by K. T. Hunter
Between a set of Thoreau and several volumes of Shakespeare were multiple editions of the Invasion Chronicle. Atlases and books on astronomy were scattered across one of the low tables near the fireplace. Some of the crew had not wasted any time getting to the books. Mr. Rathbone rested on the sofa on the far side of the room, sans banker's visor, with a tiny teacup in one hand and a copy of Childers' The Riddle of the Sands in the other. He was pointedly ignoring Mr. Humboldt, who was jabbering away next to him over a plate piled high with Singing Hinnies. Another officer was paging through Myths of the Ancient World.
"Do you enjoy reading, then?" Caroline asked her between bites of cake. "Ever read these?"
She pointed at a book with the name "Burroughs" on the spine. "I like this one, especially. It's about this bloke, John Carter, that goes to Mars -- except them Martians, they calls it Barsoom, and these tentacle-heads can actually talk -- and then Carter kills 'em all with one of their own heat rays and brings all their gold back home to Earth. He settles down with a nice girl in Derbyshire, and we never have to worry about them beasties again. Hope we make it true." She peered over Gemma's shoulder at the captain, who was now leaning against the mantelpiece and deep in conversation with Cervantes. The two men had neatly avoided the teacup debate by sipping tumblers of amber liquid instead. "Wonder if Carter looked anything like him. Don't you think he looks right posh in that uniform?"
Gemma barely stopped herself from spurting her tea over her companion at that remark. As Caroline carried on, pointing out the Sophie the Steamfitter series on the bottom shelf, Father Alfieri approached them. Sporting a coal-black cassock with his priest's collar instead of laboratory brown, he gestured at the shelves.
"There are so many books out there, even after the Invasion!" he exclaimed, his eyes twinkling. "A few of them even manage to see the light of day outside the TIA publishing houses. It was difficult to choose which ones to bring on the voyage. Some are from my family's private library, you know. There are so many on my father's estate that it would take more than one lifetime to read them all."
Gemma selected the most innocent smile out of her collection and replied, "Thank you, Father. Even if I cannot read all of them on this voyage, at least I will not be bored in the meantime. It was very generous of your family to donate them."
Alfieri chuckled. "Indeed! Miss Llewellyn and Yeoman McLure, correct? I understand from Dr. Pugh that there was some tragic mishap with your scientific equipment, Miss Llewellyn," he replied. He clicked his tongue against his teeth. "I share your disappointment. It is a hazard of the scientific adventurer's occupation, wouldn't you say? For that is what we are. Adventurers. I think I may have a solution for you, at least a partial one, if you are interested."
"You have my attention," she said.
"Very good. Like you, most of my samples are millions of miles away! Stars are rather difficult to stuff into a microscope slide, wouldn't you agree? I use a telescope instead. Might I suggest you take a peep or two through it? You never know what wonders of creation you might see. Yes? Very well, then. Drop by my observatory any time. If you will excuse me, ladies."
He wandered off, leaving Gemma wondering what motivation he would have to help her. It would be a new thing for her, having a priest as an asset. It was Mrs. Brightman's opinion that it would not be that difficult to get a priest to spill secrets; they simply did not have any of scientific benefit. Gemma had never stepped foot inside a confessional, but she was sure that tralphium was a rare topic of discussion there.
Caroline tugged at her elbow and suggested that they circulate around the room. Mr. Wallace was getting a bit near their side of the parlour, so Gemma did not object. On the way, Caroline pointed out other officers that Gemma had not yet met, including the ship's surgeon, Dr. Hansard, who was worrying the mouthpiece of his unlit pipe between his teeth beneath a "No Smoking" plaque.
She allowed Caroline to prattle on as they made their way across the floor. The Boolean linked arms with her and chattered away about everything from Mr. Davies' impending child to the ship's archery league. Gemma only half-listened to her new ally; she nodded and uttered an "oh, my" or "how delightful" here and there with impeccable timing. The other half of her brain observed the movements of the captain as he left his perch at the mantel and meandered his way through the cluster of officers and midshipmen that had just approached him.
"Oh, you like the fireplace, then?" Caroline asked. "It's just for show, really. Open flames aren't allowed on the ship. Even Frau Knopf has to cook with electric power. It's too bad, though. I think fireplaces are so romantic, don't you?"
They encountered Mr. Davies in the far corner, still at the whist table. He stared into his pocket-watch with a furrowed brow. He closed it as they approached and got to his feet.
"Ladies," he greeted them. "We've put in our required appearance here. I have some business in the orrery to complete today. Would you care to have a peek at it, Miss Llewellyn? Caroline can chaperone us, if you wish."
Curiosity about the much-discussed orrery mixed with her interest over the message she had just received from Rathbone. The Boolean was correct, though. They had all three been seen by Frau Knopf and had managed to avoid Mr. Wallace so far. She took a final sip of tea and pondered his offer.
"Of course, Mr. Davies," she replied at last. "If you'll allow me a few moments in my quarters--"
"To change back into your uniform," Caroline said, completing her thought. "I know you must be miserable, back in your corset! I can give her half an hour, then go fetch her, Nigel. I'm off duty for the day, anyways, and I could use a sit-down, meself, for a few minutes. Oh, and one last jumble!"
~~~~
Christophe
Christophe could feel Cervantes' gaze boring into him as Miss Llewellyn slipped out of the parlour with the two Booleans.
"I would be careful of that one, amigo," said the first mate in a low whisper.
"McLure?" Christophe replied in the same quiet tone. "I'm aware of her interest, old sport, but don't worry yourself on that account. I can quote you a mile of protocols between us."
"Not her. The geologist."
"Miss Llewellyn?"
"There's more to that one than meets the eye. Nothing escapes her notice. She studies everything and everybody. Even through the mirror, if necessary."
"What, what? You were actually watching a girl?" He leaned in closer, smirking at his friend. "I didn't think she was your type. Not enough engines."
Miguel looked about them as he tugged Christophe over to the whist table that Chief Davies had vacated moments before.
"I am serious. I survived as long as I did in Madrid before Pugh found me because I learned how to read people. She watched you on the bridge during the launch, too, but not with the same eyes as our young Boolean. She is looking for something."
Christophe cast him a sideways glance. "You said the same thing about the girl at Admiralty Computing. Remember, the pretty dark-haired one with the dimples? But she only had eyes for Booleans."
"Si, I remember. But it wasn't just me. Even Maggie agreed that girl was trouble. And Pugh had warned you to stay away from the computers! But just because we were wrong then doesn't mean you shouldn't be wary now," Miguel said, concern etched on his face. As Mr. Holomek, one of the midshipmen, approached them with a question dancing around his face, he added, "It could be nothing. But until we know more about her, it would not hurt to keep your distance."
~~~~
Gemma
Alone at last, Gemma pulled the paper out of her reticule and smoothed it out on the desk. The stack of notes and maps that Dr. Pugh had given her were on the corner, crying out for attention. She reached for her copy of Lyell and found that it was on the opposite side of the desk from where she had left it. She narrowed her eyes as she retrieved it. She calmed herself with the thought that Frau Knopf must have inspected her room already.
She rested the book next to the message. She didn't open the volume yet, as she did n
ot yet know what page she would need. Taking up her pencil, she set about calculating just that.
The message itself was fairly short and simple: "DATA FROM 1924-23-08 2ND SMPL". After that was a series of numbers divided into triplets.
The first step was to look at the date provided and the number that followed. The fact that it was a "data sample" label was just to veil -- however thinly -- the meaning of the numbers. Normal procedure was to sum up the digits in the date, take the result, sum that up, and repeat the procedure until the number was the number of digits dictated by the number following the date. In this case, she reduced the date to two digits.
One plus nine plus two plus four plus... she worked the sum in her head, reducing it until she came up with eleven. She then opened her copy of Lyell to that page, which in itself was just a page of geology text. No one who picked up the book would notice anything unusual about it, as there was nothing unusual about it. Alone, it was just a book; there was no reason to hide it, so there was no reason to fear a sudden inspection of the room.
She examined the first triplet: 18 1 1. She located the 18th line on the page and then found the first word and the first letter of that particular word: "A". She wrote that letter above the first triplet in a light hand. The next triplet, 1 4 2, led her to an "R". She continued until she completed the first word: "ARTEMIS".
Artemis. Greek goddess of the hunt, twin sister of Apollo. The first word of her first received message on a job designated her code name for that mission, if she had not received one already. She had used every name from "Rose" in Shanghai to "Eve" in Prague in the past; why not add the name of a goddess to the list?
The next sets of triplets revealed the entire message: "ARTEMIS JESTER CHURCH SEAT TEST ORION OUI FRENCH CRYSTAL".
She smiled; the double encryption that Mrs. Brightman favoured was a bit of insurance. If anyone recognized the book cipher in the message and broke it, they would not understand the plaintext. It was usually gibberish, and it had the added effect of making some people believe that they had made a mistake.
All Brightman Girls memorized the Messaging Protocol at a young age. None of it was ever committed to writing. Much of her earlier training had involved prodigious rote memorization to prepare her mind for this type of exercise. To Gemma, it was just another facet of her mistress's brilliance, and yet again she was grateful that such a genius had seen fit to take her in. In the Brightman Protocol, in the first message received on a mission, the second word indicated the code name of her target: "JESTER".
Third word or even a phrase ... some clue as to who the target was, in the event that the target had not been pre-determined or if the target had changed. "CHURCH" by itself might have led her to Alfieri, but "CHURCH SEAT" made her think differently. Mrs. Brightman loved to play with words and sounds in her messages. A "church seat" was a "pew". She didn't even have to say that one aloud to realize that "JESTER" was the head of the Cohort. Gemma had noticed over the years that Mrs. Brightman reserved that particular code name for the more troublesome targets. The use of it here on top of what she had gleaned from Pugh earlier told her much about their mutuality of feeling.
So, Gemma was Artemis. Pugh was Jester, which was surprising, given her previous admonition to watch the captain. She continued through the message, looking for an explanation for the change. The verb, "TEST", was a standard action word in the Brightman vocabulary; it really meant "EXAMINE" or "INVESTIGATE" the item that followed next, which was usually more direct: "ORION".
That stopped her short. "Orion" was a constellation, representing the Hunter. He was also the companion of the namesake of her code designation. If she recalled correctly, Artemis actually killed Orion -- in some stories, by accident, in others...not so much.
Was Orion a person? An experiment? That was the flaw with the double-cipher system. Not every situation was covered by pre-arranged code words, and sometimes one was left to decipher a third layer on one's own. Sometimes there were clues, though, in the rest of the message: "FRENCH CRYSTAL". "Crystal" always meant "watch", as in "look into a crystal ball and see". As for "French", she suspected that Brightman had meant "Moreau". So "Orion" had something to do with the captain. She supposed that that was her assignment. At the very least, this was consistent with Brightman's last words to her. But her specific mission was no clearer.
She committed the plaintext to memory. Now she did have something that would not bear Discovery; she had to dispose of the decrypted message somehow. It certainly could not stay in her room; it had to remain free of any tools of her craft. She did not feel comfortable burying it in the sand of the fire bucket by her door. There was no telling what Frau Knopf would include in her threatened "inspections". Normally Gemma would burn it. On Earth, fireplaces were always within easy reach, but not here. Some of the Brightman Girls simply ate their messages. She had discovered the hard way that ink simply did not agree with her system, and she did not want to have to explain the mess in her stateroom to Frau Knopf in case it decided to come back up.
This job was going to wring every bit of innovation out of her. There might be an incinerator for refuse somewhere on the ship, but she did not know where it was and likely could not explain her presence there if she were seen. There was a possibility of ejecting it from the ship, but she did not want to deal with questions in case someone monitored the airlocks. She wanted to give them a wide berth, anyway. If she were on a steam ship, she could toss the paper off the back of the boat (downwind, of course).
Nothing out here in the wild dark sky was the same. She wondered if the unknown sender of the mysterious message in the wireless window faced the same dilemma. Gemma still felt a need to work out the text of that message as well, if she could determine the cipher used. But that particular mystery could wait.
She could still taste the goat's-milk cream from the tea. She wished she had a mint -- and then she had an even better idea. If she could get her new bosom friend Caroline to take her to visit the goats, one of the cud-chewing beasts might just have an extra snack that evening. She folded the paper and tucked it into her reticule.
She would need to send a response in the morning. At the moment, though, she did not have any news for them. She did have a question, and it was one deeper than "where is my bloody gear?" She still did not remember how Moreau's name seemed so familiar to her. She would ask about his pedigree. That might also give her a clue about Orion, in case the two were related somehow.
She released a long sigh of relief. The orrery would be as good a place as any to begin her search for "Orion". After she changed back into her browns, she picked up Dr. Pugh's notes and skimmed the first page. Perhaps she could glean from them why the Red Planet was red, to have some tidbit of news for her new allies. A few minutes later, as she heard Caroline's knock on her door, she realized it was time to get to work.
"It's not to scale, of course," Mr. Davies said, "but it works for our purposes."
He stood at the side of the chamber with his hands clasped behind his back. He had discarded his hunter green for a set of oil-stained dungarees. There was a hint of pride in his stance as he stared across the waist-high rail that separated them from the behemoth mechanism beyond.
The orrery was more like a garden, except that planets grew in the place of roses; instead of blooming amongst the music of birdsong and crickets, they thrived within the beetle-like tick-tick-ticking of clockwork gears. The high domed ceiling gave the chamber the air of a small cathedral. Smaller niches bubbled off the sides of the room, like chapels around an ambulatory. In place of an altar, there was a great gleaming orb that represented the Sun. Circling about this metal giant was a series of pole-mounted globes that glided along shiny brass tracks.
"I count only four worlds here, Mr. Davies," Gemma observed. She may not be a true scientist, but she did know a few things about natural philosophy. "I believe there are more in the solar system, are there not?"
"Indeed, Miss Llewellyn. Point of order, though. When we
are all off duty and just us chickens," he said, pointing to himself and to Caroline, "please feel free to call me Nigel."
"And call me Caroline," the other Boolean said with a nod.
"Fair enough," she replied, "but only if you call me Gemma. Let us reserve the 'Miss' for when Mr. Wallace graces us with his presence."
"Fair enough," Nigel replied with the slightest hint of a smile. "We only had time to add a few globes. Mostly we wished to display our destination, so we stopped with Mars. There's room to add one or two more, but it may be a later Victory Class vessel that gets to add Jupiter. Assuming they leave enough room for the proper gearage underneath."
"Gearage?"
"Yes. That's what keeps it all moving. It's just like the smaller models, where the planets orbit the sun on rotating poles. They are still connected here, but underneath the floor. The gearage takes up an entire chamber on the deck beneath us."
The planets were turning, turning, turning. The entire works had been polished to a blinding brightness. The Earth's globe was a stunning blue and green sphere with a silvery moon ambling around it. The satellite itself was mounted on its own pole and driven by its own gearage, visible above Earth's orbital track. Any observer would have to mind those gears when taking a closer peek at Earth.
Mars was decorated with various shades of red, from scarlet to cinnabar to crimson, with splotches of coffee colour here and there to indicate topographical features -- ones she had seen on Pugh's maps. She recognized this globe as the twin of the one she had seen in the conference room earlier that day, only less dusty. The icy poles were highlighted in hues of stark bright white and light blue.
Nigel looked over his mechanical wonder as if it were his firstborn. For once, she was able to listen to someone speak about technology without having to plot some way of filching it from them. She found the sensation refreshing.
