Phoenix Rising Read Online Free PDF

discoveries, eventually having his gaze end at the analytical engine’s interface. His smile widened a bit, purely a vain, narcissistic reaction to his practically Shelly-esque creation that had confounded those arrogant shlockworks of the Ministry. And why shouldn’t Wellington take pride in this diamond hidden within the Archives’ rough? It improved efficiency down here a thousandfold, and had involved absolutely no input from the clankertons in Research and Design.
    He slid out his desk’s small extension and followed the various sequences down to the one he knew would be there, the one that would fit his mood. His fingers pushed against characters both numeric and alphabetical, coaxing from the metallic monster a series of clicks, whirs, and steambursts. The machine took Wellington’s keystrokes, calculated, and finally followed the programmed command.
    The silence was only for a moment, and then came the long, languid notes from the analytical engine’s horn. Johann Sebastian Bach. “Violin Concerto No. 2.” In E. The Adagio. Just what he needed.
    If the recording were to be playing at home, it would sound slightly tinny in its playback. Here, in the Archives, the acoustics gave the music a delightful resonance. Not the same as being there in concert, but most assuredly close to the experience. Wellington breathed deeply, and when his eyes opened once more, he found himself staring at the open pages of his journal.
    I am home. I am back in my haven , he had only just written. And yet, I feel as if the worst is yet to come.
    Wellington swallowed hard. He had no idea what he could have done to deserve such attention as the House of Usher had bestowed upon him. The lengths at which they had gone to spirit him away from Mother England to the farthest reaches of the Empire were impressive, if not humbling.
    He nodded, dipped his pen into the inkwell and added, Perhaps this is merely the anxiety most feel upon returning from a battle. They are surprised to see the next morning’s light, returning to their lands a hero. In secret, they expect their days to end abruptly. It is living the old Arabian parable of a merchant seeing Death in the streets.
    Had he returned a hero? Perhaps, an unsung one. After all, he had held his tongue—no secrets of the Ministry had been divulged. True, they hadn’t begun the interrogation process, but there had been some tense moments. Very tense. Not that he would have admitted it to anyone in the Ministry, but maybe a few tears had leaked out.
    Luckily, anyone who might have revealed such an embarrassment had been lost in ash, fire, and snow. Thank God.
    The analytical engine clicked and whirred again, now following the protocol cards that Wellington had associated with this command. It kept with the composer, but instead searched out for another musical refrain to play. This time, the analytical engine chose “Concerto for Violin, Oboe, and Strings in D Minor.” He shuddered at the shrill cries of the featured woodwind. Normally, he enjoyed the oboe, but this was not a morning for such. He punched the randomizer key, offset from the interface’s array, and the analytical engine immediately searched again, this time producing the slower-paced “Violin Concerto No. 1 in A Minor.” Wellington gave a slight huff of relief, returned to his journal, and jotted in the margin.
    [NOTE: Review the sequence cards and protocols of the difference engine’s musical selections. Attempt to program “mood” as a variable alongside composer.]
    Before he could return his thoughts to his brief imprisonment, the large, heavy door clanked open, expelling a low noise that cut through Bach’s soothing melodies. Wellington placed the thin ribbon of silk between the gutter of his journal, gently closed it, and pressed with his fingernail the six keys that locked his thoughts within its supple leather cover. By the time his journal reached the