With the railway system in disarray, the Admiral’s aide had booked Jonathan passage on a commercial-class dirigible called the Wonderliner, a luxury craft whose owners had dubbed it ‘the city in the sky.’ The vessel was certainly posh—a more pleasant experience than a clipper ship like the Maelstrom—and in Jonathan’s opinion, its marketers had been successful in exaggerating its qualities. There were just shy of sixty passengers aboard, with roughly twice as many staff and crew, for a total population—and square footage, for that matter—falling short of even a small town, let alone a city.
Jonathan had never been the particular sort, though. The staff were pleasant enough, and the environs comfortable. As long as the ship got him to Hemmingshire on time, there was little else that could bother him.
After dropping off his bags in his stateroom, Jonathan took a seat at a table in the lounge to watch out the window as the ship took off. A balding man in bifocals approached him shortly thereafter and asked if the seat across from him was available.
“It’s all yours,” Jonathan said.
“Thaddeus Eggleston,” said the man, extending a hand.
Jonathan shook it and introduced himself in turn.
“What do you do, Jonathan?”
“I’m in between jobs at the moment. Literally. I’m traveling from one job to the next.”
“Let me guess. You’re a salesman.”
“Nope.”
“A day laborer?”
“Wrong again.”
“A soldier.”
“Close enough,” said Jonathan. “I’m a marshal.”
“Ah. I sensed a militaristic air about you. I feel all the safer knowing there’s a marshal aboard this flight.”
“Oh, I’m not here to work,” Jonathan said. “I’m only a passenger, like you.”
“I see.”
“What do you do?” Jonathan asked.
Thaddeus gave him an amused smile. “I am… how shall I say this? Technically, I’m a scientist. Though I consider myself more an inventor, of sorts.”
Jonathan was impressed. “That’s grand. What have you invented?”
“As it happens, I am the man who created the echotargeting heliogoggler,” he said proudly.
“That sounds… complicated.”
Thaddeus shook his head. “It’s quite simple, really. It’s used to process the geospatial properties of elements defined in particulate cryptodynamics. Say, for example, you wanted to mediate a refracted entanglement field without agitating its thermological radiata. All you’d have to do is apply that same refractional waveprint to a previously defined schema, and voila. My invention provides your solution.”
“I don’t… understand,” said Jonathan.
Thaddeus cocked his head. “Let me try it another way.”
“That’s alright, thank you. I’ll take you at your word.”
Silence passed between them for several minutes. The Wonderliner lifted off and began making its way toward the outskirts of Kennicktown. They flew over a gargantuan crater that Jonathan could only assume was a remnant of a recent earthquake, one of the missing chunks of land the news media had dubbed ‘floaters.’
“It’s crazy what’s been happening out there lately, isn’t it?” said Jonathan.
Thaddeus gave him an odd look. “Not very.”
“You don’t find it a bit unsettling that pieces of the planet have been flying off?”
“Not if you consider that we’ve been asking for it for centuries.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well,” said Thaddeus. “You know why it’s happening, naturally.”
“Actually, I don’t. I don’t think anyone does.”
“Surely I can’t be the only one.”
Jonathan was fascinated. “Well go on, then. I’d love to hear your theory.”
Thaddeus thought for a moment. “How can I explain this? Alright, here we go. Imagine an orange. A fat, round, juicy, tropical orange. Now let’s say you want a glass of orange juice, but you can’t destroy the orange to get it. What do you do?”
“It would be impossible to get the juice out without destroying the orange,” said Jonathan.
Thaddeus’s eyes lit up. “Ah, but maybe not. What if you had an empty syringe? You could pierce the skin and suck out the juice with minimal damage to the surface of the orange.”
“Indeed,” said Jonathan. “That’s clever.”
“Now imagine the world as that orange. How do we get our resources? The petrol for our motorcars, and the coal for our steam engines, and the gold for our jewelry, and the natural gas for our street lamps? We extract it, right? We suck it out. Now picture hundreds or thousands of syringes puncturing the orange and extracting the juices. What do you suppose happens to that orange over time?”
“It shrivels up?”
“Precisely. That’s what we’ve been doing to Esperon through ages and ages of extracting these resources. We’ve changed the planet’s internal tension, reducing outward pressure and increasing inward pressure. I assure you, I am no environmentalist. What I know is science, and an orange without juice is, scientifically speaking, a rock. The extraction of so many liquids, gasses, and minerals from within our world has left it in a rather unstable condition.”
“I think you might have something there,” said Jonathan.
“I was unaware it was such an obscure piece of knowledge, as you say.”
“It still doesn’t explain why parcels of land have been flying away.”
“Ah. The mysterious anti-gravitational properties of these runaway tracts. Have you seen any of them up close?”
Jonathan nodded. “I’ve been on a number of them.”
“Have you noticed the reddish veins in the undersides?”
“You know, I have, actually.”
“Those red veins are made of a naturally-existing metal known as dantrium malgori. The stratified mineral formations beneath our planet’s surface are bursting with it. I’ve only just started researching it myself, but I’ve read scientific reports claiming that dantrium malgori takes on abnormal properties when pressurized.”
“Like carbon turned to diamonds,” Jonathan said.
“Well, now, that’s only a theory,” said Thaddeus. “And diamond formation is believed to require thousands of years of constant pressure. With dantrium malgori, it’s different. It’s a trigger. Instantaneous, in most cases. A single pressure event, no matter how brief, can cause these characteristic anomalies, if it’s severe enough.”
“So… the earthquakes are pressurizing the… whatever you call it…”
“Dantrium malgori.”
“Right. It’s the earthquakes that are triggering the metamorphosis.”
“I am of the belief that it’s more cyclical than that. Remember the orange? I believe the planet’s increased inward pressure is causing the earthquakes, which in turn are causing these huge, miles-long veins of dantrium malgori to trigger.”
“Does that mean this metal has been sitting there beneath the surface, just waiting for something like this to happen?”
“Could be,” said Thaddeus. “With time and further research, I’m hoping we can reach a more decisive conclusion on the matter.”
“Aren’t we all at risk, then? Is there any way to stop it?”
“We could put away our syringes,” Thaddeus said. “Leave our motorcars in the garage. Let the street lamps burn out. Stop giving gifts of fancy jewelry. Abandon our steam engines.”
“There’s no way people would ever do those things,” said Jonathan.
Thaddeus shrugged. “Therein lies the rub, my friend.”
Jonathan stared out the window, thinking. What would their world become if this continued to happen? When Jonathan looked at Thaddeus, he too was gazing absently out the window. “Where are you off to, anyway? I assume we’re both bound for the same destination.”
“I’m on my way to meet with a potential new investor,” Thaddeus said. “I require funding for the next several months of my research.”
“Into the cause of the earthquakes?”
“Oh, no. Research for my latest invention.”
Jonathan dare not ask, but Thaddeus seemed intent on telling him anyway.
“It’s rather ingenious, really. I’m working on a device that makes toast.”
“Like a toaster?”
“Not at all. Instead of bread, you can put whatever you want inside, and my invention will toast it. It can literally toast anything. I haven’t come up with a good name for it yet. That’s still in the works. I was considering ‘the browning station.’ What do you think?”
“Sounds like something you’d find in a bathroom.”
Thaddeus frowned. “Sod it all. You’re right. Well, at least the idea is solid. I knew it had to be something no one has, but that once they used it they’d never be able to live without it again. It’s sure to be a hit. All I need now are several million chips to see my prototype to completion.”
“A toaster that costs several million chips?”
“Not the device itself. Mostly it’s the time and study that goes into it.”
Jonathan thought the idea sounded terrible, but he gave a pleasant smile and turned his attention back toward the window.
“As I figure it, the sorts of people who support me are either so wealthy they don’t know what else to do with their money, or they’re on hard times and need an investment that will pay off for them.”
“How did your… goggle… thingy… do for your investors?”
“The echotargeting heliogoggler? It hasn’t quite caught on yet. Once the world discovers the marvels of the technology, I’ve no doubt they’ll be lining up.”
“I’m sure.”
“The bloke I’m meeting with today is lucky I found him when I did. He’ll see a tenfold increase in his investment in as many years.”
“That is lucky,” said Jonathan.
“Even more so because he’s in dire straits. Chap who inherited a failing railroad business from his father, or somesuch.”
Jonathan froze. “Wait a minute. What’s his name?”
“Atlas. Attenborough. Atom. At—”
“Atwell?”
“That’s the ticket.”
“You’re meeting with Alexander Atwell? To try and sell him on that toaster thing?”
“Yes. No. It’s not a toaster.”
“Where are you meeting him?”
“Numeaut’s, for supper.”
Jonathan was supposed to report to the Earl of Hemmingshire and his staff three days from now at eight o’clock in the evening. The Wonderliner was scheduled to land at five-thirty that same afternoon. “I’ll accompany you, if you don’t mind.”
Thaddeus leaned forward, frowning. “May I ask why?”
“Not likely. I’ll find you when we debark on the last day.” Jonathan stood and checked his pocket watch.
“Is there some reason for your sudden departure? Have I said something to upset you?”
Jonathan smiled stiffly. “Not at all. Good evening. I’m sure we’ll see one another again.” He left the lounge in haste, stewing over what this inventor would do to Alex’s remaining fortune if he didn’t get there in time to warn him. When Alex heard Eggleston’s pitch, Jonathan was sure he would smile, nod, and politely hand over everything he had left. Until the Wonderliner touched ground again, Jonathan would be watching Thaddeus Eggleston. It was up to him, it seemed, to save his best friend from making the biggest mistake of his life.
***
Isaak Morrison took a job stocking shelves at a grocer in downtown Roathea. He moved into a two-room apartment in a tenement across town, which he shared with three other men. He walked most days to save on bus fare, and stockpiled his spare earnings in an empty soup can with a torn label. As soon as he could afford paper and postage, he began sending letters to various prior business acquaintances. His letters were always cordial and pleasant, but in the end they all bore the same purpose: to ask for information as to the whereabouts of Poleax Longworth.
It was a long time before Isaak heard back from anyone. The first few letters took weeks to reach him, and they all carried the same sad reply: no one had spoken to Poleax Longworth since the cotton company went under years ago.
Then Morrison’s luck changed; his first glimmer of hope came not in the form of a letter, but a visitor.
“Are you Isaak Morrison?” asked the well-dressed gentleman who showed up at Morrison’s door one night while he was preparing for bed.
“Do we know each other?” Morrison asked cautiously.
“No, but I very much hope we shall soon,” said the man. “I understand you’ve been taken for a ride by Mr. Longworth.”
Isaak smiled. “Quite a ride. Do I take that to mean the same fate has befallen you? Mr.…”
“Terrence Strachman,” he replied. They shook hands. “Let’s not confuse things, Isaak. It isn’t fate which has befallen us. It’s Poleax Longworth. And he is decidedly easier to deal with.”