The Martian War Read Online Free

the blessing of a man he revered, Lowell traveled by way of Milan, Italy. Though he was not easily intimidated, he found himself stuttering in awe when he met the great Giovanni Schiaparelli, original cartographer of the canals of Mars and director of the Milan Observatory since 1862. Using only an eight-inch telescope, he had discovered the asteroid Hesperia and created original maps of the Martian canali in 1877, only a year after Lowell graduated with honors from Harvard.
    “When I made my drawings,” the old astronomer said, struggling with his English, “I was meant for those lines to represent only channels or cracks in surface. I, myself, never thought of canali as more than blemishes. I am told that the word canali suggest a different thing to non-Italian ears, maybe man-made canals—”
    “Not made by men,” Lowell interrupted, “but by intelligent beings. Geometrical precision on a planetary scale? What else can it be but the mark of an intelligent race?”
    The old astronomer poured from a bottle of Chianti on a sidetable. He took a sip and blinked his rheumy eyes. His rooms were filled with books, oil lamps, and melted lumps of candles in terra cotta dishes. A pair of spectacles lay on an open tome, while an enormous magnifying glass rested within easy reach. Lowell felt a rare flash of sympathy—losing one’s eyesight must be the worst hell a dedicated astronomer could imagine.
    “I wish you could see what I have discerned, Signore Schiaparelli. Think of a dying world inhabited by a once-marvelous civilization. The very existence of a planetwide system of canals implies a world order that knows no national boundaries, a society that long ago forgot its political disputes and racial animosity, uniting the populace in a quest for water. The dark spots are pumping stations, obviously. Or oases.”
    Schiaparelli took a quick swallow of his Chianti, only to begin a brief coughing fit. Outside on the open balcony, pigeons fluttered in the sunlight. “But if Mars is so arid, Signore Lowell, surely all water must evaporate from the open canali … if the temperature is above freezing, of course—and it must be in order for the water to stay in its liquid state.”
    Lowell paced the room. “What if the lines we see are aqueducts, with lush vegetation thriving in irrigated soil, much as the Egyptians grow their crops in the Nile flood plains? I estimate the darkened aqueduct fringes to be about thirty miles wide. Vegetation would not only emphasize the lines of the canals, but would also shield the open water from rapid evaporation. Simple, you see?”
    The old astronomer seemed more amused than captivated by the concepts. Lowell came closer to his host, barely controlling his enthusiasm. “My proposed plan in the Sahara follows a similar principle, Signore, but on a much smaller scale, since Iam only one man and, alas, our own Earthly civilization has no stomach for such dreams. But someone must send a signal to our star-crossed brothers.”
    “And how will you accomplish this?”
    “I have already dispatched surveyors and work teams to southern Algeria. I will excavate three canals, each one ten miles long, across an otherwise featureless basin, to form a perfect equilateral triangle. A geometrical symbol impossible to explain by random natural processes. Therefore, it will be a clear message that intelligent life inhabits this world. I will emphasize my puny canals with lines of fire, filling the trenches with petroleum products and igniting them under the cloudless desert skies. It will be a brief but dramatic message, blazing into the night. But I am confident the Martians will see it.”
    His eyes sparkled, his voice rose in volume. Based on his own celestial calculations, Lowell had estimated how much travel time the Martians would require to reach Earth. He lowered his voice. “I believe the Martians have already launched an ambassador to us.”
    Schiaparelli appeared surprised at such a bold