Chapter One

1.

Sunday 9th February, 1891.

“JAYSUS, BUT THAT’S BIG.”

Tally dragged his gaze from the porthole and his first sight of Jupiter. The view was…overwhelming.

By his side stood young Sophia Davies, or he should say Ordinary Wren Engineer Sophia Davies, not that he thought there was anything ordinary about her. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to such military titles, but “ordinary” definitely did not apply to Chief Boswell’s niece. She was not only part of the new Woman’s Royal Navy Service, she was on Sovereign heading out into the universe beyond the asteroid belt. Tally had a great deal of respect for her and looked forward to moments when they had a chance to talk. Coming up on Jupiter, he’d been…he supposed naughty was as good a word as any, enticing her away from her duties for just a couple of minutes to one of the numerous portholes on the ship.

There she was… Jupiter. Large as life and twice as mysterious. Bit like a woman, really.

Aware he gaped, Tally worked to close his mouth and dragged his gaze to Sophia’s face. Her eyes were wide with wonder, her lips parted in a surprised “o”.

“I’ve never…” she began.

“No.”

“I’ve just never seen…well, anything, not to rival this.”

No-one had. No-one from Earth at any rate, unless those Russian fellows they were chasing had come precisely this way, and even if that were the case surely they’d beaten them by only a few weeks.

“I’ve just never, ever seen… Never imagined…” Sophia seemed to search for a way to express her feelings. “It’s so terrifying yet so beautiful.”

Tally found a need to clear his throat. Definitely like a woman then. He turned back to gaping out of the porthole until he was taken by surprise to find one of his hands clasped in both of Sophia’s.

“Thank you, Mister Cahalleret. Tally,” she added, no doubt remembering he had told her she was to call him that. Her cheeks flushed a little pink and the rest came out in a rush. “Thank you for convincing me to take a look. I’m…so pleased…to have shared this moment with you.” She held on to his hand for a moment longer while Tally struggled to understand what he was feeling, then she let go and turned abruptly. “I must return to my work.”

“Course,” Tally said, but Sophia was already departing, and he headed directly towards the laboratory so as not to spend a moment watching her retreat. His feelings for Sophia were…complicated. He supposed what he was feeling was less than a father and more than a brother. Uncle? He could settle for that.

He steered his thoughts to Jupiter on the way—a safer topic—and was still thinking about what he had seen when he stepped into the lab and his gaze fell on the good doctors. Doctor Arnaud Fontaine was designated head of the geological team on this mission—second only to Nathaniel Stone—with Doctor Marcus Kaplan working under him. Both men were acclaimed in their fields of geology and mineralogy. Tally didn’t doubt their credentials for a moment, but that wasn’t the only thing to admire about the men, especially Arnaud. He’d recovered quite well from the forced exposure of an alien substance upon his person, having been held captive and poisoned with jothrick. He was lucky to be alive and doing better than anyone had expected. Possibly in some part to the good care of Doctor Beverly. Sometimes Arnaud seemed distracted but Tally put that down to his often being otherwise occupied. Tally didn’t share his scientific bent, and… Well, other things about Arnaud made him uneasy. He wanted to blame Arnaud for leading Nate astray—although he wasn’t entirely sure that was the case—but he couldn’t deny Arnaud’s ability, dedication, or pre-occupation with the mission. Even Tally was taken with the incredible things he’d witnessed; things he could well imagine fascinated such learned men as these.

2.

KAPLAN SAT ON ONE side of a large work bench. Fontaine occupied a seat opposite. Numerous instruments and bits of wire were spread out across the table between them. Thanks to gravitar, nothing aboard Sovereign floated, but even so, those in charge would frown to see the state of the laboratory, so he was at first pleased to see their visitor was only Cahalleret. His relief came and went as he regarded the Irishman.

They had all thought they would be nothing more than mere passengers during the journey and had at first bemoaned hours of ensuing boredom. They needn’t have worried. Not much time had passed before Stone had come up with some suggestions that had the research team so fired up that they had given up on many things, including the desire for neatness. Kaplan—one of those who usually craved such a thing—had attempted some inclination towards fastidiousness, but even his efforts had not lasted. Fontaine never had much of a care. A lot of things were fastened down but gradually had attained the atmosphere of organised chaos as the team grew ever more involved in their projects. To stave off the possibility of going stir crazy, even Tally had accepted being something of a run-around for Nathaniel.

Fontaine finally noticed Kaplan was looking at the space behind him and turned his head. Now both of them were staring at Tally, who seemed to realise, and fidgeted under their collective gaze. The man carried no equipment that Kaplan could see. Perhaps he had a message.

“Jaysus, but it’s big.”

This proclamation was certainly unexpected and not for the first time, despite Kaplan’s misgivings, Tally managed to amuse him. This explained in part how they’d developed an easy… He wasn’t entirely certain he’d call it friendship considering the man’s political leanings, but Kaplan was content to call it camaraderie. Considering where they were heading—out to face old adversaries and new mysteries—Tally’s apparent effortless ability to provide some merriment was welcome.

Big? To what did Tally refer? Fontaine asked him first.

“Pardonnez-moi?”

Tally looked at Fontaine. So did Kaplan. Tally glanced back at Kaplan. He seemed…embarrassed?

“Jupiter. She ain’t half big.”

Well, no-one could deny Jupiter was formidable.

“She?” Even Arnaud seemed to dredge up some entertainment from Tally’s declaration.

“Why have you decided Jupiter is female?” Kaplan had to ask.

Tally shrugged. “Dunno, really. Men name ships and such and refer to them as she. Something about…” He turned his gaze towards the wall but not the porthole, as if he couldn’t quite bare to subject his poor Dublin eyes to another sight of their destination. “She’s as daunting as me own ma, I guess.”

Kaplan barked out a laugh alongside Fontaine. He was glad—the laughter eased his mood and his feelings towards both men. Although they’d developed a rapport, Kaplan would be lying to say he welcomed the presence of non-British subjects on board, though he’d rather suffer the Fenian’s presence than that of Fontaine. The untidy workspace was only one reason he mistrusted the Frenchman. His unease was warranted—the stories he’d heard of Fontaine’s previous experiences on Sovereign were more than rumour, and while he understood the need to restrict those who were allowed in the engine room, it struck him as telling that the geologist was excluded from those who were permitted. Considering his long-standing associations, experience of previous missions, knowledge, and connections with certain crew members, Kaplan would not have been surprised if Fontaine was at least allowed in with supervision; instead, Fontaine’s previous exposure to a substance created from jothrick had him banned.

Kaplan’s polite behaviour around Fontaine was borne from compassion—despite his recovery, those on board were aware that Fontaine had been as good as tortured, and it was difficult to pretend otherwise. Professional rivalry kept his sympathy restrained, but although Kaplan wasn’t entirely happy with his emotions, he considered that his reservation could be a good thing. He suspected even Fontaine would have agreed he needed at least a modicum of watching.

Kaplan surmised that skills as well as some of those connections were what enabled Fontaine to be included on the mission at all, and his expertise was something Kaplan could honestly admire about the man, even if he couldn’t help silently, secretly questioning Fontaine’s being here. He remained unconvinced Fontaine should be so high up in the hierarchy of the researchers, but he could admire his ability. He could also be good company.

“Maybe this will steady your nerves.” Arnaud got up, and after a swift and almost comical look around, he reached into a cupboard and produced a bottle of amber liquid and three short straight glasses.

“Cognac?” Tally took a not very wild guess. Everyone knew of Fontaine’s preference.

“French,” Kaplan muttered, unable to resist.

Fontaine eyed him. “From your tone I am unable to ascertain whether you are merely interested or find the idea of anything French distasteful.”

How could he reply to that? Knowing he could not afford the time to search too long for an answer without risking the friendly overtones, Kaplan said, “I must admit that maybe I have not yet decided that myself.”

The remark could have ignited their rivalry, but Kaplan wasn’t entirely surprised to see Fontaine visibly relax. For now at least, they happily shared the same space.

Fontaine had put down the glasses and retaken his seat. He paused in the act of opening the bottle and looked across. “French is the very definition of cognac, oui?”

“Twice distilled, aged in oak. I know the definition.” Kaplan was aware of Tally’s gaze flicking back and forth watching the play between them.

Perhaps misreading the ambiance, and wishing to distil the situation in as refine a way as the alcohol, Tally said, “Them that doesn’t want a drop leave more for them that do.”

There ensued a strange moment of silence during which a small smile hovered over Fontaine’s mouth. Kaplan, experiencing the odd sensation that he was a piece on some giant board game, calculated his next move. He reached for one of the glasses, pushing it closer to Fontaine.

“Many a small war started over another man’s drink,” Kaplan said.

“Sure and that’s true enough.” Tally approached, his broad grin the right dilution for whatever he’d inadvertently started or walked in on—even Kaplan was unsure, but he could imagine Tally’s thinking: Better to weaken a misunderstanding than a drink.

When all three drinks were poured, the men took up their glasses, saluted each other and then tipped their drinks back. When he looked again, Kaplan realised Fontaine was savouring his, Tally had downed his in a single shot, and he… Kaplan glanced down at the glass accepting he had polished off half, which was quite a considerable swallow for him. He must have needed a drink. Fontaine looked at him and topped up his glass without a word. Then he poured another for Tally

“Tis me nerves.” Tally chuckled, though Kaplan was pleased when the Irishman took care to be more conservative with the second measure.

“What do you think?”

It took Kaplan a moment to realise Fontaine was seriously asking his opinion.

The beverage was sharp at first, and then mellowed out. He took more time tasting it. “Fruity, hint of spice, vanilla and I could be mistaken but I would say—”

“Apricots,” Tally interrupted. “Tis no Guinness, but I’d not turn down a drop or two.”

This wasn’t the first drink either man had shared with Fontaine and Tally likely hoped it would not be the last.

“Can’t say as I’ve had this type before. This…” Tally looked questioningly at Fontaine. “This brand? Blend?” When Fontaine shook his head, Tally added, “Surprised me own self to have noticed the difference.”

Maybe he was at risk of getting quite a fancy palate for a hard-working Irishman. Kaplan had the thought but didn’t say it. Alas, he stupidly opened his mouth and said, “No ideas about becoming one of the gentry?” He wanted to take those words back the moment they were out. Tally eyed him, gaze narrowing enough to make Kaplan feel uncomfortable as well as sorry.

“Not I.” Tally gestured as if tipping an imaginary cap. “Suspicious lot for the most part, though tis pleasing to find exceptions.”

Lost for words and not wishing to say anything else that would emerge sounding wrong, Kaplan smiled and nodded.

“What I wouldn’t give for a proper brandy glass,” Fontaine said on a sigh. “Another?”

Tally hadn’t quite finished what was in the glass, but there remained only a swallow or two. Would he indulge?

“Not for me,” Kaplan said, and then had the sneaking suspicion his refusal more than any other reason had Tally saying, “Don’t mind if I do.” This time Tally chinked his glass with Fontaine’s.

“So, we make…” Tally appeared to search for a phrase, made a strange waggling gesture with his fingers “out there” towards Jupiter. “Reaching the planet. We arrive in a few hours?”

Kaplan directed at glance at Fontaine, which the other man returned. Tally’s darting look between them said the Irishman didn’t like the idea of whatever they were about to tell him.

“Nothing to panic over,” Marcus explained. “But I’m sorry to tell you, it’ll be the rest of this day and a bit yet.”

“This day and a…” Tally broke off, shook his head. “I’m no scientist but even I can grasp the speeds we’re travelling. I thought we’d a push to our…our backsides. To be sure the short hop left can’t be taking us so long?”

Ah yes, those speeds. The new boiler design and enhanced construction—in large thanks to newfound minerals and metals used in conjunction with the solar panels now amplified by edwinite—had given them the push of which Tally spoke so eloquently. Then there was the matter of one gigantic planet sitting out there so large and looming so he could understand Tally failing to understand they were not as close as appearances would have many believe. He looked at Tally who was gazing at the hull as if he could see through it, and hence to Jupiter beyond.

“Seems like I can almost touch her…it, I means to say.”

Kaplan smiled. “Jupiter is vast. You are assuming we are closer than we are by the view, but by the time we arrive, Jupiter is going to look a whole lot bigger. She, as you like to call Jupiter, could hold more than one-thousand and three-hundred of our Earths.”

Tally’s jaw dropped, before he blinked, and rearranged his expression. “Ma would be gobsmacked to see me lost for words.” Then he brought the conversation full circle. “Jaysus.”

3.

“PRO…PROFESSOR, SIR?”

“Hmm?” Someone calling his name did not at first register. In a hurry to be back to his work, Nathaniel had taken several steps along the corridor before he looked back. He blinked twice before fully accepting that Erasmus Stevenson had waylaid him. Their first meeting on the ship still shone brightly in his mind. The able seaman had at first turned so pale Nathaniel had thought the man would faint, before becoming a shade of red so deep Nathaniel did not think there was a name for it. He hadn’t been sure whether the flush had been from embarrassment or anger.

Later Nathaniel had realised the truth and shared a few polite but choice words with Bedford. Nathaniel wasn’t the only one to question Bedford’s request for Erasmus’s transfer, even though he understood it. Erasmus was one of those who had shown some telepathic ability in connection with the Heart on Luna and his presence could be useful. Still…the poor man had hardly had sufficient time to convalesce from those harrowing…adventures—if one could refer to torture by the Drobates as such—before finding himself sequestered back on board Sovereign where they had first met.

Bedford’s rationale carried a risk—there was no way to know if Erasmus would suffer a relapse at an inopportune moment. Nevertheless, Nathaniel understood his reasoning. What Nathaniel could not fathom was the general failure to inform a portion of the crew that he was not dead. Arguments concerning procedure and what an officer would and would not choose to share with a member of the crew were all well and good, but no wonder Erasmus had looked like he’d seen a proverbial ghost. Erasmus wasn’t the only one to have been fooled by the cover story that had assigned Nathaniel to an early grave, but there were personal reasons why he had probably taken it so hard; those were things Nathaniel could not share with Bedford and so he’d had no choice but to let the subject lie at rest.

“I…I’m sorry, Professor…sir.” Erasmus’s expression turned sheepish. “I mean…Nathaniel.” He said the other man’s name as if testing the sound of it on his tongue with some hope. “I owe you an apology. That…last time you saw me…off ship, I mean…”

“I quite recall.” Nathaniel took great pains to keep his voice low and gentle.

The last time he’d seen Erasmus on Earth, Nathaniel had been on the receiving end of a closed door in the face. Nathaniel recalled the delight of seeing Erasmus and the disappointment of what, at the time, he could only call rejection. Since they had rediscovered each other aboard Sovereign, owing to what the man had been through, Nathaniel had left him in peace. He’d left it to Erasmus to come speak to him, but had received nothing aside from a few stuttering attempts of… Nathaniel was not sure what. Avoidance? Or reconciliation? Maybe even Erasmus didn’t know, so Nathaniel had tried to show him nothing but respect.

“That’s not the way I wanted to leave things between us. I wasn’t myself you could say.”

Nathaniel nodded.

“I was shocked to see you. I had heard…” He seemed unable to finish the sentence.

“I am aware of what you heard. That I had been labelled a traitor.”

A lighter flush infused Erasmus’s face. “I’m sorry I ever thought so. I didn’t want to believe such a thing of you, but the evidence… Of course, all fabricated?”

Nathaniel caught the question on the end there despite Erasmus saying he did not now believe the stories. “Most definitely, and with good reason.”

Erasmus’s shoulders sagged in what appeared to be relief and only then did Nathaniel realise how tense the other man had been while talking to him. “I’m glad to know the truth of that.”

Nathaniel had given him no particulars; he couldn’t help feeling some pleasure in knowing Erasmus took him at his word. “Don’t blame yourself. You had reason to believe false claims.”

Erasmus shook his head. “I never should have.” A small smile tugged at his lips. “I’m not even convinced that I did believe the stories entirely. I had no choice. Orders.” Erasmus gave what Nathaniel could only interpret as a helpless shrug.

Many a man had done great ills in following orders, but Erasmus Stevenson was not one of them. This was his chance to start anew, and Nathaniel had no reason to be a hindrance.

“I would have expected nothing less. You thought me a traitor and behaved accordingly. I am only sorry that such tales must have added to your woe. You had a lot from which to recover, and the confusion you must have felt over my suspected treason could not have helped. For that I apologise. Please,” Nathaniel added, raising a hand to forestall Erasmus when it looked as though he would protest. “Maybe we both have reason to apologise to the other, so let us leave it as a case of mutual forgiveness. Congratulations on your promotion, by the way. I’m sorry I have not had an occasion to say so before.”

“Thank you. I…appreciate the opportunity.” The uncertainty of his words seemed to belie that.

“And you are now well?” Nathaniel knew he wasn’t, entirely, but it was prudent for him to ask. How much would Erasmus confess?

“I… Yes, thank you. For the most part.” His gaze darted a little. Nathaniel imagined the mind behind those eyes was swiftly calculating. “I won’t pretend every day is easy. I…dream occasionally, and remember in my dreams the things that have happened to me. Many bad but some good.” Another uncharacteristic flush flared in Erasmus’s face revealing his emotional state. “But I am doing well. Unbeknownst to me some things took longer to affect me than others. Later…I had to learn…how to accept all that I had been through. And other things…about myself.”

An awkward and somewhat shy smile followed, but if Nathaniel wasn’t mistaken there was perhaps a touch of reserved expectation. Erasmus held some of his feelings in check. Interesting.

Nathaniel was sure there was more Erasmus wanted to say so he smiled encouragingly.

“If you don’t mind me saying so, I’ve missed…working with you. I hope I can be of assistance on this mission. I hope I can be of personal help…to you.”

Nathaniel considered the suggestion. “I am sure you will make yourself invaluable.”

Erasmus’s answering smile was quite delightful and something Nathaniel was sure he could make use of. Both men lingered for a moment, but if there was more to pass between them now was apparently not the time. With a nod, Nathaniel continued on his way, drawing up short as he rounded a corner and came face to face with Ordinary Seaman Jack Fenn.

If Erasmus had things to recover from emotionally so did Fenn.

Nathaniel looked for, and saw, the guilt Fenn carried with him over past actions, but for the first time since Fenn had returned to Sovereign there was perhaps a spark of the man Nathaniel had met during his first sojourn of the ship.

Fenn looked back the way from which Nathaniel had emerged. “Too much of the boy in that one. Has a lot of growing up to do…if you don’t mind my saying, sir.”

As Fenn was a year younger than Stevenson, the remark had to be one of irony.

“And if I do mind?” Nathaniel did not bother addressing him by title or name. He took some pleasure in now seeing a flush of colour in the seaman’s face.

“I’m sure that would be your prerogative, sir. And Stevenson is none of my business.”

“Quite.” Nathaniel stepped around him, continued some paces, stopped and looked back. “Fenn?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I may need an engineer on our missions. Fancy getting off the ship?”

“Me, sir?”

“Perhaps. If the situation calls for it. If I can pass the requirement with the captain.”

“I…” Fenn managed to look at once delighted and petrified. Then he straightened his spine and grinned. “That would be a welcome change. Thanks, Prof.”

Nathaniel nodded, smiled, and said, “I’ll see what I can do…Jack,” before carrying on his way. He’d have a word with Bedford, initially. There might well be a requirement for an engineer, and it was always a good thing to give people sweeteners. If Fenn enjoyed his time off ship maybe Nathaniel could make it a regular occurrence. If he didn’t, he’d say he had no use for him or he was not up to the task. Either way, Fenn would be grateful.

4.

“HOW GOES IT THERE?”

Kaplan screwed up his face at Nathaniel’s question. “I’ve told you, this is not normally my area of expertise.”

“And I’ve told you it is no matter. You are passing well.” In the absence of a true assistant Nathaniel had called upon many men including Marcus Kaplan to acquire new skills in a number of matters. He was quick to learn and Nathaniel could not only make use of that, he was appreciative of the man’s efforts. Which wasn’t to say that he would trust him without checking his work. “Let me take a look at your progress.”

Kaplan stepped back from the apparatus he was tinkering with, allowing Nathaniel access to a cylindrical shape of approximately one foot in length.

Early diving gear had been invented in the 1700s, although more rudimentary breathing devices had been around for far longer. Many speculated there was some type of liquid on Jupiter, but in any case they were entering what they were sure, from rock samples they’d found on Earth and also collected while in the aether, was a hostile environment. The closer they came to Jupiter, the more certain they were that they were entering a terrain like nothing previously experienced. If there was indeed a poisonous atmosphere, something as basic as a hollow reed would not suffice. Their atmosphere suits would be required for some of the expedition, but what the research team would need was something more manageable, portable, and light. Even if it proved ineffectual in this instance—although Nathaniel was convinced that would not be the case—everyone had seen the advantage of working on the project. Even those who expressed doubts had given in to avoid idle hands.

It was not lost on Nathaniel that British engineers and English inventors were responsible for the respiration devices for divers. The breathing apparatus of their atmosphere suits was more complex. Low pressure meant they could not use normal air so a mix of oxygen and other gases, mostly nitrogen, had to be used. What Nathaniel was attempting to do—to make a device that would constantly recirculate the air a man breathed on another world—would have been impossible were it not for the edwinite. As crazy as it sounded, the mineral seemed to adapt to almost anything he required of it. What they needed most right now was some way to breathe on Jupiter that would allow them freedom from a full atmosphere suit.

During the time spent making the journey to Jupiter, Nathaniel had worked hard on perfecting the device, using the research team and anyone remotely capable of performing a required task to see about the production of the units. He had endured mutterings and even hostility as well as—when matters improved—an occasional lapse in production for a handshake or pat on the back: once the engineers had got over laughing at him, when they realised his invention might actually work. What he was unable to tell them was that only half the science was his innovation. The rest was part intuition and for all he knew, dumb luck. The final missing link had been provided by information he’d gained from Kaskuu—the Heart on Luna. He knew not why exactly, but the ideas came to him so fully formed, he was often on the verge of believing his own genius. However, he knew better. Not all, but some of the knowledge he required had been fed to him, although he could not remember precisely how, or when. At times he was grateful for it; others, he almost resented it. They were being used and Nathaniel did not appreciate the role of puppet. That was, the “man” did not; the scientific mind at the heart of his being was more forgiving.

“Are you all right, Professor?”

Marcus Kaplan seemed to be studying him in the same way Nathaniel saw him look on occasion at Arnaud, and he didn’t like it. That look, if he was not failing to interpret it, was too searching. Kaplan at times seemed as confused with his own presence on the ship as he was others, and questioning, always questioning. Kaplan gazed at him as if he didn’t entirely trust him, didn’t entirely believe everything Nathaniel told him…which made the man entirely too astute. Not his fault, but this attribute could be helpful or an impediment, depending on the uses Nathaniel had for him. Potential problems arising from Kaplan’s shrewdness did not detract from his proficiency. Nathaniel returned his attention to the apparatus in front of him.

“I’m excellent.” Shame Nathaniel could not say the same of the breathing unit, although his judgement had nothing to do with Kaplan’s work.

The contraption was both elegant and crude, although that hardly seemed possible. Undoubtedly the device had an industrial look, but unlike larger examples would not require three separate components and so in comparison appeared stylish. Typically, such apparatus would need a high-pressure tank, a pressure regulator, and an inhalation connection such as a mask. Nathaniel had essentially miniaturised all three elements. A mouthpiece or small over-the-nose-and-mouth mask could now do the job of the helmet on their atmosphere suits. Of course the suit did other things that the breathing unit could not do, but if his theories and the information he’d learned from Kaskuu was correct, even Jupiter had some type of hollow core. Within such confines they would be somewhat protected but such was Jupiter that for the first time they would need help breathing for the whole of the duration.

In theory, as the wearer exhaled, compressed air from the lungs would move up the exhalation tube and the pressure differential would drive the direct replacement pump. The same amount of fresh air would then be pumped back via an air bladder. Because the system was powered by the breath, it required no power unit, only a small amount of compressed air. The thought process behind the design was that a small amount of air would last for hours because of the on-demand system. The other difference was the filtration unit.

The tank was now a small cylinder—still one foot long and fairly weighty but considerably smaller and lighter than a full tank. The air recirculated but also filtered surrounding supplies of the aether making that which would usually be toxic breathable. Or that was the theory. He had only a vague recollection of Kaskuu’s assurance.

Even Nathaniel had doubts.

“You are happy?” The question came from Orlondo Quintana. So involved with the inspection had Nathaniel been, he’d quite failed to notice the arrival of the palaeontologist. Tally and Arnaud trailed in his wake. The men had likely taken a much-needed though quick break to refuel in the mess. His own stomach was on the verge of complaining.

“Si. I mean, yes.” Nathaniel was surprised to find a smile on his face as Kaplan and Tally laughed over his answering Orlondo in his native tongue. Arnaud only smiled. “But for the purpose of caution, perhaps two cylinders per device so the wearer can switch to the other if one fails?”

“Sensible, though it will add weight.”

“Better weight than a man be gasping for breath,” Tally interjected.

There was no arguing with that, although the Irishman managed to sound doubtful that the apparatus would work at all.

“Quite,” Nathaniel agreed. “In addition it means a man can carry twice the amount of air supply directly on his person.” Although he planned to take spare cylinders along, it couldn’t hurt for each man to carry as much breathing gear as he was comfortably able. Nathaniel could hardly tell them that he too shared their concerns. How could something so small replace the need for the far larger equipment they were used to? Was he really going to risk all their lives on the success of this piece of metal, with its experimental regulators and revolutionary filters?

Arnaud had paled when Nathaniel had explained his thinking behind the filter, which employed small particles of edwinite. Even now Arnaud eyed the unit wearily and Nathaniel knew he would have to spare some time to talk to him. He could not afford Arnaud to fall apart on him now, or for the man to voice his fears and possibly go about upsetting others. The men had to trust this device. Many breathing apparatuses provided oxygen through chemical reaction. Nathaniel was using edwinite to aid this purpose as well as filtration—a detail Arnaud Fontaine was exceedingly unhappy with. He understood Arnaud’s concern, but the final decision as to whether these were likely to work rested with him.

“This is good,” Nathaniel declared.

“It is?” Kaplan sounded surprised.

“My design. Your dexterity.”

Kaplan looked at his hands. “Hardly what my father would have imagined me doing but you’re not wrong. Quintana helped, of course. I guess understandably.”

Understandably, perhaps, though in Orlondo Quintana’s case, surprising. A palaeontologist often required steady hands, but Nathaniel wouldn’t have considered roping Orlondo into assisting in this particular exercise as the man’s own excitability often got the better of him. Plus, he had chubby fingers. Bedford had agreed the need for engineers to do the wielding and building, but some of the more delicate internal workings required a more nimble touch. Nathaniel and Kaplan had spent many hours during their journey perfecting this device, and when Nathaniel was unavailable, Kaplan had roped in Orlondo. Nathaniel had needed Arnaud to oversee another task, although by the expression on his face, it was quite possible that the doctor was happy to be excluded in most of this device’s construction.

“You honestly think this will work, old chap?”

Nathaniel gave Kaplan’s question serious thought. If their speculation proved accurate, breathing on Jupiter would be as much of an issue for him as anyone and he was not about to take risks that had no chance of success. “It will.” He took a deep breath. Kaskuu would not guide him wrong. He was staking their lives on it.

“Does not solve the problem of there being no land.” Orlondo’s voice broke in on his musings.

Nathaniel looked up. “We have been over this before.”

“Si, si, and we will go over it again. Jupiter has…”

“No well-defined solid surface. Yes, I know what all the…”

“Are you going to argue with the world’s greatest scientific minds?” Orlondo stared directly at him as if daring him to say so. “You are saying you know better, si?”

Nathaniel opened his mouth to say that, yes, he was. He did know better. He presumed Kaskuu had assured him of such, because he simply knew. He could not say so without giving such facts away, or appearing arrogant.

“I do not know the answer, of course. I have…faith. I must have,” he continued before Orlondo could question the statement. “A surface not well-defined does not mean there is no surface, and we have proven many worlds to be hollow.”

“Si. But we are setting foot into areas of the aether no man has ever ventured before. The same rules may not apply as those on the inner planets.”

“Which is the very reason for exploration,” Kaplan said, with a shrug. “There is no turning back.”

Oddly, although only stating fact, Kaplan’s support surprised him. His pleasure swiftly dissipated owing to the annoying fact the man should even have to. For an instant Nathaniel experienced what he could only describe as burning rage before it cooled almost immediately to irritation. He suffered such moments on occasion now—brief times when his emotions rose to the fore and seemed intense and out of proportion. At least Kaplan’s remark had Orlondo nodding.

“You are right, of course, Señor, and I can think of nowhere I would rather be. I cannot help urging caution. It is perhaps my age.”

The urge to laugh came upon Nathaniel almost as suddenly as his anger had done. They had travelled all the distances between the inner planets and were now heading farther out. Who was Orlondo to talk of age when in the presence of such worlds as these? This man who had discovered evidence of Drobates on the ruins of Vulcan and Phobos—creatures from beyond anything he could comprehend—to talk of age and caution was almost an affront.

“Caution?” Kaplan smiled. “So sayeth the man who almost upset Geronimo.”

Kaplan referred back to an incident in Arizona when Orlondo had gone to examine relics found in what the Apache’s considered to be a sacred cave.

“It was an incredible moment of excitement.” Orlondo managed to look both abashed, and dreamy. “I did well with the matter of diplomacy.”

That he had. Rather than completely risk the wrath of Geronimo, he’d had to settle for taking daguerreotypes of the relics, which included what he had been sure was an aberration in the Drobate skull. He had been right, his findings confirming the mental corruptive potential of jothrick.

Vulcan, Phobos, even on Earth, Orlondo seemed to have an affinity for finding Drobate remains or making some new discovery about them.

Nathaniel hadn’t decided who would go with him on the excursion, but in that moment, he became determined to include Orlondo as one of the researchers going down to Jupiter.

5.

WHAT THE OFFICERS DIDN’T see, the enlisted men got away with. Sovereign was staffed with the best of the best, the elite of the British fleet, but the ship carried those on board on a mission that was going to last. The officers knew the crew had to find ways to let off a little steam, and as long as they saw no evidence of it, nothing would be said. Sometimes even when officers noticed, depending on the severity of the infringement, the good ones pretended not to. Making a little homemade brew or playing a card game or two, even having a knockabout, these things were left unquestioned as long as they were undertaken quietly and no crew member turned up to their station inebriated or injured.

Speaking of steam, Jack Fenn was making his way to a quiet little spot down in the engine room hidden by an area surrounded in an enveloping and concealing blanket of steam, to partake of a little fermentation while trying for a few high ranks of cards of the same suit or consecutive series, when he heard a noise behind him. Ducking between two banks of machinery he hankered down and looked back through a gap in the pipework. He could see little but a pair of boots moving along the walkway.

He jumped up to confront the stalker, forming an excuse as to his reason for being here. While it wasn’t odd that he should be in the engine room, he was off duty. With luck whoever had followed him wouldn’t know that, and he could throw technical jargon at them better than some of the scientists if necessary.

When Katharina Wollf rounded the corner his flabber was well and truly gasted. Where she failed to jump, Jack jerked back in surprise. She was the only female scientist on board, and Jack had no doubts as to her intelligence, even if her brains weren’t the most striking thing about her.

Wollf was tall, and as broad in the shoulders as he, and her stare could make a man’s spine contract as he cowered under her gaze. The inclusion of women aboard ship had met a mixed reaction among the men, and while for the most part, Jack was all for it, Wollf was one woman he wasn’t so sure should be here. He feared she rather lived up to her name, and he hadn’t yet decided whether that was a good thing.

“The engine room isn’t the place for you, Miss.” Jack said the first words that popped into his head and then wished he hadn’t.

Her head tilted to one side as if she studied an interesting specimen. “Would you be saying that if I were one of the male scientists?”

“I… No. Yes. You’re not one of those assigned here.” Two scientists were now required in the engine room at all times, and although Wollf wasn’t one of them, clearly she saw herself as equal to any who were permitted. However, access to the engine room was restricted for very good reasons, particularly the threat of sabotage. “How did you get in here?”

“If I were to say it was a simple smile at the wrong…or right man…?”

She left the question open-ended but Fenn had no problems answering. “Give me that man’s name and it’ll be the last time he ever smiles at anyone.”

One of her eyebrows lifted, as she gave him a small jerk, sort of a half-nod with her head. Fenn couldn’t shake the sneaking suspicion he had just won her approval in some way.

“Good thing for that man he does not exist. I gained entry by other means, which I’m happy to share with you so you can make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

He wasn’t sure he believed her. Should he trust her? He wanted to, but couldn’t. Damn shame to get such a fine lady in trouble, but he couldn’t ignore her presence here.

“I’ll go with you to the captain or whoever you feel you need to report my being here. Of course…you’re not here on duty, are you?”

He wasn’t but she shouldn’t know that. “Can I help you in some way?” She still hadn’t explained why she had entered the engine room at all.

She looked him up and down. “I thought I would join you for the evening.”

“Join…” Jack could feel fingers of heat crawling under his scalp. Did she mean…? No. He might be up to no good but he wasn’t about to cross the line and fraternise—if caught that would kill his career and was socially and morally wrong, besides. Also, he wasn’t sure he’d be petrified rather than excited, so it was just as well she couldn’t be interested in him. That just wasn’t done in polite society. Unless Austria had far more liberal views when it came to women, which he doubted, Wollf had to be talking about something far more innocent than where his mind had wandered.

He almost flinched back when she reached towards him, but a hiss of steam reminded him in time of the many hot surfaces down here. He held still while one of her hands disappeared into one of his pockets, the action bringing her close so that for a few seconds Jack was so taken up with how nice she smelled, he quite forgot why there was an odd feeling in his breeches.

Wollf rummaged around and then withdrew her hand, now holding a deck of cards. Did she mean she wanted to join him and the men for a game?

“Erm…we…” Jack didn’t know quite what to make of this. What did women play these days if they played cards at all? How could he explain that the game the men played came from Louisiana where gambling was a form of past-time?

“Five-card draw, or stud?” Wollf asked him.

Jack blinked at her. Without awaiting a reply she took the deck and sauntered down the way he’d been originally headed. Jack stood frozen to the spot in one of the warmest parts of the ship not knowing what to make of Wollf, wondering what the other men were going to say when she turned up with him, at the same time not knowing how to refuse her.

At the end of the gangway she turned with the deck in her hands. She shuffled, split the deck in two, ruffled the cards together with a flicking motion so they produced a rrrrrrttttttpppp sound, split them again and formed two fans, which she managed to work back together into one pack as if by magic. She turned away and continued on, quite clearly knowing where she was headed. Jack fell into step aware that he was following her like an awestruck puppy.

6.

ARNAUD THOUGHT OF KNOCKING but in the end just tried the door to Nathaniel’s room. He stopped, hands poised on the barrier. He could hear humming. He didn’t recognise the tune, but it made him think of the planet they were fast approaching. The rhythm was full of pomp and ceremony, containing a level of jollity quite out of sorts with the task facing them.

He was so lost to Nathaniel’s harmonies that he couldn’t say for how long he stood there, but when the man came to a softer segment of the tune, Arnaud returned to reality. The warmer tone of Nathaniel’s voice filled him with emotions too overwhelmingly distressing, making his being both bloom and wither. Things had not been…right between them for the duration of the voyage. When he’d first been conscripted for the mission, as ill as he was, he’d felt a hopeful sort of joy at the thought of seeing Nathaniel again. Unfortunately, there was no reason for the two of them to share a room let alone a bunk as they had done on Esmeralda 2, and Nathaniel had not instigated anything remotely resembling their old relationship. Of course, the opportunities to be alone were few, but whenever Arnaud tried to capture Nathaniel’s gaze…the moments he succeeded were worse than when he failed, for his toujours would stare at him briefly before tearing his gaze away.

“Enough, Arnaud. Enough.” Taking what remained of his courage, and perhaps self-respect, in hand, Arnaud pushed open the door, stepped inside, and then leaned back against the barrier. A moment passed before Nathaniel noticed him, but when he did, the humming ceased, and Nathaniel looked him over with a casual glance that expressed nothing short of indifference. He turned back to his task, making adjustments to a diagram with which he was tinkering; no doubt more modifications to the breathing assembly.

Arnaud quite forgot what he had intended to say owing to the fact of being ignored. “I…” He fumbled in his pocket, failing at first to find the opening. Even his fingers knew better than to want to touch the filter the others had helped design under Nathaniel’s guidance. “I was passing so volunteered to bring you the new filter. It is fini. Accompli.”

That more than his presence gained him Nathaniel’s attention.

Nathaniel looked up, straightening his spine, turning his head to stare at Arnaud. “No problems?”

“Non.”

“Then bring it over here, man.”

Hardly a warm invitation but the most charming he’d received since he’d set out on this mission. Arnaud crossed the room and placed a circular device small enough to hold in the clawed fingers of one hand in front of Nathaniel. The other man at once lined it up with the blueprints before him. A glance revealed to Arnaud where it would fit.

Silence reigned and he had the sense to know he was as good as dismissed. He had to ask…about many things.

“How do you know this will filter the atmosphere of Jupiter? How do you know that using it in a filter will not harm the men breathing through it?” That was what he feared. Although this was not technically aleksandrite—or jothrick as it was now officially called—and thus not what had been administered to him, it was still composed in part of jothrick, and what if small particles could somehow find their way into a man’s lungs? What if just breathing through it could contaminate and harm the user?

Nathaniel stopped moving, stopped breathing for all Arnaud could see.

“Edwinite has many useful properties, mon toujours, but this?” He reached out, then let his hand fall away a mere inch from touching Nathaniel’s hair. “Where are you getting these…?” He searched for the word. “Fou. Mad. Crazy ideas?”

“Crazy?” Nathaniel seemed amused.

“Oui. Non. I…” Arnaud ran a hand through his hair to the back of his neck rubbing at an area there that seemed to bother him. He was too tense these days. “I am unsure what I am trying to say. Mon toujours—”

“Stop using that phrase.”

Arnaud was aware of his brow creasing in puzzlement. When realisation dawned, acid rose up his oesophagus to bite at the back of his throat. “Nathaniel, what have I done to warrant your coldness towards me?” He suffered enough guilt over his actions even though they had not been his fault. He had not expected this treatment from Nathaniel. The man had insisted he be part of this mission, yet had shunned him in all things that did not require his expertise or some form of technical participation for the weeks it had taken them to journey here.

“I am not…” Nathaniel’s words petered out. His expression turned pensive and then, as if he had found something within himself that had been too long absent, his expression changed. “I do not…mean to be. There is just much more going on here than pertains to us.”

Nathaniel chose that moment to stand and where once Arnaud would not have been intimidated by the other man’s height, he took a step back.

“We are in the depths of the aether, going further than we ever thought possible. The next link in the chain… Arnaud, trust me, I am sure it is here. As to us…we cannot risk…” He shook his head. “What you say in private you may let slip in public.”

“Then let us not say such things with words.” Arnaud made to move forwards but the way Nathaniel drew back brought his movements to a halt.

“Not now. Not until…” Nathaniel shook his head as if to say he knew not when. “Concentrate on helping me accomplish the tasks ahead of us. You are going to help me…”

You are going to help me…destroy…

A stranger’s voice interceded, blotting out whatever it was Nathaniel said, so that Arnaud didn’t hear a word of the rest. He blinked, and swayed. The recollection, if that was what it was, faded.

“Are you all right?”

The question coming from Nathaniel almost set Arnaud laughing. Was he all right? He wanted to snap out that, non, he very much was the opposite of all right. He’d been injected with an alien substance by that mad woman, Moonsinge. Then while under the influence he’d committed acts that could only be classed as treasonous no matter which country his heart held loyalty to. Even worse, his actions had led to the deaths of some very good men. So he very much wanted to say non. He was not at all “right” and Nathaniel’s lack of consideration and compassion was no help to him at all.

Nathaniel has betrayed you…

Arnaud shook off the insidious whisper that seemed to echo and bounce around within his skull. “A little dizzy is all,” he said, as Nathaniel took his arm and helped him to a chair. No sooner than he sat did he shrug off Nathaniel’s touch. So who was acting out of character now? Arnaud felt a wild cackle bubbling up and swallowed it down. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, allowed Nathaniel to fetch and help him drink some water.

“Perhaps you should see Doctor Beverly?”

“Perhaps I should.” He wasn’t going to mention hearing strange voices in his head, though. “Should I tell him that working too closely with your edwinite is not good for my nerves?”

He almost expected Nathaniel to tut. Instead, he sighed. “I am sorry things cannot be the way they were…for now. Despite what you think, Arnaud, I do not want to bicker with you. This,” Nathaniel indicated the filtration system, “is simply bigger than our personal needs.”

Arnaud nodded and, refusing aid, rose to his feet and made his way over to the door. He couldn’t help how he felt. He appreciated what edwinite could do, but he was beginning to think he’d had enough of working with minerals. Especially the sort that could be injected into a person to control them and drive them out of their minds.

“Does that ever stop?” Arnaud asked, pausing at the threshold. He waited until Nathaniel looked over. “It just seems unfair. That the fate of the universe might rest upon one motley crew. Must we always put the needs of the many before our own? Will you always put others first?”

Without waiting for an answer, Arnaud turned to leave the room.

“Arnaud,” Nathaniel called out.

Arnaud paused waiting to hear one kind word.

“How far along are you with the portable transceivers? We have only a few hours left before they will be needed.”

“As is everything needed sooner rather than later,” Arnaud muttered. He walked out without supplying the answer.