by SJ Davis
“The old man’s passion was human-replicating mechanics. He invented a circuitry of subcutaneous electrical wires that could control immobile limbs or a give motion to a paralytic body.”
“What?” Josephine said in amazement. “Why isn’t this in current use? For people suffering from spinal injuries or motor atrophies?”
“What is most fascinating,” Bodhi continued holding onto his hat as they walked into the wind, “is that the electrical wires were based on a complex series of messages sent via an pneumatic analog. So although the body wasn’t fully autonomous, it was a step towards independence.”
“An amazing step! But why isn’t this in production?”
“Well, he wrote an interesting but unpublished pamphlet, kept in your father’s study,” Bodhi continued. “I remember reading it.” His mind shuffled through the past. The smell of Mr. Rolls’ pipe stuffed with Turkish tobacco floated through his senses. He remembered how the sweet scent permeated the study, settling in the fabrics and books. He remembered the warmth of the mahogany grandfather clock. He’d committed to memory, as he curled up on the worn oriental carpets, every book he could lay his hands on.
“Bodhi? Are you listening?”
“Yes, sorry.” Bodhi blinked to bring his mind back to the present. “Anson Sr. wrote a fascinating argument outlining the specific responsibilities of man’s advancements upon society.” Josephine ran to keep up with Bodhi’s larger steps. “In his final days, he was completing work on a remote controlled receiver that would eliminate the need for the immobile body to be physically attached to the analog. Information and signals for movement could be sent and received remotely, assisting the paralytic’s independence. Unfortunately, he started to believe this chip might lead to machines controlling men, so he either hid or destroyed his prototype. It’s a provocative outline and a captivating ethics manual.”
“Oh dear, I think I know where this is going,” said Josephine, starting to run out of breath.
“Well, he hid his research before his death, as well as the blue prints to his other ideas. I suspect he may have left them with your father for safekeeping.”
“Why Father? He must have known of his paranoia regarding mechanical devices. We must find whatever is left of father’s papers. Though he may well have destroyed them.”
“Strangely, your father was an intimate companion with the elder Anson in his final years. Anson often visited for philosophical debates; they respected one another, as adversaries, but also as friends.”
Josephine balanced herself on Bodhi’s arm as she strode down the uneven road, dreading the crowded omnibus to Anson’s. “The Notting Hill bus, correct?” she asked.
“Yes, the one marked Bayswater. It should be marked with green.” The Notting Hill Gate bus picked up in Whitechapel and continued to Leadenhall, Cheapside, Newgate Street, and finally Holborn.
“Oh dear, I feel another one of these blasted headaches coming on,” Josephine said.
“Sorry, Jo. I hope it passes quickly.”
The two walked carefully as evening fell. Soot drifted back down upon the city and London stank in the darkness. Smoky and sulphurous smells lingered in the air and it became difficult to see through the thick air.
The rich and poor were thrown together in the stifling streets. The amount of fetid manure along the streets shocked Josephine. Omnibuses accounted for one thousand tons of manure dumped upon London’s streets per year. Street sweepers attempted to keep the streets clean, but on a wet evening, the roads were most unpleasant and ripe with offal.
“Oh dear Bodhi, do not gaze in the direction of the gutters.”
“Oh good gracious,” Bodhi looked and covered his mouth and nose with his handkerchief. The city’s raw sewage floated along the gutters eventually to empty into the Thames. He offered Josephine his handkerchief but she declined and shook her head.
“Keep it for yourself. I already feel horrible,” she said.
The double decker omnibus finally arrived with muddied seats below and dampened seats above on the uncovered top. The upper area was reserved strictly for men due to the ladder required in boarding the upper deck. Masses of women, men, and children shoved their way aboard while the unlucky latecomers clung to the outsides of the carriage.
Josephine found an empty spot next to a gaunt young woman. The young woman’s hair was spun like dried straw and she was accompanied a young man as wretched and as unhealthy in appearance as she. The man was tall but stooped, twenty-five or so, and dressed in outgrown musty rags. His knees were bent and his back was hunched over he walked towards the driver to pay. The young man’s fingers trembled as they wiped his bleary eyes. Both of their faces were faintly blue. Not indigo blue, nor a pleasant sky blue; but a corpse-like blue, as if they hadn’t inhaled a pure intake of oxygen for days. Josephine shuddered and looked back down at the muddied floor.
“Gin,” Bodhi whispered to Josephine. The omnibus first stop was Leadenhall. The blue couple’s eyes brightened as they stood to disembark. With resolute steps, as if to achieve something extraordinary, they sprung to the front door of a gin house.
Another man was exiting the same gin house and stumbled towards the omnibus. He was wrapped in a black overcoat pocked with holes. His gangly legs mirrored the awkward motions of an uncoordinated marionette as he staggered up the stairs.
He looked at Josephine with a wet smile. She smiled back pityingly and Bodhi cleared his throat. The gin had sucked the entire luster from the bluish man’s eyes. He sat, fell limp, and his arms hung loosely at his sides.
“I’ve never seen faces this color,” whispered Josephine.
“The blue ruin.” Bodhi informed her. “From cheaply made bathtub gin. Gin is made from juniper berry quite cheaply.
“Ever so sad,” she sighed. “I’ll take that handkerchief now, Bodhi. I can’t bear the smell.”
Three stops later, they disembarked near Anson’s grounds. Bodhi and Josephine were surprised by the lack of guards as darkness fell. Outside Anson’s residence, only two standard guards stood at each obvious entrance and exit point.
“The absence of patrols can only mean one thing,” said Bodhi.
“That this is going to be easier than we thought?” said Josephine.
“No. That security inside is probably impenetrable.”
“We’ll just wait for Yeshua and Nico,” said Josephine. “They’ll handle security.”
“Anson is still home,” said Bodhi. “I see him in his study.”
“How shall we observe anything? Look in the windows?” asked Josephine.
Bodhi found a sturdy big tree with a high vantage point. Climbing slowly, he made sure the tree had strong branches to support their weight.
“Why not that tree, over there?” asked Josephine. “It has a less obstructed view into Anson’s study and library.”
“That tree has too many sagging branches below the canopy, I think it may be rotting or drying out. Come over here. I’ll give you a boost.”
Josephine looked for a sturdy place for her foot and a secure spot for her hand as she started to climb. Gnarls, knots, and bark holes steadied her ascent.
“Be careful of any crumbling spots, Jo,” called Bodhi from below, spotting her.
“I’m already up. And quite secure,” she said. “Your turn.”
Bodhi climbed next to her in the second tree outside the residence gates. He pulled his micro vision goggles from his chest pocket and wiped the lenses with his handkerchief. Through the windows, he could see metal spider-shaped robotic guards, all coal-powered. Their giant abdomens held a latch for feeding in the coal, and occasional puffs of steam emanated from of a release valve on the backs of their heads. Four of these automatons sat around Anson as he read, another automaton sat at the door.
From the side access road, the loud crack of an engine filled their ears. Josephine and Bodhi bolted upright. Two black steam-powered bicycles veered around the bend in the road. The riders wore goggles and leather caps, a
nd their long hair curled out and whipped in the wind. As the steam cycles dipped into a curvy turn the drivers’ knees almost grazed the pavement.
“Jesus, Mother Mary! They go as fast as a train,” said Bodhi, admiringly.
The steam cycles stopped at the locked gate and the riders nodded to the guards. A beefy guard walked to where a small dial was attached to the sandstone wall surrounding Anson’s premises. He turned the dial clockwise two times and counter clockwise once. The heavy black iron gates swung open.
As the two gentlemen entered, Josephine and Bodhi detected that the two well-built shadowy men were wearing leather overcoats and black boots, but could ascertain little else.
“Can you see their faces?” asked Josephine.
“No. The hats and goggles are in the way.”
“I wonder what these two men have to do with Anson,” wondered Josephine as the two men parked their cycles outside the main door. As they stepped out from the bushes, they were rushed into Anson’s home without delay.
“I don’t know what is going on, Josephine. We’ll have to watch and listen. Do you have the eavesdropping transmitter?”
“I do, but how will we get the receiver inside the house?”
“Just get it ready,” he instructed. “Find it.”
From his surveillance point, Bodhi saw the young men make themselves at home in the study. They stood with their backs to him and removed their goggles and caps. Professor Anson strutted to the front window to pull it shut, but the taller visitor pulled it back up leaving a slivered opening for the night air.
Josephine rummaged through her bag. “Oh wonderful. There it is!”
“Pass it to me,” said Bodhi.
“No, I haven’t found the transmitter yet. I was referring to my missing binoculars. I thought they were lost.”
“Keep looking for the eavesdropper! And hurry up, I don’t want to miss anything further.”
Josephine fumbled about until she felt the small wire, rolled up to the size of a small pebble. Items tossed around inside her small travel bag, making jingling sounds.
“Stop making all that noise!”
“I need to shake up my bag to find the main device.”
Bodhi grabbed her bag. He reached inside the side pocket and found the device himself. “Now pass me the wire.”
“Show off,” Josephine handed him the rolled up wire. “How will you get the wire into the room without notice?”
“The window is cracked open slightly. Maybe I’ll try shooting it in.”
“The wire needs adhesive. And you’re a horrible shot, Bodhi. Let me do it.”
“Don’t miss,” he warned. He pulled an adhesive gummed stick from his pocket and coated the receiver. “Quickly, before the adhesive dries.”
Josephine shoved the small rounded wire pellet into the barrel of a device resembling a pistol. She aimed at the wall across from the open window, breathed in deeply and held still, and pulled the trigger. The small wire sailed into the small opening in the window and neatly stuck on the wall, unnoticed by the Anson. The two visitors looked towards the window, but quickly turned back around.
“I hope the device works. It’s only able to transmit sound over a limited range. We may be on its periphery,” said Bodhi.
“I don’t understand how all your gadgets work. They’re beyond my imagination.”
“This one’s quite simple, really. The receiver absorbs the sound in the room, converts it into analog signals, and sends them to my headset. My headset converts the signal back into the original sound,” he replied. “Shhh, I think I am getting something.”
“Let me hear also,” she answered. Josephine climbed closer to Bodhi
Professor Anson looked over the young men and walked straight to the bar behind his desk. Pouring three glasses of scotch, he placed two of the glasses in front of them.
“Sit,” he said cordially. “And drink, my boys, drink.”
Professor Anson pointed in the direction of both men, and then picked up his drink. “I am sure you have heard that my Tabulator has been stolen. And I need you to grasp how very important it is, not just to me, but to the very future of England.” Walking the circumference of the room, he pushed back his hair from his forehead. His beard sprouted wildly in unnatural directions.
He looked out the window and suddenly bellowed like an animal. Spit shot from his mouth. “I went through Hell to retrieve that Tabulator,” he yelled. “And these she-devils trot into my train, and steal it from me.” His fist pounded a side table, knocking over an antique globe.
The young men nodded. “The thieves should not be allowed to sleep peacefully from this day forth,” said Anson as he raised his fist in the air. “So, naturally, I am glad to have found you.” His eyes focused back to his visitors.
Anson started pacing the room again, his drink spilling over the sides as he became more and more agitated. His oiled hair fell crookedly into his eyes. “That idiot would have kept it in a trunk and let it rust. Thank God for all of us, I retrieved it,” he gloated. His chest puffed bigger with every incoherent word. “As if I couldn’t figure out who was keeping it from me.”
“Who is the idiot?” whispered Josephine to Bodhi.
“Shhh!”
“You know what I did to him?” Anson bent down into the faces of his visitors. His stubbled beard almost touched their faces. “I sent him some pretty flowers and blew him up for breakfast!” he laughed.
“Oh. Oh my God.” Josephine winced, her face frozen. Stagnant water weighed down the sodden grass below. “Anson is guilty. The penned note held an accurate accusation.” Josephine said jaggedly, keeping her head down and staring at her hands.
The two men sat in silence listening to Anson’s rant. “My father gave everything to him before he died, along with his papers, to keep safe. Safe! Safe? That fool Rolls thought everything was his to keep and hide forever. He played God, keeping progress from the world. Or maybe he wanted to keep it from me.” Anson gazed about and wiped the back of his neck with his handkerchief. “No matter now, he’s been out of my way for a decade now.”
“The old England’s business men aren’t forward thinkers, like you are,” added one of the men in an American voice.
“You don’t have to listen anymore. I can manage on my own,” Bodhi said softly.
“No, I’m glad to hear the truth finally. And it eases my mind about taking his Tabulator. It should have remained with my father.”
Inside, the professor kept up his raging diatribe. “That Luddite assumed he could stop progress. He turned my father against me. When he died, I found a few letters, just a small sum of his total correspondence locked in his desk. Rolls had brainwashed my father. Warning him of the innate evil within his inventions, convincing him to discontinue and hide his research.”
Anson walked over to the desk. He pulled a cigar from the drawer and lit a Lucifer match. The flame flickered and played over the kindling. Inhaling two puffs, he looked up as the smoke dissipated over his head and emitted a chilling snort. “Fortunately, the correspondence between my father and Rolls gave me enough information for me to succeed.” He smiled at his guests, refreshing their drinks. “Without a doubt, more of my father’s ideas are floating about, somewhere, hidden by that bastard Luddite.”
Anson finally sat down in front of his two guests. His long legs sprawled in front of him as he picked at some lose threads on the armchair.
“But first things first. I called you for several reasons.” Anson waved his hands to clear the smoke around him. “First, you disappear and are untraceable. I like that. I want you to find my Tabulator. And erase the thieves.”
Bodhi and Josephine looked at each other and nodded. She raised her hand and motioned to Bodhi to advance towards the gate. Swinging down from the tree, in hushed darkness, they crawled along the grassy path. Josephine held up her hand for Bodhi to stop and pointed for him to hide behind one of the pillars near the gate. “Let’s have a look at these men for hire.”
Josephine and Bodhi walked quietly in the dark. About ten minutes later the visitors exited, pulling their bikes from the bushes, and revving the engines.
“They don’t have their goggles on yet. Can you see their faces?” asked Bodhi.
“Yes. I can.” She dropped the binoculars from her eyes. “It’s Yeshua and Nico,” she said as she looked at Bodhi in amazement.
“What?” asked Bodhi, unconvinced. “Are you quite sure?”
“Yes,” she answered in complete confusion, her mind in disarray as she looked through her binoculars a second time.
“Let me see,” ordered Bodhi. He looked at the men as they powered their cycles. “Yes, I think you’re right. I don’t have a good enough angle on them for certain identification though. Perhaps we misunderstood them? Was this part of the plan?”
The neighing horses of Anson’s carriage startled them as Anson heaved his gout-ridden body into the coach.
“This may certainly change matters,” said Josephine as she placed her binoculars back in her bag.
“Or it may not,” challenged Bodhi, trying to figure out the angles.
Staring at the ground for a moment, Josephine looked over to him, “Let’s go back Caroline’s. I have my own idea on to get the engine.” Smoke curled from the chimney, like a weary last exhale.
London
June 22nd 1865
Bodhi heard a noise outside like a grinding of metal against metal. It was a noise that on any other night would have been drowned out, but was now amplified by the evening’s strange calmness. Within a minute, all the lights went completely dark. Bodhi grabbed his goggles and pushed a lever over his right ear, angling the reflex of the glass to activate the night vision. Opening his window, the cold hit him square in the face, and he squinted into the brisk wind. The smell of burning oil and diesel engine exhaust hung thick in the air and stung his nostrils.
The floor vibrated beneath him and he looked straight above to the sky, leaning out the window and using the frame for balance. Flickers of light blinked in the distance. Icy drops of rain fell diagonally, hitting him right in the face. Staring back into the blackness of the sky, a jolt disrupted the air, jarring his nerves. He shoved his goggles over his forehead and looked up at the silvery bottom of a dirigible, hanging in a neutral position above the roof. Bodhi climbed out his window to get a better look at the stationary airship. As he strained his neck, he squinted to distinguish the Anson coat of arms, painted in a glossy onyx and gold along the sides.
