The med-bed gave out a quiet hiss and retracted needles and manipulators, allowing him to sit up and get out. He was slipping on a pair of strange stripy trousers when the doors opened without warning, letting in a young man dressed as if he was attending a village fair. He wore a long black coat, brown riding boots and breeches, and a blindingly white shirt with a vest on top. Around his belt hung dozens of pouches and strange gadgets. His head was crowned by a high hat with a pair of bronze goggles stuck above the brim. He had a thin moustache, and he tugged at it nervously.
“Mr Benton Hermash… Hermashawsky, I presume?” he started and blushed.
“Benton will be fine. Who are you?” Benton asked, continuing to dress himself in a cream shirt and yellow vest.
“Lieutenant Ezra Stubbings Jr, at your service. Please Mr Benton, we must hurry.”
“Fine, fine.” Benton waved his hand. “I’m sure Chuck won’t mind waiting ‘till I’m properly… garmented?” He grinned to Stubbings. “Is that even a word?”
“Please Mr Benton. I do not know who Chuck is, but time is of the essence; the agents are on their way. Your safety is at stake.”
“Right,” Benton sighed, slipping on the yellow vest. He was now certain it was all a bizarre Jevgienij-like joke. “Sure it is. Let’s go then.”
Lieutenant Ezra Stubbings nodded quickly and went ahead. Instead of heading towards the lift, which was visible at the end of the corridor, he led Benton to a staircase. It was poorly lit and had one of those classical balustrades that were nearly extinct in the public buildings — metal, with finely forged flower motifs and a wooden rail.
“Quickly!” whispered Stubbings. “To the bottom!”
Benton decided to go along with the ruse and followed his guide down the many flights. When they reached the bottom, Stubbings peered through the door and waved at Benton to come along. They passed through what must be a maintenance level of the hospital. The corridor had rows of thick and thin pipes running along the walls. Most of them were the same bronze colour as the ones Benton had seen in his room. As they stopped for Stubbings to decide whether to go left or right, he examined them more closely, and discovered that only a few were made of genuine bronze. Most were plain steel or PVC, painted to resemble the stylish ones. He picked some flaking paint as he waited for Ezra to select the right-hand corridor, muttering to himself until they reached a small metal door, flaking with the same bronze paint.
When Benton stepped through the door he halted in surprise. This was beyond Chuck’s or even Jevgienij’s capabilities. They were standing in Host Street, near the entrance to Zed Alley, and it was night, or at least late evening. He knew the layout of the streets from his university days. Half the high buildings were gone, including the Colston Hall. That said, the old Victorian buildings were there, instead of the modern, ugly cubes stood houses and brick buildings imitating their few hundred-year-old neighbours. Everything was clean, painted and tidy. The usual dust cover of a busy city centre was replaced by fresh paint, including the familiar bronze. Everything was illuminated with the same gentle light that he’d seen in his hospital room. A low hum filled the night air. The whole setting gave him a sudden impulse to laugh hysterically, but he managed to restrain himself.
“Come, we’re safe for now but we still need to hurry,” said the lieutenant quietly. They went down Zed Alley and exited onto Lewin’s Mead, where Benton experienced another moment of stupor. The streets were full of strange machines that looked like the work of a mad designer and a blind engineer. They were apparently a cross between cars and helicopters. Some had short wings and propellers, some ejected streams of bluish steam. And above it all hung the huge white and silver shape of a Zeppelin, the source of the hum. It was slowly but steadily heading towards a docking mast shooting up to the sky from somewhere on Redcliff.
“What the hell…?” but Stubbings was already pulling him into one of the machines parked along the pavement. It had two seats, a pair of short wings with a propeller embedded in each and a short tail with tiny fins. When he sat down in the leather covered seat it spurred a net of belts around his body. He must have flinched, because Stubbings smiled and handed him a spare pair of leather and steel goggles.
“Better put them on,” he said, pressing an ornamented stud on the panel next to a small frame. “It’s quite safe, actually.” The whole contraption shook at these words, the propellers started to spin and a blue haze appeared from underneath the vehicle, reflected on the pavement tiles. Stubbings popped on his goggles, tapped the active holo-screen few times, grabbed the two bronze levers and took the contraption off into the midnight air. After few minutes they had cleared the centre and slowed as they flew over the hills.
“Now I can answer your questions,” said Stubbings. He touched the holo and let go of the levers. “I’m sure you have plenty.”
“Well, you could start by telling me who the hell you are, where we’re going, and for heaven’s sake, what happened to the world?” Benton’s head spun with bewilderment over what he had seen. He wanted, at least, some answers.
“You already know my name, and we’re going to Switzerland, to meet with your lawyer.” Stubbings raised his hand on seeing Benton stir in his seat. “Let me explain.”
“When you were leaving for your mission, nearly thirty years ago, you left investments in various places. Those investments have multiplied over the years and as instructed, a team of specialists were employed to take care of you when you arrived back. The truth is, Mr Benton, you are quite rich. The only problem is, you are not safe within borders of the Great British Empire.”
“Why? I’m an astronaut, not bloody James Bond…” He stared at Stubbings silently for a few seconds, and then added. “How rich, exactly?”
“I do not know the exact figures. Your accountant will be able to tell you, but from what I’ve been told, you do not need to worry about money, ever.”
“At least one thing that went well…” Benton whistled in surprise, then remembered the other thing. “So why am I not safe here?”
Stubbings shook his head. “I do not know the details, but I suspect it’s because of your mission, because of where you went and what you’ve most likely discovered.”
“That’s bloody absurd. We were a scientific mission, we surveyed damn rocks. And speaking of that, what about Chuck and Jevgienij?”
“I’m afraid I do not know. If they made similar plans to you, there is hope…” a quiet beep interrupted him. He tapped the holo-screen and tugged nervously at his moustache. “This is unfortunate. It seems I won’t be taking you to Zurich after all.” He opened an equivalent of a glove box and handed Benton a small metal plate. “It’s your new identity. When we land, try to get to Mr Tobias Sally. He has offices on the corner of Telephone Avenue and Marsh Street. Good luck!” He had to shout the last two words as an explosion shook the air around them. A couple of craft appeared above and behind them. Stubbings grabbed the levers and put their flyer into a deep dive, levelling just above the marshy ground. Benton managed to look back and saw a burned out, deep smoking pit. He wandered what really propelled this… helicopter or whatever it was, but decided it would be stupid to ask Stubbings now.
A series of rattling vibrations shook the vehicle and they began to lose altitude. Stubbings manoeuvred the damaged craft to land near Temple Meads station, nearly crashing it into the row of parked taxis.
“Go!” Stubbings shouted, holding his left side. Benton could see the fabric soaking with blood. He wanted to help Stubbings bandage it, but the young lieutenant pushed him away. “Go, I’ll be fine. Please, go!”
Benton hesitated for a second but he realised there was nothing he could do for Stubbings, so he turned and fled towards Victoria Square.
Marsh Street had changed as much as everything else. The big hotel still stood there, but it was now decorated with fine marble carvings and metalwork that dripped with gold paint. It had a huge, moving sign hanging above the entrance proclaiming it was now a Clock
work Mansion Hotel. Benton hurried past the spiral columns protruding from the pavement and sped up a little. There were very few people in the street, especially compared to the memories of the city centre he had. Where Marsh Street met Baldwin Street, he noticed a couple of men in uniforms stopping a young couple, so he tried to look as inconspicuous as possible. He safely reached the corner house in a few dozen steps. The changes here weren’t that obvious; it still had the decorated hood above the corner window and carved eaves, all freshly painted. He got to the door and looked up at the brass panel with a few metal dials on it. One of them had T. Sally neatly carved on it. He pressed it. A small plate above the panel slid to the side, revealing a blue holoscreen, and the tired face of a man in his forties wearing round blue-tinted glasses.
“Yes?”
“Are you Tobias Sally?” asked Benton, unable to stop himself from looking around for pursuit.
“I am, and who are you?” An expression of mild interest flickered across Sally’s face.
“My name is Benton Hermaszewski and… well, it seems to be complicated and to be honest I don’t know what to think of all this… A man has been shot, Lieutenant Stubbings…” A loud buzzer interrupted him.
“Get in!” barked Sally, and the screen went dead.
Benton decided not to wait for a second invitation and slid inside through the opened door. What he saw inside surprised him just as much as a sight of the zeppelin. The hallway was panelled with light pine wood, plain and decorated only by a few picture frames containing panoramas of Bristol from the early 21st century. The light was sharp and provided by a familiar neon tube hanging from the high ceiling.
“Upstairs, and shut the door!” came a shout. Benton closed the door and climbed the steps to the first floor. It looked like a library in bloom. Bookshelves covered every possible wall space and a corner of the large room had a mezzanine that allowed more of them to be fitted in. In front of the door, against the window, stood a desk, huge like an airfield with only a small pile of papers and a few holodisplays in bronze-style-tainted frames. Behind them sat the man who must have been Tobias Sally. He noticed Benton as soon as he walked in and with one swift wave of his hand froze all the displays.
“Were you followed?” he asked Benton sternly.
“I don’t know. I don’t believe so, what…?”
“Good.” The man stood up. He walked to Benton and stretched out a hand. “Come, take a seat, you must have hundreds of questions.”
Benton shook the offered hand. ”Like what the hell happened to the world?” He offered a sarcastic suggestion. “Sure I do.”
“Good.” Sally pressed Benton into a leather armchair. He took a carafe, poured two glasses and handed one to Hermaszewski. “There’s nothing better than an inquisitive mind, as much as it can be a dangerous thing these days.” He took another armchair nearby.
Benton took a sip of what turned out to be a good whisky, and rubbed his forehead. It was only now he realised that Sally wore clothes he considered normal — a pair of jeans and a tatty t-shirt with a faded Iron Maiden logo. He suddenly felt very tired. “Could you spare me the philosophical crap and start from the beginning? Who are you, by the way?”
“Tobias Sally, but you know that already. I’m an information specialist, a rare profession these days. As for the beginning… The world, as you have surely noticed, has changed. Not everything went as planned since you, Chuck Rogers and Jevgienij Gagarin went on your mission. About fifteen years after you left orbit a plague struck most of Europe, with the epicentre in the west. We did not handle it very well, I may add. The death toll was over five billion people across the globe. A quick solution to the overcrowding in some places, some say.” He smiled without humour. “Anyhow, we ended up decimated here in England and things looked bleak until Brunel’s discovery some five years later.” He stopped to take a sip.
“What discovery?”
“A new approach to the so-called free energy and electromagnetic forces, along with few dozen inventions based on his discoveries. You see, Brunel is something like Tesla in the States back in the 20th century, only better. I could find you detailed descriptions of his discoveries,” he waved in the direction of the desk, “along with diagrams and equations, if you wish to know the details. Suffice to say, England became an energetic monopolist in a matter of few years. And since we had more wealth than we needed and no reasonable way to spend it, we went into rebuilding the land to the fashion. I believe I do not have to point out which fashion; you’re wearing some on you now.” He smiled dryly.
“Are you saying the whole bloody country went with this?”
“Well perhaps not wholly, and certainly not at once. But Brunel’s corporation supports the government, and the government supports Brunel… there’s little people can really do. There are few places which still resist, but it’s only a matter of time.”
Benton downed the rest of the whisky to calm his nerves.
“What about the other countries, and what about us? I mean our mission. You haven’t explained how I ended up being fished out by English… whatever it was that fished me out of the ocean.”
“Ah well, you see, when the plague was over, most governments had more on their hands to worry about than an expedition which would return in two decades, so successive cuts to financing slowly killed ESA, and then NASA some two years later. The truth is, old chap, that nobody cares anymore.”
“Fucking hell.” whispered Benton. He never was gentle with words and his level of confusion about this surreal situation made his head throb. “Do you know anything about the other two?”
“Not much.” Sally rose from his chair and went to the desk. Switching a few dials caused a large holoscreen to descend from the ceiling with a soft hiss. It showed news feeds from around the globe, mute images of little relevance to Benton’s question. “Gagarin successfully landed his capsule somewhere near Bajkal valley. I do not know more than that. As for Rogers, he’s being held and questioned by air-force military somewhere in Massachusetts, possibly in Boston.”
“Questioned? Why?”
“Most likely to get as much information about the mission as possible, which brings us back to your situation, Benton. You cannot stay on the Isles.”
“Why? You said yourself that no one cares about us anymore.”
Sally sighed and sat down on the corner of his desk.
“That applies to the general public. The Brunels will gladly turn you inside out to discover as much as they can about what you have found up there.” He raised his eyes towards the ceiling.
“But we haven’t found anything!” Benton exclaimed, irritated at Sally, at history and the whole situation. Sally just smiled his small wry smile.
“Remember, I’m the information specialist, Benton. No point lying to me. Not that I’m that curious but trying to hide it is somewhat offensive, you know?”
“What on Earth are you talking about, man?”
“The contact your ship made with the object that matched your trajectory and remained on a parallel course for six months? You’re not trying to tell me the crash damaged your memory?”
Benton looked at Sally for a moment and then laughed hysterically.
“You’re insane, man. What are you on about?”
“Hmm.” Sally jumped down from the desk. “If you really don’t remember, it means there will be more work than I’ve anticipated. But first we need to sort out a transport for you, and grab a pint at the Shakey.”
“It’s still standing?” Benton was surprised.
“Yeah, and I have a feeling you’ll like it.” Sally went to a coat hanger in the corner and picked up a brown leather coat, covered in pockets and pouches.
“You look ridiculous.”
In reply Benton received a sarcastic look from above the tinted glasses.
“You’re all the fashion too.” Both men laughed. Benton decided he liked this arrogant little man. Wrapped in a similar coat borrowed from Sally’s collection, he follow
ed the information specialist downstairs.
“What about my identity?” He suddenly remembered the card given to him by Stubbings.
“Let me take a look.” Sally hastened back upstairs and returned after about a minute. “All done and active, it was a neat job anyhow. Should fool any patrols we may hit on our way, at least the regular ones. Come, I’m dry as a bone.”
To Benton’s surprise the pub was full of people. Most wore the current fashion, though mainly limited to plain, functional clothes. A few had jeans and colourful t-shirts and there was one man in a leather biker’s outfit. Tobias led him to the back room and sat them both at a free table in the corner box. Before Benton managed to say anything a wonderful phenomenon walked over to their table, holding three pints of lager. She was a mulatto, with that gentle beauty often given to people of mixed races. Her brown curly hair cascaded around her slim but gracious shoulders, flowing down her back. She wore a white blouse with a red pendant round her neck, brown leather trousers, and a matching vest and coat. As Benton sat there dumbstruck, she put the glasses on the table and slid one to Sally. She winked at Benton, pushing the pint towards him, and sent him a smile.
Airship Shape & Bristol Fashion Page 22
