by Simon Hawke
"Share the wealth," said Steiger sarcastically. "From each according to his ability, to each according to his need, is that it? Christ, Finn, don't tell me you're seriously defending that kind of thinking!"
"I'm not. That was the Marxist line. But strictly speaking, labor unions are a socialist concept. Forget the word 'socialist' for a moment. Wells said, 'So long as you suffer any man to call himself your shepherd, sooner or later you will find a crook around your ankle.' Wells looked at America and said. 'The problem of personal freedom is not to be solved by economic fragmentation; the Western fanner last his independence long since and became the grower of a single special crop, the small shopkeeper either a chain-store minder or a dealer in branded goods, and the small entrepreneur a gambler with his savings and a certain bankrupt in the end.' Are those the words of a Communist or are they the words of someone who already saw the trend towards multinationals?"
"I hadn't realized you were such an authority on Wells," said Steiger. "You're quoting stuff that wasn't in the mission programming tapes. You couldn't have had time to bone up on his writings just to prepare for this assignment. Why the intense interest?"
"Because it all started with temporal physics. I've never fully understood 'zcn physics' and anything that Ican't understand tends to drive me crazy," said Delaney.
"Hell, temporal physics drives everybody crazy," Steiger said. "There can't be more than a handful of people who've even got a grip on it. But ...what does that have to do with H. G. Wells?"
"The idea of temporal physics first appeared in science fiction." said Delaney. "and Wells was one of the lint to write what we now know as science fiction. He admitted that he didn't really understand physics, yet in some of his early
essays. he was grasping at the same ideas scientists such as Planck and Bohr and
Einstein grappled with. In that essay he mentioned to us so casually. 'The Universe Rigid.' he tried to explore the idea of a four-dimensional frame for physical phenomena. Ile tried to sell it to Frank Harris at the Fortnightly Review, but Harris rejected it because he found it incomprehensible and Wells wasn't able to explain it to him because he didn't fully understand it himself. He was reaching, trying to come up with something he called a 'Universal Diagram.' It took a genius like Einstein to formulate those ideas and revolutionize scientific thought, but Wells was already intuitively heading in that direction. He couldn't really see it, but he knew something was there.
"Once I realized how far ahead of his time Wells was," Delaney continued. "I became interested and started studying his writings. People tend to think of him as merely a writer of imaginative fiction, but he was much more than that. He was an uncanny forecaster. He predicted Feminism, sexual liberation, Futurism and multinational economy. What Wells called 'socialism'wasn't really all that different from the democratic ideals of America from the late 20th century onward, Women in the work force, Sexual equality, Public education, Labor unions. National health plans, Social Security. What Wells did not realize was that these so- called 'socialist' ideas could exist within the framework of a capitalist society. But imagine how hewould have perceived the society we came from, where governments don't behave like independent nations so much as like interdependent corporations. Would he have understood the subtle distinctions? I don't think so. The Council of Nations would have seemed like the governing body of a world state to him and, in a way, it almost is, Technological development created a world structured like a spiderweb—touch one strand of the web and you create movement in all the other strands as well. To someone from this time period, it would look like a single entity, a 'world state.' You're focusing on the socialist label, but remember that the socialist of the late 19th century became the liberal of the 20th century. Wells wrote about the unfeasibility of economic fragmentation, but political fragmentation also proved unfeasible. We never did develop exclusively along the lines of socialism or capitalism or libertarianism. What eventually happened was a sort of natural synthesis brought about by technological development and a shrinking economic world. It began in the 20th century, when America started to adopt certain so-called 'socialist' ideas to put them into practice in a democratic society and the Soviet Union began to adopt certain 'capitalist' ideas and put them to work in the framework of a totalitarian, communist society. They were still paying lip service to different ideologies and they were still antagonistic, but the techno- economic matrix was already placing them on a course that would eventually intersect. Not even war could stop it. And that was precisely what Wells predicted, except he didn't use the same terms. Instead of a world state, what we wound up with is a sort of 'world confederation,' because the techno-economic matrix became a more powerful motivating force than any political ideology. It became a political ideology in itself and if you read him carefully, you'll realize
that Wells knew it would happen!"
Steiger pursed his lips thoughtfully and sat in silence for a moment, thinking.
"You still think it was a waste of time?" said Andre.
"Maybe not," said Steiger. "And you're right, Finn, it does make me wonder. But the question is, did Wells arrive at his conclusions on his own or did they come about as a result of temporal contamination? And if they did ... what can we do about it?"
From the outside, the Lyceum Theatre resembled a small Greek temple, with its six tall columns supporting the roof over the entrance. Originally a concert hall, it later housed a circus and Madame Tussaud's first London wax museum. It was the meeting place of the Beefsteak Society and renamed the 'theatre Royal Opera House in 1815. After being destroyed by a fire, it was rebuilt and reopened as the Royal Lyceum and English Opera House. In 1871, an unknown actor named Henry Irving was hired to take the leading roles in the productions staged by Col. Hezekiah Bateman. Within a few short years, Irving had taken over the management of the Lyceum and he had become the rage of London, acclaimed as the Hamlet, the actor's actor. As he rehearsed the company in his own adaptation of Lord Tennyson's Becket. Henry Irving had no idea that he would soon reach the peak of his career by becoming the first actor to receive a knighthood.
"No, no. no!" he shouted, storming across the stage and running his hands through his long hair, his long, thin-featured face distraught. "For God's sake, Angeline, you must project!"
He said the word "project" as if it were two words, rolling the "r" (or emphasis. His strong, mellifluous voice filled the empty theatre.
"You are understudying Miss Ellen Terry! Consider the burden, the responsibility that is upon your shoulders! You arc whispering! No one shall hear you
beyond the second row!"
The young blond actress covered her face with her hands. "I'm sorry, Mr. Irving," she said in a small voice. "I . . . I am not feeling very well. I ..."
She swayed and almost fell. Irving caught her, asudden expression of concern upon his face He lifted her chin and looked into her face intently. "Good lord. Angeline, you're white as a corpse!"
"I am sorry. Mr. Irving." she said her voice fading. "I fell ...cold ... so very cold . . ." She sagged in his arms.
"Angeline!" said Irving, holding her up. "Angeline? Heavens, she's fainted. Stoker! Stoker!"
Irving's manager, a large, red-headed man with a pointed heard, came hurrying from the wings.
"Help me with her," Irving said. They gently lowered her to the stage.
"Angeline?" said Stoker. He picked up her hand and patted her wrist. There wasno response. He placed his hand upon her forehead, then felt her pulse. "Dear God," he said. "She's dead!”
Irving gaped at him, thunderstruck. —Dead!" lie shook his head. "No, that's not possible. She merely swooned."
"There is no pulse, I tell you!" said Stoker. tic bent down and put his car close to her mouth and nose. "Nothing. Not a whisper of a breath.”
"Mother of God," said Irving. "And I said she wasas white as a corpse!" He put his hand to his mouth.
Stoker felt for a pulse in her throat. He shook his head with resignat
ion. "Her heart's stopped beating," he said "Hello? What's this?"
He pulled aside the lace at her throat. There were two small marks over her jugular vein.
"What is it, Bram?" said Irving.
"Take a look," said Stoker.
"Pinpricks?"
"More like bite marks," Stoker said.
"What?"
"Look how pale she is," said Stoker softly. "White as a corpse," he murmured, repeating Irving's words.
"What are you talking about?" said Irving.
"I am almost afraid to say it," Stoker said. "Perhaps my imagination is merely overactive. But those marks are not imaginary."
"Bram, for God's sake! What is it?"
"Have you read Carmilla. by Le Fanu?” Stoker said.
Irving stared at him uncomprehendingly. "What? Sheridan LeFanu, the novelist? What are you . . . “ His voice trailed off as he stared at the marks on Angeline's throat. "You mean that story about a countess who was a—" He caught himself and lowered his voice so that only Stoker could hear him, "—a vampire?" He swallowed hard and shook his head. "No, no, that is absurd, a fantasy. Such creatures don't exist."
"How can we say for certain?" Stoker said. "I admit it sounds incredible. Henry. but how else can you explain those marks upon her throat?"
"She must have accidentally stabbed herself with something. a brooch. perhaps."
"Twice? Both times, directly overthe jugular vein
"No. I have heard enough." said Irving. "I am sending everyone home before you have the entire cast in a panic."
"I do not think that would be wise," said Stoker. "The police will probably want to question everyone."
"The police! Must we have the police?"
"I see no avoiding it." said Stoker. "We have a dead young woman on our hands and no explanation for her demise. The police will have to be called in. An investigation must he
Irving passed his hand riser his eyes. "Oh, dear Heaven! Very well, Bram, you handle everything. But for God's sake, be careful what you tell them! Please, make no fanciful suggestions. As for myself, I am quite done in by all of this. God, she died in my very arms! If the police wish to speak with me, they can find me at home, but if there is any way it can be avoided--
"I will handle things. Henry." said Stoker.
"Yes. Yes, you'll see to everything, won't you?"
"I always do," said Stoker.
"And for Heaven's sake, no wild theories about ... you know."
Stoker glanced up at him and then looked back down at the dead girl. "Yes," he said. "I know."
2 ________
Electricity had come to London. but it had not yet arrived in Limehouse. Westminster Bridge was the first place to receive electric lighting in 1858, but it was not until 1887 that the first station of the Kensington and Knightsbridge Electric Lighting Company was opened. The first large power station started operation in Dwptford in 1889; the London Electricity Supply Company was formed and the city was lit electrically from fleet Street to Aldgate, but it took a long time for electricity to completely replace gas and in 1894, much of London was still illuminated by gaslight. The gas companies were consuming over six million tons of coal per year and the malting effects could be seen in London's famous fogs. An atmosphere permeated by soot particles had blackened the city's buildings and it was frequently so thick that coach traffic was forced to move at a snail's pace and pedestrian trawlers often became lost in their own neighborhoods due to lack of visibility.
The lime kilns around the docks which gave Limehouse its name dated back to the 14th century. It was a center of shipbuilding, a part of the industrial East End. Most of the area's residents were employed in the shipyards and on the ducks and most of them were poor. There was a large population of immigrant Chinese, especially around the Limehouse Causeway, where gambling houses and opium dens could be found by those in search of London's more decadent diversions. It was in Limehouse that Sax Rohmer's evil Oriental mastermind, Fu Manchu, made his London headquarters.
Just off the Limehouse Causeway, in a tiny side street that was little more than an alleyway, there was a small apothecary shop owned and operated by an elderly Chinese named Lin Tao. The old man was bowed and wrinkled, with a stringy white beard that reached halfway down his chest and a white braid that hung down his back to his waist. His forehead was high and he always wore a small, embroidered cap, not unlike a Jewish yarmulke. His slanted eyes, rather than giving him the so-called "cruel" aspect stereotypically attributed to his people. were soft and kind. He spoke English excellently, in a quiet, musical voice with a Chinese accent, and he lived in the back rooms of his establishment with his young orphaned granddaughter, Ming Li, whom he was educating in the trade.
Ming Li preferred to go by the name Jasmine, which had been bestowed upon her by an old ship's captain who frequently came to Lin Tao's apothecary shop for a preparation to ease the pain of his arthritis. Jasmine was the scent she wore and most of Lin Tao's non-Chinese customers called her by that name. She was nineteen years old and very beautiful, with thick, jet black hair that hung down to her hips and a narrow, oval face. She was as slender as a bamboo stalk and her legs were long and exquisitely formed. She had long since learned what most men wanted from her, but she was not as vulnerable as she looked. Although few people knew it, her grandfather, for all his withered appearance, was a master of an ancient Oriental form of combat and he had taught it to his granddaughter. In China, he had once been an important man. It was for that reason they had left, booking passage on a freighter of the Blue Funnel Line. Lin Tao had become too important and too well known. And his age had made him vulnerable to ambitious younger men. He had started anew in London and in Limehouse; he had become a respected man in the Chinese community. A man of authority, A man whose granddaughter no one in the know would touch, because an insult to Ming Li would have meant death. Besides, Jasmine knew how to protect herself. And Jasmine was in love.
The man Jasmine was in love with lived upstairs in a small room above the apothecary shop. He helped her grandfather in the shop and he seemed to know a great deal about the apothecary's art, though his knowledge was of a different sort than Lin Tao's. They often spent long evenings in discussion over tea, sharing their respective knowledge. The man was secretive about his past, but Lin Tao understood that and he had instructed Jasmine not to bother him with questions. He respected his boarder's privacy. He also respected his wisdom. This man had come into the shop two months ago, looking for work. He had been penniless. At first, her grandfather meant to turn away this bearded stranger with the shabby clothes, but it quickly became apparent to him that this man had culture. He also possesed a great deal of unusual knowledge, though he would not say how he came by it. He had proper manners, unusual in an occidental, and he spoke the language of the mandarins as if he had been born in China. He also spoke a number of other languages with equal fluency, a definite advantage in a community of Chinese and Lascars and numerous other foreigners, many from the ships that called at the West India Docks. He said he was a doctor. When Jasmine was alone, she sometimes said his name out loud to herself, enjoying the sound of it. Morro. Dr. Morro.
In her imagination, she had created a romantic past for him, knowing nothing of his real history. He had once been an important man, a man of position, but something terrible had happened, some tragedy which had hurt him deeply, making him turn his back on everything he knew. He kept this secret hurt close to his heart, punishing himself for whatever it was that he had done. He was an older man, old enough to be her father, but Jasmine did not see him in that light. She wondered what it would be like to ease his hurt, to take it from him with her love. to help him find his way to a place of position in the English society as a respected physician, a surgeon perhaps, in one of
London's better hospitals with an office of his own in Harley Street and a fine home in
Grosvenor Square which she would share with him as his wife.
But, although Dr. Morro was always k
ind to her, his manner towards her was more that of an uncle than a potential lover. He did not look at her as other men did, with desire clearly written in his eyes. And he was often preoccupied, so that sometimes he did not hear her when she spoke to him and she had to raise her voice slightly to break through his train of thought. There were times when he would be sitting with her grandfather, drinking tea and talking quietly, and they would abruptly stop their conversation the moment she came in. Then they would resume it once again, as if casually, but Jasmine knew that they were no longer talking about the same thing. Her curiosity got the best of her and she started to eavesdrop on their conversations. She learned that Dr. Morro was looking for a man, a man he was certain had to be somewhere in London. An evil man. And Jasmine knew that this evil man had somehow been the cause of Dr. Morro's troubles. His name was Drakov. It was not an easy name for her to say. Nikolai Drakov.
