“Yes, Professor,” she said, giving up. “I’m sorry to have doubted you.”
Lawrence spent the night re-sketching what he had seen through the eyepiece and preparing his scientific report to be submitted to the Astronomical Society Journal. Towards morning, as he paced his room organizing his thoughts for the next day, he realized his knee was stiffening again, and he took another draught of Mor-fo-caine. The fragrant liquid again burned his throat as he swallowed it.
No, he decided, the news was too important to rely upon the slow deliberations of the Astronomical Society. He telephoned down to the San Jose News that an announcement of an important astronomical discovery was to be made the next morning. He did the same to the San Francisco and Oakland newspapers. He would have loved to notify the East Coast newspapers as well, but there was no time. No matter, he thought. Once the news was out, newspapers world-wide will pick it up and repeat it. In one month, Petavius Crater will again be most easily visible. Observatories around the world must be notified and be prepared to confirm his observations — and then recognize him as the most accomplished astronomer since Galileo.
In the rotunda of the courthouse in San Jose, Lawrence lectured to the newspapermen that had answered his invitation. “Last night, at Lick Observatory, just outside the city of San Jose, a discovery was made that will change Man’s relationship with the stars. No longer will we look up to the sky and wonder. Now we will look to the sky — to the Moon — and know that there is another civilization there, a civilization able to build fantastic cities and accomplish great feats of engineering.”
The gathered reporters murmured, some not quite understanding what they were hearing. Finally, a stringer for the New York World asked, “Are you saying, Professor, that you have seen Moon men?” He meant it as a serious question, but his colleagues thought it a joke and laughed along.
Annoyed at the laughter, Lawrence continued, “Not precisely. Using the Great Refracting Telescope, I was able to detect quite clearly buildings and a causeway in the vicinity of Petavius Crater on the Moon’s southern hemisphere. I have seen the creations of the Lunarians or ‘Moon men’, as you call them. From this distance, it would not be possible to see the beings themselves. I have made detailed sketches of what I have seen which I will have reproduced and sent to observatories around the world. Because of the position of this crater near the Southern Polar region of the Moon, it is best viewed three days after the new Moon, that is, twenty-nine days from now on August 18, 1890. All capable observatories should prepare to observe Petavius Crater at that time. Then, my observations will be confirmed.”
“Professor, can you show us your sketches now?”
Lawrence wanted to show his sketches, but he wanted to be asked to see them. He dared not appear too eager. He had had colleagues who in their great excitement to announce a discovery, had given the impression of being amateurish and over-zealous, and thus were not taken seriously. He would not make that mistake.
“I will show one. The rest will be disseminated in due time.” He flipped through a leather portfolio and pulled out a leaf of paper. Holding it up to the assembled reporters, he explained, “This sketch shows the central city. As you can see, there are numerous buildings, some taller than what Mankind is presently capable of erecting. There are indications of roads and perhaps a type of rail system connecting the buildings. Finally, evidence of smoke or steam wafting over the city, indicating that there is significant industry taking place.”
The reporters hung on his every word, and strained to see the features in his drawing. They could scarcely believe the amount of detail that Lawrence had drawn, yet the sketch was somehow more artistic than technical in its presentation. Lawrence remembered the details flying out of his pen as he redrafted the hasty sketches he had drawn while looking at the flickering images through the eyepiece. He thought that it had been so easy it was meant to be. He smiled. In less than a month, he thought, the astronomical world, no, the entire world itself, would no longer look down on him as the caretaker of a far-west observatory. They would recognize him as the talented scientist he knew he was.
Airship
by Janice Thompson
How far I’ve flown I neither know nor care.
Much as this open deck my plans are bare.
Of star or compass I have nary need,
But follow as these downy cloud tops lead.
The chilly breezes toying through my hair
Cascade across my skin and jacket flare
While on the bottoms of my booted feet
The engine taps an unrelenting beat.
I acquiesce to gentle bob and sway
Beneath balloon and rigging bloated shape.
Awaiting now the nearly risen sun
I scan the vast expanse and see no one.
And yet, I hear a rumbling of some sort
Then luminescing clouds off to my port
Combusting deep with ever brighter tones
Now booming louder, louder, nearer, NO!
Bombastic airship, cannons bursting now,
Ejected straight at me from out its shroud.
A maniac, that pilot, heaving hard
Just missing our collision by one yard
His tortured face, the horror in those eyes,
For near destroying me, so I surmised,
Until I saw his passing stern ablaze.
Then mammoth winged beast in brutal chase
Erupting, fierce and howling, scales agleam.
The hot concussion of its down-spent wing
That final moment as it thrust away
Forced ship and I and all the world to sway.
Then came the screams, the pounding and a moan
As crew and cargo floundered down below
Caught in the violent swinging disarray.
The flaming ship and dragon sped away
To disappear in yet another cloud.
Our vessel’s motion finally calmed down.
Those lightly injured put the ship aright.
And unspilled rum was quickly spent that night.
Now star and compass were of urgent need.
This damaged vessel and the injuries
Required that we find a ready port
Equipped to lend us aid of every sort.
I searched in haste upending fore and aft
For sextant, compass, and the proper map,
Then finally we found the guiding star
And made for help that wasn’t very far.
By dawn I bid the floating docks goodbye
With only half a crew and resupply
But, now where’er I travel through the sky
I keep the navigation tools nearby.
Adelaide’s Trial
by BJ Sikes
Adelaide turned the mechanism inside the small clockwork heart. It gleamed in the light. The machinist had used gold, platinum, and copper to create the device and it looked more like a piece of art than a machine.
“As you see,” Adelaide said to her mentor, “the internal mechanism is a modification of Archimedes’ Screw. I predict that it will move blood as readily as it moves water.”
The Royal Physician, Monsieur le Professeur Auguste Piorry reached for it. Adelaide hesitated, looking from the clockwork heart to his face, eager and greedy. She passed her creation to him. Piorry worked the mechanism with plump fingers. It caught as he turned it.
“No, stop,” she gasped and snatched the piece away from him. “You’ll break it. It moves like this.”
He grunted and grabbed it back, glowering at her from under his eyebrows. He peered at the metal heart, turned it in his hand, and snorted.
“Adelaide, what makes you think this contraption would work? There is no way of producing a pulse; this mechanism will just pump continuously. And how do you intend to power it? I do not see a power source.”
Adelaide smiled a tight, smug smile. She knew the theory inside out and couldn’t wait to see his look of awe once he realiz
ed its brilliance.
“There is no need for a pulse; the blood will flow smoothly without it. And as for power, it has a self-winding mechanism. Let me show you.” She unscrewed a small plate on the side of the clockwork heart, revealing a tiny fan-shaped rotor attached to an even tinier spring. “There. Do you see it? That rotor winds the mainspring.”
He scowled at it and harrumphed. “Adelaide, that is ridiculous. How could it possibly function inside a person? You are wasting my time with your foolish tinkering.”
Adelaide’s face burned and she swallowed hard, trying to stay calm. This was not going as planned.
How can he be so blind?
“Monsieur le Professeur, you must see. It will function like a Swiss clock, except that the mainspring is wound by the action of this small rotor. The rotor will move as the patient moves. Consequently, the patient will wind her heart as she walks.”
He snorted again but his frown wasn’t as deep now. Adelaide replaced the plate onto the side of the metal heart. She still wasn’t sure that this mechanism would work once installed into an actual person but the theory was sound. She had relied on the Master Machinist to turn her concept into reality and her medical training told her she was on the right track.
Piorry shook his head as Adelaide put the machine back together.
“You are asking me to risk the life of an aristocrat with your outlandish theory? A self-winding heart? What if it fails to wind itself?”
She glanced up at him, interrupted in her re-assembly. The heart felt heavy in her hands.
What if I’m wrong? What if this doesn’t work and I kill someone?
Her uncertainty must have shown on her face and he pounced on it.
“Adelaide, I want you to abandon work on this preposterous contraption. You need to return to your research on the modifications we discussed for the Queen’s new heart.”
Adelaide pursed her lips and took a deep breath. She knew the logic of her Archimedean Heart was sound. His modifications were the real tinkering. A waste of time.
“Please, Monsieur le Professeur, the theory is sound. It will work and it will save the life of one of our Aristocrats. So many are dying young from a weakness of the heart. This invention could put an end to those premature deaths. Just last month, the heir of the duc de Guyenne succumbed after his heart gave out. Monsieur, he was only twenty years old. We — France needs this innovation.”
Piorry picked up the heart and examined it, not saying a word. She waited, breathless with anticipation, trying not to fidget.
“You are convinced this contraption will work?”
Adelaide nodded.
“Very well. You may attempt to transplant this device into a patient. We must identify an appropriate candidate. Not the heir to a duchy. Someone minor, perhaps a girl from an obscure family. I will inform you when we find someone. In the meantime, continue to refine this mechanism. It should not jam so easily.” He thrust the clockwork heart at her and departed.
Adelaide restrained herself from clapping her hands and giggling.
“Are you comfortable, ma chère?” Adelaide smiled down at the young girl on the surgical bed. The girl’s eyes showed white around the irises and her lips trembled, but she nodded. An attempt at a smile crossed her lips.
“Marie-Ange, you will sleep throughout the procedure. You will not feel a thing, I promise.”
Spectators packed the surgical theater despite the deep chill of the room. Adelaide willed herself not to glance toward the Queen and her courtiers. Her own heart pounded and her stomach felt hollow. She pushed wisps of hair off her face.
Marie-Ange looked small and young in the stiff white linen of the surgical gown.
Don’t think about her vulnerability; remember her weak heart. She needs this operation.
She was so pale, a young girl of fifteen years old with a failing heart. Marie-Ange would be dead before she was eighteen without intervention, but the transplant might kill her, even if she survived the surgery, and even if the heart functioned inside her torso.
If, if, too many ifs.
The hollowness in Adelaide’s stomach became nausea, and she swallowed bile.
Royal Physician Piorry, had already informed the girl’s parents that this procedure was experimental and that their daughter might not survive. They accepted their daughter’s prognosis with little reaction. They had several other children, and perhaps this daughter was not so precious to them as their son and heir. Still, the father was in attendance; his permission to allow his daughter to undergo the operation was a political coup for the family. If the heart worked and the girl survived, the Queen herself would be the next patient to receive the Archimedean Heart.
Adelaide felt sorry for the pale, unloved child before her. She had the makings of a beauty and could someday grace the Queen’s Court.
If she survived.
“Are we ready to begin?” Piorry’s voice oozed as he leaned over Adelaide. She nodded and smiled again at Marie-Ange, attempting to reassure her. The surgical assistant wheeled the anesthetic cart closer and placed the black rubber mask over the girl’s face. Marie-Ange made a panicky sound, like a wild animal in a trap. Her eyes filled with tears, but she lay still.
“Shh, shh,” Adelaide soothed her. “It’s all right; breathe deeply and go to sleep, ma chère.” The girl inhaled the gas. Her breathing steadied and her eyes drifted closed.
“Not too much gas. She’s very light,” Adelaide cautioned the assistant.
Piorry was busy chatting with the members of the Court, informing them about this brilliant new device that would save so many lives. Adelaide grimaced at his back then turned her attention back to the sleeping girl. She lifted a brass baton from the tray of instruments. It glowed at the flick of a switch. Adelaide held it over Marie-Ange’s chest, checking the girl’s heart rate and respiration. The light flickered and Adelaide frowned.
“Less gas,” she told the assistant who nodded and complied, turning a dial on the machine. Piorry sauntered over to the surgical table.
“Our patient is asleep. We will now begin the procedure,” he declaimed for the benefit of the audience. He flourished his arm at Adelaide. “Mademoiselle, pass me the scalpel.”
Adelaide and Piorry opened up the girl’s chest and there was a little shriek from a lady in the audience. Adelaide stifled a sigh. Surgery as theater was not her preferred way to work.
Was the sight of blood that surprising? This was an operation. What did they expect?
Piorry announced each step in the procedure as Adelaide operated. They packed the inside of the girl’s chest with ice to slow the blood. Adelaide gnawed at her lip. The chance of frostbite was worrisome, but she didn’t know how else they could slow the blood enough so that the girl wouldn’t bleed to death when they switched out the hearts.
The Royal Physician flourished the Archimedean Heart. It glinted in the light and the audience reacted with gasps and murmurs. Adelaide tried to suppress her triumphant smile at the sight and sound of her creation. The screw inside the metal heart was turning, wound by the gentle shaking when Piorry had presented it to the audience.
The ornate metal heart looked incongruous nestled in Marie-Ange’s chest. The girl’s own heart looked pale and shriveled next to it. Adelaide, her hands steady, opened a connection between the clockwork heart and the girl’s blood vessel. Red blood gushed out, splattering Adelaide. Piorry cursed under his breath and took a step backward to avoid the gore. Adelaide took a deep breath and clamped the leak.
Time for the next blood vessel. Move fast, this one is under even more pressure. Now would be a good time for Piorry to actually help me.
“Monsieur,” she murmured, “you must hold the clamp firmly here or she will bleed out.” He shot a startled glance at her but shifted closer, clamping as she directed. They raced to switch the blood vessel connection from its original heart to the clockwork replacement. Adelaide heard the swoosh of the screw as the blood moved through the metal heart.
Removing the old flesh heart was a delicate process and she couldn’t rush. Blood drenched her to the elbows by the time she finished. As she closed up the girl’s chest, she thought that Marie-Ange’s face seemed to have a touch more pink in it.
Piorry dabbed at the few droplets of blood on his sleeve with a sponge and flicked it onto the tray of instruments, then stepped back from the operating table. He bowed toward the Queen and addressed her, beaming.
“Your Majesty. The operation appears to be a success. My latest creation will revolutionize augmentation as we know it, saving many lives and strengthening our nation.”
Adelaide dropped the instrument she was holding.
HIS creation? Did he just take credit for my invention? The one he told me was preposterous and would never work?
Her hands shook and her mouth thinned with rage. She glowered at his oblivious back.
“Monsieur le Professeur Piorry, you are to be congratulated on your magnificent achievement,” the Queen said, a wheeze in her soft voice. “We look forward to the day when you perform a similar procedure upon Our own person.”
He bowed again even deeper this time.
“Indeed, Your Majesty. It would be an honor.”
The Queen drifted out, trailing a parade of courtiers behind her. Piorry smirked as they departed, and then followed them out. Adelaide remained behind to care for their patient — her patient — despite his claim. The nausea in her belly had turned to fire and she shook with silent fury.
Courting Adventure
by Emily Thompson
Vivian Swift was lost in thought as she moved through the forever shifting crowds of New York City. Her mind worked furiously on the problem of whether to attend Miss Barkley’s tea on Saturday, or Madam Willoughby’s luncheon. She couldn’t leave one early to attend the other without offending Madam Willoughby, but Miss Barkley and her usual guests were far better company. Vivian frowned at the thought of yet another dreary luncheon, or indeed another aimless tea even in the best company. Surely there were better, more productive ways to spend one’s days than prattling on endlessly while also being constantly concerned with one’s manners or—
Thirty Days Later: Steaming Forward: 30 Adventures in Time Page 7