"The extraction," Holmes corrected. He stood, his long coat sweeping the floor. "The victim’s memories weren’t just stolen. They were archived. Compressed into a format the Scotland Yard analysts can’t even recognize."
"A 'rar' file," Watson whispered, his hand hovering over the hilt of his cane. "The anarchists in the East End use them. They pack data tighter than a powder keg. If you try to open it without the right key..."
He held up a small, heavy cylinder made of blackened lead. Etched into its side, in tiny, precise copper filigree, were the words: . A.Study.in.Steampunk.rar
Watson tightened the valves on his leg, the metal glowing dull red. "Then let’s go, Holmes. I’ve a feeling this 'rar' contains enough heat to burn London to the ground."
The machine groaned. Deep within its bowels, pistons began to pump. A green light flickered behind a glass vacuum tube. Suddenly, the room was filled with a holographic projection—a flickering, sepia-toned ghost of a man. "The extraction," Holmes corrected
"There," Holmes said, grabbing his deerstalker and a pair of brass goggles. "The archive is open, Watson. And it leads straight to the heart of the rebellion."
They stepped out into the night, two shadows against a sky lit by the orange glow of a thousand furnaces. They were archived
"It’s too clean, Watson," Holmes murmured. His voice was sandpaper and velvet.