The Space Machine

by Christopher Priest

  “Will you wait?”

  She showed me into a reception-room, and closed the doors behind me.

  I must have walked a little too energetically up the Hill, for I found that I was hot and flushed, and my face was damp with perspiration. I mopped my face with my kerchief as quickly as possible, then, to calm myself, I glanced around the room, hoping that an appraisal of its furniture would gain me an insight into Sir William’s tastes. In fact, the room was ill furnished to the point of bareness. A small octagonal table stood before the fireplace, and beside it were two faded easy chairs, but these, apart from the curtains and a threadbare carpet, were all that were there.

  Presently, the servant returned.

  “Would you please come this way, Mr Turnbull?” she said. “You may leave your case here in the hallway.”

  I followed her along a corridor, then turned to the left and came into a comfortable drawing-room, which opened onto the garden by way of a french window. The servant indicated that I should pass through, and as I did so I saw Amelia sitting at a white, wrought-iron table placed beneath two apple trees on the lawn.

  “Mr Turnbull, ma’am,” said the woman, and Amelia set aside the book she had been reading.

  “Edward,” she said. “You’re earlier than I expected. That’s wonderful…it’s such a lovely day for a ride!”

  I sat down on the opposite side of the little table I was aware that the servant was still standing by the french window.

  “Mrs Watchets, will you bring us some lemonade?” Amelia said to her, then turned to me. “You must be thirsty from your walk up the Hill. We’ll have just one glass each, then set off at once.”

  It was delightful to be with her again, and such a pleasant surprise that she was as lovely as I had remembered her. She was wearing a most pleasing combination of white blouse and dark blue silk skirt, and on her head she had a flowered raffia bonnet. Her long auburn hair, finely brushed and held behind her ears with a clip, fell neatly down her back. She was sitting so that the sunlight fell across her face, and as the branches of the apple trees moved in the gentle breeze, their shadows seemed to stroke the skin of her face. Her profile was presented to me: she was beautiful in many ways, not least that her fine features were exquisitely framed by the style of hair. I admired the graceful way she sat, the delicacy of her fair skin, the candour of her eyes.

  “I haven’t brought a bicycle with me,” I said. “I wasn’t—”

  “We have plenty here, and you may use one of those. I’m delighted you could come today, Edward. There are so many things I have to tell you.”

  “I’m terribly sorry if I got you into trouble,” I said, wanting to get off my chest the one matter that had been preoccupying me. “Mrs Anson was in no doubt as to my presence in your room.”

  “I understand you were shown the door.”

  “Directly after breakfast,” I said. “I didn’t see Mrs Anson…”

  At that moment Mrs Watchets reappeared, bearing a tray with a glass jug and two tumblers, and I allowed my sentence to go unfinished. While Mrs Watchets poured out the drinks, Amelia pointed out to me a rare South American shrub growing in the garden (Sir William had brought it back with him from one of his overseas journeys), and I expressed the greatest interest in it.

  When we were once more alone, Amelia said: “Let us talk of those matters while we are riding. I’m sure Mrs Watchets would be as scandalized as Mrs Anson to hear of our nocturnal liaisons.”

  There was something about her use of the plural that sent a pleasurable, though not entirely guiltless, thrill through me.

  The lemonade was delicious: ice-cold, and with a sharp hint of sourness that stimulated the palate. I finished mine with immoderate speed.

  “Tell me a little of Sir William’s work,” I said. “You told me that he has lost interest in his horseless carriage. What is he engaged in at the moment?”

  “Perhaps if you are to meet Sir William, you should ask him that yourself. But it is no secret that he has built a heavier-than-air flying machine.”

  I looked at her in amazement.

  “You cannot be serious!” I said. “No machine can fly!”

  “Birds fly; they are heavier than air.”

  “Yes, but they have wings.”

  She stared at me thoughtfully for a moment. “You had better see it for yourself, Edward. It’s just beyond those trees.”

  “In which case,” I said, “yes, let me see this impossible thing!”

  We left our glasses on the table, and Amelia led me across the lawn towards a thicket of trees. We passed through these in the direction of Richmond Park—which ran right up to the boundary of the house grounds—until we came to an area which had been levelled, and the surface compacted with a hard covering. On this stood the flying machine.

  It was larger than I could have imagined it would be, extending some twenty feet at its widest point It was clearly unfinished: the framework, which was of wooden struts, was uncovered, and there appeared to be nowhere that the driver could sit. On each side of the main body there was a wing, sagging so that the tip touched the ground. The overall appearance was similar to that of a dragonfly at rest, although it had none of the beauty of that insect.

  We walked over to it and I ran my fingers along the surface of the nearer wing. There seemed to be several wooden formers under the fabric, which itself had the texture of silk. It was stretched very tightly, so that drumming one’s fingers on the fabric produced a hollow sound.

  “How does it work?” I said.

  Amelia went over to the main body of the machine.

  “The motor was fixed in this position,” she said, indicating four struts more substantial than the others. “Then this system of pulleys carried the cables which raised and lowered the wings.”

  She pointed out the hinges which allowed the wings to flap up and down, and I found by lifting one that the motion was very smooth and strong.

  “Sir William should have continued with this!” I said. “Surely to fly would be a wonderful thing!”

  “He became disillusioned with it,” Amelia said. “He was discontented with the design. One evening he told me that he needed the time to reconsider his theory of flight, because this machine simply imitates unsuccessfully the movements of a bird. He said that it needed a thorough reappraisal. Also, the reciprocating engine he was using was too heavy for the machine, and not powerful enough.”

  “I should have thought that a man of Sir William’s genius could have modified the motor,” I said.

  “Oh, but he did. See this.” Amelia pointed out a queer assemblage, placed deep inside the structure. It seemed on first sight to be made of ivory and brass, but there was a crystalline quality to it that somehow deceived the eye, so that within its winking, multifaceted depths it was not possible to see the constituent parts.

  “What is this?” I said, very interested.

  “A device of Sir William’s own invention. It is a substance that enhances power, and it was not without effect. But as I say, he was not content with the design and has abandoned the machine altogether.”

  “Where is the engine now?” I said.

  “In the house. He uses it to generate electricity for his laboratory.”

  I bent down to examine the crystalline material more closely, but even near to, it was difficult to see how it was made. I was disappointed with the flying machine, and thought it would have been fun to see it in the air.

  I straightened, and saw that Amelia had stepped back a little.

  I said to her: “Tell me, do you ever assist Sir William in his laboratory?”

  “If I am called upon to do so.”

  “So you are Sir William’s confidante?”

  Amelia said: “If you mean that I could persuade him to purchase your goggles, then I suppose so.”

  I said nothing to this, for the wretched affair of the goggles was not on my mind.

  We had started walking slowly back towards the house, and as we came to t
he lawn, Amelia said: “Shall we now go for our bicycle ride?”

  “I’d like that.”

  We went into the house and Amelia summoned Mrs Watchets. She told her that we would be out for the rest of the afternoon, but that tea should be served as normal at four-thirty. Then we went to an outhouse where several bicycles were stacked, selected one each, and pushed them through the grounds until we reached the edge of the Park.

  iii

  We rested in the shade of some trees overlooking the Pen Ponds, and Amelia at last told me what had happened to her on the morning following our conversation.

  “I was not called for breakfast,” she said, “and being tired I overslept. At eight-thirty I was awakened by Mrs Anson bringing a breakfast-tray into the room. Then, as you might expect, I was given the benefit of Mrs Anson’s views on morality…at her customary length.”

  “Was she angry with you? Did you try to explain?”

  “Well, she wasn’t angry, or at least she didn’t reveal her anger. And I had no chance to explain. She was tight-lipped and solicitous. She knew what had happened, or she had made up her mind what had happened, and at first I thought that had I made any attempt to deny what was already a foregone conclusion it would have provoked her to a rage, so I sat and listened humbly to her advice. This was, in substance, that I was a young lady of education and breeding, and that what she referred to as ‘loose living’ was not for the likes of me. It was, however, very revealing in another way. I realized that she could censure the imagined actions of others, yet at the same time display a prurient and consuming curiosity about them. For all her anger, Mrs Anson was hoping for insights into what had happened.”

  “I suppose her curiosity was disappointed,” I said.

  “Not at all,” said Amelia, smiling as she held a stem of grass in her hand and stripped away the outer leaves to reveal the bright-green, soft inner stalk. “I supplied her with a few illuminating details.”

  I found myself laughing in spite of the fact that I was at once very embarrassed and rather excited.

  “I should like to hear one or two of those details,” I said, boldly.

  “Sir, what of my modesty?” Amelia said, fluttering her eyelashes at me in an exaggerated way, then she too laughed aloud. “With her curiosity satisfied, and with my life revealed to be on the downward path, she hastened from my room, and that was the end of that. I left the hotel as soon as I could. The delay had made me late for my appointment at the engineering works, and I wasn’t able to get to our luncheon in time. I’m very sorry.”

  “That’s all right,” I said, feeling well pleased with myself, even if my scandalous reputation were a fiction.

  We were sitting together against the bole of a huge tree, the bicycles leaning against another tree. A few yards away, two little boys in sailor suits were trying to make a toy yacht sail out across the Pond. Near by, their nanny watched without interest.

  “Let’s ride further,” I said. “I’d like to see more of the Park.”

  I leaped up and extended my hands to help Amelia to her feet. We ran over to the bicycles and disentangled them. We mounted and turned into the breeze, heading in the general direction of Kingston-upon-Thames.

  We pedalled at a leisurely rate for a few minutes, but then, just as we were approaching a slight rise in the ground, Amelia called out: “Let’s race!”

  I pedalled harder, but with the combination of the headwind and the gradient it was heavy going. Amelia kept abreast of me.

  “Come on, you’re not trying!” she shouted, and surged slightly ahead of me.

  I pressed down harder on the pedals and managed to catch her up, but at once she pulled ahead again. I raised myself from the saddle, and used all my strength to try to make up the difference, but for all my efforts Amelia managed somehow to stay a few yards ahead. Suddenly, as if tired of playing with me, Amelia shot quickly forward and, bumping alarmingly over the uneven surface of the path, climbed quickly up the slope. I knew I could never keep up with her, and at once gave up the unequal struggle. I watched her ahead of me…then realized with a shock that she was still sitting upright in the saddle, and, as far as I could see, was free-wheeling!

  Aghast, I watched her bicycle spin over the crest of the slope, at a speed that must have been well in excess of twenty miles an hour, and then vanish from my sight.

  I pedalled on peevishly, sulking a little at the way my pride had been thwarted. As I came over the crest I saw Amelia a few yards further on. She had dismounted, and her bicycle was lying on its side, the front wheel spinning. She was sitting on the grass beside it, laughing at the sight of my hot and perspiring face.

  I flung my bicycle down beside hers, and sat down in a mood as near displeasure as I had ever experienced in her company.

  “You cheated,” I said.

  “You could have done so too,” she cried, still laughing at me.

  I mopped my face with my kerchief. “That wasn’t a race, it was a deliberate humiliation.”

  “Oh, Edward! Don’t take it so seriously. I only wanted to show you something.”

  “What?” I said in a surly tone.

  “My bicycle. Do you notice anything about it?”

  “No.” I was still not mollified.

  “What about the front wheel?”

  “It’s still spinning,” I said.

  “Then stop it.”

  I reached out and gripped the pneumatic tyre with my hand, but snatched it away as the friction burned me. The wheel continued to spin.

  “What is it?” I said, my distemper immediately forgotten.

  “It is one of Sir William’s devices,” she said. “Your bicycle is fitted with one too.”

  “But how does it work? You were free-wheeling up the hill. That is against all the laws of physics.”

  “Look, I’ll show you.”

  She reached over to her machine and took hold of the handle-bar. She held the right-hand grip in a certain way, and the front wheels topped its uncanny spinning. She righted the bicycle.

  “Under here.” She showed me where to look, and between the rubber grip and the brake-bar I saw a tiny strip of mica. “Move this forward with your fingers, so, and—”

  The bicycle started to move forward, but she raised the front wheel from the ground and it spun effortlessly in the air.

  “When you wish to stop, you simply slide the strip back, and the bicycle may be ridden normally.”

  “And you say my machine is fitted with this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you not tell me? Then we need not have expended any effort on the ride!”

  Amelia was laughing again as I hastened to my own machine and righted it. Sure enough, under the right-hand grip there was a similar piece of mica.

  “I must try this at once!” I shouted, and mounted my machine. As soon as I had found my balance I slid the mica strip forward, and the bicycle moved faster.

  “It works!” I cried to Amelia, waving to her in delight…and at that moment the front wheel hit a tuft of grass, and I was unseated.

  Amelia ran over to me and helped me to my feet. My bicycle lay a few yards from me, the front wheel spinning merrily.

  “What a marvellous invention!” I cried, full of enthusiasm for it. “Now we shall race in style!”

  “All right,” Amelia said “First back to the Ponds!”

  I retrieved my machine, and she ran back to hers. In a few moments we were both mounted, and speeding spectacularly towards the crest of the slope. This time the race was more even, and as we rolled down the long gradient towards the distant Ponds we kept abreast of each other. The wind drummed against my face, and it was not long before I felt my boater snatched away. Amelia’s bonnet was blowing backwards, but stayed around her neck because of its strap.

  As we came to the Ponds we speeded past the nanny and the two little boys, who stared after us in amazement. Laughing aloud, we circled around the larger of the two Ponds, then pulled back the mica strips and pedall
ed towards the trees at a moderate pace.

  As we dismounted, I said: “What is it, Amelia? How does it work?”

  I was feeling breathless, even though the actual physical energy expended had been negligible.

  “It’s in here,” she said.

  With a twisting motion she slid back the moulded rubber hand-grip, so exposing the tubular steel of the handle-bar. She held the bar so that I could see into its interior…and there, nestling inside, was some of the crystalline material I had seen on the flying machine.

  “There is a wire which runs through the frame,” Amelia said, “and that is connected to the wheel. Inside the hub is some more of that.”

  “What is this crystalline material?” I said. “What does it consist of?”

  “That I don’t know. I’m aware of some of the materials it comprises, for I have to order them, but I’m not sure how they are joined to produce the effect.”

  She explained that the adapted bicycle had been developed by Sir William when bicycling became popular a few years before. His idea had been to assist the weak or elderly whenever they encountered a hill.

  “Do you realize that this device alone would make him a fortune?”

  “Sir William does not want for money.”

  “No, but think of the public good it would do. A machine like this could transform the carriage industry.”

  Amelia was shaking her head. “You don’t understand Sir William. I’m sure he has considered taking out a Patent on this, but I think he judged it better unknown. Bicycling is a sport, mostly enjoyed by the young, and it is done for fresh air and exercise. As you have seen, it requires no effort to ride a bicycle like this.”

  “Yes, but there would be other uses.”

  “Indeed, and that is why I say you do not understand Sir William, nor could you be expected to. He is a man of restless intellect, and no sooner has he developed one device than he goes on to another. The bicycles were adapted before he built his horseless carriage, and that was before his flying machine.”

  I said: “And he has abandoned his flying machine for a new project?”