as Doc Blue pulled metal from muscle. Never had she felt such blinding pain. She jerked and moaned, but she did not scream or cry.
Show no weakness
. She focused on Tucker’s steady words—something about steam turbines—but then Doc bathed her wound with something that stung like a thousand wasps.
“Blooming hell,” she hissed, wondering how big and deep the cut was, how long it would take Doc Blue to stitchher wound, anticipating the needle piercing her skin, the thread tugging, tightening….She felt ill.
She opened her eyes to stem the nausea, mortified that damnable tears blurred her vision. She thought she saw Tucker nod at either Doc or Chang. Light-headed with pain, Amelia felt a swift tap at her temple, then blissful peace.
C HAPTER 5
B RITISH S CIENCE M USEUM
L ONDON , E NGLAND
“It is settled.”
“Dismal business, this.”
“A small and necessary price for the reformation and salvation of mankind.”
Nine men. One goal. Or so eight of them thought.
The Viscount Bingham, odd man out and referred to in this covert society as code name Mars, noted the others’ grim expressions with morbid humor. Men of peace, yet they plotted to assassinate the queen.
Hidden away in a secret room, seated around a table once owned by Sir John Flamsteed, a seventeenth-century astronomer and Britain’s first astronomer royal, nine titled men of science and industry raised their crystal goblets to seal the treasonous pact.
“To the Age of Aquarius.”
“Aquarius,” they all repeated, vowing their silence and commitment with the mention of the society’s name, the clink of glass on glass, and a swallow of port.
An astrological cycle of change revered by the Mods, Aquarius ruled electricity, flight, freedom, modernization, astrology, rebellion, and—among other things the Vics had yet to experience—computers. Though the precise year ofarrival was in dispute, to those in this room, and many outside these walls, the Age of Aquarius was now.
Unfortunate that Queen Victoria, a woman ruled by staunch morals and bitter heartbreak, seemed intent on halting progress. As if she could go back in time by slowing time. All in the name of love. Damn her royal eyes. Were she to lift the ban on building and perfecting time-traveling devices, she could reunite with her deceased beloved, or perhaps save him in some fashion by time traveling herself. But that would involve altering history—something Briscoe Darcy and then the Peace Rebels had already done. Something she was very much against.
One would think, at the very least, that given Prince Albert’s voracious appreciation of science, the queen would honor her husband’s memory by allowing Mod technology to flourish. Instead, she denounced the development and sales of marvels, including rocket packs, telecommunicators, and advanced weaponry, to name only a few. Unlike her husband, she had never embraced the fantastical futuristic knowledge of the Peace Rebels. She was not surprised when that advanced knowledge and a few corrupt Mods ignited a war and divided society. And she was famously bitter when that advanced knowledge had failed to save Prince Albert’s life. Unlike the men in this room (and much of the altered world), Queen Victoria saw no advantage in cultivating twentieth-century technology—technology that, according to the Book of Mods, had steered mankind toward the brink of destruction.
New Worlders were of a different mind. Knowledge was power, and, knowing what could be, they would choose an alternate path, using technology only for good.
As a Flatliner, Bingham cared only about what futuristic knowledge could do for
him
. He saw himself as a visionary and entrepreneur, and as far as he was concerned, this assassination was long overdue. The difference between Bingham and the other eight plotters was that they approachedthis “elimination” with trepidation. In order to soothe their consciences, they’d adopted the noble mind-set that they
Show no weakness
. She focused on Tucker’s steady words—something about steam turbines—but then Doc bathed her wound with something that stung like a thousand wasps.
“Blooming hell,” she hissed, wondering how big and deep the cut was, how long it would take Doc Blue to stitchher wound, anticipating the needle piercing her skin, the thread tugging, tightening….She felt ill.
She opened her eyes to stem the nausea, mortified that damnable tears blurred her vision. She thought she saw Tucker nod at either Doc or Chang. Light-headed with pain, Amelia felt a swift tap at her temple, then blissful peace.
C HAPTER 5
B RITISH S CIENCE M USEUM
L ONDON , E NGLAND
“It is settled.”
“Dismal business, this.”
“A small and necessary price for the reformation and salvation of mankind.”
Nine men. One goal. Or so eight of them thought.
The Viscount Bingham, odd man out and referred to in this covert society as code name Mars, noted the others’ grim expressions with morbid humor. Men of peace, yet they plotted to assassinate the queen.
Hidden away in a secret room, seated around a table once owned by Sir John Flamsteed, a seventeenth-century astronomer and Britain’s first astronomer royal, nine titled men of science and industry raised their crystal goblets to seal the treasonous pact.
“To the Age of Aquarius.”
“Aquarius,” they all repeated, vowing their silence and commitment with the mention of the society’s name, the clink of glass on glass, and a swallow of port.
An astrological cycle of change revered by the Mods, Aquarius ruled electricity, flight, freedom, modernization, astrology, rebellion, and—among other things the Vics had yet to experience—computers. Though the precise year ofarrival was in dispute, to those in this room, and many outside these walls, the Age of Aquarius was now.
Unfortunate that Queen Victoria, a woman ruled by staunch morals and bitter heartbreak, seemed intent on halting progress. As if she could go back in time by slowing time. All in the name of love. Damn her royal eyes. Were she to lift the ban on building and perfecting time-traveling devices, she could reunite with her deceased beloved, or perhaps save him in some fashion by time traveling herself. But that would involve altering history—something Briscoe Darcy and then the Peace Rebels had already done. Something she was very much against.
One would think, at the very least, that given Prince Albert’s voracious appreciation of science, the queen would honor her husband’s memory by allowing Mod technology to flourish. Instead, she denounced the development and sales of marvels, including rocket packs, telecommunicators, and advanced weaponry, to name only a few. Unlike her husband, she had never embraced the fantastical futuristic knowledge of the Peace Rebels. She was not surprised when that advanced knowledge and a few corrupt Mods ignited a war and divided society. And she was famously bitter when that advanced knowledge had failed to save Prince Albert’s life. Unlike the men in this room (and much of the altered world), Queen Victoria saw no advantage in cultivating twentieth-century technology—technology that, according to the Book of Mods, had steered mankind toward the brink of destruction.
New Worlders were of a different mind. Knowledge was power, and, knowing what could be, they would choose an alternate path, using technology only for good.
As a Flatliner, Bingham cared only about what futuristic knowledge could do for
him
. He saw himself as a visionary and entrepreneur, and as far as he was concerned, this assassination was long overdue. The difference between Bingham and the other eight plotters was that they approachedthis “elimination” with trepidation. In order to soothe their consciences, they’d adopted the noble mind-set that they
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