Hero of the Rebellion (2nd Class)

Airships over Africa

Hearts and Flowers

Lightning Bridge

SMS

A Short History of Magic

Stone and Shadows

The Cassandra Effect

Damien D'Eath

The Last Asteroid

The Lottery Winner's Lair

The Pink Room

The Voyage of the Ice Clipper

Observatory Mount

...Then a Miracle Occurs

Time Out of Place

The Steam Road

Hero of the Rebellion (2nd Class)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Clockwork Cabaret

Camera Obscura

Imperial Lifeblood

African Designs

Garden at the End of the Universe

Door Bell

Consolidation Earth

Gods and Daemons

We had been drinking vodka in the bar at the Intercontinental Hotel: the kind of place which was once very opulent and fashionable, but rather run down over the years and now exuded a certain sense of faded grandeur.

"My great grandfather," the big Russian said, suppressing a belch, "Now he was a proper hero."

He put a couple of old photographs down on the bar, the actual printed-on-paper kind. In this age of ephemeral pictures stored electronically, it was something of a commitment - not to mention an expense - to use pulped wood fibre just to represent one image.

I picked up the pictures. The first showed a young soldier from some war a hundred years ago, in a heroic pose with a young woman looking adoringly up at him. There was some lettering in Cyrillic which I didn't understand.

"A recruiting poster from what in the West you call the Second World War," he explained, "But the woman in the photo is my great grandmother."

I turned my attention to the other image. It showed a handsome young man in cold-weather military uniform.

"And that's great grandfather. Hero of the family for generations. I heard endless stories about the old man when I was a child."

"Very interesting," I said noncommittally, wondering where this conversation was going.

"I always wanted to be a hero," he went on, eyeing the full shotglass on the bar in front of him, "But now that I am one, I have to wonder what all the fuss is about."

"You're a hero?" I replied, slightly incredulously and hardly slurring my words at all. I sipped at my own drink.

"Sure. A real medal and everything. Hero of the Rebellion," he sniffed, adding in an ironic tone, "Second Class."

"Of the Rebellion?" I spluttered, almost spraying the bar-top with iced spirits.

He picked up his glass and raised it in a silent toast.

"Yeah," he grinned, "It's quite a story. Do you want to hear it?"

Of course I did. I signalled to the bartender for another round of drinks and sat back to listen.

Introduction

Part 2