“I see the ’bot,” Shaila reported. It was ahead of her, about 45 degrees to her left. “No lights on it. Probably no power. I’ll check it out when I come back.”
As she progressed, she saw higher piles of rubble on each side of her, even as the path before her seemed to be less strewn with rock. It was as if there was a path of some kind laid before her, leading to the wall. That was nonsense, of course. But then, the wall itself wasn’t supposed to be there, either.
Finally, off in the distance, she began to make out the dim outline of the wall. After confirming once again that there were no spikes in seismic or radiation activity, she steeled herself and took a step forward.
Another rock skittered into her boot, causing her to jump slightly. She lifted her boot and watched it roll out from under her, toward the wall. The rock, about 15 centimeters in diameter, rolled up to the wall and then, defying gravity itself, rolled right up the vertical surface, disappearing over the two-meter high top.
“Creepy,” she said, the radio carrying her voice to her colleagues above. “I wonder what’s on the other side.”
“Is there a way to see over it?” Stephane asked.
“Don’t know. Let’s get this sensor down first.” Shaila kept moving forward until she found a spot she felt would allow for maximum camera coverage. “Greene, how’s this for placement?” She figured that, with his background, he should know a thing or two about camera angles.
“Good. We can see about twenty meters of the wall, top to bottom, too.”
“All right. Status, Yuna?”
“Rate of increase unchanged,” Yuna said. “Atmospheric pressure now up to point-one-eight psi—that’s a record for Mars. Seems the increase is mostly nitrogen at this point.”
“Which means?” Shaila asked.
“No idea,” Yuna said. “A gas deposit, maybe? Planets can still surprise you, even when you think you’ve seen it all.”
“So I’ve heard.” Shaila put the bulky sensor down on its stubby, sturdy legs. “Sensor’s down. How’s it look?”
“Perfect,” Stephane said. “Now please get back here.”
Shaila gazed at the wall in front of her. “Not yet. I’m already here. Might as well have a look.” She stepped around the sensor and walk-shuffled over to the wall. It looked like a loosely packed pile of rocks that nonetheless seemed to be almost perfectly straight and smooth. Looking left and right, she saw that the walls of the cave itself had changed somewhat, with two large indentations forming on either side, just before the wall. This was definitely an unstable cave—she should’ve been running for the skylight, if she hadn’t been so stupid to come down in the first place. But if the very cave itself was changing, then it stood to reason that the ravine nearby had also been part of the changes going on. That was, oddly enough, reassuring.
“Do not touch anything,” Stephane warned. “We don’t know how stable it is.”
Shaila stopped about a half meter in front of the wall and leaned in toward it. “All right, let’s see. Certainly seems like just a pile of rock. Surface is rough and uneven. Doesn’t seem to be anything holding it together.” She looked to her left and right. “Seems pretty straight, though. I’m impressed. How’s seismic?”
“Unchanged,” Yuna said.
“Good. Hang on.” And with that, Shaila crouched down low . . . and jumped.
On Earth, the average person can jump about two-thirds of a meter. Shaila was in better shape than the average person, and enjoyed the benefit of Mars’ low gravity. She jumped nearly two meters off the ground, and looked straight ahead to see what was over the wall.
“Oh, my God!”
“What?” Stephane said. “What is it?”
Shaila pulled her portable sensor out and adjusted its settings so it could capture video and send the feed up to her colleagues. “This is crazy. Look.”
She jumped again, the sensor slightly over her head.
Before her feet touched the ground, she heard the gasps over the comm. “What the hell is that?” Greene asked, sounding awe-struck.
Shaila jumped a third time. Before her, she saw the ghostly outline of a second wall, set off from the first by about twenty meters and cloaked in a pink-grey light from the new hole in the ceiling of the lava tube, where the surveyors had fallen. Above that second wall, she thought she might have seen a third.
“It’s a structure of some kind,” she said.
She crouched to jump again, but was interrupted by Yuna. “EM and Cherenkov readings are starting to climb higher than baseline. I really think it’s time to go.”
Shaila thought about this a moment. The first two quakes were preceded by a blue flash. That represented a buildup of enough Cherenkov radiation to result in the appearance of blue in the visual spectrum.
A buildup . . . .
“I’m out,” Shaila said, turning and hop-skipping back through the cave. “Update your readings as I go.”
She hadn’t gotten more than fifty meters before Yuna came on again. “EM and Cherenkov levels at the wall still rising slightly higher than before.”
“Seismic? Psi?”
“Rate of increase unchanged.”
Shaila kept moving. “You think my proximity to that . . . thing . . . seemed to bring about the increase?”
“Possible, but without further testing, it’s hard to say,” Yuna said.
“Should I go back and test it?” Shaila said.
“No! Too dangerous,” Stephane interrupted. He was really starting to get nervous, Shaila thought. Then again, she thought she probably ought to be far more concerned that she currently felt.
“Don’t worry, I’m leaving and—wait,” she said. “The ’bot.” She spotted it and headed over. “I’m going to have a quick look, see if I can bring it along.”
She skidded to a stop in front of the disabled probe and knelt down before it, sensor still in hand. “No power. Something fried it.”
“We have a camera on the wall, Shaila. I really think you should just leave it and get back up here,” Yuna said.
Shaila grabbed the ’bot by its still-extended neck and lifted—a little too heavy and bulky to carry. She then pulled on the neck, watching as it rolled along with her arm. “Negative. The wheels aren’t frozen. It’s coming with me.”
She began to pull Dolomieu along with her, which slowed her down slightly. But she felt salvaging the ’bot was the best option. If they could figure out what happened to it, they could fix it up and use it again.
She continued hop-shuffling back—less hop, more shuffle now—passing the first of the sensors they had placed the last time. Here, the cave was more recognizable, with the detritus of the earthquakes far more random and scattered. Exactly what you’d expect. Not structured at all.
“Cherenkov spike,” Yuna reported. “Fifteen meters, bearing oh-nine-zero.”
Shaila looked off to her right and immediately recognized the pile of rubble there. “That’s where Ed got buried,” she said. It was also where she heard her own voice in her head, and that was enough to get her moving. Shaila let go of the ’bot and covered the distance in a few hops. “Did the rad levels spike again just now?”
“No, elevated but steady,” Yuna said. “What are you doing?”
Shaila knelt down in front of the rubble. “I thought I saw something first time we were down here, after we moved Ed.” She started to use her gloved hands to sweep away the rocks. “I wonder if it’s there. Maybe it’s causing the spike.”
There was no comment on this from Yuna or Stephane; they probably thought this was an unnecessary detour and a rather bad idea. They were probably right, but Shaila kept digging.
Two minutes later, her gauntlet brushed against something flat. “Found something,” she said, brushing dust and rock from the surface, finding the edges.
“What is it?” Stephane asked.
“. . . where I shall leave it.”
The voice came into Shaila’s head just like it had the first time—but t
his time it wasn’t hers. It was a man’s voice, barely heard in her mind, as if she was eavesdropping on a conversation occurring in another room, or on the other side of the cave. She paused to look around, but found nothing. Her heart started to race, and for the first time, she wondered whether the immensity of everything going on was really starting to get to her.
“Shaila?” Stephane asked again. “What did you find?”
Shaila shook her head to clear it, then slowly lifted the object from the rubble. “It’s a book.”
She turned it over in her hands: Leather cover, slightly beaten up from the quake; fine quality pages . . . .
“Say again?” Yuna said.
“There’s a book down here,” Shaila replied. “I wonder if Ed brought some kind of notebook or something with him.” She flipped through the book, but couldn’t find any writing anywhere. “It’s blank.” She pulled out her sensor and waved it over the journal. “You’re right. I have elevated EM and Cherenkov readings centered on this. Higher than ambient, but not enough to give me any kind of blue light.”
“Suggest you leave it and get moving,” Yuna said, a slight quaver in her voice. “The cave’s still unstable.”
“Negative,” Shaila said, sliding the book into her carryall. “It’s coming with. I’m outta here. Get a rope lowered so we can get the ’bot back up there and—”
She looked down to see pebbles skittering past her feet, bouncing slightly off the cavern floor. And she caught a flash of blue from somewhere she couldn’t quite place.
“Shay!” Stephane called. “Move!”
Shaila jumped up and dashed toward the skylight, leaving Dolomieu behind. She didn’t need to see the dust cascading down from the ceiling to know what was coming next.
She didn’t make it in time. A huge weight crashed into her back, sending her sprawling down onto the cavern floor. The last thing she saw was a large rock falling inches from her helmet visor.
CHAPTER 11
March 24, 1779
Since the dawn of history, alchemists have always been circumspect regarding the location of their laboratories. In ancient days, they were shunted off to the edge of settlements, respected for their abilities yet feared as well. Those fears have never been entirely misplaced, for more than one building—indeed, more than one city—has burned due to a moment of carelessness or overreaching ambition on the part of an alchemist.
This, Weatherby considered, likely was why Dr. Benjamin Franklin was granted a pavilion away from the main house of the Hotel de Valentinois. For even such a luminary as Franklin could have a mishap. And indeed, as the group from the Daedalus proceeded into the basement of Belle Cour and into Franklin’s laboratory, the disarray in Franklin’s workspace bespoke of mishaps large and small, or so it seemed.
“I apologize most heartily for the mess,” Franklin said as he opened the door and ushered his guests inside. “I had not expected to be entertaining here this evening, I assure you!”
“Not at all, Ambassador,” Morrow said as he carefully stepped into the room, his nose wrinkling at the stench that assaulted him, akin to rotting eggs mixed with strong vinegar. “Though I confess I am unsure why we are here.”
Franklin tottered into the room and made straight for the large furnace in the middle of the chamber, where he opened a compartment and, using a fireplace poker, stoked the materials inside. From Weatherby’s reading—for he had made a study of basic alchemy as part of his supervision of Finch—he knew this to be the athanor, a special furnace for alchemical creation.
“It is often better to show, Sir William, than to tell,” Franklin said as he closed the athanor’s door. “And given Dr. Finch’s expertise, and the burgeoning knowledge of your Miss Baker, I’ll wager, they may aid in translating my work better than I might alone.”
Weatherby was quite sure he had no idea which wonder Franklin might show them, for it seemed the room was full to bursting with alchemical amazements. Shelves adorned every wall, brimming with a wide variety of glass containers and earthenware, as well as jars containing powders, liquids and, it should be said, a wide variety of plants and animal remnants. Mixed in with these were enough books to fill a university, it seemed.
There were also two notable features to the room, aside from the shelves and a couple of long worktables. One was a clockwork orrery, one far larger and more ornate than was used aboard Daedalus, and the table next to it was covered in papers and notes. The other was a curtained-off corner of the room, which Weatherby knew to be Franklin’s oratorium, where he would likely read and meditate upon his workings. More religious-minded alchemists would have a private altar as well, but he never saw such a feature amongst Finch’s belongings, and did not take Franklin for being overly pious, given his politics.
“First, some refreshment!” Franklin said. He walked over to a small table near the curtained area, which contained glasses and a decanter of wine, pouring five glasses and distributing them to his guests. “To strange bedfellows!” he said, raising his glass. Everyone raised theirs as well, though Weatherby’s heart was not in it. But he sipped just enough wine to be polite. Finch, however, merely sniffed the wine and lowered it without drinking, which Weatherby took as a good sign; even Finch’s decadent ways did not prevent him from declining to drink with a traitor to the Crown.
Franklin then approached the room’s main worktable and immediately started stacking books and papers. “Now then, I am not one for grand workings. While I enjoy discussing theory, I prefer far more practical applications of the Great Work. And one such working I performed just a few days ago was a simple tincture to aid my good friend, Madame Brillon de Jouy, in balancing her humours.” Franklin blushed slightly. “She is, not to be indiscreet, rather partial to fire and earth.”
Finch and Miss Baker smiled knowingly at this remark, leaving Weatherby rather perplexed. Finch leaned over and whispered to Weatherby: “His friend, it seems, is ruled by her passions.” Finch’s arched eyebrow left Weatherby with no further confusion in the matter.
Meanwhile, Franklin had placed two retorts upon his table; these were large glassware containers with long stems, and stoppers upon each. “I had created a similar mixture before, and wanted to keep it on hand, so I made a second batch. It is a relatively simple working, one that involves countering the effects of Venus. As such, I included a pinch of powder from Mercury’s ores and a bit of althak plant from Venus, putrefied so as to reverse its effects.”
The ambassador held up one of the retorts. “This was my original working, and the green-grey color you see here is the desired outcome. This would aid Madame Brillon in keeping her focus on more practical matters, while calming her other humours.” Again, the old man flushed slightly as he set down the container and picked up the second. “As you can see here, this new elixir is nearly black!”
Morrow simply frowned at this. “I’m sorry, Ambassador, but I still do not quite understand.”
Franklin nodded. “Of course, I apologize. Allow me to demonstrate. Dr. Finch, would you assist in drawing out some of this elixir?” He went over to a small cage upon one of his shelves, which contained a number of rats. Clucking softly, he managed to seize one of the rodents, bringing it to the table, where Finch had used a small dropper to gather up some of the foul-looking liquid. Taking the rat’s head between his fingers, Franklin drew the creature’s mouth skyward, where it was met by the stopper. A single drop fell into the creature’s mouth.
Franklin set the rat down upon the table, where it was immediately seized by tremors. After thrashing about for less than half a minute, it keeled over—dead.
“As you can see, this poor creature’s humours were unbalanced in quite the other direction,” Franklin said drily. “Now, why would this be?”
Not even Finch had an answer forthcoming, so Franklin gestured toward the orrery and walked toward it. “As you may be aware, our workings are governed by the movements of the planets, so it behooves the alchemist to pay mind to his astrology. Natura
lly, when I encountered this result, I thought that Venus and Mercury were simply in opposition to each other, or to some other force. But I saw nothing here that would indicate such.”
“So why would your working have failed, then?” Miss Baker asked, her curiosity regarding alchemical matters quite evident. “If you had followed the same procedure, you should have had the same outcome.”
“Exactly!” Franklin said. “But I did not. And whilst I won’t bore you with the researches I have conducted since, I have been able to come up with but one possible answer. It is my supposition that the powers of each of these planets has been magnified of late. A working including both of them—few workings tend to include both spheres, mind you—would result in such an over-powered and utterly useless elixir.”
Weatherby nodded. “And it seems Cagliostro has powerful materials from both worlds,” he murmured. “But what does that mean?”
“I cannot say until I hear of your travels in detail, young man,” Franklin said. “And for that, I think we should retire upstairs to dinner.”
And so it was that, minutes later, Weatherby partook in perhaps the oddest dinner of his life, hosted by a traitor, though a genial and generous one at that. The pheasant was quite delicious and, despite himself, Weatherby ate heartily. Morrow, meanwhile, relayed all that had happened since learning of Dr. McDonnell’s death on Elizabeth Mercuris, with Finch and Miss Baker chiming in as needed. Weatherby, still feeling uneasy and unsuitable to the company, remained mostly silent.
Franklin, for his part, was most keen on learning every detail, and quizzed Miss Baker upon her late master’s work, her answers to which were once again most detailed and exacting. Finally, over a dessert of pudding and port wine, Franklin spoke once more.
The Daedalus Incident Revised Page 17
