Dr Morbury's Cargo

by Steve Turnbull

  “Call the captain,” said Fanning, pointing at the speaking tube.

  “Non!” That was French.

  “I’ll do it.” Fanning grabbed the tube, pulled out the brass whistle, then blew down it hard.

  They waited. The ship regained a semblance of stability but still swung under the balloons. Fanning blew again.

  “What?” came the tinny reply from the captain.

  Then there was a clatter and something at the far end of the tube smashed. The ship swung again; this time the nose tilted upwards but the vessel wouldn’t climb unless Remy adjusted the balloons.

  Then the background whining of the engines wound down and stopped. The ship swayed in the wind as it drifted.

  “How in hell’s name do I get down to the cargo hold, Mr Darras?”

  vi

  Early Yesterday Evening

  Beatrice had finished introducing Mr Ketteridge to the crew, most of whom were working on the modifications to accommodate the passengers and their cargo. All except Fanning.

  “Would you care to come up to the top deck, Mr Ketteridge?”

  He smiled. “I’ll be happy to go wherever you wish. At least until the sleeping arrangements have been sorted out.”

  “It shouldn’t be much longer,” she said and led the way from the bridge into the companionway. “These are crews’ quarters and mess—such as it is.”

  “You sleep here?”

  She blushed. “Of course,” she said. “I berth with the captain. It is not a large vessel.”

  Beatrice opened the door to the mess and the galley beside it. The table filled most of the space with chairs crammed in around it.

  “I see what you mean,” he said. “Very cosy.”

  “We eat in here but not all together,” she said. “There just isn’t the space.”

  “What about our meals?”

  “We are having a meal with the captain on the bridge later,” she said. “Otherwise they will be brought down to you. Or you can eat up on the top deck if the weather is fine.”

  That provided a smooth link as they reached the ladder leading up to the top deck. She stood back to allow him to go first.

  “After you, Mrs Cameron,” he said.

  “You are the guest, Mr Ketteridge, you first,” she said. She had no desire to have him examining her ankles and lower legs as she climbed. She hoped he did not press the point because it would not be possible to argue without making the reason clear, which would be embarrassing to both of them.

  He did not force the issue and climbed.

  Beatrice hitched up her skirt and followed. On board she wore fewer petticoats since they made it much harder to get about. The captain wore men’s trousers, as did Fanning. Beatrice had thought about it but simply could not bring herself to do it, and cycling bloomers were no longer fashionable.

  She accepted Mr Ketteridge’s hand as she climbed out of the hatch and stood up on the deck. Ceylon was hotter than she remembered, although it had been several years since she had been here.

  “Is it like this on Venus?” she asked. Mr Ketteridge was scanning the horizon. From this vantage point they could see across a great deal of the city to the north wall that separated it from the slums beyond. Nearer buildings blocked their view to the south and west, while Sigiriya itself dominated the east.

  “You are from Delhi?”

  “Ipswich originally,” she said with a smile. “But I have spent the last few years in Delhi.”

  “Imagine the worst heat and humidity during the monsoon,” he said.

  She nodded. Summers in Delhi were intensely hot, and the humidity made it almost impossible to maintain any degree of decency. She had frequently had the desire to dispense with her European clothing and turn native. “Venus is like that?”

  “Far worse,” he said. “It is bad everywhere but in certain parts it is as if the air itself were boiling water.”

  “I am surprised anyone would want to live in such a place.”

  “It is a place of wonders, Mrs Cameron,” he said. “And, of course, such resources of iron and other commodities that our empire cannot resist.”

  She realised that he had not, since helping her from the hatch, released her hand and she could feel a curious sensation, a tingling, in it. Somewhat embarrassed she gently pulled away, so as not to imply there was anything unusual or inappropriate.

  “The main shed there,” she said, indicating the construction in the centre of the deck, “is the steam control room. Monsieur Darras is in charge of our buoyancy.” One wide pipe emerged from the deck near the rear and entered the shed. Seven pairs of pipes, one going out and one returning, came from the roof and went out to the seven balloons that lifted the ship. They were inflated now, but as the ship’s Faraday was switched off the Beauty remained firmly on the ground.

  She looked around, sure Fanning had been up here. She had seen him earlier, but he was nowhere in sight.

  “I had hoped to introduce you to Fanning,” she said. “But perhaps later.”

  Mr Ketteridge smiled at her, and there was a hint of something else in his eyes. She looked away quickly. “Being alone with you here is most pleasant,” he said.

  She felt trapped. Returning down the ladder would be difficult.

  Perhaps she could deflect the issue. “I must admit I am curious, Mr Ketteridge,” she said, moving away from him to the low rail around the edge of the deck.

  “About what?”

  “Why you are going to Calcutta, instead of returning directly to Oxford,” she said. “Surely you are putting your samples at risk.”

  “That is quite easy to answer,” he said, coming to stand beside her but no longer too close. “The colleges of Oxford and the bequests to the Botanic Garden are, unfortunately, insufficient to fund a trip to Venus of this sort. The doctor was required to find some private support, something I was able to help with. We must visit our most generous patron.”

  “And what does he get from the trip?”

  “This particular gentleman wishes to remain anonymous,” he said. “As such, his reward is his own live sample to show off to his friends or keep in secret, just as he chooses.”

  Beatrice nodded. It was entirely reasonable.

  “Are all your samples plants?”

  “Plants and fungi, yes,” he said. “After all, it is a botanical expedition. Considering the nature of most of the beasts on such a primeval planet as Venus, we would have required a hunter of considerable stature to bring them down. And a much larger vessel than the Frozen Beauty to carry them.”

  Beatrice had read several novels purporting to tell tales of adventures on the alien planet. “Are there natives on Venus?”

  He laughed. “Not that we have found. Nothing with any intelligence to exceed perhaps a dog, and then not even as clever as that.”

  “I think I should like to visit one day.”

  “If you do,” he said, “I would be happy to arrange the excursion for you.”

  She turned and smiled. “Shall we go down?”

  vii

  Yesterday Evening

  Mr Montgomery was still working on the accommodations with Ichiro so Qi had, reluctantly, asked Mrs Cameron and Fanning to prepare the evening meal for her and their guests. Qi had made a point of ignoring the look Beatrice had given her.

  Qi was uncertain what to do about the woman. It was very inconvenient having her aboard but in this instance she had turned out to be useful. Dr Morbury was a very unpleasant person and Qi was glad to be able to delegate the responsibility of baby-sitting him.

  They sat around a table that had been brought in from the inadequate mess. The cutlery mostly matched, and Beatrice had unearthed some Chinese-made crockery Qi had completely forgotten they owned. It was classic willow pattern, for export only. It had been part of a shipment her father had carried a long time ago.

  Qi had insisted on sitting at the end, facing forwards towards the window. Remy, at the other end, had donated one of his wines, so much bett
er than the drinks they usually had. Fanning was serving and seemed to have some skill in it. Mrs Cameron sat next to the very quiet Dr Lambington—who for all he seldom spoke never ceased to fidget, which was quite distracting.

  On the other side were Dr Morbury, opposite Mrs Cameron, and Mr Ketteridge, flanking Qi opposite the restless Lambington. Six of them for a dinner of chicken, potatoes and peas.

  “Better than most of what we ate on the trip,” said Mr Ketteridge when Qi apologised for the simple fare.

  They ate in silence and the awkwardness dragged out.

  “Mrs Cameron has been enquiring as to the flora, fauna and fungi of our sister planet, Dr Morbury.”

  The doctor made a dismissive noise through a mouthful of chicken.

  “My knowledge is so unscientific,” said Ketteridge. “I thought you might like to enlighten our hosts.”

  “Really can’t imagine where to start,” he said.

  Mrs Cameron piped up. “Would you say the creatures of Venus are from the same source as us?”

  Morbury almost choked. Qi looked up in concern; it would be inconvenient to have a passenger die on them, but the curator was laughing.

  It was the timid and fidgeting Dr Lambington who replied. “That is more of a ... ah ... philosophical question, Mrs Cameron.”

  “Really?” she said, and let it hang in the air. It was the kind of void a scientist could not resist filling.

  “Oh yes,” he said. “For us to have a common ancestor there would have to have been some sort of connection between our planets.”

  Morbury snorted his derision.

  “But for anyone to think that, they would have to fail to comprehend the distances involved, Mrs Cameron,” said Lambington. “It is quite unthinkable Venusian creatures could have any connection with us, and equally impossible for such life as remains on the Red Planet.”

  Morbury leaned forwards and jabbed in her direction with his fork. “The planets age like all forms of life,” he said. “Mars is the oldest and is in its death throes, while Venus is still young and vital. The age of life upon our planet is in the billions of years. The scope of these concepts is far beyond a woman’s capacity to understand.”

  Qi saw Mrs Cameron straighten and look Dr Morbury in the eye. “My father is a geologist, Dr Morbury,” she said carefully. “I have developed an interest in the subject, and it is the opinion of all geologists that the Earth cannot possibly be more than four hundred million years old.”

  “Ridiculous,” said Morbury digging his knife viciously into his chicken. “Geology is not a science, Mrs Cameron. Children playing with stones in the garden.” He took a moment to consume a fork’s worth of breast. “It is life itself that tells us the age of the planet. Darwin demonstrated the development of life could only occur through natural selection, and that process cannot possibly occur at such a rate.”

  Mrs Cameron’s face was developing an angry shade of red. Rather than let her say something untoward, Qi entered the conversation. “How can you be so sure?”

  Dr Lambington shifted in his seat. “Captain, you see, only the tiniest changes can occur from generation to generation, and even then only in some individuals of any given species. Then these changes must be inherited and develop a little more and so on.”

  Morbury dropped his cutlery onto his plate with a distracting clatter. “The point is this: If life changed at such a stupendous rate, we would wake up tomorrow to find a new and better species of human taking over the world. In fact,” he said, “we would not be having this conversation because by now we would all have developed wings and the ability to fly through the Void under our own power.”

  Perhaps wisely, no one sought to argue. Morbury pushed his seat back and finished off his wine and then held it towards Remy for a refill. Mr Darras gave Qi a dark look and then emptied the remainder of the wine into the doctor’s glass.

  “As I understand it,” said Qi quietly, “life on Venus does not differ all that much from life here.”

  “Both the bat and the bird can fly,” said Morbury. “Even some squirrels and fish can fly. They are not the same. Yes, the animals on Venus have legs similarly jointed to ours. They have skeletons and circulatory systems. There are flowers and creatures similar to insects that perform the same function as pollinating bees and wasps.

  “Just because they have developed the same function does not mean they have the same source. Besides, it is on Venus that the fungi have come into their own as the dominant life form. And it is the fungus that we are bringing back.”

  “How do you mean, dominant?” asked Beatrice, who seemed to have regained control of herself.

  It was Lambington who shivered and said, “It’s everywhere.”

  viii

  Now

  The horizon was glowing with the last light of the sun. But for Fanning the sky was below her feet and the sea, reflecting the same rose hue, was above. Quite how she had allowed Remy Darras to persuade her to hang upside-down outside the ship’s hull, she was not entirely sure.

  She was trusting her life to a crazy Frenchman. He had been pretty crazy even when not under the influence of whatever it was. The question of why she was unaffected still bothered her—along with the idea that perhaps she was affected after all and only thought she was sane.

  Did crazy people think they were sane? They probably did.

  Rocked by a gust of wind, the ship swung away from her and then returned. She put out her arms to cushion the blow but the hull bludgeoned into her, spinning her away. As she twirled, she caught a glimpse of the length of the vessel and Remy above her.

  When she was close to the hull, she was on the border of the Faraday effect; it made her skin feel odd. As she swung away her weight increased to normal. The rope paid out until Remy gripped it harder.

  She was almost down to the lowest level.

  The idea was that she would be able to peek inside and decide what was to be done. What she wanted was to dump the cargo overboard and never mind the consequences. She had seen the way the dock workers had mishandled the boxes and crates. There was no question they had damaged them and something unpleasant had leaked out.

  A fungus.

  She had heard Lambington at dinner, but she already knew about Venusian fungus. The scientist who had done this to her and brother had also used fungi. It was in the pamphlets and science journals that he read. The fungus that resembled the human brain and could act like one if given a pattern to follow.

  But it was too expensive for him, so he had chosen a different path.

  The hull cracked Fanning on the head. She could imagine the sound echoing through the cargo hold and hoped no one would come to investigate. Rubbing her skull, she studied where she was in relation to the ship.

  There was one porthole below her. The one she had been aiming for. She looked “down” and saw Remy leaning over the top of the rail. In the fading light, she couldn’t clearly see the expression on his face. Somewhere between a grin and a grimace.

  She gave him a thumbs-up and he let out the rope again.

  And then it was no longer supporting her at all.

  As the porthole flashed past, she got the impression of a light inside. She flung out her arms. The sea was a long way below. Her hands dragged along the wood, failing to make any purchase. Her body turned as she fell until she was face down.

  Then there was no ship’s hull, and only the wide ocean below. Her fingers caught. She gripped reflexively. Her feet swung underneath her and she came to a joint-jarring stop, dangling beneath the Frozen Beauty. Moments later there was a slight jerk around her waist as the loose rope stretched out to its full length beneath her.

  From where she hung she could see the thin layer of wood that covered the Faraday grid in the bottom of the vessel. It was painted brightly with the Chinese characters that made up the ship’s name. If she were within the Faraday effect this would be easy, but she was not and her full weight dragged on her arms.

  Carefully she looked u
p. She was clinging to a lip running along the lower edge of the hull; there were holes in it at intervals where the Beauty could be tied down if needed. It was solid but her fingers would carry her weight for only so long, and they were already tiring.

  The Beauty’s engines ran up to speed and she swung as it moved off. Whatever disagreement there had been on the bridge had clearly been resolved.

  It was hopeless. She could barely hold her own weight; there were no additional grips that she could see and nowhere to go except down. She adjusted one hand so that the tips of her fingers curled into one of the mooring holes. It was a little firmer like that.

  Then she knew what to do. If she failed, she would just fall to her death a little sooner than if she simply hung until her muscles failed. It would mean she would have to grip by one hand for a time, but hope gave her strength.

  She looked down at the rope dangling below her. It was long but she didn’t have to reel it all in—just enough to get a loop through the hole.

  She hesitated. The longer she waited the harder it would be. She took a deep breath, made sure her right hand was firmly hooked into the hole, and then let go with the left. The fingers of her right hand felt as if they would give at any moment.

  Reaching down to her waist she found the dangling rope and lifted it. She desperately wanted to hurry but her brother, whispering from the back of her mind, kept her moving slow. She brought her left hand up with the rope, playing through it as she did so.

  The weight of it wanted to rip through her fingers but she kept her palm under it. She reached the position where both arms were stretched up and two lengths of rope were in front of her. It was not so much that her right hand hurt, as that it felt as if it was going numb and she would fall without realising it was going to happen.

  Because only one arm was supporting her and stretched her shoulder, the other no longer reached all the way to the lip. Awkwardly she brought the rope down to her face and held it in her teeth while she made a loop and twisted it, forcing it to bend. Taking both parts of the loop in her free hand, she lifted it again.