Leviathans in the Clouds

by David Parish-Whittaker

  “Another crutch dependent on nature!” Forbes-Hamilton was developing a decidedly pink cast to his face. “I hear just that from the unimaginative fools back in the naval yards. Tell me, should we sail the seas grasping at logs like Polynesian savages? Why then do we take our cues from the savages of Mars?”

  “We can learn many things from savages, as you call them,” said Annabelle with an excess of sweetness in her voice. Nathanial knew that meant trouble.

  “Given your feelings, sir,” Nathanial interjected, “one has to wonder what on Earth—or Venus—these are doing aboard your inestimable airship.”

  Forbes-Hamilton gave him a suspicious look, then relaxed. “Ah, well, I rely on funding from those fools I mentioned, and they feel that these are an effective method of descent from the airship. They claim my descender balloons are all too visible for covert operations such as yours.”

  “Might I suggest the possibility of a ladder?” asked Arnaud. “It is a more proven device, in my opinion.”

  “Well, under normal circumstances, but not on covert missions,” said Forbes-Hamilton. “I’m going to take this ship down into the clouds, you see. We’ll be well hidden there. Can’t get too close to the ground, one might get spotted.”

  “Or crash into a plateau!” protested Nathanial. “You’re really planning on relying on aught but dead reckoning for navigation?”

  “Emphasising the word ‘dead’, I think,” said Arnaud. “I am in agreement with my friend on this. There is the danger of Germans finding us, but I dislike the danger of not knowing where one is even more. Especially when one considers the part of the plan that involves us playing at being birds.”

  “Do you think I haven’t thought all these things out?” Forbes-Hamilton said. “Since we wouldn’t be able to use visual reference, I devised what I call an inertial navigation system. It relies upon nothing more than measuring acceleration and rotation, then uses those inputs to ascertain the spatial displacement of the reference system. Buggers me why I didn’t figure out something so obvious sooner. Was the work of nothing to make the prototype. I’ve already tested and used it out on those shuttle balloons, in fact.”

  “Lose anyone in the process of testing?” Nathanial asked. To his chagrin, he realised he’d never asked about how a windowless balloon had managed to find the Aeronaut. He’d been too preoccupied with his queasy stomach. Among other things.

  But Forbes-Hamilton wasn’t listening. “Of course, once again Her Majesty’s finest failed to trust me completely and insisted on a backup system. So I had to install a single man balloon I can send up to take a sextant shot should my lovely INS fail me.”

  “Surely a balloon doesn’t weigh that much,” Arnaud said. “Less than nothing, I suppose one might say. Is that not a feature of their design?”

  “It’s their lack of faith that disturbs me,” Forbes-Hamilton said.

  “Oh, stop bickering,” Annabelle said, walking haltingly along a catwalk to the nearest glider. She ran her hand over a lacquered wing. “Whatever you say, I think these are amazing devices. Will they really allow us to fly like birds?”

  “Not precisely,” said Forbes-Hamilton. “Glide like the soaring birds, yes. But Lilienthal wasn’t clever enough to actually get the wings to flap. Would have required actual mechanical ingenuity, I suppose. Haven’t met him myself, but I get the impression he’s rather more of the broody Goethe sort of German, not the proper Nietzsche sort who might actually get things done. More prone towards pining over a flower than invading a country, one might say.”

  Annabelle studied the craft. The fabric was stretched tightly over delicately carved spruce ribs that splayed out like a fan. Resting her palm on the wing, she could feel it vibrate as Forbes-Hamilton talked. With each stray breeze in the hangar, it pressed itself against her like a dog straining at his lead.

  “Poet or not, I think he’s an artist,” Annabelle said. “It seems almost alive.”

  “Cooling corpses are almost alive,” Forbes-Hamilton said. “But their aerodynamic attributes are less than satisfactory.”

  “You’re impossible,” Annabelle said, turning back to examine the glider. She could see control cables that led to a bar hanging in front of the seat, but she couldn’t quite decipher how it worked. Presumably, one moved the bar back and forth like the tiller of a flyer, but she wasn’t about to assume anything. Forbes-Hamilton seemed just the sort to reverse the linkages in the name of improvement.

  “Besides impossible,” Nathanial said, “you’re being altogether too reticent. I rather get the impression that you know more about this mission than we do.”

  “D’accord,” said Arnaud. “You have this plan already for us to go flying in these? I am wondering when we begin to plan for ourselves. And I am wondering also why all this was prepared for us when in truth we have just arrived here.” He leaned against the gantry rail next to Forbes-Hamilton. “I think you need to be more…forthcoming? Is that the word, mon ami?”

  “Exactament,” Nathanial said. He attempted to cast an intimidating frown in Forbes-Hamilton’s direction.

  “Oh, fine,” said Forbes-Hamilton. “I received my orders to go forth to this benighted location over a month ago. Apparently, Whitehall’s been sniffing around this area you’re all hot and bothered about. It really has naught to do with you or any of your mineral snagging ways.”

  “What, then?” Nathanial asked.

  “Damn me if I know. I pressed old Jericho on the matter after he relayed the Admiralty’s marching orders to me. Told me he hadn’t a blessed clue. And I wouldn’t be surprised if the powers that be don’t, either. The Krauts are pushing into the middle of blessed nowhere, and no doubt they’ve their reasons. But they couldn’t just send in the usual members of the Thin Red Line to find out what was what. International incidents in the making, don’t you know.”

  “I would have liked to have Jericho along, actually,” Nathanial said. “Good fellow, and truthfully, I’ve been thinking we could use a military man.” He looked embarrassed. “We seem to find ourselves in scraps with distressing regularity.”

  Forbes-Hamilton nodded. “So I remember. But again, that’s exactly what the Admiralty wanted to avoid. They wanted this to be a civilian only operation.” He sighed. “Do miss Giles. Bit rough out here on my own.”

  “You’ve your lizard-man friend, don’t you?” Annabelle asked. “I mean to say, at least you’ve someone to talk to, however odd.”

  “Thymon? Oh, yes, he’s still running about with me. You’re right, miss, he is a fair good listener. Far more intelligent than you might guess, once you get past his appearance and what passes for his speech. Helped with some of the cabin designs, in fact.”

  “Erm, yes,” Nathanial said, trying not to let his horror show. He hadn’t fallen through the flooring yet, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a future possibility. “Haven’t seen him yet.”

  “You will, soon enough. He’s the one you’ll be meeting on the ground. Once he finds a suitable enough landing zone, he’ll be firing off a signal flare for us. He’s rather good at the reconnoitring business. For one, it’s easy enough for a lizard-man to stroll about in German territory. It’s not as if they can tell one tribe from another. I barely can, myself, and I’ve been working with the fellows for a year now.”

  “That’s it?” Nathanial asked. “The only help we’re getting is a ride in these…devices? That and an admittedly intelligent lizard-man for a guide?”

  “Afraid so. Again, they don’t want any military men on this mission.”

  So that was it, Nathanial realised. That was the real reason Folkard wasn’t here. His teeth clenched with irritation. He should have been told what was going on. But then it wouldn’t have seemed as if the captain trusted Nathanial enough to be on his own, instead of being forced to stay behind due to a direct order. And that would have undercut Nathanial’s confidence. Confidence that a leader of an expedition needed.

  And perhaps, confidence that Folkard wasn’t sure
Nathanial had. Things hadn’t changed that much from the day they’d met, after all. Folkard was still happy to manipulate and test Nathanial. Perhaps the captain thought it necessary. After what had occurred in London, who could blame him? Or perhaps it simply amused him.

  Probably both, Nathanial decided. Come to think of it, it wouldn’t surprise Nathanial if Folkard had known about the need to fly these gliders. It was just the sort of “test” that Folkard seemed altogether too fond of.

  “Fine,” said Nathanial. “Just fine. We’ll do our level best not to look like an invading force. Hard not to be taken for a spy, even so.”

  “I’d avoid being seen,” Forbes-Hamilton said helpfully. “The Krauts might just decide that they’d need to bundle you off for a bit of a chat.”

  “I hope that’s not what happened to Collins.”

  “Eh? No, they knew he was around, of that I’m certain. He’s hard to miss. Rather like the loud fellow at a conference who corners you with his latest theories on mushrooms. He just had the advantage of being enough of a certified fruit bat that no one would have supposed him to be a spy.”

  “But he still disappeared.”

  “Quite,” said Forbes-Hamilton, absently adjusting a tensioning cable. “There. Didn’t feel up to having the catwalk collapse on us. I’ve no desire to join you in the swamp, and I suppose you’d prefer a more controlled descent, eh?”

  “So, these flying things…” Arnaud said.

  “Gliding. Please be precise.” Forbes-Hamilton stared at the gliders with the look of a cat owner discovering his beloved moggy had left a gift on the bedroom floor. “As I said, an idea foisted on me by my backers. In this case, the agents of our dear queen who were more than concerned about darling Neddie. I was told I’d be meeting a special task group that was trained to fly these things, infiltrate once on the ground, impersonate German workers and shoot things should the impersonation fall through.”

  “That’s certainly not us,” Nathanial said.

  Forbes-Hamilton waved an indifferent hand. “Quite obviously. Please don’t bother asking me the details of my communication, but I’m told you’ll be taking that esteemed group’s place. So, you’ll have a contact on the ground and all that. This little mission is a good month in the planning, you see.”

  “Now, see here,” said Nathanial, “we had no idea we were traipsing into a war zone. We’re scientists!”

  “And Annabelle,” pointed out Arnaud. “But how will we keep her from this fray? I’ve heard the tales of her previous assaults upon the local fauna with her little bow and arrow. She will be putting on the war paint and screaming battle cries before we can so much as say Guten Tag.”

  “I’m right over here, monsieur,” Annabelle said. “Your teasing to the contrary, I’ve no desire to be shot at.”

  “Oh, do calm down,” Forbes-Hamilton said. “There is no war zone. But there was concern that, infiltration skills notwithstanding, there was still the possibility of discovery and subsequent derring-do. Unlike our young lady over there, the special operations lads haven’t always the common sense to restrain themselves. Always hoping some latter day Tennyson might immortalise them in verse, I imagine.”

  “True. As you say, we’re less likely to be problematic,” Nathanial said with a significant glance at Annabelle.

  “And should you be captured, you’ve a perfect cover story. You were simply looking for your precious minerals.”

  “Story?” said Arnaud. “That is the reason for why we are here.”

  “The truth doesn’t hurt, I suppose,” said Forbes-Hamilton.

  “Not always,” said Nathanial.

  Chapter Six

  1.

  “I have to admit that these things are safe enough to fly,” said Forbes-Hamilton as he helped Annabelle into the glider, spitting out a few cursory instructions. “Mind you, I can’t guarantee the landing. Just be sure to lift your legs up before landing and let the thing crash into the mud. Thoroughly inelegant design. For pity’s sake, the poor pilot sits like some toddler on a swing, legs all a-dangle.”

  “I’ve always dreamed of flying.”

  “My dear girl,” he said as he performed a last check of the flight control rigging, “you’re already flying. That isn’t the ground below us, at least not for another thousand feet.” He walked over to the hangar wall and pulled a largish lever. Warm, damp wind poured into the room, making the gliders tug against their moorings.

  “Perhaps,” Annabelle said grabbing onto the control bar. “But there’s a certain elegance in doing things the same way Nature does. Perhaps there’s a reason there are no floating animals.”

  Forbes-Hamilton stepped back from the gantry holding the gliders. “As you like. Say hello to Nature for me, should you have a chance. Plenty of it down there.” He turned to stare through a mounted spyglass into the distance.

  “There!” he shouted. “Good old Thymon came through, once again. Flare just slightly off the starboard bow, estimated two miles. Should be visible for you in a minute or so, just fly straight. No aerial hi-jinks, if you please.”

  “None forthcoming!” Nathanial shouted over the wind.

  “Right,” said Forbes-Hamilton. “Best of luck and all that. Ready, steady, here you go!” With that, he turned the release crank.

  Annabelle looked down. The floor of the hangar opened like a bay door, providing a clear view of the thick tendrils of clouds that swirled about the Aeronaut like smoke pouring out the nostrils of a cigar fancier.

  There was a moment of stillness as the gliders dropped. Annabelle’s stomach lurched upwards to threaten her teeth, but it was an oddly exhilarating feeling, rather like floating about in space. Keeping in mind Forbes-Hamilton’s instructions, she held the control bar tightly to her chest. Ahead, she could see Nathanial and Arnaud diving alongside each other like a pair of pelicans after fish.

  The glider seemed happy enough to fly along without too much control input. A good thing, she reflected, as her friends were barely visible in cloud, what with the dark mists whipping around them. Moisture beaded on the wings of the glider, turning into little rivulets that sprayed behind her. But at least it was warm, unlike the clouds she was accustomed to back home.

  When she was a young girl, she remembered thinking that clouds would feel like cotton balls. She’d made the unfortunate mistake of telling her Uncle Cyrus that, and in his customary way, he launched into an impromptu lecture about the convective cycle of moisture and the adiabatic cooling. Most of it went over her eight year old head, but she didn’t misunderstand what he said next.

  “Won’t have my niece growing up as ignorant as the local ploughboys.” He shook his head sadly. “Honestly, did your papa tell you that?”

  “No, Uncle. Just my own notion, I suppose.” Annabelle felt tears welling. “I’m so stupid.”

  “No!” he said with a vehemence that frightened her. “You were simply making hypotheses in the absence of experimental evidence.” He smiled, seemingly gentle again. “Frankly, nothing that the fellows at the Royal College don’t do all the time. But let me fix that.”

  Uncle Cyrus knelt down, brushing the tears from Annabelle’s eyes. “Would you like to go up into the sky next time I test my balloon?”

  Annabelle was so shocked that she could barely nod. Then she had a flash of dutifulness. “I’ll ask Mother first.”

  “Ah,” said Uncle Cyrus. “How about we keep this a secret? You can surprise her someday with the story. Someday, as in ‘when you’re all grown up and your Uncle Cyrus isn’t in town’.”

  Annabelle knew what naughty was. But she wasn’t above agreeing.

  And when the time came, she discovered that clouds, like so many other things, were prettier from a distance. Up close, they were wet and cold, with edges that were hard to define. But for all that disappointment, their very size made her tremble with vertigo, just floating next to them. Just because something wasn’t traditionally beautiful didn’t mean it couldn’t stir one’s emotions.
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  Annabelle was certain there was a moral there somewhere. But Uncle Cyrus didn’t believe in pat stories with morals, he’d told her more than once. He believed in truth. And he’d be dashed if anyone stopped him from discovering that.

  For her part, Annabelle had sworn that day wouldn’t be the last time she touched a cloud.

  And so, here she was again, deep in the embrace of a cloud, seeking out the unknown. She just wished Uncle Cyrus’ mind was what it once had been. She liked to think that the man of her youth would be proud of her. But there was nothing for that at this moment.

  In the space of a heartbeat, they broke out of the clouds. Blinking her eyes in light sparkling across the surrounding walls of clouds, she could see at least three thick shafts of rain crisscrossing their way across the cloud canyon ahead. Soft edged beams of sunlight turned the rain golden before throwing circular rainbows against the dark bellied clouds below them.

  She wasn’t getting rained on at the moment, but she wasn’t precisely dry, either. The Venusian air was thick and damp enough to ensure that all by itself. She’d had the wit to wear the dress she’d had treated with gumme waterproofing, but at the moment, all that meant was that moisture pooled down to the base of her spine where she couldn’t reach to pat herself dry. But it was a minor discomfit compared to the awe she was feeling. No other planet did clouds quite like Venus. La spécialité de la maison, as Arnaud might put it.

  A mile away, nestled among the rain and the light, floated the Montgolfier flare. It drifted along slowly, held aloft by the heat from its red-orange flame. Periodically, it would be obscured by a sheet of mist, but even then it was bright enough that they could see a diffuse glow where it was.

  “Let’s get to it, then circle down!” Nathanial shouted. Although his glider was thirty feet away at best, his voice sounded thin and distant over the rush of the wind and the distant booming of thunder. It was as if he wasn’t entirely real, as if humans weren’t really supposed to be here in this world more suited for Nordic gods than mortal creatures such as themselves. Go back to your world of comfortable hearths and quiet cups of tea, the clouds seemed to say to her.