by Paul Crilley
She listened again for his heartbeat. Still nothing.
“Come on Tweed, you bastard.”
She pushed down on his chest again, then blew air into his lungs.
Nothing.
She did it again. And again. For five minutes, Octavia compressed Tweed's chest and blew air into his body, but nothing she did made any difference. Tears streamed down her face.
“Tweed, come on! You can't leave me here on my own. I need you!”
She hit him again. And again. Still nothing.
Octavia stood up and looked helplessly around. She didn't know what to do.
So she kicked him. Hard. And screamed at him.
“You wake up now you selfish bastard! You are not leaving me behind!”
He didn't move. His face was grey.
Octavia cried out in anger and dropped to her knees, bringing her fists down as hard as she could onto his chest.
The thump echoed around the bridge.
And Tweed surged up into a sitting position, sucking in a huge gulp of air and knocking his head against Octavia's in the process.
He looked around in a daze. He rubbed his chest gingerly, then turned his pale face to Octavia and touched his forehead. “Ow,” he said.
Octavia stared at Tweed in amazement, then grabbed his jacket and yanked him into a fierce kiss.
They held the kiss for quite a long time. Tweed's hand came up and tenderly cupped her face.
Then Octavia broke off and slapped him. Hard.
“Ow!” He looked at her in amazement. “What the hell, Songbird?”
“Sorry. But you deserved that.”
“What for?”
“For dying.”
“For…Wait, I…died?”
“For about five minutes.”
“How…?” he rubbed his chest again then looked at Octavia. “You…?”
She wiped her eyes and nodded, smiling.
“Bother. You're probably going to hold that over me now, aren't you?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, suddenly laughing through her tears. “Without a doubt.”
He nodded. “Thought so. Give me a hand.”
Octavia helped him up. He limped over to check on Nehi and Sekhem. They were both dead. He arranged their bodies, crossing their arms over their chest.
“There's something outside we need.”
He guided her to the door.
“What?” she asked.
“It's in the corridor.”
Octavia looked into the passage. There was nothing there. Tweed gave her a small shove. She staggered out of the bridge and turned to look at him in amazement. “Hey…”
“Sorry, Songbird,” he said.
Then he closed the door.
Tweed locked the door and headed for the steering controls.
“Tweed,” Octavia shouted, “what are you doing? Tweed?”
He ignored her, thinking back to when he had seen the pilots steering the Albion. He pushed the levers that fed the Tesla Turbines, then spun the huge wheel to turn the ship toward the south.
He'd thought about this for days now, wondering what he was going to do when they got to London.
He knew now.
He'd been stressing about who he was. How he hadn't earned his place in the world. He knew he had to do something, something that would make him feel like he belonged. Belonged in the human race.
Elizabeth's words came back to him.
Where you come from does not define who you are. You forge that path every day with your actions.
He'd stopped Sekhem and Nehi. He'd earned his body, his soul. He'd earned his place.
But it didn't end there. He could still help others. Molock was wrong. If Hyperborea was revealed to the world, if the reason for their sickness was revealed, people would help.
There would be no war.
He knew this with a certainty he had never felt before.
The Albion heaved slowly around and left London behind. What had Molock said? Thrace, the capital city of Hyperborea, was north of London. And as he recalled, south of Thrace there wasn't a thing. Just empty grasslands.
So…about here should be fine.
He stopped the Albion, then turned to the death ray. He picked Tesla's soul up from where Octavia had left it on the console and inserted it into the slot.
Then he pulled the lever, powering up the weapon.
Tweed took out his watch and flicked the lid up. Ampney said that for it to burn through the crust of the earth it would take about ten minutes.
He pushed the button to fire the death ray, watching on the view screen as the invisible beam hit the ground. He felt the vibration through the soles of his boots. Stones and rock exploded upward in a massive geyser of dirt, then burst and vanished into dust.
“Tweed! You better not be doing what I think you're doing!” shouted Octavia.
Tweed moved to the door. “I have to, Octavia. Don't you see? They'll have no choice. The government will have to come up with another way to get power. The sickness will stop.”
“Tweed, this could lead to war! Molock said—”
“Molock is wrong! The same way Sekhem and Nehi were wrong. He's scared. That's fine. He fears for his people. But this is the right thing to do.”
“Tweed, don't you see? You're doing exactly what Chase did. What Nehi and Sekhem did. You're making choices for people without their blessing. You can't do that.”
Tweed paused. She was right of course. He was being a complete hypocrite. But…he was so sure this was right. If only everyone else could understand…
He still had time to stop it. He headed back to the console, checking the view screen. The hole in the ground was massive, half a mile across.
No. This was the right thing to do. If saving lives meant he became like Barrington Chase, then he would just have to find a way to live with that.
He watched the screen and waited until he saw the barest wink of light far, far below. Then he switched the machine off. He took Tesla's soul out of the console and carefully put it aside, making sure it was safe.
He unlocked the door. Octavia stood there, glaring at him angrily.
“What have you done, Tweed?”
“I…” Tweed looked over his shoulder, suddenly uncertain. “I…I don't know yet.”
Octavia grabbed him by the arm.
“Come on. You'd better contact your father. You've got some explaining to do.”
It was about seven hours later.
They were standing around the massive hole Tweed had created. It had been cordoned off by the police and the Ministry was doing its best to keep curious onlookers back.
Queen Victoria peered into the hole while her nervous advisors and bodyguards hovered around, ready to grab her should she slip. The surviving scientists, Octavia's mother, Molock (in his human guise), Tweed, Barnaby, and Solomon all stood in a respectful semicircle around her. Solomon also wore a human guise, that of a huge, bearded man with a booming voice. It fitted his personality perfectly.
Tweed was leaning on the railing that had been erected around the hole. He had been looked over by a doctor (at Barnaby's insistence) and was actually holding up remarkably well for someone who had been dead for five minutes.
And oddly, he seemed the better for it. He seemed more at peace within himself. Octavia wasn't sure what it was, but something had changed in him.
“And you're saying there is a whole civilization below us?” asked the Queen. “An entire race of beings who we have been…killing with our need for power?”
“That's about right, Your Majesty,” said Tweed.
She looked at him, then her eyes flicked to Octavia. “You two have a remarkable talent for seeking out trouble and bringing it straight to me. You are like cats presenting their owners with half-eaten corpses.” She sighed. “And the Ministry knew about this?”
“No,” said Barnaby. “I had no idea.”
“Well, you wouldn't. You've only been there a couple months.”
“Barrington Chase knew,” said Octavia. “He was part of a secret group within the Ministry that made sure word of the Hyperboreans never got out.”
“Interesting.”
“And Temple was a spy,” said Tweed. “Sekhem and Nehi's man on the inside. He told them where Tesla was. I reckon he hired Harry Banks to steal H. G. Wells's invisibility devices. Banks just decided to keep a couple for himself. Use them on his constructs.”
Queen Victoria looked at Barnaby. “Barney, has Banks been picked up yet?”
Barney? Octavia and Tweed exchanged an amused look.
“Not yet, Your Majesty. But it will be done before the day is out.”
The Queen nodded and turned to Molock. “And you, my man. You are the King of your people?”
Molock started to bow, but she held her hand up. “No. I do not entertain people who are in disguise. Your true face, please.”
Molock looked surprised, but he nodded. A second later his face rippled, the skin darkening, hardening up, until his true lizard face was looking at the Queen. She didn't even blink, although her guards and retainers all gasped and took a step back.
“And your friend?”
Molock waved at Solomon and his face likewise melted and reformed. He bowed low.
“Your Majesty. I am your humble servant.”
“Thank you both. For helping to stop these…” Octavia could see she was picking her words carefully. “…terrorists from causing lasting damage between our people.”
She stepped closer and looked disapprovingly at Molock. “However, I do wish you had come to us directly when this problem manifested. I assure you, we had no idea, and I know Tesla had no idea either. We could have joined together and come up with a solution.”
Molock frowned. He glanced briefly at Tweed. “I…I am sorry, Your Majesty. I feared for my people, as any good ruler would. I hoped our scientists would be able to come up with a solution that would not necessitate any…”
“Meetings?”
“Wars. I fear our people are too different to…to mingle. I would dearly love to be proven wrong, but I thought that if a meeting could at all be avoided, then it was best to do so.”
“Yes, well, there's nothing we can do about that now, is there?” said Queen Victoria with a sidelong glance at Tweed.
At least he had the decency to look embarrassed.
“Well now,” said the Queen. “Busy days ahead, King Molock. Delegations must be formed, ceremonies of greeting, and dare I say it, embassies in each of our cities?”
Molock exchanged bemused looks with Solomon. “Is that it?”
“What did you expect? A declaration of war? Despite what you may think, we are not a bloodthirsty species.” She nodded at the rescued scientists. “We already have a think tank created to look into this power source of yours. We will do what we can with poor Tesla's soul. God knows what is left of him, though.” She pulled her coat tighter about her body. “Start off as we mean to go on, King Molock. Cooperation and friendship. We will send our best doctors to your cities to see what can be done about this sickness. If you will have them, of course.”
“Your Majesty, we…we would be very grateful.”
“Good. We will get this sorted, Molock. Trust me on this.” She smiled. “And once it is all behind us, we will start with the cultural exchanges. I'm sure both our worlds will soon look rather different.”
Again, the sideways look at Tweed.
“Whether we wanted them to or not.”
They watched from across the street.
Octavia's mother glanced over her shoulder, but Octavia made shooing motions with her hands. She could barely contain her excitement.
“Come on,” she said nervously. “Hurry up.”
Her mother reached up and knocked on the door. Octavia reached out and gripped Tweed's arm. He placed his own hand over hers, a calming gesture.
The door opened.
Her father stood there, staring at his wife. Octavia could see that he didn't recognize her. Not at first.
He stepped forward, looking intently at her face.
Then his eyes widened. He reached out hesitantly, as if unsure she was real. Her mother grabbed his hand and held it to her cheek.
Her father leaned forward and swept her mother up into a tight embrace. They wrapped their arms around each other and didn't move.
Octavia blinked the tears away and averted her eyes, leaving them to their moment. She saw Tweed hastily rub his own eyes and she grinned at him.
“What?” he said. “I've got something in my eye.”
“I never said anything!”
He put his arm around her. “How do you feel?”
Octavia rested her head against his shoulder. “Happy. Content. You?”
“Like I belong. Like I've earned my place.”
“Idiot,” said Octavia warmly. “You never had to earn your place.”
“I did,” he said seriously. “I needed to earn my soul. But it's done now.”
“Good. No more feeling sorry for yourself, right? Because there's seriously nothing more unattractive and tiresome than a man feeling sorry for himself. Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Good.”
A hansom cab slid around the corner ahead of them. It slewed wildly in the slush, almost flipping over before the automaton got it under control again.
The cab skidded to a stop right next to them. The door flew open and Barnaby leaned out.
“Get in.”
“Can't,” said Tweed. “We're going to dinner.” He locked eyes with Octavia. “We have a few things to talk about.”
Octavia winked at Tweed, laughing when he flushed instantly red. Oh, this was going to be so much fun.
“No time,” said Barnaby. “You know how H. G. Wells's invisibility technology was stolen?”
“What about it?”
“That wasn't the only thing that was taken.”
Tweed and Octavia shared a troubled glance.
“What else?” asked Octavia.
“His time machine. Come on. You're wanted at the palace.”
They climbed into the cab and it sped off. Octavia glanced out the window and saw her mother and father heading into the house. Octavia smiled, then turned back to face Tweed.
His eyes were blazing with excitement.
“The game's afoot, Songbird.”
Born in Scotland in 1975, Paul Crilley moved to South Africa when he was eight years old. He was rather disappointed to find out that Africa was not at all like the Tarzan movies he watched on Sunday afternoons and that he would not, in fact, have elephants and lions strolling through his backyard. He now lives in a small village on the east coast of South Africa with his family.
He also wrote the Invisible Order books, and penned the upcoming humorous Middle Grade zombie series, Deadbeat Diaries. When not writing novels he works in South African television. He also freelanced on the MMO Star Wars: The Old Republic and recently wrote a comic miniseries for IDW Publishing.
