And yet, David was despondent. Harriet noticed that David had a predisposition to melancholy when she had first met him on the ship, but she was surprised to see it here. They were in a warm, tropical paradise in one of the greatest cities in the galaxy. They had survived against all odds. Still, David was despondent.
They were having breakfast at their hotel: eggs, a local fish like animal, a plate full of bacon, a lovely local bread, and a strong pot of coffee.
"I'd kill for some scrapple," said Harriet, "and some biscuits."
"What's scrapple?" asked David.
Harriet sighed, "It's pork. It's a Maryland dish. It's kind of hard to describe what's in it. In fact, you're probably better off not knowing. Is there any food from home that you miss?"
David thought for a second, "Not a food. But I do miss the sunsets in Illinois. The flatness makes you feel like you're seeing a sunset on the ocean." He thought for a moment, "What happens next, Harriet?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, we have a few weeks leave but then what? We go back out there?"
Harriet nodded, "Eventually we'll get assigned to a ship. It may take a while as there are more officers than ships right now. I've put in a special request for you to be my Engineer, so you'll ship out when I do."
David sighed, "I'm not cut out for this."
"Your promotion is a big deal. I don't see why you're not more excited."
"The promotion is fine. I just don't relish the thought of getting shot at again."
"I thought you were in the revenge business."
"Not really. Gibson just got me out of an impressment. I never wanted to be a part of any of this."
Harriet looked genuinely surprised. "Look, it's no secret that you don't love being in the Navy, but the rumor on the Dakota was that you were after the Spanish for killing your Daddy."
"Sorry to disappoint."
"You don't care that they killed your father?"
"It's not that I don't care. It's just that it doesn't really have anything to do with me. I barely knew the guy. I'm not willing to kill anyone over it, and I'm definitely not willing to be killed over it."
"Listen, we all get scared..."
"It's not a matter of being scared," snapped David. He called the waitress and ordered some champagne.
Silence.
"I'm not my father," said David more calmly. "I just want to build things. I'm a student."
"What about your buddy Waterhouse? Right now he's probably sitting in some Spanish dungeon, eating bread and water. Have you thought of him?"
He had thought of him, and it had been tormenting him ever since they'd left the Dakota. The professor had information that the Spanish needed, and they would probably do everything in their power to get it. How to operate the engine, what it could do, how it worked. These were all things that could change the tide of the war, and he was sure that they would stop at nothing to extract the information from the professor. It must have been the reason they were attacked. There could be no other.
Before David could respond, the waitress returned with a drink and a letter.
David sipped the drink while reading the letter. "It looks like I have to report to the Naval officer at Miskatonic University."
"I bet it's about that professor of yours."
"I bet you're right."
"Well," said Professor Miller, scanning the design with a monocle, lost in thought. After a second he set the paper down, and stared off into space. "Brilliant, Marr," he said. "Brilliant."
David was pleased, not about the compliment, but that someone else thought that the design could work.
"So you see, I basically worked out a design based off of the engine I rigged up in our lifeboat. It should consume much less coal..."
"Barely any!" agreed Miller. "Who would have thought? Using gold to propel gold. Think of the applications! This will save the government millions of dollars each year if we can get it working!" Miller was beaming. "I'll send this up the food chain, but my God, Marr, this is really something you have here."
"It also means we can build smaller craft," said David. "Lifeboats even."
"Yes," said the Professor, smiling. "I suppose that's a cause that's near and dear to your heart."
"Yes, sir."
Miller was a tall man of about fifty. His sunken cheeks and stooped posture gave him the look of an undertaker rather than a scientist.
"Thank you for this," Miller said, putting the paper to the side. "But, of course, this isn't why I called you here today." He stood up and began pacing.
"What I'm going to tell you is confidential, Marr. On their best days, academics love to share information. On their worse, they love to gossip. But look here, Marr, nothing I tell you can be shared." If Miller was trying to intimidate David it worked. Sitting in a chair in front of the famous Dr. Miller, in an office at the internationally renowned Institute of Engineering and Natural Philosophy, at the stately Miskatonic University was intimidation enough. In the hallways of the Institute, he saw roughly ten famous scientists that he recognized and countless students. There were rooms upon rooms of engines, mechanics, books, and libraries. It looked like a wonderful place to work. It was clear why Waterhouse had jumped at the chance to be here.
"I understand, sir."
"Waterhouse was meant to work here. I assume you know at least that much"
David nodded.
Miller scowled, "Yes, this was part of the problem. His transit here with his engine was meant to be a secret, but we the people haven't quite learned how to keep a secret. This war has not hit our nation hard enough yet.
"So yes, he was supposed to come here. His engine was going to be a critical part of our work. You see, this Institute is working closely with the U.S. Government to work on War Engines. Some of these things are as simple as building difference engines that can do simple computations. Math that would help with accounting of supplies, men, ships, soldiers, that sort of thing.
"But Waterhouse's engine was part of a special project. I'm going to tell you about it, but only with the hope that you might be able to assist. As the student who worked most closely with Waterhouse, you might be able to lend insight into the work we're doing here. I must warn you though. Only about twenty people in the country know about it. Knowledge is dangerous. The Spanish have an inkling of what we're up to and they would stop at nothing to know more. Knowing what I'm about to tell you could put your own personal safety at great risk."
David gulped and toyed with the idea of saying that he really didn't want to know if it was all the same to Miller, but Miller continued.
"As you know, an engine that runs on electrical fluid could revolutionize Engine design, allowing us to create even more powerful machines."
Of course. Building a machine that harnessed the properties of electrical fluid was the holy grail of natural philosophy. Quirks of physics meant that electrical fluid could only exist in biological systems. It was simply too unstable to work within mechanical engines. No one knew why.
"But," said David, "Professor Waterhouse's engine didn't run on electrical fluid."
"No," said Miller, "but Waterhouse was convinced that the engine could solve the electrical fluid problem. Given time, it could work out designs that might make it possible."
David raised his eyebrows. "It might be possible," he said slowly, "but the professor never mentioned anything about it to me."
"I'm not surprised. It would have been dangerous information. He had communicated his findings to us and was coming here to see if we could get his engine working on the problem."
"So the Spanish might have this information?" asked David.
"Well, they might have information that the machine could be used to solve the problem. It would probably take them months to work out the solutions if they exist. Unfortunately, that would put them months ahead of us. I needn't tell you that this is an absolute disaster. Building these systems could give them an edge in every conceivable way: faster shi
ps, better weapons, greater organizational efficiency."
Spanish technology and scientists lagged behind that of the Americans, but not by much. They could quite easily build an engine, especially if they were able to induce Waterhouse to aid them, through fair means or foul.
"This is why I called you here. We need to start building a duplicate of the engine."
A pregnant pause.
David was torn. On the one hand, this was an exciting opportunity. To be a part of the team that cracked the problem of electrical fluid design could make him one of the most famous scientists in history. There was no telling what they could do with such a system. On the other hand, the risk to his personal safety would be enormous. The Spanish had already demonstrated that they were willing to kidnap and kill to get this information. It would be trivial for them to learn who Waterhouse's students were. They must know that his students would be the first people the Americans would turn to work on the project. Of course, if he didn't help, and was put on the next ship out to New Madrid, the threat to his personal safety would be even greater.
There was also the matter of Waterhouse. Shouldn't they be working on getting him back? It's not something he could do personally, but why wasn't this on the table?
"What about Waterhouse?"
"Yes, yes," said Miller, waving his hand, looking down. "There are people who are working on that. The question is will you help us?"
CHAPTER SEVEN
"We've been working on the Waterhouse problem, and the solution is quite simple, Suarez."
"Eliminate him?" she asked.
"What?" said Tanenhaus, taken aback. "No, no, of course not."
She was sitting in a small basement office in the New Boston Naval administration building. She had come in through the front entrance, doubled back through the cantina, and had a coffee for an hour. Then she came down to the personnel office, where she was ostensibly going to receive her new orders. The reality was that Tanenhaus was her handler.
He was a small, unassuming man. Bearded, neatly trimmed. He could have worked in an office anywhere in the world. Lara trusted him to the extent that she trusted anyone, which was not very much, especially in light of recent breaches in security.
"Not that simple. No, it's likely we can get him back before any real harm is done."
"Whose plan is this?"
"The Under Secretary has personally signed off on it."
"Well?"
Tanenhaus shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like her. Ice ran through her veins.
"The Under Secretary has seen to it that you've been promoted. You will serve as first lieutenant on a ship that will retrieve Waterhouse. He's believed to be on a transport headed to the New Madrid system. Our people with the Spanish assure us he won't be there for two months. If you move quickly, it might be possible to retrieve him."
"It's just the one ship?"
"I'm afraid so. There's only one ship available here in port that could reach her in time. It's the Calista if you can believe it. Jack Marr's ship. After she was re-captured, she was repaired and outfitted."
"And the plan is to just take the transport? Surely, it's guarded."
"That's the thing. It's not. The Spanish are rushing to get him back to their home territory, and an escort would be too slow. Our people are certain of this. The Spanish are taking a gamble."
"Are you certain this information is solid?"
"As a rock."
"What about the leaks?" she asked.
"We're working on it."
"I'd just hate to be almost killed again by the unexpected. Christ, it's like it's amateur hour in this organization."
"I know," said Tanenhaus, holding up his hands. "We're working on it."
"What's my role exactly?"
"As you know, even the best laid plans can go awry. Your role is to make sure that if the unexpected happens, actions are taken that are in our best interests."
That meant to kill Waterhouse if the recapture plan failed. It would mean somehow infiltrating Spanish security. It meant getting close to where he was being held on New Madrid. It might be doable, but not easy. She hoped plan A worked.
"I choose the captain." She knew he would acquiesce. She'd worked for them before he'd even come into the picture, beginning as a child in Austin on New Madrid. She was the best. They listened to her.
"Alright."
"I want Milton. She's the best I've ever seen and good under pressure."
"Milton, she's the one you escaped with? She's just been promoted to commander. That could be a problem. Commanders don't get frigates. This will ruffle some feathers. Besides, she's on the bottom of the commander's list."
"That's who I want."
"Ok, it just won't be easy, that's all."
"This mission won't be easy either if things go wrong. I need the best."
"You'll get her."
"Obviously, she can't know my role."
"Obviously. Anything else?"
"What's to happen with the Waterhouse student David Marr?"
"Ah yes, that's the second thing. He's to go with you."
"What?"
"Unfortunately, because of the security issues we're having, I don't think he's safe here in New Boston. I had a big row about this with some higher ups. There are people who want to keep him here in New Boston to work at the University. They say he's instrumental to projects over there, but fuck them. There are Spanish agents everywhere. If they snap him up, and they would if they could, it'd be an even larger blow to national security than just the loss of Waterhouse. Can you think of a safer place for him than on a naval vessel charged with capturing an unarmed transport?"
"Why not just put him under heavy guard?"
"Like I said, the enemy is everywhere."
She scowled. "Amateur hour."
"Don't worry. The war has just started. We've gotten lazy, but we'll be cleaning house soon. The new Under Secretary is on a holy war."
"He should be. When can we expect to leave?"
"In a week. In the meantime, do your best to keep Marr safe."
Harriet was now in even higher spirits than before.
She was finally being given a ship, the Calista, a newly refitted frigate that had been recaptured from the Spanish just weeks before. She could hardly believe it. Commanders didn't get frigates. It simply wasn't done. Commanders were assigned smaller ships, sloops, and transports. And to be given the only one in the dockyard... that was, well, unheard of. When they arrived at the ball at the Admiral's mansion, she could feel the jealous stares of the other Naval officers. She didn't care. Someone up there must be looking out for her.
The rear admiral's ball was quite an experience in and of itself. She had never attended a social function with such important people. The list of attendees was filled with the imminent citizens of New Boston: the admiral, Governor Wu and his family, countless senior Naval officers, the mayor, and many of the city's richest citizens. To be invited was an honor.
Lara and David, on the other hand, were much less excited. David had not told the others about his conversation with Miller. He didn't want to violate the confidentiality of the conversation, but it would have helped him enormously to talk to Harriet. Should he stay in New Boston, working on the Engine or should he take the next set of orders sent to him by the Navy? Would he, realistically, even have a choice? Miller wanted him to stay, but the man didn't make decisions for the Navy. Who knew if he had the power to get him assigned to the University?
He had also learned some disturbing news from back home. There was a bomb attack in his old department. Scores of students had been seriously injured, but the newspapers said there were no fatalities. The paper speculated that it was Spanish saboteurs hoping to demoralize the public or destroy the innovations coming out of the department. David was terrified. It could only have been an attempt to eliminate Waterhouse's knowledge pool, to make sure that no one else had the information that he, and by proxy, the Spanish, had. David would be a fool to
think that he wasn't next. If he stayed here, he wasn't sure that he'd leave the planet alive.
Lara was also in low spirits, primarily because she had to spend time with David and would continue to do so for the next couple of months. He was conceited, cowardly, and even lazy at times. But mainly, she was offended by his apathy. He had little interest in the dangers that faced his country or the fact that his father had been killed by the enemy, and he felt no need to do anything about it. It was especially annoying that his intellect could be of enormous use to his country if only he chose to contribute to the war effort. It wasn't even about patriotism. It was the fact that he didn't seem to care about anything but himself that she found particularly galling.
All of these things grated on Lara, although in truth, and this is something that she probably would never have admitted to herself, she disliked him because his attempts to hit on her were so shockingly clumsy. He was not nearly as charming as he thought he was, and yet, despite this, he seemed to enjoy an inordinate amount of success with women.
She watched Marr from across the room as he chatted with the Governor's daughter, Amanda Wu.
She studied him: he was a drinker, a womanizer, and a scoundrel. But a genius. There was no doubt about that. He had saved all of their lives in that lifeboat. For that, she felt a grudging debt. He was not unattractive, which might explain his success with women.
She sipped her wine. Unlike the other Naval officers, who were dressed in their finest uniforms, with polished boots, gleaming swords, and starched shirts and jacks, she was not rip-roaring drunk. There is a common misperception among Americans that although the average sailor is given to loose ways on shore, the average Naval officer is a lady or a gentleman. This is far from the truth. The Admiral had an open bar, a small band, and an enormous dance floor. The officers were given ample opportunity to embarrass themselves. The bankers and politicians in attendance, in their tuxedoes, top hats, and gloves looked on in shock. Their wives, in billowing gowns and ensembles that had been planned for months, made sure to appear to be appropriately outraged.
The Gold Engine (The Gold Chronicles) Page 9