Of Steel and Steam: A Limited Edition Anthology

by Pauline Creeden

  “Send out an emergency signal!” Matt yelled. “We can stop the race in its tracks. We have to try.”

  Ricky sighed, pushing the bottom of one foot against the wall. “I can’t do that. It would be job suicide for all of us. I am not about to admit I did something wrong.”

  “Padico could die,” Matt cried out. “Don’t you care what happens to him?”

  “He’s already dead,” Ricky huffed, scowling fiercely. “There’s nothing we can do that will reach him in time.” He strolled across the garage, placing one hand on his junior’s shoulder. “Why should we lose everything as well?” He snatched the plans, ripping them to shreds. “Today was an unfortunate case of driver error.”

  “He isn’t dead yet!” Matt exclaimed, heading for the door. He rubbed his eyes. It was hot enough to see traces of the heat lingering in the air; then came a flash.

  Sheet lightning? No. That blinding light hadn’t originated in the sky. It was shooting upward, reaching for the horizon. The column ignited in flames, a black cloud appearing above the fiery display. A boom louder than thunder confirmed what he was witnessing was in fact an explosion. He was too late.

  Next to the deafening holler of the detonation, the sirens of emergency vehicles were but a whisper. Matt watched the flashing lights disappearing in the distance. It was a miracle they went at all. By the time the rescue team reached the site, there was little chance anything in the vehicle’s radius would be found living. On top of that, water was precious, especially in high temperatures. It wasn’t likely to rain anytime soon, after all. The amount of liquid it would take to put out a vehicle fire came with a hefty price tag. No one was going to offer to foot the bill for one driver’s life, even if he was a star.

  Padico’s fate was sealed the moment he decided to participate in the race. From start to finish, the project was doomed. The fallout was still to come. Ricky might have believed Padico was the end of things, but it wasn’t likely. Another head was bound to roll, maybe even more than one. Only time would tell.

  Chapter 7

  It was nothing short of a miracle he survived, even if he was considered a genius in the racing community. Still, Padico wasn’t going to be driving anytime soon, if ever again. It wasn’t a matter of his limbs—they were all intact. The burns he sustained were the problem. His pretty boy looks were gone; his right side covered in unsightly burns. No one wanted to play with a toy that was damaged.

  Faced with death, however, instincts clicked in. Survival was all that mattered. His mind emptied of all reason. The explosion threw his body clear of the wreck. From there, he rolled through the sand extinguishing the flames. A large rock provided enough shade for him to exist until help arrived. By then, there was only pain. Even so, the will to live was strong, clouding his judgment. He had no idea how bad things really were.

  Heat radiated all over, stabbing in waves from one area to the next. It was sheer agony—stinging—burning. The smell of cooking flesh overtook everything else, but it went deeper than that. The smouldering reached all the way down to his bones.

  Padico wept, tears evaporating before having a chance to be shed. His mind screamed out, voice silenced by the pain, throat gurgling his own liquids. A trail of red dripped down his chin from his lips. The trembling took over—a wave of cold bringing shivers. Eyelids fluttered, struggling to remain open. They lost the battle—the events of his life flashing before his eyes. For the first time he was afraid. No matter what, he didn’t want this to be the end.

  The whiz of engines racing by added a slew of spices to his wounds. One by one, his competition were all passing him by—the sweetness of victory within their grasps. All his tongue could taste was burned metal mixed with salt. That was probably the last thing he’d ever remember about racing.

  Padico inhaled deeply, his breath raspy and wheezing. If even one driver stopped, he’d live, but no one would. No one cared. That was reality. Society was all for oneself and none for others. They’d been bred that way—to not have any affiliations—no love—no feelings. He hadn’t noticed how wrong that thinking was until the moment he needed a bit of compassion.

  The side of his mouth curled up slightly. A weak chuckle followed. In all his races he never considered stopping for the injured either. Lack of emotion was the reason he had this job in the first place—that and his stunning looks. Loosing either made him nothing more than an additional hungry face to feed in a sea of thousands.

  Right—wrong—the two words meant the same thing. When did people grow accustomed to being told which path to follow? Who made the decision as to what fell within the parameters of each? It took coming within inches of his death to see how messed up things really were. Of course, none of that mattered now. Men always repented when the end neared.

  A low buzz in his ears became louder, his mind understanding the meaning. It wasn’t aftershock, or other racers. There were sirens heading his way. Somewhere between him and the starting line they were wailing louder than a baby. Padico huffed out a breath. More than likely it was merely the wreck recovery unit. Ambulances were only dispatched if necessary.

  Flashing green lights were stronger than eyelids. They meant little in reality, serving merely as a way to let drivers know they were collecting the scrap metal of a failed run. He’d been right, but how long had he been unconscious between the realization and their arrival? Padico attempted to raise his arm, but it, as the rest of his body, refused to move. His condition was deteriorating. The end wasn’t far off. Albeit, there were better places to die than sharing the shade of a rock with a species of lizard he’d never seen before.

  “Over here,” a man yelled. “I found his body.”

  “Good job,” another man replied. “We won’t have to mark missing in action on the death papers.”

  “Wait!” the first man shrieked. “I think he’s still breathing.”

  A pile of dust flew up where the second man’s cap landed. “That’s just our luck,” he sighed. “I hate it when they linger. The paperwork has to stay on my desk for weeks while they stretch out kicking the bucket.” He shook his head. “I was sure this one would be a clean kill.”

  “Should I call for an ambulance?”

  “No,” the second man replied, scratching his head. “Put him in the rear with the wreck. It’ll take less time and money. If we are lucky, he’ll expire before we make it back. If not, we saved the organizers a few bucks.”

  “Aye!”

  A few bucks. That was all his life was worth. No one cared about the past—all those years of service and spectacular races. No one cared if he was in pain. He was replaceable with the snap of the fingers. Understanding his own insignificance was worse than any physical pain could ever cause. The world would go on without him, never even blinking. In a year, or perhaps even a month, he’d be all but forgotten.

  Chapter 8

  Matt shivered, a chill racing down his spine. No matter how many times he gulped back, the bitter taste of bad luck remained lodged in his throat. The universe had dealt him a losing hand on purpose—blatantly mocking him—egging him on to try to make something of it. Fists balled at his side. Crying had never been his style. He needed to turn things around, forcing excellence from the truly horrendous.

  He had a chance—just one. He’d spill it all during his interview with the officials from Padico’s sponsor team. If anyone was to blame for the accident, it was Ricky. His actions needed to be held accountable, but with his tenure, it wasn’t going to be easy. The rest of the mechanics team were tight-lipped, serving their own interests first.

  Matt pulled at the collar of his shirt. It was his first time wearing fancy clothes. They weren’t his style, after all. Life was always better when it belonged to someone else—at least that’s what he thought. Seeing things up close, he already knew he was better off with his feet planted firmly on the ground below. This society was all about being the prettiest, the strongest, the wealthiest. Deep down, it was all lies. Sky dwellers were no different tha
n those on the surface. Life was simply candy-coated up there. It was almost worth his sympathy—keeping up such a farce must have been exhausting.

  “Matt!” Gerone exclaimed, arms wide open. “How wonderful to finally meet you in person.” He embraced the air around the junior mechanic without ever actually touching him.

  “Likewise,” Matt mumbled.

  Gerone’s expression soured. “Horrible circumstances, of course... simply terrible” He shook his head. “Padico was such an amazing driver.”

  “He’s not dead,” Matt blurted out, biting his lip right after. Did he have the right to talk back to his superior? “I mean, he is still in the hospital. He could still make a full recovery.”

  Gerone chuckled. “You are entirely correct. He still could. It’s a shame they can’t do anything about his appearance, though.”

  “The way he looks has nothing to do with his driving skill,” Matt replied, watching his liaison carefully.

  “That’s true.” Gerone held up one finger. “Albeit, we can’t have him presenting to our affiliates, now can we? I wouldn’t want to scare away any of the ladies. They were so fond of his glowing features before.”

  “Ladies?” Matt said, brow rose.

  “No worries,” Gerone chuckled. “There won’t be any at your meeting. It’s more formal than the racer and sponsor get-together gatherings are. You are perfectly acceptable in the common dress we provided for you.”

  Matt glanced down at his ensemble. Pants, a jacket, a stiff white shirt, and a tie were hardly everyday clothes. Even his shoes had been changed. These ones were shiny enough to reflect his own image in. “I thought I was simply answering a few questions. Did you bring the whole team up?”

  “No,” Gerone admitted. “There was no need. We only want to speak to Ricky and yourself. Everyone else issued a supporting statement.”

  A supporting statement. What did that even mean? Matt’s heart beat at twice the normal rhythm—his stomach muscles tensing as if ready to vomit. The coming events were as unpredictable as the fear balling inside his throat. He gulped it back. Human instincts were the one part of existence he was solely in control of. They would remain his, provided no one knew they existed.

  Masking strong emotions was easier than he expected. They travelled through his veins, sent shivers up and down his spine, even left the beginnings of goosebumps behind as calling cards, but never once did they make it past his muscles and skin to take a firm visual form. Holding a straight face was his first and last line of defence. If anyone found out his strategy, they’d blow it to pieces, along with everything else he held dear.

  “Come along,” Gerone urged. “We don’t want to keep busy people waiting. We’ll all feel better when this whole catastrophe is behind us.” He opened a door, pushing Matt through only using the very tips of his fingers.

  Swivel chairs: they all had one. Twelve plush places to rest a weary tush, each one filled to the brim. He glanced at each of the faces, registering none. It was their hats he focused on. They were big, larger even than their wearers’ egos. A light breeze could have snatched one right off a head, if they weren’t careful. They wouldn’t last five minutes on the surface.

  Matt glanced at the windows replacing walls. Odds were in any cloud city there were no gentle movements in the regulated air. There were no gusts or storms, either. It was the same everyday for eternity. He’d only been there a short time and already understood where their boredom stemmed from.

  “It’s about time,” a man huffed from a seat at the end. He placed his hat on the table, free hand patting down the comb-over hairstyle he’d been hiding. “Have a seat, Gerone.” He twirled the end of his thinning moustache. “You, too.”

  Matt nodded, heading for the first empty chair.

  “Not there,” the man bellowed, pointing to a plain chair off to the side of the main table. “There.”

  Matt glanced at the unsophisticated folding chair. He’d been a fool to think they’d allow him the benefit of a larger, more comfortable seat. He was no one, after all. The question was: where did Ricky sit? The answer to that was all he needed to know to understand the proceeding he’d been called to. He opened his mouth, only to have it shut again with force.

  “Our names aren’t important,” the man declared. “I’m the only one who will be speaking directly to you. You will answer every question clearly and concisely. Is that understood?”

  Matt nodded from his corner perch. “How should I address you?”

  “You shouldn’t,” the man huffed, pausing. “Should it be necessary you can address me as chairman.”

  “Thank you, chairman,” Matt said, the knots in his stomach growing tighter by the minute. He already knew an experience, unlike any other in his life, was about to begin.

  “Our meeting here today is in connection with the recent crash,” the chairman began. “We understand you were a member of the mechanical crew.”

  “I was...”

  The chairman held up one hand. “Yes or no will do.”

  “Yes,” Matt answered.

  “Before construction you had a set of plans you desperately wanted to show the driver, is that correct?” the chairman inquired.

  “Yes,” Matt answered, “they were...”

  The chairman spoke over his words. “I understand the driver turned down your proposal. Is that correct?”

  “Yes,” Matt replied. “But...”

  “But you still insisted your design was better,” the chairman bellowed. “You saw it as your chance to replace Ricky as the head mechanic.”

  “That’s not the reason...”

  “So you deny that you wanted the position?” the chairman asked in a gruff voice. Piercing grey eyes peered over a pair of glasses, the lines between his brows undeniably closer.

  “No,” Matt replied.

  “You admit it, then,” the chairman smirked. “Let the records show...”

  “But there was more to it than just that,” Matt blurted out, amidst grumblings. “A part of me did want the position... it still does. I am not denying that, however, there were major flaws in the design the master mechanic presented.”

  “Major flaws?” the chairman echoed. “The driver’s vehicle blew up. How much worse than that can a design be?” He shook his head. “You in the end agreed to build the vehicle according to the master mechanic’s instructions, correct?”

  “I did.” Matt’s head hung low. If he had spoken up again would anyone have listened? “I’m not proud of what I did.”

  “I should say not,” the chairman huffed. “Sneaking your own untested vision in as you did.” He pushed a bunch of loose hair from his face. “I don’t know how you switched the plans at the last minute, but a driver is in the hospital because of you... a popular one at that.”

  “What?!” Matt exclaimed.

  “I don’t understand the ins and outs of it, but pulling the safety cooling to allow for extra speed was dangerous.” The chairman pulled out a file.

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” Matt said, glancing from one face to another. “I was opposed to the entire system, including the radical changes to the cooling system. No one would listen to me.”

  “We have already had testimony from the master mechanic!” the chairman bellowed. “He’s been with the team for a long time. Why would he lie?”

  “To cover up his own mistakes,” Matt grumbled.

  “It’s your word against his.” The chairman folded his hands on the table before him. “I suppose there is one way for the truth to shine. Let’s have a race.” A grin twitched its way onto his face. “Of course, you’ll need to find a driver for yourself.”

  “You are going to sponsor me?” Matt asked.

  “You can stop grinning,” the chairman replied. “We aren’t footing the bill for anything of yours. I’m afraid we have already sided with Ricky. Unfortunately, it is his word against yours. Other than the rest of the team’s statements, there is no concrete proof either way. The on
ly fair thing is to give you a chance to prove yourself.”

  “A generous opportunity,” Gerone praised.

  “And if I refuse?” Matt asked, changing the gleeful atmosphere.

  “You can’t!” the chairman declared. “We aren’t offering you a choice. Besides, you have an entire family to support. Without your current job, who knows what will happen to them. You have a younger sister, don’t you? The family may have to sell her to make ends meet.”

  Matt gasped. They knew about his family, but how? He’d made sure to keep them a secret from his coworkers, never once mentioning them. He bowed his head, conceding. “Fine.” He’d been a fool. He’d always considered himself too trivial for the upper class to keep tabs on—always believed he could keep his family safe. “What about supplies?”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to put together a team of your own for those,” the chairman smirked. “Perhaps your could find some lying around somewhere. You have six weeks.” He banged a tiny hammer on the table. “Meeting adjourned. Gerone, show him out.”

  Six weeks to find materials, a driver, and build a winning vehicle—that was a lot to ask of one man. Still, he had to do it. He was going to win no matter what. That’s all that mattered.

  Chapter 9

  So far, he had made a list. It wasn’t even a detailed one, either. Matt leaned back against the bench, just outside the hospital grounds. Number one was to find a driver. He’d spent two sleepless nights considering his choices. They weren’t good by any means. In fact, most skilled enough for the job weren’t even going to let him within two feet. News of his escapades had made their rounds. No one wanted to work on any team he was the leading mechanic for. Just because they had all given up on him, didn’t mean he was giving up on himself. There was still hope.