Up to No Good?

New Babbage had been peaceful for quite some time. I was beginning to think that the situation would last forever, that the Clockwinder and Mr. Cleanslate had found the key to keeping the powder keg that is Babbage contained. Foolish me. Mrs. Breezy Carver-Fabre, was the one who first noted that New Babbage arch-villain Doctor Obolensky was active in the Vernian Deep, returned from his self-imposed exile and apparently making plans that could only mean trouble for the Clockwinder and the people of New Babbage.

I hitched a ride on a Cuthbert-class ironclad from Port Caledon - one can never be too careful, or too well-armed when approaching the Doctor - and we steamed our way to New Babbage, then on to the Vernian Sea and, beyond that, the Deep.

Looming in front of us was the familiar sight of Doctor O's lair/laboratory/hideout, rebuilt in the Deep. Outwardly, the structure looked the same as when I last laid eyes on it, sans the scaffolding. As we approached nearer, however, it became clear that Doctor O had been hard at work on improvements, and the renovations were not yet complete.



A tree grows in Obolenskidonia:



Sad little thing, isn't it? On the far side of the lair were clanks furiously constructing an extension to the island. The floating construction platforms dwarfed our ironclad.



Through the captain's spyglass we saw one of the clanks quite clearly.



We rounded the island and prepared to head back to New Babbage with our intelligence when the second officer sounded the alarm: she had spotted a gun placement. The captain quickly ordered the hull be sealed and that the ironclad move away from the guns at full speed.

The command came too late, however. The guns were fully automated, and responded to the motion of the ship. As we came into range, a searchlight illuminated and locked onto us. We could see the cannon swivel toward us and heard the booms as the device opened fire.



A hit! Again and again the guns pounded the hull. At the captain's orders, our gunners returned fire, but the manual aiming was no match for Doctor O's automated firing mechanism, and our rounds did not fall true.



Fortunately, the ironclad's hull withstood the initial volley. By the time the battery had reloaded, we were safely out of range, our ship damaged but still afloat.

I still know not what Doctor Obolensky is up to, but I am more convinced than ever that his plans bode ill for New Babbage!

Dr. Obolensky Rises in the World

Quite literally. He has raised his laboratory substantially above sea level - the better to look down upon his future subjects in New Babbage, he cackled.

Below, a closer look from the cameras of the Hangover Two.

I wonder what the fiend could be up to?

The Leviathan of the Vernian Deep

I had docked in Port Babbage for some minor repairs to my airship. Once those repairs were complete, I thought it best to try some low-stress flying to ensure the repairs were satisfactory and the craft was able to withstand the voyage back to Caledon.

The Vernian Sea looked like an inviting spot, the night breeze enough to gently rock the airship but nothing to worry about. I love flying at night, particularly over open water. The ship felt faster in the blackness, and I could be lost in my thoughts.

In the distance, a large swathe of purple in the Vernian Deep caught my eye. I had read of the sudden outbreak of purple in the city, which made me curious. I pushed the throttle forward and felt the throb of the engines increase, closing the distance to the object in little time. It turned out to be a giant airship moored on a floating dock. Throwing caution to the wind, I decided to investigate further.

The platform was ringed with searchlights and high-powered weapons.


The dock held secure the rudder of the airship. I craned my neck to see the leviathan, but most of the airbag and all of the cockpit was lost in the fog.




I adjusted the controls and released some of the gas in the airbags of my own craft and watched the leviathan grow ever larger as I ascended toward it. The decks were the size of an ironclad warship - and seemed nearly as heavily-armed.


Who could be building this weapon of destruction? For weapon it surely was; the ship was too impractical as a peacekeeping tool. I shuddered to think what would happen if its cannon were unleashed on an unsuspecting population. Fortunately, the vessel was still under construction.

As I reached the flag flying proudly atop the ship, my heart sank as I recognized the all-too-familiar logo of Doctor Obolensky and his motto: "Ego sum melior quam vos" - I am better than you.

What can he be up to?

On the Vernian Sea

After finishing an assignment in New Babbage ahead of schedule, I had some time to explore the city. I set off in the direction of Port Babbage at the edge of the Vernian Sea. Many changes were evidence since the last time I had visited, so I poked my nose into various shops, took pictures, and explored the undersea tunnels.




The calm sea above does not to justice to the sprawling tunnel complex below. The ironworks girders supporting endless corridors, spotted with numerous portholes, are impressive, as is the artistry on the metal.

Strange creatures drift to and fro, oblivious to the human activity inside.

I find a robotic barman. Very efficient, though his conversational skills are perhaps not yet up to par.


On the surface again, I decided that I would pay a visit to that notable resident of the Vernian Sea, Doctor Obolensky. Out of an abundance of caution, I took an ironclad with me and approached the doctor's lair carefully. As it turned out, one cannot approach with too much care: the villain had aimed a death ray at the submersible, programmed to target whoever exited the craft.

As it turned out, that was me:

Ah well, I was only a little worse for wear, though I glowed in the dark for several weeks afterward.

Doctor Obolensky appeared to be out, though I saw an admirer left a piece of cake for him. Most thoughtful, really. I almost nibbled a bite myself, as impolite as that would have been, had I not smelled the almonds - bitter almonds, at that - and, as I do not care for almonds, left the present alone.




I piloted the craft to the edge of the sea, where Tinny Tim stands guard:




From there, it was a quick trip to Clockhaven, though that must wait for another day.