Malcolm reluctantly ate his sandwich and fruit. “Well, are you going to help me find a job?”
“Yeah, Giles and I talked about that. We both think you have a good shot in sports entertainment. Obviously, you can’t be a professional football player anymore. It might not seem like it right now, but you have a lot of potential. You actually have a pretty good personality. Audiences would probably like you as a sports commentator,” Reb optimistically said.
Malcolm was curious. “Really? It just feels really strange because everybody gave up on me a long time ago.”
“Truthfully, you’re the one who gave up. A lot of people ruined their lives long before the Apocalypse happened. You just fell into the trap. It’s a new era, so look ahead and start over,” Reb commented.
Chapter 4
In another city, Giles brought Beauregard to a barber. The struggling artist looked much like his friend Malcolm; with long hair and an unkempt appearance.
The attorney stood with crossed arms while the barber worked on Beauregard. “I know there’s a human being under that mess somewhere.”
“You know, it’s not weird for artists to look shaggy. It’s a rebellion against conformity,” Beauregard grumbled.
“Most people are going to think you’re a slob. Believe me, you’ll care if people make judgments about that. It bothers you now. That’s why you’re in such a slump,” Giles lectured.
Beauregard frowned while his clipped hair fell on the floor. “You’ve always been a self-righteous bigot. That’s why we didn’t get along as kids.”
“That might be true, but you’ll feel better when people accept you in civilization. Your hair has a lot of volume, so we need to keep it short. Let’s get rid of that beard too. You look like a grungy hermit,” Giles noted.
Beauregard countered with, “Did your wife teach you to talk like this? Everything you’re telling me sounds like something she would say.”
“I’m just blunt. The facts are the only things I care about. By the way, I don’t mind if you keep the mustache. It gives you an artistic touch,” Giles replied.
The barber slowly buzzed away Beauregard’s beard.
“Am I going to enjoy being a Steampunk? Right now I’m terrified,” Beauregard muttered.
Giles confidently answered, “Of course you’ll like it. When we’re done with your haircut, I’m getting a new wardrobe for you. Those old, dirty clothes in your apartment are not acceptable for a reputable painter.”
The barber worked carefully to shape a neat mustache.
Beauregard looked at his new haircut and cleanly-shaven face in the mirror. “Not that I want to boost your ego, but my makeover looks quite impressive.”
“We’re just getting started. Next, I’m going to find some Steampunk attire for you,” Giles stated.
Soon, the two men walked to the nearby department store. They entered the men’s clothing section and Giles thoroughly examined some options. The racks had a smorgasbord of Steampunk clothing. He grabbed suits, hats, goggles, scarves, boots, belts, spats, and other items then piled up the clothes in front of Beauregard.
“Isn’t this a little bit excessive?” the artist wondered out loud.
Giles shook his head. “I wasn’t kidding about this makeover. Don’t judge my ability to determine fashion. I might be a tough and serious guy, but good taste is part of my reputation. Try on these outfits and then we’ll figure everything out.”
It was a long process. Beauregard tried on several outfits that were mostly in a Victorian style. One of the outfits had a nautical theme, with an octopus printed on the jacket. Another outfit had a nuclear radiation symbol on the front of the shirt. Giles handed a gas mask to his pupil.
“Do you really expect me to wear this mask in public? I think the hats and weapons are weird enough, but this mask looks dumb,” Beauregard argued.
Giles disagreed with him. “Weird is perfectly normal in our society. You need to get used to that.”
The last outfit had a Cyberpunk theme with a scarf, goggles, tattered coat, leather belt, fingerless gloves, turtleneck sweater, beat-up pants, and knee-high boots.
Beauregard stared at himself in the mirror. “What’s up with the Cyberpunk outfit? I don’t get it. You said my clothes were too old and ratty, but this outfit is a mess. These clothes already look old and worn out.”
“Cyberpunk runs on this type of style. It’s a new outfit that appears old,” Giles commented.
Beauregard removed the goggles he was wearing. “I don’t find any of these clothes authentic. There was a time when all of these styles were genres of science fiction. Everything was based on aesthetics. Steampunk and similar genres were about class struggles, alternate history, power struggles, high and low culture, and things like that. You can talk about Steampunk, Cyberpunk, Dieselpunk, and everything else, but all of these outfits are just caricatures of the real aesthetics.”
Giles was ready for that argument. “Authenticity doesn’t exist. Everyone will sell out for the right price, including you. That’s the part I find sad. Some people ruin their lives by hanging onto false values. Besides, I worry about authenticity. The most corrupt and immoral people tend to flaunt that idea. Authenticity becomes an excuse to justify repulsive actions. Remember, the Utopians believed they were an authentic and righteous culture, and look at what they did to us.”
Beauregard was taken aback from his mentor’s explanation. “I can tell you’ve thought about this problem a lot.”
“This Post-Apocalyptic world puts things into perspective for me,” Giles admitted.
“Well, I’ll take any clothes that you recommend. I’ll get used it,” Beauregard muttered.
Giles checked the time on his pocket watch. “There’s something else I need to show you. Come on.”
The two men took a cab to a spiffy, upscale part of New York City. It was an area that was unfamiliar to Beauregard. After they exited the taxi, Giles and Beauregard approached an expensive-looking apartment complex.
“What are we doing here?” Beauregard asked.
“You’ll see,” Giles said and smirked.
They entered the building and took an elevator to one of the upper floors. When they stepped out of the elevator, Beauregard noticed the hallway had Steampunk designs, with dark and less shiny metals grafted into the walls. Giles led his client to an apartment.
“Who lives in this place? Are we meeting somebody?” Beauregard wondered out loud.
Giles handed a futuristic keycard to him. “Actually, you’re the one who lives here. Just swipe the keycard and check out your brand new apartment.”
Beauregard was surprised and confused. “I didn’t agree to this. It’s a nice offer, but I don’t want your charity.”
“In that case, complain to your dad. He’s the one paying for everything,” Giles commented.
Beauregard wearily looked at the brass door. “I don’t understand why he’s doing this. My dad and I haven’t seen each other for at least five years. He disowned me after I started to get in trouble.”
“Forgiveness comes in many forms. At least look at the apartment before you deem it unacceptable,” Giles insisted.
Beauregard sighed and swiped the keycard, then they entered the apartment. There was a living room, art room, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a contemporary kitchen. The living room had a sofa, multiple chairs, and a desk that was equipped with a computer. Unlike Beauregard’s old apartment, this one was new, clean, fresh, and stylish. It had eccentric Steampunk trimmings, such as gears, rods, springs, bolts, and other items grafted into the walls.
“I don’t know where to start. Everything is completely different. My clothes, hair, and even my apartment, seem so bizarre and unfamiliar. I’m grateful, but this is very confusing,” Beauregard stated.
Giles responded, “Most importantly, your artwork needs to change. We’re going to spend a lot of time flipping through art books. You need to learn about Steampunk art and what makes it popular. That’s going to be
essential if you want a successful career. I took the liberty of buying numerous books that might be helpful.”
“Okay, but I definitely want my paintings to retain some integrity,” Beauregard firmly said.
Giles led his client to the art room. “I think you’ll develop an entirely new concept of integrity after you learn about Steampunk art.”
Beauregard was impressed with his new art room. It had a selection of canvases, an array of paint and brushes, a large table, plenty of paper, cleaning tools, and two dainty chairs. Several art books littered the table.
“This will be a lot of research,” Beauregard grumbled.
Giles tried to keep his pupil’s spirits up. “Yes, but I think you’ll enjoy it. Art is very important to you, and it will be a great learning process. Don’t underestimate your assets. You have a lot of talent and it shouldn’t go to waste. Keep an open mind and let’s get started.”
Beauregard groaned. “You’re just trying to give me a guilt trip.”
They sat in front of the table and opened some books. Beauregard looked at several pages of contemporary Steampunk paintings. He observed images of industrial cities, vintage locomotives, iron submarines, futuristic airships, and other standards in Steampunk culture. Many of the images included people in Steampunk attire, mostly with influences from the Victorian era and Wild West. Some of the books analyzed earlier paintings from the 19th Century. He explored a chapter about French Impressionism.
Giles stroked his beard. “I can tell you’re curious about 19th Century Impressionism. It might be a good influence for you. After all, Steampunks love elements from the 19th Century. Impressionism was also very influential in the land of your ancestors.”
“It’s so beautiful. I guess it’s both simplistic and realistic at the same time. However, I can also tell the painters took a lot of time honing their technique. There’s a lot of detail and lovely colors in these paintings,” Beauregard explained.
Giles flipped through some pages in a book. “I’m not very artistic or emotional. You seem to be more in touch with those elements. What else strikes your fancy?”
Beauregard continued reading the books. “I’m not sure yet. Give me some time to learn more about French Impressionism. My family is from Paris. It seems like a good start.”
“Wonderful. I’m glad you’re taking an interest in something,” Giles replied.
Meanwhile, Percy and Savannah relaxed at home after they had finished a busy day at work. Percy read a newspaper article that focused on several pirate attacks. More than one fishing boat had been sunk by retro-futuristic pirates within the past week. One group of pirates pillaged a small bayside community on the East Coast.
“Those pirates are becoming such a problem. I shouldn’t be surprised though. We call it a Post-Apocalyptic time period for obvious reasons,” Percy said, while he read the newspaper.
“Do you think it’s safe to take a cruise this year? Those pirates are causing a lot of trouble,” Savannah warned.
Percy put down the newspaper. “I don’t want us to live in fear. It’s part of the Steampunk aesthetic. That’s why we’re covered in metal and armed with weapons.”
“I suppose you’re right, but those recent terrorist attacks are still creepy,” Savannah muttered.
“Unfortunately, some influences from the past can be negative. I read a headline in the newspaper about this alleged, Iron Age of Piracy. There’s no reason for you to worry though. Pirates should be smart enough to avoid huge ocean liners. That type of mayhem would attract attention from the navy or coast guard,” Percy rationally discussed.
Savannah didn’t have the same level of confidence. “I hope you’re right. We’ll just enjoy the cruise and see what happens.”
Chapter 5
The following week, Reb and Giles instructed their wards to fly to Oklahoma City. After Malcolm and Beauregard arrived, they took a shuttle to an address that was texted to them. The shuttle dropped them off in front of a tall building where Reb and Giles waited.
“Welcome, strangers,” Reb said, while she fiddled with her baton.
Malcolm furrowed his eyebrows while he looked at the building. “Why did you bring us here? I don’t understand why the two of you have to be so mysterious about everything.”
“If we told you the details, you wouldn’t agree to come here,” Giles admitted.
Malcolm and Beauregard nervously looked at each other.
“Okay, but I’m calling the police if anything gets out of hand,” Beauregard grumbled.
The couple led their pupils into the building.
“Don’t be so cynical or you’ll start to sound like me,” Reb commented.
They took an elevator and then the group walked down a hallway that was buzzing with medical staff.
“Is this a hospital?” Beauregard asked.
Giles answered, “Not exactly. This place is called a grafting center. People come here to have their bodies spliced with metal. Today, both of you will undergo a rite of passage into Steampunk society.”
Malcolm and Beauregard were dumfounded by Giles’ words.
“I knew this was going to happen eventually, but a little warning would have been nice,” Malcolm griped.
Reb held Malcolm’s arm while they walked. “There’s nothing to it. Almost everyone grafts their bodies in today’s world and nobody says it’s a horrible experience.”
They walked by several grafting rooms and Malcolm and Beauregard looked through the windows and saw a variety of metal experiments. Many women had industrial earrings permanently grafted on their ears. They also saw women grafting valuable jewels onto their faces, arms, and backs. Some of those jewels included diamonds, emeralds, rubies, and sapphires. In one room, a man had small gears and coins grafted on his chest. Malcolm and Beauregard were both repulsed from the sight.
“This makes me feel really uncomfortable. Why do people mutilate their bodies like this?” Malcolm complained.
“Now you’re starting to talk like those Utopians. Personally, I find this style of grafting tasteless, but fashion is a matter of personal preference,” Giles replied.
Reb also looked through the windows. “Sometimes, exterior grafting is necessary. My dad was almost blinded in one eye during the Apocalypse. His monocle helps him see perfectly. It’s not just a decoration.”
Beauregard saw someone receiving a different type of grafting. A young man had an iron hand and forearm grafted onto his elbow.
“I didn’t think we would see many amputees in this era,” Beauregard commented.
“There’s one thing you need to understand, Steampunks are not born, they’re created. Human beings can’t have body splicing until they finish puberty. The metal would hinder bone growth and development. I assume this young man lost his arm in an automobile accident or from bacterial meningitis,” Reb explained.
Malcolm looked at her suspiciously. “Wait a minute. Doesn’t that mean children are vulnerable? I imagine your enemies would figure that out.”
“Yes, but I prefer not to dwell on that part. Parents have to take exceptional care of their children nowadays. Their survival depends on it,” Giles stated.
The foursome reached an area that had a sign saying it was reserved.
Reb motioned to a waiting room. “Stay here, Beau. We’ll take Malcolm first.”
Malcolm pretended not to be scared. “You already know I’m ready. Let’s go.”
Giles opened the grafting room’s door. “That’s what you’re saying now, but let’s see what happens when we pull out the syringes.”
Malcolm tried to ignore Giles’ comment. He looked around the small room. A strange chair was covered in restraints and some type of head contraption.
“Just have a seat and relax. Grafting isn’t bad at all, but it takes several sessions,” Reb said in a reassuring tone.
Malcolm sat on the chair. “Why can’t all of it be done at the same time?”
Giles opened his briefcase. “We have to make sure
the metal binds properly with your bones. It’s better to graft a skeleton in sections.”
“Steampunk technology keeps evolving. At first, scientists also tried to graft human organs,” Reb mentioned.
“How did that go?” Malcolm asked.
“Disastrously; All of the test subjects died,” Giles bluntly said.
Malcolm became alarmed. “That’s horrible! Why would they experiment on humans like that?”
“It’s the only way to learn about human and metal grafting. Besides, all test subjects and prototypes were voluntary. Think about it; people were given the offer to become another stage in human evolution. Who in their right mind would refuse that opportunity?” Reb explained.
She took a large syringe that was filled with molten metal.
“That’s a really big needle. Is it going to hurt?” Malcolm wearily asked.
Reb swished the metal around in her syringe. “Only a little bit. It’s not any worse than getting vaccinations.”
“We should graft your upper body first. Athleticism is an important part of your image,” Giles said.
The couple tied down Malcolm’s forearms to the armrests.
He struggled to move. “What are you doing? Shouldn’t a physician do this?”
“Giles and I had quite a bit of training in performing these injections. We can almost do this recreationally,” Reb commented.
“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Malcolm grumbled.
Giles chimed in, “I know change is hard, but these body modifications will change your life forever. You’ll feel like a brand new person. Everything will be enhanced, including your strength, agility, endurance, reflexes, speed, and much more.”
Malcolm was skeptical about the grafting process. “That doesn’t make any sense. How can metal bones do all of those things? Does the splicing cause some kind of mutation?”
“That’s a good question. We’re not exactly sure,” Reb admitted.
Malcolm panicked. “What? I can’t believe people will inject something into their bodies without knowing about what it does! Get me out of here! I’m not doing this!”
The Post-Apocalyptic Society: A Nelson and Hyde Revolution Page 14