Journey to the Heart of Luna

by Andy Frankham-Allen

  Most of the flyers Nathanial had witnessed in construction had been Navy craft designed for the aether, but the one lowering towards the embarkation platform was of Zeppelin origin designed for atmospheric flight only. It was a familiar design, being the most widespread; a large dirigible filled with hydrogen beneath which hung the gondola, a sternly made unit held in place by a latticework of cables and wires.

  The platform itself was immense in its size, built at the edge of the cliff, some 351 feet above the water, a scaffold of wood and steel. Nathanial was no swimmer, and the prospect of standing on the platform filled him with dread. But according to his orders he would meet his contact on the Zeus, the aerostatic flyer ahead of him, and so he had very little say in the matter.

  The driver guided the gig through the crowds that had gathered to watch the flyer in action. People who could never hope to afford passage on such a ship, but nonetheless took some pleasure from watching the flyers come and go. Dover Cliff was a busy area, from what the gig driver said, always some flyer coming into land for the “toffs” to go off on their jaunts. Nathanial said nothing about this slight, and just hoped the driver didn’t consider him of the toffee-nosed persuasion. After all, he heralded from Putney, and there was nothing supercilious about that parish. Genius had its rewards once known, and he was benefiting from such now. He glanced back at the crowd, and was warmed by the simple pleasure they got from watching the Zeus come to rest by the platform. It was a timely reminder for Nathanial; he would never take the life he had fallen into for granted.

  He alighted from the gig and retrieved his cases from the driver, who doffed his cap with a polite smile, and turned to the platform. Many gentlemen and ladies gathered on the platform, standing to one side so that the passengers were able to disembark first. Nathanial climbed the steps, taking them slowly, keenly aware that with every step terra firma was further away. He stopped at the end of platform, a mere three feet from the ground, and held back as the passengers, more of the gentry, emerged from the gondola of the flyer, chatting among themselves, nodding politely to their fellows whom they noticed waiting to board the Zeus. Nathanial fancied he saw two of the gentlemen who had shared his train carriage waiting, although now they had on their arms different women from those Nathanial remembered on the train. He smiled to himself. Clearly the wives of those gentlemen were not enough for all of the gentlemen’s pursuits.

  Once the platform had cleared of all but two deckhands who stood by to untether the ship, Nathanial stepped forward. The wood beneath his feet creaked and he froze. He looked sideways and saw nothing but the Dover Strait, miles and miles of water. He closed his eyes and swallowed. He was a scientist, not an adventurer, a man who used his mind, happiest when entrenched in books and theories. Even when he had ventured to Arizona to assist Grant, Nathanial made a point of securing himself in his cabin and never venturing onto the deck for the entire voyage across the Atlantic Ocean. Steeling himself, he opened his eyes once more and his face immediately turned to a ruddy complexion.

  A man stood at the entrance of the Zeus’ gondola. No, not just any man, but a captain in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy. It would have been a remarkable coincidence if it proved to be any captain other than Jacob Folkard, the contact with whom Nathanial was scheduled to meet.

  He was looking at Nathanial with utter disdain.

  “If you would care to expedite your embarkation, Professor Stone, I am certain we would all be most grateful.”

  Nathanial opened his mouth to reply, but found no words forming, so he closed his mouth again. He was honoured that Captain Folkard recognised him, although they had never previously met, but he also found it rather humiliating that the good captain’s first experience of him should be like this.

  Bracing himself, Nathanial gripped the handles of his cases firmly and forced himself forward, holding his head up high in defiance of the disparagement on Captain Folkard’s face. The captain watched him closely, his expression never changing. Nathanial stopped by the entrance, and peered easily over Folkard’s head into the interior of the gondola. He looked back down at the captain, who was a good foot shorter than he, and cleared his throat.

  “Permission to board, Captain Folkard?”

  Folkard raised a dark eyebrow, and stepped aside. “Professor Stone, this is a commercial ship, not among Her Majesty’s Armada; I have no authority here. Or perhaps you thought this was the HMAS Sovereign?”

  “Well, of course not,” Nathanial replied quickly. “A dirigible based flyer could never hope to attain orbit, let alone enter the aether. Captain Folkard, sir, I may well be a little…erm, deterred by the thought of falling into the English Channel, but I am no dullard. Please do not insult me…” He suddenly stopped, instantly regretting the words that had poured out of his mouth.

  Folkard’s eyebrow, which had remained raised throughout Nathanial’s little diatribe, lowered slowly, and his lip edged up into a slight smile. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Professor Stone,” he said, and offered his hand.

  Not sure how to reply, but knowing he been on the receiving end of some amusement, Nathanial placed one case beside him and took the captain’s hand in his, and for his troubles he received one of the firmest handshakes he had ever experienced. Even William did not clasp so hard.

  “Shall we enter, Professor? Our mission is rather pressing.”

  “Yes, of course, sir, if you would care to lead the way?”

  Captain Folkard nodded and did so. Nathanial, glancing once more at the English Channel beneath his feet, stepped gingerly across the massive two inch gap between the platform and the flyer, and just hoped nothing would go wrong as the Zeus flew over the North Sea.

  4.

  CAPTAIN FOLKARD indicated that Nathanial take a seat by one of the portholes, and with a tip of his top hat, Nathanial did as suggested. The seating was plush, not unlike the rest of the interior of the gondola, and Nathanial made himself comfortable. The captain sat next to him, removing his own cap. Never having been inside the gondola of a dirigible, and certainly not one made for the gentry, Nathanial looked around, taking in every detail. It was not too dissimilar from the interior of the steam-powered omnibuses that frequented the streets of London, although it was clear that the general public would never be travelling in such luxury. The Zeus even had servants, proffering trays of drinks; port for the gentlemen and champagne for the ladies.

  “Don’t be a cad, Bertie,” said a voice nearby. Nathanial found his attention taken up by a portly young man, sitting on the opposite side of the aisle and a few seats back. The fellow to whom he was talking, sitting in an aisle seat, was much thinner and looked around with embarrassment. He caught Nathanial’s eyes and smiled weakly. “Teaching is surely an admirable career to pursue,” the portly one continued, impolitely loud.

  Bertie, who by Nathanial’s estimation could be no more than twenty-two years of age, looked at his companion, and said in a quieter tone; “That is as may be, but we live in trying times, and there are tales to tell. Allegory. It is the only way to…”

  “Bertie, old chap, you are not one to draw the long bow. If you want fantastical tales, then all you need do is take a trip to Venus or Mercury. I hear tell that life there is quite fantastic.”

  “If I had such funds, then I surely would.”

  Nathanial smiled at Bertie, and looked away. Right now he would have gladly exchanged places with Bertie. Teaching sounded positively more appealing than where he was going. Thinking of which…

  “Captain Folkard, if I may enquire, just where are we going, sir?”

  The captain looked at Nathanial for a moment. “Are you telling me you were not informed?”

  “If I were, then I would hardly need to ask,” Nathanial pointed out, once again feeling like he was being mocked by the captain.

  “Quite so, Professor, quite so.”

  Nathanial shook his head, and held up a hand. “Please, Captain Folkard, desist with the ‘professor’. I am merely a student
of…”

  “Here we are,” Folkard said, just as the gondola began to tremble. Sounds of distress and surprise filled the gondola.

  Nathanial gripped the arms of his chair. “This is beyond the pale!”

  “Do not fret, Professor, the vibration is merely a result of the altitude. Aerostatic ships are not designed for such altitudes.” The captain stood. “If you would care to follow me?”

  “Follow you?” Nathanial shook his head fervently. The shuddering of the gondola was getting worse. The glass casings of the gas lamps rattled against their holdings. “Follow you where, sir?”

  “This is the pinch of the game, Professor.” Folkard raised an eyebrow. “If you would care to look out of the porthole you will soon see our destination.”

  Nathanial did as he was told. “Hallo!” said he in surprise.

  Some distance away but drawing ever-closer was the HMAS Sovereign herself. And what a ship! He had, of course, seen the blueprints while working on the governor, and he had even toured the engine room while she was being constructed at the Chatham Slips, but this was really seeing her in all her majestic glory. From bow to stern she measured in at 420 feet, a mixture of wood and steel-plating. Gun turrets protruded half way along the length of her, while two chasers, powerful cannons, stood at the ready either end of the aether battleship. Seen from below, which was Nathanial’s current vantage point, the doubled-plated glass bottom protected the liftwood slats that kept the ship afloat in the cloudy blue sky above the North Sea. At the stern, hanging like some upside-down tower was the antenna, covered in 152 mirrors which served a two-fold purpose. For the first the mirrors, when in the aether, gathered in the heat of the sun’s rays which in turned boiled the water contained in the large vats at the heart of the engine room. For the second, the mirrors served to communicate the Morse-based heliograph messages sent to and from the ship.

  Nathanial shook his head in awe. It was a tremendous sight to behold; never had there been an aether battleship so large, so powerful! Although still untested, with the successful application of the all-new governor, the Sovereign was designed to be the most manoeuvrable aether flyer ever built, not only in any type of gravity, but also in the luminiferous aether itself.

  “Pray, we must make haste, Professor.”

  Nathanial dragged his eyes away from the view outside, and looked up at Captain Folkard who was now removing a pair of goggles from a bag Nathanial had failed to notice before. He handed the goggles to Nathanial and rummaged once again inside the bag.

  “You…” Nathanial swallowed, looking at the goggles in his hand. “You propose we board the Sovereign from an altitude of…”

  “Twenty thousand feet,” Folkard supplied, removing a second pair of goggles and forcing his cap into the bag.

  “Twenty thousand feet above the North Sea.” Just at the thought of such a thing Nathanial could feel the blood leaving his face. “Captain Folkard, I must protest, I am not a tightrope walker. I am…”

  “Ready?” Folkard straightened up and lifted the bag from the floor. He smiled and walked towards the back of the gondola. The eyes of the passengers, those who were not mesmerized by the bulk of the Sovereign which all-but blocked out any sign of the sky now, followed Captain Folkard as he moved to the door. Two men, the same deckhands who had untethered the Zeus earlier, waited by the door, each tied by rope to protuberances from the bulkhead. Both men held the ends of the same thick rope that had kept the dirigible moored to the Dover Embarkation Platform.

  Nathanial closed his mouth abruptly, suddenly aware that it had been open the whole time, like some gormless street urchin. Although every fibre of his being screamed against it, he carefully rose to his feet and began making his way to the rear of the gondola, where one of the men was now securing the thick rope around Captain Folkard’s waist.

  Nathanial almost stumbled, but an arm shot out from one of the seats and steadied him. He looked down at the young man gratefully. “Thank you,” he said.

  “You are most welcome,” the man, Bertie, replied, his eyes alight with excitement.

  “Would you care to trade places, sir?” Nathanial asked wanly.

  For a second Bertie clearly believed the veracity of the offer, but then he merely smiled. “I would if I could, sir, truly.”

  Nathanial shrugged. “Lucky me, then.” He swallowed once again and joined Captain Folkard and the men at the door. “Is this really necessary?” he asked the captain, while rope was tied about his waist. “Surely the Sovereign could have met us at the Dover Cliff?”

  “Even if the Cliff Embarkation Platform were big enough, Professor, it would have taken far too much time for my ship to lower itself so. Better that we met her en route, if you take my meaning.”

  “Quite clearly.”

  “Capital!” Folkard tugged at the rope now secured around Nathanial’s waist. “Splendid. If you gentlemen would be so kind?”

  As one of the men set to unlocking the iron door, the other addressed the passengers of the Zeus. “Ladies and gentlemen, listen up and listen good. These two gents are about to embark on a most daring task,” he said in a manner that indicated he was missing his calling, Nathanial considered; the man would have been better in the heart of a Big Top. “Crossing from this tiny blimp to that enormous battleship which could squash us as easily as we crush a cockroach underfoot. Now, when I open these doors it’s going to get very windy, and bloody cold. Pardon me, ladies. So if I were you I’d see about holding tight to any valuables, and maybe think of the tale you can tell those that you’ll be meeting when we reach our destination.” The man smiled. “If we reach our destination, of course, lots of precise adjustments are needed to keep these two ships this close. Smallest mistake and…” He paused for effect. “Well, I am sure you understand.”

  “You enjoyed that a little too much, I think,” Nathanial said.

  The man winked at him. “Sure I did, guv’, adds a bit of colour to the toffs’ lives.”

  Nathanial looked out at the scared faces of the passengers. Even the gentlemen, although trying to appear brave before the ladies, had much in the way of fear in their eyes. One man, however, was not afraid. Only laughter came from him.

  Nathanial turned to Captain Folkard. “I still think that this is…”

  “Exhilarating? Quite right, Professor.”

  The man was off his chump! The iron door opened and a gust of wind, strong enough to force Nathanial back against the wall of the gondola, blew in. With effort he forced himself forward once more. The door men held firm, secured by their own ropes, while Captain Folkard stepped outside.

  Nathanial edged closer to the open door, his hand grasping the handle ever-tightly, and watched as the captain walked the gangplank that stretched out from the Sovereign. He made it look so easy, and once he reached the broadside of the Sovereign two seamen, themselves tied together with rope, leaned forward of the gangway to secure their captain to them. The thick rope was untied, and it dropped. Nathanial looked down, but he didn’t see the rope as it was gathered up by the man just behind him. All he saw was the sheer drop beneath. There was a small gap between the edge of the gondola and the gangplank, but enough for Nathanial to get a good view of the North Sea thousands of feet below. Suddenly the Cliff Platform didn’t seem so high.

  “Your turn, sir,” said a voice behind him. Nathanial glanced back and saw the gap-toothed face grinning at him. The man pointed towards the Sovereign, where Folkard and the seamen stood, secured with rope, standing safely behind the deck railing.

  Nathanial closed his eyes momentarily and took a deep breath. Instantly his lungs were on fire and he gasped.

  “You probably don’t want to be taking deep breaths up here, sir, air’s a bit thin.”

  Praying that the men behind him were stronger than they looked, Nathanial took a step forward, his hand still firmly on the handle of the iron door. His foot found the gangplank and, despite his better judgement, he brought his other foot beside it, at the same time
releasing his grip on the handle. For a moment he stood there, swaying precariously, feeling the winds battering at him. His top hat flew off, and immediately his head felt cold. He looked around, and either side of him there was nothing but sky. Sky and a very long drop.

  Some strange sound reached him, and it took him several moments to work out that it was a voice. The words made no sense, thrown about as they were by the wind, but he was, with some effort, able to make out their origin. Directly ahead of him Captain Folkard stood, one hand holding the railing, the other beckoning Nathanial forward.

  Slowly, but determinedly, Nathanial began the long journey along the plank. With only a few feet to go, Nathanial stopped, his vision distracted by the Union Flag which was bolted to the hull of the Sovereign just below the plank. He was suddenly hit with the urge to sing the National Anthem, and even went so far as to salute the flag, when a hand gripped his arm and pulled him forward. He blinked, and found himself looking down at the windswept visage of Captain Folkard.

  “Are you with us, Professor Stone?” he shouted.

  Nathanial couldn’t find his voice; all he could do was nod.

  “Good,” the captain said, and helped Nathanial on to the deck. Once both his feet were on the deck of the ship, more seamen move forward from the companionway and untied the thick rope from his waist. He paid it no mind; instead, holding onto the railing, he looked around him. The gun turrets, which looked so small when viewed through the window of the Zeus, were much larger close up. He could probably lay his body along the length of the guns and still have room for more of him.

  He laughed.

  “That’s the spirit, Professor,” Captain Folkard said, and turned to a seaman. “Get him inside, Leading Hand, I suspect it is more delirium than high spirits that have taken hold of him.”

  “Yes, sir!”