Chapter 1: City of Steam

Wilhundt sits back for a moment, takes a measured breath, and another. "You are right of course." He examines the work he has done, wishing he had had time to think through this more. He can see that some of the wires have sepelarated again. He needs something to aid in holding them. Why hadn't he prepared something ahead of time to aid with connecting the wires? A bit of brass tubing, cut into short sections would be ideal. He has his pliers, which he could crimp with, but not the tubing. He thinks about the bullets in his gun. No, there still may be a need for all the shells he has prepared. Best not dissassemble any unless it's a last resort.

Henry, do you have any brass pipettes in your medicine bag? Or, barring that, I might also be able to use a bit of rubber tube around the wire ends to hold them together. A bulb or two from a medicine dropper would do perhaps."

Wilhundt knows that he's been in such situations before -- head stuck inside a panel, looking at bits of colored wires. He traces one of the wires back to another part inside the panel, and in the difficult light of the lantern over his shoulder, he can see it. A wire, attacked to another panel. And whoever built it had removed the colored sheath from the end of the wire. The excitement of the moment causes him to bonk his head inside the panel, but he ignores the momentary pain.

With his fingernails, he hurriedly begins stripping the ends of the wires, his heart pounding in his chest. He twists wires together -- red to red, blue to blue, black to black...

With the eighth and final connection, the wires spark. Hughes can hear the quick zap. A quick intake of breath from Wilhundt tells Holmes that something has changed. Indeed, a faint red glow emanates from the red disk. Fully connected by its eight wires, it now dangles near the opening in the pedestal. But before he can decide whether to mount the disk inside the panel, a whitish light begins to grow inside the cylinder. Along the ceiling and floor of the cylinder, strips of light illuminate the interior -- and no doubt, with the door wide open, out the front of the cylinder.

Fritz and Samar's jaws agape, they witness an oval-shaped white light from the cylinder that now projects onto the large front door of the warehouse.

"Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit"Henry, unaccustomed to hearing profanity pass Wilhundt's lips quickly turns his focus to Wilhundt. "If you see any button or switch that might turn off those lights, tell me!" Wilhundt scans the panel top for anything that says on or off or lights, knowing time is urgent.  They must either douse those lights NOW or get everyone inside and hope this thing can bust through the door, or roof or whatever. Having tested it's metal with his tools on the last visit, he has strong faith that they probably need not open the warehouse doors.

"FRITZ! SAMAR!  I HOPE EVERYONE PACKED EVERYTHING THEY WANT FOR THIS ADVENTURE! WE NEED THAT DOOR OPEN NOW! OR COME JOIN US IN THE SHIP! THE CHOICE IS YOURS!"

Henry, we need to be ready to close that hatch. surely there is something inside that will do that.
Perhaps on this panel as well, but perhaps not.  I will familiarize myself with the panel here, did anything else inside change when the lights came on?

NM loking Henry, it is right here. Open, Close, Dock, and we now have our Launch.


WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING OUT THERE! WE NEED TO GO!

Quickly stepping outside the machine, Dr. Holmes grabs his cane and bag off the floor."Samar! Fritz! Don't worry about the door. We'll make one. Time to go!"
Henry steps back inside. He sets his things down on the floor and prepares to pull the door shut once everyone is inside.

Samar had imagined this moment, and that with it a flood of memories would tell her why she was on this planet, . . .would remind her what her purpose in life was.

But it was not the past that called to Samar in that moment. Nor was it the future.

Samar slid her knife back in her boot and started walking, and then jogging towards the ship. She touched the door of the ship - This was real! This was happening!

Samar ducked into the ship, climbed around Varyu in the chair, and hunched herself down on the floor on the other side, just taking it all in. The present. The moment. The freedom to roll her own dice, to live her own life, whatever her past was. That is what she would take from being trapped in this alternate identity: the freedom to continually decide for herself who she was.

Samar Wynne locked eyes with Captain Varyu. She thought of Mr. Davies and Miss Leicester. And then she did not.

"Let's haul ass."

Wha-? Go'n? Where? Tin can's gonna work?!?

Fritz takes a quick swig from his flask and runs towards whitey, holding his hat, patting his pockets to make sure all his various items are accounted for, he slips into the ship, winking at the doc.

'guess we're gonna see if it works, eh?

Fritz grabs something to steady himself.

" I got the door Doc, might want to sit down.

With his 3 friends finding a piece of floor to occupy, Wilhundt depresses the button marked 'close' and waits for the hiss of the door seal. As much as driving the ram had been familiar yet somehow foreign to him, he now feels the opposite. This should be completely foreign, yet he feels, and knows, that this is what he was born to do. Wondering if he will ever regain full recollection of his previous life, he sits at the ready, heart racing, one hand holding the loose panel with the still unmounted launch button, the other, ready to activate it.

The moment after Wilhundt Varyu presses the button seems interminable, but fewer than two seconds pass before a disembodied voice -- neither masculine nor feminine -- intones evenly,

"Launch sequence: active. Control systems: nominal. Commencing engine start."

A faint vibration hums through the floor. The humming begins to grow slowly, steadily.

"Commencing safety checks. Power systems: nominal. Engine balance: within acceptable parameters. Atmospheric integrity: within acceptable parameters. Checking flight path:"

There is a pause.

"Checking flight path.....flight path failure detected. Launch sequence. aborted."

The humming begins to fade, though the lights inside remain steady. The voice speaks no more.

"Frack... Fritz, I am afraid we are going to need your skills to open that door after all. Samar, I would feel better if your knife skills were watching his back while he does so. I'm concerned by the amount of light this thing is casting. If anyone thinks it would be better or faster, I can attempt to shoot the latch out from the inside, I'm just concerned if that fails after the noise that will make."

Wilhundt presses the open button on the console.

I shouldn't have called them back so quickly. I've put this whole adventureat risk now.


Wilhundt fingers his hunting rifle nervously as, again, the 2 seconds it takes the hatch to open feels like an eternity.

Hatch open, he steps out, listening intently for sounds outside the warehouse.

Hopeing that the fog has muffled both this infernal light as well as the noise of the craft's humm as it briefly readied itself for flight.

After a hurried and quiet conversation, the group agrees that Fritz should take a peek out the side door.

He moves to the door as quietly as he can, and gives the door a gentle push, just enough to peer around the edge of the door. Looking toward the back of the building, there's nothing of note, just darkness and fog. To his right, looking towards the street, the glow of the street light is steady, and thankfully, keeping the space between the buildings in shadow. But is there another light out front? He's not entirely sure, but there may be another light approaching from down the street. Someone with a lantern, perhaps.

The hint of another light in front of the building fills the small band with a sense of urgency. Samar presses the side door's padlock into Fritz' hand, as he slips quickly out the door. She hears the faintest of sounds, as Fritz almost imperceptibly *snicks* the padlock closed on its hasp. Three are locked in, trapped, and Fritz is well-and-good cut off from his friends.

But Fritz knows what's at stake, and doesn't hesitate. The deep shadows between the buildings provide perfect cover as he silently dashes to the rear of the building. Peering around the back, he sees nothing in the gloom. With one last look over his shoulder, he steps behind the building, feeling along the outer wall.

His eyes adjust quickly, as he catches the outline of the door's large frame. The lock! There it is! His hands deftly draw his tools from his pocket, and he quickly looks both ways to make sure he hasn't been spotted. The darkness doesn't help, but it's barely a scant fifteen seconds before the padlock gives up the fight against its superior opponent. Fritz removes the lock, just as he hears his friends rushing to the other side of the door.

Inside, Wilhundt waits impatiently, having slid the cylinder's hatch closed to douse the bright light from its interior. From the back of the building, he hears sudden motion, and the darkness at the back of the warehouse changes slightly, as the large, ponderous door swings open to the waiting night.

Knowing now that it takes a mere 2 seconds for the hatch to reopen, Wilhundt measures the pace of his friends as they race back through the warehouse towards the ship. Working the latch release, he reopens Whitey and rushes to his pilot seat just as the other three arrive. As soon as all three are safely back inside, he presses the close button, followed by launch as soon as he once again hears the hiss of the hatch sealing.

As Wilhundt quickly opens the hatch, he thinks he hears a voice outside. "What's that??" He can't be sure, among the shuffling of the three others rushing past him.

With the four people inside, the hatch closes with a soft hiss. Even before the hiss has begun to subside, Wilhundt has pressed the button. A silent moment passes, before the voice returns.

"Launch sequence: active. Control systems: nominal. Commencing engine start."

The three without seats feel rather than hear the hum of the engine, the sensation slightly rattling them through the floor.

"Commencing safety checks. Power systems: nominal. Engine balance: within acceptable parameters. Atmospheric integrity: within acceptable parameters. Checking flight path:"

There is a pause.

"Checking flight path.....flight path to Socrates......unobstructed."

The hum grows louder, a hissing whine, now mingled with the loud voices of people shouting outside.

"Power at twenty-five percent."

Wilhundt, sitting in his chair aimed toward the front(?), is taken aback as the upper half of the hatch appears to fade, as if it no longer existed. In moments, he has a perfectly clear view of the warehouse front door, as two men swing the door wide open. He recognizes a member of the night watch, and also the face of Mr. Wuyuan, both slack-jawed in amazement. They seem to come to their senses, trying to trap what's inside by closing the large front door.

"Maneuvering to launch position."

The passengers can feel themselves pressed to their right, as the cylinder begins a rapid rotation counter-clockwise. The view out the front sweeps across the interior of the warehouse, as the cylinder points itself squarely at the large rear door.

And then it moves. The hissing whine remains steady, as the cylinder moves quickly and steadily through the rear door, and into the gloom behind the warehouse. The pitch of the whine begins to escalate.

"Launch will commence at seventy-five percent power. Thirty percent...forty-five percent..."

The pitch grows.

"Fifty-eight percent..."

The sound begins to get unpleasant, but bearable. "Sixty-six percent..."

The cylinder tilts slightly rearward, pointing its nose above the trees. The unseated passengers press against the back wall of the cylinder.

"Seventy-two percent...." The engine's hiss has become a deafening howl, and the little group wonders what doom they've brought upon themselves.

"Accelerating to orbital velocity."

The calmness of the voice belies the seeming calamity that befalls the four passengers. In a surging rush, their bodies press relentlessly and painfully against the back of the cylinder. Wilhundt doesn't seem to fare any better in his chair, but the three on the floor are certain he's as terrified as they are. But from their poor vantage point at the back of the cylinder, they cannot see the interminable grin on his face.

They ascend above the fog nearly instantly to a starry, starry night.

It is fitting to Wilhundt that the last image he has of Dorsett is Mr Wayun's surprised face rotating out of sight. Grin on his face, he briefly raises a fist into the air, erect middle finger aimed backwards.

Like the Grim Reaper, I am making my way through the active game threads to see if any need to be retired to the graveyard.

No worries if you're planning on starting it back up, but if not, please let me know.

Cheers.