The Chronological Man: The Martian Emperor

by Andrew Mayne

  He hadn’t showed her what lever controlled that. Other than his stick, he hadn’t actually explained any of the gauges and dials. The search light illuminated the cabin again. She reached for the buckle of the lap belt to unfasten it. She wanted to shout down to Smith for instructions. As her hand touched the clasp, there was a loud bang and the sound of fabric ripping.

  The craft began to turn to the side. April fell out of the chair and landed against the bulkhead. Her face was pressed up against the side window. For the first time that night, she experienced vertigo as she saw the ground below and the lights flashing up toward her. The ground was getting closer. They were falling.

  She tried to move her arm, but her shoulder was bruised from the impact and still tingling. She knew it was more shock than anything else and forced the pain out of her mind. She pushed up against the side wall. The gondola began to shift again, and she was thrown to the other side. She reached out and grabbed the back of the chair to arrest her fall. Her hands held it tightly. She could see the face of the statue move past the cockpit as she fell. What now?

  Smith felt the harness dig into his chest as he was jerked to a stop mid-air. It hurt immensely, but he was relieved that he was no longer falling. April must have regained control of the craft, he thought. When he saw the dirigible falling off to his side, he made a face. His mind searched for an explanation. Why was it below him? For a fleeting second he wondered if he’d been caught in some kind of Martian magnetic beam. But then he remembered there weren’t any Martians. He looked up and saw the frightening explanation.

  The defaulting dirigible had descended off to the side and had passed one of the huge spikes in the crown. Smith’s tether was being pulled up and over it like a pulley. The metal structure was fast moving toward him as he was pulled up.

  He twisted his body so his head wouldn’t be smashed into the underside. He held his hands out and braced himself for impact. Smith stiffened his body and stuck out his chest like a diver.

  The harness reached the bottom of the pylon and made a clank as metal hit metal. He prayed that the clasp didn’t come undone. He slid past the side and over the top. He tried to grasp it to arrest his fall and perhaps stop the descent of the balloon, but it had lost too much buoyancy. There was no way he could stop it.

  Smith’s fingers slipped and he was bounced over the top like a trout on a fish ladder. He could feel the impact in his chest and stomach. He arched his back and prepared himself for the worst part. His fingers tried to grasp the top edge in a last-ditch effort, to no avail. The rope jerked him over the edge and into the air.

  He was now falling head first toward the ground. The dirigible was descending slowly relatively to him to the side. Smith passed it on the way down and saw the rather shocked expression of April in the pilot seat as she pressed her face up against the glass. He could see her green eyes in the light of the control panel. Strangely, it made him feel relaxed.

  Why was that fool smiling when he flew past? April put the question out of her mind and pulled at the stick. They were still several hundred feet from the ground. The propellers may not stop them from falling, but she at least hoped they could lessen the impact.

  When Smith flew past the window, she realized that she needed to make sure the contraption didn’t fall down on top of him. She was reasonably certain she could manage the impact in the gondola but doubted he could out in the open, especially if the gondola landed on him.

  The motors began to whir as she pulled backward on the stick. There was a jerk, and the craft dropped as Smith reached the end of his tether. The craft’s nose pointed toward the sky. April looked out the back of the gondola and could see the ground. Smith’s body dangled into view for a moment.

  “More speed, Miss Malone,” shouted Smith.

  Relieved that he hadn’t snapped his neck, she turned to the control panel and searched for anything that would stop their rapid descent. Her fingers found the autopilot control. She hesitated for a split second and then turned it off. She rationalized that there was some kind of governor that was keeping the propellers from spinning at their maximum.

  She yanked the stick backward again and the motors spun faster. They were still falling but not as rapidly before. The statue’s face loomed over the main window, almost chastising her. April’s mother had warned her about her curiosity. She’d been told it wasn’t proper for a young woman to go gallivanting off like she was prone to doing. Never could her mother imagine her in a situation like this. She’d told her almost nothing of Smith, much less the adventure beneath the streets of Boston with the giant squid-like creature. Now this.

  April shook her head and held the stick back as far as possible and braced for impact. Cold wind rushed in through the open rear hatch, heightening the sense of falling.

  Smith felt like he was going to snap in half when the harness yanked into him a second time. He had to admit the free fall was quite interesting; it was the stopping that wasn’t. From prior experiences, he knew the most dangerous part was making certain that your neck didn’t get tangled in the ropes. If that happened, even a modest drop could prove fatal. Fortunately, he’d managed to keep himself clear of the rope.

  He looked to the ground. Several dozen men had gathered in a wide circle underneath him. Two of them had spotlights aimed up at him and the craft. Miss Malone had managed to switch off the autopilot and was making something of a controlled descent. Smith was quite relieved that they both would most likely walk away if they could survive the mob. All of the men appeared armed and angry.

  Twenty feet above the crowd, Smith shouted down to them, “Please put away your weapons, gentlemen. There’s a reasonable explanation for all of this.”

  With stone faces, they kept their guns pointed at him.

  His feet touched the grass near the base. The men kept their distance. Smith smiled until he realized they were looking up. The gondola was still falling directly over him.

  He jumped to the side as it hit the ground where he’d been standing. The bag began to sag. Within seconds it had partially deflated and completely covered Smith and the gondola like a blanket.

  Under the huge shroud, he could see April through the window.

  “Kill the engine!” shouted Smith.

  April nodded and shut the whole contraption down. The propellers stopped spinning and avoided ripping into the sides of the bag. Underneath the bag, it looked like they were in a darkened tent. April climbed out of the cabin and pushed the bag over her to give her headroom.

  “I didn’t touch anything!” she said.

  “I know you didn’t, Miss Malone. If you hadn’t been at the controls I’d be dead by now.”

  “We may still be yet. They looked angry.”

  “Especially the one that shot at us.” Smith glanced around the underside of the bag. “We could try to escape, I suppose.”

  “We’re on an island, Smith.”

  “Right. I guess we just have to convince them we’re not Martians if we want to survive this.” Smith gave her a weak smile and then held out his arm for her. He pushed their way through the collapsed air bag. It made hissing noises at them as they moved underneath it and the gas squeezed out.

  They reached the edge of the bag and yanked it over their heads. Thirty men with bewildered expressions looked back at them. Firemen wielding axes and policemen holding guns and clubs surrounded them.

  “We mean you no harm!” said Smith.

  The crowd tensed, frightened by his voice. Several guns were cocked.

  Smith was confused. Clearly they could see he was no Martian bat, just an ordinary earthling with a flying machine.

  “What’s wrong with … oh my!” squeaked April. “What’s wrong with our voices?” she said in high-pitched voice.

  “Helium,” squeaked Smith. He put a hand to his mouth as if he could catch the strange sounds before they reached the other men.

  The men stared back at them in confusion.

  “Seriously, gentlemen,” s
aid an unnaturally high-pitched Smith. “We’re earthlings just like you.” He tried to smile, but the sound of his voice defeated him.

  A man began to push his way through the crowd. April and Smith could only see his presence from the rather large rifle barrel poking over the top of the other men’s heads. He finally reached the front and pointed the elephant gun at Smith’s chest. Smoke was still streaming out of the barrel. This was the man who had shot them down from the sky.

  The man spit out his cigar. “Schmitty?” he exclaimed.

  “Teddy?” squeaked Smith as recognition slammed into his brain.

  He raised his elephant gun and turned to the crowd. “It’s all right, everyone. I know this man. I’m reasonably sure he’s not our Martian.” In a lower voice he grumbled, “Right?”

  “Of course. We’re only here to help.” Smith’s voice began to squeak less.

  “Then god save us all,” said Theodore Roosevelt.

  Crash

  “This man is an aeronautical expert I asked to come help us out with this,” Roosevelt explained to the fire chief and police captain.

  “Then why’d you shoot him with your cannon?” asked the police captain in an exaggerated brogue.

  “Because I wasn’t expecting him to show up here.”

  “Sorry about that. I decided to use the fastest means possible.” Smith waved to the sagging dirigible. “Still a few kinks to work out. Thanks to my pilot’s quick reactions.” Smith gestured to April. “Er, Theodore Roosevelt, may I present Miss April Malone.”

  April held out her hand and Roosevelt gave it a polite kiss. The police captain and fire chief nodded and then wandered off to look at Smith’s craft.

  Roosevelt leaned on the barrel of his rifle. “Maybe a little warning next time. I almost shot you, thinking maybe the fools were right and you were some kind of Martian bat.”

  “Yes. My apologies. I didn’t expect anyone would see us, least of all someone as well armed as you.” Smith gave Roosevelt’s large rifle a nervous glance.

  “How else do you shoot a Martian?” asked Roosevelt in a serious tone.

  “Good point.”

  “What’s with the contraption?” asked Roosevelt. He nodded to the fallen craft.

  “I wanted to get a closer look at the statue. It seemed like a good idea at the time,” said Smith. He gave April a thin smile.

  Roosevelt just shook his head.

  Smith reached into his pouch and pulled out his sample brush. He stuck his other hand inside and pulled out a small liquid vial and pushed the brush inside. He gave it a shake and then held it by the light of a lantern set on the ground by their feet.

  “Boric acid,” said Roosevelt. He tapped the butt of his rifle to the edge of the collapsed bag. “I could have saved you a lot of trouble.”

  “Where’s the fun it that?” Smith tried to hide his disappointment. “So they know it’s a hoax? Not some space ray?”

  Roosevelt shook his head. “All it means is that there could be a chemical component to the weapon. Until we know what a space ray is supposed to be, it could mean some kind of Martian flame-thrower that covers you with green fire. Try convincing the mayor or anybody else here that’s not a serious threat.”

  “I see your point.” Smith looked up at the statue. “How seriously are they taking it?”

  “Very. But the upside of your little stunt is that I think they’ll begin to take seriously my suggestion that we’re dealing with a very clever man and not a Martian.”

  “Glad I could help.” Smith scratched his scalp. He couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact with April.

  “I’m sorry I had to shoot you down. We have a telephone out at Oyster Bay. You could have called.” He looked at the fallen airship. “Can you fix it?”

  Smith turned around. “I think so. Happens all the time. I’ve got a kit to patch it up inside and some extra cylinders.” He noticed several police and fire officials were still milling around the crashed vehicle. “I guess everyone is taking this pretty seriously.”

  “And how. Our Martian has created quite a stir. Two hours ago, while this was lighting up the night sky, he placed a telephone call to the president and repeated his demands.”

  “Oh, my. Did he take it seriously?” asked April.

  “Not until his telephone switchboard caught on fire from calls from the British prime minister, the president of France and all of Congress. It seems it was a party call. They’re all furious that they weren’t told about the inscription on the monolith.”

  “What will he do about that?” Smith dropped the end of the air bag he was holding on to.

  “There’s going to be a conference tomorrow here in New York. The secretary of war is coming, as are the heads of the Army and Navy. Several ambassadors, as well. A few professors from the various universities are going to speak on the subject.”

  “What then?” asked Smith.

  “If they think there’s a rational reason to be concerned, then they might just try to pay off the bribe.”

  “But not end all wars?”

  “There’s not much to do right now.” Roosevelt placed his rifle across the crook of his arm and stepped back to get a better view of the collapsed craft. “You haven’t been flying this around the Baltics recently?”

  “No, not that I can recall.”

  Roosevelt stepped closer and spoke in a hushed tone. “I’ve got sources that have said they’ve seen reports of flying craft over parts of Russia and even Finland.”

  “Dirigibles and balloons?” asked Smith.

  Roosevelt shook his head. “Metal craft, like the one people claimed they saw last night over Central Park. Heavier than air.”

  Smith shook his head. “None of my design. At least none that I can account for.”

  April listened closely but kept quiet. She wondered how many flying machines Smith had his hand in. She’d also been thinking about the Martian’s appearance but decided to wait until he finished talking to Roosevelt.

  “It was just a thought. I’m looking for explanations to bring to the table tomorrow, before they do anything rash. There’s talk about just paying up the ransom and seeing what happens. A few Treasury men are convinced that’s the best course of action, treat it like a ransom and then follow the money.”

  “That’s fine if you’re trying to track down some garden-variety thug, but this individual is thinking several steps ahead. Obviously he’s got international connections. Once that ransom is paid, he could vanish to any corner of the earth. Or sky, for that matter.”

  “You don’t think we could track it?” asked Roosevelt. He pulled a cigar from his pocket, looked at the half-inflated gas bag and put it away.

  “Don’t worry. You can smoke to your heart’s content around this. I don’t doubt anyone’s devotion. The trouble you have is that you don’t have anything capable of tracking him if he takes to the air. You need some kind of air force.”

  “Don’t I?” Roosevelt lit his cigar and waved to the grounded aircraft. “What if we were to add some firepower to this contraption. Like a few more rifles like this or a Gatling gun? That’d be some air power.”

  Smith felt his heart sink. “I was hoping aviation could be a civil pursuit and not another weapon for war.”

  “Too late on that, Schmitty. The Chinese were strapping fellows to kites to drop bombs a thousand years ago. Half the world’s navies are trying to build craft like yours.”

  “I know. I know. I helped design more than I care to think about.”

  “Besides, it looks like somebody using a get-up more advanced than yours is already using it to wage war, or at least anarchy. How do you suppose he managed to assault our Lady Liberty?”

  “Probably poured the liquid from the sky, I suppose, which means his craft is large enough to carry several hundred gallons of liquid. More than adequate to ferret away with two thousand pounds of gold bullion. But slowly.”

  Roosevelt puffed out a cloud of smoke and shifted his rifle. “You kn
ow me, Schmitty, I look for a way to avoid a conflict, but once I know it’s coming, I leave nothing on the table. I go right for the nose. If it’s Martians or not, we’re in for a fight. And the moment I read that headline, I knew the one man in the world I wanted to have at my back was you. Perhaps a slightly older version of you, but I won’t ask questions. This is a modern kind of conflict and you’re the most modern man I know. So my question to you is this, are you just curious? Or are you ready to go to war with these Martian fakers?”

  Smith looked over at April. She raised an eyebrow. “I guess I’m in.”

  “How about you, miss?”

  “Me?”

  “I don’t know much about Schmitty other than he has a habit of showing up in the oddest places and he keeps exceptional company. The way you landed that contraption was impressive. I would have jumped for it myself.”

  “I guess I’m still hoping they’re really Martians with peaceful intent.”

  “So are we all.” He tapped his nose. “But I think the three of us know it’s not the case.”

  “I hope the men in the meeting tomorrow don’t come to any rash conclusions. I’d be fine if they decided it was time to end all wars, of course,” said Smith.

  “That’d be a nice dream. But how long would that last? Peace under what terms? Lots of peace in a graveyard. I just hope the buffoons don’t come up with any harebrained schemes. Although .…”

  Smith waited for him to complete the thought.

  Roosevelt pondered his feet. “Think you could manage some kind of demonstration? I think it’s important that we remind them that you deal with hoaxers differently than the genuine artifact.”

  “Such as?”

  “Surprise me. You already did once tonight.” Roosevelt tipped his hat to April and then wandered off.

  “You and me both.” Smith turned to April. “He’s a very peculiar man.”