Sunstone: A Steampunk Reality

by Holly Barbo

  “Altering the topic more than a little, I would like to show you the latest images of our sun. There’s one picture of a coronal mass ejection that looks like the story of the Goddess on her sled of plasma.” They walked into the study and, with care, M’nacht opened a file of black and white photographs larger than his hand. Gently removing a papery tissue from between each photo, he spread them out on his desk top. “See? Doesn’t that fit the legend?” He pointed to first one part of the image, then another. “Her sled has that plasma trail behind her and her robes and hair are flowing due to the forward velocity!”

  He chuckled, then turned to Kes. “Of course, that is fanciful thinking brought on by my visit to that bookseller on Celeste Lane. You remember the one? It’s near the capital district. I was in the old bookstore the other day. You know how much I like books. There is something about the smell and feel of them.” He sighed. “Anyway, I was looking over what they had and I saw an old children’s storybook. It had the legend of the Sun Goddess Navora and how she made Myrn from bits of space, then stirred our oceans with her staff of power to create land. There was a delightful illustration for that part of the story where her staff inadvertently touched a little, soft-shelled sea creature. It showed how it got caught up in the swirling water and was forever called a navorite. Then I saw this photograph.” He laughed and shook his head at his musings. “When I knew you were coming over, I thought of you and how your father must have embellished the story, adding his scientific flourishes.”

  Kes burst out laughing. “Oh yes. In the story I grew up with, fiery Navora rode a plasma burst across space. She gathered a bit of gas from giant Shacir and some elements from the ice moon, Neth, and the volcanic moon, Orm, packed it together into a ball compressed by the heat of her powerful hands, and tossed it out, beyond the rings of Shacir, to play with the other moons. It was on a later trip, riding the wave of gaseous energy, that she visited her creation, Myrn, and, delighting in its oceans and the primordial life swimming therein, she stuck her power staff into the deep and stirred. Father told me of how the swirling motion not only formed currents and caused land to shape from the ocean depths, but that the whirling staff affected the building blocks of life—DNA. According to him, that is what made the navorite so special and coveted by our people. Oh yes. Father’s stories were rich in scientific detail. I remember you chuckled at all of my questions about the navorites and suggested I pursue marine biology to find my answers.”

  He was still grinning when he said, “It’s funny. I was just thinking of Father and that story today.” It was on the tip of Kes’s tongue to tell the old man about the unusual find of the small navorite, but something about it cautioned him to wait before bringing it up. It was almost as if he could feel the little artifact stir in his pocket. Instead, he said, “It was something I overheard my last night out before returning home from the Okamak. I was relaxing around Hank’s bonfire with several vacationers and sports fishermen. Somebody mentioned finding a small sliced and polished navorite when diving.” He felt a little guilty about the lie, but he would tell M’nacht the truth soon. He just needed to figure out what to do about the little fossil.

  His adopted father gave Kes a sharp look under his bushy eyebrows but he didn’t say anything, and the young man breathed an inward sigh of relief. M’nacht patted Kes’s shoulder lightly. “Let’s go back out to the balcony and eat our dessert. The lights are beautiful in the park.” They reseated themselves and gazed upon the display in appreciative silence before M’nacht spoke again. “Being a respected elder,” he said with a wry smile, “has its downsides. You know that for the past several years I have been a liaison and an advisor in the astro-sciences for the governing councils. I guess they feel that, as I have lived as long as I have, I’ve not only accumulated valuable knowledge but patience as well. I must say, working with the politicians would try the patience of Navora herself! The Council of Elders aren’t listening to anyone with a knowledgeable point of view. I’ve had meetings with the other advisors from other disciplines and they’ve the same frustrations. Because by law we only give information and are disallowed from contributing any money or gifts, our words are ‘worthless.’ Our governing system needs reform because what we have now is inertia. As I mentioned earlier, there’re stresses to our society, as well as to our world, which are reaching some disturbing levels, and nothing constructive is being done. Between the banking system being run by greed, the corporations working too closely with the financial syndicate and the Council, the ethical balances and separations are in question. All three are fighting for dominance and no one in power is willing to make tough decisions for the health of our moon and its people. That’s why I am glad that you have given your report to Mitch. The departments need to work together, to put aside any turf issues. Perhaps if we have enough facts we can present a convincing argument to the elders.” He shook his head ruefully. “Though some days I hold out little hope that the Council of Elders can hear and act for our benefit. That is what the people are feeling too.”

  Kes remained silent for several heartbeats, collecting his thoughts as he watched the geysers catch the light and bathe the area in rainbows. “My dad used to say that all that separates us from amoebas are our brains, ethics and our capacity for hope. Then he would laugh, wiggle his eyebrows and whisper in a sinister tone, ‘Beware of those who walk among us but haven’t ethics and don’t care about hope.’ It was one of those things he wanted to teach but at the same time didn’t want to scare me. That little phrase has taken on greater meaning as I have gotten older.” He turned away from his view of the park below and looked at M’nacht. “I don’t envy your task.” He smiled as he rose from his chair and gave the old man a wink. “My job will be more enjoyable. Tomorrow I’m off for a little while. I’ll let you know where I’ll be.”

  M’nacht rose and walked Kes to the door. “Your story about the man who found the navorite intrigues me. There’s something niggling at the back of my mind about an old story. I’ll have to see if I can get the memory to come forward. It’s something to do with the legend, and there may be more to this than you’re aware. I need to think about it a bit. Don’t share the story with anyone until I have a chance to get back to you about it, my boy.” He gave the young man a hug. “Are you leaving right away? I’d like to be able to stay in touch with you, if I may.”

  Kes bounded down a few steps, then turned back and looked up at the old man. “I’ll be in the area for a day or so. I’ve things to do and my vacation plans aren’t confirmed yet. I’ve set the new clockwork message bot you gave me to record only messages from you and Quin. Handy little bot. My other one is linked to the dock at home. This little one can pick up messages from any dash-key as long as you message to my security number. Thank you so much! Now hopefully the solar flares will cooperate and I’ll always be available to you.” He flashed a smile, turned with a wave and took the remaining running steps to his steam car.

  The Treasure at the Bookseller

  Morning barely dawned during twi-days but that didn’t matter to the citizens on Myrn. M’nacht rose early as he had governmental meetings all morning. In the past several months, these affairs had become either frustrating or alarming. He shook his head to clear his thoughts as he stepped out of the house for the short walk to the bureaucratic buildings which contained the offices and hearing chambers of the Council of Elders. He left a little early so he would have time for a brief stop at his small office. Pulling the pocket watch out of his vest pocket, he checked the time and picked up his pace.

  It wasn’t but five minutes later when he stepped out of the gloom and into the well-lit atmosphere of his headquarters. M’nacht spared no expense, and aether lamps were everywhere. Even at the early hour, there was a thrum of focused energy as his people worked at the research desks and tables. A few looked up as he walked past and gave a wave of acknowledgement before resuming their concentrated activities.

  M’nacht wove his way back to Dylan’s offi
ce. His bureau manager was just finishing a conversation with the head researcher, Mikla. Her snug vest was festooned with pockets, and he could see a small clockwork bot peering out of a pouch near her waist. Turning away from her boss, the young woman caught sight of the old man and a smile flashed across her face in greeting. “Good to see you. Off to another round of fascinating meetings?”

  “Someone has to do it.” His face creased in a grin. “Be grateful that I spare you the onerous task. Someday it could be your job, young woman!”

  She shook with a laugh, almost dislodging the multi-lensed brass-rimmed glasses perched atop her head. “I have a limited capacity to tolerate slippery words being passed off as honesty. Better you than me. I’ll just continue to assist you in the background.” She waved him toward Dylan’s door and, with a parting smile, returned to her research station.

  A man with grizzled hair and a worn, lined face motioned M’nacht to a chair. “What is it today?”

  “I’m sitting in on an hour-and-a-half meeting with representatives from the financial syndicate and the Council of Elders. That meeting precedes one with Chemedco Pharmaceuticals and the elders. So today is just sitting and listening. It’s a courtesy that they allow me into the chambers during these sessions. But I’ve a feeling that more is amiss than we thought. Kes was over for dinner last night and filled me in on some of his work in the Okamak. I want our team here to add another topic to their research. See if they can find out anything about projects related to using the waters of the Okamak.” He glanced at the chronometer whirring merrily on the surface of Dylan’s desk. “Well, I must be going. If I’m even a minute late I’ll be barred from both meetings. I’ll get back to you in a few days to hear about any findings you’ve uncovered. If something more occurs to me, I’ll leave a message on your message bot.” The old man stood and reached out to pat Dylan’s shoulder. “Take care of our team. They’re the best! It’s a good thing no one knows how good they are and what they are doing for me. I have a feeling what they find will be very important, perhaps pivotal, for changing the path our society is on.”

  Dylan set aside the notes he was taking and nodded. “I’m all for that.”

  Both men exchanged a look of complete understanding. M’nacht turned and, with a nod of acknowledgement, left the office for the capital buildings.

  Hours later M’nacht emerged from the meetings. He shook his head as he thought about the lack of progress that typified his liaison work. There were clusters of people restlessly shuffling in ever-changing groups outside the government buildings in the Council Square. From their clothing, M’nacht could guess their occupation: brass goggles of factory or steam plant workers, sleeve garters and fitted vests or corsets of store clerks. There were milliners with tape measures draped around their necks, farmers in sturdy but stained clothing and teachers or researchers with a collection of small clockwork bots shoved into vest pockets. He’d noticed they’d been gathering more frequently in the past weeks. The groups were larger now, and since the elders weren’t paying attention to their questions and concerns, signs were sprouting up in the crowds and there was a murmured growl within the press of people. He’d have to increase his efforts to meet privately with a few of the elders. He wondered which ones would be the most receptive.

  As he was walking home, he passed the used bookstore. The newest models of steam cars chuffed and hissed through the streets around the trolleys with their vapor-belching stacks. On impulse, M’nacht entered the shop. The smell of paper and the worn bindings all appealed to his senses. He took a deep breath, inhaling the comforting aromas in the shop. The irritation he had been carrying since the meetings seemed to melt away. M’nacht smiled at the sight of a small crab-sized cleaning bot skittering across the books. He glanced toward the main desk expecting to see the familiar bald head of the proprietor but was surprised to find a younger man working over a pile of books and tapping a dash-key. Must be a relative, he mused. The shop isn’t busy enough to have employees.

  M’nacht drifted to the tables of new arrivals and lost himself in the fascination of the old books. The experience of being surrounded by these beautiful creations left him refreshed. The old man was about to leave when he spied a small book that was partially covered by a larger one. He pulled it out and was delighted to see that it was a pocket-sized hand-bound notebook. The piece was a little smaller than his palm and a navorite had been artfully embossed on the leather cover. With care, M’nacht opened it and saw that it had been someone’s personal work. Old writing covered many pages and the ink had faded in spots. On the last pages he found sketches of navorites. He carefully closed the little journal and after further thought picked up another book: it was a children’s storybook about the Goddess Navora’s adventures. Carrying both books to the counter, he made his purchases and continued his leisurely walk home.

  As soon as he closed his door behind him, the nonchalance dropped from his demeanor. He hurried to his desk in his library and, setting aside the storybook, opened the notebook and began to read. Ten minutes later, when Quin entered the library to tell him that lunch was ready, M’nacht was gazing out the window overlooking the driveway and gardens, deep in thought. Neither book was visible in the room.

  Later that night, as most of Myrn slept, M’nacht stood before the softly lit navorite alcove. He tapped a specific rhythm on the edge of the fossil’s base, and with an almost soundless whirr, a door, indistinguishable from the wall just moments before, opened just a crack, revealing a hidden security closet. The old man stepped inside, closing the door behind him. On one wall were discreet peepholes showing a good view of the entire room. He watched for a moment and, finding no activity, turned his attention to the counter in front of him, where earlier in the day he had placed the books. He picked up the one with children’s stories and slid it into an envelope, leaving the journal on the counter. Quin could mail the envelope tomorrow. Tommy, the son of his favorite florist, would love the book. Reaching inside his robe pocket, he withdrew a small silk bag no bigger than the hollow of his palm and placed it on top of the embossed cover. He paused in thought before turning to the dash-key and typing in Kes’s code.

  After scanning the room again through the peepholes, he slipped out of the hidden room. Leaving the envelope by Quin’s list on the kitchen counter, he climbed the stairs to the second floor. It was time to sleep.

  Where is it?

  M’nacht sat at the window in his study enjoying a cup of kris as he took in the beauty of the gardens that flanked the driveway. The flowering bushes called moon pearls glowed in the morning twilight. They were a favorite of his, as their unique silver-flecked white petals evoked the starry sky which never failed to fascinate him. The house was quiet, as Quin was at the market, which was his pattern on the third twi-day. Enjoying the tranquility, M’nacht took another sip.

  As the old man sat there, he became aware of activity just down the street from his driveway entrance. Four men got out of their steam car and were drawing near his home. One was walking up the driveway, but the other three, wearing black and grey, darted through his gardens, approaching from the sides.

  M’nacht moved to his desk. Picking up the tiny message bot, he wound it, adjusted its clockwork settings, pressed a button on the back and placed it in the dock of the dash-key. It gave an almost infinitesimal whir as it began counting down toward activation. He was giving them fifteen minutes. He thought he could wait that long.

  The door chimed and he crossed to it. Upon opening the door, his face broke into a smile. “It’s good to see you, Stone! How’s your father? I haven’t seen you in years!” He reached out and shook the young man’s hand. “Come in and tell me what brings you to my door today.” He looked over the fellow’s shoulder into his driveway. “Where’s your steam car?”

  Stone’s smile dropped from his face and took a grim cast the moment he stepped inside. As the door closed, Stone nodded to someone behind the old gentleman and M’nacht felt hands roughly grab his a
rms. “We’re here to have a conversation. You’ve been watched for some time and now we need answers.”

  M’nacht shook his head. “What are you talking about?” He glanced back at a husky brown-haired man who was holding him and saw the other two searching his desk drawers and his neat library. Precious books were pulled off the shelves and thrown aside. “Don’t do that! They don’t make books like those anymore! They’re all out-of-print editions! Didn’t your parents teach you better than to damage irreplaceable books?”

  Stone grabbed the old man’s face and turned it back to him. “Let’s start with the obvious and move from there. Where are the books you bought yesterday from the bookseller?”

  “I sent them this morning to my charitable organization that gives books to children. There are more of them these days due to the financial tightening. What’s it to you? If you wanted the books that badly all you had to do was go to Celeste Lane and buy them!”

  “They’re not here,” said one of the searchers.

  “What did I just get through telling you?”

  “Enough of this, M’nacht! I want you to listen very carefully to what these men ask you. You’ll need to be completely honest in your answers.”

  The thug holding the old man shoved him into Stone. The old man struggled but didn’t gain his freedom as the big men tossed him back and forth between him. Tiring of the game, M’nacht was subdued as Stone slapped him hard across the face. He grabbed the elder’s shoulders and nodded to the brown-haired man. “Now, Bruin.”

  The big bruiser pulled a small syringe out of his pocket and, holding it against the old man’s neck, pressed the plunger.