Clockwork Villains

by T. J. Lockwood

  “You’re sure?”

  “No.”

  He sighs. “Piper…”

  “I’m not a baker, but I’m fairly certain the only thing that matters is the end result. When they’re done then you can see if you did everything right.” Robbie has taken care of me my whole life and now he gets tripped up by a batch of brownies. I’ve never seen him this insecure before—it’s strange, but also makes him look so human.

  There is this muffled noise echoing through the walls. If I can hear it then so can Robbie, but he carries on as if it isn’t there.

  “Piper, do you have a moment?” Calista’s voice echoes and I waste no time in hopping off the bar stool.

  Robbie continues with the brownie batter. “These should be ready by the time you get back.”

  I press the symbol in my palm and open my interface. I quickly input a couple short cuts and then watch as the image of Robbie fades and I am suddenly face to face with the giant screen looking out into the Ocelot.

  Calista is sitting in the pilot’s chair with her gauntlet on the console next to her. “Ah, there you are. We’re about to land in Motano and I was wondering if you wanted to join me for my meeting with Lennon Suo.”

  I pause. “Me? Maybe you should take someone more qualified.”

  She chuckles to herself. “You lost your body because people made a backdoor to get around corporate fine print. I think you’re plenty qualified.”

  There is something to that I suppose.

  Calista stands and puts her hand on the screen. A small doorway appears in front of her palm and I walk through it without hesitation. On the outside she has just opened a transfer, but for me it looks like I’m walking into another room in a house. The interior is cozier than last time. The walls resemble a train compartment similar to the MagTrain I forced my way onto before. There are chairs, a table, and several window-like screens all around.

  “I just got the augments done. Should be brighter there at least.” She pulls back her hand and I can see a good portion of the Ocelot.

  I take a seat and watch as the Captain does the same. “The circuitry looks brand new.”

  She nods. “I have no idea what you’re seeing, but those circuits better be new. I paid enough.”

  The Ocelot begins a gradual descent and I find myself starting to relax a little. How will Motano be? RigMire isn’t remotely close to Voltza, so I can only imagine what the other Twelve cities are like. Calista is calm and in perfect sync with her ship. The small ball of energy peeks out from one of the windows and then makes its way over. It wastes no time settling onto my lap as the Ocelot touches down.

  A man’s voice starts talking through the overhead speaker. “Welcome, Captain Ridley. Your escort will arrive shortly.”

  I start to pet the energy ball. “Fancy.”

  Calista puts her gauntlet on her other hand and makes her way to the cargo hold. “A formality. Don’t be fooled. Everything here will look like a grand show of hospitality, but the suits will be extremely happy when we’re gone.”

  “You’re really intimidating, you know that?”

  She opens the main cargo doors and is immediately faced with three men in red suits. “You have no idea.”

  The one in the centre bows and motions towards these giant silver towers. “Ms. Suo regrets to inform you that her meeting with the board is running late, though she has made arrangements for your entertainment in the meantime.”

  Calista nods. “That won’t be necessary. We’ll wait.”

  He pauses. “Captain, I must insist—”

  “We’ll wait.”

  This chair reminds me of the old movie theatre in MagHaven. Back when it still ran people would line up to get the best seats to films that no one ever heard of. It was less about what was on screen and more about the ambiance of it all. The Captain asserts her dominance and walks past the three men towards an array of coloured lights and large billboards. I’ve never seen anything so lit up before. We walk past an info centre and hear about everything from tacos to sponsorships. It’s like everything is trying to sell you something.

  “It’s all about the hustle. There isn’t a citizen here who doesn’t own a business or two.” Calista sighs. “It’s easy to get caught up in the wheeling and dealing.”

  I pause. “So it’s all about money then?”

  She points at the tallest tower. “Motano is Suo’s answer to making sure the economy survives. RigMire is for the people—that’s how they advertise it anyway.”

  We walk for what seems like a long time and while the colours change, the messages don’t. I feel like a commodity of sorts. Calista steps through a set of large automatic doors and takes a seat across from a vacant reception desk. The name ‘Suo’ is emblazoned on the wall. In here the selling seems to have stopped.

  The silence is actually quite comforting.

  “Calista?” The ball of energy jumps off my lap. “How long are we going to wait?”

  She smiles. “As long as we have to. Sometimes the best tool you can have is patience.”

  And so we wait until the lights dim and the night sky overtakes the remaining daylight. Still no one comes to that desk. Then as I start to doze off a distinct ding echoes through the room as the elevator doors to the left spring open.

  A woman in one inch heels and grey pantsuit steps off. “Calista, why do you always have to be so difficult?”

  The Captain shrugs. “It’s nice to see you too, Lennon.”

  There it is again—that look of recognition.

  I lean back in my seat and take in the story as it unfolds in front of me.

  Popcorn—this moment needs popcorn.

  1

  THE ADVENTURER'S MUSEUM

  WE ARE ALL CAPABLE OF COMMITTING ATROCITIES in the name of something greater. There isn’t a person alive who can deny that. History may be one-sided, but the tales of betrayal and corruption are very real, no matter what side one stands on. Even now, as the lights flicker and buzz over my head, I am waiting for the room to settle. The people here are anxious—excited even—to witness the one event that recurs without fail.

  “It’s happening! Mom, can you see it?” A boy girl curls up to the edge of the window in hopes of claiming a momentary glimpse of the beaches outside. He is small, gentle, and has no real hope of claiming more than an inch of glass space.

  A larger woman, sitting with her back against the wall, nods before returning her attention to the half-knitted scarf in her hands. “It is not my turn to see it. It’s yours.”

  “This is pathetic.” I turn away from the bustle of people and make my way out towards the halls linking the observation rooms. “Nothing ever changes.”

  “Of course not.” Mycah stands with an unlit cigarette inches from his lips. “That’s one of your biggest faults, Harlow. You expect people to change. We can’t. We do what’s in our nature to do.”

  I can’t help but chuckle. “I thought you were quitting, Mycah.”

  He shrugs. “I am. Do you see a trail of smoke at the end of this baby? This is self-control. The tobacco doesn’t own me.”

  “You say that, but you still can’t bring yourself to throw it away.”

  He nods and places the filter between his lips. “That would be a waste of money—an unforgivable sin.”

  If there’s one thing history has shown us, it’s how we are creatures of habit. A distinct scream echoes from observation room three. Both Mycah and I wait for the other to move.

  “I got the last one.” He simulates a tobacco-filled puff of air. “Your turn, princess.”

  I reach for the pistol strapped to my leg. “Don’t call me that.”

  The screams transition to loud successive thuds.

  Mycah smiles and flicks the imaginary ash from the tip of his cigarette. “Fine, I’ll save it for the pillow talk.”

  The thuds echo louder with each passing moment. Some people have exited their rooms to see what’s going on. This old hotel is getting more and more run down b
y the day. I’d rather not have to clean up an unnecessary mess. I take a deep breath, assure those outside their rooms that nothing is amiss and make my way to the source. I’m lying whenever I say that. There’s always something amiss—especially when Lantis is about to submerge.

  Several people begin funneling out of room number 813 with their possessions held tightly against their chests. I have a good idea what I’m walking into, but part of me is hoping for at least a little bit of a surprise.

  “Get out of my way. We paid for the square footage. This shit ain’t cheap, you know.” A man flies out into the hall, narrowly missing my shoulder before he hits the ground.

  I pull my weapon from its holster. “Hey! Knock it off. You know the rules. We all watch peacefully, and then get on with our day.”

  I step into the room. Large splotches of paint are splattered all over the floor, with two men rolling around in the colour. A young family looks like it’s causing some tension at the window.

  I roll the cylinder of the revolver towards the blank and pull the trigger. The shot echoes without fault. There is no bullet, but those watching don’t know that. Sometimes illusion is more powerful than the truth.

  “Stop it, all of you, or I’m going to close this one down and you’ll have to watch from the beaches like everyone else.” For a moment—a very brief one—there is silence. The beaches are dangerous.

  “You can’t do that.” One of the men wrestling in the paint pushes himself off the ground. “We paid for this—”

  I shake my head. “No, you paid to watch Lantis submerge, like it does every two years. This—brawling on private property—is against the agreement made at the time of purchase. I should rip up your tickets.”

  “But he’s taking up too much space!” The man points towards his opponent. The second man is not a fighter, far from it. I can tell by the look in his eyes and the disappointment in his gaze. He’s an artist, which would explain the paint and broken easel by the wall.

  I spin the cylinder of the revolver. “You all have until the count of three to get out of here.”

  The man steps towards me. “But—”

  I take a deep breath. “One.”

  “You can’t do this.”

  I click back the hammer. “Two.”

  “Bitch—”

  I don’t have to say three. Mycah appears in the doorway, and no one dares utter a word. He stands a good five inches taller than I am, and sometimes that is enough. Intimidation is an art in itself. Within moments the bustle is gone and all that remains is me, a mess of paint, and Mycah with that stupid cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

  People often come and go, but those who stay are the ones who have something to prove. No matter where you go in the world, it is always like this. These people may not be poor, but they are desperate—desperate enough to pay exorbitant amounts of money to catch of glimpse of what they perceive to be hope.

  “Harlow, can you see them? I can lift you onto my shoulders if you can’t.”

  My father was once one of those desperate people who believed that Lantis was a symbol of a better life.

  “It’s happening.” Mycah replaces his cigarette into the carton in his jacket pocket. “Are you ready to witness divinity?”

  I shake my head and turn away. “There is nothing divine about a flying city sinking underwater.”

  I will always remember the silver spires of Lantis’ highest towers. No matter how deep the city went they always remained dry above the water. What happened in this room? I could interpret the details, but I just don’t care. There are some things people aren’t meant to gaze upon because the only thing that can come of it is madness. I’d bet money on people already tearing themselves apart on the beaches, fighting to get into the water with the hope of swimming aboard.

  No one ever makes it, but that doesn’t stop them from trying.

  Mycah steps towards the window. “It really is beautiful, you know?”

  I close my eyes and picture it from memory. Looking at the city is one thing but looking down at the beaches below is another. I don’t need to see the bloodbath—not again.

  The sizzle of the city hitting the water is distinct, and while Mycah watches, I step out into the hall. Every room, every observation deck is quiet. I take what time I can to enjoy the silence because when the mass exodus starts—and it always does—even these people who paid for the ability to watch from a safe distance will try their luck on the beaches. They think they’ll make it because those watching from the sand will give up.

  Believe me when I say that wave two is just as deadly as wave one.

  “Mom? Is it over?” A little girl holding a stuffed rabbit is awkwardly looking out into the hallway from the staircase leading up to the penthouse. My daughter knows the rules and often finds multiple ways to bend them.

  I head towards her. “Quinn, get back upstairs. I don’t want you to get hurt down here.”

  “But is it over?”

  I shake my head. “No, it’s just starting.”

  Mycah peeks his head out and then catches a glimpse of our child carefully making sure that neither of her feet is touching the floor. He quickly gets rid of the cigarette and steps towards her. “You’re supposed to be in bed, young lady.”

  She pouts. “I don’t think so.”

  He chuckles. “Oh really?”

  She nods. “Yes. It’s not even dark outside. If the kids down here can stay up, then why can’t I?”

  Mycah turns to me. “You want to take this one, or should I?”

  I sigh. “I’ve got it.”

  Quinn drops her rabbit and then looks between the two of us as she attempts to reach it without setting foot on this floor. I believe those were my exact words, anyway.

  Crash.

  We’re both moving in seconds—Mycah towards the sound and me towards Quinn. I scoop up the rabbit and pick her up in one fluid motion.

  “Mommy, what was—”

  I hurry up the stairs. “Your room. I want you to go there and stay put.”

  “But—”

  Crash. That one sounded more like an explosion.

  I set her down at the top of the stairs and she looks into my eyes. My face tells her that this isn’t the time to argue with me. She runs and I’m back downstairs within seconds.

  Despite the ruckus, no one looks to be panicked. I find Mycah back in room 813. “What’s going on?”

  He shrugs. “I’m not sure. Lantis just stopped. It’s not sinking anymore.”

  A cloud of smoke trails up from the far side of the city. We stand in silence for a few moments. There’s something wrong.

  I look out into the hall and see the doors bursting open. “Oh, shit.”

  People funnel out with such speed. There is no end to the pushing. One person falls and I watch as they get trampled by those coming out behind them. When it settles down, I move in to help, but they’re already back on their feet and limping towards the mass of people cramming into elevator.

  “Hey! Settle down, there’s a weight limit.” Mycah attempts to quell the crowd, but they’ve already started squeezing into the stairwell.

  Just when I’ve had about enough of the shouting and the violence, another explosion erupts. I hear a whimper behind me and see Quinn trembling against the wall.

  “Mom, I’m scared.” She’s breathing heavily. “I’m sorry I...”

  I pull her into my arms. “It’s alright. I’m here. You’re safe.”

  A man stumbles out of one of the rooms and looks as if he’s ready to hit someone. Blood cakes his cheek and his left hand looks pretty mangled. “You’d better have a faster way off the floor. I need to get to the beach.”

  I let go of my daughter. “Sir, I think we all need to take a breath.”

  He whips a knife out of his pocket. “Bitch, I’ve had a hard day.”

  I pull Quinn behind me. “Look, fuckface, the fastest way off this floor is through a window. Now, I don’t have a problem pushing you out one if y
ou keep threatening me with your sad intimidation tactics, but I’d rather not do that in front of my girl. She’s going to see tons of death in her life, and I’d love it if she could have a few more years of bliss before then. So the choice is yours: simmer down and leave quietly or I’m going to do something I don’t really want to do.” He steps towards me. “And if you don’t think I’ll do it, then you are sadly mistaken. I have no problem committing murder.”

  What we are and to whom is all a matter of perspective. Every detail has the potential to change the story. This man looks at me and then at Quinn before he throws his knife into the wall and leaves quietly. This is the world we live in, and if I could get a cottage in the mountains then I would, but that’s not an option right now.

  I take a deep breath and count to three before turning to Quinn. “Hey, let’s go upstairs and make some pancakes. Your dad is going to be hungry when he’s done with our clients.”

  She nods and gives me a tight hug.

  One day we won’t have to live like this anymore.

  I promise.

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  T.J. Lockwood is an author, artist and podcast host who has a special place in her heart for Speculative Fiction. Her writings include everything from futuristic worlds to a jellyfish who just wants to show the world his magic. She enjoys leveling up her skills in both virtual and physical realms, walking in Vancouver rain, doodling comics, and rambling about stories of any medium.

  tjlockwood.com • @TJLwriting

  Thank you for reading.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Rights & Disclaimers

  Dedication

  1 • The Conditions of Survival

  2 • The Plain Between Worlds

  3 • The Colour of Life