The Forever Journey (5 page)

“Oh, Nathanial, I do not like this,” Annabelle said. “What could possibly be occurring? Maybe there is a lack of oxygen on board, causing us to have these dreams?”

It was a very real possibility, Nathanial supposed. One they should at least look into to be sure.

3.

STEAM HISSED VIOLENTLY
from a gauge, its freedom short lived. Fenn hurriedly quelled the leakage; he had spent so much time in the engine room of
Esmeralda
that he had become synchronised with the engine to a near uncanny degree.

He walked over to the rear of the room to check the boiler, its large bulbous shape dominating the cramped room. A loud clanging sound rang out, the vibrations being felt from the floor. Fenn span around, nearly tearing himself from the magnetic grip of his shoes in the process. His hand lunged at a nearby balustrade to steady himself.

“What the bloody…?” He cut himself off, quickly realising that had the noise been caused by someone entering, they might not take so kindly to his language. He spent most of his time alone in the engine room, so he’d got used to saying such things with only himself to hear. He called out. “Is anyone there?”

There was no reply, but through the dispersing cloud of steam a form could be seen, though not clearly enough for him to identify his visitor.

“Professor?” He moved over to the figure, waving the steam out of his way with a flailing hand.

A large noise, sounding like an eagle’s cry, burst forth from somewhere behind Fenn. He flinched, covering his head with his arms. A pipe must have ruptured. He doubled back and rushed to where he calculated the noise had come from, but he saw no leakage or breaks.

He checked pipes at the rear of the engine room, craning his head up, down and around to try and spot any cracks but there was no damage.

He turned back to the person who’d entered the room, expecting to be able to see them clearly now the steam had dissipated some. He shook his head. There was no one there. He put the noises down to being over-tired. He had been on shift for over ten hours now, no wonder his mind was so tired. Perhaps he could ask the professor to relieve him for a spell?

No one worked such long hours in
Sovereign
’s engine room, the chief wouldn’t let them. Fatigue must be working at his mind. That, and other things. But no sense in adding guilt to weariness. Best to get back to work. What was done was done. Any ordinary man would have done the same, surely.

Wait; there was a noise again, this time from outside the room. He made his way to the door to investigate.

4.

FOLKARD LOOKED OUT
through the vastness of the aether at a particular shining dot that, when observed closely, irradiated the tiniest hint of red. They were well into their journey now but still had around three weeks of aether travel remaining.

He really did wish for there to be more for him to do on the flyer. Countless hours of piloting
Esmeralda
had become such a gruelling duty. He thought about how exciting the prospect of a hulking Russian ironclad coming into view would be, but shook his head to disperse those thoughts. Entering the realms of imagination and fantasy would not do when on duty.

He was snapped out of his vacant gazing into space by the sound of footsteps approaching. He wrenched his head around, to see who it was. Was it Miss Annabelle? Even with the lack of gravity, the men of the ship were not ones to tread elegantly; these steps sounded light.

He observed the frosted glass panel that was set in the middle of the tightly sealed door to the control deck. There was no figure to be made out through the thick glass, not even the usual distortion of light that occurred as someone approached.

Folkard frowned.

There was a muffled sound, obscured by the door. It sounded as if someone had said something.

“Is that you, Miss Annabelle?”

There was no reply.

He turned back round to check the controls; everything was in order. A high pitched giggling came from behind the shut door and the captain span back around. He’d have none of this tomfoolery when he was on duty.

He hastily unbuckled himself from his chair and made for the door, pulling it wide open.

“I suppose…” Folkard stopped; there was no one in the immediate vicinity of the door. He descended the ladder to the gangway in the hope of finding the culprit of the jest. He looked up and down the gangway, but there was no activity.

“I say, who’s fooling around out here? I assure you I am not amused!” His voice bellowed through the flyer. He stood firmly and waited.

The lab door clicked open and two heads popped out from inside; the heads belonging to Arnaud and Nathanial. Annabelle was next, stepping out from her cabin to see what the fuss was about, followed by Fenn emerging from the engine room.

They all exchanged looks then turned to face Folkard.

“Did you call one of us, sir?” Fenn shouted from the other end of the flyer.

Folkard adopted a puzzled expression and stroked his beard gently. “No, I thought very much the opposite. Have any of you been at my door in the last few moments?”

“I thought I heard something in here just a moment ago, sir,” Fenn replied.

“I believe we have all been in our own quarters,” Nathanial said, turning to the crew to confirm his theory. They all nodded in response.

“Oh,” Folkard said, pausing in thought for the briefest of moments. “Very well then, as you were.” He turned, climbed the ladder and re-entered the control room. This time he left the door open before returning to the pilot’s chair.

He resumed his monotonous duty, trying not to think of how the laughter from behind the door had seemed almost child-like.

Chapter Four

“Visitations”

1.

ARNAUD MASSAGED HIS
temples gingerly. The headaches were affecting his concentration, causing him to snap at Nathanial. He disliked being short with his dear friend. These days, however, it was happening with more frequency.

Nathanial was looking straight at him, his mouth moving, but Arnaud could not make out the words; the pain drowned out any noise. “
Pardonnez moi
, Nathanial, if I am surly, it is my pain speaking, not me. I must take some water and tablets to relieve this before I can continue our conversation.” He tried a smile. “Hopefully in a more civilized tone,
non
?”

The pills taken, the throbbing at his temples abated and once again he could hear properly. Outside, footsteps clanged along the gangway, stopping outside their laboratory.

“I wonder who that could be?” Nathanial asked.

“More than likely Annabelle coming to say hello. We have not heard from her today.” The clanking continued down the gangway and out of earshot. “She must have heard our little ‘domestic’, and decided to leave us be,” Arnaud added.

“Domestic? As if anyone would think that you were my spouse, Arnaud. Such thoughts are unacceptable.”

“I…” Arnaud turned a deep red. “I did not mean to insinuate you were.
Je suis désolée,
I just meant… We have argued a lot more recently. Maybe I am using the wrong words.”

“Oh, I think you are using the correct words, Arnaud. I think it is something you have thought about, maybe something I have thought, too.”

Arnaud’s eyebrow rose at the last words. He spluttered, unsure of what to say. “I… I… I…”

Nathanial leaned in closer to Arnaud, a warm look in his eyes. He reached out to place his hand on Arnaud’s knee but stopped short. “I could not live without you. It is something I have…” He paused, looking down at his hand, hovering so close to Arnaud. “I have thought of this more than I care to admit, and it fills me with such a sense of fright that I cannot comprehend.”

Arnaud moved away from Nathanial, confused. He studied Nathanial as he sat, a hint of a grin creeping onto his friend’s face. He could only wonder what thoughts were behind that smile.

2.

“
BUT WE’VE PASSED
it before, several times I might add, why should there be an irregularity this time?” Nathanial asked.

“Well there is a strain on my…the flyer’s engine. We are at the correct speed and on course, but the engine is only just managing that at the moment,” Fenn shouted back from behind a pipe.

“I’m sorry but a plethora of flyers and crafts pass this way to Mars, and you rarely hear of any having such troubles!” Nathanial said, having to raise his voice over the hiss of steam, his complexion flushing a slight tone of scarlet. He waved his hand about frantically as a small burst of steam jetted into his face.

“I am not disagreeing with you, Prof, I am just saying what’s happening. The pipes are acting up a bit more than usual.” Fenn was attempting to tighten a large bolt, but failing to get it to move at all. “I spoke with the cap’ through the speaking tube after the boiler began to play up, but he reckons it will pass. I could barely hear what he was saying over this racket, mind. Could you have a word for me?”

Nathanial was thinking of doing just that. Folkard surely wouldn’t endanger their lives by meandering too close to the vortex. And yet he could feel worry forming deep in his gut. He hated that feeling, the feeling of the lump that begins in the stomach, snaking its way up the throat as things worsen; a feeling far too familiar.

Nathanial stopped for a moment and wondered why he was all up in arms over the engine behaving strangely. Perhaps the past year had dashed him with a nervous disposition. The thought almost made him laugh.
Perhaps
indeed! There was no real doubt in the matter.

Fenn ceased his attempt on the bolt and emerged from the large pipe, beginning to check gauges at a workstation. “I cannot understand why she is giving me such trouble. We aren’t exactly rocketing through atmosphere or caught in an awkward orbit,” he said gesturing to the read-outs in front of them.

Nathanial leaned over to inspect the pressure gauges more closely and then looked down the stretch toward the boiler. The engine room had its own chorus of fricatives emanating from all over the room. Nathanial could empathise with its struggle.

“If that were the case then this lot acting like this would be expected. There is sometimes a pull from the planets’ wakes but usually the journey remains calm,” Fenn said, still watching the gauges closely.

Nathanial did not find Fenn’s words encouraging. “I will speak with Folkard. Hopefully he can shed some light as to why this is happening.”

Fenn turned and gave Nathanial a most sincere but also slightly puzzled look. “You do seem fairly distressed by this, Professor. Are you alright?”

Nathanial attempted to hide his doubt with a hollow smile. “Yes, yes, I’m fine, just ensuring that you can carry out your duties properly. You know I like to lend a hand in here and I’m sure Folkard would want to know if there may be a fault with
Esmeralda
.” Nathanial left no space for a reply as he turned toward the door.

3.

AT THE END
of the engine room, Fenn re-emerged from a nest of pipes lying beneath the bulbous form of the boiler. Being in such a confined and warm place was far from comfortable and he could only manage several minutes at a time down there. He had been getting unusual readings of late so it had become compulsory to check the very bowels of the engines for faults.

He had taken a short break from his maintenance checks when he heard someone above, on the decking.

Their words had been lost amidst the din of the boiler.

He wiped a dirty cuff across his equally grimy forehead. “Professor, is that you?” he called out.

No reply.

He walked through a veil of steam, searching for his visitor. “Did someone call for me?”

He reached the door, and checked his quaint cubby area where he slept, but there was no one there. The young man sighed to himself and shook his head. Was someone playing practical jokes on him? He doubted that. Just his strained mind. But he could hold it together, surely.

“Nobody’s there, then? Just the plant and I,” he said looking over at the strange Venusian flora that managed to resist the harsh environment of the engine room. “It wasn’t you who called me, surely?”

Before returning to his duties, Fenn took a moment to ponder the absurdity of a man whose conversation owed its majority to himself, the rest to a leafy plant…

4.

NATHANIAL LEFT THE
engine room, his mind in turmoil. This would not do, not at all. He knew Fenn was a sensible chap, brilliant at his job as well, but the poor man had no comprehension of just what would happen should Nathanial’s worst fears be realised. It was all well listening to hearsay, but to be a party to it was something else entirely. No matter how stern the stuff you were made of, it could bring a sense of hopelessness that was unparalleled.

It would be like
Peregrine
Station all over again, only this time there would be no escape. It was going to pull them in and melt them away without a second thought. Nathanial knew he was worrying, but it could not be helped. Both he and Annabelle had seen an aether vortex at its worst, and he’d be damned if he was willing to see it happen again, especially to his close friends.

The images of Holmes, Fullbright and Provost swam around in his mind. He had believed that he had been at the beginning of what would have been long, prosperous friendships with these men, but any such possibility had been ripped away by the destructive nature of the phenomena. It was something that still came to mind whenever he heard word of an aether vortex. A most unpleasant association indeed. It was something that he assumed would stay with him for the entirety of his life, and he would not let it happen again. He shook the image from his mind—he had to make sure Folkard knew what he and Fenn had found out, about the unusual pull of the planetary wakes. The forewarning of an aether vortex!