Power Under Pressure (The Society of Steam)

by Andrew P. Mayer

  His white flesh turned grayer with every passing second. The metal on his skin faded away, as if it were pouring out with his blood.

  “You’ve lost,” Sarah said, looking into the villain’s face.

  He focused on her and then smiled. “Not nearly as much as you have.”

  Turning away, she looked to see what had become of the Irishman, hoping that Gabriel had taken his revenge. Sarah was disappointed to see just a glimpse of the Bomb Lance’s tweed-covered backside as he slipped out one of the courtyard doors. He hadn’t been the only one. It seemed that most of Eschaton’s Children had also used the confusion as a chance to escape.

  The one man she did see standing there was Emilio. He snapped back the metal arms and ran toward her. “Sarah!”

  She grabbed him and gave him a kiss. It was less chaste than she had intended, but it made him smile.

  “I saved you!” He gave her another kiss, and his lips opened as she pushed herself harder into him, anger, excitement, and fear all combining into a single wave of passion greater than she had ever felt before.

  The Frenchman’s voice cut through the moment. “Now, King Omega! Launch ze rocket and we wiww stiww win ze futuwe!” Le Voyageur stood on the rocket’s stage, Eschaton’s metal spear in his hands. He shoved it deep into the framework of the rocket.

  Eschaton rose to his feet and smiled. “Even in death . . .” he managed to gurgle out, “I will change the world.” Eschaton took his final shuddering breath, and filled the air with light and fury as bolts of living energy rippled up his body.

  The crackling electricity leapt the short distance, channeling itself directly through the spear’s metal shaft and into the rocket. As the power coursed through him, the Frenchman started to shake and sputter. Then, with a crack of what sounded like thunder, the sparking energy picked up the old man like a rag doll and flung him through the air.

  Le Voyageur’s final journey was a short one. He crashed down in the courtyard with a sickening thud, and then lay there unmoving. The old man’s neck was twisted at an unnatural angle against the cold concrete.

  Sarah stared with shock at the Frenchman. She was still prepared for him to move and attack one more time, or simply pick himself up, brush himself off, and make some kind of rude remark. But as a pool of dark liquid began to gather around his wiry white hair, it was clear that he would never speak again.

  Eschaton still stood, his body unmoving, his arms raised into the air. Then he tilted forward and toppled to the ground. He bounced once, his left arm breaking away at the elbow, before he fell back against the ground and shattered into large stony pieces against the concrete.

  Standing behind him was Ra, his hands still outstretched from having given Eschaton a shove. “You’re done, monster.”

  Sarah took a step toward her fallen enemy, but Emilio still held her hand in his, and he was clearly intent on not letting her go just yet. He gave her arm a tug, and she turned to look at him. “What’s the matter?”

  He nodded slightly, and Sarah turned her gaze to follow his. Emilio was looking back up at the stage. “The rocket.” Steam had begun to leak out from the large nozzle on the bottom of it, and from somewhere deep inside there was a terrible hissing noise, growing louder every second.

  Ra was the first to speak. “I think we’d better run.”

  “And where are we going to go?” Sarah asked. “We need to stop it!” If the wretched machine actually did manage to launch, all of New York would be covered in Eschaton’s deadly black smoke.

  “No, Sarah, not you. I do.” She turned around to see the glowing creature that had once been Tom and Nathaniel standing above her. His skin was a cloudy white, and the calm voice, along with the angelic smile he wore, almost had her smiling back before she realized what he had just suggested.

  “Not you! We’ll fix you! You have to stay with me!”

  It laughed at her. “I’m not broken . . . anymore. And what would I be staying for, if it meant I would . . .” she heard the pause in his voice. His pauses had always sounded confused, but this one seemed contemplative, “lose you.”

  The sadness and confusion felt like those days after her mother had died, her father trying to explain that her mother was in a better world. That she had gone to a place so far beyond her comprehension that it might as well have been magic. She could feel the heat in her face as tears worked their way into her eyes. “Tom, Nathaniel—please! Don’t go!”

  “I love you, Sarah Stanton. I don’t think I ever truly knew what that meant before.”

  She reached out to touch him, stroking the face of this strange angel. She let her fingers trail down to his heart, and she could feel it pumping underneath his chest. “I always loved you both.”

  With a smile the creature turned and leapt onto the stage with a single bound. A second step lifted it up into the air as it climbed up the frame of the rocket.

  Then the last Paragon disappeared in a hiss and a cloud of billowing steam that rushed out from the rocket’s mighty engines, lifting the ship up from the launching stage, up into the summer sky.

  Chapter 27: A Short Evolution

  CHAPTER 27

  A SHORT EVOLUTION

  He could remember what it was like to die. Even as he had been stabbed and shocked, he had been terrified of death. He had wanted it to end, but when the end came he had fought it. It had been painful and he had been helpless but—and this was surprising—not angry.

  And when the end had finally come, the world just stopped—like the hands of a broken watch that hung next to a moment that was never going to come.

  He could remember what it was like to break, over and over again. Torn to pieces, beaten, and shocked, until finally his heart stopped.

  It had been so easy to be reborn when all he’d ever had to do was become something new. He had memories but never thoughts, desires but no emotions. He could know, but not feel.

  Who and whatever he had been, had all been destroyed by the same man, and yet the murderer was also their father. His arrogance had lain the foundation that brought them together. Now they were more than they had ever been alone.

  The metal of Tom’s heart had reacted to Nathaniel’s seared flesh. His body (their body now) had been shattered and broken, but wasn’t truly dead. It had simply been diminished by the loss of the part of himself that had kept him alive and whole.

  Tom had been dead before, of course. Lost inside his own heart, unable to communicate with the outside world. Reduced to his bare essentials and most minimal sensations.

  He could remember it all . . . Travelling in the suitcase, Sarah’s words. It had all resonated inside of him, all been captured somewhere in the metal: a vibration, a sound.

  And when his heart had fallen on Nathaniel, when the clear flesh had touched him, he knew what to do. It was the only thing that made sense: Tom made steam.

  He could only create a tiny puff, but it was enough. The crystal flesh had woken up only for an instant, but that was enough. It gave Tom the ability to beat again, and the skin had reacted again, giving energy back to the mechanical heart.

  It hadn’t happened instantly, and it hadn’t been easy. But as skin and steel began to work together, their thoughts had returned, and then began to fuse.

  That had been the most difficult part. Even if all that remained of Nathaniel’s humanity were dreams and lies, he clung to them with the same desperate desire that he had given them his entire life. And Tom had never truly had thoughts before. For him there was only reason and knowledge.

  And so their first moments together had been pure anguish, full of fear and death. Tom had found that his true wish was to escape and go back to what he had been before, instead of becoming part of something that hated him, and hated change, so very much.

  As metal and flesh fused, they tore off their old head, a useless lump with no real meaning. And when he opened his eyes (he had eyes!) and saw the light of the world for the first time, he forgave himself.

  His
heart beat stronger now. Steam pumped through this strange body, and the flesh began to heal. Inside of him, metal shifted and his form changed. Tom had rebuilt himself so many times, it was easy to do it again. Nathaniel had abused his body so many times, and this was much better than that.

  They needed a name, and it came to them. “Gabriel,” they said together, and it was almost one voice.

  They were reborn into one being. But neither of them had forgiven the man who killed them. They hadn’t forgotten that there was someone they loved, and that she was in danger.

  When they stood up, the remains of Tom’s mechanical body had been scattered around them. What would Darby have thought of all this? They imagined that the old man would have been shocked, and probably upset by this abomination of flesh and metal they had become. They thought of the rebirths of Hughes and of Eschaton that had come from Darby’s living steel, and smiled at the irony.

  They needed to merge. For Tom, it would be easy to let himself go and sink down into being someone, or something else. After changing himself so many times, the opportunity to finally and truly transform seemed almost like a blessing.

  But what would they become?

  From somewhere in Tom’s vast memory rose up Sir Dennis’s last words: “When dark times come, it is men of honor who must lead us back to the light of reason.”

  “But I am not an honorable man,” Gabriel whispered to himself.

  “No. But you can be . . . the light.”

  The ride was dizzying as the ship flew higher, expending the fuel rapidly. But it was intended to be a short trip. It would be only a matter of seconds before the ship would turn and begin trailing fortified smoke across the New York skyline.

  Gabriel reached into the body of the ship, his flesh splintering as the metal frame exploded out from underneath his skin, the limb expanding until it reached the metal box that contained the rocket’s steering mechanics.

  The steel hand torn open the iron cover. His fingers merged with le Voyageur’s contraption, and as it responded he could feel his consciousness slipping into it, and he became part of it. He didn’t control the machine as much as lent his intelligence to it. He had merged with it, and it would forever be a part of him.

  Gabriel felt a twinge of sadness that Tom had never been given the chance to fulfill the destiny Darby had lain out for him. If he had merged with the Hall and become the Paragon, it would have been glorious.

  But there was no time for regret. The machine beneath him had revealed its purpose: having touched the sky, now it wanted only to give birth. The smoke in its belly was a pregnant future. Then it would die, tearing itself apart. It yearned to open the vents along its side.

  Gabriel held it back, forcing it to hold on just a little longer. Tearing his own flesh once again, he plunged his other arm into the engine, opened his heart, and let the fortified steam race out of him.

  The nozzles roared loudly, and the rocket flew up higher, gaining speed and height until the sky above them began to fade from blue to black, the air growing thin, the sounds of the world disappearing from even his sensitive ears.

  As the ship turned over in the sky, Gabriel saw the outline of the world below. The earth was vast and beautiful. How was it that he could see everything, but no one could see him?

  Only a few people would ever know the sacrifices that the Paragons had made to protect them. “It’s your world now, Sarah. Take care of it.”

  The rumbling grew stronger, and he tried to hold Eschaton’s rocket from its destiny for one more moment, giving him one more moment to savor the view beneath him.

  And then the ship, no longer willing to wait, exploded.

  Chapter 28: For the People!

  CHAPTER 28

  FOR THE PEOPLE!

  As she walked to the podium to give her speech, Sarah felt more than just the usual churn of nervousness that Emilio had told her anyone standing in front of three hundred people might feel. Part of it was, perhaps, that the stage was the very same platform that Eschaton’s deadly rocket had launched from, although they had painted it.

  The courtyard was packed and the day was hot, even for July. Sarah could feel herself sweating in the costume, her hair tucked back under her hat. They had made her a version of the Columbia costume that was far more demure than the “battle attire” she had been wearing when she fought Eschaton on this very spot only a month ago. She was sure that tomorrow’s papers would still be filled with commentary about just how “unladylike” it was for any woman to be wearing such an outfit.

  She had endured a great deal of that kind of rhetoric over the last month as the truth behind the destruction of the Paragons and the Hall itself had come to light.

  They had edited the truth more than slightly. There was no discussion of Hughes’s betrayal, or Eschaton’s beginnings as an assistant to Sir Dennis Darby.

  And in death, the madman had become the villain he had always wanted to be: a devious trickster whose persona as King Jupiter had fooled even the most eagle-eyed members of the city’s government.

  Large rewards had been posted for the capture of the Children of Eschaton, and even now the public was on the lookout for the Bomb Lance, Jack Knife, and the other survivors of the apocalypse.

  They had also wiped Vincent Smith’s slate clean, letting him rest in peace as the provider of the Steamhammer costume to Emilio.

  Even Sarah’s own history had been softened for public consumption. No mention was made of the junkyard. Instead she had spent that time imprisoned deep underneath the Hall of Paragons alongside her heroic step-brother.

  Keeping track of all the lies and half-truths made her head spin, but no one seemed too concerned with the details. They were far more intent on judging these “costumed ruffians” who had taken over the Paragons, no matter how noble their actions or heroic their intent. But despite being considered hooligans and misfits, Sarah intended that the Society of Steam would be here to stay.

  Stepping up to the amplification tube, she cleared her throat. It was a small sound, but the machine made it loud enough to echo off the walls. She was sure that the press would consider it improper for a lady to be using it, further shredding the tattered remains of her reputation as a woman of society.

  Truth be told, she didn’t much like the device, but it was preferable to yelling, and it was certainly better than arguing with her husband-to-be about it.

  Emilio had invented it, based on the remains of Darby’s speaking machine that he’d built into the hall. Although he didn’t have Sir Dennis’s gift for sheer invention, he had a particular genius when it came to electrics, and he had spent much of the last month laying as much wire as he could into the walls of the Hall as it was being rebuilt. He had even dragged Thomas Edison up from the wilds of New Jersey to discuss the potential uses. Sadly both the Italian and the inventor seemed to find the other’s methods more than a bit disagreeable, and both men were glad to see the back of each other after a strained afternoon.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” she began, the amplified words immediately quieting the mumbling crowd. “I am Sarah Stanton, leader of the Society of Steam, and I would like to thank you all so very much for attending our inaugural event.” The amplified voice sounded strange to her ears, although everyone she had spoken to swore that it sounded exactly like her. “I apologize for bringing you out on such a horribly hot day, but considering the alternatives for ourselves, and for this city, I am just glad we could all meet here, safe, and together.”

  Light applause rippled through the crowd, the journalists steadfastly abstaining from any show of support beyond the most perfunctory clapping. Sarah supposed that was to be expected—they had already made their distaste for her and this “band of unruly thugs, misfits, and lower-class ruffians” all too apparent, although it would have been nice to hear at least a little more genuine enthusiasm from the crowd. On some level, perhaps, it was enough of a blessing that they weren’t all about to be lynched.

  “I know,” she
continued, “that the revelations of the events behind the destruction of the beloved Paragons have come as a shock to this city, and indeed the world. We will mourn the losses of the great men who fell to protect us from villainy, my father among them.”

  The burials for the Paragons had been a citywide affair, with a huge memorial stone of their likenesses placed over a mausoleum built for them in Central Park. She wasn’t sure how much her father would have liked the idea of spending eternity next to them instead of her mother, but being a part of the Paragons was something her father had chosen to do, and obligations were, she had discovered, even harder to change once someone had died.

  Sarah hoped that with her speech they might begin to move forward, but there was no guarantee. “But I continue to believe that from the sacrifice of these great men, something greater will be born—something that will give direction to those who are lost, hope to the downtrodden and abused, and strength to the weak.”

  For this next part she had first turned to Abraham for help. He claimed he had no genuine writing skills of his own. Instead he’d introduced her to Reverend Charles. The man had saved Abraham’s life, and helped to lay down the White Knight.

  After some long discussions about the appropriateness of a hero wielding a shotgun, his alter ego, “the Revivalist,” was now part of the team. The man was as fearless with a crossbow or a Remington, and while he wasn’t so thrilled about Sarah’s Catholic fiancé, he seemed excited about being part of the team.

  “I know that many of you would rather the Paragons were standing here today instead of me. And on that I agree with you. But we cannot bring back the dead.”

  Her father’s fortune had turned out to be larger than she had imagined, but she soon discovered that in the case of Peter Wickham’s untimely death, all of Sir Dennis’s patents and other discoveries went to her, as well. The lawyers, as terrible as they had seemed when they were allied against her, had managed to use that information to make a convincing case that the entire Hall was also part of the family inheritance, and although the city was still putting up a fight to claim it for themselves, for now it was hers to do with as she pleased—and she was pleased to make it a home for the Society of Steam.