"I see. How do we get to the flight cabin without attracting undue attention?"
"Two rooms forward of this there's a storage bay with an access ladder leading down to a maintenance corridor between the turbine room and the flight room. It opens onto both."
"Good. You've been helpful."
"I don't want to die."
"I'm not a killer," responded Burton. "However, I do have to render you unconscious. Which would you prefer-a crack on the jaw or mesmerism?"
"None of that mind-control hocus-pocus, if you don't mind!" exclaimed the man.
He stuck out his chin.
Burton hit it.
Swinburne caught the man as he fell and laid him gently on the floor.
"If only they were all so willing!" he mused.
"Algy, I won't be able to punch them all. You may have to disable a man or two. Try not to kill anyone. Aim for the legs."
"Understood."
They unlocked the door and checked the corridor. It was clear, and they were able to get to the storage bay unmolested. The room was filled with huge rolls of soft insulating material. When they climbed down the short ladder to the maintenance passage on the deck below, they saw the same stuff lining the walls behind the pipes and tubes that ran the length of it.
Halfway along the corridor, on either side, the conduits curved up over large double doors, one leading back to the turbine room, the other to the flight cabin. Burton eased the latter open an inch and looked through at the large room beyond.
At its far end-the prow of the ship-in front of large windows, two Technologists were standing at the vessel's controls. A third was nearby, next to a console, with a speaking tube in his hand.
Darwin was in his metal throne in the centre of the room. Wires and cables connected him to a horizontal wheel-like structure which was affixed to the metal ceiling; it was very similar to the one Swinburne had seen in Battersea Power Station.
A thick cable ran across the floor from Darwin to the automaton that had once been Francis Galton. It was standing next to a trolley to which Spring Heeled Jack had been strapped. The time traveller's helmet had been removed and lay on a table nearby.
Henry Beresford was lumbering up and down beside the prisoner.
"Why aren't they answering!" he barked.
"I don't know, sir," answered the man at the speaking tube. "But we're undermanned at the moment and damage to the wings is causing severe instability. I imagine they have their hands full back there."
"They might, but she doesn't!" yelled the orangutan. "She's a nurse, not a bloody mechanic!"
"We have observed that she is infatuated with Brunel," put in Darwin.
"Pah!" grunted the orangutan. "Go and find her and drag her here by her bloody hair. We can't allow Oxford to die. We need his knowledge."
"Yes, sir!" replied the crewman, sliding the speaking tube into its slot. He hurried to the door.
Burton and Swinburne stood back, one to either side of it.
The man stepped through, closed the portal, saw Swinburne, opened his mouth, then emitted a strangled squeak as Burton's thick left forearm slid around his neck and squeezed. The king's agent used the fingers of his right hand to apply pressure to points on the man's neck and, seconds later, the Technologist slipped into unconsciousness.
They dragged him into a corner and returned to the door.
The Galton automaton was pulling off Edward Oxford's spring-loaded stilts.
"An ingenious design," noted Darwin. "Though Brunel will appreciate it more than we can."
"Never mind the damned boots!" exclaimed Beresford. "How long until we reach the mansion?"
"About ten minutes, sir," answered one of the men at the controls.
"Go faster!"
"That's impossible, sir. The wings will fly apart if we try!"
"I'm not interested in your confounded excuses!"
"We must keep his body alive until we transfer him to the medical ship," said Darwin. "After that, it won't matter; Nurse Nightingale can extract his brain and place it in a life-support container. There will be-"
He stopped. His huge double-brained cranium turned. His beady eyes settled on the two men who'd silently entered the room.
"We take it you're Sir Richard Francis Burton?" he harmonised. "And the little poet Swinburne we are acquainted with, of course."
Henry Beresford spun to face the door. He bared his great teeth and made to leap at the intruders.
"The legs, Algy," said Burton quietly.
Swinburne raised his pistol and fired.
A hole appeared in the bell jar, just above the orangutan's right eye.
"Oops!" said Swinburne.
Liquid started to stream from the hole.
Beresford stuck a finger into it, halting the flow.
Liquid continued to leak from a second opening at the back of the jar.
Miraculously, the bullet had missed the floating brain.
One of the Technologists at the ship's controls slumped to the floor. The bullet hadn't missed him.
"Double oops," muttered the poet. "My apologies, Richard. I didn't mean to do that."
"Get the nurse! Get the nurse!" screeched Beresford.
"Or a couple of corks," suggested Swinburne.
"Move your walking corpse away from Oxford, Darwin," ordered Burton, striding to the trolley.
The double-brained scientist obeyed the command; Galton stepped back.
Burton looked down at the time traveller. His eyes were wild but recognition flickered at the back of them, and he said to the famous explorer: "You died in 1890. Heart failure."
A shiver ran down Burton's spine.
"Sir!" cried the man at the controls. "I can't do this on my own! She's losing altitude fast!"
"Where in God's name is Nightingale!" wailed Beresford.
"Algy," said Burton. "Step outside and guard the door. Don't let anyone in. Do whatever's necessary."
"But-" began the poet.
"Swinburne!" barked the king's agent. "You half obeyed my last order. This time I need more. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir," answered the poet quietly. He walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.
"Damn you to hell, Burton," said Beresford weakly. He collapsed down onto his haunches and sat with a finger in each of the holes in the bell jar. Liquid continued to dribble out. The top third of his brain was already uncovered.
Burton looked down at Oxford. "I know who you are," he said. "I know what you've been trying to do."
"You died in 1890," repeated the stilt-man.
"So you say. It doesn't matter. Everyone dies. What I'm interested in is what makes everyone live."
"Intriguing," said Darwin.
"I've made extreme decisions in my life," continued Burton. "I decided to do things that most men would never do. I've been driven by I don't know what to-to-"
"To find your place," offered Edward Oxford. The madness died from his eyes. "To find yourself. You were displaced by a childhood spent being dragged from one country to another. Ever since, you've been looking for points of stability. Things you could associate yourself with. Permanent coordinates."
"Coordinates. Yes, I see what you mean."
"They make us who we are, Burton. They give us identity. I made a mistake. I chose as one of my coordinates an event from ancient history which, in my opinion, brought shame to my name. I tried to erase it, and ended up erasing something that made me."
A tear trickled down Oxford's cheek.
Darwin chuckled and said, "This is most gratifying. How simple it is to construct a new future. Yes. We are most fascinated. The possibilities are endless. However, we must establish whether one future replaces the other or if they run concurrently. Once we have the time suit, we must construct a method through which this can be ascertained."