Aether Spark

by Nicholas Petrarch

  In synchronization, Chance saw a surprising number of men and women appear from their hiding places—some behind carts and others inside or atop the booths set up for the open market.

  “Give ‘em hell!”

  Another peal of gunfire tore the air as the Resistance fighters fired into the advancing lines. The volley found targets easily; the constables lay bare and exposed in their formations. Their lines soaked up the bullets like bindings on a bloody wound. Men fell, and the advancing force slowed.

  Their clubs were useless now.

  “Ha!” Simon laughed. “That gave them something to think about.”

  “Reload!” Flynn called.

  “If you two are staying, you’d best take these,” Liesel said.

  She handed Chance and Rhett each one of her pistols. Rhett took it reflexively, and Chance grasped his firmly. It made him feel strange, but he shook off the feeling and checked it was loaded.

  “I can’t shoot them,” Rhett said.

  “Then don’t,” Simon instructed. “Fire over their heads if you have to. Just make a show of it. We want them to think twice before they try to advance on us again.”

  Chance aimed, his arms straight before him. They shook terribly, but he did his best to hold steady.

  The soldiers advanced now, reinforcing the constables as they retreated. They fired shots into the booths and carts where the Resistance took cover—shooting at anything that moved.

  Simon pulled back as a few shots passed dangerously close to his cover, and Flynn leapt down from the fountain. Now that the majority of the people had cleared out he didn’t need the elevation.

  “Chance,” Simon shouted, firing another round at the advancing lines. “Chance, shoot!”

  Chance stared ahead, watching as the men charged. He heard the shots around him from the other Resistance fighters, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger. He was too horrified by the sight of what lay before him. The sight of men fallen. Wounded. Crying for help.

  These aren’t the real enemy, he thought. They’re just like us.

  He let his hands drop and the gun fell to the ground. Rhett was right. He couldn’t shoot. He was a lot of things, he had to admit, but he wasn’t a killer.

  “Let go of me!” Stoddard shouted, trying to push his way through the line at the edge of the plaza. He’d run as fast as he could from his office. The rain had done little to improve his mood; he was soaked through to the bone. The scene playing out before him did nothing to raise his hopes.

  This was no revolt. This was a war.

  He saw the soldiers centralized on the capitol steps, unmoving from their posts as they fired in volleys across the plaza. Duelists at the top of the steps shouted orders over their heads, directing their focus wherever they could make out their foe.

  That was proving quite a challenge, however. Portions of the carts and structures which made up the open market had been ransacked—torn down and piled up as temporary barriers against the constables who’d attempted to sweep the rebels out of the mall.

  They’d been forced to fall back once the firefight had escalated.

  Stoddard’s eyes swept the scene for a single face, but he couldn’t see Chance anywhere. He saw bodies strewn on the ground closer to the steps and throughout the open divide between the two sides. His heart caught in his throat.

  Gods that be, he prayed, don’t let one of them be him.

  “I said let me go,” he shouted again.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the constable tried to explain, though Stoddard made it difficult with his persistent attempts to get by. “I can’t let you through.”

  “It’s not safe,” Donovan offered from behind, trying to hold Stoddard’s shoulder as he struggled.

  “I don’t care what’s safe,” Stoddard barked back, trying to slip by. “Constable, there is a man in there I must get to. I must find him before something happens to him. It’s a matter of life and death. Please!”

  “Right now, the most important matter is keeping you from harm yourself,” the constable explained. “I’m sorry sir; I can’t let you through.”

  “Ahhh! Damn you!” Stoddard shouted, letting the constable push him back. Donovan caught him, keeping him from stumbling, but Stoddard shrugged him off.

  Stoddard paced back and forth, tearing at his hair as he considered what to do. He couldn’t just stand aside waiting for fate to decide what would become of the young man. He was too valuable. He represented perhaps another lifetime of research and study—a lifetime Stoddard did not have the luxury of replicating.

  He felt the brutality of each passing second as he watched the scene unfold. He saw one of the rebels rise up on the top of a cart and level his rifle, only to be struck by a few balls and fall lifeless to the ground. Stoddard flinched as he watched each strike.

  If he dies, the spark dies with him.

  The thought came to his mind with such clarity that it swept him of any inhibitions he might yet have possessed. He had to find Chance. There was no alternative.

  Like a man possessed, Stoddard turned on the constable and struck him across the chin, catching him off guard and sending him spinning. The others were equally surprised and before they could stop him, Stoddard was through their barricade and sprinting full tilt into the plaza.

  “A curse on you!” the constable yelled after him, watching the mad doctor run for the mall, disappearing in the heavy rain. “I hope we find you under the wreckage when we’re done here.”

  Stoddard ignored the man’s calls. Nothing else mattered now. Not more than Chance’s life.

  Ringgold paced nervously on the capitol steps as he watched the movements of the line. They’d given it their best, trying to secure the plaza, but the resistance they’d encountered had done an exceptional job repelling their advance. And now, with the rain picking up, it was becoming increasingly difficult to see where they were taking fire from.

  He swore to himself silently. As long as his men were trapped out in the open on these steps, they were at a terrible disadvantage. Their formation was proving the death of them.

  “Sir,” Ringgold ventured. “I think we should evacuate the capitol and seek better ground to fight from. If we maintain our presence here we’ll suffer undue casualties.”

  “We remain where we are,” Vanzeal said. His voice was strained, though he stood rigid and tall. He looked down on the scene unfolding before him with a look of satisfaction. “We hold this line.”

  “But if this firefight keeps up we won’t be able to—”

  “We hold the line!” Vanzeal barked.

  “With all due respect,” Ringgold insisted. “We have a better chance of driving them off if we relocate to a more covered position.”

  “You speak as though there were a prayer they could take these steps at all,” Vanzeal said. “We will not let them seize the capitol. This isn’t just about saving lives, Sergeant; it’s about delivering a message. We will not be ousted by a band of common fodder. But, if you’re so eager to relocate, why don’t you join the front and lead the next sweep? Would that suit you?”

  Ringgold held his tongue, and Vanzeal glared at him. Turning his attention back to the fight, he shouted orders to the soldiers to shore up their line, which was showing signs of weakening. The men were struggling to remain calm while the enemy continued their harassment.

  Ringgold watched too, his eyes scanning the scene with concern. He’d recognized Chance when he’d stepped forward to speak, though he’d looked even worse than the last time they’d met.

  He was somewhere out there—whether a part of the Resistance or perhaps, Septigonee forbid, one of the bodies strewn across the plaza.

  “What is this about?” Vanzeal barked suddenly, his temper clearly not welcoming any more complications. Two soldiers were climbing the stairs, guiding a third man between them.

  “Seized this man rushing the steps,” one of them reported. “He claims to have an urgent message for Sergeant Ringgold.”


  “Do you recognize this man?” Vanzeal asked.

  Ringgold considered Donovan for a moment, then nodded. “I do,” he said. “This is Doctor Stoddard’s man.”

  “He was waving this,” the soldier said, handing over Donovan’s white handkerchief.

  “You must have lost your mind approaching my men just now,” Vanzeal said. “Or else you have a death wish.”

  “Sir,” Donovan pleaded. “I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t urgent, I promise.”

  “What is the matter?” Ringgold asked. “What business do you have with me?”

  “Sergeant,” Donovan began, his voice quivering. “It’s Stoddard. Doctor Stoddard... he’s lost his mind.”

  “Hold man,” Ringgold said. “Speak clearly. No sense wasting your breath.”

  “Doctor Stoddard, sir,” Donovan said with great effort to calm himself. “We tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t listen to reason. He’s inside the mall. He’s looking for the alchemist!”

  Ringgold expression turned grave, and he looked out on the firefight still raging across the plaza.

  “You’re sure he’s there?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Donovan assured him. “What’s become of him, I’m not certain, but he’s clearly in danger.”

  “One can only hope,” Vanzeal sneered. “And what is it you want us to do about it?”

  Donovan looked surprised. “To retrieve him,” he said. “He’s a member of the meritocracy. It’s your duty!”

  “We are charged with defending the capitol,” Vanzeal scoffed. “Not parading around trying to find missing persons. If Stoddard is in the mall then it’s likely we’ll find him after we’ve—”

  “I will help find him,” Ringgold volunteered.

  “Sergeant,” Vanzeal growled. “You’re needed here on the line!”

  “I have been charged with the protection of the meritocracy,” Ringgold said, rising to match Vanzeal’s posture. “As you have been. And that charge extends to safeguarding all gentlemen of the meritocracy. I have a duty and obligation to fulfill.”

  He signaled to one of his men to attend him, and he turned to leave.

  “I warn you,” Vanzeal barked, his agitation rising. “If you go now I’ll see you arrested upon your return for abandoning your post.”

  “I wouldn’t expect any less,” Ringgold said, and took Donovan by the shoulder as he led him down the steps. “Now, where was it you last saw the doctor?”

  Chapter Fifty

  A Misfortunate End

  Perhaps, when this is all over, someone will sort through this mess I’ve made. Perhaps they’ll understand why it was that I did what I did. Perhaps they’ll forgive me.

  — Excerpt from Mechanarcissism

  C urse the day,” Flynn lamented as he lay against the fountain’s rough lip.

  Chance shared his sentiments. It was a grisly scene, and he hadn’t been prepared for the cost. The bodies of the unfortunate littered the ground between them and the steps of the capitol. Men and women from both sides.

  Not once, but twice the soldiers and constables had tried to advance, but, against the odds, the Resistance had held their positions.

  “That sharpshooter had it out for you,” Liesel said, tightening the binding around Flynn’s arm. He’d taken a round during the second push, just above the elbow. His blood tinted the rain as it ran down his arm.

  “Well, they took a piece of me for a souvenir,” Flynn chuckled gravely. “Credit to them this time.”

  “That ought to be enough,” Simon said, lowering his rifle. The people from the mob had all but cleared the plaza now, apart from those who’d fallen.

  “Nonsense,” Flynn said. He made an effort to raise his rifle, gritting his teeth against the pain. “I’ve got a few rounds in me yet.”

  “We’ve laid down enough cover. I think it’s time we fell back.”

  “You want us to fall back?” Flynn asked. “Are you mad, man? Look at them. We’re winning this fight!”

  “We’re not losing,” Liesel clarified. “Let’s not let this scrap go to our heads. We should head back to the safe-houses and lay low until we—”

  “No,” Flynn groaned. “We can’t just slough off now. Look!”

  Flynn strained to lift himself up to get a better angle on the capitol. He was obviously in great pain, but he gripped his arm tightly and did his best to ignore it. He pointed toward the steps.

  “That line of soldiers is worse for the wear—you can see it in the way they stand. They ain’t had reinforcements come the whole time we’ve been here. And why do you suppose that is?”

  Chance honestly didn’t know. It didn’t look like Simon or Liesel understood it either.

  “Because there aren’t any,” Flynn said. “They’re on their own! For whatever reason, that line is all that stands between us and the capitol, and it’s not far from breaking.”

  “He may be right,” Simon said. “It’s odd the way they’ve let things escalate. I thought it was intentional, but that doesn’t make sense. If it was a trap, they’d have sprung it by now. Perhaps they are spread too thin to deal with us.”

  “We wait for another day and we may never get a chance like this again,” Flynn said. “Look, they don’t want to be there, but they aren’t moving neither. They’re sitting ducks in an open pond in that formation. Whether we intended for this or not, we’ve got an advantage. I say we take it!”

  “I don’t know if it’s a good idea to push our luck,” Liesel said. “And who knows when their reinforcements will come barreling in on us.”

  Chance couldn’t help smiling, even in such a moment. “Since when did you believe in luck?” he asked.

  Liesel smiled and waved him off.

  “Listen, we can run or we can push our way through to the electors and have a real bargaining chip if those reinforcements ever do arrive. We take the electors, and we take the city. It couldn’t be easier if we’d planned it ourselves.”

  “The electors have long since fled by now,” Liesel said.

  “Nah,” Simon said, his smiled betraying his rising spirits. “They’ll be inside, right where they’re supposed to be. Stuffy cogs are too proud to leave.”

  A bullet zipped overhead, and they all flinched.

  “Even if we do manage to take the capitol,” Liesel said. “What’s to say the Navy doesn’t return from their campaign overseas and boot us out?”

  “We’ll deal with that problem when it arrives then, won’t we?”

  “Call me crazy,” Simon said, “but I’m with him. I think we go for it.”

  “Me too,” Chance said. “I’m in.”

  “They’re still a sizable force on those steps. We’re not just walking through the front door.”

  “I can clear it,” Chance said. They looked at him skeptically. “No, really.” He cracked open his carrier and showed them the contents.

  “Smokers? Flask bombs?” Liesel asked. “Is that a—”

  “Yep!” Chance grinned.

  “Since when have you started carrying all these around?” Simon asked. “That’s not a typical alchemist’s kit.”

  “Since last night,” Chance said. “I had a feeling they’d come in handy, and it looks like they will.”

  “Now I wonder if you were planning this all along,” Liesel frowned.

  “You’re a godsend,” Flynn laughed. “What have you been doing here this whole time then? We should have been using that from the start.”

  “I wasn’t thinking,” Chance said. “But, if I can get close enough to their line, I think I can break them up.”

  “We can keep up this rate of fire for a while more,” Simon said, “but we’ll run out of ammunition before the hour is up. If we’re going to rush the steps, we best not dawdle.”

  “You really think you can open us a window?” Simon said.

  “I think so,” Chance said. “I’ll sneak up there on the left, through the mall. The rain will give me some cover. That should get me close enoug
h to reach them with these.”

  “A few smoke shields and explosions and they’ll be so disoriented it shouldn’t be too difficult to persuade them off those steps,” Flynn smiled.

  “We should split up the work,” Simon said. “I’ll take a few of these and go around the right. We’ll drive them off those stairs from two directions at once.”

  “You sure you want to do this?” Liesel asked.

  “If I can,” Chance said, “then I’ll do it.”

  “Fortune keep you, kid,” Flynn said. “We’ll pass the word along for everyone to conserve their ammunition and wait for the signal. At the first sign of smoke, we’ll come charging.”

  “I’ll come too,” Rhett offered.

  “No,” Chance said. “Not this time, Rhett. You stay here with Liesel and Flynn. They’ll keep you safe.”

  The kid’s expression was torn.

  “Don’t worry about me,” Chance said. “You’ll find me after the charge. Just keep the fire up.”

  “Better hurry up then,” Liesel said, firing toward the stairs before ducking down again to reload. “Every second that passes is time for their reinforcements to get here, wherever they are.”

  “Alright.” Chance and Simon split the contents of his kit, Simon slinging a satchel over his shoulder.

  Rhett still looked concerned, and Chance rustled his hair, a familiar sense of pride swelling in him toward the boy. He’d surprised him, and suddenly it made sense why Rhett had gravitated to the Resistance. He had the heart of the sea.

  Chance crouched into a readied position.

  “It’s now or never,” Simon said.

  “We’re counting on you, mate,” Flynn said, cocking his hat. He gave a hand signal above his head to the surrounding Resistance fighters to keep up their fire, and Chance heard the rifle reports renew with vigor.

  Simon was off, the limp in his gait only slowing him a little. Chance ducked low and crept around the back of the fountain in the opposite direction.

  “And Chance,” Liesel called to him.

  Chance popped his head back up.