ANNABELLE SOMERSET knew HMAS Sovereign was the pride of the Royal Navy. It was an impressive vessel, capable of travel between the planets at velocities one might describe as “frightening.” Four hundred and some feet from bow to stern, it was a leviathan of liftwood, of brass, of glass. Englishmen aground would raise their glasses as it passed gracefully by, on its way to some unknown adventure, while Russians, Frenchmen and Germans alike no doubt privately cursed their luck at having no ship so glorious.
But today, something was amiss. There had been no reported instances of turbulence in the aether, nor any hostilities that would lead to the ship being struck. Asteroids could hardly be at fault either. It seemed, rather, that it was simply lumbering awkwardly, flying not with the majestic strides of a stallion in full tilt but with the awkward gait of a hippopotamus on a rooftop. Engineers and navigators, she had heard, worried at the problem in the hope of redressing the balance and restoring Sovereign to its usual potency, but so far to no avail.
In the ship’s sick bay, meanwhile, Annabelle found herself engaged in her own animated discussion with Sovereign’s first officer, Lieutenant George Bedford. Much had transpired since their first meeting. Most importantly, she had been whole seven months earlier, but was now without her right leg. Her companion, nominal chaperon, and increasingly her friend, Nathanial Stone, was now being held in the brig of Sovereign on suspicion of treason, the charge stemming from the total destruction of the prototype Heliograph station, Peregrine. Any suggestion of Nathanial’s culpability for that atrocity was dreadful nonsense, of course.
“Surely you can see that these allegations are utter rot, Mister Bedford. You must be certain of that,” Annabelle protested.
“It is not my place to judge his guilt or innocence, Miss Somerset, as I am sure you know. That he stands accused of treason leaves us with no alternative to incarceration and transportation home for trial,” Bedford answered.
“A suspected traitor? I fail to see how there’s an ounce of plausibility in that tale. What happened at Peregrine Station was scarcely Nathanial’s responsibility and I’m certain the entire Navy can see that. Why, even Ordinary Seaman Byron was saying that he could see Nathanial’s innocence. Are you suggesting yourself to be less perceptive than a mere boy from a press gang?”
“Your argument, I believe, in protestation of his innocence, is that the sabotage was in fact caused by a largely mythical French villain who stowed away on the station using a method that remains unknown. Which of these two tales sounds more plausible to you?”
Was this why George had not come to see her earlier? Annabelle felt the blood drain from her face and anger cloud her vision. She abruptly sat up in the bed. “How dare you! Mythical? Was the bullet that shattered my shin mythical? Was the infection which took my leg, and nearly my life, mythical? If your own argument relies on the belief that I would deliberately invent these occurrences, and presumably cut off my own limb to make my ‘protestations of innocence’ more plausible, then honestly I wonder why you would even honour me with your presence, or why I am not also currently in chains. In either case, I think it time you left.” As she finished Annabelle was surprised to feel tears on her cheeks and she angrily wiped them away.
George faltered and took a step back, his mouth working soundlessly for a moment. “I…that was not my intention at all,” he eventually managed, “I assure you, I have no such…no, you are quite right. I will leave you at once, and not pain you with my presence again. But first I offer my most humble and sincere apologies for my inexcusable remark.”
He put his cap on and turned to leave as Sovereign lurched again, sending a number of medical instruments clattering to the deck and throwing Annabelle off balance. She cried out as she began to pitch to the side and toward the deck, but in a flash Bedford caught her in his arms and righted her on the bed. His face flushed, he stepped back again to depart.
“My words are generally better-considered. I cannot explain why I spoke so stupidly just now. I only… You make an impression, Miss Somerset. Goodbye.”
Annabelle looked down to conceal the flush she felt come to her own cheeks. As she did so she saw the outline of her solitary leg under the sickbay blanket, and she felt her heart sink. This verbal jousting, this game they played from habit—what did it matter? And now look where it had brought them! Would her angry words bring back her leg? Would they reopen the door to a future forever closed by a surgeon’s blade, wielded inside a dirty tent pitched in a Martian dry canal bed? She heard Bedford’s steps as he began to leave.
“Wait,” she said, and Bedford turned back to her. “You do so as well, Lieutenant Bedford—make an impression. Sometimes I say stupid things I wish with all my heart I could take back. I accept your apology on the condition that when I say something outrageous and unforgivable, as I certainly shall, you will extend me the same favour.”
Bedford looked at her for a moment, then walked back, took of his hat, and solemnly offered her his hand. She shook it. He seemed to relax a bit and she settled back on her pillows. Bedford pulled a chair over beside the bed and sat, his hat in his lap and his face still flushed with embarrassment. For a moment neither of them spoke
“You said ‘in chains as well’, earlier,” he finally managed, “but Professor Stone is hardly in chains. The truth is I have already addressed the professor’s captivity with the captain. As you may have noticed, Sovereign is faltering. Boswell manages as best he can, naturally; however he intimated he would be grateful for assistance and frankly, the best man for the job is the man in the brig. I’ve made an application for the professor to be released from confinement in order to attend to this engineering problem. Guarded at all times, naturally, but released nonetheless. I fear an accused traitor is rather less of a problem than a shipwreck, after all.”
“Has your petition been successful, Lieutenant?”
“I fear not,” he replied sadly. “The captain feels that with our aether propeller already partially compromised, we can scarcely afford to put a suspected saboteur in close proximity to it. Naturally I’ve offered my judgment that the benefits outweigh the risks; however, while I may propose, it is for the captain to dispose. Incidentally, perhaps we might dispense with the formalities. You are not one of the crew, so no need to use my rank. Please call me George.”
Annabelle was thrown slightly. “Really, I had no idea that you gave such consideration to how I might address you,” she said, not wishing to admit that she thought of him by his Christian name in any event. “In fact, based on the frequency of your visits here, I had no idea that you gave any consideration to me at all.” She attempted to recapture their previous mood of good-natured jousting, but the fact that her breathing had suddenly become shallow was testament to the conversation having suddenly become deep.
“On the contrary, I have thought of you more than once since we parted company.” George displayed a nervousness she had not seen before, even when they had been surrounded by hostile Russians on Luna.
“I, too.” The words stumbled out of her mouth as uncertain and awkward as debutant ice-skaters. She swore an oath inwardly on finding that she was no more gracious with her phrasing than she was with her feet. Her foot, rather. “I, too, have thought of you…”
Any chance of further probing, however, was interrupted by the unexpected arrival of Captain Folkard.
“Ah, Bedford, I was expecting to find you here,” Folkard said, touching his hat in deference to Annabelle.
“Really, sir?” replied George, somewhat taken aback.
“Naturally! A good captain always knows where his men are, after all,” Folkard responded. “I was thinking, Lieutenant, Sovereign is experiencing more turbulence than expected in the aether vortexes of late. Hardly a problem for a seasoned flyer such as you or I, of course, but some of the younger men are complaining. Of course it would be preferable if White or Grant were here, but in their absence I thought perhaps it best if Professor Stone would be released from the brig and have a look. Guarded at all times, naturally, but released nonetheless. A bloodthirsty dissident is better than a shipwreck, after all, eh?”
George responded with a smile so tight it would have served a lady well as a corset. Annabelle quite approved. “Excellent idea, sir. Really, I don’t know where you get these ideas.”
“Yes, well, that’s why I’m the captain, after all, Bedford. They employ me to be the idea man, don’t you know.”
“As you will, sir.”
“I should note that this is merely a stopgap measure in any event. Providing the ship stays on course and regains nominal speed, we should arrive back on Earth in approximately seventy hours. By then, Miss Somerset, I hope you will be adequately recovered from your injury to travel. I trust Doctor Beverly is taking care of you?”
“His care is adequate, Captain, if anything too solicitous. Indeed I would be more fully recovered had the doctor allowed me to use the ‘leg’ Nathanial and Kak’hamish built for me. Although not the most comfortable device, I managed with it for a time on Mars. And, in truth, it holds value beyond that,” she said softly, thinking of their deceased friend Kak’hamish, the artist who had carved the leg, not to mention saved their lives several times over.
“I was appalled to learn of the loss of your leg, Miss Somerset. Once again, a consequence of the actions of that scoundrel Stone, I understand,” murmured Folkard.
“Nathanial saved my life. Twice, in this instance!” Annabelle retorted hotly.
“The same Stone that you recommend releasing, Captain?” asked George, pointedly, for which Annabelle was thankful.
“Yes, quite so.” Folkard nodded, and Annabelle was certain she saw a slight smile on his countenance.
“COME ON, you maggot, or you’ll be tipped the scroby before lights out!”
Ordinary Seaman Ross McKittrick warmed to the part of overseer of Professor Stone. After a shaky start, during which neither man had been entirely comfortable in their respective roles, McKittrick settled into the task, drawing on his experience as a gaoler some years previously. He’d even managed to recall some of the more colourful language his co-workers used back then. The rifle that he had been armed with only added to the overall effect. Admittedly, nervous of the possibility of overexcitement and unwilling to actually fire at a fellow Englishman, he had taken the opportunity to remove the bullets. Still, he felt a smart rap aside the temple using the butt of the rifle ought to be sufficient to quell any belligerence and he had certainly not disclosed to his charge that the weapon lacked bullets. If only the engine room had been a more reasonable temperature, he might have enjoyed the novelty of his new duty.
“I’m working as efficiently as possible, under the circumstances,” Stone protested, examining a series of pulleys in the central lattice. McKittrick was no engineer, and so had no idea what task Stone was up to. One thing he did know, however, was he was keen to be away from the stifling engine room as soon as possible.
“Have you any suggestions what might be causing this, Prof?” asked Lieutenant Boswell the chief engineer, and who, to the eyes of McKittrick, was as grimy as the machinery he was charged with servicing. The lieutenant’s coat and hat hung from a steam valve and he worked in his shirtsleeves, hardly the sort of example McKittrick expected an officer to set. But he was an engineer, after all, and they all seemed a bit odd.
“The problem seems simple, Chief, but the solution less so. The governor has simply undertaken more missions than it can handle. We scarcely had time to test it before it was needed and had little opportunity to test its durability. Certainly the parts are finely machined; and yet, even the finest gears and pulleys in the Empire need replacing from time to time, and the more delicate the tolerances, the more noticeable any wear becomes. I’ve tightened things up for now and the lattice will hold until we reach Earth; after that, though, the entire assembly will need replacement. But this is simple enough, Chief, I’m surprised you needed a second opinion.”
“As it ’appens, Prof, I knew the lattice needed replacing as soon as we left Mars,” Boswell replied. “I just thought you might fancy a bit of intellectual stimulation. Can’t be too much for you to do in the brig and that’s never right, when you’re banged up for something you never did.”
“There has been little to do, save for protesting my innocence and writing my journal, you’re right,” Stone said. “I am grateful for the change in scenery and for your support, Chief.”
“McKittrick, maybe you might want to take the prof here to see his lady friend,” said Lieutenant Boswell. “I hear she’s in the sick bay.”
McKittrick wasn’t convinced that the prisoner deserved a social visit; still, his orders from Captain Folkard had been to allow Stone to walk the deck under guard and Lieutenant Boswell was McKittrick’s superior too.
“Sickbay is down below centre-deck, or I suppose up above, depending on your perspective, is it not?” Stone asked. “Since boarding Sovereign I’ve been confined to this side of it. I have to say, Chief, the experience of changing the orientation of ‘down’ when one passes through centre-deck is disconcerting, My scientific expertise is with aether propellers and electromagnetism, but I am entirely ignorant of a device used to maintain a low approximation of gravity in the vessel’s interior. Sovereign was the first aether craft I ever travelled in, so I suppose I took it for granted, but I have wondered about it since noticing the lack of similar gravity on other vessels. It was present on Peregrine Station, however, and I found that equally odd.”
McKittrick and the chief engineer exchanged a glance. “On that score, I am unable to enlighten you,” Lieutenant Boswell replied. “I know nothing of Peregrine Station, had not even heard of it before we took you aboard this time. As to ’ere, me and McKittrick, and every member of Sovereign’s crew, have sworn not to discuss this feature of Sovereign’s design. To be ’onest, Stone, I don’t understand it myself. Ain’t aware of any device in centre-deck, either. It is just there.”
“Hurry up, Professor,” McKittrick growled, “or you’ll be wearing those guts as a cummerbund!”
“Please, McKittrick, you sound for all the world like a penny dreadful. We will have time for a brief visit with Annabelle before lunch, which is an unexpected result.”
McKittrick planned to retort with another shattering riposte, but he found himself unable to think of one―no doubt due to the heat making him light-headed—and so they stepped outside the engine room, only to be met by Bedford.
“Good afternoon. At ease, McKittrick,” he said, before turning to Professor Stone. “I am glad to have caught you while I’m pacing teak. All is in order, I take it?”
“Quite so, Lieutenant. The engine will need repairing on our return to Earth, but it is healthy enough to last us until then. I should expect some turbulence when we pass Luna; however, this should be no more than we would normally expect from Luna’s aether wake.”
“Excellent news, Professor. I should convey the thanks of Captain Folkard for looking over this matter with Boswell. Having said that, however, I do wish to add a cautionary note. The eyes of the ship are upon you, Professor. Any violation of your parole will not be countenanced. I will not hesitate to react in the strongest manner to any threat to the welfare of the ship or of Miss Somerset.”
“Should I clap him in the bilboes, Lieutenant Bedford?” asked McKittrick, eager to impress.
“No, that shouldn’t be necessary, Ordinary Seaman, as long as you maintain a vigilant guard.” Bedford smiled, clapping him on the shoulder. McKittrick felt his heart swell with pride at the compliment.
“Lieutenant, there wouldn’t be any additional cause for this sudden interest in my affairs, would there?” Stone asked, evidently not in the least bit cowed by Bedford’s threat.
Bedford met his gaze. “One would have thought that the responsibility to protect my men would have been cause enough, Professor Stone.”
“And of the concern for Miss Somerset?” retorted Stone and at this the lieutenant’s eyes dropped.
Bedford walked to the porthole, perhaps with a view to avoid further conversation with Stone. Instead McKittrick saw the officer’s back stiffen with surprise. Undeterred, Stone pressed on. “After all, Lieutenant Bedford, you will forgive me for speaking out of turn but you are, as I understand it, still an unmarried man. Is that usual for an officer of your rank?”
Bedford turned back to Stone. “If I were you, I would exercise caution before intruding into another man’s affairs. Now, if it’s all the same to you, I must return to the bridge. It appears that we are about to be boarded.”
BEDFORD HURRIED to the bridge to find Folkard already present, in the company of a number of officers and crew, and monitoring the movements of a ship some distance away. Sovereign had halted while its aether propeller was off-line for repairs, but Bedford knew no reason why they had not gotten under way again.
“Why are we still stopped, Captain?” asked Bedford.
“We received a message relayed from the orbital heliograph station Harbinger that a ship wished to make contact,” said Folkard. “Seems to be a French ship. You may have heard of her before: Versailles.”
Bedford had heard of the ship before. “Certainly. Hardly a major ship in the French lists. What the devil are they up to?”
“As yet, we’re not sure. Harbinger no doubt relayed the message to us in the event the Frogs are in distress. Can’t just streak past them if we can render assistance, can we? I’ve sent the Frogs a message asking if we can render any assistance.”
“Sir, if they find out anything about the unique features of Sovereign…”
“I am well aware of the consequences,” Folkard interrupted sternly, “and I shall see to it that they do not. Ah, here’s their reply by heliograph now. Mister Ainsworth, if you could translate?” he asked the signal officer.
“French vessel Versailles concerned your approach Lunar orbit stop. Request assurance no hostilities intended on Luna stop,” able Seaman Ainsworth translated from the blinking light on the French cruiser.
“On Luna?” Bedford asked. “An absurd statement. We have no intentions of docking at Luna.”
“Inform them that we do not intend commencing hostilities or visiting Luna,” ordered Folkard, which the signalman dutifully flashed on Sovereign’s own heliograph, the short and long clacks of the mirror shutters forming the words in Morse code. Presently they received a response from Versailles.
“Due previous actions by HMAS Sovereign, verbal assurances insufficient stop,” Ainsworth translated. “Require inspection of Sovereign stop.”
As the signal officer read the heliograph aloud, Bedford caught sight of a cutter emerging from Versailles. Wordlessly, he indicated the cutter to Folkard, who watched it approaching Sovereign with evident distaste. The cutter advanced using small puffs of compressed air as thrust; they were too close to need aether propellers, and in any case the French lacked the aether propeller governor of Sovereign and her small craft, so could not conduct fine manoeuvres with it. The lightest touch on the French cutter’s aether throttle would send the tiny craft streaking past—or through—Sovereign.
“They intend to board HMAS Sovereign, eh? Very well,” said Folkard, turning to the signal officer again. “Which is the alert gun mount this watch, Mister Ainsworth?”
“Number two port-side, four-point-seven-inch mount, sir,” Ainsworth answered promptly. “Leading Gunner Gibbs serving as gun captain,” he added, and Bedford nodded, impressed. Ainsworth was young but was on top of his watch. The cutter, meanwhile, drew closer. “Shall I bring the ship to Action Stations, sir?”
“No, that won’t be necessary, Mister Ainsworth. I don’t believe we’ll start a war today. It would make the Admiralty quite cross. Be so good as to have Gibbs put a fluorescent-trailing round across that cutter’s bow, and then resume course and speed as before,” Folkard said and turned away to leave the bridge, catching Bedford’s questioning gaze as he did so.
“A little unorthodox, perhaps,” said Folkard. “Nonetheless, I believe Versailles will receive the message quite clearly. I’m sorry if I worried you there Bedford, but I have no intention of letting some Froggy red guard set his garlic-stinking boots on this deck. Now, unless there are any further delays, we will continue on to Earth.”
WHILE FOLKARD acquainted Versailles with the firepower boasted by Sovereign, Nathanial become reacquainted with Annabelle’s medical condition.
“I fail to see why I have to acquiesce to a request from a bludgeon such as you!” McKittrick complained, although he had nevertheless brought Nathanial to the sick bay as Lieutenant Boswell ordered.
“Do cease your complaining, McKittrick,” Nathanial sighed. “I’m more than happy to return to the brig in five minutes’ time. I hardly feel, however, that there’s an awful lot I can use here to bring down Sovereign. Whoever heard of a killer physician, after all?”
McKittrick grumbled, but did not offer further resistance.
“Thank you, Nathanial,” said Annabelle, from her sickbed, although she looked healthy enough to Nathanial, to his enormous relief. “Now, where was I?”
“Lecturing me on my tardiness in creating an adequate replacement for your leg,” Nathanial reminded her.
“Ah, yes. Well, I appreciate you’ve been busy repairing the ship and making a new friend here…ˮ
“Now, steady on!”
“…but I do feel that with these two requirements out of the way, you should be able to address the issue of my problematic leg. After all, did you not say you would create a more useful substitute than a peg?”
“Once we’re back on Earth, I will gladly…”
“What are the workshop facilities like on this ship?”
“Adequate for my needs, as I recall, but I can hardly imagine Captain Folkard stepping aside to allow me access to the metal-working facilities I would require to machine the hinges and spring-rods needed. I have my doubts over whether Sovereign would even hold in its stock the spring steel I will need for the ankle trunions, either. It’s terribly frustrating for me, Annabelle, you must appreciate that, to have a design remaining unfulfilled.”
“In fact, I have a poem about that,” McKittrick interjected shyly.
“Frustrating for you?” Annabelle answered ignoring McKittrick. “Imagine how I feel, trapped here on this bed with nothing to occupy my time but these pamphlets! As much as I appreciate Doctor Beverly’s administrations, the peg will suffice, if only he would allow me to use it. But he fears the effect it will have on my…stump.”
“Matters could yet be worse, Annabelle”, Nathanial pleaded, attempting to placate her.
Annabelle forced a smile. “Not if the addition to your facial hair is anything to go by.”
Nathanial reached for his moustache. He was not sure if he intended to remove it once they returned home, but for now he chose to keep it, in honour of their slain friend Kak’hamish. This he pointed out to Annabelle. “It is no different than you keeping that skrill horn.”
“In this case, Nathanial, it does rather suit you,” Annabelle said.
“Yes, well, quite.” Nathanial cleared his throat, ignoring the curious looks from McKittrick. “Well, um, so far as I can see, I must say Doctor Beverly and his assistants have done a fine job of removing the stitches and drain shunts from your leg. You might want to stay off it a few days in any case to avoid irritating it, let it heal up properly. I would suggest that you rest more while I attempt to find a solution to your issue. Mister McKittrick, as it appears you have been assigned as my guard indefinitely, I would welcome any ideas should you have them.”
“My only idea right now, Stone,” responded McKittrick, “is whether this room contains sufficient room to swing a Cat.”
Nathanial raised his eyes to the heavens at the predictability of McKittrick thus far. Nathanial’s dilemma, so far as he could make out, was twofold: he had to get out of the brig in order to be of any use to Sovereign and Annabelle, and he had to ensure that Annabelle herself was discharged from the sick bay. Two escapes against the wishes of those who were keeping them there.
“WAKE UP, you scurvy knave!” bellowed McKittrick at the cell door. “It’s five bells in the Morning Watch and everyone with a lick of sense has been up for hours. Do you want to visit the engineering spaces today or not?”
“Come now, McKittrick,” Nathanial said with a yawn as he sat up on his cot and looked for his clothes, “you have been my guard scarcely three days and already you resort to piratical slang rather than gaol slang. Besides, there is hardly cause for this hostility. While we have been thrown together by necessity rather than desire, we can surely have a conversation like civilised gentlemen without these theatrics. Educate me. Your name is McKittrick, yet you can hardly be said to have a Scottish brogue.”
“Scottish antecedents, you see,” explained McKittrick. “Me, I’m from the North of England. Manchester, born and bred.”
“Manchester is still some distance for your ancestors to have travelled, is it not?”
McKittrick ventured a small smile. “We’re travelling between Mars and Earth, Professor, and you think the Great Glens to Manchester’s a long way?”
Nathanial smiled in reply. “I suppose I meant relevant to the time period in which they were travelling. The developments in travel since then would have been unthinkable in our grandparents’ lifetimes, at least.”
“Yes, I mean, my grandfather loved his poetry, but I think the idea that I’d be travelling the stars would be beyond even his imagination.”
Nathanial did his morning wash-up at the small basin in the cell and finished dressing. They set out to the engine room, momentarily, it seemed, having declared a truce. Nathanial suspected that behind McKittrick’s bluff demeanour, he was secretly glad for someone to talk to.
“Mister McKittrick, I recall your comment from the day before yesterday that you have written poems yourself. Isn’t that so?”
At this, McKittrick visibly coloured. “Maybe the occasional sonnet, or ode. It’s not something that I really share with the crew, though,” he confessed, after a while. “A group of swabbies who can hardly read? They’re not likely to be the most appreciative audience. A couple of men have heard it though. Some lads I trust. Perhaps I could share some.”
“Ah, McKittrick, Professor,” greeted Bedford, joining them at a turn in the passageway. “At ease, McKittrick. I trust that there have been no incidents with Professor Stone?”
“The blackguard has quite behaved himself, sir!” bawled McKittrick. “There should be no need to issue a thrashing tonight!”
“Excellent news. Do, however, have a care with the thrashings, McKittrick. Flogging has been outlawed in the Royal Navy these last nine years.”
“More’s the pity, sir,” McKittrick answered sadly.
Bedford turned his gaze to Nathanial. “I hope, Professor Stone, that you have given some thought to your defence. Should you be convicted, the consequences would be disastrous. I hardly know how Miss Somerset would take your execution.”
“Coincidentally” Nathanial answered, “I would not take it all that well myself. Bedford, you may suspect me of being a saboteur but do not also accuse me of being a fool. I will present my defence, and my evidence, when we reach Earth.”
“Evidence? And what…?”
“Lieutenant Bedford, is that you I hear?” Folkard’s voice interrupted, drifting down the nearby companionway—which Nathanial had learned was nautical parlance for a stairway. Bedford turned and Folkard’s disembodied voice continued. “No need to report to me, I’ll come to you.” He scampered lightly down the stairs and turned to them. “At ease, men. Professor Stone, you may remain. Mister McKittrick, how is the baby?”
“Eager for my discharge, I would imagine, sir,” replied McKittrick smartly. “Though I fear she won’t be a baby by the time I get back.”
“They do grow up awfully fast, don’t they? Professor Stone, how is your baby?”
“I foresee no immediate issues with the governor. I have, as it were, a healthy baby.”
At this, Folkard smiled. “Splendid! Now, it may interest you, Bedford and you, Professor Stone, to learn that Harbinger, the orbital heliograph station, has flashed us amended orders from the Admiralty. You’ll remember that there was a tremendous excitement from Parliament concerning the Heart. There was some debate about whether it was safe in the hands of Cyrus Grant, yet it was agreed that the British Research Base would provide adequate back-up.”
“Indeed, sir. Has the position of the Government changed since we last departed Earth?”
“It would appear so, Lieutenant. Their hand has been somewhat forced by the messages coming from the Research Base of late. From what I can gather, they have been rather…unsettling.”
“Unsettling, Captain?” The word had an unpleasant resonance in Nathanial’s ears. “Is Grant in any danger?”
“It’s difficult to say, and this is one of the concerns of the Colonial Minister, although I gather there is still some argument as to in which cabinet portfolio responsibility for the lunar facility ought to reside. In any case, he and the Admiralty feel it best that Grant return to Earth to explain the developing situation.”
“How does this affect us, Captain?” asked Bedford. From his tone, Nathanial suspected that the lieutenant already knew the answer, yet dreaded it.
“Why that should be obvious, Bedford. What other Royal Navy vessel is capable of making the approach and landing on Luna? It is up to Sovereign to return Grant to Earth. To that effect, then, I have ordered the navigator to re-chart our course and make for Luna!”