Steampunk the Second (Also titled The Sequel That Could)

I've been meaning to write more of this story for ages.  And by 'ages' I mean two and a half years...

So I finally got around to it!  I'm sure you all vividly remember the last installment like it was yesterday, but in case you lack superhuman recollection, I'll link it for your benefit.  Enjoy!

Part 1

~~~

Upward

The smell of petroleum and alcohol hung in the air, and laid a suffocating weight on the shallow breaths of an unconscious Hope Fitzgerald.  A doctor managed the right side of the bed.  Thin tubes of near-black fluids had been shunted into her veins: saline, blood, and sedative.  Two large dials were set into the wall at the head of the bed.  One measured Hope’s pulse, and the doctor only rarely glanced at it.  The doctor checked the tin holding the sedative, and wound a valve closed.  The connected tube began to slowly empty.

Two technicians managed the left side of the room.  A large mechanical pump had been attached to a ten gallon drum of grease, and the gears ground out a high-pitched whine as they struggled to move the thick gel through a coiled pipe.  They glanced frequently at the second dial on the wall.  The one that measured steam pressure.

Hope breathed in deeply as she opened her eyes, then coughed violently.  She tried to roll to her side, but only moved her body a bare inch before her left arm jerked her to a halt.  The doctor and technicians laid hands on her, pushing her to her back.  She seized the doctor’s throat, “Tell the men to take their hands off me.”

The doctor motioned frantically at the technicians, and they let her go and backed away.  The doctor blinked panicked eyes, and brushed her blonde hair out of her eyes, “I’m sorry, ma’am.  But you need to lie still until they’re finished.”

“Finished with what?”  Hope snapped, glancing the left side of the room.  Her eyes glanced over the metal drum, and followed the pipes until they connected with an arm and two legs.

Mechanical limbs.  Hers.

The doctor gasped as Hope’s hand tightened around her neck.  “What is this?” the Aubadean whispered.

“They were crushed and dying.  We had to amputate.  The habiliments were installed by government order.”

She pushed the doctor away.  “Government order?”

“Yes.  Shall I send for the ambassador?”

“Please.”

The doctor hurried out, and the technicians worked in silence, avoiding her eyes.  Her heart pounded beneath a forced calm.  She gripped the rail that ran alongside her bed to still the shaking of her hand, and watched as her mechanical hand clenched to match its human pair. 

*

Four faces huddled together in the pale green light, listening closely to the deep humming of a pelluciphage.

“Sounds healthy,” Kioja squinted, “if a little thin.”

“Twenty-seven kilograms and thirty-eight hundredths.  But better dispersion than would be expected for weight so significantly below the median.”  Timmy’s gears spun his calculations, and he rotated his head to face his owner Cass, “We should inform the captain that there is only three thousandths of a percent of it exploding this week.”

She smirked, “Hear that, Captain?”

“Damn tin can,” Marcellus groused.

“Tin is only an – ˮ

“Be a problem, Kioja?” The Captain ignored the automaton.

“A few weeks, and it’ll be as fit as we could hope for.”

“And the lift?”

“If the dispersion is good, it won’t matter,” Cass replied, “Weight shouldn’t affect the process.”

“Technically – ” Timmy began.

“No more than fifty meters,” Kioja smiled, “And that should be corrected in a fortnight.”

“Good enough.  You have cargo for us?”

Kioja shrugged, “I’ve said a few words; I’ve heard a few answers.”

“Then have it loaded and we’ll put this engine through its paces.”

“If you lack confidence, then why not sell it and purchase a replacement,” Timmy released steam through a facial valve.

“I’d rather not get shot.” Captain Marcellus shot an irritated look at the automaton.

“You don’t return a gift,” Cass leaned against Timmy, “But would they really shoot you?” she asked the Captain.

Marcellus nodded to Kioja who didn’t bother to look up, “Probably.”

“You don’t return gifts.” The Captain echoed Cass, “Not in Woodburn.”

“Explosions happen sometimes, too,” Kioja added absently.

*

The technician shut the valve a moment before Hope tore herself from the tubing, the remaining oil and grease falling in uneven spheres before erupting across the floor.  The pump strained against the closed valve and smoke began easing from its motor.  Hope pushed the protesting doctor away and pushed herself off the gurney.

Her legs gave out beneath her, but she felt nothing as the metal joints pounded cracks through the tile.  She swore and gripped the side of the gurney and tried to pull herself up, her mechanical arm bending the metal rail it held.  The bed tore from its floor mounting, sending massive bolts into the pump and the vat of grease beside it, spilling gallons onto one of the technicians.  A gear slipped, a belt broke, and smoke filled the room.

Hope forced motion into one of her mechanical legs, wrenching it forward until only one knee touched the ground.  She pushed herself to her feet and shuffled unevenly across the room, edging out the door, just as the grease caught fire.

A technician threw a lever, and a hatch opened in the ceiling.  Thick powder fell through the smoke, smothering the flames before they spread.  The two technicians and the doctor stumbled out of the room, coughing violently.

“Ma’am,” A young woman cleared her throat beside Hope Fitzgerald, “I’m the local diplomat and represent the city of Woodburn.”

“The hell you do,” she breathed heavily as she struggled to move her new legs, “You work for a man.  Send him to speak with me.”

The diplomat blinked, “But – ˮ

“You are too young to run an embassy, girl.  Which means you have a superior, likely a man.  They only sent you so as not to offend me,” the Aubadean ground her teeth, “I am beyond offense.  So get the man who ordered these machines attached to my body, or I will drive your pretty face through the nearest wall.”

“No need,” a smooth voice heralded a well-groomed man, “I ordered the surgery.”

“Why?  How dare you so deface my body?!”

“Well,” the man smiled, “It was a choice between that and sending you back to the capital with only one arm and a torso.”  He chuckled mirthlessly, “Diplomatically speaking, just how well do you think the A.E. would respond to you returning in such a condition?”

Hope Fitzgerald tried to still her rage, “You could have sent for Aubadean habiliments.”

“Quite impossible, Ms. Fitzgerald.”

She started at the mention of her name.

“You would have died by the time they arrived, particularly given the bureaucratic hell involved in such an import.  And we would have been seen as complicit in your death.  Unacceptable.  Your feelings in the matter were incidental.”  He gestured toward the young woman and she produced a sheaf of papers, “These are travel papers.  After a few weeks of recovery, we’ll ship you to the A.E. factory on Hindenberg.”

Hope glanced at the papers, but didn’t take them.  “Who are you?”

“Josia Dominik.”

“Then Mr. Dominik, I will decline.  I leave at once, and I will arrange my own transport.”

A slight frown crossed the man’s face, but he nodded, “As you will.”

She pushed past him, her legs moving in jerks across the hospital floor.

*

Kioja watched the daybreak from under the half-petrified wood of an abandoned market stall, a few hesitant drops of nightfall making pools of darkness in the mud of Woodburn’s slums. 

“Day won’t last an hour.”  A rough voice said from behind him.

“It’s the season,” Kioja replied.  “Long nights, short days.”

A grunt, “Good weather for smuggling.”

Kioja smiled, “We need it loaded.”

“I’ll have your cargo at the tower in an hour.”

Kioja began to walk away.

“Why not stay?” The voice asked, “They won’t ever accept you.  Your duchess and her pet captain.”  A pause, “There’s no place for Bercs above the clouds.”

“The Lyric is my home.”  Kioja continued walking, “And the clouds have yet to take offense.”

*

By the time Hope reached Woodburn’s airdock, what remained of her legs were bleeding badly, staining the polished copper of her habiliments a glossy red.  She wore a Berc blouse and trousers.  Cheaply made castaways that Josia had scrounged from the hospital unclaimed.  They stank of peroxide, sweat, and disease.  The twilight spat alternating bursts of heavy night and clear day.  The nightfall left her dripping, and the sun never had quite enough time to dry her.

Her mane of white hair, however damp, still marked her as an airborne.  Passerby, and even steamcars, went to great lengths as to not cross her path.

She limped across the airdock, her footprints a portrait of darkness with the slightest hint of red.  Walls far apart caught the wind and spun it wildly around and upward.  The tower stood on the other side of the airdock, several hundred meters tall.  At regular intervals, massive spokes stretched out from its sides.  Most had airships attached, while a few stood empty, waiting for new arrivals.  The airdock arced over half of the tower, sheltering the airships from the intermittent nightfall, and left the other half open for the incoming and outgoing.

“You lost?”  A big man approached her hesitantly as he used a rag to clean his hands.  “No passenger ships stop at Woodburn.  Not unless they’re charter.”

Hope jerked her legs to a halt, and grimaced past a jolt of pain.  “A train derailed, and an airship rescued some of its passengers.  Which one is it?”

“That’d be the Lyric.”

“Which pier?”

The man glanced at the blood on her habiliments, “And who might you be, ma’am?”

“One of the survivors.  I want to pay my respects.”  Hope ground her teeth, “You can see I’m in pain, do you intend to help me or not?”

“Take the lift.  Eleven B.”  The Berc paused, “You need help?”

She ignored the offer.

*

Captain J shepherded a mass of men off the cargo lift and directed them to the Lyric’s hold.  “Timmy!”  He waved at the automaton, “Fetch Cass and get these stowed.”

“Should I remind you that using me for manual labor is a gross misuse of resources?”

“Save it for later, you tin can!  We have work to do.”  He gestured to the men as they hefted large boxes, and filed onto the airship, “Follow the bot and do as it says.”

Timmy hissed out steam and muttered as he turned, “Merely an additive.”

Captain J ushered the last of the men on board, and glanced back along the pier to ensure nothing had been forgotten.  Instead, he saw a tall woman limping her way towards him.  “You’re lost, ma’am.”  She drew closer, and her dark skin and white hair marked her as an Aubadean, likely high class.  He swore under his breath, “Is there something I can help you with?”  He looked over her legs, blinking at the Berc habiliments, “Some medical attention, perhaps?”

“Don’t waste my time.” She snapped, “Are you the captain?”

“Yes.”

“Then give me your name.”

A paused, “Captain Marcellus,” he replied reluctantly.

“Marcellus,” she frowned, “Jedediah.  Sponsored by the Blake family.” She walked past him, “And if I’m not mistaken, their daughter flies with you.”

“Just a moment, ma’am!” Captain J forced himself back in front of her, “We’re loading cargo at the moment, and its a bit chaotic on board.  In your state it’d be a mite dangerous.”

“My state?” She growled back, raising her mechanical arm and grasping his shirt, “You will take me on board, you will find Ms. Blake, and I will inform her of my business.”  She lifted him off his feet and carried him on board while he dangled from her hand.

He was dumped in a heap by the Aubadean woman, and he scrambled to his feet.  “At once,” he grumbled, making his way to the helm.  Beside the wheel there was a small platform upon which sat a handful of telegraph keys.  He pressed down several in succession, and after a moment two small rollers fed out a sequence of symbols.  A glance and then he typed out a response.  “She’ll be up in a moment.  I don’t suppose you’d bother telling me why you’re troubling us?”

The woman didn’t respond, and Captain J sighed.  A few moments later, Cass emerged from the hold, she saw Captain J first and shrugged her confusion.  He nodded towards the Aubadean.  Cass stopped abruptly, “Why are you aboard my ship?”

“I am Hope Fitzgerald, and you will fly me to Reinhardt with all haste.”

“The capital?” Cass asked slowly.  She glanced at Marcellus who almost imperceptibly shook his head, “I’m afraid that’s quite out of the question.”

“I was not making a request.”

Captain J stepped between them, “You’ll have to respect Ms. Blake’s … ˮ

“Ms. Blake is a would-be alchemist that almost blew her family’s island out of the sky!  I represent the Emporium.  And I will be accorded the proper respect or I will throw you off of your own aircraft!”

Captain J frowned, “Emporium agents do not wear Berc habiliments, and they certainly don’t dress in rags.”

“And they aren’t commonly passengers of trains when they derail.”

He blinked, “So … ah.”

Hope turned back to Cass, “The train was derailed by an assassin, and I was the intended target.  Any other ship at this airdock could potentially be in collusion with whatever interests arranged for the sabotage.”

“And we were the ones who saved you,” Cass met the eyes of Captain J, then shrugged, “We can’t take you to Reinhardt.”

“Were you not listening?!”

“One of our engines is damaged.  Until we get it repaired, we don’t have the lift necessary.”

Hope fell silent, then quietly swore.  “Then I’ll stay until it has been repaired.”

“Out of the question!” Captain J protested.

The two women looked at him coldly and he fell silent.

“What manner of crew do you manage?  This one has lost his good sense.”

“I’ll see to it,” Cass turned back to Hope, “that the flaws of his character are corrected.  Thus far he has been a slow learner.”

“Ladies,” Kioja stepped on to the ship, nodding to Cass and handing a parcel to Hope.  “I’ll show you to the Captain’s cabin.  It should suit your needs while you are on board.”

Hope blinked, taking a step away from the Berc, “What is this?”

“Clothes.  I assume you find your current wardrobe somewhat lacking?”

“Yes.”  She frowned, “Where did you procure these?”

“From the market, of course.”

“For Ms. Blake?”

“For you.  Cass has enough clothing I should think.”

Captain J squinted at the alchemist, “How in the hell – ˮ

Kioja shrugged, “A friend told me she was on her way.”  He turned to Hope and bowed, “Allow me to escort you to the Captain’s cabin.”

Hope scowled, but nodded after a moment of hesitation.

Cass sidled over to Marcellus, “How big of a problem will this be, do you think?”

“Get Timmy up here.  I have some questions that need answering.”

*

“Could you have failed any more spectacularly?!”

Sand said nothing.

“None were supposed to survive!  But the woman lives, and very few indeed consider it an accident.”

“If the ship hadn’t arrived – ˮ

“Don’t bother with excuses,” the voice hissed its contempt, “You are meant to prepare for any eventuality!  Interference should have been accounted for.”

Sand shrugged, “If you want miracles, seek out a lightbender.  I cannot account for every chance passerby.  Most captains would not even have stopped.”

Josia Dominik stepped from the shadows, “You are to pursue her.  The agent must die.  Ideally before she reaches Reinhardt.  She has gained passage on the Lyric.  Find them, and finish your job.  Remember, it needs to seem like an accident.”

“Of course.  Where are they headed?”

“Carnegie.  A smuggling run.  Putting their newly outfitted engine to illicit use.”

“And I kill only the woman?”

“Kill them all,” Josia glared at the assassin, “They’re witnesses to your idiocy.  We don’t know how much they saw, and we don’t want them sharing anything compromising.”

Sand stood and walked away from the politician.  His hand drifted to his chest and patted the flintlock hidden beneath his jacket.  Carnegie.  It shouldn’t be too hard to get there before they did.

*