Sunstone: A Steampunk Reality

by Holly Barbo

  The younger man withdrew the offering. “No pity involved. Just companionship. Heck, man, I stole this from the food cart when he wasn’t looking.” He wiped it on his dirty sleeve. “Rather you have it, even with the lube oil from my dirty hands than give it to the varmints. Split it with you.”

  The irascible man grumbled a minute then took the proffered piece. “I earn my way!”

  “And you have a right to be proud of that. How long you been a gleaner? Sounds like you know all the ins and outs of the skill.”

  Thom swallowed the last of his bite. “My dad had his own business. It was just the two of us. One day a representative of the financial syndicate came by. Explained that we needed to pay back our rotation credit lines right away. Dad protested. We had a contract and they got paid when our receivables come in, then we borrow to order more product. She laughed at the contract. Said we needed to pay now. She offered us a deal. The syndicate would buy up our business for the cost of what we owed. Well, it was a crazy deal. We owed five thousand kronots. The syndicate would buy our business for five thousand kronots. We would lose our business but not owe them money—or get any money either—or we could refuse to pay them that day and everything we owned would go up for auction. Either way we lost. Dad handed her the keys and walked away. A month later, one of the family members from the syndicate was running our business.” Thom shook his head and the rage burned in the back of his eyes. “Dad just wasted away after that. Took to drink. Pretty soon he was in the charity ward of Mercy Hospital. I tried to get a job. Applied for jobs in the steam plants and factories. The only place that treated me decent were the cog and clockwork companies, but they didn’t have any openings. Dad died and my hope of following him in the trade was buried with him. I looked at the bounty of the land and became a gleaner. It’s a tough, dirty job, but I survive by my wits. Probably one of the oldest in the picker profession. Many die of infections from eating contaminated food or a scratch going septic. The scavengers are dangerous and can kill a gleaner. But I’m still here!”

  He tapped his forehead. “That happened twenty years ago. The soulless behaviors of the greedy have accelerated, particularly in the last five years. Now there are more homeless, more people who have lost their businesses.” The spectacled man gestured to the groups of people milling around. “These folk are from all backgrounds except the greed class. There’s a different story for each of them. What they have in common is the emotion: despair, hopelessness… and a simmering anger. Now The Blight has added a new layer to the hardship. Nobody’s safe. Accidents are happening. People who should live to a ripe age are dying, adding grief to the mix of emotions.” Thom’s voice, when he continued, had a bleak tone, “It’s like sitting on a powder keg and holding a candle in your hand. The mood on the streets at night is getting ugly. There’s an explosion coming and I’m not sure who’s going to survive!”

  Kes watched the groups mingle and merge into a small crowd. He saw what Thom was talking about. Where the words were lost in the rumble of talk, the faces were easy to read. Several people had furrowed brows and worried expressions. They spoke with open-palmed gestures, as if asking questions. Others were more rigid, shoulders back and muscles tight. Their eyes were half closed and their nostrils were flared in anger. It wouldn’t take much to set them off. Right now they were sharing their pain, hoping the social contact would somehow be a balm.

  “I hear what you say, Thom. You are a smart man and a canny observer. The men and women here aren’t troublemakers, they’re just pushed almost beyond enduring.”

  They stood together in grim silence until the light had almost completely faded from the sky. Kes stirred. “I have to get some sleep. First shift comes in about six hours.” He held out his hand. “It’s been good talking with you. Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  The bespectacled gleaner waved him off gruffly. “Maybe I’ll be here. Maybe not. My metal pickings hoard is nearby and I have to keep an eye on it.” Then a hint of a smile appeared at the corner of his eyes. “Figure you aren’t wanting it. Get your rest, young Rus. It’s likely I’ll be close.”

  Gears Engaged

  Kes’s days ran into each other. The tasks were always similar, and despite his best efforts, his grubby patina grew. The only times things weren’t mindlessly routine were when he was near the column, or with the growing unrest he saw in the evenings.

  As he performed his maintenance and janitorial tasks, his mind would be sifting through information, trying to puzzle out possible solutions. One thought occurred to him. He would love to use the dash-key down the hall from the glyph and contact some people he knew, but it could be dangerous, so he bided his time until he next saw Jordan.

  In the archival room on the second floor, he wound one of the robo-cleaners. Those little bots were used in the more dust sensitive areas where fragile documents were stored. He eyed the dash-key near the desk but shaking his head, picked up his polish rag and softly closed the door behind him.

  As he stepped out into the corridor, his attention was grabbed at the sight of a young woman standing in front of the glyph. He quickly scanned the corridor and listened. Usually, there was no one on this floor during the morning. Curious as to what she was doing, he moved up behind her. His heart skipped a beat when he saw that she was holding something small against one of the hidden pressure plates. Time seemed to stand still… and a heartbeat later, she broke the spell by moving her hand away. As she pulled back, she saw a scruffy man at the edge of her vision and her hand flew to her throat in panic.

  “Shh. It’s okay.” He reached into his vest pocket and drew out the two Sunstones. Reaching past her stunned figure, he pressed them into their specific spots in the unassuming pattern of the art piece. Feeling them vibrating, he could sense the mysterious mechanism doing… something. Kes closed his eyes and concentrated. A flurry of images raced across his mind. He would sift through them later. Now he had the unknown host before him.

  Opening his eyes, he turned and looked at the young woman. Probably wearing her plainest gown, he could see that she had wealth. The quality of the material was fine even if the color was subdued. There was keen intelligence in the returned scrutiny she bestowed upon him.

  “Kes?” she whispered.

  He gave a curt nod and put a finger on his lips. “No one here knows me by that name,” he said in a murmur. “You’ve been to the shrine. Who are you? What can you tell me?”

  She quickly swiveled her head to check for any possibility of being interrupted. “I’m Sh’ar… granddaughter of Ver’in, owner of Chemedco.”

  His eyebrows rose at the connection but he didn’t interrupt.

  “Three days ago I learned I’m a host and needed to come here, but my husband has The Blight and I’ve been trying to help our research team perfect an antidote. Everyday I’ve felt the pressing need to seek this,” she gestured to the column, “and it got to be an overwhelming insistence. Am I too late?”

  “Only the Goddess knows the timing. We’ve done Her bidding. Now we as a people must play this out. Be careful. Your role cannot be discovered. M’nacht is recovering. We believe he was nearly killed because someone suspected his connection to the mythological Sunstones. You have to leave. The people are becoming more and more agitated.” He put a hand lightly on her arm. “I have to tell you something quickly.” He relayed what had been discovered about the dumping in the Okamak. “We only have circumstantial evidence, but Chemedco could be involved with The Blight.”

  Her expression hardened but she didn’t interrupt.

  Kes looked down at his hands and twisted his mother’s ring. “I don’t know if it will help, but there is something you can try. Do you trust me?”

  “The Goddess does, so that’s good enough for me.” She looked up into his face with all seriousness. “And Kes, some of the research notes I’ve been organizing for our scientists have alluded to them knowing of certain complex chemicals that would cause symptoms such as what we are seeing. I’ll b
e careful with my knowledge. Do go on.”

  “Go to the Ecological Sciences building at 282 Ridge Avenue. Find my boss, Mitch. Only speak to him, and in private. I don’t think you should use my name if you can avoid it, but give him this.” He twisted the green-gold ring off his finger and placed it in her palm. “Tell him the owner of the ring wants him to give you a sample of the cancer fighting compound. Sh’ar, run tests on it without others knowing. It might work.” He shrugged. “It might not, but it is worth a try.” He looked around. “You have to go. If necessary, we’ll be in touch. Stay alive.”

  She nodded. Before she turned toward the stairs, the grubby janitor was walking away down the hall. “You too,” she whispered.

  The rest of the day, as Kes scrubbed, swept, polished and fixed aether lamp connections and geared locks, he thought about Sh’ar, the Goddess-inspired mechanism and the brewing storm. The cacophony of images he had received as he had placed the Sunstones against the small pressure plates was confusing. He sat on the outside stairs during his lunch break and mulled them over. Kes sipped the mug of watery kris and in his mind’s eye peeled the pictures apart. Against his closed eyelids, they were laid out and sorted. All of a sudden, he sat upright and looked around. He needed information but dared not use the dash-key. He chafed at the restrictions of his new identity. Slipping the sweatband off his forehead, he rubbed his scalp as if he could shake loose answers from the streaked mop. Cramming the scarf back in place, Kes glared at his feet in frustration.

  “Rus! What’s eating you, boy?”

  Looking up, Kes spotted Thom dragging four large lumpy bags out of the shadows of the maintenance shed.

  Kes walked down the steps to meet the picker. He was always a bit surprised how much the man looked like a professor. “Hi, Thom. Got your metal scraps together, I see. Where are you going? If it’s nearby, I can help and still get back in time to start my afternoon shift.”

  “The scrap metal truck is at the scale for another hour. It’s just down the street from here. Appreciate your help. We could get there sooner if you take these two. While we walk, you can tell me why you’re trying to tear your hair off your head.”

  Kes grinned ruefully. So much for keeping a lid on his emotions! “I was dropped here by a man named Jordan. I’ve been thinking about something he said and I really would like to ask him a few questions. I haven’t any idea how to reach him.”

  “Is that all? Most everyone down here knows Jordan. He does a bit of everything in the Four Corners. A fair and honest man, too. He sometimes shows up to help the scrap men. If he’s not here, they could get a message to him.”

  They continued dragging the cumbersome bags down the street, and as they rounded the corner to the scales and got in line, Kes could see Jordan up ahead helping wrestle the metal scrap bags onto the big pressure plates.

  “Go ahead, boy. I can get it from here. You have your say with Jordan, then get back to work. Can’t have you losing your job.”

  With a smile at Thom, Kes trotted ahead and, pulling the burly man aside, had a hurried conversation. Jordan raised his eyebrows and cocked his head as he listened. His answer wasn’t heard above the din but, moments later, he gave Kes a big smile and, waving him away, returned to hefting the bags onto the scales.

  Kes looked much more relaxed when he ran back down the line. “Thanks, Thom,” he called above the noise as he passed the gleaner, “I’ll see you tonight.”

  The balding man grinned and watched as the young man disappeared around the corner.

  Magic in the Night

  After leaving Mitch’s office in the Ecological Science building, Sh’ar returned home for lunch, then arranged for the chauffeur to take her to Chemedco. William’s fever was still high, and she made sure there was always someone with him, bathing his forehead and spooning fluids past his fever-cracked lips. The young woman wanted to stay by his side but made herself leave. She hoped there was something she could discover to help him. The conversation she’d had with Kes’s boss was interesting but a sea slime didn’t seem a likely source for salvation. Hope was a fragile thing. She would run tests, but William was weakening every hour.

  The driver dropped her off at the entrance to Chemedco. After arranging when he would come back, Sh’ar hurried down to the lab and, putting on the protective clothing, entered the sealed room. Ben noted the time when she arrived. He caught her glance over at him and held up three gloved fingers, then pointed to the clock. She nodded.

  Ben was unaware that she had already gone through most of the past notes as well as what they were currently working on. She wanted to take a closer look at the very early references to chemical-induced pathogens. But before she did that, she wanted to try something with Mitch’s compound.

  The office in which she worked was mostly for records but there was the normal disarray of equipment, slides and petri dishes. A few days before, when Ben and his team had gone to lunch, Sh’ar had slipped some petri dishes with the live culture of The Blight out of the lab and into a drawer in the office. Standing with her back to the door, she took a narrow glass rod and dipped it into the fluid she had received from Mitch. She added a drop to a blood sample and another to the culture in a dish. Labeling the lid, she put that aside and returned to the blood sample. Sh’ar stirred then, with a glass spatula, spread the treated blood across the culture with an X. With efficient movements, she placed her tests into a small box and set it on the counter amidst the clutter. Not wanting to be caught, the young woman straightened the room and pocketed the still full vial of the sea slime compound.

  Turning to face the door again, she picked up the file that contained the questionable references and began to read. Three hours passed, and before she knew it, Ben was opening the door.

  “Time for you to go. It’s almost five anyway.”

  “Okay. Thank you, Ben. I’ve gone through everything here and made some notes for you in that green folder over there. I’ll put it in your slot so you can look it over in the morning.” Straightening the piles of folders, she slid the file she’d been studying to the bottom with complete nonchalance. Picking up the green folder, she made a show of placing it in the cubbyhole under his name. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” And with a light wave, left the room and lab area.

  Her grandmother had requested that she always check with her before she left. That was a routine she couldn’t afford to break. Climbing the stairs, Sh’ar hurried to Ver’in’s office. The old lady looked up as she came in and shut the door. “I need to update you. I’m not sure how often I will be here, if at all, in the next several days. William is not getting better.” Her breath caught in her throat. She had been keeping those thoughts at bay as she worked today, but as soon as the words were uttered, the feelings came flooding back. With effort, she pushed back the tears that threatened to swamp her. “I’ve been through all of the lab notes. I don’t think they are near a cure. I made some suggestions and left them for Ben. He’ll look at them in the morning.” The young woman sat straighter and kept her eyes on her grandmother’s face. “I believe that somehow Chemedco is responsible for The Blight. I won’t confront Father as that would get me nowhere, but I found several mentions of testing chemical combinations that resulted in cellular changes in people. Those notes were part of this project. My only conclusion to the question of why he would do such a monstrous thing is that he could make a profit from the cure.” Her laughter was a feeble attempt to lighten the accusation. “He messed that up, didn’t he? My beloved William and thousands of others may die because of what? His greed for money and power? Oh, that is the sickest of all!”

  The old woman’s eyes closed for a moment. “I was afraid that was the case.”

  Her granddaughter looked at her sharply.

  “On Petal Day, there was a board meeting. Your father made a comment about a secret project that would net huge profits. That’s all. But I started thinking about it. I’m the owner. He is just the Chief Executive Officer. There should be no secrets fro
m me. I confronted him about it later, and he assured me that I didn’t need to know. After all, under his management, he had grown our net worth, and we now have money enough for any fripperies we desire!” She huffed at the memory of the insult. “I asked him about the illness, but he didn’t answer. I had no proof, but it has been eating at me.” She pulled out a delicate pocket watch and checked the time. “Everyone in that level of the building has gone home. Can you get me those notes?”

  Sh’ar nodded. “I’ve collected them. It’s been my concern that Ben will remember some of the things in those notes and go back and take them away. I was going to sneak back there before I left and take the file.”

  Ver’in stood with alacrity. “Let’s go!”

  The two women returned to the lab level in record time. There was no one about, which Sh’ar was very happy to see. Slipping into her lab clothing, she entered the lab while her grandmother watched through the window. Once in the small office, she pulled the file from the bottom of the pile and slipped it under her arm. Grabbing the small box from the counter where she’d left it, she exited the office and the lab. Handing her grandmother the file, she again put her protective clothing away.

  Ver’in was flipping through the file as she waited. “I’ll go over this tonight.” She glanced up as her granddaughter picked up the box and her purse. “What do you have there?”

  “A slim chance. I’m running my own tests on a different compound.”

  “Can I see?”

  Sh’ar shrugged. “I just introduced the new mixture to the culture when I came in this afternoon.” She set the box on the desk where the security man for the lab usually sat. Lifting the lid, both women looked at the two petri dishes. The angry red blight culture had died near the areas where she had swiped the marine compound. Their eyes met over the box.