The Passenger

With the introduction of the Ethershot pistol, Seth Delocke found himself at the head of a revolution in Imperial arms, one that demanded his constant involvement. Although Galen would handle the overall management of resources and personnel to develop the weapons, Seth constantly found himself administering the particulars of the project. Most Technologists and not a few Exemplar couldn’t grasp some of the basic concepts behind the thermal principles of ether-energy conversion. He wrote dozens of design documents and letters of explanation to members of the Council, field generals, the Imperial Senate, even to mining conglomerates looking to secure the right to supply the necessary ethers. In the end, only the Exemplar would have the authority to carry the new pistols, but even organizing that small a production run would take months of manufacturing.

In addition, he had become Helena’s de facto assistant (and he hoped eventually something more) on the second generation of Steam Titans. Balancing his largely secretive relationship with the Titanworks chief and his now very public position as inventor of the Ethershot threatened to wear him down. Even so, Galen insisted that Seth continue to function as his Aspirant, which meant running Larkspur’s private laboratory in his “spare time.” Somehow in the press of duties, Seth found a day off, although he was sure there would be double the work to pay for it afterward.

- - -

The train from the citadel to the western bank was on time as usual. Snaking around the jumbled supports of the station, it left the rambling rail yards and skirted the edge of the island. The water below the bulkheads supporting the coastal track glowed warm in the afternoon sunlight and reflected flowing orange light up into the crowded train cars.

Seth sat in the back corner of the car, his back to the water, and tried to get some sleep. For once, he had left his iconic marks of rank behind and wore a simple brown overcoat. The constant deference shown to him by ordinary citizens would not be welcome today. Instead, he thought of Deidre’s famous meat pies and sweetberry pudding and looked forward to spending the evening with old friends. Roland would have his pipes and his clockwork drums, and they’d while away the night with good drink and bad stories.

An officer was questioning a woman on the other side of the car. He wanted to know what was in her satchel – a worn canvas bag bearing the symbol of the Imperial Medical corps. Military surplus was not allowed to civilians. Clearly, she was in the wrong, but Seth hoped the overzealous officer might show a little mercy. If not to her, than to the Technologist on leave who really didn’t feel like dealing with an incident at the moment.

Still, there was something strange about the woman. She had a young face, but she slumped forward uncomfortably. Her cloak masked what could have been a bowed back or a hidden package, but she seemed far too light of movement to be weighed down by anything. The officer was becoming heated. He accused her of stealing, and as she attempted to shrink away from him his words became louder.

Just as Seth seriously considered intervening, the officer grabbed the girl’s arm, and part of her cloak fell open. The shape she revealed to the surrounding passengers was not a package or a deformity; it was a band of feathers. White down spilled from the side of her cloak as the officer stepped back in shock. Clearly outlined against the curve of her back was a graceful nestled wing.

A woman screamed. The car erupted into chaos. Seth stood, only to be plowed into by several passengers making for the door behind him. Cries of avian! freak! monster! filled the already close air of the compartment, and the press of humanity surged against the walls, trying to escape. Seth fought his way past frantic riders and saw the girl whirl on the officer with a sharp kick to the stomach. As he doubled over, she snatched the satchel from him and dashed for the door at the far end of the compartment. The few passengers on that side eagerly got out of her way. Seth tried to push his way through but could not get past. Outside the door, he watched her scale the outer ladder. Frowning, he turned to the rear door.

The train thundered along the tracks of the citadel at high speed. The driving wind whipped across the roofs of the cars, rattling them to their rivets. Seth left his coat behind to prevent it from dragging him off and stumbled out onto the rooftop. One car ahead, the girl crouched against the howling wind and walked steadily forward. He leaned into the wind and followed.

“Hold!” he shouted, but the roar of the train masked his voice. When they passed into a brief clearing between buildings he tried again.

“Hold there!”

She turned to look at him. A few tiny feathers fluttered from under her cloak and whisked past Seth’s face.

“You assaulted that officer,” he shouted. “You’re going to have to come with me. I promise I won’t hurt you!” Seth suddenly realized that with only his tunic vest, his Exemplar gauntlet was fully exposed. The twisting gears and many sharp tools jutting from the machinery on his arm probably did not lend much credence to his claim.

The avian girl looked at him strangely, and then continued on her way forward. A gust of smoke and steam billowed back across the train. Seth swore softly and followed her. The locomotive swayed as it turned through the cavernous passages of the citadel’s outer buildings, forcing both the avian and her pursuer to cling low to the cars. Seth, with no coat, had the advantage of aerodynamics, but the girl was clearly experienced with this method of travel, and Seth made few gains on her as they made their way up the length of the train.

A sudden turn nearly threw Seth into an oncoming overhang, but he threw himself hard to the roof. Ahead, the girl scrambled forward. For uncounted minutes, Seth slowly worked his way toward his quarry, dodging the city itself as it tried to scrape them both from the rooftops. Finally they came to head of the train as it turned hard onto the bridge approach.

They were standing on the car directly behind the engine now, and the pulsing plumes of smoke and steam that shot from the sides of the train periodically blocked out all vision. Seth caught glimpses of her through the smoke. She stood facing him, her body partially shielded by her flapping cloak. With a great gust, the train cleared the island’s superstructure and pushed out onto the trestle bridge spanning the western river. The air cleared as the huge bridge supports whistled by overhead.

Seth readied the snare at his belt. It was small and had little range, but it might prevent her from falling if he got a good throw. He held out his other hand to her.

“You’ve got nothing to fear. I swear I only want to help you,” he said.

The expression on her face was unreadable, and suddenly her face wasn’t there. A burst of smoke had erupted from the engine and engulfed the whole train. Seth saw the girl rush toward him in the haze and he let fly with the snare. The thin cable whipped out into the smoke and caught the flying cloak as it tumbled back into Seth’s face. He staggered back and fell, grappling with the garment. Slipping between the cars, he caught the top of an outer ladder with one hand and swung down to the connecting ledge below. His arm twisted as he landed heavily on the solid steel plate. The tracks rushed past his face only a few feet away.

One of the train officers must have finally pulled the emergency brake at that point, as a great screech sounded down the length of the cars and the train lurched to a slow roll. Seth disentangled himself from the cloak and clambered back up the ladder.

Small plumes of smoke wafted up from the tracks as the train slowed to a standstill on the trestle bridge. Seth looked out at the brightly lit water hundreds of feet below. Of the girl, there was no sign. Did she double back when he fell? Did she jump to the tracks? Seth looked up as the obvious answer presented itself.

A flash of white and gold feathers arced above him, riding an updraft from one of the bridge towers. She soared, oh how she soared, higher than any human could dream. Higher than even the air navy’s frigates would dare. She lifted into the sky to her freedom. Seth watched, captivated, as the primary feathers turned gently in the wind while the alula adjusted for lift, exactly like a bird. Everything about her design was perfect, like an incredibly complex clockwork machine made by a master craftsman, worked only in flesh and bone.

The avian banked left and headed further out across the water toward the darkening skies of Ashworld. Seth looked down at the ragged cloak in his hand.

“Never time to ask a simple question. This time I want answers.”