Table of Contents

Copyright

“THE FORVER JOURNEY”

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Space: 1889 & Beyond—The Forever Journey

By Paul F Gwyn

Copyright 2013 by Paul F Gwyn

Space: 1889 © & ™ Frank Chadwick 1988, 2013

Cover Design & Art © Tom Webster and Untreed Reads Publishing, 2013

Space: 1889 & Beyond developed by Andy Frankham-Allen

Asunder by Marceline Desbordes-Valmore (1786–1859)

The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (Untreed Reads) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher or author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. The characters, dialogue and events in this book are wholly fictional and any resemblance to companies and actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Other Titles in the Space: 1889 & Beyond Series

Journey to the Heart of Luna

Vandals on Venus

The Ghosts of Mercury

A Prince of Mars

Abattoir in the Aether

Dark Side of Luna

Conspiracy of Silence

Mundus Cerialis

Leviathans in the Clouds

A Fistful of Dust

Horizons of Deceit, Book I

http://www.untreedreads.com

“THE FORVER JOURNEY”

By Paul F Gwyn

(Based on an idea by Mark Michalowski)

Prologue

“Seeing Patterns”

HAVING DEBRIEFED SIR henry Routledge on the events on Phobos, and their discovery of the not-Heart at the moon’s centre (he refused to call it the Eye, despite Stone’s recommendation), Folkard was the first to return to Esmeralda 2. There was much he left out of his report, of course, since Sir Henry was not cleared for all things, but he needed to be aware of certain pertinent information. The British government would soon be taking a greater interest in Phobos and Sir Henry needed to be prepared for that. The link between the not-Heart of Phobos and the Heart of Luna could not be easily dismissed, and there was no law preventing other interested parties from actively excavating the interior of Phobos. Luna was, at least legally, protected from such activities… Not that it prevented the work being undertaken at Otterbein Base, Folkard considered ruefully.

More and more connections were being made; the further they advanced on their mission to find the minerals needed to propel them beyond the asteroid belt, the more they were discovering the secrets of the Solar System. The moons, for example, judging on their discoveries so far, appeared to all be hollow. Folkard knew it was a bit of a jump to say all, but he would not be surprised to discover some kind of Heart at the centre of every moon in the system. He would be making note of that in his next report.

Something much bigger was going on—a mystery was being revealed to them, a secret so old it pre-dated man. It was as Folkard had considered before, everything seemed to be connected.

Before reaching Mars he had witnessed the most amazing thing, uncovered the biggest secret of them all. He had not thought much about it since, instead focussing his mind on their mission to Phobos, but now, as he sat at the controls of Esmeralda 2, he allowed his mind to drift back several weeks to the events that transpired after they left Earth and set course for Mars…

Chapter One

“What the Heart wants…”

1.

A WEEK HAD passed since leaving Earth and the changing atmosphere on board Esmeralda 2 was tangible. If the rest of the crew had not identified this among themselves, then Arnaud had. He had seen the pattern many times before. Take a group of people, place them in one space for a long period of time, and they were bound to suffer from some kind of fièvre.

Regardless of Arnaud’s thoughts on the mental state on the crew, he endeavoured to maintain a positive disposition. Poetry had kept him occupied since depositing the minerals found on Ceres and Venus with the research team on Earth; he had bought several books during their “shore leave” in London.

But poetry could always wait for the company of friends. He set his literature aside, placing it in his little net bag, when Annabelle entered

“As much as I trust Jacob, I still cannot but harbour a slight scepticism of his decisions from time to time.” Annabelle’s eyes focused on nothing as she spoke

“He believes in the Heart. Do you not also?”

She looked out of sorts, but Arnaud didn’t think it would be an apt time to probe. Another indication of cabine fièvre? No doubt.

“No, I do.” A hollow half-smile crept up her face, and she looked Arnaud straight in the eye.

Ah, there was the direct girl he knew. But when he smiled back, she averted her gaze again with a soft sigh.

“It’s just that, I feel…” Her voice trailed off.

“The journey, let alone the mission, is tiresome at times, Annabelle. I’m sure Captain Folkard is tested as much as we,” Arnaud said, prodding a small mass of corned beef on a plate in front of him. It had a strong enough adhesive property to stick to the plate and not float away. The scientist in him was intrigued by the demonstration of the principles of viscosity. The gourmand in him was trying hard not to think upon it at all.

Annabelle got up from the table, having hardly touched her own food.

“Arnaud,” she cut through a brief, but uneasy silence. “I am suffering from quite the niggling headache and feel it fitting to retire to my stateroom. Would you mind attending to my things?” She gestured to the food and drink receptacles on the table.

Arnaud nodded graciously

He had been eager to read through the newly published poems of the one his father called La femme en blanc. But wasn’t he in the middle of something?

Arnaud pulled out a well battered, leather-backed book, many pages of which were misshapen or misaligned. He opened the book. Fragments of paper floated freely from it.

Ah, yes, Tennyson.

Twilight and evening bell,

And after that the dark!

And may there be no sadness of farewell,

When I embark.

2.

IT FELT GOOD to stretch his legs in the ship, even if it was just a stroll along the observation gangway. Nathanial was in a genial mood at that moment. He was very much looking forward to testing the newly-installed aether propeller governor. Passing so close to the aether vortex normally would have made him terribly anxious, but he had confidence in this latest addition.

He reached the engine room, letting himself in, and peered around for Jack; seeing no indication of him, Nathanial proceeded into the room. A jet of steam escaped one of the pipes, letting out a high pitched whistling noise, causing him to catch himself.

“Evening, Prof.”

Nathanial jumped.

“Sorry,” Jack Fenn said, laughing. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I was not scared, merely testing the gravity, or lack thereof.”

“So…scared, yes?” Fenn continued, with an easy grin.

Nathanial gave Jack a reprimanding look, and the young seaman looked away. Nathanial stalled for a second, surprised by Jack’s unusual glance aside. It was not like Jack to give in so easily. Deciding to leave it for later, Nathanial continued; “We have business to discuss.”

He walked through the steam, over to the aether propeller governor. They had finished its construction shortly after leaving Venus and had finally installed it while Esmeralda had rested in its cradle at Chatham Dockyard. He placed his hand on the oak finish. “It seems we may get to use this soon.”

Jack nodded. “The captain has predicted a vortex?”

Nathanial had not considered that. He forgot that the aether vortex was not a constant, but rather the result of Earth and Mar’s orbital wakes crossing. “Ah, I did not ask.”

“Then perhaps we’ll get lucky.”

“Lucky?” Nathanial shuddered at the memory of Peregrine and the loss of life one such aether vortex had caused. “Hmm, remind me to tell you about the Peregrine disaster.”

Jack frowned.

“I think I shall retire to the laboratory now,” Nathanial said, “unless you require me to take over from you tonight? I could keep the engines ticking over while you get some rest.”

“Thanks, Prof, but tell you the truth, been itching to get back in the aether.”

There was something in the way Jack said that which gave Nathanial pause. He shook it away once again. Jack’s reasons for wanting to return to the aether were his own, and it wasn’t Nathanial’s place to pry.

“Very good, Jack. In that case I bid you goodnight.” He left the engine room and headed for his favourite part of the ship—his lab.

3.

THE PLATE GLEAMED in the light of the single Edison bulb that poorly illuminated the lab. Arnaud smiled as he ran a finger over the crystal plate but froze at the sound of footsteps clicking along the gangway.

He lurched forward, with such force he almost ploughed face first into the floor. Upside-down he scrambled underneath the cot for the small leather satchel in which he kept the plate, and shoved it inside

He heard the wooden door behind him begin to open. He clumsily fastened the strap and returned it untethered to its hiding place, and hoped that it would not find the momentum to float away from beneath the cot. That would be…unfortunate. It had happened in the past. Arnaud’s clutter often mingled with Nathanial’s.

Nathanial strode in: as best one can stride in a place void of gravity. He coughed.

“Are you well, Nathanial? It would be most unfitting for you to become ill after my own ailment has finally subsided, thanks to successful application of asterium, of course.”

“No, no, I’m fine, Just a slight cough.”

Nathanial looked flush. Strange. It was just a small cough he seemed to have. Regardless, Arnaud was glad that Nathanial was seemingly unaware of the plate.

Nathanial glanced around the room. “How goes the research with the minerals?”

“There was actually something else I had been interested in for the time being,” Arnaud replied, gesturing to a medium-sized wooden crate that was strapped to a table. He had in fact been quite occupied with his minerals; however, he had something else that he wanted to tell Nathanial about. This was something that Nathanial could involve himself with a lot more than his passion for minerals.

“Oh?”

Arnaud quickly put on his magnetic slippers and then moved over to unfasten the crate. “I found this waiting for me at my father’s house. An old friend of mine, an inventor of sorts, had been developing this and ran into a few hiccoughs, as it were. He was wondering if I could improve the design.” He opened the crate and the wondrous contraption inside was revealed.

To Arnaud’s delight, Nathanial’s eyes lit up. It appeared to be a kind of lamp, with three terrariums atop a brass and wooden box. One terrarium contained a plant and the two smaller ones contained what looked like wicks.

“Get it on to the table then. Let’s see what we have!” Nathanial said, his face beaming.

Arnaud smiled, hoping that this was a project that would break up the days. But he was even more glad that he could share it with Nathanial.

4.

IT HAD BEEN nice to keep the company of Arnaud while in the common room, but Annabelle was left frustrated by the ill-feeling that had been gnawing at the back of her mind. She knew that there was something amiss, but could not quite put her finger on it. The most obvious answer had been her disappointment that her betrothed was not available while Esmeralda docked on Earth, but that was only a part of it. There was something else.

The thoughts had been in her head ever since she had retired to her room, and they would not release their grip on her. She had been trying to sleep, but to no avail. Every time she thought she had cleared her mind, it drifted back to Bedford. She missed him dearly; when would she see him again?

After spending more time failing to achieve sleep, Annabelle decided to take a visit to the control deck to see Folkard. They had not really had a chance to speak since returning to the ship.

Unusually the control deck door was closed, so she knocked tentatively.

“Ah, Miss Annabelle, what can I do for you?”

“Sorry for the intrusion, Captain. I cannot sleep.”

Folkard cleared his throat. “If you will forgive my impertinence, may I enquire if this has something to do with Commander Bedford’s inability to attend you on Earth?”

Annabelle was taken aback. “How…how did you know?”

Folkard chuckled. “Hardly a secret, my dear. Charlotte and I…” He smiled sadly. “We had the same trouble. The life of a Navy captain and his wife is not the easiest. Much like everything in life, the best things are those for which you must work the hardest. There were many times I missed Charlotte more than I’d care to admit, but the thought of seeing her again kept me going. Such thoughts can keep you going, too. And if you ever need it, you can come to me.”

For a moment silence sat comfortably between them. “You miss her still.”

Folkard looked away, his eyes drifting to the aether outside. “Always,” he said, “and completely.”

5.

ANNABELLE AWOKE TO complete darkness.

“Hello?” she called out uncertainly. No response. She felt as if she was standing up. When had she got out of bed? Was she just imagining all of this?

There was a noise just in front of her, to her right side. Annabelle held her breath, expecting a strike. Nothing came. Instead, she heard the soft crunch of feet pattering on a grassy floor—where was she? Now that she had noticed the sound of the grass, she could feel it between her toes. The footsteps came to a stop, followed by a sharp thud.

“Hello?”

She heard a young girl sniffling, punctuated by several small sobs.

“I’m scared,” the girl whimpered.

“What are you scared of?” Annabelle said into the darkness. “I can help you!”

“No, you can’t. No-one can.”

There was a blinding flash of light. She was in an open plain at night. It was almost familiar. Giant mountains in the distance seemed to pierce the sky. The grassy floor filled the immediate area. Sitting in front of her was the young, sobbing girl. She had her back to Annabelle. All thoughts of how she could be here fell out of her mind as a maternal instinct took over, and she walked quickly to the girl’s side.

“Go away,” the girl said, not looking Annabelle in the face.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, worried only for the safety of the girl.

“I said go away. I don’t want to talk to you.”

Annabelle knelt by the girl, and tried to touch her shoulder reassuringly, but the girl shrugged her off, still sniffling. She watched the girl for a few moments, trying to figure out what to say to her. The girl jumped up at a sound in the distance.

“What was that?” Annabelle asked her, looking around for the source of the sound. Without answer, the girl ran away. To or away from the source, Annabelle could not tell. She tried to give chase, but the girl had already sprinted far enough away that Annabelle would never be able to catch her. She stumbled as she ran, falling flat on her face.

And awoke face down on her bed, sweating profusely. She shot up and looked around her. She was definitely in her quarters aboard the flyer. Had it all just been a dream? She took a sip from the water by her bedside, the weird feeling in the pit of her stomach slowly fading away.

That was all it had been. A dream. It would be silly to get worked up over that. She lay back down in bed, trying again for a peaceful sleep.

6.

ARNAUD FOUND HIMSELF lying flat against the hard floor, trying to remember where he was and how he got there.

He sat up, only to be met with wave of light-headedness. He steadied himself and drew a deep breath. It came as a surprise that what he found before him was quite pleasant, almost picturesque.

Beautiful stone walls bathed in a slate grey shade wrapped their way around to form a single room. There was a fireplace to his left that radiated rich warmth, whereas in front of him was a large door, nestled between two ornate windows.

Odd, but he was not going to complain. His vision clearer, he stood up.

Next to the windows there was a wooden table and chair. Perhaps this was some sort of lodge? He tried to peer out a window, but the frostiness of the pane did not allow him to do so. He pulled up at the cast-iron latch and heaved open the door.

The brightness seared into his eyes and they screwed shut involuntarily. He brought up an arm to shield his face then opened his eyes cautiously as he shuffled through the doorframe. The chill hit him, but was not a deadly cold.

The landscape began as a white blur, and then slowly took form.

It was quite the spectacular view. The house was perched atop a large rolling mountain. The plains below were so extensive that Arnaud had trouble figuring out where the land stopped and the sky began. There were no visible celestial objects to been seen above, but a plenitude of light emitted from somewhere.

His admiration at the sight was interrupted. There was a snapping sound nearby. Arnaud turned to look. There was another house to the right roughly ten feet away. Only this one was made of not just wood, but sticks, too. The bizarre choice of building material bothered Arnaud’s sense of engineering. How the structure maintained its integrity was a mystery, with sticks piled up to form walls, longer sticks sloping down to create the roof.

Such a structure could not be water-tight, or even resistant to the elements. Even the “windows” seemed to be only constructed of two thin slivers of stick, crossed over one other.

Then he saw him. Through one of the gaps in the walls, a tall man slumped on a chair made of a similar ramshackle wooden design.

“Nathanial,” Arnaud whispered.

Before he had even a chance to react, a large, dark, hairy beast emerged from behind the stick house.

Arnaud would have sworn he could almost name it, but couldn’t say why. Eyes like onyx met Arnaud’s gaze. Its mouth crept up, forming what could only be described as a mangled smile. But was happiness the emotion that this creature was trying to convey? Did this beast even have the capacity to convey such a thing?

Without warning the beast swung a colossal arm at the house and it sent splinters flying. Arnaud flinched so much so that he fell backward, landing on his posterior.

“Merde!” No, this was not right! “Arrêter! You know better than this!”

The beast looked straight at him. Arnaud looked deeper into its eyes and recognition flushed through the Frenchman, but they appeared to be blacker than the last time Arnaud had seen them; the kind of black that was devoid of all reason and logic. For a moment they bathed in each other’s gaze, only to be broken when Arnaud turned to look back through the gap in the house’s wall, searching for his…

There! It was definitely Nathanial, Arnaud had no doubt about that, but something was amiss about him.

All his features were present; his head of red hair, his rich whiskers. But he seemed to be drained of colour. He almost looked like a daguerreotype, unmoving and…

Was he alive?

Adrenaline seared through Arnaud as he bolted for the door, powering through the thick layer of snow the ground was coated in. He was nearly there when he saw a lumbering movement on his periphery and he dropped out of instinct.

As he fell, he saw a huge arm swing over him and then crash into the house once again.

It sounded like a giant breaking a twig.

Shielding his eyes from a mist of splinter, Arnaud scrambled for the door handle while rising from the floor to his knees. The beast pulled his fist out of the wall, leaving a gaping gash big enough for a man to pass through.

Arnaud dived through it.

Inside, the room was cramped and unpleasant. The beast continued to tear through walls but Arnaud was more preoccupied with his friend lifelessly perched on the chair. He scrambled over to Nathanial, planted his hands on each shoulder and shook. “Nathanial, we must leave this place!” But there was no response, only a vacant stare fixing on nothing.

There was a huge smashing sound. The beast was now inside.

“Listen to me, Nathanial! We are not safe.” Arnaud grabbed his hand; he was icy cold to the touch. He tried to wrench Nathanial out of the chair, but he seemed to be fixed in place.

The beast could be heard getting closer, breathing heavily.

Arnaud was not leaving without Nathanial. He turned his head, just in time to see the tusked maw that was moving to envelope him…

He woke violently, thrashing out, clammy from the heat of the lab.

“Have you quite finished?” asked a sleepy voice nearby.

Arnaud was out of breath; he had never had a dream quite like that before. “I had nightmare,” he managed between gasps.

“That much was evident, I assure you.”

Arnaud saw a ginger head emerge from near his feet. Prior to leaving Earth, Nathanial had allowed Arnaud free use of the cot he had set up in the lab, due to the illness that had ailed him since Ceres, but now that he was well again Arnaud had insisted that they equally share the cot. At first Nathanial was against the idea: “really, Arnaud, what would the captain say at such an idea?” But Arnaud pointed out, with his usual irrérvérence, that he did not require the captain’s presence in his bed, too. Nathanial had soon relented.

“What could have occurred in that dream of yours that I should receive such a thrashing?” Nathanial asked, with a tone of annoyance tinged with sympathy.

Arnaud realised that some of the erratic movements in his dreams must have translated into the real world. “Sorry, mon cher ami, it was slightly distressing.”

At this Nathanial sat up, his brows creasing in concern. “So… What of the dream?”

“Oh, nothing, it just a dream, non?” Arnaud batted away the question quickly. He was still rife with the emotion of the dream itself, so he couldn’t discuss it. “Let us rest, though. It will not do well for us to have our sleep being disturbed.” Arnaud turned over and hoped that he would forget the dream.

Chapter Two

“Nature Vs Man-Made”

1.

THE MORNINGS ON board the flyer were often bizarre for Nathanial; the lack of both sunrise and sunset while travelling the aether sometimes upset his sleep pattern. Although Nathanial’s sleep had been disturbed by Arnaud’s thrashing, something else was niggling away at his mind, keeping him from sleep.

The Frenchman lay splayed out in an uncomfortable looking position on the cot while Nathanial dressed.

“Did you sleep well, or is that a question that you may find too intrusive?” Nathanial asked before turning away to continue readying himself for the day.

Arnaud yawned rather inelegantly and rubbed his face before talking. “It is no secret that sharing such a small cot between us is far from ideal. Were you expecting it to be cosy?” Arnaud asked, waggling an eyebrow.

Nathanial felt his cheeks flush. “Arnaud, can you cease the jesting for just a moment? You were clearly in distress while you slept last night, and I am merely expressing a little bit of concern.”

Arnaud frowned and heaved himself into a sitting position. “Well perhaps your concern is not required at the moment, mon cher.”

Frustration continued to grow. “You think calling my name in your sleep is nothing of concern?”

Arnaud froze and cleared his throat (rather melodramatically, Nathanial thought). He rose from the cot and floated over to one of the equipment cabinets. “What did I say exactly?”

Nathanial sighed exasperatedly while pulling on his frock coat. “Just my name, I suppose, and also something like mina or minor.”

Arnaud raised an eyebrow. “And these words I spoke were sufficient evidence for you to be concerned?”

“You sounded distressed enough!”

“I don’t remember you being a part of it, but I did have a bad dream. It happens sometimes. I assure you, I am fine.” Arnaud gave his trademark smirk.

Nathanial put on his metal slippers and decided he had had enough. “Very well. I am just popping out to get some fresh air.”

“Where will you go to get this air, Nathanial?”

“The green house will suffice.”

Nathanial plodded his way out of the lab, already feeling his frustration at Arnaud fading rapidly. No doubt they would be at perfect peace later, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the bloody Frenchman would be the end of him!

2.

ANNABELLE SAT STARING out of the window of her cabin, lost in daydreams. Her mind wandered aboard Sovereign, imagining seeing her beloved George in action, seeing his face again. He stood at the helm; passing out orders, then turned away from his duties to look at her, holding out his hand. As their hands merged, a rapping noise came at the door, jolting her out of her thoughts. “Come in,” she called out to the intruder.

The door opened and Arnaud slipped in. “Bonjour, Annabelle,” he said jovially.

“Hello, Arnaud,” she replied with a forced smile. “Is there something the matter?”

“I was looking for a distraction from certain…ah…problems. I thought we could partake in some zero-gravity dancing?”

Annabelle took a moment before answering. Perhaps that was just what she needed at the moment. “I would love to join you.”

Arnaud smiled, and led the way out of her room. Annabelle stood up from her bedside and followed him out, down the gangway, and into the common room. She took a seat and watched as Arnaud wandered over to the device on the cabinet. The device, which he had referred to as a phonograph, began to play music.

Arnaud walked over to her side, offering his hand with a bow. Annabelle smiled and placed her right hand in his. With a gentle pull, he lifted her from her seat and into a standing position.

“Are you ready, ma chère?”

Annabelle nodded to him, trying to think exactly how she would do the steps of the dance; having one leg made it more challenging, but she could not wait to have a release from her cumbersome mechanical addition.

Arnaud placed his right hand on the small of her back, his left grasping her right gently in his. She rested her left hand on top of his shoulder. They stood balanced for a moment as they rose off the floor. “To warm up, a waltz.”

He counted them in with a one two three, and they were off! A grin swept across Annabelle’s face, her troubles forgotten for the first time in many months. She followed his lead, waltzing in their invisible box. Arnaud was a more than ample teacher: he was commanding but gentle, graceful and empowered all at the same time. Even with her happier thoughts, there was one that clung to her mind.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” she said. “Having one leg for the rest of my life. It is a most unnatural burden.”

“You are doing a remarkable job, ma chère. I have never met someone with as much fire in their heart as you.” Arnaud smiled warmly at Annabelle, then added; “I believe that you wear it well. Burden or not.”

“Be that as it may, my dear Arnaud, I can’t help but feel there is a great deal that I will never be able to fully appreciate anymore. I cannot pretend that it does not affect me.”

Arnaud studied her for a moment in silence. He looked as if he had no words left to comfort her. His face suddenly lit up. “I have an idea!”

Annabelle looked enquiringly at him but he merely smiled mischievously in response. He took her hand and guided her through the air, out of the common room, onto the observation walkway.

“No matter what happens to us, Annabelle, we can always find a positive light for it. You may have but one leg now, but that does not stop you from living a most fulfilling life. Look at this sight.” He waved his arm across the lengthy window. “We are here, among the stars. It is a most captivating thing. How many can say they have seen the things we have seen, done the things we have done?”

“I understand what you mean. That we can be here, looking out at all of this and visiting all of these places, is truly remarkable,” Annabelle said. “I sometimes think we ought not to be up here.”

Arnaud regarded her thoughtfully. “I could not agree more. All of these things… Ils sont incroyable; they are wonders usually reserved for dreams.”

The two looked out of the window, hovering weightlessly. Arnaud turned from the window to Annabelle. “You are a proficient waltzer, non? I feel it is time I taught you something new. Something différent.”

“Oh? What did you have in mind?”

“It is called the Minuet. It has always held a special place dans mon cœur, something taught to me as a young boy. An old dance, but there is something to be said for traditions, at least at times”

“Fair enough.” She grinned.

Arnaud smiled back, and started to teach her the movements needed for the dance. Annabelle imagined that she was dancing with Bedford at their wedding: the thought exhilarated her, making her more determined to learn the dance than ever before. As Arnaud said, there was something to be said for traditions. George would no doubt agree. The Navy had its share, after all. As did weddings.

“Thank you, my dear Arnaud.” For some reason, she could barely speak. The two of them twirled there in the starlight to the scratchy music of the phonograph, a million miles from where the song was first played. And yet, for all the distance from home and love, for the first time in far too long she felt that things were somehow just as they should be.

3.

ARNAUD HELD A plant in the palm of his left hand, the roots draped in between his fingers. He lifted it up to the light, studying its roots. They looked normal to him, but he knew how looks could be deceiving.

While Arnaud was deep in thought, Nathanial entered the lab, holding a plate of sandwiches. The two shared a look.

“I brought you some lunch,” Nathanial said. “A peace offering if you will.”

“Mon ami, there was no need.”

“This morning…”

“It was nothing, we should leave it in the past and carry on with the present.”

“Yes, the past should stay as such.” Nathanial smiled bitterly.

Arnaud pretended to ignore it and indicated the sandwiches. “So, shall we eat?”

Nathanial crossed the room and took the chair next to Arnaud, placing the plate in front of them. “Bon appetit!”

“Très bien, Nathanial,” Arnaud said. “You are learning well.”

“I have the best teacher.”

4.

FOLKARD FELT HIS eyes droop as he sat at the controls. Nathanial had been kind enough to relieve him a few hours prior and although he appreciated it, the several hours of sleep that he managed to catch seemed to have had little impact on his fatigue.

No matter, a man of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy had to be of strong spirit, and besides he had served longer periods of duty without sleep in the past. Perhaps it was the lack of anything to do. On board Sovereign there were always duties to keep a captain busy; on Esmeralda he was little more than a glorified pilot while the boat sailed the luminiferous aether.

Folkard enjoyed spending time with Annabelle; however that time often came in short intervals when she was not shut in her cabin, as she had been for most of the journey from Earth. Perhaps she and the professor had a bit of a do again? Speaking of Stone, he saw very little of him or Doctor Fontaine, save for when it was Stone’s shift at the controls. He had not seen Fenn once since leaving Earth; though he had heard plenty of his barking through the speaking tube.

“Reporting for duty, Captain.”

Folkard craned his head around and smiled when he saw Annabelle. “Ah, Miss Annabelle, feeling a tad sprightlier now, are we?” he asked as he unbuckled himself from his chair.

“As are you.”

Folkard realised that his eagerness to leave the control room may have become a little more evident than he had intended. “Ah well, you know one needs to keep his senses sharpened when at the helm of any vessel.”

Annabelle’s brow creased slightly. “You know, Captain, sometimes I think you love serving the Royal Navy a bit too much,” she said.

Folkard smiled, double checking that everything was in place and fit for Miss Annabelle before leaving her. Annabelle as usual insisted not to be fussed over and reassured Folkard of her ability to pilot an aether flyer.

Even in an environment devoid of gravity he swore he could feel fatigue literally pulling down on him. He twisted the ornate handle of his quarters and pushed into the room, closing the door behind him while simultaneously yanking of his cravat. His boots were quickly discarded underneath his cot and he prepared himself for sleep, seemingly growing more tired each second.

The creaking and groaning of flyer constantly adapting to the relentless vacuum of space soothed Folkard in a strange way as he began to take slow and deep breaths; something he often did to relax himself before sleep. His father has told him the value of breathing exercises, especially for someone in the military.

Folkard smiled as he sank down into his bedding. It felt almost like a luxury to rest in such peace.

He could smell a pleasant fragrance creeping up his nostrils that was both floral and sweet. This coupled with the light breeze that passed softly over his face could not have been better.

Breeze?

He opened his eyes and was taken aback by the sweeping bed of flowers and the mountains that carved shapes in the horizon far away. There was a large willow tree barely a few metres from where he was sitting that sheltered him and…

“Did you want another scone, Jacob?” The soft voice that spoke was in perfect equilibrium with the tranquil surroundings.

Folkard looked around and smiled as the large willow, a cottonwood if he wasn’t mistaken, cast playful rays of sunshine that danced on the woman’s face.

Charlotte bore a sweet smile, and her eyes narrowed while they set on Folkard. He returned a smile with as much, if not more, sweetness and politely helped himself to a scone from the silver stand on which they stood.

“It really is beautiful here, Jacob,” she said.

“Yes, it really is. Actually why did we leave before?”

A flash of blue shot past in Folkard’s periphery suddenly. He turned to see what it was.

It was a ribbon, trailing through the air, tied round the waist of a young girl. Her laughing drifted over as she skipped through the knee-high ocean of flora.

Folkard stood up so quickly that he knocked over the cast iron chair that he hadn’t even realised he was sitting on. The girl looked to be around the age of eight or nine, but making a better estimate was impossible as her face was not visible, only the back of her head, covered in long, curly hair of a deep brown hue.

He did not know why, but he began to run, only just catching Charlotte’s last comment before exiting earshot. “I shall see you soon, Jacob.”

The girl was almost upon a small cluster of trees, tall and slender pines, as Folkard bolted through the expanse of flowers, not caring for the destruction of them. He felt his heart-rate increase, the pounding causing his chest to pulsate with pain. Was his age really catching up with him? The girl vanished into the forest when he was within metres of her. He carried on running.

He burst through foliage and into the maze of trees. He heard a giggle and his eyes darted around manically, looking for the girl. He needed to find her; he needed to make sure she was all right.

There she was! The girl was peeking out from behind a tree trunk to the right of Folkard. He rushed over when the girl withdrew back behind it.

He searched behind the tree, but she was gone. There was the giggling again, this time from behind him. He spun around and saw the girl running in between trees and branches, as if she was playing a game and still Folkard could not make out her face.

“Wait! Come back!”

He began running again and the girl shrieked playfully and tried to evade the man running toward her, but Folkard was in no playing mood. She continued to prance around, and into thicker foliage where Folkard struggled to follow.

The laughing of the girl became louder and more intense and seemed to come from all sides. Folkard was losing his wits.

She was to his left, no his right, or was she behind him?

Folkard felt beads of sweat rolling down his forehead and he thrust an arm out and grabbed the girl by the arm while she danced past him.

The girl screamed. A loud thudding…

Folkard sat straight up in his cot, the pounding coming from the door. He was shaken and he wore a cold sweat. “Yes, who’s there?” he called out.

“Sir, sorry to wake you,” came the voice of Fenn from the other side of the door. “But did you find anything odd with the controls earlier? I did ask Miss Somerset but she said you didn’t mention anything.”

Folkard cleared his throat. “No. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Fenn, is it really necessary to wake me in such a manner?”

“Apologies, Captain, I was just experiencing a few irregularities in the engine room and wanted to check everything was in order. I must get back to it now, sir. Sorry again for the disturbance.” Fenn’s voice trailed off in his rush back to the engine room.

“That bloody lad,” Folkard said shakily under his breath.

He began to lower his head to his pillow when his eyes locked on to something. The ornate storage chest in the corner. He unbuckled himself from the cot and, using his right leg against the wall, pushed with just enough force to propel him gently across the room.

He opened the chest and began to rifle through his collection of books. Surely a book would take is mind off things.

He pulled one out. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll. For a moment he stood there, just looking at the cover showing Alice in her blue petticoat. A flash of the girl from his dream rushed by and he shuddered.

Deciding that reading was not such a brilliant idea after all, he returned the book to the chest and returned to his cot. As he set his head back down on the pillow he closed his eyes, still haunted by the vision of the girl running from tree to tree.

5.

NATHANIAL LOOKED AROUND the dark room, trying to remember how he had got there. There was nothing in his immediate sight to help him figure out where he was and his memory was foggy, unresponsive. All was silent. It was as if the ship itself did not dare make a sound for fear of disturbing something. He found himself stealing his breathing, worried his breath might attract unwanted attention. He walked forward, each footstep echoing loudly around the room. A muffled sobbing came from the room adjacent to his; Nathanial thought to call out to the intrusive noise, but his instincts told him otherwise.

He walked through the doorway and in to the new room, the volume of the sobbing increasing as he closed in on its source. The room he had entered was dimly lit; a solitary candle the only source of light. It smelled musky, the kind of aroma only a room left alone for years could create. He ran his forefinger over the table by his side, dust creating a film of dirt on his finger. Disgusted, he rubbed it off on his trousers, looking around the room as he did so. There was an air of familiarity about the place, something he could not quite put his finger on.

His eyes adjusted to darkness, finding the origin of the sobbing; a man Nathanial had never met. He had his back to Nathanial, his shoulders hunched over the light. He did nothing to acknowledge Nathanial’s presence in the room. Nathanial watched him for a moment in silence as he considered his next move.

“Sir? Hello. I am Professor Nathanial Stone. What ails you so? Where the dickens am I, and come to that, how the deuce did I get here?” He looked back at the door, closed now. He frowned. “I was on board my aether flyer one moment, the next I am here, wherever here is. What is going on?”

The words had no effect, leaving Nathanial trying to think what to do. He repeated the questions several times and lost his patience. Quite forgetting himself, he made to shake the other man to his senses. However as he grabbed at the stranger, Nathanial fell through him and on to the floor.

He looked back at the man who now sat above him. He was staring at himself.

The other Nathanial’s eyes were wrinkled, with a sadness carved deep into them. His body frail, barely an echo. Still he ignored Nathanial, the sobbing unrelenting.

Nathanial got back on his feet and dusted himself down. He tried to make sense of what he was seeing, but could not. He knew it was pointless to attempt to hail the other him, so instead he searched for something else. Looking around he noticed another door to the right, and proceeded through it. What greeted him on the other side was a mist so thick he had trouble finding his footing. Something contrived to trip him up, knocking him out in an instant.

He did not know how long he had been unconscious, but when he awoke he knew something was amiss. Where he had previously been on cold, hard floor, now he found himself on wet grass, rain falling heavily upon him.

Giant oak trees cast spidery shadows across the ground, slivers of moonlight finding their way through the gaps in the branches. The whole area was surrounded by wrought iron fencing, rusted and topped off by spiked shapes.

It took him a bit longer to notice that every few metres there were rows upon rows of tomb-stones; a cemetery.

He got to his feet and peered through the dense mist. He walked over to a decrepit, mossy tombstone and wiped away most of the dirt with his sleeve. He stood there, frozen to his core, and read the words over and over again.

Here lies

Nathanial Ronald Stone

Born to this world on the First day of April,

In the year of Our Lord 1863

And taken on the Twenty-Eighth day of September,

In the year of Our Lord 1899

“Bread of deceit is sweet to a man;

But afterwards his mouth shall be filled with gravel.”

“Wake up, Nathanial. Wake up! Nathanial, wake up!”

With a sharp sting he jolted awake on his bed. Arnaud was standing over him, his right hand hovering over Nathanial’s face. His cheek stung.

“Desole, mon ami, I was afraid. I could not wake you, no matter how I tried. You were shouting in your sleep.”

Nathanial looked at the distressed Arnaud and smiled gently. “Thank you,” he said, simply, rubbing his sore cheek. His mind was in a fugue, but he dimly recalled the details of his dream. The words on the gravestone would be seared into his mind for some time.

Arnaud looked at Nathanial carefully. “How do you feel?”

“Well enough. I think.” His throat was parched.

“We should talk about your dream. It could have not been pleasant to have caused such a reaction.”

“Like you talked about your dream?” Nathanial snapped.

Arnaud shrank back. “My apologies.”

“No, I am sorry, Arnaud,” Nathanial said, his tone gentler, although in his mind he felt anything but. “Each man, when he is asleep, is in a world of his own.” He shook his head. “I would rather just take a drink of water and return to sleep.”

Arnaud looked as if he wanted to argue, but Nathanial gave a look that stopped him. Nathanial rose and walked off to get water. Returning to the cot he found Arnaud was already asleep. Nathanial looked down at him, a smile creeping across his face.

He climbed back into the cot, this time lying in the same direction as Arnaud, but before he could reconsider his actions the comforting arms of the other man embraced him. Nathanial settled his head on the pillow, and closed his eyes.

Chapter Three

“Something Isn’t Right Here.”

1.

ANNABELLE WOKE UP, her breathing laboured. Another night, another dream. She was becoming most weary of them. Sleep was now her least favourite activity on the flyer. Spending time in the company of others recently had not been a priority of hers, but some duties had to be attended. Nathanial was too busy with his lab to notice, the others with their own thoughts. Today, she decided, she would keep to herself.

She tried to remember the latest part of the “story” that had been steadily unfolding in her dreams, but it was like trying to catch a snake in tall grass, and after a while of attempting, she forfeited. There would always be tonight’s dream.

A glance at her pocket-watch told her it was about time to get up and breakfast.

The common room was, thankfully, empty. She pottered around preparing food and, once finished, made her way back to her cabin. Before entering, she took a quick glance up and down the gangway. She heard Nathanial and Arnaud deep in conversation in their lab; they had grown most comfortable with each other. Glad that they were otherwise occupied, she re-entered her cabin.

She sat at her desk, eating her pork loaf. It was nothing special but it would suffice. Annabelle was not one to do nothing for more than a few minutes, but since they had left Earth, she had the unusual feeling of being devoid of mental and physical energy. Everything was sapping. She tried to shake the muggy feeling that was afflicting her brain.

A giggle resonated around her room, as if it was trying to push its way into her mind. “What…?”

She looked around her cabin, but there was no-one there. The giggle had the high-pitched, playful sound of a young child. It came and went in seconds, not betraying its source at any time.

Annabelle stood up from her desk, to better see from where it came. She searched all over her cabin, but found nothing. She listened intently, hoping that she could locate the little giggler, however the giggling changed into frightened fits of sobbing.

“Hello? Are you okay?”

No answer.

As if lightning had struck her, she jolted up and across the room, and flung open her cabin door. The child had to be outside! There was nothing there to greet her. The usual hum of the flyer; a rhythmic clanking from the engine room; the low noises of the two in the lab, yes, but no actual person. Even the sound of giggling had gone.

She travelled up and down the gangway, but there was no sign of a child. She shook her head, hoping to rid herself of whatever was playing tricks on her mind, and re-entered her cabin.

Inside she made one final sweep to make sure there was nothing there. There wasn’t. Maybe sleep would cure whatever had been ailing her? She undressed and climbed under her covers, pulling the netting over herself. Lying down seemed to empty her head, and sleep soon followed.

2.

NATHANIAL AND ARNAUD sat comfortably close to each other at the table. Some of their notepads pinned down with magnets, others hovered in the air. “How is your food?” Nathanial enquired while pulling one of the notepads from above him down to the table.

“It is most delectable, for flyer food,” Arnaud said, winking. “There is something different in the taste of chicken stew from a tin, oui?”

“Well if you will take that attitude, I shall not make food for you again, my friend.” Nathanial stood up from the table, and took steps away from it, in mock affront. He turned back to Arnaud leaving a lingering gaze on him, watching the Frenchman’s reaction amusedly.

“I meant no offence, as I am certain you know.” Arnaud stood up, touching Nathanial’s shoulder delicately. “I will say just this, when we are back on terra firma I will show you the culinary skill for which we French are known.” He kissed his fingers. “There are no words to describe the perfection. It would be a disservice to even attempt to.”

Their laughter was interrupted by the familiar sound of magnetic shoes clicking on the metal grating outside the room.

“Is there something amusing, boys?” Annabelle asked as she entered.

“We were just sharing our appreciation of the wonderful food we are subjected to,” Arnaud replied. “It is most delectable, non?”

“Quite,” Annabelle said, carrying on their playful manner. “I would not change it for anything in the aether. Earth food on the other hand…” She mimed being sick.

They all looked at one another, trying not to laugh, but the temptation was too much. When they had managed to stem their laughter, Annabelle excused herself to make some food. Nathanial sat back down at the table, gesturing Arnaud to join him. They carried on with their work, sidling closer together. When Annabelle returned to the table, she gave the two an inquisitive look as they quickly edged away from each other.

“I do believe this is the first time the three of us have been together since we left Earth,” she said.

Nathanial and Arnaud looked at each other. “Well I never,” Nathanial responded, shocked. “I am sorry, my dear Annabelle. How are you? I have been so caught up in the lab with Arnaud, I have been unintentionally negligent of you.” Although he had enjoyed spending time with Arnaud, he realised he had not properly seen Annabelle since the night with Folkard in the control deck. Even then, he had not been as good a friend as he should have been. How woefully remiss of him, he thought, shaking his head.

Annabelle smiled at him. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Nathanial. We have all had our minds on other things. In fact…” She stopped. “Never mind,” she muttered.

“Come now, Annabelle, whatever is the matter?” Nathanial asked. “Your face is a paler shade of white, something is clearly bothering you. Spit it out.”

She hesitated a moment longer before finally speaking. “On the topic of things on our minds, did anyone, perchance, hear a girl laughing or crying last night?”

“A girl? We did not hear anything of the sort. What a most peculiar thing to hear.” Nathanial thought about the last week. “There does seem to be something most odd occurring at the moment, however.”

“Odd?” Annabelle stole closer to the two men.

“Both Arnaud and I have been having a series of dreams. Continuous dreams, running consecutively night after night. It is highly uncommon for such a thing, but it is not completely unheard of.”

Annabelle’s face dropped in shock. “You have had them, too?”

“Too?” Arnaud responded.

“Yes,” Annabelle said darkly. “They are horrible, truly.”

The three looked at each another, unsure of what to say. A dark shadow fell across their faces. Arnaud was the first to speak. “This can be no mere coincidence. Annabelle, if it would not be too impudent of me, may I ask when your dreams started occurring?”

Nathanial looked up sharply at him. “You believe there to be some correlation?”

“I am not too sure, but it would appear so. Annabelle?”

“Let me think, it must have been… Five, yes, five nights ago.”

“Mon dieu!” Arnaud exclaimed. “That is exactly when they began for me, and the following night for Nathanial. What could all this mean?”

Again they were all shocked into silence. They looked at each other, worry etched onto their faces. Nathanial did not like the sound of what was being said. He found himself wishing for the simpler days of working on aether propellers for Her Majesty’s Navy, before he had been enlisted on that fateful mission to Luna oh so long ago it seemed now.

“Oh, Nathanial, I do not like this,” Annabelle said. “What could possibly be occurring? Maybe there is a lack of oxygen on board, causing us to have these dreams?”

It was a very real possibility, Nathanial supposed. One they should at least look into to be sure.

3.

STEAM HISSED VIOLENTLY from a gauge, its freedom short lived. Fenn hurriedly quelled the leakage; he had spent so much time in the engine room of Esmeralda that he had become synchronised with the engine to a near uncanny degree.

He walked over to the rear of the room to check the boiler, its large bulbous shape dominating the cramped room. A loud clanging sound rang out, the vibrations being felt from the floor. Fenn span around, nearly tearing himself from the magnetic grip of his shoes in the process. His hand lunged at a nearby balustrade to steady himself.

“What the bloody…?” He cut himself off, quickly realising that had the noise been caused by someone entering, they might not take so kindly to his language. He spent most of his time alone in the engine room, so he’d got used to saying such things with only himself to hear. He called out. “Is anyone there?”

There was no reply, but through the dispersing cloud of steam a form could be seen, though not clearly enough for him to identify his visitor.

“Professor?” He moved over to the figure, waving the steam out of his way with a flailing hand.

A large noise, sounding like an eagle’s cry, burst forth from somewhere behind Fenn. He flinched, covering his head with his arms. A pipe must have ruptured. He doubled back and rushed to where he calculated the noise had come from, but he saw no leakage or breaks.

He checked pipes at the rear of the engine room, craning his head up, down and around to try and spot any cracks but there was no damage.

He turned back to the person who’d entered the room, expecting to be able to see them clearly now the steam had dissipated some. He shook his head. There was no one there. He put the noises down to being over-tired. He had been on shift for over ten hours now, no wonder his mind was so tired. Perhaps he could ask the professor to relieve him for a spell?

No one worked such long hours in Sovereign’s engine room, the chief wouldn’t let them. Fatigue must be working at his mind. That, and other things. But no sense in adding guilt to weariness. Best to get back to work. What was done was done. Any ordinary man would have done the same, surely.

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 past 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?”

“A brave one,” Nathanial said. He swallowed, considering his words. “I can only hope that if put to the test, I could give my life to protect you, to protect Arnaud, to protect the people that I love. What sets people of moral integrity apart from the rest is that we do whatever we must to protect those closest to us, however, there is a fine line between killing for those we love, and sacrificing yourself in the process.”

Annabelle was clearly bothered by what he had said, but said nothing, and instead stared out of the greenhouse window. After what felt like forever to Nathanial, she turned to him.

“I think…I need to be alone right now, I appreciate your concern, but I’m going to return to my cabin now.”

Nathanial started to reply, but instead nodded to her, watching her stride across the greenhouse and leave. They would get through this, they always did. Even if she had Bedford, Nathanial would always be protective of her, and he was not going to let her fall into despair and inhumanity.

Chapter Five

“Evidence of Truth Comes from the Senses”

1.

CORNED BEEF! ALWAYS with the corned beef. Dégoûtant! There was only so much that could be made of corned beef, and Arnaud’s stomach was strongly disapproving of those things. Having searched the supplies more extensively, he had been delighted to find all manner of treasures. Turkey bits, liver paste, chicken meats and even tinned sardines; however, Arnaud had opted for the turkey bits.

As he tucked in to the rudimentary yet luxurious meal that he had thrown together, Annabelle walked through the door ever so elegantly.

“Turkey?” she said. “Well I am pleasantly surprised.”

“Oui! A fine dish indeed, and enough to share, mademoiselle!”

She helped herself to the new found food and took up a seat opposite Arnaud. “How are you and dear Nathanial? I sense things are a little strained between you both.”

Through a mouthful of turkey Arnaud replied; “Well, whatever progress we manage to achieve doubles back on itself due to our disagreements.”

“You and him are still bickering?” He held her look, slightly taken aback by her comment.

“Myself? Well enough. Nathanial however…” He shook his head. “He has been acting slightly strange, have you noticed this at all?” He was careful to adopt a casual tone. The far too intimate conversation between Nathanial and him, though a week past, filled his head too much.

“Yes.” Her response was just a fraction too quick. “I doubt he’d have mentioned it, but we were talking, nearly a week ago now, of our worries about the vortex. Our conversation soon moved onto the events that took place on Ceres.”

Arnaud felt a small dart penetrate his heart. The days spent inside that hollow world had been strenuous and he had not quite put it all behind him. Then he realised what Nathanial must have brought up. “Those were grim times, ma chère,” he said gently.

The pair shared a solemn look for a moment.

“I am assuming he mentioned Blayney?”

Annabelle nodded. “He expressed his disapproval on the matter.” Her face was devoid of expression now. “I take no pride in what I did, but he claimed that I showed no remorse.”

Arnaud frowned. That sounded most unlike Nathanial; although he had to confess, to himself at least, that his confére had been acting in a strange fashion in the last week. “Don’t take his words to heart, Annabelle.”

“Oh I’ve not, I am just concerned,” she said warmly.

“I must admit, it has bothered me too. I don’t like it, but there is something troubling him. We can barely go an hour without having a disagreement of one sort of another.” Arnaud paused. He was not used to sharing his feelings with other people; he had been brought up to know his own mind, and to act on it. Not discuss it with others before hand, but being cooped up in a box in the aether… “This flyer, too, does not help resolve situations. I am not sure what to say to him. We are good friends, non, but he won’t let me help.”

“Just give him a bit of room,” Annabelle offered, and Arnaud nodded slowly. To take advice was not his way, not in personal matters, but Annabelle had known Nathanial for several years now. “I would suggest leaving him be, and try talking to him in the morning.”

Even when Nathanial was acting out of character and behaving like a fool, Annabelle still retained her trust and sympathy for him, and inevitably Arnaud did so, too. What was it about Nathanial that he engendered such trust and loyalty?

“I suppose you are right,” he finally said.

The common room was silent for a minute or so as the two ate their meals.

“You know, when he and I talked of what happened on Ceres, he mentioned something that I’ve been thinking about,” Annabelle said, breaking the silence. Arnaud looked up and raised his eyebrows as an indication for her to continue. “He said that he would sacrifice himself for the ones he loved…” Her voice trailed off and she stared blankly. Arnaud could tell she was slipping back into contemplation of Blayney’s fate. “I am going to return to my cabin. I’ve enjoyed your company.”

On that note, Annabelle made a swift exit, leaving Arnaud with his own thoughts again.

He would sacrifice himself for the ones he loved… Annabelle’s words echoed in Arnaud’s head, and he was forced to wonder, would Nathanial consider Arnaud someone that he loved?

2.

A CERTAIN DEGREE of order had been established within the engine room, though it had required double the normal amount of work and resulted in significantly less sleep for Fenn. The strain on the engine was indeed quelled, but only just. For how long, on the other hand, would be anyone’s guess amid the bizarre cosmic turbulence to which they had been increasingly subjected.

He wished that the professor would spend more time helping maintain the engine rather than tinkering in the lab with the Frenchman, though that thought was one that would never be spoken aloud. Professor Stone was, after all, here under the recommendation of Captain Folkard.

As he heard the engine room door swing open behind him, Fenn slouched with relief. As far as he was concerned Stone could not have arrived sooner, as he had been on shift for what seemed like an eternity now.

But it wasn’t Stone, it was the captain himself.

“Does the problem still persist, lad?” Folkard huffed, surprising Fenn with the abrupt question.

Fenn immediately stood to attention, despite his fatigue. “Sorry, sir, I thought you were the professor for a moment there.”

“You are in a bit of a state, aren’t you? Do remember that although you are somewhat secluded back here, you are still serving Her Majesty’s Royal Navy.”

“Apologies, sir. I’ll ensure that I don’t grow complacent back here.”

“Glad to hear. Right, how are the engines holding up? You’ve had no further problems I trust?”

“Still a tad temperamental, but they’ve been functioning far better than they were.”

Folkard strode over to one of the workstations and peered at the gauges and mumbled something under his breath. Fenn was desperately trying to stay alert but the lethargy was pulling at him.

“Well, everything seems to be reading well, correct pressure… Yes. I have navigated a course that puts us out of range of the aether vortex now, so there shan’t be any trouble from now on. You must make sure that such problems in here are avoided in future. For example, had a Russian ironclad been following us…”

Fenn’s ears pricked up at those words. Folkard turned from the controls and stared at him, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully.

“Sir, we would be able to avoid an ironclad’s attention with ease, even if the Russians had our exact location and route,” Fenn said, his voice shaking.

“Why on Earth would the Russians ever have such delicate information? I need not remind you of the importance of the secrecy of our excursion in the aether.”

“Well, hypothetically speaking, sir.”

“Well within your hypothesis, please elaborate on how the Russians could possibly have access to such information?”

“I’m not sure, sir. I…”

“But it is your theory, is it not, Seaman?” Folkard snapped, cutting him off at the quick. “An odd theory, I must say. But perhaps you have experience in the area.”

Fenn froze, heart in his throat. The deception could not continue. “Sir, I have something to admit, as you must have guessed.”

“Enlighten me, Mister Fenn,” Folkard said, his face frighteningly impassive.

“During shore leave, in London, I was ambushed by Russian agents. They seemed to know so much about who I was; that I had served on board Sovereign…”

“I’ve been able to feel your guilt, Fenn! I’d prayed for the sake of the Navy that your trouble was nothing of magnitude, but now I see you for what you are!” Folkard’s voice bellowed through the engine room, causing Fenn to retreat from his attentive posture.

“No, sir, I…” He took a step back and lost his footing as one of his shoes was drawn to a low laying pipe by its magnets. He quickly righted himself, banging his arm on the speaking tube and knocking the cap open in the process. He straightened himself up; he could not look weak in front of Folkard. “Sir, they beat my ribs, breaking a couple I’m sure. They threatened my family! But they only wanted to know about this mission. They…know Professor Stone is alive. Believe me, sir, I did not want to tell the Russians anything, but…” He swallowed hard. “I meant to use his alias, but the threats were too much. I…I am sorry!”

Folkard was silent for a few moments, his eyes boring into Fenn. The young seaman had heard much about the captain’s wrath, served with him on Sovereign for long enough. This was it; he would be strapped in irons as soon as they reached Mars.

“Does the oath that you swore on your country mean nothing to you?” Folkard asked, his voice level with menace. “Count yourself lucky that you are required to maintain this engine room. Had this been under different circumstances, you’d be rotting in the brig!” Folkard drew himself up to his full height. Despite being some inches shorter than Fenn, the seaman could not deny the power his captain carried. “Or tossed out of the airlock for treason. As soon we reach Mars you can consider yourself bound by law. Now return to your duties.”

Folkard walked swiftly out of the engine room, leave Fenn feeling numb.

He remained in the same spot for several minutes, with Folkard’s words resonating through his mind.

His career was over. Worse, his whole family would be shamed when the charges were levied against him. Better to end it now.

3.

FOLKARD WAS DELIGHTED when Annabelle rapped on the door and joined him on the control deck. Esmeralda 2 was now just over half way through its voyage to Mars, and it was turning into an arduous journey, what with the disturbances from the vortex, and the strange behaviour from the crew. It was pleasant to be accompanied for short periods of time when on duty, as it was ever so tedious. It was a blessing that his company wasn’t exclusive to his small collection of books; three of which he had already finished. While Folkard knew he wasn’t as young as he once was, piloting a small aether flyer hardly tested his abilities.

“We are making good time to Mars then, Captain?”

Folkard, from a craned look at Annabelle when she entered, noted that she was looking fairly well given the atmosphere on the flyer. “Indeed we are, Miss Annabelle, past the half way mark now. And how have you been keeping?”

Annabelle walked up to the idle chair adjacent to Folkard’s and sat, strapping herself in. “Not brilliantly. Nathanial continues to act in an erratic fashion, but that merely supplements my true worries.”

“What is bothering you?”

Annabelle did not answer immediately, and when she did she spoke hesitantly. “I don’t want to sound like one who belongs in an asylum but, I have been hearing things.”

Folkard paused. “Things?”

“Well, one thing to be precise: A child.”

Folkard looked out into space, but his eyes were fixed on the small girl who was still running from him. “Don’t count yourself alone in that, Miss Annabelle. I thought it was my mind playing tricks, but I have heard it, too,” he said. “I first though it was the result of a practical joke, but seemingly not.”

There was silence. Folkard saw something in the corner of his eye. He shot a look out at the aether, but only the stars were to be seen. Annabelle craned her head to gain a look.

Nothing.

A sound became audible, slowly seizing their attention. Folkard and Annabelle snapped out of their gazes and paused. Fluctuating in volume, it continued, dominating the control room.

Folkard turned his head, it was a voice, ghostly and distorted. If Folkard did not know better he would have claimed the voice to be that of Seaman Fenn, but that was ludicrous, after all Fenn was in the engine room. What was the voice saying? He strained himself to hear.

Russians?

Folkard and Annabelle turned and shared a look of mutual bewilderment.

“I assume you heard that, Captain?”

Folkard nodded grimly.

4.

A DIM HUMMING emitted from beneath the cot, disturbing Nathanial from his sleep. Not that he minded so much, after all the intensity of his dreams had not abated, although beside him, Arnaud continued snoring peacefully. It was a steady pulsing beat, not unlike the sound a heart makes when heard through a stethoscope.

If the laboratory had been closer to the engine room, Nathanial could have passed the noise off as an effect of the boilers or some such. Irked by the constant intrusion he finally opened his eyes.

Had the noise been there before? He supposed it might have, but regardless, it was becoming unbearable. Nathanial looked at Arnaud and began to question himself. If the geologist could sleep through the humming, was he really hearing it? It wouldn’t be entirely unheard of. Especially given the strangeness of their trip from Earth so far.

Pressing his ear to the cot, the sound became clearer, quieting when he moved his head back up. It was definitely not imagined. He got up from the cot and looked at Arnaud. How in heaven’s name could he sleep through it? Thinking of Arnaud’s long time in the depths of Ceres, Nathanial supposed Arnaud had slept through worse.

He kneeled down, peering into the darkness underneath the cot, and reached an arm out. The only thing that he felt was Arnaud’s leather satchel. Indecision wrought his mind. He did not wish to pry into his friend’s possession without permission, but the humming was definitely coming from within the satchel—he could feel the vibration through the leather. He could not help but give in to the intrigue; he blamed the scientist in him, always wanting to know the answer. Having no desire to disturb Arnaud, Nathanial took the satchel over to the workstation and, glancing back at the Frenchman to confirm he was indeed still sleeping, proceeded to slip open the clasp of the satchel and remove its contents.

His first thought was that it must be some sort of joke. Rising off the table and floating in front of him was an inch thick, hexagonal plate. Recognition brought with it an unwanted memory. His first trip to Mercury last year, and similar plates formed around the body of Professor Fournier—an image that left quite an impression.

Without thinking, he made his way across the room and shook Arnaud awake. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked, still shaking him, ignoring the look of shock on Arnaud’s tired face.

“Que l’enfer?”

“How could you, Arnaud? You know exactly what the plates are. You fool!”

Arnaud’s grogginess dissipated and his eyes enlarged as he regained his senses. He looked first at Nathanial, then around the room until his gaze fell on the desk where the plate still floated. He closed his eyes and sighed. “It is not so simple, mon confére,” he said, eyes still closed.

“It is very simple,” Nathanial scoffed. “This explains everything: the weird dreams, the hearing things, everyone acting oddly. It’s all to do with these plates. They are nothing but trouble. You were there, Arnaud. You know what they are.” He stepped away from Arnaud, his mind running through everything that happened on Mercury. “What if Hermes is here, on this ship, trying to manifest again?”

Arnaud looked at Nathanial in worry but his expression changed to one of hope almost instantaneously. “No, remember, the souls of the dead merged with Hermes. They would not let him manifest in such a manner as before. There is just no way that they could let him trick and torment anyone like he did on Mercury.”

Nathanial wanted to argue back, but saw logic in what Arnaud was saying. Nonetheless… “Let us hope to God that what you are saying is true. It would not do well for Hermes to come back. I do not think he is overly fond of us anymore.” He grinned momentarily at Arnaud, before regaining a stern façade. “We have side-tracked. Why on Earth are you carrying that plate? What could have possessed you to endanger yourself…to endanger Annabelle in such a way?”

Arnaud looked around the laboratory as if trying to find something to help him. He gave up and sighed again. “When you left Mercury, I missed you more than I had anticipated. I carried on with my research, and hoped every day to see you again. No matter what I did, my thoughts always returned to you.” A sad look fell upon his face, as if he was remembering those times.

“I decided to go on long walks to take my mind off your absence. So unlike me, oui?” he added with the usual twinkle in his brown eyes. “One night I was returning from one such walk, and I thought I heard your voice. I rushed in to my laboratory, thinking you had returned. Instead, I found a ghost of you flickering in front of me. It vanished before I could talk to it. I knew straight away it was caused by the plate that we had studied. That it must have somehow caught an imprint of you.” Arnaud took tentative steps towards Nathanial. “I’ve kept the plate ever since, because it felt like I had a part of you with me at all times, and that made me feel…it made me happy, despite the risk. I could not let you be taken away from me again.”

Nathanial looked Arnaud up and down, at a loss for words. Usually he would have had a witty retort for him, but Nathanial’s mind was rocking like a boat during a storm. Instead of continuing their conversation he headed to the door, turning back to look at Arnaud once more before leaving.

“I cannot…I need to think…” He shook his head. This was wrong. “I need to be alone,” he mumbled, hating himself for the look of hurt that took control of Arnaud’s usually joyous expression.

5.

NATHANIAL RUSHED OUT of the laboratory, and headed directly for the one place often devoid of people. The greenhouse. He glanced through the door, checking the cost was clear, and once sure he entered. He made his way deep into the greenhouse, until he found himself by the window looking out to the aether. His reflection cast a haunted look back at him.

Just what was Arnaud doing bringing the plate on board the flyer? Or keeping it at all? He paced the greenhouse trying to calm himself. His mind was full of questions, and not enough answers for his liking. He was most fond of Arnaud, but…

What Arnaud had said; his reason for keeping the plate. It was absurd! They were both men, and this was… This was not how God made man to be. So many years he had spent wrestling with this, trying to find a reason, to understand. He had hoped that perhaps out in the aether he would meet God, and discover the truth, but since leaving he had seen so much more. Things his mind could not have imagined. And… No.

How could he explain his own feelings for Arnaud?

He started to pace the greenhouse, stopping when he caught a glimpse of someone at the rear of the room. There had definitely been no-one in the greenhouse when he had entered. How had someone managed to sneak in without his realising? He walked around to the person and caught himself.

“You… What…what are you doing here?”

The figure spun around and greeted him with a grin. The man was tall—not as tall as Nathanial, of course—with white hair. Nathanial approached him.

“Sir, what are you doing here? Did Arnaud bring you aboard somehow?”

The man looked at Nathanial and laughed a deep, fulfilled laugh. “Come now, Nathanial. There is no need for formalities now, we are well acquainted. Call me Sébastien.”

And it was true; it was Arnaud’s father, Sébastien Fontaine, looking just as he had when Nathanial had last seen him in London. “Very well, Sébastien,” he replied, regaining his senses. “Will you not tell me how you came to be aboard Esmeralda? One does not simply appear on a flyer mid-…” He stopped abruptly, and thought of the Mercurian plate. “Of course, another ghost. I was right, this is all because of that damned plate.”

Sébastien shook his head. “That is not of importance right now. There are other, more pressing matters to which we must attend.” He directed Nathanial to the chairs adjacent to the window before saying politely; “please sit.”

Nathanial nodded.

“I know how you are feeling right now, confusion could not be worn more clearly on your face.”

Nathanial felt his face flush. This was beyond the pale. “I’m sorry for my rudeness,” he said, wondering at the notion of apologising to a ghost. But that did not make any sense. If Sébastien was a ghost, then that would mean Arnaud’s father was dead. Nathanial shook his head. Nothing was making sense any more. “I am pleased to meet you again, sir. Is there anything I can help you with?” he asked, feeling more and more incredulous by the moment. “I…have a lot on my mind.”

An unperturbed stare greeted Nathanial. “I am very aware of that, I am here to help you. You need to talk, not just to think. You need to see things from a different point of view.”

He looked at Sébastien with further confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I know you have certain thoughts, thoughts that you believe equate to you having been made wrong. You are incorrect for thinking this. There is nothing wrong with you, or your thoughts.”

Nathanial tentatively asked; “They are not wrong? I cannot believe such a thing, otherwise I would not feel so conflicted.”

“Is there really such a thing as right or wrong? Or are we just conditioned to act according to what our governments, our parents, our society dictates to us?”

“There are absolutes,” Nathanial interjected. “God’s laws, higher than anything man can…”

Sébastien raised a hand. “God’s law?” He laughed in derision. “By whose reckoning? Could it not be that they are merely laws man has attributed to God, led by their own fears and ignorance? It is my belief that not everything can be split between right and wrong. There is a whole area that falls in-between. Just because someone disagrees with another, it does not make one more correct than the other. As a scientist, you should understand that better than most. As for Arnaud, there is nothing that he needs to say. I could tell it from the moment I met you back on Earth.”

The more he spoke, the more Nathaniel believed him to be Sébastien. If something had happened and this was his ghost then did that mean Sébastien had met with God, learned of truth beyond Nathanial’s understanding?

“As a scientist, my mind should be more open than many, but as a man, I still believe I have been made wrong,” he said, trying to understand his own thoughts. “God created two beings, man and woman, to procreate, then spread out across the Earth. It has always been that way. You hear talk of deviants more and more, but they are just that, aberrations. And…” He looked to the deck. “I fear I am one of them.”

“Are you saying my son is a deviant?” Sébastien laughed at the idea. “My son is the most loving person you can meet, he sees the joy in everything. And he sees it in you, young man. If you wish to cling to God’s law, then consider this. What is God above all else if not love? ‘Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God; and every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God.’ You are not made wrong, but right.”

Could it really be so? He looked away, out through the porthole, and into the aether. Was God out there, waiting with the answers Nathanial needed? Or could it be, that as Sébastien had suggested, that the answer was already before him? Nathanial hoped the latter was true. His spirit lifted somewhat, he turned back to thank Sébastien, but he was no longer present. The greenhouse was silent.

Nathanial walked around the greenhouse, peered out onto the gangway, but of Sébastien there was no sign. Of course there wouldn’t be, Nathanial realised, the visitation had served its purpose.

His eyes caught a reflection in a pane of glass by the door. The feeling of ice ran down his spine. It was an all too familiar figure. Impossible, he thought, but then no more so than a visit by Sébastien Fontaine.

Nathanial spun around to find him. “Father?”

There was no-one there.

For a moment longer Nathanial remained standing there, his eyes lost in the aether. The answer he had sought his entire life, it had been in him all along.

He straightened his back, feeling a renewed sense of certainty and turned away.

Nathaniel knew what he had to do.

Chapter Six

“A Man of Courage Does Not Run Away”

1.

ARNAUD WOKE GROGGILY, gasping for air; it felt like a ball of sandpaper was being forced up his windpipe. It seemed even when he did not consume considerable amounts of cognac the night before, he would still rise with a pounding headache.

“Merde,” he wheezed through cracked lips.

A sound.

He was not alone. Arnaud could not remember being disturbed in the middle of the night, but then again, when did he ever? He was, by nature, a deep sleeper.

“That’s an unpleasant cough, Doctor Fontaine. Need I fetch you some water?” Nathaniel’s voice filled the room and was, itself, filled with warmth. The red-headed Englishman was standing at one of the work benches tinkering away, his face lit with a pleasant smile.

Arnaud raised a curious eyebrow before entering a second fit of coughing. “Oui, it would seem so, but not to worry, I mean to make a visit to the common room.” He freed himself from the straps of the cot and could not help but return a smile.

Nathaniel put down the two components that he held, letting them float just above the work-surface. “I must admit, I spoke very harshly to you last night,” he began, and Arnaud was not going to disagree with that, even out of politeness. “I apologise, really. I think that we are all growing tiresome of this wretched journey, myself included. But that does not justify my behaviour.”

Arnaud felt as if a thorn had been plucked from his side. He almost had enough of Nathaniel’s erratic behaviour, and it was a relief to hear these words. “It’s all right; I have felt the strain of this forever journey also. Consider it forgotten.” He was sincere is his forgiveness, though he would not have been able to stay frustrated at Nathaniel, even if he tried.

He dressed quickly, and then joined Nathaniel in his tinkering, eager to begin a fresh day.

While the pair worked together, Arnaud thought appreciatively of Nathaniel’s apology. He was just happy to have his friend back.

2.

“ANNABELLE, ARE YOU here, or have you followed Commander Bedford aboard Sovereign again?” Nathaniel said, chuckling. “You have not touched your food yet, it is now surely cold!”

“Sorry?” Annabelle said, raising her head, utensil clinging to her right hand. “Oh, right. Yes. I was just thinking through the dreams I…we…have been having.”

“It is alright, there is no need to apologise,” he said, spooning a large portion of stew into his mouth. “You have a hypothesis for why we are having these dreams?”

“No, I’m afraid not. I cannot work out why we are having them, but that doesn’t stop me looking at what they mean.”

“Indeed. They are specific to each of us, so it is no shared dream that we are looking at. Instead, we should be looking at what they mean to each of us: Are they trying to tell us something? Or is it something else entirely? Is there a core reason behind this?”

Annabelle, watching Nathaniel sit with a thoughtful expression on his face, wondered what was running through his brilliant mind. She had begun to piece together what the dreams meant to her, but could she voice that to Nathaniel? He was her closest friend, yet still…

Standing up from his seat, Nathaniel wandered the room, rubbing his chin with his thumb and fore-finger, presumably trying to remember his dreams. He stopped, as if to continue the conversation, but no words came from him. Annabelle gently called his name, and he turned to look at her.

“I…I need to talk to you about something,” she said, and turned away from his intrigued look. She could not look at him while she said what was on her mind. “I said I had been looking at what the dreams have meant. While re-reading what I had written, I found something, a memory, one so entirely despicable and horrible that I had to pretend it did not exist, for fear of losing my sanity.”

Nathaniel came back to the table and sat beside her. “Are you okay? What is it?”

“I do not know how to voice such a thing.”

“I will not make you do something that you are uncomfortable with. Know that I will support you in any way I can.”

Annabelle looked at Nathaniel, a sad smile on her face. “If I cannot tell you, I will be running from it forever myself.” He tried to interject, but she refused him the opportunity, continuing: “There is a lot I have not told you, not told anyone.”

She watched Nathaniel; afraid to carry on, afraid what saying it out loud, admitting it, could mean. He said nothing, instead wearing an expression nearing dread. She didn’t like causing him to feel such a way, but there was no way she could tell him this, without causing such a reaction.

“I realised that my dreams were always set in the same place. The scenery, I knew I recognised, but could not remember from where. After last night’s dream, I know. It has always been in the Chiricahua Mountains.”

“Oh my goodness.”

“There is a lot about that place that will stay with me forever. I cannot think of it without remembering what happened to my family. My mother and father…” She caught another pained look on Nathaniel’s face. “There is something else, the little girl I keep seeing, she is a part of it. I have seen her face before in dream. I believed it was just a desire on my part to have a child. Now, I’m not so certain.”

“I cannot imagine what it was like to lose your parents in such a manner, for that I am truly sorry. It cannot be comfortable having these dreams that make you visit there.”

“It is not, no. Yet, it feels as if it is making me face what I have hidden for so long.” She stood up from her seat, and walked to the cooking area, facing away from Nathaniel. Images of Ceres swept through her mind. “When Koivunen attacked me on Messor Base I had a moment of deep panic. As if an unwanted memory was attempting to tunnel back into my brain. I suppressed it, but now, with all these dreams and my wondering, I know now what it was that I hid from.”

She turned her head back to Nathaniel, tears streaming down her face. The change in her made Nathaniel move swiftly over to her, embracing her. He wiped away her tears with his thumbs, pulling her closer to him. For a moment, she felt safe. Safe from her memory, safe from the pain.

“I remember far too much now,” she said, the words spilling without thought. “I remember the sight of my father with a brave’s axe in his skull, the blood shining in the dim light of that cave. And I remember being bound, the leather straps cutting into my wrists until I thought my hands would turn black and shrivel away. They almost did. Perhaps that would have been for the best. Maimed girls are undesirable.”

“Here now, that again?” Nathaniel said. “You are a beautiful young…” He paused with realization. “Oh.”

Annabelle nodded. “It’s a strange thing. I don’t hate the Apache, not all of them. Some of them, though, I would see burn. The one I was given to as a war prize, he was…not gentle.” She shuddered. “But these are my memories, my life. Good and bad, they’re mine to own, don’t you see?”

She allowed herself to sob for a while, holding Nathaniel in sombre silence, comfort coming from their tight embrace. Annabelle pulled away from him softly, tears still clinging to her face. “You have had a life of pain, my dear Annabelle. I do not know what to say.”

Annabelle, without looking at Nathaniel, nodded, and walked back to the table, delicately sitting down. Her head hurt from thinking, and remembering. Her eyes felt like they had two oceans storming around them. She thought Nathaniel looked almost as pained as when he had believed Arnaud dead.

“There is one more thing that I have begun to think. Something that would make sense of my dreams.”

Nathaniel looked at her, joining her again. He didn’t look like he could handle any more.

“I…I think a child came from that.” She paused, trying to find words. “The girl from my dreams, she is around the age that my child would be. I cannot be sure, but it feels as if it is true.”

“I cannot believe it. Is it true? You have a child?” Before Annabelle could reply, he added. “You did mention a child when we were on Mars. However, such was your state at the time, I thought it was delirium talking and paid no heed to it.”

“I would have presumed as much myself, if it had been the other way round. My memories are hazy, and I am too scared to keep pushing, but if this feeling is any indication, then I believe that I do have a daughter. The feeling I get when I see her in my dreams is so profound. I feel the need to protect her, to save her.”

Nathaniel’s looked at her with understanding. “Where will you go from here?”

“I do not know yet, but there is one other I must talk to before I decide anything.”

“Commander Bedford.”

“Yes.”

The two sat in profound silence. Annabelle felt a sense of release. Yes, it had been uncomfortable to realise and voice her painful memories, but also, she could not have had a better person to be there for her in this time. She liked to believe she knew how George would react, but he was also a Navy man—would he want her if she was soiled goods? Nathaniel had no such issue; he was her friend, he would remain by her side whatever. She watched Nathaniel for a while, his eyes filled with sorrow and what she thought was confusion. “Is there something else on your mind?” she asked.

Nathaniel came back into the room and his head turned to her. “There is something, but I do not think it would quite be appropriate after what I have just found out.”

“You know you can talk to me about anything, much like I did with you.”

He nodded in response, but held his silence.

There was an unusual look in Nathaniel’s eyes that Annabelle had only seen a few times. Mostly followed by something important. Sensing that he may feel as she had done, trying to find the words to say, she asked, “Has something happened to you? Something bad?”

Nathaniel shook his head, instead looking slightly more relaxed. “It is nothing that you need to worry about, more that I need to worry about.” He smiled ruefully. “You aren’t the only one with dark secrets, my dear.”

Annabelle held his hand. “Then tell me. You let me inflict my secrets on you, surely I can allow you the same courtesy. And I’ve worried about you recently.”

Nathaniel chuckled softly. “I am far more transparent than I care to be, if you’ve sensed my troubles. But no, it is nothing akin to the horror you went through. Rather it is something that I have struggled with for as long as I can remember. I have always felt that I was made wrong,” he added after a pause of consideration. “I have such thoughts that would be considered deviant. I know that love is the grandest emotion that we can have for another. That by God’s law ‘Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination’, but there is someone that I have fallen so deeply in love with that it contradicts that, and I fear being cast from God’s love.”

Annabelle looked at Nathaniel in silence. He could only mean one person, and Annabelle felt sure she knew who. His next words only served to confirm what she had suspected for some time, although she hadn’t realised such suspicions until now.

“Annabelle, I think I am in love with Arnaud.”

3.

FENN LAY UNDER the main boiler, tightening some of the screws, thankful for the opportunity to immerse himself in work. Folkard’s biting words still left their mark on him.

That and what passed for his future. When they landed on Mars, he would be brought to justice. Some justice. Those damn Russians, if only he could have used the professor’s alias; he wouldn’t be feeling like he was. He could not bear to think of the repercussions for his family. The shame. He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind, tightening the last bolt.

Hearing the door to the engine room open, and subsequently close, he slid out from his position and stood to greet his visitor. It was Nathaniel, smiling, and greeting him affectionately. Fenn responded with a gruff “hello”, and carried on to the far side of the room. Nathaniel followed him in silence, noting his lack of conversation. After a few moments of checking the dials, Fenn allowed his irritation to best him and snapped.

“What do you want?”

Nathaniel shied away in surprise at his outburst. “Come now, Jack, is that any way to greet a friend, mood or not?”

Being reprimanded by Nathaniel was the least of his worries, but he still felt ill at ease having causing his friend to take offence. Changing tack, he started again with an apology. “I’m sorry, Prof. I’ve not had a good night, as I’m sure you’re fully aware. Is there something you wanted?”

A blank stare answered his words. Had Folkard not informed the crew? Get the guilty party to explain himself? A cruel punishment indeed.

“You have had no word from Folkard of what transpired?”

Nathaniel shook his head.

“It surely is better to come from me, than another source.” Fenn sighed. Shaking his head. “When we last docked on Earth, I was attacked by Russians and forced to reveal our biggest secret—that you are alive. In my weakness, I forgot to use your alias and they took great pleasure in gleaning the information from me.”

“My goodness,” Nathaniel replied. A look of horror filling his face. “How are you holding up?”

Fenn had always considered Nathaniel a good man, but he couldn’t understand this reaction. Fenn had betrayed him, and all he was concerned about what Fenn’s wellbeing? “I am all better now,” he said, unable to hide his confusion. “I am so very sorry. I was weak, and I know the punishment that will follow.”

Nathaniel looked carefully at Fenn. “I know that you did not mean to let out that information, and I am thankful that you told me in person. I am sorry, also, for what will happen because of that.”

Fenn hung his head dejectedly. The professor was too good a man. Fenn doubted he would be so understanding were the positions reversed.

“Why don’t you take a banyan, Jack?” Nathaniel asked, worry on his face. “I’ll keep an eye on things for a bit.”

“Thanks, but I think I’d rather just get on with the work, you know? Keep my mind off it all, as much as I can.”

Nathaniel nodded. “Then how about I help you, make sure all is okay with the governor?”

Fenn muttered “thanks” and went back to his primary station.

4.

FOLKARD PACED BACK and forth. He was getting restless again; the role of a space mariner was proving less exciting than he expected, and he found himself longing for his old command again. He heard clinking on the rungs just outside the door. He paused with hands behind his back.

Professor Stone’s head became visible through the pane of the door. Folkard nodded to him, and beckoned him in. The door opened with a slight creak and Stone entered, closing the stiff hinged door behind him. “How goes your duty, Captain?”

“Well enough, Stone. We are making adequate time for Mars, even with our detoured route. We should arrive in just under eleven days, lest we have continued problems with the engines.”

“All was in good order when I left the engine room, neither Jack nor I foresee any trouble.”

Folkard nodded and walked to the back of his chair. He looked into space, narrowing his eyes. He was about to reply to Stone but an odd feeling of apprehension distracted him. He tried to shake the feeling and he wiped his face with a broad palm. Folkard hated being unfocussed, and had no patience for those who took their time with their replies so it was frustrating for himself to do so.

“Fenn mentioned to me what you two spoke of yesterday,” Stone said.

Folkard eyed the professor, his brow creasing slightly. A hint of a smile lingered at one side of Stone’s mouth. What was the man up to? The only words shared with Seaman Fenn were several commands and compliances through the speaking tube. It seemed an odd thing for the two to speak about. “Oh. Well as you said, the engines are unhindered no?”

“Perhaps the odd hiccough here and there from the troubles they endured the other week, but other than that they seem much better.”

There was silence for a moment as Folkard attempted to remember his previous trail of thought. He had almost felt a premonition coming on, but the sensation had passed.

“Oh, and not to forget, Captain, I’ve confirmed with Fenn that some of the instruments have been giving false readings.”

Folkard snapped out of his near day dream and sharply turned his head to Nathaniel. “I see. I hope there was no delay in bringing me this news?”

“I came straight from the engine room. The reading are only slightly uncalibrated, it’s just a case of tweaking them slightly, which I have come to do.” Stone moved over to inspect the aetherlabe and various readings. “Thus nothing should be amiss with our location or progress. When did someone last relive you of your post, Captain? I’m sure Annabelle should be here by now.”

Come to think of it, this had been quite the prolonged shift, and lethargy did not do well on duty. “I think you are right, Stone. Where is Miss Annabelle?”

“I’m not sure, I did not see here on my stroll up. You need not worry though; I can take over for you. She’s bound to turn up soon.”

Folkard sensed an odd air about Stone… Well, different at least. The man had been out of sorts lately, but was this his way of putting that behind him? “Very well then, I shall retire to my quarters. Remind me of any changes that you make to the instruments.”

The two exchanged goodbyes and then Folkard heaved open the heavy door and looked down into the claustrophobic shaft that led to the rest of the ship. He was closing the door behind him when he began to experience what felt like another psychic episode dawning. But no, the sensation quickly departed.

Folkard continued to stare down the stretch of steel and iron. He could not help but feel a sense of foreboding. Something what wrong, out of place, missing perhaps.

This feeling stayed with Folkard for the rest of the night. Later on, as he drifted gently within the confines of the cot’s straps, though fatigue had ravaged him, he laid awake unable to find peace.

Chapter Seven

“What He Wills To Do”

1.

ANNABELLE WALKED ALONG the gangway toward the engine room, grimacing at the unpleasant sound of her metal leg against the decking. Her lack of sleep from dream-plagued nights didn’t help her mood, either. Opening the door to the engine room, she was greeted by a fine cloud of steam that billowed gently past her as if it had been waiting to escape.

“What’s this, late to relieve me of my shift? Need I remind you that I filled your absence yesterday on the control deck before you strolled in?”

Annabelle jumped slightly, but smiled at the playful cadence of the voice. Nathaniel stepped out from the tangle of pipes and steam. He bore a great smile, the kind she had not seen on his face for a fair while. Perhaps unburdening himself yesterday had done his composure wonders. She wished to talk more about it, but found herself uncertain how to broach the subject. For her part, Annabelle was determined to remain a true friend and keep his secret. She reflected on how much he had survived already; indeed, as far as anyone knew, beyond a select few in the Admiralty and the British Government, Nathaniel Stone was dead. Could the reputation of a dead man be ruined?

“Nathaniel, you must announce your presence in a less startling manner,” she said returning the smile. “It isn’t time for my shift in here at all, and neither was I late for duty on the control deck yesterday. You were the one who turned up early to relieve Folkard.”

Nathaniel laughed, almost in key with the bizarre sound the boiler happened to be emitting. “I jest! You know how I tease.”

Annabelle rolled her eyes and perched herself gently onto a stool that stood alongside the wall-mounted workstation. Arnaud’s presence was certainly rubbing off on him; there was a time when such “jesting” was almost taboo for Nathaniel. How things had changed in the last year.

“Do you think that my leg is obvious in its awkwardness?” she asked, since it was one topic she knew she could discuss freely with him.

“Of course not, why are you asking all of a sudden? You have seemed at ease with it since we left Venus.”

“No, it’s functioning fine. I’ve just been noticing it more.”

Nathaniel regarded her closely, almost intrusively in fact. Annabelle was not sure she cared for it. She felt studied. He smiled warmly. “I shouldn’t worry, you are aware of the effects such varying gravities have on the springs in the leg. I should have spent time developing it while we were docked on Earth, but you would go out gallivanting.”

“I was not gallivanting. I was occupying my time in the best way I know how. Uncle Cyrus was unwilling to spend much time with me, and you would not step outside of Chatham Dockyards… What else was I to do? Be confined, too?”

Nathaniel shrugged and turned away. “A man can surely do what he wills to do, but cannot determine what he wills.’ I suspect it is true of you, too.”

Annabelle forced a smile, not entirely sure as to what he meant by that. She watched him work, as he twiddled various valves, and checked the corresponding readings before spinning round in near ballerina fashion to obtain a large wrench that had been hanging at elbow-height behind him.

He wore an odd complacent smile, almost as if he was paying no real mind to his actions. “You know, I have come to appreciate something during my time tending to this room,” he said suddenly. “People are not completely unlike this place.”

Annabelle blinked, and looked around the engine room. She did not see the similarity. “In what way?”

“Well, if I were to totally neglect my duties here, the engine would soon fail. Similarly, if I were to neglect my friends, our relationships would suffer. People need the correct amount of maintenance and care, in order for things to work properly.”

“I am not sure I care for that comparison. You mean to say that our friendship, for example, is like…” Annabelle paused, looking into nothing as she searched for an apt word. She couldn’t find one exactly suitable so she finished with “a job?”

Nathaniel freed the wrench from his grip, allowing it to float freely before snapping onto one of the magnetic strips that were designed for holding tools and parts. “No, of course not. Do you see what I am doing now as a ‘job’? Nothing of the sort; I enjoy my shifts in here. They give some time to…contemplate things.”

It could be supposed that any relationships could be broken down in such a way. The relationships that animals shared were based on mutual benefit; a parakeet would take the time to preen another member of its flock, if it expected the same to be done in return. Annabelle recalled their conversation yesterday. Was the sharing of secrets so dissimilar?

“It is no secret that I had become lax in my approach to working and sustaining the engine room. I fear I left Fenn with a troublesome amount to do. I would assume that is why we were having problems with the engine last week.”

Nathaniel continued on his analogy, speaking of how causing a certain degree on the boiler, for example, could, even if repaired, have a prolonged effect on the performance of the entire flyer and how the same could be applied to a relationship shared by two people. A taint on a relationship could indeed fade, though it would never be erased completely. Even now, months later, Annabelle recalled the sting she had felt when Nathaniel had revealed he had all but ignored her plight in London.

Fade, but never truly erased.

She shook her head. Such deep thoughts so early in the day. “Well, I do hope you consider me worthy of the care you are currently showing this room,” she said, keeping her tone light.

Nathaniel did not respond in kind. He merely nodded. “Of course I do. You are very important to me, Miss Somerset,” he said, and, for a moment, Annabelle felt sure she saw an unusual calculating darkness in his eyes.

She shivered.

2.

FAILING TO STIFLE a yawn, Folkard put his latest book down, and removed his reading glasses. Needing to regain some impetus, he unbuckled himself from his seat, stood up, and stretched. This would not do, not at all! He still had at least an hour before Annabelle was to come and relieve him of duty, and here he was falling asleep.

Pull yourself together man!

He needed something further to stimulate his mind. As much as he was enjoying reading, there was only so much of it one person could do in a single shift. His allowance was spent. The visit from Doctor Fontaine, a few hours ago, had been very welcome: the two had shared an interesting discussion of the differences, and similarities, between English and French writings.

His mind wandered to the equipment; it had been a while since he last checked it. He walked towards the aetherlabe, where he noticed a purplish flash flicker across the wall behind it. Where had that come from? He whipped around to find its source.

My God!

The edge of the aether vortex. It was reacting wildly to something, crackling and casting purple hues across the blackness of space.

This could not be. They had plotted a course to circumnavigate the vortex. At best it should be a blip in the distance. He had charted the course himself. What was happening?

He sped to the orrery and checked it against the aetherlabe, his spine tingling with an icy sensation. Folkard double checked his calculations, and cursed. The readings were definitely off. He grabbed the pipe and bellowed down it. “Miss Annabelle, are you there? Annabelle, I need you in the control deck right away. Please, hurry, it is an emergency.”

3.

FOLKARD BURST THROUGH the engine room door, almost taking it off its hinges. Fenn, who had been hidden behind a pipe, jumped back from it in alarm, standing to attention as his gaze found Folkard.

“Sir!” Fenn looked anxiously at the captain.

“We are headed straight for the vortex!” A look of confusion and fear etched itself across Fenn’s face. “I thought we made a correct course to avoid it completely?”

“We have, sir. Or that’s what I’d believed we… The aether propeller!”

Folkard raised his eyebrow. “The aether propeller?”

Fenn nodded. “Last week, it was not working properly. There was an unusual pull to it, as if something was trying to drag us off course.”

“Could it be? Is the aether vortex pulling us in with no chance of us correcting that? Fenn, we must correct this, or surely face our own peril.”

Fenn’s face whitened slightly, but he nodded in agreement.

“Man your station, Seaman!”

Fenn darted over to the main boiler, anticipating Folkard’s instruction. Folkard picked up the pipe and called for Miss Annabelle. After a few moments, she replied, audibly worried.

“We have work to do, Miss Annabelle. We need to divert course from the vortex, or I fear the worst! Fenn, vent all steam from the boiler.”

“Captain?”

“There is no other choice. It may cripple us, but if it fails, there is nothing left to do.”

4.

ARNAUD WAS IN the middle of preparing his food when Annabelle seemed to literally fly up the gangway, her legs leaving a trail behind her. Of course, she wasn’t really flying, merely propelling herself along with the handrails that ran along the walls throughout the flyer. It was an unusual way for her to move, but Arnaud had to agree it was faster than clunking around with metallic shoes, although less graceful than the Minuet he had taught her. He barely had a moment to consider why she would be in such a rush when the captain came flying down the gangway in the opposite direction.

Arnaud did a double take. “Quelle est cette excitation?”

Investigation was required.

Leaving his food on the worktop, he crossed the room and made his way up the ladder to the control deck where he found Annabelle sitting with her back to him. Forgetting propriety for the moment, he just walked in. “Bonjour, ma chère!” She turned around to look at him, a determined expression on her face and a hand clutching the end of the speaking pipe.

Realising he had intruded unintentionally, he mouthed, “je suis désolée,” and quietly took the seat behind her.

“Has Fenn discovered what the problem may be?” she asked, speaking into the pipe. Annabelle shivered, waiting for a reply. She placed it to her ear, and nodded.

Arnaud watched her as she checked over the orrery. He was not very well versed in piloting an aether flyer, but even his genius was not needed to detect the danger facing them. Tension was coming off Annabelle in waves. He looked to a window, and his eyes widened in horror. In the distance, although not distant enough, was a maelstrom of dark purples, swirling and interacting with each other violently. Like giant snakes made of dust and energy, trying to consume each other.

He swallowed and turned back to Annabelle. “That is an aether vortex?”

She nodded grimly. He had heard tales of such a phenomena from Nathaniel, and the awful tale of Peregrine Station.

“Mon Dieu!”

“I should say! You’d think with our new propeller…” Her words trailed off as her focus returned to her instruments.

Arnaud found his attention being drawn back to the vortex. He stood, and moved closer to the window. It was mesmerising in its violence. The way it was reacting… “Non,” he muttered, “that surely cannot…” The plate in the lab. It, too, seemed to be reacting to something. The humming growing stronger every day they neared Mars.

“The plate?” Annabelle asked. “Your Mercurian plate?”

Arnaud shot a sideways glance at the woman. Had he voiced his thoughts? It was not unknown. But what did she know of the plate? Nathaniel must have mentioned it to her. What else had he told her? Arnaud shook his head. That did not matter right now.

“These fluctuations; could there be a link with your plate there?” she continued.

“I do not see how, but it has been reacting more lately.” He stopped, not liking the look on Annabelle’s face. “It is a regret of mine having brought it on board the flyer, but I never expected…” He could not complete his sentence. The depth of his bad judgement was too much.

The silence between them was broken by the door swinging open, and Folkard barging past Arnaud. “It would appear that the propeller governor is not going to be of any help,” he announced. “We’re still being pulled towards the vortex.”

Folkard less than politely ushered Annabelle from his chair and gripped the control levers. “Miss Somerset, continue checking the readings.” Annabelle did so and Folkard looked out to the vortex. “What the deuce? That’s…not right.”

“Captain?” Annabelle looked up from the orrery.

“Miss Somerset, you have seen an aether vortex before, correct?”

“I fear not. I was incapacitated at the time. Although the destructive capabilities of an aether vortex; that I have experienced firsthand.”

“Ah yes, of course. Well, I have navigated my share of aether vortices and that…” He pointed at the ever growing maelstrom. “That is not an aether vortex!”

Annabelle frowned. “Then what is it?”

This was all beyond Arnaud; though he could not deny that, vortex or not, whatever it was that they were heading to was both powerful and… What was the word? Yes! Primeval!

“Des premiers âges!” he said with a breath. “A rip in the luminiferous aether itself!”

Folkard glanced back at Arnaud. “Such hyperbole, Fontaine. From the professor I expect such like, but not you. However…yes, I think you may be right. I have never seen the like. But it certainly began as an aether vortex. Now? This is something uncharted.”

“I think I may be to blame, Captain,” Arnaud said slowly, although he wasn’t certain he could explain how. Before the captain could comment, Arnaud continued. “I, ah, must confess I brought one of the plates from Mercury on board, it is only of sentimental value to me, but I fear that it could be what has diverted us to this trouble.”

“Plates?” Folkard shook his head slowly. “One would think I’d be used to the follies my crew seems to indulge in. I assume you have something more to add?”

“Those plates are not just crystals, far from it. They are impressionable; they have to ability to contain imprints of people, and even intelligence. Even well after the events on Mercury, there is still much we do not know about them.”

“And you saw it fit to bring such a thing on aboard my ship, Fontaine?”

Chastised, Arnaud looked away. What could he possibly say to make the situation better?

“We shall deal with this later—if we survive,” Folkard said grimly.

“That plate has been reacting the nearer we move towards Mars, or so Arnaud says,” Annabelle pointed out. Arnaud looked at her, but she did not hold his gaze. “Whatever that is out there, it also appears to be reacting to something. As if…I’m not sure. But could it be that that plate and that thing out there are being attracted to each other, like a powerful magnet and a sheet of metal?”

Silence, save for the rattle of the flyer.

“Well, Fontaine?” Folkard barked.

Arnaud started, and swallowed. “Um… A good hypothesis, yes. One should never ignore coincidence.”

“So, we’re being attracted to that rip out there, and the propeller governor is failing to make a difference.” Folkard shook his head. “If we had known about the problems with the governor before, then perhaps, just perhaps, we could have found a way out of his. Prevented it, even.”

“But when I checked in on Nathaniel in the engine room earlier, he mentioned nothing of a fault, or poor performance.” Arnaud did not care for the suspicious look clouding Annabelle’s face as she spoke. “Could he have missed such a problem?”

The captain stroked his beard. “Fenn told me that not long after he took Nathaniel off duty the engine seemed to completely deteriorate.”

The deck fell silent.

“That there is a connection between your plate and that rip out there is almost certain, Doctor,” the captain said, “but I suspect the biggest cause of the problem has been poor communication regarding the condition of the engine room. Or rather a deliberate lack of communication.”

The implication was clear to Arnaud, and he did not like it one bit. Certainly Nathaniel had been out of sorts throughout the majority of their journey from Earth, but Arnaud could not believe his confére would do anything to hurt any of them.

“Stone must have failed to alert us about something,” Folkard continued, moving beyond implication and directly into accusation.

Annabelle looked to Arnaud, a deep frown darkening her handsome face. “Captain, surely you cannot believe that Nathaniel would…” She shook her head, still keeping her eyes locked on Arnaud. She was trying to tell him something, but he knew not what.

Folkard ignored her and rose to his feet. “Fontaine, come, we men must consult the professor; he’s been awfully quiet during all this. Miss Somerset will remain here and attempt to regain some control of this vessel. If such an action is possible.”

Arnaud remained behind a few moments longer, trying to figure out what Annabelle’s look had meant. She was sitting back in the pilot’s seat, her back to him once more, her attention focussed on the task ahead. Arnaud opened his mouth to ask her directly, but a bark from Folkard pulled him off the control deck.

5.

THEY FOUND NATHANIEL sitting at his desk making an entry into his journal. He spun around at the abrupt entrance. He looked quizzically at Arnaud’s flustered expression, and narrowed his eyes when he noticed the stern countenance of Folkard.

“Is there a particular reason for your barging into the lab with such ill manners?” he asked.

“I take it you have not noticed any of the present commotion on the flyer?” Folkard glared at Nathaniel.

Nathaniel looked from Folkard to Arnaud, then back again. “I was merely writing my newest journal entry; perhaps I have immersed myself in my own musings too greatly.”

Folkard just stared for a moment and then said; “We are on a direct course with what can only be called a tear in the fabric of the aether, and we are having a hell of a difficult time amending our direction.”

“I see.”

His calm reaction did him credit, but nonetheless surprised Arnaud. They were all in danger; surely even Nathaniel realised that. Folkard continued to eye Nathaniel. The wound that had existed between them since they had first left Earth on their mission had been healed over the last few months, but now it was being torn open again.

“We were hoping you had something to share, anything odd you may have noticed,” Arnaud said in an attempt to add some salve to that wound.

“Nothing at all.” Nathaniel pursed his lips together, and shrugged. “This is all very odd.”

“Listen, Stone,” Folkard said, edging into the lab, “I’m not quite sure you are grasping the gravity of our situation. If we cannot avert our course with the rip, we will all die.” There was no reaction from Nathaniel; a strange peculiarity, considering his previous anxiety about living through a situation similar to that of Peregrine. Arnaud did not understand the reason for such a non-reaction, and he did not like the waves of aggression coming from Folkard.

“Now I am very sure that no one of us would want that,” the captain continued, “so can you please share with us any speculation you have of the problem?”

Nathaniel rose from his chair and placed his hands behind his back, his face now deadly serious. “Well, we must unearth this so called problem. Have you spoken with Fenn?”

Folkard rolled his eyes. “Yes, Fenn told us that he has no clue why the propeller is not propelling us anywhere! And further that you were already aware of the problem with the propeller governor. Care to comment?”

Nathaniel turned his back to them both. “Then perhaps your suspicions of the real cause of this predicament have been discarded all too quickly,” he said darkly.

Arnaud and Folkard turned to exchange puzzled looks in perfect unison. Arnaud wanted to say something, but words failed him. He had seen Nathaniel dismissive of people before, but never at risk to his friends.

“What the devil are you talking about, man?” Folkard barked.

Any reaction from Nathaniel was brushed aside by a loud cracking sound, echoing throughout the flyer. The vessel rocked, causing Arnaud and Folkard to lose their footing.

“We’re entering the horizon of the rip,” Folkard announced from his position on the metal grating of the lab.

Arnaud looked up to Nathaniel, but he was no longer standing, instead he was stretched out awkwardly on the cot, a trickle on blood on his forehead.

Chapter Eight

“Whence Honour Springs”

1.

AS THE LAB continued to shake, Arnaud scrambled over to the cot and checked Nathaniel. He was coming around, his eyelids flickering. “Arnaud, what is…?”

“Soyez tranquille, mon confére.” Arnaud reached for Nathaniel’s head, and wiped away the blood with his sleeve, revealing a very small cut. He must have hit his head on the bulkhead when the flyer shook. “Are you okay?”

Nathaniel blinked. “I think so. What the devil is happening?” His eyes flickered around the lab, following the cracking sound. “The vortex?”

“If, indeed, that is what it is,” Folkard said, returning to his feet.

Nathaniel shook his head, as Arnaud helped him to stand. “I do not understand. What else could it be?”

“That is what we came to ask you, Professor. Your precious governor is failing to have any effect whatsoever, and now we have the added problem of that plate Fontaine here brought with him from Mercury.”

Arnaud could not blame Nathaniel for looking confused; he, too, was confused. But mostly by Nathaniel’s shift in attitude. Only moments ago he seemed cold, provocative even. To assuage Nathaniel’s confusion, he explained about the plate and the effect it seemed to be having on the non-vortex. The ship rocked again.

“That cracking sound is Esmeralda 2 straining from the pull of that tear out there,” Folkard added, once Arnaud had finished. “She was not designed to survive an aether vortex, never mind a rip in the aether.”

Nathaniel’s eyes widened. “It’s like Peregrine all over again.”

“Worse I should wager,” Folkard said, rather pointedly Arnaud thought. Still the captain felt some blame lay at Nathaniel’s feet.

“How long do we have?” Arnaud asked.

“I cannot say. If it were a vortex we would have experience by which to estimate, but that thing…”

“Is there anything we have yet to try in the engine room?” Nathaniel asked. “Perhaps if I look at the governor? I’m certain I can fix this. It was designed to help navigate a vortex after all. On Sovereign, surely you must remember, Captain, how easily we sailed the vortex then?”

Arnaud was still confused. Nathaniel was acting like a wild thing, clutching at straws. He knew that Nathaniel’s experience with Peregrine had a profound effect on him, but this reaction was at odds with his earlier composure. Can a man’s attitude shift so radically in so short a time? Without the influence of cognac Arnaud would have usually said no.

“Professor, you appear to be missing the point. That is not an aether vortex out there. Your governor is of no use now—if, perhaps, you had bothered to tell me that we were having problems with the governor before we got into this predicament then we’d have some kind of solution to grasp hold of.”

For a moment the coldness returned to Nathaniel’s eyes, but then it was gone. He looked directly at Arnaud. “The plate. You say it’s reacting to this aether tear?”

Arnaud nodded. “Oui. And the…aether tear…is reacting to the plate. I do not understand why.”

“Unimportant,” Nathaniel said with a wave. Arnaud wasn’t sure he agreed on that point, but for now their survival was of more importance. “Perhaps if we dispose of it? Destroy it! Remove the metal and the magnet is little more than another piece of metal.”

Destroy it? Arnaud stepped in front of Nathaniel. “Mon confére, you cannot do this. You know what this means to me.”

Folkard spoke up. “Your personal attachment to this plate of yours is beside the point.”

Arnaud span on Folkard. “And if it was your copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland? Would that also be beside the point?” Folkard’s cheeks flared. Arnaud knew he was wrong to bring up such a thing, he was almost betraying a confidence, but he could not let the plate go. It held Nathaniel’s imprint, kept him close at all times.

He felt a hand rest on his shoulders, and Nathaniel spoke to him softly. “Arnaud, I am here right now. Ton confére. You do not need the plate.”

Arnaud glanced back and looked up at Nathaniel’s grey eyes. He could not explain it, but a strange sense of contentment overwhelmed him, and he nodded. “Mon toujours,” he said softly.

My always.

2.

THE THREE OF them made haste to the engine room, Fontaine carrying the plate close to his person. Folkard could not blame him for his attachment to it; he, too, had things of personal value with which he did not wish to part. But if it meant losing such things to save the lives of his crew, then he would not hesitate. And Fontaine would have to do the same.

Fenn looked up from his workings, scrambling about the engine room in a vain attempt to get the most out of the boiler and the aether propeller. Folkard wasted no time in explaining the situation, keeping his eye on Fontaine all the while. He and Stone stood to one side, conferring among themselves. Folkard was, once again, uncertain of Stone’s motives. He had thought that he’d finally got the cut of Stone, but recent events had brought all his doubts to the surface once more.

“I have a hammer,” Fenn said, reaching for such. “That should be able to make a pretty dent at the very least.”

“A hammer?” Folkard was incredulous. He was hoping for something more, but perhaps brute force was the answer. “Very well. Doctor Fontaine?”

The Frenchman looked at him with something like fear in his eyes. Stone whispered something in Fontaine’s ear, and with a nod he unwrapped the cloth from around the plate and placed it on the nearest workstation. Fenn and Folkard joined the scientists, and raised the hammer. Fontaine took a sharp breath.

“Wait,” he said.

“Doctor, now is not the time to be squeamish,” Folkard pointed out, irritation building in him.

Fontaine shook his head. “Non, but if anyone is to do this, it should be me. I…I am to blame for all this.”

Folkard had no time for such introspection. Action was required. “We can parse blame later, right now we need to destroy this thing and hope we can get clear of the aether tear.” He nodded at Fenn. “Give the doctor the hammer.”

Fenn did so, and without a moment’s hesitation Fontaine swung the hammer and brought it crashing down on the plate. Not even a scratch. Not to be deterred, he struck again, and once more the hammer had no discernible effect on the plate.

Broad he may have been, but Folkard did not reckon much on Fontaine’s strength. He asked for the hammer, deciding that, if anyone was going to save the ship, then it should be him. Certainly he was the strongest of the men on Esmeralda. He glanced at Stone, who was standing away from the three of them, his arms folded over his chest, watching silently. No, not watching, observing. Folkard narrowed his eyes. Stone would keep for later, if they all survived.

Summoning all the strength he could muster, Folkard brought the hammer down on the plate. The head of the hammer flew off the handle, careering through the air, missing Stone by an inch before bouncing off the bulkhead behind him. Meanwhile the plate, vibrated by the impact, spun on its axis and shot off the workstation to land on Fontaine’s foot. The Frenchman jumped back with a screech of pain, holding his foot in a fashion that would, under other circumstances, be comical, before toppling over due to his one foot being cemented to the decking by the magnet in his shoe.

Folkard looked to the handle in his hand. “Well I think it’s safe to say that did not work.”

Stone picked up the hammer head and looked at it curiously. “No, indeed.” He glanced at Fontaine. “How is your foot?”

“Bruised,” Fontaine said, tentatively rising to his feet and testing his weight. “But I should live.”

“For now,” Folkard said grimly. He handed the hammer handle back to Fenn, looking like a child whose favourite toy had been broken. “Any other suggestions, gentlemen?”

“What about melting the plate?” Nathaniel suggested so quickly Folkard wondered if he had been harbouring the idea for some time.

Fenn shook his head. “That would deplete the oxygen levels, Prof; we couldn’t do that.”

“The ability to breathe will hardly be an issue either way, soon, Mister Fenn,” Folkard reminded him. He turned to Fontaine. “I believe you have a Bunsen burner?”

3.

THE FLAME FLICKERED around the plate, causing the crystal to change colour, mimicking the angry blue of its source. Arnaud leaned in closer, amazed by what he was seeing. The flame was not touching the plate, merely dancing around it. He could not help but admire its beauty.

“Impervious,” Nathaniel commented behind him. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Arnaud, but did we not see damaged plates on Mercury?”

Folkard interrupted. “Is this relevant, Stone? For whatever reason, the plate does indeed seem impervious now.”

Arnaud ran a finger over his lip. “Perhaps due to its proximity to the aether tear? Strengthening its molecular structure.”

“Is that even possible?”

Arnaud shrugged at Folkard’s question, and waved his hand at the plate. “Apparemment.” He turned to Nathaniel. “If we cannot melt it down, what can we do? It is imperméable to all attempts to destroy it. What have we left?”

In one way Arnaud was glad to see the plate resist. Although Nathaniel was there, Arnaud knew that he would not always be so. How could he? Once the mission was over and all the minerals were collected, what would keep them together? His usefulness to the British Government would be over, and he doubted even his father would be able to influence any further involvement from Arnaud. At least with the plate in his possession he would always have something of Nathaniel.

“The only solution left to us is to give the plate to the aether tear,” Nathaniel said softly. “It seems they are attracted to each other, and perhaps we ought not stand in their way any further.”

Arnaud swallowed. Nathaniel’s eyes did not leave his as he spoke. They lingered for a few moments longer, before he pulled them away and looked over at Folkard. The captain appeared not to notice. He was looking at the plate, still going through the spectrum of colour, and stroking his beard.

“How would you suggest we do that, Stone?” Folkard asked, only now looking at them.

“One of us will have to take the plate outside the flyer.”

Arnaud looked at Nathaniel in horror. “You cannot be serious? That is suicidal. Whoever would do such a thing?”

The three stood in silence, looking at each other before Folkard spoke up. “I must do it. As the captain of this flyer, it rests with me to look after its safety, and that of the crew. I have lived a full life, without regret. There is no need to waste your lives.”

“You cannot!” Arnaud said forcefully. “This is my fault, my responsibility. If anyone should do it, it should be me. We would not be here if it was not for my stupidity.”

Nathaniel placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and shook his head. “I will not let anyone else die,” he said. “There is too much of that on my conscience already.” He considered Folkard carefully. Arnaud was not privy to everything that had occurred between the two men in London, but he understood enough to know that Nathaniel was talking of his younger brother who had died then. Over the past few months Nathaniel had wrestled with that, shifting the blame from himself to Folkard and back again. “I will not be able to live with any more death.”

Folkard held Nathaniel’s look. “If you do that, Stone, you will most certainly be sucked into the tear.”

“I am aware of that, Captain, but I am the least of us. Besides, on Earth I am already dead. William Brooker I am not.” He shook his head. “I can never return to my family, I will forever be hidden from them, living this lie in service of the British Empire. No, I cannot live like that once this mission is complete. I have to do this.”

4.

IT WAS MADNESS to allow Nathaniel to throw away his life like this. Annabelle just could not believe that Folkard would allow it; there was no guarantee it would it even work. She now stood in the gangway, next to her cabin, watching as Nathaniel climbed into an atmosphere suit, Arnaud helping him.

She supposed she should feel sorry for both of them; over a year it had taken them to finally confess how they felt, and now this was it. The end for both of them. But she could not push aside her own feelings. She and Nathaniel had been through so much since Arizona. March 1888 seemed like such a long time ago. How much life could a person live in over two years? There was a time she would have said very little, but she and Nathaniel had been through so very much. He had saved her life more than once, became the big brother she never had. She smiled sadly, remembering how, once upon a time, she had believed that Nathaniel had other intentions towards her. How wrong she had been!

Although he frustrated her greatly with his proper ways, she was thankful for his protection, for keeping her safe, for allowing her to stay with him at the Whites’ in Chatham Dockyard, even letting her bully him into joining him on his first trip to Venus. At the time she did not appreciate the effort he had made, the responsibility he had taken on when he agreed to her care out of respect for Uncle Cyrus.

Annabelle looked down. She had been so cruel to him back then, and now she felt ashamed.

“Je viens de ton trouver, mon toujours,” Arnaud said, and reached up to peck Nathaniel gently on the cheek. Annabelle pretended not to notice, but she smiled despite herself, glad that Folkard was already manning the control deck and Fenn was safely locked away in the engine room. She doubted either man would understand this display, and would most certainly be disgusted by it.

“I know, and now I must save you.” Nathaniel looked over at Annabelle. “Save you all.”

Annabelle put her hand to her mouth, feeling the sting of tears. She held them back. No, she would be strong for Nathaniel. Her protector.

Silently Arnaud turned away, but he was prevented from leaving by Nathaniel’s hand, which clasped Arnaud’s tightly. The two men looked at each other, but there were no more words that could be said. Arnaud returned to his lab, their arms reaching out until, finally, their fingers could no longer touch. The door closed behind him, and with a thump it locked tightly, sealing him against the forthcoming vacuum.

She walked over to Nathaniel, wanting to hug him, hold him and not let him go. But the cumbersome atmosphere suit would not allow that. In some ways, and God forgive her for thinking this, Nathaniel was more important to her than George. The love she had for Nathaniel was quite unlike that which she had for George, and he had been by her side through so much. She could not honestly have asked for a better friend.

He frowned. “What is it?”

“Memories,” she replied. “It is nothing.”

“No,” he said, holding her hand. “Memories are all we have, ultimately. Every experience leaves a memory, and is that which makes us the people we are. I take with me so many happy memories of us.” He smiled sadly, and reached for the helmet of his suit. “If only things had been different, my dear Miss Somerset.”

She helped him secure the seal of the helmet, and looked at him through the glass. He offered her a final smile then turned to leave. She knew she should enter her cabin, pressurise the door, before he reached the airlock, but she could not move.

“Stop,” she cried, so sudden she surprised herself.

He stopped.

So many thoughts rushed through her head. “Please, I don’t want you go, Nathaniel. I…”

With no further response, he continued towards the airlock.

5.

WATCHING THE AETHER tear (if they survived this, Folkard was determined to make that an official designation for the phenomena) was like watching Ouroboros dancing in the heavens. He was far from a scholar of history, but he had an interest in Greek mythology and was aware of Plato’s story about the self-eating being—supposedly the first living creature in the universe.

Could it be that this was what he was seeing? If Stone and Fontaine were to be believed, then that plate was connected to a being as old as Mercury itself. Maybe even as old as the universe. There was clearly a connection there. It seemed the aether was rife with ancient forces—the Heart, Hermes, the aether tear. Maybe everything in the universe was connected?

Folkard closed his eyes, trying to get a sense of the Heart. He had not felt its itch in a while, probably since Esmeralda 2 had drawn near the tear. Connected, perhaps, but that was not to say in a good way. Humanity, after all, was connected through Creation, yet they were seldom bound together in unity. Perhaps it was the same for the Heart and Hermes, and for the Heart and the aether tear.

Eyes still closed, his thoughts drifted to Stone. Over a year ago he had tested the professor’s metal by having him board Sovereign by walking the gangplank thousands of miles above the English Channel. The young man may have been terrified, but that had not stopped him. Since then he had built up a healthy respect for Stone, but things had not be great between them since Edwin Stone’s death. He wasn’t sure if the professor still held him responsible, but nonetheless Stone had continued to prove himself and accepted Folkard’s leadership on the current mission.

Neither man had given the other reason for doubt since leaving for Mercury in February, but since departing Earth three weeks ago… Stone had not been his usual self. Negligent in some ways. Now though, now he was out there, doing what needed to be done to save them all.

The flyer shook. Folkard’s eyes snapped open, looking directly at the tear.

Godspeed, Professor.

6.

EXCERPT 87.

“Beyond the Inner Worlds: The Journal of Professor Nathanial Stone” (Published July 2011, by Chadwick Press)

Sunday July 6th, 1890.

Secrets are difficult to share, but it seems that sometimes they are not needed to be spoken. I see Annabelle looking sometimes at Arnaud and I and I am certain she can see the truth. Neither Arnaud nor I talk of such things, but it is there. Will we ever find the courage to utter the words? To confess? How would we live if we were to do so? Perhaps we should never make a declaration of such things. The truth would damn us both.

I thought that having Arnaud here would make things easier for me. Perhaps I was being selfish, needing some kind of solace after the death of Edwin, and, in some respects, the death of myself. I had insisted on him joining us, that we needed his expertise on this mission. Many were opposed to having a Frenchman involved in such a clandestine mission, but his worth has been proven. To the point that even Folkard has accepted him as a bona fide member of the team. And yet…

I feel uneasy with Arnaud being here. My feelings for him grow ever deeper, and we sleep in such an intimate way now, in a way unbecoming two men. We dare not speak of these feelings, and if we were to be discovered… Well, one suspects Labouchere and his cronies would have their day. A Subject of the Crown such as I. Seven years minimum… What a fall it would be!

Arnaud closed the journal. He could read no more; not that there was much more to read. That was the start of the last entry, written two weeks ago. Had things become so hectic on Esmeralda 2 that Nathaniel ran out of time to write up further entries? It seemed so unlikely; his confére always found the time for his journal.

Never again.

Anger bubbled up inside him, seemingly coming from nowhere. Perhaps this is what he wanted? Together their lives would be impossible. Easier to give up.

Arnaud shook his head. No, that was unfair to Nathaniel. He was giving up his life for those he loved—was there a greater expression of love? He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the rocking of the flyer. Nathaniel may indeed save them all, but Arnaud would lose so much as a result. He held the journal tightly, and whispered the words of his father’s favourite poem; Marceline Desbordes-Valmore’s Asunder.

N’apprenons qu’à mourir à nous-mêmes.

Ne demande qu’à Dieu…qu’à toi, si je t’aimais!

Au fond de ton silence écouter que tu m’aimes,

C’est entendre le ciel sans y monter jamais.

7.

SHE REMEMBERED THE story Nathaniel told her of his first walk into the aether—scaling the hull of Peregrine with Holmes, Fullbright and Provost to fix the stabilisers. At the time she was being held by Dolan; battered, bruised and degraded. But afterward, while being returned to Earth on Sovereign, he had explained to her what it was like to be out in the aether, with no world to hold on to. The very notions of up and down irrelevant. And now he was out there again, only this time it seemed unlikely he would return.

How could he? Esmeralda 2 could not pull away from the aether tear, and she had engines working in her favour, all Nathaniel had was his strength. His ability to hold onto the hull of the flyer, while the plate and the tear reacted, pulled at each other, would be as nothing. What good was man’s strength against the primal forces of the universe?

Her breath shuddered, racking pain in her chest. She would not cry—she would not! She would be strong for Nathaniel, show him the respect he deserved.

“Oh, Nathaniel,” she said, the words escaping as a breath of hurt. “I will miss you…so very dearly.”

A knock on the door of her cabin stole her from the pain, and she looked up. Was it over already? Certainly Esmeralda seemed to be shaking less. She gathered her strength inside, attempting to prepare herself for a life without Nathaniel. What would she do? Continue on with this mission, or book a passage back to Earth once they made Mars-fall? Right now all she wanted to do was see George. He would know what to do.

“Nathaniel!”

She almost fainted at the relief, thinking that she was getting delirious again. She reached out a hand, letting it rest softly on the cold material of the atmosphere suit, made all the more colder by exposure to the aether.

He smiled at her through the helmet. The words she could barely make out, but that did not matter. Nathaniel was there, standing before her! She reached up and helped him unseal the helmet.

“How did you…?”

He shook his head, the ginger hair looking like a dirty brown through sweat. “I did not need to do much—the plate knew where it wanted to be. I simply let it go…home, I suppose.”

While Nathaniel removed the atmosphere suit, Annabelle returned to the control deck to inform Folkard of Nathaniel’s success. All they needed to do now was manoeuvre Esmeralda away from the tear, assuming it was still out there. Perhaps, now it had the plate, the tear itself would close.

The sight that greeted her upon entering the control deck, however, only served to destroy her optimism. Folkard wrestled furiously with the propeller wheel, while barking orders down the pipe to Fenn. He noticed Annabelle enter, and nodded her to the empty chair.

“It would appear Stone sacrificed himself for naught,” he said, his eyes returning to the view outside.

Annabelle looked. The tear was still there, only now it seemed to be worse, opening up like some maw waiting to consume them. But Nathaniel had said… She turned back to the captain. “I do not understand; Nathaniel let the plate…” She stopped abruptly, her dark eyes resting on the worst sight she had ever seen. Just behind the captain’s seat, looking like it was part of the bulkhead, was the Mercurian plate.

Chapter Nine

“Full of Sound and Fury,

Signifying Nothing”

1.

“WHAT THE DEUCE?” Folkard reached up for the plate, but it would not move. He looked at Annabelle. “How did this get here? I thought the professor…”

Annabelle could offer no explanation. She had been there; she had seen him enter the airlock. He said he disposed of the plate; why would he lie? She shook her head. This was silly. “How can it possibly be here? I saw Nathaniel with it; he took it to the airlock with him!” She thought back; had it been in his possession when he returned? No, she would have seen it. And he had no time to store it elsewhere. No, that was ridiculous. Even if he had returned with it, how could he have got it to the control deck without being seen?

“Could there have been more than one?” Folkard asked.

She shook her head. If there had been then either Arnaud or Nathaniel would have told her, of that she was sure. Either way, it still did not explain how the plate could have mysteriously appeared on the control deck. There was always someone there, and recently it had only been Folkard and she. “I can’t explain it. Maybe we should ask Nathaniel?”

“He has returned?” Folkard stared at her.

Annabelle wasn’t entirely sure she liked the look of surprise on the captain’s face. Honestly, after everything he and Nathaniel had been through together, she would have expected at least a small show of relief.

Folkard nodded curtly. “Then by all means bring him here, although what good it will do I cannot see.” He indicated the scene outside the flyer. “We’re still being pulled in, and there is simply nothing further we can do to prevent our demise.”

“Captain!”

“I’m sorry, Miss Somerset, but that is the short of it.”

Annabelle could not believe it. She had never seen the captain defeated before; even after the last visit to Luna when he’d first discovered the influence of the Heart, and he all but resigned his commission. He had bounced back, worked with Bedford to clear both her and Nathaniel’s names. He was not prone to defeat.

She stood from her seat. “We will find a way out of this, Captain. We do not give up. Or so I’ve always been led to believe from you.” Just as she made to move, the flyer rocked so violently that she found herself being flung through the air into the door. The deck continued to vibrate around her; the orrery crashed to the grating, soon followed by the aetherlabe.

She made to stand, but found her mechanical leg unresponsive. She lifted the petticoat of her dress, aghast to see the leg being wrenched from her knee as if by some unknown force. She fought back the scream of pain, tears in her eyes. Tearing at the skin of her knee joint, the leg tore away and flew across the control deck where it fastened itself to the bulkhead facing the aether tear.

“Captain, I…”

Folkard didn’t seem to notice. He only had eyes for the energy storm outside. “This is it,” he said, “we’re going in!”

2.

THE ENGINE ROOM shook as Fenn scrambled toward his sleeping space to grab his Bible. The pipes by which the steam moved around the flyer rattled, starting to shake free of their holdings. It was only a matter of time before every pipe burst. Even now he could see hairline cracks appearing in the boiler. Soon it would all erupt, filling the entire engine room with the superheated steam that usually fuelled the aether propeller. Before he died, he had to make some peace, if not with Professor Stone, then at least with God. He had, reasons notwithstanding, betrayed not only a good man but his oath to Her Majesty’s Royal Navy.

Even if, by some miracle, the prof was successful in disposing of the plate and they were able to escape the pull of the aether tear, Fenn didn’t fancy their chances of continuing on to Mars. There would soon be no means by which to propel Esmeralda. The propeller was burning out, the governor was overworked, and in the vacuum the liftwood slats were of no use at all. At worst she would drift listlessly in the aether, and at the best she’d be espied by some passing craft. If they made it to Mars at all, it would not be in this flyer.

He barely had a chance to close his eyes in supplication when the boiler burst and he was covered in superheated steam. As his nerves were shredded by the pain of his epidermis peeling and bubbling, his final thought was not of his betrayal of Stone or the Navy, but rather the thought that he had somehow let down his grandfather…

3.

ITEMS ONCE SECURE had been shaken free and were floating around the lab like slow moving projectiles. Arnaud batted aside a test tube. By some miracle his toujours had survived his brush with the aether and the plate was gone—not that it had saved Esmeralda. Together they stood in each other’s embrace, looking through the glass of the porthole, watching in horror as the purple energy of the aether tear lashed out towards the flyer. Each lick of its tendril rocked the flyer more, causing the two men to stagger backwards despite the magnets in their shoes.

“This is it,” Arnaud said, his voice calmer than his heart rate would have suggested. He looked up at Nathaniel, but his toujours was looking away, his grey eyes resting on the porthole, his brows knotted in thought.

“We will have only a few seconds of consciousness,” he said, his voice even calmer than Arnaud’s. Even his heart was calm; the steady beat of it vibrated against Arnaud’s hand which rested gently against Nathaniel’s chest. It was as if this was nothing more than a science experiment for him, not the end of his life. “Ebullism will come as a consequence of our sudden exposure to the vacuum; gas bubbles will form in our bodily fluids, the membranes of our eyes and mouths will…”

“Nathaniel! Stop!” Arnaud did not wish to hear his forthcoming death dissected so. He knew enough to realise it would be, for a few seconds, excruciating as they fell into unconsciousness. Fortunately, they would not be aware of their own deaths minutes later from hypoxia.

“I’m sorry. This distresses you?”

“Of course it does!”

“Ah.” Nathaniel nodded, his expression neutral. “But death is a natural consequence of life. Why would it distress you?”

Arnaud could not believe his ears. He, too, could show clinical detachment at times of stress—it wasn’t unknown—but not when faced with his certain death. And worse, the death of the man he had fallen in love with. Her remembered stories his father told him of his mother’s death, of the void left by her absence. He would, at least, be spared that.

Crack!

His eyes snapped back to the porthole. The crack spread across the glass, until it was a spider web of lines. “Nathaniel,” he said softly. “Je suis content…”

The rest of his sentence vanished with his last breath as the porthole glass erupted into the aether tear.

4.

JACOB FOLKARD KNEW only one way to face death—head on and with dignity. So he had angled Esmeralda to face the aether tear. Looking directly into the maw of death, he had made his peace. He’d lived a long and fruitful life. And he was ready to meet both his Maker and his dear Charlotte. If he were facing this alone, he’d have no regrets.

But he wasn’t alone.

Miss Annabelle sat adjacent to him, fastened tightly to her seat, her eyes closed. He supposed she was making her own peace. Not even twenty-one yet, she had lived a short life, but in the past year or so she had led a very eventful one. Seen and done more than most women her age. And yet she still had so much life in front of her. He had made a promise to Bedford to keep her safe, to ensure he returned her so that they could be wed. But Bedford knew him well, and he would know that Folkard would have been by Miss Annabelle’s side until the end.

There was some peace to be found there.

Now it was time to meet Charlotte again…

5.

ATMOSPHERE SUITS. SHE still held that they should have all worn them. Surely those extra seconds of air would have counted, given them a chance to prepare for the next life? The captain was right in so much as they would die horribly regardless, once the aether tear enveloped the flyer, the atmosphere suits would provide little protection. Still she could see the cracks appearing in the glass before her; soon they would be blown out and the vacuum would kill them within minutes. Not that they would be conscious at the time.

Annabelle knew she should be more dignified in this approach to her death, but as the certainty took hold of her she realised she was scared. She didn’t want to die. She had so much to live for. She had to find that girl seen in her dreams, the one who had invaded her thoughts ever since Peregrine. Her daughter she was sure. And then there was George. She would die never having known him fully.

Such thoughts!

She should be ashamed, but what did it matter? She would be dead soon, all she had was her thoughts.

Annabelle looked over at Folkard. His eyes were resolutely fixed on the crackling maw of the aether tear, his lips moving, intoning words she could not hear. Perhaps it was a prayer, a final supplication before he met his God. Annabelle wasn’t so sure she believed in such an entity. Once maybe, but since she saw her parents killed by the Apaches such faith eluded her. She believed in people; in Uncle Cyrus, in Nathaniel Stone, in George Bedford… Men who had showed her much love and faith. She would miss them all so very dearly.

She reached into the pocket of her blouse and fingered the pocket watch nestling there. She knew not what was to greet her after death, but she hoped she would finally be reunited with her parents.

“Captain, I just wish to say…”

A tendril of crimson smashed against the windows, shattering them in an instant. Any words Annabelle wished to speak were sucked away with the air…

Chapter Ten

“The Measure of Healing”

1.

“…THAT I’M VERY GLAD TO…” Annabelle stopped, looking around at her surroundings. She was no longer on the control deck of Esmeralda. Indeed, she was standing in the open, in the distance a range of mountains stood proud. There was something familiar about them.

Her hand covered her mouth. It couldn’t be! But it was—the Chiricahua Mountains. She had not seen them since she had been a child, a teenager escaping the Apaches. She had never harboured a desire to visit them again; even now the image of her parents’ bodies falling to the dust of a mountain cave, a tomahawk imbedded in both of their skulls, was strong in her mind. No, there was no reason to return here.

For a few moments she stood there, pondering how she came to be in Arizona. Perhaps she was dreaming? The final minutes of her life spent returning to her home. If she was indeed home, then perhaps so were her parents.

She looked around her, getting her bearings, and turned in the direction she remembered her father’s ranch being in. It had been eight years since she had been to the ranch—it had long ago been sold on—but this was a dream. If she wanted the ranch to be as it had when she was child, then it would be so.

Annabelle stopped, looking down at her legs. Yes, legs, two of them! She moved her toes. It felt so long since she was able to do that with both feet.

Truly she was dreaming.

She let out a loud laugh, quite beside herself with delirium. This was amazing. For her final moments she would be whole. Just one thing was missing.

Gathering all her strength, she ran off across the Arizonian plane.

She slowed to a jog as she neared the ranch, her heart beating faster than it had in a long time. Not that she was out of breath; indeed, she felt more alive now than she had since her first trip to Luna with Uncle Cyrus. The ranch was a joy to behold. It was exactly as she remembered.

She walked up the small path towards her childhood home, feeling an odd sense of contentment, savouring the sound of the dirt beneath her feet. She sniffed the clear air, and a broad smile spread across her face. There was another aroma in the air, something that brought with it a sense of joy.

Muster gingerbread, as only her mother could cook it. Which meant…

Annabelle stopped as she entered the side door to the kitchen, her hand unconsciously rising to cover her mouth. For a few moments she stood there, watching as a slightly older woman went about adding the mixed molasses and beaten egg to the pan. Alerted by the swinging of the door behind Annabelle, the woman turned her head slightly and regarded Annabelle with a smile.

“Well now, I just thought the smell of muster would get you running. Hope young Master Jackson didn’t mind?” The voice was just as Annabelle remembered it, soft and gentle, always with an edge of playfulness about it.

“Mama,” Annabelle said, the word barely coming out as a breath of choked air.

Once again Joan Somerset smiled, before returning her attention to her cooking. “Have you seen your father? I believe he has something for you.”

“He…” Annabelle swallowed and tried again. “He is here?”

“Well of course he is, darling. Where else would he be?”

Not wishing to leave her mother’s side, Annabelle instead took a seat at the nearby table and played idly with the rolling pin. Joan shook her head with a laugh.

“Don’t tell me you finally want to learn how to make these?”

Cooking had never been of much interest to the younger Annabelle; she was much more interested in helping Joseph Jackson and the other ranch hands, or exploring with her father and Uncle Cyrus. But now…Annabelle didn’t understand it, but perhaps she could now learn everything from her mother, all the things she had never done before. “Yes, Mama, do show me how.”

It was not long after that both of them were covered in flower and the muster gingerbread was in the oven. When later asked, Annabelle would not be able to recall the conversation they had, only the sense of complete joy and love at being with her mother one last time. It was at this point that her father, Ezekiel Somerset, entered the kitchen himself. He stopped to look at the two most important women in his life, and was almost knocked off his feet when Annabelle cannon-balled into him with a hug.

She held on to him as he addressed his wife. “I have been thinking that today we should go out walking.”

“And where do you have in mind?” Joan asked.

“Why the Chiricahua Mountains of course.” He looked at Annabelle. “What do you think? All those caves, maybe even some mountain goats.”

This was the day. It was her interest in the goats that had led her to the caves, to that tribe of Apaches… And it was there that her parents had followed her. Annabelle shook her head. No, this could not happen again. She would not allow it.

She held her father’s hand and led him to the table. “Let us stay here. The mountains are going nowhere.”

“Yes, but Annabelle, my dear, wouldn’t you like to see…?”

Annabelle shook her head. “I would not. I just want to stay home, with you and Mama? Can we not just do that?”

Her father looked to her mother, who shrugged a smile at him. “Well, if that’s what you want.”

“I do,” Annabelle said, knowing that finally everything was going to be okay.

2.

“…DE T’AVOIR RENCONTRER,” Arnaud finished, and blinked.

He looked around, finding his surroundings familiar. The Café Procope in Paris; it was here he was working when he had been called to Mercury in the summer of 1889. He shook his head at the memory. It had been a glorious day, drifting from table to table, talking to the writers and poets who frequented the café, when he had been visited by a fellow from the Sorbonne who informed him of Professor Fournier’s untimely death. His presence had been requested on Mercury, and although he had no inclination to leave Earth, he realised he owed it to his old mentor to finish her work and perhaps discover the mystery of her death. If only he had known the path he was about to step on.

Arnaud smiled. A path that had led him to…

“Garçon!”

He turned to the source of the melodious voice, clear above the background natter which was always so prevalent in the Procope. The woman sitting alone at an outside table, looking out at rue de l’Ancienne Comédie, was a beauty to behold. Sublime in her appearance, she smiled at Arnaud and beckoned him over. As he drew closer he could not deny the way his heart wept to see her; Yvette Fontaine, his mother, who had died peacefully in her sleep some fifteen years ago. She was exactly as he remembered her, which was to be expected, Arnaud supposed, as this was clearly some kind of afterlife. He had never been much of a believer in God, or Heaven, indeed he had often ridiculed many men for belief in such, but he remembered his death clearly.

He stopped at his mother’s table and offered her the glass which sat upon the tray he was holding. “A finer angel could not be sent,” he said.

His mother raised an eyebrow at him, sipping the wine delicately. “An angel, mon Diamant, why what could you mean?”

Arnaud looked around, but no one seemed to notice him. It was as if he no longer existed to those inside the café. This suited him fine. He would rather sit and talk to his mother, than listen to the latest metaphorical obliquities of Stephane Mallarme, and so he did, pulling up a metal seat and resting himself upon it.

“You are not here to take me to the Pearly Gates?”

His mother laughed at this, and took his hands in hers. Arnaud closed his eyes, relishing the soft touch of her skin on his. “Oh, Arnaud, mon Diamant, Heaven is not for you yet. You have much more to achieve in life. Plus, I do believe a gentleman awaits your attention.”

“Mère, a gentleman?”

She looked away, and Arnaud followed her gaze. In the distance, across the rue, a man stood. He was indistinct, but Arnaud was certain he was looking at Nathanial, or at least a shadow of him. He looked back at his mother.

“How could you know?”

She tutted at him, and waved his question away. It was an act that brought a smile to Arnaud’s face; such a familiar gesture, one she had often used on him as a child, when he would tell her of the latest addition to his growing rock collection. She always seemed to know so much more than she said, certainly more than her youngest son could ever tell her.

Arnaud shook his head. “It does not matter, Mère, I, like you, have moved on from the world of mortals. There is no life for Nathanial and I. Even if I could return, which I cannot—I have never heard of any who has returned from death, certainly not after the destruction of one’s aether flyer. This was no bump on the head, Mère.”

“Arnaud, you are a brilliant man, and you make me proud in death as I was in life, but do not think you understand anything of the universe. There are secrets you have yet to learn, so very many. And that is why you must return.” For a moment his mother looked away, her blue eyes distant. “There are many trials coming your way, both for you and Nathanial Stone, and you will need each other.” She turned back to Arnaud, and squeezed his hands gently. “I am very sorry, mon Diamant, but you have much pain to endure before you will find your peace. The path you are on is not an easy one.”

“But it is one I must walk?”

Yvette Fontaine smiled softly, the depth of her sadness matching Arnaud’s love for her. “Oui, whatever may come, you must walk this path.”

3.

SHE WAS EXACTLY as he imagined her to be. The little girl, in her petticoats and blue ribbons, continued to run between the trees as Folkard and Charlotte sat on the blanket, enjoying their little picnic. This was his last happy memory of he and Charlotte; the two of them holidaying in the Americas, before she caught yellow fever, an ailment from which she never recovered. She had been heavily pregnant when she caught it, but the child did not survive, either, both dying in labour.

With the defiance of grief, they named their lost child Felicity.

He always imagined that Felicity would grow to be like Alice during her adventures in Wonderland. Wise beyond her years, inquisitive, and full of questions. It seemed he was not mistaken.

This was indeed Heaven.

“I do not think I have ever been this happy,” Folkard said, looking into his wife’s deep brown eyes. “For eight long years I have waited to see you again, although I did not think it would be so soon.”

“My dear Jacob, it is good that you have discovered what awaits you.” Charlotte reached for the silver tray upon which sat a buttered scone. He took it with a smile. “But it is not your time yet.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Why, this is only a small visit,” Charlotte said, brushing the crumbs off Folkard’s shirt. “Felicity wanted to see you, she has heard so much about her father, the hero of the British Empire, and I arranged for this visit.”

Folkard shook his head. It was unlike Charlotte to speak so, to contradict what he knew to be true. He remembered clearly being on the control deck of Esmeralda 2, and knew that death had finally taken him. In the line of duty, such as it was. “Really, Charlotte, I do not see how you could have had a hand in what occurred on Esmeralda. I find myself here as a result of a most unfortunate series of events, which you could not possibly have been involved in.”

“Of course not. But we are all at the whim of a greater power.”

“A greater power?” Folkard shook his head. This was absurd. There was no greater power involved in the events leading to his death, unless one wished to ascribe that title to the aether tear and the Mercurian plate, and he had no intention of doing so. He was reminded of his earlier thought, how everything seemed connected. The Heart, Hermes, the aether tear… If Charlotte’s words carried any weight at all, then perhaps the connection was this “greater power”? “Do you mean God?” he asked, shocked at the incredulity of his tone.

Charlotte did not answer immediately. Instead she allowed a silence to sit comfortably between them, their thoughts their own, while they both watched Felicity continue dancing among the trees.

“Perhaps,” Charlotte finally said. “Although not as you or I have ever understood the idea. But listen with your heart. Can you not feel his presence here?”

“How does one listen with one’s heart?”

Charlotte moved onto her knees and drew closer to her husband. She reached out and placed the palm of her right hand against his chest. “Remember when we first met, Jacob? We looked at each other and we knew. Our hearts heard each other’s.” She closed her eyes. “It’s the same thing.”

Folkard was sceptical, but he could not deny the truth of that moment. From the first it had been as if some force had bound him and Charlotte together—like their souls were made of the same thing. He closed his eyes and allowed his heart to feel. To listen.

4.

HE HAD BEEN walking in the garden for what felt like weeks. Nathanial did not mind so much; he rather enjoyed the peace and quiet, being alone with only his thoughts. Occasionally he was joined by a young boy, who wanted to go and fish for tiddlers in the river that ran the length of the garden. From the first moment he was certain he recognised the boy; at first he thought it was him, back in the innocent days of his youth when he would pal around with Josiah Hawksworth on Putney Common, but the more the boy joined him, each time seeming a little older than before, Nathanial came to realise it was, in fact, Edwin.

He assumed he was dead, although he did remember dying. Unless he was dreaming. But it did not feel like a dream. Not like those strange dreams he had been having recently. This was more real, in a somewhat surreal sense.

Nathanial laughed at the nonsense he was thinking.

He stopped and turned, acutely aware of the presence before he saw it. Behind, where it could not have been before, was a gravestone. Curious, he walked over to it, reminded of his previous dream. Sure enough, the words engraved on the stone were the same. Only now the date of his death had changed. No longer was it September 28th 1899, but instead it read, And taken on the Second day of August, in the year of Our Lord 1893. Only three years away!

What balderdash! This was no dream, of that he certain. He was dead already, and if there was one thing of which he was certain, one did not return from Heaven.

“Unless one knows how, Nate,” said a young voice behind him.

Nathanial turned and found himself looking at Edwin, now looking as he did when he had been twelve. Nathanial indicated the headstone. “What is the meaning of this?”

“How do I know? I’m only a boy.”

Nathanial narrowed his eyes. A boy, yes, but when Edwin had died in that house fire he had been a young man. “This is absurd. Am I to be haunted in Heaven?”

“Only the guilty are haunted,” said another voice.

Nathanial turned again. The headstone was gone. Now a very familiar figure stood there—it was he! Nathanial looked at himself with polite interest. Was that really how he looked to the world? Gangly, in grimy clothes, his ginger hair unkempt, his face covered in dirt and sweat. Or was that how he looked when he died?

Edwin stepped closer to Nathanial and took his older brother’s hand. “Don’t trust him, Nate. He’s not what he appears to be.”

Nathanial shrugged. “If there is one thing I have learned in my travels, Edwin, it is that no one is who they appear to be. Not even me.”

The other Nathaniel clapped his hands. “Well said. You came out into the aether to find only one answer, but instead you have found others to questions you did not even know you had.”

“Is this death?” Nathanial asked bluntly.

“This is…I believe you would call it paradise. Although it does have many names. Eden, Plypolyplon, Elysium…” The other Nathaniel shrugged. “Where it all began, and where it all ends.” He started walking towards Nathanial. “I have often wondered what happened, and so I have finally been able to take a look and see. Thanks to this.” He opened his left hand and the Mercurian plate appeared upon it. “It took a while to communicate with you all; your minds are more complicated than I remember. Or perhaps I am just out of practice?” He shrugged again. “Either way. At first it was while you slept, I pricked at your unconscious, tried to talk to in your sleep. But as you neared the doorway, it became easier. I was able to talk to you through visions.”

Nathanial remembered the story Annabelle had told him. Of the little girl. And then was… “Sébastien. That was you?”

“Of course. Monsieur Fontaine’s father is a most clever man, but I doubt he is able to transport himself to an aether flyer without aid.” He stopped directly in front of Nathanial, barely inches between them. “It was so hard to reach you… Each of you have so many contradictory thoughts and feelings. Especially you. You are the most interesting among them. You are constantly fighting with yourself. I do not understand why.”

Nathanial wasn’t sure what this other him meant by that. He just wanted to know one thing. “Are you God?”

The other Nathaniel laughed. It was a strange sound to Nathanial’s ears. He had never heard his own laugh outside of himself before. It was most disconcerting. “What is God but an abstract concept, created by people who need to feel there is a purpose to their lives?”

“I shall take that as a no.”

“If you wish.”

“My father would love you,” Nathanial, more to give his mind time to think over what the other him had said. “To deny God’s existence; a construct created by man? Oh yes, I can see how well that would go down.”

“But father is somewhat blinkered in his adherence to ‘God’s Law’. What would he think of the conflict in you?”

Nathanial looked down at Edwin. Not sure his brother should be privy to this conversation. Edwin was gone, even though up until that moment Nathanial had felt his brother’s hand in his. Had Edwin been an illusion? Perhaps all of this was. Maybe he had been wrong, and this was just a dream. His mind trying to work through his feelings for Arnaud, sort through the conflict in him.

He was probably lying in the cot in the lab on Esmeralda, Arnaud tinkering around him, while Folkard and Annabelle sat on the control deck and Fenn awaited Nathanial to relieve him.

He turned away from his other self. “This is nonsense. I can believe in many things, and I have seen much that has challenged my beliefs in this past year, but I will not accept that God is a mere construct of man’s desire for purpose.”

“You may believe as you will. We have much time to work through these beliefs of yours.”

Nathanial began to walk away, no longer caring for talking to himself. His thoughts had been much easier to understand than an actual conversation.

“You can walk away,” his voice said behind him. “But I have use for you. For you and your friends. Much I must understand. It is not only you who seeks understanding, Nathanial Stone.”

For a moment Nathanial stopped, and turned slightly. “Then seek your answers without me. I am dead, finally. Or I am sleeping. Either way, you will not find what you seek with me.”

The other Nathaniel smiled. There was something beneath that smile, something that put Nathanial on his guard. “As you wish. Keep walking, but you will not find your friends here. They have their own answers, and are no longer needed here. You will be alone.”

This time it was Nathanial’s turn to shrug. “At the end of the day, are we not all alone?”

5.

THREE DAYS TO Mars-fall. Since escaping the pull of the aether tear very few words had been spoken, each of them had kept their own counsel on the events. Arnaud noticed that both Annabelle and Folkard carried themselves with a sense of contentment he had not seen in either before. It was as if they had made their peace.

No one talked of it, how they had escaped the tear. But he could tell they all remembered it well. There was a certain look in their eyes from time to time, as if they were remembering their own deaths. For his own part Arnaud remembered it clearly. The lab being torn apart around as the aether tear sucked him towards the porthole, Nathaniel and he clinging fiercely to each other.

And he remembered what happened after. Meeting his mother outside the Café Procope, and the discussion that followed. As much as it jarred with his beliefs, he knew he had experienced a taste of the afterlife. Not Heaven, but some other existence. A place where loved ones were reunited. Where his mother continued to live, and waited for him.

He looked up from Nathaniel’s diary. Speaking of loved ones. Nathaniel was currently in the engine room with Fenn, preparing the propeller governor for aeronautic manoeuvres when they entered the Martian atmosphere. Ever since their return from the afterlife, Nathaniel had been a little bit distance. He, like the others, did not wish to talk about the mystery of their survival, but when Arnaud has pressed him, Nathaniel had said; “If there is one thing I have learned in my travels, mon toujours, it is that nothing is as it appears to be. Not even our survival.”

As answers went it did not explain much. Perhaps one day they would all sit down and talk about it. Arnaud doubted it, though. Some mysteries remained unsolved.

Like Nathaniel’s journal. It was now full up to this morning, every day of their journey from Earth accounted for, including a poem. Arnaud did not know how it found its way into the journal, or indeed how Nathaniel even knew it. It was the poem Arnaud himself had recited when he thought Nathaniel was sacrificing himself for his friends. And it had not been in the journal then.

To his knowledge, Nathaniel had no idea Arnaud had sneaked a peek at the journal, yet Arnaud could not help but feel that the poem was a message from Nathaniel to him…

Do not write—I am sad and just wish to expire. Lovely summers without you are but a dark night. I have closed up my arms, which can no more reach you, And to strike at my heart is to strike at the grave. Do not write!

Do not write—Let us learn for ourselves how to die. Ask only God…and to yourself if I loved you! In your absence’s depth to hear that you love me Is to hear heaven without ever getting there. Do not write!

Do not write—I fear you, and too my memory; It keeps the voice that calls often to me. Do not show one running water who cannot drink. A dear handwritten word is like a live portrait. Do not write!

Do not write me sweet words I no longer dare read. It seems your voice spreads them upon my heart And that I see them searing through your smile, It seems a kiss imprints them on my heart. Do not write!

Epilogue

“Leaving Mars”

No one had spoken of their experiences since arriving on Mars, although Folkard found himself watching his crew more closely. Annabelle seemed more content, and he could only imagine that she, too, had found some kind of peace in Heaven. Every so often Folkard would catch a distant look on her face, one, he’d wager, he often wore himself, and he felt that she, too, had visited Heaven when Esmeralda 2 had been pulled apart by the aether tear.

As to the others? Mister Fenn, taken into custody upon their arrival on Mars, and shipped back to Earth before they had returned from Phobos, did not protest. He simply looked at his captain with a serene acceptance; no doubt he had also found his own peace. Folkard intended to speak in Fenn’s defence once he returned to Earth—the lad had served the mission well, without a single blemish on his service record since joining Sovereign for its maiden voyage to Luna. Folkard was well versed in the brutality the Russians could engage in when they needed information; Fenn had seen little combat, although he had acquitted himself admirably during the fracas at Messor Base on Ceres. And, of course, the Russians had threatened Fenn’s family. Folkard could understand the need to protect one’s family.

Fontaine had not been much changed by their experience, and continued to be his usual buoyant self, and his experiences had proven invaluable on Phobos. But Stone… There Folkard paused. The man had undergone some kind of change during the journey from Earth to Mars, although he would not discuss it, but Folkard felt that Stone had become a bit more…not adversarial, but he seemed to be prodding people more, as if he wanted to see how they’d respond to certain things. Yes, that was it, like when they had been trying to destroy the Mercurian plate, Stone seemed to be observing people. Folkard wasn’t sure why this bothered him so, but something about it did not sit right with him.

In return, he decided, he would have to pay more careful attention to Stone, too.

For himself, though, he knew he had definitely been affected by his short visit to Heaven. Seeing Charlotte again, and finally meeting his daughter… For the first time in years Folkard felt a certainty about his future. He did not know where his career would take him after his current mission was over, but he did know one thing. Charlotte and Felicity awaited him.

“I will see you both soon,” he muttered, looking out to the stars around him, as Esmeralda 2 left Mars and began its final journey back to Earth.

To Be Continued…

in

Horizons of Deceit, Book I