Prologue

WHAT HAS COME BEFORE… THE PRESUMED MARTIAN INVASION

DATAFILE: GENOA

ACCESSING CHRONODATE FILE: DECEMBER 23^RD , 1894 – TERRA

Within the last years of the Nineteenth Century, the British Empire—let alone Man itself—had never once conceived the possibility of life amongst the stars. Despite evidence within Ancient Tellurian Cultures, dating back to the days of Aztecs, Mayans and Egyptians, not once did anyone ever suspect Terra—commonly known as Earth—was privately being observed by intelligences greater than mankind.

While the British Empire seemed more preoccupied with expanding its horizon, and the Americas were dealing with their own personal troubles, no one once had become aware that our globe was being scrutinized with great caution. Almost as if our own scientific minds would utilise a microscope for scrutinising transient creatures swarming and replicating within a single drop of water.

Regrettably, while both Parliament and worldly governments maintained the illusion of being impervious to all known disasters and rivalries, no one dared conceive the possibilities of having their existence radically altered close to imminent destruction. Precisely because man’s limited perceptions prevents him from the notion perhaps someone beyond Earth’s confines might prove as a source of danger. In fact, our most greatest minds not once, even considered the possibility of life deep within our cosmos as a probability.

Yet, across the Ether itself, amidst the gulfs of space…

Intellects vast, cold and apathetic regarded this blue sphere, Terra, with envious eyes. But still, one ponders what these invaders actually wanted, since by our own reasoning, these beings did not exactly adhere to the natural rules of invasion.

Winter Solstice Season approaches. I find it rather difficult locating anything festive concerning this holiday. Approximately five months have quietly transpired since the fateful day Earth was mercilessly assaulted by otherworldly creatures. Although the consensus of both the commonwealth, and scientific community acquired the illusion these beings originated from the foreboding, red, canal planet, I had my own private suspicions these creatures were definitely not from Mars. Nor resembling anything remotely Martian for that matter.

Apologies. You must bear with me on this unusual behaviour of mine. Whenever recalling disturbing, or fantastic, events that I’ve experienced, I tend to develop this annoying habit of divulging the entire story before properly establishing the essential facts of the case in question.

Thus, it is only practical I start right at the beginning, and with some indispensable specifics about myself, and certain events leading up to the unspeakable assault on Earth.

My name is Genoa. Just Genoa, no more, no less. Though I shall admit, some have addressed me as ‘Gen,’ it matters not. In all truthfulness, I’ve never fancied the necessity behind the duonomen, nor polynomenclature, system people have adapted as a means for identifying one’s self. Especially since some cultures can never quite establish the proper placement of their family name, along with the use of their given name. For myself, I find just one nom de plume is rather sufficient.

Like most Tellurians (Earthers, for the non-scientific), I appear quite humanesque. With an average build, I’m about six-foot tall, two-and-a-half inches (1.89 metres), and my weight is about 175 pounds (79.38 kg, or 12.5 stone). Brown eyes, dark-hair (from my mother’s side, or so I’ve been informed) and regular complexion, one could easily think I’m an average person.

However, I should also inform you, I also possess some ethereal components as well.

Right off, you’ll note a back appendage from my posterior. A Wolf’s tail, to be more specific. Darkened hands, with retractable claws, coupled with the concealed fangs, are other indicators of my unusual lineage.

In all truthfulness, I am a Tombeurian.

If you’ve haven’t already heard from the forgotten legends, or the so-called professors from the occult, Tombeurians are an Ancient Wolf-Being race. Our own personal genealogy on Earth descends as far as when the planet first came into existence. As I aforementioned, while some of my people resemble Tellurians, there are others that appear more lupine than human. Nonetheless, for a better, accurate description, Tombeurians do not bear any resemblance to what scientists have denoted as Sasquatch, or Yeti. Nor do we behave in the animalistic manner which most Tellurians have become accustomed to, when dealing with anything seemly bestial in nature.

In fact, despite the wretched Grimm Brothers’ lies about us, we Tombeurians are a rather civilised lot. In fact, we have advanced in many degrees of science, mysticism, and technology. Yet, as a precautionary motive, we usually keep most of our knowledge confidential from the outside world.

And as you might have deduced, because some of us have retained a humanesque structure, we’ve been privately monitoring mankind from centuries. Possibly eons, if you consider it. The only time we ever dare intervene with Tellurian development, is when certain conditions tend to get out of hand. Thus, resulting in possible endangerment of not only mankind itself, but Earth’s welfare in the process.

From my own personal observations, I had never found a more perplexing time than the 19^th Century. Mainly because it was a time when both discoveries and conflicts arose within the World of Man. Besides the problems of the American Civil, and Franco-Prussian War, there were great innovators like Thomas Alva Edison, Johann Philipp Reis and Alexander Graham Bell.

‘Thomas Edison,’ Genoa paused the words materialising across the glass screen. ‘Now there’s someone I’ve not thought about for quite some time.’ His thoughts privately transported him back through time. About the time when Edison had invited him for another visit to Menlo Park, New Jersey.

‘Up late again, Love?’ Furskin arms gently draped themselves over Genoa’s shoulders, the female, feline-being delicately smiled. Despite her azure furskin, hair and golden eyes, she appeared slightly more humanesque than bestial. Although she had vaguely recollected her origins, the Tombeurians claimed she was from Tibet. Adopted by Genoa’s Clanstribe, the feline-being had known him for quite some time.

‘Can’t understand what you’re examining your DataFile, Gen,’ she glanced at the words flashing across glass screen. ‘Considering when you tend to review that bit of personal history, it upsets you.’

Genoa exasperatingly sighed. Deep down he knew she was correct, but taking the brown envelope from his desk, he also knew he could no longer ignore what had transpired. Many lives had been lost, and secretly he wanted answers. Even the ones behind the strange parcel desired some explanation as well.

‘Actually, Nyssa,’ he held up the brown envelope. ‘The Royal Scientific Council has summoned me.’

Noticing the official seal, as well as it bearing the address of The Royal Greenwich Observatory, Nyssa perceived this was simply not your average invitation. ‘Let me guess, they desire your own personal account of the invasion..’

‘Not to mention giving some explanation dealing with our ten-year absence..’ Nyssa had cast no illusions about the aftermath of that disaster. She knew it would definitely spark official inquiries about the otherworldly episode. Perhaps it was due to the overwhelming fact the top, renowned British astronomers and scientists had claimed such an invasion was highly improbable. Consequently, the RSC wanted answers, and with Genoa’s sudden disappearance, it made the Tombeurian appear rather suspicious.

Taking the envelope, examining the seal for a moment, Nyssa frowned.

‘Don’t suppose you’re going to tell them about Passerpartout, are you?’ She gazed at the main console where it was within a giant observatory centre, observing the iridescent sphere rotating above the console’s central top.

‘Certainly not,’ Genoa defiantly remarked. His father entrusted Passerpartout to him. And the last thing Genoa desired was a bunch of know-it-all interlopers confiscating it, and scrutinising it under every test and examination imaginable. Besides, the Tombeurian realised mankind was not ready for something like Passerpartout.

‘Besides,’ he looked up at her, kissing her upon the cheek. ‘They would never comprehend his secrets. By the way, Love, did you ever finish with that biosample we obtained back in 1894?’

‘Actually,’ Nyssa warmly smiled. ‘I did, and you were indeed correct. Now I understand why those buggers were draining people of their blood. And not just for protein.’ She then gave Genoa a suspicious expression. ‘Gen, do you want me to prepare a detail autopsy report for the RSC?’

Genoa smiled. ‘Precautionary measure, if you don’t mind, dear. Even with what I’m going to submit to them, I doubt very seriously they’re going to readily accept our findings on just observations alone.’

‘True,’ Nyssa released her husband, ‘I’ll be in the lab if you need me.’ She quickly darted through the backdoor as Genoa returned working on the DataFile entry.

Tapping on the keys a bit, he summoned forth the entry where he had inadvertently explained about Passerpartout in detail. Since the RSC required a written account of the incident itself, Genoa did not find it necessary to include its description to them.

‘Passerpartout,’ he called out, summoning the young, blonde-haired man, dressed in butler’s attire. ‘Can I edit this information during its final printing?’

‘Affirmative, sir,’ the figure noted. ‘Using the teletype keys in front of you, simply program the teletype transmission to only record certain aspects from the DataFile entry.’

Genoa approvingly nodded, as he once again activated the DataFile recovery. But this time he decided on skimming ahead to the days before the invaders had made their way to Earth.

But I once again, I tend to digress. Secretly residing with my family in Pandora’s Valley, about several months back… July, I imagine.. my Frelan, Dunestar had been giving my people detailed reports concerning activity with the scientific community. Imagine my surprise upon receiving word from him directly rather than having him contact the ParaCouncil Tribunal upon such matters.

As you have been aware with both Dr. Ogilvy Roberts, and Dr. Lavelle of Java’s, extensive research pertaining to the crimson planet, they have been recording randomised explosions of incandescent gas coming from its surface. Rather unusual, since you’ve known my research indicates Mars lacks the natural components for producing geyser like explosions. For a time being, it has been no secret the Tombeurians have suspected something else, but as with all well-known scientists, we required proof before warning mankind about this dilemma.

Nonetheless, Dr. Roberts invited Dunestar and their colleague, George to his private observatory. At the co-ordinates I have enclosed, they witnessed a first-hand account of these explosions coming from Mars itself. Upon closer inspection, Dunestar had promptly wasted no time contacting me.

Hesitating momentarily, Genoa realised he could not easily reveal the next passage. Until the teletype sprang to life, editing the elusive account, making it perfectly safe for the scientific community.

Utilising my private observatory, I had essentially followed up on Dr. Roberts’ discovery. Although my equipment confirmed the explosion’s source originated from Mars, mysteriously the chemicals involved and possible object heading towards Earth was not. Now, I should note here, when I identify the item as an ‘object’ it was because I could not ascertain whether or not it was a comet, or something mechanically produced. Since I have learned from my own private research about the crimson planet, Mars lacks the capabilities for metallic ore as our planet Earth.

Since most can recall the unforgettable event with the cylinder’s arrival, it is not necessary to recall the actual occurrence. Though, I shall admit, one must find it incredibly strange for these creatures’ unprovoked aggression. Precisely because those that went to the location bore no ill-faction against them, despite their squat, squidlike appearance. Even marshalling an act of unhostility, for them to have unleashed their death light upon the populace greeting them was rather perplexing. Particularly on the fact we as Tellurians had no reason for any aggression upon our part.

Genoa stopped momentarily, recalling the infamous slaughter of humans at the impact site. Wondering why these creatures had selected mass extermination over peaceful communication, he felt this assault was becoming less and less of an actual invasion plan. For instinctively, he knew for an invasion to be effectively successful, there were only two possible choices.

First off, the direct approach: target and eliminate the main opposing forces, then swiftly enslave the entire populace. Then you had subterfuge, which possessed a sophisticated subtly in its procedure. You either conjured up an elaborate deception for gaining the locals’ trust, or capture some specimens for taking control of their bodies. Either way, you would end up taking over a civilisation from within, hoping no one was ever the wiser.

From his own experience, Genoa found it incredibly unexpected of these beings to land somewhere close towards a residence, instead of arriving someplace completely isolate. Almost as if these creatures already knew about Earth’s inhabitants, and instantly commenced with cleansing the planet of what they considered to be refuse. But for what purpose?

Out of their limited arsenal, I fear the most intriguing, if not frightening, device we had witnessed were the tripods. Judging by the creatures’ biological and physiological makeup, it was determined these machines were designed in helping them move freely about on Earth. Or any other planet with various gravitational and atmospheric conditions. But as we’ve witnessed, these machines possessed other functions than just simplified mobility.

Almost escaping from his darkest nightmares, Genoa vividly recalled his first encounter with one. It was when he and Nyssa decided to perform some damage control at a small town called Weybridge. Of course, Nyssa had already witnessed them as they had marched towards Pandora’s Valley, and had managed to safely evacuate everyone in the nick of time.

Instinctively, Dunestar had contacted Genoa, claiming he had lost George during the disaster. Wasting no time, Genoa used Passerpartout to take him and Nyssa on the outskirts of town. Amidst the thunderstorm, Genoa had found George, right in front of one of those monstrosities itself.

It was exactly as Nyssa had described, much to both Genoa and the frightened man’s horror.

Approximately ten feet tall in height, the tripod resembled something almost like a spider with tendrils. The giant, oval-shaped base gave an eerie appearance of an otherworldly skull, with green phosphorescent force emitting from its giant portals. The arachnid design had allowed better mobility over any obstacle conceived, while its tendrils served both as probes and snares. Fortunately for George and us, the creature forgot one minor detail about traveling inside a metal craft during a lightning storm.

Without warning, as if Zeus himself had hurled it towards the offending device, a lightning bolt struck the tripod. The electrical discharge had temporarily immobilised the vile contraption, allowing my wife and myself to rescue George, getting us all to safety.

Of course, Genoa had known the real story: Both dressed in their bioarmour, he and Nyssa wasted no time in keeping the giant tripod at bay, allowing George’s brief escape to safe shelter. Mysteriously, they had been able to fell the giant machine by tricking it into grabbing its own legs. Before it realised what the interlopers had done, it had literally yanked its legs right out from under itself.

Earth’s gravity reasserted itself, causing the oval-shaped pod to crash down upon the ground. Exploding on impact, the pod shattered like an egg, but Genoa and Nyssa did not bother hanging about to investigate. Their main concern was getting George, and any other survivors, back to safety.

Naturally George had been grateful to them, as he had informed Dunestar had gone off elsewhere to see how bad the situation had become. Secretly, Genoa had already performed a global sweep of the situation.

According to our private reconnaissance, Nyssa and I had discovered the ghastly truth: the tripods had been systematically annihilating the planet’s metropolitan areas as if they were nothing. London, Paris, New York, and even a new city called Houston, had felt the inevitable assault led by these tripods. Weakened and weary, I had nearly collapsed due to fatigue. During these disastrous events I had not once dared to relax, nor refresh myself in any manner. As a result, it had began taking toll on my body, forcing Nyssa and George into locating us a proper place of hiding, until I could recover.

Regaining my senses, we were fortunate enough to be taken in by a curate, who had informed us about dire news concerning the tripods. Now fitted with cylinder-shaped cannons, they were launching rockets which released toxic, black vapour into the atmosphere. According to the curate, anyone caught within the blast itself would instantly perish, and the last attack had occurred in a town called St. Cedric’s.

Picking up a sapphire capsule, Genoa studied it with great care. It was hard imagining this small invention of his had managed to save countless of lives from the black vapour attacks. And the formula behind it was purely incidental, as Genoa recalled his colleague, Dr. Jake Hennington had been there on a medical internship when all hell had broken loose.

Going against the advice of the curate and Nyssa, I had instinctively wanted to hasten there. Probably scientific inquisitiveness, or fear for my colleague’s well-being, something within me forewarned if I had remained where we were, all life on Earth might have ceased to exist.

As Nyssa and I had reached the outskirts of St. Cedric’s, we noticed the immobile bodies strewn about. However, on closer inspection, we noticed some unusual symptoms of the victims. Albeit the slight frothing from the mouth and nostrils, the victims had no other apparent marks upon their bodies. After several autopsies performed by Nyssa, we discovered the victims of the black vapour had perished due to oxygen starvation. It was about here, I acknowledged something even more odd about St. Cedric’s. Normally not known for its flora, for inexplicable reasons , the town was inundated with plants. Locating a strange wisp of vapour clinging to a vine, I had promptly analysed it.

Nyssa had then located Dr. Hennington. Locked inside an ice storage house, he appeared completely unharmed, giving us a complete account of what happened. Suddenly, I had realised one of my own inventions was the solution from saving the planet’s population. Without hesitation, I promptly sent out my discovery and ample supplies of the remarkable capsules to local areas. Instructing them to launch these at the precise moment the tripods launch their black vapour rockets, they would instantly be neutralised before having a chance to spread and kill anymore lives.

Regrettably, even though we had successfully quelled the tripods’ black vapour threat, they immediately reverted back in using their energy arsenals. However, as we have learned, the creatures’ reign mysteriously ended when it turned out they had lacked a proper immunity from our biological organisms. Strangely, unequipped to deal with our bacteria, the creatures succumbed within a matter of days. But as we recall, their reign of terror lasted for several months, making us wonder why the bacteria had not acted upon them until now.

Nonetheless, their oversight over this proves these beings did not originate from Mars, for would not Martians send probes to Terra, in order to learn of the planet’s biological design and makeup, and act accordingly? And I once again pose the inquiry, if this was truly an invasion force, why the necessity for mass destruction over simply enslavement of the planet? Even though, I, myself do not condone such things, we must take into consideration all factors, and investigate the true nature behind this visitation. For I fear this may just only be the beginning.

The DataFile ended there. Examining it now, Genoa felt it was a bit on the cliché side. But at the time, he just wanted to expediently record his experiences, not compose a scientific novel. Gazing at the envelope, then glancing at the giant console in the far off distance, he contemplated on what exactly he was going to tell the RSC about his and his associate’s ten-year absence.

In reality, as he, Nyssa, Jake, and his fiancé, Amanda had been performing some damage control back in Pandora’s Valley, they came across a horrible surprise. As if reliving a nightmare, one of the tripod units had enigmatically survived, and it was out for revenge! Dodging the attacks as best as they could, they ended up heading towards Passerpartout. Once making it inside, Genoa began furiously working at the console controls, while his Companions observed the giant curved screen in horror. Giant cylinder emerging from its lower base, the tripod aimed what appeared to be a rocket. But it was far bigger, and deadlier, than the black vapour ones, and it was pointed directly at Passerpartout! Right as it launched its weapon at the craft, Genoa had turned the switch. There came a tremendous explosion, then everything had gone black.

Upon awakening, Genoa and the others had discovered Passerpartout unharmed, while the observatory screen had indeed revealed Pandora’s Valley. Except now it was completely rebuilt, and the landscape had been reborn. Almost as if the invaders had never even came to this planet. Yet, activating the long-range scanners, the impact crater was still there outside of George’s town. The cylinder in question, on the other hand, had been removed.

Sensing something was terribly wrong with this picture, Genoa scanned the console for some answers. Astonishingly, he came across an indicator, a chronological device. In crimson, glowing letters and numerals, it gave off the current date: July 9^th, 1904. The intense explosion had mysteriously propelled Passerpartout approximately ten years into the future!

To make matters worse, no matter how Genoa tried, he could not return back to their previous time. Although he could easily travel at any point within the 19^th Century itself, inexplicably, 1894 through 1903 had been made inaccessible to them.

‘Hey, bud,’ a familiar voice shattered Genoa’s thoughts. ‘It’s getting late, and we’ve got to head out early tomorrow.’

He turned, noticing the young man stepping inside the room. Brown-hair neatly combed, sideburns melting into a goatee, the man appeared in his mid-twenties, and was wearing his pyjamas and his satin robe. Not only at Nyssa’s request, he came up into the Main Console Room because he was concerned with his colleague’s behaviour as well.

‘Though I will admit, Gen, I’m not really anxious on going up to St. Cedric’s AerisConstituon.’ Like Genoa, he failed ascertaining what the 20^th Century had in store for them.

Genoa wryly smiled at him. ‘Nor am I, Jake. Course, I realise your trepidation stems from a sight touch of vertigo. As for me,’ he turned back towards the screen. ‘I’m not quite sure about mine.’

Jake noticed Genoa’s tail sharply flick momentarily at the thought.

‘More likely because it doesn’t feel right, Gen.’ He knew exactly how they had all felt upon witnessing the changes in this new world. ‘Sort of like what Rip Van Winkle went through after awakening from his long nap.’

Genoa nodded. ‘Yet, if memory serves, Van Winkle awoke to a future were everything had naturally evolved, with no outside… interference..’

‘Yes,’ Jake noticed the tripod model sitting on Genoa’s rolltop desk contemptuously. ‘Seems like they’re embracing this new technology far too soon. I mean, this was the same equipment and designs that…’

‘It’s okay, Jake.’ Genoa tapped on some of the side keys, causing the teletype printer to spring to life. ‘We all know what it originally did, and exactly what it was designed for.’ With swift precision, the paper rolled out the information from the DataFile. Remarkably, the printed words appeared exactly as if they had been handwritten, in Genoa’s own handwriting no less! ‘Still, it appears the RSC expects everyone—including us—to readily accept these changes.’

Staring at the blank space, where he had cleverly omitted the truth about their disappearance, Genoa sighed a bit.

‘You go on to bed, Jake. Tell Nyssa I’m on my way. I just need to finish this up.’ Genoa reached for his pen, which was sitting neatly in its inkwell. Briefly putting on his spectacles, he briefly thought for a moment. He had to be clever, but not too clever, for the RSC members to find the explanation somewhat plausible.

With expedient precision, Genoa began writing away without stopping for one second. After penning out four paragraphs, he promptly checked it over, ensuring nothing contradictory materialised, nor having it sound prefabricated. Much to his approval, he removed his spectacles, and opened the side drawer. Extracting a folder from it, Genoa placed the documents inside, closed it and tied it securely before placing it upon the table, next to Nyssa’s sealed report.

Deactivating the screen, turning out the lights, Genoa glanced back at the Main Console Room. Sighing once more, he hoped he and the others could get a well-deserved sleep. For he felt it might be a long time before any of them would be resting comfortably in this new world.