The Ghost Rebellion (19 page)

She blinked, suddenly understanding Wellington’s confusion. “Oh, yes, my apologies, sir. Agent Strickland. Sierra Strickland. R&D.”

“
Progress,” he said with a nod. “So, I know who you are. That leaves the ElectriFlux.”

“
Yes, this reading. It is massive. Unlike anything I have ever seen.”

“
Excellent.”

Again, they stared at each other in silence.

“
Oh, yes, the ElectriFlux. Of course, you wouldn’t know,” she said, chuckling nervously. “Case #18710520UKMG. Sir Carroll Ludovic and Mercury’s Gate. He was using super-charged ion particles for his faux æthergates, the same sort of ion activity found in thunderstorms. We adjusted the ElectriFlux to pick up similar ion emissions found within æthergates.”

“
Very clever, but with such an adjustment how are you certain this isn’t some false positive? You could be picking up a distant thunderstorm.”

“
Best you come and have a look, Agent Books,” she said, motioning for him to follow.

Wellington kept pace with Agent Strickland as she thundered back down the staircase. She led him to a room with a thick iron door, similar to one R&D used beneath Miggins Antiquities to contain explosions and any out-of-control creations. Branch offices did not have the resources to run large-scale experimentation as they used to at Miggins. Obviously, the Indian office stood as an exception.

Agent Strickland guided him over to the desk at the rear of the laboratory where a large battery of test equipment was spread out before them. The array was a combination of Tesla coils, a Righi electrostatic machine, several small boilers all providing power, and several heavy cables that snaked up the corner of the laboratory and disappeared, presumably outside. Wellington’s gaze landed on a central gauge and immediately saw that the gauge’s needle was jammed into the red—threatening, in fact, to break.

“
The adjustment for detection of these imitation æthergates was rather simple: incorporate into the array a standard-issue æthermetre.”

Wellington shook his head. Agent Strickland seemed cut from the same cloth as Axelrod and Blackwell. “Æthermetres are used to monitor sending and receiving of æthermail and for detecting harmful radiation emitted from newly-acquired artefacts. How can you modify it for this sort of precise detection?”

“
Calibration, Agent Books. By using it in conjunction with the ElectriFlux, we can pick up
specific
ionic activity.”

Letting a ragged breath escape from between his teeth, Wellington adjusted his glasses and bent over the ElectriFlux array. Three control boxes wired together were offering a set of numbers—map coordinates—in each of their displays. The minutes were fluctuating slightly, but appeared to be remaining in the same longitude and latitude.

 
Agent Strickland whirled him around to an unfurled map of India. “We can’t seem to get a lock on to exact coordinates, but as you can see in the triangulation and taking into account of the variance, we’re predicting the singularity should happen…” She pointed to the map, her eyes triumphant as she looked at Wellington. “Here!”

He looked at the map and tilted his head to one side. “The Taj Mahal? That’s eight hundred miles from here. How are you picking up activity that far away?”

She looked at him, looked down at the map, then back up to him, a bit flustered. “Sorry. Got carried away there.” She carefully placed her finger on the map and looked up to Wellington. “Here!”

Wellington adjusted his spectacles and looked at where she pointed. “The docks.”

“
The docks.”

Regardless of however mad this Ministry scientist was, it was abundantly clear: something was unfolding, yet again, with the Ghost Rebellion.

And Eliza was not here to lead the charge.

Wellington straightened up and adjusted his cravat. “Then let us not dally. We must rally the troops.”

 
Strickland suddenly went ashen. Was she in need of smelling salts? “What troops?”

“
Certainly the director did not abscond with the entirety of the Indian Branch to Fort St Paul?”

“
Well actually…” She really
was
in need of smelling salts.

“
Right then, Agent Strickland, who is left in the office apart from you and me? Any active field agents by chance?”

Strickland straightened, a thin bead of sweat breaking out on her forehead. “Agent Donald Thorp, but he is...” and her thought trailed off with her words.

“
What?” Wellington implored. “Sniper class? Hand-to-hand combatant? Bartitsu Master?”

“
Clerical.” She bit her bottom lip. “And I’m R&D.”

“
But you have field training, correct?
Basic
field training?” Wellington could hear a regimental tone creeping into his voice, but for the situation unfolding that was hardly a bad thing.

The agent’s skin was nearly ghost white by now, but then came the set of her jaw as she gave a quick nod. “Yes, sir, as it is required.”

“
Send a quick æthermessage to Director Smith. Be brief, but let him know of our situation.”

“
And then?”

“
And then we will—as the Americans would say—
saddle up.”
 

Wellington was sure Eliza, had she been in the room, would have made much of his ridiculous use of the term, but it gave the ginger to Strickland. He gestured back to the ElectriFlux. “Do you have a way to make this portable?”

“
Perhaps,” she replied.

“
You have ten minutes. You’re a clever sort, I’m sure you will come upon a solution,” Wellington said, hoping his words sounded convincing. He was digging deep for optimism. “I’ll inform Agent Thorp of our situation. Meet us by the lift.”

Leaving her to take care of the ElectriFlux, Wellington shot up into the stairwell to return to the office. Earlier, this reed-thin man, the burnt-red neck of a new-comer to India, had been typing away, chuckling happily to himself. He was now huddled over his paper-work, one hand leaning against his ear.

Wellington cleared his throat.

He cleared it again.

Then with a sigh rapped Agent Thorp on the shoulder.

The man leapt and nearly fell off his chair. It was at that moment Wellington discovered that the other man had an audio speaker nestled in the palm of his hand. The Ministry had been working on new methods of covert surveillance, but India, once again, appeared a little more advanced. Peering over Thorp’s shoulder, Wellington could see he had been transcribing something.

“
Yes, sir,” Thorp said, rising so quickly to his feet that he might have been a jack-in-the-box. “How can I help? Does something need to be filed? Sorted?”

“
We have an anomaly in the city, and with all other staff currently engaged at Fort St Paul, it is up to us to investi—”

“
Fan—bloody—TASTIC!” Thorp chuckled gleefully as he threw a switch from underneath his desk. His desktop split in two, scattering papers and pencils everywhere, which seemed to matter very little to him at present.

Wellington looked down to where the desktop had once been and he nearly toppled over.

A pair of Webley-Maxim Mark IIs.

Three Rickies.

Five Firestorms.

Two Mule’s Kicks.

Across the bottom of the weapons compartment, a Lee-Metford-Tesla. Mark V.

“
I was told you were clerical,” Wellington managed.

Agent Thorp was strapping on a belt and immediately holstered a pair of Mavericks. He then released the rifle from its mount, pulled it in close to him, and smiled. “Not today.”

Thorp reached for a Mule’s Kick. “You…can leave that behind,” Wellington said.

“
But it’s standard issue, sir,” he protested.

“
It still needs field testing. Particularly in lessening recoil.”  

Strickland, struggling under the weight of four boxes of different lengths and sizes, appeared in the stairwell. “I’m going to have to assemble the ElectriFlux whist on the way, I’m afraid.”

“
This,” Wellington began, motioning to all the boxes, “is portable?”

“
Portable, by the broadest definition,” Agent Strickland said. The main box of this “portable” array was about five feet long, looked rather heavy, and had a long, thick cable running out of one end. It was not exactly the most inconspicuous of devices, but that was nothing compared with the antenna, also about five feet long and comprised of long pieces of intersecting metal. It looked rather as if a metallic tree had gone quite mad.

“
Right then!” came Thorp’s voice from behind him. Wellington turned to look at the clerical agent who was stuffing Firestarters in his coat pockets. He then threw the Mark V over his shoulder and snapped to Wellington a quick, polished salute.

This is not going to be easy,
Wellington realised, grabbing the last Ricky and stuffing it in his coat pocket. “I suppose we can hail a carriage of some fashion.”

“
No need for a rickshaw, sir,” Strickland said. “There is a horseless carriage downstairs we can use.” She shifted the boxes in her arms and huffed. “A good thing, too, as we won’t have to trawl the streets of Bombay with these things.”

The quaint, old-fashioned name did not give Wellington much hope of high technology, but it was better than the alternative. Walking the streets of the city with a disassembled ElectriFlux would probably get them killed within one block of the office. The parts alone would fetch a few pennies, to be certain. “Very well then,” he said, taking a few of the smaller boxes from their precarious balance in Agent Strickland’s arms. “Let’s see what we have.”

They crossed to Director Maulik’s private lift and rode it back down to the main street level. At least, that was where Wellington believed them to be headed. Thorp flipped two switches attached to the Chadburn, and an alarm buzzed for a few seconds. Their lift reached Ground Floor, and then continued descending. A dimly lit corridor slipped into view, and on reaching this subterranean floor the lift came to a stop. The grate doors collapsed away to reveal a massive garage space illuminated by electrical lights set in the opposing walls. It could easily have housed half a dozen motor cars, or two larger trucks if required. Instead of larger transports or a collection of smaller motorcars, however, this garage housed at this present moment one very odd looking “horseless carriage,” which, by design, was an insult to carriages and horses everywhere. Wellington felt now a real pang for the
Ares
, as he struggled to conclude if it was a small bus, motorcar, tractor, or some unholy conjoining of all three, covered in what looked like metallic warts all over its posterior. If there were any plans for them to arrive inconspicuously, this gigantic, combustion-powered beetle ruined that possibility.

“
Isn’t she beautiful?” Strickland said, still fighting to keep the ElectriFlux box off the ground. “Designed to cover all terrains, armoured for combat, and enough weapons to take on a small army.”

“
Rest assured, Agent Books, the
Bug
could give those House of Usher blokes quite a go,” Thorp said, the tone of admiration evident in his voice.

“
The bug?” Wellington asked.

“
The
Bombay Bug
. That’s what we christened her. Director Smith usually takes her out at night for a shakedown, but never on official business for Her Majesty.”

“
I call the back seat,” Strickland shouted, making Wellington start. “I’ll need room to set up the ElectriFlux.”

“
I’ll stoke the boilers,” Thorp said, giddy as a bride on her nuptial day.

The
Bombay Bug
measured about double the size of the
Ares
. It had treads running down its latter-half, and as the back was mercifully covered, Strickland could rebuild the ElectriFlux in privacy. The closer Wellington drew to it, though, he could see grooves across its bumpy dome. Perhaps there was a way from the driver’s seat to retract it, much like a beetle’s shell parts to allow for flight. If they were in fact running into another clash with the Ghost Rebellion, the
Bombay Bug
might be useful in providing some cover.

Wellington passed the boxes in his arms to Strickland and then climbed up into the driving seat, wincing as he plopped into it. The interior was bare, shafts and levers exposed, very little padding on the iron seat. Once Wellington had levered the door shut—which closed with a
thunk
that could be either regarded as very comforting, or very frightening—the driver and passenger side formed a fully surrounded shell, the only opening being in front of Wellington where a windshield would be. His own
Ares
was a luxury vehicle compared to this. Mounted just above his head was a wide mirror that allowed Wellington the ability to see Agent Strickland in the back seat, diligently reconstructing the ElectriFlux.

Gauges jumped to life. The
Bug
shuddered and rumbled. Thorp then slid up to the passenger side and gave Wellington a nod as his own door slammed shut.

Modern conveniences such as a steering wheel were apparently considered extravagant, as the
Bug
had only installed a more primitive tiller system similar to the rare motor cars he learned to operate in the military. The sequences and rhythms he knew were locked away inside him. He pushed a lever to his right and…

“
Well,” Thorp said, checking his collection of weapons, “are we underway or waiting for the occurrence to come to us?”

He looked over to Strickland, inspecting a component from her ElectriFlux as if she had never seen it before.
If I were Axelrod or Blackwell working on this monster, where would I put the accelerator?
Wellington looked to his left and found a crank wheel. He began turning it towards him, and after a few revolutions something growled underneath them. The
Bug
lurched then, slowly lumbering forward. Thrusting aside ideas of examining the workings under the bonnet, he set himself the task of getting to the docks at all speed, recalling how motor cars operated in Africa but thinking about how eccentric clankertons designed their contraptions. Getting out of the underground garage proved more than a little challenging, but Wellington managed it with no small amount of frustrated facial expressions that he was glad his fellow agents could not see from where they were sitting.