The Falling Machine (2 page)

Sarah beamed. “You see that, Nathan? There's a woman in charge. We're not all as incapable of critical thought as you seem to think we are.”

The Irishman smiled. “Well, she does give the orders. But it's her husband, Mr. Washington, who writes them down first. Poor man got the sickness down in the Caissons, and now he can barely move.” He looked at Sarah squarely in the eyes. “Yer not one of them suffergettes, are you?”

“Not officially,” She thrust out a white-gloved hand. “My name is Sarah Stanton, Mr. Moloney. Pleased to meet you.”

He shook her hand firmly and stared straight into her eyes. “That's a good grip, Miss Stanton.” The Irishman smiled over at Nathan. “Rope that lass quick, boy, or she'll marry the first man that tames her fire.”

Nathaniel replied with a sniff. “This ‘lass’ is the daughter of Alexander Stanton—the Industrialist—one of the most powerful and respected men in all of New York City, and a founding member of the Paragons. I'd ask that you treat her, and me, with a little more respect.”

For a moment the easy smile vanished from the Irishman's face to be replaced by something darker. “All right, young sir, didn't mean to offend. I'm just here to help you and yers safely up to the top of the tower and…” His word's trailed off as he saw Tom for the first time. “Good Lord!”

Darby nodded to the metal man. “Go ahead and introduce yourself, Tom.”

The mechanical man finished closing the last button of his jacket, then strode forward and held out his hand. Even under the black leather glove the large round lumps at the knuckles clearly revealed that it wasn't a human appendage underneath. “I am called the Automaton…Mr. Moloney. I'm very glad to meet you.”

“Are you now?” Moloney grasped the offered hand gingerly, then pumped Tom's arm quickly up and down. He glanced over his shoulder at Darby. “Does he think he's alive?”

“What Tom thinks or doesn't think is still a matter of some great debate,” the Professor replied. “Most people would say that if he is able to reason then he must be alive. Having both created him and taught him, I'd like to think that's so. At any rate, I'd ask that you treat him with the same respect you'd give me.”

“Cogito, ergo sum
…Mr. Moloney,” the Automaton said.

Barry let go of Tom's hand and then walked away from the group to a pile of tools that sat nearby. “Now I've met a metal man….That'll be something to tell the wife, anyway.”

Darby continued to talk, behind him. “I have some experiments I'd like to run once we reach the top of the tower.”

“We've both got a job to do today.” The Irishman pulled up his large pack, constructed from what appeared to be brass and canvas, and slung it over his back. He wobbled slightly as he heaved it up over his shoulders and buckled its thick leather strap tightly across his chest.

“What's in the pack, Mr. Moloney?” Sir Dennis asked. “Perhaps my mechanical friend here can carry it for you.”

“Thanks sir, but no. These are tools for tomorrow's first shift. I'll be killing two birds with one stone by taking them up to the top of the tower with us.” Moloney walked up to the steps and dropped the rope from the front of the walkway. “Now watch yerrselves. That footbridge is safe, but it can be a bit treacherous if you haven't been up it before.”

The path was constructed from a series of wooden planks four feet across, each suspended from the metal wire strung between the tower and the anchorage. It was a tiny suspension bridge built to aid in the construction of its bigger brother.

The Irishman waved them forward. “All right then, up we go. Keep one hand on the cable at all times, and take it slow. If you watch each and every step you take, you'll be fine.”

With their first step out from the anchorage and onto the footbridge they were already high above the buildings below. “I'd say there's nothing to be scared of, but a bit of fear will do you good up here.”

Sarah and Nathan moved quickly forward, each of them trying to move a little faster than the other, clearly attempting to show the other how fearless and resolute they were.

Darby was more obviously hesitant. After he had walked out and up a hundred feet, a gust of winter wind whipped up around them. The old man's hands instinctively grabbed for his hat, and the walkway swayed beneath his feet as he did so. With one hand already on the wire railing, his other grabbed for it as well, and he dropped his cane. It bounced once, and then began to roll toward the edge of oblivion.

Tom moved forward suddenly and smoothly. Sliding past his creator, he scooped up the stick before it could fall over the edge. His shifting weight rocked the bridge even more.

With his fingers tightly gripping the thin wire, Darby closed his eyes, shook his head, and waited for the world to steady itself. “I've never been much of one for heights, I'm afraid,” he said to no one in particular. “It's a poor trait for a man who has engineered so many devices designed to pierce the sky.”

Tom came up behind him. “Don't worry…Sir Dennis. I have your…cane.”

“Hold onto it, Tom,” Darby said, and then took another long deep breath. He slowly released it as he counted to ten. Over the last decade he had developed an advanced breathing regimen with a specific pattern of inhalation for almost every occasion. His book based on his theories about the different ways that oxygen could be used to reinvigorate the body had sold quite well. It described a technique that he believed would allow a man to stay healthy and whole for a hundred years or more. Darby puffed out the air in his lungs with a final
Breath of Courage.
“Thank you, Tom. I'll be fine in a moment.”

Barry walked back to the two of them. “You and that machine doing all right? The lad and the girl are almost up to the top.”

Darby followed his gaze upward to see them, and then reeled slightly. “We'll be fine, sir, just fine. Tom is simply looking after me, and I'm afraid it's been quite a while since I've had their youthful vigor.”

Moloney flashed him another smile and then tipped his head in their direction. “You just take yer time, Sir Dennis. I wouldn't want to be the man they said was responsible for the fall of a fine genius like yerself.”

Darby took another deep breath, held it quietly for five seconds, and then followed it with a resolute step forward. “Let's go, Mr. Moloney. I'm sure I'll be much steadier once we've made it to the top.” But by the time he reached the tower Darby had gone white as a sheet. He sighed heavily as he stepped off the wooden bridge and onto the relative security of the flat stone platform.

The area at the top was wide open, and free of any obstacles except for a few tall wooden cranes. They were still used to bring materials up and down the sides of the bridge, although the main work of laying the wire over the towers had been completed over a year ago. Only the capstones had yet to be put in place, allowing the wire to settle while the road was hung.

Nathan and Sarah had reached the top well ahead of Sir Dennis, and they were already arguing as he arrived. Her voice grew from a whisper to a controlled shout. “Two years ago they voted on giving women the right to vote in the United States Congress!”

Nathan frowned and let out a harrumph. “Which it failed to pass. Which it will
always
fail to pass,” he continued, waving a finger at her. “And that's because once a woman is married it's the job of the husband to decide what's best for his family, the country, and his
wife.”

She placed her hands on her hips. It was a provocative move in every sense of the word. “Well, I can think for myself, Nathaniel. Should a thinking woman simply exist at the whim of any man who takes a fancy to her?”

The young man pondered her question for a moment. “It clearly isn't good for
anyone
if pretty girls spend their days worrying about money and politics.”

“Well I can promise you, Nathaniel Winthorp, with that attitude you will never need to worry about making those decisions for me.”

He frowned, realizing that he'd gone too far. “I'm sorry, Sarah.” His tone was measured, but clearly angry.

Darby clucked his tongue loudly, grabbing their attention. “That's quite enough from both of you. I won't have this morning ruined by two bickering children.” He rested his hand on Tom's shoulder. “We've been given an opportunity to see the world from an incredible vantage point that few people will ever experience, and I fully expect us
all
to appreciate it.” Scolding them had already put some color back into his cheeks.

Sarah walked over to him. “I'm sorry, Professor. Of course you're correct.” She took a look around her, and her eyes widened as she turned her head. They were high above New York, with a clear view of the city for miles around. Just across the river, the shore of Manhattan was encrusted with docks stuffed to bursting with ships of different shapes and sizes.

Beyond them the city of New York was laid out in a well-ordered maze of streets. In contrast the buildings that defined them were completely random: a jumble of wooden and brick structures of different heights and sizes. The steam and smoke poured into the air from thousands of chimneys—proof that this city no longer slept, and barely even rested on a Sunday. Only the steeple of the Trinity Church on the lower part of the island managed to clearly rise above the riot of human industry, and now they were looking down on it.

Directly below them the East River was crowded with boat traffic. Most of the ships were still the tall-sailed schooners that had transported men and goods from one end of the planet to the other for the past two centuries. But gliding in between them were modern paddleboats and steamers that seemed well on their way to utterly replacing the age of sail with one of steam, with the billowing gray clouds of vapor rising up from their stacks mirroring the city itself.

Sarah grabbed the Professor's arm. “It's truly marvelous, Sir Dennis. It's hard not to feel a bit godlike standing above the world like this.”

“Seeing this humbles me,” Darby countered. “It makes me realize just how many men there are in the world, and what they have managed to create.” He walked over to his metal creation and removed his top hat. “Deploy the camera if you would, Tom.”

Tom walked up to the edge of the tower and then eased his right leg backward. The knee bent at an unnatural angle until it was fully reversed. As he leaned down, his arms extended out on brass rods, reaching down until his hands were flat on the ground.

With his body firmly planted, his porcelain face mask pulled free of the rest of his metal skull and slid downward, revealing the interior of his head to be three brass ovals held apart by metal shafts springing up from his neck. The series of pipe whistles that he used to speak were visible now, along with a camera lens that sat in the center of his forehead.

“That's a wee bit disturbing,” said Mr. Moloney. “How does he see with his face off like that?”

“Tom has a variety of cartridges that I can place into his head. Each one changes how he interacts and samples the environment around him.” Darby's tone had slipped naturally into a teacher's cadence—firm and slightly superior. “So, while he has many ways of understanding the world, ‘seeing’ isn't actually one of them.”

“What's that mean?” asked Barry.

Nathaniel chimed in. “It means that the only reason he
has
a face is so there's something to talk to. But he doesn't actually have any genuine human features. No eyes, nose, mouth…or soul.”

“But,” Darby said loudly, cutting the young man off, “his sense of hearing is something quite extraordinary. It allows him to perceive things around him in ways we do not.”

The Irishman peered a little closer. “Like a bat then…”

“Something like that,” Darby replied, “except he can hear with his entire body, and not just his head.” The inventor turned back to his creation. “I'd like a complete set of photographs, if you would, Tom. And then collect the air samples that we discussed previously.”

“Of course…Sir Dennis.”

“And we're going to be up here for a little bit, so I don't want any more arguing.” He turned to the Irishman. He had slipped off his rucksack and was squatting over it, fiddling with something inside. “Perhaps, if Mr. Moloney here would be so kind, he could tell us about some of his experiences in the construction of this marvel.”

Looking back over his shoulder, Moloney nodded. “If you can give me just a few moments, Sir Dennis, I'm sure I'll be able to tell all of you a few things that you might find quite surprising.”

Nathaniel moved closer to the Professor and tapped his shoulder. “If you have a moment, Sir Dennis—I wanted to ask you about the matter of the improvements to my flying harness.”

Darby frowned. “This is hardly the appropriate time or place to bring that up, Nathaniel. I'm still working on perfecting some of those ideas that we've discussed.” He rubbed his gloved hands together against the cold. “Certainly it would make sense if a way could be found to make the Turbine suit both lighter and stronger. In fact, I've already made a prototype that replaces the main engine, and updates some of the previously stiff elements using some of the same principles of tension and suspension being used on this bridge. It needs testing, but…”

Sarah's voice cut through his speech. “Professor, look….Is that a balloon on the horizon?”

Darby peered up and looked out across the skyline where she was pointing. “I believe you're right, my dear.” A small black circle floated high above the river.

“It must be a hardy soul who would brave the skies in a wicker basket on a cold winter morning like this.” Darby tucked his cane under his arm and reached into the pocket of his coat to pull out a small, leather-bound box. As he opened the lid, a pair of lenses slid up along thin metal rails and locked into place with a satisfying snap. With a quick flick of his wrist the eyepieces extended out into two telescopes. He put the back of the box up to his eyes. “Most peculiar….It's larger than it first appears. The gondola is almost like a boat….It also seems to have a propeller attached….But what powers it? And who designed it?”

Nathaniel tapped his shoulder. “Sir Dennis? If we might, I'd like to continue our conversation.”