It was as if Archer heard him, yet didn’t care.
“I understand that progress takes time, but don’t be silly Frost. Verily, perfection only exists in Angelus. We will, of course, be sure to make do with whatever solution you come up with, provided it is, actually, a successful one.”
Lucas averted his eyes in haste, looking back toward Aero who was still deactivated on the table. His mind wandered into his own plans, where those perfected energy cells would power the next generation of soldier bots, capable of operating out in the dry environment of the wastes without the need for frequent refueling like the current steam units, nor ineffectual winding like older clockwork models. With such a force at his command, Frost could sweep across not only Diablo but the world – including the lofty Angelus – until all was under his authority. He would not stop until his name was not only known, but chanted from all corners of the world.
Frost!
Frost!
Frost!
“FROST!” Archer was screaming, at last regaining the man’s attention after nearly thirty seconds of calling. “A word of warning as you devise your course of action: do not overstep your bounds, or what you may think your bounds are. Make no mistake, the devices you are developing are for Angelus and Angelus alone.” He leaned forward with a very contemptuous look on his face, filling the screen to the point that it looked as if he would bump his head on the glass. “If at any point something to the contrary becomes evident, you had best be prepared for a great hand to come reaching out of the sky to smite you and all you have ever known.”
Frost’s nostrils flared at the not-so-veiled threat and his mouth curled at once as if ready to hurl an insult.
The President withdrew from the screen, preparing to receive a verbal volley but no words came, causing Archer to simply smile at Frost’s pitiful response.
Before the heated exchange could resume, a muffled voice unexpectedly came out of a voice tube in Archer’s luxuriant office.
“Sir, pardon the interruption, but I have the update you requested.”
“Go on,” Archer replied, bending an ear toward the device.
“Two and a half kilograms of Soil has arrived from Muelle Esta by rail. It is currently being screened in customs, secured on platform nine, pending your inspection and approval before being flown to the facility.”
Archer’s face grew wide as he beamed, a definite contrast to his look when speaking to, or even glancing at, Frost.
“Thank you. Alert the dock agents to prepare for my arrival. I will be there within the hour.”
“Yes, My President,” the voice replied in such a way that Frost pictured the person on the other end gesticulating obediently. “All hail Angelus.”
“All hail Angelus, indeed,” said Archer, now speaking directly to Frost. His sullen face had returned. “So you see Lucas, we have been more than ready for you to deliver on your end of this bargain.”
Frost scrutinized Archer as he cleared away strands of long hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. Both his left hand and arm were constructed from the same synthetic material as Aero, bordered and hinged at all the joints. On his wrist was a present from Lucas’ father: an elaborate gold chronometer affixed by a thick brown leather band. Exquisitely, it ticked away each passing second since being gifted in far better days.
“How long do I have?” Frost asked hesitantly.
“Thirty days at most,” Archer offered, “though I would preferably like to see action in half that time.”
“I can work with that timeframe, assuming Winthrope cooperates with his technology.”
“Cooperation is the very last thing on that man’s mind, brilliant as it may be. Especially you factor in it.” Archer’s reply was ominous. “You know as well as I do that we need his assets in hand and the man himself gone.”
Silence fell between the two men as they stood, poised on a point of no return.
“Get rid of him,” Archer stressed, shattering both the quiet and any remaining reservations Frost might have had. “I don’t care how it’s done, just do it.”
Aero’s eyes sprung open with worry and as much as he disliked the treatment from master at times (there were times it seemed two versions of Lucas existed in the same body), he hoped that he wasn’t going to go down that path. Without time to ponder the outcome, Aero snapped his eyes shut again for fear of being noticed and consequently deactivated.
“And what of the others?” Frost asked, his expression becoming sinister. “Mayors, prefects, sheriffs…”
“All in due time,” Archer responded, his words initially grating against Frost’s ears due to the President’s insistence that he hurry, while others need not. “Their palms can be greased for now and, ultimately, they will be compelled to comply.”
Frost liked the sound of that. With the joint drive from both of their extensive bank accounts working on the development of the energy cells, and with Winthrope out of the way for good, they – no, HE – would become unstoppable.
“Then we are done here,” Archer said hollowly from his side of the screen. “Don’t disappoint me.”
“Of course not,” Frost replied, the soft green light bending the shadows across his features into dreadful shapes. His brow and cheek-tops were especially rutted, as was his Cheshire smile.
“That remains to be seen,” Archer replied with doubt dripping off his words and not a second later his image disappeared from the screen with a dull hum and no goodbye.
The moment Frost was sure the signal was disconnected and all the green light had faded, he dropped his counterfeit smile.
“What remains to be seen, President, is how long I shall tolerate your belittling once these units are produced.”
Still talking to himself about malicious things, Frost swept past Aero, rapping his knuckles on the steel table as he continued to a distant door tucked off in the shadows. Opening it, light cascaded into the room from a line of lamps along the wall of a long passageway. The fixtures resembled oil lanterns, held by brass hands with orange bulbs instead of flames. Frost stepped into the hallway, still muttering, and closed the door behind him.
Aero waited for a few minutes after hearing the door latch before he made any moves, just in case Lucas returned. When all remained clear, he opened his eyes and pushing himself up and around, dangled himself over the edge of the tabletop. Reaching for his legs, he attached each one to his frame, bending his knees and wiggling his toes. He didn’t get down immediately, instead setting his elbows atop his thighs and his face into his padded palms. A prolonged sigh escaped and if he were human it would have been followed by tears.
I am torn, Aero thought to himself, between the duty I have for my creator and the lives he is about to affect.
He struggled with which option would take precedence, considering both would violate one, if not more, of the fundamental principles hardwired into his brain.
Aero remained, head in hands as he mulled over his options, deciding that he would pay close attention to Lucas and his dealings going forward. Pressed to act, it would not be long before his master made moves and Aero would be there, watching.
IT WAS NEARING six o’clock in the morning as indicated by a large ironware clock that hung over the entrance to the factory floor. Jenny entered through the heavy doors, having trudged across the murky yard. The entire area was soaked by tenacious drizzle, as was her cloak and bits of uniform beneath it. Removing the outerwear, she folded it up and set it on a small shelf beneath her station along the central tables. Brushing out what wrinkles she could, she looked around at the same time, thankful that Evelyn had brought her to Sucio just over a week ago and was able to pull some favors so Jenny got in at one of Winthrope Limited’s locations.
While many of the neighboring mills and factories had already been at work for an hour or more, steam had yet to collect overhead in any of Winthrope’s facilities, the hefty machinery that normally hiccupped and belched the vapor to the rafters still dormant like some great, sleeping beast. In
the shadows of pipes and pistons, Jenny stared at those unnerving work bots as they moved around, preparing to wake it.
I wonder why Mr. Winthrope doesn’t just upgrade those things to look more…
Suddenly, the doors burst open and Jenny’s attention fell on a stream of ladies flowing into the room, their light outfits reminiscent of a river cascading into channels formed by the tables. It was an impressive sight, all the women ready to get their long days started, though due to Winthrope’s generosity they would end an hour before everyone else, too.
“Today’s the day!” sang a somewhat round woman as she took a seat beside Jenny and cracked her stubby knuckles. Her gentle face was full of excitement, even though it was somewhat dirty.
“For what, Penny?” Jenny asked with a smile, clueless about what she was talking about. Nonetheless, her good mood was infectious and a great counter for the horrible weather.
“A visit,” whispered Amelia Ward giddily from Jenny’s left, her face red and nearly bursting. She looked like a matchstick.
“A visit from who?”
“Mr. Winthrope!” Penny and Amelia said together and the building literally shook with the sheer amount of swooning breath that was drawn in at that moment, then sighed melodiously out.
“T-that’s today?” Jenny said, now recalling a mention of something about it a day or so ago. She was trying her best to be indifferent, but inside she was happy for the chance to meet and hopefully thank him for being so upstanding.
“Really now,” said a downright depressing voice.
It was uttered by a harsh-looking woman with graying hair drawn up into such a tight bun that years of wrinkles were removed from her face. As she continued to speak, her long and un-tight neck wobbled.
“Decorum, ladies,” she underscored sourly through pursed lips. “This is a place of business, not one for girlish fancies or frivolity. Need I remind you Miss Ward that the last thing you need is for the foreman to catch you again. He’ll have you out on the street before your last swoon is out! The same goes for you Miss Langsdale.”
“Oh, come now,” Jenny said as the first set of pistons cranked. “If we must put in the work, why not get some enjoyment out of it?”
“Because it is pointless,” the woman hissed, stressing the S so much Jenny waited for steam to vent from her ears and a metal part to be spat out of her mouth for assemblage.
“It is pointless… to be happy?” Jenny asked in disbelief, the real parts forthcoming.
“Quite…”
Without another word to the miserable woman (she didn’t even know her name nor cared), Jenny snatched up the first of her components and set to put together a thing the other ladies called a controller assembly. The monotonous task continued for hours and Jenny fell into a mindless rhythm, allowing the time to tick by quickly until it was broken by two things that fast became just as repetitive. The first was not pleasurable in the slightest, having nothing to do with work but everything to do with the foreman and his salacious advances. One would be hard pressed to find anything that could induce vomiting faster than a detestable beard surrounding an equally loathsome mouth that insisted upon getting too close to one’s skin. The second had the potential to be much more satisfying, if it came to be. Periodically, the entrance doors would fling open and Jenny’s eyes would nimbly shoot over each time, anticipating Mr. Winthrope standing in the doorway illuminated by the rising sun.
Unfortunately, that had yet to happen, her gaze – along with that of Penny and Amelia – were instead met by the bun-lady’s cricked neck and dissecting stare. Jenny would make sure to frown at her, mulling over the sheer amount of spitefulness she saw in the workforce.
I can see why they would be bitter relative to the foreman and those always groping hands, she thought, but to see it amongst ourselves, rampant where it should be minimal, is disheartening.
In the week Jenny was there, she’d seen many overly catty reactions or heard judgmental remarks made by women about other women, but none were more the topic of discussion than she was. Perhaps it was because Jenny was the new girl from the other side of the wall, with a different look and differing point of view. To her, that was something that should be celebrated, putting on a united front against their issues instead of being constantly against each other in some competition without a prize. But apparently, such things should be suppressed, as done by people who needed a negative regimen as much as air to survive.
“Don’t mind her,” whispered Penny as she tightened some bolts with a wrench, slamming the tool down before handing the unit off down the line. “Until you arrived I was the target of her berating. To be honest, I always thought it was a means of deflecting the fact she’s smuggling some of these parts out of here.”
“Oh my! Really?” Jenny muttered, flabbergasted while casting a sideways glance. “How in the world?”
Amelia leaned over and Jenny dipped her head, expecting a juicy reveal.
“We think she has one shoved up front and another tightly in the rear,” Amelia said in a voice so mousy she could barely be heard over the general noise.
Jenny gasped, conjuring a visual before the trio tittered.
“That explains quite a lot,” she replied, catching a hawkish glare from across the table. They didn’t care, continuing unashamedly until their laughs were spent.
A couple more hours wound their way around the clock and lunch had at last arrived with the strike of noon. The machines and bots still toiled away as the women filed out of the work area for their break. Penny and Amelia stood, followed by Jenny who rose stiffly between them.
“Your back doing all right, dear?” asked Penny, placing her arms at the low of her own as she stretched. “After all these years, mine is murder by this time.”
“More like by the first hour,” said Amelia as her joints popped loudly.
“That’s because you need to eat more!” Penny said with concern, her narrowed eyes hunting for any sign of meat on the girl’s frame. “There’s no cushioning for your bones! You look like a rail.”
“I would if I could afford to,” Amelia scowled, now glancing at her thin arms in comparison to Penny’s plump ones.
Penny shook her head saying, “You earn the same wage I do and though it pains me – as nosy as I am – I’m not going to ask what you end up doing with yours. Nope; it’s none of my business!” Though she just denied it, she really did look as if she wanted to know. “Come on! Time’s wasting and you do need to eat!”
The pair of them set off but Jenny delayed.
“Are you coming?” Amelia asked, halfway to the door already. “We’ve only a half hour…”
“I’ll join you two shortly,” she said, wanting to spend a moment alone.
“all righty, just be sure you don’t lose track of time and go and miss break; we still have six more hours to go!”
“I won’t,” Jenny said as her two friends disappeared through the door and down the passage leading to the dining hall. She turned back around and sat for a moment, looking at the floor.
“I miss you…” she whispered, pulling from around her neck a filigreed silver locket attached to thin chain.
Placing it between her thumb and forefinger, she flicked the locket open and looked at the tiniest lumograph of her mother. The short banter between Penny and Amelia reminded Jenny of her mother’s often failed attempts to get her to eat vegetables growing up and, for some reason, the memory came in and hit her like a locomotive.
The minutes passed and while she reminisced, several footsteps approached behind her.
“Oh sorry, you two,” Jenny said, closing the locket and putting it away. “I did exactly what I said I wouldn’t and lost track of …”
“Your place?” said a voice that didn’t belong to Penny or Amelia. It was far more shrill, predatory.
Jenny rose slowly and turned right into a pair of beady eyes peering from beneath a familiarly taunt bun.
“I beg your pardon?” Jenny snapped.
“Undoubtedly,” the uptight woman replied, her eyes never wavering. Behind her, the group of women grew to number a half dozen.
Jenny could feel her skin prickling, knowing where this was headed. Looking around for the foreman, he must’ve been at lunch himself; the space where he was normally perched in his window empty.
“If you would please hurry, Miss Persimmon, is it? I would like to spend what little time remains of lunch alone.”
“Persimmons,” she corrected, still hissing like a snake. “Funny that you mention you’d like to be alone now my dear Miss Boone; perhaps the company you keep at night keeps you quite… occupied.”
There was a round of heckling sniggers, punctuated by Miss Persimmons’ pretentious throat clearing.
“What?” snapped Jenny.
“Stop pretending!” the ratty girl charged. “We heard you arrived with Evelyn Richards! Some of us seen you! That louse is only good for one thing!”
“I hear she’s good for a great many things,” Miss Persimmons corrected snobbishly. “Especially when basking in the glow of a red light…”
Knowing how kind-hearted Evelyn was and that she was trying her hardest to champion equal rights for all, even the bitch in front of her, Jenny became enraged.
“I would strongly suggest that you watch what you say,” Jenny told her, leaning compellingly over the table.
“Or you’ll what?” Miss Persimmons asked, unfazed. “Show me how a wasteland jezebel handles a situation?”
“You seem to be doing just fine with that all by yourself…”
The mouthy girl’s jaw hit the floor, her bucked teeth chewing on the air.
“How dare you!” she squeaked, and a split second later she was shoving a palm right into Jenny’s forehead.
There was a flash of light followed by a flurry of intense spots, Jenny stumbling backward in a stupor right into something hard. As her vision returned, fuzzy at first, she leaned against the wall and saw the faces of Persimmons and her motley crew, aghast.
The Steam Tycoon Page 17