by Gareth Clegg
“So this is part of the Piccadilly line?” Bazalgette asked, looking at Gabriel.
She nodded. “Yes, they kept it quiet, which was a blessing when we set up ArcNet. It doesn’t seem like there’s any power running here at the moment, we might have to improvise.”
Simmons saw the smile grow on Bazalgette’s face. He was in his element down here. In the dark, underground, and with problems to solve involving electricity? This is what he lived for.
They split up. Gabriel and Bazalgette went in search of a depot she thought lay beyond the station’s eastern end. Simmons and the others stayed to keep watch in the other direction.
“So, Mr Simmons,” Rosie said, breaking the silence. “How are you managing?”
“Fine.”
“Really?” Maddox said with something that almost resembled a smile.
“Yes, really.”
“Looked like you needed that rest back there,” Maddox added.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Simmons said. “I thought we were waiting for you to catch your breath, seeing as how you needed the rail to lean against.”
“What?” Maddox replied, a hint of menace in his voice.
“And the girl. Did you need her to hold your hand? Were you frightened?”
Maddox drew himself up to his full height. “I don’t have to take this shit from you.”
“No, I suppose not. Go back to taking your orders from your mistress like a good dog.”
“Fuck you, Simmons.” The big man took a step towards him.
“John, not now,” Rosie said, her voice clear and calm.
He stopped, mid-stride and spat on the floor at Simmons’ feet.
“That’s right, do as she says. You might get a biscuit.”
“Oh, that is it,” Maddox said, rolling his sleeves up his meaty arms.
“John. Stop.” Rosie said. Her tone sharp, just how Simmons would expect someone to address a misbehaving dog.
Simmons let the chuckle that had been growing out into the open space between them. Maddox, red-faced, stepped back beside Rosie, who caught Simmons’ eye.
“Mr Simmons, I’d appreciate it if you would remember we are all on the same side here and that antagonising each other will not help our cause.”
“Really,” he replied, “and here was I thinking we were finally getting somewhere with all the trust issues I have.”
“This is neither productive nor conducive in our attempt to defy Josiah and find the Empress.”
“Is that what we’re all trying to do?”
Rosie paused for a second. “Of course it is.”
“Oh, I thought we were insulting each other with insinuations of weakness and frailty. I do beg pardon, milady.”
Rosie sighed. “Must you do this?”
“Look, just keep it on a leash and out of my way. If I want to talk to it, I’ll whistle. All right?”
Rosie’s eyes narrowed, jaw clenching. “This isn’t productive, Simmons. John has been nothing but helpful since he carried your body from the observatory. I don’t know what it is you think he’s done to deserve your contempt, but you could at least show some civility. You of all people should see that. This behaviour is not becoming of a knight of the realm.” She whipped around, leading Maddox away along the platform.
“Ex-Knight,” Simmons spat through gritted teeth.
35
Bazalgette and Gabriel returned with a railway handcar. Simmons stared warily at the contraption. It looked like an upturned table on wheels with two rows of stained leather chairs facing each other.
Between them stood a large, centrally mounted lever that resembled a child’s seesaw. Simmons walked to the edge of the platform to get a better view. “I hope you’re not suggesting we need to pump that contraption to move it?”
“No,” Bazalgette replied with a laugh. “That’s the manual override. It’s used to recharge it.”
“It’s powered?”
“Yes, and it seems to be in a reasonable condition to say it has sat abandoned for all these years. It’s flat, but it is charging as we speak.”
Bazalgette motioned to a section at the rear behind the seat where a cable ran to a spare battery. “If we give it a few minutes, it should have enough to get us underway, and it will continue to charge as we progress to our destination.”
“The core,” Gabriel added. “Once there, we can access some real power.”
“How far is it?” Simmons asked.
“I’m not sure of the precise distance, but it should only take about fifteen minutes. Nathaniel cleaned up most of the rust that was caking the wheels and brakes and it rolls smoothly on the tracks again.”
Bazalgette looked up the platform past Simmons. “Where are Rosie and Maddox?”
“How should I know?”
“Because you were here with them when Gabriel and I went in search of something to get us to the core? You three were on lookout to ensure we had no uninvited guests.”
“They wandered off that way,” Simmons said, pointing to the far end of the platform.
Bazalgette frowned. “Have you upset Rosie?”
“What makes you think it was my fault?”
“Experience?”
“I don’t trust him.”
“Maddox? What’s he done now?”
“He hasn’t done anything. It’s just a feeling in my gut, and in my time, I’ve grown to respect that feeling. It’s kept me alive on a good few occasions.”
Bazalgette let out a deep sigh. “I’ll go talk to them.”
“Don’t you dare apologise on my behalf.”
“Fine, fine,” Bazalgette said, hands before him in a placating stance. “I’ll try to smooth it all over so we can get underway.”
Simmons turned to Gabriel. “So shall we board this contraption then?” waving for her to climb up first. She obliged, and he followed, sitting beside her, facing in the direction he presumed they would travel. The bulk of her armour meant the seat would only fit the two of them. Well, that was fine by him. If Bazalgette wanted to side with Rosie and Maddox, then he could sit with them.
The light from the bobbing arc-lamp indicated the three of them returning to the carriage. Was that a hint of disappointment in Bazalgette’s expression? Maybe Gabriel and Simmons had taken the best seats.
The others climbed aboard facing them while Bazalgette checked his pocket watch. “We should be good to go.”
Gabriel reached down to her right and pushed a lever. With a clunk, the carriage lurched forward a foot amidst a grinding of gears. She pushed it again, and the noise ceased. She turned the handle on a brass wheel clockwise, gripping it in her armoured fist. A growing hum of power, then the vehicle leapt into motion, and they forged ahead into the darkness.
The clickety-clack of the wheels crossing the tracks reached a slow but steady rhythm as they got up to speed. It wasn’t the breakneck pace of a hansom cab skidding across the slick London cobbles, but it was much faster than walking. Simmons relaxed into the worn leather upholstery and revelled in the relief of taking the weight off his feet. He felt the tension melt away, and he became accustomed to the vibration of the carriage, subtle shifts in direction dampened by some form of suspension.
Bazalgette’s arc-lamp split the darkness, and it now provided a shorter but broader beam before them. Dark side tunnels swallowed the light as they passed, the central section looked more finished here, fewer tools and much less rubble lay against the walls. “We’re getting close to the core,” Gabriel said, rotating the wheel and slowing the vehicle to just above walking speed.
Ahead, beyond the reach of the lamp, two dim red lights appeared in the darkness.
“Well, it seems there is power down here,” Simmons said.
Gabriel nodded. “Yes, it looks like someone is at home.”
“Let’s hope they are accepting visitors.”
Gabriel stopped the carriage ten feet from a solid wall of metal blocking any further progress. The tracks disappeared under it, and she cl
imbed down to the track. “There is an access point over here. I’ll see if I can get the gate open.”
She popped a panel out of nowhere on the blank surface, then jammed her hand into it, rotating it until a loud click sounded from within.
The lights flashed from red to amber for a few seconds, then to green. The massive bulk split in the centre then moved sideways, receding into the wall on either side. The track continued, recessed into the floor, matte black and in pristine condition. The doors glided effortlessly across the surface and disappeared into their snug housing.
As Gabriel got them moving again, they passed between the heavy gates, each at least a foot in depth. It was like a bank vault.
Arc-lights blinked on as they entered the area ahead shedding a pale light onto a platform that rose from the ground on their right-hand side. It was a station, large enough to hold a full underground train with around four carriages. The transport came to a halt, and Gabriel leaned out, re-engaging the brake.
“Is it all like this?” Bazalgette asked, his eyes flitting from one amazing piece of technology to another.
“The three stations are almost identical,” Gabriel replied. “They’re arranged at the edge as spokes on a wheel. We will head inward from here, to the core.”
The gates behind them rolled back out of their respective walls, closing the exit with a dull thud. Gabriel stepped out of the vehicle and then turned to offer her hand to assist them all up. Their carriage sat a lot lower than a traditional train, and they had to step up almost a foot to reach platform height.
Simmons was still getting his bearings when they heard the slap of metal falling as square recessed holes appeared in the wall ahead of them. Half a dozen rifle barrels popped into sight, followed by a distorted voice through a speaker. “Drop your weapons, step back with your hands raised, and nobody needs to die today.”
Simmons turned to Gabriel. “Nice reception.”
“I suggest we do as they say for now,” she replied.
The group raised their hands as requested and waited. The voice from the speaker returned. “How did you get those entry codes?”
“They are my codes. Are there any members of the original crew with you?”
“We are asking the questions here.”
Gabriel tilted her head as if recalling a distant memory.
Simmons scanned their surroundings. This wasn’t a good position. With solid cover, numerical advantage and knowledge of the battlefield, their opponents held the better hand. Overall, this was not the time or place to force a conflict.
The speaker crackled again. “What is your business here?”
“Callam?” Gabriel asked. “Is that you?”
“Gabriel?” came the stunned response a few seconds later.
Simmons waited, observing the interchange, lowering but not dropping his pistol as instructed.
Gabriel moved forward into clear view. “Yes, Callam, it’s me. It took a little longer than I had hoped, but I’m back now thanks to these fine people.” She nodded at Simmons and the rest of the assembled group.
“Damn,” replied the voice through the intercom. “Open the doors.”
Rifle barrels remained trained on them as a large section clanked open between the firing positions. A muscular figure thrust the door outward and walked towards them.
He was bigger than Maddox, almost six and a half feet was Simmons’ guess, and broad with it too. Spots of oil discoloured his grey coveralls, and he carried a rifle in a professional, but relaxed stance. His eyes were wide and fixed on Gabriel as he approached, a smile breaking across his face.
“Damn, Gabriel, but it’s good to see you. All this time, we thought you were dead.” In contrast to the size of the man, Callam had a soft tone with a lilting Welsh accent.
“It takes a lot to kill an ArcAngel,” she replied, grabbing him in a tight embrace.
He clapped her on the back. “I know that, but you’d be surprised at what’s gone on since… hell, what happened to you? Where have you been hiding all this time?”
Gabriel held up a hand, halting the barrage of questions. “Later. We can catch up later. First, let me introduce some new friends.” She turned, motioning to the group. “This is Sir Pelham Simmons—”
“Just Simmons will do.”
Callam’s massive palm dwarfed his hand as he shook it with enthusiasm. “Happy to meet you, Simmons.”
“And this is Nathaniel Bazalgette, John Maddox and Rosie.” Gabriel looked towards Rosie, a puzzled look on her face. “I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t catch your surname?”
Rosie fashioned a grin aimed at Simmons. “Just Rosie is fine, thank you.”
Simmons wondered if she was making some jibe at him, but let it pass. Better to play happy families for now. Best not to wake the beast.
Callam grasped each of them, including Rosie, in a firm handshake as he introduced himself.
“Don’t worry about Callam,” Gabriel called over to Rosie. “He’s a top-class mechanic, but he knows little about etiquette. In fact,” she turned her attention to the big Welshman. “Speak with Nathaniel. He’s the one who got my systems back up and running.”
Callam nodded at Bazalgette in recognition. “But first,” Gabriel continued, “let’s get to the operations centre, and you can tell me about the setup here.”
“Fine,” Callam said, heading back to the doorway. “We noticed your approach about half a mile out, we have motion trackers out in the tunnel but didn’t know who to expect. It wasn’t a worry though, ArcNet is locked down tight. So imagine my shock when the place opened with your override code. I thought someone must have stolen it, and I mobilised the whole damn lot of us.”
“Which is?” Gabriel asked.
“Not as many as I’d wish.”
Simmons positioned himself so he could still hear Gabriel and Callam as he moved to walk alongside Bazalgette. As they stepped through the large metal doorway, he saw the massive bars that secured the thick slab of steel. This would be a formidable structure to defend if the need arose, and a complete nightmare to breach.
“What do you think?” he asked Bazalgette who was examining the mechanism with particular interest.
Bazalgette pushed his index finger up the bridge of his nose, shifting his spectacles. “Very impressive,” his friend replied. “If it is as Gabriel said, and they can flood the approach tunnels at will, they have a sturdy defensible position.”
“And the technology?”
“From what I’ve seen so far, it looks every bit as advanced as the ArcAngel suit. Did you notice the power conduits?”
“Surprisingly, no. I hadn’t noticed.”
Bazalgette raised an eyebrow and Simmons wasn’t sure if his friend was intentionally failing to understand the sarcasm in his tone, or if he really didn’t get it.
Whatever was going on in that brain, Bazalgette continued unfazed. “So, here,” he said, pointing at a recessed panel above head height, “that’s the main junction box, but the amount of power it’s carrying is astounding.”
“How on earth can you tell by just looking at the damn thing?”
As Bazalgette opened his mouth, Simmons jumped back in. “No, don’t explain it. It’s a waste of your time and mine. I wouldn’t understand, would I?”
“It is a rather tricky concept.”
They followed Gabriel and Callam into a corridor lined with bright arc-lighting set into the ceiling. Ahead of them stood a group in dark grey uniforms. They carried weapons similar to ArcRifles, but there were subtle differences in the size and shape, which made them look a little more streamlined.
They all received suspicious glances from the uniformed group of three men and two women. One of the women watched Simmons as he passed, her intense green eyes holding his gaze as she and the others waited. The grey-clad militia closed ranks behind and herded them forward. There was no menace or physical interaction, but they knew their trade. Ex-military, Simmons thought. By their bearing, and how they reacted wit
hout instruction, these were seasoned troops. Green-eyes was most likely their leader.
Bazalgette continued talking about power regulation, voltage and capacitance. It might as well have been Chinese for all the sense it made to Simmons. He nodded and smiled when he felt it was appropriate. He didn’t want to upset the poor chap when he was in full flow.
“So,” he started as Bazalgette concluded. “What you’re saying is that this is all powered by the same technology as your arc-lamp and Gabriel’s armour?”
Bazalgette stopped mid-stride and stared at him. “Yes, I suppose I am. I didn’t think you were paying attention.”
“I got the gist. You have a knack for describing things in such a way I get enough to understand and not feel like a complete buffoon.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“No. It’s a good thing. I need it simplifying. Heaven knows I’m no engineer, especially with all this high energy malarkey from that Tesla chap.”
They crossed an intersection where Bazalgette pointed out markings on the walls which he thought might be recessed bulkheads. Half a dozen doors lined the side corridors on either wall to their left and right.
They continued along the grey steel corridor until it ended abruptly. The only feature that marred the polished metal was a communications array. A grilled speaker hung there, and Callam made his way over and pressed a series of buttons before speaking. “Open up. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Silence.
“Come on, Raph. It’s me.”
A low, sullen voice responded. “I don’t like surprises. You know that. What have you found?” The crackling reply had a suspicious tone, and it hung in the air before them. Simmons looked to Bazalgette, but he only shrugged.
“Open the door, and you’ll see.”