THE PHLOGISTONIAN aerotel was permanently lodged in the clouds above New York City. Under construction for the past fifteen years and newly-opened, it was the latest marvel and newest gilded playground of society.
As they approached in a Growler taxi, Bantam saw that the 'aerotel' was essentially a large building kept permanently aloft by a great number of Helux-filled shafts and columns built directly into the superstructure. A complex system of hydrologic circuitry and gyroscopes and propellers worked in concert to continuously nudge the building into the same location, accounting for the the shifting winds and weather.
In short: it was a great golden palace floating in the sky. Rachelle figured it was just the place for them to hole up for a bit and figure out what to do next.
The lobby was a cacophony of top hats and ladies in mink, several of these carried fashionable and elegant miniature horses. Bantam had thought these pets to be a peculiarity of the 'ton Gasper, but it was evidently a widespread fad.
"But how are we going to get in?" Bantam asked. "This is the twirly moustache version of an Ian Schrager hotel, and we have no reservation."
"I'm an Archenstone, remember? This hotel was built with my family's money." She went to the front desk and within seconds a bellhop was scurrying. He led them to an elevator made of crystal. It was like being inside a chandelier, Bantam thought as they ascended.
Their room was appointed so lavishly it bordered on hallucination. Marble and gold and sapphires adorned the walls and columns. There was an open-air balcony with a rich firepit crackling in the sunset. They were fairly high up in the air, of course, but by some trick of the architecture, it was only mildly windy and not cold at all.
Rachelle dismissed the bellhop with a generous tip and closed the door. "Thank you for trusting me," she said to Bantam. "We need the rest. And we need a place to hide out while I think. If we go back to MacLaren now, we will simply be arrested. I'm certain Victor left standing orders for my incarceration ... and if they saw you alive, you'd be in clappers even more quickly than I."
Bantam allowed himself to collapse on the bed. Exhaustion flooded him. "I'm sorry," he said to Rachelle. "I just got hit with a wave of tired that you wouldn't believe."
"Oh, that's understandable. You still haven't properly recovered from the Pinion,” Rachelle said. "Not to mention the tincture I gave you. It is harmless, but not altogether without a toll. And all you've done recently is run for your life. I'm surprised you're even on your feet."
She circled the bed and took his pulse, and then felt his forehead. "You are on the mend, though. That is the good news. But now, we must warn the Army base of the message we intercepted. We must tell them to have the men standing at the ready, not drunk in the kife."
Bantam started to get up. "No. If they know where we are, they'll arrest us --"
Rachelle pushed him back down. "I am not daft! Yes, we would be nibbed and quick. I had thought of that. That's why we'll need a nose instead."
"A … what?"
"An intermediary."
"Who?"
"I was thinking that Mr. Hardin's friend from the Cape and Cane would be suitable. That dodgy DionySYS fellow. I can send him a p-mail from here."
"What, what? There can't be pneumatic tubes that reach up here! They'd snap in the wind!"
Rachelle laughed. "Have you forgotten the Volzstrang Pin so easily? Of course there are."
"Oh. Right," Bantam said tapping his forehead. "That's me, still not thinking with my top hat."
"In any event, I will ask him to kindly relay the message to Mr. Volzstrang, who can attend to it on that end. I will send the message in such a species of mathematics that Mr. Volzstrang will know at once that it could not be a forgery, and that I must be its author."
"And then Volzstrang will raise the alarm. Keep everyone on their toes."
"Yes," Rachelle said, pushing him down. "Now. You must rest."
It was accidental, of course, but she was tantalizingly close. In the act of pushing him back down, she'd overextended just a bit more than she had anticipated, and her weight now was on his chest.
Their eyes met. She didn't pull away.
The curve of her waist, the line of her neck … these things were immediate and palpable in new ways he had not considered.
Normally, this would be the moment Ben Bantam would certainly not miss. But this was different. Rachelle was different from any girl he'd known before. Something held him back.
She seemed to sense this and pushed herself back up. "Sleep, Mr. Bantam. Rest. And when you awake, the message will have been accomplished."
Bantam watched her as she moved away. Gracefully, she sat at the ornate desk across the room. She pulled stationary from the drawer and began to compose her message.
WHEN BANTAM AWOKE again it was midday.
Rachelle lay next to him, on top of the covers and still fully dressed except for her hat. She was curled up breathing softly.
He resisted the urge to sweep her hair away from her eyes.
Gently, he rose. He pulled his suspenders on, and adjusted the various buttons and things. Damn weird clothes, he thought.
He went to the open air balcony. A sea of cloud stretched in every direction. A wide staircase of marble stood just before him, descending down into mist as though one could simply walk across the sky.
It should have been ferociously windy and cold. But it wasn't. It was strangely peaceful.
Above him were three massive propellers, continuously making small adjustments, rotating this or that was every so slightly, in an effort to keep the Phlogistonian in a perfectly stable hover above New York City.
Ah, and possibly the propellers also worked against the wind as well, balancing it breath for breath. Bantam wasn't sure exactly how the sky had been tamed, but it had been.
Then Rachelle was suddenly beside him. "How did you sleep?"
"Like a dead man. That Pinion …" He shook his head.
"Yes," she said quietly. “The message has been sent, as I promised. There is nothing more we can do now. And you must eat. Here. Let me order room service. The firepit on the balcony is quite marvelous. We can have a salon of our own, just the two of us."
A TRAY OF meats and cheeses and wine was set up for them on the balcony. Bantam could hardly stop himself from consuming it in a rude and ravenous fashion, looking up at Rachelle with apologetic eyes -- but she seemed not notice. Instead, she ate with the dainty grace of a woman of this age.
As the day wore on into evening, she asked him many questions about his world. Bantam spent most of the time telling her about the Beatles and Facebook and iPhones and television and airplanes and even the moon landing in his own 1969. She could not get enough of these details, and he barely had any time to ask her more about her own world.
But then conversation drifted to their beliefs in supernatural phenemenon, and she offered a tale of a medium that caused him to visibly sit up and listen.
"It's quite strange, really. You see, a number of years ago, I went to see a spiritualist. It was kind of on a lark, a dare, you know, with a friend. I didn't take it seriously at all. I thought it all flim-flam: you know, tricks done with ropes and confederates in the dark, designed to elicit wonder with the sudden ringing of bells and shaking of tambourines.
"But this was nothing like that. Instead, it took place fully in the light of day. The woman -- a didikko, a gypsy, darkly beautiful -- she was confident and strong. There was nothing about her that bespoke a charlatan. As you know, I am a scientist, and I am no flat: I am very confident in my knowledge. Likewise, she displayed the same confidence, the same fire in her eye about her occult art.
"She bid me to sit down and she looked at my palm. She looked for a long time. She seemed to descry some puzzlement there, a conundrum that she could not solve. Finally she said, 'You were meant to have one true love, but fate has given you two. And yet your fate is double: you have two lives, and they intertwine over one another. I have never seen anything like this. I do not know what it means. But it is clear that in both lives, you are quite important. You alleviate the suffering of billions. That is your fate, that is your truest purpose. Astonishingly, you manage it not once but twice, though in wholly different ways both times.'"
"This woman," Bantam said, his throat tight. "What was her name?"
"Yes. I will never forget it. Madame Europa Romani."
Bantam felt like he'd just been socked in the gut.
"What is it?" asked Rachelle.
"I met her granddaughter," Bantam said. "Before I came back. She read my fortune and she told me something odd as well." The encounter had been disturbing to Bantam; she had thrown him out, horrified. But for Rachelle's sake, he kept that to himself. "She told me I would meet my soulmate."
Rachelle smiled broadly at this. "That is most peculiar. You see, Madame Romani told me something else along those lines. She said that a man would come from far away, further than I could imagine. This man would be my true love. And I would know him by this sign: that upon our first meeting, he would notice a fascinator in my hair. And he would take it from me and perform an illusion with it."
His heart jack-hammered in his chest. Rachelle's eyes burned into his soul just then. They moved closer.
"And do you believe her?"
"I never used to believe in such things," Rachelle said. "I was a scientist. But now … now, I must confess: I do. How else can one explain what you did with the fascinator?
"No one else has ever thought to do something like that?"
"No. You must understand that here, such a thing is not done. Men are not so forward. Oh, I know you didn't understand that, being from your world, where I suspect such things are much more ... liberated." She smiled at him and pulled the fascinator from her hair -- causing it to drop in a waterfall of auburn down her shoulders. "Being from a liberated world, you are educated in the arts of love, are you not Mr. Bantam?"
He nodded, not able to take his eyes off her and coming fully awake now. "Uh huh. And you? I mean … like Hendrix said: are you ... experienced?"
She didn't answer directly. "Whoever this 'Hendrix' is, I suspect he would instruct you to follow me inside this very instant."
Bantam did so.
Once inside, she leaped forward into his arms and they both collapsed into the bed, mouths clamped on one another, as Bantam tried to figure out how, exactly, a woman's clothes were removed in this world.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"THAT WAS wonderful and delicious," Rachelle said, rolling over at last after hours of lovemaking.
Bantam could only nod. He was still catching his breath. He couldn't believe how long they had. "You're amazing," he finally managed to say. "I thought Victorian girls were all prim and proper. Where did you come from?"
She smiled. "Why, I came from you, silly." Bantam raised a brow. "If it wasn't for you coming back in time, the Day of the Red Sun would have never happened. My parents would have never met."
"That is a weird thought," Bantam said, truly digesting it for the first time.
"It is strange indeed. To think! Here I am with a man who accidentally caused my very existence!"
"Yes. You were my accident," Bantam kidded. He was rewarded with a flurry of tickling.
"You are so unlike any man I've ever met," Rachelle said with a new sparkle of wonder in her eyes.
"How so?"
"You're ... you're free. You're not caught up in embarassment when you are with a woman. You're a wild thing. You must understand that is very rare in this world. The men here … they are not as open as you."
Bantam smiled. "Ah. That's easy. They simply haven't invented rock n' roll here yet."
"And what is -- ?"
"Never mind …"
With that, they spent another few hours together until they were utterly exhausted and into a deep sleep.
WHEN BANTAM awoke next, he saw to his surprised that Rachelle had a surprise for him: a tuxedo, complete with cane, top hat and cape.
Bantam laughed aloud when he saw it. "Where did you get that?"
"This is only the most stylish hotels in the world, Mr. Bantam. Just about anything can be had simply by asking the concierge."
Bantam eyed it. "Will it fit?"
Rachelle giggle and snuggled up to him. "I measured you as you slept."
“Hopefully I can figure out how to put it on. All the odd clothes in this world are completely confusing.”
"Oh, but you do think us odd. Don't you?"
"Yes. All these twirly moustaches make me dizzy."
"What was it you called it in the hydrologics room? 'A crazy top hat world'. Yes, that was it. What exactly is so crazy about it?"
"Oh I don't know. Everybody talks on eggshells. You all fly around in balloons."
"But you like it," she grinned.
"Oh. I'm beginning to really like it."
She grabbed his arm and grinned wide. "You're going to really like dinner tonight. I think you will be amazed by what you will see! Hurry up and put on your tux!"
THE GRAND ballroom was a vision unto itself. It was situated in the exact center of the 'Phlo-Jo' as Bantam had taken to calling the hotel (he explained that 'Ho-Jo' was short for another 'famous and elegant' hotel in his own world; Rachelle was puzzled as to why he found this hilarious in the extreme). It was a massive wide-open space, shaped somewhat like an egg, and topped with an iron spiderweb of glass and jewels that let the moonlight and starlight bathe gloriously down in shafts of silver and ivory.
But the most amazing thing was the people, who 'danced' on the air, aided by Helux pouches strapped to their gowns and tuxedos. They twirled and spun, laughing, some very high in the air, some barely two meters from the ground. Some floated to open landings above, situated everywhere around the ballroom and stood there, watching the other dancers. Others performed choreographed tumbles and rolls, showing off their prowess in three-dimensional dancing.
As Bantam looked more closely, he saw that the Helux harnesses were controlled by small propellers attached to the boots and back of the dancers. Only the men wore these, and thus led the dance.
Waiters also went to and fro the domed ceiling above, wearing the batwing contraptions that Bantam had seen policemen wear in New York below. They carried silver trays of food to the diners, who were all seated on the ground in alcoves near the dance area. There was also an orchestra, and several couches beneath the dancers, arranged in concentric circles, where the men smoke cigars while their ladies fashionably sniffed cocaine from their rings.
The whole thing had a marvelousness to it that Bantam could barely pull his eyes away from. Rachelle, noticing this, smiled. "Crazy top hat world, hmm?"
"And getting crazier by the second," Bantam replied, wonder drenching his voice. "We don't have Helux where I come from. But if I ever get back there, I'm inventing it. This'll be a huge hit with skateboard set."
"Why? Would you want to try the air-waltzing?"
"Oh no. No. I can't even dance on the ground, let alone .... that."
As if to emphasize his point a woman suddenly screamed -- partly in fear, partly in pleasure -- suddenly realizing how high up she was. Her gentleman quickly propelled to her to a nearby balcony far above.
A hostess -- floating just above them, and evidently expert at graceful motions in the air -- led them to their table, which was near the orchestra.
"Well. I can't wait to see what's on the menu." When the waiter arrived, bringing giant, oversized tomes all hand-written with calligraphy, Bantam was surprised to notice that it was all birds. Ostrich, goose, chicken, turkey -- even dodo, Bantam noticed to his surprise. "This place has a feather fetish. Does everything have to be about flying?"
Rachelle laughed like tinkling crystal. "That is the theme of the hotel, my sweet."
Bantam grinned and reached out for her hand. She pulled back demurely and raised a fan to her face, hiding behind it. "Oh no. Not here in the age of aether. Not in public, anyway."
Bantam raised an eyebrow. "The -- what? Age of --?"
"Age of aether. That's what many philosophers call the modern times. All of our inventions, the spirit of the age, the zeitgeist if you will."
"I like it," Bantam said. "Good branding. Better than the industrial age, anyway."
"That gypsy. Miss Romani. She told me that another age was coming soon. The age of iron. That the world would be a prison. Oh heavens. Do you think she could have meant the Nazi's?"
"If they win the war ..." Bantam said.
"But they can't!" Rachelle protested. "They just can't. There are things we are working on, we Americans, you know. Weapons." She lowered her voice. "I never told Dr. Hardin about this ... as he would never approve ... but the main project I was working on was biological. A sort of weapon. We're not defenseless against the Nazis."
Adrenalin zinged through Bantam's chest. Biological? Could it be? Could it even possibly be?
"Rachelle. This is important. Is this biological weapon based on smallpox?"
It was her turn to look up in shock. "Why. Yes. Yes it is. How did you know that? How could you know that? It's a complete secret!"
"Because I was sent back in time to find the cure for a disease. One that was based on smallpox, one invented in 1944. We call it The Shadow. It works by causing these black boils to appear and --"
"And by attacking the blood," Rachelle finished. "It turns black; the red blood cells are turned. Yes I know. We crossbred it with bubonic plague and several other strains of lnfluenza. Released into population, they will all be dead within days."
"Rachelle. Do you have the cure? Do you know what the cure is for The Shadow?"
"Yes," Rachelle said. "Of course. I developed it. That was my work."
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh. My. God.
The room yawned around Bantam and the dancers suddenly seemed like demons circling in the sky. His eyes rose as he struggled to process this.
But just then, Bantam rose from the table suddenly.
"What is it?" Rachelle asked.
"I'll take you up on that dance now," Bantam replied, eyes full of odd intensity. Quickly, he grabbed her hand and headed for the booth where they rented Helux harnesses.
"Two please. You'll be paid double if you move fast."
"Yes sir!" the man said beaming. He did so, and inside of a minute, Bantam had his strapped around his tuxedo. The man had given him a lead weight to hold as he buttoned him up.
"Thank you," Bantam replied, and then spun and threw the weight at an incoming waltzer who was just landing. The man caught it with an 'oof!' and sank to the floor.
"Soldiers! From the base!" Bantam explained to Rachelle. "I recognize them both!" Then he turned, weightless now from Helux, and kicked another incoming soldier squarely in the stomach.
This propelled Bantam upwards, out of control, somersaulting helplessly. To his surprise, he popped up precisely in between a dancing couple, sending the older lothario gentleman sailing, and finding himself air-waltzing with the pretty young blonde who had been the object of his affection.
"Oh. Hello," Bantam said with a smile.
Rachelle saw this and the tips of her ears turned pink with anger. "Why he --" She turned to the rental gentleman. "Mine! On! Now!" The man hurriedly obeyed.
But Bantam's pursuers had recovered and had launched themselves upward at him at a fast clip.
"Tut! Tut!" yelled a man seated in something like a lifeguard chair about midway up. He pointed at a sign that read:
Graceful Velocities Only!
Gentlemen especially will remember that the Waltz is a gallant dance of grace, and an Air Waltz is
the most gallant dance of them all!
But of course, the soldiers paid him no heed. One was almost upon Bantam when he noticed and extricated himself from the embrace of the blonde. But she was frightened and held on to one of his hands -- while the soldier missed Bantam but grabbed onto her other hand.
The trio now spun in midair, girl screaming between them.
Meanwhile, her lothario date was now back, and, missing the girl, he grabbed onto Bantam's other hand, making it a spinning foursome. He cursed and snarled at Bantam, trying to climb up his arm.
The other waltzers began to notice the ruckus now, though the orchestra was oblivious and kept playing. Screams erupted here and there, and some couples began landing on the various balconies.
Bantam suddenly pulled the two ends of the spinning human chain towards each other, causing them all to crash into one another and let go. Bantam went flying upwards towards the ceiling.
From there, he saw that Rachelle had made her way to the second soldier and was yelling something at him furiously as the both floated in a chaste embrace.
Still, Bantam grumbled inwardly at the sight of it.
He was about to launch himself downwards when something caught his eye out of the skylight. His eyes going wide, he launched himself downwards directly at Rachelle and the solider.
When he reached them, he grabbed Rachelle and pushed off the wall again. "MOVE! MOVE! YOU TOO!" he yelled to the soldier. "THE FLOOR! GET DOWN THERE QUICKLY!"
Puzzled, the soldier followed them both.
When they landed, Bantam grabbed a steak knife from the nearest table. "Turn around!" he ordered Rachelle. She did so and Bantam cut the whimsical straps that held the Helux bubbles to her arms. They both flew up and away. Then, Bantam did the same to the soldier and himself.
"What is it?" Rachelle yelled at him. "What's wrong?"
BLAM!!!!!!
The skylight exploded. Glass broke into a thousand pieces, but didn't fall; instead, it was sucked out into the sky above.
Several waltzers were sucked out as well, soundlessly, as the screams were torn from their mouths by a sudden vaccum. The other soldier was one of these unfortunates.
"Hold into something!" Bantam yelled to the soldier, latching his own arm around a nearby statue and his other around Rachelle.
Wind howled around them. The ballroom had become a hurricane. People everywhere desperately clung to whatever was nearby. Most made it -- but some did not. Every once in awhile, there was the terrifying howl of someone else suck up, up and out of the Phlogistonian.
Over the cacophony Bantam yelled, "We're under attack! A giant Nazi dirigible is parked right off our bow and it's taking pot-shots at us!"
There was another explosion somewhere. Loud. And the Phlogistonian creaked and tilted. Tables and chairs and food and people all tumbled along the floor now, sliding towards the front reception area.
Bantam, Rachelle and the soldier all tumbled as well.
All three still wore Helux bubbles attached to their legs; they were semi-weightless. Thus when they finally stood, they floated slightly off the ground before thumping back down again. It was like running in a dream. The air was made of molasses.
But then they found an alcove. It was a back-office entrance, but it kept them from falling towards the tilt.
"What now?" Bantam asked Rachelle and the solider. "I'm out of ideas. Sorry. This isn't my world."
"The Growlers. Air Taxi's. They will be quite some number moored up front. We need to get to one."
Another bomb hit the far side of the hotel as if to emphasize this point.
The aerotel tilted further. She was now actively falling from the sky.
Clumsily, the threesome were dislodged and bounced along the floor, finding themselves at last in a Growler.
Bantam cut the last of the Helux bubbles from them as Rachelle piloted the growler away from the Phlogistonian, which was now aimed and falling like a great golden knife into the heart of New York City.