Chapter the Fourteenth:
Samuel Dickens
& esteem'd colleague, Mr. Albert Bentley-Smythe
Byron,
do battle aboard the Air Fortress of the much despisèd
OTTOMAN EMPIRE.
Clanging thuds rang through the corridor as
the last remaining automaton sprinted toward its target, ignoring the fallen
bodies of its mechanical comrades. Samuel Dickens, stalwart defender of the
"Samuel, for God's sake, just shoot it!" Albert cried, cowering around the corner.
"Steady now," Samuel said slowly, "only three bullets left; every shot must count..."
BANG the gunshot rang. The automaton slipped and tumbled forward as the bullet pierced its brass chest-plate. Inside, the gravity lenses that powered the machine's perpetual motion wheel had shattered, leaving the complex clockwork man nothing more than a pile of scrap metal. The dead machine clattered to the floor, sliding to a stop at Samuel's feet.
Standing triumphant in the hall, littered with broken automatons, Samuel declared, "Take that, infernal machines! Nothing like a good struggle against technology to get the blood flowing, eh Albert?"
Albert leaned against the wall, trying to get his breath back. "I would rather my blood stayed put, thank you very much."
"Oh really, Albert, you need a drink," Samuel said as he reached inside his coat pocket. "You shouldn't let the Ottomans get to you!"
Albert sighed in resignation. "I suppose I should have expected all this when I agreed to help you rescue Penelope, but it's just that... When I got up this morning, I wasn't expecting to be trapped in a Turkish floating fortress, fending off mindless death-machines."
Samuel took a deep breath of satisfaction. "I don't suppose any of us know exactly what our lives will come to. That's part of the fun of it all," he said, taking a surreptitious swig from his brandy flask.
"Fun is playing a good game of pinochle," Albert muttered, carefully straightening out his jacket as he glanced down the hallway. "Come on, we'd better get moving. There's no telling how soon more guards might arrive."
After a jumble of turns, guided by a hand scrawled map, Samuel and Albert stopped at the end of a long hallway, deep inside the heart of the fortress. Tall doors loomed in the small alcove, standing immense in the tight confines of the air fortress' passages. The twisted halls leading up to the Grand Qadi's office were paneled in dark hardwood, dimly lit by ornate glass sconces. The close, claustrophobic space felt like the abode of an affluent madman.
"Ready, Albert?" Samuel whispered, bracing himself for a quick entry.
Albert gave a nervous nod, his hand quivering over the door handle.
"Go!" shouted Samuel as he heaved open the door and leapt into the room, ready for a horde of guards. Instead, he found himself facing nothing more than a frigid stare from the room's sole occupant.
"Peace be upon you, Samuel Dickens," said the calm man sitting behind a giant oak desk, his cold confidence dominating the room. Dressed in black silk, embroidered in gold, the man's appearance was immaculate. From faded blue eyes his stare came clear and piercing.
"Who are you, and where is Penelope?" Samuel demanded, meeting the stranger's harsh gaze.
For a moment, the man remained silent; then, in only slightly accented English, said, "To my peers, most technology is associated with occult spiritual nonsense, so they have given me the title 'Grand Qadi of Mystic Technology,' but I prefer to call myself a scientist."
Samuel moved to draw his revolver, but the Qadi had already pulled a small crystal device out from under the desk. Like a strange piece of jewellery, it had a royal blue gem at its centre, as big as a human eye, surrounded by a folded up system of lenses.
"Stay where you are, Mister Dickens. This device contains a spirit stone, and with it I can rip the living soul from your body."
"Bah!" Albert scoffed. "That's impossible. Superstitious quackery."
"Don't be too quick to dismiss the possibility," Samuel said. "I've seen some strange things in my travels."
"Yes!" The Qadi abruptly exclaimed. "You have seen much, and understand real science. That is why I have lured you here."
"What do you mean?" Samuel asked. His hand still hovered over his revolver holster, but his bushy eyebrow was raised in curiosity.
"You are to be my replacement, Samuel Dickens."
Albert laughed defiantly. "You think Samuel will abandon his home and join your empire? I think you underestimate his resolve."
The Qadi dismissed the suggestion with a
sweep of his hand: "The
"That's blasphemously evil," Albert said, "an affront to God and nature."
"You believe in God, then?" the Qadi asked, intrigued.
"I'm a Protestant," Albert said coldly.
"I too believe in a higher being," the Qadi said, "but I do not believe that prayer will bring me closer to Allah. We must use the tools He gives us to achieve immortality. I have paved my own road to heaven."
Albert crossed himself, aghast at the Qadi's intentions. Samuel had forgotten about his revolver and was wistfully eyeing the soul removal device.
"Amazing... a soul separator..."
Albert crossed himself again, casting an angry glance at Samuel.
"I have brought you here to continue my work once I am gone. That book," the Qadi said, pointing to a large tome sitting upon a pedestal in the corner, "is the sum of my knowledge, codified and ciphered. I am confident that you will be able to unlock its secrets."
Samuel's eyes locked on to the metal bound book. Albert kept his unwavering gaze on the Qadi, who was now rising from his seat.
"You have been a most clever adversary, Samuel Dickens," the Qadi said, "but now I leave this existence and its mortal struggles behind. Make of your own life what you will."
Turning the soul separator on himself, the Qadi pressed a switch, and the lenses clicked into place. A low rumble, like rushing air before a storm, blanketed the room. Albert gasped in horror as blue light blasted out from the jewel, illuminating the Qadi's spasm-wracked body. His face was twisted with pain, but no scream escaped his clenched teeth; he focused only on the brilliant light.
"Oh God, what's happening to him?" Albert cried. "Samuel, stop that thing!"
"It's too late to stop it," Samuel shouted over the rumbling noise. "I just hope it&em;"
The light and noise suddenly ceased.
"&em;shuts itself off," Samuel said, watching the little device fold itself back up.
The room was silent. The Qadi stood motionless. His eyes were glazed over, staring at the blue jewel that lay in his stiff hand. Cautiously creeping forward, Albert gave the Qadi a hesitant nudge.
"He's still breathing," Albert said, waving his hand in front of the Qadi's face. "But it looks like he's comatose; there's no response at all."
Samuel darted forward and eagerly snatched the soul separator from the Qadi's stiff hand.
"I think he's done it!" said Samuel, pacing around the room and smiling exuberantly. "That strange man has made a journey that we can only dream about. Unless..."
Samuel's gaze turned towards the blue crystal device sitting in his open palm. The tiny thing carried such hypnotic potential, kindling his curiosity and poking at the embers of his imagination. Without even thinking, his other hand crept slowly up, to touch the fragile device.
"No!" Albert cried, drawing his pistol and taking only a second to aim, utter a silent prayer, and squeeze the trigger. The gunshot echoed and died quickly; for one long moment, only the fragile tinkle of broken glass pierced the thick silence.
"Albert, you've destroyed it!" Samuel finally cried, then, pausing to look in amazement at the perfectly shattered crystal shards in his hand, added, "Marvellous shot, though."
"Just like the shooting range," Albert said apologetically. "I'm sorry, Samuel. I couldn't let you do it."
Samuel sighed. "I suppose it would be better to understand the technology before I go zapping myself into oblivion. Good job, Albert."
Dismay clouded Albert's face. "You're going to try and rebuild that thing, aren't you?"
"I must!" Samuel cried vehemently, clutching the broken blue shards in his fist. "The true nature of intelligence is life's greatest puzzle&em;the final challenge."
"But Samuel, you can't trust your soul to some machine you've hacked together. It can't be too hard to just wait for heaven, can it?"
"Come now, Albert, you entrust machines with your life every day. You own an autocar, don't you? An auto-analytical-typewriter is entrusted with your thoughts, isn't it? Machines are the basis of your clothes, books, home&em;your very life itself. Where is God in a man made world, I ask you?"
"He's still there, close to our hearts," Albert said, and then, as Samuel went over to hungrily examine the metal bound book of knowledge, silently added, "but not close enough."
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