Cogs in Time 2 (The Steamworks Series)

by SJ Davis

  “Hitch, you made it!”

  “Of course, you sounded excited.”

  “Excited doesn’t begin to cover it.” He pushed his hair out of his eyes and pulled a chair over to the epicenter of his quest. “Here, have a seat. Let me lay this all out for you. Do you remember what was on the necklace of our astronaut?”

  “The constellation, Canis Major.”

  “Right, so I have been looking all over from some connection to Canis Major and something, anything. I have tried measurements, tried plotting its stars on the map, anything to draw a connection from the temple site at Cambodia to any point of relevance. For days, I tried everything I could think of, and finally, I decided to what I should have done in the beginning.”

  “What’s that?” Hitch asked, knowing by Pen’s body language he was waiting for him to ask.

  “I looked up.” Pen smiled widely, his excitement growing as he got closer to revealing his secret. “I looked at Canis Major and thought about the mythology and what the ancients saw. He belongs to Orion. Canis Major and Canis Minor are Orion’s hunting dogs. So I started looking at Orion instead, the most recognized constellation in the heavens.”

  Pen carefully pulled a large, very old map with multiple locations plotted on it across the table in front of Hitch. Some of the markers were coins, buttons, but nothing that would damage the yellowing, pre-flare paper.

  “What’s all this?”

  “Instead of trying to make the constellation design show me the locations, I started with the locations. These are just a few of the sites with ties to the Ancient Astronaut theory. Our guy was here,” Pen explained, standing the tip of his pointer finger on the map over the area once known as Cambodia. He moved his finger over the area vaguely above the Middle East and Europe. “What do you see here?”

  “A washer and two buttons, Pen. Tell me what you see,” Hitch answered dryly.

  “Orion’s Belt,” he answered. His smile widened as he watched realization wash over his skeptical friend. “I see three stars, three locations, same pattern. Mintaka is at the Giza pyramids, Alnilam is at Banja Luka in what was Bosnia and Herzegovina, and Stonehenge is skewed to the side just like Alnitak.”

  “Giza and Stonehenge I know, what’s in Banja Luka?”

  “Perfectly carved stone spheres,” Pen answered.

  “Like in Coasta Rica?”

  “Just like them.” They looked at the map together, Hitch beginning to make his own connections as he crossed the Atlantic Ocean. He pointed his mechanical finger to the cufflink marker over Mexico. “The pyramids at Teotihuacan. Bellatrix?”

  Pen nodded in agreement.

  Hitch followed the pattern south. “Betelgeuse. Bolivia.”

  Pen could almost see figurative gears in Hitch’s brain turning.

  A quiet puffing sounded from the older explorer’s steam powered arm. “The ruins of Puma Punku.”

  “And just to prove it all works out, Saiph corresponds to the ruins of the Indus River Valley, right between Harappa and Mohenjo Daro. Rigel is here on Pielinen Island in Finland with its ’jätinkirkot’—giant’s churches. There are several in that area, but none so far inland or isolated on an island,” Pen stated proudly.

  “A church for a gigantic hunter?”

  “That’s right. The pattern even extends out with the stars that form his arm and bow, which could coincide with the numerous locations of the desert southwest of North America. The Native Americans in the region—the Hopi, Anasazi, and others—all believed they had been visited by star people. I haven’t gotten to plotting all that out, because I already know where we need to go.”

  The statement drew Hitch back to the present time and out of his own runaway train of consciousness. “How could you possibly know which one to go to by just looking at a map? There’s no way Exeter will fund an expedition to all these locations.”

  “We aren’t going to all of them. We are going to the place the constellation couldn’t show us.” Pen answered, referring to the graph of Orion in his notes, tapping the open area above the shoulders.

  Hitch looked at the diagram and then cocked his head to look at the map at the same angle. His eyes lit with astonishment, his mouth agape. “The Moai! Easter Island is his head!”

  “Shhh!” an irritated librarian hissed at Hitch’s outburst.

  They huddled down closer to the map, like leprechauns plotting out a plan to guard their gold.“You got it, buddy.” Pride beamed from Pen’s face, knowing he had impressed his mentor. “Our guy in Cambodia didn’t make it to Easter Island, but he wanted us to know who he was. He was the servant of Orion. He was Canis Major, on his way back to his master, back to Easter Island.”

  “Good work, Pen.” Hitch smiled and stuck out his hand to shake with him.

  As suddenly as his elation appeared, it was gone. Reality settled over Pen and he could not even bring himself to look Hitch in the eyes when he spoke. “There’s no way Exeter will fund anything for me, or even let me use the equipment. The last time we spoke was unpleasant.”

  “Don’t worry. You keep doing this—researching, digging for the truth—and I will do the rest,” Hitch reassured in an almost fatherly way. “We are going to see what all those heads are looking at.”

  ***

  The dirigible docks were not where Pen wanted to be at such a late hour, and he wondered why Hitch was so comfortable being there. He decided there was much he didn’t know about his associate, and it was not the time to figure it out. Unsavory men with peering eyes inspected him as he passed, dubiously eyeballing his satchel. He could smell the illegal aromas of bathtub gin and cigarette smoke on their breath and settled in their clothing. His own mouth tasted dry and sour, the tacky flavor of shaky nerves. Finally, he arrived at the correct dock and hastily entered the gondola beneath the craft.

  Inside the cockpit, Hitch and a woman Pen had never met were sipping suspicious looking drinks from beautifully crafted stemware.

  The woman, whose curly red hair had been pulled back into a bun, looked at Pen curiously. Fine curls, too short to be swept up with the rest, framed her face. She wore a top hat and a pair of navigation goggles had been placed around the tall cylinder, resting on the brim. Her corseted waist was unnaturally narrow, and a black and white striped skirt billowed from beneath it, entirely filling the chair.

  “Is this your friend, Peter?”

  Hitch cleared his throat before speaking. He nodded and rose, offering Pen his chair.

  He quickly accepted his offer, feeling a bit faint from his nervousness.

  “Susie, this is Pen Yates. He’s Professor Robert Yates’s son.” Hitch introduced him warmly, so much that it took Pen off guard. “Pen, meet Susan Forge, dirigible pilot extraordinaire.”

  “Hello Pen, good to meet you. Copper Ridge would not be the city is today had it not been for your father,” she said, extending her hand to shake.

  He found it to be surprising rough, grease stains around her nails and in the ridges of her fingerprint, despite being thoroughly washed.

  “Welcome aboard the Harriet Quimby.”

  “Susie has agreed to transport our expedition,” Hitch said proudly.

  Pen nervously looked between him and Susie.

  Hitch understood his friend’s reservations. “It’s alright, Pen. Susie is a friend. We can trust her.”

  “But how will we get our gear through customs, allowing we can get it out from under Exeter’s nose to begin with?”

  “I’m afraid Peter has put a bit too much shine on me and my…profession,” Susan said, pausing to finish her drink in two gulps. “Pen, I’m a smuggler, plain and simple. I transport hooch out of the district, damn good at it, too. So if you need to get something out of Copper Ridge without anyone knowing it, you’ve come to the right place.”

  “Hitch, I don’t know about this. I want to get to Easter Island, but I don’t know if I want to risk going to prison to do it. What if we get caught? What if they search the cargo? What if…”

/>   “Susie has also agreed to help fund the trip,” Hitch interrupted.

  “When do we leave?” Pen said with a suddenly brighter tone.

  ***

  Pen nervously watched from the promenade deck, waiting to set sail. Customs officials were in the cargo area, checking their clipboards full of lists.

  When the Harriet had been a passenger ship, the cargo bay area was divided into ten passenger cabins. As the ships became larger, the passengers’ demands soon surpassed what the smallish ship was able to accommodate. Susie had bought her for a song and gave her a name to be proud of.

  With all the heavy, unnecessary luxury removed, she had found an inexpensive means of delivering small shipments of her “all purpose cleaner” to several districts surrounding Copper Ridge. She shipped the hooch in long, flat bottles in crates with false bottoms, with several legitimate bottles of Susie’s Super Shine on top. The manufacture and sale of the cleaner was honest work, the illegal booze was simply a more lucrative side business.

  Pen chewed at his thumbnail, hoping the officials didn’t look too closely.

  After what felt like years, he felt the moorings release the ship from the dock, indicating they had passed inspection and their voyage had begun. Following Susie’s itinerary, it would take about a week to get to the South American coastline, stopping at a handful of ports along the way to handle ‘business’ then they would set out for Easter Island.

  Pen settled himself in one of the aluminum framed chairs near the bank of windows, watching the steamstacks of Copper Ridge slowly disappear in the predawn sky. He nervously squirmed in his seat, the leather upholstery creaking beneath him, the sound giving voice to his groaning nerves. He had never been so anxious setting out on an expedition, never had so much weight been on his shoulders.

  He took a leather bound journal from his satchel and unbuckled the overlapping cover. Pages upon pages of notes, sketches, calculations, and supply lists recited the hours he had spent researching and planning. He hoped he was prepared, and he and Hitch had been able to slip everything they would need out of the University. There was no turning back now, no last minute chances. Pen knew with a dreadful certainty if he failed at Easter Island, it would be the last expedition that he, or Hitch, would ever undertake. Both of their careers would be ruined, they’d be expelled from their positions at the University, and the truth that he knew to be fact would forever remain trapped within legend and forgotten mythology.

  ***

  A week and one day after leaving Copper Ridge, the Harriet circled the remote landmass that was their destination, quietly soaring over the island like a gigantic sea bird. Pen and Hitch had joined Susie in the gondola. From that panoramic vantage point, they were able to spot several of the stoic moai still guarding their posts, even though their human charges had been forced to leave them shortly after the flare, when the tourists stopped visiting.

  The prevailing wind constantly sweeping across the island diminished slightly as they hovered over the northwest coast, near what was once the island’s largest modern city, Hanga Roa.

  “Alrighty, gentlemen, you should hold on to something,” Susie said with a smile. A mischievous glint in her eye was visible through her aviator goggles.

  Hitch nearly leapt into the co-pilot seat, and Pen grabbed hold of the back, white knuckled.

  She grabbed the level by the side of her seat and pushed it forward. Almost instantly, the entire dirigible shuttered as multiple mooring lines shot from the bottom of the gondola like torpedoes. Each line was tipped with long, stake-like probes, attached to ropes uncoiling behind them like contrails. The Harriet bobbed like a cork as the projectiles sank into the volcanic soil.

  After giving her a moment to settle, Susie squeezed the grip on the handle and pulled the lever back as far as it would go. The undeniable sound of gears turning filled the small space, clicking and clattering, as the entire ship began to tap to the beat. As the gears turned, the ropes ratcheted back into the structure, pulling the craft slowly and evenly to the ground. After only a few minutes, the petite wheels of the landing gears touched down, and the rhythmic cogs stopped. “You have arrived at your destination.”

  Pen and Hitch simultaneously sighed with relief and walked to the back wall of the gondola, unfolding the small table from its niche. A topographical map of the island had been customized with the locations of moai, Rapa Nui ruins and petroglyphs, and outlines of the expansive network of lava tubes and caves that snaked beneath the surface. Pen had wagered that the secret to save their careers was somewhere on the small island.

  “I know you’re raring to get out there, but let’s not be too hasty. Tonight, we should focus on planning, have some dinner, and get a good night’s sleep,” Hitch recommended. “Where do you think we should start looking?”

  Pen pondered the maps, notes, and graphs. The entire sixty-three square miles of island was an archeological site. They were likely to find something of interest no matter where they looked, but instead of searching for clues to the rich and largely forgotten history of Rapa Nui, Pen was looking for something else.

  What had brought the original settlers to the island in the first place, centuries ago? What had they witnessed in the expanse of perfect sky that was powerful enough to inspire them to leave their home, take up canoes, and cross open ocean to get a better look? What had driven the Rapa Nui people to build the gigantic moai? Was it to honor ancestors as once believed, or was there another explanation? Perhaps, did they want someone to be able to see, without a doubt, that they were not gazing at the sea, but watching the heavens, waiting for the return of those who had inspired the first humans to come to the island?

  That was what he needed to find.

  “Any clues on the surface are probably long gone by now, lost in time, but we still may be able to find something underground. All caves were considered sacred, so if they had something precious to protect, to preserve, or hide, that’s where they would have kept it.”

  “But which one? We could spend months on this island, but we just don’t have that kind of time. If we aren’t back in a couple weeks, people will start to notice all this equipment is missing, just like us. Exeter will have us hanging by our bollocks as soon as we dock in Copper Ridge.”

  Pen wracked his brain, looking for the connection, the direction. He was finally there, but was still possibly miles away from what he sought.

  “I don’t know…” Pen said reluctantly. “I don’t know if the maps I have of the lava tubes and caves are accurate, and what if what we are searching for isn’t even in a cave? What if it was cast into the sea? What if it is in the bottom of a flooded caldera? What if it was never here to begin with?”

  Hitch pursed his lips and listened as Pen sank into an abyss of self-doubt. He inhaled deeply, took Pen by the shoulders, and looked him dead in the eye. He swallowed hard. “Are you done?”

  “Yeah, I guess…”

  “Good, because I didn’t risk my entire career to get here, just to watch you fold up and cry like a baby.”

  “I wasn’t crying, I’m just concerned—” Pen tried to continue, but Hitch thought otherwise.

  “Like a little screaming baby with a dirty nappy.

  “I—”

  “A cranky, little bitty, sleepy baby,” Hitch said in a small, rhythmic voice, one might use to soothe an infant, or perhaps a dog.

  “Alright! That’s enough!” His dander finally up. He looked at the map with determination, focused. “We will go check out the caves first, see if we can find anything.”

  “That sounds like a plan,” Hitch said with a smile. He pinched Pen’s cheek like an overzealous grandmother.

  “Don’t touch me,” Pen mumbled and returned his focus to his notes. “Ya, creepy old man.”

  ***

  Five days after the Harriet landed on Easter Island, Pen laid in his small, claustrophobic pup tent with his hands covering his face. The alarm clock next to his head was ringing like a battering ram inside his
brain. Fumbling around until he could get hold of it, he turned it off. He lay for a moment longer, drew in a deep breath of salty air and let it go. Crawling out, he slowly stood and stretched his back, before quickly pulling up stakes and rolling up the tent. He would not be using it another night. They were returning to the dirigible, empty handed.

  The constant wind blew his thick, wavy hair into his eyes. As he wiped away the messy strands and sleep, he followed the sound of the puttering idle of Susie’s modified motorcycle cart. Hitch and Susie leaned against the cart, shoulder to shoulder, as they loaded equipment. In the dim light of dawn, Pen caught a glimpse of their intertwined fingers before they noticed his approach and created distance between them. He dropped his head and pretended that he didn’t see their moment of affection.

  “Ready to go?” Susie shouted, pulling her goggles down before putting on her helmet, tucking in a few locks of unruly auburn hair.

  Hitch climbed up into the cart, mechanical leg first, and carefully checked the equipment before settling in for the ride.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be, Susie.” He shouted before dragging himself into the back.

  Unable to look Hitch in the eyes, he checked his pack one last time, making sure he had not forgotten anything. His precious bundle of brushes, picks, trowels, and other assorted implements of his trade were on the very top. Hitch had already loaded the camera gear, lanterns, and two cases of the all important, all purpose crawlers.

  Leaning across the crates of gear behind Susie, he shouted, “Thank you, again. I’m sorry I dragged you out here for nothing.”

  “I’m glad I came, Pen. Don’t apologize,” she shouted back as she leaned toward the handlebars and revved the motor. “Any hey, we’re not in the air yet, might still find something.”

  Loose gravel and uprooted grass spun out from behind her wheels as Susie shot away from their abandoned camp. The overgrown grass was tall, but the roads where still discernible. Pen gazed out across the terrain, watching it speed past him. The moai silently stood guard, keeping their secrets, and Pen wished they could speak and reveal what was hidden there.