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

by Ralph E. Vaughan

  “If that’s artificial, Professor Swift,” Hand said, “then maybe I am a Nightghast.”

  “Well, it is a minority opinion,” the astronomer admitted. “One I usually keep to myself.”

  They looked at him questioningly.

  “You have shared a great confidence with me,” he explained. “I felt the need to do likewise.” He paused. “But I would appreciate it if you did keep it confidential, as I will keep yours.”

  Hand looked puzzled, but Folkestone nodded. He and Professor Swift were separated by cultures of birth, their nations by a certain amount of enduring enmity, but they were both human. They shared a nature forever denied to Sergeant Felix Hand, no matter how much he embraced what would always be an alien way. Folkestone had seen much the same thing among the ‘old China hands’ of the British mercantile companies, who spent such a long period in the Chinese Empire that they lived, spoke and thought Chinese, but who would never actually be Chinese.

  “Well, gentlemen, shall we go on up,” Swift suggested after an awkward silence.

  “I wish the little monkey would stop gawking at me,” Hand said. “It’s giving me the creepies.”

  Folkestone clapped Hand on the shoulder. “Give the lad some leeway, Sergeant. Probably going tell all his little friends how he met a real live Martian, one of the savage Highlanders they all read about in those rubbish magazines.”

  “Indeed!” Swift agreed. “We have a number of Mercurians who do odd jobs for us around the observatory, and quite a few who sell us fish and other foodstuffs gathered from the river’s abundance. They are a clannish lot and Jittle will no doubt regale them with his story. The Mercurians tend to look upon all offworlders—except us humans of course—with a measure of awe.”

  “Not humans?” Hand asked with a smirk.

  “No, the Mercurians know us and our foibles all too well,” the astronomer explained. “Here, familiarity may not breed contempt, but it does make us boring.”

  The trio made their way off the now-moored launch onto the jutting stone pier. The engines ebbed to silence and Jittle, who had vanished to the boiler room for the merest of seconds, reappeared on deck, still staring enraptured at the departing Martian, a noble and bellicose Highlander who at any moment might sally forth against a gang of bloodthirsty canal pirates.

  Abruptly, the Martian turned, stared with shining gimlet eyes. At first Jittle felt fear, as if he had violated a Martian taboo—the books were quite clear about the superstitious inhabitants of the Red Planet, especially the bellicose and quarrelsome Highlanders. The Martian reached into his tunic. Jittle wondered if he were going to draw the deadly short sword, which he knew from his reading no self-respecting son of Mars was ever without. Instead, the Martian tossed a silvery round object, glinting as it revolved in the perpetual twilight. Jittle caught it, staring in disbelief. It was a heavy silver coin. On one side was a stern Lowland Martian wearing a ornate diadem, on the other a Martian canal boat under full sail. His throat constricted, his eyes brimming, Jittle looked up, but the Martian had vanished with the two humans into the holy mountain. He looked at the coin and almost chortled with happiness. Soon the fishing boats would come in, and what a tale he would have to share…with the proper embellishments, of course.

  “What was that you tossed Jittle, Sergeant?” Swift asked.

  “Just a coin.”

  “Well, he’ll appreciate the consideration, give him something to spend when he next goes to the station.”

  “A Martian coin,” Hand added.

  “Oh.”

  “A crown issued by the Court of the Red Prince,” Hand said. “It’s the currency of choice among the canal towns around Syrtis Major, though in Syrtis Major itself we use pound sterling and trade dollars just as easily.”

  “Well, he’ll never spend that, I assure you.”

  They continued to the base of the mountain rising sheer from the center of the island. Because of what Swift had said earlier both Folkestone and Hand peered at the stone more closely than they might have otherwise. The two soldiers, however, saw nothing more than a mass of stone extruded from the planet’s interior millions of years earlier. Whether the result of geologic convulsions or the tidal actions of the nearby Sun, it was still natural. They saw no evidence of intervention by any being, Mercurian or otherwise. It was just a massive hunk of stone, as was Ayers Rock on Earth, impressive in its existence, but nonetheless natural.

  “How do you get to the observatory?” Folkestone asked.

  “Now we have steam-powered lifts in vertical tunnels, but at one time they had external lifts,” Swift explained.

  “What happened to those?” Hand asked, feeling a strong sense of vertigo as he stared up.

  “They blew away.”

  “I haven’t noticed any wind to speak of,” Folkestone said.

  “Not down here, or several hundred feet above the river,” Swift said as he conducted them inside the peak. “But at higher elevations the wind is strong and treacherous. You’ll experience it first-hand once we get topside. It’s the temperature variations, you see, the fiery gases on Brightside colliding with Nightside air, which is very near the Kelvin Limit. The result of that eternal collision between heat and cold is very beneficial to the temperate Twilight Belt, hence the fecundity of the river area, but it’s an eternal battle of the elements above. It’s why airships and small fliers are impractical.”

  “I am surprised the observatory was constructed at all.”

  “It was a dangerous undertaking, Captain, and many lives were lost in the process,” Swift admitted. “If it had not been considered of such great scientific importance, they would have no doubt gone on with the original plan, to site an observatory closer to Nightside or Brightside, where the turbulence is significantly less.”

  “We’ll need a place we can speak to you privately,” Folkestone said as the lift hissed up through the heart of the mountain.

  “And we’re here to question you about your time on Phobos, should anyone ask,” Hand added. “Not about Vulcan.”

  “Hephaestus,” Swift muttered.

  Folkestone smiled.

  “Whatever,” Hand said dismissively.

  “Yes, Phobos,” Swift agreed. “It would awkward otherwise.”

  “The others here don’t know about your search?”

  “They know in an unstated way,” Swift explained. “They do not ask, I do not tell. They appreciate that I am a knowledgeable scientist with a keen eye, and that I carry out my assigned tasks with due diligence. As to the other matter, well they are tolerant in their silence. To my fellow astronomers, my search for an intra-Mercurial planet is an eccentric hobby at best, a quixotic quest at worst.”

  “Still, they might be giants,” Hand murmured.

  “Yes, yes, they might, but we don’t talk about them,” Swift said. “Suffice to say, giants or windmills, it is ever a lonely quest.”

  “Good old Sancho Panza,” Hand said. “He may have been a bit of a prat at times, but he had good eyes.”

  As soon as the doors of the steam-lift opened, their ears were assaulted by a pulsing, thrumming sound. They were in an enclosed structure, and the noises emanated from the walls. He handed them each a pair of clear goggles, which they donned, and pointed out handles fitted to the walls, which they grasped.

  “The wind,” Swift said, raising his voice. “Once we’re outside, hold onto the rails on both sides of the walkways. There’s no danger of being blown off the mountain—a seven-foot wall encloses the entire area—it can still knock you down, give you a nasty bruise, or worse. So hang on.”

  Swift touched a button and a door hissed open. Immediately the men felt as if a hand had grabbed them, was pulling them toward the opening. Had it not been for their grips they would surely have been sucked outward. Following Swift’s lead, Folkestone and Hand carefully exited the structure and made their way a railing-lined stone walkway. Ahead of them the observatory rose into a sky that was light in one direction, dark in the
other. Here, the Sun was visible and filled a goodly portion of the sky with its fiery splendor, while the other range of sky was peppered with stars. Neither man had ever seen such a stark contrast between light and dark. At this height, the true nature of Mercury, caught between fire and ice, was revealed, an environmental truth denied to those whose vision of Mercury was confined to the length and breadth of the great river.

  The observatory itself was no less marvelous than its setting, a massive structure of multiple domes, instrument-laden towers, and flying metal struts that seemed to defy the violence of the eternal wind. Tubes and conduits wound their way up walls, across roofs and around domes and towers like coppery serpents.

  Halfway to the observatory they paused before a tall column of polished marble, all four sides incised with many names. The walkway encircled the column.

  “All the people who died to bring the observatory into being,” Swift said solemnly. “Lest we forget.”

  They continued to the structure in silence.

  For the next several hours, they drew from Professor Swift all he knew of the mysterious planet between Mercury and the Sun. They examined all his research and paid special attention to those times which corresponded to when the equally mysterious station on Pandora was known to be in operation. They were left alone by the other astronomers, though the Director, a man named Harkness, let it be known he did not appreciate his astronomer being taken away from his duties by the Admiralty on Mars—this was the Inner Solar System, not the Outer, even if the matter did concern Phobos. In the end, all Harkness could do was fume, which he did quite well.

  By the time the information requested from Sir Hubert arrived, they had a working hypothesis about what might be going on in the vicinity of Hephaestus. The shipping and observation reports from the official capped it. There were too many aetherships bypassing Mercury, too many freighters stopping only for fuel.

  “MEDUSA is using Hephaestus to harness an unknown form of energy,” Folkestone said, wearily tossing aside a report. He rubbed his eyes. “Somehow they are able to transmit that energy without any form of conduit, without use of the aether, and use it to create a destructive force which they can direct at will.”

  “With Pandora destroyed…” Hand started to say.

  “What if Pandora was just an experiment, a laboratory where they could learn how to direct the energy?” Folkestone suggested.

  “Could have been,” Hand agreed. “Could have been more.”

  “Well, it’s clear to me that the energy beamed from a point near the Sun was the source of the space lightning,” Folkestone mused. “Directing it would have been part of the goal, but you are correct, I think, that there must have been more to it.”

  “Poulpe’s documents were about wireless transmission, but I remember another phrase—willful manifestation,” Hand said. “It didn’t make any sense at the time, but now…”

  “We saw the station use that energy to defend itself, to hide its existence, but perhaps its true purpose was to learn how to cause the energy to appear at a particular place,” Folkestone said.

  Hand nodded. “Asteroid Belt can be a lonely place.”

  “An asteroid gets lashed with this energy, far from the source,” Folkestone suggested, “who is going to be the wiser?”

  “No witnesses.”

  “Yes, prospectors go out and they don’t come back, nothing new about that,” Folkestone said. “Lonely and dangerous.”

  “Aethership like the Princess gets into trouble, well, it’s the Black Sails or some other gang isn’t it?” Hand added.

  “They certainly couldn’t get away with it in the vicinity of the Sun, never mind Hephaestus,” Swift pointed out. “Aside from the observatory on Mercury, there are lots of solar observation stations in the Solar System. The energy they beamed away might have been ignored as inexplicable fluctuations, but had they put the energy to use, it surely would have been seen.” He paused. “Oh my. Had they done that, I guess every solar telescope would have found its way to Hephaestus. No place to hide.”

  “But with the Pandora station now destroyed, and nothing to replace it…” Hand suggested.

  “If the goal was to learn how to manifest energy in a particular region from a remote location,” Folkestone said, “it may have served its purpose. They may now know enough.”

  “If what you say of their readiness is true, Captain,” Swift ventured, “Pandora’s replacement may be Hephaestus. If MEDUSA can manifest the energy at will, no planet is safe.”

  “We have to let the Admiral know a strike needs to be staged,” Hand insisted. “We have to attack their base.”

  “Not until we know for certain what MEDUSA is up to there,” Folkestone cautioned. “It may be a testing station, a lab of some sort, or their actual headquarters, but where on the planet is it?”

  “On Hephaestus?” Swift gasped. “You mean MEDUSA has actually established a base of operations on my planet?”

  “It may be more than that.” Folkestone said to Hand: “We have to get there as quickly as possible.”

  “What can we do by ourselves?” Hand demanded.

  “Where is Pandora now?” Folkestone asked with a grin.

  “Yes, sir, granted, but just the two of us?”

  “The three of us,” Swift said.

  “Wait a moment, Professor,” Folkestone challenged. “When I mentioned you being a navigator on a possible trip to Hephaestus, we had no idea MEDUSA might have an actual base there. Besides, it was metaphorical, not an actual invitation.”

  “I am going with you,” Swift averred. “If my planet is fated to become public knowledge, and be hung with a name I detest, then I deserve to accompany you.”

  “A nonsensical argument,” Folkestone said. “It’s dangerous.”

  “I may not be a hero, but I am no coward.”

  “Look, Professor, I’m sure you got a heart of oak and all that, but it’s no flight for a civilian,” Hand pointed out. “The Captain and me, we get paid to take foolish risks, but you got years of comet hunting in front of you.”

  “You have to take me with you,” Swift said. “For two reasons.”

  Folkestone and Hand narrowed their gazes and waited.

  “One is that you cannot afford to leave me behind.”

  “You mean you would speak out?” Folkestone asked.

  “As they say in my country, you bet I would.” He saw Hand’s face twist into a malevolent grimace and added: “Well, I probably would…at least to the staff…maybe just to Sir Hubert.”

  “And the second reason?” Folkestone asked, restraining the Sergeant from an ill-considered outburst.

  “You’ve no hope of reaching Hephaestus without me,” Swift answered. “It’s not like you can pull out any navigation charts, and you know how difficult it is navigating near the Sun anyway.” He paused, lowered his gaze, then looked up. “I guess that’s really the only reason. I wouldn’t really jeopardize your mission.”

  “I know you wouldn’t, Professor,” Folkestone said softly.

  “Better not,” Hand muttered.

  “And I know that all my pride about Hephaestus is nothing but selfish pride,” Swift said. “Nothing that should make any difference to you. So here it is—take me with you because you have a better chance of completing your mission, and maybe returning alive, with me than without me.”

  Folkestone glanced at Hand. The Martian was still angry about Swift’s threat, but he could also see in Hand’s eyes a measure of sympathy and compassion. He smiled inwardly as he considered the idea Sergeant Hand might have gained more from his association with humans than swear words and a questionable taste in literature. They both knew the truth of Swift’s words. It was in their nature to take risks to protect others, but this leap into the unknown was unlike any other before taken. The undeniable truth of the matter was that, like it or not, the presence of Professor Swift on such a journey was an asset they could not do without.

  “Very well, Professor Swift,
” Folkestone said. “Get everything you need and let’s go.”

  “But the Director…”

  “I’ll talk to your Director, and I’ll contact Sir Hubert securely, tell him to put a ship at our disposal, ready for liftoff as soon as we return.”

  “And if he asks why?” Hand said. “You know, sir, he’ll want to know the why and where of it. It’s in the old boy’s nature.”

  “I’ll tell him nothing.”

  “He won’t like that.”

  “No, he won’t,” Folkestone agreed. “But as a loyal servant of Her Majesty, he’ll do what is asked of him.”

  “Are we going into this alone, sir?”

  “Initially, but our forces need to be ready when, and if, we find something.” Folkestone paused in thought. “I’ll also contact the Admiral, tell him what’s going on, that we don’t yet know anything certain, that it’s all suspicions and speculation at this point. I want you to do the same thing with Section 6.”

  Hand sighed. “You know that means talking to Lady Cynthia.”

  “It might.”

  Might my arse! Hand thought. Give me the suicide mission!

  “How much do I tell her?” Hand asked.

  “Nothing.” Then, knowing the Admiral’s daughter, he added: “As little as possible.”

  Hand grimaced at the thought of trying to keep Lady Cynthia at bay. He would rather wrestle an angry sand-cat, but orders were orders. Ours is not to wonder why, but to do or… He sighed and set out for the observatory’s communication room.

  Director Harkness had not been pleased with Swift being pulled from his duties, but was livid when told he would have to do without the astronomer’s skills for an indefinite period. None of the others were privy to what passed between the two men in the privacy of the Director’s office, but they all noted Harkness’ pallor, tightly pinched lips, and submissiveness when they emerged.