With all of the finery and the effortless way to experience so much of the world at once, it is no wonder that the passengers regarded the end of the voyage with a hint of sadness. Little did they know how much energy went into making their voyage seem effortless. Little did they know how a single miscalculation or unforeseen event could result in the ship’s inability to reach home at all.
The captain liked for the passengers not to know how precarious their situation was; after all, they were here to relax, to enjoy themselves, and it was his job, and the job of his crew, to facilitate that. In thirty years of being a captain and forty years of sailing — both conventional sea-going vessels and later the newfangled airships — he had always been able to do just that. His staff was more than qualified. The ship was in excellent working order. Backup systems existed to keep everything running in case something failed unexpectedly. And so it was with a sense of confidence and pride that he cast his eyes over the scenery before him from his position at the bridge, which jutted out into a large open space at the forward part of the ship. From here, the large glass window provided him the best view of all.
But trouble was brewing on the propulsion deck. No, the crew was not about to mutiny. Far from it, the crewmen loved their jobs. Who wouldn’t love a job that demanded promiscuity and mutually satisfying sexual encounters as the job requirements? No, the trouble was biological.
Edwin sat in his quarters at his oaken roll-top desk, frowning intently over some stacks of papers he’d received from Engineering. The numbers didn’t make sense: while the bipolar and male energy numbers were both up considerably, the female energy numbers had suffered tremendous losses in the last week. In fact, the numbers were almost zero. There must be some mistake. He leapt up and quickly made his way to the floor above, seeking out Harriet, the ship’s engineer and the mastermind behind the whole sexual energy propulsion concept.
“Harriet!” he called on reaching the floor. Harriet’s lab consisted of a huge open space littered with small “pods” of chalkboards that enclosed her individual experiments. At the back of the lab were specialized rooms for machining, storage, and observation. Unfortunately, Harriet was not even three feet tall, and she could be anywhere on the entire deck.
“Giles!” Edwin called. While he’d rather talk to Harriet personally, her assistant Giles, whose mien was chillier than an Antarctic voyage Edwin had sailed in his youth, was the most likely to know where she was.
Giles appeared suddenly, dressed as always in a black tuxedo, his thin lips and high eyebrows giving him an eternal look of derision that matched his demeanor perfectly. “Yes, what is it?” he asked peremptorily.
“Oy, where’s Harriet?” Edwin asked urgently. “I think there may ‘ave been a miscalculation on last week’s numbers, but either way, she oughtta know.”
Giles’s face registered no reaction. “Dr. Beechworth is extremely busy,” he said, his go-to answer for everything, “and she gave me orders that she is not to be disturbed.”
Edwin snorted, annoyed. He knew personally that he and Harriet had a better relationship than that, and although Edwin was generally good-natured, this obtuse, self-aggrandizing servant of hers was getting in the way.
“Giles,” he said, carefully controlling his tone, “how many times have I come up here when there wasn’t something important to discuss?”
“Twice,” Giles replied promptly. Did he memorize stuff like this?
Undaunted by Giles’s quick response, Edwin persisted, “Righto. And how many times has Harriet been ungrateful for my interruption?”
“Once,” Giles replied, just as quickly.
“So,” Edwin concluded, “don’t you think there’s a good chance that if I’m up here, she might like to know what I’ve got to say?”
Giles shrugged, unmoved. “Orders are orders, sir, and Dr. Beechworth made no exceptions for you.”
Edwin’s jaw tensed. That was fair. Nevertheless, this was important, and they were wasting time.
“Where is she, Giles?” he asked again.
Giles shrugged again, deciding whatever berating Harriet would have for him would probably be short-lived and ultimately less irritating than this propulsion riffraff bothering him incessantly. “In her office,” he said, and then left.
Could have just said that, Edwin thought irritably, walking briskly toward the reclusive engineer’s office. Upon arriving, he knocked quietly and opened the door. Inside, Harriet was taking tea, her eyes closed blissfully, saucer and teacup in hand. Edwin paused: he knew Harriet only took about thirty minutes a day for herself, and this was that time. He screwed up his face in indecision.
“Ed!” Harriet said, surprised but pleasant as she opened her eyes and turned to face him. “What brings you here?” she asked, placing her teacup and saucer down on the low table in front of her.
Edwin cringed. Harriet liked the nickname “Ed” for him, and he was slowly getting used to it, but it wasn’t something he was used to. He quickly recomposed himself. “I’m sorry to interrupt your tea,” he said apologetically, “but I have some troubling news that might put the ship in jeopardy if it’s accurate.”
Harriet frowned, her body instantly tensing as she folded her hands in her lap and regarded him seriously. “What is it?” she asked tersely.
“The female energy numbers,” Edwin began, “they’re low.”
Harriet gave him a hard look. “Ed, your crew’s lack of performance is not my problem.” She was getting annoyed. Had he really interrupted her tea because he couldn’t get his crew’s libido up?
“But Harriet,” Edwin cried in frustration, “they’ve been contributing! All of them! I looked over the numbers: nobody has slacked off. They all spent ample time contributing last week. Why would their numbers be low?”
Harriet frowned. That was unusual. She gestured to the door with her head and rose. Edwin followed her across the hallway to one of the observation rooms, where she had Giles archive old strip charts of previous weeks’ production after he produced the reports for Edwin. The room was filled with bookcases with countless little cubbyholes, each numbered with a brass plate that gave the date of the strip charts contained inside it. She scanned the rows, found the last entry, and pulled out a stack of strip charts, all rolled together into a big scroll of stacked strips of paper. Each piece of paper was a strip chart for the energy output for one of the beds in the three collection rooms. With nimble fingers, she deftly went through hundreds of strips and finally isolated about a third of them. The third she isolated were for the beds in the female collection room.
Harriet and Edwin went to a table in the archival room and spread the papers out one by one. Sure enough, the output on all of them was low, with rare occasional exceptions spread over thirty or so of them. More alarmingly were long periods where there was no output whatsoever, as if some of the beds had only been used once in the entire week. Harriet looked at Edwin suspiciously. “Are you sure that your crew hasn’t been pulling the wool over your eyes, Edwin?” She hoped they were; that was easily fixable.
“Harriet, I’ve watched them with my own eyes,” Edwin said earnestly. “We can go check the logs, if you like.” Harriet nodded. That’s exactly what she’d been thinking. The logs weren’t foolproof: anybody could record her name in the logbook without actually doing any work, but at least then they’d know whom to question.
With the bundle of strip charts, the two quickly made their way downstairs and midway across the propulsion deck, where the female collection room lay empty. Edwin swallowed hard: this certainly didn’t make him look credible. Harriet said nothing but went straight to one of the beds, one that had a long run without activity according to the strip chart. She flipped back the pages: there were many names listed, and Edwin’s mouth opened in dismay. The names of the women recorded were trustworthy folks who had never given him trouble before, and many of them were passionate about what they did. Why would they falsify their records? Besides, it was their actual output that
mattered in setting their pay, not whether they were present. Why bother claiming to be at one of the beds—whether actually there or not—without contributing? He shook his head and held his hands out helplessly. Harriet frowned. It didn’t make sense to her, either.
“We’re going to have to interview them,” she said at length. “But first, I want to know if they’re being honest or not.” She looked at the strip chart and found a piece of it that registered nonzero. She looked at the time on the strip chart, and then flipped forward in the logbook. “Eight forty-three, eight forty-three, eight forty– Ah, here it is.” She scanned with her finger and stopped over a name. Edwin looked at it: Scarlett, one of his best. He looked at Harriet, puzzled.
“Let’s go ask her who was in bed when she got here,” Harriet said. “According to the logbook, there was someone else here just before she logged in.” She pointed to another name, Francine. “We’ll find out if Francine was telling the truth.”
Edwin looked hesitant. “That was days ago; why should Scarlett remember?”
“It was this morning, Ed,” Harriet retorted, pointing to the date on the logbook. “The cutoff for energy collection was at nine this morning, which means that Scarlett was among the last to contribute for last week.”
Edwin nodded. He hoped that Francine was telling the truth; the penalty for dishonesty was an instant trip to the brig, followed by criminal charges on return to port. Worse than that, if that many of his crew were lying to him, how would he meet his numbers? The vessel couldn’t operate without the feminine energy!
*****
Life was good. Nora had just finished lunch at the restaurant: roast beef, boiled potatoes, and fresh bread like she’d never eaten before. It all reminded her of home, but the food was better. The ship had access to food of higher quality than she could find at home, let alone afford. Now she took some tea and cabin biscuits with her and sat in a large, open common area towards the front of the ship. She sat at a table for two next to the polished brass railing that prevented her and the other passengers from plummeting five stories to the bottom of the ship. As she sipped her tea, she marveled at the beauty of the world through the great glass window in front of her, and peering over the railing, she could see the airship’s shadow far below them through the glass below. It must be high noon. To her right and a little in front of her was the bridge, where she could see the captain and the navigation crew running the ship. The captain was a handsome man, tall and thin, with gray hair, a sharp nose, and features that were both experienced and kind. She had nearly run into him when she first boarded, and he had kindly smiled at her and pointed her in the direction of her cabin.
Speaking of her cabin, it was simple, but nice. She shared the room with another traveler, but the two had not really talked. They simply weren’t in the same place at the same time. And while the room was clean, with bunk beds to the left and two small pine desks to the right, she hadn’t come to stay in her cabin! She had brought books, but even with the journey nearly at an end, she still had not yet gotten her fill of the beautiful sights the ship afforded her.
*****
Edwin led Harriet to Scarlett’s cabin but found it empty. That was typical, though, and so they next went to the bipolar collection room. Scarlett enjoyed both male and female partners, and especially since she had met Clarence, a submissive man who needed a firm-handed woman to control the sexual experience, she’d been spending a lot of time in the bipolar room. Not finding her there either, the two finally made their way to the aft recreation area, where they found her sitting with Clarence at one of the tables. They approached quickly.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Edwin said, “but we’ve got something important to discuss. Clarence, would you give us a minute?” Clarence frowned nervously, but Scarlett gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, and he left. Harriet took his seat, and Edwin took one adjacent.
“Scarlett,” Edwin said pointedly, “when you went to contribute in the female collection room this morning, who was in the bed before you?”
Scarlett thought about it a minute, and then said, “Francine.” She paused, thinking, “Francine and Mary.”
“Mary who?” Edwin asked. “Mary Ann?”
“No, Mary Elizabeth,” Scarlett said. “Why?”
Edwin exchanged a glance with Harriet. Francine had been telling the truth, or so it seemed.
“The toms’ output is low,” Harriet said bluntly, “and we wanted to determine if any of you were lying.” Scarlett frowned indignantly.
“Not that we think you are,” Edwin said hurriedly, giving Harriet a dirty look. “But the records show that Francine and Mary Elizabeth didn’t contribute any energy while they were there.”
Scarlett frowned, puzzled. “They had their brass socks plugged in,” she said, shrugging helplessly. “I mean, as lousy as Francine looked, I wouldn’t be surprised if their output was low, but they were definitely going at it with as much energy as they could muster.”
Edwin started. “What do you mean, ‘as lousy as Francine looked?’”
“I’ve never seen her look so bedraggled before,” Scarlett said, a note of concern in her voice. “I asked if she was okay, and she said she was, so I didn’t push it beyond that. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were droopy, and she seemed very low-energy. She’s not the type to overindulge, but that’s how it looked to me.”
Edwin frowned. “Where is she now?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” Scarlett replied, “but I’d bet she’s in her cabin.”
Edwin nodded, thanked Scarlett, and he and Harriet went to Francine’s cabin. When they entered, she was in bed. Sure enough, she was pale, her hair was disorderly, her face sagged, and her voice was coarse from coughing and congestion.
“By Pasteur’s beard!” Harriet murmured. Edwin looked at her quizzically. Who was Pasteur, and what about his beard had made this happen?
“Francine?” Edwin said quietly. She stirred, and then noticing them, started lightly.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Edwin continued. “Are you feeling all right?”
Francine nodded, and then fell into a fit of coughing. “‘Aye, Edwin,” she said in a cockney accent once her coughing fit was over, “I’m sorry; I’m afraid I’m just a bit under the weather. Nothing a little bed rest won’t cure.”
Harriet moved to Francine’s side and placed her hand on her forehead, then frowned.
“Who’s she?” Francine asked, gesturing to Harriet with her eyes.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Edwin said. “Francine, this is Harriet, the ship’s engineer; Harriet, this is Francine.” Francine’s eyes widened. “You’re Harriet?” she asked, awed. “It’s an honor, Miss.”
“Of course,” Harriet replied, attempting to sound friendly and giving a half-smile. She returned to Edwin’s side and motioned towards the door with her head.
“Excuse us a moment,” Edwin said as they exited. “What is it?” he asked Harriet when they were outside.
“She’s got a temperature,” Harriet replied gravely. “She needs to stay in her room, lest we all catch it.
“Catch what?” Edwin replied, alarmed.
“Whatever she’s got,” Harriet replied. She didn’t know what it was, but whatever it was, it was on the ship, and it needed not to go any further.
Edwin nodded, and then asked, “but what does that have to do with her zero reading?”
Harriet frowned. She didn’t know. She’d have to run some tests, but that meant exposing herself and everyone else to Francine even more. That just wouldn’t do. “Let’s go look at the other zero entries,” she replied at length.
Edwin told Francine to rest, and they set out to locate the others. Over the next two hours, they tracked down fifteen of the women with zero contributions, and there were many they hadn’t even approached. All of them were in their quarters, and all of them looked just as bad as Francine.
Harriet abruptly took off running towards the stairs. Edwin gaped, not sure what was goin
g on, but then took off in pursuit. They flew down the stairs, and Harriet unlocked and threw open the door to the engine room. Inside, they ran to the middle of the ship where one of the huge energy storage capacitors of glass, brass, and polished wood contained the feminine energy. Harriet looked at a gauge on it, tapping it fruitlessly in dismay.
“Harriet, what is it?” Edwin asked, alarmed.
She turned slowly to Edwin, her face pale. Edwin had never seen her like this before, and a growing sense of doom formed in his gut. “This is bad,” Harriet said slowly. “The ship runs on two kinds of energy: the masculine energy and the feminine energy.” Edwin nodded. “Masculine energy is used for propulsion. It provides the brute force needed to push the ship forward and keep it aloft. Female energy provides the finesse required to execute delicate maneuvers. No amount of masculine energy can provide finesse, and no amount of feminine energy can drive the ship forward; they are unique and equally important.”
Steampunk Desires: An Erotic Romance (The Complete Collection) Page 15
