayweather gave the man a curt nod. The man’s reputation had a habit of entering a room long before him and never quite leaving.

  “So tell me about this Martian nonsense,” said Theodore Roosevelt as he pulled out a cigar and sat down.

  The Obelisk

  It was night by the time Smith and April made it from the train yard to Central Park in a hired carriage. Smith had wanted to use the motorcycle he kept in the storage car but demurred when he realized that would mean Miss Malone would have to ride in the back in her dress. She was too polite to protest, but he could read the look in her eyes when he mentioned possible modes of transportation. It also made sense to attract as little attention as possible when the city was already under siege by strange men and machines.

  He helped her down from the carriage, and they took in the sight.

  Both entrances to the park were blocked off. Uniformed policemen stood on either side. A large crowd of several hundred people had gathered to look at the site of the Martian landing, although they couldn’t see anything from either edge of the park.

  Off to one side, there was a crowd of newspapermen and a few photographers with large wooden cameras and tripods. Smith took April by the elbow and guided her in tha
t direction. An official in a top hat was making a speech.

  Smith tried to push themselves in closer, but the crowd was too thick. He could make out a few details of what the man was saying.

  “It doesn’t look like they’ve announced the ransom demand yet,” said Smith. He’d intercepted the demand back on the train.

  “Is that good or bad?” asked April.

  “We’ll find out.” Smith escorted her to a policeman standing near the west entrance.

  “Can I help you?” asked the frustrated-looking man.

  “I’m Dr. Hellgood. I’ve been sent to have a look at the monolith,” Smith lied.

  “Were you, now?” The policeman rolled his eyes. He pointed his billy club toward the press crowd. “Your section is over there.”

  “Listen, my assistant and I just spent a long train ride from Philadelphia. We were asked specifically to come here and take a look at this monolith and help decipher it.”

  “Sent by whom?”

  “I can’t really say,” said Smith.

  “Then I can’t really let you in.”

  April spoke up. “All right, professor. Maybe we should just go on over to the newspapermen and explain to them what you already deciphered. I’m sure they’ll be interested.”

  “Er, um, yes.” Smith was taken by surprise by April’s ploy. “I’m sure they’d love to hear about the gold bars and the space ray.”

  “Shhh!” The policeman put a finger to his lips and grabbed Smith by the arm to turn him away from the crowd. He gave a nervous glance over his shoulder to see if anyone else had heard. “How did you know about that?” he asked in a low voice.

  “The professor deciphered it, of course,” said April. “That is, after all, what he does.”

  “All right. All right. Go through the path to the left. You’ll see Sgt. Nelson near the tent.”

  “Tent?” asked Smith.

  “They put a tent over the damn thing. Pressmen have been climbing on buildings with telescopes to get a look. One of them even tried hanging a camera on a balloon. The Navy had a fit over that one.”

  “The Navy?”

  “They’re arguing with the mayor over who has jurisdiction. I hear the Army is, too. Nobody knows what’s going on.”

  Smith nodded to the man and then led April down the path. They crossed the sheep’s meadow, where a scattering of sheep munched on grass and ignored the men walking about. Filament lights illuminated the tent in the middle of the park.

  Sgt. Nelson stood guard outside the tent. He gave them a wary eye. “May I help you?”

  “I’m here about the deciphering,” said Smith. “The military said they wanted one more expert. Don’t know how much help I can be. Any child can decipher that Martian text and read the demands and the ransom.” He looked Nelson up and down. “I bet you saw it right away.”

  Nelson scratched his mustache. “Not exactly, mister …”

  “Professor Hellgood,” said April.

  “And this is my assistant, Miss June,” said Smith. “I was just telling her that you were the man that bravely faced down the Martian brute, wasn’t I?”

  “Oh my!” April knew from acting training that she was overdoing it but decided to push it. “I would have died of fright, sergeant. You are the most brave man.” She reached out a gloved hand and touched the sergeant’s arm. His cheeks blushed.

  “Just doing my duty, miss.”

  “Sergeant, I was wondering if I might have a look at the monolith up close?”

  “Of course. Of course.” Nelson held the flap open for them. “Edison’s men came out and rigged the electric earlier in the day.”

  “Edison?” asked Smith before he stepped inside. His voice was flat.

  April could tell there was something wrong but decided not to ask at that point. Smith waved her into the tent and followed in after her.

  The obelisk was nine feet tall and an imposing artifact. It tapered from the bottom to the top and was made from a dull gray metal. The Martian script covered the front of it. On the back, in simple type-set lettering, was what they assumed was the English transcription. Smith reached out and touched it.

  “Lead.” He stood back. “Quite heavy.” He turned to the open flap. “Sergeant, may we ask you a few questions?”

  Nelson poked his head inside the tent.

  “The newspaper accounts say that the Martian actually carried this and set it down.”

  “Yes, sir. I watched him step from his spacecraft and set it down right here.” He pointed to the grass. “I was lying right there when it happened. That was when he used his stun pistol on me.”

  “No ill effects?” asked Smith.

  Nelson shook his head. “It’s what I imagined getting hit by an electric eel would be like.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his revolver with the bent barrel. “They’ve tried to take it from me, but I won’t let them.”

  “May I see?” asked April.

  Nelson smiled and handed her the gun. She admired it and then handed it to Smith.

  Smith felt the bent barrel. It was an almost ninety-degree curve. Other than that, it looked brand new. He rubbed his sleeve on it and then handed it back to Nelson. “Can you tell me anything that wasn’t in the newspaper account?”

  The sergeant thought for a moment and pulled at his mustache.

  “Even a small detail,” said April. She put a finger to her lips, feigning nervousness as she cast a glance at the towering monument.

  “Well, there was one thing. He had a smell about him. I remember thinking to myself afterward, that’s what Mars must have smelled like. A kind of sulfur smell.”

  “Like rotten eggs?” asked Smith.

  Nelson shook his head. “No. More like a burnt sulfur. Kind of like gunpowder, but this is different.”

  “Interesting. So the Martian stunned you before you were able to fire your gun?”

  “Like a clever devil. Knocked me on my .…” He looked at April. “Knocked me on my back is what he did.”

  “I take it you’re a good shot, otherwise?” asked Smith.

  “Quite. Now excuse me. I have to make sure the Army and the Navy don’t come to fisticuffs outside. This is still NYPD jurisdiction. Be much longer?”

  Smith could tell that was Nelson politely asking them to leave.

  “Just one more minute, sergeant. I want to show Miss June some of the deciphering.”

  Nelson nodded and then closed the flap.

  “All right, Miss Malone, tell me what you see.” Smith held his hands apart, gesturing to the whole tent.

  April walked around the monolith and gave a look back at Smith. She couldn’t tell if he’d already observed something and was playing one of his games to see if she noticed it too or if he genuinely wanted her to notice something.

  “Well, the sheep’s meadow is an odd place, for one.”

  Smith nodded.

  “I have to say I’m not that impressed by the monument. Although it looks angular, I can’t say that it looks like something from an advanced race.” She traced her fingers along the letters.

  “And what would you expect from an advanced race?”

  “Something we couldn’t make. I think any foundry could make something like this.”

  “Even god uses stone tablets, Miss Malone.”

  April smiled. She started to look around the tent. Smith ran his hand along the monolith.

  “The meadow at night is too convenient,” Smith said. “If they were real Martians, I’d think they’d do this in broad daylight, in the president’s garden no less.” He lowered his voice. “I think Nelson is on the up and up, but I’m not so sure I buy the idea that this was just dropped into place by a man in a Martian suit.”

  April was looking at the grass. “Would you need proof of that?”

  “Yes. Some kind of physical evidence. But I don’t see what.” He reached his fingers up to touch the top of the monolith.

  “Like a deep footprint, perhaps? Proving that the Marti
an carried it?”

  “Which we won’t find, because he didn’t.”

  “Oh really, Smith?” April lifted the hem of her skirt and knelt down by a tent pole.

  “Yes.” Smith wasn’t paying attention. He was counting hand spans on the monolith. “I’d think the men in the NYPD would have made note of such a thing.”

  “How much do you think it weighs?” asked April. She took Smith’s umbrella from his arm and shoved it into a hole in the ground near a tent pole.

  “Easily seven hundred pounds.”

  “Plus a two-hundred-pound man equals a hole of at least six inches in this grass?” She looked up.

  Smith rapped his fingers on the edge of the monolith as he counted something else in his head. “Yes. At least five. Maybe more depending upon the moisture last night. But I don’t .…” He looked up in the air at nothing. “Oh, I see, Miss Malone. Quite clever.” Smith turned around and looked at the footprint under the tent pole.

  April handed him his umbrella back and stood. She gave him a small grin.

  “How interesting.” Smith knelt down to look at the hole. “How very interesting.” It was a deep print, obviously made by someone carrying something quite heavy.

  “Still think it’s a hoax?” asked April.

  Smith looked up at her. “I must say this lends to the credibility of the claim. But a deep footprint like this could be planted.”

  “And no one else noticed?”

  “Maybe we should ask Sgt. Nelson,” said Smith.

  The Men Who Dress in Black

  Smith held the tent flap open for April to step outside. Sgt. Nelson tipped his hat to her and then looked over at Smith. “Find what you were looking for?”

  “I think so.” Smith cast a glance over his shoulder at the monolith before the flap fell back down. “Most remarkable.”

  “I didn’t know what to believe myself until I saw the spacecraft. And then when the Martian Ambassador appeared before me, I knew I’d witnessed something special. And there’s your proof.” He pointed to the tent.