Lazarus Machine, The (A Tweed & Nightingale Adventure): 1 (18 page)

“A miracle? Barnaby, that's not a miracle, that's an abomination! The way you speak, it's as if you think it's a good thing.”

“I don't! Least, not now. But Tweed, when I first saw what could be done, I'll admit, I got caught up in the process. I…I was part of the team. It was my job.”

“And what did these things do? These simulacra?”

“Nothing. That was the problem. They were utterly empty, nothing more than living, breathing vessels. Expensive dolls. They didn't move, didn't speak, couldn't understand anything that was said to them.” Barnaby came even closer, so that only his eyes were visible through the gap. “They had no souls, Tweed.”

“Then what was the point? You should have destroyed them, burned the research. Barnaby, what you did…it goes against nature.”

Barnaby sighed. “I know that, son. Now. But at the time, we were caught up in the process of discovery. We were breaking new ground!”

“What happened next?’

“Lucien got creative,” said Barnaby. “The experiments with inserting human souls into automata had already been going on for some time. It was a separate field of research, handled by another branch of Mesmers. But one day Lucien came into our lab with a new plan. He wanted to see if we could pull a soul from a living person and insert it into one of these simulacra. He wondered—he
hoped
—it would do the same for them as it had done for the constructs. You see, if the simulacra were already soulless, then they shouldn't reject the new souls being inserted into them. That was the theory.”

“And?” pressed Tweed.

“It worked. We took the soul of an old man—sick, dying—and using a device called the God Machine, we inserted it into a simulacrum.”

“My God,” breathed Tweed.

“Lucien was ecstatic. He had, for all intents and purposes, discovered the secret of immortality. He saw a new world order. No longer would anyone have to die. They could simply purchase a simulacrum and hire the Ministry Mesmers to transfer their soul into a new, younger copy of themselves. Actually, I say no one would have to die, but I should say the
rich
wouldn't have to die.

“Lucien made sure he was one of the first. He took tissue samples and stored them away for growing a duplicate version of himself. Then he ordered me to imprint on his soul.”

“Why you?”

Barnaby shrugged. “I was the Ministry's best Mesmer. Lucien didn't trust anyone else.”

“So what happened next? Actually, hang on.” Tweed tried the door but it was still locked. “Stepp? Getting a bit worried down here.”

Octavia grimaced as she was flung hard against the door. She spun the steering wheel back the other way, bringing the rear of the steamcoach back onto the road. “Sorry!” she shouted to the screaming pedestrians who scattered in every direction.

She could hear Stepp talking to Tweed behind her. “I don't know what's going on. My data says the locks should be on these protocols, but I can't find them anywhere. They're buried away behind a lot of numbers. Just give me some time.”

Octavia peered ahead through the cracked window at the front of the carriage. She was rapidly coming up behind a slow-moving steamcoach. She swerved to overtake it, then had to brake suddenly to avoid smacking into the back of a hansom cab. This was impossible! She craned her neck out the window, searching the streets behind her. The æther cages of automata glowed in the night. There was no sign of the Ministry goons, though. Maybe they were clear…

As she searched the street, three steamcoaches sped around the corner behind them. The carriages were identical: black, low to the ground, and sleek. They reminded Octavia of the pictures of sharks she'd seen. They weaved through the traffic, heading rapidly toward them.

“Stepp. Load that boiler with as much coal as it'll take! Oh, and
hold on!
”

Octavia pumped the lever furiously and darted around the hansom. She veered back so she was directly in front of it, hoping the cab would obscure her from view. She needed to get off the main road and find somewhere to hide. She didn't think she'd be able to outrun those carriages.

She turned into the first side street she came across. It was a dark, unlit alley. But she could see traffic on the opposite side. She gave the carriage everything it had, speeding between brick walls with only inches to spare on either side. At one point, she hit a hole in the street, veered slightly, and sparks exploded along the side as the carriage scraped the wall.

A moment later she burst out of the alley. There was a screeching to her left, and the sound of crushing metal, but Octavia couldn't afford to look. She had come out directly next to one of the Ministry carriages. How had it got there so fast?

She looked out the side window, locking eyes with the Ministry driver. Octavia glanced ahead, then bit her lip and turned the wheel sharply to the left, crashing into the side of the black carriage. Octavia
turned the wheel again, pushing the Ministry carriage across the street. Then she quickly spun the wheel and moved back into the road.

The Ministry goon looked ahead. He tried frantically to turn, but he was too late. His carriage smashed straight into a street lamp, the metal pole crushing the front of the steamcoach.

Octavia smiled to herself. Not bad.

“If you do that again,” shouted Stepp from the back, “I will personally climb up there and tear your face clean off!”

Octavia's smile faltered.

“A report was sent to the Queen,” said Barnaby. “At first, there was much excitement. Tissue samples were taken from all the royal household. Plus samples were taken from people of national interest, just in case they were ever needed. Sherlock Holmes, for instance. Darwin, Alexander Graham Bell…even Oscar Wilde.”

“Why were you taking all these samples? Did all these people want to live forever? Truly?”

Tweed shrugged. “I don't know. Probably not. Queen Victoria certainly did. She was most keen. But then she found out about the earlier experiments into soul transplants. Horatio must have told you about this. Where the Mesmer reapers destroyed human souls so they could insert alien ones into the body? She was utterly horrified at this. She thought they had sentenced these destroyed souls to some kind of eternal damnation. And the more she thought about the creation of simulacra, the more she didn't like it. She didn't think it was our right to do this. Just because we could, she said, it didn't mean we
should
.”

“Wise words.”

“She ordered an immediate stop to the simulacra program and
the destruction of all the specimens. Obviously, Lucien was not happy with this. Outwardly, he did as he was told, but he managed to hide away some of the simulacra he was growing and carried on his research in secret.”

“And no one knew? No one was suspicious?”

“Possibly. But remember, Lucien was head of the Ministry. He
was
the Ministry. He could do what he wanted.”

Barnaby paused. “And then came the day we all remember. The day Sherlock Holmes fell over Reichenbach falls. Dr. Watson retrieved his body, you know. He was still alive—barely. Brain damage and the like. He wasn't going to last long. Lucien ordered him brought back to England where he made me imprint on the great man's soul and withdraw it from his body.

“Holmes's body gave up the struggle the next day. But his soul was stored away in an æther cage with the simulacrum Lucien was growing.”

Barnaby sighed.

“Not long after that, Lucien came to me with a new research mandate. He wondered if it would be possible to
duplicate
souls. To make copies of them.”

“Why?” asked Tweed, surprised.

“That's what I said. Lucien would only say that he was following orders from on high, from above even the Queen.”

“And who was that?”

“I still don't know. Regardless, we worked for many years. The God Machine was rebuilt and upgraded. Lucien renamed it the Lazarus Machine. He found it amusing to cast a biblical name on what he saw as the triumph of science.

“Finally, we got to the state where Lucien wanted to test it for real. On one of the souls he had in storage. He picked Sherlock Holmes.”

“And you just went along with this?” Tweed could barely believe what he was hearing. The things Barnaby had done—it was as if he were hearing about a different man entirely.

“No, I didn't. At least not at first. But Lucien knew my weaknesses. Just think, he said. If we are successful, where could it lead? Imagine ten Sherlock Holmeses protecting the nation's interests? No crime would go unsolved. And why stop at ten? Why not Sherlock Holmes simulacra in every district and police station? A hundred of them, a
thousand
of them, all watching over London, over Britain.

“I argued, of course. ‘What of the Queen?’ I asked. ‘And who is she,’ demanded Lucien, ‘to stand in the way of scientific progress? It is not her right. These discoveries have already been made,’ he said. ‘They cannot be undone. It is our duty to follow the research through to the end, to make sure it is done responsibly. Only
we
can do that. Only the Ministry has the facilities to make sure these experiments are done in a humane way. The Queen argues that doing this is against the will of God? But how could we even
make
these discoveries had not God allowed us to?’ This was Lucien's argument. ‘We started it,’ he said. ‘It is the will of God that we finish it.’”

“And that was all it took to convince you? Some petty moralizing?”

“Don't take that tone with me. I argued! Of course I did. ‘What if God only allowed us to make these discoveries so we could see we were moving too fast?’ I asked. ‘What if we are meant to realize that discovery for the sake of discovery is not
progress
, but rather arrogance of the highest degree. That we are like children
pretending
to be God.’”

“But still you gave in,” said Tweed.

“Yes.” Barnaby sighed again. “The truth is, Sebastian, a part of me wanted to see if we could succeed.

“So what happened?”

“It turned out I was right to be wary. I duplicated Holmes's soul in the machine, then transplanted it into a…
damaged
simulacrum
that had been growing for the past five years. The simulacrum itself was already thirty years old by now due to the accelerated growth.”

“Damaged? How?”

“It was one of the early experiments Lucien had made. There was tissue damage to the face and body. That's why Lucien used it. He thought it expendable.

“Something went wrong. Over the months that followed it became clear that the copied soul was only partially a success. The simulacrum was still brilliant, a genius, but he was prone to fits of anger, psychotic breaks, a lack of conscience. This was a combination I could not take. A man as brilliant as Sherlock Holmes but without the conscience to stop him from turning that brilliance to evil? That was when I realized the Queen was right. We had to stop the research. We had gone too far.”

“But Lucien disagreed?”

“No! He agreed. At least, so I thought. He took the simulacrum of Holmes away, to be destroyed, he said.”

“But he didn't destroy it.”

“No. I later found out he'd simply locked the simulacrum away in a cell. Lucien thought him far too valuable to destroy. Sebastian, he's had this corrupt copy of Sherlock Holmes under lock and key for
years
. Can you imagine how that must have felt?

“Anyway, that was the last straw. When I found that out I ran, went into hiding. I thought I'd managed to disappear, but Lucien has been using the Holmes copy to do his dirty work. He managed to track me down.”

“Why?” asked Tweed. “What does he want you for?”

“Lucien had cancer. He was dying. Had barely months to live. But he wouldn't let go. He was furious when I fled. Because I had imprinted on his soul I was the only one who could save him. I was the only one who could extract his soul and put it into another body.”

It all started to make sense now. That was why Barnaby was taken alive.

“So…what? He wants you to put his soul into a simulacrum of himself? One he's already grown?”

“No. He tried to grow his own copies, but they all developed the same cancer he was already dying from.”