“Goes to show how wrong you can be,” whispered Tim. “We don’t have these in our age.”

“Don’t have the technology,” said Will.

“But we must have.”

“No, we don’t. Look down there.” Will pointed. “See those?”

“I do,” said Tim. “What are they?”

“They are the Tesla towers, I told you about them. The country is dotted with them; they are linked to power stations. They broadcast electricity on a radio frequency. This cab picks up the transmission of energy; it powers the engine. No batteries to weigh the craft down you see; that’s how it can fly.”

“Incredible,” said Tim. “And we don’t have this technology in our age because it was somehow erased from history.”

“In the year nineteen hundred, as far as I can figure out. Remember how I got into all this, in the first place? The digital watch in The Fairy Feller’s Masterstroke?”

Tim nodded thoughtfully.

“Mind you,” the cabbie called back, “I don’t actually have any idea how to land this thing. It’s the first time I’ve actually flown it.”

“I’m sure you will do fine,” said Will.

“What?” said Tim.

“I would have waited a bit,” said the cabbie. “Had a bit of a test drive from my back garden. But when I heard the call go out on the old CB that Colonel Will Starling wanted a lift to the launch site, what with there being no other cabs available as everyone was heading for the launch site. Well, I upped for Queen and country, and Gawd bless me, if we all die in getting you there, then I’ve still done my duty, haven’t I?”

“What?” said Tim once again, but with greater emphasis.

“Where exactly is the launch site?” Will asked.

“You’re a caution, Colonel,” said the cabbie. “As if you don’t know.”

“Pretend I don’t,” said Will. “Where is it?”

“Penge,” called the cabbie. “I hear it’s a very nice place, although I’ve never been there myself. The grounds of the Crystal Palace. Might I ask you something, Colonel?”

“You might,” said Will.

“Do you think there’s blokes up there, on the moon, Colonel? The theory that extraterrestrial life might exist is hardly new, is it? And this world of ours is literally littered with ancient monuments of gargantuan proportion that defy explanation. For instance, the great pyramid of Cheops, the monuments at Karnac. Even—”

“Fly on,” said Will.

The Crystal Palace.

Ah!

How wonderful was that?

Extremely wonderful, beautifully wonderful, wonderfully wonderful. The Millennium Dome? Spht![24]

Five thousand nine hundred feet in length, over thirteen million separate panes of glass, entirely lit within by neon.

The air cab dropped down towards the Crystal Palace in a somewhat faltering manner. It did cruisings-in, followed by severe pullings-up. It did comings-round-again, followed by further and even more severe pullings-up. It did droppings-down-slowly, followed by frantic pullings-away. It did.

“Aaaaagh!” went the cabbie as Will shimmied into the driving compartment and flung him out through the driver’s door.

“That was a bit harsh,” said Tim.

“He’d have killed us.”

“I think you just killed him.”

“He fell into a pond. He’s okay.”

“And so you know how to drive this thing?”

“I’m willing to give it a go.”

Tim hid his face, put his hands together and recommended himself to his deity.

Will brought the air cab down into the lake amongst the concrete dinosaurs.

“Oh very good,” said Tim, peeping up. “We’ve survived.”

“Have a little faith.” Will climbed out of the cab and into the water. “It’s cold,” he said. “But not deep.” And he waded ashore.

They were certainly there in their thousands. The glitterati of Victorian society. The expansive lawns were bespattered with them, seated in groups about their picnic hampers and gingham tablecloths.

Will and Tim did meltings into the crowd.

“No doubt you have some kind of plan,” said Tim. “Would you care to favour me with it?”

“Get up front,” said Will. “Keep an eye out for the Elephant Man. We have to get the launch postponed until the spacecraft can be checked for any bombs.”

“Fair enough,” Tim said. They were threading their way through the picnicking celebrities. Will had his head well down. Tim had his up; he was enjoying everything.

A voice on the public address system announced that the gallant pilot was now approaching the rostrum. The crowd cheered wildly.

Tim and Will threaded their ways onward.

It was a beautiful day. Considering the lateness of the season and everything. Very warm, very sunny, very clement. Ahead the moonship rose, glittering in the sunlight.

It was a proper Victorian moonship, with proper big fins, proper pointy top and proper portholes, lots of proper portholes.

“That is an amazing bit of kit,” said Tim. “Do you think it will actually fly?”

“It will, if I have anything to do with it.”

“That’s not what I meant. Look at it, Will. It’s a Victorian spaceship. The Victorians didn’t have spaceships. I’m becoming unsure about any of this. Perhaps ours is the right future. Perhaps none of this should really have happened.”

“What are you saying?” Will asked.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure, but this can’t be really real, can it? All this is more like a dream. None of it ties up, somehow.”

“Please don’t confuse the issue even further, Tim. We’re here to see this moonship take off safely and our many times great-grandfather in it. Whether it’s really real or not, whatever that means, I can’t go into now.”

“Nice day for it,” said Tim. “Shall we get up as close as we can?”

“That’s the idea.”

And so they moved forward, furtherly threading their way. They passed by a group of Pre-Raphaelite painters living it large with hampers of champagne.

“Sorry,” said Tim, as he stood upon the foot of Dante Gabriel Rossetti.

And then finally, when they could thread their way no further, they stopped – beside the twenty-foot-high electrically charged fence.

“This would be an obstacle to our further threadings forward,” said Tim. “How are we going to get around this?”

Will stared up at the fence. Little blue crackles of electricity moved all around and about of it, saying in their own special way, “just you try it, buddy”.

“They’ve somewhat stepped up security,” said Will, “since the assassination attempt at the launching of the Dreadnaught. They’re not taking any more risks on the life of Her Majesty.”

“Gawd bless Her.”

“Shut up.”

“Sorry.”

“We’ll just have to go around it.”

“We don’t have much time,” said Tim.

“Don’t we?” said Will.

“Counting down,” came a voice over the public address system. “Ten … nine … eight …”

Will looked at Tim.

And Tim looked at Will.

“Do something,” said Tim.

“Seven …”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Six …”

“Ask Barry to help.”

“Five …”

“I’m not asking Barry.”

“Four …”

“But he could …”

“Three …”

“I’m not going to ask him. There has to be a way …”

“Two …”

“Do something!” Tim now assumed the foetal position.

“One …”

“Perhaps if I …” said Will.

And, “ZERO.”

And, “KABOOOOM!”