Rendezvous at the Titanworks

The Imperial Forge sprawled along the eastern bank of the Ishigetta River like a black bruise. The only major manufacturing zone in the Eastern half of the city of Tarsis, the Forge spread its fingers – iron rails, bulbous black pipes, and well-worn access roads – for miles around. Low warehouses and factory bunkers made up the bulk of the grounds, split by rambling rail yards and shipping depots. Guard towers equipped with cannons and experienced soldiers stood watch over the area. While the bulk of the Empire’s civilian manufacturing took place across the river in Ashworld, the Forge formed the central hub of Tarsis’s military plant.

Seth, dressed in his best, most distinguished-looking coat, stepped through the huge slatted doors of the Titanworks. A warm red gust tinged with sulphur and steel aggressively pushed back against the late winter air. Even within the already impressive expanse of the Forge grounds, the facility was enormous. Raucous clanking and the rumble of machinery filled the cavernous space. Three stories of ladders, catwalks and platforms stretching for hundreds of meters formed the framework for vats of molten steel, cast iron molds, endless belts of rolling parts, and great assembly platforms on which perched half-constructed titans.

Seth instructed a rail worker by the door to point him to the factory chief. The man directed Seth toward the back of the building and signaled his arrival to the foreman.

As he walked, Seth saw a series of completed titans loaded on a rail car along the wall to his right. He stopped to have a look at one of the Empire’s crowning technological achievements. Each titan stood four meters high and almost as wide. Its armor plates and many mechanical gears composed a vaguely man-like shape – squat and round, with distinct arms, legs, and a boxy, grated metal lump of a head. The chest plate was opened on three hinges and revealed a cramped, wool-padded interior for a single pilot. The pilot’s arms and legs would operate controls in the shoulders and thighs of the titan, while clockwork gears and levers would drive the beast in a rough caricature of the pilot’s own movements. Seth imagined a marionette dancing awkwardly on strings, swinging a broadsword. The Imperial Seal – the Gauntlet of Tarsis – was emblazoned across the chestplates.

A short man in a round helmet and grubby, oil-stained apron approached. “The chief will see you now, sir,” he shouted over the roar of the factory. Seth nodded and followed him across the main floor where plates of titan armor were laid out for assembly, then up a wide set of stairs to a second story workshop along the back wall.

Seth entered a crowded room stuffed with equipment. He closed the door but the noise did not end. In addition to the dull roar of the factory floor, the sound of an etherflame welder screeched blue lightning only a few meters away. The rumpled, helmeted figure of the factory chief crouched over a piece of armor. Seth waited patiently. After a few moments, the arcs of blue stopped.

The boxy helmet turned. The chief stared at Seth through a square of plate glass.

“So you’re Galen’s new messenger boy,” said a surprisingly pleasant female voice.

Seth looked taken aback. “Yes, Exemplar Yves. I am Seth Delocke.”

The chief set down her torch and walked over. She lifted her helmet. A delicately round, soot-stained face with large, playful eyes looked up at Seth appraisingly. “Helena,” she said with a smile.

A hundred things raced through Seth’s mind at that moment, and he struggled to sort them. Helena Yves was not was he expected. Here was the inventor of one of the most powerful machines in the Imperial service. She was younger than he had thought. Much younger. Certainly older than he, but not by much. She had the pale alabaster skin and small stature of a southlander, but the black hair and accent common to the Ishigetta Plateau. She wore a silver jumpsuit that showed off the bend of her hip quite nicely. Before his thoughts drew him too far down that path, Seth reminded himself that he was not only speaking to a superior officer, but a highly respected figure in the ranks of the Exemplar, a veritable legend in the military. She was also looking up at him with the deepest, darkest blue eyes he had ever seen.

Seth realized that she was looking at him strangely. “What?” he said.

“I said, you can call me Helena, Mr. Delocke.” She walked to a bench and took off her helmet and apron.

Seth recovered. “Oh, thank you. Seth. Please call me Seth.”

“Well, Seth, let’s not waste time. Galen’s letter said you had something to show me, so let’s see it.”

Seth nodded. He pulled a set of small glass goggles from his belt and put them on. He then reached into his coat and withdrew a heavy silver pistol. Similar to the one he had used on the ill-fated assignment in Ashworld, this one was sleeker and more refined, with a wide barrel folded at the end into a narrow nozzle. Finally, he withdrew a vial of blue-tinted ether from his belt and slid it carefully into the cartridge housing.

A large piece of poorly-molded armor plate stood against a workbench across the room. “Is that scrap?” Seth asked. Helena nodded.

Seth took careful aim at the center of the plate and fired. With a high pitched whine, a searing blue beam of light shot from the barrel of the Ethershot pistol Mk. II and struck the armor. Seth traced careful lines across its surface. After five seconds, he stopped firing. Helena raised an eyebrow at the results – delicate grooves cut inches into the metal in precise lines. It would take an etherflame welder, in direct contact with the metal, ten times as long to cut the same groove.

“And once more,” said Seth. He twisted the barrel a quarter turn to the left and released a catch on the grip. He then aimed at the center of the armor. A blast of bright energy leapt from the barrel with an explosive bang. It bent the plate in like a sail in a stiff wind and propelled it across the room to crash against the back wall.

Seth removed his goggles, ejected the empty glass vial from the weapon and handed the gun to Helena. She examined it closely, then walked over to the partially melted remains of the armor plate. Seth did his best not to beam at his own handiwork.

Helena turned the pistol over and over in her hands as she inspected the remains of the steel plate, then turned to Seth with a knowing look. “This isn’t Galen’s invention, is it?” She tapped the pistol lightly in her hands. “The design is all wrong – elegant, focused, direct. And Larkspur would never let something of his slip out before officially presenting it. This is your work.” She moved to stand very close to him.

Seth fought down a swell of pride. “As you know, aspirants and apprentices are not permitted to present new designs to the council,” he said. “For our purposes, Exemplar Larkspur will control the patent of development. That includes sponsoring the construction phase and integrating the schematic with existing projects. Projects such as yours.”

Helena presented him with a stoic, business-like expression which seemed horribly out of place in such close proximity. She had a terrible poker face. Seth had already spotted the twinkle of interest in her eyes. “Explain the offer,” she said simply.

“You are working on the next line of titans, something big by the sound of it, and the command office has been very tight-lipped about the plans. If you were to, say, invite certain others to help you develop them, this new weapon could find its way into the design.”

“Interesting,” she said. Business gave way to coyness. “And if I were to bring such a person in, you would of course require extensive working knowledge of the project.”

“Intimate knowledge,” he said.

Helena took his hand and placed the pistol in it. She left her own hand there much longer than necessary. “I think we may be able to work something out, Seth.”

Seth smiled broadly. For the first time, he seriously considered the many advantages in the practical application of politics.