“Twaddle!” was Dr. Hogalum’s reply. “I had formulated a remedy potent enough to rid me of a pernicious case of cancer, but also so concentrated as to teeter on the brink of toxicity. Sadly, I miscalculated the dosage. So you see, your Petión fellow is mistaken, Magnetron, as are you if you think you can sidestep my line of questioning by initiating your own. I want you to explain in detail how it has come to pass that my severed head is now displayed in your laboratory, and I want you to do so now—without delay!”
I was quite unable to resist asking about his cancer—an explosive and hitherto undisclosed confidence—but Dr. Hogalum once again arrogated control of the exchange, forcing me to apologize again for my circumlocution.
I attempted with some difficulty to untangle the intricate sequence of events. “As my plan advanced,” I said at some point during my explanation, “I often felt as if I were in a complex labyrinth weighing innumerable options, each presenting itself unbidden. As one course of action proved untenable, another potentiality arose to take its place, and at length, I arrived at an end I had scarcely foreseen at the outset. And yet, looking backward, I can see but one path back to my starting point.”
“As is often the case,” concurred Dr. Hogalum, attempting rather ineffectively to nod his head. “Now, please confine yourself to the pith of this particular path. Precisely what have you planned for me that requires only my head?”
Dr. Hogalum ground his molars audibly as I described the brain’s ability to direct the body with small electrical discharges which obliged muscles to contract. At length, I declared with some immodesty that I believed a human brain—with the appropriate bridging apparatus—could attain the capacity to control machinery directly, without any manual interaction.
“Fascinating, Magnetron,” Dr. Hogalum mocked. “But what in blazes does this have to do with me?”
I strode toward my creation, which was concealed beneath an unremarkable sailcloth tarpaulin. “Behold!” I said, suddenly aware that I had spent a lifetime wanting for the opportunity to issue that very command. “I give you…” I intoned majestically, assuming a magnificent pose suitable to revealing my foremost invention. I gave the release cord an efficient yank—thereby sundering an elaborate pulley system formerly affixed to a beam in the laboratory ceiling.
“Behold!” said I again, tugging at the irksome tarpaulin fabric. “I give you…” Struggling mightily, I finally managed to unveil my creation—a streamlined craft unlike any previously seen upon this Earth. “I give you… The Caelestis!”
Chapter 11 ~ Magnetron's Curse
“When Dr. Hogalum had asked my name, the only word I could speak was ‘magnetron,’ a word I had heard in my afflicted dreams…”
Dr. Hogalum was uncharacteristically speechless, his jaw repeatedly dropping open and snapping shut. For the first time I could remember, I had impressed him. “Magnificent, isn’t she?” I said, beaming with pride. He agreed emphatically and asked if the Caelestis was the product of my unusual gift. I shook my head, reminding the doctor that I considered it a curse, not a gift.
Let me explain: In the course of one of the final battles of Chancellorsville, I received a bullet wound that pierced my brain and rendered me comatose for weeks. I should certainly have died from my injury, as I was left behind when General Hooker was forced to retreat under the acute duress of General Lee’s assault. As my comrades were repulsed to stronger defensive positions, I exhausted my last moments of consciousness dragging myself toward a nearby woody thicket.
I awoke weeks later in a clean bed under the care of Dr. Hogalum, who had found me whilst searching for an errant golf ball and transported me to his home in a secluded area southeast of Charlottesville. I had a profound case of amnesia, and was also unable to speak intelligibly. When Dr. Hogalum asked my name, the only word I could speak was “magnetron,” a word I had heard in my afflicted dreams, a word whose precise meaning remains a mystery to me. It was many months later until I was reunited with my mother and came to know my true surname, Mugglesworth.
As alluded to earlier, I arise nearly every morning intoxicated by visions of astonishing inventions from the future: telescope boxes that permit a viewer to observe events from every corner of the world; self-propelled carriages that permit the driver to go anywhere on land at speeds exceeding that of the fastest locomotive; tiny devices that permit the user to listen to perfectly faithful recordings of symphonies at the mere touch of a button.
For many years I have kept a tablet of writing paper at my bedside, so that I might record the workings of these inventions, but within a few moments I find myself gazing uncomprehending at meaningless scribbles. I have been inspired by many of my sketches, and I have managed to support my household and unusual pursuits from the sale of my Vegetable-Musket, a device which eases the burden of many thousands of women by facilitating the slicing and dicing of fresh produce. On balance, though, my “gift” has been a source of profound frustration more so than inspiration.
Dr. Hogalum could remain silent only so long, and he soon began a series of probing questions appertaining to the Caelestis, which dazzled before us. I explained that I had developed an entirely new science which would permit him to pilot the craft with his mind. Merely by thinking a thing, it would be made to happen, whether it be altering speed or course or any such navigational task.
He was understandably thunderstruck, but regained his self-possession through the application of his remarkable intellect and acerbic tongue. Indeed, these were the sole tools at his disposal, as even when I complied with his repeated demands for a pen, he could but stare down at it and curse in a most bombastic fashion.
We were engrossed in a difficult experiment with the Cerebral Harness when Mrs. Mackenzie rapped on the laboratory door. I replaced Dr. Hogalum’s top hat and opened the door but she refused to enter, retreating a full ten feet from the doorway, so fearful was she of Dr. Hogalum’s partial presence. She remained at this distance and timidly announced a visitor: Constable Hawkshaw had come round to question me about a criminal act recently perpetrated—in Virginia!
Chapter 12 ~ Magnetron Stays the Course
“Before I could clarify, Dr. Hogalum exploded in a spectacular display of bombast and spittle, lambasting my scientific methodology as well as my lineage.”
Constable Hawkshaw was a clever fellow, but rather more susceptible than most to the effects of the Hypno-Chronometer. Indeed, I did not even invite him into the parlor before placing him into a slack-jawed stupor. I instructed him to return to his police duties with a story of my airtight alibi for the evening in question, and to relate his unshakeable certainty of my complete innocence and benevolence to his superiors, and to his colleagues in Virginia. He nodded and apologized for distracting me from my work, mounted his horse and rode off at a leisurely trot.
As I left the anteroom, my gaze met that of Mrs. Mackenzie, who scrutinized me with profound concern. I averted my gaze, turning abruptly and making my way back to my laboratory. I could think of nothing to say which might allay her anxieties.
Dr. Hogalum was unconcerned by the incident and most impatient to return to work. We had suffered a series of setbacks and failed experiments, and I was becoming weary and discouraged. By contrast, the doctor was brimming with enthusiasm and seemed immune to hunger and fatigue. He began to order me about the Masterstroke Mill in the manner of a tyrannical taskmaster directing a disobedient drudge. “I am the doctor here, Magnetron,” he said repeatedly. “It would be wise to yield to me on matters of the brain.”
Mrs. Mackenzie rapped tentatively at the door on numerous occasions, entreating me to sleep and take meals, but I declined in deference to the work before us. “Your little hypno-watch trick won’t last for long,” reminded the doctor. He was correct, of course. The after-effects of the Hypno-chronometer dissipated eventually, the subject gradually gaining the awareness that what once had made perfect sense was in fact nonsensical rubbish. The co
nstable would return eventually, and in a disagreeable temper, I suspected.
The Cerebral Harness experiments were proceeding unsatisfactorily. I began to despair of ever launching the Caelestis, as it would drift uselessly were Dr. Hogalum incapable of piloting it. The doctor was indefatigable, though, so we continued work unremittingly; he, bellowing out commands from within the complexity of electrodes which now blossomed from the base of his skull, and I, growing ever more haggard as our labors produced failure after disheartening failure. I was on the verge of confessing my doubts when the doctor voiced his own apprehension.
“Magnetron,” he began with a peevish tone, “have you tested this craft for seaworthiness? It does not appear seaworthy to my eye.”
“No,” I responded, realizing at that point that I had been misunderstood. Before I could clarify, Dr. Hogalum exploded in a spectacular display of bombast and spittle, lambasting my scientific methodology as well as my lineage. I permitted him to rage uninterrupted until I became aware that he was leering biliously and attempting to elicit a response from me with a caustic “Hmmm?”
“Dr. Hogalum, I have not tested this craft for seaworthiness because it is not a seagoing vessel,” I said tersely. “It is, to the best of my knowledge, airworthy, however.”
“Airworthy? What in oblate spheroids are you prattling about, Magnetron?”
“The Caelestis is a space going vessel, doctor, hence the name. It is my intention to launch it—and you—into space where you may explore the heavens for all eternity.”
Chapter 13 ~ Magnetron's Redemption
“I had known the doctor for many years and saw no reason to break my own solemn vow by informing him then of his dreadful singing voice.”
Dr. Hogalum sputtered incomprehensibly in a manner I had never before witnessed. His bafflement rapidly relapsed to exasperation, though, as he assailed my foresight and reasoning abilities.
“You... expect me to fly this-this-this thing... in space? This is your plan? It is your intention that I should employ an experimental brain science to pilot an experimental spacecraft? Magnetron! Was the experimental brain science part not sufficiently challenging? Of all the damn fool absurdities…”
He continued in this vein for some time, as my mind wandered through the maze of my own earlier misgivings. It was nonsense, of course. Such a thing was not possible in my lifetime, and I of all people was certainly not to be the one to create such a brilliant advance. For all my technical prowess, I was clearly lacking the meanest endowment of judgment and discretion. Common sense! That was what I lacked.
Presently, I heard a strange fluttering noise emanating from the aft end of the Caelestis. I crept around to inspect, Dr. Hogalum’s head swiveling to track my motion, and found that the craft’s tailpiece assembly was flapping with a frightful commotion—loud enough to be heard over the doctor’s tirade.
Doctor Hogalum’s eyes grew wide as turkey platters when he looked down and beheld the curious sight. “Deus ex mackerel!” he cried. “The infernal thing works!” It was not until I looked up at him and realized that he had rotated his own head (so as to shout directly at me) that I apprehended the full import of this occurrence. I flounced boyishly to and fro as the doctor pivoted synchronously, his nostrils flaring with delight.
Immodest whoops of extravagant jubilation were heard in all corners of the Contrivance Conservatory. Our long and arduous journey was nearing an end!
I deduced that the doctor’s tantrum had produced passions sufficiently fervent to induce a reaction in the craft’s circuitry, but clearly a greater sensitivity was necessary, particularly with respect to higher brain functions. I set about adjusting the myriad voltage regulators to permit Dr. Hogalum the ability to flap his wings without having also to flap his jaw.
Many hours of adjustments were required, but the doctor elected to swivel merrily on his platform rather than directing the operation. He hummed, whistled, and crooned an inane ditty he had improvised for the occasion, something about renting shorefront cottages along the Martian Canals, and the like. I had known the doctor for many years and saw no reason to break my own solemn vow by informing him then of his dreadful singing voice. I bore his caterwauling with the grace that springs from the undiluted self-satisfaction of vindication.
The Caelestis would sail to other worlds with the doctor’s head at the helm and my own spirit in the sails. Mankind would enter a new era, never to return, never to look back. There was but one final act to consummate this most historic event: the launch.
The next morning, September 30, 1877—this would be the day when mankind would cut the strings binding him to our blessed Earth, this most hospitable birthplace, to careen off into the unknown depths of our Earth’s birthplace: the uncharted wilderness of that most mysterious frontier.
Chapter 14 ~ Magnetron Courts Destiny
“I nearly broke down into an indecorous state of lachrymosity when Mrs. Mackenzie appeared, bashfully presenting me with a bottle of champagne...”
It is a curious sensation: that of progressing at a rapid pace, accomplishing one task after the other in an efficient manner, and yet focusing so thoroughly on each individual task as to have no appreciation for the progress being made toward one’s own main objective.
The clock leapt forward, ticking off hours at a time rather than minutes.
Anders was still out of town, so I pressed Pung into service, an assignment he was all too eager to accept. His task was twofold: to assist me with heavy or tedious tasks, and to reduce Dr. Hogalum’s interference by keeping him occupied.
I spoke little, attending to the innumerable details, as Pung and Dr. Hogalum maintained a spirited discussion on a variety of topics ranging from firecrackers to the Confucian Analects. They were an odd pair: The doctor, the very essence of bold self-assurance, effortlessly deciphered Pung’s incomprehensible cant; Pung, his estimable wisdom completely obscured by his preposterous appearance and demeanor, was somehow able to comprehend Dr. Hogalum’s technical jargon and grandiloquent idiolect.
Thus we advanced: lubricating and adjusting the Caelestis, inspecting and patching her balloon, securing the connections of the Cerebral Harness, testing and re-inspecting every jot and tittle, and finally loading the entire amalgamation on a specially designed rolling gantry. All of this as Pung and Dr. Hogalum chattered without respite.
Soon, it was morning. I was so exhausted then as to be but semi-conscious, but as I write this I recall in minute detail the scene as I rolled open the hangar door and looked out upon the grounds. Dawn broke as Pung and I rolled the doctor to the designated launch point. I nearly broke down into an indecorous state of lachrymosity when Mrs. Mackenzie appeared, bashfully presenting me with a bottle of champagne, a ‘25 Perrier-Jouët. She had come to christen the Caelestis.
“Stand clear,” I announced. “There remains much work to be done.” Pung and Mrs. Mackenzie dutifully retreated several steps and watched as I began to prepare for launch. Mrs. Mackenzie took the opportunity to chide Pung about his cats and their extensive mischief. Pung replied that the Caelestis closely resembled a tuna fish.
“This mechanism automatically reduces pressure in the balloon as the atmosphere becomes rarer,” I instructed. “This mechanism here is also automatic, releasing the balloon from the Caelestis as waning gravity fails to hold this switch closed. Do not attempt to fly around until the balloon has detached or you may become entangled in the lines.”
“Yes, yes, we have gone over this one thousand and eight times, Magnetron!” replied Dr. Hogalum. “Let us commence the launch!”
I unrolled the balloon and ignited the burners. Full inflation took approximately three-quarters of an hour. Pung and Mrs. Mackenzie began to fidget and bicker while the mundane procedure took its course. After half an hour or so, my earlier alertness began to wane, and I became mesmerized by the whooshing sound of burning gas and excited air molecules.
I was roused from my dough-h
eaded reverie when Dr. Hogalum exclaimed, “Satan’s palace of torment! Hurry up, Magnetron! Someone’s coming!”
Chapter 15 ~ Magnetron’s Giant Leap
“The Caelestis was … picking up speed toward a large stand of maples! All else faded away, and I ran off after the misadventuring craft. ‘Flap your wings, doctor!’”
Horrified and confused, I hurled myself to and fro without apparent purpose, like a drunk being attacked by pigeons. The balloon! It was nearly inflated but not sufficiently for a successful launch. The Caelestis tugged lethargically at her lines. In the distance, the unmistakable sound of a wagon being drawn by a pair of horses. How on Earth could I possibly explain the bizarre goings-on on my property?
“Police!” exclaimed Pung repeatedly. His mouth was wide open and his eyes blinked in fear and disbelief. “Police! Police!” Mrs. Mackenzie slapped her hand over his gaping mouth. “Stuff a sack in it, ye old sod! Yes, it’s the police, but ye don’t have to call them over, do ye!”
I opened the valve full on, and a great rippling gust of flames shot forth. “Fill up, you damnable bag of air!” I cried. The hoof beats were approaching rapidly. I had no choice but to cut the lines and hope for the best. I smashed the champagne across the bow of the Caelestis, and she swayed slowly to port and began to be carried along by a light breeze—but she rose not one inch. “Give it more heat!” I shouted at Dr. Hogalum. “Do you hear me? More heat!” It dawned on me then that I had not provided the doctor any means of controlling the valve.
Mrs. Mackenzie ran for the Contrivance Conservatory, her hand still clasped over Pung’s mouth. “Pholeeth! Phfbleemth!”
Two heads appeared over the horizon as the approaching wagon made its way up the hill. My heart leapt and sank immediately thereafter. It was not the constable leading a charge up the hill, but my compatriots and dearest friends, the Hogalum Society! My relief at not seeing Constable Hawkshaw was short-lived, however, as I shrank at the inevitable flurry of outraged recriminations from these uncompromising men. In this, I was not to be disappointed.
The Last Adventure of Dr. Yngve Hogalum Page 3