HMAS SOVEREIGN did not leave Luna immediately and the next week became a whirlwind of activity for Lieutenant George Bedford, occasioned by Captain Folkard relieving himself of command on medical grounds, as much to Bedford’s surprise as everyone else’s.
Bedford composed and sent a number of long and detailed reports. He appended a list of casualties and recommendations for decorations, foremost among them Lieutenant Booth and Private Jones, RMLI Detachment, HMAS Sovereign.
He also made a point of commending the actions of Professor Stone who, though technically under arrest, had performed with particular initiative and gallantry. Bedford had hesitated before writing “gallantry”, as he knew Stone would find the word a distasteful characterisation of what he had done, particularly with respect to those two savage battles fought in the gloom of the deep tunnels. Nevertheless it accurately described the actions as the Admiralty understood the term, and if part of Bedford agreed with Nathanial as to the sorry state of the world’s current understanding of gallantry, he saw no profit in sharing that with the Sea Lords.
London’s response was not long delayed. With a substantial body of “armed men of an uncertain disposition” still based somewhere nearby, the Admiralty insisted Sovereign remain on station until a troop ship could bring reinforcements. Sovereign, of course, would have to meet the ship and ferry the troops down, as the only other large vessel with an experimental aether propeller governor, the one which normally serviced Otterbein Station, was in dry dock having suffered a mysterious case of sabotage.
Within four days the troop ship arrived and Sovereign’s cutters ferried down a company of the Rifles as well as a section of two Nordenfelt machine guns with naval crews, and a half-battery of light mountain guns—just the sort of thing to disassemble and carry through lunar passages, or perhaps on a raft down the River of Life. A sharp-looking young lieutenant colonel of the Rifles named Cooper had come with them and hand delivered to Harrison his orders to report back to London for reassignment. The company of Sikhs would stay under Cooper’s command. A new broom would sweep clean, Bedford hoped.
The reference in the orders to “armed men of an unknown disposition” was, Bedford well knew, all part and parcel of the diplomatic dance London managed over the status of Luna. Britain and Russia were not at war, nor did they care to be. Still their interests clashed, and as Britain had assured the world Otterbein Base was purely a research facility—which international treaty clearly forbade—it could hardly accuse Russia of having attempted a major military operation here.
Bedford was no diplomat, but he knew enough to couch his own reports in such a way as to emphasize the rescue operation and the fact that Tereshkov was clearly a demented renegade—not at all an agent of the Tsar. His detailed identification of the Lifeguard Jaegers was included as a separate annex marked Most Secret which he gave to Colonel Harrison to hand deliver upon his return to London via the returning troop transport.
Then there was the matter of Naporrow Bing and the City of Light and Science. British subjects had been treated most disgracefully by the Drobates of the City and Bedford did not doubt they would be made to pay a price for that. There was justice to that, he could not deny. He did sometimes find it disturbing that Britain seemed so much more ready to redress injustices to her subjects when those injustices occurred in a land of potential profit to the Lords, bankers, and industrialists—and did so little to prevent her subjects from coming to harm there in the first place.
Now Bing, the ostensible representative of the resistance in the City, met alternatively with a representative of the Foreign Office and one of the Colonial Office both of whom had come out with the troops—and each treating the other as if a minister of a hostile foreign power—with either Stevenson or Folkard, who could understand the Drobates’ form of mental communication, serving as translator. Grant could as well but was still too far gone to do so, and Bedford would not have trusted him in any case. Communication with the Drobates would be a challenge, of course, but the need to sort out who in London was actually responsible for dealing with the situation seemed an even greater one. It was not, however, Bedford’s problem.
Bing had taken one day off from his meetings to lead a party by a different route back to his laboratories and collect the twelve Russian prisoners, surly and bored but otherwise none the worse for their experience. Of the others who had wandered away from the party there was no trace. The twelve Russians would travel back to Earth aboard Sovereign and be released amidst much public fanfare—more unfortunate Earthmen waylaid by the Drobates and delivered from captivity courtesy of Britannia. Remarkably, Bedford realised, that was actually the truth. The Tsar, he did not doubt, would be very grateful—in public.
When not in meetings with London’s diplomats, Bing had spent much of his time in a workshop at Otterbein Base with Professor Stone, carefully disassembling the Drobate prosthetic leg, then rebuilding it to the correct length, proportion, and cosmetic appearance to match Annabelle’s missing limb. As Bedford and Annabelle had taken to sharing most of their meals, he knew the extent to which she longed to try on the new leg, although she pretended nothing more than a casual interest in the progress. Whatever impatience she might feel—and Bedford sensed that it burned within her like a Bessamer furnace—she showed only polite interest and support to her friend Stone. Bedford’s admiration for her would have grown, had it anywhere further to so expand. Instead he supposed that it deepened, as he saw more subtle layers to this woman who had entered his life and who, God willing, would remain a part of it.
"AH BEDFORD,” Folkard said, looking up from his book. “Good of you to see me. Please have a seat. Would you care for some tea? The steward has just brought it.”
Folkard saw Bedford hesitate for a moment before sitting and nodding.
“I’ll be Mother,” Folkard said with a smile and poured the tea. “One lump or two?”
“None, thank you, sir.”
“Of course, I’d forgot.” Folkard handed the cup and saucer to Bedford and then took his own. He stirred his tea for a moment while he gathered his thoughts. “You have wondered why I relinquished command.”
“Yes, sir, I have,” Bedford answered.
“But you have not questioned me over it.”
“No sir,” Bedford said and set the tea aside. “It was not my place to do so.”
“On our first mission to Luna,” Folkard continued, “I left you in a seemingly untenable position, on the airless surface of the world with only an hour or so of oxygen. You managed to survive that.”
“Yes, sir, I did.”
Folkard considered Bedford’s steely look. He set aside his own tea and looked away. “I left you on the surface of Luna because I knew you would find a way out of the fix. Do you understand? I knew it, on a fundamental level, despite all physical evidence to the contrary. Although I did not understand at the time, the Heart was even then speaking to me, somehow controlling my actions. I do not believe I understood the extent of the Heart’s control over me, or how completely reckless and irresponsible I had acted, in so many ways, until the Heart’s voice was suddenly silenced, down there in the chamber during the fight with the Saltators. That’s when I came to my senses, and that is why, Bedford, I must tell you how utterly appalled I am at my own behaviour, particularly on our first mission. I ask you to accept my sincere apologies, although I would not blame you one wit if you slapped away my hand.”
Bedford frowned and shifted uncomfortably in his chair, considering his words for several seconds before replying. “Although I have not felt the influence of the Heart, its effects were clear to see on Grant and Stevenson, not merely on you, so I cannot dismiss your explanation as invention. Further, I will say that none of your actions on any mission, save only these two trips to Luna, have given me any reason to question your judgement or leadership. That said, it is not within my power to absolve you of responsibility for your actions. You understand that?”
“Of course,” Folkard answered. “Only our Creator can do that.”
“Or an Admiralty Board,” Bedford added, and for the first time Folkard saw the hint of a smile. “No, I cannot absolve, but I can understand and I can certainly forgive, which I do gladly.” He extended his hand and Folkard shook it.
“Thank you, Bedford. This means a great deal to me.”
Bedford glanced at the book Folkard had laid aside. “Legends and Myths of Ancient Times,” he observed out loud.
“Quite so. Sovereign has a rather extensive library. I have been reading up on an archaic lunar deity in Greek mythology, called Selene.”
Bedford nodded. “Ah, the Selenites. An attempt to understand them better?”
“Not so much them, as Luna itself.” Folkard picked up the book and looked at it for a moment and then dropped it back on the table.
Bedford thought for a moment. “One thing I still fail to understand. Why surrender command of Sovereign, unless from a desire to atone for what you saw as your past ill-considered acts? As you yourself said, the voice of the Heart was stilled by the fight with the Saltators, and I would say without reservation that your behaviour from that moment on was exemplary.”
Folkard picked up his tea and sipped before answering. “Its voice was stilled, Bedford, but not silenced forever. The Heart again whispers to me.”
ANNABELLE HAD put off visiting her uncle for long enough.
Traditionally a visit to her uncle would have been an event which triggered great excitement. Yet as she guided her new mechanical leg to his bed, she realised that she was doing so with a degree of trepidation. She had heard the men whisper that a lunatic was being kept in the bay and was all too aware that this did not refer to Stevenson. Of course, she did not entirely share this opinion, but she had secretly worried about her uncle’s state of mind ever since they had first left Luna without him all those months ago.
Grant was talking to himself, muttering something which sounded like Poly. A lost love, perhaps: Annabelle realised that she knew very little about Uncle Cyrus’s private life.
“How are you feeling, today, Uncle?” Annabelle asked.
“They have taken me away from my life force. I feel as though I have lost a limb!” cried Grant.
The careless remark stung Annabelle but she had to make allowances for his condition. “You are talking about the Heart?”
“Of course, my girl, what else? What else do I have in this flimsy universe? And now, to return to that useless rock Earth! Nothing but philistines and imbeciles at every turn. The planet is simply too small to contain the knowledge I hold, Annabelle, too small to contain Cyrus Grant!”
“This ranting will get you nowhere, Uncle,” Annabelle said. “You are only being held here because you are not considered safe to roam the ship unaccompanied. Unless you are capable of behaving yourself, there is no prospect of any vessel consenting to bring you back here. Remember, Uncle, that only the British have ships capable of making this voyage.”
“Yes, and why? Because they have stolen my invention, that’s why! They use my aether propeller governor without so much as a by-your-leave!”
Annabelle became alarmed at his rising hysteria and touched his shoulder soothingly. “Now Uncle, please be calm. Nathanial consented to the experimental use of the device on several Royal Navy vessels.”
“Stone? What say does he have in it? It was my invention, not his!”
Although technically true, Annabelle knew that Nathanial had advanced the design way beyond that which her uncle had built for his first trip to Luna. But it would not do to remind him of this fact now. “Be calm, please Uncle. You must behave yourself.”
“Behave myself!” thundered Grant. “Such insolence, and from a mere girl! I shall not stand for it.”
Annabelle felt the blood rise to her cheeks. “To think I worried about you on Luna, Uncle! Clearly I should have left you among your Drobate confederates to dissect corpses for the rest of your days.”
“Perhaps you should have! I would, at least, have been more content on an operating table in the companionship of Drobates than I would in a lecture theatre in England.”
Annabelle shook her head. She would be better off, she decided, terminating the conversation before her anger spilled over into outright fury. “We shall continue this conversation, Uncle, when we return to Earth. Perhaps then you will be free of the Heart’s influence and we might be able to conduct a civilised discussion.”
“Free of the Heart’s influence!” cried Grant. “The Heart will never leave me. All those who have touched it are as one, plemyannitsa.”
Annabelle paused briefly at the door. She had become accustomed to peculiar outbursts from her uncle. Something about this latest one, however, made her shiver.
She walked to Sovereign’s chart room, a small office off the bridge, for that was where George spent most of his duty hours. The ship was scheduled to depart, at long last, for Earth on the morrow. He might be busy with last-minute preparations, although she saw little enough evidence of it in the ship. Everything required to depart had been done days ago. George certainly ran an efficient ship and she had no desire to interrupt his running of it, but she suddenly felt need for the company of a sympathetic being, if only for a few minutes, to remind her that people could feel things for one another aside from impatience and anger—or horror.
“Ah, hello, my dear,” he said looking up from the papers spread across the chart table. “You look particularly lovely today, if you will permit me to say so.” He started to struggle to his feet but she waved him down—his ankle still had not recovered from his rather nasty sprain, and for the moment she suspected she was slightly more mobile than he. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Silliness, I am sure, and nothing more.”
George smiled and leaned back in his chair and raised his white mug of tea. “Then here’s to silliness, I say. Does something trouble you? Please, sit with me a while.”
Annabelle sat on the stool beside the chart table, the only other seat in the room, and flexed her artificial leg tentatively.
“How does it suit you?” George asked.
“So far it is harder to walk with than my peg, although I know that is only because I am unaccustomed to it. I have grown used to the security of that rigid and unyielding piece of Martian blackwood; this give and flex is something new. Also, Nathanial says I will have to have the tension of the internal springs readjusted once we get to Earth, to allow for the much greater gravity.”
“Of course,” George said and smiled.
“But you know that does not trouble me. That is something I can deal with—will deal with, regardless of how long it takes. No, I am troubled by things I have no control over: the mental state of Uncle Cyrus, the charges against poor Nathanial. These are two people who have come to mean…almost more to me than anyone else on Earth.” She saw George smile softly at that as well. “You and I are quite different in that respect, George Bedford. You never seem tortured by the events beyond your control. You go about your business, making a difference where you can, and leaving the rest to God, although I have never heard you put it so. How do you manage it?”
“I do not know, exactly. It is simply who I am. But if you truly desire to learn my technique, I suggest a course of careful study.”
“A long course?” she asked.
“Oh, I should think quite long.”
EXCERPT 56.
“Beyond the Inner Worlds: The Journal of Professor Nathanial Stone” (Published July 2011, by Chadwick Press).
Thursday, December 5th 1889.
I have mixed feelings on our departure from Luna. There is a great deal to celebrate from our experiences this time. The mission to recover Grant was, ultimately, successful.
I fear that these months on Luna have damaged him greatly and he may never recover from their influence; even at a reduced level, however, his knowledge, obtained from the Heart, will be invaluable to science, and may open entire new vistas to us. Travelling beyond the asteroid belt! Remarkable—the invention of fantasists with no regard for astrophysics or for engineering, and yet it seems closer to a reality than ever before.
We have also discovered a new civilization, if one can call it that, which contains remarkable technological artefacts, although so far we have seen little of them save the weaponry. If the Foreign Office acts with wisdom and forbearance, this culture may be won over to a less brutal and debased course. From what I have seen on Mars, however, I think a military campaign of conquest more likely, the immediate outcome of which can hardly be in doubt. I have not the wisdom to foresee the long term ramifications.
I am pleased that Erasmus joins us on our return from Luna. He shall require a period of extended convalescence on Earth; as I understand it, he has been sleeping by candle light in the sickbay and even then he is haunted by nightmares relating directly to his time with the Drobates. Doctor Beverly has advised against visiting him immediately for the good of his health, yet I am anxious to see him and keenly hope that he will be allowed visitors before we land on Earth and I am, once again, taken into custody. That is, of course, now only a matter of hours away.
Annabelle continues to make great strides, both figuratively and literally, on her prosthetic. She will learn in time not to be so eager! I have worried as to what she intends to do on her return to Earth in light of her uncle’s current health, but she seems unconcerned. She has taken Lieutenant Bedford into her confidence, and I think also into her heart.
And so, once more, my thoughts turn to what awaits me on Earth. I should be confident of my liberation at the end of the trial. I am, after all, innocent of any crime and a reasonable jury, presented with all the facts, ought to find in my favour. And facts I have aplenty. Since boarding Sovereign at Mars, even though bound by law, I was still allowed the contents of my satchel, and spent many hours during the voyage from Mars to Luna going through not only my journal, but that of Professor Wren. Yes, facts I have!
And not only those, but Bedford has made it clear that he will speak for my good character, and the service I have been on this mission to Luna. He calls it gallantry, and perhaps, just perhaps, he is right.
Seven months ago, when I was ordered to report to HMAS Sovereign, who would have foreseen the path my life has taken… Certainly not I!
To Be Continued…