“And you have been living like this?” I said.
“At first,” Amelia said. “But then I discovered I was someone rather Important. Let me show you where I sleep.”
She led me to one corner of the communal sleeping-quarters. Here the hammocks were arranged no differently, or so it appeared, but when Amelia tugged on a rope attached to an over head pulley, several of the hammocks were lifted up to form an ingenious screen.
“During the days we leave these down, in case a new overseer is sent to inspect us, but when I wish to be private… I have a boudoir all of my own!”
She led me into her boudoir, and once again, sensing that foreign eyes could not light upon us, I kissed Amelia with passion. I knew now what I had been hungering for during that dire period of loneliness!
“You seem to have made yourself at home,” I said at length. Amelia had sprawled across her hammock, while I sat down on a step that ran across part of the floor.
“One has to make the best of what one finds.”
I said: “Amelia, tell me what happened after you were taken by that machine.”
“I was brought here.”
“Is that all? It cannot have been as simple as that!”
“I should not wish to experience it again,” she said. “But what about you? How is it that after all this time you appear from within a watch-tower?”
“I should prefer to hear your story first.”
So we exchanged the news of each other that we both so eagerly sought. The prime concern was that neither of us was the worse for our adventures, and we had each satisfied the other as to that. Amelia spoke first, describing the journey across land to this slave-camp.
She kept her account brief and seemed to omit much detail. Whether this was to spare me the more unpleasant aspects, or because she did not wish to remind herself of them, I do not know. The journey had taken many days, most of it inside covered vehicles. There was no sanitation, and food was supplied only once a day. During the journey Amelia had seen, as I had seen aboard the projectile, how the monsters themselves took food. Finally, in a wretched state, she and the other survivors of the journey—some three hundred people in all, for the spider-like machines had been busy that day in Desolation City—had been brought to this weed-bank, and under super vision of Martians from the near-by city had been put to work on the red weed.
I assumed at this point that Amelia had finished her story, for I then launched into a detailed account of my own adventures. I felt I had much to tell her, and spared few details. When I came to describe the use of the killing-cubicle aboard the projectile I felt no need to expurgate my account, for she too had seen the device in operation… However, as I described what I had seen, she paled a little.
“Please do not dwell on this,” she said.
“But is it not familiar to you?”
“Of course it is. But you need not colour your account with such relish. The barbaric instrument you describe is every where used. There is one in this building.”
That revelation took me by surprise, and I regretted having mentioned it. Amelia told me that each evening six or more of the slaves were sacrificed to the cubicle.
“But this is outrageous!” I said.
“Why do you think the oppressed people of this world are so few in number?” Amelia cried. “It is because the very best of the people are drained of life to keep the monsters alive!”
“I shall not mention it again,” I said, and passed on to relate the rest of my story.
I described how I escaped from the projectile, then the battle I had witnessed, and finally, with not inconsiderable pride, I described how I had tackled and slain the monster in the tower.
At this Amelia seemed pleased, and so once more I garnished my narrative with adjectives. This time my authentic details were not disapproved of, and indeed as I described how the creature had finally expired she clapped her hands together and laughed.
“You must tell your story again tonight,” she said,: “My people will be very encouraged.”
I said: “Your people?”
“My dear, you must understand that I do not survive here by good fortune. I have discovered that I am their promised leader, the one who in folklore is said to deliver them from oppression.
iii
A little later we were disturbed by the slaves returning from their labours, and for the moment our accounts were put aside.
As the slaves entered the building through the two main pressurizing corridors, the overseeing Martians, who apparently had quarters of their own within the building, came in with them. Several were carrying the electrical whips, but once inside they tossed them casually to one side.
I have recorded before that the habitual expression of a Martian is one of extreme despair, and these wretched slaves were no exception. Knowing what I did, and having seen the massacre that afternoon; my reaction was more sympathetic than before.
With the return of the slaves there was a period of activity, during which the dirt of the day’s work was washed away, and food was brought out. It had been some time since I had eaten, and although in its uncooked state the weed was almost inedible I took as much as I could manage.
We were joined during the meal by the slave-child Amelia called Edwina. I was amazed at the apparent grasp she had of English, and, what is more,rather amused by the fact that although the girl could not manage some of the more sophisticated English consonants, Amelia had vested her with distinct echoes of her own cultured voice. (In rendering Edwina’s words in this narrative I shall make no attempt to phoneticize her unique accent, but state her words in plain English; how ever, at first I had difficulty in understanding what she said.)
I noticed that while we ate (there were no tables here; we all squatted on the floor) the slaves kept a distance from Amelia and me. Many covert glances came our way and only Edwina, who sat with us, seemed at ease in our company.
“Surely they are used to you by now?” I said to Amelia.
“It is of you they are nervous. You too have fulfilled a legendary rôle.”
At this, Edwina, who had heard and understood my question, said: “You are the pale dwarf.”
I frowned at this, and looked to see if Amelia knew what she meant.
Edwina went on: “Our wise men tell of the pale dwarf who walks from the battle-machine.”
“I see,” I said, and nodded to her with a polite smile.
Somewhat later, when Edwina was no longer within hearing, I said: “If you are the messiah to these people, why do you have to work at the weed-bank?”
“It is not my choice. Most of the overseers are used to me now, but if any new ones came from the city I might be singled out if I were not with the others. Also, it is said in the myths that the one who leads the people will be one of them. In other words, a slave.”
“I think I should hear these myths,” I said.
“Edwina will recite them for you.”
I said: “You talk about the overseers. How is it that no one seems to fear them now?”
“Because I have persuaded them that all humans have a common enemy. I am more than playing a rôle, Edward. I am convinced that there must be a revolution. The monsters rule the people by dividing them: they have set one group of humans against the other. The slaves fear the overseers because it seems the overseers have the authority of the monsters behind them. The city-Martians are content to support the system, for they enjoy Certain privileges. But as you and I have seen, this is merely an expedient to the monsters. Human blood is their only demand, and the slave-system is a means to an end. All I have done here is to persuade the overseers—who also know the folklore—that the monsters are an enemy common to all.”