Clockwork Universe

by Seanen McGuire

  Mitch rolled his eyes. “The Department of Supernatural Investigations—who else? We chased these damned things up the Mon last night, lost one of our new recon airships doing it. We think they’re behind the power failures, and I thought there was an off chance you might know something about them.”

  Adam studied his coffee for a moment, then grabbed a pastry and took a few bites. “We don’t know for sure,” he said with a full mouth. “No government is claiming them and we haven’t had direct contact. We refer to them as ‘the visitors.’”

  He paused to swallow and wash the pastry down with more coffee. “They showed up right after the first time I tested one of my larger inventions,” he said. “Highly classified. Works on Mr. Tesla’s designs for something that could shoot a beam of energy a long distance.” He grimaced. “It may have gone a bit farther than we originally thought.”

  “Meaning that you shot something off into space like an invitation to a family reunion and some long-lost galactic cousins showed up?” Mitch asked incredulously.

  “I wouldn’t have put it that way, but that’s the basic idea.” Adam shrugged. “Could be a coincidence.” He paused. “Then again, big power-drains happen when the ‘ships’ are sighted.”

  “So they’re sucking up the power from the biggest factories and using it for fuel?” Mitch pressed.

  Adam shrugged. “Maybe. Just conjecture.”

  “If you see them again, and they’re hostile, Colonel Falken said I could give you these.” Adam opened a small metal box to reveal several odd clockwork cartridges, about the same size as a shotgun shell. “They attach to whatever they hit and you can track them using this controller.” He indicated a large piece of equipment.

  Mitch regarded Adam skeptically. “Come on. You’re holding out on us.”

  Adam grimaced. ”Sorry, that’s as much as I can tell you—classified.”

  Mitch looked like he was going to say something Jacob would regret. “Thanks for your time,” Jacob said quickly, grabbing Mitch by the arm and taking the cartridges and the controller. “We’re due for a meeting with Falken. Keep up the good work.”

  Mitch kept silent until they were back in the carriage. “Well, that was interesting,” he said. “I hate it when he pulls out the ‘classified’ card—hell, we’re the ones who are supposed to keep secrets.”

  * * *

  “Well if it isn’t Sturm und Drang, the sound and fury boys,” Colonel Kurt Falken said as Mitch and Jacob entered his office. “I noticed that your message omitted the loss of another prototype recon airship.” He paused. “Good thing Captain Nowak makes a complete report.

  “Of all the dimwitted, reckless, irresponsible things you have ever done, losing the Onyx Shadow has got to be the worst yet.” Falken’s glare could melt ice. “I can’t bury this,” he ranted. “That airship cost as much as a private railcar—maybe two. I’ve already had a telegram from HQ wanting a report. And do you know what I had to report to them? That you burned and sank their goddamn airship!”.

  Mitch wasn’t having any of it. “Farber says any other details on the orbs are classified. Is that true?”

  Falken muttered a curse. “Sit down. That’s an order, Storm. You too, Drangosavich.”

  “We damn near pitched into the river going after those orbs. Do we keep chasing them?” Jacob asked.

  “Absolutely,” Falken replied. “I’m not convinced these orbs are alien—at least, not alien from space. There’s some unrest going on in Europe. They could be using these orbs to test our responses, maybe even keep us under surveillance.” He glared at them. “I got you a new ship. Ironically enough, it’s the Phoenix. I want this one returned in working order. I mean it, Storm. If there’s a scratch, I’ll have you and Drangosavich working off the cost of repairs in Leavenworth, so help me God.”

  “I’m counting on the two of you to figure it out.” He thrust the mechanical carrier pigeon at Jacob. “Without too much additional damage. Now get out.”

  The door shut loudly behind them. “Damn, that was more painful than usual.” Mitch said in a sulk. “Ok, ok, show’s over. Go back to work.” Mitch added loudly, looking around the large office where everyone was staring open-mouthed at the two agents.

  “I feel like my flesh has been flayed from my body,” Jacob muttered. “I told you there’d be hell to pay. Probation again.” Jacob groaned.

  “Look at the bright side. We got a new ship and we’re still on the case!” Mitch encouraged.

  “One toe out of line and we’re investigating Bigfoot again.”

  Mitch grinned. “Not this time. We’re on the right track. We’ll head back out to the Thomson works. If the pattern runs true, they’ll be back,” he said with confidence as he and Jacob climbed back in the carriage.

  * * *

  A few hours later, after darkness fell, Mitch and Jacob stood outside the rear door of the rooming house, and Jacob shook his head. “Where the hell did you get those things?”

  Mitch grinned, resting his hand with pride on one of the two steam bikes outfitted with brass boilers, unusual tubes and a dangerous looking mechanism right behind the rider’s seat. “It’s a velocipede,” Mitch said. “With some modifications courtesy of Wunderkind.”

  Jacob eyed the unwieldy contraptions. “Are you sure Adam isn’t just trying to kill you?”

  Mitch slapped him on the shoulder. “So little faith. They run on water, they’re small enough to slip around traffic, and at top speed, they move as fast as a horse at full canter.”

  Jacob paled. “Why not just get horses? They run on water, too.”

  Mitch rolled his eyes. “Horses get spooked around machinery, and there’s no telling how they’d react around the orbs.” His steam-cycle had two leather saddlebags strapped on the back, from which Mitch produced a pair of unlikely-looking guns.

  “Here. Take this.”

  Jacob grimaced. “More presents from Wunderkind?”

  Mitch grinned. “I told you, he likes us.” Mitch held up the gun. “Adam’s been experimenting with elastic materials. Think of these as new-model harpoons.” The grip and trigger resembled that of a large handgun, while in the front, an iron grappling hook was connected to a length of strange-looking braided rope. The rope was coiled on one side of each of their bikes, attached to the top of the grappling hook, which had an iron shank that disappeared into the barrel of the gun.

  “Didn’t know we were chasing whales,” Jacob observed.

  “Big, glowing sky-whales,” Mitch replied, excitement alight in his eyes. “Orbs, my friend.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Jacob said. “You want to ride over there on these contraptions, chase down the orbs, and then harpoon them?”

  “Yep.”

  “And then what? Are you going to hang on while they take you into outer space?”

  Mitch sighed. “The cords are heavy elastic—another one of Wunderkind’s new inventions for us to try. Weshoot one hook into the ground, the other into the orbs, and the orbs go nowhere. Then we figure out how to take them down.”

  Jacob gave him a skeptical look, but Mitch was already swinging one leg over the velocipede and gave it a kick. The engine started up with an awful racket that drew glares from the neighbors and more than a few curious stares.

  So much for covert operations, dammit. Jacob thought. Mitch was already speeding toward the street before Jacob had gotten his bike started, then he drew a deep breath, kicked the starter, and sputtered off behind Mitch.

  Night traffic was light. Their steam bikes spooked cart horses as Mitch and Jacob sped across bridges and down New Pittsburgh’s nearly deserted streets, heading for the Edgar Thomson Works. Jacob cursed under his breath whenever the bikes hit brick streets, jarring unmercifully with the thinly padded bike seats. Mitch was undeterred, and kept the bike’s regulator full-open, forcing Jacob to do the same to keep up.

  They thundered over the West Braddock Bridge, a narrow trolley bridge that was the only way over to the far side of the M
on for miles, except for the railroad trestle Port Perry Bridge just below the steelworks. The steam bikes clattered over the bridge’s wooden bed, and Jacob was convinced his teeth were going to rattle out of his head.

  “I think they’ll hear us coming,” Jacob groused.

  “I slipped the night guard a couple of bills,” Mitch replied, ignoring Jacob. “Enough to guarantee he’ll keep their goons off us.” He looked up at the night sky. “Now we just wait for visitors.”

  Coal smoke billowed from the stacks, and the gas flares lit the night without a need for moonlight. The Edgar Thomson ran all day and all night. Mitch and Jacob stayed in the shadows, still astride their steam bikes, watching.

  “You got the tracker?” Jacob asked.

  Mitch nodded, patting the pocket of his jacket. “Loaded it into a Very Pistol. That way I can shoot with one hand and keep the bike on the road with the other.” He dug into his saddle bag and handed a second Very Pistol to Jacob. “That leaves us a couple more devices for later, if we need them.”

  If we survive, Jacob added silently.

  Just after two in the morning, three dancing lights dropped toward the mill. “Get them!” Mitch shouted, gunning his bike to life. He and Jacob roared from their hiding place, surprising a couple of tired workers who leaped out of the way with shouted curses.

  Jacob hunched low over his bike, as much to help him hang on as to increase his speed, as Mitch veered crazily in and out of open spaces in the cluttered mill yard, swerving around piles of steel bars and concrete blocks, weaving past wagons and hand carts.

  The cold air stung Jacob’s face. The orbs seemed closer than ever tonight. They hung like rogue stars over the mill, and Mitch skidded to a stop, pulling his Very Pistol. Jacob did the same, and they fired nearly in unison. Two tracking devices soared into the night sky. Mitch’s shot fell short, but Jacob’s hit and stuck.

  “They’re onto us!” Mitch said as the orbs rose and began to retreat. “After them!”

  The steel mill lot was not designed for racing. Twice, Jacob nearly spun out on gravel. Mitch was determined to follow the orbs by the most direct path, which meant cutting through the train yards next to the mill.

  “Watch out!” Jacob shouted as men rolled a car onto a siding just at Mitch veered in that direction at top speed.

  Mitch gunned the bike and made for the narrowing gap between the moving car and the rest of the parked train. Workmen gestured and shouted, then threw themselves out of the way. Mitch’s bike shot through the gap just before the couplings were close enough to touch. Jacob veered right, taking advantage of the irate workmen’s distraction to hurtle past. He gritted his teeth as the bike crossed a set of tracks, sure he would lose his manhood to the hard seat. Mitch was ahead of him, his bike streaking down the center pavement between a narrow-gauge set of tracks.

  “Of all the pig-headed, stupid, dare-devil stunts—” Jacob muttered as he tried to coax a bit more life from his overtaxed bike.

  They were heading away from the heart of the mill complex, out into the far reaches of the vast train yard, filled with cars waiting to be unloaded or loaded. It was a dangerous place to walk, let alone flying through it at top speed. Not that such a thought would hold Mitch back in the slightest, Jacob knew.

  “Hey! You’re not supposed to be here!” Two mill guards came running. Whoever Mitch paid off obviously hadn’t gotten the word to everyone. The guards took up positions, firing their revolvers at the two speeding figures.

  One bullet grazed Jacob’s left arm, and he made a sharp turn to the right, pushing the bike to its limit as he veered to one side and then the other. Three more shots whizzed by, too close for comfort.

  Alarms sounded, and across the darkened mill yard, searchlights began to light up the sky, flooding the area nearest the main buildings with light. Jacob dared a glance toward the tall light towers along the riverbank, braced for them to blind him at any second, waiting for a bullet to take him in the back.

  The mill’s guards ran after them, shooting as they went, following the bikes through the maze of equipment and materials.

  Smoke stung Jacob’s eyes and his back ached from hunching forward. Other parts, not mentionable in polite company, were going to be sore for a while, too. Shots fired overhead, far too close for comfort. Jacob longed for goggles as he tried to keep Mitch’s dark, darting form in sight. Above them, the orbs glowed brightly, like stars fallen too close to Earth.

  “No, no, no, no!” Jacob muttered as the orbs changed direction, heading out over the Monongahela River. Mitch never slowed down, taking a sharp turn to the right and zooming after his quarry across the trains-only Port Perry Bridge. The wooden bridge bed felt like a washboard under the steam bike’s tires. The guards did not stop until they reached the edge of the bridge, firing off more shots, the muzzles of their guns sparking in the night.

  Beneath Mitch and Jacob, the dark waters of the Mon slid past, deep and swift. Barges slipped beneath the bridge, heedless of the drama unfolding overhead. Up and down the river, gas flares blazed high in the sky from the mills along both sides, and in the distance, Jacob could hear the whistle of a freight train. The nighttime glory that was the sprawling city of New Pittsburgh spread before them.

  The train whistle sounded again, closer now. Jacob swallowed hard, glancing behind him and trying to make out whether there was movement on the tracks that ran alongside the river on both banks. Trains ran all day and night in New Pittsburgh, and the tracks to the mills were among the busiest in the bustling industrial city. The eerie, lonesome sound of train whistles echoed from the steep hillsides, but to Jacob’s ear, the howl was definitely closer.

  Halfway across, too far to turn back even if there weren’t armed men waiting for them. Mitch was focused on the orbs, dodging and weaving overhead. Mitch put on a burst of speed, trying to close the gap with the closest orb, his “harpoon” already in hand. Swearing mightily, Jacob readied his own harpoon-gun, wondering if the grappling hook could possibly find purchase in whatever the glittering orbs were made of.

  He caught up to Mitch, who had stopped his bike in the center of the bridge. Mitch had tied off the end of his elastic rope to one of the main bridge supports, and just as Jacob pulled alongside, Mitch raised the gun and fired. The grappling hook sailed into the night sky, and to Jacob’s astonishment, he heard a clang as metal tore into metal. The line uncoiled fast as the orb headed away.

  The train whistle sounded again, much closer. This time, a blinding light accompanied it, down at the far end of the bridge, rapidly growing closer.

  “Mitch! Train!” Jacob shouted, too terrified to be angry. The bridge shook with the might of the steam locomotive that hurtled toward them, closing the distance with every second. The rhythm of the pistons was a death knell. Even if going back didn’t mean a chest full of lead, their steam bikes could never outrun the train. Jacob eyed the dark water beneath them, a drop of at least fifty feet into the icy current.

  “You’ve got your gun?” Mitch asked, eyeing the train.

  “Here.” Jacob shoved the gun to his partner. There won’t be enough left of me for Last Rites, Jacob thought as the train thundered closer.

  “Give it to me, and let me drive!” Mitch shouted, climbing onto the bike in front of Jacob. Since death was inevitable, Jacob didn’t feel like arguing. Mitch handed him the back end of the second elastic rope.

  “Tie this around us. Hurry.” And with that, Mitch kicked the bike to life, riding straight for the oncoming train.

  Soldiers keep moving when the brain freezes in terror. Jacob’s training took over, and he wound the end of the rope around their chests, under their arms, knotting it securely. It won’t matter. There won’t be enough left of us to identify.

  Behind them, the orb Mitch had hooked with his shot strained against the rope, pulling it tight, jerking the orb back and down.

  “Here. We. Go!” Mitch shouted.

  The train was close enough for Jacob to read the manufacturer’s
plate on the front. He heard the second harpoon gun discharge, then Mitch tore the steam bike to the right, hitting the rail at full speed and vaulting over the side. They were falling in darkness, toward the pitiless waters of the Mon River. Mitch kicked the bike away from them. Sheer panic made them hang on to each other like drowning men.

  Overhead, the train hurtled past, as the orb gave a mechanical shriek and fell out of the sky, colliding with the train’s engine. An explosion rent the night as the train and the orb became a massive fireball, thundering toward calamity when the freight train reached the rail yard.

  Jacob was muttering the words of the Hail Mary as they plummeted. Mitch was bellowing the tune of a drinking song. Five feet above the inky waters, the elastic rope caught with a force Jacob thought would rip his arms off. Caught—and held.

  He had only an instant to process not-dying before the elastic jerked them back into the air, then dropped them again so close to the water that Jacob might have been able to touch the rippling surface had he been head-down and not holding on for dear life to his partner, who had just as tight a death grip in return.

  Five times they bounced, as overhead, the sound of ripping metal and the screams of panicked men filled the air. A series of bone-jarring crashes told Jacob that the train had missed its turn, and its cars were piling up near where the guards had squeezed off their last shots.

  Finally, their momentum spent, the elastic rope left them dangling in the cold night air.

  “I hate you,” Jacob said.

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Mitch said. His wide grin and the light in his eyes told Jacob that Mitch had enjoyed the evening far too much.

  “Now what?”

  Mitch whipped a knife out of a sheath at his belt and severed the cord before Jacob could protest. They dropped like stones into the cold water, fighting the current to make it to the opposite shore.