Anti-Ice

provided by the engines—the craft is falling freely. And we are falling within it; and so we float, as a marble would seem to float within a dropped box.” Sir Josiah continued with a long and complicated expansion of this concept, involving the lack of reaction forces between my backside and the chair I sat in…

But I had grasped the essential concept. We were falling.

A wave of panic swept over me and I grabbed at my restraints. “Then we are doomed, for we shall surely be dashed against the ground within moments!”

Traveller groaned theatrically and slapped at his thigh; and Holden said, “Ned, you don’t see it yet. We are in no danger of falling to the ground.”

I scratched my head. “Then I confess I am utterly at a loss, Holden.”

Traveller said slowly, “At the moment of the Albert’s launch—and the sabotage— Phaeton’s engines ignited. The craft rose into the air—and rose still higher, accelerating—and continued to rise, leaving the Earth far behind.”

I felt a chill course through my veins, and abruptly I felt faint, light-headed. “Then are we in the upper atmosphere?”

Traveller extinguished his cigarette in a tray built into the nearest seat, and extended an arm to me. “Ned, I think you should join me. Do you think you can do that?”

The thought of launching myself once more like some trampolinist filled me with dread; but I opened the buckles and pushed off the floating straps. I straightened up so that I floated in the air, and pushed with both hands against my seat. Like a log of wood I crossed the Cabin, fetching up at last against Traveller, whose strong hand propelled me to the porthole frame.

“Thank you, sir.”

The blue illumination picked out his battered, predatory profile. “Now if you will consider the view…”

I pulled my face close to the port. A globe hung suspended against a backdrop of stars, like some wonderful blue lantern; a third of it was in shadow, and lights twinkled in that darkness. On the bright side of the globe the familiar shapes of continents could be made out through a film of wispy cloud. A small, brilliant point of light came crawling around the globe’s far limb, evoking highlights from the ocean below.

This was, of course, the Earth, and the minuscule companion traversing patiently through its ninety- minute month was the Little Moon.

I felt Traveller’s hand on my shoulder. “Even the Empire seems diminutive from this distance, eh, Ned?”

“Are we still in the atmosphere?”

“I fear not. Beyond the hull of the Phaeton lies only the desert of space: airless, lightless—and some tens of degrees colder than hypothesized by Monsieur Fourier.”

“And are we still traveling away from the world?”

“We are.” Traveller extracted his notebook with some dexterity, using only the fingers of one hand, and checked calculations. “I have estimated our velocity by triangulating against known points on the globe below. My results are crude, of course, as I lack anything resembling the proper equipment—”

“Nevertheless,” Holden prompted.

“Nevertheless I have ascertained that we are falling away from the Earth at some five hundred miles per hour. And this is consistent with the time of some minutes during which the rockets thrust, driving us away from Earth at approximately twice the acceleration due to sea-level gravity.”

There was a sobbing behind me; I turned from the image of Earth. Pocket, still strapped into his chair, had buried his face in his hands; his shoulders shook and his thin hair fell about his fingers.

I explored my own feelings. So we were above the air. And it must be true after all that Traveller had journeyed this way before—not once, but many times. My mood of panic dissipated, to be replaced by a boyish sense of wonder.

Earth’s image shifted to my right, and I deduced that the ship must be rotating slowly. Through some trick of perspective the planet looked like a vast bowl, constructed of the finest china, but it was a bowl which held all the cities and peoples who had ever lived; and who could have guessed at such bewildering beauty?

I turned to Traveller and said, “I’ve no idea why, Sir Josiah, but I feel quite calm at present, and will feel calmer still when you ignite the Phaeton’s engines once more and return us to the ground.”

I could see kindliness and a mean impatience warring across Traveller’s scarred brow. “Ned, it was not I who launched the Phaeton in the first place.”

“It wasn’t? Then how—”

“The craft is directed from the Bridge. Do you not recall how I struggled to open the access hatch to the Bridge before the launch?”

I noticed now that the hatch in the ceiling remained locked, although it bore the scars of Traveller’s efforts to prize it open.

“Then who is responsible?”

“How can we know?” Traveller said.

“But we can speculate,” Holden said from the floor, a trace of anger emerging through his fear. “For this event and the wrecking of the Prince Albert are surely not unconnected.”

Fear sank deep into my thoughts. “You infer that we are in the hands of a saboteur?”

Holden said grimly, “I fear that a member of the same band of Prussians is at this moment at the controls of this craft.”

The full horror of our predicament at last broke over me. “We are trapped in this box, hurtling ever further from the Earth, and at the mercy of a crazed Prussian… Then we must gain access to the Bridge at once!”

I would have started for the hatch immediately, but Traveller laid a restraining hand on my arm. “I’ve spent some time trying that route, Ned. And even if access to the Bridge were somehow acquired, we would face many obstacles before a successful return to Earth.”

Holden demanded, “What obstacles, Traveller?”

Traveller smiled. “They will keep. And in the meantime, you are my guests on this craft. What do you say, Pocket?”

The wretched manservant could do nothing but shake his head, his face still buried in his sodden hands.

Traveller pulled at the crumpled lapel of my jacket. “You, for instance, are still encrusted with the blood you spilled during the launch. And what better than a hot bath to relieve the aches of your bruises, eh? Pocket, would you arrange that? And then perhaps we should take a little light supper—”

“Bath? A little light supper?” I could scarcely believe my ears. “Sir Josiah, this is neither the time nor the place. And Pocket is hardly in a fit state to—”

“On the contrary,” Traveller said heavily, fixing me with a knowing glare. “There is nothing better the redoubtable Pocket could do now than fix you a hot bath.” I stared back at Sir Josiah, and then turned to watch Pocket; and the manservant, despite a distressing clumsiness, displayed a markedly increased composure as he tackled these tasks.

I reflected that Josiah Traveller was perhaps blessed with a greater understanding of his fellow creatures than he cared to affect.

Already I knew that no end of marvels had been hidden within the padded walls of the Smoking Cabin; but I could scarcely have guessed that it would be possible to take a full, hot bath in conditions quite as comfortable as any middle-range English gentlemen’s club.

Pocket drew back a section of Turkish rug from the floor to reveal a series of panels; these folded up to form a screen some five feet tall within which I was able to remove my stained clothes in privacy. The section of floor beneath these panels was covered with overlapping rubber sheets, and there were taps laid into recesses in the floor. Pocket turned the taps—finding his body twisting rather comically in response—and from beneath the floor there came the sound of rushing water. At length a pleasant warmth and a few wisps of steam seeped around the rubber sheets, giving the place the atmosphere of a bathhouse.

When the water was ready Pocket bade me slide between the rubber sheets. Leaving only my head protruding into the air, I entered water which was just on the hot side of comfortable. The bath itself—the size and shape of a coffin, I deduced from its feel—lay beneath the rubber, and the overlapping sheets completely