PROFESSOR CHALLENGER IN SPACE

S W Theaker

SILVER AGE BOOKS

For Ranjna, because she's the boss

www.silveragebooks.co.uk

First published 2000

Rocket e-book edition published 2000

Copyright © SW Theaker except Master Zangpan, the Mechanical Housewife, and Milo the Assassin © Steven Gilligan, and characters appearing in 'The Lost World' and other stories by Arthur Conan Doyle

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

ISBN 0 9537650 0 8 (paperback edition)

British Library Cataloguing-in-publication.

Data available upon request.

CONTENTS

Chapter One: 'This Time He Has Outdone Himself!'

Chapter Two: A Most Audacious Mechanism

Chapter Three: A Surprise Visit

Chapter Four: Farewells to Mrs Challenger

Chapter Five: Inside the Spaceship

Chapter Six: Three Englishmen and an Irishman in an Interplanetary Spacecraft

Chapter Seven: The King of Ell Ka-Mar

Chapter Eight: The Strangest Mechanical Creature

Chapter Nine: The Coming of Master Zangpan

Chapter Ten: Zangpan's World

Chapter Eleven: Some Unpleasantness

Chapter Twelve: Reparations and Preparations

Chapter Thirteen: Scenes Relating to an Assault on Planet 93

Chapter Fourteen: How the Assault Commenced, and the Terrible Way in Which It Concluded

Chapter Fifteen: 'Bring Me the Head of George Edward Challenger!'

Chapter Sixteen: How to Get Ahead in Space

Chapter Seventeen: Flies in Honey

Chapter Eighteen: The Interstellar Battleships

Chapter Nineteen: Mrs Challenger to the Rescue

Chapter Twenty: A Slap-Up Meal for Ten!

CHAPTER ONE: 'THIS TIME HE HAS OUTDONE HIMSELF!'

'This is astonishing,' exclaimed McArdle, the red-headed old news editor of the Daily Gazette. 'Who would ever have expected the old goat to have quite so much gall left in him.'

'What is it?' I enquired, in the secure belief that I could never be surprised by the gall of Professor Challenger, my erstwhile colleague in certain well-documented adventures.

'Take a look at this.'

He showed me the copy of an item which was apparently to appear in the next edition, the surprising text of which was as follows:

'Well, what do you make of that, Malone?' One eyebrow rose as if to say that Challenger had finally and indubitably crossed the fatal line between genius and insanity. Although in the light of such evidence it was difficult to disagree, I bore in mind the fact that most of Fleet Street had considered the scientist unhinged for some time - although I knew that not to have been the case. 'We received this an hour ago, to be placed in the next possible edition, and, let me add, Professor Challenger-'

'King George,' I interjected with a smile.

'Professor Challenger,' he repeated, 'demands that a full page be given over to it.'

I read the announcement once again, saying, 'It would be unwise to judge a man of Challenger's quality too harshly or hurriedly.'

'Ah, loyal to the bitter end, are you?'

'It hardly seems bitter. If he is on the way out, at least he seems cheerful.'

'In Challenger's case, that's rare enough to immediately show that something is not quite right with him,' answered McArdle. 'However, you are right to be loyal: Challenger has provided both you and the paper with some excellent stories over the years. It seems to me that the old boy may yet have one final story to tell.'

I could not help a wry smile as the instincts of the news editor came to the fore. 'Even if it should prove to be his epitaph?'

'We understand each other very well,' he answered. 'In all the years of Professor Challenger's notoriety only one journalist has entered his home without being forcibly ejected in a matter of seconds.'

'Almost true,' I pointed out. 'I was ejected, but I found my way back in.'

'Uniquely! You should now return once again, and discover the meaning of this information.'

I looked him sternly in the eye.

'It could be dangerous, you know.' He received the information in good humour.

'A bonus shall await your return.'

I laughed and looked one final time at the advertisement.

'I am sure that there is a perfectly good explanation for this behaviour. Presumably some native tribe of Africa or the South Americas that he has discovered has begun to worship him, or something of the sort. Though, admittedly, Ell Ka-Mar does not sound familiar, and his various journeys have been described to me in excruciating detail over the years.'

'Naturally that was my first thought.'

He indicated a pile of documents on the table, clippings from scientific journals and popular newspapers among them, as well as transcripts of the speeches made by Challenger to various gatherings, scientific and otherwise. Of late he had often found a more agreeable audience outside the scientific establishment, one which aided him in the funding of expeditions if it did nothing to stimulate his fiery intellect.

'The file on Challenger has been thoroughly searched, and nowhere is there record of the name 'Ell Ka-Mar'. Needless to say, neither is that designation to be found in any atlas or dictionary.'

'A recent expedition, then?'

'I'm afraid not. As far as we can establish, it has been at least a year since last the Professor left these isles.'

'If he had left the country, why would he have done so in secrecy? And if this 'kingdom' stems from an earlier voyage, why has he chosen to conceal it until now?'

'Those are the very questions that I want you to ask him. However, my personal feeling is that this whole thing is a product of some whim, a middle-aged fancy of a man who has never been one for modesty.'

'For all he's done,' I told McArdle, 'any civilised country would already have made him king. Perhaps he has grown tired of waiting for the fall of the House of Windsor and has begun to set the foundations of a new abode for the nation's sovereignty.'

'I certainly hope so, as that would make for a most interesting series of articles.'

'So do you intend to publish the announcement?'

'I don't see why not,' he replied. 'Challenger has paid in advance, and it will certainly make for more interesting reading than the usual. Yet again the Professor will make the Gazette the talk of London!'

McArdle returned to his office and I gathered together the tools of my trade. I donned my hat and overcoat and went out into the fog. Within five minutes I was in a hansom cab on the way to Enmore Park, Kensington, the home of England's newest monarch. The household had but recently returned from the place in Rotherfield where we had experienced the adventure of the Poison Belt.

I was not inclined to share the pessimism of McArdle as regarded Professor Challenger, a gentleman who had partaken of many apparent insanities over the years but who had rarely been counted among the fools when all was said and done. If Challenger had seen fit to pronounce himself King, then until I was in possession of evidence to the contrary I would assume he had good reason to do so.

Of course, it had been a matter of some months since last I had encountered my old friend, so I must admit that it was with a slight - and no more than slight, I hasten to add - feeling of trepidation that I laid a hand upon the Challenger knocker and signalled my presence.

I saw the handle begin to move. As a precaution I took a step back. It was not without the bounds of possibility that Challenger had arranged some contraption designed with the specific aim of warding off members of the press. Happily, the door opened slowly to reveal the gentle form of Mrs Challenger, and, it seemed, she was happy to find that it was I at the door, and not some more venomous specimen of Fleet Street fauna. And yet I felt she would have been somewhat happier had there been no one at all at the door, and happier still had there been no reason for anyone to be there.

The bellowing voice of that reason bullied its way past Mrs Challenger in order to make assault upon my eardrums.

'Crawl back to the cesspool that spawned such as abominations as yourself,' Challenger cried, 'and endeavour to ensure that your brother pond-swills do not follow you in laying siege to my home! Shall it forever be my lot as a man of science, Mrs Challenger, to put up with these harassments? When will old Austin be back? He knew how to deal with these blasted ragamuffins.'

She smiled and I relaxed at this proof evident that Professor Challenger had not strayed too far from his norm.

'The King must learn patience with his witless subjects!' I called as Mrs Challenger let me pass by. Going through that door was akin to going into the British Museum through the back entrance and finding yourself among the strangest artefacts of all, the items that had not yet been, and perhaps never would be, classified or explained. Mrs Challenger took my coat and hat and hung them upon what might once have been the totem of a South American tribe, and I remain convinced of the fact that there was the brooding sarcophagus of some unknown pharaoh in an alcove of that most bizarre of entry chambers.

'I see that the Professor has been re-arranging the furniture.'

Mrs Challenger sighed. I know of no woman who has better played the role of nursemaid to unruly genius - and it was a mere role for her, of that I was sure, for in the course of my researches into the Professor certain scientific papers had been unearthed under the name of Anna Smith. The last of Miss Smith's well-received papers had been published shortly before that person's transformation into Mrs Challenger. One who had never met her might have believed it a case of the butterfly becoming once more a caterpillar, but I say this, I never saw her unhappy with Professor Challenger. Perhaps the unhappiness came when the professor left on his expeditions. At the back of her mind, I might go so far as to suspect, there came sometimes the thought that if she had never married him, Challenger might have consented to the company of Miss Anna Smith on his most perilous voyages. As it was, she was required to keep the home fires burning, a task she fulfilled with a measure of contentment and, possibly, a touch of resignation.

'Is his announcement to be published, then?'

'I'm afraid so,' I informed her. 'A full page is to be devoted to this astonishing news.'

'I rather think he has outdone himself this time.'

'It would appear so, but then that is a king's prerogative.'

'Will there be an editorial?'

'That depends upon McArdle. He is usually off the mark quite quickly, but I believe that he might wait for my verdict.'

'And what is your diagnosis, Doctor Malone, you Irish scandal-sheet merchant!'

Professor George Edward Challenger roared into the room, immediately dominating it as if the very air we breathed had been designed with him in mind. Oh foolish deity, that created a world with any thought of placing such a man upon it! To see him is to be at odds with him and to hear him is to be insulted by him in the most colourful manner. He has often been described as a cave-man in a lounge suit, and that rings true in more than one way. Without doubt the Neanderthal is not a distant cousin of the Professor, and then also, as well as resembling the men who once lived in the cave, he is not at all dissimilar to the cave itself. His is a yawning cavern of a personality, a crack in the face of the mountain that is the world, an abysmal threat to the sanity of the rational modern man as he stares right back into your rational modern eyes and demands the attention of your most irrational ancient fears. 'I am here!' he cries, finding echo in the darkest realms of your soul. 'I am here! Deny me if you can!' He is the bear-cave, the warm cave, the cave that you always needed and were always afraid of! He was always the staunchest of companions, and finally I found him to be the warmest of friends, yet even I should be dismayed to find that maelstrom of activity and restless intellect unchained. To put it another way, Professor Challenger was an ambush of a man. Make of that what you please.

'Does Irish ancestry place me outside the jurisdiction of his Majesty?' I bowed my head in mock respect.

'If I said it did not, your blood would doubtless lead you into fruitless combat with me upon that point!'

He kissed his wife and took me by the arm, leading me into the study, a room as full of strange and unfathomable objects as the entry chamber. The items in this room tended to be made of yellowing wood pulp and cloth as opposed to the other room's products of carved bone, stuffed animal and chiselled rock. Many of the books in that study would doubtless have amazed the clerks of the British Library - not least because a number of volumes had been smuggled out of that august establishment in the Professor's trousers. Challenger called for whisky and cigars before setting me right, as he put it.

'Malone, my dear fellow, when the time is right, you shall be fully informed as to the exact nature, dimensions, &c of my little kingdom, but in the meantime,' - here he gave what was doubtless intended as a conspiratorial wink, but which upon his simian visage appeared instead as a threatening leer - 'you should be ashamed of yourself, for assuming that my kingdom can be described in terms of the mundane geography with which you are acquainted! There is no doubt in my mind that the intelligence and certainly the imagination of the average reporter has long been on the decline, yet I had hoped a little more of my companion on the journey into Maple-White Land!'

At this point Mrs Challenger brought him a glass of whisky and a large cigar. He gulped down half of one and placed the other in his mouth with an irritatingly smug expression upon his face.

'Sometimes, Professor, it seems you enjoy nothing better than to be in possession of a great secret while being considered a madman by the better half of London.'

'And which half is that?' He deigned to remove the magisterial cigar in order to reply. 'The half which resides beneath the ground, as opposed to above it? That portion of the population, in my humble opinion, is often the half with the most wits, the best behaviour and the most interesting things to say.'

'I see that monarchy has mellowed you.'

'By God I hope not!' He flung his cigar on the floor to indicate his feelings upon the matter. 'The fact that I have now attained high office does not mean that my work is over - though such a reward, of course, is much less than I am due for my various services to the particular development of swamp slime that it pleases us to call humanity!'

'In the pursuit of scientific advancement there is always work to be done-'

Challenger cut me off before I had even reached my full flow.

'So much is obvious, even to a journalist, I should imagine, but at the present time more pressing work requires attention. My kingdom...'

Challenger paused to see if he had my attention. I humoured him, as not to do so might have involved a cuff about the head and ejection from the premises of the most erudite ape-man of our time.

'Yes?'

'My kingdom is in trouble.'

I nodded in what I endeavoured to make a sympathetic manner. I fear that I was less than successful. The professor leapt from his chair like a bear from a trap. (If anyone should wish to argue my simile, let me assure them that Professor Challenger was as unlike a greyhound as it is possible to be.) He grabbed my shirt collar and pulled my face unpleasantly close to his.

'You think me deranged? Pah!' His voice was like a tidal wave and he held me full in its course. I struggled to prevaricate.

'Perhaps if I had some idea of the location of Ell Ka-Zar..?'

He pushed me back into the chair with an expression of disgust and returned to his original position. The whisky glass was again lifted to his lips and this time it was completely drained.

'I am of the honest and frank belief that the construction of the first domestic building sounded the death-knell of our species! Once able to surround himself with apparently solid and comforting walls, Man did his utmost to banish the world of the exterior from his thoughts. It was the death of courage, of that species of imagination which led people to make plans for the difficult times and confront them as an immovable force, and the birth of the craven fear of the unknown that paralyses modern man whenever he is exposed to anything and anyone that is in the least bit surprising!'

I waited for him to proceed to more relevant subjects, and after a number of minutes spent berating me for both my failings and those of all other modern men (the sovereign Challenger naturally being excused from the charges) he returned to the subject of his kingdom.

'The name of the place, as you would know if proper attention had been paid to my communication, is Ell Ka-Mar, and where you err, Mr Malone, is in assuming my kingdom to be of the earthly variety!'

Though I made every attempt to conceal it, something within me gave way. It seemed that the worst was true, and that Challenger, Professor George Edward Challenger, that name recited as a mantra by journalists when they wanted to crack the head of a charlatan or unpick the stuffed shirt of an obdurate establishment man, had finally broke.

'Professor Challenger,' I said, trying to affect the old heartiness, 'a heavenly kingdom is the reward of all good men. Do you mean to say that you have received your part of it in advance of the final curtain?'

He smiled a wicked smile and got to his feet. I have never known a man so happy to follow his own route, regardless of how infrequently it has previously been trod. I, who have made more than one unusual journey with him, have often thought that he would prefer always to travel alone, were it not for the fact that it was often convenient to have both witnesses and pack-carriers at hand.

'You are entirely correct,' he said with a clench of one meaty fist, 'in what you say if not in your assessment of an old colleague who believed himself to have earned your trust and respect.'

He uncurled his fist and held it out to me.

'Come along, Malone. My kingdom is indeed of the heavenly sort, and if you step with me into the garden I shall reveal to you the means by which one may attain it.'

What could I have done? Fearing somewhat for my life if I accompanied him, and fearing for it more if I did not (for if Challenger did not do for me it was certain that McArdle would), I took Challenger's hand and went with him into the garden.

CHAPTER TWO: A MOST AUDACIOUS MECHANISM

How can I begin to describe the object that confronted my eyes in the garden? The first sensory information that I managed to digest informed me that it was large - of a size to fill the best part of what was quite a large garden. It was roughly cylindrical, the end to my left (which I assumed to be the front end of the apparatus) tapering to a point. It was apparently built from a mixture of metals and wood. Along the side which faced me was a large fin, growing from left to right, and I later learned that an identical fin ran along the opposite side.

'What is it?' As I made the enquiry I struggled to take in more details.

The end which I choose to describe as the back was not in my view, and I walked round to examine it as Professor Challenger began to discourse upon the object.

'This, my dear Malone, is, as I believe to have made perfectly clear, the means by which one can attain the kingdom of Ell Ka-Mar! Is further explanation necessary? Even a journalist cannot be so dense as to require additional elucidation!'

'I fear that I am so dense, and quite possibly denser still,' I admitted, 'for I am still in the dark as to the nature of this mechanism.'

The back of the ship, or the base of the cylinder, revealed itself to have three large holes, though I could not make out what lay beyond them.

'Is it some engine of war, an impregnable vehicle to take upon the battlefield? With such a mechanism you could win any kingdom.'

I was not convinced that such was the case, and Challenger only confirmed my opinion.

'Did I not say that my kingdom is not earthly?' He took a few steps towards the machine. 'Perhaps you are of the opinion, Malone, that through creating such an engine of war to serve the English monarch some God has seen fit to award me a heavenly kingdom? Which God would that be? Thor? Ares? Or perhaps that fellow from the Old Testament? Come now, young man! You will have to do better than that! For one thing, has the matter of the disintegration machine slipped your insufficient mind?'

'Of course not,' I said indignantly, because - need I say? - it had, temporarily. 'Poor Mr Nemor. Is he still..?'

'Yes,' answered the Professor brightly, 'he is still... as you so delicately put it. Or as I might put it, he remains in a state of permanent disassembly! Ha ha! Though I might occasionally have recourse to a reliable rifle, or even a sturdy battle-axe, I have no truck with the invention of engines of war! Would that all wars were still conducted with fist and foot!'

'Such an arrangement would doubtless be to your benefit,' I observed, 'in view of your impressive physique.'

'You are too kind, Malone.' The look on his face was less than grateful.

He gave the mechanism a hearty slap on the side, and it let out a mighty boom. His construction was plainly hollow. 'Now listen to me,' he ordered. 'When I said that my kingdom was heavenly, I meant it!' He pointed upwards and I looked in that direction. It was a foggy day, as I have already indicated, and this meant that my gaze was blocked by a thick and dark ceiling. However, for one solitary moment, the fog dissipated and the clouds above that cleared, and I found myself looking at blue sky.

I turned to Challenger, who stood with one hand upon the contraption as another man might pose with a prize bullock or a family. I opened my mouth slowly, and allowed the words to form in their own time.

'Does it fly?'

Professor Challenger let out a mighty cry. 'Hurrah! The boy has finally got it! Now at last we shall begin to move along at a decent rate of knots.'

'It does fly!'

'Not a step forward, yet neither is it a step back! But hurry, time is of the essence. The starter must be quickly finished, as the main course is yet to come!'

'A flying machine!'

'Yes, yes.' Challenger had begun to show distinct signs of irritation and I apologised.

'You must understand how incredible this is to me, how incredible it will be to everyone!'

Professor Challenger nodded gravely, though I could see that he was struggling to contain his impatience.

I ran forward and threw my arms around his stout torso. 'Professor, you are not insane! I understand everything now!'

With a slight movement of his shoulders he shrugged me away. 'In that case,' he said, 'write it all down before you forget.'

'No, I see it all. With this flying machine-'

He interrupted me, saying, 'I call her the Rocket.'

'The Rocket! With this flying rocket you have conquered the kingdom of the air! Which, I presume, you have ventured to name Ell Ka-Mar. Let me inform you most sincerely, Professor Challenger, the fact that you remain sane is of the greatest moment to both Edward Malone and the readers of the Gazette.'

Challenger could hold himself back no longer. With all the force at the disposal of those mighty lungs he bellowed, 'Get in! At once! And stop jabbering like some idiot politician!' He took hold of a handle which had previously gone unnoticed, at least by this ever-observant correspondent, and wrenched open a door. He put his arms around my body, in grotesque imitation of the affection with which I had earlier embraced him, and bundled me into the stygian darkness of the vessel's interior.

'Professor Challenger! I must protest your treatment of my person!'

There was no reply, and as I attempted to escape from my supine position I saw what little light entered through the door blocked out by a huge and monstrous form. Professor Challenger slammed the door shut behind him - the reverberations through the vehicle's structure made my teeth rattle - and I heard movement towards what I shall term the 'nose' of the vessel.

Abruptly, the lights were on.

I found myself in a tangle of machinery, a spider's-web of pipes and tubes wrapping around me as if to choke the life out of the human foolish enough to have fallen into their grasp. I was dead and buried in an iron coffin. The engine held me and I would not - dare not - escape, for in doing so I would only encounter its likeness in every factory, every mill, every pocket watch and every pair of steel-rimmed spectacles. The floor began to shake; though I outdid it in trembling. I felt the power building and I felt my own drain away. I had fallen into its lair, its place of power, and there...

And there was Challenger.

He was looking at me with the strangest expression. 'Tell me, Malone, do you suffer from the fear of enclosed spaces, known to the so-called savants as claustrophobia?'

I desired to regain my dignity, but for the moment I had considerable trouble finding my voice.

'Ah, no,' I answered, stumbling over those difficult syllables.

Challenger frowned with disappointment, then turned his back on me. 'A pity,' he said, 'as the next hour would have provided me with the opportunity for a most rigorous and intensified case study of said condition.' He appeared to be fiddling with some controls, though I could not possibly have attributed any purpose to them at that point in time.

Suddenly I felt much better. However unusual might be the situation and vessel in which I found myself, it was under the control of a man. Do not demand that I justify how I felt. There are times when we react to events at a level more fundamental than that of mere rationality. Perhaps for one moment I reverted to the cave-man of the type my fathers once were, and it saved me to see a fellow cave-man at the controls.

The machinery, the pipes and the tubes, and the very walls themselves, retreated from my new-found self-control, and I began to get to my feet.

'Challenger, you presume too-'

I fell over. The floor of the Rocket seemed somehow unsteady. Challenger looked back over his shoulder and let loose a hurricane of laughter. 'Still looking for your air-legs, eh, Malone? Better be quick; you're going to need them!'

I tried again, and this time managed to steady myself against a fearsome-looking array of cogs and flashing lights. I peered at the lights, attempting to make a determination of their provenance, but injured pride soon returned me to my primary task.

'Professor Challenger, I demand an explanation! You presume too much of our long-standing and possibly soon-to-be-ended friendship. Kidnapping is somewhat beyond the pale, even for you. And I insist that you keep this contraption on the ground until one is provided!'

'Oh, I presume, do I!' he laughed, like a house being torn from the ground. 'And a kidnapping is to be provided?' I scowled; he knew what I meant. 'Malone, prepare yourself for some news. Are you ready?'

I straightened my tie and re-tucked my shirt. 'I am ready.'

'Are you sure?'

'Enough, Challenger - I had but a moment of weakness. I am a newsman, now give me the news!'

'We are in the air!'

'We are-'

'We are flying!'

'Ah! Of course we are!'

'What a scoop for the Daily Gazette!'

He was right of course, and the most basic aspect of my personality began to reassert itself. I am a journalist, and if one day I am required to report on Armageddon, after a moment of readjustment I shall do so, though there be no office left in which to file the article. It was time to stop boggling and time to start collecting the facts regarding this most extraordinary machine.

I made to question Challenger on the subject, but he was more close-mouthed than ever, saying nothing but that soon all would be revealed. That much more remained to be revealed made me stagger a little, though it was typical of him to retain information until the potential force of its impact had reached an optimum level.

As nothing more was apparently to be gained from the inventor, I essayed to fathom the secrets of the invention. I was wholly unsuccessful. Perhaps Professor Summerlee, our sceptical colleague in previous adventures, might have made some sense of the mess of panels and pipes - I suspect that even Lord John Roxton would have discerned more than myself - but for the moment I had to content myself with the knowledge that Challenger was apparently at the controls and that we were apparently in the air. I could have verified the latter by opening the door by which we had gained entry to the machine, but I elected against this course of action, for fear that the means of egress might fulfil its purpose rather too eagerly at this dangerous height. There is a similar problem upon fast-moving trains. The only thing to catch my attention was the fact that the holes visible from the rear of the craft were not to be seen from the interior. A wooden wall, littered with the usual mechanical odds and ends (I call them that, though presumably in the scheme of the Rocket they had some part to play) separated us from those strange openings.

At length I sat back down on the floor. Nothing could be gained in this situation except a little rest, and I wondered if my shaken nerves would even allow me that much.

True to form, when Challenger realised that I had given up he provided me with further mystification.

'Stand up,' he began, and I followed his instruction. 'Now you see that panel to the left... No, the other panel, you foolish fellow. Yes, that one. Now pull the first lever from the left and take a look at the far end of the room.'

I had done as he said and before my eyes a portion of the wooden wall slid back to reveal a cubby-hole of sorts. There was a washing bowl, taps and a toilet, and I looked back at Challenger in wonder.

'This is astonishing.' He seemed unimpressed with my observation.

'The journalist is flying through the air at a good many number of miles per hour, and he is impressed by a toilet! I did not intend to shake you up to quite such a degree. Steel yourself for further marvels, then, as if you pull the next four levers of that panel, different sections of the wall will reveal in turn a hammock, a range of nutritious and tasty foods (prepared at my behest before your arrival by my good lady wife), a medical kit and a decanter of whisky with four matching glasses.'

'What is revealed by the sixth lever?'

'I see that your usual inquisitiveness begins to return. Whether that is a good thing remains to be decided! The sixth lever will reveal something of the greatest import, and I shall decide when that should occur.'

'Did you mention four glasses?'

'I believe that four was the figure mentioned. Now be so good as to make use of the bathroom facilities. We are soon to rendez-vous with that man on whose opinion you once placed so much worth as to collaborate in making him - in the eyes of the public, at least - the judge of my integrity.'

'Professor Summerlee?'

'One and the same, though I shall be the last to complain if he has changed.'

'But he is in South America!'

'That is correct, Mr Malone. Now kindly prepare yourself, as we are due to meet him in' - he consulted a set of revolving wheels on the console to his right - 'approximately five minutes.'

I gave up trying to understand and did as I had been told.

CHAPTER THREE: A SURPRISE VISIT

Mr Summerlee, Professor of Comparative Anatomy, was at that moment lying behind an upturned rowing boat and attempting to avoid the worryingly well-aimed arrows of the Sh'Amon tribe of darkest Peru. Unfortunately for he and Mr Herando, the last surviving members of the expedition, they had not even the protection of darkness, as the only light in the jungle came from above the river at their backs, where the trees and plants had been gracious enough to leave a small clearing in the green roof that kept everywhere else in bizarrely-coloured twilight.

'We are experiencing proof positive,' he told his companion, 'that the eyesight of this tribe has singularly failed to atrophy.' He paused to consider the matter as another arrow whistled mere inches over his head. 'Of course, there remains the possibility that other senses have developed to a higher level to compensate.' Another arrow passed over, sliding off the top of his beige tropical hat. 'Hearing, for example.'

Mr Herando seems unusually quiet, he thought to himself, for a man of his notably strong opinions where the biological mechanisms of the South American jungle are concerned. Twisting his head to the left, he noted with sadness that the baritone voice of Mr Herando would never again rumble through the humid corridors of the University of Buenos Aires. An arrow had pierced him though the eye.

Summerlee examined the feathered flight of the arrow with interest. 'Really,' he said out loud, 'this shall have the most interesting consequences for the study of the South American pygmy!'

The sound of his voice evidently aided his assailants in finding their range, as the next arrow pierced the pith helmet and carried it off into the river behind him. Summerlee did his best to burrow down into the mud, but as a virtual rain of arrows began to fall around him, he was forced to recognise that this might very well be the end. He had considered actually crawling under the boat, but it was obvious that to do so would remove all inhibitions of the Sh'Amon, leaving him trapped like a beetle under a chamber pot, whereas at present they preferred to keep their distance, just in case the Englishman revealed himself, under closer examination, to be in possession of certain death-dealing objects of which they were in great awe.

Unfortunately for Professor Summerlee, he was in possession of no such objects, due to their having been kept in the pack carried by the hired hand Santos, who had been the first man to succumb to the less than tender attentions of the pygmies. He had fallen into the river with an arrow through his heart and sweet Amazon had borne him away.

If only, thought Summerlee, I had some means to convey my findings to my colleagues in England. Challenger himself would be forced to admit that I had made quite a find!

But at that moment, as my esteemed companion prepared somewhat prematurely for death (Naples was still some way off) he found himself cast into darkness. A more suggestible man might have suspected that Indian magic was at work, but Professor Summerlee took the more commonsense view that one of the arrows had finally found its target.

Oh well, he thought, here I go.

Within a second the darkness was answered by the screams of the Sh'Amon pygmies, doubtless in jubilation at the death of one they considered their enemy, thought he.

The deductions he made from this thought were twofold. Firstly, that as he did in no wise believe in the continuation of the mind after the death of the body, the body must still be alive. And secondly, that if he was still alive, the darkness of his surroundings must come from a source other than the failing of his own light, so to speak.

From the screams he could hear, the pygmies were dashing in the opposite direction as quickly as their legs could take them. Their eyes, he believed, were probably more attuned to the darkness than his own. What natural cause could effect such darkness? A thundercloud? An erupting volcano? Or had some mighty dinosaur somehow escaped from Maple-White Land? He turned onto his back, visions of flashing teeth and claws running through his mind.

It was none of these things, and yet it did seem alive, spewing steam as it dived towards the river like some terrible iron dragon.

At least, so Summerlee told me, once we had taken him on board.

Once the Rocket had passed below the level of the jungle roof the sunlight was able to pass once more through the gap, and it found a most worthy subject of its illumination in Professor Challenger's astounding machine.

Summerlee cried out, 'It is beautiful!' He got to his feet and tried to clean off the muck in anticipation of being greeted by a gentleman. 'I was able at once,' he later told me, 'to distinguish the fine work of our English foundries.' Sadly he was to be disappointed in one respect, as after the Rocket came to rest upon the bank of the river (squashing a number of trees as it did so, which bent as if matchsticks under its weight) the door opened to reveal none other than his old rival Professor Challenger.

I fear this came as quite a blow to Professor Summerlee, but he took it on the chin and moved forward to shake Challenger's hand.

'Professor Challenger,' he began, 'I have made the most remarkable discoveries in the sphere of tribal development.'

'So I see,' replied Challenger, examining the remains of the expedition.

Summerlee pursed his lips, then proceeded. 'I had feared for my success in bringing this information back to England, and...' He trailed off.

Challenger prompted him. 'Yes?'

In the face of opposition Summerlee's strength returned. 'I am pleasantly surprised to find that I shall, in fact, be able to do so.'

Challenger's face had begun to turn a deep shade of red, and as I exited from the vessel my concern grew that he might finish the job that the pygmies had abandoned.

'For crying out loud,' I told Summerlee, 'ask him about his precious rocket!'

'Your arrival was most propitious,' said the worthy professor after a minuscule pause, 'and I confess to some scientific interest as to how it was effected.'

That was as far as he would go, but Challenger clearly regarded it as a victory. With a smile he said, 'Summerlee, you shall be told everything when the time is right! However, firstly I wish to add Lord John Roxton to our party.'

Before we left Peru, Challenger led us in clearing up the destruction left by the pygmy attack. The rowing-boat was turned right way up, and Summerlee and I were assigned to lifting the bodies of the dead into it. One time while Challenger was back inside the vessel, Summerlee leant over to me and whispered, 'The confounded man is worse than ever!'

'Are you afraid to say it aloud?' asked I mischievously.

He dropped Mr Herando's feet in the mud and raised himself to his full height.

'How dare you say that! I am afraid of no man! And if I was' - at this point he began to yell - 'that man would not be the infernal Challenger! I demand satisfaction, Malone.'

'And you shall have it,' I replied with evident contrition, 'but for now Mr Herando requires your attention. Do you accept my full and sorrowful apology?'

'I do,' answered Summerlee as he picked up the feet of his former travelling companion. 'Farewell, Mr Herando.' On a count of three we tossed the Argentinian into the boat. We went back to pick up another of the dead. 'And in view of the fact that you have seen fit to retract your shameful accusation, I shall admit that while I feel no fear, I would be unhappy should Challenger,with his infamous temper, decide to leave me behind.'

'You would have a wonderful chance to study the pygmies should he do so.'

'That is quite true,' he concurred. We had finished with the dead, and were now collecting numerous specimens of Sh'Amon technology. He picked up a particularly fierce-looking arrow, the head of which was a furious explosion of iron barbs. 'And yet, I believe that for the moment I shall be content to consider what I have already learnt of them.'

'No time for that!' bellowed Challenger as he emerged from the Rocket. 'Adventure awaits us!'

'I feared as much,' said Summerlee. Then to me, 'It is not my imagination - he is definitely worse.'

'You must make allowances. He is a king now, you know, or at least so he tells us.'

Professor Summerlee's reaction does not require description.

Finally Challenger brought a pair of thick ropes out from the Rocket (where he kept them hidden I do not know) and had us tie one to each end of the boat. For his part, he tied the other ends of the rope to the nose and the back of the Rocket. Then he ushered us inside and we lifted off, carrying the boat as a ghastly gondola beneath us. I wonder what the pygmies made of this bizarre sight. In my nightmares I dream of them worshipping an idol of Challenger and his ship. If that really occurred, let us hope the unholy religion does not spread.

CHAPTER FOUR: FAREWELLS TO MRS CHALLENGER

The grisly rowing boat had been deposited in Buenos Aires and the Rocket had returned to the Challenger residence, stopping en route in Kenya to pick up Lord John Roxton, who had been waging a guerilla war against certain unprincipled big game hunters. Though initially he loosed a few rounds upon seeing us in the distance - we all have nightmares of the pterodactyls of Maple-White Land - he was soon gathered unto our collective bosom. He behaved with his usual aplomb upon seeing us emerge from the ship, and he was more than pleased to hear the promise of adventure to come.

Mrs Challenger welcomed us home with a fine spread of food upon the dinner table, and all thought of discussion was banished for the moment as we luxuriated in the finest tastes and smells that all England has to offer. Mrs Challenger made a few polite enquiries of Lord John and Professor Summerlee regarding their respective adventures, but their replies were necessarily quite perfunctory, and the good lady took this not as impoliteness, but as testament to the quality of her kitchen.

After the meal the four of us gathered in the study - a number of volumes had to be transferred upstairs to create enough room - and settled in our upholstered chairs with whisky and cigars. All told, it had been less than five hours since last I had sat there with Challenger.

At first we discussed old times, patted each other on the back over adventures, ribbed each other mercilessly over misadventures, and generally waited for Professor Challenger to decide it was time to give us an explanation. However, he chose to keep his own counsel until shortly after six thirty, at which time the evening edition of the Gazette arrived. Mrs Challenger brought it in to us.

'I thought that you might like to see this,' she said to her husband. She passed him the folded newspaper then retreated, obviously in fear of an explosion of the type often seen in that household. As she left, she whispered to me, 'No editorial, indeed!'

For the five seconds that it took Challenger to unfold the newspaper, three of the men in that room did not breath. Indeed, as a precautionary measure Lord Roxton removed the whisky decanter from Challenger's reach. I looked at Lord John, he looked at me, and Summerlee looked Challenger dead in the eye as the newspaper was straightened.

Finally, Challenger broke eye contact with Summerlee and regarded the front page.

Then he laughed, and the atmosphere cleared. We all smiled. 'Who would have thought McArdle would run quite so far with the story! And with his finest bloodhound still out on the trail!' In a matter of seconds he had read the story and he passed it over to me.

Not possessing Challenger's facility with the printed word it took me a little longer than him to read the article, but it read as follows:

CHALLENGER THE LUNATIC?

Editorial by McArdle, News Editor

Shocking as it may seem to those who have always regarded him as one of the finest minds of our generation, and unsurprising as it may be for those who have always thought him the most dangerous type of madman, this paper, despite a long-standing and fruitful relationship with Professor George Edward Challenger, famed explorer of Maple-White Land and one of the few men who managed to avoid the general fate as the planet passed through the poison belt (though even to this day there are those who dispute the credibility of these events, despite all evidence to the contrary), is duty-bound to report that said individual appears to have finally gone the way of many of the greatest minds of our age. He claims to be the King of Ell Ka-Mar, and while this paper takes no position on the validity or otherwise of this claim, it must point out that this 'kingdom' is not be found on any map, in any atlas or in any dictionary. Professor Challenger's extraordinary announcement is to be found on the third page of this very newspaper. 'The strain of living and working on the very frontier of scientific advancement,' said the noted brain specialist, Professor Quigg ... 

There was a good deal more of the same. In fact, it appeared that a major proportion of the newspaper had been devoted to the story.

'Well,' I said to the topic of discussion as I passed the Gazette onto Lord John, 'what do you make of that, Professor Challenger? I must say that to find myself so described in a national newspaper would hardly cause me amusement.'

'What do I think of it, Malone?' He gulped down his whisky, giving me opportunity to notice that his face was of a colour which would normally have occasioned a modicum of alarm in me. Thankfully, for once the redness was the result of hilarity rather than ferocity. 'I think the title unusually apt. I think that it has been some time since McArdle last wrote a leader article - he would never have allowed any other journalist to ramble so. Finally, I think it is amusing to see them so ready to write me off! It shows that I have disturbed them to a most agreeable level in the past!'

Lord John had digested the article and examined Challenger's announcement before speaking. Now he handed the newspaper to Professor Summerlee.

'I must say, old boy, you are taking all this extraordinarily well. So is the advertisement a joke or what? Own up, there's a good fellow!'

'I own up to the fact that the advertisement itself was something of a ruse, as I knew it would get Malone down here faster than a Frenchman heading for a romantic tryst, or an Italian fighting a duel.'

'So it is a joke,' said Summerlee. Although he did not think it was, that did not stop him hoping. Challenger had already made too many discoveries for one day, in his opinion. 'You just wanted to get Malone down here sharpish to take a ride in your mechanical Pegasus.'

'I am afraid not,' said Challenger with sincerity. 'Ell Ka-Mar is absolutely real, and we shall travel there in the morning.'

The rest of us looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders. For the moment there was little we could do but play along with his game.

Once each of us had finished his cigar we hailed two hansom cabs and went back to our respective lodgings. I imagine that quite any other inhabitants of the homes of Summerlee or Roxton were more than surprised to find returned men who that very morning had been in Peru and Kenya respectively. It is fervently to be hoped that Mrs Summerlee and Lady Roxton - if such personages existed, as neither man was wont to talking about his domestic life - were not engaged in dalliances with their gardeners when the husbands returned.

The two other men shared one cab, as they were heading in the same direction. I took the other, and though originally fatigue led me to bid the driver take me home, within a few minutes duty bade me instead travel to the offices of the Gazette. Upon my arrival I was pounced on by McArdle and several of the paper's other luminaries, but I was forced to follow Challenger's example in requiring them to wait for the explanation (or as much of it as I was able to give them). Much piqued by my mention of the fact that on the morrow I was to make a most unusual journey, it was all I could do to prevent them reading the article describing the day's astonishing events over my shoulder as I wrote it. In fact, I swear that once, having an uncanny feeling of being watched, I turned to see McArdle at the top of a convenient flight of stairs trying to read my work with the aid of a pair of binoculars!

My report finally complete, I threw it to the wolves and found myself an empty room. I was lying on a couch with the door locked before the baying began. I ignored it and attempted to snatch as many winks as were possible under the circumstances. The noise outside the door died down once they realised that I would not be stirred, but as they moved away I heard arguments begin to spring up as they fought over the significance of my article.

When dawn broke through the disreputable grimy windows of the office I awoke immediately. In all truth, I had not slept well, with thoughts of what was to follow. In view of the possibly fatal consequences of an extended adventure with Professor Challenger my first action upon waking was to write a short will, leaving the contents of my desk to McArdle, the copyright of my books to my mother (each of them so far had met with reasonable, though not outstanding, success; I had yet to try my hand at fiction), and what money I had in the bank to Mrs Challenger, as I suspected that Challenger himself had probably spent every penny he had on his beloved rocket-ship. Little was I to know that the following day, my will would be held up as proof - on the front page of the Gazette, no less - that I had gone to my certain death on a suicide mission. Luckily, my mother has more sense than to believe everything she reads, however sensational.

My second action was to unlock the door and then rush to the bathroom - a wake of eager reporters formed behind me as I passed through the office. 'No comment,' I said as I went to wash my face. One person did ask a pertinent question for which I had an answer, concerning the fact that Challenger's wonder ship had never been spotted by the populace of London. 'When you walk through London, even on the rare occasions that the fog clears, do you not take a great deal of care as to where you put your feet?'

After confirming with McArdle that I was going on a journey with Challenger and getting confirmation from same that I would be paid for the time I was away, I grabbed my coat and hat from the room where I had slept and set off once more to Challenger's house.

It was actually Professor Summerlee who opened the door for me. As I stepped into the house and walked through to the study I saw Mrs Challenger deep in discussion with Lord John Roxton in an ante-room full of dust-covered documents. She noticed my looking and gave me a wave, turning my face crimson with the thought that my gaze might well have been thought accusatory.

'Come into the study, Malone,' ordered Summerlee. 'Challenger is in the garden with his blessed rocket. Everything is all set - he wants us to be off before the press is here in force. We have heard from the Gazette that your article is expected to well and truly set the cat among the pigeons!'

'That's true,' said Lord John, coming up behind us. We remained on our feet because our usual chairs had been removed from the study. 'Challenger's already had one telegram from the Prime Minister and three from the Minister of Defence! They want us to stop everything while they take a look at his flying boat.'

I laughed. 'I can imagine Challenger's reaction!'

Summerlee became grave. 'His reaction was as one might have expected - had the Prime Minister himself been there he would surely have received the kick delivered in the actual event to the telegram boy. However, the matter may be more serious than expected. This morning I heard a rumour from a member of my club that the Defence Minister might even go so far as to send the army down here to grab the thing.'

'Hence the rush to get going.'

'Exactly,' said Summerlee. 'If you have yet to eat breakfast-' I indicated that such a luxurious interlude had yet to open up in my schedule. 'Mrs Challenger has some bacon and eggs ready in the kitchen. Then clean yourself up' - I was not aware that I was so rumpled as his tone indicated - 'and be ready to lift by seven.'

I nodded and followed his orders with no small enthusiasm, at least as far as breakfast was concerned. The food provided by Mrs Challenger was of the usual wonderful quality, tasting exquisite enough to satisfy the most committed gourmand and being filling enough to prepare the boldest adventurer. I do not lay claim to those titles personally, but Professor Challenger and Lord John Roxton would be justified in doing so, and they seemed to be fully prepared for the wildest adventures that might befall us.

By seven I was in the Rocket. Professor Challenger had made use of the hours since dawn to secure our four upholstered chairs inside the vessel.

'A capital idea,' I declared, and Challenger graced me with a smile.

'I thought that the place could use a little comfort after I saw you down on the floor the other day.'

'It was fully as uncomfortable as it looked. These chairs shall be a boon to all who travel in the good ship Rocket!'

'That is more true than you might have thought,' said Challenger with a crafty wink. 'The next journey of this bird will last a little longer than its last.'

'I hardly think so!' My error in contradicting him was proven by the traditional reddening of his face. Undeterred, I soldiered on. 'On our last voyage, we travelled to Peru and back, stopping off at Argentina and Kenya on the way. It took less than five hours. I cannot conceive of a voyage that could possibly be appreciably longer!'

'That is correct,' he thundered. The floor of the rocket-ship trembled in sympathy. 'You cannot conceive of such a voyage. Indeed, you can conceive of nothing! That, Malone, is why you are a reporter! You cannot conceive for yourself, and so you report upon the conceptions of others!'

I exited sheepishly from the ship, and found Summerlee, Roxton and Mrs Challenger waiting outside. Summerlee was sitting on a hamper of freshly prepared concoctions from the Challenger kitchen, while Roxton and Mrs Challenger were once again deep in conversation. As Summerlee was evidently out of earshot of their low voices he made a conspicuous show of ignoring them. I made a mental shrug, and addressed the whole party.

'Professor Challenger appears to be ready.'

'Well, this is it, then,' said Mrs Challenger sadly, half-turning to me. 'Off you go again.'

Roxton made eye contact with her once again, but broke it embarrassedly when he realised that Summerlee and I were also watching. 'Off we go,' he said to her, flushing under his collar. He entered the ship, taking pains to avoid our curious eyes.

'Goodbye to you both,' said Mrs Challenger to the two of us that remained. 'Good luck on your journey, and remember that it may prove to be more dangerous than my husband suspects. Caution is not his strong point, and at times you may need to provide it for him.'

'Despite his most fearsome roars,' answered Summerlee, 'I shall endeavour to follow your wise counsel. Farewell, Lady Challenger!'

'No Lady I,' she laughed, 'but merely a humble queen.'

Summerlee paused for a second and lifted his ear to the wind. 'Do you hear that?'

I confessed that I did not.

'I shall inform Challenger that it is time to depart.' He followed Lord John.

'Farewell, then,' I said to Mrs Challenger. She was about to reply when the wind brought to both of ears the sound of a multitude of horses clattering their way along the roads in our direction. A further few seconds and we could here the shouts as infantry men were brought forward to cover the front of the house.

'Goodness me,' said Mrs Challenger with irritation, 'do they expect George to fly his rocket out of the front door!' There was the sound of knocking at the door, and a loud voice began to make itself heard over the noise of the soldiers and horses. I presume it was a bailiff of some kind, come to detain the Rocket at His Majesty's pleasure. 'I suppose I should go and ready some cakes and tea for them. They will be so disappointed to find that the bird has flown.'

'Goodbye, Mrs Challenger.'

'Wait, there is one more thing.' I confess to my readers that I felt slightly ill at ease, worried that some confession regarding Lord John was in the offing. She reached into a concealed pocket and took out a ring. The band itself was thin and narrow, though it was made to fit an enormous finger. No stone was mounted upon its diameter, but instead a strange set of intertwining metal spirals, like a minuscule brooch. 'Please give this to my husband.' I agreed and moved towards the ship.

She called after me. 'Give my love to Professor Challenger.' I assured her that I would, and then I was once more within Challenger's flying womb. Summerlee and Roxton had already taken their seats and I followed suit.

Challenger looked back at us. 'Prepare for lift-off!' he shouted, and then we were on our way. The journey into adventure had begun!

CHAPTER FIVE: INSIDE THE SPACESHIP

'Gentlemen,' announced Challenger, 'we are on our way to the Moon!'

If any other man had made such an announcement, we would have laughed.

'Jolly good,' said Lord John Roxton. 'Luckily we've brought plenty of sandwiches.'

Professor Summerlee appeared to be equally unshaken. 'Shall I have the opportunity to exercise my skills in comparative anatomy once we arrive?'

'Well!' said I. I may not have laughed, but I was certainly surprised.

Professor Challenger seemed rather disappointed that the reaction to his statement had been so muted. 'For goodness' sake, you fellows, we're not talking about a walk in the woods!' He had come away from the controls - apparently the course had been set - and had turned his upholstered chair to face our three. He reclined as far as he was able and eyed us suspiciously. 'Did you sneak into my laboratory and consult my notes?'

'I did nothing of the sort,' said Lord John. 'Professor, if you produce a dozen marvels a day the twelfth will always receive less rapturous applause than the first. You must learn to pace yourself.'

'And besides,' continued Summerlee, 'your good lady wife saw fit to inform us of the fact this morning. She thought it unfair that we should be taken off to the Moon without having any say in the matter.'

'Well, this is a fine conspiracy! What about you, Malone, were you with the plotters?'

Summerlee answered for me. 'He was not. Mrs Challenger was persuaded that the reactions of the journalist should be honest and natural.'

'Her desire was not to deprive you of your enjoyment.'

'Even so,' said Challenger, still far from placated.

'King George,' I declared, 'consider my surprise to stand for the surprise of my co-travellers, and console yourself with the thought that it is the movements of my heart that shall be a matter of public record. In these circumstances Professor Summerlee and Lord Roxton may be dismissed as irrelevant.'

'Why, many thanks for your consideration,' said Lord Roxton.

Summerlee took up the thread. 'To dismiss us at this point would probably involve a fall of several hundred feet. I cannot add the weight of my opinion in support of this proposition.'

'That only makes it more attractive!' Challenger took the opportunity to gleefully make adverse comment upon the weight or otherwise of Summerlee's opinion.

When the chance arose, I made to say my piece. 'We are on our way to the Moon, you say?'

'I apologise,' said Challenger, and it was rare to hear those words issue from that fearsome throat. 'I allowed these poltroons to divert my attention away from the divulgation of necessary information. How much did she tell you?' This last was aimed at Summerlee.

'Not a great deal,' he replied. 'She simply informed us that this evening we would stand upon bright Luna. The rest is yours to tell.'

Challenger was much heartened by this news, and he prepared to sermonise on the adventure to come.

'You do not need to stand, you know,' said Professor Summerlee. 'This is not the British Biological Society.' To me he said, 'He is insufferable, is he not? Give him five words to say and he turns them into a speech.'

'You are correct,' said Professor Challenger, declining to re-seat himself, 'in stating that this is not the Biological Society. However, it might as well be, for all that the others are worth in comparison to we two.' He made a full, deep bow in Summerlee's direction. That modest and dedicated scientist rolled his eyes while Roxton and I cheered. 'Malone, we are indeed on our way to the Moon. In particular (and it is necessary to be particular, as the Moon is a world not unlike our own, though everything there happens to be grey in colour, with various and differing areas and countries), we are on our way to the kingdom of Ell Ka-Mar - the country of which, you may have heard it said, I am the reigning monarch.'

'I apologise for speaking of more mundane matters,' said Summerlee, 'but is there any chance of our learning how this contraption of yours works? I confess to a great deal of curiosity on the matter.'

'The details are too technical to go into at the present time, as we shall soon reach our initial destination, but-'

'Surely the Moon is not so close already!' exclaimed Lord John.

'I am afraid not. First we are making a short hop to a much closer locale. But to continue, the motor of the Rocket utilises certain advances I have made in the realm of atomic physics, which allow the ship to be propelled at high speeds. Certain other devices, by producing waves of sound which interfere with the noise of the engine, ensure that flight is virtually silent.'

'Congratulations on a fine piece of engineering,' I said to the inventor. 'Why have you not published anything with regard to your atomic physics? Surely such an advance would be of the greatest interest to the whole world!'

'It already is,' said Professor Summerlee drolly. 'Did you not hear the army laying siege to the Challenger residence?'

Challenger nodded in vigorous agreement. 'They are ignorant of the physics of the atom, but they know that whatever engine powers this first lady of flight must be worth having. They shall never have it!'

'But Professor, this atomic power of yours could change the world! It could feed the hungry and heat the houses of the poor! Why must you keep it hidden?'

'Because it is too dangerous. Was it the Home Office that sent the Army to knock on my door? Was it the Salvation Army? No, it was the Ministry of Defence. Atomic power can all too easily be turned to destruction. Let me explain-'

'Here he goes again,' sighed Summerlee.

I shushed him. 'You have no interest in the matter?'

'This is the newspaper report of his invention. I shall wait for the scientific journal.'

Professor Challenger cleared his throat and Summerlee waved for him to go on.

'Thank you,' said Challenger. 'We know from our own experience that the Earth has a core of molten lava. Now, imagine this if you can: everything around us, the chairs we sit on, the air we breathe, and the wood and steel that separate us from the clouds (we are now hovering above London, by the way) is made up of tiny atoms, everything. Think of each of these as being like the Earth. When a hole is pricked in the Earth a volcano erupts, a vital outpouring of that long-withheld kinetic energy. The atom is the same - open it up and all the energy contained within is released. This is the principle on which my space rocket operates. However, it is also the principle upon which a bomb could be devised. A mass outpouring of such energy could incinerate entire cities!'

All of us were silent for some minutes as we contemplated the possible result of Challenger's invention. 'Hence your decision to keep quiet.'

'Hence. Perhaps if one day a more enlightened government ruled at Westminster, things might change.'

'You realise, of course,' piped up Summerlee, 'that once people are aware that such a process is possible, it is only a matter of time before it is rediscovered.'

'Yes I do, and I have chosen to let the matter rest with the conscience of the next man who discovers it. However, if I am still around, and he makes the wrong decision, I might well decide to take a hand in changing his mind!'

'Well said, old man!' Lord Roxton led us in a cheer. 'Hip hip!'

'Hooray!' shouted Summerlee and I.

Professor Challenger held out his hands and quieted us. There was a drop of water on his cheek. On any other man I would not have hesitated to call it a tear. 'My friends,' he said, '- and I feel that after all our adventures, I may call you that - I thank you for your support.'

We all cheered again.

'Now,' said Challenger. 'Before we continue on our journey to the moon I have a little surprise for you, Malone.'

'Surprise is now my closest companion,' I answered. 'He is an old bedfellow, and it would be churlish to begrudge him another visit.'

Challenger smiled and raised himself out of his chair like a mountain pulling itself up from the roots. 'Come with me,' he said. The three of us removed ourselves from our chairs and followed Challenger to the front of the cabin. We stood there a moment while he fiddled about with the controls. 'Usually this panel would remain in place, as to have it open during interplanetary flight might prove dangerous, due to the effect of cosmic rays and such.' We three listeners nodded wisely. 'Look at this!'

And look we did, as a wooden panel of three metres in width and two in height (I intend to use the European measurements here, due to their having always found favour with Challenger) drew aside to reveal a window onto the outside world. What did we see there but the offices of the Daily Gazette, the windows full of excited and frightened faces, photographers hastily setting up their equipment, artists sketching for all they were worth and my fellow journalists scribbling away in shorthand? This last group seemed less motivated than the others (although this may be my vanity speaking), because they knew full well that a certain colleague of theirs was getting the full 'scoop'. I assumed one particularly animated figure to be McArdle himself, doing his utmost to pass on some last minute instructions. Of course I could hear nothing of what he might have been saying.

However, though I previously wrote 'What did we see there but..?', it soon became apparent that the members of my trade were not the only occupants of the Gazette building. We realised this upon a clouding of the Challenger brow - and a clouding of that brow had been known in the past to result in thunderbolts and lightning in the vicinity. Following his gaze, we saw that upon the topmost level of the building, in the chambers of the newspaper's owner, Lord Rample-Smith, no less, servants in His Majesty's Army were preparing to launch an artillery round at our beautiful Rocket!

'Disgraceful!' said Summerlee.

'Absolutely, old fellow,' said Lord John Roxton. 'How do they expect to bring down a bird this size with such a low-calibre cannon! I wouldn't want those fellows along on a rhinoceros hunt!'

For a moment Challenger was lost for words. Then he opened a little drawer in the console and took out what appeared to be a cannibalized telephone mouthpiece which was attached to the console by a long and curling wire. He flicked a switch mounted on the side of the mouthpiece and begin to speak as if he were using a telephone. Though we heard nothing but his unamplified voice, the effect was soon visible as the people in our view, soldiers and journalists both, put their hands tight over their ears.

'Put aside your puny weapons,' ordered Challenger. 'There comes a time to put aside childish things. Hear my words! End all war! Cease the exploitation of others! Forget foolish religions and devote your lives to the study of science! As I, Professor George Edward Challenger, speak, so shall it come to pass!'

With that, he switched off the speaking-machine, closed the window panel and pulled half a dozen levers. He turned back to us and said, 'We are on our way, gentlemen.'

'Challenger, really...' I said.

'What?' he thundered.

'You laid it on a little thick back there, don't you think?'

'Of course he did,' said Professor Summerlee. 'Kingship would never be enough for this megalomaniac, I knew it from the start. Challenger will not be satisfied until they make him God!'

His professorial rival disagreed and tried to maintain his dignity after what had, after all, been a rather odd thing to do. 'Nonsense. I simply gave them food for thought. It cannot do any harm.'

'He could be right, you know, fellows,' said I. 'Perhaps in the storm of indignation that will doubtless follow some bright spark might pipe up and say, "Well, maybe it isn't such a terrible idea, after all."'

'Even so. It smacks too much of the actions of the Vernian crazy-man for my liking.' That was Summerlee's final word on the matter, which did not bode well for the voyage to come. Roxton and I did our best to make him accede to the view that it was nothing but a harmless prank, but to no avail, and it looked like the large cabin area might prove too small after all, with two such personalities in conflict within it.

'Here we go again,' said Lord John.

'Off to the moon!' shouted Challenger, trying to inject proceedings with rather more enthusiasm. Let it be recorded that his efforts met with much more success when he brought out the whisky and cigars.

CHAPTER SIX: THREE ENGLISHMEN AND AN IRISHMAN IN AN INTERPLANETARY SPACECRAFT

Challenger was always prone to showboating, although I suppose that in the circumstances it was quite justified.

'What do you think of that!' he cried, as irritatingly pleased with himself as ever.

'I'm reminded of nights spent in Africa,' said Lord John, taking the cigar from his mouth, 'with her shining above, the monarch of the skies, with the stars her handmaidens...' He raised the whisky glass to his lips, turned it bottom up, closed his eyes, and let the golden fluid slide down his throat. 'And now,' he continued, tipping his head back as we all looked at him in bewilderment, 'I am reminded of nights spent with the monarch of Denmark's wife, a charming lady...'

He fell silent. We waited. Was he to resume his story? The answer was no, as we realised when the cigar began to fall from his hand. Challenger leapt forward with all the alacrity he had previously demonstrated when being pursued by the beasts of Maple-White Land, but was unable to catch the ill-intentioned tobacco stick before it touched down. He scooped it up in one great hand, scowling at the ashen mark upon the polished floorboards.

'He'll pay. Oh how he'll pay!' laughed Summerlee, earning himself a look from Challenger which might have been used to tan cow-hides.

'And yet,' I said, 'the whisky glass remains in his hand.'

Challenger saw fit to allow a pause in his glowering at Summerlee and informed me, 'The first thing a gentleman learns is to never drop his whisky glass! The second thing-' he began, but what would surely have been a most accurate observation on the upper classes was interrupted by Summerlee, never willing to let pass a chance to exacerbate the friction between them.

'Is not to split his infinitives, dear Challenger! You realise that you're setting Malone a bad example - and the nation's journalists need no further encouragement to mangle the King's English!'

Challenger smiled, and although I continued to listen, I returned my gaze to the window.

'You are a professor in comparative anatomy, are you not?'

'You know I am,' replied Summerlee, rather haughtily. I could imagine how he would be pushing back his shoulders and lifting his nose in the air. 'However, that does not mean-'

'Ah! Ah! Ah!' said Challenger, doubtless wagging a finger.

The Moon was beautiful.

'In comparative anatomy, I repeat, and thus, one would assume, unless you are a complete nincompoop - a condition from which I have, though lacking hard evidence as yet, suspected you to suffer - a believer in Charles Darwin's theories on evolution. Would you concur?'

A halo surrounded her, caused by the fact that Challenger had taken the Rocket to a position which placed Lady Moon between ourselves and Master Sun. Thus, he explained, we were protected from the harmful effects of cosmic rays emanating from our local star. To benefit my readers, I had asked Challenger what those harmful effects might be. His answer, once I had sifted through sackfuls of verbiage disguising the fact that he wasn't quite certain, seemed to be that anything might happen. We could be fried like sausages! Or we might find our bodily chemistries strangely altered, turning we four into beings that would be regarded as fantastic upon our return to Earth.

'This line of questioning is-'

'Ridiculous. Yes, I know,' said Challenger.

Why, one might ask, did Challenger bring us halfway around the Moon in order to approach with the window open? Well, that takes us back to my initial point, i.e. that Challenger was a showboater. He wanted to show off. Need I confess that I'm glad he did? The Moon was beautiful beyond human words, with her dark heart and her golden halo. If Challenger's Moon-dwellers truly existed - a fact by no means yet proven (although in view of the fact that he did possess a Moon-rocket, we were all prepared to believe him in other Moon-matters, pending further data) - their poetry, if they wrote any, must have been lovely. On the other hand, they would never see her like this, with starshine on her shoulders and a twinkle in her eye. In fact, I considered, the Earth would probably play a large part in their poetry, hanging in their sky as it must. I wondered what they had to say about us? Nothing good, in all likelihood, I smiled to myself. After all, the only Earthman they had met was Challenger!

'I merely want to draw your consideration to the idea that evolution applies not only to the kingdom of animals, but also to that of language. To boldly split,' he paused there, probably to grimace his best approximation of a smile, 'the infinitive is no crime, if it aids comprehension! Language lives, no less than any animal, and it must grow, change or die!' I imagined him folding his arms and sitting back in his chair with an air of triumph.

The Moon seemed larger than before.

'A very interesting hypothesis,' replied Summerlee, a little calmer now that Challenger had turned to more civilised methods of debate, 'and yet a simplistic one. Firstly, you must consider that evolution, as I see it, does not take place within a single organism. Through mating choices, certain characteristics are passed on to the next generation, while others are not. How, then, does this apply to a language? The process is more complex than you indicate.' Challenger pshawed. 'Secondly, if one ignores the rules of a language, whatever the short term benefits might be, comprehension in the long term could only be impaired.'

I realised that I could no longer see the stars.

'Your mistake,' responded Challenger, 'is in believing that speech conforms to-'

'Challenger!' I shouted. 'We're crashing!'

'There,' said Summerlee, 'his utterances were perfectly grammatical and we understood them perfectly. Down your route lies chaos, Challenger!' I heard him get to his feet. 'Incidentally, Challenger, are we, indeed, crashing?'

The groaning of wood and a subsequent heavy thud announced that Challenger had thrown himself to his feet.

'Of course we're not,' he said with a rumble. As Summerlee moved to stand at my shoulder, Challenger rushed to the control panel. He pulled one lever, pushed another and twisted a third till it fell right off. 'Of course we're not.'

We were still moving. Something Challenger had done had switched on an enormous torch, evidenced by the cone of light which now emanated from the Rocket's nose. With horror I realised I could discern that light's termination upon the surface of the Moon. The diameter of that circle's termination was growing exponentially. No longer our sweetheart Mistress Luna was she, but rather a cold-hearted Milady, eager to crush us to her bosom! We were going to crash!

'Do not become alarmed, my friends,' said Challenger, frowning at the control panel, 'but I think you had better hold onto something.'

The crash was not as bad as it might have been. I awoke to the sound of Challenger slapping me in the face. A few seconds later the pain from his blows reached me and I cried out, 'Stop! I have woken!' I took my first conscious breath of the thin, dry Moon-air.

'Thank goodness,' said the brute, 'I wondered if we'd lost you for a moment!' He helped me get to my feet. My surroundings were quite astonishing. 'Sorry to wake you like that, Malone old boy. You know how much I hate to hit a journalist!'

I tried to smile. 'All your practice was not in vain.'

I have now reached the most astonishing part of my story. Well, at least the most astonishing part of my story so far - let me assure you that there is much - worse or better? - let us just say, more to come. While on Earth I had many amazing adventures with Professor Challenger, Lord John Roxton and Professor Summerlee, but our exploits once we headed into space were even more incredible. I am sure that when this account is published, there will be many who ask why I delayed so long in making these journeys a matter of public record. The convenient answer would be that I was following the instructions of Challenger, naturally cautious in light of government attempts to steal his invention. Hold to that explanation if you are the kind of reader who chooses not to confront the unknown, who would rather content oneself with a pat solution rather than learning the terrible truth - and the truth is terrible. The actual reason for this account being written and released at such a late date will be revealed before this tale ends. There will be many among you who will remember the article I filed with the Gazette. Was not that the full story? Obviously not, as that piece of journalism took our group from the Earth to the Moon, around her serene majesty, and then back again, without further incident. For reasons which will become clear, I described our outward journey and our return home, but neglected to mention what happened in between. (Even so, I believe McArdle got a pretty good story out of the whole affair! People don't go to the Moon every day! Or at least people from our planet don't...)

I was standing on the Moon, looking at the Earth. An odd irony, that Earth never looks so beautiful as when you are three hundred and eighty thousand kilometres away from her - a fact that has become progressively more true as this twentieth century has progressed. While this view of my home was amazing, my surroundings were no less so. I was a few metres away from the crashed Rocket - I presume that Challenger had pulled me out before trying to revive me. The ship appeared to be relatively undamaged, and had come to rest on its side. When I questioned my rescuer, he explained that at the last minute he had brought the Rocket under some semblance of control and brought her in to land suddenly and at a very sharp angle. The forces caused by such rapid turning and deceleration had caused the less hardy of us to black out - it was an exaggerated version of the effect you might have felt when a steam train turns a corner at high speed, whereby you are slightly pressed to the left or right. Professor Summerlee had now received the slightly unkind attentions of our gorilla-like nurse, and was rubbing his eyes a metre or two away from me. As Challenger switched his attentions to Lord John Roxton - who had, in any case, slept through the whole approach - Professor Summerlee opened his eyes and became the third man from our third rock from the sun to see the surface of the Moon close up.

As Professor Challenger and I had done before him, he looked to the Earth, he looked to the Rocket, and then he looked at the landscape around us. The ship had landed at the bottom of a wide valley, or perhaps a dell, the sides of which rose up to form our horizons on each side.

'We've landed in a crater!' said Summerlee, and when he said it, it made perfect sense. We had indeed ended up at the bottom of one of the many craters on the Moon's surface, some of which are visible from the Earth. 'The ground, like dust!' Still sitting, he was letting a handful of the moondust trickle between his fingers. 'Is the whole planet like this, Challenger?'

'Not to my knowledge,' answered Challenger, who had wearied of slapping Lord Roxton's face. He released his hold upon his patient's shirt-front, and I watched as the unconscious head fell slowly towards the ground. 'The rest of the planet is much like our own Earth, with grassy fields, swamps, icy wastes, cities and everything one might wish for, except, as I have said, for the fact that everything is grey. This fine dust,' he bent down to examine it more closely, 'is unfamiliar to me. Finer than sand,' - he caught up a little in his hand, stuck out a tongue which wouldn't have shamed the mother of Grendel, and dipped it in the stuff - 'and tasteless. Dead. Hmm.' One mighty paw stroked his impressive chin. 'Probably the result of the special conditions existing within the crater. Perhaps the remains of the impacting meteor which caused the crater in the first place.'

Professor Summerlee nodded in agreement. 'Very interesting, Challenger, but this is hardly the stuff kingdoms are made of, is it?'

'As I said, dear Summerlee, the rest of the world is as bountiful and glorious such as must cause even the coldest fish among men to cry with joy! And the people, so full of boundless happiness and welcome! You will be astonished!'

Professor Summerlee, stung by the insult, was all set to make a pithy rejoinder, but I cut him off at the pass, observing that Challenger's welcome must have been very warm indeed, if they made him their king, before asking, 'Could one of you explain why Lord Roxton fell so slowly to the ground?'

'Certainly,' said Challenger, getting to his feet. Summerlee, realising that his position on the floor might be considered less than elegant, followed suit. 'It is quite simple. A large magnet holds a pin more firmly than a small magnet. Planets, from my experience, exert a similar force upon anything in their vicinity. The Moon is a smaller planet than our Earth, therefore it holds us less firmly.'

'That seems clear enough,' I replied.

'Of course it does,' said Summerlee, 'although it doesn't explain why the Moon remains in place, spinning in a circle, rather than being dragged towards the Earth.'

'The theory needs refining,' replied Challenger, 'but this is not the time for idle chit-chat. A new world awaits you, gentlemen!'

We heard somebody mumbling behind us. 'Not now, your highness, I must go to the Moon...'

Professor Challenger strode over and gave him one good, healthy slap across the face. 'Wake up, Roxton,' he yelled. The echoes made Summerlee and I put our hands over our ears, but either the slap or the yelling did the job, and Lord John Roxton got somewhat unsteadily to his feet.

'Thanks for that, old man. Might have been lying there for hours, otherwise.'

'You would have deserved no less!' said Challenger with feeling. 'The whisky you drank was to have lasted us the entire trip!'

Lord John looked at his feet rather sheepishly. 'I'm sorry about that.'

Challenger scowled at him, then turned to me and said quietly, 'Fortunately, I saw fit to install a small distillery in a secret compartment in the Rocket, so there's no fear of going short.'

I laughed and clapped him on the back. 'Three cheers for foresight!'

Professor Summerlee agreed. 'A man without whisky is a sorry creature indeed.'

'Now it is time to introduce you to the true marvels that our new-found mistress has to offer,' proclaimed Challenger. 'Let us hope that our mutual spouse, lovely Earth, does not learn of our promiscuity!'

'Does Mrs Challenger know about all the ladies with whom you are keeping company?' I enquired of him.

'Follow me!' he cried, beckoning us on with one trollish arm. 'To Ell Ka-Mar, the city on the Moon!'

'We are already there?' asked Lord Roxton.

'I would not say so if it were not true,' said Challenger gruffly. 'Although we held our position relative to the Sun and the Moon as we approached, the Moon was still moving in its course around the Earth. Thus, the surface of the Moon was turning, from our perspective. Although our final landing was somewhat sudden, I had timed our approach accurately.'

'To Challenger's kingdom!' I cried, and Roxton endorsed those sentiments with a cheer (cut short when he realised how much it hurt his head).

Professor Challenger began to climb up the hillside, and we followed. The dusty nature of the ground made the going difficult, but the low gravity of the Moon compensated, and soon we reached the ridge along the top of the crater-hole. Our ascent had thrown up a lot of dust, and until it settled we saw nothing. When it settled, what the four of us saw was so horrible that not even Summerlee thought it appropriate to make a joke at Challenger's expense.

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE KING OF ELL KA-MAR

'This is my fault,' said Professor Challenger, sitting among the ruins with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. The fine grey dust covered him from head to toe.

After the dust had slowly fallen to the ground, leaving our view from the crater's rim unimpaired, we had seen a dead city. 'Ell Ka-Mar!' had cried Challenger, but with anguish instead of joy. We had stood sadly by while he leapt down the side of the crater, bellowing with rage. Within three or four bounds, because of the Moon's relatively low gravity, he had reached the nearest of the ruined buildings, and we watched, powerless to help, as his first touch caused what little remained of it to crumble away.

'That can't be true,' Summerlee was saying to reassure him. 'You could never have known.'

Challenger shook his head. With his pale coating and mournful features, he looked for all the world like the spirit of the souls lost when the city died.

'I knew - they had asked for my help, you see. But none of us thought the danger so imminent! If only we had returned sooner! But now they are dead, all dead, and I'm to blame. A whole city died with the name Challenger the curse upon its lips!'

He fell silent for a moment, before a new horror came to mind. 'From what they told me to expect, the rest of the Moon is probably just as devastated.'

Consoling somebody in such a situation is impossible. Worse than impossible, it is insulting, but I had to try, and it was not as if Challenger was incapable of taking a few insults on the chin. 'We haven't found any bodies,' I pointed out.

Challenger merely looked at me dolefully, and left it to Summerlee to reply. 'Look at the state of the city, Malone! It's been completely destroyed, every brick in every building annihilated, till nothing is left but dust! Do you think anybody could have survived that?'

I shrugged, and for a few moments more, there was silence. Lord Roxton was the next to speak.

'Challenger - George.' The use of his Christian name provoked a response from the Professor, but even that scowl was heart-breakingly lifeless. 'I think it's about time you gave us the full story, old boy. Straighten everything out before we head back to Earth.'

Challenger sighed deeply, causing a tiny hurricane in the dust clouds about him, but he got to his feet. 'Yes, I suppose you're right. The time for secrecy and showmanship is gone. But let's go back to the ship first. There's nothing to be done here.'

'And in any case,' said Summerlee, 'we could all use a glass of whisky.'

'Whisky?' said Roxton, perking up a little, then remembering himself. 'Sorry.'

'I began working on the Rocket shortly after the episode of the Poison Belt,' said Challenger, as we all sat back in our upholstered chairs. Each of us had a glass of the whisky freshly produced by Challenger's high-speed distillery, except Lord John, who contented himself with some coffee. Summerlee was filling his pipe with tobacco from his pouch, but nobody else had elected to smoke. This was no time for cigars. 'If such an event could happen once, there is every chance that it could happen twice, thrice or four times every Wednesday! Imagine if the Earth entered a poison belt which, instead of rendering the people of Earth unconscious, killed them outright! And poison belts are by no means the only astral calamity lurking in wait for the Earth as she sails in apparent serenity through the cosmos. Evidence of this we have seen outside, though I wish we had not.

'Knowing that others could not be relied upon to rise to the challenge, I made it my own duty to develop a space-craft, which, in case of emergency, could be used to carry people away from the dying Earth.' He paused, seeing that I had a question.

'But the Rocket is so small. Though you know I would not wish to belittle this wonderful ship, she could carry only six or seven in comfort, perhaps as many as twenty in a pinch. Does that mean you had planned to hand your invention over to the government after all, in the end, for mass production?'

'Hmm, rumbled, aren't I? The fact of the matter is, Malone, that the Rocket is a prototype, and that, yes, it was my intention to give construction plans to the government in case of emergency. But you have seen the government's reaction to news of my invention. It has left me in a quandary. If I gave the plans to the British government now, there is no doubt in my mind that they would not hesitate to use them to selfish ends. However, if I keep the plans to myself until some critical day, how could the required number of ships ever be built in time?

'The ideal solution would be to release the plans to an international organisation, a league of nations, but as yet no such entity exists. I have spoken to certain political and international figures of my acquaintance, but I've yet to find a man worth trusting with such a secret. Perhaps one day I will be able to share my knowledge with the whole world, but I doubt it. Our world, too, will die. London, like Ell Ka-Mar, will be incinerated, and Mrs Challenger with it.'

Summerlee interrupted his increasingly melancholic discourse. 'Events here on the Moon seem to indicate that the need for your ships may come sooner rather than later.'

'That's right!' declared Lord Roxton. 'Challenger!' he said abruptly. 'Pull yourself together, man! Tell us what happened when you came here before, tell us what you learnt! Maybe we can't save the Earth, but four friends such as we, with a spaceship, four rifles and a mobile distillery, can have a blasted good try!'

'That's the spirit,' I agreed. 'Don't give up now, Challenger, not after all we've been through!'

'You're correct, of course,' said Challenger, jolted from his most un-Challenger-like self-pity by our heartfelt appeals to his better side. 'There's always a chance, however slim, and if anyone can take hold of that chance and wring it for every scrap of opportunity, it is we four! Lucky am I, to be blessed with such companions!'

'And you didn't even have to kidnap us,' said Summerlee. 'You're far from being a Vernian crazy-man, and this submarine doesn't have to finish its voyage at the bottom of the sea, crushed under the pressure and springing leaks at every joint! We'll rise to the surface, after all!'

'Quite,' said Challenger with a quizzical look and a raised eyebrow. 'Perhaps Roxton - John,' (he said the name with as much sarcasm as it would bear) 'is not the only one over-indulging in the complimentary whisky.'

Summerlee harrumphed, but it was noted that when he finished his drink, he poured himself coffee in the Rocket's miniature kitchen. Yes, that is correct, a kitchen! Challenger had revealed his craft's latest marvel, a fully functioning salle de cuisine, which would have done justice to many an English home if it had not been so tiny! 'Will wonders never cease?' I had asked. 'Not while we travel with Challenger,' Lord Roxton had replied. Challenger had revealed it upon our initial return to the ship, once it became clear that the sandwiches provided by Mrs Challenger were running low. They were so delicious, we had not been able to stop ourselves from eating them continuously during the entire voyage to the Moon! (Excepting breaks for whisky and cigars, of course.) It is a wonder that, full of bread and ham as our stomachs were, we were able to perceive the Moon's lower levels of gravity at all!

'I shall start at the beginning,' said Challenger, a new fire in his voice now. 'I built the Rocket in response to the affair of the Poison Belt. Once it was finished, I decided to take it on a test run. It wasn't my intention to fly to the Moon, but after a few hours of flying around, the Earth began to seem rather passé. There's only so much you can take of flying over the same old cities and deserts and jungles. If you have read Robur Le Conquérant, you'll know what I mean.

'Then, hovering above Timbuktoo, I poked my head out of the top hatch-'

'There's a top hatch?' Roxton asked.

'Unless I'm losing my mind, I believe I just said so.'

'Sorry for asking,' said Roxton. 'But I can imagine how a top hatch might be useful on a ship like this.'

'Kindly leave the imagining to me in future, Lord Roxton! If I want you to hang out of my spaceship blasting at comets with your rifle, I'll tell you.

'If there are no further interruptions, I'll continue.' We all shook our heads, slightly cowed by the return to what passed for normality with him. 'I opened the top hatch and stuck out my head, to take in the night air. It was cool and breezy. Then I saw the Moon, and I was struck by the notion of travelling there. At first I dismissed the idea, much like yourselves when first informed of my journey. Although my aim in building the Rocket had been to create a means by which men might leave the planet, I had not planned to do so on the first excursion. But the idea returned to bother me over and over, like a pesky gnat buzzing around my head, until finally I afforded it serious consideration. Why shouldn't I go? Well, I had little in the way of rations and the hull integrity of the Rocket had not yet been tested for its airtight qualities. The first point would not become a problem if I didn't spend too long on the Moon, and the second point could be dealt with immediately. I closed the hatch and flew down to the Niger, and then along it until I reached the Gulf of Guinea and the Atlantic, where I immersed the Rocket in water, before lowering her to the bottom of the sea, where the pressures are greatest. There were no leaks. So you see, despite the irritation caused to me by Professor Summerlee's inane comparisons with the Nautilus, my ship can indeed function as a submarine, should it be necessary.'

'Or should she require a good wash,' I said brightly, before realising that the reason she might require a good wash right now was because she was coated with the incinerated ashes of a dead civilisation. Challenger pursed his lips, bringing to my mind the image of two duelling walruses.

'Having proved that the Rocket was airtight, I was almost ready to go where no one had gone before - space!'

'How galling it must have been to find someone already there,' said Summerlee wryly.

Challenger ignored him. 'As it was night in Africa, I flew the Rocket over to Australia, where it was able to dry off in the sun. I didn't want to risk the potential hazards of water freezing on the ship once I headed out of the Earth's atmosphere. I spent twenty minutes bathing myself and the ship in the sun on the top of Ayers Rock - can you see the tan? - before getting back inside and setting the controls for the Moon. The ship is piloted using readouts which combine the results provided by two main sensing machines, or sensors, as I choose to call them. One sensor emits sound impulses, like a bat, and from monitoring the rate at which they return it provides valuable information about what is up ahead. The other sensor monitors attraction rates of various cosmic bodies, such as the Earth, the Sun, the Moon, Mars and Venus, allowing you to plot your position according to them.'

'That is very impressive,' said Summerlee, speaking for all of us.

'Thank you. And, so that I can see where I'm going when the window is shut, there's a specially shielded peephole on the instrument panel.

'The journey to the Moon was uneventful. Where we were busy eating sandwiches and bickering on the second journey, I concerned myself with monitoring the Rocket's performance and taking measurements of the void beyond the ship. My conclusions in that regard are that space is, as I expected, not entirely a vacuum, although it has many of the qualities which we might associate with one. For example, if Lord Roxton were to amuse himself, after having imbibed large amounts of my whisky, by leaning out of the top hatch, he would be subject to explosive decompression.'

'What does that mean?' I asked, in my role of journalist and straight man.

'His eyes would pop out. Followed by his brain and the rest of his innards. Strictly speaking, space cannot be regarded as an 'ether', as the substances within it are discrete, but substances within it exist - dust clouds, for example. Who knows what else?

'Approaching the Moon, I was of course astounded by her beauty. Manoeuvring to an appropriate position, I opened the viewing portal, and slowly approached.' He noticed that Lord John was about to ask a question. He held up one hand and put his whisky down with the other, before pressing his fingers to his temples. 'Were you about to ask why I could not control our approach this time?' Roxton nodded, impressed, and Challenger picked his whisky back up. 'I could have made quite a living in the music halls, you know. I'm not certain of the reason, but I would speculate that it might have been down to a sudden surge in the Moon's gravitational powers, possibly caused by the aftermath of this widespread destruction.'

'When we return to Earth,' said Summerlee, 'we should search for any evidence of strange occurrences at sea - tidal waves, whirlpools, flooding, that kind of thing. That would support your theory, Challenger.'

'It may be my imagination,' I said, 'but I feel much lighter now than I did when we arrived.'

Challenger nodded sagely. 'That would correspond with what I was told to expect. Before long it will be impossible to breath on the Moon without special apparatus, as she loses her grip on the little air she presently has. I will come to that soon.

'When I was close enough to the Moon, the most astonishing scene appeared before my eyes. I wish you could all have seen Ell Ka-Mar in her full glory as I did. No city on Earth could compare to her, least of all smelly, dirty London! Tall, thin buildings, graceful, elegant and made of wondrous materials! Shining domes and lustrous arches! Wide open parks and sinuous walkways! That the Moon had a low hold on them meant that the people could travel easily from place to place without resorting to trains or horse-drawn carriages (not that there were horses on the Moon), and it meant they could build their buildings tall and their monumental artworks taller still. The tallest construction of all, the first to resolve itself clearly in my viewing portal, was an enormously grand and slender portrayal of the leading scientist of their age, erected within his lifetime! Would such a thing ever happen on our grubby little planet?

'Thus I had my first glimpse of the Moon-dwellers other than as tiny dots moving around the city beneath. I brought the Rocket to a halt and regarded the statue. From what I could glean from it, the Moon-dwellers were remarkably similar to us in shape. Evolution had carried us in similar directions, although it was hard to see why, conditions being so different on the two worlds. The statue itself was grey, but as everything else on the surface was too, that was not particularly conclusive as regards the colouring of the natives. In all likelihood, they had materials available in no other colour.'

'That is quite bizarre,' said Professor Summerlee. 'My reading of anthropological articles - there are many places where anthropology and comparative anatomy meet, as you know - has given me the impression that one of the earliest skills learnt by primitive humans was to make colours, even if only by scraping a leaf along a rock. How these aliens had the ability to create enormous statues but were so backward that they were unable to generate any colours whatsoever is beyond me. If there was no colour on the planet at all, they could at least have generated some through the refraction of light to brighten up their city!'

'Maybe they just liked their city that way,' I said helpfully. 'Or perhaps they were colour blind.'

'That may well be the case,' said Challenger, although Professor Summerlee was unsatisfied. Even Challenger seemed unconvinced, ruminating over it a moment before he continued with his story. 'After having considered the statue, I prepared myself mentally and flew the Rocket down to the ground. My arrival had already attracted much attention, although while examining the statue for clues I had not been able to see the crowd gathering beneath my feet. As the Rocket approached, they bounded out of the way with their thick, strong legs.

'I closed the portal as I landed - when I opened the door our two races would meet each other for the first time, and I felt it would be ungentlemanly to gain the upper hand by first examining them from within the vessel (though that might have been considered the wiser course).

'The rest is quite straightforward. I opened the door and the mayor of the city came to meet me. Like her fellow Moon-dwellers, she was powerfully-built, with lean muscles and thick-set bones. I had anticipated that their skin would be grey, but it was not. It was a rich, brown colour, which left them looking like exceptionally strong specimens of the Hindoo people, excepting of course their dark blue hair and the prehensile tentacles which served them as ears. We got along famously, and as it turned out that their food was perfectly edible, I decided to stay a while. I spent the following two weeks being tutored in their language by their very best teachers. Soon I was fluent and able to converse with my hosts on many matters. I learnt much from them regarding mathematics, the sciences and the arts, although they were unforthcoming in many ways about themselves. In response to this, I reserved my right to hold back about matters pertaining to Earth, but this was never an issue between us until shortly before I left. I believe that both parties considered it to be nothing but simple caution, entirely appropriate when representatives of different worlds came together. During all of my time there I found them to be the most amiable hosts one might wish for. They were always friendly, always ready to talk, and always ready to share a bottle of wine and exchange a few choice drinking songs, and yet I felt there was always an undercurrent of sadness in their discourse. Though I tried to discover the cause of this sadness, I could not. Strangely, as the constant parties and merry-making that surrounded me wherever I went in Ell Ka-Mar grew in intensity, so did the sadness. This is a mystery which I was unable to fathom until the day before my return to Earth.

'As usual, I was awoke by my two attendants, Malsoe and Jula - did I mention that, like us, the Moon-dwellers were divided into two sexes, male and female? Well, such was the case, although there seemed to be more women than men, and remarkably few children. The children I did see tended to be very young - barely more than babes in arms, at most. Presumably most of the other children were at school. There is a sign of the superior nature of their society for you - all the children were at school, not just those whose parents could afford it, with the rest left to steal for their living on the streets!

'Malsoe and Jula woke me with song, before laying my clothes for the day on the bed. I thanked them, but that day they did not leave. "I believe," said Jula, "that you will require our assistance to attire yourself today, Professor Challenger." She was quite right. When I got up and looked at the clothes, they seemed to be nothing but a jumble of unrelated pieces of cloth. However, once they had dressed me the garments made perfect sense. I looked fully as handsome as the day I married Mrs Challenger, although Jula and Malsoe complained about the lack of ear tentacles for hanging the wardwuufs on. Apparently my ears just weren't large enough to have kept them up.

'When I was ready, the two ladies led me from the bed-chamber, through the city and to one of their many great plazas. This, in fact, was the plaza on which I had landed, all those days ago, and there, indeed, was my beloved Rocket, just visible over the heads of the crowd. To my eyes, it looked as if the whole of Ell Ka-Mar had congregated there on that day. When they spied my approach they all began to applaud and wave their tentacles in the air. I found this very gratifying, but as Jula and Malsoe led me through the crowd towards a stage that had been erected beside the ship I felt sure that I saw tears in the eyes of some of the people. I tried to ask my guides about this, but either I couldn't make myself heard above the noise of the crowd, or they just didn't care to answer.

'Once I was upon the stage, the people cheered, and I waved, though I had no idea what was happening. For a moment I felt slightly chilled, as I realised how similar all this was to certain Aztec rituals of which I had heard stories. This feeling soon fell away, as I could not believe the gentle and friendly Moon-dwellers capable of such atrocities.

'The Mayor approached me, and we smiled at each other. Had I not been so happily married, romance might have blossomed in that unlikely quarter, but it was not to be. She spoke to me, then, saying this, although my translation is somewhat loose. "Professor Challenger, you came to us from Earth, in your mighty star-spanning craft, and we have been happy to welcome you to our world."

'"Thank you," I replied. "It has been entirely a pleasure."

'The people cheered for me once more.'

'Weren't their throats sore by now?' asked Summerlee.

'The Mayor continued, without, I will point out, interruption. "Professor Challenger, we, the people of Ell Ka-Mar, would like to bestow upon you our greatest symbol of recognition. It is but an honorary title, our society being entirely egalitarian, but the honour in that honorary is no small thing. We wish you to become the monarch of Ell Ka-Mar, the protector of the realm, and, therefore, because Ell Ka-Mar is the capital and largest of our settlements, the King of the Moon!"

'Unusually, you will agree, I was at a loss for words. But finally I managed to stammer out my acceptance, and there was much rejoicing as the coronation ensued. It was no crown, but instead a golden ring with which they presented me. As far as I could tell, it was the only thing on the planet (apart from the people) which was not grey. I should have it here somewhere, in my pockets.'

As he searched his jacket, a sudden thought came to me - hadn't Mrs Challenger given me a ring to give Challenger? I had a look in my own pockets and, sure enough, there it was. 'Is this what you're looking for, Professor? Your wife gave it to me shortly before we set off - I'm afraid that in all the excitement of the journey I forgot to pass it on to you.' I handed it over for his inspection.

'Yes, yes, that's it,' he said. 'Don't worry - I got it from you in the end, that's what counts.' He passed it on to Lord Roxton for his examination, and he in turn passed it on to Professor Summerlee. 'I remember now,' said Challenger. 'It had been chafing my finger a bit, and Mrs Challenger took it away to have it adjusted.' He took it back from Summerlee and placed it upon the ring finger of his right hand. 'There, fits like a dream. Now, where was I again, Malone?'

'I think he knows,' I said to the others in a mock-weary fashion. 'He just wants me to say it out loud. I believe, Challenger, that you had just been crowned King of Ell Ka-Mar.'

'That's right, my boy. Ha, ha! I doubt if McArdle will ever print it!' In the event, McArdle was never given the option. 'After the coronation, things returned much to normal for the rest of the day, or as normal as they ever were on the Moon. However, something had changed for me. The title they had bestowed on me may have been honorary, but it was nothing to be sneezed at, and if they had done so much for me, the least I could do for them was to try and root out the cause of the trouble which had brought sadness into their lives.

'I may have determined to try and help them, but they were hardly open in discussing the matter with me. After I had made enquiries of everyone I knew, from Jula and Malsoe to the Mayor herself, I found myself summoned into the presence of that great scientist whose impressive statue I have already described. I had previously met him only at social events, and I had never really had the chance to speak to him for very long. In fact, I had often had the impression that we had been deliberately separated. His name was Aikor.

'He welcomed me to his laboratory, and as he showed me around we began to talk. "They tell me that you're trying to help us," he said to me, while holding up a peculiar grey compound for my inspection.

'"Something's wrong here," I said. "I can tell from the sadness in people's eyes, from the way their tentacles droop when they think I'm not looking."

'"You're very perceptive. But what makes you believe that you can help? How can you save a whole world?"

'I was dumbfounded by his words. "Is it that bad?"

'"My liege, it is that bad and much, much worse. Soon a force will strike this planet, a force that we cannot stand against. We will be gone. Our gravity machines will be destroyed and our atmosphere will evaporate into space. Our little grey world will die."

'I searched for something to say. "Is there nothing I can do?"

'"You could remember us, hopefully with a smile. You can tell your fellow Earthmen about us - let us live in your memories."

'I turned from him, feelings of anger and hurt boiling inside. His resignation to his fate made me feel foolish and immature - strange, but then, for all I know he might have been a thousand years old. I began to walk away, but turned back again. He was replacing the grey compound. "I have my ship. I could ferry you to Earth! I couldn't save you all, but at least some would survive."

'He shook his head. "We have our own ships, George. That isn't the point. If we went to Earth, the force of which I spoke would follow us there, and your people would needlessly die. Running is not an option for us."'

'Challenger,' I said, 'this is terrible, but you cannot blame yourself. How could you be to blame?'

'Before I left, I spoke to Aikor once more. He looked tired and feverish as he dashed up to the entrance of the Rocket. "Challenger," he said, "you were right. There is a chance, but it is so desperately slim! We need your help, but there is great risk. I would not say a word to you of this, if I didn't know you to be the kind of man who would consider it an insult to his honour if I did not."

'I grasped his hand firmly. "Speak, Aikor! What can I do?" Quickly he told me that according to his calculations there might still be up to a month before the evil force arrived on the Moon. That would, he believed, be more than enough time for me to return to Earth, collect my comrades and come back to the Moon, where he would have told me of our desperate mission into the unknown.'

'But it wasn't enough time,' said Summerlee sadly.

'No. If I had hurried, if I had collected Malone in the Rocket, eschewing secrecy, if I had done this or that, we might have got here in time.'

I shook my head. 'You can't blame yourself, Challenger. You were back here within two days. That should have been plenty of time. It wasn't your fault.'

The others agreed with me. 'You offered to put your life on the line for them,' said Lord Roxton. 'Nobody could have asked more of you.'

Even Summerlee spoke up, and there was no sign whatsoever of the words sticking in his throat. 'Under the circumstances, Challenger, no-one could have acted more nobly or shown more compassion.' Perhaps for his own sake he should have stopped there, but on the other hand, perhaps not, for his next words did much to break the melancholic mood that had once more taken hold of Challenger as he reached the end of his story. 'Though you have the aspect of a brutish gorilla-man, within you beats the heart of an altogether gentler creature.'

Challenger growled and leapt up from his seat. 'Why, I ought to break every bone in your body!' Summerlee held his head high and Challenger walked over to the kitchen where he began to prepare himself a sandwich. 'But I know you're only insulting me to make me feel better! The effort's much appreciated!'

We all laughed, and Summerlee winked at Roxton and I.

'I should stop feeling sorry for myself,' Challenger continued. 'Perhaps we could still have a look around, analyse the dust for clues as to what happened, &c. If the Earth is ever threatened with this force that destroyed the Moon, it would help if we had previously gathered all the available information.'

None of us disputed his assertion, and as he sat back down with his sandwich we began to discuss the possible nature of this mysterious force. We had precious little to go on - was it a natural phenomenon or a fleet of intergalactic warships? We had no way of knowing, but perhaps we would after searching the Moon for clues.

'We'll have to get started soon,' said Challenger, 'because my instruments show that within three or four hours the air-'

He fell silent, and none of us took up the conversation, because we had all heard the knock at the door.

CHAPTER EIGHT: THE STRANGEST MECHANICAL CREATURE

To say the knocking at the door gave us a fright would be more than an understatement. We were on a dead world, the inhabitants disintegrated by who knows what, and there was somebody at the door!

We had all turned to regard the door, wishing we had x-ray vision, or at least a spyhole, to let us see who was out there.

'Could it be a survivor?' asked I.

'A survivor of that?' said Challenger with scepticism. 'Not bloody likely, is it? But I suppose one of the Moon-dwellers could have hidden at the bottom of a cave or something.'

'More likely it's one of the aggressors,' said Lord Roxton. 'Where do you keep the rifles, Challenger?'

The leader of our expedition looked around the room at our resolute faces. 'It's good to travel with such companions. But please consider the fight you might be getting into. This may be the most dangerous thing we've ever done!'

'Don't you mean to say,' said Summerlee, 'that this might be the most exciting adventure we'll ever have!' Roxton and I applauded his sentiments.

'You are good men all,' said Challenger. 'But you are mistaken in one respect. This will not be the most exciting adventure we'll ever have, because the next adventure to come will always be more thrilling yet!' With our acclamation ringing in his ears, Challenger went to the control panel, where the twisting of a knob or two caused part of the wall opposite the entrance to fall away, revealing four rifles. Each of us picked one up, although we allowed Lord John to make his selection first.

By the time the knocking came again we were ready, the four of us spread out with our guns trained on the door. Challenger, his vast meaty hand holding the rifle as if it were a pistol, nodded to us. He reached the other hand to the little drawer in the console and pulled out the mouthpiece of his speaking-machine. After using his thumb to adjust a small dial on its side, which presumably turned the volume down from the deafening levels he had employed in London, he flicked the switch which turned it on. At the time I could not understand what he said, but he later provided us with a translation of the Ka-Marian he used.

'Who goes there?' he said.

There was no reply.

'Move around to the front of the ship.'

'Challenger,' I said. 'Will we be able to hear their answer?'

He switched off the speaking-machine. 'Yes - there is a second mouthpiece embedded in the outer hull of the ship. It will pick up any vocalisations they make, and transmit them to us. Of course, if they shouted, there's a good chance we'd hear them anyway.' He frowned. 'Let's see if they understood.' He repeated the process which had previously opened the viewing panel upon a scene of raucous London, and the wooden panel drew aside.

At first we could see nothing but the dusty inner wall of the crater, but then, inching into view, came one of the most peculiar beings I have ever seen. It seemed to be a woman, or at least fashioned in the shape of a woman. Her hands were up in the air, in the traditional human gesture of surrender, and she was facing us as she edged sideways onto the screen. She wasn't human. She wasn't one of the Moon-dwellers - a moment's glance at Challenger's astonished expression was enough to prove that beyond question. She seemed to be made entirely of metal!

'A metal woman!' I exclaimed. 'Look at her pinafore! The pockets full of cleaning instruments! The bizarre gleaming hair! She's so beautiful, but so strange!'

Professor Summerlee had just two words to say on the matter. 'Quite remarkable!'

Challenger had more to say. 'It seems to be some kind of mechanical housewife.' Quite naturally, we had by now ended our guarding of the entrance to regard the peculiar vision upon the screen. Challenger stood before the screen as we gathered behind him. Dragging his eyes away from her, he turned to say, 'One can easily imagine the advantages over the flesh and blood type!'

I wondered if he would ever learn to appreciate his spouse before it was too late.

'I think we should let her in,' said Summerlee. 'She seems friendly enough.'

'We can't be sure,' I said. 'For all we know, she might have been the agent of the Moon's destruction.'

Challenger and Roxton scoffed, but foolishly I credited Professor Summerlee with a little more caution. 'We should take Malone's warning seriously,' he said. 'She might have dusted them to death.' He began to laugh, then realised no-one else had joined in. He looked at Challenger's face, then thought for a moment. 'Oh, I see. Dusted them to death.'

'A pun to die for, so to speak,' said Challenger. 'However, it is my opinion that this woman is friendly. But I am not being recklessly incautious, in my opinion. Consider this, Malone: if she destroyed the land of Ell Ka-Mar, could this ship stand against her? I sincerely doubt it. If we keep her locked out, what do we gain? Our only option will be to return to Earth having learned nothing. She may offer us important information.'

'And you never saw her in Ell Ka-Mar?' asked Roxton.

'No,' confirmed Professor Challenger. 'She may have been there but I never encountered her, or, indeed, any other mechanical humanoid of that type.'

Professor Summerlee chose this as his moment. 'This is obviously the problem for the solving of which you have brought me with you, Challenger. As a professor of anatomy, it is my considered opinion that the mechanical housewife is not of Ell Ka-Mar.'

'How can you be so sure?' I demanded, playing my part as well as ever. Challenger put his rifle down and scratched his chin, trying to figure out the answer before his rival spoke.

'It is really quite simple,' Summerlee said. 'She has been created to look like a woman-'

Challenger managed to steal his thunder. 'But she has no ear tentacles!'

'Quite. Therefore, she has most likely been created in imitation of earthly life.'

'Impossible! If anyone could do such a thing, I would know about it!' blustered Challenger. 'And in any case, she is here on the Moon, and we are quite definitely the first men on the Moon!'

'The alternative is that there is human life, akin to ours, elsewhere in the cosmos.'

We were all dumbfounded by his statement. The ramifications were incredible. Had she been left there by human destroyers? Was Earth some forgotten colony of a star-spanning empire? As we all got over the initial shock of Summerlee's words, the cabin began to ring with the noise of the thousand and one questions which each of us had to ask. In the end, Challenger brought a stop to the discussion, which was taking us nowhere.

'Gentlemen,' he said, banging his fist against the console for emphasis. He barely batted an eyelid as injudicious placing of his bang caused four whisky glasses to be thrown out of the wall and onto the floor, where, quite naturally, they shattered. 'Gentlemen! There is only one way to get answers to our questions, and that is to invite our strange visitor into our ship. My sensors show that the atmospheric loss outside has not yet reached a critical level, and so I shall now open the entrance.'

Within five minutes the mechanical housewife was inside with us, and Challenger was closing the door behind her.

In perfectly good English she thanked us for welcoming her to our spacecraft. Challenger told her to think nothing of it, and offered her a drink.

'Some oil would be nice,' she said.

Challenger went to the back of the cabin to look for some.

'So,' I began, 'you are a mechanical woman.'

'That's correct,' she said. 'I am a Mark One Mechanical Housewife, designed to serve the needs of my master - or mistress, of course - without delay or fuss. Thank you,' she said, as Challenger offered her a glass of oil.

He raised his eyebrows to us, before commenting, 'I believe the rest of us could use some lubrication too.' He poured each of us a glass of whisky and we all sat in the upholstered chairs, except Lord Roxton, who, ever the gentleman, gave his up for the mechanical housewife. Challenger told him to stamp on the floor in a certain place, and lo and behold, a stool rose up for him.

'It's a nice ship,' said the woman of metal. 'I can see you have put a lot of work into it. Nicely spick and span, too.' Then she noticed the broken whisky glasses, which we had all forgotten. 'Dearie me!' she said, before getting out of her chair and walking over to her discovery. She held out her left arm, which telescoped out as the hand curled up, forming a cylinder. The offending pieces of glass were sucked up into her hand, and then presumably up her arm and into her body.

Challenger smiled at us. 'What Mrs Challenger wouldn't give for an arm like that!' We all laughed, and he then asked our visitor what would happen to the glass.

'I will digest it,' she replied. 'The atoms forming the glass will be smashed, providing me with the energy I need to perform my functions. If I ate too much, I would simply eject some into a suitable receptacle.'

I found myself liking this strange woman, with her forthright talk of ejecting and receptacles. There was no false modesty about her. She was very engaging, and despite her unusual appearance, I felt myself becoming quite smitten with her. Before my readers throw their copy of my book down in disgust, let me just ask them to compare the mechanical housewife with one of my other loves, Gladys Hungerton, who entreatied me to pursue a life of excitement, before abandoning me for a solicitor's clerk when I took the time to do so! There was a sweetness about the mechanical housewife that went beyond her programming, and to this day, I cannot think of her golden locks and shiny face without fondness.

She returned to her chair, where she continued to drink her oil.

'Tell me,' she said, 'how you came to be on the Moon.'

'We were thinking the same about you, as a matter of fact,' said Lord Roxton. Now we were getting down to business, our faces had hardened a little. Hers, of course, did not need to, being apparently made of steel.

'Oh, my master sent me,' she said casually. 'He wanted me to look things over. He'll be here soon.'

We Earthmen looked at each other. Who was this master of hers, asked Challenger.

'You'll find out,' she said. 'Why are you here?'

By mutual consent, arrived at through a sequence of nods, frowns and shrugs of the shoulders, we elected to leave this part of the conversation to Challenger, what with his being the King of Ell Ka-Mar.

'I am here in my official capacity,' he replied, 'as the King of Ell Ka-Mar.' He waited to see her reaction, but predictably nothing showed upon her face. However, I should make clear that although her face was made of metal, it was not immobile. Her black eyes moved around in much the same manner as a human's, she had little copper eyebrows which she raised or lowered to indicate certain moods, and her golden lips moved with a beautiful softness which entranced us all.

'You were the King? Did they crown you at the last minute and send you off on a desperate mission?'

'Why, yes,' he said. 'How did you know?'

'The Master knows all. He is supremely wise and supremely enlightened, and sometimes he chooses to trust me with his knowledge. You must prepare yourselves for his arrival. Soon he will be here.'

'Certainly,' said Challenger. 'Would he like a glass of whisky?'

'You react with typical human flippancy,' she said with a smile. 'But that is not a problem. Were you not human the Master would have no interest in you.'

'Is your master human, like us?'

'The Master is unclassifiable. He simply is.'

'Do you know what happened to Ell Ka-Mar?'

'The Master knows, and if he chooses, he will tell you.' She was still smiling, but Challenger was not. He clenched a fist behind his back, but he made a commendable effort to maintain his composure. His beard was fairly bristling with frustration.

'Is there nothing you can tell us? What is your name, for example?'

'You can call me the Mechanical Housewife,' she replied, but before she could go on, there was a palpable change in the atmosphere. Outside the ship we could hear the first rumbles of a great thunderstorm. The smile fell away from the Mechanical Housewife's face and she flew to her feet, standing to the sharpest attention any of us had ever seen.

'I am the Mechanical Housewife,' she announced, in strident tones quite different from the gentle manner in which she had addressed us before. 'I am the herald of he who is to come!'

The thunderstorm outside broke with a crashing sound that could not have been equalled by a dozen earthbound volcanoes. Challenger jumped from his comfortable chair and rushed to the control panel. 'It's the air - it's exploding off the planet! No one will ever breath on the Moon's surface again!'

Roxton, Summerlee and I had taken up our rifles once more, although I can't say to what purpose we were expecting to use them.

'Prepare yourselves, humans,' shouted the Mechanical Housewife, 'for the Coming of Master Zangpan!'

CHAPTER NINE: THE COMING OF MASTER ZANGPAN

We would have prepared ourselves, if we'd known how. We had no idea of what we were supposed to be preparing ourselves for. Challenger took the wise step of closing the viewing portal - the storm raging without was doing its best to get within, and it was unlikely that the glass would have resisted its attentions much longer. We were all on our feet once again, our guns in hand, and we backed up until we had our backs pressed against the back wall of the cabin, as far away as possible from the entrance, the now-concealed viewing portal and the Mechanical Housewife, who had started to glow and crackle with a blue electric light.

'Should I give her a blast of the old Winchester fury?' asked Lord Roxton.

He was addressing Challenger, but I answered first. 'No! We have no right!'

'She could be endangering the ship,' said Challenger.

'You didn't have to let her in,' I said, 'and what you said then still applies!'

'Besides,' interjected Professor Summerlee, 'if you shoot her she might just explode.'

'Jolly good point,' acknowledged Roxton, although he didn't lower his rifle. 'But I'll keep her in my sights, just in case.'

I found myself fervently hoping that he wouldn't need to fire.

The shocking blue fire around her was intensifying - it seemed to be reaching a climax - then suddenly a tongue of flame flickered out from the level of her belly to the centre of the cabin, where a blue sphere of light developed into a man-sized cocoon, still attached to the Housewife by the crackling umbilical. From her mouth emerged the first truly inhuman sound we had heard her make, a metallic scraping of iron against steel, and then the light died, leaving us to regard the strange, strange man who now stood inside the Rocket.

'Sorry about the racket,' he said, blithely oblivious to our stupefaction as he examined the cabin. 'And sorry about all that Prepare for the Coming of Master Zangpan stuff! I'm still trying to get that old programming out of her system. She used to work for some guy called Cosmosus, Galacto, something like that. What was his name, Housewife?'

'You programmed me to forget, sir.'

'That's the spirit, Housewife!' He now turned his full attention to us, after having fully examined the interior of Challenger's craft. 'However, don't mistake the antipathy I feel towards the Mechanical Housewife's melodrama for a willingness to be taken lightly. Far from it, take me very seriously indeed, at peril of your lives.'

I was trying my best to follow his instructions, but it must be said that Master Zangpan, for all his impressive talk and the astonishing way in which he arrived in the Rocket, was a less than imposing figure. He was tall, about five feet eleven inches, with impressively handsome oriental features, but in other aspects, notably his clothes and hair, he was quite peculiar.

His black hair was straight and extraordinarily long, parted in the middle and falling in waves down to his shoulders. I had never seen a man with such long hair outside of an art gallery. In fairness to him, although its style looked odd to my eyes, it was very clean and well-coiffured. His moustaches were as long as Lord Roxton's were short, lushly lounging across his upper lip before dropping down to hang like curtains beside his firm chin. When he moved his head they swung to and fro like dancers in the royal ballet. As for his clothes; well, they require a paragraph of their own!

He wore a smoking jacket, nothing out of the ordinary there, you might think, but this particular smoking jacket was fabricated from velvet - purple velvet, no less - with silver stitching! The buttons, each of them the size of a penny farthing, were also silver. The collars of the jacket were wide enough to moor a boat upon, and embroidered upon them, as upon the cuffs, were the oriental symbols for yin and yang, contained within a ring of minuscule writing. His shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, shimmered in the light, refusing to stay a single colour. It had the same quality as oil floating in water beneath the sun. His tie, fastened but loosely about his neck, was purple, matching his jacket. Now I come to the most bizarre part of all - the trousers (if one can call them that in decent company - and I do like to regard my readers as decent company). Vertically striped with red and black, they were improperly full and loose, and very long, stretching down to cover his feet entirely (except when he moved around, thus revealing a pair of emerald sandals).

As I said, it was difficult to take him seriously, but by God we tried, given the circumstances!

Challenger, probably feeling for once that he was not the worse-dressed man in the room, took it upon himself to be the first of us to speak. 'Master Zangpan, I presume?'

'Right on the nose!' said the strange fellow. 'Whether you're right as to the rest of me, I'm afraid I'd have to check!'

'Why are you here?' asked Challenger, ignoring all but the essential substance of Master Zangpan's reply.

'I'm here to help, George! What do you think I'm here for? I'm here to help you save your planet!'

He took a seat while we pondered his words. He chose the chair with the plushest upholstery, the most comfortable cushion and the strongest springs, i.e. he chose Challenger's chair, but somehow Challenger kept the display of his irritation to a slight growl. I resolved to take the initiative.

'I suppose you had better have a drink, then,' I said.

'Thank you, Ned, that's very decent of you. Come on George and John, sit with me. I love this gentlemanly stuff. Do you have cigars, by any chance?'

I indicated that we did, and prepared new drinks for everybody, including the Mechanical Housewife (who whispered to me that she should be careful - earth oil always made her tipsy). Challenger stamped the floor in a certain place, causing another stool to spring up. I was about to return to my chair, when he reminded me of the cigars. I turned to get them, but what greeted me upon my return but the fact that Challenger had appropriated my chair! As I handed out the cigars he studiously avoided my eye. I then retreated to the vacant stool, sending an accusing look towards Lord John, who shrugged. I scowled in return. Maybe it would have been difficult for him to stop the mighty Challenger taking my upholstered chair, but he could have at least warned me! For all I knew, I might now have to travel across the galaxy on that uncomfortable wooden seat. (Future travellers in space would do well to bear in mind the irritation that can be caused by the understocking of comfortable chairs.)

Apparently ignorant of the tiny drama going on around him, Master Zangpan was taking his first sip of the whisky. Ever so slightly the glass was tipped and a trickle of golden fluid passed between his lips. Almost immediately he spat it out in disgust. 'My goodness,' he said, as the Mechanical Housewife dashed forward to wipe it from the floor and his trousers. It didn't stain. I briefly considered taking her seat. 'That must be the most revolting whisky I've ever tasted!'

Professor Summerlee reached out and placed a restraining hand on Challenger's forearm. (Although one can imagine how little effect it would have had in the event of Challenger actually launching in Master Zangpan's direction!)

'It is from Professor Challenger's own distillery,' I pointed out. 'Possibly it has not had enough time to mature.'

'Yes, well,' said Master Zangpan with a frown, 'that could be it.' He brightened up again as he remembered the cigar in his hand. 'At least I still have this to enjoy!' Declining to use the cutter offered by Lord Roxton, he bit off one end of the cigar and stuck the other end in his mouth. He clicked two fingers to produce a flame with which he lit the cigar. Taking one puff, he threw the cigar at the Mechanical Housewife, who caught it and swallowed it whole.

'You didn't like my cigar?' said Challenger, with barely repressed fury. 'You didn't like my whisky!' The fury was not so repressed now. He got to his feet (thus proving the inadequacy of Summerlee's restraint) and pointed one hamburger finger at Master Zangpan. 'Well, I've got news for you, Mister Zangpan! I don't like you! I don't like your ridiculous clothes, I don't like your long hair and I don't like your drooping moustaches!'

Challenger's ill-kept facade of civilisation was rapidly disintegrating, as he devolved before our eyes into the mud-fighting ape-man who persists within each of us. In a similar situation, would we all have behaved so? Probably not - most of us would probably have been too frightened - but we would all have wanted to. To disparage a man's whisky and cigars is to strike at his very soul!

Master Zangpan seemed impervious to Challenger's aural assaults. 'Do you know what?' he asked, when his assailant paused for breath. 'The upholstery in this chair is very lumpy - do you have another?' At this point the redness of Professor Challenger's face communicated to him that something was amiss. He watched with amusement as Professor Summerlee, Lord John Roxton and I attempted to hold Challenger back. 'I can see that you are not happy here, either, George. I think we should all go to my pad now. Housewife?'

'Your pad?' I panted. Holding Challenger back was a challenge fit to have earned the Professor his name. 'What do you mean?'

As I spoke, blue electrical fire swept out from the Mechanical Housewife and enveloped us all. Shocked by this, the three of us released our hold on Challenger, and as the cabin of the Rocket faded from existence I saw him put his hands around Master Zangpan's throat.

CHAPTER TEN: ZANGPAN'S WORLD

'Let go of him, Challenger!' Master Zangpan's face was becoming as purple as his jacket, and those sausage-shaped fingers remained locked around his throat, despite my pleas. The Mechanical Housewife took up the argument.

'Professor Challenger, I think I need to remind you that in comparison to you and your friends, Master Zangpan is virtually a god! What you are doing is grossly disrespectful!'

Thus far, she met with as little success as I had.

'It seems,' said Challenger through gritted teeth, 'that sometimes even a god needs to breathe!'

At this point the Mechanical Housewife lost patience with the Professor and delivered a blow to his neck with the edge of her hand. He sank to the ground as Master Zangpan gasped for breath. While the Housewife administered to the wounded throat and pride of her master, I checked over my colleague. He seemed to be fine - his pulse steady and his breathing regular - save for the fact that he was not conscious. Seeing my concern, his unlikely conqueror informed me that he would awake within a few minutes. This left me at ease to join Professor Summerlee and Lord John Roxton in considering the destination to which my mechanical sweetheart had transported us - what Master Zangpan had called his pad.

My first guess had been that the moustachioed mystic had used the word 'pad' mistakenly to indicate his home. Perhaps English was not his first language - in fact, despite his appearance, there was as yet no reason for any one of us to believe him human at all, except possibly Challenger, who had looked into two frightened eyes as his strangling grip tightened. Alternatively, perhaps Zangpan was using 'pad' in some new sense, because 'home' hardly seemed adequate for the place in which we found ourselves.

Shall I describe it to you? I know my readers - yes, you'll cry, unwary of the consequences! But sometimes even a reader should be wary, lest they learn of something so terrible that it invades their dream-world, makes an ungodly nest there and prevents them from ever sleeping soundly again! The dank stench of nameless horrors, the indescribable obscenity of bawling creatures from the dark underbelly of the universe, the monstrous gibbering insanity of certain rotting otherworlds - all these things haunt the dreams of men and women who probed too far.

On the other hand, sometimes a reader should be wary lest they learn of something so wonderful that it makes their own life seem tawdry and threadbare in comparison.

Zangpan's World belongs to the latter category.

I stood on a rectangular plain, the area of which I judged to be about one square kilometre. It was covered with richly green lawn grass, much as one might find on any village green in England. A few gentle hillocks were dotted here and there to provide variety, and to create little dells into which we could see people going. Though some readers may not be pleased by this revelation, not all of those people were fully clothed. Those offended by this will probably feel modesty to be saved by the fact that those people were not human.

Beside me lay Professor Challenger, to my left were Master Zangpan and the Mechanical Housewife, to my right stood Professor Summerlee and Lord Roxton. The six of us were roughly in the middle of the plain. It was very pleasant - the air was fresh and fragrant of newly mown grass, the weather was warm but not sultry. Thankfully, though, there was no one playing cricket. That might have been too much for us in such bizarre circumstances.

Bizarre? Yes, dear reader, bizarre, for I have not come to the most incredible part. When I said that the plain was a rectangle with an area of one square kilometre, did you wonder what lay at the edge of that plain? In your imagination, perhaps you placed there a small country road, a green-leafed wood or a row of quaint cottage houses. You would have been wrong to do so, because at the edge of that plain there was nothing - literally nothing. The plain was floating in the air!

Now consider this: without moving my head one whit I could see at least fifty more floating landscapes in the sky, dancing about one another like playing cards being blown in a delicate hurricane. If I did move my head, I could see five hundred more, and even if I didn't, the slow spin of the ground beneath my feet would bring bright new slivers of land into my sight. Each of them was different - some were green with Earth-style trees and grass, others seemed to be blue with rippling water, yet others still were profligate with unexpected combinations of colour of which I could make no sense - but all had one thing in common. They were truly beautiful. Even the buildings which I spotted on many of the slivers were of breath-taking beauty, seeming to grow naturally from their settings and glittering with light. As I watched the near side of one sliver tip up and away from us, revealing a new and equally lovely landscape beneath, I realised that each of these slivers had two wondrous sides. Within my view there was enough living space for everybody in London.

Blasphemous the thought may have been, but it crossed my mind that Heaven would be a disappointment after this.

One of the many baffling things about the dancing slivers was that I could not place them in any context. We were not in space, as far as I could tell - all the slivers seemed to share one atmosphere, a fact demonstrated as yellow beings on one patch of spiky land called across to some similarly coloured fellows on our patch. But then neither were we on a planet, quite clearly. If I squinted enough to see past all of the slivers, right at the back of them there seemed to be a solid wall of dark blue. Looking around, and waiting for the slivers to move enough to leave gaps, I came to the conclusion that the entire system was enclosed by a gigantic blue sphere. Perhaps we were actually inside a hollowed-out planet! I resolved to consult Master Zangpan on the matter as soon as he came to his senses.

I doubt if I need to describe the conversation held by Roxton, Summerlee and myself at that point - you can imagine how the three of us were completely flabbergasted, barely able to string a few words together to make a sentence. Eventually Professor Summerlee said something worth reporting.

'Do you see over there?' Roxton and I followed the line of his pointed finger until our eyes came to rest on a pleasant looking piece of land a couple of kilometres above our heads. 'I do believe that those fellows are human.'

Squinting as best I could, I was unable to come to any firm conclusion. 'In these surroundings I am unwilling to discount any possibility,' I said. 'They might be men like us, or members of Zangpan's race, whatever that may be.'

'We do not yet know that he is not human,' pointed out Summerlee.

'Oh, I'm human, all right,' said a weary and sore voice. Master Zangpan had awoke. 'More than that, I'm from Earth - and not all humans do come from Earth.' He got to his feet, rubbing his tender throat. 'The people you can see around you in Zangpan's World are the citizens of time and space! They are all beautiful - on the inside, that is - people who I have allowed to share the wonders of my domain! Do you like it?'

'Like is hardly an appropriate word,' I said. 'This place is incredible.'

I would have continued in a similar vein, but Summerlee showed more interest in getting to the bottom of the whole thing. He made me feel somewhat guilty - I am the journalist of the group after all! 'Where are we?' he asked. 'What is this place? We have a lot of questions, Master Zangpan.'

'If your friend hadn't tried to strangle me, Professor Summerlee, I would already have begun to answer them. Speaking of that brutish man, is Challenger awake yet, Housewife?'

She went over and gave him a gentle kick, producing a groan from the supine investigator.

'Good, good,' said Zangpan. 'Give him another kick if you like - that would certainly make me feel better.' It seemed the Housewife could tell he was joking, as she didn't take him up on the offer. 'Would all of you like a drink? Personally, I need to wash the taste of Challenger's abominable whisky out of my mouth.' Without really waiting for an answer, he clicked his fingers, causing what would best be described as a cake trolley to appear beside us. I hesitated in calling it a cake trolley for two reasons. The first is that it bore no cakes, or at least nothing that I recognised as cakes. It did, however, bear a wide selection of colourful drinks. The second reason is that it had a mechanical head at one end and seemed to be self-powered.

'Master Zangpan, sir! Welcome back, sir, we all missed you very much here!' I suppose I should have been surprised to encounter a talking cake trolley, but as Roxton said to Challenger, the twelfth marvel of the day always impresses less than the first. Of course, when calculating the impression made by a new marvel, one must take account of what preceded it, and I'm afraid that a talking cake trolley seemed sorry indeed in comparison with the floating plains of Zangpan's World.

We selected our drinks with the trolley's help, although we four travellers all elected for non-alcoholic beverages - we had all drunk enough for one day, and even Summerlee and I were starting to feel the consequences. Professor Challenger was now on his feet again and had happily refrained from once more attacking Master Zangpan (striving to comprehend the nature of his surroundings was occupying all his attention, although he did take the time to distance himself from the Mechanical Housewife).

'Would you like food?' asked Master Zangpan. 'I don't mean to be rude, but you all look like you could use it.'

I was beginning to feel very tired - in fact, it struck me at that point that almost twenty-four hours must have passed since we took off from Challenger's back garden. It had been a very long day, and only Roxton had slept in that time - unless you count Challenger's enforced unconsciousness as sleep. Having a good round meal and then dozing off on the oh-so-soft ground seemed like a very attractive proposition.

Seeing that all of us would like food very much, Master Zangpan pointed at the ground. 'Eat the grass.'

The four of us answered in bewildered unison. 'Eat the grass?'

'Certainly,' answered Zangpan. 'The grass has been specially engineered, not only for comfort and fragrance, but also for nutritional value and taste. Believe me, you'll find it most delicious.' To demonstrate, he reached down, plucked a handful of green blades, and placed them in his mouth. There was silence for a moment as we watched him take his time over his grass - he was obviously determined to savour every mastication. Eventually he swallowed, with pleasure written all over his face. 'I know you have many, many questions, but right now you all need to eat and sleep. I'll leave the Mechanical Housewife with you for the night, to help with any problems and to keep the sightseers away.'

'Sightseers?' asked Challenger, suspiciously.

'Yes,' answered the Zangpan with amused frankness. 'Sightseers. You and your friends are celebrities here. In terms of Earth's chronology, you are the first men to walk on the Moon! The first men to even leave the planet! And certainly the first men to visit Zangpan's World!'

'But what about you?' I asked. 'You said that you were from Earth.'

'And so I was, dear Ned, originally, but I'm from the future so I don't count.'

With that parting shot he left us with the Mechanical Housewife and the talking trolley. She encouraged us to fill our bellies with the grass, and after overcoming our initial reluctance we did so. It probably isn't necessary for me to attempt to describe the felicitous textures and tastes that greeted my tongue with every mouthful. In fact, I would be committing a grand disservice to you, for without wishing to give offence to the hard-working housewives, kitchen staff and chefs of Great Britain, I can say in total confidence that you will never eat anything so good.

After eating we stretched ourselves out on the grass, which revealed itself as a bed the equal in quality of the meal it had earlier been. The light around us seemed to dim, and Challenger and the others soon dropped off. But I found myself lying on my side, peering through the darkness at the lovely (to my eyes) form of the Mechanical Housewife. I felt a twinge of jealousy as I watched the trolley offering her a glass of his oil, but I felt bizarre joy as she shooed him away and said for him to return in the morning.

I closed my eyes, feeling that in general matters were in a state of equilibrium, even if they were not positively in my favour. Then the balance shifted. I heard mechanical footsteps approaching me, a mechanical body lying down next to mine, and eventually I felt - not mechanical - but soft, warm lips kissing mine. I opened my eyes and looked into the expressive black ones of the Mechanical Housewife.

'Your lips, they aren't cold,' I whispered. I hoped the others were asleep.

'They are composed of gold heated to a semi-liquid state. Special programming ensures that they are warm, but not too hot, and flexible enough to provide emphasis when I speak-'

'And softness when you kiss?'

'That's right, Malone.' She did it again.

'You can call me Ned.'

'Are you sure? I have observed that the use of first names seems to cause irritation among the members of your group. Especially when Master Zangpan does it.'

'I suppose you're right,' I laughed (quietly, of course). 'That's because we prefer to reserve the use of our first names for more intimate relations.'

She was puzzled now. 'But you've known me for less than a day. Professor Challenger and the others have been your companions through so many adventures. How can you be more intimate with me than with them?'

I lifted myself up on one elbow, angry. 'What are you trying to say about me? Just because the four of us travel without women aboard doesn't mean-'

'Ned, shush! You'll wake your friends!' It was true - Challenger was beginning to groan threateningly - but I felt very upset with her. 'Lie back down. This is very silly of you.' I followed her instructions, and she placed one hand upon my brow. It was warm, but hard. 'There is no reason for sensitivity in such matters here. Last time anyone counted, more than fifty races were represented on Zangpan's World, and between them they make use of every bi-polar gender combination you could imagine!'

'Well, you should still respect our sensitivity in the matter.' The stroking of my brow and the way she kissed me at the end of each sentence were doing much to mollify me, but I still felt somewhat prickly. 'In any case, I can't imagine very many combinations. And I'll stick to the one I'm familiar with, if that's all right with you.'

'Oh Ned, you silly Earthman, it was you that brought sex into this in the first place, not me.' I tried to disguise the fact that her frank use of such an explicit term had rather startled me, lest she think me an incorrigibly backward type of fellow. 'I'm talking about friendship. Why do you all keep each other at arm's length? Why are you all so formal with each other?'

I tried to give the matter serious consideration, but her delightful kisses were taking up rather too much of my brain-space. 'It's not just a question of formality - it's also a matter of dignity and respect for each other. It permits us to work together without embarrassment.' That was as far as I could go before giving up to her embraces. Unfortunately, intrigued by what I had said, she chose that moment to cease her attentions and lie back on the grass.

'I think I understand what you mean. By working your problems and arguments out within a formalised framework, which is, one might say, a symbolic arena, you are able to fight your battles and resolve your conflicts without causing wounds or hurt to each other's fundamental being. Very interesting.'

'Mmm,' I agreed, wishing she'd get back to the job she had abandoned.

'But does it really work?'

'I suppose so,' I said musingly, as I ventured to kiss her on one shiny cheek. 'We're all still friends.'

'You must be right,' she said. 'Otherwise Master Zangpan would not have chosen you for the mission.'

Before I was able to ask what she meant by that she pulled me to her and kissed me languidly. When that kiss ended, she got to her feet, helped me to rise and led me to one of the dells I had previously noticed. I was a little hesitant in following her, although I honestly believe that fear was not an issue. For one thing, I really did need to sleep, but the meal of grass had pepped up my energy somewhat, and in any case the others, I reasoned, wouldn't mind if I slept late in the morning - in view of the circumstances.

CHAPTER ELEVEN: SOME UNPLEASANTNESS

'Listen up,' said Master Zangpan. 'I shall begin by answering a few of your inevitably tedious and mundane questions about myself and my world. When your brains catch up with your bodies I shall tell you of the quest on which you must embark. And embark upon it you must. Or I shall kill you.'

By the time I had opened my eyes the following morning, the Mechanical Housewife was gone. I presumed that not requiring sleep she had become bored while I partook of it. Hearing the Challenger bellow on the other side of the hill, I pulled my clothes back on and ran over to rejoin the group. Challenger stood there, hands on hips, while Summerlee and Lord John sat on the ground, idly chewing on grass as they waited for the Housewife to turn up. I fancied that a dark look passed between the three of them as they saw me approach.

'Enjoy yourself?' asked Challenger.

'A gentleman shouldn't ask that of a friend,' I replied.

'Whoever said I was a gentleman?' he replied, and the others laughed.

'In that case, I'll say that a gentleman will not answer.'

'In my opinion,' said Professor Summerlee, 'a gentleman marries before behaving in the manner you did last night.'

I offered him a clenched fist. 'Show me a church that will marry me to the Mechanical Housewife and I'll have the banns read tomorrow!'

'Don't get so indignant,' said Lord Roxton. 'He's only jealous, young fellah-my-lad! She's a very sweet lady, and I think every one of us has a soft spot for her.'

He was trying to make light of the little confrontation, but I felt that the smiles of Challenger and Summerlee were not particularly sincere.

The lady in question arrived before long. Ignorant, wilfully or not, of the knotty atmosphere that surrounded our little gang of irregulars, she bid us good morning and took us straight to a place where we were able to shower and groom - special cleaning machines even washed and pressed our suits as we did so. She then brought us to this place.

'As you have discovered this morning, transportation between the slivers is virtually instantaneous. You need merely resolve to travel, and mentally-attuned robots will sense and take action upon your decision.'

'What the devil is a robot?' demanded Challenger.

'It, or he, or she, is a thinking machine,' replied the Mechanical Housewife. 'Such as myself, for instance. The word was first used by a Czechoslovakian writer, Karel Capek, after being invented by his brother. Devils do not enter into it.'

I mentioned that I had not heard of the writer - surprisingly, as I fondly imagined myself a connoisseur of the European literatures.

'He created the term in 1920,' smiled Master Zangpan, 'when the lovely play Rossum's Universal Robots made him famous. I imagine that your puny human minds are confused in no slight fashion by my mysterious talk of the future. Like a doctor of the soul, I can alleviate your derangement, the tonic I prescribe for your bafflement being an explanation of the nature of Zangpan's World! However,' said the mysterious Master, 'you must return the gobstoppers when we are done!'

Summerlee and Lord John shrugged at each other, while Challenger and I partook of frowning.

The room in which we sat was one of many in a complex housing the work of two of Master Zangpan's friends - a pair of engineers by the names of Klothe (pronounced Klo-Ter, though he said that if we wished to say it differently there was no reason why we should not) and Melenkius. The former was tall and thin, the latter short and chubby, but both looked reasonably human. They wore matching habits, akin to those of the monk, but with deep pockets overflowing with technical gadgets. They nodded in jolly confirmation of Zangpan's words.

'His words are incontrovertible,' said Klothe.

'And wholly unbelievable, you may think,' said Melenkius.

'And yet, they are true,' continued Klothe. 'Let me expand.'

He waved us to the seats. and his partner elected to remain standing. This particular room was quite small, although it accommodated all eight people easily. It was only small in comparison to the other rooms in the complex, some of which could have accommodated Challenger's Rocket three times over, if they had not been full to the rafters with electrical and mechanical junk! Having selected a seat which looked friendly enough, I was surprised to find it squirming beneath me as I lowered myself into it. However, once I was sitting, it stopped moving around and proved to be quite comfortable. Master Zangpan explained that the chairs automatically adjusted themselves to suit whoever or whatever sat in them. Professor Challenger noted with glee that they were not actually as comfortable as our own upholstered chairs in the Rocket, and the taller of the two engineers explained that to be the price the chairs paid for their adaptability. Neither he nor Roxton nor Summerlee seemed very comfortable with the situation, never mind the chairs. They seemed to be whispering to each other and exchanging nods and frowns in a conversation from which I was excluded. Their comportment had certainly changed since I had left them the previous evening, and it couldn't be put down entirely to jealousy. I had the very strong feeling that prior to my awakening the morning had seen a conversation of some significance.

Once all were settled Klothe resumed his explanation.

'Zangpan's World is like the blind idiot god Azathoth, in that it is co-terminous and co-existent with all points in time and space. Don't ask how that works exactly, because, to be frank, it is a bit of a mystery to us all. However, what it means is this: from this domain it is possible to exit to anywhere in time and space. Isn't that incredible!?!'

Melenkius took up the story with equal enthusiasm. 'In theory, that's fine, but in practice it would be a bit awkward, with people meeting their grandmothers and so on. Therefore, although the Doors of Time exist, for the sake of convenience Master Zangpan keeps them locked.'

Master Zangpan now spoke himself. 'This place was created in the later part of the twentieth century as a result of certain tantric experiments I had been conducting. It is a dimension unto itself, or unto myself, as it stems from my godlike abilities. Once I had opened up what I call the Zang Dimension the internal chronology of the place kicked off and I let folks come to visit.'

'We were among the first to arrive,' said Melenkius. 'We set up the slivers and created the atmosphere. After that, there was plenty of room for everyone.'

A question came to mind, though Challenger sneered as I asked it. 'What lies beyond the blue sphere?' I didn't understand his attitude. Surely he was as interested in the answer as I?

Klothe replied, 'More of the same. This realm is infinite, as is the number of slivers within it. The blue sphere simply marks the edge of the inhabited area. Its purpose is purely psychological, to stop people worrying about what is out there.'

'When, of course,' said Melenkius, 'there's nothing out there at all, except undeveloped slivers. When there are new arrivals, slivers beyond the wall are programmed to their specifications. When the people are ready to move in, we expand the sphere to enclose their new homes.'

'Most of the inhabitants on Zangpan's World, like the divine Master Zangpan, are from the late twentieth century, but there are a few exceptions.'

To me Klothe's words seemed innocuous enough, but they had an extraordinary effect upon Challenger.

'You make occasional exceptions, you say! When it suits, you pluck innocent travellers from their rightful place in time and space!'

'Professor Challenger,' said Melenkius, his round face showing concern, 'surely no one is here but of their own accord?' When his only reply was a contemptuous snarl, he turned to Master Zangpan. 'Is this true?'

The Zangpan shrugged. 'It is of no consequence. Or rather, the fact that they had no choice is of no consequence. The fact of their being here, as you know, is of very great consequence indeed.'

'Even so,' said Klothe, 'we must protest.'

'Be my guest,' said Master Zangpan to them, before loosing a grim smile upon the rest of us. 'And of course, that applies to all of you. Literally.'

At his words, a shadow fell across my heart. Had I misjudged our hosts so terribly? It had become quite clear that my companions believed so, to the point where they had neglected to include me in their counsel. For one horrible moment, as I watched my friends spring into action on a nod from Challenger, I was forked upon the horns of a dilemma.

But it was just one moment, and the very next saw me putting all my strength at the disposal of the British cause. As Challenger leapt upon Master Zangpan I rushed to the Mechanical Housewife to prevent her from taking a part in the conflict. Doubtless she could have brushed me aside had she wished, but not without doing me injury. Our night together had evidently meant as much to her as it still did to me.

In the meantime, Summerlee and Roxton had seized hold of the two engineers, who were flustered and rather shocked by the sudden violence of our actions. They calmed down once it became clear that Challenger wasn't actually attempting to kill Master Zangpan.

'Summerlee,' said Challenger. 'Leave those two to Lord Roxton and help me tie up this rascal.' Together they tore strips from Master Zangpan's jacket and bound him to the chair. This caused a solitary tear to trickle down his cheek.

'You ruffians,' he said bitterly. 'What a waste of a beautiful jacket! You couldn't use Melenkius's habit, could you? Oh no, it had to be my favourite purple smoker!'

'Be quiet!' ordered Challenger, waving a meaty fist in the finely cut face. The Mechanical Housewife made a move, but I responded in kind, holding my ground.

'It's all right,' I assured her. 'No one will be hurt. We just want to sort everything out. I'm sure there's been a terrible misunderstanding.'

Soon Klothe and Melenkius had also been tied to chairs, and Challenger made sure that the Mechanical Housewife knew that if she tried to make a move he'd get to Master Zangpan first. But in all honesty, she didn't seem particularly distressed by the unpleasantness. I told myself that it was because she knew us all to be decent and honourable men.

Finally, Challenger was satisfied with the new seating arrangements. He paced up and down before his captives, obviously undecided on the next step.

I was first to break the silence. 'What's this all about, Challenger?'

'Don't you understand, Malone?' A pair of eyes that would have paused Beowulf did not hide their suspicion. I half-expected him to have me bound with the others. 'Are your eyes so closed to what has happened? Love is truly blind, then.'

'No, I do not understand. Maybe if you had invited me to your conference this morning I would.'

'Your invitation was destroyed at your own tawdry hands when you spent the night cavorting with the enemy!'

'The enemy?' I looked at the grim faces of my companions. 'Do you go along with this, Lord Roxton?' If the Mechanical Housewife had seemed undistressed before, that was not now the case. Her flexible features showed hurt.

He shrugged. 'Let Professor Challenger explain. It makes pretty good sense.'

Master Zangpan chose this moment to speak. 'Yes, let Professor Challenger explain. Let him explain why he is abusing my hospitality so! Let him explain why he is acting like such an oaf! And let him explain why he ruined my best purple jacket!'

'Don't listen to him, Malone,' said Challenger. 'That's the way they work, lulling us into a sense of false security. That's why he sent his mechanical whore to you last night!'

I saw red at his words and would have landed a punch upon his gargoyle face if Professor Summerlee had not placed himself between us. 'Come on,' he said to Challenger, 'don't you think that's a little strong? Apologise to Malone and the Mechanical Housewife.'

'I stand by my words,' said Challenger staunchly. I swear that in my life I had never hated anyone more, but I forced myself to consider his words. After all, we were in unfamiliar territory and he was our leader. Summerlee saw that I was ready to listen.

'Just get to the point,' he said to Challenger. 'Tell him what you told us.'

Challenger met my cold hard stare for a moment before commencing. 'Why are we here, Malone? They brought us here, didn't they? We have already established that we were, in fact, kidnapped. The question is why. Why was the Mechanical Housewife on the Moon? Why did Master Zangpan come there? Why did they kidnap us? Do you have an answer?'

I indicated that I did not. I suppose that I had put it all down to coincidence.

'The answer is quite clear to me - we were kidnapped because we were the only people in the normal universe to know of one of the most heinous crimes of the century! We were kidnapped because we were about to search for clues regarding the destruction of Ell Ka-Mar. Dear Malone, we were kidnapped because, and I do not say this lightly, we were going to discover that Master Zangpan destroyed the Moon!'

I gaped in astonishment.

'He has confined us here to ensure that no one ever bears witness to his villainy! In all probability, when we arrived the Mechanical Housewife was searching for survivors, to finish them off. A cleaning-up operation, so to speak. The Housewife persona is nothing but a sick joke.'

Summerlee saw that I was shaken. He put a hand upon my shoulder. 'You have to admit it makes sense, son.' It certainly did, except for one thing - I couldn't believe my steel-worked sweetheart capable of such atrocity. Master Zangpan, on the other hand... well, one should never trust a man whose trousers are wider than his head.

I turned to the Mechanical Housewife and looked into her eyes. 'Is it true?'

A trickle of oil ran from one steel eye's span. 'How can you ask that of me?'

'Ask yourself this, Malone, and then ask her,' said Challenger. 'Why did she seduce you? And it was a seduction, I have no doubt. She came to you in the night, despite the fact that you had hardly spoken to her - and you had certainly made no confession of love.'

It was a valid question, I realised. I had never questioned her affection before. Perhaps it was because she was mechanical. I had assumed it was part of her programming to be friendly.

'You think your questions are so profound,' she said angrily to Challenger. His apparently ironclad accusations had pierced her steel heart. 'But the answer is actually quite simple. I fell in love with you years ago, Malone, when I read your novels.'

'Is it possible?' I was dumbfounded, not for the first or the last time that week. 'I have not written any novels.'

Klothe piped up, 'She's from the future, remember.'

'That changes nothing,' maintained Challenger. 'Master Zangpan must answer the charges I have placed before him.'

'Very well, Challenger,' said Master Zangpan. 'Those charges will be answered. But not by me. I would have preferred to keep this from you, so that you could have performed your mission with clear conscience-'

'The mission!' I said, remembering the Housewife's slip the night before.

As Master Zangpan spoke, we watched in amazement as his moustaches lengthened, assuming the aspect of two strange black sinuous tentacles. They extended until they reached the bonds which held him in the chair, and untied him.

'A skill I learnt from a great-uncle of mine, Master Longbrows,' he said to our amazed expressions. 'A lovely old man, he used to fight demons with his eyebrows near the Mystic Mountains.' He got to his feet, shrugging off his shredded jacket and looking regally resplendent in his shimmering shirt and enormous trousers. He walked up to Challenger and stared him in the eye.

'By your arrogant and boorish behaviour you have forced this upon me, though foolish compassion had made me wish to spare you the pain. I no longer believe I owe you that level of consideration. You will have to live with your crimes.'

'What do you mean by that, you preposterous buffoon?' said Challenger, raising himself to his fullest height. 'Your ridiculous attempts to confuse the issue are pointless. I am guilty of nothing but pride and excellence! You are a mad dictator and a vicious killer, and though it should take my life to do it I will make you pay!'

'On the contrary,' said Master Zangpan, with sadness despite the invective piled upon him. 'Professor George Edward Challenger, King of Ell Ka-Mar, by the powers vested in me as ruler of Zangpan's World I charge you with the murder of the Moon!'

Challenger looked to us in horror. 'This cannot be! I did nothing, I was their King! I loved them, as they loved me!' There were tears in his eyes, and as he fell to his knees in despair we rushed to his side. Could it be true? Challenger's grief-stricken reaction made me wonder. I looked to the Mechanical Housewife for assistance. She passed me a handkerchief for Challenger.

'I'm sorry,' she said softly, 'but it is true. Challenger was responsible for the annihilation of Ell Ka-Mar.' I couldn't believe my ears.

'No!' screamed Challenger, like a wounded bull protesting against the sword through its heart.

I looked to Klothe and Melenkius - even they had freed themselves from Challenger's carefully tied knots. 'You showed concern for us before, when you learnt that we were kidnapped. Is this true?'

They regarded each other, nodded, then turned back to me. It was Melenkius who spoke. 'I'm very much afraid that it is, Mister Malone.' I shook my head in disbelief. Was there no escape from this nightmare?

'What's more, my dears,' said Klothe, 'Challenger must pay for his crime in blood.'

CHAPTER TWELVE: REPARATIONS AND PREPARATIONS

'Now that the sailboats of anger lie becalmed upon the ocean of your passions,' said Master Zangpan, 'I shall explain why you're here. Something, note you, that I was in the middle of doing when you so rudely assaulted us. That wasn't cool, guys, but I'll forgive you this time.'

We had all sat back down, even Challenger having regained his composure (though he was clearly still an unhappy man), while our host had stepped before us to deliver his lecture. The drinks trolley had finally turned up, full of apologies about not being there when we woke and going on about 'some rowdy Dra-wak-oos', whatever they were. With a glass in my hand, whisky in my belly and the Mechanical Housewife starting to smile at me again, things weren't looking quite so bleak. The matter of Challenger's crime and punishment still concerned me, of course.

Master Zangpan asked Challenger to tell him all he knew about Ell Ka-Mar, and my friend meekly did as he was told, describing his arrival there, his stay and his coronation. Master Zangpan nodded sagely throughout.

'As I suspected,' he pronounced, once Challenger had finished. 'They told you nothing of their imminent doom until the last minute, and even then all you learnt was that a force of some kind was coming for them.

'I think it's time for all you old-time Earthmen to learn something of the true history of Ell Ka-Mar. This may shock you, but it was a colony of escaped slaves. They established themselves there about one hundred years before you discovered them, Challenger. Everything on they created on the Moon was grey for one reason - camouflage. They knew they were lost if anybody noticed them. For the same reason they lived a manifestly low-tech existence. Their erstwhile owners were monitoring your solar system, among others, searching for signs of Ell Ka-Mar. Unfortunately, Challenger my friend, you led the villainous bunch of no-good slavers straight to the kindly Ka-Marians! As soon as you arrived on their world they knew the game was up. Their calculations had indicated that the first humans would not reach the Moon until the 1960s or the 1970s - your precocious intelligence cost them their home!'

'Damnation!' said Challenger. 'What a fool I've been. I should have known. The sadness in their eyes when they looked at me - I thought it was an appeal. It was not. It was the sadness of one who regards his executioner and forgives him for what he does.'

Professor Summerlee spoke up. 'But there is no reason to punish Challenger for those events! He could not possibly have known the consequences of his actions. In fact, why didn't they just shoo him away, instead of making him welcome?'

'Shooing him away would have done no good at all. They knew that their slave-masters would routinely investigate any interplanetary travel whatsoever, and they knew it was the end of their little dream of freedom. They made Challenger welcome and they made him their King so that somebody would remember the peaceful life they had enjoyed.'

'So why punish Challenger?' asked I.

Master Zangpan shrugged. 'Punishment is not really the word. Challenger created a very heated atmosphere just now, and my response to that was ill-befitting. I was carried away by a lust for verbal vengeance! However, there is something he can do for the people of Ell Ka-Mar. Remember the quest of which your friend Aikor spoke? Fellow humans, you may yet make the attempt!'

'I would have done anything for them. I still will,' said Challenger sadly. He sighed profoundly. 'You were not right to keep the knowledge of my guilt from me - though it will weigh heavily upon my conscience, that is only just. Nevertheless, your motives were pure. I apologise most fully for my suspicions of you. You are a generous and noble man, with, if I may say so, the most incredible moustaches. I will replace your fine jacket at the first opportunity. And what can I say to you, Mechanical Housewife? I know that nothing will ever make up for the slanderous and despicable things I said about you and your relations with Malone. The shame of my words will always haunt me, but please accept my apologies and my promise that if you should ever choose to marry my young friend I should be proud to be best man.'

His hangdog eyes ached with sincerity, and she received his bow with gratitude.

'Don't get carried away,' said Lord Roxton to Challenger. 'There would be two other candidates for that position, you know!'

We all laughed, until Challenger spoke sadly once more. 'Indeed you are right, Lord John, for I do not feel at all like the best man among us at this moment. The death of a world, the suspicion of a gentleman and the slander of a lady all hang upon me. Master Zangpan, you said there remained an action which I could perform for my people. Pray tell of its nature, though I wish so powerfully that I had been able to do something before they died, rather than now, as they lie incinerated among the ashes of their home.'

'Before they died?' said Master Zangpan. 'Forgive me for what may seem an insensitive question, but are you under the impression that the people of Ell Ka-Mar are dead?'

'But of course,' said Challenger. 'You saw the wreckage of their world, or least your proxy, the Mechanical Housewife, did.'

'Challenger, I think you had better pour yourself another glass of whisky! Your people are not dead. Their home has been destroyed, and will never be the same, but they survive! Their masters would not have destroyed such valuable property - they reclaimed it, and took the Ka-Marians back to their home-world!'

'My God!' said Summerlee.

'Can it be true?' said Challenger, his overcast features clearing to let the sun shine through.

'I swear that it is,' said Master Zangpan gravely. 'They live, but they are returned to a state of bondage, treated as little more than cattle. Their culture and their science is ignored as they are sent into dangerous mines or used in grotesque experiments.'

Lord John Roxton got to his feet. 'Challenger, it is your duty to lead us in their rescue!'

Challenger pursed those lamb-chop lips, frowned and then nodded, 'I know my duty better than any of you. When I announced my assumption of the throne to the people of London, they regarded it as at best a joke, at worst the ravings of a deluded madman. Yet to me the matter was never less than serious. And now we have learnt of the part I played in my people's downfall, my actions must lend their support to my good intentions. However, this could be extremely dangerous, a virtual suicide mission, and I cannot ask you to come with me.'

It was bizarre to see Challenger, a man who had always been at odds with everyone and everything on his home planet, demonstrating such an emotional attachment to an alien people. If he took all his responsibilities so seriously, why did his wife spend so much time with no one but the butler for company? Perhaps in Ell Ka-Mar, for the first time in his life, he felt fully at ease with himself and with others, appreciated for his intelligence, rather than derided for it.

'If you don't ask us to accompany you,' said Lord Roxton to Challenger, 'you should prepare to fight a duel this very instant! Dare you belittle the courage of your comrades by refusing to lead us into a little bit of danger?'

'Quite right,' said Professor Summerlee drily, 'and it's not as if you ever hesitated to land us in trouble before.'

The preparations for the flight went quickly. Master Zangpan and the Mechanical Housewife briefed us on what we could expect to encounter on our journey and upon our arrival. As we were attempting to absorb all that information, Klothe and Melenkius were working night and day on the Rocket. They transported her from the surface of the Moon to one of their many gigantic workshops, where they proceeded to strip her down to the bare bones. Challenger expressed a few reservations as they began, but a few choice intimations of the rebuilt ship's abilities were enough to reassure him. Soon the day came for us to leave. Master Zangpan and the Mechanical Housewife would not be accompanying us, due to the danger of messing up the time-stream, and so on the night before there had been much drinking of whisky and singing of songs. Later into the night, the Housewife and I had bid each other many tender farewells. When I awoke she was still there, having spent the night recording my sleep for future recollection.

'Take good care of yourself,' she said as I dressed.

'I've got a good reason to.'

A few minutes later we were with Challenger and the others on the launch-pad. This was a sliver with a firm surface, ideal for landing and taking-off. At one end was a small building, which Klothe explained to contain the apparatus required for getting spacecraft into and out of Zangpan's World. The plan was for us to power up on the launch-pad and get all the systems up and running, before being transported into real space.

'Good luck to you all,' said Master Zangpan. 'You have a dangerous time ahead of you.'

'It's a shame you can't drop us off a little closer to our destination,' I said.

'Agreed,' said Zangpan, 'but our reasons for not doing so are excellent. At present your enemies know nothing of Zangpan's World, and I don't want that to change, at least for the moment. More important, though, is the question of my role in the cosmos. I'm not a god, I'm a man with some funky powers and a groovy pad, and I don't want to over-reach myself. I have reached a level of cosmic awareness which permits me to realise that although my home gives me virtually infinite power, my wisdom is not far from being finite. I can't just move people around in real space as if they were chess pieces, much less do so in my own historical past.'

'But you did made an exception for us,' said Professor Summerlee. 'You did interfere.'

'Yes,' replied Zangpan. 'Against my own better judgement, I decided to take the risk. As for changing history, well, I learnt at school that the first man on the Moon was an American, Neil Armstrong. Once the Mechanical Housewife found you there, I knew that either the time-stream had changed as a result of somebody else's intervention, or, more likely, that the history I knew was not the full story. I felt that there was an opening for a bit of creative assistance.'

'We're very grateful,' said Challenger. 'The changes you've made to our ship will make our task merely difficult, where before it would have been impossible.'

'Will we ever see you again?' I may have been asking Master Zangpan, but my eyes were on the Mechanical Housewife.

'I dare say you will,' said he. 'She wouldn't forgive me if you didn't. And when you next drop by, bring the Ka-Marians with you. I imagine they'll be needing a place to stay.'

Professor Challenger reached out and shook his hand. 'Your heart is as large as your trousers,' he said solemnly. I don't think he intended to make everybody laugh, but that was the way it worked out.

Challenger led the way into the Rocket, which despite all the marvellous modifications we'd heard about, looked pretty similar to the way she had two and a half weeks ago in Challenger's garden. Professor Summerlee and Lord Roxton followed him inside, bidding farewell to our friends from Zangpan's World. I was the last to get on board, after saying a fond goodbye to the Mechanical Housewife.

Back inside the spaceship all of us save Challenger settled into our comfortable upholstered chairs. Our fearless leader was at the console, waiting for a signal from Klothe and Melenkius.

'It's good to be back,' said Lord Roxton. We all agreed heartily. Though I would miss the Mechanical Housewife, it really was pleasant to return to familiar surroundings. What a contrast to the first time I entered the ship! Zangpan's World had been beautiful, but all that spinning around did make me dizzy at times! (The Mechanical Housewife had told me to stop being silly - did I realise how quickly Great Britain spins around? At a rate of about seventeen hundred kilometres an hour. So it's psychological, I said to her. Point taken - but please take the trouble to inform my stomach next time it tries to do a double flip!)

The signal must have come, because Challenger switched on the engines. He turned to us and asked if we were ready to go.

Confirmation of readiness was given by all. As the portal into normal space began to open up before the spacecraft, I asked Challenger, 'Don't you need to close the viewing window?'

'Previously that would have been the case,' he replied. 'However, you have drawn attention to one of the many improvements made by those master engineers, Klothe and Melenkius, to the ship. The reinforced glass of the window has been replaced with a material concocted in their laboratories which provides us with protection from cosmic rays and the glare of the sun, as well as a beautiful view.'

'So long as we are in a beautiful place,' observed Summerlee.

A few seconds later we were, after Challenger set full steam ahead and took the Rocket into the space between the stars. To one side was the Moon, to the other the Earth, and dead ahead was the glittering and treacherous star which honour made our destination.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: SCENES RELATING TO AN ASSAULT ON PLANET 93

Lord Roxton and his Wildies led the charge. They hurled themselves at the Raak in the guardhouse, ignoring the panicky firing of the four alien soldiers, dismissive of the imminence of death, determined to get through the gate into the prison compound. Despite the number of tribesmen who died in the process, the guards were soon overpowered. It was savage and brutal, and I turned away in horror as their throats were ripped out by the teeth of the victors.

Professor Summerlee was hot on their heels. Once Roxton and his warriors dragged the reptilian corpses out of the way, he was at the computer pad, trying to get the gate open. Lord Roxton became impatient. He pulled the professor to one side and loosed a few Winchester rounds upon the pad. The gate dropped into the ground.

'Luck!' said Summerlee. 'Totally unscientific!'

The savages of Planet 93 had waited for no instructions before streaming into the compound. As we three travellers left the guardhouse and followed them inside we were greeted by the sight of the carnage they were causing. They went every time for the single weak spot in the carapace of the Raak, ripping at the tender necks with their teeth. The weapons with which we had provided them were being dropped to the ground as they fell into a mad berserker fury. Bloody as the battle was, and even if our allies alarmed us more than our foes, we knew our cause to be righteous.

The compound was open to the blood-red skies, steel cages set back into the walls and arranged around the edge of the square where the battle was taking place. Opposite the gate, beyond the square, was a squat and ugly building from which were trickling the Raak. Rushing to the nearest of the holding pens, Summerlee, Roxton and I worked to get it open. The Ka-Marians inside were terrified, huddling against the wall furthest from us, their ear tentacles sticking stiffly into the air. They didn't know us, but it was not that which frightened them so. It was the behaviour of their half-insane cousins.

'Come on, get out!' shouted Roxton to the prisoners when we finally broke the lock. 'The Raak will have reinforcements here soon!'

'This is your chance to fight back,' I said to them. 'Take it now!'

Though I expect our accents were not particularly good, it seemed that Challenger's language lessons on the journey out from the Solar System had done the trick. They seemed to understand. One of them shouted at the others, yelling at them to get to their feet. If they felt shame at their previous behaviour, they didn't let it interfere with their subsequent actions. Rushing out of the cage they snatched up weapons dropped by the other combatants and joined the slaughter of the Raak. One or two managed to blow themselves up while learning to use the unfamiliar technology, but the others fired with glee upon their former tormentors.

I watched with mingled horror and admiration as they entered the battle. 'Didn't Challenger say these people were peace-loving?'

'There's no contradiction,' said Roxton as we moved to the next cage. 'You must love peace with all your heart to be willing to kill for it.' Even if we didn't agree, now was not the time to argue.

'Any sign of Challenger?' asked Summerlee.

'None at all,' said Roxton.

The battle continued to rage around us as off-duty Raak troopers began to wake up and arrive on the scene, their peculiar clothes only half-fastened about their scaly bodies. It was a very unlovely sight, although I tried to tell myself that I should hate them for their deeds, not their appearance. Lord Roxton stood with his back to us as we tried to get the cage open, picking off any villains who came too close.

'Damnation,' said Summerlee angrily. 'This is taking far too long.' He looked around the battlefield, his quick, smart eyes searching for something. Spotting a set of electronic keys on the belt of a nearby Raak corpse, he dashed over to get them.

'This should make it easier,' he said when he returned with the keys in his hand. The other hand was holding his stomach. 'Just a twinge of the old ulcer,' he grimaced. Soon the remaining prisoners were free, and the Raak found themselves fighting a desperate battle for survival. Attempts to surrender and requests for mercy were treated with contempt by former Moon-dwellers and frenzied savages alike.

'The battle goes well,' I observed.

'No reinforcements will arrive in time to save these Raak,' said Summerlee.

'But our time is still limited,' said Lord Roxton, thumping the wall with frustration, 'and it's running out fast. Where the hell is Challenger? And why isn't he among the prisoners?'

'The Raak,' said Professor Summerlee, a few days before, to his mixed audience of Earthmen and Wildies, 'are very similar to what we on Earth would call beetles, with a touch of crocodile and tortoise about the gills.' He pointed at the partially dissected corpse at his feet. 'About six feet long and three feet wide. They have mandibles,' he said, pointing at at them, but even if you break them off they will just grow a new pair at their own leisure. They eat here.' Using a crowbar from the ship he levered open the hatch that the creatures used as a mouth. 'Note the difficulty with which I am opening the orifice - the chances of your being able to do that, with the creature actively opposing you, are pretty small.'

One of the tribesmen muttered something under his breath.

Summerlee asked Roxton, 'What did he say?'

'He says they can't be killed, except by extreme measures, by twenty men hitting one of them, or by dropping a pile of rocks on one. I hope you have something to go on, Professor Summerlee, because my men are feeling somewhat dispirited.'

I said to the two of them, 'I'm in pretty low spirits myself. Can we succeed where Challenger failed?'

'Challenger made mistakes,' said Lord Roxton. 'We have to make sure we are more careful. Come on, Summerlee old chap, did you find anything for us to go on?'

'As a matter of fact,' said the professor of anatomy with a grim nod, 'I found something rather splendid. It's just a question of picking your spot carefully.'

It was clear that if Challenger still lived, he had been held apart from the other prisoners. Summerlee called out to the nearest Ka-Marian, who came over to us. It was a middle-aged male, his hair in transition between a royal blue and a steely grey. Summerlee grasped him by the shoulders and forced out the question between gritted teeth.

'Challenger? Do you know Challenger?'

The man paused a moment before replying, giving his mind a chance to decipher Summerlee's strange accent. 'Challenger? Of course I know him. You mean the King, don't you? Are you his friends, the other Earthmen?'

'Yes,' said Summerlee eagerly, yet still with pain in his voice. I became a little worried that the ulcer he had mentioned had actually burst. Possibly the return to normal ship's food - sandwiches (with which we had been fully restocked by the Mechanical Housewife, though I must confess - without wishing any slight upon my lover - that they were not up to Mrs Challenger's standards) and whisky - had provoked an unpleasant reaction after the gentle and charming meals of grass on Zangpan's World. 'Quick man, where is he?'

The tentacles of the Moon-man drooped somewhat. 'He's in there,' he said sadly, pointing to the squat building.

We were puzzled. 'But there's nothing in there,' said I. 'Isn't it just the mess hall and dormitory for the guards? Are they questioning him?'

'Questioning? Oh no. They couldn't if they wanted to. They may have ruled us for half a millennium, but they never learnt our language. We managed to keep it from them. Sorry but it is worse than that. They converted one room for him. They've never seen an Earthman before, you see.'

'What do you mean?' asked Summerlee, the horror in his voice battling for supremacy with the pain.

'The Raak created a makeshift laboratory. They have been testing him, doing experiments. I'm afraid it might be too late.'

The professor turned back to us. 'Get to him quickly. I'll wait here.'

But Roxton and I didn't move, our attention transfixed by the spreading patch of blood on Summerlee's shirt.

'What happened?' asked Roxton in horror. Summerlee winced, and put his hand back on the wound.

'The blasted Raak with the keys was lying doggo, and he got a shot in before I finished him off. Listen, I'll be perfectly fine - but the two of you must find Challenger!'

Lord Roxton and I looked at one another. There was a lot of blood on that shirt.

'You stay with him,' I said to Roxton. 'I'll see if I can find Challenger.'

'No!' said Summerlee, lowering himself to the ground. 'Both of you go. I've got my Winchester to protect me. And if this wound is going to kill me, it will kill me regardless of whether Roxton is holding my hand or not!'

'I'll stay here with him,' said the Ka-Marian. He shook our hands, an incongruous yet appreciated action in such difficult circumstances. He must have picked up the habit from Challenger. 'It is what George would have wanted. My name is Aikor.'

'Don't speak of Challenger in the past tense just yet,' I said. 'He's proved himself a dozen times over to be a mighty tough beggar to kill. Hang on a minute,' I said, remembering the tale of Challenger's first visit to the Moon. 'Aikor, the famous scientist?'

He nodded. 'I was a scientist, it is true, before our world fell apart, and a well-respected one. But for the last three weeks I have been nothing but another insect being ground beneath the heel of the Raak Empire.' He addressed himself to Summerlee's wound. 'I have some experience in the healing arts. Our biologies are different, but I may be able to help.'

'That would be most appreciated,' said Professor Summerlee.

Aikor smiled. 'Are all Earthmen so brave?'

'Only the stupid ones,' said Lord John Roxton. 'Come on, Malone, let's find Challenger.'

'Good luck,' I said to Summerlee, before we set off towards the ominous building. 'We'll be back for you.'

'Luck is unscientific,' he called after me. 'But I'll put my faith in friendship.'

'This is your destination,' the Mechanical Housewife had said to us, back on Zangpan's World. 'Planet 93, one of the weaker outposts of the colossal Raak Empire: original name Ka-Mar. The Kamarian word 'Ell' simply means 'from', or 'child of'. This was their home, people. Take a look at it now.'

It looked pretty bad to all of us. The Raak had completely subjugated the planet more than five centuries ago, and they had been mining it ever since. The oceans had been boiled away to permit easy access to the sea-bed, mountains had been blasted in half to get at the jewels within, the ground had been turned over as you might fork over the earth in your garden. The entire surface was a slag-heap. Nothing would ever live a natural life there again. The Raak had returned the captured slaves there, partly as punishment for the insolent escape of their parents, partly because they still hoped to dig up a few more scraps of precious metals.

'I've only ever seen one thing more repulsive,' said Professor Summerlee. 'Challenger first thing in the morning.'

'Why you,' I said in my best imitation of Challenger's gruff tones, 'I ought to...'

Incredibly, even Challenger was laughing. 'Mrs Challenger counts herself a very lucky woman, I'll have you know!' Since his confrontation with Master Zangpan he seemed to have mellowed. If not a lot, then at least a little was better than nothing.

'Very good,' said the Mechanical Housewife, 'but enough joking already - this is a serious business.'

'We know that,' I replied. 'But we joke with good reason, you know. Laugh today, for tomorrow we may have our tongues cut out by savages or alien abominations!'

'Quite right, my boy,' agreed Lord Roxton. 'Camaraderie and esprit de corps can count for a bally lot in a tricky situation. I remember one time during the war, I was placed in command of the sorriest bunch of half-hearted soldiers you could ever imagine. Their previous commanding office had been a fool - naturally he'd been promoted - and as a matter of policy he had always had the first man to question an order shot. He had honestly believed that to be the best way of earning the respect of the enlisted men.'

'Is this going somewhere, Roxton?' asked Challenger with no attempt to mask his impatience.

Professor Summerlee decided to take up the story. 'Challenger, this is the inspirational story of how Lord John Roxton took a mutinous bunch of dispirited soldiers and through brilliant yet firm leadership - tempered with a sense of humour - gave them a sense of self-worth. The feeling of being part of a team that cared about each other helped them get through the worst times together.'

I looked to Lord Roxton. 'Is that how it was?'

He shook his head. 'The professor tells a pretty story, but I'm afraid he got one part wrong. They all died a month later, the squad sent into an enemy trap by my idiotic predecessor, who was organising the war from the rear. I survived by the skin of my teeth, hiding among their dead bodies as the enemy searched for survivors. I was lucky to escape with a single bayonet wound.'

We all stared at him in amazement.

'The point is this,' he continued. 'They died with self-respect and they died like heroes. No man can ask for more.'

None of us cared to dispute the matter with him. Superficially, Lord Roxton was the most easy-going and carefree of our little group, but from time to time he revealed a glimpse of the horrors through which he had put himself. It was never a pretty sight.

The Mechanical Housewife changed the image on the screen to a tactical view of Planet 93, showing the position of the mining camps. There were several of them dotted all over the planet.

'One hundred years ago,' she said, 'after a century of planning, the Ka-Marians slaughtered every Raak on the planet. Loading captured spacecraft with the equipment they would need to build a new world they set off for the Moon, where they built Ell Ka-Mar. Now recaptured, they have been put to work in the mines.'

'How can we rescue them all?' asked I. 'There are so many bases.'

'There are two things in your favour. The second is that you needn't rescue every one of them. As I said, most of the Ka-Marians are working in the mines, but a select group is kept imprisoned - those considered the greatest threat by the Raak! If you can free them, they will spread rebellion across the world. The Raak, despite their devastating attack on Ell Ka-Mar, do not consider Planet 93 to be of particular importance, and their presence there is not large or well-armed.'

'The attack was simply a punitive example,' said Challenger angrily.

'That's right,' answered the Mechanical Housewife. 'An example which was transmitted live to every planet in the Empire.'

Lord John Roxton had been paying careful attention. 'What was the first thing in our favour?'

'The original evacuation of Planet 93 did not proceed as quickly as the escaping slaves would have hoped. As they prepared to leave they became aware of approaching Raak reinforcement troop carriers. There was no way they could fight them off, so they created a diversion. Two thousand of their most fierce fighters stayed behind to create that diversion.'

'What bravery,' gaped Lord Roxton.

'As the majority of the Ka-Marians slipped away, those who remained fought and fought before breaking into smaller parties and hiding out in the mine tunnels. Once the Raak realised they had been duped they abandoned Planet 93 altogether, at least for a few decades. There were more valuable planets upon which they wished to concentrate their resources.

'By scavenging in the mining stations left abandoned by their mortal enemies, the Wildies, as they began to call themselves, were able to survive. It would go without saying, if you gentlemen were not from Earth, that a good proportion of their bravest fighters were female and so the race was able to propagate. In such terrible conditions they could hardly be expected to prosper, but they did survive.

'Then, as if their lives weren't already bad enough, the Raak returned. Not as miners, but as hunters. Planet 93 soon became one of the most popular tourist worlds of the Raak Empire, as warriors of all ages came to participate in the great hunt. Living in the darkness, avoiding Raak hunting parties, fighting when they had to, the Wildies became little more than beasts. Few kept their sanity living such a nightmarish existence - those that didn't were the lucky ones.'

'So some still live,' said Roxton.

'That's right,' replied the Housewife, nodding. 'Somehow they managed to survive all these years.'

Lord Roxton shook his head. 'There's no mystery there,' he told her. 'Hunting the Wildies to extinction would have meant the end of the hunt. They would always have allowed some to survive. I imagine they even made food available to them at times.'

'Those that survived the hunt were virtually ignored as the Ka-Marians were shipped back in. They watched their cousins being sent into the mines with awe, realising that the stories of their grandparents had been true. They have made a few abortive attempts at rescue, but they simply find the Raak too hard to kill. You must make contact and train them to fight the Raak.'

'So the Wildies are the first thing in our favour,' said Professor Summerlee. 'And the second thing was that we didn't have to rescue everybody. It is precious little to be going on. I'm no inter-galactic soldier, you know. I'm all for risking my life in a good cause, but not if there is no chance of success. What can the four of us do against a galaxy-spanning empire?'

'Your ship will contain a jamming device which will prevent the Raak on Planet 93 from communicating with their superiors. They will put the problem down to cosmic interference and by the time they realise otherwise, you will have ensured it is too late. Hopefully the rest of the Raak Empire will never know what happened there. I understand your concern,' the Mechanical Housewife continued, 'but you could do a lot of good on this mission. I know it sounds forbidding, but if anyone is up to the task it is the four of you!'

Challenger, Roxton and I cheered, lifting our glasses in a toast, but Summerlee was less impressed. However, he pointed out that he was no coward and that if the mission could genuinely save Challenger's people he would accept it without hesitation. The rest of us cheered again, and Challenger, who had perhaps had a little too much whisky that day, tried to embrace Summerlee. The Professor of Comparative Anatomy gave thanks for the nimble feet that allowed him to dodge the oncoming gorilla-man.

'There is one other aspect to all this,' said the Mechanical Housewife. 'The attack on Ell Ka-Mar was triggered by Challenger's journey in space, something which you would probably rather forget. However, you must remember that the Raak monitored that first trip, even though since then they have probably redeployed their surveillance vehicles. At some point the Raak will decide to investigate your little blue planet, and they'll be there to ensure the people of Earth never grow strong enough to be their rivals in the galactic arena. If you strike sufficiently hard at them on Planet 93, if you can rescue the Ka-Marians and defeat the garrisoned Raak, there is a chance that this will cause ructions in the Raak Empire. If other worlds revolt against the oppressors, the march of the Raak may be halted, or even reversed, long enough for Earth to prepare for their coming.'

'That's quite a responsibility,' I said. 'But what a story it will make for old McArdle! I can imagine the headline now: GAZETTE REPORTER SAVES EARTH!'

'I'm afraid not,' said Challenger. 'This story can never be told, except to the highest authorities. Can you imagine the reaction of the people of the world? There would be chaos everywhere, with everyone falling over themselves to no end whatsoever. What's more, every man-jack of them would be knocking on my door, trying to buy or steal the Rocket! No, we shall inform the government and assist them in building escape craft for everyone in secrecy.'

The others seemed to agree with him. I shrugged and placed one hand upon my chest. 'In that case I shall carry the happy knowledge of my heroism locked within my heart.'

'It shall also be carried within mine,' said the Mechanical Housewife, to the good-natured jeers of my companions.

Professor Summerlee watched the glittering object hurtle into the sky above the compound. The fighting stopped for a moment as everyone turned to discover the source of the ear-smashing noise, although Aikor continued to dress the wound in Summerlee's belly. At first it seemed that a spacecraft was taking off in the distance, perhaps a few Raak desperately escaping to take word back to the Empire, but when Summerlee's eyes followed the smoke trail to its source it became clear that it was in fact a tiny rocket or missile that had launched from the compound itself, from inside the guards' building, in fact. As its flight into the sky continued he wondered as to what it might be. Most likely a message rocket, because he couldn't imagine that it was large enough to carry anyone or anything larger than a football. It was a message, he thought sadly, which might spell the destruction of the Earth.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: HOW THE ASSAULT COMMENCED, AND THE TERRIBLE WAY IN WHICH IT CONCLUDED

I pulled off my imitation ear-tentacles and dropped them to the blackened ground. It was a relief to get them off, if for no other reason than that they interfered with my hearing. Often I stumbled, the stars doing little to illuminate the rocky and uneven ground. Planet 93 didn't have a moon, even though its people had had one taken away. The cuts and grazes caused when I tripped hardly showed against the mud, grime and whip marks that covered my body. My arms hung low, weighed down by the manacles I had been unable to remove. I was extremely tired, having worked the whole day in the mine before making the escape attempt. If Summerlee didn't turn up at the agreed rendezvous... well, I tried not to think about that.

Looking at the stars to check my orientation, I staggered through the shattered landscape, forcing myself onward though my every impulse was to give up. But I knew that if I gave in to fatigue and rested, I would soon be asleep and before morning, recaptured.

Eventually, after hours of that mindless trudging, the wasteland began to resolve itself into more familiar shapes. It seemed to be the place. I took off my right shoe and squeezed my second largest toe three times. If things went according to plan, that would bring Summerlee down to meet me.

I stood waiting, staring up into the sky for a sign that he was coming. There was no noise, the Rocket now running even more quietly than it had before the refit, but her beautiful silvery sides could not be disguised as she swooped down from the heavens towards me. I finally allowed myself to drop to the ground. I have no memory of Summerlee stepping from the ship with a hearty greeting, before alarmedly lifting me up and carrying me to the warmth and safety of the Rocket's interior. Given the opportunity, exhaustion immediately propelled me into oblivion, thus depriving me of the chance to witness Summerlee's unusual show of strength.

'I doubt I could do it again,' he said as we drank hot chocolate. 'Seeing you fall like that gave me quite a fright, and I understand many people have been known to show exceptional strength in difficult and extreme circumstances. In my youth, of course, I could have carried three of you!'

'I'm sure you could have,' I smiled from within my blanket. After having had a warm shower I was feeling much more human, although the fact that my hair was still blue might have been thought to indicate otherwise. 'So how did your side of things go?'

'Very well, I believe. I've been spreading the word among the enslaved Ka-Marians about the planned revolt and I managed to avoid any trouble. I hovered above the camps on nights cloudy with the dust that clogs the air. Tying messages to long thin ropes I dangled them by the windows of the slave dormitories. They were snatched by eager hands and I flew away into the night. How about your work?'

'Typical kind of thing you'd expect,' I replied. The chocolate was warming me up nicely and I was beginning to look forward to the next challenge. 'Disguised as a Ka-Marian, I managed to sneak into one of the largest operational mines on the planet. Working on a chain gang I earned the respect of the slaves by standing up to a bullying supervisor and sharing my food with an old man. I then let the other workers into the secret of my true identity and told them of the plan, such as it is, before leading my chain in a successful escape attempt. The ones that got out with me are heading for eight different mines, where they'll prepare the miners for the revolution and subsequent rescue.'

'Well done,' said Summerlee.

'All in a month's work,' I replied with a wry smile.

Suddenly a light began to flash on the console. Summerlee sprang from his chair and went to examine the readings.

'That's the signal of Lord Roxton,' he told me. 'Looks like he made it too.'

The ship touched down as the first signs of sunlight began to fight their way through the murky atmosphere. Summerlee operated the console switch which opened the door and I stepped out into the early dawn, still swathed in my blanket. At first I saw nothing but the desolate surface of Planet 93, viewed from the bottom of a ravine, a savage wound in the land, but then a row of shaggy-haired heads rose slowly and menacingly above the rocks on the horizon. I retreated into the ship as I realised that each head was accompanied by a grimy hand bearing a vicious-looking spear.

'Summerlee,' I called. 'I think we'd better get out of here.'

He came and joined me at the entrance. 'Nonsense, my boy, these chaps look perfectly friendly to me! And we did receive Lord Roxton's signal, after all.'

'Perhaps they cut off his toe and operated it themselves! I don't see Roxton out there. Maybe they are cannibals! As they ate his toes one of them inadvertently set off the signal!'

'Don't be so foolish, Malone! I do believe your time in the mines has done your nerves no good whatsoever! (And in any case, cannibals eat members of their own race, not alien beings.) Now let's go and meet our new friends without any more ado!' About to step outside, he paused, then turned back to me. 'But perhaps you should try not to smile. They may misinterpret the baring of our teeth.'

Then he led the way out and I had no choice but to follow him. He was probably right about them anyway, I tried to assure myself, despite the fearsome countenances that surrounded us from the minute we left the ship. Grown bolder, the Wildies had crept down into the ravine to examine the strange invading ship.

From somewhere over the horizon we heard the sounds of a struggle. Fearing that our comrade might be in danger, we dashed through the ranks of the Wildies without a care for our own safety. Happily they elected to let us pass. If they had chosen not to do so there would have been little we could do about it, having blithely left our Winchesters aboard the Rocket.

Reaching the top of the ravine we were met by the peculiar sight of Lord Roxton buried beneath the bodies of seven or eight of the Wildies and struggling to get out. After we helped him untangle himself he revealed that in the face of danger the first thought of the Wildies was to protect the most important members of the tribe. Usually that would be the women, but as there were none along on this trip, they had tried to protect the chief.

'Very nice of the blighters,' said I. 'Who would have thought the savages to have such decent bones in their body!'

'Watch it, young fellah-my-lad,' said Lord Roxton sternly. 'Just because these people are living in reduced circumstances does not make them any less worthy of your respect. These are strong and intelligent warriors, and our struggle will be aided immeasurably by their support.'

'I agree, Malone,' said Professor Summerlee as we began to walk back to the ship, Roxton's tribe in tow. 'Although we call them savages, that is not necessarily a signifier of their intelligence or their morals. It is in fact a signifier of their environment, of the ends to which they must use their intelligence.'

Although morning had broken, between our situation in the ravine and the poor quality of the light we felt ourselves to be in no immediate danger from the Raak - who after all did not yet know of our presence on the planet. Roxton and his tribe hunkered down outside the Rocket - they too had made a long journey - while Summerlee and I cooked up some hot soup for them, which we dished out with huge chunks of bread. The Wildies seemed as glad of the meal as Roxton himself.

After eating, Roxton told us of his adventure. 'It followed the usual pattern,' he said modestly. 'I stumbled across their tribe by accident, battled with their chief and defeating him became chief myself. Standard encounter procedure for tribes of savages.'

'I can hardly believe you're so blasé about it,' I said.

Professor Summerlee answered for him. 'He and Burton used to do that sort of thing all the time.'

Roxton nodded sadly. 'Good old Richard, I miss him one hell of a lot. You know, sometimes I would look to the stars and imagine him out here, exploring the galaxy. He would be so very pleased to know I'd made it out here. We used to say that when he died he would go searching for the source of the great river in the sky - maybe if I stay in space long enough I'll find it myself - and he'll be there waiting for me to catch up!'

The conversation continued to no great purpose, other than to prevent the chilling silence that blanketed the eerie landscape from penetrating our hearts. Eventually, though, we had to face up to one unsettling fact. Challenger had failed to make the rendezvous. He had not returned from his mission to take our message to the Ka-Marians being held in prison, those considered too dangerous to be sent to the mines and those who we hoped would lead the revolt against the Raak.

We wondered whether he had remained in the prison in order to be able to cause trouble from within when we attacked, but that begged the question of how long he would be able to remain undetected. We had to consider the possibility that he had been captured.

'It changes nothing,' said Roxton. 'Challenger would not want us to abandon the fight because of his death. If he did succumb to the Raak, you can be sure that he died with courage and faith that his friends would finish the battle he began.'

I need hardly say that we were all in agreement, and so the decision was taken to commence the attack without Professor Challenger. Doubtless we would find him within the enemy stronghold, bothering them in much the same manner in which he always bothered us.

'I have another surprise for you,' said Roxton. 'I think you'll appreciate this, Professor Summerlee.' He waved to one of his tribe, uttering a command in the mutated Kamarian dialect the Wildies spoke. The tribesman grinned and got to his feet, running to the top of the ravine. A few moments later his tentacles re-appeared on the horizon, soon followed by both the rest of his body and the body of a Raak.

'He or she stumbled across us one morning,' said Roxton, 'and it soon had reason to regret doing so. We managed to get the better of it by simply clubbing away till it fell, but I had the idea that you might be able to find a more scientific way of killing them.'

'Hmm,' replied the professor, regarding the corpse at his feet with interest. 'Time to practise my trade, I believe.'

Lord Roxton preceded me into the building, carrying a fierce Wildie knife in one hand and an equally fierce pistol in the other. The Winchester he had slung over his shoulder. The interior of the building was gloomy as the exterior, the corridors narrow and the ceilings low. Though slightly larger than humans, the Raak do not share our liking for airy open rooms. They like to feel the dank walls against their sides as they walk through their slimy buildings - a relic of their subterranean origins, perhaps. It was a factor in our favour as we fought our way through to the laboratory, because they could only attack Roxton one at a time, a situation he met with relish.

'Remind me to thank Summerlee,' he said as he sank his knife into the throat of a fourth Raak trooper. The Professor of Comparative Anatomy's expert dissection and analysis of the Raak physiology had identified the single weakness in their vile bodies.

'The neck,' he had said, pointing to a diagram for the benefit of the tribesmen, 'is the only place where penetration of the Raak is possible.' Roxton had frowned, pointing out that the neck was as heavily protected as the rest of their bodies. 'The thick black shell which covers the rest of their bodies only appears to cover their necks - it is in fact a biological illusion, which they must have evolved in response to the predators they faced upon their home world.'

'Why don't they protect it?' asked Roxton.

Summerlee shrugged. 'Arrogance, perhaps? Pride? I don't know. That's why we call them alien. Discerning the function of this unshielded area is impossible when the subject is dead, so we don't know what it is for, we don't know why it is unprotected, but what we do know is that it will let us kill a Raak in its full battle armour.'

Roxton had just repeated once more the butchering process that our injured friend had outlined back in the wasteland. The killing may have been necessary, but it seemed to me that the joy he took in it was entirely unnecessary.

Before the soldier hit the ground Roxton was kicking open a door which the murder had left at his mercy. Over his shoulder I could see the trappings of an abysmal alien science. This must be the laboratory of which Aikor had spoke, but would we find Challenger within? I fancied that hanging on the wall I could spy a pair of familiar brown shoes of a size which meant they could only belong to one man, but for the moment I quelled my hopes. A pair of shoes cannot vouch for a man's life, and besides, between the shoes and me there stood two of the Raak wearing unholy travesties of laboratory coats and bearing gifts of fire and heat.

'This is it,' said Roxton to me as he charged through the door, looking every inch the chief of the Wildies, despite the lack of ear tentacles and the decidedly red hair. It was a matter of attitude. The blood-curdling shriek he unleashed upon the two Raak within did as much to kill them as the knife which punctured their throats. I hung back as he did the dirty work, then rushed to his side as he strode past their corpses.

'He's here,' said Lord Roxton, pointing to an ominous tangle of inch-thick cables and half-grown instrumentation at the far end of the room. 'Or at least his legs are.' Our friend was lying on a slab of steel, but we could not see his head or chest at all, that portion of his body being entirely hidden by the hideous and unclean machinery which engulfed him from the waist up. It was a terrifying sight to see the mighty explorer brought low.

'Does he live?'

'He seems to,' said Roxton, testing Challenger's pulse. 'But he isn't conscious. He hasn't spoken.' I touched a hand - it was surprisingly warm and vital. On the whole, the bottom half of his body seemed undamaged, certainly in better condition than my own had been after my spell in the mines. 'How shall we get him out?'

I frowned. 'I don't know. Presumably we could just pull on his legs.'

'Do you think that's safe?'

'How do I know? But we have to try something. This machine could be killing him.'

Roxton shrugged. We really had no other option. 'Well, here goes then.'

He went to the end of the slab and pulled Challenger's legs. There was little resistance, other than from the natural inertia of the unnaturally-sized body. Slowly the professor was removed from the machine - his magnificent stomach, his exceptional chest and then his - his nothing.

'What the deuce!' said Lord Roxton.

He dropped the legs in horror and I staggered backwards as if hit in the chest by a thunderbolt. All over Planet 93 our plan had come to fruition. Victory was within our grasp. The Ka-Marians, both those from the Moon and their Wildie cousins, those in the mines, those in the prisons and those in the slave-camps, were rising up to kill the Raak oppressors. One by one the hated galactic warlords fell to well-placed daggers, and step by step the people freed themselves. Given time they would have done it without our help, as they had done once before, but we had provided vital organisation at a crucial time and so by the end of that day they would be free.

Despite that great and momentous victory, it was a terrible day in the history of their people, just as it was a terrible day in the history of our people (whether you knew it or not).

Our friend, Professor George Edward Challenger, the most famous explorer and scientist of his time, King of Ell Ka-Mar, the Moon and all related properties, had been decapitated.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: 'BRING ME THE HEAD OF GEORGE EDWARD CHALLENGER!'

Master Zangpan looked on as the Ka-Marians and the Wildies filed through the portals into his World. 'We'll look after them here,' he said to Professor Summerlee. 'As long as they don't play their music too loud.' He laughed, but Summerlee still felt rather glum and didn't really feel up to laughing. Intellectually he knew that his body had been fully healed by the quasi-magical medicines of that strange dimension, but emotionally he still felt very fragile and unwilling to test his recovery.

'I'm not sure I understand,' he said. 'Will this not cause any unpleasant ramifications with regard to the time-stream?'

The Mechanical Housewife replied. 'All we know about Planet 93 is that it was completely destroyed at about this time - or, I should say, at about your time. There are no records of any survivors. As far as we know, our actions already form part of the time-stream. If they do not it is of no consequence because we have not left the Ka-Marians alive in your time, which would have changed your future and Master Zangpan's past. We have plucked them from the continuum entirely, and different rules apply here altogether.'

'At some point in the future,' said Master Zangpan, 'and by that I mean both the future of Zangpan's World and the future of the real-space universe, we may discover a point in which it will be safe to drop them back into normal space-time.'

'I believe I understand,' said Summerlee thoughtfully. 'However, what will be the effect upon points in real-space time subsequent to that in which you place them?'

'Oh, I'm sure that it will have some effect,' said Zangpan with a shrug. 'Ripples in a pond and all that, but I make a point of not learning anything about the future. I allow myself to dip into the past from time to time, if you'll excuse the pun, but otherwise I like to maintain the illusion that I am living in the early twenty-first century. Some might say I fail to take full advantage of my powers, but it is much safer. If I knew too much of what was supposed to happen in later centuries I might end up paralysed, unable to act for fear of creating a big mess-up.'

'Take me, for example,' said the Mechanical Housewife. 'I'm from a period two hundred years ahead of that wherein Master Zangpan was born, yet he has asked me nothing of events during that time.'

'You're from his future?' Summerlee wondered why he was surprised. He knew himself to be a museum piece from Zangpan's point of view, but to discover that the Housewife originated from so far into futurity was still quite a shock. For all he knew, she might have lived in the twilight of the British Empire! As she nodded, a dozen questions came to mind - then fell away as quickly.

Seeing his face fall, the Mechanical Housewife smiled sympathetically. 'You understand why the Master never asks me anything?' He answered in the affirmative.

'When she arrived here,' said Master Zangpan, 'we soon realised the psychological problems such knowledge could cause her, so Klothe and Melenkius helped her to encrypt certain parts of her memory. She can access them, should she desire to, but they do not come to her unbidden.'

'Do you do that to all who come here from the future?'

'They are few in number, but the answer is no. We ask them not to talk about it, and on the whole they comply. Remember also that the universe is a very big place - most of the things they know would mean nothing to us anyway.'

'In my case,' said the Mechanical Housewife, 'I asked Klothe and Melenkius to perform the operation because Master Zangpan often sends me into the time-stream to investigate disturbances, or takes me on trips with him into his own time. It would be very difficult for me if my first thought upon meeting a person was to remember the date of their death.'

'I can imagine... feeling the pain of bereavement before even speaking for the first time. How horrible.'

The discussion continued, but soon they received word from the engineers that the last of the refugees had made it into Zangpan's World. The portals were shut down, and Zangpan's people began to educate the newcomers in the ways of their new home. Before long Lord Roxton and I were able to join our friends for some lunch. We had played an important part in persuading the Ka-Marians and the Wildies to step through the strange blue portals. Of course, it had not taken a great deal to persuade them as they had nowhere else to go.

'Did you do it?' asked Master Zangpan.

'I'm afraid we did,' said Lord John. 'I don't feel too good about being the one to blow up a planet.'

Zangpan's device would burrow down to the core of Planet 93, monitoring the solar system for the approach of Raak battle-cruisers. When it judged them to be within range it would trigger a chain reaction in the core. The planet would be utterly destroyed and the enemy spacecraft would be annihilated. It was a part of our mission which neither of us had relished, but Zangpan had made it clear that it was one of the conditions of his help - the Raak must have no evidence of other-dimensional activities. Lord Roxton had asked whether such an explosion might indicate to the Raak that something unusual had occurred, but Zangpan had said that to the contrary, planet-busting detonations were simply part of everyday business for the war-like Raak.

'Planet 93 was always a dead world,' said Master Zangpan. 'No Ka-Marian had called it by its true name in five centuries, except in stories of the days before the coming of the Raak. You simply put it out of its misery.'

'It could have lived again,' I said.

Master Zangpan began to show signs of slight irritation. 'Such discussion is fruitless, so stop bugging me about it, Mister Malone! To the eyes of the universe, the Ka-Marians chose death and glory over slavery and degradation under the lash of the Raak. Other subjugated worlds will follow their example. Some will fail and die, some will succeed and die, but some will succeed and live! Today we have struck an important blow against the Raak and you should certainly cheer up a bit!'

'I suppose so,' I said sadly. It preyed on my mind that it could so easily have been Earth we mourned that day, had the Raak turned right instead of left five centuries ago. 'How do you feel, Professor Summerlee? Has the wound healed?'

'Yes, it has,' he replied, 'the doctors here are very good, you know. Had me up on my feet in no time at all!'

The Mechanical Housewife spoke up. 'If not for the quick work of Aikor it is unlikely that you would have survived long enough to receive their attentions, Professor. You owe him your thanks.'

'You may be sure that I shall not be remiss in proffering them, dear lady.'

'My cosmic wisdom and astonishing powers of near-infinite reflection tell me that it is Aikor who shall be most profligate with his thanks,' said Master Zangpan, indicating that we should all take the weight off our feet. We followed him in placing our posteriors upon the gentle ground. The flora and landscape of the sliver from which Summerlee had watched the evacuation was, like the majority of them, not created according to the templates of Earth. The burgundy ground was covered with swaying grass of the deepest blue, the light filtered to create a relaxing and permanent dusk. Whether the sliver had constructed itself in imitation of a far-off planet or whether someone had simply fancied living in a place like that I do not know, but it was a lovely place to sit and talk, to recuperate and make plans. 'You saved his people, after all. However, despite your mighty deeds of the past you must now turn to the future. Having rescued an entire population, you must now save a single man.'

Lord Roxton, Summerlee and I nodded solemnly. The three of us were fully aware of our responsibilities in that regard.

'There is no rush to leave Zangpan's World, of course,' he continued. 'When you are ready, we shall drop you back into real-space at the same point in time from which you came here. Then you can chase after him. Before leaving ensure you are refreshed and rested.'

I looked at the others. They indicated that I should speak. 'We thank you for your advice, but we would really like to go as soon as possible.'

'I suppose that is understandable,' said Master Zangpan, 'if regrettable. Your impatience says much for your friendship, though little for your cosmic awareness. Tomorrow, now, next week, all times of departure in Zangpan's World are as one with regard to the outside universe. The difference is purely psychological.'

'We understand that,' said Professor Summerlee, 'but the fact that a difference is psychological does not make it unimportant. Logically, we could stay here for the next twenty years if we wished before stowing our walking-sticks in the Rocket and going after Challenger's head - but we will never be more ready than we are at this moment! No, Master Zangpan, we must strike while the iron is hot! This is the day and this is the hour!'

'Besides,' commented Lord Roxton, 'we miss the irritating baboon and we want him back in one piece.'

Zangpan saw no reason to dispute the matter with us any further, and so we were soon standing by the Rocket, ready to board her once again. It wasn't quite the same without Challenger around. Klothe, Melenkius, Master Zangpan and the Mechanical Housewife were all there to see us off.

'Now remember,' said Klothe to the three of us. 'If anyone asks, you had the refit done by Publasky Porawny on Pelney's Planet.'

'We have replicated his style exactly,' said Melenkius. 'Right down to the over-torquing on the maximosing delibrettofier, though it killed me to do so.'

I made a note of the instruction. I knew how important it was to keep the Raak from knowing of Zangpan's World.

'There is one other thing,' said the Mechanical Housewife, walking over to me with her hand held out.

'I know, my love,' said I, holding out my own hand. 'I shall miss you too.'

'It's not that,' she said with a laugh. When our hands met I felt something pressed against my palm. Taking it from her I saw that it was Challenger's ring, the symbol of his kingship. 'I thought he might like to see it. It might help you to bring him back to his senses or something, should the cold loneliness of space have addled his mind.'

Master Zangpan scowled at her. 'You shouldn't have done that,' he said in an annoyed tone. 'You know my rules about interference.'

She tossed her blond curls over her shoulder. 'You don't hesitate to break the rules when it suits your purposes.'

'That's different - they're my rules!'

My two English friends were as puzzled as I by this exchange. What possible importance could her actions have had? I could not know, but the argument determined me to keep the ring upon my person. Soon Master Zangpan conceded the debate to his robotic servant. She pointed out that the ring would still have been aboard the ship, along with the finger, the hand, and the body she had taken it from, if not for Zangpan's own meddling. She had simply put the natural train of events back on the rails.

'Time for us to go,' said Lord Roxton. Summerlee nodded his agreement and the two of them boarded the ship. 'Hurry up, Malone,' called Roxton from within.

'Farewell,' I said to our world's newest friends. 'If we are successful, can you really do what you say?'

'Bring me the head of George Edward Challenger,' said Master Zangpan, 'and these two will put him back together again.'

Looking at the smiling faces of Klothe and Melenkius I really believed they could. I gave the Mechanical Housewife a peck on the cheek, said goodbye to the others and entered the ship.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: HOW TO GET AHEAD IN SPACE

Space, thought Professor Challenger, as he rocketed through the void, with a neutron booster blasting away from the point at which his neck used to meet his body, is most definitely the place. So had said a fascinating blue-skinned lady to him back on Zangpan's World, describing her ability to sail between the planets of the solar system. Travelling through space faster than a speeding star-light, he had every reason to agree with her. The universe was beautiful and he felt awe as she showed him her face. He was edging towards the belief that the Raak had done him a favour. Murdering maniacs perhaps, but they had been good enough to provide him with a little jet mounted on the side of the ship (helmet?). Its feeble power levels had no effect upon his trajectory, of course, but it did give him the ability to set the ship spinning from time to time along an axis which speared his head - thus changing the view. Soaring through the heavens, he felt that if he were to meet a Raak a minute from now he would shake it by the hand. That is, if he were able, and besides, resentment towards those who had beheaded him was growing once more in pace with the desire he had for a nose-scratching.

He had never actually lost consciousness during the process of decapitation, which had come as something of a surprise. He had at least anticipated some fainting, if not an oblivion more permanent, but the fact that he had remained alert as the deed was done was a source of some pride to him. One day, he hoped, he would be able to speak of the experience before the Royal Biological Society, if not the Invisible College itself!

Before the blade had been allowed to drop, the scientists of the Raak had hooked his head and body up to various items of machinery which in retrospect he realised to have kept him alive during the operation. The incision of note had then been made, right at the bottom of the neck, leaving Challenger to reflect that the seat of the soul was most certainly in the skull, for although he felt a sense of loss as he watched the body recede into the distance, the head being taken to a different laboratory to prepare for its journey into space, he felt that no diminishment of the essential self had taken place. It was, without doubt, a most interesting experience.

The first step in preparing the Challenger head for inter-stellar travel had been to make it self-sufficient, and to this end a mechanical cap had been placed over the base of the neck. This piece of alien technology somehow performed such essential bodily functions as the recycling of blood and the processing of air. It enabled him to speak, replacing his lungs in that capacity too. However, that power of speech was only now returning once more - the Raak scientists had temporarily disabled it in the face of his furious invective. He wasn't entirely sure what he had been so angry about. Certainly, he had failed abysmally in his mission to make contact with the Ka-Marian prisoners, being captured before even reaching the prison camp, and of course the chances of Malone and the others rescuing his subjects without his assistance seemed pretty slim. His body had been amputated (and I was quite attached to it, he laughed to himself) and the Earth might well be heading for destruction. But was all that really worth getting worked up about when one felt at peace with the universe? From his position in inter-stellar space, Challenger wondered if he was beginning to develop the cosmic awareness of which he had heard Master Zangpan speak. Planets might live, planets might die - in fact they would all die in the end, no two ways about it, it was a done deal, so why get so worked up about one or another, here or there?

As you can tell, dear reader, Challenger was far from being himself as we threw ourselves into his pursuit. The calculations of Klothe and Melenkius had shown that if Challenger was heading for the Raak home-world, Raraak-Ra, we would overtake him with days to spare. The top speed of a head in a helmet, they told me, is high, but would easily be matched and beaten by the new and improved Rocket. You have plenty of time to catch up - the question is, what state will he be in when you find him? I enquired as to their meaning, and Klothe hinted of an affliction by the name of space-happiness. If he goes space-happy, said the engineer, you will have to take great care of him. He may well resent being rescued. Poppycock, I had said. Challenger would never go mad! But Melenkius had pointed out that it wasn't a form of insanity, at least within its normal context - it was an entirely rational and intelligent reaction to the infinities of space. It was the first step to cosmic awareness. In fact, they told me, checking to see that Master Zangpan wasn't around, that was how all this came about. I didn't understand. Master Zangpan, said Klothe, had originally gone by the name of Chow Mi-Sun, a Japanese astronaut whose orbital laboratory had malfunctioned. Two of the other astronauts had been killed immediately in the accident, while Chow, preparing to leave the air-lock to perform experiments on a space-walk, had found himself out in space with no way of getting back inside. Certain meditations he then performed had opened the doors to Zangpan's World. I informed them that Zangpan had spoken to us of certain tantric rituals. They looked at each other, then smiled. The experiments, they said, had been with regard to zero gravity and zero environment sex. There had been another astronaut with him, by the name of Mai-Lee. Staring death in the face, they had elected to continue with the experiments regardless. This had led to Chow's space-happiness and subsequent enlightenment. I wondered how they had performed such a feat in the cold vacuum of space, but it had all been planned, said Klothe, the spacesuits were of a special Siamese variety. I asked what had become of Mai-Lee, did she have a world of her own too? They frowned and looked rather sad. I'm afraid not, said Melenkius. Only Master Zangpan made it through. She died long before the Japanese rescue mission was able to reach her. That was when Master Zangpan created his rules regarding the messing-up of time, said Klothe. He takes them very seriously. Investigating the circumstances of his disappearance was a vital step for the Earth people along the road to cosmic consciousness - if Mai-Lee's body had not been found, it would have been assumed that the two of them had simply been swept away into the depths of space and no progress would have been made.

Do I need to describe the exultation on board the Rocket when the blip of Challenger's head showed up on the sensors? Those who can imagine it for themselves must bear with me while I describe the scene for those who are, perhaps, reading this account at the end of a long day. Lord Roxton leapt to his feet with a great cheer, dropping his cards all over the floor, and Summerlee followed suit, while I grumbled about having a winning hand.

'He's dead ahead,' said Lord Roxton.

Professor Summerlee looked askance at him. 'I sincerely hope he isn't.'

'I'll get the grabber ready,' said I to the two of them. I was referring to one of the many improvements made to the ship by Klothe and Melenkius. The grabber was a device which would allow the user to grab (hence the name, naturally) objects from the exterior. If at that time the ship was within a hostile environment, such as undersea or out in space, the object would be brought through an air-lock. My task was to use the grabber to pull Challenger's tiny spaceship inside, while Roxton and Summerlee would have to match our velocity with that of our comrade's head.

Meanwhile, Challenger was comparing the experience of travelling through inter-stellar space with certain thought experiments he had performed upon himself while lying in bed as a child. Tucked inside a bundle of warm blankets, insulated from the cold and hidden from the world, he would close his eyes and prepare for sleep. And often, waiting for the Sandman to come and sprinkle dust upon him, he would try to reorientate his perception of the room. He had always found it remarkably easy to convince himself that his bed pointed from east to west, instead of vice versa, or to north or south. In the darkness there was no real sense of direction, and being in space was just like that. Usually he thought of himself as travelling from left to right along a horizontal plane, as would a man in a car, but without gravity to provide a sense of direction there was no reason why he should not consider himself to be rocketing forever upward and away! Often he did, and with equal regularity came the terrifying times when he seemed to be plummeting into an infinite abyss. One sign that he was not himself (he was, after all, less than one fifth in fact of the man he used to be) was that Challenger permitted these periods of terror to continue, rather than struggling to bring them to an end, because he was enjoying the sensation of fear. He felt himself on the verge of a breakthrough. If he could orientate his mind in the right manner, and if he could make himself fall in the right direction, into the right dimension... It was all becoming so clear, the Zang and the Pan... Could there be a second Master..?

I have detailed how each of the parties involved arrived at the nexus where our two journeys intersected. Gliding serenely (most of the time) through space, the tiny drive at the back of the modified space helmet pushing him ever onward, never seeing his destination but knowing it nevertheless, Challenger never heard our approach. Apart from the fact that our ship was silent in its running, there is no sound in space - no sound, said Challenger to me later, other than a silence which is so loud it can deafen you. We came up on him suddenly and he spotted us out of the corner of his eye - imagine trying to see what is under your feet without being able to lower your head. That was Challenger's situation, apart from the fact that he had no feet - or rather, that his feet were currently being cared for in an other-dimensional quasi-space!

If Roxton and Summerlee had not been able to match speeds the operation could not have gone ahead, but thankfully the potential difficulties of the task were eliminated by the sophisticated motion sensors which had been installed by Challenger and upgraded by Zangpan's tame engineers. Mercifully soon, for the tension was gnawing at my stomach like a bad case of Delhi belly, I was given the go-ahead. I began to manipulate the controls which sent the grabber's arm out towards our spinning spaceman. Presumably, as we were so close to him now that if he had still been in one piece his monstrous backside would have obscured the view-screen, Challenger now knew it was the Rocket that had come to his rescue. Yet to see the frantic gyrations of his little helmet as my grabber approached (there was little else the poor fellow was in a position to do) one would have thought us the Raak or worse. Finally the grabber-hand clamped gently but firmly about the helmet.

'Better check that we have the right head,' said Summerlee to me.

'Okay,' I shrugged. 'I don't suppose that would hurt.' I moved the arm around so that it held the helmet, face forward, in front of our view-screen. At this point the miniature spacecraft's own engine cut out, frustrated as it was in its desire to travel onward.

We all cheered as we recognised the familiar red and simian face and the bristling beard, then peered curiously at the screen as we realised he was trying to yell something at us, his face distorted with anger.

'What do you make of that?' asked Professor Summerlee. 'He seems quite distressed.'

'Perhaps he's been turned into a living bomb,' said Lord Roxton, 'and he's trying to warn us that he'll explode when we bring him inside.'

'What a lively idea,' said the professor. 'However, I am of the opinion that Challenger has probably gone doolally. We were warned this might happen, and, let's face it, he did not have very far to go!'

Lord Roxton pursed his lips pensively. 'What do you think, Malone?'

I looked into Challenger's eyes. I saw nothing to make me feel he was trying to warn us off. Rather, I felt the anger was for himself, that through the barrier of space he was screaming to be left alone. It could only be madness - I could only hope it was of a temporary variety. 'I think there is only one way to find out what he is saying, and that is to bring him inside.'

Summerlee nodded and Roxton shrugged. 'I will go along with the majority decision,' he said. 'I was just trying to come up with a worst-case scenario, but I do not really expect Challenger to blow up in our faces - other than in a metaphorical sense, that is. Go ahead and bring him in.'

Summerlee twisted the knob on the console which opened the exterior hatch of the air-lock and we heard the whoosh of air being claimed by the void. Under my instruction the grabber tucked Challenger into the air-lock and Summerlee closed the exterior hatch. As I pumped air into the air-lock chamber the waves of sound which emanated from Challenger's ample mouth found a medium via which they could assault our ears. His voice was a bit muffled, but I made out something about some confounded idiots. I could not have guessed who he meant by that.

'I don't suppose you'd like to reconsider,' I said to the others with a grimace. 'We have yet to pass the Rubicon.' But my enquiry was not at all serious. Despite his obnoxious and unmitigatedly bad behaviour, Challenger was our friend and it was our place to assist him, whatever the situation.

Summerlee twisted the knob which opened the interior air-lock hatch. It swung open and there was Challenger sitting in the wall like a turkey in an oven. He lost no time in loosing his invective upon us face to face.

'Get me out of here, you bloody idiots!'

'Hold on, Challenger,' I said. 'We'll have you right as rain in no time. Professor Summerlee, would you like to prepare the robot body?'

Summerlee nodded and moved to unpack a trunk we had brought from Zangpan's World. As he did, I lifted Challenger and his little spacecraft from the cubby-hole. I carried him over to the foldable table which we had erected at the centre of the four comfortable chairs, and set him down upon it. Eventually he stopped swearing long enough for me to ask how to open up the helmet.

'Just press the red button,' he said through gritted teeth.

I did so and the helmet sprang open. I lifted Challenger from it and Roxton put it down beside his chair. Summerlee was still busy off in the corner.

It was a difficult moment. What should one say in such a situation? Whatever one says, one runs the risk of sounding either cruel or ridiculous. I plumped for the ridiculous. 'How are you, Professor Challenger?'

He was silent for a moment, staring at me. Then he turned, as far as he could without toppling over, to look at Lord Roxton. I moved him a little so that we were both within his field of vision. 'This may well come as something of a surprise to you, Malone, but I am not at my best today. No, do not try to interrupt me with your sympathy or your patronization. I am completely cognizant of my position and I have retained full use of my faculties.'

Roxton and I looked at one another, remembering how Klothe had told us to handle our charge with kid gloves. Lord John spoke first. 'Sorry if we did anything wrong, old boy. Just trying to help out and all that. We have saved you, don't you know?'

Challenger's face reddened like an Englishman in the sun. 'You blasted idiots! Saved me, have you? You damnable bunch of nincompoops! I was but a hair's breadth away from safety before you grabbed me with that stupid extensible arm!'

'Of course you were, Professor Challenger,' I said in a low, gentle voice. 'Space happy,' I whispered to Roxton, before returning to the head on the table. 'But you're safe here, too, with all your friends. Here I am, Edward Malone, the journalist, and I'm sure you can't have forgotten your old friend, Lord John Roxton-'

'Shut up! Lord Roxton, be so good as to give him a clout on the head before he talks us all into an early grave!' Happily Roxton declined and Challenger paused for a moment, visibly trying to calm himself. 'I thank you for your attentions, but we must address ourselves to matters of grave importance. First things first. Did you manage to save the Ka-Marians?'

'We did indeed,' I said quietly, subdued by the violent reaction to my earlier words. 'It was quite an adventure-'

'Not now,' said Challenger in a more mild tone, even though he was still interrupting me. 'You can provide me with the details at a later date. However, I do thank you all most profoundly - from the bottom of my chin, so to speak - for the good you have done. It is good to have friends upon whom one can rely in an emergency.'

'What else are friends for,' said Professor Summerlee over his shoulder, 'if not for evacuating planets from time to time?'

'Unfortunately,' continued Challenger calmly, 'in my present state of incapacity I am forced to rely upon you once again. Malone, when I said that I had almost reached safety you said that I must be space-happy - your words were more apposite than you imagined, applying not only to your own sack-headed interpretation of events but also, in fact, to the actual events themselves. I was, before you reached me, deeply space-happy and on the brink of a scientific breakthrough in the realm of cosmic awareness. I believe that in a matter of minutes I would have successfully managed to remove myself to Zangpan's World - an ability known to the enlightened as auto-dimensionality. Instead of which, my three good friends dragged me back into imminent danger.'

'I hope that you will not be offended, old man,' said Lord Roxton, 'if I declare that to be the most preposterous tosh I ever heard. However, I accept that the galaxy is a stranger place than I could ever know and so I shall let it slide for now. On the other hand, I am somewhat alarmed by your statement that we snatched you back from safety into imminent danger. As far as I know, you were still two days travel from the planet of Raraak-Ra. We overhauled you long before you reached your destination. So you see that either you are mistaken, or there is an element to this situation of which we are not yet aware.'

'Oh dear,' said Professor Challenger. 'You better get that robot body ready for me sharpish, Summerlee - it is worse than I feared. I assumed that at least you knew what you had got yourselves into! If I was travelling to Raraak-Ra, it would indeed have taken me another two days to get there. However, that was not my destination. I would have arrived today, in about twenty minutes as a matter of fact. Hence my determination to achieve auto-dimensionality.'

'Oh dear,' I said pitifully.

Challenger continued with his lecture. 'The message being sent was simple and required no words - simply a head - to convey it. Earthmen have left their own system. They have interfered in our affairs and they must now be destroyed!'

'If not to Raraak-Ra, then where were you heading?' asked Lord Roxton.

'Why,' said Challenger, 'such a communication would only be delivered to the very heart of Raak government! Therefore, until my voyage was so rudely interrupted, I was on my way to the Raak Battlefleet, currently stationed on the edge of Raraak-Ra's solar system and waiting for action!'

'Uh-oh,' said Summerlee, putting down the metal arms and legs he had been working on to respond to some flashing lights on the console. 'I think you gentlemen would be well advised to take a look at this.'

Roxton picked up Challenger and we went over to examine the sensor read-outs.

'These readings demonstrate the veracity of my previous statement,' said Challenger from under Lord John's arm, 'though I dearly wish it did not. Gentlemen, we are now situated squarely in the middle of the Raak Imperial Battlefleet, the deadliest force for destruction in all of creation. There are a thousand ships on every side, each of them packed to the brim with destructive weaponry and ferocious Raak warriors. Please consider that a single ship of this type was enough to destroy the Moon before making suggestions as to the most appropriate course of action.'

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: FLIES IN HONEY

'We are in a tricky spot, there is no doubting that,' said Professor Summerlee, looking with concern at the view-screen. The Raak armada hung there in the blackness of space with a sublime malevolence. Sheer evil, just waiting for a chance to flex its muscles, looking for a bug to squash. Summerlee felt eminently squashable. He turned to watch Professor Challenger scratching his nose. Challenger stared right back at him.

'This is a seven light year itch, I'll have you know!'

Summerlee's eyebrows rose. 'I'm sure it is. Apart from that, how does the new body feel?'

'Not too bad,' replied Challenger, extending the metallic arms to their full length.

'Four metres,' said Lord Roxton. 'That is quite a reach. You could become a champion of the ring should you so choose!'

Challenger laughed. 'The Queensberry Rules probably prohibit telescopic arms, although I may be wrong!' He wore no clothes upon his body, which was approximately one hundred and eighty centimetres in height - disregarding the head which we had attached to it. Said height could be varied, since in addition to the arms, the legs (and the neck and waist) were adjustable and extensible. His body, as I said, stood naked to the world for a simple reason. Not having long to throw together a suitable prosthetic body, Klothe and Melenkius had not taken the time to create one which possessed the same capacity for certain activities which a human body would have had - therefore there was no need for modesty. Some lady readers may be shocked by this nudity, but consider this: you do not dress a kettle or your pots and pans! When you cloak a teapot in a tea-cosy it is simply to keep the tea within warm, not for the sake of modesty! Cloaking Challenger would have served no purpose. Also, if I may be so bold as to say so, Challenger's new body was rather spectacular and it would have been a shame to conceal it. Silver and bulky like a suit of armour, articulated at the joints and possessed of its own power source, it was a fitting replacement for the original.

Now he had a body with which to do so, Professor Challenger began to take control of the situation. 'The Raak have surrounded us,' he said. 'But as yet I believe them to be ignorant of our presence. Fortunately our engines were off when they approached. I shall now cut down on other energy use to try and ensure that nothing gives us away.' While saying this he moved to the controls and switched and twiddled virtually every knob. The lights dimmed and the tea-maker installed by the considerate Melenkius ceased its brewing. 'Only life support systems remain in operation,' he said with a nod. 'That should keep us safe for a while.'

'If they are on patrol and they have not seen us,' I said, peering at Challenger through the gloom, 'there is no need for us to act, is there? If we lie doggo long enough they should continue on their own sweet way, leaving us free to travel back to Earth.'

He came back from the console and joined us in the comfortable upholstered chairs before speaking. 'I should be careful not to tear this,' he said ruefully. 'With my copper bottom I might as well be sitting on a rock as on this delightful piece of English furniture.'

'I shall thank you not to speak of your bottom, copper or not,' said Professor Summerlee, to the approval of Lord Roxton and myself. 'Such talk revives memories of our journey to Planet 93 and your unhealthy reaction to the Dra-wak-ooan Metelburbs!'

Professor Challenger laughed at the memory of the nasal agony he had caused us. 'When next I build a space-craft I shall be sure to include in the design air filters adequate to protect the fragile noses of my companions!'

When we stopped laughing Lord Roxton held up a hand to attract Challenger's attention. 'What say, old man, we take the time to have a glass of whisky! I know we are in a rum situation and all, but if the situation is not too urgent I believe a swig or two of the golden stuff would help us all!'

I stuck an elbow into his ribs for his tactlessness. For a second I thought he would break my arm, but then his intellect over-rode his instincts and he took time to consider his previous words. 'Oh, I see,' he said after a pause. 'Sorry, Challenger old chap! In the darkness your predicament sort of slipped my mind. No harm done, eh?'

'None at all, Lord Roxton,' said the unoffended party. 'Though I thank Malone for his concern, I am perfectly able to consume food and drink. The neck attachment simply breaks it down and uses it for power. As for your suggestion, I agree that though the situation be rum, the drink must be whisky! I'll be hanged if I'll let the blasted beetles stop me enjoying a gentleman's comforts!'

He went to the rear of the cabin and poured a glass for each of us, stretching his arm out to hand us the drinks from where he stood. Lord Roxton called it a neat party trick, and Summerlee made mention of fossil-hunting trips in the Andes when such an ability would have been more than useful. Pleasurably soon three of us were relaxing while the golden pools in our bellies warmed our souls. The fourth member of our crew took extra time to relish the taste upon his tongue.

'To return to Malone's earlier suggestion,' said Challenger from the murk. 'It would be lovely if all we had to do was hold out and keep quiet until they went away. Sadly that will not be enough. One objection to this is a matter of political morality, in that such an approach rarely works with aggressors and conquerors, whereas the other is a question of physics. I am afraid that as the fleet passed by - and remember that we are talking about a substantial number of ships with a very substantial sum total of mass - we were swept up in their gravitational pull. Result: we are slap bang in the middle of them with no way of getting out!'

'That does not sound good,' said Professor Summerlee. 'But from the relatively cheery tone of your voice I deduce that our position is not hopeless. I suppose you expect us to beg the mighty Challenger to enlighten us once more. Well, consider the begging done! I am a proud man, but do not confuse the justifiable pride I have in my achievements with the kind of pride that gets men killed because they do not recognise that they are out of their depth.'

'There is, as you have surmised, a spark of hope,' said Challenger. 'If we could create a distraction large enough to interest the Raak, the Rocket could sneak away to safety!'

'What a brilliant concept!' said Summerlee. 'The reasons for which they call you a genius are manifest! Now if we can only think of a suitable distraction, stuck here in empty space!'

Though the darkness prevented me from knowing, I imagine that Challenger glowered at Summerlee as he replied. 'Keep your flippancy to yourself, old friend! I have a plan which could save the three of you, and I shall be the one putting my life on the line!'

Professor Summerlee was not cowed. 'What a fine idea. We chase half-way across the galaxy to rescue you and now you are going to sacrifice yourself so we can get away! I look forward to describing our successful mission to Master Zangpan and the Mechanical Housewife!'

Lord Roxton interrupted him with a polite cough. 'The mission will have been a success if the men and women of Earth still wake next week to a sky that is blue, if their choice is not between slavery and death, and if the Raak Empire still believes us to be a bunch of harmless midges not worthy of their attention. What I am trying to say is this: we must escape or die, and those that do not escape must ensure that their death leaves an unrecognisable body.'

'Thank you for explaining things so bluntly and succinctly,' said Challenger. 'You will no doubt be pleased to learn that my plan involves the strapping of explosives to my body.'

'I like it already,' said Professor Summerlee, before Challenger outlined the rest of the plan. None of us were wild about his proposal, but then none of us were able to offer anything better. We agreed to go along with it, though every one of us expressed regret that he could not take the place of brave Professor Challenger.

'That is very courageous of you all,' said our friend. 'Believe me, I would not hesitate in entrusting this part of the plan to any of you - in fact I would be more than happy to do so, my reasons being partly selfish and partly a recognition of the fact that none of you, to the best of my knowledge, has a wife awaiting your return - but unfortunately I am (again, to the best of my knowledge) the only one of us with detachable body parts.'

He began by enlisting the aid of Professor Summerlee in effecting some redesigns upon the space-helmet that had carried him so far into space. Picking it up from beside Roxton's chair he wiped a few drops of whisky off it with distaste.

'I'm sorry, Challenger,' said Lord Roxton. 'It must have happened when you told us about the plan. The part about blowing up the Queen-Ship startled me.'

'I do not mean to be over-fussy,' said Challenger in return. 'But you should bear in mind that if by chance I do not make it back to the ship, this helmet could be my home for a considerable period of time.'

The next step was to disconnect his head from his new body. As the joint was a push-fit connection this did not prove problematic. Returned to his position on the table Challenger continued to instruct us, while sucking whisky through a straw. A condemned man's hearty breakfast, he said with grim humour.

We then proceeded to throw Challenger's body out of the ship. One by one his limbs were placed in the air-lock's cubbyhole before being ejected into space, and then his torso, heavy with bombs and explosives, took the same route. Caught up in the same gravity trap as the Rocket, all of the mechanical attachments kept pace alongside us. A peculiar aspect of the slightly gruesome situation - it felt oddly like we were disposing of a corpse - was that the motion of the prostheses and our ship was not immediately visible to our eyes. It seemed as if we were at rest in the void with Challenger's body parts floating beside us. This effect was produced by the speed of the Rocket being identical to that of the prostheses and, indeed, to the objects in space which provided our frame of reference: the battleships of the malignant fleet. It was only when one looked beyond the ships that crowded the view-screen that one saw how the stars were gently turning to the right. The Raak were apparently patrolling a simple circle with the sun of Raraak-Ra at its distant centre.

Once all the other bits and pieces had been ejected, it was time for the head to follow. First we replaced him in the helmet, the drive of which had now been shifted so that it protruded from the back of the head, rather than the bottom. This would allow Challenger to use the airtight helmet and its neutron booster while still hooked up to his new body. The mechanism which had carried the memory of the miniature spaceship's original destination had been shorted out, and so Challenger would now be able to control the drive himself via the controls mounted on the front of the helmet.

Finally the time had come for Challenger to go.

Professor Summerlee lifted the helmet and placed it in the cubbyhole, asking him, 'Are you ready?'

To which Challenger replied, 'There is no preparing oneself for such an experience. My chances of survival are low, yet in the worst eventuality, if I do not make it to the rendezvous, be aware of the possibility that I have arrived at Zangpan's World before you.'

'If you manage to achieve auto-dimensionality; I know,' said Summerlee. 'But it would take us three or four weeks to get back to Zangpan's meeting-point on the Moon - that is a long time to worry about the fate of a comrade. Do your best to get back to us in one piece.'

'I shall try,' said Challenger before the hatch swung shut, 'though you should make allowances for the fact that being already in seven or eight pieces I begin the mission at a disadvantage.'

The three of us looked sadly at each other once he was out in space. We held out little hope for his survival. Trying to put such thoughts aside I addressed myself to the grabber, with which I put Challenger back together again. That we had to operate at the lowest possible power levels made it a painfully slow process, as did the fact that I was learning for the first time how to handle objects in zero gravity, but perseverance told in the end. Challenger scooted round to the front of the ship and gave us a cheerful wave through the view-screen - we waved back, even though the composition of the window prevented him from being able to see the symbol of our good wishes. We knew that the blackness of the screen from his position would not prevent him from knowing that we waved - and that was not a matter of cosmic awareness, but of simple friendship.

Then off he flew into the night.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: THE INTERSTELLAR BATTLESHIPS

'I don't know about you,' said Lord Roxton to the two of us, 'but I could really use a shot of whisky right now.' He went off to the rear of the cabin before we had even had a chance to reply. It seemed that Lord John was developing a fondness with the spirit of the north that stretched perhaps to over-familiarity.

'Do you think that is particularly wise?' asked Summerlee with more than a hint of concern. 'What if Challenger sends the signal and we are all asleep in our cups?'

Lord Roxton shrugged and said, 'It will be all right, professor. Don't worry so much. Sometimes a man gets something of a thirst and I've got one right now.'

Professor Summerlee was not in the mood to back away from an argument - in any case there was little else for us to do while Challenger was off on his mission. 'Lord Roxton, tell me, do you know the meaning of the word alcoholic?'

'I think I do,' said Roxton as he returned to his chair with a full glass of whisky in his hand. 'It is a word which indicates whether a drink is worth the effort it takes to drink it, old chap.' With that he gulped down half the contents of the glass.

'In your case,' replied Summerlee, raising his voice, 'it describes a man who is unusually dependent upon the consumption of alcohol. Someone who finds it hard to face a crisis without a drink in his hand! Lord Roxton, I believe you are very near to alcoholism!'

'Steady on, Summerlee,' I said, trying to defuse the argument. 'All of us have drunk our share of whisky on this trip, yourself included. Nothing sinister about that!'

'On the contrary,' said Professor Summerlee, 'I am beginning to suspect there is something very sinister about this indeed! You saw the secretive conversations between Roxton and Mrs Challenger back on Earth.' There was obviously more to his words than he was willing to say explicitly, and I thought he was about to continue. However, thinking better of it he pressed his lips together and said nothing.

'That,' said Lord Roxton darkly, 'is a place you do not want to go.'

'It isn't?' answered Summerlee sharply, his anger reaching its peak. Whereas the temper of Professor Challenger was akin to a volcano, a violent explosion which might or might not be preceded by warning rumblings from the deep, Summerlee's ire was more like a man climbing a mountain, with a steady progression from the base to the summit. Having reached the upper limit, his anger now fell away. 'No, I suppose you are right. You may be drinking too much of the whisky, but we are still comrades and it is not befitting that I should impugn your honour.'

'That is more like it,' I said. My journalistic instincts screamed at me to encourage their bickering - there were secrets here simply begging to be unearthed - but my better instincts told me that they might well be secrets I would rather not know. 'Let's not forget that we are all friends here.'

'However,' resumed Summerlee, doing his best to stare Roxton in the eye despite the darkness in the cabin, 'should I learn at a later date that your honour was not worthy of my trust, I shall demand satisfaction.'

'And you shall receive it, my fellow, one way or another,' said Roxton blearily.

Challenger, while all that was taking place, was enjoying his jaunt through space. The sensations were much the same as they had been during the flight from Planet 93, though they would probably have differed had he been sporting his original body. The temporary mechanism provided by Klothe and Melenkius was wonderful in many marvellous ways, but without Challenger's head actually being present during its construction they had been unable to calibrate it fully. It monitored his brain-waves to discover his intentions, translating them into actions with a speed which made his old body of flesh and blood seem positively sluggish, but it was unable to transmit in turn its own sense impressions to his mind. The result of this was that in space his only awareness of the body came as a result of the drag created by its trailing behind the helmet, unless he actually looked down at himself.

In the cabin he had found himself forced to conduct himself in the manner of a leper - constantly keeping watch on his extremities for fear of them hitting something and causing damage. Of course, where a leper would damage his own nerve-damaged body tissue, Challenger's steel hands could have broken or injured the cabin's contents; the instruments, the furniture or the people.

Out in space he was free from that constant worry, and if he did not start to throw his extensible arms and legs about like a screwball cross between a acrobat and an octopus, that was only because it might have alerted the Raak to his presence. He glided smoothly through the proverbial emptiness of space (which from his position, he reflected, amongst the ten thousand ships of the Raak Battlefleet, was not half as empty as he would have wished), giving every ship the widest possible berth, but heading inexorably toward the rear of the armada.

As he moved away from the centre of the gravity trap a modification of his method of travel became necessary. When he had first been re-assembled outside the Rocket his velocity and direction had been determined by the velocity and direction of the fleet. At that point he had been able to regard the fleet and himself as at rest, the gravity trap holding their relative positions constant - other than when he made use of the helmet's drive. However, towards the rear of the fleet the effect of the gravity trap was lessened and he had also to use the drive to keep up. Gradually the situation changed so that instead of being a bird flying among very ominous clouds, he became a cowboy racing after a speeding train. The chances of detection increased in direct proportion to the additional power being used.

The one way in which that last simile was not accurate is that Challenger was already ahead of the train. He now had to slow down so that it drew level with him, though every ounce of his brain screamed the message, 'Leave! Leave!' Unfortunately, he told himself, there are times when a hero must do things such as this, like it or not. Some people would find no solace in the fact that though they died, their name would live on. Challenger was not to be numbered among that breed of snivelling cowards and selfish buffoons (though I must confess that I, personally, am). He knew that if the very worst eventuality became actuality, I would record his story in writing for the people of Zangpan's World. My readers may be confused by this: that while they have heard of Challenger's injunction against Earthly publication, they do in fact hold a copy of that very same story in their hands. I assure you that this matter shall be resolved.

Coming ever closer to the dread battle cruiser that brought up the rear, Challenger bid farewell to the stars as, one by one, they were blotted out of existence. Whatever the faults of the Raak, he thought, they certainly know how to build bloody big spaceships. To say that the size of the ship dwarfed him would be an understatement. It reduced him to the size of a pea, then a pinhead, then an atom. Approaching it inspired him with awe, but also with disgust, that such evident scientific and technical ability as the Raak obviously possessed was being perverted to such disgraceful ends.

Although the ship was large and impressive, do not be deluded into thinking that it was beautiful. Big is not always beautiful, in my humble opinion, and, in fact, large is often grotesque. For every pyramid of the pharaohs there is an Eiffel Tower! I believe my assertion is also supported by the example of Challenger himself, a far from handsome specimen, but one of indubitable size. The Raak battleship was designed in a manner intended to cast fear into their enemies, similar in many aspects to the horrifying appearance of their individual selves. Challenger said to me at a later date - but what is that plaintive noise I hear from beyond the pages of my account? You are unhappy, my faithful reader? As an author I do try to be responsive to the sentiments of my audience, and I am always delighted to hear your comments. You say that you are disappointed by the accidental and altogether casual revelation of Challenger's survival? Come now, you should have guessed that it would take more than fighting the most destructive force in the universe to send Professor Challenger to the funeral parlour! (Perhaps I should say the second most destructive force in the universe, having been one of the unfortunate few to have shared an enclosed space with the professor after a meal of sausage, egg and beans.)

To continue with my tale: at a later date Challenger told me that in his opinion the battleships of the Raak resembled nothing so much as a pair of the beetle warriors themselves engaging in, ahem, intimate relations. (Though my plain-speaking friend used more colourful phraseology!) From the distance at which we stood from them no details were visible. Silhouetted against a backdrop of stars they looked like shiny black rugby balls, bristling with spikes like a porcupine. Each enormous spike was a horrendous gun, each of a differently awful breed, any one of which had the ability to incinerate London. All too soon I would have the unwished-for opportunity to examine the largest of the ships at close quarters for myself.

One hand operating the controls upon his chin, the other removing an explosive device from one of the many straps around his body, Challenger negotiated his way between the spines to reach the outer hull of the ship and land on it with a clang which he hoped had not carried into the atmosphere inside the enemy ship. The sound made his ears ring painfully, being conducted along the length of his metal body and passed into the atmosphere within his helmet, but that would be the least of his worries should the Raak detect him. He judged himself to be close enough to the back end of the ship to suit the purposes of the plan, and so, activating magnetic elements in the base of his mechanical feet to hold him fast and steady, he switched off the helmet drive. The most difficult part was over - at least with regard to this ship.

He literally bent to his task, fixing the explosive - one of Klothe and Melenkius's patented planet-busters - securely to the hull. He armed it and instructed it to explode two hours later, synchronising his pocket watch with the bomb's timer. (The pocket watch was an interesting item, brought from Earth by Challenger and discovered upon his body as Melenkius took measurements for the robotic replacement. After a certain amount of prodding from Melenkius, Klothe had built a compartment for it into the chest of the new body. Melenkius had rejigged the insides of the watch, providing it with a variety of new functions - although he neglected to provide Challenger with a manual to explain their use - and a energy battery to power it which would outlive us all, and making it space-proof. One would almost have thought, from such details as the watch and the copious amounts of explosives stowed aboard the ship, that Zangpan and his friends had been expecting us to come up with a plan like this.) Happy with his work, he disengaged himself from the hull and blasted over to another ship.

Working in this way along the length of the rear of the fleet, randomly choosing which Raak would live and which would die, he used up the majority of his explosives, all of them programmed to go off within five seconds, plus or minus, of the first he had set. He was lucky enough to escape trouble, except for a minor skirmish with an engineer working to re-align one of the big guns. A foot telescoped out in a flash and the poor creature's head was knocked into space before he had a chance to bring the fury of the fleet to bear upon Challenger.

When bombs and time began to run low he started to head back toward the centre of the fleet, casually dropping off the odd explosive here and there. These were programmed to go off a little later than the others, the delay period progressively rising as he headed for the Queen-Ship, the most massive and horrible of them all. As he touched down on that alien vessel he checked his watch. Ten minutes before the explosions would begin. He rubbed his metal hands with glee and placed the final three planet-busters on the Queen-Ship's dark exterior and set them to go off in seventeen minutes time. After standing back up he twisted off one of his fingers. Pressing hard on the knuckle, he then released it and watched it fly away (in our direction).

'I think I had best be leaving,' he said to no one in particular before taking flight himself. In accordance with our plan he headed in the direction of Sirius. The theory was that travelling in the same direction we would soon be able to find each other. Of course, we were not relying on making visual contact - Challenger's new body contained a more powerful version of the transmitters which we had carried in our toes during the Planet 93 mission.

When the finger knocked upon the view-screen of the Rocket the scene within turned from one of tired and angry silence to one of eager energy and life. The three of us sprang from our chairs like gazelles - it is unlikely that in the long and winding history of mankind three men have ever shown more haste to remove themselves from such comfortable armchairs.

'There's the signal! Roxton, make ready with the power,' I said, taking control and giving the orders for once, seeing as they were hardly talking to each other. We all knew our parts perfectly, so of course there was no real need for anyone to give any orders. However, during our many adventures we had come to the conclusion that it was often morale-boosting to have someone take charge - especially for the person giving the orders. In this case, though, it was the crewmen who needed to be pepped up.

'Summerlee, keep your hands on those controls! Prepare yourselves for action!'

Suddenly a shudder ran through the ship, all the lights came on and the engine started to turn over. My heart filled with horror, I saw every city-sized battleship on the view-screen turn in our direction. A million guns pointed at a single point in space - the one we occupied. If all had fired at once it would probably have been enough to blast a hole in the very fabric of the universe.

I looked at Summerlee and Roxton. 'Which of you did that?' There was no expression in my voice, events had moved beyond the need for displays of emotion.

'Don't look at me,' said Summerlee, turning off the engines. Trying to use them now would be suicide. 'It must have been Roxton. What was it, John? Your hands shaking from the way you drowned your brain in whisky?'

'No,' said Lord Roxton. 'It wasn't that. But I know what it was. And I am to blame.'

'You can't have-' I did not complete the sentence. I could not suspect him of treachery.

'Come to the back of the cabin,' said our aristocratic colleague. As no other potential actions of interest presented themselves, Summerlee and I did as he requested. Halfway across the deck the Rocket began to shake again. This time it did not stop and the silhouette of the Queen-Ship began to grow larger on the screen. Roxton shrugged, commenting that being captured was better than being annihilated. 'If levels of Raak alertness follow a normal distribution, and I imagine that they do, we should have at least one chance of escape before being executed.'

'That's a relief,' I observed. 'So what gave us away, Lord John?'

He pointed at the whisky dispenser.

I didn't understand what he meant, but Summerlee did. 'Oh my word!'

'You remember how proud Challenger was with regard to his whisky during our first stay on Zangpan's World?' I nodded. Challenger had steadfastly refused to accept that any whisky could be finer than that produced by his own distillery, despite all evidence to the contrary provided by Master Zangpan. Suddenly the source of our predicament became clear.

'Klothe and Melenkius refitted the whole ship, but they didn't touch the distillery. They didn't want to affect its authentic flavour. It's still rigged up to its original power source, isn't it?'

'That's about the long and the tall of it,' said Roxton. 'All the whisky I drank left the dispenser empty and it cranked up the mobile distillery. Hey presto, young fellah-my-lad, one carefully laid plan ruined by too much drinking. Not an unusual occurrence in my life, you know.'

'I must say that I would rather not bring this up,' I said to them as we dropped ourselves back into the armchairs, possibly for the final time. 'But didn't you say something, Lord Roxton, about those who failed to escape having to die by their own hands?'

Roxton pushed his bottom lip hard against the upper and frowned. 'I suppose I did, young Malone.' He looked at Professor Summerlee, who looked the other way. 'I'd had a few shots of the old whisky back then, and I wasn't quite myself.'

'But you said that allowing the Raak to take us alive would place the Earth in terrible danger!'

'So it would, so it would. On the other hand, if none of us lives to warn our fellow Earthmen of the danger posed by the Raak Empire, they'll die anyway in the end. Let's just hang on for a moment. Where there's life, there's hope. Challenger is still out there, after all. He's our ace in the hole, so to speak.'

The Rocket was now so close to the Queen-Ship that little else was visible. The mouth of the gargantuan beast gaped like the gateway to the inferno. I compelled myself to bravery and did not scream, though I gripped the arm of the chair so tightly it splintered. Just before we fell between the mandibles (or loading cranes?) Professor Summerlee got up from his chair and walked to the console, where he consulted the ship's chronometer.

'They may have come too late to save us,' he said over his shoulder, 'but I suppose that we should still watch the fireworks Challenger set up for us, don't you think? Things should begin to happen within the next twenty seconds.'

Lord Roxton and I got back up from our chairs and went over to stand by the view-screen. Because the Queen-Ship greedily dominated the view, we were forced to virtually press our noses up against the glass to see anything else. It was worth it, though, as when the chronometer ticked off the sixteenth second since Summerlee had spoke there was a flash of light (which would blinded us save for the protection of the new and improved screen, which darkened in response to the flare) and an almighty explosion at the rear of the fleet. Then came another, and another, all quickly following in succession. They were pretty large bombs we had been using and they had quite an effect, blowing the ships chosen by Challenger into a billion flaming pieces. Then ships closer to us began to explode and others began to spin around to chase the attackers. The last thing we saw before being swallowed by the battleship was that our attempt to simulate a surprise attack upon the rear of the fleet had worked. The ships scattered, trying to escape the strafing runs and raking guns of imaginary foes. Challenger had obviously not been able to plant bombs on every ship in the fleet, but it was clear that he had done a darn sight more in two hours than I would ever have considered possible. What's more, he had concentrated his efforts upon the largest of the ships, and as these now careened and careered all over the place they created more chaos than any man could imagine ere entering the realm of Beelzebub.

Everything had gone according to plan. The fleet was in chaos and no Raak would be looking out for a ship the size of the Rocket. They would assume that only a truly mighty power would dare to attack them so forcefully. In all the confusion it would have been so easy to slip away into the depths of space. We would have been home and dry.

If only the mobile distillery had not switched itself on.

Instead, within five minutes we had been dragged from the cabin of our cosy little space-craft and taken to the bridge of the Queen-Ship. We watched the Raak with interest and amusement as they tried to locate the invisible assault upon their rear, but wondered to ourselves how many of the seven minutes were left before the planet-busters attached to this ship would explode.

CHAPTER NINETEEN: MRS CHALLENGER TO THE RESCUE

There are doubtless among my readers many who, seeing the title of this chapter upon the page of contents, surmised it to concern that happy moment following our return to Earth when Mrs Challenger would save us from the twin dangers of hunger and thirst with roast beef dinners and mugs of tea all round! I offer no criticism of those readers, as perhaps they have seen little in the story so far to indicate that she would have any other role, but nevertheless, they should prepare themselves for a shock or two.

Standing on the bridge of the Queen-Ship, waiting for the bomb to blow us to atoms, I realised why Roxton had previously prevaricated on the subject of suicide. We would soon be destroyed, long before the Raak had the time to make the connection between their three captive Earthmen and the surprise attack currently devastating their fleet. In all probability, there would not even be time for them to identify us as Earthmen. For some reason at once incomprehensible and essential to the human spirit, understanding that Lord Roxton was not a coward made me feel slightly better about my imminent death.

The interior of the ship was architecturally similar to the Raak base on Planet 93 which Roxton and I had invaded - dank, dismal and highly conducive to claustrophobia. A strange construction which I had taken at first to be some kind of aquarium for monstrous alien fish revealed itself to be a tactical three-dimensional map of the 'battle', computer-generated models swimming in the tank representing the panicky state of the Raak fleet. As far as I could tell the ships of the armada had completely switched direction, having wheeled about to pursue the enemies which they imagined to have struck and then fled. Our beetle-like captors scuttled around the map with frantic haste, often dropping to all-sixes to move more rapidly, while we Earthmen three, tied up together to one side and guarded by Raak that were ugly even by their standards, struggled to maintain our stiff upper lips. (It has to be said that Lord John was quite magnificent in this regard, years in the British Army having given him plenty of practice in stoical reserve.) There could not be more than a minute to go, I told myself, until the moment of my death.

The explosion came. I braced myself against its fiery touch, then wondered where I had found the time to do so. By rights I should have been dead before having the chance to notice the explosion. The room filled with billowing smoke, obscuring our view of the affected area, but from what I could perceive the damage caused by the blast seemed quite minimal.

I turned to ask the others, raising my voice above the noise of the alarmed chitterings of the Raak, 'What do you make of it?' I felt quite jubilant at having escaped death's grasping hands, even though the logic of the situation, had I time to think it through, still dictated that my end must still come soon, one way or another.

Lord Roxton speculated that one of the planet-busters might have malfunctioned, while Professor Summerlee wondered why the atmosphere in the bridge was not being sucked into space. Such an explosion must surely have created a hole in the hull.

Our rapid discussion was brought to a rapid end as action overtook the bridge. Suddenly the fish-tank began to display the lights of shoals of new arrivals in the vicinity, coming up from the direction in which the fleet had previously been travelling. It was clear that a new player had entered the game. Needless to say, this threw the control room into confusion - the explosion they had virtually taken in their stride, believing themselves to have caught a hit from one of the invisible attackers. Now they found themselves under attack, or so they thought, on two sides. To be trapped in a vice was an unusual and shocking experience for these conquerors of the galaxy, but they had not reached their dominant position through being cowardly or weak-willed. The confusion would have lasted but a moment, as they pulled themselves together and began to issue orders to the other members of the fleet, but for a new and shocking event.

At first I thought Challenger had come to our rescue, but it was not he. From out of the smoke of the explosion strode a man; the kind of man, let me say, who would always be described as having strode, or swaggered, never as having just walked and most certainly never as having ambled. Though I desire to convey the impression that he was an imposing figure, do not assume that therefore he was a tall man, for he was not, being no more than five feet in height (or so he would claim - independent analysis had indicated that the true figure might be closer to four feet eleven and a half). Nevertheless he had a presence and a charisma that would have been the envy of many of Earth's very tallest men. Of course, the fact that he had just stepped from the void of space onto the bridge of the Raak Queen-Ship did much to enhance our opinion of him. Frankly, though, he did not resemble a man who gave much for the opinions of others. He looked reasonably human, though for some reason I doubted he originated from Earth. Oddly enough, for a man in his position, he carried no weapons, and wore only a red suit - that is, red trousers, a red shirt, a red jacket and a red tie - over his doughty body. He was almost completely bald, save for a smartly cropped strip of black hair around the base of the skull, and his eyebrows were thin and lacquered, extending an inch beyond the sides of his head.

As one might expect, when the Raak became aware of the intruder on the bridge they sprung to attack him. Paying little heed to them, he strode over to our side. We watched in amazement as the belligerence of the Raak seemed to carry them to within two metres of the newcomer, and no further. At that point they seemed to meet an invisible barrier which proved impervious to their assaults.

'Hello,' he said, untying us. 'Just made it. Bomb to explode, three seconds, mark!'

I began to ask the obvious question, in view of two salient facts of which I was in possession - one, that the bomb had already exploded (I later realised that the earlier detonation had been created by our rescuer to allow him ingress to the bridge), and two, that if the bomb was about to explode, I was about to die. 'What do you me-'

I was interrupted by the explosion of the three planet-busters. Using three bombs, each of which was powerful enough to destroy an entire planet, to destroy a single spaceship might have been considered overkill on Challenger's part, but it certainly made for an impressive explosion. Protected by the force-field of Milo the Assassin, I was able to watch the fireworks from the very centre of the conflagration. Most of it happened too quickly to register, but there was an impression of a massive flash, the hull crumpling inwards and the Raak being crushed. For a fleeting second we found ourselves within a two-metre sphere, the walls of which were formed of squashed beetle and mangled machinery, before it all flew apart to leave us standing, upon a section of floor which, like us, had been protected from the blast, in space, surrounded by tumbling debris.

The vast distances involved in space combat meant that we were unable to see much of the battle with our naked eyes, but the day clearly belonged to the newcomers. The question was, who were they? To whom did we owe our miraculous survival? A number of moments passed before Professor Summerlee, Lord Roxton or I found our tongues. Astounded by the nature of our rescue, somewhat dismayed by the destruction of the Raak (though it was by our own hands, we would not have chosen to experience it at such close quarters), none of us felt ready to speak, while Milo the Assassin was busily tapping away at a mechanism strapped to his wrist. The three of us regarded each other, not yet quite ready to believe what had happened, and tried not to think about the way in which we were hanging in space, apparently exposed to the vacuum.

In the end it was our rescuer who spoke next, in the same brusque manner he had previously used. 'You wonder who I am. Milo the Assassin, sent to save you. Used force-field, only one of its kind. Unique. You should be glad.'

We expressed our gratitude, before Professor Summerlee asked, 'Who sent you? And who is attacking the Raak?'

'The Challenger sent me, of course. I thought you'd have known. The Challenger leads pan-galactic alliance against Raak. Looks like victory, thanks to you.'

'You didn't do such a shabby job yourself,' said Lord Roxton. 'So Challenger sent you, eh? But where did the old goat find the time to rustle up a pan-galactic alliance?'

Milo seemed to stop breathing for a moment while he looked at Roxton. His stance changed from that of a man who had completed his mission to that of a man who was all set to go to work. Upon Roxton. 'Shouldn't call the Challenger old goat, if I were you. Not advisable. Will cause upset and hurt. Upset to me. Hurt to you.'

Lord Roxton was hardly flustered, but he was a little surprised. 'Hey, settle down, old chap! No need to get one's knickers in a twist, what! We are Challenger's oldest friends, you know. It's just friendly banter - helps the action go down smoothly, you know!'

Milo seemed hardly mollified, so I tried to change the course of the conversation. I said to Milo, 'Where is Professor Challenger, Milo? How did he manage to arrange an alliance?'

Milo looked surprised. 'He? You mean George Challenger?'

Summerlee and I laughed, while Roxton began to look decidedly uncomfortable. I said to Milo, 'Well, of course George! How many Challengers are out here in space?'

'George Challenger is half-way to the Dog Star by now. I'm here under auspices of the Macabre and Ibis.'

'You mean,' said Lord Roxton who seemed, despite the bafflement of Professor Summerlee and I, to at least half-understand what Milo was talking about, 'that Mrs Challenger sent you!'

Summerlee and I exclaimed in unison, 'What!'

'You a member too?' said Milo to Roxton, holding out a hand. The English Lord took it and they shook. 'Always nice to meet fellow agents.'

'Likewise,' said Roxton, although he was obviously still rather shaken.

Professor Summerlee interrupted their greeting. 'Hang on a minute, you two. How about providing Malone and I with a modicum of information? Would that be too much to ask? What's this nonsense about Mrs Challenger leading the attack on the Raak?'

The Assassin indicated that Roxton should speak first. 'It is rather hard to explain. I should say first that I had no idea Mrs Challenger was operating in space - that is as new to me as it is to you. Do you remember how Anna and I spent time talking together when I returned from Africa?'

We both nodded, Summerlee saying what I could not. 'We suspected the two of you of conducting a love affair.'

Roxton showed no reaction. 'I suppose we should have been more sensitive to the impression we created. Well, chaps, the fact is that my work in Africa, dealing with a few rather unpleasant big game hunters, was done on the orders of Mrs Challenger. You saw me delivering my report. She is the head of Ibis, an organisation dedicated to the fighting of evil all over the world. She recruited me after the episode of the Poison Belt. Ibis is an acronym, the letters standing for the International Bureau of Investigation and Skulduggery.'

'Um,' said Milo the Assassin, 'that's the Interstellar Bureau of Investigation and Skulduggery.'

'Ah yes,' said Lord Roxton. 'I suppose it is.

I finally found my voice to ask, 'What is the Macabre? If that doesn't sound too foolish.'

This time Milo answered. 'Mrs Anna Challenger's Association for the Bringing-together of Rogues and Eccentrics. If that does not sound foolish.'

'That is also what I thought,' said Lord Roxton, 'although I did not know that any of my fellow members were of the alien persuasion!'

'Quite possibly they were not,' said Milo. 'I do not know the extent of the Challenger's organisation on your planet.'

Now more curious than shaken, Lord Roxton asked, 'Is she human? Only Challenger thought he was the first man on the moon, and he would be terribly disappointed to find his wife had beaten him to it!' Professor Summerlee and I laughed rather nervously - we were still finding it hard to adjust to this new perspective on events.

'I am unsure how much to disclose,' said the red-suited agent, 'but I suppose no damage will be done by informing you that Mrs Challenger is indeed human. In fact, to my knowledge this is the first time she has left planet Earth. From what I understand - and you should understand that I may be as wrong in this belief as you were in yours - she had set up the Macabre as an agency on Earth whereby she could bring together certain men and women who she would employ upon various tasks. The previous head of Ibis, the great Hallius Dohander, badly wounded in an encounter with the Raak, was slowly dying and he knew it. As the seconds of his life slipped away, Ibis agents brought word of the organisation they had discovered on Earth - the Macabre - and the genius woman who ran it. Hallius, in his wisdom, commanded his lieutenants to take him to meet her. Before dying he passed on the torch of leadership, entrusting her with his communications equipment and the keys to his spaceship. However, she chose to stay at home in London, where she juggled the twin tasks of housewifery and organising the galactic resistance. She changed the two organisations radically. The existing Macabre group was reformatted as a branch of Ibis, with agents given training appropriate to their activities on Earth. It was the Challenger's decision to keep her agents on Earth ignorant of the big picture, and they never knew that the people training them originated from another planet.' Lord Roxton seemed particularly surprised by this. 'On the other hand, seeing the value of its informal and friendly structure, she expanded a new Macabre outwards into the galaxy, setting up safe houses and meeting places, becoming the means by which agents became friends. She used her organisation there as a template for improving our communication skills throughout the galaxy. She had managed to run an incredibly efficient bureau of investigation and general skulduggery on a world where, if you'll excuse me saying so, the natives were barely out of the iron age. She had a lot to teach us. At her base on Earth she prepared everything, meeting ambassadors from allied worlds, negotiating for ships and troops, and preparing a strategic plan. When the day of the climactic battle came - today - she got in her spaceship and rushed to lead us. We followed the signal sent by the ring in your pocket.'

I'd forgotten all about the ring since the Mechanical Housewife told me to take it. I made a mental note to thank her - but for the way in which she had bent the rules, I would have been incinerated in the very hour of our final victory.

'You can certainly be loquacious when it suits you,' said Professor Summerlee to Milo.

The Ibis agent looked at the machine on his wrist. 'Battle is won. Professor Challenger has been picked up. They'll be here soon.'

'Jolly good,' I said with a happiness that was very nearly boundless. 'This has been a very tiring day and I would really like to settle down with a steaming mug of hot chocolate. I wonder if Mrs Challenger can take time off from saving the universe to cook us all dinner!'

CHAPTER TWENTY: A SLAP-UP MEAL FOR TEN!

I stopped Professor Quigg as he exited from Challenger's bedroom, asking, 'How is he, sir? Did you find anything amiss?' As I spoke I noticed that the brain specialist was rather red in the face and that he did not look at all happy.

He harrumphed a couple of times before drawing himself to his full height and saying, 'That is the most outrageous and obnoxious man that it has ever been my displeasure to treat!'

I smiled, thinking that in that case Challenger could not be far from his usual self.

'But how is his health?'

'I wish it were worse,' he said, calming down. Removing themselves from Challenger's presence seemed to have that effect upon people. 'His reflexes seem to be fine, and I can discern no mental slowness - quite the opposite, in fact, to an exasperating degree. I find it difficult to understand why you saw fit to require my services, because he seems perfectly healthy, although a phrenological study indicated that he should have been either a madman, a criminal or a simpleton!'

'Interesting,' I replied. 'Perhaps he was just lucky.'

'Possibly. I must confess that phrenology is beginning to seem a little foolish to me - although I stress that Challenger did not have to point out its failings quite so rudely.'

'It's the only way he knows how.'

'Anyway, as I said, his mental faculties seem unimpaired by whatever problems led you to call upon my services. I presume it was something related to your excellent, if rather incredible, article in the Gazette this morning?' He began to button up his coat as he spoke. He was referring, of course, to the truncated account of our adventure of which I have already made mention.

'Let's just say that he lost his head in a crisis, and he wanted to make sure that there were no after-effects. As for my article, I shall tell you in confidence that I left out ninety-nine per cent of the most incredible events.' He raised his eyebrows and smiled.

'Perhaps you will share those events with the world sometime?'

'Possibly, possibly, if the time is right. Are you sure that you would not like to stay for dinner? I assure you that you would find the company most stimulating.'

'Maybe some other time. It's a very kind invitation, Mr Malone, and I have heard tell far and wide of the meals created by the marvellous Mrs Challenger, but I am afraid that tonight the no less marvellous Mrs Quigg awaits my return.'

'I understand completely, professor. Let me show you to the door.'

He thanked me, and I led the way down the stairs to the peculiar lobby of the Challenger home. He put on his hat, taking it from the top of the totem pole, and picked up his umbrella from where it rested (within an urn which had once contained the ashes of a Teutonic Knight), before saying, 'There was one other thing, Malone, if I may beg your indulgence?'

'Certainly, sir.' It was a pleasure to meet an academic who was so polite! What a contrast to the irascibility and sarcasm of Challenger and Summerlee! Perhaps on our next adventure I would contrive to bring Professor Quigg along, just to have someone around who would make pleasant conversation from time to time! What with Challenger's suspicion of the Mechanical Housewife, Summerlee's needling of Challenger and Roxton, and Lord Roxton's alcohol problems, I was beginning to feel it would be nice to have a new face around!

'For the life of me I cannot imagine why Challenger is wearing that metal band around his neck. I tried to ask him, but... well, you know him better than I.'

'Indeed I do, Professor Quigg. I can imagine his reaction. If anyone asks, he is wearing it in sympathy for the downtrodden peoples of the world. Between you and me, he had a serious accident. It is a revolutionary type of brace to support the neck.'

'I see,' he said, nodding. Assuming a brisker tone, he said, 'Must be off then! Keep in touch - who knows, perhaps one of these days I shall have a story or two for you!'

I bid him goodbye and let him out. He hailed a hansom cab and was driven off into the night. I closed the door and turned to see Challenger glowering at me. Smiling, I asked him, 'How does it feel to have your old body back?'

He peered at me suspiciously. 'Do I have any reason to be angry at you?'

'Do you need one?'

'The body feels fine, but the metal one had its uses.'

'Then I expect that you are glad to be able to keep it.'

'I am,' said Challenger, standing down now he realised I was not in the mood for a fight. 'One thing about this body, though, Malone. It makes me feel terribly belligerent all the time.'

What could one say in the face of such self-knowledge? I opted to say nothing.

'It may be a chemical thing,' he speculated. 'Shall we join the others for the meal? Even though my head no longer needs food, the body does. It was good of Klothe and Melenkius to re-arrange the access and everything.' Before re-connecting his head to his body, the two engineers had used a molecular displacer to open a gap in the cap on his neck to allow food and drink to pass into his body. It also allowed him to use his own lungs for speaking again. However, his head was still detachable.

'I wonder how they are enjoying the food,' I said as we walked through the study in the direction of the dining room.

'My patience,' said Challenger with half a smile (which was fifty per cent of a smile more than he usually displayed), 'would be sorely tried if they did anything but love it. However, that is not to say that I believe they should pretend to enjoy it just because she saved the universe. Far from it. Her food should be enjoyed on its own merits.'

'And you really didn't know about her activities?' I chose that moment to ask as he seemed a little gentler than usual - more likely to respond with something other than a punch in the face. 'You had never heard of the Macabre or Ibis?'

Challenger replied ruefully, 'I knew not a jot. Amazing, really, but I suppose that I have neglected her somewhat. I suppose she had to occupy herself during my long journeys around the world. A man should pay an interest in the hobbies of his wife. In any case, there are worse things a wife can get up to in a husband's absence than saving the universe!'

'So you are not bitter?'

'Oh no. Far from it, Malone. It has simply gone to demonstrate the wisdom I showed in choosing such a fine wife! Now let us make the most of one of her many talents!' But before entering the dining room he stooped to pick up a medium-sized package from where it had sat beneath our four comfortable chairs, now returned to their place in the study.

London has often been said to be a cosmopolitan city, but I doubt that it has ever played host to a more varied range of guests than it did upon that day. Seated around the Challenger dining table were, as one might expect, Professor Summerlee and Lord Roxton, with places set for myself, Mr George and Mrs Anna Challenger. Less expectedly, at least to a casual observer, would be the other guests who were in attendance. Master Zangpan was there, in his silver shirt and a pair of purple pantaloons, levitating pieces of roast chicken into his mouth. The Mechanical Housewife was there too, seated between the moustachioed mystic and myself. Dressed in elegant black velvet and her head a bare silver, the blonde curls left on Zangpan's World, she looked more beautiful than ever. She sipped a glass of oil, glancing at me as we entered, but otherwise paying me no special attention. Klothe and Melenkius sat side by side, as ever, apparently engaged in a race to consume the larger proportion of the food. Milo the Assassin had declined to attend, his day job apparently requiring a journey to the far side of the galaxy, but Aikor had accepted the invitation with joy, having never before been permitted to visit Earth, despite its proximity to Ell Ka-Mar. He was dipping a large chunk of bread into some thick Scotch broth, excitedly telling Lord Roxton of his imminent marriage to the handmaiden Jula.

As Challenger entered, everyone there present, myself included, let out a mighty roar, clapped their hands and shouted hurrahs! 'Hip hip,' said Lord Roxton, to which came the inevitable reply, 'Hooray!' The two of us took our seats to the strains of 'For he's a jolly good fellow!', and Challenger accepted the celebration with good grace.

'Thank you all,' he said with a happy smile, and after placing the string-tied parcel beneath his chair, he held out his hands to indicate us all, 'and you should all thank yourselves, because success would have been unattainable had any single one of you been absent!'

And because quite a bit of wine had been drunk (except by Lord Roxton, who had decided to see if the world seemed different when not seen through an alcoholic haze - and in any case, now that he was no longer keeping secrets from his closest friends he did not feel the same degree of motivation, or compulsion, to hit the bottle) we all began to shake hands and clap each other on the back. We may have acted foolishly, but we had the right to do so after the pressure that had been upon us in the previous weeks and months. Reader, you know by now that the dark secret of which I previously spoke was the possibility of an attack on Earth by the Raak. Although we had scored a decisive victory against them and shaken the very foundations of their Empire, there remained as yet the chance that a single Raak cruiser might survive the Battle of the Invisible Fleet and make its way to Earth. Hence, I did not publish the full tale until now, when we are certain that no such threat remains. Hence also the fact that we were almost desperate in our merry-making that night, for we knew that on the morrow we must once more be vigilant.

'As vital as all of you were,' said Challenger, raising his voice above the general hubbub, 'I think we are all agreed that one other played the most vital role in this escapade.' He waited for a moment before continuing, as he was drowned out by the cries of 'Hear, hear!' from around the table. 'Not only did she provide the sandwiches which fuelled our initial expeditions to the Moon, she also worked tirelessly and selflessly here in London over a number of years to put together the mighty fighting force which annihilated the Raak! And if I am not mistaken, here she comes now with a trolley full of food! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you - Mrs Challenger!'

The commander-in-chief of Ibis came through the door to such acclaim that one would have thought us a bunch of starving street urchins eager for a good square meal. Her achievements were in no doubt - she had done what not even her illustrious predecessor had managed. She had scored a victory against the Raak which would safeguard the galaxy for the next century! Additionally, the food on the trolley was so aromatic and mouth-watering that not even noticing that Zangpan had brought one of his speaking trolleys could detract from my appreciation.

The evening progressed as one would expect, with much celebration and jubilation, and a lot of singing and joking. At one point Challenger had to be dissuaded from dancing on the table, on the double grounds that he was too heavy and that we were all still eating. I found time to speak to the Mechanical Housewife about our relationship, and although she pointed out that there were difficulties to be considered, she agreed to spend some time in London with me while we made our decisions. Mrs Challenger was the centre of attention, every guest was interested in her covert activities and they all vied to tell her all about themselves - although Challenger had sketched out his adventures to her during the return from the Raraak-Ra system. She was fascinated to learn about Zangpan's World, something of which her organisation had no information.

'The nature of Zangpan's World,' she said, during one of the more serious moments of the party - for such moments always come (usually about an hour after the alcohol has run out, although not in this case), 'solves a mystery which had both puzzled and distressed me greatly. When the tracking device I installed in the ring stopped transmitting after your landing on the Moon, I had assumed the four of you dead, destroyed by something or other. I knew the Raak had been there, although I had known nothing about the city of Ell Ka-Mar.' Professor Challenger tried not to meet her eye, thinking of how easily we could have dropped in on her before travelling to Planet 93. 'By the way, Aikor, I so greatly regret not having visited your world. I wish this had all happened soon enough to save the place you called home.'

'That is all right,' replied Aikor, displaying no ill feeling. 'Ell Ka-Mar will live forever in our memories, our poetry and our art. And we have you to thank for hearing how our original home, the ravaged and scarred Planet 93, took a score of the abominable Raak battlecruisers with her when she finally died. There is sadness for the past, but that does not cloud our joy for the future. Our new home is a wonderful place. Perhaps you will visit us there sometime.'

Before Mrs Challenger was able to reply, her unruly spouse was getting to his feet, tapping a wine glass with a spoon. We all laughed after he hit it too hard and caused it to crack.

'You have our attention,' said Lord Roxton. 'No need to break anything else.'

Challenger pushed out his chest and grasped his lapels with his hands. It was his dreaded speech-making position. 'Some time ago, Master Zangpan was kind enough to take four weary travellers into his home. I responded with suspicion and violence, making him unhappy. This has preyed upon my mind, and so, upon our return to London last night, when Malone went to drop his report off at the newspaper, I gave him a substantial sum of money and bid him visit a tailor's shop. As I requested, he hammered upon the door and cast stones at the bedrooms on the upper floor until the proprietor opened up for him. Offering the man an outrageous amount of money, Malone handed over some plans I had drawn up during our return from the Battle of the Invisible Fleet. That tailor worked throughout the night and for all of today until the item was ready. Shortly after the government came to collect the Rocket (thanks to Klothe and Melenkius for removing all working parts before they did so), and shortly before the visit of Professor Quigg, I took myself down to the tailor's and collected the finished garment. I have the parcel which contains it beneath my chair at this very moment.' He bent down and picked it up, before walking around the table to where Master Zangpan sat. He handed over the parcel. 'I hope that you will accept this token of the sincerity of my apologies and regret.'

'I do not know what to say, Master George,' said Master Zangpan, clearly pleased with the parcel. We all cried, 'Open it!' as he was showing no signs of doing so under his own steam. 'Okay then,' he said, 'I will! No problem!'

He carefully removed the string and unwrapped the paper to reveal the spectacular jacket that Challenger had bought for him. He stood up so that he could let the jacket open out to its full length. It was a delicious burgundy and velvet smoking jacket, sewn with golden thread and having golden buttons. Zangpan's favourite symbol, the yin and yang, the two halves that were one, were embroidered upon the cuffs and around the edge of the collar and lapels. It was the finest piece of clothing any of us had ever seen, and more than one of the people at that table wept a tear as Master Zangpan put it on.

'Now,' said Professor Challenger to no one in particular. 'Bring out the cigars!'

THE END