Day 19 – Saturday

Wells finally emerges from the house he had been confined for 11 days, to the sound of — silence.

In London, Toni’s diary continues to demonstrate  the determination and organisational skills of the suffragists. And once again, we see Elizabeth Cadbury’s exemplary leadership qualities demonstrated.

Elsewhere in the greatest city on Earth, Morant records that one of the men who had taken the heat-ray off him had turned up with the news that Pierre Curie had been trying to get the heat ray to work at a lab in Oxford when it exploded, killing him instantly.

Outside the city, Commander Carver and Maxim finish their plans for a combined attack against the Martians in the Woking Pit, an attack that will be undertaken from both the air, and ground.

And we consider the report on an examination of the Martian’s machines recovered by Lieutenant Dullanty, undertaken at Roche Wood under the direction of Sir J Dullanty (the Lieutenant’s father). And discuss an explanation for why the Martian’s only launched a restricted number of capsules.

@NUWSS central meeting today. They are coming here, as we have #thehighestground #blacksmoke still happening.

One of the men from the group who took the heat-ray off us found us. He said that Pierre Curie had been trying to get the heat ray to work at a lab in Oxford when it exploded, killing him instantly.

Marie was very distressed.

Alone in the scullery, his mouth and throat parched, Wells sits in the darkness, in a state of despondent wretchedness. Outside he hears only silence from the pit, but feels too weak to investigate.

TO: LT. JAMES ROBERT DULLANTY NO 4 COMPANY (SPECIAL OPERATIONS) COLDSTREAM GUARDS STOP

JAMES PLEASE THANK GEN SIR STEPHENSON FOR THE BODY OF THE MARTIAN AND THE REMAINS OF THE MACHINES YOU RECOVERED STOP ATTACHED IS A COPY OF OUR INITIAL FINDINGS.

YOUR FATHER

J DULLANTY ROTCH WOOD

“THE MARTIANS APPARENTLY EITHER DO NOT KNOW OF, OR ABSTAIN FROM, THE WHEEL BUT IN THEIR APPARATUS SINGULARLY LITTLE USE IS MADE OF THE FIXED PIVOT OR RELATIVELY FIXED PIVOT WITH CIRCULAR MOTIONS THEREABOUT CONFINED TO ONE PLANE…

“ALMOST ALL JOINTS OF THE MACHINERY PRESENT A COMPLICATED SYSTEM OF SLIDING PARTS MOVING OVER SMALL BUT BEAUTIFULLY CURVED FRICTION BEARINGS STOP REMARKABLY THE LONG LEVERAGES OF THEIR MACHINES ARE IN MOST CASES ACTUATED BY A SORT OF SHAM MUSCULATURE OF DISKS IN AN ELASTIC SHEATH…

“THESE DISKS BECOME POLARIZED AND ARE DRAWN CLOSELY AND POWERFULLY TOGETHER WHEN TRAVERSED BY A CURRENT OF ELECTRICITY STOP IN THIS WAY THE CURIOUS PARALLELISM TO ANIMAL MOTIONS, WHICH WAS SO STRIKING AND DISTURBING TO THE HUMAN BEHOLDER, WAS ATTAINED…

“SUCH QUASI-MUSCLES ABOUNDED IN THE HANDLING-MACHINE YOU OBTAINED AND WHICH YOU COMMENT APPEAR INFINITELY MORE ALIVE THAN THE ACTUAL MARTIANS LYING BEYOND IT IN THE SUNSET LIGHT STOP PANTING AND MOVING FEEBLY AFTER THEIR VAST JOURNEY ACROSS SPACE…”

Note: This telegram was never delivered due to Lt. Dullanty’s, due to his death during the attack on the airfield at Primrose Hill. The telegram was personally returned to his father after the war by Gen Sir Stephenson.

Now we need to find a #Martian and #blacksmoke #arewenuts?

From the personal log of Lt Roger Carver, Royal Marines, HMS Thunder Child, 19 June 1897, 22:02 GMT:

It was a clear moonless night. The stars were brilliant, but cool and unsympathetic. I thought about Mars, now below the western horizon. “They’ve not sent any more cylinders,” I said. “I keep wondering why.”

“Perhaps there’s a problem with their launcher,” said Persephone.

“You’re very perceptive,” I said taking her hand. “You take after your grandfather.”

She smiled. “I’m a keen observer, like him.” Her hand tightened around mine.

“Indeed. If it’s trouble with whatever the Martians use to hurl their cylinders at us, it’s a stroke of luck.”

I looked at Persephone.  We smiled at each other. I found myself taking a definite liking towards the young suffragette. If… If…

“Help!” We turned around to see Persephone’s father stumbling out of the house towards us. He was bleeding from his face. “Mr. Farmer attacked me!”

Maxim fell into his daughter’s arms. “…when I came to, he was gone… so was my revolver.”

“You’ve a nasty wound.” I got him to his feet as his daughter cleaned away the blood from his face.

“…what’s more,” said Maxim, “the explosives I was experimenting with in my shop are gone.”

“You don’t think Mr. Farmer’s gone after the Martians on his own?” asked Persephone.

“Undoubtedly,” I said as we walked Maxim back to the house. “We can’t go after him, or we’ll risk giving ourselves away. The poor mad fool must’ve overheard us. I don’t know what he has planned.”

We got to the house and lay Maxim on the cot in his workshop. Maxim reached out to Persephone. “With my injuries, I can’t take the flying machine up tomorrow.”

“I can pilot,” she said. “But I will need someone to drop the explosives.” She looked at me. “Roger, can you help?”