Goggles, Gears, and Gremlins (SteamGoth Anthology Book 3)

by Jonathan Baird

  On the third day, this mess hall where hundreds of prisoners would sit to eat their slop, containing all essential nutrients to live but not at all tasting like food, Owen took his usual seat in a corner by the blue and red rock that was the wall. Water dripped down from stalactites upon the iron of the long table’s surface. Owen stared down for a long while at the brown ceramic bowl of yellowish-pale goop. He figured that if he took enough of it in, he’d feel fuller perhaps. He reached for his metal spoon and brought up a bit of the stuff to his lips, swallowed it. The stuff tasted a bit chalky, with a salty aftertaste.

  That was when the dwelf took a seat across from him. He was, like all dwelfs, a lanky fellow, wearing a leather vest with his ten-inch long pointed ears tied behind his head around his blue hair which was styled upward into spikes with oils that Owen did not wish to know the origin of. And like the rest of his race, he looked no older than sixteen or seventeen. In addition, due to his race and youthful appearance, Owen was having trouble telling whether the creature was male or female.

  “Hello!” he said, scooping up some of his own slop and letting it drop into Owen’s bowl.

  “Why the Hell’d you do that you stupid freak!?” Owen asked angrily.

  “Goes to show what you know, human. Why not take a taste, eh? You might like it.” Owen sneered, picking up his spoon once more and shoveling a scoop of the vile thick slop into his maw. It tasted good, like bread or cake.

  “What did you… do?” he asked out of curiosity.

  “Ahh, it is simple magic, human. Illegal down here, however. I am sure I’d be top of the list of poor glocks in this place to be harvested…” He leaned forwards, “I’m here for buzzing, stealing… I’m a bit of a dipper, or at least I was. A pickpocket, I mean.”

  “That’s nice…” Owen replied, taking another scoop of nameless slop, enjoying its new taste.

  “What’re you in here for?”

  “Do you want something from me?”

  “Yes, aye! I’d like your help in escapin’!”

  “Is that possible? Physically possible? And why me?” he asked in quick response. The dwelf slammed his fist upon the table.

  “Yes, yes it is! Haha! With magic!”

  “…but only wizards, only psychics can use magic, and they’re all superhuman knights in the Imperial City. And you don’t really look like a knight. And why me?”

  “I’m not really from around here. As I said, there is a way out of here, with magic.”

  “Explain this to me then…” Owen said, eyeing behind the dwelf for any sign of guards. The only two guards, in their heavy scarves and gasmasks, carrying their rifles, stood by the bulkhead leading back to the pendulum chamber. The giant swinging things were able to be heard even in here, though their noise was much duller. Somehow, this only made it more of an annoyance to Owen’s poor ears.

  “Time travel.”

  “You were serious when you had said you were not from around here, then?” Owen asked, and the dwelf proceeded to lean in closely and then lowered his voice to a whisper so that none others in the large room full of rowdy, starving prisoners could hear him.

  “Aye… Meet me at the medica chamber tomorrow night” He reached into his leather vest and pulled out a tiny vial of red liquid, passing it to Owen, who inspected it closely. “It is the blood of a ryna, a herbivore native to the savanna lands to the south of the desert. They have evolved to having a peculiar defense mechanism, their blood can make any predator who decides to attack it or bite into its leathery hide queasy and sick, to the point of the flu. This amount will not get your past the queasy part. Though, you may throw up.”

  “Good to know…” Owen stuffed the tiny vial into his shoe, “Where’d you get the vial? Why me?” The dwelf grinned.

  “You will sleep better not knowing that information, and don’t dwell on it. Just know that it is completely safe, other than the false sickness.” Owen slumped back into his seat, and the dwelf left without another word.

  All he wanted was sweet, sweet freedom. He could not wait to be able to wear comfortable silks, and drink wine and eat breads and cheeses and fruits.

  * * *

  Owen unleashed his lunch upon the dark floor of his pitch-black cell. The animal’s blood was working. That was good to know, at least. Though he didn’t know too much of the dwelf’s plan to escape, he was glad to know that it was working out thus far.

  Jim awoke with a start, and brought his good leg upon the rock bench where he usually sat to sleep. His eyes went wide with fear.

  “Oh goodness! A plague! A plague!! Help! Help! Get it away from me I am barely living myself please!!” His shouts grabbed the attention of one of the guards, who shuffled from the shadows up to the cell bars.

  “Easy there, scum. Wha-” Owen could see himself reflected in the man’s somewhat illuminated green lenses. His skin was completely pale and he had broken out into a cold sweat all over, and his stomach looked as though it had been empty for complete weeks. He blinked away some tears as he felt hot shivers throb throughout his walking corpse. “We’re getting you to the sick bay. Get up.” He ordered, sliding open the cell door. Owen stood, still shivering, holding himself, and he began to slowly weep.

  The guard grabbed him and began to drag him down through the pendulum corridor. The massive things swung drunkenly across Owen’s swimming vision, phasing in and out of focus, in and out of reality. The noises were now worse than ever began, and the tears of pain streamed down his face.

  “Easy.” The guard repeated for the hundredth time, bringing him down a side-corridor and up an elevator lifts into yet another dimly lit hall. The medica facility of which the dwelf spoke of was located down a corridor that had been painted white, though it had shown its age. The paint had been chipping off over the years, and the sign for medica was worn to the point where it was missing the ‘i’. The guard sat Owen down in the waiting room, and patted him on the shoulder. Owen peered up into the lensed face, seeing the man as an angel to take him out of his misery, but instead he vomited once more. The guard’s training allowed him enough time to jump back, only some of the putrid stuff to get onto his ragged white scarf. He pulled it off and tossed it to the floor. “Never liked it much anyways. You stay here, I’ll go fetch the wabau.”

  The sick man sat there for a decade. Two decades, the room turned black. Ten. His suffering, would it last lifetimes? Then he caught sight of a blue flame that had appeared before his very eyes, and then a sharp pain filled up his arm. The man gasped loudly as the air raced from his lungs from the unexpected bite and he proceeded to release a blood-curdling scream.

  The dwelf clamped his palm over Owen’s mouth just after he started to scream. He looked back, checking down the entrance corridor to see if anyone had heard or was coming.

  “You’re lucky it’s so late at night, mate.” he grumbled, annoyed. “Change of plans, we’re not needed to get sick after all, but I guess it’s too late for that. Oh well, you only live once and it’s good to experience suffering once in awhile…” He took a step backwards. Owen’s vision returned to normal, and the sweating had stopped. The only thing that remained was the shivering. “We’re deep underground and you’re still in a damn loin cloth.” the dwelf dragged a bag over to him and pulled out some pants, a dress shirt and suspender braces. “Found this in the doctor’s room. He uh, won’t need it anymore.”

  “Did you kill him?” Owen asked, “Out of curiosity…”

  “No, nahh. He’s asleep. I gave him thrice of what I’ve given you.”

  “And what did you give me, exactly?” the human asked as he slipped into the pants. The dwelf stroked his chin.

  “The antidote to the ryna’s poisonous lifeblood. Also a good pain reliever and spice. Increases blood flow too.” He grinned, and extended a hand. “I am Qen Marre.” Owen accepted the handshake and grabbed the smaller man’s hand firmly and shook it.

  “Owen Flynn.”

  “Do you want to escape this dredged place, Owen?�
�

  “Hell yes.”

  “Excellent!” Qen jumped up and clapped, “Oh, wait, be silent. There was a guard but I gave him uh, four times what I had given you…” He pulled an assault musket and flintlock pistol from the bag and tossed the musket to Owen, who caught it almost clumsily. It was a simple musket of beautifully carven wood with a clockwork loading mechanism, the magazine of brass held in place with strong iron clamps. “Do you know how to use one of these?” He asked, thrusting the simpler flintlock pistol into its holster and clipping it around his waist with a bag of shot.

  “Yeah. Kind of.”

  “What about one of these?” He pulled out the hilt of a clockwork sword and offered it to him. Owen took it and just stared at it for a moment.

  “I never took any sort of martial arts. I’m not sure if I could properly use…”

  “The tunnels down here are narrow. We’re bound to run into some sort of close encounter sooner or later, bud. Best be prepared. Doesn’t take too much to press a button and thrust or swing, right?” Owen nodded as the dwelf pulled out a tiny survival knife and flipped it around before sheathing it.

  “Yeah, I suppose you’re right…”

  “Right? Alright. This one seems a bit more my size, heh.” he put it down his vest pocket and started off down the white hallway back into the prison.

  “Wait, where’re you even going? Do you know?” Qen stopped and turned to look up at Owen, who had both eyebrows raised in question. Qen nodded slowly.

  “Aye, yes. Yes I do know where we’re headed.”

  “And where’s that?” He asked. Qen turned and started down the hall at a brisk pace once more.

  “The Embrush Empire’s embassy. They’re holding my friend. He has that which I require to return to my own time and get you out of this pit.”

  “The Embrush have an embassy in this place?” he asked.

  “The Embrush have taken over Ross since the last war, boy. First they already had that giant prison in the dread city of Dere far up north in the badlands, then during the war they had occupied Pleatou and Cliffwater to the south. They don’t have anyone stationed in Quet, Quet’s pretty much a free city, along with Daggerton and the other more outlaw, pirate and smuggler cities. And the various rebel strongholds. Oh, and the desert barbarian tribes and clans. Ross is a hellish place, but the presence of the Embrush is strong. In this time, at least… Sadly, that was the last of the ryna cure, though I do have one more vial of ryna blood…” Qen crept forward silently, holding up his hand to indicate that somewhat was up ahead. His large dwelfin ears had caught wind of something, and Owen took no time to bring up his assault musket and held it out in front of him.

  “What is it?” the human asked. His voice was low in a whisper.

  “Oh, it was nothing. I was testing you to make sure that you follow directions. Now allow me to come up with a daring escape plan.” Owen scoffed, and they continued running through the shadows of the maximum security prison to make their escape.

  * * *

  Sergeant Inralu of the Embrush guard sat in his leather seat by the fireplace, his back to the licking flames and his face obscured by a black shadow. He was reading a book, one written by a Dark Age author from around the time the cataclysm occurred. Thankfully, someone had reprinted it into novel form somewhere in the eastern civilized lands of Dwarf Country. The sergeant licked his fingertip and flipped the page as the door slid open and a young officer stepped through. The man was dressed in a guardsman uniform of red with black epaulettes upon the shoulders and a musket in hand.

  “Sir!” he called. Inralu turned to face him, the scars upon his face emerging from the shadows of the room.

  “What is it, private?” Inralu asked, in an annoyed tone. Inralu had relaxed in the years since the last war, and was not happy when he was transferred from the great city of Pleatou to this horrific dirt-choked prison. He felt like a prisoner himself sometimes. “Well!?”

  “There’s been an accident.” The soldier swallowed hard. “A few of the Pit guards have fallen. In the med-wing. The Pit automaton cave-drones discovered them. We suspect there could be some sort of subterranean plague.” Inralu sat back down in his chair, squeezing the armrests tightly in though, and slowly released them along with a breath of air.

  “Give a few sentinel servers to the Pit guards. Tell them that they are to be used sparingly. Only one squad to search the entire levels. There might be some of those trogg bastards crawling about and spreading disease, they need to be burnt. To a crisp. Along with their vile contagions.”

  “That will not be entirely necessary, sergeant.” A tall, dark-skinned hairless man with bright white robes stepped into the Embrush sergeant’s study, his hands folded before him. Behind him was the warden, who brought with him the smell of dirt and garbage.

  “And who might you be?” Inralu asked, crossing his arms.

  “Well I’m the warden of this dump.” said the pale man in the leather trench coat with a grunt, “And this here’s-”

  “Nassir Tragun.” the robed man said with a deep bow. “I am in charge of the thing we call the harvest. I am the carnifex of this… dump.”

  “A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, what’s this got to do with anything?” Inralu demanded, “A disease might be spreading through the subterranean levels and it must be dealt with before it can claim our lives and those who damned prisoners who are supposed to suffer.” he hissed.

  “I have already let loose the guardian of the pit. He will find the vermin and eliminate it. Better than any sentinel server or cave-drone. Though, if it helps you sleep at night, the warden Seth and I greatly would appreciate the usage of your sentinel servers. I would very much like to see what they are capable of.”

  “That sounds like a deal.” Inralu nodded to the young soldier. “Go, get Iola, tell her to hand over a squad of sentinel servers to the Pit guards.”

  “Y-yes sergeant, at once!” he pounded a fist over his heart, “Hail Embrush!”

  “Hail Embrush. Go, at once boy before we die of the flu!” the private turned, shouldering his musket and charged out the door and turned down the stone corridor. His footsteps echoed in the distance.

  “You will not regret this decision, lord Inralu.”

  “I am no lord. Not yet, at least…” the sergeant growled.

  “Of course…” Nassir said with a smile, holding the door for Seth. “Warden, after you?”

  “Thanks mate, yeah. Thank ya kindly.” He chuckled and stepped out. Nassir grinned at Inralu’s scarred face before closing the door.

  “Enjoy your literature, sergeant. I do hope it is most enticing…” and with that, he shut the door, and Inralu sat in the darkened room, illuminated by the flames, their shadows licking around his scarred features. He closed his eyes, the book sitting closed upon his lap. After much hesitation, he reopened it to the page he had left off at, and resumed his reading.

  * * *

  The Dregs was the layer of the Pit that began as a collection of cells like all others but transformed over the years into a city of sin. Neon signs lit up the dark, subterranean streets and shady characters crowded every street corner. The stench of ozone was always in the tunnels here and a light fog covered the moist, unseen street. It had not been easy, but the duo cut a swathe through the habitats used to hold the calmest of the criminals before they were to be harvested, and they slid down a ladder into a dank, dark pipe, plopping down into ankle-deep dirty water. Around an hour and a half passed by since the two prisoners had made their escape from the prison’s medical facility, and they were somewhere just above the pendulum chamber, as Owen could barely make out the low, somewhat audible swinging noise beneath his feet.

  “This way, Owen, quickly now.”

  “We’re been walking through tunnels for hours, Qen. We’re only above where we started…”

  “An hour and forty minutes, one hundred minutes. Not hours. Almost two hours, but not really. We barely evaded a cave-drone swarm and I’ll be d
amned if I’m taken down by a floating camera used for spelunking.” he spat, irritated.

  “Fine, which way?”

  “Sh, quiet!” he untied his long ears, and the long points of cartilage flopped upward, sticking up around his blue mane. He put a hand up to one, listening. “Footsteps…”

  “Voices?”

  “No, none. And that’s what worries me…” he pulled out his pistol and pushed Owen behind the corner. Owen himself prepared his assault musket.

  “Who is it?” he asked. Qen peeked cautiously around the corner to see a pair of Pit guards with two unknown soldiers. These soldiers wore trench coats with gas masks, but unlike the Pit guards, they breathed horribly, as though their throats had been full of glass, and jets of steam escaped from strange metal tube-like devices protruding from the gray flesh on their necks, backs and shoulders every now and then.

  “Sentinels. Sentinel servers. Of Embrush.”

  “Zombies?”

  “Yeah, the undead soldiers. They were once prisoners, most undeserving of their fates. They work you, I’ve seen it. This is why people don’t want to really mess with Embrush. They’re monsters. You go into Dere a monster, and come out even worse.” he primed his pistol, and jumped from behind cover, sliding along the wet stone of the tunnel floor, and fired off a shot. The shot flew into the masked face of one of the Pit guards, making the man fall back, dead. An elongated, irritating beep noise sounded as his heavy armored corpse hit the tunnel floor.

  The other three enemies opened fire. Qen crawled behind a large brown boulder and began to reload and prime his pistol. Owen, scared, blindfired from cover, shoving the muzzle of his musket around the bend and squeezing off a spray of shot.

  He screamed, and charged around, aiming at the other Pit guard, who snatched one of the sentinel servers, the shots filling it and making it drop its own assault musket. No blood dripped from the walking corpse, only dust, and eventually its bottom half had torn away and had become nothing but a shield. Owen slid in behind another boulder.