The Steam Tycoon

by Golden Czermak

  His chunk didn’t scatter, hitting her square in the face. Eyes wide, he rushed over to see if she was okay.

  MORNING HAD BATHED the east coast for four hours before the sun tried to break through a thick wall of clouds that hung above Diablo. The factories and warehouses in the borough of Sucio were nothing spectacular, dark against the dingy sky like charred wood sitting in ash.

  The faces of the factory workers congregated in the yard were just as dirty and glum, though they carried more warmth in their skin and content in their hearts than the crowds outside. There were some that were sick and others injured, hobbling on makeshift crutches of wood. All of them were hungry, wearing thin strips of fabric barely resembling clothes. They hovelled, crying, in doorways and at the iron gates, desperate for a day’s worth of coin that would buy even less food.

  The men inside were hard working, already tired yet the day was young. Loading substantial crates, once full those parts would be towed by, person and beast alike, to other factories that stood in similar fashion in other boroughs. There, they would be further assembled into the remarkable WHESE, which Jesse hoped would improve all their lives in time.

  Speaking of Mr. Winthrope, he had just arrived from the main rail station where Duncan was heading on his return journey to Lagos. Slipping in through a guarded side entrance, Jesse was dressed to the nines. He deftly navigated the chaotic yard in his posh leather shoes, getting and giving many ‘good mornings’ on his way toward the main building. It was a frightful structure of sweating, black brick that had once been deep red. Slim arches adorning each side of the entry looked like immoral eyes, poised to strike.

  The place looks like Frost designed it, Jesse thought, spotting a youngish man taking a break beside a sleipnir. Both man and beast seemed to have their eyes closed for a quick nap.

  “Hello there, Hopkins,” Jesse said.

  Hopkins’ eyes shot open and he straightened his posture, trying to dust off his grimy clothes. At this point the action was a habit only, the stains long embedded in the fabric.

  “Oh, good mornin’, sir!” Hopkins beamed, then bowed. Nervously, he brushed the side of the steed’s belly. “Beggin’ your pardon, but we… I was just on my break ya see…”

  “It’s no bother,” Jesse replied with a reassuring nod, pointing skyward. “What is a bother is that it appears the sun might not be making an appearance today, so be sure to not tire yourself too quickly. I’ll leave you to carry on and make the most of your day’s work.”

  “For sure, Mr. Winthrope! Blessin’s be upon you!”

  Hopkins was always a chipper soul – mouthing the words ‘he remembered my name’ as Jesse carried on – and it was a refreshing trait Jesse hoped the man would not lose as he aged.

  Jesse caught a few other passing smiles from workers he diligently tried his best to take care of, but those scarce occurrences quickly reverted to scowls once he moved on. Someone other than Jesse might have been offended, but he knew what life was like outside the walls. In fact, he had just walked through it instead of taking an ornithopter to the rooftop, seeing how quickly it could sour even the sweetest fruit.

  The large entry doors were impending. Up close, they were peeling and austere.

  I must consider having someone paint these, Jesse noted to himself as he pulled on one of the dulled handles. The door creaked as it opened; Jesse strolled inside.

  He entered a long and narrow space like a rectangle, the clacking of pistons the first sound to greet him beneath a veil of steam that hung at the tops of more high windows. It was as if the sky had been brought inside to replace the ceiling.

  All the heavy machinery was at the far end, some of it visible while most spread into rooms that were further to the back and sides of the structure. Due to excessive heat and highly dangerous mechanical movements, the machines in that area operated by bots. They were not the sleek kind sold by Frost for personal use, but blockier units that were quite unsettling to look at if one didn’t know what they were. Such was their shape, with multiple arms and bulbous eyes, that resembled man-sized insects. The machinery spun and cranked, hissed and belched, and small metallic parts of various shapes appeared at the end, dropping into boxes positioned at the base of long conveyors.

  Once packed, the heavy containers were moved to tables that lined the center; there were five long rows of them. There, many women were sat, dressed in a light but traditional livery. To these women that did not matter, for they didn’t miss their brass buttons and copper trinkets like ones higher in society might. They were there to work, taking the components and assembling them into more complicated mechanisms, and to get paid. It was a work ethic that Winthrope admired and rewarded – so that his workers could afford to wear such things after the rent was paid and their families’ bellies were full, should they so choose.

  He breezed by, nodding to a few ladies that were staring in his direction, their eyes so wide he was surprised they hadn’t fallen out of their sockets to be assembled further down the line. Chuckling as one particularly enamored woman was elbowed by another to get back to work, Jesse swept up a long set of metal stairs, removing his hat as he entered an upper-level office. The plaque on the door read ‘Foreman.’

  Inside was a simple space, drab and run of the mill like the rest of the building. A mess of papers was scattered across the desk and atop it, a well of ink stuffed with quills and an ashtray carved into the shape of a helical gear.

  A snobbish man with gruff features and a disheveled beard stood behind the desk by the window. Though well-dressed and mannered, he had the air of a vagrant, a small plate indicating the foreman’s name was Dylan Butler. In his left hand was a pipe, smoldering as he surveyed the busy scene below, though his eyes were squinted so much it was questionable if he could see anything at all.

  “Good morning,” Dylan said stoutly.

  Jesse joined him at his side, tipping his head as he looked below. He liked what he could make out of the operations, but not so much what he could smell next to him, getting a fair whiff of nose-curling tobacco.

  “That wouldn’t happen to be Gentle James, would it?” Jesse asked, casually removing his coat. Stepping away, he set it at a safe distance on one of the office chairs.

  “It is, Milord,” Butler replied, using the fingers of his free hand to smooth the hair over one of his ears. “However did you know?”

  “It has a distinct odor,” Jesse said, unable to stop himself coughing. Sniffling, he wiped his nose with a handkerchief drawn from his pocket. “Hardly lives up to the ‘gentle’ part of its name, being more pungent than the usual fare. I recognize it from my travels. From what I recall it is difficult to find, and vastly more difficult to purchase, being rather expensive as dried weeds go.”

  “That it may be, but we all have our vices don’t we and, well, you pay quite handsomely compared to the rest,” Butler replied, lifting the pipe to his lips. He smiled, teeth caked with a yellow crust.

  “Indeed we do,” Jesse said, scrutinizing him as he walked back over.

  Why do I keep that… man… around? he asked of himself, unable to shake a feeling of deceitfulness whenever he looked at him. He concluded that it must have been one of his ill-advised, early decisions; or perhaps he was drunk with Duncan. Yes, that must be it; this is Duncan’s fault.

  “Speaking of vices, Mr. Winthrope, shall I have Miss Ward reprimanded, or dismissed?”

  The foreman’s tone could only be described as hopeful.

  “Why Miss Ward?” Jesse asked, caught off guard by the request. “Has she done something problematic that I am unaware of?”

  “Her actions recently,” Butler stated nonchalantly. “I feel they do not reflect the qualities of a dependable woman, nor the type of person that should remain in our employ.”

  Jesse knew that Butler was referring to the young lady below that was smitten when he arrived. He became a little heated at the flippant attitude Butler maintained over something so trivial and innocent. It was likely
an overzealous response to her resisting his own unsavory advances.

  Jesse managed to hold his composure, for the most part.

  “When last I checked, Butler, everyone was still under MY employ,” Jesse snipped.

  Butler took another draw of his pipe, the longest yet, and that feeling of untrustworthiness seethed from his pores.

  “Yet she exhibits tendencies better suited for the light of a red lamp…”

  “And you do not?” Jesse cut in bluntly. Butler raised an eyebrow. “This is simply the pining of a young girl. Nothing more.”

  “I stand corrected,” Butler said.

  “Then we agree she has done nothing to warrant discipline of any sort?”

  “If we are looking past her… after-hours activities… then let us focus on her record, which states otherwise. One must actually work to earn their pay, do they not?”

  “Yes, but I recall no such deficiencies when I reviewed the records last. I saw nothing but fine and productive workers across the board that do earn their pay. After all, I did just increase their wages did I not?”

  Butler raised his pipe.

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “While I know that Miss Ward is not quite the best at what she does, a good many wouldn’t be able to claim that title either. She puts in her best effort and that is all we can expect.”

  “I was under the impression Winthrope Limited strove to be the best. How is this possible with less than stellar performance?” Butler asked indifferently, but ended up capitulating.

  “Because the results of our labor are from the combined effort of all here, not just one; even myself,” Jesse continued. “Besides, considering the recent job losses over at Frost Industries, we must be careful. News like that travels extremely fast and I hope you agree that it would not be in this company’s best interest to get swept up in a similar societal backlash.”

  Butler laughed amidst the smoke.

  “Societal backlash?” he asked impudently. “Mr. Winthrope forgive me, but I think you overstate the reach of the rabble.”

  “I beg to differ, based on what I heard just this morning from the Sheriff’s office, but that doesn’t change my stance on the matter.”

  Butler set his pipe down in the ashtray and leaned his back against the glass. He sighed loudly, rubbing the space between his eyes with stained fingers.

  “Mr. Winthrope, I must ask: why are you involving yourself with all this low-level minutia? Surely a man of your position…”

  “Needs to know how his company is performing from all aspects.”

  Jesse turned away from the window and walked over to his coat, placing both hands on the back of the chair it was slung over.

  “Then delegate and have those people report to you.”

  “I would if I could trust the words they spoke with complete efficacy.”

  “Sir, let me put this another way then: if you try to do everything you will only do as well as one person split a hundred ways can: one-hundredth the quality. Surely this is not what you meant earlier when referring to trying your best?”

  Jesse was about to say something when he realized Butler had a point. A flash of his father appeared before his eyes.

  “Forgive the impudence,” Butler continued, “but maybe what you need is someone to occupy your small time, allowing you to focus on the large picture; others can work the minutiae. A nice, worthy lady to hold on your arm, perhaps?”

  Whispers of words spoken long ago came racing back to Jesse’s memory.

  …Do not follow the same path your old man did, waiting too long to love…

  “I…” he began, mentally replaying the words of this father over and over. “I agree that I could try to find someone.”

  “Splendid!” Butler replied, emptying the singed contents of his pipe into the ashtray. He opened one of his desk drawers and rummaged around for a moment before removing a small, wooden octagon. Pressing a tiny button, the decorated lid unfolded in segments like a flower and there was more dried weed inside. He pinched himself another bowl full of it.

  That was Jesse’s signal to leave; he couldn’t face another assault on his senses.

  “But,” Jesse said as he pulled his coat over his suit; Butler gave him a guarded stare as he lit his pipe again. “I need someone to challenge me… complete me, if you will.”

  “Easily done! There are plenty of young ladies in the city that would be more than pleased to be chosen to fulfill that need and more.”

  “No,” Jesse blurted out. “I mean actual love, not some arrangement made out for expedited convenience. I do not think it’s possible to find that with anyone from here.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “There are so many yes-men and women that one could be forgiven for thinking seizures are contagious in Diablo with all nodding,” Jesse said, making sure to stare at Butler directly. “There are also far too many judgmental high and low-lives that can kiss ass quite well.”

  Butler did not reply to Jesse’s vulgarity, drawing from his fresh pipe instead.

  Jesse knew the conversation was over.

  “Have a wonderful day, Foreman,” he said, moseying to the exit, “and please be sure to inform me of any real issues that surface, beyond the harmless wants of a girl.”

  With that said, Jesse left, closing the door gently behind him.

  Butler then turned away, blowing smoke as he dropped his greasy demeanor and resumed his keen watch over the factory floor.

  “Oh, you will not have to worry about that, Mr. Winthrope. Such reports are already on their way…”

  THE SKY WAS utter darkness; a sheer wall of empty black. Then, a pale light began to flicker out on the western horizon. Beating like a heart, it swiftly sprang to life, growing until it was so bright that it rivaled the sun.

  In the center of it, the silhouette of a man appeared, standing tall on the cracked wasteland soil. Beneath his bare feet, mud squelched and plants that were withered became green again. Smoke as white as snow rose from the ground and encircled him, swirling like great gears as they rose high into the sky. The air churned, becoming hot and sticky, kicking up flecks of dirt. Snapping on a pair of goggles, they glinted in the light as the man looked away from a woman who had been standing in front of him.

  It was Jenny, also on the forsaken plains. She was wearing a tan leather corset, gripping its oversized clasp as she also looked away, forlorn.

  The wind sent plumes of dust into her hair, frolicking with her frilly white dress and scratching at her lenses. It was becoming hard to see anything in the thickening cloud, yet not a word was spoken or exchanged.

  The cloud surrounded them, darkening the sky and it became cold; a vast feeling of loneliness spreading out across the obscured vista. Despite the impending dark and thunderous noise, Jenny’s heart remained steadfast. Driven, she plucked up the courage to look in the man’s direction and as soon as she did, a line of gleaming blue tore across the sky, sending the dust to the ground with a tremendous crash.

  In front of her, the shadowed man had done the same and was looking straight ahead. Feelings of hope and joy washed over them both, and again with no words they started walking toward each other, arms outstretched to embrace just as…

  … a low roar echoed from across the plains.

  Jenny opened her eyes quickly, waking up in a pale world shrouded in gray and blue. She was lying on a coarse blanket atop a grassy patch of ground. The air looked as if it would be chilly, but the breeze blowing across her skin was humid and warm.

  What a strange dream, she thought, trying to interpret some kind of powerful message contained in it, but she ultimately decided it would be easiest to blame dinner.

  The roars continued, mixed with low grumbles, and shifting, Jenny positioned herself to look out across the plains from their high vantage point. She gasped at the sight she saw: a herd of five camelo was wandering northward. Mind-bogglingly tall and graceful, the sight of those lumbering giants was captivating.
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  “They bond for life, you know,” Aftershock said quietly, squatting at Jenny’s feet to observe the herd. “The tall ones there on the outside are males, the females are beside them in the middle.”

  “And the little one in front?”

  “Offspring from one of the pairs,” he told her. “The other two will aid in watching and protecting it from predators. Then, when their time comes, the original pair will assist. It’s actually pretty sad, isn’t it?”

  “What’s sad about it?” Jenny asked, finding it beautiful.

  “Sad that those beasts get the whole ‘caring for each other’ idea better than people do.”

  Jenny simply nodded, mesmerized.

  “Never in my life would I have known such things existed,” she said, “and so close to where I lived, too!”

  “Makes you feel small and dumb as shit, doesn’t it?” Aftershock asked as the herd ambled far enough to vanish in the mists.

  “I wouldn’t say it as quite as bluntly as a raider, but in a manner of speaking, I guess so,” she replied.

  Aftershock wore a half smile.

  “Another fact you learn when you’re out here – pretty fast too – is that no matter what you think you know, there is always something out there to teach you a lesson you didn’t know you needed.”

  “Sort of like you did with me,” Jenny said, sitting up to stretch.

  “In a manner of speaking…” Aftershock repeated, followed by the other half of his smile. “Come on, let’s get something in our stomachs. We have a long march ahead of us.”

  Jenny frowned, not looking forward to more of Aftershock’s version of fine cuisine.

  THREE HOURS HAD passed since the two of them left camp on their way to the outskirts of Diablo. The sun had yet to make much of an appearance beyond bright spots in the overcast sky, affording them a quicker pace across the endless, unchanging scenery.

  Jenny slowed down to adjust her rucksack. Made of hide, it itched fiercely and was much heavier than she was used to carrying. The tops of her shoulders were sore. Inside were their provisions, along with matches and kindling, some first-aid supplies, and the beat-up canteen – refilled when they passed a watering hole not thirty minutes ago.