series 01 04 Abattoir in the Aether

by L. Joseph Shosty

  They pushed on into the room, and there they came under the awesome presence of Torquilstone, the real Torquilstone, not the one that lay in ruins back in Professor Wren’s lab. Here was what Le Boeuf had come to Peregrine Station to build, in the privacy of his lab, and here he could run his experiments without fear of van den Bosch’s involvement, courtesy of a cleverly edited blueprint.

  Fullbright’s mouth hanged open as he circled Torquilstone’s base, his eyes never leaving the swirling mass of dark held in check within its magnetic field. Nathanial, knowing what they were likely to find, held his spot, nodding with approval.

  “What the hell?” Fullbright asked.

  “It’s an aether machine,” Nathanial replied, and briefly explained its construction. Fullbright, an excellent engineer in his own right, was quick to understand. If anything, understanding Torquilstone increased his awe.

  “Do you have any idea the implications of such a machine, Stone?”

  Nathanial grinned. “Of course. Or rather, I can grasp only a handful of possibilities, but really, it has limitless applications. It’s a self-perpetuating energy source. That alone is enough for me to be struck dumb.”

  “So, this is what van den Bosch was hiding?” Fullbright asked.

  “I can only assume; the doctor isn’t telling, after all. He must have known if Le Boeuf was here, he wasn’t going to allow his machine to be so openly on display. Thus the smaller machine in Professor Wren’s laboratory. Since he could not find the machine himself, van den Bosch decided to sabotage the stabilisers to draw Le Boeuf out of hiding, believing the man would never allow this station or Torquilstone―his twin masterpieces―to be destroyed.”

  Fullbright grunted. “It would appear this Le Boeuf called the Juggernaut’s bluff. Listen, Stone, I don’t mean to belabour the point, but we must find a solution to our stabilisers soon. We mustn’t allow this to be destroyed. It’s far too important.”

  “Agreed.”

  “I can’t wait to show Provost.”

  “I would advise against it,” Nathanial said. “This machine is a secret worth killing over, Fullbright. Van den Bosch murdered Professor Wren. Le Boeuf has proven himself a casual killer, as well. The manner in which he dispatched the bomber proves forethought and intent, unless he’s the sort of fellow who travels around with a poisoned needle on his person. It was as though he was killing the bomber before we had a chance to apprehend him. Now, why is that?”

  Fullbright became nervous, and turned away from the machine, glancing all around him. “Should we be here?” he asked. “What if he’s about somewhere, watching us?”

  “He might be, at that,” Nathanial said. “But he won’t. For whatever reason, he can’t repair the stabilisers. He needs me to do that. You’re as safe with me right now as you will ever be.”

  “I’ve got to get the heliograph in working order. We’ve got to flash word to Earth.”

  “That seems a prudent move. Whatever the case, they should know of what is transpiring here. How long will that take?”

  “Assuming you get the stabilisers back in order?”

  “Of course.”

  “A week perhaps.”

  Nathanial furrowed his brow. “Why so long?”

  “Hague, damn his eyes. Five of the men who found themselves on the end of his little massacre were my heliograph operatives. I’ve only got two left.”

  “Can anyone be trained to assist?”

  “Possibly. I don’t know.”

  Nathanial clapped his hands together. “Right, then. I suppose I should get back to work, then.”

  “What will you do now?”

  “I’ll think of something, Fullbright. When I do, I’ll let you know.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “The Hague Revelation”

  1.

  The answer came to him as he was eating his breakfast in the galley.

  Nathanial’s meeting with Hague had been less than productive. They’d met in the little man’s quarters, where Hague had been stiffly cordial. He offered Nathanial a chair by the door, and gently lowered himself onto the edge of his cot, folding his hands neatly into his lap and waiting for Nathanial to begin. His manner was neither threatening nor gloating, as van den Bosch had been. Merely calm. To Nathanial, it was like watching an undertaker ply his trade.

  “Do you know what is wrong with the stabilisers, Hague?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you help me, then? I think you’ll agree we need to save Peregrine Station.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “Are you going to put your dogs on me?” The smile was small. A tiny white glimmer of teeth showed between the thin lips. “Is there to be a lynch mob for what I have done?”

  “I can’t say there won’t be, Hague, but no, I certainly won’t have any part of it. I want everyone to survive this. You are no different than the others.”

  “Why?”

  “That is irrelevant. Please, Hague. You know that when we return to Earth, there will be a trial. If you help me now, that will work to your advantage later.”

  Hague reached for a jug of water on his bedside table. He filled a glass, drank from it, and set the glass next to the pitcher. “I’m amused at you, Stone. You’ve considered every possibility inside this station, yet you haven’t found the answer. But despite this, you continue to bash your head against Peregrine’s insides as if you hope an answer will come to you. Have you ever heard the phrase, ‘like trying to draw blood from a stone’? I believe it originated with your people, so you should have. Ah, the time is coming. You should simply capitulate. Let the inevitable have its way. Entropy, Stone. Entropy.”

  And so it had went. Nathanial had left soon afterward, no more frustrated than he had been before. After all, Hague was entirely loyal to van den Bosch; he would as soon die and take the station with him as betray his employer. Even now, secrecy was being maintained.

  2.

  His stomach growling, Nathanial then went to the galley, which was serving a ploughman’s lunch to all comers. The meal was filling, though the pickled onions were very strong. Nathanial finished eating and pushed it aside, taking up the mug of ale that had come with the meal.

  He took a sip, and that was when it happened. He had been thinking on all of the conversations of the past cycle, struggling with some bits, as his mind was still so tired that he had trouble even accessing the most recent memories.

  “You’ve considered every possibility inside this station, yet you haven’t found the answer. But despite this, you continue to bash your head against Peregrine’s insides as if you hope an answer will come to you.”

  Nathanial stiffened in his seat, and he almost dropped his mug. “My God!” he said. Several workers nearby glanced at him and began to chuckle.

  “Forget something back on Earth, sir?” one asked, and the men broke up into gales of laughter.

  Nathanial stood. “Yes,” he said. “My common sense.”

  This brought more laughter.

  “Rotten thing to leave in a box somewhere, innit?”

  Nathanial broke into a run as he left the galley, and he was breathing hard by the time he arrived at Wren’s laboratory.

  3.

  Nathanial went immediately to Holmes’ quarters and banged his fist on the door panel. A moment later Holmes opened the door, bleary-eyed from being awoken from a deep sleep.

  “Stone,” he grunted. “You look a fright, lad. Come in.”

  Holmes directed Nathanial to his office, on the opposite end of sickbay. Nathanial thought briefly about stopping and speaking with Doctor van den Bosch, but did not. Time, after all, was of the essence.

  “Now, what’s the matter, lad?” Holmes said when Nathanial had seated.

  Barely awake two minutes, and Holmes was already reaching for a clean glass for his brandy. Not for the first time since arriving on the station, Nathanial found himself missing Arnaud. He could do with some of the Frenchman’s wit about now. Holmes of
fered some brandy to Nathanial, who declined.

  “Have you had any sleep lately?” Holmes asked.

  “I’ve found the answer,” Nathanial said without preamble.

  Holmes’ eyes widened. “You have? What is it?”

  Nathanial was on his feet, and pacing. He was too excited to sit.

  “What is it? A pack of Martians outside the station, chewing on power cables?”

  Nathanial cackled with laughter. “You’re so very close to the answer, it’s going to kill you when I tell you.”

  “I daresay it’s going to kill me if you don’t stop babbling and get on with it.”

  “Inside!”

  “Pardon?”

  “I’ve checked everything inside this station, and there are no clues as to why the stabilisers won’t fire. But the one place I haven’t looked, or even thought to look―”

  Holmes’ mouth fell open. “Is outside. My dear boy, I do believe you’ve solved it.”

  “I have!”

  “Well, let’s not be hasty. Fullbright needs to hear of this, and we’ll need Provost, too.”

  “For what?”

  “For what?” Holmes asked mockingly. “For bloody what? For attending to the problem, that’s what. We’re going to step outside for a bit lad, and see what’s what. The walk will do us some good, I think. We’ve all been cooped up inside this monastery for so long, it’s a wonder we’re not all stricken with cabin fever!”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “An Hour”

  1.

  Annabelle had an hour, at best. The first task was to free herself from her bonds. They were newly-tied, unfortunately, and a little tighter than the previous ones. Small matter, really; more of an inconvenience than anything else. She relaxed the muscles in her shoulders, allowing the tension to flow into her stomach, where it tightened into a knot. Her hands began to work.

  Still, she could feel his eyes slithering over her. He had brought her a bucket of hot water, soap, and a fresh coverall, but he had given her no privacy with which to clean herself. The mortification she’d felt as he watched her peel the filthy coverall from her body was nothing compared to the oily sickness in her stomach as she washed the urine and faeces away. Only the dim light of the lantern saved her from being completely exposed. She had to take comfort in knowing that, if he took in her naked form, he only caught it in glimpses.

  And all the while, he had talked.

  He’d told her of England’s corruption, and how he wanted to send the whole island burning into the sea, like Atlantis, but he did so with a smile and a chuckle, like he was telling a folk tale around a campfire. The world had to be free of the Crown’s filthy talons, he’d said, and it would take the hard work of a small few patriots―patriots to the cause of freedom, not to a single country―to see Victoria and her subjects broken and howling for mercy.

  Her right hand slipped free of the rope. The wrist was rubbed painfully raw and might even be bleeding, but she did not care. She stowed the rope behind one of the crates, feeling her way around, as he had left her with no light by which to see.

  “And don’t bother screaming,” he’d said. “These rooms were meant to conceal. You’ll only make yourself hoarse, and we wouldn’t want that, now, would we?”

  And then of course, there was the plan. He was most proud of this. Much of it did not make sense at first, but she had kept her patience, knowing it would be important later. Nathanial would need to know everything she could remember. If he had not yet pieced together all of the clues he would have to know the truth, and the truth was, he was walking directly into danger. Annabelle had been informed of that, on more than one occasion.

  “It’s like watching a mouse that smells a hunk of cheese. Now, a mouse is most clever, the cleverest of all God’s creatures, even more so than man. But all that cleverness is for naught, for when they smell the cheese, their fate is no longer in question. They must have it, even after they recognise the trap that’s been laid for them. Your Nathanial Stone is damned clever. He knows something is wrong, but he is walking into danger anyway because the cheese that’s been laid out for him is just too enticing. He’ll look up, see the jaws that are waiting to snap shut on him, to break his back, and he’ll reach out anyway. His curiosity will be the death of him. And when he’s gone, everyone who knows will be gone. And then, we’ll be alone, won’t we?”

  She crawled about, on hands and knees, probing the limits of the room, feeling for anything small enough that could be concealed, yet used for a weapon. Her derringer was gone, probably before she had ever woken here, but certainly after her bath and change of clothes. There had been no chance to look for it; he had kept his eyes on her all the time.

  “You were supposed to be dead, you know. You were never supposed to wake, but I brought you here. I still don’t know why.” For a moment he had looked like a shy boy. “Perhaps I want a friend. I haven’t had one in a long while. Or perhaps I want someone to know. What good is this plan, if the only people who know about it are the ones who executed it? Shouldn’t the world know? A plot within a plot within a plot. You would have stumbled through the dark for years if there hadn’t been people tugging you along, all the way.”

  “So was Brennan part of the plot?” she had asked. “Was his going insane and killing people part of your beautiful master plan?”

  “Brennan was always a bit dodgy. Most demolitionists are. Beggars can’t be choosers, you know, and we needed men for this job and couldn’t refuse any help if it was offered. We tried to keep Brennan away from the others, but he just kept slipping away.”

  “So why couldn’t you hold onto him?”

  “Because I was busy.”

  “And your employer?”

  “He was busy, too.”

  “Sounds to me like you’re lucky any of your plan came to fruition, if all he employs are idiots like you and madmen like Brennan.”

  And he’d become angry, then, and his shoulders had seized up around his ears. “What do you know of it? You’re just some trull, flouncing from place to place. What do you know?”

  “I know you’re a fool, and you work for a bigger one.”

  Annabelle knew she had stepped too far a moment before the backhand smashed into her teeth. The back of her head had careened off the crate holding her up, and she had slid over into a foetal position on the floor. She squeezed her eyes shut, but she had still seen through her eyelids the light of the lantern go out and he stepped between her and it.

  “You miserable creature!” he had hissed, and he was on his knees, face inches from hers, the stink of alcohol and foul breath roaring up her nose. “Utter another word, and I’ll make you wish you were dead.”

  He had gripped her neck and squeezed, just hard enough that she had felt the airway constrict, and then he’d let go. The message was clear: I can do whatever to you, whenever I like, and there is nothing you can do to stop me.

  “I’m sorry,” she had whispered. Blood mixed with saliva had trickled out of her mouth. Tears of pain had flooded her eyes. She had hoped he would take them as fear, but all she could think of at that moment was how nice it would feel to plunge her Bowie knife into his belly and walk around. But, no. She had to keep her wits.

  “Please don’t hurt me anymore. I promise, I won’t anger you again.”

  The fetid breathing had continued until he was satisfied he had cowed her enough. “You shouldn’t worry your pretty, little head over such things as my employer, Annabelle. Let me tell you about Torquilstone instead. That will show you who you’re dealing with.”

  Annabelle had nodded and lay still for a time, letting him talk.

  There was no weapon to be found, so she found a crate that had been opened already. Feeling over it, she found a piece that had cracked slightly. She ran her fingers over the fissure just to be sure. A piece of it protruded. She wrapped her fingers around it and pulled. It took three hard tugs before it came away. The piece was too long, though, and she broke it beneath her
boot until she was left with a nice sliver of wood, sharp on both ends, about half the length of her forearm. She slid the sliver up her sleeve and disposed of the broken pieces behind the crate. She sat down.

  Half an hour, she thought. I have half an hour before he returns.

  And so she waited.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Stepping Out”

  1.

  Holmes was having some difficulty finding an atmosphere suit to fit him. He stood in the middle of the room as the others, Nathanial, Provost, and Fullbright, lugged the heavy things from their hooks and held them up in front of him in comparison.

  “Apparently they haven’t found a suit to fit someone with such robust energies as myself,” Holmes said.

  “Or someone as fond of grouse and potatoes,” Nathanial said.

  That should have been Provost’s jest, but the man was still in a deep melancholy, and he stank still of last cycle’s drunk. Nathanial would not even have had the man along, but he needed all the help he could get. And anyway, Holmes had taken it upon himself to organise this “grand adventure”, as he called it, out into the great unknown without consulting Nathanial first. Holmes had missed their “first brush with glory”, the foray into Hell that had gotten Jasperse killed, and Holmes had decided he would be damned before he would miss another.

  “Here we are, old man,” Fullbright said, holding up a suit that approximated Holmes’ short, rotund stature.

  “Ah, the Glorious Twelfth!” Holmes cried. “Now there is a day of days! I’ve a coat just for that day. Large pockets lined with rubbers so I can carry my catch without having to lug a sack about. My father’s shotgun. A breech load―”

  “Just get in the suit, Holmes. Hell,” Fullbright said, annoyed.

  He helped the doctor squeeze into the suit, which bound in all the wrong places, so Holmes said, but he waved off any help removing it. “No, this will do,” Holmes said, “and anyway, one wants a tight fit with these things, I would imagine.”

  “Yes,” Nathanial said. “It aids pressurisation.”

  The men were about to enter the airlock when Dolan swung down into the chamber.