“Knowing something’s gone wrong isn’t the same as knowing where it’s gone wrong. Their transmitter was probably blocked through being under snow. Then, when the snow melted—”
“All they had to do was send another Tripod along the same route to look for it. They didn’t.”
“How do we know that? We weren’t able to keep watch all the time.”
He paused, but when I thought he’d yielded the point, said, “Because the second Tripod would have left thumping great tracks in the snow, wouldn’t it? I should have thought that was obvious.”
Rudi said, while I was trying to think of an answer, “I think they are knowing from the beginning.”
I asked shortly, “Why?”
“Because they do not take time looking at the wreck. All they do is explode it.”
“So why wait all those months?” Andy came in. “Why not do whatever they were going to do right away?”
Rudi shrugged. “I do not know. All we truly know is how little we know of them. What matters is that now they send no Tripods through the valley. It is not much, but it is better.”
His calmness calmed me. What he said was right. We had managed to destroy one Tripod, and in this small corner of the world, none had replaced it. I remembered the speculation about their coming from a swamp world. Perhaps mountains were unfamiliar to them, and perhaps they would decide they were dangerous and keep away from them in future. It was a small victory, but something to build on.
No one spoke for several moments. The sun scorched overhead. Around us the green grass was studded with a dozen different colors of summer flowers, and above, against a strong blue sky, a pair of yellow butterflies slowly waltzed. A lazy day—the sort of day for a game of tennis, a bike ride, fishing maybe . . . then back home to a shower, tea, television. . . .
Andy said, “I like the idea of this extended patrol Martin was talking about.”
They all called Pa Martin these days, though certainly not from lack of respect. Everyone listened carefully when he spoke. But he talked to me more than the others, and I called him Pa.
Rudi said, “Yes. We will make more recruits if we go further.”
And yet what a lot there was to build! I could see no end in our lifetimes, perhaps not in centuries. At least, though, we’d made a start. I wondered about those who would come after—if maybe one day three like us would lie on this hillside in the sun, watching butterflies as we were doing, but able also to look towards a day which would see humanity free again.
Our job—my job—was to lay the foundations which could make it happen.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
First Aladdin Paperbacks edition, 1990
Revised cover edition, 1999
First Simon Pulse edition, April 2003
Text copyright © 1988 by John Christopher
SIMON PULSE
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
Design by Ann Sullivan
The text of this book was set in New Caledonia.
The Library of Congress has cataloged a previous edition as follows:
Christopher, John.
When the Tripods came / John Christopher.—1st Collier Books ed.
p. cm.—(The Tripods series)
Summary: Fourteen-year-old Laurie and his family attempt to flee England when the Tripods descend from outer space and begin brainwashing everyone with their hypnotic Caps.
[1. Science fiction.] I. Title. II. Series: Christopher, John. Tripods series.
PZ .C457Wg 1990 [Fic]—dc20 90-1436 CIP AC
ISBN 0-689-85762-4 (ISBN-13: 978-0-689-85762-1)
ISBN-13: 978-1-4814-0913-1 (eBook)
Contents
Preface
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
John Christopher, When the Tripods Came
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