Proceed below the orange antimacassar to observe the proceedings. To view the preceding, try:
Parts of chapter 2 appear (albeit in earlier wording) as part of a "Preview" diary. It can be found by the industrious, I suppose.
Sherlock Holmes in Space -- The Knower -- Chapter 2
a story by jabney based on (the now public domain) characters created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
At this point in the narrative, I fear that I must needs be wordier than is my usual practice, because it will of necessity be only my point of view that survives this particular set of events. Suffice it say, I could discern no medical reason for the peculiar way I felt. Yet there was one analogy that made a sort of strange sense to me.
"Hello Watson." Sherlock Holmes stood in what, for all intents and purposes, looked like our sitting room at 221B Baker Street. And though I had seen him vanish before my eyes only minutes earlier, had I not witnessed a similar vanishing act performed by a vagabond magician at Lord Marlington's fete? One of the few social events amongst the landed gentry, I might add, that Holmes and I attended without there being a puzzle to ponder or a mystery to solve. I seem to recall that Holmes was particularly fond of the dairy products produced by the Guernsey herd that fed on estate's lush foliage. Memories of that event seemed oddly near as my mind worked vigorously trying to sort out what had just happened. Allow me, if you will, to take you on that mental journey, as best I can recall it.
One of the great treasures derived from our English countryside is the cheese. Whilst other countries do have their distinctive varieties, with the sceptered isle herself having a wide range, there is no cheese I find quite as agreeable as a good English Cheddar. Perhaps some of that appreciation comes from seeing the process at Lord Marlington's. Why did my mind bring up cheese-making at this point? You may well ask. It had been the cubing of the curd that especially caught my attention. What started a liquid would eventually be a dense solid. But the ingredients encountered a rather brutish treatment along the way. The tray's contents - liquid, solid, some other state of being? - had been inelegantly chopped into one inch sections. I began looking around, "Holmes, I feel like a cheese tray."
"Hungry again already, Watson? You should have eaten that other kipper."
"No Holmes, I mean like that tray of cheese curd we saw being cubed at Lord Marlington's, you know prior to being pressed and aged. I know of no better way to describe the feeling of what recently transpired. Yet other than that, I don't think anything has changed one single bit."
"Watson, I suggest you move from that spot rather quickly, lest you, much like that wheel of cheddar, do indeed get pressed," I stepped aside and Sherlock Holmes continued, "Our new client, Cody, or rather, Cody the representative of our new clients, should be along shortly to explain in great detail how very much things have changed."
"But Holmes, look around. This is our flat at 221B Baker Street. And the only explanation that makes any sense to me is that the young scallywag somehow managed to drug us or something and then ran off. Possibly in cahoots with a music hall magician, or some-such."
"Yet observe Watson, the document on the side table. Typewritten, you will probably say."
I picked up the sheet of paper and looked it over closely. "Clear to me. The topic of this paper is our so-called 'visit' and a meeting scheduled with you and I, our new client Cody, an Admiral, and the Knower, whatever that is. Considering that it would be an awfully expensive subterfuge to typeset one page simply for the purpose of propagating some sort of strange hoax, then of course it was prepared on a typewriter."
"Wrong, Watson. Look at the back of the paper."
"There's nothing there. So?"
"Precisely. Feel the surface. It's smooth. A typewritten document would indent the front side as each letter was typed. And the back would bear convex witness to that indention. Even a press run would leave some evidence of three-dimensionality on the obverse side." Holmes had a point, He wasn't through, though. "There is more, Watson. Rub your shoes a few times on the axminster carpet and then touch any large metallic object within reach."
I did as he suggested, touching the large samovar that the Czar had sent in appreciation for discreet services, looked at Holmes and said, "Nothing."
"Precisely my dear Watson. On a crisp, dry London day such as this, a wool carpet should easily generate a spark of static electricity. Note the climate itself. Then listen. Do you hear the hooves of horses and the clatter of wheels on cobblestones? Watson, whether we are in London itself I do not yet have sufficient data to determine. But we are far from our London, I am certain of that."
Before I could respond to Holmes's preposterous allegations, our client Cody appeared. On the spot where I had appeared. And where Holmes had presumably appeared. An intense feeling of brotherly affection for both men flooded my mind briefly, then subsided.
"Sorry for not telling you two about the cheese grater effect," he said, "But there really wasn't time."
"You were close, Watson," said Holmes to me. Turning to Cody he said, "Dr Watson here described the feeling during... what, transit? as similar to that of cheese curds being cubed prior to pressing. You're not planning on pressing us, are you?"
Cody's face took on the appearance of a lover seeing his beloved march down the aisle to wed a rival. "Real cheese. The Captain tried to describe it once." He sighed. "I so wish the back-time protocol allowed us to bring consumable goods to the present, uh, that's the future from your perspectives of course."
"Of course," I said, though not sounding totally convinced, "But what do you mean, "Real cheese?" And how do you make this wool carpet not shock me after I walk on it. Not that I miss that, mind you."
"It's not wool, Dr Watson. It's a formula our fore-bearers, that's your generation's descendents, of course, derived back on Earth, back when there was still petroleum. We now use things such as atmospheric compounds from the gas giant moons."
"And the cheese?" I asked.
"Chemicals are chemicals, Watson," said Sherlock Holmes, "Sometimes it's best not to know all the details of the building blocks, correct Cody?"
I expected that Cody would smile at the this example of the Sherlockian wit. I was wrong, instead he gasped and said, "Upon my word, the Admiral was right, you do have a way."
Sherlock Holmes looked at our host with an intensity that surprised even me. He then closed his for a moment and asked, "Is the Admiral also a knower?"
Cody seemed to understand this question and said, "I'll notify the Knower, there is always only one, by the way, and the Admiral that you've arrived. Please wait here."
"And the Captain?" said Holmes.
"Sadly she is unavailable at present, Mr Holmes. The space adaptation protocol is a meticulous taskmaster. But she has asked me to extend you her welcome," Cody said, leaving the room in a display of grace and clumsiness that caught the attention of the great detective. I just chalked it up to the cheese-grater syndrome, though Holmes would later tell me that Cody's movements reminded him of a butterfly that had just emerged from its cocoon. Right now, it was comfortable being alone again with Sherlock Holmes, however briefly.
I said, "Our host... odd to be calling him that in our own flat, static electricity be hanged Holmes."
"Watson, I believe you are one of the most skeptical of creatures... here, look out the window."
"Don't tell me the knife grinder finally caught up with that ginger cat," I said as I walked over to where Holmes was holding one panel of the draperies aside. There was no knife grinder, there was no cat roaming the street, in fact, there was no Baker Street at all. "I say Holmes, if this is the London of the future it certainly looks stark. Clean though."
"This is not London Watson."
"Don't tell me we've wound up in someplace like York or Liverpool or -- Sussex. Surely not Sussex."
"We are in space Watson. On a ship. An almost unimaginably large ship."
"Germans perhaps? You know Holmes, air ships and the like."
"Judging by the noises that have been constant since we arrived, I'd imagine this ship has nothing to do with the air." At this there was a knock on the door and after we bade them enter, Cody and two companions came in. One was a very pretty young lady. I was sure of that. Her upper tunic was somewhat more revealing than the one Cody had been wearing when we first met him. The other companion was a rather glum, careworn looking older gentleman.
"Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson, allow me to introduce Admiral Helen, our supreme commander, and Edgar, our Knower. Admiral Helen, Edgar this is the famed detective Mr Sherlock Holmes and his distinguished biographer, Doctor John Watson."
Admiral Helen said, "I hope we've succeeded in replicating your flat on... make that, in Baker Street, Mr Holmes. And you Dr Watson. Please feel at home, here." Her voice sounded almost girlish and coquettish yet surprisingly mature at the same time.
Holmes said, "Indeed, Admiral I am most impressed. On close examination, I do notice that the simulation of the grain indentations on the wood-like surfaces do not quite match the visual approximation of the grain. However, from a distance it looks rather authentic."
Cody said, "I'm afraid that the authenticity stops at the doors, Mr Holmes. Dr Watson, it seems has concentrated his descriptive resources on this room, at least thus far, uh that's thus far in your time and..."
"Oh hush, you nattering old fool, I think it's getting time for your amyloid plaque treatment again," said Edgar with seemed to be a degree of affection similar to that betwixt Holmes and myself. But what did he mean, "Old?" He turned to face me and said, "You look at my wizened visage and ask yourself, no doubt, where has this man been hiding his mirror, calling old Cody here old. Well, that's because he is."
The Admiral said, "And since Edgar is far too polite to reveal a superior officer's age, even when the superior part is purely theoretical when it comes to a knower, I'll tell you my age too, as best I can. I'll be 95 next month. That's allowing for several NLS journeys, of course."
Cody and Edgar both looked at the Admiral and together quickly said, "They're pre-Einstein."
Admiral Helen said, "Oh I do apologize. This is a most unusual situation and I'm still navigating by the seat of my pants, as it were." The prospect of the seat of her pants would have been rather intriguing to me earlier. But that was before she told us she was 95. And yet I could not help but look. My reverie of confusion was interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Please see who it is Watson, while I get our guests some refreshments. I'm assuming that, "Feel at home" comes with a larder and a wine closet?" This last was directed to the Admiral.
Holmes's question was answered by a cart outside the door laden with what appeared to be various foodstuffs and libations. The cart was accompanied by a young lady who was, if anything, even more attractive than the Admiral. We weren't introduced, as the Admiral came to the door herself and wheeled in the cart. As the unidentified server left, I overheard her ask the Admiral, "Still open bar for the Captain?" The Admiral gave a quick nod of affirmation, then turned her attention to us.
"Gentlemen, it's a long distance from the sheep meadows and cattle ranges of Earth, but we have tried. If you have any suggestions or needs or, dare I say, complaints about the food simply speak the word, "Food" into your tri-fold..."
"Admiral, sorry to interrupt your re-enactment of Father Christmas," said Cody, "But systems hasn't quite finished programming their tri-folds."
"What's the excuse this time?" said Edgar, "They should know that I'm perfectly willing to tell either of these gentleman whatever it is they wish to know."
Admiral Helen raised her eyebrows skeptically at the older looking gentleman then turned to Cody, "You and I should pay a visit to systems while these gentlemen have their mid-day meal. I'm sure Edgar has a great deal to tell them. With your permission Mr Holmes, Dr Watson."
"Of course," said Sherlock Holmes, "I've never dined with an official Knower before. And I'm sure Watson will have all sorts of questions regarding gustatory matters."
"And your questions, Holmes?"
"They will wait for now."
The food was rather tasty, albeit a bit more highly seasoned than Mrs Hudson's efforts. I determined to get used to it, instead of risking any overcompensation back-to-blandness done on my behalf. "So Edgar," I said, "Would it be a violation of time travel protocol to take back some recipes?"
"That's a Cody question, I think," said Edgar, "As much as I tease the old boy, his heart's in the right place. As is his head, when he remembers to take his treatments. He cares deeply about the ramifications of inadvertently accelerating development in older civilizations. He wrote his thesis on the subject before we had even developed the technology, and he never let's you forget the fact."
Holmes started to light his pipe. Edgar said, "While you are welcome to indulge your habits in this room, I must ask you to refrain in the general areas of the vessel. I'd love to say it's only a matter of ventilation, but..." here he turned his face upward and spoke somewhat forcefully, "I fear there are scolds and busybodies aboard that would begrudge a man even the smallest of pleasures."
"So then we are not universally welcomed as potential heroes on the SS Oligarch?" said Holmes.
Edgar raised a finger and with the other hand took a somewhat bulky device from an oversize pocket. He placed the device in the center of the dining table and slid a small lever of sorts until an unpleasant tone was generated. He then started sliding the lever in the opposite direction and said, "Tell me when the noise goes away." It took no time at all for me to stop being bothered, but for Sherlock Holmes the lever had to be reduced by almost half before he signaled that all was well.
"That should suffice," Edgar said and then poured himself a cup of steaming coffee from a carafe that, when I did likewise, felt almost cool to the touch.
"Now," said Holmes, "Let me see if I understand correctly, this is a situation so dire that your crew felt compelled to risk altering its own history. Correct?"
"Correct."
"And," Holmes said, "You have gone to great lengths to assure your privacy in telling me what you know about this dire situation. Correct?"
"So tell me," said Sherlock Holmes to the now crestfallen looking fellow seated at the table with us, "What is it that you know?"
"I don't know, Mr Holmes."
Holmes then did something I seldom got to see him do, he tipped back his head and laughed. When he finally caught a breath, he said, "The knower not knowing? Hah!"
"Mr Holmes, I do not know. And that's the problem."
"Why then did you send for me? And poor Watson here?"
Edgar said, "I did not send for you, sir."
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