Harry Takes Off: Astounding Stories of Adventure (Iron Pegasus Book 1) Read online

  This time I could not delay. I took careful aim—remembering that any object will move in an exact straight line—and threw the toolbox with all the strength I could muster. I immediately rotated in space at a relatively slow rate. I watched the toolbox speed on its journey but soon lost sight of my quarry as my rotation took them from my view.

  But my throw had imparted more than just rotational movement. There must have been a directional component as well. When I had turned three-quarters of the way around, I felt something brushing against my leg. My immediate, nervous reaction was to kick at it, but as I did so it came to me that there was only one thing out here in the Void with me: the rope that I so dearly wished to reach. I glanced down and there it was.

  As it is not a rigid object, the rope’s reaction to my kick was merely to move somewhat until the energy I had imparted was absorbed along its sinuous length—you can observe a similar phenomenon by flicking a piece of string floating on water. Suffice to say, I had not pushed it away and I was able to get a firm grasp.

  Using the rope as my anchor I turned myself round to determine the events that had unfolded while I had been unable to view them.

  The assailant with the gun drifted a few feet above the surface of the vessel’s hull. That he was in the throes of a painful death was clear by the way he wriggled and jerked. His gloved hands were pressed against the glass of his helmet in a vain attempt to prevent the loss of air from the cracks I could see marring its smooth surface.

  I could only think that my action had somehow been successful. Either I had struck his helmet causing it to crack or, in response to my attack, he had struck his helmet against something hard. By whatever means, the man was dying the death I had so recently feared, faced and come through. He would not be so lucky.

  The gun was not in his hand and indeed was nowhere to be seen.

  I pulled myself hand over hand along the rope, down towards the figure of the Captain. It is true that once my momentum had been established I no longer required the rope. However, by this time, I was heartily exhausted by the weightless condition and clung to my only contact with safety.

  That there was something wrong with the Captain became apparent before I reached him. His right arm was crossed over his chest with his hand gripped tightly around his upper left arm. Meanwhile he had anchored himself by hooking one leg around the rope so that he would not drift. He was not looking up to follow my progress.

  As I approached the solid mass of the Void ship, I turned myself once more so that I descended feet first. I saw the, now motionless, crewman floating slowly away from the vessel. I did not have time to consider that a man had died a terrible death by my hand.

  The Captain jerked back as my feet floated down past him. Small globules of crystalline redness slid by me and I realised that he had been hit, albeit in the arm, and his suit must be punctured. I touched my helmet to his.

  “We must regain our ship, Captain.”

  “Indeed we must, Mr Finley-Blythe.”

  I cannot tell you, after such a long time alone in the silence of the Void, how good it was to hear a voice of a friend. His pain was evident but the practicalities of the situation demanded he put it to one side.

  The rope had followed me down. I swiftly attached it to his belt hook and then fed it through my own. The Captain had attached his end to a metal cleat on the hull with a fast-release nautical knot that I pulled free in an instant.

  I realised that my breathing was becoming heavier, and that the air in my suit seemed hotter. I knew immediately what these symptoms meant. There was no alternative but to find our Albatross as quick as may be. Before the air leaked from the Captain’s suit. And the oxygen ran out in mine.

  Sept 3rd, 1874, 12:01

  Tethered like two mountaineers, we clambered across the outer structure of the great vessel. It was hard to maintain our grip on the hull. As the great ship rotated it tried to throw us off, but the surface was not smooth due to the ladders, pipes, cleats, and external mounts for devices that could only be imagined.

  The air within my suit thickened steadily and I found it hard to maintain my concentration. With the Sun beating down upon us it was almost as if we were survivors struggling across a desert landscape. Or, perhaps, like divers from the story by Jules Verne. However, the Earth hanging above us was a constant reminder of our true location. Barely one hundred miles from the surface and yet we could have been beyond the Moon for all the good it did us.

  The Moon? In my fogged mind I wondered if the people that crewed the ship lived on the Earth’s satellite. Or Mars? Perhaps Venus.

  I realised that in my musings I had come to a stop. The captain was drifting away from the hull. His hand still gripped the torn part of his suit but the air in his suit must now be almost gone. I looked down and found myself staring into a great darkness. A gorge cut into the surface of the metal, as big as the central space in Trafalgar Square.

  A shiver went through me despite the heat and density of my air. And everything faded to black.

  I looked up. The edge of the Earth glowed with light but the Sun was gone behind it; we were on the night side once more. A thought pushed its way up through the foggy depths of my mind. I had a lamp on my helmet. Almost of its own volition my hand went to my helmet and a beam of light cut through the black. We had reached the cargo space, we were almost at the Albatross, but where was it?

  As I peered into the depths there was no sign of it. Nor was there any blast hole. Thinking had become such a difficult activity. I wanted to simply give up. Why did I have to keep going? Why not simply succumb to the cold and the dark? Then the thought of my Beloved came to me. I wanted to see her again. To hold that gentle hand. To kiss those soft lips. To hear her voice.

  I shook my head in an effort to clear it. The captain dangled on the end of the line above me like some grotesque balloon.

  We must have circumnavigated the whole vessel and were now at the wrong end of the cargo hold. The Albatross would be at the far end. I did not think I had the energy—nor the air—to clamber so far. Somehow, I hooked my foot around the edge of the cargo hold to anchor myself and drew in the captain steadily. He did not move.

  All we had to do, I reasoned, was get the Albatross free from the hold and into the Void. The people on this vessel were as trapped as we were ourselves. Once we were free they would not be able to pursue us.

  I encircled the captain with my arms and manoeuvred us carefully into the open space of the hold. I crouched against the wall, facing along its length and pushed off with all the strength I could muster, which was not very great but any velocity would carry us to the other end eventually. After the initial impulse there was no hint of motion until I pointed my helmet light at the wall and saw it moving beneath me, flowing like the landscape when seen from a moving train.

  Using the Captain as a mass against which I could turn myself I tried to determine my exact trajectory. I rolled and saw the unmoving stars above me. The rim of the Earth now only glowed slightly as we passed deeper into night. I looked to the edge of the cargo hold and saw that my thrust had not been as accurate as I hoped. Our course was taking us, by degrees, out of the hold itself and, by the time we reached the far end, we would be once more flying through the Void. Once more beyond help.

  But I would not be beaten. The Captain was relying on me, if he still lived. And my Beloved was waiting for me.

  They say needs must when the devil drives and I was beyond any concern for proprieties: Satan was now driving very hard. I must find a way to arrest our movement before we reached the end of the hold. I glanced ahead and saw doom approaching with a rapidity I did not like.

  My helmet light flashed across the hull of the Albatross but I did not have time to feel any elation. I took a firm hold of the captain and thrust him hard away from me, out into the empty Void. By the laws of Newton I was thrust in the opposite direction, deeper into the cargo hold. I watched as the Albatross approached me and so too did the wall of the hol
d. I no longer feared to tear my suit—to lose the air within it, when it took all my strength to draw into my lungs for so little reward, would be no great loss.

  I struck the wall and bounced. The wing of the Albatross intersected my course and I slammed into it.

  Sept 3rd, 1874, 12:18

  I clung to the wing and felt the rope that connected me to the Captain tighten and stretch. It was tied to my belt and pulled at me, threatening to haul me away as the Captain’s body continued to float away. But I held on while the elasticity of the rope absorbed his motion and after a few moments it went slack.

  I did not know whether he still lived, but I knew I could not survive much longer without refreshing my oxygen, and the ship itself was the only place that could happen. I lifted my head and allowed the beam from my helmet to scan the hull. I cannot describe the feeling that came over me as I saw the familiar shapes and markings of the Albatross.

  The door was only a short distance away. I realised I was panting in an effort to get oxygen into my lungs and as I attempted to move, a wave of lethargy came over me and I found I could not.

  I struggled ineffectively for a moment, then pressed my palms down flat on the wing and tried to push myself away from it. A tugging around my midriff alerted my slow mind to the fact that my Void-suit had become hooked on one of the pylons that carried the control lines for the wing surfaces.

  Once again I shook my head in a fruitless attempt to clear it then reached down deliberately to unhook the material. I was not concerned about tearing it since I had already yanked against it as hard as I could without causing damage.

  A shadow passed across the Sun causing me to glance up. I tried to duck as something struck me about the head. It was the Captain and together we went spinning slowly away from the Albatross. We struck the inner hull and came to rest.

  I was taken by an angry desperation. Every action I took seemed to incur the wrath of some demon, who felt the need to make my life as difficult and as miserable as possible.

  “What do you want from me?” I cried out, on the verge of tears. I coughed and tried to breathe but the atmosphere I drew into my lungs seemed utterly devoid of life-giving oxygen. I did not utter any profanity but my mind was filled with epithets against the cruelty being inflicted upon me, the Captain and poor dead Ishar Ram. In four short hours we had been reduced from heroes to miserable curs.

  Well, this dog would not cower any more.

  I oriented myself with the back wall of the cargo hold as my floor, took firm hold of the Captain’s body, leant forward and thrust myself towards the Albatross where it seemingly clung to the wall ahead of me.

  I cursed the slow progress as we floated onwards. I lost consciousness for a moment but was brought around abruptly as we hit the wall.

  My aim had been true on this occasion and we had arrived directly beside the door.

  I pulled down the lever—there was no locking mechanism as there had never been any thought it would be needed—and pushed the door which swung back. Bracing myself between the wall and the wing I thrust the captain inside, not caring that his helmet struck the edge as he entered. I got a grip on the door jamb and pulled myself inside.

  I needed to get the door closed as soon as I was able. I arrested my motion and turned to push it shut. It moved smoothly but reached a point where it would go no further. I panicked. Holding tight to a hand hold provided by the door I slammed it again and again. It would not close.

  Despair threatened to take me again. I looked down and saw the rope that connected the captain and me trailing out through the door. You may believe the curses I uttered now were directed entirely at myself.

  Feverishly, I caught up the rope and pulled it in, hand over hand. It snagged on something. I cast around for a cutting implement but then it moved again. I pulled harder. There seemed to be something dragging on it. There could not be much more so I pulled harder.

  A figure in a Void-suit loomed into view. In my semi-conscious condition I felt a sudden elation, was Ishar Ram not dead after all? Was this him? But as my helmet light played across the figure I recognised the suit as belonging to a denizen of the ship. The figure raised its head and I recognised the man from the Bridge, the first one we met. He had escaped his enemies and now sought to escape the ship completely on ours.

  If I had been in a better state of mind I might have realised he would be a help in flying the ship, but I did not.

  He had released the rope and got his fingers round the edge of the door. I slammed it hard against his helmet, knocking him backwards, but still he held on. I slammed the door once more, on his fingers.

  I imagine he cried out. He let go and drifted back away from the ship. I pulled the rest of the rope inside just as he reached the inner wall and prepared to launch himself at the door again. I felt the metal ringing as I forced the door in place and slammed the lever into the locked position.

  But I could not leave my station, there was no door lock. If I did not hold the lever in the closed position he would be able to open it again. Yet I could not release air into the compartment from where I stood.

  Distantly I heard banging on the hull but continued to cling fast to the lever to prevent his entrance. I passed out.

  Sept 3rd, 1874, 12:28

  Until the moment I returned to awareness I did not truly understand how wonderful breathing fresh air could be. It is true I had almost been asphyxiated by air-loss only a short time before but labouring in air with only the slightest amount of oxygen for so long taught me true appreciation of what God gives us so freely.

  Beyond my closed eyelids was light. Not sunlight but electric and I recognised the smell of the Albatross. At that moment the ship moved under me and the straps—that I realised were about me—pressed gently into me as the thrust of the ship accelerated it.

  I opened my eyes to see the Captain in his chair and the far wall of the hold moving slowly away. The outside was illuminated by the exterior lights and I could see the Void-suited figure receding. He was watching us—perhaps his last chance at survival leaving. I could not help but wonder at the purposes behind the internecine conflict we had come upon on this derelict vessel.

  Most likely we would never know.

  “Captain?”

  He turned his head towards me. His skin was as grey as ash and his eyes bloodshot. Trails of blood tracked from his nose and ears. He closed his eyes and his head lolled to one side as his muscles relaxed.

  Though he had removed my helmet and strapped me in, he had not removed the rest of my Void-suit. I struggled with the buckles through my gloves but eventually managed to release them. As fast as I could I divested myself of the suit and hurried to his side.

  I pulled him from his chair, taking a moment to glance out. The derelict was already as small as it had been when I had first seen it. The Sun stood off to one side pouring its glory on us, and the Earth hung poised like a blue and white jewel to the other.

  As I stripped the Void-suit from the Captain I discovered he had managed to tie a cord in the form of a tourniquet around the outside of the left arm of the suit above the puncture from the bullet. It was how he had survived so long.

  I stared in horror at his left arm. There was a graze across his bicep but that was not the problem. From that point, down to his fingers, his arm resembled a long-dead corpse. His skin was dry and peeling, blackened in places. The bones were clearly delineated beneath the desiccated skin. It was clearly beyond the doctoring skill of any surgeon, let alone a simple computationer.

  The “me” of four hours ago would have recoiled but he had been a different person. I broke open the first aid kit and found the sling. I was not completely sure how it should be used but I made it work. Then I went to the galley area and found a bottle of water. These had been equipped with a mechanism to allow it to be drunk but not spill if the proposed weightless condition existed. The foresight was welcome.

  I pressed the bottle against the captain’s lips and some basic animal
instinct caused him to suck at it even though he was not conscious. I let him have his fill. I imagined he had lost a considerable amount of liquid during his ordeal. I strapped him into my chair and let him rest. I drank as well and then discovered I was inordinately hungry and consumed a large portion of food.

  I looked across at Ishar Ram’s chair and a wave of sorrow overtook me. I do not say we had been close, that would be a lie, but when men have struggled together there is a fellow feeling, a camaraderie, that comes into being that cannot be ignored.

  Epilogue

  The woman turned over the last sheet and then flipped it back as if something was missing. She looked up at the frail man in the bed.

  “Where’s the rest?” she said. It was hard to credit that thin and wrinkled fellow was the author of the tale.

  “What does it matter?”

  “How did you get back?”

  “I made the calculations, and managed not to blow up the chemicals for the furnace.”

  “And the captain could fly the vessel in his condition?”

  “He managed,” said the man. “But he died in the landing. I lost my leg.”

  She had noticed the missing limb when she had entered. She had seen enough horrors in South Africa not to be upset by it.

  “But,” he continued, “you don’t have to pretend you believe me.”

  She toyed with the idea of telling him the truth. He was only in his fifties; he had a good number of years to go if they did not “treat” him for mental instability. However, if she told him she not only believed him but that she had seen a vessel just like his during the Second Boer War, it might go badly for him.

  She was torn. How much more damage would she do by not answering than had been done already?

  The truth was plain enough to her. Someone in the British Government had known, back in 1874, that these vessels existed and did not want the truth exposed. They had not killed him, it was worse: They consigned him to the horrors of Bedlam.