The Oilman's Daughter (26 page)

“Mr. Orbital, I think this is the start of an excellent business relationship.”

Jonathan clinked glasses with him. “Mr. Orbital is my father, Phinneas. Make it Jonathan.”

*  *  *

Phinneas adjusted himself on the hard seat of the steam carriage that was bringing him from Kansas City to a place he was sure six months ago he’d never see again. It looked much different this time, due mostly to the thick blanket of snow that covered the land. He’d only seen snow a few times in his life, but he’d always liked it.

Even Houston hadn’t been a festering armpit of stink this time around. He’d spent the day there with Jonathan and Victor Orbital going over the contracts that would make the
Ethershark
a full-blown legitimate operation. Before making the trip back down to Earth, Phinneas spent a good while with his crew discussing the opportunity Jonathan outlined in his letter. Their pay wouldn’t be as high, but it would be steady. And most important, it would be honest. That concept hadn’t been very high on Phinneas’ priority list before, but he supposed after everything that had happened, he was ready to enjoy his keep instead of pining for the next one.

Largely, the crew agreed, namely the ones who had been with him from the beginning. Those who didn’t went their own way without reprisal. There was always a vessel out there in need of scurvies, and rumor had it Zeric had acquired himself a Fulton. Of course, such ships were going to be obsolete before too long. The news couldn’t stop blathering about the brand new Texas Oil Company, and the riches were rolling in faster than anyone had anticipated. Thousands of prospectors were now looking to suck the land dry of the tarry goo that had once been of no use to them. New fuels and new vehicles were on the way, both on land and in space. Already, Phinneas was considering plans to convert the
Ethershark
to one of the newer engines, but time would tell.

He’d only intended to take leave long enough to meet with the Orbitals before riding the next elevator back up to Roosevelt, but Jonathan hadn’t driven him to the elevator. He’d instead taken him to the airport. “You have about forty minutes until your derry leaves for Kansas City, so you need to hurry,” he said, handing him a ticket.

Phinneas, who had no earthy intention of taking any such trip, pushed it back. “Are ye barkin’ mad? I’m the last person those people would expect or want to see.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe that. In fact, they’re expecting you. I sent them a telegram just a little while ago.” He handed Phinneas another envelope. “Your first duty as a privateer for Orbital Industries is to make this very important delivery to the Clay family. While you were gallivanting around space, Jessie sent Doctor Renault her father’s notes, and he has fully detailed the new Clay Polymer in a patent. Better yet, my father is the main investor in its full-scale development. This is the check, or the first of many.”

“That’s wonderful, lad, but don’t ye have couriers for that sort o’thing?”

“I do, Phinneas, but this is the sort of money I don’t trust in their hands.”

Phinneas was flustered. “But what about me crew?”

“Your crew is being wined and dined in Roosevelt Station’s finest restaurant and spa. I think if you came back now and interrupted them with work, you might wind up with another mutiny on your hands.”

Phinneas understood that he’d been backed into a corner, but he still didn’t take the ticket. Instead, he glanced at it like it might bite him. “Lad, I just don’t know . . .”

“I understand your guilt. Really, I do. I think we’ll both be carrying it with us for the rest of our lives. But we were pawns in a much bigger game, and we all lost something over this. What you need to do is try to forgive yourself, and that starts by taking this bloody ticket and getting on that bloody dirigible to Kansas City.”

Phinneas grinned. “Careful now, lad. Ye’re talkin’ like a pirate.”

Jonathan returned with a grin of his own. “I was one, briefly. I guess it sort of stuck.”

He snatched the ticket out of Orbital’s hand with a sigh. “I used to be one, too, but now here I am takin’ someone else’s orders.”

“That’s the price of being an honest man. It’s worth it, Phinneas. Don’t blow it.”

And now, as the steam carriage pulled up the driveway of the Clay farmhouse, he briefly considered doing just that. There was no evidence of the siege that had befallen the place, other than the fact that the house and everything around it, barn and all, looked brand new. Orbital had made good on his word, but then again, he always did.

The anxiety felt like a boa constrictor wrapped around his chest. He briefly considered activating his heart device, which he hadn’t needed to depend on as much for this trip, but he knew deep down that there wasn’t a mechanical doo-dad on the planet that would make this easier.

“You want me to wait, Mister?” asked the driver.

His first instinct was to say yes, and he was putting the speaking tube to his mouth to say just that when Jessie stepped out of the house and onto the porch. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and she wore a crocheted shawl to protect from the cold. She smiled, and Phinneas felt the invisible bonds around his heart loosen a little.

“Wait for now. If I give ye a wave, carry on.” He paid the driver the regular fare plus half again as much for the wait, and stepped out of the cab. Snow crunched underfoot and the air was both frigid and clean. After he climbed up the porch steps, the two stood looking at each other for a moment before any words passed. He’d forgotten how high her cheekbones were, how full her lips.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here again, space man. Even when I got Mr. Orbital’s telegram. But I’m glad you came.”

“I, uh, have somethin’ for ye.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the envelope Orbital had given him. “From Doctor Renault and Orbital Industries.”

She took it and tucked it under her arm without so much as glancing at it. “Yes, I know all about that. But that ain’t why I’m glad you came.”

“I suppose I knew that, but I just couldn’t figure out why after everything . . .” Phinneas bowed his head. He couldn’t even look at her. She stepped up to him and pressed her lips against his. The kiss was short, but it lingered long enough to leave no room for interpretation. When she pulled away, he found he could tolerate her gaze again, and he no longer felt the frigid air on his face.

“I thought about you every day. We can’t change what all happened that day, but I don’t blame you. I blame the killers. You saved my life. You saved my brother’s life, and my daddy went down fighting to protect what he loved.” She held up the envelope containing her new life. Tears stood out in her eyes. “And you just helped change the world with his invention. You’re a good man, Phinneas. It’s time you start believin’ it.”

He could find no words. Instead, he pulled her to him again and gave her a longer kiss. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before they came up for air, but Jessie’s eyes burned into him. “You gonna stay this time, space man?”

“I can’t for long. I have to head back up to the Big Black soon. A new job awaits.”

She pressed herself fully against him and kissed his neck. “At least stay for supper. Then we’ll see how you feel after.”

A shiver ran through him. “Aye, lass. I believe I can do that.” He turned around and tipped a wave to the driver.

He wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.

This book was a very long time in the making, and the two of us could not have pulled it off without the help of so many. Thank you to Becky Kyle, Jaime Hobbes for being enthusiastic early readers. A big thanks also goes to the agents and publishers who provided valuable feedback on this book and in turn made it better. Thanks to Tiffany Kelly for her gimlet eye with the proofreading. Chaz Kemp is the artistic genius responsible for the cover, and we couldn’t have been more thrilled to see these characters spring to live before our eyes. Allison in particular would like to thank Ian Healy for daring to dream big and never giving up, even when she was ready to throw in the towel. Collaboration is hard work, even under ideal circumstances such as ours, he has been an amazing partner to have on this ride. Ian wants to specially thank Allison for her willingness to come back to this project time and time again with her flair for finding the root problems and bringing forth all her copious skills to fix them. We are also incredibly grateful to our respective spouses, Ken and Richelle, for indulging us our obsession all these years, and our kids, who will hopefully find inspiration between these pages.

Ian Thomas Healy
dabbles in many different genres. He’s a ten-time participant and winner of National Novel Writing Month and is also the creator of the
Writing Better Action Through Cinematic Techniques
workshop, which helps writers to improve their action scenes.

When not writing, which is rare, he enjoys watching hockey, reading comic books (and serious books, too), and living in the great state of Colorado, which he shares with his wife, children, house-pets, and approximately five million other people.

Visit www.ianthealy.com for more information.

* * *

Allison M. Dickson
is the author of two published novels: horror-thriller
Strings
, and the dystopian epic,
The Last Supper
, which received a starred review in Publishers weekly. She also has published nearly two dozen short stories covering both speculative and realistic realms, both independently and in various anthologies and magazines like Apex. Her independently-produced
Colt Coltrane
series, featuring a detective and his robot sidekick in 1940s Los Angeles, has become a regular fixture at local comic conventions. She is represented by Stephanie Rostan of LGR Literary.

When she isn't writing, she's usually gaming, catching up on her shows, or wandering the urban sprawl of Dayton, OH, in search of great coffee and microbrew. Allison keeps a semi-regular blog full of ramblings at allisonmdickson.com.

Bram Stoker Award finalist
Chaz Kemp
embraces an Art Nouveau style that incorporates vibrancy and color scheme into fantasy and steampunk art in a way that is rarely seen. As an illustrator, the influence of Alphonse Mucha & Ivan Bilibin is evident in his award winning work that combines the artistic energy of the Roaring 20s with the untamed possibilities of steampunk and fantasy.

He is a featured artist in steampunk legend Paul Roland's book
Steampunk: Back to the Future with the New Victorians
. Amazing Stories magazine featured him in the November 2014 issue, and his work has been seen in other publications such as
Steampunk Magazine
,
Savage Insider
and
Aurealis
. Over the years Chaz has created art for game publishers, sci-fi/fantasy conventions and several book covers. In 2012, he illustrated his first graphic novel entitled
Behind These Eyes
written by Guy Anthony De Marco and Peter J. Wacks. The graphic novel was a Bram Stoker Award finalist.

You can find more of his work at ChazKemp.com