by Paul F Gwyn
Annabelle looked at Nathaniel in silence. He could only mean one person, and Annabelle felt sure she knew who. His next words only served to confirm what she had suspected for some time, although she hadn’t realised such suspicions until now.
“Annabelle, I think I am in love with Arnaud.”
3.
FENN LAY UNDER the main boiler, tightening some of the screws, thankful for the opportunity to immerse himself in work. Folkard’s biting words still left their mark on him.
That and what passed for his future. When they landed on Mars, he would be brought to justice. Some justice. Those damn Russians, if only he could have used the professor’s alias; he wouldn’t be feeling like he was. He could not bear to think of the repercussions for his family. The shame. He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind, tightening the last bolt.
Hearing the door to the engine room open, and subsequently close, he slid out from his position and stood to greet his visitor. It was Nathaniel, smiling, and greeting him affectionately. Fenn responded with a gruff “hello”, and carried on to the far side of the room. Nathaniel followed him in silence, noting his lack of conversation. After a few moments of checking the dials, Fenn allowed his irritation to best him and snapped.
“What do you want?”
Nathaniel shied away in surprise at his outburst. “Come now, Jack, is that any way to greet a friend, mood or not?”
Being reprimanded by Nathaniel was the least of his worries, but he still felt ill at ease having causing his friend to take offence. Changing tack, he started again with an apology. “I’m sorry, Prof. I’ve not had a good night, as I’m sure you’re fully aware. Is there something you wanted?”
A blank stare answered his words. Had Folkard not informed the crew? Get the guilty party to explain himself? A cruel punishment indeed.
“You have had no word from Folkard of what transpired?”
Nathaniel shook his head.
“It surely is better to come from me, than another source.” Fenn sighed. Shaking his head. “When we last docked on Earth, I was attacked by Russians and forced to reveal our biggest secret—that you are alive. In my weakness, I forgot to use your alias and they took great pleasure in gleaning the information from me.”
“My goodness,” Nathaniel replied. A look of horror filling his face. “How are you holding up?”
Fenn had always considered Nathaniel a good man, but he couldn’t understand this reaction. Fenn had betrayed him, and all he was concerned about what Fenn’s wellbeing? “I am all better now,” he said, unable to hide his confusion. “I am so very sorry. I was weak, and I know the punishment that will follow.”
Nathaniel looked carefully at Fenn. “I know that you did not mean to let out that information, and I am thankful that you told me in person. I am sorry, also, for what will happen because of that.”
Fenn hung his head dejectedly. The professor was too good a man. Fenn doubted he would be so understanding were the positions reversed.
“Why don’t you take a banyan, Jack?” Nathaniel asked, worry on his face. “I’ll keep an eye on things for a bit.”
“Thanks, but I think I’d rather just get on with the work, you know? Keep my mind off it all, as much as I can.”
Nathaniel nodded. “Then how about I help you, make sure all is okay with the governor?”
Fenn muttered “thanks” and went back to his primary station.
4.
FOLKARD PACED BACK and forth. He was getting restless again; the role of a space mariner was proving less exciting than he expected, and he found himself longing for his old command again. He heard clinking on the rungs just outside the door. He paused with hands behind his back.
Professor Stone’s head became visible through the pane of the door. Folkard nodded to him, and beckoned him in. The door opened with a slight creak and Stone entered, closing the stiff hinged door behind him. “How goes your duty, Captain?”
“Well enough, Stone. We are making adequate time for Mars, even with our detoured route. We should arrive in just under eleven days, lest we have continued problems with the engines.”
“All was in good order when I left the engine room, neither Jack nor I foresee any trouble.”
Folkard nodded and walked to the back of his chair. He looked into space, narrowing his eyes. He was about to reply to Stone but an odd feeling of apprehension distracted him. He tried to shake the feeling and he wiped his face with a broad palm. Folkard hated being unfocussed, and had no patience for those who took their time with their replies so it was frustrating for himself to do so.
“Fenn mentioned to me what you two spoke of yesterday,” Stone said.
Folkard eyed the professor, his brow creasing slightly. A hint of a smile lingered at one side of Stone’s mouth. What was the man up to? The only words shared with Seaman Fenn were several commands and compliances through the speaking tube. It seemed an odd thing for the two to speak about. “Oh. Well as you said, the engines are unhindered no?”
“Perhaps the odd hiccough here and there from the troubles they endured the other week, but other than that they seem much better.”
There was silence for a moment as Folkard attempted to remember his previous trail of thought. He had almost felt a premonition coming on, but the sensation had passed.
“Oh, and not to forget, Captain, I’ve confirmed with Fenn that some of the instruments have been giving false readings.”
Folkard snapped out of his near day dream and sharply turned his head to Nathaniel. “I see. I hope there was no delay in bringing me this news?”
“I came straight from the engine room. The reading are only slightly uncalibrated, it’s just a case of tweaking them slightly, which I have come to do.” Stone moved over to inspect the aetherlabe and various readings. “Thus nothing should be amiss with our location or progress. When did someone last relive you of your post, Captain? I’m sure Annabelle should be here by now.”
Come to think of it, this had been quite the prolonged shift, and lethargy did not do well on duty. “I think you are right, Stone. Where is Miss Annabelle?”
“I’m not sure, I did not see here on my stroll up. You need not worry though; I can take over for you. She’s bound to turn up soon.”
Folkard sensed an odd air about Stone… Well, different at least. The man had been out of sorts lately, but was this his way of putting that behind him? “Very well then, I shall retire to my quarters. Remind me of any changes that you make to the instruments.”
The two exchanged goodbyes and then Folkard heaved open the heavy door and looked down into the claustrophobic shaft that led to the rest of the ship. He was closing the door behind him when he began to experience what felt like another psychic episode dawning. But no, the sensation quickly departed.
Folkard continued to stare down the stretch of steel and iron. He could not help but feel a sense of foreboding. Something what wrong, out of place, missing perhaps.
This feeling stayed with Folkard for the rest of the night. Later on, as he drifted gently within the confines of the cot’s straps, though fatigue had ravaged him, he laid awake unable to find peace.
Chapter Seven
“What He Wills To Do”
1.
ANNABELLE WALKED ALONG the gangway toward the engine room, grimacing at the unpleasant sound of her metal leg against the decking. Her lack of sleep from dream-plagued nights didn’t help her mood, either. Opening the door to the engine room, she was greeted by a fine cloud of steam that billowed gently past her as if it had been waiting to escape.
“What’s this, late to relieve me of my shift? Need I remind you that I filled your absence yesterday on the control deck before you strolled in?”
Annabelle jumped slightly, but smiled at the playful cadence of the voice. Nathaniel stepped out from the tangle of pipes and steam. He bore a great smile, the kind she had not seen on his face for a fair while. Perhaps unburdening himself yesterday had done his composure wonders. She wished to
talk more about it, but found herself uncertain how to broach the subject. For her part, Annabelle was determined to remain a true friend and keep his secret. She reflected on how much he had survived already; indeed, as far as anyone knew, beyond a select few in the Admiralty and the British Government, Nathaniel Stone was dead. Could the reputation of a dead man be ruined?
“Nathaniel, you must announce your presence in a less startling manner,” she said returning the smile. “It isn’t time for my shift in here at all, and neither was I late for duty on the control deck yesterday. You were the one who turned up early to relieve Folkard.”
Nathaniel laughed, almost in key with the bizarre sound the boiler happened to be emitting. “I jest! You know how I tease.”
Annabelle rolled her eyes and perched herself gently onto a stool that stood alongside the wall-mounted workstation. Arnaud’s presence was certainly rubbing off on him; there was a time when such “jesting” was almost taboo for Nathaniel. How things had changed in the last year.
“Do you think that my leg is obvious in its awkwardness?” she asked, since it was one topic she knew she could discuss freely with him.
“Of course not, why are you asking all of a sudden? You have seemed at ease with it since we left Venus.”
“No, it’s functioning fine. I’ve just been noticing it more.”
Nathaniel regarded her closely, almost intrusively in fact. Annabelle was not sure she cared for it. She felt studied. He smiled warmly. “I shouldn’t worry, you are aware of the effects such varying gravities have on the springs in the leg. I should have spent time developing it while we were docked on Earth, but you would go out gallivanting.”
“I was not gallivanting. I was occupying my time in the best way I know how. Uncle Cyrus was unwilling to spend much time with me, and you would not step outside of Chatham Dockyards… What else was I to do? Be confined, too?”
Nathaniel shrugged and turned away. “A man can surely do what he wills to do, but cannot determine what he wills.’ I suspect it is true of you, too.”
Annabelle forced a smile, not entirely sure as to what he meant by that. She watched him work, as he twiddled various valves, and checked the corresponding readings before spinning round in near ballerina fashion to obtain a large wrench that had been hanging at elbow-height behind him.
He wore an odd complacent smile, almost as if he was paying no real mind to his actions. “You know, I have come to appreciate something during my time tending to this room,” he said suddenly. “People are not completely unlike this place.”
Annabelle blinked, and looked around the engine room. She did not see the similarity. “In what way?”
“Well, if I were to totally neglect my duties here, the engine would soon fail. Similarly, if I were to neglect my friends, our relationships would suffer. People need the correct amount of maintenance and care, in order for things to work properly.”
“I am not sure I care for that comparison. You mean to say that our friendship, for example, is like…” Annabelle paused, looking into nothing as she searched for an apt word. She couldn’t find one exactly suitable so she finished with “a job?”
Nathaniel freed the wrench from his grip, allowing it to float freely before snapping onto one of the magnetic strips that were designed for holding tools and parts. “No, of course not. Do you see what I am doing now as a ‘job’? Nothing of the sort; I enjoy my shifts in here. They give some time to…contemplate things.”
It could be supposed that any relationships could be broken down in such a way. The relationships that animals shared were based on mutual benefit; a parakeet would take the time to preen another member of its flock, if it expected the same to be done in return. Annabelle recalled their conversation yesterday. Was the sharing of secrets so dissimilar?
“It is no secret that I had become lax in my approach to working and sustaining the engine room. I fear I left Fenn with a troublesome amount to do. I would assume that is why we were having problems with the engine last week.”
Nathaniel continued on his analogy, speaking of how causing a certain degree on the boiler, for example, could, even if repaired, have a prolonged effect on the performance of the entire flyer and how the same could be applied to a relationship shared by two people. A taint on a relationship could indeed fade, though it would never be erased completely. Even now, months later, Annabelle recalled the sting she had felt when Nathaniel had revealed he had all but ignored her plight in London.
Fade, but never truly erased.
She shook her head. Such deep thoughts so early in the day. “Well, I do hope you consider me worthy of the care you are currently showing this room,” she said, keeping her tone light.
Nathaniel did not respond in kind. He merely nodded. “Of course I do. You are very important to me, Miss Somerset,” he said, and, for a moment, Annabelle felt sure she saw an unusual calculating darkness in his eyes.
She shivered.
2.
FAILING TO STIFLE a yawn, Folkard put his latest book down, and removed his reading glasses. Needing to regain some impetus, he unbuckled himself from his seat, stood up, and stretched. This would not do, not at all! He still had at least an hour before Annabelle was to come and relieve him of duty, and here he was falling asleep.
Pull yourself together man!
He needed something further to stimulate his mind. As much as he was enjoying reading, there was only so much of it one person could do in a single shift. His allowance was spent. The visit from Doctor Fontaine, a few hours ago, had been very welcome: the two had shared an interesting discussion of the differences, and similarities, between English and French writings.
His mind wandered to the equipment; it had been a while since he last checked it. He walked towards the aetherlabe, where he noticed a purplish flash flicker across the wall behind it. Where had that come from? He whipped around to find its source.
My God!
The edge of the aether vortex. It was reacting wildly to something, crackling and casting purple hues across the blackness of space.
This could not be. They had plotted a course to circumnavigate the vortex. At best it should be a blip in the distance. He had charted the course himself. What was happening?
He sped to the orrery and checked it against the aetherlabe, his spine tingling with an icy sensation. Folkard double checked his calculations, and cursed. The readings were definitely off. He grabbed the pipe and bellowed down it. “Miss Annabelle, are you there? Annabelle, I need you in the control deck right away. Please, hurry, it is an emergency.”
3.
FOLKARD BURST THROUGH the engine room door, almost taking it off its hinges. Fenn, who had been hidden behind a pipe, jumped back from it in alarm, standing to attention as his gaze found Folkard.
“Sir!” Fenn looked anxiously at the captain.
“We are headed straight for the vortex!” A look of confusion and fear etched itself across Fenn’s face. “I thought we made a correct course to avoid it completely?”
“We have, sir. Or that’s what I’d believed we… The aether propeller!”
Folkard raised his eyebrow. “The aether propeller?”
Fenn nodded. “Last week, it was not working properly. There was an unusual pull to it, as if something was trying to drag us off course.”
“Could it be? Is the aether vortex pulling us in with no chance of us correcting that? Fenn, we must correct this, or surely face our own peril.”
Fenn’s face whitened slightly, but he nodded in agreement.
“Man your station, Seaman!”
Fenn darted over to the main boiler, anticipating Folkard’s instruction. Folkard picked up the pipe and called for Miss Annabelle. After a few moments, she replied, audibly worried.
“We have work to do, Miss Annabelle. We need to divert course from the vortex, or I fear the worst! Fenn, vent all steam from the boiler.”
“Captain?”
“There is no other choice. It may cripple us, but
if it fails, there is nothing left to do.”
4.
ARNAUD WAS IN the middle of preparing his food when Annabelle seemed to literally fly up the gangway, her legs leaving a trail behind her. Of course, she wasn’t really flying, merely propelling herself along with the handrails that ran along the walls throughout the flyer. It was an unusual way for her to move, but Arnaud had to agree it was faster than clunking around with metallic shoes, although less graceful than the Minuet he had taught her. He barely had a moment to consider why she would be in such a rush when the captain came flying down the gangway in the opposite direction.
Arnaud did a double take. “Quelle est cette excitation?”
Investigation was required.
Leaving his food on the worktop, he crossed the room and made his way up the ladder to the control deck where he found Annabelle sitting with her back to him. Forgetting propriety for the moment, he just walked in. “Bonjour, ma chère!” She turned around to look at him, a determined expression on her face and a hand clutching the end of the speaking pipe.
Realising he had intruded unintentionally, he mouthed, “je suis désolée,” and quietly took the seat behind her.
“Has Fenn discovered what the problem may be?” she asked, speaking into the pipe. Annabelle shivered, waiting for a reply. She placed it to her ear, and nodded.
Arnaud watched her as she checked over the orrery. He was not very well versed in piloting an aether flyer, but even his genius was not needed to detect the danger facing them. Tension was coming off Annabelle in waves. He looked to a window, and his eyes widened in horror. In the distance, although not distant enough, was a maelstrom of dark purples, swirling and interacting with each other violently. Like giant snakes made of dust and energy, trying to consume each other.
He swallowed and turned back to Annabelle. “That is an aether vortex?”