by SJ Davis
“There was no ‘sex game’ and he’s not dead,” Francesca said with annoyance. “He belongs to you. It’s your friend. And he is still alive, but barely.”
“My friend?” Bodhi ran into the dining room, a makeshift triage area. Serving girls brought in cotton for bandaging and hot boiled water. “Get out of my way,” he pushed them away from the table. With a wet cloth, he cleaned the blood from the man’s face. The side of his head behind his right ear was depressed and slightly split open. Bodhi saw the bleached whiteness from a small section of skull bone peeking out through his dark hair as he absently wiped the bloodied towel across his brow. The man’s knuckles were bruised and cracked from fighting and his eyes were swollen shut.
“Oh my God,” gasped Bodhi. “It’s Nico.”
Caroline rushed to the dining room. “It is Nico! Oh my god!” She fell in a crumpled heap upon the chair as Nico reached for her with bloodied hands. Caroline cleared her throat and pulled out a handkerchief. She smiled at Nico and wiped the blood carefully from his cheek. “Bodhi,” she whispered. “We must leave. I think we are getting a message from Josephine.”
London
Morning of June 23rd 1865
Josephine woke to find herself restrained with hemp ropes attaching her to a support pole. Inside Professor Anson’s airship, she sat prone upon the bumpy metal floor and bundled inside a blanket. The unyielding pole pressed into her spine.
“How do you like things now, you little hellcat?” asked Anson as she woke up from the ether.
“How long have I been here?”
“Long enough for your friends to become rather concerned. And perhaps willing to bargain.”
“That will never happen.”
“Oh, indeed? I think they will. Especially that chrononaut,” he continued. “Yes, especially that one with the funny name. Well, they all have funny names, do they not? But Yeshua may want to help you, as he strangely finds your insipid self rather pretty. And more inconceivably, he thinks you are interesting. He must not be aware of your dull lineage.” He walked in a circle around her, looking down. “But he will only make things worse for you. Oh so very much worse.” The professor rubbed his hands together and smirked. “I simply can’t wait. All of this will finally be over.”
Josephine kicked and struggled, straining against her ties. The zeppelin was steamy and damp, cramped with wall-to-wall machines and blinking lights. Mechanical guards sat on each side of her. The walking machines resembled human forms, each with two circular brightly lit areas to mimic eyes along with upturned slit-shaped mouths. The head was connected to the main torso by a few gold metal-coated wires, like the sinews in a neck, communicating with the rest of the body.
Condensation rolled down the sides of the walking machines as the heat from their mechanical outputs mixed with the evening’s moisture. “Your machines are going to rust in their own dankness and humidity,” said Josephine.
“Shut up, you stupid girl,” answered Anson. “You know nothing. And what you think you know is all a lie.”
“I know you are a horrid man. And I know I took your Tabulator,” she spat back at him. “As for a chrononaut? You speak the reckless musings of a madman.”
The droning machines stood guard, disinterested by the human banter around them. Similar, except for their colorings; most were gray while a few were black. The black machines wore an attached bullet-feeding device with a binoculared vision scope. The gray machines moved with clunky motion throughout the airship controlling the flight mechanics.
“Are these brainless tins actually running your air control?” asked an incredulous Josephine.
“They are eminently reliable. Infallible and perfectly programmed. They have no innate human margin for error.”
“They are as infallible as their creator. And they can’t troubleshoot. Rather ineffective, I would say.” She mocked Anson’s puffed tone. “They are emotionless automatons. Dull.”
“Emotion is overrated,” he answered, stroking his mustache and smiling with only the right side of his mouth. “But you know so very little.”
“I know that kidnapping me from into Lord Ratcliffe’s residence is bound to cause problems for you. Even bring you unflattering publicity.”
“I doubt that, my dear. It is you who committed the crime of breaking and entering along with aggravated burglary. I am merely attempting to regain my lawful property!”
“You are a fool,” she said.
“Shut up. You need to accept one simple truth.”
“And that one truth would be?”
“That nothing is ever as it seems.”
“Oh, I do accept it. For instance, it would seem that these mechanized men sprung from your own alleged genius. But we both know otherwise, don’t we?”
Professor Anson removed an antennaed remote control from his waist pocket, pushed three red buttons and one yellow button, and aimed it at two gray walking machines standing by the exit door.
The gray machines emitted a sudden screech and a grinding sound as they sprung into artificial life. “Watch this, my dear doubting Josephine,” grimaced Professor Anson as his used his thumb to steer a bronze cog on the remote, manually guiding the machines to Josephine.
“Artificial life,” he bragged. “And I am its creator, and it does as I bid.”
“You may control it, but you didn’t create it. And eventually, you may not be able to control it. What stands before us is metal scrap,” Josephine shot back. “If it had any artificial intelligence,” warned Josephine, “it would realize how unlikeable you are.”
“Are you not smart enough to figure out why I have you here on my zeppelin?”
Josephine glared. “Because I have your Tabulator.”
“You are such an insipid child and so very cumbersome. Like your father. Luddites are only interesting in a nostalgic sort of way. In every other way imaginable, they are dull and irritating barriers to the natural progression of science.”
“I am not a Luddite.”
Anson looked down at his fingers and twisted a large signet ring back and forth. “Really? Then where is my Tabulator?”
“Where is the hard drive?”
“The what?” he replied, feigning ignorance.
“The hard drive. The engine. Whatever you call it,” said Josephine, kicking the floor with the heel of her boots. “Get me out of these ropes and perhaps we can discuss our mutual interest.”
Anson pushed three buttons and the machines came over to untie Josephine. They were clumsily and slowly. “Can’t you undo the ropes yourself, Anson? These machines are awkward with their unwieldy copper phalanges.” As her hands became free, she smacked the machines away. “Clumsy oafs.”
Finally untied, Josephine stepped from the cocoon of the dusty blanket. She stood eye to eye with Anson. “I need to freshen up,” she said, dusting off the dirt from the dress.
“Do you actually think we have a powder room on board? This is an airship of science and technology. A basic lavatory lies in the rear. Or you can wait until we disembark for more ladylike facilities.”
“No. I will find it myself and make do.”
Once in the lavatory, Josephine reached into the front of her dress. She pulled out one of Bodhi’s sound transmission wires. Peeling back its adhesive wrap, she hid it under her thumb in her palm. She splashed water over her face, before she exited, ready to face Anson again.
“Well that was most nauseating,” said Josephine as she exited. “I feel queasy. I need to get out of here.”
“You must have airsickness. Look outside. Dawn in London is beautiful to look down upon. The fog has dissipated.”
Josephine leaned into the rounded window, placing both hands casually on the bottom of the windowpane. “Hmm, yes, beautiful,” she agreed. With her right hand, she pressed the adhesive side of the transmitter into the bottom edge of the glass. Once secured, she bent to unlock the ray gun nestled in her boot while her other hand grabbed her parasol. She turned quickly to Anson.
“Tell me where the hard drive is or I will disable you along with your metal cohorts,” she threatened. She aimed her parasol at the machines and pulled a hidden cord at the base of its handle activating a blowtorch.
“I will melt your machines if you don’t give me the hard drive. I will blast you too, you beast, if you don’t tell me immediately.”
“X-13,” said Anson. The largest black machine quickly sped over. “H2O Blast. Eleven o’clock.” The machine, holding up its claw like appendage, emitted a narrow but high-powered blast of water in the direction of Josephine’s blowtorch parasol, rendering it useless.
“Perhaps you have a something else up your parasol’s sleeve, my dear? I do admire the efforts of your silly invention though,” Anson added sarcastically. “But perhaps you should have brought something a bit more effective for a proper battle?”
“Shut up, you old toad.”
Anson stubbed out his cigarette on the underside of his sixteenth century mahogany desk, making Josephine cringe. He sat down, inviting a slightly dampened Josephine to do the same.
“Come Josephine,” he smiled. “I am in a happy mood. Drink with me to the future.”
“I don’t want to drink with you to anything.” Running her hands across his desk, she scattered his research papers on the floor and swept his finely aged scotch into the air, the bottle shattering against the metal wall.
Josephine activated the sound wire remotely via the heel of her shoe. She reached down, as if to adjust her high heeled boots, and with a slight twist of her right heel; the red light of the transmitter was initiated to a send function.
“You are insane. And a narcissist with a penchant for murder.”
“Interestingly put. Perhaps,” he mused as the dirigible prepared down for landing. “Now, shut up, sit down, and put on these shoulder straps for landing. It can be quite turbulent,” he instructed.
“I don’t trust you, and I will not be further restrained, thank you very much. I shall remain here, quite happy under my own control.”
“Suit yourself.” Anson shrugged and plodded over the curved wall. Standing by the window he pulled a harness over his shoulder and belted it across his wide belly. “You are being needlessly difficult.” He looked at her from under his bushy brows. “I am merely thinking of your safety.”
As he huffed and wiggled to click the metal buckle around his considerable girth, Josephine gently picked up her soaked and dripping parasol. She aimed the tip directly at Anson’s jugular. She quietly eased back the miniscule string connecting the spokes and a quick spray of ether ejected from the parasol’s tip.
“What is the hell are you doing? Vile vixen!” Anson spat at the mist, holding his breath.
She immediately pushed down upon the end of the elegant handle, activating the paralytic dart ejection device. Within seconds, Anson was stunned, bound, and incapacitated. She walked over to his limp but belted figure, and plucked the dart from the side of his neck.
“Quite unfortunate for him that he drools in a most unattractive fashion,” observed Josephine as she tied up Anson with the restraints he had used on her earlier. His head rolled back and forth as she shoved him upright against the wall of the steel zeppelin. “Or perhaps it’s more unfortunate for me,” she added, nose upturned as she wiped some of his errant spittle from her shoulder. “Disgusting man.”
Without Anson to direct them otherwise, the automatons continued with their usual landing preparations, oblivious to the professor’s immobilized condition. Josephine fingered her waistband for Bodhi’s pocket watch, opened the top glass, and whispered into the center. “Bodhi. Come in, Bodhi.” She heard nothing but a static hiss. “Bodhi! Come in!” she whispered with more force. “Location: Anson’s zeppelin. Wire status: starboard window of Anson’s zeppelin. Ready and accepting transmission. Come in!”
In spite of the apparent lack of reception, Josephine continued communications. “Current position: Anson’s estate. Scheduled for landing. Professor disabled and disarmed. Over.”
As Professor Anson’s zeppelin touched down on land, Josephine heard the high-pitched hissing whir of another zeppelin. Before disembarking, she ran to the back window and saw Caroline’s dirigible, crookedly attempting a fast and haphazard landing.
The walking machines on Anson’s property immediately began shooting. The automatons were programmed to shoot any unauthorized vehicle or person. “Caroline? Are you there?” Josephine spoke into the watch. “Land behind the trees on the north side.”
“Caroline! Is Bodhi with you?” She spoke into the watch again. “Land behind the trees! I can outrun the walking machines firing in your direction.” Frustrated by getting no answer, “Do you have any weapons on board?”
“Josephine, we can barely hear you. The reception is garbled by some sort of analog signal scrambler on the grounds,” replied Bodhi, sounding muffled. The transmission was full of pops and crackles.
“Land behind the trees!” she shouted. “The forested area will be an obstacle to the automatons. Toss me your weapons when I get to your door.”
“Got it,” responded Caroline. “Bodhi, get the ground explosives!”
Josephine ran through the wet grass of the grounds. As soon as she hit the tree line, darkness blinded her. “Shine a light. I can’t see where you are.”
Caroline grabbed the spotlight and aimed it through the window. “Can you see now?” she yelled into Bodhi’s watch to Josephine.
“The brush is too thick and dense. Add another light, angle it westward.”
“How about now?” Josephine could only hear a tinny sounding transmission.
“Yes.” Josephine ran through the ancient oaks. She lifted her face, letting the light and shadow dance across her skin. The light quickly faded from Caroline’s zeppelin, creating new darker pathways all around her. The drag of the wind wailed between the distorted trunks. Damp leaves stuck to her dress and legs and the humid air stunk with the sickly stench of wood rot. Gigantic trees stood like rough-hewn statues and their branches lashed against each other as if in a furious battle.
“Ouch!” she yelled as she ran into a large oak, stumbling over its vast root system.
She heard a faint noise in the air. “Jo! Jo! Are you all right? Jo!”
Josephine stood up, her elbows scratched and her chin bruised. “Yes. I’m fine. I’m almost there,” she panted.
“Hurry. The automatons are gaining speed. Hurry!” yelled Caroline.
Josephine’s lungs were burning when she arrived at Caroline’s zeppelin. Banging on the door with her fists, Caroline opened the door and tossed her some explosives. Caroline and Bodhi both had on night goggles, ready for a battle.
“Run behind the barn. Stand flush to the outside wall. Don’t move unless you hear me,” said Josephine between breaths.
“Let’s go inside the barn instead,” said Bodhi.
“No!” yelled Josephine as she ran towards the automatons. “The automatons can shoot giant flames! They’ll burn the entire building down around you. That barn is a tinderbox!” Looking over her shoulder, she yelled back, “Stay outside!”
Bodhi and Caroline carefully made their way to the barn door.
“I can’t stand here waiting aimlessly while Josephine bolts into harm’s way.” Bodhi felt a mixture of agitation, fear, and a bit of guilt.
Josephine ran towards the automatons as they made their way towards her. She ran a line parallel to them and pulled the locks on the explosives, one by one, dropping them behind her. The bombs exploded in her wake as the walking machines continued forward. The explosions shattered their line, sending shiny bits of metal debris into the night air.
“Thank God these machines have no brains and cannot deviate from their input,” said Caroline.
“Not yet, Caroline. But they will. Evolution. They will evolve.” Bodhi stood in quiet awe. “Just as we have.”
London
June 22nd 1865
Nico’s vision cracked with brightness and his thoug
hts exploded like lightning. He dropped to the ground as the last strike of the nunchuck crashed into his temple. The streetlights flickered and the buildings bent, fading in and out of his vision. Nico knelt and hung his head. He rolled over to his side and curled up defensively as his clothes absorbed the cold water from a muddied puddle.
“You are very fond of this antiquated place, yes?” He heard an Asian man’s voice as he lay on the ground.
“Who are you?” Nico sputtered through a line of loosened teeth. His mouth tasted of iron, metallic and sour. Blinking away the mud from his eyes, he looked up at his attacker. Nico noticed the man’s shoes. Modern. Athletic. He glanced up further at his leather jacket. He closed his eyes.
“I am also a puppet,” the older man whispered, squatting down, inches from Nico’s face. The man’s breath smelled like ginger and turmeric. “We are very much alike,” he insisted with his riddle. “We both are doing the work of a larger entity, yes?”
“I don’t do anything for a fucking entity. You got that? Whatever I do or don’t do, is none of your business,” Nico tried to roll on to his back but he could tell his ribs were broken.
“It’s recently become my business.” The man laughed and kicked him in the stomach.
“Who are you? You aren’t on of us,” Nico coughed, his eyes swelling. Only his left eyelid opened.
“It is an arrogance of the net-runners to think they are the only ones capable of moving outside the grid.” Nico saw a steel star shape with knife-sharp points gleam in his peripheral vision.
“Net-runners? I like how that sounds.” The man stepped on Nico’s shoulder and pulled his hair back making a small and careful incision. Nico arched his back in pain and balled his fists, trying to kick the man away.
Everything sounded wet and muffled inside Nico’s head. First warm, then cold, the man reached under Nico’s skin. His finger dug into a small exposed area behind his ear.
“What the hell are you doing?” Nico choked and sputtered.