Swinburne saw a naked man whose pale skin glistened with frost. Tubes entered his flesh from the inside edges of the metal coffin, piercing the skin of his scarred thighs, of his arms and his neck. The upper-left side of his head was missing. The left eye had been replaced with some sort of lens set in rings of brass. Above this, where there should have been forehead and scalp, there was a studded brass dome with a glass panel-like a small porthole-in its front. Just above the ear, a winding key projected.
The human part of the man's face was settled in repose and, though the bushy beard had been removed, Swinburne at once recognised the features.
'Good Lord!' he gasped. 'John Hanning Speke!'
'Yes,' affirmed Darwin. 'Soon he will be recovered sufficiently to serve us. As you see, the left lobe of his brain has been replaced with a babbage.'
'A what?'
'A probability calculator crafted by our colleague, Charles Babbage. It will, among a great many other things, magnify Mr. Speke's ability to analyse situations and formulate strategic responses to them. The device is powered by clockwork, for portability.'
'He agreed to this?' mumbled Swinburne.
'He was in no position to agree or disagree. He was unconscious and dying. We saved his life.'
The sarcophagus slid shut, hiding Speke from view.
'Algernon Charles Swinburne,' said Darwin, levelling his gimlet eyes at the poet, 'we would now analyse your response. Speak.'
Swinburne stared bleakly at his captor.
He coughed and licked his lips.
'To summarize,' the poet said, hoarsely, 'you are flooding the Empire with new machines that will destabilise the current social order; you intend to create a new social order comprised of specialist humans who will serve as drones in what amounts to a scientific hive; and you are interfering with animal biology in order to manufacture a sublevel of mindless slaves. All this to expand the British Empire, under the rule of scientists, until it dominates the entire world. Am I right?'
Darwin nodded his huge head and said, 'We are impressed by his ability to reduce the complex to a simplistic statement which is, nevertheless, essentially correct.'
'And you want my response?' asked Swinburne.
'Yes, we do.'
'Very well then; here it is. You are completely, profoundly, and irreversibly fucking niad.!'
With a blast of steam, Isambard Kingdom Brunel slowly lifted his great frame until it towered over the little poet.
'It's quite all right, Isambard,' said Darwin. 'Calm yourself.'
The great machine froze, but for the piston on one shoulder, which rose and fell slowly, and the bellows on the other, which creaked and gasped like the respiration of a dying man.
'It's absurd!' shrilled Swinburne. 'Quite apart from the moral and ethical issues, how in blue blazes can you expect to accurately monitor the three branches of the experiment when you are conducting them simultaneously in the same arena? And what about the time factor? The chimney sweeps, for example! Information from such an experiment will take generations to gather! Generations! Do you expect to live forever?'
For a third time, Darwin's rattling laugh sounded between the fizzle and claps of electrical charges.
'He has surprised us!' he declared. 'He has pierced to the heart of the matter! Time, indeed, is the key, Algernon Charles Swinburne. However, we have-'
'Stop!'
The cry rang out from somewhere behind the poet, so loud that it echoed above the chamber's general cacophony.
'What is this interruption?' demanded Darwin, and Francis Galton's body jerked two paces forward, dragging the long cable behind it, raising its arm and brandishing the syringe like a weapon.
With a whirring noise, one of Brunel's arms shot out and a metal clamp closed on the automaton's wrist.
Bells clanged.
'Forgive us, Isambard; we were taken by surprise, that is all. Come here, Mr. Oliphant; explain yourself.'
As Brunel's arm retracted and Galton's lowered, Laurence Oliphant stepped into view.
'My hat!' exclaimed Swinburne. 'What a merry freak show this is!'
Oliphant threw him a malicious glance. 'I don't see a mark on his forehead,' said the albino. His smooth tones made the poet shudder. 'Have you extracted any cells?'
'There was no need,' answered Darwin. 'For, despite appearances to the contrary, he is not a boy but a man.'
'I know. He's Swinburne, the poet. The little idiot has been much in the company of Burton these past days.'
'Is that so? We were not aware of this.'
Oliphant banged the end of his cane on the floor impatiently.
'Of course not!' he snapped. 'You've been too busy revealing your plans to question him about his own!'
'It was an experiment.'
'Blast it! You are a machine for observing facts and grinding out conclusions, but did it not cross your minds that in telling him about the programme you are giving information to the enemy?'
'We were not aware that he is an enemy.'
'You fool! You should consider every man a potential enemy until he is proven otherwise.'
'You are correct. It was an interesting exercise but the experiment is finished and we are satisfied. Algernon Charles Swinburne is of no further use to us. You may dispose of him outside.'
'I'll do it here,' said Oliphant, drawing the rapier from his cane.
'No,' said Darwin. 'This is a laboratory. It is a delicate environment. There must be no blood spilled here. Do it in the courtyard. Question him first. Find out how much Burton knows. Then dispose of the corpse in the furnace.'
'Very well. Release him. Mr. Brunel, bring him outside, please.'
The blank-eyed Francis Galton placed the syringe back onto the trolley, approached Swinburne, and began to unbuckle the straps. One of Brunel's limbs unfolded and the digits at its end clamped shut around the poet's forearm.
'Get offl' screamed Swinburne. 'Help! Help!'
'Enough of your histrionics,' snarled Oliphant. 'There's no one to hear them and I find them irritating.'
'Sod off!' spat Swinburne.
Galton pulled open the last of the straps and Brunel swung the little poet up into the air.
'Ow! Ow! I can walk, curse you!'
'Follow,' commanded Oliphant.
With Isambard Kingdom Brunel clanking and thudding along behind, holding the kicking and squealing Swinburne high, Laurence Oliphant crossed the vast laboratory and passed through huge double doors into a large rectangular courtyard. Swinburne was surprised to see a noonday sky abovehe had no idea how long he'd been unconscious.
He instantly recognised the location: he was in Battersea Power Station, which towered around this central enclosure, a colossal copper rod rising up in each of the four corners.
'Drop him.'
Brunel released the poet, who landed in a heap on the wet ground.
Oliphant held the point of his blade at Swinburne's throat.
'You may go, Brunel.'
A bell chimed and the hulking machine stamped back through the doors, which closed behind it.
Oliphant stepped away and sheathed his rapier. He turned and loped across the courtyard to the entrance, a big double gate into which a normalsized door was set. This latter he unbolted and opened.
'Your escape route.' He smiled, his pink eyes glinting, the vertical pupils narrowing. He moved away from the exit. 'Go! Run!'
