June 20, 1871

I have now seen the horrors that science can yield. Now, as I write this, I am left staggered and grim. Still trembling and still in shock. Do I deny my eyes of what they witnessed—these wild and outlandish visions of a technological terror? No, I must accept this horrible vision. I must accept that I have now seen the winged creatures that descended over the Nevada foothills. They are not beasts or insects... but rather machines.

Earlier this morning, after a prompt breakfast with the Prowers, to my surprise, Maximilian and his daughter arrived to collect us. He insisted on speaking with me privately, and though the cab ride kept partially if not awkwardly silent, the lapping seaside eased my wits. Sally seemed to have shared my sentiments.

"I love the ocean. Don't you?" she asked, fixating on the white-capped waves.

"It is rather beautiful," I replied.

"I find myself so interested in it. The water is so free and unpredictable; kind of adventurous!"

We arrived at Point Lobos where, upon the cab's abrupt halt, Sally leaped out and dashed towards the shoreline where several other well-to-do folks were picnic-ing. I noticed Cliff House—an eatery I am told—looming ominously over us. Maximilian held me back in the cab, but never kept his eyes off Sally as she blissfully jumped around in the sand.

"She is all that I have, Charles," he somberly admitted. "My eldest son, Elias, was lost in the Crimean War. When they showered Odessa with shells, Alicia tried to smuggle him to safety through the British convoy. I was regretfully away. She was the only one who survived. They never found his body. They told me he was incinerated when they bombed the procession."

"I am so sorry..."

"Tragedies bind us together, unfortunately. In dark times, all we will have is each other. I am committed to preserving my family, Charles, which is why my attention on this matter is so focused."

"Then perhaps you can explain why someone as influential and as wealthy as you is so invested in all of this."

"Nate Morgan," he said through his teeth. "It has always been about Nate Morgan. He was my father's old acquaintance and a dear friend of mine. And through my arrogance, I lost him. I lost him, and now I wish to correct that error. That is why I am, regrettably, intertwined with Solaris."

"To what extent?" I asked.

"The Montgomery bombing. Solaris was the name given to Nate's assignment during his residency in Montgomery. That is why I invested so much into the Sumter inquiry. I believed I would find him there." He narrowed his eyes on Sally. "I'm doing this for her," he said. "I want her to know the truth of the matter. Did Amadeus explain the coincidences?"

"He did."

"When I heard about the telegraph you received, I sought closure to a maddening thought that crept into my mind. Please, come with me."

We arrived at a downtown storefront where I was introduced to Mr. Sherman Odie, an old friend of Maximilian's. He was a tall fellow, heavy set, thick neck, and intense jade eyes. However, he greeted me with a hearty laugh and a firm hand-shake. I was told he works with clocks, but fixes engines on the side, and that he was a veteran of the war. Sally darted in and asked where his son was.

"Sally, what have I told you?" Maximilian insisted.

"Sorry," the young girl apologized. "Good day, Mr. Odie. I hope you are doing well. Where is Roto—I mean Richard. Where is Richard?"

"Oh, he's in the back, tinkering around with an old clock." She gave him a big hug. "It is good to see you again, Miss Sally. You have grown since last I saw you."

"So have you!" She quickly threw her hands over her mouth.

"Sally!" Maximilian cried out.

I too could not help but smile, and Mr. Odie was in good enough spirits to dismiss her with a quick chuckle. He asked what he could for us, and when Maximilian asked to see his archives again, I watched his jaunty grin melt into a tight frown. He was solemn.

He led us into the rear office where he kept an extensive repository of assorted newspapers, scientific journals, machine catalogs, and patent gazettes. The shelves soared high above us, stacked with rolls and paper and columns of books; an eerie, albeit comforting invocation of the Library of Alexandria. He then furnished to me a copy of the newspaper article detailing the Montgomery Bombing. He never breathed a word. He left us to our thoughts.

"I was only thirteen when it happened," I confessed, gazing at the headline. I glared at the word Solaris. "What was Solaris... really?" I asked.

"The government's inquiry into the research and development of a self-sustaining, renewable energy supply; a natural element that, according to Nate, can assume influence over all other elements."

"Nate's Element."

"Something indeed marvelous fell from the sky that morning, Charles, and you were there for it. You have unknowingly discovered what man has sought for millennia, but there is more, however."

Then, I read further along in the article, which I will transmit verbatim. "... it is the worst calamity that could befall this or any other city of this nation. Prosecutors have moved to charge Nathaniel Morgan of criminal conduct and manslaughter. Equally, defense attorney Marshall Cartwright pursued the notion of accusing Nathaniel's former associate, Julian Ivo Kintobor, for perpetrating the disaster."

I dropped the paper from my hand. "He knew Nate..." I uttered in disbelief. "He was there... Then our project... it was all a continuation of what he started."

"Nate never finished Solaris," Maximilian whispered. "The element could never be reproduced by mechanical means until the time came when it promptly fell from heaven above. The super-weapon is not your invention, Charles, though I wish it were. It pales in comparison to what fell from the sky that day. The weapon has always been Nate's element."

A searing headache followed those vital words. I recall staggering back against the bookshelf, placing my hand over my brow, and trying to quell my labored breathing. There was no longer any resolve, only deception. To casually accept these revelations as truths I cannot. Momentarily I stood voiceless and compromised.

"What happened after the proceedings?" I asked.

"Julian was granted headship over the project until it was terminated after war was declared. What became of him afterward is entirely a mystery."

"He designed weapons for the Confederacy," I softly added. "Or so he told me. He evidently sabotaged the Hunley prototype, which is why the armies were after him. Jules thoroughly believed he was a good man, and while I was hesitant to accept that conviction, I soon found myself at the mercy of his humility." I took a deep breath and leaned up against the bookshelf. "All this time he was a war criminal... a monster... a wolf in sheep's clothes. And to what purpose does all this serve?"

"Those are most certainly the questions to ask."

We dismissed ourselves from the office where, upon entering the storefront, Maximilian called for Sally to head back home with us. I insisted he brief Stripe on everything; however, I was told he already knew. Sally then ran out from the back room, and before I could acknowledge Sherman's boy, I heard a most dreadful sound – a familiar sound, like a saw cutting through a block of tight wood. I looked outside and saw flocks of pedestrians fleeing westward towards the harbors, running and jumping over each other from something yet unseen. Then, suddenly, an explosion! The fire shattered the windows, spraying us with broken glass, and tearing through the shelves and doorframes.

"Richard, get down!" Sherman hollered.

Maximilian grabbed Sally, swung her around, and used his own body to deflect her from the soaring glass. I was hurled into the air, toppling over Sherman's workbench. I quickly picked myself up and ran outside to confront whatever was responsible for the explosion, pushing my way through all the people. I could not see anything unusual, but that dreadful sound persisted. The explosion produced a crater that blew apart Maximilian's cab and consequently murdered his driver. I was horrified. Then the sound drew closer.

Suddenly, more eruptions ignited around me. It was as if the ground had opened up in a line of fiery geysers, throwing bricks and sediment into the clear sky. I watched as the storefronts blew apart like matchsticks. Somewhere, I heard Maximilian shout, "Duck for cover!"

Then I realized... the explosions... the bombs were not coming from the ground but from the sky. I lifted my head towards the cloudless pitch and saw a winged creature sailing overhead! It was a wasp! It curved southwards, then east, and then poised itself directly at me. It leveled off, and as it drew near, it arched forward into an unusual form, like a curved gun with its muzzle aimed right at me. It fired off several dozen rounds. I quickly took shelter behind the remains of an upturned cab, and I closed my eyes as the cobblestone ripped apart and spewed chunks of dirt and rock at me. The fire crested my cheeks and arms. The creature ceased its assail and propelled back up into the sky, ready for a second attack. Sherman ran out with his rifle, firing maddeningly at the monstrosity as it curved back around.

"It has to be short-ranged!" Sherman's boy cried out.

"Short-ranged? How do you know?" I yelled back.

"Back into the store!" Max!" Sherman hollered as he restocked his rifle.

"Look there!" the boy yelled, pointing to a white foggy tail lingering behind the creature. "Exhaust! It's a machine! Short-ranged! Nothing in the world could harness that much exhaust for this long!"

He was right. The wasp then aligned itself with Sherman and me. I drew the revolver from my waistcoat, cocked the hammer, and took aim. The wasp arched forward again with its muzzle ready to fire.

"Fire at will!" I ordered.

The two of us

lay siege to the winged monster as it bathed us in shells. Sherman's rifle prevailed! A bullet tore off its wing, forcing it to spin wildly in the air, bouncing atop the roofs, only to finally crash into the San Francisco harbor. Its wing, like that of a steamer's propeller, twirled with fury, maiming the road, and finally resting at the end of the block.

"Max!" I cried out. "Get the others!"

When we arrived at the laboratory with the recovered wing, news of the episode incited panic. It was not long before Stripe caught wind. He promptly arrived that evening with his men.

"What in God's name happened?" he roared, barging through the doors.

"We were attacked!" I roared back.

"By what?"

"I do not know." We gathered around the wing, which lay on the floor. "The device bears a resemblance to the nozzle we recovered from the air-ship, and behaves similarly," I explained. "The machine this article belonged to possessed the ability to fly, presumptuously using hydrogen combustion. You are looking at the wing of one of those Nevada wasps."

Unlike an actual wasp, its wings are not wings, but rather two large metal cylinder exhausts mounted to the top of its body. Roughly two feet in length, and around six inches in diameter.

"The exhaust pushes its way through the back of these tubes, which propel it forward," I furthered.

"Could it be possible that we overlooked something from our initial excavation of the air-ship?" Emmett asked.

"No. The air-ship was precisely crafted. This was produced by amateur hands." I noted the slack molding of the two halves of the exhaust nozzle.

"Where could something like this come from?" Amadeus asked. He was noticeably frightened, but he kept a rigid demeanor.

"I was told it was short-ranged. Probably no more than five, perhaps seven miles at most from the city."

"My god, they're right on top of us!" Dogge bellowed out.

"It would not have come from the east," Stripe affirmed. "Our men at Alcatraz would have surely spotted it."

"The north then," Amadeus suggested.

"We would have seen it there too."

"Then it came from the south," I said.

"The Emerald Hill," Amadeus uttered.

"Let us not waste any more time!" Stripe called out. "We will not delay our perpetrators of a proper beating!"

"Thomas," I yelled back. "You must understand that this technology... it is superior to everything we are accustomed to. The monstrosity this exhaust nozzle belonged to fired several dozen rounds of bombs per second! It may be unstable just as it is lethal."

"No worries, Charles. I will make sure to bring an umbrella." He punctually dismissed himself as the rest of his men followed closely behind.

"Nicholas," I asked softly.

"Yes, Mr. Morgan."

"You and I know Thomas all too well. Should he engage our enemies, would you come retrieve me? I fear we are overlooking something."

"Yes, sir."

"And I will accompany you," Amadeus insisted.

"Thank you, my friend. I suddenly realized the Confederates were more imperative to killing Julian than they were to killing us. They knew of his atrocities. They were not pursuing us; they were pursuing him!"

"And now we are pursuing his nephew."

"Or they are pursuing us."