by Joseph Gatch
“Isn’t it?” Abigail echoed while smacking Phineas again.
“Yes! Ow! Will you stop that?”
“When you stop being so pompous.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, get a helmet,” Abigail said.
“Frakture! Party of three!” the maître d’ shouted as he walked through the lobby.
Phineas stood up. “Right here.”
“Care to join us, Arabella?” asked Abigail.
“Oh, no…I just need to give Phineas something and then be on my way.”
“Remember what I said,” Abigail reminded her as William pulled her along.
Fuller pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Phineas. “Look, our nations may be at odds, but we aren’t. I like you and you did us a service, so…I owe you one. I want you to be safe.”
Phineas looked at the paper. “What is this?”
“You’ll know when you see it.” She looked over at Abigail and William. “Ah, hell, I never liked playing it safe.” Fuller wrapped her arms around Phineas’ neck and kissed him on the lips. Her eyes went wide as she let him go. Then, shouting a quick ‘bye’, she ran out the door, followed by Abigail, who was wielding a pair of breadsticks.
“And this was supposed to be a nice day,” William said after Phineas joined him at the table.
“It never is,” Phineas said, picking up the menu. “The prime rib looks good.”
“Mmmm.”
Abigail returned, sat down, straightened her hair, and wiped some dirt from her face.
“Do you always have to be so dramatic?” asked Phineas.
“You realize that you missed your lecture,” Abigail retorted, munching on a fresh breadstick.
“Don’t look at me,” William said, dodging Phineas’ glare. “I’m on holiday.”
“That was the whole purpose of this trip! And no one bothers to mention that I had to be there?” Phineas had been ranting for close to an hour and a half as they rode in the carriage on their way to the airship depot. Abigail was nodding off, already blocking his voice from her consciousness.
“Why are we going this way?” interjected William, hoping to get a break. “According to the map, we are well out of our way and it has taken twice as long as it should.”
“These are the directions Fuller gave me. She said that she owed me one. I have no idea what she meant. She just said that she wanted me to be safe.”
“She owed you one? Send the Americans out to the middle of nowhere to die a horrible death is more like it. There’s nothing out here but fields and stone quarries.”
Phineas’ eyes widened as he looked out the window and suddenly pounded on the roof of the carriage. “Driver! Stop here!” he shouted and then bolted from the cab.
“Aw, I was just getting to sleep,” Abigail moaned. “What’s he doing now? It better not be another bomb.”
William got out and helped Abigail down. They followed Phineas, who was now standing near the edge of one of the quarries.
“Oh my god,” Abigail said as she looked into the giant pit.
Below them was a facility hidden from sight by the crater. Row upon row of giant airships lined the bottom. All bore the crest of Brittania’s military.
“How many quarries have we passed so far?” asked Phineas.
“I don’t know, maybe six,” answered William.
“And how many ships would you estimate are down there?”
“My guess? About a hundred or so.”
“And if all these quarries have similar facilities…”
Abigail put her hand over her heart as if she could stop it from pounding so loud. “This is not good.”
“Thorne said that war was coming,” Phineas announced. “He was right. The war is here.” He then looked out to the western horizon as he picked up a rock and threw it over the edge. “The question now is…where is it going?”
EPISODE
12
The musical styling of Coolidge Crankgear echoed throughout the rooms of the Frakture household as a stress-free Mrs. Popkiss went about her daily chores. Since there was no one around to complain about the music, it was turned up as high as it could go, blasting forth from the speakerphone of the Edison Aether-tainment system. This station in particular played all of the classics which, quite frankly, were lost on today’s younger generation.
So far, it had been a most pleasant three weeks without anyone shouting for this or complaining about that, though at times it did get a bit lonely—which lasted for about two seconds until Mrs. Popkiss realized that there was no one around to shout and complain. Then, the bliss began again.
The front bell rang in the midst of a pirouette on the sitting room carpet, and Mrs. Popkiss sighed and turned down the music. “Too good to last,” she said as she made her way to the door. A disheveled Abigail and William grunted a greeting and dragged themselves into the house. “Well, it is certainly nice to see you back. How was the trip?”
“You really don’t want to know,” answered William.
Mrs. Popkiss looked out the door. “Where’s Mr. Sunshine? Don’t tell me that he learned some manners over there and is tipping the cab driver.”
“No such luck there,” replied Abigail. “We tried. It didn’t take.”
“Then where is he? You didn’t throw him overboard, did you?”
“That was on the trip out,” said William.
“Phineas…stayed behind,” added Abigail.
Mrs. Popkiss suddenly became concerned. “Why on earth for? Did he insult the Queen? How much is bail?”
“No, nothing like that…he said that—”
She was interrupted by a ringing noise from the hallway.
“Excuse me one second. It’s that blasted Aether-vid again. Ever since he had that thing installed, it is non-stop harassment by Aether marketers. I wish to God that someone would find a way to show you who is calling before you have to listen to some pitch about life insurance.” Mrs. Popkiss turned on the screen and a distorted image of Phineas appeared.
“Mrs. Popk…? Can…hear…?”
“Barely, sir. The signal is weak. Where are you?”
“I don’…time…it’s started…Is Willia…an…gail there?”
“They just arrived.”
Abigail and William stepped in front of the screen.
“Are you all right?” asked William.
“Will…take care of them…you’re in charge now…I’m…”
The screen went blank, and William tried to get the signal back.
“Oh Dear God in Heaven.”
Abigail and William looked at Mrs. Popkiss, who had moved to the front bay window. She was staring out at the sky, which was slowly getting darker. A droning noise, distant at first, became louder until it shook the very foundations of the house. Above, a massive fleet of airships headed east over the city.
The music from the other room suddenly stopped mid-song and was replaced by a warbling tone.
“We interrupt this broadcast to bring you an urgent message from the Office of the Emperor,” a voice said after the tone stopped.
“My fellow Americans,” started Ulysses S. Grant, “it is with a heavy heart that I must inform you that our great Empire…is now at war. As of one o’clock, a massive attack by the British Empire has occurred upon the European continent. Sources reveal that a fleet of airships is also en route to the American continent as well. We have responded by launching our own fleet to intercept.
“I have hereby issued a call to arms for every able-bodied male, ages fourteen to forty. You are to report immediately to your nearest police station for military processing. Have no doubt, we will prevail during this time of darkness and our shining light shall beckon our victory. May God be with us all.”
“What do we do now?” Mrs. Popkiss asked as she sat down. William stood behind her and put his hands comfortingly on her shoulders.
“Well, for starters, could you shoot me in the foot? Just a nick will do.”
“Willia
m!” exclaimed Abigail, appalled at the sudden turn of cowardice.
“Well, Phineas is out there somewhere, and he said for me to look out for you two, so how am I to do that if I’m in the army?”
“He’s kidding,” Mrs. Popkiss said, grasping one of William’s hands. “At least you better be, or no more crullers for you.”
“Of course I’m kidding…I think. But who will look after you then?”
“I have been fine the last few weeks,” said Mrs. Popkiss. “I think that I can manage a bit longer. What we should be concerned about is Phineas…over there…alone…without supervision.”
Abigail opened the locket that she had received on her birthday and looked at the picture within it. “I’m not sure who to feel sorry for,” she said after a moment, “him…or the enemy.”
Paris
Madame Zabrovska looked up from her knitting, which was pointless since she was blind as a bat, her milky white eyes staring off into the distance. She cocked her head to the side, straining to hear something outside.
“What is it, Grandmamma?” Sophia, her only granddaughter and caregiver, stood up from her chair and went to the elderly lady. Kneeling down next to her, she put her hands onto the woman’s withered digits and felt them trembling.
“It has come,” Madame Zabrovska said, her voice gravelly but strong.
“What has come?”
“Listen, child.”
Sophia went to the window. In the distance, she could hear a faint booming, as if someone were beating a drum in a parade. “What is that?” Sophia asked.
“The sound of tyranny and despair, child. Do you see it?”
Sophia looked out over the buildings towards the north, where a line of black like a rolling storm grew larger and larger. Flashes of light could be seen on the ground underneath the line, accompanying the booming. “Warships? Grandmamma? Is this the end?”
Madame Zabrovska turned her face to the window. “No, child, not the end…but the beginning. Until now, life has been easy. It is going to be much harder now.”
Sophia’s heart raced. If war had come, then life truly would become more difficult. “Surely, there is something we can do about it…”
“We can only wait, child. We must endure until the day that he comes. He will save us as I have foreseen it.” Madame Zabrovska continued to knit, as if nothing had changed.
“Who, Grandmamma?” prodded Sophia. “Who will save us? When will he come?”
“He will come when he is ready…the man with the broken name.”
Phineas Frakture lay on the beach at Normandy, France. In the distant future…someone else’s future…this would be the site of the largest invasion in history. However, on this day, an invasion was taking place, not by sea, but by air. He stared up at the blanket of massive airships that made its way south into France. From an engineer’s perspective, it was a beautiful sight. For those on the ground, in the armada’s path, it was terrifying. Attached to the bottoms of the airships, dangling like puppets on strings, war machines waited patiently to be dropped into the midst of the enemy to create the carnage that they were designed to mete out. Once those were released, the airships, laden with bombs, would move on to their targets where they would soften up resistance. Finally, stormtroopers would descend into the battered cities where they would occupy and terrorize the citizenry.
Phineas picked up a flat stone, turning it over across his knuckles, and skipped it across the water. Things had changed. He would have to change if he were to survive this. He walked along the beach, feeling the cool wind coming off of the Channel. This was the logical outcome, he thought. If he had gone back home with William and Abigail, he would have been conscripted into the army. Of that, he had no doubt. He would be trapped, following the orders of idiots who only thought in two dimensions. Here, he was free to determine his own destiny…to make a difference in his own unhindered way.
This has got to be one of the stupidest things I’ve done, Phineas thought. I just want to go home.
But…what if?
Phineas thought of his old maxim and smiled. There are always possibilities and his head was full of them. He would make it home, eventually. But along the way, he would cause as much chaos as he was capable of.
PROFESSOR
FRAKTURE’S NEIGHBORHOOD
It was a bright, sunny Saturday morning, and the clatter of a tarp-covered wheelbarrow as it was being pushed down the cobblestone street by one Professor Phineas Frakture interrupted the weekend activities of the residents of the New York suburb. He stopped in front of a small yellow two-story where an elderly woman was meticulously tending to her prize flower garden. She looked up at him and scowled as he pulled the tarp off of the wheelbarrow.
“Good morning, Mrs. Turnstyle!” Phineas greeted her with a smile.
“It was until now, professor,” she spat, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Now, is that the way to talk on such a beautiful morning? Why, we’ve been neighbors for five years now.”
“And a miserable five years it has been. What do you want?” Mrs. Turnstyle asked icily.
“Well, I had a visitor the other day,” Phineas began as he pulled an object out of the wheelbarrow, “and I was wondering…is this your cat?” He held up a stiff animal by its elongated tail and waved it around to show her. The cat was petrified in mid-run with a rictus grin plastered on its face.
Mrs. Turnstyle screamed and ran to the walk, snatching the animal from Phineas’ grasp.
“It wandered into my lab. I’m not sure if it is frozen, petrified, or just in suspended animation. Anyway, my lab was no place for it to be…so many experiments to keep track of.”
“You monster!” she yelled and ran back towards her house as she sobbed and cradled her cherished cat.
Phineas picked up the wheelbarrow and continued on, whistling merrily. “Mr. Potter!” he called at the next house. “I’ve come to return that shovel I borrowed.” Phineas handed his next neighbor a tiny garden shovel about the size of a matchstick.
Mr. Potter looked down at the item in his hand, bewildered.
“It accidentally fell in front of a shrink ray that I’ve been perfecting. I haven’t quite got the kinks out, yet. There seems to be a problem returning objects to size. But anyway, I got my use out of the shovel before it…well, you see what happened, so I decided to bring it back to you. Thank you for lending it to me. Have a nice day!”
Phineas continued on dropping off items to his neighbors: a set of magnetized grilling implements that would not separate, a lump of melted slag that used to be a garden plow, a first edition of Dickens’ Oliver Twist that just happened to be twisted into a long cord, a canary that had developed a third wing, and so on.
As the day grew on and he had sufficiently ruined the day for just about everyone on his block, Phineas returned home to find Mrs. Popkiss, his housekeeper standing on the porch, arms folded, holding a stack of papers in her hand with a dour look upon her face.
“I have gotten calls,” was all she said.
“I’m sure of it,” replied Phineas as he dropped the wheelbarrow in front of the house.
“Do you want to read the messages now, or later?”
“Later, when I feel the need for amusement.”
“They have started a petition to have you removed from the neighborhood,” she said grimly.
“After I was kind enough to return everything that I borrowed? The nerve of those people! Where is the gratitude?”
“Are you quite finished yet?” Mrs. Popkiss asked.
“Not quite,” answered Phineas.
“It is two in the morning!” hissed Mrs. Popkiss. “What in the good lord’s name are you doing out here at this hour?”
Phineas looked up at her from the walk in front of the house as he finished pouring out the contents of a large glass flask. Smiling, he lowered his goggles and struck a match. He took a step back and dropped it onto the sidewalk, which then burst into a brilliant display of pyrotechnic arti
stry. It burned itself out within a matter of seconds but left behind a glowing green pattern surrounding the scorched outline of a person lying on the ground. Mrs. Popkiss hiked up her nightgown and stepped carefully out to the walk.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake! Is that what I think it’s supposed to be?” she asked, shaking her head in disapproval. “And is that supposed to be a petition in its hand?”
“I think I did a rather good job at it,” Phineas replied. “Do you know hard it is to make a chalk outline of yourself while lying on the ground? A little magnesium, phosphorus, and a mixture of various elements for effect and you have an instant singed petition taker…or whatever you call them. When they see this in the morning, they’ll think twice about trying to get rid of me.”
“The glow is a nice touch. You do go out of your way to be anti-social, don’t you?” the housekeeper said to him as they walked back to the house.
“Thank you, and yes…yes, I do.”
“What am I to do with all the real junk you borrowed from the neighbors? We can’t have it lying around for them to see.”
“Put it into storage. I might have use for it at some point.”
“And the cat and canary?”
“Set the cat loose. It will return home and Mrs. Turnstyle will think twice about letting that dreadful thing out again. The canary, you can give to your sister. She likes those things, doesn’t she?”
“Was it really necessary to do that? To poor old Mrs. Turnstyle, I mean, with her cat? She’s likely traumatized.”
“And she’ll be un-traumatized once her real cat returns. If she would keep that beast under control, I wouldn’t have had to do what I did. You know my allergies. Besides, I thought it was rather ingenious. Do you know how long it took me to find a cat exactly like hers in the university’s biology lab? And then to pose it like that after it had been dead for several weeks? A work of art, I tell you!”