The Steampowered Globe

by Неизвестный

  Crash.

  *

  It had been hours since (perhaps) noontime. Missy had sat, watching and waiting. She’d made a few circuits around her cell, pacing like an animal, but the stone walls were solid. They were underground, giving her no access to escape windows. She had taken to observing the guard, who had been absolutely still ever since she’d been unceremoniously thrown into the cell. So still, in fact, that Missy was starting to wonder.

  “Guard.”

  No answer, not even a flicker of movement.

  You have got to be kidding me.

  *

  Pulling the lever had felt like dropping the guillotine, and Robinson supposed it should. He just hadn’t counted on the weight of this guillotine keeping him from sleep. He padded to his desk for something to ease his mind, and a guilty conscience made it out as more than coincidence that the first reading material he found was Missy’s latest paper on Aether.

  ... It is also possible that the healing properties of Aether extend to more than just human flesh. Infused into a structure or material over time, it should, theoretically, allow self-repair to take place ...

  The governor didn’t sleep that night and, at first light, wishing he hadn’t read the paper, sent a party to recover the labori’s body.

  *

  Even more time had passed, and the guard still stood fixed in place. Pretty sure by now, Missy strode forward from her corner, pressing herself flush against the bars to get a good reach. The guard was just far enough that she wasn’t able to get a choke-hold on him, else she would have attempted it long ago. He was close enough, however, for her to get a jab at his back.

  She did so, lightly enough that it wouldn’t shake him, but definitely enough to be felt by a normal human.

  No response.

  There was nothing but to go for it, then. She pulled the hair-stick from her hair, a memento from the first time she’d transformed chrysopoeia gold, rather the result of it. It looked long enough.

  Accuracy was everything. The kill switch wasn’t very big, after all. She could only hope she’d done enough estimation work and knew her labori blueprints well enough to get it right.

  She jabbed the hair-stick forward.

  The feel of metal puncturing metal – or so she hoped. And, thankfully, the guard collapsed. Missy dropped into a crouch, grabbed the ankles – yes, now that she felt it, it was only rubber, not skin – and pulled the labori toward her. Keys around its waist, like a human guard, to keep up the charade. If only she’d known she could’ve been out of here nearly the moment they threw her in. But it had been harder to tell from the back with no face or any movement to go by.

  No matter. She pilfered the keys, let herself out, and stole the labori guard’s clothes. A quick change, after confirming there was no one else in the cells. She bundled her clothes into her cloak and slung it over her shoulder. A short dress, for easy movement, and flat boots for balance. Still, men’s clothes were so much less restrictive. She bounded out of the dungeon.

  *

  “She’s gone, governor. The guard was found incapacitated on the floor this morning. Should we send out a search party?”

  “No, there’s no need.”

  “S-sir! She could be anywhere right now-”

  “If she’s still in the city, she’ll turn up eventually. Otherwise, she’s no longer our problem, is she?”

  Dumbfounded. “We couldn’t find any chrysopoeia in the junkyard. If I may ask, why go to the trouble when we have so many skilled alchemists in government employ?”

  “It would be much more convenient, wouldn’t it. Perhaps I shall.” Not that he would.

  *

  “Have a pleasant day, old father. Mind you take care. My cures do not always work.”

  The man, doubled and white with age, smiled gratefully at the lady within her store and hobbled away. The townspeople knew her as a mysterious but friendly alchemist-turned-healer, with a draught she called Aether that had cured all who had drunk it so far. Some of her patients even wondered if it was the actual Aether, but Mistress Geraln would never answer that question, except with a mystical smile.

  Despite gladly helping all the patients who came to her – even subsidizing her fees for those who needed it – Mistress Geraln seemed sad. But it was a question that the townspeople were too sensitive to ask, just as they would never have asked about the Aether if they’d believed it was real.

  Today was approximately two months since Missy had arrived in Alm Town. Considerably bigger than Met City, its government could not keep tabs on everyone and she liked to keep it that way. In her single-minded flight to safety two months before, she had simply boarded the first train out of town, her soldier’s disguise ensuring the conductors asked no questions.

  And so she had escaped; but she had left Ricks behind.

  Absently, her thoughts disturbed with memories of her labori, she returned to her work. The door chime rang.

  “Excuse me, mistress?”

  “Yes, Ricks?”

  Missy froze and looked up to apologize. A man dressed in traveller’s brown stood in the doorway. He crossed the room to stand before the counter where she was working and, as with the encounter that had started this mess, she immediately saw all that was “wrong” with this human.

  He smiled, rubber lips convincingly imitating flesh. “I’m home, Missy.”

  Claire Cheong, 16, is interested in many, many things (including music, fashion, and Romance languages), but writing has proved to be the only thing able to consume her entire CPU.

  Morrow’s Knight

  by Viki Chua

  “I don’t know how you talked me into this,” Eustace complained. “Me! At the Science Academy! I can scarcely believe it.”

  From the window Helena snorted, earning her a sharp look. “I went to the opera with you. I had to listen to three hours of screeching in a language I can’t even identify.”

  “That’s culture, dearest cousin. You’re not supposed to understand it.”

  “German,” a third voice volunteered. Helena turned around to see her brother Jeremy lower the pamphlet he’d been reading. “The opera we went to. It was in German.”

  “That was German?” Helena was genuinely surprised. It quickly turned to annoyance as she glared at Eustace.

  “How did the company mangle the words so badly it didn’t sound like German?”

  “It’s culture.” Eustace shrugged. He turned to the papers she had foisted on him earlier. “Let’s see. Today we shall be attending ‘Skeletal approach to lighter-than-air travel’ by Monsieur Joseph Spiess. How very exciting.”

  “The Frenchman?” Jeremy asked.

  Helena nodded as she crossed the room, shooing Eustace to one side of the settee. “He’s presenting a lecture on the use of hollow beams inside the dirigible balloon.”

  “The horror!” Eustace pretended to faint. Jeremy grinned, but Helena ignored him.

  Eustace had arrived unannounced, seeking refuge from a certain amount of French unpleasantness. He was being coy about what exactly, but Jeremy had said it probably had to do with a girl.

  “I’ve heard about him. His claims are fantastic, really,” Jeremy said, putting down his pamphlet. “Perhaps too fantastic to be taken seriously.”

  “That’s why he was published in the special edition of the Academy Digest,” Helena pointed out. “The theme was the fantastical.”

  “Oh yes. Some of it was absolutely riveting,” Jeremy nodded enthusiastically. “Drigibles aside, did you read the one about the automatons? The author, a Dr Cottier, posits that we could one day power them with something other than steam. Can you imagine what that would mean for the future of automatons?”

  “Non-steam automatons?” Eustace ventured, flashing a cheeky grin. Helena whacked him with closed her fan.

  “The automatons would be smaller,” Jeremy said excitedly, “require less fuel, or even no fuel at all. And they might even be able to do more complex tasks than they can accomplish n
ow. Imagine a whole factory using automatons to stack odd-shaped boxes!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Eustace said. “That could never happen. The automatons surely can’t recognize the different shapes of the boxes. All they do is mindless repetition.”

  “For now, but imagine if we could make them think.” And then there was that gleam in Jeremy’s eyes that made Helena worry.

  “Don’t go there, Jeremy,” Helena cautioned. “You know how the Darwinists and pious types feel about the automatons and what they call the people who work with them.”

  “Agents of the devil, I believe,” Eustace supplied. Helena gave him a sharp glance of warning, while Jeremy looked almost hurt. Quickly he added, “I saw it in the newspaper.”

  “Yes, well,” Jeremy said, more subdued. “They’ll come to their senses eventually.”

  “You hope,” Helena muttered, but very quietly because her brother looked crestfallen.

  There was an extended silence. Helena looked to Eustace for help.

  “Well,” Eustace said, “Pooh to them! They don’t know what they’re missing. Science will advance progress. Progress will advance humanity, no? And the charge will be led by brilliant chaps like you, Jeremy. Lacking in culture and fashion, of course, but you’ll have me.”

  Helena seemed about ready to smack him with her fan again, but stopped short when Jeremy smiled. “Just a train ride away.”

  “Faster, if you can master your steam horse contraption,” Eustace winked.

  Jeremy’s face was warmed with a big smile. Helena heaved an inward sigh of relief.

  “We should be going. Our hansom should be here any moment,” she told her cousin. “Hopefully we’ll be there early.”

  “Don’t be silly, cousin,” Eustace said, not moving from his comfortable spot on the settee. “One is never early. To be late is to be fashionable.”

  “Not in these circles,” she said, standing up.

  “Of course not. Your circles aren’t fashionable at all.”

  This time she did smack him with her fan, but he continued on without hesitation. “I have to say, cousin mine, I am glad you chose not to wear your normal clothes for tonight. It is most disturbing, dare I say vulgar, to see a woman in a man’s attire.”

  “You try climbing around a dirigible’s engines in a corset and bustle,” she shot back.

  Jeremy trailed after them as they left the drawing room and headed out of the house. Helena stopped in the doorway as Eustace peered outside to look for their cab.

  “Rose is away visiting a sick aunt,” she reminded Jeremy as she put on her gloves. “And cook has the night off. So you’ll be alone tonight.”

  “I know,” Jeremy said absently. “There is a cold plate in the dining room for my dinner. I can heat it up if I really want to.”

  “But?” she prompted.

  “I’m not allowed in the kitchen because cook says I might burn the house down,” he added reluctantly.

  “Correct. Please don’t set the house on fire. Cook was upset enough the first time.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” he said guiltily. “I thought it would be nice to have a warm dinner. It got away from me, that’s all.”

  She gave him a stern look, but any further warnings of cook’s wrath were interrupted by Eustace announcing that their cab had arrived.

  “We’ll be off then,” Eustace said cheerfully, “to listen to science.”

  His tone reeked of faked enthusiasm as he steered Helena out the door. She called over her shoulder,

  “Stay out of the kitchen! Don’t blow anything up!”

  “I’ll try,” Jeremy promised, grinning at the annoyed look she gave him. He watched as Eustace helped her into the hansom and gave them a cheery wave as the cabby turned the vehicle around.

  Jeremy closed the door behind him, shivering in the chilly air. It was getting awfully windy as the clouds closed in on the city. He could smell the rain in the air.

  He went back inside, wandering idly through the rooms on his way to the dining room. He wasn’t used to the house being so quiet. Even if Helena wasn’t at home, there were usually some servants about, either cook in the kitchen or Rose cleaning something or other. But tonight the servants were out, and now so were Helena and Eustace.

  Jeremy found the cold collation. It was a delicious meat pie, made special with no peas just the way he liked it. Ignoring normal protocol – after all, there was no one here to admonish him – he dragged a chair over to the window and set his plate down on the windowsill. He watched the sky.

  The storm was coming on with a vengeance. Originally a depression in the vastness of the sky, it would become a tempest through coincidence and a perfect confluence of conditions.

  It had come for London, announcing its presence with an overcast sky and rumbling thunder that approached the city. The wind howled through the city streets, sending leaves whipping around the air and the occasional unlucky sapling crashing to the ground. But the big trees held firm, and the brick houses stood in defiance of the winds. The elements howled their displeasure.

  The storm was building momentum, hovering over Greater London as one heavy mass of dark gray occasionally lit by lightning. It stared at the city, and the city stared back at it. They held their breath, each daring the other to make its move.

  And then, on a small street, someone opened an umbrella.

  The storm broke, sending torrents of rain crashing into the city.

  Jeremy jumped out of his chair as the first drops of rain pattered against the window. He heard the storm grow in intensity as he hurried up the stairs to his lab. More than once, the empty house was lit up by intense flashes of lightning. He was delighted. This was exactly the kind of storm he had been hoping for.

  He burst through the door to his lab, ignoring the clatter of some dislodged parts as they clattered to the ground. He liked to keep things messy – it helped him think.

  He passed an incomplete new prototype of his patented Frigidiator, a portable ice house that cook was testing in their kitchen. He was already working on refining the machine so that the water from the melted ice could be reused as drinking water.

  He made his way to the back of the lab, passing the mechanical skeletons of half-finished work. They had all been abandoned in favour of something new, something he considered his latest and greatest. It was housed along the back wall, with a clear view out the windows. He hadn’t let anyone see it since he’d started work on it, not even Helena.

  It was huge. It took up the entire wall, and Jeremy admitted it could be considerably smaller if its parts hadn’t been cannibalised from the unfinished gadgets sitting on his worktop.

  He couldn’t wait to show Cottier what it was. It was all very exciting, but Cottier wasn’t arriving until Thursday but now Jeremy had the perfect storm to test it.

  He hurried to the other end of the machine, where he had a metal knight waiting. He had based it on da Vinci’s designs, having co-opted one of the ancient suits of armour lining the long hallways of the house.

  He tugged at a cable draped over the knight’s shoulder and plugged it into the matching port on the machine.

  The storm was building in force, rattling the windows with every thunderclap. It was all he could do not to rub his hands in glee as he hurried along the length of the machine. He seized the bellows, pumping them frantically to get the coal fire in the heart of the machine going. A flash lit up the room, followed closely by the rumble of thunder, and Jeremy grinned as coils near the top of the machine began to spark and hum with the collected lightning.

  The needle on the power meter ticked steadily upwards, slower than he would have liked but still rising. The room grew steadily hotter and he started to sweat, but he needed as much energy as he could create even with the storm raging outside.

  Jeremy continued his rush to the other end of the machine. There was a seat there, meant for the test subject – in this case, him. Above it hung a disorganized metal apparatus that would be lowered
to sit on the subject’s head, connected to the machine via a thick rubber hose that hid a mess of wires.

  As he sat, he could hear the gurgling water inside the machine, which meant that the steam was coming along nicely. He pulled down the apparatus onto his head, tightening the straps under his chin so that the cold metal sat snugly against his forehead.

  He unhooked the long stick that hung from the back of the chair. Using a series of complicated pulleys, tensile strength and a bit of luck, the remote pusher was able to simulate a real finger on the buttons on the side of the machine.

  As he readied his remote pusher, Jeremy thought he heard something move in the shadows. He paused, peering into the gloom of his workshop, but then shrugged it off. Probably something had fallen off the table again. He’d pick it up later.

  He sat back and forced himself to relax. He took a deep breath and then, his heart racing, pushed the button. There it was: an uncomfortably warm tickling in his forehead that spread rapidly through his head and into his being.

  His hands started to shake, gently at first, then uncontrollably. Soon his entire body was shaking, rattling the chair. His brain felt like it was on fire: strange thoughts were flying through his head so fast he couldn’t understand them. Impossible colours swirled past him, engulfing him in brightness and sound and other feelings he had no way to describe.

  He felt his spirit grow lighter and lighter, as if it was being taken away – and it was, he realized, it was! A success, on an unprecedented scale!

  He tried to move, but his entire body had become rigid. He couldn’t move anything except his eyes. This was a worrying side effect, but he forced himself to keep calm. Panicking wasn’t going to be of any use to him right now.