Read The Feaster From The Stars (Blackwood and Harrington) for Free Online

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    His friend and co-worker, Barrymore Tench, walked across the railway line and stood beside him. ‘All right, Seamus?’
    ‘Sure, I’m done now,’ Brennan replied.
    ‘About time,’ said Harry Fraser, the site foreman, who was standing on the platform looking down at them, fists balled on his hips like he owned the place.
    ‘Ah, stick it up yer arse,’ Brennan muttered.
    ‘What was that?’ Fraser snapped.
    Brennan smiled up at him. ‘Nothing, sir! I’m just sayin’, job done.’
    Fraser nodded. ‘Good. Now clear the line both of you, and we’ll start the test.’
    The two maintenance workers climbed onto the platform and looked down at the tracks. Now that they had stopped working, they began to feel the deep chill of the night air. Farringdon Street Station had originally been the terminus for the Metropolitan Railway, the first of Central London’s urban lines; as such, it was above ground and open to the elements. It now had the additional honour of being the first section of the Underground to be fitted with the new atmospheric railway. The pressure tube, twelve inches in diameter, ran between the rails from Farringdon Street to Baker Street and was fed with compressed air from the great pumping station at Bethnal Green.
    Further along the platform, the test train stood waiting. It was comprised of a single carriage fitted with an atmospheric drive cylinder, which was bolted securely to the underside. The cylinder was enclosed within the pressure tube, the pylon which connected it to the train passing through the single slit in the top of the tube. A strip of Martian rubber sealed the opening, preventing the escape of the compressed air and only parting to allow the passage of the pylon while the train was in motion.
    After making certain that the line was completely clear of workers, Fraser nodded to a man who was standing in the doorway of the ticket office. The man went inside and sent a brief telegraph message to Bethnal Green. At the pumping station two miles to the east, the powerful Vansittart-Siddeley Ultra-compressors were switched on and began to pump air at fantastically high pressure into the system.
    Less than a minute later, there was a barely audible hiss, and the test train began to move forward, gradually gaining speed as it passed the observers on the platform. As he passed them, the driver, Bert Smallwood, gave them the thumbs up, a wide grin on his stubbly face.
    ‘Nice one, Bert!’ called Tench, giving him a wave.
    ‘See you at Baker Street!’ he called back.
    Tench looked down at the pressure tube, which had instantly resealed itself behind the train. ‘How do you think that stuff works?’ he asked Brennan.
    ‘Buggered if I know,’ the Irishman replied. ‘Them Martians, sure they know a lot o’ things we don’t.’
    ‘You’re right there, mate,’ said Tench, glancing up at the black sky and the tiny pinpoint of ruddy light that was Mars.
    ‘All right men,’ said Fraser in his officious bark. ‘Let’s pack up here and get over to Baker Street.’
    ‘Right you are, sir!’ said Brennan and added under his breath, ‘Arsehole.’
    ‘Ex-corporal,’ whispered Tench. ‘What d’you expect?’
    Brennan sniffed. ‘Corporal? He acts more like a general. Look at him there, swaggerin’ around. Bastard.’
    Tench chuckled as he leaned over the edge of the platform and looked into the tunnel. The lights of the test train were growing steadily fainter as it headed towards Baker Street. ‘Come on, mate,’ he said. ‘This bloody cold’s gettin’ into my bones.’
    They were about to leave the platform when a sudden squeal echoed back along the tunnel. Both Tench and Brennan instantly knew what the sound was. It was the squeal of brakes: for some reason, Smallwood had brought his train to a halt.
    Fraser turned away from the platform exit. ‘What was that?’
    ‘Brakes, Mr Fraser,’ Tench replied.
    ‘The test train?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’ Bleedin’ idiot , Tench