by Jay Barnson
The cargo bay was large and dark, but also dry and warm enough to be reasonably comfortable. The airship was slower than the flyer, and would take six days to reach Belvedere.
The airship docked in the middle of the afternoon. Valerie was ready when the door opened and automatons entered to unload the cargo. They ignored her as she slipped out into the dock. She dashed to a pile of wooden crates and hid behind them. She felt panicky, almost certain she’d be found before she’d gone a hundred yards. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she forced herself to slow her breathing.
She peeked over the top and scanned the dock from side to side. Dark metal walls, covered in a sheen of condensation. Stacks of wooden boxes. The automatons continued unloading the airship, but there were no people about. She dropped behind the boxes and got ready for her next move.
She fumbled in her bag for the particle detector. It registered a background reading. The protonium wasn’t nearby.
A long catwalk led to a metal door, just like the docks on City Twenty-seven, and she knew it was the way to the street.
She stopped at the door and took a breath to prepare herself. The Rogue Cities were squalid places—everyone knew that. Dirty streets, filled with diseased people and criminals living in poverty and filth and violence. Their spies and saboteurs were responsible for mayhem and murder aboard the Royal Cities. She was on enemy ground. She would have to find the protonium and get away from here quickly if she wanted to survive.
She reached out with a trembling hand, pressed the handle, and opened the door.
The sun shone and the cobbled square bustled with people. A young woman in a grass-green skirt danced around a fountain, smiling, to a tune playing on a steam-powered brass pipe organ mounted on a cart. The crowd watched, cheered, and clapped time. Around the edges of the space, men and women with barrows and stalls sold fruit, clothes, jewellery, and a thousand other things. People smiled. They laughed. They were happy.
Valerie’s mind was in turmoil. Where was the squalor? These people didn’t look like criminals, or poor, or sick.
They didn’t look like her, either, she realised—their clothes were bright and clean in the sunlight, unlike the dirty, drab shirt and skirt Huxley had given her. He’d assured her she’d fit in. She didn’t. People were looking at her.
A bearded young man in a suit and top hat looked at her with obvious distaste. Farther off, a child pulled at the sleeve of a man wearing a helmet and a blue uniform and pointed at her. The policeman looked at her, then patted the child on the head and walked her way, his eyes fixed on her.
Scheisse! She turned and walked away briskly, toward a street running from the corner of the square. As soon as she was out of the policeman’s sight, she ran—but stopped dead. The street ended at a solid brick wall.
She spun around, but it was too late. The policeman was already there.
The office was clean, the dark wood furniture polished, the thick pile carpet spotless. An ornate floor-to-ceiling window looked out over the city from four or five floors above street level. The sun was setting, and the shadows of the taller buildings stretched across the roofs of the smaller houses.
The door opened and a young woman walked in, smiling as she sat behind the desk. “I’m Margaret Humboldt. I’m here to help you settle in.”
“Settle into what? Prison?”
Humboldt’s eyes went wide. “Whatever are you talking about?”
“I was arrested—”
“You’re not under arrest, Miss McGrath. You’ve obviously escaped from one of the Royal Cities—the policeman who brought you here knew it as soon as he saw you. Now you’re here, safe and sound. But you don’t seem very happy about it.”
“Why should I be happy? This is a Rogue City—”
“Free City. We don’t call ourselves Rogues.”
“Free, then, if it suits you. It makes no difference. You’re at war with us. You’re the enemy.”
“There is no war, Miss McGrath. Your own government destroys things, killing innocent people in the process, and blames us. It’s how they justify the other things they do. Watching everyone all the time. Rationing food and water. And all the executions—those aren’t Free City people they’re murdering. They’re Royal City people, the ones trying to fight back or escape.”
Valerie was angry. This woman was trying to turn Valerie against her own people. This whole thing was an act, a performance staged to make her think what they wanted her to think. She could argue with the woman—or she could go along with the sham. Make them think they’d convinced her, and then perhaps they’d give her a little more freedom to move—and to escape from this place, as soon as she found the protonium.
Humboldt broke into her musing. “But if you didn’t know that, why would you see a need to escape? Why are you here, Miss McGrath?”
Humboldt called it ‘assigned housing,’ but Valerie knew it for what it really was—her prison. A well-upholstered, soft-bedded prison with flowered wallpaper, a wardrobe of new clothes, and a view of a fishpond. Humboldt had asked Valerie to stay put until a guide was assigned to show her around Belvedere.
She still didn’t understand how Danforth and Huxley could have been so wrong about this place. Perhaps Belvedere was different from the other Rogue Cities. If this was where the ruling classes lived, then things made sense—they wouldn’t want to live in the dirt. But then, Danforth and Huxley would have known and told her what to expect. Therefore, they couldn’t have known. They must have assumed Belvedere was just like the other Rogues.
Strangely, Humboldt had let Valerie keep her belongings. As soon as she was alone, she took the transmitter from her bag but stopped as she was about to use it to tell Huxley what had happened. They’d be watching. They’d know.
She hadn’t seen optics in any of her rooms—in fact, she hadn’t seen any at all, on the gaslights or the corners of the buildings—but she knew they were there, somewhere. She wanted desperately to contact Huxley, to tell him what had happened, and what she’d found so far—but more than that, she felt lost and alone, and needed a friendly voice to reassure her.
She considered trying to get away, to search for the protonium, but fear of what would happen when they caught her again—she was certain they would—kept her from acting. The next ‘assigned housing’ they put her in would certainly be more secure. A guide was going to help her explore the city? Fine. She’d take the detector and the transmitter with her and use them when she could do so safely.
Humboldt came back the next day. “I’ve been assigned as your guide,” she explained. “Let’s have some lunch, then I have something to show you.”
Humboldt took Valerie to a pavement restaurant in the same square she had seen the day before, where they ate, then they hopped on a steam tram.
“Where are we going?” asked Valerie.
“You’ll see. I think you’ll find this very interesting.”
Humboldt stepped off the tram as it passed a huge, dark brick building with no windows. Valerie hesitated. What was this place? A real prison? Was she about to be interrogated? Tortured? Executed?
“Come on,” said Humboldt, leading the way to a huge metal double-door. She pressed a button, and a whistle sounded faintly from somewhere inside.
The door opened, and a moustachioed man appeared. “Miss Humboldt, I presume?” Humboldt nodded. “Right on time. Please follow me.”
Valerie’s mind raced in panic. She wanted to run away from this place as fast as she could, find the dock, jump on the first transport she saw. Forget the protonium; save herself.
The man led the way inside. Valerie hesitated—the urge to run was strong, but her chances of escape, in an unfamiliar city full of enemies, were nil. Taut as a bowstring, ready to bolt if the opportunity arose, she followed Humboldt.
The man took a path between huge metal cylinders and stacks of ceramic disks threaded on metal cables. Valerie looked at the equipment, recognising the disks as electrical insulators. Her tension ease
d a little. Whatever this place was, it was no prison.
The man stopped at a wooden railing. Beyond it was a large, black, cylindrical machine wrapped in copper pipework. “You know the rules,” he said. “Stay behind the railing. Don’t cross any of the red painted lines. And don’t touch anything.”
Humboldt thanked the man, and he left. She turned to Valerie. “This building is our primary power station. And that,”—she pointed at the cylinder—“is what I brought you here for. Look familiar?”
Valerie frowned, nonplussed, and looked at the machine. It looked vaguely memorable. She followed its outline with her eyes, obscured as it was by coils of copper tubing—and her stomach lurched when she realised what she was looking at. “The containment shell!” she blurted out, before she could stop herself.
“Is that what you call it? Well. I knew you’d find it interesting. I assume you came here to find the protonium that was inside it. Am I right?”
Valerie knew she’d said too much already. “How did you know?”
“I saw your detector. In your bag, when you were in my office. Don’t look so surprised—I studied radiant physics at the university on Harmony City. I know what a particle detector looks like. Anyway, it’s not here. The protonium. Use your detector, if you don’t believe me.”
She took the detector from her bag and checked the dial. Humboldt was telling the truth. “So you know why I’m here,” Valerie said, eyes narrowing. “What happens next? You’ll dispose of me, I suppose.”
“My goodness. Paranoia really is the Royal City way, isn’t it? I propose an exchange of information. I’ll tell you what I know, then you tell me why you need protonium. After that, you can do whatever you want. Stay here, or move to one of the other Free Cities. You can even go back to your own city, if you like—although I wouldn’t advise it. If they think you know the truth . . .”
Valerie bristled. “They’ll assume it’s all Rogue lies, just as I do. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” She glanced toward the containment shell. “Tell me how this got here.”
Humboldt talked as they strolled back toward the doors. “City Twenty-seven dumped it on the surface about eight months ago. It’s what they do. They leave a trail of rubbish wherever they go. But you already know that. And as we do, we came along behind to clean up the mess. This time it was worse than usual—the most dangerous radiant incident we’ve ever had to deal with. When I saw your detector, I knew that was what you came for.”
She shook her head. “Eight hundred pounds of unshielded protonium, left sitting next to a river in the September Plains. In danger of leaching into the water as soon as the next rain fell, poisoning everything downstream. So we picked it all up. The containment shell, as you call it, has been reused here as a pressure vessel for the steam turbines. There was another piece—”
“The reaction vessel.”
“I suppose. All copper coils and magnets. That was stripped down for parts, and they’re all over Belvedere by now. I hope you didn’t need it.”
Valerie shook her head. “Where’s the protonium?”
“We couldn’t keep it here. It was packed in shielded containers and shipped to Castrovalva.”
“What’s Castrovalva?”
“Another of the Free Cities. They have special facilities there. It’s where we stockpile dangerous materials until they’re needed. Poisonous chemicals, explosives, things like that.And protonium, of course. Why did you throw it out on the surface?”
Valerie knew she shouldn’t tell, but her bitterness over the whole affair welled up inside her, as did the words she could never say in public in her own city. They burst from her in a flood. “That wasn’t my idea. I designed that machine and built a small prototype.
“The government financed building a full-sized one. But some penny-pinching accountant decided to save costs by reducing the amount of shielding, despite my warnings. Some people died, and a lot more were injured. The government shifted the blame onto me, and made a public show of disposing of the device.”
Humboldt harrumphed. “That sounds just like your government.”
Valerie straightened her back. This woman knew nothing of the Royal Cities, had no right to judge. “But they created a new identity for me and found me a job.” She’d been a top-level scientist and engineer. Now she was a maintenance worker in the city’s bowels. It tasted of ashes. But Humboldt didn’t need to know that.
Humboldt said nothing as she led the way out of the power station.
“I have to go to Castrovalva. I have to get that protonium.”
“Whatever you want. It was yours to begin with, after all. You’d be doing us a favour taking it away, to be honest.”
Valerie didn’t want to tell the woman that her home was in immediate danger. But there was no choice—too many lives were at risk. “You don’t understand. I have to get it right now. There isn’t much time.” She explained what was happening to City Twenty-seven’s power sources.
Humboldt’s jaw dropped, but she quickly recovered. “I’m taking you home. Then, I have to talk to some people.”
Humboldt didn’t knock when she arrived at Valerie’s lodging the next morning. The door banged open as she strode into the parlour. “Get your things. You’re leaving.”
Valerie was suspicious of another lie, but the chance to escape from there was too good to miss. She knew she would have to be alert for any sign of trouble. She threw her few belongings into her bag and followed as Humboldt hurried out to the street.
Humboldt talked as they walked quickly and jumped onto a passing tram. “You’ve caused quite a stir. The government on Harmony City . . . well, to be honest, they’re not convinced this isn’t a trick, but with eight million lives at stake, they’re not prepared to take the risk. We’re giving you an aircraft, and Castrovalva knows you’re coming. They’ll have the protonium ready when you arrive.”
Nothing more was said until they reached the docks. A flyer sat on a docking rail, its nose almost touching the launch doors. It was twice the size of the one she’d flown from City Twenty-seven—a dark cylinder of polished wood, with brass and copper pipework running from the engines at the rear, along the body and the double wings to the six propellers. “It’s huge! What is that, ninety feet?”
Humboldt smiled. “When the agency agreed to help you, they had in mind an older machine. I persuaded them to give you something more reliable, given the importance. You need something fast, and with cargo space for the protonium. She’s called Nomad. She’ll get you to Castrovalva and back to City Twenty-seven.”
Valerie stepped forward to board the aircraft, and Humboldt took her arm to stop her. “Valerie . . .”
Valerie was startled. “What happened to ‘Miss McGrath’?”
Humboldt ignored the remark. “When you’ve done what you need to do, come back to us. I know what’ll happen if you go back to the Royal Cities, even if you don’t.” She walked away. Valerie couldn’t tell whether the woman was genuinely concerned for her, or if it was just an act. The thought that it might be real gave her an unfamiliar, uncomfortable feeling as she boarded the flyer and closed the hatch.
Something was happening that she didn’t understand. The Rogues were the enemy; they had no reason to help a Royal City, and every reason to let it fall. But they didn’t need to pretend to let her go to do that. They could have just kept her locked up until it was too late. What were they up to?
Unless . . . what if Humboldt was telling the truth? Valerie didn’t like the direction that line of thought was beginning to take her. She dismissed it and steered her mind back to more immediate concerns.
She’d gone a quarter of the way round the world to get to Belvedere. Castrovalva was the same distance again—about as far from City Twenty-seven as it was possible to go. She looked at the chart attached to the clockworks. The first stop would be Profundis, five days distant. She started Nomad’s motors, and engaged the propellers.
The clockworks docked the aircraft at Profu
ndis without her assistance. The dock workers there had been forewarned, and refuelling was completed in less than an hour. Valerie allowed herself two hours beyond that to stretch her legs, get some air, and see how different Profundis was from Belvedere. Other than being a little larger, it was much the same—and, as on Belvedere, she saw no signs of starvation or sickness in the people. If they’d staged all that just to fool her, they were making a serious effort.
She returned to the dock and prepared to move on. The next stop would be Syberia, six days closer to Castrovalva.
Valerie awoke knowing something was wrong. She slipped off the bed quickly and almost fell as the deck shuddered and tilted. The flyer was nose-down, diving.
She ran from the little sleep cabin to the controls. A grating sound came from the engine compartment behind her. She grabbed the wheel and pulled, but it was frozen, locked as the clockworks did their best to keep the flyer airborne. On the panel, a red lamp flicked on and off with a clicking sound. Outside the glass of the bow port, the ground was coming up to meet her. She had about sixty seconds.
She whirled and scrambled up the sloping passageway to the engine room. Smoke hung in the air, and the grating sound was deafening. It ceased as the engine died.
Smoke issued from the edges of a square panel on the engine’s cylindrical iron casing. She flipped the clips holding it in place and tore it away. Inside, a mangled mess of chitin and thick, green gunk had fouled the gears—the remains of a dragonfly. She had no gloves, and no time. She grabbed the corpse and yanked. It was stuck firm. She put a naked foot against the metal—hissing in pain as the heat seared her sole—and pulled as hard as she could. The body came free. She threw it to the deck and ran for the control room.
She grabbed the wheel and pulled it back. The nose came up and the flyer glided, unpowered, and at high speed, no more than twenty feet above the ground.
