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 A Letter From Mars
February 1, 1889
My Dearest Edwina,
It is with great longing and a little sadness that I write to you now, for it has been ages since we were together last. Undoubtedly my missives have been delayed, but such is the danger of interplanetary delivery. I can only hope that my words reach you eventually, and are not lost in the vast ether that separates us. I want only to be with you again, Edwina, but ghastly and terrible events are in the offing here…events that may demand my extended presence in Syrtis Major.
We have brought so much to these people—advances both technological and social—yet like petulant children they spit into the palm that offers them sustenance. They call us Red Devils, and worse. Once such slurs were best reserved for the secrecy and darkness of a Bhutan spice mine. Now they are shouted from streetcorners. They no longer view us as partners, but rather as conquerors. They organize forces in the wild steppes and canal country to challenge us.
Ah, but these are merely the troubles that have clouded my mind and thoughts as of late. When we are not suffering such verbal onslaughts we make our way, as always. The inventors of our grand Empire—may the sun never set upon it—continue to fabricate the most wondrous machines. Aeroplanes, atomic power generators, electric rail guns, earthquake machines, gravity rays…even synthetic life!...all of these I have heard rumors of, and a few I have seen with my own eyes. The Explorer’s Society, through its proxy the British Association for the Advancement of Science, continues to send more and more inventors to Syrtis Major, and their industry may very well be bottomless. It shows no sign of slowing, at least, and there seem to be more scientific craftsmen than ever hustling about. Most endeavor to sell their wares or secure investors, but a few labor selflessly in service to the Crown, thank God.
I do enjoy reading the clippings that arrive with your letters; it seems that my Fame precedes me back in London! The adulation of the masses is a poor substitute for yours, my sweet Edwina, but it eases my aching heart a bit. I am recognized more often in Syrtis Major, but this is to be expected. I only hope this measure of renown I have earned will allow me to root out the new threats rearing their heads in the hills just outside the city.
Whispers of a new fellowship of Martians called the “Ground Cleansers” are spreading even as I write, and even more ominous voices speak of something called the Cult of the Worm. Only a few days ago I overheard a madman preaching to his own people of a burgeoning resentment. “I hear a messiah is arising who will rally our people and splash our sands with the Earthmen’s blood,” he shouted. “Listen, my people, and harken to my words. Look for the Red Sands!” In spite of myself, I shuddered, and called upon a force of Marines to remove the troublesome crier.
My apologies, sweet Edwina, for I do not wish to alarm you. Though these troubling words have flown as of late, they are no more than that—just words. Certainly this minor uprising will pass into obscurity just as the rest of them did. Still, the seeds of a greater curiosity have been planted in my thoughts. In times of solitude I think upon the vast differences between the beings of the valleys and the hills, and their High Martian counterparts. There is so much history buried beneath the swirling sands. Could it be that our task is to learn all we can of this secret epic, lest we be swept away by its resurgence?
Rubbish! See how I go on, when I have not your calming influence beside me? This is too long for husband and wife to be apart. Of course the lost history of these people is of little consequence, so long as we remain true to ourselves and our Empire.
Next week I shall lead a mission into the Thoth Desert, so my next missive may be slightly delayed. Know that my heart and my thoughts are with you. We must bring civilization to these peoples, whether they desire it or not. As soon as I am able I shall return to your side. Until then I remain
Yours Truly,
Ian
Sergeant Major Ian McSweeny
1st Syrtis Major Native Infantry Battalion A
Syrtis Major Colonial Brigade
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