Lifemaker: A Steampunk Dystopian Fantasy (The Great Iron War, Book 2)

by Dean F. Wilson

  “I imagine it hurt though,” Jacob said. “I mean, for Rommond.”

  “I’ve no doubt it did. Taberah and he were very close. They worked together from very early on. Sure, they were there for the Glassfinder Project, which was before I got involved. After the so-called ‘coup,’ relations were strained for a good six months, but they met frequently to discuss ‘the bigger picture,’ as they often put it. Didn’t take long before they were discussing the little picture as well. They were either going to be the best of friends or the worst of enemies. I can’t see there being a middle ground with them.”

  “So what about what happened back there? Do you think that’ll strain things?”

  Mudro halted suddenly, and waved his pipe in the air, leaving behind a trail of smoke that took the shape of a heart. He drove the pipe down quickly between it, severing it in two. “There’s one sure way to make a friendship with Rommond disappear,” he said. “And that’s to say anything bad about Brooklyn.”

  15 – REST AND REPAIRS

  There was still some life left in the Lifemaker, but it had taken a battering. Boulder might have been a lot thinner from all the running back and forth, plugging leaks, tapping out dints, and connecting bits and bobs that had come unscrewed—were it not for all the beer he guzzled along the way. Jacob could not blame him, and had plenty of sips of his own. Calm the nerves, he thought. Boulder looked as though he could have done with a lot more calming.

  But he was not the only grease monkey swinging back and forth through the metal jungle, for Alakovi had the Copper Vixens out in force, focusing less on the army of vehicles housed in the lower levels, which was their primary responsibility, and more on that one vehicle they all depended on so much. The women toiled with tools as if it were second nature to them, and Taberah and Soasa did their part, albeit always out of eyeline and earshot of their old sorority sisters.

  Jacob did his bit too, and he never worked so hard, tightening bolts, putting back up doors, sealing cracks in the windows, reinforcing the hull, and tending to any other of the submarine’s many ailments. As soon as one thing was fixed, it seemed that another problem announced itself, and there were not enough men and women for all the faults. Whistler made every effort to help, though it was often too much for him just to haul the toolbox from job to job.

  “I hope we’re getting paid for this,” Jacob shouted over to Boulder on one of his many trips by. Jacob stuck his tongue out at Whistler, who was rolling his eyes at the comment.

  “Oh, you better ask the big guy,” Boulder said, taking it all very seriously. His hair and thick sideburns were plastered in sweat. “But let me tell you this, laddie,” he added, and he pulled Jacob close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath, “he’ll likely tell you that you’re gettin’ paid with your continued breath o’ life.”

  Alakovi was a rare sight, but she was heard well before she was seen. On one occasion she thundered through, ignoring all questions or comments, on a mission to murder whatever problem she was tasked with. It was abundantly clear that she was unhappy with being dragged away from work on Rommond’s other vehicles.

  It was a long time before Rommond patrolled the levels to inspect the work, and here and there make a tiny adjustment of his own when something did not quite look, in his words, “bang on.” Before that, he rounded up anyone known to have deserted his or her post, and gave them a right telling off, and threatened to send them out the airlocks, and reminded them of their oaths and obligations, and then gave them twice as much work to do as anyone else in repairing the ship.

  The general was, therefore, in a grim mood when he came around to inspect Jacob’s work. He stopped for a long time and said nothing, and he glanced back and forth at Jacob and Whistler, and at the repairs they had managed.

  “Hmm,” he managed, with great effort.

  “Is that a You’ve done a wonderful job kind of Hmm?” Jacob asked.

  “Perhaps.”

  “A perfect job?” Jacob wondered, putting his arm around Whistler’s shoulder and posing proudly beside the pipework the two had just reassembled.

  “Not quite,” Rommond said. He put on one of his gloves and twisted one of the pipes a millimetre to the left.

  Jacob chuckled. “That was fine the way it was.”

  “Fine, perhaps, but not perfect,” the general said. “My motto, or one of them anyway, is: ‘Good enough’ is not good enough.”

  Jacob smiled. “And mine is: Spend all day on these pipes and nothing else gets done.”

  “Fair enough, Jacob. You’re doing a … fine … job.” Rommond turned to Whistler. “And you, young chap, you’ve done a bang up job here. Very well done!”

  Whistler beamed and looked to his feet, as if the attention was too much for him.

  “And you’re looking much better too,” the general continued. “Give Mudro my regards!”

  Rommond passed on quickly to the next lot of workers, and Jacob and Whistler turned to their next task. It was strenuous work, and very few people were not employed for it, and those that were not, such as the majority of the pregnant women, made and brought around sandwiches for the toiling labourers. As back-breaking as the work was, most were glad to do it, for it distracted them from the horrors of the abyss.

  * * *

  Several days into the repairs, Jacob and Whistler’s route brought them in touch with Taberah, who was working alone.

  “Should you really be doing any of this?” Jacob asked. “It’s, what, two months in?”

  “I’m not an invalid,” she barked at him.

  “I didn’t say you were. I’m just wondering if it’s good for the baby.”

  “If we don’t get this submarine fixed up, that won’t be good for the baby either.”

  “Okay, okay. Well, where’s Soasa? I thought she was supposed to be helping you?”

  “I sent her away,” Taberah stated. “She was starting to annoy me.”

  “I guess she has that effect on people,” Jacob acknowledged.

  Taberah raised an eyebrow. “So do you.”

  Jacob grinned and cast a devilish glance at his co-conspirator Whistler, who appeared to be less comfortable in Taberah’s company than in Jacob’s. The boy looked to the floor throughout the entire exchange, saying nothing.

  “Rommond gave you a hard time in there,” Jacob said to Taberah.

  “I probably deserve it,” she replied.

  “I was hoping it wasn’t going to come to blows.”

  Taberah’s eyes were grim. “There’s time yet for that.”

  “You probably shouldn’t have mentioned Brooklyn.”

  “He needs to get over that. It’s holding him back. It’s holding all of us back.”

  “That may be true,” Jacob said, “but it’s not easy to let go of the past. Would you be able to do it if you were in his boots?”

  “It’s funny how you’ve suddenly become his ally,” Taberah said.

  “It’s not about—”

  “Let me get back to work, Jacob.”

  He complied, leading Whistler away as Taberah took her anger out on the ship. She might have captured him in her web, but it seemed to him that she was destroying the threads that held it up, and held her up too.

  16 – SURVIVAL

  The nights on the Lifemaker were the worst, if anyone could truly tell that it was night; the waters outside the windows remained dark for every hour of the day. They were two months into their journey by now, and Taberah was feeling restless.

  Often she paced through the submarine in the small hours of the night, when her mind raced endlessly, robbing her of sleep. She knew that Rommond was up, sitting in his library alone, but she did not disturb him. She suspected that Jacob was up as well, exploring the vessel. Rommond sat and brooded, Jacob strolled, and Taberah paced.

  She found Marya on a lower deck, just above the forbidden floor, also pacing.

  “Maybe our unborn children need the exercise,” Taberah said to the young woman, startling her.
>
  “I guess,” Marya said. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “I never sleep nowadays, it seems,” Taberah said.

  “The baby … it makes it tough,” Marya said.

  Taberah nodded, but did not speak.

  “I don’t think I want to go through with this,” Marya revealed, when the silence let her stew in her own thoughts. “The pregnancy, I mean. I’m not sure I can go through with it.”

  “You have to,” Taberah stated.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You really don’t have a choice.”

  “But I—”

  “But nothing. We need to continue our species. This is duty.”

  Marya slumped her head and shoulders, and said nothing.

  “Do you think I want this?” Taberah asked. “I don’t want another child. Yet for years I’ve kept trying. Man after man. And you know what? As much as a part of me hoped each time to get pregnant, another part hoped against it. Because what good would I be as leader of the Order if I could barely walk or stand without aches, always worrying that I could lose the child at any moment, or lose what makes me … me. Really, what does a child make me?”

  Marya thought on this long and hard. “More of a woman, I guess.” It did not seem she entirely believed it.

  Taberah scoffed. “And less of a warrior.”

  “Why do you want to be a warrior?”

  “I don’t,” Taberah said, “but we are at war. We need everyone to fight, in their own way.”

  “But why this way?”

  “You have to think of the bigger picture, Marya. Our little pains and discomforts are nothing against what we’re trying to achieve. People like Jacob focus on the little things, the meaningless things, but it’s the bigger picture that matters. A few lives here and there are insignificant. It’s the fate of humanity as a whole that’s at stake. Can’t you see that?”

  “I can,” Marya said, “but why … why does it have to be me? Can’t someone else bear that burden?”

  Taberah did not feign sympathy. “Why do you, one of the Pure, have to continue the bloodline of our people? I don’t know, Marya. Why did thousands of soldiers die in the trenches trying to save our people? Why did so many people lose the ones they love? Why do we face extinction? Why did the demons come in the first place?”

  “I guess I don’t really have a reason for self-pity,” Marya said, looking more disheartened than ever.

  “We have to stop asking Why? and start asking What now?” Taberah continued. “This is the world we live in. What now can we do about it?”

  “I guess I can carry on.”

  “It’s the least you can do.”

  “Some of the other women seem to like being pregnant.”

  “Good,” Taberah said. “It’ll make it easier for them to fulfil their duty.”

  “And love their children.”

  “Sure,” Taberah said. “So long as they have the children in the first place.” She paused for a moment while they walked, feeling the baby that was growing inside her. “We need lives, not love.”

  17 – THE FORBIDDEN FLOOR

  The Lifemaker was in good shape, but the repairs were ongoing. Jacob thought this was the perfect opportunity to take a look at the forbidden floor. Had Rommond not refused him access, he might have felt less inclined to investigate. He wanted to know what the general was creating down there, what the Copper Vixens were forging in the hidden ironworks. He had seen some of the vessels when he first boarded, but that level was quickly sealed off from his frequent wanderings.

  Whistler was much more reluctant to explore the forbidden deck, despite his immense curiosity, which was greater than Jacob’s. It was only his respect and admiration for Rommond, which was also greater than Jacob’s, that kept him from rummaging about in the general’s toy-box.

  When Jacob stated emphatically that he was going down there anyway, and two could hardly cause any more trouble than one, Whistler’s adventurous side quickly got the better of him. That was the thing about adventure—it did not take much convincing. A little mischief never did anyone any harm. At least that’s what he told Whistler.

  * * *

  The constant coming and going of crewmen working on repairs helped the duo easily bypass the guards that Rommond had put in place. No one really knew who was authorised to do what, and many of the soldiers were looking out for someone that fitted Teller’s description. If Teller really was aboard the vessel, Jacob thought that he was unlikely to show his slimy face now that the alarm had been raised.

  It did not take long for Jacob to find the Hopebreaker in the chambers below, sparkling clean as if it had never seen a desert storm. There was not a dint or scratch on the plaque at the back of the vehicle that bore its name. “Mint condition” was clearly another of Rommond’s catchphrases.

  “I wonder if he’ll mind if I take it for a spin,” Jacob said.

  “He’ll mind!” Whistler replied. He frantically followed Jacob around, rubbing his sleeve over any part of the landship that Jacob touched, polishing away the fingerprints.

  “I have a feeling I’d just—” Jacob paused and held up a piece of grating that had come loose in his hand. “Well, more than a feeling then.” He placed the grating back delicately. “Shoddy workmanship if you ask me.”

  “He’ll kill you!” Whistler exclaimed. “He’ll kill both of us!”

  “It probably came loose in the abyss. Those strange fishes did it.”

  “They didn’t leave your fingerprints,” Whistler said as he began vigorously cleaning the grating.

  * * *

  They skulked about some more, but were soon spotted.

  “You,” the Copper Matron called out. “You shouldn’t be down here.”

  Jacob froze, and Whistler hid in the shadows behind him. Jacob turned around slowly. “Is this off-limits?” he asked innocently.

  “You bet your ass it is,” Alakovi blurted, “and don’t you be thinkin’ I don’t know all about you.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Jacob protested. “I was just looking for the loo.”

  “There’s a giant one all around the ship!”

  “It’s a bit hard to reach,” Jacob said, rapping his knuckles on the metal hull.

  “I’ll get Boulder to let you know the next time we have a leak!”

  “Much appreciated,” Jacob said as he tried to slink away.

  “Where d’you think you’re off to?”

  “The loo,” Jacob said.

  “And what, d’you need two of you for that?”

  Whistler came out from behind Jacob, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders raised, and his eyes held low.

  “Your mother’d be ashamed of you! And you should be ashamed of her!”

  “All right, lesson learned,” Jacob said. “We’ll stay out of your hair.”

  “It’s not me hair I’m worried about,” the mechanic roared. “Stay out o’ the ironworks!”

  “And where is that?” Jacob asked with a grin.

  Alakovi almost had a fit. “Wh-where is that?” she shouted, almost choking on her breath, as if the very machinery had rebelled against her. “Why, it’s this entire bloody level! And they say I’m blind! Oh, I’ve seen you skulking about in the shadows down here before.”

  “I haven’t been down here before,” Jacob said.

  “You can’t pull the wool over my eyes, smuggler. I spotted you!”

  “Well, now that we know where the ironworks is,” Jacob said, “we’ll be sure to avoid it.”

  He turned and pushed Whistler ahead, who seemed like he would have stayed for the entire telling off. Jacob did not need to hear the rest. He had heard enough of them before.

  “You’re a bad influence, you are!” the Copper Matron shouted after him, shaking a spanner in the air as if she thought a few thumps of that might have been a better influence.

  Whistler broke into a giggle when they were out of view and earshot of the raging mechanic. Given how despondent Whistler ha
d seemed before, Jacob thought that he was just the influence the kid needed.

  * * *

  Not all the workers of the lower levels were displeased to see the explorers from the world of the decks above. Some had not seen other people from those levels in days, others in weeks. Some had only heard of Rommond by name, and to a handful of them he was as mythical as the Iron Emperor himself. They toiled inside the toy-box, creating the many wondrous machines the Resistance had used previously, and those even more wonderful, and dangerous, ones it planned to use in the future.

  They stayed out of the Matron’s way, hiding in the shadows, watching the workers assemble and maintain a vast array of vehicles. Among them the Hopebreaker stood out prominently, and it received significant attention from Alakovi, as if it was as much her baby as it was Rommond’s.

  Something that held Whistler’s attention more than any other was an airship, which was still under construction. The balloon itself was deflated, but the carriage was colossal and ornate, much like many of Rommond’s prized possessions. Jacob was a little amused by Whistler’s gawking reaction to this marvel of the skies.

  “Let me guess,” Jacob said, “you want to fly.”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “I can take it or leave it.”

  “But you get to soar above the world, like an eagle.”

  “And still all you see is desert.”

  “And all those fluffy clouds,” Whistler said wistfully.

  Jacob stopped himself from sharing any more of his personal cynicism, in case it would deflate the balloon of the boy’s hopes and dreams. Just because his own wings were burnt, it did not mean he had to burn others’. “It must be fun though,” he said. “Hell, it’s got to beat hiding beneath the waves.”

  * * *

  They explored the forbidden floor further, keeping mostly to the shadows. The numerous vehicles afforded plenty of cover, and the constant bang of hammers and other tools masked their footsteps and voices. Before long they found themselves at the stern of the ship, deep beneath where the aft ballast tanks were stored. The darkness there was more oppressing.