The Map of the Sky (Trilogía Victoriana #2)(28)

Reynolds did not know how to challenge him, above all because he agreed with everything Allan had said. If Reynolds had played the devil’s advocate, it was only because, unlike him, the gunner had given no thought to how he might benefit personally from all this. No, Allan had focused on the significance the Martian’s arrival might have for humanity, making Reynolds feel small-minded, selfish, and grasping. Both men fell silent, watching the lights dancing on the surface of the ice. In any event, thought Reynolds, he was not going to waste time arguing, since it made no difference to him whether in fifty years’ time Man still believed in God or had begun worshipping skunks. What he really wanted to ask Allan was whether, despite the revolutionary nature of their discovery, it was right that Man should welcome his supposed guest with a hail of bullets. If Allan agreed with him that this was a mistake, he might join him in trying to dissuade the captain from pursuing this course of action.

However, Reynolds did not get the chance to pose any more questions, for a sudden uproar inside the hold obliged them to cut short their conversation. The two men turned as one, and, after listening intently for a few moments, deduced that the sounds were coming from the infirmary. What the devil was going on in there? It seemed a little unreasonable of Carson to make such a fuss over losing a foot, Reynolds reflected. Like the rest of the lookouts, Allan did not dare to abandon his post, and so, after taking his leave with a shrug, the explorer was the only one who broke the icy silence on deck as he scrambled over to the nearest hatch to see what was going on. He clambered down to the lower deck and made his way to the infirmary. A group of sailors stood crowded outside, a look of terror in their eyes. Reynolds barged through them and into the infirmary. The grisly scene he encountered left him speechless, as it had Captain MacReady, who stood ashen-faced in the center of the room.

The cause of the captain’s horror was none other than the dismembered corpse of Doctor Walker. The surgeon lay on the floor like a broken doll. Someone, or perhaps it would be more exact to say some thing, had torn him limb from limb with shocking meticulousness. His right arm had been wrenched from its socket, both legs hacked off, and his throat sliced right through so that his spinal vertebrae were exposed. His thorax had also been slit down the middle, and a medley of organs, entrails, and splinters of rib cage were strewn about the floor. The walls were covered with gruesome splatters of blood and viscous blobs, and wherever Reynolds looked his eye alighted on a fresh lump of flesh or organ. His face turned pale as he surveyed the carnage. It seemed unbelievable that if all these different bits were reassembled, they would form Doctor Walker, the same sentient being who only a few hours earlier had smiled at him and inquired about his hand when they had met in the gangway. And in the midst of all this destruction, trembling from head to toe as he crouched on the cot as though he had just witnessed all the horrors of the world, was Carson. It did not take long for Reynolds to conclude that the author of that bloodbath was the demon from the sky—or the Martian, if he was to believe Allan. The thought that in the monster’s eyes a man deserved no more respect than a seal, and that apparently it could enter the ship undetected, made Reynolds’s blood run cold, obliterating any trace of euphoria he might have felt when, only a few moments before, he and Allan had speculated about the creature and its origins. What he felt now had another name: fear. Fear unlike any he had ever known, fear that showed him how fragile, insignificant, and pitifully vulnerable he was, and above all the pathetic presumptuousness of his aspirations to grandeur.

“Good God . . . ,” Captain MacReady murmured, unable to take his eyes off the surgeon’s ravaged corpse.

When he managed to regain his composure, he walked over to Carson and questioned him about what had happened, but the sailor was in a state of shock. MacReady shook him a couple of times, then began frantically slapping him, but Carson seemed unable to respond. At last the captain realized he was wasting his time, and, thrusting Reynolds aside, he addressed his men.

“Listen, everyone. The thing that did this to Doctor Walker is probably still inside the ship,” he said. “Go to the weapons store, take as many guns as you can carry, and search the vessel from top to bottom.”

All at once Reynolds found himself lying on the infirmary floor, while in the distance he heard the captain barking orders to his men, organizing a sweep of the ship. Trying not to retch, he glanced once more at the gruesome remains of the surgeon’s dismembered body. Then he looked at Carson and wondered whether he was shaking because he knew they were all going to die, because his stupefied mind had grasped that the demon from the stars was so terrifying that no human being stood a chance against it and they might as well give themselves up for dead. The creature would finish them off one by one, on that distant lump of ice, while God looked the other way.





VI

FOLLOWING MACREADY’S ORDERS, THE SAILORS scoured every inch of the ship. Muskets at the ready, they inspected the coal bunkers and the powder store, where the gunpowder and munitions slept their uneasy sleep. They even peered inside the boilers in the engine room and laundry. The demon from the stars was nowhere to be found. After hacking the surgeon to pieces, the monster had apparently vanished into thin air. There was no trace either of any damage to the ship’s hull, no hole through which the Martian, or whatever it was, could have slipped aboard the Annawan. Incredible though it might seem, the creature had found a way to enter and leave without being seen. Unnerved, MacReady’s only answer was to double the number of lookouts. He even posted a few men outside on the ice, forming a ring around the ship.