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Post by Leatherhead on Mar 24, 2006 3:03:51 GMT
Indeed good friend
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Post by EvilNerfherder on Mar 24, 2006 10:24:02 GMT
I have to say I tend to agree with Leatherhead's ideas about the Martians and I think, whilst they may be slower in our atmosphere, they are still very dangerous. Thanks to all for the kind words so far, I started this as a short story but it seems to want to be longer. Next chapter should be along sometime over the weekend.
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Post by Commandingtripod on Mar 24, 2006 11:18:24 GMT
I have to say I tend to agree with Leatherhead's ideas about the Martians and I think, whilst they may be slower in our atmosphere, they are still very dangerous. Agreed. If they don't suck your blood out they'll just rip your head off instead.
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Post by Luperis on Mar 27, 2006 14:45:54 GMT
I do fear i will begin to sound like a know-it-all but i must say this. In my view, feel free to object if you like, ishould think that the Martians, while weighed down on our planet are not necessarily weak. Those tentacles may be thin on the end but I've imagined them being at least 6 inches around at the base. That's a lot of sinewy muscle. You must realize that these creatures are as large as a bear. They are then still quite heavy. To move at all even on Mars would require great strength. i think 16 tentacles working together could do an awful lot of damage. KEEP IT UP NERF! Yes... I have to agree with that too. The martians would have had to have great strength on Earth to be able to build their machines - It would have required a lot of heavy lifting, etc. I know I've commented before, but I have to say that the story is great Nerfy! Great plot and character development. I'm loving it - and am totally drawn in. Keep up the good work - I can't wait to see more.
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Post by Rob on Mar 27, 2006 15:47:58 GMT
Maybe they are capable of bursts of power.
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Post by EvilNerfherder on Mar 27, 2006 16:40:27 GMT
I'll do some more soon.. got kind of engrossed in playing the Jeff Wayne PC game over the weekend.
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Post by Leatherhead on Mar 27, 2006 21:47:41 GMT
slacker! just kidding
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Post by Commandingtripod on Mar 29, 2006 9:22:59 GMT
I'll do some more soon.. got kind of engrossed in playing the Jeff Wayne PC game over the weekend. Playing as who? The Martians or the Humans?
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Post by richardburton on Mar 29, 2006 9:46:08 GMT
Did you manage to push up past Northumberland yet (he's playing as the humans)?
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Post by EvilNerfherder on Mar 29, 2006 12:25:20 GMT
Nah.
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Post by smitty97 on Mar 29, 2006 14:47:42 GMT
Fascinating. Loving this, your writing style is excellent and I've read many a novel with less compelling a story. Looking forward to seeing how it all unfolds. Bravissimo!
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Post by EvilNerfherder on Mar 29, 2006 15:30:36 GMT
Thank you. I will be posting more soon and will see it through, no matter how long it takes. I hope I can do HG's original justice with this. Keep giving the feedback all.. it helps a lot.
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Post by jeffwaynefan on Mar 31, 2006 10:12:00 GMT
Loving it, just loving it. It's been ages since I last read a story that has captivated me. Keep them coming Nerfy and excellent work.
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Post by Commandingtripod on Mar 31, 2006 10:57:51 GMT
It really is a good story Nerfy. Got a cover design yet?
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Post by EvilNerfherder on Mar 31, 2006 11:20:50 GMT
I'm going to finish it first.. then see what happens.
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Post by Commandingtripod on Mar 31, 2006 11:34:53 GMT
Awsome. ;D
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Post by EvilNerfherder on Apr 1, 2006 20:28:35 GMT
THE WAR OF THE WORLDS: AFTERMATH.
9. Expedition.
The next day, my curiosity of the Martians and all their works was still in me, but I also had a strange heavy feeling in my stomach. Horton’s words of the previous night echoed around my head and, at breakfast, I caught him looking at me surreptitiously from time to time. As I sat chewing toast in the dining room, Cavendish exhibited his usual schoolboy enthusiasm for all that he expected of the day. ‘It’s going to be an exciting day, what?’ he said through a mouthful of scrambled egg. ‘We have done some preliminary investigations on the cylinders but we hope to have some more wonders to bring back with us when the day is out.’ ‘I am surprised that the people have not taken souvenirs,’ I said. ‘Ah. Well we have guards posted at most of the major landing sites against just that eventuality. We did not waste any time on that front. The items therein are too precious and we are sure that not just the ordinary man on the street would like to get their hands on such treasures.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Spies, man!’ Cavendish exclaimed. ‘We have word that at least one foreign government have people on our soil sniffing around. They have asked for information through diplomatic channels, of course, but we are reluctant to share whilst we know so little.’ ‘Would we share at all?’ I asked. I was beginning to see how having such advances in our possession would mean a great advantage in many ways. ‘Of course,’ said Cavendish. ‘When the time is right.’ But I felt that he was not telling the whole truth and he would say no more on the subject.
Later, wrapped up in warm clothing, we were ushered into the lift back to the surface. A short trip on the private train took us to a waiting overland train. It seemed that the problems with the rail services had been overcome, enough, at least, for us to be able to travel to Woking in the comfort of a plush carriage. So, we were headed for Horsell Common! The weather was indeed as miserable as Cavendish had predicted. The rain poured from leaden skies and clattered noisily against the roof and windows of the carriage as I regarded the newcomers to our excursion. As well as Cavendish and Horton, the party consisted of three others. The men were, I had learned on being introduced to them, scientist well ahead in their fields. Baxter, a small, grey, bearded man, was involved in Biology. He sat nervously twitching his fingers and muttering under his breath. Peters favoured physics and was a tall black haired man. He slept through the whole journey. Carter, a young Engineer with a swept-back mop of blonde hair, stared at the countryside as it passed. We were not travelling unguarded. In the next carriage travelled ten troops, armed to the teeth and led by a grizzled Welsh Sergeant by the name of Jones. Quite what trouble was expected on this trip was unclear, but I felt better for their presence. At Woking carriages waited, some full of bulky looking equipment under tarpaulins, some obviously meant for our transportation. We climbed aboard one of the latter and travelled on still pitted and rutted roads to Horsell Common. The inclement weather reminded me of the first night I saw a Martian machine. In my mind it’s ghostly howl reverberated once again. As we came upon the Common, my feelings of unease evidently became more apparent. Horton looked concerned at me. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said quietly, ‘You’re safe for now.’ This man was quite an enigma to me. The bushes and trees around the common still stood blackened and charred, pointing at the dark sky like the accusing fingers of the dead. Great swathes of the area showed the scars of what had occurred when the cylinder had opened. Mounds of churned up earth lay here and there along with the wreckage of guns and other equipment. The memories of those early battles were again fresh in my mind. Here now was the cylinder, glistening in the wet and like some great misshapen cathedral. An edifice dedicated to the engineering of our destruction, once ringing with the howling prayers of our persecutors, now silent and deserted. A Fighting Machine loomed, as if on guard, close by.
As we approached, I noticed that there was a small encampment near to the entrance of the Cylinder. Soldiers milled around smoking and talking in low voices. I saw none of the usual soldierly bravado and humour here. The gaping maw of the Cylinder entrance exuded some sobering influence. I felt it only too strongly as I stood near by. We were shown to a large marquee as the wagons containing the equipment were unloaded and were given mugs of hot sweet tea. Cavendish addressed the assembled persons. ‘Today, gentlemen, we will be looking for more equipment to take back with us. I know our scientists are anxious to learn more about the workings of the cylinder and we have only scratched the surface here. Please be careful. There is still much we do not know and we can’t afford to lose any of you because of some silly mishap.’ This off-colour comment was met with a little nervous laughter from some. I thought the joke a very poor one indeed. ‘Anyway, please ask if you have any concerns or questions. Are we ready, gentlemen?’ Cavendish led the way out of the tent, Horton, as always, shadowing him. I set down my mug, fastened my coat close about my neck and followed. Once outside, we scrambled down into the pit and approached the cylinder opening. The exploration group consisted of myself, Cavendish, Horton and the three scientists I had met previously on the train. We glanced nervously at each one another, the Cylinder apeture was exuding that malign influence once more. A group of 4 soldiers, including the Sergeant, Jones, joined us and we entered.
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Post by Commandingtripod on Apr 2, 2006 0:03:40 GMT
Excellent story Nerfy. I'm hooked.
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Post by Poyks on Apr 2, 2006 2:39:26 GMT
I've had the chance to relax, and read the whole story so far straight through and I must say it's absolutely facinating and very, very good. It's written with the maturity and authority that matches any of my favourite writers! Good work Nerfington!! :-)
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Post by EvilNerfherder on Apr 2, 2006 2:42:18 GMT
THE WAR OF THE WORLDS: AFTERMATH.
10. Belly of the Beast.
It was warm inside the Cylinder. Much to my surprise it was also not as dark as I expected. No earthly light source illuminated our progress, but the metal walls themselves glowed with an eerie, blue-green luminescence. Once my eyes had accustomed themselves, I could see quite clearly. Nothing could prepare me for the smell, though. ‘My god, what is that smell?’ Carter asked covering his nose. ‘Putrescence,’ answered Baxter grimly. ‘Death, call it what you will. Sir George, have the bodies been cleared from here?’ ‘We have penetrated little into the cylinder’s mysteries,’ Cavendish said. ‘We have, until now, not ventured much farther than the openings. Some soldiers have been further looking for survivors but that is about all. I am as new to much of this as you.’ ‘You don’t know what is in here?’ I asked, incredulous. ‘We have the stories of the soldiers, of course. Many other things have occupied our time. Guards were posted at the opening until we could spare the time to investigate properly.’ ‘What did the soldiers find?’ asked Baxter, twitching nervously. ‘Well, we shall soon find out if the gossip is correct, eh?’ Cavendish said.
The space inside the Cylinder was cavernous. Walking through, it seemed impossible that such a huge thing could fly through space at many thousands of miles an hours, as this must have done. It seemed like expecting an Ironclad to fly. But here it was, as if to prove just how little our civilisation knew about the mysterious laws of the Universe. The floor of the cylinder was a sort metallic mesh that our feet sank into slightly. As our feet rose again, the surface reshaped itself and was as flat as before. Carter, the Engineer, found this especially interesting and jumped up and down experimentally. ‘This is astounding,’ he enthused. ‘Do you see the glow through this floor? Fascinating!’ The walls of the cylinder had been bare before but as we walked, on either side, dim shapes became gradually apparent. We moved in our group towards one of the shapes. A partially built Fighting Machine squatted there, or at least the hood of one. Leg sections, which must have constituted parts of the same Machine were stacked against the gently curving wall, along with panels and other parts. Further we went, past more of these partly built machines. The smell of death grew stronger as another shadowy shape loomed. As we drew closer we saw that it was an enormous basket. A surge of horror reminded me that I had seen such things before. The Handling Machines had carried such baskets on their backs. Inside the cage were bodies. Human bodies. Men, women and children twisted in grotesque tableaux of terror and fear. Perhaps they had seen their captors start to die and thought that they were saved. But fate had dealt them a cruel hand. ‘Poor devils!’ breathed Jones. ‘How did they die?’ I asked. ‘See the black powder scattered around?’ asked Baxter. ‘Bastards!’ breathed a young soldier. ‘They gassed ‘em!’ ‘Steady, lad,’ said Jones. It appeared that the Martians in the cylinder had, in a last act of defiance, unleashed their most horrific weapon, the Black Smoke, on their defenceless captives when they had started to die themselves. Was this an act of sheer spite? It appeared we would never know. Cavendish led us away from the carnage and further into the depths of the cylinder. Along the way we saw the putrifying bodies of Martians here and there. The soldiers kicked at one as they passed. ‘Please, don’t do that!’ Cavendish said. ‘We may need the bodies for testing later and we cannot have them damaged any more than they already are.’ Soon, we came upon a large area of wall with a sliding door, which was open. This led into another smaller space. ‘The control cabin?’ asked Peters. ‘So it would appear,’ said Carter. Those look like controls to me.’ The engineer was referring to a panel on which were many levers and switches. A set of three portholes sat in the centre of the panel, each with a switch next to it. The portholes were blank and they appeared to be closed. Carter reached towards one of the switches. ‘No don’t!’ Cavendish said. It was too late though, and the switch had been pushed. To our surprise, the porthole next to the switch lit up and we could see a rainy landscape. ‘Look! That’s outside!’ exclaimed Peters. It was indeed outside. The scene was of the encampment at the cylinder opening. We could see soldiers standing around, shivering in the rain. Carter pushed the other two switches, this time Cavendish did not try to stop him. The other portholes lit up and more scenes appeared. On one was what I took to be the other side of the cylinder and I could see a wooded area and the wreckage of a fallen Martian Digging Mechanism. The other showed stars. Only stars. Was this outer space? The open mouthed expressions of the others told me that they had similar ideas. ‘Incredible!’ breathed Peters, unnecessarily. We turned or attention to the rest of the cabin. On the other wall we saw a row large tanks, not unlike large upended horse troughs fronted with glass. A complicated array of tubes and wires left each tank and entered into a large console. ‘What are these?’ I asked. Baxter answered. ‘I have an idea about these. They may actually go someway to explain how the Martians managed to survive the journey here at such terrific speed.’ ‘Go on,’ I said. ‘Well,’ Baxter continued. ‘In the terms of the Layman, I think perhaps the Martians were suspended in some kind of liquid in these tanks. Somehow it kept them being crushed by the forces that the speed of this conveyance must have put them under.’ It was a mystery to me as to how they reached such conclusions but it seemed feasible to at least some of the party so I asked no further questions. There were more panels around the walls with dials and switches on them. It must have needed a crew of three or four to pilot this vehicle. Would this vessel have had a Captain directing operations, like our ships? It has been supposed by some that this first Cylinder was the 'flagship' of the fleet, as it were. Perhaps this is just because it landed first. It certain appears to have given directions to the Cylinders that landed elsewhere, but was this just a case of imposing human qualities on an unknown race once more? There were no indications, to me, that this was a special vessel. No insignia, no writing of any kind, just those glowing metal walls. We left the cabin for now and went deeper into the Cylinder. Another room opened up before us and we almost gagged at the smell. Inside were more bodies scattered carelessly around. I thought at first that these were more of our unfortunate fellow humans, but further investigation proved otherwise. Eyes watering from the rancid air in that room, I saw that these were biped figures, but they were very pale, almost white. The creatures had protruding foreheads and prominent jaws and they looked like some strange hybrid of human and ape. Their arms were long and their naked bodies were almost completely hairless. I realised that these were the food that the Martians had brought with them. A glance around the room told me that this was some kind of feeding room. Complicated looking machines sprouted from the walls and from these came spiked tubes like the pipettes the Martians used to drink the blood of other creatures. Everywhere the smell of corruption mixed with the coppery reek of old blood. We did not stay in that room for long.
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