by Gareth Clegg
“And there,” Gabriel said, “lie all the problems. Do any of you have detailed maps of the city, from before the invasion?”
“No, but I bet Isaac does,” Rosie said. “He’s a magpie for anything like that.”
“He does,” Nathaniel added. “I’ve seen a couple on his boat when we were fixing the engine, but I’m not sure how old they are.”
“Let’s get back to this Isaac then,” Gabriel said. “With an adequate map, I should be able to triangulate where ArcNet is.”
Isaac rummaged through the tarps at the stern of his vessel, searching for any more extra cans for target practice. Shots continued from behind the church where he’d left Simmons practising again this morning. The reverend had rustled up eggs and bacon for their breakfast, but he wasn’t sure it was any kind of bacon he’d tried before. More likely, it came from something more urban than pigs. However, food was food, and the taste had been better than a lot of what he’d sampled in the past.
The sky was grey this morning, but at least it was dry. The rear of the boat was a mess. He hadn’t had the opportunity for a clear out, what with the rush to get away from Greenwich in the night. It was time he started on repair work.
With that thought now nagging in the back of his mind, Isaac stood and moved forward to inspect the damage Betsy had received during their escape. How could he have neglected her for so long?
The front quarter, on the port side, had taken the most severe beating. The broken rail and scorched deck cried out for attention, and he felt a physical clenching in his gut as he inspected the blackened and blistered wood. A smell of burnt timber assaulted his senses as he peered over the edge, following the charred planks down to the waterline.
“I’m sorry, my dear,” he said out loud. “I’ll get Simmons organised with extra targets, then be right back. We’ll get you looking good as new in a few days.”
He returned to the stern, and after a few minutes, walked ashore with an armful of emptied cans ready for Simmons to kill.
Simmons turned as Isaac entered the area at the rear of St Mark’s. The buckets were ruins of torn metal, sharp edges jutting out as they lay discarded on the ground behind the splintered remains of the barrels.
“Reinforcements?” Simmons said, pointing to the armful that Isaac carried.
“Right you are, Mr S,” he replied, depositing the liberated cans beside the mangled targets. “It looks like that rifle isn’t conducive to the health of your enemies.”
Simmons chuckled. “Yes, it has that effect, whether they be metal or the more fleshy variety.”
“And the aim?”
“It’s not good, but better than I feared. As long as I keep aiming for the centre of mass, I’ll manage. The sight requires adjustment, but it won’t compensate that much, so I have to lean my neck across to position my left somewhere near where it needs to be.”
“What about Nathaniel? I bet he could devise something.”
“Yes, I thought about the same thing. An offset scope—it’s right up his street.” Simmons paused. “How is he? Have you heard anything from him? I fear I was a dreadful arse when we last spoke.”
“He’s fine. Said you were still in significant pain, and the morphine wasn’t helping your state of mind.”
“That man is much too nice for his own good. I near as dammit had a tantrum with him, shouting and screaming like a spoilt brat. I don’t know how he puts up with me.”
“He’s a good man,” Isaac replied. “The kind of chap you want around to watch your back, and by God, what he didn’t know about Betsy’s engine? And all book learnt from what he said.”
“It’s true, but he can put his mind to almost anything to do with technology.”
Isaac nodded. “Yeah. So, more practice?”
“Yes, I’ll try shooting a few more Black Guard without wasting too much ammunition. You?”
“Betsy demands tending to, and I’ve neglected her too long as it is. I need to repair the deck and side rail. I have the wood for that, but the hull around the waterline might prove difficult. It needs curved sections. That’s normally done under pressure and steamed to maintain the shape. It’s a job for a dockyard to get that fixed proper, so I’ll have to patch it the best I can for now.”
“Well, good luck with that then,” Simmons said.
“And you with your shooting,” said Isaac. He held up his palm in farewell and headed back to Betsy.
The unmistakable roar of Simmons’ rifle echoed through the intervening rubble as Nathaniel led his small group back towards St Mark’s.
“That’s Simmons,” Nathaniel said. “What the hell is going on?”
The church was only a few hundred yards distant, but the debris obstructed their view.
“The quickest route is down by the waterside,” Maddox said as he checked his pistol. “But there’s not much cover.”
“Can you take a closer look from somewhere? Get an idea of what’s happening?” said Rosie.
He looked from Rosie to Nathaniel then nodded, ducking out of sight around the edge of the ruined wall they leaned against.
“We’ll wait and see what he comes back with,” Nathaniel said.
What else could they do with Gabriel requiring the help of both Maddox and Rosie to support her? The stumbling steps she made slowed their progress across the uneven terrain to little more than a crawl. It looked like a storm was approaching, and the sky had darkened, clouds amassing in thick grey clumps overhead. The wind had picked up and was shifting restlessly as if waiting for an opportunity to gust and blow into full force.
Another shot rang out, and a crunch of stone heralded Maddox’s arrival. “I can’t see anything unusual. No sign of anyone around and no return fire. Isaac is on his boat, looks like he’s doing repairs.”
“What do we do?” Rosie asked her eyes flitting from Nathaniel to Gabriel.
Nathaniel had worked most of his life in isolation. He wasn’t used to giving orders or having to decide for others. He preferred working to his own schedule. “We continue as before, but let’s keep an eye out for anything unusual. We’ll find out what’s happening when we get to St Mark’s.”
They all resumed their positions, except Gabriel. “You should leave me here and check that it’s safe. If it is, you can retrieve me then. I’m not going anywhere.”
“No,” Nathaniel said. “Nobody gets left behind. Come on, let’s move.”
Without another word, Rosie and Maddox thrust their shoulders under Gabriel’s arms hoisting her to her feet as they continued their slow progress, Nathaniel leading the way. When did I become the leader of this group?
As they approached along the water’s edge, they made use of what little cover there was. Another two shots exploded from behind the building in rapid succession. They stopped, checking for any movement, but there was nothing to indicate any problem.
“Look,” Nathaniel said, pointing ahead then holding his arm up acknowledging the figure on the boat waving to them.
“Nathaniel,” Isaac shouted through cupped hands. “Good to see you’re well.”
“Yes, fine. What’s going on with the gunshots?” he replied.
“Oh, that’s just Simmons shooting the Black Guard,” he called back, his tone calm.
“What?” Nathaniel asked, his stomach lurching.
“We made some targets. He’s practising.”
Nathaniel felt a wave of relief pass over him, and he nodded for the others to follow him toward the boat. Isaac jumped to the shore as they reached him, he looked at Nathaniel, then froze as his gaze passed to the trio that followed behind. “Is that—” Isaac’s voice faltered. “Is that an ArcAngel?” he said, clasping his right hand over his heart.
“Isaac, this is Gabriel,” Nathaniel said. “Gabriel, Isaac.”
“Pleased to meet you, Isaac,” Gabriel said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Oh my God,” Isaac said, dropping to his knees, his eyes locked on hers.
“Isaac,” she
said with a shocked tone. “Please get up. I’m no different from you.”
“But you’re…”
“I’m a woman in ArcAngel power armour. Not a holy relic of worship, regardless of our proximity to a house of God.” She ended with a short laugh.
Isaac still seemed a little stunned, Nathaniel walked over and offered his hand, helping the older man back to his feet. “It’s true, she’s just like us. We need to talk with Simmons and Jack. Oh, do you have a map of London, something detailed, from before the war?”
Isaac flicked his eyes towards Gabriel, still unsure, then refocused on Nathaniel. “Yeah, course I do. I’ll go ferret it out.”
The arc-lamp sparked and hummed in the dim living room, shedding a bright glow over the table and all those seated around it.
Gabriel tapped a metallic finger down on the old map between them. “That’s ArcNet, there at the centre of the three access nodes.”
“You’re certain no-one else knows its location?” Simmons asked.
“I assure you, Mister Simmons, only those working on the ArcNet project knew of it. The ArcAngels, a handful of technicians, all of whom I would trust with my life, and the creators, Tesla and Dent.”
“And you’re sure that none of them would have turned over the information, even under severe duress?” Simmons continued.
“I have been out of commission for four years. There’s no way I can be certain of what happened in that time, but if you want to find a place any survivors would return, then this is it. It’s locked down and requires ArcAngel technology to gain access.”
Nathaniel looked up from the map. “So, if the Black Guard somehow found their way in, they could stop us?”
“If there is anyone inside, they could refuse entry to anyone else, other than me. I have the sole override,” said Gabriel.
“Okay, so we have a way in,” Nathaniel said. “But where is it? Where’s the entrance, that’s the middle of Ravenscourt Park?”
“It’s on a section of the Piccadilly underground line.”
“What?” said Nathaniel. “Piccadilly doesn’t run that far. It stops here at Hammersmith.” He emphasised the point, tapping on the map.
“No, Mister Bazalgette,” Gabriel said. “They extended and then blocked the tunnel, stating it was too unstable. But they used it for the ArcNet project as the central hub of operations. There are feeder lines to the other three sections I needed to triangulate its location.”
Simmons scowled. “And what of the other locations, what if someone compromised them? Wouldn’t that give access to the core through these lines?”
Gabriel smiled. “There are plenty of security measures, any of which would make it difficult for anyone trying to force their way in. Presuming they even knew where to look. The final option is to flood the tunnels from the sewage network.”
“Really?” Nathaniel asked. “But how—”
“Bazalgette,” Simmons said with a laugh, “can you just for once get your mind out of the sewers?”
A wave of laughter rolled around the assembled group, and Nathaniel held his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. Perhaps we could talk in more detail later?”
Gabriel nodded and returned her gaze to the crumpled paper, edges ripped and covered with spots of oil and grease. “So, we have a target and three access points. I have the means to override any lockouts if we encounter them, but I need more power. We won’t manage this with you having to carry me around everywhere. Have you been able to come up with anything to help us with that?”
Nathaniel grinned. “As luck has it, I picked up two extra energy cells when I took the Arc-Rifle. I recharged them at my workshop so they might give you enough charge to keep you running until we reach ArcNet.”
Gabriel nodded. “That sounds good, but the sooner we get to ArcNet, the better.”
34
They planned their travel, with Isaac able to take them most of the way before they would have to hike through rougher and drier terrain. As the entrance Gabriel had shown them was outside the city walls, Nathaniel didn’t feel the need for travelling under cover of darkness.
It took all the power cells to charge Gabriel’s armour enough to get her moving, and then they boarded as bright rays of morning light crested the church roof.
Jack wished them well as they left, offering them the hospitality of his humble abode if they ever required it. Nathaniel watched the old man wave them off as Isaac increased the power and the roar of the boat’s engine thrust them west back towards the city. He noticed Simmons fire the reverend a sharp salute before returning to his preferred location at the prow. Jack had tidied Simmons’ bandages, and he now sported a leather eyepatch. It looked much better, but angry bruising covered a large area of his friend’s face. Black around the bottom of the patch and running through purple and into a green and yellow mass that reached down to his jawline.
Simmons didn’t seem to notice Nathaniel’s stare and looked like he was almost back to his old miserable self. Well, better than that, Nathaniel thought. There appeared to be a new purpose in him, an enthusiasm for life again. Nathaniel smiled, perhaps Simmons had finally come to terms with not being able to do everything himself.
“How long, Isaac?” he called to the stern.
Isaac popped his head above the canvas awning. “We’re going against the tide, so I’d expect somewhere around two hours.”
Nathaniel nodded his thanks and found a place among the others near the prow as they progressed towards ArcNet.
Nathaniel checked his watch, Isaac was spot on. They sailed into sight of Hammersmith with ten minutes to spare.
They splashed through the muddy water, picking their way between outcrops of rubble and the rusted remains of exposed rebar. The smell of salt from the brackish pool, caught in his nose. It must have been standing for some time.
Gabriel led them into a tunnel. Two beams of light cut through the darkness from her armour, and he and the others followed. The rays bounced around the walls as she got her bearings and headed toward a blank wall with a sturdy steel door. It looked like it belonged on one of the great ironclads of the Royal Navy. Six feet tall with rounded corners and a circular wheel mechanism in the centre. It stood there, imposing its will on those who would attempt to breach it and the secrets it protected.
Nathaniel searched the room, his arc-lamp casting shifting shadows. The interior was sparse, and with no sign of any recent habitation, he felt a little more reassured. They might be the first people to enter the complex in some time.
“There’s no power,” Gabriel said, looking back at the assembled group. “I will have to force it open.”
“Is that going to damage it?” Simmons asked.
“No, it has a manual override, but it may take a while, even for me.” The wheel screeched as Gabriel wrenched it, rusted metal falling to the ground in thick flakes.
Simmons approached Nathaniel, stopping before him. “I’ve been a cantankerous old goat, and I wanted to apologise.”
“For what?” Nathaniel said.
“Damn it, man. You’re the reason I’m still alive. If it wasn’t for your help…” the sentence trailed off into silence as Simmons looked at him then grabbed his hand in a firm shake. “Well, at least let me thank you. It feels like I’ve been wallowing at the bottom of some dark pit for eternity. Now there seems to be a spark of light even if I can only see it from one eye.” He smiled at Nathaniel, their arms locked. “You are the only person I trust, the only one I can truly call a friend.”
“It‘s mutual, and I’m glad you are feeling better about the world and your place in it,” Nathaniel said, the corners of his mouth rising. “The eyepatch suits you. Makes you somehow more dashing and dangerous at the same time.”
Simmons laughed. “Well, it’s better than being told it makes me look like I should learn to duck quicker.”
“It’s good to have you back.”
Simmons smiled, turning towards Gabriel as a resounding clang rang through
the confined space. “Looks like our new friend has cracked the seal, shall we?”
Nathaniel fell into line behind the older man, and they headed to the door. The metal squealed in protest as Gabriel heaved it open, onto a narrow set of steps descending into darkness.
Isaac stayed when the rest of them started down the stairwell. His obsession with the boat wouldn’t allow him to leave it. He told them they could find him later at one of his usual haunts along the river. He needed to return to business and hope that his involvement at the incident at Greenwich hadn’t come to Josiah’s attention.
The stairs descended for some considerable time, and much to Simmons’ relief, Bazalgette suggested they call a short halt. His injured muscle burned and spasmed from the constant descent step after step. He stood flexing his leg, trying to hide his discomfort.
Bazalgette looked at him and tilted his head with a questioning look on his face. Simmons smiled back at his friend, and that seemed enough for Bazalgette who returned to his conversation with Gabriel.
They had each broken into smaller groups. Bazalgette and Gabriel spoke about some technical matters and whether the power coupling would be adequate for something or other. Rosie and Maddox whispered off to one side, leaning on the metal rail where the steps continued their steep descent. It left Simmons on his own to work on his aching thigh.
With a sigh, finally giving up on the pretence, he rubbed his leg. It helped. He turned to catch glances from Rosie and Maddox and stifled a silent curse. “So are you ready to move on, or are we going to stand around here all day?”
They continued for what seemed ages, snaking back on themselves as they disappeared into the depths. “Shouldn’t be far now,” Bazalgette called out. After the next switchback, the stairs opened into an underground station, abandoned for years.
They stepped down to a single platform with rails running on either side. The curved arches of the tunnel dripped with moisture and were home to a green moss that lived in thick, damp strands along its length. It reminded Simmons of seaweed and was visible wherever light fell on the walls and ceiling. Rust caked the tracks and disappeared into the darkness. Orange puddles formed on the ground and the sound of steady dripping echoed through the area.