The next half-hour was taken up with a rush of muttered plans, calculations, and speculations. “Will you encounter wind-whales?” Lady Corey asked Fox. A close meeting with a pod of whales on their previous voyage had nearly scuttled the whole expedition.
“It is not unlikely, once we pass within the orbit of Venus.” Fox met his wife’s eye levelly. “And in the hot depths near Mercury, there may be even worse things. Things that eat wind-whales. Or so I have heard.”
“Airmen are a credulous lot,” Arabella countered, dismissively. “I, too, have heard legends and tales, but we are now in an age of enlightenment … and natural philosophy has found no actual evidence of any such monsters.”
“‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,’” Fox quoted.
Arabella had no response to that. But, just then, the greenwood box appeared, and she busied herself with setting it up.
There was no time to be lost. Arabella’s use of the Draisine had permitted her to reach Greenwich before the Prince and his party, but Touchstone would have to be away before they caught her up.
* * *
Fox and his officers busied themselves with readying the ship and crew for a long voyage as quickly as possible without making too much noise about it. Airmen were called in from shore leave; replacements were recruited for those who refused to return; and load after load of victuals and water made their way aboard.
For her part, Arabella labored ceaselessly with the greenwood box. It had been constructed hastily, from whatever materials were available at the time, and was frequently recalcitrant, but even so working with it was rather like chatting with an old friend. Time spent with the box was even more welcome in that it was entirely her own creation, and carried few associations with Captain Singh—contemplation of whom was nearly guaranteed to bring tears to her eyes.
“How goes the battle?” Fox asked on the afternoon following Arabella’s arrival, entering the cabin with a cup of tea.
“It is a struggle,” she confessed, gratefully accepting the proffered cup. She gestured to the heaps of scribbled notes piled upon the navigational desk and drifting down to the deck below. “It almost seems as though there were some good reason not to journey between planets in conjunction.”
“I have put some queries about,” Fox said, seating himself upon a sea-chest, “and I hear that the Muller Current has been running particularly fast in recent months.” He moved some papers off of a large chart of the interplanetary wind currents, tapping the Muller. “Could we perhaps make use of this?”
“I have heard the same, but it runs too far from the Sun at this season. The diversion would cost more time than it gains.”
“If only the Swenson were in the plane of the ecliptic,” Fox commented.
The two of them sat shoulder-to-shoulder, both looking at the chart. Most of the named currents flowed westward—counter-clockwise on the chart, following the rotation of the planets around the Sun—in the plane of the ecliptic, where all the known planets orbited. But the vast majority of the interplanetary atmosphere’s currents—the powerful but unnamed flows not normally used for navigation—ran perpendicular to that plane, rising with the heat from the Sun’s poles and, cooling, falling back down to the plane of the ecliptic somewhere well beyond Jupiter. The Swenson Current, discovered and named only ten years earlier, was one of these, but it was particularly swift, and unique in that it rose from within the orbit of Mercury and fell near Mars. For a time there had been speculation that it might be usable to provide a rapid passage from Venus to Mars, but several expeditions had failed to transform this speculation into reality.
But still … might there be something here that she could use?
Arabella’s hours of work with the greenwood box had served to embed a thorough understanding of the planets’ motion into her mind. As she gazed at the chart, she could not only visualize but feel Mercury, Venus, Earth, and Mars whirling about the roiling Sun, sweeping the currents along as they went. To this understanding she now added the Swenson Current—a powerful loop of air that rose from the Sun perpendicular to the table-top, then fell back toward Mars, only to return to its starting point and rise again. If it were only in the plane of the ecliptic, as Fox had suggested, it would provide a rapid channel for the latter part of the journey from Earth to Mars, at the proper season.
In theory, the current could be used in this way even though it was at right angles to the usual course. The difficulty was in making the transition from the plane of the ecliptic to the plane of the current. The change in velocity required was far, far beyond what was possible using pedal-driven propulsive sails, and all attempts to perform the transfer using cross-currents had failed. Failed spectacularly in one case, resulting in the loss of all hands.
But then there was Mercury. At this season, that rocky and uninhabitable planet sat right at the root of the Swenson, on the opposite side of the Sun from Earth. If only, she thought, it were possible to start there. A ship inbound from Earth would necessarily have a substantial orbital velocity in the plane of the ecliptic, making the shift to the Swenson Current difficult or impossible. But with a standing start on Mercury, one could launch straight northward, directly into the current, and sail along with it for a rapid delivery to Mars.
Arabella’s heart began to beat faster. Breaking the problem in two—Earth to Mercury, Mercury to Mars—might take a knife to the Gordian knot.
“Oh, thank you!” she cried, and planted an impulsive kiss upon Fox’s cheek.
“You are more than welcome,” he replied, rubbing the spot. “For what?”
Orbits and currents whirled in Arabella’s head. “I will explain later,” she said, pulling the greenwood box toward herself.
* * *
“I call it ‘planetary circumduction,’” Arabella said … or tried to, as the last word was obscured by a prodigious yawn. “Circumduction,” she repeated, enunciating carefully.
“Have you slept at all?” Fox asked.
Arabella considered the question, rubbing her burning eyes. The light of the freshly risen sun, glinting off the snow outside, slanted in across the navigational desk and made the greenwood box’s exposed brass gears gleam like gold. The device had broken down so frequently from heavy use that she had stopped bothering to replace its casing after each repair. “I do not believe so, no. But, nonetheless, I have great confidence in this course. I have run the calculations time and again.”
“Explain it again,” said Liddon, tapping the bead representing Mercury. The bead was pinned to the desk upon the chart at Mercury’s present position. Rising above it was a curl of wire, representing the Swenson Current, ending at another bead representing the current position of Mars. Collins, Fox’s sailing-master, gazed dubiously at the improvised assemblage.
“Mercury orbits the Sun thus,” she said, tracing her finger along the planet’s orbit in a counter-clockwise direction. “We will come upon it from behind, thus, traveling in the same direction, and as we approach the planet, its gravity will increase our velocity. If one were to ignore orbital effects, this course would result in an impact upon the surface.” Her moving finger touched the bead. “But according to my calculations”—she patted the greenwood box with her other hand—“with the additional speed derived from our fall toward the moving planet, we will have just enough orbital velocity to whip around Mercury from south to north, departing on a northerly course at nearly a right angle to our original approach. This will put us in exactly the right place to catch the Swenson Current.” Her finger rose upward from the table-top, tracing along the wire. “We emerge from Mercury’s gravitational field like a stone from David’s slingshot, aimed toward the Goliath of Mars.”
“But as we rise from Mercury,” Liddon asked, “do we not lose every bit of speed we gained as we fell toward it?”
“Very nearly,” Arabella acknowledged. “But because of the direction of our approach, we steal a bit of the planet’s orbital velocity, so we actually come awa
y faster than we went in. In exchange, the planet slows imperceptibly in its orbit.”
Fox crossed his arms upon his chest. “Has any one ever attempted such a maneuver before?” he asked.
“Not so far as I know,” Arabella admitted. “But the same could be said of the maneuver that won the battle against Victoire. Which was, may I remind you, also calculated with this instrument.”
“I seem to recall that all of us nearly lost our lives in that battle. And you lost your foot.”
“That was only because of the quantity and velocity of Victoire’s wreckage after we destroyed her. The maneuver itself worked exactly as—” Again she interrupted herself with a tremendous yawn.
Fox, still skeptical, turned his attention to Liddon and Collins. “What do you think of this … circumlocution? Circumspection?”
“Circumduction,” Arabella corrected.
“Whatever it is called, I have certainly never encountered the like,” Collins said, removing his glasses and polishing them on his sleeve. He was a small, round man, looking very like a banker or accountant, whose presence upon a privateer vessel had always struck Arabella as incongruous. “But I have seen Mrs. Singh pull many a seemingly impossible trick from this greenwood box. I certainly cannot say with certainty that it would not work.”
“I agree,” said Liddon. “Though I cannot follow the mathematics, I am prepared to accept that they are correct.”
“Would you stake your life upon it?” Fox demanded. “All of our lives? And the fate of Mars?”
Liddon and Collins conferred on the question, then both turned back to Fox. “Yes,” said Liddon, simply.
Collins concurred with a nod. “It is not without risk. But I do not believe that any other course can get us to Mars in time. This is an extraordinary situation, which requires an extraordinary course.”
“Very well,” said Fox, looking sternly at both of his officers and at Arabella. He opened a cabinet, bringing out a bottle of fine port and four glasses. “To the circumduction of Mercury.”
“To the circumduction of Mercury!” they all chorused, and drank.
* * *
Victualing and watering the ship required most of another day, during which Arabella became increasingly anxious on a variety of points. Would the course she had worked out—a novel, risky, even insane maneuver never before attempted—actually work as expected? Would their plan to warn Mars of the coming invasion be detected and halted before they even departed? And what of the hazards of the unseasonable, exceptionally long, and nearly unprecedented journey itself? No one aboard Touchstone had sailed within the orbit of Venus before, and even the explorers of the Royal Society had rarely visited lifeless, broiling-hot Mercury. To distract herself, she assisted Fox in stocking the ship’s larders, but Touchstone’s crew was a well-oiled machine and her attempts to help more often proved a hindrance.
Despite her exhaustion, she found herself unable to sleep, staring at the deck above her hammock. She felt constantly exhausted and on edge. She was not hungry, and when she did remember to eat she craved only sweet pastries and coffee.
Just after noon Arabella sat half-dozing on the forecastle when a cry from the masthead of “Boat ahoy!” roused her.
“Touchstone!” came the reply, indicating that the lighter was bringing Captain Fox back from one of his provisioning expeditions across the Thames to London. But the boat, when it arrived, proved to contain not only Fox and some hundredweight of casks, but two additional visitors: the American engineer Fulton, and Nelson’s surgeon Dr. Barry.
“I encountered them in a public house at the Mars Docks,” Fox explained to Arabella, “and they absolutely demanded to come aboard for a visit.” He then lowered his voice and added, “And possibly more.”
“Oh?”
“Come with us to the cabin,” he said, cryptically, and also requested Brindle to pass the word for Liddon and for Lady Corey.
* * *
“Our meeting at the Mars Docks was not a coincidence,” Fox explained to Liddon, Arabella, and Lady Corey once the cabin door was shut behind them. “I had sent word to Fulton requesting a meeting, and he brought Dr. Barry along, for reasons which I believe I should leave to the good doctor to explain.”
“Captain Fox has been very forthright with me,” Fulton said, his diction educated but his American accent grating to Arabella’s ear. “I greatly admire and respect the trust with which I have been treated, and I promise you I will return it in kind. He has explained to me the horrific scheme of the Prince Regent’s to dominate and enslave Mars, and requested my assistance in resisting it. As an American, I could not refuse. I offered my services as an engineer to the United States in resisting the depredations of his father George the Third—services which they declined, for which reason I eventually found myself in Napoleon’s employ. I now offer my services to Mars, likewise, and hope that they will be accepted.” He cast an adoring glance at Lady Corey, who smiled in return … but as soon as his eyes left her face it relaxed into a disgusted frown.
Fulton had plainly set his cap for Lady Corey on Venus, an affection she had exploited in their plan to escape from the prison camp but had never truly returned. She thought of him as a vulgar arriviste whose selfish ambition led him to sell his services to the highest bidder. Arabella shared this opinion, though she found his company more tolerable than did Lady Corey, and neither of them could deny that his talents in invention and engineering were unparalleled.
“As for myself,” Dr. Barry said, “I desire nothing more than to escape the unwanted attention which has come my way since my return to Earth.” Barry, a slight and soft-spoken young man of only about twenty, was nonetheless an extremely capable surgeon, and had certainly saved the lives of both Arabella and Captain Fox with his expert care after the Battle of Venus. But he was an extremely shy and modest man, and the fame which his role in the death of Nelson had brought him was plainly quite distressing. Arabella was not surprised to find that he was willing to travel to Mars in order to escape it. “I would be happy to serve as Touchstone’s surgeon in exchange for my passage off-planet.”
“And you would be very welcome, sir,” said Fox, “for we have no surgeon of our own, and the coming voyage is likely to prove exceptionally hazardous. However, as a former Navy man myself, I must warn you that if you join us you may find yourself in conflict with the oath you swore to the King upon joining the service.”
“I thank you for your concern, sir,” Barry replied with a bow. “However, I find myself so uncomfortable with the gaze of the public eye that I have already considered resigning my commission and retiring to private practice. It will be no great hardship to file the necessary papers before departure.”
The two men retired from the cabin while Arabella, Fox, Liddon, and Lady Corey conferred on whether to accept them into the crew. “My main concern,” said Liddon, “is that the addition of two more mouths to feed will strain our already slim rations to the breaking point. If the voyage were to take even one week more than we expect … well, there are no chandlers in the Swenson Current. Nor even asteroids, so far as we know. It may prove a very hungry and thirsty voyage.”
Fox stroked his chin contemplatively. “I understand,” he said, “but in such a situation Dr. Barry’s medical expertise could make the difference in our survival. And as for Mr. Fulton, though I find him personally repugnant”—he looked to his wife, whose expression showed her agreement—“I believe that his military ingenuity would be invaluable in the defense of Mars from the Prince’s navies.” He firmed his chin and nodded decisively. “Have the purser muster them both aboard. We can shift some stores from Mr. Fairchild’s old cabin to make room for them.”
“Aye aye,” said Liddon.
“Apart from that, how goes the provisioning?”
“Assuming you were able to obtain every thing on the list on this most recent trip, and that we can find a place to stow it, we are nearly ready to depart.”
“Could we raise ship at hig
h tide to-morrow?”
Liddon’s mouth quirked as he considered the question, then he nodded. “I believe so, sir.”
Fox looked around. “Then let us prepare to depart. And may God have mercy on us all.”
2
IN TRANSIT, 1816
6
CROSSING VENUS
In the darkness, a hesitant knock sounded on Arabella’s cabin door. “Come in,” she said at once. She had not been asleep.
It was Brindle, his dark face half-illuminated by a lantern. “Last lighter’s just going ashore, ma’am,” he said.
“Oh! Thank you.” Arabella rose from her hammock—fully dressed, as she had lain atop the covers, merely napping, if that, for the last several hours—and from the tiny writing-desk affixed to the wall she drew two folded letters. “Here you are.”
Brindle accepted the letters. “Any thing else, ma’am?”
“Just those.”
One of the letters was addressed to her mother in Croydon. It thanked her for her recent hospitality and begged her forgiveness for any disappointments she had offered as a daughter.
The other was addressed to Captain Singh, in care of the Honorable Mars Company—though she had hesitated at the use of the first word in that title. This one, too, begged forgiveness, but only for her sudden and untoward departure from Brighton. Primarily it listed the reasons for her disappointment in him, and offered her hopes that he change his mind about accepting the position offered him by the Prince Regent.
She did not expect to receive a reply to either letter.
Contemplating the future, she could foresee any number of possible outcomes to the voyage about to begin. Far too many of those ended with her dead, in prison, exiled, or disgraced. But she had no choice. She owed it to her home planet, to her friends and family there, and to her own sense of honor—okhaya, as Khema’s people called it. To rest in comfort as the people of Mars, Englishmen as well as native Martians, suffered would be intolerable.
Arabella the Traitor of Mars Page 8