Terra Mechanica: A Steampunk Anthology (16 page)

The boxes of protonium were stacked against the far wall. Danforth hesitated by the door. “Is it safe?”

“Everything’s shielded.”

He went to the boxes and ran a hand along the edge of one. “Excellent.”

“What if I refuse to help you?” asked Valerie—but she already knew the answer.

Danforth slipped a hand inside his jacket—and an instant later he was pointing a large pistol at Valerie’s head. “In that case, I put a bullet through your skull and throw your corpse off this dock. There are others capable of rebuilding the device. Perhaps not as well or as quickly as you, but we’ll manage.”

“Not much of a choice.”

He sat on a box, the gun still pointed directly between her eyes. “If it makes things more palatable, there can be a place for you. One that doesn’t involve cleaning the city’s cellars. I might even be able to get you back into a position where you can use your skills and training. That is, if you do what we want without question.”

His face was pale and glistened with sweat. Suddenly he stood, clapped his hand to his mouth, and took a pace toward the door. Before he could take another step, he fell to his knees and vomited. The gun clattered to the floor.

Valerie stood over him, and kicked the pistol into the corner of the room. “I think not.” She picked up the silent particle detector and flicked a switch. A harsh hissing filled the room. She switched the detector off.

“These boxes don’t contain the protonium. They’re made of the stuff. You’ve been exposed to enough radiant power to kill you twenty times over. You have about an hour. Less, if you’re lucky. It’s not a pleasant way to die.”

The man gasped for breath, sweat dripping from his face. “You’re one of them!”

Valerie went to the door. “Yes—and it’s all because of you. Thank you, Mr. Danforth, for opening my eyes. Goodbye.”

Valerie locked the door, dashed back to the control room as quickly as she could manage inside the cumbersome suit, and thumbed the radio switch as she opened the suit’s faceplate. “Cy!”

The dock’s street doors banged open at that instant, and a dozen uniformed men ran in. They levelled their bolt rifles at the flyer. Valerie slapped the propeller control, full reverse thrust. Nomad inched backward along the docking rail.

The men fired. Lightning coursed through the hull, and Valerie’s arms and legs jerked as the shock came through the metal of the suit. The engine juddered, threatening to stall. Then it picked up again, and the flyer accelerated.

The men lined their weapons up for a second volley, and the flyer slid off the end of the rail and tipped backward, into a tail-first dive.

Valerie was thrown sideways as the aircraft twisted nose down and fell, spinning. She grappled with the controls, pulling the wheel back with all her strength, but it did no good. In the corner of her eye the altitude meter was whirling. Ten thousand feet. Ahead, a rocky surface with sparse trees spun and spun and got closer every second. Seven thousand feet.

Then she realised the propellers were still in reverse thrust, and she slammed the lever all the way forward. Gears ground, then she felt herself accelerating toward the ground even faster. Three thousand feet. She pulled back again on the wheel—and the nose came up as she got the vessel back into level flight.

Her breathing was heavy, her heart thumping in her ears. “Still there, Cy?”

Cy’s voice crackled and faded with the increasing distance. “Don’t look back, Val. I have friends. I’ll find a way out. I’ll meet you on Syberia . . .” His voice was lost in static.

Valerie put the flyer back onto clockwork control, and set course for back to Xochil. The protonium was going back to Castrovalva. They knew how to handle it, and they could deal with Danforth. She had no liking for the man, but the Free people would treat his body with more respect than she felt she could manage at the moment.

Did he deserve respect? She doubted it, but the thought of simply dropping the body to the surface brought a sense of wrongness with it.

She clambered out of the suit, then picked up a book spool from her cabin and went back to the control room. She sighed. Another month in the air to get back to Castrovalva. From there, she’d make her way back to Syberia. She smiled at the thought and settled herself for the long voyage home.

It was not the piercing shrill of bombs falling from the sky nor the thundering sound of their metal shells hitting the ground, but the smell of the carbide that always hit him the hardest.  Their engines were fueled with carbide-heated chambers causing the unforgettable mephitis from the scorching fires within. But as he ran, the screams and smells faded away. Rockets and thunder were replaced with a small, unassuming ticking that came from the pocket watch his father had given him for his eighth birthday.

It was the very one he yearned to give to his son for his birthday only two months and a few weeks hence.  The sound of the watch filled his mind and heart with a sense of peace denied in a war of steel, blood, and steam. A war that had changed from one that bore the call of freedom, to that of attrition.

If he had to drag his body across the battlefield, he would not let himself break this promise. He would see the watch he held tightly to his heart handed down to his son. He gripped his flamethrower, knowing he was one of the last men in his unit with the means to stop the steel beast that was bearing down on them. Only the piercing flame of his weapon could melt through the armored shell and lance deep into the carbide heart of the monster.

He thought of the picture hidden within the back compartment of the watch. He yearned to look at it one last time, but he knew there was no time. He nodded to the young man next to him. Barely out of boyhood, and yet destined to carry a steam rifle into battle to protect those who risked their lives for others. He stared into the young man's eyes for a brief moment, sadness welling up in his throat at the horrors he saw dancing within them.

“Now!” he yelled.

The young soldier stood to give cover fire. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shot slam into the young man's chest, knocking him backward. He wished he could grieve, but he could see his opportunity and wouldn’t let the boy’s death be for naught.

Tightening his grip on his weapon, he dived at the steel feet, rolling onto his back and pointing the muzzle tip of his weapon high, liquid flame dripping back down onto his uniform. Even through its fire-resistant fabric, he could feel his skin begin to blister. This was their last chance to live through this and he wouldn’t surrender. He pulled the trigger.

It seemed like the very heart of the earth burst open, filling the night sky with fire that burned hotter than the fiery furnace of a dragon’s kiss. The steel monster shuddered at the unexpected violation. Gears and men screamed together as the fire hit the carbide chamber, exposing it to the air. It spelled death to the enemy. An explosion rocked the ground, and he scrambled to crawl away as the huge smoking shell fell around him.

He found himself lying on his back, gasping for breath, his whole body wracked with pain. He looked back at the carnage he had created and smiled wearily. Pushing himself to his feet, he saw the men and women from his unit standing up, cheering for life, cheering for him. He raised his extinguished weapon in salute. They would live for one more day. Another day that would bring him closer to his boy.

He touched the bandage around his chest and winced. The pain was still fresh, but it was a good pain; it reminded him that he had lived. All too often, it was day-to-day living. They were never sure whether the night would bring in fresh terrors from the enemy, let alone if they would survive to see another sunrise.

He glanced around the makeshift hospital room and realized it was a commandeered building. Like many other places, it had been abandoned. As the war had raged on and spilled blood across the land, no one wanted to be caught in the crossfire between the two armies. He couldn’t blame them. Too many sons and daughters had already been lost.

“I wouldn't touch it,” the nurse, a young woman with auburn hair and gentle blue eyes, spoke up when she noticed he was awake.

“Just making sure I am still in one piece.”

She smiled. “It took a bit of doing but I managed to tape you back together.” Then her face turned serious. “That was a very foolish thing you did out there.” She leaned in and checked the bandage before pouring him a glass of water.

He took a sip, glad for something to ease his sore throat. The fumes from enemy machines of war often left men and women unable to breathe or talk easily for days. “It was that or die,” he said. “Too many have already been lost in this forsaken place. I want to make it home to my boy.”

She smiled at him. “How old is he?”

“He is going to be eight just over two months from now. He’s probably grown since I left. I doubt I’ll recognize him.”

Her smile widened. “And you're hoping to be there for his birthday?”

He nodded and picked up his watch from the nightstand. “I promised I would give this to him on his eighth birthday, just as my father did for me.”

“Well, I'm sure with these injuries you'll be back on your feet in no time,” she said glancing at his chart. “Lt. James Colbert? I see you’re due for release next week. As long as you get on the first ship out, you should make it with plenty of time to spare.”

Before he had the chance to answer, the darkened room lit up as an explosion threw them both backwards.