An obscene cross between a medieval knight and an insect, these machines served as a warning to obey the Masters without question, and I was careful not to display my true feelings in their presence. Instead, I did as all students were expected to, and nodded towards them with a respect that I did not truly feel.
Naturally, a female Bookman was also on duty there, and watching us closely as we observed this little ritual. She was a hard looking creature, and eyed us coldly from under the brim of her black shako as we mounted the steps. I was unconcerned though, and I even made a point of acknowledging her with a slight inclination of my head. After all, Elizabeth and I had done nothing that she could find fault with, at least not where any of the Bookmen might have witnessed it.
Needless to say, she did not return the courtesy.
Inside, the halls were their usual bedlam. They were filled with other young women, who like ourselves, were rushing to their classes. Rather than join in this mad dash however, I took a moment to make my obeisance at the portrait of Maddenhill’s patroness, the great Hypatia of Alexandria herself.
Crowned by the Pliedies, or the Seven Stars of Knowledge, she was seated on a golden throne and garbed in a shining white robe. Her left hand held the Torch of Knowledge high, while her right cradled a book.
Officially, this was the Book of the Masters, but for me, it had always symbolized the hallowed legacy of Mankind’s forbidden sciences. And on its pages was a quote that scholars had attributed to her.
“Life is an unfoldment,” it said, “and the further we travel, the more truth we can comprehend. To understand the things that are at our door is the best preparation for understanding those that lie beyond.”
All of this was in homage to a woman who had sacrificed her life for the greatest treasure of all, knowledge itself. It was her death, at the hands of a religionist mob that had inflamed the world, and caused the Roman Emperors to ban all false beliefs in favor of the Zerodian creed. From that time onwards, mankind had resisted the urge to believe in imaginary deities, and had embraced the true Nothingness that actually rules the universe.
As was my custom, and out of respect for this great legacy, I silently recited Hypatia’s words to myself, and deposited the flower that I had brought for the occasion. Then I allowed Elizabeth to pull me away, and we proceeded to Professor Merriweather’s classroom as fast as our legs could convey us.
I must pause my narrative here to take a moment to pay proper homage to another pair of figures who are no less deserving than Hypatia of my admiration. The reader must understand that I have always considered myself to have had not one, but two fathers. The first was the great gentleman who sired me, my natural father, and whom I shall always cherish.
The second holds no lesser place in my heart. He was the man who begat my intellect. I had known Professor Merriweather since my 16th year, when I formally entered the Maddenhill Academy. And from my very first day in that hallowed institution, it was he, with all of his wisdom, insight and patience, that was the driving force behind my wish to become a scientist, and pursue knowledge above all else--even life itself. To me, he embodied the very essence of Hypatia’s spirit.
I must also admit to having a certain infatuation with him because of his influence, and were it not for my own sexual proclivities, and the great difference in our ages, I would have gladly pursued him as a lover. But alas, the cruel circumscriptions of life had forced us into our respective roles, and I had always had to make do with what affections our respective stations and social propriety allowed. Nonetheless, this did not diminish the love and adoration that I held for him. But I think that I have revealed enough of my secret heart to my readers, and shall return to the story of my life.
We arrived at our classroom just in time for the reading from the First Book of the Masters. This ceremony was observed in every class in any institution of higher learning anywhere in the British Empire, and no instruction could commence without it.
This day, it was to be performed for us by Bookman Blackwell, a sour-looking woman who resembled Pierce closely enough to have been mistaken for his twin sister. She had the same pallid complexion and dark looks, and like him, utterly lacked any vestige of warmth. As always, she had usurped the Professor’s podium, and looked down from it to survey the room and make eye contact with each and every one of us. It was only after we had all gone silent, and she was absolutely certain of our complete attention, that she opened the Book and began her litany.
“Know the First Law of the Masters,” she intoned, “the word of the Masters is the highest law. To disobey the Masters means death.’
“Know the Second Law. Your fate, and that of the bee, shall be intertwined. You are like unto it; part of a hive, and tasked with serving the greater good. You have no other purpose in this life.’
“Know the Third Law. You will be satisfied with your ignorance and content with what we wish you to know. You will curb your curiosity, and sublimate your intelligence to serve our designs. To seek knowledge without our blessing is to earn our wrath.’
“Know the Fourth Law. To see our will fulfilled, we shall appoint men among you. They will be your teachers, and you will heed their council. They shall be the men of the Book.’
“These men will know what we love and what we hate, what is allowed, and what is forbidden. They will enforce our laws and speak for us in all things. Listen closely, and obey their decrees without any debate.”
With that, she clapped the book shut. “I declare this lesson to be in full compliance with the Laws. You may proceed, Professor.” Then, much to our collective relief, she stepped down and let Merriweather take his place.
His discourse centered on a subject that interested me greatly, and in short order, I was able to put Bookman Blackwell and her grim recitation completely out of mind. It concerned the latest innovations for high-performance steam engines, and the image that he pulled down to cover the blackboard was that of a monoplane.
At this point, I feel compelled to apologize for yet another digression in order to educate my readers. Steam-plane matches were one of the few sports where women were allowed to participate without censure. In fact, the Bookmen, who normally adhered to the strictest of standards when it came to the behavior of the sexes, actively encouraged us to take part in this thrilling pastime.
And when the newspapers extolled the skill and bravery of our aviatrixes--even to the point of disparaging their male counterparts-- the Bookmen did not censor them. Here, they seemed to desire the fairer sex to excel, and although this had always puzzled me, I had never seen fit to ponder the matter at any length. It was enough that this freedom existed.
Both Elizabeth and I, coming as we did from families that had the means to support our interests, were avid pilots, and each of us had a staff on retainer to maintain our respective monoplanes. So, we, along with many of the other women seated there, greeted this otherwise dry and technical discussion with an enthusiasm that would otherwise have seemed out of place.
I must also confess that Elizabeth and I had two additional reasons for our interest in the Professor’s lecture; the first being that an important match was only a month away and we were keen to apprehend any small improvement that would increase our chances of victory. The second was that Professor Merriweather had sent a message to us by way of a junior assistant. In it, he informed us that he wished to speak with us in private concerning a matter of some great importance.
Because of this, the very instant that the class was concluded, we went straight to his offices. There, his secretary, and senior aide, Jennie Baldwin, admitted us and then went outside, locking the door behind her. We were not alarmed by this measure in the least; we had met with the Professor before under similar circumstances, for he was far more than just a font of wisdom. He was also committed to the rebellion against the Masters, and a senior member of the local Free Radical organization. Given his position, such precautions were simply necessary.
I immediately infor
med him about the men who had been caught by the Bookmen, and Pierce’s intention to see them executed. As he listened to my account, his brows furrowed in concern.
“This is most serious indeed,” he agreed. “And we certainly cannot allow these fellows to go to the gallows without attempting to liberate them. I shall make contact with my associates and marshal our resources to mount a rescue operation straightaway. Tell me Penny, did Pierce share any details about the execution? What time perhaps? Or where the prisoners are being held?”
I shook my head ruefully, suddenly regretting my hasty departure from the breakfasting table. Had I not succumbed to my emotions, and played the spy instead, I would have had more to offer him.
“Well,” he replied, “no matter. A few careful inquiries will ferret out what we need to know.”
Then his features brightened. “In the meantime, I do have some news of my own which I think you will find rather exciting. And I daresay that you will both want to take your seats to hear it.”
We obliged him, and sat, waiting breathlessly.
“As you are already aware, Professor James Maxwell was able to show through his calculations that electromagnetic waves could propagate through free space,” he began, “and that Dr. Heinrich Hertz, conclusively proved Maxwell’s theory of electromagnetism.”
“You should also know that another great scientist, a Professor Crookes, took this concept further and posited the idea of a thing he called ‘wireless telegraphy’, based upon these Hertzian waves. The idea made the rounds and it seems that several bright chaps ran with it. They became involved in attempts to develop components that would be capable of making such technology a reality.”
He paused momentarily to light his pipe, and after taking a puff, went on. “One of them, a brilliant Italian gentleman by the name of Guglielmo Marconi, actually managed to succeed. Reportedly, his original wireless device was fully capable of transmitting intelligible signals. After that success, he went on to refine his creation, and several other researchers subsequently added in their own improvements. One of them, who is a colleague of mine, sent me a copy of the diagrams, and looking it over, it seems to be quite workable.”
My heart skipped at beat at this, and my mind was suddenly flooded by the possibilities. With such a powerful tool at our command, we Free Radicals would be able to communicate with one another right under the very noses of the Bookmen themselves. Ideas would flow freely across the planet, and stoke the fires of a world-wide revolution. The yoke of our oppressors would be lifted from our shoulders at last.
Impassioned, I stood, my breast heaving with excitement. “We must construct this marvelous device immediately!”
Elizabeth rose with me, and clasped my hand. “There can be no nobler endeavor for us to embark upon,” she declared ardently.
A worldly and well-educated man, Professor Merriweather had long since guessed at the actual nature of our relationship and was not affected in the least by Elizabeth’s intimate gesture. Rather, he was pleased with the both of us and smiled like a proud parent who had seen his children realize all of the hopes and dreams that he had ever had for them.
“Yes, ladies,” he agreed. “I had the very same reaction to this news myself.”
He reached into his desk and produced a leather folio, which he opened and set out for our review. Still holding hands, we came over and looked down in awe at the schematic.
Marconi’s invention proved to be rather complex, although thanks to the Professor’s private tutelage, some of its components were immediately familiar to us. Others however, were entirely foreign.
One of these was something called a ‘Ruhmkorff coil’. When we inquired about this, Merriweather explained that the purpose of the coil (which we would be compelled to fabricate ourselves) was to produce high-voltage pulses from the low-voltage supplied to it by batteries.
In turn, the Ruhmkorff coil was attached by more wire to the component that would actually produce the radio electromagnetic waves. This was the ‘spark gap’, and it consisted of a pair of metal armatures with a small space between them that allowed for the generation of an electrical spark.
In addition, the wires were connected to a Morse paper tape recorder that was quite conventional in every sense, except for the addition of a rather curious glass tube. This was fitted with electrodes and filled with fine metal filings.
Merriweather informed us that it was known of as the ‘coherer’ and allowed for the reception of incoming signals from another Marconi device through the action of the filings, which clumped together (or cohered) in the presence of Hertzian waves. It was also equipped with a small metal clapper, which was used to ‘de-cohere’ or loosen the contents, thus preparing them for new transmissions.
Two Leyden jars (which we already had on hand thanks to several previous experiments with electricity) completed the system, along with another apparatus, referred to as a ‘tuning coil’. It was constructed of tightly wound wire and we were told that it would be used to adjust the sensitivity of our device. Two additional wires were attached to the tuning coil, which would serve as an aerial receiver and provide grounding.
In addition to the labor that would be involved in creating the Ruhmkorff coil, the spark gap device, and the tuning mechanism, a number of additional problems immediately presented themselves. The first concerned the Morse device. While they were not prohibited by the Laws, they were also not a piece of equipment that the average citizen tended to possess.
But the Professor was not concerned on this score in the least. He immediately assured us that he had a number of associates who were experts in electric telegraphy who could lend us what we needed without arousing any suspicion whatsoever.
The coherer however, was another matter entirely. It was beyond our means to manufacture and we realized that it would have to be purchased through a trustworthy middle-man from a skilled glassmaker. And once the aerial wire was ready to be deployed, it would need to be mounted somewhere high, but without attracting unwanted attention in the process. Fortunately, the Professor had already retained the services of a professional roofer who was also a Free Radical supporter, and had reached out to other contacts that could be relied upon to provide us with the coherer.
Despite our ability to overcome all this, Elizabeth and I were not spared from suffering one small disappointment. This was the effective range of the device. While our apparatus was more advanced than any technology that our society was currently acquainted with, Merriweather revealed that it lacked the power I had so hoped for. According to our mentor, its maximum range was limited to but a few kilometers, making my dream of speaking across continents nothing more than a young woman’s fantasy.
Nonetheless, he managed to assuage us with the fact that other Free Radical cells operating in our region were also working to create their own wireless telegraphy machines. Our device would link us to them, and by extension, to an even greater network that in turn, spanned the whole of British North America.
Thus mollified, we turned our attention to designing a scheme that could explain away the time that we would be required to spend working on this project in the Professor’s laboratory. Being well-bred young women, we could not simply venture out at night without good cause. Therefore, it was imperative that our ruse would deter anyone from asking questions that would either tarnish our reputations, or worse, reveal the true nature of our endeavor.
In the end, we decided to form a group called the Ladies’ Sewing Circle, which would meet at Elizabeth’s home on the nights that the Professor required our assistance. Her residence was sited much more closely to his home than mine, and only separated by two alleyways, making it a short, and very private journey.
Naturally, the issue of her servants came up, but Elizabeth assured us that they were often given the night off, and would not find it unusual to leave us to our own devices once they had seen us settled in. She also suggested enlisting the assistance of several other young women from Maddenhill t
hat she had become acquainted with.
Although they all came from the best of families, she explained that each of them required a similar situation for themselves, albeit for far less honorable reasons. Largely, these consisted of clandestine assignations with their paramours, away from prying eyes.
Additionally, she revealed that one of Maddenhill’s younger teachers, who was a widow, might be persuaded to play the role of chaperone for our little farce. According to Elizabeth, she too had a lover, who was imprisoned in an unhappy marriage, and would be willing to assist us.
Naturally, I was scandalized by all of this, but the value of my lover’s plan was immediately apparent. The addition of these other women would lend legitimacy to our ersatz gathering, and as co-conspirators they would be bound to us, thus assuring our secrecy.
There really was no choice except to agree (although privately I marveled at Elizabeth’s deviousness). Just the same, I had no cause for censure, nor any inclination to give it; our cause was a gallant one, and in this instance, her guile was an asset, even if I did find it a trifle unsettling.
With our plans finalized, we bid the Professor a good day, and departed his company in high spirits. And by the end of the afternoon, Elizabeth had made contact with the women that she had mentioned. To the last, they were all willing to take part in our plot, and fully convinced that our intentions were just as amorous as their own.
We had what we required to move forwards. All that remained was for me to make my own arrangements, and I did so that very night, at dinner.
When I revealed my intention to attend the Ladies Sewing Circle, my father’s eyebrows rose slightly, just as I had anticipated. But the mere mention of our companions, coupled with their families’ reputations, set the old fellow at ease almost immediately. He gave me his blessings over dessert, and only added the admonition that the entire affair not exceed a decent hour.
Blackbird: A Warrior of the No-When Page 2