A Brilliant Void: A Selection of Classic Irish Science Fiction

by Jack Fennell

  ‘I cannot accept his Majesty’s clemency,’ repeated Mercia after a pause. ‘The case is in readiness, my counsel informs me, and witnesses are fully prepared to establish my innocence. I will therefore remain here.’

  The Great Justice Hall, as it was named, was large enough to hold several thousands of persons, who on this occasion of unprecedented interest availed themselves of it without delay. A long line of carriages containing the elite of society awaited the opening of the great door with that admirable spirit of patience which the aristocracy display on great occasions. A few of these vehicles were drawn by horses, but most were impelled by electric motive force.

  By the time the Court was opened every available seat was filled, not only by the elite of the Empire, but by members of the Continental aristocracy also, including two Crowned Heads among their number. It was not every day that an Emperor appeared in the witness box, and on such an unparalleled occasion it was necessary to make an effort and not miss such a rare treat.

  Of course, the newspapers circulating in the Teutonic Empire were much too circumspect to hint at the true aspect of the affair. To have anticipated evidence; or to have expressed an opinion on a case still pending would have led to serious difficulties, proving most embarrassing to the proprietors. A distracting shade of mystery surrounded the coming trial, making it particularly attractive to everybody.

  ‘What glorious fun!’ cried the young sprig of nobility. ‘Felicitas falling out with his lady Astronomer. I wouldn’t miss it for worlds!’

  ‘What a disgraceful episode in the annals of Royalty!’ remarked the elderly prude, who was as anxious as anyone to listen to the forthcoming details.

  ‘I wouldn’t be Mercia for millions!’ exclaimed the serious young lady. ‘It is altogether frightful to have such dealings with a man!’ She showed her abhorrence of such indecency by bringing her opera glasses to scan the scene more critically.

  ‘This comes of the preposterous advancement of women,’ observed a failed scientist of the male sex. ‘Had the Astronomer Royal been a man such a scene could not have occurred.’

  ‘If it be a political intrigue, how can sex affect her loyalty? The same might have happened with a variation, had the Astronomer Royal been male,’ returned his neighbour.

  ‘It is a love-intrigue, ending with the usual quarrel,’ whispered an elderly Solomon, wise in the knowledge of the world’s weakness.

  ‘I thought Mercia incapable of love-intrigues, or any other, being a perfect model of all the virtues,’ answered his neighbour.

  ‘All women are “perfect” till they’re tried,’ uttered the same cynic.

  ‘It will be sinfully disappointing if the case is hushed up,’ whispered one man to his neighbour, in another part of the Hall. ‘The Emperor is non est: he has bunked!’

  ‘What! Has he fled? Impossible! He dares not do so. He threw the gauntlet, and must abide the issue. He cannot run away!’

  ‘All the same, he is off, gone to Berlin on important State affairs, leaving word that the trial could be abandoned altogether, or take its chance without him.’

  ‘I hope it won’t be permitted to fall through. It would be monstrous after all this fuss and preparation.’

  Just before half-past ten, disengaged barristers, who came to see and hear for the sake of gaining experience, took their appointed seats. Counsel engaged in the case, arrayed in gown and wig, appeared also, whose capabilities were freely discussed by the onlookers.

  But when Mercia entered the Hall, escorted by the renowned Swami, so universal was the feeling in her favour, that a great burst of applause greeted her appearance. Mercia smiled and bowed her head in acknowledgment of the sympathy accorded her, while attendant ushers vainly called for silence. While this commotion was going on, the three Judges, attired as in days of old, took their seats with suitable solemnity; the Court opened with the same formularies as had been in use for hundreds of years, for the Courts of Law more than any other institution cling to the ancient order of things with tenacity.

  After a short delay the auditory was startled by hearing the charge delivered:

  ‘Mercia Montgomery, you are charged with feloniously attempting the life of His Imperial Majesty, Albert Felicitas, Supreme Ruler and Governor of Great Britain and Ireland, Emperor of the Teutonic, Indian, and African Empires, which murderous attempt is accounted High Treason by the law of these Realms. Do you plead Guilty or not Guilty?’

  Before the accused had time to give her answer, the Public Prosecutor interfered.

  ‘I am empowered to convey to the prisoner the favour of his Imperial Majesty’s clemency. Taking into consideration the prisoner’s long and valuable service rendered to her country, also the great loyalty she has ever evinced towards her Sovereign during that period of faithful service, the Emperor has decided to overlook the sudden outburst of passion made by his otherwise faithful subject, and illustrious Astronomer, and has therefore conveyed to her his Royal Pardon, in proper form, forthwith.’

  Mercia, motioning her counsel to keep his seat a moment longer, and rising to her full height, replied, ‘Being altogether innocent of the crime of which I am charged, I am unable to accept the clemency offered by his Most Gracious Majesty. It will be soon enough to pray for pardon when I am proved guilty. I will leave this Court with my name unsullied, or hide my head in shame forever.’

  When everybody had quieted down, Mercia’s counsel stood up and requested that the Public Prosecutor should state his case, to which demand the Judges agreed. Thereupon, the Emperor’s counsel made his charge according to the way he had been instructed, but having no witnesses to produce, he concluded quickly, and the Defence was commenced without delay.

  Rising to his feet, Mercia’s counsel proceeded with his speech.

  ‘Today I am placed in a position as painful to me as a subject, as it is unique in the annals of a Law Court: I shall have to accuse my Sovereign of conduct so base that the meanest subject of his Realms would blush to be found guilty of the like.

  ‘I am in a position to show that the Emperor’s visits to his Astronomer were not made either in the interests of science, or those of his subjects. On the contrary, these interviews were made with the intention of corrupting her pure mind, and of beguiling her away from her duty.

  ‘By his artful insinuations, he endeavoured to lead her to disregard her vows of abstention from Love, or Marriage, with a view of paving the way for his own purposes. Like the Eastern fable of Eve and the Serpent, she listened to the voice of the Tempter without knowing he was planning her downfall. But luckier than our First Mother, Mercia discovered her mistake before touching the forbidden fruit.

  ‘At length, mortified and indignant, she essayed to leave him, when he endeavoured to forcibly detain her; upon which she raised her ebony life-preserver to warn him from trespassing on her person.

  ‘At this juncture he was surprised by Geometrus, who was amazed at a scene so unexpected. Embarrassed at being caught at such a moment, he tried to explain away the difficulty, and turned the tables upon the lady, by accusing her of some failure in duty; at this moment, who should emerge from a corner of the apartment, which was partially concealed by a large screen, but Mr Sadbag.

  ‘It appears that this gentleman, having just purchased a new-fangled phonograph as a gift for one of his grandchildren, carried it to Mistress Mercia with a view to recording her conversation, which he expected would prove instructive and interesting to his grandchild.

  ‘I will now call upon Mr Sadbag to open his instrument, and give us the dialogue that was so unintentionally recorded therein; but which I am afraid will prove more interesting to the company present, than edifying or instructive to that gentleman’s progeny.’

  Mr Sadbag sprang to his feet, and taking up the mysterious parcel proceeded to the witness box, when he requested a few moments’ grace to adjust the mechanism of his unique witness; after which was heard in the most natural tones the voices of the Emperor and Mercia.


  ‘Isn’t that machine playing it low on the lady?’ whispered Prince Osbert to Louis, his neighbour, as the phonograph reeled off all it had recorded.

  ‘Hush,’ returned the French Emperor, ‘there’s a volley of kisses going off – be quiet, pray!’

  All eyes regarded the beautiful culprit seated in the witness box with increased interest. ‘Oh, thou guilty creature – think shame to thyself!’ the ladies’ looks said as plainly as possible.

  ‘He’s having a good time of it!’ whispered one spectator to his neighbour.

  ‘She’s no better than she should be, after all!’ muttered another.

  ‘Such pretty lips were made for kissing!’ remarked another.

  ‘Oh, the hussy!’ said one woman to her husband. ‘Don’t look at her. What a cheek, to face it out like this!’

  These various remarks, and many more besides, occupied but a few seconds for delivery, for the Usher calling out silence, on hearing the low murmur of voices, the machine began talking again.

  As the instrument gave utterance to the rest of the story, only one feeling prevailed throughout that great assembly – admiration for the noble character of the woman sitting there before them, whose flushed cheek and lowered eyelids evidenced her modesty. When the excitement had somewhat subsided, she rose to her feet, and turning her gaze with an air of modest dignity upon the people, she addressed them.

  ‘Dear friends; my Lords,’ she said, ‘it is true that this instrument has been instrumental in rendering undeniable testimony of the value of the evidence placed before you. Nevertheless, had I been aware that such was Mr Sadbag’s intention, my place at this justice bar would never have been filled.’

  ‘That will do, Mr Sadbag,’ said the senior Judge. ‘We have heard quite enough to enable us to arrive at a decision. The prisoner – I mean, the accused – is found Not Guilty of the charge against her. The lady will now leave the Court without a stain on her character. This case ought never to have come before the Court at all.’

  As soon as the trial was concluded, the reporters rushed out en masse to send their respective recordings to the editors of the various journals they represented. Never before had they such a titbit to offer their employers as was now their good luck to possess. A love scene between their Emperor and his astronomer, delivered in a dialogue wherein the actual voices were reproduced, was a treat not to be met with every day.

  At least a hundred delicate voice-recorders had caught the sound-waves from Sadbag’s phonograph, and borrowing the tones of Felicitas and Mercia in their never-to-be-forgotten colloquy gave them a value unprecedented in all time. As soon as it got abroad that their proprietors were in possession of these treasures, hundreds of speculators offered enormous prices for their purchase, with a view of reeling out their contents to admiring and appreciative audiences throughout the globe. Before long, all the homage due to a great hero was rendered unto Mercia, just as Felicitas had seen pictured in the psycho-development the day before.

  ‘I thought to bring her low – to humiliate her,’ muttered Felicitas bitterly, as he read the story in Berlin, ‘but alas, I have only brought about a public triumph for her, and public dishonour to myself. What good is it looking into futurity? I cannot control the current of events; all will take place exactly as if I had known nothing.’

  And so it did, as the cry spreading itself through every quarter of the vast Empire was caught up in wild delight – Long live Mercia, our Empress! – being echoed from every part, by people of every caste and every creed.

  The Professor’s Experiment

  MARGARET WOLFE HUNGERFORD (1895)

  The limits of the human lifespan pose a

  problem for authors keen to cross the

  gulfs of time and space, necessitating

  the invention of some way to keep one’s

  narrator alive indefinitely. During the

  nineteenth century, there was something

  of a trend for stories of suspended

  animation; as in the following extract by

  Margaret Wolfe Hungerford, the potions

  that allowed for such hibernation were

  often attributed to Native American

  herbalism and traditional medicine.

  Once more, a young woman becomes

  the subject of a Mad Scientist’s

  experiments, though this time she

  does so willingly, and the unexpected

  outcome works in her favour.

  THE LAMP WAS BEGINNING to burn low; so was the fire. But neither of the two people in the room seemed to notice anything. The Professor had got upon his discovery again, and once there, no man living could check him. He had flung his arms across the table towards his companion, and the hands, with the palms turned upwards, marked every word as he uttered it, thumping the knuckles on the table here, shaking some imaginary disbeliever there, and never for a moment quiet.

  He was talking eagerly, as though the words flowed to him faster than he could utter them. This invention of his, this supreme discovery, would make a revolution in the world of science.

  The young man looking back at him from the other side of the table listened intently. He was a tall man of about eight-and-twenty, and if not exactly handsome, very close to it. Wyndham was a barrister, and a rising one – a man who loved his profession for its own sake, and strove and fought to make a name in it, though no such struggle was needful for his existence, as from his cradle his lines had fallen to him in pleasant places.

  The Professor had been his tutor years ago, and the affection that existed between them in those far-off years had survived the changes of time and circumstance. Wyndham had never known a father; the Professor came as near as any parent could, and in this new wild theory of the old man’s he placed implicit faith. It sounded wild, no doubt – it was wild – but there was not in all Ireland a cleverer man than the Professor, and who was to say but it might have some grand new meaning in it?

  ‘You are sure of it?’ he said, looking at the Professor with anxious but admiring eyes.

  ‘Sure! I have gone into it, I have studied it for twenty years, I tell you. What, man, d’ye think I’d speak of it even to you, if I weren’t sure? I tell ye … I tell ye’ – he grew agitated and intensely Irish here – ‘it will shake the world!’

  The phrase seemed to please him; he drew his arms off the table and lay back in his chair as if revelling in it. He saw in his mind a day when in that old college of his over there, only a few streets away – in Trinity College – he should rise, and be greeted by his old chums and his new pupils, and the whole world of Dublin, with cheers and acclamations. Nay! it would be more than that: there would be London, and Vienna, and Berlin. He put Berlin last because, perhaps, he longed most of all for its applause; but in these dreamings he came back always to old Trinity, and found the greatest sweetness in the laurels to be gained there.

  ‘There can’t be a mistake,’ he went on, more now as if reasoning with himself than with his visitor, who was watching him, and was growing a little uneasy at the pallor that was showing itself round his nose and mouth – a pallor he had noticed very often of late when the old man was unduly excited or interested. ‘I have gone through it again and again. There is nothing new, of course, under the sun, and there can be little doubt but that it is an anaesthetic known to the Indians of Southern America years ago, and the Peruvians. There are records, but nothing sufficient to betray the secret. It was by the merest accident, as I have told you, that I stumbled on it. I have made many experiments. I have gone cautiously step by step, until now all is sure. So much for one hour. So much for six, so much for twenty-four, so much’ – his voice rose almost to a scream, and he thumped his hand violently on the table – ‘for seven days … for seven months!’

  His voice broke off, and he sank back in his chair. The young man went quickly to a cupboard and poured out a glass of some white cordial.

  ‘Thank you,’ said the Professor, swallowing the nauseous mixt
ure hurriedly, as though regretting the waste of time it took to drink it.

  ‘Why talk any more tonight?’ said the young man anxiously. ‘I can come again to see you tomorrow. It is late.’ He glanced at the clock, which pointed to ten minutes past eleven. The movement he made in pointing pushed aside his overcoat and showed that he was in evening dress. He had evidently been dining out, and had dropped in to see the Professor on his way home.

  ‘I must talk while I can,’ said the Professor, smiling. The cordial, whatever it was, had revived him, and he sat up and looked again at his companion with eyes that were brilliant. ‘As for this pain here,’ he said, touching his side, ‘it is nothing. What I want to say, Paul, is this: if I could send a human creature to sleep for seven months, then why not for seven years – or forever?’

  Wyndham looked at him incredulously. ‘But the last time …’

  ‘The last time, I had not quite perfected my discovery. But since then some of my experiments have led me to think – to be absolutely certain – that life can be sustained, with all the appearance of death upon the subject, for a full week at all events.’

  ‘And when consciousness returns?’

  ‘The subject treated wakes to life again in exactly the same condition as when he or she fell asleep, without loss of brain or body power.’

  ‘Seven days! A long time!’ The young man smiled. ‘You bring back old thoughts and dreams. Are you a second Friar Laurence? Even though he could make the fair Juliet sleep till all believed her dead, he could not prolong it beyond a certain limit. “And in this borrowed likeness of shrunk death/Thou shalt continue two-and-forty hours.” Less than two days; and yet, you conjurer’ – he slapped the Professor’s arm gaily – ‘you would talk of keeping one in death’s bonds for years!’