Operation_Endgame

by Pip Ballantine

  An insult was on the tip of Edison’s tongue, but he thought better of it. One word could turn this man into a wild beast, and he still had not figured out that what his triggers were. "I’ll get this Shocker up and running in no time."

  "I know you will," he said. "Feel free to begin. I just have a few things to collect."

  Opening up the Shocker, Edison examined the various mechanical arrangements, in particular the central gyroscope. Catching it pitch and spin in a wild, erratic manner proved his deduction correct.

  Edison looked up from Epsilon, ready to tell Jekyll what was wrong when he paused. He had a line of sight between the dining room to the kitchen. He saw Jekyll over the sink, tending to a nasty burn that stretched from the top of his shoulder all the way down to the middle of his forearm. Some sort of high-energy oscillator discharge must have brushed against him, perhaps when he was in his alternate form or somewhere in between. Someone had gotten close to Jekyll. Far too close for the maniac’s liking. That must have been what brought him back here. He needed somewhere safe to lick his wounds. The mad doctor must be experiencing vulnerability, which meant he would be taking extra precautions in any further outings to protect himself.

  If self-preservation so preoccupied him that might mean he would consider other matters a lower priority.

  Turning his attention back to Epsilon, Edison began formulating a plan. It would have to be a clever notion to get past Jekyll, but that was Edison's speciality. Clever ideas.

  "Dr Jekyll," Edison called, still hunched over Epsilon’s open chest, "a word, if you please?"

  Jekyll was buttoning his shirt back up as he walked into the dining room. "And how is your patient?" he asked.

  "The gyroscope. Catastrophic failure, I am afraid," Edison began. Don't seem too eager, he thought to himself. Remain calm. Do not suggest anything too...dramatic. "The lack of balance is what is causing the programming failure, and its limp. Eventually, Epsilon will suffer a disconnect in the unit’s oral sensor. Without a gyroscope, internal mechanics are out of calibration, in turn wearing out vital systems."

  "But you can fix it?" Jekyll asked.

  "If I had caught it in time, yes, I can. I need to remove the gyroscope, see if I can repair it or need to replace it," Edison said, and then he motioned to the Shocker's head. "The internals are damaged, though. Some of these things I can repair without a problem, but there will be other systems that may require some... improvisation. That includes the gyroscope."

  Jekyll's expression was exactly what Edison thought he would see. His eyes grew a shade darker. "That... sounds complicated."

  "To someone who isn’t an engineer? Yes, I am sure it sounds like it. As I am working with limited resources, and you need all the Shockers in service, I'll whip up a solution. It may require adding new components to this unit’s internals."

  Jekyll took another step closer to Edison. Even though the mad doctor was a full foot shorter, the man’s demeanour was enough to trigger Edison’s flight response; but Edison summoned up his courage. He did not budge.

  "You said you could fix it," Jekyll insisted.

  "And I will," Edison returned, "but, as you said, it is complicated. I'll put in a small subroutine that will prevent any further decay to the internals and will adjust to any possible adjustments I need to make to the gyroscope."

  "A subroutine?" Jekyll followed Edison’s gaze. He was trying to read him. Edison had sat at tables with some of the most power men of industry. Jekyll was terrifying, but not cut of the same cloth as those robber barons. Edison stared back at him as Jekyll asked, "And what exactly does this subroutine do?"

  "This subroutine will override any sort of interference caused by the gyroscope falling out of sync with the Earth’s gravity. Both will keep the automaton balanced, thereby reducing wear and tear on the mechanics."

  "Why not simply change out the gyroscope?"

  "I could, if I had another gyroscope handy. I don’t. Neither do I have an internal gyroscope for a Shocker lying around in my shop, nor can you go down to the local hardware store and pick one up for me. While I can keep the Shockers running with these…” He motioned to the unfurled collection of fine tools. “… the worst-case scenario has sadly come to life. I can attempt to repair and realign the gyroscope, but it will need some type of..." He thought long and hard for the best word to use without using the word "sabotage" which would have triggered Jekyll. "... alternative solution. Hence, the subroutine. This will enhance the electric brains signal pick up any fluctuation the drivers. To do all this, I need a small boost hooked up to the automaton’s brain."

  The madman’s gaze was something out of a nightmare, but Edison steeled himself. Jekyll’s eyes, void of any emotion, any empathy, any decent intent, stared down into Edison’s soul. "How fast do you think it will take for you to put something together?"

  Edison looked around the room, slowly. He could not afford to look anxious in any way. His eyes landed on a desk outside the dining room. Slipping away from Jekyll, he picked up a notebook lying there, and began jotting down numbers as he returned to his captor. "I could probably have something ready within an hour, possibly two."

  "You have half an hour. One more second and I cannot guarantee your patient will not explode along with the other Shockers."

  Edison would need to work quickly, and he hated that. He preferred to deconstruct, take time to understand how something worked, and then put it back together. For this clever scheme, there would be no testing, no numerous ways to get it wrong until he got it right, no tinkering or fine tuning.

  This would be his opportunity. "I will see what I can come up with."

  Jekyll stepped away from Edison, turning to a mirror to adjust his tie. "Oh, I hope you find a solution, because I need him operational. If am short staffed I’m afraid I’ll have to be here more. I think that is something neither of us would like, don’t you agree?”

  "I certainly do," Edison grumbled.

  "Good." With that, Jekyll slipped into his coat, wincing as he did so, returned to the mirror, and began to preen over himself. "You better get started then."

  The subroutine would do just as Edison promised. It would boost Epsilon’s brainpower and provide a stronger connection with its gyroscope, which Edison could fix and have up and functioning within a mere twenty minutes. The subroutine would also, at random points of the day, transmit a simple Morse code signal. The signal would be silent but strong enough for anyone listening to hear the message Edison sent: C.Q.D.

  He would have to prevent the subroutine from transmitting until Jekyll left, but the other Shockers would remain blissfully unaware.

  Now, all Edison needed was for someone—anyone—to be listening.

  But how would they breach the door without triggering the Shockers?

  One challenge at a time, Thomas, he thought to himself as his makeshift worktable. One challenge at a time.

  Chapter Fifteen

  In Which Our Intrepid Agents of Derring-Do Are Joined by a Learned Scholar

  By the time they had disembarked from the Oriental Hypersteam Express in Constantinople, Wellington's anxiety was under control. Instead of wanting to down an entire bottle of whiskey, alone, in the confines of the hypersteam’s parlour, he simply wanted to have a single scotch, provided it was three fingers deep and neat.

  Cool logic was his saviour, delivered by their new partner-in-mischief, Professor Henrietta Falcon. They’d saved two lives, even though the brave and somewhat fool-hearty Ashe Robbins would not be treading the boards anytime soon. Her shoulder was dislocated and her arm broken. "All those years in stage combat," Robbins had jested, "and it is on my vacation I break my arm."

  Now Wellington took in the foreign and unfamiliar surroundings stretching before them. Constantinople. A city with a colourful history and patterned by intrigue.

  After so many failed attempts to catch him, it was hard to stay optimistic that this time would be different.

  A lit cigar appeared befor
e him. The smell was enticing. "Here, Mr Books," Professor Falcon offered with a crooked smile, "It should calm your nerves. Does mine."

  "Thank you," he said, taking it from her fingers. After a long drag, the sweet taste of the smoke did seem to relax him a bit.

  "Ever been to Constantinople?"

  "No," he said, taking in the bustling crowds, the rows of buildings pressing on one another as they led to a solitary spire in the distance.

  "It’s been a spell since I have been here, to tell the truth," Eliza said, coming up behind them. "It does have its own charm."

  "Indeed," Professor Falcon turned to Eliza, "If you are in the market for adventure, Constantinople is the city of choice."

  "Very true," Eliza replied before stepping closer to Wellington, her voice dropping to a volume meant only for him, "but adventure is rather difficult considering our circumstances. Married couple? Again?" Eliza sighed, taking the small cigar out of his hand and enjoying a puff. "Why can’t I be your mistress sometimes, Welly? Far more my speed."

  He tried not to flinch. He enjoyed the benefits of cohabiting with Eliza, but the aristocratic part of him was still a little conflicted about it. However, he certainly did not want her believing he thought her as a mistress.

  "Married couples attracts far less attention," he said under his breath.

  "But such a cover sets a tone for a dull outing, does it not?" Professor Falcon added.

  "The idea is not getting noticed," Wellington insisted, taking the cigar back. "We are to blend into the surroundings, either as tourists or lovers on holiday."

  "But sometimes normality attracts attention in itself," Falcon countered. "The friendlier sort may wish to strike up conversations with you, ask intimate details and the like."

  Wellington took another drag from the cigar before asking the question he suspected he might regret. "So what sort of legend would you create around us?"

  Professor Falcon looked up, as if she were reaching into a creative corner of her brain, while slipping her arm into Eliza’s own. Her pale fingers came to rest on the other woman’s shoulder, while her smile wore a hint darker and more mischievous. "I was thinking of you as a travelling philosopher, a radical scouring the world for validation of his anti-social beliefs. And we are your concubines."

  Wellington blinked. "Concubines?"

  "Yes," Falcon said, with a lift of her eyebrows. "You are travelling to study the ancient arts of carnal desire so that Free Love could truly transform the world into a Paradise here on Earth."

  His one glance at Eliza told him he would find no ally there. She said instead, "I love the sound of this."

  "As you would be far from the prudish sensibilities of our beloved England," Falcon went on, "you are a pariah, ensuring you that no one would dare broach a conversation with you."

  Now the ladies united against him. Another puff from the cigar, and Wellington tossed the vice to one side. Falcon was right. The smoke had left him quite returned to a state of calm.

  "Right," Wellington stated tersely, much to the bemusement of both of his companions, "I think, instead, we should stick to the original legend with one diversion. We are all from the Lovelace Centre, travelling together to consider opportunities abroad."

  Eliza looked around, and her mouth twisted into a grimace. "Not to cause any undue concern, but what of your colleague, Profes—?"

  "Henrietta," she insisted. "If we are to be working together, I insist we drop the formality."

  "Good luck with this one," Eliza said with a snort, motioning to Wellington.

  "As for my esteemed colleague, Doctor Tomlin has asked to return home for some much-needed rest. I think that was more than enough excitement for him."

  Wellington nodded. "So, he does not care for the peaks of Kilimanjaro or the..." His brow knotted, as he asked Eliza, "Exactly what is bungee jumping?"

  "It's where you secure a thick elastic rope to your ankles and throw yourself off a bridge or a platform of some kind suspended over a deep ravine. The rope snaps you back safely when you reach the end of it." Eliza stared down at her shoes when she added, "When you’re an island nation at the farthest edge of the Empire, you learn to make your own fun. Many of the Polynesian tribes have been doing it for generations."

  "Mr Lambert?" A dark-haired man, dressed in a beautiful tailored suit and a stylish scarlet fez, addressed them from the shade of the aeroport’s awning. At a distance, he didn’t look much older than Christopher, the eldest of the Ministry Seven, but as he came closer, the tiniest flecks of grey came out in the man’s goatee and beard. These hints of time only granted him additional refinement. "Mr Hannibal Lambert?"

  "Yes," Wellington said, answering to their cover. "So sorry to have kept your waiting. One of the stewards spilled a pitcher of water as the train was coming in."

  The stranger nodded. "Indeed, one must always take care not to slip on the slick brass."

  Pass phrase confirmed. This was their contact.

  "Mr Aydin Tilki, I presume?" Wellington asked.

  He nodded, giving his hat a slight tip to them all. "Yes, I am your guide in Constantinople." He lowered his voice and glanced over his shoulder. "Our mutual friends in London secured my services for your time here."

  It was a little galling to need a babysitter, but as Sound pointed out in their last communication from the OHX-1, the Ottoman Empire was deep into a special kind of turmoil. Everyone, even disinterested parties like the British Empire, had to proceed with caution. Distrust of France, Great Britain, and Russia was high. Sultan Abdul Hamid II was cosying up to the Germans, so if he found out the Ministry was carrying out operations in his city, the repercussions would be severe.

  Mr Tilki's dark gaze travelled to take in Professor Falcon, and he raised one eye in Wellington’s general direction.

  "Yes, there has been a slight... alteration... in our operation," Wellington began, his pleasant smile struggling to remain so. " Adyin Tilki, may I introduce Henrietta Falcon of..."

  "The Ada Lovelace Centre," he said, taking her offered hand with both of his as if she was made of the fragile crystal. "Your work on the positronic analytical dynosphere is astounding." He kissed her hand, then continued his thought. "Perhaps even mind-opening."

  Falcon looked taken aback by the sudden attention. "You know of my research into self-aware analytical machines?"

  "Science is my passion, and a friend at the Ministry pointed out your work to me. It is an honour to make your acquaintance." He looked back and forth between Wellington, Eliza, and the professor. "So, exactly how did this come to be?"

  "Perhaps we can debrief you," Wellington began, motioning to the Travel Plaza, "as we proceed to our lodgings?"

  Mr Tilki secured their minimal luggage, arranged for it to be sent ahead to their hotel, and ushered the three of them out of the Plaza and towards the street. The heat of the day, Wellington feared, would be reaching its tightest grip on the city in an hour or so. He preferred to catch his breath in the coolness of their lodgings straight away.

  "I have secured rooms for you at the Pera Palas Oteli," Tilki said, urging for them to follow him through a break in the traffic.

  "A fine establishment," Professor Falcon stated.

  "One of the best hotels in Constantinople," Eliza agreed, "so, not what I would call a low profile."

  "Not all is what it seems," Tilki said with a bright, confident smile. "The Palas is one of the few European-style hotels in the city. If you stayed anywhere else you would stand out. Besides," he added, leaning in towards them, "the hotel has a wonderful series of secret tunnels."

  Eliza returned the grin. "So we go in as tourists, and then immediately head out in disguise?"

  "But," Wellington asked, still not ready to believe in their good fortune, "how many know of these tunnels?"

  The man spread his hands. "Only a very small group in our little community of spies and street criminals. I do not see how your mad doctor would even if he has been here for a span of time."

/>   Wellington’s shoulders relaxed a little. Maybe their luck was taking a turn for the better. After all even if Usher had knowledge of the Palas’ tunnel network, they would not have shared it with Jekyll. From their intelligence, the mad doctor had burned that bridge most effectively. Without those valuable connections, he’d have no insight to the spy community.

  In Constantinople, Tilki and his network gave them a chance.

  Their contact gave a slight shrug. "You should know this city is a very old and complicated one. I was born and breed in Constantinople, and I still do not know everything about it. However, I assure you I know it better than a madman sheltering here for only a few months. Rest assured, we will find him."

  Falcon took a measure of the man. "You seem confident, Mr Tilki."

  "The city only gives up her secrets reluctantly. You have to work many years before you know even half of them. And please, call me Aydin."

  He looked so earnest that a pit opened up in Wellington's stomach. Except for the Ministry Seven, earnest individuals who helped them seemed to meet untimely ends. And even the Ministry Seven had discovered they were not impervious. He would rather not have this one’s death on his conscience.

  Their hotel was not far from the Travel Plaza, and despite a plain stone exterior, the inside opened into a beautiful courtyard, with lush plants and a bright, tinkling fountain at its centre. It relieved Wellington to find it several degrees cooler in the lobby and courtyard than outside, yet he knew they could not enjoy the beauty or luxury of their hotel.

  "Aydin," Falcon began, "do you think there are any vacancies remaining?"

  "There should be," he replied.

  "Excellent." After giving Wellington and Eliza a quick glance, she asked, "You will inform our colleague here about our new legend, yes?"

  "Of course," Wellington said, clearing his throat before adding, "Henrietta, darling."