The Chronological Man: The Martian Emperor

by Andrew Mayne

  “Other than the monolith, what is there?”

  Smith tilted his hat to the south end of the island. “Lady Liberty. If that green fire was the result of some genuinely alien technology, then that would support the Martian hypothesis. If we inspect it and find the physical evidence I suspect, then we know it’s more likely a terrestrial stunt.”

  They got off the cable car and walked to the alley that led to the sidetrack. Hidden between several warehouses, the train was in the middle of the city, yet accessible only through a metal gate on either end. Smith walked up to the car second from the rear and stepped onto the back. He pulled a key from his trouser pocket and unlocked the door. He looked over at April and thought for a moment.

  “This may take me a few hours.” He gazed up at the night sky. “Perhaps you’d like to read some magazines?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Inspect the statue.”

  April stared at the rail car. “From inside there?”

  “Don’t be ludicrous, Miss Malone. Of course not. I have an alternative means of transportation inside of here. I hesitated to use it, but I think the circumstances call for it.”

  “Let me come,” said April. She had no idea what was inside there and her stomach felt butterflies at the thought of another rocket-propelled umbrella ride, but her curiosity drove her.

  “Er, well.” Smith scratched his chin. “It’s not the safest mode of travel, and you’re dressed altogether wrong for it.”

  “I have a pair of riding bloomers in my valise I brought on board. I shall change into them.”

  Smith had no response. April darted off to the passenger car to get changed. He stepped inside and started turning a series of switches. Mechanical arms opened the roof of the car to the night sky. He turned several valves, and gas cylinders began to hiss.

  April returned a few minutes later and peered into the doorway to the car. Inside was what looked like an eclipsed boat or gondola. She looked up and saw the large gas bag inflating over the top of the car.

  “Oh my, that’s large,” she said.

  “I’ve built bigger, but it will do.” Smith gestured to several large cylinders along the walls. “I use a rare gas. I collect it near vents in the earth. Much safer than hydrogen. Not quite the lifting capacity but close enough.”

  “You mean helium?”

  “Well, yes, Miss Malone. That’s right. I suppose you do have a mind for details like that.” He gave her a smile.

  “I didn’t know that existed on earth in any quantity.” She remembered reading about it in one of the many, many random items that came across her desk.

  “It does, if you know where to find it. But let’s keep that our little secret.”

  “I’ve been thinking about the green fire. You think it’s chemical? Boric acid, perhaps?”

  Smith turned away from checking the exterior of the gondola. “Well done, Miss Malone. That’s how the jugglers and magicians make their green fire. A bit of boric acid and some wood spirits. Nasty to smell.”

  April walked around the gondola. Ten feet long and half the width of the rail car, there were windows all along the sides and a very large curved one on the front. She reached out and touched the material. It didn’t feel like glass. It almost gave a bit as she pressed it with her fingertips.

  Smith stepped inside and smiled at her through the window. “It’s a kind of celluloid. Noncombustible. Very lightweight. Every ounce counts.”

  April suppressed a smile. Smith could have protested her coming along by pointing out that she added weight to the craft, and then she realized that he probably wanted to show it off to her but was too timid to be direct about it. Whatever his amnesia, she was relieved to see he still wanted to show her his amazing toys.

  She stepped back to look at the whole contraption. “How do you control it?”

  “Barely.” Smith climbed out of the cabin and swung an armature out from the side partway before it ran into the wall of the rail car. “Once we clear the carriage, one of these on either side will extend and the propellers will spin. For up and down movement, we can use the force of the propellers or the central gas bag. It’s heated by an element and makes us slightly positively buoyant. In an emergency, we have a spare helium cylinder on board. Still want to come along?” He gave her a maniacal grin.

  “More than ever,” said April. She was terrified of the contraption but wanted desperately to see what it looked like from the air. Dirigibles and other airships were over a century old, but no one had managed to make a practical one yet, other than for exhibitions. Smith’s looked far more advanced than any she’d ever seen.

  Smith held the rear door open for her. There were two seats, one in the front and one slightly elevated to the back. She took the rearmost seat. Smith squeezed past and sat down in front of her.

  “Please use the lap belt, Miss Malone.”

  “Pardon?”

  “The strap on the seat. Wrap it around your waist and clip it to the other side.”

  She looked down and saw a canvas strap. It was the kind of thing you’d find in an amusement ride to keep you from falling out. She belted it across her waist.

  Smith turned a gauge and the hiss of the gas flowing into the balloons stopped. April was awed by the variety of gauges and controls before him. It didn’t look like a hastily put together machine. She wondered how Smith found the time to do all that. She already knew he was quite older than he looked, much older, but she couldn’t see one man doing all the things he’d done even in several lifetimes.

  “That’s quite an array of controls,” said April, hoping he’d explain some of them to her.

  “Overkill, really. I’ve simplified things as much as possible. Maybe if we get a chance, I’ll let you give it a whirl.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t,” she lied. She was already paying close attention to the knobs and dials as he turned them.

  “It’s quite simple. Pull back on this lever between my legs to go up. Push forward to go down. Squeeze to go faster and turn it to the left or to the right.”

  “Did you build all of this yourself?”

  “Oh no. I don’t have the time for it. I’ve engaged machinists all around the world to work on my devices. Once upon a time, I used to build everything myself. But then, time became so precious.” His voice trailed off.

  “Are you worried about people stealing your secrets?”

  “Secrets?” Smith shook his head. “People have enough trouble using the ideas that are in plain sight. They rarely trouble with the ones that are a little more obscure. Take the incandescent light, for example. That’s an idea that’s been around for over a hundred years. I even saw … never mind. My point is that all the elements were there. What it needed was a man like Edison to come along and say this is important, its time is now.”

  “What about this? This seems far more advanced than any other dirigible I’ve ever heard of. The military applications alone.”

  “It’s a toy. I used everyone else’s best ideas with a few improvements of my own. In a few years, maybe a decade from now, we’ll have more exciting modes of transportation.”

  “Like what?”

  “Engines like the one I use here to power the battery are getting smaller and lighter. I think they’ll make a lot of things practical we’d never considered before.”

  Smith flipped a switch and an electric light illuminated the instrument panel. “Ready, Miss Malone? Once I release the lever, the ascent is going to be quite dramatic.”

  “Ready, Smith.” She gripped the edge of her seat.

  Smith pulled the lever and they shot into the air. April watched as they emerged from the railroad car into the alley. The buildings quickly fell below them. She felt a strange sensation in her stomach but ignored it. She was too amazed by the sight of the city from the air at night. Electric lights and gaslamps lined the streets in every direction. Lanterns on carriages moved back and forth. The entire city appeared as if it were one giant intricat
e machine, a sum so much greater than its parts. She wondered if this was how the Martians saw things, too. Everything so small, so inconsequential.

  Staring at the back of Smith’s head, she tried to imagine what he saw and thought as he looked out the window. He was just as much a mystery to her as the Martians.

  Lady Liberty

  Smith banked the craft to the right so they could follow Broadway all the way down the island toward the Battery and then Bedloe’s Island where the statue was located. April marveled at the sight. Her last experience aloft had been accompanied by the sound of a noisy umbrella rocket. This, on the other hand, was rather quiet. The electric motors that turned the propellers made only a soft whining sound. She could hear the wind as it blew past the cabin, giving it a gentle rocking sound. Horse hooves echoed up from the streets along with the sound of a trolley car rumbling across the street.

  “I could go to sleep up here,” she said. The lights of the city were like their own field of stars.

  “I find it rather exhilarating myself,” said Smith.

  “No, I mean it’s so comfortable.”

  “Yes. Yes it is. I quite like these craft.”

  “You have others?”

  “Yes, this is the smallest one. The most inconspicuous. It’s a dull gray color. People on the ground aren’t likely to notice anything if they were to look up. But they rarely do.”

  “Perhaps, but they’re not usually under the threat of an attack from Mars,” said April.

  “Well put. I’m keeping her at a high altitude to avoid attracting any attention.”

  “Do you think our Martians use a vehicle like this?”

  “I would think so. One that’s dramatically dressed up a bit. The sergeant said it was made of metal, but I suspect a bit of painted silk made to look like metal would achieve the same result. The process I used for my silk could be easily modified to give it a more metallic appearance. You could even paint on rivets and seams to make it look like it was built by a machinist. That’s part of what bothers me about the Martians. Both the ambassador and his craft look exactly like what you’d expect the author of a penny-dreadful to describe. They’re very much our idea of what a Martian should look like. I would think they’d look nothing like that at all. I’d also be sad to discover that they’re capable of traveling millions of miles but still build their ships like blacksmiths with rivets and seams. Even I can weld metal with an electric arc.”

  “You’re disappointed in the Martians? That’s why you really think it’s a hoax, isn’t it? I kept wondering why you were so resistant to the idea.” April had thought Smith would have been in awe.

  “Well, yes, in part. Logic and reason tell me it’s not what we’re supposed to believe. But emotion does play a part. What a sad collection of individuals would they be if they traveled all this distance to shake us down like some kind of imperialist bully? We have so much more to offer them than a few paltry pieces of gold.”

  The airship passed over the Battery at the southern end of Manhattan. The crowd had already thinned out considerably once the blaze had gone out. Out beyond, the dim glow of the statue’s torch, the only visible marker it had at night when it wasn’t surrounded in green flames, was extinguished. As they got closer, they could see lanterns moved about the island as men searched for clues.

  “I was hoping it would be a little less crowded,” said Smith. There were at least several dozen men on the island and a half-dozen boats either docked or anchored around the perimeter.

  “Is it safe?” asked April. She felt vulnerable as the gondola buffeted in the wind.

  “From what? We’re up in the sky. Nothing can get us here.”

  Smith brought the airship into a wide arc around the statue, still keeping them a hundred feet above the top. The face came into view. Illuminated only by the stars and the moon, her features still proudly looked out to the rest of the world.

  “She doesn’t look damaged,” said April. There was a fine coating of some dark material but no physical damage.

  “Nothing major. Copper has a higher melting temperature than the compound they used.”

  “Assuming they used a compound. What if you don’t find anything?” April felt guilty, but part of her wanted this to be more than clever tricksters.

  “Then it’s time for another theory.” Smith unfastened his lap belt and stood up. “I’ll need you to take the controls.”

  “Me?”

  “This isn’t a sightseeing adventure, Miss Malone,” said Smith as the face of the Statue of Liberty drifted directly into view behind him.

  “No, of course not.” April slid into the pilot seat and fastened the belt. “What do I do?”

  “Just sit there for now. I’ve adjusted the motors to try to keep us at this position. There’s a compass that will correct if we drift to one side or another. A gyro will compensate.”

  “Why do you need me then?” April tried to make sense of the gauges.

  “In case it doesn’t work.” Smith stepped to the rear of the cabin and fastened a harness around his body. He clipped it to an overhead wench.

  April looked over her shoulder. “What are you going to do?”

  Smith tapped a pouch he’d slung over his shoulder. “Get us a sample of the residue.” He opened the back door and a cold wind filled the cabin. The gondola began to rock. “Hold her steady, Miss Malone.”

  “Aren’t you frightened?” She tried to ignore the height and the cold.

  “Terrified.” Smith jumped out the back of the craft and fell out of sight.

  April leaned over the window but couldn’t see him below. He’d last positioned the craft several dozen feet above the crown. She guessed he was near the top of the head or the spikes.

  Thirty feet below the airship, Smith swung in the breeze next to the spikes of the crown. A dark ash covered the statue. He tried to reach out with a sample brush but the wind kept pushing him away. The familiar scent of a chemical reaction was carried on the breeze, but he wanted to be certain.

  Above him, the primitive autopilot did its best to keep the dirigible in position. A gust of wind pushed the craft away and Smith with it. He could hear the motors spin faster as the airspeed sensor tried to compensate. Smith vaguely remembered not having adjusted them since the last time he tried out his craft. The pitch increased and the craft accelerated over the top of the statue, pulling Smith.

  The rope swung wildly and threw him toward the left ear. Smith brought his legs to his chest to brace for impact. He hit the lower earlobe with a crash. The statue made a sound like a gong and his knees felt like splinters. His legs took most of the impact, but he was still disoriented.

  The aircraft continued to move forward. The edge of the rope went over the top of the crown and began pulling Smith toward the top. He yanked on the rope, hoping the mechanical pilot would stop the motion, but to no avail. In a few more feet, he’d fly clear of the statue.

  To his left was one of the arched windows that went around the crown below the spikes. Smith reached his hands out and tried to grab hold of the edge. His fingers could feel the metal still warm from the blaze. He kept hold and tried to keep from sliding over the top of her head. The propellers of the dirigible fought against him. The rope kept pulling him up.

  Smith pushed his knees under the top of the arch. A gust of wind pushed the airship back, giving him a moment of slack. Smith reached out with his arms and grabbed either edge of the arch and pushed his feet against the underside. The airship began to pull him back over the top. This time he stretched out his legs and used his thighs to push against the motors. It worked, but he was now upside down with his feet at the top of the arch and his head near the bottom. The harness dug into his waist. For a moment, he feared it might slip off his legs in his upside-down position. He spread his thighs apart to keep that from happening.

  His leather pouch smacked him in the face and began to slide off his shoulders. He reached out with his left hand and grasped the strap before it fell
below. Using his teeth to grip it, he reached inside and grabbed a sample brush to wipe on the surface of the statue. Cold wind froze his cheeks. For a moment, he felt guilty for leaving the back door open. He hoped Miss Malone wasn’t too chilly.

  He remarked to himself that it was quite a lot of effort to prove something he already suspected. But the delight of finding out he could be wrong was what excited him. He ran the brush along the soot until the white bristles were completely dark. He was about to slip it into the pouch when he heard someone shout below.

  “Look! It’s a giant bat!”

  “A Martian bat is attacking the statue!” said another voice.

  Smith looked from side to side for the bat. He wondered how such a large creature could manage to fly in the thin Martian atmosphere. The disappointment sank in as he realized they were talking about him. Upside down, hanging from under the Statue of Liberty’s crown, jacket flapping in the wind – he knew this couldn’t come to any good. Searchlights began to scan the sky and the statue. A moment later, he heard the sound of what had to be a cannon go off and he began to fall.

  Teddy and Schmitty

  April sat at the controls but wasn’t quite sure what she was supposed to do while Smith dangled below. The propellers would spin faster and adjust their position every time a breeze drifted them away from the statue. She had no idea what Smith was doing. The rope leading down from the wench out the open back door would slide from side to side and occasionally make straining sounds.

  She leaned back and looked at the lights of the harbors across the bay in New Jersey and Long Island. The only sound she could hear was the wind and the propellers. Occasionally the mechanical pilot would make a clicking adjustment as it tried to adjust the dirigible’s position. The first sign of any trouble was when a bright light from below illuminated the interior of the cabin. As it flickered across April’s face, she knew something was wrong. She turned toward the back of the cabin and looked at the rope and bit her lip. Should she activate the wench and pull Smith up? She was afraid to leave the controls, as helpless as she felt at them.