Sebastian Gloom

Epilogue

     It was later. Much, much later.

     The Albatross strained against its moorings as it was buffeted by the swirling currents of Chaos. It was about the size of a small merchant ship, the kind that had crossed the Atlantic in Sebastian Gloom's lifetime carrying weapons and machine parts to the provinces and precious raw materials back to the heart of the empire. It bore no resemblance to an ocean going ship of any era, though. It had no masts and no sails. It was entirely enclosed in a shell of thick, toughened glass which was penetrated only by the boarding tube, four steel-encircled entry hatches and the shafts of the drive screws.

     Inside the shell, the ship itself could be seen. A wooden railing circled the main deck, which occupied the entire upper surface of the craft. Fixtures and fittings in the railing allowed for the attachment of telescopes and other observing devices that were normally kept in a storehouse towards the rear of the ship. At the forward end, just below the level of the railing so as not to block the view of the crew, was the figurehead; a great sea bird with outstretched wings that followed the curve of the hull. Stairs in the upper deck led down to the interior of the craft, which was entirely hollow except for illusions created by the crew, each of whom would have their own areas to fashion in whatever way they pleased.

     There was a railed walkway circling the lowest part of the hull with overlooks that allowed the crew to see downwards, in case something interesting lurked in that direction. Flights of steps ran up the sides of the ship, connecting the upper and lower viewing areas, and there were hatches on either side, leading inside. Windows and hatches also dotted the hull and everything was covered with elaborate, gothic ornamentation in scarlet and gold, making it look more like a vast piece of jewellery than a ship. A piece of jewellery encased in a globular glass display case.

     Beside it, connected to it by a smooth tube of steel, was what appeared to be a perfectly flat surface made of a smooth, hard, white material. It was the outer surface of the universe, it’s curvature impossible to make out on this scale. In every other direction there was nothing but swirling chaos; a disturbing but strangely beautiful sight that reminded Gloom of the rainbow colours of a soap bubble.

     “She's ready,” he said with satisfaction and the good kind of weariness that came with the successful completion of a long, hard task. “Finally, she’s ready to go.”

     “Yes,” agreed Benson, who then chuckled. “Basically, we’ve built a ghost ship.”

     “A living crew would need food, water, a way to keep the air fresh,” said Gloom. “A ghost ship can be much simpler. Basically, all you need is a way to keep the chaos out and a means of propulsion. Speaking of which, using angels to provide the motive power... It still seems like using them as galley slaves. I just can't get my head around the idea that they’re okay with it.”

     “Some of them are also keen on looking for other universes, and boring, repetitive tasks are something they're good at. They've been moving the stars and planets since the creation of the universe. Raising and lowering the tides, arranging the passage of the seasons... Turning the drive screws for however long it takes us to get somewhere is nothing to them.” He looked at the complicated, screw shaped structures protruding from the rear of the ship, the devices that Archimedes and Brunel said would push against the chaos and propel the ship. They'd better, he thought. If they didn't, they’d gone to a great deal of trouble to create a static house boat.

     “So when do we leave?” asked Benson.

     “As soon as everyone arrives. People are still making their goodbyes.”

     “You know, I'm almost tempted to give up my place and go on the Britannic instead. Have you seen it? Brunel's turning it into an epic masterpiece. He sees our small effort as little more than a crude prototype. A proof of concept only.”