The Map of the Sky (Trilogía Victoriana #2)(100)

“Don’t they know that the average temperature of the planet is too low to stop water from freezing?” the Envoy asked with astonishment.

The priest simply shrugged. The Envoy shook his head with a mixture of amusement and disappointment.

“And how does Wells depict us? Does he come even close to understanding our nature?”

“Oh no, of course not,” the priest replied, before adding rather ashamedly, “In fact, he portrays us as monsters similar to one of Earth’s sea creatures.”

“Do you think they see us as we really are when we aren’t projecting their appearance?” the Envoy asked the priest.

“I doubt it. Remember, we are completely alien to them. We aren’t animal, vegetable, or mineral. Not even a mixture of those. We are quite simply beyond the bounds of their comprehension.”

“But they must perceive us in some way, don’t you think? We have a shape, we make sounds and give off odors,” the Envoy surmised.

“I assume that in order to stay sane, their minds compare us to what we most resemble,” the priest reflected. “And since we are the unknown, I imagine what they see is not exactly flattering. They undoubtedly portray us as monsters with claws, tentacles, and fangs, a hideous amalgamation of all their fears. It is even conceivable they all see us differently, according to their own innermost fears. You’d be surprised to what extent men’s hearts are ruled by fears: some are afraid of spiders, others of reptiles, still others of dragons. They can even develop a phobia of peas if they are forced to eat them when they are small. That is the way their minds work.”

“The possibilities are endless,” the Envoy murmured, “but always monstrous.”

“Exactly. That’s why our scientists enabled us to project the appearance of any one of them by using the information stored in his or her blood.”

The Envoy seemed to find it comical that the Earthlings would envisage them as the most hideous thing they could imagine, for he found the current inhabitants of that planet just as repulsive, with their conceited vulgarity.

“And do they succeed, Father? Do the Martians in his novel conquer the Earth?” he said, indicating Wells’s book.

“Yes,” the priest replied. “Their technology is far superior to that of the humans, and they conquer the Earth in a matter of days.”

“Then this Wells fellow is the most sensible Earthling I have met so far.” The Envoy nodded approvingly. “It is fitting I should have adopted his appearance.”

“That isn’t all, sir. Wells also guessed where our machines are buried,” the priest revealed. “Imagine what I felt when I read the novel and discovered that an Earthling had guessed where the majority of them are located.”

“Well, Father, you better than anyone ought to know that the Earthlings still haven’t learned how to make full use of their minds. They still only utilize an infinitesimal part of their brains. But I suspect this doesn’t prevent a few of the more developed human minds from perceiving, in a completely unconscious way of course, some aspects of the universal energy we have been tapping into for thousands of years. How else would we be able to converse across unfathomable space or create mental projections in order to assume different shapes before their eyes? Humans are oblivious to all that, even though some may occasionally be able to perceive the odd energy wave, in a way they are unable to define.”

“Are you suggesting they might be able to intercept our messages?” the priest said in astonishment.

“It’s possible. But in a completely random way, and they would interpret them differently, as premonitions, obsessions, fantasies. It could be that their so-called inspiration simply consists of these accidental thefts.”

“Yes, perhaps . . . ,” the priest replied, unable to stifle the overwhelming enthusiasm he always felt when discussing certain phenomena and eccentricities he had observed in his beloved humans. “It is curious, for instance, that a philosophical idea, or a literary trend, or even a piece of scientific investigation often crops up simultaneously in different parts of the planet without there having been any prior contact between their human authors. To take an obvious example, the great American inventor Thomas Edison once said, when lauded for his discoveries, that the air is full of ideas, which came to him from a higher source, and if he hadn’t had them someone else would have. The air is full of ideas. Doesn’t that strike you as a poetic way of describing the energy of the universe?”

“Possibly, and yet our dear Mr. Wells doesn’t seem to think Edison deserves to be liked,” the Envoy remarked ponderously, oblivious to the priest’s enthusiasm. “I am inhabiting the body of a decidedly peculiar mind. Wells obviously intercepted some of our communications, and that is where the idea for his novel sprang from.”

“Really? I don’t believe Wells is simply a medium. He’s an intelligent man with a talent for—”

“In any case,” the Envoy cut in, “you wouldn’t need to be a genius to discover where we concealed our machines. All it proves is that Wells is a good strategist. Where else would we place them if not in a circle around the largest city of the planet, which we propose to conquer?”

“I daresay you are right,” the priest conceded.

“I hope he will not determine the whereabouts of our headquarters, Father, which I presume has been completed.”