Chapter Three

“The Juggernaut”

1.

Given the definite schedule the Irishman laid out, Nathanial was able to accurately judge the time they spent incarcerated in the ship’s hold. Every two hours they were taken to the toilet. Even sleep was interrupted. Three times Nathanial was awakened with a polished black boot nudging the side of his head until he stirred. The guards never spoke, even when Annabelle protested (which was often), but they were never impertinent. Nevertheless, Annabelle took the treatment as the worst sort of torture. Nathanial’s every attempt to divert her attentions came to naught.

When awake Annabelle questioned Nathanial further about van den Bosch, but he had few answers for her. No, he was sure the Juggernaut and Cyrus Grant had never met, and no, he did not know van den Bosch’s field of study. He could not say where the man had been educated, though he remembered a slip of a rumour that he’d been at Oxford at some point. Nathanial surmised that if what their captors had said was true, and that Esmeralda had entered restricted space in accordance with British law, that meant Her Majesty was no doubt in some sort of deal with the Austrians, if van den Bosch was involved. An Austrian who had lived for a time in Britain would be the perfect man to head such a project, whatever that project may be.

Between sixteen and eighteen hours after their arrival, the small man with the foreign accent returned. He identified himself as Mister Joram Franziskus Hague, personal aide to Doctor Henry van den Bosch. Before Nathanial or Annabelle could introduce themselves, Mister Hague produced Nathanial’s journal and asked him if he was its author. Nathanial was annoyed at this invasion of his privacy, yet said nothing. He could sense a change for the better in Mister Hague’s attitude toward him and would not risk a reversal of fortunes, not if this meant a chance for release.

“I should apologise for the dismal way you’ve been treated, Mister Stone,” Mister Hague said.

“Professor Stone,” Annabelle corrected.

Mister Hague gave her a brief glance, and then smiled at Nathanial. “Yes, you’ve drawn quite an amusing character in your benefactor, Director White.” He winked as if to say “your secret is safe with me”.

Another dart of annoyance hit Nathanial, but he shrugged it off. “What can I do for your employer, Mister Hague?”

“That should be best explained by the man himself. If you would kindly come with me, Doctor van den Bosch is waiting for you in his study.”

Nathanial rose to his feet and dusted off his trousers, a curious gesture considering he was filthy. Mister Hague gestured him to the door, and Nathanial complied.

“So what am I to do, in the meantime?” Annabelle asked.

Mister Hague shook his head. “I’m sorry, miss, but the doctor specifically asked for an audience with Mister Stone alone. I will have someone come deliver you books to read, if you like.”

“I could do with something to eat.”

“Of course, miss. We’re in between meals in the galley at the moment, but I can send down a steward with bread and cheese.”

Annabelle nodded. “That’ll do. I’m famished.”

“I’m sure, miss. Again, please excuse our stern treatment of you.”

A guard outside the storage closet slid the door closed. Mister Hague led Nathanial the short distance to the bridge and down the gangplank to the outside. Nathanial was anxious to get a glimpse of his surroundings, but before he could duck down to have a look, the second guard appeared carrying a sack.

“Is this really necessary?” Nathanial asked.

“Secrecy must be maintained,” Hague said, motioning for the guard to continue. The sack was thrown over Nathanial’s head and tied loosely about his neck.

It was in this way that he was led across the docking bay, and into a steam-powered lift, which lurched upwards with a loud hiss, the hot, pressurised air pushing them upwards. Hague said little during their ride, and Nathanial was unsure if a guard accompanied them or not.

The lift door opened, and Nathanial was led out into what sounded like a bustling thoroughfare. A cacophony of human voices and the loud clanging and thrum of workers assaulted him. The docking bay had been well-lit, and the sack was cut of thin, bright cloth that let him sense changes in lighting. Here, amongst the bustle and buffering of men occasionally bumping into him as Hague led him through the thoroughfare, Nathanial could see nothing at all. The area was dimly lit, not completely dark, but little light could be had. The noise was so loud and so boisterous that he could make out none of what was being said, and if Mister Hague were speaking to him, he was sure the little man’s quiet voice would be drowned out.

Once, he did hear something directed at him, when a man several feet to his left yelled, “’Ey! Would you get a load of the bludger with the sack over ’is ’ead!” Several men roared with laughter.

2.

The crush of bodies soon lessened, and the noise died to a far off rumble. Hague led Nathanial through a dizzying series of twists and turns until they arrived at what Nathanial could only assume was their destination. The little man knocked three times, waited a moment, and then spoke something in Austrian to whoever opened the door. Nathanial and Hague were admitted into a room. The door was closed behind them, and the sack was removed from Nathanial’s head.

He was in a finely appointed and spacious study of some kind. Bookshelves were stocked with excellent volumes. A globe, not of Earth but of Venus, was nearby with maps of the Hackley Expedition detailing the interior continents and waterways. The floor was fine oak, properly shellacked, and three-quarters of the way covered in Oriental rugs. A large desk lay ahead of him, studded with stacked reports and various trivialities well-travelled men often used as mementos for their adventures. An eye floated in a jar whose cap was scribbled with Egyptian hieroglyphics. A cobra, well seen to by a taxidermist, was coiled and ready to strike, its hood open and its mouth revealing its deadly fangs. A small, jade Buddha sat next to it, laughing at the snake’s antics. Behind the desk sturdy, wine-coloured curtains hid what was likely a fabulous panorama of star lights. Two overstuffed chairs sat on this side of the desk.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” said Hague.

Whoever had let them in had gone. It was just Hague and himself. For a moment Nathanial wondered if some fabulous trick had not been played on him, and that Hague had been, in fact, van den Bosch all along. That notion disintegrated when the door behind him slid open, and horror entered the study.

Nathanial could only assume it was a man, though its height and bulk surely made it one of the most uncommon sort. He was cloaked in dark green, with a matching wide-brimmed hat pulled over his eyes to keep even the room’s sparse candlelight at bay. Thick, imposing boots covered feet large enough to stomp a bear in half. The hands, seen clearly from the cloak’s sleeves, were wrapped in bandages greying with wear, as was the chest and face of the man who now stood before them.

Nathanial scrambled to his feet. The nightmare man stomped into the room, the panel door sliding into place behind him as if it had a life of its own, and he seated himself behind the desk without so much as a word. Nathanial was confused as to whether he should sit or stand, but upon seeing Hague settle into the chair beside him, decided to follow suit.

The nightmare man spoke, and his voice was deep, echoing through the study like a controlled detonation. “Mister Nathanial Stone,” he said. Something in the violence of the voice, as if it had to crash the ramparts of the man’s face to leave his lips, was too much when taken with the enormous, ruined body. Nathanial was instantly frightened of the man.

“Doctor van den Bosch, I presume,” he said with a stammer.

“Mmmm. Excuse the gloom. I find electric light no longer agrees with me, and so I tend to keep to the darker parts of this place to avoid the discomfort.”

“I rather like the ambience, actually. One might think I was back on Earth, if the bay window behind you didn’t peer directly into the aether.”

“Indeed. I must say, Mister Stone, I was rather surprised to find you out here. May I ask what you were doing in a crippled flyer with the niece of Cyrus Grant in tow?”

Nathanial had no desire to tell him everything, and he most certainly did not want to reveal his recent adventures on Venus and Mercury. “I’ve been doing some travelling as of late. Our flyer took damage negotiating an aether vortex, and since then we have been limping toward Mars in hopes of finding a dock to make repairs. You should know, Doctor, that I had no idea such a station existed this far out,” he added, even though it was not entirely true, he had heard vague rumours of such a thing from Director White while working at Chatham, although he had almost forgotten about it, until now. “Nor did I know the space around it was restricted by any government. If I had, we most certainly would not have passed through.”

“Yes, but pass through it you did, and now you are in my care until it can be decided what is to be done with you and your friend, Miss Somerset.” Van den Bosch lifted a report from the top of one stack and began to thumb through it. “So, you’ve deduced that this is a station. That demonstrates something of your acumen. Tell me, do you know the purpose of this place?”

“Know?” Nathanial asked. “I know nothing. Your men have been quite careful to shroud everything in secrecy.”

“Secrecy must be maintained. It is our mantra. Do you know this word?”

“I do. I deduced this must be a structure of some incredible dimensions, if it could house as few as three cutters without difficulty and the sheer amount of floor space I have crossed in coming here. No aether flyer currently in service could hope to have said dimensions. That leaves a station.”

“Apply your powers further.”

“If you wish. We’re on a heliograph station, not a research station, as I’d initially believed.”

Van den Bosch clapped his enormous hands together so hard the resulting shock made Nathanial wince. “Very good! How did you come by this deduction?”

Nathanial smiled. “By mention of your name, of course. If this were a scientific post, out here to study the aether and its anomalies, yours would be a long-term position, to be held by someone on the downside of their career, but you are still in your professional prime. No one with your rather formidable reputation would allow himself to be tied to such a post unless it were either a short-term one, one destined to bring him great acclaim, or both. The construction of a heliograph station in itself is not something likely to grant you any sort of acclaim at all, given that two have already been built. That leaves a specific kind of heliograph station, one which has been placed at a strategic spot, not orbiting a planet or satellite, but one that has achieved its own, special orbit.”

“Toward what end?” Van den Bosch was clearly enjoying these questions.

Nathanial shrugged. “To speed communications between Earth and Mars, no doubt. The two spend many months of each solar year separated by the Sun. A heliograph station, or rather two such stations, placed in strategic positions could facilitate year-round communications between the planets, and when a station is built on Venus, the Empire would have in place a fast, efficient means of interplanetary network, thus giving us a distinct advantage over our competitors.”

“Excellent! I can see now why your reputation has grown so recently. You are mostly correct in your deductions.”

Nathanial arched an eyebrow. “Mostly?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t plan to tell me how I erred?”

The eyes beneath the hat were suddenly small and intense. Nathanial, who had been growing increasingly at ease with the man’s presence, was reminded then to whom he was speaking. Here was a man who was used to getting his way, one who would not think twice about destroying the reputation of anyone who got in his way.

“No, I don’t plan to tell you any more than you need to know.”

“Such as the, ah, artificial gravity in the station?” The intensity of the eyes did not change. Now this was an interesting turn. “Very well. And what is it that I need to know, Doctor?”

“Have you heard of Professor Thaddeus Wren, by chance?”

Nathanial’s eyes lit up. “Wren? The polymath? Of course! His name is synonymous with genius. Is he here?”

“He was. I’m afraid he passed away recently.”

“How?”

“It’s impolite to discuss such things, Mister Stone. What you should know is that Professor Wren designed this entire station. Every rivet and every room, down to the very decorations themselves. If you see it before you, Professor Wren envisioned it, and in a small workshop in Shropshire, first. But unfortunately, only he understood much of its workings. As you’ve already experienced, we’ve an unmatched need for secrecy here, and when the professor passed, so did the only person on this station with a complete knowledge of its systems.”

Ah, now here was the reason for Hague’s sudden change in demeanour. This was also why Nathanial had been plucked from his makeshift prison, marched into the upper parts of the station, and placed before the Juggernaut himself. It had nothing at all to do with mistaken identities or the reputation of up-and-coming natural philosophers at all. This was a case of need, pure and simple.

“And now something has gone wrong with the station,” Nathanial said.

Mister Hague coughed, which Nathanial took as a sign between the two men, for Doctor van den Bosch’s tone changed. When he spoke again, he was brusque and business-like. Also, there was a tone of menace behind each word that made Nathanial shiver.

“You are correct. Something has occurred, and you are going to help us discover what is broken and fix it.”

“You must understand, sir, that I am limited in my knowledge of heliograph stations. My area of study has been almost entirely limited to the development of certain devices which facilitate propulsion. I’m afraid I would be of little use to you.”

“Ah, but it’s in the station’s orbital stabilisers that I believe the trouble lies.”

“Is that so? And what if I should refuse to help you at all? It is my assumption that I’m still under arrest for trespassing.”

“It’s in your best interest to help,” Hague said, breaking in. “Please, Mister Stone, now is not the time to become…difficult.”

“Listen to Mister Hague,” van den Bosch said. “You’ve been candid with us thus far. Please continue.”

“If I help, would the charges be dropped?”

“We will consider it,” van den Bosch said.

“That won’t be good enough to gain my services, I’m afraid. I have to be reasonably assured of my and Miss Somerset’s release before I’ll agree to offer any assistance.”

Van den Bosch’s shoulders rose in angry tension, and he placed his hands firmly, palms down, on his desk. “You are hardly in a position to negotiate any sort of terms,” he said.

Ice filled Nathanial’s belly, but this was no time to shy away from conflict. “Quite the contrary,” he said. “I’m reasonably assured of my acquittal of any charges levelled against me, as my contributions to Her Majesty’s interplanetary efforts thus far have demonstrated my forthrightness and patriotism. I’m no more a trespasser as I am a traitor or a spy. If you agree to release me―and make necessary repairs on my flyer so we might continue our journey to Mars―you have my solemn promise I will do my very best.”

The Juggernaut chuckled, a low, ugly sound. “What makes you think you’ll get a chance to acquit yourself at trial?”

“What, do you seek to toss me out an airlock if I don’t agree? Surely you can do better than threats of violence, Doctor.”

“Oh, I can. Let’s see what you think of this. I’m sure you recall the aether vortex that shook the cutter that brought you here. You should know that we are currently on course to strike the vortices’ horizon in fourteen days. An anomaly so massive and powerful as that will surely rend this station asunder. You should also know that, in order to complete this station on schedule, we’re working at far past reasonable capacity for our cutters should we need to evacuate. Thus, some men will be left behind. I will see it arranged that you, and your friend, Miss Somerset, are among that number selected for sacrifice. Now, should you by some miracle manage to escape aboard one of these vessels beforehand you should know that the charges levelled against you will be far worse than trespassing. You will be charged with a special treason for failing to give aid to your realm, and even then should you somehow manage to evade the noose for such crimes, your name will be forever synonymous with the loss of the millions of English pounds that have gone into the station’s design and completion.”

The Juggernaut leaned in suddenly, not with the rage of one about to strike, but with the cold malice of a tiger that could feast on the baby gazelle in its claws but chose forbearance instead. “How is that, Mister Stone? Have I exceeded your expectations where a threat is concerned?”