by J. T. Wilson
“Well, this area is still in use,” concluded Nathanial, “but in which direction should we head?”
“I would speculate that the central door, being as it is the largest, would be the one behind which the occupants lurk,” said Folkard. “But I wonder if it might not be prudent to assess the contents of the other rooms first, so that we might get an idea of our potential opponents.”
“Or allies,” Nathanial added. “We don’t yet know that the inhabitants are hostile, Captain.”
“Don’t be daft, Stone,” said Phillips. “We have no facilities down here and the Selenites have never built anything so elaborate. Whoever maintains this facility cannot be friends. But here we are at the open door so that we may see for ourselves.”
Large work surfaces for experimentation dominated the room, with charts and boards scrawled with unreadable language on the walls. A large electric screen dominated the far wall, displaying numbers of some sort, although it offered no indication of what it was measuring.
The room’s most distinctive feature was its disarray. Mysterious machinery and unfamiliar crystals cluttered the work spaces. Some of the technology was common to Earth: clockwork parts and coil springs here and there. Other sorts, which appeared to be nothing more than thin boards covered with silver-painted patterns, offered no suggestions as to their purpose or workings. It was a researcher’s dream, and Nathanial almost found himself rueing the lack of time they would have in the room.
“A rather unusual collection, to say the least,” he said, giving a cursory glance to as much as was possible. “There are so many different disciplines here that the overall effect is one of total anarchy. Yet I suspect that to say this, would be to do the room a disservice. Inspect a little closer and it feels almost cohesive.”
“Do you see the organisation of the wires in this machine?” Phillips asked, holding up a hunk of machinery that appeared to be encased in glass of some sort. “You’ll note that there are a number of thin wires connected broadly to this thicker wire in the middle. Unfortunately both the top and the bottom appear to be missing so I am unable to draw any real conclusions; the design in large part resembles the veins in a human arm, or perhaps a thigh.”
Nathanial rifled through a series of boxes precariously stacked atop each other. He rummaged through a number of cogs, nuts and bolts, along with the occasional glass sphere, but could find nothing that attracted his interest specifically.
Folkard, Bedford, Stevenson and Annabelle allowed the two scientists to go about their investigations for a time, until Folkard finally wearied.
“Professor Stone, can I ask what necessitates this delay?”
Nathanial turned apologetically to Folkard. “My apologies, Captain. It was my understanding that you wished to gain information on the inhabitants of this particular maze.”
“Yes, but at more haste than this, man! What impressions do you have thus far?”
“The disorganisation is consistent with that of the City of Light and Science,” Nathanial began, “and there is a range of technology with which I am, as yet, unfamiliar. Certainly it is most likely that Drobates could be behind this project; it is equally unlikely that this is some Russian or German technology which is yet to be published in the science journals—it has too little in common with anything I know of. The technology I find bizarre and the clutter maddening, yet in a way this room holds its own peculiar logic, which does remind me of laboratories I have served in. I simply cannot put my finger on where. In short, Captain, I can offer no definite conclusions.”
He stopped a moment and walked over to a cylindrical container which might be used in Britain to hold umbrellas, or else riding crops. In this particular container, however, stood something else entirely.
“Could it be?” he asked himself, and turned his back to the group briefly as he fished through the contents.
“Could what be?” asked Folkard. “Stone, just what is it you expect to find in there?”
“Something that may be of use to the mission, or at least something that might be of benefit to one of our party,” said Nathanial, retrieving the item and turning, with a smile, to the group, with his prize cradled in his arms.
When Annabelle saw what it was that he was holding, she couldn’t help but return the smile.
Nathanial held a prosthetic leg.
4.
“A PROSTHETIC leg! It cannot be!” gasped Annabelle, striding towards Nathanial.
“Indeed. And do you not find the design familiar?”
Annabelle took the leg off him and examined it. “Why, it is very similar to the sketch you showed me. Remarkably so, although the proportions are different.”
“Yes, as this was clearly intended for a Drobate, not a human,” Nathanial said with an indulgent smile.
Annabelle frowned, then her eyes lit up in realisation. “Can you alter this to work for me?”
“Well, of that I am not certain. It’s not exactly the same, of course, and so even were it the correct length—and it looks quite close in that respect—the position of the knee is different and may prove awkward. That assumes, of course, that we can discover how to make it work at all. But look,” he said, and took the leg from Annabelle. “This leg design uses a series of opposed springs which store and discharge energy at different points in the leg’s motion. You see, as the wearer leans forward in their stride, the ankle bends, but provides resistance, then unbends to propel you forward.” He demonstrated by placing the foot of the leg on the floor and walking it forward. “As I had proposed, this has opposed springs in the artificial ankle and produces a similar effect.”
Nathanial handed it back to Annabelle, who studied it cautiously. “I would suggest we take that back to Sovereign. Perhaps I can find a way to modify it and securely fasten it in place of your current prosthetic.” Nathanial turned to Captain Folkard and the others, who had stood by silently as Nathanial had demonstrated the use of the leg. “Now we can adjourn to the room directly across from this one and have a look there. Captain, if you are amenable?”
Folkard nodded his consent. They crossed to the second door and as soon as Nathanial opened it his nostrils filled with an appalling stench. The room was another laboratory of similar design to the previous one; yet while that room had been scattered with the debris of mechanical parts, this one was littered with mutilated and dislocated body parts.
Annabelle gasped, and retreated out into the hallway and Bedford immediately joined her.
It was difficult to tell, in many places, from what living creature the viscera had originated or even where it begun and terminated: in many places the unfortunate cadavers had been crudely fused with some of the mechanical technology from the previous laboratory. Some attempts at preservation had been made by means of sealing heads and other parts in jars; overall, however, the impression was one of a terrible necrosis.
Stevenson, the weakest of the group, had to make his way to a sink at the back of the room in order to be violently sick.
“This grotesque cornucopia can scarcely be countenanced!” gasped Folkard. “How many creatures were killed to satisfy the curiosity of this madman? If one of you would be so kind as to furnish me with a match, I propose this horror is burnt to the ground.”
“I feel that would be unwise, Captain,” said Phillips. “Beneath the reek of putrefaction is a number of smells which suggest highly flammable chemicals. We would barely have time to strike a light before becoming engulfed in a fireball. This is to say nothing of the attention that such an act would surely attract.”
“If their anatomical students are anything like ours, they murder no one, rather cut up the already dead, which may account for the stench,” Nathanial observed. He had taken to covering his mouth with a handkerchief, and examined one of the bodies. Its head had been removed and much of its torso was beneath a sheet. It had taken on a curious hue. “Phillips, can you share any thoughts on when these bodies might have been brought here?”
“There’s si
mply so many different elements here that it would be difficult to hypothesise,” answered Phillips. “For a start, I know nothing of the rate of decay of a Drobate corpse but I think it reasonable to speculate these are Drobate corpses—mostly. These are Selenites over here, and I think the remnants of some bats in those two tubs.”
“I think we should leave this room as soon as possible. Stevenson is clearly not well enough to continue, the scent would make any of us ill over time,” Nathanial pointed out. “I should make this comment, however: the freshest corpses, such as they are, display an attempt at fusion technology which is vastly superior to those of their predecessors. You’ll note that the arm here joins seamlessly with the metallic elements below the elbow, serving almost as an endoskeleton. Really, this is quite years ahead from anything comparable on Earth.”
“You scientific men have had quite enough time to explore these monstrous rooms,” said Folkard. “To what conclusions can we now arrive?”
“I feel that we are looking at the work of an advanced civilization, possibly the same race which built the City of Light and Science…”
“Yes,” said Phillips, “it’s perfectly clear that the Drobates are not capable of building such a city. You have seen the state in which they live, clearly not in a manner that would suggest the knowledge needed to build the city. It is more like they are squatting, using the technology left behind.”
“Possibly so. Either that or they have lost the knowledge used to build it in the first place? It would not be the first time the descendants of a great civilization fell into degeneracy. I would further add that a scientist from our own planet has been working in this laboratory.”
“Nathanial!” Annabelle exclaimed, “are you suggesting that Uncle Cyrus would…?”
“I might hypothesise that this scientist,” Nathanial continued, not wishing to get into such a conversation with Annabelle at this juncture, “has only been recently added to the group, hence the improved care and attention to detail indicated in these later works; really, however, this is speculation. All that remains, I fear, is to take our chances behind the remaining door.”
The group hurried out of the deathly museum and hastily closed the door behind them. There was every possibility that the third door contained a still greater horror. Bedford and Stevenson unholstered their revolvers as they stood before the door, awash now with a trepidation which far exceeded any that they had felt earlier in their mission.
“Booth, be prepared to cover our withdrawal if necessary,” Folkard ordered the Marine Lieutenant standing at the opening to the rail tunnel. Then he opened the door.
At first glance, it seemed as though the room was completely unoccupied. The work surfaces were clear and it seemed as if the majority of the laboratory apparatus had been removed. Compared to the chaos of the preceding laboratories, Nathanial found the order and simplicity of this one eerie.
A sound from the back of the laboratory caught Nathanial’s attention and he turned to see a door opening. Three Drobates entered.
The Drobates wore long white robes which buttoned up at the front, giving the robes a curious appearance of being both laboratory coat and papal smock. In their hands they carried instruments which glowed and blinked, clearly powered by electricity, although Nathanial could see no power cords linking them to a power source. The central figure was the shortest and boasted less developed muscles than the hulking specimens at either side of him who, while dressed in the same uniform, looked as if they were a private guard.
As one, they silently moved towards the group, who cocked their weapons, not allowing their eyes to drop from the Drobates for a second. The meeting would have almost certainly ended in gunfire were it not for a less graceful entrance behind them. The group, Drobates and humans alike, turned in the direction of the entrant.
The Drobates regarded him with evident reverence, the humans with mere astonishment. The newcomer was human, fast approaching his final big adventure in life; a man who was greatly changed from his days on Earth but still immediately recognisable.
“Uncle!”
“Ah, Annabelle my dear, I expect you’ll be here for me,” said Cyrus Grant.
Chapter Eleven
“The Insane Scientist”
1.
“UNCLE CYRUS!” cried Annabelle, forgetting her previous reservations about reuniting with Grant in the sheer joy of seeing him again. The Drobates allowed her to pass as she hurried towards her uncle, reaching him at last in an embrace.
“We were beginning to think that you were lost to us,” said Nathanial, greeting his erstwhile colleague with a handshake.
“Quite on the contrary, Stone,” replied Grant. “I feel that I have found a place in this universe. More so than ever! But I see that you are not alone. Doctor Phillips, we meet again. I trust Otterbein Research Base sends its regards?”
“Rather it has sent some men in pursuit of you, Doctor,” replied Phillips coolly. “You are, after all, absent without leave.”
“Rubbish,” he replied. “My posting was to Luna and, as you can clearly see, I am still present here.” Grant regarded Captain Folkard, Bedford, and Stevenson. “My work here is leagues ahead of the work that I was doing in that base. You British worry over such trivial matters! But I forget myself. I see you have already met Naporrow Bing?” He indicated to the shortest of the three Drobates, who bowed his head in recognition. “My best scientist here. A brilliant mind, you know. These two others are Bing’s acolytes, loyal almost to a fault, but solid hands. But I am getting ahead of myself. Miss Newton, if you would prepare the tea? Mister Bing, Miss Nardo, as you were.”
All three of the Drobates, in response to this, trooped out of the room, leaving Grant alone with his guests. Grant pulled a number of tall stools towards one of the laboratory tables, inviting the group to sit down.
“First, Doctor, we have a larger party waiting out in the rail tunnel,” Folkard said. “Is there a larger chamber to which we could move them? Some are Selenites and other humans, thirty-five all told, including us.”
Grant frowned in thought. “So many? Well…I suppose so. Yes, bring them through here.”
Folkard passed word to Booth and the odd parade of survivors followed Doctor Grant in single file through the far doorway, down a long corridor, and eventually to a large open room without furnishings save for several stacks of light-weight metal packing cases along one end. At least it was warm and well-lit.
“Booth, get the party settled and distribute all the remaining rations,” Folkard ordered. “You’re in charge here. Stevenson, you stay here with the others and take a rest. You are looking a bit pinched. We’re going to have a word with Doctor Grant and get some answers, but while we are gone keep your eyes peeled, Booth, and don’t for a moment forget we are among Drobates.”
“Sir.”
Grant led them back to the original laboratory room and their stools. “Miss Newton will be along with the tea shortly,” he declared. “Not her original name, of course. I thought it would be humorous to rechristen the Drobates using names of my favourite scientists. Newton you should already know. Leah Nardo, of course, is the other name. A trifle, I grant you. You will, I trust, permit a foolish old man his indulgences.”
“Indulgences, Grant?” Bedford exclaimed, his voice strained. “Why are you even associating yourself with these devilish creatures?”
Grant eyed him curiously. “I can see that you have no scientific leanings, Lieutenant. A scientist would never draw a conclusion based on such limited evidence. Particularly not one awash with this sort of jingoism.”
Bedford bristled. “Now see here, Grant…”
“No, Lieutenant, I invite you to see here. You’ll note the Drobates have treated you with respect since you invaded my laboratory. No doubt you have encountered others who are rather more hostile to you and your men.”
“Many of our men have been lost to Drobates, Doctor. In addition, we have lost your former colleague, Professor Staples, to
these creatures. Ordinary Seaman Stevenson, back in the other room, not to mention those chained up Russians and the Selenites who made it this far, underwent extensive physical and mental suffering at their hands. You saw, surely, how Stevenson shrank away from these monsters?”
“I am sorry to hear of your losses, Lieutenant. The loss of Staples, also. An inconsequential man, perhaps, but nevertheless, undeserving of death. Doctor Phillips, my condolences. But here comes Miss Newton with the tea.”
The sight of Newton shuffling in with a tray of tea as if she were a butler in the colonies was so absurd that it would be comical were it not for the air of menace that the creatures exuded. She distributed the cups and the pot among the baffled men and Annabelle, then turned to Grant, awaiting further orders.
“Thank you, Newton. You are excused,” he said. At the departure of the Drobate, he turned to the group. “You’ll note that the larger Drobates are female. Broader brows, you see, slightly bluer in hue. They also happen to be the more intelligent. That the female is larger than the male is consistent with many insect and fish life forms on Earth; that the female is more intelligent than the male is consistent with all species on Earth.” At this, Annabelle was unable to hide a smile. Grant continued. “But I’m digressing from my point. We were, I believe, discussing the nature of the Drobates. It’s certainly true that their methods are somewhat unorthodox by Earth standards. Captain Folkard, Lieutenant Bedford, I sympathise with your losses at the hands of the Drobate soldiers.”