PRAISE FOR THE INVENTION OF GOD
A remarkably well-written tome with vivid imagery, 'The Invention of God' is a Steampunk short classic in the making. A great beginning to a planned anthology of delicious retrofuturistic punk tales from author John Catton.
– Charles A. Cornell, author of Missions of the Dragonfly Squadron.
PRAISE FOR DULCE ET DECORUM EST
If there is any such thing as a 'classic' Dieselpunk story, this is it. Set on the fields of WWI haunted by a suspended, foggy, creepy, mysterious atmosphere and with noir, disillusioned characters, this story falls right into the tropes of the Dieselpunk genre for me.
– Sarah Zama, author of the Ghost trilogy.
PRAISE FOR THE ELEMENTS OF WAR
Catton's prose here is fluid, enchanting, and perfectly of the time. Reading the story felt like watching a classic film from the 30s and 40s, with all the careful enunciation and guarded diction of the era. Men and women spoke to each other with a politeness that still held over from the Victorian era, and was in some ways reclaimed after the "roaring 20s".
– Aaron Sikes, author of Gods of Chicago.
PRAISE FOR MOONLIGHT, MURDER & MACHINERY
This is a book full of imagination…A wonderful world of all kinds of mysterious elements and paranormal powers…It's possible that this world could come alive in a 13-part TV series, but this is a story that, in my opinion, needs the power of the written word to bring it to full life. And these words are assured and fluid – the style and the writing never slip, and carry the reader along the twisted byways of the plot to a very satisfactory conclusion.
– Hugh Ashton, author of The Deed Box of John H. Watson MD: A Collection of the Untold Tales of Sherlock Holmes.
PRAISE FOR SWORD, MIRROR, JEWEL
Voice Of The Sword is a YA urban fantasy set in modern day Tokyo. It deals with Reiko Bergman, a high school student who gets drawn into an inter-dimensional war between two factions, one of which is the demons and monsters of Japanese mythology…I recommend this book, especially anyone interested in anime, manga or Japanese history and culture. This is the first in the Sword, Mirror, Jewel Trilogy and I look forward to the rest.
– Cody Martin, author of Adventure Hunters: Similitude and Zero Sum Game.
Other releases from Excalibur Books:
by John Paul Catton –
"Moonlight, Murder & Machinery" – a Steampunk thriller set in Regency England.
"Sword, Mirror, Jewel" – a YA Urban Fantasy trilogy based on Japanese mythology.
"The Unofficial Guide to Japanese Mythology" – a companion volume to the "Sword, Mirror, Jewel" universe.
by Zoe Drake –
"Dark Lanterns" – a collection of short horror stories based on Japanese folk tales and legends.
"Dead Hand Clapping" – a supernatural thriller set in turn-of-millennium Tokyo.
"The Mists of Osorezan" – a horror novel set in London, Venice and the Japanese countryside.
by Jamie Carter –
"The Zodiac Files Volume One: Whatever Happened to Jason Zodiac?"
– the biography of one of the 20th century's most enigmatic and controversial counter-cultural gurus.
by Patrick Fox –
"3/11: The Fallout" – a charitable publication designed to raise funds for families in Tohoku still suffering after the March 11th 2011 triple disaster.
Copyright (c) 2014 by John Paul Catton.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews.
Editing by Jacob William Smith at Excalibur Books.
Cover art and design by Rod Campbell.
Special fonts by Anastasia Pergakis.
Book formatting by WriteIntoPrint.com
Dedicated to the one and only Ray Bradbury (1920-2012).
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS AND ILLUSTRATORS
(IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE)
Cover art and design by Rod Campbell.
"FROM VENUS WITH LOVE" by Deene Kingston.
THE INVENTION OF GOD:
"STEAM DEVILS" by Phillip David Evans.
DULCE ET DECORUM EST:
"THE LANDSHIP" by Phillip David Evans.
THE ELEMENTS OF WAR:
"THE STARS ARE BUT SHRAPNEL" by Deene Kingston.
JIMMY DIAMOND AND THE GIRL FROM VENUS:
"AIRLANES" by Terry Lim Diefenbach.
NIGHTFALL IN UTOPIA:
"EXCALIBUR PREMIERE PRESENTS: LT. CAMBRIDGE" by Deene Kingston.
SKIN CONDITION:
"THE SCAPEGOAT" by Phillip David Evans.
All illustrations in the "Word Salad" section by Anastasia Pergakis and Jacob William Smith.
"GUN LAW": Script by John Paul Catton, art by Vinton Roy Spence.
"THE LIVING MOTOR" by Jason Ferguson.
"XTP MEDITECH CORPORATE LOGO" by Phillip David Evans.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
THE FUTURIST MANIFESTO:
"LONDON, 1858: THE INVENTION OF GOD"
"YPRES, 1917: DULCE ET DECORUM EST"
"LONDON, 1940: THE ELEMENTS OF WAR"
"LONDON, 1965: JIMMY DIAMOND AND THE GIRL FROM VENUS"
"NEW YORK CITY, 1977: NIGHTFALL IN UTOPIA"
"LONDON, 1992: SKIN CONDITION"
WORD SALAD:
"THE BLOODY TOURIST"
"THE SECRET LIFE OF MEAT"
"ONE FINE DAY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT"
FEAR OF WORDS:
"GUN LAW"
"The Venusians are real," she said, "and my experience is but a small part of their great plan…"
– from "Jimmy Diamond and the Girl from Venus".
Preface
Question: What is "Tales From Beyond Tomorrow"?
Answer: it's an idea that I had some time ago; to collect the short stories that I have had published in various magazines and anthologies, over my twenty-five year career as a writer, and to release them as one title, along with a few that have never been published before.
Having said that, the idea has gone through a number of 'mutations' during the collection process. When putting the stories together I noticed – for the first time – some thematic connections between them. I also noticed changes within the field of fantastic literature itself – changes that reflected the public's reading and viewing habits. These changes made me ponder the relevance of my own efforts, and also inspired me to write new, original stories to include in the collection. I also considered the visual element; I have the privilege of knowing many talented artists and illustrators, and so I had the idea of getting them on board – to make "Tales From Beyond Tomorrow!" a treat for both the eyes and mind.
The final product, which you are looking at now, is divided into three sections. The first, entitled "The Futurist Manifesto", is comprised of a number of alternative-history science fiction stories and novelettes that share themes, settings and sometimes characters. These stories are also available on Amazon as 'e-shorts', minus the illustrations. The second section, "Word Salad", contains short stories (written at various times during my writing career) with a more personal approach that have no related themes. The third section, "Fear of Words", reflects my past work in the media of 'sequential art' – or, to be more prosaic, it means there will be one comic strip per volume.
I could go on further about the concept of the series, but I think that's enough blathering for the moment. I'd rather let the stories speak for themselves and put more about the inspirations for them in the acknowledgments section, at the back of the book.
Onward – to the stories!
"They lifted him
out of his opium dreams and carried him down into the smoke of Hell…"
One
They lifted him out of his opium dreams and carried him down into the smoke of Hell – which was, he eventually realized through his struggling and sweats of terror, a private compartment of the District line moving out of Limehouse beneath east London. The wood and glass doors were tightly closed, but the vapors of sulfur, coal fumes, oil lamps, and tobacco from the pipes of the second-class passengers seeped through and stained the air. He was held down by two muscular servants in frock coats and silk cravats, who kept him from escaping, but even so mopped his brow and kept him from yanking open the door and hurling himself onto the tracks outside to escape his misery. Through his delirium, he realized they were under instructions to keep him in one piece; in that case, they were obviously not the Turks.
By the time they had arrived at Hyde Park Corner Station, he had recovered some sense of gentlemanly decorum. They forced some vile-smelling salts under his nose that chased the last of the phantoms away, and he felt almost human.
They frog-marched him out of the gateway and across the street, to the coarse laughter of the flower-sellers and thimble-riggers behind their wooden stalls. "Our friend had quite a night of it," one of his bodyguards said to everyone in general, tipping his hat. "Not too steady on his pins."
The cold of the February afternoon prickled his skin and reinvigorated his senses. He blinked the tears out of his eyes, took in deep breaths of air laced with stink from the nearby Thames, feet plodding in mechanical fashion as he was half-carried by his burly companions. He realized where they were taking him. Tall iron gates loomed up ahead; the Crystal Palace.
He twisted around in their grip and tried to dig in his heels. "Tell me honestly, sirs," he croaked in his rusty voice, "How much danger am I in?"
A broad, mustached face stared into his and winked. "Not much, Mr. Gregory."
The Crystal Palace stood at the heart of the British Empire, a heart constructed of glass and iron and filled with air and light. The crowning glory of Victorian engineering, over three times the size of Westminster Abbey. Almost a million square feet constructed over the space of a few months, with nine hundred thousand square feet of glass hung supported by thousands of cast-iron girders and pillars. John Gregory and his attendants entered the Hyde Park South gateway, and walked at a steady pace through the colossal structure toward the giant elm tree in the center of the complex, a tree that stretched up towards a vaulted roof seventy feet high. A rattling and whirring above made him look up; in the daylight-filled rafters, a pair of mechanical sparrow-hawks glided, hunting for the sparrows, thrushes and pigeons that had infested the galleries.
Gregory's bodyguards sat him down at a metalwork chair and circular table at an open-air café. At this time of the afternoon, it had only just opened, and there were only a few customers; he now realized how cleverly the meeting place had been chosen. It was private enough to have a confidential talk, but public enough to give Mr. Gregory a feeling of security.
Not a false sense of security, he hoped.
The bodyguards even gave him a comb, so Mr. Gregory could straighten his short, sandy hair and his straggling mustache. He now became fully aware of his appearance; his cravat had gone missing somewhere in the opium den, but his black frock coat and trousers did not seem to be too stained or dusty. He fastened his collar and volubly coughed, taking in more of his surroundings.
Walking through the cafe towards his table at a sedate pace, with an entourage of statuesque men and women following, was a figure he noted with resigned recognition. Of course. It had to be her.
She came closer, her eyes fixed upon Gregory. She wore a pale blue Battenberg city gown and touring hat, and carried a furled, carnation-colored parasol and matching lace fan. Her face was delicate, compact and fringed with immaculately coiffured, reddish-gold hair.
Lady Florence Padbury, the head of Imperial Counter-Intelligence, seated herself in genteel fashion at his table. "Mr. Gregory," she said, "let's try to behave like the ladies and gentlemen we are reputed to be."
He breathed in deeply and attempted to match her confidence. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"First, there is something I wish you to see." She waved a kid-gloved hand at the massive stone slab that dominated the cafe, fringed by ferns and palm leaves on either side.
"This is Mr. Garfield's new memorial, that portrays the great automobile race of 1845. It fascinates me. You see the bas-relief of the Cugnot automobile's steam turbine viewed from the front, and behind it, the mufflers and goggles of the driver and navigator. Carved in stone. Does it not seem dreadfully absurd, Mr. Gregory? Does it not seem a contradiction in terms?"
"I do wish you would get to the point," Gregory said with a cough.
"A stone automobile, sir, that is my point. It is a logical contradiction. Marble is cold, brittle, silent, mineral. Automobiles are fast, noisy, warm, metallic."
"The world is full of statues of the human form."
"True, but we have had hundreds of years of becoming used to the convention of human sculpture. We do not find it queer to see a stone human figure and expect it to move and walk."
Gregory indicated the swarthy fellows standing behind him. "Oh, I don't know. Your bodyguards are doing a pretty good job."
"And there's always the tale of Don Giovanni, ma'am," one of the bodyguards added with slight bow.
Lady Padbury tapped the spike of her parasol on the flagstones. "We need a new way of seeing, Mr. Gregory. A new way of expressing this world of metal, of steam, of speed, of power. When I was a child, I remember my tutor showing me the daguerreotypes taken by Mr. Danelek from his hot-air balloon. The farms and the factories, the forests and the aqueducts. It was like looking at a completely new world. Soon construction will be finished on the Blackpool Tower, and this new world view will be available to all."
"Unless the French beat you to it, with that replica they're planning."
Lady Padbury smiled.
A nervous waiter drew near and placed afternoon tea upon the filagreed ironwork of the table; scones, wafers, almond and vanilla slices, and crustless sandwiches cut into triangles. The waiter gave a nervous glance at the smiling men behind Gregory, bowed, and beat a hasty retreat.
"You should eat something, Mr. Gregory. You need to keep body and soul together."
There was silence while Lady Padbury daintily poured tea into two china cups and applied marmalade and clotted cream to the scones.
"We have been very worried about you, Mr. Gregory," she continued eventually. " You could have let us know where you were…or simply that you were still alive."
His stomach groaned and his nausea ebbed and flowed. He tried to restrain himself from cramming the tiny sandwiches into his mouth.
"I have a proposition for you," she said softly.
"With respect, Lady Padbury, I am not interested in the slightest."
"I assure you, Mr. Gregory, you will not be spending weeks being poked and prodded by physicians or engineers." She raised a gloved hand. "There is someone I would like you to meet."
At her gesture, a member of the entourage stepped forward. Gregory noted that the tall, wide-chested newcomer wore a black three-piece suit of a cut and material that he wasn't familiar with, and held himself very straight. His skin was leathery and brown contrasted with the white and black of his tombstone shirt and cravat, as if he spent a great deal of time outdoors. He doffed his felt derby hat and bowed deeply, displaying his unfashionably long hair.
"May I present Mr. Alexander Lentz, of the Universalist Church of Massachusetts," Lady Padbury announced.
"At your service," Lentz said with a broad Colonial twang.
"Good Lord," muttered Gregory.
Lentz picked up the remark at once, and with no trace of irony. "Yes, He is, is He not?"
Gregory snorted with mirthless laughter. "You are indeed a long way from home, sir."
The Colonial seated himself next to
Gregory, his smile intensifying. He seemed about five-and-thirty, perhaps the same age as Gregory himself; his features were finely-chiseled and handsome. "Mr. Lentz has a very interesting story to tell," Lady Padbury said.
With a strange gleam in his eye, Lentz launched into his tale. "I belong to a small sub-group of the Universalist Church, based in the city of Lynn, Massachusetts," Lentz began. His voice was deep and mellifluous, Gregory noted; at least it was easy on the ears. He just hoped that the frights of opium withdrawal would not return, and paint the man's face with horns, huge bulging eyes, or similar phantasms.
Lentz produced a daguerreotype from his waistcoat pocket and laid it on the table. The image was of a middle-aged man dressed in severe clerical style, who in profile showed a thoughtful, and somehow kindly aspect.
"Our division of the church was led by a man named John Murray Spear. A great, benevolent, and principled man. He was a reformist; his views on slavery, suffrage and temperance were considerably ahead of their time. He even operated a branch of the Underground Railroad, helping renegade slaves escape to Canada."
"You are using the past tense, sir."
"Yes, you are guessing what I am about to say. But hear me out, sir. Seven years ago Mr. Spear received a visitation from the Holy Spirit that revealed his powers as a trance medium, and he converted to Spiritualism. He consulted with the Fox sisters and Daniel Dunglas Home, and founded the church that I am proud to be a member of. The spirits guided him – and us – to towns where he cured the sick with the laying on of hands. In trances, he spoke to the spirits of Swedenborg, Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin, and divulged to us messages of hope and salvation, from beyond the veil."
Tales From Beyond Tomorrow: Volume One Page 1