The Map of the Sky (Trilogía Victoriana #2)(99)

“I am to blame. However, my journey was eventful, to say the least,” explained the Envoy. “As I entered the Earth’s atmosphere, one of my engines failed, and I was forced to make an emergency landing in the Antarctic. There, I attempted to sneak on board a ship in the hope of reaching civilization, but an accursed human called Reynolds foiled my plans, and I ended up trapped in the ice: that’s why you stopped hearing my signal.”

“Your cry for help was the last thing that was heard of you,” the priest said, secretly impressed that a human had succeeded in putting the Envoy out of action, at least for several decades.

“It was a cry of rage, Father,” the Envoy retorted. “That arrogant Earthling Reynolds was hoping to communicate with me. He didn’t realize it would take several thousand more years of evolution before they could understand our minds. Can you imagine them conversing with their cockroaches before crushing them underfoot? Of course not!” the Envoy roared, slapping the table. Then he let out a sigh and controlled himself. “But let us talk no more of that unpleasant experience. Other humans must have rescued me and brought me here, together with my machine. That’s why I was able to salvage this.”

He took the ivory cylinder out of his jacket pocket, placed it on the table, and caressed it gently with his mind. The inscribed lid lifted, revealing something resembling a cluster of small bluish-green gemstones.

“Are these what activate the combat machines?”

The Envoy nodded with theatrical fatalism.

“So, in a few days’ time the devastation will be complete,” the priest murmured with an air of foreboding.

“It will, Father, it will.”

They stared at each other, plunged into an awkward silence.

“Something intrigues me, Father,” the Envoy said at last. The priest’s deference had renewed his desire to continue their conversation. “Do Earthlings believe in other forms of life in the universe, or are they one of those races blinded by their own megalomania?”

The priest paused briefly before replying.

“That is a question I have followed with great interest, in view of our situation. And I can assure you Man has believed in life on other planets since ancient times, even though his desire to explore the universe is, shall we say, a more recent phenomenon. Until a few centuries ago, he was content to dream about it. However, thanks to the advances of science, he now sees it as a tangible possibility. This is reflected in the increasing number of scientific romances produced by Earthlings, which, as you will appreciate, I find irresistible.” He stood up, walked over to the cabinet lined with books, which the Envoy had mistaken for missals, and selected a handful, depositing them on the table. “This is one of the first books to speak of their interest in space. It’s a story about the building of a giant cannon that shoots a manned missile onto the Moon.”

The Envoy took the book the priest was holding out to him and contemplated it without much interest.

“From the Earth to the Moon, by Jules Verne,” he read aloud.

The priest nodded, gesturing toward the pile of books on the table.

“As you can see, I like to gauge the pulse of the Earthlings’ desires, and above all to keep abreast of their notions about us. I’m sure you would find many of these books extremely amusing.”

“Possibly,” the Envoy said, unconvinced.

“And you might be interested to know that our invasion will come as no surprise to them,” the priest said, regarding the Envoy pensively. “I suppose you already know.”

“And why would you suppose that?”

The priest gazed at him in surprise.

“Because many people have considered the possibility of being invaded thanks to a man whose name must be familiar to you,” he said, handing him another book from the pile.

“The War of the Worlds, by H. G. Wells,” the Envoy read aloud, unaware of what the priest was referring to.

“Don’t you recognize the book? The author is the man whose form you have taken on!” the priest explained.

“I wrote this book?”

“The human you are impersonating did. H. G. Wells, a well-known and highly respected man here in England. But don’t you have that information in his head?”

“I confess that the brain of this human makes me extremely . . . uneasy,” the Envoy avowed, somewhat embarrassed. “It’s a peculiar feeling I didn’t experience with the other minds I reproduced. And to be honest, I try not to delve more than is necessary into his memories, which are of little interest to me anyway,” he added disdainfully.

“Strange indeed. Although I have heard of cases of our brothers finding some bodies incompatible and even having to change host. Unusual, but it does happen,” the priest reassured him. “Then you will also be unaware that you are impersonating the first Earthling who dared turn the accepted scenario on its head.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Unlike in the majority of the novels by his colleagues, in Wells’s The War of the Worlds Earthlings don’t conquer other planets inhabited by primitive people unable to confront technology. Instead, Earth itself is invaded by the inhabitants of its neighboring planet, Mars.”

“Mars?” The Envoy chortled. “But Mars is uninhabited.”

“They don’t know that,” the priest replied. “Their primitive telescopes have recently discovered strange marks on its surface, which they have elevated to canals. And many astronomers believe the Martians are a dying race that uses these canals to channel water from the poles to the arid equator.”