The Affinity Bridge

CHAPTER Eight




The hanger was cold and Veronica hugged her jacket to herself, wishing she'd thought to bring a shawl or a more substantial overcoat along with her that morning. Her breath fogged in the air before her face. She tried to avoid shivering.

They were standing on a steel walkway above the main factory floor, where the enormous shell of an airship gondola was currently under construction. It sat upon a large wooden pallet, squat in the centre of the massive room, scaffolds running over its surface like the strands of a vast spider's web, ensnaring the bowels of the partly-erected ship. Men buzzed around the skeleton of the vessel like worker ants, swarming up the sides of the scaffolds to place glass panes into the wooden window frames and pass doors, seats and other furnishings through to the workmen inside. Tools clattered loudly and men shouted to each other above the noise.

Veronica stared down from the railing that ran along the side of the walkway. After her experience the previous day she found the sight of the unfinished gondola incredibly eerie, reminiscent of the smashed wreck of The Lady Armitage. Many of the fittings were the same as those she had seen inside the shattered vessel, and from where she was standing, the internal layout looked practically identical. She could hardly bear to look at the passenger cabin, with its row upon row of empty seats, without visualising the scene inside of the burnt-out ship; the blank, ruined faces of the dead staring back at her, accusingly. She fancied for a moment that she could still smell the stench of the wreck, the aroma of cooked human flesh assaulting her nostrils and palate. Her stomach heaved.

She shook her head, realising that she was gripping the railing tightly with both hands. She had a sudden, unnerving sense of vertigo, like she was tumbling over the railing towards the factory floor below. She closed her eyes. The moment passed. She caught her breath, drawing raggedly at the air. She knew it was no good giving in to melancholy. She'd seen the results of that before, long ago. What was done was done, and now the most important thing was to find out who was responsible for the disaster, and if necessary, aid Newbury in bringing them to justice. She breathed calmly, and hoped that the others hadn't taken note of her momentary lapse.

She watched a man below struggling to carry a large mirror across the factory floor, wondering for a moment if the new ship was intended as a replacement for The Lady Armitage. She decided not; it was clearly too soon after the crash for the workmen to be this advanced with the construction. She turned from the railing. "It's quite an operation you have here, Mr. Chapman."

Chapman, who had been deep in conversation with Newbury, turned and smiled. "Wait until you see the next hanger, Miss Hobbes. Now that's really something to behold." He nodded at the workmen down below. "Come on, let's get a closer look."

He led them along the steel walkway, their feet clanging loudly against the metal rungs as they walked. They made their way down a series of steps at the far end of the hanger.

Chapman crossed the floor to where the men were working and clambered up onto the wooden pallet, peering into the shell of the new gondola. He seemed pleased.

Down at this level the air was filled with the smell of oil and wet paint, and the noise was tremendous; banging, sawing, shouting. There appeared to be an entire army of men at work. Newbury counted at least ten of them, dancing around each other, ferrying components back and forth, their faces damp with perspiration and grime. Not one of them looked up from their work to eye the newcomers as Newbury circled the construction, drinking it all in.

He looked up. High above them the red brick walls turned to windows, allowing the natural light to seep in from outside. The roof was a skein of corrugated lead sheets, laid over a framework of wooden beams. The place was enormous, yet seemed bizarrely reduced by the sheer size of the gondola that was being erected inside of it.

Newbury finished circling the pallet and then moved to stand beside Chapman, clapping a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. The other man, who'd been standing with his hands on his hips admiring the work of his craftsmen, stepped back, leaning in to hear Newbury's question.

"How long does it take you to build one of these? From start to finish, I mean?"

Chapman raised his voice so the other man could hear. "About three weeks. This is the smallest size in the fleet, a passenger-class vessel. The rest of the frame is being welded in the next hanger." He pointed to the other end of the vast room, where a huge archway led through to the next part of the site. Newbury could just make out some of what was going on inside, with iron girders being lifted into place around a wooden frame, the entire construction apparently suspended from the ceiling.

"Three weeks? That seems awfully quick."



Chapman nodded. "I know. We've spent the last ten years perfecting the process, ironing out all of the wrinkles." He coughed, and seemed to consider searching out another cigarette, before quickly changing his mind. "This one's bound for India." He nodded at the gondola in front of them. "It'll be out of here in a couple of days. We'll have an automaton fly it over the water. That way there's no need for the pilot to come back again, you see." He smiled. "It's a good package. The new owner is provided with a fully trained pilot and we're not stuck ferrying people back and forth across the ocean."

Newbury nodded. He could see the economy in the system. "I admire your business acumen, Mr. Chapman. And your men certainly seem to know what they're doing." They both regarded the workmen still scurrying to and fro all around them.

Newbury glanced at Veronica out of the corner of his eye. He could see that she was feeling uncomfortable being around another airship so soon after her visit to the crash site the previous day. He decided to hurry things along. "Are we ready to move on, Miss Hobbes? I'm anxious to see how the balloon itself is constructed."

Veronica smiled thankfully. "Yes, indeed. Mr. Chapman, please lead on."

They followed Chapman across the floor of the manufactory towards the archway and through to the next hanger. As they approached, Veronica gasped in wonder at the sight. The space itself must have been twice the size of the previous room, opening out into a cavernous hall filled with all manner of mechanical wonder and, at its heart, the massive skeletal frame of an airship balloon. Light shone down from the windows above in great shafts, penetrating the gloom and picking out the swirling dust motes in the air. Newbury stood beside Veronica as they looked up in awe. The immense structure of the airship was clearly taking shape, suspended from the ceiling on an array of enormous mechanical arms. Iron girders were being welded into place around a wooden frame, hot sparks showering the room below in a series of glittering waterfalls. Men, tied into harnesses and dangling from roof joists, clambered around the structure, gas tanks strapped to their backs, welding torches clamped firmly in their gloved fists. Other men operated large crane-like machines, lifting the iron girders into place for their colleagues to weld. Newbury had never seen anything like them; the operator sat inside a small cab on top of the machine, manipulating levers to control the arm, which terminated in a large claw used to grasp the iron girders and move them to precisely the required position. The machines themselves were fixed in place, bolted to the floor, and spluttered loudly as their steam engines turned over in the relatively enclosed space of the hanger. Chapman held his hands out, encompassing the scene before them. "Impressive, isn't it?"

Newbury couldn't help but agree. "Magnificent. A remarkable achievement."

Chapman smiled. "It is, rather." He rubbed his hands together in an unconscious gesture. "The difficulty, of course, is one of space. We have only enough room to assemble one vessel at a time. I've been thinking, recently, of constructing another facility on the other side of the river, but in truth the advent of the automaton business has rendered that superfluous, at least for now."

Veronica was still regarding the enormous skeleton of the vessel suspended overhead. She glanced at Chapman. "Are the automatons also manufactured on the premises, Mr. Chapman?"

"Indeed they are, Miss Hobbes. Although I feel I must warn you that the scale of the operation is hardly as impressive." He indicated the airship. "The technology is still relatively new, and the units are expensive to develop. Mass production is unfortunately some years away. Nevertheless, orders have been growing steadily and the production line has been constantly engaged since its inception." He cleared his throat. "We'll pass through the area on the way to see Villiers in a few moments."

Newbury looked contemplative. "Tell me, Mr. Chapman, why it is that a highly successful airship business should make the move into artificial intelligence? It strikes me that the two disciplines make strange bedfellows. Why invest in something so new and speculative?"

Chapman paused before responding, as if weighing the question. "On one hand, in Villiers, I had the expertise and the vision to pull it off, and on the other I saw the opportunity to make a return." He shook his head, not satisfied with his own answer. "No, it's more than that. After my father passed on, Sir Maurice, I found myself in the enviable position of inheriting an industrial empire, and with it, a significant fortune. I could have taken the opportunity to live a life of pleasure, wasting my time dallying with insignificant trifles, spending my days lounging around my estate. I admit, for a while I was tempted. But I also knew that if I devoted my life to such lackadaisical pursuits I would soon shrivel up and die. I needed stimulation, and more, I had an overriding desire to aid progress. After meeting Villiers and being introduced to his revolutionary plans for a new breed of airship, I decided to invest a portion of my fortune in setting up this firm." He paused only momentarily, obviously in his stride. "I could see clearly, then, the impact that Villiers's incredible new designs would have on the air transportation industry, and, with time and a lot of hard work, my faith was proved right. Chapman and Villiers Air Transportation Services became one of the most important airship operators in the world."

The others were listening intently. "So why risk that now? Why divert the resources of your successful company into something untested, unproven on the open market?"

Chapman shrugged. "Because I grew bored, and because Villiers kept pushing forward, irrespective of finances, time or effort. You'll understand that when you meet him. The man is fuelled by a passion for his work. He was like an unstoppable force, and it was only then, after watching him work himself into the ground, night after night, for months on end, that I finally realised how the automaton project could help us to fulfill our original ambition. I started to consider the almost limitless applications of these mechanical men. If they could learn to write, they could be employed as clerks. If they could learn to cook they could replace servants. If we taught them the art of war, they could even march into battle against the Empire's foes. Think how many needless deaths could be averted? Surely these remarkable devices could aid in the technological revolution of the Empire? Surely that could only be of benefit to the wider populace, freeing them from the tedium of household chores, leaving more time for education and other, more profitable enterprises? I think you'll see, when we have Villiers give us a demonstration of the units, what a spectacular revolution awaits us, just around the corner, when the world becomes truly aware of what we're doing here in our little factory in Battersea."

Veronica met Newbury's eyes. "But Mr. Chapman, what of the people pushed out by these automatons, and what of their families? If their jobs are taken away from them, to be replaced by these artificial men, many of them will be left destitute with no hope of finding other work. Surely that's not in the best interests of the Empire?"

Chapman nodded. "Yes. I too have concerned myself with that, Miss Hobbes. Yet...we can't allow it to halt progress. Society will redress the balance, given time. Communities will change, and people will find worthwhile employ in any number of different industries. The automaton revolution will provide them with even more opportunities, and I'm convinced it will raise the standard of living across all classes throughout the entirety of the Empire."

Newbury looked uncomfortable. "Grand claims indeed, Mr. Chapman."

"Time will tell, Sir Maurice, time will tell. But it is clear to me that you need to see one of these marvellous machines in action!" He was animated now, fired up on his own rhetoric. "Allow me to walk you through the automaton production site on our way to see Villiers. It's just this way."

Newbury arched an eyebrow at Veronica and the two of them fell in behind Chapman as he continued his tour of the facility, picking a route through the array of spluttering machines that continued to swing iron girders into place high above their heads.