Gateway To Mars: The Martian Diaries, #3

By H.E. Wilburson

The Martian Diaries: Vol. 3 Gateway To Mars – The War Of The Worlds sequel

 

PUBLISHER DESCRIPTION

 

The War Of The Worlds Continues On The Moon And Mars!

 

Time is running out for planet Earth. Marseria, the insidious Martian plague, has been infecting our planet for over twenty years and has resisted every human effort to eradicate it.

 

With all life on Earth facing extinction, the only solution left is to directly access a specific piece of Martian technology. But, according to the diaries left behind by Ogilvy the astronomer, the Martians have hidden it at the lake on the moon.

 

In 1945, three rockets converted from Martian cylinders take off on the vital lunar mission, and amongst the crew is Ogilvy's nephew, Jack Stent. Will the astronauts locate the Martian shadow-weapon, thought to hold the desperately needed cure for Marseria? Can it really be used to instigate another timeline on Earth so that mankind can survive? The stakes are high and so is the risk of contact and conflict with Martians.

 

Nearly two hundred years later, at a scientific colony on Mars, a shocking discovery is made about Jack Stent, and Ogilvy's Martian diaries are once again pivotal to human survival and the continuation of life on Earth.

 

Gateway To Mars is the third volume of The Martian Diaries series that continues the classic H.G. Wells Mars novel in a compelling, unmissable action adventure. If you're a fan of The War Of The Worlds you won't want to miss this story of survival, despair and hope, that brings the original tale full circle. Get your copy today!

WHAT READERS HAVE SAID

"An excellent third part to this incredible series!"

"...a truly brilliant tribute to HG Wells! I do recommend!"

"Boy this was a good book! I love the writing style... it's very true to the original story."

"A must read for fans of thrilling, Sci-Fi adventure, highly recommended!"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Flint House Publishing
• Release date: Nov 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9781838325022

H.E. Wilburson

H.E Wilburson is an award winning British author and composer, with accolades for the writing and music for The Martian Diaries series – his audio sequel to The War Of The Worlds. Having long been drawn to the H.G.Wells science fiction classic, he decided in 2015 to continue the story himself as he felt there were questions Wells left unanswered. With almost a lifetime of composing and painting pictures with music, Wilburson created his sequel with his own musical compositions and added immersive sound effects. Apart from The Martian Diaries trilogy he has adapted The Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan, his first project combining text with music, which will be released in the future. He also has several hundred pieces of music, and unpublished stories and poetry. Wilburson, who likes to be known as H.E, enjoys history, advances in science and listening to great music and story telling. When he's not writing, he is passionate about composing music, and favourite hobbies include hiking, chilling in the garden, entertaining his daughter with made up dad jokes and creating new story lines for The Martian Diaries.  Winner of 5 awards in the 2020 Los Angeles Science Fiction Film Awards, Audio Drama category, and Bronze medal winner in the Readers Choice Awards 2020 (Science Fiction). Come and find him on Twitter https://twitter.com/martiandiaries

Book preview

PART 1

1945

Prologue

Between today and tomorrow lies a better future, and the imagination to acquire it.

Those who thought it impossible that humans could navigate to the moon were simply unwilling to adopt the rigorous and unrelenting mindset of a Martian. They were therefore dumbfounded when Avenger, Excalibur and The Ogilvy blasted off from Jodrell Bank in 1945.

Chapter 1

Trapped

Somehow I knew what was about to happen since the many coincidences had a curious, yet disturbing familiarity. Final proof that the premonitions were real came when Ogilvy appeared to read my mind. He raised his arm and, pointing up at the black sky, began to recite word for word what I knew he would say. Then after a pause, he remarked that he much preferred the heavens to be blue in colour, especially at mid-day. My mother Elizabeth and stepfather George seemed equally concerned, as they contemplated the apocalyptic strangeness of the sky, and yet I was certain that all of this had happened before.

Ogilvy was right of course: it was a supernatural event. Only the sun shone in the blacked-out heavens. There were no stars, moon or any hint of colour in the cloudless, pitch-black above us. After a while I detected a subtle change to the sky: it was turning lighter and continued to improve to a more natural blue. I had no particular reason to sit here with these three apparitions, except out of a sense of loyalty or love, but deep down I knew that Ogilvy was long since dead–and perhaps all three of them were. It came as no surprise to me when they disappeared–one by one.

I stood up then, determined to reach the distant lake that gleamed and sparkled beyond the white desert sands. However, after about fifty paces towards the oasis, I noticed that not only were my footsteps silent, but the sand remained undisturbed under my feet. I hurried back to my starting point, searching for even the slightest imprint along the way, but there were no visible footprints. I crouched down to examine the sand and discovered that my hands, and indeed the rest of my body, were just as transparent as the three apparitions had been. An awful dread engulfed me, since it was more than likely I would vanish too.

Then I became aware I was not alone: my mother and George sat close to me as before and they smiled at me, just as I knew they would. The sky darkened dramatically, but this time, before Ogilvy moved his arm, it was I who pointed upwards and directed him to look closely at the sun. His mild expression of surprise turned to one of confusion, and then to a mask of fear. What has happened to the sun? he barely managed to say, and after a scathing comment about my obvious lack of interest in what he saw, Ogilvy urged my parents quickly to their feet and hurried them away.

An enormous sun glared down at me from the black sky. It seemed to react to my every movement with fierce scrutiny, which suggested that the monstrous thing had a cunning mind, and worse still, the determined instinct of a predator. I froze, not daring to breathe or to make the slightest movement.

As large as a house, the eye seethed with a dim, eerie phosphorescence. Above it in the black gloom, the rock walls arched up into a ceiling canopy of boulders, suspended like bombs. I could see no way of escape from this unearthly dungeon. Not only was I trapped, bottled up in this dark, dank hole, but with a growing melancholy, I sensed death. As if on cue, a sizeable rock dislodged from high up on the circular wall, clattering noisily as it fell. The monstrous eye did not flinch at the commotion, but remained steady–solely focused on me.

A sudden and terrible pain in my left arm took me by surprise, and such was the depth of my amnesia, I had no memory of when or how this injury had been inflicted. I cradled my wounded arm, then tentatively examined a substantial tear in the fabric at the back of my spacesuit sleeve. Blood oozed from damaged flesh beneath, and I could feel either jagged bone or something sharp lodged in the centre of it. Fearing infection, I decided it was better to leave the injury alone and sat uncomfortably, braced firmly against the uneven rock wall. All the while, the huge eyeball considered my every movement with malicious intent.

The situation was as dark as it was bleak, and it was clear that only God could help me now. I prayed grudgingly and half-heartedly for a miracle, but expected nothing. A sudden and blinding flash of white from deep within the eye’s pupil momentarily blinded me and caused my heart to jolt in a spike of fear, far greater than any dread of the hideous eye. Fully awake from my stupor, I felt compelled to say something: Forgive me, was all I could mutter as my mind pulsated with confusion, convinced that God himself was close by.

Feebly I got to my feet then staggered away from the rock wall to study the pupil of the eye. The mysterious thing was the colour of true darkness–something I had never before seen so perfectly portrayed. A sudden draught brought with it a brief smattering of water droplets, and seemed to emanate from the eye. Then followed another flash from inside the pupil’s cold stare.

I noticed the cylindrical shape of my discarded air tank lying on the ground and I wondered how I was able to breathe without it. Then I was distracted when my boot struck something solid buried in the soil. Glancing down at my feet, I became instantly dizzy and collapsed to the ground, as a flood of memories came at me quickly, all at once. Some of them were recent occurrences, while others were nightmare segments of disjointed dreams that made little or no sense, and yet all competed for my immediate attention. With a growing sense of unease, I was convinced that something of significance had occurred right here in this cavern.

Using the heel of my boot to snag the straps of the empty air tank I managed to pull it closer. It was covered in a thin layer of black dust–the same as everything else in the cavern. I reached out and unbuckled the straps from the tank and used them to make a crude sling for my arm. It was then I noticed a glint of metal in the soil. I dug around and soon a yellowish-silver pyramid, about eight inches high, emerged from its resting place. Further digging revealed an identical one, buried right next to it.

For some reason, the size and shape of the artefacts were familiar, but it was obvious that both metallic structures were incomplete. I felt certain that the missing parts were somewhere in the soil and after poking around, I located one and then the other missing top. I peered inside the pyramids: there seemed to be tightly rolled papers crammed inside and they were impossible to dislodge with my fingers. I picked up a sliver of stone to probe inside one of the artefacts, and after several attempts, I managed to tear off a strip of paper. Even in the semi-darkness I recognised Ogilvy’s distinctive handwriting. I examined the other pyramid in the same way, and to my surprise the paper fragments from it confirmed that the documents inside the artefacts were from the Martian Diaries.

In that instant I remembered the purpose and function of these small pyramids: they were sleeping chambers for dormant Martian infants. Sickened, I shoved the alien artefacts from my lap, wary that the blood-sucking parasites could leap out at me at any moment. Then I realised there was no room for any Martian inside the pyramids and, reluctant to damage the paper contents further, I placed both lids firmly into position. Each top rotated down on its own until the pyramids were complete and I felt a glimmer of satisfaction and, for some reason, a sense of hope.

My improvised sling, made from the straps and buckles of the air tank, worked far better than expected. With my good hand I reached for a tiny ball of crumpled paper that must have come from one of the pyramids. Dusting it off, I tried to smooth away the many creases, and with confusion I recognised my own pencilled handwriting. Then I was distracted by a cut on my hand, but unable to apply the necessary pressure to stop the bleeding, I focused instead on reading the note:

‘There has been a long tradition of exploration within my family and now, on the final approach to the moon, it means a great deal to be here, and in command of this rocket ship. We are all in this together and we must never forget, not even for one moment, the reason for this mission or how it came about. This endeavour is only made possible by the countless sacrifices of others, and under my leadership–even when things are difficult–you must carry on. Failure is a form of carelessness and the hardest of ways to learn from mistakes...’

I stopped reading what I had recorded of his speech in mid-sentence. Utter rubbish, Captain, I muttered, and wrapped the sheet of paper around the cut on my hand until the bleeding stopped, annoyed that I had bothered to read the words at all. Then I decided the paper could be useful, so I cleaned off excess blood in the dry moon soil, before folding and tucking it away into my top pocket.

Another spray of water droplets caught my attention and I had a sudden thought. I picked up a small stone and tossed it towards the steady gaze of the eye; the projectile vanished into it. Then, I threw a small handful of rock fragments at the eye–but with unnecessary vigour. Instantly, I regretted the decision as the sudden movement was too much for my wounded arm and my body filled with mind-numbing pain. Most of the stones passed into the darkness of the pupil as before, but those that missed were transformed momentarily into specks of light as they were absorbed into the white phosphorescence of the eyeball.

I noticed a familiar object in the soil: it was my talisman–a small childhood souvenir from the first Martian invasion, which I usually wore on a chain around my neck. The intermittent green lights on it no longer flashed as they used to so I believed it was broken, but it gave me an idea. I focused my mind on the talisman and the green lights came on for a few seconds, shone brightly and then died. Unable to put it back on since the chain was missing, I slipped the talisman into a pocket.

It occurred to me that this eye, rather than being part of a creature, was an inanimate object or perhaps a machine, and could be manipulated by the essence of thought. To confirm this idea, I focused my mind and found that the huge eye looked up and away and then back down again directly at me–simply because I willed it to.

However, any elation at being able to control the eyeball was short lived since I had a growing sense that I was entirely responsible for my current situation. Although it was completely irrational, I had an overwhelming compulsion to enter into the pupil of the eye. I glanced at the pyramids and decided to take them with me, but they would be awkward to carry in one hand. I had no choice but to propel myself on my stomach along the ground, pushing the pyramids in front of me towards the eyeball.

My clumsy movements caused a lot of dust to rise, and as more fine particles plumed upwards from the powdery soil, the eye’s white phosphorescence soon turned to a murky yellow. The strange dust made my eyes and nose sting and I questioned if moving the artefacts was worth the struggle and discomfort. Yet it was the distinctive shape of my abandoned space helmet, lying in a dip below the eyeball, that finally halted my inefficient advance across the cavern floor.

Leaving the pyramids where they were, I altered direction in an attempt to retrieve the helmet, but I was suddenly seized by a deep coughing fit that jarred my wounded arm. I rolled onto my back in agony, as my chest heaved again and again for air; I was certain I had been exposed to a pocket of poisonous gas that must have emanated from the soil. Exhausted by waves of continuous pain, I was eventually forced to sit up to find fresher air. As I did so, the side of my head grazed the phosphorescence of the eyeball and the pungent odour of singed hair filled my nostrils.

The fact that the eyeball floated freely off the ground made it impossible for me to crawl into. So, directing it with nothing more than the essence of a thought, I waited for the entire thing to lower to the ground. I then picked up the pyramids one at a time and placed each artefact directly into the eye’s pupil–before letting go. Then, with trepidation and all the courage I could muster, I dragged my body into the darkness of the eye.

Chapter 2

Visions

My eyes were immediately drawn to a tiny but bright blue dot. As I inched towards it, my vision filled quickly with the warm glow of the sun on Earth’s atmosphere. The turquoise oceans of liquid water and the green colours of life were vibrant, and I recognised Africa, Europe and even England as my view became clearer. Then, as I cautiously crawled farther, I became immersed in a strange, soft light that appeared to move continuously in all directions.

The dust-filled cavern was behind me now as I pushed the two small pyramids towards the darkness at the end of a transparent conduit. A slight tingling sensation in my legs and feet ceased once they, too, were inside the strange tube. However, the most surprising thing of all was that I no longer experienced any form of pain in my injured arm.

If I wanted to, it was possible to turn my body and sit upright inside the wide tube that appeared to be made of a thin, glass-like material. I crawled towards the open end, still pushing both pyramids, but the artefacts suddenly fell out into the darkness beyond. I edged closer to the opening to see what had happened to them and was relieved they had not fallen far, but had settled onto what looked like sand. Surprisingly, my arm tingled with what felt like crawling insects, as I reached out to pick up one of the pyramids. Then, my spacesuit sleeve was caught in an unexpected breeze and fine dust billowed from it like smoke. The strange, tingling feeling stopped once my arm rested again beside me, and I wondered if an invisible threshold existed at either end of the tube. The front of my suit was heavily caked in grey moon dust and as I moved my arm outside the tube again, more of the powdery particles were released into the air. Some of the dust drifted back inside and still, I did not cough or struggle to breathe.

Now I could no longer ignore the remarkable performance occurring directly in front of me, in the vastness of the ambient glow outside my tube. Something swirled in beautiful and hypnotic murmurations–and it was not a flock of birds. A single fragment settled on the tube close to my head, and I glimpsed within it, a rapidly repeated moment of time; and all the while it glowed in a kaleidoscope of shifting colours, more radiant than anything I had seen before. Then the time fragment melted to invisibility and became a part of the tube’s structure. Yet another time fragment touched the outer surface, but lifted again and swirled away with countless others.

As I watched, I became aware that other conduits existed within the background light. Each one was just as transparent as mine, all beautifully cylindrical with no common length, and yet every one of them spanned the glow. I examined the tube I was in, but I was unable to learn anything of its composition: I could not tell if its surface was rough, smooth, hot or cold, or even if it was real. Caught up in pure silence, without thirst or hurt, it was the perfect place to be.

Five human figures came towards me slowly as if they walked on solid ground, but there was nothing that could be described as a floor beneath them. At their feet was a mist of light that brightened as they drew closer. My enthusiasm to engage with them was cut short when I recognised them as four versions of the astronomer Ogilvy, and one of my stepfather, George. They grouped together, scrutinising me as if I was an exotic creature held captive in a cage. It soon became obvious that I was safe from them inside this conduit made of time fragments, as their friendly greetings evaporated. One of them struck the thin, clear wall of the tube with his fist, and although I was unable to hear anything, his meaning was perfectly clear: I was being ordered to leave the time tube. I knew from George, my human stepfather, that these five entities were anything but friendly; all were Martian manifestations, and as such, I disregarded their instruction and remained where I was, much to their annoyance.

The Ogilvys became extremely agitated when tiny points of green light began to dance in the mist far below as if on a huge, circular table top. While I was mesmerised by the spectacle, the five apparitions melted away. The dots intensified and elongated upwards into numerous light beams. I concluded that this green energy was likely to be Martian, according to Ogilvy’s account in his diaries. Suddenly, the light beams became an enormous vortex that erupted upwards as if it had broken through a barrier. It projected its intense brightness high up into the glow above me, and I could feel the tremendous power in the huge tornado of light. It twisted furiously, agitating the time fragments into a swarm that engulfed the whirling vortex. Soon the green energy dissipated and a sense of calm and order returned; in its place, a large, transparent structure was revealed. The hush in the silence was palpable as a different type of glow illuminated the top of the colossal, glass-like column. It was sunlight.

Like demons rising from a pit, a line of tripods suddenly appeared inside the enormous time tube. It was only by tilting my head that I could make sense of what was happening inside the structure, and it seemed as if the tops of the tripods slid up the column, like mercury rising in a thermometer. The machines marched in unison along the tube and, as each tripod reached the sunlight, it glistened momentarily before striding out of view. Alarmed by their considerable number, I was glad of the dust they created inside the column, hoping it made me invisible to them.

I wondered if these tripods were from the great Martian comet of 1913 that was last seen heading towards the moon, almost thirty-two years ago. My stepfather George would surely like to know that he was right about a Martian colony on the lunar surface. As the last tripod advanced into the daylight, I could see an enormous mushroom-shaped object that gleamed in crystal, standing tall above the red sands of an alien landscape. Then the sunlight faded just as the towering column collapsed and disintegrated into a deluge of time fragments.

Chapter 3

Prey

As I scrutinised the darkness beyond the end of my time tube, I found myself in a dilemma. I realised I had been seduced by my immediate surroundings, and this was in fact a dangerous and difficult place to be since my time tube could dissipate just as easily as the glass column–without warning. If either of the openings–to the cavern or the darkness–were to disappear right now, I would be trapped inside this space forever. At this very moment, the same tripods I had seen in the column could be waiting for me in the darkness, just beyond the range of my vision, with their heat rays ready. But if I returned to the cavern on the moon, it would be exactly as I left it, filled with choking dust and poisonous gas.

I glanced down to where the pyramids still lay outside my time tube; I would have to retrieve them first before any return to the cavern. As I looked again at where the huge column had stood, it was noticeable that the space was devoid of active time fragments–as if their energy had been stolen from them. Now I could see countless time tubes, each a separate and individual pathway that projected through the background glow. They were all aligned at strange angles, criss-crossing wildly without intersecting each other. The environment here was as different from my home town of Woking as it was possible to be.

Suddenly, something moved inside one of the tubes above me. The thing pulsated along on its belly like an enormous black maggot and, in one of its many tentacles, it grasped what looked like a heat ray. Its shiny skin was black and leathery and I knew it was a Martian. It was hard to believe that something with great intelligence could be so repulsive to look at. It seemed to be herding a group of three-legged creatures in front of it. I instantly recognised them as Creepers–bloodthirsty, rat-like mutants that were a product of the Marseria plague on Earth. The Martian ushered them along like sheep, but before they reached the end of the tube, all four of the small creatures collapsed. Extending its black octopus-like tentacles directly over them, it seemed as though the Martian was attempting to revive the Creepers. Then it swept the mutants up into its tentacles, while still brandishing the heat ray, before disappearing from view along the tube, with surprising speed.

Soon I became aware that a ground mist had developed covering the abyss below and the light from it grew brighter, as it undulated beneath my time tube. I was suddenly startled to see the back of a human head emerging from the mist, as though someone sat up. I realised that the man wore a spacesuit similar to mine and, like me, was missing his helmet. As he turned his head, I glimpsed the side of his face and froze; it was as if I was looking at myself. Another suited body then reared up, and by the expression on his face, he was as shocked to see me as I was to see him. The visor of his helmet suddenly bumped against my tube not far from my boot, and he raised a gloved hand to feel along the transparent wall. I could not determine whether he was truly human or another Martian entity like the Ogilvys, but through the visor, I could see that he too had a face I recognised as my own. With terror in his eyes, he mouthed words I could not hear, beating his hand repeatedly on the tube, desperate to get in. I pitied him then, knowing there was nothing I could do to help.

The air beyond my tube was suddenly filled with tiny purple fragments and I felt the chill of a menacing presence: something dark had swooped down onto the first man. He fought frantically, battling with writhing Martian tentacles and I could see that the back of his spacesuit was burnt and smoke emanated from it; he must have been savaged by a heat ray. Suddenly the man seemed to give up the struggle, and the Martian dragged his body away, down into the mist.

Unnerved, I was about to make my escape out into the darkness when I noticed the Martian–that had shepherded the Creepers–had reappeared back in its time tube above me. Once, I had read of a fish that carried a lure in front of it, to tempt other fish into its jaws of razor-sharp teeth. This Martian maggot did not have to entice anything, since instead of a lure, it held a heat ray on the end of an elongated tentacle. I recalled Ogilvy saying that the aliens had eyes the size of dinner plates, fixed in a permanent stare, and that in between them, was a strange lipless mouth and nose orifice, which concealed blood-sucking fangs. If anyone was close enough to touch the leathery skin of a Martian, death was imminent. What Ogilvy forgot to mention, was just how loathsome the alien tentacles actually were.

The awful creature ceased the maggot-like movement halfway along its tube. I signalled to the second man to be still, but he paid me no attention as the Martian began to roll, using its tentacles to deliberately turn itself over. Then, slowly but surely, one of its eyes came into view, and was soon followed by the rest of its grotesque face. I knew what the creature was doing–it was surveying the other time tubes as it rotated. Now it had found what it was looking for–and even better, there were two of us. It aimed its heat ray and I hoped that the time tubes were impenetrable to any heat-ray blast, but instead there was a sudden burst of purple fragments as a large section of the Martian’s tube shattered. The creature inched towards the gap and focused its heat ray on us.

I waved to the man as a warning, but he panicked even more. As the last of the purple fragments showered over him, I realised this situation was similar to how the first man had met his end. I turned my attention to the Martian that now towered on top of my time tube, glaring menacingly down at us. The man pushed away from the tube and was about to make good his escape when he was cut down by a sudden blast of the Martian heat ray. He crumpled to his knees, his back horribly burnt through, as smoke billowed from the space suit. The Martian then swooped quickly and smothered the man in its tentacles, before wrestling his body down into the mist. Then a familiar metallic object rose up out of the gloom, carried on a single black tentacle and aimed directly at me. Fearing that my time tube was about to shatter into purple fragments, without a second thought, I leapt out into the darkness.

Though I was relieved to be out of the time tube, at first I struggled to breathe. Not only did the air have a heavy scent of wet sand, it was thin and cool. Something sharp dug into my back and pinned by gravity I could hardly move. I managed to roll onto my side and realised I had fallen on top of the pyramids. Then I was rudely reacquainted with the excruciating pain in my left arm. Looking back into the time tube, which was now the only source of light, I tried not to imagine what the Martian had done to the second man. Selfishly, I hoped that the alien creature would be satisfied and focus solely on him, giving up any notion to follow me here.

The silence I had experienced inside the time tube was now replaced by the continuous sound of a nearby sea or ocean: there was water here–lots of it–and now my thirst took hold with a vengeance. I glanced over my shoulder to see what was causing the intense tingling in my lower legs and feet. The backlit opening to the tube had become opaque with a purple mist that swirled menacingly, and I snatched my feet from the void, fearing amputation. With that abrupt movement, I was engulfed in incredible pain from my wounded arm, and it was then that I did something completely irrational. Without thinking clearly, I simply thrust my arm back into the darkening mouth of the tube, and a moment later, it was gone–seared completely from my body.

I expected to see the severed limb fall from behind the darkened disc of the time tube’s opening, but thankfully no such thing happened. The foul and pungent smell of my own incinerated flesh and rubber lingered, but at least the new burning sensation was more tolerable than the earlier pain.

The trickling sound of a stream became evident against the background roar of the sea. A sudden fork of lightning momentarily revealed a stark wilderness and also the course of the water, while distant thunder boomed; the sound of it reverberated far longer than expected. I took a moment to study the end of the time tube, and could not believe that I had actually crawled from a vertical disc of light that could only be seen from the front, and was completely invisible when viewed from the side or the rear. It stood like a circular mirror, balanced perfectly on its incredibly thin edge.

Driven by thirst, I stumbled in the direction of the stream and was suddenly plunged into complete darkness, as if a torch had been switched off. The disc had disappeared. Slowly my eyes adjusted to the weak light from the night sky above me. On reaching the stream, I knelt down and lowered my face and what was left of my arm fully into the icy-cold water. Not only did the steady current remove most of the dust from my skin, it soothed and numbed my arm. I could only hope the water was good as I drank it greedily. Afterwards, I felt fatigued and crawled away from the gravel onto soft sand and rested. It was only then that I contemplated the terrible thing I had done to my arm.

Chapter 4

Tiberius

A deep rumble and the unsettling motion of an earthquake woke me. I opened my eyes to a damp, tepid dawn and waited for the tremor to pass. Then, carefully, I sat up with the unsteady mechanics of only one arm, still expecting aftershocks at any moment. I had never felt so chilled: every part of my body ached from sleeping rough, out in the open. Through tired eyes I then made a most disappointing discovery: the deserted and inhospitable landscape was an artist’s canvas of endless reds and browns, dotted with pools of grey mirror lakes. There was no hint of any tree or green foliage in the expanse of red rock and sand dunes; worryingly, it was completely barren and appeared to be devoid of life.

The stump of my arm had a dull numbness to it, and I could see that it had sheared off in a clean cut across the sleeve of the space suit. If the arm had not been cauterised when the time tube closed, it was highly likely that I could have bled to death. I tried to think of other things and gazed instead at the miracle of the sun rising into the sky of a new day. Shivering, I resumed my sleeping position in the sand to retain some heat, hoping that the cold air would warm up quickly. Still tired, I was determined not to fall asleep any time soon, knowing that hypothermia was a real risk and I might not wake up again.

My joints complained as I stretched and turned towards the two small pyramids, content to have the sun warm my back. I was confronted by the sight of a huge mountain that had not been visible in the dark. The summit was obscured by a towering cloud of black ash and I could hear distant, ghostly sounds carried on the wind as if the volcano breathed. Huge arcs of electricity discharged occasionally through the billowing cloud that thankfully drifted away in the opposite direction. At least there was something else alive in this deserted place. I tried to think of a suitable name for the volcano: Tiberius, a Roman leader, was grand and ancient; to call it New Pompeii or New Vesuvius was to tempt fate, and New Krakatoa was simply out of the question.

Another huge cloud of ash boiled, then expanded away from Tiberius: it was