Alien Devices: Tesla joins crew to prevent alien zombie apocalypse (The Secret War Book 2) (4 page)

Chapter 4

A
bigail calmed her shaking hands by sheer
force of will before entering the private dining room
. Her emotions were
still in a turmoil. While the strange woman's attack had been horrible enough,
her own reaction shook her to the core. She had wanted to kill the evil smiling
bitch, kill her horribly. She'd always been of a 'high temperament' as Mrs. M
would put it, but this was something different.

The fact that somehow Abigail had not killed made little
difference to her; she had wanted to. She'd wanted to do such violence that her
attacker expired painfully. She still did. What did that say about her, she thought
to herself ruefully. Was she a Royal Scholar or a frustrated killer? More to
the point, she thought with irritation, why hadn't she killed the snarling dolly
mop?  Abigail had checked the weapon as best she could. It seemed to be
functional. She was certain that Saira would never have allowed a defective
weapon into her hands in any case. How was it then that the deadly electric
bolts had not killed the woman instantly?

It was another issue that Abigail could not examine at the
moment. She placed it in a corner of her mind with the other issues the attack
raised, such as who, how, and why. Her mind was awhirl, and she could barely
stop her hands from shaking.  Abigail wanted nothing so much as to curl up
around a bottle of brandy until the shaking stopped. However, that noisome
secretary, Preemus, would become suspicious should she not join him. She could
not risk official questions, not when she was here to meet her father. Besides
he had promised to provide her with information about her father.  

She had attended to the cut on her cheek, hiding it as best she
could with cosmetics. There was little choice but to re-don her travel dress;
hairpins and hat hid a multitude of sins regarding her hair. She had also made
sure that her pistol was secured to her thigh, and that it could be easily
drawn through the slit in her skirts.

Preemus stood as she entered the room. Taking a deep breath,
she smiled at him. The man gave a courtly nod of his head in greeting.

“Lady Abigail, thank you for joining me.” He gestured at the
table covered with elegantly arranged food and bone china dishes. “As it is
almost eleven, I took the liberty of ordering for us both. I hope there is
something here that will appeal to you.”

Abigail allowed him to hold the chair for her as she sat. She
placed the map case on the floor between her feet, where she could reach it.
After the attack, she didn't want it to leave it unguarded. To her surprise
Preemus actually poured tea for her.

“The Farthingale blends an excellent breakfast tea,” he was
saying. “White?” he lifted a pitcher. She nodded. “By the way, is that a map
case you have with you?” He asked, sitting down across from her.

Abigail scented the array of savory food before her and
suddenly realized that she was starving. As she reached for some toast from the
rack, she gave the reply that she had come up with to explain the case. She
absently buttered the toast, adding fragrant berry conserve.

“Yes, or so I am told,” she said. “They are quite the fashion
in London this season, much sturdier than a handbag.” She arranged some cold
meats and tiny hot rolls on her plate. Her hands only shook slightly now.

“Really?” Preemus remarked mildly. “I am afraid that I do not
keep up with the latest fashions back home. Here,” he lifted a plate towards
her. “You should try these, dim sum they are called.”

She took one from the plate. “Yes I know, the cook on the Wind
Dancer made something like these.”

“Ah yes, the Wind Dancer.” Preemus said. He added selections to
his own plate. After a few moments of quiet eating, he spoke again. “I am sure
that there must be a fascinating story behind how a Royal Scholar came to
arrive here on an infamous mercenary airship.” Abigail lowered her knife and
fork. The dim sum was not nearly as good as Wu's.

“Infamous?” She asked. While the crew might be a bit roguish,
she had not discovered anything illegal about their activities.  “In what sense
do you mean that, Mr. Preemus?”

“Perhaps I should have said 'famous',” he replied with a shrug,
still paying attention to his food. “There are not many mercenaries captained
by a Redman in this part of the world, you know. Let alone one that rescued the
Australian Southern Cross vessel from air raiders single-handedly.”

“Indeed? I do not know many of their other exploits.” She
replied steadily. The food was having a restorative effect. She no longer felt
as shaken. She paused to sip some of the tea. Preemus had been right about it.
It was bracing.

“Ah, yes,” Preemus looked at her. “If I might inquire, how did
you come to be on the ship if you know so little of them then?”

Abigail began to tell him her story, being careful to make no
mention of the matter that had brought both her father and her to China.  The
two of them had searched for the secret of the Invaders power generation for
years, searching fruitlessly for an intact system. Now that he may have
succeeded, it could be construed by some as a violation of the National Science
Act for her father not to have reported the find to Her Majesty's government
immediately. Therefore, she was not going to bring it to the attention of a
Crown official now, particularly one she did not know.

By the time she had finished telling him of her adventures,
they had progressed from the savories to the sweets. Preemus poured more tea
for them both, then settled back in his chair.

“Shocking, Lady Abigail, most shocking,” he said with a small shake
of his head. “May I express my admiration of your courage and fortitude, My
lady.”

“Thank you,” Abigail replied. “It is as nothing.” Not when
compared to shooting a crazed assassin in your underwear, she thought. She had
mentioned nothing of the attack; something told her not to.  “If the crew of the
Wind Dancer had not succored me, I shudder to contemplate my fate.”

“Quite so,” Preemus agreed. “And so here you are.” He spread
his hands.

“And so here I am,” Abigail agreed. She sat her cup down,
turning to face the man squarely. “While I do appreciate the meal, Mr. Preemus,
you promised me information about my father that 'would be to my advantage' I
believe you said.”

“Ah yes,” Preemus sat his own cup down. “Do you know where your
father currently is Lady Hadley?” Abigail raised an eyebrow at him.

“I thought that was something you were going to tell me, Mr.
Preemus,” she replied archly.

“I am quite aware that you have been careful not to mention
your reasons for being here in China Lady Abigail,” He smiled thinly as Abigail
stiffened. He leaned towards her confidentially. “A friend of mine answered a
call for help from Lord Robert recently. He was also secretive as to the
reasons. Now both your father and my friend are not to be found. If you know
where they are, I would advise you to tell me.” Preemus looked at her, his grey
eyes now grown cold as chips of granite.

“I know nothing of this 'friend' you mention,” Abigail replied
with a frowned. “Nor do I know the whereabouts of my father.”

“Do you not?” Preemus pressed. “No secret messages? No planned rendezvous?
The time for games is past Lady Abigail. I believe that both my friend and your
father may be in grave danger.”

“I tell you I know nothing,” Abigail retorted angrily.

They were interrupted by a soft knock on the dining room door.
Abigail slid her hand towards her thigh, while noticing that Preemus' right
hand moved to hover near the opening of his coat.

“Yes, what is it?” Preemus called out crossly. The door opened
to reveal the stalwart Charles, his oriental face carefully bland.

“Please forgive the intrusion,” he said with a bow. “I have two
. . . persons outside claiming that they have a trunk for Lady Hadley from the
airship Wind Dancer. They insist that they must surrender it to her personally.”
Abigail thought furiously for a moment. Perhaps Captain Will or Saira would be
willing to help her. She certainly felt she needed help after the attack.

“Very well, Charles,” she said calmly. “Please ask them to
wait. I shall be there presently.” The man nodded, closing the door as he left.
Abigail casually turned back to Preemus.

“As I was about to say,” she pounced, “if I did know such
things why should I tell you, Mr. Preemus? You claim that my father is in
danger. How do I know that he is not in danger from you? Who are you, sir? And
who is this mysterious 'friend'? And do not take me for a simpleton, and say
that you are merely the Governors secretary. I doubt that the position requires
you to go armed.” She glanced pointedly at his right hand. “I doubt it very
much, sir.” Preemus moved his right hand away from his coat, looking
momentarily chagrined.

“You might be surprised what is required of a secretary in a
place such as Hong Kong, Lady Abigail,” Preemus retorted somewhat sharply. He leaned
back comfortably.

“You ask blunt questions My Lady, I shall be equally blunt,” he
said shortly. “You are treading in deep waters here. Hong Kong is not
Cambridge. While your tale reveals that you are a woman of extraordinary
mettle, I submit that these matters are beyond you. There comes a time, Lady
Abigail, when you must decide whom to trust. I ask you to trust me.” He said
this last with a sincerity she almost believed.

Abigail studied him. He was a striking man for his age, and was
likely accustomed to women swooning at his lightest word. Her time among the
crew of the Wind Dancer had taught her to look beyond mere words and
appearances however. He had the air of a dangerous man. He also appeared to be practiced
at subterfuge. 

The man she was talking to now acted nothing like the nebbish
she'd met in the foyer. Which was the true man? She waited for him to answer
her questions, saying nothing to him. When the silence began to stretch out,
she grabbed the map case and moved to the window. Preemus rose to his feet as
if to join her. He was the essence of all that she'd been taught to trust;
handsome, mature, a man comfortable in his authority, and definitely British,
Abigail thought. 

She realized however, that she did not trust him. His arrogant
silence only confirmed her certainty. Instead, what came to her mind were the
images of a dark-skinned man with long braids and an even darker-skinned woman,
both dressed in the rag-tag clothes of air devils. Though she knew they would
both laugh at her characterization of them, they were true. They, she knew, she
could trust.   

“I see that you do take me for a simpleton,” she said to
Preemus coldly. “You ask questions while answering none. You trick me here with
promises of information, and then ask me to trust you. The last time I trusted
an Englishman I awoke on a stinking slave vessel. I think not this time; thank
you.”

“Lady Abigail,” Preemus held out his hand towards her as if to
beseech her.

“What?” She snapped before he could continue his plea. “Will
you now say that there are 'matters of which I have no knowledge'? That there
are 'secrets that you may not speak' but if I will only place my trust in you
all will be right by God and Queen?” She tossed her head at him.  “Really sir,
the ‘penny-dreadfuls’ could do better. If you are indeed a Queen's officer of
some kind, you will either offer me what aid I require, or detain me now. Which
is it to be, sir?” She saw his eyes flash with emotion, but he remained silent.
Abigail waited for another response from him.

“Neither?” She observed after a moments pause in which he did
not reply. She tossed her head again. 

“I thought not,” Lady Hadley finished. “Good day to you, sir.”

With that she strode from the room, back straight with a
courage that she did not feel. She hoped that the men who'd brought her trunk
could get her to the Wind Dancer. The man she’d just turned her back on was
right in one regard; she was in very deep waters.

Chapter 5

W
illiam Hunting Owl noted with approval that
Rogers had posted guards and that the passenger hatch closed as he started
across the sky bridge towards Wind Dancer.
While the ride back had been
uneventful, he was extraordinarily unhappy about the need to leave Georgios and
Tiku behind. The doctors had assured him that the wounded Greek would be able
to travel later that day, but that they thought it wise for him to rest some
first. Saira had wanted to remain behind with him, but Will had overruled it.
If there was going to be more fighting, he would need Saira with him. Tiku had
volunteered to stay instead. By the time they had walked across the docking
bridge, the hatch was open with Lawrence Rogers standing in its shadow.

 “Welcome back, Captain,” his first officer greeted him. Will
gave him a tired smile. Rogers stood aside to allow him to enter. As was usual,
the First Officer and Saira, the Arms Master, merely exchanged silent nods. 

“Glad to be back,” Will responded. “How goes the ship?” As he
started walking towards the bridge; Rogers fell in beside him.

“The ship stands well,” Rogers reported. “There's been no sign
of trouble here. After your Aetherwave, I thought it wise to place the ship on
hostile-landing stations. Lift gas and water are replenished.  We could grab
sky in ten minutes if needed.” He paused as they walked. Giorgios and Tiku?” Will
asked.

“Doctors say Giorgios will likely live, but needs to sit for a
spell,” Will replied. “We will want to send a party to return with them later
today. The rest can wait until my day cabin.” Rogers nodded, and cleared his
throat. 

“About that. . . Lady Hadley has returned to the ship,” Rogers
said. “She has an interesting story that I believe you will want to hear. I put
her in your day cabin.” Will gave Rogers a searching look.

“A 'story' eh? It must be a damned good one.” They reached the
next deck and walked towards the bridge hatchway which was also flanked by
armed crewmen.

“Oh, it is,” Rogers assured him. “I believe that it concerns an
old friend of Them.”  Will swore under his breath at Rogers' use of their
private code word for the black raiders.

“Well,” Will observed, “This day keeps getting more
interesting.”  

“Who is the new addition?” Rogers nodded his head towards Guang
who was following along beside Saira.

“Name is Guang. He's An Fong’s man,” Will replied.  “We appear
to have a new ally in old Fong. There's a story there too.”

“Does 'ally' mean he joins us in the debrief too?” Rogers
inquired. Will frowned at this question as they entered the bridge.

“Don't see as how I can keep him out of it,” the Captain
answered.

“Wonderful,” Rogers observed dryly. “The day does continue to
improve.” Yoshi turned at their entrance from where he stood near the chart
table.

“Captain on the bridge!” he sang out. This was followed by a
chorus of voices giving greetings.

“Belay that, Yoshi,” Will said. “You have the bridge. Maintain
hostile-landing stations. We will be in my day cabin.” He grinned around the
bridge and gave a wave of his hand, “Good to see you all too. Carry on.”

Entering his cabin, he saw Abigail seated across the desk from
his chair, nursing a cup of tea. She looked as if she'd been through hell. She
sprang up upon seeing him.   Part of him was glad at the way her face lit up,
but fair greetings would have to wait, he decided.

“Lady Hadley,” he said before she could speak. “I'm glad to see
you. Please sit down everybody.” He suited words to action, and slumped into
the wicker chair behind his desk. While the others were finding their seats, he
continued to speak to Abigail.  “Rogers here is saying that you have a story to
tell. If he is right, I think that it has bearing on our current business. If
you would not mind telling it to us all I would appreciate it. I think that you
know everyone except our new ally here.” He saw Abigail compose herself as she
sat down again. Picking up her tea cup she spoke to him over the rim.

“Captain Hunting Owl,” she replied, looking at Guang
cautiously. “I am not sure what your current 'business' is. I am here to ask
for your aid on a matter regarding my father. Frankly, I am not sure who else
to trust.” She searched Will's face for what else to say. Will returned her
regard, his face softening in sympathy.

“Abigail,” he said soothingly. “If we can help you, we will do
our best. I cannot promise more than that until I know more.” He saw the
gratitude in her eyes. Hunting Owl then swung around to look at Guang.

“Guang,” he said bluntly. “Your boss set you on us. You can
stay if you can promise that you'll only report to An Fong whatever bears on
our mutual goals. Everything else you hear and see is private. Everything. You
can't promise that, you wait outside.” Guang looked at him in surprise.

“You would trust my word on this?” He asked incredulously. 

“Until I have reason not to, yep,” Will looked him straight in
the eyes. “And you don't ever want to give me a reason not to, believe me on
that.” Guang met his eyes steadily.

“Yes, I can see that,” Guang replied. He spoke thoughtfully. “I
owe An Fong a great debt, and will not be silent on anything that may harm him
or his House. Beyond that, I will swear to keep silent on other matters. But
you must trust my judgment on this, or I will leave.” 

Saira gave Will her hand sign that Guang was telling the truth,
not that Will needed it in this case. He wasn't a bad judge of people himself;
he could tell that Guang was sincere. He inclined his head towards Guang.

“I can accept that oath,” Hunting Owl allowed. Guang bowed with
his hands clasped in front of him.

“Then I do so swear, Captain Hunting Owl.” He turned to Abigail
and bowed deeper. “Beautiful lady, I am called Guang.  For your trust in this,
I vow to aid you with your father in any manner that I may.” Abigail looked at
the Chinese man in his Western suit in astonishment.

“Thank you Mr. Guang,” Abigail said. “I am called Lady Abigail
Hadley. You may call me Lady Abigail. I welcome your aid, if Captain Hunting
Owl thinks it appropriate.” She looked at Will, who nodded his approval of her
words.

Guang bowed deeper towards he and sat down again.

“Now that's settled,” Will said, satisfied. He turned to his
First Officer. “Lawrence, I take it that you've already heard Lady Hadley's
story. Would you mind sending for some food while she starts? I see that she
could use some more tea and it's been a long time since morning for us.” Rogers
stirred himself from where he was leaning against the cabin door.

“Of course, Captain.” He slipped out the door. Will turned back
to Abigail.

“Feel up to telling us what you told Rogers?” Will looked at
her, and leaned back in his chair.  Abigail finished her cup and set it on the
corner of the desk with shaking fingers.

“I hardly know where to begin,” Abigail said. Saira spoke up
for the first time having sat in the chair next to hers.

“This is what is called a 'debrief' Abigail,” Saira explained
with a gentle smile. “Start at the beginning and tell us all you can. There is
no telling what might be important. It is good to see you again,” she finished.
Abigail briefly returned her smile.

“Good to see you as well,” she replied. Abigail took a breath. “Right
then,” she started, “I arrived at the Hotel Farthingale. . .”

Rogers re-entered the room while Abigail was speaking, and a
large platter of food and plates arrived to sit on the Captains desk. Quietly,
Saira, Will, and Guang gathered food from the platter while Lady Hadley
talked.  

“I decided to come back to the ship; I rode back here with Mr.
Jarro and Mr. Stokes,” Abigail concluded. Will lifted a teapot, and she
gratefully held out her cup while he poured for her.

“You did fine, Abigail, damned fine.” He picked up a mug and
filled it for himself.

“I did ask our Mr. McGuire to run some inquiries,” Rogers
volunteered from where he stood near the cabin door. “It seems that Lady
Hadley's Mr. Preemus is indeed listed as the Governor-General's secretary. What
may be of note is that he only assumed the post last week.” Hunting Owl looked
up at that

“Last week, eh?” Will commented. “Somehow, I am not surprised;
he would be a fool to claim something like that falsely. It's way too easy to
check. The timing though says that Abigail is right and he's likely no brown nose.”
He shook his head as if to clear it. “We do not know enough to figure his game
yet. But we have to watch out for him. That leaves us with her attacker.”  

“Petrov,” Saira snarled into the momentary silence. She made it
sound like a curse. Will nodded, taking a drink form his tea mug.

“That is what I was thinking,” he said, agreeing with his Arms
Master. He sighed wearily. “This day just keeps getting more interesting.”

“You know her?” Abigail asked.

“Oh yes, I believe we do,” Will smiled at her tightly. “Illiya
Petrov is an agent for the Okhranka, Imperial Russian Intelligence. We have
crossed paths before. Pity that you missed her when you shot.”

“I did not miss,” Abigail exclaimed with some indignation. “I
shot her! Twice! The first shot the muzzle was pressed directly against her,
the second she was no farther away than Mr. Rogers is now!” She pointed to
where the First Officer stood near the cabin door.

“Then you must have been mistaken about the selector switch,”
Rogers said gently. “In the heat of combat, you would not have been the first
to make that mistake. Petrov is a damned hearty one, she could likely take two
shots of 'knock-down'. The Okhranka don't use the faint hearted, as we well
know.”    

“She is a demon-hearted piece of dung that sleeps with pigs,”
Saira snarled.

“Probably so,” Will agreed, looking at Saira. “What we haven't
had time to brief you on is that Lawrence and I believe that she not only works
for the Bears, but may also be involved in that little business I was talking
about with you earlier.” Saira hissed and rocked back in her chair. She stared
off into space thinking. After a few moments she nodded.

“Yes. That makes sense of some things,” Saira said softly.” She
focused her gaze on Will, “I understand why you did not tell me sooner, but I am
glad that you have now. As I said before, we will find and kill them all. I ask
only that I may claim the death of the demon bitch for myself.”

 “Before we start killing people, what does this 'Petrov' have
to do with my father and myself?” Abigail demanded. Will looked up at her from
the sandwich he had started to eat.

“That is a mighty good question,” Hunting Owl allowed. “I am
thinking that you could maybe answer that better than me, Lady Hadley. We
cannot help you very effectively if we do not know what you and your father are
really doing here. I am afraid that power surveys do not attract killer agents
of the Russians.” He raised his eyebrows at the Scholar.   Saira placed her
chopsticks in her bowl.

“You must tell all, Abigail,” Saira said meaningfully. Rogers
cleared his throat.

“Much as I dislike having to agree with Brighton, I must concur,
Milady,” Rogers said. “Whatever you are doing, I promise you that we can aid
you much better if we know the reason Petrov might be interested in you.” Abigail
sipped her tea for a moment, then set it on the table. Placing her hands in her
lap she took a deep breath.

“My Father was an aide of the original Gibraltar Group during
the War,” she said. “I assume that we all are aware what that was?”

“Even in China we have heard of the Gibraltar Group, Lady
Hadley,” Guang smiled. 

Various nods greeted his statement. Everyone in the world had
heard of the twelve great savants and their assistants laboring away in their
secret lair in the Mediterranean mountain fortress of Gibraltar to save the
world from the Invaders. It was only by their fruits that mankind had been
saved. Abigail continued speaking at this.

“Yes,” she said with a nod. “Well, Lord Hadley was not a
savant, but he made his contribution. He was part of the project that sought to
answer the question of how the Invaders powered their walking war machines.
They were hunting not only for weaknesses, but for the actual process the
Invaders used. It would have made enormous difference in the building of our
own airships for example.”

“They used some kind of Tesla engine?” Rogers asked from by the
door.

“No Mr. Rogers, decidedly not,” Abigail shook her head
vehemently. “While that is the means we decided on for our own uses, the earth
potential, or Tellurian energy as we term it, tapped by a Tesla engine, is far
too limited in its power. Even were they made much more efficient than they
currently are, a single walker could not hold all the engines that would be
needed to make the walker work. You see, when the calculations add in not only
the energy that must be expended to power the movement of such a huge vehicle,
but also the power to generate weapons such as the heat ray,” she paused. “Let
me provide an illustration.” She began using her hands in graceful motions to
emphasize her words as she spoke. 

“Grant that a single Series Four Tesla engine provides as much
electricity in one hour as a coal plant does in twelve,” she said. “This is a
standard measurement we are all familiar with yes?” Will nodded, and Abigail
noticed that beside Rogers, the others all nodded more slowly as they absorbed
her words. She wondered how you could live in the modern world and not know
such things, but it was always best to be sure.  Abigail went on, “The
calculations of my father's team prove that a single Spider must use the power
of one thousand Series Four Tesla engines an hour.”

“How is that even possible?” Rogers blurted out. Abigail nodded
at him.