The Steam Tycoon

by Golden Czermak

JENNY STEPPED OUT of an ordinary building on the far side of town. From the front, its wooden façade looked innocuous and drab, but a distressed sign hung above the doorway with flaky black lettering that spelled ‘Generator.’ Behind, an untidy forest of jumbled machinery and shiny tanks towered over the dirt. Long strands of wire spider-webbed from strange, studded spheres; some ran out to timber poles that lined the streets while others plunged into the protective soil, all carrying small amounts of electricity to buildings across the town and to the surrounding farms.

  Jenny turned to observe the outlandish metallic structures as they spun and hiccuped. While she knew how her motor carriage worked – she had to so everything stayed up and running – this sight always dumbfounded her. The fact that what appeared to be dissimilar pile of junk could produce anything other than rust was astonishing.

  I wonder how true it is, she pondered, reflecting on the talk of the town.

  It had always been said that the Generator was one of, if not the first, structures built in the Gulch. It was allegedly made from pieces of some enormous flying machine that had crashed ages ago, possibly during the Burning. Fanciful as it all sounded, many in town dismissed those tall tales as an excuse by the owners – the Rayboulds – to let the place continue to be an eyesore. In the end, though, nobody made too large a fuss about it, paying their bills to benefit from its presence.

  Jenny was no different, at least when not overwhelmed.

  “Well, that’s that,” she said heavily.

  Bartholomew Raybould was standing behind her, his round face grinning and his pockets clattering with coin.

  Jenny had just paid him most of her remaining money. The rate was always high, dependent on how much power was consumed, but now that there was also a wire fee assessed, based on the distance the end user was from the Generator, it was brutally expensive. She thought about telling him to just cut it off, but wanted to check with her grandfather first.

  “Thank you Mr. Raybould,” she said, lowering her view from the machines to the man.

  He nodded politely, more for the fatter wallet than for friendliness.

  Jenny placed the Spur and few Cogs that were left in her satchel. Stowing it, she stepped into dusty Main Street on her way to the general store, first passing a small school house sitting tranquilly by itself.

  Unlike the power plant, most of the buildings in the Gulch were uninteresting, if not downright boring to look at. The landlords and shop keepers tried their best to cover that fact with bright colors slathered on the wood, but they often just ended up looking like some prostitute desperate to cover her flaws with layers of makeup. Especially the clothier, run by Lawrence Denbrough, whose wife struggled herself with such appearances.

  Jenny giggled at the thought, feeling regretful for having such thoughts, but on the other hand remembering Martha’s offhand comment that one time at the bank about her attire being that of gutter trash, all while wearing a hat the size and shape of a frilly umbrella.

  More buildings passed by, as did more people. The Gulch grew smokier, smellier, and more cramped the further Jenny went downtown. Around her were hotels and more stores, above which were residences for the proprietors. Most homes, however, were on the streets beyond, near the edges of town away from the gamblers, drunks, and out of reach of the red light’s glow.

  Speaking of drunks, there were also a few saloons nearby. The largest and most popular by far was Brewer’s, not a hundred feet from where she walked. She’d never been inside the place before, only hearing about its long paneled bar, gleaming brass foot rails, and spittoons. Not that she didn’t want to go in and down a Cactus Wine or Bo Skinner – Grant could vouch for her drinking abilities which rivaled his own – it just wasn’t a place women could enter or be served, unless the owners wanted to have their licenses revoked by the authorities.

  The general store was at last approaching to her right, just past a small alley stuffed with construction tools. The equipment, scaffolding, and charred buildings further down the street didn’t do any favors in making the town look more appealing.

  The recent work was to repair fire damage, caused by a lightning strike during a monstrous dust storm two weeks earlier. Since the buildings were so close to each other, the fire spread quickly, and threatened to consume the whole strip. Normally the fire suppressors could make quick work of an incident like that, but the Guardian of the Gulch – a water tower that rose above the downtown area – was nearly empty due to the ongoing drought conditions, not to mention the ill-advised decision of the High Sheriff to use its contents to supply water to the government offices. With little water to combat the growing fire, the suppressors ended up using their dirt lobbers, purchased from a tradesman from Barro, to save the day. It was quick and ingenious, and most importantly, it worked.

  As denizens swept out their businesses and dusted off their supplies instead of having to throw them away, there were rumblings calling for the impeachment of the High Sheriff. It all made Jenny glad she lived on the outskirts.

  “Still plenty of time,” Jenny murmured as she checked a small pocket watch, arriving at the steps that lead into Johnston’s. It was coming up on one o’clock.

  “Ain’t that lucky for us,” said a shrill voice off to the side.

  Jenny recognized it right away.

  “Jebidiah,” she grumbled, turning her head to find a gangly man standing nearby, thumbs resting on a brown belt with an absurdly large buckle. His duster flapped like his lips as he spit dip on the ground while his wide-brimmed hat covered his eyes but not the reek of whiskey.

  Three other men were off to the side, the edges of their hats frayed much like Jenny’s nerves upon seeing them again. Everyone had a small, silver star pinned to their chests.

  They were, but more interested in serving themselves than the community.

  “Miss Boone, how are you doin’ this fine afternoon?” Jebidiah asked with a tinge of spite, smiling through crusty teeth.

  “I’m doing good, as you seem to be” she answered, withholding a grimace. She was sure some of it slipped through her defenses. “As a matter of fact, I must tend to some business here with Mr. Johnston. So, if you’ll please excuse me.”

  She started up the stairs, but Jebidiah clicked his tongue a couple of times.

  “I most certainly won’t,” he replied, glancing to his left and nodding. “‘Specially since we got unfinished business from the mornin’. Fetch me her pistol please.”

  The biggest man of the group lashed out an arm and grabbed Jenny tightly by hers. She struggled for her gun as soon as Jebidiah mentioned it, but the goon had grabbed hold of it.

  “You might think me stupid, Miss Boone, but I do learn from the errors of my ways,” Jebidiah said callously. “I think I’ll be takin’ that side arm for myself as payment for that earlier turn of events.”

  He signaled to bring her forward. Jebidiah grabbed hold of the pistol and after examining it, handed it off to one of the other men for safekeeping.

  “Nice craftsmanship,” he said while eyeing her up and down. His eyes lingered on her chest and he licked his dip-stained lips, glancing toward the narrow alley off to the side of the store. “Now let’s get back to our unfinished business…”

  Jebidiah made way for the alley, followed by a couple of his henchmen.

  Jenny stood firm right where she was.

  “You gonna move?” Jebidiah crowed. “Or shall I get Boris there to do it for you?”

  The large man grunted.

  “Seems about all your men are good for,” she replied. “And since you can’t seem to manage it yourself, what does that say about you?”

  Jebidiah laughed, though it was more a scoff. His fingers strummed the handle of his firearm and his lips twisted into mean shapes.

  “You sassin’ me bitch?” he asked, glaring at her.

  Jenny didn’t budge, but she did shrug.

  Boris moved in to grab her again. Before his large hands had a chance to subdue her, one of h
er boots slammed against his foot. He yelled in pain and Jenny spun around, giving him a swift kick in the privates.

  “You goddamn whore,” Jebidiah said, snatching his pistol and cocking back the hammer. “You’re about to learn a valuable lesson in what happens when you cross the Law…”

  “Enough of the theatrics, son,” said a calm voice. “Ain’t no law against protecting yourself against stupidity or flannel mouths.”

  Jebidiah looked up. Mr. Johnston was standing up by his store’s entrance, gun drawn and pointing right him.

  “You sure you want to interfere with official Ranger business, old man?” Jebidiah spat, quite literally.

  “Yes, sure as I’ve ever been,” Mr. Johnston replied, fixing him with a bold stare. “That being said, this ain’t the kind of business one normally finds Rangers involved with. Makes me wonder what the High Sheriff would say about it.”

  “Sheriff’s got his own problems these days, what with the tower fiasco, but you’re more than welcome to go whisper in his ear… if you make it there.”

  “You threatening me, son?”

  “You deaf, sir?”

  A shot rang out, knocking Jebidiah’s hat clean off and to the ground. There was a bullet hole in it, dead center, just high enough to clear his head.

  “I heard that well enough,” Mr. Johnston replied, looking at his handiwork. “Seems I’m a pretty good shot, too, considering my age. Eyesight must be fine as cream gravy.”

  Jebidiah’s men had predictably dispersed, leaving him standing alone in front of Jenny and Mr. Johnston.

  Jebidiah was more casual, putting a finger in his mouth, wringing out the large wad of tobacco that was inside. Flicking it to the ground, he wiped the slimy fingers on his coat then picked up his hat.

  “I guess that concludes our business… for now. Wilfred, watch yourself, and Jenny, old folks can’t protect you forever. I’ll be sure to drop by to chat about Grant’s property later.”

  With that said and a quick tilt of his hat, Jebidiah slunk off into the crowds and was gone.

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Johnston,” Jenny said, climbing the few stairs.

  “Well, you seemed to be handling yourself quite well, Miss Boone,” he replied, “but I was glad to help speed up Mr. Crowe’s departure.”

  Both laughed lightly, Jenny’s face becoming serious shortly after.

  “What brings you back by, my dear?” Wilfred asked with concern, noting hers.

  “Sir, my grandfather asked me to come by and see you as soon as possible. He told me to tell you that it was time.”

  The look on Wilfred’s face indicated that he expected her arrival, but wished that it wasn’t so soon.

  “Ah… yes,” he said reluctantly.

  “What does he mean by ‘it’s time?’ Surely not…”

  Mr. Johnston motioned toward the entrance, ushering Jenny inside the store.

  “Come, Miss Boone,” he said quietly, “we have some things to take care of. I’ve prepared everything, I just need to go over it with you.”

  “STRUGGLING OVER RESOURCES,” said a gruff voice, followed by a long and satisfying gulp of water, “all the while squabbling amongst ourselves. Is this what life has become: the rich and mighty no less gracious than the masses below, or even the hounds as they fight over scraps of meat?”

  The voice belonged to the Mayor of Diablo, Oscar Randolph, who was in his third and final term. A short man stuffed into a black suit, he sat behind an oversized desk, his robust neck turning several shades darker than his red tie. His top hat was embellished with golden baubles and seemed to be half his height, bobbing to and fro with each word.

  “Has life ever been any other way, sir?” replied Jesse, who had taken a seat in a lush chair by the room’s large, ornamental windows.

  There was a large bookcase that filled the opposite wall from floor to ceiling. The books packed on it were tattered and had broken spines, while the smell of their old pages was pleasantly distinct. The office itself was cavernous and ornate, similar to Winthrope’s in appearance, yet it clung to a government veneer that sterilized its charm.

  Duncan was sitting beside Jesse, playing with a loose thread on the cuff of his trousers while beyond the glass, the gilded clockwork sky-rail had just been wound (by means of a gear assembly beneath the car), and was poised to leave Grand Hall Station for another journey around the posh central boroughs.

  “Perhaps so, Mr. Winthrope,” Randolph replied, peering over his goggle-like spectacles past a bronze statuette of a soldier riding a sleipnir, “but that is why we are meeting after all, isn’t it? To see if any change is possible?”

  There was a deep moan beside them, all three men looking toward the source of it.

  “Oh, please spare us, my dear Jesse, everyone on Eaugen is obsessed with their own piece of the pie,” Frost chastised, dressed in the same attire he had met his associates in earlier. “Trying to wrap yourself up in civility doesn’t change the fact you are still subject to human nature.”

  Jesse tipped his hat up and folded his arms.

  “That is where you and I differ, Lucas,” he retorted. “We are both successful men in our own right, but those accomplishments were achieved by vastly different means.”

  Jesse glanced at the mayor, who didn’t care for the ongoing strife between the two of them. Instead, he was filling his portly belly with a slice of sponge cake, cut from a large one set on a silver platter.

  “Using your own words Lucas,” Jesse continued, “I would like to find a way to bake everyone a pie of their own, whereas you would rather hold onto one and one alone, doling out the crumbs.”

  “We shall see which method outlasts the other,” Frost smirked coolly.

  “Are you gentlemen done with your squabbling?” the mayor cut in, picking crumbs out of his curly mustache. “You see Mr. Winthrope, even now my point is proven. Here we sit in this grand building and the pinnacle of society squabble amongst themselves for the pettiest of reasons. The two owners of the largest corporations in my city fretting over desserts of all things. Come now, let us get back to this meeting so I can get on with my busy day.”

  “You mean so you can get to lunch…” Lucas muttered as he set his arms on the side of the chair.

  “What was that Mr. Frost?” asked Randolph. “I couldn’t make out what –”

  “Oh my apologies, Your Honor. I was just agreeing with you,” Frost said respectfully, cutting eyes to Jesse. “We all have much to do.”

  “Agreed,” Jesse said enthusiastically, “so much so that I like to arrive to my appointments on time.”

  One could cut the loathing between the two men with a knife, if only the mayor didn’t have it, cutting another piece of sponge cake for himself. Half of it was already gone and not once had he offered any to his guests.

  “Now, where were we?” Randolph asked, scanning the desktop riddled with papers. “Ah yes! Now, Mr. Morrison, I’ve signed off on my end of this water trade deal. So, once you return to Lagos the honorable Lylan Laguna should be able to wrap this up tidily.”

  “Indeed,” Duncan replied after a quick sip of tea. He sat up in his chair as the mayor handed Jesse the documents, who in turn passed them along to him. “She will be pleased by the progress made here today. It’s actually quite a momentous occasion. We’ve managed to open the door to a new era for both our cities. I sincerely hope that everyone sees the benefits as what’s on these papers becomes a reality.”

  “Here, here,” Jesse said with applause. The mayor gleefully smiled.

  “I have the sudden urge to vomit,” Frost added with a slight roll of his eyes.

  “Oh come now, Lucas!” Randolph urged. “Cheer up a bit! The next topic on the agenda is far less jovial: this purported rise in raider activity. Rumors are sweeping across the Barrens like a wildfire faster than the alleged bandits themselves.”

  “Less jovial perhaps, but far more serious to consider,” Frost stated. “I happen to think these allegations are true; it�
��s in my nature I suppose. I assume you have seen the Sheriff reports on advancements in Blackwater, Seco Basin, and Hondo Gulch?”

  There were nods from the mayor and Jesse.

  “Then you’ll agree an attack will likely happen somewhere in those three areas. I hope the Sheriffs are prepared; with the Gulch reeling from their recent controversy with the fire I doubt they are focused on much outside the town right now.”

  The mayor puffed out his chest, swelling like a well-dressed balloon. The buttons on the front of his suit jacket were straining, about to pop off.

  “Even if true, these bandits WOULD NOT DARE strike a settlement,” he said, tone of his voice taking them all by surprise. “They would be ribbons of flesh before they made it to the town limits.”

  Duncan cast Jesse an odd look, who was squirming in his chair.

  “I happen to agree with Frost, Your Honor,” he said, the words like shards of glass in his mouth. “I’ve received word from reliable sources about the raiders’ posturing and their presence getting ever closer to settlements. To me, that indicates something like an assault may be imminent. It’s had me worried for some time.”

  “Which brings me to this city and the Far Coast pipeline,” Frost sustained, now leaning forward while looking at Duncan, “not to mention the future Lagosian one as well.”

  Duncan chortled in his seat.

  “I want the authority to increase my security forces within Diablo,” Frost continued, making sure there was no mistaking his desires. “With both personnel and bots. We can also deploy additional sentries and turrets along the pipeline for added protection.”

  The mayor exhaled and deflated, considering the proposition. After a period of deep thought, he would not renege on the thought Diablo was superior in every regard to a deprived desert settlement.

  “I don’t think this city needs any more soldiers running around,” Randolph eventually said, much to Frost’s displeasure. “The streets are already clogged and we have a chorus of uprising against the segregated boroughs. Adding more force to that may be like a match to dry fields. However, I would be foolish to think that our resources don’t need protections. So, Mr. Frost, please see to it those things you stated are added for the pipelines as soon as possible. Updates on progress due this time next week.”