Bounty Hunter

by Michelle E Lowe

  Pierce glanced down at his own brand. “Oui, I cannot argue with that.”

  “I’m sure, White Horse.”

  “Don’t call me that,” Pierce quickly retorted.

  Again, Itza-chu laughed. “I understand English, by the way. I just don’t care to speak it.”

  He and Itza-chu went off the path to join a road leading to the city. Soon after, a strange clicking noise came from behind them. Pierce twisted around upon his horse and spotted something approaching them. It wasn’t a horse or even a carriage, but some other sort of transportation.

  “What the hell is that?” Pierce asked as he moved his horse to the edge of the road.

  Itza-chu went to the other side and waited. What slowly passed them was a giant metal koi fish. Wavy gashes were carved over its metallic body, exposing the gears turning inside. Wooden wheels, one in the front center and two in the rear, rolled over the sandy road.

  “It’s a bloody hybrid,” Pierce said as it went by.

  An Asian man and woman manned the hybrid. The woman wore a sleeveless sundress, tan calfskin gloves, and white-framed goggles with blue lenses. The gent also wore goggles. He was fashionable in western-style clothing—a white shirt, vest, and slacks with spats over his brown boots. The lass sat in the front, holding a parasol despite wearing a wide-brimmed sun hat. They both pedaled the contraption like a bicycle, the man steering it by brass handlebars.

  They seemed to be hardly putting any effort into their work over the rocky road. The woman ignored them as if Pierce and the Apache did not exist. The gent, though, lifted his bowler hat to them.

  “Ano? ii o-tenki desu ne?” he said with a cheery smile.

  Pierce waved as he stared perplexedly at the queer hybrid machine. As the koi fish and its riders journeyed on, Pierce and his guide returned to the road.

  “They are here for the Industrial Race,” Itza-chu explained.

  “Industrial Race?”

  Itza-chu nodded. “It is a yearly event. It brings people here from our neighboring lands, mainly from the north, but other parts of the world, as well. Since the rise of the Industrial Age, Guaymas has held this celebration for men to display their engineering achievements.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is. And it is a shame, for these machines are powered by coal and fire, harming our great planet. It will haunt us someday.”

  When Guaymas appeared, Itza-chu refused to go any farther.

  “When you return, stay on the path and you should be safe,” he instructed Pierce before turning his mount in the other direction.

  Should be? Brilliant.

  Pierce rode on alone into the city. It was highly decorated for the festival. Posters advertising different events and functions were posted everywhere. The neoclassical and Moorish-style buildings were white to reflect the powerful desert sun. The buildings looked charming next to the bright blue of the nearby ocean. Many ships were docked at the piers.

  Guaymas was a busy city, largely due to the visitors coming in for the races. Hundreds packed the square where a variety of marvelous machines were on display around a large fountain in the town square. Most were far more extravagant than the koi fish.

  There was a display area for machines that, when he asked, Pierce was told weren’t going to be in the races. These included a small, steam-powered submarine that rolled on iron wheels and air machines such as floating hot air balloons steered by propellers. The most impressive one, however, was the forty-foot-tall black dragon marionette made from pipes and sheets of copper, steel, brass, and wood, all bolted and welded together. It slowly swiveled its head as if observing the people below. When the operators tossed coal into the boiler located in the base of its head, fire ripped through its nostrils.

  Although most of these machines were crude patchworks of metal, clusters of wires, and leaky engines, Pierce was very much impressed with their advanced ingenuity. He wondered if any of these people were Contributors for the good of the upcoming Age of the Machine Era.

  Another floating machine caught his eye. A ship hovered several feet off the ground, anchored in place to a very large wooden cart he surmised was used to haul the thing around. Additional ropes were spiked into the ground to keep the vessel from swaying too much in the breeze. Pierce wasn’t quite sure what sort of vessel it was, but it appeared it had been commissioned somewhere in the Orient. The frame was sleek and thin, painted blue with three tall dorsal fin sails. There were five fully inflated, medium-sized hot air balloon envelopes that kept the ship airborne—one on the bow and stern, and two on both the starboard and portside. The balloons were dark green and yellow and tethered by large rope nets draped over them. Sticking out at the bow of the ship was a pair of cylinder-shaped brass cones. Curiosity drove Pierce to walk up the ramp to have a look.

  On deck, there were crewmates operating the burners to each of the ship’s balloons, keeping them filled with enough hot air to steady her altitude. Other than the hot air balloons, the aircraft appeared the same as any other ship. Pierce stood at the helm, feeling none too impressed.

  “Does Ame-No-Mi-Kumari not pique your interest, young man?” came the voice of an Asian man ascending the stairs to the helm.

  He was an older man, not yet a geezer, but his long hair and thin, lengthy mustache had noticeable traces of grey in them. He had a tattoo circling his right eye and wore a Chinese court hat of black fur and red thread. A golden pearl sat atop the crown, with multi-colored peacock feathers pinned behind it. He wore a coat with silver buttons, a red silk sash around his waist, and brown trousers that ended just above his scrawny ankles. His feet were nestled in canvas shoes. A trail of smoke came from his pipe and followed him as he approached.

  “Pardon?” Pierce said, both surprised and relieved that he spoke English.

  The man joined him at the wheel, holding his pipe. It was an elongated copper and brass pipe and decorated with trees and flowers carved out of ivory, as was the pipe’s bowl. He tried taking a hit but didn’t get one. He pressed his thumb down on a button to a built-in lighting mechanism that lit a small fire beside the bowl, which rekindled the tobacco inside.

  “Is my Ame-No-Mi-Kumari not impressive enough?” he repeated with smoke breezing out from between his lips.

  Pierce surmised “Ame-No-Mi-Kumari” was the ship’s name.

  “Are you the cap’n?”

  “I am. Captain Geming Xiong. I am also her engineer. She is the world’s first functional airship.”

  Pierce remembered seeing sketches of Leonardo da Vinci’s flying machines, and he often wondered if something like it would ever be achieved. “You don’t say.”

  Captain Xiong nodded. “I modeled her after my favorite type of ship, the lorcha.”

  “Ah.” Pierce nodded. “I was actually admiring the sails. Are they made from silk?”

  “They are, indeed, young man. Woven by the finest silk-makers in China.”

  Pierce snorted. “S’pose you really don’t need them much for sailing, eh? How do you elevate her? Even with the help of the balloons, a lorcha is still a pretty hefty vessel to lift.”

  “That’s why she’s built out of lightweight materials. Instead of using heavy woods such as white oak or rock elms, Ame-No-Mi-Kumari is constructed from balsa and pine. Even the anchor is created out of titanium.”

  Pierce studied the wheel in front of him and ran his hand over it. “Huh. That’s some ingenious thinking, Cap’n.”

  “Oh,” Captain Xiong said while more smoke whisked through his crooked-toothed grin, “that isn’t the genius part of it. Come. Let me show you.”

  Captain Xiong led Pierce down into the hull that was practically empty except for some sort of contraption located at the stern. At first glance, it appeared to be two oversized, hollowed out casks with metal rings bolted around their edges. Something made of brass had been inserted at the other end and stuck out through holes in the wall. Pierce surmised it was the cones he’d spied earlier. In the front and center of these l
arge casks was an engine constructed of iron the color of sage. It was a bulky thing, the size of an actual cask, with an iron turning wheel on its side. A couple of insect-like metal antennae with short glass tubes on their ends, poked out of the engine, and were stretched over the lip of the contraption.

  Captain Xiong walked over to the engine and placed a long-fingered hand on top of it.

  “This engine is very special. It creates energy from the oil it burns and sends currents through these cathodes.” He pointed to the tall, skinny insect antennae.

  “Erm, all right,” Pierce said. “What does that do?”

  “The currents are sent through these ionization chambers.” He pointed with his pipe to the large casks. “And they become positively charged ionization atoms and run through the acceleration grids.”

  What the bloody hell is an acceleration grid? Pierce wondered.

  He peeked into the ionization chambers where a pair of metal screens gated the other end. There, the copper cones were connected to it. He figured those were the grids the captain was referring to.

  “The grids cause the atoms to accelerate and generate speed,” the captain explained.

  “And that makes the ship go faster?”

  Captain Xiong took a drag off his pipe while nodding. “It will, shì. This invention is called propulsion.”

  “Did you invent it?”

  “Bù shì wǒ fā míng de,” he answered, shaking his head. “But only I have made it work.”

  Pierce’s interests were now piqued.

  “Have you been a captain long?”

  Captain Xiong grinned guiltily. “I’ve never sailed a ship in my life,” he confessed.

  Pierce’s jaw dropped. “You’re joking.”

  “Afraid not. As I told you before, I am captain and engineer. Before I designed Ame-No-Mi-Kumari, I was simply a Contributor. I’ve invented many things in my village back home, but I’ve never traveled far until recently. I now live in Mexico—north in Mexicali. This airship has given me my own sense of adventure.”

  There was a hint of sadness in the captain’s tone. “I wish I could have experienced more when I was younger. I have chosen this identity to go along with my invention. Captain Geming Xiong, commander of the aircraft, Ame-No-Mi-Kumari!”

  Pierce was rather surprised. By the looks of the man, Pierce thought he had seen more of the world than he had, but, apparently, that was only a façade.

  “You must see her in action,” the captain insisted. “Are you going to the races?”

  “Aye, I’ll be there,” he promised. “Ame-No-Mi-Kumari is a fine ship, Cap’n.”

  Pierce left the airship and ventured farther into the square. He came across other racing machines with racers and engineers nearby, chatting with anyone curious about their machine. One was a giant turtle constructed of wood and metal with two masts jutting out from either side of its shell. Beside it was an egg-shaped racing machine with an open glass top. Inside, he saw a chair, pedals, and a steering wheel, much like a paddle watercraft.

  Another machine snagged Pierce’s attention. It was a perfect, upright circle on three metal wheels reassembling carriage wheels. Inside the circle was a burgundy leather chair, brass iron pedals, and a steering wheel. Pierce was leaning in for a better look when a voice said, “Hola.”

  He looked up and his sights fell on a vision. She was tall and perfectly shaped in every way. She had a face that held a fascinating beauty. Her honey-colored eyes were small and glimmered with life. Dark eyebrows peeked out from beneath her bangs, which were a blend of deep copper, golden bronze, and rich auburn. The rest of her hair reached her shoulders. Woven into it were gears and sprockets. The sunlight made her caramel-colored skin glow. She wore a short-sleeved grey blouse untucked over snug green slacks. Her simple brown leather overbust fit loosely about her narrow waist, and her matching, fingerless gloves reached her elbows. Her smile charmed him on the spot.

  “¿Te gusta?” she asked.

  Everything moved in slowed motion for Pierce as if the sheer sight of her had rewired his brain.

  “Sorry?” he squeaked out. He cleared his throat. “Pardon?”

  She folded her hands behind her and studied him.

  “You are an Englishman?” she asked in perfect English.

  “Aye,” he answered while rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Erm, and you? Where are you from?”

  “Tampico, but I have traveled the world.”

  Pierce grinned like an awkward adolescent encountering a pretty girl for the first time. “I see. This is your racing machine, I take it?”

  “Sí.” She slid a finger over the curvy contraption. “This is the Wheel, named after man’s first invention.”

  “Clever,” he said, striving to snap out of his stupor and speak to her normally. It was like meeting Taisia all over again. “I’m Pierce Landcross.”

  She held her hand out to him through the open space of the Wheel. “Hola, Pierce. I’m Emma Rojas.”

  Her gesture suggested they shake, but Pierce did his signature greeting when meeting women and kissed her hand instead. When her exposed fingers touched his lips, a warm shudder ran down his spine and into his loins.

  Easy Pierce, he thought to himself.

  He rose to his full height and his smile froze on his face. Emma was blushing.

  “Are you a racer?” he asked.

  “Um,” she said, tucking her short hair behind her ear with a bashful half-grin. “Sí.”

  “How utterly delightful,” he responded stupidly. What made it worse was he knew it was stupid. “Do you think you’ll win?”

  “I hope so. The problem with the machine, though, is the engine itself.” She pointed to the voltage pile battery bolted next to the apparatus. “The battery is old, and we haven’t been able to buy a new one. Sometimes, simply cranking it up does the trick, but, really, all we can do is charge it before the race and hope for the best. If I do fall behind, I’ll have boosters as backup.”

  “Boosters?”

  She patted a pair of tanks fastened above the driver’s seat. They had connecting tubing running to the outer engine. “These are nitrous oxide tanks. All I do is turn these valves here”—Emma touched the silver hatches atop the tanks’ bottleneck ends—“and then I flick this throw switch.” She threw the switch to demonstrate. “And the nitrous is released from the tanks and travels through the tubes.”

  Emma slid her hand over the tanks and their connecting tubes in such an alluring display that it made Pierce imagine those fingers traveling over his . . .

  Oi! Stop that!

  “Then the nitrous goes into the engine to burn with the oil and boost engine power.” She looked at him and frowned. “Um, I suppose you don’t care about any of this, do you?”

  Trying not to look like some gawking knobhead, he had forced himself to put on a serious expression, which she must’ve interpreted as disinterest.

  “No, no,” he said quickly. “I do, indeed, love. I think it’s all very fascinating.”

  Emma gave him a half-smirk and arched an attractive eyebrow.

  “Is that so?” She crossed her arms in a-I’m-about-to-test-you, manner. “What did I say?”

  Pierce fixed a wide grin on his face, for his superb memory was about to work in his favor once again.

  “You turn these little valves here, releasing the nitrous oxide into the engine, where it burns with the oil, creating that extra thhhrust.”

  Pierce empathized the word seductively. He was flirting. He couldn’t help himself.

  Emma cocked her head sideways with a surprised expression. “You were listening.”

  “Aye. But, I confess, I understood little of what you told me.”

  Her smile appeared seconds before she laughed. It was a singsong laughter that sounded like fingers dancing over piano keys. “You’re very interesting, Pierce Landcross. Are you coming to the races?”

  God, he loved how his name sounded cloaked in her Mexican brogue.

&
nbsp; “Aye,” he answered as another woman appeared beside Emma.

  She was a tall if average looking lass with glossy hair and deep, shadowy eyes. She had a healthy physique and carried herself with confidence. She was dressed in a low-cut gown with an overbust that propped up her cleavage. She also had on tall, dusty boots. She carried tin plates in both hands with something that smelled like chicken and appeared to be wrapped in corn husks. It looked very tasty.

  “Aquí están tus tamales,” she addressed Emma.

  “Gabriela,” Emma said in English, “meet Pierce Landcross. Pierce, this is my engineering partner and childhood friend, Gabriela Viola.”

  Gabriela raised her chin to him. Pierce thought about kissing her hand, but both were occupied with the plates. Instead, he took off his top hat and placed it behind him, touched his chest, and bowed. He had no idea if she spoke English, so he offered only a charming smile.

  “Pierce?” Gabriela said as if she had something annoying caught in her throat. It was far less welcoming than the way Emma had pronounced his name. “That is an English name, sí?”

  “It is, darling,” he answered.

  Gabriela snorted mockingly. Pierce reckoned she, like most in various parts of the globe, frowned upon the English.

  “He was curious about the Wheel,” Emma explained, taking a plate from her.

  Pierce spied an opportunity to get into the woman’s good graces.

  “Aye. Quite a fine machine you both have built. I can hardly wait to see her run.”

  Gabriela beamed and actually smiled at him until Emma chimed in.

  “Sí, Pierce is coming to the races,” she reported, reaching over to sweep a lock of hair away from his face.

  Pierce’s grin couldn’t be broader.

  “That’s a lovely wedding band you wear, Señor Landcross,” Gabriela said with her eyes fixed on his wedding ring. “How long have you been married?”

  Gabriela had targeted the ring almost immediately. However, Emma’s crestfallen expression suggested she had completely overlooked it.

  “Oh,” Emma said mournfully. “You . . . you’re married?”

  Pierce eyed the ring as if he had never seen it before. This playful flirtation needed to end sooner or later.