Free The Martian War by Kevin J. Anderson Page A

and bring your crowbars! We must get this cylinder open.” He glared up them, his wavy pale hair ghostly under the starlight. “There will be no pay for anyone who hesitates.”
    Three of the dark-clad workers disappeared from the edge, and Lowell and I never saw them again. Four other men—either braver or more desperate for money—came down brandishing their crowbars like weapons, though we meant for them to be used only as tools.
    The screw-hatch turned slightly again, then stopped. The skittish Tuaregs backed off, but Lowell clapped his hands. “Go on, you brutes! See what you can do to help.”
    The robed nomads clanged their bars against the hull, searching for some notch that would catch their bars. Eventually, as Lowell and I supervised, the men managed to get their bars into the hatch seam. Working together, grunting and cursing in their incomprehensible language, the natives dragged the hatch cover around. It finally began to turn freely.
    Eager to see the first light from the open crack, I wanted to push forward. My own face should be the first human the aliens saw—or, at the very least, Percival Lowell’s. But the heavy screw made its last turn and fell off into the cooked sand. The Tuaregs scrambled back as hissing air gushed out like the steam from a tea kettle. Alien air, I thought, from the skies of Mars.
    I saw only darkness inside the open hatch high up on the cylinder’s hull. When the venting atmosphere had faded to silence again, one of the Tuaregs pulled his face close to the opening.
    Suddenly an enormous shape thrust itself forward from within the cylinder. It had slick leathery skin, huge eyes, and a Medusa’s cluster of tentacles. It made no sound as its appendages grabbed the Tuareg by his robes. The man screamed and thrashed, tearing his garments.
    Despite their fear, the Tuareg’s companions protected their own. Howling, they drew curved swords from their dusty robes and lunged for the Martian beast. The tentacled thing loomed up, seemingly furious at us.
    For the briefest instant, Lowell and I stood stunned and amazed. Such a creature was unlike anything I had imagined in all my biological studies. I reacted more quickly than Lowell when I saw the Tuaregs with murder in their eyes. “No swords! Do not harm it. It is a creature from another planet.”
    With a swift stroke of his blade, one desert man slashed the fabric of his comrade’s robe, cutting him loose. The terrified victim tumbled to the sand and scrambled away. The other Tuaregs, glowering at me, seated their swords back in their belts and took up the crowbars as clubs. In a group, they rushed the open hatch and pummeled the Martian, which scuttled backward into its large ship.
    The Tuaregs paused at the dark opening, none of them willing to venture inside. Lowell came close with the kerosene lamp he had brought. “Stand aside, but be ready to defend us.”
    When I saw Lowell hesitate at the hatch opening, I snatched the lamp from him. This was no time for doubts and reservations. Without a thought for my own safety, I thrust the lamp into the cylinder’s interior.
    The kerosene glow reflected from strange shapes and curves, objects no human had ever seen. Inside, the Martian squirmed away on its lumpy tentacles. It did not manage to avoid the light, but it did avoid us.
    “It appears to be weak, perhaps injured,” I said when Lowell came up beside me. “It has backed off, so we can enter safely.”
    Before Lowell could nod, I swung my leg over the lip of the hatch and climbed inside, pushing the lamp in front of me.
    The Martian scuttled away without voicing any sound; I wondered whether it had vocal cords. Many animals on Earth were speechless, as I was aware from my vivisection experiments. Perhaps Martians were mute, or they communicated in another manner entirely.
    I shouted back to Lowell, “Call some of the Tuaregs inside. Look there, the Martian is backed against that bulkhead. I want them to keep it at bay, so