were sacrificing the regal one for the good of the many. Bingham wanted the deed done, period. No regrets. Only a promise of a brighter future.
His
shining future. Rather than risk his freedom and life by orchestrating the assassination on his own, he’d sought out progressive souls (and potential scapegoats), tripping upon this society.
Jupiter set aside his goblet and initiated talk of possible locations for the unsavory deed. The attack would take place during the Golden Jubilee, a monumental event honoring the queen’s fiftieth anniversary of her accession. There would be much pomp and circumstance over the two-day period, and in some instances chaos due to the clamoring masses—some adoring, some disenchanted.
But where did Aquarius stand the best chance of success? Where could they do the most harm and therefore the most good? Where should they strike? The train en route from Windsor to Paddington? Buckingham Palace? Westminster Abbey? Or perhaps the procession through London? They were privy to the chain of events and closely guarded details, thanks to having a man on the inside—a boon that had come at substantial cost. Now to use that information wisely.
Bingham listened with interest and disgust as his cohorts bickered. Their utopian mind-set was frivolous, but their objective—to unleash and embrace the advanced knowledge of several brilliant and reclusive Mods—served his purpose well. That advanced knowledge included specifics on how to construct futuristic wonders in the realms of transportation, weapons, and communications—knowledge that would make him a man of enormous wealth and power. He had finessed his way into this secret society with one goal—to monopolize the technological market worldwide. The British Empire would make a fine start.
Still, he did not trust these knobs not to falter inthe moment of truth. To ensure his goals he’d set an additional plan into motion: the Royal Race for Rejuvenation—an event that he’d secretly coordinated with the Jubilee Science Committee. As the anonymous benefactor, Bingham would have full access to progress reports and discoveries pertaining to legendary inventions. He had cast a wide net in order to disguise the narrow scope of his intent—to locate the designs, prototype, or key component connected to a working time machine.
Because of his rumored close connection to Briscoe Darcy, Lord Ashford had been an obvious source of information. Yet fraternizing with that eccentric bumpkin and his idiotic wife had not produced the desired results. As for their daughter, though she was a tempting bit of flesh, Amelia Darcy’s temperament proved a barrier. If she possessed valuable knowledge pertaining to time travel, she would not willingly share it with Bingham. Forcing information out of her might prove morbid fun, but what if his efforts proved unsuccessful? That particular venture struck him as risky and unwise; therefore he’d devised the Triple R contest.
Broadening his horizons had been crucial in his inspired quest. Were he to possess a working time-traveling machine, such as the one devised by Briscoe Darcy and copied by the Peace Rebels, futuristic intelligence would be his for the taking. Unfortunately, the construction of time machines had been outlawed. Of the two successful models, Darcy’s was rumored to be stuck in the future and the Mods’ destroyed, the engineering designs of both hidden or lost…unless someone recovered them. He cared not who, but Bingham’s money was on a Darcy. To ensure that all three of Ashford’s offspring participated in the global treasure hunt, he’d issued personal, albeit anonymous, invitations.
One way or another Bingham would be a global technological kingpin.
“What if this…
elimination
is the wrongpath?” Venus said, jerking Bingham out of his musings and back to plan A.
Mercury raised a brow. “You voice doubt now that we have sealed the pact?”
“Playing devil’s advocate.”
“How
His
shining future. Rather than risk his freedom and life by orchestrating the assassination on his own, he’d sought out progressive souls (and potential scapegoats), tripping upon this society.
Jupiter set aside his goblet and initiated talk of possible locations for the unsavory deed. The attack would take place during the Golden Jubilee, a monumental event honoring the queen’s fiftieth anniversary of her accession. There would be much pomp and circumstance over the two-day period, and in some instances chaos due to the clamoring masses—some adoring, some disenchanted.
But where did Aquarius stand the best chance of success? Where could they do the most harm and therefore the most good? Where should they strike? The train en route from Windsor to Paddington? Buckingham Palace? Westminster Abbey? Or perhaps the procession through London? They were privy to the chain of events and closely guarded details, thanks to having a man on the inside—a boon that had come at substantial cost. Now to use that information wisely.
Bingham listened with interest and disgust as his cohorts bickered. Their utopian mind-set was frivolous, but their objective—to unleash and embrace the advanced knowledge of several brilliant and reclusive Mods—served his purpose well. That advanced knowledge included specifics on how to construct futuristic wonders in the realms of transportation, weapons, and communications—knowledge that would make him a man of enormous wealth and power. He had finessed his way into this secret society with one goal—to monopolize the technological market worldwide. The British Empire would make a fine start.
Still, he did not trust these knobs not to falter inthe moment of truth. To ensure his goals he’d set an additional plan into motion: the Royal Race for Rejuvenation—an event that he’d secretly coordinated with the Jubilee Science Committee. As the anonymous benefactor, Bingham would have full access to progress reports and discoveries pertaining to legendary inventions. He had cast a wide net in order to disguise the narrow scope of his intent—to locate the designs, prototype, or key component connected to a working time machine.
Because of his rumored close connection to Briscoe Darcy, Lord Ashford had been an obvious source of information. Yet fraternizing with that eccentric bumpkin and his idiotic wife had not produced the desired results. As for their daughter, though she was a tempting bit of flesh, Amelia Darcy’s temperament proved a barrier. If she possessed valuable knowledge pertaining to time travel, she would not willingly share it with Bingham. Forcing information out of her might prove morbid fun, but what if his efforts proved unsuccessful? That particular venture struck him as risky and unwise; therefore he’d devised the Triple R contest.
Broadening his horizons had been crucial in his inspired quest. Were he to possess a working time-traveling machine, such as the one devised by Briscoe Darcy and copied by the Peace Rebels, futuristic intelligence would be his for the taking. Unfortunately, the construction of time machines had been outlawed. Of the two successful models, Darcy’s was rumored to be stuck in the future and the Mods’ destroyed, the engineering designs of both hidden or lost…unless someone recovered them. He cared not who, but Bingham’s money was on a Darcy. To ensure that all three of Ashford’s offspring participated in the global treasure hunt, he’d issued personal, albeit anonymous, invitations.
One way or another Bingham would be a global technological kingpin.
“What if this…
elimination
is the wrongpath?” Venus said, jerking Bingham out of his musings and back to plan A.
Mercury raised a brow. “You voice doubt now that we have sealed the pact?”
“Playing devil’s advocate.”
“How
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