The gears turned with a sound like grinding teeth. Charles Whitmore watched the brass pistons rise and fall, each stroke driving steam through copper pipes that ran deep beneath the London earth. Athena was alive.
The machine filled an entire subterranean chamber beneath Whitmore's townhouse in Bloomsbury. It rose three stories high, a cathedral of cogwheels and differential analyzers, each gear precisely cut to tolerances no other engineer in Europe could match. Charles had spent seven years building her. Seven years of sleepless nights, of borrowed money, of his wife Eleanor's gentle concerns growing...
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