Thirty Days Later: Steaming Forward: 30 Adventures in Time

by Harry Turtledove

  “Again, I’m sorry, Miss Branham. I will leave you to your work”, he said, seeming to her rather chagrined.

  “Thank you.” Her voice softened, “Don’t be concerned, Tom. Accidents happen.”

  When he was gone, she mounted the second plate and exposed it. She then spent a good amount of time looking through the eyepiece at Petavius Crater. The Moon was now moving towards the horizon, and the warm air rising up over San Jose made the image jump and blur. Even when the image was fairly stable for a brief moment, Susan did not see what the director professed to. She saw a crater with a central mountain and a straight ridge running from the center to the crater’s lip. Nothing more. Nothing different than could be seen in many other places on the Moon’s rough and battered surface.

  She had developed the photographic plate she had exposed, of course. It might have been the definitive proof one way or the other. But even with a quick exposure, the features on the image were cloudy and distorted from the turbulent atmosphere that night. Anyone skilled in astronomical photography would recognize it as a rather poor image of a crater on the Moon. Nothing else could be made of it. And certainly not what she saw later when the director’s finished drawings were printed in the newspapers: Buildings? Railroads? Factories?

  Finally, the day she had been waiting for — and dreading — had arrived. While Lawrence had spent his day leading the parade of wagons and carriages up the Mount Hamilton Road from San Jose, the observatory staff was busy readying the instruments as well as attempting to deal with the crowds of people that were constantly arriving. When she had a chance, Susan periodically stopped in at the office where the telegraph operator had been receiving a series of telegrams from observatories in Europe where the skies were already dark. Cambridge Observatory, the National Observatory in Paris, even the largest telescope of them all, the six-foot “Leviathan” in Ireland, all wired that they could not confirm Lawrence’s observations of Petavius Crater. The Astronomer Royal, wiring from the Greenwich Observatory, appended to the official notice, “Perhaps in future, making notice of such observations through the scientific journals would be preferable to announcing them through the popular press.”

  Susan was not the only member of the staff well aware that the director’s findings were not being confirmed; a steady stream of staffers wandered by the telegraph office. When she mentioned it to Mr. Simpson, he only shook his head and said, “I’m not going to tell him. And neither should you. There’s no helping him now. The only way any of us is going to survive this is to let him go up in smoke.”

  “Give them to me, give all of the telegrams to me,” she said. “I will keep them and deliver them to the director at the proper time. But I agree with you, Mr. Simpson. He must not learn what the world already knows. It would be better that he discover the truth himself through his own telescope.”

  After the sun had set in an ultramarine sky, Professor Lawrence ushered the crowd into the great volume of the telescope’s dome. He hopped up on the viewing platform. The boisterous crowd of reporters, curious members of the public, and a few open-minded scientists quieted down, hushed by the sight of the Great Refracting Telescope as well as the sense of history in the making.

  “Gentlemen, tonight you will all be witness to an event that will, without exaggeration, change civilization forever. For this evening, we will once again be able to see the Great Lunar City of Petavius. Once my assistant and I prepare the telescope properly, and make some preliminary observations, all of you will be able to peer through the eyepiece and see Man’s future.”

  Susan exhaled wearily. She had performed her duties preparing the telescope mechanically, with no joy or anticipation. She remembered the first time she had stepped into the dome, and had been immediately enthralled by the potential discoveries that the telescope could unveil to her. Tonight, she barely looked up from her work. The delight that she once had in uncovering the wonders of the Universe through one of the most powerful instruments of its kind had been tarnished.

  “Is the telescope prepared, Miss Branham?”

  “Yes, director,” she said flatly.

  “Why so glum, my dear? Tonight is an occasion that you will remember throughout your career. Very few have the opportunity that you have had working with me. I dare say this will only have a beneficial effect on your professional career,” he pronounced.

  “Yes, sir,” she said, wondering if she still wanted a career.

  “How is the seeing this evening?”

  “Only fair. Not too different from last time, unfortunately.”

  “No matter. If I could perceive it last month, I will again. That is for certain. Install the wide angle eyepiece, Miss Branham.”

  He lectured to the crowd, “I will now begin the process of enlarging, as it were, the image I see through the telescope using eyepieces of increasing magnification. Last month, we required the highest magnification in order to discern the city.” Susan assisted him with the eyepieces, and in adjusting the focus of the telescope. Standing next to him on the observing platform, she anticipated his reactions. As she fitted the final most powerful eyepiece to the telescope, he announced, “And now, the time has come…”

  Then he went quiet. He fiddled with the focusing wheel and peered through the eyepiece intensely. “Adjust the declination, Miss Branham; Petavius is not quite centered in the view.”

  She heard him hold his breath for a long time, then he exhaled forcefully. He then snorted in frustration. “This is the highest magnification eyepiece?” he asked, and then more quietly said, “I don’t see it.”

  “Yes, director, the same eyepiece as last month. Is the image clear?”

  “Yes, if anything, it’s clearer than before.” He pulled back from the eyepiece. “Here, you look. My eyes may be tired.”

  Susan had no expectations that she would see anything other than the geological features of Petavius Crater, but she was a careful scientist and looked anyway. She squeezed onto the observing chair while avoiding coming too close to Lawrence. “I see the crater and its central mountain. The ridge to the crater rim is very clear. You are correct that the seeing is better than last month, director.” She covered her left eye and widened her right to get the absolutely clearest image. “I’m sorry, director, I do not see what you would wish me to.”

  “Let me look again.” He pressed his eyes closed to clear them, then gazed through the eyepiece.

  “What do you see, Professor?” yelled a voice from somewhere in the darkness of the dome.

  “One moment ….”

  “One moment ….”

  That moment never came.

  The next morning, after the disappointed crowds had made their way down the road from the mountaintop in the darkness, and the director had retreated to his rooms, the telegrams continued to arrive from observatories the world over, all failing to see anything like what Lawrence had described the previous month. The director of the observatory at Harvard College, a classmate of the Professor’s, sent a terse note, “I expected more from a Harvard man, Augie.” A telegram had also arrived from the chancellor of the University of California, summoning Lawrence to his office in Berkeley the next day. Susan collected the telegrams in a brown folder, and walked them over to the director’s apartment. She knocked quietly, and not receiving a response, pushed them under the door. She heard footsteps and the folder being picked up on the other side of the door.

  She was tired. The excitement and stress of the previous day had only increased at sundown, and then she had spent most of the night organizing the visitors’ departures. A nap is what I need, she thought. No, it couldn’t be a nap, as I haven’t slept yet. I just need to put the telescope in order, then I can sleep. Entering the dome, silent and empty again, she put the eyepieces back in their velvet-lined wooden boxes, and moved the observing platform to its normal spot. As she did, she noticed a photographic plate case that had been laid on the shelf under the observing chair. Looking at the label on it, she realized that it w
as the plate that she had been exposing when Mr. Simpson came in with the unfiltered lamp.

  Susan clasped the holder to her chest and looked up at the telescope. She had assumed that the plate was ruined by the light of the lamp, but she really did not know for sure. She could try to develop it. And then what? If it showed the director’s Great Lunar City of Petavius, it would vindicate him. If not, she would keep it from him, as she had with the other plate. If it was ambiguous, she feared it would give the director hope that he was right all along.

  Or she could just open the case, expose the plate to the daylight, and ruin it forever. No, she thought. She couldn’t do that. As Susan stood alone in the center of the dome, she knew she would develop it. She alone could solve the mystery. She would answer the open question, because she knew that science demands that the unknown be replaced by honest answers.

  Dragon

  by Janice Thompson

  All cannons spent, and rudder full aflame

  He pulls well hard upon the wheel and cranes

  A sweat-drenched brow around to quickly spy

  How close they’re being followed through the sky.

  So close! He thrusts the wheel to push away

  The beast would give no quarter to its prey.

  Up through the clouds they flew to buy some time,

  But nearly hit an airship passing by.

  Oh how the startled captain of that ship

  Had fought to veer before his vessel flipped

  And tumbled out of view, just when, below,

  Through thinning cloud the sea begins to show

  So down to that abyss he aims the bow

  The crew holds fast. It’s only seconds now.

  The captain heaves the wheel, the stern slams hard

  Torrential plumes of water now bombard

  The dragon’s groping jaws, engulfed, and gone,

  Then thrashing to survive with all its brawn

  While captain, ship, and crew fly well away.

  The fires are out, but damages remain.

  Then, all becalmed, they each began to ask

  What could have spurred that creature to attack.

  They’d happened on its cavern unaware

  For on that very spot the charts were bare.

  They’d had to swerved to miss it very near.

  A subtle bump and they were in the clear

  And off they’d hurried, loot-less, knowing well

  That none who plunders dragons live to tell.

  Then out of nowhere one great beastial cry

  Had everybody staring eye to eye.

  A second later all the crew aboard

  Ran to a cannon, blunderbuss, or sword.

  And yet, it was the captain’s frenzied skill

  Which served to save them all from being killed.

  Now each was pressed to mending everything

  From makeshift rudder to pectoral wings.

  By morning they had managed to regain

  Their charted course, though weary and in pain.

  In shifts they rested, eager to see port.

  How fortunate this trip was fairly short.

  Soon, as they disembarked their tethered ship,

  Which, floating on soft breezes, bobbed a bit,

  A passing stevedore stopped short and stared

  At something underneath the vessel where

  It seemed to him that something shiny lodged.

  The captain looked, and sadly knew what caused

  That dragon’s rabid chase and anguished wails;

  The keel was now embedded with its scales.

  Adelaide’s Triumph

  by BJ Sikes

  Piorry sat opposite Adelaide, an ingratiating grin pasted to his puffy white face as he listened to the praises of the aristocrats sitting around the table. His face glowed in the light of dozens of tall white beeswax candles. Adelaide hated him. She wanted to throw something at him. A basket of rolls. One of those ornate golden candelabras. Anything that would wipe the grin off his detestable face.

  I admired him once. Even idolized him. The thief!

  She hadn’t been able to sleep or work since his betrayal last month and her stomach was constantly in knots. Adelaide stared at the fine Palace food on the gold-edged plate in front of her, not touching it. She lifted her solid gold fork and toyed with a piece of the meat dressed in a fine sauce. It could have been a tough bit of yak meat marbled with gristle for all that it appealed to her. She put her fork down and glanced up at her mentor. He was chattering and grinning at the noblewoman seated to his left. This fancy dinner party seemed endless. Her head started to ache and her eyes wouldn’t focus. She took a sip of wine and closed her eyes for a moment.

  “Adelaide, you haven’t touched your food. This veal is tender and flavorful, and the sauce is just divine,” Piorry said.

  She let a small, tight smile cross her face. She didn’t respond further. His grin faltered a bit but brightened as the noblewoman to his left addressed him. She simpered at the famous Scientist-doctor, lush, painted lips pouting, darkened lashes batting. Adelaide sighed and looked away, accidentally catching the eye of her dining partner.

  Seeing his opportunity, he addressed her. She nodded at his platitudes.

  Yet another noble begging to be considered a candidate for the Archimedean Heart. As if he were the only worthy recipient.

  “Mademoiselle Coumain, you must understand, I am a prime candidate for this amazing new invention. I am otherwise healthy but for my weak heart.” Taking in his emaciated form and wan complexion, Adelaide doubted that. “I would take it as a kindness if you could speak to Monsieur le Professeur Piorry.”

  Adelaide glared across the table at her mentor, the presumed inventor of the Archimedean Heart, and took a long draught of wine. He still had told no-one. She debated mentioning the fact to her dining partner, but then he would probably persist in his request and she was already behind in her other projects. The Queen was waiting for her own Archimedean Heart, although Adelaide was not sure that the monarch’s ancient mechanisms would function with Adelaide’s new invention.

  “Mademoiselle? So you will ask Monsieur le Professeur about my heart?” the nobleman persisted.

  Adelaide frowned at the man, her heavy eyebrows meeting. Her nod was abrupt and he drew back, a faint moue crossing his lips. She stared down at the congealing sauce and lumps of meat on her plate. Fighting down a wave of nausea, she stood, her chair scraping across the polished wood floor. The table went silent and a dozen pairs of eyes turned in her direction.

  “Pardon me,” she muttered and stumbled out of the room.

  The hallway outside the nobles’ dining chamber was empty and quiet. Adelaide panted, trying to catch her breath and quell the nausea.

  Damn this stupid corset. Why did I let that maidservant lace me so tightly?

  She leaned against the wall, trying not to bang her head against the ornate picture frame above her. Wisps of hair tickled her nose. She brushed them back without thinking about it. Her breathing was slowing back to normal and she pushed herself off the wall.

  Time to go back in, I suppose. I wonder if I could slip back to my room and claim I was not well. I don’t think I can face that crowd again.

  The door clicked open as she stood debating with herself. Adelaide eyed Piorry as he slipped out of the room. His normally pale face was flushed with exertion and wine. Scowling, he bustled over to where she stood clutching her midsection.

  “Adelaide, how dare you leave so rudely? You embarrassed me in front of my guests. I was just about to tell them about the success we had with that young noble … what was her name?”

  “Marie-Ange de Laincel,” she said, not meeting his eyes. The nausea was rising again and she struggled to breathe deeply.

  “Oh yes, Marie-Ange. Pretty little thing. It was good that she survived the operation. The heart is functioning properly, is it not?”

  Adelaide nodded, gaze fixed to the floor. “She’s stronger than sh
e looks. The heart is working and she is already walking around.”

  “Oh? You have allowed her out of the rocking bed? Is that wise? What if her movement is insufficient to wind the heart’s mainspring?”

  Adelaide suppressed a sigh. Why did he constantly have to question her decisions? She had not made a bad decision during this entire project. She straightened from her slump and met his eyes.

  “Sir, she seems to be doing very well with the new heart. All signs show that it is functioning correctly. She will remain in the rocking bed while sleeping to keep the heart wound but she is strong enough to move around now. It is best for the patient to move a little so she does not get weak from being bed-ridden.”

  “Ah yes, well, let us hope that you are not mistaken. It would be a shame to have to report to Her Majesty that the heart does not work as promised. I would not like for you to be blamed for killing a young noblewoman with a faulty invention.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  Adelaide’s heart pounded. He wasn’t going to give her credit unless it didn’t work, and then she would get the blame? She grinded her teeth but didn’t speak.

  Piorry’s dead-fish smile deepened and he reached forward to pat her arm.

  “Now, Adelaide, you must remain courteous to my guests. Leaving abruptly in the middle of my dinner party is unacceptable. The people in that room are close advisers to Her Majesty. If they believe that you are not trustworthy, they may ask for you to be removed from the project.”

  Adelaide narrowed her eyes and stared at the man who stood in front of her, smirking.

  “Removed? How could I be removed from this project? I created the Archimedean Heart!” Her voice rose and echoed in the empty hallway. Piorry grimaced and grabbed her upper arm, squeezing it until she gasped in pain.