Aether Spark

by Nicholas Petrarch

  “Thank you,” Arden smiled. “But I find your work, doctor, revolutionary.”

  “It is a satisfying study,” Stoddard agreed. “The field of medicine has no shortage of problems, and clockwork mechanics no lack of possibility. I simply married the two.”

  “I’m afraid I know very little of your work personally,” Sinclair said. “I made an inquiry to my advisers, but it seems very few do.”

  “It has been a long journey with intermittent success,” Stoddard explained. “In its early days I made some attempts to publicize my work, but it’s difficult to keep the public eye for long without making significant advances. It’s been some time since the public has given me consideration.”

  “Then by all means, you have our undivided attention,” Sinclair said, leaning back into his chair. His hand went to his chin as he eyed Stoddard. “Enlighten us.”

  It was subtle, but Stoddard saw in Sinclair’s eyes a challenge being issued. Now is your test, those eyes said. Prove yourself.

  Stoddard felt his brow grow moist.

  “How does it work, exactly?” Arden asked. “The prosthetic. It was disappointing we didn’t get to see it in action.”

  “Your disappointment is shared by all,” Stoddard said. “I’m afraid it would be difficult to explain all of its complexities in a single luncheon.”

  “Give us an idea then,” Sinclair smiled. “Dumb it down to layman’s terms so that we few poor gentlemen can grasp at it.”

  Laughter passed between the group.

  “Very well,” Stoddard acquiesced, setting his knife down and wiping his mouth with his napkin. “I’ll do my best. You’re familiar with the basic concept of function, Master Arden?”

  “I think so,” Arden said. “You mean the purpose for which a thing is specifically suited?”

  “Precisely,” Stoddard affirmed. “In clockwork mechanics, it is function which drives a mechanist. We identify needs around us and work to satisfy them. A businessman sees that he employs too many workers and so discovers a way to streamline his production with a more efficient machine.

  “I was first trained as a mechanist, so this was naturally how I approached my work as a doctor. However, it was when I stood witness to my early mentor as he worked to save our good captain’s life during the Great War that I first glimpsed a singular truth. I was impressed with how—quite on its own—the limb which we’d so crudely fashioned became a part of the captain’s body.

  “Most were willing to call it a miracle and leave it at that. A fluke. However, it opened a notion within my young mind which has become the genesis of all that I’ve worked to accomplish: when it comes to the human body, function is only a result of form.”

  “I would have considered function to be paramount,” Arden said. “I can’t think of anything more complex than the human body with each of its parts.”

  “True,” Stoddard agreed, “But let me illustrate the point. Let us compare the human body to our great city. Like our bodies, Hatteras is comprised of many distinguishable parts. We have streets for transit, shops for commerce, factories for production, and shipyards for trade. Then we have families and great houses, districts and slums. Each of these parts work together to maintain an intricate harmony between them. You may agree so far, elector?”

  “I do,” Sinclair nodded.

  “And if these various parts were placed together by happenstance a governing force would inevitably manifest itself, do you think?”

  “I would think so.”

  “It couldn’t exist otherwise!” Stoddard said. “The very nature of it—the city’s form—would not allow autonomy between the parts. It was a similar scenario that brought about our meritocracy in its infancy, if I’m not mistaken. And, it is precisely so with the human body. Our parts, with all their functions, invite the intelligence which governs them.”

  “You mean, our minds,” Lord Worthington ventured.

  “No...” Stoddard hesitated. “Our mind is just another part of the whole. What I mean is the intelligence that both consciously and unconsciously governs each faculty of our bodies. That intelligence is willing to expand if the form invites it, much like the meritocracy expands its influence to the colonies.

  “I speculated at first that the body’s function need only to be copied and recreated. I sought to replicate the function of a specific joint or limb. However, with each test it proved ineffective. It became necessary to ignore all but the most basic of functions and focus on creating a near-perfect form.”

  “I’m not sure I follow you,” Lord Worthington said. “The Vultair, for instance, is my crudest ship—”

  “A horrible looking thing,” Lady Worthington piped in, capitalizing on the one talking point to which she felt she had some authority.

  “—yet she flies surest in the skies. I’d trust her in a gale over any other ship I own. My wife insists I should do something to dress her up a bit, but I see no need to make something pretty if it gets the job done. If anything, trying to beautify her might only slow her down.”

  “A ship is one thing,” Emmaline said, “but Stoddard is talking about a man’s arm. It would be unbearable to have something so dreadful attached to you.”

  “Did you see the apparatus he carried around with him?” Worthington retorted. “Blight of a thing. Makes the Vultair look like a prince’s galleon.”

  “I understand your concern,” Stoddard said. “However, the issue here is not appearance. The Vultair is a worthy vessel, precisely because its form fulfills the measure of its function. It invites a harmony of her parts. In this instance, Lord Worthington, you are correct. But tell me, how is she powered?”

  “She’s powered by a steam engine in her center hold,” Worthington explained. “With two dual-propeller rigs on each wing.”

  “And you’re quite capable of regulating the amount of power delivered to each part?”

  “Of course.”

  “This is a distinction we must make between the animate and inanimate,” Stoddard said. “The human body is not something you can power so easily. It requires delicacy. Remember, the good captain’s prosthetic did not replace a limb only. We were replicating major functions with such cumbersome materials as brass and iron, not organic tissue. And, like the Vultair, the mechanism needed power.

  “At first the mechanists thought to use an external source, yet what could we have used? Certainly not steam! The contraption would have been too cumbersome to bear. Any possibility we contrived inevitably failed to sustain him. It was fortune on our side when his arm merged with our machine quite of its own will.”

  “See now, that is the thing which intrigues me most,” Sinclair interjected. He’d been quiet during much of Stoddard’s explanation, watching him intently. “Just how did the captain gain control of the device? I’d had opportunities to speak with Captain Harper on a few occasions, and it always fascinated me. I’d like to have asked him myself if it wasn’t such a known taboo to discuss. Can you explain it?”

  “Even after devoting years to its study, I have only a very preliminary understanding,” Stoddard confessed. “What Harper’s miracle revealed to us is that it is possible to tap into the body itself to power our mechanics. We knew already that the human body puts off a small amount of electricity, and we made some attempts to use this in our first attempts.”

  “Are you saying you treated that poor man like a common battery?” Lady Worthington gasped.

  “I assure you it’s not as invasive as it sounds,” Stoddard said. “You’d be surprised how resilient the body is. The problem is that our bodies can only generate a minute amount of electricity.”

  “Oh,” Lady Worthington shook her head and shuddered at the thought. “This is dreadful talk. I can’t hear any more of it.” She clutched her stomach and put a hand to her brow to steady herself.

  “I’m sorry if I put you off from your meal,” Stoddard apologized.

  “Nonsense,” Lord Worthington said. “The man is sparing us any graphic detai
l. My wife is just being dramatic.”

  “And you, Emmaline? Am I turning you off?” Stoddard asked.

  “Not in the least,” she said with perfect grace. “In fact, I find I quite enjoy hearing about your work. It gives me an idea what else has been competing for your attention.”

  Stoddard’s mind stumbled, his thoughts derailing as she gave him a flirtatious wink. He was genuinely confused. What had possessed her to be so forward, in the company of her parents no less?

  “I’m sorry the subject put you off,” Sinclair said to Lady Worthington, “but I’m afraid I must request your patience a moment more. This is something I must hear. Waiter, perhaps some sherry for the lady?”

  One of the servers was quick to deliver a glass, and Lady Worthington sipped it to collect herself.

  “Would you continue, doctor?” Sinclair gestured.

  “Of course,” Stoddard conceded. “Ultimately, my mentor’s mechanism was too large. There was no possibility it could function on what little electricity the good captain’s body produced. It required a more significant and constant source of energy.”

  “Yet, it was managed,” Sinclair said. “How?”

  Stoddard swallowed hard, his words poised on the tip of his tongue. This was the moment when he’d either be hailed as a genius or dismissed as a lunatic. How would they receive his theory? Even to him, it sometimes seemed too strange to admit.

  Yet, in his heart he knew his discoveries to be true. Could he convince them of the same?

  He glanced toward Emmaline, sitting so perfectly as she was. He inhaled a breath of borrowed confidence.

  “Aether,” he said. “It was powered by Aether.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lord Worthington said. “What is that?”

  Stoddard was into it now. There was no turning back. “It’s a theory of mine—an energy possessed by all living things, used throughout history to explain attributes of mankind which were otherwise unexplainable.”

  “I’ve heard of it,” Arden said. “It was often referenced by alchemists, I think. Used to distinguish a man’s spirit energy from other physical elements,” he said with a voice of recitation.

  “You’re well read, Master Arden,” Stoddard applauded.

  “To a fault,” he said, glancing at his father.

  “Are you saying that you too don’t know what it is?” Sinclair asked.

  “Not at all,” Stoddard said hurriedly. “To the alchemists it really was just a theory meant to fill in the gaps of their understanding. However, because of our good captain’s miracle, I believe I’ve finally uncovered the true nature of the Aether.”

  “A power source?” Sinclair ventured.

  “And more,” Stoddard smiled, his eyes alight. It had been some time since he’d held an audience’s attention, and the euphoria was intoxicating. “It’s intelligence. Pure, raw intelligence. This is why the prosthetic wasn’t just powered when it linked with the captain—it was inhabited. Much like our city might acquire a new colony, expanding its government and harnessing new resources, Harper was able to operate and control the motions of that prosthetic perfectly. Or, as perfectly as the mechanism would allow.

  “You see, we’d already determined the electricity produced by the body wouldn’t have been enough to power the mechanism. And we knew that whatever source was powering it had also extended the captain’s intelligence into the prosthetic, granting him control. Whatever you decide to call it—Aether, intelligence, or spirit—we tapped into it and exposed a remarkable field of possibility.”

  “And that is what you’ve been studying all these years,” Arden said in awe.

  There was a silence among the company as they digested what Stoddard had said.

  Sinclair’s focus remained on Stoddard. He was leaning back in his seat, stroking his chin. “If this is the case,” he said. “I’m finding it difficult to comprehend why your work hasn’t gained more attention sooner.”

  “I’m afraid my theories were not so clearly organized before—when the miracle was still fresh in the public mind. They were only assumptions based on intuition—and flawed ones. It’s taken years to be able to share with you what I have just now with any credible amount of certainty.”

  “I see,” Sinclair said.

  “So, you created a mechanical extension of a man, not just a prosthetic,” Arden said. “Extraordinary!”

  “Our understanding is only infantile,” Stoddard said, “but it shows signs of great promise.”

  “It sounds dreadfully barbaric,” Lady Worthington said. “I think I see in you a nearly unhealthy obsession as you speak of it.”

  “I think of it as a stalwart perseverance,” Stoddard smiled.

  “I think I see it too,” Sinclair said. He clapped his hands together slowly, and the rest of the company joined him. “I applaud the dedication you’ve shown, doctor. I hope my son has taken note of it as well.”

  Arden nodded, his eyes wide. “Witnessing your work in the dome, it was like watching the creator fashion man anew. But, hearing you explain it now... I’m staring at the creator himself!”

  Lady Worthington nearly choked on her food. “Bite your tongue, child! I’m sorry, Elector, but that’s blasphemous!”

  “Can I help it if mankind is revealing more of the creator’s secrets each day?” Arden defended. “It baffles me to think that it was within my own lifetime that Stoddard’s work has come about. And now, he works miracles to rival the gods!”

  “Master Arden, you’ve gone too far!” Lady Worthington shrilled. “You have no idea what you’re saying. I won’t hear another—”

  “Hush, woman!”

  Lord Worthington barked so suddenly that everyone, including Sinclair, jumped.

  “Let the boy speak his mind! These men are discussing progress, if not providence, before your very eyes. Are you so blind, woman? Can you not see it? We need more men like Stoddard who have a mind to dream, not superstitious naysayers yelping at their heels every step of the way. Listen and be taught!”

  Lady Worthington’s expression sank as the harshness of her husband’s words struck her down. Her hurt was only visible for a moment, however, before she adopted the practiced countenance of a lady as she fumbled with her plate.

  Indeed, everyone seemed to be focused more intently on their food.

  “I’m not feeling well,” Lady Worthington said after a moment. “Emmaline, perhaps we shall retire.”

  She rose from her chair and the men did likewise.

  “Lady Worthington, please stay,” Sinclair implored. “It was my indulgence which subjected you to these discomforts. Perhaps, we’d best let discussion rest for a moment. Help yourself to another sherry. In fact,” he took up his glass from the table. “Let us toast our good captain’s memory, for all of his contributions to the city. And our esteemed guest, Doctor Stoddard, in his moment of distinction.”

  The company all took up their drinks and there was a general murmur of agreement, apart from Lady Worthington who sipped her sherry silently.

  Stoddard couldn’t help a smile as he drank the toast. The elector’s words were exactly what he’d hoped for. He’d been recognized by a leading figure of the meritocracy.

  He’d made it.

  Chapter Nine

  The Exchange

  I wonder, at times, what we will be required to pay for our ambition. No gods would impart so generously such a gift by magnanimity alone. There must be an exchange.

  — Excerpt from Mechanarcissism

  A nother botch, was it?” the official asked as he waved Chance forward with a meaty hand.

  Chance stood in one of the half-dozen lines in the Exchange, a busy courtyard surrounded by large warehouses on three sides. Individual stations had been erected in a row to receive citizens, each with a city official behind a barred window regulating purchases and checking charters.

  “Yeah,” Chance shrugged, approaching the dusty man. “But what can you do?”

  “You could quit,” the man bur
st forth in a blast of laughter. “That’s an idea. Save yourself a singed finger or two. You still got them, don’t yeh?”

  Chance held up his gloved hand, at first only revealing three fingers. The official gave him a queer look, then burst into another round of laughter when Chance held up his other two.

  “Heh! You’ve got it. That was a good one. Almost had me.”

  Chance forced a smile and swallowed his contempt for the man. He hated city officials, no matter their position. They were gatekeepers, each and every one of them. Behind his laugh, Chance saw only some gentleman cog monitoring his purchases, their greedy hands extended to skim a profit from his hard work. Their regulations made an already difficult life more so, and it was no secret that alchemists were often singled out.

  To combat that fact, Chance played the fool.

  Under the tutelage of Ashworth, he’d made it a point to trade exclusively with the Exchange near the shipyard. Consistency meant familiarity, and being recognized made it easier to maneuver his way around some of the nit-pickier custom regulations. It irked him to no end, having to entertain, but it kept his visits light and scrutinizing eyes distracted.

  It was a small price to pay.

  On the other hand, he was gaining reputation for failure. That soured him more than anything. It wasn’t what he had in mind when he’d begun his apprenticeship. He’d been useful to Ashworth, though few others would ever see that. It was the lot of an alchemist: even in their moments of glory they were still viewed by society as something lesser.

  He handed the official his list of commodities.

  “Right. How about your credentials?”

  Chance pulled his carrier from under his coat. Laying it open on the counter, he produced his charter identifying him as a free-merchant apprentice.

  “All good then,” the official said, hardly glancing at it. “Gotta be thorough.”

  Chance smirked. He was a full partner to Ashworth now, but so long as they worked under the same roof it wasn’t worth the hassle to inform the city. Nobody cared enough to come after them about it. It was just one less bureaucratic hurdle to jump through.