The Sensaurum and the Lexis Read online

  “Is that it?”

  “To begin with, Aphra Claringbold merely intended to persuade men that war was not the answer to everything, neither was the automation of the workplace if it meant people suffered. Her mission turned into a crusade. She fought for dignity for everyone, for the rights of people who had served and been injured, to try and ensure that nobody was hungry because of injuries sustained in war. It was her who forced the government to set up the Institute, found men like Professor Woolon to work in it. Single-handedly, she advanced the science of false limbs.”

  To Jackson, it seemed like a huge leap, from campaigning to setting up a whole Institute. “What could have prompted her to start such a crusade?”

  “She was annoyed that she seemed to be insufficient for her husband. She did everything that was expected of her, yet still he strayed, with the maid, with other women. And the system allowed it, even encouraged it. At first, she railed against it, then in discussion with her peers did as they did and took a lover of her own.”

  “Then she was no better than he was.”

  “You might say that, initially she says that she did it to prove to herself that she was not unattractive. Then she saw the unfairness; his behaviour was condoned, hers would not have been. It was made her determined that things must change. All else grew from that sense of injustice.”

  “Thank you, I will try and pay more attention. And you’re not right, when you say I’m innocent. I know a lot more than an innocent man, just not as much as some of those in the group. This world of yours is all so new to me. I’m used to keeping quiet, to avoiding attention. I feel like I’m acting a part that I’m not capable of and frightened that I won’t be accepted as part of your group. I seem to get attention from women and wonder why, as I consider myself to be nothing special.”

  Jessamine swung her legs and stood up; the gown fell open again as she walked across to Jackson. To his surprise, he could see that she was wearing the twin of the garment that was in his pocket, except this one was coloured in palest pink. She pulled him upright and held him. He could feel her heat through the thin material. His arms hung by his sides, he felt unable to move. “I’m not a tease,” she whispered. “I’m your good friend. No-one here will turn on you, you’re quite safe to be you.”

  Jackson moved his arms and she let him enfold her. They hugged for a moment then she pulled away. “Go,” she said. ‘Before I change my mind,’ she thought. She found him so attractive, even more because he genuinely did not realise the effect that his good looks had on people. But she must resist, at least for a little longer. It would make it all the more delicious in the end.

  Chapter 12

  The next morning, Jackson and Jessamine arrived for fast-break dressed to visit the factory. After their meal, Fairview escorted them to the gates, where a steam-mobile waited. He handed them a letter. “This is from Mrs Claringbold,” he said. “It identifies you as employees charged with arranging the supply and delivery of mechanical limbs for her charity. You are to view the factory and speak with Nethersole. Be careful and meet up with Harrison as we arranged. Remember, he will be waiting in the gentlemen’s changing facilities from mid-afternoon.”

  He then took the controls and drove them efficiently through the traffic, to the place that Jackson remembered so well. The mobile was luxurious with soft leather seats; Jackson could get used to this sort of life. He realised that Jessamine was right; for as long as he survived, life would be good.

  There was a tree Jackson remembered, by the wall that surrounded the works. “We children simply called it the big tree, when I was a lad,” he said. “We used to play around it, used it as our meeting place and were ever climbing it to see inside the factory.”

  “Then we will meet there, tonight when you are done,” said Fairview. “I will be waiting, in this mobile.”

  They stopped outside the gate, the factory seemed to be much busier than he remembered, there were coal lorries queued up to enter; no doubt supplying the Local, while a lorry with the words Prosthesium Company on the side was in the process of leaving.

  The man on the gate gave them both yellow waistcoats with the word ‘Visitor’ printed on them. “You are expected,” he said, making a note in his ledger. “Wear these at all times and return them when you leave. Please follow the roadway to the brown door, you will be met.”

  Feeling confident, the pair set off into the factory. They were met at the door by an assistant, dressed all in white. He introduced himself as the head of information and directed all his attention to Jackson, blatantly ignoring Jessamine. It was clear that he was no fan of the Ladies. He took them inside the doors.

  “Before I show you and your companion our process,” he said, again directing his words to Jackson, “I must ask you to change from your street clothes.”

  This was new. In the past Jackson had come straight from his lessons and through this door, pausing only to wipe the mud from his boots, if he remembered.

  “The inside of the factory is kept scrupulously clean,” the man continued. “Our products are comprised of delicate parts and there is always the risk of contamination with dust and dirt. Please take off your boots and leave them in a locker. Put on the white oversuits and footwear provided, there are several sizes for you to choose from.”

  They entered the room and saw the suits hanging in a line. “I will have to remove my gown to get into one of those suits,” Jessamine said and did so, in front of Jackson. “I think it’s another way to show women who is in charge,” she added as her bare shoulders and undershirt were revealed. Jackson meanwhile had removed his boots and stepped into the oversuit. He found that it was secured not by buttons but by a continuous fastener of small links, activated by pulling on a metal device that somehow joined them together.

  “Have you seen one of these?” he asked.

  “Yes, it’s called a Continuous Clasper; or simply a Clasper,” she said, pulling hers upward in one movement. The garment was slightly too small for her and revealed her shape. “I sometimes forget that you have been away from science for so long,” she said. “They make clothes so much easier to remove.”

  They re-joined their guide, who made no effort to hide the look he gave Jessamine’s legs, revealed as they were by the tight oversuit. His condescending attitude and obvious thinking was starting to grate with Jackson, however he kept his temper in check as they entered the machine room.

  This was the room Jackson remembered from happier days. He had never seen it as a charnel house, so although he knew it as the place where his parents met their end, it provoked no more than a wave of sadness in him. He saw the rotating shaft, no doubt a replacement, this one was heavily guarded and supported by strong frames set into the building’s skeleton. The room was busier than he remembered and smelt of hot grease, overlaid with a faint odour of something that was vaguely familiar. It was his mother’s scent, it must have been a memory of her presence in this place waiting his return. He could see her face clearly in his mind. There were the rows of machines that he remembered, although these were newer, painted in light green and almost silent.

  Jessamine must have noticed his blank gaze, felt his sadness. She nudged him in the ribs. Their guide was talking, he had to pay attention.

  “Of course, the exact details are not for public consumption,” he was saying, “experts have found a way to mimic the body’s own systems. The instructions which the brain sends to our muscles have been identified and the means of transmission found. Scientists have discovered how we may capture these signals at the point where the real limb ends and transfer them to the prosthetic. Thus, the brain itself controls the workings of the limb. There is no other requirement than the thought. All that is needed is a daily winding of the springs that provide the motive power and a regular application of grease. We also offer a service facility for heavily used limbs. They can be returned to us for maintenance and repairs, at no extra cost, in our well-appointed workshops.”

  “Do you
have your own scientists here?” asked Jessamine innocently.

  The guide shook his head, and directed his response to Jackson, as if she had somehow spoken through him. “Oh no, sir, we work under contract to the Institute of Medical Statics, they supply the specifications and materials, we are merely manufacturers. The completed parts go to their hospital facilities for final tuning and fitting. Their staff, not ours, man the repair facility.”

  Lines of men and women sat and fixed small pieces of metal together. Overhead a series of metal rods spun, driven by the main shaft through elaborate gearing. Belts led down to each bench, where they drove a variety of small tools, lathes and drills. Nobody spoke, or even noticed their presence, all were bent and oblivious, intent on their tasks. Small boys pushed wheeled bins, passing raw materials and collecting finished products.

  Starting at one end of the room, with two pieces of bent metal, by the time the process had come to the far end, the results of the labours were completed arms and legs, ready for the next part of the manufacturing process. The arms were identical to the one they had seen in the orphanage, except that the workings were hidden.

  They passed through a set of doors into another room, this one had a lot more of a serious air. There were fewer machines, instead a line of women were bent over benches, peering through thick magnifying lenses at the objects before them. They appeared to resemble cups, made of some thick black fabric. On one side were a series of brass dots, like the heads of pins. On the other, fine wires that were hanging loose.

  “In this room, the other part of the limb is being assembled,” their guide told Jackson, “the piece that fits over the stump of the limb. This is the part that connects the man to the machine and passes all the information. Hence the magnifying lens and delicate work.”

  “Why are all the workers in this room women?” asked Jessamine.

  She received the look again. “We find that women are most suited to this part of the process.”

  “So, there is something that we are good at?” asked Jessamine.

  She received a blank stare. “Men and women both have their forte,” he said. “The knack is using it,” he paused, “and in being content with one’s place in the scheme of things.”

  “How does this part function?” asked Jackson, it was plain that any question Jessamine asked would be answered to him, so he saved her the bother of asking.

  “The sheath fits over the stump, on the other side of it, the fine wires extended. They carry the nerve impulses and are fitted into the patient’s own nerves, in surgery designed by our medicians.”

  “Where are these limbs fitted to the patients? Does that happen here?”

  “No, the parts are collected and taken to the Institute, where they are tested and tuned, before being fitted at their own hospital, attached to the Institute.”

  “But surely you must test them,” Jessamine said, “before they leave. Is that in the same place as the repairs, servicing and maintenance are done?”

  The man looked suspicious. “For a woman, you have an unsettling demeanour, you ask many questions. There are places that I cannot show you, where these processes are carried out.” He waved his arm at the far wall, where there were two doors. “Over there are those areas. Mr Nethersole may choose to let you view them, I am not permitted.”

  “Pardon my forthright approach,” said Jessamine. “I ask because the Ladies will be investing heavily in this place, should I, not my husband, decide it. I need to know everything so that I can report to our committee, before we can commit our funds,” she paused for a second, “and our patronage.”

  The man looked at Jackson, as if to say, curb your woman’s tongue and stop her imagining that she has power. But Jackson merely smiled. “My wife and the Ladies make the decisions,” he said. “She has a sharp brain, as they all do, and I willingly defer to her.”

  The man looked uncomfortable, unsure of how to reply. He consulted his timepiece. “Now you are to meet our manager, Mr Nethersole.” They were taken back to the room where they had started, once again passing the assembly room. The workers never looked up, so engrossed were they in their tasks. They divested themselves of the oversuits and shoes; dressed again in their street clothes and the yellow waistcoats, they were taken up the stairs.

  The man handed them over to a female secretary, who welcomed them. The man was unable to get away quickly enough, he left without so much as a ‘goodbye’ shouted over his shoulder as he scuttled for the stairs.

  “Mr Nethersole is engaged for a moment,” the secretary said. “To be honest, we expected your tour to take longer. I will get you Char while you wait.”

  “Thank you,” said Jessamine. “I think your guide was uncomfortable dealing with a woman as an equal.”

  She sighed. “I know, we all suspect that he treats his poor wife abominably.”

  “Then she should assume her power and educate him,” Jessamine replied fiercely.

  The other woman nodded. “I agree, we supposedly live in enlightened times, thanks in no small part to your founder. It’s a very patriarchal place here; we are permitted to assemble the delicate parts, given tremendous responsibility for their correct function. Despite that, we are expected to know our place, have no say. I admire the achievements of your principal and her group. Were he my husband, I would indeed educate him so.”

  She turned to Jackson. “And you, sir, to be as comfortable as you are with your wife’s authority, it speaks well of you. How long have you been wed?”

  “A few short months,” he replied. “Although we have moved in the same circles for several years, it’s only been recently that I came to appreciate what a woman she was.”

  “Ahh, true love,” said the secretary. “How wonderful for you.”

  After a short wait, the door opened and a tall, bewhiskered man in a fine suit came to them. He shook their hands. “Delighted to make your acquaintance,” he said as they introduced themselves. “I’m Rodney Nethersole, please step into my office.”

  He called for more Char and they talked of the weather, of the Palais and the state of the world while they drank. Jackson left Jessamine to do most of the talking, he merely added a word here and there. Rodney seemed at ease taking of worldly matters with a female, which clearly endeared him to Jessamine, her conversation grew more animated and he more voluble.

  “So, to business,” said Rodney, leaning back in his chair. “Mrs Claringbold is known to me, to our organisation, I’m honoured to be the subject of her scrutiny.”

  “Thank you, sir, it’s nice to be spoken to as an equal, so many people will only talk to me through my husband,” said Jessamine, leaning forward and fixing her gaze on his face. He looked down then guiltily looked back up, his face reddening.

  Jessamine pretended that she had not noticed his gaze. “We at the Ladies have funds to help the lives of those damaged by their duty to society.” She continued, “Not just servicemen but workers injured in factories or mines. We wish to purchase limbs and already have medical premises and staff promised to us for fitting.” Her hands fiddled with the knob on her parasol and again his gaze shifted. He was sweating now, pulling a kerchief from his pocket to mop his brow.

  “Ah, but do you have experts, men trained to affix and tune the appendages?” he asked. “We can offer you the services of skilled men to oversee your programme, at very reasonable cost to your organisation.”

  “And can these men perform the operations to join the parts together?” she asked, smiling sweetly, her hands still busy with the parasol. She licked her lips.

  He shook his head and mopped his crimson brow again. “Not at present, but we are in discussion with the Institute as we speak, to widen the scope of what we can do here.”

  “I see. Then we may need people from the Institute as well, it would seem redundant to employ yours as well as theirs, would it not?” Her hand moved; the parasol dropped to the floor. The sound was sudden, it made Rodney jerk as if struck. Jackson bent and retrieved
it for her. As he passed it, unseen by Rodney, she winked. “Your pardon,” she said, “please continue.”

  “By the time you need them, I will be in a position to provide you with men to fulfil all your needs,” Rodney persisted. “Fitting, testing and maintenance.”

  Jackson was fascinated by the interplay, the cut and thrust of argument. It seemed almost that Jessamine was playing with Rodney’s emotions, using what Alyious had described as her wiles to distract and unsettle him. He saw that she was leading his conversation, teasing out his real intentions. Her words and actions were making him uncomfortable, yet he could see the art in her performance.

  “We can find them ourselves, thank you, and not necessarily men, women can do this work.” Nethersole was about to insist again, Jackson sensed sudden tension, the last thing they needed was to be ejected before they had begun. And it was interesting how desperately he wished to retain some control over the prosthetics once they had left his factory. If they hadn’t known of the extra pieces in the arm, it might have seemed sensible, as it were it smacked of hiding the truth, or retaining control over the process.

  “Your workers here,” said Jackson, seeing a chance to enter the conversation, “they seem very skilled and dedicated. Perhaps we could employ some of them at our new facility, with your agreement, they could work for us?”

  “They are, although not in the workings of the things they make, they are dexterous in assembly of the fine parts, but there is no-one here who understands how the limbs function. As for loaning some, that might well be possible, if terms could be agreed.”

  The eagerness proved what Jackson was thinking, Nethersole wanted no-one who was not trusted by him seeing the workings of the limbs.

  “What of testing, before dispatch?”

  “We have a machine that does that, we merely plug the limb into it and check the workings for correct assembly. I cannot take you to it; my apologies, but it is on loan from the Institute and they have instructed me that it is so secret that I cannot show it.”