The Forever Journey

by Paul F Gwyn

  Wait; there was a noise again, this time from outside the room. He made his way to the door to investigate.

  4.

  FOLKARD LOOKED OUT through the vastness of the aether at a particular shining dot that, when observed closely, irradiated the tiniest hint of red. They were well into their journey now but still had around three weeks of aether travel remaining.

  He really did wish for there to be more for him to do on the flyer. Countless hours of piloting Esmeralda had become such a gruelling duty. He thought about how exciting the prospect of a hulking Russian ironclad coming into view would be, but shook his head to disperse those thoughts. Entering the realms of imagination and fantasy would not do when on duty.

  He was snapped out of his vacant gazing into space by the sound of footsteps approaching. He wrenched his head around, to see who it was. Was it Miss Annabelle? Even with the lack of gravity, the men of the ship were not ones to tread elegantly; these steps sounded light.

  He observed the frosted glass panel that was set in the middle of the tightly sealed door to the control deck. There was no figure to be made out through the thick glass, not even the usual distortion of light that occurred as someone approached.

  Folkard frowned.

  There was a muffled sound, obscured by the door. It sounded as if someone had said something.

  “Is that you, Miss Annabelle?”

  There was no reply.

  He turned back round to check the controls; everything was in order. A high pitched giggling came from behind the shut door and the captain span back around. He’d have none of this tomfoolery when he was on duty.

  He hastily unbuckled himself from his chair and made for the door, pulling it wide open.

  “I suppose…” Folkard stopped; there was no one in the immediate vicinity of the door. He descended the ladder to the gangway in the hope of finding the culprit of the jest. He looked up and down the gangway, but there was no activity.

  “I say, who’s fooling around out here? I assure you I am not amused!” His voice bellowed through the flyer. He stood firmly and waited.

  The lab door clicked open and two heads popped out from inside; the heads belonging to Arnaud and Nathanial. Annabelle was next, stepping out from her cabin to see what the fuss was about, followed by Fenn emerging from the engine room.

  They all exchanged looks then turned to face Folkard.

  “Did you call one of us, sir?” Fenn shouted from the other end of the flyer.

  Folkard adopted a puzzled expression and stroked his beard gently. “No, I thought very much the opposite. Have any of you been at my door in the last few moments?”

  “I thought I heard something in here just a moment ago, sir,” Fenn replied.

  “I believe we have all been in our own quarters,” Nathanial said, turning to the crew to confirm his theory. They all nodded in response.

  “Oh,” Folkard said, pausing in thought for the briefest of moments. “Very well then, as you were.” He turned, climbed the ladder and re-entered the control room. This time he left the door open before returning to the pilot’s chair.

  He resumed his monotonous duty, trying not to think of how the laughter from behind the door had seemed almost child-like.

  Chapter Four

  “Visitations”

  1.

  ARNAUD MASSAGED HIS temples gingerly. The headaches were affecting his concentration, causing him to snap at Nathanial. He disliked being short with his dear friend. These days, however, it was happening with more frequency.

  Nathanial was looking straight at him, his mouth moving, but Arnaud could not make out the words; the pain drowned out any noise. “Pardonnez moi, Nathanial, if I am surly, it is my pain speaking, not me. I must take some water and tablets to relieve this before I can continue our conversation.” He tried a smile. “Hopefully in a more civilized tone, non?”

  The pills taken, the throbbing at his temples abated and once again he could hear properly. Outside, footsteps clanged along the gangway, stopping outside their laboratory.

  “I wonder who that could be?” Nathanial asked.

  “More than likely Annabelle coming to say hello. We have not heard from her today.” The clanking continued down the gangway and out of earshot. “She must have heard our little ‘domestic’, and decided to leave us be,” Arnaud added.

  “Domestic? As if anyone would think that you were my spouse, Arnaud. Such thoughts are unacceptable.”

  “I…” Arnaud turned a deep red. “I did not mean to insinuate you were. Je suis désolée, I just meant… We have argued a lot more recently. Maybe I am using the wrong words.”

  “Oh, I think you are using the correct words, Arnaud. I think it is something you have thought about, maybe something I have thought, too.”

  Arnaud’s eyebrow rose at the last words. He spluttered, unsure of what to say. “I… I… I…”

  Nathanial leaned in closer to Arnaud, a warm look in his eyes. He reached out to place his hand on Arnaud’s knee but stopped short. “I could not live without you. It is something I have…” He paused, looking down at his hand, hovering so close to Arnaud. “I have thought of this more than I care to admit, and it fills me with such a sense of fright that I cannot comprehend.”

  Arnaud moved away from Nathanial, confused. He studied Nathanial as he sat, a hint of a grin creeping onto his friend’s face. He could only wonder what thoughts were behind that smile.

  2.

  “BUT WE’VE PASSED it before, several times I might add, why should there be an irregularity this time?” Nathanial asked.

  “Well there is a strain on my…the flyer’s engine. We are at the correct speed and on course, but the engine is only just managing that at the moment,” Fenn shouted back from behind a pipe.

  “I’m sorry but a plethora of flyers and crafts pass this way to Mars, and you rarely hear of any having such troubles!” Nathanial said, having to raise his voice over the hiss of steam, his complexion flushing a slight tone of scarlet. He waved his hand about frantically as a small burst of steam jetted into his face.

  “I am not disagreeing with you, Prof, I am just saying what’s happening. The pipes are acting up a bit more than usual.” Fenn was attempting to tighten a large bolt, but failing to get it to move at all. “I spoke with the cap’ through the speaking tube after the boiler began to play up, but he reckons it will pass. I could barely hear what he was saying over this racket, mind. Could you have a word for me?”

  Nathanial was thinking of doing just that. Folkard surely wouldn’t endanger their lives by meandering too close to the vortex. And yet he could feel worry forming deep in his gut. He hated that feeling, the feeling of the lump that begins in the stomach, snaking its way up the throat as things worsen; a feeling far too familiar.

  Nathanial stopped for a moment and wondered why he was all up in arms over the engine behaving strangely. Perhaps the past year had dashed him with a nervous disposition. The thought almost made him laugh. Perhaps indeed! There was no real doubt in the matter.

  Fenn ceased his attempt on the bolt and emerged from the large pipe, beginning to check gauges at a workstation. “I cannot understand why she is giving me such trouble. We aren’t exactly rocketing through atmosphere or caught in an awkward orbit,” he said gesturing to the read-outs in front of them.

  Nathanial leaned over to inspect the pressure gauges more closely and then looked down the stretch toward the boiler. The engine room had its own chorus of fricatives emanating from all over the room. Nathanial could empathise with its struggle.

  “If that were the case then this lot acting like this would be expected. There is sometimes a pull from the planets’ wakes but usually the journey remains calm,” Fenn said, still watching the gauges closely.

  Nathanial did not find Fenn’s words encouraging. “I will speak with Folkard. Hopefully he can shed some light as to why this is happening.”

  Fenn turned and gave Nathanial a most sincere but also slightly puzzled look. “
You do seem fairly distressed by this, Professor. Are you alright?”

  Nathanial attempted to hide his doubt with a hollow smile. “Yes, yes, I’m fine, just ensuring that you can carry out your duties properly. You know I like to lend a hand in here and I’m sure Folkard would want to know if there may be a fault with Esmeralda.” Nathanial left no space for a reply as he turned toward the door.

  3.

  AT THE END of the engine room, Fenn re-emerged from a nest of pipes lying beneath the bulbous form of the boiler. Being in such a confined and warm place was far from comfortable and he could only manage several minutes at a time down there. He had been getting unusual readings of late so it had become compulsory to check the very bowels of the engines for faults.

  He had taken a short break from his maintenance checks when he heard someone above, on the decking.

  Their words had been lost amidst the din of the boiler.

  He wiped a dirty cuff across his equally grimy forehead. “Professor, is that you?” he called out.

  No reply.

  He walked through a veil of steam, searching for his visitor. “Did someone call for me?”

  He reached the door, and checked his quaint cubby area where he slept, but there was no one there. The young man sighed to himself and shook his head. Was someone playing practical jokes on him? He doubted that. Just his strained mind. But he could hold it together, surely.

  “Nobody’s there, then? Just the plant and I,” he said looking over at the strange Venusian flora that managed to resist the harsh environment of the engine room. “It wasn’t you who called me, surely?”

  Before returning to his duties, Fenn took a moment to ponder the absurdity of a man whose conversation owed its majority to himself, the rest to a leafy plant…

  4.

  NATHANIAL LEFT THE engine room, his mind in turmoil. This would not do, not at all. He knew Fenn was a sensible chap, brilliant at his job as well, but the poor man had no comprehension of just what would happen should Nathanial’s worst fears be realised. It was all well listening to hearsay, but to be a party to it was something else entirely. No matter how stern the stuff you were made of, it could bring a sense of hopelessness that was unparalleled.

  It would be like Peregrine Station all over again, only this time there would be no escape. It was going to pull them in and melt them away without a second thought. Nathanial knew he was worrying, but it could not be helped. Both he and Annabelle had seen an aether vortex at its worst, and he’d be damned if he was willing to see it happen again, especially to his close friends.

  The images of Holmes, Fullbright and Provost swam around in his mind. He had believed that he had been at the beginning of what would have been long, prosperous friendships with these men, but any such possibility had been ripped away by the destructive nature of the phenomena. It was something that still came to mind whenever he heard word of an aether vortex. A most unpleasant association indeed. It was something that he assumed would stay with him for the entirety of his life, and he would not let it happen again. He shook the image from his mind—he had to make sure Folkard knew what he and Fenn had found out, about the unusual pull of the planetary wakes. The forewarning of an aether vortex!

  Passing the laboratory he heard Arnaud, apparently talking to himself. He stopped to listen.

  “We have all had a strange turn or two since we left for Mars. I do not know what ails us, but it will pass,” Arnaud was saying, his voice muffled.

  An unexpected smile crept over his face. It was most endearing that Arnaud voiced out loud his thoughts, something Nathanial had noticed often, not that he would ever tell the Frenchman that.

  Nathanial stopped listening to Arnaud’s soothing tones and set himself back on course to talk to Folkard. Now that he was on his way, he wondered exactly how to broach the subject to him. He knew the captain was a most competent pilot, but Nathanial was unwilling to leave anything to chance.

  5.

  “CAPTAIN, HAVE YOU noticed anything odd with the ship of late?”

  Folkard turned his head slightly to regard Stone from the corner of his eye then turned back to look out of the main window.

  “Nothing that would raise any alarm, Professor.” Folkard batted away the concern.

  “So we’re definitely not veering dangerously close to an aether vortex?”

  Folkard turned around, discomforted by the tightly fastened straps digging into his sides. “I trust you do not doubt my abilities as your captain.”

  “No,” Stone said meekly, retreating somewhat from his slightly inappropriate insinuation. “I have just been down to the engine room and Fenn reported irregular readings with the pressure, and spoke of the boiler ‘playing up’, as he put it.”

  Folkard frowned and stroked his bushy beard. “Yes, he did mention said matter through the pipe, however it is only momentary, it will soon pass.”

  Folkard regarded Stone carefully as the red-haired man glared out of the main window. By laying eyes on him for only a couple of seconds, he could feel that something dark was bothering the professor. But the feeling felt as if it came from within as opposed to being one gathered by sight alone. Had Stone sensed what he had felt earlier? Surely not.

  “Are the effects due to a vortex though, Captain? You are aware of the dangers of such an anomaly, and also how I feel on the matter.”

  “Yes, a vortex is forming, and the pull is slightly different to what I have previously experienced, but only to the extent of a minor pull. We shall soon escape its effects. As I said, Stone, nothing to worry yourself over.”

  With Folkard’s assuring comment, the bulkhead of Esmeralda 2 let out a prolonged groaning sound, like a whale being harpooned slowly.

  The groaning continued while the two looked around them, as if in some vain attempt to pinpoint the location of the sound, before their gazes returned to each other.

  Stone gave Folkard a grim look. “Are you so sure, Captain?”

  6.

  NATHANIAL SAT ON a chair in the common room, his legs splayed out unceremoniously. He was on his own, something that he revelled in after the long day. It felt good to sit lost in thought, without interruption. Folkard’s protestation that he had everything under control was not enough.

  His closed his eyes. Peregrine Station, and the putty like quality it acquired as it stretched, melting to nothing. The memory pained him immensely. Tears rolled down his cheeks, dropping onto his ginger whiskers. He sniffed and wiped them from his face, attempting to compose himself again.

  He stood up from his seat and left the common room. In all the activity of the day, his mind had neglected to think of the one person who would be the most affected by the thought of nearing an aether vortex. Why he had not thought to visit Annabelle earlier was beyond him, but there was no time like the present to seek her out. Turning out from the common room, it took him seconds to reach her cabin and knock. There was no reply. He tried again “Annabelle?” He received no answer. Where the dickens could she be? He thought for a moment, then it came to him. The greenhouse! She was always checking the plants in there.

  Nathanial stopped outside the greenhouse and knocked. Her head appeared from behind a large flower and she smiled at him.

  “Hello, Nathanial,” she said, encouraging him into the room. She put down the sheers and slipped the gloves off her hands. “Is it true? There is something wrong with the pull of the aether vortex?”

  “I’m afraid so,” he replied. “I…” He couldn’t find a starting point for his thoughts.

  Annabelle smiled sadly at him, then pulled him into a gentle embrace. “It will not happen, not like before. We must not let it.” She looked Nathanial in the eyes. “I know what you’re thinking, for I feel it too. I never wanted to be near another aether vortex in my life after what happened to Peregrine. It is not something I would wish even for the worst of criminals. But such is the dangers of traversing the aether; we can only hope that our captain and your governor will be enough to get us pa
st it without incident.”

  Nathanial exhaled loudly. He stood over a plant, fingering the leaves; they were still a lush green, full of life. He wondered how much time they had left in them. Annabelle reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. He looked down, and patted it gently. They shared an uneasy look. Nathanial felt his cheeks flush and he turned away.

  “I often think of Peregrine,” he said walking to the window, looking out at the stars. “I’ll never feel comfortable with the decision I had to make. If only there had been another way.”

  “There was nothing that you could do, for me, or for them.”

  “You know how awful I feel that you are burdened with that mechanical leg of yours. If I had known what was to happen, I…I would have done anything to stop it happening to you.”

  “Oh, my dear Nathanial,” Annabelle replied, shaking her head. “There will be none of that talk. You cannot blame yourself for the actions of another. There was no way we could have foreseen it.”

  He turned around to look at her, and said, “I will never understand how anyone could shoot someone without a second’s hesitation. It is a truly abominable act.”

  Annabelle looked up at Nathanial, sadness in her eyes. “You mean someone like me, who shot Blayney in the head?

  Nathanial shifted, uncomfortably. “No, of course not. You had cause. But that is something that I will remember always. I wish we’d never gone to Ceres. I don’t want to see you live to become something you’ll regret. A person without remorse.”

  “As you say, I had to, to protect us, to save us from the Bubalus. One man’s life for that of everybody else on the station. If he had not died, then we would have all died as surely as the Bubalus young.”

  Nathanial pondered this silently. Annabelle hung her head, avoiding his gaze.

  “It… It worries me, this side of me,” she said. “I didn’t know it existed until we began traversing the planets.” She walked over to stand next to him, joining him in looking out at the stars. “If it was an isolated case, I could put it behind me, and think nothing of it, that I was only protecting my friends. It’s not just Blayney I wanted to kill, I meant to strike down Collins on Venus also, and would have done had not Thymon incinerated him.” She turned to Nathanial, pain besieging her face. “I think I’m cursed. How else can I describe it? It’s not going to go away either, it’s manifesting itself into a willingness to kill to protect those around me. What kind of person does that make me?”