Heart of Steam & Rust (Empires of Steam and Rust)

by Stephen D. Sullivan

“Don’t bother yourself about it, Pyotr.” Even if she had the old Lina’s mystical equipment, she wouldn’t be able to use it, of course. But finding the assassin remained a paramount concern. After all, she couldn’t return to her own world if she was slain in this one.

  But how to find the killer? She couldn’t crisscross Russia at random, mind-reading the whole country. Any predictable, grid-like search would assure that the assassin found her on his terms—again—rather than on her own. Lina needed to avoid that at all costs. Next time they met, she needed to have the upper hand, or she would wind up as dead as her doppelganger.

  She rubbed her temples to ward off a burgeoning headache.

  Again, an empathetic stab of concern from Pyotr. “Perhaps if we re-traced your final steps,” he suggested, “it might jog your memory.”

  Or allow her to rediscover whatever had led her counterpart to the traitor in the first place. “Yes,” she agreed. “A fine idea, Pyotr. If only my memory of where I was attacked were more clear…”

  He brightened, practically beaming. “I have good news on that front. I’ve spent the time since you were … injured … in reconstructing your steps. I believe I have a fairly good picture of what you did and where you went, aside from a few details—especially in the final hours before you were attacked.” He was watching her carefully in the Orlovich’s rearview mirror.

  She smiled and felt the pleasure that gave him. “A good suggestion, Pyotr. Where do you suggest we start?”

  “Vilnius.”

  “Where I was shot.”

  “It seems best to pick up the trail near where it ended.”

  “My memory of that is sketchy at best.” Non-existent, in fact, aside from what she gleaned from him and the others she’d encountered.

  “Don’t worry, Captain. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

  Lina laughed congenially. “I never worry with you at my side, Pyotr.”

  She felt the warm tingle that ran through him. “There is an airship prepped and waiting for your command at Section Headquarters,” he said.

  “Then it would appear we are going to Section Headquarters after all—if only to fly to Vilnius.”

  He nodded, a slight smile playing across his ruggedly handsome face, and turned the car around.

  FIVE

  The Airship Suvalov 2 hovered lightly above platform three, anchored by its tethers, within the Fifth Section complex air station. It was a fat zeppelin similar to the one Lina had seen flying over the compound after being released from the hospital. Special Fifth Section Air Authority numbers, as well as a small Orlovich logo from the craft’s manufacturer, decorated the ship’s tail.

  The vessel was smallish—a mere 250 feet long—and bulbous, around the middle. It looked second-rate to Lina, primitive even compared to her tiny personal helioliner back home. She suspected the Suvalov was not a top-of-the-line machine, either. That annoyed her. Though her lifestyle back home had often been described by colleagues as “Spartan,” where equipment was concerned, Lina tolerated nothing but the best.

  Still, she considered herself lucky to have an airship at her personal disposal at all. Its availability certainly spoke to the high regard in which the government held her counterpart.

  If only they knew…!

  Pyotr pulled up and parked the car a dozen yards from the ship’s roll-away boarding stairs. He hopped out jauntily, opened the rear door for Lina, and then handed the vehicle’s keys to a waiting steward. “Take good care of it,” he admonished, “or Captain Ivanova will hear of it.”

  The man swallowed hard, gave a weak nod and a nervous smile, and saluted crisply.

  Pyotr waved off a second steward and fetched his own luggage from the car’s trunk. Lina admired the way her aide’s muscles bulged under his suit as he carried the bags toward the stairway. She also admired his initiative in being prepared for just such a trip. They hadn’t even had to stop at his apartment before going to the airfield; he’d already packed.

  “I had them send some luggage aboard for you as well,” he told her. “I assumed you hadn’t had time to shop for anything new since the blast.”

  “You assumed correctly,” she replied, wondering if Pyotr—or whomever he’d assigned to the task—had good taste in clothing. She supposed she’d find out soon enough.

  A short, distinguished-looking man with close-cropped white hair and a beard descended the boarding stairs as they approached. He wore a deep blue Air Service uniform with Fifth Section insignias sewn to his shoulders, and a gold Fifth Section pin on his captain’s cap, just above the brim.

  He saluted, then smiled broadly and offered his hand to Lina as she stepped to the bottom of the stairs.

  She returned the salute and shook hands. A flurry of erotic thoughts involving Lina flashed through the man’s mind. He had slept with her counterpart at some time in the past—at least, he thought he had. The memory seemed strangely indistinct, as if it had been manipulated. Had her other self slept with him to gain some advantage and then modified his memory later, making it more akin to a fantasy? Could her witchy twin do such things?

  It hardly mattered now. Whatever had transpired between them, it had fostered in the airman an ongoing friendly glow toward her. Lina would gladly use that to her advantage, though she felt pleased that he did not seem to expect a repeat performance.

  “Good to see you again, Captain Andreyev,” she said.

  “And you, Captain,” he replied, then nodding to her aide, “Lieutenant.”

  Pyotr saluted. “Captain.” If he knew anything about the old Lina’s affair with the man, Lina did not sense it.

  “Won’t you both come aboard?” the Suvalov’s commander asked, sweeping his hand toward the stairs. All three quickly climbed to the ship’s cabin, Lina ascending first and Captain Andreyev bringing up the rear.

  They entered the ship near the galley, just behind the navigation & control cabins, and Andreyev ushered them onto the bridge. Though the captain practically glowed with pride at the bridge’s duralumin frame, lighted dials, and polished wheel, the whole thing looked archaic to Lina. This world had a long way to go to catch up to hers—though she didn’t intend to stick around while it did.

  “You’ll find we’ve made some improvements since the last time you were aboard,” Andreyev said. “Our command stations now feature the new electronic intercom-phone, rather than traditional speaking tubes. It’s one of Orlovich’s latest innovations.”

  “Intriguing,” Pyotr said, and Lina sensed that he possessed a deep love of machines and electronics; he had trained as a mechanic before joining the army, and, later, the Special Services Fifth Section.

  “We’ve also upgraded to Orlovich 400 engines,” Andreyev continued. “They’re both more powerful than our previous engines and quieter—something you’ll both appreciate when sleeping on board tonight.” Again, a flash of his encounter with her doppelganger, though Lina admired how quickly the Captain quashed the memory and kept a businesslike demeanor.

  “I’m sure we will,” Lina agreed. She smiled at him and then, sensing he wanted something more, added, “Thank you, Feliks.”

  “You’re welcome, Lina,” he replied, beaming. “We are at your service.”

  She admired the way he kept his thoughts clean as he said it. She had no intention of sleeping with him (again?), and happily he didn’t seem to expect it, though she wanted to maintain the relationships her counterpart had built where she could.

  Pyotr frowned, and she sensed a pang of jealousy in him. Clearly, he did not like the attention Andreyev was giving her.

  “Happily, great strides have been made in heating as well,” Feliks continued. “You won’t have to wear your coat at dinner tonight, Lieutenant.”

  Pyotr nodded glumly.

  “The new engines are powered by Orlov-gas, which is a great improvement in both buoyancy and fuel efficiency. I’m sure you’ve heard of it, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes,” Pyotr replied, brightening. “I read an
article about it only last week. An amazing invention, and a great boon to Mother Russia. I sometimes wonder where the company gets all its ideas.”

  “They have a large and capable staff, I’m sure,” Lina said, picking the notion from the back of Pyotr’s brain.

  “Indeed,” Feliks agreed. “Now, shall we see you to your cabins?”

  They walked back the way they’d come and then through the small lounge and toward the back of the gondola. As they entered the narrow corridor beyond, they met a young woman dressed in a bright blue air steward’s uniform. A pin on her breast read “Marya.” She saluted. “Captain, your room is here,” she said indicating a large compartment near the lounge. “Lieutenant, if you will follow me to the rear.”

  Lina frowned and sent a mental suggestion to Feliks.

  The Captain frowned at his underling. “Airman Korova, you know I instructed you to give the captain and her aide my suite. I’m sure they have much to discuss about their mission before we arrive in Vilnius, and I want them to be comfortable.”

  The steward, an attractive girl in her early twenties, looked flustered for a moment, but then said, “I’m sorry, Captain. Of course. I must have misunderstood. Give me a moment to prepare your suite.”

  Feliks nodded sternly at her, and Airman Marya Korova scurried off to the aft of the gondola.

  “I apologize for ‘the help,’” Feliks explained, smiling. “She is new.”

  “It’s no problem,” Lina replied, suppressing a smile of her own.

  “We understand,” Pyotr noted.

  “My cabin is small, due to space limitations aboard my ship, but there are still two rooms, a small lounge, and a private washroom: everything one needs to host distinguished passengers, such as yourself.” Lina saw in his mind that, usually, this privilege was reserved for top government officials, but he did not mind extending it to her. In fact, he had pleasant pseudo-memories of doing just that before—though then it was he who had shared the cabin with her, and they’d needed only one bed.

  “After all,” he continued, smiling slightly at the memory, “one does not expect first-class accommodations on a Section vessel, eh?”

  “I’m sure it will prove more than adequate, Feliks.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Pyotr added.

  “Think nothing of it. All for the glory of Mother Russia, eh?”

  Lina smiled. “Always.”

  It took Airman Marya just a few minutes to prepare the captain’s cabin, moving Feliks’ belongings to the one previously intended for Lina. She and another airman then moved Pyotr and Lina’s luggage into the rooms.

  Lina thanked each of the airmen by name, and felt a warm glow of gratitude from each—and also, relief. Her counterpart’s reputation, it seemed, preceded her; Lina Viktorovna was both respected and feared by everyone the new Lina met—though no one she’d encountered so far, outside of the General and Rasputin, seemed to have any idea of exactly what powers she might possess. Both those facts pleased Lina; they would make it easier to maintain her cover.

  At the captain’s invitation, she and Pyotr watched the Suvalov’s liftoff from the bridge. As Lina expected, the ship’s ascent proved neither as smooth nor as fast as she was used to. Pyotr, however, found it thrilling and engaged Captain Andreyev in a barrage of technical small talk during the ascent.

  Lina soon grew bored with the details of machinery, air speed, and the other things that both men seemed to find endlessly fascinating. So she retired to her newly commandeered chambers at the rear of the gondola.

  Once the door closed behind her, she took a deep, relieved breath. Though the sun was only now setting, she’d had another very long and trying day. Stripping to her underwear, she went into the lavatory and freshened up. Splashing cold water on her face felt good, and she let a stream of moisture dribble down between her breasts before toweling herself off.

  The face that stared back at her from the mirror was still not hers, but she was growing more used to it. Was this what it felt like to have a sister? Raised for much of her life in an orphanage, Lina had never known what it was like to have siblings—or even true family. She found herself longing for that closeness, that unspoken genetic bond, a feeling she had not felt since her teenage years.

  Then she scolded herself.

  It must be this world making her feel this way, this place where she was cut off from everyone and everything she had ever known. Certainly, this was homesickness—nothing more.

  “Oh, I’m terribly sorry!”

  Lina jumped as Pyotr entered the washroom. She’d been so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she’d neither heard nor sensed him coming. He stood in the doorway joining the bathroom to the salon, mouth agape.

  “I thought … I mean, I assumed that the door would be locked if you were using the…” His face reddened, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from drinking in her scantily clad figure.

  She felt the flush run from his face through the rest of his body. He turned away.

  “I brought dinner,” he offered apologetically, pointing toward a pair of trays set on the lounge table. “You seemed tired, and I thought you might be hungry.”

  “Dinner can wait,” she said, gently resting her hand in the middle of his back.

  He turned, passion on fire, head swirling with conflicting emotions. “Lina—” he began.

  She twined her arms around his neck and silenced him with a kiss.

  He encircled her in his strong arms and crushed her body to his.

  Then they were stumbling backward together, through the far door of the wash chamber and into her bedroom.

  She practically ripped his clothes off.

  He treated her far more gently, lingering on her undressing, enjoying every inch of her body that he exposed. He paused briefly, staring at her chest, before lightly kissing each of her breasts, exploring their soft skin with his tongue.

  His ardor burned like a bright flame in her mind, stoking her own passion.

  She pulled him down on the bed on top of her, inside her, and for long, fiery moments, they became one.

  Only when she had erupted three times did he finally allow himself release.

  He collapsed into her arms, sweating, smelling both manly and sweet.

  “Lina …” he breathed in her ear.

  “No words,” she whispered back. “Not now.” And kissed him again.

  SIX

  She woke shortly after midnight, judging by the clock affixed to the cabin wall.

  Pyotr lay awake, holding her in his strong arms, gazing at her. She sensed that he felt sated, happy—his fondest wish fulfilled—and yet, at the same time, confused.

  “Lina…”

  “Yes,” she replied, feeling many of the same, swirling emotions he did. Were they her own … or his?

  He kissed her, and for a moment all the doubts washed away.

  She kissed back.

  They lingered for a moment, then separated.

  “I…” he began “…Thank you.”

  “You think I did you a favor?”

  “No. I just … Thank you.”

  She laughed softly, fondly, and felt surprised to find that she meant it. He was endearing, this man, even if the woman he had just bedded was not whom he thought—not the woman he truly loved.

  The notion made her feel chilly inside. She ignored it and focused on his hands, his warm hands, caressing her bare skin as they lay side by side.

  His fingertips traced up her belly, hesitated, and then skipped over her sternum and moved to her breasts.

  “What?” she asked, not quite able to read what was troubling him. Did he suspect? How could he?

  He seemed about to speak, opened his mouth … Stopped.

  “Tell me,” she said, again asking, not urging. She didn’t want to compel him if she didn’t need to.

  His hand traced down between her breasts to the center of her chest.

  “Is this … Is it from where you were shot?”

  “Is what
from where I was shot?”

  “This scar.”

  A shiver shot through her. Scar? “I … I can’t see in this light,” she lied; the lights were low, but she could see both him and her own body clearly. She didn’t see any scar. “Trace it for me.”

  Ever so gently, he ran the tip of his index finger over her skin from a spot just above her sternum to a spot just below her left breast in a lazy “C.”

  Could she see it now, or were her eyes merely filling in a faint line where his finger had traced?

  “Yes,” she replied. “Yes, I suppose it is. I try not to think about it.”

  “I understand,” he said, brimming with both love and compassion. He kissed her where his finger had touched; she ran her hand through his short-cropped hair as his lips caressed her flesh.

  “I’m hungry,” she announced when he had finished.

  He turned to get out of bed, but she put her hand on his back, stopping him.

  “No, I can get it myself. You should rest.”

  “But I’m not tired.”

  “Of course you are. It’s been a long day.” She caressed his hair, his forehead.

  “But…”

  “Sleep.” A little nudge, nothing more, and he dropped off into peaceful slumber.

  Lina rose from the bed and padded naked into the suite’s adjoining lounge.

  She ignored the covered dish set for her on the low table in the center of the room. She wasn’t hungry, not really. That had been a lie, another lie. It seemed her life here was nothing but lies.

  She entered the washroom from the lounge. She could have done it through the bedroom, but she wanted a cover story in case he woke up, in case her suggestion didn’t take—though how often did that happen?

  Truth be told, she felt nervous, her skin cold and clammy. She entered the bathroom and then closed both doors and locked them. She peed, both because she needed to and to try to tamp down her nerves. Had she always needed to pee more when she felt nervous, or was this something new?

  Certainly, in her world, she had not felt nervous within recent memory.

  There, she had been in control.

  Here, everything was out of control: someone was trying to kill her; she was in the employ of a religious fanatic; if her concentration waned for even a moment, her grand deception might be uncovered. Yes, this whole world was spinning madly, despite all her training, despite her psychic gifts. She controlled nothing.