Terra Mechanica: A Steampunk Anthology

by Jay Barnson

  “Marina! Marina, look at me!” Upon entering their home, Marina is met by the sight of her tiny sister prancing around in her spare uniform, the over-sized leather vest and trousers making for an amusing sight, especially with the goggles strapped firmly to her pig-tailed hair. “I’m an inventor pilot!”

  Marina spares a glance at the landlady fast asleep on a chair. She was paid handsomely to watch the rambunctious four-year-old. But Marina turns her attention back to Larissa. “Well, look at you.”

  Marina’s heart clenched at the memory. Someday I’ll buy you a new pair. Someday, when things get better.

  They’ll never get better, was the horrid reply to her inner monologue.

  Marina held the goggles over the open sea. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, forcing her eyes shut as it dropped from her hand.

  They had indeed gained some speed, Marina noted, as she studied the ocean below her. The rest of them were still dumping whatever they could, even bits of the ship itself, under Marina’s instruction. A pit settled in her stomach. It wasn’t enough.

  She caught only the tiniest glimpse of something dark fluttering above them, small enough that under different circumstances she would not have even thought about it, especially on such a cloudy evening. But there it was, that small something that seemed to fall from the sky and rapidly swing towards them.

  She pushed the “emergency” button once again, the sharp noise alerting her crew to assemble by her, before detaching herself and selecting one of the few arm extensions she had saved—essentially a metal hand, but with sharp appendages instead of fingers. When disguised under her leather gloves, nothing appeared amiss.

  Artur arrived first, followed closely by Viktor and Roy. Grigory was the last to arrive. “What’s the news?” he said.

  “They’re on our ship,” Marina said, locking the door behind him. “Their ship is on top of ours and they’ve swung aboard. Now, help me barricade the door. We need to try and buy ourselves whatever time we can.”

  They all jumped to work, using any leftover objects they could, until Viktor spoke up. “But, is there a point? We’re just prolonging the inevitable now.”

  “If there’s even a chance of escaping this,” Roy said, “we should take it.”

  “We should fight,” Grigory said with a frightening grin. “They’ll rue the day they tried to rob this ship.”

  “They’ll kill us anyway.” Marina gave him a solemn nod. “We’ll do whatever we can.”

  Barbaric cries interrupted their discussion. The intruders began banging on their reinforced door, and soon the crew’s pitiful attempts at a barricade broke straight down the middle. One more powerful hit, and it fell. The control deck was suddenly swarmed with Fijian pirates.

  The pirates outnumbered them two to one. They quickly subdued and restrained Marina, Roy, and her crew, and lined them up. One pirate, presumably the leader with his long braid and fancier, though still threadbare, attire, began yelling at them in his foreign tongue, then at his men. Roy suddenly spoke up and, in what Marina could only imagine was perfect French, began speaking to the pirate.

  The leader seemed taken aback and listened while he gathered his wits again. He spoke back to Roy, this time more calmly. Though it probably only lasted a minute or less, in Marina’s adrenaline-rushed mind, it felt like hours. Whatever Roy was saying clearly intrigued the imposing man.

  Roy suddenly began protesting loudly, and both he and Marina were hoisted off the ground and escorted out of the room. She realized what was happening when cries of pain erupted behind her, and though she struggled to escape, there was naught she could do to save her crew. She forced away tears, refusing to show such weakness even as she heard the sickening “thump” of what was presumably their bodies hitting the wooden floor.

  Marina lost focus as they were dragged along the familiar deck. She had hardly known them, and though it was a personal survival instinct for her to distrust people, she was filled with genuine regret for never truly caring until now. Artur, Viktor, Grigory . . . Their fragile lives stolen in an act of cruel brutality.

  Marina and Roy were thrown into the very same cellar that had held Roy captive. The door slammed behind them, but the tell-tale yelling outside revealed that they weren’t to be left alone for long. Despite their desperate situation, Marina couldn’t help but ask the obvious. “You speak French?”

  Roy simply nodded, clearly shaken from their encounter.

  “What did you say to them? Why did they kill them and not us?”

  “I, uh . . .”

  He’s still in shock. Marina pulled up a chair and sat him down so he didn’t faint. “I told him the truth—that my family was wealthy and would pay a hefty sum for my safe return.”

  “What about me, then? Why am I still alive?”

  “Y-You’re a girl,” Roy said apprehensively. “You’re, well, useful to them.” His disgusted expression revealed his true meaning.

  “Wonderful,” she said uneasily. “Well, my step-mother always wanted me to meet more men.” Marina laughed nervously. “Sorry; this is not the time for joking. I have a plan.”

  Roy watched her with a perplexed expression as she took off her gloved extension and began prying at an already loosened floorboard in the corner with the sharp edges. “When I designed this ship, I added a hallway below the main cellar in case I ever needed extra room for supplies, cargo, anything. It leads directly to the engine room.”

  Marina pulled it up, revealing a small, hidden staircase heading down into the dark. “Come on.” She pulled Roy up from the chair and prodded him down the stairs. She grabbed a box of forgotten matches from the top shelf and then joined him, returning the floorboard to its place as she went.

  The darkness was consuming. Going entirely from memory, Marina grabbed a small oil lamp that hung at the foot of the staircase for that very purpose, and used one of the precious matches to light it. She and Roy headed down the narrow hallway.

  They stepped through a hatch at the far end and into the dangerously flammable engine room. Large windows lining the walls served as the only source of light. “At this point, I’m not sure where to go. All I know is they’ll be furious once they realize they can’t actually drive the ship—not without me.”

  “Because of your arm?”

  “Because of my arm, yes.”

  “How did that happen, anyway? I’m guessing, even in Russia, that having a mechanical arm is a bit out of place.”

  “Soviet Union,” she corrected, “but yes, it is. Ask me once we get out of this mess; it’s an interesting story.”

  “You seem awfully hopeful. How are we going to get out of this mess?”

  “I . . .” Marina sighed. “I don’t know.”

  “You’re an engineer, right?” Roy said incredulously. “So build something!”

  “It isn’t that simple . . .” Marina spotted a couple hundred feet of worn rope coiled in a huge mass in the corner, often used to tether her airship before they landed. “We can escape. . .” She noted her leather gloves, and then a spare pair next to the engine. “But what to do in the water?” Marina looked at Roy with interest. “What are you trousers made of?”

  “Uh, whatever normal trouser material is?”

  “Probably cotton then. Perfect. Once we reach the water, we inflate our trousers to stay afloat.”

  “How would you know if that’s possible—”

  “But how to find land . . .” Marina wandered over to the storage closet to try and jog her imagination, but the effort was useless. She began pacing anxiously.

  Roy watched her curiously. “What if we had some kind of flare? Then, we could alert other airships, or even sea-faring ships.”

  Marina’s face lit up. “Brilliant. We could use our oil deposit and—” She stopped abruptly. “The closest ship is my ship. Our pirate friends will spot us.” Her expression fell. “If they don’t spot us by simply peering out the window. They will know we’ve escaped sooner, rather than later.”


  Roy suddenly gasped. “You said there was hydrogen in the balloon, right?”

  “Yes. That’s how we’re kept afloat—” She glared at Roy when she realized his thought process. “No.”

  “It would work.”

  Marina’s tone grew low and menacing. “We’re not burning my ship.”

  “If we escape, it’s lost anyway. But if we light the hydrogen in the balloon, people will see it for miles!”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “This ship . . . the Nikita means everything to me. I built it with my own hands, and it carries the last of my father’s work.”

  “You can rebuild it.”

  “No. I could build another ship, yes, with all the money I don’t have, but it isn’t the same. The Nikita has been a sanctuary to me; down there, I’m nothing, doomed to live in poverty because I’m a woman, or because I won’t make myself a helpless female who has a to be ‘kept,’ or a thousand other reasons thrown at me my entire life because of how I dreamt of living. The freedom this ship has given me . . . It’s given my sister and me a chance to survive in this rotten world.”

  Marina could feel tears begin to form unbidden in her eyes. “It means everything to me,” she finished, forcing her emotions down.

  Roy carefully considered his words. “You have a sister?” Sympathy filled his voice.

  Marina nodded. “She’s only seven.”

  “And don’t you want to see her again?”

  Marina grew quiet. “Of course.”

  “I would do anything to see Lily again—that’s why I was dumb enough to try and stowaway on your airship in the first place. I’m sure you would do the same.”

  Marina didn’t respond, instead choosing to look down at the floorboards, blinking heavily.

  “So, if you had to choose between your ship and your family, what would it be?”

  Marina clenched her fist, resolve forming. “I need your help.”

  Roy grinned. “I await your orders, Captain.”

  She led him to the far wall across from the engine. “Kick out two of the windows.” They heard a sudden burst of yelling from above, accompanied by loud stomping. “Go on—we can still do this.” A slight panic laced Marina’s tone.

  They managed to anchor the rope between casements. Marina tossed it through the broken glass.

  “It doesn’t go all the way down,” Roy said, watching it fall.

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  Marina set to work to rig the steam engine. She kicked out the bottom burner, the flame now uncontained. “It will get us far enough to survive the drop.”

  The banging on the far room grew louder, until the sound of wood scraping against wood reached them. “They’re here,” Roy exclaimed.

  Marina tossed him the spare gloves. “Get going.”

  “But what about you?”

  “I’ll make it.” Marina was already at the oil drum. “If you make it into the water before me, take off your trousers and inflate them.”

  “Excuse me—”

  “Just go!”

  Roy disappeared out the window just as two of the pirates came crashing down the passage. Marina kicked off the stopper on the drum and tipped it over. She ran to the window, reaching for the oil lamp, but was stopped when a pirate grabbed her across the waist. With a sickening crack, Marina whacked his nose with her elbow. She dropped to the ground.

  A sudden, sharp pain in her shoulder caused her to cry out. A blade sunk deep into her flesh as another man attempted to grab her opposite hand and pull her towards him. He reeled back in shock when the sharp points of her prosthetic pierced his skin.

  Marina threw the lamp across the room and leaped from the open window.

  A jolt of pain shot through her arms as her hands found purchase on the rope. It burned against the thick leather as she slid down. Fearful cries filled the air above her. Marina began to freefall as she neared the end; the line had burned away at its anchor. Down into the pitiless waves she plunged.

  She hit hard. Disoriented and dizzy, Marina managed to reach Roy when he swam to meet her. “I was afraid you wouldn’t make it,” he said, sounding oddly humorous.

  “It’s like you have no faith in me,” Marina replied, a grin crossing her features.

  An explosion from above, as the flame hit the hydrogen, cut their conversation short. The entire balloon shot up in flames. Marina felt a nauseating pit fill her gut.

  She barely felt it when Roy grabbed her mechanical arm and pulled sharply. Eyes growing misty, she swam after him, forcing her emotions down.

  Faster and faster they swam, each ocean wave helping to push them farther from the falling wreckage. Marina was quickly lost in the repetitive action. She did not dare to look back, did not dare to risk ripping out her already battered heart by gazing upon the destruction of that which was so precious to her.

  Marina’s arms grew heavy; she panted for breath. The water fought to pull her under and her strength was fading fast. For a moment, she wondered why she bothered, why she forced her body to continue its forward motion. Her entire life, literally falling to pieces, obliterated and burned, but she could not look back, could not look back . . .

  Her choice had already been made. For her sister, she breathed a calming sigh and forced herself onward. For Larissa, she managed the last of the impossible swim to safety.

  And once there, Marina spared a moment for the final burning shambles of her once great ship, watching as its remains sank into the sea.

  “Marina!” Roy’s cry interrupted her mourning. “What was this about inflating our trousers? You were awfully proud of this plan earlier.”

  “Yes, of course.” Marina stripped off her own pair of pants. She was hit with a sudden wave of dizziness. “First, you tie off the two ends at the bottom.” He mimicked her actions. “Then you blow air . . .” She took a moment to catch her breath. “You blow air into—”

  “Marina, there’s something . . .” Roy’s eyes grew wide. “You were stabbed!”

  “Oh, yeah,” Marina replied, her words slurring slightly. Blackness flooded her vision, and Marina felt herself slowly begin to sink.

  Here she is, left alone with an infant who cries more often than she sleeps, who eats only when it suits her, and whose cheeks are bright red and flushed with a burning fever. The hour is well past midnight, and Marina is nearly at her wits end with the perpetual crying. She sits on the edge of her bed with her forehead resting on one hand and the other rocking the cradle, the back-and-forth motion threatening to drive her mad.

  “Perhaps this is why you cry,” Marina says aloud, insincerity lacing her tone. “Perhaps this constant motion bothers you, too.”

  Guilt rises from within her at her own harsh words. Larissa’s fever has only risen in the past three days; she is ill, so very ill, and along with the guilt comes a harrowing sense of fear.

  Her frazzled thoughts rest on her father. “How did you make it through this?” she continues, sighing heavily. “What would you do right now?”

  As though summoned, his words resound in her head: ‘I nearly lost hope.’

  I understand—I finally do.

  ‘. . . I put all my love into you.’

  Emotion hits Marina like a tidal wave and tears begin pouring down her exhausted face. Driven by an unknown force, she reaches into the cradle and pulls Larissa into her arms. “Please, Larissa, my angel, my milakha, I’m sorry. You can cry. But please . . . Please make it through this night. I’ll care for you, I promise, I promise . . .” She chokes back another sob. “You have to live.”

  An hour later, Larissa’s fever breaks, her crying softens, and Marina continues holding her all through the night.

  The daylight filtered in gently through the window. Marina’s head swam, but she forced herself to sit up, though the soft bed remained ever so inviting. A sharp pain shot through her left shoulder. She instinctively tried to clutch it, but realized her arm extension was gone.

  A slight pani
c went through her until she turned and saw it lying on the table beside her. Next to it was a dagger, a ruby-eyed dragon carved into the gold handle, the blade jagged and cruel-looking. Roy stepped in, then, and smiled. “So you are awake! I was starting to get worried.”

  “Where am I?” Marina asked, settling herself against the backboard of the bed.

  “My father’s house; you’ve been asleep for almost a week.”

  Marina was taken aback. “What?”

  “Our plan worked! Another ship saw the exploding Zeppelin and picked us up. You were in bad shape, though.” Roy pointed to the dagger. “That was embedded in your shoulder.”

  Taking care not the jostle her bandaged shoulder, Marina reached for her prosthetic arm and put it back into place. “Your inflatable trousers worked,” Roy continued. “It helped me keep you floating until the boat came.”

  Marina smiled. “Thank you for saving my life.”

  “You saved mine first,” Roy said, shrugging. His expression suddenly lit up again. “So, I told my father about you, except for the part where you threatened to throw me into the ocean, and he was so grateful you brought me back, that he agreed to give you the ransom money I promised you in the first place. And he’s willing to pay for you to get back to Russia, if you take a slight detour and escort me to England.”

  “He’s letting you leave?”

  “Well . . . I may have left out the part where it’s my mother paying you and she thinks you’re taking me to my grandparents in Paris, but details, details.” He shrugged dramatically. “And you really can’t say no because you need a crew.”

  “I suppose I do.”

  “And I make a great crew.”

  Marina lifted an eyebrow. “Yes, because you definitely look like you’ve worked a day in your life.”

  “Also, I found these,” Roy blurted, his words speeding faster than the propeller in Marina’s deceased airship. In his hands were Larissa’s goggles. “I figured I’d give them back to you in exchange for your silence on the issue. They must have caught on a plank when you tossed them overboard. They were still attached to it when it floated over to where we were. And, well, you just looked so sad when you had to toss them.”