The Gold Engine (The Gold Chronicles)

by D. Girard Watson

  "I'm fine. I'll take a whiskey though."

  George put a bowl of soup in front of him. "On the house." He walked to another customer, ignoring the drink order. It was just as well since David had no money.

  David mumbled thanks. He tried to eat, but knew he wouldn't be able to keep it down. He glanced at his watch. He needed to get to the lab. Students, by their nature, arrived late, but going in much later would be pushing it.

  "David," George had returned. "You have a message. A courier dropped it off." He handed him a thin envelope.

  "Thanks, I'll see you tonight."

  He shoved the envelope into his pocket and headed towards the University.

  The twin cities were bustling with early afternoon traffic. Horses clattered along the cobblestone streets. He could here the distant horn of the one o'clock train to Chicago. Students were walking to class. The University of Illinois dominated the town. It was one of the largest schools in the Midwest, known for its science and engineering departments. Some of the greatest natural philosophers in the country worked there. Everyone in town either worked in some way for the University or for the Naval base, which was the only other source of employment in the area. This is what had brought David and, more importantly, his father to the area.

  He made it to the large brick building that held the Natural Philosophy department. Students were spilling out of the building on their way to class or to get coffee from one of the many vendors around campus. A few of them gave him a queer look. Strange.

  Waterhouse's laboratory was in the basement, and as he walked in, several other students were working on the Engine. There was the look again. What was it? He had accepted that he was mostly hated by his fellow students. They disliked him for two reasons. The first was his lifestyle choices. They felt that he drank too much, gambled too much, and didn't spend enough time working. He would have been quick to point out that he didn't love alcohol. Laudanum was his drug of choice, but he'd found it to be far too expensive, so alcohol was in many ways, his silver medal. He could just afford it, to the extent that a man who was in as much debt as he was could afford anything. They hated him because he showed up to the lab late, often looking like a vagrant. He was obnoxious, and many were not-so-secretly hoping he would eventually be expelled.

  He believed that the second reason they hated him was because he was the smartest student to come through the department in fifty years. Despite being drunk, slovenly, and a failure at the everyday tasks of life, he was a better mathematician, engineer, and philosopher than all of them put together. This is what David thought, and although it was true that he was the smartest student to come through the department in fifty years, it wasn't the reason they hated him. They hated him because he was so obnoxious about it.

  David didn't really understand the resentment. He understood in an abstract way, but he also felt that unless you were the smartest person in the world, there was always going to be someone more clever than you. Deep down, he suspected that they disliked him because he was so different from the average student. He was an Indian. He wasn't rich or even middle class. He didn't have their polite manners or graces. They hated him because he was different, and he was partly right. It was because of this that he took particular pleasure in needling them, especially the snootier ones. He felt that each of his successes fucked the rich kids just a tiny bit, and last night he did so literally.

  But today, they did not hate him. He could see it in their faces.

  "What's going on?"

  Julie, the most senior student in the lab got up from a workbench. She was slim, a redhead. She'd been working on a compressor pump when he came in. She put it down, took off her leather gloves and goggles. He liked her.

  "David," she said. "All of us were shocked when we heard. We're sorry."

  The others nodded.

  He felt his stomach tighten. He began to feel lightheaded and put a hand on a table to steady himself. His legs were starting to buckle. He started to take his tie off. He loosened his shirt. Something bad was coming.

  "I don't understand."

  Julie looked confused, but then her expression softened.

  "You haven't heard."

  David shook his head, "Heard what?"

  She turned and grabbed a newspaper off the table and handed it to him. He grabbed it and began to read the headline. USS CALISTA CAPTURED. He skimmed through the article. There it was: Jack Marr, killed in action.

  He sat down on a bench, dumbfounded. He took out his flask and took several large gulps, before Julie got it away from him.

  "Don't," she said gently. The others turned away, embarrassed. They didn't like him, but he didn't deserve this. No one did.

  He sat very still and then slowly got up to leave the room.

  David walked aimlessly through campus.

  He was still shaking. He felt for his flask, but it was gone. Julie had taken it.

  He was surprised by his reaction. There was no love lost between him and his father. The old man believed in a completely different way of life and that was just fine with David. He didn't want any part of Jack Marr the Legend. The papers portrayed him as a swashbuckling Captain. He captured two Spanish frigates back in '97 during the last war. He was friends with politicians and higher ups in the Navy, and when he was in port, his antics were always all over the society pages. He was a war hero. He was also supposed to be rich. A Captain could become quite rich taking prizes, and Jack was known as one of the richest in the Navy.

  David knew that his father was, in fact, broke. He was deeply in debt. Although he was a great captain, he was horrible with his finances, and an even worse father, although that last part was just his opinion. David had grown up without seeing much of his father. He was mostly away on duty, and David had largely been raised by his mother. When she passed away, he drifted between the homes of friends and relatives, his father sending checks to his son's guardians and showing up occasionally on Christmas.

  David did not resent this. Not at all. What he did resent was his father showing up shortly after his sixteenth birthday and telling him that he was going to join the Navy. His father didn't understand natural philosophy. He didn't get the point of going to university.

  David sat on a bench near the engineering quad. He still couldn't stop shaking.

  Were there things he would have liked to have said to his father? Not really. Then why was he still shaking?

  He shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling the envelope George had given him. He felt a panic attack coming on. Of course. It must have been an official notification from the Navy. He stared at it. He debated opening it, but finally gave in. It felt like jabbing a canker sore with his tongue.

  He was confused for a moment. This wasn't naval stationary. It was a letter from a bank. He skimmed it. Condolences regarding your father...remind of you his ongoing obligations...we have priority...his estate... He stared dumbfounded.

  Then he laughed out loud, crumpling the letter and throwing it over his shoulder.

  "Are you ok?" He turned around.

  Julie.

  "How did you find me?" He took out his cigarette case and offered her one. He lit it and then another for himself.

  "There aren't any bars nearby, so I figured you'd go to the nearest place to sit."

  "That's pretty cynical," he said.

  She shrugged.

  "Listen," he retorted, "Don't put yourself out. I know you're just going through the motions here, but it's not necessary. I know you and the crew back there aren't members of my fan club." He felt rage. He knew that none of this was Julie's fault, but she was a convenient target.

  "You're right. We're not. But that doesn't mean we're not sorry."

  He felt the anger disappearing. He slumped. "I appreciate it. I really do, but I just need to be alone."

  She nodded.

  "Why do you drink so much?"

  "What?"

  "You heard me."

  He felt himself getting angry again
, but then he stopped. He shrugged.

  "I don't know."

  Silence.

  "You're a decent guy, David."

  "Thanks."

  "I mean it. The reason folks here resent you isn't because you're smart. It's because you're throwing it away for nothing. You have everything they want, but you're wasting it."

  "You know that's the not the whole story. They can't stand to see an Indian beating the hell out of them on the exams."

  "Maybe, but so what? I don't see how being an asshole is going to prove anything to them."

  He gave her a look. "You know, my father did just die. You're not really into sugar coating things are you?"

  She laughed, "I wouldn't dish it out if I didn't think you could take it."

  He smiled "Well, soon, I'm not going to be their problem anymore. I'm leaving the department."

  "What?"

  "I'm broke. My father didn't leave me anything but his debt. I've got no way to pay for tuition."

  She looked shocked. She, like everyone else, thought David was rich through his connection with his father.

  "Really?"

  "Really."

  She thought for a moment. "There's no way Waterhouse is going to let you leave."

  "Unless he writes me a check, it's not really his call." He got up.

  "Where are you going?"

  "To get a drink."

  "You're going to leave?"

  Waterhouse tugged absently at his chin as he leaned back in his chair. He sat behind an enormous oak desk covered in papers, letters, pieces of oily machinery, trash, food, bits of tobacco, and coffee grounds. He looked absently out the window of his office onto the quad. The weather had taken a pleasant turn. The light that streamed into the window made the state of the dusty, old office even more appalling.

  "I have no choice."

  "Nonsense, lad. You know, when I was a student, I thought of leaving my program dozens of times. But, I kept cracking at it."

  "But sir, this isn't a mental block or something like that. I can't pay for tuition. I'm broke"

  "Oh nonsense."

  They'd been going on like this for an hour, Waterhouse clearly not wanting him to leave and David explaining that he didn't really have a choice.

  "Listen, son, " he said softly, "Do you want this office?"

  "Uh, this specific office?"

  Waterhouse was the most famous natural philosopher in the department and probably the most famous natural philosopher in the country. Consequently, his office was twice the size of his peers. Like the other faculty in the department, it was beautifully designed. A large fireplace sat against the wall with a mantle of dark, aging wood that was covered with awards and degrees. Beautiful oak shelves covered each wall, towering over the room's occupants. The problem was that the office was filled with junk. A narrow passageway meandered through stacks of papers from the doorway to Waterhouse's desk.

  "No, not this office," said Waterhouse, eyeing him suspiciously. "An office like this office."

  "I suppose."

  David typically made sure to be reasonably sober when he met with Waterhouse. He respected the old man, and it was important to him that Waterhouse take him seriously. Today was an exception. He'd had a few drinks before the meeting to steel himself for the encounter.

  "The Engine will make you famous! It'll make both of us famous. If you can just hang on for a few more months, every university in the country will be offering you a position on their faculty!"

  "But what will I eat for those months? How will I live?"

  Waterhouse gave him a queer look.

  "So it really is just about the money?" He tugged on his chin again. He dug around in his jacket. Finding his pipe, he pulled it out and started to light it, and then, remembering what he'd actually been looking for, he dug around in his jacket again, and pulled out his wallet. He took out some bills and placed them before David. It was a thousand dollars.

  David was dumbfounded.

  "Sir, really, I can't...". This was enough money for him to live well for a year.

  "Yes, you can." Waterhouse was firm.

  Waterhouse was rich. At least, that was the rumor. It took a lot of money to keep a savant of his stature around, and the University of Illinois was more than willing to make sure the money was there to do so. The prestige he brought the department and the school paid Waterhouse's salary ten times over.

  Still, David was surprised. It wasn't that Waterhouse wasn't generous, it was just that it was odd to think of him involved with worldly concerns. Despite having money, he wore a tattered, old tweed jacket. His shirts were dirty, bordering on filthy. He was in good shape for a man in his fifties, but he didn't bother with personal appearances. He had a shock of uncombed hair that pointed in every direction, and his blue-tinted spectacles were covered in a thin film of grime. Rather than grow a full beard, he shaved sporadically, sporting a gray flecked five o'clock shadow that gave him the look of a transient. He was an older version of David, except that his appearance was his own choice, and not because he couldn't afford a washerwoman or soap.

  "Do you know what made Einstein famous?"

  Everyone did. He had walked from Montreal to Buenos Aires in 1912. And it took him five seconds.

  Einstein was the first natural philosopher to harness the quantum properties of gold for actual travel.

  "He was a genius, but it wasn't just that. He had had something else. He was a success because he didn't let obstacles get in his way."

  Waterhouse snorted.

  "I'll be damned if money is going to get in the way of creating a working prototype of the engine."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "Good, now that that's settled, there is something else I wanted to talk to you about."

  Waterhouse lit his pipe.

  "I'm going on a sabbatical."

  David's eyebrow shot up.

  "Sir?"

  "It's related to the Engine." He gave David an appraising look. "As you know, the political situation is growing more dicey by the day. There's going to be a war very soon, and people in our government want me to go to New Boston with the prototype. There's a research group at Miskatonic University with visiting researchers from across the country and the colonies."

  David was shocked. "This is so sudden. What about the project here? Our work?"

  "I know. I should have given you more notice, but this all came about rather suddenly."

  "What do they want?"

  "I'm afraid I can't go into the details." He leaned back. "That I'm even leaving must be kept a secret."

  David slumped in his chair, "What now?"

  "I leave." He paused. "But, my boy, I have no intention of leaving you here. My plan is to go, start the project, and then send for you so that you can serve as my assistant in New Boston. I wanted to bring you initially, but I couldn't convince them."

  He patted David on the back. "I'll send for you in a few months."

  "I... I just want to thank you again."

  "Ah...," said the professor, making a point of staring at his pipe. "Think nothing of it."

  David got up to leave.

  "Oh, David, ...there's one more thing." The professor almost never bothered to call him by his first name. "I was greatly saddened to hear the news about your father."

  "Thank you, sir."

  David left the office. The hallways of the department were mostly empty, which was fine because he didn't feel like talking to anyone. The natural philosophy building was called the dungeon because the building was designed to let in very little natural light. Gas lamps lit the hallways, casting bizarre shadows against the brick walls. Early 20th century scientists didn't want light contaminating their experiments because it was thought that light caused instability in systems that ran on electrical fluid, and so as little light as possible was allowed into the building. Of course, it turned out not to matter. Current students thought that the true intention of the design was to prevent students from knowing the time o
f day, thereby discouraging them from ever leaving the laboratories.

  David took a moment to enjoy the warmth of the sun as he left the building and headed for the coffee house down the road.

  He had a philosophical pot of coffee, which he spiked liberally with the pale green fluid in his flask.

  He could stay after all. This was wholly unexpected. His plans were only half-formed. He had thought maybe he would head east to New York and find work with an engineering firm there. Or maybe Rochester, NY, where factories were being built that manufactured automobiles. He had an amazing knack for mechanical systems, and he knew he could get very good letters of introduction from the professors in the department. Getting a job would have been fairly straightforward.

  Then again, his heart wouldn't have really been in it. He loved the exploration that was involved in the sciences, the search for questions that was an inherent part of academics. He didn't want to sell his soul to a corporation.

  But it didn't really matter now. He could stay and work on the Engine. And it sounded as though the engine would be put to some very practical uses. Then again, he wasn't sure how he felt about that. The Engine's primary feature was its computational abilities. Although rapidly solving complex differential equations rarely resulted directly in the death of innocents, it didn't take much imagination to think of ways that it could. Waterhouse had been designing the Engine for the past thirty years, and had only started to build it in the last five, and only began to make breakthroughs two years ago when David had joined the project. The Engine mostly worked although it frequently broke down. It required constant maintenance.

  The complexity of the Engine's systems had stymied most of the students working on the project. Waterhouse had a team of twenty students working on different parts of it. None of them really knew how the whole thing fit together. They all had a high level understanding of how the systems interfaced with one another, but only David and Waterhouse knew the system by heart. They knew how it ticked. They knew how it thought.

  That David was able to do so in a stupor galled the others.