Lazarus Machine, The (A Tweed & Nightingale Adventure): 1 (17 page)

“He's in the room,” said Octavia.

Stepp took the transmitter from her and pushed the trigger down. “Right. Look for an access panel on the Babbages, something you can easily open. That will be the feeder, where they put the punchcards in. See it?”

Tweed stood before the rear wall, looking at the long banks of machines, all of which had access panels and a little sign with an arrow pointing upward saying, “Punchcards this way up.” He pulled a handle on the closest and the whole front section of the machine folded downward. As it lowered to form a sort of table in front of him, a section from inside slid toward him. It was a long rack holding hundreds of punchcards. There was a small, embossed piece of metal on the front of the rack. It said “Bethlem Royal Hospital, London Road—Chelsea and Westminster Hospital, Fulham Road.”

Tweed looked back toward the viewing screens, then pulled the small lever on the front of the framework that held the punchcards. There was a shuffling sound, then a click, and the tray of cards rose up and rolled forward toward Tweed. As it did so, the viewing screens showing images of hospitals flickered and went black.

Tweed quickly pushed the small lever back and the punchcards retracted back inside the machine. The viewing screens flickered back into life.

“Um…there are rather a lot of machines that hold punchcards,” he said. “The one I just opened only deals with spying on hospitals.”

“Then look for one that deals with the Ministry security protocols,” said Stepp. “That's the one we need.”

Tweed started moving along the bank of machines. There was activity in the corridor, shouts, then some sort of hissing noise. A small line of white smoke curled under the door.

Right. They were putting the fire out. He needed to move faster. Tweed quickly pulled open the doors of the machines. Westminster. Downing Street. Interesting, thought Tweed. Spying on the Prime Minister? Piccadilly.

This wasn't what he needed. All these Babbages were dedicated to the Ministry spying on locations throughout London. He wondered how the people being watched would feel if they knew how their privacy was being so systematically abused. He wondered how many times he and Barnaby had appeared on these viewing screens, and whether or not Barnaby knew about them. Had his father picked their home because it was in a blind spot? That was possible. Likely, even.

Tweed finally found what he was looking for. The third bank of machines he inspected all seemed dedicated to the Ministry building itself. Tweed had a sudden, horrible thought. Had they seen him enter the building in the railway station? What if they'd seen them on the tracks and this was all a plot to get them to reveal their plan?

But…Tweed looked at the viewing screens on the walls. The Ministry had to be selective. They couldn't watch every single part of the building. There were likely other rooms like this one, with wall-to-wall viewing screens. But even then, nobody would be able to watch them all at once.

When he opened the fifth machine, he saw that it was labeled, “Security Protocols, Ministry House, Internal.”

“Found it,” he said, reaching out to pull the lever that would bring the tray of punchcards out.

“Don't touch anything yet!” Stepp shouted in his ear.

Tweed froze.

“If you disengage those punchcards all sorts of alarms will go off. Right. That punchcard you made. The sequence I gave you to imprint was the coded address for my Ada. What that means is that when you insert that punchcard inside the Ministry's security protocols, it will piggyback on their systems, transmitting everything that goes on in their security machines to me. But also, and here's the clever bit, allowing me to transmit my own instructions through that punchcard.”

Stepp hadn't actually explained this part of the plan before. “Are you saying you will have complete control of all of the Ministry's Babbage systems?” asked Tweed.

“Not all of them. Just security protocols. Alarms, doors, and
prisons
.”

“That's quite…impressive,” said Tweed.

“I know,” said Stepp. “Now, there's a specific place you need to insert it. You see the little cut taken out of the edge of the punchcard?”

Tweed pulled the card out and saw what Stepp was talking about. Three quarters of the way along the card there was a small oval cut.

“You need to line that up with the ones already inside. That sequence controls the transmission of instructions. That's what I need.”

Tweed bent over the machine and peered inside. He saw the little marks cut out of different places along the edges of the punchcards. Right at the back of the machine were the cards that matched the one he held. He leaned inside and lined them up.

“Got it,” he said.

“Good. Now slip that card inside. It has to be the first in the sequence, so all instructions transmitted into the machine come through my card first.”

Tweed stretched forward with both arms and leaned inside. He flicked gently through the punchcards, then slid the new one inside at the front of the queue. He patted it down until it was perfectly in place, then closed the door on the Babbage.

“Done,” he said, straightening up. “Is that it?”

Octavia's voice came over his earpiece. “You've just snuck into the Ministry, used one of their machines to program a dummy punchcard program that hijacks their security systems, managed to embed it into their machines without being noticed, and you say ‘is that it?’”

Tweed opened his mouth to reply, but Octavia cut him off.

“But since you asked, no it isn't it. You still have to get down to the prison level, remember? Now get a move on.”

Tweed grinned and shook his head. He eyed the automaton arm panels lying on the floor. He was really coming to hate this suit. Nothing else for it though. He strapped them back on, then glanced around, making sure he had left no evidence of his presence.

He cracked the door open, and could hear lots of movement coming from the room across the way, but there was no one in the passage. There was a lot of smoke, though. He quickly slipped into the corridor and retraced his footsteps to the elevator, jabbing at the button to call it back. Chances were someone was going to get suspicious about that fire. He needed to get to the prison level as quickly as possible.

The elevator arrived. He stepped inside and let the doors slide closed again.

“I'm in the elevator,” he said. He leant over and inspected the panel on the wall. There were two floors below the one he was on: 21 and 22. He pushed 22, but nothing happened.

“Stepp, time to do your stuff. I need access to floor 22. I'm in elevator…” he looked around and saw a small panel screwed into the wall next to the roof, “…six.”

“Hang on,” said Stepp's crackly voice in his ear. “Just testing all this out.”

Tweed's stomach twisted as he waited for Stepp to do whatever it was she needed to do. What if it didn't work? After all this?

“Right,” said Stepp. “Try it now.”

Tweed licked his lips and stabbed at the button. The elevator lurched and started to descend.

“I suppose I should see if Barnaby's even logged in their system,” said Stepp.

“Yes, that would be a good idea,” said Tweed. “And don't forget to search for Octavia's mother as well.”

“I won't, I won't. It's all she's been going on about.”

“Hey!” came Octavia's distant voice, still discernible even though she wasn't holding the transmitter.

The prison level was fully automated, so no chance of anyone seeing him. Tweed unclipped the automaton mask and took a huge gulp of fresh air. He took the arm panels off again and wiped his face with his shirt. It didn't do much good. The shirt was soaked through with sweat.

The elevator juddered to a halt. The doors slid slowly open and Tweed found himself staring out into a black metal corridor. The change in appearance was so marked he froze for a second, surveying everything. Small white lights traveled the length of the passage, shining upward and reflecting from the dark walls. The floor was made from smooth grey concrete.

“You're absolutely sure there are no people down here? That it's all automated systems?”

“That's the beauty of having a government that worships technology,”
said Stepp. “They like to take humans out of the equation. Now be quiet while I search for your dad.”

Tweed stepped out of the elevator, stepping over a stain on the floor that looked worryingly like old blood. If he remembered the maps correctly, this level was built like a wheel. This elevator was one of ten that stood in a circle, and the corridor in which Tweed stood was one of the spokes that met at the hub of the central prison shaft.

He hurried along the passage, waiting to hear Stepp's voice again. Hoping it would be good news.

“Hmm,” said Stepp.

“What?” snapped Tweed. “Don't you dare say ‘hmm’ to me, Stepp. I don't want to hear it.”

“Calm down. There's no Barnaby Tweed listed here, but someone
was
brought in the night your dad was kidnapped. I think they used a false name.”

Tweed breathed a sigh of relief. “What do I do?”

“Head on over to the shaft. Time to rescue your dad.”

Stepp typed a few more things on her Ada, then she turned and treated Octavia to a huge smile.

“Octavia.”

“What?” asked Octavia suspiciously.

“Am I correct in assuming you can drive this thing?”

“Uh…I haven't driven this one, but I
can
drive steamcoaches. Why?”

“Well, here's the thing…just check that boiler will you, make sure there's coal in it?”

Octavia used the metal poker to open the boiler door. It was half empty so she filled it up with coal.

“Good. Now just make sure there's enough steam power available.”

“Why—?”

“Please? I'll explain in a moment.”

Octavia clambered through to the front of the carriage and started pumping the lever to work up a head of steam.

“Good,” said Stepp. “Now, the thing is—and don't panic, yes? I anticipated this—the thing is, you know how I piggybacked the Ministry systems and gained access to their security protocols?”

Octavia nodded.

“What that means is that we, and by we I mean this Ada machine, is putting out a very unique signal, a signal that is not supposed to exist outside of that room Tweed was just in.”

“Stepp, what the bloody hell are you trying to say?” shouted Octavia, exasperated.

“What I'm trying to say is that the Ministry can track our location, that they will try to shut us down…” Stepp's eyes widened slightly and she nodded out the front window. “And here they come now.”

Octavia whirled around to see about ten men in black suits sprinting directly toward them.

She let out a yelp and shoved the brake in, mashed down the gear to put the carriage into reverse, and released the steam valve. The carriage lurched backward, jouncing and bounding over the cobbles. Octavia ducked her head, trying to see through the tiny window at the back of the carriage. She collided with a set of dustbins, sending them flying into the air with a terrific clatter, and burst out of the alley directly into traffic.

Octavia yanked up the brake, juddering to a stop. An automaton pulled up short, narrowly avoiding smashing into them. To her left, a driver yanked hard on a horse's reins to avoid colliding with them. The horse reared up, kicking the air and whinnying loudly while the driver shouted and swore at them. Octavia peered through the front window. The Ministry goons were about halfway down the alley.

One of them stopped running and pointed at her. She heard a loud bang, and the front window suddenly sported a hole with cracks radiating from its center.

“They're shooting at us!” she exclaimed.

“Yes, they tend to do that when they're annoyed. Now get us out of here! We need to keep moving.”

Octavia shifted gears and lunged forward into traffic, bumping another automaton out of the way. It veered to the side, struggling to keep its cab upright.

“Sorry!” she shouted at the panicked occupants. “Emergency!”

She weaved into the line of traffic, ignoring the blaring of horns and shouted insults. She glanced over her shoulder but couldn't see any sign of their pursuers. They had lost them. For now.

A second, curved corridor intersected the dark hallway Tweed was using. He turned left into it and kept walking. The circular corridor passed other dark passages like the one that led to the elevator; the other spokes of the wheel.

Tweed eventually came to a door on the right side of the passage. He tried the handle but it was locked.

“Stepp?” he said. “I need access to the prison shaft. Can you open the door?”

There was a pause, then, “Uh…sure thing. Just…hold on a second. Have it done soon.”

Tweed frowned. Why did Stepp sound so distracted? And what was all the noise in the background?

“Everything okay out there?”

“Yes, yes, everything is perfect. Why do you ask?”

“Uh, you just sound a bit…
off
.”

“No, no. Just concentrating. Here you go.”

The door in front of him clicked open. Tweed felt a waft of air against his face, and got the impression of a vast space opening up before him. He stepped forward, finding himself on a huge circular balcony, the floor of which was about twenty feet wide. Separating the balcony into two halves was a bank of Babbages that traveled all the way around the circular gallery.

Tweed walked to the safety railing, his feet echoing loudly in the vast space. He gripped the cold metal and looked down.

The empty shaft was about a hundred feet across. It receded below him into distant darkness. All the way down he could see multiple levels, each with its own balcony and railing that circled around the circumference of the shaft. He counted forty such levels before giving up. Each of them was made up of wall-to-wall prison cells. Bright white lights shone from hidden alcoves, illuminating the metal and steel of the clinical prison, haloes rebounding from the polished surfaces.

The scale was just…immense.

A steady breeze blew up against Tweed's face. In the center of the shaft was a steel pillar. About halfway down, Tweed saw an articulated arm that held a brass cage over the empty void.

“Stepp? There's some sort of arm with a cage attached to it that ferries people down to the cells. Can you call it up for me?”

There was a burst of static, then a shout of, “Not that way! You're heading back toward them! Turn around!”

Tweed frowned. “Songbird? What's going on?”

“Songbird is a bit busy right now,” said Stepp. “Give me a moment and I'll get you moving.”

“
Stepp
! Tell me what's happening!”

“Uh…nothing big. Just that the Ministry is tracking the signals I send into their systems, so we have to keep moving around a bit. That's all.
DUCK
!”

Tweed heard a loud bang, a bang that sounded very much like a gunshot. “Stepp,” he said, worried. “You still there?”

“Still here.
No, not that way. Next time just run them over! I don't care if you don't want to kill someone, I don't want to get shot!
Hey, Tweed, let me just get this…Yes, I see where you are. Here you go.”

The articulated arm below Tweed suddenly drew itself in, pulling the cage close to the shaft, then it slid smoothly up the pillar. The arm spun to Tweed's side of the balcony where it extended the cage directly at him.

The safety railing Tweed leaned against had little chain links that could be unfastened. He unclipped them and stepped into the cage, pulling the trellis door closed.

“I'm on the elevator.”

No sooner had he said the words than the cage swung around and slid downward, the air rushing past Tweed's face. He held on to the door as the arm dropped down ten floors and stopped directly in front of one of the prison cells.

Tweed swallowed nervously, staring at the metal door in front of him. Was this it? Was Barnaby inside that cell?

He opened the cage and undid the chain, stepping on to the metal walkway. There was a panel about halfway up the door. Tweed gripped the handle and slid it aside, revealing a book-sized hole that opened directly into the cell.

There was a man sleeping on a bed shoved up against the wall. His back was facing Tweed, but he recognized that long grey hair anywhere.

He almost sobbed with relief. After all he and Octavia had been through. All the fear, all the uncertainty.

And here he was. Still alive after all.

“Barnaby,” Tweed whispered.

Nothing.

“Barnaby,” he said again, louder this time.

Barnaby stirred in his bed, his head tilting slightly as if he thought he was hearing things.

“Get up you fool. I'm here to rescue you!”

Barnaby whirled around and fell out of his bed. He scrambled to his feet and stared at Tweed in amazement. Tweed had never seen him look so shocked. Under any other circumstances, it might have been amusing.

Barnaby hesitated, then moved slowly forward, as if worried Tweed might vanish before his eyes.

“Tweed?” he said, not even trying to keep the shock from his voice.

“The one and only,” said Tweed with a grin. He couldn't help it. He didn't think he had ever managed to surprise the old man the way he had right now. It was rather a glorious feeling.

“What are you doing here?” whispered Barnaby furiously. “How did you get in? Why—never mind. Sebastian Tweed, I
order
you to leave this installation. Right this minute. Do you hear me? Get out!”

Tweed's grin faded. Interesting reaction. He had expected gratitude. Happiness. Relief.
Pride
, even. Not what appeared to be anger.

“Well, good to see you too,” he said.

“What? Yes, yes. Of course it's good to see you. But you're in danger, you fool. Flee. At once.”

“Do you realize how hard it's been to get in here? If you think I'm leaving without you, you're clearly more insane that I ever thought. Hey,” he said into his transmitter, “how about unlocking his cell?”

“I'm
trying
,” said Stepp. “In fact, I've been trying for the past five minutes.”

Tweed frowned. “Problem?”

“Not sure. The locks aren't responding. Just…let me concentrate.”

“Who are you talking to?” asked Barnaby

“Stepp,” said Tweed.

“You've got
her
involved? Tweed, she's only twelve!”

“Eleven. But I needed her help. Jenny and Carter are here as well. And while we're at it, why the
hell
didn't you tell me you used to work for the Ministry?” demanded Tweed.

Barnaby froze. He stared at Tweed, his face going slack. He stepped away from the door. “How did you find out?”

“Jenny and Carter tracked down someone named Horatio. Said he used to work with you. Is it true?”

Barnaby sighed, rubbing his hands over a face that looked suddenly ten years older. “Aye, son. It's true.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“It was in the past! That wasn't who I was anymore. I wanted to move on, leave that life behind me.” He sighed. “How much do you know?”

“Horatio told me about the Mesmers. About the Ministry's experiments with human souls. How that led to the automata.”

Barnaby laughed bitterly. “That's not even scratching the surface. Horatio left before the bad stuff happened.” He nodded at the lock. “This going to take long?”

“I have absolutely no idea. That's Stepp's department.”

Barnaby nodded. He started to pace in the small cell. “The head of the Ministry is a man named Lucien. He used to be my boss.”

“We know about Lucien,” interrupted Tweed. “We also know Sherlock Holmes is working for him. That he's the one who took you.”

Barnaby waved a hand in the air. “That's not Sherlock Holmes. Well, it is, but not
really
.” Barnaby sighed. “Lucien. It all comes back to Lucien. He's been in charge of the Ministry for over five decades now, using it to gain power, to push his own agenda. Lucien was always obsessed with science, with seeing just how far we could…
prod
nature. Give it a helping hand.” Barnaby ran his fingers through his hair. “About forty years ago, Lucien heard about the work of a man named Viktor Frankenstein. This doctor—if you can call him that—was…
meddling
with nature, trying to create life. When Lucien heard of his research he became obsessed. He thought Frankenstein a visionary. He sent a team of agents to Europe to steal the doctor's research.” Barnaby paused in his pacing. “You understand, I'm not just talking about
normal
research here. Frankenstein was experimenting with
reanimating
corpses, with creating stitch-work people. He succeeded too, if rumors are to be believed.

“But this wasn't what Lucien wanted. He wanted much more. He devoted all of the resources of the Ministry to this work. He extended the research, took it in new directions, took it way beyond what Frankenstein originally intended.”

Barnaby stopped pacing and moved closer to the door. “He
grew
people, Tweed. He created simulacra, perfect copies, brand new human beings from nothing more than a piece of skin, or a clump of hair.”

Tweed's hands fell from the door. He stared at Barnaby in amazement. “He
created
human beings?”

“Quicker than nature could,” said Barnaby. “A thirty-year-old man could be grown in five years. Tweed, this was nothing short of a miracle.”