It was just before midnight on New Year’s Eve and Oisín Gonagain was pleasantly drunk. That is to say, that it was just before midnight if you used Geokinetic Time, which Gonagain did – when it suited him. If you used Traditional Time, which Gonagain also did – when it suited him – then midnight was still a few hours away, at around dawn. But, at present, he was in a Geokinetic region, and in the company of two pretty, young ladies that he was hoping to coax back to his cabin… or maybe just one of them – even though he had the captain’s quarters, it wasn’t a very big cabin.
Across the other side of The Scrimshankers Refuge tavern, his lieutenant, Bearnárd, was surrounded by young ladies who were currently engaged in squeezing his substantial muscles and gasping theatrically. Bearnárd Strongman was Gonagain’s half-brother, but apart from the dark hair and pale complexion, there were few similarities. Despite the number of ladies thrusting their cleavage and swinging their petticoats at Bearnárd, Gonagain knew there was as much chance of him waking up in a cell as in the arms of one of the ladies. Things had a habit of getting out of hand when Bearnárd was out on the lash. Gonagain was firmly of the opinion that he was the brains, and Strongman the brawn.
It was just as the countdown of the last ten microdays to midnight began, and Gonagain was trying to decide which of the lovely ladies to kiss first, when the tavern suddenly erupted with a deafening blast and an earthquake-like tremor. Revellers screamed as they were flung to the floor, and tankards and glasses crashed to the ground around them.
The blast sounded very much like a steam-cannon, and that could mean only one thing – they were under attack from Traditionalists. Gonagain, who suddenly felt quite sober, leapt to his feet, put on his bowler hat, and drew his pulsarnite pistol. He nodded to the two wine-soaked young ladies who were still entwined on the floor.
“Ladies, perhaps another time.” Then, more loudly, “Bearnárd! Let’s get the hell out of here!” He ran for the door.
Outside the tavern was chaos, with people screaming and running in every direction. As well as the steam-cannon, which Gonagain could hear but not see, there would also be Traditionalist footsoldiers. He could smell the gunpowder from their weapons. Gonagain needed to get back to The Reliant and get it airborne before it caught the attention of the Trads. The blast from the cannon had put out most of the gas-lamps, so keeping to the shadows wouldn’t be difficult. But the Trads wore varilight goggles which would make the darkness of midnight look more like dusk, so he wasn’t going to head down the broad Lubumbashi Main Street. He would zigzag towards the airdock via Lubumbashi’s network of alleyways.
Eventually, he reached Doxies Parade. Normally, at this time of night, it would be heaving with doxies, punters, and voyeurs, but now it was deserted. The lights were off and the presentation windows empty. Doubtless there were doxies and their clients taking cover inside. It was a long straight alley that ended not far from the airdock. There were lots of doorways in which to hide, but no turnings. Once he started down the alley he would be committed. He checked behind him, hoping to see Bearnárd following, but Gonagain was lean and quick and there was little chance of his lumbering half-brother keeping up with him. Besides, he had probably taken the direct route.
He was nearly at the end of Doxies when he saw the dim orange glow of two pairs of varilight goggles. Turning to check the alley behind he saw, to his horror, the glow of about half a dozen goggles at the other end. Going back was not an option – he was surrounded. He slipped soundlessly into one of the doorways and tried the door. It was, of course, locked. The doxies always kept their doors locked except to let their clients in and out. It wasn’t safe in any part of town to leave your door open but especially not in this district. Looking up he could see that the terraced buildings were all at least three stories high. He couldn’t go through; he couldn’t go over and he couldn’t go around.
“Feck!” he cursed quietly to himself. He was either going to have to bluff his way out or blast his way out. He considered ditching his pulsarnite pocket watch and pistol. Being captured by Trads in possession of anything powered by pulsarnite was not good – not good at all. But being unarmed with a Trad attack underway was even less appealing and besides, these things didn’t come cheaply. Scanning the dark doorway for inspiration, he spotted some empty beer bottles on the floor. He checked his pistol was set to wide angle. On narrow beam, it could punch a hole right through a man – on wide angle it could knock a dozen men off their feet like they had been body slammed by a two hundred kilo sumo wrestler. What the effect of wide angle would be in this narrow alley he wasn’t entirely sure, but it should cause a suitable level of mayhem. He tucked the pistol into the back of his shirt collar, undid his button flies and picked up a beer bottle. Then, kicking over the remaining bottles, he staggered out of the alley, fumbling with his flies as he went.
At the sound of the clattering bottles, the goggles entered the alleyway “Hey you!” they shouted, “Hands where I can see them!”
“Wassup?” he slurred, “What’s the story?”
“Hands where I can see them!” Goggles repeated.
Gonagain dropped the bottle and put his hands on his head. “I jus’ needed the jacks – got caught a bit short, you know.”
He sensed, rather than saw, the pair drop their guard and lower their weapons. Reaching behind his head, he grabbed the pistol, took aim, and squeezed the trigger in one swift movement.
There was a brief delay, no more than a fraction of a microday, before the pulsarnite pulsed and the pistol fired, but it was enough time for Goggles to get off a shot of his own.
Gonagain dived back into the doorway for cover, but not quite quickly enough. The bullet fizzed through the thick tweed of his jacket sleeve, clipping his upper arm on the way through. He swore and clutched his bicep. His own shot had a more devastating effect. With his pistol set to wide angle in a narrow alley, the sonic pulse his weapon emitted had ricocheted off the buildings, shattering the windows and peppering the two Trad soldiers with fragments of glass as it knocked them off their feet. Still clutching his wounded arm, Gonagain took his chance and, stepping over the stunned and bleeding soldiers, hurried towards the airdock.
It was when he reached the perimeter of the airdock, that Gonagain first saw the Geokinetic Guards. Quite how they had got there so quickly, he had no idea, he was just glad they had. Armed with their high-powered pulsarnite rifles and wearing night vision goggles, they would keep the Trad soldiers busy for a while. They streamed around and through the dock and continued toward the red-light district of Lubumbashi.
At last he could see The Reliant moored right in the middle of the dock. He was nearly home and dry. Gonagain hoped that the rest of the crew were already in the airship or, failing that, not far behind him.
Just as Gonagain thought he was safe, two more Trad soldiers stepped out from the shadows right in front of him. They had obviously been hiding from the Geo Guards, and Gonagain didn’t think they would want to attract their attention with gunfire. Anyway, you would have to be mad to fire a gunpowder weapon in an airdock. The heliagen-filled dirigibles were safe enough, but hydrum was highly flammable – especially if you had illegally filled a soft-envelope dirigible like The Reliant with it. He decided to keep it casual.
“Howya!” Gonagain greeted them cheerfully, “Had to dock urgently – any port in a storm, you know how it is.”
“That looks suspiciously like a pulsarnite pistol to me.”
“I lifted it from a Pulser just now, just after the steam-cannon strike.”
“Let’s see the pocket watch then,” said the second soldier, gesturing with his rifle at the chain running between Gonagain’s waistcoat buttonhole and pocket.
“Oh, don’t worry it’s mechanical,” he lied.
“Then you won’t mind showing us.”
“Look, you’re not going to fire those in an airdock are you? Some of those airships are highly flammable, you know. And I’ve heard some eejit has filled a soft-shell with hydrum.”
“But we’re pointing our guns away from them, aren’t we? And at you,” the soldier sneered.
Suddenly, the steam-cannon fired again, and the ground shook beneath them with a violent force. As the soldiers put their hands out to steady themselves, Gonagain seized the moment and dashed between them. The soldiers turned and raised their rifles, but now they were facing towards the airdock. They lowered their weapons and gave chase.
Gonagain was running for all he was worth. The loading hatch of The Reliant was down and he could see his engineer, Rajaobelina, silhouetted by the loading bay lights, standing on the gangway, loading a revolver. Gonagain ducked to allow her a shot, and she duly fired over his head. The shot flew above the heads of his pursuers as well, but they knew this was going to be one-way gunfire and it was enough to send them diving for cover.
As Gonagain approached the airship, it began to lift off. The gangway was becoming steeper and as he tried to scrabble up the slope, it completely left the ground. Gonagain’s legs dangled comically as he tried to drag himself up to the loading bay. Rajaobelina grabbed his bad arm, hauled him up and began to close the gangplank.
“Thanks, Jao!” Gonagain gasped, “Who’s piloting?”
“Bunty.”
“Bunty! She’s had about ten large gins – she’s fluthered!”
“That she is.”
“And you’re letting her fly The Reliant?”
“You want me to pilot and her to shoot over your head?”
Gonagain paused, briefly contemplating that scenario. “Where’s Beagán?”
“Not here.”
“Bearnárd?”
“No.”
“Then get this ship down until they get here! And that’s an order!”
Jao looked her captain in the eye. With her dark-brown skin and greasy overalls, she was barely visible in the dark, but the steady gaze of her piercing blue eyes emanated calmness and strength. She spoke without an accent, but with the deliberateness of someone speaking a second language. “With respect, Captain, we can hold those two off, but if we don’t get out of rifle range before more arrive, they’ll either have us trapped on the ground or they’ll blow us out of the sky. Beagán will have to take his chances. Bearnárd is a big boy; he can look after himself.”
Rajaobelina was right of course. He sighed and leant over to the voice-repeater. “Bunty, take her straight up. Five hundred metres and hold our coordinates.”
“Righty-oh skipper.”
Rajaobelina popped open a porthole and fired a volley of shots in the general direction of the Trad soldiers. The Reliant was ascending fast and, within a milliday, they were out of range. “Right” she said, “Let’s get you to the medical bay!”
******
Rajaobelina was The Reliant’s engineer, but she was also the ship’s medic and a healer. Her grandmother had been a healer and had known, the moment that Rajaobelina was born, that she also had the gift. She gave her all the guidance, encouragement and training she could – healing did not work alone, so Rajaobelina was also taught basic medical skills.
Her mechanical prowess was borne out of necessity. Growing up on the outskirts of Antsirabe she had nothing, and mend and make-do was a way of life. She loved fixing things and had a facility for it. Picking up discarded bits and pieces and making something from them was a way to earn a living. One day, she came across an old, broken rotavator and took it apart to see how it worked. She cleaned it, reassembled it, and got it working. She gave it to her grandfather, a subsistence farmer, and it changed his life. After that, people began bringing broken farming equipment to her, and her career as an agricultural mechanic took off.
Then, one day, a neighbour came to her saying that a handsome young dirigible captain was looking for her. At first, she thought it was some sort of practical joke, but eventually she was persuaded to pick up her tools and hitch a ride to the airdock. Sure enough, there was a handsome – if rather dishevelled and worse-for-wear – dirigible captain eagerly awaiting her arrival. Apparently, he could not find anyone prepared to mend the burnt-out engine of his airship, and had been told that there was a girl who could fix anything. She had never even seen a dirigible engine before. “Yes, I fix it,” she said.
She worked day and night on that engine for almost a week. It was a steep learning curve, and there was a lot of trial and error involved. She slept in the hold when she couldn’t stay awake any longer and ‘The Captain’ bought her food and scavenged for spare parts. In the evening, whilst his navigator and lieutenant went into town, he would stay with her and drink whiskey and make her coffee. He never lost faith in her ability to fix it.
Eventually it was ready, and they took it for a test flight. He was so delighted with the way it flew that he paid her far more than she asked for. Rajaobelina had never seen so much money. It was a happy time for her, but she was sad to see The Captain leave. At least now she had enough money to buy a small hut near the airdock, and could begin fixing dirigible engines as well as farm equipment.
Several months passed, and Rajaobelina had all but forgotten the handsome captain and his tatty airship, when she heard the familiar sound of an engine she knew well. She had butterflies in her stomach as she watched The Reliant land awkwardly in the dock. Either The Captain was a terrible pilot or the steering was damaged – she privately hoped it was the latter. The repair took only a few hours and the airship was, sadly, on its way again. “Jao, you are a genius” he said as he waved goodbye.
Rajaobelina hated being called “Jao”. Or “Belle”. Or “Lina”. And, definitely, not “Raj”. Her name was Rajaobelina and that was what she liked to be called. But somehow, when The Captain called her Jao, she didn’t mind at all – she even quite liked it. Perhaps it was because it was said with genuine affection, rather than just out of laziness. Perhaps it was just because he was handsome, and she liked him.
The Reliant became a regular visitor to Antsirabe Airdock. The Captain would, apparently, not get his vessel repaired or maintained by anyone else.
On the last occasion that the ship docked at Antsirabe, The Reliant was riddled with bullet holes. Not only were both the hull and the envelope in need of repair, so was The Captain. He was covered in bruises and had a gash on his head which needed stitches. She used her healing powers first, then stitched the wound. She stitched and tarred The Reliant’s envelope too, and patched the hull with scrap brass and reclaimed timber. It was then that The Captain offered her a position on his ship. She could not believe her luck. The next day she sold her hut, and brought her tool bag and a brand-new traveller’s trunk, containing all her worldly possessions, to the airship.
In the beginning, she had wondered if she and The Captain might become romantically involved, but it didn’t happen. Either she had misread the situation or The Captain just wanted to keep things on a professional level. She didn’t mind – she was used to not getting what she wanted, and she just moved on. She had the friendship and respect of The Captain, she was seeing the world, and she had a comfy cabin to sleep in at night, and that was enough.
Now though, as she tended the bullet wound on The Captain’s upper arm, she felt those early feelings come to the fore. Fully-dressed he looked dapper and lean, some might say skinny, but sitting shirtless in the medical bay she could see he was all muscle with good definition. His chest was almost hairless and had a few scars.
The medical bay was, really, just the tiniest cabin on the ship (with a few bandages, tinctures, and ointments) and the intimacy of the space and the physical contact made her feel like a teenage girl. It was foolish and she needed to concentrate. After cleaning the wound, she sat with her face close to it. She began a low, deep humming which induced a trance-like state. Then, as she stared at the wound, her eyes emitted an invisible light into it, which would make the healing process quicker and more complete – although for some reason her healing was never quite as successful on The Captain as it was on other people. She felt perhaps he didn’t believe in it.
After a few moments, she came out of the trance.
“I’ll just put a couple of stitches into that,’ she said gently. “And give you some laudanum and cannabis – it will ease the pain and make you drowsy.”
******
Gonagain wasn’t inclined think of Jao romantically. Not that she wasn’t attractive. With her flawless skin and pale-blue eyes she was quite beautiful – he had noticed that the first time he set eyes on her. It was more her demeanour. Apart from the silly healing nonsense, she was practical and pragmatic. She never really showed a passion for anything, except for engines and machinery, or anything else that needed fixing. She wasn’t the remotest bit ‘girly’. He rarely saw her out of her greasy, shapeless overalls; she always had dirt under her nails and her jet-black hair was always messily tied up. On the rare occasion that he saw inside her cabin, he noticed she didn’t even have a mirror. He just came to think of her as one of the boys.
The only exception was when she was in her second role, that of ship’s medic, and he was her patient. It somehow felt very intimate. It didn’t help that the space was so small. She was so caring and careful and gentle. She would certainly make a good mother, but he imagined that she would be a good lover too. He had to fight the urge to kiss her. He was the ship’s captain and she was crew, and it was too confined on an airship to get into a messy relationship. He didn’t want to spoil anything. Jao was an invaluable member of the crew, although he never really intended having a permanent engineer. It had been a miscommunication that led to Jao coming on board.
He had been on a long journey to Tana to buy up some goods to trade – they made good quality silk in Tana, along with trinkets made of silver, inlaid wood, and zebu horn. The engine had been making a noise for days and burning bloquettes like there was no tomorrow. If they could just make it to Tana, he could have it repaired whilst he went about stocking-up the loading bay.
In the end, they were forced to dock at a godforsaken place called Antsirabe. When the dock engineers looked at The Reliant, they just laughed. “That was a worthless pile of junk before it broke down. It’s even more worthless now,” they had said.
After two days of failing to find anyone to fix the ship, Gonagain was in a bar drowning his sorrows. The Reliant had been left to him by his estranged father and, in a way, so had Bunty Goodtime. Come to think of it, Bearnárd had been kind of left to him in his mother’s will. And now he was going to be forced to abandon them all. He had been telling the barman his woes when someone overheard him. “Listen,” the earwigger said, “it’s a bit of a long shot, but I’ve heard there’s a girl on the outskirts who can fix anything.”
When Gonagain met the girl with the beautiful eyes and the unpronounceable name he was, to say the least, dubious. She was just a slip of a girl, no more than seventeen. Tall and slender, she would probably have been elegant if she wasn’t wearing a dirty tunic and carrying a bag of rusty tools. She seemed confident that she could fix The Reliant, but at the same time didn’t seem to know very much about dirigibles. Perhaps it was just the language barrier – her native tongue was Gassy. He gave her the benefit of the doubt.
After two or three days, he was beginning to regret his decision. She was a tireless worker, but he wasn’t convinced she knew what she was doing at all. The dock engineers watched with great amusement and started making jibes about flying tractors. There were also some wagers going on. Every time Gonagain went by, they made a sly comment behind their hands and laughed. He didn’t know what to do. He was trying to save face with the dock engineers by pretending he knew something they didn’t, but really, he wanted to call a halt to the whole thing. In the end, he just continued backing the strange girl – he was stuck in Antsirabe anyway.
Then, one afternoon, when he was dozing, she came to him. “You want fly test?”
When they took The Reliant up, he was dumbfounded. He had never heard it sound so good. “That is unbelievable!” he exclaimed. “How much do I owe you?’
“Ten thousand ariary?”
“Ten thousand?”
“Too much?”
“You need to sort out your prices; for so much hard work those gobshites down there would charge ten times that.”
“Hundred thousand? No, too much. Fifty thousand.”
“Alright, fifty thousand ariary, you have a deal.”
After that, he always went to Antsirabe for repairs and maintenance.
Later that year he ran into trouble with the Southern Air Guarda. Apparently, some of his stock was stolen goods. Gonagain knew it – you don’t pick up emeralds at that price if they’re legitimate. The Air Guarda chased him, shot at him, and eventually boarded The Reliant. They were corrupt, and they tried to take his stock for themselves. They beat him up for not handing over all the emeralds. Eventually, Bearnárd broke free, overpowered them and threw them, literally, off the ship. Somewhere there is probably an empty Guarda dirigible still floating around. They headed straight for Antsirabe for repairs, and Jao tended to his wounds as well. She was gentle and tender and, for a moment, Gonagain thought he might fall for her. Afterwards, she fixed up the ship. She was amazing.
“I could do with you full-time on The Reliant,” he had said.
It was a throwaway comment, and Gonagain was taken by surprise the next day to find her at the airship, with her tools and the tiniest trunk he had ever seen. She had taken him at his word and had even sold her hut. He didn’t have the heart to tell her he hadn’t meant it.
He took her to one of the unused cabins. It was small, dusty and untidy, and smelled a bit musty, but Jao was delighted. She had never slept anywhere so nice.
“It is lovely,” she beamed, “I will have to share?”
“No, it’s all yours,” he cleared a lump in his throat, “I’ll leave you to settle in.” He left the cabin quickly – his voice had nearly cracked, and his eyes were decidedly watery.
Gonagain was bought out of his reverie by the sound of Jao’s voice.
“I’ll just put a couple of stitches into that,’ she said gently. “And give you some laudanum and cannabis – it will ease the pain and make you drowsy.”
Time to be Gonagain – chapter 1
AJ Farrelly
Joe stood back with his hands on his hips to admire his work. The mirror was up on the wall, it was straight, and he hadn’t cracked any of the tiles – a success by any standards. Even Grace shouldn’t find anything to complain about. He didn’t like having the mirror there – it was immediately opposite another mirror, on the other side of the bathroom, which gave that infinity effect you get when two mirrors face each other. He always found that unnerving, but he knew better to voice any objections to his wife.
He gathered up his tools and, with his arms full, headed down to the garden shed. The bathroom was still and silent – save for a gentle ripple that spread, momentarily, across the mirror and then was gone.
Joe returned and, grabbing a cloth and spray from under the basin, began to clean the brick and tile dust from the bath. He rinsed the cloth under the cold tap and watched the brick-coloured water drain away, before cleaning the mirror, tiles and bath again.
“Best not give Grace the chance to see any sign of mess – if you know what’s good for you, Joe.” Joe habitually talked to himself.
Having put away the cleaning equipment, he looked around one last time, checking that everything was ship-shape and Bristol fashion. He drew in his breath and steeled himself. “Right then, Joe, time to call the foreman for the inspection.”
He was on the verge of calling his wife’s name when he noticed a ripple briefly spread across the mirror. “Ah no! Don’t tell me the mirror’s got a flaw.” Joe couldn’t understand it. He had thoroughly checked it in the shop. If Grace saw that he had bought a flawed mirror, he’d never hear the end of it. He angled his head one way and then the other but couldn’t see it again. He raised his hand to feel the mirror, thinking perhaps he would feel the imperfection. But then the oddest thing happened – his hand went right into the mirror, as if it was made of shimmering mercury. He jumped back, snatching his hand away. “What the…?”
Climbing into the bath, he moved as close to the mirror as he could without touching it. He examined every inch of it. It just looked like a normal mirror. Taking a deep breath, he tried his hand again. Once more, his hand slipped into the mirror with the merest of ripples. Looking beyond his immediate reflection, Joe watched the reflection of his reflection in the opposite mirror – as if that would give him some explanation for what was happening – before snatching his hand back again.
He stood, nose to the mirror, and drew a breath before closing his eyes and plunging his face through to the other side. Upon opening his eyes, Joe found himself looking at an exact copy of his own bathroom, only reversed. It was a bit of a disappointment. “What were you expecting, Joe? Wonderland?”
He clambered all the way through, leaving his own bathroom behind him. Stepping out of the bath he eyed the other mirror – the old mirror. “I wonder…”. The old mirror gave a ripple in response. Cautiously he raised a hand and pressed it to the mirror, only to find a complete lack of resistance again. The old mirror was tall and easy to step through. It was too tempting to resist. Joe was back in his ‘right-way-round’ bathroom.
The new mirror above the bath rippled. “One more, and then I’ll go back.”
One more became two more, and then five more as Joe ploughed on and on, unable to resist the urge, until it dawned on him – it really was infinite.
But Joe was a curious soul, and had been full of adventure until Grace had ground him down. “I wonder…” he said again, as he went to the bathroom door. He yanked the door open, fully expecting to be on a landing identical to his own. Instead, he was greeted by the blackest blackness you could imagine. He put his hand through the doorway, and it just disappeared. Then, grabbing on to the door frame with his other hand, he thrust his head through. He could see his own hand but that was it. What should have been his landing was just an infinite nothingness. He bought one foot through tentatively but there was no floor.
Joe hauled himself back into the bathroom. “Get yourself back, Joe, this feels all wrong.” How many bathrooms had he come through? Was it ten? Or twelve? It must be an even number because the bathroom was the right way around. Or was it? Once he was all the way through and he too was the wrong way around and everything else felt right. “Twelve. It was definitely twelve.”
Joe climbed back through the mirrors, counting as he went. When he got to twelve, he breathed a sigh of relief and opened the bathroom door. Horrified, he stared into the blackness. Maybe it was only ten. Or eleven. With fear welling up inside him he climbed, trembling, back through the mirror from which he had come. Tentatively he opened the bathroom door. Blackness stared back. Sweat beaded on Joe’s forehead. “Let’s say it was ten, then.”
In ‘bathroom ten’ the door led to the same darkness. Joe began to panic. Was it more than twelve or less than ten?
An hour later Joe sat on the bathroom floor and cried. He had been back and forth from one bathroom to another so many times, that he had no idea which number bathroom he was in now, and no idea which way to go.