by Steven Bohls
“To save the world, of course.”
“I’m pretty sure you have the wrong kid,” Jed said. “I don’t even know who I am.”
“That’s all right,” he said, “I know enough about you for the both of us.”
Jed’s heart fluttered in his chest. “You do? What’s going on? I woke up, and I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t know my own name or who the people lying next to me were. And then I heard your voice inside my head. How did you do that? Where am I? What is this place?”
The man patted the air with both hands. “Slow down,” he said. “I’ll answer all your questions soon. Your name is Jed. And you are my son.”
“What? You’re my dad?”
The man nodded. “I built you. A long time ago. And the people you were with, they took you from me. They’re dangerous people. But you’re safe here now, with me.”
“Why can’t I remember you? Why can’t I remember anything?”
“You must have used the Guardian Key.”
“I don’t remember,” Jed said. “What does it do?”
“You were built to save this world—to act as a guardian for your people. You have special abilities and power locked inside you. The Guardian Key shuts you down to start your powers. Once activated, your body reawakens. All of the gears inside you begin to turn again. The gears in your mind, however, take longer. You will regain your memory. Give it time. But I must emphasize: It is critical that we begin your training immediately.”
Jed studied the man. He tried to remember him as his father, but nothing came. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”
“That’s a good question,” the man said. “I suppose I don’t have a good answer for you, but I’ve already saved your life twice. That’s got to count for something.”
“Twice?”
“Once from the kidnappers, once from the dread.”
Jed wanted to say Alice actually saved him from the dread, and he wasn’t so sure about the kidnappers.
“Why is your face covered?” Jed asked.
“Apologies for this,” the man said, touching his cheek. “I was recently injured. I need time to heal.” He reached to the back of his head and began unwrapping the bandages. Black gauze fell away until slivers of gold shined through the gaps. He removed the rest of the bandages and smiled at Jed.
Skin covered most of his face, but patches of golden gears spun in his left cheek, jaw, and forehead.
Familiarity churned in Jed. He knew this face.
“I…I know you from somewhere,” Jed said. He was certain that buried in his memory he’d seen the man. He could almost see his face in…in a photograph.
The man nodded. “Of course you do. You’re my son.”
But the word son felt wrong to Jed.
“Let me formally welcome you aboard the Endeavor,” the man continued. “I am the captain of this rig. The crew calls me Admiral, but you can call me Lyle.”
Jed
Jed touched the center of his chest where his skin was still healing over the golden gears. Lyle’s face—it was made of the same metal as the gold in his chest. Maybe the man was his father, like he said. Jed was convinced that he had a father—something inside him was sure of it—but if it was Lyle, why couldn’t Jed remember him?
He walked to the window in Lyle’s cabin and stared at the cliffs opposite the Endeavor. Ropes dangled like tentacles from the tops of them, descending to a dry bank on the opposite side of the river. Dread slithered down them in swarms, landing on the bank.
Two knocks sounded at the cabin door. Lyle looked up. “Come in,” he said.
Zix entered, hands clasped behind his back. One of his green eyes extended and swiveled to look at Jed. The other watched Lyle. “The dread are dropping into the canyon,” he said. “They’re on their way.”
“How many?” Lyle asked.
“I sent Brindle to get a count. He came back reporting a couple thousand—maybe more.”
Lyle rubbed his eyes. “Brindle can’t count worth scrap,” he sighed. “That could mean five hundred or thirty thousand.”
Zix nodded. “I know. But you told me that we have one hour. I need my best dragonflies patching the Endeavor, not counting dread. And…well, Brindle isn’t exactly one of my best.”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter anyway,” Lyle said. “Five hundred isn’t much different than thirty thousand when we’re sitting out in the open at the bottom of this gorge.”
“What should I tell the crew?” Zix asked.
“Tell them whatever will help get the job done. How many more junk runs do we need to make?”
Zix scrunched his lips to the side and stared up at the ceiling as he ran calculations. “We could use another fifteen runs, to be honest, but I’ll bet we could get the bare essentials in four—if we get lucky with the digs. There’s a salvage site nearby that might have everything we need. Most of our dragonflies can get there in twenty minutes.”
Lyle tapped his chin. “That’s forty minutes round trip, which means only fifteen or twenty minutes for installation and wiring.”
“I’ve got a good crew of dragonflies,” Zix said. “They’ll get it done.”
“Make it happen.”
Zix nodded once and walked out.
“How are the dread going to get across the river?” Jed asked.
Lyle shook his head. “We’ll be fine.”
“But if they do reach us, what then? A train’s boxcar door isn’t going to stop them.”
“That’s true. But, even if it did, I’m guessing a whole fleet of dreadnoughts is on its way—probably from every direction. That horde is the least of our problems.”
“Why do all of them want to kill me so badly?” Jed asked.
“It’s not you they want,” Lyle said. “They are more likely after me.”
“Why?”
Lyle sighed. “It’s a long story, but the short of it is that I helped create them. I gave them life. They used to think I was their king, but someone’s convinced them that I betrayed them and am trying to kill them. Most of them have turned against me and have been hunting me ever since. I created the Endeavor in case I ever lost control of them and needed to escape this place…which, unfortunately seems to be the case now….I never expected the dread to be able to organize as quickly as they’ve managed. The Endeavor and its crew simply wasn’t prepared for this.”
“You made those things?” Jed took a step backward, away from Lyle.
“That’s an even longer story. But they are wrong; I never betrayed them. The dread are greedy, and one of them is spreading lies about me to seize control. I’ve never met the traitor…only heard his name.”
“Swillface Clunkrucket,” Jed said.
Lyle looked up. “How do you know that?”
Jed hadn’t meant to speak. The words just fell out of his mouth. “I heard the name, too,” he said, his voice more than suspicious.
Lyle squinted, knowing that Jed wasn’t telling him everything, but he didn’t press the issue. “Yes, Swillface Clunkrucket. He’s rallied most of the dread forces.”
“How many is that?” Jed asked.
“About thirty battlenoughts, two dozen ghostnoughts, ninety fully armed dreadnoughts, and nearly seventy thousand dread soldiers.”
“And none of them follow you anymore?” Jed asked.
“Less than twenty thousand. But nearly all of them are on the front lines trying to hold back Clunkrucket. There’s also another ten thousand or so not following anyone and just running around the barge like wild dogs.”
“Did you betray them?” Jed asked. “Like Swillface says you did?”
“I didn’t shoot down that ship,” Lyle said, not really answering the question. “Clunkrucket is a liar.”
“And if what you said is true—that he’s coming for us—what are we going to do?”
“Let Zix and the dragonflies work on that. You and I have something more important to do.”
“What?”
Lyle lightly slapped both of his palms flat on the desk. “Right now, I could really go for some eggs. Are you hungry?”
“Am I hungry?”
“I can’t imagine you found anything worth eating in a place like this—certainly not eggs. Am I right?”
Jed looked out the window again. “Why does it matter whether I’m hungry or not? You just said a fleet is coming to kill us.”
“And there’s nothing you or I can do about that. I don’t have dragonfly wings to fly for salvage parts, and I’m not a ship’s engineer. You and I would just get in the way. So, we can stare out the window at the dread, or we can go make some eggs. Which sounds better?”
Lyle stood and beckoned Jed to follow without waiting for an answer. They entered a new boxcar, accessible through the other end of his cabin.
Once inside, Jed no longer felt like he was in a train. The space had been transformed into a kitchen complete with a double oven, an open range cooktop, warming drawers, pantries, cupboards, and a sink recessed into a small, granite-covered island countertop.
Lyle walked to the stove and turned one of the knobs. It clicked as the igniter sparked. A whoosh of flames danced to life.
“How do you like your eggs?” he asked.
“I don’t remember,” Jed said.
“Hard-boiled? Soft-boiled? Scrambled?”
Jed shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Omelet? Sunny side up? Over easy? Over medium? Over hard? Poached? Baked? Basted? Spanish fried? Coddled? Anything ringing a bell?”
“Sorry.”
“Poached it is, then. Grab me a pot, will you?”
Jed lifted a copper pot from the hook hanging above the island and held it out toward Lyle.
“Come on over.” Lyle motioned. “I’ll show you how to poach an egg. Go ahead and fill the pot half-full of water, add just a splash of vinegar, and set it to a steady simmer.” He stepped back and allowed Jed to complete the instructions. “The key,” he said as Jed worked, “is fresh eggs. If your egg isn’t fresh, it doesn’t matter how perfectly you cook it, it won’t turn out the way you want.”
“Where do you get fresh eggs out here?” Jed asked.
“Not from a can, I’ll tell you that much.” Lyle’s face twisted in disgust. “We don’t eat garbage on the Endeavor.”
He opened a refrigerator door and selected a single egg from a wicker basket. He held the egg in two fingers in front of Jed’s face. “The ability to poach an egg says a lot about one’s grace. One misstep, and instead of a delicacy, you end up with yolk-flavored water.” He tapped the egg once on the granite countertop and a thin line split the shell in two. Then he poured the contents into a small ceramic dish.
Lyle waited for the water to heat up, then he took a metal spoon and swirled the water in a circle until it formed a gentle whirlpool. He carefully poured the egg with its unbroken yolk into the center of the swirling water. The whites of the egg turned with the current and wrapped the yolk in a thin cocoon. After a few minutes, he scooped up the egg with a slotted spoon and waited for the water to drip away before carefully setting it onto a plate.
The egg was beautiful—clean, and white, and a flawless teardrop shape. Lyle grinded two twists of pepper and one twist of salt over the egg, then handed the plate to Jed.
“Tell me what you think,” Lyle said.
Jed took a fork and cut into the center. Bright yellow spilled onto the plate. He put the bite on his tongue and an explosion of memory coursed through him. Smoked salmon with cream cheese and lemon, foie gras sorbet, warm lobster benedict, fresh avocados, and tiramisu. A thousand colors and flavors burst through his mouth as if he were tasting them all for the first time—the texture of hazelnut-crusted halibut on his tongue…the smell of fresh-baked cinnamon bread in the morning…the sizzle of browned butter in a pan.
The sensations were overwhelming. He closed his eyes, drinking in the tastes and smells and memories of a lifetime of food.
“Are you all right?” Lyle asked.
The memories evaporated as Jed was pulled back to the present. He chewed slowly on the poached egg. It wasn’t fancy, but it was cooked perfectly, a wonderfully fresh egg, delicately poached and subtly seasoned.
“I remember,” Jed said.
A look of hesitation crossed Lyle’s face. “Remember what?”
“Food. Every bite I’ve ever taken.”
Lyle smiled. “Now, isn’t that much better than watching a horde of ugly monsters gather to try and kill you?”
Jed’s stomach tightened at the thought. He nodded uncertainly.
Together, they poached another egg. This time, Lyle letting Jed do most of the work while he made two slices of toast.
Not long after they’d finished eating, a light knock sounded at the door.
“Well,” Lyle said, dabbing the corners of his mouth with a napkin, “I suppose it’s time to get back to threats of death. Come in,” he called.
Zix entered. “We were able to salvage enough from the junk runs to get the ion battery online.”
“Power it up. We need to act quickly. If the horde doesn’t get to us soon, Clunkrucket’s dreadnoughts will.”
“Oh,” Zix said, his green eyes shrinking back into their sockets, “the horde will get us first.”
Jed walked to the window. While he and Lyle had been making eggs, the horde had launched dozens of grappling hooks from their bank into the junk above the Endeavor. Hundreds of dread shimmied upside down along the cables toward the train, creeping rapidly along like giant metal spiders.
And the first wave was nearly across the river.
Jed
“They’re coming,” Jed said. “We have to do something.”
Lyle’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “You’re probably right. I’d say we have about fifteen seconds to figure something out, or we’re all dead.”
Jed’s jaw slackened and his gaze drifted up to meet Lyle’s. “Are you—are you serious?”
“Of course I’m not,” he said with a half smirk and a wink. “Do you really think I would have spent the last hour in the kitchen if I didn’t think we had a plan?”
“Then how are we going to get out of here?” Jed asked, looking for some secret exit.
Lyle gave him a knowing smile. “We’re not going anywhere. The Endeavor is.” He nodded once to Zix. “Detonate the charges.”
Zix nodded and pulled a lever on one of the walls. A series of small popping explosions crackled in the air. Their boxcar teetered slightly and fell a few inches. Dread scrambled aboard, landing on the roof of the train and skittering down the sides toward the entrances. The boxcar’s sudden movement shook some off, but others clawed at the metal frame and pounded on the windows. Cracks splintered across the extra-thick glass, angry lines spreading in small clusters.
Lyle lifted his hand. “Full throttle in three…two…one…” He dropped his hand as he spoke the next word. “Now!”
Zix smashed his palm into a large button beside the lever.
The boxcar jolted, and Jed grabbed a handhold to keep from falling.
The Endeavor ripped away from the cliff and hovered above the oil river.
Then it began to rise.
Jed scrambled unsteadily to the window and pressed his face against the glass, looking backward and forward. A trail of boxcars hovered in front of him, and just as many hung in the air behind him. The Endeavor was a giant stirring snake swaying in place ever so slightly, as if waking from a deep sleep.
Zix cranked more levers, spun dials, flipped switches, and examined meters. “All systems functional. Engines at two percent. Hull holding steady. Ship-wide communication operational.”
“Ship? This train is a ship?” Jed asked.
Lyle smiled. “Would have been sort of risky hiding out in the bottom of a gorge if she weren’t, right?”
“And it can fly?”
“What do you think she’s doing right now?”
“I mean, really fly.”
Lyle motioned to
a brass crank and a metal panel filled with holes. “Zix, put me on with the crew.”
Zix punched another few buttons, wound the crank, and then nodded. “You’re on.”
Lyle stepped forward and leaned in next to the metal panel. “Dragonflies of the Endeavor, this is your admiral speaking.” His voice crackled overhead with a metallic ring. “Let’s get off this scrap heap, shall we?” Answering roars echoed from boxcars in front and behind theirs. “Everyone to your stations and stay on high alert until we’re clear.” He stepped away from the speaker. “Take us out, Zix.”
Zix slowly pushed a lever forward. The Endeavor inched ahead, drifting over the oil river. “Engines at four percent,” he said. “Holding steady. Five percent…Six percent…”
The ship moved more rapidly the harder Zix pressed the lever. He opened his mouth to continue announcing their progress, but just then, the engines cut out, stopping the ship with a jolt and leaving nothing but silence behind.
Jed’s stomach lurched as the Endeavor started to drop—slowly at first, and then faster and faster.
“Zix!” Lyle shouted. “What is goin—?”
They hit the oil river with a jarring slap. Zix, Lyle, and Jed crumpled to the ground. The Endeavor bobbed in place, floating off-kilter on the thick, oozing surface.
“Main lift thrusters are off-line,” Zix said, scrambling to his feet to adjust dials and check meters.
“Reroute engine thrust,” Lyle commanded. “Divert power to lift boosters one, three, and six. I want this rig back in the air.” He added, his voice low and steady, “Do not let my ship sink into a swamp of garbage.”
Zix nodded quickly. “Yes, Admiral. We’ll get her in the air.” He peered out the window at the oil surrounding their floating train. “She’s got a tight seal. The Endeavor’s not going to sink.”
The cabin door opened and a dragonfly flew into the room. “We’ll have lift thrusters back online in three minutes,” she reported.
A clattering noise sounded against the Endeavor’s hull, making Jed jump. He peered out of a window and saw the dread closing in once again. Hundreds of them still stood on the riverbanks, launching their grappling hooks at the floundering ship. The lucky few who had managed to stay aboard and survive the Endeavor’s crash landing were pounding on the outsides of the boxcar again.
