Moments In Time: A Collection of Short Fiction

by Alexander, Dominic K.

  The attack was thwarted before it started. The Irishman’s fist shot forward in a blur of speed, dropping one of the men, and the other fled quickly, leaving his partner bloody and unconscious on the ground. Without a word, my rescuer disappeared in the crowd of gawkers who had gathered around, leaving me unable to properly thank him.

  The Air Elites recruiting station wasn’t far from the attempted attack, and any further assumptions of my being easy prey had completely disappeared, making getting there without further issue a simple task. The station surprised me, as it was nothing more than a tattered brown tent, a rickety wooden desk, and two frighteningly skinny soldiers.

  “Do you have a message, young man?” The soldier sitting at the desk looked up at me as his partner rummaged through some supplies behind him.

  “No, sir,” I replied with as much confidence as I could muster. “I want to join the Air Elites.”

  He stared for a second, looking up and down at my small, thin, boyish figure before shaking his head at the sight of me.

  “Name?” he asked, holding a pen and looking at a book in front of him. My real name, Mary Summers, almost left my lips, but I caught myself and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. In retrospect, it wasn’t the best of choices, and would gain me laughs every time it was spoken, but without time to think of something better, this would be my new name.

  “Oliver Dickens, sir.”

  My face burned with embarrassment, and I yearned to take the name back. Of course, the name Charles Twist or something more clever could not have come out. Instead, a name that would earn me comical looks every time it was mentioned was what I was stuck with.

  Sure enough, the man slowly tilted his head up to look at me. “Come again?” he asked.

  “Um, Oliver Dickens . . . sir.”

  The man sat back, belting out a throaty laugh until tears filled his eyes. After a full two minutes, he was able to calm himself enough to talk again.

  “What . . . skills . . . do . . . you . . . have?” he asked, laughing through every word.

  “I am a mechanic, sir,” I said, my hopes deflated.

  He wiped the tears from his eyes and began shuffling through some pages, then wrote some notes next to my name in the book. When he looked up, his eyebrows were raised in disbelief, and a smile still played at his lips.

  “You’re a mechanic? You aren’t even old enough to hold a screwdriver, are you?” Seeing my protests well up, he went on. “Though, I suppose it doesn’t matter. Mechanics don’t live long enough to do any real work anyway. Those bloody pasta-eaters know right where our engines are, and it’s always the first place they hit.”

  He looked behind him. “Hey, Skip, we have another mechanic here,” he yelled to the man in the back, who was already stuffing a large sack with clothing.

  Turning back to me, he said, “Drop any extra belongings in the barrel and grab your gear from Skip. Everything you need will be in there. The Queen Victoria is your new home. A runner will show you the way.”

  He hollered to someone and a young boy came around the tent. “Take him to the Queen,” he said to the boy. “Ask for Master Tinker Brennan,” he said to me.

  “Is that all?” I asked, expecting to be questioned about who I was and where I came from.

  “Personally, we don’t care who you are or why you’re here. We need bodies, especially mechanics, and those are hard to come by. Welcome to the Queen’s Air Elites. I hope you make it a week, but I’m certain you won’t.” He looked back down at his book, ignoring my sour look.

  The well-worn sack I was handed was heavy, apparently full of tools and clothes. I didn’t want to show weakness so I heaved it over my shoulder and stumbled momentarily with its weight, then regained my composure and headed toward my new home.

  We arrived at a small building within a couple of minutes. It was no more than hunks of metal and wood bolted together, and would likely fall over if a strong enough gust of wind hit it. The boy instructed me to find a stall, get my uniform on, toss my civilian clothes, and report to departure bay four, where a propelomatic would fly me to the ship. He ran off without another word.

  A room no wider than a doghouse prevented onlookers from seeing me strip down. After a moment’s hesitation, I pulled the binding cloth off, which allowed me to take a full breath and relieve the uncomfortable pressure from my breasts. Never in my life would I have imagined thin cloth could be so restrictive. After several minutes, I rewound the cloth again around my chest, hiding my womanly body, and donned the blue and red uniform given to me.

  It was difficult to find the proper placement of the leather straps, but I remembered the pictures of soldiers in some of my books and eventually managed to place them in their proper spot. My new tools slid easily in the appropriate holders on the leather straps, along with a small revolver in a holster at my hip. I slid the goggles over my forehead, and looked at my husband’s picture one last time before placing the watch in my pocket, next to a small billfold of money.

  It was easy for me to leave my old clothing behind, and in turn leave the remainder of my broken life behind with them.

  Departure bay four was no more than a dozen feet from the building, and a rotund man sat in a small round metal vehicle painted with the English flag, which was chipped away and dirty, and was topped with a large red propeller.

  So this is a propelomatic, I thought.

  “Going to the Queen Victoria?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir. I am,” I replied.

  “Come then,” he said, holding open a door. I stepped into the metal basket and sat down.

  “Hold on,” a loud voice said quickly. The Irishman who had saved me from the bandits earlier stepped into the cart, holding a heavy sack of tools and jars of some sort as if it were as light as a feather. “Tell me you aren’t my new mechanic.” He looked me up and down, disgusted.

  “Master Tinker Brennan, I presume?” I replied. All goodwill I had gained from his protection immediately vanished.

  “You presume correct.” Brennan shook his head and looked me up and down some more, his face visibly reddening through his unshaven stubble. “You’re not even old enough to be on a ship, are you?”

  “I’m eighteen, sir,” I said confidently.

  “Well, I hope you are turning nineteen soon or you won’t be seeing it.” He turned from me and didn’t look back. “I will see you are transferred as soon as possible. I won’t be responsible for your blood being spilled. The engine room is no place for a child.”

  Heat rose up in my cheeks but I swallowed back any ill retort that I could think of, which was a safer bet when you were already on the wrong side of someone who could kill you with one blow. As I looked up at the oncoming ship dock, realization hit, and it was more than fine for me to transfer since, as luck would have it, the admiral’s ship was where we were headed.

  As the propelomatic dropped us off onto the deck of the ship and departed, we were met by a man who took my bag and led me down into the ship’s belly. Brennan stormed off, one could assume toward the captain so he could request my immediate transfer. My knowledge, from studying schematics, told me the mechanics’ quarters were at the bottom center of the ship, next to the engines.

  The man stopped at a door, dropped my bag, and scurried off. When I entered the room it became obvious why he had run off without saying anything. It wasn’t because the room was small; it was. The problem was the bullet holes and shredded bunks that lined the room. Something very bad had happened here.

  Apparently I would be the only one bunking here, since only one of the six bunks was usable. This would make it easier to hide my gender from bunk mates, which was an oversight on my part that worked itself out nicely. There was a small chest for my uniforms, which took no time to put away, leaving me to relax on my bunk while waiting for further instructions.

  My pocket watch sprouted legs, allowing it to dance across my stomach, and my husband’s smile looked upon me as it moved. In no time, my mind
wandered off.

  • • •

  We’d had a small wedding ceremony. Our mothers would have preferred a larger one, but time was never on our side. We had enjoyed a lavish breakfast before departing for our honeymoon. Thomas wouldn’t tell me where we were going, but his surprises were always great ones. This was no exception.

  The small cottage sat on the edge of a lake in Cumbria; white-capped mountains surrounded us. By the time we arrived, night had fallen and the moon smiled down. Clouds were rolling in, but at the moment the stars were bright, and anticipated passion filled the air.

  Before he could lead me into the house, I surprised him by stripping myself of my clothing and diving quickly into the lake, where I allowed the water to cover my nakedness. The water was so cold, it washed goose bumps over my body.

  I leaned back and floated for a few moments, thinking about our wedding night ahead, and then turned to look toward the shore where Thomas stood, grinning. I watched, treading water and holding my breath, as he stripped off his clothing piece by piece, then dropped them on a blanket he’d retrieved from the cottage and laid out on the ground.

  Thomas’s perfectly muscular body glowed in the moonlight. He stood naked and looked at me with that half smile that had stolen my heart. With one finger, he beckoned me to the shoreline, where he’d laid out the blanket, and lay down on his side to wait.

  Moving toward him through the shallow water, my nerves began to take over. The water seemed colder, and my body failed to move as I wanted it to. A small rock rolled underfoot, almost causing me to tumble. My clumsiness only widened his smile.

  When my body cleared the water, my nipples hardened in the cool night air, and I resisted the urge to cover myself. Thomas stood and stepped forward to envelop me with his hard arms, sharing the warmth of his body. As I looked up at him, he pressed his lips against mine and kissed me, gently at first. Then he parted my lips with his tongue and kissed me deeply, silently telling me of his love for me, as well as the need for me he’d repressed for so long.

  The world around me disappeared along with my fears, and his touch was all I could focus on. My body was quickly lifted into the air before he laid me gently onto the soft blanket, his lips still pressed ever so softly against mine. He ran his fingertips with a feather-light touch over the dampness of my stomach before finding my hardened nipples.

  I shivered, but not from the cold, as Thomas stroked my breasts with his fingers while deepening his kiss. My moans were silenced as his tongue danced inside my mouth. Pulling his lips from mine, he kissed my cheek, then neck. He moved farther down, spreading small kisses over my skin, and my breathing sped up with every touch. His tongue lapped at my nipples, then flicked them, and I arched my back, wanting more. He continued lower still, kissing my stomach, my hips, and my inner thighs. The anticipation was more than I could bear and I shifted my hips forward, wanting something I could not define.

  I closed my eyes, feeling his tongue run slowly up my thighs to my most private of places, and let out a moan of pleasure. He quickly did it again while caressing my breasts with his hands. His rhythm became more rigorous and I trembled with pleasure. He lightly squeezed my nipple with one hand, then brought the other down to rub my wetness until I could not take another second and screamed out, feeling sensations I had never felt before burst through me. My hips lifted and I shifted from side to side, reveling in the pleasure, but he didn’t release me.

  Thomas spread my legs around his hips and ran his fingers over my wetness again. A feeling of want rushed through me, along with curiosity, and I reached down to take him in my hand and stroked him gently. He was already hard and when I gripped him, he drew in a breath through clenched teeth, and squeezed his eyes tightly closed. I thought to continue but he shook his head, and when his eyes opened, they burned with a desire, the depths of which I’d never seen before. I released him and slid my arms around his neck, then pulled him closer.

  Pressing against me, he slowly pushed the tip of himself in and out while gazing into my eyes, as if to gauge my willingness. When I gave him a little nod, he sighed, and with a strong push the pressure ceased and a burning sting ran through me. I cried out and he pushed deeper into me before locking his lips with mine again. I arched back, trying to escape the pain. As he waited for my body to become accustomed to him, he teased my breasts with his fingers and kissed me deeply. He then withdrew and gently slid back inside me, and this time, pain was transformed into immense pleasure.

  As he slid in and out of me, the pain subsided and excitement took over. Muscles inside my body squeezed him tightly, and his normally quiet demeanor ceased as he moaned and thrust faster. Cries of passion filled the air as a light rain began to fall on us. My excitement growing, I began to spasm, and ran my hands over his tight muscles. My body writhed under him and I could no longer hold the emotion in. I dug my nails into his back and pulled him close and deep, shaking at my finish. He burst inside me, letting out a yell of pleasure as he filled me with his warm seed.

  I fell back to the ground, exhausted and sore, but deliriously happy. He stayed inside me, gazing into my eyes as his lips lifted into an upturned smile. Our skin was wet from exertion, but the rain gently washed it away as his hips moved, and he pushed himself back into me and out again in a gentler, more teasing fashion.

  My love for Thomas would never fade, and only a wish granted would keep us like that forever. Of course, wishes only come true in fairy tales.

  • • •

  The door to my cabin swung open, hitting the wall with force and rudely jerking me from my memories. Brennan stood looking at me, eyes narrowed.

  “Follow me,” he said in a low, dangerous tone. His muscles kept flexing underneath his greasy shirt, and it was clear he had not been able to get the transfer he wanted. We moved quickly down the hall and entered a large room, each side housing engines with their pistons oscillating smoothly back and forth.

  The tenseness in my limbs from my nerves got the best of me, and my foot found a piece of metal sticking up from the floor, which sent me to the ground.

  “Watch what the hell you’re doin’,” Brennan said. “People die here. If you can’t handle it, you need to go. We are preparing for battle. I’m not going to be responsible for watching your clumsy ass and keep the ship moving at the same time.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” I said. “She is just so beautiful and awe-inspiring.”

  Brennan seemed taken aback. He must have thought me some young kid who wanted a chance to take up a cause, not someone who could care about the craftsmanship involved in these beauties. Nonetheless, he calmed slightly.

  “Well, yes, she is,” he said in a calmer tone. “What’s your name?” He paused. “When I turn over the body, they always ask.”

  “Oliver Dickens, sir,” I replied, my voice shaking slightly. He choked back a laugh, shook his head, and began the tour.

  Mechanics were responsible for anything that broke on the ship. For a group of less than five, that meant a lot of extra hours and painstaking labor. During battles, however, we worried about two things: the engines and the guns. If either of those were left damaged, we wouldn’t survive the battle.

  The ability to wrap my head around that wasn’t an easy thing to do. That would mean we worked in the midst of the battle, and made repairs while being shot at. It wasn’t only dangerous, but a mechanic’s expected survival time was a mere two days. Depression had a tendency to make people act in ways they wouldn’t normally act; maybe a two-day life span was my plan the entire time.

  The deck above us was piled high with logs, used to fuel the engines. The amount of steam required to keep the ship in the air wasn’t as much as one would think, because of the steam-recycling units attached to the massive furnaces. With that said, it still required a lot of wood to keep a 400-yard-long ship in the air and moving. Luckily, there was a whole crew of people to take care of that.

  After a full explanation of my duties on the ship, and the quickest routes
to get around, Brennan put me to work making sure there were no leaks in the hoses. Even though the job took several hours, there was no complaint with the thoroughness of my work. The next day, he had me cleaning grease spots off the floors and machinery, before sealing any cracks in the engines. His hard green eyes watched me the whole time.

  The days passed and the tasks became harder, but there was no job too tough for me to complete. The hope of completing things quickly and efficiently still didn’t earn me any respect. The ship was in tip-top shape, but my energy level was low and my constant exhaustion slowed me down even more. Brennan noticed immediately, and rode me harder because of it.

  “If you can’t handle looking for loose screws,” he yelled, “maybe you should give up now and go home. This is obviously beyond your weak-bodied abilities.”

  “I will check them again, sir,” my weak voice squeaked out, as tears started to well up.

  “I don’t want you to check them again, I want you to quit. You aren’t going to last five minutes once we are under attack, so just get the hell out of here now and save us the time of throwing your lifeless body into the ocean.”

  “I’m not going to quit!” I yelled back.

  “Are you sassing me, boy?” he said through gritted teeth. There was something hidden in his eyes, a shakiness, or a pain of some sort. It was well hidden, but there, and my keen sense of observation caught it immediately. It was a look of sadness, the same pain that looked back at me every time my reflection stared back. The danger of the stare was a mask of something much more. A deep and true emotion was locked away behind hard eyes, and I wanted to glimpse it; I needed to glimpse it, to see someone else shared my pain.

  “No, sir, there is nothing you can say or do to get me off this ship. If it is about saving my life, forget it. The lives of those below us are worth more than ours. It is our duty to protect them, and nothing will stop me from doing that.”

  This made Brennan even angrier and he turned and threw out a fist, hitting the metal wall of the engine. The sound of snapping bone echoed off the walls, and he turned without another word and stormed out.