The Martian Ambassador by Alan K Baker Page B

consider all options, after all.’ And then Blackwood hesitated, and fell silent. Yes , he thought, we must consider all options...
    *
    As the cab approached Paddington Station, Blackwood and Sophia caught a glimpse of the great, grey bulk of an intercity omnibus rising above the platforms. Its pillar-like legs were folded up around it, giving it the appearance of a gargantuan insect, poised and ready to pounce upon some unsuspecting prey. The rear quarter of the hull displayed an advertisement which depicted a pair of Martians relaxing in armchairs in front of a roaring fire, each holding a large mug in his long-fingered hand. Above them, huge red letters declared: MARTIANS LOVE BOVRIL!
    ‘Is that the West Country omnibus?’ asked Sophia.
    ‘It is,’ replied Blackwood as he fished in his pocket for the cab fare.
    ‘I must confess I’m rather looking forward to this journey. I do so love travelling by walking machine,’ she cried as she opened the door and descended to the street with an elegant little jump, leaving Blackwood to hurry after her. ‘I really should do it more often.’
    Although he generally disliked frivolity, Blackwood found himself smiling at Sophia’s sudden girlish enthusiasm, finding it as charming as it was surprising. He didn’t particularly care for this new mode of transportation himself; he didn’t feel it was quite natural to travel two hundred feet above the landscape, like some bizarre circus performer on stilts. Nevertheless, it would get them to Somerset in pretty short order.
    The West Country omnibus was due to depart within a few minutes, so while Blackwood stepped into the telegraph office to send a message to Grandfather, Sophia bought two first class return tickets to Taunton. They met at the end of the platform and walked to the foot of the wrought iron gangway leading up into the main hull of the vehicle.
    As they climbed up the gangway, along with the few other remaining passengers, Blackwood took in the huge hydraulic pistons protruding from their housings in the disc-shaped engine section beneath the hull. They looked to him like the components of a steam locomotive that had been designed by an opium addict and then constructed by a maniacal engineer with delusions of grandeur. Above the engine section was the complex gimbal assembly which kept the hull stable while the machine was walking. Above that, the lozenge-shaped hull itself, one hundred feet long and sixty wide, loomed with a weird magnificence against the overcast sky.
    The passengers entered through the main hatch behind the gimbals, and Blackwood and Sophia followed them through and onto E Deck, the lowest level, which contained the control room and various items of electrical equipment pertaining to the running of the vehicle. They then climbed a wide spiral staircase, ascending through D Deck, which was given over to luggage storage, and then C and B Decks, which contained third and second class accommodation respectively, before terminating on A Deck, which contained the first class seating, restaurant and observation gallery.
    Blackwood would quite happily have settled into his seat and not moved for the duration of the journey, but he took note of Sophia’s expression and suggested that they observe their departure through the wide promenade windows at the front of the cabin. She readily agreed, and they walked past the restaurant section, in which a couple of liveried waiters were flitting between tables, laying out cutlery ready for lunch.
    As they stood looking out at the rooftops around Paddington, they heard a faint hum from somewhere far below in the depths of the vehicle, which rose steadily in pitch until it was a faint but continuous whine. They both took hold of the brass railing beneath the windows as the floor lurched slightly, and Sophia gave a small gasp as the vast metal legs to the left and right of the observation gallery slowly unfolded, dropping out of view as the great walking machine