by John Mierau
Lieutenant Burns gasped. A dozen or more walkers shook the boardwalk as they carried wooden crates from stockpiles down onto the rock floor of the cavern, and beyond…into a brightly lit room, where the ocean should be.
These were smaller than the war machines that had led the Invader slaughter: the tallest, only three times the height of a man, but otherwise they looked the same. Iridescent metal clam-shaped cockpit and a small mess of metallic grasping tentacles beneath. There were fewer weaponry mounted front and back of the cockpits. In place of the heavier cannon, two clusters of long, segmented tentacles writhed below the clam-shape cockpit. All the walkers traversed the steps and uneven rock floor with disturbing speed, their tentacles quickly transferring the crates and canvas sacks piled on the boardwalk into the white room.
Lieutenant-Colonel Merrie jogged down the stairs from the roof to bark orders to the press of soldiers and those few in civilian dress. His orders were mirrored by the soldiers to prod the mob forward into the impossible room: a massive, brightly lit room, with curving walls in all the metallic hues the Invaders used.
“If you please, Lieutenant Jonas,” the Lieutenant-Colonel called out without turning, and Jonas directed their small group to grab what they could from the pile and move forward.
Elsewhere in the tunnel, a brace of pistol shout sounded. Screams followed.
Marcus and Hobe traded looks, and each grabbed a rope handle of a long wooden crate on the floor before them. They made their way down the stairs. The scene before them was nothing new to them. Hobe gestured with his chin to where Lieutenant Burns hesitated just ahead of them, staring all around the edges of the tunnel.
With one foot, Burns cautiously prodded the hard green and yellow foam that bubbled all around the edges of the cavern.
“It’s like a resin,” Marcus called out. “Seals the water out where the ship meets the tunnel.”
Owen pointed ahead. Marcus didn’t need to ask what amazed him. He was sure he knew. It wasn’t how the lights seemed to emanate from inside brilliant metal columns. It wasn’t the fact the room could swallow a cathedral. It wasn’t even the strange smells wafting into the tunnel on a light breeze, replacing the light mustiness that cloaked everything here beneath the ocean with the smell of cinnamon.
No, it was what hung from the ceiling, high above.
Marcus spared a glance skyward, and saw again a forest of metal legs and tentacles. More killing machines than he could count slumbered above their heads, waiting for silent signal to walk, attack, kill.
His mind conjured a whisper of their soulless battle cry, even though he’d come to grips with the sight before him months before.
He could understand why the stalwart lieutenant Burns was frozen in place.
More soldiers shouldered roughly past. The sound of a crackling fire reached his ears. Somewhere in the shadows, the flames loosed by the battle now feasted on the boardwalk.
“There’s no going back, Owen,” Marcus whispered. He waited for a response, but Burns just stared at him, mouth open. “You asked what kind of ship. Well, here you are.”
Another explosion lit up the tunnel. Orange flame showed a gout of black smoke rising into the air, only a few buildings distant. A phalanx of officers appeared at the far end of the hallway Marcus and friends had just come through, shouting, whistles blaring. The sounds of human and Invader rifle fire grew ever closer behind them.
“Get on the bloody boat!” Lieutenant Jonas roared, as he raced back out to the dock, a fresh rifle in his hands.
Marcus pushed Owen roughly between shoulders.
Burns got on the damned boat.
#
The air was split by a klaxon. Marcus had heard the machine-made sound before, but never filling a room this large. Dozens of people huddled to either side of the entry, holding hands to their ears. More soldiers backed in, weapons raised, shouting in warning.
The Pirates had found them.
The last line of soldiers fired in a line as they retreated into the ship. Energy beams cut into them, falling one soldier and touching off explosions on the bright deck.
As the last soldier crossed past the bubbled foam joining the ship to the cavern, silver-white light flared across the opening. The hairs on Marcus’s arms stood up as a massive static electric charge flooded the room - a sign, along with the flare, that a massive force wall had been engaged.
Experienced green and brown-helmeted soldiers raced back into the field of fire to aid their fallen comrades, oblivious to the multi-colored blasts painting the invisible wall across the entryway, and making several white-hat soldiers jump or scream. Marcus didn’t share their fear: he knew nothing short of a sustained blast from the cannon he’d put on Pegasus could get through that field.
A rumble was building in the bowels of the ship, and somehow Marcus doubted the pirates would have the time to mount such an assault.
Sure enough, the blasts stopped almost immediately after the force wall was raised. A ragged cheer grew as the pirates showed their backside, racing back down the boardwalk and out of sight.
“In quite a hurry,” Hobe panted beside him.
Marcus nodded. “I’ve got a good idea why.”
A white metal door shot through with light green and lavender began to descend. Before it was halfway to the deck, the ship gave a shudder, and pulled away from the tunnel wall.
All assembled grew silent, watching in awe. Water, under the pressure of eighty fathoms, jetted into the tunnel. In the blink of an eye, white, raging spray scoured the tunnel.
Nothing could survive that, Marcus knew. Nothing.
Marcus didn’t feel the tug on his arm at first. “Marcus,” Doctor Grace said again, quietly. “They would have killed every one of us if they had the chance.”
He nodded. What were a few pirates compared to the dozens of lives saved in this room?
As you sow, so shall you reap.
It was as close to a prayer for the souls of the pirates as he could manage.
“This way,” Dr. Grace said, and Marcus let himself be led backwards through the stunned crowd.
A moment later, doors closed before his eyes. Marcus looked around: he was in a bubble shape, almost ten feet high. He realized it was a lift. Hobe and Dr. Grace were with him.
Hobe ran shaky fingers over his mouth. “Hell of a thing.”
“Not compared to the Invasion,” Marcus heard himself say. “A million people killed by those things just in London. Isn’t that right, doc?”
Dr. Grace drew a breath. “Close enough.”
All were silent for a while.
“Where are we going?” Hobe finally asked.
“The bridge. I want to know if…”
Marcus jerked upright. “You think they’re starting the project… right now?”
The Doctor opened his mouth in reply, just as everyone’s stomaches lurched. The lift had stopped.
The door flashed open. A gust of wind blew in, dispelling the last of the smoke. The too-sweet scent of wild honey and cinnamon instantly filled his nostrils.
He’d caught whiffs of the scent before, just as jarringly pleasant when leaking out of Invader suits or walking machines.
Another large, circular room awaited them, not quite on the order of a west-end theater as the first room was but still impressive. It was a match in size to the lobby of a grand hotel like the Ritz-Carlton, complete with metallic green pillars and a number of raised bubbles around a light pool in the center.
A dozen soldiers and civilians stood silently, gathered around the ‘bubbles’: two and three men sat in each, hands dancing over controls. In the center of the room a light pool like the one in the Dr’s laboratory - but the size of a building - swam in mid-air. It was filled with a gray haze, some sort of static or interference. Or at least, so Marcus thought at first.
“What the hell-“ Hobe began and then made a gagging sound. Marcus, too, felt a second of vertigo before he could process what the light pool really showed.
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“My Aunt Sally!” gasped the Doctor.
That amused Marcus. Usually Dr. Grace was the first to grasp the strange, the unusual. The view in the pool exploded with the light of day, and the surging gray field dropped quickly away, to show something like the view a man might have, treading neck deep in water and facing crashing waves.
Churning water had filled the light pool. Now that it was gone, the view wasn’t much different from standing at the front of a boat making good speed through the water.
Of course, from the bow of a ship, the waves don’t get smaller. The perspective shifted impossibly fast, but Marcus’s mind constructed a fancy to help him hang on: now he was a bird, soaring high above the water on the wind.
This sky-ship, bigger than a building, had risen in minutes through the depths of the channel….And now it flew through the air.
“Jesus, Mary, Mother-“ Hobe began.
“-And Joseph, yes, Mr. Martin, we know!’ Dr. Grace finished for him, good natured teasing coloring his tone. “In fact that’s a fitting name for our vessel: a mother-ship.” His tone soured, then. “This is the one that ferried the creatures and machines to London. But it’s too soon to launch her! All my staff’s back in Folkestone, for the love of—” The Doctor of Science strode forward, towards the soldiers seated in the pedestals.
“You men!” His voice boomed in the great room. “Take me to your leader!”
“What is it, Dr. Grace, we’re quite busy!”
Marcus glowered silently at Lieutenant-Colonel Merrie, as he appeared from behind one of the bubbles.
“Good grief, don’t tell me Vicky put a soldier in charge. The project is underway, isn’t it?”
“How dare you…!” Merrie blustered. “Queen Victoria has graced Lord Timbury with command. Not I, thank the lord. I saw him escorted aboard with the other American just before you.”
Marcus’s eyes narrowed. “What American?”
“You’re going to, uh…“ Hobe’s finger made the familiar rising corkscrew motion, but the whistle died on your lips when Merrie stabbed a finger at him.
“Hold your tongue!” Merrie’s other hand fell to the pommel of his sword. “Your betters are speaking.”
Hobe’s eyes narrowed but Marcus stepped on his foot, dragging his attention. He shook his head and glared. For once, Hobe stayed quiet.
“Why did Barton have to get himself killed, I don’t have time to train you too!” Dr. Grace shouted. “It’s too soon! We need Hale here, he’s the one that proved where the rocks were coming from. And Lassell, if you’ve found him! Good God, man, we still don’t know half what we need, for us to be bound for Selene!”
They’d found out where the rocks were coming from? That was news to Marcus. And where on Earth was Selene? Marcus wondered… then froze.
Oh, he thought, struck dumb.
Selene.
“As military leader of this expedition, I have set the plan to action. If we are to stop the Blitz, then we cannot turn back, for any reason!”
“Why, because some pirates snuck into the Mouse-hole? A tragedy I grant you, but-“
The ship shuddered.
The view on in the light-pool spun crazily, then settled on another view of the Channel. Now Marcus could make out land. England or France, he couldn’t tell. He stopped looking for markers when he saw something large hanging in the air. The view wavered again, and the ‘something’ hanging in the air exploded in size to fill the light-pool to the edges, then shrank slightly.
A sky-ship, like those ones Marcus had fought in the Harbor.
No, he realized, as four, then six, then nine energy beams raced out of the ship towards the camera. The floor beneath him shook hard a moment later, and Marcus fell on his backside, understanding both cause and effect.
‘Someone fire back!” Merrie was screaming again. Confusion reigned as Marcus sat still and puzzled things through.
“That is why we’re committed, Doctor!”
In the light pool, sunlight gleamed across high towers and metallic blue, purple and green domes growing above the wings of the sky-ship. A small cloud spilled into the air before what Marcus realized was a gigantic ship. And the cloud? Small shapes which exploded in size, and resolved themselves into deadly sky-ships like the ones Marcus had battled in the harbor.
The pirates commanded a mother-ship of their own, and it was coming for them.
#
Marcus stared at the pirate ship on the screen, and felt awe overtake his fear.
The colors and lines of the ship were stunning… and the size! His mind could grasp it, now, and the ship was almost the size of London! His thoughts felt dull and simple as he broke down what he saw: iridescent domes piled upon each other, like a mountain of bubbles a child might blow in a dish. Spheres and cylinders decorating the sides. All the lines were smooth and folded in upon itself, as if it were made of molded clay and blown glass, on a scale only gods could muster.
“You can’t seriously expect us to succeed like this!” raged Dr. Grace. “Anyone with more than half a brain is back in Folkestone! We need a shakedown cruise… do we even have enough food and water? This may take days, weeks!”
“Her Majesty has run out of time, Doctor!” Merrie raged back. “The Blitz is bludgeoning us to death, and what’s left, they take!” He whipped a finger towards the screen, just as the image wavered again. “Keep her in view, damn all!”
Hobe ran toward the closest pedestal.
Merrie half-drew his sword. “Stand back, you!”
“Let him work, Merrie!” Dr. Grace shouted Merrie down quickly. “He’s rated on these machines, and your soldiers obviously aren’t! He should have been on my team all along!”
Merrie ignored the Doctor and circled in front of Hobe—just as another beam struck the ship.
Both men’s arms shot out as the deck tilted. “Let me through,” Hobe barked, “unless you want that thing down our throats!”
With a grunt of anger, Merrie stepped to the side. Hobe ran past.
Marcus watched him leap atop the pedestal and shoo a pale-faced boy out of a human-shaped wicker seat jury-rigged over an Invader-shaped one. The boy gratefully abandoned his post. Marcus followed Doctor Grace to the next-closest bubble.
Dr. Grace snapped his fingers. “Out!” The two seats occupied by boy-faced soldiers were quickly vacated. Marcus hauled himself onto the bubble and slipped into one of the seats, looking over the console. A small light pool clung to the top of a metal console much like the ones he had experimented with before his exile. He scrolled quickly through the icons on the screen.
Good, he thought, licking sweat off his lips. No bloody words, just the pictures. I can help.
One of them icons Marcus recognized with a smile. Oh, I can more than help!
With a succession of quick taps, he brought one of the mother-ship’s gun batteries online. With more deft taps he tasked them with destroying the small ships quickly looming larger in the display.
Bright flashes of light immediately began thinning out the attacking ships.
“Rotten luck the buggers attacked us just when all Vicky’s brains were seduced by a fancy meal and a soft bed,” Grace muttered.
Chilled, Marcus was sure it was no sort of luck at all.
“And damn fine luck you got yourself caught,” Grace went on. “With you two helping, I might just get us where we’re going.”
Merrie’s head and shoulders appeared at the side of the pedestal. “Doctor,” he said testily, “I thought this was the mother-ship!”
“Our fleets have more than one capital ship, why wouldn’t theirs? Do shut up, Merrie!” Grace snapped, his fingers sliding across words and accessing systems at his own chair. “Ha!” he shouted in victory, waved his fingers through a selection of images in the light pool, then slapped his fist through a red hexagonal shape. The ship lurched again.
“Makes sense, when you’re swimming across an ocean of stars.” Grace cackled, as the enemy ships on the display quick
ly shrunk in size. Marcus checked, and no, Hobe hadn’t changed the camera view: he realized that their mothership was climbing ever faster into the sky.
Marcus leaned forward in his seat, staring hard at the pirate ship. Compared to the new speed they made up and away, their foe seemed to be standing still.
“Goodbye, Pirates!” the Doctor roared.
A cheer rippled through the crowd. Marcus let out a gasp of relief, and reached across to shake the Doctor’s hand.
“It was nothing,” Dr. Grace said modestly, his grandiose gestures and speech abandoned for the moment. “I didn’t build the ship, and to be honest it took me too damn long to figure out how to engage her—her mainsail, so to speak. And, without their mains, the Pirates will take a dog’s age to catch up to us!”
Marcus leaned back in his seat, a cold wave coming over him. “You only just figured out how to fly the ship?” He felt his fingers clamping over the arms of his chair of their own accord.
“The big engines, yes,” Grace shrugged. “Well. I was pretty sure. Hard to test on the bottom of the Channel, you know!”
Marcus considered the sabotage in the Harbor, the surprise attacks in the Mouse-hole, and this new bit of news, the Doctor’s recent break-through in mastering the mother-ship’s mains.
The timing of the attack had been exceedingly perfect.
Had any of the pirates survived their assault? Were they aboard-ship with them even now, posing as loyal members of the Project? More importantly: what could Marcus, a black man with no standing, and little respect in the eyes of Lieutenant-Colonel Merrie, do about it?
He thought back to Merrie’s words. “Doctor, who’s this other American with Lord Timbury?”
“Blast!” Grace pouted, staring at his nails now the emergency was past. “There’d better be a nail file somewhere on this boat!”
“Doctor?” Marcus prompted.
“Hm, what?” Grace looked up, appearing disoriented for a moment, then snapping his eyes to Marcus. “Oh, yes. Your ambassador, dear boy. It seems he was at Lord Timbury’s estate during the fall of London. Missed all the fun.” Grace lifted his hand and rubbed at a broken nail. “The Alliance treaties got him a seat at the table. Now the pirate’s attack has, well, burned down the table, so…” he trailed off, looking around in embarrassment before biting the broken nail.
