Alt.History 101 (Alt.Chronicles)

by Ken Liu

  And if you like a bit more romance with your history, stop by www.anthealawson.com for some spicy Victorian-set romantic adventure!

  The Factory

  by Michelle Browne

  MARTHA GRIMLY ROLLED UP her skirt. Every inch of her skin was covered in sweat, the fabric a clingy mess. Soot streaked every inch of exposed skin. The steam from her exertion blurred the lenses of the goggles.

  Next to her, Juniper wiped her brow, panting. Her small breasts poked through her shift and the work shirt. Martha looked away from the distraction. Juniper adjusted her hat and tucked her hair beneath it. Pulling her goggles down for a moment, she cleaned them of sweat.

  “Get back to work!” bellowed an Overseer. He glared at them and strode back into his office. The girls glanced at each other. Martha kept working the pump on her side, pounding the pedals with strong, strained legs, and Juniper resumed as well. They guided the presses, working the bellows with the grim determination only slaves can muster.

  Martha’s legs ached, tension singing up through her muscles to make her back a mass of agony. Her skin was raw from scraping against the fabric. It seemed like an eternity passed before she finally heard the blare of the horn, signaling the end of the day’s suffering.

  Juniper slumped backwards, wincing as her blistered feet hit the ground. Though both of them wore boots, they would feel the pump’s ridges in their feet for the next hour.

  She came close to Martha, lifted the goggles above her eyes. The other women and men were slumping off of the bellows as well. The next shift would be there soon, but for now, they could eat and rest. She had avoided the Shepherd’s whips for the day; that was enough to put her in a good mood.

  Juniper limped ahead. It made Martha’s heart ache to see her limping, and in spite of her own burning body, she longed to hold her up. Taking a deep breath, Martha offered her a hand. Juniper took it, surprised. She leaned against Martha. Her slim form pressed against Martha’s, her hips firm and trembling.

  “Let’s get to the showers,” Martha rasped. “Cor. My throat’s ‘alf gone from the smoke.”

  “Allus is,” said Juniper. Her narrow lips curved in a tired grin. Martha licked her own parched, chapped lips in response.

  A Dispenser came by, clanking, and silently took their bone-dry bottles. The water was lukewarm but clean; both women seized their canteens and guzzled the soothing nectar.

  “Least they haven’t started rationing water yet, eh?” Martha’s voice was a little clearer and stronger. She wiped her mouth and grinned.

  “Heh.”

  “Doan’ ‘old up the line,” grumbled a man behind them. He prodded Juniper in the back.

  “Oy! ‘Ands orf,” snapped Martha, slapping his hand. “C’mon.” The man glared at them, but didn’t pester them further. None of them wanted a taste of the whips.

  Martha and Juniper limped away from the blazing furnace complex of the factory’s refinery towards the sweet heaven of the showers. It was a cool night; stars glittered through the shimmering heat and dirty air.

  The cobblestone path was worn smooth; their boots clacked dully as they entered the building. Wrenching their goggles off, Martha and Juniper took deep breaths of the heavy, steam-filled air, soothing to tired lungs. Each of them pulled their boots off and crossed into the enormous, slick hall in front of the showers. Half an hour to relax—one of the few kindnesses allowed them. The owners knew what they were doing. That half hour of freedom made everything else a little more bearable, and Martha intended to savour it.

  The half-stalls were open, covered only by thin curtains and divided by the same; they filed dutifully into parallel cubicles around one of the shower rows. The metal poles were linked by a stainless steel mesh that concealed little; the shadows of other bathing women moved around them. Through the mesh, Martha saw Juniper.

  She stretched slowly. The copper lights in the shower complex lent a metallic glow to her golden skin. She pulled her sweat-drenched shift off and stepped out of her drawers. A few scars from the whips were on her back. Martha unconsciously touched her own. Below, nestled in the curve between Juniper’s round buttocks and the base of her spine, was a beautiful tattoo. The markings were in another language—Chinese, perhaps?

  She knew Juniper spoke it, but she’d only heard her swear in it. Speaking one’s own tongue was reserved for those who didn’t work for the Overseers, those who had the money to be themselves. No-one cared where you were from if you were rich enough, and from The Mainland. Islanders like themselves, on the other hand…

  Juniper turned, revealing the sharp angles of her stretched body. Her hips and waist were delicate as the stem of a flower.

  Martha swallowed and started to wash her hair. The thick curls and waves tended to fuzz into a tightly curled halo when they grew out; at the moment, her hair was cut close to her skull. The coarse, gritty soap felt good on her scalp. She massaged it, leaning back and letting her tired back muscles release. Lactic acid dissolved as she flexed. She began to relax at last, exhausted. Just then, the loudspeaker blared to life with a sharp crackle.

  “Attention. Shower time is almost over. Please go to the dining hall and consume your meal before retiring for Free Time and Sleeping Allotment.” She backed away from the wall and hurried to dry off.

  A shadow appeared in front of her curtain. Martha peeked around the edge. Wrapped in a thick yellow towel, Juniper smiled shyly at her and offered one of the same. Martha took it, turning off the water with her free hand. The curtain moved and showed a flash of her dark skin. Juniper blushed.

  “Shall we…”

  “Yeah. Um. Want to eat dinner wif’ me?” asked Martha.

  Juniper smiled. Her teeth were still pretty; she hadn’t given up on herself, from the looks of it. Not like a lot of them had. “Yeah. Love to.”

  Martha took the towel and wrapped herself in it, then exited the stall delicately. “So, you’ve been heah…”

  “A coupla months, I guess,” said Juniper. “Martha, right?” Her almond eyes sparkled.

  “Yeah. Thanks fo’ ‘membrin’.”

  “I don’t forget a pretty girl’s name.” Her speech was more precise, though not Mainlander accented. Martha cocked her head to the side.

  “Where ya from, love?”

  Juniper seemed to realize she’d slipped. “Oh, y’know, the Markets. Got sold like anyone else.”

  “Uh…huh.”

  “Let’s go ge’ a bite, eh? I’m fit sta’vin, me.”

  Martha trailed her, admiring her shapely ass as she walked. They went to their lockers and retrieved the fresh shifts that had been deposited there by the cleaning bots. Juniper slid hers on beneath the towel, making a couple of careful adjustments; Martha pulled hers over her head without a trace of modesty.

  She turned back to see Juniper glancing away just a little too slowly. Martha hid a grin.

  Dinner was in a complex to the left of the showers; they filed through the brass-lined hall. The stylized gears and mechanisms glinted in the low light; gas lamps in round spheres glowed coolly. A few wall-hangings depicting their glorious Overseers dangled against the wall. Lately, ugly posters targeted to the war effort had been pasted alongside them. For Your Homeland! Most of the slaves couldn’t read, but the pictures of marching soldiers and their serious faces said everything. Smiling families waving at soldiers. Heroic workers grinning as they pumped bellows or hammered metal in ridiculously clean uniforms. Martha glanced away, sick of them, and glanced at the gas lamps. The spheres extended from shining arms and branches. The floor was sleek tile impressed with small gears, the stylized symbol of industry.

  It was very beautiful, this hall—the only beauty, really—but Martha was sick of it. She longed for her days working in the Arboratorium when she’d been a teenager; all the plants were wonderful, good-smelling, and the air was wet and clean. She could live without the flowers. She still dreamed of them at night. Just something green would have made the factory more bearable. Even a picture of
a farm would have been nice; there was nothing green except the scraggly grass along the cobblestone path, too stubborn to die.

  The long tables were filling up. Juniper went to the counter eagerly. The brass and chrome bots blinked at her and doled out her portion. There was a mass of white rice, a few cold-looking bits of chopped vegetable, and a small portion of sad-looking meat on the side, a grey lump. Martha accepted her tray, and the serving bots turned to the next person in line, their servos whirring and gears clicking.

  The old man who’d prodded Juniper was in front of them again. He glanced over his shoulder to see them both again and hurrumphed. Juniper caught his eye and averted hers again, her lips a thin line.

  They sat together, hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder. Juniper fumbled with her fork and knife.

  “S’a bit beta’ than us’ul tonigh’,” said Martha. “Mo’ rice.”

  “Yeah,” said Juniper. “Sorry. Not used tah eatin’ wif a fork, still,” she mumbled.

  “Whe’ya from again?”

  “Aw, my life’s borin’. Tell me abaht yours. Please.”

  She seemed sincere, and embarrassed. Martha decided to be tactful and not pursue it. “All righ’. When I woss young, I wo’ked on a fa’m. Woss awrigh’. Liked i’ enuff. An then ah went to the city ‘cos me mum an da’ we getting’ old…the famer kep’ em, made ‘em freefolk, but I wossn’t reti’ment ayge, an ‘e cou’n’t do ‘I fo’ me…so ah wen’ ah this arboratorium. Lovely playce. Ah learned a lot abaht plants. Flawhas. The laydy sai’ she wished the Citizens she had as pupils were ‘alf as smar’ as me, she did,” said Martha proudly. She kept her voice down. “‘Scientif’ naymes an’ all. I woss good at it. But when she started teaching me to speak properly”—here she affected a Mainlander accent—“and no’ wif dis cockney, she go’ in trahble; a few of us got above our staysh’n, accordin’ to th’ report th’ officials mayde. So ‘er property got turned ova’ to th’ goverment an’, well, we got redistributed. And ‘ere I am, ‘cos the war an all’at.”

  Juniper looked rapt. Martha was surprised. “You’re so wasted here,” she said quietly. “Smart gel like you.”

  Martha shrugged sadly. “Iss the way, innit?”

  Juniper looked as though she was about to say something, and closed her mouth. She glanced down, thinking. “S’not…s’not righ’, though,” she said quietly.

  “No, iss not,” said Martha. Just saying it made her feel brave. “Iss not righ’.”

  Coming back to bunks tired and settling into a barracks. Working until their bodies fell apart far too young, much younger than Overseers’ or Mainlanders’ bodies did. The sheer waste of minds like hers, for the simple reason that someone had decreed it must be so.

  The anger overwhelmed her for a moment. How could she have put those thoughts aside? At the arboratorium, the books her owner had smuggled her had been a window into another world. It had been years since she’d read more than a scrap of newsprint rustling through the yard. How did I let it go without fighting them?

  “You look angry,” said Juniper.

  “Iss not righ’. I know it. An’ I…I jus’ let them…” she shook her head.

  “Shhh.” Juniper set her hand over Martha’s. Her skin was warm and soft.

  Martha turned her wide brown eyes on Juniper, and Juniper gazed back. “’Ave you used ya Relaxation ration fo’ th’ month?”

  Juniper’s eyes widened. “No. Jus…the automatic one with th’ bots a coupla’ times.” She blushed. “You ain’t one t’ beat arahn’d th’ bush, are ya?”

  “Nope. Well?”

  Juniper smiled coyly.

  They headed away from the dining hall and back through the corridor towards the Relaxation area. There was an area with alcohol on one side and a row of rooms in the rest of it. Attractively proportioned chrome and brass robots waited on the sides; unlike most of the automated helpers, these were humanoid, not squat, gear-filled boxes wheeling about on treads.

  “Secon’ ‘and sex toys of the rich,” grumbled Juniper, disgusted. “S’th’ only reason for summat expensive ‘ere. That, an’ showin’ off ‘ow ‘umayne th’ conditions are.”

  “I know, but iss betta’ than nuffink,” said Martha sadly. Juniper turned to her with a saucy grin.

  “Not tonigh’.”

  They held out their hands for stamps, and a bored human applied the stamps.

  “Names and ID numbers, please.”

  “Juniper Ng. 56391.”

  “Martha Smith. 12007.”

  “Go ahead. Room five, here’s your key. Be back at your barrack an hour before your shift; you know the drill.” He gestured to the bedrooms.

  The factory was full of fire and blackness, but the rooms here were also scarlet. Holding her hand shyly, Martha guided Juniper to the fifth room. The thin walls didn’t conceal sounds of vibration and mechanical whirring, nor did they conceal the sounds of men and women yowling and grunting. A couple of women and a man moaned from room four, startling Juniper and Martha. They glanced at each other and laughed.

  Martha unlocked the door with a trembling hand. Juniper placed her cool fingers over Martha’s and unlocked it.

  The room was plain, with flocked walls—red on white, a damask pattern—and a red bedspread on a medium wrought-iron framed bed. There was a little lace on the bedspread and on the stand next to the bed. In the drawer, Martha knew, were a variety of standard-issue toys, prophylactics, and restraints. The Relaxation allowance was only provided once a week, but they made it worth waiting for. Another way to keep us quiet, she thought bitterly.

  Afterward, Martha cuddled against Juniper. Her fuller curves hugged Juniper’s own soft lines.

  “Mmmm. You’re warm,” said Martha, throwing an arm around her. Juniper snuggled against her. Martha inhaled the scent of her hair.

  “So are you. That was wonderful,” sighed Juniper. “Thank you.”

  “So,” said Martha, kissing the back of her neck, “You gonna come clean? Where’re ya from? Really? I can tell you’re no’ from arahnd ‘ere. You’ve go’ a propa’ accent an all. You’ve been t’ school, you ‘ave.”

  Juniper stiffened. “I…you’re right. I’m not.”

  “So why ah you ‘ere? No matt’r ‘ow poor th’ rich get, they never end up ‘ere.”

  Juniper rolled onto her back and looked at Martha seriously. Martha searched her in return. “If I said I was from outside…from one of the places we’re at war with…”

  “I’m no’ stupid. I figured that out. Slaves don’t ‘ave tattoos. An’ you ain’t used to th’ lifestyle.”

  “True. I prefer chopsticks to forks, and…” she sighed. “It doesn’t matter. How did you and the other workers end up at the factory, making war machines? Answer me that.”

  “Well, we are at war,” said Martha dutifully.

  “Do you know why?” Juniper’s eyes searched her.

  “Not…no’ really.”

  “We are at war because of people like us. Or rather, like you. Other countries don’t want to see human beings being bought and sold like cattle. When they argued with the Mainland, the Mainland and a couple of other countries refused to back down. There was a territorial dispute as well, and some of the countries they were taking people from…they have banded together to fight back.”

  “’ow do you know all ‘is?”

  “Late tonight, just before the next shift, there will be an explosion. It will be in the main factory. No one is going to get hurt, but they’ll commence emergency procedures. That means evacuating all the workers.”

  “Then wot?”

  “There is a ship coming tonight. An airship. We’ll load the workers onto the ship and fly out.”

  “How…how are you going to get away with this?” Martha hissed. “Iss imposs’ble. You fink people ‘aven’t tried to ‘scape before?”

  “This isn’t an escape. This is a rescue.” Juniper’s eyes gleamed. “But I need your help. There are other people here that I’ll be working with to
coordinate things.”

  “Wot ya need me for?”

  “I need backup. You have plenty of fight in you. If there’s trouble…will you go with me? I can protect myself, but if something happens…”

  There was a lump in Martha’s throat. “I…look. Did you just ‘ave me ‘cos you need me fo’ a fayvah?”

  The hurt in Juniper’s eyes told a different story. She leaned forward and kissed Martha, clutching her face between her hands. “I’ve been aching to tell you about this for so long. Every day I went to that factory and rode those pedals, I wanted to quit. I only made it through because I was looking at you. You’re always the first person to help someone when they’re limping. You keep going when you’re too tired to stop.”

  “I woss born like this,” said Martha quietly. “I hadn’t got a choice.”

  “But others give up. You haven’t. I thought I would die, but watching you…I knew I could survive this work. Please. Come with me, Martha.”

  Martha looked at her for a long time. There was no mistaking that sincerity. There had been other women, but Martha knew truth when she saw it. “Awrigh’. Wot d’ya need me t’ do?”

  They’d headed back to their bunks under the pretense of an early departure. Walking quietly in, Martha hid outside the door while Juniper slipped past the guard. As usual, the night clerk was asleep. The guard bot turned to her and verified her return with a stamp.

  Martha watched anxiously through the window as Juniper soundlessly lifted her mattress and extracted a slim leather belt. She’d given her boots to Martha to keep the stealthy advantage of bare feet; now, she clipped on the belt, wincing when it clicked into place. Martha shuddered as Juniper’s delicate fingers fitted it, and forced her mind back to practical matters.

  Opening the window quietly for her, Martha waited as Juniper tiptoed over. As soon as she had slipped through the narrow opening, Martha replaced the net. Juniper furiously screwed it back into place and extracted a drop of oil to keep the process silent. She managed to avoid spilling a drop, even as she used a wrench to tighten the screws, and put her tools back on the belt.