by Paul Crilley
Stepp stopped clutching her equipment to her chest and put it on the floor, neatly rearranging everything. Then she lifted the trapdoor so the Tesla transceiver slid up from its hidden compartment. Tweed put the receiver into his ear and waited while Stepp picked up the transmitter and pushed the trigger.
“Hello? Hello?” she said softly.
It sounded as if Stepp was whispering directly into his ear. He gave her a thumb's up.
“Have you got the codes?” she asked.
Tweed patted his jacket pocket. “In here.”
“Good.”
Tweed reached inside the carriage and pulled out the heavy sack he'd picked up from home. He hefted it over his shoulder and nodded a farewell to Stepp.
“Good luck.”
“I don't need luck,” said Stepp. “I need neatly ordered numbers and reliable people.” She narrowed her eyes at where Jenny and Carter were trying rather unsuccessfully to pick up the limp form of Maximilian without him folding in half. “But you, on the other hand, need all the luck you can get. I'll see you later Tweed, yes?”
Tweed nodded and closed the carriage door. Octavia was carrying a closed case that looked about as heavy as his sack. Jenny and Carter had finally managed to get Maximilian into a position that allowed them to carry him.
Tweed led the way along the wall until they came to the hidden entrance, slipped into the semi-darkness of the corridor, then took the stairs that led underground. Octavia was right behind him, and bringing up the rear were Jenny and Carter, struggling and swearing as they tried to maneuver Maximilian down the narrow stairwell without banging his head every time they took a step.
They staggered onto the concourse of the abandoned railway station, and everybody laid their burdens down on the white tiles.
“How can someone so thin be so hard to carry?” complained Carter. “He looks like he's as light as a bird.”
“We should get a move on,” said Octavia, picking up her box. “We don't know how many people use this entrance.”
“The words of common sense are rarely welcomed, you know,” said Jenny, picking up Maximilian's legs. She nodded at Carter. “Come on, then. And this time, try to do a little of the work. Leaving all the heavy lifting to your wife is, frankly, quite embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing?” said Carter haughtily. “I may be many things, dear heart, but embarrassing is not one of them.”
Carter lifted the top half of Maximilian and pulled him back. Unfortunately, he hadn't noticed how close he was to the edge of the platform. He stepped into midair and vanished from sight, dropping Maximilian onto the platform. Jenny swore and leaped forward, grabbing hold of Maximilian's shirt as the top half of his body started to slide over the edge.
Carter leaped to his feet. “I'm all right,” he said, waving his hand in the air.
Jenny just shook her head wearily.
They maneuvered their equipment onto the track and moved into the dark tunnel, heading quickly to the metal door that Horatio had shown them. Jenny and Carter propped Maximilian up against the wall and Octavia placed the large box next to him. She winced and shook her arms, trying to loosen them up.
Jenny turned to Tweed and said, “Come on then, lover boy. You're up. What have you got hidden in that mysterious bag of yours?”
Tweed dropped the sack onto the floor and untied the string. He upended it, the contents spilling out onto the metal tracks.
He looked at the others’ surprised faces. “You'll have to give me a hand with this,” he said.
Fifteen minutes later an automaton stood on the tracks. It twisted from side to side, measuring the give in the suit. Then it did a few rather limited squats. Metal plates clinked and shifted, scraping together, but even so, maneuverability was better than Tweed had thought it would be.
“I just wish you'd told us this was your amazing idea,” said Octavia.
“Why's that?” asked Tweed, bending over to see if he could touch his toes.
“Because it would have given us a chance to come up with something else. This is insane!”
“Why is it insane? Barnaby built this to be an exact replica of an automaton. It's perfect.”
“It is a couple of years out of date,” said Carter dubiously.
Tweed turned to face him, trying to move like an automaton. “It's the only chance we've got. All Ministry employees are trained to recognize each other. But nobody notices automata. They're background objects. Like wallpaper.”
Jenny put her arm around Tweed. “Well, I think it's a glorious idea.”
“Thank you,” said Tweed. “I was rather proud of it.”
“Oh, good grief,” said Octavia. “Let's just get this over with then.”
She turned to the wall and opened up the box she'd been carrying, revealing the gramophone. She unspooled the hose, but instead of the receiver that had been attached to it earlier, this time it ended at a metal cone. She unfolded a small handle and wound the device up.
“Ready,” she said.
Carter and Jenny manhandled Maximilian to his feet, turning him to face the door.
“Ready,” said Carter.
Tweed took a deep breath, surveying the others through the tiny eyeholes that Barnaby had given the suit. He nodded.
“Ready.”
Carter lifted Maximilian's hand and laid it flat against the metal panel on the door. Tweed heard a buzzing sound, and a moment later a second panel slid aside at eye height, revealing a large glass lens with a red glow in its center. Jenny and Carter both jerked aside, but Tweed didn't think they had to worry. It would be attached to the Babbage. No one else should be watching.
“Do it,” he whispered.
Jenny and Carter pushed Maximilian up to the lens, Jenny peeling his eyelid back while Carter held his head in the correct position. The red light glowed brighter, pulsing into the dark tunnel.
They waited, but nothing happened. Jenny pushed Maximilian closer, pressing his nose against the actual door.
Still nothing.
“It's not working,” said Octavia. “We should—”
She was cut off by the panel sliding abruptly back across the lens. The tunnel was plunged into darkness again.
The four glanced uncertainly at each other. Had it worked? Or were they about to be confronted by a gang of Ministry security?
“Do it,” said Tweed.
Octavia switched the gramophone on. The sound disc started to spin. She put the needle down onto it and a crackling sound issued from the metal cone. She extended the hose and held it to the door. Tweed pointed out a tiny metal grill about halfway up, and she nodded and moved the cone directly in front of it.
A scratchy voice issued from the cone. It took Tweed a moment to realize it was his own. He winced in embarrassment. He didn't sound like that, did he?
“—really? But you and Jess—” Then Maximilian's voice interrupted his. “Sir! My name is Maximilian Horton. I—”
Octavia quickly lifted the needle from the sound disc.
No one spoke. They stared intently at the door, waiting. Tweed held his breath. He was already sweating inside the suit. He could feel it dripping down the back of his neck.
With a quiet little click, the door opened, swinging back against the wall to reveal a dark corridor. The lights flickered on, stuttering and winking from inside the protective metal cages bolted to the roof.
They stared into the corridor. The harsh light revealed brick walls and a stone floor. It looked abandoned. Like a passage you would find in an empty tenement.
“Charming,” said Jenny.
Tweed moved forward, turning to the others before he stepped over the threshold. “You all know what to do?” he asked, his voice sounding muffled behind the mask.
“Do you?” asked Octavia, coming to stand before him.
He nodded. “I think so.”
She smiled nervously at him. “Then good luck, Tweed. Don't mess it up, eh?”
“I'll try not to.”
Tweed took a deep breath, then stepped into the Ministry complex. He turned around. The others stood framed in the doorway.
Then Carter saluted him and pushed the door closed. Tweed heard it lock and seal itself. There was a hiss of air, as if the pressure was equalizing.
He stared at the metal door. He was on his own now. Time to prove to everyone that he really was as brilliant as he made himself out to be.
Tweed had spent most of the past couple of hours staring at automata, studying their movements, how they walked. He'd grown up with constructs. They'd always been there. But like everything over-familiar, he'd never actually seen them. They were just background decoration.
He reckoned he'd got the movements right though. The suit helped a lot, forcing him to move in the stiff-legged, rolling gait that all automata used, his arms swinging slightly but not bending. Then it was a matter of mastering the head movements. Constructs turned corners oddly. The head turned first, while the body still faced in the direction it had originally been moving, then once the head had turned, the body swiveled to follow. It made sense. They needed to see where they were going, so they turned their head first. Simple when you thought about it.
He clumped down the hallway, making sure to put enough weight and force behind each footstep. The caged lights lit a long passage, and it was only when he felt his upper body pulling on him that he realized it was sloping quite steeply downward, tunneling beneath the streets of London.
The passage finally stopped in front of a second metal door. He opened it a crack and peered out. Another corridor waited beyond, but this one was slightly less bare than the one he was in. Admittedly, it did look like the corridor of a school, with pipes angling along the upper half of the walls, and bright, unpleasant lighting. But at least the walls were painted.
Even if they were painted green.
As Tweed watched, a woman dressed in a suit similar to Octavia's walked past, checking a thick file she was holding. A moment later three men in severe charcoal suits hurried by, all whispering to each other. They were followed by an automaton carrying heavy-looking boxes, after which came another two women.
That was something at least. Tweed had had a terrible fear that there would be no automata inside the Ministry, that the note about them being used within the walls of the complex was wrong.
Right. Nothing else for it. He pushed the small button attached to the palm of his automaton costume.
“Testing, testing,” he muttered.
Octavia was just climbing into the back of the steamcoach when she heard Tweed's voice crackling over the speechifier built into the Tesla transceiver.
“Testing, testing.”
Stepp was busy clicking away at the keys on her Ada, so Octavia picked up the transmitter and depressed the trigger.
“Octavia here. We can hear you fine, Tweed. How are things?”
“Hot,” said Tweed's voice. “This suit is incredibly uncomfortable.”
“Take it up with your father when you find him,” she said. “He built it.”
“I will. I'm about to enter the main section of the Ministry.”
“Does he have the codes?” said Stepp, without looking up.
“Stepp asks if you've still got the codes,” said Octavia.
“Of course I have. Tell her I'm not an idiot.”
“He says—”
“I heard,” said Stepp. “Tell him, ‘opinions are varied on that point.’”
Jenny leaned into the carriage and picked up a satchel from the floor. She winked at Octavia and ducked back out again. Carter waved, and they disappeared into the mist.
They were going to take up position outside the Ministry building, close to where they'd kidnapped Maximilian. The satchel was filled with small bundles of explosives. If they needed some kind of distraction, they were to drive the steamcoach along the road past their hiding place. That was the signal for Jenny and Carter to plant and detonate one of the explosives to draw the attention of the Ministry to the upper floors. Octavia hoped they didn't have to do it, though. No matter how small the explosion, that kind of thing was getting into incredibly dangerous territory.
“Right. I'm going now,” said Tweed's voice. “Not sure when I'll be able to talk again.”
“I'll be here,” said Octavia.
I'll be here.
Tweed found that quite comforting, even though it wouldn't exactly be a help if he got caught.
Tweed had memorized the map. It had been easy enough, especially with all the training Barnaby had given him growing up. Who'd have thought all those lessons would actually pay off? He'd have to keep that to himself, though. If he told Barnaby he'd never hear the end of it.
Tweed walked slowly along the corridors, mimicking the speed of the other automata, praying that no one would look at him too closely. He realized he should probably be carrying something. It would make him look as if he was actually doing something, was under someone's orders. First chance he got he would pick up some papers or files.
The corridor led to a stairwell with ornate, old-fashioned banisters and wide, institutional stairs. And again with the green walls. Tweed wasn't sure what he'd been expecting from the Ministry, but it just looked like any other working office building filled with bored personnel waiting to get home at the end of the day, serious workers who thought this was their home, and every shade in between.
Tweed walked awkwardly down the stairs. The knees of the costume didn't bend very well, so his rolling gait became even more pronounced. He passed lots of people, but no one even gave him a second look. His hunch had been correct. No one noticed constructs. They were tools, there to do their jobs.
Octavia's voice came suddenly over the earpiece, almost making Tweed miss his step and tumble down the stairs.
“I asked my mother once, why she married my father,” she said. “Not to be nasty, just because they were such total opposites.”
Tweed maneuvered around another turn in the stairs. There was no one around, so he leaned over the banister to see how far he had to go.
Quite far, was the answer.
“She said that was what she loved about him. He was this straight-laced young man who took her to the museum when he was courting her. She thought that was charming. Even back then she was different. A bit…wild.”
Tweed clumped on, trying to move faster, wondering if there was a point to this story, or if she was just trying to bore him to death.
“But she said not once did he try and change her. Not once did he ever tell her to cover up, to dress a bit more demurely. She asked him about it, years later, and do you know what he said? He said ‘Why should I want to change you? You're who I fell in love with. You can dress how you like, dance how you like. You can even flirt if you want. And do you know why I don't mind? Because I know we'll be going home together, and the poor helpless fool who has just fallen in love with you will have nothing but a memory and the knowledge that he lost something special.’”
Octavia trailed off with a sigh. Tweed was nearing the bottom now, only a few more flights to go.
“I haven't been there for him,” said Octavia. “All I've been thinking about is how I feel, how I miss my mother. But how must he feel? She's the love of his life.”
Tweed wanted to say something, but there were people approaching up the stairs.
“Seeing Jenny and Carter together made me think of them both, and what they used to be like. He was never…spontaneous. But the way he looked at my mother, with that light in his eyes…Everyone should have someone like that in their lives, Tweed.”
Er…all right. He got the story. But what did she mean by that bit at the end? Did she mean that he was going to grow old alone? Or was it something else? Maybe—
Octavia's words cut into his thoughts. “And even though I've only known you for, what, two days now? I bet you all the money you have that you're analyzing my words, trying to look for hidden messages, trying to understand the logic behind the emotion.”
; Tweed swore under his breath.
“I heard that,” said Octavia. “You need to learn to just go with the flow of things, Tweed. Stop analyzing. Stop breaking everything down so you can see how it works.”
This was most unfair. Octavia had a captive audience. She could sit there and spout her theories and stories and there was nothing he could do about it. Bad form.
Octavia had trailed off into merciful silence. Tweed finally reached the bottom of the stairs and pushed open the doors.
Where he froze.
Opening out before him was a huge floor, easily a quarter of a mile across. Desks were scattered everywhere, seemingly following no pattern at all. Ministry employees scurried to and fro, hurrying between desks, moving between huddles of people talking and comparing papers and files. There were offices all the way around the walls of the huge space. Some offices had uncovered windows, while others had dark blinds pulled down to hide whatever was going on inside. Automata moved everywhere, carrying notes, boxes, files, even tea.
Large tubes hung from the ceiling. They were used by the staff to ferry sealed containers holding what Tweed assumed were orders or intelligence reports up to various levels of the building. Babbages the size of garden sheds were placed in long lines all over the room. They were covered with flashing lights, buttons, and dials. Operators sat behind viewing screens, typing and sending information and orders out to various locations around the Empire.
Tweed realized he was just standing in the doorway. He forced himself to walk into the huge room, heading straight across to the distant door. When he finally arrived he quickly yanked it open.
To find yet another room identical to the first.
Tweed actually turned around to make sure the first one was still behind him.
