Erica scuffed her boot across the deck. “Because it was just too straightforward; Gateways and mad people and ships that sodding fly. Now this utter piss-take!”

  Sebastian slowly stretched his arm towards Erica and clasped her by the shoulder. “Erica!” he growled as he pulled her back in line. “This isn't the time nor the place for it.”

  In contrast, Sarah couldn't quite decide what level of pleased she should be. She'd never had an uncle before. I mean, Mr. Rasmus was sort of like an uncle, but he wasn't an uncle-uncle – she'd never had an uncle-uncle before. “Um, excuse me,” she said. “What sort of uncle are you?” Parnell's expression didn't change, nor was it open to the possibility of it.

  “I'm from your mother's side. Speaking of which.” He turned to Sebastian. “Where is Helena?”

  “She was very sick. She’s gone, Emory. I’m sorry.”

  Parnell's good eye creased slightly at the corner. “I’ll forgive your insubordination just this once, Sebastian.”

  “Yes, High Lord Parnell. My apologies.”

  Sarah shuffled slowly from foot-to-foot as she thought about the best way to word her next question. “Would it, erm, be okay if I hugged you?”

  Drops of sweat trickled down Sebastian's chin and formed an orderly queue to drip into his wound. “Sweetheart, I think High Lord Parnell is far too busy for that. Very busy man, very busy.”

  Parnell took two steps towards Sarah, then opened his arms; a stilted, almost mechanical movement. “Acceptable.” Sarah cautiously made her way across the room, painfully aware that the eyes of both guards were on her, though the barrels of their weapons remained fixed on her father. She held her arms out, and both she and her uncle awkwardly waltzed an orbit around one another like two equally-charged magnets. She shuffled forward and broke through the forcefield of awkwardness by wrapping her arms around him and pulling herself closer. Parnell quietly shuddered and placed a hand on her shoulder, his other arm remained outstretched and completely unsure as to what it was supposed to do with itself. “There there,” he said as he patted her shoulder. “Return to your father now.” Sarah released her grip and scurried away, stopping herself short of breaking into a jog. “It's fortunate you should come to me today, Sebastian. There is something you can help me with.” The torrent of sweat on Sebastian's face turned to ice.

  “Let me guess, High Lord Parnell, you have a Gate problem.”

  “A calibration problem.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  Parnell turned his head towards Sarah. “You always have a choice.”

  “And choices have consequences, High Lord Parnell. Where's the Gate?”

  Parnell allowed himself an indulgent hint of a smile. “You're standing in it.”

  Sebastian swept his eyes across the numerous levers and control panels – they made a little more sense now. “Using the ship as the Anchor point? The engines power the Gate, then you run a current through the ship and Anchor the Gate to it. Can't work – the ship, us included, would turn inside out. Sykes already tried something like that on a smaller scale and, well, he’s Sykes.”

  “That's why we needed you, Sebastian. It was Doctor Sykes that recognised Erica through the Gate and brought it to my attention, but it was Corelious’ idea to tell the press about our little alien problem. We were going to do it behind closed doors, but he suggested we make it public. We used the beasts to lure the girls, then we used the girls to lure you. We knew as long as we could keep track of them, you’d show up eventually. It solved so many problems, and you will solve another. Though I will admit, I didn’t quite expect to find you so close to my ship in the company of one of my men. I expected you at Trinity Park, but I’ll get over the disappointment.” Parnell returned to his shadow-covered throne without turning his back. “He may move freely.”

  Sebastian walked to each control panel in turn. The true test of sufficiently advanced technology, as any true scientist will tell you, is how many buttons it has. Out of the many hundreds of buttons each control panel was awash with; some of which operated a particular aspect of the Gate, some of which did nothing and, some of which, if connected to the coffee machine they’d been jimmied off, would brew you a macchiato. They were all horribly organised and badly labelled, which is to say, very scientific.

  “In theory, High Lord Parnell, this could work.”

  “But?”

  “We need to calibrate the oscillator, but we can't do that without my research notes. And to get my research notes, we'd need to calibrate the oscillator. It could take months, or even years for me to rediscover that sort of data.”

  “You have five minutes.” Parnell flicked his wrist towards Erica, his guards shifted their aim.

  “Please, High Lord Parnell. I need my notes. Threatening my daughter won’t help with that. Just give me some time to think.”

  “I’m not threatening your daughter, Sebastian. I’m threatening my niece. Four minutes.”

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  Sarah reached into her pocket and removed a small, red notebook. “Is, um, this it? I didn’t steal it, I was keeping it safe.”

  “I think safe is a relative term,” Erica said.

  Parnell shifted in his throne with a degree of enthusiasm that he reserved for special occasions. “Could... uncle... Parnell please see that?”

  Sarah sheepishly approached and handed him the notebook. “Could you tell us about mother, please?”

  “Perhaps later, child. Off you go,” he said softly.

  He flipped through the diary impatiently, pages drifted through the air like leaves. Sarah snatched at any that floated her way and stuffed them back into her pocket. “This is it, isn't it?” he said. He held a page of runic-like scribbles up at Sebastian. He considered the merits of lying to Parnell's face, or any other part of his body for that matter.

  “Yes, High Lord Parnell, yes it is.”

  Erica glowered at Sarah as she walked back with a collection of pages protruding from her pocket. “What was I supposed to do?”

  “I know, but still. Something other than that.”

  Parnell beckoned one of the crew over. The man didn't know whether to bow or salute, so he did both and hit himself in the eye on the way down. Parnell held the diary in front of him. “Can you read this?”

  “N-no, High Lord Parnell. F-forgive me, it's in some kind of cypher.”

  “Then what is the point of you? Back to your station – we will talk again.” Parnell dismissively waved his hand and flicked the book towards Sebastian. “Commence calibrations. Remember, consequences.”

  By time the man had slunk back to his console, Sebastian was stood in his space. He loomed nervously over Sebastian's shoulder as he worked and tried his hardest to make it look like he was doing something worth keeping him around for. In the centre of the console was an array of twenty-eight brass wheels that looked like oversized pound coins, each with a number above them, similar to that of a traditional Anchor. Sebastian turned to look over his shoulder. “Make yourself useful, eh? Hold this.” The man shuffled awkwardly around to his side and took the notebook. Sebastian turned each wheel in turn and finalised each selection by pressing down on it and locking it into the console. “There, it's done, High Lord Parnell.”

  Parnell stood and approached the console. “If you've lied to me-”

  “-Then I've killed Helena's children. I know.”

  “Commence operations!” The hands on the consoles around him increased their speed, and Sebastian's personal lectern returned to his station. The bow of the ship pushed open, then swung down on two sturdy armatures to sit flush with the hull. From inside the ship, in a telescoping motion, emerged a metallic cylinder that resembled a cross between a cannon and a lightening rod, and actually wasn’t too far from both.

  The air boiled and thrummed around it as sparks danced along its length and culminated in a large, glowing ball of electricity twenty-feet from the end. The ball undulated rhythmically as if it were a glowing, jaundiced heart. It grew larger and span faster with every second that passed until it was a shimmering ovular surface large enough to encompass the Son of Albion in all of its impractical pomposity. “Hold,” Parnell ordered. The crew grew still and dropped their arms by their sides. “Sebastian can do the honours.” Sebastian did a lap of the control room and made micro-adjustments on each control panel he came to.

  The crew visibly shuddered as his hands darted across their consoles and corrected their miscalculations. Some of which, though he'd have never told Parnell, seemed to be on purpose. He returned to the central console and pulled the lever. An alarm sounded throughout the ship and a blue light fluoresced at deck level, but only because they were out of red bulbs. The deckhands finished up their tasks and quickly filtered into the ship, sealing the bulkhead behind them. He counted to thirty and pressed the grey button next to the lever. The ship’s metal plating crackled and fizzed with the same energy as the rod, which itself was now withdrawing into the hull. “Ready, High Lord Parnell,” he said.

  Parnell waved a hand. The engine ports on the side of the ship rotated in pairs until they all faced backwards. Everyone in the control room knew what to expect, except Erica and Sarah, who were almost flung from their feet as the ship rapidly dropped several feet and accelerated towards the shimmering Gate. The snowfall of static gave way to a beautiful blue sky, encroached upon only by the tops of lush, green trees. The twitter of birdsong drifted out into the burnt-orange but was immediately suppressed by the roar of the Albion's engines.

  The pride of Parnell's army slowly disappeared into the Gate, the eclipse it cast on the land disappearing with it. The light through the control room windows shifted from the familiar burnt-orange to a pallid yellow, which contrasted appallingly with the dull electric glow that filled the cabin as the emergency lights flicked on. Anyone that hadn't developed Seasonal Affective Disorder by that point immediately lapsed into it. Erica manoeuvred both herself and Sarah across the swaying metal floor to their father. Along the front of each console ran a metal bar that served as a hand hold, onto which Sebastian clung to for dear life. “Report.” A chatter washed around the room as each crewman called out the status of their panel. “Everything is within parameters, High Lord Parnell,” the last one called out.

  Sebastian wrapped his arm around the girls, pulled them closer, renewed his own grip on the bar and continued counting to himself. The ship trembled around them as pulsating tendrils of energy lashed the side of the ship like waves in an ocean. He closed his eyes. “One.” The ship spun violently to one side, crewman and guards alike were hurled across the room with enough force to break bones. Parnell tumbled from his throne as lightbulbs shattered around him and showered the already unfortunate occupants with shards of hot glass.

  The precaution of bolting the throne to the deck had been taken, though no-one planned for it to be upside-down – if they had, there’d have probably been a seat-belt. The High Lord struck a console with a crunch and spiralled over the top of it. He flailed his arms towards the handrail but only succeeded in mashing his palm across the controls. This further destabilised the ship and ordered a frappuccino. He landed with a thud atop the scrabbling pile of people. The ship swung again as Parnell staggered to his feet, and the floor gave up the pretence of being a wall. The groaning pile of bodies washed over him and covered him from sight.

  “What the hell was that?” squealed Erica.

  Sarah relinquished her grip on the console, then vomited all over it. “Kind of fun, actually.”

  “We need- What do we need?” Sebastian asked himself in a panic. “Keys!” He looked towards the pile of wounded people, or perhaps dead bodies, he couldn’t stop to think about it too much, and let out a snarl of frustration. “We need Parnell's keys, the ship will be locked down.”

  Sarah held a ring of keys out in front of her and let the rocking motion of the ship jingle them in her hand. “I'm smart when I want to be.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re bloody brilliant!” Erica grabbed the keys and planted a kiss on her sister's forehead.