Iron Guns, Blazing Hearts

by Heather Massey

  Regrouping with a deep breath, she yanked and pushed and pulled again, all the while grunting out her frustration. Perspiration dampened her skin despite the car’s cool temperature. Belatedly, she remembered that her father had planned for a team of assistants to remove the panel upon their arrival at the final station in Sacramento, not his only daughter.

  However, right now his daughter was his only hope. Violet shoved back an errant lock of hair and resumed her efforts. This time, the panel moved! Her cry of surprise was met with a low chuckle. She looked to her right. There stood Logan, hatless and hardly out of breath as he helped her slide the thick, heavy panel aside.

  “Thank you,” Violet said with a smile, hoping to coax one of his in return.

  But his lapse into gaiety was short-lived. When he donned his boss-of-the-plains, his inscrutable expression returned. Still, he stared with unabashed interest at the outer surface of the custom storage compartment.

  “I thought you were guarding the door.”

  Logan waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve determined we’re not in any danger of being interrupted.”

  “Excellent,” she replied while fishing about in a cleverly concealed cuff pocket, “because what I’m about to reveal to you is of a highly classified nature.”

  Logan cocked a brow. His intrigue was palpable.

  “Given your own line of work, I’m sure you understand the need for absolute discretion.”

  His cocked brow shot higher. The corner of his mouth quirked upward. “In my line…yes. Discretion. Exactly.”

  I knew it. The man is a secret agent . Violet fought a triumphant smile. She failed miserably.

  Secret agent man gestured sternly to the storage compartment before them. “I don’t see what’s so funny. Let’s get on with it.”

  “Of course.”

  Turning to the seven-foot metal container wedged vertically into the middle of the wall, she studied it closely. It appeared undamaged. She expelled a sigh of relief.

  One could only access the container through a system of sophisticated locks. Releasing them in the correct sequence would reveal their secret. The incorrect sequence would trigger a number of deadly booby traps.

  “Ah, here we are.” Violet withdrew a set of three small brass keys.

  As she inserted the first key, Violet realized she was about to unveil her father’s greatest invention without him. Sadness washed through her, for she had hoped to share the great moment by his side. A moment he deserved far more than she. There were many reasons her father had planned to disclose the nature of this project to a select group of engineers, not the least of which was safety. But she had no choice, not if she was going to save his life and the vast reservoir of knowledge contained in the man’s head. Indeed, the Iron Scorpion had stolen a glorious moment that belonged by rights to Joseph Whitcomb. Violet had only one response to that: you shall pay .

  Her fingers shook when she turned the third key. She knew why. What would Logan think of it–and of her –once he learned of her father’s invention? Violet pursed her lips. Why did she care so much about what he thought? Just a few moments earlier, he’d retaliated against her quite rudely. But he was here, helping her. Against his better judgment, whatever that meant.

  You must concentrate . A series of hisses and whirs met her ears. More clicks and grinding sounds filled the air, a mechanized symphony of precise notes and perfunctory melodies.

  The panel before them began to shift.

  Gears turned. Levers slid up and down, then side to side. Slowly but surely, the casing retracted. Each individual metal shingle folded back in on itself and receded from sight. The whole performance was synchronized, reminding Violet of dancers in a grand ballet. Except these dancers displayed far more than swirls of satin and tulle. She glanced at Logan. He seemed utterly captivated.

  As the noise faded, the purpose for the storage compartment became clear. The figure propped in the cushioned coffin appeared human–and yet not so. Six feet in height, it possessed metallic “skin” like polished silver. A pair of owlish orbs dominated a face that was otherwise featureless. On either side of its head were two-inch slits for the transmission of sound and verbal instructions to its miniature analytical engine, which acted as its brain.

  Violet slipped her hand behind its neck. When her finger located the small square nub at the base of its head, she pressed it. A zzzzzt sound shattered the still air, signaling the presence of electricity. Moments later, it settled into a low hum. This action coincided with the birth of an amber glow in both eye sockets, warming an otherwise emotionless gaze.

  “Logan,” Violet said, “I’d like you to meet Arthur.” She crooked her index finger and beckoned the automaton forward. “Arthur, please step forward and meet Logan, our new associate.”

  On cue, Arthur extended his right foot forward. His left followed as he descended to the floor of the car. With an audible clunk-clunk , he stood ramrod straight beside his mistress.

  The sound of a crashing box drew Violet’s attention toward Logan. He pushed back against a stack of crates, his wide-eyed expression revealing the extent of his shock–or was it fear? A bead of perspiration slid down the side of his face. He spoke through clenched teeth. “What…in the hell…is that ?”

  “Arthur is the most advanced form of a self-operating machine, otherwise known as an automaton.”

  Logan’s fists spiraled shut. “It looks like a….”

  “Mechanical man?”

  “Yeah.” Logan slid his gaze over Arthur from head to foot. “Let me guess…you and your father invented it?”

  She lowered her gaze. “You flatter me, Logan. All the credit belongs to my father. He assembled the finest team of engineers, craftsmen and metallurgists for this project. But I assisted every step of the way after…after my mother died.”

  Logan cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about your mother. But this…auto….”

  “Maton.”

  “This automaton, what does it do?”

  Pride tumbled from her voice like balls down a hillside. “Arthur is capable of a variety of physical functions. He’s mastered well over five hundred tasks. In fact, he has over two hundred points of articulation.”

  At Logan’s confused stare, she clarified, “He has almost the same amount of joints you and I possess. His hands are capable of both gross and fine motor skills.” Violet turned to the automaton. “Extend your right arm forward, please, Arthur.” It obeyed the command with a whirrrrr . She grasped Arthur’s hand in both of hers while turning to Logan. “Here, take a closer look.”

  Logan’s Adam’s apple visibly jumped. “That won’t be necessary. What’s it made of?”

  “My father worked closely with a metallurgist who had discovered an iron-chromium alloy suited to this purpose. I’ll save you the scientific jargon, but his casing is infinitely durable and anti-corrosive.” Violet paused to stare admiringly at the oblivious automaton. “As long as Arthur’s power unit is maintained in efficient working order, he is, in effect, immortal.”

  “How does it work?”

  “My father created a system that mimics the human body’s bioelectromagnetic network.”

  “And that means…?”

  Violet tried another angle. “Arthur contains a network of wires and nodes that pass signals to his various parts, much like our cells use bioelectricity to drive our functioning. He’s powered by a very advanced battery my father invented.”

  “Does it talk?”

  “Unfortunately, no.”

  “I wouldn’t say that’s unfortunate. What’s this thing for anyway?”

  Violet noted that Logan continued to maintain a healthy distance from the mechanical man. She didn’t blame him. Arthur was far more complex than any other automaton in existence. Logan might have been finding his appearance a little unnerving. Unnerving or not, the automaton’s true purpose had yet to be fully explored. “Arthur is for the betterment of humanity.”

  “That’s not an answer.”<
br />
  “It’s the only one I have for you, Logan. Arthur is a unique scientific project. Before the Iron Scorpion attacked, Papa was going to unveil him at a gathering of engineers in San Francisco, the masters of their field.” She shrugged. “Beyond that, his specific applications remain at the theoretical stage. My father, however, will only use him for philanthropic purposes. You can drop your arm now, Arthur.”

  The automaton complied immediately.

  “How did the Iron Scorpion know your father would be on this train?”

  Violet took in a deep breath in an attempt to stay alert. She wanted to sit and rest, but Logan had a right to as many answers as she could provide. “My father is the recognized leader in the field of industrial automata. A number of prominent newspapers reported that he would be revealing his latest project at the symposium.” Violet drew a hand to her chest as a memory surfaced. “The reports included his photo as well. Our trip wasn’t exactly a secret. Arthur, however, was.”

  Logan stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Even if the Iron Scorpion doesn’t know about this here…mechanical automaton, he probably thinks your father can create an army of something like them to run his mines. At that rate, he’d have control over the Wyoming territory faster than you could spit.” He cleared his throat. “Well, than I could spit.”

  Violet nodded while visions of the damage done to the train’s storage compartments flashed in her mind. Clearly, the Iron Scorpion’s minions had been searching for Arthur. “I suspected as much. That would be nothing short of an abomination of science.”

  Logan shot Arthur a sidelong glance. “You don’t say.”

  Her stomach curdled. What lengths would the Iron Scorpion go to in order to make her father do his bidding? She had to rescue Papa–and also determine a way to ensure the downfall of the madman responsible for countless atrocities dating back to the massacre of Logan’s family.

  “Logan, now you understand what’s at stake. Please, you must escort me to the Iron Scorpion’s lair. Help me rescue my father before he’s forced to do these horrible things.”

  Instead of answering, Logan turned away. He laid both hands upon a row of shoulder-high boxes while issuing a low, exasperated sigh. “I told you, I’m not your man. Besides, I…I need to be somewhere.” Both his words and voice bled heart-weary defeat.

  “Logan, I wouldn’t dream of asking you to take such a risk without recompense. I can pay you–very handsomely, in fact. Name your price.”

  He spun around, a livid expression distorting his features. “I don’t want your damn money! Don’t you understand? Money isn’t going to bring my family back!”

  The force of his raw emotion stunned her. “You…you’re absolutely right. It won’t.” She stepped closer, her heart thumping at the sight of his tense figure. With every fiber of her being she wanted to soothe the pain of the tortured soul before her. “I understand your reluctance. But by working together, we have a chance to stop the Iron Scorpion before he destroys other lives…other families.”

  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. “Damn. Are you always this persuasive, Miss Whitcomb?”

  “Please, Logan, call me Violet.”

  Slowly, his angry countenance transformed into an expression of grim determination. “All right…Violet. I’ll take you there, but only to rescue your father. Nothing more.”

  Tears of relief pricked the corners of her eyes. Violet touched his forearm lightly, reveling in the power she sensed rippling beneath his sleeve. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m indebted to you.”

  “Well, why not do some good, I suppose. And I’ll be one step ahead of the marshal, that’s for sure.” He propped his hands on his hips, appearing deep in thought. “That fortress is the last place he’ll look.”

  Spoken like a true Pinkerton! She sought his gaze as her well of persistence overflowed. “Regardless, your help shouldn’t go unrewarded. There are…other ways I can…reimburse you.”

  He grabbed her hand, infusing her with his warmth amid the icy air. “Violet, that’s not…you shouldn’t!”

  “Please allow me.” She glanced down at their entwined hands, discovering she enjoyed very much the way they fit together. “I’ll give you everything I have.”

  Logan gaped at her in astonishment. “Now? Right here ?”

  Reluctantly, she withdrew her hand while moving toward the compartment that Arthur had recently vacated. “Of course right here. Trust me, you’ll like it.”

  “Oh, I have no doubt about that.”

  His voice sounded rough and deep in a way that heated her even more than his touch of a moment ago. Concentrate, you ninny. With a few turns of levers, she detached Arthur’s resting berth from its undercarriage. But the weighty segment was too heavy for her to lift. “Arthur, please set this piece down over there.” She pointed to one of the far corners.

  The automaton picked up the berth effortlessly, as though transporting a soap bubble. The task complete, he stood still. Violet turned her attention back to the second secret compartment.

  Logan pushed back his hat and drew his brows together in confusion. “Violet, what are you doing? I said it wasn’t necessary.”

  “Well, I insist. I want you to have it.”

  He glanced down at her hands, which were now busy opening the compartment. “Have what? I thought you meant…” Then he saw the contents she unveiled. He frowned. “What’s all this?”

  Violet beamed. “It’s a side project of mine.”

  She began withdrawing various items, all of which were constructed with iron as smooth as black onyx. She quickly assembled the thick rods and other accessories.

  Her task complete, she hefted the formidable-looking gun. It had a sleek multi-barrel design. Polished, filigreed brass segments provided elegant flair. Dials, tubing, and knobs bespoke the invention’s unique nature. This was no ordinary weapon.

  Violet presented it to Logan with a flourish.

  He accepted it gingerly, as if it were a newborn babe. “That’s right fancy.”

  “It’s a modified Gatling.” She stroked one of the long, smooth barrels from tip to base, suddenly feeling reluctant to let go. “I call him the Titan.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  While Logan studied the weapon–with deep reverence, she noted–she pulled a large rectangular object from its storage case. Approximately three feet long by two feet wide, it resembled a packsack, only this one was constructed of ferrous metal, dyed a golden brown. A sturdy leather harness enabled the wearer to strap it to his back.

  Violet placed the pack on the floor. “It’s a steam gun,” she explained.

  Logan stared at her in disbelief. “Why does a gun need steam?”

  She grinned. “Excellent question. It eliminates the need for the user to hand-crank it. There’s a small boiler here,” she said, bending to tap the lowest section of the gun’s power pack. “It has a container for water here, and the shot is stored in this compartment here.” Next, she ran a finger along a thick spiral pipe. “This connects to the gun proper. The device harnesses steam from the boiler to propel the shot.”

  “What kind of shot does it use?”

  She opened the shot compartment and then presented her hand to display a sample shot. The shiny spherical object glinted even in the scant light of the car. “It’s called a copper. Well, that’s my nickname for it. Lead core with a copper coating, basically. It allows for a greater muzzle velocity than ordinary shot. I can’t divulge the source since it’s still in the testing stage. My father is a friend of the man who invented it, and when he learned about my interest in projectiles, he provided us with a generous sample. I predict it’s going to revolutionize the weapons industry.”

  “Projectiles, eh?” Logan plucked the shot from her palm, peering at it intently. He looked fascinated. “A fellow could go far with a powerful weapon like this,” he murmured.

  “I should think so! It’s designed to fire three hundred rounds per minute and has a range of four-hundred
yards.” Breathless excitement poured out of her. “It can punch straight through iron!”

  A sly grin spread across his face. “Like I said, a fellow could accomplish a lot with that kind of output.”

  Logan may have been discussing the gun, but his searing gaze was referring to something else altogether. Violet blushed when the suggestive nature of his words sunk in. Revealing her most private of projects to this man felt like the most natural–and exhilarating–exchange in the world. Her father hadn’t been nearly as enamored of her invention as Logan seemed to be. “If that’s the case, then the Titan is yours.”

  He placed the shot into her gloved palm and gently closed her fingers over it. “You’re a woman of many surprises, Violet Whitcomb.”

  “Is that… Do you say that because you like surprises?”

  One corner of his mouth tipped up. “I do now.”

  A charged tingle raced down her spine. But would he embrace the next surprise she had in store? She held fast to the copper and lowered her arm. “I’m glad you do, because there’s just one problem with your steam gun.”

  Logan shifted the gun away from his body and narrowed his gaze. “What problem would that be?”

  “It’s never been tested.”

  * * * *

  The early afternoon sun shone clear and bright, teasing out a surprising amount of color from the russet land below. Violet stood on a low, wide outcropping approximately two hundred yards north of the train. She secured her blanket tightly about her to ward off a cool, unrelenting breeze.

  Having immersed herself in so many adventure stories, she wondered at her lack of giddy anticipation. Instead, anxiety over the coming journey was giving her a headache. Shadows lingered about a distant mountain range, hinting at the dangers she was about to face. The thought made her shiver.

  Papa was right. You’re reading too much of that rubbish .

  Behind her, one of the three horses whinnied. Two were Appaloosa mares and the third a Morgan stallion. Violet hadn’t been aware a shipment of horses had been on the train until Logan showed up with them. Secured to a large rock, they grazed in preparation for the ride to come.