Falling Against Gravity Read online

  “What men? Those men over there?” Fort gestured towards the three men in long coats that the quartermaster was just speaking with. “I'll buy one from them, then!” Fort fumed, not even trying to hide his contempt.

  The quartermaster looked Fort straight in the face and took a long draw from his pipe. “I sincerely doubt it. But you can try. Here’s your down payment. No hard feelings, aye?”

  Fort grabbed the cash and put it in his jacket, barely looking at it. He deftly marched over to the three men. He tried to comb his hands through his hair and gather his composure. “Excuse me, gentlemen, but I would like to purchase one of those barrels of mercury,” he demanded as he drew closer to the group.

  Blake, the obvious leader of the pack, responded without even turning towards Fort. “Go away,” he growled, sounding annoyed at the audacity of Fort’s request.

  Fort was growing more agitated, but he was at a disadvantage. These men didn’t have to give him anything. He took a deep, calming breath and tried hard to sound firm. “I am prepared to pay any price. I must have one of those barrels. It’s for some very important scientific research.”

  “Go away. Your money will get you nothing here … except hurt.”

  Fort wasn’t going to give up. That mercury was worth everything to him. His entire future depended on procuring it. Calmly and respectfully, Fort firmly explained, “There's no reason to be rude, I already paid for one of those barrels, and I feel entitled to it.”

  Blake had enough. He turned to Fort and commanded, “I don't care what you think you're entitled to. Go away, you stupid little man!”

  Fort was about to gather Envar for physical backup, but froze when he saw Blake’s face. “Wait … I know you,” Fort gasped, gob smacked. Anxiety, fear, and anger simultaneously flashed across his face. Without any conscious awareness, his hand became a fist and in one fluid motion, he punched Blake hard in the mouth, splitting his knuckle open in the process. No one was more surprised than Fort by this action.

  Immediately, a man wearing a wide-brimmed hat and high collar reached past Blake with lightning speed and grabbed Fort around the neck with an artificial hand and arm, lifting him clear off the ground. The biomechanical man walked a few steps with an odd clomp and held Fort off the ground with ease. The sleeve of his coat pulled back to reveal small pistons moving in the man’s forearm. Fort kicked at the dirt for footing, but only his toes were scraping the sandy ground. The arm pistons made an odd sound decompressing while the man lifted Fort even higher. Fort’s eyes furiously darted between Blake and his robotic assailant. He desperately pulled at the fingers of his aggressor, but the cold grip of the unflinching metallic hand was crushing his windpipe. Men were not meant to be held in this position. Fort’s head felt like it was going to explode as he started to lose consciousness. The steamborg man noted Fort’s plight and smiled crookedly, his multi-lensed eyepiece faintly glowing red in the darkness of the nearing dawn. His head was severely scarred as if he were pieced together in a hurry. Some teeth were real, some were metal. The flesh on his face folded over inlaid metal plates and joints, but from one side he could have passed for a normal man.

  Fort strained his bulging eyes towards the sinisterly sneering man he’d struck, blood slowly dripping from his split lip. Fort dangled, gasping for air. His face was turning purple. “H-how? It c-can't be …” he sputtered.

  Meanwhile, the police were in position on the high banks sheltering the black dock. The police chief fired a shot into the air. “This is the police,” he shouted. “Everyone drop what you're doing and raise your hands over your heads.”

  The men on the docks chaotically scrambled. Some of the deckhands bolted and the shadier buyers shot back at the police officers. “Blimey! Cut’er and make way ya heathen dogs!” the quartermaster cursed loudly as he pulled a long curved knife from its sheath and cut one of the mooring lines right at the tree stump. The crane started to swing wildly, the pallet groaning and creaking in a precarious sway.

  In all of the growing chaos Blake squinted at Fort, his eyes widening as he also recounted the man who just struck him. He glanced to the hills as bullets started to rain down from the police. He turned back to Fort. “And I remember you,” he rasped through clenched, bloody teeth. Fort and Blake locked eyes like mortal enemies as the police bullets came like a deadly hailstorm.

  Deckhands onboard the vessel scrambled from the gunfire, leaving a couple poor souls holding the polearm of the davit to get lifted into the air. The heavy load crashed onto the top of another pile of cargo before bouncing back up and dropping the sailors back down to the deck. The pallet of barrels careened into the imprisoned animals, busting open some of the bamboo cages. Penguins spilled out and ran in every direction, while the jaguar worked its way through the splintered bamboo like a greasy eel with paws that swiped at anything nearby.

  Out of the darkness, Envar plunged a long dagger through the pneumatic forearm holding Fort. With a lightning fast strike, Envar followed the stabbing with a backhanded chop to the clockwork man’s windpipe. Grabbing his dagger, he deftly twisted it before pulling it back out. The arm sizzled and crackled as clear fluid poured all over the sandy ground as the human part of the monstrosity choked and gasped for air. His metal fingers bent in strange and awkward ways, dropping Fort to the dirt. The creature futilely tried to clutch at its throat with failing digits.

  Fort clumsily crawled backwards, gasping for air. “It can't be …” he mumbled in a daze as chaos reigned around him. Bullets randomly pummeled the ground with slight thuds, narrowing missing them.

  The third man in the trio, a broad shouldered, blonde fellow who Fort also began to recognize, pulled a handgun out of his coat and pointed it at Envar. In a rush of panic and instinct, Fort quickly scraped up two handfuls of fine silty dirt near his feet and threw it at the assailant’s mutton-chopped face, making him stumble backwards and blindly bump into offloaded cargo that was stacked behind him. With some sense of self-preservation, he ducked in between two piles of crates while rubbing the silt from his eyes. With no one controlling it, the ship’s davit and its pallet of barrels swung wildly. The heavy load slammed into the broad gunman’s hiding place. He immediately dropped his gun as crates were violently pushed into him, pinning his body. Still blinded by dirt, he screamed as the crushing continued while the slowly moving ship pulled the pallet of barrels harder and harder into him. Jammed in a tangled and broken mess, he clamored and clawed at the heavy pallet as it was drug over him, pulling him apart.

  Blake ran towards his ally yelling, “Kane! Kane!” The trapped man’s arms became ensnared in the rigging, as he struggled to get out. Bone after bone was broken or crushed in the man’s ribs and pelvis as he was torn over pile after pile of crates and rum barrels. Dark red blood spurted out his sides and his mouth. Blake ran around, futilely seeking a way to free his trapped colleague.

  The jaguar sprinted clear of the broken cages, heading straight towards the quartermaster. At the last moment before the leaping creature landed on him, the Maori man grabbed the animal and dragged it to the ground. He stabbed it fiercely and vainly as the animal’s teeth gnashed at the tattooed man’s neck while its hind legs shredded his stomach area. Valiantly, the man fought and stabbed as his life blood poured out of multiple wounds and slashes. The animal’s sharp claws inadvertently tore through the strap of the money satchel. The Maori man uttered something in his native tongue as he gurgled his last breath. The wounded animal slumped away into the long grass, its face and sides dripping red with blood. The shocked quartermaster grabbed the satchel and ran toward the forward tree stump bollard. Holding the bloody satchel in his teeth he cut the last mooring line with his razor-sharp blade before he raced towards the gangway as the ship started to glide away. The other sailors scurried up the gangway before letting it fall into the river. One of the deckhands untied a rope before another pulled a canvas tarp off a small Gatling gun on deck and started returning fire to the police. The rigging on the swinging palle
t of barrels let go as the Gatling gun’s fire tore through everything. Several barrels burst open, pouring precious metallic liquid everywhere. Penguins slipped and flopped around in the noxious mud.

  Envar grabbed Fort by the shoulders and turned him sharply around. Behind them, a bullet struck a lantern hanging on the Enyo and started a small fire, casting an eerie glow over the chaos. Sailors frantically raced around the ship, trying to stop the fire from spreading on board.

  Kane’s mangled body was slowly scraped to the river edge and beyond. Blake threw his hat on the ground in frustration, oblivious to the gunfire around him as the ship dragged his compatriot into the river. He turned slowly and glared hatred at Fort.

  Fort tried to pull away from Envar’s grasp to look back. He was transfixed. It was as if he had seen a pack of ghosts. Envar roughly shook Fort. “Mr. Fort, we must go now!” he bellowed with his thick Turkish accent into Fort’s face.

  Fort snapped to and noticed a small barrel rolling by. Noting what was in the barrel he raced towards it, and kept it rolling in the direction of his trailer. “I’m not leaving without you,” he panted as he heaved and pushed at the barrel. Envar ran back and started cranking the auto-car engine. Blake and his remaining mechanized partner released the horses from their wagon, abandoning the barrels. Blake then helped the cumbersome pneumatic man onto a horse before he jumped on his own mount and the duo raced off. Meanwhile, the bloody jaguar leapt onto the back of a man shooting at police and bit into his head, ripping and pulling the scalp from his skull. The man screamed in pain as penguins scurried around everywhere, desperately trying to keep from being the next meal of the vicious feline.

  Bullets rained down from the surrounding hilltops. Smugglers and sailors alike were being shot by police. Ripley was beyond panic-stricken at the gore and the piling dead bodies. “Fort!” he screamed, “Forget about the barrel! Get into the vehicle!”

  Fort wasn’t paying attention to anything but the task at hand. He wasn’t going to leave without his cargo. He managed to guide the small barrel’s momentum right up the ramps onto his trailer. He yelled for Envar to drive while he tried to secure the barrel with blocks and straps. Once complete, Fort looked back at the chaotic scene as Envar raced up a dirt lane along the river bank. He saw Blake looking back at him from his horse. Even at a distance, their eyes were locked in a deadly standoff.

  “It can't be …” Fort repeated, still in shock.

  Blake turned around and rode away with his steamborg associate, fleeing the pandemonium into the sunrise, almost as if on cue.

  CHAPTER 3

  Charles Fort was a man who came from money, but his family’s money was never meant to be his. He and his father had a toxic relationship that ended without resolution and without love. Fort’s father left all of his money to his uncle, who in turn, passed away and left an inheritance to Charles’ brother, who also died an untimely death. Ultimately, all of the money, property, and stores were endowed to Fort – a man who fully expected to live in poverty and with no interest in business whatsoever. He immediately set the businesses up to run themselves and liquidated some assets to top up his capital.

  When he found himself with a huge sum to play with, he invested it in his passion – the search for answers that no one else was interested in pursuing. Or, to be more precise, he was compelled to discover things that no one believed even existed. He sought out inventors and others who could help him in his pursuit. He sought out men like Nikola who were willing to play with dark science and challenge the physical laws. Or men like Envar, who had a military precision about them and loyalty for hire. And Fort paid Envar well for his loyalty.

  One of Fort’s first purchases was a magnificent, enormous hangar outside of New York City. It was set on the quiet, unassuming landscape along the Hackensack River, hidden by a long driveway and surrounded by rolling hills of white birch trees that cloaked the activities that took place within its domain. Even though he had a beautiful house in the city this was Fort’s true home and he loved it beyond measure.

  After the events at the Black Dock, Envar and his two shocked passengers arrived at the hangar, trailer with barrel in tow. The sun was starting to innocently peek out through the clouds, oblivious to the events that took place prior to the dawn.

  Ripley jumped out of the backseat before Fort slammed the door of the automobile and started to stomp up the gravel driveway. “It was him! I'm certain!” Fort insisted. “He said he remembered me.”

  “How can you be sure?” Ripley asked. “That was over five years ago, wasn’t it? If that’s the man who –”

  “You never forget the eyes of your torturer,” Fort bitterly snapped with a cold glare.

  Envar backed the vehicle and trailer effortlessly up to a large door of the hangar. As the segmented door opened a woman appeared, pulling a chain hoist that operated the door. A wild haired man, Nikola, was watching from some makeshift staging while arc welding on a large metallic craft inside. The silver in his greasy hair reflected the burgeoning morning sunlight.

  After Envar off-loaded and rolled the heavy barrel inside, the beautiful woman with blazing red hair closed the door and Fort stalked off towards his workshop. He was visibly shaken.

  “So how did it go?” the woman asked as Fort brushed by her.

  “As bad as possible, I’d have to say,” he grumbled without looking back. “At least we still procured the mercury. So back to work.”

  Fort headed up to his workshop on the second floor, his hands still shaking. Ripley decided he should probably follow. He shrugged and whispered at the woman as he passed her by. “Don’t mind him, Zoya. He’s pretty upset. I’ll fill you in later.” She nodded, well aware of Fort’s moods. Ripley ran up the stairs to his friend’s office. Fort was already tossing back one drink and was about to pour another.

  “How can it be him? I mean, what are the odds?” Ripley asked, concerned for his friend.

  “The odds are one-to-one, Ripley! It was him! And the other one as well! Both of them.” Fort tossed back the second shot of whiskey and poured himself a third. He offered a glass to Ripley, who shook his head. Fort filled Ripley’s glass and tossed both drinks back. “And now with some mechanical abomination of a man…” Fort’s mind started to drift off.

  “About that,” Ripley piped up, “tell me more about this automaton. It sounds fascinating.”

  “It wasn’t an automaton! It was part human male and part mechanical bits and metal plating. It was grotesque. And it was quite powerful, I must say,” Fort said as he rubbed at his bruised neck.

  “Really, Charles? Mechanical bits? Are sure it wasn’t some kind of exotic armor or some such? It was pretty dark and there were a lot of weird characters at the dock this morning.”

  “Yes, I’m sure! Envar saw it, too! He stabbed th-the thing in the arm. It was going to kill me.”

  “Envar said in the auto-car that he wasn’t sure what he saw. Like I said, it was pretty dark.”

  “I can’t believe you. It almost popped my head off like a dandelion.”

  “Ok, ok. Refresh my memory. Tell me again, how did you first run into them? I'm sorry, but I want to hear the details again.”

  Exasperated, Fort sat back in his dusty, cracked leather couch, pushing aside a towering stack of old newspapers. “I first saw two of them on the train. Back in '97. After the starcraft crash was reported in the papers.” He leaned his head back and his eyes drifted up to the ceiling as he began to gather the pieces of a story that he never wanted to relive. He ran his dirty hands through his mop of hair. “They were on my train car, but I didn't realize we were heading to the same place for most of the trip, until he – Blake – spoke to me. So I told him a little of what I knew about the subject of space men. And other paranormal subjects. He said he was going to use me as an expert. I thought it was going to be my chance to make a name for myself, here in New York,” Fort explained to Ripley before fading back into the recesses of his memories. He was younger then, fresh-fac
ed and ready for adventure…

  ***

  Charles bumped up and down on the jostling train as it sped along. Scenes of the American southwest flew by, framed in the train’s windows. He was jotting notes and rereading several articles about a spaceship crash in Aurora, Texas he had cut out from newspapers and pinned in his notebook. The train car was less than half full. A clergyman and two solemn women in bonnets sat across from Fort, eyeing him warily. Every so often he would look at the women and smile. This made them clutch at their bibles even more. He just smirked to himself and shook his head.

  Several seats ahead of Fort two bearded men were quietly talking. Eventually, one of the men got up and stood to stretch. He walked up the train aisle and looked over Fort's shoulder at the newspaper cut outs and notebooks. He stopped in his tracks. “Excuse me, sir. Are you heading to Aurora, as well?”

  “Yes, I am,” Fort politely replied.

  “To see the reported crashed space vessel?”

  “Starcraft. That's the technical term. And I will be investigating it, actually.”

  “Starcraft, really? Investigate for who?” the bearded man inquired.

  “For the annals of mankind and my own journals I intend to publish someday,” Fort naively replied. “And you, sir, who are you?”

  “My name is Eustace Blake. I'm an auditor for the United States National Museum. That’s my partner and photographer over there, Mr. Kane. He and I are going to open an investigation and, you know, see what there is to see. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Blake reached out and shook Fort’s hand vigorously, while Fort tried to keep his papers from falling.

  Fort looked over to Mr. Kane, a blonde fellow with tidy mutton chops who was still sitting in his seat, intensely watching them talk. Fort nodded a small gesture. Mr. Kane barely nodded back. Fort grew uncomfortable at first with the idea of someone else horning in on his research, but slowly it made sense to him that people in government were taking these subjects more seriously. “The U.S. National Museum, that’s the Smithson’s institution, isn’t it? I heard they killed the nephew to get the money… is that true?”