Steel Kisses

by Laura Strickland

An angry murmur started among the gathered steam units and spread like a contagion. The girdle of steel around the Crystal Palace seemed to contract.

  Overhead, a light appeared, splitting the dark sky. For a terrible moment Reynold thought God had parted the heavens. Then he heard the thump of engines and realized the police had put their airship aloft.

  The dark blue blimp came over the roof, and the gondola, manned by police officers, appeared. One of them raised a bull horn.

  “Disperse! Disperse, or we will employ water cannon.”

  Pat Kelly bellowed up at the gondola, “Will you fire on your own citizens?”

  “We will get this scene under control! Take yourself away out of this, Pat.”

  “I can’t, Chuck. It’s too important. The imprisoned automatons are our sisters. Would you back down if your sisters were being forced into prostitution?”

  “For pity’s sake!” Dr. Landry cried. “I will not say this again. They are machines. They don’t care whether they’re scrubbing floors or taking care of a client’s needs. They’re my creations and my property. And before I give them up I’ll destroy them. Do you hear me? I’ll march back in there and shut them all down permanently!”

  The crowd went silent, so quiet the drone of the airship’s engines seemed deafening. Reynold understood by now that to a steamie—any steamie—shut down was the ultimate threat, and his breath stilled in his chest.

  At that moment, he wanted to confront the figure that was Dr. Landry, argue with her, reason and persuade and convince. He knew to his soul that these beings, to varying degrees, had feelings. The finer the creation, the finer the discernment, but they all felt and minded and were capable of loyalty and love.

  But Dr. Landry had become a wild and desperate figure, determined to be right. She stood stiff and defiant before the doorway of the Golden Palace, spotlighted by the powerful ray from the airship.

  The moment drew out impossibly and suddenly snapped. Rey distinctly felt it happen, like the breaking of a guy line under unbearable tension. From the open, well-lit doorway behind Dr. Landry, figures emerged.

  They looked like a bevy of lovely ladies, well-dressed, with shining hair and perfect skin. Reynold caught a glimpse of Chastity’s dark head among them just before they surged forward to surround Dr. Landry. For an instant it looked as if they meant to support her, to embrace her. Not until he heard the first blows land, audible below the throb of the airship’s engines, did he realize their intent. By then it was too late—the small mob of automatons had engulfed her, closed in tight, and taken her down.

  People in the outer circle of onlookers screamed, but the hundreds of watching steamies remained uncannily silent. Topaz Gideon, closest to Dr. Landry, moved forward as if to leap to her defense, but her husband caught her back and wrapped her in his arms.

  The human police mobilized and rushed the steps. The automatons there, including members of the Irish Squad, moved to block their way. The officers on the airship shouted orders and dragged water cannon into place, but as swiftly as they moved it became obvious any intervention would be too late.

  It did not take long for twenty well-constructed steam units, however well-clad, to beat a single human to death. Steel lay beneath those delicate hands and arms, strength in the narrow fingers.

  “Jesus Christ!” exclaimed the man beside Reynold, who’d gone white. As one, the human onlookers stepped back even while the encircling automatons continued to observe the scene in rapt silence.

  “Do something, Pat,” shouted the officer Kelly had addressed as Bob. “You’re a policeman, by God!”

  Kelly climbed the rest of the steps and looked at the bloody pile of clothing that had been Candace Landry. He bent down and touched her with solicitous hands even as the automatons outside the doorstep, most with bloodied arms and clothing, formed a chain, hand in hand.

  Pat Kelly turned to face the crowd. “Dr. Landry is dead.”

  The buzz started among the automatons, which had been so silent, and the humans took yet another step back. The newly-arrived police officers bustled their way in, steam cannons drawn, forcing a path through humans and steam units alike. They stood at the base of the stairs, staring up at the gory scene.

  “Pat?” Bob called.

  Kelly took his place with the Ladies, who stood hand in hand. “With their owner dead,” he called out, “I declare these steam units free beings. Come along, lads, and assist them.”

  Assist, or arrest? Reynold pushed forward, wondering if he might have to intervene.

  “Arrest them,” bellowed the officer from the airship. And indeed, members of the Irish Squad climbed the stairs, moving past Rom and Topaz Gideon and past Pat to approach Landry’s Ladies. Each of the hybrid police officers took one of Landry’s Ladies by the hand.

  Officer Bob now stood at the base of the steps, looking up at Pat Kelly.

  “Have your men lead them back that way—we have the paddy wagons parked as close as we could get.”

  “Sorry, friend,” Kelly replied. “We are not arresting them.”

  “What?”

  “Until the law is made equal for human and automaton alike, they are not subject to it.”

  “You mean to let them walk away? They just killed a woman in front of a thousand witnesses!”

  “In the event they are at some point declared subject to the law, they may establish the fact that they acted in self-defense. She intended to shut them down.”

  Officer Bob, craning his neck, appealed for help to his fellow officers in the gondola, who now leaned so low over the rail they appeared to be in danger of falling out.

  “Clear the area,” ordered the officer in the gondola. “Disperse! Return to your homes, or there will be arrests.”

  The members of the Irish Squad had now paired with Landry’s Ladies and led them one by one away into the darkness. The rest of the automatons began to move, shifting like a flock of birds with one mind, and the humans farther back got out of their way with alacrity. Officer Bob and his squad raced up the stairs and gathered around Dr. Landry. The airship, engines droning, went higher aloft and withdrew over the roofs of the city.

  Done. Was it done?

  A member of the Irish Squad escorted the final Lady from the doorstep away into the night. Humans continued to drift off. Reynold turned around and encountered Liam, just behind him, blue eyes wide and reflecting the torchlight.

  “Liam? What just happened?”

  “Not sure, old son.”

  “Why weren’t they arrested?”

  Liam’s lips curled. “What’s the point? Everyone here just heard their victim declare they have no rights. Hard to prosecute in that case, isn’t it? I tell you, Rey, Pat Kelly is one smart son of a bitch.”

  Reynold paused and looked over his shoulder again. The police regulars had gathered up Candace Landry’s remains and placed them on a stretcher.

  “Whatever just happened,” he told Liam, “I think it’s shaken this city to its roots. People were never afraid of steamies before. Now I suspect they are.”

  “I don’t doubt you’re right.” Liam threw his arm around Reynold’s shoulders and drew him away. “Most steamies, though, are instructed not to kill.”

  “That’s the thing, Liam—those ladies were too. Somehow they overcame that prohibition.”

  “Self-protection is a strong instinct, Rey—maybe the strongest there is.”

  “Besides love.”

  “Right, lad—besides love.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “Do not so much as look at me—do you hear? And do not come near me. Or you just may find you meet up with a hard wooden plank in the dark.”

  Reynold turned a deaf ear to Sasha’s angry words. The man had showed up for work that morning looking like a veteran of a foreign war. But Reynold had no time to waste on Belsky and instead continued to pace the workroom like a caged tiger, waiting for the arrival of Pat Kelly.

  Pete spoke up from the workbench where he awkwardly sa
nded trim work with his left hand. “Sasha, I’d be careful how I spoke to him, if I were you. He’s friends with any number of steamies, and these days you can never tell what a steamie will do.”

  “Balderdash,” Liam pronounced soundly. “They’re not dangerous, by and large.”

  Sasha, one eye swollen shut and the other turned black and purple, with cuts and bruises all over his face, spoke again in a croak. “Not dangerous? They killed a woman last night, so I hear.”

  No one in the room said anything.

  “What I do not understand,” Sasha went on, “is why they were not taken into custody and shut down. They are machines.”

  “They’re not subject to human laws…yet,” Liam said calmly. “Change will have to come, I reckon.”

  “There are far more steam units than humans in this city,” Sasha went on in a half-rant. “What if they become too full of themselves and riot? One of those mechanical whores could maul her john and ruin him for life.”

  Especially given the way they were treated, Reynold thought.

  Liam drawled, his Irish brogue becoming bright, “I’m thinking it wasn’t too clever, then, using them as prostitutes. Good thing all that’s over, eh? I heard this morning the Crystal Palace is to be torn down.”

  “Good,” Reynold barked. Site of too much misery—and, incidentally, his meeting with Lily. Where the hell was Pat Kelly? If he had to wait much longer, he’d explode.

  “Change usually comes slow in this city.” Liam rested his gaze on Reynold. “But I’m thinking that in this case it will have to come fast.”

  Sasha shook a bruised fist at Reynold. “Well, keep away from me—and keep your damn steel friends away, too, if you know what is good for you.”

  “Speak of the devil,” Liam said half under his breath as Pat Kelly strode in. “Here’s one of them now. Hello, Pat. What’s the word?”

  Pat Kelly, looking much the same as ever and dressed immaculately in full uniform, tipped his head.

  “The word is interesting. Things have become quite interesting.”

  Liam grinned. Sasha backed off a step and pointed a finger at Reynold.

  “Officer, I hope you have come to arrest that man. He attacked me.”

  Kelly gave Sasha the onceover. “Is there any evidence, sor?”

  “Fool of an Irishman—look at me! I am the evidence.”

  “You look quite well to me, sor. Are there any witnesses to this alleged attack?”

  Liam and Pete looked at each other and shook their heads. “No, Officer.”

  “Then I am afraid I cannot make an arrest. Liam, if I might borrow your employee for a time, I would be most grateful.”

  Liam waved a big hand. “By all means, Pat. We’re all at sixes and sevens here today anyhow; not sure we’ll get much work done.”

  Kelly nodded gravely. “The whole city is at sixes and sevens. As I am assured through my reading, enlightenment can be a painful process—like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis.”

  Sasha uttered what could only be a curse word in his native tongue.

  Kelly shot a look at Reynold, who virtually danced with impatience. “Come along, friend.”

  They went out into blinding sunshine and heat that already gathered thick and heavy above the bricks of the street. The day would be a scorcher.

  Reynold barely waited to be out of earshot before words burst from him. “What’s going on? I thought you’d never come.”

  “Many things are going on. The Crystal Palace—or what remains of it—will be torn down as soon as this afternoon.”

  “Good riddance. What about you? Are you going to get in trouble for what happened last night?”

  “Trouble?”

  “I’m amazed to see you weren’t disciplined, at the very least.”

  “That is what my wife said. She was pleased to see me when I got home.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “We had a most touching reunion.”

  That made Reynold blow out a breath and damp down his impatience. More softly he said, “I’m glad.”

  Kelly shot him another look. “I like you, Reynold Michaels. You have a rare ability to look upon individuals as individuals. You are like a shining star in this world.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. You will be one of the ones to lead this city toward the enlightenment I mentioned.”

  “Well, thank you. But—I still don’t understand why you and the others didn’t get in trouble.”

  “I, in fact, did nothing illegal. There are no laws on the books concerning the assembly of steam-powered automatons.”

  “No? But what about the Ladies? They—they beat Dr. Landry to death. Why haven’t they been arrested?”

  “As described by Dr. Landry herself, they are machines. One does not arrest a boiler that explodes and kills a man. Dr. Landry’s creations apparently went awry last night. It seems she did not build them as faultless as she supposed.”

  “So you’re saying they went haywire?”

  “In a sense.”

  “What will happen to them? Are they free now—independent like you and the other members of the Irish Squad?”

  “The circumstances are somewhat similar. There was much debate after my creators were taken into custody. Many wanted us destroyed. Officer Brendan Fagan argued hard that we could be put to beneficial use. In the end, we were deemed to be autonomous beings and removed from the ownership of the men who constructed us. The Ladies’ situation is slightly different. Their owner is now dead. As yet, no one has any known claim on them.”

  “What will they do?”

  “Many of them have decided to marry.”

  “What!”

  They paused on a corner, waiting for traffic to clear so they might cross. Kelly gave Reynold yet another look, this one very bright.

  “It seems my fellow members of the Irish Squad have decided to take wives. The Ladies like the idea. They need places to belong.”

  Reynold remembered the hybrid steamies leading the ladies away down the stairs last night. His head reeled at the implications.

  “Will they be allowed to marry?”

  “I fail to see why not. My wife and I have been trailblazers, so I am assured. Is that not a grand word?”

  “Er, yes. So you mean to tell me they’ll all marry?”

  “No. Some will make other choices. The important thing is that they get to choose. And we will help all of them.”

  “We?”

  “It is that about which I wanted to speak with you today. I hoped I could count you in.”

  Reynold’s step faltered. “But I thought we were going to revive Lily.”

  “We are. May I ask you a personal question?”

  “Yeah, go ahead.”

  “Do you mean to marry Miss Lily?”

  Reynold thought about it. The last words he’d spoken to Lily had upset her so much she’d shut down. He wasn’t sure if he could fix that. Grimly he said, “If she’ll have me. And if you can get her restarted. It’s not as if we can fall back on Dr. Landry now, is it?”

  “Alas, no.”

  “Do you think you’ll be able to revive her?”

  “To be honest, I am not certain. I will have some assistance in the attempt.”

  “Where are we going now?”

  “To Potter’s Field. I trust you remember the correct grave.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t bring my cart.”

  “I have a steam wagon waiting. I thought it best to be as circumspect as possible about this.”

  Reynold, impossibly anxious, started to ache. He wanted so badly to hold Lily in his arms he could barely contain the desire. But Pat was right—if a miracle occurred and Kelly succeeded in awakening her, Reynold knew it must be her choice whether or not to be with him.

  She had other options, and she’d explored so few of them so far. How dared he hope she’d pick him?

  Either way, he wanted to get her out of that grave and away from poor Bernie’s corpse.

 
“Let’s hurry,” he told Kelly.

  “Patience, friend. I would have arrived earlier, but I had to obtain the order of exhumation.”

  “So this is all legal, right?”

  Kelly’s only answer was a soft, grinding sound.

  ****

  At the entrance to Potter’s Field, they met with a small troop of men dressed in rough trousers and shirts, armed with shovels. Reynold realized they must be off-duty members of the Irish Squad.

  They nodded at him and Pat.

  “Lead the way,” Kelly told Reynold.

  Reynold already sweated freely. “Where are the sextons?”

  “In their shed. My friends here persuaded them to keep away for a while.”

  One of the others in the group made the now familiar grinding sound. “Amazing what a fifth of whiskey will accomplish.” Like Pat Kelly, he had an Irish accent.

  Reynold’s mind reeled.

  “Here. I think it’s this one.”

  The troop stopped, and Kelly raised an eyebrow. “You think? It would be best to be sure.”

  “It was nearly dark, and all the rows look the same. But yes—this is it. Newly dug. And I recognize that marker there.”

  “All right, lads. Have at it.”

  “Be careful,” Reynold adjured.

  The crew set to, working in unison with the smooth power of…well, machines. Reynold grew more and more tightly strung as the job progressed. When the first spade scraped wood, he nearly jumped out of his skin. One of the automatons looked at him. “Here.” He handed over his spade.

  The sun now beat down mercilessly. Reynold eyed the familiar lid of Liam’s pine coffin and went to work with tender care, his heart nearly pounding out of his chest.

  He brushed away the last of the dirt with his bare hands while lying on his belly over the grave. When he rose, the automatons lifted the coffin up and set it on the ground beside the heap of dirt.

  “Careful,” he said again, even though they moved gently. One of them handed him a crowbar, and he pried up the lid, fearing the worst.

  A strong smell of decay preceded his first glimpse of Bernie. He gagged and turned his head; no one else reacted. He realized they could smell nothing.

  “All right, lads. Lift him out—easy now.”