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Authors: Robert Rankin

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BOOK: The Japanese Devil Fish Girl
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‘Ahem,’ went Mr Faircloud, a-clearing of his throat. ‘The possibility must be apportioned strong. Astronomers around the country, indeed throughout the civilised world, have their instruments trained upon that planet. As yet there are no signs of further martial activity, but—’
 
‘Pardon me,’ said Mr Babbage
1
, ‘but I am unaware of the existence of optical systems capable of observing the face of Mars to the degree that space-going vessels might be clearly discerned.’
 
‘I am working on such matters even now,’ claimed Mr Tesla, ‘although mine are not optics of glass, but of a more metaphysical disemblement that will penetrate the ether of space via the medium of radionic waves.’
 
‘Quite so.’ Mr Gladstone struck the table with a folded fist. ‘But we must all agree that the possibility of another attack is strong.’
 
Silas Faircloud made so-so motions with the bobbing of his head. ‘We can only speculate as to whether further forces of a Martian military nature even exist. It is possible that they flung their entire might against us. That we took all they had and triumphed, as it were.’
 
‘What think you of this, Mr Babbage?’ asked the Prime Minister. ‘Would this adhere to your mathematical principles?’
 
‘Oh, very much so, sir.’ And Mr Babbage smiled. A big broad beamer bringing warmth to all. ‘Although the modes of thought employed by Martians have few echoes amongst we folk of Earth – and I have here the autopsy reports on the examinations of Martian bodies carried out at the London Hospital by the noted surgeon, and Her Majesty’s physician, Sir Frederick Treves, which suggest that the Martian brain has more in common with the shark or the porpoise than with that of the human being – regardless of these differences, logic of any kind surely dictates that if you choose to wage war upon another planet, you would do well to overwhelm your enemy as speedily and judiciously as possible. To wit, fling all you have in a great big all-out attack.’
 
Mr Gladstone nodded thoughtfully. ‘Which might be to say,’ said he, ‘that should the fight be carried to Mars, an all-over British victory might be accomplished.’
 
‘Carried to Mars?’ asked Silas Faircloud. ‘How so might this be?’
 
‘Mr Babbage once more,’ said the PM, indicating same.
 
‘Through a process of what Mr Tesla here has named “back-engineering”. To put it simply, we repair and restore the Martian ships of space. Convert their controls for human piloting. Fly to Mars and wreak—’
 
‘Revenge,’ said Mr Gladstone. ‘An ugly word, I know, but war is an ugly business. It would be my proposal that regiments of the Queen’s Own Electric Fusiliers be put on standby. Your comments please, Mr Faircloud.’
 
‘Well,’ puffed the Astronomer Royal, ‘if it is to be done then it had best be done speedily. At this time, Mars is at its closest for some years to come. The opportunity presents itself, but fearful consequences might result.’
 
‘Specifically?’ asked Mr Gladstone.
 
‘One might only speculate. Perhaps a virulence exists upon Mars to which its inhabitants are immune, but which might well lay waste to soldiers from Earth.’
 
‘Unlikely,’ said Nikola Tesla. ‘My own researches suggest that the Martian atmosphere is thinner than our own, perhaps equivalent to that upon a mountain peak. As such, solar radiation cleanses the planet of bacteria. Mars, I believe, is a totally sterile environment. I would stake my reputation upon this.’
 
‘And such a reputation it is,’ said Mr Gladstone. ‘I understand that you have recently made great strides forward in the field of, what is it – teletalkation?’
 
‘Telecommunications,’ said Mr Tesla, nodding modestly. ‘The ability to communicate verbally, across great distances, without recourse to wires, cables or suchlike mediums of transmission.’
 
‘Extraordinary,’ wheezed the Astronomer Royal. ‘Would that I will live to see such wonders. But I still have fear for our soldier boys. These Martian vessels must be stocked with compressed air and sufficient rations. Much planning will be necessary. And who knows what awaits on Mars? Mighty armaments trained upon the sky? Who can say?’
 
‘Who can say, indeed.’ Mr Gladstone took out his cigar case and relieved it of a smoke. This he cut with a clipper on his watch fob and placed between his lips. ‘Speed and force,’ said he, though slightly mumbled. ‘Speed and force must be of the essence, and to this end I propose that we engage the services of a young gentleman who has lately distinguished himself in the African troubles. I am putting him in command of the strike force. Mr Babbage, you are nearest – would you open up the door and bid him enter?’
 
Charles Babbage rose, pushed back his chair, took himself to the door and opened it. A slight young man with the face of a baby grinned into the room.
 
‘Gentlemen,’ said the Prime Minister, ‘allow me to introduce you to Mr Winston Churchill.’
 
2
 
H
istory does
not
record that Winston Churchill organised the assault against
 
Mars. Nor indeed did the libretto of
Of
Mars and Mankind.
There was some controversy.
 
Mr Gladstone bade the young man enter.
 
Mr Churchill entered with a smile.
 
Mr Gladstone indicated a vacant chair and Mr Churchill placed himself upon it. Mr Gladstone said, ‘The floor is yours.’
 
Mr Churchill rose and bowed politely. ‘I am gratified, ’ said he, ‘to be chosen for this task. One that will garner no glory for myself, but one that will be of enormous significance to the future of the British Empire.’
 
Mr Faircloud coughed a little. ‘Sir,’ said he, ‘we have not been introduced but—’
 
‘You are the Astronomer Royal,’ said Mr Churchill. ‘And here I see the noted Mr Babbage and the equally noted Mr Tesla. And the two funereal gentlemen are—’
 
Mr Gladstone put a finger to his lips. ‘One does not disclose the names of the Gentlemen in Black.’
 
‘Quite so,’ said the smiling Mr Churchill.
 
‘But how—’ asked Silas Faircloud.
 
‘I have my contacts,’ said Mr Churchill. ‘An intelligence network. It is necessary to know who is whom. And whom may be trusted with what.’
 
‘All may be trusted here.’ The Prime Minister inclined his head towards Mr Churchill, and then asked, ‘And why, might I enquire, do you feel that you will garner no praise for your part in this noble enterprise?’
 
The young man with the infant face produced a sheaf of papers. ‘Because the method by which we will achieve success must never be made public. For reasons which will immediately become apparent once I have explained them.’
 
‘Then please do so, sir,’ said Mr Gladstone.
 
‘
Sir?
’ asked Winston Churchill.
 
‘There are many ways of rewarding a servant of the Crown.’
 
And Mr Churchill smiled once more. ‘
Your
servant, sir,’ said he. And he read from a typewritten page. ‘ “From the eight extant Martian vehicles of interplanetary transport surviving, three can be put into serviceable condition, fuelled with an equivalent to Martian propulsive fuel, stocked with compressed air and foodstuffs sufficient to—” ’
 
‘That is
my
report,’ said Mr Babbage. ‘How—’
 
‘How is not important.’ Mr Churchill’s smile increased in size but not in warmth. ‘Three craft can be flown to Mars. Each craft is capable of transporting five hundred soldiers of the Queen, with full packs and Royal Enfield rifles. Fifteen hundred troops against the might of an entire planet.’
 
‘British troops,’ said Mr Gladstone, proudly. ‘The finest in the world.’
 
‘In
this
world,’ said Mr Churchill. ‘But untrained to fight in the unknown conditions of another.’
 
‘Highly adaptable,’ said Mr Gladstone. ‘At present we have several thousand men serving in Afghanistan. Soon that errant nation will be brought to book and no more trouble will this world know from it.’
 
Mr Churchill declined to comment. ‘Mars,’ said he, ‘presents us with a challenge. My solution is simple and will prove wholly effective. It will, however, garner me no praise, as I have said.’
 
‘Then please let us hear this plan,’ said Mr Gladstone, taking the opportunity to light the cigar that had been all a-quiver ’tween his moving lips.
 
‘We will send
no
troops,’ said Mr Churchill. Pausing to let his words take effect.
 
‘No troops?’ said Mr Babbage. ‘But then how—’
 
‘Fifteen hundred civilians,’ said Mr Churchill. ‘No full packs or Royal Enfields. Just the clothes they stand up in. Or perhaps lie.’
 
‘Please explain yourself,’ said Mr Babbage.
 
‘The Ministry of Defence has lately been experimenting with certain new forms of weaponry. Sophisticated modern weaponry that will make the bullet a thing of the past.’
 
Mr Babbage groaned. ‘You speak of poison gas,’ said he. ‘I have heard rumours of this awful stuff.’
 
‘Something to do with custard, isn’t it?’ asked Silas Faircloud.
 
‘Mustard,’ said Mr Churchill. ‘Mustard gas. Hideously effective. But the Ministry is moving beyond this. In fact, regarding the Martian campaign and the Martians’ obvious susceptibility to Earthly microbes, you might term my proposal “Germ Warfare”.’
 
Certain breaths were sharply taken in.
 
Mr Faircloud coughed a bit and said, ‘Not very, how shall I put this, British.’
 
‘Nor indeed the method of distribution.’ Mr Churchill darted eyes about the table. ‘The fifteen hundred souls aboard the three Martian craft will be incurables. Terminal cases. Consumptives. Those suffering from whooping cough, scarlet fever, diphtheria, cholera, typhus, genital crabs—’
 
‘People don’t die from genital crabs,’ said Mr Babbage.
 
‘They do if they give them to
me
,’ said Mr Churchill.
 
There was a brief moment of silence then, before Mr Gladstone said, ‘Dignity
please
, gentlemen. I allowed the “custard” remark to pass unchallenged, but if we are to descend to the humour of the music halls, I will be forced to call these proceedings to a halt.’
 
‘My apologies,’ said Mr Churchill. ‘Syphilitics, those in the advanced stages of any sexually or otherwise transmitted and transmittable terminal diseases. Three space-borne plague ships bound on a voyage of no return.’
 
‘My word,’ said Silas Faircloud. ‘I trust that I will not be recruited to this hapless jaunt.’
 
‘By no means, sir.’ The smile remained on Winston Churchill’s face. ‘At a stroke we will empty fifteen hundred beds in chronic wards. Where would be the loss, when everything, it would seem, would be the gain?’
 
‘As long as nobody knows.’ Mr Faircloud gave a little shiver. ‘It is a terrible thing. But in its way a noble thing. Viewing it dispassionately I ask myself, where would be the harm? But as a humanitarian, to sanction such a thing would be—’
 
‘Not for you to trouble yourself with.’ Mr Churchill bowed towards the Astronomer Royal. ‘I will take full responsibility. Which is to say that I will make all the necessary arrangements. We will deliver these wretches to Mars. Hopefully the Martians will not open fire upon their own ships. Once they have landed and the ports are opened, nature will take its course. I would suggest that one or two months later, during which time more Martian craft can be “back-engineered”, we will send out a contingent of Fusiliers. Hopefully they will meet with neither resistance nor indeed a single live Martian. Gentlemen, such is my proposal.’
 
Mr Churchill reseated himself.
 
To no applause whatsoever.
 
‘Would you care for a cigar?’ asked Mr Gladstone.
 
‘Indeed,’ replied the youthful Mr Churchill. ‘I have always wondered just what they might taste like.’
 
 
But so it came to pass. And so to great success. Few questions were asked regarding the fifteen hundred terminally ill patients who vanished from their beds of pain. And questions asked regarding the human bodies found upon Mars, when the Queen’s Own Electric Fusiliers yomped down the gangways and onto the surface of the now lifeless planet, were capably answered in Parliament by a young buck named Churchill, who was building a reputation for himself.
BOOK: The Japanese Devil Fish Girl
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