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  Space: 1889 & Beyond—Journey to the Heart of Luna

  By Andy Frankham-Allen

  Copyright 2011 by Andy Frankham-Allen

  Space: 1889 © & ™ Frank Chadwick 1988, 2011

  Cover & Logo Design © Steve Upham and Untreed Reads Publishing, 2011

  Cover Art © David Burson and Untreed Reads Publishing, 2011

  The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (Untreed Reads) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold, reproduced or transmitted by any means in any form or given away to other people without specific permission from the author and/or publisher. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to the living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  http://www.untreedreads.com

  Other Titles in the Space: 1889 & Beyond Series

  Vandals on Venus

  The Ghosts of Mercury

  Abattoir in the Aether

  A Prince of Mars

  Dark Side of Luna

  JOURNEY TO THE HEART OF LUNA

  By Andy Frankham-Allen

  For John Ainsworth, in thanks for introducing me to Space: 1889 in the first place.

  And in memory of Elisabeth Sladen, who unintentionally set me on the path to Space: 1889. 1st Feb 1946–19th April 2011

  “Goodbye, my Sarah Jane.”

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One: The Scientist Travels

  Chapter Two: Journey to the Moon

  Chapter Three: Arrival on the Moon

  Chapter Four: Short of Breath

  Chapter Five: Down Among the Insects

  Chapter Six: Ambush in the Tunnels

  Chapter Seven: An Audience with Q’theletockus

  Chapter Eight: Into the Russian Camp

  Chapter Nine: Insect Insurrection

  Chapter Ten: The Heart of Luna

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  1.

  IT WAS impossible! Aether flyers were not, by definition, designed for a crew of one, a fact that Annabelle Somerset felt with ever increasing dismay as she raced from the control to the navigation station. Just getting the Annabelle (yes, God bless her uncle, he had named the flyer after her) out of the gorge had been hard work. Starting up the boiler single-handedly, then rushing the length of the flyer to the control room to check the instruments to make sure the water was creating enough steam, then back to the engine room at the rear of the flyer to set out the rocket engines her uncle had designed especially to combat the awkward gravity of Luna.

  She cursed Tereshkov once more, and squeezed her eyes shut for a brief moment.

  I have to do this, she continued to tell herself. She had survived much worse. Annabelle almost laughed at that. Living for two years amongst Geronimo’s band of Chiricahua Apaches had tested her when she had been a mere slip of a girl. She had survived that, and she was certain she would survive this. That she had no choice was beyond question; there was no other left who could get the message to Earth. Uncle Cyrus’ life was in the balance and she could not allow herself even a moment of weakness in her endeavour. She had let her parents down, and she refused to let history repeat itself with her uncle.

  She was not a little girl anymore, and the Russians be damned!

  Instruments were laid out before her on the navigation station; some of standard design like the orrery, a mechanical analogue of the Solar System, and an astrolabe, which allowed precise measurements of the planets’ positions; others were of her uncle’s making, and these she did not even know the names of. They were recent creations of his, and her decision to join the expedition had transpired late in the day, ill affording her the time to study these new inventions. Annabelle was no expert at reading the standard instruments, but she understood enough from having watched Blakely at the station to ascertain the current position of the Annabelle. The flyer was barely a kilometre from attaining a low lunar orbit.

  She scrambled across to the control station once more, almost colliding with the bulkhead as the flyer shook around her. The damage sustained to the aether propeller by the Russians was too much. When she had first set her eyes on the propeller she had been certain she would never be able to navigate the flyer, despite the relatively unscathed nature of the aether propeller governor. She was fortunate the Russians did not recognise the governor for what it was, or they most certainly would have found a way to remove it from the Annabelle, and if not the whole apparatus then certainly they would have taken the diamond that served as the aether lens. Without it the governor would have been less than useless.

  She gripped the aether wheel, a small ratchet-operated wheel that controlled the aether propeller at the rear of the ship, and turned it slightly. Annabelle looked out of the window and was elated to see the distant shape of the Earth, and before it, barely a speck in the depth of space, Her Majesty’s Orbital Heliograph Station Harbinger.

  When she had first happened upon this plan with K’chuk she had hoped to be able to pilot the flyer to Earth; it was a difficult task, one fraught with many dangers, but the odds were not insurmountable. Upon seeing the damage rendered by the Russian okhrana, Annabelle knew she would have to adapt her plan. Obtaining a lunar orbit was the best she could hope for, but it would be enough to put the Annabelle in a position relative to the Harbinger. It was operated by the British Empire, and that served her purposes perfectly, as the help she required was located in England and not her native America.

  She turned to the heliograph apparatus and was just about to start tapping in her coded message when her eyes espied a most terrible image through the port window. Annabelle’s finger paused over the key, and her eyes stared wide. Its iron clad surface reflected the light from the Sun, rising from Luna like the Great Beast of Hell.

  “No,” Annabelle hissed. “This cannot be the end.”

  So, she determined, it would not be. The Russian flyer was closing in, its gun ports no doubt opening as she looked, her mind trying to catch up with the increasing beat of her heart. Uncle Cyrus’ flyer was not a warship; he was an inventor, and his flyer echoed that. It was designed for exploration, not for battle. Any armaments it did have were minimal, and even if Annabelle were able to get to them in time, she doubted greatly their effectiveness against a fully armed Russian ironclad.

  Annabelle turned away from the approaching flyer and focussed her attention on the heliograph before her. She began typing out her message, praying that the orbiting station would pick it up and relay the message with haste.

  2.

  THE ADMIRALTY; it was always good to be back at the Ripley Building, Captain Folkard mused to himself. This was the first time he had been called there as a captain, and so the occasion was even more prestigious than usual. He had not been in Whitehall for several years.

  Folkard had since been given his new command, the first in a new class of aether battleship, and with his command came a promotion to captain. Serving as commander of a frigate was one thing, and it certainly gave him much experience of the aether, but they were living in dangerous times and as such his request for battleship command had finally been granted.

  Folkard knew he was thought of highly in the upper le
vels of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy, but he did try not to entertain the scuttlebutt of the ratings, which almost always happened to filter its way up through to the officers’ mess. Thus, when rumour had reached him that he was being considered for command of Her Majesty’s Aerial Ship the Sovereign he chose to ignore it; a singularly difficult task considering the topic.

  He had yet to see his new ship, although he had spent the last week going over the blueprints, familiarising himself with design and layout. It would not do for a captain to ask directions on his first day. He had been hoping to visit his ship today, see George Bedford once again, and begin the shakedown cruise. He was en route by train to Kent for that very purpose when he had got intercepted, and speedily transported back to London on the Intrepid. Clearly the mission the Admiralty had for him was of paramount importance.

  Folkard looked down at the respirator mask and goggles that sat in his lap. The downside of being in London, of course, was the amount of gas and debris in the air. Breathing fresh air in the City of London was a thing of the past, and it seemed that the darkness of night only served to exasperate the problem. Still, he would be in the aether soon, and would be breathing air freshly oxygenated by the plants in the greenhouse of the Sovereign.

  He looked up from his lap as the door next to the chair on which he sat opened. Folkard immediately stood to attention and saluted. He had expected to be greeted by an aide, not by Lord Chillingham himself. Chillingham looked Folkard up and down and let out an hmm. Folkard was not sure if it was an hmm of approval or an hmm of distaste. Lord Chillingham’s eyes gave nothing away, as they were wont to do. Things must be pretty rum if the Lord Minister Overseas feels the need to attend the briefing, Folkard mused, holding his salute.

  “As you were, Captain Folkard. Please enter.”

  “Yes, sir,” Folkard said, and walked passed Lord Chillingham and entered the board room of the Lord Commissioners of the Admiralty.

  Chapter One

  The Scientist Travels

  1.

  EXCERPT 1.

  “Beyond the Inner Worlds: The Journal of Professor Nathanial Stone” (Published July 2011, by Chadwick Press)

  Friday April 12th, 1889.

  I think my time at the Her Majesty’s Naval and Aeronautical Construction Yards is coming to an end. William has been a great host, very understanding of my quirks (quirks! The eternal damnation of a young genius!), and it has been exhilarating to be a part of his design team, incorporating my own design into the construction of the latest class of Naval battleship – the first proper aether flyer design based on the battleships put out to sea. Mankind has only been in space for less than three decades, barely a scratch of time when compared to the length of our infestation of the waters of Earth. I fear we shall disturb things sleeping in the vastness of space in the same way we have disturbed the sleeping creatures of the deep. Yet the will of mankind is indomitable; it is a fire that will not be doused, no matter what the elements throw at it.

  For my own part I cannot but help myself in improving the initial designs Doctor Grant and I developed; that it brings mankind a more efficient way of traversing the solar sky cannot be helped. I did not ask to be born with this intellect, and I would be remiss in my duty to the British Empire if I were to attempt to hide it beneath a rock. So I do not. I invent, I design, I explore…It is what God made me to do.

  Yes, God. The Almighty. My father would no doubt be amused to see me write such words, although he ought not to be as it was he who instilled in me this belief in a Divine Creator. Perhaps this is why I am happy to help William in his construction of more powerful aether flyers; my father, the Honourable Reverend Ronald Stone of Putney Parish Church, believes God is out there. Perhaps one day, if mankind continues to stretch out through the aether, we will find him.

  When we do, I hope I am there. For I would like to ask him this: Why, O Lord, did you make me wrong? My dean at Mortarhouse College could never answer such a question, and he was a very learned man. Only the Almighty can answer me now.

  Alas it seems any more deep mental meanderings of mine will have to be saved for another day since there is an insistent knock at my door. William said he wished me to dine with him tonight, so this must be it. He has never asked for me to dine with him before, and this is the root of my belief that I am soon to depart the Naval Construction Yards. I will be sorry to go, however it will also be nice to be back home. The last five months here have been wonderful, full of…

  No, I must stop, before whoever is knocking at my door bursts forth. Confound it! I do so hate having my ruminations disturbed. I hope I do not make bad company for William, but the incessant pounding on the door has now unsettled my mood.

  I shall return.

  2.

  “IF YOU want things to happen in this world, Professor, you have to make them happen. Did I ever tell you how, at the age of only fourteen years, I managed to get my apprenticeship at the Royal Plymouth Dockyard?”

  Nathanial shook his head and smiled indulgently. Certainly William Henry White, Director of Naval Construction and Assistant Controller of Her Majesty’s Navy, had indeed told Nathanial of his ingenious method of meeting the height requirements for the entrance examination. Nathanial was happy to hear the story once more. William liked to tell his stories; he had collected so many of them in his forty-three years. For his own part Nathanial had very few such entertaining stories. His short career thus far paled greatly when compared to that of his illustrious benefactor. He listened intently as William told him of how he increased his height by folding pages of blotting paper into his shoes.

  “Of course they soon discovered my deceit, but they applauded my initiative and I was put to work at the dockyard, for the princely sum of three shillings a week, and assisted work on converting HMS St. George to steam. Which rather brings me back to my point, Nathanial. My current position is only so because I have made it happen. And so must you.”

  As always Nathanial deeply appreciated William’s counsel, but he found himself in the position of wondering as to the source of this new piece of advice.

  They sat in the drawing room of Commissioner’s House, while the servants prepared the meal in the kitchens; William’s wife was away visiting relatives, so it was just the two of them. Nathanial had spent much time in the House since he’d been summoned to Chatham Dockyard just five months ago, and it was most unusual to not have Mrs. White fussing him. Nonetheless, while she was away it afforded him the opportunity to speak frankly with William.

  “As always I appreciate the hospitality you have shown me, but I fail to understand the source of such advice. I am here, am I not? Would I be here if I had not always sought to take hold of every opportunity afforded me?”

  For a moment William regarded him, the let out a bellow of a laugh. “Well put, Professor, well put indeed.” He took a sip of his port. “I hope you bear that in mind when you receive the telegram I have to give you. It arrived this morning from the Admiralty, which I’m certain you will agree, means it cannot be rebuffed.”

  “Orders from the Admiralty? But, William, I am not a part of Her Majesty’s Navy and therefore not under the command of the Admiralty.”

  “Be that as it may, Nathanial, you are on secondment to the Director of Naval Construction, and your assistance is required.” William held his hand aloft to keep at bay any more objections. “Pray, read this and then we shall discuss your agreement.”

  Nathanial removed himself from his chair and walked the length of the room, taking the slip of paper from William. He did not like the emphasis William had put on “discuss.” He deeply appreciated William’s faith in him, and the opportunity he had been given to advance the efficiency of the aether propeller, but if William thought that meant Nathanial was now subject to the orders of a faceless board of commissioners then William was gravely mistaken.

  3.

  THE THREE and a half hour journey from Chatham to Dover was spent in more luxury than Nathanial was used to. He s
at in a First Class carriage, surrounded by three gentlemen and their wives, all very agreeable souls quite willing to discuss a plethora of interesting topics. But Nathanial found himself tiring of their conversation quickly; there was only so much he could stand about how bad things were getting on Mars before he turned to Lloyd’s News.

  He had been quite busy at the yard over the previous week and consequently he had been afforded little opportunity to indulge in the stories told within the pages of Lloyd’s News, and so he read the paper cover to cover, despite being asked constantly for his opinion on such things as the appointment of Sir Henry Routledge as the new governor of the British colony on Mars or the tentative alliance the British Empire had with Austria. Politics held no interest for Nathanial, and so with every question he sank deeper into his newspaper, and even deeper into his thoughts.

  He stepped off the train at Dover into the bright morning light. Certainly Nathanial believed in starting the day early, but six o’clock was just on the wrong side of early for him. Now it was some time past ten o’clock, and the sun was blistering in the clear blue sky. A gig was waiting for him. The driver, no doubt hired by William himself, took Nathanial’s cases and placed them in a small compartment at the rear of the gig and then joined Nathanial inside the little carriage. Nathanial was offered a small blanket, with which he covered his legs, before the driver took the reins. As the horse pulled the gig, Nathanial returned to his thoughts.

  “Here we are, then, sir,” said the driver at length, some time later, “the Dover Cliff Embarkation Platform.”

  Nathanial shook himself out of his thoughts and looked to where the driver was pointing. It was quite a sight. Despite his work on aether flyers, he had never been very close to one. He was more suited to land travel; he did not care to remove his feet from solid ground. He had seen many lift off from the yard, of course, but to him that always seemed a little sterile, like seeing a mouse in a laboratory, but this…This was seeing a flyer in its natural habitat.