Free The Angry Planet by John Keir Cross Page A

stretched, as far as we could immediately judge,
some eight or ten miles before it was terminated by a line of high bare
mountains. They—as indeed was the whole plain—were of the same reddish color as
the soil in our hollow. Every now and again, in the surface of the plain, as we
could see from the incline on which we stood, there were similar deep hollows
to the one in which our spaceship lay, behind us.
    But what gave the scene its
character, what caused us the real wonder, was the vegetation. Dotted all over
the plain were immense clumps of huge, dark green, leathery plants. It is
impossible to describe them other than very generally, since each individual
plant varied in shape from its neighbor. Some of them were tall—as tall as good-sized
church steeples—others were small and squat, mere bulbous masses clinging to
the ground.
    The nearest large clump of
these plants was about five hundred yards away in front of us, and since it was
quite clear to Dr. McG — that there was no immediate danger threatening, we set off at
once to conduct a closer examination, using our leaping ability to cover the
ground quickly.
    I have said that the plants
were dark green in color. That is the effect a clump of them created at a
distance. But seeing them at close hand, we observed that many of the
individual plants—particularly the smaller ones—were mottled with large
irregular patches of yellow, and even (in some of the very small bulbous ones)
dark red—a somewhat evil coloration, this, without brilliance; somber and
heavy, like coagulating blood.
    I have said that the shape of
the plants varied individually, and this was indeed so. But one feature they
all had in common: they were composed of short squat stalks with huge finger-like
leaves on them. These leaves were convoluted into fantastic shapes—like twisted
vast fingers sometimes, with rheumatic joints, seeming to grope up into the air
as if stretching and grasping after the sun.
    The nearest I have seen on
earth to these strange and evil-looking Martian plants are the cacti in
the Botanical Gardens at Kew. But the Martian species was smooth and more
leathery—and presented, moreover, a much richer variety of shapes, besides a
wider range of color.
    Dr. McG — was considerably excited as
we stood surveying the plants.
    “It means,” he said, “that
there is water somewhere — or at least moisture of a sort. When we were standing on the
knoll back there, I looked all over the plain for some sign of a stream or a
lake, but there was nothing. Yet moisture there must be, or these huge
things simply could not exist.”
    As he spoke, he took out a long
sharp knife he carried in a sheath at his waist. He advanced to one of the
plants that was about man-size and stabbed the knife into it, at the point
where the short stalk branched out into the leaves. There was a soft,
unpleasant squelching sound, and simultaneously it was as if I heard in my head—hardly
in my ears—a high-pitched wail or scream, as if from an immense distance.
    I looked at my companions.
Their faces wore a puzzled, listening expression.
    “Did you hear anything?” asked
Mr. McF—.
    “Yes,” I vouchsafed. “It was a
kind of scream. Yet I can hardly say that I heard it. It was rather as
if I . . . well . . . thought it!”
    “That is what it seemed to me
too,” nodded P—. “It must have been imagination—there is nothing within miles
that could possibly have made that sort of noise. But it’s strange we all heard
it at the same time, though.”
    While we spoke Dr. McG — was stooping forward
examining the deep triangular gash he had made in the leathery flesh of the
plant. A milky, viscid fluid was oozing out of it, and simultaneously an acrid
but not unpleasant odor assailed our nostrils. Dr. McG — touched the sticky-looking gum with his finger and conveyed
some of it to the tip of his tongue. For a moment he frowned, as if trying to
assess the taste, then he nodded his