Chapter Six awaits. Below the orange antimacassar.
Our tour-guide suggest that those unfamiliar with the series may wish to get caught up - before or after at:
I'll be able to comment in real time tonight - if the keyboard batteries hold out, as I am house-sitting for friends with the internet - and a Mac. I am not a convert to the Apple cult, mind you, but I could get used to a Mac. What I like: the Unix-like behavior of the "Delete" key. Not so fond of renaming the "Control" key.
Sherlock Holmes in Space -- The Knower -- Chapter 6
a story by jabney based on (the now public domain) characters created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
There was another change of scenery as we neared the Captain's quarters. "What is this supposed to be?" I asked as we ventured onto a winding paved road lined with oddly proportioned structures. Off the road in both directions ran perpendicular paved lanes each terminating in a semi-circle surrounded by curiously identical, yet different buildings. Each had the appearance of a two story house butted up against and conjoined with a single story house that occupied a vertical position midway betwixt the two stories. Each single story section sported a window shorter in height but otherwise reminiscent in size and proportion to a shop's display window. "I don't think these can all be shop windows," I said.
"Not unless the SS Oligarch has a curiously large need for table lamps."
I looked around more closely to see what my companion might be observing. The most imposing part of each structure, was a series of what looked to be two or, in most cases, three carriage entrances. Aside from straight paved lanes leading from the curving lanes to the carriage entrances, and a few half-hearted efforts at flower beds, there was little more than neatly trimmed grass lawns betwixt the lanes and the buildings.
"Here Watson, the tri-fold has courteously provided us with a description of our locale. Look over at that corner. You see that street sign saying, Cullman's Cul de Sac?"
"France, Holmes?"
"The United States, Watson. This is called, "Suburban Parade of Homes - Mid-Atlantic Edition - Split-level Estates.""
"Not your typical English estate, I'd say. Eh Holmes?"
"According to this commentary, it represents an era that I should have thought would have triggered your tri-fold's time-line alarm. Perhaps the alarm sounds only if it thinks it's something you might choose to suggest that somebody emulate."
"It's not that bad, Holmes," I said, but with little conviction. I wasn't even managing to convince myself.
"Watson, have you noticed any people since we left the faux Windsor Castle grounds?"
"Now that you mention it, I haven't."
"And so much space."
"Out there, you mean, Holmes?"
"Yes, but also in here. Have you seen the overview model of the SS Oligarch on your tri-fold?"
"Rather large, if I recall, Holmes."
"Each ring is unimaginably massive, Watson. But the ordinarily almost chatty nature of the tri-fold is curiously parsimonious when it comes to providing actual numbers."
"Numbers? What sort of numbers, Holmes?"
"Square footage for one, Watson."
"Perhaps the French method has won out in the future, Holmes. Try square meters."
"The tri-fold has no problem converting measurements, my dear fellow. It can even convert cubits to chains or rods, if you ask it to. No, Watson, there are things that someone, or several someones, doesn't want known."
"Then the Knower should know. We can ask him. Edgar seems like a good sort."
"And if there are things that the Knower can't bear to know? Or is kept from knowing? No Watson, we must find the Captain, whether she, or he, be an invalid or not."
We kept trudging on along more winding roads, past cul-de-sacs, and carriage-door dominated buildings until we reached a park. "Look Holmes, this park is where the mansion the entire estate once belonged to stood originally." I too, was determined to learn the narrative features of the tri-fold.
"And the true carriage house, at least true as to the style of carriage houses as would have once belonged to a vast estate, looks to be across the park and is where we will find our Captain, at least if the facts such as are contained on the tri-fold to be trusted."
"I wonder whether the actual artifacts have somehow been transported from Earth? Look at this sign, it says, "Site of the Weatherby mansion 1867 to 1899." Weatherby. Does that sound familiar, Holmes?"
"It should, Watson. The fire was in the headlines for two days, the trial of the anarchists accused of setting it was in the headlines for two weeks and the news of their hangings for two weeks more."
"Wasn't there something odd about that whole business, Holmes?"
"I believe you mean the subsequent clearing of the names of the anarchists that was in the newspapers only recently. When one of the neighbor's sons was caught lighting a fox's tail on fire as a Halloween prank."
"Halloween prank, Holmes?"
"All Hallow's Eve, Watson. What American children celebrate instead of Guy Fawkes's Day. Pranks and such. The neighbor's son confessed that he had done the same thing the night of the Weatherby fire."
"I don't recall seeing any headlines about that, Holmes."
"That, my dear friend, is why one should read beyond page one. The story appeared on page 22 of The Times. It was appended to what appeared to be the rehashing of a press release from the anti-fox hunting society."
"Poor things."
"The foxes or the wrongfully executed anarchists Watson?"
"The foxes too. And the anarchists, I suppose." Holmes gave me a look suggesting unspoken thoughts that I hoped he would not remember once we were back in the real London.
"So who was it that elicited your initial expression of sympathy, Watson?"
"The anti-fox hunters. Sincere but deluded if you ask me. Seeking to overturn such a well established old tradition. Hah! Any farmer that has ever lost a good laying hen to a fox will tell you what a useful thing a fox hunt truly is."
"Oh well, at least some of the tradition lingers on in the distant future, Watson."
"Why Holmes, does the tri-fold say something about it?"
"No doubt it does, but the evidence is more readily available than that. Look at the signs."
Indeed, several signs announced that we were in "Fox Run Park" with some also announcing the availability of golf cart rentals. "This is a lovely day Holmes, so where are the golfers?"
"But every day is a lovely day here. Strange business indeed." We walked on further through the perfectly manicured park until Holmes said, "Look, Watson, there seems to be somebody in the Captain's house." We paused as Holmes opened his tri-fold. He navigated the device's control hierarchy until he came to an on-screen device labeled, "Edwardian Era Calling Card." I followed along on my tri-fold and soon had the same program loaded,
"Seems to be something wrong with my tri-fold Holmes, it keeps changing the number uf people home from one to two and then back again."
"Interesting. I have observed the same thing. Yet on a different device. Have you noticed any people going in and out the front door?"
"None, though perhaps there's a back way."
"Perhaps, but according to the "Edwardian Era Calling Card" Read-Me file, the people in an enclosed back-yard would count in the total. The tall hedge on both sides of the house suggests a complete enclosure, but to be sure, I think a walk around the perimeter is in order before we pay a formal call."
As we circumnavigated the roughly trimmed hedge, no breach revealed itself. At one point Holmes held up his finger to his lips. We paused, and then went on. "Did you hear something?" I said.
"I got the distinct impression of a man's voice addressing a loved one named "Maggie". There seemed to be a sad, even tragic, resignation in the voice. That is all I can say based on what I know thus far, Watson. And I'm not certain that seeing the participants or participant in that exchange will tell me very much more. At least not yet."
"Should we go back and consult before visiting the Captain, then?"
"No, I think there may be a distinct advantage in an unexpected visit. Let us see how the tri-fold handles the social niceties." With that, Sherlock Holmes, pressed an on-screen button labeled, "Pay a Call."
There were two primary choices, "Current Location" seemed logical, so Holmes chose that. That, in turn, led to another screen. "Captain Haggard" and "Captain Maggie." Holmes raised his eyebrows. "What!" he said.
"Should I try one on my tri-fold, and you the other, on yours?" I said.
"No Watson. Let us put these devices away and use the door-bell. It is time we tried being modern."
"What do you mean?"
"Did you notice any of our callers using calling cards?"
As we neared the door to the, "Carriage" house, my English eyes had to admire the American emulation of some of the best features of our architecture. I could only imagine the mansion to which it had been attached. Yet, I failed to imagine how it could have surpassed this converted dwelling in making a 'machine for living.' Elements of magnificence were there, but only a few and in perfect balance to the overall impression of comfort and hospitality. This inviting structure, meant for horses and buggies, made a most agreeable and pleasant dwelling for two-legged humans. A place where stable-boys and milkmaids once took their, no doubt, illicit pleasures, now served as Captain's quarters for a massive vessel. Or was that Captains' quarters? Holmes must have had a similar train of thought, because he said, "Time to use some of that diplomatic skill you have been so conscientiously cultivating, Watson."
"Holmes, before we get to the door, let me say most diplomatically, I unabashedly covet this house."
"It is rather pretty, Watson. The molded brick and running bond are strongly influenced by the Duke of Fanshaw's folly, but the builder of this structure managed to avoid the rather ostentatious Russian-like onion domes that the Dowager Duchess insisted be grafted on to her son's structure. Instead the roof seems to be a happy blending of French, English and American styles. Not a jumble, though. An ideal place indeed to bring a bride. Or a groom."
"Should we then question along those lines?"
"No Watson. We shall be far more direct, Do you still have the Rum and the limes?"
I nodded in the affirmative, pointing to my back-pack, "I never spotted any drink carts on our way here, though."
"Just as well," he said as we reached the door. Holmes pushed the button and the distinctive sound of the most prominent chimes of London sounded from within. I started to say something about imitation and flattery but Holmes stopped me before I could speak.
There was the sound of a muffled commotion that drew near the door as we waited, though the tone didn't sound particularly angry. Finally, the door opened, and the imposing form of a broad-shouldered man seemed to fill the doorway although his head was turned as if addressing someone behind. "Caroline is early." His head then turned to us and he said, "I do apologize, gentlemen. I only get one regular visitor and..." Here he paused.
"I understand, though perhaps my colleague here may fulfill at least one of Caroline's functions." Holmes gestured to me and I brought forth the bottle of Rum and the limes.
"Let's see now, knows more about my tastes than the esteemed Caroline, yet is not familiar with the unique relationship that she and I have had since childhood? It can only be Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson. I'm surprised, though. There are a number of John Watsons aboard, one with an MD, and two with PhDs, But no Sherlocks. For a man named Sherlock to manage to avoid being logged aboard under that name. Hmm. Are you here clandestinely?
"Not through my own efforts I assure you. I am noted in the records as, "Sheer luck homes."
"Cody, right?"
Holmes nodded in the affirmative. I raised my hand to my mouth and coughed, Holmes was not fooled, but said nothing. The Captain said, "Should have guessed. I keep telling him, "Slow and deliberate" but will he listen? Ha! Oh, do come in and welcome." He extended his hand to Holmes and me, and shook hands with us as though it were something not unpleasant but not commonplace either.
"A lovely place you have," I said as he escorted us through a large high-ceilinged area ringed with balconies on all four sides into a seating area that would have served as a most cozy inglenook in colder weather.
"We could dial-in some colder weather to justify building a fire, artificial of course. But it all starts to feel so recursive. So many things do these days."
"Recursive?" I said.
"Consider, Dr Watson, that outside the ship's hull is sub-zero temperatures that would freeze you almost instantly, were the virtual vacuum of space not there to claim you first. At least that's our theory. Edgar posits a different point of view, you've been introduced to Edgar, right? And Admiral Helen?"
"Yes," said Holmes.
"And not very many others right?" said the Captain.
"One, to be precise," Holmes said.
"Director Parrish, of course. Please don't think us rude, but our situation may be easier to understand if I return to my point, which I distracted myself from completing, which is to say, the idea of warming the interior against the outer cold only to cool part of it down solely so it can be warmed again? Well it starts to seem a bit futile."
"Not to mention wasteful of resources," I said.
"Wasteful? I suppose. But a shortage of energy has never been an issue that concerns us, and since we spent..." here he looked at me and hesitated before continuing, "...a number of years in the asteroid belt, neither has a shortage of materials. At least the essentials. And yet..."
"The scream," said Sherlock Holmes.
The Captain gave a look almost as full of anguish as the scream itself and said, not as a question, "You've heard."
"Hard not to, Captain," Holmes said, "Do people ignore it after a while?"
"Ignore it? I suppose some do. Or at least pretend to. But that degree of anguish, of pain. How can one ignore it and remain human?" The Captain paused and then said, "Parrish takes note of those who appear to be oblivious but as I try to tell him, to little effect, I should add, some of them are the most profoundly affected. They're not all sociopaths. Though some are, to our great disadvantage. And as for others..." Here his eyes appeared to give an almost imperceptible glance at the level above.
I started to say I didn't see how anybody could fail to be affected by such a sound, and then I thought back to some of the villains and rogues that Holmes and I had faced. Perhaps the passage of great time had failed to ameliorate the worst of the human condition after all. Holmes appeared to be reading my thoughts, or I his, when he said, "Is mankind thus fated through all time?"
"Director Parrish would say so," said the Captain, "But then Director Parrish also keeps bringing up the suggestion that we go to old Geneva and bring John Calvin to visit the good ship Oligarch."
"Is Director Parrish a theologian as well?" I said.
"Parrish? Not at all as far as I'm aware. No, our dear Director loves the sound of authoritarian gloating. A hearty, "I told you so," as it were."
Holmes said, "I suppose it would be tempting to have a grand symposium of thinkers and philosophers from the past converge in one place. The pressures upon Cody must be tremendous."
"Indeed they are," said the Captain. "That's why I so readily forgive him his lapses, Mr Sheer luck homes." The Captain and I both laughed. Holmes did not. "And I should add, even though it should not present a problem, you should have the error corrected. Sooner rather than later."
"And how is that done?" said Holmes.
"Oh it's simple enough, in theory," said our host. "All it requires is a form 1066 signed off by, uh Dr Watson, block your ears for a moment please, as I was saying, signed off by a Benji Fuller-level human interface engineer, a Gary Kildall-level programmer, two Alan Turing-level system engineers, and... oh yes, two-thirds approval by the MIT-Memorial Model Railroad Club. Fortunately, that last only includes active members. Though that precise number may be difficult to determine. Something about an "O gauge" versus "HO gauge" split. The Captain then signaled that it was alright for me to unblock my ears.
"Did I miss much?" I said, even though I'd heard it all.
"Only an attempt to memorialize certain people and an organization that our systems people deem to have not received the accolades they deserve," said the Captain.
Holmes said, "That, and an impossible task."
The Captain said, "Difficult, though possible in theory. Were I not the Captain, I might suggest a clandestine visit to systems, assisted by one Otis Ferg, a very low-level manipulator, of sorts. But to quote..." he looked at me for a moment, "...a former U.S. President, "That would be wrong.""
"And was it wrong?" said Holmes.
"Then, yes it was," said the Captain.
"And now?"
"That would depend on your motivation and scope, were you to try such a nefarious scheme. Especially if the illicit visit were merely for the sake of bypassing some paperwork. Parrish would certainly think it wrong, were he to encounter a plot of that sort in the hours between 5:00 AM and 7:00 PM."
The scream interrupted him and while not as loud as in our rooms, the effect on the Captain seemed all the more devastating. He excused himself and headed for the stairs. Before reaching them he turned and said, with what appeared to be some effort, "I hope our next visit will be under less tentative circumstances. Oh, and if you have time, you might check out Ravensridge Lane on your way back. It's said to be the highlight of the exhibit.
"In the housing development?" I said.
"That is no housing development," said the Captain. ""Suburban Parade of Homes - Mid-Atlantic Edition - Split-level Estates" is the largest art installation aboard any of the twelve ships." I was not surprised when the time-line alarm sounded on my tri-fold, but why?