Mortal Engines

Sixty minutes is all it took

for the Ancients to bring humanity to the brink of extinction.

Those who survived mobilized their settlements

to begin life anew upon a poisoned Earth.

In the hunt for food and fuel,

the weak perished,

and the strong grew ever more powerful.

Until a new age arose.

The Age of the Great Predator Cities of the West.

Two.

Predator! Predator City! Six miles and closing!

Hurry! Fire up the engines!

Move it, Dietrich! Fire them up!

- Crank all engines! - Come on! Come on!

Engine one is down!

Switch to auxiliaries!

Hurry! Hurry!

Start them up!

Full throttle!

Full power!

Yeah!

Lord Mayor on deck.

- Lord Mayor. - Mr. Valentine. What have we got?

Small Bavarian mining town, powered by C20 land engines.

Usual store of brick, coal and iron.

And 75 tons of salt.

Barely enough fuel to last us a week.

We've left the safety of Britain, we've crossed the land bridge, for what?

To feed upon the scraps of Europe.

- Run it down. - Aye, aye, sir.

They're gaining on us!

Empty the silos. All of them!

Do it!

It's madness out there.

You'd think they'd never seen a chase before.

Well, it has been a while, sir.

- Morning, Clytie. - Morning, Dr. Pomeroy.

The news is not good from The Hall of Ceramics.

I'm afraid we've suffered some casualties.

Damn these bloody vibrations!

- Oh! - Steady on, Arkie!

No, no, no. Don't worry about me!

We're about to lose our American deities!

Excuse me, Dr. Pomeroy.

Good morning, Miss Valentine.

I've been waiting outside the Manuscripts Room for quite some time.

Your 9 o'clock?

I do apologize.

This is not good enough.

Where the hell is Tom?

Coming through!

Whoa!

- Watch it, bud! - Sorry.

Sorry. Sorry.

Give me everything you have!

- They're heading for the foothills. - Stay on course.

- Sir... - Stay on course.

Take the shot.

Incoming!

Well done, everyone!

- Prepare to ingest. - Aye, aye, sir!

Ah, Mr. Natsworthy! Nice of you to join us.

I'm so sorry I'm late, sir.

You look nice. Have you had a haircut?

- I don't want to hear it, Tom. - Is that a new cologne?

You're already on your third warning. This is your last.

Citizens of Salzhaken, welcome to London.

Bring only your personal possessions with you.

Old tech is to be deposited in the bins provided.

Citizens of Salzhaken, welcome to London.

So, you're studying the end of the Ancients?

What I really need are firsthand accounts of the Sixty-Minute War.

Journals, books, personal papers.

Very few written records survived during that period.

It may very well be they forgot how to read and write altogether.

But if it's the Sixty-Minute War you're after, follow me.

Just give us a minute.

Strange to think this is what it looked like.

Twenty-first century? Yep.

It's so different.

That's what happens when the Earth's crust gets shattered into 1,000 pieces.

Check this out.

- Did you make this? - Yeah. Bits of old scrap tech I found.

The power system was a little bit tricky,

but luckily, I got my man Matthew there limbered up and ready to go.

This is what I wanted to show you.

It's a Quantum Energy weapon.

There were dozens of them, all over the globe.

My God.

They called it Medusa.

How can a society so advanced, so scientific, be so stupid?

Well, no more stupid than people today. They just had far worse weapons.

And far more sophisticated control systems.

What a nightmare.

Well, the Ancients felt the same way. That's why they created this little fella.

A crash drive to shut down the weapon.

- Doesn't this stuff creep you out? - Let me tell you something.

We come across dangerous tech

that's in way better condition than this junk all the time.

Now, I've noticed that pieces have started to go missing.

I notified my boss, who notified his boss, and of course nothing happened,

so I decided to take a few precautions of my own.

All of it is viable weapons-grade tech.

- God help us. - The next time we cross the marshlands,

I'm tossing the entire bloody lot over the side.

Just let it sink to the bottom of a swamp where no one will ever find it.

Miss Valentine! You should have told me you were coming.

I would have laid something on for you.

Hello, Herbert.

What are you still doing here, Natsworthy? You're on Gut Duty.

No, I'm assisting Miss Valentine.

- Not anymore. You've been demoted. - What?

- Uh, by who? - By me.

You're just a skivvy from the lower tiers with no family and no prospects.

If those dim-witted Spanner-heads beat you to the bins again,

you'll be back to cleaning the bogs.

Chop-chop.

Well, it's been lovely chatting. I have to go.

It's rush hour. He'll never make it.

Wait! Tom!

Tom! Wait! I can get you down there.

- You what? - I can get you down there.

Citizens of Salzhaken, welcome to London.

Bring only your personal possessions with you.

Old tech is to be deposited in the bins provided.

Okay.

- Excuse me. - Sorry.

- Really? - On you go.

Sorry about that.

- And that's it? We're through? - Just like that.

Stay in your allocated line.

Possession of any form of weapon is strictly prohibited.

Hold up. Hold up. What's this, then? We'll have that.

Incomers failing to follow instructions will be detained.

So what's the rush?

Well, gotta get down there, and go through all the artifacts

taken off the Catch.

And anything of historical importance goes to the Museum.

But if I'm late,

the Gut workers shovel everything into the furnaces.

All they care about is feeding the beast.

...failing to follow instructions will be detained.

- No weapons allowed. - You cannot do this!

Are you stupid? No weapons!

Be aware, children may be temporarily separated from parents.

Nether Borough Station.

Disembark here for Digestion Yards, Incomer Processing and Main Engine Rooms.

Mind the drop.

- They still haven't caught her? - Who, Anna Fang?

Yeah. Bloody Anti-tractionists.

Should be locked up, in my opinion.

Next one. Move it. What about you, eh? What are you hiding?

Yeah, all right. Go through. Next.

Incomers failing to follow instructions will be detained.

All belongings must be presented...

We're the enemy. Anti-tractionists loathe everything we stand for.

Yeah, what, like progress?

It's not progress, not to them. To them, our way of life is unsustainable.

- They see Tractionism as a... - Oh!

Oh!

Bevis! Mate, your tools are all over the floor!

I'm so sorry.

You all right, Tom? On bins again?

Yeah. What are you doing down here?

Waste chute maintenance. I got it. Just leave it.

I really am sorry. I didn't see you.

Why would you?

Bevis, this is Katherine...

Yeah, I know who she is. I'll catch you later.

No, no, no, you don't!

Stop! No! Stop! Stop!

That is a Sunbeam TA200. That's a classic radiant-controlled

double-slice toaster with automatic bread ejection.

We have to...

And you've lost the knob!

Oh, for Quirke's sake.

Someone knows their small appliances.

Here.

Very, very nice.

I've dug up a few of these in my time, but none as good as this.

Couple of small dents, a little bit of tarnishing.

- Springs gone, but they always are. - Yeah, well...

That is far better than anything in the Museum's current collection.

Well done.

That's high praise coming from you, sir.

You know, I just want to say I've read all your books.

Oh, don't encourage him. His head's quite big enough.

Hi, Dad.

Kate, what are you doing here?

I thought you were going to the Museum.

I did. That's where I bumped into Tom.

Tom?

Tom Natsworthy, isn't it?

Yes, it is.

I knew your parents.

They were lovely people. First-class Historians, both.

I thought you had plans to be an Aviator.

Oh, yeah, I was. But then I gave it all up.

I mean, history's more my thing, sir.

I'm surprised they called you down here for such a small Catch.