Phantasmical Contraptions & Other Errors

by Jessica Augustsson

  “What’s your name?” she asked, draped across the bed. He really was hunky: perfect muscles, lean, not too tall, curly hair.

  “Grace,” he answered, looking around the room. His eyes attentive, searching. Oh my, oh my. He was neither subservient nor scared witless.

  Cheshire patted the bed. “Come here, Grace,” she ordered him.

  Grace obeyed, although he did not look impressed. That didn’t really matter, though—Cheshire had her own needs, and Grace was more than up to the task of fulfilling them. It was only after, when they were lying in bed watching the clouds through the massive window, that Cheshire felt like she needed to impress.

  “You think this flying contraption is grand, don’t you?” she asked. Grace turned to look at her, tilting his head quizzically. She continued dismissively, “It’s nothing. Pathetic, really.”

  “It’s the most advanced ship in the Commonwealth,” Grace said carefully.

  “Perhaps. But it runs on outdated principles. Steam? Really?” Cheshire laughed and stood up, stretching naked. He still did not sound impressed. “Here, let me show you a much better method.”

  Cheshire showed him the disc; she called it the Cheshire Wheel. The silver disc spun as she adjusted the magnet. She explained how by running current through the lodestone, she could cause motion without the need for bulky steam engines. Most gasped at this point. Called out “magic!” or maybe just “hoax!” Grace did neither. He looked at her, then sighed.

  “A working homopolar generator. Have you figured out the theorem?” He was getting dressed. He wasn’t supposed to get dressed!

  “Yes. I think, anyway—wait, what did you call it?”

  Grace lifted a hand to his ear and spoke, clearly to someone else. “We’ve a number two. On the transatlantic slave galley. Yes, Dame Cheshire. Just DC power so far, basic stuff. Induction probably. You’ll have to interrogate her yourself.”

  Cheshire stared. It was some kind of long-distance communication...no wires. “I—I had a theory once you could do something like that,” she said, instead of any of the other things that bubbled to her mind. Like, who are you talking to? “Send information wirelessly… It involved—”

  Grace cut her off. “Correction: she’s a number one. Orders?” He listened a second, then nodded. He turned towards Cheshire, wearing only the barest slivers of clothing. Yet somehow he suddenly had something in his hand that looked like a blade, except it was translucent and shimmering.

  “What... What are you doing? Why?” She backed away, towards the skylight window. Underneath the Atlantic.

  A brief look of compassion entered the man-whore’s eyes.

  “You’re a very brilliant woman, Dame Cheshire. But we can’t have you inventing electrical power.”

  “Why?” She asked again, looking frantically around for an escape. There! The communications tube that led right down to reception. Grace looked where she looked, then stepped between her and the tube.

  “Because next you’ll be inventing nuclear bombs and mass-producing airplanes,” he said gently, approaching. “We made that mistake once. Never again.”

  With that, he stepped forward and extended the light blade and swung it. He cut off her raised hands at the wrists and severed the head neatly. Blood splattered across the room as the body tumbled. He crouched down and picked up the head, then broke the window glass with a well-placed blast.

  Grace, or the agent calling himself Grace, watched for a few seconds as the decapitated body fell towards the waves. Then he jumped after her, spreading his hard-light wings, Cheshire’s head neatly attached to his side.

  “Agent Grace here, heading to HQ. Head acquired for memory scanning procedures,” he said into the intercom, zipping away from the lumbering slave galley into the afternoon air.

  Petter is an amateur writer and a professional academic and translator, with a love for all things speculative and fantastical. He has previously had a short story published in 365 Tomorrows, and has written and released an interactive fiction game (available on Steam and itch.io). Most of his creative output lives on deviantArt under the nom de guerre “Wolfrug”, where these pieces were also originally published.

  Beyond the Amethyst Mountains

  by

  Andrew Johnson

  It had started with a meeting in the Tontine Coffee House on Front Street, in summer of 1835, listening to Astor talk about opening trade, dividends and other dull financial subjects. That coffeehouse was now over a quarter million miles away. Yet I could still look up in the sky and see it. Well, I could see New York, at least, just barely making it out under the clouds. And all those people in that city could also look up and see us. They had no idea what was going on anyway. Only a select few like John Jacob Astor even knew we were here.

  “Quit lollygagging, Fulton!” came Captain McHenry’s gruff voice. “There’s work to do!”

  “Sir,” I said. Like McHenry knew what to do other than drink. “I’ve checked and double-checked the boiler and everything’s as it should be. We won’t be able to do more until Bedford and West return.”

  McHenry grumbled and took another swig from his bottle. I could only imagine what he would do when he ran out. “Sir, I’ll check on Norton,” I said. McHenry gave a gruff nod as I walked away.

  Jason Norton was sitting on the shore, just letting the white sand trickle through his fingers. “Fulton,” he said at seeing me. “Have the others returned?”

  “Not yet,” I replied. “McHenry sent me to help you.” We both chuckled over that idea as I sat down next to him.

  “I can’t believe it,” he said looking at the sand in his fingers. “We’re the first men on the Moon. Another world. I mean, I spoke to Dr. Grant and read about it in the Sun, back in August last, but to actually come here.”

  I, like Norton and the rest of the world, had been fascinated. But it would be less than a month before I received the summons from Mr. Astor himself to meet at the Tontine Coffeehouse in New York City. And then only a few months later that we were on the Severn, touching down here, which the captain called (rather ironically in light of future events) McHenry’s Landing and he claimed it for the United States of America.

  “You remember the Tontine Meeting?” I said, trying to start a conversation.

  “Of course,” Norton said. He was more interested in the scenery of our current world, and I could not blame him. The white sand of the beach was almost blinding in stark contrast to the azure blue sea and the purple mountains in the distance.

  “Ho there!” Norton and I turned to see First Mate Bedford approaching.

  “What’ve you found?” I asked.

  “A pretty easy way,” he said. “From there we can make contact with the Vespertillo-homo.”

  Norton and I dusted ourselves off and followed Bedford. McHenry and West were waiting, a brown bess musket in McHenry’s hands.

  “Will that really be necessary?” Norton asked.

  McHenry made a show of examining the gun. “I remember back in 1812,” he grumbled. “Mr. Astor had us exploring out west for furs and we’d more than a few close encounters with the Shoshone.”

  “Of course, sir,” West said, picking up his own weapon. McHenry’s speech would have been more exciting if we did not already know McHenry sailed on the Oceanic expedition and probably would not know an Indian if he ever met one. I could not imagine what Astor saw in him. Bedford has sailed on the China expedition while Norton and I were engineers. West would agree with whatever McHenry said and all that McHenry seemed to manage was to drink.

  “Take your weapons and move out,” McHenry barked as we fell into step behind Bedford.

  It was not long after leaving the shores of the Mare Nubium when we came across the amethyst mountains sighted by Professor Herschel. I could imagine his wonder from the description in the Sun, but I must say, standing at the base of these crystalline mountains, perfectly pyramidical and extending far into the sky is an experience I still remember.

  For
the next day or so we proceeded south along these gemstone mountains only to pass from one valley into the next. About midway through the second day we arrived in the widest valley we had yet seen, the Pitatus crater.

  I have always believed that the Vespertillo-homo were aware of us long before we saw them. As we started into the valley and entered the forest, we could hear the noise of their wings above us. It was an odd sound, like herons or eagles soaring overhead.

  When we emerged from the trees and saw the great panoply of the valley, there were several of the flying creatures awaiting us. They stood on the ground and I must say were a fair sight more attractive than the Sun’s account made them seem. They stood only about four and a half feet tall and had a long black membrane that stretched from their shoulders to their ankles. They stood with the membrane folded hiding its true expanse.

  “Kasushu,” said the first one. We had no idea what he was saying, but could only assume he was greeting us. Their language sounded vaguely like Chinese, or so Bedford said.

  Bedford took the lead and stepped out in front of us. “On behalf of our patron, Mr. John Jacob Astor, I greet you,” he said with a bow. This set the small creatures chattering amongst themselves. Finally their leader looked back to us.

  “Ngantso kaygiyin Nyimala,” he said, with a jerky wave we assumed meant for us to follow. At that the creatures spread their wings, and I must say it was a truly impressive sight to watch them take wing with just one flap. One simple move and they were gliding through the air as if they had always lived there.

  “Don’t just stand there!” McHenry said. “Let’s get on!” We started after the Vespertillo-homo.

  “The captain said move!” West said, as we started to slow down.

  “Friendly enough lot, aren’t they?” Norton asked as we kept on.

  “It’ll make things much easier,” Bedford said. “To negotiate trade.”

  As we made our way through the valley, the amethyst mountains gave way to mountains of blood red ruby, which the village itself seemed to be carved from. While fascinating to read about in the Sun, it was entirely something else to see them up close.

  It was a brisk walk and I dare say more than any of us were used to after being cooped up in the Severn for nine days. I will say the lunar air does wonders for the constitution. We arrived in good spirits at the massive temple. Our native guides alighted in front of us, and pointed which we assumed was the sign for us to go inside.

  “Gyalmo nanglagidu,” said our guide. We all fell into step behind him and stepped into the cavernous temple. It was sparsely decorated compared to any similar cathedral on earth. In fact, the only thing that passed as decoration was the strange alien script carved along the upper edges of the wall. I can just imagine Champillion would have given his left arm for a look at it.

  “Mimang dintser su ray?” came an echoing voice. Ahead stood what I must describe as the most intriguing creature I had ever seen. She was a Vespertillo-homo like all the other creatures, but she stepped off of her throne, which was carved into the wall, and carried herself with a regal grace. Her flesh was golden, and had she not moved, I could believe her cast from gold, framed by locks of bronze. As she walked her wings fell behind her like a cape. The vespertillo-homo wore little in the way of clothing, and I felt the need to avert my eyes as she approached. Despite being an alien, she held more than a passing resemblance to a young woman. With the exception of Captain McHenry, the rest of the Severn crew did the same.

  “Do you understand us?” McHenry asked. “We’re the crew of the Severn. I come to you on behalf of John Jacob Astor and President Jackson of the United States of America.”

  The alien girl looked at us puzzlingly for a few moments, as if taking our measure. Finally she spoke again. “Versteht ihr mich jetzt?”

  It took me several moments before I realized she had addressed us in German.

  “Ich kann dich verschteh,” I said. I can understand you.

  “What are you saying, Fulton?” McHenry grumbled.

  “Yes, tell us,” West chimed in.

  “She spoke to us in German sir,” I replied.

  “You speak German?”

  “I was raised in Pennsylvania, sir,” I replied, before turning back to the alien girl and continuing in German. “How did you come to learn this language?”

  “My mother, who sat upon the kübkyag before me, learned it from a traveler who passed through our land once before,” she replied.

  “What traveler was this?” I asked.

  “He passed through our lands a long time ago, but his name was Mu-cha-song.”

  “What is she saying?” West demanded.

  “She said she learned German from a traveler named Muchason,” I translated. I turned back to her. “My name is Fulton. What is your name?”

  “Ful-tong,” she said sounding out the name. “I am called Nyima.” I explained to the others.

  “Ask her where the King is!” McHenry growled.

  I turned back to Nyima. “Where is the King?”

  “King?”

  “The one who rules you, speaks for you.”

  “I sit upon the kübkyag,” she said, confused. “I speak for my people.”

  “Looks like she’s the one,” I said. McHenry rolled his eyes.

  “Well then,” Bedford said. “Tell her our mission.”

  “Nyima, since you sit upon the kübkyag, we have come to speak to you. We are seeking trade and would like to exchange goods with you.”

  She sat there in silence for several moments. I began to wonder if she understood me. I opened my mouth to speak again when she held up her dainty hand.

  “The Chihu have no need for trade. All that we require can be found in this valley. Should we have to, we will fly beyond the valley to anything we may need that cannot be found here.”

  “She says she’s not interested in trading,” I said to the others.

  “Stupid girl,” McHenry grumbled.

  “Perhaps if you explain how far we’ve traveled,” Bedford offered.

  “We have come all the way from Earth,” I said. The look on her face told me she did not know the name. “The great blue orb in the sky.”

  “Ngernpo!” she gasped. “How did you make such a journey? Your people have no wings, and even the Chihu cannot fly above a certain height.”

  “We came in a spaceship,” I said. “A thing capable of traversing the great distance.”

  “I should like to see this spaceship,” Nyima said.

  “She wants to see the Severn,” I said to the others.

  “That may be just the thing to convince them,” Bedford said. “When they see the wonders we have.”

  “That sounds good,” West said.

  “Perhaps,” Bedford suggested, “We should retire for the night, and resuming talking in the morning.”

  “Except,” Norton said. “Night won’t be here for several days at least.”

  “What?” McHenry asked.

  “One day on the Moon lasts about twenty-nine days on earth,” Norton said.

  “I don’t want to have to trek all the way back here,” McHenry grumbled.

  I turned back to Nyima and continued in German. “Nyima, perhaps if we could rest a while?”

  “Rest?”

  “On Ngernpo the day and night are much shorter.”

  “Yes, we have observed this,” she replied.

  “So we need sleep and—”

  “You will be given places to sleep here,” she said. She was then chattering in her own language again, and several servants came walking up to us. “Follow them and they will show you to sleeping rooms. When you have awakened, you will take me to see this spacecraft of yours.”

  “Of course,” I said, before turning back to the others. “She’s putting us up for the night. But she wants to see the spaceship when we wake up, er, tomorrow.”

  McHenry grumbled, like he always did, but the rest of us quietly followed our hosts deeper into the temple to our own
chambers.

  As it turns out, our quarters were simply square rooms devoid of furniture with a large window. I laid down on the floor and tried to get some sleep. All of us quickly found the hard floor and bright lunar light flooding in made sleep impossible.

  After a few hours of this, I had enough and decided to look around a bit. The Chihu did not believe much in decoration. There were no paintings or draperies on any of the walls, only bare rock.

  After several hours of wandering through the place, I found it was even more vast than I had thought. Incised on the walls were more of the alien characters of Chihu writing. I stared at them seemingly forever, hoping they would resolve themselves into something that made sense, but there was no such luck.

  “Ful-tong!” came Nyima’s voice. “Why are you not sleeping?”

  “I wasn’t tired,” I lied. “And I was too curious to sleep. Tell me, Nyima, what does this inscription mean?” Nyima stared at the inscription for only a few seconds before she spoke.

  “It is a proclamation from my fifth-gone father. It says he built this part of the temple, he carved it from solid rock.”

  “Fascinating,” I said. I looked forward to learning more when we returned with the next expedition.

  “Ful-tong, if you are awake, are you ready to show me your spaceship?”

  “What? Yes, of course,” I said, tearing myself away from the inscription.

  Within a half hour, all of the Severn crew were back in the throne room. As we stood there, Nyima shouted to the others of her kind. Quickly, her compatriots took wing and flew out of the temple itself.

  “I am ready to see your spaceship now,” she said.

  “It’s quite some distance from here,” I said, but Nyima was not to be deterred. She walked out of the temple and we could only follow behind her.

  When we stepped outside, we found quite a surprise waiting for us. It looked like a dozen or so Chihu were waiting for us with a vast expanse of some kind of fabric, like sail-cloth. They gestured for us to stand on it. Upon stepping onto it, we discovered that it was stiff like a board, reinforced by means we could not divine. When we stood together atop it, the Chihu took to the air, carrying us with them.