Now the excitement of the battle was past, I found my thoughts were more pragmatic. I had, for a time, been aroused by the thrill of the fighting, even to the extent of admiring the plucky way the smaller force had thrown itself against the far superior defenders. But on Mars there was no element of goodness in the monster-creatures; I had no place in this war between monsters, and the fact that chance had placed me on one of two warring sides should not have beguiled me into spurious sympathies. The creature which had driven this tower into battle had earned my respect for its valour, but as I stood on the roof of the platform, planning my escape, its essential cowardice and beastliness were suddenly revealed.
I heard again the crackling noise above my head, and I realized the heat-cannon was being fired.
At first I thought that one of the defending battle-machines must have followed us, but then I saw where the deadly beam was being directed. Far away, over to the right, flame and smoke were leaping up from the weed-bank!
I saw several slaves caught, by the full force of the beam, and they fell, lifeless, to the muddy ground.
The monster was not content with this atrocity, for then it started to swing the cannon to the side, sweeping the beam along the weed-bank.
The flames burst and leapt, as if spontaneously, as the invisible beam touched on vegetation and slave alike. Where the malign heat fell on the spilled sap, gouts of steam exploded outwards. I could see the slaves struggling to escape as they heard the screams of those afflicted, but in the swampy mire in which they had to work it was difficult for them to scramble away in time. Many of them threw themselves prostrate in the mud, but others were killed instantly.
This unspeakable deed had been continuing for no more than two or three seconds before I took a part in ending it.
Ever since I had understood the full monstrosity of the power these beings held, a part of my self had been overwhelmed with hatred and loathing of the monsters. I did not need to debate the rights or wrongs of this: the monster with its damaged tower, taking its unpardonable spite on the helpless humans below, with cold deliberation and serene malice.
I took a deep breath, then turned away from the awful sight. Fighting down the revulsion within me, I reached for the handle of the metal door built into the sloping roof of the tower I turned it in vain; it seemed to be jammed.
I glanced back over my shoulder. The heat-beam was still creeping along the weed-bank, wreaking its hideous carnage… but now some of the slaves nearest to the vindictive tower had seen me, for one or two of them were waving helplessly as they struggled through the swamp to avoid the beam.
The handle was one I had not seen or used on Mars before, but I knew that it could not be a sophisticated lock, for the monster itself, with its clumsy tentacles, must be capable of using it. Then, on an inspiration, I turned it the other way, the way that on Earth would normally close a lock.
Instantly, the handle turned and the door sprung open.
Filling most of the interior of the platform was the body of the monster; like a sickening bladder, the grey-green sac bulged and pulsed, shining moistly as if with perspiration.
In utter loathing I swung my long blade down, bringing it smartly against the very centre of the back. The blade sunk in, but as I withdrew it for a second plunge I saw that, it had not penetrated the sponge-like consistency of the creature’s flesh. I stabbed again, but with as little effect.
However, the creature had felt the blows even if it had not been harmed by them. A vile screech was emitted from the beak-like mouth at its front, and before I could evade it one of the tentacles slithered quickly towards me and wrapped itself about my chest.
Taken unawares, I stumbled down into the interior of the platform, pulled forward by the tentacle, and was dragged between the metal wall and the nauseous body itself!
My knife-arm was not constricted, and so in desperation I hacked again and again at the serpentine tentacle. Beside me the monster was braying hoarsely, in fear or in pain. At last, my knife was beginning to tell, for the pressure of the tentacle eased as I drew blood. A second tentacle slinked towards me, and just in time I slashed the first one away, causing blood to pump from the wound. As the second tentacle wound itself about my knife-arm, I panicked momentarily, before transferring the blade to my other hand. Now I knew the vulnerable place on the tentacle, it took only seconds to hack it away.
My exertions, and the drag of the tentacles, had taken me to the very front of the platform, so that I was before the face of the monster itself!
Here it was as if the whole interior was alive with the tentacles, for ten or a dozen were wrapping themselves around me. I cannot record how appalling was that touch! The tentacles themselves were weak, but the combined effect of several, stroking and clutching me, was as if I had fallen headlong into a nest of constrictors. Before me, the beak-like mouth opened and closed, shrieking in pain or anger; once the beak closed around my leg, but there was no strength in it and it was not able even to rip the cloth.
Above all were the eyes: those large, expressionless eyes, watching my every action.
I was now in trouble, for both my arms were pinned, and although I still held the knife I could not use it. Instead, I kicked at the soft face before me, aiming at the roots of the tentacles, the shrilling mouth, the saucer eyes… anything that came within range. Then at last my knife-arm came free, and I slashed wildly at any part of the filthy body that presented itself.
This was the turning-point in the squalid affair, for from then on I knew I could win. The front of the creature’s body was firm to the touch, and therefore vulnerable to the knife. Every blow I landed now drew forth blood, and soon the platform was a bedlam of gore, severed tentacles and the frightful screams of the dying monster.
At last I drove the blade straight in between the creature’s eyes, and with one last fading scream it finally expired.
The tentacles relaxed and sagged to the floor, the beak-mouth fell open, from within the corpse there came a long eructation of noxious vapours and the great lidless eyes stared bleakly and lifelessly through the darkened oval window at the front of the platform.
I glanced through this window just once, and saw dimly that the massacre had been brought to a timely end. The weed-bank no longer shot forth flame, although steam and smoke still drifted from various places, and the surviving slaves were dragging themselves from the mire.
vi
With a shudder I flung aside the bloodied knife, and hauled myself past the sagging corpse to the door. I struggled through with some difficulty for my hands were slick with blood and ichor. At last I pulled myself back to the roof, breathing in the thin air with relief, now that I was away from the rank odours of the monster. The hand-bag was where I had left it on the roof.
I picked it up, and, because I should need free use of my hands, looped one of the long handles over my neck.
For a moment I stared down at the ground. For as far as I could see in every direction those slaves that had survived the massacre had abandoned their toils and were wading through the mud towards the tower. Some had already reached dry land, and were running across to me, waving their long spindly arms and calling out in their high, reedy voices.
The leg nearest me seemed to be the straightest of the three, bent in only one place. With the greatest difficulty I eased myself over the protruding shelf, and managed to grip the metal limb with my knees. Then I released my hold on the platform, and placed my hands around the rough metal of the leg. Much blood had spilled from the platform, and although it was drying quickly in the sunshine it made the metal perilously slippery. With great caution at first, then with more confidence as I grew accustomed to it, I shinned down the leg towards the ground, the hand-bag swinging ludicrously across my chest.