The Martian Ambassador

by Alan K Baker

  And then he thought of Sophia’s words in the immediate aftermath of the interplanetary cylinder’s destruction. He believed she was absolutely correct in her inference that Cold’s ultimate objective was to start a war between Earth and Mars, by creating a powerful sense of fear, mistrust and revulsion amongst each planetary population for the other. It did not matter that he looked nothing like a Martian; his words following each attack in the crowded streets of the British Empire’s capital were enough to equate Mars with violence and terror in the public mind. Then, the nature of Lunan R’ondd’s death was calculated to make the Martians equate Earth with parasitical infestation, of which they had a powerful racial terror – a primal revulsion. Blackwood had no doubt that the cylinder’s destruction (and the murder of two more Martians) would cause further outrage on the Red Planet, whose inhabitants would see it as an act of revenge for the attacks in London.

  And yet, even these events were surely not enough to make the two worlds go to war… surely, a final catalyst was required, a final outrage to tip them into the abyss. What that catalyst would be, Blackwood had no idea, but he was quite certain that he would have to find out in pretty short order.

  And what of his motive? Blackwood thought, as the carriage entered the Bletchley Park estate. Why does Cold want Earth and Mars to go to war? What possible use could it serve to Venus?

  He recalled Private Buckley’s words when he, Sophia and de Chardin had spoken with him in his hospital bed at the Aldershot barracks: Are we goin’ to war with Mars?… I don’t believe we’d come off very well if we did… but neither would they against us! We’d give ’em a good show, by God we would! They wouldn’t walk away without a few bloody noses and black eyes.

  ‘Neither would they against us,’ Blackwood murmured.

  Colonel Caxton-Roper glanced at him. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  And then Blackwood recalled the final words Petrox Voronezh said to him, before succumbing to his injuries: Save… Earth… and Mars.

  All at once, the answer came to him. ‘My God, that’s it!’ he cried. ‘How could I have been so stupid? How could I have been so blind?’

  ‘What is it, Mr Blackwood?’

  ‘I’ve just realised what the Venusians’ plan is. It’s been staring me in the face all along, but like a dullard, I’ve only just seen it.’

  ‘What is their plan?’ said the colonel.

  Blackwood spoke quickly, giving voice to his thoughts as soon as they entered his mind.

  ‘The planet Venus is facing an environmental catastrophe which threatens to destroy its civilisation. Its industrial emissions have triggered an irreversible warming of the planet. Venusian society is highly secretive and isolationist: even the Martians, with their superior methods of interplanetary flight, know very little about it. Venusians are also aggressive and acquisitive. Their plan is to sow seeds of discord between Earth and Mars, which will, they hope, result in war between the two worlds.

  ‘But here’s the thing: they know that they would not be able to defeat Mars unless the Red Planet had already been weakened in a conflict with Earth. The Venusians intend to ignite a war between Earth and Mars, in which human civilisation will be destroyed, and Martian civilisation weakened to the extent that the Venusians will be able to invade both planets, thus ensuring the continuation of their own civilisation!’

  ‘Good grief!’ said Caxton-Roper. ‘Can that really be what they’re up to?’

  ‘It must be, Colonel. In an all-out war between our worlds, Earth would lose, but our new Æther zeppelins are nearing completion, which means that we would be able to inflict heavy losses on Mars. We wouldn’t be able to defeat them, but we would be able to weaken them enough for the Venusians to step in and finish the job.’

  ‘My God,’ said the colonel, appalled. ‘The audacity of the brutes!’

  ‘Audacious, indeed,’ agreed Blackwood, who then voiced his conviction that something more, some final atrocity, would be required to goad the worlds of Earth and Mars into a state of war.

  ‘A final push,’ nodded Caxton-Roper. ‘But what?’

  ‘I don’t know, Colonel,’ Blackwood sighed. ‘But I mean to find out.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I believe that Indrid Cold has more than one ally on Earth…’

  ‘You mean humans? Traitors?’

  ‘Precisely. And one of them is very powerful – in more ways than one. I think I shall pay him a visit this evening.’

  Perhaps, he added to himself, that is where Sophia has been taken.

  *

  The Bletchley Park mansion had been built in a curious mixture of architectural styles. As the carriage approached, Blackwood frowned at the disparate elements of Gothic, Tudor and Dutch Baroque which gave the building a rather schizophrenic appearance not at all to his liking – although the impression of conflict it conveyed was entirely in keeping with the building’s function as the headquarters of the Bureau’s Unearthly Phenomenon Unit.

  It was here that research was undertaken into the fields of the paranormal, the spiritualistic and the extra-planetary, where supernatural and supernormal threats to the British Empire were identified, studied, and defences against them formulated. Blackwood had been here on a number of occasions and had been struck each time by the ingenuity and dedication of the staff, which included astronomers, physicists, biologists and engineers, not to mention alchemists, spiritualistic mediums, white witches, and shamans. This combination of the physical and occult sciences, this viewing of the Universe in all the aspects of its great totality, made the Unearthly Phenomenon Unit one of the most potent weapons in the Bureau’s arsenal.

  That potency became apparent to Blackwood as he stepped down from the carriage, which had stopped outside the mansion’s portico. He had the feeling of eyes upon him… eyes that were not human, that were not even animal in any meaningful sense. The house and the wide lawns surrounding it appeared perfectly normal on the surface, but Blackwood was keenly aware that beyond or beneath that surface, he and Caxton-Roper were being watched by something unseen, something immensely powerful and utterly implacable.

  After a few moments, however, this unsettling feeling passed, for whatever had been regarding them recognised them as having authorisation to enter Station X, and the sensation of being under intense scrutiny vanished from Blackwood’s mind.

  Caxton-Roper breathed a sigh of relief and muttered, ‘I can never quite get used to that.’

  ‘A necessary precaution,’ replied Blackwood, ‘but I know what you mean.’

  The two men mounted the steps to the front door, while the colonel’s carriage continued around the side of the house, followed by the steam lorry and its strange cargo. Caxton-Roper took out his latch-key and unlocked the door, and Blackwood followed him inside.

  The interior of Bletchley Park was several orders of magnitude stranger than the exterior, and Blackwood wondered whether he would ever become accustomed to this, either. The structure of the entrance hall was more in keeping with the external architecture of a cathedral than the foyer of a mansion. The internal space was a maze of flying buttresses and pinnacles, clerestories and triforia. Here and there, gigantic gargoyles snarled from the centres of complex traceries, their hideous visages apparently inspired by the fauna of distant and unknown worlds. It would have struck the casual visitor (had he managed to get past the watcher outside) as curious that such sentinels should be posted within the house rather than on the outside, since the purpose of a gargoyle is to ward off evil encroaching from without. At any rate, Blackwood could not prevent himself from shuddering as he regarded these frightful carvings, and gave an uncomfortable thought to the nature of the things they were intended to hold at bay.

  The attention of the two men was drawn to one of the far walls, which had begun to warp and ripple as if made of thick liquid. Presently, the warping and rippling resolved itself into a human form, which detached itself from the wall and walked towards them. As it approached across the intricate p
arquetry of the vast floor, the undifferentiated and featureless paleness of its form took on colour and texture until, by the time it reached them, it had become fully resolved into a distinguished-looking man of late middle age, dressed in black trousers and a black Nehru jacket, with grey-flecked hair and a neatly-trimmed goatee.

  This was the Comte de Saint Germain, immortal adept and Director of the Unearthly Phenomenon Unit. Saint Germain had ceased to be a corporeal being some years ago; now, his home was Bletchley Park, where he oversaw the tireless efforts of the staff to protect the Empire from all comers – natural and supernatural.

  ‘Good afternoon, gentlemen,’ he said in a voice rich and resonant with the untold centuries of his life.

  Blackwood gave a slight bow. ‘Good afternoon, sir. I trust you are well.’

  Saint Germain smiled absently, and Blackwood had the distinct impression that he was devoting only the merest fraction of his mind to the here and now, the rest lost in contemplation of concepts barely imaginable by normal human beings.

  ‘I understand you have brought us a curious artefact, Mr Blackwood.’

  ‘I have: a Venusian Æther ship…’ Blackwood watched for signs of surprise in Saint Germain’s expression, and when he detected none, he added, ‘With all due respect, sir, you seem… unperturbed by this discovery.’

  ‘Discovery? Why, Mr Blackwood, the discovery is yours, not mine.’

  ‘I have the impression that you were aware of the presence of intelligent life on Venus, before the present situation. Am I correct, sir?’

  ‘You are.’

  ‘And you never informed Her Majesty’s Government of the fact?’

  Again, that enigmatic, absent smile. ‘I agreed with the Martians that it was something mankind did not need to know. Indeed, there are some things it is better not to know. However, recent events have rendered such precautions academic, haven’t they?’ Saint Germain regarded Blackwood in silence for a few moments. When he next spoke, it was the Special Investigator’s features which broadened in surprise. ‘You have recently encountered a djinn, haven’t you?’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I can smell it on you. It was summoned by one with a profound knowledge of Arabian Star Magick. You are very lucky to be alive and sane.’

  Thoughts of Sophia crowded Blackwood’s mind once again, and he murmured, ‘I know.’

  ‘I have the suspicion that you will encounter such Magick again before this business is over. We’ll have to do something about that. In the meantime, why don’t we have a look at our new toy?’

  Blackwood and Caxton-Roper followed Saint Germain through a door which led into the depths of the house. They passed drawing rooms, libraries, studies, a dining room and telegraph room, before passing through a large conservatory and out into the grounds at the rear. A number of people were converging on one of several large huts ranged across the neatly-tended lawns.

  ‘As you can see, gentlemen,’ said Saint Germain, ‘Station X is abuzz with your discovery. There are a lot of people here who are most anxious to get their hands on the Æther ship.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it,’ Caxton-Roper replied.

  The hut was painted white and was about twenty feet by fifty. Through the open double doors at one end, a glow of electric light shone brightly in the cloudy murk of the mid-afternoon. As they approached, Blackwood caught glimpses of frenetic activity within: people were hurrying to and fro before the half-obscured bulk of the vessel.

  ‘Her Majesty has already sent word to Mars by Æther telegraph,’ said Saint Germain. ‘The Martians are also anxious to examine the vessel, since this will be their first opportunity to do so.’

  Blackwood felt his heart sink. ‘Has she also informed them of the latest developments in this case?’ he asked, thinking of Voronezh and Ghell’ed.

  ‘She has.’

  ‘Do you know what her reaction was?’

  Saint Germain glanced at him, and he cursed himself for having uttered such a stupid question. ‘Don’t tell me. She is not amused.’

  ‘No, Mr Blackwood, she is not. In fact, a doubt that there has ever been a time in her long life when she has been less amused.’

  ‘I’ve been trying to think of what to say to her, and to Grandfather,’ he confided. ‘I fear that I haven’t done terribly well, so far. And to cap it all, my friend and colleague is now in the clutches of a Venusian, thanks to my carelessness.’

  ‘You are too hard on yourself. Your record of service is exemplary.’

  ‘Thank you, but that is cold comfort. In fact, an agent of the Crown is only as good as his performance in the current case: past successes count for little if he loses his edge.’

  ‘And you think you are losing yours?’

  ‘I’ve begun to wonder.’

  ‘Why do you think that is?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Really? I think you do.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Saint Germain shrugged. ‘Perhaps your judgment is becoming clouded by thoughts of a more… personal nature.’

  Blackwood snorted. ‘Are you suggesting that my feelings for Lady Sophia… go beyond the professional?’

  Saint Germain smiled. ‘Those words are yours, not mine.’

  ‘Ridiculous,’ Blackwood muttered as they entered the hut.

  ‘Perhaps… but in any event, I advise you to put all such thoughts to the back of your mind, at least for now – for there is a much more pressing matter to attend to.’

  Blackwood immediately saw what Saint Germain meant. His heart quickened and the blood left his face when his gaze fell upon the two people standing before the Æther ship.

  Grandfather was scowling at him, puffs of steam emerging in angry little spurts from his artificial legs, and beside him, Queen Victoria stood, her face expressionless but her eyes bright with Martian fire.

  No, Blackwood thought miserably. She most certainly does not look amused.

  CHAPTER FOUR:

  An Ultimatum

  Blackwood steeled himself and walked forward. He noted that Grandfather’s jaw muscles were working furiously, as if he were chewing on a tough piece of meat. He bowed to Victoria. ‘Good afternoon, Your Majesty… Grandfather.’

  ‘Blackwood! What the devil do you think you’re doing, man?’ thundered Grandfather. ‘Two more Martians dead, Lady Sophia abducted, and still we’re no closer to getting our hands on this Indrid Cold Johnnie! You’re making a shambles of this whole blasted affair.’ He glanced at the Queen. ‘Apologies for the language, ma’am.’

  ‘Think nothing of it, sir,’ Victoria replied. She spoke in quiet, measured tones, but it was clear from the timbre of her voice that she was barely suppressing an explosive rage. ‘Mr Blackwood,’ she continued, gazing up at the Special Investigator with her heavy-lidded eyes, ‘we had hoped to bring this unfortunate situation to a speedy conclusion, but thanks to your most unsatisfactory performance, we are now witness to yet more death and destruction. We can only speculate as to the reaction this will provoke on Mars.’

  ‘An interplanetary cylinder destroyed. Biggin Hill all but obliterated,’ continued Grandfather. ‘This is rank buffoonery, Blackwood!’ From the colour of his cheeks, he looked about ready to explode himself. ‘What are we going to tell the Martians, eh? What are we to tell them?’

  Blackwood took a deep breath. ‘We are to tell them that the Venusians wish Earth and Mars to go to war: everything that has happened so far is geared towards that end. The Venusians wish to leave their dying planet and colonise our two worlds, but they know that this is impossible unless both Earth and Mars are weakened to the point where resistance becomes impossible. It’s quite obvious that this is Indrid Cold’s mission: he is an agent provocateur who has been sent to Earth on a one-way trip, and his intention is to ignite a war between Human and Martian. As a result, so he hopes, Earth civilisation will be destroyed, and Mars will be left without defences adequate to repel a Venusian invasion.’

  Victoria
and Grandfather glanced at each other as Blackwood continued, ‘But that is not the worst of it. We have at least two traitors in our midst: men who are in collusion with Indrid Cold, and who are willing, for whatever reason, to betray their world and their species.’

  ‘What?’ Grandfather blustered. ‘Traitors, you say?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Who are they?’ demanded the Queen.

  ‘I believe one of them to be Lord Pannick of Furfield.’

  ‘Preposterous!’ declared Grandfather.

  ‘I am well acquainted with Lord Pannick,’ said Victoria. ‘This is a very serious allegation you make against him, Mr Blackwood. Are you quite sure of what you are saying?’

  ‘I am reasonably confident, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Reasonably confident?’ echoed Grandfather. ‘What’s that supposed to mean? Where’s your evidence?’

  Blackwood hesitated. In fact, the evidence was circumstantial at best, but his intuition told him that Pannick was his man. Unfortunately, he suspected that his intuition didn’t carry much weight with either Grandfather or the Queen at this point. He recalled Saint Germain’s comment regarding his record and felt a brief flaring of anger, which he quickly fought down.

  Taking a small step forward towards Grandfather, he said quietly, ‘My evidence, sir, is admittedly circumstantial, but my intuition is, I believe, as sound as it has ever been. It has served both me and Her Majesty’s Bureau of Clandestine Affairs extremely well over the years, as my service record will amply attest.’

  He half expected Grandfather to erupt again at this, but instead he was surprised to detect a flicker of amusement pass across his lips. ‘I suppose that much can’t be denied,’ he conceded.

  ‘Who do you believe is the other traitor?’ asked Victoria.

  ‘Peter Meddings.’

  Grandfather raised his eyebrows. ‘Meddings? He’s a decent enough chap, Blackwood. Not very dynamic, I grant you – not much in the way of gumption… but a traitor?’