Power Under Pressure (The Society of Steam)

by Andrew P. Mayer

  Sarah was barely keeping track of the nonsense Eschaton was spouting. She had heard more than enough of his dark philosophy from Nathaniel.

  She only hoped that his ridiculous speech would allow them to escape before they were hurled into the sky. She clamped down hard on her jaw as a long-forgotten quote from Darby rose up into her thoughts. “Heroes never actually win, you know,” he had told her one day after relating to her a story of the Paragons that he had deemed fit for a thirteen-year-old girl. “In the end, it’s the villains who defeat themselves.”

  “With your help, I will be that leader.” Eschaton was getting more excited with every breath, motivated by his own words. “I will take us into our new paradise and reveal the glory of this new world!” The sparks were flying faster and faster now, and the large metal and glass objects on his back were beginning to glow. If Emilio was going to save her, the moment would need to be soon. “I will be your king!”

  The ground beneath them began to rumble, throwing everyone off-balance. Sarah felt a sickening moment of vertigo as the rocket behind her swayed.

  From her vantage point, Sarah could see everything—and she could see that someone else had noticed Emilio. The thin dandy had already pulled a small knife and was preparing to skewer her Italian. If she had any illusions about whether or not she loved Emilio, they disappeared in that moment.

  Sarah shouted out his name, unable to stop herself. She realized that she had also just alerted a hundred villains to the presence of a single man, and all Emilio did was turn to look at her, still unaware of the danger that was rapidly approaching.

  Then he disappeared under a billowing cloud of white steam. It moved more quickly than she had ever seen steam move before, covering the courtyard like a flood and rising up almost to her feet.

  The gas undulated and billowed, and deep inside it she could see blue bolts of lightning flashes. The glow revealed the shadows of the men who had been trapped within it. There were also shouts and screams, but no voices she could recognize.

  “We need to get down from here now,” Abraham said.

  “I’d be game, if you have a plan.” Sarah flexed against her bonds, but the chains were clearly not going to give way. Even if she could have snapped solid iron, falling down into the roiling soup at her feet seemed unpleasant to say the least. And once they were in it, they would be at the mercy of what was happening below.

  Then, almost ashamed that she hadn’t realized it before, Sarah understood. “Tom!” Sarah yelled, “Tom! Let us free!”

  “Are you sure it’s him?” Ra grumbled in response.

  “Tom has no vision. He only uses hearing.”

  “That’s good thinking,” he replied. Sarah had to admit that it was nice to hear that someone considered her thoughts worthwhile, without the underlying intimation that women of intelligence were only a small step above annoying shrews.

  During his visits to the junkyard, Abraham had said surprisingly little to Sarah, preferring to spend the time quietly reflecting on the water, or helping Emilio with occasional projects—although the Italian had no idea that Abraham was anything more than a friendly ex-servant, much the way Jenny had been.

  But they had discussed her idea for a new team of heroes. He had been somewhat dismissive of the idea, and yet here they were, ready to die at each other’s side. “Thank you, Ra, but the Automaton hasn’t actually come to our rescue yet.”

  As if in response to her doubt (and perhaps because of it), a strange arm made from chains and wire rose up from out of the fog and grasped the chains that bound them.

  The Automaton used their restraints to pull himself up. The mechanical man’s weight pulled their restraints tighter, and Sarah let out a choked yelp. The white steam streamed off of Tom as he pulled himself toward them.

  “Tom!” she gasped. He had changed again. Although the face and frame remained, the body was no longer the delicate structure it had been. It was now covered with thick chains and metal. He looked less like a clockwork angel, and more like a mechanical demon.

  “Hello . . . Sarah.” Chains leapt out from his body and looped themselves over the frame of the rocket. “You should not have . . . come.”

  The metal that bound her gave way, and she felt herself drop for an instant. This time when the restraints held her, she could feel Tom’s intelligence animating them. “We came to save you.”

  “We needed to save the world,” Abraham added.

  “I suppose that you . . . could not help . . . yourselves.” Tom lowered her and Ra into the cloud of steam beneath their feet. Sarah noticed that it had already begun to dissipate.

  “Have you stopped Eschaton?” Sarah asked, wondering what might be waiting for them down below.

  As if in answer to her question, Sarah heard the sound of roaring wind, and she was slammed backwards into the frame of the rocket. The chains that had been cradling her vanished, and she plunged downward into the whiteness, landing inelegantly against the wooden planks of the launching stand.

  Eschaton stood in front of her, his spear held high in one hand, Sarah’s gun in the other. His metallic skin had an oddly pinkish hue, as if some of his humanity were peeking though.

  The gust of wind from the pneumatic gun had cleared the steam from the air, revealing the Automaton. Eschaton raised up his spear to strike.

  Sarah thought she might have been screaming as the bolts struck Tom, but the sound was drowned out by the sizzles and zaps as the living electricity flew through the air. Yet somehow Eschaton’s laughter could still be heard above it.

  The Automaton began to twitch and dance in the exact same way as when le Voyageur had attacked him at the junkyard, his body rising high into the air as the chains that now formed his legs tightened.

  Sarah felt a pair of rough hands at her back, then the weight of another body against hers. The sensation was familiar, momentum rolling her out of the way as Tom’s flailing body crashed down, chains trailing behind him.

  As she came to a stop she once again heard Ra’s voice in her ear, his hands still wrapped around her. “That’s the second time I’ve done that.”

  There was a flutter in her heart, just for an instant, as a stray thought fluttered through her head on the more intimate possibilities of grappling with other men. Still, she would be covered with bruises, and in a fight there was little contact that came without pain, whatever the fantasy might be. “And I’m as grateful the second time as the first,” she told him through gasping breath. “Maybe we’ll live long enough that you’ll get to do it again.”

  “Doubtful, Sarah Stanton,” said a thundering voice from above her.

  “Lord Eschaton,” she replied with a scowl, struggling to sit up. “The murderer of so many people whom I’ve loved.”

  He smiled down at her. “They all shared the same bad habit of getting in my way.”

  A mocking laugh escaped from Sarah’s lips. “In the way of this mad plan? In the way of your need to destroy the world so that you can play God?”

  The smile died on Eschaton’s face. “You’re an ignorant child, spouting Darby’s . . .”

  “Don’t you even dare to say his name!” She rose up, and took a moment to reseat herself inside her corset. “He may have been a bit pompous, but he knew better than to think that he could remake the world in his image.”

  “You think so? I worked with him, I gave him the fruits of my genius, and he took them all for himself.”

  “And now look at you.” Sarah could feel the spirit of her father rising up in her. “It wasn’t Darby’s anger and jealousy that turned you into a monster. And it’s your hurt pride that won’t be satisfied until every man, woman, and child in New York has been sacrificed to try and staunch that infected wound. But even that won’t be enough. Nothing ever could be.”

  She pointed a finger directly up at Eschaton’s face. An electric arc leapt out from his skin, burning the tip of it, but she refused to pull it back. “It would be horrifying, if it weren’t all so pathet
ic.”

  For an instant Lord Eschaton said nothing, then his metal-covered hand descended toward her. “Perhaps you have a point, but I don’t agree. I think, instead, that today I will send all my enemies to the grave.” She expected him to crush her there and then, but instead he shoved her out of the way, grabbing Tom’s body. He heaved it into the air, grunting slightly as he lifted it up.

  He turned back to look at her, his grim smile once again painted across his face. “And I’m going to let you witness me kill the rest of them before you die at my hand.”

  Sarah watched in horror as Eschaton poured his living electricity into the Automaton. At first the metal man twitched and jumped, just as he had before. “Stop!” she shouted, but if Eschaton heard her, he made no reaction. “Stop, damn you . . .” she repeated, but Eschaton simply laughed.

  Sarah tried to rise up, but she felt something sharp pressing into her back. “Stay down, girlie,” she heard the Bomb Lance say. “Stay down and let the men finish their work.”

  “One day I’m going to kill you, Murphy,” Ra said. He had been so quiet that she had almost forgotten he was there.

  “Maybe,” he said with a hint of his rasping chuckle, “but let’s see if you survive today first.”

  She turned to look back at Tom, hoping that he might have one more secret left. But it seemed that Eschaton was simply too powerful for him. Just as he had done to Nathaniel, Eschaton’s energy was overwhelming Tom’s body. First the chains dropped to the ground, then the metal limbs slowly ceased their thrashing, like a poorly crushed insect finally succumbing to death.

  Sarah could feel the tears coming to her eyes, her blood boiling from shame and rage. She had given so much of herself to save Tom, to bring him back into the world so that he could live and grow, and it had all been in the service of nothing.

  Deciding that he had finished, Eschaton heaved the Automaton through the air. The metal body flew across the courtyard, chains trailing behind it. The metal skeleton landed with a clanking crash on top of Nathaniel’s lifeless body.

  “Stand up, both of you,” Eschaton said, pointing his spear down at her and Abraham.

  The barb pressing against Sarah’s back receded and Sarah rose to her feet. She felt bruised and battered from her fall, but she supposed it wouldn’t matter for very much longer.

  She had lost every weapon. Finally there was nothing between her and the madman whom she had sworn to destroy, and she had nothing left.

  This close, it was impossible to ignore just how much of a monster Eschaton had become. He towered over them, impossibly altered by whatever alchemy he had performed on himself. He seemed more like a moving waxwork than a living human. “Did you want to beg for your life?” he asked them both.

  “Would it make a difference?” Ra replied.

  Eschaton shook his head. “I tried to give you both a noble death, riding into the heavens on top of my rocket,” he said, lifting his fingers toward the sky, “but you spurned the opportunity.”

  Sarah brushed herself off. “I’d rather die staring you in the eyes, Lord Eschaton.”

  “That’ll be a better way ta go than your father did,” Murphy said to her. “He died like a child crawling through the dirt.”

  Sarah felt her anger rising up, making her desperate enough to act, but Eschaton spoke first. “Enough, Murphy. She fought well, but she has lost, and she knows that now.” The man who had destroyed her world looked into her eyes. “You think you know me, Sarah Stanton, but you don’t. You think that I am nothing more than a madman. Considering the men who raised you, you can be forgiven for your confusion.”

  Sarah pursed her lips together. The fear had drained out of her, and all that was left was pulsing fury. Eschaton tilted his head slightly toward the Bomb Lance. “Murphy, if you would do the honors, it’s time to send our former companion to meet his dark god.”

  “I am Ra now, and he will take vengeance.”

  “But you won’t,” said the Irishman from behind her. “So long, Negro. I always kinda liked ya. Sorry ta see you go.” She heard the frame moving behind her as the Irishman took aim.

  But before the inevitable sound of the harpoon firing, Sarah felt a familiar rumble as the ground underneath their feet began to shake. The quake had the signature of the Steamhammer, but it was more powerful than she had ever felt before. The pulsing vibrations threw everyone off their balance, even the silver giant.

  For a moment Sarah considered making one last futile attempt to attack the madman in front of her, or perhaps she could strangle the Bomb Lance before he could use his steel barbs on her. But it was seeing Eschaton’s eyes widening in disbelief that compelled her to instead turn and see what could cause the almighty Eschaton to react with such shock.

  What came rising up from a thick cloud of steam in front of her was almost beyond belief. Its proportions were basically human, but just a little odd, as if all of its limbs had been stretched apart. The skin was white, like a clear pearl. Underneath it she could see the outlines of the steel armatures that Emilio had created, but in the center of its chest, underneath the clear skin, was a clockwork heart—Tom’s heart. With its every pump she could see clouds of steam circulating through the body. The creature’s skin was turning white, and sending off waves of heat, but not to the degree that Sarah felt as if it might burn her.

  Eschaton stumbled backwards, something about the creature striking him with fear.

  As the man-machine took another step toward them, Sarah recognized that it looked like Nathaniel. “Sarah . . .” it said, releasing a cloud of steam from its mouth. “We’re here to save you.”

  The voice boomed. The words were not only spoken, but also came vibrating up from the ground and straight into her body.

  She looked into the man-machine’s glowing eyes. “Nathaniel?” she asked.

  “Gabriel,” it replied. “Tom and I are . . . together now.” Sarah noticed that its pause was utterly unlike the Automaton’s stammer, and it had Nathaniel’s eternally dour tone. “It’s very . . . strange.”

  The Bomb Lance lifted up his arm and fired a harpoon in a single motion. The barb smashed straight into Gabriel’s shoulder, spinning him around and throwing him to the ground. “You’re quite a monster,” Murphy said, aiming his second harpoon toward the creature’s head, “but we’ll soon have you sorted.”

  Sarah turned rage into action, lashing out with her gloved fist and smashing the Irishman across the jaw before he could fire again. Her father’s metal-lined glove made a satisfying smack as it struck the man’s face. She wondered how many other villains had been taken by surprise by a pair of Stanton hands inside these very gauntlets.

  To her surprise the act of violence had only stirred the fires of rage higher, and reaching into the frame, she spun the dazed Irishman around in a full circle. She raised up the Irishman’s limp arm, and pointed it towards Lord Eschaton. Lifting the harpoon until it more or less faced the madman’s head, she wrapped her fingers around the Bomb Lance’s hand and pulled the trigger. If someone had described the moment to her, she would have considered it a desperate act, but as the harpoon flew free she could almost feel the spirits of the men who had been murdered in the madman’s plot guiding the weapon home.

  Her moment of satisfaction was followed by a sharp sensation of pain as one of the harness wires sliced through the cloth of her shirt and cut into her flesh. But the gurgling scream that Eschaton made as the barb punctured his exposed neck made it worthwhile.

  Sarah hissed, and pulled her arm out of the frame. Free from the device, she shoved the Bomb Lance away from her, sending the Irishman stumbling back toward Gabriel. She hoped they would know what to do with him.

  Living electricity danced across the metal shaft where it had penetrated Eschaton’s throat, along with a white fluid that pulsed out from the wound.

  “I thought you said you were invincible,” Sarah said, holding the cut on her arm as she stepped closer, trying not to think about her own leaking flesh. She
could see the pink of Eschaton’s skin where it peeked out from underneath the armor. “The steam has returned your humanity.”

  “It’s made me weak, but only for a moment.” Eschaton growled and gurgled as he dragged the barb out through the back of his neck, and then let it clatter to the ground.

  The villain coughed, then spat out a mouthful of white liquid before he spoke again. “I’ll destroy you for this.” The words were tinged with anger, but Sarah just shook her head and began to walk around behind him.

  Up until now Eschaton had seemed unstoppable, and perhaps he had been. It was only now that she saw him weakened that Sarah realized just how ridiculous it was to have ever considered fighting him at the peak of his power.

  But she had hurt him, and she wouldn’t give him another opportunity. He tried to follow her, stumbling in a circle, as she bent down to pick up the Bomb Lance’s harpoon that Eschaton had pulled from his neck. Sarah looked for some words to say, something that felt just and right. She almost smiled when it came to her. “I swear to fight for honor, integrity, truth, and righteousness,” she said, speaking each word slowly and deliberately.

  The attack had slowed the giant down and left him dazed. Sarah continued to speak the oath: “I will use the secrets and powers of the Paragons,” she said, lifting the weapon over her head, the pain only sharpening her resolve, “to protect those who cannot protect themselves.”

  Sarah was behind Eschaton when she drove the bar through vents in the back of his armor. “Die, villain!” She screamed as she thrust the barb upwards, driving it deep into Eschaton’s chest. She twisted the harpoon as she shoved it farther in.

  Eschaton only let out a grunt as the metal pushed through his body and struck the interior of his chestplate. The white blood was warm on her hands, tingling with his power. And when she let go, the giant dropped to his knees. The armor Eschaton wore, so recently alive with energy, began to drop to the ground in chunks, each piece landing with a clank.