series 01 06 Dark Side of Luna

by J. T. Wilson

  “I’m working as efficiently as possible, under the circumstances,” Stone protested, examining a series of pulleys in the central lattice. McKittrick was no engineer, and so had no idea what task Stone was up to. One thing he did know, however, was he was keen to be away from the stifling engine room as soon as possible.

  “Have you any suggestions what might be causing this, Prof?” asked Lieutenant Boswell the chief engineer, and who, to the eyes of McKittrick, was as grimy as the machinery he was charged with servicing. The lieutenant’s coat and hat hung from a steam valve and he worked in his shirtsleeves, hardly the sort of example McKittrick expected an officer to set. But he was an engineer, after all, and they all seemed a bit odd.

  “The problem seems simple, Chief, but the solution less so. The governor has simply undertaken more missions than it can handle. We scarcely had time to test it before it was needed and had little opportunity to test its durability. Certainly the parts are finely machined; and yet, even the finest gears and pulleys in the Empire need replacing from time to time, and the more delicate the tolerances, the more noticeable any wear becomes. I’ve tightened things up for now and the lattice will hold until we reach Earth; after that, though, the entire assembly will need replacement. But this is simple enough, Chief, I’m surprised you needed a second opinion.”

  “As it ’appens, Prof, I knew the lattice needed replacing as soon as we left Mars,” Boswell replied. “I just thought you might fancy a bit of intellectual stimulation. Can’t be too much for you to do in the brig and that’s never right, when you’re banged up for something you never did.”

  “There has been little to do, save for protesting my innocence and writing my journal, you’re right,” Stone said. “I am grateful for the change in scenery and for your support, Chief.”

  “McKittrick, maybe you might want to take the prof here to see his lady friend,” said Lieutenant Boswell. “I hear she’s in the sick bay.”

  McKittrick wasn’t convinced that the prisoner deserved a social visit; still, his orders from Captain Folkard had been to allow Stone to walk the deck under guard and Lieutenant Boswell was McKittrick’s superior too.

  “Sickbay is down below centre-deck, or I suppose up above, depending on your perspective, is it not?” Stone asked. “Since boarding Sovereign I’ve been confined to this side of it. I have to say, Chief, the experience of changing the orientation of ‘down’ when one passes through centre-deck is disconcerting, My scientific expertise is with aether propellers and electromagnetism, but I am entirely ignorant of a device used to maintain a low approximation of gravity in the vessel’s interior. Sovereign was the first aether craft I ever travelled in, so I suppose I took it for granted, but I have wondered about it since noticing the lack of similar gravity on other vessels. It was present on Peregrine Station, however, and I found that equally odd.”

  McKittrick and the chief engineer exchanged a glance. “On that score, I am unable to enlighten you,” Lieutenant Boswell replied. “I know nothing of Peregrine Station, had not even heard of it before we took you aboard this time. As to ’ere, me and McKittrick, and every member of Sovereign’s crew, have sworn not to discuss this feature of Sovereign’s design. To be ’onest, Stone, I don’t understand it myself. Ain’t aware of any device in centre-deck, either. It is just there.”

  “Hurry up, Professor,” McKittrick growled, “or you’ll be wearing those guts as a cummerbund!”

  “Please, McKittrick, you sound for all the world like a penny dreadful. We will have time for a brief visit with Annabelle before lunch, which is an unexpected result.”

  McKittrick planned to retort with another shattering riposte, but he found himself unable to think of one―no doubt due to the heat making him light-headed—and so they stepped outside the engine room, only to be met by Bedford.

  “Good afternoon. At ease, McKittrick,” he said, before turning to Professor Stone. “I am glad to have caught you while I’m pacing teak. All is in order, I take it?”

  “Quite so, Lieutenant. The engine will need repairing on our return to Earth, but it is healthy enough to last us until then. I should expect some turbulence when we pass Luna; however, this should be no more than we would normally expect from Luna’s aether wake.”

  “Excellent news, Professor. I should convey the thanks of Captain Folkard for looking over this matter with Boswell. Having said that, however, I do wish to add a cautionary note. The eyes of the ship are upon you, Professor. Any violation of your parole will not be countenanced. I will not hesitate to react in the strongest manner to any threat to the welfare of the ship or of Miss Somerset.”

  “Should I clap him in the bilboes, Lieutenant Bedford?” asked McKittrick, eager to impress.

  “No, that shouldn’t be necessary, Ordinary Seaman, as long as you maintain a vigilant guard.” Bedford smiled, clapping him on the shoulder. McKittrick felt his heart swell with pride at the compliment.

  “Lieutenant, there wouldn’t be any additional cause for this sudden interest in my affairs, would there?” Stone asked, evidently not in the least bit cowed by Bedford’s threat.

  Bedford met his gaze. “One would have thought that the responsibility to protect my men would have been cause enough, Professor Stone.”

  “And of the concern for Miss Somerset?” retorted Stone and at this the lieutenant’s eyes dropped.

  Bedford walked to the porthole, perhaps with a view to avoid further conversation with Stone. Instead McKittrick saw the officer’s back stiffen with surprise. Undeterred, Stone pressed on. “After all, Lieutenant Bedford, you will forgive me for speaking out of turn but you are, as I understand it, still an unmarried man. Is that usual for an officer of your rank?”

  Bedford turned back to Stone. “If I were you, I would exercise caution before intruding into another man’s affairs. Now, if it’s all the same to you, I must return to the bridge. It appears that we are about to be boarded.”

  3.

  BEDFORD HURRIED to the bridge to find Folkard already present, in the company of a number of officers and crew, and monitoring the movements of a ship some distance away. Sovereign had halted while its aether propeller was off-line for repairs, but Bedford knew no reason why they had not gotten under way again.

  “Why are we still stopped, Captain?” asked Bedford.

  “We received a message relayed from the orbital heliograph station Harbinger that a ship wished to make contact,” said Folkard. “Seems to be a French ship. You may have heard of her before: Versailles.”

  Bedford had heard of the ship before. “Certainly. Hardly a major ship in the French lists. What the devil are they up to?”

  “As yet, we’re not sure. Harbinger no doubt relayed the message to us in the event the Frogs are in distress. Can’t just streak past them if we can render assistance, can we? I’ve sent the Frogs a message asking if we can render any assistance.”

  “Sir, if they find out anything about the unique features of Sovereign…”

  “I am well aware of the consequences,” Folkard interrupted sternly, “and I shall see to it that they do not. Ah, here’s their reply by heliograph now. Mister Ainsworth, if you could translate?” he asked the signal officer.

  “French vessel Versailles concerned your approach Lunar orbit stop. Request assurance no hostilities intended on Luna stop,” able Seaman Ainsworth translated from the blinking light on the French cruiser.

  “On Luna?” Bedford asked. “An absurd statement. We have no intentions of docking at Luna.”

  “Inform them that we do not intend commencing hostilities or visiting Luna,” ordered Folkard, which the signalman dutifully flashed on Sovereign’s own heliograph, the short and long clacks of the mirror shutters forming the words in Morse code. Presently they received a response from Versailles.

  “Due previous actions by HMAS Sovereign, verbal assurances insufficient stop,” Ainsworth translated. “Require inspection of Sovereign stop.”

  As the signal officer read the heli
ograph aloud, Bedford caught sight of a cutter emerging from Versailles. Wordlessly, he indicated the cutter to Folkard, who watched it approaching Sovereign with evident distaste. The cutter advanced using small puffs of compressed air as thrust; they were too close to need aether propellers, and in any case the French lacked the aether propeller governor of Sovereign and her small craft, so could not conduct fine manoeuvres with it. The lightest touch on the French cutter’s aether throttle would send the tiny craft streaking past—or through—Sovereign.

  “They intend to board HMAS Sovereign, eh? Very well,” said Folkard, turning to the signal officer again. “Which is the alert gun mount this watch, Mister Ainsworth?”

  “Number two port-side, four-point-seven-inch mount, sir,” Ainsworth answered promptly. “Leading Gunner Gibbs serving as gun captain,” he added, and Bedford nodded, impressed. Ainsworth was young but was on top of his watch. The cutter, meanwhile, drew closer. “Shall I bring the ship to Action Stations, sir?”

  “No, that won’t be necessary, Mister Ainsworth. I don’t believe we’ll start a war today. It would make the Admiralty quite cross. Be so good as to have Gibbs put a fluorescent-trailing round across that cutter’s bow, and then resume course and speed as before,” Folkard said and turned away to leave the bridge, catching Bedford’s questioning gaze as he did so.

  “A little unorthodox, perhaps,” said Folkard. “Nonetheless, I believe Versailles will receive the message quite clearly. I’m sorry if I worried you there Bedford, but I have no intention of letting some Froggy red guard set his garlic-stinking boots on this deck. Now, unless there are any further delays, we will continue on to Earth.”

  4.

  WHILE FOLKARD acquainted Versailles with the firepower boasted by Sovereign, Nathanial become reacquainted with Annabelle’s medical condition.

  “I fail to see why I have to acquiesce to a request from a bludgeon such as you!” McKittrick complained, although he had nevertheless brought Nathanial to the sick bay as Lieutenant Boswell ordered.

  “Do cease your complaining, McKittrick,” Nathanial sighed. “I’m more than happy to return to the brig in five minutes’ time. I hardly feel, however, that there’s an awful lot I can use here to bring down Sovereign. Whoever heard of a killer physician, after all?”

  McKittrick grumbled, but did not offer further resistance.

  “Thank you, Nathanial,” said Annabelle, from her sickbed, although she looked healthy enough to Nathanial, to his enormous relief. “Now, where was I?”

  “Lecturing me on my tardiness in creating an adequate replacement for your leg,” Nathanial reminded her.

  “Ah, yes. Well, I appreciate you’ve been busy repairing the ship and making a new friend here…ˮ

  “Now, steady on!”

  “…but I do feel that with these two requirements out of the way, you should be able to address the issue of my problematic leg. After all, did you not say you would create a more useful substitute than a peg?”

  “Once we’re back on Earth, I will gladly…”

  “What are the workshop facilities like on this ship?”

  “Adequate for my needs, as I recall, but I can hardly imagine Captain Folkard stepping aside to allow me access to the metal-working facilities I would require to machine the hinges and spring-rods needed. I have my doubts over whether Sovereign would even hold in its stock the spring steel I will need for the ankle trunions, either. It’s terribly frustrating for me, Annabelle, you must appreciate that, to have a design remaining unfulfilled.”

  “In fact, I have a poem about that,” McKittrick interjected shyly.

  “Frustrating for you?” Annabelle answered ignoring McKittrick. “Imagine how I feel, trapped here on this bed with nothing to occupy my time but these pamphlets! As much as I appreciate Doctor Beverly’s administrations, the peg will suffice, if only he would allow me to use it. But he fears the effect it will have on my…stump.”

  “Matters could yet be worse, Annabelle”, Nathanial pleaded, attempting to placate her.

  Annabelle forced a smile. “Not if the addition to your facial hair is anything to go by.”

  Nathanial reached for his moustache. He was not sure if he intended to remove it once they returned home, but for now he chose to keep it, in honour of their slain friend Kak’hamish. This he pointed out to Annabelle. “It is no different than you keeping that skrill horn.”

  “In this case, Nathanial, it does rather suit you,” Annabelle said.

  “Yes, well, quite.” Nathanial cleared his throat, ignoring the curious looks from McKittrick. “Well, um, so far as I can see, I must say Doctor Beverly and his assistants have done a fine job of removing the stitches and drain shunts from your leg. You might want to stay off it a few days in any case to avoid irritating it, let it heal up properly. I would suggest that you rest more while I attempt to find a solution to your issue. Mister McKittrick, as it appears you have been assigned as my guard indefinitely, I would welcome any ideas should you have them.”

  “My only idea right now, Stone,” responded McKittrick, “is whether this room contains sufficient room to swing a Cat.”

  Nathanial raised his eyes to the heavens at the predictability of McKittrick thus far. Nathanial’s dilemma, so far as he could make out, was twofold: he had to get out of the brig in order to be of any use to Sovereign and Annabelle, and he had to ensure that Annabelle herself was discharged from the sick bay. Two escapes against the wishes of those who were keeping them there.

  5.

  “WAKE UP, you scurvy knave!” bellowed McKittrick at the cell door. “It’s five bells in the Morning Watch and everyone with a lick of sense has been up for hours. Do you want to visit the engineering spaces today or not?”

  “Come now, McKittrick,” Nathanial said with a yawn as he sat up on his cot and looked for his clothes, “you have been my guard scarcely three days and already you resort to piratical slang rather than gaol slang. Besides, there is hardly cause for this hostility. While we have been thrown together by necessity rather than desire, we can surely have a conversation like civilised gentlemen without these theatrics. Educate me. Your name is McKittrick, yet you can hardly be said to have a Scottish brogue.”

  “Scottish antecedents, you see,” explained McKittrick. “Me, I’m from the North of England. Manchester, born and bred.”

  “Manchester is still some distance for your ancestors to have travelled, is it not?”

  McKittrick ventured a small smile. “We’re travelling between Mars and Earth, Professor, and you think the Great Glens to Manchester’s a long way?”

  Nathanial smiled in reply. “I suppose I meant relevant to the time period in which they were travelling. The developments in travel since then would have been unthinkable in our grandparents’ lifetimes, at least.”

  “Yes, I mean, my grandfather loved his poetry, but I think the idea that I’d be travelling the stars would be beyond even his imagination.”

  Nathanial did his morning wash-up at the small basin in the cell and finished dressing. They set out to the engine room, momentarily, it seemed, having declared a truce. Nathanial suspected that behind McKittrick’s bluff demeanour, he was secretly glad for someone to talk to.

  “Mister McKittrick, I recall your comment from the day before yesterday that you have written poems yourself. Isn’t that so?”

  At this, McKittrick visibly coloured. “Maybe the occasional sonnet, or ode. It’s not something that I really share with the crew, though,” he confessed, after a while. “A group of swabbies who can hardly read? They’re not likely to be the most appreciative audience. A couple of men have heard it though. Some lads I trust. Perhaps I could share some.”

  “Ah, McKittrick, Professor,” greeted Bedford, joining them at a turn in the passageway. “At ease, McKittrick. I trust that there have been no incidents with Professor Stone?”

  “The blackguard has quite behaved himself, sir!” bawled McKittrick. “There should be no need to issue a thrashing tonight!”r />
  “Excellent news. Do, however, have a care with the thrashings, McKittrick. Flogging has been outlawed in the Royal Navy these last nine years.”

  “More’s the pity, sir,” McKittrick answered sadly.

  Bedford turned his gaze to Nathanial. “I hope, Professor Stone, that you have given some thought to your defence. Should you be convicted, the consequences would be disastrous. I hardly know how Miss Somerset would take your execution.”

  “Coincidentally” Nathanial answered, “I would not take it all that well myself. Bedford, you may suspect me of being a saboteur but do not also accuse me of being a fool. I will present my defence, and my evidence, when we reach Earth.”

  “Evidence? And what…?”

  “Lieutenant Bedford, is that you I hear?” Folkard’s voice interrupted, drifting down the nearby companionway—which Nathanial had learned was nautical parlance for a stairway. Bedford turned and Folkard’s disembodied voice continued. “No need to report to me, I’ll come to you.” He scampered lightly down the stairs and turned to them. “At ease, men. Professor Stone, you may remain. Mister McKittrick, how is the baby?”

  “Eager for my discharge, I would imagine, sir,” replied McKittrick smartly. “Though I fear she won’t be a baby by the time I get back.”