Venus, Mars and Hell by Eric Flint & John Lambshead

Author:Eric Flint & John Lambshead [Flint, Eric & Lambshead, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Science Fiction, Steampunk
ISBN: 9781948818476
Google: 0GRCxwEACAAJ
Publisher: Eric Flint's Ring of Fire Press
Published: 2019-07-14T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 2

The expression on the face of the airship’s officer was decidedly unfriendly, as Alexander Evalenko and his companion Ilya Drezhner came aboard. But he said nothing, and Alexander thought silence on his own part was the best course. It was hardly surprising that employees of Great Britain’s premier transportation company would be irritated at having the departure of their flagship delayed in order to await the arrival of two unexpected passengers.

Alexander wasn’t happy about the situation himself. If word got out, as it almost certainly would, the conclusion anyone would come to was that political pressure had been brought to bear. There was no doubt at all that their quarry would draw that conclusion. And, having drawn it, be made more alert to the possibility that he was being pursued.

Alexander moved toward the other side of the airship, seeking to get away from the unfriendly scrutiny.

“He seems a bit testy,” Drezhner said softly.

Alexander’s mouth quirked. “Puzzled, too, I suspect. He’s probably trying to figure out how the Russian government could bring enough pressure to bear to make such a schedule change. Given that we are not—ah—held in any great regard in Britain these days.”

Relations between the United Kingdom and Russia were always shaky, despite the two nations being officially allied. Right now they were on particularly edgy terms, given the tensions over the Peshawar Incident. Even the Irish nationalists, normally so pragmatic in accepting aid from any party in their quarrel with the English, were hostile to Russia. As such malcontents almost invariably were, the Irish were rabid republicans—and the Tsar of All the Russias was universally considered the world’s premier autocrat.

As it happened, although political interference had been necessary to get the last airship shuttling passengers and supplies to the Agincourt to delay its departure, it had not been pressure from the British government. So far as Alexander knew, the British authorities were quite unaware that the BEPC’s premier interplanetary aethership’s schedule had been altered.

“Luckily for us,” Alexander said, in the same soft tones, “Cecil Rhodes thinks well of the Okhrana. Rachkovsky himself sent the radio message to Rhodes—a polite request, no more—and, voila, c’est fait.”

His French was fluent and unaccented, as you might expect of one of Russia’s top secret agents in Paris.

He and Drezhner came to a stop against the windows on the far side of the airship cabin. The craft had lifted as soon as they came aboard and they were now at least a thousand meters high. Through the panes they could see the soft countryside of southeastern England below them.

“I hadn’t known that,” said Drezhner. “About Rhodes. I thought he despised Slavs. What did he call us? One of those most detestable …” He waved his hand in a gesture that indicated a minor loss of memory.

Alexander smiled wryly. The pronounced racial views of Cecil Rhodes were a byword in Europe. To be born English is to win first prize in the lottery of life was his best-known axiom on the subject, but he had many others.

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