Aetheric Elements: The Rise of a Steampunk Reality

by Travis I. Sivart

  “Are you sure about this?” Phoebus asked.

  “Yep,” Croaker answered, pointing at a weathered brass plaque with symbols around the edge and a spidery script in the center, “it says right there, ‘The Foundation of Compelling Curiosities’. This is the right place.”

  “No,” Phoebus interjected.

  “Yes,” Croaker interrupted in return, “it is. Look, right there!”

  “No, are you sure we should be doing this? I mean, we’ve seen some weird things, but this is a building that appeared from nowhere and anyone going into it never comes back out.”

  “Yes, but I have my gizmos.”

  “Why doesn’t that comfort me?” Phoebus said to the air as Croaker approached the double doors.

  The building was peculiar compared to the other buildings around it. It was square with no buttresses, crenulations, or extravagant décor on the outside. It was a plain stucco and stone building, though the doors were decorated with stained glass windows in the upper half and ornate brass pulls in the center. Light streamed through the windows from inside, adding to the dull glow of the two electric lights outside the doors. Croaker reached for the handle to open the door, and Phoebus laid a hand on his to stop him.

  “Why do we have to go in at night though?” Phoebus asked, looking around as if he expected something to charge at them.

  “Are you afraid, Phoebus?” Croaker said, raising an eyebrow as the corner of his mouth twitched.

  “No, I just don’t want you to have a fright. At your age the heart can be tricky. I’m just looking out for you.”

  “And I’m sure I’ll be just fine,” Croaker said and opened the door. It swung outward with ease, flinging itself open.

  The two men entered, Croaker pulling out a compass, and stepped to one side as he began to walk the perimeter of the room. The entryway was a huge two story affair with marble floors, pillars, and benches. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, lit by electric bulbs. Six large doorways were evenly spaced along the walls, two to the left, two to the right, and two on the opposite. A kiosk with no entrance stood in the center of the room with a crystal dome covering it. A man in a blue uniform stood inside, smiling as he watched them.

  “How may I help you?” the man asked in melodic tones as Phoebus approached.

  “What is this place?” Phoebus asked. He circled the desk, watching as the man turned without moving.

  “It is the Foundation of Compelling Curiosities, a museum of oddities and artifacts from all over. We specialize in sharing history and culture as no other institution can. Each visitor is treated to a personalized experience to delight and amaze them. I would recommend you each choose a different door to maximize your enjoyment and education.”

  “Split up?” Croaker asked as he stopped on the opposite side of the counter from where Phoebus stood. “I don’t think we will be doing that. Compasses are great to find magnetic or electrical interference. My compass is going wild. It can’t find a point. Why is that?”

  “The exhibitions within sometimes interfere with magnetic and electrical fields,” the figure said in a sing-song voice. “Many devices may have difficulties. I would suggest you turn any such items off until such time as you choose to leave.”

  “So we can leave whenever we want?” Phoebus asked, turning to the doors they had come in only to find they had been replaced with doorways matching the ones on the other walls. “Hey, where did they go?”

  The man inside the crystal dome was not there when Phoebus turned back to the kiosk.

  “Where did he go?” the younger man asked.

  “Through a door inside the booth, from what I could see,” Croaker answered.

  “But there is no door. I can see you clearly. Nothing else is there.”

  “I agree, I see you too. But I turned to look at the doors and when I turned back he had disappeared.”

  “Is he a ghost? Is this place haunted?”

  “Nothing is haunted, just not understood. Yet.”

  “Oh heavens,” Phoebus said, clicking his walking stick on the marble floor. “How do we get out?”

  “Getting out is not our goal, getting to the bottom of this is what we’re here to do. We may as well begin exploring.”

  “Should we each choose a door?”

  “No, because that man said we should split up, we’ll stay together.”

  Croaker turned in a circle, looking at each door. With a shrug, he headed for the closest one, stopping to wait for Phoebus to catch up. Before entering he looked inside, but could only see an arm’s length into the room because no lights were on the other side. The older man drew an electric torch from his belt, unwinding the metal conduit which held the wires that led to the power pack on his belt. Flipping a switch on the contraption a beam of yellow light shone forth and he stepped into the room.

  The light from his gadget blinked and went out as the room lit up from above. Glass globes hung from copper tubes, casting a soft white glow across the new room. It was a long gallery and pictures showing scenes from the past hung along the walls behind silver posts with red velvet ropes. Each work of art was detailed and lifelike, showing scenes of primitive tribes farming, fishing, hunting, feasting, or dancing. Some wore grass skirts, others wore hides, and others were naked except for body paints.

  “Wait,” Phoebus said and Croaker turned. The younger man pointed at one painting of a man with a bow standing over a slain stag. “A moment ago he was pointing the bow, now it shows the stag dead.”

  “Pictures don’t change Phoebus,” Croaker said, patting his friend’s shoulder. “You must have imagined it. Nerves.”

  “No, it changed. I know what I saw.”

  Both men stared at the painting, but nothing happened.

  “Let’s keep going, we can come back later and see if he laid out a picnic,” Croaker deadpanned.

  They headed for the far end of the room, both eyeing the portraits as they did. Kings, queens, nobles, and other important figures watched them as they passed. Three doorways waited for them, one on each wall. The one on the left was a brick framed archway; the center was mud and straw; and the right was made of sticks and twine. Croaker hesitated for a moment, then chose the one in front of them and ducked under the low overhang and went into the next room.

  The light in the room behind them went out and the room they had just entered lit up. The chandeliers were antlers with stones on the end and a small flame danced on top. The walls were close and made of unfinished stone, making it the feel like a cave. Every few paces there were glass panes and behind each was a scene with primitive men in untanned skins and furs. They stopped in front of one and looked at a family in a cave sitting around a fire. The flames danced in the scene, casting shadows across the faces of the mannequins and giving them a lifelike appearance. The night sky could be seen from the opening at the far end of their makeshift abode.

  “Wow,” Phoebus said with sincere awe, “they look so real. I almost wish they were alive.”

  The largest man beside the fire turned his head, staring in their direction, his sloped brow furrowed. Phoebus leapt back with a cry.

  “What?” Croaker growled. “What happened? Did a spider land on you?”

  “He moved!” Phoebus said, pointing. “You saw him, didn’t you? He looked at me!”

  Croaker squinted at the scene. “Something weird is going on here.”

  “Oh, thank goodness you’re a detective and can figure these things out with your incredible powers of observation,” the younger man said with sarcasm.

  “Do it again,” Croaker said in a soft voice.

  “What?”

  “Whatever you did that made him move.”

  “I just said that I almost wished they were alive.”

  As Phoebus said the words, five more of the cavemen turned towards the sound of his voice, rising up on their haunches. Phoebus back pedaled, until he was pressed against the far wall. The brutes crept forward; heads tilted and hands out as they a
pproached the glass.

  “We should go,” Croaker growled.

  For once, Phoebus didn’t argue and followed the older man, never taking his eyes off the figures. They passed another dozen displays of primitive people, each engaged in daily tasks of bathing, cooking, harvesting berries, and other survival necessities. At the end of the hall there stood two doorways. One was made of fitted sandstone and the other was of metallic blocks. Croaker chose the one on the left and entered into bright light.

  They stood in a gallery of beige stone blocks that went up more than four stories and showed the open afternoon sky above them. Windows were set at regular intervals, though they could not yet see what lay behind them. Brightly painted statues of men and women dressed in cloth wraps with heads in the shape of bulls, falcons, cats, and jackals stood between each window and were the height of the room.

  The two moved forward, looking around in awe as they did. The first window left no doubt that the people inside were moving. Hundreds of men labored under the sun, chiseling rocks the size of wagons. Flocks of birds could be seen flying overhead and green grasses swayed in front of a scintillating river in the distance. The next window showed a temple scene. Men in white robes chanted as others in sarongs prepared a body for some unknown ritual. Ornate jars waited beside a corpse laid out on a marble slab. Each window had another scene with men and woman moving around doing daily activities, unaware of being observed.

  Two doors waited at the end of the hall. The left one was framed in burnt timbers, and the one leading to the right looked like the braided roots of a banyan tree. Croaker led them right. This room was brightly lit also and as they stepped inside, their feet crunched on grass and pebbles. The air was alive with the sound of insects and the sun beat down on them. They stood in an open field, and grasslands were beyond the glass on each side of them. In the distance they could see two exits within a small copse of trees.

  “Each room gets weirder than the last,” Phoebus murmured. “How can they do this?”

  “I don’t know,” was the only thing Croaker said as he stepped towards the glass, staring at a dozen odd creatures moving towards them. The beasts were huge feathered reptiles with duck-like bills and walking on their hind legs. They stopped to graze on the low hanging leaves of a tree.

  “Dinosaurs?” Phoebus asked as he joined his friend. “How do they do this?”

  Croaker only shook his head as they watched the foraging of creatures that shouldn’t exist, let alone be inside a building. One of the herd looked up and turned its head to look around. Letting out a throaty croak, it bolted. The others followed, straight towards the two men. Four predators appeared, heads popping up above the tall grass. Smaller than the leaf eaters, these also ran on two legs and closed the distance between themselves and their prey with alarming ease.

  Phoebus grabbed Croaker, pulling him to the ground as the monsters swarmed towards the glass. Instead of colliding with it, they appeared on the other side of the hall and continued to run. Phoebus stood up as the last of the herbivores passed them and the predators came towards them.

  “They can’t get us,” the dandy said with a smile as he reached out to touch the glass.

  “No!” was all Croaker could say before his friend’s hand touched the surface of the barrier. The glass shimmered and popped like a soap bubble. The heat of the sun and the noise of the approaching carnivores doubled.

  “Run!” Croaker shouted, grabbed Phoebus, and looked at the doors in the distance. Judging they would never make it that far, he pulled the younger man back the way they came. The doorway had changed, but they had no time to consider that as they ran. The swift and hungry dinosaurs closed the distance between them. The screech of the lead hunter alerted the rest of the pack to easier prey and they all turned towards the fleeing men.

  Phoebus felt moist breath on his back as he leapt through the doorway. Silence enveloped them and they slowed to a stop. They were in a room lit by recessed lighting, rather than the overhead sun that should have been in the room. Slick chrome and steel lined the walls, and no glass stood between them and the scene. A single doorway stood in the opposite wall, but no special mantle surrounded it, unlike every other room in which they had been.

  “You broke it,” Croaker said, his voice rough.

  “I didn’t know!” Phoebus said, looking around on the floor. “Oh damn, I dropped my walking stick back there. It was my favorite sword cane.”

  “You can go back and get it. I am sure if you explained to them that you just want your bauble, they will let you get it.”

  “Where are we now?” Phoebus asked, ignoring the sarcasm.

  A round dais with symbols on it stood in front of a circular stone archway. Each stone of the arch had a matching symbol, and a liquid curtain shimmered in the center.

  “I don’t know, but I have an idea. We need to get to the bottom of this, so we should start doing that. At least we know what happened to the others that came in here.”

  “They were eaten by hungry monsters?”

  “Maybe, but maybe not. I think they went into whatever realm in which they touched the glass, or protective field, and are now stuck there.”

  “How did we get out of there then?”

  “My guess is because we were right by the door and still focused on it.”

  “What are these?” Phoebus asked and moved towards stone and steel tables covered with odd artifacts that resembled the plasma pistols he had seen Croaker design.

  “Nothing, pay attention.” Croaker snapped. “Don’t touch anything else. Focus, and think of whatever controls this place.”

  “Alright, and what exactly controls this place?”

  “I don’t know, but it wanted us to separate. So I think we can’t be absorbed into a world we see as easily as we would be if we were alone, because we stuck together.”

  Croaker inspected the runes on the stone podium as Phoebus fidgeted behind him. He pressed one and it lit up, and the matching symbol on the archway also lit up.

  “What are you doing?” Phoebus asked.

  “The sign outside, when we came in, had a series of symbols around the edge. This thing has the same symbols. I am trying to reset our ‘experience’ and start over, or take us to whoever controls this place.”

  Guttural voices sounded from the doorway and shuffling steps could be heard coming towards them.

  “Um, Croaker,” Phoebus tapped the older man on the shoulder, “something is coming. You should hurry.”

  “Oh, thank goodness you are here to tell me these things!” Croaker said, wiping his hand through his greasy salt and pepper hair. “I have to remember the symbols and the sequence.”

  Humanoid figures entered the room. They were reptilian with faceted eyes and were dressed in animal skins. Hissing at the two men, one pointed and the others lurched forward.

  “Oh, to hell with it,” Phoebus shouted and pressed the last two symbols. The liquid curtain shimmered and burst outward, then reversed and shot into the circular arch. The younger man sprung over the console and ran into the portal, Croaker following.

  They stumbled into a circular room. The walls were black slate and countless copper plates with oval protuberances covered them, along with copper pipes. One section of the wall had brass plates from floor to ceiling; cogs and gears whirred and turned beside them. The ceiling had elegant brass beams bisecting it. The floor was polished black marble and reflected the white light from domes on the ceiling. The center of the room was dominated by a platform with four steps leading to a brass machine, which was six times the height of a man, and had a clear glass globe atop. Electricity arced from the sphere to four brass towers set around the stairs.

  A small desk was beside them, and the humanoid upper half of mechanical automaton made of brass turned to them, gears whirring as it did. The machine was more of a metal skeleton embedded in a block of copper than a person. Its head was a smooth oval with indents where eyes would be, and a molded mouth and nose. A s
mall electrical coil atop the head sparked with energy as its spindly arms and fingers clicked on a flat typewriter.

  “Greetings,” the apparatus said in a melodic voice, “we do hope your experience has been a pleasurable one.”

  “We were almost killed, twice!” Phoebus said to the machine.

  “Yes,” the automaton answered, its tone cheerful, “the curious nature of humans compel them and can lead to dire consequences and circumstances at times.”

  “I think it just called you stupid,” Croaker snickered. He continued before his friend could react. Speaking to the machine he asked, “Contraption, what is this place?”

  “This is the Foundation of Compelling Curiosities, and center for learning while experiencing. We are a fully automated ætheric elemental portal education system.”

  “Does that voice sound familiar to you?” Phoebus asked as he walked around behind the automaton.

  “Yes, it is the same chipper voice of the security guard, information desk guy,” Croaker said as he rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Machine, let me rephrase my question, why does this place do these things? What is its purpose for existing?”

  “To allow humans to learn while experiencing,” the mechanism answered.

  “I see you aren’t going to make getting my answer an easy task, you grandiose gadget. The halls were too large to fit in the building, and you had animals and people that no longer exist. How does the Foundation function? How does this machine work?”

  “All things exist. It is a matter of being able to interact with them on the wavelength and frequency of their existence. Do you see? I made a science pun when I said matter.” The machine huffed for a moment in imitation of a laugh. “It is funny because matter is merely energy. So when I said ‘a matter of being’ it was a reference to the interaction of said energy on a physical level.”

  “Yes,” Croaker murmured, “very clever. But how did we see the things we saw, and what happened when we touched the glass?”

  “You saw the civilizations through a portal which allowed one way viewing by stabilizing their frequency to yours. There was not any glass. What you thought of as glass was actually the generated field to allow you to perceive the realities of the beings beyond your normal human ability to sense. When you touched that barrier it synchronized your frequency with the wavelength of the observed reality.”

  “These were time travel doors?”

  “Incorrect. All things exist simultaneously. Time is merely a human measurement to allow your species to interact with and understand your reality.”

  “I don’t understand any of what this thing is babbling about. I just want to know, how do we get home?” Phoebus interjected.

  “The Foundation would realign your frequency to that of the manifestation from which you originated. It is a simple process,” the machine answered.

  “Can you send us anywhere we want to go?” Croaker asked as excitement filled his voice. “Can you make us younger, or is that unethical?”

  “Ethics is another human concept of measurement. The Foundation is not constrained by such measurements. Yes, we can do all the things you ask.”

  “Why did you choose to appear in New Tartan?” Phoebus asked, crossing his arms. “I mean, you can go anywhere, anytime, and you chose a run down, smoke and fog filled city run by a Rokairn?”

  “The Foundation appears in many realities,” the device said, its body spinning to face Phoebus. “Each is chosen for a specific series of criteria. The City-State of New Tartan was chosen for its diversity, creativity, and curiosity. It is a wondrous example of what the human mind can create at this stage in its development.”

  “Why did the people that went inside disappear?” Croaker asked, pulling out a notepad and scribbling as he spoke. “Why can’t they go home?”

  “When you perceive a doorway and the space beyond it,” the mechanism’s spindly arms gestured in a human-like manner, “it is drawn from your mind. Any visitor can return to their specific reality at any time, but most do not choose to see a door that would return them to their familiar reality.”

  “I don’t think people are ready for this,” Phoebus mumbled.

  “I think you are right,” Croaker agreed. “Machine, who made you?”

  “The Foundation was not made,” the device said. “It is. To put in terms you may understand more clearly, it has always been and will always be.”

  “But who built it? Who designed this device in the center of the room and how is it powered?”

  “What you perceive is what your mind dictates,” whirred the automaton. “Your limited capacity of understanding has designed what your mind thinks it sees. It is the same as the reality in which you choose to exist.”

  Croaker was scribbling in his notebook and Phoebus was pacing the room, looking at the device in the center. Neither were sure what to do or ask next.

  “Are you a god?” Croaker asked.

  “No.” Another huff signified the machine laughing. “A divine being is another human notion, though many species have similar notions. It allows an explanation for the unexplainable.”

  “So gods do not exist?” Phoebus asked, confused.

  “Incorrect,” the device said. “But also correct. When a species believes a god exists, then their reality conforms to that, allowing them to exist on their current frequency. When such notions are no longer needed the species often, but not always, shifts its wavelength. The variations are infinite, as are the realities which are merely frequencies.”

  “It transcends?” Croaker asked.

  “That would be a fitting description as your current level of experience and knowledge allows.”

  “So can we create our own world?” Phoebus asked. “Make up whatever we want and go there, and be a god if we wanted to do that?”

  “Yes,” the machine spun to face the younger man, “but with your limited understanding it would be a limited world. And the probability of it collapsing is great. Your current ability to conceive is not expansive enough at this point in your development. Also, your race requires a random variety of the unknown and unknowable to exist. It requires challenges to learn. If all things were as you desired, you would grow stagnant and collapse into yourself, or self-destruct. The safeguards built into the Foundation would not allow you to attune to such a frequency.”

  “How did we get to New Tartan?” Croaker asked.

  “That was an anomaly which happened when we translocated from your reality to this one,” the device answered. “You were brought with the Foundation as it reattuned to this frequency.”

  “So you made a mistake!” Phoebus said.

  “Incorrect,” the apparatus said with its happy voice, “there are no mistakes.”

  “Then why did we come here?” Croaker asked.

  “Simply put, you wanted to come here,” was the answer the mechanism gave. “Your thoughts when the Foundation shifted were inquisitive about what you felt was ‘odd lightning’ and ‘I wonder what made it’, and your companion merely follows where you go, so you were both transported.”

  “I don’t follow where he goes,” Phoebus mumbled.

  “Well, we are being paid to stop the people from disappearing from New Tartan. Can you change it so they don’t and instead go back to the city when they are done looking around?”

  “Yes,” the automaton answered, “but that would change the reality of the Foundation and no longer allow the beings which enter with free will to choose where they go.”

  “Can you set up a backup so once they enter a reality,” Croaker inquired, rubbing his chin, “they can go back home when they want to do so?”

  “Yes,” the machine’s hands clicked on the flat typewriter in front of it. “The requested parameters have been entered. The beings will return to their origin frequency if they so desire. Though after returning, it is probable they will not accept that the other realties existed.”

  “You mean,” Phoebus asked, “they will think it was all a dream?�
��

  “Correct.” The machine turned to face the dandy. “That would be an acceptable comparison.”

  “Good,” Croaker said, “then we have done our job here. I am ready to go home. But I want to remember this place and everything that went on here.”

  “Me too,” Phoebus agreed.

  The two men blinked and looked around. The machine and the room were gone. They were standing in the rain, as lightning lit the dilapidated ruins of a carnival around them. The mud sucked at their shoes as they turned in a circle, getting their bearings. Looking at each other and smiling, they wandered towards the lights of New Sylians in the distance, Croaker stopping to look at a mirror outside of the fun house.

  “You have your walking stick,” Croaker said, pointing at the cane in Phoebus’s hand. “And what is that?”

  “This?” Phoebus asked, holding up a large carpet bag in his other hand. “It’s payment for our work. I thought it would be nice to have a few precious gems.”

  “Sheesh,” Croaker said, “always thinking of money.”

  “Of course,” Phoebus replied with indignation, “if I left it to you we would never make any money. And speaking of being paid, we never did get our fee from Mayor Kravnel.”

  Croaker smiled and sighed as he looked at his reflection and his smooth features, free of wrinkles around his eyes and mouth.

  “Let’s go find a tavern,” Croaker said as he turned towards town. “You can buy the drinks tonight.”

  Saving Souls