by K. G. McAbee
Nathanial Stone sighed in resignation. He enjoyed neither the pitying looks of Mr and Mrs White, nor the envious ones of the engineers and midshipmen.
1.
Nearing Venus
Annabelle Somerset tried to hold back her yawn. She was unsuccessful. The gentleman with the magic lantern presentation droned on and on.
“The indigenous creatures of the planet Venus are all reptilian,” he was saying for the fifth time in as many minutes. “No mammalian, warm-blooded creatures ever developed on this hot, extremely wet planet with its dense and constant cloud cover. The luxurious plant life presents a problem to colonists from Earth in that its growth is quite constant and nearly exponential. This is one reason why Her Majesty’s colonies are all on an immense plateau. The vertiginous drop-off to the lower jungles…”
Annabelle’s attention wandered. She glanced about the main drawing room of the RMF Aphrodite, its elegance undimmed by the lack of light and the clouds of smoke rising from the lantern projector.
Two more days until they reached orbit around Venus. Two more days of Nathanial ignoring her as he poured over the mass of books he’d brought with him, sitting in the ship’s library and scribbling on endless sheets in his notebook, in that crabbed and indecipherable code of his, which she had still, irritatingly, not managed to break. Two more days of heavy meals, which she had to walk off on the promenade deck. Two more days.
Would they never end?
“The intelligent lizard-men of Venus live in small villages consisting of several inter-related tribes. These tribes regularly war against each other for the best hunting grounds…”
A hand touched Annabelle’s arm. She ignored it as best she could, but the owner of the hand was unable to take a hint. Indeed, she was fairly sure he would be unable to take a slap on the face as a deterrent to conversation.
Mr George Carstairs leaned closer. “Care for some air, Miss Somerset?” he whispered, and she could smell the wine he’d had with dinner on his breath. He gave her a smile, which displayed a bit of that same dinner still residing between his overlarge front teeth. Spinach, she was quite sure.
Annabelle cast her eyes skyward—or, in this case, ceilingward. Mr Carstairs had been a bit of a problem the entire trip, showering her with unwanted attention, following her about the ship like a lost puppy. He was no George Bedford, that much was certain. But anything was better than being bored to death, surely?
“I would indeed,” she said in a low but decisive tone.
Carstairs shoved his chair back with such eagerness, it toppled over behind him.
“Sorry,” he murmured to no one in particular.
Annabelle was sure he hadn’t offended anyone; she suspected the rest of the observers were asleep anyway. Several snores had punctuated the exhibition already. She rose and followed him to the back of the grand drawing room.
Outside, on the promenade deck, George Carstairs offered her his arm. Annabelle took it and tried to hide her distaste as he patted her hand with his own plump, sweaty one.
“Dashed hot, ain’t it, Miss Somerset?” he asked as he smiled at her. “I mean to say, it’s rather hot, isn’t it?”
“We are quite close to the sun, sir,” Annabelle pointed out, rather more sharply than she’d intended. “A bit of heat must be expected. I confess, it is a relief to me. I spent some time on Luna recently, where it was exceedingly cold. I spent my childhood years in the American deserts and so I much prefer warmth to cold.”
“Luna, indeed?” he said as he tried desperately to keep up with her athletic stride. “Must have been jolly interesting, what? And the Americas! How fascinating.”
“Yes.” Annabelle didn’t want to encourage the young man. She was only planning on walking as far as the door to the reading room, after all, so she could tear Nathanial away from his books for a walk before bed. “It was.”
“And now,” he panted as he struggled to pace her, “it’s off to Venus?”
“Well, that is the next port of call, I believe?”
“Ah, yes. Quite.”
Annabelle led the young gentleman along the promenade deck at a steady pace. After all, if he were out of breath, he wouldn’t be able to pester her with questions or continuous inane remarks. And she did not doubt that he would be out of breath quite soon. Walking on the deck of a space liner used quite a bit of energy and strength. Since they were in space, there was no gravity to hold them still, so they had to wear the heavy space boots with magnets in the soles, to keep them secure on the metal decking. In addition, Annabelle had smaller ones sewn into the hem of her skirts and petticoats, to keep them from flying about indecorously. The constant clanking and pulling had come near to driving her to distraction at the beginning of the trip, but now, after nearly a month onboard, she was used to the sound. Well, nearly.
While ship’s time labelled it evening, very near the end of the second dog watch, the Aphrodite was so near the sun that darkness had been left far behind them, and they strolled and clanked through blazing sunlight only partially blocked by the ship’s massive screens.
They reached the end of the promenade deck and began the trip across to the starboard side. Generally, by now, Carstairs would have given up and gone in search of something cool to drink, but this time he stuck manfully by Annabelle’s side.
She took pity on him. “And what is your reason for visiting Venus, if I may be so bold?”
“Doing the old grand tour, don’t you know, before I settle down. The pater thought it best for me to see a bit of the system. A few weeks on Venus, then it’s off to Mars for a month or so, and perhaps a short run out to view some of the mining concerns in the Belt before I get back to old Blighty. I say, Miss Somerset, can we stop for a moment?”
“No, sir, we cannot,” Annabelle said. “I must fetch my friend from the reading room, and then we shall take a brisk walk around the decks before bedtime. If you wish to retire, sir, I am quite sure I can proceed on my own.”
“Oh…no, indeed.” Mr Carstairs’ face had turned an alarming shade of red. It might have been a reflection from the refracting screens that protectively encircled the Aphrodite, but Annabelle rather thought not. “Mustn’t leave a lady all alone; wouldn’t be fitting.”
“Sir, what possible danger could there be for me here?” Annabelle waved her hand to encompass the entire massive bulk of the huge aether ship. “This is one of Her Majesty’s finest passenger ships travelling the triangle trade: Earth to Venus to Mars. Mars to Earth to Venus. Indeed, the orbits of the three planets make it quite literally an enormous triangular journey, at least during certain times.”
“I say, you sound just like one of my professors at Cambridge.” Mr Carstairs looked at her like a plump yet admiring dog. All it wanted to complete the comparison was a tongue hanging from the side of his mouth, and Carstairs was very near that state. “I confess, I’ve never been able to get my mind around all this travelling through the aether. I’m more of a man of action, don’t you know.” He tried to flex the muscles in the arm Annabelle held but, since there were few there, failed.
“Thank you kindly, sir,” Annabelle said. “That is quite a compliment. My uncle, Doctor Cyrus Grant, has always told me a woman’s mind is as good as a man’s, any day. You have confirmed him,” she looked at her companion, one eyebrow raised, “in more ways than you can know.” She stopped so suddenly Carstairs nearly tripped. “Now, here is the door to the reading room, where I have something very important which I must do. Good night, Mr Carstairs. Thank you for your…protection.”
Annabelle nodded as the gentleman hurriedly opened the door, then deserted him as she sailed inside.
The reading room was empty, or so she thought at first. Then she caught sight of a pile of books and papers tucked into a net covering, with others hanging in a string bag attached to the edge of Nathanial’s usual table in the far corner.
“Nathanial,” she said as she made her circuitous way through the clutter of tables, chairs and reading
lamps, “it is time for our walk. Do put those books away and come along.”
Nathanial Stone looked up, his ginger hair disarranged from his habit of running his right hand through it when he was writing, his eyes blinking, his gaze distracted.
Really, thought Annabelle, it’s almost as if he can’t see me at all.
It bothered her, and she wondered why.
Then Nathanial’s expression cleared. “Why, good day, Annabelle,” he said. “Walk? Certainly. I am sure it is time for one.” He stood and stretched. She could hear his joints pop in protest.
Annabelle shook her head at him. “Nathanial, it’s not good day, it’s good evening. Have you eaten at all today?” She saw a plate with crusts and crumbs, half hidden under an open book. “Ah, I see. You’ve had the steward bring you sandwiches again. Really, you must take better care of yourself.”
Nathanial looked at the plate as if he had no idea where it had come from or, indeed, what it might be. “Yes, I believe I did have some sandwiches for luncheon. They were not very filling, though, for I am still hungry.”
“Well, since luncheon was at least eight hours ago, I’m not surprised.” Annabelle brushed crumbs from her friend’s waistcoat and was rewarded by a blush that contrasted badly with his ginger hair and whiskers. “Now, come along. I’ll ask the steward to make you an omelette and we’ll have a glass of wine. We reach Venus in two days and you’ve hardly done anything the entire trip but read your enormous books.”
“You, I am sure, have spent your time learning all about our destination?” Nathanial took her arm and allowed her to lead him out of the reading room. “I shall depend on you to tell me all about it when we arrive, though I doubt if I will have time to see much of the place. Now, you know, I believe you are quite correct. I do seem to be more than a bit peckish. Did you say something about an omelette?”
Annabelle looked up at him and smiled. “Really, you are the most adorable man,” she said, and laughed when he turned a blazing red. “I shall have the steward stuff as many mushrooms as he can into your eggs, and we shall share a peach afterwards. I know how you dote upon peaches.”
2.
Oberst Hans Kurt’s Office
Karlstadt, Largest German Encampment on Venus
Oberst Hans Kurt sat at his desk in his large, bare office. He’d requisitioned the huge room the moment he’d arrived at the main German settlement on Venus, nearly five months ago, but to outside eyes, it still had the appearance of a transitory spot, somewhere the oberst was simply perching for a moment before flying off to do great things. This was Kurt’s intent, the idea he wished to convey. He had no plans to stay on Venus longer than was absolutely necessary, and had been planning his escape almost since the instant he’d been ordered here. If he had allowed himself such a weakness, he would have been dismayed his departure was taking so long. But he never allowed any weakness.
Kurt was a tall man, whip lean, with the close-cropped blond hair of a true Prussian. His ice blue eyes glittered in a face darkened by the fierce sun of Venus, which blazed like a furnace and cut through the constant cloud covering like hot knives. He was dressed in full tropical uniform, including his vast array of medals; not even the top button of his linen jacket was unloosed, though the heat in his office was staggering. A fan swished lazily above his head, stirring the thick humid air, which poured in the open windows. Outside, he could just see the bony crest of the ancient lizard-man who pulled the rope that moved his fan. He could also hear the shouts from the parade ground as his men trained and marched.
He had plans, did the oberst. But for now, plans were all he had. If the man who was being brought to his office turned out to be the man he needed, though, then his plans would soon become reality. When they did, he would drive the Verdammten Englisch off this planet and back to their tiny island where they all belonged. And how the Kaiser would praise him then! How the Kaiser would heap rewards on his deserving head!
A single knock at the door of spongy native kalsa wood sounded muffled, but broke through the happy dreams in the oberst’s mind.
“Herein,” snapped Kurt.
The door opened. His orderly, Fritz, took two steps inside and stood at stiff attention as two soldiers pushed a man in front of them into the room.
The pushed man contrasted badly with the clean, efficient Fritz and the two soldiers. He was a tall man, well muscled, with thick black hair tumbling over a broad but rather low forehead. Dark blue eyes seemed to twinkle with misplaced merriment, considering his arms were manacled in front of him and his clothes hung from his sturdy frame in little more than tatters. His wide shoulders slumped, but not, it appeared, in dejection or concern, for the expression on his face was inordinately cheerful.
After one quick first glance, Kurt kept his eyes on his paperwork until his men stopped before his desk, clicked their heels in unison and the obergefreiter on the right said smartly, “The prisoner, Herr Oberst!”
Kurt looked up, to find his eyes caught immediately by the gaze of the shabby man. To his surprise, the man was smiling.
“You find something amusing?” Kurt asked in his excellent English.
The man grinned wider. “You could say that, Mein Herr.”
“And what is so funny, pray tell me?” Kurt snapped.
The man shook his manacles meaningfully. “This. You need me, boyo, and you bring me to you in chains? Not the best way to do business, now is it…sir?”
Kurt bristled at the man’s insolence. He was correct; Kurt needed him—for now. Once that time of need was past, however, the man would sing a different tune.
“Remove the restraints,” he said, and, as were all his orders, it was done at once.
“You may go,” Kurt said.
With not a single word, the men turned and marched out; Fritz followed them out and shut the door behind them.
“Got ’em well trained,” the newcomer said. “That’s the thing about you krauts; you don’t stint on the training.” He was rubbing his wrists absently as he examined the room. “And another thing; you like your comfort. This chair, now,” he pulled a wooden armchair forward and settled into it, throwing one long leg over an arm and slouching down, “very nice. Now. What do you want with me…if I may be so bold?”
Kurt rustled the papers in front of him. “I have need of you, I will not disagree, Herr…” he glanced down, “Herr Simon O’Rourke. If that is indeed your name?”
“That’s my name,” his prisoner agreed. “And I’m honoured you know it.”
“Honour, sir?” Kurt gave a thin-lipped smile. “I doubt you know the meaning of the word.” He opened a fat folder and began, “You were transported here seven years ago, due to…certain crimes which are of no importance to me. You served a small fragment of your sentence before you escaped and took to the bush. Since then, you have led some rather daring raids on the English settlements, though you have been lucky enough to retain your freedom. The officials of your country—”
“Not my country,” O’Rourke interrupted with the first sign he’d shown of anything other than amusement. “I’m Irish, Herr Oberst, to the heart and soul and core. I’m no bloody Englishman.”
Kurt shrugged. “Indeed. It is no matter to me what allegiance you claim. So long…” he looked up and caught O’Rourke’s eye. Sapphire blue battled with ice blue for an instant, then sapphire looked away. “So long as you serve me faithfully.”
“Serve you in what?”
Kurt’s smile was as thin as a blade. “Serve me in my glorious task. I have my orders from the Highest. Kaiser Wilhelm himself has entrusted me to remove the English from his colony of Venus. And you are now a part of my plan.”
“Sounds a big plan, sir.” O’Rourke sat up, his interest obviously piqued. “And a good idea, removing the bloody British, I will not argue. Tell me what you have in mind…”
3.
Fort Collingwood, Venus
Nathanial Stone stood on the parapets of the tall barricade around Fort Collingwo
od, Her Majesty’s largest settlement on Venus, and gazed out into the dense jungles surrounding the fort. The huge trees and thick undergrowth were huddled into an impenetrable mass, twisting round and about each other like a conglomerate of giant worms, as threatening as a pack of wild animals.
So green, he thought, shaking his head slowly in an admiration akin to fear; so green. Not the pale yellowy green of spring or the lush rich green of summer. The green of Venus was dark and intense and multilayered, a storm of green, a monstrous green, a frightening green. As he gazed, he had the strangest feeling that the jungle was gazing back at him, a single huge carnivorous beast licking its emerald lips in anticipation.
He leaned through the gap between the pointed posts, his hands grasping tightly on the rough yet oddly yielding wood. The trees these had been cut from must have been enormous! Still, perhaps a mile beyond the clearing below which circled the huge fort, he saw many far taller, far thicker, trees standing at attention; at the foot of the trees, the undergrowth crouched as if waiting to pounce once he took his eyes away.
And the beasts inhabiting that dense verdant jungle! He’d only seen a few so far, and those the smaller ones brought in for fresh meat or shackled to carts for ploughing the fields outside the barricade. All rough scaly hides and spines and leathery plates, like the ancient bones and fossils dug up on his own planet. What might live deep in that dangerous jungle stretching away to infinity before him?
Stone leaned further over the parapet, fighting the primeval pull of the thousands of miles of green before him…
“There you are, Stone old boy!” called a cheerful voice behind him.