“Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks!” cried the running figure, as blasts rained from behind.
Professor Dyson stepped out of Navid’s office to find the Chancellor — and the Baron.
“Good God,” he said, as shocked as a first year stumbling out of a bar to find a proctor.
“God?” growled Lord Christopherson, Fifth Baron Abinger, a very tall man — and the Academy’s biggest donor. “God has little to do with my ill niece laid out unconscious in hospital for a month, or tottering out of bed straight to the man who put her in danger in the first place—”
“Which you know because you tracked her locator here, I take it,” Dyson said, glancing at the Chancellor. They’d hoped to sneak her back to the infirmary, but — “Sir. Your ‘ill niece’ is a capable and remarkable woman, and as for putting her in danger, she’s the one who—”
“Listen to me carefully, man,” the Baron said, leaning down over Dyson, pointing an enormous finger in his face. “Foreigners have eaten our family. We lost her sister. Her mother. Her aunt, my wife! Not even a grandmother or a cousin! Jeremiah is literally all I have left!”
Professor Dyson’s mouth remained hanging open: the huge man had a valid point.
“Wait here, your Lordship,” the Chancellor said. “I’ll get to the bottom of this.”
Minutes later, Navid found himself wondering whether a man could literally wilt.
“—only to find Cadet Willstone laid out like a doll!” the Chancellor roared at him, glaring with those blazing black eyes, hand waving at the aforementioned unconscious cadet. “I find myself forced to question your relationship with this young woman—”
“That’s egregious,” Navid said. “The Comm — beg pardon, the Cadet and I do have an unusually close relationship, but it is completely—” and then Commander Willstone appeared in a bright flash, a strange gadget in her hand, and Navid finished: “—absurd.”
“The blackguard eluded me, but he dropped this,” Jeremiah said, handing the gadget to Navid, even as he stared in horror at the Chancellor, who in turn stared at Jeremiah’s wings. Jeremiah said: “This is probably better handled by my younger self—”
“Younger self,” the Chancellor muttered, and Jeremiah whirled, her turn for shock.
“Oh my!” she said. “Sir, I must protest! The more people you bring into confidence—”
“The more dangerous it becomes,” Navid finished for her, inspecting the strange gadget. “I won’t make a habit of it — oh my.” He ran his finger over the engraving he’d found, then glanced at the Commander’s wings. “Better handled by your younger self, indeed—”
“Younger self,” the Chancellor repeated. “And no twin, sister, cousin, or even aunt—”
“I…do have an aunt, ma’am,” Jeremiah corrected kindly. “Right now, about your age.”
“Right now,” the Chancellor repeated, blinking those piercing black eyes. A pounding came from the secretary’s office, and the Chancellor shook her head and hissed: “I understand! But right now, the Fifth Baron Abinger is about to break down that door to get to you!”
“My uncle?” Jeremiah squeaked. Her wings twitched. “He can’t see me like this!”
“Go,” Navid commanded, hiding the gadget. “We have the matter well in hand.”
Jeremiah stabbed at her bracer and disappeared in a flare — right as the Baron burst in.
The giant man stood frozen in the doorway. “Did … you perceive a golden flash?”
Groggily, Jeremiah blinked to awareness: on a couch, in Navid’s office. Professor Dyson and the Chancellor were there, oh, bugger me, she’d cocked this one up with that theft. Wait … hadn’t there been a crash? Hadn’t she been in hospital? She muttered, “What the devil—”
“Well,” Navid began, as if answering a proffered question not her own.
“Mya!” cried her uncle, pushing his giant frame between Dyson and the Chancellor.
“Uncle!” Jeremiah squeaked, quite a high register, most unsoldierly! “I — uh — what?”
“What? What? The Falconry grounded you, yet you stole a set of wings and promptly crashed them, ending up in a coma for a month, that’s what!” the Baron roared. “If there’s any sense to the turning of the world, you’ll be promptly expelled — and I will take you home!”
Jeremiah stared at her uncle in horror. It was all true. What had she to say?
“Chancellor, I repeat what I said,” Navid said. “If she’s expelled, I resign.”
“I concur,” said Professor Dyson. “I would also be forced to tender my—”
“Then I’d be forced,” the Baron growled, “to pull whatever strings I had to—”
“If she’s forcibly withdrawn,” the Chancellor said, eyes flashing, “I resign too!”
Sudden silence. The Baron glared at the Chancellor with the snarl of a tiger.
“Precisely what medicine do you all have me on?” Jeremiah said suspiciously.
“Sirs and ma’am, what medicine am I on, sirs and ma’am,” Navid corrected.
“Oh! I,” Jeremiah spluttered. She was still a cadet! “Sirs and ma’am, I—”
“She missed a month of term,” the Baron said icily. “By the rules of the Academy—”
“By the rules,” the Chancellor said, “I have a great deal of discretion dealing with—”
“It’s not unheard of,” Navid said, “for students to undergo an accelerated program—”
“Transfers, for example,” Professor Dyson said. “I will step up and tutor her myself—”
“You…ridiculous…educators!” the Baron roared. “You may think war is a classroom problem, and applaud solutions based on cleverness, but I fight on the front lines of the war for the planet, and a general cannot afford to encourage recklessness that leads to failure!”
Jeremiah swung her feet off the couch and planted them on the floor.
“Failure, sir?” Still unsure whether she was hallucinating, Jeremiah had lain patiently, listening to her fate being decided; but the word “failure” was a backbreaking straw. The room swam, but she stood to attention. “Sir, I dispute that, most strongly, sir. My mission was a success.”
The four were silent, but then Navid asked sharply, “But you failed to—”
“Capture my quarry, sir?” Jeremiah said — and cheekily raised an eyebrow. “Sir, when I first encountered these creatures, my fellow cadet Erskine’s life was in immediate danger — but I recruited one cadet, two proctors, and sounded a campus-wide alarm. With no-one at risk, I’m curious as to why you thought I planned to take on an unknown force alone — sir.”
“I—” Navid said, his mouth hanging open. “Cadet, I — what was your mission?”
“Reconnaissance,” the Baron said. The giant man gritted his teeth, alternately glaring at Navid — and looking at Jeremiah in wonder. “You didn’t know what you were facing — so stole some wings and darted over to check? You still could have assembled a full sortie—”
“Sir, there was no time, sir,” Jeremiah said, stiffly at attention, not looking her uncle in the eye. “Sir, I had devised a means of tracking the creatures, but when the Lady Westenhoq applied my scanning profile to our locator network, our foe fled the city like rats, sir—”
“The scanning profile you devised,” the Baron muttered. “And they fled—”
“So we lost them,” Navid said. “Our foe went to ground—”
“Sir, no, sir. I suspected diversionary tactics, so I directed the Lady to analyze their movements, and she found a likely leader. I decided to fly a mission to scout out this hypothesized general and implant a tracking module — and I succeeded. Sir.”
The room was silent for a moment — and the Baron spoke.
“You thwarted a Foreign Incursion,” the Baron said. His body puffed with pride — but his eyes brimmed with unshed tears. “Discovered a Foreign foe, cleared the city of it, tracked down the leader, and are now planning to run him to ground … even though it nearly killed you.”
&
nbsp; “Sir, I,” Jeremiah said — then met his eye. “Uncle, I’m trying to honor my—”
“And have done so,” the Baron said, drawing a breath. “Well done, Cadet.”
Resigned, he turned on his heel; moments later, the door slammed behind him.
“Don’t worry, I’ll deal with him,” the Chancellor said, following the Baron. She paused at the door, glanced back, then shook her head. “The less I know about this affair, the better. Carry on, gentlemen — and gentlewoman — of Liberation Academy; carry on.”
“Well, Co — Cadet,” Navid said, holding up a strange gadget. “I’m told your memory might be addled — but you were bringing this to me when you had your accident. You’ll quickly see you’re the right person to follow this lead. Care to resume the hunt — with a bit more care?”
“Sir, with gratitude, sir,” Jeremiah said, taking the shiny gadget; she didn’t recognize it, but it was engraved with a curious clue, something she did recognize: the name of Erskine, her fellow cadet — and lover. “Sir, with gratitude — I’m back on the case.”
The Honorable Eddy
by Kirsten Weiss
May, 1849
San Francisco
There’s a lot I’ll do for my country — face hostile Indians, battle sinister occultists and mechanical contraptions, even lay down my life. But the Honorable Eduardo Alberto Del Castillo Cabeza de Vaca had me about beat. As the benevolent emperor of the tiny South American kingdom of Neruda, the gentleman had determined that his country’s fortunes would improve if he returned with a ship full of gold from the California hills.
The United States government lost an ambassador during Neruda’s last revolution. The body still hasn’t been found. In a moving letter, the current US ambassador to Neruda pleaded he might have a fighting chance at returning to the States alive if we kept Eduardo safe and happy. All we had to do was keep the Emperor from pitching into a ravine or being slaughtered by irate miners.
Since my partner, Agent Sterling, and I were in San Francisco, preparing for a journey east, we got stuck with the job. Or rather, I did. The Honorable Eduardo had taken an instant dislike to my partner. Eddy didn’t like competition when it came to the gentler sex. He didn’t much care for gold prospecting either, preferring to dally in San Francisco’s less salubrious entertainment establishments.
And so I found myself, watching another sunrise above a cluster of masted ships. Eye blackened, lip fat, and attire rum-soaked, I dragged the Honorable Eduardo back to his honorable hotel. The Honorable gentleman did not hold his liquor well, and during these periods, enjoyed insulting the female relatives of his fellow drinkers.
Now, I’m the sort who prefers the quiet life. Give me a laboratory and some gears and I’m set for the night. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one to shy from a good dust-up, but this was my fifth brawl in as many nights, and if I lost a tooth on one of these adventures, I’d have no chance with the ladies at all.
This had to stop.
My partner thought my predicament funny. Getting no sympathy from that quarter, I hauled my carcass to Mrs. Watson’s boarding house and to the one person more desperate to leave the boomtown than I.
Miss Sensibility Grey sat at breakfast, her dark hair piled on her head, an uneaten plate of ham and eggs congealing on the blue checked tablecloth. We were fixed to travel together to the States along with her minder, Miss Algrave. I was looking forward to nights beneath the stars with both the fair maidens. And Sterling.
“Good morning, Miss Grey.” I dropped my hat onto the long table.
“Mr. Crane.” She set down her mug of tea. “Good gad. Have you been in an altercation?”
“Nope, in a fight.” I grinned. I knew what altercation meant, and she knew I knew.
She snorted. “You and Mr. Sterling are too quick to engage in fisticuffs.”
“Ah, but I wasn’t with Mr. Sterling.”
She looked up.
“Are you going to eat those eggs?” I asked.
“No.” She shoved the plate across the table to me.
I dug in and waited for her to ask about my bruises.
One of Miss Grey’s sweeper mechanicals bumped into my booted foot, chirped, and turned, bustling off.
Miss Grey sipped her tea.
“Aren’t you curious?” I finally asked.
“I assume you were injured in the course of another secret assignment, which has delayed our journey from San Francisco. Again.”
My problems with Eduardo were the latest in a string of delays preventing Miss Grey from taking her place in Washington as a government scientist. “Frisco hasn’t been that bad, has it?” I asked.
“I have no workshop, and most of my tools and mechanicals have been shipped east. If I leave the house, people hiss at me on the street.”
In short, the poor thing was bored. And why wouldn’t she be? Trapped inside this boarding house for months, waiting to move on, no problems for her agile mind to tackle … I resolved to lay my difficulty at her feet.
“Unfortunately,” I said, “you’re right, though the mission’s not that secret. I’m stuck protecting a very important person from South America, and he’s been dragging me through every gambling hell and, er, establishment in San Francisco. The worst of it is, there’s no end in sight. We’re supposed to deliver him to the gold country, but the man doesn’t want to leave town. I think he’s figured out gold mining requires actual work.”
Miss Grey straightened her already impeccable posture. “Are you telling me that one man’s whim tethers us to San Francisco?”
“That and the US Government.”
“To perdition with the US Government! What sort of man is he?”
“Rich and spoiled. He runs a bunkum country down south.”
“Then you must make him want to leave town.”
I snorted. “Easier said than done.”
“Is it? I can think of five methods off the top of my head.”
I pondered that and shoveled in more eggs. In my time as a special agent, I’d pushed and pulled men into doing all manner of things against their inclinations. Surely I could manipulate one, simple tin-pot dictator. A scheme took shape. “Miss Grey, you have motivated me, and I owe you a debt. Why, the answer’s obvious!”
“It is?” She looked at me, disbelieving.
“If you can think of five, I can think of seven ways to encourage the man to move on.”
“And what is your plan?”
“I’ll scare him off.”
“I’m not certain—”
“And in repayment for your brilliant bit of inspiration, I’ll bring the man here, so you can get an eyeful.” That should liven up her dreary day.
“But—”
“No, no, don’t thank me.” I rose from the bench. “You’ve got the Muses beat by a mile, Miss Grey.”
“I don’t think—”
I hurried off to make my arrangements. Obvious. Obvious! What struck primal fear into the hearts of men? Indian attacks. I’d seen the bravest men go weak at the knees at the mention. Now the local native population was peaceable, and as a thank-you-for-your-good-manners, had been pretty well wiped out between the Spaniards and Argonauts. But Eduardo-By-Your-Honor didn’t know that. I had an Ohlone friend who owed me a favor. Showing his war paint in San Francisco would put him at considerable risk, but if I could get Eduardo out of San Francisco … yes, a plan was taking form.
But first I’d keep my promise to Miss Grey, poor thing.
And I did keep it. It wasn’t hard to convince Eduardo to pay a visit to the famous lady inventor who’d set San Francisco on fire. Literally. (In fairness, Miss Grey had not set the town on fire, and had been instrumental in preventing the flames from spreading. But crowds can be unreasoning in the face of disaster.)
Late the next afternoon, Eduardo rapped on the boardinghouse door, his chest puffed like a prize rooster’s, his dark, mutton-chop whiskers razoring his cheeks.
I swung it open for him and bowed. “Your Hig
hness.”
Missing the irony, he swaggered into the foyer, his sword clanking against the coat tree.
I spotted Miss Grey alone, in the parlor, and motioned him inside. A sweeper mechanical bustled about her feet, and Eduardo swooped down upon it. “But this! This is remarkable! And you must be the oh, so brilliant lady inventor.” He lifted her hand and bowed low over it.
Miss Grey’s jade eyes narrowed.
“Honorable Eduardo Alberto Del Castillo Cabeza de Vaca,” I said, “may I introduce you to Miss Grey?”
“Mucho gusto,” he said.
“Igualmente,” she replied and proceeded to rattle off a Tarantella of Spanish.
His brows lifted. “Beauty and brains. But of course, by your miraculous inventions I knew you were a lady of intelligence. I did not realize you also spoke Spanish.”
“Though my father was British, I was raised in Lima,” she said.
“Ah.” He appeared discomfited. “So you’re the little lady who burned down San Francisco.”
“What an absurd thing to say. I did not burn down San Francisco. It was only a few square blocks and the wharf area, and I had nothing to do with it. Mostly.”
His head reared back.
“And you?” she continued. “I would think a ruler’s proper place would be in his country, ruling, not gallivanting about the California Territory.”
“My country is a poor one, and small. If I can replenish its coffers with gold, I shall be the greatest emperor my nation has seen.”
“And your nation has seen quite a few,” she said. “Five in the last dozen years, no?”
He snapped his heels together and bowed. “That is true. What marvels you could create for me there. Return with me, Miss Grey. I shall build you a proper lab, the best in the Americas.”
She cocked her head, and for a moment I feared she might be considering it. But her good sense asserted itself. “What a gracious offer, but I cannot accept.”
“I am devastated.” He laid a hand across his heart and turned to me. “We should not interfere with this good lady’s work any longer.” He bowed to her. “I have heard much of your creations. And if one happened to get loose and set a fire—”
Thirty Days Later: Steaming Forward: 30 Adventures in Time Page 16
