Asimov's SF, February 2010 (24 page)

This place was a mine and a factory and a farm—all of these things. But it was also, I saw now, a graving yard. “This is a ship,” I breathed.

"Yes. A ship of Space. And in this ship my father, for he will command her himself,
will sail to Mars
, and study the Phoebean nest there, and return in glory to report to the King himself on their activities! Come—let me show you inside—and you will know what we want of you."

I was too astonished to resist.

XIII

A hatch was set in the ship's midriff. To get to it we walked around a gallery, and crossed by a ladder that bridged the gulf between pit wall and Cylinder. I had a bit of vertigo for I am no lover of heights, but I suppressed it, driven by curiosity, and a desire not to appear weak before the lovely Anne.

When we reached the ship I noted that the hatch opened outward, and would be sealed by a rubber collar. Inside, the Cylinder was indeed like a greater version of my
Nautilus
, with the same reassuring smell of copper and rubber and oil—but much wider and turned on its end, and illuminated throughout by lanterns. The interior was divided into decks by sections of open mesh flooring, although a solid deck of polished oak blocked off the bottom of the compartment. Oddly, there was carpet affixed to some of the walls, and bits of furniture bolted to the decks—chair, tables, hammocks, cupboards, even a big navigator's table of the type I had seen on the
Indomitable.
In a middle deck, I saw a ring of guns, naval weapons surely but of quite small bore, and sacks of shot and powder fixed to the walls nearby. These guns faced outward, their muzzles set against the hatches I had spotted in a ring around the hull, and I wondered what enemy ships they were meant to repel.

Thus, a ship designed to swim in Inter-planetary Space! I had never conceived of such a thing. But I was an engineer, and I inspected it and tried to understand how it would work.

Anne was watching me. “What do you think of her?"

"I think she looks mighty expensive. I can see where the money has been spent that might have built the navy ships to turn the war...."

"You can see the hand of your mentor Fulton."

I grunted. “I immediately see he has left issues to resolve."

"Such as?"

"This hatch, for one thing.” I pushed it back on its hinges. “My understanding is that the worlds swim in a vacuum—is that not the best philosophical thinking?"

"Else the planets through friction would spiral into the sun.” She rapped on the hull. “The vessel is meant to contain its air."

"Then this hatch is a weak point. Anne, what do you understand of pressure? My
Nautilus
was built to withstand the greater pressure of the water outside its hull, which would overwhelm the air pressure within.” I mimed squeezing an orange. “But in the case of your Cylinder, the greater pressure will come from the air
within—
the hull will seek to pop like a soap bubble. And here you have a hatch that longs to blow outward, on its hinges! Have your engineers rebuild this, Anne. Have the hatch open inward—and let it be shaped to sit in its frame so that the outward pressure of the air forces it closed, not open.” I glanced around at the small portholes. “I may take a look at those windows too, before we're done."

Again she took my hand, and the simple physical touch thrilled me. “There can scarcely have been a stranger ship built in all human history. Yet you grasp her essence, immediately. This is precisely why we needed you here, Ben—for just such insights, once we lost Fulton. Please, let me show you more...."

So we clambered up and down ladders affixed to the interior of the curving hull. I was struck again by the squares of carpet affixed to the walls, and the way every chair and couch and cot was fitted with harnesses, and how there were little latches on the tables that could be used to fix plates and cups in place. At first I imagined that these were precautions in case this ship of Space should roll and pitch like an invasion barge in a Channel storm, but Anne tried to explain to me that while there are no storms in Space (or so the philosophers opine) a much stranger phenomenon will occur. “The Cylinder will be beyond the clutches of the gravity of earth, Ben. The engines’ push will be brief—like the great thrust applied to a cannonball in the breach.” She said no more, for now, of
how
that great thrust would be generated. “But after that the Cylinder,
and all her contents
, will fall freely between the worlds. And a crewman will bounce around inside this hull like a mouse in a hollow cannonball! It's all to do with Newton's calculations ... Now can you see why there is carpet on the walls?"

I saw, and I was astonished anew.

That navigator's table was an expensive affair, and though a big compass was set in its surface I saw there were fine-looking Harrison chronometers, and that cupboards nearby were stocked with sextants and other equipment of the type, which the sailors use to measure the angles of the stars in the sky. “Nobody knows if a compass will work between the worlds,” Anne said. “Or what meaning ‘north’ or ‘south’ may have! But the navigator will be able to track the curving path of the ship as she sails from Earth to Mars and back again, by mapping the shifting positions of the stars—and indeed Sun, Moon, Mars, and Earth itself."

"But why carry a navigation table at all?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"It would be futile to spread canvas in the windless vacuum of Space—wouldn't it? Then I cannot understand the good of all that patient charting and star-bothering if the ship cannot be controlled."

"Ah,” she said, smiling. “A good question. And that is why this ship of reconnaissance has a gun deck."

Now I learned that the cannon mounted amidships were not, after all, for fighting Martian men o'war, but for steering! The Cylinder would have no rudder. But to deflect her course the crew would fire a cannon shot, in the
opposite
way she was desired to turn, and the recoil would do the rest—I myself had seen the violence of recoil of a cannon fired in anger. Of course this was a rough and ready method of steering, for a cannon's fire is scarce repeatable one ball to the next; but after such a shot you could take more measurements of the stars, and fire again, to tinker with your course in a secondary way. And thus the Cylinder would be steered to Mars and back, to the put-put of cannonballs fired off into the endless immensity of Space! All of this the architects of this strange mission were quite confident about, it seemed.

The cupboards were well stocked with clothing and blankets and the like, but I did wonder how the crew would keep warm in Space, for everybody knows how cold it can be if you climb a high mountain. But Anne explained that the problem would be to keep
cool
, rather than hot; the sunlight, to which the Cylinder would be exposed continually, would be more intense than on the clearest summer day. There was, however, an ingenious little heating system devised by Watt that ran on the combustion of oil; this at least would suffice to boil a kettle!

The galley, by the way, was a cleverly compact affair, and quite well stocked with meat and beans in sealed cans, and dried fruit that would keep, and such familiar comestibles as ship's biscuits. The crew would be three, Anne said—and the stock of food was intended to support them for a journey that might last years!

Regarding the more delicate matter of what emerges daily from the other end of a human being, Anne showed me an ingenious closet fitted with valves and levers, which should suck one's daily offering out into the vacuum of Space, without exposing tender flesh to that airless condition. I made a mental note to check the integrity of the gadget. With liquid waste the situation would be different. It was recognized that a water tank sufficient for the trip would fill the hull and beyond, and so there was an elaborate system of filters, of sand and fine cloths and other materials, that would enable the urine produced on Tuesday to be drunk again on the Wednesday! This was based on systems developed over the years by desperate miners stuck down the shafts by rock falls and the like. I admit I gagged at the thought, and even Anne, who never liked to show weakness, wrinkled her pretty nose at the idea. [
This last detail is entirely the author's invention.—A.C.
] That business of the water, though, prompted me to think about the air that would be needed to keep that brave crew alive between the worlds.

She led me at last to the lowest deck of that copper hull, and we stood on the stout oak bulkhead. I saw three big brass bolts set on threads that penetrated the bulkhead, the bolts to be turned by twisting wheels. “And this,” she said, “is the Cylinder's greatest marvel of all—the secret of how she will be able to thrust herself out of the atmosphere. All the crew will have to do is turn these wheels."

For this marvel we had to thank the restless brain of James Watt. It had been Watt's suggestion to use the Phoebeans’ brute strength in mining. But he became intrigued as to
how
that great strength was generated, and to what further uses it could be put.

Anne said, “It's well known, and first observed by Newton, that if a Phoebean gets too hot he soon ceases to function. Newton called it a ‘Calenture,’ and it is profoundly useful in controlling the animals. It was Watt who first tried the obvious experiment of seeing what happens if you
melt
a Phoebean altogether.” She grinned. “He blew up his laboratory, and nearly took himself with it! It seems obvious, Ben. The stuff of which Phoebeans are built is like ice, but it is of a more exotic variety—Watt and his peers call it anti-ice. The tremendous energy of a Phoebean is somehow stored in the anti-ice—as energy is stored in your own muscles. And when you melt the ice, all that energy is released, in a flash. It's as well for Watt that he first experimented only on a tiny crab.” She eyed me. “Perhaps you can see how this is relevant to the problem of firing the Cylinder into the air."

I nodded, and glanced down uneasily at the wooden bulkhead. “There are Phoebeans down there."

"There will be, on the day of the launch. Clutches of young crabs will be loaded in, before they have a chance to grow. The crew will turn these wheels to drive a spring piston down onto the crabs, crushing them in a sort of funnel. Then a flintlock mechanism—Watt will give you the details—will cause an oil fire to blaze, and the anti-ice fragments will immediately melt. The detonation chamber is ingeniously shaped. The expanding gases will be thrust from a nozzle. The ship will be blown into the air—"

"Like a Congreve rocket."

"Exactly that. The crew will be protected by the spring under this platform. It will last only seconds—but when it is done, the Cylinder will already be hurled beyond the air, and en route to Mars!” She studied me. “You seem uneasy. It has all been tested, on smaller models—Watt is sure of his design."

"No doubt. But the wretched Phoebean chicks will not enjoy the experience."

Again she took my hand. “I have suffered the same doubts, dear Ben. But my father says there is a sort of justice in using the Phoebeans’ own lethal energy agin them. There is much to be done to make the rest of this unwieldy vessel work—and little time. My father wants to launch in seven days."

I thought that over. “On Boxing Day!"

"The Cylinder must be lofted and away before the Ogre can get his hands on her, and use this technology for his own purposes. You see why you must help us, Ben. With Fulton gone, you are perhaps the only man in the world who knows how to build a vessel to submerge in the sea—and here we are striving to build a ship that can be submerged in Space!” She released my hand and drew back. “Oh, we can keep you here by force, but you cannot be compelled to work. It is your choice."

And I considered that choice. In the middle of the Napoleonic invasion, I was probably as safe here as anywhere in England, at least for now. And I could see at a glance that without my intervention Cuddy and his wretched crew would not survive the launch to see the top of the air, let alone to view the strange landscapes of Mars. Besides, I am an engineer; I enjoyed defining novel problems and solving them—and what was more novel than this?

And here was Anne, staring at me almost hungrily.

I took her hands now. “If you will look on me forgivingly—if you will promise to speak to me daily—then I will stay, dear Miss Collingwood.” And perhaps, a cunning side of my mind considered, I might win more than that if I impressed her.

But dear Anne suspected nothing of this base calculation. [
Yes, I did.—A.C.
] She flung herself at me and hugged me. “Oh, thank you, Ben! Thank you! I must tell my father!"

XIV

So began one of the stranger weeks of my life—though what is to follow will surely be much stranger still!

Encouraged by my tentative contract with Anne—a man must have a dream!—I threw myself with a will into the design of the Cylinder. I found myself profoundly dissatisfied, and demanded a list of changes before the shot could be fired, beginning with that ludicrous hatch. Watt's concern was his precious anti-ice rocket chamber, so my area of expertise and his overlapped but little, and he gave me my head; but many of his juniors protested loud and long at my meddling. But I stood my ground, pointing out it was futile to ask my advice if it wasn't to be acted upon, and I won all these petty wars.

I checked over the design of the water filtering system, such as it was; I wouldn't have been keen to sup it myself, but simple calculations and measurements showed that it ought to be sufficient to provide potable water daily for three people, with a little excess for washing. The air that they should breathe, though, was a greater worry. It soon became apparent that virtually no thought had been given to this aspect of the design—perhaps because air cannot be seen we take its provision for granted, but to the engineer of a submersible boat it was the first concern. I immediately set the engineers to making copper bombs, simple spheres of compressed air, of the type I had carried on the
Nautilus
. But even as this work progressed I remained concerned about this issue, and some others, which seemed to me to challenge the viability of the whole enterprise.