by J. T. Wilson
“They do grow up awfully fast, don’t they? Professor Stone, how is your baby?”
“I foresee no immediate issues with the governor. I have, as it were, a healthy baby.”
At this, Folkard smiled. “Splendid! Now, it may interest you, Bedford and you, Professor Stone, to learn that Harbinger, the orbital heliograph station, has flashed us amended orders from the Admiralty. You’ll remember that there was a tremendous excitement from Parliament concerning the Heart. There was some debate about whether it was safe in the hands of Cyrus Grant, yet it was agreed that the British Research Base would provide adequate back-up.”
“Indeed, sir. Has the position of the Government changed since we last departed Earth?”
“It would appear so, Lieutenant. Their hand has been somewhat forced by the messages coming from the Research Base of late. From what I can gather, they have been rather…unsettling.”
“Unsettling, Captain?” The word had an unpleasant resonance in Nathanial’s ears. “Is Grant in any danger?”
“It’s difficult to say, and this is one of the concerns of the Colonial Minister, although I gather there is still some argument as to in which cabinet portfolio responsibility for the lunar facility ought to reside. In any case, he and the Admiralty feel it best that Grant return to Earth to explain the developing situation.”
“How does this affect us, Captain?” asked Bedford. From his tone, Nathanial suspected that the lieutenant already knew the answer, yet dreaded it.
“Why that should be obvious, Bedford. What other Royal Navy vessel is capable of making the approach and landing on Luna? It is up to Sovereign to return Grant to Earth. To that effect, then, I have ordered the navigator to re-chart our course and make for Luna!”
Chapter Two
“Return to Luna”
1.
(1882)
AN HOUR passed since the attack and the group still travelled through the mountains. They left the cave through a low tunnel, with Annabelle marched between two of them. Annabelle was certain that the cavalry would be quick to arrive, but she was mistaken: the Somersets had been isolated when they had stopped their hike for lunch. For Ezekiel Somerset, leisure time held the advantage of being able to “get away from it all”, which had cost him dearly.
Evidently the cavalry knew there were Indians in the mountains, however. Annabelle saw the valley below filling up with mounted cavalry, heading straight for the group which held her.
“Goyahkla,” one of the Indians urged their chief, before pointing down towards the mounted troops below.
Annabelle felt a glimmer of hope. The Indians were famous for their reckless and warlike nature. Would they succumb to temptation and ride into battle against this cavalry? Surely they would lose such a contest given the relative disparity in numbers. The United States cavalry were heroes, popular in every town they protected and with a daunting record on the field of battle. Annabelle could be home by sundown—but what was home, now that her parents were dead?
Annabelle saw from the way the Indian chief slowly scanned the area that he was considering his options. Perhaps he was tempted to fight, for he gave an order in a language she could not speak but which prompted one of his warriors to light an arrow and draw back his bow. The approaching cavalry surely outnumbered the arrows in their quivers, however: it was a brave stand, but one doomed to failure.
The warrior released his arrow. It landed in a tree some distance away from them. It had been a long, hot, dry summer and the brush in the mountains was as dry and brittle as old bones. The tree caught fire immediately, smoke billowing up from it. The fire alerted the men of the cavalry, who quickly dismounted and charged up the mountain. Annabelle gave a wail of despair. They were heading for the wrong mountain!
At a signal from the chief, the Indians took flight, not in the direction of the cavalry as expected, but down into the caverns again. The Indians moved through the tunnels with sure footing in spite of the darkness and uneven flooring. She realized they had a wealth of experience traversing these mountains.
After a while in the darkness of the caves, Annabelle lost her sense of time, unable to calculate how long they had been travelling or how far they had journeyed. They travelled in a slow descent through the mountain, yet at what speed or distance, she could not say. After a while, however, she saw daylight again as it shone through a crevice in the rock. The party scrambled up the rocks, dragging her along with them, and directly they were out in the sunlight of the mid-afternoon. Annabelle rubbed her eyes furiously, trying to adjust them to the light. When she could see again, she looked around.
They stood on the slopes of the mountains opposite to the valley filled with cavalry. Not keen to waste any time, the chief, Goyahkla, gave the nod for the Indians to mount their horses and race away, back to their latest hideout with their latest captive. In the early going, Annabelle screamed and cursed, using any obscenity she had heard from the ranch hands but with no effect. No one could hear her; no one would ride to her rescue. She was a prisoner of savages.
2.
LIETENANT BEDFORD picked at his meal and worried at the prospect of a return to Luna. While the opportunity to butt heads with some of Russia’s finest forces was an opportunity he relished, or at least imagined that out of duty he ought to, he couldn’t help but wonder at the dangers which might face them this time.
If one thing had been established during their initial explorations of the moon, it was that there was a great deal about which they knew nothing. The cold, barren surface that man had gazed upon since the dawn of time turned out to merely be a veil hiding a series of labyrinthine chambers populated by numerous lunar ant colonies. These were, however, not the trifling creatures that disturbed one’s picnic, but five-foot-high, intelligent beings with a number of surprising defence mechanisms. They were the Selenites, who fought alongside the British forces in opposition to the Russians, who had subjected the Selenites to a series of ghastly tortures. Their allegiances, however, were not entirely clear. Bedford remembered all too well the mysterious disappearance of Ordinary Seaman Stevenson and the capture of Ensign Lee Challoner and Able Seaman John Clements, for which the Selenites were, he suspected, at least partially responsible.
Moreover, the lack of solid intelligence or systematic documented experience was bothersome to Bedford. He felt that Luna represented uncharted waters, which was a dangerous thing for any ship to sail into. The last time they had done so, the peril had been multiplied by, in Bedford’s private judgment, erratic and irresponsible decisions by Captain Folkard, and quite uncharacteristic of his commander’s normal behaviour.
“Have you given any thought as to how to approach this mission, sir?” Bedford asked.
“Why, send a group of men down the gorge to Otterbein Research Base, in the company of Miss Somerset,” replied Folkard, peering with suspicion at the meat the chef had prepared. The food was something that had been procured on Mars; the taste largely disguised by some mysterious spices from the planet which gave the meal an earthy, almost dusty flavour. The suggestion of taking Annabelle to Luna, however, left Bedford regarding Folkard in the same way the captain regarded his meal. “No need to look quite so perplexed, Bedford. The girl is keen to see her uncle again and why not? He can vouch for Professor Stone’s good name too, if needs be.”
“Merely concerned as to what the Admiralty will make of taking a civilian to Luna, sir,” replied Bedford, attacking his meat with similar disdain to his captain. “I wouldn’t like it said that Sovereign put an injured young woman in harm’s way to do a sailor’s proper job, and heaven help us if she is harmed. Gladstone and the Liberals will float a no confidence vote as soon as the news reaches Earth.”
“Have a care, Lieutenant,” reproached Folkard. “What’s said of Sovereign is my worry, and what becomes of the Tory Government is theirs. Besides, I am not sure a sailor can do what we need done here, unless he takes a pair of leg irons along. Miss Somerset may be able to persuade Grant to come v
oluntarily, which I sincerely hope she can do. But our orders are clear: voluntarily or not, come he shall. Tell me, Bedford, how much will Mister Gladstone like it if we bring the inventor of the aether propeller governor back to Earth at gunpoint, and with no charges worth the toot from a bosun’s whistle lodged against him?”
Bedford dropped both his eyes and the objection, at least for the moment. Folkard was right, of course, but that did not ease Bedford’s mind with respect to Annabelle going into harm’s way again, and still weak from her horrible injury.
“Orders are orders,” continued Folkard, “but there’s more to it than simply that. Doctor Grant is the one person to have extensive knowledge of that curious centre of Luna, the Heart. Such knowledge will be indispensable to the Empire, I feel. Possibly even to the entire world.”
“Are we even entirely sure of what the Heart is, sir?” asked Bedford, as Folkard chewed on his meal with distaste.
“The heliograph reports which came from Grant’s when we were last on Earth suggest that the Heart may well contain information on space travel which far outstrips our own,” Folkard answered, after swallowing and putting down his silverware in surrender. “Some of the reports that Grant submitted provided intricate detail about planets that no astronomer has catalogued. Including, it would seem, a planet at the furthest edges of the Solar system that our best telescopes cannot even see! According to the science chaps at Naval Intelligence, the reports have become wilder and more disturbing, yet it is clear that Grant’s experiments with the Heart have given him knowledge of potentially remarkable import. This knowledge, carefully applied by reasonable, rationale British men, could take the human race to areas of which we never previously dared dream. I realise you meet this information with scepticism—even you, though, had to see the effect the Heart had on Grant and Tereshkov. To say nothing of the Selenites.”
“Very well, Captain,” Bedford said after a moment, the influence of the Heart striking a chord of concern about their last visit to Luna. “The instruction from the Admiralty, then, is to bring Doctor Grant aboard. If I may have permission to say so, it does sound rather a gamble. After all, the political situation here is rather…volatile. We assured Versailles we were not bound for Luna earlier, not that it was any of their business. All the same, they’ll put it out that we lied, deliberately misled them, and make a fuss in the international press.”
“Yes, that business with the Frogs was unfortunate, but hardly our concern. We have to render assistance as required by custom and law, and we refused to allow a boarding party, as was also our legal right, and did not hurt a hair on their little Froggy heads. Let them jabber for a while. Give those chaps at the Foreign Office something to do to earn their pay for a change!” cried Folkard. “Besides, I would hardly lead us to Luna without a plan of some sort.”
At this, Bedford had to hold his tongue. As he had just recalled, the previous exploration of Luna had not been characterised by meticulous planning, or much in the way of planning of any sort, by his captain. The loss of so many men as a result of following Folkard’s orders was a black mark against his character which Bedford felt to this day. Such sloppy work was not characteristic of Folkard. In the interceding seven months or so, there had been no further examples of negligence on Folkard’s part and the ship had been run in the fashion which one would expect of Her Majesty’s finest. Bedford had assumed that Folkard had recovered from some ill which had clouded his judgement and that he was now cured. As such, the need to return to the barren rock and all the dark secrets that lay beneath its surface was unfortunate, to say the least.
Ultimately, however, they had no choice.
“I would be keen to hear the strategy, sir,” Bedford ventured finally.
“Very well, Lieutenant,” Folkard agreed, pushing aside for a final time the luncheon. “Otterbein Base has hosted Cyrus Grant since April. Whatever the content of his recent heliograph messages, it should be a simple enough task to head to their dock, send a cutter down and retrieve Grant. I have already sent a heliograph to the Base requesting a rendezvous with the military commander, Colonel Harrison. There are still a few Russians at large in the caverns—no one is sure exactly how many—but Harrison seems to have security of the base well in hand. In light of the situation on Luna, I would prefer to keep as low a profile as possible. Don’t want a bunch of overly-excitable scientists going on about a military invasion, eh?”
Bedford mulled it over. “Quite so. And who would you consider best suited to leading this mission?”
“An experienced man, ideally one with experience on Luna,” Folkard said.
“Hum,” Bedford noted non-committally. “Well then, the best man for the job, in fact, the most experienced man on the ship, is you, sir.”
The captain paused to give it thought, rather pointedly Bedford believed, and then nodded. “Very well, I shall command the mission on Luna’s surface, Lieutenant, and I leave you in command of Sovereign until I return.”
“Very good, sir,” Bedford replied.
3.
NATHANIAL WAS shocked to hear that Annabelle would return to the surface of Luna given her condition, but in his predicament it was unwise to question the decision. In any case, his surprise at Annabelle’s inclusion on the journey paled to insignificance compared with the shock at his own. His presence on Luna might very well work to his advantage, however: Grant could potentially be a powerful ally and character witness, especially as the knowledge he had acquired would be a boon to the Empire. Assisting the Empire in securing that knowledge would mitigate against a charge of treason, Nathanial hoped.
McKittrick and Nathanial came upon Annabelle in some distress, attempting to walk with her peg-leg attached, but faltering due to her physical condition. Despite Nathanial’s best efforts on Mars, simply following the procedure in Blackwood’s book had clearly not been sufficient, a point Doctor Beverly had taken him to task over once the doctor had seen the abrasions on Annabelle’s stump and the irritation around the stitches.
Annabelle had dressed for the excursion but now leaned against the bed for support.
“Nathanial, I simply must have that leg that you promised me,” she remarked upon their entrance, without the courtesy of a full greeting. “You remember the sketches of a prosthetic? I must have it before two o’clock.”
Nathanial laughed. “Annabelle, it’s gone one o’clock now. However do you expect me to construct a workable model with no materials, no workshop and no time to do so?”
“In any manner you can. We are shortly landing on Luna and I can hardly do that in this condition,” she cried, trying to place her hands on her hips and, as a result, losing her balance and toppling back onto the bed. Dashing to help her, McKittrick and Nathanial both offered an arm and helped her sit up on the edge of the bed. “You will have to construct something, Nathanial, I cannot manage like this.”
“Very well,” Nathanial agreed. “Let me help you slip off the leather socket of your peg.” Once they did so, Nathanial did a quick look at the sickbay around him. In the absence of any adequate materials, one simply had to improvise with whatever one had at hand. He picked up three items that he felt would serve as an adequate supplement to her prosthetic. One of these was a rubber surgical cap and the second a tube of lubricating cream. The third was McKittrick’s carbine.
“Egad, I am disarmed!” gasped McKittrick. “I implore you, don’t shoot!”
“Oh, come now, McKittrick, surely you don’t mean to say that you intend maintaining the absurd pretence that this rifle is loaded?”
The guard visibly coloured. “You were aware of this already?”
“You have a nervous habit of squeezing the trigger when deep in thought, McKittrick,” said Nathanial, smiling. “When the rifle failed to detonate, it was hardly difficult to deduce the intention of the weapon was as a cosh, rather than as originally intended. Now, Annabelle, it’s best you lean back for this.”
Annabelle sat on the bed she had been stuck on fo
r a number of weeks. Nathanial first stretched the rubber surgical cap until it fit over her stump snugly, a thin but flexible protection against further irritation. Then he spread lubricating cream over the bottom of the rubber cap so it would slide as necessary inside the leather cup which held Annabelle’s peg to her stump. Finally he reattached the leather cup and stump, making sure they were secure.
“My hope is that this minimizes the friction between your stump and the leather cup,” Nathanial explained. “Now try standing and use this carbine as a cane to take some of the pressure off your leg.”
“Do you mean to say you intend me to drag this gun along as a crutch, Nathanial?” Annabelle said, horrified at the prospect.
“No, of course not. Just use it for now and we’ll find you a proper cane before we leave. I’m sure there must be one somewhere on this vessel. Now, see whether you can stand on that.”
With some difficulty Annabelle rose to a standing position.
“How does it feel?”
“Better,” reported Annabelle. “There is not the pain I experienced before. A cane may be just the thing until I heal.”
“Can you walk on it?”
Annabelle took the sort of cautious steps that anyone would when faced with the same predicament. Needless to say it looked rather like a baby deer attempting to cross a frozen lake.
“Unsuitable, perhaps,” mused Nathanial, largely to himself, “but I feel that with a few modifications, it may do until a return to Earth.”
“What am I to use as a weapon?” said McKittrick, clearly hurt at the loss.
“Why, you can have your carbine back as soon as we find a cane for Miss Somerset. But I imagine you will be issued a pistol for the expedition,” replied Nathanial. “I understood that was standard naval issue. Please try not to look so downcast, McKittrick. You’ve provided for the poor and needy. A reasonable charitable loan, don’t you think?”