Amidst Dark Satanic Mills (Folkestone & Hand Interplanetary Steampunk Adventures Book 2)

by Ralph E. Vaughan

  “Not a chance of hitting us, sir,” Hand commented.

  “Our friends cannot make the same claim.”

  Hand checked the aft mass detector.

  “Blimey!” Hand exclaimed. “One of the scouts is adrift, what’s left of it, shot to pieces by its mates. The other is buggering fast.”

  “Coming back?” Folkestone asked.

  “Hard to say, sir,” Hand said. “It looks like…”

  “What is it, Sergeant?”

  “The scout is coursing wide and fast away, putting as much distance between itself and us as fast as it can, but arcing to avoid passing near Pandora.”

  “Odd. If anything, I’d think they’d be making for…”

  “The big ship is moving off as well,” Hand interrupted. “But it’s not heading toward anything, just getting out of the region.”

  “Does not bode well,” Folkestone mused, easing their craft out of the shadow of the asteroid they had dove behind after firing the torpedoes. “If they want to keep their distance from us, let’s not make it an easy matter. We might want to follow anyway.”

  “If they are leaving, it might be for a reason?”

  “Sauce for the goose.”

  Folkestone engaged the aether engines, following the crippled pirate craft at a speed it could not match. The captain of the ship seemed engaged in a dire flight, eager to escape them, which was to both men a puzzlement. Even though they had managed to inflict heavy damage upon the larger pirate ship, they were still outgunned and the enemy could easily execute swift strategic maneuvers with impulse vents. There was no reason why the other ship should turn tail and run from such a smaller foe.

  “Sir, I’m detecting a massive energy increase,” Hand said. “It is unlike anything I’ve seen before.”

  “Which away?”

  “General direction of Pandora.”

  “With them turning tail, perhaps this is a chance to…”

  “CQ to unknown ship!” the regular radio squawked, weak and tinny in sound, but still legible, indicating a broadcaster very close by. “Unknown ship! Put a mass between you and Pandora. Now!”

  Folkestone reacted instantly to the warning, engaging the aether engines at full, heading for the largest nearest asteroid, using the maneuvering vents to whirl the ship around its abrupt horizon, then bring it to a full and breath-crushing stop.

  “I’m still detecting an energy buildup,” Hand said, puzzled not only by the strength of the readings through miles of rock but by the energy’s profile, unlike anything he had ever seen before. “That voice over the wireless…”

  Folkestone nodded. Communication using broadcasted waves of electromagnetic energy not only lacked the range and security of aether-based contact but was deficient in fidelity, tingeing all voices with a tinny quality. There was a certain familiarity in the tone and tenor of the warning voice, but he could not identify it.

  “Cor!” Hand muttered still staring at the instruments, all of which were at their maximum readings. “It’s…”

  Hand’s words died as the space around them seemed to catch fire. Coruscating streamers snaked around them. Beyond the asteroid’s abrupt horizon soundless explosions tossed chunks of rock into space. Without the asteroid’s mass between them and the energy source they would have surely been destroyed. Even in its shadow they were not immune. Pipes burst, connections shorted, and sparks shot from control panels. They spent fast and frantic minutes closing valves, ensuring fires did not spread, that engines and boilers did not overload. The lines of power subsided.

  “I see why those ships were keen to put some space between them and us,” Folkestone commented.

  Hand nodded. “Yes, sir, but what in bleeding blazes was it?”

  “Blazes indeed.” Folkestone returned to the controls.

  “You think it’s safe to poke out our heads, sir?” Hand asked as he resumed his chair.

  “I think it’s very dangerous to stay where we are.”

  Hand gulped, but said nothing. Folkestone eased their craft out of the asteroid’s protecting penumbra.

  “Keep a watch for energy increases.”

  Hand nodded. “No sign of the Black Sails ships.”

  “Out of range?”

  “Maybe two, but the third just…gone, sir,” Hand replied. “Some bits and bobs drifting, not enough to put in a teacup.”

  “We must get to Pandora while we…”

  “Unknown ship,” the radio squawked. “Identify yourself.”

  Folkestone picked up the communicator disc, paused, and glanced at Hand. The Martian shrugged. They undoubtedly owed their lives to the warning they had received, but it was still just an unknown voice. Revealing too much, especially on an open wave that could be intercepted by anyone, could be as dangerous as the weapon that had singed them.

  “This is the aethership Sky Dancer, a civilian craft of Martian registry, late of Syrtis Major,” Folkestone said. “We were touring the Belt when we were attacked without provocation. Please state your identity and intent.” He paused. “And thank you for the timely warning.”

  The receiving disc hissed quietly.

  “Repeating: this is Sky Dancer, civilian aethership out of Syrtis Major. Please identify yourself.”

  “Did you say Sky Dancer?” asked a new voice, this one softer than the first. “Did you pay your impound fees, or do you have friends in high places?”

  Folkestone opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

  Putting protocol aside, Sergeant Hand snatched the disc. “Lord love a duck, is that you…”

  Folkestone grabbed the disc and gestured for silence.

  “Sky Dancer to CQ,” he said. “This is Robert Cinque-Port of Syrtis Major. Are you able to transmit on any aether frequency?”

  “Negative,” reported the first voice. “We were attacked by the weapon you just witnessed, which destroyed all communications. We have been making repairs.”

  “What is your location?”

  “From your present position, head for the destination sought with all deliberate speed,” the voice (obviously Captain Wax, they now realized) replied enigmatically, not wanting to reveal too much to any listening ears. “We shall join you. Hurry. We have less than an hour remaining.”

  “Understand,” Folkestone affirmed, though he did not. “Will comply with your instructions.”

  “That was Lady Cynthia, sir” Hand grunted as the acceleration of the aether-engines jammed him against the seat.

  “And Captain Wax.”

  “Blimey!” Hand groaned. “I nearly gave it away.”

  “Yes, Sergeant, you did,” Folkestone agreed, but without any hint of rancor. “If there is anyone is left to listen.”

  “More Black Sails ships then,” Hand muttered. He keenly watched all the instruments for signs of hostile craft or a buildup of the energy weapon they had faced.

  Folkestone nodded. “Bear in mind, if that blast of lightning, or whatever it was, came from Pandora, there has be someone there to activate the machinery.”

  “Do you think that could be what Poulpe was getting at in those notes we found?” Hand suggested.

  “Your guess is as good as mine.” Then he chuckled. “Probably better since you know your way around aether engines…”

  “More or less,” Hand agreed.

  “…and I barely know what makes a steam turbine go round.”

  “That’s all right, sir,” Hand murmured, lips curving in a wicked smile. “Officers don’t need to know about such things, do they?”

  “Just have a loud voice?”

  “No, that’s why Her Majesty’s Army’s got sergeants.”

  “In that case, I’m fairly sure I don’t want to know what…”

  “Got company, sir,” Hand said abruptly. “Rising from the large asteroid twelve miles off the port bow.”

  “Stand by weapons for…” He paused. “Belay that order. We know the lines of that ship.”

  “Blimey!” Hand exclaimed. “It’s the Princess!
”

  The civilian aethership rose from a crevasse cut deep into the heart of the asteroid, remnant of some ancient impact. The craft was scarred and scored, far from Bristol fashion, and moved a little sluggishly, but otherwise seemed fit. The Princess of Mars came alongside. Flickers of light appeared in its observation canopy.

  “Get out the signal lamp,” Folkestone ordered.

  Hand scrambled to the storage lockers.

  “Weapon facility on Pandora,” Folkestone read. “One hour to recharge. Pirate protected.”

  “Hand, signal them to clear the area at best possible speed.”

  The Martian did as he was ordered.

  Neither man was surprised by the reply.

  “Repeat my order, and signal us out,” Folkestone growled. “Then strap yourself in and prepare for a bumpy ride.”

  Hand sent the message, stowed the lamp, then fastened all the belts, drawing them tight. Before the last buckle was in place, Folkestone pushed the aether engines to full power. Hand gritted his teeth as the gravity plates were unable to fully compensate.

  “Come in, Sky Dancer, you will not…” the radio squawked before Folkestone switched it off.

  Hand’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “She’s maddening enough under normal circumstances.”

  “You know she’ll give you hell when she sees you.”

  “If we survive,” Folkestone said. “You know Lady Cynthia will not cut you any slack either.”

  Hand grinned impishly. “Me, I let officers do all the thinking needed, as Her Ladyship well knows. I just do what I’m told, I do.”

  “First time for everything, I suppose,” Folkestone quipped. “Is the Princess moving off?”

  “Not at full speed,” Hand reported. “But it should clear the area before that thing on Pandora is ready to fire again, if she’s right about it needing an hour.”

  “Hopefully it won’t come to that,” Folkestone said.

  “We may be armed to the teeth, sir, but we don’t stand a chance of taking on anything as large as that facility must be,” Hand pointed out. “Besides, it’s protected by the Black Sails.”

  “All the more reason to harry the blighters,” Folkestone replied. “If we don’t given them blazes…”

  “Yes, sir,” Hand acknowledged. “They’d be after the Princess sure as a jackal after a hare.”

  Folkestone nodded, jaw grimly set. “Weapons status.”

  “Fully charged and ready.”

  “We’re going in fast, hot and close.”

  “Ships out of Pandora,” Hand said. “‘Bout a dozen.”

  “Give me vent control.”

  “You have it, sir.”

  “Fire at will.”

  Torpedoes flashed past and proximity charges burst around them. Folkestone jetted short but furious bursts of steam from the various vents athwartships and along the ribs, making Sky Dancer as impossible a target for the weapons of space warfare as a darting gnat would be for a man on horseback with a rifle. Though he was in serious jeopardy of hurling his last meal, Sergeant Hand brought his full attention to targeting the enemy ships. In that, he was much more successful then were they.

  “Well done, Hand!” Folkestone exclaimed as one of the ships exploded as it tried to get out of the way, peppering the hull with shrapnel. “Bally good shot!”

  “Bugger!” Hand growled.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Not you, sir, two what got away are swinging back.”

  “Yes, well, you’ve thinned the herd nicely.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Hand acknowledged. “But only two actually destroyed.”

  “Several snapped at the hamstrings, so to speak,” Folkestone pointed out. “Pandora’s coming up fast; how many of the blighters do you count actually coming back with any mettle?”

  “Three…no, make that four, sir.”

  “The others?”

  “Limping, sir, or dead in space,” Hand said checking screens. “Two heading into the Belt, just clearing the area far as I can tell.”

  “No pay-day for those runners taking a bunk, I’ll wager.”

  “Or their pay don’t cover getting their noses bloodied, but ain’t that always the way it is with…”

  “What is it, Hand?”

  “The ones what was after us has joined the runners,” Hand said. “They’ve gone and run out on their mates who was left adrift. What do you think it means, sir?”

  “I think Lady Cynthia may have been mistaken about how long it takes for that weapon to recharge or reset,” Folkestone explained. “The way those blighters are turning tail…”

  “I am detecting an energy wave of some sort,” Hand reported. “Highly focused and incredibly powerful, but of no known type.”

  “From Pandora?”

  “No, sir,” Hand replied, scowling in confusion. “It seems as if it’s directed toward Pandora, but originating from deep in the Solar System…Sunward…from the vicinity of…” His voice trailed away as he swiftly recalibrated and rechecked his instrumentation. “It don’t seem…” He shook his head. “Naw, it can’t be…”

  “What, Hand?” Folkestone demanded. “What is the source of the energy wave?”

  “If I’m reading this right, sir, the source of the energy is in the vicinity of Mercury.”

  “Mercury?” Folkestone exclaimed.

  “Well, not Mercury exactly, ‘cause it’s several degrees off the planet’s position, but still pretty bloody close to the Sun,” Hand said. “Less than a minute till it hits.”

  “No idea of its form?”

  Hand shook his head vigorously. “Maybe we should think ‘bout following the examples of the villains.”

  “Like bloody hell we will!”

  It is not often that the gravitational plates of an aethercraft can be outpaced by the output of the engines, but this was one of those times, Hand realized. His ribs seemed on the verge of cracking. He glanced at Folkestone. The lungs of a Highland Martian were like forge-bellows, heritage of the thinner atmosphere, but even he had trouble coping. Captain Folkestone had dwelled so long on Mars he could almost claim to be a son of the Red Planet, but acclimating was not the same thing as being born to it. Besides, despite his affinity with Mars he was still only human.

  Folkestone gritted his teeth concentrating on nothing more than reaching the asteroid. He fought encroaching unconsciousness almost as much as he fought the protesting controls.

  “You all right, Hand?”

  “Yes, sir,” the Martian gasped. “Just caught me unawares.”

  Now that seconds had elapsed since pushing the aether engines to their limits, and beyond, the gravitational plates adjusted, making breathing easier. The readings, however, were still well into the overload range. Pandora was not a large asteroid compared to Ceres or Vesta, but it seemed enormous as they approached it.

  “About thirty seconds before that energy wave, or beam, or whatever it is arrives, sir,” Hand reported. “Who knows what will happen when it does.”

  “Stand by weapons,” Folkestone ordered.

  “Aye, sir.”

  “There it is!”

  “Blimey!”

  They swung around they curve of Pandora, engines whining under the rapid deceleration. Brief bursts of steam vented from the positional jets in mad succession. They saw the source of the strange lightning that had almost blasted them out of the aether.

  Most of Pandora had been hollowed out to contain a facility consisting of a few blocky buildings and domes, but was dominated by a variety of dish-shaped antennae located at various points around the asteroid. The complex was shielded by a tinted dome. This far out in the Solar System, the Sun’s light was negligible, but it was still enough to cast a shadow over the structures in the depression. In that enforced night they saw lighted windows and flares of light scurrying about. Attached to the structure and protruding through a portion of the dome was what was obviously a water plant for processing ice-boulders, easily gathered from
the Belt, and a siphon-converter for drawing off the small amounts of atmospheric gasses omnipresent in the aether. On the opposite side of the dome was a flat metal deck fitted with maintenance bays and an array of multilevel docks big enough for a dozen small-to-medium craft and three for accommodating larger ships of prey. None of the slips were occupied.

  “All the rats down the hawsers,” Hand muttered.

  “The energy wave?” Folkestone asked.

  “Seconds, sir, if that.”

  Hand had barely finished speaking when the antennae about the domed facility began glowing and sparking, such as one might expect if a thousand demons began to maniacally crank rows of colossal Wimshurst machines. Though their velocity had fallen considerably since that mad application of power, they were still moving at a good clip. Folkestone brought them in low and fast.

  Hand concentrated the guns upon the antennae that seemed the most active and targeted the foundations of several with a staggered barrage of torpedoes as they passed. The weapons exploded in the silence of space, toppling the dish-antennae and peppering the dome with high-velocity rubble. The Martian then targeted both the atmosphere and ice processors.

  “That ought to make them more tractable,” Folkestone noted.

  “Unless they’re hoping the Black Sails will bail them.”

  “No way to process water or air, landing area cluttered and crippled—I shouldn’t think so,” Folkestone said. He slowed the Sky Dancer and used maneuvering jets to come about. “No sign of their watchdogs is there?”

  Hand checked the long-range proximity detectors. “No, sir. A ship that was adrift is moving off, but it’s losing gases and I don’t think the varmints will get far. The others are not going anywhere or are long gone.”

  Folkestone raised an amused eyebrow. “Varmints, Sergeant Hand? Been spending time with Mr Legend and other shilling shocker heroes, have you?”

  “Space is bloody boring without something to occupy the mind, sir.” Then Hand thought about the past ten minutes. “Well, usually.”

  “Energy readings?”

  “Still rising, but they’re fluctuating like mad,” Hand said.

  “What about that beam from near Mercury?”

  “No trace of it, sir.” Hand rechecked his instruments, then looked up in alarm. “Sir, you might want to get us away sooner than later…at least as fast as we came in.”