Ogilvy- My WotW Fan Novel

[Deleted]

This work, Ogilvy, is intended to be a parallel novel to The War of the Worlds. It is told from the perspective of Ogilvy the astronomer (from the original novel) with some original characters, some expanding on bit players, and new situations.

I am posting it here to get some feedback or suggestions from my fellow TWotW fans. Thank you for reading, and here is the first chapter.

[mrgrotey]

Jun 21, 2010 16:36:41 GMT 1 @stargazer said:

and here is the first chapter.

umm.. where?

[Deleted]

In some remote corner of the universe, poured out and glittering in innumerable solar systems, there once was a star on which clever animals invented knowledge. That was the highest and most mendacious minute of "world history" — yet only a minute. After nature had drawn a few breaths the star grew cold, and the clever animals had to die.

-Friedrich Nietzsche

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Chapter One: The Stargazer


My home has always been with the stars. They were a very special interest of mine even long ago, back in my younger and wilder years. They were my one and only love throughout my life. To me they represented the magnificent and unknowable Beyond, a place at once both accessible and forbidden for man to visit. They stayed fixed in their set places in the heavens, burning bright, bringing their soft light down through the aeons to me on the earth, soaking into my skin and bringing their strange fire to my soul. I could trust the stars, for they remained still even as people meandered around, chittering, slowly aging, doing their daily business and willingly grounding themselves. Even when I was small I felt that my place was out there, with the huge and beautiful majesties of Space, not the predictable mundanities of the world I knew.

My earliest memory as a young boy is of recieving a small working telescope as a birthday present, a gift that I fell in love with and put to use even on the day that it came to me. I remember sneaking out to the hills with it every night that I was able to and carefully mapping what I saw, memorizing the names of stars and learning to recognize the structure of every constellation. I often haunted libraries and borrowed books to use for my studies, visiting them so often that they seemed like second homes to me. Many times I spent entire afternoons studying and copying from star maps, sketching intricate representations of what I saw every night. The other boys my age learned to hunt, ride, fight. I acquired different skills. One of my fellow students could run for a mile without wearying and, according to schoolboy rumour, once wrestled a fully grown mastiff to the ground with his bare hands. Another could pick off a bird with his gun from thirty paces away. Instead I could rattle off the names of the stars by hemisphere or constellation; if you had named a celestial body, be it planet or star, and asked me where it was, I would have been able to pinpoint it in a matter of moments: Polaris, Arcturus, Mira, Algol, Ursa Major, Fornax, those were my friends. The happiest times that I remember from my childhood were those when I was alone in the darkness with only my telescope and my books.

Occasionally I attempted to bring the others up to my secret places with me to watch the skies, to try and make them understand, but they did not see what I found fascinating in them. Instead they laughed at me and thought that I was a fool, and as a result I gained a reputation as the lunatic, the poor little boy who went out to the woods alone to stare at the sky because he had no friends. I heard their barely hidden laughter and struggled to ignore it. I was by no means weak for my age, but the other boys were far stronger than me and had more experience in fighting. Sometimes, however, I did make the mistake of retaliation and almost always lost the resulting battles in the schoolyard or the street. These youthful scuffles for the most part ended with myself as the loser, limping back home with a black eye, a bloody nose, or shattered spectacles. I bore these wounds in the fashion of a true stoic, striving not to show the stinging pain that I felt, trying my best to bite my lip and carry injuries with pride as the other boys did. If I dared to cry, I knew that they would tease me even more. For a sturdy young boy, even one of my reputation, to shed a tear was one of those things that simply wasn't done.

Most of the other students did not hate me for the most part. To them I did not even deserve that. Instead they simply ignored me with haughty disdain, shot me looks in the classroom, or blamed me for starting fights whenever we got caught. Who would possibly believe that the short, lean, rather unattractive, bookish Ogilvy, who was so soft that he could not even crush a bug, had charged a boy twice his height and weight and hit him in the jaw? (Never mind that moments earlier that very same boy had called him a "slimy little bookworm".) The schoolmaster believed that, and as a result I got my fair share of canings from him for my alleged "uncouth behaviour" in front of the entire school. After enough of that I learned to stay out of trouble, to blend into the masses and hurry along on my way, usually with a book or two or three tucked underneath my arm, ignoring the insults.

In this way I learned that I was not an especially proficient fighter, instead becoming the unofficial schoolyard peacemaker and go-between. If I saw two boys fighting I would not do the sensible thing and back away while I could. Instead I would often try and get in the way. Sometimes this method would work and I would manage to get the warriors to stop, but more often I would find myself shoved in the nearest pile of mud as a punishment for the sheer audacity of trying to interfere. Other times I would volunteer to carry messages between enemies who were trying to reconcile, yet still unwilling to speak face to face. This also, more often than not, failed to go over well. As the students used me as their messenger, I would often be abused and insulted by both sides in the place of their absent enemy.

Neither did I get along well with the fairer sex, although I tried my best. When I was eleven years old I found myself hopelessly infatuated with a dark-haired, rather attractive girl in my area named Veronica and, not discouraged by older and wiser heads, set my heart on winning her for myself. Because I was skinny in form, wide-eyed, and socially awkward at best I decided at length to court her through indirect means, discreetly slipping a note in her blouse and "accidentally" standing close by when she found it an hour or so later. She looked at the note. I coughed, winked, and introduced myself as a gentleman ought to do. I fixed my shirt and checked that all of my buttons were done up before opening my mouth, trying not to seem as nervous as I was.

"Hello, my lady."

She looked up from the paper, noticing me. "Who are you?"

"I don't believe that we have ever met before, my dear Veronica. My name is Ogilvy. The O is pronounced as it is in ocean, not as in dog. Many people I know have trouble with it. Pleased to meet you."

She wrinkled her nose as if I were something unpleasant to the eye. "Oh, Ogilvy! I have heard of him. 'The mooncalf child of Ottershaw', they call you in the town, the loner who's always reading. I can see why they refer to you in that way by just looking at you. Short, ordinary, and wearing those silly specs, too."

"Mooncalf" was one of the more common terms the other boys used to describe me, and it was one that I especially disliked. I detested the word even more when I researched it at home in one of my father's old dictionaries, curious, and found out what it meant: a freak, an idiot child, a born fool. "Yes, that is right," I said at last, striving to keep anger from my voice, "but I would prefer it if you restrained yourself from referring to me that way." I used a finger to push up my glasses. "And I need to use my specs because my eyes don't work right, my father says. Not my fault."

"A moonstruck mooncalf," Veronica snickered, and I clenched my fists at her use of the detestable word. "Do you really think that I would want to be with a boy like you when others so much better are available? You are only a whining little lunatic who thinks he's better than the rest of us, always with your nose in a book and spitting out long words whenever you talk in order to seem smart. Now go away and leave me alone, you freak!" With that, she thrust the note in my hand before she turned up her snout at me and strutted off down the street without looking back.

I tore the piece of paper apart before throwing the bits to the ground.

"'Tis better to have loved and lost," I quoted bitterly, "than never to have loved at all." It was then that I think that I promised myself never to fall in love again. The next day I saw her with a handsome middle-aged chap who I had heard was very skilled at fox hunting, and neither of them spared me a glance.

I would be lying, however, if I told you that my early life was completely and irredeemably miserable.

My negotiation abilities did gain me a small circle of grateful friends who did, in fact, share my interests. For the first time I found peers who were willing to go up to the hills with me and listen while I excitedly pointed out stars and planets and allowed them to practice using my telescope. There were only a few of us, but a few allies were enough for me. It was often left to my friends to protect me whenever the time came that I did something rash, which was fairly often, as I never lost the old habit of wanting to talk to people who could quite clearly care less about me.

I remember one incident especially well, and I will describe it thus. It occurred on a spring afternoon as I was walking to the library to return three books on astronomy that I had rented the previous Thursday. Before I arrived, however, I heard the familiar sounds of a scuffle: cursing, shouting, the sick crunching of painful blows being exchanged. Cautiously I approached to see what the fuss was all about. Two boys several years older than me were fighting by a wall. Later I heard that a certain young woman had been romancing both of them at the same time and that the two had each been angered, setting a time and a place to settle the dispute in the traditional manner. At the time I did not understand why they were attacking each other so violently and, terrified, rushed in between the fighting boys and cried out for them to stop, young and foolish enough to believe that I could interfere.

They did stop, gaping at me in amazement. I nodded gratefully, mistaking their angry glares for a friendly greeting.

"Good day, lads!" I grinned, coming closer, still clutching my books. "Having a good time, eh?"

"Who," said the shorter of the boys, "is he? Who does he think he is?"

"Ignore him, Henry," replied the other, shooting me a look that could well have come from the eye of a basilisk. I realized then that I might not be as welcome as I had initially thought, but still didn't have the good sense to run. "I know who 'e is. 'E's that starwatching boy from school, remember? What's-'is-name. Begins with an O."

Henry, the other boy, laughed, and I did not understand that it was me that he saw as the joke. "Aye, him. I know about him. I've heard that 'e's a little, you know, off. Goes out into the woods all by 'is lonesome and stands there for hours, doin' nothing! What's he think he is? Waitin' for the spacemen to take him back home with 'em, I'll wager. He sure as 'ell doesn't belong here." Both of them laughed loudly, and, falsely encouraged by the fact that they obviously knew who I was, I came forward to speak a word in reply. Before I could utter a word in my defense, the older one lashed out with a fist and struck me hard, sending me sprawling into a mud pit close by.

As I lay there moaning, Henry spoke again to his erstwhile enemy, his voice a cruel whisper."That'll teach 'im to mess with us, eh?" He turned, shouting back at me. "And as for you, don't get in our way again if you know what's best for ya!" I nodded as I crawled to my feet, checking myself for injuries. I put a hand to my face and it came away red and sticky with blood. My books were almost ruined by the dirt. Picking them up and wiping them with the edge of my coat, I finally got the point and ran away as fast as I could. My nose tingled from the force of the blow and was bleeding heavily. Not knowing why the boys had hurt me, I began to cry, softly, so that no one would be able to hear. The wound stung, but the mental pain was still more agonizing. I needed sympathy, and I knew exactly where to find it.

Sniffling and limping to make myself look even more unsightly than I already was, I dragged myself groaning like a wounded animal to one of my dens among the trees, where three of my friends waited for that evening's excursion. To my relief, they looked appalled by what they saw. I supposed that my injury must have been worse than I had initially thought, and I sniffed again to make things even more clear. At last one of them finally gave a voice to his disgust, a black-haired boy named Jerry, an energetic but kindhearted lad who was the most muscular of our group. Out of them all he was the one I was closest to, and the others were all his friends. He treated me as one of his boys, an equal, an act which I would always be grateful for. Jerry was the reason that my childhood years were not a complete tragedy.

"Og, what happened to you?" he gasped, pulling out a hankerchief to help me stanch the oozing blood. "Who did this? What did you do?"The other boys joined the discussion, each one contributing his own commentary on my wounds and advice for alternate courses of action that I could have taken.

"Look at his eye!"

"You poor thing, that must have hurt like the devil."

"My God, why don't you hit them back?"

I was reluctant to speak, noting that my voice had become nasal due to internal congestion. At last I choked out an answer, trying to sound as brave as I could considering the circumstances. "I tried to get some of the lads to stop fighting, and one of dem hit me in the dose."

"When will you learn to stop trying to get along with people?" Jerry muttered, tucking away the now-soaked cloth. "I swear, Ogilvy, that habit of yours will be the death of you."

I laughed softly as I cleaned up the last of the blood from my face, not knowing that Jerry's words, intended as a jest, had more truth to them than either of us currently believed. "Aye, aye, it will. I can believe that. It will."

[Lonesome Crow]

Hi Stargazer and welcome.

I'm likeing this, your phraseology sounds about right for the period.
A good background for the character, I particularly liked the irony of the last paragraph, knowing as we all do how Ogilvy dies.

A good start and I look forward to reading more.

[Deleted]

Chapter Two: The Merchant's Son

Because I still seemed affected by the behaviour of the two boys, my posture slouching and my head hung low, Jerry understood that his words alone were not enough to help me recover. At that age I was a sensitive, easily upset child. Holding back tears only made me more emotional. My small body could not handle outbursts, which emerged rarely in tears but in trembling and sickness. At the worst times I would even vomit. My mother blamed this on a weak stomach, my father on a weak body.

When I was first born, I was so thin and sickly that the midwife who had delivered me feared that I would surely die in a matter of weeks. But I lived, to the surprise of all, and my parents named and baptized me when it became clear that I would not perish of disease or weakness. They were careful to protect me from harm in my earliest years, my mother teaching me to walk and to read. I became a fluent reader as a result of her rearing. By the age of five I could read short books with little difficulty, graduating to full-length novels in two more years. But my health was always in question; I could not run quickly without losing my breath, and I sometimes grew faint if I was out in the daylight sun for too long. The heat caused me to become sick. That was why I first retreated to the night sky. The cool air made me feel stronger than I in fact was, and the stars provided beauty to observe. My mother, who loved me dearly, feared that I would catch a fatal case of pneumonia from one of my midnight excursions. She became anxious whenever I ever did so much as cough, and forbade me from leaving if I had a cold or sore throat. My father was concerned about my health for other reasons.

My father was a fairly well-off Horsell merchant of middle age who had permanently settled in Ottershaw for his profession, a muscular, husky man with a natural aura of strength. He owned and managed a private shop where he sold men's clothes, especially shoes, even though the rapid spread of new technologies was making his work more difficult. He was dogged and stubborn, refusing to sell even when many of his neighbors gave way. I theorize that I inherited my own brand of tenacity from him. On his third year in town he had met the woman who would become the mother of his first and only son. My mother.

Because my father was growing old, he required a strong young lad who could take over his business when he died. The majority of his income had been spent on giving me a good education and ensuring my place in society. Because he had no other surviving children (there had been a young boy before me who had fallen ill and died soon after birth), for some time he saw me as his sole eligible successor. When I was a boy he set to teaching me his trade, genuinely puzzled when I displayed no interest. He noted with irritation my short-sightedness, which manifested itself in my fifth year when I suddenly found myself unable to read and, confused by this state of affairs, asked him why. He purchased spectacles for me, the first of many times, gigantic ones that scarcely fit on my nose and that gave me an owlish look.

It also annoyed him when I proved to not be as solidly built as he had hoped, with limp muscles and weak lungs. He eyed his gawky, moon-eyed, stumbling son with distaste and intense disappointment. He worked me harder, pushing me, certain that he could change me from the weakling I had unfortunately been born as into a stocky, strapping, virile creature. His efforts failed; he only succeeded in wearying me until one day I collapsed from a combination of overexertion and heat exhaustion.

"Victoria," he told his wife and my mother a few days after that, "you have somehow given birth to a feeble child." As for myself, I was hidden behind the corner, listening, curious about what they were saying to each other and knowing that it involved me in some way. Their voices were muffled, and so I only understood a few words.

"He has shown himself to be an intelligent boy. He only is not the child you want him to be, Tom."

"Why did I buy him that bloody telescope? 'It will make him happy', you said. It cost a small fortune in the shops and all it has done as of yet is mess with his head. And yesterday he told me that he wanted to become an astronomer! Perfect grammar, perfect diction, and he is only seven years of age! Wherever did he learn that word? When I was seven I never knew what an astronomer was."

"I suspect that our son learned it by himself. You know his passion for books; he has been teaching himself how to stargaze, from the library. And he does not only use children's instruction manuals, but reads everything on astronomy that he can lay his hands on."

"Yes, well," my father said huffily, "I suspect that our son is not doing well with the other schoolboys, however intelligent he may be. He has almost no physical strength, despite my best attempts to learn him, and his behaviour (understandably, may I add) appears strange to them. That boy is destroying my hard-built reputation. All we have been able to engender in all our years of happy marriage is a lanky aspiring scientist. All he is able to do with any skill is pick out stars. He even has a bit of a stoop; surely you must have seen it! If his elder brother had not died, I would have another option for the shop. I would allow him to inherit due to his blood, but chances are he would stand around and woolgather while his business went to seed!"

My mother took his hand, trying to calm him down. "The sciences have their own rewards. Astronomers are shown a healthy amount of respect, especially ones as talented as your son may prove to be. He is a mostly gentle boy, kind in heart and possessed of a useful talent. A good mix, if tended properly, and we should allow him to be what he wants to be. There are family members who would be willing to run the shop in our son's place."

"Gentle boys often fare badly in the world for the very reason that it has no mercy on the naive and soft. Besides which, he is impetuous bordering on self-destructive. Remember when he got in a fight with that lad last year and came dangerously close to getting his nose broken? He was beaten for it — beaten, Victoria! The boy's delicate enough as he is! He is going to think that he deserves the treatment he gets, and I will not be there to protect him from himself forever. He will be forced into the real world, and I wish to prepare him for it before it chews him up and spits him back out!" He groaned, a hollow, almost inhuman sound that caused my eyes to flicker to the door for a moment. "If you are right and he is some sort of prodigy child, his life will either go brilliantly or end in disaster, depending on his luck or if his impulsive attitude compels him to do something so mad that he will not live long enough to regret it." He coughed. "On the other hand, perhaps his bizarre fascination with astronomy is only a phase, like playing with toy soldiers or fighting with sticks on the street."

The incident that my father was referring to had occurred three days before. A greasy boy named Wilson had picked me up by the collar, insulted me, spat on the grass, and at last shoved me in the dirt. This in and of itself was not an unusual happening; I was accustomed to beatings. What made the encounter with Wilson different was that for once my anger got the better of me, and I completely lost my sense of self-control. While he walked away laughing, I stood up, seething, and ran at him. He stopped laughing when I was clinging to his back, scratching and pummeling every inch of him that I could get my hands on. He fought back, pulling me off, and together the two of us rolled on the ground, fighting like a pair of wildcat cubs. I had given him a bloody nose and may have knocked out a tooth with a well-aimed blow. Meanwhile he had broken the left lens of my eyeglasses and was trying to get a firm grip around my neck. We may very well have permanently maimed each other if the schoolmaster had not intervened. Wilson accused me of starting the fight, displaying his injuries, which I must confess were somewhat worse than mine. As a result the schoolmaster dragged us to his office and gave both of us a beating with his cane. He struck me somewhat harder than he had Wilson, and I complained about the incident when I returned home.

At the time I understood very little of my parents' conversation, only picking up the occasional word that I could easily make out. I failed to grasp the importance of their talk, only noting that I was, somehow, "special", and that fact was why I was treated differently. My natural conclusion was that something was wrong with me. Perhaps it was my spindly build, the fact that I barely fit in my school uniform, or my poor vision. With my spectacles I could see clearly enough, but the older boys quickly realized that I needed them to be any kind of threat. This was why my father constantly had to procure new ones. Without my spectacles I would trip over my own feet, smash headfirst into brick walls, and provide what amounted to a living vaudeville routine for anyone who separated me from them.

But Jerry knew of my weakness and decided to help me cure it. He knew that I was shy, insecure, unwilling to step out from the crowd. Any spirit had been pounded out of me by repeated beatings and endless humiliation at the hands of the more boorish students. He was not a fighting boy, either, and could not educate me in the art, but what he did do was far greater than that.

He invited me to his house for supper.

I had already eaten at home, but I accepted his offer. Some food would help to get the latest indignity done to me out of my head. The other boys and I had a brief discussion together and it was decided that I was too traumatized to stargaze properly. My nosebleed and black eye were evidence enough of that. Judging from the commentary I heard, the boy had struck me so ferociously that the tissue around my eye itself had inflamed and become an ugly grey colour. As for my nose, it had recovered and I found, to my profound relief, that it was still intact. Jerry saw that my condition had improved, and told his friends that he would take me to his place to get me cleaned up and put in a better mood.

Thus it happened that Jerry led me into town (he had no fear of my getting lost; I knew the streets well) and ushered me into his house, a middle-class structure that was well furnished and lit by two candles on the dining table. His mother, a round-faced woman with sparkling eyes, did not notice me at once. I made a slight bow of respect and straightened my shirt. I was in the presence of a lady; knowing that I probably resembled a scrawny street ragamuffin, I had to make myself appear at least a slight bit respectable.

"Jerry dear, you're home late, and your supper's getting cold," she chided, and I cleared my throat to draw her attention. "Oh? Who is your friend? I haven't met him before. He looks hurt."

Jerry held my shoulder to keep me still. "His name's Ogilvy. He goes to my school. He's a chum of mine," he added quickly. "A few of the older boys gave him a right thrashing, and I brought him here to see if you can get him comfortable and fed before he goes back to his own house."

"Ogilvy!" the woman cooed, bending to eye level and ruffling my hair. "I do believe that I've heard of your father. Thomas Ogilvy the shopkeeper, am I correct? I see him sometimes when I'm out doing errands. You're his son, I take it? You have his eyes, I should have guessed that you were old Tom's boy from the start."

I did my best to give a simpering half-smile. "Yes, ma'am, my father is named Tom."

"Fantastic! Come in, come in, make yourself at home. Anyone connected to Thomas Ogilvy is a welcome guest in this house. Here, get yourself settled while I make some chicken soup for you. It'll warm you up."

Grateful for the warm welcome, I followed Jerry to the dining table, where we watched his mother chop up vegetables and chicken for my meal before lighting a fire in the hearth to cook it.

"Mum's chicken soup is fantastic," my friend said. "It's famous all over Ottershaw."

"Mmph," I grunted, fixing my glasses.

"Ogie, are you all right?"

Jerry only called me by my full name during fits of extreme emotion or shock, usually referring to me as "Ogie" or "Og", depending on the occasion or his mood. I knew I had to have a first name, but it must have been so nondescript that almost no one used it (in fact, even I can no longer remember it), and so I was called "Ogilvy" for most of the time, even by myself.

"Oh? I'm quite all right. Don't worry yourself to death about me. I've felt much worse."

Before Jerry could reply, his mother put down two bowls of steaming chicken broth in front of us. Picking up my spoon, I nervously took a small sip of soup. I swallowed it quickly to avoid burning my tongue or throat. Excited, I looked to Jerry, both of us grinning widely and neither understanding quite why.

"You know what, mate? It isn't half bad!"

"See, what did I tell you? Eat up, it's the best you'll try in some time. Go on! Eat!"

It took some time for the two of us to finish our soup, and after we were done we both felt much improved. Jerry got up and wandered around the room, eventually finding a seat and reading one of my astronomy books. He often asked me for permission to borrow them, although out of respect, not from a true interest in the subject. I lounged on the wooden chair, using a wet cloth to get the mud off of my clothes. There were some stains that would not come off, but the majority were easy to clean with enough rubbing. My eyeglasses were by some miracle intact, if slightly bent around the middle. Father's money had been saved this time.

The chicken soup had warmed my insides while the fire burning in the furnace had warmed my outside. My mood improved a good bit after the meal and I eagerly spoke with both Jerry and his mother. She was interested in my father, who she seemed to admire a great deal, sometimes calling him by his full name, Thomas Ogilvy, or more often simply "Tom". To her I was little more than "Tom Ogilvy's lad".

"You know, boy, you look a great deal like your father in your features. Your frame is what's different," she told me, prodding my shoulder.

"I am well aware of that," I hissed, infuriated by her lack of personal attention. "Look at me. Gangling, almost too skinny for my clothes, and too weak to interact with the other boys my age. Besides which, I am soft. Can't even hold a gun, much less shoot something. The younger ones laugh at me and steal my specs, the older ones clout me and shove me in the muck."

"Oh, Og," Jerry told me, coming over and folding his arm around me. He had put down the book somewhere. "Don't fret yourself about Robert and Henry. Those yahoos act like that to almost everyone. You aren't the first one they've treated badly, nor will you be the last."

Wandering back to my chair, I sat down and began to examine my spectacles for cracks. "Why do they do it to me?" I asked him, covering my eyes. Whether that was from fear or shame I did not know. "Why am I the one that they choose the most? There are others who are interested in the sciences, and they are left alone. But I — Jerry, is there something the matter with me?"

Jerry uttered a soft moan, taking my hand and clasping it. "Listen to me, Og, you fool. There is nothing wrong with you at all. Any old brute can shoot a deer dead or wrestle or beat. There is no shortage of boys like that. If anything, we have too many in this world. But you, you are something else. You are the first boy I have ever met (and this is no exaggeration) who can name every constellation in the Western Hemisphere without a single mistake, or can recite Newton's laws from pure memory. If more of the other lads were like you, thinking and learning instead of fighting, or they stopped for a moment to look at the stars instead of killing things, our country would maybe be a little better for it. You are treated the way you are because the others know that you are destined for something better. They are jealous of your skills, and that is why they hate you. Because you're different."

After that night things changed. With Jerry's protection I began to think that the others were indeed envious of my talent, and gained a new strut in my step the very next day. When they teased me, I would strike back, although not with my hands. Instead I would make cunning remarks against them as a sort of revenge, granting myself a wry sense of humour. None of them ever caught on to my riddling talk. Perhaps I had a physical disadvantage, but knowlege of my intellectual superiority was very reassuring. The confused looks on their faces alone were enough to keep me laughing to myself the whole year through.

My crafty brand of humor, my books, and the old telescope, now rusting a bit from age, were all that kept me on my feet in those troubled years. When I was eighteen years in age my mother, whose health was always delicate, died of the fever. I attended her funeral, now almost grown. My father was never precisely the same again after her death, and he passed away himself in a matter of months. He left his beloved shop not to me (he had decided against that; it was clear to all by that time that I would make by far a better astronomer than a businessman) but to one of my elder cousins, a young man called Richard who lived in the nearby town of Woking.

[Deleted]

This is Chapter Three, where the plot begins to tie in with events in the original novel.

---

Chapter Three: Leeds and the Men From Mars

After the harsh years of childhood, my lot in life slowly but surely began to improve. My extensive reading and knowlege allowed me to gain access to places that the other boys knew little of. I found to my astonishment that, as we grew older, more of my peers began to take an interest in my star-watching abilities. Soon I no longer had any need to visit the forest as I gained access, with their assistance, to far more accurate and useful tools. The original circle of friends that I had originally helped to found first shriveled and then divided in its late teenage years and we each went our separate ways. Jerry became a romantic poet, quite a decent one at least from my point of view. Often when I happened to read a newspaper I found one of his works on display. He was one of the most popular among his sort, and was quite well off from what I gather: he ended up marrying a fine young lady from London and had three children by her. Some of the others ended up working in factories, and those ones I never heard from again. The remainder became journalists, writers, scientists, things of that sort. As for myself, I continued to follow my youthful interests, studied some more, and at last became an astronomer of some repute.

I was not lonely. Perhaps I had not married and started a family as Jerry had (Jerry himself never tired of reminding me of this on the odd occasion that we met; I merely showed assent and feigned interest as he boasted), but I still considered myself happy. After all, I had all that I needed. Instead of creeping like a shadow out to the hills I came to observatories and watched the stars from there, taking notes and locating objects in precisely the same manner as before. Other scientists found no fault with my diagrams, lauding them and eventually me as well, publishing them in their journals and newspapers alike. Even the boys who many years ago had abused me made admiring comments, and I managed a sly little smile when I heard them on the road. They were not the only ones to take an interest in me, either. I became rather well-known for my skills and other scientists came from far and wide to see that "young prodigy", as they took to calling me, at work.

"Look at him," they would say to each other as they watched. "How does he do it? He must have his head in the stars, mustn't he! Good old Ogilvy! We can count on him, eh? By the looks of him he seems a right mess, but look at him go! Incredible! How does he do it? How does he do it?" As they spoke I would only nod in reply, continuing my work without a word.

A new circle formed around me, far more civilized and refined in its tastes than the old, friends whose company I enjoyed immensely. With their patronage I became confident and opinionated, perhaps even proud. I kept my stature, but fine food and drink did away with my skinny figure. After several years even Jerry, the last of my original companions, walked his own path and left me alone with my work. We eventually stopped writing each other, or even hailing each other in the street whenever we met. As a result of my newfound fame I found myself a friend of the press, becoming close to many journalists in my line of work, particularly a stocky fellow named Henderson.

I first encountered Henderson when he was doing work for his newspaper in Ottershaw and we struck up a conversation, learning a great deal about one another in the process. I remember him vividly as being brown-haired, sinewy and tough, with calm blue eyes. His family was originally from London and he had a strong accent from his years spent there. In his trade, however, travel played a vital role and he rarely remained in the same place for long. He had been to many places during his work and enjoyed telling me stories of his journeys and adventures. Despite the fact that he was a journalist and thus in the business of talebearing, somehow I knew that I could trust him completely. We were not as Jerry and I had been, nothing could replace that; I did not share my telescopes and knowlege, and Henderson understood nothing but the barest rudiments of astronomy.

Henderson had one of those eager-to-please personalities that made him keen and first in line to associate himself with ideas that others were responsible for, especially individuals that he regarded highly. He was a well-built and courageous man, one of the finest friends that you could possibly boast about having on your side. He did, however, also have strong practical instincts that made him a popular choice for the papers to use in more dramatic stories. We got along fairly well when we encountered each other, which we did on more than one occasion. While I had a small group of cities that I would limit my travels to, Henderson's territory was far more expansive and we would only rarely cross paths. I counted him as a friend, but he did not play a key role in my life until the year of the flashes from Mars, the year that the Martians came.

I liked to consider myself an expert on the planets as well as the stars, and was especially interested in odd astronomical events, meteor showers and falling stars in particular. For this reason I always made sure to keep myself up to date on such things and thus was quite taken aback when the other astronomers suddenly began talking about Mars. Intrigued by what I heard, I managed to approach one of them in my home town of Ottershaw. The man I chose to speak with was Leeds, a younger fellow and a colleague of mine, and when I saw him I excitedly asked him about what was going on. Leeds was thin but sturdy and very brave, easily influenced by his older companions. Impressed by his abilities, I had taken him under my wing as a sort of apprentice, using him to pick up news on the rare occasion that I was out of town or missed a meeting.

"Hallo, Dr. Ogilvy, didn't you hear about the flashes on Mars? It's only all over the news! Did you see this note in the Daily Telegraph, it's incredible...never heard of anything like that happening before. Have you?"

"I would think not," I replied, folding my arms. "Flashes on Mars? Well, I never — tell me about it."

Leeds produced a copy of the aforementioned note, holding it in front of me. "It came from Dr. Lavelle, from what I've heard. The Javan astronomer, of course you've heard of him, he is very famous. There is a curious aspect to this incident, although I thought at first it was coincidence. All of these oddities make me less certain. Mars is at opposition with the earth, you know. Makes me wonder, how about you?"

"I was already aware of the opposition, Leeds," I told him, taking the note from him and carefully perusing it myself. "My, this is fascinating. Explosion off the side of Mars. Hm. I wonder if there will be another one. If there is, I would rather like to see it for myself."

Leeds chortled as he snatched back the piece of paper. "As I was saying, Dr. Ogilvy, it makes me wonder if the Martians are trying to communicate with us or something of that sort." I looked him in the eye, speaking in a cold, harsh tone that I later regretted having used.

"Dr. Leeds, I feel that I must remind you that we are scientists, or, to be precise, astronomers. We examine things rationally, using reasonable, well-thought-out hypotheses that we believe stand the greatest chance of being correct. We do not make wild theories about Martians, but leave that to the newspapers and the rabble on the streets. The planet, remember, is dry and possesses no water, let alone vegetable or animal life! There is no evidence in favor of intelligent beings on Mars whatsoever."

"But Ogilvy, not to argue with you, of course, it would be arrogance to claim that you know everything there is to know about the universe," Leeds protested, and I laughed loudly.

"I do not claim to know everything about the universe, Leeds, and never said such a thing. But there are still some things that I do know, and one of those things is that there are, were, and never will be any Martians. Keep in mind, my boy, that we are scientists first, not gossiping fools."

My young companion sighed dejectedly, hanging his head. "I am terribly sorry, Dr. Ogilvy. I see now that you are right." I nodded quickly, realizing that I may have been too aggressive with him, and softened my voice while holding back the laughter.

"We all make mistakes, lad. Stay well and be sure to keep me informed on the news from Mars," I called to him before setting off, still chuckling softly to myself as I walked down the street. "Martians, indeed." On the way home, however, I met another friend that I had known since school. He was a young, intelligent man possessed of a good mind and good looks, a writer who at the time was quite famous for his scientific romances but who also dabbled in philosophy. He was known to demonstrate some interest in my discoveries and so I decided to give him Leeds's news.

"Good afternoon," said I, tipping my hat politely as a greeting.

He recognized me at once, returning my welcome. "Fancy meeting you here, Ogilvy! It has been a while, hasn't it?"

"It has," I agreed, quickly changing the topic. "I say, did you hear about the flashes on Mars?"

"What about Mars?"

Given courage by the fact that I was obviously not the only unenlightened man in Ottershaw, I began to summarize the content of the article to the best of my ability. He seemed intrigued, and it was very clear that he, as I had before him, desired to stand as a witness to the event.

"Mars is one hundred and forty million miles away," my friend mused, almost to himself. "Too far for either of us to see any flashes on its surface with only the naked eye, or even using binoculars. We will need stronger machinery."

I paused for a while, thinking about how best to solve this problem, until suddenly I came up with an idea. "Ah! My good man, you are forgetting something. There is an observatory not very far from here, one that I have used many times for my studies. There is a powerful telescope that would easily be able to detect the events on Mars. Allow me to invite you there, I insist on it, so that we can watch the flashes together."

And so it happened that my friend accompanied me to the observatory, and sitting there in the darkness we searched the skies for Mars. I had no luck, and offered to give my friend a chance himself. I stood silently, watching and waiting, hardly breathing, walking around the room to relieve the excitement I felt, when he suddenly gave a loud cry that made me jump.

"Ogilvy! Come here at once! Quickly, quickly!" I rushed to the telescope, peering up into it as I had so many times before while he explained that he had seen a flash erupting from the side of the Red Planet.

"I see!" I exclaimed, watching the gases drift out into the darkness of space. "So, old Lavelle was right. Must be a volcanic eruption of some sort."

After we both had seen the eruptions, I escorted my friend back to my house, and on the way he frantically babbled about the incident, suggesting no end of theories as to what the flashes may actually have been. I stood by my volcano hypothesis, also suggesting a meteor shower, but he was far more creative (to say the least!) about his opinions.

"Maybe it's the Martians, Ogilvy," he suggested, without the slightest hint of humour in his voice, "attempting to signal us."

I was barely able to suppress a despairing groan at his use of the word. Why was every intelligent man I encountered going on about such balderdash? Was I the only remaining scientist with the faintest hold on reality? He was a clever man; perhaps I could persuade him out of his mad theory with logic and save him from his own folly, as I had helped Leeds. "Nonsense! The laws of probability forbid any sort of organic evolution on two adjacent planets, even if the conditions on Mars could support animal life at all." I grinned confidently in the shadows before unleashing what I saw at the time as a coup de grace to that ridiculous theory.

"The chances against anything manlike on Mars," I said, "are a million to one."

After my friend departed I was extremely cross when I returned home that night, mumbling angrily to myself about the sheer insanity of it all. I gave a final confident, haughty laugh at the madness of the very possibility of extraterrestrial intelligences before turning off the light and retiring to rest.

"Martians, my foot!"

[Lonesome Crow]

I intended to only read chapter 2 this evening but just had to continue onto chapter 3. this is well written.
One little mistake I did notice, a few paragraphs from the end of chapter 3 you say "Mars is forty thousand miles away," that should be "Mars is forty million miles away,"
I love the idea of Ogilvy forgetting his own first name.
I also like the way you subtly introduce characters we know from WotW.
10/10 liking it

[richardburton]

I have to say I'm really impressed with this too. Well written and engaging. Well done.

[Deleted]

Chapter Four: The Astronomers' Debate

The days passed, and from what I could gather from my fellows many more flashes appeared on Mars, one each day, prompting even more inane chatter about Martians. This display of idiocy both amused and saddened me. There was definitely something odd about the event, but I knew that my fellow scientists and I should not have been so quick to ascribe it to what I thought were imaginary creatures. While they babbled on with each other about alien lifeforms and tried to convince me of the theory's validity so many times that I lost count, I merely ignored them and carried on with my own studies. My steadfast view on the matter almost became the stuff of legend. I felt honoured by the attention at the time, but that sense of gratitude was dulled by my growing irritation with the ignorance of the masses. Whatever discoveries were made, whatever happened in the skies or the land, was superseded by the Mars nonsense. The general population of England couldn't possibly have cared less about lights on a speck that they could barely see themselves, but for my colleagues and I the situation was slightly different.

Every astronomer in the vicinity, even educated, intelligent men and members of the inner circle, became caught up in the matter, many for the existence of intelligent life on Mars and many against. My perfectly reasonable and well thought out hypothesis concerning volcanic eruptions was overshadowed by the utterly stupid Martian signal theory. For the life of me I couldn't figure out why, but I was too involved in the business myself to think it over properly. As the most outspoken member and unofficial leader of the anti-Martian side of the debate, I quickly became an important figure in the public eye. If this had been for any other reason I would have gladly basked in my fame and relished it while it lasted. However, I found the argument so silly that it was scarcely an argument at all. For this reason I became irritable and slightly reclusive, shunning the rest of the scientific community and instead opting to work independently.

I was not always that way, and in fact the metamorphosis was very slow. I had been well bred and brought up, taught manners and good graces, knew the social rules (official and unspoken) by heart. My former easy attitude hardened and a certain fire began to boil up in the pit of my stomach every time that I so much as overheard the word 'Mars' or, God forbid, 'Martian'. Between speeches, debates and interviews I had no time to indulge in my favorite activities, which added a certain permanent bitterness to my manner of speaking. I became something of a famous, albeit controversial, figure in the area and I remember being told that my loyal acquaintance Henderson had rented a home in Woking in order to serve as an ear for the press. He never was assigned an interview with me, but we crossed paths once in the city's streets for long enough that I could confirm the rumour's validity.

Ten days after the talk with my friend in the observatory there was a scientific discussion of the eruptions in Ottershaw, and I was invited to be the guest of honor (perhaps the hosts required someone to entertain the guests, who knows?). The first part of the night went well. We enjoyed a hearty meal, feasted and drank our fill, and shared our theories and perspectives on recent events. The main course for the supper was a large turkey, fairly dripping with sauce. Unanimously I was elected to be given a good chunk of the bird and a cup of wine before the main portion of the dinner was served. Perhaps they were trying to temper my sharp tongue by means of a peace offering, hoping that a bellyful of drink would make me more sluggish in argument, or maybe they were trying to flatter me into kindness in the coming debate. Unaware of their intent at the time, I merely ate my meal, quaffed a good amount of wine, and vivaciously spoke with my colleagues.

An hour or so in a certain gentleman mentioned a fellow named Stent, a gifted young astronomer hailing from London. He had become a favourite of the Queen herself a few years back and had recently been granted the coveted title of Astronomer Royal. The tone of the conversation concerning him was at first congratulatory; Stent had been fortunate far beyond what any of us could achieve and from what little I knew of his history the man had a natural talent for the art. One of the older scientists, however, seemed angered. He told us that he had studied far longer and made many more discoveries than Stent had, and yet he was not rewarded for all that he had achieved. I slouched in my seat. Not that I cared either way about Stent's good fortune, but what filled the room next had the scent of mean-spirited gossip and left a foul taste in my mouth.

"I heard," one astronomer said to his neighbor, "that Stent's become rather full of himself after his latest achievement. He only got it because the Queen likes his work. You didn't hear it from me, though. Mum's the word." The neighbor politely ignored him and went back to his drink. If the Astronomer Royal was a pompous piece of work, that was his business and none of ours. It was not as if I would encounter the man, in any matter. He would want nothing to do with me. If we had by chance met in the street or at a debate, I would have been very startled if he had even bothered to give me the time of day.

Meeting him was not necessary to hazard a guess at his nature. The difference between myself and Stent was that I was a man as well as a social role. My pursuits in astronomy played an important role in my life, true, but I had a life beyond my studies: friends, enemies, family visits, anniversaries, funerals, laughing, tears. I was a person first and then a scientist. Stent's life, for the sake of contrast, would be dominated by his position. There was to be no chattering with the dregs of humanity, even for family or personal matters. Other scientists were followers, idolaters, boot-lickers, but never simply and purely friends. They followed him not because of who he was, but for what he was. And he could never show any cheer or spirit, even a spark of wit, in their company because (blast it all) he was the Astronomer Royal.

One of my friends stood up, justifiably tired of the whole affair. "Enough talk about the high and mighty Stent, no offence meant to him, of course." The others chuckled softly, and I smiled. "I would like to announce that we have the other greatest astronomer in Britain as our honoured guest." He raised his glass, proposing a toast. I sat up at once. "To Dr. Ogilvy!" he cheered, and the others repeated the phrase.

"To Dr. Ogilvy! Good health to him!" They clinked their glasses and drained them dry, the wine lightening their spirits. Pleased by their display of companionship, I poured myself a cup of wine and drank it with them. The drink was good and the food its equal. After we finished the supper, we returned to discussion. My mood was good from the wine I had drunk, and I had recently put away a large meal. This combination made me eager and friendly in conversation, and business went very nicely until the talk hit a certain sensitive subject.

Inevitably the conversation turned to the Mars controversy and, already regarded as something of an expert on the matter, I was of course invited to hold a short question and answer session during the event. I accepted with a degree of reluctance, hoping to reassure myself of humanity's intelligence despite all evidence to the contrary.

"Come on, Ogilvy, old chap! Gather round! Let's hear what he has to say on the topic of the men from Mars!"

Needless to say, things did not precisely go according to plan, and I had to be quick on my feet in order to reply to some of the others' more interesting questions all while maintaining my now infamous caustic wit. The questions themselves ranged from the mildly amusing to the pathetic. There were also times when I was barely able to restrain my temper and keep from knocking some sense into their heads myself. This was a difficult task, especially as the crowd's suggestions only got more laughable as the hours went by.

Here is only one example:

"Dr. Ogilvy, do you believe that our Martian visitors come in peace or war?"

"Well, my good man, there are no such things as Martians, and thus they do not come at all, let alone in peace or war. For my sake, do try not to ask stupid questions. Doing such is a waste of both my time and yours. Next, please!"

And even that did not end it:

"When do you think that the Martians will arrive on Earth, Dr. Ogilvy?"

"I am afraid that they never will, dear lad, they would have to first exist in order to do that. Now can one of you lot please ask something that does not involve Martians? Are there any comments on my volcanic eruption theory? Any at all?"

The meeting continued in this disordered fashion for about two hours, well into the night, before I tired of the cheerful ignorance of my fellow scientists. Do not accuse me of inconsideration toward that lot; I was very careful to be polite about it. No matter what, I always did things properly. I admit that I had my faults and peculiarities, but rudeness was not and never was among them.

After giving them a fair chance to ask intelligent questions I decided to preserve my own sanity first and hastily made my leave. Putting on my coat and hat, I excused myself with my finest social graces before going out the door in a rush. The night was cool, the sky peaceful and beckoning, the sort of night that I loved. The stars blinked, as if imploring me to visit them. I sighed, pulling my coat closer to keep out the cold, and, exhausted by the debate, soothed my frayed nerves by doing what I did best.

It is not as if I expected to see anything when I looked up into the heavens that night. It was in the plainest terms an act of instinct, a natural behavior. Stargazing was not a mere activity for me, but a need. I knew that I had lost my way in the chaos concerning Mars. I had become increasingly world-weary and jaded, with something of a cynical streak emerging in the more recent days. I needed the stars to remind me of who I was, Ogilvy the astronomer, not one of those fools who spent their precious lives babbling aimlessly. I was amazed that drool hadn't been slopping onto the floor from the amount of the idle chatter that they spouted.

But very often events that are beyond our own feeble attempts at prediction occur, and what was to happen that night was to change everything in a flash, and not only for myself but for the whole of Britain. At the time, as mad as it may seem now, and as reluctant as I am to admit this fact, I looked upon it as a beautiful sight for my tired eyes.

I blinked. One of the stars in the right side of the sky seemed to be moving. Sure that I had been seeing things or perhaps had a little too much to drink, I looked away for a moment before returning my gaze to the object, which I soon realized was approaching the earth at a swift pace, and had a peculiar greenish tint to it. "It must be a falling star," I whispered, tracking the meteor's path as it approached the earth. Its trajectory seemed to be leading it to Horsell Common, not very far at all, and a walk that I had taken many times before.

I was half giddy with excitement: perhaps I would be able to find it first and examine it myself. It was dark, too dark for me to easily find my way in the night. The falling star would have to stay where it was for the moment. I reasoned that it most likely would not be going anywhere and that I would easily be able to locate the crater in the morning. Suitably cheered up by the prospect of such an adventure, I turned around and, whistling softly, returned home in a significantly improved mood.

[Deleted]

Chapter Five: Henderson and the Falling Star

Sure enough, I woke around three o' clock and hastily prepared to find the shooting star, forgetting to have breakfast before departure and putting on my best clothes. I was extraordinarily excited, so excited that I had scarcely slept at all. All thoughts of Martians were gone; instead my thoughts were firmly set on locating the crater and bringing the news back to the others as quickly as I could. If I was able to find it first, I believed, with a foolish grin on my face at the thought, the scientific glory for the discovery would belong to me. I would even go so far as to say that I was obsessed.

I knew that the meteor had fallen in the Horsell-Ottershaw region from carefully observing its course and staying up late, working through calculations and marking my collections of star maps, so finding the falling star's landing site would not be a difficult task for an astronomer of my skills and experience. I later heard that a man named Denning, another astronomer whose specialty was in meteorites, had calculated the crater's location even more precisely than I had, but that made no difference, and at the moment I did not know any news beyond my own studies.

I set off, dawn rising and turning the sky to a soft rosy pink. Perhaps I would have taken an interest in this even a matter of days before, but for now I was determined on another goal entirely. Sure of success and certain that no others would attempt what I had made such careful plans to do, I strolled along in an easy trot, following the star's path. Surely such a gigantic and powerful object would leave some sort of scar or marking on the landscape, not to mention the strength of the impact itself! My travels eventually took me to the sandpits of Horsell Common, and that was where I found my meteorite.

The thing was of truly incredible size, gray in color and around thirty yards long from end to end, easily dwarfing the tiny speck that I had become in its presence, an ant standing before a giant. It had slammed into the earth with such force that the surrounding brush had been lit alight, setting many small fires around the meteorite like a crown, and an enormous hole had been punched into the land. Cautiously approaching and sliding down into the pit, I noted that the meteorite had a unique cylindrical shape, most unusual for something of its kind. The air in its vicinity was abnormally hot, so hot that I was forced to stand back to avoid being burned.

While I was examining the meteorite something happened that made me jump. First I noticed that a certain mark on its side had moved, and for a moment took no notice and returned to analyzing the thing itself. I percieved movement at its top, stepped backward a few feet at a grinding sound, and watched as the meteorite-cylinder began to open. In that instant three things came instantly to my mind: firstly, that I had more than likely been completely wrong about the idea of Martians, secondly, that some kind of intelligent creature was inside the cylinder, and thirdly, that the whatever-it-was wanted to get out. Barely thinking for my own safety, I rushed forward to help the struggling being, but the stinging heat reminded me of the danger just in time. Approaching the object would be a risky idea at the present and even if the cylinder was cool enough to open I wouldn't have a hope of moving it alone. I would need help from another in the town.

Crawling out of the hole I ran in a clumsy, half-stumbling run towards Woking, too agitated to notice that I had dropped my hat along the way. From all reports I was a sight to see; my hair was straggly, my hands slick with perspiration, and my eyes wild, passionate, almost inflamed. To be sure, even from my perspective I can see that I was not entirely thinking clearly. My thoughts were back with the cylinder and the poor trapped creature inside, roasting alive. I was desperate to find help, bursting into town and questioning almost every human being that I saw about the falling star. They only looked at me as if I was something curious and mildly unpleasant to the eye before turning away. Not discouraged, or too frenzied to be so, I darted in front of a farmer's wagon heading to market. His horse reared up in fright and the furious farmer glared down at me.

"Hey, you! What the bloody 'ell do you think you're doing? Out of the way!"

I stood my ground, addressing him directly, planting myself in the middle of the street. "Did you see the falling star last night?"

"What falling star? 'Ave you gone mad? You're keepin' me from gettin' to market. This food ain't gonna stay fresh forever! I've git a family to feed, and you ain't goin' to —"

"Did you see the falling star? I am Ogilvy the astronomer — you may have heard of me, I am quite famous, at least in certain circles — I need your help... The meteorite fell over in Horsell Common, and there is someone trapped inside, trying to escape. I cannot free them by my own power, so I reasoned that you may be able to provide some assistance."

"All right, go on yer way, Mister Whatever-yer-name-is. What kind of an idiot do you take me for? You're an astronomer, you say. You're a bleedin' lunatic, that's what you are! A madman! I don't care about no fallin' stars, I'm a workin' man, I am. Now get out of the road before I strike you down fer gettin' in me way!" He urged his horse forward at a breakneck pace, so swiftly that I would surely have been trampled had I stayed in one place. My instincts saved my life; I hurled myself away at the very moment that the beast came at me, escaping to the side of the path while the wagon clattered along, continuing its journey uninterrupted. Its rider did not look back. Congratulating myself on my narrow escape and cursing the asinine selfishness of the farmer, I struggled to think of another who would be of more use.

The next encounter was no more successful than the first. I next attempted to solicit the aid of a potman at Horsell Bridge, and he reacted as violently as the farmer had, calling me a lunatic and a threat to society before seizing me bodily and locking me into a taproom. After much time and some effort I managed to escape him, growing increasingly discouraged, tired, and angry. The general population was ignorant to my discovery, and by trying to protect the Martian I was only endangering my own life in the process. I could not leave the innocent creature to die, but did not want to risk death myself.

"They never understand," I whispered sadly as I quit the building.

Disappointed, I wandered along the Woking streets, unsure of what to do, until by chance I spotted my friend Henderson outside of his house, tending his garden. He knew me well enough to understand that I was not a madman or a liar, and had enough influence in the press to efficiently spread the word. My hopes returned. Running up to the rail and calling his name, I watched as he came to speak with me, visibly puzzled and slightly disturbed by my dishevelled appearance.

"Ogilvy? What are you doing here? You look like you saw a ghost."

"Never mind that. Henderson, you saw that falling star last night, yes?"

"Well?"

If there was one flaw in confiding my discovery with Henderson, it was this. One of his ears did not work (it had been that way since he was a very young boy; he had fallen ill with an ear infection that left him partially deaf), making communication with him problematic at the best of times. He was firmly loyal and I knew that I could trust him to help, but first I would have to deliver the message. As it happened, he had not witnessed the meteor's landing as I had. Unlike the farmer and the potman, he did believe my story nevertheless.

"Good Lord! Fallen meteorite! That's good." Being a newspaperman, Henderson knew that a story of such magnitude would elevate his reputation to new heights. I could almost see the excitement gleaming in his eye — I had his attention now, and he would be firmly on my side. He would believe anything that I told him. Nodding, I spoke extraordinarily quickly in an awed voice, bringing him up to date on the situation.

"But it's something more than a meteorite. It's a cylinder — an artificial cylinder, my man! And there's something inside..."

"What's that, Ogilvy?" Henderson paused, cupping his hand to his good ear and motioning for me to speak. Apparently he had not comprehended the greater part of the information. Trying not to be frustrated with him, I repeated what I had said much more slowly and with more detail. This time he heard, and, after a moment to absorb the news, rushed into his house to prepare for the journey without any further dialogue.

When he emerged, now wearing his jacket, he looked directly at me.

"You saw the thing, Ogilvy — take me there. Show it to me." I ran off in an instant, Henderson following, both of us running in the Woking roads with such haste that we alarmed the odd cyclist in the area and frightened pedestrians. A few recognized us and made startled comments.

"Why, it's old Ogilvy — 'e's finally lost 'is mind!"

"And that's the journalist, Henderson. What's he up to, I wonder?"

We did not slow or stop until we had reached the common, where the cylinder awaited us, a metal titan looming in the distance. Henderson gasped at the sight, overwhelmed by its bulk.

"That thing — it's massive!"

I only smiled, thinking back to all those years ago, when I had led the other boys out to the forest on clear nights to watch the stars with me. Henderson was as good a companion as Jerry had been, a throughly likeable fellow. It was almost as if I had stepped back in time.

"You said that there was something alive in there, but I don't hear anything," he stated, approaching the cylinder. It had cooled a great deal, allowing us to come near without harm. I listened, and like Henderson failed to detect any sound. "Poor thing must be dead," he told me, a disappointed tone in his words.

"We must not give it up yet," I ordered, and snatched up a stick on the ground before handing another to Henderson.

"What's it for?" he asked, staring at it in his hand.

"We are about to try and wake up the Martian," I explained, coming close to the cylinder. "Use that to strike the cylinder and try to gain the man inside's attention, and see if he's still alive."

"Brilliant," Henderson muttered to himself. "I'm sure that the wife back home in London will be pleased to hear that I have spent my assignment in Woking going at giant metal...things with a stick."

"Your sense of humour is fantastic, my dear Henderson." I lunged forward and struck the cylinder, to no response. "Try it yourself." Reluctantly Henderson obeyed, giving the metal a solid blow that made our ears ring, but he had no more luck in rousing the Martian than I.

"Admit it, Ogilvy, the thing's dead," he grumbled, putting down his stick. "No use trying to wake it up."

Pausing, I had a moment of inspiration. "We cannot aid the poor thing by ourselves, but with help..."

We looked directly at each other, knowing what we had to do. Both of us reassured the trapped Martian that we would be returning soon with reinforcements before racing back to town, bursting through the streets, screaming the news to every man we saw. They almost certainly thought both of us mad, I am sorry to say, as our clothes and bodies were coated in a thin layer of sand from the time we spent in Horsell Common's pits. I quickly had Henderson go to the nearest railway station to telegraph London and inform Stent, the Astronomer Royal, of what we had seen and done. (This was the first of many times that I used Henderson as my personal messenger.) If Stent came, I would be surprised; he would likely be upset that he, the highest ranking astronomer in the country, had failed to make such a great discovery, leaving it to a lowly upstart in one of the lesser cities. In the meantime I made contact with as many of my colleagues as possible, my protégé Leeds among them, urging them to visit the common and see the cylinder for themselves.

[poyks]

Needs a tad of test reading and fine tuning, but on the whole that is ace!!

[Deleted]

Chapter Six: The Astronomer Royal

To his credit, Stent came almost immediately. A few hours after a fine breakfast spent with Henderson to consolidate our new friendship, I recieved a reply from him stating that he intended to meet me outside of the station, and so I went there again, Henderson standing faithfully at my side. We waited there for some time; as for me, I was wondering what the great Astronomer Royal himself would be like. I had never met him in person due to my limited range, and was rather anxious about his reaction to our discovery as well as my role in it. I was already half-convinced by what I had heard at the debate that he would be a surly man with a barking voice, well accustomed to giving haughty orders to astronomers of lower rank (like myself) and used to seeing any request obeyed almost at once. When I told Henderson this fear, he only sighed in a bored manner and rolled his eyes while muttering something under his breath.

When the Astronomer Royal finally emerged from the station I was pleasantly surprised by what I saw. Stent was a tall, blonde, soft-spoken fellow with gentle speech and an easy manner. He spoke to me first, smiling and holding out a hand, which I shook vigorously.

"You must be the famous Dr. Ogilvy, I take it, who found the men from Mars?"

"Yes, I am, sir. And you are Dr. Stent, the Astronomer Royal?"

"I would believe so. Pleased to meet you. And there you are, too, Henderson, old chum. I must confess that I am slightly surprised to see a man of your profession here in Woking. You two seem to be getting on quite well." Stent looked at Henderson, who nodded politely. Apparently the two had met previously on one of the journalist's prior assignments in London. "Dr. Ogilvy, your news has, I am sure that you will be pleased to hear, reached almost every astronomer in the entirety of the British Isles. Your quiet common will not be quiet for very much longer, I am afraid."

I laughed softly. "We are well prepared for that. You see, citizens startled by our behavior earlier have, shall we say, gravitated to the sand pits. Henderson and I have had quite the time keeping them from disturbing the Martians."

The news about the cylinder had been primarily spread through word of mouth, beginning with Henderson and I and spreading through the nearby towns as only a rumour does, mutating with every man, woman, or child who participated in bringing the gossip to Ottershaw and Horsell. The tale changed slightly with every telling. Henderson attempted to use his influence to set the story straight in the papers, but naturally failed to prevent the distortion of the cylinder story, which irritated him to no end.

This in turn caused curious local people and passersby to come to Horsell Common and witness the wonder for themselves. The two of us attempted to keep them away, but it was like holding back a flood, and our feeble efforts did no good. A rabble had already gathered around the site, some gaping stupidly at the cylinder while others did various things that were either without point or utterly dull-witted: throwing stones at it, shouting at it, even poking it with sticks as we had earlier. It was a miracle that the Martians had not woken up yet from all the ruckus.

As for Henderson and I, we had rallied a small percentage of the more sensible and stronger individuals among the population to aid us in our plan of digging out the cylinder and later releasing the being or beings inside. It was not that I was incompetent at my task or a poor leader (indeed, I strived to the best of my ability) but I did not have the influence or position that my new companion did. The people were more likely to listen to him than to me. Our meager efforts so far had been clumsy and disorganized, so I politely asked Stent if he would like to be in charge of the endeavor. He agreed, but I was startled, to say the least, when he added that he would willingly share his leadership position with me.

I asked him why he would agree to do this — after all, he was the Astronomer Royal, and I was only Ogilvy, his humble subordinate. If any man ought to be in charge, it should have been him. Chortling, he explained that, since I had originally found the cylinder, I should be at least partially in charge of its excavation. Surprised but prudent enough to take advantage of Stent's offer, I accepted and, at his request, guided him, loyal Henderson following along behind, to the great cylinder on Horsell Common and the frothing crowd surrounding it.

Stent was a decent sort. He was proud, certainly, but was fairly amiable to me. Naturally I set to conversing with him, exchanging news and collecting information, careful to compliment him every once in a while. Being a friend of the Astronomer Royal would help me in my own studies when this business was over. With Stent as an ally to the cause and my earlier discovery of the Martians combined I could expect a knighthood at the very least. He seemed to regard me at first as a useful assistant, deserving of respect, but not completely a social equal; his gesture had been out of charity, not of honesty. My relationship with him was similar. I associated with him whenever possible merely because of who he was; I did not form a friendship with him as I had with Henderson. His mind was collected, his face impassive. It was a safe assumption that his reason for coming was probably purely scientific, not out of a desire to help the Martian.

All the same, it was easy to understand why the Queen and others liked him. He had fine features combined with a healthy dose of charisma. He struck me as a man who I perhaps could influence into making decisions, in his own name, of course. For an astronomer of his stature to accept orders from one of mine would be scandal. I was well-known, certainly, but only in my territory. Stent was on an entirely different plane. He was tall, noble, fair-haired, and in the prime of his health. My hairline was receding and going grey, I had developed a slight paunch (my breakfast combined with the remnants of the previous night's heavy meal, which had stubbornly refused to digest), and still had my old ungainly walk. We were complete opposites; there was nothing in common between us besides our mutual interests and skills. Henderson seemed to like Stent as a man, but appeared slightly envious of the attention I was paying to my colleague. At last, when we had arrived at the landing site, he dragged me away from the bemused Astronomer Royal and told me to stay in the front of the group. I gave a mild snort at his impudence and shrugged at Stent. What else am I to do? He tilted his head like an old woodpecker and coughed into his sleeve.

"It's old Ogilvy," a small boy told his taller friend, both clumsily saluting us like miniature soldiers. "'E's back!" The crowd parted to let us through, and I smiled to myself. I was not used to this manner of treatment and rather liked it a lot. I was no longer Ogilvy the eccentric, the loner, the pariah, but Ogilvy the hero, the first discoverer of intelligent life beyond the earth, to whom even the Astronomer Royal himself showed respect.

"Stay back!" I ordered the people as my group approached the cylinder with spades and shovels. "Stay back!" I was concerned deeply for the poor Martians, who would no doubt emerge to see a practical army of bizarre creatures surrounding them and may very well be frightened by the sight. This was indeed a tricky business; we would have to deal carefully with the Martians. Good old Stent had, with my encouragement, even brought along a deputation of soldiers to defend them from the mob in case a brawl broke out, which all of us sincerely hoped would not happen. We would try to the fullest to keep this first interaction between men and Martians entirely peaceful.

I stood at the base of the cylinder, overseeing the team, and watched my excavation crew set to work. Stent, of course, took his natural role as a leader and commanded the men from a vantage point atop the cylinder. His usually quiet voice became harsher, which amused me as I remembered my initial inhibitions about him. To be fair, the circumstances of the time did not encourage mild behaviour. The day was hot and he was visibly exhausted, sweating heavily. Those of us on the ground and fortunate enough to be close to the object used it for shade. I was among them; I still was faint when in the heat. Some wondered why Stent himself didn't pause from work, as the heat was getting to those below him.

Shouting out to him, I called "Stent, why not go get yourself a drink and allow me to manage the cylinder? You seem to be exhausted. You ought to rest, even if you feel all right for the moment."

But Stent had always been a dogged man and refused to rest or let me take up the post for a while. He was noticeably annoyed when I suggested the latter idea to him, glowering down at me from his height. I shuffled anxiously, cursing myself for my insolent behaviour.

"I am younger than you are, Ogilvy! I can handle this alone! Stop your babbling and help me mind the workmen from the ground!"

Saluting him, I turned to Henderson, who had put up his shovel and was entertaining the workmen by doing an impersonation of the Astronomer Royal. He imitated Stent's haughty step and mannerisms to the last detail, causing them to just about howl with laughter. Even I could barely suppress a snort when he perfectly mimicked the other astronomer's barking voice and violent gestures. Stent did not seem to notice, or else paid them no heed. Henderson was only having fun; there was no malevolence in his behavior, and he only wanted to keep my men amused. All the same I warned my friend, gesturing to the lean form standing attentively on the metal hulk and urging him to be quiet. Neither of us could afford to antagonize the great astronomer, especially me. Henderson did not seem to hear, so I marched over to his position and whispered in his good ear.

"Do it later, but please, not in front of Stent. He is not far away and I am certain that he can both hear and see you. You should stop before he loses his patience. He is probably being polite because you know each other. I am trying to get him to help us. Upsetting him will not do that." Henderson gave a quiet sigh, picked up his shovel, and returned to his duty without a word. The crisis was past. I nodded to Stent to let him know that I had helped, but he ignored me completely and continued yelling at the workers. Presumably the reason that they had enjoyed seeing Henderson make fun of him was that they resented Stent's domineering ways. Many of them gave me sullen glares; Henderson was closer to them than I was and they liked him more. I was only another haughty, autocratic scientist as far as they were concerned.

There was still a lot of work to be done in befriending the Astronomer Royal. He had a use for me, certainly. If he so much as sneezed I would snap to attention in an instant, ready and willing to do anything that he wished of me. He used me as a middleman between Henderson and the workmen and the other astronomers, as I was the only man with some authority in both circles. His attitude and social position forbade him from completely mingling with the riffraff, but I was both a scientist of skill and good standing while maintaining a connection with the laymen via Henderson. Stent could not have possibly cared less about Henderson while in public. He had been friendly to him at the station for the sake of good graces, but afterward scarcely paid him a glance or uttered a word toward him unless prodded by me, and even then he treated the journalist like vermin.

There was a sort of strict hierarchy active at the site: Stent seated securely at the top, myself directly below him together with the other astronomers (including Leeds), Henderson in the middle, the crowd of bystanders below him (but varying in rank, which was dependent on connections, personal wealth, and possession of good sense), and the workmen at the bottom. We reacted to our positions in different ways. Stent seemed to vastly enjoy his role as undisputed leader of the team and treated astronomer and laborer alike, as underlings beholden to his will. I was his equal in theory but not in practice. He allowed me to deliver messages for him and suggest ideas, but he was free to brush me off, as occurred on multiple occasions. The meaning of his behavior should have been obvious. I may have been by his mercy given some influence in decision-making, but under no circumstances was I to consider myself an equal (or even remotely close to an equal) of the Astronomer Royal.

Henderson did not like Stent. They had known each other, certainly, before Stent achieved his hallowed rank, but now they were for all purposes on separate levels. The journalist was a commoner, a working-class man, someone who Stent would graciously ignore in regular circumstances. He would have gladly shoved Henderson in with the other labormen from the start if I had not stood up for him, stating that he was a vital part of the group and, more importantly, a personal friend. The great astronomer, perhaps impressed by my pluck or (more likely) too tired to argue, relented and granted Henderson the ability to communicate with me. Henderson was grateful for my courage and thanked me in private when Stent departed.

He was not an enemy, by any means. Men like Stent do not completely have enemies, or friends for that matter, like the rest of us. They only have rivals and admirers. Rivals were hateful and angry, wondering why he was the one who got all of the attention and the money and the fame, hating him passionately and venomously. Admirers simply wanted to be him, trailing him and desperately hoping that he would grant them so much as a glance. Most people who knew him fit in one of these two groups. Even I categorized myself as an admirer. Henderson was neither. He was not an enemy per se, but was vastly upset by Stent's pomposity and spent the bulk of his time digging with the labormen anyway.

It soon became obvious to us all that our workmen would get nowhere for some time, as the cylinder was, of course, immense and was stuck firmly in the sand pits. Slightly bored, I scanned the rapidly expanding crowd on a whim, wondering if I could identify any of the people there. To my surprise, I recognized Leeds standing off to one side and my friend, who I had last seen in the observatory, scolding a group of boys at the rim of the gaping pit. The foolish youths were entertaining themselves by hurling stones at the cylinder and retreated at his warning, presumably to play other games.

"Over here!" I called to him, waving a hand to get his attention. Startled, he ran over at once, clambered down to join us, and, panting, asked me what I wanted him to do. Seeing an opportunity, I thought of something that would help the effort. The other onlookers were either too busy or too ignorant to obey my instructions. "Say, it would be a great help if you would run along and bring Lord Hilton — you know him, he lives in the manor — here as soon as you can. This is becoming a rowdy affair: it is simply impossible for us to keep those idiots away from the cylinder. Especially the boys, you've seen them — galloping around like little devils, can't keep track of them all! Now go on, go!" He nodded hastily and bolted off, leaving me alone.

Leeds approached an hour or so later, a playful gleam in his eye, his voice gently teasing. "So, even the great Dr. Ogilvy has fallen victim to the dreaded Martian Fever."

I sighed, knowing what my colleague wanted me to do. Glancing to the cylinder, I checked that Stent was not within listening distance. If he were to overhear what I was about to say, it would dismantle all of my efforts so far to work myself into his favour. I strived to the utmost to sound like a honorable loser. "Yes, Leeds, I confess that I was wrong. I spoke too soon. By some happy chance, there are indeed forms of life beyond our own petty little planet. The one is stronger than the million."

"Pleased that even you are seeing sense about this now," Leeds told me cheerfully. He seemed to understand that I was struggling to win the trust of Stent and in a display of great humanity changed the subject. "I wonder what the men look like on Mars?"

Pausing, I realized that in the frenzy concerning falling stars or men from Mars I had never even given a thought to what such men may actually be like. "They are obviously intelligent enough to design these hulking great things," I joked, tapping the cylinder. "Probably at least a little bit similar to us. Wonder if they also have astronomers over there, or if there is another Ogilvy, or Leeds, or Stent?"

"That's the trouble about all this," said Henderson, wandering over to join us. Once again he had laid down his shovel somewhere. "We don't know anything about them, even if they intend to do us well or harm. Part of me has a very bad feeling about this whole business, fantastic story or not."

I quickly turned to face him, trying to restrain my irritation at his obstinacy. "Henderson, please, listen to me. The Martians have come one hundred and forty million miles, all the way from Mars to the sand pits of Horsell Common. They would not go through all of that trouble if their sole intention in coming was the extermination of humanity. We have absolutely nothing to fear from them; in fact, they have more to fear from us." I gestured to the jostling crowd to prove my point.

Henderson's objection stilled; he was not an man who stuck firmly to his opinions. He admired me greatly and trusted my views on almost everything, which was both his greatest virtue and worst flaw. Instead he gave a slow nod of assent and apologized for his behavior.

"I see your point there, Ogilvy," he said, retrieving his shovel and turning around to return to the pit. "You probably know what you're talking about. After all, you are an astronomer and I am nothing more than a journalist. I'll be going back to work, then." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Between the pair of us, I hope that the thing opens soon so that we can figure out who or what's lurking in there."

"And I had better return to the crowd," Leeds added, shaking my hand in farewell. "They just might wonder what I'm doing down here." With a final mischevious wink directed at me, he crawled out of the pit and melted into the masses before my eyes. I decided that I may as well go back to work, too, and returned to the base of the cylinder. There I directed the workmen while listening to Stent yelling hoarse orders to every person in his immediate vicinity, feeling slightly humbled from my encounter with Leeds. Many other young astronomers would not have been so kind when exulting in such a victory. In fact, I may have even gloated myself in a triumph over a fallen scientific rival as a younger man.

It was a very long time before any other events worth mentioning occurred in the Horsell Common pits, but despite this I never became tired or bored, my excitement and eager anticipation keeping me awake. My mind was entirely focused on the cylinder and the Martians. I even forgot to leave the place for a spot of supper in town, suppressing my empty stomach's angry complaints as I paced about, watching over the laborers and occasionally giving a direction or encouraging a weary laborman.

Once during my vigil I overheard Henderson conversing with some of the other labormen, wiping the sweat from his face with a hand. The other men seemed interested, keeping to their work even while listening eagerly. If I had learned one thing from my experience at Horsell Common thus far, it was that my workers were inordinately fond of gossip. They knew that Henderson had more experience than they did in the field and were entranced by his rugged manner.

"I knew him for a while back when he was only a regular astronomer, and he was perfectly decent then. It's his position, that's what's done it. Give a man even a little bit of power and it's like drink — it goes right to his head." The men laughed and clapped each other's shoulders. Encouraged, Henderson continued his speech. "And once a man has power, other men begin to follow him every place he goes, even to hell and back, hoping that the glow of charisma and strength and devotion will rub off a bit on them as well." The last sentence had a hint of sorrow in it, and at the time I did not know why. Knowing that he was probably discussing Stent again, more covertly this time, I continued on my way. Henderson was a sly one, I would grant him that.

Night fell, shrouding common, crowd, and cylinder in its embrace. It was a wonderfully clear and beautiful night indeed, the finest in several weeks. The stars revealed themselves, but for once in my life I paid no attention to them, as my mind was completely fixed on the cylinder. I was certain that good old Henderson would prove to be right about the thing and that eventually it would indeed open, revealing the identity of the first man to visit us from Mars.

I was not to be disappointed.

A matter of hours later we percieved a faint sound of grinding metal from the object. Startled, Stent instinctively got down from his perch on the cylinder and ordered us all, including both Henderson and I, to leave the area at once and evacuate the area close to the pit as quickly as we could.

"Hurry! Get out of the pit, Ogilvy! You too, Henderson! Quickly, quickly! Reach the high ground! The cylinder is opening itself up!"

[Bagnew]

Cliffhanger much?
Another great chapter, leaving me waiting for more!

[Lonesome Crow]

Welcome back.
I've been looking forward to the next chapter.

[Deleted]

Chapter Seven: The Ambassadors

We quickly obeyed, scrambling out of the pit in a rush, dreadfully terrified and anticipating what was to come next. At Stent's announcement the crowd had panicked, the masses jostling and nudging for various purposes, some approaching the thing from sheer curiosity, some leaving from fear and returning to their houses, certain people pushing others out of the way in order to get a good view of the emerging Martian. Of course, with all of this chaos going on, something unpleasant was bound to happen, and, sure enough, the worst soon occurred. One man, a young businessman I recognized from the streets of Woking, stumbled and fell into the hole, where he was trapped. The wretched fellow was terribly frightened, rushing to and fro, struggling to crawl back out again, but every time he made it to the top the crowd accidentally forced him down again by their sheer mass. It was a pitiable sight to see.

Some of the people close by were chattering about helping the fallen man from where he had slipped. I badly wished to do so, but I knew that it may very well have put the other spectators in danger or startled the Martians to violence. I consoled myself that the situation would be safer for all involved if we left him alone; if they were intelligent and civilised beings, the Martians would not harm an innocent human due to a mere accident. I shouted to Henderson to help me keep anyone in the crowd from getting into the pit. (I had to shout whenever I spoke to him; he may not have heard me otherwise.) He heard, thankfully, but he did not seem to agree with me.

"But Ogilvy," he argued, shouting back, "that poor man might die of exposure, even if the Martians don't kill him!"

"He will be quite all right," I reassured my friend, hoping sincerely that I was correct. "The Martians most likely will help him, not injure him- he may in fact be a useful negotiator for humanity."

"I hope so," Henderson replied darkly. He did not appear convinced by this argument; I would have to try harder.

"Henderson, my man, what has made your perspective on the men from Mars so pessimistic as of late? I am very certain that there is absolutely nothing to fear from the Martians. The reverse is true, in fact! This is the beginning of a grand new era for humankind, and we are allowed to be part of it! Think of the future, good sir, for both of us. I shall go down in history as one of the great astronomers, alongside Galileo and Kepler and that lot, and you will no doubt become rich when you publish this story in your paper." Henderson, however, did not back down as easily as he had the previous time. He walked up to me, his voice snarling and eyes narrowed.

"Why are you acting like this? You weren't as stupid before you met Stent, and once he turned up you have become his fawning, weak-willed pet. If you completely and honestly think that he is going to allow you to keep the credit for this discovery of yours, then you really are an idiot. Think for yourself, Ogilvy. Think with your own head, not Stent's. He hasn't an ounce of good sense between his ears, and what becomes of us is not of priority to him. He views us as hinderances that are only useful until he can take charge of the cylinder. Once word of the discovery is out of Britain, he will obtain the fame and credit for your find. He is the important and famous one, and you are, beside him, a shabbily dressed and fairly obscure (never mind bordering on insane) cipher. You can count yourself as fortunate if you so much as make three quid off of the Martians."

I straightened, smoothing my coat. "Henderson, Stent and I, and you as well, are partners in this. We have to work together if we are to achieve anything. Why, once the word gets out that I was the initial discoverer of the Martians..."

"All of three days ago, Ogilvy," Henderson interrupted rudely, "you were telling us that there was no such thing as Martians to begin with. Now we can clearly see that there are. You were wrong. Who is to say that you are not wrong about their benevolence as well?"

"I am right," I stated. "I have to be. As I said before, they are obviously intelligent creatures. Why would such intelligent creatures want to destroy other beings of similar intelligence? All we will have to do to ensure good relations with them is demonstrate our mental capacities to the—"

There was a gasp of terror from one of the ladies in the crowd and a dull thud. Someone had fainted. I almost jumped; the Martian had to be emerging now, the time had come! Hopelessly excited, I pushed into the masses, leaving an alarmed Henderson behind, and wriggled through the crowd of people (ignoring cries of "Who the hell is he?" and an accompanying painful jab in the ribs) to a magnificent view of the cylinder. It had completely opened, the lid lying on the ground, useless, and something was indeed coming out.

It is important to note that before this point I had expected the Martians to resemble people at least superficially, in general body form if not in other ways. I had reasoned that two planets so close to each other would develop profoundly similar, if not perfectly identical, forms of life. It made complete sense at the time, at least for me. Looking at the body of the first Martian to appear on Earth I realized how horribly wrong my logic had been. Two planets would, I now knew, result in two completely separate evolutionary paths, two potential ruling species, each cut off from the other, the end results as different as an apple tree and a man. Henderson fought his way through the crowd and joined me, both of us staring open-mouthed at what we saw.

The Martians were not attractive creatures. The one we saw first was of impressive size, an ugly brown-black slimy creature that seemed completely alien. It was dribbling a clear saliva from its mouth, which may more strictly be described as a sort of fleshy beak. Its body was squat and shapeless, with clumps of prehensile grey tentacles instead of hands. That in and of itself, however, did not make the creature hideous to my sight. Its eyes did that. Cold, distant, and lifeless those eyes were, surveying us and yet giving us no thought whatsoever. I felt myself tremble before the serpent's intelligence behind that gaze — emotionless, analytical, examining us as if we had been insects or bacteria or some other sort of little insignificant creatures. I wondered if the eyes saw me and, if they did, what they saw. I fought to keep yesterday's meal down and murmured a quiet apology for the man trapped in the pit. Beside me Henderson gaped in sheer disgust and fear, like a frightened rabbit ready to bolt and run at a moment's notice.

Suddenly the monster fell, slipping into the pit with a heavy thump. I instantly snapped back into a feeling of pity for the creatures. They must not be accustomed to our atmosphere's gravity, I thought, and their movements are awkward. Wondering if the creature was hurt, I made as if to clamber down into the hole to help it up, but loyal Henderson held me back.

"Wait, Ogilvy. We should not act rashly."

Mildly annoyed, I indeed waited, Henderson by my side, wondering to myself what the best way for us to make contact with the Martians would be. I was sorry for my initial disgust towards them. It was not their fault that their evolution had resulted in that shape, and no doubt to them I would probably be as bizarre and hideous a creature as they had seemed to me. Accepting our differences would be the first step to peace and friendship between our two species.

Two species, completely unique and cut off by miles of gaping space and millenia of separation: despite all that, there had to be a way to create a link between us, a way that I was fiercely determined to find. This would be my victory, even if I would achieve nothing else. If such a plan succeeded, even Stent would have no other option but to accept me into his tight inner circle as a friend and an equal. The Martians would not be able to understand English, of course, and for that reason verbal communication would not work. We would have to use another method. Suddenly, I struck upon an idea. I snatched up a stick in front of Henderson and showed it to him. He stared at it for some time before speaking, clearly irritated and completely failing to understand its purpose.

"Oh, no, I will not do that again. There is a crowd present and I am a journalist, never mind that I am a recognizable figure in this region. Besides which, I've got a reputation to maintain —"

"No need to worry, we are not going to be doing that. Go get Dr. Stent, he isn't far — I have a plan as to what we should do next, and I will require his cooperation."

"Understood. Stay here, Ogilvy, and I promise you that I will be back as soon as I am able." He darted off into the mass of people, and I gazed after him admiringly. Ah, such loyalty! While Henderson was away talking to Stent I dug out a piece of white cloth that I had brought precisely for this purpose, tying it to a stick lying on the ground before picking it up. I waved the newly made white flag around, laughing quietly. The Martians would, due to their intelligence, certainly be able to understand what the flag meant and allow us to approach them without harm. Signals would succeed where language would surely fail.

"Dr. Ogilvy, what are you doing?" Stent was looking at me, his left eyebrow raised in a quizzical expression and his tone one of mild condescension. Henderson stood next to him, his expression blank. "What is that?" I laughed nervously and showed them the flag while explaining my plan. Stent seemed as if he was considering, but did not completely understand the logic behind it. "A white flag...certainly a, for lack of a better term, interesting idea, my good sir, but the primary concern is whether our Martian friends will have any concept of what it means." I gave a soft laugh, casually leaning on the flag while detailing my reasons for this method of communication.

"We shall require a band of stout-hearted individuals to carry the flag into the pit and show it to the Martians. We must show no signs of aggression or do anything that might provoke them. If we approach them slowly, with care, and remain unarmed, I am certain that they will recieve the general message that we are indeed sentient creatures and are no threat. At which point, of course, friendly communication may ensue."

"Communication?" Stent asked, staring at the flag. His eyes seemed to have shadows underneath them; he must have been even more tired than I had originally thought. I, too, felt weary, but my speech was energetic.

I stood up, aware that for the moment their attention was firmly fixed on me and what I was about to say. "Yes. If I am allowed to, I would like for us, all three of us, and perhaps others of the scientific professions if they would like to accompany us in this grand endeavor, to use the flag to communicate with the Martians. History shall know us as the Deputation."