The door opened, and one of the guards entered, musket in hand. “All right now, lads, what’s all this?” Weatherby was on him in a flash, placing the cloth over his mouth and holding on as best he could, while Finch grabbed the musket and began wresting it away. The man struggled mightily, his cries muffled by the cloth, until he finally relaxed and, a moment later, went limp.
“How long will this last?” Weatherby asked as he grabbed the musket and returned Finch’s neckerchief.
“Fifteen minutes, perhaps,” Finch said. “After you, sir.”
Gripping the musket, Weatherby slowly entered the hallway, edging toward the stairway and stopping in order to listen for anyone coming. Hearing nothing, he made his way to the stairs, Finch in tow, and began descending. He had thought to find where Morrow and Anne were being held, but the resulting scuffle could endanger both unnecessarily, and while the State House was somewhat small for a government building, he did not know it well.
But he knew where he had been. And from the muffled voices floating upward as they descended, Weatherby knew that the Ganymedeans were still debating below. The flickering light from the double doors leading to the parliamentary chamber was further proof—and Weatherby was gratified that those inside no longer felt the need for additional guards.
Weatherby paused a moment to listen. There was Franklin’s voice, still outraged. There was Arnold, calm and seemingly reasonable. Jones remained loud and abrasive, while Jay seemed to be growing in both fatigue and impatience. Weatherby pondered a moment whom he’d aim for, but really, there was only one suitable candidate.
“Now, Doctor,” he whispered. Finch opened the door.
“Gentlemen!” Weatherby called out, entering the room at a brisk pace, his musket aimed before him. “We’ve found your hospitality quite wanting!”
Before Arnold or Jones could react, Weatherby strode to the Ganymedean naval captain and placed the barrel of his musket upon the man’s chest. “Weapons on the floor, if you please,” he said calmly. “The doctor will collect them.”
“What are you doing, Weatherby?” Franklin demanded. “I am trying to secure your release!”
“And I thank you, Ambassador, but we’ve already secured it,” Weatherby said, his pounding heart belying the confidence with which he spoke. “No thanks to this man here, who so easily reneged on his word.”
Jones’ face darkened. “Do not test me, boy,” Jones snarled. “I’ll have you hang for this.”
“Then you compound your own dishonor, sir,” Weatherby replied. He saw Finch had secured everyone’s weapons, and was aiming a pistol at Arnold.
“What is it you want?” Jay asked from behind his desk.
“Nothing more than to resume our negotiations in a far more equitable manner,” Weatherby said. “And for that, I would ask that Captain Morrow and Miss Baker be brought here forthwith.”
Jay looked to the lone sentry and nodded, and the man— a boy, really, no older than fifteen—quickly left the room. Weatherby assumed he would return not only with Morrow and Anne, but with pistols to their captives’ heads and reinforcements as well.
“Mister . . . Weatherby, is it?” Arnold said. “You must understand, our two nations are at war. And we must look to our own affairs. Having you here presents both problems and opportunities that we cannot fail to address.”
Weatherby nodded. “I can appreciate the strategic issues, General. However, the promise of safe conduct we were given has not been upheld. And no matter the conflict between us, I find that utterly inexcusable, as does the good ambassador, I’m sure.”
Weatherby looked over at Franklin for support, but the old alchemist merely frowned. “You should have let me argue for you,” Franklin scolded as Morrow and Anne entered the room.
“Mr. Weatherby,” the captain said in a tone of voice quite calm considering the circumstances. “Report, if you please.”
“Securing our release, sir,” Weatherby replied. “Yourself and Miss Baker are well?”
“We’re fine, Tom,” Anne said cautiously. “But the guard has raised the alarm. Whatever you’re doing, time isn’t with us.”
Jay smiled grimly. “So you plan to negotiate at musket-point, boy, with half the Ganymedean army aimed at you? Perhaps try to bring us back to London for trial? Or will you fire and decapitate the rebellion against the Crown right here and now?”
Weatherby, for his part, had anticipated this argument and had mentally dismissed it whilst still captive. And yet . . . here he was, with the leadership of the Ganymedean rebellion literally within his sights. What a demoralizing blow it would be to haul this “president” back to England for trial!
He looked to Morrow, who eyed Weatherby with an inscrutable gaze. Perhaps he was making the same calculation. Perhaps not. But he hadn’t issued any orders, either.
Weatherby breathed deeply, trying to clear his head. Things were so much simpler when the enemy was easily identified, and the battle lines drawn cleanly. Would a victory against the rebellion here create opportunity for something far worse to occur?
“Tom,” Anne said, her distress mounting. “They’re coming. Do it quickly!”
Weatherby’s finger tensed on the trigger . . . and then relaxed. Ultimately, he had given his word. Unlike Jones, Weatherby aimed to keep his.
“You’re absolutely right, Mr. Jay. I cannot negotiate in such a manner,” the young lieutenant said. He lowered his musket and placed it upon the table next to Jones. Finch likewise lowered his pistol.
Morrow smiled, any doubt about Weatherby’s gambit erased. “Gentlemen, never let it be said that officers of His Majesty’s Navy are without honor or decency. Now, then—I believe we should address the matter at hand with some alacrity, before the sun rises and all of Philadelphia sees our ships upon the river.”
The ensuing negotiations went surprisingly well, Weatherby thought, especially given the presence of some forty armed men now outside the building. His actions seemed to have a profound impact on Gen. Arnold, who abandoned Jones’ ploy and agreed to allow the Daedalus safe passage out of Philadelphia. President Jay likewise agreed to let the matter pass, in a kind of status quo ante. Jones, however, remained completely pig-headed—so much so that Jay himself, as head-of-state, had to order the Ganymedean captain to remain in port for 48 hours.
Minutes later, the Daedalus officers, accompanied by Anne and Dr. Franklin, quickly dashed through the Philadelphia night en route to their boat. “I do apologize, Captain Morrow,” Franklin huffed quietly as they walked. “I knew Jones was ambitious, but I did not think him blinded by it.”
Morrow gave a rare smile. “Too many officers are,” he said. “It takes a brave man to capture a ship, but a braver man still to give up glory for the greater good. I hold no ill will against you, sir. We have more information, and have made good our escape. That is better than I had hoped for but an hour ago.”
The captain then turned to Weatherby, who was assisting Anne over the rough-hewn cobblestones. “And Mr. Weatherby, I confess I am unsure as to whether I should commend you for your initiative or reprimand you for taking an unnecessary risk.”
Weatherby’s stomach turned. “I’m sorry, sir. I thought it best to be prepared for any eventuality. Thus, I asked Dr. Finch to bring with him some admixtures that might effect an escape, if need be.”
They reached the boat, moored to one of the smaller quays, and started helping Franklin and Anne aboard. “A wise course, Mr. Weatherby. But I would appreciate it if you would be so kind as to apprise me of your contingencies next time.”
Weatherby looked directly at the captain, preparing to own up to whatever punishment Morrow would issue. Yet he was surprised to find Morrow wearing a small grin.
“Aye, sir,” said Weatherby, unsure as to the best response.
“And me as well, Lieutenant,” Anne said, smiling broadly at him. “I’ve a strong constitution, but I very nearly fainted in there!” Weatherby laughed at this, as the thought of anything rattling her to
that degree was nothing short of comical.
With Weatherby and Finch on the oars, the boat quickly arrived at Daedalus, whereupon the officers and alchemists—Anne among the latter—gathered in the great cabin to discuss their next move while the crew prepared to make sail.
“Divining the alchemical essences of the Known Worlds has long been a goal of modern alchemy,” Franklin said as he sipped a glass of port to fortify himself at this late hour. “I often wondered whether the Aquila stone might be such an essence, or if the essence of Ganymede could be distilled from it. It is exceedingly rare. You could dig through thousands of pounds of coal before finding even the tiniest of these stones. I have no doubt that Cagliostro feels as though this stone is critical to whatever working he has planned.”
“And if it is,” Finch asked, “to what end would it serve? I do not even know what the alchemical essence of Ganymede would even represent.”
“True,” Franklin allowed. “I would imagine it could represent the great mineral and agricultural wealth of our world, and as such, could play a role in workings having to do with soil, farming, growth and perhaps even money. However, more importantly, we must bear something else in mind that occurred to me back in the State House. Cagliostro has been to Io! That is the foremost piece of this puzzle!”
Franklin looked expectantly at the others, but was greeted with naught but fatigue and confusion. “Meaning what?” Morrow snapped.
“I’m sorry, Sir William, I do get carried away on these matters!” Franklin said. “But it is a fact that obtaining the alchemical essence of Jupiter itself is no small task. Even gaining samples of Mighty Jove’s winds is difficult in the extreme. But what if . . . what if you had the alchemical essences of the four main moons of Jupiter? One, perhaps, for each element?”
Anne suddenly sat up stock-straight. “My God, it could work!” She looked from Franklin’s smiling face to Finch, who also expressed surprise and recognition.
Morrow, however, was less impressed. “Really, would you learned alchemists mind telling we simple sailors what’s going on?”
“Sorry, sir,” Finch said. “Alchemy, as Dr. Franklin has noted, is based on the premise of essences, but it is also based on the notion of sympathy, wherein a composite of various elements can stand in for greater truths and essences. In many ancient workings, the four primary elements—air, earth, water and fire—can be combined to create the fifth element, the quintessence. Now, if you took that theorem and applied it to Jupiter, you could very well recreate the quintessence of the entire Jovian system through its four primary moons.”
“Yes, I see it now,” Anne said. “Europa would, of course, represent water. Io is fire. Ganymede, given the gemstones, would be earth. And that leaves Callisto representing air.”
“Exactly!” Franklin said. “And, of course, that means Cagliostro will indeed be heading to Callisto. Whether or not he stops at Europa first is immaterial. We shall meet him there, I have no doubt, so it is to Callisto we must go.”
“And what if the Xan object to our presence?” Weatherby asked.
Morrow leaned back in his chair as he spoke, looking tired. “According to reports given to the Admiralty, most ships are met by one of their vessels and politely asked to remove themselves from the moon. It is only when a ship is seen a second time that more . . . permanent . . . measures appear to be taken. Thus, we can at least be assured of one chance at contact, and we must hope that an embassage from both His Majesty and neighboring Ganymede will be sufficiently impressive to allow us entry.”
Despite these words, Weatherby thought he saw a glimmer of doubt in his captain’s eyes.
July 27, 2132
Mining on Mars was an exercise in very simple economics, with few of the complicating factors that mining elsewhere entailed. Aside from a bare handful of “Martian environmentalists” who held out hope for life on the red planet, most people didn’t care what Billiton Minmetals did. Indeed, there was more backlash on lunar extraction than Martian exploitation. Nobody wanted to look up into the night sky and see the Man in the Moon marred by strip mining.
So when Billiton mined the Martian ice cap for deuterium, whole blocks of ice were lasered away for processing. Strip mining and open-pit mining for other minerals became quite common. Over the years, the landscape around McAuliffe Base became littered with debris from recovery and smelting operations.
Yet some minerals were too deep for these more intrusive measures, and the palladium and titanium found at Billiton Operations Site Six were among them. So as mankind had done for centuries, the miners there dug tunnels and shafts, working in near darkness kilometers below the surface.
To be fair, most of the work was done by machine, and there were only a handful of people at Site Six to program the remote laser drills that did most of the heavy work in the dozen or so shafts and tunnels in the mine. These finely tuned lasers would bore into the walls, vaporizing the bedrock and leaving the valuable ores mostly unspoiled. These would then be scooped up and sent via robotic mine cars to the site’s main chamber.
Jack Heath was one of these new generations of miners, more comfortable with a computer than a pick—though he was quite ready to have a go with the pick as well. Jack grew up poor in west Texas, served four years in the U.S. Army, then quit college two years in after his parents died. Feeling adrift, he answered a Billiton job posting. Three years later, the simple guy who hadn’t left Texas until joining the Army was drilling on Mars. He had a girlfriend and marriage plans.
But today his mind was on the drill in shaft seven. It was acting up, and he had traveled down the tunnel to figure out what happened to it. He didn’t come back alive.
Ed Kaczynski grimly told anyone who would listen about Jack’s short life as a pair of JSC astronauts pulled his body out of the rubble and into the main chamber. The reinforced pressure suit that saved him from instant death under the falling rocks ultimately failed him with a small leak. It had taken a half hour for rescuers to reach him—still a pretty impressive response given the distance from McAuliffe and the volume of rock that had to be vaporized in order to reach him.
But Jack Heath was cold, the liquid in his body half evaporated, by the time they found him. Shaila looked down at the desiccated body and remembered his smiling face—he grinned in a very American, cowboy way, she thought. He had a penchant for really bad action holos, she remembered, and was a big fan of the violent curiosity that was American football.
At least there was only one death to contend with. The collapse around the mining site was fairly impressive, with several tunnels and shafts irreparably damaged, and millions of terras in equipment lost. A few other Billiton folks suffered minor injuries—broken bones, concussions and a few depressurizations that were caught in time. Shaila, who linked up with the rescue team on the access road with Greene in tow, did her best to coordinate the response, but there was little she could add at the moment—except for one thing.
“Jain to McAuliffe, where’s Harry Yu?”
“McAuliffe to Jain, we don’t know,” Finelli responded. “Assume he’s en route to your position.”
“Check the suit beacon log,” Shaila ordered.
A few moments passed before Finelli came back on. “He was at your location about an hour ago, but that’s the last we have from him. Must be some sort of beacon malfunction. We will look for him here and have him contact you.”
“Screw that,” Shaila said. “I want him detained. Find him and confine him to quarters. Jain out.”
Another voice came over her comm. “That seems a bit much, don’t you think?”
Shaila looked around and saw Yuna approaching the rescue team, her face drawn and haggard. “Not at all. He’s responsible for this,” Shaila said.
“This what, exactly?” Yuna asked, that maddening, maternal look of concern back on her face. “I don’t follow.”
Shaila and Greene filled her in on their search for the boxes, and the huge energy spike that fried their rover’
s engine. “The linear EM field’s we’ve theorized would cross right through this site,” Greene said in conclusion, showing Yuna the map Shaila had drawn up the night before.
“Did you find the box there?” Yuna asked.
“No,” Shaila frowned. “Soon as the spike came through, the shit hit the fan here and we hopped over to help.”
Yuna shook her head sadly. “It’s still all very circumstantial, Shaila. I know Harry can be a handful, but I’m not sure that he would be responsible for this. Even if the boxes were some kind of experiment, who’s to say the energy spike you saw triggered all this?” Yuna seemed quite upset by what had happened—understandable, Shaila thought, since she had probably gotten to know a lot of the miners during her years on Mars.
Shaila looked around at the main chamber. Levin was doing medical checks on a number of miners, while her ops team was busy patching suits and getting people out of there and back to base. “There’s never been a collapse before, Yuna,” Shaila said. “Why would there be one now?”
Yuna pointed toward shaft seven. “Ask Stephane.” The Frenchman was coming out of the tunnel with Harry Yu’s mining chief. Both of them looked shaken.
“Once again, I cannot explain this,” Stephane told them a few moments later. “The shafts were very well made. And of course, there is no seismic activity here. So I cannot say why we would see a collapse, except for the fact that there may be some sort of energy involved. Look here.” Stephane pulled out his datapad and pointed to a map of Site Six. “There are collapses here, here and here,” he said, pointing to three areas on the map. “They are in an almost exact straight line from one another.”
Shaila looked over at Yuna with satisfaction. “And that’s the line on the map, Yuna.”
The older woman shook her head, looking even more distraught. “This has to be some kind of mistake. I can’t imagine what would even cause this.”
“Well, we’re going to find out,” Shaila said, spotting a new group of Billiton workers entering the main chamber. She could see Harry Yu’s face among them and immediately hopped over to him.
The Daedalus Incident Revised Page 24
