Automated Utopia :: Chapter Seven.
Title: Automated Utopia
Author: fenderlove
Rating: This chapter is rated PG-13 though the overall story is rated R.
Summary: This fanfiction is set in a Victorian SteamPunk Alternate Universe in which inventions such as Charles Babbage's Difference Engine and the harnessing of steam-power have launched a technological revolution far earlier in history. The time is 1885, and Angel Investigations is working for Scotland Yard. A new case involving a missing artifact from the British Museum and a demonic cult sends the wayward detectives on a whirlwind adventure to reclaim the object before all is lost.
Pairings: Spike/Fred, Spike/Angel.


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Automated Utopia:: Chapter Seven

A splash of something cold stirred Spike from his unconscious state though he could not quite find the strength to move or even open his eyes. He heard a noise that could only be described as the groan of a person who has received a serious head injury, and he was even more disconcerted when he realized he was the one who uttered it.

“God, that sounds like Marv when he’s had the curry plate from the Hotel Cecil,” a small feminine voice said from somewhere above him.

Opening one eye only a sliver as the swelling allowed, Spike saw a pleasant, round face staring down at him with a concerned expression, her long, dark hair hanging down haphazardly.

“You’re awake!” Beck smiled as she tried to leaned down to hug Spike while he laid motionless on the ground, but she had to quickly let go when he made yet another muffled groan of pain.

Spike’s mind swam with a thousand and one questions. Where was Fred? Who had taken her? His unbeating heart was filled with so much fear and anxiety for her safety. Spike knew that she was both courageous and strong, but a part of him could not stop the dread that crept over his entire person.

Spike attempted to get to his feet. With one eye swollen shut and the other barely open, he was able to see the other members of the Slap Bang Club. He had become acquainted with the ragtag group of demons and supernatural beings after an incident in which they all found themselves locked up in a sanitarium for otherworldly creatures. There was Beck, a young girl imbued with the powers of a fire spirit. She held a certain kind of hero worship for Spike since he had helped her embrace the demonic forces within herself and harness them for the greater good. Marv was a fairly swarthy, animalistic man, hunched shoulders and slightly bowed legs. Other than being a tad hirsute, he was an average enough chap, until the full moon unleashed his inner wolf. Anna, a Ringel demon and aspiring actress, had the ability to quell the demonic powers of others, and therefore stayed away from the group during any patrolling lest she cause her friends to be defenseless when under attack. Finally, there was Biv, who was an invisible man. It was impossible to tell where Biv was unless he stood near Anna.

Spike took a few sluggish steps. Clutching his extremely bruised side, he coughed out, “George… Is George with you? He was… here…”

The rest of the Slap Bang Club shared confused and worried glances between one another.

“You saw George?” Beck asked. Her voice was filled with a hopeful tone, which allowed Spike to infer that perhaps whoever had taken Fred also had George. Spike’s mind reeled as he swayed unsteadily on his feet. Marv and Biv went to help him stay upright. Anna looked as though she wished to help, but she obviously feared that her own powers would hinder Spike’s vampiric healing.

“We haven’t seen or heard from George in over a week,” Biv said, letting Spike wrap an arm around his invisible shoulders.

“We’ve been so worried! There’ve been a lot of demons disappearing from the area, and we’ve feared that what has happened to them has happened to poor George!” Beck added.

Spike was already fearing the worst since George would never leave without so much as a telepathic how-do-you-do to the Club. Whoever had kidnapped George had the ability to block his psychic powers indefinitely, which would take an incredible amount of magicks. Spike’s stomach lurched thinking about Fred being in the hands of such fiends.

Spike swallowed down the nauseous feelings he was experiencing, “Whoever’s got George just took my girl as well, and I’m in a piss-poor state to play hero. We’re going to need some reinforcements…”

*****

Angel had wandered the darkened corners of London for hours until the faintest hints of pink crept over the horizon. He was pondering what Kate had spoken about on the University’s grounds. Had he driven Connor even further away in his attempts to protect him? Thoughts like those only reinforced Angel’s desire to speak with his son, but he worried about what such a meeting would do to their already strained relationship.

As he rounded a corner onto Fairfax Street, Angel’s moroseness turned to anger as he saw the Seville parked catawampus on the sidewalk.

“Damn it,” Angel muttered furiously to himself. “I told that boy to take that hunk of metal back to the Mews-”

But no sooner had the words left his mouth, Angel noticed the front door to No. 117 stood wide open, light spilling out onto the stoop, which was never a good omen. He quickened his pace. As he bounded up the front steps, Angel was able to hear the commotion coming from the lounge. Standing in the vestibule, he could see that, along with Wesley, Gunn, and Lorne, there was a swell of semi-familiar faces milling about nervously. Angel recognized them as Spike’s scallywag acquaintances. As soon as Angel entered the lounge, all fell silent. Noticiably absent were Fred and his ne’er-do-well grandchilde. Spike’s presence however was made known by the sound of raucous singing. Spike had the annoying habit of singing the bawdiest, curse-filled pub songs when he was trying to drown out all other distractions so that he could concentrate.

“What the hell is going on here?” Angel growled, throwing off his coat and hat. The tone of his voice caused Beck to flinch a bit further away on the settee.

“Fred’s gone,” Spike spoke from the doorway behind Angel. He was carrying a large satchel and was kitted out for war- weapons at the ready. His face was dark, serious, and covered in cuts and bruises. One of his eyes was just starting to open from swelling while the other was wide and dangerously focused. “Got ambushed by a bunch of cloak types. They knocked me out and took her.” For once his speech was clipped, to-the-point.

There was no time for admonishments. Fred had been kidnapped before; truth-be-told, most of them had been kidnapped at some juncture. Angel set himself into a recovery plan of action, “Any clues as to the exact identities of who has taken her, other than that they were cloaked?”

“Was kinda busy with my face becoming well acquainted with the pavement,” Spike snapped, loading bottles of liquor into his satchel after snapping the lock off Angel’s cabinet. After taking a few deeps breaths to calm himself, “They were human for the most part. Something was off about them though… Had a demon with them for muscle. They dragged Fred into a hansom while the big bastard pummeled me. It was green, I think… The hansom, not the demon.”

“Green?” Beck interjected, “Like from the Simmons’ Cab Company?”

Spike paused for a moment, pouring over his own hazy memories, attempting to jar more details into clarity, “Yeah, it might have been.”

“Highly unusual for kidnappers to use a commercial as well as recognizable vehicle like that,” Wesley said skeptically. Inside, he was near sick with worry over the what-ifs, but he calmed his outward demeanor with thinking of things he could quantify and hold as solid fact.

“Maybe they stole it,” Anna spoke up nervously, trying to be helpful.

Angel said, “The cab company would at least be a place to start- Damn it, Spike, what are you doing with all of my brandy?”

“We need some incendiaries. If they have any more demons like the one that attacked me fighting for them, we are in some serious trouble. I’ve never really seen anything like it- generic, sort of, nothing uncommon about it. Whatever it might have been, it was strong, and I don’t think normal means are going to take it or its kind down.”

Gunn looked up, drawn out of his own thoughts, “Sounds like the thing you and I fought outside of the Museum, Angel.”

Beck laid her tiny hand on Spike’s arm, “What can you do now?” She gestured to the sunlight creeping under the heavy damask curtains.

“Don’t worry, pet. I’ve got ways to navigate during the day,” he assured her.

“You’ll find George too along with Miss Burkle, right?” Beck seemed so much younger than she was when she was afraid though she often put up such a brave front.

Spike nodded in the affirmative without any hesitation even though internally he was filled with apprehension and doubt. He outlined the entire situation to Angel and the others, including the disappearance of the Splendeen Beast as well as the other demons from the Strand.

“Detective Lockley said she had been investigating as such when we were at the Museum,” Angel began, wondering if he should contact her so that they could share information. He knew it would be the most effective course of action, but it did not stop the nagging suspicion that not only would Kate Lockley be difficult to find but also that she might not be so forthcoming with details from her findings.

Assignments were divvied up amongst everyone. There was no time for tea when a comrade needed to be rescued. They all faced a long and arduous day, but they were resolute in their efforts, knowing that Fred was out there at the mercy of unknown captors.

*****

A swell of heat from the muggy early morning roused Fred awake. The first thought that passed through her mind was that she was laying on her back on a cot of some sort, a slate gray ceiling with dark wooden trusses above her. Her head was pounding as she tried to reconcile what had happened a few hours previously. Fear leapt up into her heart as she wondered if Spike was safe. The image of Spike laying unconscious in that alleyway as the sun came up made her breath catch in her throat.

“Are you all right, Missy?” the voice sounded as though it was coming from inside of her head, and, just as suddenly as the voice, a pair of enormous brown eyes and a scape of bluish-purple scales filled her field of vision.

Fred yelped as she swung out a fist and felt it connect with whatever creature was above her. It let out a little wail of pain that erupted in the space between Fred’s ears. She sat up and leapt back on the cot further away from the creature, clutching her hands over her ears. As the pain subsided, Fred opened her eyes to see the large, floating fish that Spike had identified as Betta George at the Jolly Dogs’.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you!” he whined, bobbing up and down in the air, fins swirling out in what Fred guessed was an attempt to shield himself from any further blows.

Fred was on her feet, taking in her surroundings. The room had a single oaken door across from the cot. The walls were mostly stone with a few wooden beams showing through the masonry, while the floor was wooden and covered in what appeared to be sawdust. A small table stood next to the door with a tall stool next to it. A tesla lamp pulsed a weak blue lazily. She walked over to the door, laying her hand on it.

“It’s locked,” George said, lowering himself down to the cot. “I know that you think that no one would capture someone and then stick them in an unlocked room, but it’s worth mentioning.”

Fred gave him a quizzical look, so George added, “Normally, I would impress you by telling you that I read your thoughts, but sadly, I merely guessed. The fiends who have us locked up in here have a grip on my powers, unfortunately.”

“Actually, I was thinking that you resemble a stuffed toy,” Fred smiled, “which isn’t meant to be an insult by any means.”

George huffed, turning a darker purple, “You sound like Spike!” Then, the Splendeen Beast shot up into the air, weaving around in a small circle, “Spike! I’m probably going to wish I was a stuffed toy by the time Spike gets through with me! He’s going to turn me into Splendeen tar-tar!”

Fred was confused about George’s startled outburst, “Why would he do that?”

“Because I led them to you! Oh, please believe me that I did not want to, Miss!” the large fish began to wail once more, fat silvery tears spilling out of his dinner plate-sized eyes.

Giving him a few uneasy pats, Fred attempted to calm George, hoping to glean more information from him. “Why me?” She swarmed him with a barrage of questions.

George sniffled as he laid down on the cot, “I don’t know much, only what they told me and what I could gather during the intervals when they remove whatever bindings that prevent me from using my telepathy.” He began to explain, “I was taken from the Strand near where you were, and we’re not the only ones. They’ve got demons of all sorts locked up here.”

“And where would “here” be?” she inquired.

“I’m not sure. This seems to be a complex or warehouse of some kind, lots of rooms and hallways, no windows. The only time I’ve been outside this place was when they would take me out to the Strand. They kept a bag over my face so I couldn’t see where we were beforehand.” Fred sat down next to George on the cot, listening as he continued, “I figure this is a cult of some kind. They charged me with finding the person who would be decipher a set of books that they have, three of them to be exact of an unknown language.”

Fred’s face lit up. It often amazed her how life had its ways of running circularly. It was no coincidence that George had picked her out of a crowd of people at the moment when she had been discussing with Spike the very nature of decoding the books stolen from the Museum. Her apprehension dissipated immensely as she had been kidnapped before for her ability to solve complex puzzles. Of course, the time before nearly ended with her being without her head.

Fred explained to George that she and her friends had begun investigating the very theft of the books she had been kidnapped to decrypt, “I was discussing these books with Spike when we followed you outside!”

“Honestly, it was not that which told me that you were the one. You had the same sort of energy that permeates out from the books themselves,” George replied which surprised Fred. “I truly hoped you and Spike would have stayed inside the theatre, but I believe our captors would have just found another way to bring you here. They are quiet devious in that way, Miss. The things they do to the demons locked up here- you can hear the howling and screaming all night long…”

Suddenly, the sound of jangling metal could be heard outside the door. George nervously rose into the air as Fred backed up as close to the wall as she could, reaching for the tesla lamp on the desk. The door opened with a creaking groan, and a cloaked figure entered, a mesh masked making its face indistinguishable.

“Young lady, I assure you no harm will come to you, so please put the lamp down.” It was impossible to discern if the figure was male or female as the voice was somehow distorted. George quaked a little, recognizing the voice of the figure as the one who had been the first he had been confronted with when he awoke in this dreadful place.

Fred did not relinquish her hold on the tesla lamp, “Forgive me, but I have heard similar promises before, and my experiences have educated me to never release a potential weapon when I’m being held against my will.”

The figure placed a large cloth bundle on the desk and unwrapped it. Two smaller books sat on top of a larger volume. Fred instantly recalled the sketches of the books from Dr. Breedlove’s notes- these were one in the same as the stolen ancient treasures from the Northead collection.

“The fish believes that you hold the key to solving the mysterious language within these tomes. If you can properly decipher them, then you are free to go.” There was an odd sort of chortling noise coming from behind the mask.

Fred gave the figure a stern look, “These books were stolen from the British Museum, correct?”

The figure paused. An uncomfortable silence passed before he or she nodded.

Fred returned the lamp to its place on the desk, “Then I am confident that I can help you.”

The unknown person behind the mask seemed taken aback, and then uttered with near-glee, “Excellent! That is excellent news! I am pleased you are being so cooperative.” As the figure exited the room, it added, “Someone will return in a short while to check on your progress and bring you something to eat.”

As soon as the door was closed and locked, Fred relaxed somewhat. She sat heavily on the stool next to the desk, staring at Dr. Northead’s prized books.

George hovered close to her shoulder, “So you really can figure out what the books mean?”

Fred ran her hand over the intricate filigree-work on the cover of the largest book, “I’m not sure, but I can try. It might buy us some time to plot an escape or allow Angel and the others to find us, at least.”

Looking worried, George said, “Angel? Spike seems to not put much stock into his abilities.”

Smiling softly, Fred replied, “That’s just Spike being a grouse,” as she opened up all three tomes to look at the text. She began to pour over the largest one’s pages, “This is the one that supposedly contained the Arcado-Cypriot language.

“And you can read that?” George asked hopefully.

“No, but perhaps one does not need to know what it means to the translation of the other two books is dependent on a pattern of some kind,” Fred did not sound very confident. Some of the glyphs were not completely alien to her- many characters resembled those she became familiar with in her own mathematical and scientific studies, and a few others resembled the Western alphabet. What else could she do but try? At least this endeavor would occupy her thoughts until an escape became feasible. She felt a gentle weight on her shoulder and turned to see Betta George’s lilac-coloured fin resting there. Fred was grateful that she was not in this situation totally alone.


To be continued...