SL Huang - Up and Coming - Stories by the 2016 Campbell-Eligible Authors

The violins nodded, shaping harmonies onto the note. The harpist pulled a trembling arpeggio from her strings, the wind instruments doubled, tripled the sound into an enormous chord buoyed up by breath and bone, tree and ingot, hope and desperation.

The stage pulsing beneath her, she turned to the crowd and waved her arms in wide arcs.

“Sing!” she yelled, though she knew they couldn’t hear her.

The word hung in a plume before her. She could just make out the upturned faces below, pale circles in the endless Arctic night.

Slowly, the audience caught on. Sound spread like ripples from the stage, a vast buzzing that resolved into pitch. Rinna raised her arms, and the volume grew, rising up out of five thousand throats, a beautiful, ragged chorus winging into the air.

Beneath their feet, the last of the world’s ice began to hum.

The techs looked up from their control room, eyes wide, as high overhead the huge engine spun and creaked.

Rinna tilted her face up, skin stiff as porcelain from the cold, and closed her eyes. She felt it, deep in her bones, a melody singing over and over into the sky. The thrum of sound transformed to super-cooled air, the long hard pull back from the precipice.

Something touched her face, light as feathers, insubstantial as dreams.

Quietly, perfectly, it began to snow.

Originally published in Alt.History 101 (Windrift Books, 2015), edited by Samuel Peralta and Nolie Wilson and part of The Future Chronicles anthology series, created by Samuel Peralta

London, 1850

Seven degrees above the horizon, she spotted it—a speck of diamond in the deepening twilight. A tiny dot of light that perchance was only a trick of vision, or a wayward dust mote.

But perhaps something more…

Miss Kate Danville’s heart raced at the prospect, but she forced herself to remain still. With a deep, steadying breath, she leaned forward and gently twisted the eyepiece of her telescope, careful not to bump the instrument. The pinprick of brightness lost focus, then sharpened.

She was not mistaken. Certainty flared through her, filling her with warmth.

The image blurred again, but this time due to her own triumphant tears. Kate sat back and brushed the foolish water from her eyes. She would show them all that her little hobby as Father called it—Mother used stronger words like unsuitable and distastefully unfeminine —was more than simply dabbling in the astronomical arts.

She, Miss Kate Danville, had discovered a comet!

Oh, she was not the first women to do so—a handful of amateur astronomers had been the first to spot celestial objects, including her idol, Maria Mitchell, who received the Danish gold medal just two years prior.

Kate closed her eyes and imagined the King of Denmark presenting her with that accolade in front of an admiring crowd. Why, she might even get to meet the esteemed Ms. Mitchell, and perhaps be inducted into the Royal Society—

“Beg pardon, miss, but her ladyship sent me up to fetch you to make ready for the ball.” The maid’s reedy voice broke through Kate’s daydream, bringing her down from the stars with a thud.

She opened her eyes, and was once again simply Miss Kate Danville, perched on the top of Danville House with her telescope and her fancies in the sooty June dusk.

“I need a bit more time,” she told the maid. “Please tell my mother I must notate my new discovery.”

The maid gave her a skeptical look, but dropped a curtsy. “I shall, but you know Lady Danville won’t take kindly to that answer.”

“I am well aware of my mother’s expectations.” They included a proper marriage and Kate’s abandoning her inappropriate scientifical leanings.

But that disapproval would surely change once Kate’s Comet was officially recognized.

Time was of the essence, however. Kate bent again to her telescope to jot down the exact location of the bright speck in the sky. If someone else notified the Royal Astronomical Society first, she would be robbed of her discovery. That must not be allowed to happen.

“Kate!” Her mother’s sharp tones drifted up from the stairwell leading to the attic. “If you don’t come down this instant, I declare I will have your father take your telescope away.”

Lady Danville would never attempt to navigate the steep stairs—neither her wide skirts nor her temperament would allow the journey—but she was not averse to raising her voice. Or delivering threats.

“Coming,” Kate called.

She hastily scribbled a second set of notes, then tucked the precious piece of paper into her pocket. Time to face her mother, and yet another social tedium where the gentlemen asked her whether she liked roses, or droned on about their own accomplishments.

She blew out an unhappy breath. Lady Danville was determined to see Kate betrothed by the end of the summer, while Kate was equally determined to resist.

Although, upon further consideration, attending the ball that evening might be for the best. If Viscount Huffton or one of the other Royal Society astronomers were there, she could notify them of her discovery at once.

At breakfast two days later, Kate stared at the morning headline in the London Times . Shock stole her breath and held her motionless for a heartbeat.

“Viscount Huffton Discovers New Comet,” the paper declared.

No. That weasel had taken credit for her discovery!

“I won’t stand for it,” she gasped, leaping to her feet and nearly overturning the teapot. “I must pay a call upon Lord Wrottesley at once.”

Surely, as one of the founding members of the Royal Astronomical Society, he would aid her. She knew he was in London, for the odious Viscount Huffton had mentioned it at the ball. The ball where he had stolen the fruits of her labors. Her hands clenched into fists.

“Sit down,” her mother said, regarding her sternly over the white damask tablecloth. “What an unladylike outburst. And you have never been introduced to Lord Wrottesley. You cannot simply visit the man—what would he think of such improper behavior?”

Kate slowly sank back into her chair and used her napkin to mop up the spilled tea. “Please, mother. It’s important.”

Thank heavens she’d kept her original notes. She only prayed Lord Wrottesley would listen when she explained that she had spotted the comet first, then brought her findings to the viscount. Who was supposed to have reported it to the Royal Society, not claimed the discovery as his own, the worm.

Lady Danville raised her brows. “Is this matter important enough that you will consent to receive Lord Downing-Wilton tomorrow, should he pay you a visit?”

Oh, rot it. Kate should have known her mother would take every opportunity to foist a suitor upon her. She closed her eyes a moment, pushing back the scream of frustration bubbling in her throat. When she had mastered herself, she opened her eyes.

“Of course, mother. Only, we must see Lord Wrottesley today.”

“So you keep insisting.” Lady Danville regarded her a moment more. “It is most irregular. Perhaps you ought to admit Sir Wexfield into your circle, as well.”

“As you say.” Kate spoke the words through gritted teeth.

“And perhaps—”

“I shall go up and change now.” Kate tossed the tea-stained napkin upon the table. She had lost her appetite completely.

“Wear your dove walking dress with the violet trim,” her mother said. “If we are fortunate, Lord Wrottesley will be entertaining gentleman guests when we arrive.”

As it transpired, and to Kate’s great relief, Lord Wrottesley was at home, and he was alone. The butler ushered them into his cluttered study, where Kate presented her notes and explained the circumstances.