series 01 04 Abattoir in the Aether

by L. Joseph Shosty

  Nathanial had no desire to tell him everything, and he most certainly did not want to reveal his recent adventures on Venus and Mercury. “I’ve been doing some travelling as of late. Our flyer took damage negotiating an aether vortex, and since then we have been limping toward Mars in hopes of finding a dock to make repairs. You should know, Doctor, that I had no idea such a station existed this far out,” he added, even though it was not entirely true, he had heard vague rumours of such a thing from Director White while working at Chatham, although he had almost forgotten about it, until now. “Nor did I know the space around it was restricted by any government. If I had, we most certainly would not have passed through.”

  “Yes, but pass through it you did, and now you are in my care until it can be decided what is to be done with you and your friend, Miss Somerset.” Van den Bosch lifted a report from the top of one stack and began to thumb through it. “So, you’ve deduced that this is a station. That demonstrates something of your acumen. Tell me, do you know the purpose of this place?”

  “Know?” Nathanial asked. “I know nothing. Your men have been quite careful to shroud everything in secrecy.”

  “Secrecy must be maintained. It is our mantra. Do you know this word?”

  “I do. I deduced this must be a structure of some incredible dimensions, if it could house as few as three cutters without difficulty and the sheer amount of floor space I have crossed in coming here. No aether flyer currently in service could hope to have said dimensions. That leaves a station.”

  “Apply your powers further.”

  “If you wish. We’re on a heliograph station, not a research station, as I’d initially believed.”

  Van den Bosch clapped his enormous hands together so hard the resulting shock made Nathanial wince. “Very good! How did you come by this deduction?”

  Nathanial smiled. “By mention of your name, of course. If this were a scientific post, out here to study the aether and its anomalies, yours would be a long-term position, to be held by someone on the downside of their career, but you are still in your professional prime. No one with your rather formidable reputation would allow himself to be tied to such a post unless it were either a short-term one, one destined to bring him great acclaim, or both. The construction of a heliograph station in itself is not something likely to grant you any sort of acclaim at all, given that two have already been built. That leaves a specific kind of heliograph station, one which has been placed at a strategic spot, not orbiting a planet or satellite, but one that has achieved its own, special orbit.”

  “Toward what end?” Van den Bosch was clearly enjoying these questions.

  Nathanial shrugged. “To speed communications between Earth and Mars, no doubt. The two spend many months of each solar year separated by the Sun. A heliograph station, or rather two such stations, placed in strategic positions could facilitate year-round communications between the planets, and when a station is built on Venus, the Empire would have in place a fast, efficient means of interplanetary network, thus giving us a distinct advantage over our competitors.”

  “Excellent! I can see now why your reputation has grown so recently. You are mostly correct in your deductions.”

  Nathanial arched an eyebrow. “Mostly?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you don’t plan to tell me how I erred?”

  The eyes beneath the hat were suddenly small and intense. Nathanial, who had been growing increasingly at ease with the man’s presence, was reminded then to whom he was speaking. Here was a man who was used to getting his way, one who would not think twice about destroying the reputation of anyone who got in his way.

  “No, I don’t plan to tell you any more than you need to know.”

  “Such as the, ah, artificial gravity in the station?” The intensity of the eyes did not change. Now this was an interesting turn. “Very well. And what is it that I need to know, Doctor?”

  “Have you heard of Professor Thaddeus Wren, by chance?”

  Nathanial’s eyes lit up. “Wren? The polymath? Of course! His name is synonymous with genius. Is he here?”

  “He was. I’m afraid he passed away recently.”

  “How?”

  “It’s impolite to discuss such things, Mister Stone. What you should know is that Professor Wren designed this entire station. Every rivet and every room, down to the very decorations themselves. If you see it before you, Professor Wren envisioned it, and in a small workshop in Shropshire, first. But unfortunately, only he understood much of its workings. As you’ve already experienced, we’ve an unmatched need for secrecy here, and when the professor passed, so did the only person on this station with a complete knowledge of its systems.”

  Ah, now here was the reason for Hague’s sudden change in demeanour. This was also why Nathanial had been plucked from his makeshift prison, marched into the upper parts of the station, and placed before the Juggernaut himself. It had nothing at all to do with mistaken identities or the reputation of up-and-coming natural philosophers at all. This was a case of need, pure and simple.

  “And now something has gone wrong with the station,” Nathanial said.

  Mister Hague coughed, which Nathanial took as a sign between the two men, for Doctor van den Bosch’s tone changed. When he spoke again, he was brusque and business-like. Also, there was a tone of menace behind each word that made Nathanial shiver.

  “You are correct. Something has occurred, and you are going to help us discover what is broken and fix it.”

  “You must understand, sir, that I am limited in my knowledge of heliograph stations. My area of study has been almost entirely limited to the development of certain devices which facilitate propulsion. I’m afraid I would be of little use to you.”

  “Ah, but it’s in the station’s orbital stabilisers that I believe the trouble lies.”

  “Is that so? And what if I should refuse to help you at all? It is my assumption that I’m still under arrest for trespassing.”

  “It’s in your best interest to help,” Hague said, breaking in. “Please, Mister Stone, now is not the time to become…difficult.”

  “Listen to Mister Hague,” van den Bosch said. “You’ve been candid with us thus far. Please continue.”

  “If I help, would the charges be dropped?”

  “We will consider it,” van den Bosch said.

  “That won’t be good enough to gain my services, I’m afraid. I have to be reasonably assured of my and Miss Somerset’s release before I’ll agree to offer any assistance.”

  Van den Bosch’s shoulders rose in angry tension, and he placed his hands firmly, palms down, on his desk. “You are hardly in a position to negotiate any sort of terms,” he said.

  Ice filled Nathanial’s belly, but this was no time to shy away from conflict. “Quite the contrary,” he said. “I’m reasonably assured of my acquittal of any charges levelled against me, as my contributions to Her Majesty’s interplanetary efforts thus far have demonstrated my forthrightness and patriotism. I’m no more a trespasser as I am a traitor or a spy. If you agree to release me―and make necessary repairs on my flyer so we might continue our journey to Mars―you have my solemn promise I will do my very best.”

  The Juggernaut chuckled, a low, ugly sound. “What makes you think you’ll get a chance to acquit yourself at trial?”

  “What, do you seek to toss me out an airlock if I don’t agree? Surely you can do better than threats of violence, Doctor.”

  “Oh, I can. Let’s see what you think of this. I’m sure you recall the aether vortex that shook the cutter that brought you here. You should know that we are currently on course to strike the vortices’ horizon in fourteen days. An anomaly so massive and powerful as that will surely rend this station asunder. You should also know that, in order to complete this station on schedule, we’re working at far past reasonable capacity for our cutters should we need to evacuate. Thus, some men will be left behind. I will see it arranged that you, and your friend, Miss Somerset, ar
e among that number selected for sacrifice. Now, should you by some miracle manage to escape aboard one of these vessels beforehand you should know that the charges levelled against you will be far worse than trespassing. You will be charged with a special treason for failing to give aid to your realm, and even then should you somehow manage to evade the noose for such crimes, your name will be forever synonymous with the loss of the millions of English pounds that have gone into the station’s design and completion.”

  The Juggernaut leaned in suddenly, not with the rage of one about to strike, but with the cold malice of a tiger that could feast on the baby gazelle in its claws but chose forbearance instead. “How is that, Mister Stone? Have I exceeded your expectations where a threat is concerned?”

  Chapter Four

  “A Strange Visitor”

  1.

  “Well, what could I do, after all?” Nathanial said some time later.

  He was fresh from his bath, his hair still damp and stuck to his scalp. A fresh toilet kit had been made available, with a razor so sharp it had glided across his cheeks and left them as smooth as they had been since he was twelve. The whiskers he had kept to counteract his youthful face. A blue coverall like the ones worn by all the men had been given him, and he luxuriated in being clean for the first time in weeks. A certain euphoria had swept over him, in fact, the moment he first lowered himself into one of the great, brass tubs in the common bathhouse. Nearly all systems were powered by steam, from the lights to the operational shutters on the heliograph mirror itself, or so he had been told in his brief introduction to the place, called Peregrine Station in some reference to the Egyptian god, Horus. Hot water could be had at the mere opening of a spigot, and in whatever quantities Nathanial desired.

  Annabelle, also freshly bathed, dressed behind a screen. Her room was Spartan, but clean. In fact, everything he had seen of the station had reflected a fastidious ethic. Even the workers, who went about in pristine coveralls and shiny black boots, seemed perpetually clean, quite unlike Boswell’s team of engineers on Sovereign. Additionally, there had been no catcalls, jokes, or otherwise indecent talk or action from the men when guards had brought Annabelle up from the docking bay. That, too, was something seldom seen. It was as if van den Bosch had found some alchemical equation for cheerfulness and efficiency and had applied it to his crew. Her Majesty’s Royal Navy should be so disciplined, Nathanial thought, thinking once more of the engine crew of Sovereign.

  “Your heroism certainly has its limits, Nathanial,” Annabelle said. Hands came up to drape the towel that had been around her head over the side of the screen. “However, there is heroism, and then there is foolishness. Only a fool would have continued to argue with the man once it was clear you were beaten.”

  Nathanial felt a flash of annoyance. Annabelle, in her own way, was complimenting him, but as often happened her coarse manner brought the compliment about in the form of a verbal backhand. She came from around the screen, and he helped hook her into her dress without comment.

  “Thank you,” she said, then added coyly, “You’ll make some woman a fine husband someday.”

  Nathanial said nothing. The less this subject was broached, the better. There had been many long hours on the flyer from Mercury for him to think on certain…occurrences there, and he was still unsure how to consider them. Certainly, these new feelings stemmed from the character flaws which had plagued him since boyhood, and he needed time to sort them out. Peregrine Station, however, was certainly not the place for that. A nice villa on Mars, with a sirocco blowing sands across the desert and a cool glass of wine in hand, and then he could put such fancies to the test. Until then, he had to keep his wits about him.

  Annabelle went to her steamer chest and removed the pocket watch Nathaniel had seen her carry on occasion. She wound it, and with a clever movement of her hands, made it disappear somewhere Nathanial could not see.

  “Well,” she said at last, “at least you didn’t get us tossed out with the refuse.”

  “The night is young,” he replied.

  “When do you start your work?” she asked.

  “As soon as possible. According to Doctor van den Bosch, we’ve only a few days before the station will start to slide into the vortex. If I haven’t arrived at a solution by then, he will call for a general evacuation.”

  “And what shall I do in the meantime?”

  Nathanial smiled. “I’m sure you’ll find some terrible secret to become embroiled in.”

  Annabelle laughed that tinkling, elfin laugh of hers. “Of that, I have no doubt.”

  “You could work with me.”

  “Perish the thought! I should turn this hovel into a bordello and offer my services to the lonely men of Peregrine Station, first.”

  “Annabelle! Good God!”

  “Oh, Nathanial. Surely you know me better than that.”

  “Yes, I do, but I should warn you, the men here are not used to your…ways. Talk like that is apt to breed distraction, and would no doubt make an enemy of our host.”

  “To Hell with Henry van den Bosch. I’m not at his service, like you are. And anyway, disrupting men is something of a specialty of mine.”

  There came the clacking noise as the door’s mechanism was employed. The panel slid aside, but no one stood in the doorway. Nathanial and Annabelle exchanged glances. They were supposed to be under guard, and had been ordered not to leave their quarters under any circumstances until they were summoned to dinner. Nathanial’s first instinct was to wonder if this was a test of their obedience. Annabelle poked her head out of the door, looking left, then right. She turned and spread her hands in confusion.

  “No one there, including our guard,” she said.

  “Strange.”

  Nathanial was about to suggest they close the door when a strange figure dropped from above the doorframe and landed in a crouch behind Annabelle. An inarticulate shout of dismay leapt from Nathanial, and Annabelle was turning to see what had upset him when he snatched her by the arm and jerked her to his side.

  What stood before them looked like a man, but it was dressed in rags. Its skin was white like bleached bone, its eyes bugged and wild, rolling around as if of their own accord, and his teeth were an ugly, yellowish tint. The face was hairless, and the scars of what appeared to be burns on his face and neck were evident.

  The thing smiled at them, and Nathanial could not suppress a shiver. It looked squarely at him.

  “Well, hello,” Annabelle said, being the first to recover. “And who might you be?”

  The creature responded by doing a jack-legged dance, skinny arms and legs flopping as it lurched to some unheard, chaotic tune.

  And just like that, it was gone, scampering away in the gloom of the corridor. The panel then slid back into place, and the clacking noise resounded again.

  “What the bloody hell was that?” Nathanial asked.

  Just then, the clacking noise repeated itself. The panel slid aside, and the hulking figure of Loaves, Annabelle’s guard, stood before them.

  “’Ello,” he said. “Are you two fine folks ready for supper, then?”

  “We are, at that, Loaves,” Nathanial said. “Thank you.”

  “If you’ll follow me, then, we’ll get you set up nice and proper.”

  2.

  Nathanial and Annabelle followed Loaves down the passage. Though everything was thrown into wavering shadows, Nathanial could see the corridor was done up in an elegant, intricate design. The walls and ceiling were monuments to mankind’s abiding love of art, from African and South American cave paintings to replicas from the Sistine Chapel and others. The centre of mid-decks was done up in the style of a Gothic basilica, St. Vitale’s in fact, with the domed rotunda in the middle a near-replica of St. Vitale’s chapel, complete with stained glass ceilings and windows, back-lit so each panel could be seen.

  “How are you enjoyin’ your stay so far, miss?” Loaves asked Annabelle.

  “It’s certainly interesting,�
�� she replied, cutting eyes toward Nathanial, who shook his head. Annabelle ignored him and pressed on. “So, who was the little fellow before you arrived?”

  “Li’l fellow, miss? I’m ’fraid I’m at a loss.”

  “The tatterdemalion sort who was dancing at our door. He looked a nightmare. Surely you saw him.”

  “No, miss, I did not.”

  “Why weren’t you at guard?”

  “I went to fetch a candelabra, but Griggs the quartermaster tol’ me there was none. Was hopin’ to give you a little light to see by. It’s a bit disconcertin’, all the shadows, until you get used to it.”

  “We appreciate your efforts, Loaves,” Nathanial broke in. “Sorry to bother you with it.” Annabelle looked daggers at him. She might want some sort of controversy, but Nathanial did not. He had more than enough to worry about, just then. The fate of an entire heliograph station was suddenly in his hands.

  “Coincidentally, I know who that chap was.”

  “Who?” Annabelle asked-shouted, before Nathanial could speak.

  “That would be Professor Thaddeus Wren, miss.”

  Another glance was exchanged. “But I thought Professor Wren had passed away recently.”

  “Oh, ’e ’as. That’s ’is ghost what you saw. Been hauntin’ the place all merry like since the fire.”

  Oh, that’s superb. More ghosts, Nathanial thought, just what we all need.

  Chapter Five

  “Dramatis Personae”

  1.

  Starward Observation Deck, which housed one of the two powerful telescopes used to read communications from either Earth or Mars, was as yet unoccupied by its staff, given that Peregrine was not yet fully operational. As such, it served as a formal dining room for the station’s department heads. A long table had been erected from left over wood and placed there for that very purpose. Rickety chairs lined both sides, with a single, doubly-reinforced chair at its head, presumably for Doctor van den Bosch. Even with a fine white tablecloth, a bright array of candles running down the middle, lace doilies and all the other fineries that could surround it, the thing was an eyesore at odds with the station’s otherwise elegant features.