Kate’s face was flushed with anger now. “Sir Hugh, I must ask you—”
But the eminent zoologist strode past her to the cage.
“Show us the strings, Sir Hugh!” one of his cronies called out.
“Make it do the cancan for us!” another hooted.
“Leave my specimen alone, Sir Hugh!” Kate said.
“This is no specimen, Miss de Vries.” With a flourish the zoologist swept his hand over the cage, hoping to find strings. He frowned. The conceited oaf was having his first doubts. He passed his hand several times more over the cage, like some magician’s assistant. The audience gave out a great burst of laughter. He turned and glared at Kate.
“Humph! Clockwork and a bit of balloon, then, is it? It looks as real as a windup toy! Look here!”
He fumbled with the cage’s latch.
“Sir Hugh, don’t—”
Before Kate could stop him, he had opened the door and thrust his hand inside.
I winced.
Incredibly, nothing happened. Sir High closed his entire fist around the hatchling. Its balloon sac went limp and sagged against his hand.
“Ha-ha!” cried Sir Hugh. “Another charlatan debunked! It’s nothing but a bit of silk and thread!” He gave it a good shake.
“What have you done to it!” Kate cried, rushing over. “Put it down—you’ll harm it!”
“Miss de Vries, I think I speak for the entire scientific community when I say that we’ve tolerated your tawdry kind of scholarship—and I dignify it by even calling it scholarship—long enough-f-f-f-f-f—”
Sir Hugh was stuttering. His face was going red. His clenched fist and arm shook as though he had a terrible palsy.
“F-f-f-f-f-f—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” said Kate in irritation. “He’s being electrocuted. Can someone lend a hand?”
None of Sir Hugh’s colleagues seemed terribly keen to help, so I started pushing my way toward the stage. He was making a high-pitched squeal now, an odd thing to come from such a snooty gentleman. But I’d seen what those tentacles, even the young slender ones, could do. In his agony the zoologist tried to wrench his hand out of the cage and knocked it off the table. It went tumbling to the floor. Glass exploded across the stage and into the audience. Sir Hugh staggered back, cradling his singed hand, which was now free of the aerozoan hatchling.
“That was a very foolish thing to do, Sir Hugh!” Kate said.
I was very near the stage now, and my eyes were on the aerozoan, hovering stunned a few inches off the glass-strewn floor. Without warning its balloon sac inflated, its apron flexed, and it jetted out into the audience.
Panic seized the entire theater as the aerozoan bobbed about overhead. There was shouting and screaming and a wild scramble as the people in front fled their seats, climbing over one another in a most uncivil manner.
“Don’t let it escape!” Kate cried, hurrying off the stage.
I snatched a top hat from a gentleman’s head.
“May I borrow this?” I said, and sent the hat spinning through the air toward the aerozoan. It was a very lucky shot, for the hat dropped right over the top of the hatchling and took it straight down to the floor.
“Well done!” Kate said beside me.
“Fabulous lecture,” I said.
“A shame no one’s staying for the question period.”
We rushed over to the hat, which was taking little hops along the carpeted aisle.
“I don’t fancy picking it up,” I said.
“We’ll need something to slide underneath first,” Kate remarked.
The hat suddenly leapt off the floor and sailed above our heads, the tentacles flailing about menacingly. We ducked, then dashed up the aisle after it, hoping it would come to ground again. But it only jetted higher. Bobbing beneath the timbered ceiling, it headed toward one of the open windows.
“Oh, no!” cried Kate.
The top-hatted aerozoan bumped against the window frame several times before sailing out over the rooftops of the Sorbonne.
“I’m sorry about your specimen,” I said to Kate.
“That thing nearly electrocuted me!” thundered Sir Hugh, striding toward us, still nursing his hand.
Kate turned, eyes flashing with anger. “You have a great deal to answer for, Sir Hugh!”
“Look at my hand!”
“Dear me,” Kate said tartly. “I’m awfully sorry. But you know, that’s what sometimes happens, Sir Hugh, when you shove your hand at wild animals. They tend not to like it!”
“There may be permanent scarring!” Sir Hugh bellowed.
“But the good news is now you know it’s a real creature.”
Sir Hugh paused. “I know no such thing.”
Kate’s nostrils narrowed. “You held it in your hand. It attacked you. You saw it fly.”
“The work of wily accomplices, perhaps,” he said. “And where is your proof now, eh? Conveniently disappeared!”
“You set it free!”
“I mean to have you removed from this institution,” said Sir Hugh. “I’ll be speaking to the provost about this. In the meantime, I’ll also be speaking to my attorney—about grievous bodily harm!”
“And I shall talk to my attorney about how you injured and lost my priceless specimen!”
“Ha!” he said, stalking off, taking nervous glances overhead.
“Do you really have an attorney?” I asked.
“No, but I should get one,” she said, staring forlornly out the window.
“I don’t think it’s coming back,” I said.
“No, but if it does, I hope it has another go at Sir Hugh. Poor Phoebe. I hope she’ll be all right.”
I laughed. “You gave it a name?”
“Of course I did. She and I spent a lot of time together.”
“I’m sure she was very affectionate.”
“Oh, be quiet, Matt.”
“Nothing like a tender little zap when you’re feeling low.”
“Ha-ha-ha!” she said. “I’m glad you’re so jovial about the end of my career.”
“Sir Hugh can’t do that, can he?”
“He’s a very powerful man. There’re enough rotting old carcasses like him around here. They could have me thrown out if they wanted.”
Near the front, Miss Simpkins poked her head up between two rows of seats, where she’d been cowering under her parasol. I hadn’t even noticed her earlier. Cautiously she stood up and brushed herself off.
“Well, I could’ve told you it would end badly,” she said. “Bottling freakish little creatures and bringing them home. You’re lucky no one was killed.”
“Thanks for your sympathy, Marjorie.”
“It was rather diverting, though,” she said. “I’ve never seen anyone get electrocuted.”
“Is there to be no question period?” someone asked politely.
For the first time I noticed two gentlemen sitting far back in the theater. The house lights were still dimmed, so I couldn’t see them properly.
Kate turned to them. “I’m sorry, gentlemen. Of course I’m happy to take your questions now.”
“Do you think there are any limits to the heights at which life can exist?” one of the shadowy gentlemen asked.
“I certainly know life can exist in all sorts of unlikely places,” she said. “But how high, I don’t know. That’s an area that needs a great deal more study.”
“Would you consider joining an expedition that would allow you to do just that?”
Kate blinked. “Instantly.”
“Well, then, perhaps we should talk further.”
“Excuse me, sir,” said Miss Simpkins primly. “Do we know you?”
As we all walked closer, the two gentlemen stood and moved out into the aisle, where they were more visible.
“My name is John McKinnon,” said a slim man in a finely tailored blue suit. “I’m the Canadian Minister of Air. And I believe you already know Mr. Lunardi.”
I was surp
rised enough by a cabinet minister, but now I stared at the second gentleman in amazement. He was most familiar to me from newspapers and newsreels. Mr. Otto Lunardi was the airship magnate who owned the Aurora. Two years ago, when the ship had returned to Sydney Harbor after escaping the clutches of Vikram Szpirglas, Mr. Lunardi had greeted the crew and shaken my hand.
He seemed large, even though he was surprisingly short. He had a boxer’s physique, compact and barrel-chested, with powerful shoulders and a large head. His body seemed barely able to contain all its energy. Even standing he was in motion, rocking back and forth, his quick, curious eyes darting from face to face, missing nothing.
“Miss de Vries and Mr. Cruse, it’s fine to see you both looking so well,” he said, shaking our hands heartily. “And, Miss de Vries, what a fascinating lecture that was.”
“Why, thank you, Mr. Lunardi.”
“Precisely the kind of thing Sir John and I are looking for.”
“You’re involved in some kind of zoological research?” Kate asked with surprise.
“Much more than that. Much better. You’ll be interested too, Mr. Cruse. Or at least I hope so. It’s a bit stuffy in here, isn’t it? Let’s go for a walk. It’s a lovely day, and we have a great deal to talk about.”
KEPLER’S DREAM
Outside, we crossed the street to the Luxembourg Gardens and strolled along its shady paths. Glancing between the trees, I caught glimpses of the honey-colored palace, and the fountain where children sailed toy boats. All around, people sat on benches and chairs and read or chatted. We walked along, the four of us, with Miss Simpkins trailing behind.
I felt quite tongue-tied in the presence of Mr. Lunardi. It wasn’t just his fame. Seeing him woke my memories of his son, Bruce. We’d sailed together on the Aurora’s fateful voyage. He’d helped save the ship from pirates, but Szpirglas had killed him. When Mr. Lunardi had met the ship in Sydney, it was to collect the body of his boy; and when he’d shaken my hand, the grief in his eyes had brought tears to mine.
Sir John led us down a set of steps to the fountain terrace and ushered us toward a group of empty chairs.
“Let’s enjoy the sun here, shall we?” he said, inviting us all to sit.
Rising above the trees to the east was the Celestial Tower, reaching ever higher into the sky. There was virtually nowhere in Paris you couldn’t see it. The sight of it made me think of the god Atlas, shouldering the weight of the entire world.
“You’re familiar with the work of Johannes Kepler, I’m sure,” said Mr. Lunardi, following my gaze.
“The German astronomer,” I replied. “The Laws of Planetary Motion. We studied them last term at the Academy.”
“The fellow was a visionary,” said Mr. Lunardi. “Must’ve felt he lived three hundred years too early. His eyes always on the sky, but never having the ability to go there. Did you read the letter he wrote to Galileo?”
I shook my head.
Mr. Lunardi smiled and cleared his throat. “Kepler wrote, ‘There will certainly be no lack of human pioneers when we have mastered the art of flight…. Let us create vessels and sails adjusted to the heavenly ether, and there will be plenty of people unafraid of the empty wastes. In the meantime, we shall prepare, for the brave sky travelers, maps of the celestial bodies—I shall do it for the moon, you, Galileo, for Jupiter.’” Mr. Lunardi chuckled. “Fabulous stuff, eh?”
“It’s very stirring,” Kate agreed.
“Here’s the matter at hand,” said Sir John, lowering his voice and leaning in toward us. “What I’m about to say is a matter of great secrecy, you understand, and I know I can trust the three of you, as patriotic Canadians, to respect that.”
Kate and I murmured our assent. I felt a prickling of gooseflesh across my neck.
“Our government,” Sir John resumed, “has entered into a joint venture with the Lunardi Corporation to explore outer space.”
I leaned forward so quickly, I nearly toppled out of my chair. I looked at Kate in amazement, then back at Sir John. “I didn’t even know the Canadians had a space program!”
“We’ve been keeping it all very hush-hush. We’re in the lead and we intend to stay there.”
“But the French—”
“Forget about the French,” said Mr. Lunardi. “They haven’t a hope. That tower will never make it through the stratosphere. It’s sad, really. One almost wants to say something, but there’s no arguing with the French.”
“You have a ship, then?” I asked.
“We have a very fine ship,” said Sir John. “Mr. Lunardi and his team have taken care of that.”
“We’ve been working on it for almost two years now,” Mr. Lunardi said, his eyes alight with enthusiasm. “The ship is built, and ready to fly.”
“We’re assembling a group of people we’d like to be on her maiden voyage,” said Sir John. “We want the best people in their fields. And you came to mind very quickly, Miss de Vries.”
“Did I?” she said, trying to sound surprised, but I don’t think she’d ever sounded more delighted.
“We’ve been following your work,” Mr. Lunardi said. Even sitting, the man crackled with energy, his hands aloft, gripping the air for emphasis. “And your lecture just now convinced me you’re exactly what we need—a set of fiercely inquisitive young eyes. If there’s life up there, you’ll find it.”
Kate seemed to positively blaze at these compliments. And I was burning just as brightly—with envy. They’d just invited her to take part in the first voyage into outer space! I would’ve given anything to be on that ship.
“Well, it’s very kind of you to think of me,” Kate said modestly.
“Will you join us, then, Miss de Vries?”
“I’d love to,” she said without a second’s hesitation.
“Your parents,” chimed in Miss Simpkins, speaking for the first time.
“Oh, my parents,” said Kate carelessly.
“We’d ask their consent, of course,” said Mr. Lunardi.
Kate waved her hand. “I wouldn’t bother—they’re terribly busy.”
“They’ll never consent,” said Miss Simpkins. “And you’ll not have me as a chaperone this time. Nothing could convince me to travel to outer space. I’ve had quite enough of your absurd adventures.”
“I won’t be bound by my parents’ wishes,” Kate said frostily. “Anyway, I don’t see why they’d need to know—would they, Marjorie?
She gave her chaperone a bright and terrifying smile.
Sir John cleared his throat. “Well, I’m afraid this isn’t something that can be kept secret, Miss de Vries. Once we announce the expedition and its crew, your name will appear in every newspaper in the world. Your parents will have to be told. And since you’re technically a minor, we would need their consent.”
“Shouldn’t present a problem,” Kate said breezily.
“I’ve met your father several times in Lionsgate City,” Mr. Lunardi said to Kate. “He seems a reasonable fellow, and I can wager he’d appreciate the historic magnitude of our venture. Let me speak to him. Perhaps I will be able to bend his ear a little.”
“You can peel his ear right off his head,” Miss Simpkins said, “but I can’t see it making any difference to Mr. de Vries.”
“If it’s propriety they’re worried about,” said Sir John, “there will be another woman aboard ship, so you’ll be properly chaperoned.”
“I do so like being chaperoned,” Kate murmured.
“And as for your safety,” Mr. Lunardi added, “I can assure you I’ve never built an unskyworthy vessel in my life. The captain and crew will be unrivaled in their expertise.”
“They’re lucky fellows,” I said.
“Indeed,” said Mr. Lunardi. “The first astralnauts.”
“The French are calling them spationauts,” I said.
“The French can call them whatever they wish,” said Mr. Lunardi, chuckling. “I’m sure their uniforms will be splendid. But they won’t be the ones in space.
Which brings me to you, Mr. Cruse. How high would you like to fly?”
A smile soared across my face. “As high as I possibly can.”
“An excellent reply. We’re starting the training program next week, and we want you to take part.”
“Next week!” I said.
“You have a more pressing commitment, perhaps, Mr. Cruse?”
“It’s just…I have a job here for the summer.”
“At the Celestial Tower, yes—we made some inquiries,” said Sir John. “That’s not a problem. You can give notice immediately. The Ministry of Air has arranged very generous compensation for all the astralnaut trainees. Twelve hundred dollars, I believe.”
It was triple my salary for the entire summer. I knew what my mother would say, though. Once you’ve accepted a job, you should finish it. But only a fool wouldn’t seize this chance. I would’ve taken it for free.
“Not bad, eh, Mr. Cruse?” said Mr. Lunardi. “And that’s just for the training. If you’re selected for the expedition, there’ll be additional remuneration.”
My smile faltered. “So there’s no guarantee I’ll make it on?”
Lunardi shook his head. “Afraid not. But you’re an extremely promising candidate.”
“You came highly recommended,” said Sir John. “And space travel is for the young. We shan’t be looking at anyone over thirty for flight crew. We reckon it requires an entirely different set of skills than sky sailing.”
“I can’t imagine they’ll find anyone more able than you,” said Kate, with an encouraging smile, and though I smiled back, it irked me that she’d simply been invited while I had to prove myself.
“I mean to be on that ship,” I said to the two gentlemen.
Mr. Lunardi smiled. “Excellent.”
“The last century belonged to France,” said Sir John, “but this new one shall be Canada’s. We’re about to make Kepler’s dream come true.”
“May I see your chits, please?”
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