My eyes burned staring at Sparklypuff’s goofy grin mocking me. I glared it down. “You. Will. Not. Beat. Me.”
“There’s the Lupa I know. You control it, not the other way round. Take it down. Find me some numbers.”
I stood toe to toe with the monster under the bed. Looked it right in the eye. There, under the colors, past the colors, through the colors. A frame. Cradling them. A frame of numbers. “Gaaah. Numbers all over. Bunches of ‘em.”
“Bunches. How many in a bunch?”
I tried to focus, but the frame disappeared, washed away in a flood of opal and onyx shimmer. “Where’d they go? They’re gone.”
“I see the problem. You got two pupils in your right eye, Wolfy. Probably something to do with range or depth. You try too hard and they jam. Cross your eyes so they unfocus and try again.”
Boom bada BOOM.
Ignore the pain, Girl. Do the job.
I crossed my eyes, or tried to, and everything went blurry.
“Better. Think dark arena. Look just to the side so you can lock onto your target.”
That made sense. I remembered bouts in the Blackout Games. Audience could watch us through view-shields, but for us it might have been midnight as we stalked each other through the inky maze. You could see after a fashion, like the purse-lipped oraculars that made the caverns their home, by looking away to see head on. I tried the same trick.
“Different. Water isn’t bunched. People bunches are colors.”
“Are the submersibles different?” I shifted back to Sparklypuff. The ghostly frame of numbers clicked into place just as it slid away toward the loading dock.
“Yeah. Sixteen. Four by four. Damn all. Almost have—” I felt Blue’s hand grab my chin.
“Don’t turn your head. Movement will make it worse. Next one’s almost there. Just hold on and do the same thing when it comes into view.”
The colors and symbols spiraled until the violent green and magenta Snuffleberry lurched to a stop and disgorged its riders.
Look away to see head on. That’s it, Girl.
“Do they repeat? Is there a pattern?”
“Tiles. They look like tiles. One two three four five. Every sixth set is all zeroes. And those ones go slantwise down and to the right.”
“Zeroes. End of coding. Six sets. Six sets.” Blue went off into boffin-speak. “Jacquard calculations are in the Diagonal Dodec. Every six is zeroes. Zeroes. End of coding. Four by four. Twelve plus four. That’s it.” I could feel his heart beating faster.
“That’s what? Don’t leave me hanging, Blue. What am I looking at?”
“Fourth row from the top. Two sets to the right of the zeroes. Read the numbers off top to bottom right to left.”
“Eight. One. Six. Two. Four. Three. Zero. One—”
“Not the one.”
“Bugger.” The sun was gone now, and the bright lights above the boardwalk made it harder and harder to keep my eye open and not heave in the wash of color swirling through the sea serpent’s exit. I gripped Blue’s shoulder just to stay standing. “We’re running out of time.”
“Stay with me, Wolfy. Don’t give up. The numbers are range and temperature. Next one.”
I could almost hear each grain of sand slipping through the glass as another sea serpent came and went unchallenged. Both eyes were on fire from not blinking. A scream of desperation slithered up my throat, but I swallowed it back down.
Pull yourself together, Girl. Fa’s life depends on you finding the right bloody sea serpent and stopping it doing whatever they’ve set it to do before it does it. Panic is not helpful.
The next in line was Dimpledarling, a blinding maroon and mustard job with a toothy grin. The frame of numbers blurred in and out. “Three. One. Six. No, no. Not six. Five. Two. Seven Seven Three Four Four Zero—”
“Heat. That’s gotta be the one.” I felt his hand in my pocket, and the eyepatch slipped over my eye. Two endless seconds of vertigo followed by blessed relief. “Catch it before they load.”
We pounded down the pier as the sea serpent slid up to the loading dock; quite the sight for the tourists. The attendant reached for the hook to undo the rope and let the riders on board, but we pushed through to the front of the line amidst shouts of indignation. Blue elbowed the attendant off the dock, hurdled the rope and dove through the entry. I followed, turned to grab the hatch from the inside, and it slammed shut, wheel lock turning, and batten shoving home. I blinked, adjusting to the twilight.
“Did I do that?”
“What?”
“Secure the door.”
“Probably set to seal when you close it so the ankle biters can’t open it mid ride. We’ve got bigger fish to fry. Go. Cockpit’s that way.”
I shimmied down the narrow aisle between the seats to disable the controls, expecting the pilot to pop out any second. Heard Blue’s steps ring on the steel flooring in the opposite direction. Hair stood on the back of my neck.
Think. You’re missing something, Girl.
Wait. What had Blue said? Set to seal when you close it. Had I pulled on the hatch? I looked back, then looked ahead. The cockpit door. Ajar. No. No. NO. I had enough scars to know blood when I smelled it. No use feeling for a pulse with arterial spurt all over the smashed dashboard. I unstrapped the pilot, pulled her back into the cabin and propped her body out of the way in one of the passenger bays, then scrambled back to the cockpit to rewire the controls.
The thrum of the engine quickened. I looked up to see us gliding away from the pier.
How?!
A stillness on the dock caught my eye. An eye to the storm of chaos we’d left in our wake. An elegant eggshell linen suit and a stylish fedora with a burnt-orange ribbon and pink flamingo feather cockade. His smile was less idiot and more predator now. Garrick Bloody Winslow. He mouthed the word “BOOM,” tipped his hat, and vanished into the crowd just as Dimpledarling’s viewport slid beneath the lake. The engines thrummed faster as we headed full speed toward the dam.
“Wolfy!! Take us into the middle of the lake! Far out as you can go!”
“Working on it!”
One look under the console told me that rewiring would be a lost cause without an hour or two to trace the skein of mangled wires to the right connectors.
Think, Girl. You’re moving already and the console is mince pie. Winslow’s controlling it from shore. Has to be. So there must be something on board that he’s controlling. Something connected to the rudder or the engine.
My footsteps echoed in Dimpledarling’s belly. Along with an unintentional ‘oof’ as I caught my hip on a seat back.
Why are these aisles so damn narrow?!
“Talk to me, Wolfy! Are we far enough out?! We have to ditch.”
“Not an option!” I ran past toward the engine and hit the deck, scrambling across the plates and looking for something, anything that might be the whatsit Winslow was using to steer us toward the dam.
“I can’t stop this thing. Not in time.” Blue’s voice was muffled behind the boiler. He poked his head out. Saw me. Made the connection. “What the — Who’s driving?”
“That would be Winslow.”
“Wait. Winslow? The flamingo?”
“Yes. The bloody flamingo. He’s out there. We’re in here. And if the damn dam doesn’t blow, you can bet he’ll be there at the ceremony with poison in the punch.” I was running out of places to check for a control box. “Where is it? Nothing on the engine looks like it doesn’t belong. No access to the bloody rudder from in here. If the receiver is — No. Wait. You said it couldn’t be remote.”
“Right. Dam’s too far. He’d lose contact.”
I banged my forehead on the engine housing, trying to knock an intelligent thought loose.
“How then?”
“We’re missing some—” Blue shot to his feet and skidded down the deck toward the attendant’s console in the back of the cabin. He yanked off the cover. There. The tail end of a card. This one undoubtedly punched,
though I couldn’t see the holey bits. I knew what Blue would say next, and my innards squirmed. “Need your eyeball, Wolfy.” He pulled up his shirt and peeled off the wild card. Nice distraction.
Not the time, Girl.
“Abs … solutely.” Imminent doom made it a bit easier to ignore the excellent view. Just a bit. I closed my eye, pulled off the patch and faced the console. Breathe. Unfocus. Open.
“Give me the sequence on the card.”
The numbers swam into view a bit easier in the dim light of the cabin. Overlaid themselves on the real sight. I counted off the holes in the card one by bloody one, expecting never to reach the next in the sequence. We had to be getting close to the dam.
“Got it. Move!”
I slapped the patch over my eye and opened the other in time to see Blue slip the wild card, now with crude holes in strategic coordinates, into the slot. Dimpledarling shuddered. Blue yanked out the first card and she listed sideways and upward, sending us sprawling. Blue grabbed my hand and we used each other as counterweights to stumble to the hatch. Suddenly, I could see the surface of the lake through the viewports and the spillway yawing to starboard like the Void. It looked as if we had been aiming to dive down its throat, but now we were following the true course. It took both of us with all our strength to pull the batten, turn the wheel, and yank open the hatch.
“On three!”
“On one!” Blue shoved me hard with his hip and we crashed into the surface of the lake, barely missing Dimpledarling’s tail as she pulled hard away from the dam and out into open water. I sputtered, gagging on a mouthful of spray. “Go Go GO!!!”
Only we weren’t going in the way we were headed. I felt something hauling me backward. No way either of us had enough strength to fight it, but no way She-Wolf or Inarion Blue wouldn’t go down swinging. Last thing I saw before the current dragged me down over the lip and into the spillway was night turning to day in the middle of the lake.
The Dai Sun spillway flushed us straight down and out into the channel below. We bobbed up like corks, gulping air. The walls of the channel had nothing to grab and the current didn’t give us much of a chance to move to either side.
SPLOOSH! Whatever it was nearly hit us when it smashed into the water ahead of us, but whatever it was stayed afloat and we swam for it. Only when I grabbed hold and hauled Blue up next to me did I notice Dimpledarling’s goofy grin staring straight at me. Quite a few minutes passed before we could stop laughing. Blue gasped, reaching for a better grip on Dimpledarling’s ear fin.
“Uh, Wolfy … You doing anything later?”
“You mean after ripping Winslow’s heart out and security detail for the ceremony?”
“Yeah. Something like that.”
“Want to join the detail? I. Er. We could use a guy like you if you’re interested.” My mouth sped on before my head caught up with it. “Or. Um. Got a room at the Tetra. We can clean up and hit the Kodo.”
“You winking at me, Wolfy? Because, you know, it would be easier to tell without the eyepatch.”
About the Authors
Sharon E. Cathcart
Award-winning author Sharon E. Cathcart’s main focus is on writing fiction with atypical characters. She is a devout Francophile and is delighted to have been able to share a look at the June Rebellion with readers. She dedicates her stories in Thirty Days Later to the Occupy Movement, the modern-day Friends of the Abbaisé. Sharon also wishes to thank Prof. Peter McPhee, of the University of Melbourne, for his excellent course on the French Revolution.
Lillian Csernica
Ms. Csernica has published Ship of Dreams, a pirate romance novel, under her romance pen name Elaine LeClaire through Dorchester Publishing’s Leisure Imprint. Ms. Csernica’s short fiction has appeared in Weird Tales, Fantastic Stories, and The Year’s Best Horror XXI and XXII. Her historical fiction has appeared in Tales of Old and These Vampires Don’t Sparkle. She contributed two paired stories to the anthology Twelve Hours Later. Born in San Diego and a veteran of historical reenactment, Ms. Csernica is a genuine California native. She currently resides in the Santa Cruz Mountains with her husband, two sons, and three cats. Visit her at www.lillian888.wordpress.com.
Steve DeWinter
Steve DeWinter is a #1 bestselling Amazon action & adventure sci-fi author who has also co-authored two fantasy novels with Charles Dickens. Yes! That Charles Dickens. Steve’s books have hit #1 on the Amazon children’s action & adventure sci-fi bestseller list and his adult thrillers reached as high as lucky #13 on the Amazon action & adventure bestseller list. He also has the distinction of having nine books in the top twenty of the Amazon children’s action & adventure sci-fi bestseller list all at the same time. Check out Steve’s books at stevedw.com.
David L. Drake and Katherine L. Morse
David L. Drake and Katherine L. Morse are the award-winning, San Diego-based authors of The Adventures of Drake and McTrowell—Perils in a Postulated Past, a serialized steampunk tale detailing the adventures of Chief Inspector Erasmus Drake and Dr. “Sparky” McTrowell. The duo’s many adventures are provided in weekly penny dreadful-style episodes at www.DrakeAndMcTrowell.com. They have produced four novellas since 2010: London, Where it All Began; The Bavarian Airship Regatta; Her Majesty’s Eyes and Ears; and The Hawaiian Triple Cross. Drake and Morse won a Starburner Award for the radio show based on their first story which has run multiple times on Krypton Radio. When not cosplaying their alter egos at conventions all over the West, they are both research computer scientists specializing in distributed modeling and simulation. Mr. Drake is a nationally ranked foil fencer. Dr. Morse is an internationally respected expert on standards, but prefers to be recognized for her cookie-baking skills. They throw awesome parties, if they do say so themselves.
Anthony Francis
By day, Anthony Francis programs intelligent computers and emotional robots; by night, he writes science fiction and draws comic books. His stories here are prequels to his steampunk novel Jeremiah Willstone and The Clockwork Time Machine. Anthony is also the author of the urban fantasy novels Frost Moon, Blood Rock, and Liquid Fire starring magical tattoo artist Dakota Frost. Anthony lives in San Jose with his wife and cats, but his heart will always belong in Atlanta. You can follow Jeremiah Willstone at www.facebook.com/jeremiahwillstone, Dakota Frost at www.facebook.com/dakotafrost, or Anthony himself on his blog www.dresan.com.
Justin Andrew Hoke
Justin Andrew Hoke is a short fiction writer, podcast personality, and Executive Producer at Dreadfully Punk. When he isn’t writing, Justin is devoted to political activism and planet conservation. He aims to bridge the worlds of science fact and science fiction by promoting eco awareness, inspiring our youth, and fighting for a better future.
T.E. MacArthur
T. E. MacArthur is a San Francisco Bay Area author, artist, and historian. She is the artist and author behind Shamanka: Oracle of the Shamaness and The Volcano Lady: Volumes I & II, steampunk novels following the adventures of Victorian lady scientist, Lettie Gantry. Her novellas in The Gaslight Adventures of Tom Turner series continue with thrilling escapades following the time-honored cliffhangers of Victorian dime novels, penny dreadfuls, and weekly serials. She has written for several local and specialized publications and was even an accidental sports reporter for Reuters International News. Her blog can be found at www.volcanolady1.wordpress.com.
AJ Sikes
AJ Sikes writes noir urban fantasy and has published multiple short story stories and the alternate history novels, Gods of Chicago and Gods of New Orleans. He offers professional editing services to writers of speculative fiction, non-fiction, and academic material. He served in the U.S. Army, holds an MA in Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages, and taught university level ESL writing and composition courses. He’s a woodworker and toy builder in his spare time. AJ keeps a blog called Dovetails www.writingjoinery.wordpress.com where he talks about the similarities between woodworking and writing. Find out more about his edit
ing services at www.ajsikes.com.
BJ Sikes
BJ Sikes is a 5’6” ape descendant who is inordinately fond of a good strong cup of tea, Doc Marten boots, and fancy dress. She lives with two large cats, two small children and one editor-author. Her stories in this anthology are prequels to her first novel The Archimedean Heart.
Emily Thompson
Emily Thompson is the author of the Clockwork Twist novel series. Although she adores steampunk and all things Victoriana, she also writes occasional sci-fi and fantasy. Originally from California, she takes every excuse to travel or live abroad, but now lives mostly in Washington because of the rain. Emily is a huge fan of Jules Verne, and loves to track down hard-to-find editions and translations. Her other hobbies include cooking, gaming, and watching bad sci-fi. www.clockworktwist.com.
Janice Thompson
JaniceT has been writing poetry for more than fifty years. She composes tightly woven, unforced verses that allow for as many levels of interpretation as are possible. Much of her poetry hearkens back to the English Lake District poets. JaniceT has been an avid fan of the steampunk genre since the early eighties, and its influence on her is apparent in some of her “steamier” poems, such as Twist, and Train of Thought. A few samples of her work can be seen on her blog at: www.janice-t.weebly.com.
Michael Tierney
Michael Tierney writes steampunk-laced alternative historical fiction stories from his Victorian home in Silicon Valley. After writing technical and scientific publications for many years, he turned his sights to more imaginative genres. Trained as a chemist, he brings an appreciation of both science and history to his stories. His debut novel To Rule the Skies was published in 2014. Visit his blog at www.airshipflamel.com.
Harry Turtledove
Escaped Byzantine historian Harry Turtledove made his first sale in 1977, and has been telling lies for a living fulltime since 1991. He writes alternate history, other SF, historically based fantasy, and, when he can get away with it, historical fiction. He is perhaps best known for The Guns of the South; recent books include Joe Steele, The Hot War: Bombs Away, and The House of Daniel. He and his wife, writer Laura Frankos, have three daughters (one also a published author), one granddaughter, and two cats, Boris and Natasha. Watch out for Natasha. She beeps.
Thirty Days Later: Steaming Forward: 30 Adventures in Time Page 22
