by Paul Kater
Chapter 3
The next morning Martin went to work as if nothing had happened. His friends had been in a rush to find him, and Ratty Matty was the first one who tried to pry from him what had happened.
The talk with Sir Baldwin had left quite an impression on Martin. Several, actually, as the spot where the cane had landed against his face was clearly visible. As Matty commented on the new dent in his friend's face, Martin told him that the talk had been about nothing special. "And I just ran into something." Fat Burke, as he joined the two, just muttered his usual 'hullo' and stomped along. Bass was more persistent than Matty, but also he was not able to get anything out of Martin.
Martin was not entirely happy with himself, but Baldwin had mentioned a reward for his services. A royal reward, even. The amount at stake was more than Martin had seen in his whole life. He was willing to obstruct the workings of an automaton for that kind of money. After all, once that was done he'd be rich and could quit the job. He'd be very careful also, when he was going to execute his instructions. None of the folks working at the factory would get hurt.
"C'mon, Marty, you can talk to us. We're friends, remember the word?" Matty tried again as they walked onto the yard. Martin looked at the man with the pointy nose and the face ravaged by smallpox.
"I know, Matty. I'll tell to you when I can, okay?"
Bass and Matty nodded. "Sure. Just don't forget who you can trust." Fat Burke did not spend words on it, he was probably thinking about lunch break already.
The four walked to the paint pit. Martin felt nervous and fought to ignore the feeling. In several places he saw automatons walk, carrying heavy material from one spot to the next, to be processed, packaged or shipped. Nothing seemed wrong with the machine men, Martin thought, but who could tell what was going on inside their metal heads. Their eyes just seemed to stare, they did not tell you anything. When one of the automatons, carrying a long spike, which was used to connect a gondola to the actual airship, stepped up to him at an insanely fast pace, Martin's heartbeat went up. "Watch out!" he yelled, pushing Ratty Matty and Bass to the side. Shoving Fat Burke would not have made a difference, so Martin prayed for the best and leapt out of the machine man's way.
The automaton came to a full halt a few feet away from them. The spike was at safe distance, no one would have gotten hurt.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Martin?" asked Bass as he got to his feet and looked for his hat. "You know these things don't run you over. They never do."
Martin, still sitting on the ground, looked at the automaton and then at Bass. "Could be the first time. Danny got knocked dead by one two days ago, remember?"
Bass grabbed Martin by the arm and pulled him to his feet. "Come on, wake up. It was an accident. Work waits, and tea." As they walked off, the automaton proceeded to where it was going. Fast.
They reached the paint pit. All four cranes were loaded with enormous parts that had to get done that day. The light that came down through the large glass roof cast big shadows on the floor, giving their workplace a gloomy touch. The slowly swaying parts looked as if an invisible giant was toying with them.
Martin peered upwards. The automatons sat on the cranes, silent and awaiting their orders. He knew one specific order that he would issue that day. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the eight metal men standing against the wall. They were silent, dead, and would remain so until they were ordered to lift heavy parts. Suddenly the whole situation scared him.
"Phelps!" a voice shouted. Martin recognised it. It came from their least liked shift leader. "Get your arse up the ladders and light the lamps. It's like bloody night in here and I don't want you blokes to mess up today's production!"
Martin shrugged, and letting out a sigh he went to fetch a burning candle. It took him quite a while to light all the big oil lamps that were put up on the huge steel pillars that supported part of the roof. Each time he was on the ladder, mounted to a pillar, he stared at the automatons on the cranes. Five thousand pounds, he thought. After today, I will be rich. And they're just machines. Who cares. Dangerous machines too. Men can do that work as well. Sir Baldwin was right. Still, as he lit the last lamp, his hand trembled.
After adjusting the big mirror that would reflect the light to the right spot, Martin climbed down. He put on the big leather apron and the goggles. Then the men got to work, coating the first of the large ribs that were waiting for their brushes.
-=-=-
Martin was the first one to return to the pit after the lunch break. He had come up with some lame excuse to leave early. Matty, Burke and Bass had looked at him quaintly, but they had not asked questions. Martin was glad about that, he hated lying to his friends. But he also had his job to do, and he did not want people around. Nobody was going to get hurt, he promised himself.
Two automatons stood waiting under the crane. The empty chain swayed, waiting to be loaded. Martin told the metal men to pick up the rafter that was to be done next. As the automatons held up the large metal bulk, Martin climbed on it and hooked the chain to it. Once on the floor again, he yelled "Going up ten!" to the machine man on top of the crane. He saw the automaton pull a lever. Slowly the chain was strained as the gears rolled, and the rafter was hoisted up ten feet. That should be enough. Martin looked around the paint pit, to make sure nobody was watching him. Then he stepped back to what he considered a safe distance. The rafter would come straight down, thirty feet would be enough. After another look around, Martin swallowed hard. This was it. "Drop, drop, drop!" Repeat the word three times, Sir Baldwin had said.
For an eternal moment nothing seemed to happen. It was as if the command had not reached the automaton, which was uncanny. Usually it would respond to commands immediately, even when he did not yell so loudly. As Martin was getting his nerves together to yell again, the two automatons that had held the metal part turned and came walking towards him. Martin frowned for a moment. When the metal men were beside him they grabbed his arms tightly. That was when he understood that something was going wrong. "Hel-!" he tried. One of the automatons lashed out and broke Martin's jaw. It changed his scream for help into a groan of pain while he wondered how a machine man could move that fast before consciousness faded away.
The metal men lifted Martin from his feet and carried him to where he had been standing, under the rafter. On top of the crane, the automaton moved an arm, pushing a lever. It released the safety mechanism of the crane and the six ton rafter came crashing down.
-=-=-
Sir Hillary Baldwin looked down at the smudgy man who held his hat in his hands. The man had just told him that everything had gone 'according to plan', which pleased him. "So you are sure that the victim was terminally injured?" he asked to make sure.
"Oh, yes sir," the motley, unshaven man said, "dead as can be. No one survives a rafter falling on their head, sir. The stuff that your alchemist gave me to pour into these machine men worked perfectly. Was pretty damn high up there though."
The gentleman in the black cloak nodded. "Very well. I will have to take your word for it. Of course, you understand that not a whisper of this must get out. It would be very bad for business."
The sabotaging spy, in his worn coat and paint stained trousers, nodded. "I know, sir. No one's going to hear nothing from me, sir."
"You are quite right," said Sir Baldwin, "no one will." He snipped a finger. A closet door opened. A huge automaton, painted black, stepped out of it.
"What's that, sir?" the spy asked as he saw the long hollow tube that was mounted instead of a regular left forearm of the machine man.
"It is, let us say, our insurance for silence," Sir Baldwin said. He had stepped to the far end of the room and watched with interest how the black automaton grabbed the ragged man by the throat and lifted him up. The hollow tube on the automaton's left arm started revolving at high speed, and the screams of the man in his right hand ended quickly as the tube went into the man's chest and emerged from his back.
"Crude but
adequate," the gentleman nodded as the dead body dropped to the floor. The automaton stood in silence, the tube coming to a stop. The high speed of it had almost cleaned it of all the blood from it, but a selection of bodily parts fell from it to the floor as the machine man lowered his arms. "Parker!'
A man came in quickly. He had been waiting outside the door. "Sir? Oh, I see. We'll take care of this, sir."
"There's a good man," Sir Baldwin nodded amiably. Parker was a good man, and that kind was hard to find. "Make sure this one is found in a different part of town again, Parker. It is time to pay a certain company a visit. And Parker, do clean up this nastiness."
Chapter 4
At Bromsky's, Ratty Matty was giving a lively description of how they had found Martin. The odd bit that he embellished did not make much difference. "There was blood everywhere! It was so sick, you can't believe it. And two of the automatons were crushed under the rafter also. I could see that one of them held Martin by the arm, as if they had planned to kill him!" A hush went through the pub.
Bromsky was not pleased. All this talk of dead people brought angst on the table instead of drinks.
"Always thought there was something strange about the fellow," a man with a grubby voice and ditto face said, "remember how this fine bloke picked 'm up yesterday? Can't be good." Several people nodded, to the annoyance of Matty and Bass.
"He ain't never been bad, that Martin," Matty objected. "He was a hard worker and a good soul, and now he's dead, God rest his soul. The metal men killed him, honest to God."
After a while, the people at the table dispersed, falling apart in small groups, discussing Martin Phelps and his sudden demise, and other things of mutual interest. Matty and Bass went for an ale and drank that to the memory of their friend. They had another ale, and then yet another.
It was very late when Matty and Bass finally stumbled out of Bromsky's.
-=-=-
"Gentlemen, I am very grateful that you agreed to see me. The news of the accidents that have occured here have reached me, and let me assure you that I feel very sad about this," Sir Baldwin addressed the board of AeroParts. "You may recall my previous letters, in which I warned you that my company had discovered flaws in the automatons that are operational in your company. It may not come as a surprise, gentlemen, that your company is not the only one who has suffered horrible accidents like the ones you have faced. We know of at least three other businesses that..."
The immaculately dressed man shook his head. "Let me spare you the gruesome details, dear sirs. Two of the three enterprises I am referring to have by now eliminated the faulty automatons and replaced them by the models that my company has presented to them. I do value your wisdom to allow me a presentation of our best model. We call it our Autonomous Mechanical Man mark 3, AMM3 in short."
Sir Baldwin looked to the side, where two men stood, next to a large black metal man. "AMM3, approach." The black automaton emitted a few clicking sounds, stood straight and walked over to the person who had summoned him. The heavy footsteps made the floor shudder.
Sir Baldwin, with the huge automaton looming over him, turned to the group of men in front of him. "Feel free, gentlemen, to step forward and examine our AMM3. And if you decide to purchase this model, I am inclined to offer you a nice price. Out of respect of the people who lost their lives..."
-=-=-
A rather thin man, wearing a black suit, opened his big leather bag. The constable who had called for him was talking to the ladies who had made the shocking discovery in the park. The thin man opened the jacket of the man who had been pulled from the lake. "This has to stop someday," he muttered as he put his goggles on and examined the large gaping wound in the dead man's chest. "Clean through. As was to be expected..."
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About the author:
I am an IT consultant who loves reading and writing.
I've been an amateur-author since years, writing SciFi, Fantasy and lately also Steampunk. My home is in the Netherlands.
I hope you liked my short steampunk story "Aeroparts Factory".
If you want to connect with me online:
Twitter: https://twitter.com/pagan_paul
My website: https://www.nlpagan.net
