The Flux Engine (8 page)

Fixer led John and Robi through the room to a workbench in the back where a machine sat covered with a canvas tarp.

“Sit here,” Fixer said, pulling up a stool for John.

The machine beneath the tarp was at least a Third Order device, with gears and cogs that moved its crystals in and out, back and forth, and round and round each other, multiplying the effect of their interactions by at least a factor of ten. It was the most complex machine John had ever seen. There were six separate groups of crystals mounted on gears, each one designed to interact with a sister set, then move on to another. Gears, cogs, and wheels stuck out everywhere and glass bottles of various chemicals hung suspended above the device with black, rubber hoses hanging down into its guts.

Fixer opened a drawer in the workbench and removed a thin copper plate from a cardboard box. Being careful to grip it by its edge, the portly man deposited it gently in a steel pan that slid out from the side of the Neuro-Chromatigraph. He opened several of the valves connected to the rubber tubes, letting their liquid flow for a few seconds. John coughed as the strong odor of chemicals wafted out of the metal tray.

“Put this on,” Fixer said, handing John a metal circlet that reminded him uncomfortably of the Tommy control crown. A bare copper wire ran from the circlet into the Chromatigraph and John was careful not to touch it as he put the circlet on.

“Okay,” Fixer said, opening the valve on the steam line. “Close your eyes and think about the person you want. See them in your mind.”

John closed his eyes as the Chromatigraph’s steam piston began to chug back and forth. He tried to picture the dark-haired girl as the gears inside the machine turned and the harmonic whine of the crystals ramped up to a pulsating screech. The noise was nothing like the harmonious sound the Tommy motivator made when he’d used his mother’s crystal. This sound set his teeth on edge.

He could feel pressure from the metal hoop, as if it were boring into his head with some invisible force. John fixed the image of the tattooed girl in his mind just as the pressure from the machine became a stabbing pain.

“There might be some discomfort,” Fixer said as John grunted and gripped the sides of the stool. “Just another minute.”

John kept his eyes shut and his mind focused on the girl as the Neuro-Chromatigraph worked behind him. The metal tray was clearly moving through the lattice of crystals and he could hear the splash of more chemicals being added. The acrid smell of alkali permeated the air along with a burning odor, like singed hair.

The machine made an audible clack as some lever or escapement was thrown into place and John heard the crystals begin to wind down. He ventured to open his eyes as Fixer shut off the steam valve and the Neuro-Chromatigraph lurched to a halt.

Donning heavy leather gloves that reached past his elbows, Fixer used a pair of tongs to fish the copper plate out of the steel pan. Being careful not to drip any of the remaining solution on himself, he moved to the far end of the table and washed the plate in a bucket of water.

John’s head spun for a moment when he took hold of the brass hoop. It seemed to have become attenuated to his mind and he could feel it trying to hold on as he lifted it off. Once he had set it aside the effect vanished. He hoped the machine hadn’t done anything permanent.

Fixer removed the tintype from the bucket and wiped it down with a soft cloth. Once he was sure it was dry and free of chemicals, he stared at it for a long moment. He almost seemed sad to let it go when he finally did pass it over to Robi and John.

Etched into the surface of the copper plate was the image of a dark-haired woman leveling a smoking pistol directly at the viewer. A chill ran up John spine at the sight of her and he shivered. The image depicted the last time he’d seen her, right after she shot him in the chest.

“You’re looking for this woman?” Fixer said, a strange tone in his voice.

“She took something of mine,” John said. “Then she tried to kill me.”

“Do you know her?” Robi asked. Fixer stared at the picture for a moment then shook his head.

“She’s enchanting,” he said, as John handed the brass plate to Robi.

John started to say something but a wave of dizziness swept over him and he staggered.

“You’d better sit down for a few minutes,” Fixer said, helping John back onto the stool. “I’ll go get some whiskey to steady your nerves,” he said. “Don’t go away.”

As Fixer made his way back to the front of his shop, Robi examined the tintype.

“Is this it?” She indicated the woman’s other hand where she clutched a familiar crystal. John nodded.

“Do you think this will help us find her?”

Robi grinned her wolfish grin.

“I don’t care how careful she was, John, someone saw her. Someone saw where she stayed when she was in town. Someone saw where she went when she left. All you have to do is find them.”

John’s head snapped up at this. Robi had said
you
instead of
we
.

“You got me out of jail,” she said, “and I got you what you need to get your crystal back. It’s time for me to move on.”

John hadn’t thought about Robi leaving. She was annoying and abrupt but John didn’t know how he would get his crystal back without her. If it wasn’t for her he would never have gotten this far.

“I can’t stay,” Robi said, reading the look on his face. “There’s too many people looking for me here, I’m going to try my luck in Denver or Gearsburg, or maybe Castle Rock.”

“Thanks for your help,” he said after a pause. He smiled, trying to break the sudden tension, and held up the tintype. “So, how long do you think it will take me to find someone who saw this girl?”

“Not long at all, I should guess,” a new voice said.

Chapter 8

The Deputy

John leaped off the stool in surprise, nearly dropping the tintype as he whirled around. Robi was faster. She stepped away and turned. Just for an instant, before he turned, John saw her face—drained of color, as if she’d seen a ghost.

The man who had come so silently up behind them was tall, well over six feet, and gaunt with long, slender arms ending in long-fingered hands. His head was bald and vaguely egg shaped, with dark, intense eyes and a beak-like nose over a clean-shaven face. The stranger wore a bottle-green military-style long coat with a gray waistcoat and pants. His white shirt was crisp and bright and his boots shone with polish. Gold buttons gleamed from the front of his waistcoat and John could see the holster of a flux pistol on his hip.

“Who are you?” Robi demanded, edging away from the imposing figure. John noticed that she’d shifted her stance, crouching a little as if she were about to run.

“I’m sorry,” the man said. His voice was deep and penetrating. “My name is Derek Morgan, I’m a … friend of Fixer’s.”

At the sound of his name, the fat man appeared from behind a nearby machine.

“What did you do, Fixer?” Robi said, not taking her eyes off Morgan.

“Oh, you mustn’t blame Mister Fixer,” Morgan said. “He has standing instructions to let me know if anyone comes around asking about dear Sira.”

“Sira,” John said. His would-be assassin had a name.

“Sira Corven,” Morgan said. “And that must make you the boy from the Thurger’s Lab. I’ve been most anxious to speak with you.”

John didn’t like the sound of that. Despite Morgan’s easy, almost friendly manner, something about him made every word seem like a threat.

“Why?” he said.

“That enforcer,” Morgan said. “The one who’s been following you around. He seems to think that the bloodsand crystal belonged to you rather than your master. If that’s true, I’d very much like to know where you got it.”

What had he said?

John could tell a Bug Crystal from a Glowstick on sight. He knew the precise combination of salt and chemicals used to grow Lifter Crystals, Repeaters, and Regulators but despite all that knowledge and study, he had no idea what Morgan was talking about.

“What’s a bloodsand crystal?”

Morgan’s mask of affability cracked. For a fleeting instant, a look of raw anger washed across his face.

“Unfortunate,” he said, his quiet manner instantly returning. “I shouldn’t have said that.” He seemed genuinely sorry. “Now I’m afraid I must insist that you answer my questions.”

There was a metallic hiss as Morgan drew a short, broad-bladed sword from beneath his coat. Robi took a step to run, but Morgan’s arm flashed out so fast that John could barely follow it. Robi froze with the point of the blade pressing against her chest.

“I’m not done with you, young lady,” he said, pushing her back next to John. “Now that we understand one another, I’ll ask again.” He turned to look at John. “Where did you get that crystal?”

“What crystal?” John lied. Morgan laughed.

“You know, John,” he said, “disaster seems to follow you around. First the Tommys, then that mismanaged escape from the jailhouse. I wondered about that. Now I see it’s because you make bad choices.”

Like a snake uncoiling to strike, Morgan’s left hand darted out and grabbed the back of Robi’s hair. He moved so fast that John didn’t have time to think, much less react. Pulling her into his chest, Morgan rested the blade of his sword against Robi’s throat. Robi froze, a look of terror on her face.

“You need to learn something about life, John,” Morgan said. “Poor decisions get people killed.”

Morgan’s pulled the blade an inch across Robi’s neck, slicing into the top layer of skin and leaving a ribbon of blood in its wake. Robi gasped.

“Stop!”

Morgan’s blade paused, and a crimson rivulet ran down the skin of Robi’s throat. All the rest of the world seemed to stand still.

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know, I swear,” John said. “Just don’t hurt her.”

Robi’s eyes were as wide as saucers and she held her body perfectly still. A look of amusement crossed Morgan’s face and John was sure he’d signed Robi’s death warrant.

“You swear it, do you?” he said.

“Yes,” John said. “I’ll answer any question you have, just let Robi go.”

Morgan seemed to consider this, his eyes boring into John’s, daring him to show any sign of weakness.

“Very well,” he said, taking the short-bladed sword away from Robi’s neck. “Let’s see if you really are a man of honor. Sit down.” He indicated the empty stool with the point of his sword. As soon as John had taken the seat, Morgan’s long fingers uncoiled from Robi’s arm and she bolted behind John, clutching her neck.

“Now, tell me about the crystal,” Morgan said, his eyes again fixed on John’s. “And remember, you promised to tell me the truth. I’ll know if you’re lying.”

A bead of sweat ran down John’s neck and into his collar. He had intended to lie to the tall stranger, but thought better of it. Morgan proved he was capable of casual violence. The only thing keeping John and Robi alive was the truth.

“It was my mother’s,” John said.

“You were raised in the orphan asylum,” Morgan said. “I talked with the sisters. They told me all about you.” He slid his thumb along the edge of his sword in the manner of someone looking for a nick in the blade. It gave John chills.

“She gave it to me right before she disappeared,” John said. “It’s the only thing I have of hers.”

Morgan nodded, seeming to accept this answer as true.

“How did you come to use such a special crystal in a Tommy handler control box?”

John took a deep breath and launched into his story. He’d never told anyone about his mother’s crystal or how it sang to him before. Morgan listened patiently, interrupting only once to ask how John had survived being shot in the chest. When John finally finished, Morgan just sat, regarding him for a long moment. His fingers were laced together in front of his face and his dark eyes seemed dull as if the big man were lost in thought. Finally, he picked up the tintype of the dark haired woman, Sira.

“So you intend to follow dear Sira to the ends of the earth if need be to get your crystal back.”

It wasn’t a question so much as a statement of fact, but John nodded anyway.

Morgan shifted the tintype to his left hand; then, with an easy flick of his arm, he drew his sword, pressing the flat of the blade against John’s cheek.

“It really is a pity,” he said, more to himself than to John. “You have a great deal of potential.” He twisted the blade, forcing John’s head to turn. “Still, there might be a solution,” he said, a dark smile crossing his thin lips. “I recently lost my apprentice. I don’t suppose I could convince you to give up the search for your lost crystal and come work with me?”

“What happened to your last apprentice?” John asked.

“Most recently, she shot you in the chest,” Morgan said.

John felt his cheek flush with anger, burning against the cold steel of Morgan’s sword.

“Don’t take it personally,” Morgan said. “I taught her everything she knows,” he went on. “You saw how she easily she beat you. I can teach you that.”

“So you’re some kind of assassin,” Robi said from behind John.

Morgan chuckled.

“Nothing so mundane,” he said. “I am the ultimate warrior. I serve my people and my faith by doing what the Builder needs done.”

“Like stealing and murder,” John said. Robi’s words had emboldened him despite the sword blade still pressed against his face.

“When the occasion demands it,” Morgan said. His voice was flat and emotionless, as if he were discussing tomorrow’s weather forecast and not murder.

“I don’t think I’d like that.”

Morgan’s dark eyes softened, just for an instant.

“Is that your final word?” he asked.

“It is.”

“Very well, John Porter. You answered my questions truthfully, proving that you are a man of honor. Unfortunately, you know too much about dear Sira and me. I’m afraid I can’t let you live. As a man of honor, however, I will give you an honorable death, quick and painless.”

A dozen possible actions charged through John’s brain, each one a way to escape the blow he knew was coming. He opened his mouth to say something, anything that might delay the inevitable, but before his brain could put words in his open mouth, something slammed into his back and drove him to the floor. A noise like a cannon deafened him and left his ears ringing. Sunlight poured into the dark room and John saw that the entire back wall of Fixer’s shop had vanished.

Shattered machinery and bits of wall rained down around him as John tried to get up. Robi had been thrown into him hard and she lay unconscious in the rubble a few feet away. If he could get to her before Morgan recovered, he might …

A shadow fell over John and he looked up to see Morgan standing over him, naked sword in hand. Morgan’s eyes darted up, staring beyond John to the hole in the wall. He looked back down at John, raised his sword, but before it could fall, another man was there, turning the blade aside with a sword of his own. John recognized the purple duster of Bill Hickok.

Enforcers were supposed to be the best men the Alliance had to offer, specially trained to be deadly warriors. Morgan, on the other hand, could move like lightning crossing the sky. John couldn’t take his eyes off the two men. Morgan’s blade moved so fast it looked like a solid arc of metal yet Hickok matched him blow for blow. The ringing of their swords sounded as if someone had dropped a box full of handbells down a staircase.

At first it seemed as though neither man had the advantage, but as John watched, he became aware of a subtle difference. As they fought, Morgan was gradually giving ground, backing away from Hickok’s furious assault. John realized that in less than a minute, the enforcer would have the bald assassin pinned in a corner with nowhere to go. Maybe then John could get some answers about Sira and where she took his crystal.

As the thought crossed John’s mind, Morgan made his move. Spinning away from Hickok, he grabbed one of Fixer’s broken machines and threw it at the Enforcer as if it didn’t weigh a thing. Hickok dove aside as the heavy lattice of metal and crystal crashed to the ground, rolling to his feet, sword at the ready. Morgan, however, had seized full advantage of the distraction. He charged right through the wooden wall of Fixer’s shop, disappearing in a shower of splinters.

As Bill Hickok darted to the hole, John realized this was his chance to escape. He reached out for Robi but his hand dropped onto bare floor. The spot where Robi had lain, unconscious, was empty. Somewhere during the fight, she had slipped away, unnoticed.

“You all right?” Hickok asked. He sheathed his short sword and picked his way across the rubble-strewn floor to where John sat.

“I guess,” John said, accepting the enforcer’s hand to help him to his feet. He wasn’t happy about being back in Hickok’s custody, but he was in one piece. And Robi had escaped, so it wasn’t a total loss. “What happened?”

Hickok surveyed the gaping hole in the back of the building and shrugged.

“I guess I used too much blasting gel,” he said. “Still, no harm done.”

As John picked bits of wood out of his hair, he wasn’t sure he agreed. Hickok bent over and pulled something out of the debris.

“So this is the girl who shot you?” he said, after blowing the dust off the tintype.

“How …”

“I was listening from outside,” Hickok said.

John felt his heart sink. Now that an Alliance Enforcer knew the truth, he might as well shout it from the rooftops.

“Nobody move.” The voice of Sheriff Batts boomed through the remains of Fixer’s shop.

John turned and saw the man standing in the hole that used to be Fixer’s back wall, flanked by several deputies.

“Well, hello John,” Batts said as he picked his way into the building. “Why am I not surprised to find you at the scene of chaos and destruction?”

John didn’t answer. Morgan had said something like that, about him bringing disaster everywhere he went. It didn’t exactly do wonders for his morale.

“Brady,” Batts said when John didn’t answer, “take Mister Porter back to his cell.”

A burly blond deputy grabbed John’s arm. “Make sure he stays there this time,” Batts said as Brady hauled John toward the hole.

“I want charge of this prisoner,” Hickok said.

“Not a chance, Bill,” Batts said. “I’ve got this boy dead to rights for escaping custody, destruction of property, theft, and several other things I haven’t thought of yet. There’s no way I’m giving him over to an enforcer.”

Hickok bristled at this, his wide mustache turning down in a frown.

“I can get an order from the governor,” Hickok said, a clear threat in his tone. Batts laughed.

“The Governor’s in Saint Louis to meet with the President,” he said. “I wish you luck with that.”

Hickok threw Batts a shrewd look, then shrugged.

“All right,” he said. “You can have him, but I want to ask the boy some questions before you take him away.”

“Ask anything you want,” the Sheriff said.

Hickok held up the picture of Sira. “I’m the only chance you have to find her,” he said quietly.

“You just want the crystal, same as her,” John accused.

“I won’t deny that,” Hickok said. “You know about resonance, right?”

John nodded. Every Thurger’s first lesson was about how crystals vibrate at different frequencies.

“Well your crystal is a very special type of crystal. The last time its resonance was detected … well, let’s just say a lot of people died.”

John had no answer for that. He wouldn’t have thought his mother would have left him something dangerous, but he couldn’t deny what the crystal had done when he used it. Hickok pressed the tintype into John’s hand.

“I need to find that crystal before your new friend here does something bad with it. Now are you going to help me, or are you going to jail?”

John ground his teeth in frustration. Hickok had him over a barrel and he knew it. If he went with the enforcer he might lose his crystal to some Alliance lab but if he stayed in jail, Sira would get away cleanly and do Builder knew what with it.